Story of the Woman who Outwitted her
Father-in-Law.65a
Father-in-Law.65a
IN days of yore there lived a just and pious husbandman, who sowed the seeds of goodness and reaped a hundred-fold. His house was all the year full of corn; his fields abounded with flocks; and on the poor he bestowed a portion of his wealth. He had a Babylonish wife; a magician-deceiver—all coquetry and leering. One day, when he was abroad inspecting the harvest of his fields, this perī-faced one went up to the terrace of the mansion, and there, like a fowler, she spread her snare. A graceful youth was pacing the plain, and coming near the enclosure of the harem, he beheld the face of that hūrī—that mail-haired beauty, of the lasso-tresses—and field and waste were filled with light. Now his sighs arose from his heart; now his feet sank in the clay. From above the perī-faced one shook her head, and stroked her face and bosom.
In the street of this youth dwelt an aged woman;— in foxery she was the old wolf of the city; in trickery, the crafty dissembler of the age. To her the young man went, and told her what signs the lady had made to him upon the roof of her house. The old woman answered: “Thy beloved—thy passionate companion, thy desired one—indicated thereby: ‘Choose a damsel; seek out a pomegranate-breasted one; if she be fair, speak with her.’” So the youth sought out such a girl, and sent her secretly, with a token. When she had delivered her message, the lady pretended to be very wroth; spoke harshly to her; made black her face; and turned her out by the water-way. On reaching her own house, the young man went to meet her; and when he saw her plight and heard her story, he ran along the road to the door of the old woman. If he had a grief, he told it all; for one must not hide pain from the physician. The past-mistress thus answered him: “Knowest thou what thy beloved hath said?—‘When Night draws her pitchy curtain over her head, and the Ethiop king leads his host against Rūm, come thou into the garden by the way of the water, for this indeed is the proper way.’”67
By reason of this the youth went off glad and bright. And when it was night he went into the garden. The jasmine-faced one came from the house into the garden, which was (as it were) filled with lamps by (the brightness of) her cheek. In one place were the box-tree and the cypress; the hawk and the pheasant made peace together. Who would think that this night was the night of treachery? … When it was midnight, sleep bore them off. An aged man, who was father to her husband, chanced to come out of the house. He was confounded at what he saw in the garden, and took away her anklets. Awaking soon afterwards, she perceived what had befallen her, and, having dismissed her companion, went into the house and lay down. And when an hour yet remained of the night, her husband awoke, and she said to him: “O kind comrade, would not the garden be more pleasant than the house? On such a day the garden is a spring-tide. When the rose smiles, the house becomes a prison. In the morning, when the nightingale laments from the bough, put forth thy head, like a rose, from the corner of the pavilion. Why liest thou when thou hast slept so long? Now are the walks of garden and orchard pleasant; for the garden is become the place of the nightingale, not of the crow.” Then she took her husband by the hand, and with him entered like a nightingale flushed into the rose-bower. In that same place where the anklets had been taken off her feet, she threw down a mat, and lay thus with her husband till the morning. Then said the woman to him: “Ask thy father what he wishes of me. He is neither my uncle nor my aunt;—why does he take off my two anklets?” The young man was angry with his father, saying to her: “Why should he give thee a headache?”
When that experienced man came into the garden from the mansion, he told the whole affair to the youth —told him with displeasure the affair of the anklets. He flared up, and was very wroth with his father, and said to him: “Thou hast beheld all this only in a dream; for this woman was not separated from me this night. Go, master, be shamed before God. It was I who was with her in that place where she lay.” When the father heard this tale from his son, he bowed his head and was shamed. Then made he apologies to the woman; he increased her dower, and gave her the half of that garden.68
The king was grieved at this story; he reflected a moment, and then commanded the prince to be again removed to prison.]
The Damsel now presents herself the sixth time, and demands redress. She inveighs against the vazīr, and cautions the king not to trust him. She then relates the
the Monkey.
IN the happy reign of Farīdūn,69 a caravan pitched their tents by the side of a running stream. Thither a robber of great daring, who would have stolen the nose from the face of a lion, came by night in the hope of meeting with some booty, but finding a sentinel at every corner, and seeing that his art would be of no avail, he departed. Thinking, however, that he might contrive to steal some of the fleetest of the horses, he sat down in the midst of the cattle to watch his opportunity. By chance, a lion, in search of prey, passed near the caravan, and fixed his desire on the herds; but from the outcry raised by the crowd, he could not succeed, and remained quiet in his place. Sal'ūk, seeing no other means of safety or escape, suddenly sprang on the lion's back and held fast. The lion, alarmed, ran off with his rider, and ceased not running the whole night.70 The robber was exhausted with sitting on the lion's back, yet dared not quit it for almost certain death.
I once heard a traveller in Arabia say, that if you fix a determined gaze on a lion, he will that instant take to flight; while, if you flee from him, he will pursue you. In all cases of danger, courage is the best security. The lion, under his rider, had by this time become timorous as a mouse. Coming to a lofty tree, he went under its shade; upon which Sal'ūk sprang boldly from his seat into the tree. The lion on his part also was glad to escape from his rider, and took to flight with his tail trailing on the ground. Meeting a monkey, he was at first inclined to flee, thinking it might be the man, but observing his humble attitude, he stopped. The monkey, after respectfully saluting him, and inquiring after his royal health, asked him why he was travelling without his train, whither he was going, and on what object—at the same time offering his services. The lion related his adventure, and told him that his enemy was on a tree not far off. The monkey reproached him for being afraid of such a foe. The lion then conducted him to the tree, and the monkey mounted into its branches, not observing that the robber was concealed in a cleft of it underneath him. The man suddenly seized him, and grasped him so powerfully that he instantly expired. Be not forward or precipitate, and engage not in a contest with one who is your superior in strength. The lion, seeing what had taken place, betook himself to flight. [14]
The king reflects on this tale, and resolves to put his son to death before his power should increase, when it might be too late.
The Sixth Vazīr, hearing of his Majesty's change of determination, comes before him to intercede for the prince. He inveighs, like the rest, against women, and advises his Majesty to put no trust in them. In proof of his assertions, he relates the
Story of the Peri and the Religious Man; his learning the Great Name; and his consulting with his Wife.
A HOLY man, who spent all his time in devotion, had a perī for his constant and familiar companion for many years. At length, the perī is obliged to leave him,72 word having been brought her of the illness of one of her children. On parting, she teaches him the “Three Great Names” (of God), on pronouncing one of which, on any great emergency, his wish will be immediately accomplished. One night the shaykh communicates the circumstance to his wife, who dictates to him what he is to wish for. The result shows the folly of consulting with women; but it is unfit to be repeated. It is sufficient to say that the tale is similar to that of the “Three Wishes,” by La Fontaine, to Prior's “Ladle,” and to that given in Syntipas [p. 84 of Boissonade, p. 66 of Eberhard.]73
[The vazīr then recounts the stratagem of the old woman with the merchant's wife and the young man:
IN old times there was a prince of the city of Ray, who spent all his time with minstrels, harps, and lutes; he was never without mirth all the year—a youth whose lot had never been troubled. He had no anxiety for the future, no business save pleasure. He never tasted grief, but ever tasted wine. He had a hundred lovers in every corner; every eye waited on his road; his ward thronged with beauties, he was never a moment without coquetry and drinking.
One night, at the time when he thought to sleep, when he knew not harp from rebeck, one of his fair companions said to him: “To-day I saw a beauty, whose face none ever beheld save the mirror, whose hair none ever caressed save the comb—a jasmine-cheeked one from the gardens of Paradise, beside whom the hūrīs were ugly as demons.” The wine-flushed man was ravished with her locks; all night he slept not for passion of that moon (i.e. the damsel); he spoke of nought but her image. When it was day, he arose, and thought to go to her street. He asked for her ward, and he (soon) began to perceive her odour.74 He inquired regarding her of the neighbours, the eunuchs, and the duennas coming and going. By chance, her fairy-cheek was at the window: the youth had paused at the head of the street; at the same moment came that envy of the perīs—like the petal of the rose for grace and freshness, the perspiration was on the rose of her face, the hyacinths of her hair were in confusion. The youth became intoxicated by the zephyr from her rose; straightway his wits forsook him; suddenly his foot fell into the snare; suddenly his foot slipped from the roof; he flung himself with his own hands into the net, like the fawn that rushes headlong into the lasso. When the fairy-faced hūrī passed quickly away, how shall I tell what passed over him? He no longer knew his head from his foot, through his inebriety (with love); he no longer knew height or depth. He returned helpless from that street to his own house, where he gave himself up to grief.
The youth had an old woman in the house, who was a mistress of spells and charms; who had now cleared her hands from affairs of the world, but had formerly arranged many such matters. He went to her, and spoke with her, for the pain of the soul must not be hidden. When she heard his tale, she began to consider how to act. She had an old comrade, an effeminate one; who was fallen into the worst of plights; whose back was become (bent) like a harp, through old age; whose voice was like the boom of a drum; who was altogether hideous;—time had given him sticks for feet. He signified to the youth that this business was in his way. So the youth told what was on his heart, for one must not conceal the secret from the counsellor. He replied: “Know, O youth, that that envy of Venus and the moon is the wife of a great merchant of our city, at whose counter Kārūn75 would be a beggar. To-morrow do thou go before his shop, and buy of him a costly piece of raiment: give it to me, and thou shalt see how I will manage this business.”
So next day the youth went to the bazaar, and bought a robe of the merchant, which he gave to the effeminate one, who proceeded to the street where the moon-faced one dwelt, and by craft managed to get into the house. When the fairy-face saw his demon-like form, she laughed and ran before him. After a while she brought a tray of food, and sat down beside him; and he made friends with her. And when the girl was not looking, he slipped the robe under the husband's pillow, soon after which he left the house. When the good-man came back, as usual (for he was never a night absent from the house), he looked at the pillow, and saw that robe. He was amazed, and tore up the robe. As this sight was not far from sin, he was disgusted with life and with woman, and he struck the poor thing's head and face. The woman managed to escape from him, and went to her mother.
One day the vile hag came forth from her house, and went to the house where the lady was, and inquired what had befallen her. The lady answered: “My husband came in and struck me, though I had done nothing;—I know of nothing wrong that I did; I said nothing either good or bad. It seems as though they had cast a spell on him to make him act thus. What can I do in such a case?” The ill-omened hag thus answered her: “I know a skilful diviner, than whom no one better knows secrets; the heavens are to him as the earth; everything from the moon to the earth is as wax under his seal; never have I seen any one who speaks more truly than he;—he will certainly be able to divine thy case, and annul the enchantment against thee.” With such words she gained her confidence; and returning to the youth's house, she told him all that had happened, and he was greatly pleased with what he heard. In the morning he adorned the house as for a banquet; made it like a garden when the roses are in bloom; and collected lutists and harpers, for they say that wine without music is grief. When all was ready and he was waiting their coming, there entered the demon, and after her the fairy, whose cheek was studded with perspiration, like the rose with dew in the morning. She was come to that house in order that he might draw her out a charm. The youth at once came forward to meet her, bowing much and apologising: the fairy-face saw him whose heart was distracted for her—saw him whose nights were sleepless through longing for her. That same moment she forgot the merchant—forgot right and wrong. The hag then left the house, for the arrow had struck the mark. The youth then took her by the hand and seated her… The diviner looked in her face and discovered the state of her mind… When the lady had returned to her mother's house, the youth called for the hag, and said: “Since thou hast done so well, and forgotten nothing;—as thou hast done a kindness, complete it: make peace between these two mates— speak of the virtue and goodness of the wife.” She said: “Yes; for such is my work.”
In the morning she went to the bazaar, and said to the merchant: “They have not accepted thy stuff, so I am disgusted and vexed for shame. I went on to the house of prosperity (i.e. his own house), and there I left the stuff. Look, for it is under thy pillow. God forbid that any should have grieved through this (my mistake).” She then took the price of the stuff from the merchant, and returned to her master. When the merchant heard this story from the old woman, it seemed to him to be true, and he repented of what he had done. He took many robes better than that one, of Khataian, Baghdādī, and Chinese stuffs, and gave them to his wife, and kissed her, and begged for pardon, saying: “My wife, the right was with thee.” He rubbed his head against her feet, and so soothed and did away her displeasure.]78
The king is again persuaded to suspend the execution, and to remand his son to prison.
The Damsel comes the Seventh Time before the King, rends her Garments, and demands Justice.
When the Damsel learned that her calumnies were ineffectual, and that the wrath of his Majesty, and the thirst for his son's blood, which she had excited, had been dispelled by the counsels of his sage minister, thinking that she might yet conceal from him her crime, she approached the throne, and shedding tears, exclaimed: “O king, whither is departed that justice for which you were renowned? Dread that God who created the soul, and made you ruler of the earth. When a son aims, as yours has done, at the life of his father, he is a curse, and not a blessing. Trust not your vazīr, who is attached to other interests than yours, and who seeks only the aggrandisement of his own family. You yourself exercise no real sovereignty, but are guided in everything by him, and have not the liberty of a common rustic. If I have spoken too freely, consider for whose interest I am speaking. You are a mighty sovereign, and honoured with the esteem of other monarchs. Your son is but an ignorant boy, pleased with his panther and his hawk;79 while your vazīr is so intent on his own ambitious schemes, that he knows not months from years: entrust not the management of your kingdom to a foe. You have gained it by the sword; leave it not to the needle. Since this vazīr is leagued with your son, choose another minister. What will it avail you to lament my fate, when I shall be in my grave? You know what a prince once experienced from his [father's] vazīr, who acknowledged not the ties of gratitude, but involved him in dire calamity? If your Majesty desires it, I will relate the story.” The king having expressed a wish to hear it, the Damsel relates the
stratagem which the Vazir practised on him.
[The whole of this story, as Falconer has stated, is wanting in the manuscript It is the tale of the prince who was changed into a woman by drinking at an enchanted fountain.—See Scott's version of the Seven Vazīrs in the present volume, where it forms the fourth story of the Damsel.
