A Group of Eastern Romances - A Group of Eastern Romances and Stories

ONCE on a time there were three whales of the sea of fraud and deceit—three dragons of the nature of thunder and the quickness of lightning—three defamers of honour and reputation—in other words, three men-deceiving, lascivious women, each of whom had, from the chancery of her cunning, issued the diploma of turmoil to a hundred cities and countries, and in the arts of fraud they accounted Satan as an admiring spectator in the theatre of their stratagems. One of them was sitting in the court of justice of the Kází's embraces; the second was the precious gem of the bazár-master's diadem of compliance; and the third was the beazle and ornament of the signet-ring of the life and soul of the superintendent of police. They were constantly entrapping the fawns of the prairie of deceit, with the grasp of cunning, and plundering the wares of the caravan of tranquility of the hearts of both strangers and acquaintances by means of the edge of the scimitar of fraud.³⁵⁶

One day this trefoil of roguery met at the public bath, and, according to their homogeneous nature, they intermingled as intimately as a comb with the hair: they tucked up the garment of amity to the waist of union, entered the tank of agreement, seated themselves in the hot-house of love, and poured from the dish of folly, by means of the key of hypocrisy, the water of profusion upon the head of intercourse; they rubbed with the brush of familiarity and the soap of affection the stains of jealousies from each other's limbs. After a while, when they had brought the pot of concord to boil by the fire of mutual laudation, they warmed the bath of association with the breeze of kindness and came out.^356a In the dressing-room all three of them happened simultaneously to find a ring, the gem of which surpassed the imagination of the Jeweller of Destiny,³⁵⁷ and the like of which he had never beheld in the store-house of possibility. The finger of covetousness of each of the three ladies pointed to the ring, and the right of its possession became the object of dispute among them. But after their controversy had been protracted to an undue length, the mother of the bathman,^357a who had for years practised under the sorceress Shamsah^357b and had learnt all sorts of tricks from her, stepped forward and said: “I am a woman who has seen the world, and I have experienced many events of this kind. Something has occurred to me with reference to this matter, and if you will listen to my advice your difficulty will be solved. As I am a faithful and honest person,” the old woman continued, “you may entrust this ring to me. Each of you must sow the seed of deception into the field of her husband's folly, and she whose arrow of fraud shall settle deepest in the target of her husband's imbecility, and the rose of whose act, being watered by the art and care of diligence, shall flourish more than the plants of her competitors, shall, after due investigation by myself, be put in possession of the much-coveted ring.” All three of them agreed to this proposal, and surrendered the ring to the old hag. The wife of the Kází said: “I shall be the first who writes the incantation upon the name of the Kází.” Accordingly they dressed in the robe of cunning, put on the mantle of deception, and departed to their respective domiciles.

IN the first place, the wife of the Kází sat down in the court of meditation and arrangement, and having for the purpose of solving this problem opened the directory of falsehood, she perused it with great diligence, scanning it from paragraph to paragraph, from the preface to the conclusion. It so happened that a carpenter who was the Kází's neighbour had long paid attentions to the wife of the latter. He chopped the tablet of his heart with the axe of uneasiness, and scratched the board of his body with the plane of lamentation; he was in constant motion like a saw, and though all his limbs were like a grating turned into eyes, and he was sitting on the chair of expectation, he was not able to attain his object; so that the hatchet of longing and burning felled the palm-tree of his patience and equanimity, and his heart was perforated by the auger of this grief. As the wife of the Kází was aware of the sufferings of the carpenter, she called her confidential slave-girl and said to her: “O thou Violet³⁵⁹ of the garden of harmony, the flower of whose body I have so long cherished in the parterre of education! I have a little business which I mean to discharge this day by the aid of thy intimacy. If thou wilt accomplish it cheerfully, I shall ransom thee with my own money, and rejoice thy heart with various gifts.” The girl replied: “Whatever my mistress orders, it is my duty to perform.” The wife of the Kází said: “Go, unobserved by any one, to the carpenter and tell him that the flame of his love has taken effect on my heart; that I am aware of his having suffered torments on account of my unkindness; and that on the day of resurrection I shall have to answer for the sufferings I have caused to him: I am quite embarrassed in this matter, and, in order to remove this awful responsibility, I am prepared now to make good my past transgressions, and to meet him if he will dig an underground passage between this house and his own, so that we may be enabled to pluck the roses of mutual love whenever we choose, and communicate freely by means of this passage.” The maid went to the carpenter, and caused by the nectar of her eloquence this message to bloom in his garden of hope. He presented the girl with a thousand dínars³⁶⁰ and said:

“I would ransom thee with my life,
O idol of the garden of purity!
I shall gird my loins for thy service
In a hundred thousand places.

It is a lifetime since I began to burn on the thread of exclusion and separation, and put the collyrium of longing into the eye of desire to behold that paragon of the world.

Melancholy for thee inspires my breast;
Desire for thee permeates my heart!
Thy behests I shall never disobey;
Thy will I shall follow with my soul.”

The carpenter dug a spacious passage between the two houses, and the lady arrived by means of it in her lover's domicile. When the carpenter beheld the Jacob's house of mourning of his heart illuminated by the Joseph's lamp of the coveted interview, he said:

“Welcome, my faithful idol!
My hut is the envy of Paradise.
Come, moon-like mistress, come!
Come, tender sweetheart, come!
Thy elegant speech is coquetry;
Thy gait is graceful as the rose:
Thou art the cynosure of love!
Thou art the model of tenderness!”

After mutual congratulations and compliments, that title-page of the ledger of amorous intrigues said to the carpenter: “To-morrow I shall come here, and you must bring the Kází to marry me to you.” When the lady had explained the particulars of this matter to him, he drew the hand of obedience over the eyes of compliance; and when on the next day the kází of the morn placed the seal of brilliancy upon the volume of the firmament, and the shaykh-sun seated himself upon the carpet of the Orient and manifested himself by the consequence of light and brightness, the Kází hastened from his haram to the court of justice. His tender mistress, however, betook herself to the house of the carpenter, who forgot the grief of separation, dressed himself in gaudy clothes, and waiting on the Kází said: “O spreader of the superficies of the law, and strengthener of the pillars of the affairs of mankind,

No matter in this world can be
Arranged without thy intervention.”

When the Kází perceived from this allocution that the carpenter came on business, and concluded that it might be something profitable, he replied: “Greeting to you! And may the mercy of God be upon your fathers and ancestors, fortunate and blessed man! Welcome! Rest yourself awhile; smoke tobacco and drink coffee, whilst you are acquainting me with your intentions.” The carpenter said: “O Kází, I am a bridegroom and am very restless to-day on that account: my bride is sitting in the house. As the moon is this day in the first mansion of the Balance, and in the two hours and nine minutes that are elapsing of the day it has a triangular aspect with the sun, a hexagonal one with Jupiter, is in opposition to Mercury, out of the influence of the Scorpion and the remaining ill-boding influences, therefore I am of good cheer; and as the hour to tie the matrimonial knot is quite propitious, I request your lordship quickly to perform the ceremony.”³⁶²

As soon as the Kází heard about a wedding, he put the turban of covetousness on his head, took the rosary of thanksgivings into his hand, and went with the carpenter to the house of the latter. When he entered he exclaimed: “Open, O opener of portals!” but when his eyes alighted on the bride and he recognised in her the mistress of his own haram, a thousand suspicions beset him; nevertheless he composed himself as well as he was able, but could not help thinking: “This is a very wonderful business; and I have never seen two persons resembling each other so much.” While he thus plunged the pen of his mind into the inkstand of meditation and amazement, the carpenter exclaimed: “My lord, the time is passing, and what is the use of delaying?” The Kází looked up, and again scrutinised the lady, but found no difference between her and his wife, so he cried: “Praise be to God! There is no power nor strength but by his will!” Then putting his hand to his breast he said: “What memory is this?” and arose from his place. The carpenter asked: “O Kází, where are you going?” The Kází replied: “My good fellow, my ‘Key of prosperity’ has been left in the house, and there is a prayer in it that must be recited before pronouncing the matrimonial formula, in order to procure the mutual enjoyment of the newly married couple.” Accordingly he went to the house, but was forestalled by his spouse, who entered it through the secret passage and lay down on her bed. When the Kází arrived and saw his wife in this position he said: “I ask pardon of God from all that displeases him in words, deeds, thoughts, or intentions! To what a strange suspicion have I given way! May God forgive me!” His wife, on hearing these exclamations, yawned and turned from one side to the other, and said: “Violet, did I not tell you to allow no one to enter this room, so that I might repose for a time?” Quoth the Kází: “Beloved partner! there is no stranger. Excuse me, and pardon me for having harboured evil suspicions concerning thee.” The wife replied: “Perhaps you have become mad!”

The Kází again returned to the carpenter's house, but his wife had preceded him and was sitting in her former place. As soon as he looked at her the same suspicions overwhelmed him, and he exclaimed in amazement: “O Lord of glory! I have fallen into a strange predicament, and am, as it were, between two screws of the horns of a dilemma that presses me, on the one hand, quickly to perform the ceremony, and, on the other hand, rather to defer it.” Then said the carpenter: “My lord Kází, I see you despondent and hesitating in this business; and although you ought not to expect anything from me because I am your neighbour, yet I will give you these thousand dínars to hasten your proceedings, because the time is elapsing.” No sooner did the Kází see the money than he put it at once into his pocket and began: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Clement,” and continued to read the matrimonial formula till he arrived at the words, “I marry,” when he perceived a black mole on the corner of his wife's lip, which he had so often kissed. He felt uneasy, and the sugar of the thousand dínars was bitter in the palate of his greediness, he again lowered his head into the collar of meditation and said within himself: “O assembly of genii and men! are you able to withdraw yourselves from the precincts of heaven and earth?” The carpenter exclaimed: “O Kází, I really do not know the reason of your delay, nor from the fountain of what pretence the water of this procrastination is gushing.” The Kází smiled and thus replied: “O carpenter, we are the sureties of legal affairs, the successors of the prophets, and the pontiffs of the laws and canons of the ways of guidance. In every affair that we perform we must attentively consider a thousand subtleties, lest we should become liable to blame in the next world by the commission of a fault. Why are you in such haste? All affairs in this world succeed only by civility and patience, and not by confusion and impatience. Thou resemblest that shepherd who was one day engaged in pasturing his flock and became very thirsty. As a village was very near, he left his sheep and entered it to look for water. He happened to pass near a tree under the shadow of which a schoolmaster was teaching a crowd of boys. After looking for a while, he perceived the teacher reposing and issuing orders, and the boys humbly obeying him in all things and occupied in melodiously rehearsing their lessons. This sort of employment disgusted the shepherd with his own calling, and he thought: ‘While I am able to learn this trade, I do not see why I should spend my whole life to no profit by running about the fields with a lot of sheep. I must change the profession of a shepherd for that of a schoolmaster, and then I shall spend my days in comfort, like this man.’ Accordingly he stepped forward and said: ‘My good master, I have a great inclination to learn your business; please instruct me in it.’ When the master looked at the figure and aspect of the shepherd, he was astonished, and saw he was an ignorant fellow who had no capacity. For the sake of fun, however, he took a piece of paper, wrote the alphabet on it, and said to the man: ‘Be seated, and read this.’ The shepherd asked: ‘Why do you not teach me from these large books?’ Said the master: ‘You are but a beginner, and you cannot read books till you have learned the alphabet.’ Quoth the shepherd: ‘Master, what letters are you speaking about? Please fill me with them now, for my flock roams about without a shepherd, and I have no time to sit down and learn the alphabet.’ The schoolmaster smiled at this and drove the shepherd away. O carpenter,” continued the Kází, “do not fancy every business to be easy. Now I meditate and study how to divide the possessions of a certain wealthy man, who died yesterday, among thirty-two men who have inherited them. This has just occurred to my mind, and I was engaged in multiplication and division.” Then the Kází again glanced at the lady, and beginning to feel uneasy arose once more. The carpenter asked: “O Kází, what fancy is moving you now, and causes you to look so confused?” Said the Kází: “This transaction is one of the greatest importance according to the religious law. It cannot be performed unless after the general ablution, about the completeness of which a doubt has just arisen in my mind; therefore I must return to my house and renew it.” The carpenter answered: “You can wash yourself here.” Quoth the Kází: “No, by God! I never perform my ablutions with water which I have not seen before, and I have all the arrangements for purification in my house.”

The Kází returned to his house accordingly, but his wife went before him through the passage, and was reading a book when he entered her room. He exclaimed: “I ask forgiveness from God, and I repent of all my sins and transgressions.” The lady looked at him in astonishment, and said: “This day I perceive the neck of your intellect confined in the halter of a lunatic fit. How many times have you come and again gone away after holding a soliloquy as madmen are wont to do! If you have become subject to such a distemper, and do not take the proper steps to cure it, I shall not be your nurse.” Said the Kází: “O Bilkís³⁶⁷ of the compact of prudence and innocence, to-day I have indulged in a suspicion regarding thee: I have made a mistake— forgive me!” The wife answered: “The worst people in the world are those who indulge in evil imputations, and those of yours must be expiated.” She then gave a few dínars to Violet, bidding her distribute them among the poor as a penitential expiation. After this the Kází took an apple from his pocket, cut it in twain, and gave one moiety to his wife, saying: “Though apples have many qualities, the chief of them is to increase conjugal love: I intend to go to the bath.”

Putting the other half of the apple in his pocket, the Kází returned to the house of the carpenter. His wife preceded him as usual, and sat down in her place. When he drew near he saw the half of the apple in her hand, and was greatly amazed, but said nothing, for fear of offending the carpenter, who cried out: “O Kází, tell me for God's sake what you have to say, and why is all this going and coming and all this delay? If this affair is disagreeable to you, I shall bring Shaykh Jahtás, or Mullah Allam-Abhuda, the servant of the college, to perform the matrimonial ceremony. O Kází, I expected more kindness from you as a neighbour. This business is not worth so much haggling about, and if you wish more than the thousand, take these five hundred dínars.” When the Kází saw this additional sum of money he was overpowered by covetousness and exclaimed: “I take refuge with God from the lapidated Satan!³⁶⁹ I marry and couple!” Then his eye again alighted on the countenance of his wife and he saw she wore the ruby necklace which he had bought for three thousand dínars. He shook his head and said: “Every now and then I must somehow stop: I do not know what is again distracting my attention,” and he glanced once more at his wife. Quoth the carpenter: “O Kází, your amorous looks have convinced me that your desires are centred in the possession of this lady, for your eyes constantly wander over her countenance. If this be the case, do not make a secret of it, that we may consult her opinion on the matter.” The Kází thought within himself, that, as the carpenter was an ignorant and illiterate man, he might play a trick on him, and recite something else instead of the marriage formula, so that, if his suspicions proved to be well-founded, he might be able to annul the marriage. So he sat down on his haunches and recited: “Iazghára, Iajargára Aftanys Salanká, Dáma Talkuvára,” etc. Then he spoke to the carpenter: “Say, ‘I agree.’” But as the carpenter had frequently heard the marriage formula, he answered: “Kází, this is a formula read to country fellows and retainers. I have given thee one thousand five hundred dínars to marry me like one of the grandees. I am not a child to be thus played with: this formula is not worth twenty dínars. Either return me the money or recite the proper manly formula.” Quoth the Kází: “You are but a working man, carpenter, why then do you entertain such high pretensions? I have just now read to you the formula which I made use of in marrying Mullah Abdullah, the householder in the market, yet you want a formula used for grandees, scholars, and judges, and to give me a headache!” The carpenter replied: “I also covet science and distinction.” Said the Kází: “How will you convince me of that?” The carpenter continued: “I know the story of the ‘Sun and Moon.’³⁷⁰ I have heard the tale of ‘Sayf ul-Mulúk and Badya'á ul-Jumal.’ I have likewise seen ‘The Road to the Mosque.’ My father used to pass once every day near the schoolhouse of Mullah Namatullah Kylak.” Said the Kází: “There is no science or perfection higher than this. I did not know the degree or limit which thou hast attained.”^370a In consequence of this irony of the Kází, the carpenter put a feather in his bonnet³⁷¹ and said: “There is no excuse.” Once more the Kází attempted to begin the formula, but when he looked at the half of the apple that was in the lady's hand, he cried: “Woman, give me that half-apple!” She complied, and the Kází took the other half from his pocket, and by placing the two halves together he found them to fit exactly. The carpenter exclaimed: “Kází, apparently some jugglery is going on here! What delusion are you subject to every moment?” The Kází replied: “I have done this simply to produce conjugal love between you.” Then he again rose and wanted to go to his house for the purpose of verifying his surmises, but the lady turned to the carpenter and said: “Foolish man, hast thou brought me here to marry me, or to make a laughing-stock of me? I have never before seen such proceedings. I think his eyes have become subject to [the disease called] pearl-water.” The Kází took no notice of these remarks, but hastened to his house, where his wife met him with these words: “O Kází, thou resemblest those people who have the pearl-water in their eyes.” Said he: “There is no God but the God! The other woman has spoken the same thing. Tell me at all events what is the distemper called pearl-water.” His wife answered: “Pearl-water is a humour caused by heavy particles in the stomach rising into the head, and from thence descending into the eyelids, which injures the eyes, so that different persons appear to be the same, and cannot be distinguished from each other. If this malady is not cured it degenerates into blindness.” Quoth the Kází: “Perhaps this is because I have not kept my depraved appetite in subjection. Several days ago I was with the superintendent of police in the house of Kávas the Armenian, who had died; we went there to take an inventory of his goods and chattels for the Amír. The children of Khoja Kávas had, by way of a sweetmeat, something baked in hog's blood; as I was hungry and this food happened to be delicious, I ate somewhat freely of it; and as it had been prepared from the property of the deceased man, it may possibly have had its consequences.”³⁷²

