Hazar yik ruz - The Thousand and One Days (Mcarthy)

I HAVE already had the honour of telling your majesty that I am the son of the late Sultan of Egypt, Asem Ben Sefouan, and brother of the prince who succeeded him. One day, being in my sixteenth year I found the door of my father’s treasury open. I entered, and I began to scrutinise with much attention the things which seemed rarest to me. I lingered particularly over a little box of red sandal wood, strewn with pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and topazes. It opened with a little gold key, which was in the lock. I opened it, and perceived within a ring of marvellous beauty, with a gold box which contained the portrait of a woman.

The features were so regular, the eyes so fine, her appearance so charming, that I thought at first it was a fancy portrait. ‘The works of nature are not so perfect,’ I said. What honour to the brush which produced it does this do!’ I admired the imagination of the painter who had been capable of forming so beautiful an idea to himself

My eyes could not detach themselves from this painting, and, what is most surprising, it inspired me with love. I thought it was perhaps the portrait of some living princess, and the more amorous I became the more I persuaded myself of it. I closed the box and put it in my pocket with the ring; then I left the treasury.

I had a confidant named Saed. He was the son of a great lord of Cairo. I loved him, and he was a few years older than me. I related my adventure to him; he asked me for the portrait and I gave it him. He took it out of the box to see whether there were not some writing at the back which could tell us what I longed passionately to know—that is to say, the name of the person portrayed.

We perceived round the box inside these words in Arabic characters: ‘Bedy-Aljemal, daughter of the King Achahbal.’

This discovery charmed me; I was enchanted to learn that I was not in love with an imaginary person. I bade my confidant discover where King Achahbal reigned.

Saed asked it of the best informed people of Cairo, but no one could tell him, so that I resolved to travel, to scour the world if necessary, and not to return to Egypt until I had seen Bedy-Aljemal. I begged the sultan, my father, to permit me to go to Bagdad to see the court of the caliph and the marvels of that town of which I had heard so much. He granted me this permission. As I wished to travel incognito, I did not make a pompous exit from Cairo; my suite consisted only of Saed and some slaves whose zeal was known to me. I soon put on my finger the beautiful ring which I had taken from my father’s treasury, and the whole way I talked with my confidant only of the Princess Bedy-Aljemal, whose portrait I had always in my hands. When I arrived at Bagdad and had seen all that was curious there, I asked of some wise men if they could not tell me in what part of the world were situated the States of the King Achahbal. They replied in the negative; but if I wished very much to know I had only to take the trouble to go to Bassora and find an old man aged a hundred and seventy, named Padmanaba. This person knew everything, and would doubtless satisfy my curiosity.

I left Bagdad immediately, flew to Bassora, and inquired for the old man. His dwelling was pointed out to me. I went to him. I saw a venerable man still full of vigour, although nearly two centuries had passed over him.

‘My son,’ he said to me, with a laughing air, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘My father,’ I said to him, ‘I would like to know where the King Achahbal reigns. It is of the utmost importance for me to know. Some wise men of Bagdad whom I have consulted, and who have not been able to throw any light upon it, have assured me that you would tell me the name of and the road to the Kingdom of Achahbal.’

‘My son,’ replied the old man, ‘the wise men who have sent you to me think me less ignorant than I am. I do not know exactly where the States of Achahbal are, I only remember to have heard some traveller speak of them. This king reigns, I believe, in a neighbouring island to that of Serendib, but it is only a conjecture, and I am perhaps in error.’

I thanked Padmanaba for having at least indicated a spot where I might hope to be informed of what I wished to know. I formed the resolution to go to the island of Serendib. I embarked with Saed and my slaves on the Gulf of Bassora in a merchant vessel which was going to Surat. From Surat we went to Goa, where we learnt on arrival that a vessel was going to sail in a few days and take the direction of the island of Serendib. We profited by the occasion.

We left Goa with a favourable wind, which took us far on our way the first day; but the second day the wind changed, and towards evening so violent a tempest arose that the sailors, seeing our destruction to be inevitable, abandoned the vessel to the mercy of the wind and sea. Sometimes the waves, opening as if to engulf us, presented frightful abysses to our frightened eyes, and sometimes rising they lifted us to the clouds. The vessel soon filling, we took to the boats. I threw myself into one with Saed. Hardly had we left the vessel than it foundered with a terrible sound, and we lost sight of our companions.

Having drifted all night, we saw at daybreak a little island. We landed on it. Trees, laden with very fine fruit hanging to the ground, first met our view, which rejoiced us all the more that we began to feel very hungry. We picked and ate of them, and found them excellent. When we had taken a little refreshment, we fastened our boat and advanced further into the island. I have never seen a more delightful spot: sandal and aloe woods grew there; there were springs of fresh water, and all sorts of fruits, as well as the most beautiful flowers.

What surprised us most was that this island, although so pleasant to look upon, seemed to be deserted.

‘Whence comes it,’ I said to Saed, ‘that this island is not inhabited? We are not the first to visit it; others before us have doubtless discovered it. Why is it abandoned?’

‘My prince,’ replied my confidant, ‘since no one lives here, it is a sure proof that no one can live here; there is something about it which renders it uninhabitable.’ Alas! when the unfortunate Saed spoke thus, he little knew with what truth he was speaking.

We spent the day in rejoicing, and when night fell we stretched ourselves on the grass, which was sprinkled with a thousand sweet-smelling flowers. We slept deliciously; but on awaking I was very astonished to find myself alone. I called Saed repeatedly. As he did not reply I rose to seek him, and, after having searched a part of the island, I returned to the same place where I had spent the night, thinking he might perhaps be there. I awaited him in vain the whole day and even the following night; then, despairing of seeing him again, I made the air resound with cries and groans. ‘Ah! my dear Saed,’ I cried every minute, ‘what has become of you? Whilst you were with me you helped me to bear the burden of my misfortune; you relieved my troubles in sharing them; by what misfortune or by what enchantment have you been carried off from me? What barbarous power has separated us? It would have been sweeter to die with you than to live quite alone.’

I could not console myself for the loss of my confidant; and what troubled me was that I could not think what could have happened to him. I was in despair and resolved to perish also on that island. I said to myself, ‘I will scour it thoroughly; I will find either Saed or death.’ I walked towards a wood that I saw, and when I had arrived there, I discovered in the middle a very well-built castle, surrounded by a large moat full of water, the drawbridge of which was let down. I entered a large courtyard paved with white marble, and advanced towards the door of a fine block of buildings. It was made of aloe-wood; several figures of birds were represented in relief upon it, and a great padlock of steel, made in the form of a lion, kept it closed. The key was in the padlock; I took hold of it to turn it; the padlock broke like a piece of glass, and the door opened more of itself than from the effort I made to open it, which caused me extreme surprise. I found a staircase of black marble. I ascended, and first entered a great hall ornamented with a gold and silken tapestry with sofas of brocade. From there I entered a room richly furnished, but what I looked at with most attention was a perfectly beautiful young lady. She was reclining on a large sofa, her head resting on a cushion, richly dressed, and beside her was a little jasper table. As her eyes were closed, and I had reason to doubt her being alive, I approached her gently and perceived that she breathed.

I remained for some moments in contemplation of her. She seemed charming to me, and I should have become enamoured of her had I not been so absorbed in Bedy-Aljemal. I was extremely desirous of knowing why I found in a deserted island a young lady alone in a castle where I saw no one. I sincerely hoped she would wake, but she slept so soundly I did not dare disturb her rest. I left the castle, resolved to return some hours later. I walked about the island, and saw with alarm a great number of animals as large as tigers, and formed something like ants. I should have taken them for cruel and ferocious beasts had they not fled at sight of me. I saw other wild animals who seemed to fear me, although they had an alarmingly ferocious appearance. After having eaten several fruits whose beauty charmed me, and having walked for some time, I returned to the castle, where the lady was still asleep. I could no longer resist the desire I had to speak to her. I made a noise in the room and coughed to awake her. As she did not awake, I approached her and touched her arm, but without effect. ‘There is some enchantment here,’ I then said to myself; ‘some talisman keeps this lady asleep, and if this is the case it is not possible to awake her from this slumber.’ I despaired of succeeding, when I perceived on the jasper table of which I have spoken several graven characters; I thought this graving might hold the secret. I was about to study the table, but I had hardly touched it when the lady gave a deep sigh and awoke.

If I had been surprised to find so beautiful a person in this castle, she was not less astonished to see me. ‘Ah! young man,’ she said to me, ‘how did you get in here? What have you done to surmount all the obstacles which should have prevented your entering this castle, and which are beyond the reach of human power? I cannot believe you to be a man. You are doubtless the prophet Elias?’

‘No, madam,’ I said to her, ‘I am only a simple man, and I can assure you I have come here without any difficulty. The door of this castle opened as soon as I had touched the key. I mounted to this apartment without any power resisting me. I have not awakened you with ease; that is what I found most difficult.’

‘I cannot believe what you tell me,’ replied the lady. ‘I am so persuaded that it is impossible to men to do what you have done, that I do not believe, whatever you may say, that you are merely a man.’

‘Madam,’ I said, ‘I am perhaps something more than an ordinary man. A sovereign is the author of my being, but I am only a man for all that. I have much more reason to think that you are a superior being to myself.’

‘No,’ she replied, ‘I am, like you, of the race of Adam. But tell me why you have left your father’s court, and how you came to this island.’

I then satisfied her curiosity. I ingenuously admitted that I had become enamoured of Bedy-Aljemal, daughter of the king Achahbal, on seeing her portrait, which I showed her. The lady took the portrait, looked at it very attentively, and said; ‘I have heard speak of the King Achahbal. He reigns in a neighbouring island to Serendib. If his daughter is as beautiful as her portrait, she indeed deserves that you should love her ardently, but one must not trust in the portraits which are taken of princesses; they are usually painted beautiful. Finish telling me your history,’ she added; ‘after that I will relate mine to you.’

I gave her a long and detailed account of all my adventures, and then I begged her to relate hers to me. She began thus:

‘I am the only daughter of the King of Serendib. One day as I was with my women in a castle of my father’s near the town of Serendib, the fancy took me to bathe in a white marble basin which was in the garden. I was undressed, and entered the basin with my favourite slave. We had hardly entered the water than a wind arose. A whirlwind of dust formed in the air above us, and from the midst of this whirlwind there suddenly flew a great bird who pounced on me, took me in his claws, carried me off and brought me to this castle, where, immediately changing its shape, it appeared before me in the form of a young genie. “Princess,” he said to me, “I am one of the most considerable genii in the world. As I was passing the island of Serendib to-day, I saw you in your bath. You charmed me. ‘There is a beautiful princess,’ I said to myself, ‘it would be a pity she should make the happiness of a son of Adam; she deserves the attachment of a genie. I must carry her off and transport her to a desert island.’ So, princess, forget the king, your father, and think only of responding to my love. You shall want for nothing in this castle. I will take care to provide you with everything you need.”

‘Whilst the genie was speaking thus to me, I only wept and lamented. “Unfortunate Malika,” I said to myself, “is this the fate which was reserved for you? Has the king, my father, brought me up with so much care only to have the sorrow to lose me so miserably? Alas! he does not know what has become of me, and I fear my loss will be fatal to him.” “No, no,” said the genie to me, “your father will not succumb to his grief; and as for you, my princess, I trust you will yield to the evidences of affection which I propose to give you.” “Do not flatter yourself,” I said, “with this false hope. I shall have all my life a mortal aversion to the man who has carried me off.” “You will change your sentiment,” he replied; “you will accustom yourself to me; time will produce this effect.” “It will not work this miracle,” I interrupted with bitterness, “it will rather increase the hatred that I feel for you.” The genie, instead of appearing offended, smiled, and, persuaded that I should accustom myself by degrees to listen to him, he spared nothing to please me. He went, I know not where, to get magnificent clothes which he brought me. He did his best to inspire in me an inclination for him; but, perceiving that far from making any progress in my heart, he became daily more odious to me, he finally lost patience, and resolved to revenge himself for my contempt. He threw me into a magic sleep; he stretched me on the sofa in the attitude in which you have found me, and put beside me this marble table on which he had traced talismanic characters to keep me in a deep sleep through the centuries. He also made two other talismans; one to make this castle invisible, the other to prevent the door being opened. Then he left me in this apartment and quitted the castle. He returns hither from time to time. He wakes me up and asks me whether I wish at last to become sensible to his passion, and as I persist in refusing him, he plunges me anew in the unconsciousness which he has invented for my punishment.

‘Nevertheless, my lord,’ continued the daughter of the King of Serendib, ‘you have awakened me, you have opened the door of this castle which has not remained invisible to you. Have I not reason to doubt your being a man? I will even tell you that it is surprising that you still live; for I have heard the genie say that the wild beasts devour all those who wish to stop in this island, and that it is on that account deserted.’

Whilst the princess Malika was speaking thus, we heard a great noise in the castle. She ceased speaking in order to hear better, and soon terrible cries met our ears.

‘Great Heaven!’ then said the princess, ‘we are lost. It is the genie; I recognise him by his voice. You will perish; nothing can save you from his fury. Ah! unhappy prince; what fatality has brought you to this castle?’

I thought my death inevitable. The genie entered looking furious. He had a steel club in his hand; his body was enormous. He shuddered at the sight of me; but instead of giving me a blow on the head, or adopting a threatening tone, he approached me trembling, threw himself at my feet, and spoke thus:

‘Oh! prince, son of a king, you have only to command me as you please; I am prepared to obey you.’

This speech surprised me. I could not understand why this genie was so grovelling to me, and spoke as a slave. But my surprise vanished when, continuing to speak to me, he said:

‘The ring which you have on your finger is the seal of Solomon; whoever possesses it cannot perish from accident. He can cross the most stormy seas in a simple skiff without fearing that the waves will swallow him up. The most ferocious beasts cannot hurt him, and he has a sovereign power over genii. Talismans and all charms yield to his marvellous seal.’

‘It is then by virtue of this ring that I still live,’ I said to the genie.

‘Yes, my lord,’ he replied, ‘it is that ring which has saved you from the beasts which are on this island.’

‘Tell me,’ I said to him, ‘if you know what has become of the companion I had on arriving?’

‘I know the present and the past,’ replied the genie, ‘and I will tell you that your comrade has been eaten by the ants, who devoured him at night at your side. Those sort of ants are in great numbers and make this island uninhabitable. They do not prevent, however, the neighbouring peoples, and above all the inhabitants of the Maldives, coming here every year to cut sandal-wood; but they do not carry it away without difficulty; they come here during the summer; they have on board their vessels very swift horses, which they disembark, and on which they mount; they gallop in whatever direction they see sandal-wood, and as soon as they see the ants approaching they throw them great pieces of meat with which they are provided for the purpose. Whilst the ants are occupied in eating these pieces of meat, the men mark the trees they wish to cut, after which they return. They come back in the winter and cut the trees without fear of the ants, who do not show themselves at this season.’

I could not hear the strange fate of Saed without feeling grieved. Then I asked the genie where the dominion of the king Achahbal was and if the princess Bedy-Aljemal his daughter still lived.

‘My lord,’ he replied, ‘there is in these seas an island where there reigns a king named Achahbal, but he has no daughter. The princess Bedy-Aljemal of whom you speak, was indeed the daughter of a king called Achahbal, who lived in the time of Solomon.’

‘What!’ I replied, ‘Bedy-Aljemal lives no longer?’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘she was a wife of the great Prophet.’

I was very mortified to hear that I loved some one whose life was long over. ‘Oh! madman that I am!’ I cried, ‘why did I not ask the sultan, my father, whose portrait it was I found in his treasury? He would have told me what I have just heard. What trouble and anxiety I should have spared myself! I should have nipped my love in the bud. It would perhaps not have gained such control over me. I should not have left Cairo; Saed would be still living. Must his death be then the sole outcome of my chimerical sentiments? All that consoles me, beautiful princess,’ I continued, turning to Malika, ‘is having been able to be useful to you: thanks to my ring, I am in the position to give you back to the king your father.’ At the same time I addressed the genie: ‘Since I am happy enough,’ I said, ‘to be the possessor of the seal of Solomon, since I have the right to command genii, obey me. I order you to transport me immediately with the princess Malika, to the kingdom of Serendib, to the gates of the capital.’

‘I am going to obey you, my lord,’ replied the genie, ‘however unhappy the loss of the princess may make me.’

‘It is very fortunate for you,’ I replied, ‘that I content myself with only exacting from you that you should bear us both to the island of Serendib; you deserve, for having carried off Malika, that I should punish you to the full extent of the power which the seal of the Prophet gives me over rebel genii.’

The genie replied nothing; he prepared immediately to do what I had ordered him: he took us in his arms, the princess and myself, and bore us to the gates of Serendib. ‘Is that all,’ then said the genie to me, ‘that you wish me to do? Have you nothing further to command me?’ I replied in the negative, and he immediately disappeared.

We went to lodge at the first caravanserai on entering the town, and there we deliberated whether we would write to the court or whether I should go myself to inform the king of the arrival of the princess. We decided on the latter course. I betook myself to the palace, which seemed to me a singular structure. It was built on a thousand columns of marble, and the ascent to it was by a staircase of three hundred steps of beautiful stone. I passed a guard in the first hall; an officer approached me, asked me whether I had any business at the court, or whether curiosity alone brought me thither. I replied that I wished to speak to the king on an important matter. The officer led me to the grand vizir, who presented me to the king, his master.

‘Young man,’ said the monarch to me, ‘of what country are you, and what do you come to Serendib for?’

‘Sire,’ I replied, ‘Egypt was my birth-place. I have been long absent from my father, and I have experienced all sorts of misfortunes.’ Hardly had I said these words than the king, who was a kind old man, began to weep.

‘Alas!’ he said to me, ‘I am no happier than you. I have lost my only daughter, in a manner which increases my grief at not seeing her again.’

‘My lord,’ I replied, ‘I have come to this palace only to give you news of this princess.’

‘Ah! what news,’ he cried, ‘can you give me of her? You have come to announce her death to me? You have doubtless been the witness of her sad end?’

‘No, no,’ I replied, ‘she still lives, and you will see her to-day.’

‘Ah! where have you found her?’ said the king; ‘where was she hidden?’

Then I related all my adventures to him. I dilated particularly on that of the castle and the genie, which he listened to with all the more attention that he was himself interested in it. As soon as I had finished he embraced me.

‘Prince,’ he said to me, for I had discovered my birth to him in relating my history, ‘what do I not owe to you? I love my daughter dearly: I did not hope to see her again. You have been the cause of my finding her. How can I acquit myself towards you? Let us go together,’ he continued; ‘let us go to the caravanserai where you have left her, I am burning with impatience to embrace my dear Malika.’

