yU^
 
 Book of SindibaD; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE STORY OF THE KING, HIS SON, THE 
 DAMSEL, AND THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 FROM THF: PERSIAN AND ARABIC. 
 WTTH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND APPENDIX, 
 
 W. A. CLOUSTON, 
 
 1:DIT0R of "ARABIAN I'OETRY FOR ENGLISH RKADERS, 
 
 "the bakhtvar nama," etc. 
 
 "Alas, women whose love is scorned .ire worse th.Tn poison!" 
 
 PRI\A'1ELV PRINTED. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXIV
 
 Edition : 300 Copies
 
 DR. REINHOLD ROST, LL.D., 
 
 LIBRARIAN TO THE INDIA OFFICE, 
 
 THIS WORK, 
 
 WHICH, ALIKE AS A FRIEND AND A SCHOLAR, HE WOULD 
 CRITICISE WITH INDULGENCE, 
 
 IS DEDICATED, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 2047691
 
 PRKFACli. 
 
 THE present work is, I believe, the first attempt, in 
 this country, to furnish a compendious account 
 of the Eastern and Western groups of romances known 
 respectively under their generic titles of the Book of 
 SiNbiDAD and the Book of the Seven Wise Masters. 
 A\right's introduction to Inis edition, for the l\'rcy 
 Society, of an Early English metrical version of the 
 Sc'7'c';/ Snges may perhaps be considered as such a work, 
 but he has confounded the Eastern with the Western 
 versions, having been misled by Des Longchamps and 
 other investigators, who, in this field of inquiry, accord- 
 ing to Godeke, "fell into such confusion in essential 
 points that they contributed almost as much to per- 
 petuate old errors and spread them anew as to lay and 
 root out others." Moreover, several important texts 
 have been since discovered, throwing new light upon 
 the history of both groups. — Professor Comparetti's 
 Ricerchc infonio al Libra di Siiidibdd, an English 
 translation of wliich, l)y Mr. H. C. Coote, forms one 
 of the publications for tlie bolk-l -ore SocietN', is un-
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 doubtedly one of the most important contributions to 
 the history of the romance; but it assuines the reader 
 to be famihar with the details of the several Eastern 
 texts, the subordinate stories being mostly referred to 
 only by their titles, and its usefulness is consequently 
 confined within a narrow circle, in the absence, for 
 merely English readers, of the tales themselves. This 
 want I have now endeavoured to supply, to the best of 
 my ability, in the following work, which comprises: 
 
 (i) An introductory account of the structure of 
 the Book of Sindibad, and the probable sources of the 
 several Eastern versions; to which is prefixed a Com- 
 ])arative Table of the Tales in this group, designed to 
 exhibit, at a glance, the degrees of relationship which 
 the texts bear towards each other. 
 
 (2) An epitome, by Professor Forbes Falconer, of a 
 I'ersian text, entitled Sindibad Akl/na, composed in 
 1375, of which the only known copy is an imperfect 
 MS. in the Library of the India Office. Falconers 
 work left much to be desired : of some of the Tales he 
 gave only the titles, and others he presented in a very 
 abridged form; it has therefore been compared with the 
 MS. ; the abridged and omitted Tales — ten in number, 
 of which three seem to have altogether escaped his 
 notice — translated and inserted, and several grave 
 errors rectified. In foot-notes I have explained such 
 references and expressions as might be obscure to 
 some readers, and adduced from the other versions 
 jjassages which correspond with, or vary from, this text.
 
 PREFACE. vii 
 
 (3) An Arabian version of the Seven Vazirs, trans- 
 lated by Jonathan Scott, with corrections and additions, 
 and similarly annotated. In my preface to it are some 
 particulars regarding this and other Arabian texts. 
 
 (4) An Appendix, which contains variants of the 
 Tales in both these texts — forming curious illustrations 
 of the pedigree of popular fictions and their migrations 
 and transformations — together with such Tales as do 
 not occur in them, but are found in the others. Thus 
 all the Tales of the Eastern Texts, as represented in 
 the Comparative Table, are now brought together. 
 
 It certainly formed no part of my original design 
 to treat of the Western Texts. These have, in some 
 measure, preserved — from oral tradition, unquestion- 
 ably — the leading ideas of the ancient original tale : 
 the orphanhood of the accused youth; his education 
 at a distance from his father; his step-mother's malice 
 against him, and so on ; — but, as Comparetti has 
 observed, "there is no Eastern version which differs 
 so much from the others as the whole Western group 
 differs from the Eastern group, whether it be in the 
 form of the fundamental story, or in the tales inserted 
 in it, of which scarcely four are common to both 
 groups." As my work progressed, however, it occurred 
 to me that abstracts of an Early English metrical version 
 of the Seven JVise Masters and of the oldest Euro[jean 
 form of the romance, the Eatin original of the old 
 French metrical version, Dolopathos — discovered within 
 recent years- with \-arianls as found in ollici- collcc-
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 tions, would be acceptable to English students of the 
 history of Fiction, which I have accordingly inserted in 
 the Appendix. 
 
 My work is, of course, not free from errors : I trust 
 they will be excused by those who know the difficulties 
 that beset a task of this kind. But however imperfect 
 it may be, it would certainly have been still more so, 
 but for the valuable assi-stance which 1 received from 
 several eminent scholars: especially, from Mr. J. W. 
 Redhouse, on whose stores of learning I drew, as on 
 former occasions, perhaps too frequently; Mr. William 
 Piatt, to whose erudition 1 am also much indebted ; 
 Mr. E. J. W. Gibb, author of Ottoman Poems, etc., 
 whose great kindness of disposition is equalled by his 
 attainments in, and enthusiasm for. Oriental literature; 
 and to i\Ir. David Ross, Principal of the E.G. Train- 
 ing Gollege, Glasgow, of whose classical and general 
 scholarship I was also happily able to avail m)self. 
 That the work should be as comprehensive as possible 
 has been my aim from the first; and, notwithstanding 
 occasional inaccuracies and shortcomings, I venture to 
 hope that it will prove interesting to general readers, 
 and possibly even not altogether without its use to some 
 of those who make a special study of the origin and 
 spread of " old-world tales." 
 
 \V. A. CLOUSTON 
 Gl..\SGOW, May. 1S84.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Comparative Tai-.le of Eastern Texts of the Book 
 
 OF SiNDIBAD fa'-il'S' xvii 
 
 Introduction xvii 
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 Editor's Preface 3 
 
 Introduction 5 
 
 Sindibad : Story of the Old Fox and the Monkey 13 
 ,, Story of the Camel, the Wolf, the Fox, 
 
 and the Pumpkin ... ... ... 15 
 
 ,, Story of the King of Kashmir and the 
 
 Elephant 17 
 
 First Vazir: Story of the King of the Monkeys 27 
 The First VazIr : 
 
 Story of the Confectioner, his Wife, and the Parrot 3 1 
 Story of the Officer, his Mistress, his Servant, and 
 
 the Woman's Husband 35 
 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Washerman and his Son 37 
 
 The Second VazIr : 
 
 Story of the Two Partridges 39 
 
 Story of the Old Man who sent his Young Wife to 
 the Market to buy Rice 46 
 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Prince and the Ghul 50
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Third VazIr : 
 
 — Story of the Snake and the Cat 
 
 Story of the Libertine Husband 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Monkey and the Roar ... 
 The Fourth VazIr : 
 
 Story of the Bathkeeper 
 
 .Story of the Go-Between and the She-Dog 
 The Damsel : 
 
 Lacima in M.S. 
 The Fifth Vazir : 
 
 Story of the Pretended Widow 
 
 Story of the Woman and her Father-in-Law 
 The Damsel: 
 
 .Story of the Robber, the Lion, and the Monkey 
 The Slxth VazTr : 
 
 Story of the Perl and the Devotee ... 
 
 Story of the Concealed Robe 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Changed .Sex 
 The Seventh VazTr : 
 
 Story of the King and the Virtuous Wife . . . 
 
 Story of the Man who compiled a Book on the 
 Wiles of Women 
 The Prince : 
 
 Story of the Poisoned Guests 
 
 Story of the Careless Mother 
 
 Story of the Infant in the Cradle 
 
 .Story of the Stolen Purse and the Child of Five 
 Years 
 
 Story of the Sandal-wood Merchant and the Advice 
 of the Blind Old Man 
 
 Story of the King's Daughter and her Liberator.' 
 Conclusion
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 Editor's Preface 125 
 
 Introduction 127 
 
 The First VazTr : 
 
 Story of Ahmed the Orphan 137 
 
 Story of the Merchant, his Wife, and the Parrot ... 141 
 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Fuller and his Son 144 
 
 Story of the Sultan and the Vazlr's Wife ... ... 144 
 
 The Second VazTr : 
 
 Story of the Officer and the Merchant's Wife ... 148 
 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Prince and the Ghfd ... ... ... 150 
 
 The Third VazTr : 
 
 Story of the Drop of Honey .. . ... •-. ... 154 
 
 Story of the Woman and the Rice-Seller ... ... 155 
 
 ■J'he Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Transformed Prince ... ... ... 156 
 
 The Fourth VazTr : 
 
 Story of the Bathman ... ... ... ... 162 
 
 Story of the Old Woman and the She-Dog ... 162 
 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Goldsmith and the Singing Girl ... 166 
 
 The Fifth V.v/.Tr: 
 
 Story of the Young Man who was taken to the 
 
 Land of Women ... ... ... .• ... 170 
 
 The Damsel: 
 
 Story of the Lover in the Chest ... ... ... 178 
 
 The Sixth VazTr : 
 
 Story of the Merchant's Wife and her Suitors ... 181 
 Story of the Three Wishes 190 
 
 The Damsel : 
 
 Story of the Devout Woman and the Magpie ... 191 
 Story of Prince Bahram and Princess Kd-Detma ... 192
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 The Seventh Va/.Tk : 
 
 Story of the Burnt \'eil 
 
 The Prince : 
 
 Story of the Poisoned Food . . . 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 198 
 
 213 
 
 214 
 
 I 
 
 The 
 
 n 
 
 The 
 
 in 
 
 The 
 
 IV 
 
 The 
 
 The 
 
 \ I The 
 
 VII 
 
 The 
 
 ^ III 
 
 The 
 
 L\ 
 
 The 
 
 X 
 
 The 
 
 XI 
 
 The 
 
 XI] 
 
 The 
 
 XIII 
 
 The 
 
 XIV 
 
 The 
 
 XV 
 
 The 
 
 XVI 
 
 The 
 
 XVII 
 
 The 
 
 XVIII 
 
 The 
 
 XIX 
 
 The 
 
 XX 
 
 The 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Camel, Wolf, and Fox 
 King of the Monkeys 
 Merchant and his Parrot 
 Double Infidelity 
 The Infected Loaves ... 
 Fuller and his Son 
 The Blackguard 
 Two Partridges 
 The Two Pigeons 
 The Bread Elephant ... 
 Prince and the Ghid ... 
 .Snake and the Cat 
 Libertine Husband 
 Monkey and the Boar 
 Go-Between and the She-Dog 
 Pretended Widow 
 Father-in-Law 
 Robber and the Lion 
 Peri and the Devotee (The Three 
 Concealed Robe — The Burnt Veil 
 The Lady in the Glass Ca.se 
 Lion's Track ... 
 W^iles of Women 
 Poisoned Guests 
 Stolen Purse ... 
 
 W 
 
 ishe 
 
 217 
 222 
 
 222 
 228 
 232 
 233 
 233 
 233 
 233 
 235 
 23s 
 236 
 241 
 242 
 244 
 
 247 
 248 
 
 251 
 243 
 253 
 
 255 
 256 
 258 
 263 
 
 266
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 NO. 
 
 XXI The Advantages of Travel 268 
 
 XXII The Four Liberators ••• 271 
 
 XXIII The Damsel's Fate, etc 278 
 
 The Fox and the People 278 
 
 Destiny, or the Son of the Sage ... •• 280 
 
 The Woman and the Abbot 283 
 
 The Revolt of Absalom 284 
 
 The Death of Absalom 285 
 
 The Disguised Young Man 286 
 
 The Hunchbacks 287 
 
 XXIV Ahmed the Orphan 291 
 
 XXV The Drop of Honey 298 
 
 XXVI The Changed Sex 299 
 
 XXVII The Goldsmith and the Singing Girl 303 
 
 XXVIII The Forbidden Doors; or, Curiosity 308 
 
 XXIX The Lover in the Chest 310 
 
 The Birds : Slave-Boy, etc 310 
 
 XXX The Lady and her Suitors 3" 
 
 XXXI The Amazon ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• 3^2 
 
 XXXII The Seven Wise Masters : 
 
 Introduction ... ... •■• ■•• ••• Z~l 
 
 The Tree and its Branch 329 
 
 The Knight and the Greyhound 329 
 
 The Boar and the Herdsman 330 
 
 Hippocrates' Nephew ... •■• ••■ 33° 
 
 Robbery of the King's Treasury 330 
 
 The Husband Shut Out 332 
 
 The King and his Seneschal 334 
 
 The Wise Old Man 335 
 
 Merlin's Pillar ZVl 
 
 The Burgess and Magpie 33^ 
 
 The Seven Evil Counsellors 338 
 
 The Widow who was Comforted • • • • • 338 
 
 The Siege of Rome ■ • 343
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 NO. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Two Dreams ..= 
 
 • 343 
 
 The Ravens .' 
 
 • 348 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 • 350 
 
 Comparative Table of Tales 
 
 • 351 
 
 The Spoiled Daughter 
 
 • 352 
 
 The Bad Stepmother... 
 
 • 352 
 
 The Three Knights and the Lady ... 
 
 • 353 
 
 BibHographical Notes 
 
 • 354 
 
 XXXIII DOLOPATHOS; OR, ThE KiNG AND THE SeVEN 
 
 Sages : 
 
 
 Introduction ... 
 
 . 357 
 
 The Dog and the Snake 
 
 
 • 359 
 
 The King's Treasury . . . 
 
 
 • 359 
 
 The Best Friend 
 
 
 • 360 
 
 The Hard Creditor ... 
 
 
 • 364 
 
 The Widow's Son 
 
 
 • 368 
 
 The Master Thief ... 
 
 
 • 370 
 
 The Swan Children ... 
 
 
 • 372 
 
 The Husband Shut Out 
 
 
 • 376 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 
 •• 377 
 
 XXXIV Additional Note : The Tank 
 
 Df Trial 
 
 • 377 
 
 INDEX 
 
 379
 
 INTRODUCTION.
 
 bocik: of sindibad; comparative table of the tales in eastern texts 
 
 Inirod.S, Fox and Mo.ikiy 
 
 t TheGhul 
 Snnke and Cat 
 
 ) liojir and Monl 
 - Uiiihkeeper 
 She-Uog 
 
 Woman's Wilu 
 Poisoned Gikme 
 CoTclesi Mol).« 
 
 D;iin*«l a 
 Goldsmiili 
 sthVax.:
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IN a somewhat extravagant eulogium of the romance 
 known throughout Europe from mediaeval times 
 as the History, or Book, of the Seven Sages, Gorres 
 says, that " it sprang originally from the Indian moun- 
 tains, whence from primeval days it took its course as 
 a little rivulet, and flowed in a westerly direction 
 through Asia's wide field, and, while it proceeded for 
 thousands of years through space and time, always 
 spreading more and more in reaching us. Out of it 
 whole generations and many nations have drank; and, 
 having passed to Europe with the great tide of popula- 
 tion, it is now also in our day and generation supplied 
 to such a considerable portion of the public, that in 
 regard to its celebrity and the magnitude of its sphere 
 of influence, it reaches the Holy Book, and surpasses 
 all classical works." This account of the romance is 
 very misleading. The prototype of the Seven Sages was, 
 no doubt, an ancient Indian work (though surely not 
 "thousands of years old") called the Book of Sindibad, 
 from which have sprung two groups of texts. Eastern 
 
 b
 
 INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 and AVestern : the former derived, mediately or imme- 
 diately, from a common and written source; the latter 
 based upon oral traditions of the romance, brought to 
 Europe by minstrels and pilgrims from the East, and 
 preserving little more than the general plan of the 
 original work. The Eastern group of texts must there- 
 fore be considered as having a distinct and separate 
 history from the Western group. Like so many other 
 Asiatic collections of fiction, this romance in its several 
 versions consists of a number of tales and apologues, 
 strung together by a general story, running throughout 
 the whole work, of which the following is the outline : 
 
 A monarch, powerful, wise, and just, was very un- 
 hai)py because he had not a son to succeed him on 
 the throne, and he was now far advanced in years. 
 After many earnest prayers to Heaven, he is at length 
 blessed with a son, upon which he assembles the most 
 skilful astrologers to cast his horoscope (as is still 
 customary in the East on the birth of a male child), 
 which is found to portend great danger to his life 
 when he has attained his twentieth year. The king is 
 at first greatly alarmed at this intelligence, but ulti- 
 mately becomes reconciled to the decree of destiny; 
 and, when the child is old enough, he confides him to 
 a tutor, under whose instruction, however, in spite of 
 all his efforts, the young prince makes no progress in 
 learning during several years. The prince is then 
 taken in hand by a profound sage, called Sindibad, 
 but he, too, fails to instruct him — apparently the youth
 
 FRAME OF THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. xix 
 
 is hopelessly stupid. The king, on learning this, is 
 enraged at the philosopher, who, nothing daunted by 
 his failure, now boldly undertakes to teach the prince 
 all necessary knowledge in the space of six months, at 
 the peril of his own life. Having succeeded wnthin 
 less than the stipulated period, before the prince is to 
 be presented to his father, in order to exhibit his varied 
 accomplishments, Sindibad takes an observation of the 
 prince's star, and discovers that he is threatened with 
 loss of life should he utter a word during the seven 
 following days. He communicates this to the prince, 
 and counsels him, notwithstanding, to appear before his 
 father, but on no account to speak until the fatal seven 
 days are passed — for himself, he must hide from the 
 king's wrath. Accordingly, the prince proceeds to 
 the palace, and is warmly embraced by his father, but 
 returns not a word in answer to the questions which 
 are put to him. One of the king's women, secretly 
 in love with the prince, now enters the audience- 
 chamber, and learning that he has been apparently 
 deprived of the power of speech, requests his Majesty's 
 permission to try whether she cannot privately induce 
 the prince to speak, which being granted, she takes the 
 youth into the harem, where she tells him of her love 
 for him, and proposes to poison the king, in order that 
 he may at once ascend the throne. Horrified at the 
 thought of such a heinous crime, the prince upbraids 
 her, and flies out of the room. The damsel, fearing 
 the consequences of her conduct, tears her garments
 
 LVTR OD UC TION. 
 
 and scratches her face, and in this condition presents 
 herself before the king, who inquires the cause of her 
 distress. She rephes that his son, who had only 
 feigned himself dumb, had no sooner entered her 
 apartment than he made love to her, and proposed 
 to poison his Majesty. Believing this false tale, the 
 king immediately commands the executioner to put 
 the prince to death. But this precipitate sentence 
 coming to the knowledge of the king's Seven Vazirs, 
 or counsellors, they determine to save the life of the 
 prince as long as possible, in hopes that his innocence 
 would be established, by each of them in turn relating to 
 the king instances of the craft and malice of women, and 
 warning him against undue haste in affairs of import- 
 ance. The First Vazir accordingly appears before the 
 king, and relates two stories to show that no reliance 
 should be placed upon the accusation of a woman; 
 after which his Majesty remands the prince to prison 
 in the meantime. At night, however, the Damsel 
 counteracts the effect produced in the king's mind by 
 the vazir's tales, by relating a story designed to ex- 
 emplify the deceitful and wicked disposition of men, 
 with the result of inducing the king to resolve once 
 more to put his son to death. In like manner, the 
 tales of the other vazirs are controverted by the damsel, 
 until the seven days are passed, when the prince, being 
 free to s])eak again, informs the king of the damsel's 
 atrocious plot against his life, and relates a number of 
 tales, after which the wicked damsel is punished.
 
 FRAME OF THE PANCHA TANTRA. xxi 
 
 The repeated failures to educate tlie ])rince, tlie 
 father's grief and rage, and the sage finally undertaking 
 to instruct the youth in six months, correspond exactly 
 with the frame of the Pancha Tantra (Five Chapters), 
 a celebrated collection of Hindu fables, in Sanskrit, as 
 old at least as the 6th century; and the resemblance 
 can hardly be merely fortuitous: 
 
 " There is a city in the southern country, named 
 Mihilaropyam, the king of which, learned and munifi- 
 cent, distinguished among princes and scholars, was 
 named Amara Sacti. He had three sons, youths of 
 no capacity or diligence: Vasu Sacti, Bhadra Sacti, 
 and Ananta Sacti. Observing them averse to study, 
 the king called his counsellors, and said to them : 
 'You are aware that my sons are little inclined to 
 application, and incapable of reflection. When I con- 
 template them, my kingdom is full of thorns, and 
 yields me no pleasure. It is said by the wise: "Better 
 is a son unborn; better is a dead son, than one who is 
 a fool. The first may cause affliction for a little while? 
 but a fool as long as life endures." Again: "Of what 
 use is a cow who has no milk with her calf? Of 
 what use is a son who has neither knowledge nor 
 virtue? Better it is that a wife be barren, that she 
 bear daughters or dead children, and that the family 
 should become extinct, than that a son, endowed with 
 your form, wealth, and family-credit should want un- 
 derstanding." If, therefore, by any means their minds 
 can be roused, do you declare it.'
 
 INTROD UC TION. 
 
 " On this a counsellor replied : ' Prince, the study of 
 grammar alone is the work of twelve years, how then 
 is a knowledge oi Dharina, Arfha, Kama, and MoksJia^ 
 to be speedily conveyed?' Another counsellor, named 
 Sumati, observed : ' Prince, the powers of man are 
 limited by his transitory existence; but to acquire a 
 knowledge of language alone demands much time. It 
 is better that we think of some means of communicat- 
 ing the substance of each science in a compendious 
 form; as it is said: "The Sahda 6<?J"/n' (Philology) is a 
 boundless ocean : life is short, and the difficulties are 
 many; the essence, therefore, is to be taken, as the 
 swan extracts the milk from the water."- There is a 
 Brahman, named Vishnfi Sarma, celebrated for his 
 perfect acquisition of the sciences. To him entrust 
 your sons, and he will render them well-informed." On 
 hearing this, the king sent for Vishnu Sarma, and 
 addressed him: 'Venerable Brahman, confer a favour 
 upon me, by instructing these princes in polite litera- 
 ture, and rendering them superior to the youths, their 
 companions ; in recompense of which I promise you 
 lands of large extent.' Vishnu Sarma replied: ' Hear, 
 
 1 The four objects or occupations of human life : Duty, Wealth, 
 Desire, and Final Liberation. 
 
 - This is a popular notion among the Hindus : because the 
 bird seems, as they imagine, to extract his food by suction, from 
 solution in water, wherefore a bird of this genus is considered to 
 be an emblem of discrimination, as being capable of separating 
 milk from water. — Note by H. T. Colebrookc.
 
 AN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN ROMANCE. xxiii 
 
 O king, my words. I am not a retailer of knowledge 
 for lands and wealth; but if I do not instruct your sons 
 in the Nlti Sdstra (Polity), I will forego my own name. 
 There is no need to say more. I do not utter this 
 vaunt through any desire of wealth; for wealth is use- 
 less to any one whose passions are mortified and 
 subdued. I wish but to gratify you, and to do the 
 will of Saraswati. Let it be written, therefore, that if, 
 in six months from this day, I do not make the jDrinces 
 more proficient than many people in various branches 
 of knowledge, it shall not be allowed to me, a Brah- 
 man, to point out the way of God.' The king, highly 
 gratified by this assurance, delivered his sons to him 
 and retired; and Vishnu Sarma, taking the princes 
 with him, repaired to his own house, where, for their 
 instruction, he composed these five chapters. Reading 
 these, the princes were, in six months, highly accom- 
 plished, and theFiveTantras became famous throughout 
 the world. Whosoever reads this work acquires the 
 whole Nitl Sdstra, and will never be overthrown by 
 Indra himself" 
 
 The resemblance between the leading idea of the 
 tale of Sindibad and the biblical story of Joseph and 
 the wife of Potiphar is very obvious. But the incident 
 is found in an Egyptian romance — the oldest extant 
 fairy tale — which dates from the 14th century B.C., 
 " when Pharaoh Ramses Miamun, the founder of 
 Pithom and Ramses, ruled at I'hebes, and literature
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 celebrated its highest triumphs at his briUiant court: 
 nine pre-eminent savans were attached to the person 
 of the king, the contemporary of Moses." ^ The 
 following is an abstract of the first part of this ancient 
 tale (it is among the papyri in the British Museum) : 
 
 The story relates to two brothers, of the same mother 
 and father; the name of the elder was Anapou (Anubis), 
 that of the younger was Satou. Anapou, being the head 
 of the house, married, and he treated his younger 
 brother as his son. (Some obliterations here occur, 
 but it appears that Satou was a skilful feeder of cattle, 
 and that he led his brother's herds every day to the 
 pasture, and brought them back at night to their stalls.) 
 " When the season of tillage arrived, the elder brother 
 said to him: 'Let us take the teams and go to plough, 
 for the land appears \i.e., the water of the inundation 
 had subsided], and is fit for culture. When we have 
 ploughed it, you shall fetch the seed.' So the young 
 man proceeded to execute what his elder brother told 
 him." The story goes on to the following effect: The 
 ploughing being finished, the elder brother sends the 
 younger home to fetch seed. On arriving at the house, 
 the young man finds his brother's wife engaged in 
 combing her hair. He asks her for corn, and she bids 
 him go to the granary and help himself, while she 
 completes her toilette. Satou fetches one of the largest 
 baskets, in order to carry back as much corn as possible. 
 
 ^ Deutsch's Literary Remams : Egypt, Ancient and Modern.
 
 AN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN ROMANCE. xxv 
 
 On his return from the granary, laden with barley and 
 wheat, the lady compliments him upon his strength. 
 and addresses him in precisely the same fashion as the 
 wife of Potiphar addressed the Hebrew Joseph. Satou 
 indignantly rejects her advances, and departs with 
 his load, promising, however, to observe the strictest 
 silence as to what had occurred. The wife of Anapou 
 determines to be revenged; and when the husband 
 returns in the evening, he is astonished to find his 
 wife stretched on the bed, apparently lifeless, stripped 
 of her clothes, and with all the outward semblance of 
 having been the victim of violent outrage. " AVho has 
 been speaking with thee?" he inquires. "No man 
 hath spoken to me," is the reply, " but thy brother, 
 when he came to fetch corn." And she then proceeds 
 to tell the story, mutatis mutandis, and concludes with 
 conjuring her husband to take summary vengeance 
 upon the offender. " The elder brother became as 
 furious as a panther; he sharpened his sword, and 
 took it in his hand. Then he went and stood behind 
 the door of the stall, ready to kill his younger brother 
 on his arrival in the evening with his cattle, ^^'hen 
 the sun set, Satou came back, according to his daily 
 wont. As he approached, the cow which walked first 
 said to her keeper : ' Methinks thy elder brother is 
 yonder, with his sword ready to kill thee when thou 
 comest near him.' He heard the words of the first 
 cow, and then came another and said the same. Then 
 he looked under the door of the stall, and he saw the
 
 INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 feet of his brother, who stood behind the door, sword 
 in hand. He threw his load on the ground, and began 
 to run as fast as he could, and his brother pursued 
 him, sword in hand." Satou invokes the aid of the 
 sun-god Ra, who causes a wide river full of crocodiles 
 to flow between the two brothers. The younger calls to 
 the elder to wait until next day, when he will give a 
 full explanation. Accordingly, when the sun rises, he 
 relates the true state of the affair, reproaches his brother 
 with his credulity, and, calling the sun to witness his 
 innocence, he inflicts a grievous mutilation upon him- 
 self, and falls fainting on the bank of the river. The 
 elder brother is much afflicted, but is unable to go to 
 his assistance on account of the crocodiles. Satou at 
 length recovers, and announces his intention of quit- 
 ting his brother's company and of retiring to the valley 
 of the acacia, a remote place, apparently beyond the 
 Hmits of Egypt. ^ 
 
 1 Cambridge Essays, 1858 : "Hieratic Papyri," by C. W, Good- 
 man, M. A., pp. 233-235. — Deutsch remarks: " This hieroglyphic 
 document is the only one hitherto known which belongs to the 
 world of fiction. . . Apart from the general literary interest 
 attaching to this relic of more than 3000 years ago — which gains 
 a peculiar significance from the fact that it was first written and 
 read at the very court of Ramses II, at which Moses was 
 educated — it incidentally reveals so much of the manners and 
 customs, the notions and views of that peculiar era of ancient 
 Egypt, that we cannot be too grateful for its almost miraculous 
 preservation." The style, he says, is "lucid and clear, and, 
 though full of poetic fancy, yet simple and unaffected."
 
 " WOMAN WHOSE LOVE IS SCORNED:' xxvii 
 
 Such is the earliest example of the aphorism, " The 
 woman whose love is scorned is worse than poison." 
 Classical legend affords another instance in the tale of 
 Phjedra and Hippolytus, and it is probable that the 
 same incident has often actually occurred in different 
 countries and times. — M. Paulin Paris cites the fol- 
 lowing anecdote, as being historically true, and as 
 having exercised a certain influence on the oldest 
 l^'rench form of the romance (DolopatJtos), in which 
 the name of the prince, like that of one of the victims 
 in this tragedy, is l.ucinian: 
 
 Fausta, the daughter of the tyrant Maximian, was 
 the second wife of the great Constantine. For a long 
 time she had the most decisive influence over that 
 prince, and she had stopped at nothing to ensure the 
 success and glory of his reign. She had actually sacri- 
 ficed to the interests of the emperor the honour and 
 the life of her father. Crispus, son of the first wife, 
 having long appeared to inspire her with an almost 
 maternal love, afterwards Fausta manifested entirely 
 contrary feelings. Whether for the purpose of opening 
 for her own children the path to the throne, or to take 
 revenge of the slight shown to her by her step-son, she 
 accused Crispus of meditating to kill his father, and of 
 wishing to soil the nuptial couch. To give more colour 
 to her imposture, she included in the same accusation 
 the young Lucinian, the son of the hateful Lucinius, 
 and then hardly fourteen years of age. Constantine, 
 too easily persuaded of the crimes of which the two
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 princes were accused, condemned both to the last 
 I)unishment which they would have merited had they 
 been guiltw But the unhappy father was not long 
 before he repented himself of his credulity : he learned 
 at the same time of the misconduct and infidelity of 
 Fausta, and the execution of that princess was the just 
 expiation of the death of Crispus and Lucinian.^ 
 
 And Keller has remarked that two pictures by 
 Dierick Stuerbout {circa 1462) exhibit a similar his- 
 tory; the Baron Von Keverberg describes them thus: 
 These pictures represent a tragic history, told in an 
 ancient chronicle of the town of Louvain, entitled 
 Legende Doree (Golden Legend), as having happened 
 in the year 985. It informs us that the Emperor Othb 
 had caused an illustrious count to be beheaded. The 
 empress had conceived a violent love for him, and had 
 falsely accused him of the same crime, because he 
 would not respond to her adulterous passion. The 
 tragic end of the count is the subject of the first 
 picture. In the second his weeping widow is kneeling 
 before the em])eror. Holding in one hand the bleed- 
 ing head of her husband, and in the other a red-hot 
 iron, she proves the innocence of the dead count. 
 Otho, enraged, condemned the empress to the flames, 
 wherein she paid the penalty of her crime.^ 
 
 ^ Paulin Paris : Etude snr les diffirents Textes, imprimes et 
 tnanuscrits, dn Roman des Sept Sages, 
 
 '^ Dyoclctiamis Lehcn, etc. Von Adelbert Keller. Quedlinburg 
 und Leipzig, 1841. Einleitung, p. 43.
 
 " WOMAN WHOSE LOVE IS SCORNED:' xxix 
 
 In the Turkish romance of the Fo7-ty Vazlrs, it is 
 related (by the 17th Vazir) that a certain young man, 
 at Mecca, during the season of pilgrimage, and when 
 famine prevailed, went to purchase some wheat of a 
 woman, who at first refused to sell him any, but after- 
 wards promised him a load of wheat on condition that 
 he would make merry with her. f]ut the good youth 
 repelled her advances, upon which she threatened to 
 call her neighbours and complain against him. He 
 then stole into an inner room, intending to mutilate 
 himself (like the Egyptian Satou), when, lo! the wall 
 miraculously opened, and he found outside ten camels 
 laden with wheat — the gift of Allah, as a reward of 
 his piety and virtue. 
 
 But the frame of the Book of Sindibad rests (as 
 Professor Benfey has pointed out) on a story out of 
 the life of Asoka, the great defender of Buddhism. 
 After the death of his first wife, Asandhimitra, he 
 made one of his female servants his queen. This 
 second wife had fallen in love with, but had been 
 rejected by, a son of the king by another wife, Pad- 
 mavati, the name of the son being Dharmavivardhana, 
 or (from his beautiful eyes) Kunala. The son was sent 
 by his father against 1 akshasila, which was in revolt. 
 During the prince's absence, the king was seized with 
 a dangerous malady, and determined to set Kunala on 
 the throne. The queen, foreseeing that this would be 
 her ruin, promised to heal the king's disorder. This
 
 INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 she did; and being offered by the king any gift she 
 might ask, she desired the favour of exercising the 
 regal power for seveti days, and employed this time in 
 sending to Takshasila and having the prince's eyes 
 put out. The blind son comes before his father as a 
 lute-player, and is recognised, and the Queen is burnt.^ 
 The story has deeply penetrated Indian literature. 
 In a Telegu palm-leaf manuscript entitled Sdrang- 
 dhara Charita, described by Dr. H. H. Wilson, the 
 hero, Sarangdhara, is the son of Rajamahendra, king 
 of Rajamahendri, whose step-mother Chitrangi falls in 
 love with him. He rejects her advances, on which she 
 accuses him to the king of attempting to violate her, 
 and the king orders him to have his feet cut off, and 
 to be exposed in the forest to wild beasts. There a 
 voice from heaven proclaims that the prince in his 
 former life was Jayanta, minister of Uhaval Chandra, 
 who, being envious of Sumanta, one of his colleagues, 
 contrived to hide the slippers of Sumanta under the 
 bed of the queen. The king, finding them and ascer- 
 taining whose they were, commanded Sumanta to be 
 exposed to wild beasts after having his legs and hands 
 cut off; in retribution of which Jayanta, now Sarang- 
 dhara, suffers the like mutilation. He acknowledges 
 the justice of the sentence, and his wounds are healed 
 by a Yogi. A voice from heaven apprises the king of 
 the innocence of his son, and he takes Sarangdhara 
 
 ^ Orient und Occident, iii, p. i ^^.
 
 " JVOMAiV WHOSE LOVE IS SCORNED." xxxi 
 
 back and puts Chitrangi to death. Sarangdhara adopts 
 a religious life. — In the Tamil version, when the prince 
 has been mutilated and cast into the jungle, his dead 
 mother's lamentations are heard by the Siddhas, who 
 restore the prince's limbs, and a voice from heaven 
 apprises the king of Chitrangi's guilt. — Again: In the 
 Kinnara Rama C/iarifa, Ratnangi, one of the wives of 
 Raja Kampila, became enamoured of Kumara Rama, 
 his youngest son, and importuned him to gratify her 
 desires. Finding him inexorable, her love was changed 
 to hatred, and she complained to Kampila that Rama 
 had attempted her chastity. Kampila in a rage ordered 
 Rama to be put to death instantly, with his four chief 
 leaders. The minister Bachapa, however, secreted 
 Rama and his friends in his palace, and decapitating 
 five ordinary criminals, produced their heads to the 
 raja as those of his intended victims. Kampila soon 
 repented of his haste, and the prince's death was the 
 subject of universal sorrow. After some time Rama 
 reappeared, and the Princess Ratnangi, on hearing of 
 this, hanged herself, by which Kampila was satisfied 
 of the innocence of his son.^ 
 
 To the sporadic part of the family of the Sindibad 
 belong the Turkish romance of the Forty Vas/rs, the 
 Persian Ten VazJrs (generally called the Bakhtydr 
 
 ^ Descriptive Catalogue of the Mackenzie Collection of Oriental 
 MSS., etc. By H. H. Wilson, Calcutta, 1828.
 
 INTROD UC TION. 
 
 Ndma), and the Hindu Alakeswara Katha. — The 
 frame of the Forty Vazlrs corresponds pretty closely 
 with that of the Book of Sindibad, but the eighty 
 subordinate tales, related by the vazirs and the lady 
 alternately, are, with but one or two exceptions, quite 
 different from those found in the several texts of the 
 Seven Vazirs, or AVise Men. This romance is said to 
 have been composed, from an old Arabian work, 
 entitled, The Forty Mornings and Forty Evenings^ 
 early in the 15th century. — The plan of the Bakhtydr 
 Ndma (or the Ten Vazirs) is essentially different from 
 the frame of the Sindibad books, in which, as we have 
 seen, the prince must keep strict silence for seven 
 days, he is tempted by one of his father's women, who 
 falsely accuses him, and the vazirs, or wise men, save 
 his life from day to day, by relating tales to the king, 
 until the period of danger to the prince is past. All 
 this is precisely reversed in the Bakhtydr N'd/iia, the 
 outline of which is as follows : 
 
 A king, flying with his wife from his kingdom, which 
 is in revolt, is obliged to abandon his newly-born son 
 near a well. The infant is found by a robber-chief, 
 who adopts and educates him as his own son. Mean- 
 while the king recovers his kingdom. It happens that 
 the robber-chief, at the head of his band, attacks a 
 large caravan, and is defeated, many of his followers 
 being killed or taken prisoners, and among the latter 
 is the robber-chiefs adopted son. When the prisoners 
 are brought before the king, he is struck witli the grace
 
 FRAME OF THE BAKHTYAR NAM A. xxxiii 
 
 and beauty of the youth — his own son, but, of course, 
 unknown to him — pardons him and takes him into 
 his service. One evening the young man, dazed with 
 wine, wanders into the private apartments of the 
 palace, seeking his way out, and, not knowing what he 
 is doing, lays himself down on the royal couch, and 
 falls asleep. In this condition he is discovered by the 
 king, who, concluding that the queen must be privy to 
 the youth's presence there, is naturally furious, sends 
 for the queen, and accuses her of infidelity, which she 
 denies; and the king causes her and the young man to 
 be confined separately, until he has considered what 
 had best be done. In the morning the prime vazir, 
 who is envious of the youth's favour with the king, 
 having learned the particulars of the affair of the pre- 
 ceding night, obtains leave to visit the queen, and 
 assures her that his Majesty would not be convinced 
 that she was innocent, and counsels her, if she would 
 save her own life, to accuse the youth (who is only 
 the son of a robber, he reminds her) of having stolen 
 unawares into the harem, and professed love to her. 
 After much persuasion, she at length consents to the 
 vazir's proposal, and having accused the young man, 
 the king gives orders for him to be brought before him 
 and put to death. But the youth speaks eloquendy 
 in his own behalf, and incites the king's curiosity to 
 hear a certain talc in illustration of the evils of pre- 
 cipitation, which, leave being granted, he relates, and 
 is then sent back to prison. Next morning the second 
 
 c
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 vazir presents himself before the king, and urges him 
 to put the youth to death. The young man is again 
 brought forth to be executed, when he obtains leave 
 to relate another story, showing the deplorable con- 
 sequences of rashness, after which he is once more 
 remanded to prison. In this manner, each of the Ten 
 Vazirs in turn seeks the youth's destruction, and he 
 pleads his own cause by means of eloquent speeches 
 and impressive tales, until the eleventh day, when he 
 is led out to execution, and his foster-father the robber- 
 chief, recognises him, hastens to the king, and implores 
 the life of the youth whom he had found in the wilder- 
 ness so many years ago; and showing the jewels which 
 were upon the infant, the king sees with horror that he 
 was about to murder his own son, and puts the envious 
 vazirs to an ignominious death. 
 
 It will thus be seen that the frame of the Bakhtydr 
 Ndma is very remotely related to the Sindibad books : 
 in place of a dumb prince and his seven defenders, we 
 have an eloquent youth defending himself against his 
 ten false accusers. I have been at the trouble of 
 sketching the frame of this romance, because it is 
 commonly included in the Sindibad cycle, by writers, 
 loo, who ought to know better.^ 
 
 ' Thus Godeke says ( Orient tend Occident, iii , p. 388) : ' ' This form 
 which gives the power of speech only to the Masters, besides 
 being found in XakhshabI [of which I shall have somewhat to 
 say presently], has been adopted only by the Ten Vazirs, and by 
 Herbers" — a most preposterous statement, since the Ten Vazirs
 
 HISTORY OF THE BOOK OF SI ND I BAD. xxxv 
 
 The third romance of the sporadic group, the Ala- 
 keswara Kathd, closely resembles the tale of Bakhytar 
 and the Ten A^izirs: this is a story, written in the 
 Tamil language, of the raja of Alakapur, and his four 
 ministers, who, " being falsely accused of violating the 
 sanctity of the inner apartments, vindicate their inno- 
 cence and disarm the king's wrath by relating a number 
 of stories," one of which is the familiar tale of the Lost 
 Camel, found also in the Talmud. ^ 
 
 Much obscurity surrounds the early history of the 
 Book of Sindibad, notwithstanding the important dis- 
 coveries of European scholars during the last thirty 
 years. The work of Des Longchamps is often mis- 
 leading, and his theories regarding the introduction 
 of the romance into Europe and the pedigree of the 
 Eastern texts are now, for the most part, set aside — 
 being superseded by the laborious investigations of 
 such learned and acute men as Baethgen, Benfey, 
 Brockhaus, Comparetti, Godeke, Keller, Montaiglon, 
 Mussafia, Noldeke, Paulin Paris, etc.; but when and 
 where the original work was composed, and how it 
 
 are the accusers, not the defenders, of the young man, and do 
 not relate any tales. 
 
 1 Descriptive Catalogue of the Mackenzie Collection of J\ISS. , 
 etc. By H, H. Wilson. Vol. i, p. 220.
 
 IN TROD UC 770 N. 
 
 was first spread abroad, are questions which have not 
 )et been satisfactorily answered. True, Ma'sudi, who 
 has been styled the Herodotus of the Arabs, in his 
 great historical work, Meadows of Gold and Mines of 
 Gems, written about a.d. 943-4, speaking of the Indian 
 kings, says: " In the reign of Kurush lived As-Sindibad, 
 who is the author of the Story of the Seven Vazirs, the 
 Preceptor, the Boy, and the Wife of the King. This 
 is the work," he adds, "which is called the Book of 
 Sindibad." And nearly to the same purpose is the 
 evidence lately found, some sixty years earlier than 
 Ma'sudi, viz., Al-Ya'qubi, who wrote about a.d. 880, 
 and who says, also referring to the ancient Indian 
 kings: "To them belongs Kush,i who was in the time 
 of Sindibad the Wise; and this Kush composed the 
 Book of the Craft of Women." But from these writers 
 we only learn that, according to tradition, the romance 
 was originally written in India. That either the sage 
 Sindibad or the mythical king Kurush, or Kilsh, was the 
 author is, of course, absurd : there is no more reason 
 to suppose that Sindibad was the author of the work 
 which bears his name than that Vishnu Sarma com- 
 posed the Fancha Tantra, or Bidpai the Kalila wa 
 Diinna. Farther, we see that the romance was well 
 known — and almost certainly in an Aral)ic form — about 
 A.D. 880. But, according to the Fihrist, Aban Lahiqi, 
 who died a.d. 815-16, composed the tale in rhymed 
 
 ' In an astronomical work much used by Ya'qubi the name is 
 written Karush.
 
 THE GREEK VERSION. 
 
 couplets, which throws its date l)ack to the early years 
 of the gth century, and the prose version from which 
 it was derived may have been fifty years older — dating 
 about the middle of the Sth century. 
 
 The oldest extant text derived directly froni an 
 Eastern source was until lately assumed to be the 
 Greek version, entitled Syntipcu^ (evidently a corrup- 
 tion of Sindibad), composed, by one Andreopulos, from 
 the Syriac, as we are informed in his prologue: 
 
 "This book which thou seest, (m)) friend, is (the 
 work) of the fabulist Syntipas, according to the Syrians, 
 nay, rather (according to) the wise prose-writers of 
 the Persians: which being drawn up in the Syrian 
 language, I, Andreopulos, worshipper of Christ, the 
 last [or humblest] of authors, have indited this book, 
 and translated it into the Greek phraseology of the 
 present time. Having been appointed, this work (is) 
 at the command of Gabriel, the renown of grandees, 
 the august Duke of the city of Melitene — (he) wlio is 
 truly a devout dweller in the house of Christ — who 
 also decided these (fables) should be set forth, because 
 they do not exist in the books of the modern Greeks. 
 For this collection especially denounces evil-doers, and 
 at the close eulogises deeds admirably achieved." 
 
 To Professor Comparetti belongs the honour of 
 having identified the august Duke Gabriel, at whose 
 
 1 This Greek text was published, from two manuscripts in the 
 King's Library, at Paris, by Boissonade, in 1825 ; and a critical 
 edition, by Eberhard, was printed at Leipzig, in 1872.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 command the work was translated, with the prince of 
 the same name who ruled in Melitene between 1086 
 and 1 100; the date of the Greek version may thus be 
 referred to the last decade of the nth century.^ In 
 the preface the book is stated to be translated into 
 Syriac from the work of " Mousos the Persian." A 
 unique but, unfortunately, imperfect MS. of the Syriac 
 text was discovered by RiJdiger, and printed, with a 
 German translation, by Baethgen, in 1879.- "There 
 can be no doubt," says Noldeke, in a most interesting 
 and important review in the Journal of the German 
 Oriental Society, vol. xxxiii, "that this is the Syriac 
 book translated into Greek by Andreopulos. Both 
 agree in the general course of the narrative, and also 
 in the brevity of the introduction. Even in details, 
 the Syntipas shows itself to be, not indeed a literal 
 translation, but yet a translation tolerably correct as 
 to the sense. Hence we must conclude that the parts 
 wanting in the Syriac text stood as they are found in 
 Syntipas. But the style of the two is very different. 
 The Syriac narrates plainly and naturally; Syntipas is 
 prolix, ornate, and turgid. . . The greater prolixity 
 arises simply from the manner of the translator: even 
 
 1 Researches respecting the Book of Sindibdd, by Domenico Com- 
 paretti, pp. 55-58. — This valuable work was translated by 
 Mr. Henry Charles Coote, and published for the Folk-Lore 
 Society, 1882. 
 
 2 Sindban, oder die Siehen Weiscn Mcister, Syrisch nnd Deutsch, 
 von Fried. Baethgen. Leipzig, 1879.
 
 CASTILIAN AND HEBREW VERSIONS. xxxix 
 
 his additions are as strong a contrast to the mode of 
 the original as the rest." — The work of Musa the Per- 
 sian (presumably written in the Arabic, from the 
 Pahlavi) is now apparently lost, but it must have been 
 extant in the middle of the 13th century, since a 
 Castilian rendering, from the Arabic, made in 1253,^ 
 corresponds in most respects with the Syriac and its 
 Greek derivative. About the same time a Hebrew 
 version 2 was composed, probably also from the Arabic, 
 in which many liberties are taken with the original — 
 stories omitted, others inserted, names given to the 
 seven counsellors, etc. 
 
 To recapitulate: the Book of Sindibad was brought 
 from India, its native country, to Persia, where it was 
 translated into Pahlavi (as were the Fables of Bidpai 
 in the 6th century); from Pahlavi, Musa rendered it 
 into Arabic, about the middle of the 8th century; from 
 Arabic it was translated into Syriac, into old Spanish, 
 
 ^ Libra de los Engannos et los Asayamientos de las Mugeres : ' 
 Book of the Deceits and Tricks of Women. — This text, with a 
 translation into English by Mr. H. C. Coote, is appended to 
 Professor Comparetti's Researches. 
 
 '- Mishle Sandabar : Parables of Sandabar. A French trans- 
 lation of this version, by Carmoly, was published at Paris, 1849. 
 In the preface to the edition of Rolland's Sevin Seages printed 
 for the Bannatyne Club it is stated that the Hebrew text was 
 "first printed, at Constantinople, in 1516, and afterwards, at 
 Vienna, in 1544, 1568, and 1605. " According to Dempster 
 (Hist. Eccles., p. 364), James Bonaventure Hepburn translated 
 the work from Hebrew into Latin.
 
 INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 and into Hebrew; from Syriac into Greek. Thus far, 
 satisfactory; but not so, when we inquire into the 
 source of Persian texts. 
 
 According to Daulat Shah, the tale of Sindibad was 
 composed in Persian verse by Azraqi, who died at 
 Herat, a.d. 1132 (a.h. 537). This work seems no 
 longer extant; but it is cited in the Jehangiri Dic- 
 tionary (a.d. 1576): "Whoever sees, O king, the 
 counsels of Sindibad well knows that therein the poet's 
 art is difficult." And Sa'di probably quotes from it in 
 his Bustdn: "How charmingly has this subtle remark 
 been expressed in (the book of) Sindibad, saying: 
 'Love is a fire, O my son; advice, a wind.' "^.Vith wind 
 does fierce fire become more aspiring, (as) by beating 
 does a leopard become more enraged." 
 
 Another Persian poetical version, entitled Sindibad 
 Ndma^ was written, by an unknown author, in a.d. 1375, 
 an epitome of which is contained in the present volume. 
 The author informs us that his royal patron one day 
 taxed him with being lazy: "Perform," said the king, 
 " such an achievement with the sword of the pen as 
 shall live as long as swords are wielded. Turn into 
 verse, during my reign, some prose work, that my 
 memory may be perpetuated : let it be the Tale of 
 Sindibad." To this the poet replied: "If God grant 
 me his aid, and if my life be spared, I will turn into 
 verse that celebrated book." Having stated the year 
 when his poem was composed (a.h. 776), proceeding 
 to the tale, he begins: "An Arabian by descent, but
 
 PERSIAN PROSE VEIiSIOA'.- xli 
 
 speaking the Persian tongue, has thus informed me, 
 in eloquent language, that there lived in India a sage 
 and mighty monarch," and so on (see pp. 5-7). It thus 
 appears that the Tale of Sindibad was known to our 
 poet and his royal patron only in a prose form, 
 the author of which was an Arab by descent, which 
 Falconer thought might afford ground for conjecture 
 that the Arab had found the tale in the language of 
 his family and translated it from Arabic into Persian : 
 the usual ])rocess by which works in Pahlavi were 
 returned in later ages to, the Persians was through 
 the Arabic. 
 
 But there was a modern Persian prose version in 
 this country some forty years since, purporting to be 
 derived from the Pahlavi through the Dari, which has 
 long escaped notice in the investigation of the gene- 
 alogy of the Book of Sindibad. It is thus referred to 
 by Mr. W. H. Morley, in a letter to Mr. E. W. Lane, 
 dated August, 1841, which is printed in Lane's trans- 
 lation of the Thousand and One Nights, vol. iii, p. 681 : 
 
 "Some time since the Oriental Translation Com- 
 mittee were kind enough to lend me a manuscript 
 ' from their library, comprising four volumes and con- 
 taining a collection of tales in the Persian language. 
 Many of these I translated with a view to publication, 
 but one story (occurring in the 4th volume) which is 
 similar in construction to t\\Q. Bakhtydr Nama} and 
 
 ^ This is not correct — see outline of that romance, pp. xxxii- 
 xxxiv, above.
 
 xlii INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 is preceded by a very curious preface, I reserved for 
 more particular consideration at a future period. On 
 reading the twenty-third number of your excellent 
 translation of the Alf Laila u<a Laila I was struck 
 by finding in the Abstract of the Story of the King, 
 and his Son, the Damsel, and the Seven Vazirs the 
 name of the sage As-Sindibad, and the circumstances 
 related in the introduction coincided with those in the 
 Persian story above alluded to. I suspected that they 
 must be identical, and was fully satisfied that they were 
 so, when on referring to the MS. I found that the same 
 tales occurred in both. The great importance of the 
 Persian version consists in its preface, which is 
 omitted both in your edition and the MS. of the 
 British Museum, and which is exceedingly valuable 
 as an evidence of the Persian origin of the story. The 
 preface states that the book is named the Kitab-i Sindi- 
 bdd, and that it was collected from the sages of ' Ajam. 
 It then says : ' This book was originally in the Pahlavi 
 tongue, and till the time of the Amir Nasiru-'d-Dawla 
 Abu Muhammad Niih bin Mansur Samani, it had not 
 been translated by any person, the Amir commanded 
 that the Kh'aja Amid Abu-'l-Fawaris Fatadzari should 
 translate it and set right the discrepancies and errors 
 he might find therein. In the year 338 [a.d. 949] 
 the aforesaid Kh'aja undertook the task, and con- 
 verted it into the Dari language.' The author of the 
 preface, Muhammad bin 'Ali bin Muhammad bin 
 Husayn Az-Zahir Al-Katib As-Samarqandi, then men-
 
 THE ARABIC VERSION. xliii 
 
 tions that he has rendered the Dari translation into 
 modern Persian, and dedicates his work to Abu-'l 
 Muzaffar Qihj Tamghah Khaqan."^ 
 
 The Arabic version referred to by Morley as agreeing 
 with his text is that of the Seven Vazirs in the Thousand 
 and One Nights — based, of course, upon the old Arabic 
 text derived from the Pahlavi, but composed at a much 
 more recent period than any of the other Eastern 
 versions. The introduction is abridged and garbled; 
 a number of the original tales have been suppressed 
 and others substituted. Morley's statement that the 
 same stories occur in both his text and that of Lane 
 must be understood in a restricted sense, otherwise his 
 text was considerably later than the 12th century. He 
 probably meant that certain stories in Lane's version 
 also occurred in his text. — The approximate date of the 
 modern Persian version of As-Samarqandi is, according 
 to Morley, a.h. 590 (a.d. 1193), when a prince of a 
 somewhat similar name to that of the author's patron, 
 Tamghah Khaqan, flourished. Azraqi's poem was com- 
 
 ^ This manuscript seems to have disappeared from the Library 
 of the Royal Asiatic Society, London, many years ago. It is 
 thus described by Morley : " The story in the Persian MS. com- 
 prises Wj folia, and is written in three different hands : the first 
 part is in very illegible Shikastah, and has been apparently added 
 since the exaration of the other two, which are in the Nastalik 
 character : the latter portion has been taken from a smaller 
 volume, and inlaid to make it conform in size with the rest, and 
 the other volumes of the collection."
 
 xliv IN TROD UC TION. 
 
 posed about 70 years before that date, and if the 
 foregoing account be accurate, it was doubtless de- 
 rived from the Dari text. But even had we not good 
 reason to beheve that the work existed in Arabic long 
 before the date of the I )ari translation, it were almost 
 incredible that it should remain in the Pahlavi till 
 A.D. 949. Possibly, something has been omitted in the 
 preface quoted by Morley — mention of the intermediate 
 Arabic text may have been deliberately suppressed by 
 some copyist, if not indeed by As-Samanpndi himself. 
 Let us rather conclude that from the Arabic the work 
 was translated into the Dari in the loth century, and 
 suppose that As-Samarqandi was the very "Arabian 
 by descent, but speaking the Persian tongue," whose 
 version furnished the groundwork of the Suidibad 
 Nama. According to this view, the genealogy of the 
 romance would be as follows: 
 
 Pahlavi 
 
 I 
 
 Arabic 
 
 I 
 
 I I I I I 
 
 Syriac Hebrew Castilian Seven Vazirs Darl 
 
 looi Nights 
 
 Greek | | 
 
 Persian Verse Persian Prose 
 
 (AzraqT) (As-Samarqandl) 
 I 
 Persian Verse 
 (Sindibad Nama) 
 
 The tale of the Seven Vazirs occurs in three printed 
 texts of the Thotismid and 0?ie Nig/iis: the text edited 
 by Macnaughtan, at Calcutta; that edited by Habicht
 
 NAKHSHABPS VERSION. xlv 
 
 and Fleischer, at Breslau; and the edition printed at 
 Bulaq (sometimes called the Cairo text), which corre- 
 sponds pretty nearly with the Calcutta text, and which 
 was the basis of Lane's translation. It is also found in 
 the Rich MSS. Nos. 7404, 7405, 7406, an imperfect 
 copy of the Nights brought from Bagdad, of which an 
 analysis was published in the Asiatic Journal, 1839 — 
 the Seven Vazirs is in the third volume of this MS; 
 and in the fragment of a MS. of the Nights procured 
 in Bengal, now, I believe, in the Bodleian Library at 
 Oxford. 1 Although these versions are much corrupted 
 from the original, such as we now possess it in the 
 oldest Eastern texts, yet, says Professor Noldeke, "a 
 few of the stories are fairly preserved in almost the 
 sequence of words; and it may be asked whether a 
 careful examination of all the texts of this part of 
 the Thousand and One Nights might not give a con- 
 siderably better text. At all events, I am disposed to 
 lay upon this form of the book — which is still Arabic 
 — a somewhat greater value than has hitherto been 
 done." 
 
 Vet another version of the Seven Vazirs is found in 
 the Persian collection of Nakhshabi, entitled Tiiti 
 Ndina, Parrot-Book, composed early in the 14th cen- 
 tury, from an older Persian book of similar character, 
 based upon a Sanskrit work, of which the Suka Saptati, 
 Seventy Tales of a Parrot, is a modern redaction. In 
 
 ^ Jonathan Scott's translation of the Seven Vazirs as found in 
 this MS. is reprinted in the present volume.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 this version,^ the damsel does not relate any stories, 
 six of the vazirs have one story each, the seventh has 
 none, but directs, on the yth day, that the prince be 
 questioned, after which the damsel is condemned to 
 death, and the king abdicates the throne in favour of 
 his son. — Professor Noldeke thinks that the prose 
 Persian text used by the author of the Sindihdd Ndma 
 was the same as that from which Nakhshabi derived 
 the tales of his 8th Night, and that it was probably the 
 Sindibad of Muhammad bin 'Ali Daqa'iqi of Haji 
 Khalifa, No. 7259. This author is perhaps the same 
 with As-Samarqandi, also a Muhammad bin 'All. At 
 all events, Noldeke's theory of one text having been 
 used for both versions is certainly strengthened by the 
 circumstance, hitherto unnoticed, that the Story of the 
 Father-in-Law is found in both, and in no other known 
 texts of the Sindibad; and, farther, by the fact that the 
 Story of the Libertine Husband, which in the Greek and 
 other texts is fused with the Story of the Go-Between 
 and the She-Dog, appears in both as a separate tale, 
 which it assuredly was originally, and so occurs in the 
 Suka Saptati. 
 
 Professor Comparetti has attempted, with great 
 ingenuity, to explain the fusion of the stories of the 
 She- Dog and the Libertine Husband. An Arabian 
 writer of the loth century, Muhammad bin Al-Warraq, 
 
 1 The Eighth Night : Story of the Prince and the Seven Vazirs, 
 and the misfortune which happened to the Prince on account of 
 a Girl,
 
 THE SECOND SERIES OF TALES. xlvii 
 
 mentions two texts of the Book of Sindibad, a Greater 
 and a Lesser. According to Comparetti, originally 
 the vazirs had but one story each, and a second set was 
 added at a later period, thus constituting the Greater 
 Sindibad, which he considers is for us represented by 
 the Syntipas, where the second tales thus appear : 
 
 First Vazir, The Parrot 
 
 Second Vazir, Double Infidelity 
 
 Third Vazir, Rice Dealer 
 
 Fourth Vazir, She-Dog 
 
 Fifth Vazir, Burnt Cloth 
 
 Sixth Vazir, Bread Elephant 
 
 Seventh Vazir, Woman's Wiles 
 
 Six of this new series were taken from the Sicka Saptatl 
 (the tale of the Parrot being adapted from the frame), 
 the fourth forming, as in that collection, two tales, 
 originally thus: 
 
 Fourth Vazir, She-Dog 
 
 Fifth Vazir, Libertine Husband 
 
 " There was some one, however, who wished to intro- 
 duce the tale of the Burnt Cloth, and in order to do 
 this he united the story of the fifth vazir with that of 
 the fourth, and put the new tale in the vacant place." 
 But in the Persian Sindibad Ndma we find not only 
 the Story of the Burnt Cloth (though in a very different 
 form), but also the two others still separate; from which 
 it would appear that this text represents a more ancient 
 version than that from which the others were derived. 
 But Comparetti would perhaps be disposed to consider
 
 xl viii INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 this deduction as being more specious than sound. 
 His theory, however, is not favoured by Professor 
 Nbldeke, who has pointed out that in two MSS. of the 
 Fihrist is a passage stating that the Larger Sindibad was 
 translated by Asbagh bin 'Abdu-'l-'Aziz bin Sahm 
 Sijjistani, and bore the name of As/am and Sindbdd, 
 and "since in all our existing texts there is not a word 
 about Aslam or a similarly written name, we may 
 pretty confidently conclude that they represent the 
 lesser book." — The name of Aslam might have been 
 that of the prince; and the larger work probably dis- 
 appeared soon after the smaller form of it became 
 popular — just as Kaderi's abridgment of the TFdi 
 Ndma seems to have almost wholly superseded the 
 original work of Nakhshabi. The facility with which 
 manuscript copies of the smaller work could be multi- 
 plied would alone account for the disappearance of 
 the other. 
 
 All the six vazirs' tales in Nakhshabi occur also in 
 the Suka SaptatJ, and five are second tales in the Greek, 
 Syriac, and old Castilian texts — that of the second 
 vazir, the Libertine Husband, is in these the concluding 
 portion of the story of the She-Dog. — Professor Brock- 
 haus regarded Nakhshabi's version of the Seven Vazirs 
 as the most ancient, from its greater simplicity, only 
 the vazirs relating tales on the subject of the deceit of 
 women. "In this," he remarks, "the oldest of the 
 French versions, Dolopathos, strangely enough, agrees 
 with this Persian redaction, no doubt by chance." In
 
 THE SINDIBAD NAMA. xlix 
 
 the case of Dolopathos, the simple form clearly indi- 
 cates the manner in which the tale came into France, 
 viz., by oral tradition. The monkish author of the 
 original Latin text would probably exercise his own 
 judgment both in amplifying and embellishing the 
 frame, and in his choice of the subordinate stories. 
 Of the eight tales (seven told by the wise men and 
 one by the tutor), three only, the first two and the 
 last, are, so far as I am aware, found in later texts, 
 in which, however, the woman is given stories, and, in 
 place of the tutor, the prince relates the final tale.^ 
 
 By reference to the Comparative Table of Eastern 
 Texts, it will be seen that the Persian Sindibad Ndma 
 has, exclusively, four tales in the introduction. Of 
 these, Godeke has pointed out that the second, third, 
 and fourth occur, almost exactly in the same forms, in 
 the Avaddfias, or Indian apologues, translated by Stan. 
 Julien from the Chinese, and tliat "they thus reach 
 back to a time when the Buddhist teaching had 
 extended to China, which, according to Chinese state 
 annals, happened as far back as the first century of the 
 Christian era."- In a note on this, Comparetti, in p. 30 
 of his Researches, remarks that the fact of these tales 
 being of Buddhist origin proves nothing — they may 
 well have been introduced at a recent period. But 
 surely not in forms so near the originals? In the con- 
 
 ^ See Appendix, Nos. 32 and 33. 
 -' Orient luui Occident, iii, 393.
 
 INTROD UC riON. 
 
 elusion of this text it has two additional tales, one 
 of which, the Four Liberators, is unquestionably very 
 ancient. It is admitted on all hands that in the Syriac 
 and Greek texts the introduction is considerably 
 abridged. In the Persian, both introduction and con- 
 clusion are much more detailed — in short, there is 
 nothing in the plan of the poem to indicate suppres- 
 sion or curtailment, considering the deficiencies in the 
 MS., which are, unfortunately, both numerous and 
 serious. 1 But it will perhaps be contended that in this 
 the poet has used the freedom of enlarging upon his 
 original, and also of suppressing portions and substitut- 
 ing others, or that the author of his original had done 
 
 ^ Folio 41 is wanting; after fol. 44, a lacuna; fol. 57 is want- 
 ing; fol. 62, a lacuna; fol. 86, a lacuna, and the next 40 leaves 
 are displaced: 87-126 should be placed after 155, where another 
 deficiency occurs; fol. 126, a lacuna: 127-154 should follow 86, 
 where there is also a deficiency. — Godeke (in Orient iiiul Occi- 
 dent, iii, 394) conjectured that the five tales of the Greek text 
 which are not found in the Persian had been torn out of the 
 MS., "probably owing to something in their contents that was 
 offensive." The tales were certainly not torn out for any such 
 reason, since three of them — the Drop of Honey, the Fox, 
 and Destiny — have nothing whatever offensive in them ; of the 
 others, one is nauseous (the Loaves), and one is silly enough 
 (the Bread Elephant). Besides, as we now see, there was no 
 room for three of these, each of the vazirs having his two tales ; 
 the stories of The Fox and Destiny were probably in the MS. 
 originally. No doubt, many of the lacuna are to be explained 
 by the nature of some of the pictures that remain in the MS., of 
 which there arc about ninety.
 
 THE SINDIBAD NAMA. 
 
 SO. Let us see what reasons there are to assume the 
 Oreek text to be the best representative of the Book 
 of Sindibad as it was translated into Arabic from the 
 J*ahlavi — when, we do not know; but say, the middle 
 of the 8th century.i The only certain date we ])Ossess 
 is that of the Clreek text, namely, the latter years of 
 the 1 1 th century. The Syriac version may have been 
 composed from the Arabic one hundred years before 
 the (jreek, or about a.d. 990. Now, regarding the 
 Persian Sindibad iVaina : this was written so late 
 as 1375, from a prose version, "translated from the 
 Arabic," as is generally assumed, from the author's 
 statement that " an Arabian by descent^ but speaking the 
 Persian tongue," had furnished him with the material 
 of his poem. But unless we are to consider the pre- 
 face of As-Samarqandi to his text in the MS. described 
 by Morley (see above, p. xli) as a tissue of fabrica- 
 tions, from first to last, it will at least be conceded 
 that he translated it out of the Dari into modern 
 Persian, and, if so, the Arabic was certainly the source 
 of that Dari version; and between a.d. 949, the date of 
 the Dari, and a.d. 990, the possible date of the Syriac 
 (and it might have been even later), the Arabic text 
 may have undergone alterations such as we find in the 
 Syriac, Greek, and old Castilian versions. The Sindi- 
 
 ' We are informed of a poetical version having been made by 
 .a man who died a.d. 815, but since we do not know its contents 
 the fact goes for nothing m dealing with texts which are before 
 us. It presupposes, liowever, an earlier prose text.
 
 Hi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 bad Ndma — poem though it is — may therefore more 
 faithfully reflect the Book of Sindibad than the older 
 texts. All this, of course, is little better than conjec- 
 ture ; a comparison of the Persian prose text described 
 by Morley with the poem which may have been based 
 upon it (the Sindibad Nd?na) would probably satisfac- 
 torily settle the whole question, and it is to be hoped 
 that the missing MS. will yet be discovered. 
 
 The name of Sindbad^ is familiar to every school- 
 boy in Europe through the fascinating Arabian tale 
 of the Voyages of the venturous merchant, Sindbad the 
 Sailor, as he is commonly but erroneously styled. " It 
 is singular," says Hole, in his Remarks on that tale, 
 " that the names of both the narrator and auditor, 
 Sindbad and Hindbad, are derived, not from the 
 Arabic, but the old Persian language. Bad \abdd^^ 
 signifies a city; Si fid and IIi?td are the territories on 
 either side of the Indus. Si>id indeed is the original 
 name, as Hind is of those countries which lie between 
 it and the Ganges." But this etymology of the name 
 is rejected by Benfey, who derives it from Siddhapati, 
 lord of sages, or sorcerers : Siddhi being a Sanskrit 
 word, signifying "perfection of power," and those 
 
 1 Both Lane and Falconer write the name Sindibad, a form 
 which is retained in the present work, but which is a com- 
 paratively recent corruption. In the Sheref iVaina, the oldest 
 dictionary of Persian extant (though older vocabularies and 
 glossaries are known), the name is written Sindbdd.
 
 " THE CRAFT OF WOMEN:' liii 
 
 beings called Siddhas, who are supernaturally endowed, 
 figure frequently in Indian fictions. Applied to a mere 
 mortal, Siddhapati would indicate that such a man was 
 wise beyond all others. The termination bad could in 
 no case be identified with dbad, a place or an abode. 
 
 To what cause, it may be asked, does the Book of 
 Sindibad, as represented more or less closely in Asiatic 
 and European versions, owe its unfailing popularity 
 during so many ages of the world's history ? The 
 leading incident, of a youth being in imminent danger 
 of death in consequence of the malice of his step- 
 mother, has, no doubt, ever had a peculiar fascination 
 for readers of all ranks and ages ; but it is chiefly, as I 
 think, due to the circumstance that most of the subor- 
 dinate tales turn upon the wickedness, profligacy, and 
 craft of women. This is not only a characteristic of 
 Muslim tales, inspired probably by the low estimate 
 which the Prophet of Mecca is credited by tradition 
 with having entertained of the female sex, but it also 
 pervades much more ancient Indian fictions. These 
 attributes, as Dr. H. H. Wilson has observed, probably 
 " originate in the feelings w^hich have always pervaded 
 the East unfavourable to the dignity of women. But 
 we are not to mistake the language of satire, or the 
 licentiousness of wit, for truth, or to sui)])osc lliat
 
 liv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the pictures which are thus given of the depravity 
 of women owe not much of their colouring to tlie 
 mahgnity of men. The avidity with which this style 
 of portraiture was adopted and improved upon in 
 Europe shows that either the women of Christian 
 Europe were still more vicious than those of India, 
 or the men were still less disposed to treat them 
 with deference and esteem. It is in this respect that 
 stories of domestic manners contrast so remarkably 
 with the inventions of chivalric romance; and the 
 homage paid in the latter to the \-irtues and graces of 
 the female sex is a feature derived, in all probability, 
 from that portion of their parentage which comes from 
 the North, woman being ever held in higher honour 
 amongst the Teutonic nations than amongst those of 
 the South of Europe or of the East, and contributing, by 
 the elevating influence she was permitted to enjoy, to 
 their moral exaltation and martial superiority." 
 
 Our old English jest-books abound in tales of the 
 levity and perverseness of women, which are paral- 
 leled in the popular literature of all other European 
 countries. The well-worn story of the man whose 
 perverse wife was drowned, and he sought her against 
 the stream, alleging to his neighbours that she would 
 be sure to float up the river instead of being carried 
 with the current, is also domiciled in Oermany, Scan- 
 dinavia, and Russia. — An Eastern anecdote to the same 
 purpose seems a commentary on a saying ascribed to 
 Muhammad that a man should always do the o]-)posite
 
 THE CRAFT OF WOMEN." 
 
 of what his wife advises : A young man once went on 
 the roof of his house to repair it, and having finished the 
 task, called to his wife, and asked her how he should 
 come down. She answered: " Vou are a young and 
 active man- what hinders you from jumping down?" 
 He jumped accordingly, and dislocated his ankle, 
 which confined him to the house for many months; 
 and even when able to go about a little, his ankle was 
 still out of its place. He again had occasion to repair 
 his roof, and when he had done, he asked his wife how 
 he should come down this time. " O, by the stairs, to be 
 sure," quoth she. But when he reflected how he had 
 come to grief by following his wife's advice formerly, 
 he resolved to jump down, which he did, and, behold, 
 his ankle returned to its proper place. 
 
 It would appear that collections of " proverbs " 
 against women were common in England in the days 
 of Chaucer, if we may credit the Wife of Bath, whose 
 fifth husband, Jankins, clerk of Oxenforde, we are told, 
 had a book comprising tales of the wickedness of wives, 
 which he frequently pored over with pleasure. One 
 evening he was reading aloud portions of his book, 
 which so incensed his spouse that she tore three leaves 
 out of it, and then knocked him backwards into the fire. 
 Her husband, who was but half her age, bounded u}) 
 and felled her to the floor. Lying moaning, as if at 
 the point of death, she begged him to stoop down, 
 that she might kiss him in token of her forgiveness. 
 The husband bunt down, when, instead of kissing, she
 
 1 vi INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 bit him on the cheek. The end of the brawl was that 
 he became very penitent and burnt his book. 
 
 The sages of ancient Greece were no whit behind 
 the fablers of India in their bitter sayings about 
 women. Thus Antiphanes : " In a woman one thing 
 only I believe, that when she is dead she will not 
 come to life again; in all else I distrust her until she 
 is dead;" and Menander: " Of all wild beasts on earth 
 or in sea, the greatest is woman;" again: "Where are 
 women there are all kinds of mischief ;" and Diogenes, 
 seeing some women who had been hanged from the 
 boughs of an olive-tree, said : " I wish all trees bore 
 that kind of fruit." 
 
 Whether Somadeva is to be credited with all the 
 spiteful remarks upon women in the Katha Sarit 
 Sdgara, or he has merely versified what he found 
 ready to hand in the Vrihat Katha, some are con- 
 ceived in the most malignant spirit ; for example : 
 "Women, like prosperous circumstances, are never 
 faithful to any one in this world;" again: "A fickle 
 dame is like a sunset, momentarily aglow for every 
 one;" and again: "Do not put yourself in the power 
 of a woman: the heart of a female is a tangled maze." 
 But he is not always unjust: " Here and there you will 
 find a virtuous woman, who adorns a glorious family 
 as the streaks of the moon adorn a broad sky."
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD.
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 The following analytical account of a unique Persian MS. 
 poem, entitled Siiidiluld A^dina, or the Book of Sindibad, 
 belonging to the Library of the India Office, was published 
 by Professor Forbes Falconer in the Asiatic Journal, vols. 
 XXXV and xxxvi, 1841. By the courtesy of Dr Rost, I have 
 been favoured with a loan of this manuscript, which is beauti- 
 fully written in the ia'llq character, and adorned with numerous 
 paintings. Unfortunately, several laaiihf occur throughout the 
 volume, and thirtv leaves are misplacerl. It now comprises 
 about 1 70 folia, and 5000 couplets. The original numbering 
 of the leaves seems to have been cut away when it received 
 its present Oriental binding, as many of the full-page pictures 
 are imperfect at the lop, and tlie re-numbcring is in a different 
 hand from that of the text, and made consecutive, notwith- 
 standing the displaced and missing leaves. Owing probably to 
 the defective condition of the MS., Falconer has altogether 
 o\erlooked one story (the title of which is written in faint blue 
 ink at the foot of a page) and the remains of two others : (mm 
 which il is rxldcnl that in this text, as in all others ol ihc 
 F.a^tcrn grou)) of tl'c Siiuli/xnl, each of the Seven X'azii's liad 
 originally two stories. He states that in his analysis he has 
 " sometimes, for the purpose of giving the reader a better idea 
 of the work and of the aullior's style, freely used his own difluse
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 and Orientally fanciful expressions and imagery ; and sometimes 
 compressed his narrative and trimmed his exuberance (for com- 
 pression and curtaihnent were necessary in analysing a work of 
 such extent) ; and sometimes, especially when the tale was 
 already familiar to readers in other works, or objectionable in 
 its nature, satisfied himself with giving the title, or a reference to 
 the corresponding portion of the Greek version. Those who 
 know the difficulties of Persian poetry," he justly adds, "and 
 the disadvantage of possessing but a single manuscript, will not 
 only excuse, but will even lay their account with meeting, 
 occasional misapprehensions of the sense." 
 
 An account of the several Eastern texts of the Book of 
 Sindibad being given in the introductory pages of the present 
 volume, Falconer's preliminary observations on the same subject 
 neetl not be here reproduced ; indeed, they are rather out of 
 date, so many important discoveries regarding this work having 
 been made of recent years. His plan of leaving some of the 
 tales untranslated must be unsatisfactory to students of the 
 genealogy of popular fictions, since it is only by comparing 
 different versions of these stories that their original forms can be 
 ascertained. Stories which are not objectionable are therefore 
 now presented as fully as the state of the manuscript permits, 
 and the additions and corrections printed within square brackets; 
 while such of Falconer's notes as have been retained are dis- 
 tinguished by the letter F from those for which I must be held 
 responsible. 
 
 W. A. C.
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 After the customary opening with an invocation and 
 address to the Deity, a chapter in praise of the 
 Prophet, a complaint against fortune, and an exhorta- 
 tion to contentment and abandonment of the world, 
 the author proceeds, in the fifth chapter, to inform the 
 reader that he had himself no thought of composing a 
 jjoem, no desire to plunge into such a sea of difficulty ; 
 that he was too sensible of his own want of genius to 
 think of such an undertaking: but lliat one night his 
 Afajesty — that King whose fortune is awake, and 
 whose equal the eye of Time beholds not even in 
 its dreams — addressed him, and, while he compli- 
 mented him on his talents, complained that he did 
 not sufficiently exert them. " He observed," says the 
 poet, " that the nightingale should not sit for ever 
 songless, nor the parrot mute; that I possessed the 
 gift of eloquence and sweet discourse; but that I was 
 lazy, lazy, lazy ! ' Perform,' said he, ' such an achieve- 
 ment, with the sword of the pen, as shall live as long 
 as swords are wielded. Turn into verse, during my
 
 THE BOO A' OF SI XD IB AD. 
 
 reign, some prose work, that my memory may l)e 
 perpetuated: let it be the Tale of Sindibad.' With 
 downcast looks, I replied : ' If God grant me his aid, 
 and if my life be spared, I will turn into verse that 
 ■celebrated book.' 
 
 "I gave ear (for to neglect a commandment is a fault, 
 especially a sujjreme command of a king), and when 
 seventy-six [years] were added to 700,^ in the reign 
 of the sultan resembling Jamshid;- the king of the 
 world; the refuge of the khalifate; the possessor of 
 the throne, the signet, and the diadem; who plucks 
 up by the roots violence and oppression; the asylum 
 of Arabia; the crown-bestower of Persia; the munifi- 
 cent, bold, and dauntless king, before whose prowess 
 
 ' A. H. 776, or A. D. 1374-5. The author was therefore a con- 
 temporary of Hilfiz, who died A. D. 1389. — Falconer has errone- 
 ousl}' rendered this passage: " I had heard that disobedience to 
 the command of a sovereign is culpable ; and at the time indicated 
 by the words, t/ie sithlivic viandate of the King, when seventy-six 
 years had passed beyond 700," for which, on the authority of 
 Mr. J. W. Redhouse, the above is substituted. A poet never 
 gives a date in full words and in values also; and he would 
 certainly not give it both wa}'s when they did not agree — the 
 supposed chronogram, rendered by Falconer, siihUmc viandate of 
 the King, would indicate the year 779, while the author, we 
 have seen, gives the exact date as 776. 
 
 - Jamshid was the fifth of the Pishdadl (or Achsemenian) 
 dynasty of ancient Persian kings, concerning whom many 
 extravagant legends are related — amongst which, that he pos- 
 sessed a magical cup, or goblet, that reflected the whole world 
 and all events and achievements.
 
 IXTKODIXTIOX. 
 
 lion and tiger flee; — I composed the following work, 
 and thus reared an edifice proof against all the assaults 
 ol'iiuK-, and not such a structure that any one can 
 designate as the ■house of the spider.""' 
 
 The chapter in which the tale commences affords, 
 in the opening couplet, another allusion to the author 
 (jf the prose work, of wliich this is a ])oetical para- 
 phrase, informing us that the poet's original was 
 written in Persian, but that its author was an Arab by 
 descent. Perhaps this might afford some ground lor 
 the conjecture that the Arab had found the tale in the 
 language of his family, and translated it from Arabic 
 into Persian. Loiseleur Des Longchamps, however, 
 who was not acquainted with the existence of the 
 present work, was of opinion that the tale was first 
 translated into Persian (from the Sanskrit), and from 
 Persian into Arabic. 
 
 " An Arabian by descent, but speaking the Persian 
 tongue, has thus informed me in eloquent language, 
 that there reigned in India a sage and mighty mon- 
 arch, ^ the bricks of whose palace were not of stone 
 or marble, but of gold; the fuel of whose kitchen 
 
 1 In the Greek version the scene is laid in Persia, and the 
 monarch's name is Cyrus ; in the Hebrew translation the scene, 
 as above, is in India, "in the land of Hind," or Hodu, as it is 
 most frequently written in the MS., and the king's name is 
 P)ibar ; in the old Castilian version, the scene is also in India, 
 and the name of the king is Alcos ; in the Breslau (Arabic) text, 
 the scene is in China,
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 was fresh wood of aloes; who had brought under 
 the signet of his authority the kingdoms of Rum 
 and Abyssinia; and to whom were ahke tributary the 
 Ethiop Mihraj (Maharaj) and the Roman Qaysar. 
 He was distinguished above all monarchs for his 
 virtue, his clemency and justice. But, although he 
 was the refuge of the khalifate, he was not blessed 
 with an heir: life and the world appeared profitless to 
 him, because he had no fruit of the heart in the 
 garden of his soul."' 
 
 One night, while reclining on his coucli, sad and 
 thoughtful, consumed with grief like a morning taper, 
 he heaved a deep sigh, upon which one of his favourite 
 wives (he had a hundred in his harem^), advancing 
 towards him and kissing the ground, inquired the 
 cause of his distress. He discloses it. His wife 
 consoles him, encourages him to hope, and assures 
 him that if he prayed, his prayers would be answered; 
 but that at all events it was his duty to be resigned to 
 the will of God. "Prayer is the only key that will open 
 the door of difficulty." The king fasted for a whole 
 week, and was assiduous in his devotions.- One night 
 
 1 According to Syntipas, he had seven wives ; the Hebrew 
 translator assigns him eighty, and calls this one Beria. In the 
 old Castilian translation he is said to have had ninety wives. 
 
 - The Hebrew translation agrees with this version in repre- 
 senting the king as both fasting and praying. In the Arabian 
 version, the king requests his nobles and subjects to pray that 
 God would bless him with a son. — A parallel case is found in
 
 IXTRODUCriOA^. 
 
 he prayed with i)eruHar earnestness and self-abasement 
 till morning. The companion of his couch was one of 
 liis wives, fairer than the sun, and the envy of a peri. 
 He clasped her in his embrace, exclaiming: "There is 
 no strength, no power, save in God!" and he felt 
 assured in his heart that his prayer was granted. 
 
 In due time a son is born to him. Eager to 
 testify his gratitude, he bestows munificent gifts, and 
 lavishes his treasures on all. The babe is entrusted 
 to a nurse. The most distinguished astrologers are 
 commanded to cast his nativity. Among their 
 number was one of the most skilful explorers of 
 the heavens, who, upon completing his observations, 
 intimated to the king that his son would be fortunate 
 above other monarchs; but that a danger awaited 
 him, from which, however, it was likely, thanks to his 
 auspicious fortune, that no injury would accrue.^ His 
 
 the Persian romance of tlie Four Dervishes (Kissa-i Chchar 
 DarvTsh), where King Azadbakht, having secluded himself 
 through sorrow because he had not a son to succeed him, is 
 advised by his prime vazir to distribute alms among the poor 
 and needy, and oftcr up frequent prayers to God — no one ever 
 yet returned hopeless from his threshold. 
 
 1 In the Mishit' Sandahar, after the birth of the prince, the 
 king assembles all the sages, and by his order they select a 
 thousand out of themselves, these select a hundred, and they 
 select seven, who draw the horoscope of the prince, and find 
 that he is threatened with some misfortune when twenty years 
 of age. So, too, in the old Castilian translation, we are told, 
 the king "sent for all the wise men of his kingdom to come to
 
 THE BOOK OF SIX DIB AD. 
 
 Majesty is filled with anxiety at this information, but 
 at length becomes resigned to the will of Heaven, and 
 acknowledges tliat the decrees of destiny cannot be 
 countervailed. When the ]jrince had attained his 
 tenth year, his father the sultan confided him to 
 the care of a learned preceptor. " Base copper has 
 by care been transmuted into gold: and a worthless 
 stone converted to a gem." That accomplished and 
 erudite professor devoted his whole time to the educa- 
 tion of the prince; but all his exertions were unavail- 
 ing. " However loudly he shouted, that mountain 
 gave back no echo; however much he sowed, in that 
 soil no grain sprang up." His pupil knew not ab-u-jadd 
 (father and grandfather) from ahjad ; could not dis- 
 tinguish Muhammad from Auhad. When asked how 
 many make thirty, he replied, "ten;" and to the 
 question, What is night 1 he answered, "the moon." 
 When asked about the tliorn, he spoke of "'fresh dates;" 
 when desired to s^iy Jire, he said "fuel." His father 
 was in constant uneasiness about the prince, and made 
 
 him and examine the hour and the minute of his son's birth ;" 
 and having cast the prince's horoscope, they told the king that 
 "he should have long life and great powers, but at the end of 
 twenty years something should happen between him and his 
 father, through which he should be in danger of death." In 
 the Breslau (Arabic) text, the misfortune was to occur "during 
 his youth." This has been suppressed in Syiitipas, and also 
 in .Scott's Si-vcn VazTrs ; in the latter, the danger to the prince 
 is foretold to the king's favourite concubine in a vision.
 
 /.\ /-KODCCnOX. 
 
 frequent inquiries as to his progress. When he found 
 him, year after year, in the same state of perfect 
 ignorance, liis wrath was kindled against the blameless 
 and unhai)py preceptor, wliom he rejjroached for the 
 backwardness of his son. 
 
 He then called together tlie philosophers of the 
 city, each of whom was the Aristotle of his age; and 
 after desiring them to be seated, and showing them 
 the most flattering attentions, he detailed to them all 
 the circumstances connected with his son's history, 
 and the cause of his anxiety. " A\'retched," said he, 
 " is he who digs the mine, or rather, who vexes his 
 own soul; who expects to find gold, and grasps but 
 dust! With vows I implored Clod to grant me this 
 son; I now repent me that I have asked him. How 
 well said the sailor to the captain of the ship: 'Leave 
 the concerns of God to God!' The unleavened mass 
 hath not become leavened; nor hath one spoonful of 
 butter been obtained from ten skins of milk ! Tell me," 
 continued the king, " what expedient shall I adopt 
 to remedy this, and who is the person best qualified 
 to carry it into execution? I have none to succeed 
 me in the kingdom save this son. Deliberate, there- 
 fore; and when your counsel is matured, a course of 
 conduct may be founded on it." 
 