A third time the Kází returned to the carpenter's house, and when he beheld his wife, and glanced stealthily at her, the lady was wroth and said to the carpenter: “This fellow is every now and then casting amorous glances at me, and through my connection with thee I have lost my reputation. Either drive him away or forfeit my company.” Quoth the Kází: “Respectable virgin and honourable lady, in all matters consideration is useful.” The carpenter lost his patience and exclaimed: “You have nearly killed me with your folly and loquacity. I do not wish any longer for marriage. If thou hast considered this woman worthy of thy haram, why hast thou for so long a time been undecided?” Whilst the carpenter was thus talking, they heard the voice of the muezzin, and he exclaimed: “Alas, it is noon³⁷³ —the propitious hour has elapsed!” Said the Kází: “You are a carpenter; you know how to handle the saw and the axe, to make windows and doors. But what idea have you of the rotation of the spheres—about good and bad stars and hours? This science belongs to our profession.” Then taking an almanac from his pocket and opening it, he said: “The moon is a luminary of quick motion. Yesterday she entered the sign of the Balance, but has so quickly travelled through the degrees that she feels tired to-day and is still reposing, and will not travel to-morrow. From hour to hour till to-morrow, inclusive, wedding dinners and other feasts are propitious. I shall now go to my house and prepare a medicine for the pearl-water of my eyes, as it will probably hinder me from studying.” But the carpenter and the lady seized the Kází, one on either side, and said: “Mayhap the affairs of this world are only a play! By Allah, we shall not let thee go ere thou hast tied the matrimonial knot.” Quoth the Kází: “Let me go, else I shall immediately write a mandate for the capital punishment of both of you.” They rejoined: “May the columns of the house of Khoja Ratyl, the merchant, fall upon you, if you do us the least harm!” Upon this the Kází turned his face upwards and prayed: “O Judge of the court of justice of destiny, protect me from the evil of all mad persons and from all malefactors, and grant me health and peace! Thou judgest—thou art the sovereign Judge!” As he had no alternative now but to marry the lady to the carpenter, and as at that time it was customary for the bride to kiss the hand of the Kází after the termination of the ceremony, the lady stepped forward for this purpose; but the Kází was so anxious to mark his wife for identification afterwards, that he struck her such a blow on the cheek with his clenched hand as to cause her to bleed profusely. Then he ran into his own house, where he found his wife disfiguring her face and crying out: “I renounce such an adulterous husband, who is carrying on an intrigue with the carpenter's wife.” She and her maids then took him by the throat and pulled off his turban, and he fled into the street. The carpenter, who had heard the noise, came out, and seeing him with his head uncovered placed his own turban on it, and said: “O Kází, women are of an imperfect understanding, and quarrels between husbands and wives have taken place at all times. If you have lost your senses, this can easily be remedied by taking up your lodging for a few days in a madhouse, until your spouse repents of her deed.” And so the Kází went to repose himself in a lunatic asylum.

The secret-knowing bulbul of the musical-hall of narratives, namely, the pen, thus continues its melody: After the wife of the Kází had severed the robe of his conjugal authority with the scissors of deceit, she again stitched it with the needle of fraud, and invested with it the bosom of the wretched Kází's imbecility by means of the above-narrated tricks. Then she sent word to her two accomplices, that she had drawn the bow of machination to its utmost extent by the exertion of her skill, that she had with the arrow thereof hit the target of the conditions stipulated, and that now the field was free to them for the display of their cunning.

THE blandly-ambling pea-fowl of the pen continues the narrative as follows: Now it was the turn of the bazár's-master's wife, whose tricks were of a kind to instruct Iblís in the laws of deceit and fraud.³⁷⁶ She began to weigh all kinds of stratagems in the balance of meditation, to enable her to decide what course of roguery would be best for her object. She happened to have a nurse who had also attained the highest degree of intrigue by the instigations of Iblís, and was her assistant in all her devices; so calling this woman, and anointing with the balsam of flattery the limbs of her attachment, she said: “O beloved and kind mother, the ornaments and pictures of my house of fraud and cunning are the offspring of thy instructions. It is long since the bond of amity was torn between me and my husband. In spite of all my endeavours, I am unable to cope with his sagacity; but I trust in thy affection, and hope that we shall be able to arrange this matter by thy assistance.” The nurse answered: “Ornament of the tribe of the lovely!

My soul is longing and my eyes waiting,
Both to be sacrificed at thy behest.

As long as the child of the spirit remains in the cradle of my body, and the milk of motion and rest circulates in the members of it, I cannot avoid obeying thy commands. I sincerely comply with all thy orders.” Then said the wife of the bazár-master: “As I was one day coming from the bath, the son of a banker was walking in the lane. And when the smoke of the torch of my tenderness reached his nostrils, he fell from the courser of the intellect upon the ground of insensibility and followed me everywhere with groans and sighs; but the vanity of seeing myself beloved allowed me not to sprinkle the rosewater of a glance upon the face of his expectation. When he arrived at the door of my house, he sobbed, and then went away. I know that the bird of his heart is captivated by the pursuit after the grain of this phantom, and is imprisoned in the meshes of exclusion. I want thee to go to him and convey to him the following message: ‘From that day when the chamberlain of carelessness hindered me from admitting thee to the intimacy of an interview, I dreamed every night fearful dreams, and am to this day at all times so much plunged into the drowning waters of uneasiness, that it has become plain to me that all this is the consequence of thy disappointment and exclusion. Now I wish to remedy my incivility by promenading a little in the gardens of thy love and attachment. As the bazár-master will be engaged till the morning in some business, the house will not be encumbered by his presence. So put on a woman's veil, bring wine and the requisites for amusement, and come hither, that we may sweeten our palates with the honey of meeting each other.’”

After the lady had despatched her nurse to the banker's son, the bazár-master arrived, and his wife thus addressed him: “Beloved husband, to-morrow, one of the principal ladies of the town, whose acquaintance I have made at the bath, will come to me on a visit. As it is for my interest to receive her with all possible courtesy, you must remain in the town-hall to-morrow until evening. Send in the supplies required for a handsome entertainment, and please to arrange all in such a manner as we shall not reap shame from anything.” The bazár-master lighted the lamp of acquiescence in the assembly of compliance and said: “Let it be so.”

When the banker of morn sat down in the shop of the horizon, and when the unalloyed gold of the sun stamped in the mint of creation with the legend of brilliancy, and the light began to ascend towards the meridian of the sphere, the son of the banker put on costly garments, perfumed himself, and threw over his clothes a large veil, and taking under it a flask of ruby-coloured wine, proceeded with a thousand joyful expectations to the mansion of his mistress, who had, like the crescent moon on a festive eve, gone to meet him with open arms as far as the vestibule of the house, saying:

“To-day my moon visits me with joy,
And renews the covenant of love with his light.

Thou art welcome! For the rays of thy sun-like countenance have made my humble cottage the object of jealousy of the palaces of Europe, and delightful, like Paradise!

Come! For without thee I cannot endure life:
The eyelids of my repose meet not sleep without thee.
I wish not for the water of immortality through Khizr:
Thy cheeks are not less to me than immortality.”

The lady took him into the interior apartments, divested him of the veil, threw the hand of amity over the neck of his affection, begged his pardon for her past offence, entangled with kindness the feet of his heart in the stirrup-leathers of hope, then entirely undressed him, and said: “Rest thyself comfortably in this secret apartment until I go and bring the requisites for company and music, when we shall enjoy ourselves.” She went out and said to her female attendants: “When I go in again, you must call the bazár-master into the house and say: ‘Our lady has brought a strange man, with whom she is amusing herself and drinking wine.’” Then she returned to the young man and kept him company. In the meantime her husband was informed of what was going on in his house, and becoming greatly excited, sent in a servant to inquire. The lady said to the youth, in seeming perplexity: “This coming of my husband is not without a cause—perhaps he has a notion that you are here.” The youth, trembling with terror, said: “Alas, I shall lose my life through this affair; for the bazár-master is jealous, and will injure me.” Then the lady opened a chest and said to the young man: “Conceal yourself in this chest until I see what will come of the business;” and having locked the box and put away the youth's clothes, she met her husband, who was inflamed like an oven. Throwing her arms round his neck, she exclaimed: “Darling of my soul! I see thee greatly discomposed and confused—what is it?” He replied: “My reason is unwilling to put faith in what I have heard, and I want you to tell me the truth.” The lady smiled and said: “What thou hast heard is quite true. The lamp of my heart was for a long time blazing in the assembly of love towards a young man; the palm-tree of his imagination likewise bore the fruit of attachment to me; and now I have brought him and am in his company. Love is innate in human nature, but has never manifested itself between me and thee. Hast thou not heard of Laylá and Majnún, or read the story of Yúzuf and Zulay-khá? Is there anyone in the world who has not felt the pangs of love? He in the mother-shell of whose heart affection finds no refuge has indeed reaped no fruit from the spring of life.

Love is the ornament of the rose-grove of the heart;
It is the guide and leader to each mansion.
The breast is a lamp whose flame is love;
The heart is a shell, and love the pearl in it.
The lamp without a flame is the grave;
Without a pearl the shell has no light.

O bazár-master!” she continued, “there is no man or woman who has not tasted the pleasures of this passion; it is inherent in life, and its exhilarating breezes invigorate the rose-garden of politeness. There is no animate being whose nostrils have not been perfumed by the fragrance of the garden of love: perhaps I have no heart, and am no human being? How long shall I dwell with thee? In all circumstances a change of climate becomes necessary. My unfortunate friend has been long prostrated on the bed of sickness for the love which he bears to me, and on account of his exclusion. Humanity and compassion are the chief corner-stones of Islám, and what shall I answer on the day of resurrection if I do not act in compliance with these two duties? Hast thou not heard that a mendicant must not be sent away unrelieved, and that if an ant creep away with one grain the stores will not be diminished?

No harm befalls the granary
If a poor ant obtains half a grain.

A hundred thousand persons drink water from one fountain, and several people eat fruit from one date-tree. What deficiency will be entailed upon the rose-grove of my tenderness if the odour of a rose bring tranquility to the nostrils of an unfortunate man? Quench the thirst of a thirsty man with a drop of water, and rescue a fainting one from the labyrinth of distress; for good acts are a dam to misfortunes. Be not melancholy, O bazár-master, for in the banquet of my existence the plates of my tender delicacies are so numerous that a thousand persons like thyself may be satisfied by them for many years.”

The bazár-master said, with astonishment: “Worthless, foolish, and vain woman, what senseless words are you saying?” She replied: “I swear, by the gratitude due for thy affection and friendship, that everything I said was only fun and dissimulation. But if you have any doubts on the subject come and see for yourself.” She then led the way, and her husband followed her until they reached her chamber. When he beheld the youth's clothes, the arrangements for drinking, and the decorations, he began to blaze up like a flame, and to ferment like a tub of wine—in short, he was quite beside himself, and asked: “Where is the young man?” She answered: “He is in that chest. I have concealed him in it, and if you do not believe it, take the key—open and look.” The bazár-master had no sooner taken the key than his wife burst into laughter, clapped her hands, and exclaimed: “I remember, but you forget!” Her husband threw down the key, and said: “Miserable woman, you have destroyed my patience. Was it worth while thus to trifle with my affection?” With these words he left the house; but during the conversation the young man was like one suspended between death and life. When it was evening the lady opened the chest, and said to him: “Leave this place quickly, and remove the spectacle of this intention from your eyes, for you were near being invested with the robe of a lover.” The young man thanked God for having preserved his life, and fled precipitately. ³⁸³

After the bird of the bazár-master's wife had laid this egg in the nest of deceit, she informed the spouse of the superintendent of police that she had also spread her net and captured the coveted game; and that now, the field being free, she was prepared to see what fruit the tree of her friend's accomplishments would bear.

THE narrator of this tale causes the rose-bud of his rhetoric to blossom from the dew of composition as follows: When the wife of the superintendent of police was apprised that her turn had come, she revolved and meditated for some time what trick she was to play off upon her lord, and after coming to a conclusion she said to him one evening: “To-morrow I wish that we should both enjoy ourselves at home without interruption, and I mean to prepare some cakes.” He replied: “Very well, my dear; I have longed for such an occasion.” The lady had a servant who was very obedient and always covered with the mantle of attachment to her. Next morning she called this lad and said to him: “I have long contemplated the Hyacinth³⁸⁴ grove of thy symmetrical stature. I know that thou travelest constantly and faithfully on the road of compliance with all my wishes, and that thou seekest to serve me. I have a little business which I wish thee to do for me.” The lad answered: “I shall be happy to comply.” Then the lady gave him a thousand dínars and said: “Go to the convent which is in our neighbourhood, give this money to one of the Kalandars,³⁸⁵ and say: ‘A prisoner whom the Amír had surrendered to the police escaped last night. He resembles thee greatly; and as the superintendent of police is unable to give account of his prisoner to the Amír, he has despatched a man to take thee instead of the escaped criminal. I have compassion for thee and mean to rescue thee. Take this sum of money; give me thy dress, and flee from this town; for if thou remainest till the morning thou wilt be subject to torture and lose thy life.’”

The lad acted as he was ordered; brought the Kalandar's garments and handed them to his mistress. When it was morning the lady said to her husband: “I know you have long wished to eat sweetmeats, and, if you will allow me, I will make some to-day.” He said: “Very well.” His wife then made all things ready and began to bake the sweetmeats, when the superintendent of police said: “Last night a theft was committed in such a place and I sat up late to extort confessions; and as I have had a sleepless night, I feel tired and wish to repose a little.” The lady answered: “Very well;” so her husband reclined on the pillow of rest; and when the sweetmeats were ready she took a portion, and after putting an opiate into one she roused him, saying: “How long will you sleep? This is a day of feasting and pleasure, not of sleep and laziness. Lift up your head and see if I have made the sweets according to your taste.” He raised his head and ate a piece of the hot cake and presently a deep sleep overcame him. The lady at once undressed her husband and put on him the Kalandar's garments, and the slave-boy shaved his beard and made tattoo marks on his body.