Saying these words, he gave the order to his vizir to have a litter prepared, which was promptly executed.

The king then made me enter the litter with him, and followed by several officers on horseback we went to the caravanserai where Malika awaited me impatiently. No words can express the mutual joy which the King of Serendib and the princess his daughter felt on seeing each other again. After their first transport the monarch wished Malika herself to give a detailed account of her being carried off and her rescue, which she did in a way that gave him much satisfaction. He thought how happily she had preserved her life from the power of the genie, and declared that he could not carry his gratitude to her liberator too far. He seemed charmed with my bearing and my courage.

We all returned to the palace, where the king gave me a magnificent apartment. He ordered public prayers to return thanks to Heaven for the return of the princess. The inhabitants celebrated it with endless rejoicing. There was a magnificent feast at the court; all the nobility of the island were invited.

The King of Serendib showed me every attention; he took me hunting with him: I joined in all his pleasure parties. He evinced such friendship for me that he said to me one day: ‘O my son, it is time to reveal to you a plan I have formed. You have brought me back my daughter. You have consoled an afflicted father. I wish to acquit myself towards you. Be my son-in-law and the inheritor of my crown.’

I thanked the king for his kindness, and begged him not to take it ill if I refused the honour he wished to do me. I told him the reasons which had compelled me to leave Cairo. I confessed to him that I could not detach myself from the image of Bedy-Aljemal, nor cease to nourish a futile passion. ‘Would you,’ I added, ‘give your daughter to a man whose heart she cannot possess? Ah! my lord, the Princess Malika deserves a happier fate.’

‘How can I,’ replied the king, ‘recognise the service you have done me?’

‘Sire,’ I replied, ‘I am sufficiently rewarded for it. The reception your majesty has given me—the pleasure alone of having delivered the Princess of Serendib from the hands of the genie who had carried her off, is a sufficient reward for me. All that I ask of your gratitude is a vessel to take me to Bassora.’

The king did as I wished; he ordered a vessel to be filled with provisions and to be held ready to depart when I thought convenient. He kept me, however, some time at his court, and he told me every day that he was sorry that I did not wish to remain at Serendib. Finally the day of my departure arrived. I took leave of the king and the princess, who overwhelmed me with civilities, and I embarked.

We experienced several storms on the way, severe enough to have caused our shipwreck, but the virtue of my ring prevented our being submerged. So, after a long voyage, I arrived happily at Bassora, whence I went to grand Cairo with a caravan of Egyptian merchants.

I found many changes had taken place at the court: my father lived no more, and my brother was on the throne. The new sultan received me at first as a man sensible to the bonds which united us; he assured me he was glad to see me again; he told me that a few days after my departure, my father, being in his treasury, had opened by chance the little coffer which contained the seal of Solomon and the portrait of Bedy-Aljemal; that not seeing them he had suspected me of having taken them. I confessed everything to my brother, and placed the ring in his hands.

He seemed touched at my misfortune, and marvelled at the strangeness of my adventures; he pitied me, and I felt that his sympathy relieved my trouble. All the sensibility that he evinced was, however, only perfidy. The very day of my arrival he had me enclosed in a tower, where he sent at night an officer who had orders to take my life; but this officer had pity on me, and said: ‘Prince, the sultan, your brother, has ordered me to assassinate you; he fears lest a desire to reign may possess you and incite you to make trouble in the state; he thinks your death necessary to his safety. Happily for you he has addressed himself to me, he imagines that I shall execute his barbarous order and he expects to see me return covered with your blood. Ah! rather may my hand shed my own! Escape, prince; the door of your prison is open to you, profit by the darkness of the night; leave Cairo, fly, and do not stop till you are in safety.’

After having thanked this generous officer as he deserved, I took flight, and abandoning myself to Providence, I hastened to leave my brother’s states. I had the good fortune to arrive in yours, my lord, and to find a safe refuge at your court.

The Prince Seyf el Mulouk having finished the story of his adventures, said to the King of Damascus: ‘That, my lord, is what your majesty has wished to know; judge now whether I am perfectly happy. I am more than ever absorbed in Bedy-Aljemal. It is in vain that I constantly represent to myself that it is extravagant on my part to be enamoured of a lady who is no longer alive; it is impossible to rid myself of her image, it reigns always in my heart.’

Bedreddin could not understand so singular a love; he asked his favourite if he still had the portrait of Bedy-Aljemal.

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Seyf el Mulouk, ‘and I always carry it with me.’ Thus saying he took it from his pocket and showed it to the king.

The monarch admired it. ‘The daughter of Achahbal was,’ he said, ‘a charming princess. I approve of the love that Solomon had for her, but your passion seems to me very extravagant.’

‘Sire,’ then said the Sad Vizir, ‘your majesty can judge by the history of Prince Seyf el Mulouk that all men have their troubles, and that they are not born to be perfectly happy on earth.’

I cannot believe what you tell me,’ replied the king. ‘I have a better opinion of human nature, and I am persuaded that there are people whose peace is disturbed by no trouble.’

The King of Damascus, wishing to show his vizir that there were men very contented with their lot, said to his favourite: ‘Go and walk in the town, pass by the artisans’ shops, and later on bring me the one who seems gayest to you.’

Seyf el Mulouk obeyed, and returned to Bedreddin some hours after.

‘Well,’ said the monarch, ‘have you done what I ordered you?’

‘Yes, sire,’ replied the favourite; ‘I passed by several shops, I saw all sorts of artisans who were singing at their work, and who seemed to me very content with their fate. I remarked amongst others a young weaver named Malek, who was laughing heartily with his neighbours. I stopped to speak to him. “Friend,” I said to him, “you seem very gay.”

‘“It is my nature,” he replied. “I never experience melancholy.”

‘I asked the neighbours whether it were true that he had such a pleasant nature; they all told me that he did nothing but laugh from morning to night. Then I told him to follow me, and I brought him to the palace. He is in your apartment, do you wish me to introduce him into your presence?’

‘Let him enter,’ said the king. ‘I must speak to him here.’

Seyf el Mulouk then left Bedreddin’s cabinet and returned immediately, followed by a young man of pleasant appearance, whom he presented to the king. The weaver prostrated himself before the monarch, who said: ‘Rise, Malek, and confess frankly whether you are as contented as you seem to be. They say you do nothing but laugh and sing every day whilst at your work; you pass for the happiest of my subjects, and there is occasion to think that you are so indeed. Tell me whether they judge ill of you and whether you are satisfied with your condition; it is a matter which it concerns me to know, and I demand of you to speak without reserve.’

‘Great king,’ replied the weaver, after having risen, ‘may the days of your majesty endure for ever, and be showered with pleasure unmixed with sorrow. Dispense me from satisfying your curious desires. If it is forbidden to lie to kings, it must also be admitted that there are truths which one dares not reveal. I can only tell you that they have a false opinion of me. In spite of my singing and laughing, I am perhaps the most unhappy of men. Content yourself with this confession, sire, and do not oblige me to detail my misfortunes to you.’

‘Why,’ replied Bedreddin, ‘do you fear to relate your adventures to me? Is it because they do you no credit?’

‘They would do honour to the greatest prince,’ replied the weaver, ‘but I have resolved to keep them secret.’

‘Malek,’ said the king, ‘you arouse my curiosity, and I order you to satisfy it.’ The weaver did not dare reply to these words, and began the history of his life thus:

‘I am the only son of a rich merchant of Surat. Shortly after his death I dissipated the greater part of the wealth he had left me. I was consuming the rest with my friends, when a stranger who was passing Surat to go to the island of Serendib happened by chance to be at my table.

‘The conversation turned on travelling. Some dwelt upon the utility and pleasure of it, and others dilated upon its dangers. Some persons of the company who had travelled related their travels to us. The curious things they said they had seen secretly excited me to travel, and the dangers they said they had run prevented me from coming to a resolution.

‘After I had heard them all I said, “One cannot hear of the pleasure which travelling through the world gives without feeling extremely desirous to travel, but the perils to which a traveller exposes himself take from me the desire for foreign countries. If it were possible,” I added, smiling, “to go from one end of the earth to the other without having unpleasant encounters on the road, I would leave Surat to-morrow.”

‘At these words, which made all the company laugh, the stranger said to me, “My lord Malek, if you wish to travel and the danger of encountering robbers alone prevents you from determining on it, I will teach you, if you wish, how to travel with impunity from kingdom to kingdom.” I thought he was joking, but after the repast he took me aside and told me that the following morning he would come to my house and show me something rather singular.

‘He came, and said to me, “I wish to keep my word to you, but you will not see the effect of my promise for a few days, for what I have to show is a work which is not made nowadays. Send one of your slaves for a carpenter, and let them return both laden with planks.” That was immediately done.

‘When the carpenter and the slave had arrived, the stranger told the former to make a coffer six feet long and four wide. The workman immediately set to work. The stranger did not remain idle either; he made various parts of the machine, such as bolts and springs. They both worked all day, after which the carpenter was sent away. The stranger spent the following day in fixing the springs and completing the work.

‘The third day, the coffer being finished, it was covered with a Persian carpet and it was carried into the country, whither I went with the stranger, who said to me, “Send away your slaves and let us remain here alone. I do not like to have other persons beside yourself as a witness of what I am going to do.” I ordered my slaves to return home and remained alone with this stranger.

‘I was very curious to know what he would do with this machine, when he entered it; at the same time the coffer rose from the ground and flew through the air at an incredible speed. In a moment he was far from me, and a moment after he descended at my feet. I cannot say how astonished I was at this marvel.

‘“You see,” said the stranger on leaving the machine, “a rather pleasant carriage, and you must be persuaded that travelling thus there is no fear of being robbed on the road. This is the means I wished to give you of travelling with security. I make you a present of this coffer; you will make use of it if some day the desire takes you to travel in foreign countries. Do not imagine,” he continued, “that there is any magic in what you have seen; it is not at all by means of cabalistic words nor by virtue of a talisman that this coffer rises in the air; its movement is produced by the ingenious art which teaches moving forces. I am perfected in mechanics, and I know how to make other machines as surprising as this one.”

‘I thanked the stranger for so rare a present and I gave him out of gratitude a purse full of sequins.

‘“Teach me,” I said, “what I must do to put this coffer in movement.”

‘“You shall soon know that,” he replied. At these words he made me enter the machine with him, then he touched a spring and we were immediately lifted into the air; then he showed me what I must do to steer it straight. “Turning this bolt,” he said, “you will go to the right, and turning this one you will go to the left. Touching this spring you will ascend, touching that you will descend.”

‘I wished to try it myself. I turned the bolts and touched the springs; the coffer, obeying my hand, went as I pleased, and I hastened or slackened its pace as I wished. After making several tours in the clouds we took our flight towards my house, and descended in my garden with ease because we had removed the carpet which covered the machine, in which were several holes, as much for air as for seeing.

‘We were home before my slaves, who were not a little astonished at seeing us back again. I had the coffer enclosed in my apartment, where I guarded it with more care than a treasure, and the stranger went away as pleased with me as I was with him.

‘I continued amusing myself with my friends until I had finished devouring my patrimony. I even began to borrow, so that I insensibly found myself burdened with debts. As soon as it was known in Surat that I was ruined I lost my credit. No one wished to lend to me any longer, and my creditors, impatient to recover their money, summoned me to repay it. Seeing myself without resources, and consequently exposed to troubles and insults, I had recourse to my coffer. I dragged it one night from my apartment into my courtyard. I shut myself up in it with some provisions and the little money that remained to me. I touched the spring which made the machine ascend, then turning one of the bolts I left Surat and my creditors without fear of pursuit.

‘I made the coffer fly as quick as possible during the night and surpassed the wind in swiftness. At daybreak I looked through a hole to observe where I was. I perceived only mountainous precipices an arid country, and a frightful desert. Wherever I looked I saw no trace of a habitation. I continued to go through the air all the day and the night following. The following day I found myself above a very thick wood, near which was a rather beautiful town, situated in a vast plain.

‘I stopped to look at the town as well as at a magnificent palace which appeared before my eyes at the extremity of the plain. I wished ardently to know where I was, and I was thinking how I could satisfy my curiosity when I saw a peasant tilling the ground. I descended into the wood, left my coffer there, and advanced towards the labourer, of whom I asked the name of this town.

‘“Young man,” he replied, “it is easy to see that you are a stranger, since you do not know that this town is called Gazna. The just and brave King Bahaman lives there.”

‘“And who lives,” I said, “in the palace which we see at the end of the plain?”

‘“The King of Gazna,” he replied, “has had it built to enclose the Princess Schirina his daughter, whose horoscope foretells that she will be deceived by a man. Bahaman, to make this prediction vain, has had this palace of marble built, surrounded by deep ditches of water. The door is of Chinese steel, and although the king has the key, there is a numerous guard which watches day and night to defend its entrance from all men. The king goes once a week to see the princess his daughter, then he returns to Gazna. Schirina has for sole companions a governess and some women slaves.”

‘I thanked the peasant for having told me all these things, and turned my steps towards the town. As I was just reaching it I heard a great noise, and soon I saw several magnificently dressed cavaliers appear, all mounted on very fine horses which were richly caparisoned.

‘I perceived in the midst of this superb cavalcade a man wearing on his head a gold crown, whose clothes were strewn with diamonds. I gathered that it was the King of Gazna, who was on his way to see the princess his daughter, and I ascertained in the town that I was not wrong in my conjecture.

‘After having explored the town and satisfied my curiosity a little, I remembered my coffer, and although I had left it in a spot which I thought safe, I became uneasy. I left Gazna and my mind was not at rest until I arrived where I had left it. Then I recovered my tranquillity, I ate with much appetite what remained of my provisions, and, as night fell immediately, I resolved to pass it in the wood. I hoped deep sleep would not delay in overcoming me, for my debts, as well as the plight I was in, caused me some anxiety. I could not sleep, however. What the peasant had told me of the Princess Schirina was constantly in my thoughts. “Is it possible,” I cried, “that Bahaman is alarmed at a frivolous prediction? Is it necessary to have a palace built to enclose his daughter. Would she not have been secure in his? On the other hand, if the astrologers indeed pierce the darkness of the future, if they read in the stars future events, it is useless to wish to elude their predictions, they must of necessity take place. All the precautions that human prudence can take cannot prevent a misfortune traced in the stars from descending upon our heads. Since the Princess of Gazna is destined to have a weakness for a man, it is in vain they try to protect her from it.” By dint of occupying myself with Schirina, whom I depicted as more beautiful than all the ladies I had seen—and I had seen at Surat and at Goa a good number of rather beautiful women, who had contributed not a little to my ruin—the desire seized me to try my fortune.

‘“I must,” I said to myself, “transport myself on to the roof of the princess’s palace, and try to introduce myself into her apartment. I shall perhaps have the good fortune to please her. Perhaps I am the mortal whose audacity the astrologers have seen written in the skies.

‘I was young and consequently hot-headed, I was not wanting in courage; I formed this bold resolution and executed it at once. I rose in the air and guided my coffer in the direction of the palace. The night was as dark as could be desired. I passed unperceived above the heads of the soldiers, who, dispersed around the moat, kept vigilant guard. I descended on the roof near a place where I saw a light. I left my coffer and slipped through a window open to the freshness of the night into an apartment ornamented with rich furniture, where, on a brocade sofa, slept the Princess Schirina, whose beauty seemed to me dazzling. I found her beyond anything I had conceived. I approached to contemplate her, but I could not look unmoved on so much charm. I fell on my knees before her, and kissed one of her beautiful hands. She awoke instantly, and perceiving a man in an attitude calculated to alarm her, she uttered a cry which soon brought to her her governess, who slept in a neighbouring room.

‘“Mahpakar,” said the princess, “come to my aid. Here is a man! How could he get into my apartment? Are you the accomplice of his crime?”

‘“Who? I?” replied the governess. “What an insulting suspicion! I am not less astonished than you to see this bold young fellow here; besides, had I wished to favour his audacity, how should I have deceived the vigilance of the guard which surrounds this castle? You know, moreover, that there are twenty doors of steel to open before reaching this room, that the royal seal is on each lock, and that the king your father has the keys. I do not know how this young man has been able to surmount all these difficulties.”

‘Whilst the governess was speaking thus, I was thinking what I should say to them. It occurred to me to persuade them that I was the Prophet Mahomet.

‘“Beautiful princess,” I said to Schirina, “do not be surprised, nor Mahpakar either, at seeing me appear here. I am not one of those lovers prodigal in gold and every kind of artifice in order to gain their desires. I feel no desire that your virtue need take alarm at; far from me be all criminal thought. I am the Prophet Mahomet. I could not without pity see you condemned to pass your days in prison, and I come to offer you my help in protecting you from the prediction which alarms Bahaman, your father. Henceforth let your mind be at rest as regards your lot, which cannot be otherwise than full of glory and of happiness, since you will be the spouse of Mahomet. As soon as the news of your marriage has spread through the world, all the kings will fear the father-in-law of the great Prophet, and all the princesses will envy your fate!”

‘Schirina and her governess looked at each other at this speech, as if to consult as to what they should think of it. I had occasion to fear, I admit, that it would meet with little credulity from them, but women willingly believe in the marvellous. Mahpakar and her mistress believed in my fable; they believed me to be Mahomet, and I abused their credulity. After having persuaded the Princess of Gazna to believe herself my wife, I left her before daybreak, not without promising to return the following day. I regained my machine with all speed, entered it, and ascended very far in order not to be seen by the soldiers. I descended in the wood, left the coffer there, and went towards the town, where I bought provisions for a week, some magnificent garments, a beautiful turban of Indian cloth striped with gold, and a rich belt. I did not forget to buy essences and the best perfumes. I spent all my money in these purchases without troubling about the future; it seemed to me I could want for nothing after so pleasant an adventure. I remained all day in the wood, where I occupied myself in adorning and perfuming myself. As soon as night had come I entered the box and betook myself to the roof of Schirina’s palace. I introduced myself into her apartment as on the preceding night.

‘The princess gave evidence of awaiting me with much impatience: “O great Prophet,” she said, “I was beginning to get anxious, and I feared lest you had already forgotten your wife.”

‘“Ah! my dear princess,” I replied, “how could you fear that? Since you have my word, ought you not to be certain that I shall always love you?”

‘“But tell me,” she replied, “why you look so young? I thought that the Prophet Mahomet was a venerable old man.”