We must now turn back to the displaced leaves —folia 87 to 126 inclusive—which should follow the missing story of the Changed Sex. And here is another deficiency; but it may be supposed that, as usual, the king once more gives orders for the execution of his son, upon which the Seventh Vazīr presents himself, and, having prevailed upon his Majesty to stay the execution, begins to relate the
the commencement of which is also wanting, but it was probably similar to that of the story as found in Syntipas and other old versions: A king, who was very fond of women, chanced one day to see a beautiful lady on the terrace of her house, and immediately became enamoured of her. Having ascertained that she was the wife of one of his officers, or ministers, the king despatched him on a distant expedition, and soon after visited the lady one evening. Now this lady was as virtuous as she was beautiful, and, pretending to accede to the king's desire, she gave him a book to read while she bathed and adorned herself. This book consisted of warnings against the indulgence of illicit passions, and in the first page of what remains of the story, the king seems to be engaged in reading it with great interest, and the narrative thus proceeds:
When the king reflected on these things, he repented of all he had previously done; and when the lady came in at the door, he looked on her with a different eye. He offered excuses to her; gave her a signet-ring81 with his name on it, in order that it might be a keepsake for her, and then went to his own palace, with his heart and soul wounded for what he had done. That wine-drinking, beauty-adoring king became by this means a pure devotee, with the sacred volume (the Qur'ān) ever in his hand. He repented of his former wickedness, and never again did he but what was lawful.
One night the lady's husband came home unexpectedly. She had placed beside her the ring, which shone afar, like (the planet) Jupiter. And when he saw it, he was confounded; he examined it, and read the inscription, and recognising the royal name of the king thereon, earth and heaven became black in his eyes. The ring, which was of diamond, became a diamond for the heart of that master—it made him bleed for such a lot, as though there was poison under that signet. He thrust her forth of the house, and said nothing.
The brother of the lady went before the king, and made complaint that “That good-man (his sister's husband) took from us a holding; without cause he has drawn back his hand from it: ask why he has left it.” The king demanded of that broken-hearted one: “What is the cause of thy leaving it? If there has arisen a quarrel, on whose account is it?” Then the good-man answered thus: “O king, Defender of the Faith, Issuer of Command, I saw therein the track of the lion's foot;—can one work in the lion's place? Otherwise, there is no complaint against my ground; but it is not prudent to go in the lion's track.” The king knew that this was the lady's husband, and the affair of the ring flashed upon him. So he encouraged him, saying: “Make not ill thy heart: thou art mistaken. Do not commit a fault against thyself. The lion that was there did not any harm.” On hearing this, the man's heart was set at rest, and he repented the trouble and vexation he had caused his wife; he went at once and begged her forgiveness, and made all things pleasant for her. He sought the contentment of her heart, for true was her word, and virtuous her condition.83
Having thus concluded, the vazīr then proceeds to relate the
the Wiles of Women.83a
IN former days and early times, there was a wise man, active in his affairs; free from stain was his skirt; no sister, or mother, or mother-in-law had he. All his life he had lived in chastity—nought knew he, save prayer. Never in all his life had he seen woman's face; his heart was at peace from the witch, woman; his heart was undisturbed by antimony or collyrium.83b Even the great ones of the faith, and the lions of the path, have glanced towards women. Flee thou from aloes-wood and ambergris,84 as a child would escape from a lion. All day he collected (tales of) the wiles of women. He encompassed the world like the wind; he, the master, became a disciple. At length, one day he arrived at a city, and he saw in that city an experienced man, who (like himself) had spent his life in the same work: for forty years he had traversed sea and land, and finally composed a treatise on this subject, adorned with the lies and excuses—the tricks and contrivances of women. This man became his guest, and ate at the same table; and when they were done with bread and tray, they began to converse on various subjects, and he said that which was on his mind. When he (the experienced man) saw what was the object of his guest, he redeemed him from his trouble and labour, by giving him the collection he had himself made, including the commentary which he had also composed. And thus the young man secured what had been the object of his life from morn till eve, and his work was completed. Thereupon, longing for home seized upon his heart. No evil is worse than the plight of the poor; nothing is pleasanter than one's own house. In truth, when God gives daily bread, why should the beggar trouble himself? … The wise man desires his own country; for delightful is the sight of an old friend. What is pleasanter than to return home after a long absence?85
He placed his books upon a camel, and proceeded homeward. In returning he was like a hawk; he sped in that direction as a falcon. At a village, one day's journey from his city, one received him as a guest, with honour, respect, and distinction. He set down his chests of books outside, for there was no room in the house sufficient to contain them. Presently some important business called away the good-man of the house, who, on leaving, thus commissioned his wife: “O wise one, be not a moment neglectful of this man.” Having said this, he went off, and left his wife, who was a rose like the cypress of Paradise. The blackness (of her eyes) was like the Water of Life; the sugar of her smile bound up the hand of the cane. She was a spring-blossom, fresher than the jasmine-leaf; covered with leaves and flowers fresher than those in the meadow.
She came to seek an excuse of the youth;—see what will come of this excuse-seeking! When he beheld her, a torrent poured from his eyes. He fell into the place of evil. He stumbled, and his face became pale; his breath became cold as the wind of autumn. The woman perceived how it was with him —how her magic had worked on that Sāmirī. She sat down, and soothed him. She asked, slowly and softly, her face hidden in her linen veil: “Welcome! whence hast thou come with joy? Thou hast adorned our narrow hovel!” She was curious to know whether his load was gold—she knew not that it was the load of an ass! “O master,” she said to him, “what is your load —what manner of stuff is in it?” Painfully and slowly, he gave answer, his heart filled with fire, and his soul overthrown: “It is a number of books containing all the wiles and devices of women.” When the wanton beauty heard these words, she tripped out of the house. The poor wretch remained with his own griefs;—there was none to draw the thorn from the wound. He forgot good and bad; he became so that he forgot himself. The crafty one came back, and saved him… Come, now, and see his case: see the end of his work and business. The labour of forty years comes to nothing. His brain was confused, and he became mad: though he was a friend, he became a stranger. He washed out all that was in his books. He ran from door to door like the mad. Now he smote his breast with a stone, now he tore his collar. His claims all went to the winds—all his austerity, asceticism, and piety. At length, in this pain and stress, he died;—there was none to snatch his soul from the hand of woman's wiles.]87
The period during which the evil aspects in the prince's horoscope were to prevail having now come to a close, and the seven days during which he was to keep silence being ended, he sent a messenger to the chief vazīr to thank him for the exertions he had made in his behalf.87a The vazīr, upon this, waited on the prince, who requested him to beg for him an audience of his Majesty [on the morrow], when the nobles and courtiers should be all assembled. The vazīr joyfully hastened to the king, and announced the request of the prince, expressing his confidence that it would soon appear, before the whole assembly, who was innocent and who was guilty.
The king accordingly assembled his grandees [next day], and when he was seated on his throne, the sage Sindibād entered, and the king desired him to be seated. The prince next presented himself, and, after kissing his father's carpet, raising his head, he gave thanks to God that he was again permitted to appear at the foot of the throne. “When God wills not the destruction of any one,” said he, “no ingenuity of man can effect it; and if it be decreed by him, it cannot be countervailed.” In illustration of this remark, the Prince relates the
[THERE was of old time an ocean-hearted (i.e. bounti-tiful) one, by whose hands mines would have been emptied; a noble, of auspicious step and lofty purpose, who never kept his door shut upon guests; to whose mansion was neither door, lock, nor porter. If a poor man asked him for a dirham, he gave him a dīnar; if one asked him for a scrap, he gave him an ass-load. Once a party of his friends, great men, relations and companions of his, came to him as guests, as of wont; came to his house and table. He received them after the fashion of the generous, for this was ever his custom. A slave-girl went to fetch milk, that he might feast his guests with sugar and milk—two very good things. She covered not the top of the milk-dish. Hearken to these words, and take warning: A stork was passing in the air, having snatched up an old snake from the desert. Poison was dropping through the air from that snake. How can one fly from the decrees of fate? Saliva dropped from the mouth of that viper, and that milk was mixed with poison; and whoever took any of that milk fell down, and there died forthwith.]89
“Who was guilty in this instance?” asked the prince; “and who ought to have been punished?” One said: “Doubtless, the female slave, because she did not cover up the milk.” Another said: “The stork was to blame for having the snake in its mouth.” Another said: “The snake, for dropping its venom in the milk.” “Nay, nay,” said a fourth; “but the giver of the entertainment, who left it to his slave to bring the milk.”— The prince said: “All these opinions are mistaken. No one was to blame; it was the decree of God.”
“There are four things,” continued the prince, “about which the wise do not distress themselves: First—One's daily bread; for however scant it may be, it will undoubtedly suffice to conduct one to his grave. Second—Death, which none can avert or retard, and which ought, therefore, to be met with resignation. Third—One's destiny, which will not cease to attend a man, notwithstanding all his exertions. Fourth—Distress, which neither the wise nor the foolish can remedy.
“One is constantly engaged in devotion; another is for ever in the tavern. Who leads the one to the street of the tavern?—who draws the other to the practice of devotion?
“Many a man, though immersed in the water, has reached the shore, while the sailor has not seen it: many an alchemist has gone to his grave poor and naked as he first entered the world; many a gravedigger has found unexpectedly the treasure of Farīdūn.90 The one and the other events are alike the ordinance of God. Whatever he decrees inevitably happens. If a man undergoes imprisonment and chains, it is not the order of any one, but the decree of destiny.”
When the king heard this address of his son, he was filled with admiration of his wisdom; he kissed his face, and took him to his bosom, and all his former love for him returned. He opened the doors of his treasury, and enriched the poor and needy. He set the prisoners free, and the debtors from their confinement. He now turned his thoughts to the philosopher Sindibād; and when he reflected how he had hazarded his life, his esteem for him increased, and he resolved to reward him munificently. He sent for him, and bestowed ample benefactions on the sage himself, his sons, and dependants.
He then inquired of Sindibād how it happened that the prince was at first averse to learning, and afterwards made such proficiency: how he was at first silent, and afterwards had his mouth opened. Sindi-bād kissed the hand of his Majesty, and after offering vows for his prosperity, replied: “Your Majesty is aware that everything is restricted to its appointed season. The winds of winter come not in spring. The tree while it is yet but a sapling bears no fruit, but yields it when it has grown tall and affords a shade. The business was at first beset with difficulties. Much did I labour, and the seed which I sowed has sprung up and yielded increase. The prince, O king, has now no equal in this age. On whatever science you question him he will answer with correctness.”
The king commended the exertions of Sindibād, and, addressing the prince, requested him to explain his former backwardness. The Prince replies by relating the
[I HAVE heard of a lovely woman in Arabia, that when she grew up to be a fair beauty, she ever sat at her window or in the alcove. Like the tulip, she hid not her face from strangers; like the hyacinth, she covered not constantly her hair. She was wanton, and joyous, and fond of pleasure, and was never without flute, harp, or tambourine. She had no care of name, or thought of fame, but all day listened to the sound of the harp. She had no fear of brother or thought of father; and in this manner she passed her days. She had a little darling (lit. a corner of her liver), very dear to her heart, from whose mouth the scent of milk would come to her. One morning she took a cord and a pitcher, and put the little darling on her shoulder. She went on to the well, where she saw a fairy-faced one, like the sun—like the cypress in figure, like the moon in face, before whom the fame of Joseph would have fallen into the well. She saw him, and lost her wits, so that she forgot herself— forgot all good and bad. In her madness, this inebriate wanton bound the cord round the child's neck, and lowered him into the well. The boy cried out, and a crowd speedily came from the road, and drew him from the well.]92
“So thoughtless is youth,” said the prince. “Make not thyself uneasy, then, about the raw stripling, since time will render him mature. Thus was it with me. Youth is the season of gaiety and thoughtlessness. I then cared but for sport and the chase. That period is now past, and no one sees it a second time, even in a dream. Reason then became my guide; and when I distinguished right from wrong, my heart was plunged in thought. Virtue and knowledge are the only garments that never grow old.— Sire, I have seen three persons wiser than myself and more experienced in the world: the first, an infant at the breast, by the inspiration and aid of the Creator; the second, a little child of five years old; the third, a blind old man.”
At the request of his Majesty, the Prince then relates the
that spoke in its cradle, and reproved an adulterous king, when about to gratify an unlawful passion; on whom its words made so deep an impression, that from that time he became remarkable for his virtue and devotion.93
The Prince next relates (fol. 108) the story of the child five years old, that instructed the woman what answer to make to her adversary and the qāzī:93a
Five Years.
ONCE on a time three persons agreed among themselves to enter into partnership, have everything in common, and share one another's secrets. One was a farmer, another a merchant, and another a dealer in grain. When they had amassed a sum of money, they agreed to deposit it with an old woman of approved honesty, but on this condition, that none should ask it back, unless all the three were present. One of them was an expert sharper. Being with his companions in the street, he pretended that he was going to ask from the woman some clay and other necessaries for the bath. He approached her window, and begged her to hand him out, not what he had mentioned, but the purse. She asked where were his two partners. He said: “They are at hand; look from the window and see that they are both witnesses.” The woman, seeing them, gave him the purse, while his companions never suspected any mischief. The man immediately on receiving it, fled to the desert, and went to another kingdom.
The two friends, after waiting some time in the street, and not finding their companion return, began to suspect what had happened, and hastening in alarm to the house of the old woman, demanded the deposit. She replied that their partner had received the money by their order and in their presence; upon which they took her before the qāzī, who commanded her to restore the deposit. She begged a delay of three days, which was granted. She departed weeping, and a child of five years of age, whom she met in the street, inquired the cause of her distress. Upon her relating it, the child smiled and said: “Tell the qāzī to-morrow in the court, that when he produces the three partners before you, you are ready to restore the money.”
Next day she did as the child had suggested to her. The qāzī, in astonishment, asked her “who had pierced this pearl.” She at first claimed the merit to herself; but as the qāzī would not believe that a woman could possess such wisdom, she confessed the truth; and whenever in future a difficulty occurred, the qāzī referred to that child for a solution.95
The Prince next relates the
Advice of the Blind Old Man.
THERE was once a young man, a merchant, who wandered about the world like the zephyr or the north wind, and who, like the sun and moon, was on his travels every month and all the year round. Manifold are the advantages of travel, by which a man of enterprise becomes respected. He who has travelled is awake and intelligent; and when an affair of importance occurs, he is powerful; while he who has sat inactive at home can with difficulty procure a livelihood. Travel is the profit and the capital of man; its hardships are his nurse. Through it the raw and inexperienced at length become adepts; through it the great achieve renown. By travel the new moon perpetually becomes the full. What is travel, but a capital by which a fortune may be amassed?96 By travel this young man became alert and active; and he who is active attains to wealth. He was now in Khatā, now in Khutan;97 now in Aleppo, and now in Yaman. He carried the products of Khurasan to Kh,ārazm;97a he conveyed the stuffs of Ispahan to the emperor of China. As he sold in Bukhara the products of Abyssinia, he necessarily sold them at 1,000 per cent. (lit. one for ten).97b
Some one having told him that at Kāshgar sandalwood was of equal value with gold, and was sold for its weight in that metal, he resolved to proceed thither; and accordingly, having converted all his capital into sandal-wood,97c he set out on his journey. When he arrived near Kāshgar, a person of the country, hearing that he had a large supply of sandal-wood (in which he himself dealt), and fearing that that commodity would be depreciated by its abundance, devised the following stratagem.
