Damnah said, ‘They have related that a man without any stock of understanding and without the adornment of experience, was laying claim to be a physician. He had neither sufficient science nor perfect judgment. So ignorant was he in discriminating drugs that he could not tell a cocoa-nut from Turkish wormwood,* and he was so unskilful in the prognosis of diseases, that he could not discern between ophthalmia and gout, and he gave no heed to the qualities and quantities of medicine in judging as to com­pounds, and in writing his prescriptions, he attended not to the kind or amount of food and drink.

And in the city in which this person had opened the shop of ignorance, and proclaimed his notification for the destruction of men, there was another doctor celebrated for his perfect skill, and whose visits* were renowned for remedies and success. His breath was like the breath of Is’ạ,* revivifying; and his step, like that of Khiẓr, restoring life.

Inasmuch, however, as it is the custom of perfidious fortune that men of merit ever obtain from the tray of its harshness only the morsel of toil, and the undeserving bear away from the tables of its benefits the viands of abundant honor and distinction,

the affairs of this most learned man of the age and phenomenon of the time were on the decline, and the star of the light of his vision was overtaken with the eclipse of debility. By degrees the light of the world-surveying eye of that dear person—by which the vision of the wise was enlightened, and the survey of the garden of whose beauty was more agreeable to the pupil of the eye of those gifted with sight than to gaze on gardens of flowers—grew dim, until the time when no vestige of illumination was left in it. The hapless man took his retired seat in the corner of his humble dwelling, and that public impostor* began to set up his deceitful pretensions out of all reason.

In a short space of time he was regarded as a physician certain to heal, and the fame of his cures was spread by lying rumour from tongue to tongue. The king of that city had a daughter, such, that from the horizon of beauty no luminary like her had risen, nor had the perfumer of the morning dis­played any musk to equal that which was scattered from her curling tresses.

Her he had bestowed on his brother’s son, and the ceremonies which accompany the marriage-knot and the bridal night, had been performed in a manner befitting royalty and with a lustre becoming kings.

And from the conjunction of those two fortunate luminaries a royal gem was formed in the shell of her womb. It happened, however, that at the time of parturition an accident occurred, and the princess was seized with severe pain. They summoned the wise physician to the presence and informed him of the nature of the illness. The skilful leech, having learned the true state of the case, made the prognosis of the disease and said, ‘The cure of this disease is obtainable by a medicine which they call Mihrán. Let them take a fourth part of a dram of that medicine, and pound and sift it, and mix it up with a little pure musk and cinnamon, and sweeten it with sugar-candy, and give it to the patient, and her sufferings will be instantly removed.’ They replied, ‘O physician! where may that medicine be? and whom are we to ask for it? He answered, ‘I have seen in the medicine-repository of the palace a little of this medicine, deposited in a casket of virgin silver, on which was set a padlock of pure gold, but now, owing to my want of sight, I am unable to find it.’ In the midst of this colloquy, the pretended physician came up and said, ‘I take upon me to discover that medicine, and I well now how to compound that mixture.’ The king called him before him, and commanded him to go to the repository of medicine, and having brought out the required drug, to prepare the drink which the physician had ordered. Hereupon the ignorant doctor entered the repository, and looked for a casket of the description which the true physician had men­tioned, but as there were numerous caskets of the same character, he failed to discover the said medicine, and without discriminating between them, he took up one and brought it out. It happened not to be the drug they called Mihrán, but a small quantity of deadly poison, which having been deposited there for state purposes, was kept in that casket. This he opened and mixed the poison with the other ingredients, and having made it into a drink, gave it to the princess. No sooner did she taste it than she expired. When the king beheld that event, consumed with regret for the loss of his daughter, he raised to the etherial sky the torch of his sighs, and he commanded them to give the remaining portion to that ignorant physician, so that he too fell lifeless on the spot, and the recompense of that unseemly deed reached him immediately.

And I have introduced this story that it may be known that every action that men do through ignorance has a disastrous result, and every affair that they transact in doubt and on mere conjecture, is fraught with most intense danger.’ One of those present said, ‘O Damnah! thou art of the number of those, the foulness of whose mind is evident to the higher ranks, and the impurity of whose morals is manifest to those below, and the perverseness of thy disposition accords with thy shape and form and appearance.’

The ḳáẓí asked, ‘Whence does thou utter this speech? and what proof hast thou of this remark? Thou must recount the proofs of it and declare the arguments in support of thy observation.’ He replied, ‘Sages skilled in physiognomy have pronounced that every one with wide eyebrows, whose right eye is smaller than his left, and who is subject to a perpetual throbbing of the eye, and whose nose inclines to the left, and whose glance is ever cast down to the ground, his ill-omened nature will be filled with mischief and deceit, and be replete with profligacy and perfidiousness, and these signs are to be found in him.’ Damnah answered, ‘In the commands of God partiality and deception are impossible, and in the actions of that holy Being, error and neglect, and mistakes and faults, are not to be supposed.