‘“Do not be mistaken,” I said; “that is the right idea to have of me, and if I appeared before you as I appear sometimes to the Faithful to whom I wish to do honour, you would see me with a long white beard and a bald head; but I thought you would like me to appear less aged, that is why I appear in the form of a young man.” The governess, joining in the conversation, told me that I was very well made, and could not appear more agreeably as a husband.

‘I left the castle again at break of day, for fear lest they should discover that I was a false prophet. I returned the following day, and I conducted myself always so cleverly that Schirina and Mahpakar did not suspect for a moment that there was any deception in the matter. It is true that the princess insensibly became so well inclined towards me that that contributed not a little to make her believe all I had said, for when one is favourably inclined towards anybody, one does not doubt their sincerity.

‘At the end of several days the King of Gazna, followed by his officers, came to the palace of the princess his daughter; and finding the doors well closed and his seal on the locks, he said to the vizirs who accompanied him: “All goes as well as can be. So long as the doors of this palace remain like this, I little fear the misfortune with which my daughter is threatened.” He ascended alone to the apartment of Schirina, who could not help being troubled at sight of him. He perceived it and wished to know the cause. His curiosity increased the anxiety of the princess, who, seeing herself obliged to satisfy it, related to him all that had passed.

‘Your majesty, sire, can imagine the surprise of the King Bahaman when he learnt that he was, without knowing it, the father-in-law of Mahomet.

‘“Ah! what absurdity,” he cried; “how credulous you are, my daughter! O Heaven! I now see that it is useless to try and avoid the misfortunes which you have in store for us. The horoscope of Schirina is fulfilled. A traitor has deceived her.”

‘Thus saying, he left the apartment of the princess much agitated, and searched the palace throughout. But he searched everywhere in vain; he found no trace of the villain. His astonishment redoubled.

‘“How,” he said, “can the bold fellow have entered the castle? That is what I cannot conceive.”

‘Then he called his vizirs and confidants. They all assembled at his call, and seeing him much troubled, they were alarmed.

‘“What is it, sire?” said the first minister to him. “You seem anxious and agitated. What misfortune causes the trouble we see in your face?”

‘The king told them all he had heard, and asked them what they thought of this adventure. The grand vizir spoke first. He said that this pretended marriage might be genuine, although it had all the appearance of a fable; that there were in the world powerful houses who made no difficulty in attributing their origin to such events, and that for his part he thought it quite possible that the princess had been wedded to Mahomet.

‘The other vizirs, out of complaisance perhaps for him who had just spoken, were of the same opinion, but a courtier argued against it thus: “I am surprised to see sensible people give credence to a report so little worthy of belief. Can wise people believe that our great Prophet is capable of coming to earth to wed women, he who in the heavenly place is surrounded by the most beautiful houris? That shocks common sense, and if the king will believe me, instead of lending himself to a ridiculous story, he will investigate this matter. I am certain he will soon discover the rogue who, under a sacred name, has had the audacity to deceive the princess.”

‘Although Bahaman was naturally rather credulous, and held his first minister to be a man of sound judgment, and saw that all his vizirs believed Schirina to be really married to Mahomet, he was inclined to disbelieve it. He resolved to clear up the mystery; but, wishing to do things prudently, and to try and speak himself without witnesses to the would-be Prophet, he dismissed his vizirs and his courtiers.

‘“Retire,” he said; “I wish to stay to-night in this castle with my daughter. Go, and return to-morrow.”

‘They regained the town, and Bahaman questioned his daughter anew, awaiting the night; he asked her if I had eaten with her.

‘“No, my lord,” said his daughter, “I have presented meat and drink to him in vain; he would not have any, and I have not seen him take any nourishment since he came.”

‘“Relate the adventure to me again,” he replied, “and do not conceal any particular from me.”

‘Schirina detailed it to him anew, and the king attentively weighed all the circumstances.

‘Night came, however. Bahaman seated himself on a sofa, and had candles lit, which were placed before him on a marble table. He drew his sword to make use of it if necessary, and avenge with blood the insult to his honour. He expected me every moment, and it was not without agitation that he looked to see me suddenly arrive.

‘That night, by chance, the air was all aflame. A long lightning flash passed before the king’s eyes and made him wince. He approached the window through which Schirina had told him I would enter, and, seeing the sky all aflame, he became very troubled, although he merely witnessed a very natural thing. He did not look upon these meteors as the result of the inflamed atmosphere, he liked better to believe that these fires announced the descent of Mahomet to earth, and that the heavens were so luminous only because its gates were opened to let the Prophet pass out.

‘In the king’s disposition of mind, I could present myself with impunity before him; so that, far from appearing furious when I appeared at the window, he was seized with respect and fear. He let fall his sword, and prostrating himself at my feet, he kissed them, and said: “O great Prophet, who am I and what have I done to deserve the honour of being your father-in-law?”

‘I judged by these words of what had passed between the king and the princess, and I knew that the good Bahaman was not more difficult to deceive than his daughter. I was delighted to discover that I had not to deal with one of those firm individuals who would have subjected the Prophet to an embarrassing examination, and, profiting by his weakness, “O king,” I said, raising him, “you are, of all Mussulman princes, the most attached to my sect, and consequently the one who should be most agreeable to me. It was written on the fatal tablets that your daughter should be deceived by a man, which your astrologers have discovered by the light of astrology. But I have prayed the Most High to spare you this unhappiness, which from love of me he has done on condition that Schirina should become one of my wives, to which I consented in order to reward you for the good actions which you do every day.”

‘The King Bahaman was not at all in a condition to be undeceived. This feeble prince believed all that I told him, and, charmed at the alliance with the great Prophet, he threw himself a second time at my feet to testify his gratitude at my kindness. I raised him again, embraced him, and assured him of my protection. He could not find terms strong enough in which to thank me. After that, thinking it becoming to leave me with his daughter, he retired into another room.

‘I remained with Schirina for some hours, but delighted as I was to be with her I did not forget that the time was passing. I feared lest the daylight should surprise me and my coffer be perceived upon the roof, so I left towards daybreak and regained the wood.

‘The following morning the vizirs and the courtiers betook themselves to the palace of the princess. They asked the king if he had informed himself on the subject that interested him. “Yes,” he said, “I have seen the great Prophet himself and have spoken to him. He is the husband of my daughter; nothing is more certain.”

‘At this speech the vizir and the courtiers turned towards him who had opposed the possibility of this marriage and reproached him for his incredulity, but they found him still of the same opinion. He upheld it with obstinacy, say what the king would to persuade him that Mahomet had married Schirina. Bahaman became almost angry with this incredulous fellow, who became the laughing-stock of the council.

‘A new incident, which took place the same day, finally confirmed the vizirs in their opinion. As they were returning to the town with their master, a storm overtook them in the open plain. Brilliant lightning flashed in their eyes and such terrible thunder was heard that it might have been the last day of the world. It happened by chance that the horse of the incredulous courtier took fright. It reared and threw its rider to the ground, breaking his leg. This accident was looked upon as evidence of the celestial wrath. “O wretched fellow!” cried the king, on seeing the courtier fall, “behold the fruit of your obstinacy. You would not believe me, and the Prophet has punished you.”

‘The wounded man was carried home, and Bahaman had no sooner returned to his palace than he had it published at Gazna that he wished all the inhabitants to celebrate with estivities the marriage of Schirina with Mahomet. I was walking that day in the town. I heard the news as well as the adventure that had befallen the courtier. It is inconceivable how credulous and superstitious those people were. Public rejoicings were held, and everywhere was heard the cry, “Long live Bahaman, the father-in-law of the Prophet!”

‘As soon as night fell I regained the wood and was soon with the princess. “Beautiful Schirina,” I said to her on entering her apartment, “you do not know what has passed to-day in the plain. A courtier who doubted your husband to be Mahomet has expiated the doubt. I raised a storm which alarmed his horse; the courtier fell and broke his leg. I have not judged fit to push vengeance further, but I swear by my tomb at Medina that if anyone has any further doubt of your happiness it shall cost him his life.” After having passed several hours with the princess, I retired.

‘The following day the king assembled his vizirs and his courtiers. “Let us all go together,” he said, and ask pardon of Mahomet for the unfortunate man who has refused to believe me and who has received the punishment of his incredulity.” At the same time they mounted their horses and went to the palace of the princess. The king himself opened the doors he had locked and sealed the preceding day. He ascended, followed by his vizirs, to the apartment of his daughter.

‘“Schirina,” he said, “we come to beg you to intercede with the Prophet for a man who has drawn down his anger upon him.”

‘“I know,” replied the princess; “Mahomet has spoken to me about it.” Then she repeated what I had said to her at night, and told them that I had sworn to exterminate all those who should doubt her marriage with the Prophet.

‘When the good King Bahaman heard this speech, he turned towards his vizirs and courtiers and said, “Had we not already placed our belief in all we have seen, could we now be otherwise than persuaded that Mahomet is my son-in-law. You see he has told my daughter himself that he raised this storm to punish an unbeliever.”

‘All the ministers and the others remained convinced that she was the spouse of the Prophet. They prostrated themselves before her and begged her very humbly to intercede with me in favour of the wounded courtier, which she promised to do.

‘In the meanwhile I had eaten all my provisions, and as I had no money left, the Prophet Mahomet began to be at a loss what to do. I thought of an expedient. “My princess,” I said one night to Schirina, “we have forgotten to observe a formality in our marriage. You have given me no dowry, and this omission distresses me.”

‘“Well, dear husband,” she replied, “I will speak about it to my father to-morrow; he will doubtless send all his riches here.”

‘“No, no,” I replied, “there is no need to speak to him. I care little for treasures; riches are useless to me. It is sufficient for you to give me some of your jewels, it is the only dowry I ask.”

‘Schirina wished to load me with all her precious stones to make a better dowry, but I contented myself with taking two big diamonds, which I sold the following day to a jeweller of Gazna. I was thus enabled to continue to play the part of Mahomet.

‘I had been leading a very agreeable life, passing as the Prophet for nearly a month, when an ambassador arrived in the town of Gazna on behalf of a neighbouring king to ask Schirina in marriage. He was soon received in audience, and as soon as he had revealed the object of his embassy Bahaman said to him, “I am sorry not to be able to give my daughter to the king your master. I have given her in marriage to the Prophet Mahomet.”

‘The ambassador judged from this answer that the King of Gazna had gone mad. He took leave of this prince and returned to his master, who at first thought with him that he had lost his senses, then, imputing the refusal to contempt, he was angry at it. He raised troops, formed a great army, and entered the kingdom of Gazna.

‘The king, called Cassim, was stronger than Bahaman, who, moreover, prepared so slowly to receive his enemy that he could not prevent his making great progress. Cassim defeated several troops who endeavoured to oppose his progress, advanced hastily towards the town of Gazna, and found the army of Bahaman entrenched in the plain before the castle of the Princess Schirina. The design of the irritated lover was to attack him within his entrenchments; but as his troops had need of repose, and as he had arrived in the plain in the evening only, he delayed the attack till the following morning.

‘However, the King of Gazna, informed as to the number and valour of Cassim’s soldiers, began to tremble. He assembled his council, at which the courtier who had been wounded in falling from his horse spoke thus:

‘“I am astonished that the king should appear to be uneasy on this occasion. What alarm can, not Cassim alone, but all the princes of the world, cause the father-in-law of Mahomet? Your Majesty, sire, has only to address himself to his son-in-law. Implore the aid of the great Prophet, he will soon confound your enemies. He should do so, as he is the cause of Cassim’s coming to trouble the peace of your subjects.”

‘Although this speech was only made in derision it did not fail to inspire confidence in Bahaman.

‘“You are right,” he said to the courtier, “I ought to address myself to the Prophet. I am going to beg him to repulse my enemy, and I dare hope he will not refuse my prayer.”

‘At these words he went to find Schirina.

‘“My daughter,” he said to her, “to-morrow at daybreak Cassim will attack us. I fear lest he will force our entrenchments. I come here to pray Mahomet to succour us. Use all your influence with him to get him to take our part.”

‘“My lord,” replied the princess, “it will not be very difficult to interest the Prophet on our behalf; he will soon disperse the enemy’s troops, and all the kings of the world will learn at Cassim’s expense to respect you.”

‘“Nevertheless,” replied the king, “the night advances, and the Prophet does not appear; can he have abandoned us?”

‘“No, father,” replied Schirina. “Do not believe that he will fail us in the moment of need. He sees from the heaven; he dwells in the army which assails us, and he is perhaps preparing to spread disorder and terror amongst them.”

‘It was, indeed, what Mahomet wished to do. I had, during the day, perceived from afar the troops of Cassim. I had remarked the disposition of them, and particularly noticed the whereabouts of the king. I gathered some large and small pebbles; I filled my coffer with them, and in the middle of the night I rose in the air. I advanced towards the tents of Cassim. I detected without difficulty the one in which the king slept. It was a very high pavilion, well gilt, made in the shape of a dome, supported by twelve columns of painted wood. The intervals between the columns were formed of branches of different sorts of trees interlaced. Towards the top were two windows, one looking east and one south.

‘All the soldiers surrounding the tent slept, which enabled me to descend as far as one of the windows without being seen. I saw the king asleep upon a sofa, his head resting upon a satin cushion. I came half out of my coffer, and throwing a large pebble at Cassim, I struck him on the forehead, and wounded him dangerously. He uttered a cry which soon awoke his guards and officers. They hastened to him, and found him covered with blood and almost unconscious. They raised a cry, the alarm spread, everyone asking what had happened. The rumour spread that the king had been wounded by an unknown hand. Whilst the perpetrator was sought for, I rose into the clouds and let fall a shower of stones on the royal tent and its neighbourhood. Some soldiers were wounded, and cried out that it was raining stones. The news spread, and to confirm it I threw pebbles everywhere. Then terror seized the army; officers and soldiers believed that the Prophet was angry with Cassim, and declared his wrath by this miracle.

‘Finally Bahaman’s enemies took flight and fled. They fled with such precipitation that they left everything behind them, crying:

‘“We are lost. Mahomet is going to exterminate us all.”

‘The King of Gazna was somewhat surprised at daybreak when, instead of being attacked, he perceived the enemy retiring. He immediately pursued them with his best soldiers. He made great carnage amongst them, and overtook Cassim, whose wound prevented his going very fast.

‘“Why,” said he, “have you entered my dominions contrary to all right and reason? What occasion have I given you to make war?”

‘“Bahaman,” replied the conquered king, “I thought you had refused me your daughter out of contempt, and I wished to revenge myself. I could not believe that the Prophet was your son-in-law, but I do not doubt it now, since it is he who has wounded me and dispersed my army.”

‘Bahaman ceased to pursue his enemies, and returned to Gazna with Cassim, who died of his wound the same day. They divided the booty, which was considerable, and the soldiers returned home laden with wealth. Prayers were offered in all the mosques to thank Heaven for having confounded the enemies of the State; and when night had come, the king went unaccompanied to the palace of the princess.

‘“My daughter,” he said, “I come to give the thanks to the Prophet that are due to him. You have heard from the courier I sent you all Mahomet has done for us. I am so overwhelmed by it that I die with impatience to kiss his knees.”

‘He soon had the satisfaction he sought. I entered by the usual window into Schirina’s apartment, where I expected he would be. He threw himself at my feet and kissed the earth, saying:

‘“Oh! great Prophet, no words can express to you all I feel. Read for yourself in my heart all its gratitude.”

‘I raised Bahaman and kissed him on the forehead.

‘“Prince,” I said, “could you think I would refuse you my help in the dilemma you were placed for love of me? I punished the proud Cassim, who intended to make himself master over your dominions, and take Schirina to place her among the slaves of his seraglio. Do not fear henceforth that any potentate in the world will dare make war on you. If anyone had the audacity to come and attack you, I should let fall upon the troops a shower of fire which would reduce them to cinders.”

‘Having reassured the King of Gazna that I took his kingdom under my protection, I related to him how the army of the enemy had been terrified on seeing stones rain down on the camp. Bahaman repeated to me what Cassim had said to him, and then he retired to leave Schirina and me at liberty. This princess, who was not less sensible than the king, her father, to the service I had rendered to the State, showed me much gratitude and caressed me a thousand times. I almost forgot the passing of time. Day dawned when I regained my coffer; but I had passed so well as Mahomet in everybody’s mind, that had the soldiers seen me in the air they would not have been disabused. I almost fancied myself to be the Prophet after having put an army to rout.

‘Two days after they had buried Cassim, to whom, although an enemy, they gave a superb funeral, the King of Gazna ordered rejoicings to be held in the town as much for the defeat of the enemy as to celebrate solemnly the marriage of the Princess Schirina with Mahomet. I thought I ought to signalise by some wonder a feast made in my honour. To do so I bought in Gazna some pitch, with some cotton-pods, and a light machine for making fire. I passed the day in the wood preparing a firework. I dipped the pods in the pitch, and at night, whilst the people were rejoicing in the streets, I rose above the town, as high as was possible so that my coffer might not be distinguished by the light of my firework. Then I struck fire, and lit the pitch, which together with the pods made a very fine display. Then I disappeared into the wood. Day having appeared shortly after, I went into the town to have the pleasure of hearing what was said of me. I was not disappointed. The people said a thousand extravagant things about the trick I had played. Some said it was Mahomet who, to show that their feast was agreeable to him, had made celestial fire appear, and others averred they had seen in the midst of these new meteors the Prophet appear with a white beard and a venerable appearance.

‘These remarks amused me infinitely, but alas! whilst I was enjoying them my coffer, my dear coffer, the instrument of my wonders, was burning in the wood. Apparently a spark which I had not seen ignited the machine during my absence and consumed it. I found it reduced to cinders on my return. A father who, returning home, sees his only son pierced by mortal wounds and bathed in his blood, could not be more deeply grieved than was I at that moment. The wood echoed with my cries and regrets, I tore my hair and garments, I do not know how my life was spared in my despair.

‘The misfortune was, however, without remedy. I must decide upon a course to adopt. One only was left to me—that was to go and seek fortune elsewhere. So the Prophet Mahomet, leaving Bahaman and Schirina much troubled, left the town of Gazna.

‘Three days later I met a big caravan of Cairo merchants who were returning to their country. I mingled with them and went to grand Cairo, where I became a weaver. I remained there several years, then I came to Damascus, where I follow the same pursuit. I appear very pleased with my lot, but am not so really. I cannot forget the happiness I formerly enjoyed. Schirina is ever present in my memory. For my peace of mind I would like to banish her from my thoughts; I do all I can, but in vain.