Going two stages out of the city, he halted at the spot where the foreign merchant was; and having pitched his tent and opened his bales, he lit a fire and piled sandal-wood on it for fuel. When the merchant smelt the odour of the sandal-wood he rushed from his tent in amazement and vexation. The man from the city saluted him, saying: “You are welcome; may God protect you from evil! Say, from what country do you come, and what merchandise bring you?” The merchant informed him. “You have made a sad blunder,” remarked the citizen. “Why have you brought cumin-seed to Kirmān?98 The whole timber of this country is sandalwood: every casement, roof, and door is composed of it. If one were to bring common wood hither, it would be far better than sandal-wood. Who has been so cruel as to suggest to you this ill-advised scheme? From whose hand proceeds such a blunder as this? Does anyone bring the musk-bladder to Chinese Tartary?”98a
“Alas!” said the young man to himself, “I have thrown away my capital! Covetousness is an unblest passion! Alas, for my long journey, and the hardships I have endured! What have they availed me? He who is not content with what God allots him, never prospers.”
The man, seeing the merchant now ready for his purpose, said to him: “The world is never free from profit and loss. Give this sandal-wood to me, and I will give you in return a measure of gold or silver, or of whatever else you shall ask.”99 The merchant consented; two witnesses were called, and the bargain was struck. The merchant considered that the sum he should receive was so much gain, and was rejoiced to be rid of so worthless an article as he had brought.
He thence proceeded to the city of Kāshgar, and entering that delightful spot, that model of Paradise, took up his lodging in the house of a virtuous old woman. Of her the merchant asked a question, the reply to which brought him grief and trouble. He inquired: “What is the value of sandal-wood in this kingdom?” and she informed him that it was worth its weight in gold.99a “In this city,” said she, “headache is common; and hence it is in demand.” At this intelligence the merchant became distracted, for he saw that he had been duped. He related his adventure to the old woman, who cautioned him not to trust the inhabitants of that city, by whose cunning many had been ruined.
When morning came, he washed his eyes from sleep, and inquired the way to the market. Thither he bent his course, and wandered through market, street, and field, still solitary, and without a friend or companion. The alien has no portion in enjoyment: he is a martyr wherever he dies. I will suppose him to be but second to Kay-Qubād,100 and that he has placed on his head the diadem of Farīdūn. Even were he Joseph of Egypt, yet when he calls to mind his home and country, a palace becomes to him a prison.
The young merchant was sad at heart, for his enterprise was entirely at a stand. Suddenly he observed a person playing at draughts in the street. He stopped, and thought to himself: “I will play with this person to dispel my grief;” and sat down beside the player, forgetful of the caution which his landlady had given him. The other agreed to let him play, on condition that whichever of them should lose should be bound to do whatever the winner should desire.100a The merchant was soon beaten by his crafty opponent, who, upon this, required him to “drink up the waters of the sea,” a demand at which the merchant was confounded and perplexed. The report spread through Kāshgar, and a crowd soon collected. Another of the gang had but one eye, which was blue, the colour of the merchant's eyes. “You have stolen my eye,” said he to the merchant, and he claimed it in the presence of the crowd. A third produced a stone, and said: “Make from this piece of marble a pair of trousers and a shirt.”101
The story soon spread, and all Kāshgar was in a bustle. The old woman, hearing of it, hastened from her house, and saw her lodger involved in difficulty. She was surety for him, with ten householders, that she would deliver him, when required, to the court of justice. When they reached home, she reproached him, saying: “When a man listens not to advice, fresh calamities will constantly overtake him. Did I not tell you to have absolutely no dealings with the inhabitants of this city—no intimacy with them?”— “It was no fault of yours,” replied the youth; “but there is no remedy against the decrees of destiny.” He was much dispirited, but she consoled him. “Be not downcast,” said she; “for joy succeeds to grief; there can be no cure till there be a complaint. In this city there is a blind old man, with neither power in his feet nor strength in his hands; but a man of great intelligence and acuteness. Those sharpers assemble nightly at his house, and are directed by him how to act. Do you this night dress yourself like them, and repairing to his house sit silent among them. When your adversaries shall enter and relate their adventures of the day, mark his answers and his questions. Be all ear there, like the rose; like the narcissus, be all eye and silent.”
The young man did as she desired, and repairing thither at night, quietly seated himself in a corner. The first who entered was the person who had bought the sandal-wood. He related his adventure. “I have bought a quantity of sandal-wood,” said he, “for which I am to give one measure of whatever the seller may choose.” “O simpleton!” exclaimed the old man, “you have thrown yourself into the net. This crafty merchant has over-reached you, my son. For if he should demand of you neither silver nor gold, but a sā'102 of male fleas, with silken housings and jewelled bridles, and all linked together with golden chains, say, how will you be able to extricate yourself from this difficulty?”—“How,” replied the sharper, “could that simpleton ever think of such a trick?”—“However that may be,” said the old man, “I have given you your answer.”
Next entered the draught-player, and related the adventure of the game. “I have beaten him at draughts,” said he, “and have bound him to this condition (and there are witnesses to our agreement), that he shall drink up the whole waters of the sea.”— “You have blundered,” replied the old man, “and have involved yourself in difficulty. You thought you had taken him in: in imagination you had caught him in a snare from which there was no escape. But suppose he should say: ‘First, pray stop all the streams and rivers that are flowing into the sea, before I drink it dry;”103 what possible answer can you return?”—“How,” said the knave, “could he, in his whole life, think such a thought?”
Next the other sharper entered—a knave more shameless than the other two. “I desired him,” said he, “to make with his own hands a pair of trousers and a shirt from this slab of stone.” The crafty old man replied: “You have managed worse than all. For if your opponent should say: ‘Do you first weave me from iron the thread to sew it with,’103a how will you be able to reply?”—“How should a simpleton like him think of such an idea?” said the sharper.
The man with one eye next came in. “That youth,” said he, “has blue eyes. I said to him: ‘This is my eye; it is evident to every one that you have stolen it; restore it, and return my other eye its fellow.’”— “O ignorant of the wiles of the age,” replied the old man; “your fortune is more adverse than that of all the rest. Suppose he should say: ‘Pluck out your one eye, and then I will pluck out one of mine, that we may put them both in scales and judge by their weight whether you are right.’ That man will then have one of his eyes remaining, while you will be quite blind.” “He will never,” said the other, “think of such a trick as that.”104
The young man listened, unobserved, to all that had passed, hastened home, and gave the woman a thousand thanks for having put him on a plan of foiling his adversaries. He passed the night in calmness and tranquillity. Next morning, when the parties appeared before the qāzī, the first, who had bought the sandal-wood, seized the merchant by the collar, saying: “Produce your measure, that I may fill it, and give you your due.” When the merchant gave him his reply, he was confounded, and sat down mortified in presence of the qāzī. In like manner the merchant made to each of the rest the reply which the old man had suggested. At length, after a hundred difficulties and objections, the merchant consented to take back his sandal-wood, and several bags of gold as compensation; and he availed himself of the first opportunity which offered to escape from the power of those worthless people.105
When his Majesty heard this tale, he blessed heaven that he had such a son; then, turning to his ministers and courtiers, he inquired to whom they considered him indebted for such a blessing. The first said: “To the prince's mother, who attended carefully to his bringing-up.” Another ascribed his excellence to his father; another to the attention of Sindibād; “for,” said he, “if the sun withhold his glance, how could the stone be converted into a ruby or a turquoise?”106 Another said: “Nay; but to your Majesty's ministers, who have been a shield interposed between the prince and calamity, so that the shaft of woman hath not taken effect.”
Then the eloquent Sindibād opened his mouth like the lily, and said: “There is none worthy of thanks or praise save God—that God who bestows vision and hearing; for nothing proceeds from the blind and deaf. He it is who has bestowed on the prince his capacity and talent.”
The king then asked the prince which of these opinions he considered as the best. The Prince replied by relating the
Four Liberators.
A POWERFUL and mighty king, on the confines of Kashmīr, had an only daughter, of great beauty, whom he fondly loved. One day in spring she obtained permission of her father to visit the gardens which lay without the city. Here her tent was erected, and she sported for some time with her maidens, when suddenly, while she sat on the margin of a tank, there arose a dust and a great cloud, from which a black dīv107 came forth, and seized and carried her off. Her maidens were frightened, and some tore their hair, others scratched their cheeks. When the king heard of the circumstance, he was filled with grief and affliction. When he had somewhat recovered from the shock, he caused it to be proclaimed that whoever should bring back his daughter should obtain her in marriage, along with half his kingdom.
There were in that city four persons of great ability. One was a guide, who had travelled over the world— in the morning in China, at night in Khatā. The second, a daring freebooter, who would have taken the prey from the lion's mouth. The third, a cavalier like Rustam,107a the model of Isfandiyār107b in fight. The fourth, a physician of blessed approach, whose breath possessed the life-giving virtue of the Messiah's.107c All the four were sons of the same father and mother, and each had his peculiar gifts. On hearing the proclamation, they agreed that this was an enterprise suited for them. The guide led the way, and searched everywhere, while his brothers accompanied him. The dīv inhabited a cave in the mountains of Yaman. When they reached it, the robber, who was the most daring of the three, entered it, and brought the damsel out, the dīv being absent at the time. When he returned, and found this Laylī missing, he rushed out, troubled in heart like Majnūn,108 and despatched a party of demons in their pursuit, bearing ponderous clubs on their shoulders. The warrior put them to flight with his sword. The damsel was dangerously ill, but the physician prescribed for her, and restored her to health.
Having thus achieved their task, they joyfully repaired to court, and each related his own achievement. The king was delighted, and grateful for the recovery of his daughter. He opened his treasury, and bestowed gifts on the poor. He sent for those four persons, to reward them. On the first he bestowed the tribute of the highways; the daring freebooter he made his kafādār, or protector of his person; [the physician he made his vazīr;] and the cavalier he seated on his throne, and gave him his daughter in marriage, according to his promise.109
Thus, every thing has its peculiar quality and recommendation. Honey possesses sweetness, but is unfit to make vinegar. One robs, another guides; one sells, another buys. Had not the guide led the way, who would have conducted them aright in that intricate research? Had not the robber entered the cave, who would have brought the damsel out? Had not the warrior fought, who would have opposed the army of demons? Had not the physician prescribed, the damsel would not have been restored to health.
[“Although this tale is very disordered,” adds the Prince, “it is yet an example of the circumstances of this slave (himself). Were hearts without sins, of a certainty the earth would have remained void of God's mercy. (Do thou, then, overlook my shortcomings.) Had there not been a counselling master, surely, in the ‘A B C’ school, things would have been hot. Had I not borne this effort and trouble, the foot of endeavour had not descended to the treasure. Had not my body been healthy—if all remedies for weakness had been weak—how could I have so struggled and kicked?—how had I arrived thus at the desiderated place? All is the ‘unmerited goodness’ of the Sustainer (God), and enough! For no deed ariseth from the hand of man.”
When the Prince concluded, the king and his vazīrs were warm in their applause.110
The title of the next chapter is as follows:
The End of the Affair of the Damsel, who was taken in her own Device, and punished by the word of the Prince.110a
Only a page of this chapter remains. The Damsel is made to sit on her knees opposite the Prince, who is in the same posture, before the king's throne. The Prince says: “O king of the world, I have no witness except God! This violence did not proceed from me, for one must needs be ashamed thereof. God knows that his slave (himself) is good;—seek not good from those who know not God.” The king treated that sinner (the damsel) with contempt: “This is the time of question and answer. Why hast thou blackened thy own face?111 Why hast thou done evil against this innocent one? Had he ever done (aught wrong) to thee? Had he injured thee or thine? Thou hast made thyself an example in the world till the judgment day. See what thy deeds have brought to pass! See now, how just is thy retribution! As thou hast mingled the diamond with the draught, drink thou it first, for thou hast poured it out. Drink up the dregs, for it is thy turn. Why should the master of the feast act wrongfully? Seek not that for thyself which thou seekest not for others, for none who does evil sees good.” The damsel perspired like the (dew-sprent) rose for shame. She wept over her plight, and said: “Now have I no choice therein;—not once, but a hundred times, have I done it. Order that they tear out my lily-tongue,112 if thy slave (herself) has been free and bold.”]112a
The commencement of the next chapter is wanting. Sindibād has been making some remarks on the impossibility of avoiding destiny. The king then compliments him on the success with which he had educated the prince. “If I formerly had confidence in your wisdom and virtue,” said his Majesty, “it is now increased a hundredfold. You are aware what happy results you have produced, and what accomplishments you have imparted to my son. In return for your exertions in giving life to this ancient house, I will place your own family in affluence and independence.” He then bestowed munificent gifts on the philosopher.
His Majesty next inquired: “Whence did you acquire all this wisdom and excellence, and at whose house did you light your taper?”—Mark how wise an answer the philosopher returned: “Reason, sire, was my instructor,” said he. “He who takes reason for his guide will conduct his affairs to a successful issue; for it is a drop from the ocean of God's grace—a key to open—an unerring guide to conduct. I have plucked a rose from the garden of the intelligent; I have profited by the wisdom of the wise.113 Never was there one like Farīdūn in wisdom, on whom may there be every moment a thousand benedictions! That wise, just, and pious monarch thus addressed the prince who was to succeed him: ‘Inscribe on the walls of my palace these counsels, fraught with wisdom, that my words may remain for ever as my memorial after me.’
of the happy Faridun.
If thou possessest wisdom and understanding, lend not thine ear, as far as thou canst avoid it, to a tale-bearer. Such a person has no merit, unless it be this, that he carries a lie from Khatā to China. Grant not such a one a second audience; admit him not to a confidential interview.
Be not careless of an ill-disposed enemy; for negligence is not excusable under any circumstances, and whilst thou art engaged with other affairs, he is plotting how to injure thee.
Take not compassion on snake or serpent; for the one is a torment, the other a calamity.
If thou hast a friend sincere and accordant, make him thy constant associate.
Take not counsel with any save the wise; turn not from such a straight path.
Beware of the ignorant man and his conversation, schemes, and writing. Beware of the domestic enemy, whose reliance is on his ignorance and folly.
Leave not thorns in the highway, lest perchance thy own foot be wounded unaware.
The person whom thou hast not known all his life —to whom thou hast not given thy confidence— whose companion thou hast not been in travel (for in travel a man is exposed to perils)—to whom thou hast given nothing, and from whom thou hast received nothing—place not reliance on that person, if thou art wise.