 The sages, who were seven in number, bowed the 
 head in token of obedience, and expressed their 
 wishes for his Majesty's [jrosperity and happiness. It 
 was then arranged that they should meet for the
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 purpose of discussing the matter together. The 
 learned master, of whom this tale remains as a 
 memorial (says the writer of the poem), thus pro- 
 ceeds: Those experienced sages accordingly one day 
 met in private consultation, and conversed freely on 
 the subject. One of them observed : " O wise men, 
 how can the pulp of colocynth supply the place of 
 sugar? The tree which, when ten years old, has 
 yielded no fruit, the labour of ten years has been 
 entirely thrown away upon it. " Another remarked : 
 "Never can the rose spring from the dry willow: how 
 can the musk-willow bear, as its fruit, the musk-bag?" 
 One of those worthies, who had not his equal, who 
 had no rival among those whom you know {i.e., among 
 the seven), a buzurjmihr,i experienced in affairs, a sage 
 resembling Aristotle — his name Sindibad- — said, in 
 reply to these observations : " The hawk which has 
 dwelt free and happy in its nest is, nevertheless, 
 subjected to a master; learns from the falconer to 
 soar and seize its prey, and to return when called, 
 and quietly perch on the hand of kings. Why should 
 not the prince, too, be capable of being taught the art 
 of government and the duties of his station ? Despair 
 not: everything may be effected by labour and deter- 
 
 ^ One of great soul. 
 
 - In the Calcutta and Bulaq printed Arabic texts the name of 
 this sage is also Sindibad; in the Syriac, Sindbiin, and (once) 
 Sindbadin ; in the Greek, Syntipas ; in the Hebrew, Sandabar ; 
 and in the old Spanish version, Cendubete.
 
 IXTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 mination. The fortress of the mine must be stormed 
 ere the ruby can be obtained." The other sages 
 warmly applauded the wisdom of Sindibad, and 
 assured him that they considered him the fittest 
 person to whom the important and difficult charge of 
 the prince's education could be entrusted. Sindibad 
 replied, that he was not to be moved by their com- 
 pliments and flattery; that he saw as little advantage 
 likely to result to him from such a course as the 
 monkey derived from the stratagem of the old fox. 
 They requested him to tell them the story, upon 
 which he began : 
 
 Story of tli£ Old Fox and the Monkey. 
 
 Once upon a time an old fox was put to great shifts 
 for his subsistence, and resolved to exert all his wits 
 to procure it. After offering up a prayer for success 
 to his endeavours, he set out and ran. When he had 
 advanced some way he saw a fish ; he was delighted, 
 and congratulated himself on his good fortune; but, 
 upon reflection, he perceived that the case was one 
 which called for wariness and circumspection; for the 
 place was a dry uncultivated valley, without water, a 
 spot where one sees not a fish, save in his dreams. 
 Neither sea was there nor fishmonger's shop. Ad- 
 vancing two miles, he met a young monkey, ujjon 
 seeing whom he felt that he had found the key where- 
 with lo unlock Iiis difficulty. He ran up to him.
 
 14 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 saluted him, and said: "Well met! The gazelles and 
 the wild asses send you their salutations through me, 
 and beg that you will come to their assistance against 
 the tyranny of the lion, who is never satiated Avith 
 shedding innocent blood. Come, that Ave may bestow 
 on you the royal crown. They are waiting for your 
 Majesty farther on the road." The monkey was 
 deceived by these flattering expressions, and his 
 ambition threw him into the pitfall. " Advance,'"' 
 said he, " and lead the way."" ^^'hen they reached 
 the spot and saw the fish. '• You,"' said the fox, 
 "have the first claim to this morsel, for you are my 
 prince and sovereign."' The monkey, blinded by his 
 cupidity, went forward to seize the fish, and was 
 instantly caught in a snare from which he was unable 
 to escape. Upon this, the fox sat down quietly to eat 
 the fish. "What means this?" inquired the monkey. 
 "From whose table is this dainty?" "The poor," 
 replied the fox, "cannot afford to flee from bread. 
 Fetters and imprisonment befit the dignity of kings: 
 make not, O sage, your mind uneasy." 
 
 The philosophers were loud in their praises of 
 Sindibad on his concluding this tale, and compared 
 him to the sun, and themselves to the motes in the 
 sunbeam. " If I am not wiser than yourselves." 
 replied he, " 1 am at least not inferior to you in 
 wisdom. Your case and my own, in this respect, 
 reminds me of the camel, llie wolf, the fox, and ihc
 
 /.\'TK0DL'C770X. 1$ 
 
 pumpkin." The)' requested to hear the story, and 
 Sindibad related it as follows : 
 
 S/oiy of the CaiiicL the Wolf, the Fox, and 
 the l^iiiiipkiii. 
 
 Ax t)ld wolf and a fox, intimate friends, were once 
 lra\-elling together. A short way before them they 
 saw a camel, who joined then., and the three 
 togellier took the road to the village of the camels. 
 Their only provision for the journey consisted of a 
 pumi)kin. They travelled on for a long time, up hill 
 and down dale, till, exhausted by the heat of the road, 
 their eyes jjecame black with thirst. At length they 
 reached a pond full of \vater, and sat down on its 
 brink. The pumpkin was produced, and after some 
 discussion, it was agreed that this prize should belong 
 to liim who was the eldest among them. 
 
 first the wolf began: "Indian, Tajik, and Turk, 
 know, that my mother bore me one week before Ciod 
 had created heaven and earth, time and space; con- 
 seciuently, I have the best right to this pumpkin." 
 
 " Yes," said the old and crafty fox, " I have nothing 
 to object to this account; for on the night your 
 mother bore you, I was standing by in attendance. 
 That morning it was I that lit the taper, and I burned 
 beside your pillow like a morning taper.'' 
 
 W'lien the camel had heard their speec:hes to an 
 end, he stalked forward, and, bending down his neck,
 
 1 6 THE BOOK OF SIAWIBAD. 
 
 snapped up the pumpkin, observing: " It is impossible 
 to conceal a thing so manifest as this — that with such 
 a neck, and haunches, and back as mine, it was 
 neither yesterday nor last night that my mother bore 
 me." [i]i 
 
 The sages again expressed their admiration of the 
 wisdom of Sindibad, and all agreed that he alone was 
 competent to undertake the difficult task. Repairing 
 into the presence of the king, they acknowledged 
 that they were but babes in wisdom compared with 
 Sindibad; upon which his Majesty, addressing the 
 philosopher, begged him to undertake the manage- 
 ment and education of the i)rince. Sindibad con- 
 sented, expressing his hope and confidence that his 
 efforts would be successful. He accordingly applied 
 himself with zeal to the education of the prince, but 
 all his efforts were fruitless; all his instructions were 
 like writing upon water. The king, hearing of this, 
 was much concerned. Never does a parent wish ill 
 to his child, but, on the contrary, desires that he may 
 be better than himself In anger he said to Sindibad : 
 " All your boasted care and exertion have proved but 
 wind; your promises were but the sound of the bell 
 and the drum. Does not even the wild beast, which 
 cannot be taken in the net, become tame at last by 
 persevering efforts ? Had due diligence been bestowed 
 
 ^ The figures within brackets refer to notes in Appendix.
 
 IXTKODCCTIOX. 17 
 
 upon my son, tlic rust would have been effaced from 
 the mirror of his mind."i "Sire," replied Sindihad, 
 "I have made every exertion, and tried every art; but 
 when fate seconds not our efforts, we are not to 
 blame." Then, kissing the foot of the throne, he 
 observed: "The situation of myself and tlic young 
 prince resembles that of the King of Kashmir with 
 the elephant and the elephant-keeper." The king 
 desiring to hear the story, Sindibad related it as 
 follows : 
 
 Stoiy of the King of Kashmir and the 
 Elephant. 
 
 I\ the time of the Masters of the Elephant,'- there 
 reigned over Kashmir a wise and prudent king, who 
 had conquered the whole kingdom of Hindustan, from 
 
 1 Metallic mirrors, such as were used by the ancients, arc 
 here alluded to. Thus a Persian poet says: "Many have 
 been melted down in this crucible : when have they made a 
 mirror of every [kind of] iron?" 
 
 - The miraculous defeat of the host of Abralui, on its approach 
 to Mecca for the purpose of destroying the Ka'ba, occurred in 
 the same year in which Muhammad was born. Abraha and his 
 army arc alluded to in the (^ur'an, under the title of Lords, 
 or Masters, of the Elephant, from their bringing with them, 
 according to some, thirteen elephants, which they had obtained 
 from the King of Ethiopia. Others mention but one. See 
 Sale's Koran, ch. 105, and note. — F. 
 
 P.
 
 l8 THE BOOK OP Six DIB AD. 
 
 Serendil (Ceylon)^ to Rum and Syria, and to whom 
 were subject all the princes of the world. This sove- 
 reign had collected elej^hants instead of steeds, and in 
 greater numbers than fleas or ants. A certain prince 
 once sent to his court a wild elephant of prodigious 
 size and impetuosity. The king desired the elephant- 
 keeper to tame him, promising him ample rewards 
 when he had succeeded. After the labour and con- 
 stant care of three years, the skilful man had not only 
 subdued his ferocity, but made him pliable as wax. 
 He, therefore, brought him to the ajjpointed place, 
 and exhibited him to the king, who was satisfied with 
 his success; and the royal litter being adjusted, his 
 Majesty seated himself in it, l\v way of trial. No 
 sooner had he mounted, than, like a demon that leaps 
 from a bottle- — like a lion rushing from a thicket — • 
 the elephant darted off with the monarch, and flew 
 
 ^ Serendil, or, as it is commonly and more correctly written, 
 Serendib, bciny apparently derived from the Sanskrit SinhadvJpa, 
 Lion Island. — F. 
 
 - Falconer remarks that this recalls the legend of the Bottle 
 Imp ; and cites, in the original Persian, a couplet from another 
 part of the text, which ma}- be thus rendered : 
 
 " r>y predominant might lie ]iut the demon in the bottle ; 
 The genii howled and whined on account of him. "" 
 This is probably in allusion to the Muslim legend of Solomon's 
 feat of enclosing the demon Sakhr in a copper vessel, sealing it 
 with his magical signet, and casting it into the Lake of Tiberias, 
 where Sakhr is to remain until the day of judgment. According
 
 iXTRODi'CTlOX. 19 
 
 ^vilI^ llie speed of lightning over hill and dale. 
 The prince, with no guide to control or govern the 
 animal, abandoned all hope of life, and all expectation 
 that ''the elephant would think again of Hindustan."^ 
 Raising his hands to heaven, he prayed for deliverance. 
 ^\■hen the divine mandate issues forth, elephant and 
 ant are alike impotent to resist it. Tired with the 
 long journey (for it was now evening), and having 
 eaten nothing, the elephant turned and took his way 
 homeward. When he reached his stable, he stooped 
 down, and the prince dismounted unhurt. Enraged 
 with the keeper, he ordered him to be trodden like 
 the ant under the feet of the elephant. Fettered and 
 manacled, he was thrown under the furious animal. 
 
 to other legends, Solomon treated all the rebellious genii in like 
 manner. The story of the Fisherman and the Genie (Jiniu) 
 must be familiar to all readers of the Arabian A'i^/i^s. This 
 notion of demons being confined in bottles is also prevalent in 
 Cliina. See Mr. Giles' Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, vol. i, 
 p. 81. The leading idea of Le Dialile Boiteiix was suggested to 
 Le Sage by that of the Spanish novel El Diable Cojnelo, in which 
 a student accidentally enters the house of a conjuror, and delivers 
 a demon from a glass bottle where he had been imprisoned. 
 
 i Compare this passage with the following one from Haflz, 
 which it illustrates: "Either take note of the customs of the 
 elephant-keeper, or do not bring India into the memory of the 
 elephant;" and with another, from Mir RazT, ciuoted by the 
 author of the 'Atishkada: " Take hold of my chain, O friends ! 
 for my elephant brings to mind India," The allusion seems to 
 have become proverbial.
 
 20 THE BOOK OF SiXDIBAD. 
 
 Finding himself in this situation, he thus reflected: 
 "The prey that is entangled in the net struggles whether 
 it will or not ; and it is never too late to hope for deliver- 
 ance."' He implored the king to forgive one whose hair 
 had grown gray in the service; but he refused. Long 
 he continued to entreat forgiveness, but the king was 
 still inexorable. At length, again repairing into the 
 presence of his Majesty, he renewed his entreaties. " I 
 taught the elephant," said he, " whatever was proper; 
 but, as fortune favoured me not, it was of no avail. 
 If the king will spare my life, I will give proof of my 
 assertion." When his Majesty heard this, and beheld 
 the poor man's orphan children at his feet, he ordered 
 him to be unfettered. The keeper then proved the 
 perfect tameness of the animal bv giving it orders to 
 perform a variety of feats, all which it executed. Then 
 addressing the king, he said: "I have taught this 
 animal to perform with its various members the whole 
 of the feats which are i)ractised; but what avails it 
 when his heart, which is the sultan of the body,^ 
 listens not to my orders ? " 
 
 "In short," observed Sindibad, "what occurred to 
 the ele})hant-keeper arose from certain evil asjiects in 
 
 ^ So in the Khatinia to the Rauuiin-'s-Siifa, the author, in 
 stating that the Khataians place those whom they wish to 
 honour on the left hand, assigns this reason: "Because the 
 heart, which is the sultan of the city of the body, has its mansion 
 on that side.'" — F.
 
 IXTKODi'Cr/OX. 
 
 his horoscope, and from no fault of his. Tliiis, O 
 king," continued the sage, " I have examined the 
 horoscope of the prince, and find that all that was 
 evil in it is past; he will henceforward be pros])erous. 
 I will now proceed to teach him all I know, to shower 
 upon him all the learning that I have amassed. AMien 
 six months shall have ela])sed from this date, I will 
 have imparted to him the fruit of thirty years' study." ^ 
 The ministers and courtiers of the king were amazed 
 at such language, and considered his words as an 
 empty boast. " Attemi)t it not," said one of them: 
 " seeing that your six years' labour has been fruitless, 
 how can this be accomplished in six months?" 
 Another courtier said: "Seeing he learned nothing in 
 his childhood, how can he become a master when he 
 is grown up ?" 
 
 ***** 
 
 There is here a deficiency in the manuscript, viz., 
 after fol. 25, probably of one leaf; and two leaves that 
 
 ^ In the Greek text the sage says: "Having educated him 
 for six months, I will so fill him with all philosophy that none 
 shall be found more learned than he." In the Syriac text the 
 period is "six months and two hours." In the Hebrew version : 
 " I will teach the son of the king in six months so that there 
 shall not be found the like of him in all the land of Hodu [or 
 Hind]." In the old Spanish translation : " I will so teach him 
 in six months that no one shall have more knowledge than he ;" 
 and in reply to one of the other sages, who blamed him for his 
 rashness; "Thou shalt see, if God will and I live, that I will
 
 THE BOOK OF SIXDIBAD. 
 
 ought to follow are misplaced and incorrectly num- 
 bered — fols. 14 and 15. 
 
 * » * * * 
 
 The king, now satisfied that Sindibad had not been 
 Avanting in his exertions, continues him in his office of 
 preceptor to the prince. Sindibad accordingly resumes 
 his instructions. At fol. 14 the author is describing 
 the philosopher's preparations for his lectures; the 
 beginning of the chapter is wanting. Sindibad caused 
 the walls of a lofty palace to be covered over with 
 plaster, so smooth as to have the appearance of a 
 mirror. On one compartment were delineated the 
 signs of the zodiac, with the divisions into degrees 
 and minutes; the fixed stars; the planets, with their 
 courses. On another compartment he drew a map of 
 the world, and represented the noxious and salutary 
 qualities of things, of which some are the cause of 
 disease and others the cure. On a third compartment 
 were inscribed the principles of commerce, religion, 
 and morality; and one's duties towards his superiors 
 and equals. On a fourth were exhibited the principles 
 of music and melody, and the distinctions of the 
 musical modes. On a fifth, the rules of justice, the 
 ceremonial of princely dignity, and the forms of 
 
 teach him in six months what another would not teach him in 
 seventy years. " In Scott's version the stipulated period is two 
 years ; — this part of the story is much abridged in the other 
 Arabic texts.
 
 IXTKODrCT/OX. 23 
 
 ecjuity.^ When the whole was completed, Sindi.bad 
 thus addressed his pu])!! : "Prince, the time for ap])li- 
 cation has now arrived ; be diligent ; it is no time tor 
 slumber. 'I 'lie virtues that adorn kings come not by 
 inheritance; they must be acquired." The \)X\\\vc 
 listened with attention to the instructions of his 
 master. Much did he study; many a bitter cup of 
 poison did he drink. His mind, clear as a mirror, 
 reflected the knowledge depicted on the walls. His 
 l)rogress was rapid, and in a short time he became 
 deeply learned. 
 
 ^^■hen the ai)pointed i)eriod was completed, Sindibad 
 said to his pupil: " Praise be to the Lord and Creator 
 of the world, that, through his grace, I shall not be 
 l)Ut to shame before men ! AMien, to-morrow, I take 
 you before the sultan, you will sec how they will bite 
 their nails.- Rest assured of this, that of all your 
 equals in age not one will be a match for you." 
 Sindibad then during the night took an observation 
 to ascertain the destiny of the prince, and found that 
 an intricate snare threatened his pu])il. He was con- 
 founded and perplexed by this new difficulty.'' But it 
 
 ^ " He built for the son of the king a spacious new house, and 
 embellishing the inside of the house, he narrated on the walls of 
 the house as much as he intended teaching the boy." — Synfi/^as. 
 
 - Biting the nails, or fingers, is a very common mode in the 
 East of exhibiting anger, grief, or astonishment. 
 
 ■*"The philosopher then, having learned from astrological 
 inquiry, was confounded." — Syiitipas.
 
 24 rin: book of sixdibad. 
 
 is vain to contend against destiny: when it descends, 
 the eye becomes bhnd. " Be not cast down," said 
 lie to the jjrince, "at the caprice of fortune, but 
 •to-morrow, when you appear before the king, whatever 
 questions you may be asked, answer nothing. Bear 
 \\\) for this week; the next, your affairs will become 
 prosperous. If but a word escape your lips, your 
 life and head will be endangered. Lo! I hasten to 
 conceal myself, and no one shall see me for one 
 week, for my life is in peril. ^ I will wait to see 
 whether the two dice of heaven will turn up three 
 sixes or three aces." 
 
 The whole of the next chapter is wanting in the 
 manuscript, but the title of it is given at the end of 
 fol. 15, as follows: "The king sits in state, and sends 
 for the prince and Sindibad, but the latter is nowhere 
 to be found. His Majesty questions the prince, who 
 makes no reply." The title and commencement of 
 the next chapter are also wanting. At fol. 26 the 
 poem proceeds : 
 
 1 "Therefore from to-morrow I shall conceal myself," &c. — 
 Syntipas.—'' Said Sandabar to the king's son : ' Behold, I have 
 sent to thy father to announce that thou shalt go to him 
 to-morrow, and I have not observed thy constellation.' And 
 Sandabar observed the stars, and saw that if the son of the king 
 should open his mouth within seven days, he should instantly be 
 slain; and Sandabar IxarnhX^^.''' —Mishlc Sandabar.
 
 /.vyA'0/>rc770.\: 
 
 A peri-faced moon^ (one of the wives of his Majesty), 
 fair as a huri- of Paradise, was secretly enamoured of 
 the prince, but had hitherto found no opportunity of 
 meeting him alone, or of telling him her love. Upon 
 hearing the account of his resolute silence when 
 questioned, she said to herself: " Every occasion has 
 its fitting language;" and repairing to the king, she 
 asked his permission to take the prince to the harem, 
 under pretence of endeavouring to extort from him 
 the secret of his silence. This was granted. Ikit with 
 her also the prince was dumb. At length she declares 
 her passion for him, and offers to init him in possession 
 of the kingdom in return for his confidence. Upon 
 this the prince, forgetting in his surprise his jn-omise 
 to Sindibad, breaks silence by asking her how this was 
 to be done. "Easily," replied she; "by one drop of 
 poi-son which I will administer to the king." Horror- 
 struck at the idea of such a crime, the prince, after 
 earnestly reprobating it, (piits the apartment. 
 
 The damsel is alarmed when slie reflects on the 
 danger of her situation should the prince reveal the 
 
 1 Peris are good genii, or fairies, of both sexes, though the 
 term is generally applied to females. Amongst us the phrase 
 " moon-faced " is the opposite of complimentary; in Oiiental 
 poetry, however, it is the favourite similitude in describing a 
 beautiful girl or boy ; and our own poets Spencer and Shak- 
 speare have made use of the same comparison. 
 
 - Hurls (or houris) are the black-eyed beauties promised in 
 the Qur'an as the companions of the faithful in Paradise,
 
 26 THE BOOK OF SIXDIBAD. 
 
 treachery which she had proposed, when the seven 
 davs shall have passed, and he shall break silence.^ 
 Full of these apprehensions, she rushed from her 
 apartment into the presence of the king, and. in 
 affected agitation, called loudly for his protection. In 
 answer to his inquiries as to the cause of her alarm, 
 she replied: "My reputation is scattered to the winds! 
 No sooner had I conducted the prince into the harem 
 than he began to say : ' Hie reason of my silence is, 
 that my heart is ensnared in your tresses, and my soul 
 slain bv the curve of your eyebrows. Now that fortune 
 has put it in my power, I entreat you to lend me your 
 assistance. I have a secret to impart to you. I mean 
 to seize upon the kingdom. The leaders of the troops 
 are already secured in my favour. You can effectually 
 aid me in my purpose by administering poison to my 
 father.'" 
 
 To this false accusation the king gives credit; and, 
 believing that the prince thirsted for his blood, com- 
 mands that he should be ignominiously put to death. 
 
 ^ The prince must therefore have informed the damsel of his 
 .seven days' silence, and the fact was probably omitted by the 
 copyist. In the Greek, Hebrew, and Castilian versions he says 
 to her: "When seven days are passed I shall be able to give 
 thee the answer that thou deservest," and there can be no doubt 
 that this was in the original text of the Sindihad. In Scott's 
 Seven J'azTrs, the prince is represented as mentally addressing 
 the damsel in these terms — an " improvement " of the translator 
 or transcriber.
 
 IXTRODi'CriOX. 27 
 
 The executioner is ordered to behead him. Mean- 
 while, the vazlrs,^ who were met together in council, 
 on hearing this inconsiderate sentence, were greatly 
 concerned. 'I'he eldest addresses them on the 
 necessity of warning his Majesty of the danger of 
 prccijiitation, and of the folly of trusting to the 
 testimony of women; giving it as his conviction that 
 the charge, if intjuired into, would be found to l)e 
 false, and that the iimocence of the i)rince would be 
 ultimately established. Another of the vazu'S was of 
 oi)inion that, as they had not been consulted on the 
 subject, it was unnecessary for them to interfere, and 
 that silence was their safest course. To this argument 
 the eldest vazir replied, that if they neglected to listen 
 to his advice, the same thing might happen to them at 
 last as befell the monkeys. The vazlrs requesting to 
 hear what that was, he thus related : 
 
 Story of tJic King of the Monkeys'? 
 
 When you have quitted Nihawand, going out by the 
 Lion's (late, there lies beyond it a village called 
 Buzina-Ciard,-' the neighbourhood of which is thickly 
 
 1 These vazlrs should not be confounded with the seven wise 
 men (see p. 11), one of whom is Sindibad. 
 
 - This tale, related by the chief vazir, and tlie three, told by 
 Sindibad, pp. 13, 15, and 17, are not found in Syntlpas, or any 
 other version. 
 
 ^ Monlvey Town.
 
 28 THE BOOK OF SIXDIBAD. 
 
 inhabited by monkeys. There, amid the trees laden 
 with fruit, and by a running stream, the monkeys used 
 to congregate. The surrounding forest was full of 
 them; and there reigned over them a sage monarch, 
 named Ruz-i-bih,^ who, in magnanimity and generosity, 
 was no monkey, but a lion, and who, although aged, 
 had all the vigour of youth. His cheek like the ruddy 
 rose, his beard white; he was ever fresh and gay, like 
 the red willow. Much had he experienced of the 
 world's red and white; much of its hot and cold. His 
 subjects were all obedient and loyal, secure and happy. 
 Their granaries were well stored with figs and walnuts; 
 and they had herds of goats browsing in the forest — ■ 
 a paradise — rather, the model of the Garden of Irani - 
 — a place where pleasure was rife and pain unknown! 
 
 ^ Whose day is good, or excellent. 
 
 - A fabulous earthly paradise, designed, according to Muslim 
 legend, by an impious king of El-Yaman (Arabia Felix), named 
 Shaddad, as a rival to that of the spiritual world. The palace 
 was constructed of gold and silver bricks in alternate courses, 
 the walls set with pearls, rubies, emeralds, and other gems ; in 
 the garden were trees of gold and silver, besides others bearing 
 the most delicious fruits. After five hundred years this paradise 
 was completed, and Shaddad, with a numerous retinue, in the 
 utmost pomp and splendour, marched from his capital towards 
 it. As he was about to enter the gates, the Angel of Death 
 appeared before him, and seized upon his impure soul ; and 
 instantly the lightnings consumed all his attendants, and the 
 Rose-Garden of Iram sank into the earth, and became hidden 
 from the sight of men.
 
 iXTkODCCTlOX. 29 
 
 In the forest was a mountain as high as Ahvand.^ 
 Thither tliis king having on one occasion gone to 
 hunt, and looking towards the town and market wliich 
 were on it, he saw, at the corner of a street, a goat 
 constantly butting at an old woman. Calling to hini 
 the leaders of his army, he desired them to look in 
 that direction, and observe what was going on. The 
 king was himself of opinion that, as the flocks were all 
 his own subjects, it was his duty to interfere; but the 
 general of the army thought the matter too trifling to 
 be noticed. The dispute waxed high, and, as the 
 officers of the army sided with their general, the 
 monarch abdicated, and withdrew to another country, 
 and they chose a new king. 
 
 The goat still continued its practice of butting at 
 the old woman ; and one day that she had been to ask 
 flre from a neighbour, the goat struck her so violently 
 with his horns when she was off her guard as to draw 
 blood. Enraged at this, she applied the fire which 
 she held to the goat's fleece, which kindled, and the 
 animal ran to the stables of the elephant-keeper, and 
 rubbed his sides against the reeds and willows. The)- 
 caught fire, which the wind soon spread, and the 
 head and face of tlie warlike elephants were scorclied. 
 A\ hen the news reached tlie sovereign to whom the 
 elephants belonged, he sent for the chief-keeijer, and 
 
 1 A mountain in Persia, once, if not still, popularly believed 
 to be sixteen miles in heitrlit !
 
 30 THE BOOIv OF^SIXDIBAD. 
 
 asked liim what was best to be done for the cure of 
 the elephants. " I have heard one skilled in such 
 matters affirm," replied he, "on the authority of an 
 ancient leech, that when elephants are scorched, the 
 best remedy is the fat of monkeys rubbed gently over 
 them with the hand." Upon this the king gave orders 
 that horsemen should go forth and scour the whole 
 forest, hunting down every animal they should find of 
 the monkey tribe. Accordingly, an innumerable band 
 issued forth, searching mountain and forest; and the 
 general of the monkeys was made prisoner. He 
 inquired: "Whose are these troops, and why is this 
 night attack and slaughter of our race?" He was told 
 the circumstances in detail, and he then recollected, 
 but too late, the words of his sage and foreseeing 
 monarch. 
 
 When the eldest vazir had ended, all the others 
 applauded him, and acknowledged the wisdom of his 
 counsel. It was therefore agreed that every morning 
 one of their number should repair into the presence of 
 the king, and relate tales illustrative of the craft and 
 deceitfulness of women, in the hoi)e that when one 
 week had thus passed the fortunes of the jirince would 
 have become prosperous. 
 
 Accordingly, the First Vazir, after having gone to 
 the executioner and desired him to delay till further 
 orders, waited u^jon his Majesty, and after huml)le 
 prostration, comiilimented him on his justice, l)Ut
 
 THE WOMAX AXD TllE PAkROT. 
 
 warned him of the cunning of women, and cautioned 
 him to avoid precipitation. "The word," said he, 
 "whicli has once escaped the Ups, the arrow which 
 has once left the bow, have ceased to be under )Our 
 control.' Perhaps you may one day repent your 
 rashness, and grieve for what you have done, like the 
 foolish man who slew his parrot without a crime." 
 The king desired him to relate the story, and he 
 began: 
 
 Story of the Confectioner, his Wife, and 
 the Parrot. 
 
 There once lived in Egypt a confectioner, who had a 
 very beautiful wife, and a parrot- that i)erformed, as 
 
 1 Thus Sa'dl : "When thou utterest not a word, thou hast thy 
 hand upon it ; when thou hast uttered it, it has laid its hand 
 upon thee;" and again: "You may easily separate the soul 
 from the body, but you cannot so readily restore life to the 
 dead ; it is a maxim of prudence to be cautious in giving the 
 arrow flight, for let it once quit the bow, and it can never be 
 recalled." So, too, in the Dictcs, or Sayings of /'/ii/oso/i/n-rs, 
 printed by Caxton in 1477, one of the " thre Wysemen " who 
 "cam byfore a King," is represented as saying: "I am mayster 
 of my wordes, or it be pronounced; but when it is spoken, I am 
 servaunt thereto." And in the preface to A'alila and Dinina 
 (the Arabian version of the work known in Europe as the 
 Fables of Pilpay) precisely the same "saying" is found: 
 "I am the slave of what I have spoken, but the master of 
 what I conceal." 
 
 - The Hebrew translator has borrowed the Italian name
 
 32 THE BOOK OF SLXDlBAD. 
 
 occasion required, the office of watchman, guard, 
 pohceman, bell, or spy, and flapped his wings did he 
 but hear a fly buzzing about the sugar. This parrot 
 was a great annoyance to the wife, always telling the 
 suspicious husband what took place in his absence. 
 One evening, before going out to visit a friend, the 
 confectioner gave the parrot strict injunctions to watch 
 all night, and desired his wife to make all fast, as 
 he should not return till morning. No sooner had 
 he left, than the woman went for her old lover, who 
 returned with her, and they passed the night together 
 in mirth and feasting, while the parrot observed all. 
 In the morning the lover departed, and the husband, 
 returning, was informed by the parrot of what had 
 taken place; upon which he hastened to his wife's 
 apartment, and beat her soundly. She thought to 
 herself, who could have informed against her, and 
 asked a woman who Avas in her confidence whether it 
 was she. The woman i)rotested, '" by what is hidden 
 and what is open,'"^ that she had not betrayed her; 
 but informed her that in the morning, upon his return, _ 
 the husband stood some time before the cage, and 
 listened to the talking of the parrot. When the wife 
 heard this, slie resolved to plot the destruction of the 
 bird. 
 
 pappagallo, which he writes most frequcnlly papfgaah, once 
 papdgaah, and once papegal. 
 
 1 "The female slave swore strongly." — Syiifipas,
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PARROT. ZS 
 
 Some days after, the husband was again invited to 
 the hotise of a friend, where he was to pass the night. 
 Before departing, he gave the parrot the same injunc- 
 tions as before. His heart was free from care, for he 
 had his spy at home. The wife and her confidante 
 then planned how they might destroy the credit of the 
 parrot with its master. For this purpose, they resolved 
 to counterfeit a storm, which they effected by means 
 of a hand-mill, placed over the parrot's head, which 
 the lover worked, by a rush of water, by blowing a 
 bellows, and by suddenly uncovering a taper hid under 
 a dish. Thus did they raise such a tempest of rain 
 and lightning, that the parrot was drenched and im- 
 mersed in a deluge. Now rolled the thunder — now 
 flashed the lightning — the one from the noise of the 
 hand-mill, the other from the reflection of the taper. 
 " Surely," thought the parrot to itself, " the deluge has 
 come on, and such a one as perhaps Noah never 
 witnessed." So saying, he buried his head under his 
 wing, a prey to terror. The husband, on his return, 
 hastened to the parrot, to inquire what had happened 
 during his absence. The bird replied, that he found 
 it impossible to convey an idea of the deluge and 
 tempest of last night; that it would take years to 
 describe the uproar of the hurricane and storm, ^^'hen 
 the shopkeeper heard the parrot talk of last night's 
 deluge, he said: "Surely, O bird, you are gone mad. 
 Where was there— even in a dream — rain or lightning 
 last night? You have utterly ruined my house and 
 
 c
 
 34 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 ancient family. My wife is the most virtuous woman 
 of the age, and all your accusations of her are false." 
 In anger, he dashed the cage upon the ground, tore 
 off the parrot's head, and threw it from the window. 
 Presently, his friend, coming to call upon him, saw the 
 parrot in this condition, with head torn off, and 
 without wings or plumage. Being informed of the 
 circumstances, he suspected some trick on the j^art of 
 the wife, and said to the liusband: "When your wife 
 leaves home to go to the bath, compel her confidante 
 to disclose the secret." As soon, therefore, as his 
 wife went out, the liusband entered his harem, and 
 insisted on the woman telling him the truth. She 
 detailed the whole story, and the husband now bitterly 
 repented having killed the parrot, of whose innocence 
 he had proof. ^ 
 
 ^ In Syiitipas, the hu.sband is not undeceived, but ceases to 
 have faith in the parrot. In the Hebrew version, "he slew the 
 parrot, and sent to bring his wife, and gave her presents. " In 
 the Arabic, he kills the parrot, and afterwards discovering that 
 his wife is guiUy, in Scott's version, he divorces her, but in the 
 Calcutta, Bulaq, and Breslau texts, he kills both the woman 
 and her paramour. In the Syriac and Castilian, as in the 
 Hebrew, he kills the parrot and is reconciled to his wife. The 
 conclusion of the story as found in the Turkish Forty Vazirs 
 agrees with that in Syntipas. — In the Seirn I Vise Jllastcrs, the 
 old Enghsh prose translation of the Ilistoria Septem Sapienmm 
 Roma, where the tale is related of a burgess and his magpie 
 (or pye), the husband says to the bird : "Thou liest ; thou hast 
 said unto me, that in the same night was hail, and snow, and
 
 TJIE DOUBLE INFIDELITY. 35 
 
 " I will now," continued the vazir, " relate to your 
 Majesty a still pleasanter tale to the same purpose, 
 illustrating the craft of women." The king expressed 
 a wish to hear it, and the vazir proceeded : 
 
 Story of the Officer and his Ulistress, his Servant, 
 and the IVoman's Husband} 
 
 In the kingdom of Balqis- and city of Sapa, there 
 lived a tailor, of whose wife a young officer became 
 enamoured. AVhen the tailor was from home, the 
 ofificer sent his servant with a message to the wife. 
 
 rain, that thou hast near hand lost thy life, which is most false. 
 And therefore from henceforth thou shalt make no more leasings 
 nor discord betwixt me and my wife," and so took the pye and 
 broke her neck. But in the metrical version (Auchinleck 
 MS. — the oldest English text extant) analysed by Ellis, in his 
 Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances, the burgess, after 
 killing the bird, discovers the trick that had been practised upon 
 it, and thrusts his wife out of the hou^e. — The story is also found 
 in John of Capua's Directoriiim Hiimancc Vitcc, the Discorsi degli 
 Animali, and the C/f/v?? of Sansovina. — See Appendix, No. 3. 
 
 ^ The MS. has the commencement of the story, but wants a 
 leaf, viz., fol. 41, in the middle of it. — F. 
 
 - Balqis, the name of the celebrated Queen of Sheba (Sapa) 
 who visited Solomon, according to the Arabs ; she is the 24th 
 in Pocock's list of the sovereigns of Yaman : our author has 
 given her name to the whole province. The city of Sapa 
 (or Saba) was built by Saba, the ancestor of the Sab(cans, or 
 Himyarites, and was destroyed by the bursting of a great 
 reservoir of water in ancient times.
 
 36 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD, 
 
 The slave, being a handsome youth, found favour 
 with her, and stayed so long, that the officer's patience 
 being exhausted, he proceeded himself to the house. 
 Aware of his approach, the woman concealed the 
 slave in an inner apartment. AVhile the officer was 
 with her, the husband was heard knocking at the door. 
 The woman, afraid to hide the officer in the other 
 apartment, lest he should discover his slave there, 
 devised the following escape from her difficulty. She 
 desired her lover to draw his sword, feign to be in a 
 violent passion with her, and, abusing her in 
 opprobrious terms, to rush out of the house past her 
 husband, without saying a word to him. The officer 
 having done so, and the husband entering, the wife 
 hastens to his embrace. " Be thankful," cried she, 
 " that we are delivered from such a calamity ! This 
 morning, a lad rushed in here, trembling like a reed, 
 and entreatmg me to save his life. I concealed him 
 in that apartment. That furious man, whom you saw, 
 burst in upon me, and asked, ' ^^'here is the boy, my 
 slave?' I replied that he was not here, and that I 
 had not seen him; upon which he darted away in a 
 passion. Enter the closet, and quiet the lad's fears. 
 He is an orphan, and without relations." The simple 
 husband did so, and having soothed and consoled the 
 lad, sent him away with good wishes. [4] 
 
 "I have related this tale," added the vazir, "to 
 show the cunning of women : believe not their words.
 
 THE WASHERMAN AND Ills SON. 37 
 
 I will vouch for the prince's innocence with my 
 hfe." The king reflected for a while, and then, 
 remanding the youth to prison, retired to his private 
 apartment. 
 
 Next morning, the Damsel, hearing of the impres- 
 sion which had been made upon his Majesty by the 
 eloquence of one of his vazirs, and how her plans were 
 thus overthrown, again presented herself, and, com- 
 plaining loudly of her wrongs, implored justice. She 
 reminded his Majesty of a day of retribution ; accused 
 him of protecting one who had looked on his harem 
 with an eye of sin; denounced the vazir as corrupt 
 and a receiver of bribes; and as bent upon bestowing 
 the sovereignty on the prince by the death of his 
 master. " If," said she, " your Majesty will not listen 
 to my advice, the same thing will happen to you which 
 happened to the washerman through his son." "Relate 
 it," said the king; and she began: 
 
 Story of the Washerman and his Son, who were 
 Droivned in the Nile. 
 
 I HAVE heard from an Ethiop washerwoman, who 
 learned it from her husband, that there once lived in 
 Egypt, on the banks of the Nile, a washerman, by 
 name Noah, who was— like an atom— all day in the 
 sun, and— like a fish— all the year round in the water: 
 who would have washed with his soap the blackness
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 from an Ethiop. This man had a darhng son, who 
 was headstrong, good-for-nothing, and foohsh; and 
 who, as soon as he saw his father in the water, would 
 seat himself on his father's ass, and drive it into the 
 river. The father was in constant terror lest the boy 
 should fall into the water and be drowned, or lest a 
 crocodile should seize him. One day, the boy, as 
 usual, mounted the ass, and rode with such fury into 
 the river, that at once the water reached his head. At 
 one moment he was — like an oyster — underwater; the 
 next— like a bubble — on its surface. As soon as the 
 father learned that his son was drowning, he rushed 
 into the water, in the hope of saving him, and caught 
 him by the hand. The lad grasped at his father, and 
 seized him by the hair. Both sank, and were drowned 
 together. [5] 
 
 The king, reflecting upon this tale, changes his pur- 
 pose, and orders the executioner to do his duty. 
 
 The Second Vazir now sends a message to the 
 executioner, desiring him to delay the execution for a 
 short time; he then hastens into the presence of the 
 king, and, after obeisance made, breaks out into 
 invectives against women, and concludes by saying: 
 " If your Majesty listens to the wiles of women, 
 you will repent it, as the partridge did of killing his 
 mate." The king desired to hear the tale, and the 
 vazir said:
 
 THE TWO PARTRIDGES. 39 
 
 Story of the Two Partridges. 
 
 Once upon a time two partridges dwelt together in 
 the closest intimacy — like two souls in one l)ody, or 
 like two bodies in one shirt; and between them was 
 neither duality nor separation. In their vicinity lived 
 a hawk, that from morning to night preyed on young 
 partridges, and tliat occasioned the male bird constant 
 apprehension, for he was a troublesome and meddle- 
 some neighbour. When you buy a house anywhere, 
 first take care to examine well its neighbourhood. 
 This hawk was ever on the watch, and never allowed 
 a young bird to escape, while the parents were in 
 continual terror, and scarcely ventured to thrust their 
 heads out of the nest. One night the male partridge 
 proposed to his wedded partner that they should leave 
 their home, saying: '' I will go to the confines of Ray 
 to escape the oppression of this bird of evil omen. 
 There will I provide a home, and collect corn and 
 grain. I have there two relations, who are my friends. 
 Do thou, too, follow me thither, for this is no home, 
 but a prison — a net." His mate slied tears, while he 
 continued: "Follow after me to those friends; for no 
 one would, for the sake of his own ease, expose his 
 family to destruction." 
 
 While they were thus conversing, the hoopoe paid 
 them an unexpected visit. " What has happened," 
 inquired he; "and why is the good-wife weeping?" 
 They detailed to him their circumstances, the annoy-
 
 40 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 ance occasioned by their neighbour, and their resolu- 
 tion of removing. The hoopoe observed: "In Ray 
 there prevails a pestilence; it is the abode of plague, 
 of misery, and woe. I have visited the most distant 
 confines of the earth, and have seen something of 
 every country you can mention. Do not imagine 
 that there is in the whole earth a spot of security and 
 peace like Shiraz — whose very rubbish and thorns are 
 pleasanter than roses; whose every pebble is a ruby, 
 and whose dust is gold! Musalla,^ with the stream of 
 Ruknabad flowing through it, is a paradise, with 
 Kauthar- in the midst. Sweet, too, is the air of its 
 Ja'farabad,^ whose breezes perform the work of the 
 Messiah.^ In the environs of that amber-scented city^ 
 there is a pleasure-ground like Paradise, in which is a 
 
 ^ A pleasure-garden near Shiraz, where Haf iz is buried. 
 
 - A river of Paradise, according to Eastern poets. 
 
 3 A suburb of Shiraz, famous for its gardens and villas. 
 
 •* Muslims believe that the breath of th.; Messiah had the 
 virtue of restoring the dead to life. In the Persian romance of 
 the Four Dervishes a very skilful physician is named 'Isa (Jesus) 
 in allusion to this notion. 
 
 5 HafTz, in one of his beautiful gazals, exclaims (according to 
 Mr. S. Pvobinson's translation : 
 
 " Hail Shiraz! incomparable site ! O Lord, preserve it from 
 every disaster ! 
 
 "God forbid a hundred times that our Ruknabad be doomed, 
 to which the life of Khizar hath given its brightness ! 
 
 *' For between Ja'frabad and Mosella cometh the north wind 
 perfumed with amber."
 
 THE TWO PARTRIDCES, 41 
 
 delightful fountain, resembling the Fountain of Life. 
 There jxirtridges are abundant, hence it is called the 
 Fountain of Partridges. Beyond it is another fountain, 
 which you might suppose to be that of Kauthar. In 
 that quarter a single ear of corn yields two stacks. A 
 cousin of mine is the shaykh of the district. Still 
 further on is the City of the Peacock, where you might 
 stop a few days." 
 
 When the partridge heard this, he smiled, and said 
 to the hoopoe: "O bird, full of understanding! in this 
 desert of grief you are the Khizar^ of my path; well 
 have you spoken, and you are indeed my friend ! " 
 Then embracing him closely, he bade him adieu, and 
 set out on his journey, accompanied by his spouse. 
 The delighted partridge ceased not smiling with joy at 
 his escape from his bad neighbour. He ate not — 
 drank not — but travelled on from morn to night — from 
 even till morn. Thus he proceeded till he reached 
 the place of security, and beheld from the top of a 
 mountain the Stream of Birds. Then did his mate 
 
 1 According to the Eastern legend, Khizar was despatched by 
 an ancient Persian king to procure him some of the Water of 
 Life. After a tedious journey, he reached the Fountain of 
 Immortality, and having drank of its waters, they suddenly 
 vanished. It is believed that Khizar still lives, and occasionally 
 appears to favoured individuals, always clothed in green, and 
 acts as their guide in difficult adventures — hence the allusion as 
 above. — Khizar is often confounded with Moses, Elias, and even 
 St. George. The name Khizar signifies green. 
 
 J
 
 42 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 exclaim to him : " Gratitude and praise ! thanks ^Yithout 
 bound or Hmit! It is indeed a blessed abode — a 
 charming spot! In this delightful retreat they fixed 
 their habitation, and sorrow had now given place to 
 happiness. The joy of \outh — the season of spring — ■ 
 an affectionate mistress, and the margin of a stream; 
 this is the new-wine of life — and more needs not — 
 happy he who has this within his reach! 
 
 The happy day on which the pair arrived at that 
 spot was the night of the middle of the month Azar 
 {i.e. vernal month). On every bush roses were blow- 
 ing; on every branch a nightingale was plaintively 
 warbling. The tall cypress was dancing in the garden; 
 and the po])lar never ceased clapping its hands with 
 joy ! With loud voice, from the top of every bough of 
 the willow, the turtle-dove was proclaiming the glad 
 advent of spring ! The diadem of the narcissus shone 
 with such splendour, that you would have said it was 
 the crown of the emperor of China ! On this side, the 
 north wind, on that, the west were, in token of affec- 
 tion, scattering dirhams at the feet of the rose. The 
 earth was musk-scented ; the air musk-laden ! ^ 
 
 1 "There is, I believe," says Dr Johnson, "scarce any poet 
 of eminence who has not left some testimony of his fondness for 
 the flowers, the zephyrs, and the warblers of the spring; nor 
 has the most luxuriant imagination been able to describe the 
 serenity and happiness of the golden age otherwise than by 
 giving a perpetual spring as the highest reward of uncorruptcd 
 innocence."
 
 THE TWO rARTRIDGES. 43 
 
 Two affectionate and loving friends find themselves 
 at home wherever they go. The relations of the male 
 jiartridge and the neighbours heard of his arrival, and 
 hastened to visit him. One kissed his face, another 
 brushed from his plumage the dust of the journey. 
 Such affection did they conceive for each other, that 
 they were never apart : all day, wandering about desert 
 and country ; all the year, roaming joyously without a 
 care. I need not say that no cultivated fields or 
 houses were there ; that there was no night attack, or 
 plunder, or ravaging; for not even a land-measurer 
 passed that way; no burner of (the herb) alkali came 
 there to give any one a headache. As the father did 
 not wrong the son, the son sought not to take his 
 father's life. As the daughter used not violence 
 towards her mother, brother did not deprive brother 
 of eyesight. Happy that time, those days, that age! 
 when none had a quarrel with his neighbour. The 
 world being then free from the ills of strife, the eye of 
 the arrow saw not the face of the bow. 
 
 Thus passed some years over them, during which 
 care or grief visited them not. Pjut triumph not, O 
 friend, in prosperity; still look forward to the evening 
 and the night of grief. Bid the young think of the 
 sorrows of age; let the aged reflect on the sufferings 
 of death. There chanced to come on such a year of 
 drought, that it was impossible to procure a drop of 
 water from the fountains, and a hundred ears of corn 
 yielded not a single grain. Locusts drank from the
 
 44 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 cup of every one. Not merely the store of the poor 
 was exhausted, but even the granary of kings was 
 empty. People went to Egypt and to Syria to procure 
 corn, as in the time of Joseph (on whom be peace!). 
 When the eye of the partridge awoke from sleep, he 
 found himself destitute of provision. His mate said: 
 "It matters not; let us practise devotion, and be 
 satisfied with what little there may be. It is better to 
 be content with barley-bread than to carry one's 
 request before the king." The male partridge replied: 
 "You pass your days in difficulty; yet sorrow not, for 
 grief as well as joy will pass away. Six days' journey 
 off is the City of the Peacock; there, perhaps, corn 
 may be procured. I have there a friend, by name 
 Durraj,^ from whom I can borrow something." He 
 thus spoke, and, embracing his mate, went forth, and 
 took the way of the mountains. 
 
 The male partridge departed; the female remained 
 behind, and sang her sad songs. The master is the 
 stay of the house; when he leaves it, it falls. He was 
 absent about five months, for he loitered long upon 
 the road. When winter came, and the cloud rained 
 camphor from the sky, and ice closed fast the eye of 
 the fountain, suddenly the male partridge returned 
 from his journey, and entered to take his spouse to 
 his bosom. He beheld her changed; her neck slender, 
 
 ^ Durraj is not a proper name, but the Persian name of the 
 francolin, a species of partridge.
 
 THE TWO TARTRIDGES. 45 
 
 her body swollen. When he saw her thus apparently 
 pregnant, all his affection for her was at an end. " I 
 see," said he, " that I have involved myself in calamity. 
 I have left a giddy wife at home! Fine housekeeping 
 this ! A rare husband I ! In my absence you were 
 about your own affairs ; — tell me from whose granary 
 is this grain?" His mate vowed by 'Isa and by 
 Maryam^ that he suspected her wrongfully. " No one 
 has seen my face since you left; no one has beheld a 
 feather of me. You are my only treasure in life; you 
 are father, relation, every tie of my soul." The enraged 
 husband, however, gave her no credit, but tore off the 
 head of his helpless mate. With her blood they wrote 
 on her tomb: "Shed not innocent blood; if you wish 
 not your own disgrace, do it not ! He acts wisely who 
 acts with reflection." The partridge repented of what 
 he had done, and that he had acted on mere suspicion. 
 " Where," said he, " can I meet with a companion like 
 her? — one who was ever contented and accordant, and 
 who bore patiently with my reproaches ! " 
 
 The birds of that quarter, hearing of his return, 
 waited on him to congratulate him on his arrival. 
 AVhen they saw his wretched mate weltering in her 
 blood, their hearts burned with compassion for her. 
 One asked: "Why have you slain your mate? No 
 one entered this house. I will answer for it that this 
 poor wretch had no crime." The husband told the 
 
 1 Jesus and Mary.
 
 46 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 whole story with tears. They assured him with one 
 voice that he had acted precipitately; that he was 
 mistaken grievously; that in that city a disease had 
 been raging for some time, by which the crop was 
 swollen; but that a certain grass was a cure for it. 
 " Why," said they, " did you not tell your case to any 
 one?" The male bird was distracted at hearing this, 
 and reproached himself bitterly. He lit up a fire, and 
 burnt his house and home. He procured poison, 
 which he took, and died. If he deprived another of 
 life, he saved not his own ! [6] 
 
 " Hence," remarks the vazir, " your Majesty may 
 see the danger of precipitation." He then relates, 
 in further illustration of the cunning of women, the 
 
 Story of the Old Man ivho sent his Young Wife 
 to the Market to buy Riee} 
 
 [There was a righteous man in Qandahar, simple and 
 pure of heart, upright, gracious, and exceeding clement. 
 In origin and race he was the leader of men. He was 
 very God-fearing and abstemious; at times standing all 
 night at prayer, and at times fasting. He had a wife, 
 fair-si)oken and sweet of speech, who would have carried 
 off the palm amongst a hundred marvels of beauty. 
 
 ' Falconer gives only the title of this story, nnd refers the 
 reader to Syii(i/>as, p. 40 [of Boissonade, p. 30 of Eberhard].
 
 THE WOMAN A XD THE GROCER. 47 
 
 She was very young; the good-man was very old: I 
 will not say she was without plans and resources. 
 A\'hen the good-man is old, and the wife young, what 
 sayest thou, and seest thou, then, O youth? The 
 youthful wife loved the youthful. 
 
 One day the old man took a piece of gold out of 
 his purse, gave it to the woman, and said: "Buy some 
 husked rice^ with this." Having adorned her person 
 with Chinese brocade, she went out veiled. She pro- 
 ceeded to the bazaar, where she saw a handsome 
 youth, decked in loveliness from head to foot. A 
 balance was hung up in his shop; candy and sugar 
 were poured out. AVhen the woman saw this loveling 
 from afar, she writhed and heaved a sigh from her 
 liver.- She brought out the piece of gold and laid it 
 down, saying: "Give me husked rice for this gold." 
 
 1 The word in the text is muqasIisJiar, which is thus explained 
 in Shakspeare's Hindustani Dictionary: "Barked, skinned, 
 peeled, shelled, husked (rice)." In Persian the term may 
 perhaps be equally applicable to shelled nuts or almonds, 
 husked rice, &c. It must be borne in mind, however, that 
 this text seems to have been written in India. 
 
 - I take the liberty of reproducing the following, from my notes 
 on the Romance of 'Antar {Arabian Poetry for English Readers, 
 pp. 456-7) :— 
 
 The ancients, it is well known, placed the seat of love in the 
 liver. Thus 'Antar says: "Ask my burning sighs that mount 
 on high; they will tell thee of the flaming passion in my liver." 
 An epigram in the seventh book of the Ant/iolo^ia is to the same 
 purpose :
 
 48 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 The youth said: "There is no need of the gold; 
 I will give thee presently rice with sugar on the 
 top: do thou rest thyself a moment." — As he was 
 young, and she was young, the (recollection of the) 
 old man could find no room between them. He 
 brought the rice and put it before her; he also put 
 some sugar on the top of it. The woman took off her 
 veil and wrapped both of them therein ; then she went 
 into an inner apartment, which had a private way out 
 on that side, and sat down. 
 
 A leaf, fol. 57, is wanting here; but from other 
 versions we may suppose that the story went on to 
 relate that, the grocer having given his servant a secret 
 signal, while he and the lady were conversing together, 
 the lad substituted sand in place of the rice and sugar; 
 that she took up her parcel and returned home; 
 and the old man, on discovering its strange contents, 
 
 ' ' Cease, Love, to wound my liver and my heart ; 
 If I must suffer, choose some other part." 
 Theocritus, in his 13th Idyll, referring to Hercules, says: "In 
 his liver Love had fixed a wound. " Anacreon tells how the god 
 of Love drew his bow, and "the dart pierced through my liver 
 and my heart." Horace (B. I, ode 2) says : " Burning love doth 
 in thy cankered liver rage." But this notion was not peculiar to 
 the ancients. According to our great dramatist : 
 
 " Alas ! then love may be called appetite ; 
 No motion of the liver, but the palate. "
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE GROCER. 49 
 
 naturally inquired what this meant. Perceiving the 
 trick of the grocer, she readily replied (fol. 58): 
 
 " When I was making for the bazaar from the street, 
 at that narrow place at the head of the market, a 
 young camel, that had broken away from the rope 
 attached to its nose-ring, had got loose from the file 
 (of camels), like a mountain suddenly sprang to foot, 
 like a rock suddenly moved from its place, roared and 
 so terrified me, that my breath was taken away. In 
 that place where I turned and fled, the piece of gold 
 fell from my hand into the dust.^ I looked much for 
 it, but could not find it; and as it was drawing late, 
 I took away some of the dust of the road in my veil." 
 The good-man, out of his simplicity of heart, believed 
 her tale, and said: "Who wert thou, to be without 
 fear? Thou knowest gold and dust to be one in my 
 sight." He then gave her another piece of gold, 
 saying: "Buy husked rice at that place thou knowest." 
 So she took the gold, again put on her veil, and re- 
 turned to the shop of her lover.]- 
 
 ^ In the Syriac version, the woman says she was frightened by 
 a calf; in the 8th Night of Nakhshabi's Tiiti Ndma (where the 
 story is told by the Sixth Vazir), she says that an ox, having got 
 loose, ran at her, and she fell, losing the money among the dust. 
 (This is the 25th tale of Kaderi's abridgment of the Tufi Ndiiia, 
 of which an English translation, together with the text, was 
 published, at London, in 1801.) In the Hebrew and the Arabic- 
 versions, she was jostled by the crowd in the bazaar, and 
 dropped the coin. 
 
 - This story is also found in John of Capua's DirCitorutDi 
 
 D
 
 50 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 The king is induced by these tales and the inter- 
 cession of the vazir to suspend the execution and 
 remand his son to prison. 
 
 The Damsel now returns for the third time/ and 
 renews her demand for justice against the prince. 
 "If my counsel be not listened to," says she, "the 
 same thing will happen to you which befell the prince 
 who, yielding to the guidance of his [father's] vazir, 
 was made prisoner in the haunt of ghuls." His 
 Majesty desires to hear the tale, and the Damsel 
 proceeds : 
 
 Story of the Prince and the Ghul. 
 
 A WOMAN of the race of the kings of Persia once 
 related to me that, in the city of Kirman, a city whose 
 like neither does the earth behold nor space contain, 
 there ruled a brave and just prince, of the family of 
 Kisra, by name Ardashir,^ to whose sway were subject 
 
 HumancE Vitcs. It is omitted in the old Castilian version of the 
 Book of Sindibad. 
 
 ^ That is, including her appearance when she accused the 
 prince, but did not relate a story. 
 
 - Kisra, or Khusrau, was the general title of Persian kings of 
 the SasanT dynasty, hence the Greek forms Cyrus and Chosroes, 
 and perhaps the more modern Caasar, Kaisar, and Czar. The 
 founder of this dynasty was Ardashir (Artaxerxes), but there 
 were two other kings of the same name; and since Nushlrvan 
 the Just (6th century) is often termed Kisra par excellence by
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE GHUL. 5 1 
 
 fowl, fish, and ant; and whose threshold was kissed 
 by the sultans of Ghur. He had but one son, named 
 Bedr, whom he fondly loved, and who, he hoped, 
 would succeed him when he should cease to reign: 
 when the rose should pass away, this rose-water would 
 remain; when the sun should set, this moon would 
 arise. One day, in the season of spring, the young 
 prince, wearied of confinement, asked permission of 
 his father to go a-hunting for a day or two. "The 
 master of the hawks," said he, " informs me that in 
 Rudbar, and Mushir, and Nigar there is abundance 
 of cranes, partridges, and other game, and makes me 
 eager for the sport." 
 
 His aged father replied: " Listen to my counsel, and 
 do it not, my son. The chase is an evil thing in its 
 beginning and in its end. In the eye of those endowed 
 with reflection, it is unlawful that the hawk should 
 pluck out the eye of the partridge. The antelope, with 
 all its beauty and grace — is it not a pity that it should 
 be mangled by the fangs of the dog? The pheasant, 
 with its delicate and graceful gait — is it not a shame 
 that it should fall into the power and snare of the 
 fowler? Those animals cause pain or injury to no one; 
 are happy amid their thickets and grass, and covet 
 nothing more. Well said the widowed wife to the 
 
 Persian writers, and was called Chosroes I by the Greeks, the 
 prince above mentioned was probably Ardashir III, the fourth 
 successor to Nushirvan, and the twenty-fourth king of the 
 dynasty.
 
 52 THE BOOK OF SI ND IB AD. 
 
 falconer : ' Go, withhold thy hand from this evil occu- 
 pation. They are all the servants of their Maker; all 
 of them live by his command. What advantage canst 
 thou derive by depriving them of life? What benefit 
 canst thou reap from sacrificing an ant?'" 
 
 "Sire," replied the prince, "the law sanctions hunt- 
 ing and the chase; and since it is permitted by the 
 Prophet, whence is this prohibition, and why this 
 severity of rebuke?" 
 
 In short, the king, seeing that he was bent on going, 
 cautioned him to be on his guard against evil and 
 danger; and his Majesty's favourite minister, in whom 
 he had the fullest confidence, received instructions to 
 attend and take charge of the prince, but was desired 
 by the king not to conduct him to the desert of 
 Rudan, as it was infested with ghuls. They set out, 
 and the vazir proposed that they should i^roceed to 
 Shemsi Ghuran, which abounded in wild asses. 
 Another of the vazirs, however, who had long borne 
 envy towards the premier, and who was secretly the 
 enemy of his sovereign, worked on the prince by his 
 insinuations against the minister, drew him aside from 
 his train, when they were near Shemsi Ghuran, into a 
 tent, and persuaded him to drink a cup of wine. The 
 prince was then about to repose in the tent, when a 
 cry arose that a wild ass was started.^ The prince 
 
 1 Hunting the wild ass is still a favourite pastime of the 
 Persian nobles. The fleetness of this animal is perhaps only 
 exceeded by that of the antelope.
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE GHUL. 
 
 sprang up, mounted his steed, and rode on in ])ursuit 
 of the animal, and never reined in until it suddenly 
 disappeared as if the earth had swallowed it up. 
 
 The prince looked on every side, and beheld before 
 him a charming lady, beautiful as a peri — her stature 
 straight as a box-tree; her mouth small as the end of 
 a hair; her waist a hair's breadth. One wonders not 
 to find a rose growing by a fountain; Ijut if it is found 
 springing from a salt-marsh, it may well cause surprise. 
 The prince was galloping in pursuit of a wild ass, and 
 if he missed it, he found an antelope ; he was in search 
 of a serpent, and found the treasure in its stead. ^ 
 " A table," thought he to himself, " has descended 
 from heaven." — "O envy of hurl and peri," said he, 
 addressing her, " for human being possesses not such 
 beauty, thou art an angel, and Paradise is thy home; 
 say, what wouldst thou in this world of gloom ?""^ The 
 
 ' It is a popular notion among Muslims — borrowed probably 
 from the Hindus, who have the same superstition — that hidden 
 treasure is guarded by serpents. 
 
 -"So excessive," remarks Sir William Ouseley, "is the 
 admiration of the amorous Persians for female beauty, that 
 those who possess it in an eminent degree are considered by 
 them as something more than mortal. Of this opinion is the 
 celebrated poet Khusru, in the beginning of one o{\)i\?, gazals: 
 
 'Think not that beautiful damsels are of the human race; 
 They are houris of Paradise, or angels, or superior spirits.' " 
 
 Akin to this poetical idea is the following fine passage, from 
 the King's Qiuiir (or Book) of James I of Scotland, on seeing 
 Lady Jane Beaufort walking in the garden of Windsor Castle :
 
 54 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 damsel replied : " One must not hide one's complaint 
 from the physician. I once beheld thee at a distance, 
 from my terrace. I had ascended to look for the new 
 moon, when, to my unexpected good fortune, the sun 
 appeared. (Thus) one sought the moon, and found 
 the sun ; one looked for the Goblet, and found Jam- 
 shid.^ Since thou art the amber and I the straw, tell 
 me, how can I preserve my heart? O captivating 
 youth, the heart is a source of affliction ; — I would not 
 wish even an infidel the misfortune to have his heart 
 enslaved." — The prince was carried away by his de- 
 sires; for the fountain was in sight, and his lip was 
 parched. The damsel pointed to her abode, and led 
 the way, while the prince rode on after her till they 
 
 "Ah, sweet ! are ye a worldly creature, 
 Or heavenly thing in likeness of nature? 
 Or are ye god Cupid his own princess, 
 And coming are to loose me out of band ? 
 Or are ye very Nature the goddess, 
 That have depainted with your heavenly hand 
 This garden full of flowers as they stand?" 
 And the great Persian Sa'di : 
 
 "Who is walking there— thou, or a tall cypress? 
 Or is it an angel in human shape?" 
 And the Hindu Somadeva: "When the young man saw her, she 
 at once robbed him of his heart, and he was bewildered by love, 
 and no longer master of his feelings. He said to himself: ' Can 
 this be Rati come in person to gather flowers accumulated by 
 spring, in order to make arrows for the god of Love? or is it the 
 presiding goddess of the wood, come to worship the spring?" 
 1 See note 2, page 6.
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE GHUL. 55 
 
 reached a desolate spot. She entered, and cried out : 
 " Come and see what I have brought hither by my 
 contrivance!"^ From every corner the black ghuls- 
 rushed out. The prince, on seeing them, was alarmed 
 for his life, and conning a prayer,'^ fled to the desert. 
 He urged on his steed, while the female pursued him, 
 begging him not to desert her thus cruelly. — " Excuse 
 me," said the prince; "I am not my own master, but 
 in the hands of another \i.e. his steed]. Whatever I 
 sew, he undoes; I go not willingly, but he flies with 
 me." — The damsel continues to entreat; but the prince 
 persists in not returning. 
 
 Although the pages of the manuscript are numbered 
 consecutively, a leaf is wanting here. The conclusion 
 
 ^ "And behold, the damsel, sporting with the sprites, and 
 saying to them : ' Behold, I have brought to you a young man, 
 the son of a king.' " — Mishle Sandabar. 
 
 - In the Greek version, laiiiii?, ogresses. — Ghuls (or ghouls) 
 are a species of demons, believed by Muslims to feed on human 
 flesh, and to have the power of assuming any form they choose, 
 to decoy unwary travellers. In the present case, the ghrd had 
 first assumed the form of a wild ass, which the prince eagerly 
 chased, and next that of a beautiful girl. The ghuls correspond 
 to the Vetalas, Pisachas, Yoginis, and Dakinis of Indian mytho- 
 logy, who play prominent parts in many of the ancient Hindu 
 fictions. 
 
 ■' "And the youth, straightway directing his eyes and hands 
 to heaven, besought him {i.e., God], saying," &c. — Synti/'as.
 
 56 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 may be guessed from Syntipas, where, as soon as the 
 prince had uttered a praj'er, the damsel falls powerless 
 on the ground, unable longer to pursue him ; while the 
 prince sets off at full speed, and reaches home in 
 safety. [7] 
 
 ***** 
 
 The commencement of the next chapter is wanting, 
 but it, of course, contained the order of the king for 
 the execution of his son, which is stayed by the 
 Third Vazir, who, repairing to the foot of the throne, 
 intercedes for the prince. He counsels the king to put 
 no faith in slaves. " If you desire a son," said he, 
 "ask in marriage the daughter of the emperor of 
 China; for whenever you have a son by a slave, he 
 will be of evil disposition, and ill-affected towards you : 
 a beggar will be introduced to your court, and a black 
 seated on your throne. Listen not to the advice of 
 the worthless ; slay not your son rashly ; otherwise you 
 will repent, as the officer did of killing his cat." The 
 vazir then relates the 
 
 Story of the Snake and the Cat} 
 
 [In a city of Cathay there dwelt a good and blameless 
 woman with her husband. By-and-by she bore him a 
 son, and thereupon died. The man got a nurse to 
 
 ^ Here presented somewhat more fully than it is given by 
 Falconer.
 
 THE SNAKE AND THE CAT. 57 
 
 bring up the child. Now he had a cat, of which he 
 was very fond, and to which his wife had been also 
 much attached. 
 
 One day the man went out on some business, and 
 the nur.se also had left the house, no one remaining 
 but the infant and the cat. Presently a frightful snake 
 came in, and made for the cradle to devour the child. 
 The cat sprang upon it, and after a desperate fight 
 succeeded in killing it. When the man returned, he 
 was horrified at seeing a mangled mass lying on the 
 floor. The snake had vomited so much blood and 
 poison that its form was hidden, and the man, thinking 
 that the cat, which came up to him, rubbing against 
 his legs, had killed his son, struck it a blow, and slew 
 it on the spot. But immediately after he discovered 
 the truth of the matter, how the poor cat had killed 
 thesnake in defence of the boy, and his grief knew no 
 bounds.]^ 
 
 ^ This story is not found in any of the Arabic texts. In the 
 Syriac, Greek, Hebrew, and old Castilian versions it is a dog 
 that kills the snake. In the Pancha Tantra, where the same story 
 occurs (B. V, Fab. 2), it is, more appropriately, a nutngiis — 
 " the fierce hostility of which creature to snakes," remarks Dr, 
 H, H. Wilson, "and its singular power of killing them, are in 
 India so well known as to have become proverbial, and are 
 verifiable by daily observation. It is doubtful," he adds, " if a 
 dog has either any instinctive enmity to snakes, or any charac- 
 teristic dexterity in destroying them." In Calila a)id Dimna and 
 the Hitopadesa the snake is killed by a weasel, of which the 
 mungus, or ichneumon, is a species. See Appendix, No. 8.
 
 58 THE BOOK OF SIN DIB AD. 
 
 " Shed not, then, the blood of your innocent son," 
 proceeds the vazir. " If the officer had reflected, he 
 would not have acted so rashly. Slay not a prince on 
 the testimony of a woman. Women are fickle and 
 inconstant, and pray at ten qiblas^ in one day. I will 
 now, with your Majesty's permission, relate a story, 
 still more entertaining than the last, of the merchant's 
 wife and the old woman who conducted her to a 
 lover." 
 
 Story of the Libertine Hiisband'r 
 
 An old man had married a young and beautiful wife. 
 The husband used frequently to go to his farm in the 
 country, leaving his wife in town. Upon those occa- 
 sions she threw off all restraint, and met many lovers ; 
 and an old woman acted as her go-between. The 
 husband once, on returning to town, instead of going 
 home, applies to the old woman to introduce him to a 
 mistress; and his own wife, not knowing whom she 
 was to meet, is induced to grant him an assignation. 
 She manages so well to dissemble her own confusion, 
 
 1 The term qibla, which signifies "the point of adoration," is 
 commonly applied to the Ka'ba ("cubical house"), or Temple, in 
 Mecca; and to this point every Muslim must turn his face when 
 he prays. 
 
 - In Syntipas, this forms the conclusion of the story of the 
 Go-Between and the She-Dog. The first portion subsequently 
 appears, in this te.\t, as the second tale of the Fourth Vazlr.
 
 THE MONKEY AND THE BOAR. 59 
 
 and reproaches him so naturally, that he never suspects 
 her guilt, but entreats on his knees to be forgiven his 
 infidelity. [9] 
 
 The king's resolution is again shaken by those tales, 
 and he remands his son to prison. 
 
 The Damsel now presents herself a fourth time, 
 and demands justice, threatening, if it is refused, to 
 drink a cup of poison which she holds in her hand. 
 She relates the 
 
 Story of the Monkey, the Fig-Tree, and 
 tJie Boar. 
 
 An old monkey, finding himself a burden to his wife 
 and family, takes leave of them, and wanders forth into 
 the world. After suffering much distress, he at last 
 reaches a spot in a forest full of every sort of fruit, and 
 abounding in figs so delicious that you would have 
 supposed them composed of sugar and milk. Here, 
 reposing from the fatigues of travel, he slept long and 
 soundly. When he awoke, he performed his ablutions 
 in the stream, and ate some fruit. Although his heart 
 burned when he thought of his family and relations, of 
 what avail was it to grieve ? Having here abundance 
 of provision, he (quitted not the spot the whole year. 
 He reserved a quantity of the fruit on the branches
 
 6o THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 for the winter. In the meantime a boar, fleeing from 
 the combat, with his face bathed in blood and the 
 stream flowing from every hair of his body, appeared 
 in the forest, hke sudden death entering a door. After 
 lying for a week in feebleness, the wounded boar went 
 about in search of food, but in vain, it being now winter. 
 At length he saw the monkey seated on a fig-tree, every 
 branch of which was laden with figs. He implored 
 the monkey to give him some food; upon which it 
 threw him down a lapful of fresh figs, a viun or more. 
 These he quickly devoured, and still demanded more, 
 until he had eaten ten nmns, and the tree was stripped 
 of fruit. The boar now threatened, and the monkey 
 prayed to heaven for deliverance; upon which the 
 boar, springing upon the tree, fell back, broke its 
 neck, and expired. [lo] 
 
 "Fear, then, that God by whom this was brought 
 about, and grant me justice," added the Damsel, 
 "remembering that the throne of tyrants shall be 
 overturned." 
 
 The king is now more determined than ever on the 
 death of his son, and orders wood to be brought 
 together, that he may be burnt by the executioner; 
 upon which the Fourth Vazir presents himself, and 
 intercedes for the prince. To show the danger of 
 trusting in women, he relates the
 
 THE GO-BETWEEN AND THE SHE-DOG. 6i 
 
 Story of the Bathkeeper, 
 
 who conducted his wife to the son of the king of 
 Kanuj.^ — He next relates the 
 
 Story of the Go-Betioeen and the She-Dog. 
 
 [In the city of .Shustar (in Khuzistan, Persia) a gay 
 young gallant, riding to the chase one day, sees a peri- 
 faced damsel at a lattice-window, and immediately 
 falls in love with her. He engages a crafty old woman 
 to intercede with the lady in his behalf, but she indig- 
 nantly refuses to entertain any lover, and sends the 
 go-between away unsuccessful. After some little time 
 the old woman disguises herself as a devotee, and thus 
 contrives to obtain admission to the house, soon gains 
 the confidence of the servants, and ultimately becomes 
 
 1 An obscene story of a man whose cupidity induced him to 
 become a party to the dishonour of his own wife. (See Syntipas, 
 page 48 of Boissonade, page 36 of Eberhard.) This is one of the 
 four tales which are common to both the Western and the Eastern 
 groups of the Book of Sindibad. In the Latin text, Historia 
 St'ptcm Sapientum Ronuc, as well as in the English prose and 
 Scottish metrical versions, it is fused with a rather stupid tale of 
 "Janus and the Defence of Rome." Rut in the most ancient of 
 the French versions, Dclopathos, and two early English metrical 
 versions, this story is given separately. (See the Seven Sages, 
 Percy Society Reprints, vol, xvi, page 52,) — A variant, possibly 
 the original form, is found in the Hilopadesa, ch. i, fab, 8 : " The 
 King's Son and the Merchant's Wife. "
 
 62 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 the familiar companion of the lady herself. One day 
 this artful and hypocritical old hag secretly feeds the 
 lady's she-dog with cakes strongly seasoned, which 
 cause the creature's eyes to water as though it wept. 
 The lady, observing this, expresses her surprise, and 
 asks the old woman the cause. At first she pretends 
 to be averse to explain the reason why the dog wept, 
 but, after much entreaty, she informs the lady that 
 the dog was once a beautiful damsel, who had been 
 changed into that form as a punishment for rejecting 
 a lover's suit. Alarmed at this tale, the lady confesses 
 that she had refused to receive the addresses of a 
 youth who had professed his love for her through an 
 old woman; but now, lest she should in like manner 
 be transformed into a she-dog, she is wiUing to grant 
 him an interview. The crafty old go-between hastens 
 to the amorous youth and informs him of the success 
 of her trick ; and soon after the lady and her lover are 
 united.]^ 
 
 [There is here a very considerable displacement in 
 the leaves of the MS., and some deficiencies occur 
 throughout the remainder of the volume. The prince 
 
 1 Falconer has not given this story, but refers the reader to 
 the version of it in Syntipas, p. 51 [of Boissonade, p. 39 of 
 Eberhard]. He does not seem to have observed that the story 
 as found in the Greek and other versions is in this text divided
 
 THE PRETENDED WIDOW. 63 
 
 was doubtless remanded when the fourth vazir had 
 concluded his second story, as above; and the 
 Damsel, of course, appeared for the fifth time, and 
 urged the king to put his son to death, but it is 
 impossible to say whether she told a story on this 
 occasion, as all this portion of the text is wanting. 
 We must now turn from folio 86 to folio 127 (the 
 intervening leaves being misplaced), where we find 
 but three pages remaining of what is evidently the 
 first story of the Fifth Vazir, from which it can only 
 be conjectured that it relates to a lady who had dis- 
 sipated, with her paramour, her husband's wealth, 
 during his absence. From what remains, it may be 
 entitled the 
 
 Story of the Lady zvhose Hair zvas ait off} 
 
 When the lady was excited with wine, her lover came 
 into her mind, and she lost her wits, and forgot where 
 she was. The old companion leapt into her suddenly, 
 and with a dagger she cut her hair to the roots. She 
 scratched her cheek with her nails, till her face was 
 
 into two, the conclusion forming the second tale of the Third 
 Vazir — page 58. — For variants of this widely-diftused tale, see 
 Appendix, No. 11. 
 
 ^ This fragment and the complete story which follows, related 
 by the Fifth Vazir, are not mentioned in Falconer's analysis; 
 and what he conjectured to be told by this vazir is the second 
 story of the Seventh Vazir.
 
 64 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 bathed in blood. At dawn the lady went forth from 
 the house, confused as her own tresses. When she 
 reached home she began to weep ; tore her collar and 
 bared her head — her face all wounds with her nails. 
 She raised her cries and wail to the moon ; twisted her 
 hairs round her fingers, pulled them out, and strewed 
 them by handfuls all the way home, so that her path 
 resembled the Milky Way therewith ; saying that her 
 husband's days were come to an end — a stranger had 
 unexpectedly told her that news. The women gathered 
 in her street, and they all became as disordered as her 
 hair. One said: "The poor thing! see how, fair 
 creature, for the death of her husband, she has cut 
 off her hair!" Another said: "See her face, how she 
 has torn it into wounds ! See what she has done to her 
 bosom!" There now befell wailings in that dwelling; 
 the mansion was filled with the weeping of mourners. 
 She prepared a worthy wake for her husband, and 
 gave food.^ — After a month had elapsed, her lord 
 came home. Like fire from iron, the woman leapt 
 out, and exclaimed : " Take care, O young man — you 
 outside-cheat! I knew not if thou wast in the bath 
 stoke-hole or in the tomb. For thy death have I cut 
 off my hair from the roots, and torn all my face with 
 my nails. With whom have you been in close converse? 
 Tell me, with whom have you been in close search? 
 
 ^ It is customary in Persia to distribute food to friends and the 
 poor at wakes.
 
 THE FA THEK-IN-LA W. 65 
 
 If I had a little once, not an atom now remains; — for 
 this reason, of thy ten houses not a farthing has been 
 left. What an evil day was that on which we were 
 joined!" Thus did she vent her ill-temper. Her lord 
 said: "O kind companion, what may it all be? Let 
 no harm come to thy life." He then made up for all 
 the expenses that had befallen, and paid all the money 
 she had borrowed. — Thus do women practise sleight- 
 of-hand; with craft thus do they split hairs. Though 
 a woman were a phoenix, she were best plucked of 
 feathers; though she were a noble falcon, she were 
 best with her head wrung off. None knows the tricks 
 and spells of women; — make mourning a duty under 
 her sway, and weep blood. ^ 
 
 " If his Majesty," continued the Fifth Vazir, " is not 
 wearied by these headache-giving tales, I will relate 
 another example." 
 
 Sto)y of the ]Vo!iian icho Outivittcd her 
 Fa ther- in -La zf.'' 
 
 In days of yore there lived a just and pious husband- 
 man, who sowed the seeds of goodness and reaped a 
 hundred-fold. His house was all the year full of corn ; 
 his fields abounded with flocks; and on the poor he 
 
 1 See Appendix, No. 12. 
 
 - " Story of the Woman who l)rought her Lo\er by the 
 
 Water-Way," etc. 
 
 E
 
 66 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 bestowed a portion of his wealth. He had a Baby- 
 lonish wife; a magician-deceiver — all coquetry and 
 leering. One day, when he was abroad inspecting the 
 harvest of his fields, this peri-faced one went up to 
 the terrace of the mansion, and there, like a fowler, 
 she spread her snare. A graceful youth was pacing 
 the plain, and coming near the enclosure of the 
 harem, he beheld the face of that huri — that mail- 
 haired beauty, of the lasso-tresses — and field and 
 waste were filled with light. Now his sighs arose 
 from his heart; now his feet sank in the clay. From 
 above the peri-faced one shook her head, and stroked 
 her face and bosom. 
 
 In the street of this youth dwelt an aged woman ; — 
 in foxery she was the old wolf of the city; in trickery, 
 the crafty dissembler of the age. To her the young 
 man went, and told her what signs the lady had made 
 to him upon the roof of her house. The old woman 
 answered : " Thy beloved — thy passionate companion, 
 thy desired one — indicated thereby: 'Choose a damsel; 
 seek out a pomegranate-breasted one; if she be fair, 
 speak with her.' " So the youth sought out such a 
 girl, and sent her secretly, with a token. When she 
 had delivered her message, the lady pretended to be 
 very wroth; spoke harshly to her; made black her 
 face; and turned her out by the water-way. On 
 reaching her own house, the young man went to 
 meet her; and when he saw her plight and heard her 
 story, he ran along the road to the door of the old
 
 THE FA TIIEK-IN-LA IK 67 
 
 woman. If he had a grief, he told it all; for one 
 must not hide pain from the physician. The past- 
 mistress thus answered him : " Knowest thou what thy 
 beloved hath said? — 'When Night draws her pitchy 
 curtain over her head, and the Ethiop king leads his 
 host against Rum, come thou into the garden by the 
 way of the water, for this indeed is the proper way.' "^ 
 By reason of this the youth went off glad and bright. 
 And when it was night he went into the garden. The 
 jasmine-faced one came from the house into the garden, 
 which was (as it were) filled with lamps by (the bright- 
 ness of) her cheek. In one place were the box-tree 
 and the cypress; the hawk and the ])heasant made 
 peace together. Who would think that this night was 
 the night of treachery? . . When it was midnight, 
 sleep bore them off. An aged man, who was father to 
 her husband, chanced to come out of the house. He 
 was confounded at what he saw in the garden, and 
 took away her anklets. Awaking soon afterwards, she 
 perceived what had befallen her, and, having dismissed 
 her companion, went into the house and lay down. 
 And when an hour yet remained of the night, her 
 husband awoke, and she said to him: "O kind com- 
 rade, would not the garden be more pleasant than the 
 house? On such a day the garden is a spring-tide. 
 When the rose smiles, the house becomes a prison. 
 
 1 The lady having conveyed this message by blackening the 
 girl's face (as the symbol of night), and sending her away by 
 the path skirting the pond in the garden.
 
 68 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 In the morning, when the nightingale laments from 
 the bough, put forth thy head, like a rose, from the 
 corner of the pavilion. Why liest thou when thou 
 hast slept so long? Now are the walks of garden and 
 orchard pleasant ; for the garden is become the place 
 of the nightingale, not of the crow." Then she took 
 her husband by the hand, and with him entered like a 
 nightingale flushed into the rose-bower. In that same 
 place where the anklets had been taken off her feet, 
 she threw down a mat, and lay thus with her husband 
 till the morning. Then said the woman to him: "Ask 
 thy father what he wishes of me. He is neither my 
 uncle nor my aunt; — why does he take off my two 
 anklets?" The young man was angry with his father, 
 saying to her: "Why should he give thee a headache?" 
 \\'hen that experienced man came into the garden 
 from the mansion, he told the whole affair to the youth 
 — told him with displeasure the affair of the anklets. 
 He flared up, and was very wroth with his father, and 
 said to him: "Thou hast beheld all this only in a 
 dream; for this woman was not separated from me 
 this night. Go, master, be shamed before God. It 
 was I who was with her in that place where she lay." 
 When the father heard this tale from his son, he bowed 
 his head and was shamed. Then made he apologies 
 to the woman; he increased her dower, and gave her 
 the half of that garden. ^ 
 
 ' See Appendix, No. 13.
 
 THE ROPBF.R A.VD THF. /./OX. Ch) 
 
 The king was grieved at this story; he reflected a 
 moment, and then commanded the prince to be again 
 removed to prison.] 
 
 The Damsel now presents herself the sixth time, 
 and demands redress. She inveighs against the vazir, 
 and cautions the king not to trust him. She then 
 relates the 
 
 S/orj' of Sal^ilk the Robber, the Lion, and 
 the Monkey. 
 
 In the happy reign of Faridun,' a caravan pitched 
 their tents by the side of a running stream. Thither 
 a robber of great daring, who would have stolen the 
 nose from the face of a lion, came by night in 
 the hope of meeting with some booty, but finding 
 a sentinel at every corner, and seeing that his art 
 would be of no avail, he departed. Thinking, how- 
 ever, that he might contrive to steal some of the 
 fleetest of the horses, he sat down in the midst of 
 the cattle to watch his opportunity. By chance, a 
 lion, in search of prey, passed near the caravan, 
 and fixed his desire on the herds; but from the 
 outcry raised by the crowd, he could not succeed, 
 and remained quiet in his place. Sal'uk, seeing no 
 other means of safety or escape, suddenly sprang on 
 
 ^ Farldun was the sixth of the PishdadI dynasty of ancient 
 kings of Persia,
 
 7° THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 the lion's back and held fast. The lion, alarmed, 
 ran off with his rider, and ceased not running the 
 whole night. ' The robber was exhausted with sitting 
 on the lion's back, yet dared not quit it for almost 
 certain death. 
 
 I once heard a traveller in Arabia say, that if you 
 fix a determined gaze on a lion, he will that instant 
 take to flight; while, if you flee from him, he will 
 pursue you. In all cases of danger, courage is the 
 best security. The lion, under his rider, had by this 
 time become timorous as a mouse. Coming to a 
 lofty tree, he went under its shade; upon which 
 Sal'uk sprang boldly from his seat into the tree. The 
 lion on his part also was glad to escape from his rider, 
 and took to flight with his tail trailing on the ground. 
 Meeting a monkey, he was at first inclined to flee, 
 thinking it might be the man, but observing his 
 humble attitude, he stopped. The monkey, after re- 
 spectfully saluting him, and inquiring after his royal 
 health, asked him why he was travelling without his 
 train, whither he was going, and on what object — at 
 the same time offering his services. The lion related 
 his adventure, and told him that his enemy was on a 
 
 ^ In the Syriac text, a party with cattle take up their lodging 
 in a caravanserai, leaving the gate open. During the night a 
 lion enters in quest of prey, and shortly after a bold thief, who, 
 groping for a fat animal, mistakes the Hon iox a horse, and 
 mounts him ; and the Hon, supposing he has got the watchman 
 on his back, rushes off with him in a great fright.
 
 THE PERI A. YD THE DEl'OTEE. /i 
 
 tree not far off. The monkey rei^roached him for 
 being afraid of such a foe. l"he Hon then conducted 
 him to the tree, and the monkey mounted into it.s 
 branches, not observing that the robber was concealed 
 in a cleft of it underneath him. The man suddenly 
 seized him, and grasped him so powerfully that he 
 instantly expired. Be not forward or precipitate, and 
 engage not in a contest with one who is your superior 
 in strength. The lion, seeing what had taken place, 
 l)etook himself to flight. [14] 
 
 The king reflects on this tale, and resolves to put 
 his son to death before his power should increase, 
 when it might be too late. 
 
 The Sixth Vazir, hearing of his Majesty's change 
 of determination, comes before him to intercede for 
 the prince. He inveighs, like the rest, against women, 
 and advises his Majesty to put no trust in them. In 
 proof of his assertions, he relates the 
 
 Story of the Peri and the Religious Man; his 
 learning the Great Name ; and his consiilting 
 zi'ith his Wife. 
 