‘That, sire, is what your majesty has ordered me to tell you. I know you will not approve of the deception I have worked upon the King of Gazna and the Princess Schirina; more than once I have perceived that my story repelled you, and that your virtue was shocked at my sacrilegious audacity. But remember, I pray, that you exacted sincerity from me, and deign to pardon the tale of my adventures on account of the necessity of obeying you.’

The King of Damascus dismissed the weaver after having heard his story. Then he said to the vizir, ‘The adventures which this man has just related to us are not less surprising than yours. But although he is no happier than you, do not think that I give in yet, and that I can conclude from that that nobody in the world enjoys perfect happiness. I wish to interrogate my generals, my courtiers, and all the officers of my house. Go vizir,’ he added, ‘and bring them to me one after the other.’

Atalmulc obeyed; he first brought the generals. The king ordered them to say frankly whether any secret trouble poisoned the sweetness of their life, assuring them that this confession should have no ill-consequences. They all said immediately that they had their troubles and were far from tranquil in their minds. One said he was too ambitious, another too avaricious; another admitted that he was jealous of the glory acquired by his equals, and complained that the people did not do justice to his skill in the art of war. Finally, the generals having revealed their innermost souls, Bedreddin, seeing none of them were happy, said to his vizir that the following day he wished to hear all his courtiers speak.

They were interrogated one after the other. Not one of them was found to be contented. ‘I see,’ said one, ‘my credit diminish daily.’ ‘My plans are thwarted,’ said another, ‘and I cannot attain to what I wish.’ ‘I must,’ said another, ‘cajole my enemies and study to please them.’ Another said he had spent all his wealth and even exhausted all his resources.

The King of Damascus, finding neither among his courtiers nor among his generals the man he sought, thought he might be found among the officers of his house. He had the patience to speak to them one by one, and they made him the same reply as the courtiers and the generals, that is to say, that they were not exempt from trouble. One complained of his wife, another of his children; those who were not rich said that poverty made them unhappy, and those who possessed riches lacked health or had some other cause of grief.

Bedreddin, in spite of all that, could not lose hope of meeting some contented man. ‘Provided I find one,’ he said to the vizir, ‘I do not ask more, for you maintain not one exists.’

‘Yes, sire,’ replied Atalmulc, ‘I maintain it, and your majesty seeks in vain.’

‘I am not yet persuaded of it,’ replied the king, ‘and a method occurs to me of soon knowing what I ought to think on the matter.’

At the same time he ordered it to be published in the town that all those who were satisfied with their lot, and whose rest was not disturbed with any trouble, were to appear in three days before his throne. The time expired; no one appeared at the court; it seemed as though all the inhabitants were of the vizir’s way of thinking.

When the King of Damascus saw that no one presented himself, he was very astonished. ‘It is inconceivable,’ he cried. ‘Is it possible that in Damascus, in a town so large and so peopled, there is no happy man?’

‘Sire,’ said Atalmulc, ‘if you were to interrogate all the people of the earth they would tell you they are unhappy. You alone perhaps do not suffer, for you do not seem to know love.’

‘You are greatly mistaken, then,’ said Bedreddin, ‘to think I am not at all amorous because I have no mistress. To disabuse you I will tell you that I love like you, and that love alone prevents my being happy. It is not a princess who reigns in my heart, it is a woman of lowly condition who absorbs me. I will tell this story. I did not intend to make you such a confidence, but you give me an opportunity I cannot let pass.’

SOME years ago there lived at Damascus an old merchant named Banou. He had a very beautiful country house not far from the town, two shops full of Indian cloths, and all sorts of gold and silken stuffs, also a young wife of extraordinary beauty.

Banou was a man of pleasure. He loved spending money, and prided himself on his generosity. He did not content himself with regaling his friends, he lent them money. He assisted those who had need of help. In fact, he would not have been satisfied with himself if he had passed a day without having done someone a service. He found so many occasions of exercising his generous inclinations that he gradually damaged his business. He saw that he was inconvenienced, but he could not resolve to change his line of conduct; so that, hampering himself more and more every day, he was obliged to sell his country house, and gradually he fell in want.

When he saw his fortune consumed, he had recourse to his friends: he received no assistance from them; they all abandoned him. He thought his debtors at least would give him back what he had lent them; but some repudiated the debt, and others found themselves unable to discharge it. This troubled Banou so much that he fell ill.

During his illness he remembered by chance having lent a thousand gold sequins to a doctor of his acquaintance. He called his wife, and said to her: ‘Oh, my dear Arouya, we must not despair yet, I have just remembered one of my debtors whom I had forgotten. I once lent him a thousand gold sequins; it is the doctor Danischmend. I do not think him so dishonest as the others. Go to him, since I cannot go myself, and tell him I beg him to send me the sum he received from me.’

Arouya immediately took her veil and went to the house of Danischmend. She was introduced into the apartment of the doctor, who begged her to sit down and tell him what brought her.

‘My lord doctor,’ replied the young woman, raising her veil, ‘I am the wife of Banou the merchant; he salutes you in wishing you all sorts of prosperity, and begs you to have the kindness to give him back the thousand gold sequins he has lent you.’

At these words, which the beautiful Arouya spoke sweetly and graciously, the doctor, as red as fire, fixed his eyes on the wife of the merchant, and replied; ‘O fairy countenance! I will willingly give you what you ask, not as something due to your husband, but to yourself, for the pleasure you do me in coming to my house. I feel that the sight of you makes me beside myself. You can make me the happiest of doctors. Return, I beg, the sentiments which you inspire in me; the more that your husband is too advanced in age to deserve your affection. If you wish to accept my love instead of one thousand sequins, I will give you two, and I swear by my head and eyes that I will be your slave all my life.’

Thus saying, the too passionate doctor, to prove by his actions that he was not less enamoured than he said, approached the young woman and wished to press her in his arms: but she repulsed him, and said, looking at him with an air which presaged no good: ‘Stop, insolent fellow, and cease to flatter yourself that I shall listen to you. Were you to offer me all the riches of Egypt, if it depended on you to give them me, you could not corrupt my fidelity. Place in my hands the thousand sequins which you owe my husband, and do not waste your time in trying to force my inclinations.’

The doctor was too intelligent not to gather from this speech what he had to expect from the virtuous Arouya. He lost hope of persuading her, and as he was a very brutal man, he soon changed his tone. ‘You must,’ he said, very angrily, ‘be very bold to ask me for money: I owe nothing to Banou your husband, and if the old fool has ruined himself by his extravagance, I am not fool enough to contribute towards reinstating him.’

At these words he had her abruptly put out of the house, and only just refrained from striking her.

The young woman returned quite in tears to her home. ‘My dear Banou,’ she said to her husband, ‘the doctor Danischmend is not a more honest man than your other debtors. He had the audacity to maintain that he owed you nothing.’

‘O, the ungrateful fellow!’ cried the old merchant; ‘is it possible that he abandons me in the hour of need? But what am I saying, abandon me? He is dishonest enough to repudiate having received the sum. The rogue! he appeared to be an honest man. I would have trusted him with all my fortune when he asked me for a thousand sequins. Whom can one trust in nowadays? What shall I do?’ he continued. ‘Must I leave him alone? No, I will have the law on him. Go and find the cadi; he is a severe judge and the sworn enemy of injustice. Relate to him all the doctor’s perfidy. I am sure he will have pity on me and will do me justice.’

The old merchant’s wife went to the cadi. She entered a hall where this judge was giving audience to the people, and stood apart. The majesty of her figure and bearing caused her to be much remarked. The cadi loved the fair sex. As soon as he saw Arouya, he made her a sign to approach, and conducted her himself into his cabinet. He made her sit on a sofa and raise her veil; but he no sooner saw the extreme beauty with which she was endowed than he was as charmed as the doctor.

‘O sugar cane!’ he cried, in a transport of love, ‘beautiful rose of the world’s garden, tell me what you want, and be assured beforehand that I shall do for you all you wish.’

Then she told him of Danischmend’s dishonesty. She begged him very humbly to interpose his authority to oblige the doctor to give back what he owed to her husband.

‘That is just,’ interrupted the cadi, who felt himself becoming more and more enamoured. ‘I shall know how to constrain him. He shall give back the thousand sequins, or I shall have his entrails torn out. But, charming houri,’ he continued, softening, ‘think, I beg, that the bird of my heart is caught in the meshes of your beauty’s net. Grant to me the affection that you refused to the doctor, and I will immediately make you a present of four thousand gold sequins.’

At this speech Arouya melted into tears.

‘O Heaven!’ she cried, ‘is there no virtue among men? I cannot find one who is truly generous. Even those charged with the punishment of the guilty do not scruple to commit crimes.’

The cadi tried in vain to dry the young woman’s tears. As he persisted in courting her, and assured her that otherwise she need not expect any service from him, she rose and went out, deeply wounded.

When Banou saw his wife return, it was not difficult to see that she had no good news to announce to him.

‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you are not very pleased with the cadi. He has refused you his protection. The doctor, Danischmend, is doubtless a friend of his.’

‘Alas!’ she replied, ‘I have taken trouble for nothing. He will not do justice to us. No hope remains for us. What is to become of us?’

‘We must apply to the Governor of Damascus,’ he replied. ‘I have several times sold him stuffs on credit. He even owes me money. Let us implore his support. I believe he would like to serve us.’

The following day Arouya, veiled, did not fail to go to the governor. She asked to speak to him. She was led to his apartment.

He received her with much civility, and begged her to uncover her face. As she knew what the consequences of it would be, she wished to excuse herself, but could not: he pressed her so gallantly to raise her veil that she could not help doing so.

If the sight of her had inflamed the doctor and the cadi, it made no less impression on the governor, who was a most impressionable old man.

‘What charms!’ he cried. ‘I never saw anyone so attractive. Ah! tell me,’ he continued, ‘who you are, and what I can do for you.’

‘My lord,’ she replied, ‘I am the wife of a merchant called Banou, who has sometimes had the honour to sell you stuffs.’

‘Oh! I know him well,’ he interrupted. ‘He is one of the men whom I love and esteem much. How happy he is to have so charming a wife! How enviable is his lot!’

‘He is much more worthy of pity,’ interrupted Arouya, in her turn. ‘You do not know to what a state the unfortunate Banou is reduced.’

At the same time she put before him the bad condition her husband’s affairs were in, and told him the reasons which compelled her to seek him out.

The governor readily promised to exercise his authority in compelling the doctor, Danischmend, to pay what he owed to Banou: but he was not more generous than the cadi.

‘I grant you my protection,’ he said to the young woman. ‘I shall send for the doctor, and if he does not give back the thousand sequins he has received with a good grace he shall repent it. In a word, I undertake to have them given back to you, provided that from this moment you begin to show your gratitude for what I propose to do for you; for we lords like the reward to precede the service.’

As the beautiful Arouya did not wish to return the love of the governor any more than that of the others, she retired in despair.

‘O Banou!’ she said to her husband, ‘we must give up hope. No one sympathises with us in our troubles, nor wishes to help us in any way.’

These words drove the old merchant to despair. He cursed men a thousand times, till his wife said:

‘Cease to curse the authors of our misfortunes. What relief can your vain laments give you? It were better to think of other means of getting your money, and Mahomet himself inspires me with one. Do not ask me,’ she added, ‘what it is. I do not find it desirable to tell you. Be content with the assurance that it will make a great deal of noise, and that we shall be fully revenged upon the doctor, the cadi, and the governor.’

‘Do all you wish,’ said Banou. ‘I trust to you.’

The merchant’s wife immediately left the house, and having passed through two or three streets, she entered a carpenter’s shop. The owner saluted her, and said:

‘Beautiful lady, what do you wish?’

‘I want three coffers,’ she said. ‘I beg you to give them me in a good condition.’

The carpenter showed her several of different sizes. She chose three, which would each, without difficulty, contain a man. She paid for them, and had them sent home immediately. Then she dressed herself in her richest clothes, and adorned herself with all the jewels which her misfortunes had not yet reduced her to sell, not forgetting perfumes.

In such a fitting condition to charm, she went to find the doctor, and employing all the airs and graces of a sham effrontery, she took off her veil without waiting for the doctor to ask her to uncover; then, looking at him with eyes capable of inspiring love in the most insensible of men, ‘Lord doctor,’ she said, ‘I come to beg you again to give back the thousand sequins you owe my husband. If you give them back for love of me, you can count on my gratitude.’

‘Beautiful lady,’ replied the doctor, ‘my feelings are still the same. I have two thousand sequins to give you on the conditions I proposed.’

‘I see,’ replied Arouya, ‘that you will not yield. I must resign myself with a good grace to pleasing you. I expect you to-night,’ she added, putting out one of her beautiful hands, which he kissed with effusion; ‘bring the money you have promised me, and come at ten o’clock precisely, and knock at the door of my house. A faithful slave will open to you and will introduce you into my presence.’

The doctor, at these words, which seemed to promise him all he desired, lost control over himself. He kissed the young woman without her being able to defend herself. But she escaped from his hands promptly, and seeing he was certain to keep the appointment, she left his house to go and play the same part with the cadi.

As soon as she was alone with this judge she said: ‘O my lord, since I left you I have not had a moment’s rest. I have remembered again and again everything you have told me. It seemed to me that I was not displeasing to you, and that it only depended on me to gain your affection. What a satisfaction for a woman of my class to see herself admired by a young and well-made cadi! My heart, I confess, is not proof against such an agreeable prospect.’

The cadi was delighted. ‘Yes, my queen,’ he cried, ‘you shall, if you wish, be the first lady of my seraglio and the sovereign mistress of my wishes. Leave old Banou and come and live with me.’

‘No, my lord,’ replied Arouya, ‘I cannot make up my mind to make him so unhappy. Besides, by so doing I should lose my reputation. I wish to avoid scandal and have secret interviews only with you.’

‘Where,’ replied the cadi, ‘can I meet you?’

‘In my house,’ replied the merchant’s wife; ‘it is the safest spot. Banou can be easily deceived. He is overwhelmed with old age and infirmities. He need cause you no uneasiness. Come to me this very night if you wish,’ she added; ‘be at the door of our house at eleven o’clock, but come alone, for I should be in despair if any of your people knew the weakness I have for you.’

The precautions taken by the young woman, far from making the cadi suspicious, seemed to increase the value of his good fortune. He did not fail to testify to the lady the pleasure it gave him to see her so favourably inclined towards him. He paid her a thousand compliments, and he promised to go to her at the hour indicated. Thereupon they separated very well pleased, although they had each very different thoughts.

Thus were two lovers ready to fall into the trap set for them. There was only the governor left to deceive, which was not very difficult. The young woman was skilful enough to entrap him with the others. He readily believed all she said to him, and the result of their conversation was that she gave him a tryst at her house at midnight, and he swore to come alone, with all the discretion she desired.

‘Great Prophet,’ said Arouya, when she was outside the governor’s palace, ‘protector of faithful Mussulmans! Mahomet, you who from heaven above look down upon my actions, you see the bottom of my soul: let my plan succeed, and do not forsake me in the danger of carrying it out!’

After this apostrophe, which she thought it wiser to make in order to more surely succeed in the object she had in view, she felt full of confidence; and obeying every impulse as so many secret counsels of the Prophet, she went to buy all sorts of fruit and preserves, which she had sent to her house. She had an old slave whose fidelity was known to her: she informed her of her plan, and gave her her orders. They then began to prepare an apartment: they arranged the furniture, and set up a table on which were placed several porcelain dishes filled with fruits and dried sweetmeats. Had the young woman truly wished to make her guests welcome, she could not have made greater preparations to receive them.

She awaited their arrival with extreme impatience; she even feared sometimes they would not come; but her fear was very ill-founded. They had conceived hopes too agreeable to be abandoned. The doctor Danischmend did not fail to be at the door at ten o’clock precisely. He knocked, the old slave opened the door, let him in, and conducted him to her mistress’s apartment, saying quite low: ‘Take care not to make a noise for fear of waking the old merchant, who is sleeping.’

As soon as Danischmend saw Arouya, who had adorned herself with as much care as if it had been a question of receiving a cherished lover, he was dazzled with the brilliancy of her charms, and said to her in an impassioned manner: ‘O, phoenix of the field of beauty! I cannot sufficiently congratulate myself upon my good fortune. There,’ he continued, throwing a purse upon the table, ‘are the two thousand sequins I have promised; it is not too much to pay for such happiness.’

Arouya smiled at this speech; she put out her hand to the doctor, and after having made him seat himself on a sofa, she said to him: ‘My lord doctor, remove your turban and your belt, make yourself at ease. You are here as at home. Dalla Monkhtala,’ she continued, addressing the old slave, ‘come and help me to wait upon my lord, for his turban inconveniences him.’

Thus saying, the lady herself undid Danischmend’s waist-belt. They then both removed his outer robe, and the slave removed his turban, so that he remained with his head bare.

‘Let us begin,’ the young woman said, ‘with the refreshments which I have prepared for you.’ At the same time they set themselves to eat preserves and drink wine.

At the end of the repast, which the lady enlivened with conversation that charmed the doctor, a noise was heard in the house. Arouya appeared alarmed, as though she were unable to account for it. ‘Dalla,’ she said to the old slave with an uneasy air, ‘go and see what can be the cause of the noise which we hear.’

Dalla left the room, and returned a moment afterwards, saying to her mistress with much agitation: ‘Ah, mistress, we are lost! Your brother has just arrived from Cairo. He is at this moment with your husband, who is going to bring him to you here.’

‘O, unfortunate arrival!’ cried the wife of Banou, affecting to be greatly grieved. ‘What an annoying coincidence! It is not enough that they come to interrupt my feast, they must even surprise me with my lord, and I must pass for a false woman in the minds of my neighbours! What is going to become of me? How can I prevent this shame from overtaking me?’

‘You are soon perplexed,’ said the old slave. ‘Let the Lord Danischmend shut himself up in one of the three coffers which your husband has had made to put the merchandise in which he wishes to send to Bagdad. They are in your cabinet and we have the keys of them.’

Dalla’s advice was approved of. The doctor entered the cabinet and got into one of the three coffers, which Arouya herself double-locked, saying to Danischmend: ‘Oh, my dear doctor! do not get impatient. As soon as my brother and my husband have retired I shall come and rejoin you, and we will pass the rest of the night together, all the more agreeably that our feast has been interrupted.’

The promise which Arouya made the doctor to come and take him out of his prison, and the hope she gave him of compensating him for the weary minutes he was to spend in the coffer, prevented his being troubled by an adventure which was to have still more disagreeable consequences for him. Instead of suspecting the sincerity of the lady and imagining that the position he was in might be a trap set for him, he preferred to persuade himself that he was loved, and to yield to the sweetest illusions in which lovers ordinarily indulge who flatter themselves in vain that they are about to find their affection returned.

