Arabian nights. English

Project Guten­berg’s The Book of the Thou­sand Nights and a Night, V5

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Ti­tle: The Book of the Thou­sand Nights and a Night, Vol­ume 5

Au­thor: Richard F. Bur­ton

Re­lease Date: Septem­ber, 2002 [Etext #3437] [Yes, we are about one year ahead of sched­ule] [The ac­tu­al date this file first post­ed = 07/05/01]

Edi­tion: 10

Lan­guage: En­glish

Project Guten­berg’s The Book of the Thou­sand Nights and a Night, V5 ******This file should be named 51001108.txt or 51001108.zip*******

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THE BOOK OF THE THOU­SAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT A Plain and Lit­er­al Trans­la­tion of the Ara­bi­an Nights En­ter­tain­ments Trans­lat­ed and An­no­tat­ed by Richard F. Bur­ton VOL­UME FIVE Pri­vate­ly Print­ed By The Bur­ton Club To Doc­tor George Bird. My Dear Bird, This is not a strict­ly med­ical work, al­though in places treat­ing of sub­jects which may mod­est­ly be called hy­gien­ic. I in­scribe it to you be­cause your knowl­edge of Egypt will en­able you to ap­pre­ci­ate its fin­er touch­es; and for an­oth­er and a yet more co­gent rea­son, name­ly, that you are one of my best and old­est friends.

Ev­er yours sin­cere­ly,

Richard F. Bur­ton

Athenæum Club, Oc­to­ber 20, 1885.