If these tokens which thou hast mentioned were really a true proof and genuine demonstration, and truth could thus be distinguished from falsehood, and error from correctness, and right from wrong; mankind would then be quit of evidence and oaths; and judges might rest from pleadings and citations, and henceforward it would not be well to praise any one for his good deeds or to reproach him for his ill-actions, since no created being could divest himself of those marks which, at the time of the creation of his nature, would be made to accompany him. Wherefore, in accordance with the directions which thou hast given, the reward of the good and the punishment of the bad, would be obliterated from the pages of the ordinances of the law and of justice, and had I done this thing—which they say I have—(Let us take refuge with God from it!) it was owing to these marks having impelled me to it, and since it was impossible to put them away, it is not fitting that I should be overtaken with punishment for them.

Wherefore by thy sentence I am set free from this calamitous imprisonment, and thou hast given a convincing proof of thy ignorance and spurious pretensions to be a judge, and hast shewn by an unfounded speech and a baseless semblance, and an unluminous charge and a declaration not listened to, that thou hast made an incongruous entrance into the assembly of the wise.

When Damnah had delivered this reply, all those who were present, placed the seal of silence on the casket of speech, and none was able to utter a word more. The ḳáẓí commanded him to be conveyed back to prison, and they made a detailed representation to the Lion of what had occurred. When Damnah, however, had re-entered the prison, a friend of Kalílah, whom they called Rúzbih, passed by. Damnah called him, and said, ‘Since yesterday I have no tidings of Kalílah, and at this crisis I am most anxious for his visits.

What news hast thou of him? and what excuse hast thou brought for his not coming?’ As soon as Rúzbih heard Kalílah named, he drew a hot sigh from his burning heart, and showering tears of blood from the clouds of his eyes, said,

Damnah was impatient at the distress of Rúzbih, and said, ‘Declare the facts with all speed.’ Rúzbih replied, ‘O Damnah! how shall I tell them?

O Damnah! that dear friend has migrated from this transitory abode to the enduring city, and has impressed on the hearts of his friends and companions the wound of separation.

When Damnah heard the intelligence of Kalílah’s death, he swooned, and when, after a long interval, he recovered his senses, he uttered loud laments, and in deepest grief, with streaming eyes, exclaimed,

When Damnah had carried his lamentations beyond bounds, and had rent the garment of patience with the hand of complaint, while each moment he rubbed his face in the dust, and wept in a manner to which none could endure to listen, Rúzbih began to exhort him, and said, ‘O Damnah! thou thyself knowest that the kingly and eternal writer* has written the name of continuous existence on the paper of the life of no created thing, and the pourtrayer of the forms of creation has not engraved the figure of life on the pages of possibility, save with the pen of ‘Everything shall perish except Himself,’* nor has the tailor* of the establishment of eternity sewed the garment of the existence of any living being without the fringe of annihilation, nor has the carpet-spreader of the pavilion of omnipotence lighted the taper of entertainment* without the violent wind of calamity.

This is a draught which all must taste, and a burthen which all must bear. There is no salve for this wound but patience—no remedy for this disease but compulsory endurance.

By these words Damnah was in some degree consoled, and said, ‘O Rúzbih! right is on my side in this lament, for Kalílah was to me an attached friend and a right-counselling brother, with whom I found refuge in time of trouble, and from whose judgment and consideration and tenderness and advice, I could in emergencies derive succour. His head was a treasury, and all the coin of secrets therein deposited remained concealed from the world, and the spy of Time remained in despair of becoming acquainted with them. Alas! that that kind friend has removed his auspicious company from my head, and has left me in the corner of the world’s tenement without comrade, or associate, or friend, or confidant.

Hereafter what pleasure can I find in life? or what advantage will the stock of existence supply? And were it not that at this crisis various suspicions [of my motives] might arise in the minds of men, I could kill myself with lamentation,* and free myself from the pain of solitude and the sufferings of my friendless condition, since in this abyss into which I have fallen, no appearance of escape is visible, without the aid of a friend and the help of sympathisers.

Rúzbih said, ‘If Kalílah has fallen from the garden of life into the thorny brake of extinction and annihilation, the plant of the affection of other friends is refreshed and rendered verdant by the drops of true love.

Damnah said, ‘Thou speakest the truth, thy existence is a remedy for my trouble, and thy life the alleviation of every disaster, and to-day thou art to me the very same friend and brother that Kalílah was before. Give me thy hand and accept me as a brother.’ Ruzbíh advanced with the greatest alacrity and said, ‘By this favor thou hast bound me to thee, and hast set up the banner of my exaltation on the pinnacle of the highest places. How can my faithful heart discharge its gratitude for this kindness? and how can my tongue, though lavish in praise, express its thankfulness for this blessing?’ They then took each other’s hands and tied the knot of brotherhood, and concluded the ties of companionship and agreement as is the custom of such covenants. Damnah then said, ‘In such a place there is a hoard, belonging to me and Kalílah. If thou wilt take the trouble to bring it here, thy labour will not be unrewarded.’ Rúzbih, by the direction which Damnah furnished, brought the deposit. Damnah separated his own share, and gave to Rúzbih what belonged to Kalílah, and besought Rúzbih ever to be in attendance at court, and to learn whatever passed with reference to him.