When night had set in the lady called to the slave-boy: “Hyacinth, take the superintendent on thy back and carry him to the convent in the place of that Kalandar, and should he wish to return home in the morning do not allow him.” The lad obeyed; and towards morning the superintendent recovered his senses a little, but as the opiate had made his palate very bitter he became extremely thirsty. He fancied he was in his own house and bawled out: “Narcissus,³⁸⁶ bring water.” The other Kalandars awoke, and after hearing several shouts of this kind they concluded he was under the effects of bhang and said: “Poor fellow! The narcissus is in the garden. This is the convent of sufferers, and there are green garments enough here. Arise and sober thyself; for the morning and harbinger of benefits, as well as of the acquisition of victuals for subsistence, is approaching.” When the superintendent heard these words he thought they were in a dream, for he had not yet fully recovered his senses. He sat quietly, but was amazed on beholding the vaults and ceiling of the convent. He got up, looked at the clothes in which he was dressed, and at the marks tattooed on his body, and began to doubt whether he was awake or asleep. He washed his face, and perceived that the caravan of his mustachios had likewise departed from the plain of his countenance. In this state of perplexity he went out of the monastery and proceeded to his house. There his wife and servants had made their arrangements and were expecting his arrival. Approaching the door and knocking for admission, Hyacinth demanded: “Whom seekest thou, O Kalandar?” “I want to enter the house.” Quoth the slave-boy: “Evidently thou hast taken thy morning draught of bhang more copiously than usual, since thou hast thus foolishly mistaken the road to thy convent. Depart! This is not the place in which vagabond Kalandars are harboured. This is the mansion of the superintendent of the police, and if the símurgh should look uncivilly at this place from his fastness in the west of Mount Káf,³⁸⁷ the wings of his impertinence would be at once singed.” The superintendent replied: “What nonsense is this thou art speaking? Get out of my way, for I do not relish thy imbecile prattle.” But when he would have entered, Hyacinth dealt him a blow on the shoulder with a bludgeon, which the superintendent returned with a box on the ear, and they began to wrestle together. Just then the lady and her slave-girls rushed forth from the rear and assailed the superintendent with sticks and stones, shouting: “This Kalandar wishes in broad daylight to force his way into the house of the superintendent, who is unfortunately sick, else he would have hanged the rascal.” By this time all the neighbours were assembled before the house, and on seeing the Kalandar's shameless proceedings they exclaimed: “Look at that impudent Kalandar, who wants forcibly to enter the house of the superintendent!” Ultimately the crowd amounted to more than five hundred persons, and the superintendent was put to flight, pursued by all the boys of the town, who pelted him with stones.

At a distance of three farsangs from the town was a village, where the superintendent concealed himself in a corner of the mosque. In the evenings he went from house to house and begged for food to sustain life, until his beard grew again and the tattoo marks began to disappear. Whenever any one inquired for the superintendent at his house, the answer was, that the gentleman was sick. After a month had passed, the grief of separation and the misery of his condition had again drawn the superintendent back to the city. He went to the monastery because fear hindered him from going to his own house. His wife happened one day to catch a glimpse of him from a window, and perceived him sitting in the same dress with a company of Kalandars. She felt compassion for him, and thought: “He has had enough of this!” Making a loaf and putting an opiate into it, she said to the slave-boy: “When all the Kalandars are asleep, go and place this loaf under the head of the superintendent,” which he did accordingly. When the superintendent awoke during the night and found the loaf, he supposed it had been placed there by one of his companions, and ate part of it and fell into a deep sleep. Some hours afterwards, the slave-boy, as directed by his mistress, went to the convent, and taking the superintendent on his back carried him home.

When it was morning the lady took off the Kalandar's dress from her husband and clothed him in his own garments, and then began to bake sweetmeats as on the former occasion. After some time the gentleman began to move, and his wife exclaimed: “O superintendent, do not sleep so much. I have told you that we are to spend this day in joy and festivity, and it was not right of you to pass the time in this lazy manner. Lift up your head and see the beautiful sweetmeats I have baked for you.” When the superintendent opened his eyes and saw himself dressed in his own clothes, the rose-bush of his amazement again brought forth the flowers of astonishment, and he cried: “God be praised! What has happened to me?” He sat up, and said: “Wife, things have occurred to me which I can hardly describe.” Quoth the lady: “From your uneasy motions during sleep, it appears that you have had very strange dreams.” “Strange dreams!” echoed the husband. “From the moment I lay down I have experienced the most extraordinary adventures.” The lady rejoined: “Assuredly! Last night you ate food which disagreed with your stomach, and to-day its vapours seem to have ascended into your brains, causing you all this distress.” Said he: “You are right. Last evening I was with a party at the house of Serjeant Bahman, where I heartily partook of a pillau, and it has surely been the cause of all my trouble.”

When the three companions in the lists of deceit had executed their different stratagems, they went according to arrangement to the same bath, in order to state their cases to the old hag who had promised to award the ring to the most cunning of the three ladies; but to their surprise and chagrin they learned that she had departed to another country, thus outwitting them all, and kept the coveted ring for herself.

IN days of yore and times of old there was a merchant in Yaman of the name of Khoja Bashír, who was adorned with all good qualities. He enjoyed the intimacy of the king's society, and the star of his good luck was so much in the ascendant with the king's favour that the splendour of the lamp of his presence was constantly illuming the courtly assembly of royalty, which could never for a moment dispense with it. The king was accustomed to avail himself of his advice in all grave and subtle affairs, and rewarded him with many favours. But his majesty had a Vazír of an envious disposition, the merchandise of whose unhappy temper was neither current nor acceptable in the warehouse of humane qualities. This Vazír hated Khoja Bashír because he was superior to himself in ability and was much in the king's intimacy. He thus reasoned with himself: “It is probable that the king will become alienated from me and confer the vazírate upon Khoja Bashír. It is every man's duty to look after his own affairs and endeavour to remove his enemies. While Khoja Bashír continues to drink from the cup of life and dress in the robe of royal favours, the colour of distress will never be removed from the face of the sun of my quietude, nor can my heart rest for a moment in peace. Therefore I must make the utmost efforts and concoct a plan by which Khoja Bashír will not only lose the regard of the king but be either put to death or exiled from this city.” Day and night this purpose was uppermost in his mind, until on one occasion he happened to be alone with the sultan, and availing himself of the opportunity he said to his majesty:

“O king of high lineage and great power,
By thy existence the throne's glory is honoured!
May the flag of thy prosperity and grandeur always adorn the sphere!
The very dust of thy court brightens the eye of dignity!

As, according to the canons of government and the administration of affairs, vazírs are called the keys of the treasury of the regulations of business, and the bankers of the good and evil transactions of the governments of honoured potentates, I venture to trouble your majesty about a matter which has taken place in opposition to the customs of obedience.” The king said: “Speak,” and the Vazír thus proceeded: “Two things injure the edifice and the dignity of government: one is to lightly esteem honoured and respected persons, and the other is to exalt those who are mean and nameless. Every one who seeks the shadow of the humaí of prosperity and of royalty must for several reasons keep in mind these two things. Khoja Bashír, the merchant, who is placed on the upper seat of your majesty's proximity and regard, is a man of low extraction, a criminal, and notorious for his immorality. His wife is an adulteress, who has stepped quite beyond the pale of modesty, and scruples not to be present and to roam in all assemblies and crowds and associate with all sorts of vagabonds and profligate persons. And it is a matter of astonishment that, with all your perfections and wisdom, your majesty should have fallen into this heedlessness.” As the king had many times tried the character of Khoja Bashír on the touchstone of examination and experience, and had never discovered a flaw in the gem of his essence and qualities, he was amazed, and, refusing to assent to the accusations of the Vazír, he said to him: “It is scarcely possible that I should associate with a man of that description. I have found him perfect, and the pure gold of his morals void of the dross and alloy of vices. What you say about his character is far from probable, and you must establish your asseveration by witnesses and proofs, that I may believe it, else I shall punish you with the utmost severity.” The Vazír now regretted and repented of what he had said, but asked the king for a week's respite; and during that time his mind was day and night wandering like a pen over the plain of composition, and meditating by what ruse he might strike the lightning of defamation into the granary of the modesty of Khoja Bashír's wife.

In that city lived a deceitful old hag, who was well skilled in all sorts of cunning tricks. The Vazír sent for her, and, after anointing all the limbs of her expectations with the oil of promises, he said to her: “There is an engagement between me and the king, and for my purpose I require you to bring me, in any way you possibly can, some token from Khoja Bashír's wife.” The old crone answered: “By my soul! I shall endeavour my utmost to do you this piece of service.” Next day she put on an old tattered dress, and assumed the appearance of a poor and destitute creature; and going to the house of Khoja Bashír, as if to beg, wished to enter, but the porter repulsed her, upon which she exclaimed: “O accursed one! hast thou not heard that

‘Whoever impedes the begging of the poor
Is a mean wretch, who will go to hell’?

What loss wilt thou suffer if I go into the prosperous house of the Khoja and the ant of my hope obtain one grain of profit from the storehouse of his succour?” She again put forth the foot of effort to gain admittance, but the porter held his staff before her, and said: “The Khoja is at present with the king, and I cannot allow any person to enter in his absence.” Hereupon the old woman threw herself upon the ground, and screamed: “The doorkeeper has killed me!” She bit and wounded her limbs, besmeared them with blood, and cried: “Alas, my little ones will be orphans!” When the wife of the Khoja heard the clamour of the hag she sent the eunuchs out, and when they saw an old woman lying on the ground, apparently in the agony of death, they asked her: “Who art thou, and what has happened to thee?” She replied: “I am a poor, weak, old woman, and have come to the prosperous mansion of the Khoja in the hope of obtaining assistance, but in consequence of my unfounded expectations my life has fallen a prey to the winds of annihilation from the beating inflicted on me by the doorkeeper.” The eunuchs blamed the porter, saying: “Unfortunate man! The removal of misfortunes and the attainment of high degrees are connected with the advent [and relief] of mendicants. Art thou not ashamed of having so unmercifully stricken this old beggar-woman?” The porter swore to the untruthfulness of her assertions, and related the whole matter, after which the eunuchs communicated the facts to the wife of the Khoja, who was very kind-hearted, and said to them: “Bring the poor creature in, by all means, that I may investigate her case; for destitute persons and darveshes are the caravan of God's mercy and pity, and to injure them kindles the flame of his anger.”

The eunuchs wrapped the old hag in a carpet and carried her before the Khoja's wife, who at once applied to her nostrils different perfumes, such as castor, sandal, and aloe. After a while the old crone opened her eyes and let loose the general of the caravan of deceit, namely, her tongue, in praises and good wishes for the lady, saying: “Noble lady, may you obtain the approbation of God, and may your future circumstances be still more prosperous! Had my weak limbs not been strengthened by the balsam of your kindness, the stamina of my life would have been disturbed by the grasp of death in consequence of the ill-treatment which I received from the doorkeeper, and my little children would have been afflicted by the bitter poison of becoming orphans.” Then she began freely to weep and lament, saying: “O treacherous Destiny! thou hast thrown me into the heartburning flames of the death of Khoja Távus, my husband. Was it not enough to deprive me of so great a blessing, and to subject me to the trials of poverty, and to compel me to seek for a precarious maintenance for my children, and to induce me to do things of which my slaves would have been ashamed? O noble lady, I was a woman of honour and reputation, and of a very high family, but the reverses of Fortune have deprived me of my husband and property, and driven me away from the mansion of tranquility and comfort. Every day a thousand destitute and worthy persons were supplied from the table of my bounty. But one day I sent a mendicant away empty-handed, and on that account the torrent of diminution has overthrown the castle of my affluence, and reduced me to this needy condition. The poor are the spies of the palace of monotheism: to give them alms, and to treat them well, is an occasion of the increase of the vernal garden of God's favour; but to disappoint them brings on the destruction of the mansion of comfort and life.

If thou debar a beggar of aid
Thou wilt enjoy no pleasure.
The prayer of the mendicant
Will preserve thee from ill luck.
Give thy scraps to the poor,
That thou mayest always prosper.

O respected and noble lady, the fame of Khoja Bashír's liberal disposition has to-day induced me to apply at this place. I came here eagerly to obtain a morsel of your bounty; but as such an accident has befallen me, God be praised, what other remedy is there but patience and gratitude? What use is there to contend with Fate?”

By this address the old hag had so well sown the seeds of weeping and lamentation in the net of incantation, and had so dexterously sung the threnody of her sadness and poverty, that the unsuspecting bird of the lady's simplicity was taken in the meshes of her ruse. The lady wept, and begged her pardon for the injuries she had received from the doorkeeper, and said: “Wait until the Khoja returns home, and I will give thee gold and silver enough for the comfort of the remainder of thy life, and thou wilt not need to make any more demands on the liberality of others. Though thou seest much property here, I am not able to dispose of it without my husband's permission.” The old crone waited till evening, but the Khoja had not returned, so she said: “Honoured lady, the Khoja has not yet come, and my little children, who know that I have taken refuge at this threshold, are expecting to participate in his bounty.” The lady divested herself of a robe, handed it to the old trot, and said: “This dress is my own property; sell it and provide for your orphans, until I get something handsome for you from the Khoja in the morning.”

The old woman took the robe and hastened with it to the house of the Vazír, saying to him: “I have obtained an evident token from the wife of Khoja Bashír.” The Vazír was extremely rejoiced, and proceeded that very night to the king after the Khoja had departed to say his prayers, and, showing the dress, said: “May the spheres always revolve according to the will of your majesty, and may the sun of your prosperity shine in the zenith of good fortune! Your humble servant has brought a token of the guilt of Khoja Bashír's wife, who often comes to me; but, in consideration of my virtue and of the favour which I enjoy from your majesty, as well as because of the good will I bear towards Khoja Bashír,³⁹⁸ I have always tried to dissuade her from her misconduct and never admitted her into my house. Last night, however, for the purpose of obtaining some proof of her guilt I sent for her; she was with me till morning, and this is a sign of her presence. Even this evening she came again, but I sent her away. Let this robe be shown to Khoja Bashír, and if he should not recognise it I shall find means to give him the particulars.” The king was greatly displeased, and the vazír took his leave. When Khoja Bashír returned the king said nothing to him about the affair, and the Khoja, as usual, slept in the palace. But when the belle of the morn invested herself with the robe of dawn and seated herself in the edifice of the Orient, the king showed the garment to Khoja Bashír, saying: “Last night the police met a gang of thieves and took this dress from them. I wonder whose it may be?” As soon as the Khoja's eye alighted on the garment he recognised it, trembled and became pale, and said: “The dress belongs to one of your servant's household; but as I have been for some time in attendance on your majesty, I do not know what has happened in my family.” Then said the king: “You vile wretch! Are you not ashamed to keep so guilty a woman in your house, who spends every night in the company of a fresh lover? Last night your wife was in the house of the Vazír till morning, and this dress has been brought to me as a proof of the fact. I am in fault to have admitted such an unprincipled fellow into my society.” Khoja Bashír was thunder-struck; but as he had no reason to doubt his wife's modesty, he knew that this was a trick of the Vazír. He tried in vain to undeceive the king, who was so excited that he at once issued orders for his execution, and so he was taken from the palace to the place where he was to be put to death.