The young woman left him in her cabinet and returned to her room, saying quite low to her slave: ‘There is one already caught in my net. We shall see whether the others escape.’

‘That we shall soon know,’ replied Dalla; ‘for it is nearly eleven o’clock, and I do not think the cadi will fail to appear at the tryst.’

The old slave was right in thinking that the judge would not be less punctual than the doctor. In fact, knocking was heard at Banou’s door before the hour indicated. Dalla ran to open it, and seeing that it was a man she asked his name.

‘I am the cadi,’ he said.

‘Speak low,’ replied the slave, ‘you might wake the Lord Banou. My mistress, who has a great weakness for you, has ordered me to introduce you into her apartment. Have the kindness to follow me. I am going to conduct you thither.’

The judge felt his joy redouble at these words. He followed Dalla, who conducted him to the apartment of the young woman.

‘Oh, my queen!’ he cried, approaching the beautiful Arouya, ‘I see you at length! With what impatience have I awaited this happy moment! Am I permitted,’ he added, throwing himself at her feet, ‘am I permitted to assure you that no happiness is comparable to mine.’

The young woman, raising the cadi, begged him to seat himself on the sofa, and said: ‘My lord, I am very glad you are pleased with me, since you are the man in the world I like the best, or rather the first person who has attracted my attention. This old slave will tell you that. I have simply languished since the last interview I had with you. I speak of you to her unceasingly, and my passion leaves me no rest.’

When the cadi heard Arouya speak thus, he almost lost his senses. ‘Lofty cypress,’ he said, ‘living image of the houris, you enchant me with such sweet words, sweeter than the song of the nightingale to the rose. Your kindness makes me indeed happier than a king.’

‘I am enchanted,’ replied the lady, ‘to see you so loving. That flatters my affection very pleasantly, and your praise gives me too much pleasure for me to refuse to hear it. I have prepared refreshment for you, and I wish to drink with you. But first remove your turban and lie down on this couch; I am going into my husband’s room to see whether the old man is asleep, and I shall return to you immediately.’

The judge at this speech, imagining that he was about to share a delightful feast, promptly obeyed and sat on the couch. He had hardly done so, when he heard a noise. A moment after Arouya came back much agitated, and said to him: ‘Ah! my lord cadi, you do not know what has just happened. We have here an old slave whom I did not wish to confide in, because he was too attached to my husband: he saw you enter the house, and has warned his master, who has immediately sent for my relations to witness my conduct.’

‘They will all enter my apartment. I am the most unhappy person in the world.’ Saying these words she began to cry, which she did so effectively that the cadi thought she was much afflicted.

‘Console yourself, my angel,’ he said, ‘you have nothing to fear. I am the judge of the Mussulmans, and I shall be able by my authority to impose silence on your parents and your husband. I shall menace them all. I shall forbid them to make any disturbance, and you may be persuaded that they will fear my threats.’

‘I do not doubt it, my lord,’ replied the young woman, ‘so I do not fear the resentment of my husband, nor the anger of my relations. I well know that, supported by you, I am protected from punishment; but, alas! I shall pass for an infamous woman, and I shall be exposed to the opprobrium and contempt of my family. What a cause of grief to a woman whose virtue till now has never been the least open to suspicion! What am I saying, suspicion? I venture to say that I am looked upon as the model of a well-behaved woman. At one blow am I to lose such a splendid reputation?’

At these words she began again to weep and lament so naturally that the judge was grieved.

‘O light of my eyes,’ he cried! ‘I am touched at your grief: but cease abandoning yourself to it, since it is futile. What avails it to weep so much for an inevitable misfortune?’

Dalla Monkhtala interrupted the judge at this moment and said: ‘Great cadi of the faithful, and you, beautiful rose of the garden of beauty, listen to me both of you. I have experience, and it is not the first time that I have assisted embarrassed lovers. Whilst you are distressing yourselves I think of the means of getting you out of your predicament, and if my lord the cadi wishes, we will disappoint the lord Banou and my mistress’s relations.’

‘And how?’ said the judge.

‘You have only,’ replied the old slave, ‘to enclose yourself in a certain coffer which is in Arouya’s cabinet. I am sure no one will think of asking for the key.’

‘Ah! very willingly,’ replied the cadi, ‘I consent to get into the coffer for a few moments if you think it advisable.’

The young woman said it would please her very much, and assured the judge that the moment after her husband and her relations had visited her apartments and had retired, she would not fail to come and take him out of the coffer.

On this assurance, and on the promise which the merchant’s wife made the cadi to repay with usury his affection for her, he let himself be enclosed like the doctor.

There only remained the governor, who also came at midnight to the door. Dalla introduced him as she had done the two others, and Arouya received him in the same way. She greeted him warmly, and when she saw that the old lord was becoming very joyous she made a sign agreed upon with Dalla, who went out. A minute after loud knocking was heard at the street door, and soon after the old slave entered the apartment precipitately, saying in a terrified manner:

‘Ah! madam, what a misfortune! the cadi has just entered. He is being conducted to your husband’s apartment.’

‘O heaven!’ cried the young woman, ‘what a fatal event! My dear Dalla,’ she continued, ‘go gently and listen what the judge is saying to Banou, and come back and tell us.’

The old slave went out a second time, and whilst she was away the governor said to the lady:

‘What can bring the cadi here at this hour? Has Banou got some troublesome affair on hand?’

‘No,’ replied Arouya, ‘and I am not less astonished than you at the arrival of the judge.’

Dalla shortly afterwards returned, and said to her mistress:

‘Madam, I have lent an attentive ear to the conversation which is going on in the Lord Banou’s apartment, and I have heard enough to know what it is about. The cadi has come here to interrogate you in the presence of Danischmend, who accompanies him. The doctor maintains that he has paid you the sequins which your husband lent him. The grand vizir, who has been informed of this affair, has charged the cadi to investigate it this very night, so as to render him an account of it to-morrow morning.’

Thereupon Arouya had recourse to tears, and begged the governor to hide himself, saying, ‘My lord, I beg of you to have pity on me. The cadi, Banou, and Danischmend are coming here. Spare me the shame of passing as a faithless woman. Have some regard to my weakness for you. Enter my cabinet, and permit me to shut you up in a coffer for a few minutes.’ As the old lord evinced some repugnance to what was proposed to him, the lady threw herself at his feet, and at last succeeded in persuading him.

The governor was therefore placed in the third coffer.

The merchant’s wife closed the cabinet, and went and told her husband all that had passed. After having both rejoiced at the expense of the three unfortunate lovers, Banou said:

‘How do you propose ending this adventure?

‘You will know to-morrow,’ replied Arouya. ‘Only remember that I have promised you that we shall be revenged in a startling way, and be assured I shall keep my word to you.’

The following day she came to my palace and slipped into the hall where I was giving audience to my people. As soon as I perceived her, her noble bearing and the beauty of her figure attracted my attention. I remarked upon her to my grand vizir. ‘Do you see that well-built woman?’ I said. ‘Tell her to approach my throne.’ The vizir told her to advance. She pressed through the crowd, and came and prostrated herself before me.

‘What brings you here?’ I asked. ‘Rise and speak.’

‘O! powerful monarch of the world,’ she replied, having risen, ‘may your majesty’s days be everlasting, or at least only end with the centuries! If you will have the kindness to listen to me, I will tell you a story which will surprise you.’

‘Willingly,’ I said. ‘I am disposed to listen to you.’

‘I am,’ she continued, ‘the wife of a merchant named Banou, who has the honour to be your subject, and to live in your capital. Some years ago he lent a thousand sequins to the doctor Danischmend, who maintains that he never received them. I have been to him to ask for them: he replied that he owed nothing to my husband, but that he would give me two thousand sequins if I would return his love for me. I went to complain to the cadi of the doctor’s bad faith. The judge declared he would not render me justice unless I showed him the complacency exacted of me by Danischmend. Confused, and indignant at the cadi’s bad character, I left him abruptly, and addressed myself to the Governor of Damascus, because my husband is known to him. I implored his aid: but I did not find him more generous than the cadi, and he spared no pains to win my love.’

I had much difficulty in believing what Arouya related to me, or rather I suspected her of inventing this fable to do Danischmend, the cadi and the governor a bad turn with me.

‘No, no,’ I said, ‘I cannot believe what you tell me. I cannot persuade myself that a doctor can be capable of denying that he has received a sum lent to him, nor that a man whom I have chosen to distribute justice to the people has made you an insolent proposal.’

‘O! king of the world,’ said the wife of Banou to me, ‘if you refuse to believe my word, you will at least, I hope, believe the irreproachable witnesses I have to all that I tell you.’

‘Where are these witnesses?’ I replied with astonishment.

‘Sire,’ she replied, ‘they are at my house: send for them I beg. Your majesty will not be able to suspect their genuineness.’

I immediately sent guards to the house of Banou, who delivered to them the three coffers containing the lovers.

The guards having brought them into my presence, Arouya said to me:

‘My witnesses are in these.’

Thus saying, she took out three keys and opened the coffers.

Judge of my surprise, as well as that of the whole court, when we perceived the doctor, the governor and the cadi, all three turbanless, pale, confused, and very mortified at the result of the adventure.

I could not help laughing to see them in this situation, which did not fail to excite also the laughter of all the spectators. But I soon assumed a serious demeanour, and reproached the three in well-deserved terms.

After having publicly reproached them, I condemned the doctor, Danischmend, to give four thousand gold sequins to Banou; I deposed the cadi; and I entrusted the government of the town of Damascus to another officer of my court.

Then, having had the coffers removed, I ordered the young woman to raise her veil.

‘Show us,’ I said, ‘those dangerous features, the sight of which has been so fatal to the three persons whom they have charmed.’

The wife of Banou obeyed. She raised her veil, and displayed to us all the beauty of her face. The emotion which the occasion and the necessity of remaining exposed to the glances of all my court caused her, added a fresh brilliancy to her complexion.

I have never seen anything so beautiful as Arouya.

I admired her charms, and cried in the excess of my admiration:

‘Ah! how beautiful she is! The doctor, the cadi, and the governor no longer appear to me so guilty.’

I was not the only one she dazzled. At the sight of her incomparable beauty, a murmur of applause arose in the court. Everyone had eyes only for her. They could not tire of looking at her and praising her. As I expressed a wish to hear a detailed account of the story she had briefly told to us, she related it to us with so much wit that she increased our admiration still further. The audience-hall resounded with her praises, and those who knew Banou, in spite of the bad state of his affairs, thought him only too fortunate to have so charming a wife.

After she had satisfied my curiosity, she thanked me for the justice I had done her, and retired home.

But alas! if she was no longer before my eyes, she was continually in my thoughts. Her image was always before me, I could not for a single moment distract myself from it. And at last, seeing that she troubled my rest, I sent secretly for her husband. I had him shown into my cabinet, and spoke to him thus:

‘Listen, Banou. I know the situation to which your generous heart has reduced you, and I do not doubt that you feel the chagrin at not being able to live as you have lived till now more than your poverty itself.

‘I have resolved to put you again in a position to entertain your friends; you can even spend more than ever without fearing to fall into want again. In a word, I wish to load you with wealth, provided that on your part you are disposed to do what I ask. I have conceived a violent passion for your wife. Divorce her, and send her to me. Make this sacrifice for me, I beg of you, and out of gratitude, beside all the riches which I will give you, I consent for you to choose the most beautiful slave in my seraglio. I am going to conduct you myself into the apartment of my women, and you shall take the one that pleases you best.’

‘Great king,’ replied Banou, ‘the wealth you offer me, considerable as it may be, cannot tempt me if it is to be bought by the loss of my wife. Arouya is a hundred times dearer to me than all the riches in the world. Judge, sire, of my feelings by your own, and you will see whether I can be dazzled by the brilliant fortune which you offer me. Such, however, is the love I have for my wife, that I am capable of preferring her own happiness to mine. I am going now to find her, and to tell her the effect which her beauty has produced on you, and the offers you have made me to induce me to yield her to you. Perhaps, charmed by so glorious a conquest, she will evince a secret desire to be divorced, and if that is so, I swear that I will divorce her without hesitation, in spite of the affection I have for her. I will sacrifice myself to her happiness, whatever grief her loss may cause me.

As soon as he had left me, he went home to tell his wife of the interview he had just had with me.

‘Arouya,’ he said, after having told her everything I had proposed to him, ‘my dear Arouya, since you have charmed the king, profit by your good fortune. Go and live with this young monarch. He is amiable and more worthy than me to possess you. In making the happiness of his life you will enjoy a finer fate than that of being associated with my misfortunes.’

He could not say these words without shedding tears. His wife was much touched by them.

‘O, Banou!’ she replied, ‘do you think you cause me any joy in telling me of the king’s love? Do you think greatness affects me? Ah! undeceive yourself if you have that thought, and believe rather, all unfortunate as you are, that I prefer to live with you rather than with any prince in the world.’

The old merchant was delighted at this speech; he embraced his wife with ecstasy.

‘Phoenix of the century,’ he cried, ‘how you deserve praise! You are worthy to reign over the heart to which you prefer me. It is not just that so charming a wife should belong to a man like me. I am already far advanced in years, and you are only beginning your fair life. I am only an unfortunate man, and you can, in leaving me, enjoy the happiest of destinies. You have remained too long bound to a man who has nothing in his favour but your virtue. Do not refuse the rank to which love calls you, and without reflecting how unhappy I shall be when I shall have lost you, consent to my divorcing you to make your lot more pleasant.’

The more Banou showed that he wished to give up Arouya to me, the more she resisted. Finally, after a long combat, in which conjugal love gained the day, the merchant said to his wife:

‘O, my dear spouse, be content to reign over my heart, since you limit your desires to that; but what shall I tell the king? He awaits my answer, and he doubtless flatters himself it will be such as he would wish. If I go and announce your refusal to him, what have we not to fear from his resentment? Remember that he is a sovereign. You know that he can do everything. Perhaps he will employ violence to obtain you; I cannot defend you against so powerful a rival.’

‘I see,’ replied Arouya, ‘the misfortune which threatens us; but is it not possible to avoid it? Instead of going to the king and irritating him by announcing to him that I decline the honour that he wishes to do me, take all the money which remains to you. Let us take all that we have of value and leave Damascus; let us fly and commend ourselves to the Prophet; he will not abandon us.’ Banou approved of this advice, and resolved to follow it.

They had no sooner formed their resolution than they executed it. They left the town that very day and marched towards Cairo. I learnt all that the next day from Dalla Monkhtala, who had not wished to accompany her mistress, and who was brought to me by a confidential man whom I had sent to Banou in my impatience to see him again. If I had been less master of my passions and had wished absolutely to satisfy myself, I should soon have had Arouya in spite of herself in my seraglio—I had only to pursue her; but that would have been committing an unjust action, and I have never cared to constrain the hearts of others.

I therefore left the merchant’s wife at liberty to flee from me and go where she wished, and I set myself to conquer an unfortunate passion, a task which was not less vain than painful. Arouya, in spite of all the efforts which I made to put her from my mind, was ever present in my thoughts. Her beauty and her virtue were ever before me, and for more than twenty years her memory has made me insensible to the charms of the most beautiful of my slaves; the most attractive amuse me without absorbing me.’

‘You see, my lord,’ then, said the vizir, ‘there is no one who is without trouble. The happiest people are those whose troubles are most supportable. Do not let us lament. If neither your majesty, nor the Prince Seyf-el-Mulouk, nor myself are fully satisfied, let us reflect that there are others more unhappy.’

It was thus that Sutlumemé finished the story of the King of Damascus and his vizir. The women of Farrukhnaz, as usual, applauded her. They praised highly the constancy of the lovers whose adventures they had just heard, and the princess, as was her custom, did not fail to speak against their fidelity.

This did not deter the nurse, who asked permission to relate new stories. She obtained it, and the following day she began thus:

A YOUNG merchant of Bagdad, named Abderrahman, possessed immense wealth and lived in grand style. Every day were seen at his table the chief officers of the caliph; all the good people of the town were well received by him, as well as the strangers who went to see him. It was his nature to please everybody; were there need of his credit or his purse, he could always be had recourse to without fear of refusal; and people whom he had already obliged did not tire his generosity if they demanded fresh assistance; in the town his beneficence and generosity were the general topic of conversation. His physical qualities corresponded to his mental gifts—he was handsome and very well built; in a word, he passed for an accomplished man. One day he entered a merchant’s shop and saw a good-looking young stranger seated alone at a table; he went and sat down beside him, and they began to talk on various subjects. If the stranger pleased Abderrahman, Abderrahman pleased the stranger no less; they were so pleased with one another, that they returned the following day to seek each other on the same spot; they met and had another talk together : they had so much mutual sympathy that from that day they became closely allied. Unfortunately for Abderrahman the stranger was obliged to depart the following day on his return to Moussul, where he said he was born.

‘At least, my lord,’ said Abderrahman, ‘before you depart tell me who you are; I must soon make a journey to Moussul: to whom must I address myself to have news of you?’

‘You have only,’ replied the stranger, ‘to come to the palace of the King of Moussul and you will see me. If you appear there it will give me pleasure to receive you well; you will know who I am, and there we will cement the friendship which we have formed in this country.’

Abderrahman was distressed at the departure of the stranger, and he only consoled himself with the hope of seeing him again at Moussul, where his affairs required his presence shortly afterwards. He did not fail to go at once to the king’s palace; he sought everywhere the features of the unknown whom he loved; when he saw him surrounded by a crowd of eager courtiers, he gathered that it was the sovereign, as indeed it was the King of Moussul, Nasiraddoleh himself. The monarch soon detected him too, and advanced to receive him.

Abderrahman prostrated himself before him, and remained with his face to the ground, until the king, having raised him, embraced him, took him by the hand, and led him into his cabinet.

All the courtiers were very much astonished at the reception which their master gave the young merchant. ‘Who is this stranger?’ they said one to another; ‘he must be a prince, since the king treats him with so much distinction.’ The great lords who chiefly enjoyed the confidence of the king began from that moment to fear and hate him, and the courtiers who wanted favours resolved already to pay court to him.

Nasiraddoleh, however, shut himself up alone with his friend and caressed him many times. ‘Yes, my dear Abderrahman,’ he said, ‘I love you better than all those men whom I have just left to be with you. Ah! have I not reason to cherish you more than them? How do I know that it is not interest or ambition which attaches them to me? There is perhaps not one who loves me for myself. Such is the misfortune of the great, that they cannot be sure they are loved; the good they are capable of doing takes away the pleasure they would have were the recipients disinterested. But I perceive the sincerity of your sentiments; I know their value; you gave me your friendship without knowing who I was; I can boast of having a friend.’