A demon whom thou knowest is better than a hūrī whom thou knowest not.
Beware of speaking, except on occasions when thy speaking may be useful.
So speak, that when thou speakest again, thy words may be the same—nay, better.
“How can there be [adds Sindibād] better counsels than those which have the warrant of Farīdūn?”
The king next interrogated the philosopher on the affairs of the world. “Accomplished sage,” said he, “who is deserving of sovereignty, and whom does the diadem become?”
“The answer,” replied the sage, “is clear as the sun. He deserves to wear a crown, he is worthy of dominion, who knows the worth and dignity of every one, and who pays to each the respect due to him. Entrust not important affairs to the mean man, for he will be impotent under the mighty load.”
Again the king asked: “Of monarchs, say, who is the most to be approved?—of the virtues of monarchs, which is the most laudable?”
“He,” replied the sage, “who examines an affair in all its bearings, who acts with prudence, and who is neither precipitate nor dilatory.”
Various other questions were then put by his Majesty, and answered to his satisfaction by Sindibād; after which he asks the prince to produce some such pearls of advice as those which his tutor had strung. The prince complies, and delivers a series of moral, prudential, and religious maxims, which serve to show that he had improved wonderfully under the tuition of Sindibād, but with which the reader will perhaps dispense. Suffice it to say, that the king was struck with admiration at the wisdom of his son; and being now in his seventieth year, reflected thus:
“How long,” said he to himself, “shall the wine-pitcher, the wine, the drum, and the lute engross thee? By thy arm and might didst thou seize the royal crown. Thou hast amassed treasures in abundance by shedding the blood of the weak, not by the hand of toil. Thou hast taken from him who had nothing, and bestowed on him who left behind him. Neither was he from whom those treasures were extorted guilty, nor he who received them deserving. Then what wisdom was there first in taking from such a one, and next in bestowing on the other?
“But thou shalt be seized and receive the penalty of thy misdeeds in that day when every act shall be brought to light. What profit has resulted to thee from this life of seventy years? Go, make blind the eye of thy desire; prepare thy coffin, and benefit at least him who digs thy grave. Long enough have thy thoughts of Rūm, and thy projects on Khatā, engaged thee; go now, prepare thy provision for the journey of eternity. How long wilt thou continue the tormentor of the free-born? How long wilt thou devour the liver of the unfortunate?
“Perhaps thou believest not in a resurrection; perchance thou reckest not of a day of judgment? This delusion proceeds from the clamour of the drum and the bell: but wait until the blowing of the trump, and it will be dispelled. Employ the time that remains to thee in devotion; go, retire to a corner, and be at peace: henceforward seek distinction only as a recluse. Content thee with a barley loaf, and eat not the barley and the wheat of the poor. The time has now arrived to repent of thy misdeeds. Thank God that thou hast a worthy successor in thy son—that darling of thy heart —that pearl of thee, the oyster-shell. In knowledge he is far thy superior; in vigour and energy more powerful. Thy day and night are over: it is now his day. The tree which time has dried up, I should marvel were it to bear fruit. When the branches of the willow are decayed, who looks to it for shade? What can be better for thee than that thy son should succeed thee, and preserve thy name upon the earth?”
He thus spoke, and went, with faltering steps, into the corner of retirement. For a week he beheld not the face of man; gave his courtiers no audience, and assigned not to his vazīrs their various duties, but remained alternately engaged in prayer and praise.
The King has a Dream, sends for his Vazirs and Officers of State, bestows in their presence the sovereignty on his Son, and goes into retirement.
WHEN the king awoke from that dream, and was roused from that high intoxication, he comprehended the good and the evil of life, and, on an auspicious day, summoned around his throne the ministers of religion, the nobles, vazīrs, and the generals of his army, and seated beside him on the throne his son and the sage Sindibād. Looking towards his left hand, where was his chief vazīr, he said:
“O worthy and experienced man! the world remains eternally to no one; but the Lord of the world remains, and he alone. In this life of seventy-five years, I have experienced but trouble, and sorrow, and suffering; and should I have yet seventy-five years more to live, would not that time also come to a close? My vision is dull; what was once strong is now weak. When the old man's form is bent like a bow, do not suppose that there is any better course for him than retirement. When the hand that should wield the sword trembles, why should you talk of sword or hanger? Shall I tell you what gray hairs are? They are the heralds of misfortune—the messengers that bid cease to hope.118
“Whether I am a king or an athlete, I am not higher in rank than Kay-Khusrau.118a who resigned the sovereignty to Luhrāsp, and his knowledge in affairs to Jāmāsp. The time has arrived for me to retire: when age and its infirmities have come on, the crown and throne yield no pleasure. My sovereignty came to me from my father;119 I now entrust it, as a deposit, to my son. You know that he is the centre of my hopes. If he be good, you have educated him; if evil, you have made him so.”
He then called his son to him, kissed his face, and, taking him by the hand, pressed him for a while in his embrace; after which, removing the crown from his head, he placed it on his son's, seated him on the throne, and came down from it, while the crowd congratulated him with tears in their eyes.
“This,” said he, “is the memorial of his father: this son is my refuge, and my dispeller of grief. To him do I resign my kingdom, hoping that you will reward me by your loyalty to him, and that you will not allow a stranger to occupy the place of this house.”120
His son being accepted by the people, the aged king caused an oratory to be built for himself, closed the door against the interruptions of worldly business, and sat down in tranquillity and retirement. Happy fortune! happy end! happy king! happy reign! Henceforward he had no concern but devotion and the duties of religion.
Go,120a learn from him how to govern—how to cherish thy subjects. Turn not away from the counsels of the wise, but listen to the discourse of venerable worthies.
To me, too, the time of retirement has arrived: I, too, must totter to my corner. If he left to his son a kingdom, and betook himself to solitude, I likewise, for my dear and virtuous son, have left this renowned book, more valuable than treasure and wealth; a book by which, as long as Persian shall exist, as long as earth shall be beneath and heaven above, his name shall be perpetuated, whose end be happy! May the king not withdraw from him his favour; that king whose fortune may it be young, whose life long!
O God! withdraw not thy guidance from me: deprive me not of thy grace at last! My toilsome journey is accomplished: this new work has attained completion!
THE following translation of “The Story of the King, his Son, the Damsel, and the Seven Vazīrs” was made by Jonathan Scott from a fragment of an Arabic MS. of the Thousand and One Nights, procured in Bengal, and published by him, in a volume entitled Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters, translated from the Arabic and Persian, in 1800. Scott states, in his preface, that in translating these tales, he had omitted a few objectionable expressions: in reprinting the Seven Vazīrs, I have taken the liberty of omitting some others which Scott thought fit to be retained; have adopted a more generally approved system of transliteration for the Arabic words and proper names which occur in the stories; and occasionally have made verbal alterations and emendations. Scott's notes are distinguished by the letter S from those which I have added.
It does not appear that Scott was aware that this tale of the Seven Vazīrs is an Arabian version, with some stories omitted and others interpolated, of the ancient Book of Sindibād—indeed it may be doubted whether he knew of such a work at all; nor does he seem to have suspected its affinity to the European romance of the Seven Sages, with an English rendering of which he was surely acquainted. Although those tales which are foreign to the original work have probably been inserted in the Seven Vazīrs at a comparatively recent period, in recasting some version of the Book of Sindibād for the Thousand and One Nights, they are yet of very ancient origin, and widely diffused, as will be seen from the variants and parallels presented in the APPENDIX, and therefore serve as interesting illustrations of the genealogy of popular tales and fictions.
In the Calcutta and Būlāq printed Arabic texts of the Thousand and One Nights the tale of the Seven Vazīrs occupies the 578th to the 606th Nights. Scott's manuscript seems to have been complete to the 29th Night, after which the division into nights was discontinued, the Seven Vazīrs immediately following—probably having been misplaced. I may add, that while the conclusion of this version is greatly abridged, compared with that of the tale as found in the Calcutta and Būlāq texts, the introduction has been much more fully preserved, and corresponds in many points with the oldest Eastern texts of the Sindibād.
W. A. C.
THERE lived in ancient days a powerful and mighty sultan, who was a wise sovereign, just to his subjects, bountiful to his dependants, and beloved by the whole empire; but he was become gray-bearded and stricken in years, and there had not been allotted to him a son, who might preserve his memory, and inherit the kingdom after him. On this account uneasiness assailed him, and such depression of spirits, that he secluded himself from society, and passed whole days in his private apartments.
At length his subjects began to murmur concerning him.127 Some said he was dead; others, that an accident had befallen him. On a certain day his queen entered his chamber, and found him thoughtful, reclining his head towards the earth, like one plunged in sorrow.
She approached, and, kissing his hand, said: “Fortune has not persecuted thee, nor have the evils of chance reached thee. God has bestowed upon thee enjoyments, and given thee every delight. What, then, is the cause that I find thee so pensive?”
He replied: “Alas! my years are advanced, my age is drawing to its end, and my kingdom will pass to another family; for I am not blessed with a son, with whom my eyes might be delighted, and who might succeed me in my dominions. On this account extreme sorrow has overcome me.”
The queen said: “God will remove thy grief and thy sorrow. The same thoughts which afflicted thy heart have afflicted mine, and what had invaded thy mind was invading mine, when, lo! drowsiness overcame me, and I fell asleep. I dreamt, and saw in my vision a phantom, which revealed to me, saying: ‘If the sultan shall be blessed with a son by almighty God, he will with difficulty be preserved from death at a certain period. After that, prosperity will attend him. But if a daughter is born, her father will not love her; and if she lives, she will occasion the ruin of his kingdom. He must not, however, think of a child by any other woman than thyself, and thou shalt be the cause of his having one when the moon and the sign Gemini shall be in conjunction.’ I now awoke from sleep, and became thoughtful, reflecting on what I had heard in my vision.”
When the sultan heard these words, he said to her: “By God's permission, all will be well;” and the queen did not fail to comfort him until his gloom had passed away. He now quitted his retirement, sat upon the throne of his kingdom, summoned his nobles and his subjects, and entreated their prayers, that God would bless him with a son; when they prayed, and God accepted their prayers.
The night being arrived in which the moon and Gemini entered into conjunction, the queen became pregnant. She informed the sultan of her condition, and he rejoiced with exceeding great joy, and did not refrain, until she had borne her months, and brought forth a son, beautiful as the full moon. Then the sultan made rejoicings from evening till morning, gave alms, and released the prisoners. The infant was suckled nearly two years, when the mother returned to the mercy of God, and they lamented over her with great mourning.
The child did not cease to remain on the bosoms of the nurses and female attendants until he had completed his second year, when his father entrusted him to tutors, that they might teach him what was necessary for princes to acquire.129 The eighth year of his age passed over, but he had learnt nothing, for every book was to him too difficult. When the tutors represented this to the sultan, he was enraged against his son, and commanded him to be put to death, saying: “This is a disgraceful child, from whom there can no advantage arise.”
There was at the court a man of wisdom, learning, and penetration, deeply versed in every science.130 When he found that the sultan intended to kill his son, he advanced, and kissing the ground before him, said: “O sovereign, be not grieved on account of thy son. Entrust him to me, and I will teach him whatever is necessary in two years.130a I will not deceive you, but instruct him in the sciences, philosophy, and princely accomplishments.”—The sultan exclaimed: “How canst thou make him learn, when every book has been too difficult for him, and his tutors have been wearied out?”—The sage replied: “I pledge myself to do it; and if I do not perfect him in what I have mentioned, act by me as thou shalt think proper.”
Upon this the sultan delivered his son to the sage, who took him to his house, prepared for him a chamber, and wrote upon the walls in yellow and white what he wished him to learn. Then he carried to him what was necessary for him of carpets, food, and utensils, and left him alone in the apartment. He did not permit any person to visit him but himself. Every third day the tutor entered, that he might teach him what was necessary from those books, the contents of which he had written on the walls, and depict for him fresh lessons; after which he placed round him provisions, locked the door upon him, and departed.
Now it came to pass that the boy, when his mind was at a loss for amusement, studied the lessons written on the walls, which he learnt in a short time. When the tutor found his sense and understanding on every point equal to what was necessary for him, he took him from the apartment, and instructed him in horsemanship and archery; after which he sent to his father, and informed him that his son had learnt whatever was becoming his condition in one year.
The sultan rejoiced exceedingly, and informed his vazīrs of it, who were in number seven. Then he wished to examine his son, and commanded the tutor to bring him with him, in order that he might question him. The tutor consulted the horoscope of the youth, and foresaw that if he should speak before there should pass over his head seven days and nights, there would occur to him imminent danger of death. Upon this the sage addressed the prince, saying: “I have inspected thy nativity, and if from this time thou speakest before seven days are expired, great hazard of life will befall thee.”—The prince replied: “What can ensure my safety?”—The tutor answered: “Repair to thy father, but when he speaketh to thee, utter not a word.”—The youth exclaimed: “I swear by God, that if thou hadst commanded me that I should not breathe, I would have obeyed thee, on account of what thou hast done for me of kindness and favour.” The tutor replied: “Go, and speak not, though they beat thee with scourges, for thou wilt recover of thy wounds, there will be in store for thee great glory, and thou shalt rule the kingdom after thy father.” Then the prince said: “Remember thy speech to my father before thou lookedst at my nativity.” The tutor replied: “What must be must be; further conversation will not profit. Nothing will occur but felicity to thee, whatever may become of me. Be firm, and trust in God; for whoever trusteth in God is secure.”
The prince departed, and repaired to his father, when the vazīrs, with the nobles, officers of state, and the men of science met him on his way. They placed before him an herb, that he might describe its genus and properties; but he did not speak. They importuned him to answer, but he would not utter a word.
Upon this the sultan was affected with grief, and sent for the tutor to punish him; when some of the assembly said, the sage had deserted his house in the night; some, that he had taken poison; and others contradicted this last assertion. There was much disputation among them, but still the prince would not speak.133 At length the assembly broke up, and there remained only the prince and his father.