 A HOLY man, who spent all his time in devotion, had 
 a peri for his constant and familiar companion for 
 many years. At length, the peri is obliged to leave
 
 12 THE BOOK OF SlYDIBAD. 
 
 him,^ word having been brought her of the illness of 
 one of her children. On parting, she teaches him the 
 " Three Great Names " (of God), on pronouncing one 
 of which, on any great emergenc}-, his wish will be 
 immediately accomplished. One night the shaykh 
 communicates the circumstance to his wife, who 
 dictates to him what he is to wish for. The result 
 shows the folly of consulting with women ; but it is 
 unfit to be repeated. It is sufficient to say that the 
 
 1 Falconer cites, in the original Persian, the reflections of the 
 devotee on taking leave of the perl, of which Mr. J. W. Redhouse, 
 the eminent Orientalist, has kindly furnished the following close, 
 line-for-line rendering — the verses have, probably, a mystical 
 (sufi) signification : " more is meant than meets the ear : " 
 
 How happy is he who has no acquaintance. 
 
 So that, following on separation, solitude be not. 
 
 Like the phoenix, go, be thy own companion ; 
 
 Thy own associate ; thy own confidant be thou : 
 
 So that to taste the poison of separation need for thee be not; 
 
 So that to bear the pang of separateness need for thee be not. 
 
 When the soul for a time has accustomed itself to the body. 
 
 See with what difficulty it comes up out of the body. 
 
 Happy the man who hath not seen the bazaar of the world, 
 
 Nor experienced the sorrow, trouble, bother of the world. 
 
 As at first there is in it the pang of being born, 
 
 So at last there is in it the pang of giving up the ghost. 
 
 The world is the city of grief, the house of woe ; 
 
 Not a place of rest, but an abode of dragons : 
 
 Go not to sleep in the den of dragons ; 
 
 Cast not thyself into the trap of calamity. 
 
 Be it not that the thorn take the habit of [piercing] the rose ; 
 
 For it is a death to turn awav one's affection from a beloved.
 
 HIE CONCEALED KOBE. 73 
 
 tale is similar to that of the "Three Wishes," by 
 La Fontaine, to Prior's "Ladle," and to that given 
 in Syntipas [p. 84 of Boissonade, )). 66 of Eberhard.Ji 
 
 [The vazir then recounts the stratagem of the old 
 woman with the merchant's wife and the young man: 
 
 Story of the Concealed Robe? 
 
 In old times there was a prince of the city of Ray, 
 who spent all his time with minstrels, harps, and lutes; 
 he was never without mirth all the year — a youth 
 whose lot had never been troul)led. He had no 
 anxiety for the future, no business save pleasure. He 
 never tasted grief, but ever tasted wine. He had a 
 hundred lovers in every corner; every eye waited on 
 his road; his ward thronged with beauties, he was 
 never a moment without coquetry and drinking. 
 
 One night, at the time when he thought to sleep, 
 when he knew not harp from rebeck, one of his fair 
 companions said to him: "To-day I saw a beauty, 
 whose face none ever beheld save the mirror, whose 
 hair none ever caressed save the comb — a jasmine- 
 cheeked one from the gardens of Paradise, beside 
 
 ^ See Appendix, No. 15. 
 
 2 Falconer has omitted this story (wliich is known through 
 other versions under the title of "The Burnt Cloth"), because 
 it is also found in Scott's Sii'm Vazlrs, where, however, it is 
 told very differently.
 
 74 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 whom the hurls were ugly as demons." The wine- 
 flushed man was ravished with her locks ; all night he 
 slept not for passion of that moon {i.e. the damsel); 
 he spoke of nought but her image. When it was day, 
 he arose, and thought to go to her street. He asked 
 for her ward, and he (soon) began to perceive her 
 odour.i He inquired regarding her of the neighbours, 
 the eunuchs, and the duennas coming and going. By 
 chance, her fairy-cheek was at the window: the youth 
 had paused at the head of the street; at the same 
 moment came that envy of the peris — like the petal of 
 the rose for grace and freshness, the perspiration was 
 on the rose of her face, the hyacinths of her hair were 
 in confusion. The youth became intoxicated by the 
 zephyr from her rose; straightway his wits forsook 
 him; suddenly his foot fell into the snare; suddenly 
 his foot slipped from the roof; he flung himself with 
 his own hands into the net, like the fawn that rushes 
 headlong into the lasso. When the fairy-faced huri 
 passed quickly away, how shall I tell what passed over 
 him? He no longer knew his head from his foot, 
 through his inebriety (with love); he no longer knew 
 
 ^ The fragrant odour here alluded to is that arising from 
 perspiration : Eastern poets commonly comparing beautiful girls 
 to the nymphs of Paradise, whose perspiration is to be odoriferous 
 as musk. Thus, the pre-Islamite Arabian poet Imra'u-'l-Qays, 
 referring to two of his former "flames," says that "when they 
 departed, musk was diffused from them, as the eastern gale 
 sheds the perfume of the clove. "
 
 THE CONCEALED ROBE. 75 
 
 height or depth. He returned helpless from that street 
 to his own house, where he gave himself up to grief. 
 
 The youth had an old woman in the house, who was 
 a mistress of spells and charms ; who had now cleared 
 her hands from affairs of the world, but had formerly 
 arranged many such matters. He went to her, and 
 spoke with her, for the pain of the soul must not be 
 hidden. When she heard his tale, she began to 
 consider how^ to act. She had an old comrade, an 
 effeminate one; who was fallen into the worst of plights; 
 whose back was become (bent) like a harp, through 
 old age; whose voice was like the boom of a drum; 
 who was altogether hideous ; — time had given him 
 sticks for feet. He signified to the youth that this 
 business was in his way. So the youth told what was 
 on his heart, for one must not conceal the secret from 
 the counsellor. He replied: "Know, O youth, that 
 that envy of Venus and the moon is the wife of a 
 great merchant of our city, at whose counter Kariin^ 
 would be a beggar. To-morrow do thou go before his 
 shop, and buy of him a costly piece of raiment : give 
 it to me, and thou shalt see how I will manage this 
 business." 
 
 So next day the youth went to the bazaar, and 
 bought a robe of the merchant, which he gave to the 
 effeminate one, who proceeded to the street where the 
 
 ^ Karun is the Korah of the Bible, and, according to Muslim 
 legends, possessed enormous wealth. See the 28th chapter of 
 Sale's Koran, and his note.
 
 76 THE BOOK OF SINDTBAD. 
 
 moon-faced one dwelt, and by craft managed to get into 
 the house. When the fairy-face saw his demon-hke 
 form, she laughed and ran before him. After a while 
 she brought a tray of food, and sat down beside him ; 
 and he made friends with her. And when the girl was 
 not looking, he slipped the robe under the husband's 
 pillow, soon after which he left the house. When the 
 good-man came back, as usual (for he was never a 
 night absent from the house), he looked at the pillow, 
 and saw that robe. He was amazed, and tore up the 
 robe. As this sight was not far from sin, he was dis- 
 gusted with life and with woman, and he struck the 
 poor thing's head and face. The woman managed to 
 escape from him, and went to her mother. 
 
 One day the vile hag came forth from her house, 
 and went to the house where the lady was, and in- 
 quired what had befallen her. The lady answered: 
 " My husband came in and struck me, though I had 
 done nothing; — I know of nothing wrong that I did; I 
 said nothing either good or bad. It seems as though 
 they had cast a spell on him to make him act thus. 
 What can I do in such a case?" The ill-omened hag 
 thus answered her: "I know a skilful diviner, than 
 whom no one better knows secrets; the heavens are to 
 him as the earth; everything from the moon to the 
 earth is as wax under his seal ; never have I seen any 
 one who speaks more truly than he; — he will certainly 
 be able to divine thy case, and annul the enchantment 
 against thee." AMth such words she gained her confi-
 
 THE CONCEALED KOBE. 77 
 
 dence; and returning to the youth's house, she told 
 him all that had happened, and he was greatly pleased 
 with what he heard. In the morning he adorned the 
 house as for a banquet; made it like a garden when 
 the roses are in bloom; and collected lutists and 
 harpers, for they say that wine without music is grief 
 When all was ready and he was waiting their coming, 
 there entered the demon, and after her the fairy, whose 
 cheek was studded with perspiration, like the rose with 
 dew in the morning. She was come to that house in 
 order that he might draw her out a charm. The youth 
 at once came forward to meet her, bowing much and 
 apologising: the fairy-face saw him whose heart was 
 distracted for her— saw him whose nights were sleep- 
 less through longing for her. That same moment she 
 forgot the merchant— forgot right and wrong. The hag 
 then left the house, for the arrow had struck the mark. 
 The youth then took her by the hand and seated 
 her. . . The diviner looked in her face and dis- 
 covered the state of her mind. . . When the lady 
 had returned to her mother's house, the youth called 
 for the hag, and said: "Since thou hast done so well, 
 and forgotten nothing;— as thou hast done a kindness, 
 complete it: make peace between these two mates- 
 speak of the virtue and goodness of the wife." She 
 said: "Yes; for such is my work." 
 
 In the morning she went to the bazaar, and said to 
 the merchant: " They have not accepted thy stuff, so I 
 am disgusted and vexed for shame. I went on to the
 
 78 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 house of prosperity {i.e. his own house), and there I 
 left the stuff. Look, for it is under thy pillow. God 
 forbid that any should have grieved through this (my 
 mistake)." She then took the price of the stuff from 
 the merchant, and returned to her master. When the 
 merchant heard this story from the old woman, it 
 seemed to him to be true, and he repented of what he 
 had done. He took many robes better than that one, 
 of Khataian, Baghdad!, and Chinese stuffs, and gave 
 them to his wife, and kissed her, and begged for 
 pardon, .saying: "My wife, the right was with thee." 
 He rubbed his head against her feet, and so soothed 
 and did away her displeasure.] ^ 
 
 The king is again persuaded to suspend the execu- 
 tion, and to remand his son to prison. 
 
 TJie Damsel comes the Seventh Time before the 
 King, rends her Garments^ a)id demands 
 Justice. 
 
 When the Damsel learned that her calumnies 
 were ineffectual, and that the wrath of his Majesty, 
 and the thirst for his son's blood, which she had 
 excited, had been dispelled by the counsels of his 
 sage minister, thinking that she might yet conceal 
 from him her crime, she approached the throne, 
 and shedding tears, exclaimed: " O king, whither is 
 
 ^ See Appendix, No. i6.
 
 THE CHANGED SEX. 79 
 
 departed that justice for which you were renowned? 
 Dread that God who created the soul, and made 
 you ruler of the earth. When a son aims, as yours 
 has done, at the life of his father, he is a curse, 
 and not a blessing. Trust not your vazir, who is 
 attached to other interests than yours, and who seeks 
 only the aggrandisement of his own family. You 
 yourself exercise no real sovereignty, but are guided 
 in everything by him, and have not the liberty of a 
 common rustic. If I have spoken too freely, consider 
 for whose interest I am speaking. You are a mighty 
 sovereign, and honoured with the esteem of other 
 monarchs. Your son is but an ignorant boy, pleased 
 with his panther and his hawk;i while your vazir is so 
 intent on his own ambitious schemes, that he knows 
 not months from years: entrust not the management 
 of your kingdom to a foe. You have gained it by the 
 sword; leave it not to the needle. Since this vazir is 
 leagued with your son, choose another minister. What 
 will it avail you to lament my fate, when I shall be in 
 my grave? You know what a prince once experienced 
 from his [father's] vazir, who acknowledged not the 
 ties of gratitude, but involved him in dire calamity? 
 If your Majesty desires it, I will relate the story." The 
 
 1 The cheetah, a species of panther, is trained in India and 
 Persia to hunt the antelope. — Hawking, long a favourite sport 
 in Europe, is still a common diversion of the Persians and 
 Arabs. For a graphic description of hunting the antelope with 
 hawks as well as dogs, see Malcolm's Sketches of Persia.
 
 So THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 king having expressed a wish to hear it, the Damsel 
 relates the 
 
 Story of the Prince zvho ivent to /unit, and the 
 stratagem which the Vazir practised on him. 
 
 [The whole of this story, as Falconer has stated, is 
 wanting in the manuscript It is the tale of the prince 
 who was changed into a woman by drinking at an 
 enchanted fountain. — See Scott's version of the Seven 
 VazJrs in the present volume, where it forms the 
 fourth story of the Damsel. 
 
 We must now turn back to the displaced leaves 
 —folia 87 to 126 inclusive — which should follow the 
 missing story of the Changed Sex. And here is 
 another deficiency; but it may be supposed that, as 
 usual, the king once more gives orders for the execu- 
 tion of his son, upon which the Seventh Vazir 
 presents himself, and, having prevailed upon his 
 Majesty to stay the execution, begins to relate the 
 
 Story of the King and the Virtuous IVife,^ 
 
 the commencement of which is also wanting, but it 
 was probably similar to that of the story as found in 
 
 ^ Or, " The Lion's Track." — This fragment seems also to 
 have escaped Falconer's notice, at least, it finds no place in 
 his analysis.
 
 THE LION'S TRACK. 
 
 Syntipas and other old versions : A king, who was very 
 fond of women, chanced one day to see a beautiful 
 lady on the terrace of her house, and immediately 
 became enamoured of her. Having ascertained that 
 she was the wife of one of his officers, or ministers, the 
 king despatched him on a distant expedition, and soon 
 after visited the lady one evening. Now this lady was 
 as virtuous as she was beautiful, and, pretending to 
 accede to the king's desire, she gave him a book 
 to read while she bathed and adorned herself. This 
 book consisted of warnings against the indulgence 
 of illicit passions, and in the first page of what 
 remains of the story, the king seems to be engaged 
 in reading it with great interest, and the narrative 
 thus proceeds : 
 
 When the king reflected on these things, he repented 
 of all he had previously done; and when the lady came 
 in at the door, he looked on her with a different eye. 
 He offered excuses to her; gave her a signet-ring^ 
 with his name on it, in order that it might be a keep- 
 sake for her, and then went, to his own palace, with 
 his heart and soul wounded for what he had done. 
 That wine-drinking, beauty-adoring king became by 
 this means a pure devotee, with the sacred volume 
 (the Qur'an) ever in his hand. He repented of his 
 former wickedness, and never again did he but what 
 was lawful. 
 
 ' In the Greek and Arabic versions the king forgets his ring ; 
 in the Hebrew, his cane; in the old Castilian, his sandals. 
 
 F
 
 82 THE BOOK OF SI ND I BAD. 
 
 One night the lady's husband came home unex- 
 pectedly. She had placed beside her the ring, which 
 shone afar, like (the planet) Jupiter. And when he 
 saw it, he was confounded; he examined it, and read 
 the inscription, and recognising the royal name of the 
 king thereon, earth and heaven became black in his 
 eyes. The ring, which was of diamond, became a 
 diamond for the heart of that master — it made him 
 bleed for such a lot, as though there was poison under 
 that signet. He thrust her forth of the house, and 
 said nothing. 
 
 The brother of the lady went before the king, and 
 made complaint that "That good-man (his sister's hus- 
 band) took from us a holding; without cause he has 
 drawn back his hand from it: ask why he has left it." 
 The king demanded of that broken-hearted one: 
 "What is the cause of thy leaving it? If there has 
 arisen a quarrel, on whose account is it?" Then the 
 good-man answered thus: "O king, Defender of the 
 Faith, Issuer of Command, I saw therein the track of 
 the lion's foot; — can one work in the lion's place? 
 Otherwise, there is no complaint against my ground; 
 but it is not prudent to go in the lion's track." The 
 king knew that this was the lady's husband, and the 
 affair of the ring flashed upon him. So he encouraged 
 him, saying: "Make not ill thy heart: thou art mis- 
 taken. Do not commit a fault against thyself The 
 lion that was there did not any harm." On hearing 
 this, the man's heart was set at rest, and he repented
 
 THE WILES OF WOMEN. 83 
 
 the trouble and vexation he had caused his wife; he 
 went at once and begged her forgiveness, and made 
 all things pleasant for her. He sought the content- 
 ment of her heart, for true was her word, and virtuous 
 her condition.^ 
 
 Having thus concluded, the vazir then proceeds to 
 relate the 
 
 Story of the Alan luho compiled a Book on 
 the Wiles of Women? 
 
 In former days and early times, there was a wise man, 
 active in his affairs; free from stain was his skirt; no 
 sister, or mother, or mother-in-law had he. All his life 
 he had lived in chastity — nought knew he, save prayer. 
 Never in all his life had he seen woman's face; his 
 heart was at peace from the witch, woman; his heart 
 was undisturbed by antimony or coUyrium.-^ Even the 
 great ones of the faith, and the lions of the path, have 
 
 ^ See Appendix, No. 17. 
 
 - Falconer does not give this story, but refers to the version of 
 it in Syntipas, from which, however, as well as from all other 
 versions, it differs materially ; and he conjectured it to be told by 
 the Fifth Vazir, an error now rectified by the insertion of the 
 two stories proper to that vazir, which he has not noticed. 
 
 '■'• It is perhaps hardly necessary to state that Asiatic women 
 slain the edges of their eyelids with a black powder (called kohl), 
 to increase the lustre of their naturally expressive eyes; and that 
 antimony was formerly esteemed the best kind of collyrium.
 
 84 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 glanced towards women. Flee thou from aloes-wood 
 and ambergris/ as a child would escape from a lion. 
 All day he collected (tales of) the wiles of women. 
 He encompassed the world like the wind; he, the 
 master, became a disciple. At length, one day he 
 arrived at a city, and he saw in that city an experienced 
 man, who (like himself) had spent his life in the same 
 work: for forty years he had traversed sea and land, 
 and tinally composed a treatise on this subject, 
 adorned with the lies and excuses — the tricks and 
 contrivances of women. This man became his guest, 
 and ate at the same table; and when they were done 
 with bread and tray, they began to converse on various 
 subjects, and he said that which was on his mind. 
 When he (the experienced man) saw what was the 
 object of his guest, he redeemed him from his trouble 
 and labour, by giving him the collection he had him- 
 self made, including the commentary which he had 
 also composed. And thus the young man secured 
 what had been the ot:)ject of his life from morn till 
 eve, and his work was completed. Thereupon, long- 
 ing for home seized upon his heart. No evil is worse 
 than the plight of the poor; nothing is pleasanter than 
 one's own house. In truth, when God gives daily 
 bread, why should the beggar trouble himself? . . . 
 The wise man desires his own country; for delightful 
 
 1 In other words: " Keep far from women," who are, in the 
 East, addicted to the lavish use of perfumes.
 
 THE WILES OF WOMEN. 85 
 
 is the sight of an old friend. What is pleasanter than 
 to return home after a long absence?^ 
 
 He placed his books upon a camel, and proceeded 
 homeward. In returning he was like a hawk; he sped 
 in that direction as a falcon. At a village, one day's 
 journey from his city, one received him as a guest, 
 with honour, respect, and distinction. He set down 
 his chests of books outside, for there was no room in 
 the house sufficient to contain them. Presently some 
 important business called away the good-man of the 
 house, who, on leaving, thus commissioned his wife: 
 " O wise one, be not a moment neglectful of this 
 man." Having said this, he went off, and left his 
 wife, who was a rose like the cypress of Paradise. 
 The blackness (of her eyes) was like the Water of 
 Life; the sugar of her smile bound up the hand of 
 the cane. She was a spring-blossom, fresher than the 
 jasmine-leaf; covered with leaves and flowers fresher 
 than those in the meadow. 
 
 She came to seek an excuse of the youth; — see 
 what will come of this excuse-seeking! When he 
 
 ^ This is a favourite theme with poets of all lands and ages. 
 Thus Rudaki, the Father of Persian Poetry [ana A.D. 925), 
 exclaims, in his eulogium on P)ukhara: "The gale cometh from 
 the stream on whose banks our relations and friends reside, and 
 with it wafts to us the fragrant information that we are sighed 
 after by our dear but distant companions. The sandy shore of 
 the Amu, however painful and disagreeable, shall, in the moment 
 of our return, feel pleasant to our feet as the softest silk."
 
 86 THE BOOK OF SIN DIB AD. 
 
 beheld her, a torrent poured from his eyes. He fell 
 into the place of evil. He stumbled, and his face 
 became pale: his breath became cold as the wind of 
 autumn. The woman perceived how it was with him 
 — how her magic had worked on that Samiri. She sat 
 down, and soothed him. She asked, slowly and softly, 
 her face hidden in her linen veil: "Welcome! whence 
 hast thou come with joy? Thou hast adorned our 
 narrow hovel ! " She was curious to know whether his 
 load was gold — she knew not that it was the load of an 
 ass! " O master," she said to him, "what is your load 
 —what manner of stuff is in it?" Painfully and slowly, 
 he gave answer, his heart filled with fire, and his soul 
 overthrown : " It is a number of books containing all 
 the wiles and devices of women." When the wanton 
 beauty heard these words, she tripped out of the 
 house. The poor wretch remained with his ow^n 
 griefs; — there was none to draw the thorn from the 
 wound. He forgot good and bad; he became so that 
 he forgot himself The crafty one came back, and 
 saved him. . . Come, now, and see his case: see 
 the end of his work and business. The labour of forty 
 years comes to nothing. His brain was confused, and 
 he became mad: though he was a friend, he became 
 a stranger. He washed out all that was in his books. 
 He ran from door to door like the mad. Now he 
 smote his breast with a stone, now he tore his collar. 
 His claims all went to the winds — all his austerity, 
 asceticism, and piety. At length, in this pain and
 
 THE PRINCE BREAK'S SILENCE. 87 
 
 stress, he died; — there was none to snatch his soul 
 from the hand of woman's wiles.]' 
 
 The ])eriod during which the evil as])ects in the 
 l)rince's horoscope were to i)revail having now come 
 to a close, and the seven days during which he was to 
 keep silence being ended, he sent a messenger to the 
 chief vazir to thank him for the exertions he had made 
 in his behalf.' The vazir, upon this, waited on the 
 prince, who requested him to beg for him an audience 
 
 ^ See Appendix, No. 18. 
 
 - Professor Comparetti seems to have been misled by the 
 French translator of Falconer's analysis when he states that the 
 Prince, in this text, begins to speak on the seventh day. He 
 certainly did speak to the prime vazir on the seventh day, but 
 did not appear at court until the day following. The text says : 
 " When the star of the prince became good, that prince became 
 prosperous, of victorious augury. Auspiciousness looked into 
 his case ; inauspiciousness went away from his fortune. Thus 
 the seven days passed over him, in which, like the lily, he never 
 loosed his tongue. He sent to the grand vazir, that experienced 
 man of wisdom, saying : ' Thy efforts are thanked and approved. 
 From the good comes ever good : who cuts a good branch from 
 a bad root? Thy rights shall never be forgotten ; for the cotton 
 of negligence is not in my ear.' . . This message reached the 
 vazlr's ear, and he thanked God that that sleeping fortune had 
 awakened. To the place where the king's son lay, which was a 
 wretched dwelling, he came." The prince tells the vazir to 
 summon all the grandees on the niorrazo to the king's court, for 
 then all should be made clear. Accordingly, next morning (the 
 eighth day) the prince appears in court, and speaks in his own 
 defence,
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 of his Majesty [on the morrow], when the nobles and 
 courtiers should be all assembled. The vazir joyfully 
 hastened to the king, and announced the request of 
 the prince, expressing his confidence that it would 
 soon appear, before the whole assembly, who was 
 innocent and who was guilty. 
 
 The king accordingly assembled his grandees [next 
 day], and when he was seated on his throne, the sage 
 Sindibad entered, and the king desired him to be 
 seated. The prince next presented himself, and, after 
 kissing his father's carpet, raising his head, he gave 
 thanks to God that he was again permitted to appear 
 at the foot of the throne. " When God wills not the 
 destruction of any one," said he, " no ingenuity of man 
 can effect it ; and if it be decreed by him, it cannot be 
 countervailed." In illustration of this remark, the 
 Prince relates the 
 
 Story of the Poisoned Guests} 
 
 [There was of old time an ocean-hearted {i.e. bounti- 
 tiful) one, by whose hands mines would have been 
 emptied; a noble, of auspicious step and lofty purpose, 
 who never kept his door shut upon guests; to whose 
 mansion was neither door, lock, nor porter. If a poor 
 man asked him for a dirham, he gave him a dinar; if 
 one asked him for a scrap, he gave him an ass-load. 
 Once a party of his friends, great men, relations and 
 
 1 Here presented more fully than it is by Falconer.
 
 THE POISONED GUESTS. 89 
 
 companions of his, came to him as guests, as of wont ; 
 came to his house and table. He received them after 
 the fashion of the generous, for this was ever his 
 custom. A slave-girl went to fetch milk, that he might 
 feast his guests with sugar and milk — two very good 
 things. She covered not the top of the milk-dish. 
 Hearken to these words, and take warning: A stork 
 was passing in the air, having snatched u]) an old 
 snake from the desert. Poison was dropping through 
 the air from that snake. How can one fly from the 
 decrees of fate? Saliva dropped from the mouth of 
 that viper, and that milk was mixed with poison ; and 
 \\hoever took any of that milk fell down, and there 
 died forthwith.]! 
 
 "Who was guilty in this instance?" asked the prince ; 
 " and who ought to have been punished?" One said: 
 " Doubtless, the female slave, because she did not 
 cover up the milk." Another said: "The stork was to 
 blame for having the snake in its mouth." Another 
 said : "The snake, for dropping its venom in the milk." 
 " Nay, nay," said a fourth; "but the giver of the enter- 
 tainment, who left it to his slave to bring the milk." — 
 The prince said: "All these opinions are mistaken. 
 No one was to blame; it was the decree of God." 
 
 " There are four things," continued the prince, 
 "about which the wise do not distress themselves: 
 j^irst — One's daily bread; for however scant it may 
 
 See Appendix, No. 19.
 
 go THE BOOK OF SINDTBAD. 
 
 be, it will undoubtedly suffice to conduct one to his 
 grave. Secofid — Death, which none can avert or retard, 
 and which ought, therefore, to be met with resignation. 
 Third — One's destiny, which will not cease to attend a 
 man, notwithstanding all his exertions. Fojirth — Dis- 
 tress, which neither the wise nor the foolish can 
 remedy. 
 
 " One is constantly engaged in devotion ; another 
 is for ever in the tavern. Who leads the one to 
 the street of the tavern? — who draws the other to the 
 practice of devotion ? 
 
 "Many a man, though immersed in the water, has 
 reached the shore, while the sailor has not seen it: 
 many an alchemist has gone to his grave poor and 
 naked as he first entered the world; many a grave- 
 digger has found unexpectedly the treasure of Faridun.^ 
 The one and the other events are alike the ordinance 
 of God. Whatever he decrees inevitably happens. If 
 a man undergoes imprisonment and chains, it is not 
 the order of any one, but the decree of destiny." 
 
 When the king heard this address of his son, he was 
 filled with admiration of his wisdom; he kissed his 
 face, and took him to his bosom, and all his former 
 love for him returned. He opened the doors of his 
 treasury, and enriched the poor and needy. He set 
 the prisoners free, and the debtors from their confine- 
 
 ^ Thus Sa'di : " The alchemist died of grief and distress, while 
 the blockhead found treasure under a ruin."
 
 THE CARELESS MOTHER. 91 
 
 ment. He now turned his thoughts to the philosopher 
 Sindibad : and wlicn he reflected how he had liazarded 
 his Hfe, his esteem for him increased, and he resolved 
 to reward him munificently. He sent for him, and 
 bestowed ample benefactions on the sage himself, his 
 sons, and dependants. 
 
 He then inquired of Sindibad how it happened that 
 the prince was at first averse to learning, and after- 
 wards made such proficiency: how he was at first 
 silent, and afterwards had his mouth opened. Sindi- 
 bad kissed the hand of his Majesty, and after offering 
 vows for his prosperity, replied: "Your Majesty is 
 aware that everything is restricted to its appointed 
 season. The winds of winter come not in spring. The 
 tree while it is yet but a sapling bears no fruit, but 
 yields it when it has grown tall and affords a shade. 
 The business was at first beset with difficulties. Much 
 did I labour, and the seed which I sowed has sprung 
 up and yielded increase. The prince, O king, has 
 now no equal in this age. On whatever science you 
 question him he will answer with correctness." 
 
 The king commended the exertions of Sindibad, 
 and, addressing the prince, requested him to explain 
 his former backwardness. The Prince replies by 
 relating the 
 
 Stoiy of the Careless MotJier. 
 
 [I HAVE heard of a lovely woman in Arabia, that when 
 she grew up to be a fair beauty, she ever sat at her
 
 92 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 window or in the alcove. Like the tuhp, she hid not 
 her face from strangers ; like the hyacinth, she covered 
 not constantly her hair. She was wanton, and joyous, 
 and fond of pleasure, and was never without flute, 
 harp, or tambourine. She had no care of name, or 
 thought of fame, but all day listened to the sound 
 of the harp. She had no fear of brother or thought of 
 father; and in this manner she passed her days. She 
 had a little darling (lit. a corner of her liver), very dear 
 to her heart, from whose mouth the scent of milk 
 would come to her. One morning she took a cord 
 and a pitcher, and put the little darling on her 
 shoulder. She went on to the well, where she saw a 
 fairy-faced one, like the sun — like the cypress in 
 figure, like the moon in face, before whom the fame 
 of Joseph would have fallen into the well. She saw 
 him, and lost her wits, so that she forgot herself — 
 forgot all good and bad. In her madness, this 
 inebriate wanton bound the cord round the child's 
 neck, and lowered him into the well. The boy cried 
 out, and a crowd speedily came from the road, and 
 drew him from the well.]^ 
 
 " So thoughtless is youth,"' said the prince. " Make 
 not thyself uneasy, then, about the raw stripling, since 
 time will render him mature. I'hus was it with me. 
 Youth is the season of gaiety and thoughtlessness. 
 I then cared but for sport and the chase. That 
 
 1 Falconer has condensed this story into a few lines.
 
 THE INFANT IN THE CRADLE. 93 
 
 period is now past, and no one sees it a second 
 time, even in a dream. Reason then became my 
 guide; and when I distinguished right from wrong, 
 my heart was plunged in thought. Virtue and know- 
 ledge are the only garments that never grow old. — 
 Sire, I have seen three persons wiser than myself and 
 more experienced in the world : the first, an infant at 
 the breast, by the inspiration and aid of the Creator; 
 the second, a little child of five years old ; the third, a 
 blind old man." 
 
 At the request of his Majesty, the Prince then 
 relates the 
 
 Story of the Infant, 
 
 that spoke in its cradle, and reproved an adulterous 
 king, when about to gratify an unlawful passion; on 
 whom its words made so deep an impression, that 
 from that time he became remarkable for his virtue 
 and devotion. 1 
 
 The Prince next relates (fol. io8) the story of the 
 child five years old, that instructed the woman what 
 answer to make to her adversary and the qazi : '^ 
 
 1 See Syntipas, p. 115 of Boissonade, p. 91 of Eberhard. 
 
 - The judge and magistrate in Muslim cities, who performs 
 the rites of marriage, settles disputes, and decides civil and 
 criminal cases, according to the Qur'an.
 
 94 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 Story of the Stolen Purse, and the Child of 
 Five Years. 
 
 Once on a time three persons agreed among them- 
 selves to enter into partnership, have everything in 
 common, and share one another's secrets. One was 
 a farmer, another a merchant, and another a dealer 
 in grain. AVhen they had amassed a sum of money, 
 they agreed to deposit it with an old woman of 
 approved honesty, but on this condition, that none 
 should ask it back, unless all the three were present. 
 One of them was an expert sharper. Being with his 
 companions in the street, he pretended that he was 
 going to ask from the woman some clay and other 
 necessaries for the bath. He approached her window, 
 and begged her to hand him out, not what he had 
 mentioned, but the purse. She asked where were his 
 two partners. He said: "They are at hand; look from 
 the window and see that they are both witnesses." The 
 woman, seeing them, gave him the purse, while his 
 companions never suspected any mischief The man 
 immediately on receiving it, fled to the desert, and 
 went to another kingdom. 
 
 The two friends, after waiting some time in the 
 street, and not finding their companion return, began 
 to suspect what had happened, and hastening in alarm 
 to the house of the old woman, demanded the deposit. 
 She replied that their partner had received the money 
 by their order and in their presence; upon which they
 
 THE CHILD OF FIVE YEARS. 95 
 
 took her before the qazi, who commanded her to re- 
 store the deposit. She begged a delay of three days, 
 which was granted. She departed weeping, and a 
 child of five years of age, whom she met in the street, 
 inquired the cause of her distress. Upon her relating 
 it, the child smiled and said: "Tell the qazi to-morrow 
 in the court, that when he produces the three partners 
 before you, you are ready to restore the money." 
 
 Next day she did as the child had suggested to her. 
 The qazi, in astonishment, asked her " who had pierced 
 this pearl." She at first claimed the merit to herself; 
 but as the qazi would not believe that a woman could 
 possess such wisdom, she confessed the truth; and 
 whenever in future a difficulty occurred, the qazi 
 referred to that child for a solution.^ 
 
 1 Although this story is omitted in the version of the Seven 
 Vazirs translated by Scott, it is found in all other texts of the 
 Book of Sindibad. In Syntipas, three merchants leave their gold 
 and silver, in three purses, with an old woman in whose house 
 they lodged. — In the Syriac text, three men travelled together 
 into a foreign land, and, coming to a town, took up their abode 
 with an old woman. As they were going to bathe, they said to 
 their hostess : " Put out some bathing linen, and what else we 
 require." She put out everything for them, but forgot the 
 comb. Then the men entrusted the old woman with their 
 money, and told her not to give it to any one of them alone — 
 only when all three came together to claim it, etc. The old 
 Castilian translation agrees exactly with the Syriac version. — In 
 the Arabian texts, fottr merchants, who are partners in trade 
 and possess a joint capital of a thousand dinars, in the course of 
 a journey come to a garden with a running stream, in which
 
 96 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 The Prince next relates the 
 
 Story of the Sandal-icood Alerchaiit, and the 
 Advice of the Blind Old Man. 
 
 There was once a young man, a merchant, who 
 wandered about the world like the zephyr or the 
 north wind, and who, like the sun and moon, was 
 on his travels every month and all the year round. 
 Manifold are the advantages of travel, by which a man 
 of enterprise becomes respected. He who has travelled 
 is awake and intelligent; and when an affair of import- 
 ance occurs, he is powerful; while he who has sat 
 inactive at home can with difficulty procure a liveli- 
 hood. Travel is the profit and the capital of man; 
 its hardships are his nurse. Through it the raw and 
 inexperienced at length become adepts; through it 
 the great achieve renown. By travel the new moon 
 perpetually becomes the full. What is travel, but a 
 capital by which a fortune may be amassed P^ By 
 
 they agree to bathe, and leave their purse with the woman 
 who had charge of the garden. Three of them had begun to 
 take off their clothes when they discovered that they had no 
 comb, so the fourth, who was still dressed, was requested by 
 his partners to ask the woman for one ; but he asked and 
 obtained the purse, and so on, as in the present version. — See 
 Appendix, No. 20. 
 
 ' "Capital is multiplied twice and thrice over, by repeatedly 
 buying and selling, by those who have knowledge and travel to 
 other lands." — Pancha Tantra. — For some verses in praise of 
 travel, see Appendix, No. 21.
 
 THE BLIND OLD MAN. 97 
 
 travel this young man became alert and active; and 
 he who is active attains to wealth. He was now in 
 Khata, now in Khutan;^ now in Aleppo, and now in 
 Yaman. He carried the products of Khurasan to 
 Kh,arazm;2 he conveyed the stuffs of Ispahan to the 
 emperor of China. As he sold in Bukhara the products 
 of Abyssinia, he necessarily sold them at i,ooo per 
 cent. (lit. one for ten).^ 
 
 Some one having told him that at Kashgar sandal- 
 wood was of equal value with gold, and was sold for its 
 weight in that metal, he resolved to proceed thither; 
 and accordingly, having converted all his capital into 
 sandal-wood*, he set out on his journey. When he 
 arrived near Kashgar, a person of the country, hearing 
 that he had a large supply of sandal-wood (in which he 
 himself dealt), and fearing that that commodity would 
 be depreciated by its abundance, devised the follow- 
 ing stratagem. 
 
 Going two stages out of the city, he halted at the 
 spot where the foreign merchant was; and having 
 pitched his tent and opened his bales, he lit a fire 
 and piled sandal-wood on it for fuel. When the 
 
 ^ Both Khata and Khutan were kingdoms, or principalities, in 
 Chinese Tartary. 
 
 - Kh,arazm is a region lying along the River Oxus, and 
 extending to the Caspian Sea. 
 
 ■' "Of all goods, perfumes are the best: gold is not to be com- 
 pared to the article which is procured for one, and is parted with 
 for a thousand. " — Pancha Tantra. 
 
 ^ Perfumed woods — spiced woods. — Syntipas. 
 
 G
 
 98 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 merchant smelt the odour of the sandal-wood he 
 rushed from his tent in amazement and vexation. 
 The man from the city saluted him, saying: "You 
 are welcome; may God protect you from evil! Say, 
 from what country do you come, and what mer- 
 chandise bring you?" The merchant informed him. 
 "You have made a sad blunder," remarked the 
 citizen. " Why have you brought cumin-seed to 
 Kirman?^ The whole timber of this country is sandal- 
 wood : every casement, roof, and door is composed of it. 
 If one were to bring common wood hither, it would 
 be far better than sandal-wood. Who has been so 
 cruel as to suggest to you this ill-advised scheme? 
 From whose hand proceeds such a blunder as this? 
 Does anyone bring the musk-bladder to Chinese 
 Tartary?"2 
 
 "Alas!" said the young man to himself, "I have 
 thrown away my capital ! Covetousness is an unblest 
 passion ! Alas, for my long journey, and the hardships 
 I have endured! What have they availed me? He 
 who is not content with what God allots him, never 
 prospers." 
 
 The man, seeing the merchant now ready for his 
 purpose, said to him : " The world is never free from 
 profit and loss. Give this sandal-wood to me, and I 
 
 1 Apparently a proverbial expression. — F. 
 
 - Equivalent to our popular saying, "Coals to Newcastle." 
 Musk, the perfume so much esteemed in the East, is obtained 
 from the navel of a species of deer found in Tartar}' and Thibet.
 
 THE BLIND OLD MAN. 99 
 
 will give you in return a measure of gold or silver, or 
 of whatever else you shall ask."^ The merchant con- 
 sented; two witnesses were called, and the bargain was 
 struck. The merchant considered that the sum he 
 should receive was so much gain, and was rejoiced to 
 be rid of so worthless an article as he had brought. 
 
 He thence proceeded to the city of Kashgar, and 
 entering that delightful spot, that model of Paradise, 
 took up his lodging in the house of a virtuous old 
 woman. Of her the merchant asked a question, the 
 reply to which brought him grief and trouble. He 
 inquired: "What is the value of sandal-wood in this 
 kingdom?" and she informed him that it was worth its 
 weight in gold.^ " In this city," said she, " headache 
 is common; and hence it is in demand." At this 
 intelligence the merchant became distracted, for he 
 saw that he had been duped. He related his adven- 
 ture to the old woman, who cautioned him not to trust 
 the inhabitants of that city, by whose cunning many 
 had been ruined. 
 
 When morning came, he washed his eyes from sleep, 
 
 ^ "On this account, then, if you are needy, come and sell 
 your whole business, and what you wish, I shall give you upon 
 a full plate. " — Syntipas.—" And the man said, I have great grief 
 for thee. Since it is so, I will buy it of thee, and give thee 
 what thou shalt wish. And now get up, and give it to me" — 
 Libra de los Engannos. 
 
 - Precisely the same answer is made by the old woman both 
 in the Greek and the old Castilian translations : " It is worth its 
 weight in gold."
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 and inquired the way to the market. Thither he bent 
 his course, and wandered through market, street, and 
 field, still solitary, and without a friend or companion. 
 The alien has no portion in enjoyment : he is a martyr 
 wherever he dies. I will suppose him to be but 
 second to Kay-Qubad,^ and that he has placed on his 
 head the diadem of Faridun. Even were he Joseph 
 of Egypt, yet when he calls to mind his home and 
 country, a palace becomes to him a prison. 
 
 The young merchant was sad at heart, for his enter- 
 prise was entirely at a stand. Suddenly he observed 
 a person playing at draughts in the street. He 
 stopped, and thought to himself: "I will play with 
 this person to dispel my grief;" and sat down beside 
 the player, forgetful of the caution which his landlady 
 had given him. The other agreed to let him play, on 
 condition that whichever of them should lose should 
 be bound to do whatever the winner should desire.^ 
 The merchant was soon beaten by his crafty opponent, 
 who, upon this, required him to " drink up the waters 
 of the sea," a demand at which the merchant was con- 
 founded and perplexed. The report spread through 
 Kashgar, and a crowd soon collected. Another of the 
 gang had but one eye, which was blue, the colour of 
 the merchant's eyes. " You have stolen my eye," said 
 
 ^ Kay-Qubad was the founder of the second, or Kayani, 
 dynasty of ancient Persian kings. 
 
 - "Otherwise, surrender all his property" must, of course, be 
 understood to be the alternative.
 
 THE BLIND OLD MAN. 
 
 he to the merchant, and he claimed it in the presence 
 of the crowd. A third produced a stone, and said: 
 " Make from this piece of marble a pair of trousers 
 and a shirt. "^ 
 
 The story soon spread, and all Kashgar was in a 
 bustle. The old woman, hearing of it, hastened from 
 her house, and saw her lodger involved in difficulty. 
 She was surety for him, with ten householders, that 
 she would deliver him, when required, to the court of 
 justice. When they reached home, she reproached 
 him, saying: "When a man listens not to advice, fresh 
 calamities will constantly overtake him. Did I not 
 tell you to have absolutely no dealings with the 
 inhabitants of this city — no intimacy with them?" — 
 "It was no fault of yours," replied the youth; "but 
 there is no remedy against the decrees of destiny." 
 He was much dispirited, but she consoled him. " Be 
 not downcast," said she; "for joy succeeds to grief; 
 there can be no cure till there be a complaint. In 
 this city there is a blind old man, with neither power 
 in his feet nor strength in his hands; but a man 
 of great intelligence and acuteness. Those sharpers 
 assemble nightly at his house, and are directed by 
 him how to act. Do you this night dress yourself like 
 them, and repairing to his house sit silent among them. 
 When your adversaries shall enter and relate their 
 
 ^ As the merchant is not stated to have been engaged in play 
 with this sharper, there is probably something omitted here by 
 the copyist.
 
 THE BOOK OF SI ND I BAD. 
 
 adventures of the day, mark his answers and his 
 questions. Be all ear there, like the rose; hke the 
 narcissus, be all eye and silent." 
 
 The young man did as she desired, and repairing 
 thither at night, quietly seated himself in a corner. 
 The first who entered was the person who had bought 
 the sandal-wood. He related his adventure. " I have 
 bought a quantity of sandal-wood," said he, " for which 
 I am to give one measure of whatever the seller may 
 choose." "O simpleton!" exclaimed the old man, 
 " you have thrown yourself into the net. This crafty 
 merchant has over-reached you, my son. For if he 
 should demand of you neither silver nor gold, but a 
 j^'^ of male fleas, with silken housings and jewelled 
 bridles, and all linked together with golden chains, say, 
 how will you be able to extricate yourself from this 
 difficulty?" — "How," rephed the sharper, "could that 
 simpleton ever think of such a trick?" — "However 
 that may be," said the old man, " I have given you 
 your answer." 
 
 Next entered the draught-player, and related the 
 adventure of the game. "I have beaten him at 
 draughts," said he, "and have bound him to this 
 condition (and there are witnesses to our agreement), 
 that he shall drink up the whole waters of the sea." — 
 "You have blundered," replied the old man, "and 
 
 ^ The 5rt', according to Falconer, is a measure containing 
 four bushels. Lane says that it is (in Egypt) very nearly equal 
 to six English pints and two thirds.
 
 THE BLIND OLD MAN. 103 
 
 have involved yourself in difificulty. You thought you 
 had taken him in: in imagination you had caught 
 him in a snare from which there was no escape. But 
 suppose he should say: 'First, pray stop all the 
 streams and rivers that are flowing into the sea, 
 before I drink it dry;"i what possible answer can 
 you return?" — "How," said the knave, "could he, 
 in his whole life, think such a thought?" 
 
 Next the other sharper entered — a knave more 
 shameless than the other two. " I desired him," said 
 he, "to make with his own hands a pair of trousers 
 and a shirt from this slab of stone." The crafty old 
 man replied: "You have managed worse than all. 
 For if your opponent should say : ' Do you first weave 
 me from iron the thread to sew it with,'-^ how will you 
 be able to reply?" — "How should a simpleton like 
 him think of such an idea?" said the sharper. 
 
 ^ In the old German folk-book, which recounts the exploits of 
 Tyl Eulenspiegel, the arch-rogue is commanded to state the 
 quantity of water in the sea, and returns the same answer as 
 this suggested by the blind old man. This also occurs in one 
 of Sacchetti's novels, but the reply is somewhat different. 
 
 - A jest very similar to this is found in the Talmud. An 
 Athenian, walking in the streets of Jerusalem one day, saw a 
 tailor seated on his shop-board, busily plying his needle, and 
 picking up a broken mortar, he asked him to be so good as put 
 z. patch upon it. " Willingly," replied the tailor, taking up a 
 handful of sand and offering it to the joker; "most willingly, 
 sir, if you will hrst have the goodness to make me a few threads 
 of this material."
 
 I04 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 The man with one eye next came in. "That youth," 
 said he, "has blue eyes. I said to him: 'This is my 
 eye; it is evident to every one that you have stolen 
 it; restore it, and return my other eye its fellow.'" — 
 " O ignorant of the wiles of the age," replied the old 
 man; "your fortune is more adverse than that of all 
 the rest. Suppose he should say : ' Pluck out your one 
 eye, and then I will pluck out one of mine, that we 
 may put them both in scales and judge by their weight 
 whether you are right.' That man will then have one 
 of his eyes remaining, while you will be quite blind." 
 " He will never," said the other, " think of such a 
 trick as that."^ 
 
 1 In the Calcutta, Bulaq, and Breslau Arabic texts, the 
 merchant, after disposing of his sandal-wood, is accosted by 
 the one-eyed man, and obtains a day's respite, having provided 
 surety ; his shoe having been torn in the scuffle, he takes it to a 
 cobbler, saying : ' ' Repair it, and I will give thee what will 
 content thee;" then he plays at dice with a fourth sharper, 
 and, losing the game, is required to drink up the sea, or sur- 
 render all his property. The blind old man tells the cobbler 
 that the merchant might say to him: "The sultan's troops have 
 been victorious, and the number of his children and allies is 
 increased — art thou content?" — to which he dare not reply in 
 the negative ; and the dice-player might be asked to hold the 
 mouth of the sea and hand it to him, and he would drink. — In 
 Syntipas and the Libro de los Engannos, as in the present version, 
 the " stopping of the rivers " is the old man's suggestion ; and 
 the incident of the cobbler is not mentioned. — All that remains 
 of this story in the unique Syriac MS. text, discovered by 
 Rodiger, and printed, with a GeiTnan translation, by Baethgen,
 
 THE BLIND OLD MAN. 105 
 
 The young man listened, unobserved, to all that 
 had passed, hastened home, and gave the woman a 
 thousand thanks for having put him on a plan of 
 foiling his adversaries. He passed the night in calm- 
 ness and tranquillity. Next morning, when the parties 
 appeared before the qazi, the first, who had bought 
 the sandal-wood, seized the merchant by the collar, 
 saying: " Produce your measure, that I may fill it, and 
 give you your due." When the merchant gave him 
 his reply, he was confounded, and sat down mortified 
 in presence of the qazl. In like manner the merchant 
 made to each of the rest the reply which the old man 
 had suggested. At length, after a hundred difficulties 
 and objections, the merchant consented to take back 
 his sandal-wood, and several bags of gold as compen- 
 sation ; and he availed himself of the first opportunity 
 which offered to escape from the power of those 
 worthless people.^ 
 
 is the opening sentence: "There was once a merchant, who 
 bought a scented wood which is called aloe. When he heard " 
 — and here it breaks off. 
 
 ^ This tale seems directed by the author of the present text of 
 the Sindibdd as a satire upon the citizens of Kashgar. It bears 
 some resemblance to the rabbinical legends of the infamous 
 people of Sodom, who are represented as accomphshed sharpers, 
 and their judges as perverters and mockers of justice. For 
 example : if a man were wounded by another to the effusion of 
 blood, the judge would order him to pay the offender the fee for 
 blood-letting ; and if one cut off the ear of his neighbour's ass, 
 he was given the ass to keep until its ear grew again !
 
 lo6 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 When his Majesty heard this tale, he blessed 
 heaven that he had such a son; then, turning to his 
 ministers and courtiers, he inquired to whom they 
 considered him indebted for such a blessing. The 
 first said: "To the prince's mother, who attended 
 carefully to his bringing-up." Another ascribed his 
 excellence to his father; another to the attention of 
 Sindibad; "for," said he, "if the sun withhold his 
 glance, how could the stone be converted into a ruby 
 or a turquoise?"^ Another said: "Nay; but to your 
 Majesty's ministers, who have been a shield interposed 
 between the prince and calamity, so that the shaft of 
 woman hath not taken effect." 
 
 Then the eloquent Sindibad opened his mouth like 
 the lily, and said : " There is none worthy of thanks 
 or praise save God — that God who bestows vision and 
 hearing; for nothing proceeds from the blind and deaf. 
 He it is who has bestowed on the prince his capacity 
 and talent." 
 
 The king then asked the prince which of these 
 opinions he considered as the best. The Prince 
 rephed by relating the 
 
 Story of the Kings DaugJiter and her 
 Four Liberators. 
 
 A POWERFUL and mighty king, on the confines of 
 Kashmir, had an only daughter, of great beauty, whom 
 
 ^ It was believed that rubies were common stones on which 
 the sun had shone for ages.
 
 THE FOUR LIBERATORS. 107 
 
 he fondly loved. One day in spring she obtained 
 permission of her father to visit the gardens which lay 
 without the city. Here her tent was erected, and she 
 sported for some time with her maidens, when sud- 
 denly, while she sat on the margin of a tank, there 
 arose a dust and a great cloud, from which a black 
 div^ came forth, and seized and carried her off. Her 
 maidens were frightened, and some tore their hair, 
 others scratched their cheeks. When the king heard 
 of the circumstance, he was filled with grief and afflic- 
 tion. A\'hen he had somewhat recovered from the 
 shock, he caused it to be proclaimed that whoever 
 should bring back his daughter should obtain her in 
 marriage, along with half his kingdom. 
 
 There were in that city four persons of great ability. 
 One was a guide, who had travelled over the world — 
 in the morning in China, at night in Khata. The 
 second, a daring freebooter, who would have taken 
 the prey from the lion's mouth. The third, a cavalier 
 like Rustam,- the model of Isfandiyar^ in fight. The 
 fourth, a physician of blessed approach, whose breath 
 possessed the life-giving virtue of the Messiah's.'* All 
 
 ^ Divs are demons, corresponding in their power and disposi- 
 tion to the evil genii (all the genii, or jinn, are not bad) of the 
 Arabians, and to the Rakshasas of the Hindus. 
 
 - Rustam, the Hercules of the Persians, whose exploits are 
 recorded in the Shah Nama (Book of Kings), the grand epic, or 
 rather series of epics, of the celebrated poet FirdausT. 
 
 ^ Isfandiyar, a renowned warrior, who was slain in battle by 
 Rustam. •* See note 4, page 40.
 
 lo8 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 the four were sons of the same father and mother, and 
 each had his pecuHar gifts. On hearing the proclama- 
 tion, they agreed that this was an enterprise suited for 
 them. The guide led the way, and searched every- 
 where, while his brothers accompanied him. The div 
 inhabited a cave in the mountains of Yaman. When 
 they reached it, the robber, who was the most daring 
 of the three, entered it, and brought the damsel out, 
 the div being absent at the time. When he returned, 
 and found this Layli missing, he rushed out, troubled 
 in heart like Majnun,^ and despatched a party of 
 demons in their pursuit, bearing ponderous clubs on 
 their shoulders. The warrior put them to flight with 
 his sword. The damsel was dangerously ill, but the 
 physician prescribed for her, and restored her to 
 health. 
 
 Having thus achieved their task, they joyfully re- 
 paired to court, and each related his own achieve- 
 ment. The king was delighted, and grateful for the 
 recovery of his daughter. He opened his treasury, 
 and bestowed gifts on the poor. He sent for those 
 four persons, to reward them. On the first he 
 bestowed the tribute of the highways; the daring 
 
 1 Majnun and Layli are the names of two Arabian lovers, 
 whose constancy is celebrated throughout Islam ; they are the 
 Romeo and Juliet, the Abelard and Heloise, of Oriental poets 
 and romance writers. The great Persian Nizami (13th century) 
 composed a beautiful poem on the Loves of Layli and Majnun, 
 which has been translated into English verse by Atkinson.
 
 THE FOUR LIBERATORS. 109 
 
 freebooter he made his kafadar, or protector of his 
 person; [the physician he made his vazir;] and the 
 cavaher he seated on his throne, and gave him his 
 daughter in marriage, according to his promise.^ 
 
 Thus, every thing has its pecuhar quahty and re- 
 commendation. Honey possesses sweetness, but is 
 unfit to make vinegar. One robs, another guides; 
 one sells, another buys. Had not the guide led the 
 way, who would have conducted them aright in that 
 intricate research ? Had not the robber entered the 
 cave, who would have brought the damsel out? Had 
 not the warrior fought, who would have opposed the 
 army of demons? Had not the physician prescribed, 
 the damsel would not have been restored to health. 
 
 ["Although this tale is very disordered," adds the 
 Prince, "it is yet an example of the circumstances 
 of this slave (himself). Were hearts without sins, of 
 a certainty the earth would have remained void 
 of God's mercy. (Do thou, then, overlook my short- 
 comings.) Had there not been a counselhng master, 
 surely, in the ' A B c ' school, things would have been 
 hot. Had I not borne this effort and trouble, the 
 foot of endeavour had not descended to the treasure. 
 Had not my body been healthy — if all remedies 
 for weakness had been weak — how could I have so 
 struggled and kicked? — how had I arrived thus at the 
 desiderated place? All is the 'unmerited goodness' 
 
 ^ See Appendi.x, No. 22.
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 of the Sustainer (God), and enough! For no deed 
 ariseth from the hand of man." 
 
 When the Prince concluded, the king and his vazirs 
 were warm in their applause.^ 
 
 The title of the next chapter is as follows : 
 
 The End of the Affair of the Damsel, ivho zaas 
 taken in her ozvn Device, and punished by the 
 ivord of the Prince?' 
 
 Only a page of this chapter remains. The Damsel is 
 made to sit on her knees opposite the Prince, who 
 
 ^ Professor Comparetti justly complains that, so careless has 
 Falconer been at this part of his work, one does not know from 
 it whether this final tale is told by the Prince or by Sindibad. 
 We are first informed that it is related by the Prince, and after- 
 wards that " when Sindi/>dd had concluded," etc. The story, as 
 the title in the manuscript shows, is certainly told by the prince, 
 and the comments upon it seem also to be his, since Sindibad is 
 not mentioned in connection with this tale. Falconer has thus 
 rendered the story-teller's concluding observations, which he puts 
 into the mouth of the sage : ' ' This tale and these remarks are 
 applicable to my own case and that of the prince. Had not I 
 exerted myself, and he possessed talent, all would have been in 
 vain. But everything is due to the goodness of God, without 
 whose aid all human efforts are vain. " 
 
 - Sar-anjdmi kari kanizak, ki ha 'aiiiali kli'mi giriftdr shtid ; 
 wa ta'zlri n ha qatvli shah-zdda. 
 
 According to Falconer's rendering, ' ' the Damsel is pardoned 
 at the intercession of the Prince." The word ^a'sfr, however,
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 is in the same posture, before the king's throne. The 
 Prince says: "O king of the world, I have no witness 
 except God ! This violence did not proceed from me, 
 for one must needs be ashamed thereof. God knows 
 that his slave (himself) is good; — seek not good 
 from those who know not God." The king treated 
 that sinner (the damsel) with contempt: "This is the 
 time of question and answer. Why hast thou blackened 
 thy own face?^ Why hast thou done evil against this 
 innocent one? Had he ever done (aught wrong) to 
 thee? Had he injured thee or thine? Thou hast 
 made thyself an example in the world till the judg- 
 ment day. See what thy deeds have brought to pass ! 
 See now, how just is thy retribution! As thou hast 
 mingled the diamond with the draught, drink thou it 
 first, for thou hast poured it out. Brink up the dregs, 
 for it is thy turn. Why should the master of the feast 
 act wrongfully? Seek not that for thyself which thou 
 seekest not for others, for none who does evil sees 
 good." The damsel perspired like the (dew-sprent) rose 
 
 does not mean "pardoned," but "punishing by severe stripes;" 
 it also signifies "reproving." From what remains, as follows 
 above, of this important chapter, we cannot say which of the 
 two meanings of the term is the more appropriate. 
 
 1 In other words, "Why hast thou disgraced thyself?" In 
 Persia criminals are often led through the streets with their faces 
 blackened. When an ambassador has returned from a successful 
 mission, or a general from a brilliant campaign, he is said to have 
 "made his face ivhitc before the king." This, as well as the 
 other phrase, must be familiar to readers of Morier's Haji Baba.
 
 112 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 for shame. She wept over her plight, and said: " Now 
 have I no choice therein; — not once, but a hundred 
 times, have I done it. Order that they tear out my 
 hly-tongue,^ if thy slave (herself) has been free and 
 bold."] 2 
 
 The commencement of the next chapter is wanting. 
 Sindibad has been making some remarks on the 
 impossibility of avoiding destiny. The king then 
 compliments him on the success with which he had 
 educated the prince. " If I formerly had confidence 
 in your wisdom and virtue," said his Majesty, "it is 
 now increased a hundredfold. You are aware what 
 happy results you have produced, and what accom- 
 plishments you have imparted to my son. In return 
 for your exertions in giving life to this ancient house, 
 
 1 The tongue is often, from its shape, likened to the leaf of 
 the lily. 
 
 - We are thus, unfortunately, left in ignorance of what was the 
 end of the Damsel in this text. In the Mishle Sandabar, she is 
 pardoned at the intercession of the prince; in Nakhshabl's 
 Persian version (8th night of the Tutl Nama), she is hanged : 
 in the Calcutta and Bulaq printed Arabic texts, she is banished 
 from the city; in the Libra dc los Engannos, the king orders 
 her to be burnt in a dry caldron ; in Syntipas, she is condemned 
 to be driven through the city upon an ass, with her head shaved 
 and her face blackened, accompanied by the criers to proclaim 
 her crimes ; in Scott's Seven Vazirs, a large stone is tied to her 
 feet, and she is thrown into the sea.— See Appendix, No. 23.
 
 CONCLUSION. 1^3 
 
 I will place your own family in affluence and indepen- 
 dence." He then bestowed munificent gifts on the 
 philosopher. 
 
 His Majesty next inquired : " Whence did you 
 acquire all this wisdom and excellence, and at whose 
 house did you light your taper?" — Mark how wise an 
 answer the philosopher returned: "Reason, sire, was 
 my instructor," said he. " He who takes reason for 
 his guide will conduct his affairs to a successful issue; 
 for it is a drop from the ocean of God's grace — a key 
 to open — an unerring guide to conduct. I have 
 plucked a rose from the garden of the intelligent; 
 I have profited by the wisdom of the wise.^ Never 
 was there one like Faridun in wisdom, on whom may 
 there be every moment a thousand benedictions! 
 That wise, just, and pious monarch thus addressed 
 the prince who was to succeed him : ' Inscribe on the 
 walls of my palace these counsels, fraught with wisdom, 
 that my words may remain for ever as my memorial 
 after me.' 
 
 Counsels wliich zvere inscribed around the Hall 
 of the Jiappy Faridun. 
 
 If thou possessest wisdom and understanding, lend 
 not thine ear, as far as thou canst avoid it, to a 
 tale-bearer. Such a person has no merit, unless it be 
 
 1 Compare Sa'dl: " I have gathered something in each corner; 
 I have gleaned an ear in every harvest.'* 
 
 H
 
 114 THE BOOK OF SIN DIB AD. 
 
 this, that he carries a he from Khata to China. Grant 
 not such a one a second audience; admit him not to 
 a confidential interview. 
 
 Be not careless of an ill-disposed enemy; for negli- 
 gence is not excusable under any circumstances, and 
 whilst thou art engaged with other affairs, he is plotting 
 how to injure thee. 
 
 Take not compassion on snake or serpent; for the 
 one is a torment, the other a calamity. 
 
 If thou hast a friend sincere and accordant, make 
 him thy constant associate. 
 
 Take not counsel with any save the wise; turn not 
 from such a straight path. 
 
 Beware of the ignorant man and his conversation, 
 schemes, and writing. Beware of the domestic enemy, 
 whose reliance is on his ignorance and folly. 
 
 Leave not thorns in the highway, lest perchance 
 thy own foot be wounded unaware. 
 
 The person whom thou hast not known all his life 
 — to whom thou hast not given thy confidence — 
 whose companion thou hast not been in travel (for in 
 travel a man is exposed to perils) — to whom thou 
 hast given nothing, and from whom thou hast received 
 nothing — place not reliance on that person, if thou art 
 wise. 
 
 A demon whom thou knowest is better than a huri 
 whom thou knowest not. 
 
 Beware of speaking, except on occasions when thy 
 speaking may be useful.
 
 CONCLUSION. 115 
 
 So speak, that when thou speakest again, thy words 
 may be the same — nay, better. 
 
 " How can there be [adds Sindibad] better counsels 
 than those which have the warrant of Faridun?" 
 
 The king next interrogated the philosopher on the 
 affairs of the world. " Accomplished sage," said he, 
 "who is deserving of sovereignty, and whom does the 
 diadem become?" 
 
 " The answer," replied the sage, " is clear as the sun. 
 He deserves to wear a crown, he is worthy of dominion, 
 who knows the worth and dignity of every one, and who 
 pays to each the respect due to him. Entrust not 
 important affairs to the mean man, for he will be 
 impotent under the mighty load." 
 
 Again the king asked: " Of monarchs, say, who is 
 the most to be approved ? — of the virtues of monarchs, 
 which is the most laudable?" 
 
 " He," replied the sage, " who examines an affair in 
 all its bearings, who acts with prudence, and who is 
 neither precipitate nor dilatory." 
 
 Various other questions were then put by his Majesty, 
 and answered to his satisfaction by Sindibad; after 
 which he asks the prince to produce some such pearls 
 of advice as those which his tutor had strung. The 
 prince complies, and delivers a series of moral, pru- 
 dential, and religious maxims, which serve to show 
 that he had improved wonderfully under the tuition 
 of Sindibad, but with which the reader will perhaps
 
 Ii6 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 dispense. Suffice it to say, that the king was struck 
 with admiration at the wisdom of his son; and being 
 now in his seventieth year, reflected thus : 
 
 " How long," said he to himself, " shall the wine- 
 pitcher, the wine, the drum, and the lute engross 
 thee? By thy arm and might didst thou seize the 
 royal crown. Thou hast amassed treasures in abund- 
 ance by shedding the blood of the weak, not by the 
 hand of toil. Thou hast taken from him who had 
 nothing, and bestowed on him who left behind him. 
 Neither was he from whom those treasures were ex- 
 torted guilty, nor he who received them deserving. 
 Then what wisdom was there first in taking from such 
 a one, and next in bestowing on the other? 
 
 " But thou shalt be seized and receive the penalty 
 of thy misdeeds in that day when every act shall be 
 brought to light. What profit has resulted to thee 
 from this life of seventy years? Go, make blind the 
 eye of thy desire; prepare thy coffin, and benefit at 
 least him who digs thy grave. Long enough have thy 
 thoughts of Rum, and thy projects on Khata, engaged 
 thee; go now, prepare thy provision for the journey of 
 eternity. How long wilt thou continue the tormentor 
 of the free-born? How long wilt thou devour the liver 
 of the unfortunate? 
 
 " Perhaps thou believest not in a resurrection; i)er- 
 chance thou reckest not of a day of judgment ? This 
 delusion proceeds from the clamour of the drum and 
 the bell: but wait until the blowing of the trump.
 
 CONCLUSION. "7 
 
 and it will be dispelled. Employ the time that remains 
 to thee in devotion; go, retire to a corner, and be at 
 peace : henceforward seek distinction only as a recluse. 
 Content thee with a barley loaf, and eat not the barley 
 and the wheat of the poor. The time has now arrived 
 to repent of thy misdeeds. Thank God that thou hast 
 a worthy successor in thy son — that darling of thy heart 
 —that pearl of thee, the oyster-shell. In knowledge 
 he is far thy superior; in vigour and energy more 
 powerful. Thy day and night are over: it is now his 
 day. The tree which time has dried up, I should 
 marvel were it to bear fruit. When the branches of 
 the willow are decayed, who looks to it for shade? 
 What can be better for thee than that thy son should 
 succeed thee, and preserve thy name upon the earth?" 
 He thus spoke, and went, with faltering steps, into 
 the corner of retirement. For a week he beheld not 
 the face of man ; gave his courtiers no audience, and 
 assigned not to his vazirs their various duties, but re- 
 mained alternately engaged in prayer and praise. 
 
 The King has a Dream, sends for his Vazirs 
 and Officers of State, bestows in their presence 
 the sovereignty on his Son, and goes into 
 retirement. 
 
 When the king awoke from that dream, and was 
 roused from that high intoxication, he comprehended 
 the good and the evil of life, and, on an auspicious
 
 Il8 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 day, summoned around his throne the ministers of 
 rehgion, the nobles, vazirs, and the generals of his 
 army, and seated beside him on the throne his son 
 and the sage Sindibad. Looking towards his left 
 hand, where was his chief vazir, he said : 
 
 " O worthy and experienced man ! the world remains 
 eternally to no one; but the Lord of the world 
 remains, and he alone. In this life of seventy-five 
 years, I have experienced but trouble, and sorrow, 
 and suffering; and should I have yet seventy-five 
 years more to live, would not that time also come 
 to a close? My vision is dull; what was once strong 
 is now weak. When the old man's form is bent like 
 a bow, do not suppose that there is any better course 
 for him than retirement. When the hand that should 
 wield the sword trembles, why should you talk of 
 sword or hanger? Shall I tell you what gray hairs are? 
 They are the heralds of misfortune — the messengers 
 that bid cease to hope.^ 
 
 "Whether I am a king or an athlete, I am not 
 higher in rank than Kay-Khusrau.^ who resigned the 
 
 1 So, too, in the romance of the Four Dervishes, when King 
 Azadbakht discovered the first white hair in his beard, he 
 exclaimed: " Death has already sent me a messenger! " 
 
 2 Kay-Khusrau (Cyrus), the third king of the KayanI 
 (Median) dynasty of ancient Persia. He ascended the throne 
 in the hfetime of his grandfather, Kay-Kaus, who resigned the 
 crown in his favour. He had many battles with Afrasiyab, 
 King of Turan, who was at last defeated, captured, and slain. 
 Soon afterwards Kay-Khusrau resolved to devote the remainder
 
 CONCLUSION. 119 
 
 sovereignty to Luhrasp, and his knowledge in affairs 
 to Jamasp. The time has arrived for me to retire: 
 when age and its infirmities have come on, the crown 
 and throne yield no pleasure. My sovereignty came 
 to me from my father ;i I now entrust it, as a deposit, 
 to my son. You know that he is the centre of my 
 hopes. If he be good, you have educated him; if 
 evil, you have made him so." 
 
 He then called his son to him, kissed his face, and, 
 taking him by the hand, pressed him for a while in 
 his embrace; after which, removing the crown from his 
 head, he placed it on his son's, seated him on the 
 throne, and came down from it, while the crowd con- 
 gratulated him with tears in their eyes. 
 
 "This," said he, " is the memorial of his father: this 
 
 of his life to religious retirement ; he resigned his throne to 
 Luhrasp, the son-in-law of Kay-Kaiis, and his own son by 
 adoption and affection. Then he went with many of his nobles 
 to a spring which he had fixed upon as the place of his repose. 
 Here he disappeared (like Arthur and other favourite heroes of 
 romance, he did not die), and all who were with him were over- 
 taken by a great snow-storm and perished. 
 
 1 Yet the damsel is previously represented (page 79) as re- 
 minding his Majesty that he had gained his kingdom by the 
 sword ; and the king himself says (page 1 16) that by his arm and 
 might he had seized on the royal crown. Moreover, at the 
 commencement of the tale we are informed that he was a mighty 
 sovereign of India ; while in another part of the text (not intro- 
 duced into the present analysis) he is described as the Chosroes 
 of Rum and Kashmir. Such contradictory statements are not 
 uncommon in compositions of this kind.
 
 THE BOOK OF SINDIBAD. 
 
 son is my refuge, and my dispeller of grief. To him 
 do I resign my kingdom, hoping that you will reward 
 me by your loyalty to him, and that you will not allow 
 a stranger to occupy the place of this house." ' 
 
 His son being accepted by the people, the aged 
 king caused an oratory to be built for himself, 
 closed the door against the interruptions of worldly 
 business, and sat down in tranquillity and retirement. 
 Happy fortune! happy end! happy king! happy reign! 
 Henceforward he had no concern but devotion and 
 the duties of rehgion. 
 
 Go,- learn from him how to govern — how to cherish 
 thy subjects. Turn not away from the counsels of the 
 wise, but listen to the discourse of venerable worthies. 
 
 The A^ithors Concliidvig Remarks. 
 
 To me, too, the time of retirement has arrived: 
 I, too, must totter to my corner. If he left to his son 
 a kingdom, and betook himself to solitude, I likewise, 
 for my dear and virtuous son, have left this renowned 
 
 ^ The abdication of the king in favour of his son is omitted 
 in Syntipas and the Libra de los Engannos ; it is, however, in 
 Nakhshabi's Ti'iti Ndtna (8th Night), and in the Seven Vazirs of 
 Scott's and the Breslau texts. In some manuscripts of the 
 Mishle Sandabar, a passage has been added, stating that Sanda- 
 bar died, at the age of 130, contemporaneously with the king 
 (Bibar), whose son then ascended the throne. 
 
 - This exhortation seems addressed to the poet's royal patron, 
 by whose command the work was composed.
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 book, more valuable than treasure and wealth; a book 
 by which, as long as Persian shall exist, as long as 
 earth shall be beneath and heaven above, his name 
 shall be perpetuated, whose end be happy ! May the 
 king not withdraw from him his favour; that king 
 whose fortune may it be young, whose life long! 
 
 O God! withdraw not thy guidance from me: 
 deprive me not of thy grace at last! My toilsome 
 journey is accomplished: this new work has attained 
 completion !
 
 THE SEVEN VAZlRS.
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 The following translation of "'The Story of the King, his Son, 
 the Damsel, and the Seven Vazirs " was made by Jonathan 
 Scott from a fragment of an Arabic MS. of the Thousand and 
 One Nights, procured in Bengal, and published by him, in a 
 volume entitled Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters, translated from the 
 Arabic and Persian, in 1800. Scott states, in his preface, that 
 in translating these tales, he had omitted a few objectionable 
 expressions : in reprinting the Seven Vazirs, I have taken the 
 liberty of omitting some others Avhich Scott thought fit to be 
 retained ; have adopted a more generally approved system of 
 transliteration for the Arabic words and proper names which 
 occur in the stories ; and occasionally have made verbal altera- 
 tions and emendations. Scott's notes are distinguished by the 
 letter S from those which I have added. 
 
 It does not appear that Scott was aware that this tale of the 
 Sei'en Vazirs is an Arabian version, with some stories omitted 
 and others interpolated, of the ancient Book of Sindibad — indeed 
 it may be doubted whether he knew of such a work at all ; nor 
 does he seem to have suspected its affinity to the Eurojiean 
 romance of the Seven Sages, with an English rendering of 
 which he was surely acquainted. Although those tales which 
 are foreign to the original work have probably been inserted in 
 the Seven Vazirs at a comparatively recent period, in recasting
 
 126 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 some version of the Book of Sindibad for the Thottsand and One 
 Nights, they are yet of very ancient origin, and widely diffused, 
 as will be seen from the variants and parallels presented in the 
 Appendix, and therefore serve as interesting illustrations of 
 the genealogy of popular tales and fictions. 
 
 In the Calcutta and Buliiq printed Arabic texts of the Thousand 
 and One Nights the tale of the Sr,.'en Vazirs occupies the 578th to 
 the 606th Nights. Scott's manuscript seems to have been com- 
 plete to the 29th Night, after which the division into nights was 
 discontinued, the Seven Vazirs immediately following — probably 
 having been misplaced. I may add, that while the conclusion 
 of this version is greatly abridged, compared with that of the 
 tale as found in the Calcutta and Bulaq texts, the introduction 
 has been much more fully preser\'ed, and corresponds in many 
 points with the oldest Eastern texts of the Sindibad. 
 
 W. A. C.
 
 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 There lived in ancient days a powerful and mighty 
 sultan, who was a wise sovereign, just to his subjects, 
 bountiful to his dependants, and beloved by the whole 
 empire; but he was become gray-bearded and stricken 
 in years, and there had not been allotted to him a 
 son, who might preserve his memory, and inherit the 
 kingdom after him. On this account uneasiness as- 
 sailed him, and such depression of spirits, that he 
 secluded himself from society, and passed whole days 
 in his private apartments. 
 
 At length his subjects began to murmur concerning 
 him.^ Some said he was dead; others, that an accident 
 
 ^ The princes of Asia, except prevented by illness, give public 
 audience twice a day. When this has been neglected by the idle 
 or the dissipated, it has generally proved their ruin, or at least 
 been the cause of troublesome commotions, as the powerful chiefs 
 were left uncontrolled by the interference of the sovereign, who 
 at these audiences received the appeals and petitions of the 
 meanest subjects, and redressed their grievances. One of the 
 chief causes of the fall of the khalifate, the Persian and Mogul 
 empires, was the disuse of frequent public audiences. — S.
 
 128 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 had befallen him. On a certain day his queen entered 
 his chamber, and found him thoughtful, reclining his 
 head towards the earth, like one plunged in sorrow. 
 
 She approached, and, kissing his hand, said : " For- 
 tune has not persecuted thee, nor have the evils of 
 chance reached thee. God has bestowed upon thee 
 enjoyments, and given thee every delight. What, then, 
 is the cause that I find thee so pensive?" 
 
 He replied: "Alas! my years are advanced, my age 
 is drawing to its end, and my kingdom will pass to 
 another family; for I am not blessed with a son, with 
 whom my eyes might be delighted, and who might 
 succeed me in my dominions. On this account extreme 
 sorrow has overcome me." 
 
 The queen said: "God will remove thy grief and 
 thy sorrow. The same thoughts which afflicted thy 
 heart have afflicted mine, and what had invaded thy 
 mind was invading mine, when, lo! drowsiness over- 
 came me, and I fell asleep. I dreamt, and saw in my 
 vision a phantom, which revealed to me, saying: 'If 
 the sultan shall be blessed with a son by almighty God, 
 he will with difficulty be preserved from death at a 
 certain period. After that, prosperity will attend him. 
 But if a daughter is born, her father will not love 
 her; and if she lives, she will occasion the ruin of his 
 kingdom. He must not, however, think of a child by 
 any other woman than thyself, and thou shalt be the 
 cause of his having one when the moon and the sign 
 Gemini shall be in conjunction.' I now awoke from
 
 INTK on UC TION. 1 2 9 
 
 sleep, and became thoughtful, reflecting on what I had 
 heard in my vision." 
 
 When the sultan heard these words, he said to her: 
 " By God's permission, all will be well;" and the queen 
 did not fail to comfort him until his gloom had passed 
 away. He now quitted his retirement, sat upon the 
 throne of his kingdom, summoned his nobles and his 
 subjects, and entreated their prayers, that God would 
 bless him with a son; when they prayed, and God 
 accepted their prayers. 
 
 The night being arrived in which the moon and 
 Gemini entered into conjunction, the queen became 
 pregnant. She informed the sultan of her condition, 
 and he rejoiced with exceeding great joy, and did not 
 refrain, until she had borne her months, and brought 
 forth a son, beautiful as the full moon. Then the 
 sultan made rejoicings from evening till morning, gave 
 alms, and released the prisoners. The infant was 
 suckled nearly two years, when the mother returned 
 to the mercy of God, and they lamented over her with 
 great mourning. 
 
 The child did not cease to remain on the bosoms of 
 the nurses and female attendants until he had com- 
 pleted his second year, when his father entrusted him 
 to tutors, that they might teach him what was necessary 
 for princes to acquire.^ The eighth year of his age 
 
 ^ The period of ablactation in the East is generally at the end 
 of the second year ; but there must have been something omitted 
 by the copyist here. — See below, note, page 134. 
 
 1
 
 13° THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 passed over, but he had learnt nothing, for every book 
 was to him too difficult. When the tutors represented 
 this to the sultan, he was enraged against his son, and 
 commanded him to be put to death, saying: "This is 
 a disgraceful child, from whom there can no advantage 
 arise." 
 
 There was at the court a man of wisdom^ learning, 
 and penetration, deeply versed in every science.^ 
 When he found that the sultan intended to kill his 
 son, he advanced, and kissing the ground before him, 
 said: "O sovereign, be not grieved on account of thy 
 son. Entrust him to me, and I will teach him what- 
 ever is necessary in two years. '-^ I will not deceive 
 you, but instruct him in the sciences, philosophy, and 
 princely accomplishments." — The sultan exclaimed: 
 " How canst thou make him learn, when every book 
 has been too difficult for him, and his tutors have been 
 wearied out?" — The sage replied: "I pledge myself to 
 do it; and if I do not perfect him in what I have men- 
 tioned, act by me as thou shalt think proper." 
 
 Upon this the sultan delivered his son to the sage, 
 who took him to his house, prepared for him a 
 chamber, and wrote upon the walls in yellow and 
 white what he wished him to learn. Then he carried 
 to him what was necessary for him of carpets, food, 
 and utensils, and left him alone in the apartment. 
 
 ^ In this version the name of the sage does not appear, — See 
 note 2, page 12. 
 
 -' See note, page 2i.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 131 
 
 He did not permit any person to visit him but himself. 
 Every third day the tutor entered, that he might teach 
 him what was necessary from those books, the contents 
 of which he had written on the walls, and depict for 
 him fresh lessons; after which he placed round him 
 provisions, locked the door upon him, and departed. 
 
 Now it came to pass that the boy, when his mind 
 was at a loss for amusement, studied the lessons 
 written on the walls, which he learnt in a short 
 time. When the tutor found his sense and under- 
 standing on every point equal to what was necessary 
 for him, he took him from the apartment, and in- 
 structed him in horsemanship and archery; after 
 which he sent to his father, and informed him that 
 his son had learnt whatever was becoming his condi- 
 tion in one year. 
 
 The sultan rejoiced exceedingly, and informed his 
 vazirs of it, who were in number seven. Then he 
 wished to examine his son, and commanded the tutor 
 to bring him witli him, in order that he might question 
 him. The tutor consulted the horoscope of the youth, 
 and foresaw that if he should speak before there should 
 pass over his head seven days and nights, there would 
 occur to him imminent danger of death. Upon this 
 the sage addressed the prince, saying: "I have in- 
 spected thy nativity, and if from this time thou 
 speakest before seven days are expired, great hazard 
 of life will befall thee." — The prince rephed: "What 
 can ensure my safety?"— The tutor answered: " Repair
 
 132 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 to thy father, but when he speaketh to thee, utter not 
 a word." — The youth exclaimed : " I swear by God, 
 that if thou hadst commanded me that I should not 
 breathe, I would have obeyed thee, on account of 
 what thou hast done for me of kindness and favour." 
 The tutor rej^lied: "Go, and speak not, though they 
 beat thee with scourges, for thou wilt recover of thy 
 wounds, there will be in store for thee great glory, 
 and thou shalt rule the kingdom after thy father." 
 Then the prince said : " Remember thy speech to 
 my father before thou lookedst at my nativity." 
 The tutor replied: "What must be must be; further 
 conversation will not profit. Nothing will occur but 
 felicity to thee, whatever may become of me. Be 
 firm, and trust in God; for whoever trusteth in God 
 is secure." 
 
 The prince departed, and repaired to his father, 
 when the vazirs, with the nobles, officers of state, 
 and the men of science met him on his way. They 
 placed before him an herb, that he might describe 
 its genus and properties; but he did not speak. They 
 importuned him to answer, but he would not utter 
 a word. 
 
 Upon this the sultan was affected with grief, and 
 sent for the tutor to punish him; when some of the 
 assembly said, the sage had deserted his house in 
 the night; some, that he had taken poison; and 
 others contradicted this last assertion. There was 
 much disputation among them, but still the prince
 
 IN TR OD UC TION. 1 3 3 
 
 would not speak.^ At length the assembly broke up, 
 and there remained only the prince and his father. 
 
 The sultan had a concubine, of beautiful person 
 and very young, with the love of whom he was 
 doatingly fascinated. She now entered, and saw the 
 prince sitting near his father, like an affrighted fawn. 
 She approached near, and said to the sultan: "I per- 
 ceive thee, my lord, overcome with affliction;" when he 
 related to her the conduct of his son. She replied: 
 " I desire that thou wouldst commit him to my charge, 
 for perhaps he will be affable to me and speak, and I 
 shall discover the cause of his silence."- 
 
 He replied: " Take him with thee." Upon which she 
 led him by the hand, conducted him to her chamber, 
 caressed him, and explained to him her wishes, clasped 
 him to her bosom, and attemped to kiss him; but he 
 rejected her advances. She exclaimed: " I am a young 
 
 ^ In some of the versions, the assembled sages ascribe the 
 prince's silence to the effect of a drug which his tutor had given 
 him in order tha.t he might learn quickl3^ 
 
 - In the Persian text (page 25), the damsel is secretly enam- 
 oured of the prince, but had never found an opportunity of 
 telling him her love. In the Greek, Hebrew, and old Castilian, 
 she tells the king that the prince had been wont, from a boy, to 
 confide in her, and proposes that she should take him with her, 
 to induce him to speak. — Comparetti is in error when he says 
 that in the present text the prince was, " according to the pre- 
 vailing opinion, taken to the harem." We see that the assembly 
 had "broken up "before the damsel came in, and asked leave to 
 take the prince with her.
 
 134 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 damsel, and thou a young man; I will be thine, and 
 thou shalt be mine. Thy father is become super- 
 annuated, must soon depart this life, when thou 
 wilt govern the kingdom after him, and shalt espouse 
 me; but if thou wilt not comply with my desires, I 
 will effect thy destruction. Choose, then, one or the 
 other — happiness or death." ^ 
 
 ^ It is curious that in the other Arabic texts the prince is tempted 
 by the damsel when he is little more than ten years old : and 
 according to the present version, he could have been only nine, 
 since he was eight when the sage undertook to teach him in two 
 years, and "he had learnt whatever was becoming his condition 
 in one year. " This absurdity is due to the copyist, who has 
 suppressed a second period of unsuccessful teaching, which is 
 also omitted in the old Castilian translation. In the Sindibad 
 N'dma, although the precise age of the prince when he was 
 tempted by the damsel is not mentioned, he must have been 
 about twenty years old, since he was ten when first entrusted to 
 tutors, under whom, "year after year," he made no progress, 
 and he was afterwards six years in charge of Sindibad before he 
 finally undertook to teach him in six months. In the Miskle 
 Sandabar, the unsuccessful period is twelve years and a half, 
 after he was seven years old, during which it is not said that his 
 preceptors were changed ; he was, therefore, nineteen and a half 
 when Sandabar took him in hand for six months, which together 
 make up the twenty years, when danger to him was predicted 
 at his birth. The Libto de los Engannos is less exact : although 
 the danger to the prince was to happen twenty years after his 
 birth, it actually occurred when he was fifteen and a half years 
 old ; his education having been begun at seven, and unsuccess- 
 fully conducted for eight years, after which Cendubete finally 
 teaches him in six months. That there was a second unsuccessful
 
 INTROD UC TION. 1 3 5 
 
 When the prince heard this, he was exceedingly 
 enraged against her, and thought within himself: 
 "I will speedily repay thee for thy crimes, when 
 after seven days I shall be able to speak." ^ The 
 artful damsel, when she perceived his anger, hastened 
 to contrive his ruin. She beat her cheeks, tore her 
 garments, dishevelled her hair, and went before the 
 sultan in that manner. He said: "What can have 
 happened to thee?" — She exclaimed: "He, whom 
 thou seest, hath done this, even thy own son, who 
 has plotted the destruction of thy life, and feigned 
 himself dumb. When I entered with him into my 
 chamber, he declared to me his love; and when I 
 refused him, he said : ' I cannot live without thee, and 
 if thou dost not comply with my desires, I will kill 
 thee, and murder my father.'"- 
 
 period, during which Cendubete had charge of him, is e\ident 
 from the question put to the sage when the eight years had 
 passed without result : "Why have you not instructed the prince 
 in those years that he has been with you?" 
 
 ^ See note, page 26. 
 
 - In the Biilaq and Calcutta printed Arabic texts, the intro- 
 duction to the Seven Vazlrs is so much abridged and garbled as 
 to be of no service whatever in showing the original form of this 
 portion of the Book of Sindibad. Nothing is said of the un- 
 successful attempts to instruct the prince, or of Sindibad's 
 undertaking the task at the peril of his own life : the prince 
 is entrusted to Sindibad at the age of five, and when he attains 
 his tenth year he is taught horsemanship and warlike exercises ; 
 one day Sindibad discovers the threatening aspect of the prince's 
 horoscope, and — so far is he from concealing himself, as in all
 
 136 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 When the sultan heard these words, his wrath was 
 violent against his son, and he gave orders to have 
 him put to death. He sent for his vazirs; but the 
 tutor had informed them of the circumstances, and 
 why the prince was prevented from speaking for seven 
 days. Upon this the vazirs assembled together, and 
 consulted, saying: "The sultan intends to put his son 
 to death, but there may not be in him any fault, so 
 that when he is dead, our master may repent, when 
 repentance will not avail." — Then the prime vazir said: 
 " Let us each take charge of him for a day during the 
 seven days, till the whole are expired, and I will be 
 responsible for you all at the conclusion of that 
 period." 
 