The next day, early in the morning, the lioness came and inquired what had passed at the late assembly. The Lion repeated the particulars of the proceedings in the manner that the judges had reported to him. The lioness, having learned the nature of the report, was vexed, and said, ‘If I speak bluntly, it may displease the king, and if I connivc at this I shall be acting supinely with relation to my duty as an adviser and a friend.’ The Lion replied, ‘Forbearance and too great tenderness are not right in stating the heads of salutary counsel, and thy words are certainly clear from all mixture of doubt. It will meet with speedy approbation—offer what thou hast to say.’ The lioness said, ‘The king does not discriminate between truth and falsehood, and discerns not his own advantage from what would be injurious to him; and Damnah, having obtained the opportunity, will raise some mischief, such that the clearest intellects will fail to remedy it and the sharpest scymitars prove ineffectual against it.” The Lion responded, ‘Do, thou not go away to-day; the affair of Damnah may perhaps be concluded.’ The high command was then issued that the judges should assemble again, and should re-open the case of Damnah in a general meeting. In accordance with this mandate, high and low came together, and the ḳáẓí’s deputy repeated the same discourse which has been before cited, and demanded evidence with respect to Damnah from those present. No one uttered a word regarding him, and not a particle of information was adduced with reference to him, either good or ill. The principal judge turned to Damnah and said, ‘Though the audience befriends thee by its silence, yet the hearts of all are unanimously convinced of thy treason, and inwardly agree as to thy death; such being the case, what advantage will it be to thee to live among this people? it would be more suitable to thy condition and be better for the issue of thy affairs, that thou shouldest confess thy crime, and, by repentance and contrition, deliver thyself from the punishments of a future state; and by dying thou wilt secure one of two delights, either that thou wilt emancipate others or thyself.

O Damnah! if thou wilt confess thy guilt, thou wilt secure two excellent things, the remembrance of which will be perpetuated on the surface of time. One is, the acknowledgment of thy crime so as to secure salvation in the world to come, and the choosing the realms of eternity and happiness rather than the abode of fleeting existence and affliction. The other is, that the renown of thy eloquence and oratory, and the power of thy rhetoric and speaking, in these fascinating answers that thou hast given, and these specious excuses which thou hast offered, will be spread by the tongues of high and low, and thy ability and boldness are known to all thy contemporaries, and all will testify to thy eminent gifts and understanding. Do thou take counsel with thy sagacity, and be wise according to the truth of this saying, that ‘death with honor is better than life with disgrace.’

Damnah replied, ‘The ḳáẓí ought not to pronounce sentence according to his own suspicion and the conjectures of others, without plain proof and clear evidence, nor should he transgress the tenor of that saying, ‘Verily a half-opinion is a sin,’* and even if you have this doubt, and though your minds should be convinced as to my guilt, I know my own affairs better, and to hide one’s own certainty because of another’s doubt, is not right in judgment nor approved by the laws of religion. And notwithstanding that you, on bare suspicion that I may perhaps have exerted myself to procure the death of Shanzabah, have spoken and speak all this, and have thus marred my credit, yet should I causelessly aid in my own destruction, and unjustly accede to my own execution; on what explanation of the matter should I be excuseable, and how should I exonerate myself from the old monition, ‘And throw not yourselves with your own hands into perdition?’* I am fully convinced, too, that no one has the same claims on me that I have on myself, and therefore that which I would not allow with respect to my inferior, and out of generous spirit not permit with regard to him, how can I consent to it in my own case?*

O ḳáẓí! cease to speak thus; if it is intended for advice, better is wanted; and if it be reproach, it is better that a ḳáẓí should not utter it, for the words of judges are orders, and it is requisite for them to avoid mistake and error, and jesting and light talk; and very strange is it that thou wast always truthful and just, and yet, owing to my ill-fortune and calamity, thou hast in this matter laid caution aside, and on thy own suspicions and those of interested persons, hast afflicted the eye of truth with the opthalmia of neglect,

The judges of the tribunal of wisdom, by the signet of whose mandates the bond of the nurture of merit is sealed, have pronounced the following decision:—That the coin of my testimony, which is not adorned with the seal of certainty, is not admitted or recognised as of full weight in the mint of acceptance, and whosoever gives evidence in a matter with which he is not acquainted, will meet with what that Falconer met with.’ The ḳáẓí inquired, ‘How was that?’