The Khoja had a slave-boy who was much attached to him, and he ran to the house and informed his master's wife of what had happened. The lady said: “There is no harm done. I gave away the dress in charity and for the sake of gaining favour with the Most High; nor can the promise which he has given with reference to the beneficent ever fail in its effects, and he will not allow any ill to befall the Khoja.” She handed a purse of gold to the lad and bade him give it to the executioners, to induce them to delay carrying out the sentence on the Khoja, to which they willingly consented, as they had received many favours from him while he was in the king's service. In the meantime the Khoja's wife threw a veil over her head and went to the palace, where she found the Vazír, who had come to prevent any attempt that might be made to rescue the Khoja. The lady exclaimed: “O king, I seek justice from the tyranny and wickedness of the Vazír!” Said the king: “What injustice has the Vazír done you?” She answered: “I am a stipendiary of grandees, and in this way do I gain my livelihood. It is almost fifteen years since I began to wait on the Vazír. He promised to give me nine hundred dirhams annually, but he now presumes upon his high station and gives me nothing. Last night when I asked him for what is due to me he threatened to have me killed.” The Vazír was amazed, and on being questioned by the king said: “This woman speaks what is not true. I swear by the head of your majesty that I have never seen her nor do I know her.” Then the lady said: “He has made a false oath by the head of his benefactor! Let him write down his assertion, and if his treachery should become evident to your majesty let him be duly punished.” The Vazír arose and scrutinised the face and stature of the lady, and then wrote a declaration that he had never seen or known this woman, and that if his assertion proved false he would resign his life and leave his blood to be licked by the dogs. After the Vazír had delivered this paper to the king, the lady said: “Let it be known to the exalted mind of your majesty that I am the wife of Khoja Bashír, the merchant, against whom this tyrannical individual, to satisfy his hatred and envy, concocted this stratagem with reference to me. God the Most High has said that whoever uses cunning towards another shall also be over-reached by cunning.” She then explained the matter fully, and added: “As the Vazír declares that he does not know me, how could I have been with him last night?”

The king became convinced of the treachery of the Vazír, who was overwhelmed with shame and fell, as it were, into the agonies of death. Khoja Bashír was by the king's order immediately brought back from the place of execution, and his wife returned to her house. The old hag was produced and examined, but would not confess until the instruments of torture were brought, when she spoke as follows: “As women are of imperfect understanding,⁴⁰¹ I cannot be guilty. At the instigation of the Vazír I entered the house of the Khoja, where that virtuous and modest lady, his wife, took off the robe from her own body and bestowed it on me for the sake of God. Disregarding her kindness, the greediness of my disposition induced me to transgress the straight path, in order to obtain the reward promised to me by the Vazír.” The king caused both the Vazír and the old hag to be suspended on the gallows. He approved the prudent demeanour of the wife of Khoja Bashír, begged pardon of the Khoja, and installed him into the dignity of the Vazír, whose whole property he bestowed upon him.

THERE was a man in Tabríz the orbs of whose vision were deprived of the faculty of seeing, and the stature of his circumstances had lost the robe of wealth. He went from house to house begging and was in the habit of chanting these verses:

“Whoever turns his face from the road of justice, His breast will become a target for the shafts of misfortune.”

One day he went about according to his custom, and having stopped near a rich man's house, he began to beg, and also recited the above distich. The master of the house refreshed his thirsty lips with the pleasant shower of a gift and said: “I have often heard you chant these words; tell me your reason for so doing.” The blind man thus replied:

“Kind and humane Sir, why do you ask me to relate to you an event which is sad, and still rankles in my heart? My birth-place is in Syria, near Damascus. My father in the beginning of his career was a hawker, and in that business he considered honesty, piety, and justice as the principal stock-in-trade of the shop of his livelihood. By the blessing of these upright principles his condition was improved, and day by day the darkness of his poverty was being dispelled by the lamp of prosperity; his wealth gradually increased so much that he became a dealer in jewels, and having with some other merchants undertaken an expedition to Bahrayn, he bought there a great quantity of pearls and returned home. He engaged in that business with several assistants and the star of his good fortune was daily rising till it culminated, and he became one of the wealthiest men in that country. The diver in the sea of Destiny extracted the pearl of my father's life from the shell of his existence. All his property became mine; and having sat down in the depository of my father's welfare and ease, I spread like him the carpet of the self-same employment and occupation. The tree of greediness for money had struck deep roots in my heart; and worldliness had obtained such a complete dominion over me that I was deprived once for all of the reins of self-control. In lucrative speculations and mercantile transactions I took dishonesty and fraud into my partnership; and, although I endeavoured to cover the reproving eye of conscience with the sleeve of prohibition, I was unable to cope with my insatiable greediness. It is considered as very mean to commence business in the bazár before sunrise, but I was in the habit of doing so,⁴⁰⁴ and one day, just when I had opened my shop, there came a man of sinister aspect, from whose face the jaundice of poverty had wiped off the bloom of health. He began to praise God, and, having drawn from his pocket a precious pearl, thus addressed me: “Young man, I had once great riches and possessions, but by a sudden reverse of fortune I was made penniless in the twinkling of an eye, and all that has remained to me is this pearl. The destitution of my family and my own difficulties have compelled me to offer it for sale in order to ward off other evils, until the breeze of prosperity again begins to blow towards me.” I took the pearl from his hand, and although it was extremely valuable and I was astonished at its beauty, purity, and splendour, yet, influenced by the cunning of our trade, I turned contemptuously towards the man and said: “This pearl is not so precious as you suppose; your poverty, however, induces me to buy it. What is the price?” Then I pretended to busy myself with something else, but the desire to possess the pearl had pervaded my whole being, and I was afraid lest it should become the prey of another dealer. The man replied: “Dear friend, though you see me now in a state of distress, there was a time when I presented many such pearls to my friends. It is not worth while to make so much about the sale of a single pearl, and I myself am perfectly aware of its real value; but as I have come to your shop I should feel ashamed to go round the others. Your own skill and knowledge are perfectly competent to decide this matter, and you may offer me whatever you think just and equitable.” He then handed the pearl to me once more, and though I contended with my greediness to offer him one half of its value my wicked nature would not consent. I drew forth twenty dirhams from my pocket and placed them before him. He took the money, and drawing a deep sigh he exclaimed: “What justice and humanity!” and went his way. I was highly pleased at having thus obtained a gem for twenty dirhams which would have been cheap at a thousand. I drew every moment the comb of complacency over the mustachios of my shrewdness, and placed the hand of approbation on the shoulder of my expertness, and never suspected that the day of retribution would overtake me.

“Only two days had elapsed after this transaction when I again opened my shop at sunrise, before any other inhabitant of the bazár had begun to stir. I was arranging my shop when one of the principal citizens passed on horseback, and, thrusting my head out from the door to see who the cavalier was, the horse shied, the rider was thrown violently to the ground and immediately expired. A crowd of attendants that followed fell on me, beat me with sticks, and then tied my hands. The other shopkeepers, who were unfriendly towards me on account of my greediness of gain, began to gather round me; they heartily wished that I might fall into some scrape, and much as I tried to explain no one paid any attention; but one of them said: ‘The accumulation of wealth by the unworthy and dishonest clearly points to accidents like this.’ So much of this kind of talk passed that the majority were convinced of my guilt, and declared that I had killed the man. The police, having tied my hands and neck together, took me before the Amír of Damascus, who was a rapacious man and coveted riches. He considered this as a very good opportunity to attain his end; and the guards also said that, by the corruscation of the Amír's star of prosperity, this day a wonderfully fat piece of game had fallen into their hands. No time was given me to explain: the Amír made a sign that I should be decapitated. Some of the bystanders, however, pleaded for mercy, and I was fined a thousand gold dínars.

“By the depredation of this misfortune I was mulcted of more than half of my property, and, although the loins of my patience had been crushed by the burden of this loss, I again spread out on all sides the net of acquisition, and the sportsman of my mind was running about in search of the game of wealth, when one day, while I was sitting in my shop, two well-dressed women came up, one of whom had a baby in her arms, the other carried a casket, and both sat down on the threshold of the shop. The woman with the child in her arms took some gold ashrafís from her pocket, and, handing them to the other, said: ‘Give this money to Haji Jalál Kazviní for the articles which you bought yesterday, and say that I shall send him the balance to-morrow. Tell him also that he must quickly procure the jewels which are required, because the wedding is to take place in ten days. I will wait here for you; return speedily with an answer.’ When the woman had departed on her errand I became anxious for gain, because I had heard a wedding spoken of and had seen the gold ashrafís; so I said to her who remained: ‘Lady of the haram of modesty, where have you sent your companion?’ She replied: ‘The daughter of such a citizen is to be given in marriage to the vazír's son, and we, being attached to the household of the young lady, have come to the bazár, because we were in need of some fine linen and jewels; the first we bought yesterday of Haji Jalál and have now sent him the price, with orders to procure the jewels as soon as possible.’ On hearing this, I poured a considerable sum of money into the pocket of my imagination, and I said to her: ‘Noble and honoured lady, I have many precious jewels. Allow me to exhibit them to you, and you may choose those which you consider suitable; there will be no difficulty in agreeing about the price.’ The woman answered: ‘The lady to whom the jewels are to be submitted for approbation is very nice in her choice and difficult to please. During the last few days we have shown her many jewels, but she desires to see only high-priced gems; besides, we have already bargained with Haji Jalál and bought jewels of him, and he is very considerate towards ourselves.’ When she had spoken thus, I knocked at the door of compliance and observed: ‘Nor would I be disposed to forfeit your good will, because thereby I should be greatly benefited in the profitable transaction of business with great people.’ She said: ‘We shall see.’ While we were thus conversing her companion returned and handed her a string of valuable pearls. She cast a glance at me, whispered something to her companion, and then continued speaking to her aloud: ‘Since you have brought them, let them remain also.’ Turning to me, she said: ‘Show us your jewels.’ I produced a small box which contained my principal stock, displayed the most rare and beautiful pearls and gems which I possessed, and stated the price of each. I also fixed the price of the pearl which I bought from that stranger at two thousand dirhams. The woman said: ‘I cannot tell whether they will approve of these or not.’ She sealed the box, took out her tablets and wrote something, which she delivered with the box to her companion, and said to me: ‘I shall remain here, while the lady of the house makes her choice. If you like, you may send somebody with my friend, in order to learn where the house is.’ I had a faithful servant whom I sent along with her companion, and the woman herself sat down in my shop. Presently two men in the bazár began to quarrel, and when they reached my door they drew their swords and began to fight. A great crowd gathered quickly, and the men of the Amír also came to fetch those who had witnessed the affair. They compelled the shopkeepers to follow and dragged me also with them. Meanwhile the woman remained sitting in my shop with the child in her arms, and said to me: ‘Do not be uneasy about your shop, for I will take care of it till you return.’ I proceeded a few paces, till it occurred to me that the woman might deceive me, so I said to the butcher whose shop was next to mine: ‘Take care of this woman.’ As he had no knowledge of my transaction with her, he supposed that I wished him to take care of the shop only, and said: ‘All right.’

“As some time had elapsed since my servant went with the woman and the box of jewels and had not yet returned, and as the other woman was by herself in my shop, I was full of anxiety and went with an oppressed heart to the court of the Amír. When I arrived there all the witnesses had been examined and discharged. I was taken into the presence of the Amír to give my testimony, but being in a very distracted state of mind I gave my evidence in a way which did not correspond with that of the other witnesses. The Amír smiled and said: ‘This is the wretch who killed such a man,’ and the people said: ‘So it is!’ The Amír continued: ‘This is the reason why his evidence is contradicting that of all the others; such a worthless fellow deserves to be severely punished.’ When I was led out of the palace I gave a large sum to the officials to induce them to take bail of respectable persons and set me at liberty.

“On returning to my shop, the woman was gone, and my servant was sitting alone crying and in sore distress. I asked him what had become of the jewels and the woman he accompanied; and he in his turn inquired what had become of the woman he had left in the shop with me. I told him that I had committed her to the care of the butcher, and demanded to know where he had been and what he had done with the box of jewels. He replied: ‘You gave the box to the woman, and ordered me simply to follow her so as to learn where the house is, and this I did. I went with her from the bazár and passed through several streets until we reached the street of the Forty Virgins; she stopped at the door of a house, before which a number of respectable people were sitting, and bade me sit down till she came out again. The woman went in, and I remained waiting for her till near noon, but she did not make her appearance. When it was mid-day and I heard the voice of the muezzin, and beheld crowds entering the house, I supposed that somebody had died there and that the people were going to condole with the relatives. After a while they all came out again. At last I asked one of the people: “Does the woman who went in here not intend to come out at all?” The man laughed and said: “Whose house do you suppose this is? And what woman are you speaking about? Step forward, there is none to prohibit you, and see what place this house is.” I arose from my seat and entered the portico with fear and apprehension, and proceeded till I reached the interior of a mosque where I saw people engaged in prayer. On the opposite side of the mosque I saw an open door through which people were also coming and going. Then I knew that the woman must have passed through it. I went out by that door and saw women like her walking about, but as there was nothing particular in her dress by which I might have recognised her, and not knowing her name, I wandered through the streets for some time and then hopelessly returned to the shop.’⁴¹¹

“I was choked with grief at these tidings, and almost lost my senses. I went to the butcher and asked him what had become of the woman whom I had left to his care, and he answered: ‘When did you entrust a woman to me? You only asked me to look after your shop. When you were gone I noticed a woman sitting there with a child in her arms, and I asked her with whom she had any business, to which she replied: “I want a sum of money from the jeweller.” Presently she brought the child and said: “Let this child remain here till I come back,” and went away, and there is the child in your shop.’ I said: ‘Bring it out, that I may see it.’ The butcher did so, and when I raised the veil from its face we discovered that it was a plaster figure dressed up as an infant. I said to the butcher: ‘This is a very strange child!’ He replied: ‘Leave off joking; go in and inquire for the woman.’ I continued: ‘I entrusted the woman to your care, and I want you to produce her. She remained in my shop as a pledge for more than three thousand tománs' worth of jewels.’ He replied: ‘You fool! Perhaps I was your servant, that I should take care of the woman, instead of your doing so yourself!’ I was in so great a state of excitement that I took up his great knife which was lying near me and threw it at him; it wounded him in the face. His friends and neighbours seized and carried me before the Amír, who ordered them to kill me. But there were many that said: ‘This man is crazy: of what use could it be to kill him? Let his possessions be confiscated, and himself be expelled from the city, as a warning to others.’

“All that I possessed was taken from me as a mulct for my crime, and being driven out of the city, I went away poor and naked. When I reached the desert I lost my road, and wandered about thirsty and hungry for ten days, bitterly lamenting my misfortunes. Suddenly a man met me and mounted me on a camel. Having carried me into the main road, he asked me whether I knew him. I said: ‘Your voice seems to be that of a friend.’ He continued: ‘I am the man who sold you the pearl for twenty dirhams to try your honesty, and I have it with me now’; and putting his hand into his wallet he drew forth the same pearl and showed it to me, saying: ‘Know that I am King Akabil, and that several thousands of genii are subject to me, and my occupation is to go about in the cities and bazárs under various disguises, to discover whether people are honest in their dealings. When I find one upright I always remain his friend and helper; but when I see a man who is unjust and fraudulent, I endanger his life and property. You ought to know that base actions are unrighteousness and deceit towards your fellow beings. On account of your deceitfulness and injustice, the granary of your immense property has in a very short time been blown away by the wind of non-existence.’ I began to cry and complain, but he said: ‘Remorse is now of no avail,’ and disappeared from my sight. So I came to this country and am wandering about in a state of helplessness and destitution, in bitter repentance and grief for my former dishonesty and the loss of my property. Whatever I undertook, nothing succeeded, and at last I became blind. Now begging has become my trade; and the reason why I always chant the same distich is that neither the high nor the low should quit the road of honesty and justice, lest they be exiled, like myself, from the abode of peace and prosperity.”

DURING the reign of Sultan Mahmúd Sabaktaghin,⁴¹⁴ of Ghazní, a man was travelling from Aderbaijan to Hindústán; and when he arrived in Ghazní, he was much pleased with the climate and resolved to settle there. As he had great experience in commerce, he went to the bazár, became a broker, and was very successful in business. He intended to marry, and Fortune being propitious to him, he entered into a matrimonial alliance with a virtuous and handsome young woman. By degrees his business became more and more flourishing, and, having accumulated much wealth, he was numbered among the richest merchants. Wishing to extend his transactions to Hindústán, he sent goods to that country; but as he had no connections or intimate friends who might take charge of his wife till his return, this thought troubled him greatly; and as it is the first duty of a respectable man to be on his guard in this matter, and not to hazard his reputation and honour, he determined not to start on his journey till he had provided an asylum for his spouse. The Kází of the city being noted for his piety, virtue, and honour, the merchant said to himself: “I cannot do better than entrust the keeping of my wife to so godly and honest a man, who enjoys the esteem of rich and poor; so she shall remain in his house until I return from my journey.”