The sultan had a concubine, of beautiful person and very young, with the love of whom he was doatingly fascinated. She now entered, and saw the prince sitting near his father, like an affrighted fawn. She approached near, and said to the sultan: “I perceive thee, my lord, overcome with affliction;” when he related to her the conduct of his son. She replied: “I desire that thou wouldst commit him to my charge, for perhaps he will be affable to me and speak, and I shall discover the cause of his silence.”133a
He replied: “Take him with thee.” Upon which she led him by the hand, conducted him to her chamber, caressed him, and explained to him her wishes, clasped him to her bosom, and attemped to kiss him; but he rejected her advances. She exclaimed: “I am a young damsel, and thou a young man; I will be thine, and thou shalt be mine. Thy father is become superannuated, must soon depart this life, when thou wilt govern the kingdom after him, and shalt espouse me; but if thou wilt not comply with my desires, I will effect thy destruction. Choose, then, one or the other—happiness or death.”134
When the prince heard this, he was exceedingly enraged against her, and thought within himself: “I will speedily repay thee for thy crimes, when after seven days I shall be able to speak.”135 The artful damsel, when she perceived his anger, hastened to contrive his ruin. She beat her cheeks, tore her garments, dishevelled her hair, and went before the sultan in that manner. He said: “What can have happened to thee?”—She exclaimed: “He, whom thou seest, hath done this, even thy own son, who has plotted the destruction of thy life, and feigned himself dumb. When I entered with him into my chamber, he declared to me his love; and when I refused him, he said: ‘I cannot live without thee, and if thou dost not comply with my desires, I will kill thee, and murder my father.’”135a
When the sultan heard these words, his wrath was violent against his son, and he gave orders to have him put to death. He sent for his vazīrs; but the tutor had informed them of the circumstances, and why the prince was prevented from speaking for seven days. Upon this the vazīrs assembled together, and consulted, saying: “The sultan intends to put his son to death, but there may not be in him any fault, so that when he is dead, our master may repent, when repentance will not avail.”—Then the prime vazīr said: “Let us each take charge of him for a day during the seven days, till the whole are expired, and I will be responsible for you all at the conclusion of that period.”
The First Vazīr having contrived thus, he repaired to the sultan, kissed the ground, and said: “O sultan, if there were to thee a thousand sons, far be it from thee the death of one of them! Alas, then, when thou hast one only, with whom thou wast blessed after much anxiety and expectation, that thou shouldst command his execution upon the bare assertion of a woman! God only knoweth whether she hath spoken truly or accused him falsely; for there are among the sex women artfully malicious.”
I HAVE heard, O my sovereign, that a certain sultan resolved to educate those unfortunate children who are sometimes abandoned on the highways. As he was passing one day, behold, he saw a male infant upon a heap of rubbish, who appeared beautiful as the moon at the full. He commanded his attendants to convey him to the palace; and they took him up, and committed him to nurses till he grew up, when they placed him at school. The boy learnt the Qur'ān and the sciences and languages. When he had finished his education, the sultan committed to him the care of his treasury; and it came to pass that at length he did nothing but with his advice, and the youth attended in his private chambers.
As he was in waiting one day, the sultan said: “Go to the apartment of Hayātu-'n-nufūs,137 and bring me a medicine from her closet.” The youth passed through the chamber of the concubine, and found her with a slave. He took up the medicine, but did not seem to attend to her actions, and returned with haste to the sultan. The name of this youth was Ahmed Yetīm.138 Then the sultan said: “What has happened to thee, that I perceive thy colour changed?”—Ahmed replied: “My lord, because I came with hurry and precipitation;” but he did not inform the sultan of what he had discovered.
The concubine Hayātu-'n-nufūs, being convinced that Ahmed must have beheld herself and her paramour, hastily contrived a scheme against him. She scarred her face, and rent her garments. When the sultan entered, and found her in that situation, he said: “What is thy condition?”—She exclaimed: “From him who is the offspring of adultery no good can proceed.”—The sultan, understanding her meaning, replied: “Conceal this affair, and within this hour I will bring thee his head.” He departed from her, filled with indignation, and ascended his throne.
Ahmed attended, according to custom, but did not suspect what was plotted against him. The sultan beckoned to one of his slaves, and said privately to him: “Go to the house of such a person, and remain there. When any one shall say unto thee: ‘Thus saith the sultan, Do that which thou wast commanded to execute,’ strike off his head, place it in this basket, and fasten over it the cover. When I shall send to thee a messenger who will say: ‘Hast thou performed the business?’ commit to him the basket.” The slave replied: “To hear is to obey,” and retired. Soon after, the sultan called to Ahmed Yetīm, and said: “Hasten to a certain house, and say unto such a slave, ‘Execute the commands of the sultan.’”
Ahmed departed, but on the way he saw the man who had been criminal with the concubine, with a number of other slaves, sitting down, drinking and feasting. As they saw Ahmed approaching, they stood up; and the guilty slave thought that if he could detain him from the business of the sultan, he might procure his death. He stopped him, paid obeisance to him, and entreated that he would sit down with them a little while. But Ahmed said: “The sultan hath sent me upon business to a certain house, and I cannot stay.” Upon this the guilty slave replied: “I will perform the commission.” Ahmed answered: “If so, hasten, and say to a slave whom thou wilt find there, that he must execute the orders of the sultan.” The slave said: “To hear is to obey,” and departed.
Ahmed sat down with the rest, while the other proceeded to the house, and said to the person in waiting: “Thus saith the sultan, ‘Complete thy orders.’” He replied: “Most readily,” and drawing his scimitar, struck off the head of the guilty slave, washed it from the blood, placed it in the basket, tied the cover on it, and sat down.
When Ahmed had waited some time for the return of his messenger, he took leave of his company, went to the house, and said to the slave in waiting: “Hast thou performed thy orders?” He replied: “Yes,” and committed the basket to Ahmed, who took it up, and went with it to the sultan; but he did not suspect what was within the basket, nor did curiosity lead him to open it.
When the sultan saw him, he said: “Ahmed, I sent thee upon a commission, but thou hast entrusted it to another.” He replied: “My lord, it is true.” The sultan exclaimed: “Hast thou seen what is contained in this basket?” Ahmed answered: “No; I swear by thy head, I do not know what is within it, nor have I opened it.” The king was astonished, and said: “Take off the covering.” He lifted it up, and behold! in it was the head of the slave who had done evil with Hayātu-'n-nufūs.
The sultan exclaimed: “I cannot suppose, Ahmed, that it should be concealed from thee, whether or not this slaughtered man was guilty of a crime which rendered him worthy of death.” Ahmed replied: “Know, my lord, when thou didst send me for the medicine to the chamber of Hayātu-'n-nufūs, I found this slave in her embraces. I took up the medicine, but did not disclose what I had beheld. When despatched to the house, I found on the way this guilty slave, sitting with his fellows eating and drinking. He stood up, and entreated me to stay among them. I replied: ‘The sultan hath sent me to execute a commission.’ Upon which he said: ‘Sit down—I will perform this business,’ and departed.” He then related the other circumstances, until he was entrusted with the basket.
Then the sultan exclaimed: “O Ahmed! none is discerning but God;” related to him the behaviour of the damsel, and what she had accused him of, and said: “I resign her unto thee.” Ahmed replied: “I cannot repay the bounties of the sultan with ingratitude;—I can have no concern with her.” When the sultan heard these words, he commanded her to be put to death. [24]
“This, O sultan,” continued the vazīr, “is only one instance of the deceitfulness of women. Trust not to their declarations, for their artful malice is great. Another example of their arts hath reached me.”
the Parrot.
THERE was a merchant, who traded largely, and travelled much abroad; he had a wife whom he loved, and to her he was constant.141 A journey became necessary for him, and he bought for a hundred dīnars a parrot, that could speak like a human being, that it might inform him of what passed in the house.
Before he departed upon his journey, he committed to the parrot the charge of watching his wife's conduct. When he was gone, the lady sent to her lover, who was a soldier;142 and he came, and abode with her during the time of her husband's absence. The parrot observed all that was done. On the merchant's return, he called for the bird, and asked him what had passed, and was informed of his wife's misconduct. When the merchant heard this intelligence, he was enraged against his wife, beat her severely, and kept himself from her. The wife supposed that her neighbours had accused her; but they declared, upon oath, that they had not spoken to him. Then she said: “None can have informed him but the parrot.”
Upon a certain night, the merchant went to visit a friend. Then the wife took a coarse cloth, and put it upon the parrot's cage, and placed over it, on the floor above, the grinding-stones; after which she ordered her slave-girls to grind, throw water over the cloth, and raise a great wind with a fan. Then she took a looking-glass, and made it dazzle in the light of the lamp, by a quick motion.
The bird (being in the dark) supposed that the noise of the grinding was thunder; the gleams from the mirror, lightning; the blasts from the fan, wind; and the water, hard rain.142a In the morning, when the merchant returned to his house, the parrot said: “How fared my lord last night, during the wind, the rain, and the dreadful lightning?” The merchant exclaimed: “Villain, thou liest; for I did not see anything of it;” and the parrot replied: “I only tell thee what I experienced.”
The merchant now disbelieved the bird, and put confidence in his wife. He went to her, and sought to be reconciled, but she said: “I will not be reconciled, unless you destroy the mischief-making parrot, who belied me.” He killed the bird, and after that remained some time happy with his wife. At length the neighbours informed him of her crimes, when he concealed himself, and detected the soldier with her. The fidelity of the parrot was apparent, but the merchant repented of putting him to death, when repentance would not avail him. He divorced his wife, and took an oath never to marry.143
“I have thus informed thee, O sultan,” added the vazīr, “of the artfulness of women, and proved that rashness produces only fruitless remorse.”—The sultan, upon this, refrained from the execution of his son.
When night set in, the Damsel came to the sultan, and said: “Why hast thou delayed doing me justice? Hast thou not heard that sovereigns should be obeyed in whatever they command, and that an order not enforced is a sign of weakness? Every one knows what must follow. Do me justice, then, upon thy son, or it will happen to you both, as it happened to the fuller and his son.”—Then the king said: “What befell the fuller and his son?” She replied:
KNOW, O sultan, that there was a fuller who went daily to wash his cloths on the bank of a river, and with him his son, who used to venture far into the water and swim; which his father forbade, but he would not be prevented. On a certain day, the youth went into a deep part, and his arms became cramped. When the father beheld his situation, he threw himself into the river, hoping to save him; but the youth hung upon his legs, and they were both drowned. [5]
“Do me justice, then, upon thy son. Thy vazīrs pretend that the art of our sex is greater than that of men; but the fact is the contrary, as you will see from the
IT has been related to me, my lord, that there was a certain sultan much addicted to the love of women, of violent passions. Being one day upon the terrace of his palace, he saw a lady upon the platform of her house, beautiful and elegant; his soul desired her, and he was told that she was the wife of his vazīr. Upon this he sent for the minister, and despatched him on a distant expedition, with orders not to return till he had executed his commission. The vazīr attended to his sovereign's commands, and departed.
When the sultan knew of his departure, he was impatient to see the lady, and repaired to her house. She received him standing, and kissed the ground before him; but she was virtuous, and had no inclination to immodesty. She then said: “Why, O my lord, is this auspicious visit?” He replied: “From the excess of my love and passion for thee.” Upon which she kissed the ground, and said: “It is not befitting that I should be thy partner; my heart has never aspired to such an honour.”
Then the sultan extended his hands upon her, and tempted her; when she cried: “My lord, this must never be.” Observing that he was enraged at her refusal, she dissembled, and said: “Wait, O my lord, until I have prepared a supper, which when thou hast partaken of, I shall be honoured with thy commands.”
She then seated the sultan upon the sofa of her husband, and brought him a book from which the vazīr was used to read to her. In it were written admonitions and warnings against adultery, and commands to his wife not to admit any one within doors without his orders. On the perusal of it, the sultan's mind was diverted from the pursuit of his guilty passion.
At length the lady placed a supper before him, consisting of ninety and nine dishes; when the sultan ate a mouthful from every dish. Each was of a different colour, but all of the same sort of food. Then he said to her: “How is this?”—She replied: “My lord, I have set a parable before thee. In thy palace are ninety and nine concubines, of different stature and complexion; who, however, form but one kind of food.”
The sultan was confounded, and did not importune her. Rising up, he went to perform his ablutions, but left his ring under a cushion of the sofa; and on his return to the palace, forgot to take it with him.146
When the vazīr returned from his journey, and had visited the sultan, he repaired to his own house, and sat down upon the sofa; and, behold! under the cushion he discovered the sultan's ring, which he knew. Becoming jealous of his wife, he was enraged against her, and secluded himself from her for a whole year; during which he did not go near, nor even inquire after her. When the coolness of her husband became intolerable, the lady complained to her father, and informed him of his neglect of her for a whole year; upon which the father repaired to the sultan, when the vazīr was present, and said:
“May God preserve the sultan! I had an elegant garden, which was formed by my own hand, and I watered it until it was the season of its fruits. Then I presented it to thy vazīr, and he ate of its productions until he was satiated, when he deserted and neglected it; and it was spoiled, and reptiles over-ran it;—its flowers were injured, and its condition was changed.”
The sultan said to the vazīr: “How sayest thou?” The vazīr replied: “He speaketh the truth in what he hath related. But one day, when I entered the garden, I saw the track of a lion in it; my mind was alarmed, and I refrained from visiting it.”
On hearing this parable, the sultan understood it, recollected that he had forgotten his ring in the house of the vazīr, and knew that by it was meant the track of the lion. He then said: “It is true, O vazīr, that the lion did enter without the consent of the owner's wife; but the lion did not compel her to commit evil. She is a virtuous woman, and of chaste desires.”
Then the vazīr said: “To hear is to obey;” and he was now convinced that the sultan had not compelled her to dishonour. He returned to his wife, who related to him all that had passed; and he relied upon her truth, her honour, and her fidelity.
“Had she been vicious,” continued the Damsel, “she would have complied with the sultan, when he disclosed his wishes; but know, my lord, that men are more deceitful than women.” [17]
Next morning the sultan commanded the execution of his son; when the Second Vazīr entered, and, kissing the ground, said: “Be not rash in executing thy son. Thou wast not blessed with him till after despairing of issue, and could scarcely credit his existence. He may yet prove to thee the preserver of thy kingdom, and a guardian of thy memory. Be patient, then, my lord, until he shall find a proper opportunity to speak for himself. If thou puttest him to death, thou wilt repent when repentance will not avail. I have heard, O sultan, much of the female sex, of their arts and their stratagems, especially in the
THERE was an officer belonging to the body-guard of his prince, who admired a merchant's wife, and was passionately beloved by her. On a certain day he sent his slave to see whether her husband was at home or absent. When the slave came, not finding her husband, he would have returned; but the lady, on seeing him, would not let him go.
While they were conversing, the officer came up, and she took the slave and locked him in an inner chamber. And, while the officer was with her, suddenly her husband knocked at the door. Upon this the lady said to the officer, who was much alarmed: “Draw thy scimitar, and go down to the entry, abuse me, and revile me, and say: ‘He certainly is with thee, and thou hast concealed him.’ When my husband enters, go out, and pursue thy way.”