 The First Vazir having contrived thus, he repaired 
 to the sultan, kissed the ground, and said: "O sultan, 
 if there were to thee a thousand sons, far be it from 
 thee the death of one of them ! Alas, then, when thou 
 hast one only, with whom thou wast blessed after 
 much anxiety and expectation, that thou shouldst 
 
 other versions — goes at once before the king and acquaints him 
 of the danger to his son's life should he break silence during the 
 following seven days, and advises him to keep the prince in a 
 secluded place, entertained with mirth and music until the seven 
 days be past. The king accordingly entrusts the young prince 
 to his favourite concubine, with orders to keep him with her for 
 seven days. In the harem were forty apartments, in each of 
 which were ten beautiful slave-girls, all skilled in music : here 
 the prince passed one night ; and next day, apparently, he is 
 tempted by the concubine.
 
 AHMED THE ORPHAN. I37 
 
 command his execution upon the bare assertion of 
 a woman! (iod onlv knoweth wlietlier she hath 
 spoken truly or accused liim falsely; for there are 
 among the sex women artfully malicious." 
 
 Story of Ahmed the Orphan. 
 
 I HAVE heard, O my sovereign, that a certain sultan 
 resolved to educate those unfortunate children who 
 are sometimes abandoned on the highways. As he 
 was passing one day, behold, he saw a male infant 
 upon a heap of rubbish, who appeared beautiful as 
 the moon at the full. He commanded his attendants 
 to convey him to the palace; and they took him up, 
 and committed him to nurses till he grew up, when 
 they placed him at school. The boy learnt the Qur'an 
 and the sciences and languages. When he had finished 
 his education, the sultan committed to him the care of 
 his treasury; and it came to pass that at length he did 
 nothing but with his advice, and the youth attended 
 in his private chambers. 
 
 As he was in waiting one day, the sultan said: 
 " Go to the apartment of Hayatu-'n-nufus,^ and bring 
 me a medicine from her closet." The youth passed 
 through the chamber of the concubine, and found 
 her with a slave. He took up the medicine, but 
 did not seem to attend to her actions, and returned 
 
 ' Life of the Souls ; — Scott renders the name, Refresher of the 
 Soul.
 
 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 with haste to the sultan. The name of this youth 
 was Ahmed Yetim.^ Then the sultan said: "What 
 has happened to thee, that I perceive thy colour 
 changed?" — Ahmed replied: "My lord, because I 
 came with hurry and precipitation;" but he did not 
 inform the sultan of what he had discovered. 
 
 The concubine Hayatu-'n-nufils, being convinced 
 that Ahmed must have beheld herself and her para- 
 mour, hastily contrived a scheme against him. She 
 scarred her face, and rent her garments. AVhen the 
 sultan entered, and found her in that situation, he 
 said: "What is thy condition?" — She exclaimed: 
 " From him who is the offspring of adultery no good 
 can proceed." — The sultan, understanding her mean- 
 ing, replied: "Conceal this affair, and within this hour 
 I will bring thee his head." He departed from her, 
 filled with indignation, and ascended his throne. 
 
 Ahmed attended, according to custom, but did not 
 suspect what was plotted against him. The sultan 
 beckoned to one of his slaves, and said privately to 
 him: "Go to the house of such a person, and remain 
 there. When any one shall say unto thee: 'Thus saith 
 the sultan. Do that which thou wast commanded to 
 execute,' strike off his head, place it in this basket, 
 and fasten over it the cover. ^\'hen I shall send to 
 thee a messenger who will say : ' Hast thou performed 
 
 ^ Orphan Ahmed; — according to Scott, The Good Orphan, 
 thus mis-translating the name Ahmed.
 
 AHMED THE ORPHAN. 139 
 
 the business?' commit to him the basket." The slave 
 rephed: "To hear is to obey," and retired. Soon 
 after, the sultan called to Ahmed Yetim, and said: 
 " Hasten to a certain house, and say unto such a 
 slave, 'Execute the commands of the sultan.'" 
 
 Ahmed departed, but on the way he saw the man 
 who had been criminal with the concubine, with a 
 number of other slaves, sitting down, drinking and 
 feasting. As they saw Ahmed approaching, they 
 stood up; and the guilty slave thought that if he 
 could detain him from the business of the sultan, 
 he might procure his death. He stopped him, paid 
 obeisance to him, and entreated that he would sit 
 down with them a little while. But Ahmed said: 
 " The sultan hath sent me upon business to a certain 
 house, and I cannot stay." Upon this the guilty slave 
 replied: "I will perform the commission." Ahmed 
 answered: "If so, hasten, and say to a slave whom 
 thou wilt find there, that he must execute the orders 
 of the sultan." The slave said: "To hear is to obey," 
 and departed. 
 
 Ahmed sat down with the rest, while the other 
 proceeded to the house, and said to the person in 
 waiting: "Thus saith the sultan, 'Complete thy 
 orders.'" He replied: "Most readily," and drawing 
 his scimitar, struck off the head of the guilty slave, 
 washed it from the blood, placed it in the basket, 
 tied the cover on it, and sat down. 
 
 When Ahmed had waited some time for the return
 
 T40 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 of his messenger, he took leave of his company, went 
 to the house, and said to the slave in waiting: "Hast 
 thou performed thy orders?" He replied: "Yes," and 
 committed the basket to Ahmed, who took it up, 
 and went with it to the sultan ; but he did not suspect 
 what was within the basket, nor did curiosity lead him 
 to open it. 
 
 When the sultan saw him, he said: "Ahmed, I sent 
 thee upon a commission, but thou hast entrusted it to 
 another." He replied: "My lord, it is true." The 
 sultan exclaimed: "Hast thou seen what is contained 
 in this basket?" Ahmed answered: "No; I swear by 
 thy head, I do not know what is within it, nor have 
 I opened it." The king was astonished, and said: 
 "Take off the covering." He lifted it up, and, behold ! 
 in it was the head of the slave who had done evil with 
 Hayatu-'n-nufus. 
 
 The sultan exclaimed : " I cannot suppose, Ahmed, 
 that it should be concealed from thee, whether or not 
 this slaughtered man was guilty of a crime which ren- 
 dered him worthy of death." Ahmed replied: " Know, 
 my lord, when thou didst send me for the medicine to 
 the chamber of Hayatu-'n-nufus, I found this slave in 
 her embraces. I took up the medicine, but did not 
 disclose what I had beheld. "When despatched to the 
 house, I found on the way this guilty slave, sitting 
 with his fellows eating and drinking. He stood up, 
 and entreated me to stay among them. I replied: 
 ' The sultan hath sent me to execute a commission.'
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PARROT. 141 
 
 Upon which he said : ' Sit down — I will perform this 
 business,' and departed." He then related the other 
 circumstances, until he was entrusted with the basket. 
 Then the sultan exclaimed: "O Ahmed! none is 
 discerning but God;" related to him the behaviour of 
 the damsel, and what she had accused him of, and 
 said: "I resign her unto thee." Ahmed replied: "I 
 cannot repay the bounties of the sultan with ingrati- 
 tude; — I can have no concern with her." When the 
 sultan heard these words, he commanded her to be 
 put to death. [24] 
 
 "This, O sultan," continued the vazir, "is only one 
 instance of the deceitfulness of women. Trust not 
 to their declarations, for their artful malice is great. 
 Another example of their arts hath reached me." 
 
 Story of the Merchant, his Wife, and 
 the Parrot. 
 
 There was a merchant, who traded largely, and tra- 
 velled much abroad; he had a wife whom he loved, 
 and to her he was constant.^ A journey became 
 necessary for him, and he bought for a hundred 
 dinars a parrot, that could speak like a human 
 being, that it might inform him of what passed in 
 the house. 
 
 ^ Vatsyayana, in his Kmna Sutra, says that a man who is 
 much given to travelling does not deserve to be married.
 
 142 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 Before he departed upon his journey, he committed 
 to the parrot the charge of watching his wife's conduct. 
 When he was gone, the lady sent to her lover, who 
 was a soldier ;i and he came, and abode with her 
 during the time of her husband's absence. The parrot 
 observed all that was done. On the merchant's return, 
 he called for the bird, and asked him what had passed, 
 and was informed of his wife's misconduct. When 
 the merchant heard this intelligence, he was enraged 
 against his wife, beat her severely, and kept himself 
 from her. The wife supposed that her neighbours 
 had accused her; but they declared, upon oath, that 
 they had not spoken to him. Then she said: "None 
 can have informed him but the parrot." 
 
 Upon a certain night, the merchant went to visit a 
 friend. Then the wife took a coarse cloth, and put it 
 upon the parrot's cage, and placed over it, on the floor 
 above, the grinding-stones; after which she ordered her 
 slave-girls to grind, throw water over the cloth, and 
 raise a great wind with a fan. Then she took a looking- 
 glass, and made it dazzle in the light of the lamp, by a 
 quick motion. 
 
 The bird (being in the dark) supposed that the noise 
 of the grinding was thunder; the gleams from the 
 mirror, lightning; the blasts from the fan, wind; and 
 the water, hard rain.- In the morning, when the 
 
 ' A young Turk, according lo the Calcutta text. 
 - In the Turkish version of this story, as found in the Forty 
 Vaztrs, a piece of bullock's hide is stretched over the cage, and
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PARROT. I43 
 
 merchant returned to his house, the parrot said : 
 " How fared my lord last night, during the wind, 
 the rain, and the dreadful lightning?" The merchant 
 exclaimed: "Villain, thou liest; for I did not see any- 
 thing of it;" and the parrot replied: "I only tell thee 
 what I experienced." 
 
 The merchant now disbelieved the bird, and put 
 confidence in his wife. He went to her, and sought 
 to be reconciled, but she said: "I will not be recon- 
 ciled, unless you destroy the mischief-making parrot, 
 who belied me." He killed the bird, and after that 
 remained some time happy with his wife. At length 
 the neighbours informed him of her crimes, when he 
 concealed himself, and detected the soldier with her. 
 The fidelity of the parrot was apparent, but the mer- 
 chant repented of putting him to death, when repent- 
 ance would not avail him. He divorced his wife, and 
 took an oath never to marry. ^ 
 
 " I have thus informed thee, O sultan," added the 
 vazir, " of the artfulness of women, and proved that 
 rashness produces only fruitless remorse." — The sultan, 
 upon this, refrained from the execution of his son. 
 
 \\'hen night set in, the Damsel came to the sultan, 
 and said: "Why hast thou delayed doing me justice? 
 
 beat from time to time to imitate thunder ; water is sprinkled on 
 the bird through a sieve ; and a mirror flashed before it now and 
 again. 
 
 1 See note, page 34; and Appendix, No. 3.
 
 144 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 Hast thou not heard that sovereigns should be obeyed 
 in whatever they command, and that an order not 
 enforced is a sign of weakness ? Every one knows 
 what must follow. Do me justice, then, upon thy son, 
 or it will happen to you both, as it happened to the 
 fuller and his son." — Then the king said: " What befell 
 the fuller and his son? " She replied: 
 
 Story of the Fuller and his Son. 
 
 Know, O sultan, that there was a fuller who went 
 daily to wash his cloths on the bank of a river, and with 
 him his son, who used to venture far into the water 
 and swim ; which his father forbade, but he would not 
 be prevented. On a certain day, the youth went into 
 a deep part, and his arms became cramped. When 
 the father beheld his situation, he threw himself into 
 the river, hoping to save him; but the youth hung 
 upon his legs, and they were both drowned. [5] 
 
 " Do me justice, then, upon thy son. Thy vazirs pre- 
 tend that the art of our sex is greater than that of men; 
 but the fact is the contrary, as you will see from the 
 
 Story of the Sultan and tJu Vazirs Wife. 
 
 It has been related to me, my lord, that there was 
 a certain sultan much addicted to the love of women, 
 of violent passions. Being one day upon the terrace 
 of his palace, he saw a lady upon the platform of her
 
 THE LION'S TRACK. T45 
 
 house, beautiful and elegant; his soul desired her, and 
 he was told that she was the wife of his vazir. Upon 
 this he sent for the minister, and despatched him on 
 a distant expedition, with orders not to return till he 
 had executed his commission. The vazIr attended to 
 his sovereign's commands, and departed. 
 
 When the sultan knew of his departure, he was im- 
 patient to see the lady, and repaired to her house. 
 She received him standing, and kissed the ground 
 before him; but she was virtuous, and had no inclina- 
 tion to immodesty. She then said: "Why, O my 
 lord, is this auspicious visit?" He replied: "From 
 the excess of my love and passion for thee." Upon 
 which she kissed the ground, and said : " It is not 
 befitting that I should be thy partner; my heart has 
 never aspired to such an honour." 
 
 Then the sultan extended his hands upon her, and 
 tempted her; when she cried: "My lord, this must 
 never be." Observing that he was enraged at her 
 refusal, she dissembled, and said: "Wait, O my lord, 
 until I have prepared a supper, which when thou hast 
 partaken of, I shall be honoured with thy commands." 
 
 She then seated the sultan upon the sofa of her 
 husband, and brought him a book from which the 
 vazir was used to read to her. In it were written 
 admonitions and warnings against adultery, and com- 
 mands to his wife not to admit any one within doors 
 without his orders. On the perusal of it, the sultan's 
 mind was diverted from the pursuit of his guilty passion. 
 
 K
 
 146 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 At length the lady placed a supper before him, con- 
 sisting of ninety and nine dishes ; when the sultan ate 
 a mouthful from every dish. Each was of a different 
 colour, but all of the same sort of food. Then he 
 said to her: "How is this?" — She rephed: " My lord, 
 I have set a parable before thee. In thy palace are 
 ninety and nine concubines, of different stature and 
 comijlexion; who, however, form but one kind of 
 food." 
 
 The sultan was confounded, and did not importune 
 her. Rising up, he went to perform his ablutions, but 
 left his ring under a cushion of the sofa; and on his 
 return to the palace, forgot to take it with him.^ 
 
 ^^'hen the vazir returned from his journey, and had 
 visited the sultan, he repaired to his own house, and 
 sat down upon the sofa; and, behold! under the 
 cushion he discovered the sultan's ring, which he 
 knew. Becoming jealous of his wife, he was enraged 
 against her, and secluded himself from her for a whole 
 year; during which he did not go near, nor even 
 inquire after her. When the coolness of her husband 
 became intolerable, the lady complained to her father, 
 and informed him of his neglect of her for a whole 
 year; upon which the father repaired to the sultan, 
 when the vazir was present, and said: 
 
 " May God preserve the sultan ! I had an elegant 
 garden, which was formed by my own hand, and I 
 
 ^ See page 81, and note.
 
 THE LION'S TRACK. 147 
 
 watered it until it was the season of its fruits. Then 
 I presented it to thy vazir, and he ate of its produc- 
 tions until he was satiated, when he deserted and 
 neglected it; and it was spoiled, and reptiles over-ran 
 it; — its flowers were injured, and its condition was 
 changed." 
 
 The sultan said to the vazir: "How sayest thou?" 
 The vazir replied : " He speaketh the truth in what 
 he hath related. But one day, when I entered the 
 garden, I saw the track of a lion in it; my mind was 
 alarmed, and I refrained from visiting it." 
 
 On hearing this parable, the sultan understood it, 
 recollected that he had forgotten his ring in the house 
 of the vazir, and knew that by it was meant the 
 track of the lion. He then said: "It is true, O vazir, 
 that the lion did enter without the consent of the 
 owner's wife; but the lion did not compel her to 
 commit evil. She is a virtuous woman, and of 
 chaste desires." 
 
 Then the vazir said: "To hear is to obey;" and he 
 was now convinced that the sultan had not compelled 
 her to dishonour. He returned to his wife, who related 
 to him all that had passed; and he relied upon her 
 truth, her honour, and her fidelity. 
 
 "Had she been vicious," continued the Damsel, 
 "she would have com])lied with the sultan, when he 
 disclosed his wishes; but know, my lord, that men are 
 more deceitful than women." [17]
 
 148 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 Next morning the sultan commanded the execution 
 of his son; when the Second Vazir entered, and, 
 kissing the ground, said: "Be not rash in executing 
 thy son. Thou wast not blessed with him till after 
 despairing of issue, and could scarcely credit his 
 existence. He may yet prove to thee the preserver 
 of thy kingdom, and a guardian of thy memory. Be 
 patient, then, my lord, until he shall find a proper 
 opportunity to speak for himself If thou puttest 
 him to death, thou wilt repent when repentance will 
 not avail. I have heard, O sultan, much of the female 
 sex, of their arts and their stratagems, especially in the 
 
 Story of the Officer and the MercJianfs Wife. 
 
 There was an officer belonging to the body-guard of 
 his prince, who admired a merchant's wife, and was 
 passionately beloved by her. On a certain day he 
 sent his slave to see whether her husband was at 
 home or absent. When the slave came, not finding 
 her husband, he would have returned ; but the lady, on 
 seeing him, would not let him go. 
 
 While they were conversing, the officer came up, 
 and she took the slave and locked him in an inner 
 chamber. And, while the officer was with her, sud- 
 denly her husband knocked at the door. Upon this 
 the lady said to the officer, who was much alarmed: 
 " Draw thy scimitar, and go down to the entry, abuse 
 me, and revile me, and say: ' He certainly is with thee,
 
 THE DOUBLE INFIDELITY. 149 
 
 and thou hast concealed him.' When my husband 
 enters, go out, and pursue thy way." 
 
 Her husband, on coming in, saw the of=ficer standing 
 in the entry, with a drawn sword in liis hand, exclaim- 
 ing: "Thou wretch! thou hast hidden the lad near 
 thee," and he then hastened home. The merchant 
 said to his wife: "What has been the matter?" She 
 replied: "Thou hast this day saved an unfortunate 
 Mussulman from being murdered." He asked her how 
 that was, and she replied: "I was sitting, thinking 
 upon thee, when a young lad rushed in, and cried: 
 ' Save me from death, and God will save thee from 
 the fire! An officer would murder me without a 
 fault.' Then I took him, and concealed him in my 
 chamber; after which the officer entered, and began 
 to abuse me, and would have killed me, saying, ' He 
 is with thee.' God be praised that you came in, or 
 I should have been a corpse."— Her husband said: 
 " God preserve thee from the fire, for what thou hast 
 done — I doubt not but he will." 
 
 Then she took the lad from the chamber, and he 
 pretended to weep, and thanked her for her kind- 
 ness; but the husband did not guess the least of the 
 disgrace that had befallen his head from his wife's 
 intrigues. [4] 
 
 " This, O sultan, is only one instance of the art of 
 women; alas, that thou shouldst give credit to their 
 accusations!"
 
 15° THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 When the third night was arrived, the Damsel 
 entered, and kissing the ground, wept, and said: "Wilt 
 thou not, my lord, do me justice upon thy son? And 
 wilt thou not refrain from attending to the stories of 
 thy vazirs? They are full of wickedness. I have 
 heard, O sultan, of a vazir who would have murdered 
 the son of his master." He inquired: "In what 
 manner?" She replied: 
 
 Story of the Prince and the GJiul} 
 
 There was a certain sultan who had a son, whom 
 he loved with ardent affection. The prince one day 
 begged permission of his father to hunt; upon which 
 the sultan ordered preparations, commanded his vazir 
 to attend him, and sent with him slaves, domestics, 
 and troops. They advanced towards the chase, and 
 passed through a verdant plain, having groves and 
 rivulets, among which the antelopes sported. The 
 prince pursued and ran down much game of various 
 kinds, and remained long, diverting himself with the 
 sport, in great spirits and enjoyment. 
 
 As he was returning homewards, there bounded 
 across the plain an antelope, brilliant as the sun 
 shining in a serene sky; and the vazir said: "Let us 
 pursue this deer, for my heart longs to take her." 
 When the prince heard this, he followed her; and the 
 attendants would have accompanied him, but the vazir 
 
 ^ .See note 2, page 55. 
 
 \
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE GHUL. 151 
 
 forbade them. The antelope did not cease to gain 
 ground, nor the prince to pursue her, till the evening 
 overshadowed, when she disappeared, and darkness 
 came on. 
 
 The prince would have returned, but could not find 
 his path, and he fainted with terror; nor could he 
 move from the thirsty desert until the morning. He 
 then prayed to God for deliverance, and travelled on, 
 oppressed with hunger, until mid-day; when, lo! he 
 came to a ruined town, in which owls and ravens had 
 their abodes. While he stopped, astonished at their 
 screamings, a female voice struck his ear, and he be- 
 held a beautiful girl sitting under one of the mould- 
 ering walls, weeping bitterly. He addressed her, and 
 said: "Why dost thou lament, and who art thou?" 
 She replied : " Know that I am the daughter of a 
 certain sultan of the north. My father espoused 
 me to the son of my uncle, and detached troops to 
 escort me to him, and we began our journey. When 
 we arrived here, I fell from my carriage, as you see, 
 and my attendants went on, and left me, thinking I 
 was still upon the camel. ^ I have remained here three 
 
 1 In Arabia, Persia, and other Eastern countries women and 
 children generally travel in litters, of more or less elegant con- 
 struction according to their rank, secured on the backs of camels 
 and elephants. The pre-Islamite Arabian poet Labid, in his 
 celebrated Mn'allaqa, thus describes the litters which bore away 
 his mistress and her damsels (Lyall's translation) : 
 
 "The camel-litters of the tribe stirred thy longmg, what time 
 they moved away
 
 152 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 days, famishing and thirsty, and was despairing of hfe, 
 when I saw thee." — The prince mounted her behind 
 him, and said: "Comfort thy heart, and dry thine 
 eyes, and say, God be praised, for thy dehverance 
 from this desert." 
 
 They now proceeded, and besought assistance from 
 the Almighty.^ When they had journeyed some time, 
 they reached a city, ruinous hke the first, and the 
 damsel said to him : " Remain here, while I retire a 
 little; I will soon return." The prince helped her 
 down, and waited with his horse, when, behold! the 
 ghiil (for such was the pretended damsel) cried to 
 two others, saying: "I have brought a prey to feast 
 upon." 2 When the prince heard this, his heart was 
 chilled. The ghul came out, and found him pale and 
 trembling. She said: "Prince, why do I behold thy 
 colour changed?" He answered: " I was reflecting on 
 the cause of my sorrows." She exclaimed: "Seek a 
 remedy for them in the treasures of thy father." He 
 replied: "They are not to be remedied by treasure or 
 
 And crept into the litters hung with cotton, as the wooden 
 
 framework creaked — 
 The litters hung all around, over their frame of wood, with 
 hangings, thin veils, and pictured curtains of wool. " 
 An interesting account of the various kinds of litters used in 
 India and Persia is cited by Garcin de Tassy in a note to his 
 translation of the romance oi Kamariipa, chap, x.xiii. 
 ^ That is, the prince besought, etc. 
 ' See page 55, and note I.
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE GHUL. IS3 
 
 hoards." She said: "Remedy them by your armies 
 and troops." He rephed: "They are not to be re- 
 medied by them." She continued: "Ask help of 
 the God of power and might; for ye pretend that 
 ye have in the heavens a God who, when ye call upon 
 him, will be gracious, and that he is absolute over all 
 things." The prince rephed: " It is true; and we have 
 no other help but him." Then he lifted up his face 
 towards heaven, and said: "O Lord, I humbly beseech 
 thee, and implore aid from thee in this crisis, which 
 grieveth and afflicteth me;"^ at the same time catching 
 the pretended princess in his arms. Scarcely had he 
 concluded his prayer, when an angel descended from 
 the sky, with a sword of flame, and smote her with it, 
 and destroyed her.^ For this miracle may the Almighty 
 be glorified ! The prince after this returned safely to 
 the capital of his father. [7] 
 
 " All this danger," continued the damsel, " occurred 
 from the schemes of the vazir; and I inform thee, O 
 sultan, that thy vazirs are also treacherous. Be, then, 
 watchful of their arts." — Upon this the sultan gave 
 orders for the execution of his son. 
 
 On the next day the Third Vazir entered, kissed 
 the ground before the sultan, and said : " Know, O 
 
 1 See note 3, page 55. 
 
 - According to the Greek and Syriac texts, and also the old 
 Castilian translation, when the prince had uttered a prayer she 
 fell powerless on the ground.
 
 154 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 sultan, I would advise thee candidly, and am faithful 
 to thyself and thy son. Be not violent against thy 
 child, the light of thine eyes. It is possible the 
 damsel's desire of his death may proceed from malice; 
 and I have heard that two great tribes were destroyed 
 for the sake of a drop of honey." The sultan inquired, 
 upon what occasion, and the vazir said: 
 
 Story of the Drop of Honey. 
 
 It has been related to me that there was a hunter, 
 who chased every species of wild animals. One 
 day in his excursion to the mountains, he found a 
 hollow^ in the rocks, full of honey, with which he filled 
 a vessel he had with him, and returned to the city. 
 He chanced to stop at the door of an oil-merchant, 
 when a httle of the honey happening to drop, the mer- 
 chant's cat licked it up, and was killed by the hunter's 
 dog.^ Upon this, the merchant killed the dog, at 
 which the hunter was enraged, and having wounded 
 the merchant, went to his quarter, and raised his 
 
 ^ In other versions, some flies alight upon the spilled honey, a 
 bird attacks the flies, the grocer's cat kills the bird, the hunter's 
 dog worries the cat — thus bearing some resemblance to our 
 accumulative nursery rhymes of "The House that Jack Built" 
 and "The Old Woman and the Crooked Sixpence," which 
 appear to find their indirect original, strange to say, in an 
 allegorical hymn in the Talmud. — In the Syriac text, a bee 
 settles on the honey, a weasel seizes the bee, a dog attacks the 
 weasel, and so on.
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE RICE-SELLER. 155 
 
 friends. The merchant also raised his friends, and 
 when the parties met, they fought till they were all 
 destroyed — for the sake of a drop of honey. [25] 
 
 [I have also heard, continued the third vazir, among 
 instances of female artifice, the 
 
 Story of the ]Vonian and the Rice-Seller.^ 
 
 A MAN one day gave his wife a dirham- to buy rice, 
 and she went to the shop of the rice-seller, and said to 
 him : " Give me rice for this dirham." When he saw 
 that she was possessed of beauty and an elegant form, 
 he began cajoling her, and said to her: "Rice is not 
 good unless with sugar; come within, and I will give 
 thee some." The woman consented, and the dealer 
 ordered his slave to measure a quantity of rice and 
 sugar, but accompanied the order with a private sign, 
 which the youth understood ; and while his master was 
 engaged with the woman, he iiUed her towel with earth 
 and stones. After this the woman took the towel, and 
 went off, thinking that it contained sugar and rice; 
 and when she arrived at her house she placed it before 
 her husband, and went to fetch the caldron. In the 
 mefintime her husband opened the towel, and dis- 
 
 ^ Omitted by Scott, "it being too indelicate for translation." 
 After suppressing a few words of the original, the story, as 
 follows, is certainly not more free than any of those he has 
 translated. — See also the story in the Persian text, page 46. 
 
 - About sixpence of our money.
 
 IS6 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 covered the earth and the stones, and when she came 
 back he said to her: "Did I tell thee that we had a 
 house to build, that thou hast brought earth and 
 stones?" She then perceived that the dealer had 
 tricked her, and said : " O my husband, see what I 
 have done in my confusion: I went for the sieve, 
 and have brought the caldron! For the dirham you 
 gave me dropped from my hand in the market-place,^ 
 and I was ashamed before the people to look around 
 for it; so I brought back earth and stones, that you 
 might sift them." The husband then arose, and took 
 the sieve, and he sat down sifting the earth until his 
 face and his beard were covered with dust; and the 
 poor man knew not what had happened to him.] 
 
 On the fourth night the Damsel entered to the 
 sultan, kissed the ground before him, and said: "My 
 lord, you have rejected my cause, delayed my claims, 
 and will not do me justice upon thy son. But God 
 will assist me, as he assisted the son of a certain sultan 
 against his father's vazir." The sultan inquired in 
 what manner that happened, and she related the 
 
 Story of the Transformed Prince. 
 
 There was a sultan, who had an only son, whom he 
 betrothed to the daughter of a great monarch. She 
 was very beautiful, and passionately beloved by the 
 
 1 See note i, page 49.
 
 THE CHANGED SEX. 157 
 
 son of her uncle; but her father would not consent to 
 give her to him in marriage, on account of his prior 
 engagement to the sultan. When the young man 
 found that his uncle had affianced her to another, he 
 was exceedingly afflicted, and had no other resource 
 but to send rich presents to the vazir of the intended 
 bridegroom's father, and entreat him that he would 
 deceive the prince by some stratagem, so that the 
 match might be broken off. The vazir accepted 
 the bribe, and promised compliance. 
 
 The father of the princess, after some time, wrote 
 to the sultan, requesting that he would send his 
 son, to celebrate the marriage at his court; after 
 which he might return home with his bride. The 
 sultan consented, and despatched the prince under 
 care of his vazir, with attendants and slaves, and an 
 escort of a thousand horse; he also sent by him a rich 
 present of camels, and horses, and tents, and valuable 
 curiosities. 
 
 The vazir departed with the prince, but resolved to 
 betray him, on account of the bribes he had received 
 from the cousin of the princess. At length they 
 entered a desert, where the vazir bethought himself 
 of a fountain, named the White Fountain, of which 
 but few persons knew the properties; these were, that 
 if a man drank of the water, he became a woman; 
 and if a woman drank of it, she became a man. The 
 vazir encamped at some distance from it, and invited 
 the prince to ride out with him; when he mounted,
 
 158 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 but did not suspect what the vazir had devised. They 
 did not cease riding in the wilderness till sunset, when 
 the prince complained that he was overcome with 
 thirst, and unable to converse from the parching of 
 his mouth. The vazir then brought him to the foun- 
 tain, and said: " Dismount, and drink." 
 
 The prince alighted from his horse, and drank, 
 when lo! he instantly became a woman. On per- 
 ceiving his condition, he wept aloud, and was over- 
 come with shame, and fainted. On his recovery, the 
 vazir came up to him with pretended condolements, 
 and said: "What has befallen thee? And whence is 
 this sorrow?" The prince having related what had 
 occurred to him, the vazir said: "Thy enemies must 
 have done this. A great misfortune and a heavy 
 calamity have certainly come upon thee; for how can 
 the object of our journey be performed when thou art 
 thyself become a bride? I would advise that we return 
 to thy father, and inform him of what has happened." 
 The prince replied: "I swear by the Almighty, that I 
 will not return, until he shall remove from me this 
 affliction, though I should die under it." — The vazir 
 then returned to his troops, and left the prince; who 
 walked onwards, not knowing whither he should 
 proceed. 
 
 On the way there met him a horseman, beautiful as 
 the full moon,^ who saluted him, and said: "Lady, 
 
 1 In the Rich MS. of the looi N. (Brit, Mus.), the treacherous 
 vazir returns to the king, and informs him of what had happened
 
 THE CHANGED SEX. 159 
 
 who art thou, and why behold I thee alone in this 
 frightful desert ? For I perceive upon thee the 
 marks of distinction, and that thou art sorrowful and 
 afflicted." When the prince heard these kind express- 
 ions from the horseman, he put confidence in him, and 
 related what had befallen him. The cavalier said: 
 "Hast thou drank of the White Fountain.?" He 
 answered: "Yes;" and the other rejoined: "Comfort 
 thyself, and dry thine eyes, for I will attempt thy 
 delivery." The prince then fell at his feet, and would 
 have kissed them, but he forbade him; when the 
 prince said: "I conjure thee by Allah, tell me, how 
 can relief come to me through thee?" He replied: 
 " I am a jinni, but will not injure thee." 
 
 They travelled all night, and at dawn reached a 
 verdant plain, abounding in trees and rivulets, and 
 upon it lofty edifices; and there they dismounted, 
 and entered one of the palaces. The jinni welcomed 
 him, and they remained all day feasting in mirth and 
 gladness. At night the jinni mounted his horse, 
 and taking the prince behind him, travelled through 
 the dark until daylight, when, lo! they beheld a black 
 
 to the prince; and the king, sorely stricken with grief, endeavours 
 in vain to ascertain the cause of his son's misfortune from masters 
 of the occult sciences. — The prince remained three days and three 
 nights, and neither ate nor drank, and his horse was tied, pastur- 
 ing in the valley, and he weeping over his fate. But when the 
 fourth day came, behold, a yellow horseman, riding on a yellow 
 horse, and on his head a yellow diadem, etc. — The Biilaq and 
 Calcutta texts are to the same purpose.
 
 l6o THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 plain, frightful and gloomy, which might be compared 
 to the confines of hell. The prince inquired the name 
 of the country, and the jinni replied: "This country is 
 called the Black Region, and is governed by a prince 
 of the jinn, without whose permission no one dare 
 enter it. Remain here, while I ask for leave, and 
 return." The prince remained a httle while, when 
 the jinni appeared, and conducted him onwards; and 
 they did not stop till they came to a stream of water 
 flowing from a rock, of which the jinni commanded 
 him to drink. He dismounted, and drank, and his 
 sex returned to him as before. 
 
 The prince now praised God, and prayed, and he 
 thanked the jinni and kissed his hands, and inquired 
 the name of the well. The jinni replied: "This is the 
 Fountain of Women. If a woman drink of it she 
 becomes a man, by the decree of God. Praise the 
 Lord, then, O my brother, for thy welfare and de- 
 liverance." 
 
 They travelled the remainder of the day, till they 
 arrived at the dwelling of the jinni, where the prince 
 remained with him in mirth and festivity all that night 
 and the following day; in the evening of which the 
 jinni said: "Dost thou wish to spend this night with 
 thy bride?" The prince replied: "Certainly; but 
 how, my lord, can I effect it?" The jinni then 
 called to one of his attendants, whose name was 
 Jazur, and said: "Take this youth upon thy back, 
 and do not descend anywhere but upon the terrace
 
 THE CHANGED SEX. l6l 
 
 of his father-in-law's palace, near the apartment of his 
 bride." Jazur repHed: "To hear is to obey." 
 
 When a third of the night remained, Jazur appeared. 
 He was an 'Ifrit of monstrous size, so that the prince 
 was alarmed; but the jinni said: "He will not injure 
 thee; fear him not." He then embraced the prince, 
 took leave, and mounting him upon the back of the 
 'Ifrit, said: "Bind something over thine eyes." The 
 prince having done so, the Tfrit soared with him 
 between heaven and earth; but he perceived no 
 motion, till he was set down on the terrace of his 
 father-in-law's palace, when the Tfrit disappeared. 
 The prince slept till near daylight, when his spirits 
 revived, and he descended towards the apartments. 
 The female attendants met him, and saluted him, and 
 conducted him to the sultan, who knew him, and stood 
 up and embraced him, and welcoming him, said: "My 
 son, they usually bring the bridegroom by the gate, but 
 thou comest from the terrace; truly I am astonished 
 at thy proceedings." The prince answered: " If that 
 seems strange, I have still more wonderful events to 
 detail;" and he then related his adventures from first 
 to last, at which the sultan was astonished, and praised 
 God for his deliverance. 
 
 The nuptial ceremonies were now commenced, and 
 when the rites were concluded the prince was admitted 
 to his bride, and remained with her a whole month. 
 He then requested leave to return home ; upon which 
 his father-in-law presented him with rich gifts, and
 
 1 62 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 furnished him with an escort. The cousin of the 
 princess died of disappointment. The prince arrived 
 with his bride at the capital of his father in safety; 
 and the sultan rejoiced with exceeding great joy, after 
 being in despair for his son. [26] 
 
 "I hope," said the Damsel, "that C.od will also 
 revenge me upon thy vazirs and upon thy son." — The 
 sultan replied: "I will do thee justice immediately," 
 and issued orders for the execution of the prince. 
 
 On the fourth day the P'ourth Vazir came to 
 the sultan, kissed the ground before him, and said: 
 " O sultan, kill not thy son, or thou wilt reperit when 
 repentance will not profit thee. A wise man will not 
 act until he hath considered the consequences. I have 
 heard the following anecdote."^ 
 
 [The vazir then relates, as an example of the artifice 
 and duplicity of women, the] 
 
 Story of the Old Woman and the She-Dog. 
 
 There was a certain merchant's son, who had a hand- 
 some wife, and it happened that a libertine, accidentally 
 
 1 This little prefatory address of the fourth vazir does not 
 refer to the story which follows in Scott's translation, but to the 
 tale of The Bathman, which he has very properly suppressed, 
 and it should also have been omitted. — See note, page 61.
 
 THE OLD WOMAN AND THE SHE-DOG. 163 
 
 beholding her, fell in love with her. While the husband 
 was absent on a journey of business, the youth went to 
 an old woman of the neighbourhood, who was on inti- 
 mate terms with the wife, and disclosed to her his 
 passion, offering her ten dinars^ for her assistance. 
 
 The cunning old woman went several times to visit 
 the merchant's wife, and always took with her a little 
 she-dog. One day she contrived the following strata- 
 gem. She took flour and minced meat, and kneaded 
 them into a cake, with a good deal of pepper. Then 
 she forced the cake down the animal's throat, and 
 when the pepper began to heat her stomach, her eyes 
 became wet, as if with tears. The merchant's wife, 
 observing this, said to the old woman : " My good 
 mother, this dog daily follows you, and seems as if 
 she wept. What can be the cause?" The old woman 
 replied: "My dear mistress, the circumstance is won- 
 derful; for she was formerly a beautiful girl, straight as 
 the letter allf, and made the sun ashamed by her 
 superior radiance. A Jewish sorcerer fell in love with 
 her, whom she refused; and when he despaired of 
 obtaining her, he was enraged, and by magic transformed 
 her into a she-dog, as thou seest. She was a friend of 
 mine; she loved me, and I loved her; so that, in her 
 new form, she took to following me wherever I went, 
 for I have always fed her, and taken care of her, on 
 account of our friendship. She weeps often when 
 reflecting on her unfortunate condition." 
 
 ^ A gold dinar is equivalent to about ten shillings.
 
 1 64 THE SEVEN VAZ'lRS. 
 
 A\'hen the merchant's wife heard this, she trembled 
 for herself, and said : " A certain man hath professed 
 love to me, and I did not intend to gratify his criminal 
 passion. But thou hast terrified me with the story of 
 this unhappy damsel, so that I am alarmed lest the 
 man should transform me in like manner." — " My 
 dear daughter," said the wicked old woman, " I am 
 your true friend, and advise you that if any man 
 makes love to you not to refuse him." The wife then 
 said: "How shall I find out my lover?" — "For the 
 sake of thy peace," replied the old wretch, " for 
 the love I bear thee, and for fear lest thou shouldst 
 also be transformed, I will go and seek him." 
 
 She then went out, rejoicing that she had gained 
 her ends, and sought the young man, but did not find 
 him at home. So she said to herself: " I will not let 
 this day })ass, however, without gaining a reward for 
 my trouble. 1 will introduce some one else to her, 
 and obtain from him a second present." She then 
 walked through the streets in search of a proj^er man ; 
 when behold I she met the husband just returning 
 from his journey, whom she did not know. She went 
 u^) to him, and saluted him, and said: "Hast thou 
 any objection to a good supper and a handsome 
 mistress?" He replied: "I am ready;" upon which 
 she took him by the hand, and leading him to his 
 own house, desired him to wait at the door. 
 
 When the man reached his own dwelling, jealousy 
 overcame him, and the world became dark to his eyes.
 
 THE Or.n WOMAN AND THE SHE-DOG. 165 
 
 The old woman went to the wife, to inform her of the 
 coming of her lover; whom, when she saw him from 
 the window, she knew, and exclaimed: "Why, mother, 
 thou hast brought my husband!" The old woman, 
 hearing this, rei)lied: "There remains nothing now but 
 to deceive him." The wife took the hint, and said: 
 " I will meet him, and abuse him for his intrigues, and 
 will say, ' I sent this old woman as a spy upon thee.' " 
 
 She then began to exclaim against the infidelity of 
 her husband, took a sheet of paper, and descended 
 the staircase, and said to him : " Thou shameless man, 
 there was a promise of constancy between us, and 
 I swore unto thee that I would not love another. 
 Luckily, however, I suspected thy falsehood, and when 
 I knew thou wast returning from thy journey, sent 
 this old woman to watch thee, that I might discover 
 thy proceedings, and whether thou wast faithful to thy 
 agreement or not. It is now clear that thou fre- 
 quentest the dwellings of courtesans, and I have been 
 deceived. But since I know thy falsehood, there can 
 be no cordiality between us; therefore write me a 
 divorce, for I can no longer love thee." 
 
 The husband, on hearing this, was alarmed, and 
 remained for a time in astonishment. He took a 
 solemn oath that he had not been unfaithful to her, 
 and had not been guilty of what she had accused him. 
 He did not cease to soothe her till she was somewhat 
 pacified, when the old woman interfered, and effected 
 a reconciliation between them, for which kindness
 
 1 66 THE SEVEN VAZ'iRS. 
 
 she was handsomely rewarded. The unfortunate hus- 
 band Httle suspected the disgrace he had so narrowly 
 escaped, [ii] 
 
 "This, O sultan," said the vazir, "is only one in- 
 stance of the art and deceit of women." — The sultan 
 then countermanded the execution of his son. 
 
 On the fifth evening the Damsel came to the 
 sultan, holding a cup of poison in her hand, and said : 
 " If thou wilt not do me justice upon thy son, I will 
 drink this poison, and my crime will rest upon thy 
 shoulders. Thy vazirs say that women are cunning 
 and deceitful, but there is no creature in the universe 
 more crafty than man. For instance : 
 
 Story of the Goldsmith and the Singing Giid} 
 
 I HAVE heard that a goldsmith,- who was passionately 
 fond of women, one day entered a friend's house, and 
 saw upon the wall of an apartment the portrait of a 
 beautiful girl, with which he became enraptured; and 
 love so overcame his heart that his friends said to 
 him: "Thou foolish man, how couldst thou think of 
 loving a figure depicted on a wall, of the original of 
 which thou hast never heard or seen?" He replied: 
 
 ^ In Scott's translation, the hero of this story is a painter, but 
 a goldsmith, or a jeweller, in four other Arabic texts. 
 
 - In a city of Persia, according to the Calcutta and Bulaq 
 texts.
 
 THE GOLDSMITH AND THE SIXCING GIRL. 167 
 
 " A painter could not have drawn this portrait unless 
 he had seen the original." One of his friends ob- 
 served, that perhaps the painter might have formed it 
 merely from his imagination. He answered: " I hope 
 from heaven comfort and relief; but what you say 
 cannot be proved except by the painter." They then 
 told him that he lived in a certain town; and the 
 young man wrote to inquire whether he had seen 
 the original of the picture he had painted, or had 
 drawn it from fancy. The answer was that the portrait 
 was that of a singing-girl belonging to a vazir of 
 Ispahan.^ Encouraged by this intelligence, the young 
 man made preparations for a journey, and having 
 departed, travelled night and day until he reached 
 the city, where he took up his abode. 
 
 In a few days he made acquaintance with an apothe- 
 cary, and became intimate with him. Talking upon 
 various subjects, at length they conversed regarding 
 the sultan of Ispahan and his disposition; when the 
 ajiothecary said: "Our sovereign bears inveterate 
 hatred to all practitioners of magic, and if they fall 
 into his hands, he casts them into a deep cave without 
 the city, where they die of hunger and thirst." Next they 
 conversed about the famous singing-girl of the vazir, and 
 the young man learned that she was still with him. 
 
 The young goldsmith now began to plan his strata- 
 gems. On the first moonlight night he disguised 
 
 ^ Of Kashmir, according to four other texts,
 
 t68 the seven vazirs. 
 
 himself as a robber, and repairing to the palace of 
 the vazir, fixed a ladder of ropes, by which he 
 gained the terrace, from whence he descended into 
 the court; when lo! a light gleamed from one of the 
 apartments. He entered it, and beheld a throne of 
 ivory, inlaid with gold, on which reposed a lady bright 
 as the sun in a serene sky. At her head and feet were 
 placed lamps, the splendour of which her countenance 
 outshone. He approached, and gazed upon her, and 
 saw that she was the object of his desires. Near the 
 pillow was a rich veil, embroidered with pearls and 
 precious stones. He drew a knife from his girdle, 
 and wounded her slightly on the palm of her hand. 
 The pain awakened the lad)', but she did not scream 
 from alarm, believing him to be only a robber in 
 search of plunder; she said: "Take this embroidered 
 veil, but do not injure me." He took the veil, and 
 departed by the same way that he had entered. ^ 
 
 When daylight appeared, he disguised himself in 
 white vestments, like a holy pilgrim; visited the sultan, 
 and having saluted him, and the sultan having returned 
 the salutation, he thus addressed him : " O sultan, I 
 am a pilgrim devoted to religion, from the country of 
 Khurasan, and have repaired to thy presence because 
 of the report of thy virtues and thy justice to thy 
 subjects, intending to remain under the shade of thy 
 protection. I reached thy capital at the close of day, 
 
 ^ In some Arabic versions he wounds her in the shoulder, and 
 takes away part of her ornaments.
 
 THE GOLDSMITH AND THE SINGING GIRL. 169 
 
 when the gates were shut. Then I lay down to repose, 
 and was in slumber, when behold ! four women issued 
 from a grove, one mounted upon a hytena, another 
 uijon a ram, a third U])on a black she-dog, and the 
 fourth upon a leopard. \\'hen I saw them, I knew 
 they must be sorceresses. One of them having ap- 
 proached me, began to kirk me with her feet, and to 
 strike me with a whip, which appeared like a flame of 
 fire. I then repeated the names of God, and struck 
 at her hand with my knife, which wounded her, but 
 she escaped from me. There dropped from her this 
 veil, which I took up, and found it embroidered with 
 valuable jewels; but I have no occasion for them, for 
 I have given up the world." Having thus spoken, he 
 laid the veil at the sultan's feet, and departed. 
 
 On examining the veil, the sultan recognised it as 
 one which he had presented to his vazn-, of whom he 
 demanded: "Did 1 not bestow upon thee this veil?" 
 The vazir replied: ''You did, my lord; and I gave it 
 to a favourite singing-girl of my own." — " Let her be 
 sent for immediately," exclaimed the sultan; "for she 
 is a wicked sorceress." The vazir went to his palace, 
 and brought the girl before the sultan, who, on seeing 
 the slight wound on her hand, was convinced of the 
 pretended pilgrim's assertion, and commanded her to 
 be cast into the cave of sorcerers. 
 
 When the goldsmith found that his stratagem had 
 succeeded, and that the girl was thrown into the cave, 
 he took a purse of a thousand dinars, and went to the
 
 170 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 keeper of the cave, and said to him: "Accept this 
 purse, and hsten to my story." After relating his 
 adventures, the goldsmith said: "This poor girl is 
 innocent, and I am the person who has plunged her 
 into misfortune. If thou wilt release her, it will be a 
 merciful action, and I will convey her privately to my 
 own country. Should she remain here, she will soon 
 be among the number of the dead. Pity, then, her 
 condition and my own, and repay thy generosity with 
 this purse." The keeper accepted the present, and 
 released the girl; and the goldsmith took her with 
 him, and returned to his own city. [27] 
 
 " This, O sultan," said the Damsel, " is but one 
 example of the craft of men." — The sultan then gave 
 orders for the execution of his son. 
 
 Next day the Fifth Vazir presented himself before 
 the sultan, and said: "O my lord, reprieve thy son, 
 and be not hasty in his death, lest thou repent, as the 
 man repented, who never afterwards smiled." The 
 sultan inquired his history, and the vazir proceeded : 
 
 Story of the Young Man ivho li'as taken 
 to the Land of Women} 
 
 There was a man, possessed of great wealth and 
 master of many slaves, who died, leaving his estates 
 
 ^ Scott absurdly entitles this story, "The Ten Old Men and 
 the Decayed Rake." In his time, the term "decayed" was
 
 THE FORBIDDEN DOORS. I? I 
 
 to an infant son. When he reached manhood, he 
 engaged in pleasure and amusements, in feasting and 
 drinking, in music and dancing, with profusion and ex- 
 travagance, until he had expended the riches his father 
 had left him. He then took to selling his effects and 
 slaves and concubines, till at length, through distress, 
 he was obliged to ply as a porter in the streets for a 
 subsistence. 
 
 As he one day waited for an employer, an old man 
 of portly and respectable appearance stopped, and 
 looked earnestly at him for some time. At length 
 the young man said : " Why, sir, do you so earnestly 
 gaze at my countenance ? Have you any occasion for 
 my services?" The old man replied: "Yes, my son. 
 We are ten old men, who live together in the same 
 house,^ and have at present no person to attend us. 
 If thou wilt accept the office, I trust (God willing) it 
 will afford thee much advantage." The youth replied: 
 "Most willingly and readily." Then said the old 
 man: "You shall serve us, but upon condition that 
 you conceal our situation; and when you see us weep- 
 ing and lamenting, that you ask not the cause." The 
 young man consented, whereupon his new master took 
 him to a bath, and when he was cleansed, presented 
 
 often employed to describe a person who "had seen better 
 days," as a "decayed gentlewoman" — a phrase which seems 
 now-a-days sufficiently ludicrous. — The short title of this story is 
 " Curiosity." 
 
 ^ " I have with me ten old men in one house," according to 
 the Bulaq and Calcutta texts— that is, ten besides himself.
 
 172 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 him with a handsome dress, and repaired with him to 
 his own house. This proved to be a magnificent palace ; 
 its courts surrounded by galleries, and adorned with 
 basins and fountains. All sorts of birds fluttered in 
 the lofty trees which ornamented the gardens, and 
 overshadowed the apartments. 
 
 The old man conducted him into one of the pavil- 
 ions, which was laid over with silken carpets, rich 
 masnads,^ and superb cushions. In this pavilion sat 
 nine venerable old men, all weeping and lamenting, at 
 which he was astonished, but asked no questions. His 
 master then took him to a large chest, pulled out of it 
 a bag containing a thousand dinars, and said : " My 
 son, thou art entrusted by God with this treasure, to 
 expend it upon us and thyself with integrity." The 
 young man replied: "To hear is to obey." He now 
 busied himself in providing for their wants, what was 
 necessary for victuals and raiment, during three years. 
 At length one of the old men died, and they washed 
 his corpse, and buried it in the garden of the palace. 
 
 The young man continued to serve them, and the 
 old men died one after another, until nine had de- 
 parted, and he only remained who had hired him. At 
 last, he also fell sick, and the young man despaired of 
 his recovery. So he said to himself: " My master will 
 surely die, and why should I not ask him the cause of 
 their bewailings?" Approaching the couch of the old 
 
 1 A masnad is a kind of counterpane, spread on the carpet 
 where the master of the house sits and receives company.
 
 THE FORBIDDEN DOORS. 173 
 
 man, who groaned in the agonies of death, he said: 
 "O my master, I conjure thee by God to acquaint 
 me with the reason of your constant lamentations." 
 " My son," he replied, " there is no occasion for thee 
 to know it, so do not importune me for what will not 
 profit thee. Believe me, I have ever loved and com- 
 passionated thee. I dread lest thou shouldst be 
 punished as we have been punished, but wish thou 
 mayest be preserved. Be advised, therefore, my son, 
 and open not yonder locked door." He then pointed 
 out the door to him ; after which his agonies increased, 
 and he exclaimed: " I testify that there is no god but 
 God, and that Muhammad is his servant and prophet !" 
 Then his soul fluttered, he turned upon his side, and 
 he was joined to his Lord. The young man washed 
 the corpse, enshrouded it, and buried him by the side 
 of his companions. 
 
 After this he took possession of the palace, and 
 diverted himself for some time in examining the 
 treasures it contained. At length his mind became 
 restless for want of employment. He reflected upon 
 the fate of the old men, and on the dying words of his 
 master, and the charge he had given him. He exam- 
 ined the door; his mind was overcome by curiosity to 
 see what could be within it, and he did not weigh the 
 consec^uences. Satan tempted him to open the door, 
 and he exclaimed with the poet: "What is not to 
 happen cannot be effected by human contrivance; 
 but what is to be will be." He now unlocked the
 
 174 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 door. It opened into a long dark passage, in which 
 he wandered for three hours, when he came out 
 upon the shore of the ocean. He was astonished, and 
 gazed with wonder on all sides. He would have re- 
 turned, but lo ! a black eagle of monstrous size darted 
 from the air, and seizing him in her talons, soared for 
 some time between heaven and earth. At length it 
 descended with him upon a small island in the ocean, 
 and fled away. 
 
 The young man remained a while motionless with 
 terror; but recovering, began to wander about the 
 island. Suddenly a sail arose to his view on the waters, 
 resembling a fleeting cloud in the heavens. He gazed, 
 and the sail approached, till it reached the beach of 
 the island, when he beheld a boat formed of ivory, 
 ebony, and sandal, the oars of which were made of 
 aloes-wood of Comorin, the sails were of white silk, 
 and it was navigated by beautiful maidens, shining like 
 moons. They advanced from the boat, and kissing 
 his hands, said: "Our souls are refreshed at seeing 
 thee, for thou art the master of our country and of our 
 queen." One of the ladies approached him with a 
 parcel wrapped in rich damask, in which was a royal 
 dress most superbly embroidered, and a crown of gold 
 splendidly set with diamonds and pearls. She assisted 
 him to dress; during which the youth said to himself: 
 "Do I see this in a dream? or am I awake? The 
 old man mentioned nothing of this. He must surely 
 have forbade my opening the door out of envy."
 
 THE FORBIDDEN DOORS. i 7 5 
 
 The ladies then conducted him to the boat, which 
 he found spread with elegant carpets and cushions of 
 brocade. They hoisted the sails, and rowed with their 
 oars, while the youth could not divine what would be 
 the end of his adventure. He continued in a state of 
 bewilderment till they reached land, when behold! 
 the beach was crowded with troops and attendants, 
 gallant in appearance, and of the tallest stature. When 
 the boat anchored, five principal officers of the army 
 advanced to the young man, who was at first alarmed, 
 but they paid their obeisance profoundly, and welcomed 
 him in a tone shrill as the sound of silver. Then the 
 drums beat, the trumpets sounded, and the troops 
 arranged themselves on his right hand and on his left. 
 They proceeded till the)- reached an extensive and ver- 
 dant meadow, in which another detachment met them, 
 numerous as the rolling billows or waving shadows. 
 
 Lastly appeared a young prince, surrounded by the 
 nobles of his kingdom, but all wore veils, so that no 
 part of them could be seen but their eyes. When the 
 prince came near the young man, he and his company 
 alighted, some of them embraced each other, and after 
 conversing a while, remounted their horses. The 
 cavalcade then proceeded, and did not halt till it came 
 to the royal palace, when the young man was helped 
 from his horse,^ and the prince conducted him into a 
 
 ' This is the first intimation that the youth rode on horseback 
 to meet the prince : the copyist had probably omitted to state, 
 what other Arabic texts mention, that, when the boat reached
 
 176 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 splendid hall, in which was the royal throne. The 
 seeming prince ascended it and sat down; and on 
 removing the veil from his face, the young man beheld 
 a beautiful damsel in the supposed prince. While he 
 gazed in astonishment, she said: "Young man, this 
 country is mine, the troops are mine, and I am their 
 queen; but when a man arriveth amongst us, he 
 becomes my superior, and governs in my place." The 
 youth, upon hearing this, was wrapt still more in 
 wonder. And while they were conversing, the vazir en- 
 tered, who was a stately looking matron, to whom the 
 queen said: "Call the qazi and the witnesses." She 
 replied: "To hear is to obey." 
 
 The queen then said to the young man: "Art thou 
 willing that I should be thy wife, and to be my hus- 
 band?" Hearing this, and beholding her condescending 
 demeanour, he rose up, and kissing the ground, said (as 
 she would have prevented his prostration) : " I am not 
 worthy of such high honour, or even to be one of thy 
 humblest attendants." She replied: " My lord, all that 
 thou hast beheld, and what remains unseen by thee of 
 this country, its provinces, people, and treasures are 
 thine, and I am thy handmaiden. Avoid only yonder 
 door, which thou must not open: if thou dost, thou 
 wilt repent when repentance will not avail." — The 
 vazir, qazi, and witnesses, who were all women, now 
 entered, and they were married; after which the 
 
 the land, four horses of the purest breed were led before him, 
 one of which he selected to ride upon.
 
 THE FORBIDDEN DOORS. 1 7 7 
 
 courtiers and people were introduced, and congrat- 
 ulated them. 
 
 The young man remained for seven months^ in the 
 height of enjoyment, when one day he recollected his 
 old master, and how he had warned him not to open 
 the door in his palace, which though he had done, yet 
 from his disobedience such unexpected good fortune 
 had befallen him. His curiosity and Satan whispered 
 to him, that within the door which the queen had for- 
 bidden him to open, some important scenes must also 
 be concealed. He advanced, opened it, and entered ; 
 but found a gloomy passage, in which he had not 
 walked more than twenty steps, when light gleamed 
 upon him. He advanced, and beheld the same eagle 
 that had borne him away. He would now have re- 
 treated, but the monster darted upon him, seized him 
 in its talons, ascended, and put him down on the spot 
 where it had first taken him up. 
 
 He regretted his lost grandeur, power, and dominion, 
 exclaiming : " When I rode out, a hundred beautiful 
 damsels surrounded me, and were flattered by being 
 permitted to attend me. Alas ! I was living in honour, 
 until I rashly ventured upon what I have committed!" 
 For two full months he lamented, crying out : "Alas! 
 alas ! if the bird would but once again return ! " but in 
 vain. Night and day, weeping, he would exclaim : 
 " I was enjoying my ease until my imprudence ruined 
 me." At length one night, in a restless slumber, he 
 
 ^ Seven years, according to the Biilaq and Calcutta texts. 
 
 M
 
 lyS THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 heard a voice saying: " Alas! alas! what is past cannot 
 be recovered," upon which he despaired of seeing again 
 his queen or his kingdom. He then entered the palace 
 of his old masters by the dark passage, fatally convinced 
 of what had occasioned their incessant lamentations. 
 He employed himself in praying for their souls; and, 
 like them, wept and lamented, until he died. [28] 
 
 " Observe, therefore, O sultan," said the vazir, " that 
 precipitancy is of ill consequence, and I advise thee 
 from experience." — The sultan then refrained from 
 executing his son. 
 
 On the sixth night the Damsel entered with a 
 dagger in her hand, and said: "O sultan, wilt thou 
 revenge me of thy son? If not, I will instantly put 
 myself to death. Thy vazirs pretend that woman is 
 more artful than man, wishing to destroy my rights; 
 but I assure thee that man is far more deceitful than 
 woman, which is clear from what passed between a 
 prince and a merchant's wife. 
 
 Story of the Lover in the Chest. 
 
 A MERCHANT, who was exceedingly jealous, had a very 
 beautiful wife. From suspicion of her fidelity, he 
 would not dwell in a city among men, but built a 
 house in a most retired situation, that no one might 
 visit her. It was surrounded by lofty walls, and had 
 a strong gateway. Every morning he locked the door,
 
 THE LOVER IN THE CHEST. 1/9 
 
 took the key with him, and proceeded to the city to 
 transact business until the evening. 
 
 One day, the sultan's son, riding out for amuse- 
 ment, passed by the house, and cast his eyes on the 
 merchant's wife, who was walking on the terrace. He 
 was captivated by her beauty, and she was no less 
 charmed with his appearance. He tried the gate, but 
 it was securely fastened. At length he wrote a declara- 
 tion of his love, and iixed it on an arrow, which he 
 shot upon the terrace. The merchant's wife read the 
 letter, and returned a favourable answer. He then 
 took the key of a chest, tied it to a note, in which was 
 written, " I will come to thee in a chest, of which this 
 is the key," and threw it up to her. The prince after 
 this took his leave, and returning to the city, sent for 
 his father's vazir, to whom he communicated what had 
 happened, requesting his assistance. " My son," said 
 the vazir, " what can I do ? I tremble for my character 
 in such a business, and what plan can we pursue?" The 
 prince answered : " I only require thy help in what I 
 have contrived. I mean to place myself in a large 
 chest, which thou must lock upon me, and convey at 
 night to the merchant's house, and say to him: 'This 
 chest contains my jewels and treasure, which I am 
 afraid the sultan may seize, and must for a time entrust 
 to thy care.' " 
 
 The vazir having consented to the proposal, the 
 prince entered the chest, which was then locked and 
 conveyed privately to the town-liouse of the merchant.
 
 I So THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 The vazir knocked at the door, and the merchant ap- 
 pearing, made a profound obeisance to so honourable 
 a visitant, who requested to leave the chest with him 
 for some days, till the alarm of the sultan's displeasure 
 should be over. The merchant readily consented, and 
 had the chest for security carried to his country house, 
 and placed in the apartments of his wife. In the 
 morning he went about his affairs to the city, when 
 his wife, having adorned herself in her richest apparel, 
 opened the chest. The prince came out, embraced 
 her, and kissed her. They passed the day together in 
 merriment, till the merchant's return, when the prince 
 repaired to his place of concealment. 
 
 Seven days had passed in this manner, when it 
 chanced that the sultan inquired for his son, and the 
 vazir went hastily to the merchant to reclaim the chest. 
 The merchant had returned earlier than usual to his 
 country house, and was overtaken on his way by the 
 vazir. The lady and the prince, who had been amusing 
 themselves in the court of the house, were suddenly 
 disturbed by a knocking at the gate, and the prince 
 betook himself to the chest, which the wife in her con- 
 fusion forgot to lock. The merchant entered with his 
 servants, who took up the chest to deliver to the vazir; 
 when lo ! the lid opened, and the prince was discovered, 
 half intoxicated with wine. The poor merchant durst 
 not revenge himself upon the son of his sovereign. He 
 conducted him to the vazir, who was overwhelmed with 
 shame at the disgraceful discovery. The merchant, con-
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. i8i 
 
 vinced of his own dishonour, and that his precautions 
 had been in vain, divorced his wife, and took an oath 
 never to marry again. [29] 
 
 "Such is the wiliness of men," added the Damsel: 
 "but thy vazirs cannot escape my penetration." — ^After 
 hearing this story, the sultan, who doatingly loved the 
 Damsel, gave orders for the execution of his son. 
 
 On the sixth day the Sixth Vazir came before the 
 sultan, and said: " Be cautious, my lord, in the execu- 
 tion of your son; be not rash, for rashness is sinful, 
 and the artfulness of women is well known, for Ciod 
 has declared, in the Qur'an, that their craftiness is 
 beyond all measure. 
 
 Story of tJic Merchant" s Wife and her Snitors. 
 
 It has been reported to me that there was a woman 
 who had a husband accustomed to travel much on 
 business to distant countries. During one of his 
 journeys, his wife became enamoured of a young 
 man, who returned her fondness. It happened one 
 day that this youth, having been engaged in a brawl, 
 was apprehended by the police, and carried before 
 the wali^ of the city, when it was proved that he was the 
 transgressor, and the wall sentenced him to be im- 
 prisoned. 
 
 1 Chief of police.
 
 THE SEVEN VAZFRS. 
 
 When the lady heard of her lover's confinement, her 
 mind was employed from hour to hour devising means 
 for his release. At length she dressed herself in her 
 richest apparel, repaired to the wall, made obeisance 
 to him, and complained that her brother having had a 
 scuffle with another youth, hired witnesses had sworn 
 falsely against him, and he had been wrongfully cast 
 into prison. She added that she could not remain safe 
 without the protection of her brother, and begged that 
 he should be set at liberty. The lady had a great share 
 of beauty, which when the wall perceived, he desired 
 her to enter his apartment while he gave orders for her 
 brother's release. She guessed his design, and said: 
 " My lord, I am an honourable and reputable woman, 
 and cannot enter any apartments but my own. But if 
 you desire it, you may visit me;" she then mentioned 
 where she resided, and appointed the day when he 
 should come. The wall was enraptured, and gave her 
 twenty dinars, saying: " Expend this at the bath." She 
 then left him, his heart busy in thinking of her 
 beauty. 
 
 The lady next went to the venerable qazi,^ and said: 
 " My lord, look upon me," and removed her veil from 
 her face. "What has happened to thee?" inquired 
 the qazi. She replied: "I have a younger brother, 
 and none but him, for a protector, whom the wall 
 has imprisoned wrongfully, and whom I beseech thee 
 out of thy compassion to release from his confme- 
 
 ^ See note 2, page 93.
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 183 
 
 ment." The qazi said : " Step in, while I order his 
 release." She answered: " If you mean that, my lord, 
 it must be at my house;" and she made an assignation 
 for the same day she had appointed to the wall. The 
 qazi then presented her with twenty dinars, saying: 
 " Purchase provisions and sherbets with part of this 
 sum, and pay for the bath with the remainder." 
 
 From the qazi's house the lady repaired to that of 
 the vazir, repeated her story, and besought his inter- 
 ference with the wall for the release of her brother. 
 The vazir also, smitten with her beauty, made proposals 
 of love, which she accepted, but said he must visit her 
 at her own house, and fixed the same day she had 
 named to the wall and the qazi. The vazir then gave 
 her twenty dinars, saying: " Expend part of this money 
 at the bath, and with the rest prepare for us a supper 
 and wine." She replied: "To hear is to obey." 
 
 From the vazir she proceeded to the hajib,^ and said: 
 " My lord, the wali has imprisoned my brother, who is 
 but a stripling, on the evidence of false witnesses, and 
 I humbly beseech thee for his release." The hajib 
 rephed: "Step in, while I send for thy brother." She 
 suspected his designs, and rejoined: "If my lord has 
 business with me — in his house is a constant assemblage 
 of persons — rather let him honour my humble dwelling 
 with his footsteps." Then she assigned the same day 
 she had appointed for the others, informing him of the 
 
 1 Governor of the city.
 
 184 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 situation of her house; and the hajib gave her fifty 
 dinars, saying: " Prepare a supper for us with part, and 
 lay out the remainder at the bath." 
 
 The lady took the gold, and went to a joiner's shop, 
 and said: "I desire that you will make me a large 
 cabinet, with four compartments, so strong that no 
 single person could burst it open. When thou hast 
 finished it, I will pay thee ten dinars."' The joiner 
 agreed, and she hurried him daily till it was finished, 
 when he carried it to her house upon a camel, and set 
 it up in its place. She offered him the price agreed 
 upon, but the joiner refused it, saying : " My dear lady, 
 I will not take anything, and only desire that I may 
 pass an evening with you." She replied: " If that be 
 the case, you must add a fifth compartment to the 
 cabinet." He readily consented, and she fixed the 
 same evening she had appointed for the wali, the qazi, 
 the vazir, and the hajib. 
 
 She now went to market, and bought some old 
 garments, which she dyed red, yellow, black, and blue, 
 and made to them whimsical caps of various colours. 
 Then she cooked flesh and fowl, bought wine,^ and 
 prepared everything for the appointed evening; when 
 she attired herself in her richest apparel, and sat down, 
 expecting her guests. 
 
 1 It was formerly the custom at wine-parties in tlie East for 
 tlie host and his guests to wear dresses of bright colours, such as 
 red, yellow, and green. — Although wine is prohibited by the 
 Qur'an, it is often privately drunk by Muslims.
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 185 
 
 First the wali^ knocked at the door, and she rose 
 and opened it, and said: " My lord, the house of your 
 slave is yours, and I am your handmaid." Then, 
 having feasted him till he was satisfied, she took off 
 his robes, and, bringing a black vest and a red cap, 
 said: "Put on the dress of mirth and pleasure;" after 
 which she made him drink wine till he was intoxicated, 
 when lo! there was a knocking at the door, and she 
 said: "My lord, I cannot be cheerful till you have 
 released my brother." He immediately wrote an order 
 to the jailor to give the young man his freedom, which 
 she gave to a servant to deliver, and had no sooner 
 returned to the wall when the knocking became louder. 
 " Who is coming?" he inquired. " It is my husband," 
 replied the lady; "get into this cabinet, and I will 
 return presently and release thee." Having locked 
 the wall in the cabinet, she went to the door. 
 
 The qazi now entered, whom she saluted, led in, 
 and seated respectfully. She first filled a cup with 
 wine, and drank to him; and then presented him 
 with meat and wine. The qazi said gravely: "I have 
 never drunk wine during all my life;" but she per- 
 
 ^ Here I have made considerable alterations : in Scott's trans- 
 lation (and also in the Calcutta printed text) the qazi is repre- 
 sented as the first to make his appearance ; but we have seen 
 that the first appointment was made with the wall. It is to be 
 understood that the lady fixed a later hour for each successive 
 suitor, otherwise she might have had two or more on her hands 
 at the same time, which was certainly no part of her plan.
 
 1 86 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 suaded him to drink, saying that company was always 
 dull without wine. After this, she pulled off his 
 magisterial robes, and saying, " My lord, put on the 
 garments of mirth and pleasure," dressed him in a 
 robe of yellow and red, with a black cap. Suddenly 
 the door resounded, and the qazi, alarmed for his 
 reputation, asked: "Who is at the door? what shall 
 we do?" She replied: " I fear it is my husband. Go 
 into this cabinet, until he goes away, when I will 
 release thee, and we shall pass the evening pleasantly 
 together." 
 
 Having locked the qazi in the cabinet, the lady 
 admitted the vazir, and, kissing his hand, she said: 
 "Thou hast highly honoured me, my lord, by thy 
 auspicious approach." Then she set supper before 
 him, and cajoled him to drink till he was merry and 
 frolicsome, when she said : " Disrobe yourself, my 
 lord, put on the vesture of pleasure, and leave the 
 habit of the vazir for its proper offices." Smiling at 
 her playfulness, the vazir undressed, and put on, at the 
 lady's request, a red vest and a green cap tufted with 
 wool, after which they began to drink and sing, when 
 there was a knocking at the door, and the vazir, in 
 terror, inquired the cause. " It is my husband," said 
 the lady; " step into this cabinet, till he is gone." The 
 vazir quickly slipped in, upon which she locked the 
 compartment, and hastened to the door. 
 
 The hajib now entered, according to appointment, 
 and having seated him, the lady said courteously: "My
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 187 
 
 lord, you have honoured me by your kindness and 
 condescension." Then she began to undress him, 
 and his robes were worth at least four thousand 
 dinars. She brought him a parti-coloured vest, and 
 a copper cap set with shells, saying: "These, my lord, 
 are the garments of festivity and mirth." The hajib, 
 having put them on, began to toy and kiss, and she 
 plied him with wine till he was intoxicated. A knock- 
 ing was again heard at the gate, when the hajib cried 
 out: "Who is this?" and she replied: "My husband; 
 hide in this cabinet, until I can send him away, and I 
 will immediately return to thee." 
 
 The poor joiner was next admitted, and the lady 
 plied him so freely with wine, after he had supped, 
 that he was ready for any kind of foolery; so she bade 
 him take off his clothes, and left him, to fetch a dress, 
 when once more the door resounded, and she ex- 
 claimed : " Run into this cabinet, even as thou art, for 
 here is my husband." He entered,^ and having locked 
 him in, the lady then admitted her lover, just released 
 from prison by the wall's order. She informed him of 
 her stratagem, and said: "We must not remain longer 
 here;" upon which the lover went out and hired 
 camels, and they loaded them with all the effects of 
 the house, leaving nothing but the cabinet, strongly 
 
 ^ In the Calcutta text, on the arrival of the joiner, she com- 
 plains that the fifth compartment of the cabinet is too small ; he 
 steps into it, to show that there is room for several men, upon 
 which she locks him in, like the others.
 
 1 88 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 secured with five locks, and within it the worthy 
 officers of government and the poor joiner. The lady 
 and her lover set off without further delay, and travelled 
 to another city, where they could be secure from 
 discovery. 
 
 Meanwhile the unfortunate lovers in the cabinet 
 were in a woeful condition.^ At length they became 
 aware of each other's presence, and began to converse, 
 and, notwithstanding their distress, could not refrain 
 from laughing at each other. In the morning the 
 landlord of the house, finding the gate open, entered, 
 but hearing voices from the cabinet, he was alarmed, 
 and summoned a number of the neighbours. Then 
 the landlord exclaimed: "Are you men or jinn that 
 are in this cabinet?" They replied: " If we were jinn, 
 we should not remain here, nor should we want any 
 one to open the doors. We are only men." The 
 neighbours cried out: "Let us not open the cabinet, 
 but in presence of the sultan;" upon which the qazi 
 exclaimed: "O my people, let us out — 'Conceal what 
 God has concealed!"-^ and do not disgrace us. I 
 
 1 A short passage, humorous but coarse, is here omitted. 
 Scott states in his preface that he had suppressed "a few 
 expressions rather too plainly descriptive of natural situations ;" 
 this is one which he has retained — his notions of "delicacy" 
 being apparently somewhat vague. In the Calcutta text, as 
 well as in Scott's version, the compartments of the cabinet are 
 made "one above the other," in order to introduce the little 
 incident. 
 
 - A quotation from the Qur'an. — S.
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 189 
 
 am the qazi." They replied: "Thou Hest, and it is 
 impossible. For if thou art the qazi, how earnest thou 
 to be confined here? Thou art an impostor; for our 
 worthy qazi, thou impious wretch, is a man who sub- 
 dueth his passions. Be silent, lest he hear thee, and 
 bring thee to punishment." After this the qazi durst 
 not speak, and was silent. 
 
 Then they brought several i;)orters, who took up 
 the great cabinet, and carried it to the palace of the 
 sultan,! who, on being informed of the affair, sent for 
 carpenters and smiths, and caused it to be broken 
 open in his presence, when lo ! he discovered the wali, 
 the qazi, the vazir, the hajib, and the poor joiner. 
 "What brought thee here, O reverend qazi?" incpiired 
 the sultan. The qazi exclaimed: "God be praised, 
 who hath providentially saved thee, O sultan, from 
 what hath befallen us!" He then issued from the 
 cabinet in his coloured vest and fool's cap, as did 
 the rest of his companions in their ridiculous dresses, 
 but the poor joiner in his birth-day habit. The sultan 
 laughed till he almost fainted, and commanded the 
 adventures of each to be written, from first to last. 
 He also ordered search to be made for the merchant's 
 
 ^ According to the Calcutta text, the suitors were three days 
 in the cabinet before the neighbours broke into the house and 
 released them, when they became the objects of derision ; and 
 the woman having taken away all their clothes, they had to 
 send to their own houses for others before they could appear in 
 the streets.
 
 igo THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 wife, but in vain, for she had escaped with the robes, 
 valuables, and weapons of the foolish gallants. [30] 
 
 " From this story," said the vazir, " consider, O sul- 
 tan, how deep is the artifice of women, and how little 
 dependence should be placed upon their declarations."^ 
 
 On the seventh night the Damsel kindled a funeral 
 pile, and affected to cast herself into it, when her 
 attendants prevented her, and carrying her forcibly 
 to the sultan, informed him of her attempt on her own 
 
 1 Scott has omitted the second story of the sixth vazir, "it 
 being too free to bear translation." It is a humorous but very 
 indecent tale of a man who, on the Night of Power {Al Qadar, 
 the night on which the whole of the Qur'an was revealed to 
 Gabriel, who afterwards communicated it to Muhammad piece- 
 meal), was granted Three Wishes, and acting by his wife's 
 advice, after his third wish was accomplished, found himself no 
 better than before. The story probably suggested the still more 
 obscene fabliau of " Les quatre souhaits de Saint Martin," and 
 is similar in design to one of our nursery tales. (See also pp. 71- 
 73. ) An analogous Hindu story is found in the Panchatantra , to 
 the following effect : A poor weaver was about to cut down a 
 large sisu-tree, to make a loom, when the spirit of the tree 
 called to him to desist, and he should be granted a boon. 
 Having consulted a friend as to what he should ask and rejected 
 his advice, he applied to his wife, who counselled him to ask an 
 extra head and pair of arms, so that he should be able to do 
 double work. He obtained this boon, and returning to the 
 village was stoned for a goblin by his fellow-villagers. Moral: 
 He who neither exercises his own judgment nor follows a friend's 
 advice brings on his own ruin.
 
 THE MAGPIE. 191 
 
 life. The sultan exclaimed : "What could have induced 
 thee to such rashness?" She replied: " If thou wilt 
 not credit my assertions, I will certainly throw myself 
 into the fire, when thou wilt be too late regretful on 
 my account, as the prince repented of having unjustly 
 punished the religious woman." The sultan desired to 
 know the particulars, and the Damsel said : 
 
 Story of the Devout WoJiiau and the Magpie. 
 
 A CERTAIN pious woman, who made pilgrimages to 
 various parts of the world, in the course of one of 
 them came to the court of a sultan, who received 
 her with welcome reverence. One day his queen took 
 the good woman with her to the bath, and handed her 
 a string of jewels, worth two thousand gold dinars, to 
 take charge of while she bathed. The religious 
 woman placed it upon the sajjada,^ and began to say 
 her prayers. Suddenly a magpie alighted from the roof 
 of the palace, and fled away with the string of jewels in 
 its claws, unobserved by the pilgrim, and ascended to 
 one of the turrets. 
 
 When the queen came from the bath, she searched 
 for the string of jewels, but not finding it, demanded it 
 of the pilgrim, who said: " It was here this instant, and 
 I have not moved from this place. Whether any of your 
 domestics may have taken it up or not, I cannot tell." 
 The queen was enraged, and complained to the sultan, 
 
 ^ A prostration cloth, mat, or carpet.
 
 192 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 who commanded the pilgrim to be scourged till she 
 should discover the jewels. She was beaten severely, 
 but confessed nothing; after which she was imprisoned, 
 and remained a long time in durance; till one day the 
 sultan, sitting upon the terrace of the palace, beheld a 
 magpie, with the string of jewels twisted round its claws. 
 He commanded the bird to be caught, released the pil- 
 grim, of whom he entreated pardon, kissed her hands, 
 begged forgiveness of God for what he had done, and 
 would have made atonement to her by a valuable 
 present, but she would not accept it. She left the 
 court; and having resolved in her mind, for the re- 
 mainder of her life, not to enter the house of any one, 
 retired to the mountains, till she died. May God have 
 mercy upon her!^ 
 
 The Damsel then related, as an example of the 
 crafty disposition of men, the 
 
 Story of Prince Bahrain and Princess 
 Ed-Detvia'.- 
 
 There was formerly a princess, than whom no one of 
 her time was more skilful in horsemanship and throw- 
 
 1 This is similar to our popular tale of "The Maid and the 
 Magpie ; " only in the latter, with more art, the reader is not 
 informed of the bird's theft until the stolen article is discovered. 
 
 - " Rumta " in Scott's translation, and no doubt also, by a 
 blunder of the copyist, in the manuscript. The name is 
 Ed-Detma in all other Arabic texts. — "The Amazon" is the 
 short title by which this story is distinguished.
 
 THE AMAZON. 193 
 
 ing the lance and javelin. Her name was Ed-Detma. 
 Many powerful princes demanded her in marriage, but 
 she would not consent, having resolved to wed only 
 him who should overcome her in combat, saying : 
 " Whoever worsts me, I will be his; but should I prove 
 victorious, he shall forfeit his weapons and his horse, 
 and I will stamp upon his forehead with a hot iron this 
 inscription: 'The Freedman of Ed-Detma.'" ^ 
 
 Many princes attempted to gain her, but she foiled 
 them, seized their weapons, and marked them as she 
 had signified. At length the prince of Persia, named 
 Bahram, hearing of her charms, resolved to obtain 
 her; for which purpose he quitted his kingdom, and 
 underwent many difficulties on his journey, until he 
 reached his destination. He then entrusted his pro- 
 perty to a respectable inhabitant, and visited the 
 sultan; to whom he presented a valuable offering. 
 The sultan seated him respectfully, and inquired the 
 object of his visit. "I am come from a distant 
 country," replied the prince, " anxiously desirous of an 
 alliance with thy daughter." The sultan said: "My 
 son, I have no power over her; for she has resolved 
 not to wed, unless her suitor shall vanquish her in 
 combat." The prince answered: "I accept the condi- 
 tions;" upon which the sultan informed his daughrer, 
 who accepted the challenge. 
 
 1 Scott has "the Slave," etc., but the other texts have, very 
 properly, the " Freedman "—the vanquished losing their arms 
 and steeds, but having their Tiberty restored them. 
 
 N
 
 194 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 On the appointed day a numerous crowd assembled 
 in the maydan,i where the suhan with his nobles ap- 
 peared in great pomp. Ed-Detma advanced, arrayed 
 in dazzling habiliments; and the prince came forth, 
 elegant in person, and superbly accoutred. They 
 immediately encountered; the earth vibrated from the 
 shock of their horses, and violent was the charge of 
 weapons on both sides. The sultan viewed with 
 admiration the majestic demeanour of the prince; 
 and Ed-Detma, perceiving his superior valour and 
 agihty, dreaded being vanquished. She artfully with- 
 drew her veil, when her countenance appeared as the 
 resplendent moon suddenly emerging from a dark 
 cloud. The prince was fascinated with her beauty, 
 and his whole frame trembled. The princess, observ- 
 ing his confusion, threw her javelin at his breast, and 
 he fell from his horse, and she returned exulting to 
 the palace. 
 
 The prince rose up, much mortified at his discom- 
 fiture, and returned to the city, pondering upon the 
 deceit she had practised, and resolved to try a strata- 
 gem upon her. After some days, he fixed to his face 
 a long white beard, like that of a venerable old man, 
 clothed himself in the dress of a devotee, and repaired 
 to a garden which he was informed the princess visited 
 every month. He formed an intimacy with the keeper 
 of it, by making him presents, till he had drawn him 
 
 ^ Open space for martial exercises and sports.
 
 THE AMAZON. 195 
 
 over to his interest. He then pretended to understand 
 the cultivation of a garden, and the management of 
 plants. The keeper therefore entrusted them to his 
 care, and he watered them carefully, so that the shrubs 
 became fresher and the blossoms more beautiful under 
 his management. 
 
 At the usual time, the ferashes^ came, and spread 
 carpets, and made other preparations for the reception 
 of the princess. Bahram, on her approach, took some 
 jewels and scattered them in the walks, when the 
 princess and her attendants, seeing an old man, ap- 
 parently trembling with age, stopped and inquired 
 what he was doing with the jewels. He replied: 
 " I would purchase a wife with them, and would have 
 her from among you." At this the ladies laughed 
 heartily, and said: "When thou art married, how wilt 
 thou behave to thy wife?" He said: "I would just 
 give her one kiss, and divorce her." Then said the 
 princess jestingly, and pointing to one of her ladies: 
 " I will give thee this girl for a wife," upon which he 
 advanced, kissed the damsel in a tremulous manner, 
 and gave her the jewels. After laughing at him for 
 some time, the princess and her attendants quitted 
 the garden. 
 
 The like scene was enacted for several days, the 
 prince every time giving richer jewels to the lady he 
 espoused; till at length the princess thought to her- 
 
 1 Servants, who have charije of tents, etc.
 
 T96 THE SEVEN VAZ'iRS. 
 
 self: " Every one of my maidens has obtained from 
 this dotard jewels richer than is in the possession of 
 most sovereigns, and I certainly am more worthy 
 of them than my attendants. He is a decrepid 
 wretch, and can do me no harm." She then went 
 alone to the garden, where she beheld the old man 
 scattering jewels which were invaluable, and said: 
 " I am the sultan's daughter, wilt thou accept me as 
 a wife?" He advanced, and presented her with such 
 a number of jewels that she was delighted beyond 
 measure, and became anxious that he should give her 
 one kiss, and let her depart like the other ladies. The 
 prince, suddenly clasping her in his arms, exclaimed: 
 " Dost thou not know me? I am Bahram, son of the 
 sultan of Persia, whom thou overcamest only by strata- 
 gem, and I have now vanquished thee in the same 
 manner. On thy account I exiled myself from my friends 
 and country, but I have now obtained my desires." 
 
 The princess remained silent, not being able to utter 
 a word from confusion. She retired in anger to the 
 palace, but, upon reflection, did not disclose what had 
 passed, through fear of disgrace.^ She said to herself: 
 
 1 "What had passed " is much more explicitly described in the 
 original text; this royal amazon was, in fact, treated by the prince 
 as Dinah the daughter of Jacob was by Shechem, though one 
 would hardly guess so much from Scott's ingenious rendering of 
 the scene. — I shall only add here that the prince's stratagem 
 may be compared with the story in the Hitopadesa (i, 8) of 
 "The King's Son and the Merchant's Wife."
 
 THE AMAZON. 197 
 
 "If I have him put to death, wliat will it jjrofit me? 
 I can now do nothing wiser than marry him, and 
 repair with him to his own country." Having thus 
 resolved, she sent a trusty messenger to inform him 
 of her intentions, and appointed a night to meet him. 
 At the time fixed upon the prince was ready to 
 receive her; they mounted their horses under cover 
 of the night, and by daylight had travelled a great 
 distance. They did not slacken their speed day or 
 night until they were beyond the reach of pursuit, 
 and arrived at the capital of Persia in safety. The 
 prince then despatched rich presents by an ambassador 
 to the sultan her father, entreating that he would send 
 an envoy to ratify the marriage of his daughter. The 
 sultan having duly complied, the qazi and proper 
 witnesses attended; and they were married amid the 
 greatest rejoicings, and the prince lived long with her 
 in perfect felicity. [31] 
 
 " Such," said the Damsel, " is the artfulness of men." 
 When the sultan had heard these stories, he again gave 
 orders that his son should be put to death. 
 
 On the following day the Seventh Vazir approached 
 the sultan, and, after the usual obeisance, said: "For- 
 bear, my lord, to shed the blood of thy innocent son; 
 for thou hast none but him, and may not have another, 
 when thou hast put him to death. Attend not to the 
 malicious accusations of concubines, for the deceit of 
 bad women is astonishing, and is exemplified in the
 
 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 Story of the Burnt Veil. 
 
 There was a certain merchant, very rich, who had an 
 only son, whom he loved exceedingly. One day he 
 said to the young man: "My son, tell me whatever 
 thou desirest of the pleasures of life, that I may gratify 
 thee." The youth replied: "I long for nothing so 
 much as to visit the city of Bagdad, and see the 
 palaces of the khalif and the vazirs — that I may behold 
 what so many merchants and travellers have so rap- 
 turously described." The merchant observed: "I do 
 not approve of such an excursion, because it would 
 occasion your absence from me." — "My dear father," 
 said the young man, " you inquired my wish, and this 
 is it, and I cannot willingly give it up." When the 
 father heard this, being unwilling to vex his son, he 
 prepared for him an adventure of merchandise of the 
 value of thirty thousand dinars, and recommended 
 him to the care of some eminent merchants, his par- 
 ticular friends. 
 