The merchant hastened to make his obeisance to the Kází, and said: “O president of the judgment-seat of truth and piety, from whose highly gifted and penetrating intellect the explanations of religious and secular questions flow, and by whose essentially holy authority the commendatory and prohibitory laws are corroborated—may your most righteous opinion always remain the guide of those who seek to walk in the straight path of piety! I, your humble servant, am an inhabitant of this city, and it is my intention to undertake a journey to Hindústán. I have a young wife, the leaves of whose modesty and virtue are bound up in the splendid volume of her natural excellence; and as I have nobody who might protect and take care of her, and lest she should fall under the obloquy of false tongues, I venture to hope that she may find refuge with your lordship.” The Kází placed the seal of acquiescence upon this request, and said that he would take charge of her; and the merchant, having furnished his wife with money to defray all the necessary expenses for a year, delivered her to the Kazí, and set out on his journey.

The lady passed all her time in the house of the Kází in prayer and devotion; and nearly a whole year had elapsed, without the breeze of a single profane glance having blown on the vernal abode of her face, and without her having ever heard the bird of a voice in the foliage of her ears, till one day the Kází unexpectedly made his appearance and looked at her, when he perceived the Laylá-like beauty sitting within the black mansion of her musky ringlets, and her sweet tenderness mounted upon the face of attractiveness and melancholy, the Majnún of the Kází's intellect became troubled, and, Ferhád-like, he began to dig the Bistán of his soul, which was melting and burning in the censer of distraction. He was desirous of making an attack upon her virtue, but, being aware of her pure nature and chastity, durst not attempt it. One day, however, when his wife went to the public bath and had left the lady alone to take care of the house, he was so completely dominated by his unlawful passion that he threw skyward the turban of concupiscence and exclaimed:

“The desired game for which I looked in the skies
Has now on earth fallen into the net of my good fortune.”

He locked the door, and commenced his stratagem by complimenting her modesty, and continued to address her in the following strain: “Virtuous lady, the reputation of my honesty and piety has spread through the world and penetrated all corners. Even the charms of the húrís of Paradise could not seduce my righteous disposition from the road of firm determination, or impel me to transgress the laws of purity; then why do you avoid me so much? If the absence of intelligence and of the knowledge of the true state of things keep your face veiled with the curtain of bashfulness, my obedience to the laws of God and my fear of eternal punishment at the day of resurrection prohibit me from allowing the fire of sensuality to be kindled within me. I would not disturb your peace, even with a single glance of my eye. Be of good cheer, therefore, and throw aside the veil of apprehension from your face, for there is no danger of sinning; and although it is against the law of God and the Prophet to exact services from guests, yet as you belong to the house and I am dependent on your kindness, I would request you to procure me some food, for I am hungry.”

Drawing the prohibitory veil of bashfulness over her face, the lady waited upon the Kází with all due modesty, and having placed food before him she retired into a corner. Now the Kází had provided himself with a drug which deprives of all sense any one who partakes of it, and he said to the lady: “You know that three kinds of persons will be rejected from the mercy of God on the day of the resurrection and subjected to endless tortures: he who eats alone, he who sleeps alone, and he who travels alone; and till now it has never happened to me that I did any of these three things. As I am now eating alone, and one who does this has Satan for his companion, and his faith is endangered, why should you not, in order to free me from the snares of the Devil, defile your hands by partaking of this meal?” He ceased not thus to press the lady till she at length sat down near the table and helped herself to some food, into which the Kází unobserved threw some of the drug. After she had eaten a few morsels she felt faint, and on attempting to rise from the table her feet refused to bear her and she fell senseless on the floor.

The Kází quickly gathered up the articles that were on the table and purposed worse things, when he heard noises outside, which greatly disturbed him, and he was perplexed where to conceal the unconscious lady, so that nobody might discover the matter. He thought of the vault where he kept his money and valuables, which was known only to himself, and into it he thrust the lady, and then went out and found that his family had returned from the bath.

The Kází asked his family: “Why did you leave the house empty?” They answered: “We left the wife of the merchant to take care of the place.” Quoth the Kází: “It is two hours since I came home, and I have seen no one; why do you trust a stranger? She may have taken away something.” They were all astonished, protested that she was not such a woman, and wondered what had become of her. While this talk was going on, the merchant, having just returned from his journey to Hindústán, came to the house of the Kází to inquire for his wife. The Kází said: “It is some time since your wife left my house, without giving notice or asking permission.” But the merchant replied: “O Kází, this is not a time for jesting; give me back my wife.” The Kází swore that he was in earnest. But the merchant said: “I am too well acquainted with the nature and disposition of my wife to believe her capable of such conduct. There must be something more in this affair than appears.” At this the Kází affected to be wroth, and said: “It is I who ought to be offended, you foolish man. Why do you talk nonsense and needlessly insult us? Go and look for your wife!”

As the merchant was devotedly attached to his wife, and the smoke of distress was beginning to ascend from the oven of his brain, he tore the collar of patience and hastened to make his complaint to the sultan, and, prostrating himself upon the carpet of supplication, he recited these verses:

“O exalted and happy monarch,
May felicity be the servant of your palace!
The Kází of the city has done me injustice
Greater than the blast of the tornado of the west.
If it be permitted, I will explain
The injustice of that mean-spirited wretch.”

The sultan replied: “Set forth your complaint, that I may become acquainted with it.” Then the merchant spoke as follows: “I am a native of Aderbaijan, and the fame of the justice and protection which the poor obtain at the hands of your majesty induced me to settle in this country, and I have dwelt for some years under the shadow of the sultan's protection. I had a beautiful and modest wife, and, purposing to travel to Hindústán, I committed her a year ago to the charge of the Kází. Now I have returned from my journey, the Kází, led away by covetousness, refuses to give up to me my wife.” The sultan ordered the Kází to be brought before him. When he appeared, the sultan asked him what he had to say regarding the complaint which the merchant made against him. Said the Kází: “May the torch of your majesty's welfare be luminous and the castle of opposition ruinous! This man entrusted his wife to me, and it is nearly three months since she quitted my house without giving notice, and up to this time she has not come back, and we have failed to discover any trace of her.” To this the merchant responded: “Such conduct is inconsistent with the character of my wife, and I do not believe it.” The sultan asked: “Where are the witnesses?” The Kází said that several neighbours and householders were acquainted with the fact, and wrote down the names of a number of rascals whom he had bribed to give evidence in his favour. At a sign from the sultan to the chamberlain they were brought in and confirmed the assertion of the Kází, upon which the sultan said to the merchant: “As the Kází has established his statement by witnesses, your complaint falls to the ground,” and the merchant retired disappointed.

Now the sultan was in the habit of walking about the bazárs and streets of the city occasionally in disguise, mixing among the people, in order to discover what they thought of him. That night he left his palace according to his wont, and as he walked about he chanced to pass near the door of a shop where a party of boys were playing at the game of “The King and his Vazír.” One of the boys was made king, and said to the others: “As I am king, you are all under my authority, and you must not seek to evade my commands.” Another boy said: “If you give unjust decisions like Sultan Mahmúd, we shall soon depose you.” The boy-king asked: “What injustice has Sultan Mahmúd done?” The other boy answered: “To-day the affair of the merchant came before the sultan. This merchant had confided his wife to the keeping of the Kází, and he did her in his own house. The sultan called for witnesses, and the Kází gained the case by producing in court witnesses whom he had previously bribed. It is a great pity that people should have the administration of justice in their hands who are unable to distinguish between right and wrong. Had I been in the place of the sultan I should very soon have discovered the truth or falsehood of the Kází's witnesses.”

When the sultan had heard the conversation of these boys he sighed, and returned to his palace in great agitation of mind; and next morning as soon as it was daylight he sent a servant to fetch the boy who had criticised his judgment of the merchant's case. The boy was brought, and the sultan received him in a very friendly manner, saying: “This day you shall be my lieutenant from morning till evening, and I intend to allow you to sit in judgment and to act entirely according to your own will.” Then the sultan whispered to the chamberlain to invite the merchant to repeat his complaint against the Kází, and the merchant, having been brought into court, did so. The Kází and his witnesses were next summoned, and when the Kází was about to seat himself the boy said: “Ho, Master Kází, the leading-strings of justice and the power of tying and untying knotty points of law have been long in your hands—how then do you seem to be so ignorant of legal customs? You have been brought into this court as a party in a law suit, and not as an assessor. It is the rule that you should stand below, on an equality with your accuser, till the court breaks up, and then you should obey whatever its decision may be.” Then the Kází went and stood near the merchant, and again asserted that the woman had left his house three months ago. The boy asked: “Have you any witnesses?” The Kází pointed to his followers, saying: “These are the witnesses.” The boy called one of them to him, and asked him in a subdued voice whether he had seen the woman. He said: “Yes.” Then he asked what signs there were on her person, stature, or face. The man became embarrassed and said: “She had a mole on her forehead; one of her teeth is wanting; she is of fresh complexion; tall and slender.” The boy asked: “What hour of the day was it when she went away from the Kází's house?” The man replied: “Morning.” “Remain in this place,” said the boy. Then he called another witness, who thus described the woman: “She is of low stature and is lean; her cheeks are white and red; she has a mole near her mouth; she left the house in the afternoon.” Having placed this man in another corner, the boy called for a third witness, whose evidence contradicted both the others; and gradually he examined them all and found they disagreed from each other in everything. The sultan was sitting by the side of the boy and heard all; and when the hearing of the witnesses was ended the boy said: “You God-forgetting wretches, why do you give false evidence? Let the instruments of torture be brought that we may find out the truth.” As soon as they heard the word torture they all offered to say the truth, and confessed themselves to be a set of poor fellows whom the Kází had bribed with a sum of money and instructed what to say, and that they knew nothing whatever about the woman. Then the boy called the Kází, and asked him what he had to say in this business. The Kází commenced to tremble and said: “The truth is as I have stated.” The boy said: “Our Kází is a bold man, and his haughtiness hinders him from confessing the truth: the instruments of torture ought to be employed.” When the Kází heard this, the fear of torture greatly distressed him, and he confessed the truth. On this the boy kissed the floor of good manners with the lips of obedience and said: “The rest of this affair is to be settled by the sultan.” The sultan was much pleased with the acuteness and intelligence of the boy, and ordered the Kází to be beheaded and all his property to be given to the merchant's wife. The boy was treated kindly and educated, until by degrees he won the entire confidence of the sultan and became one of his greatest favourites.

HISTORIANS relate that there were two men of the inhabitants of Kabúl sitting in the corner of poverty, fettered with the chains of hardships and difficulties. The thunderstorms and disturbance of the whirlpools of the sphere's revolution had overturned the boat of their possessions, and it had become the prey of the whale of destruction. They were screwed in the press of poverty and destitution, like flower-beds from which the oil is to be squeezed out, and the pain and suffering of distress caused them to change colour at each moment like a chameleon till each day was changed into evening. Although they hastened with the foot of labour and diligence in the performance of their occupations, they could never reach the desired mansion of their object on account of their unpropitious fortune and their constant mishaps. The blackness of their morning tinctured the night even of the poor with the reflection of grief, and the mirror of their evening imparted new sorrow to orphans.

One day they said to each other: “In this country the gates of peace are shut upon us, and it is a maxim of the wise that if people meet with difficulties in their own country they ought to remove to another. As the liberal Sultan Mahmúd is now reigning, we must go to Ghazní and do our best to see him, when perhaps the aroma of his generosity will perfume the nostrils of our intention, and our dilapidated circumstances will be altered.” So they set out for Ghazní, and on the road they were joined by a man, the rose-bush of whose disposition was always kept fresh by the dew of piety, and who passed his life in contentment, like one of the blest. He asked them: “My brothers, the shoe of what desire have you put on the foot of your intention? And towards the castle of what pretension have you turned the face of your inclination?” They answered: “Since the lamp of each of us has been extinguished by the wind of misfortune, and the thorn of hardships has pierced the feet of our hearts, and as we could not find the plaster in Kabúl by which the wound of our untoward condition might be healed; and hearing that the gates of the generosity and liberality of Sultan Mahmúd the Ghaznivide have been opened to the rich and poor, and that the banquet of his unbounded graciousness is always spread for the relief of the poor, we hope to re-light the lamp of our circumstances at the blaze of his regard.” Those two men of Kabúl also asked the young man about his intention, and he replied: “Having no possessions in my own country, and the day of my well-being having reached the evening, I am in pursuit of a lawful means of support, but I do not expect aught from Sultan Mahmúd or persons like him. I desire grace and favour of a Sultan, the door of the treasury of whose gifts is besieged by a hundred thousand men as indigent as Sultan Mahmúd, who are contemplating with the eye of hope the storehouse of his infinite grace and bounty.” In short, the three travellers pursued their journey in company till they arrived in Ghazní, where they took up their lodging in a ruined building.

One night all three of them were sitting together in the ruin, conversing on various subjects. It happened that Sultan Mahmúd, accompanied by two of his intimates, had left the palace to walk about in the moonlight. They passed through several streets and lanes till they came near the ruin, and, attracted by the voices, they discovered the travellers and asked them who they were. The two men of Kabúl replied: “We are benumbed by the crapula of the wine of helplessness and distress; we are veiled by the curtain of misery; we are riding the horse of poverty, and are roaming through the ups and downs of this world; and now our fate has guided us to this place, and we shall see how our affairs terminate.” The sultan asked: “What are your wishes?” They answered: “If we tell them, they will never be accomplished; so there is no use in relating them.” Quoth the sultan: “Since the inhabitants of this world are bound to aid each other, it is your duty to inform me of your desires, in order that the complicated knot of that affair may be disentangled by the help of some one's nail.” One of them replied: “I was one of the rich and the prosperous, and possessed great wealth. This world, which is inconstant like the hues of the chameleon, has ceased to be propitious to me; and the shame of poverty and the disgrace of my family have induced me to quit my country. If I were possessed of ten thousand dínars, I should consider the sum as a capital which might enable me to raise my head again and return to my country.” The other said: “I had a wife sitting veiled in the haram of compliance: the loveliness of the sun of her features surpassed the rose in beauty, and the moon was lessened in splendour by the rays of her cheeks. I loved her much, and could not live one moment without her. She died, and the fire of grief has burnt my liver, and thrown me into the most unhappy condition. Should his highness the sultan present me with a member of his haram, so that by the sun of her presence the mansion of my joy and happiness might become again illumined, I would gladly return to my country.” The third companion remained silent, and the sultan turning to him asked: “Do you not wish for anything?” He answered: “I have to do with God. I need neither a wife nor gold. I turn my face towards the vivifying treasury of God's mercy, by whom desires are granted, who knows the innermost recesses of our hearts, and what every one deserves: my wishes are all regulated by his good pleasure. If you are in the enjoyment of God's favour and are able from him to obtain your desires, pray to him for my sake that he may grant me the grace that I should not once draw my breath contrary to his goodwill.” The sultan said nothing, but arose and departed.

When the chamberlain of Destiny had opened the gates of life upon the inhabited earth, and the world-illuming king, the sun, had seated himself in the azure tent of the upper sky, the sultan ordered the three strangers that were in the ruin to be brought into his presence. When they perceived the sultan, they knew him to be the same man who had been with them the preceding night, and they were under the apprehension that he would be angry with them. The sultan called them forward, and inquired of each of them his wants, and the two men of Kabúl repeated what they had said on the previous evening. When the third stranger's turn came he said:

“Bitter indeed to our lips is the colocynth of mendicancy;
We have tasted the sweets of liberality from the hands of the noble-minded.