Her husband, on coming in, saw the officer standing in the entry, with a drawn sword in his hand, exclaiming: “Thou wretch! thou hast hidden the lad near thee,” and he then hastened home. The merchant said to his wife: “What has been the matter?” She replied: “Thou hast this day saved an unfortunate Mussulman from being murdered.” He asked her how that was, and she replied: “I was sitting, thinking upon thee, when a young lad rushed in, and cried: ‘Save me from death, and God will save thee from the fire! An officer would murder me without a fault.’ Then I took him, and concealed him in my chamber; after which the officer entered, and began to abuse me, and would have killed me, saying, ‘He is with thee.’ God be praised that you came in, or I should have been a corpse.”—Her husband said: “God preserve thee from the fire, for what thou hast done—I doubt not but he will.”
Then she took the lad from the chamber, and he pretended to weep, and thanked her for her kindness; but the husband did not guess the least of the disgrace that had befallen his head from his wife's intrigues. [4]
“This, O sultan, is only one instance of the art of women; alas, that thou shouldst give credit to their accusations!”
When the third night was arrived, the Damsel entered, and kissing the ground, wept, and said: “Wilt thou not, my lord, do me justice upon thy son? And wilt thou not refrain from attending to the stories of thy vazīrs? They are full of wickedness. I have heard, O sultan, of a vazīr who would have murdered the son of his master.” He inquired: “In what manner?” She replied:
THERE was a certain sultan who had a son, whom he loved with ardent affection. The prince one day begged permission of his father to hunt; upon which the sultan ordered preparations, commanded his vazīr to attend him, and sent with him slaves, domestics, and troops. They advanced towards the chase, and passed through a verdant plain, having groves and rivulets, among which the antelopes sported. The prince pursued and ran down much game of various kinds, and remained long, diverting himself with the sport, in great spirits and enjoyment.
As he was returning homewards, there bounded across the plain an antelope, brilliant as the sun shining in a serene sky; and the vazīr said: “Let us pursue this deer, for my heart longs to take her.” When the prince heard this, he followed her; and the attendants would have accompanied him, but the vazīr forbade them. The antelope did not cease to gain ground, nor the prince to pursue her, till the evening overshadowed, when she disappeared, and darkness came on.
The prince would have returned, but could not find his path, and he fainted with terror; nor could he move from the thirsty desert until the morning. He then prayed to God for deliverance, and travelled on, oppressed with hunger, until mid-day; when, lo! he came to a ruined town, in which owls and ravens had their abodes. While he stopped, astonished at their screamings, a female voice struck his ear, and he beheld a beautiful girl sitting under one of the mouldering walls, weeping bitterly. He addressed her, and said: “Why dost thou lament, and who art thou?” She replied: “Know that I am the daughter of a certain sultan of the north. My father espoused me to the son of my uncle, and detached troops to escort me to him, and we began our journey. When we arrived here, I fell from my carriage, as you see, and my attendants went on, and left me, thinking I was still upon the camel.151 I have remained here three days, famishing and thirsty, and was despairing of life, when I saw thee.”—The prince mounted her behind him, and said: “Comfort thy heart, and dry thine eyes, and say, God be praised, for thy deliverance from this desert.”
They now proceeded, and besought assistance from the Almighty.152 When they had journeyed some time, they reached a city, ruinous like the first, and the damsel said to him: “Remain here, while I retire a little; I will soon return.” The prince helped her down, and waited with his horse, when, behold! the ghūl (for such was the pretended damsel) cried to two others, saying: “I have brought a prey to feast upon.”152a When the prince heard this, his heart was chilled. The ghūl came out, and found him pale and trembling. She said: “Prince, why do I behold thy colour changed?” He answered: “I was reflecting on the cause of my sorrows.” She exclaimed: “Seek a remedy for them in the treasures of thy father.” He replied: “They are not to be remedied by treasure or hoards.” She said: “Remedy them by your armies and troops.” He replied: “They are not to be remedied by them.” She continued: “Ask help of the God of power and might; for ye pretend that ye have in the heavens a God who, when ye call upon him, will be gracious, and that he is absolute over all things.” The prince replied: “It is true; and we have no other help but him.” Then he lifted up his face towards heaven, and said: “O Lord, I humbly beseech thee, and implore aid from thee in this crisis, which grieveth and afflicteth me;”153 at the same time catching the pretended princess in his arms. Scarcely had he concluded his prayer, when an angel descended from the sky, with a sword of flame, and smote her with it, and destroyed her.153a For this miracle may the Almighty be glorified! The prince after this returned safely to the capital of his father. [7]
“All this danger,” continued the damsel, “occurred from the schemes of the vazīr; and I inform thee, O sultan, that thy vazīrs are also treacherous. Be, then, watchful of their arts.”—Upon this the sultan gave orders for the execution of his son.
On the next day the Third Vazīr entered, kissed the ground before the sultan, and said: “Know, O sultan, I would advise thee candidly, and am faithful to thyself and thy son. Be not violent against thy child, the light of thine eyes. It is possible the damsel's desire of his death may proceed from malice; and I have heard that two great tribes were destroyed for the sake of a drop of honey.” The sultan inquired, upon what occasion, and the vazīr said:
IT has been related to me that there was a hunter, who chased every species of wild animals. One day in his excursion to the mountains, he found a hollow in the rocks, full of honey, with which he filled a vessel he had with him, and returned to the city. He chanced to stop at the door of an oil-merchant, when a little of the honey happening to drop, the merchant's cat licked it up, and was killed by the hunter's dog.154 Upon this, the merchant killed the dog, at which the hunter was enraged, and having wounded the merchant, went to his quarter, and raised his friends. The merchant also raised his friends, and when the parties met, they fought till they were all destroyed—for the sake of a drop of honey. [25]
[I have also heard, continued the third vazīr, among instances of female artifice, the
A MAN one day gave his wife a dirham155a to buy rice, and she went to the shop of the rice-seller, and said to him: “Give me rice for this dirham.” When he saw that she was possessed of beauty and an elegant form, he began cajoling her, and said to her: “Rice is not good unless with sugar; come within, and I will give thee some.” The woman consented, and the dealer ordered his slave to measure a quantity of rice and sugar, but accompanied the order with a private sign, which the youth understood; and while his master was engaged with the woman, he filled her towel with earth and stones. After this the woman took the towel, and went off, thinking that it contained sugar and rice; and when she arrived at her house she placed it before her husband, and went to fetch the caldron. In the meantime her husband opened the towel, and discovered the earth and the stones, and when she came back he said to her: “Did I tell thee that we had a house to build, that thou hast brought earth and stones?” She then perceived that the dealer had tricked her, and said: “O my husband, see what I have done in my confusion: I went for the sieve, and have brought the caldron! For the dirham you gave me dropped from my hand in the market-place,156 and I was ashamed before the people to look around for it; so I brought back earth and stones, that you might sift them.” The husband then arose, and took the sieve, and he sat down sifting the earth until his face and his beard were covered with dust; and the poor man knew not what had happened to him.]
On the fourth night the Damsel entered to the sultan, kissed the ground before him, and said: “My lord, you have rejected my cause, delayed my claims, and will not do me justice upon thy son. But God will assist me, as he assisted the son of a certain sultan against his father's vazīr.” The sultan inquired in what manner that happened, and she related the
THERE was a sultan, who had an only son, whom he betrothed to the daughter of a great monarch. She was very beautiful, and passionately beloved by the son of her uncle; but her father would not consent to give her to him in marriage, on account of his prior engagement to the sultan. When the young man found that his uncle had affianced her to another, he was exceedingly afflicted, and had no other resource but to send rich presents to the vazīr of the intended bridegroom's father, and entreat him that he would deceive the prince by some stratagem, so that the match might be broken off. The vazīr accepted the bribe, and promised compliance.
The father of the princess, after some time, wrote to the sultan, requesting that he would send his son, to celebrate the marriage at his court; after which he might return home with his bride. The sultan consented, and despatched the prince under care of his vazīr, with attendants and slaves, and an escort of a thousand horse; he also sent by him a rich present of camels, and horses, and tents, and valuable curiosities.
The vazīr departed with the prince, but resolved to betray him, on account of the bribes he had received from the cousin of the princess. At length they entered a desert, where the vazīr bethought himself of a fountain, named the White Fountain, of which but few persons knew the properties; these were, that if a man drank of the water, he became a woman; and if a woman drank of it, she became a man. The vazīr encamped at some distance from it, and invited the prince to ride out with him; when he mounted, but did not suspect what the vazīr had devised. They did not cease riding in the wilderness till sunset, when the prince complained that he was overcome with thirst, and unable to converse from the parching of his mouth. The vazīr then brought him to the fountain, and said: “Dismount, and drink.”
The prince alighted from his horse, and drank, when lo! he instantly became a woman. On perceiving his condition, he wept aloud, and was overcome with shame, and fainted. On his recovery, the vazīr came up to him with pretended condolements, and said: “What has befallen thee? And whence is this sorrow?” The prince having related what had occurred to him, the vazīr said: “Thy enemies must have done this. A great misfortune and a heavy calamity have certainly come upon thee; for how can the object of our journey be performed when thou art thyself become a bride? I would advise that we return to thy father, and inform him of what has happened.” The prince replied: “I swear by the Almighty, that I will not return, until he shall remove from me this affliction, though I should die under it.”—The vazīr then returned to his troops, and left the prince; who walked onwards, not knowing whither he should proceed.
On the way there met him a horseman, beautiful as the full moon,158 who saluted him, and said: “Lady, who art thou, and why behold I thee alone in this frightful desert? For I perceive upon thee the marks of distinction, and that thou art sorrowful and afflicted.” When the prince heard these kind expressions from the horseman, he put confidence in him, and related what had befallen him. The cavalier said: “Hast thou drank of the White Fountain?” He answered: “Yes;” and the other rejoined: “Comfort thyself, and dry thine eyes, for I will attempt thy delivery.” The prince then fell at his feet, and would have kissed them, but he forbade him; when the prince said: “I conjure thee by Allah, tell me, how can relief come to me through thee?” He replied: “I am a jinnī, but will not injure thee.”
They travelled all night, and at dawn reached a verdant plain, abounding in trees and rivulets, and upon it lofty edifices; and there they dismounted, and entered one of the palaces. The jinnī welcomed him, and they remained all day feasting in mirth and gladness. At night the jinnī mounted his horse, and taking the prince behind him, travelled through the dark until daylight, when, lo! they beheld a black plain, frightful and gloomy, which might be compared to the confines of hell. The prince inquired the name of the country, and the jinnī replied: “This country is called the Black Region, and is governed by a prince of the jinn, without whose permission no one dare enter it. Remain here, while I ask for leave, and return.” The prince remained a little while, when the jinnī appeared, and conducted him onwards; and they did not stop till they came to a stream of water flowing from a rock, of which the jinnī commanded him to drink. He dismounted, and drank, and his sex returned to him as before.
The prince now praised God, and prayed, and he thanked the jinnī and kissed his hands, and inquired the name of the well. The jinnī replied: “This is the Fountain of Women. If a woman drink of it she becomes a man, by the decree of God. Praise the Lord, then, O my brother, for thy welfare and deliverance.”
They travelled the remainder of the day, till they arrived at the dwelling of the jinnī, where the prince remained with him in mirth and festivity all that night and the following day; in the evening of which the jinnī said: “Dost thou wish to spend this night with thy bride?” The prince replied: “Certainly; but how, my lord, can I effect it?” The jinnī then called to one of his attendants, whose name was Jāzūr, and said: “Take this youth upon thy back, and do not descend anywhere but upon the terrace of his father-in-law's palace, near the apartment of his bride.” Jāzūr replied: “To hear is to obey.”
When a third of the night remained, Jāzūr appeared. He was an 'Ifrīt of monstrous size, so that the prince was alarmed; but the jinnī said: “He will not injure thee; fear him not.” He then embraced the prince, took leave, and mounting him upon the back of the 'Ifrīt, said: “Bind something over thine eyes.” The prince having done so, the 'Ifrīt soared with him between heaven and earth; but he perceived no motion, till he was set down on the terrace of his father-in-law's palace, when the 'Ifrīt disappeared. The prince slept till near daylight, when his spirits revived, and he descended towards the apartments. The female attendants met him, and saluted him, and conducted him to the sultan, who knew him, and stood up and embraced him, and welcoming him, said: “My son, they usually bring the bridegroom by the gate, but thou comest from the terrace; truly I am astonished at thy proceedings.” The prince answered: “If that seems strange, I have still more wonderful events to detail;” and he then related his adventures from first to last, at which the sultan was astonished, and praised God for his deliverance.
The nuptial ceremonies were now commenced, and when the rites were concluded the prince was admitted to his bride, and remained with her a whole month. He then requested leave to return home; upon which his father-in-law presented him with rich gifts, and furnished him with an escort. The cousin of the princess died of disappointment. The prince arrived with his bride at the capital of his father in safety; and the sultan rejoiced with exceeding great joy, after being in despair for his son. [26]
“I hope,” said the Damsel, “that God will also revenge me upon thy vazīrs and upon thy son.”—The sultan replied: “I will do thee justice immediately,” and issued orders for the execution of the prince.
On the fourth day the Fourth Vazīr came to the sultan, kissed the ground before him, and said: “O sultan, kill not thy son, or thou wilt repent when repentance will not profit thee. A wise man will not act until he hath considered the consequences. I have heard the following anecdote.”162
[The vazīr then relates, as an example of the artifice and duplicity of women, the]
THERE was a certain merchant's son, who had a handsome wife, and it happened that a libertine, accidentally beholding her, fell in love with her. While the husband was absent on a journey of business, the youth went to an old woman of the neighbourhood, who was on intimate terms with the wife, and disclosed to her his passion, offering her ten dīnars163 for her assistance.
The cunning old woman went several times to visit the merchant's wife, and always took with her a little she-dog. One day she contrived the following stratagem. She took flour and minced meat, and kneaded them into a cake, with a good deal of pepper. Then she forced the cake down the animal's throat, and when the pepper began to heat her stomach, her eyes became wet, as if with tears. The merchant's wife, observing this, said to the old woman: “My good mother, this dog daily follows you, and seems as if she wept. What can be the cause?” The old woman replied: “My dear mistress, the circumstance is wonderful; for she was formerly a beautiful girl, straight as the letter alīf, and made the sun ashamed by her superior radiance. A Jewish sorcerer fell in love with her, whom she refused; and when he despaired of obtaining her, he was enraged, and by magic transformed her into a she-dog, as thou seest. She was a friend of mine; she loved me, and I loved her; so that, in her new form, she took to following me wherever I went, for I have always fed her, and taken care of her, on account of our friendship. She weeps often when reflecting on her unfortunate condition.”