 The youth was amply provided with requisites 
 for the journey, and, attended by many slaves and 
 domestics, he travelled unceasingly till he reached 
 the celebrated capital of Islam, where he hired a 
 handsome house near the grand market. For several 
 days he rode about the city, and beheld such splendid 
 scenes that his mind was bewildered amidst the mag- 
 nificence of the buildings, the richness of the shops, 
 and the spaciousness of the markets. He admired
 
 THE BURNT VEIL. 199 
 
 the dome-crowned palaces, their extensive courts, and 
 regular arcades ; the pavements of \ariously-coloured 
 marbles, the ceilings adorned with gold and azure, the 
 doors studded with nails of silver, and jiainted in 
 fanciful devices. 
 
 At length, he stopped at a mansion of this dcscrii)- 
 tion, and inquired the rent by the month ; and the 
 neighbours told him that the monthly hire was ten 
 dirhams. The young merchant exclaimed in astonish- 
 ment : " Are ye speaking the truth, or do ye only jeer 
 me?" They replied: "We swear, my lord, that we 
 speak the truth exactly ; but it is impcjssible to reside 
 in that house more than a week or a fortnight, 
 without being in hazard of death — a circumstance well 
 known in Bagdad. The rent originally was twenty gold 
 dinars monthly, and is now reduced to ten silver 
 dirhams."! 
 
 The young man was now still more surprised, and 
 said to himself: '' There must be some reason for this, 
 which I wish to find out, and am resolved to hire the 
 house." He did so ; and, casting all fear from his 
 mind, took possession, brought his goods, and resided 
 some time in it, employed in business and amusement. 
 At length, sitting one day at his gate, he beheld an old 
 woman (may God's vengeance rest upon her !), who 
 was a cunning go-between under a religious garb. 
 When the old jade saw the young man reclining upon 
 
 ^ Twenty gold dinars are equivalent to ten pounds, and ten 
 silver dirhams, to five shillings of our money.
 
 THE SEVEN VAZIKS. 
 
 a mastaba^ spread with nice carpets, and that he had 
 every appearance of affluence around liim. she bowed 
 to him,- and he returned her salute. She then jj;azed 
 steadfastly at him, upon which he said : " Dost thou 
 want my services, good mother ? Dost thou know me, 
 or mistake me for one whom I may resemble?" She 
 answered : " My lord, and my son, I know thee not ; 
 but when I beheld thy beauty and manliness, I thought 
 upon a circumstance, which, with Ood's blessing, I 
 will relate."' The youth exclaimed: "(".od grant it may 
 be a fortunate one !" She said: "How long hast thou 
 resided in this house?" On his replying, two months, 
 she exclaimed: "That is wonderful, my son! For 
 every one who before resided in it for more than a 
 week or a fortnight either died or, being taken dan- 
 gerously ill, gave it up. I suppose thou hast not 
 opened the prospect-room or ascended the terrace?" 
 W'hen she had thus spoken, she went awa)-, and left 
 the young man astonished at her questions. 
 
 Curiosity made him immediately examine closely all 
 the upper apartments of the mansion, till at length he 
 found a secret door, almost covered with cobwebs, 
 which he wiped away. He then opened the door. 
 
 1 A platform, of stone or brick, built against the front wall of 
 a house or shop. 
 
 2 The salute in Asia, from men and women, is a gentle inclina- 
 tion of the body, at the same time touching the forehead with 
 the right hand. For this double action we have no expression ; 
 the Arabic one is es-saldm. — S.
 
 THE BURNT VE/L. 
 
 and, hesitating to proceed, said to himself: "This is 
 wonderful I What if I sliould meet niv death within?" 
 Relying, howcvt-r, upon (lod, he entered, and found an 
 apartment having windows (jn every side, which over- 
 looked the whole neighbourhood. He opened the 
 shutters, and sat down to amu.se himself with the pro- 
 spect. His eyes were speedily arrested by a palace 
 more elegant than the others, and while he surveyed 
 it, a lady appeared upon the terrace, beautiful as a 
 huri ; her charms would have ravished the heart, 
 changed the love of Majnun,^ torn the continence 
 of Joseph, overcome the patience of Job, and as- 
 suaged the sorrow of Jacob:- the chaste and devout 
 would have adored her, and the abstinent and the 
 pilgrim would have longed for her company. 
 
 When the merchant's son beheld her, love took pos- 
 session of his heart. He sank down on the carpet, 
 and exclaimed: "Well may it be said, that whoever 
 resides in this mansion will soon die from hopeless 
 love of this beautiful damsel !" He quitted the apart- 
 ment, locked the door, and descended the staircase. 
 The more he reflected the more he was disturbed, and 
 both rest and patience forsook him. Then he went 
 
 ^ See note, page io8. 
 
 - The sorrow of Jacob at the loss of his son Joseph is pro- 
 verbial among the Muslims : according to the Qur'an, he wept 
 himself blind, but his sight was restored by the virtue of Joseph's \^ 
 upper garment, brought from Egypt on the return of his sons 
 from their second journey to buy corn.
 
 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 and sat down at his gate, when, lo ! after a short 
 interval, the old woman appeared, devoutly counting 
 her beads, and mumbling prayers.^ When she came 
 near, he saluted her, and said : " I was at ease and 
 contented until I looked out of the apartment you 
 mentioned, and beheld a young lady, whose beauty 
 has distracted me : and if thou canst not procure me 
 her company, I shall die with disappointment." - She 
 replied : '• My son, do not despair on her account, for 
 I will accomplish thy desires." Then she consoled 
 him, and he gave her fifty dinars, with many thanks 
 for her kindness, saying : " My dear mother, assist me 
 to the ijurpose, and you may demand what you 
 please." The old woman replied : " My son, go to 
 the great market, and inquire for the shop of our lord 
 Abu-'l Fat-h the son of Qaydam, the great silk mer- 
 chant, whose wife this lady is. Approach him with 
 all civility, and say that you want a rich veil,'^ em- 
 broidered with gold and silver, for your concubine. 
 Return with it to me, and your desires shall be grati- 
 
 Mt is a custom of Muslim devotees to hang round the neck, 
 in several circumvolutions, a string of many hundreds of beads. 
 The object is either to employ these beads in repeating certain 
 ejaculations in praise of God, or to make others beheve that the 
 wearer is accustomed to so employ them. — Lane. 
 
 - According to Syntipas, before the youth engaged the ser\'ices 
 of the old woman, he had introduced himself into the lady's 
 house, and been repulsed. 
 
 •' In Syntipas it is a mantle, and in the Libro de los Engannos, 
 ' ' a cloth, which he [the lady's husband] keeps hidden. "
 
 THE BURNT VEIL. 
 
 fied." The young man hastened to the bazar of the 
 chief merchants, and was soon directed to the person 
 he inquired after, who was also a broker of mer- 
 chandise to the khalif Harunu-'r-Rashid. He easily 
 found such a veil as he was directed to purchase, for 
 which he paid a hundred gold dinars, and returned 
 home with it to the old woman, who took a live coal, 
 and with it burned three holes in the veil, which she 
 then took away with her. 
 
 She then proceeded to the young lady's house, and 
 knocked at the gate. When the lady inquired who 
 was there, the old woman said: "It is I, Ummu 
 Maryam,"! on vvhich the merchant's wife, knowing 
 her to be a humble acquaintance of her mother, said: 
 " My dear aunt,- my mother is not here, but at her 
 own house." The old woman said: "Daughter, the 
 hour of prayer approaches, and I cannot reach my 
 house in time to perform my ablutions. I request, 
 therefore, that I may make them in your house, as I 
 am secure of having pure water here."" 
 
 The door was now opened, and the hypocritical 
 
 1 The Mother of Mary. In Arabia, the mother is generally 
 addressed in this way as a mark of respect for having borne 
 children, and the eldest gives the title. — S. 
 
 - Answering to our obsolete term of aunt, or naunt, by which 
 old women of inferior degree were formerly addressed. See 
 Shenstone's " Schoolmistress." — S. 
 
 ^ It is a religious point with Muhammadans to have pure 
 water for their ablutions ; and in their law-books many chapters 
 define how it may be defiled. — S.
 
 204 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 jade entered, counting her beads, and mumbling her 
 prayers for the welfare of the young lady, her hus- 
 band, and her mother. She then took off her drawers,^ 
 girded her vest round her waist, and a vessel of water 
 being brought, performed her ablutions; after which 
 she said: " Show me, good daughter, a pure spot, free 
 from pollution, to pray upon." The young lady re- 
 plied: "You may pray upon my husband's carpet." 
 The old woman now muttered her prayers, during 
 which, unperceived by the merchant's wife, she slipped 
 the burnt veil under the cushion at the head of the 
 husband's carpet, and then, rising up from her devo- 
 tions, she thanked the young lady, warned her against 
 meeting the eyes of licentious men, and took her leave. 
 Soon after this the merchant returned home, sat 
 down upon his carpet to repose himself, and his wife 
 brought him a collation, of which he ate. She then 
 set before him water, and he washed his hands, after 
 which he turned to take a napkin from under his 
 cushion to wipe them, when, lo! he discovered the 
 veil which he had that day sold to the young man, 
 and instantly became suspicious of his wife's fidelity. 
 For some time he was unable to speak. On reflection, 
 he resolved that his disgrace should not become public 
 
 ^ It is unlawful for the Muhammadans to pray in silk that 
 touches the skin. For this they have, to save trouble, a salvo, 
 namely, a stuff called mashriT, or legal, made of silk and cotton 
 mixed. If the upper garment only be of silk it is of no injury to 
 devotion. — S.
 
 THE BURNT VEIL. 205 
 
 among his brother merchants, or reach the ears of the 
 khalif, whose agent and broker he was, lest he should 
 be dishonoured at court. He kept the discovery of 
 the veil to himself; but, in a little time, addressing his 
 wife, desired that she would go and visit her mother. 
 
 The lady, supposing from this that she was indis- 
 posed, put on her veil, and hastened to the house of 
 her mother, whom, however, she found in good health, 
 and that no ill had befallen her. The mother and 
 daughter sat down, and were talking of indifferent 
 matters, when suddenly several porters entered the 
 house, loaded with the wife's effects, her marriage 
 dower, and a writing of divorce. The old lady in 
 alarm exclaimed: " Knowest thou not, daughter, the 
 cause of thy husband's displeasure?" The wife re- 
 plied: "I can safely swear, my dear mother, that I 
 know not of any fault of which I can have been guilty, 
 deserving this treatment." The mother wept bitterly 
 for the disgrace of her daughter, and the wife lamented 
 her separation from her husband, whom she ardently 
 loved. vShe continued to grieve night and day; her 
 appetite failed her, and her beauty began to decay. 
 
 In this manner a month passed away. At the 
 expiry of this period the old woman Ummu Maryam 
 came to visit the young lady's mother, and after many 
 fawning caresses sat down. When she had told the 
 common news, she said: " I heard, sister, that my lord 
 Abu-1 Fat-h had divorced your daughter his wife, on 
 which account I have fasted some days and spent the
 
 2o6 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 nights in prayer, in hopes that God may restore her 
 condition." The mother rephed: "May God grant 
 us that blessing!" The old woman then inquired 
 after her daughter, and the mother said : " She is 
 grieving for the loss of her husband ; her heart is 
 breaking; she feels no pleasure in company, which 
 is disgustful to her, and I fear that, should her lamen- 
 tations and sorrow continue, they will occasion her 
 death." Then the old woman asked: "Does thy 
 daughter wish to be reconciled to her husband?" The 
 mother replied, that she did. " If so," said the old 
 woman, "let her abide with me for a night or two. 
 She will see proper company; her heart will be re- 
 freshed; and society wiU relieve her depression of 
 mind." The mother assented to the propriety of her 
 observations, gained the consent of her daughter, 
 prevailed upon her to dress herself, and sent her 
 home with Ummu Maryam, who conducted her to 
 the house of the merchant's son. 
 
 The young man, when he saw his beloved, rejoiced 
 as if he had gained possession of the world. He ran 
 to her, saluted her, and kissed her between the eyes. 
 The affrighted lady was overcome Avith shame and 
 confusion; but he addressed her with such tenderness, 
 made such ardent professions, and repeated so many 
 elegant verses, that at length her fears were dispelled. 
 She partook of a collation, and drank of various wines. 
 Every now and then she looked at the young man, 
 who was beautiful as the full moon, and love for him
 
 THE BURNT VEIL. 207 
 
 at length fascinated her mind. She took up a lute, 
 and played and sang in praise of his accomplishments, 
 so that he was in such ecstasies that he would have 
 sacrificed his life and property to her charms.^ 
 
 In the morning the old woman returned, and said : 
 "My children, how passed you the evening?" The 
 young lady replied: " In ease and happiness, my dear 
 aunt, by virtue of your supplications and midnight 
 prayers." On this the old woman said roughly: " Thou 
 must now accompany me to thy mother." The young 
 merchant flattered her, and giving her ten gold dinars, 
 said: "I pray thee let her remain with me this day." 
 She took the gold, and then repaired to the mother of 
 the young lady, to whom, after the usual salutations, 
 she said: "Sister, thy daughter bids me inform thee 
 that she is better, and her grief is removed; so that I 
 hope you will not take her from me." The mother 
 replied : " Since my daughter is happy, why should I 
 deny thee, even should she remain a month; for I know 
 that thou art an honest and pious woman, and that thy 
 dwelling is auspicious." 
 
 x^fter this the young lady remained seven days at 
 the house of the young merchant, during which on 
 each morning Ummu Maryam appeared, saying to 
 
 ^ In Syutipas the young man accomplishes his purpose by 
 force. The Arabian version of the incident may not, perhaps, 
 be a very great improvement ; but Mr Lane gives a still less 
 objectionable turn to the story at this point. — See his looi N., 
 vol. iii, p. 161, note 35.
 
 2o8 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 her: "Return with me to thy mother;" and the young 
 man entreated for another day, giving her regularly 
 ten gold dinars. Having received the present, she 
 always visited the mother, and gave her agreeable 
 tidings of her daughter's health. On the eighth day, 
 however, the mother said to the old woman: "My 
 heart is anxious about my daughter; and truly her 
 long absence seems extraordinary;" and Ummu 
 Maryam, pretending to be affronted, replied : " Sister, 
 dost thou cast reflections upon me?" She then re- 
 paired to the house of the young merchant, brought 
 away the lady, and conducted her to her mother, but 
 did not enter the house. 
 
 When the mother saw that her health and beauty 
 were restored, she was delighted, and said: "Truly, 
 daughter, my heart was anxious concerning thee; and 
 I began to suspect Ummu Marj'am, and treated her 
 unkindly because of thy long absence." — " I was not 
 with her," replied the young lady, "but in pleasure 
 and happiness, and in repose and safety. I have 
 obtained through her means health and contentment; 
 so that I conjure thee, my dear mother, to ease her 
 mind, and be grateful for her kindness." Hearing 
 this, the mother arose, and went immediately to the 
 house of the old woman, entreated her pardon, and 
 thanked her for her kindness to her daughter. Ummu 
 Maryam accepted her excuses, and the old lady re- 
 turned home with her mind relieved. 
 
 Next morning the wil)- Ummu Maryam visited the
 
 THE BURNT VEIL. 209 
 
 young merchant, and said : " My son, I wish you to 
 repair the mischief you have done, and to reconcile a 
 wife to her husband." — "How can that be effected?" 
 he asked. " Go to the warehouse of Abu-'l P\at-h the 
 son of Qaydam," she repHed, "and enter into con- 
 versation with him, till I shall appear before you; 
 then start up, and lay hold of me, abuse me roundly, 
 and say : ' Where is the veil I gave thee to darn, which 
 I bought of my lord Abu-'l Fat-h, the son of Qaydam?' 
 If he asks thee the cause of thy claim upon me, answer 
 him thus : ' You may recollect that I bought a veil of 
 you for a hundred gold dinars, as a present to my 
 concubine. I gave it to her, and she put it on, but 
 soon after, while she was carrying a lamp, some sparks 
 flew from the wick, and burnt it in three places. This 
 old woman was present, and said that she would take 
 it to the lace-darner, to which I consented, and I have 
 never seen her since till this moment.'" 
 
 The young merchant accordingly went to the great 
 market, and coming to the shop of my lord Abu-'l 
 Fat-h, the son of Qaydam, he made him a profound 
 obeisance, which Abu-'l Fat-h returned, but in a 
 gloomy and sulky manner. The youth, however, 
 seated himself, and began to address him on various 
 subjects, when Ummu Maryam appeared, with a long 
 rosary in her hands, the beads of which she counted, 
 while repeating aloud the attributes of the Deity. ^ He 
 
 ^ See note i, page 202.
 
 THE SEVEN VAZTRS. 
 
 immediately started up, ran and laid hold of her, and 
 began to abuse her, when she exclaimed: "I am 
 innocent, and thou art innocent!" A crowd soon 
 gathered around them, and Abu-'l Fat-h, coming from 
 his shop, seized the young man, and demanded : 
 "What is the cause of this rude behaviour to a poor 
 old woman?" He replied: "You must recollect, sir, 
 that I bought of you a rich veil for a hundred dinars. 
 I gave it to my concubine, who shortly afterwards 
 dropped some sparks from a lamp, which burnt the 
 veil in three places. This cursed hypocritess was pre- 
 sent at the time, and offered to carry it immediately 
 to the lace-darner. She took it, accordingly, and I 
 have not set eyes upon her again till now, though 
 more than a month has elapsed." 
 
 Ummu Maryam assented to the veracity of this 
 statement, and said: "My son, I honestly intended to 
 get the veil mended ; but, calling at some houses on my 
 way to the darner, I left it behind me, but where I 
 cannot recollect. I am, it is true, a poor woman, but 
 of pure reputation, and have nothing wherewith to 
 make up the loss of the veil. ' Let the owner, then,' 
 said I to myself, ' believe that I have cheated him, for 
 that is better than that I should occasion disturbances 
 among families by endeavouring to recover the veil.' 
 This is the whole matter; 'God knows the truth, and 
 God will release from difificulty the true speaker.' "^ 
 
 ^ .\ quotation from the Qur'an. — S.
 
 THE BURNT VEIL. 211 
 
 When Abu-'l Fat-h heard these words his counten- 
 ance changed from sorrowful to glad. He thought 
 tenderly of his divorced wife, and said in his mind: 
 "Truly I have treated her harshly." He then begged 
 pardon of God for his jealousy, and blessed him for 
 restoring to him again his happiness. To his inquiry 
 of the old woman, whether she frequented his house, 
 she replied: "Certainly; and also the houses of your 
 relations. I eat of your alms, and pray that you may 
 be rewarded both in this world and the next. I have 
 inquired for the veil at all the houses I visit, but in 
 vain." — " Did you inquire at my house?" said the mer- 
 chant. " My lord," replied the old woman, " I went 
 yesterday, but found no one at home, when the neigh- 
 bours informed me that my lord had for some cause 
 divorced his wife." 
 
 Addressing the young man, Abu-'l Fat-h said: "Sir, 
 I pray you, let this poor old woman go, for your veil is 
 with me, and I will take care that it shall be properly 
 repaired;" on which Ummu Maryam fell down before 
 the merchant and kissed his hands, and then went her 
 way. x^bu-'l Fat-h now took out the veil in the presence 
 of the young man, and gave it to a darner; and was 
 convinced that he had treated his wife cruelly, which 
 indeed was the case, had she not afterwards erred 
 through the temptations of that wicked old woman. 
 He then sent to his wife, requesting her to return, and 
 offered her what terms she pleased; and she complied 
 with his desire, and was reconciled; — but my lord
 
 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 Abu-'l Fat-h the son of Qaydam little knew what had 
 befallen him from the arts of Ummu Maryam. [i6] 
 
 ^^'hen the vazir had ended his story, " Consider, O 
 sultan," he said, "the cunning of bad women, their 
 wiles, and their artful contrivances." — The sultan again 
 gave orders to stay the execution of his son. 
 
 On the eighth morning, when the impediment was 
 done away against his speaking, the prince sent to the 
 vazirs and his tutor, who had concealed himself, and 
 desired them to come to him. On their arrival, he 
 thanked them for their services to his father, and what 
 they had done to prevent his own death, adding: "By 
 God's help, I will soon repay you." 
 
 The vazirs now repaired to the sultan, informed him 
 of the cause of his son's obstinate silence, and of the 
 arts of the damsel. The sultan rejoiced exceedingly, 
 and ordered a public audience to be held, at which 
 the vazirs, the officers of state, and the learned men 
 appeared. The prince entered, with his tutor, and, 
 kissing the ground before his father, prayed eloquently 
 for his welfare and that of his vazirs and his tutor. 
 The whole assembly were astonished at his fluency of 
 speech, his propriety of diction, and his accomplished 
 demeanour. The sultan was enraptured, and ran to 
 him, kissed him between the eyes, and clasped him 
 to his bosom. He did the same to the tutor, and
 
 COA'CLUSIOX. 213 
 
 thanked him for his care of the ])rince. The tutor 
 said: " I only commanded him to be silent, fearful for 
 his life during these seven days, which were marked in 
 his horoscope as unfortunate, but have ended happily."^ 
 Then the sultan said: "Had I put him to death, in 
 whom would have been the crime — myself, thee, or 
 the damsel?" On this question the assembly differed 
 much in their oi)inions, and the prince, observing their 
 altercations, said : " I will solve this difficulty." The 
 assembly with one voice exclaimed: "Let us hear," 
 and the Prince said: 
 
 Story of the Poisoned Food. 
 
 I HAVE heard of a certain merchant to whom there 
 came unexpectedly a visitor; upon which he sent a 
 female domestic to buy laban^ in the market. As she 
 was returning with it upon her head in an uncovered 
 vessel, she passed under a tree, on which was a 
 serpent, from whose mouth fell some drops of venom 
 into the laban. Her master and his guest ate of it, 
 and both died. [19] 
 
 1 In the Calcutta text, the king asks Sindibad why the prince 
 had kept silence during these seven days, and the sage replies in 
 terms similar to the above, that he had foreseen the danger he 
 should be in if he spoke ; yet in the introduction it is stated that 
 the king was warned of this danger by the sage, and took pre- 
 cautions to avert it by secluding the prince in the women's 
 apartments. (See note 2, page 135.) 
 
 - Sour curds.
 
 214 THE SEVEN VAZIRS. 
 
 "Whose, then, was the fault?" asked the prince: 
 " the girl's, who left the vessel uncovered ? or her 
 master's, who gave the laban to his guest?" 
 
 Some said it was the master's fault, because he did 
 not examine the laban first. The prince replied: "No 
 one w-as in fault; their time was come and their resi- 
 dence in this world at an end. Had my death taken 
 place, no one would have been guilty but my father's 
 concubine."' 
 
 When the assembly heard this, all were astonished 
 at the prince's eloquence and wisdom, and raised their 
 voices in applause, saying : " O sultan, thy son is 
 most accomplished!" Then the sultan commanded 
 a ponderous stone to be tied to the feet of the artful 
 and wicked concubine, and she was cast into the sea. 
 The tutor was rewarded, and invested with an em- 
 broidered robe of great value. The sultan delighted 
 in his son, and abdicating his throne, gave it up to 
 the prince, who made all happy by his justice and 
 clemency.
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Belief in the Asiatic origin of many of the Fables and Tales of domestic 
 life which afforded instruction and entertainment to the Middle Ages has 
 for some time prevailed, and of late years the proofs have been multiplied 
 by the industry- of Oriental scholars. The evidence adduced has been of 
 the most positive description. It is not built on probabilities, upon general 
 and indefinite analogies, or on partial and accidental resemblances, but 
 upon actual identities. Although modifications have been practised, 
 names altered, scenes changed, circumstances added or omitted, we can 
 still discover the sameness of the fundamental outline ; and, amidst all the 
 mystifications of the masquerade, lay our hands, without hesitation, upon 
 the authentic individual. ^Z'r. //. H. Wilson (\Za,o).- 
 
 No. I— p. 15. 
 
 The Camel, the Wolf, the Fox, and the Pumpkin. 
 Professor E. B. Cowell, of Cambridge, in an interesting paper 
 contributed to the Welsh Society's journal ( Y Cymmrodor), 
 October, 1882, has adduced a number of variants of this tale, 
 together with its oldest (Buddhistic) form, from which, with his 
 kind permission, I make the following extracts : 
 
 " Readers of the Mabinogion will remember the curious legend 
 of the oldest known animals, which is found in the story of 
 Kilhwch and Olwen. We read there how Arthur's ambassadors 
 went successively in search of tidings about Mabon the son of 
 Modron, to the ousel of Cilgwri, the stag of Redynvre, the owl 
 of Cwm Cawlwyd, the eagle of Gwern Abwy, and, finally, the 
 salmon of Llyn Llyw, and each in turn gave some fresh proof of
 
 2i8 APPENDIX. 
 
 its greater age than its predecessors, but still referred the ques- 
 tion to some animal of still more venerable antiquity than itself. 
 Ap Gwilym, however, alludes to another version of the story, 
 which, I am inclined to think, preserves an older form of this 
 wide-spread piece of folk-lore. In his poem, Yr Oed, where he 
 describes himself as waiting and waiting under the thorn for his 
 faithless mistress, he says : 
 
 A thousand persons and more liken me 
 
 To him who dwelt in Gwernabwj- ; 
 
 In truth I should not be an eagle at all. 
 
 Except for my waiting for my fair lad)- three generations of men ; 
 
 I am exactl)' like the stag 
 
 In Cilgwri, for my beloved ; 
 
 Of the same colour, graj' to my thinking, 
 
 As my bedfellow (the owl) in Cwm Cawh^yd. 
 
 Here we have only three animals instead of the five in the 
 Mabinogi ; and, as far as I can trace the story in Eastern litera- 
 ture, three is the usual number given, however the species of 
 the animals themselves may vary. The legend itself, like so 
 many other popular stories, came to Europe originally from 
 India, and probably passed, together with Buddhism, into other 
 countries. Its oldest known form is found in the CuUa Vagga 
 portion of the Vinayapitaka, one of the oldest parts of the 
 Buddhist sacred books; and another version of it is given in 
 the first volume of the Jatakas, lately translated by Mr. T. W. 
 Rhys Davids. The former version, a translation of which I 
 subjoin, can hardly be later than the third century B.C. 
 
 The Partridge^ the Mo?ikey, and the Elephant. 
 
 Long ago there was a great banyan tree on the slope of the 
 Himalaya mountains, and three friends dwelt near it — a par- 
 tridge, a monkey, and an elephant. They were disrespectful 
 and discourteous to one another, and did not live harmoniously 
 together. Then it occurred to them: "Oh, if we could but
 
 THE CAMEL, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX. 219 
 
 know which of us is the eldest, we could honour him and respect 
 him, and show him duty and reverence, and abide by his 
 exhortations. " Then the partridge and the monkey asked the 
 elephant: "What is the oldest thing, friend, that you re- 
 member?" "Friends," he replied, "when I was a child I 
 used to walk over this banyan tree, keeping it between my 
 thighs, and its topmost shoot touched my belly. This is the 
 oldest thing that I remember. " Then the partridge and the ele- 
 phant asked the monkey : "What is the oldest thing, friend, that 
 you remember?" "Friends, when I was a child I used to sit 
 on the ground and eat the topmost shoot of this banyan. This 
 is the oldest thing that I remember." Then the monkey and 
 the elephant asked the partridge: "What is the oldest thing, 
 friend, that you remember?" " Friends, in yonder place there 
 was once a certain great banyan tree ; I ate a fruit from it and 
 voided it in this spot, and from it sprang this banyan. There- 
 fore, friends, I am older than either of you. " Then the monkey 
 and the elephant thus addressed the partridge: "You, friend, 
 are the oldest of us all ; we will honour and respect you, and 
 will show you duty and reverence, and will abide by your 
 exhortations. " Then the partridge stirred them up in the five 
 moral duties, and also took those duties upon himself. They 
 were respectful and courteous to one another, and lived har- 
 moniously together, and after the dissolution of their bodies 
 they were reborn happily in heaven. 
 
 " The same apologue occurs in the seventeenth of the 
 Avaddnas, or Indian apologues, translated by Julien from the 
 Chinese.— A curiously distorted version of the Buddhist legend 
 is found in the Uttara-kanda of the Sanskrit Rdvidyana, the 
 later book which was added to the Rdmdyana to explain and 
 amplify the brief allusions to eariier events which had been left 
 obscure in the original poem. There we read that a vulture 
 and an owl, who had lived in a certain wood from time im- 
 memorial, quarrelled about the possession of a certain cave,
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 each claiming it to be his by ancient right. They eventually 
 agreed to bring the matter before Rama for his decision. On 
 his asking them how long each claimed to have had the cave as 
 a dwelling, the vulture replied : ' It has been my home ever 
 since this earth was first filled with men newly come into 
 being;' while the owl rejoined: 'It has been my home ever 
 since this earth was first adorned with trees.' Rama then 
 decided that the cave properly belonged to the owl, as trees 
 and plants were originally produced before the creation of man- 
 kind from the marrow of two demons slain by Vishnu, whence 
 the earth was called Mcdini (from vicda, marrow). Here we 
 have only two animals introduced ; Rama, however, as the 
 umpire, occupies the place of the third. But," adds Professor 
 Covvell, "we find the triad of interlocutors reappearing in the 
 version of the story given in the Sindilnld A\ui/n. This story 
 reproduces the old dialogue, but the animals are changed, and 
 a new point is added at the end." 
 
 But there is another form of the legend, current in Europe 
 since the I2th century, in which men are substituted for animals, 
 and which in one particular closely resembles the version in our 
 text, namely, the well-known story of the Three Dreamers and 
 the Loaf. In this form it seems to have been derived from the 
 Arabian fabulists by Peter Alphonsus, who has related it, in his 
 Disciplina CIcricalis (fab. 17), as follows: 
 
 Tlie Three Travellers and tlie Loaf. 
 
 It is related of two citizens and a countryman, going to Mecca, 
 that they shared provisions till they reached there, and then 
 their food failed, so that nothing remained save so much flour 
 as would make a single loaf, and that a small one. The citizens 
 seeing this said to each other: "We have too little bread, and 
 our companion eats a great deal. Wherefore we ought to have 
 a plan to take away from him part of the loaf, and eat it by
 
 THE CAMEL, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX. 22 T 
 
 ourselves alone." Accordingly a plan of this sort proved accept- 
 able : to make and bake the loaf, and while it was being baked 
 to sleep, and whoever of them saw the most wonderful things in 
 a dream should eat the loaf alone. These words they spoke 
 artfully, as they thought the rustic too simple for inventions of 
 this sort. They made the loaf and baked it, and at length lay 
 down to sleep. But the rustic, more crafty than they thought, 
 whilst his companions were asleep, took the half-baked loaf, ate 
 it up, and again lay down. One of the citizens, as if terrified 
 out of his sleep, awoke, and called his companion, who inquired: 
 "What is the matter?" He said: "I have seen a wondrous 
 vision ; for it seemed to me that two angels opened the gates of 
 Paradise, and led me within. " Then his companion said to him : 
 " That is a wondrous vision you have seen ; but I dreamed that 
 two angels took me, and, cleaving the earth, led me to the lower 
 ref^ions." All this the countryman heard, and pretended to be 
 asleep ; but the citizens, being deceived and wishing to deceive, 
 called on him to awake. But the rustic replied cunningly, and 
 as though he were terrified: "Who are they that call me?" 
 Then they said : "We are your companions." But he replied : 
 "Have you returned already?" To this they rejoined : "Where 
 did we go, that we should return?" Then the rustic said : "Now 
 it seemed to me that two angels took one of you, and opened 
 the gates of heaven and led him within ; then two others took 
 the other and opened the earth and took him to hell; and seeing 
 this, I thought that neither of you would return any more, and 
 I rose and ate the loaf." 
 
 From Alphonsus— who may have obtained it from the Historia 
 Jeshuac Nazareni, a scurrilous life of the Saviour, of Jewish in- 
 vention, where it also occurs— this version was taken into the 
 Gcsta Romanorum, and at a later period Cinthio, the Italian 
 novelist, introduced it into his Hecatommiihi , where the charac- 
 ters are a philosopher, an astrologer, and a soldier. The tale
 
 222 APPENDIX. 
 
 has long been popular in our own country — a well-worn "Joe 
 Miller,'' of an Englishman, a Scotchman, and an Irishman who 
 travelled in company; the conventional Irishman "dreamt he 
 was hungry, and got up and ate the loaf." 
 
 No. II — p. 27. 
 The King of the Monkeys. 
 A VARIANT of this tale is found in the Pancha Tantra, Sect, v, 
 Fab. 10, to the following effect : The sons of a certain King 
 Chandra used to feed a herd of monkeys. There was likewise 
 at their court a herd of rams. One of the latter, a glutton, was 
 in the habit of going to the kitchen to devour whatever he saw, 
 and the cooks always beat him. The monkey king reflected 
 that the quarrel between the ram and the cooks must lead to 
 the destruction of the monkeys, because, if the cooks some day 
 beat him with a burning log of wood, his wool would catch fire, 
 he would run into the horses' stable close by, set fire to the 
 stable, and cause injury to the horses ; and as their wounds can 
 only be healed by monkeys' fat, the monkeys will have to suffer. 
 So he advised his tribe to go to the woods. They refuse, and as 
 their king's prediction is eventually fulfilled, he vows revenge on 
 King Chandra, and induces him to go with his suite to a certain 
 pond where pearl necklaces are to be procured. In that pond 
 all the suite are devoured by a Rakshasa, whereupon the monkey 
 king, climbing on a tree, tells King Chandra of the revenge he 
 has taken on him. 
 
 No. Ill — pp. 31 and 141. 
 
 The Merchant, his Wife, and the Parrot. 
 
 There must be few readers who are not familiar with this story 
 
 through the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, but it was popular 
 
 several centuries before that celebrated collection was rendered
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PARROT. 223 
 
 into English from Galland's French translation, as it is one of 
 the tales of the Scz'cn Wise Masters and the Seven Sages, old 
 English prose and metrical versions of the Historia Septem 
 SapientHiit Roiine, or of Dolopathos, which are Latin and French 
 adaptations of the Book of Sindibad. In our common version of 
 the Thousand and One Nights, the Story of the Parrot is told 
 (in the introduction) by King Yunan, when his counsellers urged 
 him to put the sage Duban to death; but in the Bulaq and 
 Calcutta printed Arabic texts, the king says : " I should repent 
 after it, as King Sindibad repented of killing his falcon ;" then 
 follows the well-known story of the king who killed his falcon, 
 under the mistaken idea that it had, from mere wantonness, 
 repeatedly dashed from his hand the cup of spring water, when 
 he was about to drink, and afterwards found that a venomous 
 serpent lay coiled at the spring-head. ^ 
 
 The 68th chapter of Swan's Gesta Romanoriun seems imitated 
 from the Story of the Parrot : A certain king had a fair but 
 vicious wife. It happened that her husband having occasion to 
 travel, the lady sent for her gallant, and rioted in every excess 
 of wickedness. Now one of her handmaids, it seems, was skilful 
 in interpreting the song of birds, and in the court of the castle 
 there were three cocks. During the night, while the gallant 
 was with his mistress, the first cock began to crow. The lady 
 heard it, and said to her servant: "Dear friend, what says 
 yonder cock?" She replied: "That you are grossly injuring 
 your husband." "Then," said the lady, "kill that cock 
 without delay." They did so, but soon after, the second 
 cock crew, and the lady repeated her question. "Madam," 
 
 'This story also occurs in the A>ivar-i Snhayli, or Lights of Canopus, a 
 Persian version, by Husain Vii'iz, of the work generally known in Europe 
 as the Fables of Pilpay. Mr Lane thought fit in his admirable translation 
 to substitute for this tale that of the Merchant and the Parrot, although 
 in his (the Bulaq) text it is found in its proper place, in the tales of the 
 Seven Vtizirs.
 
 2 24 APPENDIX. 
 
 said the handmaid, "he says, 'My companion died for reveal- 
 ing the truth, and for the same cause I am prepared to die.'" 
 "Kill him!" cried the lady, which they did. After this, the 
 third cock crew. " What says he?" asked she again. " Hear, 
 see, and say nothing, if you would live in peace." "Oh, don''t 
 kill him," said the lady. 
 
 The frame, or leading story, of the Persian collection of 
 Nakhshabi, entitled, TFiti Ndnia, Parrot-Book, or Tales of a 
 Parrot, is similar to our tale : A man bought, for a large sum 
 of money, a wonderful parrot, that could talk eloquently and 
 intelligently, and shortly afterwards, a sharyk — a species of 
 nightingale, according to Gerrans, "which imitates the human 
 voice in so surprising a manner, that, if you do not see the bird, 
 you cannot help being deceived " — and put it in the same cage 
 with the parrot. When he was about to set out on a distant 
 journey, he told his wife, that, whenever she had any important 
 affair to transact, she must hrst ask the advice of the parrot and 
 the sharyk, and do nothing without their sanction. Some months 
 after he was gone, his wife saw from the roof of her house a very 
 handsome young prince pass along the street with his attendants, 
 and immediately became enamoured of him. The prince also 
 perceived the lady, and sent an old woman to solicit an assigna- 
 tion with her on the same evening. The lady consents to meet 
 him, and having arrayed herself in her finest apparel, proceeds 
 to the cage, and first consults the sharyk upon the propriety of 
 her intended intrigue ; but the bird forbade her to go, upon which 
 the lady in a rage seized the faithful bird, and dashed it on the 
 ground, so that it instantly died. She then represented her case 
 to the parrot, who, having witnessed the fate of his unhappy 
 companion, prudently resolved to temporise with the amorous 
 dame, and accordingly "commiserated her situation, quenched 
 the fire of mdignation with the water of flattery, and began a 
 tale conformable to her temperament," which he took care to 
 protract till morning. In this manner, night after night, the
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PARROT. 225 
 
 parrot contrives to keep the lady at home until her husband's 
 return. — The first story the parrot relates, according to Gerrans 
 (and also in Kaderi's abridgment ; but it is the 5th in MS. No. 
 2573, in the India Office), is of a merchant, who, having occasion 
 to travel, left his wife and house in charge of a sagacious parrot 
 — a cockatoo, according to Gerrans. During his absence his wife 
 had an intrigue with a young man, who came to the house every 
 evening ; but on the merchant's return, the discreet bird, while 
 giving a faithful account of all other transactions, said not a word 
 in reference to the lady's merry pranks. The husband soon 
 hears of them, however, from his neighbours, and punishes his 
 wife. Suspecting the parrot to have blabbed, the lady goes at 
 night to the cage, takes out the bird, plucks off all its feathers, 
 and throws it into the street. In the morning, when the merchant 
 misses his favourite bird, she tells him that a cat had carried it 
 away, but he discredits her story, and thrusts her out of doors. 
 Meantime the parrot had taken up his abode in a burying-ground, 
 to which the poor wife now also retires ; and the parrot advises 
 her to shave her head and remain there fasting during forty days, 
 after which she should be reconciled to her husband. This she 
 does, and at the end of the prescribed period the parrot goes to 
 his old master, and upbraids him with his cruel treatment of his 
 innocent wife, adding that she had been fasting forty days in the 
 burying-ground. The merchant hastens to seek his wife, asks 
 her forgiveness, and they live together ever afterwards in perfect 
 harmony. "In like manner," adds the story-telling parrot, 
 " I shall conceal your secret from your husband, or make your 
 peace with him if he should find it out." 
 
 The Tii//" .V(7/«(j' of NakhshabT was composed about A, D. 1320; 
 it was preceded, according to Pertsch, by a similar Persian work, 
 by an unknown author, which was based upon a Sanskrit book, 
 now lost, of which the Suka Saptaii, Seventy Tales of a Parrot, 
 is only an abstract, and other sources. And here the question 
 is suggested : Was the Sindibad story of the Husband and the 
 
 I'
 
 2 26 APPENDIX. 
 
 Parrot imitated or adapted from the frame, or leading tale, of 
 the original Sanskrit Parrot-Book, or was the idea of the latter 
 taken, from the Book of Sindibad? However this may be, the 
 principal story of the Tilti Ndma presents some points of re- 
 semblance to incidents in one of the numerous legends of the 
 famous hero Rasalu, which are current in the Panjab, namely, 
 the story of Raja Sirikop and Rasalu, kindly communicated to 
 me by General James Abbott, from a small work which he 
 had printed for private circulation, at Calcutta, in 1851. The 
 conclusion of this legend seems to be the original of our old 
 European tale of the cruel knight who caused the heart of his 
 wife's paramour to be dressed and served up to her for supper. 
 Rasalu, having slain the inhuman Raja Sirikop, who played at 
 dice for the heads of his guests, took away his infant daughter 
 Kokla, and, when she was of age, married her. The Rana 
 KokJa had seldom the society of her husband, as he was pas- 
 sionately devoted to the chase, but he left behind him, as spies 
 upon her conduct, two birds, which could talk intelligently, a 
 parrot and a mina, or hill starling. While Rasalu was absent on 
 a hunting excursion, his young and lonely bride was seated at 
 her window one day, when the handsome Riija Hodi chanced 
 to see her as he rode past. "And she saw him, and he took the 
 place which Rasalu had left vacant in her heart. . . So Rana 
 Kokla threw him down a rope, which she tied firmly to the 
 balcony. And Raja Hodi clambered up to the balcony by this 
 rope, and entered the chamber of Rana Kokla. And the mina 
 exclaimed : 'What wickedness is this?' Then Hodi went straight 
 to the mina's cage and wrung its neck. So the parrot, taking 
 warning, said : 'The steed of Rasalu is swift ; what if he should 
 surprise you? Let me out of my cage, and I will fly over the 
 palace, and will inform you the instant he appears in sight.' 
 And Kokla said: 'O excellent bird! do even as thou hast said,' 
 and she released the bird from its cage. Then the parrot flew 
 swift as an arrow to Dumtiir, and alighting upon Rasalu's
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PARROT. 227 
 
 shoulder, as he hunted the stag, exclaimed: 'O Raja, a cat is at 
 your cream! ' " The sequel is nearly identical with the catastrophe 
 of the story in Boccaccio's Decameron, Day iv, Nov. 9, and the 
 French tradition of Raoul de Coucy and the Lady of Fayel.— It 
 is possible that the two birds of Rasalu may have suggested the 
 frame of the Sanskrit prototype of the Tilti Ndina. At all events, 
 the legends of Rasalu and other ancient Indian heroes have been 
 time out of mind the stock-in-trade of the wandering bards of the 
 Panjab, from whom General Abbott obtained this wild tale, 
 among many others.^ 
 
 Wonderfully-gifted parrots are the principal characters in many 
 of the Hindu tales. The facility with which this bird imitates 
 human speech, together with the doctrine of metempsychosis — 
 and the allied notion of a person being able by magical power to 
 transfer his own soul into the dead body of any animal or bird, 
 upon which, for example, the romance of King Vikram is based 
 — probably induced the fablers of India to adopt the parrot as 
 the favourite character in their fictions. But apart from the 
 marvellous parrot of Oriental romance, it would appear from 
 the accounts of grave authors. Western as well as Eastern, that 
 the bird is not only capable of repeating words and phrases 
 which it has been taught, but is possessed of considerable intel- 
 ligence. Locke, in his Essay on the Human Understanding, 
 relates a curious anecdote of a parrot which answered rationally 
 several questions which it was asked by Prince Maurice, one of 
 which was: "What do you there {i.e. at Marignan)?" The 
 parrot replied : " I look after the chickens. " The prince laughed, 
 and said: ''You look after the chickens!" to which the parrot 
 replied: "Yes, I; and I know well enough how to do it,'" at the 
 same time clucking in imitation of the noise made by the hen to 
 
 ' In August last jear (1883) Captain R. C. Temple, Cantonment Magis- 
 trate at Ambala, Panjab, commenced the issue, in monthly parts (Trubner 
 & Co., London), of "The Legends of the Panjab," a work which must prove 
 invaluable to students of comparative folk-lore.
 
 2 28 APPENDIX. 
 
 call together her young ones. — Willoughby tells of a parrot 
 which, when one said, "Laugh, Poll, laugh," laughed, accord- 
 ingly, and the instant after screamed out, "What a fool you are 
 to make me laugh!" Rhodiginus mentions a parrot that could 
 recite correctly the whole of the Apostles' Creed, and of another 
 that could repeat a sonnet from Petrarch. But these feats 
 dwindle into insignificance when compared with the accomplish- 
 ments of parrots referred to by the Arabian historian El-Ishaki 
 (cited by Lane, looi Nights, i, p. in, note 22), one of which 
 could repeat the 36th chapter of the Qur'an, the other recited 
 the whole of the Qur'an ! — Goldsmith relates that a parrot be- 
 longing to Henry VII, having been kept in a room next to the 
 Thames, in his palace at Westminster, had learned to repeat 
 many sentences from the boatmen and passengers. One day, 
 sporting on its perch, it fell into the water. The bird had no 
 sooner discovered its situation than it called out: "A boat! 
 twenty pounds for a boat ! " A waterman, happening to be 
 near the place where the parrot was floating, immediately took 
 it up and restored it to the king, demanding, as the bird was a 
 favourite, that he should be paid the reward it had called out. 
 This was refused; but it was agreed that, as the parrot had 
 offered a reward, the man should again refer to its determina- 
 tion for the sum he was to receive. * ' Give the knave a groat ! " 
 the bird screamed the instant the reference was made. 
 
 No. IV— pp. 35 and 148, 
 The Double Infidelity. 
 A VARIANT — possibly the original — of this widely-diffused story 
 is found in the Hitopadesa, Book ii, Fable, 7, as follows : 
 
 "In the town of Dwaravati a certain farmer had a wife, a 
 woman of loose conduct, who used to amuse herself with the 
 magistrate of the town and with his son. One day, as she sat
 
 THE DOUBLE INFIDELITY. 229 
 
 diverting herself with the magistrate's son, the magistrate hunself 
 arrived. When she saw him, she shut his son in the cupboard, 
 and began sporting in the same manner with the magistrate. In 
 the meantime, the herdsman her husband returned from the fold. 
 On seeing him, she said: 'O magistrate, do you, taking your 
 staff, and putting on the appearance of anger, depart with haste. 
 This was done ; and now the herdsman, coming up, asked his 
 wife- 'Wherefore came the magistrate here?' She replied: 
 « For some cause or other, he is angry with his son, who, running 
 away, came here, and entered the house. Him I have made safe 
 in the cupboard. His father, seeking him, and not finding him m 
 the house, is therefore going off in a rage. ' Then having made the 
 youth come out of the cupboard, she showed him to her husband. 
 
 The 9th tale of the Disciplina Clerkalis of Peter Alphonsus is 
 evidently a modification of the story : 
 
 " In former times there was a good man, who, on setting out 
 on a distant journey, left his wife in charge of her mother. This 
 old woman brought to the house a young man whom her daughter 
 loved. It happened that, while they were seated at table, the 
 husband returned unexpectedly and knocked at the door. The 
 young woman rose to open the door to her husband. But the 
 mother (who lived with the friend of her daughter) did not know 
 what to do, because there was no place in which to hide him. 
 So, while the daughter was opening the door to her husband, 
 the old woman took a drawn sword and handed it to the youth, 
 and told him to stand with it drawn at the door; and if the 
 husband said anything to him, he should answer nothing. The 
 youth did as the old woman told him ; and when the door was 
 opened, the husband of the girl saw him, and he stood quite 
 still, and said: 'Who art thou?' He did not say a word, but 
 held the drawn sword in his hand, and the husband was per- 
 plexed at this. The old woman said to him : ' Fair son, be 
 quiet; let none hear you.' Then the husband wondered more 
 than before, and said : ' Fair lady, who is he?' The old woman
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 said to him : ' Three men were following him just now ; we 
 opened the door and let him enter here, and because he feared 
 lest you be one of them, he will not answer you.' ' Lady,' said 
 the husband, ' you did well ; ' and he entered and called to the 
 lover of his wife, and caused him to dine with him. " 
 
 This is also one of the Fabliaux ; but it must have been from 
 another version, more closely resembling the Sindibad tale, that 
 Boccaccio derived his story of the lady of Florence and her two 
 lovers {Decameron, Day vii, Nov. 6): To the one called Leonetto 
 she was much attached; but the other, Lambertuccio, only 
 procured her good-will by the power which he possessed, in con- 
 sequence of his high rank and influence, of doing her an injury. 
 While residing at a country seat, the husband of this lady left 
 her for a few days, and on his departure she sent for Leonetto to 
 bear her company. Lambertuccio, also hearing of the absence 
 of the husband, came to the villa soon after the arrival of her 
 favoured lover. Scarcely had Leonetto been concealed, and 
 Lambertuccio occupied his place, when the husband unexpectedly 
 knocked at the outer gate. At the earnest entreaty of his mistress, 
 Lambertuccio runs down with a drawn sword in his hand, and 
 rushes out of the house, exclaiming : "If ever I meet the villain 
 again 1 " Leonetto is then brought forth from concealment, and 
 the husband is informed, and believes, that he had sought refuge 
 in his villa from the fury of Lambertuccio, who, having met him 
 on the road, had pursued him with an intention of putting him 
 to death. — Dimlop. 
 
 From Boccaccio the story was reproduced in Tarltoii's Ncwes 
 out of Piirgatorie (a catchpenny book), printed about 1590; and 
 eleven years later Samuel Rowlands turned it into verse, in his 
 Knave of Clnhs, under the title of "The Cuckold:" the lady's 
 lovers are a courtier and a captain ;— the former is hidden away 
 on the arrival of the son of Mars, who, when the lady hears that 
 her husband is coming, is instructed how to comport himself in 
 his retreat :
 
 THE DOUBLE INFIDELITY. 231 
 
 So downe the staires he goes, 
 With rapier drawne, such feareful looks he showes, 
 The cuckold trembles to behould the sight, 
 And up he comes, as he had met some spright. 
 Ah, wife, said he, what creature did I meete ? 
 Hath he done anj- harme to thee, my sweete ? 
 A verier ruffian I did never see ; 
 The sight of him hath almost distracted me. 
 My loving husband, as I heere sate sowing. 
 Thinking no harme, or any evill knowing, 
 A gentleman comes up the staires amaine. 
 
 Crying, Oh, helpe me, or I shall be slaine : 
 
 I of compassion, husband (life is deere). 
 
 Under your bed in pitty hid him heere ; 
 
 His foe sought for him with his rapier drawne. 
 
 While I with teares did wash this peece of lawne. 
 
 But when he saw he could not finde him out 
 
 (After he tossed all my things about). 
 
 He went downe swaggering even as you met him. 
 
 My saving the poore man so much did fret him. 
 
 A blessed deede, quoth he ; it prooves thee wise : 
 
 Alas ! the gentleman uneasie lies ; 
 
 Wife, call him forth ; I hope all danger 's past ; 
 
 Good Bettris, looke that all the doores be fast. 
 
 Sir, you are welcome to my house, I vow, 
 
 I joy it is your sanctuary now. 
 
 And count myself most happy in the thing. 
 
 That such good fortune did }0u hither bring. 
 
 Sir, said the courtier, hearty thanks I give, 
 
 I will requite your kindness if I live. 
 
 But the Story had found its way into an English jest-book 
 many years before its appearance in Tarltoii's Nerves, even before 
 Boccaccio's tales were translated in Paynter's Palace of Pleasure. 
 In Tales and Qidcke Ansxoeres, very Pleasant and Mery to 
 Rede, 1535, it is told of an innkeeper's wife near Florence. 
 While she was entertaining one lover, another came ' ' up the 
 ladder," and she bade him be off. " But for all her words, he 
 would not go away, but still pressed to come in. .So long they 
 stood chiding that the good-man came upon them, and asked
 
 232 APPENDIX. 
 
 them why they bawled so. The woman, not unprovided with a 
 deceitful answer, said : Sir, this man would come in perforce to 
 slay or mischief another that is fled into our house for succour, 
 and hitherto I have kept him back. — When he that was within 
 heard her say so, he began to pluck up his heart, and say he 
 would be revenged on him without. And he that was without 
 made a face as he would kill him that was within. — The foolish 
 man her husband inquired the cause of their debate, and took 
 upon him to set them at one. And so the good silly man spake 
 and made the peace between them, yea, and farther, he gave 
 them a gallon of wine. " 
 
 In all the Eastern texts, excepting the Persian and Scott's 
 versions, the story of the D ouble I nfidelity is preceded by another, 
 related by the same vazir : 
 
 The Infected Loaves. 
 
 A certain man was very particular in his food, and could not 
 eat anything that he suspected to be unclean. In the course of 
 a trading journey he came to a town, and sent his servant to buy 
 some bread. The servant returned with two loaves, which his 
 master relished so much that he told him always to procure him 
 the same bread. This he did for some time (25 days, according 
 to the Breslau text), until one day the servant returned without 
 any bread, saying that the woman of whom he had hitherto 
 bought the loaves had no more to sell. The merchant then 
 sends for the woman, and asks her how the bread she had sold 
 his servant was so pleasantly flavoured. She explains, to the 
 infinite disgust of the man who was so particular in his food — 
 and doubtless the explanation will be not less disgusting to the 
 reader — that her master had suffered from blisters on his back, 
 for which the doctor prescribed a poultice of flour mixed with 
 honey and oil ; — she took the poultice each day, when it was 
 removed for a fresh one, and made it into a loaf, which the
 
 THE TWO PARTRIDGES. 233 
 
 merchant's servant had bought of her daily. But now that her 
 master was cured (in the Breslau text he was dead), she could 
 supply no more loaves. 
 
 No. V— pp. 37 and 144. 
 
 The Fuller and his Son. 
 
 In three other Arabic texts of the Sam VazTrs, this rather 
 
 pointless story— which, however, belongs to the original Book 
 
 of Sindibad— is followed by a second related by the Damsel, of 
 
 The Blackguard,^ 
 who devised a diabolical plan to procure the disgrace of a mer- 
 chant's wife, whose virtue he had unsuccessfully attempted. 
 The story is very objectionable in its details, and must therefore 
 be passed over. 
 
 No. VI— p. 39- 
 The Two Partridges. 
 This is a very different story from that of the Two Pigeons as 
 found in the Syriac, Greek, Hebrew, and old Castilian versions, 
 yet it may— Comparetti's opinion to the contrary notwith- 
 standing-be the older form. The story of the Two Pigeons is 
 omitted in all the Arabic texts of the Seven VazTrs. It reappears, 
 as follows, in the Anvdr-i Suhayli: 
 
 The Two Figeons. 
 They have related that a pair of pigeons had collected some 
 grains of corn in the beginning of summer, and stored them up 
 
 I Alffisik : a worthless, impudent fellow ; a scoundrel, etc.
 
 234 APPENDIX. 
 
 in a retired place as a hoard for winter. Now that corn was 
 moist, and when summer drew to a close, the heat of the atmo- 
 sphere had such an effect upon the corn, that it dried up, 
 and appeared less than it did at first. During these days the 
 male pigeon was absent from home. When he came back and 
 observed that the corn appeared to be less in quantity, he began 
 to reproach his partner, and said : "We had laid up this grain 
 for our food in winter, so that when the cold became excessive, 
 and from the quantity of snow, no corn was to be found on the 
 fields, we might support ourselves with this. At this time, when 
 pickings are to be met with in mountain and plain, why hast 
 thou eaten our supplies? and why hast thou swerved from the 
 path of prudence? Hast thou not heard, pray, that the sages 
 
 have said : 
 
 Now that thou hast food in plenty, 
 
 Do thy hest it up to store, 
 That thou may'st still have abundance 
 
 When the harvest-time is o'er." 
 
 The female pigeon said : " I have eaten none of this grain, nor 
 have I used any of it in any way whatever. " As the male pigeon 
 saw that the grain had decreased, he did not believe her denial, 
 and pecked her till she died. Afterwards, in the winter, when the 
 rain fell incessantly, and the marks of dampness were evident on 
 door and wall, the grain imbibed moisture and returned to its 
 former state. The male pigeon then discovered what had been 
 the cause of the apparent loss, and began to lament and to 
 bewail his separation from his affectionate partner. Thus he 
 wept bitterly, and said : " Grievous is this absence of my friend, 
 and more grievous still that repentance is unavailing. 
 
 With prudence act, for haste will cause thee pain 
 And loss, and to regret the lost is vain." 
 
 And the moral of this story is, that it behoves a wise man not to 
 be precipitate in inflicting punishment, lest, like the pigeon, he 
 suffer from the anguish of separation.
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE GHUL. 235 
 
 In the Syriac, Greek, and old Castilian versions, the vazir 
 who relates the story of the Two Pigeons has for his second a 
 rather stupid tale, which may be entitled 
 
 The Bread Elephant. 
 A ploughman's wife was bringing him some bread in a basket 
 when she was met in the forest by a robber, who, having first 
 conversed with her, ate up all her bread, excepting a small 
 portion which he made into the form of an elephant, slipped it 
 into her basket, and then let her go. When she reached the 
 field where her husband was ploughing, and opened the basket, 
 she discovered the robber's trick, and, to excuse herself, told her 
 husband that she had dreamt some evil threatened him, which 
 might be averted by his eating a small image of an elephant 
 made of bread. — The story is also found in the Siika SaptatJ 
 and Nakhshabl's Tuti Nania. 
 
 No. VII — pp. 50 and 150. 
 The Prince and the Ghul. 
 The pretended damsel's account of herself differs materially in 
 the Persian text from that in the Sci'cn Vazirs and other versions. 
 In the Persian she represents herself as having become enam- 
 oured of the prince from seeing his beauty from the terrace of 
 her mansion ; then she "points to her abode," and they proceed 
 "till they reach a desolate spot. " This is certainly not quite so 
 plausible as what she says in the Arabic texts — that she fell 
 from her litter on the way to be married to a certain prince. 
 The conclusion, too, varies quite as much, so far as we possess 
 it in the Persian MS. — In the old Castilian version the Damsel 
 introduces this tale of the "female devil" by warning the king, 
 most absurdly, that his vazirs would kill him, ^^ as a vazTr once 
 killed a /dug," since it relates that the son of the king was not
 
 236 APPENDIX. 
 
 killed, but returned in safety to his father. — In the Hebrew 
 version the story of the Changed Sex is fused with this tale. 
 
 The Shah's own Story-teller gave Sir John Malcolm the follow- 
 ing account of the nature and habits of ghuls, while "the Elchee" 
 and his suite were passing through one of their favourite haunts : 
 "The natural shape of these monsters is terrible, but they can 
 assume those of animals, such as cows or camels, or whatever 
 they choose, often appearing to men as their relations or friends, 
 and then they do not only transform their shapes, but their voices 
 also are altered. The frightful screams and yells which are often 
 heard amid these dreaded ravines are changed for the softest and 
 most melodious notes ; unwary travellers, deluded by the appear- 
 ance of friends, or captivated by the forms, or charmed by the 
 music of these demons, are allured from their path, and after 
 feasting for a few hours on every luxury are consigned to destruc- 
 tion. The number of these ghuls, " added the worthy Hajji, "has 
 greatly decreased since the birth of the Prophet, and they have 
 no power to hurt those who pronounce his name in sincerity and 
 faith. " {Sketches of Persia, ch. xvi.)— In Russian Folk Tales the 
 Baba Yagas perform the part of Ghuls, Rakshasas, etc. Luckily 
 for their intended victims, they are endowed with but a small store 
 of intellect, and are generally outwitted by the interesting heroes 
 and heroines. 
 
 No. VIII— p. 56. 
 The Snake and the Cat. 
 It is somewhat strange that this story should be omitted in 
 the Sr^en VazTrs, and yet form one of the four tales of the Sn^en 
 Sages which are common to all the Eastern texts of the Book of 
 Sindibad. The story is thus related in a black-letter copy (pre- 
 served in the Glasgow University Library) of the Seven Wise 
 Masters, the old English prose translation, by Copland, of the
 
 THE SNAKE AND THE CAT. 237 
 
 Scptem Sapicntum Roincr, or of a French rendering of it ; where 
 it is told by the First Master : 
 
 The Knight and the Greyhound. 
 
 There was a vaHant knight which had one only son, the which 
 he loved so much, that he ordained for his keepers three nowr- 
 ishers. The first should give him suck, and feed him. The 
 second should wash him, and keep him clean : and the third 
 should bring him to his sleep and rest. The knight had also a 
 greyhound and a falcon, which he also loved right well. The 
 greyhound was so good, that he never run at any game, but he 
 took it, and held it till his master came. And if his master 
 disposed him to go into any battel, if he should not speed therein, 
 anone as he should mount upon his horse, the greyhound would 
 take the horse-tail in his mouth, and draw backward, and 
 would also cry and howl marvelouslie loud. By these signs, 
 and the due observation thereof, the knight did always under- 
 stand that his journey should have very ill success. The falcon 
 was so gentle and hardy, that he was never cast off to his prey 
 but he took it. 
 
 The same knight had much pleasure in justing and tourney, 
 so that upon a time under his castle he proclaimed a tourna- 
 ment, to the which came many great lords and knights. The 
 knight entered into the tourney, and his ladie went with her 
 maidens to see it: and as they went out, after went the nowr- 
 ishers, and left the child lying alone there in the cradle, in the 
 hall : where the greyhound lay near the wall, and the hawk or 
 falcon standing upon a perch. In this hall there was a serpent 
 lurking, or hid in a hole, to all them of the castle unknown, the 
 which when he perceived that they were all absent, he put his 
 head out of his hole, and when he saw none but the child lying 
 in the cradle, he went out of his hole towards the cradle, for to 
 have slain the child. The noble falcon perceivmg that, and he 
 beholding the greyhound that was sleeping, made such a noise
 
 238 APPENDIX. 
 
 and rustling with her wings presently, that the greyhound awoke, 
 and rose up ; and when he saw the serpent nigh the child, anone 
 against him he leapt, and they both fought so long together, 
 until that the serpent had grievously hurt and wounded the 
 greyhound, that he bled so sore, that the earth about the cradle 
 was all bloody. The greyhound, when that he felt himself 
 grievously wounded and hurt, start fiercely upon the serpent, 
 and fought so sore together, and so eagerly, that between them 
 the cradle was overcast with the child, the bottome upward. 
 And because that the cradle had four pomels like feet, falling 
 towards the earth, they saved the childs life and his visage from 
 any hurt. What can be more exprest to make good the wonder 
 in the preservation of the child? Incontinently hereafter, with 
 great pain the greyhound overcame and slew the serpent, and 
 laid him down again in his place, and licked his wounds. 
 
 And anon alter the justs and tourney was done, the nowrishers 
 came first into the castle, and as they saw the cradle turned the 
 up side down upon the earth, compassed round about with blood: 
 and that the greyhound was also bloody, they thought and said 
 amongst themselves, that the greyhound had slain the child : 
 and were not so wise as to turn up the cradle again with the 
 child, for to have seen what was thereof befallen. But they 
 said. Let us run away, lest that our master should put or lay the 
 blame upon us, and so slay us. As they were thus running away, 
 they met the knight's wife, and she said unto them. Wherefore 
 make ye this sorrow, and whither will ye run ? Then said they, 
 O lady, wo and sorrow be to us, and to you. Why, said she, 
 what is there happened? show me. The greyhound, they 
 said, that our lord and master loved so well, hath devoured 
 and slain your son, and lyeth by the wall all full of blood. As 
 the lady heard this, she presently fell to the earth, and began 
 to weep and cry piteouslie, and said, Alace, O my dear son, are 
 ye slain and dead? What shall I now do, that I have mine 
 only son thus lost? Wherewithal came in the knight from the
 
 THE SNAKE AND THE CAT. 239 
 
 tourney, beholding his lady thus crying and making sorrow, 
 he demanded of her wherefore she made so great sorrow and 
 lamentation. She answered him, O my lord, that greyhound 
 that you have loved so much hath slain your only son, and 
 lyeth by the wall, satiated with the blood of the child. The 
 knight, very exceeding angry, went into the hall, and the grey- 
 hound went to meet him, and did fawn upon him, as he was 
 wont to do, and the knight drew out his sword, and with one 
 stroke smote oft" the greyhound's head, and then he went to the 
 cradle where the child lay, and found his son all whole, and by 
 the cradle the serpent slain ; and then by diverse signs he per- 
 ceived that the greyhound had killed the serpent for the defence 
 of the child. Then with great sorrow and weeping he tare his 
 hair, and said. Wo be to me, that for the words of my wife, I 
 have slain my good and best greyhound, the which hath saved 
 my child's life, and hath slain the serpent : therefore I will put 
 myself to penance : and so he brake his sword in three pieces, 
 and went towards the Holy Land, and abode there all the days 
 of his life. 
 
 This story occurs in all the Western texts of the Seven Wise 
 Masters, also in the Anglican Gesta Eoinanoruiii ; — see Madden's 
 old English versions, edited for the Roxburghe Club [xxvi], p. 86. 
 A wolf takes the place of the snake in the well-known Welsh 
 legend, which Edward Jones, in his Musical Relics of the Welsh 
 Bards, vol. i, gives as follows: "There is a general tradition 
 in North Wales that a wolf had entered the house of Prince 
 Llywelyn. Soon after, the prince returned home, and going into 
 the nursery, he met his dog Kilihart all bloody and wagging hi^ 
 tail at him. Prince Llywelyn, on entering the room, found the 
 cradle where his child lay overturned and the floor flowing with 
 blood : imagining that the greyhound had killed the child, he 
 immediately drew his sword and stabbed it ; then turning up the 
 cradle found under it the child alive and the wolf dead. This so
 
 240 APPENDIX. 
 
 grieved the prince that he erected a tomb over his faithful dog's 
 grave, where afterwards the parish church was built, and goes 
 by the name Bedd Gelbart (the grave of Killhart), in Caernar- 
 vonshire. From this incident is derived a very common Welsh 
 proverb : ' I repent as much as the man who slew his greyhound. ' 
 Prince Llywelyn ab Jowerth," adds Jones, "married Joan, a 
 daughter of King John by Agatha, daughter of Robert Ferrers 
 Earl of Derby, and this dog was a present to the prince from 
 his father-in-law, about the year 1205."— A curious instance, 
 surely, of the transformation of an ancient Indian tale ! 
 
 The Dog and Snake version reappears in the Italian novels of 
 Sansovino (Day ix, N. i), in Dolopafhos and Erasto, and also 
 in the Facetieuses Journecs, and its oldest form is perhaps found in 
 the Pancha Tantra, section v, fable 2 : 
 
 The Snake and tlie IcJineunion. 
 
 There was a Brahman, named Deva Sarma, whose wife had 
 one son ; she had also a favourite ichneumon that she brought 
 up with the infant, and cherished like another child. At the same 
 time, she was afraid that the animal would, some time or other, 
 do the child a mischief, knowing its treacherous nature, as it is 
 said: "A son, though ill-tempered, ugly, stupid, and wicked, is still 
 the source of delight to a father's heart. " One day the mother, 
 going forth to fetch water, placed the child in the bed, and desired 
 her husband to guard the infant, especially from the ichneumon. 
 She then departed, and after a while the Brahman himself was 
 obliged to go forth to collect alms. When the house was thus 
 deserted, a black snake came out of a hole, and crawled towards 
 the bed where the infant lay ; the ichneumon, who saw him, 
 impelled by his natural animosity, and by regard for his foster- 
 brother, instantly attacked him, and, after a furious encounter, 
 tore him to pieces. Pleased with his prowess and the service he 
 had rendered, he ran to meet his mistress on her return home, 
 his jaws and face besmeared with blood. As soon as the Brah-
 
 THE LIBERTINE HUSBAND. 24 1 
 
 man's wife beheld him, she was convinced that he had killed her 
 child, and in her rage and agitation she threw the water-jar at 
 the ichneumon with all her force, and killed him on the spot. 
 She then rushed into the house, where she found the child still 
 asleep, and the body of a venomous snake torn in pieces at the 
 foot of the bed. She then perceived the error she had com- 
 mitted, and beat her breast and face with grief for the unmerited 
 fate of her faithful little favourite. In this state her husband 
 found her on his return. When he had told her the cause of his 
 absenting himself, she reproached him bitterly for that greedy 
 desire of profit, which had caused all the mischief. 
 
 In the Hitopadesa, the woman goes to make her ablutions 
 after childbirth, and while she is absent the raja sends for the 
 Brahman to perform for him a certain religious rite. The version 
 in the Pancka Tantra is the only one in which the woman slays 
 the faithful animal, and the Persian version is pecuhar in repre- 
 senting the infant's mother as having died in giving it birth. 
 The story as found in Calila and Dimna agrees with that in the 
 Hitopadesa. 
 
 No. IX— p. 58. 
 The Libertine Husband. 
 In all other texts, with the exception of Nakhshabi, this story 
 is fused with that of the Go-Between and the She-Dog, but they 
 certainly formed separate tales originally, as they are so found in 
 the Sanskrit collection entitled Suka Saptati, or Seventy Tales 
 of a Parrot. According to Nakhshabi, when the wife is intro- 
 duced to her own husband by the old procuress, she recognises 
 him under her veil, throws it off, seizes hold of him, declares that 
 she had adopted this device to entrap him, and accuses him of 
 infidelity to the assembled neighbours. She then takes him 
 before the qazi, and obtains a divorce. 
 
 Q
 
 242 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. X— p. 59. 
 The Monkey, the Fig-tree, and the Boar. 
 A STORY in the Kathd Sarit Sdgara,^ of the Monkey and the 
 Porpoise, is sometimes cited as a parallel to this tale, but I can- 
 not see any resemblance between them. An old monkey, having 
 strayed from his troop into a forest on the sea shore, contracts a 
 friendship with a porpoise, whose mate becomes jealous, and 
 feigning illness, tells him that the only thing which could cure 
 her is the heart of a monkey. With great reluctance the porpoise 
 sets off to induce his friend the monkey to visit his dwelling; and 
 as he carries him on his back through the water the monkey 
 inquires the cause of his evident disquietude. The porpoise 
 confesses that his wife longs for a monkey's heart, upon which 
 the monkey informs him that his heart is upon a tree in the 
 forest, and that if the porpoise would return with him he should 
 be made welcome to it. The porpoise accordingly conveys him 
 back, and the monkey no sooner touches the land than he leaps 
 into a tree, and calls the porpoise a fool for believing that any 
 animal keeps his heart outside his body. 
 
 In Syntipas and the Libra de Los Engannos, the boar waited 
 in expectation of having more figs thrown him, with his head 
 raised, until the veins of his neck burst and he died therefrom. 
 The story as told in the Anvdr-i Siihayli is identical with the 
 Persian version. The Mishle Sandabar is the only Eastern text 
 in which, in this tale, a man is substituted for the monkey, and 
 from it the story in this form was taken into the Scptcm Sapicn- 
 tum: it is thus related in the black-letter copy of the Scfcn Wise 
 Masters belonging to the Glasgow University Library : 
 
 The Boar atid the Herdsvia7i. 
 There was sometime an emperor, the which had a great forest, 
 
 ' "Ocean of the Rivers of Story," by Somadeva, nth century; a poetical 
 version of the Sanskrit prose work, Vriluit Katha (Great Story), written 
 by Gunadhya, in tlie 6th century.
 
 THE MONKEY AND THE BOAR. 243 
 
 wherein was a wild boar, which was so cruel and so fierce, that 
 he killed and devoured men going through the forest. The 
 emperor therefore being right heavy, proclaimed throughout all 
 his dominions, that whosoever he was that could slay the boar, 
 should have his only daughter to wife, and therewith his empire 
 after his death : and as this was in places proclaimed, there was 
 not one man found that durst give this adventure. But there was 
 a shepherd who thought in himself : Might I the boar overcome 
 and slay, I should not only advantage myself, but also my genera- 
 tion and kindred. So then he took his shepherd's staft' in his 
 hand and went to the forest : and as the boar had of him a 
 sight, he drew towards the herdsman, but he for fear climbed 
 upon a tree, and then the boar began to bite and gnaw the tree. 
 So the herd thought shortly that he would have overthrown it. 
 This tree was loaden with great plenty of fruit, and the herd 
 gathered and plucked thereof, and cast them to the boar, inso- 
 much that when he was filled therewith, he laid him down to 
 sleep: the which when the herd perceived, by little and little 
 descended the tree, and with the one hand he clawed the boar, 
 and with the other held him upon the tree, and seeing that the 
 boar slept very soundly, he drew out his knife, and smote 
 the boar to the heart, and killed him. And so shortly after he 
 wedded the emperor's daughter : and after the death of her 
 father, he was made emperor. 
 
 Then said she [the empress]. My lord, wot ye not what I 
 have said? He said. Right well. Then said she. This mighty 
 boar betokeneth your most noble person, against whom may no 
 man withstand, neither by wisdom nor with strength. This 
 shepherd, with his staff, is the person of your ungracious son, 
 who with his staff of cunning, beginneth to play with you, as 
 the herdsman clawed the boar, and made him to sleep and after 
 killeth him. In the same manner the masters of your son, by 
 their false fables and narrations claw you, and glose with you, 
 until the time that your son slay you, that he may reign. Then
 
 244 APPENDIX. 
 
 said the emperor, God forbid that they should do to me as he 
 did to the wild boar : and he said unto her, This day my son 
 shall die : and she answered. If you do so, then do ye wisely. 
 
 The story of the Wild Boar is not found in any of the texts of 
 the Sroen VazJrs. 
 
 No. XI — pp. 6i and 162. 
 The Go-Between and the She-Dog. 
 It is very significant that in this story as related in the Disciplina 
 Clericalis of Alphonsus (A.D. 1 106), the fabliau of La vielle qui 
 sddiiisit la jeiine fille, the Gesta Romanorum (13th century), and 
 the collection of medieval tales written in Latin, edited, for the 
 Percy Society, by Wright (No. xiii, Dc dolo et arte vetiilarum), 
 the incident of the Libertine Husband does not occur ; but — as 
 in the Sanskrit Suka SaptatT and our Persian Sindihad Ndnia — 
 the scruples of the virtuous matron are done away by the old 
 hag's device, and the lover is introduced to her. In the Suka 
 SaptatT the lady is the wife of a prince ; a young man becomes 
 enamoured of her, and his mother, seeing him fading away 
 because of his love, adopts the expedient of the dog, and 
 persuades her to grant her son an interview. 
 
 The oldest form of the story is probably that of the Cunning 
 Siddhikari, in the Kathd Sarit Sahara : A Buddhist priestess has 
 been employed by four young merchants to corrupt Devasmita, 
 the wife of a merchant, and with this object she pays a visit 
 to the virtuous lady. The narrative thus proceeds : 
 
 "As she approached the private rooms of Devasmita, a 
 she-dog, that was fastened there with a chain, would not let 
 her come near, but opposed her entrance in the most determined 
 way. Then Devasmita, seeing her, of her own accord sent a 
 maid, and had her brought in, thinking to herself: 'What can 
 this person be come for?' After she had entered, the wicked 
 ascetic gave Devasmita her blessing, and, treating the virtuous
 
 THE GO-BETWEEN AND THE SHE-DOG. 245 
 
 woman with affected respect, said to her : 'I have always had a 
 desire to see you, but to-day I saw you in a dream, therefore I 
 am come to visit you with impatient eagerness ; and my mind 
 is afflicted at beholding you separated from your husband, for 
 beauty and youth are wasted when one is deprived of the 
 society of one's beloved. ' "With this and many other speeches 
 of the same kind she tried to gain the confidence of the virtuous 
 woman in a short interview, and then, taking leave of her, she 
 returned to her own house. On the second day she took with 
 her a piece of meat full of pepper-dust, and went again to the 
 house of Devasmita, and there she gave that piece of meat to 
 the she-dog at the door, who gobbled it up, pepper and all. 
 Then, owing to the pepper-dust, the tears flowed in profusion 
 from the animal's eyes, and her nose began to run. And the 
 cunning ascetic immediately went into the apartment of Deva- 
 smita, who received her hospitably, and she began to cry. When 
 Devasmita asked her why she shed tears, she said, with affected 
 reluctance : ' My friend, look at this dog weeping outside here. 
 This creature recognised me to-day as having been its companion 
 in a former birth, and began to weep ; for that reason my tears 
 gushed through pity.' When she heard that, and saw that 
 she-dog outside apparently weeping, Devasmita thought for a 
 moment to herself: ' What can be the meaning of this wonderful 
 sight ? ' Then the ascetic said to her : ' My daughter, in a former 
 birth, I and that dog were the two wives of a certain Brahman. 
 And our husband frequently went about to other countries on 
 embassies by order of the king. Now while he was away from 
 home I lived with other men at my pleasure, and so did not 
 cheat the elements of which I was composed, and my senses, 
 of their lawful enjoyment. For considerate treatment of the 
 elements and senses is held to be the highest duty. Therefore 
 I have been born in this birth with a recollection of my former 
 existence. But she, in her former life, through ignorance, con- 
 fined all her attention to the preservation of her character,
 
 246 APPENDIX. 
 
 therefore she has been degraded and born again as one of the 
 canine race; however, she too remembers her former birth. '^ 
 The wise Devasmita said to herself: ' This is a novel conception 
 of duty ; no doubt this woman has laid a treacherous snare for 
 me ; ' and so said to her : ' Reverend lady, for this long time I 
 have been ignorant of this duty, so procure me an interview 
 with some charming man. ' Then the ascetic said : ' There are 
 residing here some young merchants that have come from 
 another country, so I will bring them to you.' " 
 
 The wicked ascetic returns home delighted with the success of 
 her stratagem. Meanwhile Devasmita resolves to punish the 
 four young merchants. So calling her maids, she instructs them 
 to prepare some wine mixed with datura (a stupifying drug), 
 and to have a dog's foot of iron made as quickly as possible. 
 Then she causes one of her maids to dress herself to resemble her 
 mistress. The ascetic introduces one of the young libertines into 
 the lady's house in the evening, and then returns home. The 
 maid, disguised as her mistress, receives the young merchant 
 courteously, and, having persuaded him to drink freely of the 
 drugged wine till he becomes senseless, the other maids strip off 
 his clothes, and, after branding him on the forehead with the 
 dog's foot, during the night push him into a filthy ditch. On 
 recovering consciousness he returns to his companions, and tells 
 them, in order that they should share his fate, that he had been 
 robbed. The three other young merchants in turn visit the 
 house of Devasmita, and receive the same treatment. Soon 
 afterwards the pretended devotee, ignorant of the result of her 
 device, visits the lady, is drugged, her ears and nose are cut 
 off, and she is flung into a foul pond. In the sequel, the lady, 
 disguised in man's apparel, proceeds to the country of the 
 young libertines, where her husband had been residing for 
 
 1 "This contrivance," remarks Professor H. H. Wilson, "is quite con- 
 sistent with the Hindu notion of the metempsychosis, and is clearly of 
 Indian origin."
 
 THE PRETENDED WIDOW. 247 
 
 some time, and, going before the king, petitions him to 
 assemble all his subjects, alleging that there are among his 
 citizens four of her slaves who had run away. Then she seized 
 upon the four young merchants, and claimed them as her slaves. 
 The other merchants indignantly cried out that these were re- 
 putable men, and she answered that if their foreheads were 
 examined they should be found marked with a dog's foot. On 
 seeing the merchants thus branded, the king was astonished, 
 and Devasmita thereupon related the whole story, and all the 
 people burst out laughing, and the king said to the lady : 
 " They are your slaves by the best of titles." The other mer- 
 chants paid a large sum to the chaste wife to redeem these four 
 from slavery, and a fine to the king's treasury. And Devasmita 
 having received the money, and recovered her husband, was 
 honoured by all men, returned to her own city, and was never 
 afterwards separated from her beloved. 
 
 It will be observed that in this old Indian version the denoue- 
 ment is more moral than in any others : instead of the lady 
 yielding, she entraps successively the four young merchants and 
 their go-between, and punishes all of them in the most edifying 
 manner. 
 
 No. XII— p. 6t,. 
 The Pretended Widow. 
 Nothing at all resembling this fragment is found in any of the 
 Eastern texts represented in our Comparative Table. Without 
 the commencement it is difficult to guess at the details of the 
 story. Perhaps the lady, in her husband's absence, had gone 
 to the house of an old lover, under some false pretences ; 
 she is apparently disguised, and so is not recognised by him ; 
 then she gets drunk there, and discovers herself to him in her joy 
 to be near him again, and is maltreated in consequence. She 
 pretends to her neighbours that it is all her own doing, because
 
 248 APPENDIX. 
 
 of her grief for the news of her husband's death. When he comes, 
 however, she turns the tables on him, and he pays off the 
 debts she had incurred during his absence. 
 
 In the manuscript, on the first of the three remaining pages 
 of the story (fol. 177), there is a painting of the " tresses " scene : 
 A young man is seated, holding the lady's severed hair in his right 
 hand, near his left is a wine bottle overturned, and two others 
 are introduced to show there has been a drinking-bout going on ; 
 the lady, with her hair cut off and her face apparently flushed 
 and idiotic, stands near the youth ; while at a short distance is 
 a figure which seems meant rather for that of a eunuch than an 
 old woman, "biting the finger of astonishment." It is not 
 very clear from the text whether by "the old companion " who 
 "leaped Into her suddenly" we are to understand the old lover, 
 or this unsexed personage — probably the former. I should 
 suppose the Siika SaptatJ likely to contain the complete story, 
 or something similar. 
 
 No. XIII— p. 65. 
 The Fatiier-in-Law. 
 This story is found in the 8th Night of Nakhshabi's Tilti Ndma 
 (where it is told by the 5th vazir) and also in the modern version 
 of its Sanskrit prototype, the Siika SaptatT. — Readers of Lane's 
 translation of the Thousand and One Nights will probably recol- 
 lect a more elaborate conversation by signs in the touching 
 story of 'Aziz and 'Aziza, where the young man's cousin and 
 betrothed interprets the amorous lady's symbols ; for instance : 
 She tucked up her sleeves from her forearms, and opening her 
 five fingers, struck her bosom with them (with the palm and five 
 fingers) ; next she raised her hands, and held forth a mirror from 
 the lattice, and took a red handkerchief and retired with it ; after 
 which she let it down from the lattice towards the street three 
 times, letting it down and raising it, and then wringing and
 
 THE FATHER-IN-LAW. 249 
 
 twisting it with her hand and bending down her head ; meaning 
 thereby : " Come hither after five days ; seat thyself at the shop 
 of the dyer [indicated by the dipping and wringing of the red 
 handkerchief], until my messenger shall come to thee. " — Lane 
 remarks, that "the inability of numbers of Eastern women in 
 families of the middle classes to write or read, as well as the 
 difficulty or impossibility existing of conveying written letters, 
 may have given rise to such modes of communication. " 
 
 Another example of conversing by signs occurs in the Story 
 of the Minister's Son, in the Sanskrit collection entitled Vctala- 
 panchavinsati (Twenty-five Tales of a Demon). The prince and 
 his companion, the minister's son, discover a lady bathing in a 
 tank ; and the prince and the damsel become immediately enam- 
 oured of each other. The lady took a lotus from her garland 
 of flowers, and put it in her ear ; she then twisted it into an 
 ornament called dantapatra, or tooth-leaf; then she took another 
 lotus and placed it significantly upon her heart. The minister's 
 son explains these signs : the lady lives in such a place ; she is the 
 daughter of a dentist there ; her name is Padmavati, and her 
 heart is wholly the prince's. An old woman (as usual) acts as 
 go-between. The lady scolds her, strikes her on both cheeks 
 with her two hands smeared with camphor; — meaning : "Wait 
 for the remaining ten nights of moonlight, for they are unfavour- 
 able for an interview. " A second time the old woman goes to the 
 lady, who again pretends to be angry with her, and strikes her 
 on the breast with three fingers dipped in red dye ; — meaning : 
 "I cannot receive you for three nights." A third time the lady 
 receives her more graciously, but, instead of letting her go into 
 the street by the usual way, she places her in a seat with a rope 
 fastened to support it, and lets her down from a window into the 
 garden of the house, where she must climb a tree, cross the wall, 
 and let herself down by another tree, and go to her own house ; 
 thus indicating to the prince the way by which he was to be 
 admitted into the house.
 
 250 APPENDIX. 
 
 Cardonne, in his Melanges de Litterahtre Orientale, gives a 
 variant of our story, with additions, from a Persian or Turkish 
 collection. After the father-in-law (a merchant of Agra) has 
 failed to convince his son of his wife's infidelity, by displaying 
 the anklets, he is still resolved to open his eyes to her true 
 character, at whatever cost. "There was at Agra a mysterious 
 reservoir, much admired, constructed by some wise men, who 
 had brought water into it under the conjunction of certain 
 planets. The virtue of the water consisted in trying all kinds 
 of falsehood. A woman, suspected of infidelity, swore she had 
 been faithful, and was thrown into this tank, called the Tank of 
 Trial ; if she swore falsely, she instantly sank to the bottom, but 
 if truly, she swam on the surface. The enraged father-in-law 
 cited the lady to this tank, according to the right of every head 
 of a family. Conscious of her guilt, the lady studied how to 
 clear herself in the eyes of the world. Acquainting her gallant 
 of her situation, she begged him to counterfeit madness, and to 
 seize her in his arms the moment she was to undergo the trial. 
 The lover, solicitous to save the honour and life of his mistress, 
 made no difficulty to expose himself to the eyes of the spectators, 
 and found an opportunity to approach and embrace her, which 
 he effected by subjecting himself to a few blows, being deemed 
 insane by those who did not know him. 
 
 "The suspected wife advanced to the edge of the tank, and, 
 raising her voice, cried : ' I swear that I have never touched any 
 man but my husband and that madman who has just insulted 
 me. Let this water be my punishment if I have sworn falsely. ' 
 Having thus spoken, she threw herself into the tank. The water 
 buoyed her up in the sight of all present, who unanimously de- 
 clared her innocent, and she returned triumphant to the arms of 
 her husband, who had always thought her faithful. But the old 
 man could not give up the opinion he had formed from the evi- 
 dence of his own eyes ; he kept constant watch in the garden, 
 but the lover and the lady discontinued their meetings.
 
 THE ROBBER AND THE LION. 251 
 
 "The vigilance of the father-in-law did not, however, abate. 
 The king of India, being informed of his indefatigable care and 
 attention, thought him a very proper person to superintend his 
 harem, and appointed him to that responsible office. The old 
 man discharged his duties with great severity ; every one trembled 
 before him, and his eyes seemed to penetrate the walls of the 
 seraglio, even to its inmost recesses. One night as the unre- 
 lenting old fellow was going his usual rounds, he perceived the 
 prince's elephant mounted by its driver. This privileged animal 
 advanced to the balcony of the king's favourite wife, which 
 opened, and the elephant, taking the lady upon his trunk, con- 
 ducted her to his rider. After some time the lady was brought 
 back again in the same manner, and set down in her balcony. 
 The aga could not help laughing at the docility of the animal, 
 the confidence of the lady, and the happiness of the guide. The 
 adventure having taught him that the sultan was no more for- 
 tunate than his son, he took comfort, and resolved to keep 
 the lady's intrigue more secret than he had done that of his 
 daughter-in-law. 
 