O thou illuminated speculum of potentates, as long as the storehouse of the works of God is full of blessings, may the treasury of thy desires also remain plentifully provided with the exhilarating gold, silver, and jewels of prosperity! Although people in general may be rejoicing with the delicacies of the table of thy bounty, and thyself mayest thereby taste the sweets of good deeds, still those that sit in the tent of exquisite feelings have so much refreshed their palates with the honey of contentment that they would by no means defile their lips with a single mouthful which belongs to others.

The palate of the contented has never been sweetened by the liberal;
The delights of independence are far above the delights which liberality can bestow.⁴³⁰

My hopes and expectations are dependent on the threshold of the Eternal King: he will grant to me all that he thinks fit, without my fastening myself on the skirts of petition to any one else, or jeopardising the position of a retiring and modest individual.”

The sultan tried much, but could not induce the young man to act contrary to his avowed principles, and to open his lips to beg for some favour. He gave orders that the man who was in want of a wife should be provided with one of his own damsels, and presented the man who wanted money with two purses of gold. Then he said: “Now, all three of you, return to your own countries.” In obedience to this order they set out together on their journey to Kabúl. After proceeding about two parasangs,^430a the man who obtained the gold felt tired by carrying it, so he handed it to his empty-handed companion, requesting him to carry it for a short time till he had rested himself.

Now the chroniclers relate that when the three men left the presence of the sultan, he turned to his courtiers and said: “That independent man has put me greatly to shame. He left me as if I were in the position of a poor man; and although I tried much he would not accept of anything.” One of the courtiers, who was labouring under the asthma of covetousness, and as the covetous are the natural enemies of the contented, thus gave expression to his innate feelings: “The sultans and kings of this world are the collectors of the treasury of God; and, according to the requirements of the order of mundane affairs, he grants drafts or letters of credit to the poor for the alleviation of their wants, which drafts the rich are bound to accept and honour. Whoever refuses to apply to kings for help scorns their favour, and in this manner acts contrary to the will of God, on account of his pride and independence. Such a man is certainly deserving of de?? and ought to be so punished.” The sultan becan??xcited, and ordered one of his chamberlains to pr??eed on the same road which the three men had taken, and, leaving undisturbed the man who had the gold and him who had the girl, to kill the third person who was empty-handed, and bring his head. It so happened, however, that when the messenger of the sultan overtook them, the independent man carried the gold upon his back, and the possessor of the gold was empty-handed. The chamberlain made no inquiry, but cut off the head of the proprietor of the gold and returned with it to the sultan. When the sultan had looked well at the head he exclaimed: “You are a thoughtless fellow, and have made a mistake.” He despatched forthwith another chamberlain, and enjoined him to decapitate that man who was without any burden whatever. But now it fortuned that the possessor of the girl had entrusted her for a time to the independent man, and fallen a little behind. When the messenger came up, he perceived the owner of the girl following empty-handed in the wake of the independent man, and immediately cut off his head, and on presenting it to his master, the sultan, after looking at it, cried in astonishment: “This man has also been killed by mistake!”

The sultan reflected for a while, and when he became calm, perceived that the grace of God had been a bulwark of protection to that independent man, which had prevented him from coming to any harm. He summoned another attendant, and commanded him to pursue the same road, and bring into his presence the man who possessed both the gold and the girl, which he did accordingly. As soon as the sultan beheld the man, he smiled, and said: “What has become of your companions?” He answered: “May the life of the sultan be everlasting, and may the compliant hand of the sweetheart Prosperity be always round his neck! He who presented them with the gold and the maid has in return taken their lives; and indeed whoever prefers the creature to the Creator turns away his face from the threshold of real felicity, has no refuge whither he might flee, will be trampled under the feet of distressing events, and will not pluck a single flower from the rose-garden of his desires.

Whoever averts his face from his portals
Will meet with no regard, to whatever door he turns.”

These observations of the man aroused the sultan from the sleep of indolence, and made him aware that this person had tasted the sweets of benefits from the spread-table of the love and knowledge of God; and he said to him: “Thou ornament of the society of obedience to the laws of God! I am very anxious to bestow something upon you, that I may become infinitely your debtor. I adjure you, by God, to ask something of me.” That happy man thus answered: “I have two wishes. The first is, that you send a very considerable sum of money to Kabúl, to recompense the heirs of the two men who have been slain without any guilt of their own; and the second is, that I may be allowed to enjoy the lease of a small dwelling, in which I may carry on the trade of a weaver, and thus earn an honest livelihood.” The sultan stroked the face of agreement with the finger of beneficence, and said: “You flower-gatherer in the gardens of beneficence! I have also three requests to make of you, with which I trust your kindness will comply. The first is, that, should you entertain any ill-feeling towards me, I beg you to forget it; the second is, that you pray to God that he may blot out my sins from the book of my actions with reference to those two innocent men; and the third is, that you come to me every Friday evening, so that I may profit by my intercourse with you.” The man agreed to all this, and applied himself diligently to his business, till his singleness of purpose placed him in possession of the key to prosperity and wealth; and the gates of well-being having become open in correspondence with his expectation, he was enabled to advance money to the royal treasury whenever it was required, to redeem many people from the penalty of death, and to do much good to worthy and poor people.

THERE was, in days long past and in the country of Aderbaijan, a king who administered justice and cherished wisdom; the tiller of his equity-loving nature kept the garden of his kingdom always free of the chaff and rubbish of oppression, and preserved, with the light of the torch of high-mindedness and gifts, the surface of the breasts of those who hoped and solicited from the darkness of hardship and destitution. By means of his discernment he became acquainted with the worth and station due to men of skill, and always honoured the high polish of the speculum of accomplishments and perfections with the throne of dignity and the place of respect. One day, while he was seated in the palace of pomp and splendour, dispensing justice and retribution, and engaged in diving into the depths of the circumstances of the people, two men took hold of the collar of complaint before him, one of whom had no trade, while the other was skilful and accomplished; and, although the former brought forward arguments and evidence in support of his claim, and it became clear that he was in the right, the king purposely turned the scales in favour of the clever man, and ordered him that was without a trade to be punished.

The king had a vazír equal to Plato in science, who always drew upon the book of circumstances with the pen of propriety of opinion and prudence of arrangement. Wondering at the decision of the king, he rose from his place and said: “O thou leader of the caravan of prosperity of realms, by the strokes of whose world-conquering scimitar the peace of the breasts of opponents is destroyed, and from the fruits of whose convoy of success the countries of the hearts of the amicable are made populous and flourishing! I have a request to make: first, that the skyward-flying humaí of your gracious disposition may pervade the atmosphere of compliance with my solicitation.” The king said: “Explain.” And the vazír continued: “I pray that the life of this innocent youth, whose guiltlessness must be visible upon the mirror of your majesty's mind, may be spared for my sake; and that it might be disclosed to me why your majesty pardoned the guilty one and condemned the innocent.” The king replied: “I have absolved him whom you called guilty because I have arrived at the certainty that he is unblameable and has the right on his side. But I do not consider this the proper time to explain the matter, which, however, will be done as soon as we are alone.”

When the tree of the assembly had shed the leaves and fruits of its multitude and the lamp of the apartment of privacy was trimmed and made bright, the king spake thus to his vazír:

“Thou quintessence of acuteness, something happened to me once which plunged me into the sea of astonishment. From that time I made a vow to show favour to a man who has a profession, even should he be blameworthy otherwise, and to punish him who has no trade or occupation, even though he should be my own son; so that the high and the low, seeing this, should be induced to have their children taught trades in due conformity with their circumstances.

“Know, then, that when my father was yet walking in the garden of life, and was sitting upon the throne of happiness and government, on a certain day those who were present at the audience were discussing the advantages of trades and accomplishments; and, although I had made myself acquainted with several sciences and accomplishments befitting a royal prince, I was desirous of learning some useful craft. I therefore caused each one of the tradesmen of the city to exhibit his skill before me, in order that I might apply myself to the craft which I should prefer. After having seen them all, none pleased me so much as mat-making, because the master of that art had introduced into the specimen which he wrought all sorts of pretty figures. The instructor was engaged, and I was taught until I became skilful in this business. One day I happened to entertain a desire to make a pleasure excursion on the sea, and, having taken leave of the king, embarked in a boat with a number of companions. We amused ourselves for two days with fishing, but, as all mortals are subject to the vicissitudes of Fortune, on the third day a dreadful storm arose, the sea was lashed into furious waves, our boat went to pieces, and my attendants became food for the palate of the whale of destiny. I floated about on a broken plank with two of my associates for several days, drifting like chaff in the ebb and flow of the abyss, and having our throats choked every moment by the gripe of mortal fear. We humbled ourselves at the footstool of the Answerer of prayer, because no one ever besought him in vain; and by his favour the wind drove the broken plank towards the shore, and all three of us, having landed in safety, made our way to an oasis in which were various fruits and aromatic plants, numerous beyond conception. We travelled through this oasis, resting during the night on trees, for fear of wild beasts, and at length reached the city of Baghdád. I possessed several rings of great value, and went to the bazár, accompanied by my friends, in order to procure food. Having sold a ring, we entered the shop of a cook, who displayed a great variety of dishes, and in whose service a handsome boy was busying himself. We handed the master of the shop a few dirhams desiring him to furnish us with some food. He cast a glance at us and said: ‘Young men, nobility and greatness shine from your foreheads. In this city it is considered disgraceful that youths like yourselves should be eating their food in the bazár. There is a handsome room in the neighbourhood to which persons like you are accustomed to resort: do me the favour to proceed thither, and I will supply something worthy of you.’ He sent his boy with us, and we soon reached the house, which was very neat and tastefully ornamented. And we were beginning to amuse ourselves by examining the beautiful paintings upon the walls, when the boy said: ‘I am going to fetch your food.’ As soon as he was gone the floor of the house began to move as if a great earthquake had occurred, and we were all precipitated into a deep well, which was dark like the graves of infidels⁴³⁹ and black as their hearts.

“Now that cook was a Jew, and an enemy of the Faith; and it was his practice to decoy Muslims into this house, and, having thus entrapped them and put them to death, to roast their flesh and sell it to other Muslims.^439a Our necks were pledged in this affair, and we were in expectation of what turn it would take when the same youth descended into the well, sword in hand, with the intention of murdering us, upon which we said to him: ‘Friend, what advantage will you derive by killing us unhappy wretches? If gain be your object, we know the trade of mat-making, which is very profitable in this city. Bring hither the tools and materials necessary for that business, and we will make a mat every day.’ The youth hastened to inform his master of our proposal, and we were furnished with the required materials, and began at once to make mats, receiving each day a loaf of barley bread. After being in this condition for some time, a plan occurred to me through which our release might be achieved. I finished a mat with all possible care, and worked into the borders of it an account of my circumstances in the Arabic language. This was during the reign of Harún er-Rashíd, and I thought that if this mat were offered to the khalíf it might be the means of our release. The greediness of the Jew having become an obstacle to his circumspection and regard of consequences, he carried the mat to the palace of the khalíf, who highly approved of it; but after examining it more minutely he discovered the meaning of the characters in the borders, and demanded of the Jew whose work it was and where he had got it. He answered: ‘I have a friend in Basra who sent it to me.’ The khalíf said: ‘Wait a little, that I may present thee with a reward worthy of it.’ Then calling a servant to him he whispered something in his ear, upon which he came and delivered us from the well and conducted us into the presence of Harún. When the Jew saw us he began to tremble, and the khalíf demanded of him: ‘Who are these men?’ The Jew struck with his hand the ring of the door of negation, and replied: ‘I do not know.’ Then the instruments of torture were ordered to be brought, and when the Jew heard this he confessed everything. The khalíf commanded the Jew to be hung upon the tree of punishment, and the poison of perdition to be poured into the throat of his existence.

“My plan was highly approved of, and I was sent to the bath and presented with rich clothes. The khalíf then asked me about my adventures, which I related to him from beginning to end. As the long service of my father had laid the khalíf under many obligations to him, and the khalíf knowing well that I was as the apple of my father's eye, he was the more kind to me, and said: ‘Be of good cheer. Please God, we will help you to return to your own country.’ After entertaining me for several days, he presented me with ten strings of camels and all sorts of things which are necessary or useful to grandees, and dismissed me, with a letter to my father and a guard of fifty men. When I arrived in this city the corpse of my father was just being carried to the cemetery. Having mourned for the death of my father, I established myself firmly upon the throne of dominion. Although my peace was for some time in jeopardy from the misfortunes I had endured, yet it was by the help of a trade that I was saved. I have perfect confidence in skilful men, and have decided always to honour men who have a profession and despise those that have none.”⁴⁴¹

THERE dwelt in Damascus a man of the name of Zayn al-Arab, with the honey of whose life the poison of hardship was always mixed. Day and night he hastened like the breeze from north to south in the world of exertion, and he was burning brightly like straw, from his endeavours, in the oven of acquisition, in order to gain a loaf of bread and to feed his family. In course of time, however, he succeeded in accumulating a considerable sum of money, but as he had tasted the bitterness and poison of destitution, and had for a very long time borne the heavy load of poverty upon his back, and fearing to lose his property by the chameleon-like changes of Fortune, one night he carried his money out of the city and buried it under a tree. After some time had passed he began to miss the presence of his treasure and betook himself to the tree, in order that he might refresh his eyes with the sight of it. But when he had dug the ground at the foot of the tree he discovered that his soul-exhilarating deposit was refreshing the palate of some one else. The morning of his prosperity was suddenly changed into the evening of bitterness and of disappointment. He was perplexed as to what friend to confide his secret, and to what remedy to fly for the recovery of his treasure. The lancet of grief had pierced the liver of his peace; and the huntsman of distress had tied up the wings and feet of the bird of his serenity.

One day he went on some business to a learned and wise man of the city, with whom he was on a footing of intima??cy, who said to him: “I have for some time past observed the glade of your circumstances destroyed by the burning coals of restlessness, and a sad change in your health, the cause of which I do not know, nor do I know what thorn of misfortune has pierced the foot of your heart, nor what dawn of hardship has risen in the east of your mind.” Zayn al-Arab wept tears of sadness and replied: “O thou standard coin from the mint of love! the treachery of Fortune has brought a strange accident upon me, and the bow of Destiny has let fly an unpropitious arrow upon my feeble target. I have a heavy heart and a great sorrow. Were I to reveal it to you perhaps it would be of no use, and might also plunge you into grief.” The learned man said: “Since the hearts of intimate friends are like looking-glasses, and are receiving the figures of mutual secrets, it is at all times necessary that they should communicate to each other any difficulties which they may fall into, in order that they may be overcome by taking together steps which prudence should dictate.” Zayn al-Arab answered: “Dear friend, I had some gold, and fearing lest it should be stolen, I carried it to such a place and buried it under a tree; and when I next visited the spot I found the garment of my beloved Joseph sprinkled with the blood of the wolf of deception.” The learned man rejoined: “This is a serious mischance, and it will be difficult to get on the track of your gold. Perhaps you were seen by some person when you concealed it: he who has taken it away will surely have to account for it in the next world, for God is omniscient. Give me ten days for consideration of this matter, and it may be that something will occur to me when I have examined the book of expedients and stratagems.”

That knowing man sat down for the space of ten days in the school of meditation; but after turning over the leaves of the volume of his mind from the preface to the epilogue he could devise no plan. On the tenth day they met in the street, and he said to Zayn al-Arab: “Although the diver of my mind has plunged and searched most diligently into this deep sea, he has been unable to take hold of the precious pearl of a wise plan of operation. May God recompense you from the stores of his hidden treasury!” They were conversing in this way when a lunatic met them and asked: “Well, my boys, what is all your secret-mongering about?” The learned man said to Zayn al-Arab: “Come, let us relate our case to this crazy fellow, and see whether some flower will bloom in his mind.” Zayn al-Arab replied: “Dear friend, when you with all your knowledge have failed to devise aught during ten days' cogitation, how can we expect to obtain any information from this unfortunate, who does not know whether it is day or night?” Quoth the learned man: “There is no telling what he might say to us; but you are aware that the most foolish as well as the wisest have ideas, and a remark, uttered perhaps at random, often furnishes a clue by which the desired end is attained.” Meanwhile a little boy had approached, and seeing the crazy fellow stopped to observe his antics.