When the merchant's wife heard this, she trembled for herself, and said: “A certain man hath professed love to me, and I did not intend to gratify his criminal passion. But thou hast terrified me with the story of this unhappy damsel, so that I am alarmed lest the man should transform me in like manner.”—“My dear daughter,” said the wicked old woman, “I am your true friend, and advise you that if any man makes love to you not to refuse him.” The wife then said: “How shall I find out my lover?”—“For the sake of thy peace,” replied the old wretch, “for the love I bear thee, and for fear lest thou shouldst also be transformed, I will go and seek him.”
She then went out, rejoicing that she had gained her ends, and sought the young man, but did not find him at home. So she said to herself: “I will not let this day pass, however, without gaining a reward for my trouble. I will introduce some one else to her, and obtain from him a second present.” She then walked through the streets in search of a proper man; when behold! she met the husband just returning from his journey, whom she did not know. She went up to him, and saluted him, and said: “Hast thou any objection to a good supper and a handsome mistress?” He replied: “I am ready;” upon which she took him by the hand, and leading him to his own house, desired him to wait at the door.
When the man reached his own dwelling, jealousy overcame him, and the world became dark to his eyes. The old woman went to the wife, to inform her of the coming of her lover; whom, when she saw him from the window, she knew, and exclaimed: “Why, mother, thou hast brought my husband!” The old woman, hearing this, replied: “There remains nothing now but to deceive him.” The wife took the hint, and said: “I will meet him, and abuse him for his intrigues, and will say, ‘I sent this old woman as a spy upon thee.’”
She then began to exclaim against the infidelity of her husband, took a sheet of paper, and descended the staircase, and said to him: “Thou shameless man, there was a promise of constancy between us, and I swore unto thee that I would not love another. Luckily, however, I suspected thy falsehood, and when I knew thou wast returning from thy journey, sent this old woman to watch thee, that I might discover thy proceedings, and whether thou wast faithful to thy agreement or not. It is now clear that thou frequentest the dwellings of courtesans, and I have been deceived. But since I know thy falsehood, there can be no cordiality between us; therefore write me a divorce, for I can no longer love thee.”
The husband, on hearing this, was alarmed, and remained for a time in astonishment. He took a solemn oath that he had not been unfaithful to her, and had not been guilty of what she had accused him. He did not cease to soothe her till she was somewhat pacified, when the old woman interfered, and effected a reconciliation between them, for which kindness she was handsomely rewarded. The unfortunate husband little suspected the disgrace he had so narrowly escaped. [II]
“This, O sultan,” said the vazīr, “is only one instance of the art and deceit of women.”—The sultan then countermanded the execution of his son.
On the fifth evening the Damsel came to the sultan, holding a cup of poison in her hand, and said: “If thou wilt not do me justice upon thy son, I will drink this poison, and my crime will rest upon thy shoulders. Thy vazīrs say that women are cunning and deceitful, but there is no creature in the universe more crafty than man. For instance:
I HAVE heard that a goldsmith,166a who was passionately fond of women, one day entered a friend's house, and saw upon the wall of an apartment the portrait of a beautiful girl, with which he became enraptured; and love so overcame his heart that his friends said to him: “Thou foolish man, how couldst thou think of loving a figure depicted on a wall, of the original of which thou hast never heard or seen?” He replied: “A painter could not have drawn this portrait unless he had seen the original.” One of his friends observed, that perhaps the painter might have formed it merely from his imagination. He answered: “I hope from heaven comfort and relief; but what you say cannot be proved except by the painter.” They then told him that he lived in a certain town; and the young man wrote to inquire whether he had seen the original of the picture he had painted, or had drawn it from fancy. The answer was that the portrait was that of a singing-girl belonging to a vazīr of Ispahān.167 Encouraged by this intelligence, the young man made preparations for a journey, and having departed, travelled night and day until he reached the city, where he took up his abode.
In a few days he made acquaintance with an apothecary, and became intimate with him. Talking upon various subjects, at length they conversed regarding the sultan of Ispahān and his disposition; when the apothecary said: “Our sovereign bears inveterate hatred to all practitioners of magic, and if they fall into his hands, he casts them into a deep cave without the city, where they die of hunger and thirst.” Next they conversed about the famous singing-girl of the vazīr, and the young man learned that she was still with him.
The young goldsmith now began to plan his stratagems. On the first moonlight night he disguised himself as a robber, and repairing to the palace of the vazīr, fixed a ladder of ropes, by which he gained the terrace, from whence he descended into the court; when lo! a light gleamed from one of the apartments. He entered it, and beheld a throne of ivory, inlaid with gold, on which reposed a lady bright as the sun in a serene sky. At her head and feet were placed lamps, the splendour of which her countenance outshone. He approached, and gazed upon her, and saw that she was the object of his desires. Near the pillow was a rich veil, embroidered with pearls and precious stones. He drew a knife from his girdle, and wounded her slightly on the palm of her hand. The pain awakened the lady, but she did not scream from alarm, believing him to be only a robber in search of plunder; she said: “Take this embroidered veil, but do not injure me.” He took the veil, and departed by the same way that he had entered.168
When daylight appeared, he disguised himself in white vestments, like a holy pilgrim; visited the sultan, and having saluted him, and the sultan having returned the salutation, he thus addressed him: “O sultan, I am a pilgrim devoted to religion, from the country of Khurasan, and have repaired to thy presence because of the report of thy virtues and thy justice to thy subjects, intending to remain under the shade of thy protection. I reached thy capital at the close of day, when the gates were shut. Then I lay down to repose, and was in slumber, when behold! four women issued from a grove, one mounted upon a hyæna, another upon a ram, a third upon a black she-dog, and the fourth upon a leopard. When I saw them, I knew they must be sorceresses. One of them having approached me, began to kick me with her feet, and to strike me with a whip, which appeared like a flame of fire. I then repeated the names of God, and struck at her hand with my knife, which wounded her, but she escaped from me. There dropped from her this veil, which I took up, and found it embroidered with valuable jewels; but I have no occasion for them, for I have given up the world.” Having thus spoken, he laid the veil at the sultan's feet, and departed.
On examining the veil, the sultan recognised it as one which he had presented to his vazīr, of whom he demanded: “Did I not bestow upon thee this veil?” The vazīr replied: “You did, my lord; and I gave it to a favourite singing-girl of my own.”—“Let her be sent for immediately,” exclaimed the sultan; “for she is a wicked sorceress.” The vazīr went to his palace, and brought the girl before the sultan, who, on seeing the slight wound on her hand, was convinced of the pretended pilgrim's assertion, and commanded her to be cast into the cave of sorcerers.
When the goldsmith found that his stratagem had succeeded, and that the girl was thrown into the cave, he took a purse of a thousand dīnars, and went to the keeper of the cave, and said to him: “Accept this purse, and listen to my story.” After relating his adventures, the goldsmith said: “This poor girl is innocent, and I am the person who has plunged her into misfortune. If thou wilt release her, it will be a merciful action, and I will convey her privately to my own country. Should she remain here, she will soon be among the number of the dead. Pity, then, her condition and my own, and repay thy generosity with this purse.” The keeper accepted the present, and released the girl; and the goldsmith took her with him, and returned to his own city. [27]
“This, O sultan,” said the Damsel, “is but one example of the craft of men.”—The sultan then gave orders for the execution of his son.
Next day the Fifth Vazīr presented himself before the sultan, and said: “O my lord, reprieve thy son, and be not hasty in his death, lest thou repent, as the man repented, who never afterwards smiled.” The sultan inquired his history, and the vazīr proceeded:
to the Land of Women.170
THERE was a man, possessed of great wealth and master of many slaves, who died, leaving his estates to an infant son. When he reached manhood, he engaged in pleasure and amusements, in feasting and drinking, in music and dancing, with profusion and extravagance, until he had expended the riches his father had left him. He then took to selling his effects and slaves and concubines, till at length, through distress, he was obliged to ply as a porter in the streets for a subsistence.
As he one day waited for an employer, an old man of portly and respectable appearance stopped, and looked earnestly at him for some time. At length the young man said: “Why, sir, do you so earnestly gaze at my countenance? Have you any occasion for my services?” The old man replied: “Yes, my son. We are ten old men, who live together in the same house,171 and have at present no person to attend us. If thou wilt accept the office, I trust (God willing) it will afford thee much advantage.” The youth replied: “Most willingly and readily.” Then said the old man: “You shall serve us, but upon condition that you conceal our situation; and when you see us weeping and lamenting, that you ask not the cause.” The young man consented, whereupon his new master took him to a bath, and when he was cleansed, presented him with a handsome dress, and repaired with him to his own house. This proved to be a magnificent palace; its courts surrounded by galleries, and adorned with basins and fountains. All sorts of birds fluttered in the lofty trees which ornamented the gardens, and overshadowed the apartments.
The old man conducted him into one of the pavilions, which was laid over with silken carpets, rich masnads,172 and superb cushions. In this pavilion sat nine venerable old men, all weeping and lamenting, at which he was astonished, but asked no questions. His master then took him to a large chest, pulled out of it a bag containing a thousand dīnars, and said: “My son, thou art entrusted by God with this treasure, to expend it upon us and thyself with integrity.” The young man replied: “To hear is to obey.” He now busied himself in providing for their wants, what was necessary for victuals and raiment, during three years. At length one of the old men died, and they washed his corpse, and buried it in the garden of the palace.
The young man continued to serve them, and the old men died one after another, until nine had departed, and he only remained who had hired him. At last he also fell sick, and the young man despaired of his recovery. So he said to himself: “My master will surely die, and why should I not ask him the cause of their bewailings?” Approaching the couch of the old man, who groaned in the agonies of death, he said: “O my master, I conjure thee by God to acquaint me with the reason of your constant lamentations.” “My son,” he replied, “there is no occasion for thee to know it, so do not importune me for what will not profit thee. Believe me, I have ever loved and compassionated thee. I dread lest thou shouldst be punished as we have been punished, but wish thou mayest be preserved. Be advised, therefore, my son, and open not yonder locked door.” He then pointed out the door to him; after which his agonies increased, and he exclaimed: “I testify that there is no god but God, and that Muhammad is his servant and prophet!” Then his soul fluttered, he turned upon his side, and he was joined to his Lord. The young man washed the corpse, enshrouded it, and buried him by the side of his companions.
After this he took possession of the palace, and diverted himself for some time in examining the treasures it contained. At length his mind became restless for want of employment. He reflected upon the fate of the old men, and on the dying words of his master, and the charge he had given him. He examined the door; his mind was overcome by curiosity to see what could be within it, and he did not weigh the consequences. Satan tempted him to open the door, and he exclaimed with the poet: “What is not to happen cannot be effected by human contrivance; but what is to be will be.” He now unlocked the door. It opened into a long dark passage, in which he wandered for three hours, when he came out upon the shore of the ocean. He was astonished, and gazed with wonder on all sides. He would have returned, but lo! a black eagle of monstrous size darted from the air, and seizing him in her talons, soared for some time between heaven and earth. At length it descended with him upon a small island in the ocean, and fled away.
The young man remained a while motionless with terror; but recovering, began to wander about the island. Suddenly a sail arose to his view on the waters, resembling a fleeting cloud in the heavens. He gazed, and the sail approached, till it reached the beach of the island, when he beheld a boat formed of ivory, ebony, and sandal, the oars of which were made of aloes-wood of Comorin, the sails were of white silk, and it was navigated by beautiful maidens, shining like moons. They advanced from the boat, and kissing his hands, said: “Our souls are refreshed at seeing thee, for thou art the master of our country and of our queen.” One of the ladies approached him with a parcel wrapped in rich damask, in which was a royal dress most superbly embroidered, and a crown of gold splendidly set with diamonds and pearls. She assisted him to dress; during which the youth said to himself: “Do I see this in a dream? or am I awake? The old man mentioned nothing of this. He must surely have forbade my opening the door out of envy.”
The ladies then conducted him to the boat, which he found spread with elegant carpets and cushions of brocade. They hoisted the sails, and rowed with their oars, while the youth could not divine what would be the end of his adventure. He continued in a state of bewilderment till they reached land, when behold! the beach was crowded with troops and attendants, gallant in appearance, and of the tallest stature. When the boat anchored, five principal officers of the army advanced to the young man, who was at first alarmed, but they paid their obeisance profoundly, and welcomed him in a tone shrill as the sound of silver. Then the drums beat, the trumpets sounded, and the troops arranged themselves on his right hand and on his left. They proceeded till they reached an extensive and verdant meadow, in which another detachment met them, numerous as the rolling billows or waving shadows.
Lastly appeared a young prince, surrounded by the nobles of his kingdom, but all wore veils, so that no part of them could be seen but their eyes. When the prince came near the young man, he and his company alighted, some of them embraced each other, and after conversing a while, remounted their horses. The cavalcade then proceeded, and did not halt till it came to the royal palace, when the young man was helped from his horse,175 and the prince conducted him into a splendid hall, in which was the royal throne. The seeming prince ascended it and sat down; and on removing the veil from his face, the young man beheld a beautiful damsel in the supposed prince. While he gazed in astonishment, she said: “Young man, this country is mine, the troops are mine, and I am their queen; but when a man arriveth amongst us, he becomes my superior, and governs in my place.” The youth, upon hearing this, was wrapt still more in wonder. And while they were conversing, the vazīr entered, who was a stately looking matron, to whom the queen said: “Call the qāzī and the witnesses.” She replied: “To hear is to obey.”
The queen then said to the young man: “Art thou willing that I should be thy wife, and to be my husband?” Hearing this, and beholding her condescending demeanour, he rose up, and kissing the ground, said (as she would have prevented his prostration): “I am not worthy of such high honour, or even to be one of thy humblest attendants.” She replied: “My lord, all that thou hast beheld, and what remains unseen by thee of this country, its provinces, people, and treasures are thine, and I am thy handmaiden. Avoid only yonder door, which thou must not open: if thou dost, thou wilt repent when repentance will not avail.”—The vazīr, qāzī, and witnesses, who were all women, now entered, and they were married; after which the courtiers and people were introduced, and congratulated them.
The young man remained for seven months177 in the height of enjoyment, when one day he recollected his old master, and how he had warned him not to open the door in his palace, which though he had done, yet from his disobedience such unexpected good fortune had befallen him. His curiosity and Satan whispered to him, that within the door which the queen had forbidden him to open, some important scenes must also be concealed. He advanced, opened it, and entered; but found a gloomy passage, in which he had not walked more than twenty steps, when light gleamed upon him. He advanced, and beheld the same eagle that had borne him away. He would now have retreated, but the monster darted upon him, seized him in its talons, ascended, and put him down on the spot where it had first taken him up.