 From ^fabliau, possibly, Margaret Queen of Navarre obtained 
 the material of the 45th tale of her Heptavieron, in which an 
 officious neighbour, looking from his window, discovers a lady 
 and her gallant in the garden ; when she sees that they are 
 being thus watched, she sends her lover away, and, going into 
 the house, persuades her husband to spend what remains of the 
 night with her in the same spot. In the morning the neighbour 
 meets the husband and tells him of his wife's misconduct, but is 
 answered : " It was I, gossip, it was I." 
 
 No. XIV— p. 69. 
 
 The RoBTiER, the Lion, and the Monkey. 
 
 Professor Benfey has pointed out, in his Pancha Tantra, the 
 
 resemblance between this tale — which is not found in the Sei'en
 
 252 APPENDIX. 
 
 VazTrs — and one in the Suka SaptatT. The fate of the officious 
 monkey finds numerous parallels in Asiatic folk-tales. For in- 
 stance : In the story of " Ameen and the Ghool," related to Sir 
 John Malcolm by the Shah's Story-teller, Ameen having out- 
 witted the monster, who sought to slay him, while he slept, by 
 the same device as that adopted by our own hero Jack, of giant- 
 killing renown, the ghul, on finding his intended victim alive and 
 hearty in the morning, fled from his den in great terror, upon 
 which Ameen took the opportunity of escaping. He had, how- 
 ever, only gone a short distance when he saw the ghul returning 
 with a large club in his hand, and accompanied by a fox. His 
 knowledge of the cunning animal instantly led him to suspect 
 that it had undeceived his enemy, but his presence of mind did 
 not forsake him. "Take that," said he to the fox, at the same 
 time shooting him through the head. "That brute," said he to 
 the ghul, "promised to bring me seven ghfds that I might chain 
 them and carry them to Isfahan, and here he has only brought 
 you, who are already my slave. " So saying, he advanced, but 
 the ghrd had taken flight, [Sketches of Persia, chap. xvi. ) 
 
 Another parallel is found in the Kashmir folk-tale of "The 
 Tiger and the Farmer's Wife :" One day a farmer went to his 
 field to plough with his bullocks. He had just yoked them when 
 a tiger walked up to him and saluted him ; the farmer returned 
 the salute, when the tiger said that the Lord had sent him to eat 
 his two bullocks. The farmer promises that he will bring him 
 a fine milch-cow instead ; but his wife objects, and, putting 
 on the farmer's best clothes, sets off, man-fashion, on the pony 
 to where the tiger is waiting. She calls out: "I hope I may 
 find a tiger in this field, for I have not tasted tiger's flesh since 
 the day before yesterday, when I killed three. " The tiger, on 
 hearing this, turns tail and flees into the jungle, where he meets 
 a jackal, who asks him why he runs so fast. " Because a tiger- 
 eating demon is after me." The jackal tells him it is only a 
 woman. But the tiger is still afraid, and the jackal and he knot
 
 THE CONCEALED ROBE. 253 
 
 their tails together, so that one should not escape at the other's 
 expense. When the woman sees them, she calls out to the jackal : 
 "This is very kind of you, to bring me such a fat tiger ; but con- 
 sidering how many tigers there are in your father's house, I think 
 you might have brought me two. " Upon this, the tiger flies off 
 in a fright, dragging the jackal after him, and the latter is killed 
 by being bumped against the stones. {Indian Antiquary, 1882. ) 
 
 No. XV— pp. 71-73- 
 The Peri and the Devotee. 
 It may possibly interest some students of comparative folk-lore to 
 know that in the Persian version of this story the First Wish of 
 the devotee is similar to that in the old Castilian version, Libra 
 dc los Engannos et los Asayamentos de las Miigeres, appended to 
 Professor D. Comparetti's most valuable Ricerche intorno al Libra 
 di Sindibdd. And it is perhaps worthy of note that the Turkish 
 rendering of the story agrees, in this respect, with the Persian and 
 old Castilian versions ; which seems to show that the Ottoman 
 translation of the Thausand and One Nights was made from 
 a different text from the Calcutta or the Bulaq. 
 
 No. XVI— pp. 73 and 198. 
 The Concealed Robe— The Burnt Veil. 
 An error in the translation of the story of the Concealed Robe 
 falls to be corrected in this place: pp. 76, 77, "One day the 
 vile hag," etc., — it is not the old woman who visits the lady at 
 her mother's house, after she ran away from her husband's 
 violence, but the same "effeminate one" who concealed the 
 robe, and who not only conducts her to her lover, but also makes 
 peace between the husband and wife. The only part the old 
 woman takes in the intrigue is to engage the services of the
 
 254 APPENDIX. 
 
 "effeminate one" — in the original, /nukhannas, which means a 
 hermaphrodite, and has another signification, which need not be 
 here explained — for, although she "had now cleared her hands 
 from the affairs of the world, she had formerly managed many 
 such matters." (I may as well mention that I had originally 
 suppressed the circumstance of the want of sex on the part of 
 the individual employed by the old woman, and, somehow, 
 neglected to alter the terms in pages 76, 77.) — The wretched 
 being who is so comically described in the text would doubtless 
 readily obtain access to the women's apartments of any house 
 in Persia or India; and as Eastern tales of common life are 
 considered to faithfully reflect the manners and customs of the 
 age in which they were composed, it may be concluded that 
 eunuchs and epicene individuals were formerly employed in 
 those countries as go-betweens in affairs of gallantry. It is 
 hardly to be supposed, surely, that the author of the Sindibdd 
 Ndma deliberately substituted this hermaphrodite go-between 
 for the conventional old woman of the same story as found in 
 other versions. But I shall not take upon myself to say whether 
 this peculiar turn of the story in the Persian text is evidence of 
 its greater antiquity. I may add, that it will be observed that 
 in the Persian version of the story the cloth, or robe, is not 
 burnt, nor is the lady divorced, apparently, as in the Arabian 
 and other texts ; and perhaps the most remarkable difference is, 
 that it is the young man himself who suggests that the husband 
 should be reconciled to his wife. The story is so differently told 
 in the Persian text from the Greek, Arabic, and other versions, 
 that Falconer could only have cursorily looked at it in the 
 MS. when he referred his reader to the tale as given in Jonathan 
 Scott's Seven VazJrs. Professor Comparetti has stated, in his 
 "Researches," that the Story of the Burnt Cloth is not in the 
 Persian text of the Sindibad. He was, perhaps, misled by 
 the French translator of Falconer's analysis, in the Revue 
 Britannique, who may have omitted the brief allusion which
 
 THE LADY IN THE GLASS-CASE. 255 
 
 Falconer makes to the story, in these words : " The vazir 
 \^i.e. the sixth] next relates the Story of the Stratagem of the 
 Old Woman with the Merchant's Wife and the Young Man, 
 which, being told in the Seven Vazirs ('Tales,' etc., p. 168), 
 need not be here repeated." — As this is one of the "secondary" 
 tales of the vazTrs, which Professor Comparetti conceives was 
 added when the tales of the Libertine Flusband and the Old 
 Woman and the She-Dog were fused together, it is of some 
 importance to find it in the Persian text, and told so dif- 
 ferently, as well as these two stories separately. 
 
 In some of the Arabian texts of the Seven VazTrs, the story of 
 the Burnt Veil is followed by the tale of 
 
 The Lady in the Glass-Case, 
 
 which is almost identical with the well-known story in the intro- 
 duction to the Arabian Alghfs. The original is perhaps found in 
 the KatJid Sarii Sagara, section seventh, to the following effect : 
 Two young Brahmans travelling are benighted in a forest, and 
 take up their lodging in a tree near a lake. Early in the night a 
 number of people come from the water, and having made pre- 
 parations for an entertainment retire ; a Yaksha (or genie) then 
 comes out of the lake with his two wives, and spends the night 
 there ; when he and one of his wives are asleep, the other, seeing 
 the youths, invites them to approach her, and, to encourage them, 
 shows them a hundred rings received from former gallants, not- 
 withstanding her husband's precautions, who keeps her locked 
 up in a chest at the bottom of the lake. The Hindu story-teller 
 is more moral than the Arab : the youths reject her advances ; 
 she wakes the Yaksha, who is going to put them to death, but 
 the rings are produced in evidence against the unfaithful wife, 
 and she is turned away with the loss of her nose. — The story is 
 repeated in the next section with some variation : the lady has 
 ninety and nine rings, and is about to complete the hundred,
 
 256 APPENDIX. 
 
 when her husband, who is Naga (or snake-god) wakes, and con- 
 sumes the guihy pair with fire from his mouth. — Dr. H. H. 
 Wilson, — There is a variant of this story in the Persian romance 
 oi Hatim Ta'i (a pre-Islamite chieftain, renowned throughout the 
 East for his unbounded generosity and HberaHty) : A king, on a 
 hunting excursion, loses his way and is separated from his 
 attendants ; he comes to a beautiful garden, in which is a palace, 
 and an artificial lake, sits down, and, as he is performing his 
 ablutions, catches hold of an iron chain in the water, pulls it 
 towards him, and behold, it is attached to a chest, which opens, 
 and discovers a woman of surpassing beauty. After conversing 
 with her, the king takes a ring from his finger and offers it to her 
 as a memento, but she tells him that she has already a string of 
 rings, of which she cannot tell the number, nor can she recollect 
 which lover gave her a particular ring. — Forbes says there is a 
 similar tale in NakhshabI, near the beginning, but I have failed 
 to find it in that work. 
 
 No. XVII — pp. 80 and 144. 
 The Lion's Track. 
 This story is told by the first vazir in all the versions, save the 
 Persian Sindibdd Nama, where it is related by the seventh vazir, 
 and two of the Arabian texts, namely, Scott's MS. and the 
 Rich MS. in the British Museum, where it is, not inappropri- 
 ately, told by the Damsel, since it tells rather against men than 
 women, the king being the aggressor, and the "wile" of the 
 lady being in defence of her own virtue. — As an instance of 
 the "hashy " manner in which the Book of the Thousand and One 
 Nights has been put together, it may be mentioned that in the 
 Calcutta printed Arabic text (which hardly differs at all from 
 that printed at Bulaq), this tale of the Sultan and the Virtuous 
 Wife is also related separately from the Seven Vazlrs — Night 404. 
 A variant of the story is found in a Turkish collection, entitled
 
 THE LION'S TRACK. 257 
 
 ^ Ajd'ibic-' I- Ma\lsir, Marvels of Memorials (i.e. of Traditions, 
 etc.), which Cardonne translated, under the title of "La 
 Pantoufle du Sultan," in his Melanges de Litteratiire Orientale. 
 This version differs in some particulars from that of Scott. The 
 sultan sends the vazir a written order to proceed on some business 
 to a distant place. The vazir, in his haste to depart, leaves on 
 the sofa the sultan's order. Instead of the lady giving the sultan 
 a book to read while she prepares supper for his entertainment, 
 she recites to him two distichs, to the effect that the lion would 
 scorn to devour what the wolf leaves, and deigns not to quench 
 his thirst in the river which had been polluted by the dog. 
 "These words immediately convinced the sultan that he had 
 nothing to hope for there ; he retired greatly disconcerted, and 
 in his confusion forgot one of his slippers. The vazir, in the 
 meantime, having in vain searched for the prince's order, recol- 
 lected that he had left it on the sofa, and was obliged to return 
 home for it. The sultan's slipper, which had lain till then un- 
 perceived, gave him a too clear conviction of the monarch's real 
 designs, and his motive for sending him away. Tormented at 
 once by ambition and jealousy, he concerted means to divorce 
 his wife without the loss of his dignity. Having despatched his 
 business, he returned to give the sultan an account of his com- 
 mission, and pretended to his wife that, as the sultan had just 
 given him a sumptuous palace, it was necessary for her to pass a 
 few days with her father, in order that he might have leisure to 
 furnish it, presenting her at the same time with a hundred pieces 
 of gold." The rest of the story agrees with the Arabian and 
 other versions. 
 
 Boccaccio has adapted the first part of the Arabic version for 
 the 5th Novel, Day i, of his Decameron. The Marchioness of 
 Monferrat, while her husband was absent — being engaged in the 
 crusade against the Turks — was visited by Philip, King of 
 France, who had become enamoured of her from the accounts 
 he had heard of her beauty and virtue. The lady, suspecting 
 
 R
 
 258 APPENDIX. 
 
 his designs, bought up all the hens she could, and caused them 
 to be dressed in as many different ways as possible. WTien 
 the king perceived the uniform character of the fare, he said : 
 " Madam, are only hens bred in this country?" " Not so," the 
 lady replied; "but women, however they may differ in dress 
 and titles, are the same here as in other places. " The king felt 
 the force of the rebuke, and presently departed. 
 
 No. XVIII— p. 83. 
 
 The Wiles of Women. 
 
 The Persian version of this story differs very materially from 
 
 that in Syntipas, where the woman, having learned of the young 
 
 man's book of wiles, tells him the following tale : 
 
 "A certain man possessed a house and a prudent wife, and 
 was always disparaging all woman kind. ' Abuse not all 
 women,' his wife said, 'but only the bad.' 'All,' retorted he. 
 ' Speak not thus,' the wife replied ; ' since you happen not to be 
 united with one of them. ' ' Had I fallen in with one of them,' 
 he then said, ' I should have cut off her nose. ' After his own 
 fashion, he also held up to obloquy some quarrelsome female 
 neighbours. The wife then said to her husband : ' What do you 
 purpose doing to-day?' And he answered: 'I am going into 
 the field, and, at your leisure, cook something and bring it 
 thither, that I may dine.' The wife then going forth met with, 
 on her way, and purchased some fish, and scattered them in the 
 field where her husband was to plough. When he discovered 
 the fish, he said to his wife : ' Have you prepared aught for us 
 to eat this evening?' And she replied : ' I have cooked neither 
 flesh nor fish, nor anything else. ' Thereupon he said : * Behold 
 the food I found in the field, and cook it. ' Upon this she 
 took the fish and concealed them. The table having been laid 
 out, the man said to his wife : ' Where is the fish ? ' ' What
 
 THE WILES OF WOMEN. 259 
 
 fish?' she demanded. 'Thou fool,' said he, 'did I not bring 
 some fish just now, which I found in the field?' The woman, 
 scratching her face with her nails, cried out : ' O listen to me, 
 neighbours ! ' And the neighbours having assembled, the wife 
 said to them : ' Listen, O my masters ! My husband bids me 
 cook fish which he brought from the field. ' The men asked the 
 husband : ' What sayest thou ? — that you found fish in a ploughed 
 field?' He replied: 'O my masters and brethren! the food I 
 found there; but how it happened to be there, I know not.' 
 His wife then cried out : ' This man has a devil ! ' And the 
 neighbours then put iron fetters on his hands and feet, and 
 the whole night through the wretched man continued to say : 
 ' Did I not find the fish, and, bringing them to this jade, bid 
 her cook them? Why have they, then, bound me with fetters?' 
 At the dawn of day the wife again raised a cry ; upon which the 
 neighbours reassembled, and asked : 'What has happened?' and 
 the unfortunate man once more repeated the truth, ' He is pos- 
 sessed of a devil ! ' cried the woman ; and the neighbours, believing 
 her, said : ' Verily, the man is suffering somewhat. ' After the 
 third day, the woman said to her husband : ' Art thou hungry ? 
 May I give thee somewhat to eat ? ' And he answered ; ' Yea ; 
 and what hast thou to give me to eat?' She said: 'Cooked 
 victuals, in the frying-pan. ' ' Thou sayest well, woman. Are 
 not those the same that I brought to you from the field ? ' The 
 wife then exclaimed : ' O Christian masters ! the evil spirit still 
 possesses this man, as he continues to talk about the victuals.' 
 But on his declaring, ' I no longer maintain what I uttered 
 before,' she gave him a portion and he ate of the food, without 
 saying a word about it. But she asked : ' Dost thou not 
 remember the food?' He replied : ' I know not what thou art 
 talking about.' She then released him, and said : ' O husband, 
 all that thou hast uttered is true ; but wherefore abusest thou 
 not only the bad but also the good women ? And I said to thee : 
 " Be silent ;" but thou repliedst : " If I had such a wicked wife,
 
 26o APPENDIX. 
 
 I should slay her." No longer vainly boast of being superior to 
 womankind.'" 
 
 Having put the youth off his guard by this artful story, the 
 woman makes advances to him, and then makes a great outcry, 
 which brought the neighbours, who asked the cause of her 
 exclamations. The youth by this time had taken his seat at the 
 table, and the woman said in reply to the neighbours: "This 
 stranger, who is received kindly by us, eating at our table, was 
 suffering grievously, and was in great danger of being choked, 
 in consequence of a morsel sticking in his throat ; but I, quickly 
 seeing what had happened, and fearing the death of a guest, 
 shouted out as you heard me. But now the help of God has 
 saved him from the danger of choking, and granted him health, " 
 and the neighbours went away. The woman, then approaching 
 the stranger, said : " Hast thou written down all I have related 
 to thee, and all I have done?" The stranger answered: "By 
 no means." She then said: "In vain, O man, have you sus- 
 tained labours and outlays ; — despite your endeavours, you have 
 accomplished nothing, and never fathomed the machinations of 
 women ! " And the stranger immediately took the records of the 
 wiles of women, and threw them into the fire, and, marvelling, 
 said : ' ' No human being is able to know the knaveries of 
 women." After this, hesitating, and not reahsing what might 
 happen, he discontinued the investigation of woman's evil-craft, 
 returned to his native land, and married a wife. 
 
 This story is not found in the Mishle Sandabar or the Sez'en 
 VazTrs, and the subordinate tale, related by the woman, as 
 above, is peculiar to the Greek text. The woman's own wile 
 is also found in the Bahdr-i Danish, or Spring of Knowledge, 
 by Inayatu-'llah of Delhi, a work which is avowedly derived, all 
 but the frame, from ancient Indian sources; and in the 8th 
 Night of Nakhshabi's Tiiti Ndma, where it is told by the fourth 
 vazlr. — The twenty-first vazTr's story in the Turkish book of 
 The Forty VazTrs is not remotely related to the same tale.
 
 THE WILES OF WOMEN. 261 
 
 Mr. E. J. W. Gibb has favoured me with the following trans- 
 lation of it, from a printed text procured at Constantinople : 
 
 "There was in the palace of the world a great king, and he 
 had a beautiful wife, such that many a soul dangled in the 
 tresses on her cheek. That lady had a secret affair with a 
 youth ; and she used to hide the youth in a chest in the palace. 
 One day the youth said to the lady : ' If the king were aware of 
 our work, he would slay the two of us. ' The lady said : ' Leave 
 that thought ; I can do so that I shall hide thee in the chest, 
 and say to the king: " Lo, my lover is lying in this chest ;" and 
 then, when the king is about to kill me, I will make him re- 
 pentant by one word.' While the youth and the lady were 
 saying these words, the king came, and the lady straightway 
 put the youth into the chest and locked it. The king said : 
 ' Why lockest thou that chest in such haste ? What is in the 
 chest?' The lady answered: 'It is my lover; I saw thee 
 coming, and put him into the chest and locked it.' Then was 
 the king wroth, and he bared his sword, and thought to slay 
 him who was in the chest, when the lady said : ' O king, art 
 thou mad? Where is gone thy understanding? Am I mad, 
 that I should advance a strange man to thy couch, and then 
 say to thee : " Lo, he is in the chest?" In truth, I wondered 
 if thou wast sincere in thy trust of me, and I tried thee, and now 
 I know that thou thinkest evil concerning me. ' Then did the 
 king repent of what he had done ; and he begged and besought 
 of his wife, saying, 'Forgive me.' And he gave her many 
 things, and craved pardon for his fault. When the king had 
 gone out from the harem into the palace, the lady took that 
 youth forth of the chest, and said : ' Didst thou not see what 
 a trick I played the king?' and they gave themselves up to 
 merriment. " 
 
 In another Turkish collection, according to Cardonne, a 
 philosopher who had compiled a book of the tricks and devices 
 of women is concealed in a chest by an Arab woman on the
 
 262 APPENDIX. 
 
 appearance of her husband. It seems the man and his wife had 
 been for some time playing a game, which consists in receiving 
 nothing from the person one is engaged to play with, without pro- 
 nouncing the word Diadestc, or Touch-stake, from which the game 
 derives its name. The woman, to the terror of the concealed 
 philosopher, coolly tells her husband that she has a lover locked 
 in the chest, upon which he furiously demands the key, which 
 she gives him, and then calls out to him : " Pay me the forfeit 
 — you have lost the Diadesie!" The husband, happy to find no 
 cause for his jealousy, returns the key to his wife, and goes away, 
 and the philosopher on being released from his continement is 
 advised by the woman to enter this contrivance in his book. 
 
 The trick played by the wife on her husband with the fishes 
 in the ploughed field, which is interwoven with the Story of 
 Woman's Wiles in the Greek text, finds parallels in other collec- 
 tions of Eastern fiction. For instance : In the tale of the 
 Bang-Eater and his Wife (vol. vi of Jonathan Scott's edition 
 of the ArabiaJi Nights), the man having discovered a hidden 
 treasure, his wife fetches it away, and he, being a very honest 
 fellow, threatens to inform the chief of the police of her having 
 appropriated the gold ; upon which, in order that his story 
 should be discredited, she scatters pieces of cooked meat around 
 the house outside, and then awakes her husband, who was 
 sleeping off the effects of a dose of his favourite bang, and tells 
 him that it had just rained these pieces of food. He believes 
 her ; but next day he goes to the chief of police, and acquaints 
 him that his wife has taken away some money which had been 
 concealed in a heap of earth. The magistrate asks the woman 
 if her husband told the truth, and she desires him to inquire 
 of the foohsh man what day it was that she took the money ; he 
 replies that it was the same day that it rained cooked food, and 
 the magistrate causes him to be confined as a lunatic. Some 
 time afterwards his wife persuades him to say that nobody ever 
 knew of it raining anything but water, and he is set at liberty.
 
 THE POISONED GUESTS. 263 
 
 So, too, in the story of the Foolish Sachali, in Miss Stokes' 
 Indian Fairy Tales, the simpleton meets with a strayed camel, 
 loaded with rupees, and takes it home ; his mother conceals the 
 treasure, and, while he is out of the way, scatters comfits outside 
 the house. On his return home she tells him that the comfits have 
 fallen from the skies, and the foolish Sachali informs the neigh- 
 bours that his mother had concealed a large, quantity of rupees, 
 which he found the same day that it rained comfits. — In an Eng- 
 lish story, it rained raisins, and in Campbell's Tales of the West 
 Highlands, there are showers of milk-porridge and pancakes. 
 
 In the Calcutta text of the Thousand and One Nights there 
 occurs (Night 394) what seems an absurd variant of the trick 
 with the fishes : A man gives his wife one Friday a fish to cook ; 
 while he is out, her lover comes, and, putting the fish in a jar 
 of water, she goes off with him, and is absent a whole week. On 
 the following Friday she comes home, and her husband (who had 
 sought for her everywhere), reproaches her, but she brings out 
 the fish alive from the jar, to show that she could not have been 
 absent at all ; she then assembles the neighbours, who, consider- 
 ing him mad, load him with fetters. 
 
 No. XIX— pp. 88 and 213. 
 The Poisoned Guests. 
 We have in the Persian text of this ancient tale a curious parallel 
 to a custom which prevailed in Europe during the Middle Ages. 
 The house of the bountiful man is represented as having "neither 
 door, nor lock, nor porter." In the Mahinogion, we read : "If it 
 should be said that there was a porter at Arthur's palace, there 
 was none;" on which Lady Charlotte Guest remarks: "The 
 absence of a porter was formerly considered as an indication of 
 hospitality, and as such is alluded to by Rhys Brychan, a bard 
 who flourished at the close of the 15th century : 
 The stately entrance is without porters, 
 And his mansions are open to every honest man."
 
 264 APPENDIX. 
 
 The original form of our story of the Poisoned Guests seems 
 to be found in the 13th of the Twenty-five Tales of a Demon 
 (Vetdla Panchavinsati ). The wife of a man named Harisvamin 
 having been stolen from him one night by a Vidyadhara prince, 
 he gave away all his wealth to the Brahmans, and resolved to 
 visit all the holy waters, and wash away his sins, after which 
 he hoped he might find his beloved wife again ; and the story 
 thus proceeds :' 
 
 "Then he left his country, with his Brahman birth as his only 
 fortune, and proceeded to go round to all the holy bathing-places 
 in order to recover his beloved. And as he was roaming about, 
 there came upon him the terrible lion of the hot season, with the 
 blazing sun for mouth, and with a mane composed of his fiery 
 rays. And the winds blew with excessive heat, as if warmed by 
 the breath of sighs furnaced forth by travellers grieved at being 
 separated from their wives. And the tanks, with their supply of 
 water diminished by the heat, and their drying white mud, ap- 
 peared to be showing their broken hearts. And the trees by 
 the roadside seemed to lament on account of the departure of the 
 glory of spring, making their wailing heard in the shrill moaning 
 of their bark, with leaves, as it were, lips, parched with heat. 
 At that season Harisvamin, wearied out with the heat of the 
 sun, with bereavement, hunger and thirst, and continual travel- 
 ling, disfigured, emaciated and dirty, and pining for food, reached 
 in the course of his wanderings a certain village, and found in it 
 the house of a Brahman named Padmanabha, who was engaged 
 in a sacrifice. And seeing that many Brahmans were eating in 
 his house, he stood leaning against the door-post, silent and 
 motionless. And the good-wife of that Brahman named Pad- 
 manabha, seeing him in this position, felt pity for him, and 
 reflected : * Alas, mighty is hunger ! Whom will it not bring 
 down ? For here stands a man at the door, who appears to be 
 a householder, desiring food, with downcast countenance; evi- 
 dently come from a long journey, and with all his senses impaired
 
 THE POISONED GUESTS. 265 
 
 by hunger. So is not he a man to whom food ought to be 
 given?' Having gone through these reflections, the kind woman 
 took up in her hands a vessel full of rice boiled in milk, with 
 ghee and sugar, and brought it, and courteously presented it to 
 him, and said : ' Go and eat this somewhere on the bank of the 
 lake, for this place is unfit to eat in, as it is filled with feasting 
 Brahmans. ' 
 
 "He said: 'I will do so,' and took the vessel of rice and 
 placed it at no great distance under a banyan-tree on the edge 
 of the lake ; and he washed his hands and feet in the lake, and 
 rinsed his mouth, and then came back in high spirits to eat the 
 rice. But while he was thus engaged a kite, holding a black 
 cobra with its beak and claws, came from some place or other, 
 and sat on that tree. And it so happened that poisonous saliva 
 issued from the mouth of that dead snake, which the bird had 
 captured and was carrying along. The saliva fell into the dish 
 of rice which was placed underneath the tree, and Harisvamin, 
 without observing it, came and ate up that rice. As soon as in 
 his hunger he had devoured all that food, he began to suffer 
 terrible agonies, produced by the poison. He exclaimed: 'When 
 fate has turned against a man, everything in this world turns 
 also ; accordingly this rice, dressed with milk, ghee, and sugar, 
 has become poison to me. ' Thus speaking, Harisvamin, tortured 
 with the poison, tottered to the house of that Brahman who was 
 engaged in a sacrifice, and said to his wife : ' The rice which 
 you gave me has poisoned me ; so fetch me quickly a channer 
 who can counteract the operation of poison ; otherwise you will 
 be guilty of the death of a Brahman. ' When Harisvamin had 
 said this to the good woman, who was beside herself to think 
 what it could all mean, his eyes closed, and he died. Accord- 
 ingly the Brahman who was engaged in a sacrifice drove out of 
 his house his wife, though she was innocent and hospitable, 
 being enraged with her for the supposed murder of her guest. 
 The good woman, for her part, having incurred groundless blame
 
 266 APPENDIX. 
 
 from her charitable deed, and so become branded with infamy, 
 went to a holy bathing-place to perform penance. Then there 
 was a discussion before the superintendent of religion as to which 
 of the four parties, the kite, the snake, and the couple who gave 
 rice, was guilty of the murder of a Brahman, but the question 
 was not decided." 
 
 This forms the 1 6th tale of the Tamil version ( Veddla Cadai) 
 and the 12th of the Hind! {Baital Pachid); in the latter, the 
 traveller, having placed the dish of food at the foot of a fig-tree, 
 went into the tank to wash his face and hands ; meanwhile 
 a black snake, gUding from the roots of the tree, thrust its 
 venomous mouth into the food, and then went away. — An in- 
 cident resembling this story is found in the Bahar-i Danish 
 (Story of the First Companion) : A snake bites the lip of the 
 lady's paramour while he lies asleep, and kills him ; then it 
 dropped some of its poison into the goblet of wine, which the 
 lady when she awoke drank, and she also died. 
 
 No. XX— p. 94. 
 
 The Stolen Purse and the Child of Five Years. 
 This is not only a familiar "Joe Miller" story, but it has been 
 popular throughout Europe in various forms since the Middle 
 Ages. Wright, in his elaborate introduction to the early English 
 metrical version of the Seven Sages (vol. xvi of the Percy Society 
 publications), states that he had met with it among the Latin 
 tales of the 13th and 14th centuries. The first appearance of 
 the story in English (taken perhaps from Valerius Maximus), 
 so far as I have ascertained, is in the collection of jests entitled 
 Tales and Qiiicke Ajts^weres, very Mery and Pleasant to Rede, 
 printed about 1535, where it is related as follows: 
 
 "There were two men on a time, the whiche lefte a great 
 somme of money in kepyng with a maiden on this condition,
 
 THE CHILD OF FIVE YEARS. 267 
 
 that she shulde nat delyuer hit agayne, excepte they came bothe 
 together for hit. Nat lang after, one of them cam to hir morn- 
 yngly arayde, and sayde that his felowe was deed, and so 
 required the money, and she delyuered hit to hym. Shortly 
 after came the tother man, and required to have the moneye that 
 was lefte with hir in kepying. The maiden was than so sorow- 
 full, both for lacke of the money, and for one to defende hir 
 cause, that she thought to hange hirself. But Demosthenes, 
 that excellent oratour, spake for hir and sayd : Sir, this mayden 
 is redy to quite her fidelite, and to deliuer agayne the money 
 that was lefte with hir in kepyng, so that thou wilt bringe thy 
 felowe with the to receyue it. But that he could nat do. " 
 
 The story reappears in another jest-book, jfacke of Dover s 
 Quest of Inqtiirie, or his Frivy Search for the Veriest Foole in 
 England, 1604, under the title of "The Fool of Westchester," 
 where two "cony-catchers, "or sharpers, deposit a sum of money 
 with "a widow woman," one of whom obtains the deposit, 
 and decamps. When the other fellow brings the case to trial 
 before the judges in London, the widow — without the help of 
 " Demosthenes " — steps briskly to the bar, and offers to restore 
 the money on the original condition, that both came together to 
 claim it. — It is reproduced, with some variations, in The Witty 
 and Entertaining Exploits of George Buchanan, who was commonly 
 called the King^s Fool, where three pedlars leave a pack with a 
 widow, who kept an inn on the highway-side, charging her 
 strictly, before witnesses, to deliver it to none of them unless they 
 all came together. Two of the pedlars return, after a time, and, 
 pretending their partner had gone to a certain fair, olitain the 
 pack. When the third comes and learns how he had been 
 cheated, he cites the poor woman before the judges, and 
 "George" dons a lawyer's gown, and pleads her cause suc- 
 cessfully. — Strange to say, Lloyd, in his State Worthies, has 
 actually related the story as an incident in the early legal career 
 of William Noy, attorney-general (1577-1634) — the case of the
 
 268 APPENDIX. 
 
 Three Graziers and the Alewife, in which judgment was about 
 to be given against the poor woman, when young Noy, having 
 obtained a fee from her in order that he should be able to plead 
 in her behalf, starts up and informs the court that his client is 
 prepared to pay the money when all three are present to receive 
 it. This is given, on Lloyd's weak authority, in Chalmers' 
 Biographical Dictionary, vol. xxiii, pp. 267, 268, although the 
 same legal feat had been previously credited in the same work 
 to Thomas Egerton, Lord Chancellor {1540- 161 7). We have 
 seen that the "case" was a popular jest in England before 
 either Noy or Egerton was born. — A French variant is found in 
 the Noiiveaiix Contes a rire, 1737, under the title of " Jugement 
 subtil du due d'Ossone contre deux Marchands;" and Rogers, 
 in the notes to his poem of " Italy," gives an Itahan version, 
 in which a young lawyer, the lover of the old lady's daughter, 
 plays the part of the successful advocate. 
 
 No. XXI— p. 96. 
 The Advantages of Travel. 
 Falconer remarks, in a note on this passage of our text : 
 ' ' The advantages of travel are a favourite topic with Eastern 
 poets. On this subject the reader will find, in the Asiatic 
 Journal for September, 1839, some verses extracted from the 
 Sikandar N'dma [Alexander-Book] of NizamI ; and in the No. 
 for November, 1839, a gazal by Jalalu-'d-Din RiamI; and an 
 Arabian poet has panegyrised travel in some verses which may 
 be thus rendered : 
 
 Rise ! flee the dull monotony of home ; 
 Nor fear a friend will fail where'er j-ou roam. 
 Go, wend from clime to clime j'our jo3'ous vva)% 
 And Nature's lore will everj- toil repay ; 
 Each shifting scene enkindling new delight, 
 While languor dulls the home-devoted wight.
 
 THE AD VANTA GES OF TRA VEL. 269 
 
 Change— mid the starry host, or earth below— 
 Works every good created beings i<now. 
 Marie the glad streamlet, fresh'ning as it flows ; 
 The joyless marsh, stagnant in dead repose ! 
 Shone the blest Sun one long, eternal day, 
 Men of each clime would loathe his garish ray ; 
 And yon pale Moon, to pensive lovers dear, 
 Would tire even them, for ever in the sphere ! 
 
 If ne'er the arrow left the twanging string, 
 
 Say, would it reach the mark, or thread the ring? 
 
 If still the lion slumbered in his lair. 
 
 Would self-doomed victims to his feet repair? 
 
 Even gold is worthless, while the mine inurns. 
 
 And aloe yields no incense till it burns. 
 
 For change — in heaven above and earth below — 
 
 Works every good created beings know." 
 
 The verses from the Sikandar Ndma are accompanied in the 
 Asiatic Journal by the following beautiful paraphrase, signed F, 
 and doubtless by Falconer himself: 
 
 'Tis blithe to wander earth's fair face 
 
 With wayward footsteps over, 
 And, as each varied scene we trace. 
 
 New beauties to discover. 
 Sweet, too, at busy daylight's close. 
 The halting-place, with its repose. 
 
 'Tis blithe, our track as we pursue. 
 
 To mark with curious wonder. 
 Each step fresh marvels bring to view 
 
 Concealment's veil from under ; 
 While all that meets the observant eye 
 Some thoughtful lesson shall supply. 
 
 And yet, for aye, it were unwise 
 
 On distant shores to linger. 
 When busy Memory homeward hies. 
 
 And becks with restless finger ; 
 And joys— she hints— our coming wait. 
 Denied us in our alien state.
 
 270 APPENDIX. 
 
 And what though, far from home, we share 
 
 Earth's hollow pomps that perish ? 
 The friends, the loves, of youth are there, 
 
 And these the heart will cherish : 
 Its strings will twine around the home 
 Where we were nursed, howe'er we roam. 
 
 Of the gQzal of Jalalu-'d-Din Rum! referred to by Falconer, as 
 above, my obliging friend Mr. E. J. W. Gibb has made the 
 following close translation, in which he has very ingeniously 
 reproduced the original rhyme-movement : 
 
 1 A-foot or a-wing had the tree to wander able been. 
 
 Ne'er had it known the wound of the saw or the hatchet keen. 
 
 2 If the sun fared not on his way a-foot and a-wing each night. 
 How were the world illumed at the dawn of the morning-sheen ? 
 
 3 Or again, if the bitter water rose not from the sea to the sky. 
 Where from the flood of the rain were the life of the flowery green ? 
 
 4 The drop that has gone from its home, when next it appeareth to view, 
 Having companied long with the shell, as a lustrous pearl is seen. 
 
 5 Did not Joseph set forth in tears from his father to journey afar ? 
 And won he not thereby weal and honour and kingship to glean ? 
 
 6 And Mustafa, journeyed he not to the region where Yathrib lay ? 
 And found he not empire there, and a sovereign's glorious mien ? 
 
 7 If to travel thou canst not avail, then journej' to thine own heart. 
 And e'en as the ruby-mine, be fired bj" the ray serene. 
 
 8 O master, journey thou forth, away from thj-self to Thyself; 
 For the ore of the mine turns gold b\' a journey like this, I ween. 
 
 9 From sourness and bitterness hence, to the region of sweetness fare; 
 For that every moon from the light of the sun is with grace beseen. 
 
 Jalalu-'d-Din, author of the above gazal, was the founder of 
 the sufI sect of mystics, known m Europe as the Dancing 
 Dervishes, from their gyrations in performing acts of worship. 
 He died at Qonya (Iconium) a.h. 672 (a.d. 1273). — In the fourth 
 couplet of this beautiful ^rtza/ is an allusion to the notion, common 
 to Asiatics, that a pearl is a condensed drop of water, which
 
 THE FO UR LIBERA TORS. 271 
 
 had fallen into the oyster, when its shell was open. Sa'dl 
 has finely versified this in his Bustdn. — In the sixth couplet, 
 Mustafa is one of the names of Muhammad, and Yathrib is the 
 old name of Madina {the city, emphatically) — the reference is 
 to the Prophet's Flight, El Hijra. — In the eighth couplet, the 
 second "Thyself" seems to mean God, as Mr. Gibb supposes, 
 the only truly existent being in the universe, and, therefore, every 
 man's true self. — The English reader will observe that, in 
 this gazal, as faithfully rendered by Mr. Gibb, the opening 
 couplet rhymes, and the second line of each succeeding couplet 
 (or bayt) rhymes with the first couplet.— Let me take the 
 opportunity of adding, that the whole of the Dervish-doctrine 
 (siifiism, or Eastern mysticism) is amply set forth in the grand 
 poem of Jalalu-'d-Din, &x\'i\\\&A, par excellence, "The Masnavi," 
 of which the First Book has been translated into English verse by 
 Mr. J. W. Redhouse, and published by Messrs. Triibner & Co. 
 
 No. XXII— p. 106. 
 The Four Liberators. 
 
 None of the other texts of the Book of Sindibad represented in 
 our Comparative Table has this widely-diffused tale, and the 
 version here given differs remarkably from all others with which 
 I am acquainted, although the fundamental outline is identical 
 in them all. One of the oldest extant forms of it must, I think, 
 be that found in the collection of stories, in Sanskrit, entitled 
 Vetala Panchavinsati, or Twenty-five Tales of a Demon, a work 
 which, though originally distinct and still existing in separate 
 form in most of the vernacular languages of India, is now in- 
 cluded in the grand collection (so often referred to in these notes) 
 entitled Kathd Sarit Sdgara. This is how the Vetala story 
 is related in the last-mentioned work, according to Professor 
 Tawney's translation :
 
 272 APPENDIX. 
 
 Somaprabha and her Three Suitors. 
 
 In Ujjayni there lived an excellent Brahman, the dear de- 
 pendent and minister of King Punyasena, and his name was 
 Harisvamin. That householder had by his wife, who was his 
 equal in birth, an excellent son like himself, Devasamin by 
 name. And he also had born to him a daughter, famed for her 
 matchless beauty, rightly named Somaprabha {i.e. Moonlight). 
 When the time came for that girl to be given away in marriage, 
 as she was proud of her exceeding beauty, she made her mother 
 give the following message to her father and brother : " I am to 
 be given in marriage to a man possessed of heroism, or know- 
 ledge, or magic power ; you must not give me in marriage to 
 any other, if you value your life." "When her father Harisvamin 
 heard this, he was full of anxiety, trying to find for her a hus- 
 band coming under one of these three categories. And while so 
 engaged he was sent as ambassador by King Punyasena to 
 negotiate a treaty with the King of the Dekkan, who had 
 come to invade him. And when he had accomplished the object 
 for which he was sent, a noble Brahman, who had heard of the 
 great beauty of his daughter, came and asked him for her hand. 
 Harisvamin said to the Brahman suitor: "My daughter will 
 not marry any husband who does not possess either valour, or 
 knowledge, or magic power ; so tell me which of the three you 
 possess." He answered: "I possess magic power." There- 
 upon Harisvamin rejoined : " Then show me your magic power." 
 So he immediately prepared by his skill a chariot that would fly 
 through the air. And in a moment he took up Harisvamin in 
 that magic chariot, and showed him heaven and all the worlds. 
 And he brought him back delighted to that very camp of the 
 King of the Dekkan, to which he had been sent on business. 
 Then Harisvamin promised his daughter to that man possessed 
 of supernatural power, and fixed the marriage for the seventh 
 day from that time.
 
 THE FO UR LIBERA TORS. 273 
 
 And in the meanwhile another Brahman, in Ujjayni, came 
 and asked Harisvamin's son Devasamin for the hand of his 
 sister. Devasamin answered: "She does not wish to have a 
 husband who is not possessed of either knowledge, or magic 
 power, or heroism." Thereupon he declared himself to be a 
 hero. And when the hero displayed his skill in the use of 
 missiles and hand-to-hand weapons, Devasamin promised to 
 give him his sister, who was younger than himself. And by 
 the advice of the astrologers he told him, as his father had 
 told the other suitor, that the marriage should take place on 
 that very same seventh day, and this decision he came to 
 without the knowledge of his mother. 
 
 At that very time a third person came to his mother, wife 
 of Harisvamin, and asked her privately for the hand of her 
 daughter. She said to him; "Our daughter requires a husband 
 who possesses either knowledge, or magic power, or heroism ; " 
 and he answered: "Mother, I possess knowledge." And she, 
 after questioning him about the past and the future, promised 
 to give the hand of her daughter to that possessor of super- 
 natural knowledge on that same seventh day. The next day 
 Harisvamin returned home, and told his wife and his son the 
 agreement he had made to give away his daughter in marriage ; 
 and they told him separately the promises that they had 
 made; and that made him feel anxious, as three bridegrooms 
 had been invited. 
 
 Then on the wedding-day three bridegrooms arrived in Haris- 
 vamin's house— the man of knowledge, the man of magic power, 
 and the man of valour. And at that moment a strange thing 
 took place : the intended bride, the maiden Somaprabha, was 
 found to have disappeared in some inexplicable manner, and, 
 though searched for, was not found. Then Harisvamin said 
 eagerly to the possessor of knowledge: "Man of knowledge, 
 now tell me quickly where my daughter is gone." He answered : 
 "The Rakshasa Dhumrasikha has carried her off to his own 
 
 S
 
 274 APPENDIX. 
 
 habitation in the Vindhya forest." At this Harisvamin was 
 terrified, and said: "Alas, alas! how are we to get her back, 
 and how is she to be married?" Wlien the possessor of magic 
 power heard that, he said: "Be of good cheer! I will take 
 you in a moment to the place where she is." He then prepared, 
 as before, a chariot that would fly through the air, provided all 
 kinds of weapons, and made Harisvamin, the man of know- 
 ledge, and the brave man get into it, and in a moment he 
 carried them to the habitation of the Rakshasa in the Vindhya 
 forest, which had been described by the man of knowledge. 
 The Rakshasa, when he saw what had happened, rushed out 
 in a passion, and then the hero, who was put forward by Haris- 
 vamin, challenged him to fight. Then a wonderful fight took 
 place between the man and the Rakshasa, who were contending 
 for a woman, with various kinds of weapons, like Rama and 
 Ravana.i And in a short time the hero cut off the head of that 
 Rakshasa with a crescent-headed arrow, though he was a 
 doughty champion. Then they carried off Somaprabha, whom 
 they found in his house, and they all returned in the magic 
 chariot. 
 
 And when they had reached Harisvamin's house, the marriage 
 did not go forward, though the auspicious moment had arrived, 
 but a great dispute arose between the man of knowledge, the 
 man of magic power, and the man of valour. The man of 
 knowledge said : " If I had not known where this inaiden was, 
 how would she have been discovered when concealed? — So she 
 ought to be given to me." But the man of magic power said : 
 " If I had not made the chariot that can fly through the air, how 
 could you all have gone and returned in a moment like the 
 gods? And how could you, without a chariot, have fought with 
 a Rakshasa, who possessed a chariot? — So you ought to give 
 her to me, for I have secured her by my skill this auspicious 
 
 1 Seeta, the beautiful wife of Rama, was carried off by the Rakshasa 
 Ravana, according to the Ratnayana.
 
 THE FO UR LIBERA TORS. 275 
 
 moment." The brave man said : " If I had not slain the Rak- 
 shasa in fight, who would have brought this maiden back here 
 in spite of all your exertions? — So she must be given to me." 
 While they went on wrangling in this style, Harisvamin remained 
 silent, being perplexed in mind. 
 
 A variant is found in the Ti'itl Ndma (34th night of the India 
 Office MS. No. 2573, and the 22nd of Kaderi's abridgment), to 
 the following effect : A rich merchant of Kabid had a beautiful 
 daughter, named Zohra (or Venus), who had many wealthy 
 suitors, but declared that she would marry only a man who was 
 completely wise, or very skilful. Three young men present them- 
 selves before the merchant, saying that if his daughter requires a 
 man of skill for her husband, each of them was eligible. The first 
 youth said that his art was to discover the whereabouts of any- 
 thing, or anybody, that was lost, and to predict future events. 
 The second could make a horse of wood, which, whoever might 
 mount it, would soar in the air, like Solomon's throne. ^ The 
 third was an archer, who could pierce any object at which he 
 might point his arrow. The merchant having reported to his 
 daughter the wonderful acquirements of her three new suitors, 
 she promised to give her decision next morning. But the same 
 night she disappeared, and the unhappy merchant sent for 
 the three youths, desiring them to recover his daughter, by the 
 exercise of their respective talents. The first youth discovered 
 that a peri had carried the damsel to the summit of a mountain 
 which was inaccessible to man. The second made a wooden 
 horse, and gave it to the third (the archer), who mounted it, 
 and very soon reached the mountain, killed the perl, and brought 
 away the maiden. " Each of the three claimed her as his own 
 by right, and the dispute continued." 
 
 • According to the Muslim legend (borrowed from the Rabbins), Solomon's 
 carpet, having on it his throne, his courtiers, and his entire army, was 
 borne through the air by the eight winds — subject to him through his 
 magical signet — and conveyed to the most distant regions in a few minutes.
 
 276 APPENDIX. 
 
 The story must be familiar to all readers of the common 
 English translation of the Arabian Nights, in the tale of 
 Prince Ahmed and the Peri Banou : Three princes are in love 
 with their cousin, who is to be given to him that should bring 
 the most wonderful thing. One of them procures a magic 
 carpet, another an ivory telescope, and the third an apple that 
 could cure the person who smelled at it, even if at the point of 
 death. The youth with the tube discovers that the princess 
 is dying ; the magic carpet carries them all to the princess ; and 
 the apple restores her to health. 
 
 The Tartar version, in the Relations of Siddhi Kiir,^ is very 
 peculiar in all its details : Six persons — a rich youth, a calcu- 
 lator, a mechanic, a physician, and a smith — set out together to 
 seek their fortunes. Arriving at the mouth of a great river, 
 each of them planted a tree of hfe and then separated, having 
 agreed to meet at the same place again. The rich youth, in 
 the course of his wanderings, marries a beautiful maiden ; but the 
 khan takes her from him, and afterwards causes him to be put to 
 death, and his body to be covered with a huge rock. At the 
 time agreed upon the five other wanderers return to the spot 
 where they had planted their trees of life, and, seeing that the 
 youth's tree was withered,- the calculator by his art discovered 
 that he was lying dead beneath a certain rock. The smith with 
 his hammer smote the rock and broke it, and drew forth the 
 body. Then the physician gave the dead youth a draught, and 
 he became alive again. The revived youth having told his com- 
 panions how his beautiful wife had been taken from him, and 
 himself been slain, by the khan, they resolved by all means to 
 recover such a pearl of beauty. Accordingly the mechanic con- 
 
 ' A dead body endowed with supernatural powers. — This is the Kalmuk 
 form of the Hindu Twenty-five Tales of a Demon. 
 
 - Compare with this the knife and string of pearls of the brothers in the 
 Arabian tale of the Quest of the Singing-Tree, etc.; and the gloves of Ivan 
 Popyalof in Ralston's Knssiau Folk-Talcs.
 
 THE FOUR LIBERATORS. 277 
 
 structed a wooden Garuda, which went in any direction, as it 
 was guided from within. The painter then decorated the wooden 
 bird with various colours, so that it was wondrous to behold. 
 Then the youth seated himself within the wooden Garijda, which 
 immediately flew through the air, and hovered above the khan's 
 palace. When the khan discovered the strange bird, he bade 
 the wife of the youth go upon the roof and offer food to it, 
 which she did ; and the bird descended, and the youth seated 
 her beside him, and they flew away. Having returned to his 
 five companions, the youth and his wife stepped forth from the 
 Garuda, and on their beholding her beauty they began to quarrel 
 among themselves, each claiming her as his wife, because of his 
 share in her recovery, till at length they drew their knives and 
 slew one another. 
 
 Such is the outline of the Tartar version of this old-world tale. 
 The wooden Garuda here performs the part of the Enchanted 
 Horse of the Thousand and One Nights, which, however, had 
 reached Europe long before that entertaining work was com- 
 posed. The contrivance in the Tartar tale was, in fact, borrowed 
 from Hindu fiction : in a story in the Kathd Sarit Sdgara, the 
 hero, in love with a princess, personates Vishnu, and rides on a 
 wooden representation of Garuda (the bird of Vishnu), guided 
 by a pin and moving by magic— the prototype of 
 
 The wondrous steed of brass 
 
 On which the Tartar king did ride, 
 in Chaucer's "half-told tale of Cambuscan bold," and of all 
 other self-moving machines so famed in romance. ^ — Of European 
 
 ' The Enchanted Horse figures prominently in the old French metrical 
 romance of Cleomades, written by Adans, or Adenis, a poet of the 13th 
 century-. Le Clieval de Fust is another title of this poem, which was, 
 according to Count Tressan (who furnished an extrait of it to the Biblio- 
 thcgiie dt's Romans), originally composed in Spanish verse ; and there can 
 be no doubt that the groundwork, at least, of the romance was brought to 
 Spain by the Moors. — Old English tradition, too, is not without its magic 
 horse: Leland, in his Itinerary, tells of a man named Rutter, who "was
 
 278 APPENDIX. 
 
 variants, the best is perhaps the well-known German fairy tale 
 of the Four Clever Youths who rescued from a dragon the king's 
 daughter, and were all amply recompensed for their pains. 
 
 No. XXIII— p. 112. 
 The Damsel's Fate, etc. 
 It is remarkable that in our Persian text the Damsel herself 
 suggests that her tongue should be cut out, while in the Greek 
 and the Breslau (Arabic) versions the proposal is made by the 
 assembled counsellors, some of whom suggest various other 
 forms of punishment : in Syntipas, to cut off her hands and feet, 
 open her alive, and tear out her heart ; in the Mishle Sandabar, 
 to cut off her hands, to blind her, to kill her. Replying to these 
 cruel suggestions, the Damsel relates, in the Greek, Hebrew, and 
 two of the Arabic texts (the Calcutta and Breslau), the tale of 
 the Fox that preferred mutilation to death. The following is a 
 translation of the Greek version of the story of 
 
 T/ie Fox and the People. 
 O ye magnates, all your utterances against me appear to 
 coincide with the example of a certain fox, who during the night 
 entered into a certain city through the window of a man who 
 curried skins, and whenever he entered into the house he gnawed 
 the skins. The tanner perceiving the tatters made in the skins, 
 and being satisfied the damage was through the fox, immedi- 
 ately fixed a solid trap. According to his wont, the fox entered 
 through the window, and was caught in the trap. The unhappy 
 yet crafty fox, by some well-skilled device, ran away with the 
 trap which ensnared him, and wandered all around the city to 
 
 in great favour with his king, and desired to have reward of him of as much 
 land as he could ride over in a day on a horse of wood ; and he did ride 
 over as much as is now Rutlandshire, by art magic, and was after swallowed 
 into the earth."
 
 THE FOX AND THE PEOPLE. 279 
 
 find another window by which to go out. Having wandered 
 about the whole night, he found no place of exit, for the city 
 was walled all around. 
 
 On the approach of day, he said to himself: " If day should 
 dawn, of a certainty I shall be seized by dogs, and they would 
 not leave me before they had torn away my flesh ; but I know 
 what it behoves me to do." Thereupon he laid himself near the 
 threshold of the gate of the city, feigning himself dead and 
 breathless. And while lying as if dead, the gate, as usual, was 
 opened by the porter at early mom. Some one upon seeing him 
 said to the porter: "Of a truth, the tail of this fox is well 
 adapted to sponge out the mill," and straightway, on saying this, 
 seizing a sword, he cut off the tail. The fox bore courageously 
 the pain of the dipt tail. Afterwards a certain other person, 
 seeing him, said : " If any one has a little whining child, nothing 
 is better as a cure than the ears of a fox, by holding them 
 over the child," and forthwith he cut off his ears, and the fox 
 nobly sustained this anguish. And still another, passing along 
 the same path, and seeing him as if dead, said : " I have heard 
 some one say, that if a person is suffering from toothache, and 
 should place on it the tooth of a fox, he is immediately relieved 
 from pain," and with these words, taking a stone, he knocked 
 out all the teeth, and the fox, without wincing, underwent all 
 these terrible pains, until the moment when another man, walk- 
 ing by, said : " I have heard that a fox's heart is beneficial for 
 every grief, and curative of every disease." The man, upon 
 speaking thus, taking a sword, in order to cut out his heart, 
 the fox, leaping up, ran away in haste through the gate of the 
 fortress, for the gate happened at that time to be open, and he 
 was saved from the death he was about to suffer. "And thus 
 [continues the Damsel] am I, helpless being, O king, prepared 
 to undergo all the suggestions thy rulers counsel thee to follow ; 
 but I am unable to bear having my heart forcibly taken out— 
 for this would be a bitter and painful death. "
 
 28o APPENDIX. 
 
 This story, as Goedeke has pointed out, hke the four tales in 
 the introduction to the Sindibad Ndma, is of Buddhist origin, 
 being No. 23 of the Avaddnas translated by Julien. It seems to 
 me very probable that it also occurred in the complete text of 
 the Sindibad Ndma, since it would naturally follow the Damsel's 
 suggestion that her tongue should be cut out. And the next 
 chapter, in which Sindibad discourses eloquently to the king, 
 which wants the commencement, may have contained the tale, 
 preserved in the Greek text only, related by the sage in the 
 course of his reply to the king's inquiry, to whom his son's 
 wisdom was due. It is as follows, and may be entitled 
 
 Destiny ; or, the Philosopher' s Son. 
 There was a certain king in former times, who had in his 
 service many philosophers, one of whom was far superior to the 
 others, and at that king's court a certain one also who understood 
 and professed in a high degree the astrological art. To the first- 
 mentioned philosopher had just been born a son, and on it being 
 communicated to the king, the philosopher was immediately 
 summoned to the court. But the aforesaid astrologer, hearing of 
 the birth of the son, consulted the stars concerning the destiny 
 of the boy. When the king asked him regarding the boy's 
 horoscope, he answered thus: "To judge, O my master, from 
 the signs and courses of the stars, this new-born child inherits the 
 evil destiny of thieves and wrong-doers ; — he will survive many 
 years, and in his thirteenth year he will commit an atrocious 
 robbery." Upon the astrologer uttering these words, the father 
 of the new-born child said to him: "Have you then made 
 manifest to the king the whole truth concerning my child?" 
 "Yea, O philosopher," replied he; "for I have accurately 
 examined that which attaches to the destiny of the boy, and 
 discovered that he will become a robber, and the most hardened 
 of robbers." In answer to this, the philosopher said to the 
 king : " I shall educate my boy, then, in such a manner, that he
 
 DESTINY; OR, THE SON OF THE SAGE. 281 
 
 never would or could commit such a deed, but, on the contrary, 
 I shall cause him to avoid all forbidden acts." 
 
 The child, when eight months old, discontinued suckling his 
 mother's milk. Shut up in a secluded house by his father, he 
 was nourished with succulent victuals, and instructed fully in 
 literature and honourable conduct. While educating his son 
 with such precision and accuracy, the father forbade that any 
 one should visit, or any boy outside the house should approach 
 him, or that he should learn or hear of any evil deed of the out- 
 side world. Brought up in this manner, he commenced his 
 thirteenth year. The father then said to him: "To-morrow, 
 my son, I am desirous of going to the king, and wishing to take 
 you with me, you must know how and by what obeisance you 
 should hail the king. " In this wise the philosopher spoke to his 
 son. The youth, however, upon hearing of the proposed visit 
 to the king, inwardly debated over his father's speech, and said 
 within himself : " I have never seen a king ; and as my father 
 tells me I must pay him obeisance, it is proper I should approach 
 his Majesty with aromatic spices, in order that their sweet odour 
 may honour and aggrandise the king. But I am ashamed to 
 ask any details from my father, and yet it behoves me to accom- 
 plish this purpose." 
 
 Thereupon, at the approach of night, he went secretly forth 
 from his father's house, proceeded to the palace, and, having 
 made an opening in the wall, entered close to the royal bed. 
 The king, waking up, was agitated on seeing him, and, being 
 timid and alarmed, said to himself: "If this robber did not 
 possess great strength he would never have dared to enter at 
 midnight ; — if I should resist him, he will attempt to kill me. " 
 Communing thus within himself, in silence, he afforded full 
 license to the robber. The youth, then, extending his hand 
 towards the linen clothes of the king, seized a linen cloth of 
 great value, and went out of the palace. Having sold the linen 
 cloth, he purchased with its proceeds myrrh and various per-
 
 282 APPENDIX. 
 
 fumes. On that night, however, the king did not recognise the 
 robber. 
 
 On the following day the father, accompanied by his son, 
 went into the king's presence, and both father and son pro- 
 strated themselves in obeisance to the very floor. The son 
 then presented to the king the perfumes and beautiful offerings 
 he had purchased, and began to praise and eulogise his Majesty. 
 And the philosopher said : " O king, live for ever ! Behold, I 
 have brought into thy presence my son, concerning whom the 
 astrologer told thee, that in the thirteenth year of his age he 
 should become a robber. He is now thirteen years old, and 
 has not committed a theft. Thy astrologer, therefore, may be, 
 solemnly and in public, declared to be a false prophet, and from 
 this all the words uttered by him have now been proved idle 
 talk." At these words the king, steadfastly and attentively fixing 
 his eyes on the countenance of the youth and his outward form, 
 recognised him to be the person who had broken through the 
 wall, and the very bold and shameless robber who had stolen 
 the linen cloth from the royal couch. The king then, in answer, 
 said to the philosopher: "This is the robber who entered the 
 king's room, and this being the fact, the prognostication of the 
 astrologer must the rather be relied upon as true. " 
 
 "From this narrative, therefore, O king [continues Syntipas], 
 it is clearly shown that at and from the birth of each individual 
 there is a distinct and separate career of life predestined by the 
 Deity. It is not what a child has learned or suffered at the com- 
 mencement of his growth, as happened at the birth of this thy 
 son, but when he arrives at man's estate. Praiseworthy and 
 excellent deeds and prosperous days comprised and brightened 
 his state of manhood, but odious actions and clouds of adversity 
 darkened the mature life of the son of that philosopher whom 
 the king had in his sers'ice. " 
 
 That this tale— or one of a similar tendency — was also in
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE ABBOT. 283 
 
 the Sindibdd Ndma is, I think, more than lil^ely, from the 
 circumstance, as stated in p. 112, that where the fragment of 
 the chapter in which it should appear begins, " Sindibad has 
 been malting some remarks on the impossibihty of avoiding 
 destiny," and at this place, as in the Greek text, he proceeds to 
 cite the moral precepts of Faridun. 
 
 It has already been mentioned (note i, p. no) that the story 
 of the Four Liberators is not told by Sindibad, but by the Prince ; 
 and Professor Comparetti was therefore mistaken in supposing 
 that it had been substituted by the author of the Sindibdd Ndma 
 for the tale of Destiny, related by the sage in the Greek version. 
 Moreover, the two tales have nothing in common that should 
 render such a conjecture probable, even if the relator of the 
 Four Liberators was doubtful, the latter having no bearing upon 
 the question of resisting fate. 
 
 The Syriac text must have had both the story of the Fox and 
 that of Destiny, although they are wanting in the only known 
 copy, which breaks off at the beginning of the story of the Blind 
 Old Man (see end of note, p. 104). There is also a laaina in 
 the ^LS. where the story of the Bathman should be related. 
 
 The old Castilian translation wants both the concluding stories 
 of Syntipas, also the tale of the Woman and the Rice-Dealer; 
 the latter was certainly not suppressed from motives of delicacy, 
 since the two most objectionable of the tales proper to the Book 
 of Sindibad are retained. It seems probable that the MS. from 
 which the only extant text was made had lost the leaves con- 
 taining these tales. A new one has been added to the four the 
 Prince has in the Syriac and Greek texts, which is as follows, 
 according to Mr. H. C. Coote's translation : 
 
 The Woman and the Abbot. 
 I have heard of a woman whose husband went away on some 
 business, and she sent to the abbot to say that her husband was 
 not at home, and that he should come for the night to her dwell-
 
 284 APPENDIX. 
 
 ing. And the abbot came and entered the house. And when 
 he came it was midnight. The husband came and called at the 
 door. And he \i.e. the abbot] said: How shall it be? And 
 she said : Go and hide thyself in that apartment till daylight. 
 And the husband entered, and threw himself on his bed. And 
 when day came the woman arose, and went to a friar her friend, 
 and asked him for a habit that he might get the abbot away 
 who was in her house. And the friar went and said : What has 
 become of such a one ? And she said : He is not yet risen. 
 And he went in and asked him [the husband] whence he came, 
 and was there until the abbot was dressed. And the friar said : 
 Pardon me, I wish to retire. He said : You must go, and be 
 well. And joining the other in the apartment, the abbot went 
 out dressed like a friar, and in that dress went with him to the 
 convent.-^ 
 
 The author of the Hebrew version has omitted no fewer than 
 seven tales which occur in Syntipas, namely : The Drop of 
 Honey, the Bread Elephant (both of which are also not found 
 in the Persian text). Woman's Wiles, the Poisoned Guests, the 
 Infant in the Cradle, the Child of Five Years, and Destiny; but 
 he has inserted four new ones, and fused into one tale the Prince 
 and the Ghul and the Changed Sex. He has also altered the 
 order of the tales as they appear in the Greek version. Two of 
 the new tales are of Jewish argument ; the two others are un- 
 doubtedly of Oriental origin. The Woman, on the fifth night, 
 adduces, as a warning to the king, 
 
 The Revolt of Absalom. 
 
 Knowest thou not, O my lord and king, that revolt will stalk 
 with head on high under thy descendants, if, while thou art 
 
 1 Comparetti remarks that, "though the text is very corrupt, and cer- 
 tainly mutilated in some parts, we recognise in this tale a novel of Bandello 
 (iv, 8), which has an equivalent in the 19th Night of the Suka Saptati 
 (Galanos)."
 
 THE DEATH OF ABSALOM. 285 
 
 still alive and before thy gray head has disappeared, thou 
 riddest not the country of thy son ? Is it not true that if the 
 King David had put to death his son Amnon for having out- 
 raged his sister, Absalom would not have required to fly to 
 Geshur, to nourish hatred in his breast, to revolt against his 
 father, and David would not have suffered all the misfortune 
 which he suffered? And all this occurred because his father did 
 not wish to vex him at the time, and because he said to him, Why 
 actest thou thus ? his heart became so inflamed with pride thereby 
 that he no more feared to offend, and abused his sister Tamar. 
 Thou too shalt fall in the same way, and the advice of thy evil 
 counsellors will not protect thee. Else thinkest thou that thy 
 son is better than Absalom ? 
 
 The effect of this argument on the king is counteracted by the 
 Sixth Vazir, who says : 
 
 The Death of Absalom. 
 Was it not the King David whom thy wife cited as an 
 example? But had not that King David more sons than thou? 
 And yet did he not pardon them their faults? When he fled 
 with Joab, said he not to him before his people, " Behave with 
 gentleness towards young Absalom ? " Did he not weep over him 
 when he was killed? "Alas!" he cried, "my son, Absalom! O 
 my son, my son ! " And if it had been in his power would he 
 not have killed Joab ? He spared him only to put him into the 
 power of his son Solomon, whom he ordered to put him to 
 death. Yet heaven and earth had been witnesses of the crimes 
 of Absalom, whilst thy son has committed no fault against thee. 
 Canst thou determine to make him die ? Canst thou resolve to 
 exterminate thy name, and the posterity issued from thee, and 
 the house of thy ancestors? Then thou wilt remain without 
 children, whilst David had several sons, and notwithstanding 
 the loss of two of whom, there still remained others ; and then
 
 286 APPENDIX. 
 
 David at this time was still young, but thou — thou art old, 
 God has favoured thee with a son in thy old age, and thou 
 wishest to banish him for ever from thine eyes. 
 
 The Seventh Vazir's first story is of 
 
 TJie Disguised Young Ma^i. 
 There was a man married to a woman fair of body and face. 
 A young man was in love with this woman, but could not obtain 
 access to her because her husband was very jealous ; and by 
 reason of this great jealousy he always kept her shut up, and 
 kept the key himself. This man was a merchant, and old. The 
 young man, mastered by his passion, became sick on account of 
 it. An old woman came and found him thus, and he told her 
 what was the matter. The old woman said to him : "Wilt thou 
 do all that I tell thee?" "Yes, "answered he. "Then, "said she, 
 "shave all the hair off thy face and thy beard. " He did so. Then 
 she dressed him in woman's clothes, and putting on him a veil, 
 only his eyes were to be seen. After this, the old woman went 
 to the house of the merchant, and said to him : " I come to beg 
 a favour, my lord. I am a widow, and I have one daughter. 
 Now I wish to go to another town, and I have heard of the 
 propriety that reigns in your house, and I must confess I feel 
 some anxiety in leaving my daughter in a strange place. That 
 is why, my lord, if it will suit you, I wish to bring her to thy 
 house, that she may serve thy wife without any wages. " The 
 merchant was delighted at hearing this, and said to her: "I will 
 take care of her; she has only to come to my wife." The old 
 woman then brought her pretended daughter, and the latter 
 remained in the house, and the husband went to travel. Then 
 the young man discovered his face, made himself known to the 
 young woman, and passed several days with her.^ 
 
 ' In the conclusion of the European versions of the Seven Wise Masters, 
 the prince, when he has begun to speak again, exposes the queen's in- 
 trigue with a youth who is disguised as one of her female slaves. Goedeke
 
 THE HUNCHBACKS. 287 
 
 The vazir then relates the story of 
 
 The Hunchbacks. 
 
 There was a woman married to an old man. As to her, she 
 was young, fair of person and face. The husband would not 
 allow her to walk in the street, and she submitted to this only 
 with impatience. One day she said to her maid : "Go outside ; 
 perhaps thou wilt meet some one who will be able to amuse 
 us." The maid went out, and met a hunchback, who had a 
 tambourine and flute in his hand. He was dancing and beating 
 the tambourine, so that the people might give him some reward. 
 The maid brought this man to her mistress, who gave him to 
 eat and to drink, which caused him great pleasure. He then rose 
 to dance and leap about, at which the young woman was much 
 pleased. She dressed him in beautiful clothes, and gave him a 
 present, and then sent him away. The friends and comrades 
 of the hunchback saw him, and asked him where he had met 
 with such good luck, and he told them of the beautiful wife of 
 the old man. The hunchback's companions said to him: "If 
 
 considers this incident as having been adapted from the above tale of 
 the Disguised Young Man {Orient und Occident, iii, p. 394). But in the 
 Hebrew story the disguised j-outh is not discovered, and it is perhaps 
 possible that the original of the incident is to be found in a Persian tale, in 
 which a young page points out to the king his favourite's paramour among 
 her assembled female slaves. — It seems the practice of thus introducing 
 men into the women's apartments was formerly very common in India : 
 " By means of their female attendants," says Vatsyaj-ana, " the ladies of 
 the ro}-al harem generally get men into their apartments in the disguise or 
 dress of women. . . When a go-between has no access to the harem, 
 then the man should stand in some place where the lady he loves can be 
 seen. If that place is occupied bj' the king's sentinels, he should then dis- 
 guise himself as a female attendant of the lady who comes to the place or 
 passes by it." {Kama Sutra, Part v.)— The 35th tale of the Tuti Nama 
 (India Office MS. No. 2573, and tale 23 of Kaderi's abridgment), of the 
 Brahman in love with the Daughter of the King of Babylon, bears some 
 resemblance to the story of the Disguised Young Man.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 thou dost not take us with thee, we will make the whole affair 
 public." Now the young woman sent again for the hunchback, 
 that he might come to her. He said to her : " My companions 
 also wish to come to amuse thee." The lady replied: "Let 
 them come. " She offered them all sorts of things ; they set to 
 eating and drinking, and they got drunk, and fell from their 
 seats. Presently, the master of the house came back, and the 
 woman immediately rose with her maid, and carried the men into 
 another part of the house. There they quarrelled and fought, 
 and strangled each other, and died.^ Meantime the husband, 
 having taken some food, went out again. Then the woman 
 ordered her maid to bring the hunchbacks out, but they were 
 dead. Then said the woman : " Go out quickly, and find some 
 foolish porter," and she put the dead bodies into sacks. The 
 maid-servant chanced to meet a black man, and brought him to 
 her mistress, who said to him : " Stay with me." After he had 
 passed some time with her, she said to him: "Take this first 
 sack, and throw it into the river ; then come back to me, and I 
 will take care to give thee all that thou mayest require." The 
 black did so ; then he returned and took the second sack, and 
 in that way he took them all, one after the other, and threw 
 them into the river. 
 
 It is generally supposed that this story of the Hunchbacks in 
 the Mishle Sandabar suggested that of the Lady and her Three 
 Lovers in the Scptcm Sapicntum, which is to this eftect : A lady 
 promises her favours to three knights, unknown to one another, 
 for a hundred florins each, then she acquaints her husband, and 
 persuades him to consent to slay them for the sake of the money 
 they will bring with them. When the first knight arrives, and 
 she is assured that he has brought the money, she admits him 
 
 ' In Wright's analysis of this story (Introd. Seven Sages, vol. xvi of Percj- 
 Society) "the lady conceals them hurriedly in a place full of holes and 
 traps, into which they fall, and are strangled."
 
 THE HUNCHBACKS. 289 
 
 into the house, and he is instantly murdered ; the two other 
 knights, as they arrive in succession, meet with the same fate ; 
 and the three bodies are dragged into a private part of the 
 house. The lady then sends for her brother, who is one of 
 the city night guards, and showing him the body of one of the 
 knights, tells him that her husband had slain the knight in a 
 quarrel, and she wishes him to dispose of it at once. He takes 
 up the body, goes out and throws it into the sea, and returns, to 
 learn that the body has come back again, and is now shown the 
 body of the second knight, which he also carries away and casts 
 into the water ; and on his return to the house is shown the 
 body of the third knight as the same that he had already twice 
 disposed of. Convinced now that he has a sorcerer to deal with, 
 he resolves to try whether another element will not destroy him, 
 and accordingly carries the third body into a wood, where he 
 makes a great fire, in the midst of which he instantly tosses it. 
 Presently a knight on horseback, on his way to a tourney, rides 
 up and dismounts to warm his hands, upon which the man, sup- 
 posing this to be the sorcerer come to hfe once more, seizes him 
 and his horse and throws them into the fire, which consumes 
 them to ashes. In the sequel the lady, in a passion with her 
 husband, accuses him before neighbours of the triple murder, 
 and they are both put to death. 
 
 This story, however, has been taken into the Septem Sapicntum 
 almost word for word from the Anglican Gesta Rotnanoruni ^ (see 
 Madden's old English versions of the Gesta, [xxv] p. 80), which 
 was compiled, according to Herr Oesterley, towards the end of 
 the 13th century, while the Septem Sapientum does not date earlier 
 than the beginning of the 15 th century. And if the author of 
 the Anglican Gesta had for his model the Hebrew story of the 
 Hunchbacks, it must have been a version very different in 
 the details of the catastrophe from that which has reached us, 
 
 • Or rather, from the continental Gesta, which was formed from the 
 Anglican text.
 
 290 APPENDIX. 
 
 since in the latter no mention is made of the woman's device 
 of persuading the man that the body had come back again. 
 Wright, indeed, conjectured that the Hebrew story originally 
 concluded in the same manner as the Three Knights and the 
 Lady. This may have been so ; but why suppose the original of 
 the Latin story to be one so different in its denouement as we 
 now know it — whatever it may or may not have been — when 
 we have another, and probably an earlier, version which it much 
 more closely resembles, namely, the Trouveur Durant's fabliau 
 of Les Trois Bossiis? The following is the outline of this tale : 
 
 An old, ugly, and hunchbacked chatelain had a beautiful young 
 wife, of whom he was so very jealous, that he kept a constant 
 watch on her. One day three minstrels, hunchbacked too, came 
 to the castle, and, for once, were entertained by the surly 
 chatelain, who then dismissed them with a present, and he 
 shortly afterwards went out to walk in the fields. His young 
 wife, sitting at her window, perceives the three hunchbacks 
 dancing and capering along the road in great glee, and sends for 
 them to come and amuse her. They have hardly entered her 
 chamber, when she hears her husband coming, so she pushes 
 them into three coffers that stood in the apartment. The 
 husband, however, having only looked in to see whether all 
 was right, immediately goes away to resume his walk, when the 
 lady hastens to release her prisoners, but, to her horror, finds all 
 three dead — suffocated ! What was to be done? But woman is 
 ever fertile in expedients. She went to the gate, and, seeing a 
 simple rustic pass, called him in, and, showing him the body in 
 one of the coffers, promised him ample recompense if he disposed 
 of it. The rustic stuffed the body in a sack, carried it off to the 
 river, threw it in, and then returned for his reward. By this 
 time the lady, with the help of her maid, had changed the posi- 
 tion of the coffers ; so she showed him the body of the second 
 minstrel, saying it was the same that he had thrown into the 
 water. The rustic was amazed, but disposed of it as he had
 
 THE HUNCHBACKS. 291 
 
 done the first, and in like manner rids the lady of the third body, 
 believing he has had to deal with a magician ; after which, on 
 his way back to the lady, he meets the chatelain, returning home 
 from his evening walk. Enraged now beyond measure, "Dog 
 of a hunchback!" he cries, "are you come back again?" So 
 saying, he seized and stuffed him into the sack, tied a large stone 
 round his neck, and presently the unlucky husband joined his 
 brother hunchbacks at the bottom of the river. "I warrant 
 me," quoth the rustic to the lady, "you haven't seen him this 
 time." She confessed that she had not. "Yet you were not 
 far from it," said he, and then related what had happened. 
 The lady instantly comprehended the whole affair, smiled, and 
 dismissed him with a handsome reward. 
 
 It thus appears that the fabliau corresponds with the Hebrew 
 version in all essential points excepting the denouement, and it is 
 highly probable that both were derived from a common source. 
 That the story came from Asia admits of no question, though I 
 am very far from believing, with Douce and Madden, that the 
 Arabian tale of the Little Hunchback is the original of all such 
 stories of adventures with dead bodies. Had Douce known of 
 the comparatively recent date of the Thousand and One Nights — 
 at least, as it exists at present — he would hardly have credited 
 that work with being the original source of tales which were 
 current in Europe in the 12th and 13th centuries. 
 
 No. XXIV— p. 137. 
 Ahmed the Orphan. 
 This remarkable tale, of which variants were current throughout 
 Europe during the Middle Ages, does not belong to the original 
 Book of Sindibad, and is found in only two of the five Arabic 
 texts of the Seven Vazirs represented in our Comparative Table, 
 namely, Scott's MS. and the Rich MS. in the British Museum.
 
 292 APPENDIX. 
 
 Its earliest appearance in European literature seems to have been 
 in the spiritual tales, or Contcs Droots, written in the I2th and 13th 
 centuries, under the title of " D'un Roi qui voulut faire bruler le 
 ills de son Seneschal," from which it was probably taken by the 
 complier of the first Italian collection of tales. Cento Novelle 
 Antiche, and by the author of the Anglican Gcsta Romanorum, 
 both of which works were composed about the end of the 13th 
 century ; it is also found in the continental Gesta, translated by 
 Swan. The 68th of the Novelle Antiche is to the following effect : 
 An envious knight is jealous of the favour a young man enjoys 
 with the king. As a friend, he bids the youth hold back his 
 head while serving this prince, who, he says, was disgusted with 
 his foul breath, and then acquaints his master that the page did 
 so from being offended with his Majesty's breath. The irascible 
 monarch forthwith orders his kiln-man to throw the first mes- 
 senger he sends into the furnace, and the young man is accord- 
 ingly despatched on some pretended errand, but happily passing 
 a monastery on his way, tarries for some time to hear mass. 
 Meanwhile, the contriver of the fraud, impatient to learn the 
 success of his stratagem, sets out for the house of the kiln-man, 
 and arrives before his intended victim. On inquiring if the com- 
 mands of the king have been fulfilled, he is answered that they 
 will be immediately executed, and, as the first messenger on the 
 part of the sovereign, is forthwith thrown into the furnace. ^ 
 
 This forms the 95th chapter of the Anglican Gesta Ro7nanorum, 
 edited for the Roxburgh Club, by Sir Fredrick Madden, and No. 
 70 of Herrtage's recent edition, published for the Early English 
 Text Society, in which the youth, who is an orphan and the 
 king's nephew, is called Fulgentius, and in place of a knight is 
 an envious steward, who tells his master that his favourite says 
 that his Majesty has leprosy. Fulgentius hearing a chapel-bell, 
 on his way to the lime-pits, goes in to hear mass, and afterwards 
 (having got up earher than usual) falls asleep in the chapel. 
 • Dunlop's History of Fiction, 4th Ed., p. 205.
 
 AHMED THE ORPHAN. 293 
 
 When he awakes, he hastens to the lime-pits, inquires, as he 
 was instructed, " Have you done the commandment of the king? " 
 and learns that the steward had met the fate intended for 
 himself.— Cinthio has the story in his Hecatommithi (viii, 6), 
 written in the i6th century, and it is also found in the 
 Anecdotes chretiennes de Vabhe Rcyre, t. i, under the title of "Les 
 Deux Pages." From an Alsatian tradition Schiller, it is said, 
 composed his ballad, " Der gang nachdem eisenhammer," 
 which is well known to English readers through Mr. Bowring's 
 excellent translation, entitled, " Fridolin ; or the Walk to the 
 Iron Foundry." Schiller's version bears a slight resemblance to 
 our Arabian tale of Ahmed in one point : Robert the huntsman, 
 having long cherished in vain a guilty passion for the countess, 
 in revenge falsely accuses the page Fridolin to the Count 
 Savern of the crime which he had been but too willing himself 
 to commit : 
 
 Then to two workmen beckons he, 
 And speaks thus in his ire : 
 
 The first who's hither sent by me. 
 Thus of ye to inquire — 
 
 Have ye obeyed my lord's word well ? 
 
 Him cast ye into yonder hell, 
 That into ashes he may fly, 
 And ne'er again torment mine eye. 
 
 In the Turkish tales of the Forty Vazirs, the lady's 22nd story 
 is another variant. Instead of a page, the favourite is a courtier, 
 of whom another is envious. Having privately told the king that 
 his favourite went about asserting that his Majesty was leprous, 
 and that he could not endure his breath, the envious courtier 
 caused a Tatar pie to be cooked, strongly seasoned with garlic, 
 and invited the favourite to his house. They ate together of the 
 pie, and immediately after went to the court ; on the way thither 
 the envious man warned his "friend" not to approach too near 
 the king because of his garlic-tainted breath. Accordingly the 
 favourite held his sleeve close to his mouth, and stood a little
 
 294 APPENDIX. 
 
 way off. The king naturally thought that this confirmed the 
 report, and gave him a letter to the chief magistrate, telling him 
 at the same time to keep whatever he was offered. The envious 
 man persuaded the favourite to give him the letter, for the sake 
 of the expected present, saying that he should always have the 
 king's countenance. The result of delivering the letter was 
 different from the courtier's expectations ; — its contents were : 
 ' ' Seize him who gives this letter into thy hand, and spare him 
 not, but flay him alive, and stuff his skin with grass, and set it 
 upon the road, that, when I pass, I may see it there." Some 
 days afterwards the king perceives the stuffed skin of the envious 
 courtier, and sends for his former favourite, who explains the 
 whole affair from first to last. 
 
 There are innumerable variants of the story current in India, 
 where, indeed, it had its origin, one of which is a Bengali folk- 
 tale, translated by Mr, C. H. Damant, under the title of "The 
 Minister and the Fool," in the Indian Atttiqimry : The minister, 
 in the course of a journey, meets with the fool, and, being struck 
 with some of his remarks, takes him into his service. One day 
 the raja hears three birds talking together, and requests his 
 minister to inform him what they had been saying. The fool, 
 knowing the speech of birds, gives his master the required 
 information, which he at once communicates to the raja ; but, 
 jealous lest he should learn that it was the fool's wit which had 
 solved his question, he determines to have the fool put to death, 
 and accordingly gives him a sealed letter to the executioner. On 
 his way the fool meets the minister's son, who desires him to 
 pick a nosegay of flowers for him. The fool replies that he 
 will do so immediately after he has delivered the letter ; but the 
 youth would brook no delay, and told him to remain in the 
 garden and pick the flowers, while he himself delivered the mes- 
 sage. When the minister saw the fool in the garden, and learned 
 that his own son had done the fatal errand, he was frantic with 
 grief.
 
 AHMED THE ORPHAN. 295 
 
 A parallel incident is found in the Katha Sarit Sdgara : In the 
 Story of Sundaraka, the king is persuaded by his wife, in order 
 that he may acquire magic power, to consent to practise the 
 horrible rite of eating human flesh. The narrative thus proceeds 
 (Professor Tawney's translation, vol. i, pp. 162-3) : 
 
 "Having made him enter into the circle, previously conse- 
 crated, she said to the king, after he had taken an oath : ' I 
 attempted to draw hither, as a victim, that Brahman named 
 Phalabhuti, who is so intimate with you ; but the drawing him 
 hither is a difficult task : so it is the best way to initiate some 
 cook in our rites, that he may himself slay him and cook him. 
 And you must not feel any compunction about it, because by 
 eating a sacrificial offering of his flesh, after the ceremonies are 
 complete, the enchantment will be perfect, for he is a Brahman 
 of the highest caste.' When his beloved said this to him, the 
 king, though afraid of the sin, consented ; — alas ! terrible is com- 
 pliance with women ! Then that royal couple had the cook 
 summoned, and, after encouraging him, and initiating him, they 
 both said to him : ' Whoever comes to you to-morrow morning 
 and says, "The king and queen will eat together to-day, so get 
 some food ready quickly," him you must slay, and make for us 
 secretly a savoury dish of his flesh. ' The cook consented, and 
 went to his own house. Next morning, when Phalabhuti ar- 
 rived, the king said to him : 'Go and tell the cook in the kitchen, 
 "The king, together with the queen, will eat to-day a savoury 
 mess, therefore prepare as soon as possible a splendid dish. " ' 
 Phalabhuti said: 'I will do so,' and went out. When he was 
 outside, the king's son, whose name was Chandraprabha, came 
 to him, and said : ' Have made for me this very day, with this 
 gold, a pair of ear-rings, like those you had made before for my 
 noble father.' Phalabhuti, in order to please the prince, im- 
 mediately proceeded, as he was ordered, to get the ear-rings 
 made, and the prince went readily with the king's message, 
 which Phalabhuti told him, alone to the kitchen ; and when he
 
 296 APPENDIX. 
 
 delivered the king's message the cook, true to his agreement, at 
 once put him to death with a knife, and made a dish of his flesh, 
 which the king and queen ate, after performing their ceremonies, 
 not knowing the truth. After spending the night in remorse, the 
 next morning the king saw Phalabhuti arrive with the ear-rings 
 in his hand. So being bewildered, he questioned him about the 
 ear-rings immediately ; and when Phalabhuti had told him his 
 story, the king fell on the earth, and cried out : ' Alas, my son ! ' 
 blaming the queen and himself; and when the ministers ques- 
 tioned him, he told them the whole story, and repeated what 
 Phalabhuti had said every day : ' The doer of good will obtain 
 good, and the doer of evil, evil. ' " 
 
 Closely allied to the class of stories above cited is the 20th 
 chapter of Swan's Gesta Romanomm: A king, belated while 
 hunting, takes shelter for the night in the hut of an exiled 
 courtier, whom he does not recognise. During the night the 
 count's wife gives birth to a tine boy, upon which the king hears 
 a voice telling him that the child just born should be his son-in- 
 law. In the morning the king orders his squires to take the 
 infant from his mother and destroy him ; but, moved to compas- 
 sion, they place it upon the branches of a tree, to secure it from 
 wild beasts, and then kill a hare, and convey its heart to the 
 king. A duke, passing through the forest, hears the cries of a 
 child, and, discovering it, wraps it in the folds of his cloak, and 
 takes it to his wife to bring up. In course of time, when the 
 child is grown a handsome youth, the king suspects him to be 
 the same who was predicted to be his son-in-law, and despatches 
 him with a letter to the queen, commanding her to put the bearer 
 to death. On his way he goes into a chapel, and there having 
 fallen asleep, a priest, seeing the letter suspended from his girdle, 
 has the curiosity to open it ; and after reading the intended 
 wickedness, he alters the purport thus: "Give the youth our 
 daughter in marriage," which the queen does accordingly. 
 