The two friends explained their case to the lunatic, who, after being apparently immersed in thought for some time, remarked: “He who took the root of that tree for a medicine also took the gold,” and then turning his back to them went his way. They consulted with each other as to the meaning of the crazy man's observation, when the little boy asked what kind of a tree it was. Zayn al-Arab replied that it was a jujube-tree. Then said the boy: “This is a simple affair. You ought to inquire of all the doctors in the city for whom a medicine compounded of the roots of that tree has been prescribed.” The learned man greatly approved of the boy's acuteness and also of the crazy man's lucky thought; and being very well acquainted with all the physicians of the city, he made his inquiries till he was informed by one of them that about twenty days before he had prescribed for a merchant named Khoja Samander, who suffered from asthma, and that one of the remedies was the root of that jujube-tree. The learned man soon discovered the merchant's house, found him enjoying perfect health, and thus addressed him: “Ah, Khoja, all the goods of this world ought to be given up to purchase health. By the blessing of God, you have recovered your health, and you ought to restore what you found at the foot of the jujube-tree, because the owner of it is a worthy man, and it was his only possession.” The honest merchant replied: “It is true, I have found it, and it is with me. If you will tell me the amount of the gold I shall deliver it into your hands;” and when Zayn al-Arab stated the exact sum he obtained his lost money.

ADEAF man had a friend, the garden of whose health became withered by the autumnal breeze of sickness, and by it he was laid prostrate on the bed of infirmity, and once went on a visit of condolence to him. On the road he said to himself: “When I meet the sick man I shall ask him how he is. And he will certainly reply: ‘I feel a little better.’ Then I will say: ‘God be praised!’ After that I will inquire who his physician is, and he will give me the name of the doctor. Then I will say: ‘He is very skilful, and he will soon free you from your disease.’ After that I will ask what food and medicine he takes. He will tell me, and then I will say: ‘Both of them are very appropriate for your distemper;’ and having recited the Fátiha,⁴⁴⁷ I shall depart.”

He exercised himself in these questions and answers till he reached the house of his sick friend, who happened at the time to labour under great nausea and depression of spirits. The deaf man asked him: “How do you feel, my friend?” Said the sick man, in peevish tones: “Do not ask me—I am ready to give up the ghost.” The deaf man smiled and said: “God be praised! My prayer has been heard.” After that he asked: “Who is your physician, my friend?” Quoth the sick man: “The angel of death.” This puzzled the deaf man a little, but he answered: “That is well. I also had him in view, because he is so skilful, and cures every patient he treats.” Then he asked what his food and medicine were. The sick man replied: “Pain and distress.” Said the deaf man: “May they redound to your welfare; both are very proper for your disease.” Then he began to recite the Fátiha, and the sick man said: “May God forgive you,” and the deaf man took his leave.

IT is related that a rich man in the city of Balkh possessed a garden pleasant to behold as the roses on the cheeks of fairies, adorned with various fragrant plants, blossoming flowers, and fruit-bearing trees. In that garden a little bird took up its abode and amused itself by casting the fruits, whether they were ripe or not, on the ground. Whenever the gardener entered and beheld the damage thus occasioned, the bottom of his heart was stung with the thorn of grief, and the blooming verdure of the spring of his joy became withered by the cold blasts of the autumn of that event. Though he rubbed the hands of regret much on each other, he could not remedy the evil until he had spread a net in the haunts of the bird, which was soon made a prisoner. When the gardener discovered his good fortune he joyfully leaped from his ambush, caught hold of the little bird, intending to despatch it to the regions of non-existence. In its extremity the feathered captive thus spoke to the gardener: “Ornament of the world of intelligence! may the paradise of your good wishes always be the recipient of various divine favours! Consider that if you destroy me, your loss cannot be repaired, and that he who dies is saved from all the troubles of this world. But as I am to be killed for acts which you deem improper, the love of life impels me to make a statement, if you will permit me, after which you may do as you choose; but remember that patience is a virtue of the high-minded, and hastiness a failing of foolish men.”⁴⁴⁹ The gardener, whose wrath had somewhat abated during the address of the little bird, replied: “Before the whirlwind of death blows in the field of your life, you are at liberty to say what you desire to say.”

The little bird then said: “Wise gardener, be aware that in the west there is an oasis which my tribe inhabits, but I left my relatives and came to this spot. The pleasantness of this garden attracted me, and for some time I reposed myself on the branch of a tree. A nightingale and a lapwing were sitting together on the top of a date-tree, and a locust was flying towards them which both of them wished to catch. The nightingale was fortunate enough to seize it, but the lapwing snatched it from its captor's beak. Hereon the nightingale said: ‘O lapwing, are you not ashamed to possess yourself of my prey? If you are able, why do you not catch your own game?’ The lapwing replied: ‘Silence! To get the prey is no honour, but it is so to deprive the hunter of his prey.’ Said the nightingale: ‘This may be true; so I give it up. But, lapwing, I have heard the other birds speak a great deal about you, and now that we have met, and as your species has in the service of the Lord Sulayman (salutation to our Prophet and to him!) enjoyed greater proximity to him than has been the lot of any other kind of birds, I wish to know what gifts or rewards you have obtained from him for the account which you furnished him of the city of Saba and your help in other matters.’⁴⁵⁰ The lapwing replied: ‘King Sulayman bestowed on our species three gifts: (1) Whenever the earth is being dug up for water, we are able to tell at what depth it may be found; (2) our heads have been adorned with the crest of nobility; and (3) we are acquainted with the qualities of fruits, and know that this year the garden in which we are at present has been subjected to a visitation of God, so that whosoever should eat of any of its fruits must immediately die.’ Then the lapwing asked: ‘Has your species been favoured with any other gifts?’ And the nightingale answered: ‘We have also been granted three favours: (1) a very melodious voice, which is pleasing to all hearers; (2) we possess the property of being awake during the night, which we enjoy in common with ascetics and pious men; and (3) we have been invested with the gaudy robes of love, and roses have been assigned for our spouses, whose society we enjoy without let or hindrance, and in the aspect of whose heart-ravishing cheeks we perpetually delight.’

“O most intelligent gardener,” the little bird continued, “when I heard from the lapwing that the fruits of this garden were become deleterious, I made haste to pluck and to throw them down, lest any person should eat of them and be injured. And now if you will promise to liberate me, I will communicate to you three maxims, by means of which you may be happy in this world and the next, and friends and foes will alike obey you.” The gardener said: “Speak!” And the little bird proceeded: “First, never trust persons of a low and uncongenial disposition; secondly, never believe impossibilities; and thirdly, never repent of anything that cannot be remedied.” So the gardener relaxed his hold, and the little bird flew away, perched on a tree, and stretching out its neck, exclaimed: “O gardener, if you knew what a treasure you have allowed to slip from your hand, you would end your own life. Verily, I have deceived you!” Said the gardener: “How?” “In my body is a gem as large as a duck's egg, the like of which has never been discovered by the diver into the region of imagination. Had you obtained possession of this jewel you might have lived happily during your whole earthly existence.” When the gardener heard these words he tore his robe from top to bottom, strewed the ashes of repentance upon his head, and the brambles of confusion and uneasiness sprouted in the wilderness of his heart. As he looked to the right and the left how he might again get hold of the little bird, it flew to a high tree and said: “Having now by my cunning escaped from your grasp, I shall take care not to fall into it again. Do not flatter yourself that you will get hold of me a second time.” The gardener began to weep and heaved every moment deep sighs from the bottom of his heart, but the little bird said jeeringly: “It is a pity that the name of man should be applied to a silly fellow like yourself. I just communicated to you three maxims, all of which you have already forgotten. I advised you not to be deceived by mean and uncongenial persons;—why, then, have you believed my words and set me free? I farther told you not to believe impossibilities;—then why do you put faith in my words, seeing that nothing could be more absurd than the idea of a weak little bird like myself having in its body a gem as large as a duck's egg? Lastly, I advised you not to repent of anything which is irreparable, nevertheless you now moan and lament.” After uttering these words the little bird disappeared from the sight of the gardener.

THIS story seems to have been written down from recollection of some of the incidents in the Persian Romance which purports to recount the adventures of the renowned Hatim et-Ta'í, the generous Arab chief—a work of uncertain authorship or date. It was probably written about the end of the 17th or beginning of the 18th century, as the MS. copy used by Dr. Duncan Forbes for his English translation, published in 1830, which he procured in 1824, he considered to be at least a hundred years old. The opening of our version—if indeed such it may be styled—is absurdly inconsistent with all that is traditionally recorded of Hatim. This is how the incident of Hatim and the Darvesh is related in a Persian story-book, according to Dr. Jonathan Scott's rendering in his Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters from the Arabic and Persian, published in 1800, p. 251:

Hatim had a large storehouse having 70 entrances, at each of which he used to bestow alms on the poor. After his death his brother, who succeeded him, wished to imitate his great example, but his mother dissuaded him from such an attempt, saying: “My son, it is not in thy nature.” He would not attend to her advice, upon which she one day, having disguised herself as a mendicant, came to one of the doors, where her son relieved her; she went to another door and was relieved once more; she then went to a third door, when her son said: “I have given thee twice already, and yet thou importunest me again.” “Did I not tell thee, my son,” said the mother, discovering herself, “that thou couldst not equal the liberality of thy brother? I tried him as I have tried thee, and he relieved me at each of the 70 doors without asking me a question; but I knew thy nature and his. When I suckled thee, and one nipple was in thy mouth, thou didst always hold thy hand upon the other, but thy brother the contrary.”

It is quite ludicrous to represent Hatim as setting out for China to see a lady who was declared by a wandering darvesh to be far more liberal than himself. From the following abstract of the Romance—which begins where our story ends—it will be seen that Hatim was actuated by nobler motives in undertaking his several adventures. The opening of the romance is reproduced almost in full from Forbes' translation.

IN the kingdom of Khurasan, during the reign of Kardán Sháh, there lived a worthy merchant, of great dignity, named Burzakh, who was on intimate terms with the king. He died, leaving an only daughter as his heir, twelve years of age, and the king took her under his protection, saying: “She is my daughter.” Husn Bánú esteemed her wealth as no better than sand, and she began to distribute it in charity. One day a darvesh, attended by forty slaves⁴⁵⁶ passed her house while she was seated in her balcony. He was the king's spiritual guide. Husn Bánú sent a servant to invite him to an entertainment at her house, and he promised to come the next day. She prepared for an offering to him nine suits of silken garments, embroidered with gold, and seven trays of pure solid gold and baskets of fruit. The pride of this dar-vesh was such that he would not touch the earth when he walked, but had his path paved with bricks of gold and silver, and on these alone he placed his feet. On entering the house of Husn Bánú he was presented with trays full of gold and silver. He was amazed at the display of wealth, and resolved that very night to seize the treasure. Accordingly he and his forty slaves broke into the house, killed such as resisted them, and carried off all the treasure. Husn Bánú and her nurse, concealed in the lattice, saw the thieves and knew them. Next day, she complained to the king that the darvesh had robbed her house. This the king refused to believe, calling the darvesh the most holy man of the age; but she declared that he was the fiend of the age. Upon this the king in a rage ordered Husn Bánú and her attendants to be stoned to death, as a warning to others. But the chief minister reminded him that she was the daughter of Burzakh the merchant, and that by putting her to death he would estrange the hearts of his subjects. So the king spared her life, but caused her to be expelled from the city.

In the desert, under a shady tree, Husn Bánú and her old nurse fell asleep; and in a dream a man appeared to Husn Bánú, and told her that beneath that tree was buried the treasure of the seven regions, hidden there by the King of Truth, for her sake, and she was to arise and take possession thereof. “I am a woman,” she replied, “and how can I bring it out of the earth?” The apparition said: “Dig the earth with a little spade: let the means be applied by thee, and God will grant success. Moreover, no one is able forcibly to deprive thee of the treasure. Arise and build a city on this spot.” Husn Bánú having told of her dream to her nurse, they both set to work and dug with a piece of wood, when instantly they saw a pit full of yellow gold, chests full of jewels, cups full of rubies, and costly pearls the size of ducks' eggs. Husn Bánú rendered thanks to the Most High, then giving some gold to her nurse desired her to return to the city and fetch food and raiment, architects and labourers. Just then her foster-brother, in a mendicant's garb, passed by, and he recognised her. Telling him how God had given her wealth again, she requested him to bring thither his relations.

The foster-brother soon returned with a builder named Mu'amír. She bids him begin to build a city, but he explains that the king's permission must be first obtained. So Husn Bánú dresses herself in man's apparel, and takes for a present a cup full of rubies and a casket full of brilliant jewels. She gives valuable gifts to the king's officers, representing herself as a merchant newly arrived from abroad and desirous of offering presents to the king. His majesty is astonished to see the priceless gifts and asks: “Sir, whence art thou?” She replies that her father was a merchant of Irán, who died at sea; that she was an orphan and without kindred; had heard of his good qualities; had pitched tents in a tract of desert, and desired leave to build a city there. The king presents her with a dress of honour and adopts her as his son; and suggests that she should rather build her city near the capital and call it Sháhábád (i.e. king's city). But Husn Bánú prefers the desert, so the king gives her the required permission.

The city was built in about two years, and Husn Bánú visited the king once every month. One day he tells her that he is about to visit his darvesh and prevails on her to accompany him. She invites the darvesh to her house, and on his consenting she observes: “But my house is far distant, and in the capital there is the unoccupied house of Burzakh the merchant.” The king makes it over to her as a free gift. Finding her father's house has fallen to decay, she has it repaired and furnished splendidly. On the day appointed the darvesh came, and he declined the jewels offered to him by Husn Bánú, who had also displayed vast wealth throughout the apartment; and even at the banquet he pretended that he could not partake of dainty dishes. When the darvesh and his attendants had taken their leave, Husn Bánú caused all the golden dishes, etc. to be left as at the banquet, and warned the captain of the watch that she had reason to fear being robbed. At night the darvesh and his forty slaves entered the house, and having tied up the valuables in bundles were about to be off with their plunder—the darvesh himself carrying a cup full of rubies in his hand—when the night watch rushed in, seized and secured the robbers, and laid them in prison. Next day when the king opened his court Husn Bánú appeared,⁴⁵⁹ and the kutwál brought the prisoners, each with his bundle of booty hanging from his neck, and made his report. The king thought the leader of the gang resembled a certain darvesh. Thereupon Husn Bánú told her story, and the king ordered all the robbers to be instantly put to death. Her father's property, of which she had been formerly robbed, was found in the house of the darvesh, and she presented it all to the king. Soon after this occurrence the king visited Husn Bánú at Sháhabád, and she gave him much gold; then pointing out the source of her wealth desired him to cause his attendants to convey it to his own treasury. But when they began to handle the gold, it turned into serpents and dragons, which convinced the king that it was devoted to her sole use. She built a house for the entertainment of travellers, each of whom received a handsome present on leaving, and the fame of her generosity was noised abroad.

