Called by some important business to ‘Omân on the eastern coast of Arabia, Ḥârith is about to cross the Persian Gulf, when at the moment of departure an old man begs to be taken on board, promising the ship-company in return for their kindness to him, a safe passage, by means of a magic spell in his possession against all dangers of the sea. They comply with his request, and Ḥârith is enchanted when he recognises in the stranger his old friend Abû Zayd. At first all seems to go well. Probably, however, unknown to the rest of the company, some miscreant was on board, whose presence counteracted to a certain degree Abû Zayd’s panacea, for after the voyage had continued for some time under the most promising auspices, they are suddenly overtaken by a violent storm, which forces them to seek refuge in the port of an island. When their provisions begin to run dangerously short, Abû Zayd prevails on Ḥârith to go with him on land for a foraging expedition. Soon they arrived at a magnificent mansion, whose numerous servants are found to be plunged into the utmost grief, because the lady of the house is labouring in throes of a difficult child-birth, and her life almost despaired of. Abû Zayd reassures them, pretending to have another powerful charm for the occasion. With a great display of solemnity, he writes some verses on a piece of meerschaum in which he warns the child of the evils of existence and the troubles of life awaiting it in the world, and which, with delightful humour, are supposed, according to the innate perverseness of man’s heart, to act as an irresistible inducement for it to struggle into the light of day. Wrapped in a piece of silk, and profusely perfumed, the talisman is, at his orders, tied to the limbs of the labouring woman, and this time the incantation works well, for soon the confinement is happily got over. The lord of the mansion, in his boundless joy at the birth of a long desired son, not only overwhelms Abû Zayd with costly tokens of his gratitude, but attaches him to his household, with unlimited control over all his wealth. Ḥârith tries to persuade him to continue with him the voyage, but Abû Zayd refuses point blank, paraphrasing in another piece of his charming poetry the popular saying ubi bene ibi patria, and Ḥârith reluctantly separates from him, giving vent to his grief and disappointment in a wish, the savagery of which may playfully be converted into the essence of the milk of human kindness by the indulgent reader, who remembers the drift of Abû Zayd’s magical verses, and the words of the Greek poet:
“Best for man not to be born, second best, to die as soon as he can.”
Al Ḥârith, son of Hammâm, related: I clung, ever
since the pile under my izâr had grown black, and the
down of my cheek had sprouted, to fare through the
deserts on the backs of Mahrî camels, now ascending a
mountain-tract, now threading my way through lowland,
so as to explore the wilds whether trodden or
trackless, and to get to ken the road-stations and
watering-places, making the blood flow from the hoofs
of horses and camels and jading the swift steeds and the
fleet dromedaries. Once when I was weary of desert-