 Dr. Dasent, in his Popular Tales from the Norse, gives a
 
 AHMED THE ORPHAN. 297 
 
 variant of this under the title of " Rich Peter the Pedlar;" and 
 Dr. A. C. Fryer presents similar incidents in the iirst story of 
 his charming little work, recently published, English Fairy Tales 
 from the North Country, in which a beautiful maiden takes the 
 place of the miller's son, and a sorcerer knight that of Peter 
 the Pedlar. — Professor Tawney has pointed out, in the Indian 
 Antiquary, the exact resemblance which a story in the Kathdkosa 
 bears to the Norse tale : A merchant named Sagarapota, of the 
 town of Rajagriha, hearing it prophesied that a young beggar 
 named Damannaka (he was, however, the son of a merchant 
 who had died of the plague) would inherit all his property, 
 makes Damannaka over to a Chandala to be killed. The 
 Chandala, instead of killing him, cuts off his little finger, and 
 Damannaka, having thus escaped death, is adopted by the 
 merchant's cowherd. In the course of time the merchant 
 recognises Damannaka. In order to insure his being put out 
 of the way, he sends him with a letter to his son Samudra- 
 datta. But when Damannaka reaches the outskirts of the town 
 of Rajagriha he feels fatigued, and falls asleep in the temple. 
 Meanwhile the daughter of that very merchant, named Visha, 
 came to the temple to worship the divinity. "She beheld 
 Damannaka with the large eyes and the broad chest." Her 
 father's handwriting then caught her eye, and she proceeded to 
 read the letter. In it she read the following distich : 
 
 Before this man has washed his feet, do thou with speed 
 Give him poison [visham^ and free my heart from anxietj-. 
 
 The lady immediately concluded that she herself (Visha) was to 
 be given to the handsome youth, and that her father had in his 
 hurry made a slight mistake in orthography. She, therefore, 
 makes the necessary correction, and replaces the letter. Samu- 
 dradatta carries out his father's orders, and the merchant returns 
 to Rajagriha to find Damannaka married to his daughter Visha. 
 The termination of the story is the same as that of Phalabhuti
 
 298 APPENDIX. 
 
 [see p. 296] and its European parallels, the tales of Fulgentius, 
 Fridolin, etc. The merchant Sagarapota arranges a second 
 time to kill Damannaka, whom he will send to the temple of 
 the goddess of the city. But, as the bridegroom and bride are 
 going to the temple of the goddess, Samudradatta, the son of 
 the merchant Sagarapota, meets them, and insists on performing 
 the worship in their stead. " Having taken the articles for 
 offering, Samudradatta went off, and as he was entering the 
 temple of the goddess, he was despatched by Khadgila, who 
 had gone there before." 
 
 The incident of a person being made the unconscious bearer of 
 his own death-warrant is as old at least as the Biblical story 
 of King David and Uriah ; while classical legend furnishes a 
 familiar example in the tale of Bellerophon ; and another 
 instance (not so well known) is found in Arabian tradition, 
 in the story of the celebrated pre-Islamite poets Tarafa and 
 Mutalammis, who, having offended the King of Hira, by com- 
 posing satires upon his drunken habits, were sent by him with 
 letters to the govenor of Bahrayn, ordering him to put the bearers 
 to death ; — Mutalammis having learned the nature of the missive 
 he carried destroyed it, and urged his friend to turn back with 
 him, but Tarafa declined to do so, and continued his fatal 
 journey.— But in these tales, Western and Eastern, which I 
 have cited, there is the same fundamental outline — the same 
 sequence of identical incidents, which indicate, without any 
 possibility of doubt, that they have all been derived from a 
 common source. 
 
 No. XXV— p. 154. 
 
 The Drop of Honey. 
 
 A SOMEWHAT analogous story to this occurs in the Ottoman 
 
 romance of the Forty Vazirs ; it is related by the 30th vazir, and 
 
 Mr. E. J. W. Gibb has translated it as follows :
 
 THE CHANGED SEX. 299 
 
 How T7V0 Tribes went to War hecmise of a Goat. 
 
 An Arab of the tribe of BenI 'Aqil took a goat to a city with 
 the purpose of selling it. An Arab of the tribe of BenI Nefir 
 wished to buy that goat. The owner of the goat wanted eight 
 baghdadas as the price ; the purchaser offered six. The owner 
 of the goat swore he would divorce his wife if he gave it for an 
 aspre less than eight baghdadas. And the purchaser swore he 
 would divorce his wife if he gave an aspre more than six. Then 
 the two of them began to quarrel. The Arab who wished to 
 buy took up a stone and threw it at the owner of the goat ; it hit 
 his head, which smashed like a rotten gourd. His kinsfolk heard 
 this, and they came and smote that other man, and killed the 
 killer. As a man of each tribe had been slain, they fell one upon 
 another. Every one came on his horse, with his arms, to the 
 field, and they began to fight with each other, so that hills of 
 slain arose, and blood flowed in streams. At length the tribe 
 of Ben! 'Aqil was victorious and put to flight the tribe of Beni 
 Nefir. That tribe went to the Prince of the Abyssinians and 
 asked help. So the Prince of Abyssinia gave them 200 horse- 
 men, and the Nefir prince again fell upon the 'Aqil prince, and 
 they began to fight with one another. At length the fortune of 
 the 'Aqil prince was changed into disaster, and the Beni Nefir 
 army returned with victory and triumph. 
 
 Feuds, often originating in trifles, are still common among the 
 
 desert Arabs, and this story is probably of Arabian invention, if 
 
 not the narrative of an actual occurrence. 
 
 No. XXVI— p. 156. 
 
 The Changed Sex. 
 
 It is unfortunate that a laama in the Persian MS. text (see p. 80 
 
 of the present volume) deprives us of the whole of this story, since 
 
 it probably represented a version nearer to the original than that
 
 300 APPENDIX. 
 
 found in Syntipas, which is very confused towards the conclusion : 
 after the transformation, the prince meets with a peasant, who 
 agrees to become a woman in his place, on condition that his 
 proper sex be restored to him at the end of four months; the 
 prince then proceeds to the court of his intended father-in-law, 
 marries the princess, and contrives to evade the fulfilment of his 
 promise to the peasant. — In the Libra de los Engannos the story 
 is similarly garbled, a "devil" taking the place of the rustic. — In 
 the Mishit- Sandabar, the prince, after his transfonnation, passes 
 the night near the enchanted fountain ; in the morning he meets 
 in the forest a troop of girls, to whom he discloses his rank and 
 present misfortune, and they direct him to the other fountain. — 
 There can be little doubt, I think, that the Arabian version has 
 better preserved the original form of the story, though, strangely 
 enough, nothing is said of the punishment of the treacherous 
 
 The idea of enchanted fountains whose waters produced re- 
 markable moral or physical transformations in such as drank of 
 or bathed in them is very ancient, and was probably borrowed 
 from classical legends by the mediceval romancists. In chap, xiv 
 of the Gesta Romanoriim, a king leaves his daughter in the care 
 of his secretary, who is warned not to allow her to drink of a 
 certain fountain that affected all who drank of it with leprosy. 
 The princess, in spite of all precautions, contrives to reach this 
 fountain, and immediately after drinking of it becomes a leper. 
 In dismay the secretary seeks advice of a holy man, who directs 
 him to a mountain, where he will find a peculiar kind of stone, 
 and a rod. He is to strike the stone with the rod until moisture 
 exudes from it, then smear the affected parts of the damsel's 
 body with the liquid, and she will be restored to health and 
 beauty. 
 
 According to the classical legend, there were two springs in 
 Bosotia, of which one was believed to increase, the other to take
 
 THE CHANGED SEX. 3° I 
 
 away, the memory. Cupid's two arrows— one of gold, which 
 created love, the other of lead, which instilled hate— may have 
 suggested the idea of the two fountains in Claudian's picture of 
 the gardens of Venus (Dc Niipt. Honor, d Mar, 1. 69) : 
 
 Two fountains glitter in the solar beam ; 
 This spouts a sweet, and that a bitter, stream, 
 Where Cupid dips his darts, as poets dream— 
 
 which again seems to have been imitated by Ariosto, in the 
 Orlando Furioso (c. i, st. 77, 78) : 
 
 Then, as at hazard, she directs her sight, 
 Sounding in arms, a man on foot she spies. 
 And glows with sudden anger and despite ; 
 For she the son of Aymon eyes. 
 Her more than life esteems the youthful knight. 
 While she from him, like crane from falcon, flies- 
 Time was the lady sighed, her passion slighted ; 
 Tis now Rinaldo loves, as ill requited. 
 And this effect two different fountains wrought. 
 Whose wondrous waters different moods inspire. 
 Both sprang in Arden, with rare virtue fraught : 
 This fills the heart with amorous desire ; 
 Who taste that other fountain were untaught 
 Their love, and change for ice their former fire. 
 Rinaldo drank the first, and vainly sighs ; 
 Angelica the last, and hates and flies.' 
 
 So, too, in Berni's Innamorato, there are the Fountains of Love 
 and of' Disdain.— In the old Spanish romance of Diana, by 
 Montemayor, we are told of a fountain that possessed at once 
 the qualities of inspiring love and producing indifference : The 
 priestess of Diana, who knew by inspiration all the misfortunes 
 of her guests, and had traced in her mind a plan for their future 
 happiness, conducted them to the interior of the temple, and 
 filled three cups from an enchanted stream. This beverage 
 having been quaifed by Se reno, Sylvanus, and Sylvania, they 
 1 Rose's translation, and note on passage.
 
 302 APPENDIX. 
 
 instantly fell into a profound sleep, in which they remained for a 
 considerable time. Sereno awoke in a state of the most perfect 
 indifference for his once much loved Diana, while Sylvanus and 
 Sylvania, forgetting their former attachments, arose deeply enam- 
 oured of each other, and employed the most ardent expressions 
 of affection.^ 
 
 But more closely resembling the enchanted springs of our tale 
 of the Transformed Prince are the magical streams in the Hindu 
 romance of Somasekhara and Chitrasekhara,- which recounts the 
 adventures of two princes, one of whom meets a monkey, who, in 
 his gambols, plunges into a pool, and comes out a man; then 
 leaping into another popl, issues a monkey as before. And in 
 the Indian collection, Sinhdsana Dwatrinsati, Thirty-two Tales 
 of a Throne, we read of a magical well which transforms a 
 monkey into a woman, whenever a certain pious hermit comes 
 to converse with her, and again into a monkey before he 
 retires.^ In the Tuti Ndma (35th Night of India Office MS. 
 No. 2573 ; tale 23 of Kaderi's abridgment), a Brahman, in love 
 with the daughter of the king of Babylon, receives from a magi- 
 cian a globule, which, put into the mouth, instantly changes a 
 man into a woman, and he is thus enabled to gain access to the 
 damsel. In the Turkish Tilti Ndma, a sorceress takes the place 
 of the magician, and gives the enamoured youth a seal instead 
 of a globule. But this story is found in a much older work, 
 the Vetdla Panchavinsati, 15th tale. 
 
 1 Dunlop's History 0/ Fictio?t, 4th Ed., p. 332.— Some of the most in- 
 teresting scenes in Shakspeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, Dunlop 
 remarks, seem to have heen suggested by the transference of love occa- 
 sioned by the potion of the priestess. 
 
 - Wilson's Catalogue of the Mackenzie Collection, vol. i, p. 51. 
 
 •' I am indebted for a loan of a manuscript translation of this collection 
 to the courtesy of Mr. F. F. Arbuthnot, author of a very interesting little 
 work, Early Ideas: a Group of Hindoo Stories, by Anaryan (Allen & Co., 
 London), which contains a compendious account, with specimens, of the 
 most important Indian romances.
 
 THE GOLDSMITH AND THE" SINGING GIRL. 303 
 
 No. XXVII— p. 166. 
 The Goldsmith and the Singing Girl. 
 Eastern fiction presents numerous instances of princes becoming 
 enamoured of the portraits of beautiful women ; — in the Kathd 
 Sarit Sdgara occur two examples: the story of the handsome 
 King Prithvirupa (Tawney's translation, vol. i, p. 490), and the 
 story of Sundarasena and MandaravatI (vol. ii, p. 370). In 
 Gomberville's romance of Polexandre the African prince Abdu-'l- 
 Malik falls in love with the portrait of Alcidiana, and a similar 
 incident is found in the romance of Agesilaus of Colchos. The 
 notion, nevertheless, is undoubtedly of Oriental origin. 
 
 Our story of the Goldsmith is an Arabian variant of a tale in 
 the Dasa Kumara Charita, Adventures of Ten Princes, a most 
 entertaining romance, in Sanskrit, by Dandin, of the 6th century, 
 according to Dr. Albrecht Weber. ^ The following translation of 
 this tale, by Dr. H. H. Wilson, is taken from the Oriental 
 Quarterly Magazine, of Calcutta, 1828, where it first appeared : 
 
 Story of Nitambavati. 
 In Surasena is a city called Mathura, where dwelt a youth 
 of family, who was addicted to loose pleasures and to vicious 
 society, and, being a lad of spirit, he was so often entangled 
 in broils that he was called Kalaha Kataka. One day he saw, 
 in a painter's possession, the picture of a girl, with whose charms 
 he became violently enamoured. After some solicitation, he 
 prevailed on the painter to tell him who the original was, and 
 having learnt that she was the wife of Anantakirtti, a merchant 
 of Ujjayni, and her name Nitambavati, set off in the disguise of 
 a mendicant for that city. Having got access to the house, 
 under pretence of soliciting alms, he obtained a sight of the 
 lady, and found her still more fascinating than her picture. 
 
 ' History of Indian LiteraUere, by Albrecht Weber (London, 1878), 
 p. 213, note. — This work is singular among the Sanslcrit romances in being 
 written in prose.
 
 304 APPENDIX. 
 
 With a view to effect his projects, he solicited and obtained 
 the care of the cemetery, and wth the clothes of the dead he 
 attached to his interests a female Sramanika, or Buddha devotee. 
 This woman he employed to convey a message from him to 
 Nitambavati, inviting her to come and see him, to which she sent 
 back an angry and indignant reply. He was not discouraged, but 
 desired his messenger to return to the merchant's wife, and say to 
 her, as from himself: "Persons like us, who are fully acquainted 
 with the insufficiency of life, and only desirous of final emancipa- 
 tion, cannot be suspected of entertaining any purpose adverse to 
 the reputation of a woman of respectability. The message I lately 
 conveyed to you I only intended to try your merit, as I was 
 afraid such youth and beauty could scarcely be satisfied wHh a 
 man so advanced in years as your husband. I was mistaken, 
 and the result has so much pleased me that I am anxious to 
 confer upon you a proof of my esteem. I should wish to see 
 you a mother, but the planet under which your husband was 
 born has hitherto opposed it. The evil influence, however, may 
 be counteracted if you will be content to assist. Accompany 
 me to a grove at night, where I will bring you a seer versed in 
 incantations. You must put your foot in his hand whilst he 
 conveys into it his charms ; then, as if angry, kick your husband 
 in the breast, when the evil influence will be expelled, and you 
 will be blessed with progeny, and your husband will venerate 
 you as a goddess : there is nothing to be afraid of." 
 
 Nitambavati, with some little difficulty, consented, and, being 
 apprised of her intentions, the false saint awaited her at the 
 appointed place. She came as was directed, and put her foot 
 into his hand; he pretended to rub it, muttering imaginary 
 charms all the time, until he had taken off her golden anklet, 
 when, making a sudden cut at her thigh with a knife, which he 
 had covertly prepared, he inflicted a gash in the upper part of 
 it, and then quickly withdrew. Nitambavati, full of pain and 
 terror, and reviling herself for her own folly, and ready to kill
 
 THE GOLDSMITH AND THE SINGING GIRL. 305 
 
 the Sramanika for having exposed her to such peril, returned 
 home, and, privately dressing her wound, kept her bed for 
 some days. 
 
 The rogue in the meantime offei;ed the anklet to Anantakritti 
 for sale ; he knew it to be that of his wife, and inquired how the 
 vendor had come by it ; he refused to tell, and the merchant 
 threatened him with punishment, on which Kalaha Kataka 
 professed himself ready to communicate the truth to the guild 
 (or committee of merchants). He was accordingly taken before 
 them, when he desired the merchant to send for his wife's 
 anklets. She replied that she had lost one of them ; it was 
 large, and had slipped off, but she forwarded the other. The 
 anklet in the possession of the supposed mendicant, being com- 
 pared with this, was found to correspond, and there remained 
 no doubt of their owner. The ascetic, being then questioned 
 as to the circumstances under which he had gained possession of 
 it, replied as follows : 
 
 "You are aware, gentlemen, that I was employed to take 
 charge of the graves of the deceased. As some people wished 
 to deprive me of my fees by burning the bodies by night, I kept 
 watch at all hours. Last night, I saw a dark-complexioned 
 woman dragging the half-burnt fragments of a dead body from 
 the funeral-pile, when, to punish her horrible design, I made a 
 cut at her with my knife, and wounded one of her thighs, as she 
 turned to escape : she ran off, however, dropping one of her 
 anklets as she fled, and I thus became possessed of it. " 
 
 The account thus given inspired all the auditors with horror. 
 Nitambavati was unanimously pronounced a sakini, or witch. 
 She was turned out of his house by her husband, and rejected 
 with abhorrence by all the citizens. In this distress she repaired 
 to the cemetery, where she was in the act of putting a period to 
 her existence, when she was prevented by her lover. He threw 
 himself at her feet, and told her that, unable to live without 
 her, he had adopted this contrivance to obtain her person, and 
 
 U
 
 3o6 APPENDIX. 
 
 entreated her to rely upon the fervour and faithfulness of his 
 regard. His entreaties and protestations were at last successful, 
 combined with the consciousness of her helpless situation, and 
 Nitambavati rewarded his ingenuity with her affection. 
 
 A considerably different form of the story is found in the 
 Vetdla Panchavinsati , Twenty-live Tales of a Demon, namely, 
 that of 
 
 The Minister's Son, 
 of which the commencement has already been given in p. 249. 
 The prince having gained entrance into the house of his beloved 
 Padmavati, in the way she had indicated by signs to the old 
 go-between, he marries her by the Gandharva form (in which 
 the consent of parents is dispensed with), and, after passing 
 some time happily in her society, visits his friend the minister's 
 son, who is still lodging with the go-between. While the prince 
 is there, a great outcry is heard in the streets, that the raja's son 
 had disappeared ; upon which the minister's son details to him 
 a cunning plan for carrying off the damsel to their own country, 
 which he consents to adopt. Accordingly the prince returned to 
 Padmavati, and when she was sound asleep he marked her on 
 the hip with an iron spike which he had brought with him for 
 the purpose, and, taking her ornaments, quitted the house and 
 rejoined his friend. Next morning the minister's son went to 
 the cemetery, and there disguised himself as an ascetic ; and, 
 having made the prince assume the garb of a disciple, he said 
 to him: "Take this necklace, which is part of this set of orna- 
 ments, and offer it for sale in the market, but ask a high price 
 for it, so that it may attract attention; and should the police 
 arrest you, say, 'My spiritual preceptor gave it me to sell.'" 
 The pretended disciple is arrested by the police (who had been 
 informed of the lady's loss), and answering them as he had 
 been instructed, the sham devotee is at once sent for. On 
 being asked how the necklace came into his possession, he
 
 THE GOLDSMITH AND THE SINGING GIRL. 3°7 
 
 replied : " I am an ascetic, in the habit of constantly wandering 
 in the forest, and as I was by chance in the cemetery at night, 
 I saw a company of witches collected from different quarters. 
 And one of them brought the prince, with the lotus of his heart 
 laid bare, and offered him to [the god] Bhairava. And the 
 witch, who possessed great powers of delusion, being drunk, 
 tried to take away my rosary while I was reciting my prayers, 
 making horrible contortions with her face. And, as she carried 
 the attempt too far, I got angry, and marked her on the loins 
 with my trident ;i and then I took this necklace from her neck, 
 which I must now sell, as it does not suit an ascetic." — The 
 magistrate informed the king of this extraordinary affair, and he 
 concluded that it must be the pearl necklace which the dentist's 
 daughter had lost ; so he sent a trusty old woman to see if she 
 was really marked on the loins. When this was ascertained, the 
 king consulted the pretended ascetic as to how Padmavati should 
 be punished, and by his advice she was banished from the city. 
 "In the evening the minister's son and the prince rode out of 
 the city, and found Padmavati lamenting; then they mounted 
 her upon a horse, and took her to their own country, where the 
 prince lived happily with her. " 
 
 It seems strange that a prince should have required to employ 
 so many artifices to obtain a dentist's daughter for his wife. The 
 exact meaning of the Sanskrit word which Tawney has rendered 
 "dentist," namely, dantaghataka, appears to be doubtful; and 
 the name of the lady's father, Sangramavardhana, having, as 
 Tawney remarks, "a warlike sound," perhaps he may have 
 been, as he is represented in the Hindi version (Baital Pachisi), 
 a powerful raja. 
 
 The original story may very possibly date centuries before our 
 era. In all the three versions, the Goldsmith, Nitambavati, and 
 
 ' The trident, or three-pronged fork ; the weapon is peculiar to the god 
 Siva, of whom the disguised son of the minister pretended to be a votary.
 
 3o8 APPENDIX. 
 
 the Minister's Son, the catastrophe is the same — the stealing 
 of the ornaments, the wounding of the girl, and the charge of 
 witch-craft, although differently brought about in each. The 
 first and the third are alike in this respect : the youth gains 
 entrance to the girl's chamber by means of a rope, and she is 
 wounded and robbed while asleep. The incident of the portrait 
 occurs only in the first and the second. We must therefore con- 
 clude that the Arabian translator derived the materials of his 
 story from a version — perhaps Persian — combining incidents of 
 both the Hindia tales. 
 
 No. XXVIII— p. 170. 
 The Forbidden Doors; or. Curiosity. 
 It is a peculiarity of Fairyland that there are certain rooms 
 which the fortunate mortal who has entered the enchanted 
 palace is expressly forbidden to enter, or doors which he must 
 on no account open, or cabinets which he must not unlock, if he 
 would continue in his present state of felicity. This story of the 
 Young Man who was taken to the Land of Women bears a very 
 close resemblance to that of the Third Royal Mendicant in the 
 Thousand and One Nights, but it is perhaps better told, at least 
 in some texts of the Seven VazFrs. Both may be compared with 
 the Story of Saktideva in the Kathd Sarit Sagara (vol. i, p. 223 
 of Tawney's translation, now in course of publication at Calcutta): 
 Saktideva is conveyed by a monstrous bird — one of the race of 
 Garuda, the bird of Vishnu, and the prototype of the "Roc" 
 of the Arabian Tales — to the Golden City, the residence of 
 female Vidyadharas (a species of fairies), the queen of whom 
 welcomes him as her husband. Having occasion to leave him 
 for a time, the queen gives him strict charge not to ascend to the 
 middle terrace of the palace. But, impelled by curiosity, he goes 
 there, and sees much to marvel at, and coming to a lake discovers 
 by the side of it a horse witli a jewelled saddle. Saktideva ap-
 
 THE FORBIDDEN DOORS. 309 
 
 proaches to mount him, but the steed kicks him into the lake, 
 and on his rising to the surface he finds himself standing in the 
 middle of a garden pond in his native city. 
 
 Fairyland has, among its numerous marvels, subaqueous halls 
 of dazzling light, as we find from the following tale in the Hito- 
 padcsa, in which there is also a forbidden thing to tempt curiosity 
 (ch. ii, fab. 6 — Johnson's translation): 
 
 TJie Queen of the Fairies. 
 One day, as I was in the pleasure-garden, I heard from a 
 voyaging merchant that, on the fourteenth day of the month, in 
 the midst of the sea which was near, beneath what had the 
 appearance of a kalpa-tree, there was to be seen, seated on a 
 couch variegated with the lustre of strings of jewels, a certain 
 damsel, as it were the goddess Lakshmi, bedecked with all kinds 
 of ornaments, and playing on a lute. I therefore took the 
 voyaging merchant, and, having embarked in a ship, went to 
 the place specified. On reaching the spot, I saw her exactly as 
 she had been described ; and, allured by her exquisite beauty, I 
 leaped after her into the sea. In an instant I reached a golden 
 city ; where, in a palace of gold, I saw her reclining on a 
 couch, and waited upon by youthful sylphs. When she perceived 
 me at a distance, she sent a female friend, who addressed me 
 courteously. On my inquiry, her friend said : " That is Ratna- 
 manjari, the daughter of Kandarpakeli, king of the Vidyadharas. 
 She has made a vow to this effect : 'Whosoever shall come and 
 see the city of gold with his own eyes shall marry me. ' " Accord- 
 ingly I married her by that form of marriage called Gandharva : 
 after the conclusion of which I remained there a long while 
 delighted with her. One day she said to me in private : ' ' My 
 beloved husband, all these things may be freely enjoyed ; but 
 that picture of the fairy Swarnarekha must never be touched. " 
 Some time afterwards, my curiosity being excited, I touched 
 Swarnarekha with my hand. For so doing, I was spurned by
 
 3IO APPENDIX. 
 
 her although only a picture, with her foot beautiful as the lotus, 
 and found myself alighted in my own country. Since then I 
 have been a miserable wanderer over the earth. 
 
 Subaqueous halls and forbidden rooms, doors, or other objects 
 are common to the popular fictions of almost every country of 
 Europe and Asia. Those gifted ones who can discover " a rich 
 truth in a tale's pretence " may perhaps be disposed to regard 
 stories of forbidden rooms as distorted versions of the Fall of 
 Man : it is just possible, however, that their conception is due 
 to hashish, or some other narcotic which constitutes the Paradise 
 of Fools ! 
 
 No. XXIX— p. 178. 
 The Lover in the Chest, 
 Doubtless a chest has been frequently found very convenient 
 for concealing a gallant or for conveying him to his mistress ; 
 however this may be, or have been, it is a common expedient in 
 tales of intrigue, Western as well as Eastern. In the Norse tale 
 of Big Peter and Little Peter, a woman hides her lover, a priest, 
 in a big chest on hearing her husband's knock at the door. 
 Similar instances abound in the early Italian novels; and in 
 Balzac's Co7ites Drolatiques, one of the canon's nephews (story 
 of the Devil's Heir) tells him how he carries on an intrigue with 
 the wife of a jeweller, by being shut up every night in a chest, 
 to which she goes, under pretence of getting some medicine. 
 
 The story of the Lover in the Chest is in some versions of the 
 Seven VazTrs followed by another, also told by the Damsel : 
 
 The Slave-Boy 70/10 pretended to knoio the Language 
 of Birds. 
 
 A young slave, learning that his master and his wife were to 
 spend the morrow in a suburban garden, went secretly there,
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 
 
 and buried beneath three trees some fruit, comfits, and wine. 
 The husband sent his wife, escorted by the young slave, before 
 him to the garden, promising to join her in a short time. As the 
 lady and the slave were walking up and down the garden, a 
 crow, sitting on a tree, croaked, upon which the young slave 
 exclaimed : "Thou sayest truly." His mistress asked him what 
 he meant by such a remark, and he replied that the bird had 
 said there was some fruit at the foot of such a tree. She desired 
 him to search, and he produced the fruit ; and, in like manner, 
 when the bird croaked a second and a third time, the comfits 
 and wine were unearthed, with which they regaled themselves. 
 After this, the crow again croaked, and the slave- boy, pretend- 
 ing to be angry and shamefaced, threw a stone at it. The lady 
 rebuking him for his ingratitude to a bird that had provided 
 them with such good things, the slave-boy replied that it had 
 made a very improper suggestion to him. She insists upon 
 knowing what it was the bird had said this time, and after much 
 seeming reluctance he told her, when, to his great delight, she 
 very cordially approved of the bird's suggestion, but just at this 
 moment the husband made his appearance — and so the story 
 ends, lamely enough. 
 
 No. XXX— p. i8l. 
 The Lady and her Suitors. 
 An imperfect MS. text of the Thousand and One Nights pre- 
 served in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, ^ has two different 
 versions of this story, namely. Nights 726-728, the Lady of 
 Cairo and her Three Gallants, and. Nights 738-743, the Lady 
 of Cairo and her Four Suitors. This text does not appear to 
 
 ' This MS. was brought from Constantinople by Wortley Montagu, at 
 the sale of whose collection it was purchased by Professor White, of 
 Oxford, who transferred it to Dr. Jonathan Scott, from whom it was pur- 
 chased for the Bodleian Library.
 
 312 APPENDIX. 
 
 contain the Seven FazTrs, unless it was in the missing portion, 
 Nights 167-305. Of the first version I know nothing, but pre- 
 sume it is somewhat simihar to that in the present volume, since 
 Scott has selected, in vol. vi of his edition of the Arabimi Nights, 
 the second for translation, though he had to suppress parts of it. 
 In this version the lady — unlike the heroine of our tale — is 
 described as virtuous. Her lovers are the judge, the collector- 
 general of port-duties, the chief of the butchers, and a rich 
 merchant. She informs her husband of her plan to punish 
 them, and at the same time reap some profit. The judge comes 
 first, and presents her with a rosary of pearls. She makes him 
 undress, and put on a robe of yellow muslin and a parti- 
 coloured cap — her husband all the while looking at them through 
 an opening in the door of a closet. Presently there is heard a 
 loud knock at the street door, and, on the pretence that it is her 
 husband, the judge is pushed into an adjoining room. The three 
 other suitors, as they successively arrive, bring each also a valu- 
 able present, and are treated in the same manner. The husband 
 now enters, and his wife tells him — to the consternation, no 
 doubt, of the imprisoned suitors — that in returning from the 
 bazaar that day she had met with four antic fellows, whom she 
 had a great mind to bring home with her for his amusement. 
 He affects to be vexed that she had not done so, since he must 
 go from home to-morrow. The lady then says that they are, 
 after all, in the next room, upon which the husband insists on 
 their being brought before him, one after another. So the judge 
 is dragged forth in his absurd attire, and compelled to dance and 
 caper like a buffoon, after which he is made to tell a story, which 
 bears a curious resemblance to the Turkish tale in the Forty 
 Vaztrs included in our illustrations of Women's Wiles — see page 
 261; only in place of a king we have here an officer, and instead 
 of a real lover concealed in a chest, it is a conceited tailor who 
 has fallen in love with the lady, whom she thus punishes with 
 fri"ht, by first arousing and then doing away her husband's
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. S^S 
 
 jealousy. — The judge, having told his story, is dismissed. The 
 three other suitors go through the same performance, but their 
 stories (albeit told in presence of the "virtuous" lady) Scott 
 found to be unfit for translation. 
 
 In the Persian tales ascribed to a dervish of Ispahan, Arouya, 
 the virtuous wife of a merchant, entraps, also with her husband's 
 sanction, a qazi, a doctor, and the city governor. And in the 
 Bahdr-i Danish, a lady named Gohera, whose husband is in 
 the hands of the police, makes assignations with the kutwal 
 (police magistrate) and the qazi, one of whom is entrapped in 
 a large jar, the other in a chest, and next morning she causes 
 porters to carry them before the sultan, who orders them to be 
 punished and her husband to be set at liberty. 
 
 In various parts of India the story seems to be very popular, 
 Mr. G. H. Damant has published, in the Indian Antiquary, 
 1873, a translation of a folk-tale of Dinajpur, entitled "The 
 Touchstone," in the concluding portion of which a young woman 
 consents to receive at her house the kutwal at the first watch of 
 the night ; the king's counsellor at the second watch ; the king's 
 minister at the third watch ; and the king himself at the fourth 
 watch. She smears the kutwal with molasses, pours water on 
 him, covers his whole body with cotton wool, and then secures 
 him close to the window. The counsellor is hidden under a 
 mat ; the minister, behind a bamboo screen ; and when the king 
 comes, last of all, and sees the frightful figure of the kutwal in 
 the window, he asks what it is, and she replies that it is a 
 rakshasa, upon which king, minister, and counsellor flee from 
 the house in dread of the monster. The kutwal is then released 
 and makes the best of his way home in his hideous condition. 
 (Mr. Damant gives a Bengali variant in the Indian Antiquary, 
 1880, in the story of Adi's Wife, who entraps the kutwal, the 
 nazir, the vazir, and the king in a wardrobe. ) 
 
 In Miss Stokes' amusing Indian Fairy Tales (No. 28), a mer- 
 chant's clever wife, during his absence, takes four hanks of thread
 
 314 APPENDIX. 
 
 to the market to sell, and is accosted, in turn, by the kutwal, 
 the vazir, the qazi, and the king, to each of whom she grants an 
 interview at her house, at different hours, and contrives to entrap 
 them into chests. In the morning she hires four stout coolies, 
 who take the chests on their backs, and proceeding to the houses 
 of her suitors, disposes of them to their sons for various sums 
 of money, telling each that the chest contained something he 
 would value far beyond the sum she asked. 
 
 The oldest extant form of this wide-spread tale is found in the 
 Katha Sarit Sdgara, of which the following is a translation, by 
 Dr. H. H. Wilson: 
 
 Upakosd and her Four Lovers. 
 
 Whilst I was absent, my wife, who performed with pious 
 exactitude her ablutions in the Ganges, attracted the notice and 
 desires of several suitors, especially of the king's domestic priest, 
 the commander of the guard, and the young prince's preceptor, 
 who annoyed her by their importunities, till at last she deter- 
 mined to expose and punish their depravity. Having fixed upon 
 the plan, she made an appointment for the same evening with 
 her three lovers, each being to come to her house an hour later 
 than the other. Being desirous of propitiating the gods, she 
 sent for our banker to obtain money to distribute in alms ; and 
 when he arrived he expressed the same passion as the rest, on 
 her compliance with which he promised to make over to her the 
 money that I had placed in his hands ; or, on her refusal, he 
 would retain it to his own use. Apprehending the loss of our 
 property, therefore, she made a similar assignation with him, 
 and desired him to come to her house that evening at an hour 
 when she calculated on having disposed of the first comers, for 
 whose reception, as well as for his, she arranged with her 
 attendants the necessary preparations. 
 
 At the expiration of the first watch of the night, the preceptor 
 of the prince arrived. Upakosa affected to receive him with great
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 315 
 
 delight ; and after some conversation, desired him to take a bath, 
 which her attendants had prepared for him, as a prehminary to 
 any further intimacy. The preceptor made not the shghtest 
 objection, on which he was conducted into a retired and dark 
 chamber, where his bath was made ready. On undressing, his 
 own clothes and ornaments were removed, and, in their place, a 
 small wrapper given to him, which was a piece of cloth smeared 
 with a mixture of oil, lamp-black, and perfumes. Similar cloths 
 were employed to rub him after bathing, so that he was of a 
 perfect ebon colour from top to toe. The rubbing occupied all 
 the time till the second lover (the priest) arrived, on which the 
 women exclaimed : "Here is our master's most particular friend ! 
 — in, in here, or all will be discovered, " and hurrying their victim 
 away, they thrust him into a long and stout wicker basket, 
 fastened well by a bolt outside, ^ in which they left him to 
 meditate upon his mistress. 
 
 The priest and the commander of the guard were secured, as 
 they arrived, in a similar manner, and it only remained to 
 dispose of the banker. When he made his appearance, Upakosa, 
 leading him near the baskets, said aloud: "You promise to 
 deliver me my husband's property?" And he replied: "The 
 wealth your husband entrusted to me shall be yours. " On which 
 she turned towards the baskets, and said: " Let the gods hear 
 the promise of Hiranygupta ! " The bath was then proposed 
 to the banker. Before the ceremony was completed the day 
 began to dawn, on which the servants desired him to make the 
 best of his way home, lest the neighbours should notice his 
 departure ; and with this recommendation they forced him, 
 naked as he was, into the street. Having no alternative, the 
 banker hastened to conceal himself in his own house, being 
 chased all the way by the dogs of the town. 
 
 So soon as it was day, Upakosa repaired to the palace of 
 
 ' In Professor Tawney's translation the lady gets a large trunk made, 
 with a fastening outside, in which her lovers are entrapped.
 
 3l6 APPENDIX. 
 
 Nanda, and presented a petition to the king against the banker, 
 for seeking to appropriate the property entrusted to him by her 
 husband. The banker was summoned. He denied having ever 
 received any money from me. Upakosa then said : " When my 
 husband went away, he placed our household gods in three 
 baskets ; they have heard this man acknowledge his holding a 
 deposit of my husband's, and let them bear witness for me." 
 The king, with some feeling of surprise and incredulity, ordered 
 the baskets to be sent for, and they were accordingly produced 
 in the open court. Upakosa then addressed them: "Speak, 
 gods, and declare what you overheard this banker say in our 
 dwelling. If you are silent, I will unhouse you in this presence. " 
 Afraid of this menaced exposure, the tenants of the baskets im- 
 mediately exclaimed: "Verily, in our presence the banker 
 acknowledged possession of your wealth." On hearing these 
 words, the whole court was filled with surprise, and the banker, 
 terrified out of his senses, acknowledged the debt, and promised 
 restitution. 
 
 The business being adjusted, the king expressed his curiosity 
 to see the household divinities of Upakosa, and she very readily 
 complied with his wish. The baskets being opened, the culprits 
 were dragged forth by the attendants, like so many lumps of 
 darkness. Being presently recognised, they were overwhelmed 
 with the laughter and derision of all the assembly. As soon as 
 the merriment had subsided. King Nanda begged Upakosa to 
 explain what it all meant, and she acquainted him with what 
 had occurred. King Nanda was highly incensed, and, as the 
 punishment of their offence, banished the criminals from the 
 kingdom. He was equally pleased with the virtue and ingenuity 
 of my wife, and loaded her with wealth and honour. Her family 
 likewise were highly gratified by her conduct, and she obtained 
 the admiration and esteem of the whole city. ^ 
 
 ' The device of the virtuous Devasmita, in punishing the four young 
 libertines (see p. 246), bears some analogy to this exploit of Upakosa,
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. S^? 
 
 By whatever way this story may have journeyed to Europe, it 
 was turned into a humorous but, in some of its details, very 
 objectionable fabliau (mteresting, however, as an illustration of 
 manners) in the 13th century, under the title of Constant du 
 Hamel, ou la Dame qui atrappa un Pretre, un Prevost, et un 
 Forestier. In this version a lady is importuned, as its title 
 indicates, by three suitors, who, on her refusal, persecute her 
 husband. To put a stop to their active malice, she consents to 
 receive them, one somewhat later than another, so that by the 
 time the first is stripped for the bath, the second arrives, and, 
 pretending it is her husband, she hides him in a bin full of 
 feathers, and so too with the second and third ; in the end they 
 are ignominiously bundled out of doors, well feathered, and 
 hasten home, with all the curs of the town barking and snapping 
 at their heels.— This is the only version that agrees with the 
 Hindu original in the incident of the bath. 
 
 The old English metrical tale of the Wright's Chaste Wife 
 (written by one Adam of Cobsam, 15th century), if partly bor- 
 rowed from, is certainly a very great improvement on, the 
 fabliau. This is an abstract of it : 
 
 The Wright's Chaste Wife. 
 A Wright marries the daughter of a poor widow, whose only 
 dower is a garland that will remain fresh while she continues J 
 chaste, but will wither when she becomes unfaithful. After a 
 time the wright, thinking it likely that men would come to tempt 
 his wife when he was from home, constructs in his house a lower 
 room, the walls of which he makes as smooth as a mirror, and 
 in the floor above a crafty trap-door, which would give way the 
 moment a man touched it with his foot, and precipitate him into 
 the pit below, out of which it was impossible to escape. Just at 
 this time the lord of the town sent for him to build him a hall— 
 a job of two or three months. The lord observes the wright's 
 garland, and, learning that it is a proof of his wife's chastity,
 
 3l8 APPENDIX. 
 
 determines to visit her. He goes accordingly, and offers her 
 forty marks. She asks him to lay the money down, and then 
 conducts him to the room with the trap-door, and he no 
 sooner puts his foot on it than down he tumbles into the 
 room below. He begs and prays the dame to have pity 
 on him, but she says: "Nay; you must wait till my husband 
 sees you. " Next day he asks for some food, but she tells him 
 he must first earn it. "Spin me some flax," says she. The 
 lord consents ; so she throws him the tools and the flax, and 
 he works away for his food. The steward next sees the wright's 
 garland, and he too must visit the goodwiffe, whom he offers 
 twenty marks, which she pockets, and then leads him into the 
 same trap, where, after suffering some days' hunger, he spins flax 
 for his meat. Then the proctor, seeing the wright's garland, 
 asks him all about it, and in due course, after depositing twenty 
 marks with the dame, he joins the lord and the steward in the 
 wright's crafty trap for men of their sort. There all three spin 
 and spin away, as if for their very lives, until at length the 
 wright has finished his three months' job, and comes home. 
 His wife tells him of her prisoners, and sends for their wives, 
 and each takes away her own shamefaced and penitent spouse. 
 
 We have here a parallel to the Hindu story of the virtuous 
 Devasmita, as related in the Kathd Sarit Sdgara: Guhasena, a 
 young merchant, is compelled to leave his wife, Devasmita, for 
 a short season, on business matters. The separation is painful 
 to both, and the pain is aggravated by fears on the wife's part 
 of her husband's inconstancy. To make assurance doubly sure, 
 a couple of divine lotus flowers of a red colour are obtained in a 
 dream, the hues of which, the married pair are told, will fade 
 should either prove untrue. ^ Guhasena falls in with boon com- 
 
 1 Some such marvellous indication of unsullied honour is exceeding^' 
 common in European romance. It is not always the same. In Ariosto 
 the test is a cup, the wine of which is spilled by the unfaithful lover who 
 attempts to drink from it; this device also occurs in the romances of
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 3^9 
 
 panions, who, learning the purport of his lotus and the virtue of 
 his wife, set off to put it to the proof. ( ll^ilson.)— The rest 
 of the story is already detailed in pp. 244-247. 
 
 A somewhat similar tale occurs in Nakhshabi's T/'di Ndma 
 (4th Night of the India Office MS, No. 2573), as follows : A 
 soldier's wife, on his taking leave of her to enter the service of 
 a nobleman, gives him a nosegay, which, she says, will remain 
 fresh so long as she preserves her chastity. The nobleman, 
 marvelling that any one should be able to procure a fresh nose- 
 gay every day in the middle of winter, inquires of the soldier 
 how it was, and learns that its perennial freshness is a token 
 that his wife continues faithful. The nobleman sends one of his 
 cooks to try to form an intimacy with the soldier's wife, but she 
 craftily entraps him ; and the second cook, being next despatched 
 to see what has become of his chief, meets with a similar recep- 
 tion. Finally the nobleman himself, with his attendants— among 
 whom is the soldier — proceeds to visit this paragon of virtue. 
 The soldier's wife receives him courteously, and his two cooks, 
 dressed as female slaves, wait upon him at supper. The happy 
 soldier then returns his wife the nosegay, still fresh and blooming. 
 
 A curious variant is given in Narain Sawney's Select Tamil 
 Tales, Madras, 1839, in which Ramakistnan (the Scogin of 
 India) entraps the raja and his domestic chaplain, whom he 
 persuades to disguise themselves as women, on the pretence 
 
 Tristram, Perceval, and La Morte d'Arthur, and is well known in La 
 Fontaine's version, "La coupe enchantee." Spenser has derived his 
 Girdle of Florimel from these sources, or more immediately from the 
 fabliau, " Le Manteau mal taille," an English version of which is pub- 
 lished in Percy's Reliques, "The Boy and the Mantle." In the Gesta 
 Romanontm, the test is the whimsical one of a shirt which will require 
 neither washing nor mending as long as the wearer is true. There are 
 not wanting, however, instances of such a test as this of the lotus in 
 Somadeva. In Amadis de Gaul it is a garland [as also in the Wright's 
 Chaste Wife] ; in Perce Forest, it is a rose, which, borne by a wife or a 
 maiden of immaculate virtue, preserves its freshness, but withers if the 
 wearer is unchaste.— -On //. //. IVHsoit.
 
 320 APPENDIX. 
 
 that he will introduce them to the beautiful wife of a man who 
 has lately come to lodge at his house. The jester having locked 
 them, as they successively arrive, in the same room, when they 
 recognise each other, they a^e heartily ashamed, and softly 
 request to be let out, but this the jester does only after he has 
 extracted from them a solemn promise that they would forgive 
 him a hundred offences every day. 
 
 To return to English variants. The well-known tale of the 
 Monk and the Miller's Wife belongs to the same cycle of stories, 
 in which a woman punishes objectionable wooers by entrapping 
 them and exposing them to public ridicule : 
 
 The Monk and the Miller's Wife. 
 
 A monk having visited, with amorous intent, the virtuous wife 
 of a miller, during her husband's absence, she affects to be 
 pleased to see him, and they sit down together to a plentiful 
 supper. But hardly have they eaten a mouthful when footsteps 
 are heard approaching the house, and the monk, in dismay, asks 
 what that can be. The wife answers that it is probably her hus- 
 band come back unexpectedly, and bids him get into the great 
 chest in the meantime, which he loses no time in doing, and the 
 goodwife fastens it down upon him, and keeps him confined 
 there in fear and trembling all the long night. In the morning 
 she causes the miller's men to carry the chest into church at the 
 hour of mass, where she opens it, and discovers the monk in 
 presence of all assembled. 
 
 From the 1st Novel, Day ix, of Boccaccio's Decameron, 
 John Lydgate {circa 1430) perhaps borrowed the idea of his 
 metrical tale of 
 
 The Lady Prioress and her Three IVooers. 
 A knight, a parish priest, and a merchant are suitors to a lady 
 prioress, who thus gets rid of them all. As the condition of her
 
 THE LADY AND HER SUITORS. 12\ 
 
 love, the knight is to lie, like a dead body sewed in a sheet, in 
 the chapel in the wood, with two tapers burning beside him. 
 She next tells the priest that she has a cousin lying dead in the 
 chapel ; but as he died in debt,, his burial is forbidden [because 
 the debtor had arrested the body] ; therefore she has sent for 
 him, in order that, if he would win her love, he should bury her 
 kinsman. The priest accordingly goes to the chapel, with 
 mattock and shovel, and says the dirge at the feet of the knight, 
 who had duly assumed the part of a dead body. The lady 
 prioress now sends for the merchant, tells him the dead man 
 lying in the chapel owed her a sum of money, and she wished 
 him to prevent the burial [to see whether his relatives would not 
 pay the debt], which the priest was to perform that same night. 
 ' ' Shame would it be for us to lose our money, as we shall do if 
 he is buried before it is paid. " She therefore proposes that the 
 merchant should dress himself up like the devil, and, when the 
 priest is about to bury the body, leap in at the choir door like a 
 fiend. The merchant consents, and, duly dressed up, goes to 
 the chapel door, and "roars as devils seemed to do." The 
 priest, in mortal terror, rushes through the window, breaking 
 both it and his head. The knight can endure this no longer, 
 so he rises up, at which the "devil" also runs away; while the 
 "corpse," equally frightened, flies off in another direction, and 
 the three suitors spend a wretched night, hiding from each other. 
 Next morning, the priest tells the lady prioress of all his mishaps, 
 how the devil appeared, and the body rose up. " I wis," quoth 
 she, "I never yet had a lover who died a good death." "Then," 
 says Mass John, "that will serve for ale and meat; thou shalt 
 never be wooed by me." When the knight came, she told him 
 that he did not brook the bargain ; so he, too, went away. She 
 threatened the merchant that she would tell his wife and all 
 the country of his wickedness ; but he purchased her silence by 
 giving twenty marks to the convent, and after his death endowed 
 it in fee for ever. 
 
 X
 
 32 2 APPENDIX. 
 
 A parallel to Lydgate's tale is found in Thorpe's Netherland- 
 ish story of the Wicked Lady of Antwerp.— The Norse tale of 
 the Mastermaid (Dr. Dasent) is the only version, so far as I 
 know, in which magical arts are employed in punishment of the 
 suitors. The heroine of this tale takes shelter in the hut of a 
 cross-grained old woman, who is killed by an accident, and she 
 is thus left alone. A constable, passing by and seeing a beauti- 
 ful maiden, falls in love with her, and bringing a bushel of silver, 
 she consents to marry him ; but at night, when they are about to 
 go to bed, she says that she has forgot to make up the fire : this 
 the dutiful bridegroom undertakes to do himself, but no sooner 
 has he taken hold of the shovel, than she cries out: " May you 
 hold the shovel, and the shovel hold you, and may you heap 
 burning coals over yourself till morning breaks. " So there stood 
 the constable all night heaping hot coals upon himself till day- 
 break, when he was released from the spell and ran home, 
 dancing with pain, to the amusement of all who saw him on the 
 way. In like manner, on the second night, the maiden casts her 
 spells over the attorney, who is made to hold the handle of the 
 porch-door till morning ; and on the third night, the sheriff is 
 compelled to hold the calf's tail and the calf's tail to hold him 
 till morning breaks, when he goes home in a sorry plight. 
 
 No. XXXI— p. 192. 
 Prince Bahram and Princess Ed-Detma. 
 Nothing is more common in Oriental romance than for a beau- 
 tiful, spoiled, and self-willed princess to impose certain hard 
 conditions on her suitors : they must solve dark riddles ; or 
 answer knotty questions ; or undertake a perilous journey to the 
 confines of the earth— nay, even into jinnistan, the land of the 
 jinn, or genii — in order to procure some wonderful talisman upon 
 which the lady has set her heart.
 
 THE AiMAZON. 323 
 
 The present story calls to mind the classical legend of Atalanta, 
 who would marry only him that should outstrip her in a foot- 
 race, but all of her competitors whom she overtook were to be 
 killed on the spot by the dart with which she had armed herself; 
 and who was ultimately vanquished by Hippomenes, who threw 
 in the course, at some distance from each other, three golden 
 apples from the gardens of the Hesperides, which Atalanta 
 stopped to pick up, and thus enabled Hippomenes to reach the 
 goal before her. — This tale is reproduced in Berni's Orlatido 
 Innamorato, where the daughter of the King of the Distant 
 Isles makes the same condition with two suitors, Ordauro and 
 Folderico ; the latter, an old man, wins the race by the device 
 of the golden apples. 
 
 Morier, in his Second Journey to Persia, relates a similar tradi- 
 tion, the conclusion of which is, however, tragical (he does not 
 seem to have observed its affinity to the classical story of Ata- 
 lanta) : In former days a king of Persia promised his daughter 
 in marriage to any one who would run before his horse all the 
 way from Shiraz to Ispahan. One of his running-footmen nearly 
 accomplished the feat, having reached to the eminence now 
 marked by the Shatir's Tower, when the king, fearful that he 
 should be obliged to keep his promise, dropped his whip. The 
 ligatures which encompassed the footman's body were such 
 that, in the state he then was, he knew for certain that if he 
 stooped to the ground to pick up the whip his death would 
 immediately follow ; therefore he contrived to take up the whip 
 with his foot, carried it to his hand, and presented it to the 
 king. This trick having failed, the king then dropped his ring, 
 upon which the footman, who saw that his fate was decided, 
 exclaimed: "O king, you have broken your word; but I will 
 show you my submission to the last," so saying, he stooped, 
 picked up the ring, and died. — The Shatir's Tower was, it is 
 said, afterwards erected on the spot where the footman fell dead, 
 to commemorate his exploit and his fidelity to the king.
 
 324 APPENDIX. 
 
 Amazon princesses are favourite characters in old romances. 
 In the Nibeliingenlied, Queen Brunhilda did battle with all her 
 suitors, and was finally conquered only by the aid of magical 
 power. In Berni's burlesque Intiamorato, Marphisia, a young 
 Indian queen, made a vow never to lay aside her armour till she 
 had taken three kings captive, namely, Charlemagne, Gradasso, 
 and Agrican. In the Arabian story of 'Omar Bin Nu'man, a 
 princess wrestles with the hero, and throws him, more by the 
 weakening power of her fully-developed charms than by her 
 personal strength and skill, though she possessed both these 
 necessary qualifications of an athlete. The same lady after- 
 wards, disguised as a knight, and armed cap-a-pie, encounters 
 her lover in single combat — an incident which seems imitated 
 from an episode of the Arabian romance of 'Antar : 
 
 Story of /a i da and Khdiid} 
 
 Muharib and Zahir, the fathers respectively of Khalid and 
 Jaida, were brothers. Muharib was chief of the tribe of Zebid, 
 and Zahir was his counsellor. The brothers quarrelled, and 
 Zahir struck his tents, and cast his lot with the kindred tribe of 
 Sa'd. Zahir's wife becoming pregnant, he said to her that if a 
 son were born, he would be most welcome ; but if a girl, she was 
 to conceal the fact, and let it appear to the world that they had 
 a male child, in order that his brother should not exult over him. 
 In due course a daughter was born, and was called in private 
 Jaida, but Judar in public, that it might appear she was a boy. 
 About the same time Muharib had a son born to him, whom he 
 called Khalid. The daughter of Zahir was brought up as a boy, 
 and taught to ride on horseback ; and she soon became famous 
 in all the exercises befitting a noble warrior, accompanying her 
 father to battle, in which she ever took a prominent part. 
 
 ' From my epitome of this celebrated romance in Arabian Poetry 
 /or English Readers.
 
 THE AMAZON. 325 
 
 Khalid was also one of the most illustrious horsemen of the age, 
 universally acknowledged as an intrepid warrior and a valiant 
 hero. 
 
 The fame of his cousin Jaida (Judar) having reached him, 
 Khalid, after his father's death, visited his uncle, and spent ten 
 days in jousting with the horsemen of the family. Jaida became 
 deeply enamoured of him, and her mother, on learning this, 
 revealed the secret of her sex to Khalid's mother, and suggested 
 that their children should be united in marriage. But when 
 Khalid was told by his mother that his cousin was a woman, he 
 was greatly chagrined, slighted her love for him, and hastened 
 back to his own tribe. 
 
 Jaida, enraged at finding herself thus scorned, resolved to be 
 revenged on her cousin, and, disguising herself, set out for the 
 land of Zebid. Arrived there, she entered a tent of public enter- 
 tainment, close-visored, like a horseman of the Hijaz. After 
 proving her superiority to the best cavaliers in the course, she 
 encountered Khalid for three days in succession, without either 
 of them obtaining any advantage, when she discovered herself 
 to her cousin, whose hatred was now suddenly converted into 
 love. But Jaida rejected him, and returned home. 
 
 Khalid hastened to his uncle and demanded Jaida in marriage. 
 His cousin at length consented, on the condition that he should 
 provide for slaughter at her wedding feast a thousand camels 
 belonging to Ghashm, son of Malik, surnamed the Brandisher 
 of Spears. These Khahd procured by plundering the tribe of 
 'Amir; but on his return Jaida imposed a further condition — 
 that her camel should be led by the captive daughter of a 
 prince. Khalid again set out with his horsemen, and, assailing 
 the family tribe of Mu'awiyya, son of Nizal, took captive his 
 daughter Amima ; and his marriage with Jaida was immedi- 
 ately celebrated, when the daughter of Mu'awiyya held the 
 bridle of her camel, "and the glory of Jaida was exalted among 
 women and among men."
 
 326 APPENDIX. 
 
 In another Arabian romance, Delhama, of which Lane has 
 given an account in his Modern Egyptians, two amazons figure 
 prominentl}'. One of these is a woman called Esh-Shumsta, or 
 the Grizzle, " whom the heroes of her time held in great fear on 
 account of her prowess and strength. " The Emir Darim resolved 
 to attack her. She mounted her horse in haste, on hearing of 
 his approach, and went forth to meet him and his party. For 
 a whole hour she contended with them; killed the greater 
 number, and put the rest to flight, excepting the Emir Darim, 
 whom she took prisoner, and led in bonds, disgraced and 
 despised, to her fortress. His ten sons, hearing of his mis- 
 fortune, set forth with their attendants to rescue the Emir, but 
 they are taken prisoners and most of their followers are slain by 
 Esh-Shumsta, who, however, is in the end overthrown and put 
 to death by El-Gundiiba, the adopted son of the Emir. After- 
 wards El-Gunduba in the course of his adventures encounters in 
 single combat another amazon, called Kattalet esh Shugan, or 
 the Slayer of Heroes. 
 
 Richardson, in the Dissertation prefixed to his Arabic and 
 Persian Dictionary, relates some curious historical anecdotes of 
 the bravery of Arabian women in turning the tide of battle 
 against the Greeks. —There can be no doubt that Europe has 
 owed much of its institutions of chivalry to the Arabs, and an 
 interesting chapter on this subject might be complied from 
 authentic Arabian history, as well as from their romancists and 
 poets.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 3^1 
 
 No. XXXII. 
 The Seven Wise Masters. 
 
 *** Although the Western versions (or imitations, rather) of the Book 
 of Sindibad, Icnown generally under the title of the Seven Wise Masters, 
 possess but little in common with the Eastern texts, besides the outline 
 of the connecting tale, yet a brief analytical account of one of the old 
 English metrical texts may perhaps add somewhat to the usefulness of 
 the present work. This version, entitled the Seven Sa£:es, is believed to 
 have been composed — probably from the French — about the end of the 
 14th centurj-, and has been printed, from a MS. in Cambridge University 
 Library, in the publications of the Percy Societj', vol. xvi, with an 
 interesting introductory essay by Thomas Wright. An analysis of 
 another version, in the famous Auchinleck MSS., is given by Ellis, in his 
 Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances, and the text was after- 
 wards printed in Weber's Northern Romances. " Few works," remarks 
 Dunlop, "are more interesting and curious than the Seven Wise Masters, 
 in illustratin;j the genealogy of fiction, or its rapid and almost unaccount- 
 able transition from one country to another." 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 I N Rome was a renowned emperor, ' ' as the book tellys us ; " his 
 name was Diocclecius ; and he had a wife, called Helie. He had 
 one only son, and when the child was seven years old, he was 
 entrusted to the care of Seven Wise Masters, who undertook 
 to instruct him in the space of seven years. They took him from 
 the city into the country, in order that he should not learn any 
 wickedness ; and at once began to teach him the seven sciences, 
 by means of lessons which they painted upon the wall of his 
 chamber. ^ Thus when the prince lay on his bed he might con 
 his lesson upon the wall. Ere the seven years were gone he was 
 master of the seven sciences — "there was none but he had good 
 
 ' The " seven sciences " anciently were : astronom}-, arithmetic, music, 
 medicine, logic, grammar, and rhetoric — "good sense" being, according 
 to Pope, "worth all the seven." — The method of teaching the prince by 
 means of lessons painted on the walls is identical with that described in 
 the Eastern texts (see pp. 22, 23 and pp. 130, 131).
 
 328 APPENDIX. 
 
 skill in." Then said the masters to each other: "This child 
 waxeth very wise. Let us therefore prove him." So they 
 secretly placed beneath each of the posts of his bed four ivy 
 leaves. And in the morning the prince said to them: "Of a 
 surety, either the roof of my room has become lower, or the 
 floor is risen." " He is a wise man, I wis," they exclaimed. 
 
 Now while the child was thus with his masters, his mother 
 died — "as we schalle alle dye." And soon after she was dead, 
 the emperor's courtiers urged him to take another wife ; and as 
 he was " jolyf of blode," he desired them to seek out for him a 
 fitting wife, which they did, and the emperor was married to the 
 woman according to the law, and for some time he lived in great 
 solace with her.^ One day she was told of the child, the emperor's 
 lawful heir, how he was so comely and so wise, and she began 
 to hate the child from that hour, and resolved to have him put to 
 death. So she bribed a magician to contrive that if the prince 
 should speak a word during seven days and seven nights he should 
 instantly die.- After this, " in a merry morning of May," she said 
 to the emperor that she longed to see his son, whom she loved 
 as if he was her own, though she had not yet beheld him ; and 
 the emperor promised to despatch messengers at once to bring 
 his son to court : 
 
 But the emperour wist nought 
 What was hire wickkj-d thought — 
 An evyl deth mot scho dey ! 
 
 The messengers arrive at the house of the Seven Wise Masters, 
 and command them, in the emperor's name, to bring the prince 
 to court within three days. They go into an arbour in the 
 
 ' In another English MS. text, in Cambridge University Library, the 
 mother of the prince died before he was entrusted to the masters ; and 
 the emperor, who was " old and hoar," by advice of his bold barons, and 
 " covetyse of heritage," married again. 
 
 '^ In the ScJ>tcm Sapient7iin, the stepmother does not employ magical 
 arts to effect her wicked purpose.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 329 
 
 evening, "for solace," and there one of them discovers from 
 the aspect of the moon and stars that the prince's stepmother 
 has by magic planned his death. The prince himself takes an 
 observation of the heavenly bodies, and perceives the danger he 
 should be in if he spoke during the next seven days and seven 
 nights, and proposes that each of his masters should, by their 
 wisdom, save his life one day, to which they readily agree. ^ 
 
 When the prince appears before his father he is dumb. His 
 stepmother comes with her maidens, and welcomes him, but he 
 utters not a word. She then obtains leave to take him with her 
 into her own chamber, where having tempted him in vain, she 
 accuses him to the emperor of having sought to dishonour his 
 couch. 2 — During the seven following days the Queen and the 
 Seven Wise Masters by turns relate tales to the emperor, who 
 alternately condemns to death and reprieves his son, according 
 as he is moved by the arguments of the accuser and defenders. 
 
 I — The Queen relates the story of 
 
 The Tree and its Branch, 
 
 that is, a creeper, which had gradually absorbed all the vigour 
 of the tree, so that it died. 
 
 II— The First Master relates the story of 
 
 The Knight and the Greyhound, 
 
 for which see a prose version above, pp. 237-239. 
 
 1 In the Liber de Septem Sapie?itibus the danger to the prince is fore- 
 told him in a dream, which is interpreted by his tutors, after consulting 
 the stars. 
 
 2 According to this version, the prince was only fourteen years old when 
 he was solicited by the queen, since he was seven when placed under his 
 tutors, and had "finished his education " in less than other seven years. 
 In the Scptevi Sapientjim he is sixteen years under the tutors.— See above, 
 note I, p. 134.
 
 33° APPENDIX. 
 
 Ill — The Queen relates the story of 
 
 The Boar and tJie Herdsman, 
 
 a prose version of which will be found in pp. 242-244. — It is 
 stated, in p. 242, that this form of the story was taken into the 
 Historia Septevi Sapientiim RomcE from the Mishle Sandabar, but 
 it occurs in earlier Western texts, such as, for instance, Les Sept 
 Sages and the Liber de Septem Scipientibus. Des Longchamps 
 thought this story was suggested by the classical legend of the 
 Boar of Erymanthus, slain by Hercules, to which it certainly 
 bears some resemblance. 
 
 IV — The Second Master relates the story of 
 
 Hippocrates a /id his Nephew ; 
 
 the latter having cured the son of the king of Hungary, and 
 induced the queen to confess that the child's real father was a 
 foreign prince who had been on a visit to her husband, his uncle 
 Hippocrates, envious of his skill and fame, slew him in his 
 garden after his return home. 
 
 The incident of the discovery of the spurious son occurs in the 
 Cento Novelle Antiehe (nov. 2), where a Greek king is found to 
 be the son of a baker; in the Arabian Tale of the Sultan of 
 Yaman and his Three Sons (vol. vi of Jonathan Scott's edition 
 of the Arabian Nights), where a certain sultan is proved to be 
 the son of a cook ; and in the Lady's 2nd tale in the Forty VazTrs. 
 
 V — The Queen relates the story of 
 
 The Robbery of the King's Treasury. 
 
 A certain king's counsellor, having wasted all his wealth and 
 become reduced to great straits, with the assistance of his son, 
 breaks into the royal treasury and takes away a large quantity
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 331 
 
 of gold. The king, having discovered the robbery, sets a large 
 vessel filled with pitch close to the place where the breach had 
 been made in the wall, in order to entrap the robber when he 
 next came there. The counsellor, having once more fallen into 
 poverty, went again one night with his son to procure a fresh 
 supply of gold, and on entering the treasury, through the open- 
 ing in the wall, instantly fell up to the neck in the vessel of 
 pitch. Calling to his son, he warned him not to enter and 
 attempt his release, for it was impossible ; but desired him to 
 draw his sword and cut off his head and carry it away, so that 
 he should not be recognised and his family disgraced. The son 
 accordingly cuts off his father's head, carries it home, and 
 recounts the whole particulars of the misadventure. 
 
 In the Septem Sapientum, the robber of the king's treasury is a 
 knight, who had spent all his wealth at tourneys and similar idle 
 sports. After the son had taken home his father's head, the 
 king is informed of the headless body found in his treasury, and 
 orders it to be drawn at the tails of horses through the principal 
 streets to the gallows, charging his soldiers to bring before him 
 any persons whom they observed affected with excessive grief. 
 As the body was being drawn past the knight's house, one of 
 his daughters uttered loud cries of sorrow, upon which the son 
 quickly drew his knife and wounded his hand, so that the blood 
 flowed freely. The soldiers entered the house, and inquired the 
 cause of the loud cries they had just heard, when the son, show- 
 ing his wounded hand, said that his sister had been alarmed at 
 seeing his blood, upon which the soldiers, satisfied with this 
 explanation, quitted the house. 
 
 This story has been adapted from Herodotus, who relates it of 
 Rhampsinitus, King of Egypt, and his architect, who in building 
 the royal treasury left a stone loose, but so nicely fitted in that it 
 could not be discovered by any one ignorant of the secret : his 
 two sons, after his death, frequently enter the treasury by this
 
 332 APPENDIX. 
 
 means, until at length one of them is entrapped, as above. A 
 similar legend is found in Pausanias, B. ix, c. 37, relating to the 
 treasury of Hyrieus. It occurs also in the Katha Sarit Sdgara, 
 eighth section, in the tale of Ghata and Karpara, which bears 
 a very close analogy to the leading incidents of the story in 
 Herodotus, especially the device of drugging the soldiers that 
 guarded the body. From the Seve^i Wise Masters it was probably 
 taken by Ser Giovanni (Day ix, Nov. i), and by Bandello 
 (Par. i, nov. 25). The story is also found in an old French 
 romance, L'Histoire dii Chevalier Berinus, in which Herodotus 
 has been imitated in the concluding incident, of the king's 
 daughter's attempt to discover the clever thief; and it forms one 
 of the exploits of the Shifty Lad in Campbell's Tales of the West 
 Highlands. 
 
 VI — The Third Master relates the story of 
 
 The Husband Shut Out. 
 
 The wife of a certain old man was in the habit of stealing out 
 at nights when he was sound asleep, and meeting her lover. It 
 happened one night that the husband awoke, and, missing his 
 spouse from beside him, at once concluded that she was unfaith- 
 ful ; so he rose up, and securely bolted the outer door. A little 
 before daybreak the truant wife returned, and finding the door 
 fast, she 
 
 Bjgan loud to crye. 
 
 And badde the devle hj's neke to breke 
 
 That the doore hadde steke. 
 
 The goodman, however, was not to be moved by her entreaties 
 or threats, and bade her begone, adding that in the morning he 
 should expose her to all their friends and relations, yea, and to 
 the whole town. In vain she continued to beg to be let in ; the 
 justly incensed husband was obdurate. At length she declared 
 that she would not live to suffer such disgrace, and taking up a
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 333 
 
 great stone she plunged it into the well, and then stole quietly 
 close to the door. The husband, supposing the plash he had 
 heard to be caused by her throwing herself into the well, began 
 to relent, for he was doatingly fond of her, in spite of her levity 
 and misconduct ; so he hastened to undo the fastenings of the 
 door, and went to the well to draw her forth if possible. Mean- 
 while the artful wife quickly slipped into the house, bolted the 
 door, and went up stairs to her warm bed — "an evyl deth mote 
 scho dee ! " The poor man, having fruitlessly searched into and 
 all round the well for his wife, returned to the house, to find 
 himself in turn shut out. Now there was a law in that town 
 that all husbands found in the streets after a certain hour were 
 to be taken up by the watchmen and severely punished. The 
 husband therefore knocks repeatedly at the door, but his wife 
 bids him return to his leman, with whom he has passed the 
 night. The noise of their altercation attracts the watchmen, 
 who come up, and ask what it is all about, to which the wife 
 from the window replies, that it is her husband come back from 
 spending the night with his leman — she had endured his mis- 
 conduct too long, and now they may take him away and punish 
 him. So the poor man is arrested, and thus " thorow his wyf he 
 was schent. " 
 
 This tale seems to have been taken into the Liber de Septem 
 Sapientibiis from Alphonsus (Fab. 13), who probably derived it 
 from the Arabian story-tellers. It is one of ihe fabliaux of the 
 Trouveres (Le Grand, iii, 143), and the 4th novel. Day vii, of 
 the Decameron. Dunlop says it is " the origin of the Calandra 
 of Cardinal Bibbiena, the best comedy that appeared in Italy 
 previous to the time of Goldoni ; it also forms the groundwork of 
 one of Dancourt's plays, and probably suggested to Moliere the 
 plot of his celebrated comedy, George Dandin." — It has also 
 suggested the plot of one of the plays of Hans Sachs, Das Weib 
 im Brunnen.
 
 334 ArPENDIX. 
 
 VII — The Queen then relates the story of 
 
 The King and his Seneschal. 
 
 A certain king, whose body was all swollen, or leprous, desires 
 his seneschal to procure him a mistress, and, on being reminded 
 how repulsive his person was to women, tells him to take from 
 his treasury whatever money might be necessary for the purpose. 
 The seneschal's cupidity induces him to introduce his own wife 
 to the king at night — having terrified her into compliance with 
 his drawn sword. In the morning the seneschal repeatedly 
 knocks at the door of the king's chamber, and is told to go 
 away ; at length he informs the king that the woman is his wife, 
 upon which the king, having opened the window and discovered 
 this to be the fact, declares that he will not part with her now, 
 upbraids the seneschal for selling his virtuous wife for a paltry 
 sum of money, and orders him, on pain of death, to quit the 
 kingdom immediately. 
 
 This story is similiar to that of the Bathkeeper, which occurs 
 in nearly all the Eastern texts of the Book of Sindibad, where, 
 however (especially in the Arabian versions), it is related with 
 some very objectionable details. In the Seven Wise Masters it is 
 put into the mouth of the Queen, as it is made to tell solely 
 against men ; but in the Eastern texts of the Sindibad, it is 
 related by one of the vazirs, the woman being represented as 
 yielding a not unwilling consent — though even thus its appro- 
 priateness as one of the vazirs' tales is questionable. In the 
 Historia Septem Sapientiim RoniiE, and its derivatives — English 
 and Scottish, Spanish, Armenian, Russian, etc. — this story is 
 rather clumsily joined with another. It does not occur in Dolo- 
 pathos ; — I was induced to state, in note, p. 6i, that the story is 
 found in this old text by Goedeke's comparative table of the 
 versions of the Wise Masters {Orient und Occident, iii, pp. 422, 
 423), where I mistook "senes" for "senesc. " (senescalcus). In
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 335 
 
 the same table the story does not appear in the contents of 
 Rolland's Scottish version, though it forms part of another tale, 
 as in the Septem Sapientuin. 
 
 The form which the tale of the Seneschal in the Wise Masters 
 and that of the Bathman in the Eastern texts of the Book of 
 Sindibad assume in the Hitopadesa (Book i, fab. viii and ix) is to 
 the following effect : A young and wealthy prince, becoming 
 enamoured of the blooming wife of a merchant, employed an 
 old woman to solicit her to grant him an interview, which she 
 refused, saying that she was devoted to her husband. The old 
 woman, after reporting the failure of her mission, advises the 
 prince to enter the service of the merchant, who confides to him 
 his most important affairs. One day, at the suggestion of the 
 old woman, the prince, being anointed fresh from the bath, said 
 to the merchant that he must perform a vow to Gaurl for the 
 space of a month, and, beginning that day, requested the mer- 
 chant to bring him every evening a young woman of good family, 
 and she should be honoured by him in due form. Accordingly, 
 the merchant, having brought a young woman of that description, 
 presented her, and afterwards concealed himself to watch what 
 he would do. The prince, without so much as touching the 
 young lady, having done homage to her at a distance, with 
 vestures, jewellery, perfumes, and sandal, dismissed her imme- 
 diately in the care of a guard. On seeing this, the merchant 
 became confident ; and his mind being biassed by the lust of 
 gain, he brought his own wife and presented her — the result, 
 however, was very different from his expectations, and he was 
 overwhelmed with grief. 
 
 VIII — The Fourth Master relates the story of 
 
 The Wise Old Man and his Foolish Wife. 
 
 There was a certain wise and prudent knight who, in his old 
 age, married a young and foolish wife. The lady, being dissatisfied
 
 33^ APPENDIX. 
 
 with her spouse, fell in love with a priest. She told her mother 
 of her lover, and the mother advised her to hold fast to the old 
 knight ; but if she was determined to do such a thing, she should 
 first prove her husband. So the young wife caused the gardener 
 to cut down a pear-tree, of which the knight was very fond, and 
 lay it in the hall. When the husband discovers the tree, he in- 
 quires of her where it came from, and she tells him it was cut 
 down by her orders in the garden. "Well," says he, quietly, 
 " now that it is hewn down it can't be helped. " The lady returns 
 to her mother and relates how her husband was not angry at 
 her cutting down his favourite tree. "Try him again," says the 
 mother; "you do not know what he thinks of the matter." The 
 foolish young wife next slays the knight's favourite hound, 
 and tells him that she did so because it had lain on her dress. 
 "Dame," quoth he, "thou mightest have drawn thy clothes 
 together, and let my dog live : slay no more, though he lie on thy 
 clothes; if thou dost, I shall certainly be wroth." Once more 
 she repairs to her mother. " Old men," says the mother, "will 
 endure much wrong ; but try him again. " Soon after this the 
 knight has a noble company assembled at his house ; and when 
 all are seated at table, his wife fastens the keys suspended from 
 her girdle to a corner of the cloth, and then suddenly rising, 
 "drow doun coppys and dyschys ilkone," making a sad mess of 
 the clothes of the guests. At this the good knight was full wroth, 
 and after the guests were gone, he led his wife into a chamber, 
 where, with the help of his brother, he bled her in the arm,' 
 leaving only so much blood in her body as would keep in life, 
 and then laid her down on a fair bed. When she recovered from 
 her swoon, he gave her meat and drink, and said to her : "Dame, 
 lie thou still. Thou shalt have meat and drink at will. But 
 whenever thou waxest mad again, thou shalt be let blood." 
 " Mercy, my lord," she cries, " and I will surely anger thee no 
 
 ' In the Septeni Sapientum the old man, more appropriately, employs 
 a barber.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 337 
 
 more." " If so," says the wise and prudent old man, "then do 
 I forgive thee thy three offences." 
 
 Than wald scho no more 
 Lever of the clerkis lore. 
 For fere to be let bloode ; 
 But heldir algat trew and good. 
 
 Keller, in his introduction to the Roman des Sept Sages, refers, 
 among other parallels to this story, to the Fabliau De la femme 
 qui voulut eprouver son Mari (Le Grand, iii, l^^), and to Boc- 
 caccio's tale of Lidia and Pyrrhus (Decameron, Day vii, nov. 9). 
 It also occurs in the Contes et joyeux dcvis of Bonaventure des 
 Periers, and in the Contes, etc. , of the Abbe Prevot. 
 
 IX — The Queen relates the story of 
 
 Merlins Pillar. 
 
 In the city of Rome a pillar was set up by the enchanter Merlin, 
 on the top of which was a mirror that shone over all the town, 
 and gave the people warning of any approaching foreign invasion. 
 Two clerks undertake to destroy this safeguard of the city, in 
 order that the King of Apulia should march upon it unawares. 
 
 Virgilius is substituted for Merlin in some te.xts, and, in place 
 of a mirror, two brazen images, which threw a golden ball to 
 each other as a warning to the citizens that an enemy was 
 advancing to attack the city. 
 
 Vincent of Beauvais, in the 13th century, describes Virgil's 
 magical tower, which is also the subject of a chapter in the 
 legendary history of Virgilius — see Mr. William J. Thoms' 
 Early Prose Romances, vol. ii, pp. 20-22. This story, with some 
 variations, is reproduced in the Pccoronc of Ser Giovanni ; it was 
 very popular in Europe during the Middle Ages : numerous 
 parallels are referred to in Keller's edition of the oldest German 
 text of the Wise Masters — Einleitung, pp. 57-59. 
 
 Y
 
 33^ APPENDIX. 
 
 X — The Fifth Master relates the story of 
 
 The Bn7-gess and the Magpie., 
 
 which is similar to the tale of the Merchant and his Parrot — pp. 
 31, 141, and 222. 
 
 XI — The Queen relates the story of 
 
 The Seven Evil Counsellors, 
 
 who had, by their magical arts, contrived to render the king 
 blind whenever he went out of his palace, in order that they 
 might increase their own wealth by defrauding him and the 
 people. The child Merlin advises the king to put his seven 
 evil counsellors to death, after which his sight would be restored ; 
 this the king does accordingly, and afterwards raises Merlin to 
 the highest offices of state. — The tale is taken from the romance 
 of Merlin. 
 
 Wright has remarked that this story is of Indian origin, and 
 is found in several Eastern collections, but he does not specify 
 any of them. 
 
 XII— The Sixth Master relates the story of 
 . ,. , «A The IVidocV who u<as Comforted. 
 
 There was a knight, a rich sheriff, who was doatingly fond of 
 his wife. One day as he sat with her, and they jested together, 
 a knife which he had in his hand chanced to wound her slightly, 
 at which he was so much grieved that he died the next day. 
 His widow, distracted with grief, vowed that nothing should part 
 her from her husband, and so took up her abode beside his 
 grave. At nightfall she made a good tire, for it was the cold 
 winter tide, and she continued to weep and wring her hands, 
 lamenting the loss of her loving spouse. Now near this place
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 339 
 
 were the bodies of three thieves that had been hanged, and a 
 certain knight had to watch that they were not stolen, as quit- 
 rent of his lands. 
 
 Than the knyght was both zong and bolde, 
 He was swith sore a-colde, 
 And at the chappel fyer he sawe light, 
 And rode thyderward ful ryght. 
 
 He dismounted from his steed and approached the lire, saying 
 to the widow : *' Dame, by thy leave I will warm myself." The 
 lady answered: "Yea, sir, welcome art thou, if thou thinkest 
 no evil, but to sit and make thee warm." This knight was 
 without a wife, and he thought the lady would suit him very 
 well, so he began forthwith to woo her, and her heart inclined 
 towards him, for she saw he was a comely and a manly knight, 
 and he soon won her love. After a while, the knight went to 
 see whether the bodies of the three thieves were still on the 
 gallows, when, behold, one of them was stolen ; so he returned 
 to the widow, and told her that in consequence of this he should 
 lose his lands and heritage. 
 
 Sire, quod the lady, the [then], 
 There-fore he nought wo, 
 Ne make thou dole there-fore, 
 Ne schal nouzt thy lond be lore. 
 To thys berial we wyl goone, 
 And dyggyn uppe the cors anone. 
 And hangye hym in his stede. 
 As fayer as the othyr dyde. 
 
 "But," says the knight, "the thief had a great wound on his 
 head, and if your husband's body were examined and found with- 
 out such a wound, still should I lose my lands." "Let not that 
 trouble thee," quoth she; "thou hast both sword and dagger: 
 with either of them do thou give him such a wound as the thief 
 had." "Assuredly," answers the knight, " I could never smite 
 a dead man." Then the lady drew a knife from her sheath,
 
 340 APPENDIX. 
 
 " that was keen and sharply ground,'' and wounded the head of 
 her husband, and putting up the knife, she said, "Now, sir, 
 shall we be gone ? " But the knight recollects that the thief had 
 lost two of his front teeth, and the lady, without hesitation, 
 
 In hyr hond scho took a stoon. 
 And knock3-d out twa teeth anoon ! 
 
 She then advises the knight to hang her husband's body on the 
 gallows, before day begins to dawn, which is done accordingly. 
 In the Septem Sapientiim, and some other versions, the knight, 
 after these proofs of the widow's affection for her dead husband, 
 sternly upbraids her, saying that her husband had loved her so 
 much that he died because he had inadvertently shed a little of 
 her blood, but she had not scrupled to mutilate his body : he 
 would therefore have nothing further to do with such a wanton^ 
 a more appropriate conclusion of the story, the sole object of the 
 relator being to illustrate the levity and heartlessness of women. 
 
 This tale is identical with the episode of the Widow of 
 Ephesus in Petronius Arbiter, which Dunlop had little doubt 
 was originally a Milesian or Sybarite fable. However this may 
 be, it is found in the Talmud, forming one of the supplementary 
 paragraphs which are scattered through the Mishna and Gemara 
 (see Hershon's Talmudic Miscellany, p. 28). It also occurs in the 
 Cento Novelle Antiche (nov. 56), the author of which may have 
 taken it either from the Liber de Septem Sapientibus or from the 
 Fabliau De la Femme qui se fist Putain sur la fosse de son Mari. 
 For many other parallels see Keller's Roinan dcs Sept Sages, 
 Einleitung, clix-clxvii. 
 
 Davis, in his work on the Chinese (ch. xiv), relates a some- 
 what similar story, which he thought was the original of the tale 
 of The Nose in Voltaire's Zadig: A philosopher observed a 
 widow fanning the earth over her husband's grave, and, inquir- 
 ing the reason for such a strange proceeding, was informed by the 
 sorrowing lady that she had promised her dying husband not to
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 341 
 
 marry again before the earth on his grave was perfectly dry : 
 "And now, as it occurred to me that the surface of this ground, 
 which has been newly tempered, would not very soon dry, I 
 thought I would just fan it a little. " The philosopher approved 
 of her plan, and obtained her fan as a souvenir. Returning 
 home, he told his wife of this adventure, and showed her the fan, 
 which she snatched from him and tore into shreds, declaring the 
 woman to be a heartless hussy ; — for her own part, were he to 
 die, she should never marry again. Shortly after this the philo- 
 sopher was taken suddenly ill, and died. The lady was incon- 
 solable. Preparations were made for the funeral; friends and 
 acquaintances assembled, amongst whom was a young and very 
 handsome student, attended by his servant. He informs the 
 lady that he had purposed becoming a disciple of the late philo- 
 sopher, and had come to attend his obsequies. The widow falls 
 in love with him, and conveys this to him through his old 
 servant. After several objections which the student raised had 
 been removed by the amorous widow, he consents to marry 
 her, but suddenly falls into convulsions. His servant tells her 
 the only remedy is the brain of a man, recently dead, dissolved 
 in wine. Quoth the lady, readily : "My husband has been dead 
 only a few days; open his coffin, and take the remedy from 
 thence." The coffin was immediately opened, when, to the con- 
 sternation of the widow, the philosopher rose up, for he had only 
 been pretending to be dead, and had created all the scene by 
 magical arts. — In Voltaire's story, a lady had vowed not to 
 marry a second husband so long as the rivulet continued to flow 
 past the grave of her lately deceased spouse, and was now busy 
 contriving to turn its course in a different direction. Zadig's wife 
 tells him of this, and professes disgust at such heartlessness. 
 Zadig, not long after, pretends to have died suddenly ; his inti- 
 mate friend visits the sorrowing widow, makes love to her, falls 
 suddenly ill— the nose of a dead man applied to the part affected 
 is the only cure ; so the lady immediately takes a sharp knife,
 
 342 APPENDIX. 
 
 and repairs to her husband's tomb, intending to cut off his nose, 
 but Zadig arises, and scoffs at his wife for her hollow professions 
 of affection. 
 
 Our old English jest-books abound in satirical tales of 
 "widows' tears, which shrink, like Arno, in the summer." The 
 tenth jest in Mery Tales and Qiiicke Answeres, a collection of 
 facetia; which has been more than once cited in these notes, is as 
 follows : 
 
 "There was a yonge woman, the whiche for her husbande, 
 that laye a dyenge, sorowed oute of all measure, wherfore her 
 father came often to her and sayde : daughter, leaue your mourn- 
 inge ; for I haue prouyded for you an other husbande, a farre 
 more goodly man. But she did not onely continue in her 
 sorowe, but also was greatly displeased, that her father made 
 any motion to her of an other husbande. As sone as she had 
 buryed her husbande, and the soule mass was songe, and that 
 they were at dyner, betwene sobbynge and wepynge she rowned 
 \i.e. whispered] her father in the eare, and sayde : father, where 
 is the same yonge man, that ye said shuld be min husband ? — 
 Lo, thus may ye se, that women sorowe ryght longe, after theyr 
 husbandes be departed." 
 
 Of the same class is the jest m A Hundred Mery Tfffc— the 
 book referred to by Beatrice, in Much Ado about Nothing, when 
 she says to Benedick: "Will you tell me who told you that I 
 was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the Hundred 
 Merry Tales?" — of the woman who followed her fourth hus- 
 band's bier and wept ; not because of his death, as she told a 
 gossip, but because she was not this time, as on former occa- 
 sions, sure of a new husband ; and another in the same collection, 
 of the woman kneeling at the mass of requiem, while the corpse 
 of her husband lay in the chapel, and a young man whispering 
 "that he myght be her husbande," she replied: "Syr, by my 
 trowthe, I am sory that ye come so late, for I am sped all redy. 
 For I was made sure yesterday to another man."
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 343 
 
 XIII — The Queen's seventh and last story is of 
 The Siege of Rome. 
 
 The city of Rome was besieged by three Saracen knights, and 
 its defence undertaken by seven wise men, one of whom (named 
 Janus, or Genus, in some of the versions) devised a stratagem 
 with a mirror, or two ghttering swords, which caused the 
 Saracens to decamp in mortal terror. 
 
 This stupid story is not found in the Liber de Septeni Sapien- 
 tibits, but occurs in the Roman des Sept Sages. 
 
 XIV — The Seventh Master now appears before the king, 
 and, having predicted that on the following day the prince will 
 recover his speech, relates the story of 
 
 The Tiao Dreams : or, the Kiiighf of Hungary. 
 
 A certain noble knight of Hungary dreamt of seeing a very 
 beautiful lady, but knew her not ; and it so happened that the 
 lady whom he saw m his dream that same night dreamt also of 
 him. Next day the knight of Hungary took horse and arms, 
 and proceeded in quest of the lady. Three weeks and more did 
 he ride, sorely sighing for his lady-love, till he came to a town, 
 where was a fair castle, strongly fortified. He takes up his 
 lodging at the inn, and, questioning mine host regarding the 
 castle and its owner, he learns that it belongs to a lord who has 
 a fair jewel of a wife, of whom he is so jealous that two years 
 ago he built a strong tower at one end of the castle, in which he 
 confines her, with one maiden as her companion ; and he always 
 carries the key of the tower, which is never opened save when 
 he himself visits her. The knight had already seen the lady 
 looking out of the tower window, and recognised her as the 
 object of his dream. He goes on the following day to the castle, 
 and offers his services to the old lord, who heartily bids him
 
 344 APPENDIX, 
 
 welcome ; and the knight, being a good and valiant warrior, 
 conquers all his enemies, so that the old man loved him fondly, 
 and made him steward of his lands. 
 