The young merchant of Bagdad replied to the king’s kind words in terms full of affection and gratitude, after which the prince said to him: ‘As long as you remain in Moussul you will lodge in my palace; you will be served by my own officers, and I shall take care to make the time pass as agreeably for you as possible.’ He kept his word, and forgot nothing that he thought capable of diverting him. Sometimes he took him out hunting, sometimes he gave him instrumental and vocal concerts executed to perfection, and almost every day they ended in debauch.

The Bagdad merchant had spent nearly a year in this manner, when a message came to him from Bagdad that his presence there was absolutely necessary if he wished to prevent his affairs getting into disorder. He spoke to the king of the information he had received, and begged him to permit of his return to Bagdad. Nasiraddoleh consented with regret, and at last Abderrahman tore himself away from the delights of the court of Moussul.

As soon as he had returned home he applied himself very seriously to repairing the mischief his absence had done to his business, and when he had put it straight again he began again to entertain his friends, to do service to everybody, and to spend more than ever. He bought new slaves, and delighted in having some from all nations of the world.

A merchant sold him one one day; she was born in Circassia, and she might well be said to be one of the most perfect creatures that could be seen. She was called Zeineb. He bought her for six thousand gold sequins; but had he given ten thousand, he would not have paid dear for her. Her extreme beauty was not her only merit; she had a cultivated mind, a sweet and equable disposition, and a tender, sincere, and faithful heart. So amiable a person did not fail to charm Abderrahman; he conceived a violent love for her, and he had the good fortune to find Zeineb disposed to love him as much as he loved her.

Whilst they were quietly enjoying the sweets of their mutual ardour, the King of Moussul came unaccompanied to Bagdad, and arrived at the young merchant’s house. ‘Abderrahman,’ he said to him, ‘the wish has seized me to see this town and the caliph’s court incognito, or rather I had hoped to see you again. I have come to lodge with you. I flatter myself that you are as pleased to see me as I was to have you in my palace.’

Abderrahman, enchanted with the honour done to him, wished to throw himself at the feet of Nasiraddoleh, to show him how sensible he was of it; but the prince raised him and said: ‘Put aside the respect due to the King of Moussul; see in me only a friend who wishes to rejoice with you; let us live without constraint. Nothing is so sweet as a free life. To taste the charms of it I leave my court from time to time. It pleases me to travel without escort, to mix with private individuals; and I will admit to you, that the days I spend thus are the happiest of my life.’

The young merchant of Bagdad, to obey and please the King of Moussul, adopted a familiar tone with him. They began to live together as if they had been of the same station in life. They made up parties of pleasure every day; and Nasiraddoleh, forgetting where he was, passed the time like a private person.

One evening, whilst they were at table drinking the best of wines, their conversation turned on the beauty of women; the King of Moussul boasted of the charms of some of the slaves of his seraglio, and said there were none to be compared to them in the world. The merchant did not listen quietly to this speech: the love he had for Zeineb and the wine he had drunk did not allow of his agreeing to what he had just heard. ‘My lord,’ he said to his host, ‘I do not doubt that you have very beautiful women, but I do not believe they surpass mine in beauty. I have several slaves who cannot be looked upon without admiration; and amongst others a Circassian whom Nature seems to have delighted to form.’

‘That is to say,’ replied the king, ‘that you love this Circassian. The praise you bestow upon her proves to me that you are much enamoured of her, without persuading me that she is as charming as my slaves.’

‘It is very easy to convince you of it,’ replied Abderrahman.

Thus saying, he sent for a eunuch and said in his ear: ‘Go and tell my slaves to adorn themselves in their richest clothes and assemble in a well-lit apartment.’

The eunuch ran to fulfil his commission, and Abderrahman sat down again to table, saying to the prince: ‘My lord, you will soon see for yourself whether you are right or wrong in thinking that your seraglio contains the most beautiful women of Asia.’

‘I confess,’ replied the king, ‘that I am curious to know whether love does not blind you.’

They continued to enjoy themselves, and they drank until the same eunuch came to say that the slaves had assembled, and that they had forgotten nothing that could accentuate their beauty.

Then the merchant led the King of Moussul into a most magnificent apartment, where there were thirty slaves, young, beautiful, well-made, and all covered with precious stones; they were seated on sofas of rose-coloured stuff with silver flowers; some played the lute, others the tambourine, and the others amused themselves with singing whilst waiting the arrival of their master. They rose as soon as they perceived him, and stood in modest silence. Abderrahman ordered them to be seated and to continue to play their instruments; they obeyed instantly.

The King Nasiraddoleh, great prince that he was, was obliged to admit that he had not more charming women in his seraglio. He began to scrutinise them one after another. He began with the lute-players, who appeared very beautiful to him. He did not find the tambourine-players less agreeable; and when he came to examine the singers, he saw one whose beauty dazzled him. ‘Is that,’ he said to the merchant, ‘the Circassian you have spoken to me about?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Abderrahman, ‘it is she; am I a flatterer? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?’

The merchant awaited the reply of the King of Moussul, which he did not doubt would be very flattering to Zeineb; but he was very much astonished when he saw that the prince, instead of praising the beauty of this slave, assumed a serious and grieved manner, without saying what he thought of her, from which he gathered that the monarch found Zeineb more beautiful than all the women of his seraglio, and was secretly annoyed at it. ‘My lord,’ he said a moment after, on re-conducting him to his apartment, ‘I see that I have presumed too far upon the charms of Zeineb; I have doubtless over-praised them to you.’

Nasiraddoleh replied not to this speech, and when he reached his bedchamber, he begged his host to leave him alone there, because he wished, he said, to rest. Abderrahman retired immediately.

The next morning the young merchant went to the king. He hoped to find the monarch in a pleasanter frame of mind, but he found him so sad and downcast that he was much touched. ‘What is the matter, my lord?’ he said to him. ‘What dark cloud veils your eyes? What is the cause of the profound melancholy in which you are plunged?’

‘Abderrahman,’ replied the king, ‘I depart to-day for Moussul. I carry with me a grief which time will perhaps only augment; let me go without asking me the reason of it.’

‘No, my lord,’ replied the merchant, ‘you must tell it me; do not hide it from me, I beg of you. I have perhaps been imprudent enough to fail in the respect due to you? I have abused the kindness of a great prince towards me? I have doubtless offended you?’

‘God forbid,’ replied Nasiraddoleh, ‘that I should complain of you! I only lament my evil fate Again,’ he continued, ‘do not ask what troubles me.’

The more the King of Moussul persisted in concealing the cause of his affection, the more the merchant pressed him to reveal it to him. The prince prepared to depart, with the intention of keeping his secret. But at last his host compelled him by his persistence to reveal it to him.

‘Well, Abderrahman,’ said Nasiraddoleh on parting from him, ‘you wish me to speak; I will satisfy you. I love, or rather I adore, Zeineb. I was not able to see her without being inspired with the fatal love which troubles my rest. I wished to depart without making this sad admission to you; you have dragged it from me; do not be so unfriendly as to reproach me with it. Alas! I shall expiate it only too well by all the pain I shall suffer. Farewell!’

At these words he left his friend and took the road to Moussul.

The speech of Nasiraddoleh strangely surprised Abderrahman, who was a long time recovering himself after the prince’s departure. ‘Ah! unhappy man that I am,’ he cried; ‘why did I let the king see Zeineb? Ought I not to have foreseen that he could not look upon her with impunity? He will languish at his court. The women of his seraglio, beautiful as they are, will not be able to make him forget the fatal Circassian who occupies his thoughts. I judge by myself; a heart charmed by her cannot burn with any other love. It will be a reproach to me all my days that I have caused the unhappiness of a king greater by reason of his virtues than by his crown. It is I who have interrupted the course of his life’s happiness. As a price of all the marks of friendship which I have received from him, is it right that I should plunge a dagger in his heart? No! my dear prince, no! Abderrahman will not leave you in the cruel condition he has reduced you to! I am ready to sacrifice myself for you. I will yield Zeineb to you, I am resolved upon it.’

As soon as he had taken this resolution, he called some of his officers and ordered them to prepare a litter. Then he sent for Zeineb and said to her: ‘You are no longer mine, you belong to the King of Moussul; it is he whom you saw last night. He has a violent passion for you; he is amiable. You must submit without reluctance to the gift I make him of your beauty.’

At this speech the slave began to cry: ‘Is it possible,’ she said, ‘that Abderrahman abandons me after having so often sworn immortal love for me? Ah! you love me no longer; a new beauty triumphs doubtless over the power of my eyes, and you send me away only to avoid the secret reproaches which my presence would be to you.’

‘No, beautiful Zeineb,’ replied Abderrahman, quite distressed; ‘you have no rival, and I have never loved you more; I swear it by the tomb of the Great Prophet which is at Medina.’

‘And if that is so,’ interrupted Zeineb, ‘why must we separate?’

‘It makes me very sad,’ he replied; ‘but I cannot allow a prince for whom I have the tenderest friendship, and who has given me so many evidences of his for me, to lead a languishing existence. From the moment that it is a question of his peace of mind, I no longer think of my own. When I measure the distance which Nature has put between this rival and myself, there is no sacrifice that I do not think I ought to make; and, moreover, when I think that it is to make you the favourite of a sovereign, this thought, I admit, softens the blow caused me in giving you up. Go, then, and fulfil the happy destiny which awaits you at Moussul; hasten to join Nasiraddoleh, and let joy succeed grief in his heart.’

At these words, during which he shed tears, he ordered the officers he had selected to conduct Zeineb to Moussul to take her away promptly and remove her from his sight, for she was in tears, and appeared so grieved that it was almost more than he could bear. The officers put her in the litter with an old slave who waited on her, and they took the road which the King of Moussul had taken.

It was in vain that they made haste, the litter went too slowly for it to be possible to overtake Nasiraddoleh, who was mounted on the most vigorous Arab horse. He arrived in his capital several days before Zeineb, who had no sooner arrived there than one of her escort ran to the palace to inform the king that Abderrahman their master had sent him this slave.

It is impossible to describe the surprise and joy of the monarch when he heard this news. ‘O, generous friend!’ he cried, ‘were I not already persuaded that you are the most perfect friend in the world, I could not now doubt it, since you prefer my happiness to your own.’

He sent the chief of his eunuchs to receive her, and had a separate apartment given her, the most comfortable and the most magnificent in the palace. It was not long before she saw the prince appear there. He approached her, and remarking that the expression of her face was sad, ‘Beautifu Zeineb,’ he said, ‘it is not difficult to perceive that your heart does not smile upon the sacrifice which the generous Abderrahman makes me. I see that you come to Moussul rather as a victim who is led to death than as a proud beauty who sees a sovereign at her feet; you think more of the loss of a man whom you love than of the conquest of a king who adores you.’

‘My lord,’ replied Zeineb, ‘I ought to be content with the new lot which has befallen me here. I ought to rejoice at being able to give happiness to a prince such as you. I will say more. I should wish to forget the ungrateful man who abandons me, and give you his place in my heart. Why can I not, in order to revenge myself for his treachery, feel from this moment all the love for you that his deceptive ardour has inspired in me for him. But, alas! unfortunately for me, I think too much of the traitor! As long as I live he will always be present in my mind, and will unceasingly disturb the peace of my life.’ The beautiful slave, saying these words, burst into tears and sobbed so that Nasiraddoleh was deeply touched.

‘Ah, charming Zeineb!’ he cried, ‘moderate your grief, I beg of you, and let me flatter myself at least that time and my solicitude will triumph over it. Do not take from me that hope with which alone I can support life.’

The King of Moussul was not content with saying this to the beautiful slave; he threw himself at her feet, and adding to what he had just said a thousand other tender and passionate things, he made every effort to console her, but could not succeed. He saw, moreover, that the more he combated her grief the more it seemed to increase, so that he retired. He preferred to leave Zeineb to adding to her grief by his presence.

Let us return to the young merchant of Bagdad. After the departure of his beautiful slave he fell into a languor that nothing could dissipate. It was in vain that he joined in pleasure-parties. Zeineb, whom he had always in his mind, would not allow him to be happy. ‘Oh, unhappy fellow that I am!’ he often said to himself. ‘I feel I cannot live without Zeineb: why did I give her up to the King of Moussul? Is it not surpassing the limit of friendship to give up the person one adores to one’s friend? Would Nasiraddoleh have done the same for me? No, without doubt, and I am certain he does not know the value of the sacrifice that I have made for him. He thinks I loved my favourite slave indifferently, since I gave her to him without even his asking me for her. What fortunate lover has ever given up his mistress out of pity for a friend? Yet I love Zeineb as much as one can love. But, alas! what does my grief matter? What is the use of condemning myself? I would do again what I have done, whatever my grief may be at this moment. The prince to whose happiness I immolate my affection is worthy of so great a sacrifice, and he is more worthy than I to possess Zeineb.’

Abderrahman was in this frame of mind: he was in despair at having lost his slave, without repenting of having given her up to the King of Moussul. He had been leading a sad life for three months, when one day they came to arrest him by order of the grand vizir. He was told that he was accused of having spoken disrespectfully of the Commander of the Faithful during a carouse. It was in vain that he protested that not a word that could offend the caliph had escaped his lips: he was conducted to prison. Two lords of the court who were his secret enemies had invented this calumny for his destruction, and on their false evidence the grand vizir had him arrested. It was even ordered that all his goods should be confiscated that very day, his house razed to the ground, and that the following day his head should be cut off upon a scaffold which should be erected for that purpose before the caliph’s palace.

The warder of the prison where he was went during the night to inform him of his sentence. ‘My lord Abderrahman,’ he then said, ‘I sympathise greatly in your misfortune. I am all the more touched by it that I am under an obligation to you. You have twice rendered me assistance when most needed. This is an opportunity for showing my gratitude to you. I have resolved to set you at liberty, and so acquit myself towards you. Leave the prison, the doors are open to you. Fly, and escape the punishment which awaits you.’

At this speech Abderrahman, in a transport of joy, embraced the warder and thanked him for his generosity; then suddenly thinking of the danger which this man ran in setting him at liberty, he said, ‘You do not reflect that in saving my life you expose your own. I do not wish to take advantage of your generous instincts; it is not fair that I should let you perish for me.’

‘Do not trouble yourself about me,’ replied the warder; ‘tell me only whether you are innocent or guilty. Have you really spoken disrespectfully of the caliph? Disguise nothing from me. I must know the truth, and shall act accordingly.’

‘I call Heaven to witness,’ replied the young merchant, ‘that I have never spoken of the Commander of the Faithful but with all the respect due to him.’

‘That being so,’ replied the warder, ‘I know what I shall do. If you were guilty I should fly with you, but since you are not, I shall stay here and spare nothing to make your innocence apparent.’

Abderrahman thanked the warder again, and left the prison. He took refuge with one of his friends, who hid him in a spot in his house where he believed him in safety.

The following day the grand vizir, having heard of the escape of the prisoner, sent for the warder and said: ‘Oh, miserable fellow! is it thus you do your duty? You have let a prisoner escape who was in your charge, or rather you have set him at liberty yourself. If you do not find him in twenty-four hours, you will experience the fate destined for him.’

‘My lord,’ replied the warder, ‘I do not refuse to die for him; I will admit that it was I who released him. I could not endure that he should perish. I have opened his prison doors and advised him to take flight. I confess my crime. I am prepared to expiate it with the death you had prepared for the honestest man in Bagdad, and I venture to say the most innocent.’

‘And what proof,’ said the vizir, ‘have you of his innocence?’

‘The avowal made to me by himself,’ replied the warder. ‘Abderrahman is incapable of lying, but you, my lord, will permit me to say that you allowed yourself to be too easily persuaded. Do you know the young merchant’s accusers? Are you sure of their integrity, so that you can believe their word? Are they not, perhaps, the secret enemies of the accused? Do you know that envy and hatred do not arm them against him? Beware of being led away by impostors, and fear to shed innocent blood, for you will one day be obliged to give an account of the power entrusted to you. You will be rewarded if you make only a good use of it, but you will be punished if you abuse it.’

These words, spoken in a firm tone by the warder, astonished the grand vizir, and made him reflect. He had the warder imprisoned till further orders, and resolved to neglect nothing in order to discover whether the accusers of the young merchant had made their depositions in good faith; however, as he had already razed the house of the accused and confiscated his goods, he did not wish his prudence to be suspected. He ordered the cadi to have Abderrahman sought for in the neighbourhood of Bagdad.

Whilst the cadi’s lieutenant was scouring the country with his archers, the young Bagdad merchant remained hidden at his friend’s house, and, judging by the care taken to hide him that things were not going well, he feared lest the cadi would come and surprise him where he was, so he formed the design of going to Moussul. ‘There,’ he said, ‘I shall be quite safe, provided that I reach the court of Nasiraddoleh; that will soon make me forget my disgrace.’

As soon as he knew that the archers, tired of searching in vain, had returned to Bagdad, he left it one night, mounted on a very fine horse which his friend had given him, and took the road to Moussul. He made such haste that he arrived there in a very short while. He alighted at the first caravanserai, where he left his horse, and then he betook himself to the court All the officers of the king recognised him. ‘There,’ they cried, ‘is the stranger whom our monarch cherishes so much. Welcome to him!’ In a moment the news of his arrival spread in the palace, and reached the ears of Nasiraddoleh.

The prince sent for his treasurer, and said to him, ‘Go and find Abderrahman, and give him from me two hundred gold sequins. Tell him to spend them in his business, to leave my palace, and not to return for six months.’

The treasurer discharged his commission immediately, and the merchant was strangely surprised at it. It was, indeed, a very singular reception to give him, and one he was not prepared for. ‘What,’ he cried, ‘is it thus that the King of Moussul receives a man whom he has not disdained to treat as a friend? Have I done aught to displease him? Alas! I flattered myself that he would always have the same feeling for me, and this hope consoled me for all my misfortunes.’

‘Do not distress yourself,’ said the treasurer. ‘The king still loves you, and if he does not receive you better, he must have reasons for it. Do as he wishes; you will perhaps have no occasion to repent of it.’

Abderrahman left the caravanserai not knowing what to think of Nasiraddoleh. ‘What does he wish me to do,’ he said, ‘with two hundred sequins? I cannot do much business with so modest a sum. Had he given me a thousand gold sequins I might have associated myself with a great merchant and begun a new fortune.’