Con­tents of the Fifth Vol­ume

59. The Ebony Horse 60. Uns Al-​Wu­jud and the Wazir’s Daugh­ter Al-​Ward Fi’l-​Ak­mam or Rose-​In-​Hood 61. Abu Nowas With the Three Boys and the Caliph Harun Al-​Rashid 62. Ab­dal­lah Bin Ma’amar With the Man of Bas­so­rah and His Slave Girl 63. The Lovers of the Banu Ozrah 64. The Wazir of Al-​Ya­man and His Younger Broth­er 65. The Loves of the Boy and Girl at School 66. Al-​Mu­ta­lam­mis and His Wife Umaymah 67. The Caliph Marun Al-​Rashid and Queen Zubay­dah in the Bath 68. Harun Al-​Rashid and the Three Po­ets 69. Mus’ab Bin Al-​Zubayr and Ay­ishah His Wife 70. Abu Al-​Aswad and His Slave-​Girl 71. Harun Al-​Rashid and the Two Slave-​Girls 72. The Caliph Harun Al-​Rashid and the Three Slave-​Girls 73. The Miller and His Wife 74. The Sim­ple­ton and the Sharp­er 75. The Kazi Abu Yusuf With Harum Al-​Rashid and Queen Zubay­dah 76. The Caliph Al-​Hakim and the Mer­chand 77. King Kisra Anushir­wan and the Vil­lage Damsel 78. The Wa­ter-​Car­ri­er and the Gold­smith’s Wife 79. Khus­rau and Shirin and the Fish­er­man 80. Yahya Bin Khalid the Barme­cide and the Poor Man 81. Mo­hammed Al-​Amin and the Slave-​Girl 82. The Sons of Yahya Bin Khalid and Sa’id Bin Sal­im Al-​Bahili 83. The Wom­an’s Trick Against Her Hus­band 84. The De­vout Wom­an and the Two Wicked El­ders 85. Ja’afar the Barme­cide and the Old Badawi 86. The Caliph Omar Bin Al-​Khat­tab and the Young Badawi 87. The Caliph Al-​Maa­mum and the Pyra­mids of Egypt 88. The Thief and the Mer­chant 89. Mas­rur the Eu­nuch and Ibn Al-​Karibi 90. The Devo­tee Prince 91. The Un­wise School­mas­ter Who Fell in Love by Re­port 92. The Fool­ish Do­minie 93. The Il­lit­er­ate Who Set Up For a School­mas­ter 94. The King and the Vir­tu­ous Wife 95. Abd Al-​Rah­man the Maghribi’s Sto­ry of the Rukh 96. Adi Bin Za­yd and the Princess Hind 97. Di’ibil Al-​Khuza’i With the La­dy and Mus­lim Bin Al-​Walid 98. Isaac of Mo­sul and the Mer­chant 99. The Three Un­for­tu­nate Lovers 100. How Abu Hasan Brake Wind 101. The Lovers of the Banu Tayy 102. The Mad Lover 103. The Pri­or Who Be­came A Moslem 104. The Loves of Abu Isa and Ju­rrat Al-​Ayn 105. Al-​Amin Son of Al-​Rashid and His Un­cle Ibrahim Bin Al-​Mah­di 106. Al-​Fath Bin Khakan and Al-​Mu­tawakkil 107. The Man’s Dis­pute With the Learned Wom­an Con­cern­ing the Rel­ative Ex­cel­lence of Male and Fe­male 108. Abu Suwayd and the Pret­ty Old Wom­an 109. The Emir ali Bin Tahir and the Girl Muu­nis 110. The Wom­an Who had a Boy and the Oth­er Who had a Man to Lover 111. Ali the Cairene and the Haunt­ed House in Bagh­dad 112. The Pil­grim Man and the Old Wom­an 113. Abu Al­husn and His Slave-​Girl Tawad­dud 114. The An­gel of Death With the Proud King and the De­vout Man 115. The An­gel of Death and the Rich King 116. The An­gel of Death and the King of the Chil­dren of Is­rael 117. Iskan­dar Zu Al-​Kar­nayn and a Cer­tain Tribe of Poor Folk 118. The Righ­teous­ness of King Anushir­wan 119. The Jew­ish Kazi and His Pi­ous Wife 120. The Ship­wrecked Wom­an and Her Child 121. The Pi­ous Black Slave 122. The De­vout Tray-​Mak­er and His Wife 123. Al-​Ja­jjaj and the Pi­ous Man 124. The Black­smith Who Could Han­dle Fire With­out Hurt 125. The Devo­tee To Whom Al­lah Gave a Cloud for Ser­vice and the De­vout King 126. The Moslem Cham­pi­on and the Chris­tian Damsel 127. The Chris­tian King’s Daugh­ter and the Moslem 128. The Prophet and the Jus­tice of Prov­idence 129. The Fer­ry­man of the Nile and the Her­mit 130. The Is­land King and the Pi­ous Is­raelite 131. Abu Al-​Hasan and Abu Ja’afar the Lep­er 132. The Queen of Ser­pents a. The Ad­ven­tures of Bu­lukiya b. The Sto­ry of Jan­sha

The Book Of The THOU­SAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT THE EBONY HORSE.[FN#1]