He regretted his lost grandeur, power, and dominion, exclaiming: “When I rode out, a hundred beautiful damsels surrounded me, and were flattered by being permitted to attend me. Alas! I was living in honour, until I rashly ventured upon what I have committed!” For two full months he lamented, crying out: “Alas! alas! if the bird would but once again return!” but in vain. Night and day, weeping, he would exclaim: “I was enjoying my ease until my imprudence ruined me.” At length one night, in a restless slumber, he heard a voice saying: “Alas! alas! what is past cannot be recovered,” upon which he despaired of seeing again his queen or his kingdom. He then entered the palace of his old masters by the dark passage, fatally convinced of what had occasioned their incessant lamentations. He employed himself in praying for their souls; and, like them, wept and lamented, until he died. [28]
“Observe, therefore, O sultan,” said the vazīr, “that precipitancy is of ill consequence, and I advise thee from experience.”—The sultan then refrained from executing his son.
On the sixth night the Damsel entered with a dagger in her hand, and said: “O sultan, wilt thou revenge me of thy son? If not, I will instantly put myself to death. Thy vazīrs pretend that woman is more artful than man, wishing to destroy my rights; but I assure thee that man is far more deceitful than woman, which is clear from what passed between a prince and a merchant's wife.
A MERCHANT, who was exceedingly jealous, had a very beautiful wife. From suspicion of her fidelity, he would not dwell in a city among men, but built a house in a most retired situation, that no one might visit her. It was surrounded by lofty walls, and had a strong gateway. Every morning he locked the door, took the key with him, and proceeded to the city to transact business until the evening.
One day, the sultan's son, riding out for amusement, passed by the house, and cast his eyes on the merchant's wife, who was walking on the terrace. He was captivated by her beauty, and she was no less charmed with his appearance. He tried the gate, but it was securely fastened. At length he wrote a declaration of his love, and fixed it on an arrow, which he shot upon the terrace. The merchant's wife read the letter, and returned a favourable answer. He then took the key of a chest, tied it to a note, in which was written, “I will come to thee in a chest, of which this is the key,” and threw it up to her. The prince after this took his leave, and returning to the city, sent for his father's vazīr, to whom he communicated what had happened, requesting his assistance. “My son,” said the vazīr, “what can I do? I tremble for my character in such a business, and what plan can we pursue?” The prince answered: “I only require thy help in what I have contrived. I mean to place myself in a large chest, which thou must lock upon me, and convey at night to the merchant's house, and say to him: ‘This chest contains my jewels and treasure, which I am afraid the sultan may seize, and must for a time entrust to thy care.’”
The vazīr having consented to the proposal, the prince entered the chest, which was then locked and conveyed privately to the town-house of the merchant. The vazīr knocked at the door, and the merchant appearing, made a profound obeisance to so honourable a visitant, who requested to leave the chest with him for some days, till the alarm of the sultan's displeasure should be over. The merchant readily consented, and had the chest for security carried to his country house, and placed in the apartments of his wife. In the morning he went about his affairs to the city, when his wife, having adorned herself in her richest apparel, opened the chest. The prince came out, embraced her, and kissed her. They passed the day together in merriment, till the merchant's return, when the prince repaired to his place of concealment.
Seven days had passed in this manner, when it chanced that the sultan inquired for his son, and the vazīr went hastily to the merchant to reclaim the chest. The merchant had returned earlier than usual to his country house, and was overtaken on his way by the vazīr. The lady and the prince, who had been amusing themselves in the court of the house, were suddenly disturbed by a knocking at the gate, and the prince betook himself to the chest, which the wife in her confusion forgot to lock. The merchant entered with his servants, who took up the chest to deliver to the vazīr; when lo! the lid opened, and the prince was discovered, half intoxicated with wine. The poor merchant durst not revenge himself upon the son of his sovereign. He conducted him to the vazīr, who was overwhelmed with shame at the disgraceful discovery. The merchant, convinced of his own dishonour, and that his precautions had been in vain, divorced his wife, and took an oath never to marry again. [29]
“Such is the wiliness of men,” added the Damsel; “but thy vazīrs cannot escape my penetration.”—After hearing this story, the sultan, who doatingly loved the Damsel, gave orders for the execution of his son.
On the sixth day the Sixth Vazīr came before the sultan, and said: “Be cautious, my lord, in the execution of your son; be not rash, for rashness is sinful, and the artfulness of women is well known, for God has declared, in the Qur'ān, that their craftiness is beyond all measure.
IT has been reported to me that there was a woman who had a husband accustomed to travel much on business to distant countries. During one of his journeys, his wife became enamoured of a young man, who returned her fondness. It happened one day that this youth, having been engaged in a brawl, was apprehended by the police, and carried before the wālī181 of the city, when it was proved that he was the transgressor, and the wālī sentenced him to be imprisoned.
When the lady heard of her lover's confinement, her mind was employed from hour to hour devising means for his release. At length she dressed herself in her richest apparel, repaired to the wālī, made obeisance to him, and complained that her brother having had a scuffle with another youth, hired witnesses had sworn falsely against him, and he had been wrongfully cast into prison. She added that she could not remain safe without the protection of her brother, and begged that he should be set at liberty. The lady had a great share of beauty, which when the wālī perceived, he desired her to enter his apartment while he gave orders for her brother's release. She guessed his design, and said: “My lord, I am an honourable and reputable woman, and cannot enter any apartments but my own. But if you desire it, you may visit me;” she then mentioned where she resided, and appointed the day when he should come. The wālī was enraptured, and gave her twenty dīnars, saying: “Expend this at the bath.” She then left him, his heart busy in thinking of her beauty.
The lady next went to the venerable qāzī,182 and said: “My lord, look upon me,” and removed her veil from her face. “What has happened to thee?” inquired the qāzī. She replied: “I have a younger brother, and none but him, for a protector, whom the wālī has imprisoned wrongfully, and whom I beseech thee out of thy compassion to release from his confinement.” The qāzī said: “Step in, while I order his release.” She answered: “If you mean that, my lord, it must be at my house;” and she made an assignation for the same day she had appointed to the wālī. The qāzī then presented her with twenty dīnars, saying: “Purchase provisions and sherbets with part of this sum, and pay for the bath with the remainder.”
From the qāzī's house the lady repaired to that of the vazīr, repeated her story, and besought his interference with the wālī for the release of her brother. The vazīr also, smitten with her beauty, made proposals of love, which she accepted, but said he must visit her at her own house, and fixed the same day she had named to the wālī and the qāzī. The vazīr then gave her twenty dīnars, saying: “Expend part of this money at the bath, and with the rest prepare for us a supper and wine.” She replied: “To hear is to obey.”
From the vazīr she proceeded to the hājib,183 and said: “My lord, the wālī has imprisoned my brother, who is but a stripling, on the evidence of false witnesses, and I humbly beseech thee for his release.” The hājib replied: “Step in, while I send for thy brother.” She suspected his designs, and rejoined: “If my lord has business with me—in his house is a constant assemblage of persons—rather let him honour my humble dwelling with his footsteps.” Then she assigned the same day she had appointed for the others, informing him of the situation of her house; and the hājib gave her fifty dīnars, saying: “Prepare a supper for us with part, and lay out the remainder at the bath.”
The lady took the gold, and went to a joiner's shop, and said: “I desire that you will make me a large cabinet, with four compartments, so strong that no single person could burst it open. When thou hast finished it, I will pay thee ten dīnars.” The joiner agreed, and she hurried him daily till it was finished, when he carried it to her house upon a camel, and set it up in its place. She offered him the price agreed upon, but the joiner refused it, saying: “My dear lady, I will not take anything, and only desire that I may pass an evening with you.” She replied: “If that be the case, you must add a fifth compartment to the cabinet.” He readily consented, and she fixed the same evening she had appointed for the wālī, the qāzī, the vazīr, and the hājib.
She now went to market, and bought some old garments, which she dyed red, yellow, black, and blue, and made to them whimsical caps of various colours. Then she cooked flesh and fowl, bought wine,184 and prepared everything for the appointed evening; when she attired herself in her richest apparel, and sat down, expecting her guests.
First the wālī185 knocked at the door, and she rose and opened it, and said: “My lord, the house of your slave is yours, and I am your handmaid.” Then, having feasted him till he was satisfied, she took off his robes, and, bringing a black vest and a red cap, said: “Put on the dress of mirth and pleasure;” after which she made him drink wine till he was intoxicated, when lo! there was a knocking at the door, and she said: “My lord, I cannot be cheerful till you have released my brother.” He immediately wrote an order to the jailor to give the young man his freedom, which she gave to a servant to deliver, and had no sooner returned to the wālī when the knocking became louder. “Who is coming?” he inquired. “It is my husband,” replied the lady; “get into this cabinet, and I will return presently and release thee.” Having locked the wālī in the cabinet, she went to the door.
The qāzī now entered, whom she saluted, led in, and seated respectfully. She first filled a cup with wine, and drank to him; and then presented him with meat and wine. The qāzī said gravely: “I have never drunk wine during all my life;” but she persuaded him to drink, saying that company was always dull without wine. After this, she pulled off his magisterial robes, and saying, “My lord, put on the garments of mirth and pleasure,” dressed him in a robe of yellow and red, with a black cap. Suddenly the door resounded, and the qāzī, alarmed for his reputation, asked: “Who is at the door? what shall we do?” She replied: “I fear it is my husband. Go into this cabinet, until he goes away, when I will release thee, and we shall pass the evening pleasantly together.”
Having locked the qāzī in the cabinet, the lady admitted the vazīr, and, kissing his hand, she said: “Thou hast highly honoured me, my lord, by thy auspicious approach.” Then she set supper before him, and cajoled him to drink till he was merry and frolicsome, when she said: “Disrobe yourself, my lord, put on the vesture of pleasure, and leave the habit of the vazīr for its proper offices.” Smiling at her playfulness, the vazīr undressed, and put on, at the lady's request, a red vest and a green cap tufted with wool, after which they began to drink and sing, when there was a knocking at the door, and the vazīr, in terror, inquired the cause. “It is my husband,” said the lady; “step into this cabinet, till he is gone.” The vazīr quickly slipped in, upon which she locked the compartment, and hastened to the door.
The hājib now entered, according to appointment, and having seated him, the lady said courteously: “My lord, you have honoured me by your kindness and condescension.” Then she began to undress him, and his robes were worth at least four thousand dīnars. She brought him a parti-coloured vest, and a copper cap set with shells, saying: “These, my lord, are the garments of festivity and mirth.” The hājib, having put them on, began to toy and kiss, and she plied him with wine till he was intoxicated. A knocking was again heard at the gate, when the hājib cried out: “Who is this?” and she replied: “My husband; hide in this cabinet, until I can send him away, and I will immediately return to thee.”
The poor joiner was next admitted, and the lady plied him so freely with wine, after he had supped, that he was ready for any kind of foolery; so she bade him take off his clothes, and left him, to fetch a dress, when once more the door resounded, and she exclaimed: “Run into this cabinet, even as thou art, for here is my husband.” He entered,187 and having locked him in, the lady then admitted her lover, just released from prison by the wālī's order. She informed him of her stratagem, and said: “We must not remain longer here;” upon which the lover went out and hired camels, and they loaded them with all the effects of the house, leaving nothing but the cabinet, strongly secured with five locks, and within it the worthy officers of government and the poor joiner. The lady and her lover set off without further delay, and travelled to another city, where they could be secure from discovery.
Meanwhile the unfortunate lovers in the cabinet were in a woeful condition.188 At length they became aware of each other's presence, and began to converse, and, notwithstanding their distress, could not refrain from laughing at each other. In the morning the landlord of the house, finding the gate open, entered, but hearing voices from the cabinet, he was alarmed, and summoned a number of the neighbours. Then the landlord exclaimed: “Are you men or jinn that are in this cabinet?” They replied: “If we were jinn, we should not remain here, nor should we want any one to open the doors. We are only men.” The neighbours cried out: “Let us not open the cabinet, but in presence of the sultan;” upon which the qāzī exclaimed: “O my people, let us out—‘Conceal what God has concealed!’188a and do not disgrace us. I am the qāzī.” They replied: “Thou liest, and it is impossible. For if thou art the qāzī, how camest thou to be confined here? Thou art an impostor; for our worthy qāzī, thou impious wretch, is a man who sub-dueth his passions. Be silent, lest he hear thee, and bring thee to punishment.” After this the qāzī durst not speak, and was silent.
Then they brought several porters, who took up the great cabinet, and carried it to the palace of the sultan,189 who, on being informed of the affair, sent for carpenters and smiths, and caused it to be broken open in his presence, when lo! he discovered the wālī, the qāzī, the vazīr, the hājib, and the poor joiner. “What brought thee here, O reverend qāzī?” inquired the sultan. The qāzī exclaimed: “God be praised, who hath providentially saved thee, O sultan, from what hath befallen us!” He then issued from the cabinet in his coloured vest and fool's cap, as did the rest of his companions in their ridiculous dresses, but the poor joiner in his birth-day habit. The sultan laughed till he almost fainted, and commanded the adventures of each to be written, from first to last. He also ordered search to be made for the merchant's wife, but in vain, for she had escaped with the robes, valuables, and weapons of the foolish gallants. [30]
↩How happy is he who has no acquaintance,
So that, following on separation, solitude be not.
Like the phœnix, go, be thy own companion;
Thy own associate; thy own confidant be thou:
So that to taste the poison of separation need for thee be not;
So that to bear the pang of separateness need for thee be not.
When the soul for a time has accustomed itself to the body,
See with what difficulty it comes up out of the body.
Happy the man who hath not seen the bazaar of the world,
Nor experienced the sorrow, trouble, bother of the world.
As at first there is in it the pang of being born,
So at last there is in it the pang of giving up the ghost.
The world is the city of grief, the house of woe;
Not a place of rest, but an abode of dragons:
Go not to sleep in the den of dragons;
Cast not thyself into the trap of calamity.
Be it not that the thorn take the habit of [piercing] the rose;
For it is a death to turn away one's affection from a beloved.
According to Falconer's rendering, “the Damsel is pardoned at the intercession of the Prince.” The word ta'zīr, however, does not mean “pardoned,” but “punishing by severe stripes;” it also signifies “reproving.” From what remains, as follows above, of this important chapter, we cannot say which of the two meanings of the term is the more appropriate.
↩“The camel-litters of the tribe stirred thy longing, what time
they moved away
And crept into the litters hung with cotton, as the wooden
framework creaked—
The litters hung all around, over their frame of wood, with
hangings, thin veils, and pictured curtains of wool.”
An interesting account of the various kinds of litters used in India and Persia is cited by Garcin de Tassy in a note to his translation of the romance of Kāmarupa, chap. xxiii.
↩