He took every precaution to make the most of his money; but application does not suffice for merchants to succeed in their business—they must have luck. If fortune does not second their efforts their labour is lost.

It was in vain that Abderrahman applied himself with fervour: he did not get out of his business what he had put in, so that at the end of six months he had only a hundred and fifty sequins left. He then appeared at the court.

The treasurer came to him from the king and asked him if he still had his two hundred sequins. ‘No,’ replied the young merchant, ‘a quarter of them are gone.’

‘Since that is the case,’ replied the treasurer, counting out fifty sequins, ‘here is your sum complete. Go and chance it again, and return in six months.’

The merchant was not less surprised at this speech than he was before. ‘What is Nasiraddoleh thinking of? Is it thus that he acquits himself towards me? Does he think to pay thus the sacrifice I made to him of all that I held most dear in the world? Should I not be ashamed of having fifty sequins given me? Is it a present worthy of him? I wish, however,’ he continued, ‘to do what he orders me. I shall return to this palace at the time indicated; but it will be for the last time if I am not differently received.’

He bought fresh merchandise, and began to traffic, which he did with such good fortune that at the end of six months he found he had gained nearly a hundred sequins. He did not fail to present himself at the king’s palace.

The treasurer came to receive him, and asked whether he had his two hundred sequins.

‘I have nearly three hundred,’ replied the merchant; ‘fortune has been very favourable to me this time.’

‘Since that is so,’ replied the treasurer, ‘I am going to conduct you to the king. He will make no difficulty in seeing you.’

At these words he took the young merchant by the hand, and conducted him to Nasiraddoleh’s cabinet. As soon as the prince perceived Abderrahman he rose to receive him, and after having embraced him repeatedly, ‘Oh, my dear friend!’ he said, ‘I do not doubt your having been very surprised at the reception given to you. You had reason, I confess, to expect a more agreeable one from me; but do not bear me ill-will, I beg of you. You know that misfortunes are contagious. I heard of your disgrace from a merchant of Bagdad from whom I had asked news of you. I did not dare offer you a refuge in my palace, nor even see you, for fear lest I should incur your ill-fortune, and be incapacitated from serving you when your troubles were at an end. Now,’ he continued, ‘that misfortune seems to have deserted you, nothing prevents my following the impulse of my friendship. You will remain, henceforth, at my court. I will make every effort to make you forget the troubles you have suffered.’

Nasiraddoleh had an apartment in his palace given to his friend, and nominated officers to serve him. They passed the first day at table together, and when night had come the king said to the young merchant: ‘I wish to acquit myself towards you for the sacrifice you made me of the young slave you loved. I propose to do the same by you. I am going to give to you the one most dear to me of my women; I propose to send her to you to-night on condition that you marry her.’

‘My lord,’ replied Abderrahman, ‘I thank your majesty for your kindness to me; but permit me to refuse the favour you offer me. I can love no woman after Zeineb, and I beg of you not to force me.’

‘However absorbed you may be in Zeineb,’ replied the king, ‘I doubt very much if you will be able to see the person I destine for you without becoming enamoured of her; all that I ask of you is to have an interview with her. If her intelligence and beauty have no effect upon you, I will not press you to marry her.’

‘My lord,’ replied Abderrahman, ‘I consent to see her, since you wish it. However, be assured that, in spite of all her charms, she will not be able to kindle a fresh flame in my heart.’

At last Abderrahman retired to his apartment, where he had no sooner arrived than the chief eunuch, accompanied by a veiled lady, appeared and said:

‘My lord, here is the person whom the king, my master, wishes to give you. She is the most beautiful of his women. He could not make you a more valuable present.’ Thus saying he made a profound reverence to Abderrahman, left the slave, and went out.

The young Bagdad merchant saluted the lady very politely, and begged her to seat herself on a large fine brocade sofa trimmed with gold embroidery.

She sat down. He placed himself beside her, and said:

‘Oh you, who beneath this veil represent the sun enveloped in a thick cloud, listen to me, I pray. I am certain the king’s project alarms you. You doubtless fear that, prompt to profit by his generosity, I am going to attach your fate to mine by immortal bonds; but cease to fear that I shall do you this violence. I love Nasiraddoleh too much to take from him an object he adores, and moreover, I confess I am little affected by the sacrifice which the prince wishes to make me. As I have not looked upon your charms, this avowal cannot offend you.’

He was silent after having said these words, and he awaited the slave’s reply, when all of a sudden she burst out laughing. Then she raised her veil, and the merchant recognised in her his dear Zeineb.

‘Oh, my princess!’ he cried, in a transport of joy and surprise, ‘it is you whom I see!’

‘Yes, my dear Abderrahman,’ she replied, ‘it is your Zeineb who is given back to you. The King of Moussul has not been less generous than you. As soon as he knew all my love for you, and saw that it did not yield to his attentions, he ceased pursuing me, and he has for a long time kept me here only to give me back to you.’

The beautiful Zeineb and the young merchant passed the night in testifying to each other the mutual joy they had in seeing each other again, and at the manner of their meeting.

The following morning Nasiraddoleh came to their apartment. They both threw themselves at his feet to thank him for his kindness.

He raised them and said, ‘Happy lovers, taste at your ease the pleasures of a perfect union here at my court. To unite your hearts more closely, I am going to command preparations to be made for your marriage. If I cannot cease to love Zeineb, my love shall at least only show itself in the favours I propose heaping upon you.’

He did not content himself with giving them large pensions; he assigned them more than two thousand acres of land exempt from all charges. To crown his happiness, Abderrahman received pleasant news from Bagdad. He learnt that one of his accusers, impelled by remorse, had gone and revealed everything to the grand vizir, who, on his deposition, had had the other accuser put to death, had pardoned the warder, and declared the accused innocent. Hearing this, he journeyed to Bagdad, and went to the vizir, who gave him back a part of his wealth; but he gave it all to the warder who had so generously saved him, and he returned immediately to Moussul, where he passed the rest of his days in peace and happiness.

Sutlumemé here finished the story of Nasiraddoleh, of Abderrahman, and Zeineb. The women of Farrukhnaz praised very highly the generosity of the young merchant and the King of Moussul, but Farrukhnaz remarked that the constancy of the beautiful Circassian was much more meritorious than that of her lover.

‘Oh, my princess!’ said Farrukhnaz, ‘since you seem to love the character of faithful people, I will, with your permission, relate the story of Repsima. I do not think the story will weary you.’

The princess’s women showed such a desire to hear this new story that Farrukhnaz permitted Sutlumemé to relate it.

A MERCHANT of Bassora, named Dukin, abandoned his profession to give himself up entirely to piety. He had always been very scrupulous, and in consequence had amassed very little wealth. He lived in a small house at the extremity of the town, with an only daughter, whom he brought up in the fear of the Most High, and in the practice of Mussulman virtues. They both fasted, not only on the prescribed days, but often on others for the sake of mortification.

All their time was spent in prayer and reading the Koran. They lived contented with their lot, and wanted for nothing because they desired nothing.

Careful as was Repsima (for thus was the daughter of Dukin named) to avoid men and to live regardless of the things of the world, she was, nevertheless, soon troubled in her solitude. Her virtuous reputation attracted many men, who asked her in marriage of her father, and she would have had a greater number of lovers if it had been known that her beauty equalled her virtue.

Dukin, when he reflected upon the meagreness of her fortune, hoped his daughter would marry some rich merchant; but she evinced such aversion to marriage that he did not dare to force it upon her for fear of doing violence to her feelings.

‘No, my father,’ she said, every time a suitor presented himself; ‘I do not wish to leave you. Let me live my tranquil life with you.’

They both lived together for some years in the manner I have described, after which Dukin was summoned by the Angel of Death. Repsima, seeing herself bereft of her father’s support, raised her hands to Heaven and spoke thus: ‘Sole hope of the despairing, unique resource of orphans, Heaven, who dost not abandon the unhappy who implore thy aid with confidence, thou who listenest to the voice of the innocent, do not refuse my prayer! Thou art all-powerful, thou canst preserve me; remove from me all the perils which threaten my innocence.’

After the funeral of Dukin, all the family represented to Repsima that it would be unseemly for her to live alone, and that she must marry. At the same time a young merchant named Temim was proposed to her, whose goodness and honesty they extolled. She could not at first entertain ideas so distasteful to her; but having in prayer consulted the Great Prophet, she believed herself inspired, and nothing further was needed to prevail upon her to marry Temim. The marriage took place shortly afterwards.

She found in her husband, besides the good that had been told her of him, a man disposed to love her passionately. Temim became every day more and more attached to her, and, charmed at having a wife of such rare merit, he considered himself the happiest of men. But, alas! his happiness was not of long duration. Tremble, mortals, when you think your wishes realised! The moment destined to be the last of your happiness is perhaps not far off.

Temim, a year after his marriage, was obliged to make a voyage along the Indian coast. He had a brother, whom he entrusted with the care of his domestic affairs.

‘Revendeh,’ he said to him, ‘my dear brother, keep Repsima good company during my absence, take care of my wealth. I will not say more to you. I judge of you by myself. I believe my interests are not less dear to you than your own.’

‘Yes, my brother,’ replied Revendeh, ‘you are right in having entire confidence in me, and there is no need to recommend your interests to me. Blood and friendship will not admit of my neglecting them.’

On the assurance which Revendeh gave Temim that he would take great care of his house, he departed from Bassora, and embarked on the Gulf in a vessel bound for Surat. As soon as he was gone his brother went to his house and made endless protestations of wishing to serve Repsima, who received him very well.

Revendeh, unfortunately, became desperately enamoured of his sister-in-law. He concealed his love for some time, but gradually he lost control over himself and declared his love. The lady, although incensed at her brother-in-law’s audacity, spoke to him gently and begged him not to speak of it again. She represented to him the insult he did to Temim, and how poor a result he could expect from such guilty sentiments.

Revendeh, seeing that his sister-in-law took the matter so gently, did not despair of influencing her, and became more bold:

‘Oh, my queen!’ he said, ‘all that you can say to me is useless: listen to me rather, and accept my proposals. I will become your slave to death. Let us be in harmony, and our friendship so secret as to shelter us from slander.’ At this speech Repsima could not restrain her anger. ‘Ah, wretch!’ she cried, ‘you only think of hiding your crime from the eyes of the world: you only fear to be dishonoured among the people: you are not at all affected by the wrong you do your brother, and Heaven, who sees into your soul. But cease flattering yourself: I would rather die than satisfy your criminal passion.’

Another, less brutal than Revendeh, would perhaps have reflected at these words, and have esteemed Repsima the more.

But he, seeing that he could not persuade her, resolved to bring about her destruction in revenge. This is how he set about it One night, whilst she was praying, he secretly introduced a man into Temim’s house. This man quietly entered the lady’s room. Then Revendeh, followed by four paid witnesses, broke in the door of the house, and running to where his sister-in-law was, ‘Unhappy woman!’ he cried, ‘I surprise you with a man. Is it thus you dishonour my brother? I have brought witnesses, so that it will avail you nothing to deny your crime. Wretched woman! you affect the appearance of the most austere virtue, whilst you secretly commit the most infamous actions.’ Thus saying he made so much noise that he awoke all the neighbours and made the affront public.

By this sinister artifice Revendeh made his sister-in-law appear unfaithful. He did not content himself with that; he ran to the cadi with his four witnesses, informed him of the adventure, and demanded justice of him. The judge immediately interrogated the witnesses, and on their depositions charged his lieutenant to go and seize Repsima and imprison her till the following day.

The lieutenant carried out the order, and the next day the accused was condemned to be buried alive on the high-road. This rigorous sentence was executed. The victim was conducted to a place outside the town by a great concourse of people, and she was buried up to her breast in a ditch, where she was left.

As the people returned to the town they discussed the wife of Temim. ‘It is a calumny,’ said some; ‘the matter has been judged too quickly: this woman appeared so good and virtuous.’ ‘One must not trust,’ said others, ‘to appearances: this woman has been justly condemned.’ So each one argued according to his character.

Repsima was left in the position I have described on the high-road, when, in the middle of the night, an Arab robber passed near her mounted on a horse. She cried out to him. ‘Passer-by,’ she said, ‘whoever you may be, I beg you to save my life. I have been unjustly buried alive. In the name of God, have pity on me and deliver me from the cruel death which awaits me; this good work shall not go unrewarded.’

The Arab, robber though he was, was touched with compassion. ‘I must,’ he said to himself, ‘save this unhappy creature. I have a thousand crimes on my conscience; this charitable act will perhaps dispose the Most High to pardon me.’

Thus reflecting, he dismounted, approached Repsima, and after having extracted her from the ditch, he remounted his horse and made the lady get up behind him.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘where are you going to take me?’

‘I am going,’ he replied, ‘to take you to my tent, which is not far from here. You will be in safety there, and my wife, who is the best woman in the world, will receive you well.’

They soon arrived at an Arab encampment. They dismounted at the door of a tent, which was opened by a negro. The robber made the lady enter, and presented her to his wife, whom he told how he had met her. The Arab’s wife was naturally charitable, and it was with regret that she saw her husband pursue his calling as a robber. She received Repsima favourably, and begged her to relate her history.

The wife of Temim told her story so touchingly that she moved her hearers. The robber’s wife was especially affected by it. ‘My beautiful lady,’ she said to Repsima, with tears in her eyes, ‘I feel your troubles as much as you do yourself, and you may depend upon me to render you any service in my power.’

‘My good lady,’ said the wife of Temim, ‘I thank you for your kindness. I see that Heaven does not wish to abandon me, since I am brought in contact with people who sympathise with my misfortunes. Permit me to live with you. Give me shelter, where I may pass my days in praying for you.’

The Arab’s wife led her into a little room and said to her: ‘You will be quite at peace here; no intruders will come and interrupt you at your prayers.’ It was a great consolation to Repsima to have found this retreat. She gave thanks to Heaven without ceasing. But, alas! her troubles were not at an end; many other misfortunes happened to her.

The negro who served in the Arab’s tent, and whose duties were to groom the horses and to lead the cattle to and from the pasture, cast a profane eye upon Repsima. ‘How beautiful she is,’ he said, ‘and how sweet would be my lot if I could make her love me!’

Calid, although he was one of the most frightful monsters of his species, did not despair of becoming a happy lover. This hope and the beauty of the beloved object augmented his love to such a degree that he resolved to declare it on the first favourable opportunity.

It soon offered itself. He seized it one day when the Arab and his wife were out. He entered Repsima’s chamber. ‘I have,’ he said, ‘waited long for the moment in which I might be able to say to you that I am dying for love of you. I am about to die if you do not return my love.’

‘Oh, wretch!’ she replied, ‘how could you think you would attract my attention? Were you the handsomest and best made of men, your mad ardour would meet with no response, and you flatter yourself with the hope of pleasing me! Leave me; I only look with horror upon you. If ever,’ she continued, ‘you speak to me again of love, I shall inform your master, who will punish your insolence.’

She said these words in such a firm tone of voice that he knew he had no chance of making such a conquest. As he was not less malignant than Revendeh, he thought to revenge himself upon the woman who despised his love; but he set about it in a very strange manner. The Arab had a child in the cradle, and this son was the joy of its father and mother. One night Calid went and cut off this child’s head, and carrying the dagger with which he had done this barbarous action into Repsima’s room, he placed it under the bed of the lady whilst she slept. Moreover, he dropped blood from the child’s cradle as far as the innocent woman’s bed, as he wished suspicion to fall on her; and he even sullied her robe with blood.

The following morning, when the Arab and his wife perceived the child in the state in which the negro had left it, they uttered frightful cries, tore their faces, and put cinders on their heads. Calid ran to them and asked the cause of their grief, as if he had not known it. They showed him the cradle bathed in blood and their lifeless son. At this spectacle he feigned an extreme grief, he tore his clothes, uttered wild cries. ‘Oh, unparalleled misfortune! Oh, detestable treachery! If I did but know who had dealt the blow! If at this moment I did but hold in my hand the author of so horrible a crime, I would tear him in pieces. But,’ he added, ‘it can, I think, be discovered. We have only to follow the bloody traces of the murder.’

At these words his master and he followed the drops of blood, which led them to Repsima’s room. The negro drew from under the bed the dagger he had put there, and pointed out to the Arab that the lady’s clothes were all covered with blood. Then he said: ‘Oh, my master! you see in what manner this unhappy woman repays your kindness to her.’

The Arab was extremely amazed when he saw that he had indeed occasion to suspect Repsima of having committed so cruel an action. ‘Oh, wretched woman!’ he said, ‘is it thus that you observe the laws of hospitality? Why have you shed the blood of my son? What had this poor innocent child done to arm your hand against it? Inhuman woman! the services I have rendered you deserved to be rewarded differently.’

Thus saying he melted into tears, and gave way to despair.

‘Oh, my dear lord!’ said Calid to him, ‘should you speak thus to this miserable stranger? Do you content yourself with reproaching her? Plunge rather the fatal dagger into her breast which she has used to destroy your only son. If you do not wish to revenge yourself, let me avenge you. I will punish the wretch who is bathed in a child’s blood.’

Thus saying, he took the dagger and was about to plunge it into the heart of Repsima, who was so amazed that anyone should dare accuse her of so dark a deed that she remained in perfect silence. She had not the strength to speak to justify herself, and the negro was about to strike when the Arab stayed his arm.

‘What are you doing?’ said Calid to him. ‘Would you prevent my punishing a wicked woman, who does not recognise the laws of hospitality? Let me remove from the face of the earth a monster who will commit other crimes if spared now.’

At these words he raised his arm a second time to deliver a mortal blow to Repsima; but the Arab again restrained him and forbad him to kill her. In spite of his despair and that appearances were against the wife of Temim, he could not believe her guilty. He wanted to know what she would say to justify herself. He asked her why she had assassinated the child. She replied that she knew nothing about it, and began to weep so bitterly that the robber had pity on her.

The negro perceived this, and in spite of the prohibition his master had made against his striking the lady, he wanted to stab her. The eagerness he displayed to kill her displeased the Arab, who ordered him to retire.

‘Go, Calid!’ he said to him; ‘your zeal carries you too far: I will not have this woman’s life taken. I believe her innocent in spite of appearances.’

The robber’s wife, deeply as she felt her son’s death, also could not persuade herself that Repsima was guilty of the crime imputed to her. ‘It were better,’ she said to her husband, ‘to send away this woman without harming her than to kill her without being certain of her guilt.’