Husn Bánú, being young, beautiful, and passing rich, had of course many suitors for her hand in marriage, and she one day consulted with her nurse as to the best means of securing herself from the importunity of worldly men. The nurse said she had seven questions (or tasks), which Husn Bánú should propose to every suitor, and he who complied with the terms which they embraced should be her husband, to which she agreed. Her fame being spread far and wide, Prince Munir, the son of the king of Kharizm, sent a painter to draw her portrait, which he did from the reflection of her face in a vessel full of water⁴⁶⁰ and brought it to the prince, who on seeing it became quite frantic from love, and that same night he set out privily for Sháhábád. Obtaining an interview with Husn Bánú and declaring his passion, she replied: “You must first answer me seven questions. There is a man who constantly exclaims: ‘What I once saw I long to see a second time.’ Inform me where he lives and what he saw, and then I will put the second question.” The prince takes his leave and wanders about all sad at heart. He is met by Hatim Taï, who learns from him the cause of his evident sorrow, and undertakes to perform the task for him. Having entertained the prince for three days, Hatim takes him back to Sháhábád, and they go into the caravanserai there; but Hatim refusing both the food and the gold always presented to travellers, he is taken before Husn Bánú, who asks him the reason of this strange conduct. Hatim only desires to look at her face. She tells him that he must first bring her the solution of seven questions, to which Hatim agrees, on the condition that she would become at his disposal in the event of his succeeding, which condition was at once written and signed and confirmed by witnesses. Then Hatim, leaving the love-struck prince at the caravanserai, sets out to obtain an answer to Husn Bánú's First Question.

After many surprising adventures, Hatim at length reaches a desert where an old man is crying: “What I once saw I long to see a second time,” and learns from him that once he was walking on the border of a lake, when he saw a damsel who took him by the hand and leaped with him into the water, whereupon he found himself in a magnificent garden and beheld a lovely female form closely veiled; and on venturing to raise the veil he was instantly struck to the ground, and opening his eyes found himself in that desert, where he had ever since wandered about, restless and forlorn, wishing to see that beauteous fairy once more. Hatim—for whom nothing was too difficult, for he had all sorts of talismans—conducts the old man to the fairy, after which he returns with the required information to Husn Bánú.

His Second Adventure is to ascertain why a man has above his door these words: “Do good, and cast it on the water;” who he is, and where his house is situated. In the course of this expedition he performs three additional tasks in order to obtain for another distracted lover the daughter of a merchant for his wife, the second of which is: Who is the man that cries every Friday and why does he cry: “I have done nothing that will benefit me this night”? Hatim comes to a sand-hill (having been directed to the spot by the grateful inhabitants of a town, whose lives he had saved by slaying a man-eating monster), and hears the voice. As he advances he discovers a number of the dead rising out of their graves, with angelic countenances and apparelled in splendid robes—all save one, who was covered with dust and ashes and sat on the cold ground, while the others sat on thrones drinking nectar, and never gave him to drink thereof. This wight sighed heavily and exclaimed: “Alas, I have not done that which might benefit me this night!” He tells Hatim that he was a merchant and those around him had been his servants. He was a great miser, but his servants fed the hungry and clothed the naked. On a journey a gang of robbers attacked and murdered him and all his followers. “Here they rest as martyrs — they are crowned with glory, while I am plunged in misery. In the capital of China, my native country, are my grandchildren living in abject poverty. In a certain chamber of my house is buried an immense treasure, of which no living man has knowledge.” Hatim inquires whether it was possible for him to minister to his relief. “Proceed to the capital of China,” says the miser's shade, “and find out my house. My name is Yúsuf, and in my day I was well known in all parts of the city. Seek my descendants; tell them of the treasure; divide it into four equal portions; bestow one portion on my grandchildren, and the other three on the poor of the city; then perhaps my case may be ameliorated.” Hatim goes at once to the capital of China, but before he is allowed to enter he must answer three questions put to every stranger by the governor's daughter. Of course Hatim gives correct solutions of the enigmas, and then complies with the directions of the miser's ghost.

He now addresses himself seriously to the solution of the Second Question of Husn Bánú, but he has many wondrous experiences before he comes at length to the bank of a large river, on which is a lofty mansion of stone, and over the door is written the motto: “Do good, and cast it on the water.” Ushered by attendants into the house, Hatim sees a venerable man of a hundred years seated upon a throne, who receives him with great courtesy and causes him to be supplied with refreshments. When Hatim asks the meaning of the motto over the door, the old man relates his history: In his youth he was a great robber, yet every day he made two large loaves mixed with sweet oil and sugar, which he threw into the river, saying: “This I give away, to propitiate Heaven.” One day, continues the old robber, “I was seized with a sickness and I thought a man grasped me by the hand and pointing to the infernal regions said: ‘There is the place destined for thee.’ But two youths, divinely fair, came up and laid hold of me, saying: ‘We will not permit this man to be cast into hell, sinful though he has been. His future state is in Paradise, and thither let us carry him.’” They conveyed him accordingly to the regions of bliss, and an angel of exalted rank telling them that he had a hundred years yet to live, they brought him back to his house, and explained that they were the two loaves he was wont to cast into the water for fishes to feed on. His health was at once restored and he made two loaves as before. When he went to cast them into the water he found a hundred dínars, which he took up and carried to the village, where he caused it to be proclaimed that such a sum of money had been found, but no one came to claim it. Next day when he went to the river with the two loaves he found another hundred dínars, and this continued till the eve of the eleventh day, when a man appeared to him in the visions of the night and said: “Servant of the Almighty, thy two loaves have pleaded thy cause in heaven: the merciful Creator has forgiven thy sins. The dínars which thou receivest are for thy subsistence, and what is superfluous do thou bestow in charity.” Since then the old robber had built that mansion and written the motto over the door, and every day when he went to throw the loaves into the river he found a hundred dínars.⁴⁶⁴

Hatim returns with this story to Husn Bánú, and she forthwith despatches him on his Third Adventure: “There is a man who constantly cries: ‘Injure no one; if you do, evil will overtake you.’ Find out where that man lives, what injury he has done, and what evil has overtaken him.” After having performed a difficult task on behalf of a despairing lover whom he met on his way, Hatim at length, aided by a band of fairy troops, arrives at the outskirts of Himyar, where he hears a voice crying these words, and discovers a blind man confined in a cage, which is suspended from a branch of a tree. Hatim having promised to mend his condition and relieve him, the blind man related his history, as follows:

“I am by occupation a merchant, and my name is Hamír. When I became of age, my father had finished the building of this city, and he called the same after my name. Shortly after my father departed on a sea voyage and left me in charge of the city. I was a free-hearted and social young man, and so in a short time expended all the property left under my care by my father. Thus I became surrounded with poverty and want; and as I knew that my father had hidden treasures somewhere in his house I resolved to discover them if possible. I searched everywhere, but found nothing; and, to complete my woe, I received the news of my father's death, the ship in which he sailed being wrecked.

“One day as I was sauntering, mournful and dejected, through the bazár, I espied a learned man who cried out: ‘If any one has lost his money by theft or otherwise, my knowledge of the occult sciences enables me to recover the same, but on condition that I receive one fourth of the amount.’ When I heard this seasonable proclamation, I immediately approached the man of science, and stated to him my sad condition and how I had been reduced from affluence to poverty. The sage undertook to restore my wealth, and above all to discover the treasures concealed in my father's house. I conducted him to the house and showed him every apartment, which he carefully examined one after another. At length by his art he discovered the stores we were in search of; and when I saw the gold and silver and other valuables, which exceeded calculation, the demon of fraud entered my heart, and I refused to fulfil my promise of giving a fourth of the property to the man of wisdom. I offered him only a few small pieces of silver; instead of accepting which, he stood for a few moments in silent meditation, and with a look of scorn said: ‘Do I thus receive the fourth part of your treasure, which you agreed to give me? Base man, of what perjury are you guilty!’ On hearing this I became enraged, and having struck him several blows on the face I expelled him from my house. In a few days, however, he returned, and so far ingratiated himself into my confidence, that we became intimate friends; and night and day he displayed before my sight the various hidden treasures contained within the bowels of the earth. One day I asked him to instruct me in this wonderful science, to which he answered that no instruction was requisite. ‘Here,’ said he, ‘is a composition of surma, and whoever applies the same to his eyes, to him will all the wealth of this world become visible.’⁴⁶⁶ ‘Most learned sir,’ I replied, ‘if you will anoint my eyes with this substance, I promise to share with you the half of all such treasures as I may discover.’ ‘I agree,’ said my friend: ‘meanwhile let us retire to the desert, where we shall be free from interruption.’

“We immediately set out, and when we arrived here I was surprised at seeing this cage, and asked my companion whose it was. I received for answer, that it belonged to no one. In short, we both sat down at the foot of this tree, and the sage, having produced the surma from his pocket, began to apply it to my eyes. But, alas! no sooner had he applied this composition than I became totally deprived of sight. In a voice of sorrow I asked him why he had thus treated me, and he replied: ‘Such is the reward of treachery; and if you wish to recover your sight, you must for some time undergo penance in this cage. You must utter no complaint and you shall exclaim from time to time: “Do no evil to any one; if you do, evil will befall you.”’ I entreated the sage to relieve me, saying: ‘You are a mere mortal like myself, and dare you thus torment a fellow-creature? How will you account for your deeds to the Supreme Judge?’ He answered: ‘This is the reward of your treachery.’ Seeing him inexorable, I begged of him to inform me when and how my sight was to be restored; and he told me, that a noble youth should one day visit me, and to him I was to make known my condition, and farther state that in the desert of Himyar there is a certain herb called the Flower of Light, which the youth was to procure and apply to my eyes, by means of which my sight should be restored.

“It is now three years since he left me in this prison, which, though quite open, I cannot quit. Were I to attempt to leave my confinement, I should feel the most excruciating pain in my limbs, so as not to have the power of moving, and thus I am compelled to remain. One day, shortly after my companion left me, I reflected that I could do nothing for myself while I continued like a bird in this cage, and accordingly resolved to quit it at all hazards; but the moment I was outside of it the pain that seized my whole body almost killed me. I immediately returned to my prison, and have since that time resigned myself to my fate, exclaiming at stated times the words which have attracted your attention. Many people have passed by me, but on learning my condition they left me as they found me.”

When the man in the cage had ended his story, Hatim bade him be of good cheer, for he would at once endeavour to relieve him. By the aid of the fairies who had conducted him thither and now carry him through the air for the space of seven days, he arrives in the desert where the Flowers of Light shine brilliant as lamps on a festival night, diffusing the sweetest perfume far and wide; and, recking naught for the serpents, scorpions, and other beasts of prey which infest the place (for he was guarded by a powerful talisman), he advances and plucks three of the largest and most brilliant flowers. Returning in the same manner as he had come, he reaches the spot where the blind man Hamír is imprisoned. Taking down the cage, he releases the wretched man, compresses the stalk of the flower so that the juice should drop upon his sightless eyeballs, and when this has been repeated three times Hamír opens his eyes, and, seeing Hatim, falls prostrate at his feet with a profusion of thanks.

The Fourth Adventure is: “Who is the man that has this motto over his door: ‘He who speaks the truth is always tranquil’; wherein has he spoken the truth, and what degree of tranquility does he enjoy in consequence?” Passing through regions of enchantment, Hatim then comes to a city, and discovers the motto written above the gate of a splendid mansion. He enters and is received graciously by an old man, who entertains him hospitably. Next day he relates his story: He is eight hundred years old. In youth he was a great gambler, and having lost all his substance he became a robber. One night he broke into the king's palace, entered one of the chambers, where the daughter of the king was sleeping, and seizing all her jewels and a golden lamp that burned beside her he made his escape. He fled to a desert, where he found a gang of thieves dividing their plunder, to whom he showed his own booty, and their avarice was aroused so that they were proceeding to take it from him by force, when a tremendous voice was heard close by, at which they ran off in different directions. Presently a figure appeared before him and demanded: “Who art thou?” He told his story. “'Tis well for thee,” said the figure, “that thou hast related the whole truth; therefore I forgive thy crime, and leave the treasure to thy enjoyment. But swear never to gamble again.” He took the required oath. “Well, keep thy oath, and the years of thy life shall reach nine hundred.” Returning to the city with his plunder, his comrades envied his prosperity, and reported him to the chief of the police, who brought him before the king, to whom he told the whole truth as to the source of his wealth, and the king pardoned him and gave him more gold. Then he wrote that motto over his door.

Hatim's Fifth Adventure is to bring an account of Mount Nida, whence a voice from time to time proceeds, crying: “Come quickly!” Whereupon one of the citizens in the neighbourhood is seized with an uncontrolable frenzy, rushes away to the mountain and is seen no more. This strange occurrence Hatim learns is the manner in which the inhabitants taste of death: when the doomed person approached a rock it split asunder, and as soon as he had entered the opening it closed behind him and his soul quitted his body.

The Sixth Adventure is to procure Husn Bánú a pearl similar to one she already possesses, which is as large as a duck's egg. Hatim learns from the conversation of a pair of Nitka birds that their species used to “lay” such pearls once in thirty years, but this faculty had ceased since the days of Solomon; that only two were on the face of the earth now (all others being at the bottom of the sea), one being in the possession of Husn Bánú, the other in the treasury of a fairy, who has an only daughter: he who can tell the history of that pearl (which Hatim has heard from the well-informed birds) shall have her in marriage and the pearl for her dowry. Needless to add that Hatim is successful in his quest, bestows the young fairy on her lover, who had been unable to comply with her father's condition, and returns with the pearl to Husn Bánú.

Hatim's Seventh Adventure, and the last, is to bring the lady an account of the bath of Badgird—an enchanted palace erected for the preservation of a peerless and priceless diamond by its owner, a powerful magician. The stone is in the body of a parrot, Hatim is told by a bird of the same species before entering the hall, and whoever enters shall never return unless he obtain possession of the gem. He will find a bow and three arrows laid on a sofa in the hall, and must shoot the arrows at the parrot, and if he hit right through its head he will break the spell, but if not, he will, like all others before him, be turned to marble. Nothing daunted, Hatim shoots one arrow, and, missing, he becomes marble up to his knees; the second arrow also missing, he becomes marble up to his middle; but (placing his reliance in God) when he shoots the third arrow it pierces the head of the parrot and it falls lifeless to the ground. This achievement is immediately followed by a storm of wind, thunder, lightning—darkness. And Hatim can see no palace or parrot, but at his feet are the bow and arrow and a diamond of dazzling brilliance. No sooner had Hatim seized the diamond than all the marble statues started into life, being freed from the spell of the enchanter.

Returning to Sháhábád, Hatim presented the diamond to Husn Bánú, and, as he had now fulfilled all her conditions, she was straightway married to Prince Munir, who thus reached the summit of happiness. Hatim then returned to the capital of Yaman, where he was affectionately received by his father and mother, and his arrival was hailed with universal joy, while every house resounded with music and mirth. Shortly after this Hatim's father resigned the reins of government into his hand and lived in retirement for the remainder of his life, which amounted to twelve years, seven months, and nine days. Hatim reigned long and happily in Yaman.⁴⁷⁰

Such is the substance of the wonderful Adventures of Hatim Taï, though I have necessarily omitted many details and some rather curious incidents: like a tale in the Arabian Nights, out of which spring several other tales, each of Hatim's expeditions led him on to others, which had to be accomplished before he could attain the end for which he originally set out. He undergoes some extraordinary experiences, too, such as being swallowed alive and unhurt by a dragon of such monstrous dimensions that he kept tramping to and fro in its stomach till it was at last obliged, for its internal peace, to eject him and be off; dipping his hand into a lake in order to drink of the waters, and finding it instantly turned into pure silver—where, O where is that lake?—and coming to another, which had the property of restoring the argentine member to flesh and blood; not to speak of the scenes of enchantment, which indeed seem to have been begot of hashish or a like narcotic. With all its absurdities, however, the morale of the romance is excellent: the hero goes about constantly doing good; benevolent towards bird and beast as well as to mankind; feeding the hungry, relieving the distressed, and binding up the broken heart.—This work is still a first favourite among the Persians, who continue to entertain a firm belief in dívs, parís, and many other kinds of spirits, good and evil.

Of the three stories which are interwoven with our tale of Hatim and the Benevolent Lady but one is represented in the Romance, that of the Blind Man, namely, but the details are very different in the two versions.