 One day, when the steward chanced to be under the tower, 
 the lady perceived him and recognised him as the same she had 
 seen in her dream, and contrived to communicate with him by 
 means of a rope made of rushes let down from the window. The 
 knight now planned a crafty device by which he should enjoy 
 the society of his lady-love unknown to her husband. He built 
 a tower at some distance from the castle, and caused an under- 
 ground passage to be made, leading direct from it to the lady's 
 chamber. When all was completed, he visited the young wife, 
 who gave him a ring as a keepsake, telling him, should her hus- 
 band see it and appear suspicious, to bring it back to her at 
 once. The old lord recognises his wife's ring on the steward's 
 finger, "as he sat at meat," and, after examining it, hastens to 
 the tower ; but the steward having reached the lady's chamber 
 by the private way and restored the ring, on the husband 
 demanding to see the ring, she at once produces it, to his great 
 satisfaction.^ At length the lovers resolve to elope, and the lady 
 counsels the steward to tell the old lord that, having slain a great 
 man in his own country, he had been banished, and that his 
 lady-love was coming to him with some tidings regarding his 
 heritage. The old lord would, of course, ask to see the lady, 
 and she herself would play her part. The knight accordingly 
 
 * In the Septcm Sapientiim, a king takes the place of the old lord, and 
 he and the knight, on a hunting excursion, having dismounted during the 
 noontide heat, the king recognises the ring on the knight's finger while 
 the latter is asleep. On awaking, the knight suspects from the king's 
 countenance that the ring has betrayed him, and, feigning illness, obtains 
 leave to return home. This incident may be compared with the legend of 
 Kentigern (or St. Mungo) and the Ring, in which the queen's gift to her 
 paramour is discovered b)- the jealous king under similar circumstances — 
 but here the likeness ends : the finding of the ring in the stomach of a fish 
 belongs to anoi'aer cycle of folk-tales.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 345 
 
 tells his lord this story, and invites him to a banquet at his own 
 tower. Before he arrives, his wife, dressed in the costume of the 
 knight's country, has reached the banqueting hall by the secret 
 passage, prepared to enact the part of the crafty knight's leman. 
 'I'he old lord, on seeing her, thinks she is remarkably like his 
 own wife ; but then he recollected the affair of the ring, and 
 there might also be two women exactly alike. At this juncture 
 the lady pretends to swoon, is taken out, and returns with all 
 speed by the private way to her chamber, where, having changed 
 her dress, she is found by her husband, whom she embraces with 
 every token of affection. He was " blythe as bird on bough," 
 and remained with her all night. On the day following the 
 crafty knight sends all his property on board a ship, and 
 goes to take leave of the old lord, as he is to return at once, 
 with his lady-love, to his own country. The knight and the old 
 lord's wife — who has resumed the character of the supposititious 
 lady of Hungary — are accompanied by the deceived husband 
 "into the sea a mile or two, with mynstrelsy and many manner 
 of melody," and then he bids them farewell. On his return 
 home, he proceeds, as usual, to the tower, and finds his bird has 
 flown : 
 
 Than sayed he, walaway ! 
 
 That ever was he man boren ! 
 
 Than was all \\y& myrthe lorne. 
 
 He lepe out of the tour anoon, 
 
 And than brake hys neke boon. 
 
 Wright says that this story appears to be taken from some 
 Eastern collection, since a similar tale is found in Von Hammer's 
 supplementary tales of the Thousand and One Nights.— ^&xn\ 
 has adapted it, in the Orlando Innamorato — omitting the inci- 
 dents of the two dreams : Folderico, the old knight who gained, 
 by the artifice of the golden balls in the foot-race (see above, 
 p. 323), the daughter of the King of the Distant Isles, shut her 
 up in a tower where he kept his treasure, and Ordauro, the un-
 
 346 APPENDIX. 
 
 successful suitor, who is beloved by the lady, plays the part of 
 the crafty Knight of Hungary. — Dunlop has pointed out that the 
 tale of the Two Dreams corresponds exactly with the plot of the 
 Miles Gloriosus of Plautus ; the Fabliau Le Chevaher a la Trappe 
 (Le Grand, iii, 157); a tale in the fourth part of Massuccio ; and 
 the story Du Vieux Calender in Gueulette's Contes Tartarcs. 
 
 The notion of two young people simultaneously dreaming of 
 each other, though total strangers, is essentially Oriental, and 
 numerous instances might be cited from Asiatic fiction. In the 
 Hindu romance of Vdsavadatta, by Subhandu (7th century), as 
 analysed by Colebrooke in vol. x of the Asiatic Researches, 
 Candaspacetu, a young and valiant prince, saw in a dream a 
 beautiful maiden, of whom he became desperately enamoured. 
 Impressed with the belief that a person such as seen by him in 
 his dream had a real existence, he resolves to travel in search of 
 her, and departs, attended only by his confidant Macaranda. 
 While reposing under a tree in a forest at the foot of the Vindhya 
 mountains, where they halted, Macaranda overhears two birds 
 conversing ; and from their discourse he learns that the Princess 
 Vasavadatta, having rejected all the suitors who had been as- 
 sembled by the king her father for her to make choice of a hus- 
 band, had seen Candaspacetu in a dream, in which she had even 
 learnt his name. Her confidante Tamalika, sent by her in search 
 of the prince, has arrived in the same forest, and is discovered there 
 by Macaranda. She delivers the prince a letter from the princess, 
 and conducts him to the king's palace. He obtains from the 
 princess the avowal of her love, and her confidante reveals to 
 him the violence of her passion. The subsequent adventures 
 of the lovers have nothing in common with the exploits of the 
 Knight of Hungary. — In another Indian romance (now known 
 chiefly, if not solely, through the Persian translation) Prince 
 Kamarupa dreams of Kamalata and she dreams of him, having 
 never seen or heard of each other before. — In the 39th tale of the 
 Tfiti Ndma (33rd of Kaderi's abridgment), an emperor of China
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 347 
 
 dreams of a beautiful damsel, and being sorely smitten with love 
 for the creature of his dreaming fancy, he can find no peace of 
 mind. One of his vazirs, who is an excellent portrait painter, 
 receiving from the emperor a minute description of the lady's 
 features, draws the face, and the emperor acknowledges the 
 likeness to be very exact. The vazir then goes abroad with 
 the portrait, to see whether any one can recognise the original of 
 it. In the course of his wanderings, he meets with an old ascetic, 
 who at once recognises the portrait as that of the Princess of 
 Rum, who, he says, has an unconquerable aversion for men, 
 ever since she beheld, in her garden, a peacock basely desert his 
 mate and their young ones, when the tree on which their nest 
 was built had been struck by lightning : she believed that all men 
 were equally selfish, and was resolved never to marry. The 
 vazir returns to his royal master and recounts to him these 
 interesting particulars regarding the object of his affection, and 
 undertakes to conquer the aversion of the princess, which he does, 
 by exhibiting before her a painting of a male deer sacrificing his 
 life for the safety of his mate and their fawn. — The frame of the 
 Persian Tales ascribed to a dervish of Ispahan seems to have 
 been adapted from this story of the Tilti Ndma, in which, as 
 Gerrans has remarked, in the preface to his incomplete trans- 
 lation, the nurse " Sutlumene ransacks her invention to combat 
 the obstinacy of the princess Farrukhnaz, who, from the impres- 
 sion of a dream, had formed as unfavourable an opinion of men 
 as the Sultan of the Indies [in the Arabian Nights} had precon- 
 ceived of women. " 
 
 Next day the Prince presents himself before his Majesty and 
 relates the particulars of his stepmother's wickedness towards 
 himself. And here in the Septem Sapicntuni and its derivatives 
 is interpolated the incident referred to in note, pp. 286-7, of the 
 discovery of the queen's paramour disguised as one of her female 
 attendants : the prirce requests that the queen be summoned,
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 with all her maidens, and when the latter have been ranged in 
 such order that every one of them could be distinctly seen, 
 according to Rolland's old Scottish metrical version^ — 
 
 Than said the Childe : Father, lift up zour Ene, 
 Behald how lang that ze haue blindit bene 
 With zour Emprice that is zour Maryit quene. 
 And that zoung wenche that all is cled in grene, 
 Quhilk is hour Maj'd- unto zour awin Empres, 
 Quhome scho has mair in fauour and kindnes, 
 Than euer scho had, I dar weill tak on me. 
 Sen thay first met than to zour Maiestie. 
 Quhome I desire, gif it plesit zour grace, 
 To be uncled-* befoir zow in this place. 
 That being done, richt weill ze sail persaue. 
 Sic ana bour Mayd, and sic Emprice ze haue. 
 To quhome answerit this Nobill Empreour : 
 Thou knawis, sone, it is not my honour. 
 It will be schama to me and to vs all, 
 Ana naikit Mayd befoir us for to call. 
 Than said the Chylde : ane Ma3-den gif scho be. 
 All the greit schame thairof beis laid on me; 
 Gif scho be not ana zoung Majd as ze tell. 
 Than let all schame rernane still with her sell. 
 The Empreour than commandit that be done : 
 The officers thay unbecled'' hir sone. 
 The clais of tana,* it weill appeirit than 
 It was na Mayd, hot al\va3is was a man. 
 
 XIV — The Prince then relates the story of 
 
 The Ravens. 
 
 A knight and his son row over to an island where only a 
 hermit lived. Three ravens are conversing together, and the 
 
 ' The Se-iiti Seages translatit out of Prois in Scottis Meter be John 
 Rolland. Written in 1560, printed in 1575. — The original spelling is here 
 reproduced (the latter z represents y — sour, your) ; but to facilitate the 
 reading of this passage, I have inserted a few commas. 
 
 2 Bower maiden. ^ Undressed. ■• The clothes taken off.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 349 
 
 father remarks to his son that it would be interesting to know 
 what they were talking about. The youth, who understood the 
 language of birds, replied that he could tell, but was afraid of 
 giving offence to his father by the communication. Being 
 assured that he might speak freely, the youth then said that 
 the ravens had prophesied that he should become a great man, 
 and that his father should one day hold a basin of water while 
 he washed his hands, and his mother should wait upon him with 
 a towel. Incensed at this, the father cast his son into the sea, 
 but the lad, being able to swim, contrived to reach the shore, 
 and was taken up by a fisherman, who sold him to the warden 
 of a castle. In course of time, it happened that the king was 
 much annoyed at being followed constantly whenever he went 
 abroad by three ravens, who kept up a loud chattering as if in 
 hot dispute. The king offered the hand of his daughter in mar- 
 riage to any one who would explain the meaning of the three 
 ravens always following him, and the youth, being introduced to 
 his Majesty, explained that the ravens were two males and one 
 female ; that during a time of scarcity the female bird's mate had 
 driven her away, and she had been fed and supported by the 
 young male raven ; but now the old male bird had returned to 
 claim his mate, and the female would have none of him, but 
 elected the young male that had befriended her in adversity for 
 her mate. The king then ruled that the old male bird should 
 depart and trouble the happy pair no more. On hearing this 
 decision the birds flew away. After this the youth married the 
 king's daughter, and ruled the kingdom jointly with his royal 
 father-in-law. Years passed on, and the youth's father having 
 fallen into poverty, he and his wife, for shame thereof, quitted 
 their native country, and came to the land where their own son 
 was become so eminent. He hears of this, and visits them, with 
 a grand retinue, at their humble abode. The aged couple, not 
 knowing him, of course, make haste to receive him with all 
 reverence, and the father holding the basin of water, and the
 
 35° APPENDIX. 
 
 mother the towel, thus was the ravens' prophecy fulfilled. The 
 youth then discovered himself, embraced his parents, and made 
 them comfortable for the remainder of their lives. 
 
 In the Septem Sapienttim and its derivatives, such as our old 
 English prose and Rolland's Scottish metrical versions, this story 
 is greatly amplified by the interpolation of a series of adventures 
 which form the plot of the romance oi Amis and Amiloun. — It 
 is found in the Cento Novelle of Sansovino, (Day viii, nov. 4), 
 and in the novels of Lope de Vega, El pronostico cumplido ; and 
 many other parallels exist in Asiatic and European fiction; for 
 instance : in the Arabian tale of the Second Royal Mendicant ; 
 in the Bakhtydr Ndma, story of the King of Persia and his 
 Son ; in chapter 79 of the Anglican Gcsta Romanorimi ; in the 
 classical legend of Danae ; in the Bdgli Bahdr, story of the 
 Second Darvish; in Ralston's Tibetan Tales, story of the Ful- 
 filled Prophecy; and in Syntipas, story of Destiny, or the Son 
 of the Sage — pp. 280-282. This last, though undoubtedly of 
 Eastern origin (as is evident from the incident of the youth 
 breaking through the wall of the king's palace, the common 
 practice of Asiatic thieves since the days of Job — xxiv, 26), may 
 yet be considered as faithfully reflecting the universal belief in 
 Europe during the Middle Ages, based upon such scripture texts 
 as inculcate faith in an overruling Providence, directly control- 
 ling the destinies of every human being. 
 
 Conclusion. 
 The prince having related the story of the Ravens, his 
 stepmother acknowledged her wickedness, through the fiend's 
 incitement, and she was put to death. And thus was the child's 
 life saved, and the emperor rewarded the Seven Wise Masters 
 who had told the tales against the vile traitoress the child's 
 stepmother. The emperor remained a widower for the remainder 
 of his life, for he durst no more deal with women, lest they should 
 work further evil.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 
 
 351 
 
 The following is a comparative table of the tales in (i) the 
 two early English metrical versions of the Seven Sages, 13th and 
 14th centuries, edited by Weber and Wright; (2) the French 
 metrical Roman des Sept Sages, about 1284, edited by Keller; 
 (3) the Latin prose text, Liber de Septem Sapientibiis, edited by 
 Goedeke;! ^^^ (^) the Latin prose version, Historia Septem 
 Sapientum Roma, Geneva, 1492, and its derivatives : 
 
 
 Roman des 
 
 LiDER DE 
 
 Hist. VII Sap. 
 
 Seven Wise Masters. 
 Ellis. Weber. Wright. 
 
 Sept Sages. 
 Keller. 
 
 VII Sap. 
 Goedeke. 
 
 Copland, 
 Rolland. 
 
 Queen i 
 
 Tree and Branch ... 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 ist Sage 
 
 Dog and Snake 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 Queen 2 
 2nd Sage 
 
 Wild Boar 
 
 Queen 3 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 
 Id. 
 
 5th Sage 
 
 
 Queen 3 
 
 King's Treasury ... 
 
 Queen 5 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 3rd Sage 
 
 Husband Shut Out 
 
 Id. 
 
 4th Sage 
 
 2nd Sage 
 
 Queen 4 
 
 King and Seneschal 
 
 Queen 2 
 
 Id. 
 
 Queen 6 
 
 4th Sage 
 
 Wise Old Man 
 
 Id. 
 
 3rd Sage. 
 
 Id. 
 
 Queen 5 
 
 Merlin's Pillar 
 
 Queen 7 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 5th Sage 
 
 Burgess and Magpie 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 3rd Sage 
 
 Queen 6 
 
 VII Evil Counsellors 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 Queen 4 
 
 6th Sage 
 
 Widow Comforted... 
 
 Id. 
 
 Id. 
 
 7th Sage 
 
 Queen 7 
 
 Siege of Rome 
 
 Queen 4 
 
 
 Queen 6 
 
 7th Sage 
 Prince 
 
 
 Id. 
 
 
 Queen 7 
 Id. 
 
 
 Id 
 
 Id. 
 
 
 ( 
 
 Queen 7, 
 
 
 
 
 ... -j 
 
 Daughter 
 7th Sage, 
 
 
 
 
 ... -^ 
 
 Stepmother 
 
 6th Sage, 
 Three Lovers 
 
 It will be observed that our old English versions have the 
 same stories that occur in the Sept Sages, though not all in 
 
 ' Orient und Occidctit, iii, 385-423.
 
 352 APPENDIX. 
 
 the same order ; while the Liber de Septem Sapientibics has, in 
 place of the Siege of Rome and the Dreams, two tales which 
 leappear in several other texts represented in Goedeke's com- 
 parative table, and are as follows: 
 
 T/ie Spoiled Daughter. 
 
 There was a soldier, who, having a pet daughter, disdained 
 to correct her in youth. At length she became pregnant by a 
 shield-bearer; and the soldier, not daring to take vengeance 
 upon him, beat his daughter almost to death. When recovered, 
 in her father's absence, she fled to a distant land. At last she 
 was followed by her father, and found in the house of a certain 
 prince. When the daughter observed this, she approached the 
 lady of the land and the prince in whose friendly abode she 
 sojourned, and said, concerning her father, that he was a low 
 character, who had followed her through various countries to 
 corrupt her. Then the wretched father was laken and hung 
 from a gibbet. Observing that her father was now dead, she 
 secretly went off to her own country, where she continued her 
 evil life. 
 
 TJie Bad Stepmother. 
 
 There was a certain citizen, who had a son by his former 
 wife. His stepmother hated him, and, that she might accom- 
 plish his destruction, she stole a golden vessel entrusted to the 
 young man to keep, and concealed it in the straw bed in the 
 youth's room. Some days after, the stepmother stirred up her 
 husband to examine the bed in the young man's room. On this 
 account, as well as on account of other misdeeds falsely alleged 
 by the stepmother, the youth was drowned on a charge of 
 attempted parricide. When the relatives of the drowned youth 
 knew this, they slew the stepmother. The relatives of the 
 stepmother slew the citizen, and thus son and stepmother and 
 father died.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 353 
 
 In the Historia a new story has been inserted, namely, 
 
 Tlie Time Knights and the Lady, 
 
 for which see above, pp. 288, 289, and, to make room for it, the 
 tales of the King and his Seneschal and the Siege of Rome have 
 been very clumsily joined together. 
 
 Wright says that the Latin Historia Septan Sapicntiim Romcs 
 "appears to have been translated direct from the Hebrew 
 (Mishle Sandabar), and it served as the groundwork of all other 
 mediteval versions. " It is surprising how he could make such 
 an assertion, since he has given, in the same essay in which it 
 occurs, an analysis of the Hebrew text of the Sindibad, from 
 which the Historia differs as much as it does from all the 
 other Eastern texts. It is true that four of the tales of the 
 Historia — namely, the Dog and the Snake, the King and his 
 Seneschal (first part of the Siege of Rome in this version), the 
 Wild Boar, and the Burgess and his Magpie — are variants of 
 tales belonging to the original Book of Sindibad, but they are 
 also found in much earlier texts of the Wise Masters ; and if it 
 be conceded that the story of the Three Knights and the Lady 
 is adapted from the Hebrew tale of the Hunchbacks (which is 
 not at all probable — see p. 289 ; and observe that the Historia 
 dates about the end of the 15th century), it is surely very slight 
 ground on which to base the theory of the Hebrew version 
 being the source of this Latin prose text. As to the Historia 
 forming the groundwork of "all other mediaeval versions," the 
 comparative table in p. 351 shows that precisely the contrary is 
 the fact — that // was based upon mediaeval versions. The cause 
 of this mistake, in which Wright is far from being singular, can 
 now be explained : 
 
 In the 13th century a French metrical version, entitled Dolo- 
 pathos, was composed by a trouvere named Herbers, from a 
 Latin work by a Cistercian monk, Johannes de Alta Silva. It 
 
 z
 
 354 APPENDIX. 
 
 was supposed by Des Longchamps and other investigators that 
 the work of this monk was the Historia Sept em Sapientum RomcB, 
 and therefore that the variations occurring in Dolopathos were to 
 be ascribed to Herbers. But Montaiglon, the editor of Dolo- 
 pathos, among others, did not accept this view ; he assumed two 
 Latin sources : the Historia, by an unknown author, and the 
 lost work of the monk of Alta Silva (Haute Seille). And Mus- 
 safiia has rendered this last view certain ; the work of Johannes 
 de Alta Silva having been discovered by him, in 1864, in the 
 Imperial Library at Vienna, and found to be quite different 
 from the Historia, but to correspond exactly with the Dolopathos. 
 Johannes dedicates his Opusciduin de rege vel Septem Sapientibus 
 to Bishop Bertrand of Metz. Now Haute Seille at its founda- 
 tion, in 1 140, was assigned to the see of Toul, and in 1184 was 
 transferred from Toul to Metz. Bertrand occupied the see of 
 Metz from 11 79 to his death, in 1212; and as Johannes would 
 naturally dedicate his work to his own bishop, it would fall 
 between 1 184 and 1212; and probably wishing to commend 
 himself to the new bishop, who was a lover of study, when the 
 cloister passed to Metz, he wrote his work. ^ 
 
 An ItaUan version, entitled Erasto, based upon current Euro- 
 pean texts, was printed, at Mantua, in 1558, of which a French 
 translation, Histoire Pitoyable dii Prince Erastus, was made in 
 1572. From the French it was rendered into English, under 
 the title of History of Prince Erastus and the Seven Wise Masters 
 of Rome, in 1674, by Francis Kirkman, a voluminous scribbler. 
 This version comprises some tales which are not found in the 
 earlier texts, but occur in the Italian novels and other collections. 
 
 The mediaeval romance of the Seven Wise Masters must have 
 been one of the most popular books in England during the i6th 
 and 17th centuries; and even, among the common people, until 
 comparatively recent times ; judging from the numerous editions 
 
 ' Goedeke, in Orient und Occidiut, iii, 395.
 
 THE SEVEN WISE MASTERS. 355 
 
 of the prose version which are preserved in our great libraries. 
 The Latin Historia seems to have been translated into English, 
 perhaps from a French rendering, in the beginning of the i6th 
 century, and first printed by Wynkyn de Worde. A copy of this 
 editio princeps in the British Museum commences thus : 
 
 Here begynneth thystorye of ye vii Wyse Maysters of rome conteynynge 
 ryght fayre and ryght ioj-ous narracons and to ye reder rj-ght delectable ; 
 
 and the colophon : 
 
 Thus endeth the treatyse of the seuen sages or wyse maysters of Rome. 
 Emprented in flet strete in ye sygne of the sone by me Wynkyn de worde. 
 [410, black letter, 80 leaves, with several page woodcuts : circa 1505.] 
 
 According to Ellis, the Seven Wise Masters was "translated 
 from the French into English, first printed by W. Copland, 
 without date, but between 1548 and 1567." It would appear, 
 however, from the title of Copland's edition (only one copy of 
 which was known to exist, and it disappeared many years ago ; 
 I do not know whether it has turned up again), that it was a 
 reprint of Wynkyn de Worde : 
 
 Here beginneth thystorj-e of the seuen wyse Maysters of Rome con- 
 teyning ryght faire and ryght ioyous narracios, and to the reder rj-ght 
 delectable. [Col.] Thus endeth the treatyse of the seuen sages or wyse 
 Maysters of Rome. Imprinted at London in Flete Strete at the sygne of 
 the Rose Garland, by me William Copland. [Svo, black letter, circa 1550.] 
 
 The black letter copy in the Glasgow University Library, which 
 I have made use of occasionally in the course of these notes, is 
 supposed to be a reprint of Copland's edition, by Sanders, one of 
 the early Glasgow printers, about the end of the 17th century. 
 It has been well thumbed, and wants three leaves at the begin- 
 ning, and probably one leaf at the end. 
 
 Besides the editio princeps of Wynkyn de Worde, there are 
 copies of twelve other prose editions of the Seven Wise Masters 
 in the British Museum, viz. — London, 1671, Svo; 1684, i2mo; 
 1687, Svo, B. L. ; 1697, Svo, B. L. ; Glasgow (Robert Sanders, son
 
 356 APPENDIX. 
 
 of the printer above mentioned), 1713, 8vo; Newcastle, ? 1760, 
 i2mo; London, ? 1780, i2mo; Boston, 1794, i2mo; London, 
 ? 1750, l2mo; ? 1785, l2mo; ? 1805, i2mo; and Warrington, 
 ? 1815, i2mo: the four last are chap-books. The Bodleian 
 Library, Oxford, has two prose editions, 1653 and 1682 ; and a 
 curious metrical version entitled : Sage and priidente Sayngcs 
 of the Seucii loyse Men, by Robert Brenant, with a comment, 
 London, 1553, small 8vo, black letter. — In 1575 was printed at 
 Edinburgh John Rolland's Scottish metrical version, but it was 
 written in 1560. There are imperfect copies of this work, dated 
 1620, in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, and in the Glasgow 
 University Library. It was reprinted (in black letter, 4to), 
 with an Introduction by David Laing, for the Bannatyne Club, 
 in 1835. 
 
 A wretched catchpenny imitation of the Wise Masters was 
 published in 1663, under the title of The Seven Wise Mistresses 
 of Rome, which was reprinted as a chap-book, within quite 
 recent years, at Dublin.
 
 DOLOPATHOS AND THE SEVEX SAGES. 357 
 
 No. XXXIII. 
 DOLOPATHOS; OR, THE KiNG AND THE SeVEN SaGES. 
 
 *** Having furnished some account of the group of Western texts of the 
 Seven Wise Masters, as they are fairly represented by our early English 
 metrical versions, I now present, in conclusion, an abstract of another 
 and very different text — moreover, the earliest form in which the romance 
 appeared in Europe — entitled Dolopathos ; sive, de Rege etSeptevi Sapien- 
 iidus (the work of Johannes de Alta Silva, referred to in p. 354, above), edited 
 by Professor Hermann Oesterlej', and published at Strassburg, 1873 ; of 
 which no description has hitherto appeared in English. ^ 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 There was formerly in Sicily a wise and just king, called 
 Dolopathos. The Roman emperor Augustus having bestowed 
 on him Agrippa, the sister of the empress, the result of their 
 union was a son. Before his birth it was declared by "the 
 diviners and mathematicians " that the child would be a son; 
 that he would become a great philosopher, suffer many evils 
 from snares laid for him, but rule in his father's place, and 
 become a worshipper of the true God. The child was named 
 Luscinius, and left seven years with the nurses, after which 
 the task of his education was undertaken by Virgil. The great 
 wisdom and learning of Luscinius caused him to be envied by 
 those who could not equal him, and he was invited to a banquet 
 where they designed to poison him. He went, accompanied by 
 Virgil, and when the poisoned cup was presented, Luscinius at 
 once declared its nature, and challenged his enemies to taste it. 
 They knew they must now die of poison, or be accused by Virgil 
 to Caisar, and slain ; so they drank the cup, and died. 
 
 Luscinius looks one day into the astronomical books, and 
 suddenly falls senseless on the floor. By the aid of Virgil and 
 
 ' This text forms part of a miscellaneous MS. volume preserved in the 
 Library of the Athenajum at Luxemburg.
 
 358 APPENDIX. 
 
 others the prince recovers, and informs his tutor that he found 
 from the astronomical rules that his mother had died, that his 
 father had married again, and that ambassadors were then on 
 the way to convey him home from Virgil ; — these events had 
 caused him sorrow, and he had swooned. Virgil comforts him, 
 and induces him to promise that, after leaving him, he would 
 speak to no one on the way home, or in his country, or to the 
 king or the queen, or to the princes, or to any one until he again 
 saw him {i.e. Virgil). The messengers arrive, and take Lusci- 
 nius away with them. Discovering that he is dumb, they fear 
 the king's wrath, but he keeps them from suicide by signs, and 
 by writing that by-and-by he should recover the use of his 
 tongue. 
 
 Meanwhile Dolopathos makes great preparations for the re- 
 ception of his son, who at length arrives, and is greeted with 
 loud strains of music, but it is not discovered that he is dumb. 
 Next morning the king has a private interview with his son, 
 whom he proposes to crown in his own stead, but the prince 
 does not reply. The king is angry ; Luscinius shows signs of 
 affection, upon which the king rages against Virgil and the 
 messengers. Luscinius writes that he is dumb through grief at 
 his mother's death. The king's counsellors advise the use of 
 music, the company of girls, wine, good food, pleasant objects, 
 etc. The queen enters, and undertakes to carry out this plan. 
 In the queen's apartments the immodest bearing of the damsels 
 towards the prince failing to shake his constancy, the queen her- 
 self tempts him, with amorous gestures, but has finally to confess 
 to her maidens that she has also failed, and they advocate 
 revenge — propose to accuse him of attempting to violate the 
 queen : " varium et semper mutabile femina ! " So they scratch 
 and disfigure themselves before Luscinius, tear their clothes, and 
 the queen rushes with clamour into the king's council-room, 
 and accuses the prince — her maids attest the truth of her com- 
 plaint, and Dolopathos expresses his grief, sorrow, and anger.
 
 DOLOPA THOS AND THE SE VEN SA GES. 359 
 
 Luscinius is brought forward, and is still dumb and unmoved. 
 Sentence is demanded by the queen's relatives and friends. 
 Dolopathos calls upon the assembled grandees to decide. At 
 first they say that the laws do not provide for such a case, but 
 being urged, they pronounce sentence of death by burning, which 
 is ratified by Dolopathos. A great fire is accordingly kindled 
 next day, but the people, captivated by the appearance of 
 Luscinius, murmur at the severity of the sentence, and no one 
 is willing to obey the king's command to throw Luscinius into 
 the flames. Just then one of the Seven Wise Men, by chance, 
 comes riding up on a white mule, and, ascertaining the cause of 
 the great assemblage, remonstrates with the king on his credulity 
 and injustice, and relates the story of 
 
 The Dog and the Sfiake, 
 
 which is common to all the Western and most of the Eastern 
 texts. The king then remands his son to prison. But Next 
 Day the counsellors again sentence him to be burnt, and when 
 a great fire was prepared and a crowd had assembled to witness 
 the execution, another of the Seven Wise Men opportunely 
 comes to the spot, and obtains a reprieve for Luscinius by 
 relating the story of 
 
 The King's Treasury^ 
 
 which reappears in later Western texts (see p. 330), but is here 
 related with variations : After the king discovers that his treas- 
 ury has been robbed, he takes counsel of a wise old man, who 
 had formerly been himself a great robber, but, though now 
 deprived of sight, often gave the king excellent advice. The 
 old man suggests that a quantity of green grass should be taken 
 into the treasury and placed on a fire ; then, closing the gate, 
 the king should walk round the building, and observe whether 
 smoke escaped through any part of the walls. This the king
 
 360 APPENDIX. 
 
 does, and perceiving snaoke issuing from between stones which 
 were not cemented, the precise place where the robbers had 
 gained entrance was at once ascertained. — The youth's device 
 of stealing his father's body (omitted in other texts, but occurring 
 in Herodotus and in the Indian story of Ghata and Karpara — 
 see p. 332) is peculiar : The king, still acting by the old man's 
 advice, causes the corpse to be guarded by twenty horsemen in 
 white armour and twenty in black. The youth disguises him- 
 self, one side in white and the other in black, so that he is 
 mistaken as he rides past the two lines of horsemen by each as 
 belonging to their own party. 
 
 On the Third Morning the king and his princes assemble 
 as before ; a great tire is kindled and the king's son is about to 
 be cast into it, when, lo, an aged man of reverend aspect, on a 
 black horse, and bearing a green olive branch, advances to the 
 king. On learning the cause of the concourse, he says : "I am 
 a Roman by nation, and am called one of the Seven Wise Men. 
 Out of the treasury of my heart I offer thmgs new and old to the 
 kings and princes of the world. Seeing chance has brought me 
 hither, if thou wilt hear me, I will tell thee a story — old, indeed, 
 but perhaps new to thee." The king commands silence, and the 
 wise man begins the story of 
 
 The Best Friend. 
 
 In the early days of Rome, a king, dying, left the throne to a 
 young son. A protracted siege soon followed ; the city was 
 oppressed by famine; and the king, acting on the advice of 
 counsellors of his own age, ordered all the old men and women 
 to be slain, as they consumed food, but were useless for defence. 
 All who concealed their parents were also to be put to death. 
 Thus the sons became more cruel than the enemy to their 
 fathers. One wise old man was concealed in an underground 
 cave by his son, whose wife was aware of the fact, but promised
 
 DOLOPATHOS AND THE SEVEN SAGES. 361 
 
 with an oath to keep the secret. By-and-by peace was con- 
 cluded. The young king had no advisers skilled in law and 
 wisdom. His young counsellors drew him into every wickedness ; 
 vice ran riot in the realm, the impious tiiumpbed, and the 
 innocent suffered. The country now had cause to remember 
 the saying of the wise man : " Woe to the state whose king is a 
 boy, and whose princes feast together till morning." But the 
 youth who had concealed his father brought before him all causes 
 referred to him. The old man pointed out the proper decisions, 
 and thus the youth came into favour, was able somewhat to 
 restore order and law, and was made chief counsellor. Hence 
 arose hatred towards him, and plots were laid by his former 
 associates. They suspected that his father was alive and taught 
 him this wisdom. Openly they durst not say so. They per- 
 suaded the king to appoint a time for plays, games, and feasts, 
 and to order every one to bring forward ( i ) his best friend, {2) his 
 worst enem.y, (3) as good a mimic and (4) as faithful a servant 
 as he had. This was agreed to. Some brought as the friend a 
 father, others a wife, and so on. But the youth, instructed by 
 his father, who detected the evil design, brought forward a do,^, 
 an ass, his little son, and his ivife. At the noise of the people 
 and the sound of the music, the stolid ass became excited, and 
 made the palace echo with his braying. Soon all were attracted 
 to the spot. Ridiculed by the wits, the youth, when questioned 
 by the king, said : 
 
 " My dog is my best friend. He does not fear to accompany 
 me wherever I go, encountering with me the danger of streams 
 and robbers, and the sharp fangs of wild beasts. For me, he 
 despises even death itself, and often refreshes me and my guests 
 with the excellent game he captures. Away from me, he is 
 never happy, beside me, never sad. Truly, O king, I have 
 nowhere found so faithful and sincere a friend, nor do I think 
 you have any better. 
 
 " I have brought forward to you my ass, the most faithful
 
 362 APPENDIX. 
 
 and patient of servants. For he, every morning, going out to 
 the forest, returns thence laden with firewood ; when this is 
 removed from his back, he carries corn to the mill, and brings 
 it back ground ; then he sets off with the buckets to the well, 
 and returns with them full. Although he does all this day by 
 day, without murmur or reluctance, he demands no costly dress, 
 or expensive food, but is satisfied if a little hay or chaff follows 
 his daily toil. I ask, O king, where shall I find such a servant? 
 Clearly, nowhere. 
 
 "But whom, as a mimic, could I bring forward better than 
 my little son? For he daily shows me new sports, and, while 
 he attempts to imitate what he sees or hears, puts on comic 
 expressions, mumbles the words he cannot utter plainly, and 
 when he completely fails to say what he thinks, expresses it by 
 signs and bodily gestures. In the same hour, we find him joyful 
 and sad, weeping and laughing, and that not artificially, as with 
 others, but he acts simply, incited by his nature and age, and 
 looking for no reward from me. 
 
 "Finally, I have brought here my wife, the greatest enemy I 
 have." But the wife, seeing she had been reserved for this 
 indignity, remembering the confidence, pity, and humanity exer- 
 cised towards her husband and his father, was goaded into fury, 
 and could scarcely allow her husband to finish the words. " O 
 worst and most ungrateful of men," said she, " who, unmindful 
 of the kindness and pity which I have shown for many years 
 now towards your father, withdrawn from death and kept in a 
 cave — now to regard me before the king and all the people as an 
 enemy ! " But the young man replied : 
 
 "You see, O king, that what I said concerning my wife is 
 true, who, for a single word, both betrays my concealed father 
 and brings me under sentence of death. So a certain very wise 
 old man, instructing his son, commanded him to be especially 
 on his guard against her who lay in his bosom, that is, his wife, 
 wishing it to be understood that she was a false friend. For
 
 D OL OPA THOS A ND THE SE VEN SA GES. 363 
 
 against open enemies it is easy to be on the watch, but no one 
 can avoid a wife, or fair-faced friend, who is always about, 
 because they pretend to inordinate love by their words, and 
 plan snares in their hearts." 
 
 But the king, having admired the skill of the young man, and 
 understanding the truth of his words, anticipated his accusers : 
 "Go," said he to him; "you and your father are safe; delay 
 not to bring him to the games. " The old man was therefore 
 led from the cave, and on account of his surprising wisdom, the 
 king appointed him a judge and father of the city and country. 
 In a short time he restored the ancient condition of things, 
 expelled vice, implanted good, restored quiet, and, dying, left 
 behind him many followers of virtue. 
 
 " Hear then," adds the wise man, " my story ends, and going 
 away, O king, I ask from thee nought else but that you grant 
 your son his life for this day, knowing that something is concealed 
 which, if you knew, will free you from murder and your son from 
 punishment." 
 
 This story, found in different forms in medieval works, and 
 probably of Talmudic origin, is reproduced, with variations, in 
 the Gesta Romanorimi, Tale 124, to this effect : A certain noble 
 knight, having offended his king, is to be pardoned on condition 
 that he enter the royal hall of audience on foot and riding at the 
 same time, and bring with him his most attached friend, the best 
 jester, and his most deadly foe. One evening a pilgrim comes to 
 the knight's castle to claim his hospitality, and after he has retired, 
 the knight, saying to his wife that pilgrims often carried much 
 gold about with them, proposes to rob and murder their guest, 
 which has the lady's approval. But the knight, rising early 
 next morning, dismisses the pilgrim, and, killing a calf, he cuts 
 it into pieces, and puts them into a sack, which he then gives to 
 his wife, desiring her to hide it, saying that only the head, legs.
 
 364 APPENDIX. 
 
 and arms of the pilgrim were in the sack — the rest he had him- 
 self concealed in the stable. On the day appointed, the knight 
 proceeds to the king's palace, accompanied by his dog, his child, 
 and his wife. He enters the royal hall, with one leg over his 
 dog, as if he was riding. The king is amused with his ingenuity, 
 and then asks him for his best friend. The knight, drawing his 
 sword, wounds his dog, who runs away, howling with pain ; but 
 on the knight calling him back, he immediately returns, and 
 fawns upon him. "This," says he, "is my true and faithful 
 friend. " Then the king asks for his worst enemy ; upon which 
 the knight strikes his wife a severe blow. Enraged at this 
 affront, the lady exclaims: "^Vhy dost thou smite me? Dost 
 thou forget that thou didst slay a pilgrim in thy house ? " The 
 knight then gave her a second blow. "Wretch!" she cries, 
 ' ' dost thou think I cannot tell where I placed the sack contain- 
 ing parts of the murdered man, and that the rest of him lies in 
 the stable?" Messengers are despatched to search the places 
 indicated by the woman, and they return with the flesh and 
 bones of the calf, upon which the king bestows great gifts 
 and honours on the knight, and ever after held him in great 
 esteem. 
 
 On the Fourth Morning the prince is again led out to 
 be burnt, when an aged man, robed in a toga, and seated on a 
 mule, presents himself before the king, and relates the story of 
 
 The Hard Creditor. 
 
 There Avas once a nobleman who had a strongly fortified 
 castle and many other possessions. His wife died, leaving him 
 an only daughter, whom he caused to be instructed in all the 
 Hberal arts, so far as wisdom could be acquired from the dis- 
 cipline and books of the philosophers, in order that she might 
 thus know how to secure her inheritance. In this hope he was 
 not deceived. .She became skilled in all the liberal arts, and
 
 DOLOPATHOS AND THE SEVEN SAGES. 365 
 
 also acquired a perfect knowledge of magic. After this it came 
 to pass that the nobleman was seized with an acute fever, took to 
 his bed, and died, bequeathing all his goods to his daughter. 
 Possessed of her father's wealth, she resolved she would marry- 
 no man unless his wisdom was equal to her own. She had 
 many noble suitors, but, denying none, she offered to share her 
 couch with any one who should give her a hundred marks of 
 silver, and when the morrow came, if they were mutually agree- 
 able, their nuptials should be duly celebrated. Many youths 
 came to her on this condition, and paid the stipulated sum of 
 money, but she enchanted them by her magical arts, placing an 
 owl's feather beneath the pillow of him who was beside her, 
 when he at once fell into a profound sleep, and so remained until 
 at daybreak she took away the feather. In this way she spoiled 
 many of their money, and acquired much treasure. It happened 
 that a certain young man of good family, having been thus 
 deluded, resolved to circumvent the damsel, so, proceeding to a 
 rich slave [freedman?], whose foot he had formerly cut off in 
 a passion, he asked him for a loan of one hundred marks, which 
 the lame one readily gave, but on this condition, that if the 
 money was not paid within a year, he might take the weight of 
 one hundred marks from the flesh and bones of the young man. 
 To this the youth lightly agreed, and signed the bond with his 
 seal. With the hundred marks he went a second time to the 
 damsel, and removing by accident the owl's feather from under 
 his pillow, thus did away the spell, and, having accomplished his 
 purpose, he was next day married to her in presence of their 
 friends. 
 
 Forthwith prosperous times came to the young man, he forgot 
 his creditor, and did not pay the money within the appointed 
 time; whereupon the lame one rejoiced that he had found an 
 opportunity of revenge. He appeared before the king, who was 
 then on the throne, raised an action against the youth, exhibited 
 the bond as evidence, and demanded justice to be executed.
 
 366 APPENDIX. 
 
 The king, though horrified at the bargain, had no alternative 
 but to order the youth to come before him to answer the action 
 of the accuser. Then the youth, at length mindful of the debt, 
 and afraid of the king's authority, went to court, with a very 
 great crowd of his friends, and plenty of gold and silver. The 
 accuser exhibited the bond, which the youth acknowledged, 
 and, by order of the king, the chiefs pronounced sentence, 
 namely, that it should be lawful for the lame one to act as 
 specified in the bond, or to demand as much money as he 
 pleased for the redemption of the youth. The king therefore 
 asked the lame one if he would spare the youth on receiving 
 double money. He refused, and the king was attempting for 
 many days to prevail upon him to agree, when, lo, the youth's 
 wife, having put on man's attire, and with her countenance and 
 voice altered by magical arts, dismounted from a horse before 
 the king's palace, and approached and saluted the king. Being 
 asked who she was, and whence she came, she replied that she 
 was a soldier, born in the most distant part of the world, that 
 she was skilled in law and equity, and was a keen critic of judg- 
 ments. The king, being glad at this, ordered the supposed 
 soldier to be seated beside him, and committed to her for final 
 decision the lawsuit between the lame one and the youth. Both 
 parties being summoned, she said: "For thee, O lame one, 
 according to the judgment of the king and the princes, it is 
 lawful to take away the weight of one hundred marks of flesh. 
 But what will you gain, unless indeed death, if you slay the 
 youth ? It is better that you accept for him seven or ten times 
 the money." But he said he would not accept ten times, or even 
 one thousand times, the sum. Then she ordered a very white 
 linen cloth to be brought, and the youth to be stripped of his 
 clothing, bound hand and foot, and stretched thereon. Which 
 done, " Cut," said she to the lame one, " with your iron, where 
 ever you wish your weight of marks. But if you take away more 
 or less than the exact weight by even the amount of a needle's
 
 DOLOPATHOS AND THE SEVEN SAGES. 367 
 
 point, or if one drop of blood stains the linen, know that forth- 
 with thou shalt perish by a thousand deaths, and, cut into a 
 thousand pieces, thou shalt become the food of the beasts and 
 the birds, and all thy kin shall suffer the same penalty, and 
 thy goods shall become state property," He grew pale at this 
 dreadful sentence, and said : " Since there is no one, God alone 
 excepted, who can be so deft of hand, but would take away too 
 much or too little, I am unwilling to attempt what is so un- 
 certain. Therefore I set the youth free, remit the debt, and 
 give him one thousand marks for reconciliation." Thus, then, 
 the youth was set free by the prudence of his wife, and returned 
 in joy to his own house. 
 
 "Who, then," adds the sage, "may not hope, O king, that 
 this youth may be freed by skill? Wishing that you may be 
 warned by this example, I ask that you will prolong the life of 
 your son till to-morrow. " And the king grants his petition. 
 
 We have here, in all probability, the oldest European version 
 of the story of the "pound of flesh," which fonns part of the plot of 
 Shakspeare's Merchant of Venice. The tale of the bond is 
 of Eastern origin, and may have come into France by way of 
 Italy, or through the Moors of Spain. Ser Giovanni has adapted 
 it in // Pecerone, Day iv. Novel i, a work written about 1378, 
 but not printed till 1558. In this Italian version, in place of 
 the magical influence of the owl's feather, the lady drugs her 
 suitor's wine with soporific ingredients, and a Jew lends him ten 
 thousand ducats on the same condition as the cripple in the 
 above. When the stipulated period has elapsed, the Jew refuses 
 to accept ten times the money, and at this crisis, according to 
 Dunlop, "the new-married lady arrives, disguised as a lawyer, 
 and announces, as was the custom in Italy, that she had come 
 to decide difficult cases ; for in that age delicate points were not 
 determined by the ordinary judges of the provinces, but by 
 doctors of law, who were called from Bologna and other places
 
 368 APPENDIX. 
 
 at a distance." The pretended lawyer decides that the Jew is 
 entitled to his pound of flesh, but should be put to death if he 
 drew one drop of blood from his debtor. — The story of the bond 
 occurs in a somewhat difierent form in the Anglican Gesta Rom- 
 anorum, and also in the old ballad of Gernutus, or the Jew of 
 Venice. It is the 13th of the Pleasing Stories in Gladwin's 
 Persian Moonshee, and forms the leading incident of the Persian 
 tale of the Qazi of Emessa ; — in the latter the debtor is a Muslim 
 merchant, and the hard creditor is a Jew, enamoured of the mer- 
 chant's virtuous wife. 
 
 On the Fifth Morning, the queen having renewed her 
 complaint, accusing Dolopathos of being dilatory, unjust, and 
 unworthy of the name and honour of king, for having allowed 
 so shameless a youth to live so many days, the prince is again 
 about to be burnt, when another of the Seven Wise Men appears, 
 and relates the story of 
 
 The Widoivs Son. 
 
 There was a certain Roman king once advancing wth his 
 army against his enemies, who had seized a very large part 
 of his kingdom ; and it happened that his army passed through 
 a certain village. There a poor widow, with an only son, had a 
 little house, one only of the many in the world. She had a little 
 hen; and as the army passed before the house, the king's son, a 
 mere boy, let fly the hawk, which, after the manner of the nobles, 
 was perched on his hand, at the widow's hen. The hawk was 
 choking the wretched little creature with its crooked claws, when 
 the widow's son ran to aid the little bird, and killed the hawk 
 with a stroke from a stick. On this account the king's son was 
 indignant, and raging in his fury, in revenge for the hawk, he 
 thrust through and killed the widow's son. What then could the 
 poor widow do, deprived of her only son, and her only property ? 
 In her excitement, she ran after the king, followed him with
 
 DOLOPATHOS AND THE SEVEN SAGES. 369 
 
 tears, and demanded with her voice and sobs that her son 
 unjustly slain should be avenged. The king, being of a mild 
 and pitying disposition, was greatly affected. Stopping, there- 
 fore, he pleasantly and quietly advised the widow to await his 
 return from the enemy, sa3'ing : "Then, as you wish, I shall 
 avenge your son." But the widow said: "And what will 
 happen if you fall in war? Who will avenge my son?" "I shall 
 entrust that to him who shall succeed me in the kingdom." 
 "And what reward," said she, "wilt thou receive, if another 
 avenge him who was slain when you were alive and reigning ? " 
 "None," said he. Then said the widow: "Do you, there- 
 fore, what you would command to others, so that you may 
 acquire praise from men and reward from the gods." The 
 king, moved as well by the argument of the widow as by pity, 
 put off the war, and returned to the city. When it was known 
 that his son was the murderer of the widow's son, "Thy hen," 
 said he, "as I think, was fully compensated for by the death 
 of the hawk. But for the dead son, I give thee choice of two 
 things : For either, if you wish, I will slay my son, or, if you 
 rather decree that he should live, I give you him in place of the 
 dead son, that he may cherish you as his mother, adore you as 
 queen, honour you as lady, and may serve you all the days of 
 your life." So she, deeming it more useful for her that the 
 king's son should live than die, took him instead of the dead 
 one, and was transferred from the hut to the palace, and ex- 
 changed her rags and apron for purple robes. 
 
 "See, O king," adds the sage, "imitate the action of this 
 most just and pious monarch ; consider how you can hold to the 
 rigour of justice, and yet by your prudence save your son. But 
 if you do not wish to alter the sentence of your chiefs, this at 
 least I may obtain from you, that you allow him the space of 
 this day. For to-morrow, as to-day, you can easily find woo 
 and lire with which to burn your son." 
 
 2 A
 
 370 APPENDIX. 
 
 A similar talc to this last is related of more than one Oriental 
 potentate. Several of the khalifs are represented by historians 
 as being equally strict dispensers of justice, and the incident is 
 probably a historical fact. 
 
 On the Sixth Morning, the prince is once more about to 
 be thrown into the fire, when "a certain old man of venerable 
 hoariness, dressed in a Roman toga, passing with gentle step 
 through the centre of the crowd of men and women, and admired 
 of many, came to the king. " After learning the occasion of 
 such a large assemblage of people, he related to the king and 
 his grandees the story of 
 
 The Master- Thief. 
 
 A very famous and cruel robber, having amassed much 
 wealth, settled down to a quiet and orderly life; but finding 
 his three sons resolved to follow the same profession, he refused 
 to grant them a farthing of his money. The youngest son, 
 concealed in a bundle of fodder, is introduced into the royal 
 stables, and makes off at night with the queen's celebrated steed 
 and his valuable trappings, but is observed and followed. He 
 and his brothers are caught. The father refuses to ransom them ; 
 but the queen offers to set them free if the old robber will relate 
 some of the most terrible incidents of his fonner career. 
 
 He relates how he and his conu-ades were captured by a giant 
 whose abode they had plundered ; how the giant ate them one by 
 one ; how he himself blinded the giant while pretending to cure 
 his sore eyes, and how he eluded the giant for several days by 
 now clinging to the beams of the roof, now taking refuge among 
 his flock of sheep, from which he selected one daily for his food. 
 At length the giant threw him a ring, which he put on his finger, 
 :ind which caused him to shout, "Here I am ! here I am ! " thus 
 betraying his whereabouts. As the ring could not be removed, 
 he cut off his finger, and the spell ceased.— Escaped at length,
 
 DOLOPA THOS AND THE SE VEN SA GES. 3 7 1 
 
 he conies upon the bodies of three robbers who had been lately 
 hanged. He reaches the hut of a poor woman, whom ghuls 
 had ordered to cook her son for their revels ; he takes away one 
 of the dead robbers and gives it to the old woman as a substi- 
 tute for her son, and then occupies the place of the body he had 
 removed, to conceal the trick. The ghuls came, however, and 
 seizing him, were about to devour him, when, lo, a sound as of 
 a loud rushing wind caused them to vanish, and thus he escaped 
 a second great peril. 
 
 A remarkably close parallel lo this story is found in Campbell's 
 Popular Tales of the West Highlands, vol. i, pp. 145-148, in the 
 Tale of Connal, but the sequence of the incidents is curiously 
 changed : Connal saw, in the upper part of a cave, a fine fair 
 woman, "who was thrusting the flesh stake at a big lump of a 
 baby, and every thrust she would give the spit, the babe would 
 laugh, and she would begin to weep. Connal spoke, and he said : 
 'Woman, what ails thee at the child without reason?' 'Oh,' 
 said she, ' since thou art an able man thyself, kill the baby and 
 set it on this stake, till I roast it for the giant. ' He caught hold 
 of the baby, and he put a plaid that he had on about the babe, 
 and he hid it at the side of the cave. There were a great 
 many dead bodies at the side of the cave, and he set one of 
 them on the stake, and the woman was roasting it. Then was 
 heard under ground trembling and thunder coming, and he would 
 rather that he was out. Here he sprang in the place of the corpse 
 that was at the fire, in the very midst of the bodies. The giant 
 came, and he asked : ' Was the roast ready?' He began to eat, 
 and he said : ' Fiu fau hoagrich ! It's no wonder that thy own 
 flesh is tough; it is tough on thy brat.' When the giant had 
 eaten that one, he went to count the bodies ; and the way he 
 had of counting them was, to catch hold of them by the two 
 smalls of the leg, and to toss them past the top of his head ; and 
 he counted them backwards and forwards thus three or four
 
 372 APPENDIX. 
 
 times ; and as he found Connal somewhat heavier, and that he 
 was soft and fat, he took that slice out of him from the back of 
 his head to his groin. He roasted this at the fire, and he ate it, 
 and then he fell asleep. Connal winked to the woman to put 
 the flesh stake in the fire. She did this, and when the spit grew 
 white after it was red, he thrust the spit through the giant's 
 heart, and the giant was dead." We have here a distorted ver- 
 sion of the exploit of the Master-Thief of our tale— the blinding 
 of the giant, which, again, is evidently taken from the similar ad- 
 venture of Ulysses with Pol3'phemus. The man-eating giant, or 
 ghiil, may be compared with world-wide legends of dragons and 
 rakshasas that devoured citizens — preferably beautiful maidens, 
 at the rate of one each week or month ; — the oldest extant 
 form being found in a beautiful episode of the Mahabharata, 
 which has been rendered into graceful English verse by Dean 
 Milman, under the title of the Brahman's Lament. — To return 
 to the Tale of Connal : ' * Then Connal went and he set the 
 woman on her path homewards, and then he went home him- 
 self. His stepmother sent him and her son to steal the white- 
 faced horse from the king of Italy. . . A company came out, 
 and they were caught. The binding of the three smalls was laid 
 on them straitly and painfully. 'Thou big red man,' said the 
 king, ' wast thou ever in so hard a case as that?' " Connal then 
 relates his adventures, being promised pardon if he could tell of 
 his having been in a worse plight during his past career. 
 
 On the Seventh Morning, the execution of the prince is 
 prevented by the appearance of another old man, who, after 
 the usual questions and replies, relates, as an example of the 
 malice of women, the story of 
 
 The Swan-Children. 
 
 A young man, in eager pursuit of a stag white as snow, chased 
 it into a deep and distant forest, where it escaped. In attempting
 
 DOLO PATHOS AND THE SEVEN SAGES. 2,1 o 
 
 to retrace his way, he came upon a fountain in which a beautiful 
 nymph was bathing. In her hand she held a golden chain, 
 wherein lay her power. Snatching away the chain, the youth 
 seized the nymph, and she was constrained to become his wife. 
 During the night she awoke her husband, being ashamed at 
 learning the fact from the stars that she had conceived six sons 
 and a daughter. He comforts her, and brings her home to his 
 castle. His mother dislikes the wife, and plots her ruin ; but 
 being unable to accomplish it at once, she contrives a horrible 
 scheme. The wedded nymph gives birth to six sons and a 
 daughter, with golden chains, like collars, round their necks. 
 The grandmother sends the infants away to be killed by a trusty 
 servant, whose conscience smites him, and he leaves them un- 
 harmed at the foot of a tree, where they are found by a 
 philosopher, taken to his cave, and fed for seven years. The 
 grandmother presents to her son seven little whelps as the off- 
 spring of his wife. In horror, he orders his wife to be degraded, 
 and exposed to all indignities at the hands of the people. For 
 seven long years she is thus treated, until she becomes as ugly 
 and wretched as she had formerly been fair and happy. 
 
 When out one day hunting in the woods, the father observes 
 seven children with golden chains on their necks. He pursues 
 them, and they suddenly disappear. He reports the strange 
 sight, and his mother in alarm questions the servant, who con- 
 fesses that he had not killed the babes as he had promised. For 
 three days this servant is sent by her to scour the woods for the 
 children, but in vain. On the fourth day he linds the six boys, 
 transformed into swans, at play in a river, and their sister on the 
 bank holding their golden chains. While she is watching the 
 frolics of the swans, the servant steals up to her and snatches 
 away the chains, but she escapes with her own chain. On his 
 return, the joyful grandmother takes the chains to a goldsmith, 
 and requests him to make a Httle cup out of the gold. In vain 
 the workman tries fire and hammer ; the chains yield to neither.
 
 374 APPENDIX. 
 
 save that a link of one of them appears a little battered. The 
 goldsmith weighs them, takes the same quantity of other gold, 
 makes it into a cup and gives it to the old woman, who conceals 
 it and keeps it unused. 
 
 By the loss of their chains it become:^ iuipussibie for the swans 
 to resume their proper form. They lament their condition, and, 
 with their sister, now also transformed into a swan, they fly 
 away to seek some lake or river suitable for a permanent abode ; 
 and select the lake beside which their father's castle stands. The 
 nobleman is delighted with their beauty and the sweetness of 
 their music, and gives strict command for their protection. 
 Food is also daily thrown to them. But their sister, resuming 
 her human form, goes every day to beg at the casile. like an 
 orphan. She divides the alms with the wretched nymph, her 
 mother, who is kept degraded and loathsome at the castle ; she 
 Ayeeps over her and pities her, still ignorant of their relationship. 
 Other portions of the alms she divides with the swans, her 
 brothers, who ever meet her with joyous demonstrations. At 
 night she returns to the castle, and sleeps with her wretched 
 mother. It soon begins to be whispered that the orphan is like 
 the nobleman's wife, and, questioned by him, she confesses that 
 she knows not her parents, but tells the story of the swans, her 
 brothers. The grandmother becomes again alarmed, and at her 
 order the servant follows the girl to the side of the lake, where 
 he attempts to kill her with a sword. At this juncture the noble- 
 man, who is returning from the field, comes up, and strikes the 
 sword out of the servant's hand. In his fear, the servant relates 
 the whole story of the exposure of the children, the theft of the 
 chains, and so on. The grandmother is compelled to produce 
 the cup ; the goldsmith is sent for, and the chains are restored. 
 The swans now resume the human form, excepting the one 
 whose chain had the battered ring;— he continued still in the 
 form of a swan, and is the same, so celebrated in story, who, 
 with his golden chain, draws the armed soldier in the little boat.
 
 DO LO PATHOS AND THE SFA'EN SAGES. 375 
 
 Thus the father recovered his children, and the children were 
 restored to their father. The degraded mother was restored to 
 dignity, and, with care, in time recovered her former beauty, 
 while the wicked old crone was condemned to suffer the lot she 
 had devised for her unfortunate but innocent daughter-in-law. 
 
 This beautiful fairy tale, under the title of Helyas, the Knight 
 of the Swan, and considerably amplified and modified, was one 
 of the favourite romances during mediteval times. The golden 
 chain which the damsel wore round her neck having been ob- 
 tained by the )'oung nobleman, and thus compelling her 10 
 submit to his will, may be compared to the feather dress of the 
 fairies in the Persian tale of King Bahram Ghur and the I'erl 
 Hasn Banu, and in the better-known Arabian tale of Hasan of 
 Basra. In like manner, in Ralston's Russian Folk Tales, a 
 youth discovers on the sea shore twelve birds which turn inio 
 maidens, and he steals the shift of the eldest, who must, in 
 consequence, become his wife. — In the Faro islands it is still 
 believed that the seal casts off its skin every ninth night, and 
 becomes a maiden ; should her skin be stolen she must continue 
 in human form. And in the Shetland islands the superstition is 
 current (according to Hibbert) that when mermaids wish to visit 
 the upper world, "they put on the ham, or skin, of some fish, but 
 woe to those who lose their ham, for then are all hopes of return 
 annihilated, and they must stay where they are.*' — The six 
 children of our tale who were deprived of their chains immedi- 
 ately became swans, but could not return to human form until 
 their chains were restored ; yet the damsel caught bathing in 
 the fountain, when the nobleman took possession of her chain, 
 underwent no transformation — a piece of inconsistency common 
 enough in fairy tales. 
 
 This tale of the Swan-Children and of the inveterate malice 
 of their grandmother may be a Western survival of a myth which 
 was the common heritage of the whole Aryan race. In Miss
 
 376 APPENDIX. 
 
 Frere's Old Deccan Days — a very entertaining collection of 
 modem versions of ancient Indian fictions — the story of "Truth's 
 Triumph " presents a curious parallel to the leading incident 
 of our tale : The twelve wives of a raja, envious of his new 
 wife, who had borne him one hundred boys and a girl, at 
 one time, resolve to destroy them. A nurse is bribed to throw 
 them on a dung-heap to be devoured by rats, and put stones in 
 their cradles. They persuade the raja that his favourite wife has 
 given birth to stones. The rats foster the children, but some 
 years after^vards they are discovered and thrown into a well, and 
 so on. Ultimately they are restored to the raja, who puts all the 
 envious ranis to death. — In the Norse tale of "Twelve Wild 
 Ducks" (who are so many princes thus transformed), the old 
 and spiteful queen, jealous of her son's young wife Snow White 
 and Rosy Red, takes away her baby, and accuses her to her son 
 of having killed and eaten it. She does the same each time the 
 princess has a baby. At length the children are discovered in a 
 well. — And the Arabian tale of the Three Sisters who envied 
 their Youngest .Sister must be well known, in which the three 
 baby boys and the baby girl are successively delivered to a 
 servant to be destroyed, but are providentially preserved. 
 
 On the Eighth Morning, the king, having been again 
 bitterly reproached by his wife for listening to the idle tales of 
 old men, and allowing his son to live, declares that he will throw 
 him into the flames with his own hands, if others are still un- 
 willing to do so ; but, just as he is about to commit this terrible 
 crime, the philosopher Virgil rides up, is greeted by his pupil 
 Luscinius, and relates the story of 
 
 The Husband Shut Out., 
 which differs from the old English metrical versions in the cata- 
 strophe : instead of leaving her husband to be taken up by the 
 watchmen, the woman admits him, after he has solemnly pro- 
 mised to allow her to go out whenever she wished. (See p. 332.)
 
 VIRGIUS METAL SERPENT. 377 
 
 Conclusion. 
 
 Having ended his story, the sage orders tlie prince to be un- 
 fettered and richly robed, and Luscinius then informs his father 
 of the cause of his silence, of the lascivious conduct of the queen 
 and her maidens, and why they had plotted his destruction. 
 The king commands his wife and her damsels to be thrown into 
 the fire prepared for the prince. Dolopathos and Virgil die the 
 same year ; the ashes of the king are inurned at Palermo, and 
 those of the philosopher at Mantua. Luscinius ascends the 
 throne, governs his subjects well and wisely, and finally is con- 
 verted to the Christian faith. 
 
 No. XXXIV. 
 
 Additional Note. 
 
 The Tank of T?ial — p. 250. — I understand, from Professor 
 Comparetti's note on Nakhshabi's story of the Father-in-Law 
 (Researrht's, etc, p. 41), that the 15th tale of the Siika SaptaiT'is 
 similar to the version I have cited from Cardonne's Melanges in 
 the incident of the " water trial, " to which a close parallel is found 
 in the legendary " Hfe " of Virgilius, as follows (from Thorns' 
 English Prose Rotnances, ii, pp. 34-36): 
 
 Than made Virgilius at Rome a metall serpente with his 
 cunnynge, that who so euer put his hande in the throte of the 
 serpente, was to sware his cause ryght and trewe ; and if hys 
 cause were false he shulde nat plucke his hande out a geyne ; and 
 if it were trewe they shulde plucke it out a geyne without any 
 harme doynge. So it fortuned that there was a knyght of Lum- 
 bardye that mystrusted his wife with one of his men that was 
 moost set by the conseyte of his wyfe : but she excused hyr selfe 
 ryght noblye and wysely. And she consented to goo with hym 
 to Rome to that serpent, and there to take hyr othe that she 
 was not gylty of that, that he put apon hyr. And therto con-
 
 37^ APFENDIX. 
 
 sented the knyght : and as they were bothe in the carte, and also 
 hyr man with hyr, she sayd to the man ; that when he cam to 
 Rome that he shulde clothe him with a foles-cote, and dysgyse 
 hym in such maner that they .shulde nat knowe hym, and so dyd 
 he; and when the day was come that he shulde come to the 
 serpent, he was there present. And Virgilius knowinge the 
 falsenes of the woman by his cunnynge of egromancy, and than 
 sayd Virgilius to the woman : "With drawe your othe and swere 
 nat ;" but she wolde nat do after hym, but put hyr hande into the 
 serpentes mouthe : and when hyr hande was in, she sware before 
 hyr husbande that she had no more to do with hym than with 
 that fole that stode hyr by : and by cause that she sayd trowthe 
 she pulled out hyr hande a geyne out of the throte of the serpent 
 nat hurt : and than departed the knyght home, and trusted her 
 well euer after. And Virgilius hauing therat great spyte and 
 anger that the woman hade so escaped destroyed the serpent : 
 for thus scaped the lady a waye fro that great daunger. And 
 spake Virgilius, and sayde : that the women be ryght wyse to 
 enmagen ungraceousenes, but in goodnes they be but innocentes. 
 " It is curious," says Mr. Thoms, "that at this day there is a 
 chapel at Rome called Santa Maria, built in the first ages of the 
 church, which is likewise denominated ' Bocca della verita,' on 
 account of a large round mask, with an enormous mouth, fixed 
 up in the vestibule. Tradition says that in former times the 
 Romans, in order to give a more solemn confirmation to oaths, 
 were wont to put their hands into this mouth, and if a person 
 took a false oath his hand would be bitten off."
 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 *** The Roman numerals refer to the Inuwductiuu.— The Syriac, Greek. 
 Hebrew, and Old Castilian versions are so frequently cited in the notes to 
 the Persian and Arabic texts, that only remarks upon them in the Intro- 
 duction and Appendix are referred to here. 
 
 Abbot, Story of the, 283 
 Abbott, General James, 226 
 Ablactation in the East, 129 | 
 Abraha, The host of, 17 
 Absalom, Death of, 285 ; Re- 
 volt of, 2S4 
 Adi's Wife, Story of, 313 
 Afrasiyab, 118 
 Ahmed, Story of, 137, 291 
 Alakeswara Katha, xxxv 
 Alwand, Mountain, 29 
 Alchemist, 90 
 Alphonsus de Clericali Disci- 
 
 plina, 220, 229, 244, 333 
 Amazon, Story of the, 192, 322 
 Amis and Amiloun, Romance 
 
 of, 350 
 Anecdotes chretiennes, 293 
 'Antar, Romance of, 47, 324 
 Antelope, Hunting the, 79 
 Antimony, 83 
 
 Anvar-i Suhayli, 223, 233, 242 
 Arab women. Bravery of, 326 
 Arabian Nights — see Thousand 
 
 and One Nights 
 Ardashir, 50 
 Arouya and her Suitors, Story 
 
 of, 313 
 Aslam and Smdibad, xlvni 
 Asoka, his Son, and his Wife, 
 
 Story of, xxix 
 Ass (Hunting the Wild A.ss), 52 
 
 Avadanas, xlix, 219, 280 
 Azraqi's Sindibad Poem, xl, xliv 
 
 Bagh o Bahar, 350 
 Bahar-i Danish, 260, 266 
 Bakhtyar Nama, xxxii, 350 
 Balqis, Queen of Sheba, 35 
 Balzac's Contes Drolatiques, 
 
 310 
 Bandello's Novels, 332 
 Bang Eater, Story of the, 262 
 Bathman, Story of the, 61, 162 
 Beauty (Female), 53 
 
 Bellerophon Letters, 298 . 
 
 Benfey, Professor, xxix, 251 Bi/ZjiUti 
 Birds : Story of the Slave, etc. , »' 
 
 310 
 Blackguard, Story of the, 233 
 Blind Old Man, Story of the, 
 
 96 
 Boar and Herdsman, Story of 
 
 the, 242, 330 
 Boccaccio — see Decameron. 
 Bossus, LesTrois (Fabliau), 290 
 -Bottle Imp, Legend of the, 18 
 Buchanan, Exploits of George, 
 
 267 
 Burgess and Magpie, 33S 
 
 Cahla and Dimna, 31, 57, 241 
 Camel, Wolf, and Fox, Story 
 of the, 15, 217 
 
 ^"H ^ H^lvi ,'^ ^s/V^K*^ S^
 
 38o 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Campbell's Tales of the West 
 
 Highlands, 263, 332, 371 
 Capua, John of, 35, 49 
 Cardonne — sec Melanges 
 Castilian text (Libro de los 
 
 Engannos), xxxix, 283 
 Caxton's Dictes, 31 
 Cento Novelle Antiche, 292, 330 
 Chastity, Tests of, 318 
 Cheetah, 79 
 Cheval de Fust, Romance of, 
 
 277 
 Child of Five Years, Story of 
 ♦ W- the, 94, 266 
 
 > Chines^tories (Giles'), 19 
 
 Chosroes, 50 
 Cinthio, 221, 293 
 , . , ijI Cleomades, Romance of, 277 
 - Collyrmm, 83 
 
 '^* Comparetti, Professor, xxxviii, 
 
 xlvi, xlvii, xlix, 87, no, 133, 
 233, 254, 283, 284, 377 
 Constant du Hamel (Fabliau), 
 
 317 
 Coote, H. C, xxxviii-ix, 283 
 
 Counsellors, The Seven Evil, 
 
 338 
 Cowell, Professor, 217 
 Creditor, Story of Hard, 364 
 Curiosity, Story of, 170, 308 
 
 Damannaka, Story of, 297 
 Damsel's Fate, no, 112, 278 
 Daqa'iql (Author of a Sindibad 
 
 text), xlvi 
 Dari Text of the Sindibad, xlii 
 Dasa Kumara Charita, 303 
 Daughter, Story of the Spoiled, 
 
 352 
 Davis' work on Chinese, 340 
 Decameron, 227, 230, 257, 320, 
 
 337 
 
 Delhama, Romance of, 326 
 
 Demon, Tales of a, 249, 264, 
 
 271, 306 
 Dervishes, The Four, 9, 118 
 Destiny, Story of, 280 
 Deutsch, Emanuel, xxiv, xxvi 
 Devasmita and her Suitors, 
 
 Story of, 244, 318 
 Diable Boiteux (Le Sage), 19 
 Diana, Romance of, 301 
 Dictes of Caxton, 31 
 Dinar, 163 
 Dirham, 155 
 Disciplina Clericalis — see Al- 
 
 phonsus 
 Discorso degli Animali, 35 
 Disguised Young Man, Story of 
 
 the, 286, 347, 348 
 Divs, 107 
 Dog and Go-Betvveen, Story of 
 
 the, 61, 162, 244 
 Dog and Snake, Story of the, 
 
 237. 329, 359 ... 
 Dolopathos, xlviii, 240, 353 ; 
 
 Abstract of, 357 
 Double Infidelity, Story of the, 
 
 35, 148, 228 
 Dreams, Story of the Two, 343 
 Dunlop's History of Fiction, 
 
 230, 292, 302, 340, 346 
 Durraj, 44 
 
 Egyptian Romance, Ancient, 
 
 xxiii 
 Elephant and the King, Story 
 
 of the, 17 
 Elephant, Story of the Bread, 
 
 235 
 
 Elephant, Masters of the, 17 
 
 Elephant, Proverb regarding 
 the, 19 
 
 Ellis' English Metrical Ro- 
 mances, 35, 327 
 
 Enchanted Fountains, 300 
 
 ^idi^h gih fl^i. kytu. /^
 
 INDEX. 
 
 381 
 
 Enchanted Horse, 277 
 Bhghsh liclifions ot tRe Seven 
 
 Wise Masters, 354-356 
 Erasto, 240, 354 
 
 Face, Blackened, 1 1 1 
 Facelieuses Journees, 240 
 Fairies, Story of the Queen of 
 
 the, 309 
 Fairy Tales, Dr. Fryer's Eng- 
 lish, 297 
 Father-in-Lavv, Story of the, 
 
 65, 248 
 Farldun, 69 
 Fausta, Story of, xxvii 
 Ferashes, 195 
 Fihrist, The, xxxvi 
 Fishes, etc., Women's tricks 
 
 with, 258, 262, 263 
 Forbidden Doors, Story of the, 
 
 170, 308 
 Forty Vazirs, Tales of the, 
 
 xxix, xxxii, 34, 142, 260, 
 
 293. 298, 330 
 Fountains, Enchanted, 300 
 Fox and the Monkey, Story of 
 
 the, 13 
 Fox and the People, Story of 
 
 the, 278 
 Frere's (Miss) Old Deccan 
 
 Days, 376 
 Friend, ^ory of the Best, 360 
 Fuller and his Son, Story of 
 
 the, 37, 144, 233 
 
 Garuda, 277 
 
 Gesta Romanorum, 221, 239, 
 
 289, 296, 300, 363, 368 
 Ghul, Story of the Prince and 
 
 the, 50, 150, 235 
 Ghuls, Nature of, 55, 236 
 Gibb, E. J. W., 261, 270, 298 
 Giovanni's Novels, 332, 367 
 
 Gladwin's Persian Moonshee, 
 
 368 
 Glass Case, Story of the Lady 
 
 in the, 255 
 Goat: Two Tribes etc., 299 
 Godeke, Karl, xxxiv, xlix, 1, 286 
 Golden Age of Poets, 42 
 Goldsmith, Story of the, 166, 
 
 303 
 Gomberville, 303 
 Gorres on the Seven Sages, xvii 
 Greek Text (Syntipas), xxxvii, 
 
 xlvii, 278-282 
 Greyhound and Snake, Stories 
 
 of the, 237, 329^359 
 Gueulette's Contes i artares, 346 
 
 Hafiz, 6, 19, 40 
 
 Hawking, 79 
 
 Hatim Tai, Romance of, 256 
 
 Heart, the sultan of the body, 
 
 20 
 Hebrew Text (Mishle Sanda- 
 
 bar), xxxix, 284-8 
 Hecatommithi, 221, 293 
 Heptameron, 251 
 Hippocrates' Nephew, Story 
 
 of, 330 
 Hitopadesa, 57, 61, 196, 228, 
 
 241, 309, 335 
 Honey, Story of the, 154, 298 
 Hunchbacks, Stories of the, 
 
 287, 290 
 Hundred Merry Tales, 342 
 Husband, Story of the Liber- 
 tine, xlvi, 58, 241 
 Husband Shut Out, Story of 
 
 the, 332, 376 
 Hurls, 25 
 
 Indian Antiquary, 253, 294, 313 
 Indian Fairy Tales (Miss 
 Stokes'), 263, 313
 
 tUiut^ tLa/tl;^ i^^ 
 
 382 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Infant in Cradle, Story of the, 
 
 93 
 
 Infidelity, Story of the Double, 
 
 35, 148, 228 
 Irani, Garden of, 28 
 Isfandiyar, 107 
 
 Jack of Dover's Inquiry, 267 
 Jacob's Sorrow, 201 
 Ja'farabad, 40 
 
 Jaida and Khalid, Story of, 324 
 Jalalu-'d-Din Rumi, 270, 271 
 Jamshid, The Goblet of, 6 
 Jeshuas Nazareni, Historia, 221 
 Johannes de Alta Silva, 353 
 Johnson, Dr., on the Poets' 
 Golden Age, 42 
 
 Kalila and Dimna, 31, 57, 241 
 Ka'ba (at Mecca), 58 
 Kama Sutra, 141, 2S7 
 Kamarupa, Romance of, 152, 
 
 346 
 Karun, 75 
 Katha Sarit Sagara, 242, 244, 
 
 255,271,295, 303,308, 314,, 
 
 3i8> 332 
 Kathakosa, Story trom the, 297 
 Kauthar, 40 
 Kay-Kaus, 118 
 Kay-Khusrau, 118 
 Kay-Qubad, 100 
 Khata, 97 
 Kh,arazm, 97 
 Khizar, 41 
 Khutan, 97 
 King and his Seneschal, Story 
 
 of the, 334 
 King's Son and the Merchant's 
 
 Wife, Story of the, 335 
 Kisra, or Khusra, 50 
 Knave of Clubs (Rowlands'), 
 
 230 
 
 Knight and Greyhound, Stories 
 
 of the, 237, 329, 359 
 Knight of Hungary, Story of, 343 
 Kohl, 83 
 
 Lady and her Suitors, Story of 
 
 the, 181, 311 
 Lady and the Three Knights, 
 
 288, 353 
 Lady in the Glass Case, 255 
 Lady of Antwerp, 322 
 Lady Prioress and her Wooers, 
 
 Lydgate's Story of the, 320 
 Latin Dolopathos, 354, 357 
 Layli and Majnun, 108 
 Le Grand, i^-j, 346 
 Liberators, Story of the Four, 
 
 106, 271 
 Libertine Husband, Story of 
 
 the, xlvi, 58, 241 
 Libro de los Engannos (Old 
 
 Castilian Text) xxxix, 283 
 Lion's Track, Story of the, 80, 
 
 144, 256 
 Litters in the East, 151 
 Liver, the seat of Love, 47 
 Lloyd's State Worthies, 267 
 Llywelyn and his Dog, Story 
 
 of, 239 
 Loaves, Story of the, 232 
 Lover in the Chest, Story of 
 
 the, 178, 310 
 
 Mabinogion, 217, 263 
 Magpie, Story of the, 19I 
 Magpie and Burgess, Story of 
 
 the, 338 
 Mahabharata, 372 
 Majnun and Layll, 108 
 Masnad, 172 
 Massuccio's Novels, 346 
 Mastaba, 200 
 Mastermaidandlicr Suitors, 322
 
 INDEX. 
 
 i 
 
 383 
 
 Masters, Analysis of the Seven 
 
 Wise, 327 
 Master-Thief, Story of the, 370 
 Ma'sudi, xxxvi 
 Maydan, 194 
 Melanges de Litterature Orien- 
 
 tale, (Cardonne's), 250, 257, 
 
 261 
 Merchant'sWifeandherSuitors, 
 
 Story of the, 181, 311 
 Merlin's Pillar, Story of, 337 
 Messiah, Breath of the, 40 
 Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, 346 
 Minister and the Fool, Story of 
 
 the, 294 
 Minister's Son, Story of the, 
 
 249, 306 
 Mirrors, Metallic, 17 
 Mishle Sandabar (Heb. Text), 
 
 xxxix, 284-8 
 Monk and Miller's Wife, Story 
 
 of the, 320 
 Monkey and the Boar, Slory of 
 
 the, 59, 242 
 Monkeys, Story of the King of 
 
 the, 27, 222 
 Morier's Journey to Persia, 323 
 Morley's Letter to Lane, xli 
 Mother, Story of the Careless, 
 
 91 
 Musalla, 40 
 Musk, 98 
 
 Nails, Biting the, 23 
 NakhshabT — see TutT Nama. 
 Navarre, Queen of, 251 
 Nitambavati, Story of, 303 
 Nobleman and Soldier's Wife, 
 
 Story of the, 319 
 Niildeke, Professor, xlvi, xlviii 
 Norse Tales (Dasent's), 296, 
 
 310, 376 
 Noy, Altorncy-Geneial, 267 
 
 Oesterley, Professor, 357, 
 Oldest Animals, Legend of, 217 
 Orlando Furioso, 301 
 Orlando Innamorato, 301, 323, 
 324, 345 
 
 Pancha Tantra, xxi, 57, 96, 97, 
 
 190, 222, 240, 251 
 Panjab, Legends of the, 226, 
 
 227 
 Panther employed in hunting, 
 
 79 
 Paris, Paulin, xxvii 
 Parrot and Merchant, Story of 
 
 the, 31, 141, 222 
 Parrots, Wonderfully gifted, 
 
 227 
 Partridges, Story of the Two, 
 
 39, 233 
 Peri and Devotee, Story of, 71, 
 
 253 
 Perls, The nature of, 25 
 Persia, Malcolm's Sketches of, 
 
 79, 252 
 Persian Prose Text, xli 
 Persian Tales, Frame of, 347 
 Perspiration, the odour of musk, 
 
 74 
 Petronius Arbiter, 340 
 Pigeons, Story of the Two, 233 
 
 Portraits, Fa lling in love with, 
 303 ^ ' 
 
 Prince and the Ghul, Story of 
 the, 50, 150, 235 
 
 Prince, Story of the Trans- 
 formed, 80, 156, 299 
 
 Prince : his Education, 10-23, 
 129, 327, 357; his Tempta- 
 tion, 25, 133, 329, 358 
 
 Prioress and her Wooers, Lyd- 
 gale's Story of the, 320
 
 3^4 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Purse, Story of the Stolen, 94, 
 266 
 
 Qazi, 93 
 Qibla, 58 
 Qur'an, 17, 25 
 
 Rakshasas, 107 
 
 Ralston's Russian Folk Tales, 
 236, 375 ; Tibetan Tales, 350 
 Rama, Story of Prince, xxxi 
 Ramayana, 219 
 Rasalu, Legend of, 226 
 Ravens, Story of the, 348 
 Redhouse, J- W., 6, 72. 271 
 Rice Dealer, Story of the. 46, 
 
 155 
 Robber and the Lion, Storj' of 
 
 the, 69, 251 
 Robe, Story of the Concealed, 
 
 73, 198, 253 
 Rolland's Se\nn Seages, xxxix, 
 
 348, 356 
 Rome, Story of the Siege of, 
 
 343 
 
 Rosaries (Muslim), 202 
 
 Rowlands' Knave of Clubs, 230 
 
 Rubies, Eastern notion regard- 
 ing, 106 
 
 RudakT, Quotation from, 85 
 
 Ruknabad, 40 
 
 Sa', a measure, 102 
 
 Sacchetti, 103 
 
 Sachs, Hans, 333 
 
 Sa'di, 31, 90, 113, 271 
 
 Sajjada, 191 
 
 Salam, 200 
 
 Samarqandi, Author of Persian 
 
 Prose Text, xlii-xliv 
 Sansovino, 240, 350 
 Sarangdhara, Story of, xxx 
 Schiller, 293 
 
 Second Series of Tales, xlvii 
 
 Serendil, 18 
 
 Serpents guarding treasure, 53 
 
 Seven Sciences, 327 
 
 Seven VazTrs (Arabic Text), 
 
 xliii, xliv 
 Seven Wise Masters, Analysis 
 
 of the, 327 
 Seven Wise Mistresses, 356 
 Sex, Story of the Ch anged, 80, 
 
 156, 299 ~~ ' 
 
 Shiraz, 40 
 
 Siddhi Kur, Relations of, 276 
 Signs, Con\"ersation by, 66, 248 
 Sindbad, Etymology of, lii 
 Sindibad Nama, Frame of, 
 
 xviii ; source of, xl, xliv ; 
 
 lacmice etc. in MS. of, 1 
 Sinhasana Dwatrinsatl, 302 
 Snake and Cat, Story of the, 
 
 56, 236 
 Snake and Dog, Story of the, 
 
 237, 329> 359 
 Snake and Ichneumon, Story 
 
 of the, 240 
 Solomon's Carpet, 275 
 Somadeva, Ivi, 54, 242 {see also 
 
 Katha Sarit Sagara) 
 Somaprabha and her Three 
 
 Suitors, Story of, 272 
 Stepmother, Story of the Bad, 
 
 352 
 Suka SaptatI, xlv, xlvui, 225, 
 235, 241, 244, 248, 252, 284, 
 
 377 
 Subaqueous halls, 309 
 Swan Children, Story of the, 372 
 Syntipas — sec Greek Text 
 Syriac Text (Sindban), xxxviii, 
 
 104, 283 
 
 Tales and Quick Answers, 231, 
 266, 342
 
 '•"7*' '•"»-* '^^ 
 
 /" 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 585 
 
 Talmud, 103, 105, 154, 340 
 Tamil Tales, 319 
 Tank of Trial, 250, 377 
 Tarlton's News out of Purga- 
 tory, 230 
 TartarTales(Relations of Siddhl 
 
 Kur), 276 
 Thieves breaking thro' walls, 
 
 350 
 Thoms' Old English Prose 
 
 Romances, 337, 377 
 Thousand and One Nights, xli, 
 
 xliii, xliv, 222, 223, 248, 253, 
 
 255, 256, 262, 263, 276, 277, 
 
 30S, 311, 376 
 Throne, Tales of a, 302 
 Tibetan Tales (Ralston's), 350 
 Touchstone, Tale of the, 313 
 Travel, Advantages of, 268 
 Travellers and the Loaf, Story 
 
 of the, 220 
 Treasury, Story of the King's, 
 
 330, 359 
 Tree and Branch, Story of, 329 
 TutT Nama, xlv-xlviii, 49, 112, 
 
 120, 224, 235, 241, 248, 260, 
 
 275, 287, 302, 319 
 Tyl Eulenspiegel, 103 
 
 Upakosa and her Lo\crs, Story 
 of, 314 
 
 Vazirs, Tales of the Forty, 
 xxix, xxxii, 34, 142, 260, 
 293, 298, 330 
 
 Vazirs, The Seven (Arabian 
 Text), xliii, xliv 
 
 Vega, Lope de, 350 
 
 Veil, Story of the P)Urnl, 73, 
 
 198, 253 
 Vetala {see Demon, Tales of a) 
 Virgilius' Metal Serpenl, 377 
 \'asavadalta, Romance of, 346 
 
 Voltaire's Zadig, 340, 341 
 \'on Hammer, 345 
 \'rihat Katha, 242 
 
 Wall, 181 
 
 Washerman and his Son, Slory 
 
 of the, i^, 144, 233 
 Water of Life, 41 
 Weber, Albrecht, 303 
 Weber's Northern Romances, 
 
 327 
 Western Texts of the Seven 
 
 Sages, 351 
 Widow Comforted, Story of the, 
 
 338 
 W idovv, Storj' of the Pretended, 
 
 ^l^ 247 
 Widow's Son, Story of the, 36S 
 Wild Ass, Hunting the, 52 
 Wilson, Dr. H. H.,xxxi, xxxv, 
 
 hii, 217, 246, 303. 314, 319 
 Wine parties in the East, 184 
 Wise Old Man and his Foolish 
 
 Wife, Story of the, 335 
 Wishes. Story of the Three, 71, 
 
 190, 253 
 Woman and her Father-in-Law, 
 
 Story of the, 65, 248 
 Woman and the Abbot, Stor}' of 
 
 the, 283 
 Woman and the Rice-Dealcr, 
 
 Story of the, 46, 155 
 Woman whose love is scorned, 
 
 xxvii-xxxi 
 Woman's Wiles. Story of, 83, » 
 
 258 ■ . . . ^ 
 
 Women's Craft, liii-vi 
 Wright, 'J'homas, 327, 338, 
 
 345. 353 
 Wright's Chaste Wife, Story of 
 the, 317 
 
 Va'quliT, xxxvi 
 
 \
 
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