The Arab agreed, and said to Repsima, ‘Whether you are innocent or guilty, I can no longer shelter you here. Every time my wife and I saw you we should remember our son, and every day the sight of you would renew our grief. Leave this tent, and go and choose a refuge where you wish. You should be thankful to me for my moderation. Instead of taking your life I even wish to give you money to live on.’

Repsima extolled the justice of the Arab, and said to him that Heaven was too just not to reveal to him one day the author of the crime. Then she thanked him for his kindness to her. But when he presented to her a purse containing a hundred gold sequins, she said, ‘Keep your money, and leave me to Providence; it will have care for me.’

‘No, no,’ he replied, ‘I insist on your taking these sequins; they will not be useless to you.’

She accepted them, and after having begged the robber’s wife not to think ill of her, she left the Arab habitation.

She walked all day without resting, and at the beginning of the night she arrived at the gates of a town not far from the sea. She knocked by chance at the door of a small house where a good old woman lived, who opened the door and asked what she wanted.

‘Oh, mother!’ replied Repsima, ‘I am a stranger. I have just arrived in this town; I know no one in it. I beg you to be charitable enough to receive me into your house.’

The old woman consented and gave her a little room.

Then the wife of Temim, taking out of her purse a sequin, gave it to her hostess and said:

‘Here, my good mother, go and get provisions for our supper.’

The old woman went out, and returned shortly afterwards with some dates and preserves, and they both began to eat. After supper Repsima related her story to the old woman, who was much touched by it: then they went to bed.

The following day Temim’s wife wished to bathe: the old woman accompanied her. When they were on their road, they saw a young man whose hands were tied, and who had a rope round his neck: the executioner was leading him to punishment, and a crowd of people were following him. Repsima asked what crime the young man had committed: she was told that he was a debtor, and that the custom of the country was to hang those who did not pay their debts.

‘And how much does he owe?’ said Temim’s wife.

‘He owes sixty sequins,’ they replied; ‘if you pay for him you will save his life.’

‘Very willingly,’ she replied, drawing out her purse. ‘To whom must I give the money?’

The cadi was immediately informed that a young lady offered to pay for the debtor.

The creditor was summoned. Repsima counted out sixty sequins to him, and the young man was immediately set at liberty. All the people, charmed at the stranger’s generosity, were anxious to know who she was, so that instead of going to the public baths she took leave of her old hostess, and left the town to escape the importunate curiosity of the inhabitants.

However, the young man who had just escaped from death sought out his deliverer to thank her. And when told that she had left the town, he inquired what route she had taken, and followed her. He came up with her on the edge of a fountain, where she had stopped to rest; he saluted her very respectfully, and offered to be her slave in order to show his gratitude.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I do not wish you to buy so dearly the service I have done you; you are not so indebted to me as you imagine. It is not out of love for you that I saved you from death; it is solely for the love of the Most High.’

Whilst she was speaking thus the young man had his eyes upon her, and, struck by her great beauty, he became enamoured of her. He declared his love on the spot, and, persuaded that he would not find a better occasion, he threw himself at the feet of Repsima, and conjured her in the most passionate terms to respond to the ardour she inspired in him; but the chaste wife of Temim, instead of seeing with pleasure a lover at her feet, was enraged against him, and treated him with no more favour than the negro: ‘O wretch,’ she said, ‘you know that without me you would not be alive at this moment. Your life would have been taken, and yet you dare attack my fidelity; you are even insolent enough to speak to me of your love.’

‘Beautiful lady,’ replied the young man, ‘I did not think to insult you when I expressed to you all the sentiments which gratitude, and the sight of you aroused in my heart. Is it such a great insult to you to tell you that you have charmed me?’

‘Silence, wretch,’ interrupted Repsima, ‘do not think you can prevail upon me to listen to you; it is in vain that you hide your sinister design under respectful words, I can easily detect it beneath your flattering speech. Go, fly from me, and do not force me to regret the service I have done you.’

The manner in which she spoke made the young man see that he had nothing to hope for. He rose without saying anything, and went towards the sea-shore.

He saw a vessel stop, the crew of which were landing; they were Bassora merchants who were going to Serendib; he approached them and asked for the captain.

‘I have,’ he said, ‘a perfectly beautiful slave whom I wish to sell; she does not love me; I have resolved to get rid of her; I left her at the edge of a fountain near here, buy her, I will sell her to you very cheap. I will give her to you for three hundred sequins.’

‘I take you at your word,’ replied the captain, ‘provided she is young, and as beautiful as you say.’

Thereupon the young man led the captain towards the fountain, where Repsima after her ablution was engaged in prayer. The captain had no sooner seen her than he counted out three hundred sequins to the young man, who took his way back to the town.

The captain who had just bought Repsima approached her, and said, ‘O ravishing beauty, I am enchanted at what I have just done. I have seen many slaves, I have bought more than a thousand in my life-time, but I must admit that you surpass them all. Your eyes are more beautiful than the sun, and your figure is above compare.’

If this speech surprised Repsima, she was much more astonished when the captain put out his hand to her, saying:

‘Come, my princess, I am going to take you on board, and put you in a room on the poop. We shall be setting sail in a minute, we will make the voyage to Serendib together, and on our return to Bassora you shall be the mistress of my wealth and of my house, for I do not propose to sell you. If I have bought you from this young man, whom you do not love, it is in order to make you the happiest person in the world. I shall show you all possible affection and consideration.’

At these words, to which Repsima listened very impatiently, she interrupted the captain:

‘What are you saying?’ she cried, ‘I have never been a slave, I am free, and no one has the right to sell me.’ Thus saying, she abruptly repulsed the captain’s hand.

He was naturally abrupt and violent, he was shocked at the way in which she received the pleasant remarks he thought he was making to her. He suddenly changed his tone.

‘What, little creature,’ he said, ‘is it thus you speak to your master? I have bought you with my money, you are my slave, I shall take you whether you will or no.’ Saying these words, he took her in his arms, and in spite of her resistance, he carried her off as a wolf does a sheep that has wandered from the fold. It was in vain that the air resounded with her cries, he put her on board, and soon the vessel set sail.

The captain left Repsima to herself for some days, but seeing that she regarded him with no more favour however tender he was to her, he lost patience and insisted one day that she should be responsive to his love. She found herself in no way disposed to yield to the entreaties of her master, who, losing patience, was about to treat her very harshly, when a terrible storm arose. In a moment so furious a wind sprung up that the masts, rigging, and sails were carried away.

The sailors did not know what to do, and the pilot, abandoning the ship to the mercy of the wind and waves, cried:

‘O passengers, if any one of you has committed crimes, and violated the laws of the Prophet, let him ask pardon of Heaven; there is no time to lose, we are all about to perish.’ The tempest indeed increased, and the vessel, after fighting for a few moments against the waves, was at last submerged.

All the persons on board perished, excepting Repsima and the captain. They both saved themselves on a plank, and were washed ashore each in a different spot. The wife of Temim was carried by the waves on to the shore of a thickly populated island, governed by a woman.

By chance a great number of the inhabitants were on the sea shore. When they perceived Repsima in the water and saw her cast up on their island they looked upon it as a miracle. They all surrounded her and asked her a thousand questions.

To better satisfy their curiosity she related her adventures to them, and conjured them to grant her a refuge where she could live in peace. The inhabitants, charmed with her beauty, intelligence, and virtue, gave her a refuge where she passed several years in prayer.

The inhabitants of the island admired the austerity of her life exceedingly. They talked only of the stranger and the purity of her life, she even soon became their oracle. When some among them wished to make a long journey, or formed any other enterprise, before executing it they did not fail to go and consult her, and she predicted their fortune. Finally, she gained the esteem of everybody; or, rather, she was looked upon as a divinity. The queen of the island conceived so much friendship for her, that, thinking she could not do better than make her queen over her people, she declared her her heiress with the approval of all the inhabitants. The queen was very advanced in years; she soon died. Repsima was somewhat reluctant to take her place, but the people forced her to it, and they had no occasion to repent of it, for she made them so happy that they afterwards blessed the shipwreck which had cast her on their shores.

As soon as she was on the throne she applied herself entirely to the government of the State. She selected vizirs as upright as they were enlightened, and she took particular care to render justice to every one. She spent in prayer every moment that her duties as queen allowed her. She fasted, and the more she saw herself honoured by men, the more she humiliated herself before the Omnipotent. When anyone fell sick and had recourse to her, begging her to pray Heaven to cure them, she redoubled her prayers and the Lord granted them. The inhabitants of the kingdom could not hold out against the miracles they witnessed. They renounced the worship of the sun and embraced Mahomedanism. She established the sacred laws, and had mosques built on the ruins of idolatry.

She also had hospitals built for the poor, and caravanserais for the strangers who came to the island. She spent great sums in providing these places with every necessary, and soon the sick of all nations were seen arriving on the island, seeking the relief of their ills on the strength of the queen’s reputation.

One day they came to tell Repsima that there were six strangers in a caravanserai, who asked to speak to her, that one of them was blind, another partly paralysed, and another dropsical. She ordered them to be brought to her immediately; at the same time she seated herself on a magnificent throne. She had on her one hand fifty or sixty slaves richly dressed, and on the other all the great people of her court.

When the strangers arrived at the palace two lords conducted them before the queen, whose face as well as those of all her slaves was covered with a thick veil. The strangers prostrated themselves with their faces to the ground until Repsima ordered them to rise. Then she asked them what they wanted of her, and whence they came.

One who spoke for the others replied, ‘O great queen, may God make your armies to triumph, may the earth obey you, and Heaven be favourable to you. We are unfortunate sinners, and we come here to obtain through the intercession of your majesty the pardon of our sins by the Almighty.’

‘Speak more clearly,’ replied the queen, after having scrutinised them. ‘I can do nothing for you unless you publicly relate your adventures without suppressing any detail.’

‘Princess,’ replied one of the strangers, ‘you must be obeyed. I am a merchant from Bassora. I married a girl who was without parallel in the world; she was perfectly beautiful, gentle, and virtuous. Being obliged to travel one day, I left her in my house, mistress of her actions. I begged my brother, the blind man whom you see here, to look after my domestic affairs. On my return he told me that he had detected my wife in sin and that she had been buried alive, that this event had grieved him so much because of me, and that he had wept over it so much that he had lost his sight. That, great queen,’ he added, ‘is my story. I therefore beg you very humbly to give back my brother’s sight. It is to pray this of you that I have come and have brought him here.’

Temim, for it was he who spoke to Repsima without knowing her, here ceased speaking. He awaited the answer of the queen, who was so surprised to see her husband there that she could not immediately reply to him, but having recovered from her agitation she said: ‘Is it true that the woman who was buried alive was unfaithful to you? What do you think?’

‘I cannot believe it,’ replied Temim, ‘when I recall all her virtues. But, alas! I have a great confidence in my brother, and that makes me doubt her innocence.’

When the Bassora merchant had spoken thus, the queen said: ‘That is enough; I know better than you whether your wife has been justly condemned. I will let you know to-morrow and we will see whether your brother can recover his eyesight.’ A man in company with Temim then spoke thus: ‘I have a negro slave whom I bought and have brought up from infancy. He has been partly paralysed for years, no doctor can cure him; I bring him here to recommend him to your majesty’s prayers.’

After the queen had heard this speech, and knew that the man who had addressed her was the Arab robber with whom she had lived, and that the paralytic was the very black slave who had tempted her virtue, she said: ‘That is enough, I am well informed on the subject that brings you, it can be decided to-morrow. And you,’ she said turning towards another, ‘what is your malady?’

‘O queen!’ he replied, ‘I do not know to what to attribute my malady, if it is not to the violence I wished to do to a beautiful slave whom I bought some years ago from a young man who sold her to me on the sea-shore.’

The queen, at these words, recognised him as the captain to whom she had been sold. She did not show that she knew him any more than the others, and she let him continue thus. ‘I look,’ he added, ‘upon my misfortune as a punishment from Heaven.’

‘And I,’ cried one of the strangers, ‘I look upon the fits from which I suffer from time to time as a well-deserved punishment for having sold you the slave whom you took on board against her will. I am still more guilty than you, for she was a free woman to whom I owed my life, and in return I gave her over to you and placed her in slavery.’

From this Repsima knew that the man who had just spoken was he whom she had saved from death for sixty sequins. Then she said to the six strangers, ‘I will pray for your relief. Return to your caravanserai and return to-morrow at the same time. The blind man and the paralytic may be cured provided they make a sincere confession of the crimes they have committed. I know their adventures; but I demand of them to be sincere and not to introduce any false detail into their story, for they will repent it. Instead of interesting myself in them, I shall punish them very rigorously.

‘As for the others,’ she continued, ‘I promise from this moment to pray for them, for they have already told the truth.’

The six strangers returned to their caravanserai. Four were already very pleased. The brother of Temim and the black slave alone were sad. They would have preferred remaining all their lives in the plight they were in, than be obliged to make a public confession of their treachery and their brutality. They tried to conceal their grief from the eyes of those whom they had offended; they passed a sleepless night.

However, the following morning, they were obliged to follow the others. They all went to the palace, and appeared before the queen who was on her throne as on the preceding day. ‘Well!’ she said, as soon as she saw them, ‘are the blind man and the paralytic resolved to disguise nothing? Woe to either of them who does not tell the truth.’ Then the negro advanced full of shame and terror, as he saw it would do him no good to lie, he resolved, at the risk of all that might happen, to make a clean breast of all that had passed with regard to Repsima. He confessed that he had conceived a violent passion for the lady, and that seeing himself rejected, in order to bring about her destruction, he had determined to kill the Arab’s only son.

When the negro had confessed all. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is my crime, and Heaven is witness that I repent.’

‘Ah, traitor,’ cried the Arab robber in a transport of rage, ‘so it is you who robbed me of my only son? O queen,’ he added addressing Repsima, ‘permit me to cut off his head immediately. A wretch who is capable of committing the crime he has confessed, is not fit to live!’

‘No,’ replied the queen, ‘I do not wish you to take his life.’

‘I understand, princess,’ replied the Arab, ‘you justly oppose my rage. It were better this wretch should remain paralytic. Death will end his troubles only too soon.’

‘You are mistaken,’ replied Repsima, ‘it is not in order to prolong his troubles that I wish him to live. Since he repents of his crime, we must pray the Most High to pardon him.’ Then she prostrated herself at the foot of the throne, and the body of the negro was seen immediately to resume its vitality.

All the spectators were surprised at so marvellous a thing, and praised God and the queen a thousand times. She also prayed for the man with dropsy and for the epileptic, and both these men were perfectly cured.

Then Temim, not doubting that his brother would recover his eyesight, said to him: ‘O Revendeh! it is for you to speak; the queen is only waiting for that to work a fresh miracle in your favour.’

‘Yes, but,’ said Repsima, ‘let him relate his story, and beware of saying what is not true, for I know all his adventures, and if I detect the least falsehood, punishment awaits him.’

Revendeh, judging by these words that if he persisted in keeping silence, or if he dared to lie, he would be punished on the spot, resolved at last to confess everything. As he sincerely repented of having betrayed his brother, and believed his sister-in-law to be dead, he gave a very touching story of his treachery without seeking to exculpate himself. When he had finished speaking the queen said:

‘He has been very sincere, and has advanced nothing out of conformity with the truth.’

Temim, at these words, which revealed to him all his brother’s malignity and Repsima’s innocence, uttered a great cry and fell down in a swoon. Some of the queen’s officers ran to his aid, and when he had recovered his senses, he prostrated himself before the throne and said: ‘O my princess! permit me to conduct my treacherous brother back to Bassora. I do not ask for him to be cured, I only desire his death. I wish to conduct him to the very place where my wife has been buried alive and there assassinate him. His crime is too black to be pardoned.’ The queen remained for some time without answering, because she was weeping behind her veil, so touched was she at the state her husband was in. When she had dried her tears, she addressed him thus: ‘O merchant of Bassora! I conjure you to moderate your anger for my sake. Your brother has, indeed, committed a great crime; but since he publicly confesses it, remember you are both of the same blood, and let him off the punishment you wished to inflict on him.’

At these words Temim replied: ‘It is for your majesty to command. You wish me to forgive him. I consent to do so provided that he sincerely repents and never accuses anyone falsely again.’ Hardly had the Bassora merchant told the queen that he forgave Revendeh than the princess, with her face to the ground, prayed Heaven to restore his sight to the blind man. Her prayer was heard; at that moment Revendeh’s sight was restored.

At this spectacle the applause was renewed. All the assembly began again to praise God and the queen, who sent the strangers back to their caravanserai, saying: ‘Return here to-morrow, you may see things which will surprise you more perhaps than those which have astonished you to-day.’ The following day they did not fail to return to the palace. The queen called Temim and made him sit upon a gold chair which she had had placed beside the throne for this purpose. Then she said to him: ‘O merchant of Bassora, you have suffered much grief and pain. I enter into your misfortunes, and in order to help you forget them, I have resolved to give you the most beautiful of my slaves in marriage, and you shall remain at my court, if you wish.’

Instead of accepting the queen’s proposal, Temim began to weep, and said to the queen: ‘Your majesty overwhelms me with favours and I am grateful for all your kindnesses, but I beg you not to be angry with me if I refuse the offer you make me of the hand of one of your slaves; as long as I live no other woman but Repsima can occupy my thoughts. My dear Repsima is ever present in my mind. I cannot console myself for having lost her, and I am resolved to go and spend the rest of my days in lamentation on the spot where she has been so unjustly buried alive.’

Repsima was enchanted to find her husband so faithful, and, charmed at his refusal of the young slave, she said: ‘If I prayed the Almighty to bring back to life the woman whose loss grieves you so, would you be very glad to see her again, and if you saw her would you recognise her?’ Thus saying she lifted her veil and Temim recognised Repsima.

His joy at meeting his wife could only be equalled by the astonishment of the other strangers at recognising in the queen the features of the person they had insulted. The princess embraced Temim, and related her adventures in the presence of all the lords of her court, who wondered at them. Then she had ten thousand ducats, with a rich brocade vest and a magnificent robe for his wife, given to the Arab robber; a thousand ducats to the captain, and as many to the young man who had sold her. After that she rose from her throne, took Temim by the hand and led him into her cabinet, where they both commenced to thank Heaven for having brought them together again. Then Repsima said to her husband: ‘Since the laws of the kingdom do not permit of my despoiling myself of the royal authority to vest you with it, you will, at least, remain in my palace, and will share with me a pleasant life, and we will make your brother as happy as he could wish.’

Revendeh soon became prime minister, and acquitted himself so well of his task that he gained the esteem and friendship of all the inhabitants of the island.