There was once in times of yore and ages long gone be­fore, a great and puis­sant King, of the Kings of the Per­sians, Sábúr by name, who was the rich­est of all the Kings in store of wealth and do­min­ion and sur­passed each and ev­ery in wit and wis­dom. He was gen­er­ous, open hand­ed and benef­icent, and he gave to those who sought him and re­pelled not those who re­sort­ed to him; and he com­fort­ed the bro­ken-​heart­ed and hon­ourably en­treat­ed those who fled to him for refuge. More­over, he loved the poor and was hos­pitable to strangers and did the op­pressed jus­tice up­on the op­pres­sor. He had three daugh­ters, like full moons of shin­ing light or flow­er-​gar­dens bloom­ing bright; and a son as he were the moon; and it was his wont to keep two fes­ti­vals in the twelve- month, those of the Nau-​Roz, or New Year, and Mihrgán the Au­tum­nal Equinox,[FN#2] on which oc­ca­sions he threw open his palaces and gave largesse and made procla­ma­tion of safe­ty and se­cu­ri­ty and pro­mot­ed his cham­ber­lains and viceroys; and the peo­ple of his realm came in to him and salut­ed him and gave him joy of the holy day, bring­ing him gifts and ser­vants and eu­nuchs. Now he loved sci­ence and ge­om­etry, and one fes­ti­val-​day as he sat on his king­ly throne there came in to him three wise men, cun­ning ar­ti­fi­cers and past mas­ters in all man­ner of craft and in­ven­tions, skilled in mak­ing things cu­ri­ous and rare, such as con­found the wit; and versed in the knowl­edge of oc­cult truths and per­fect in mys­ter­ies and sub­tleties. And they were of three dif­fer­ent tongues and coun­tries, the first a Hin­di or In­di­an,[FN#3] the sec­ond a Rou­mi or Greek and the third a Far­si or Per­sian. The In­di­an came for­wards and, pros­trat­ing him­self be­fore the King, wished him joy of the fes­ti­val and laid be­fore him a present be­fit­ting his dig­ni­ty; that is to say, a man of gold, set with pre­cious gems and jew­els of price and hend­ing in hand a gold­en trum­pet. When Sabur[FN#4] saw this, he asked, “O sage, what is the virtue of this fig­ure?”; and the In­di­an an­swered, “O my lord, if this fig­ure be set at the gate of thy city, it will be a guardian over it; for, in an en­emy en­ter the place, it will blow this clar­ion against him and he will be seized with a pal­sy and drop down dead.” Much the King mar­velled at this and cried, “By Al­lah, O sage, an this thy word be true, I will grant thee thy wish and thy de­sire.” Then came for­ward the Greek and, pros­trat­ing him­self be­fore the King, pre­sent­ed him with a basin of sil­ver, in whose midst was a pea­cock of gold, sur­round­ed by four-​and-​twen­ty chicks of the same met­al. Sabur looked at them and turn­ing to the Greek, said to him, “O sage, what is the virtue of this pea­cock?” “O my lord,” an­swered he, “as of­ten as an hour of the day or night pas­seth, it peck­eth one of its young and cri­eth out and flap­peth its wings, till the four-​and-​twen­ty hours are ac­com­plished; and when the month cometh to an end, it will open its mouth and thou shalt see the cres­cent there­in.” And the King said, “An thou speak sooth, I will bring thee to thy wish and thy de­sire.” Then came for­ward the Per­sian sage and, pros­trat­ing him­self be­fore the King, pre­sent­ed him with a horse[FN#5] of the black­est ebony-​wood in­laid with gold and jew­els, and ready har­nessed with sad­dle, bri­dle and stir­rups such as be­fit Kings; which when Sabur saw, he mar­velled with ex­ceed­ing mar­vel and was con­found­ed at the beau­ty of its form and the in­ge­nu­ity of its fash­ion. So he asked, “What is the use of this horse of wood, and what is its virtue and what the se­cret of its move­ment?”; and the Per­sian an­swered, “O my lord, the virtue of this horse is that, if one mount him, it will car­ry him whith­er he will and fare with its rid­er through the air and cov­er the space of a year in a sin­gle day.” The King mar­velled and was amazed at these three won­ders, fol­low­ing thus hard up­on one an­oth­er on the same day, and turn­ing to the sage, said to him, “By Al­lah the Om­nipo­tent, and our Lord the Benef­icent, who cre­at­ed all crea­tures and feedeth them with meat and drink, an thy speech be ver­ita­ble and the virtue of thy con­trivance ap­pear, I will as­sured­ly give thee what­so­ev­er thou lus­test for and will bring thee to thy de­sire and thy wish!”[FN#6] Then he en­ter­tained the sages three days, that he might make tri­al of their gifts; af­ter which they brought the fig­ures be­fore him and each took the crea­ture he had wrought­en and showed him the mys­tery of its move­ment. The trum­peter blew the trump; the pea­cock pecked its chicks and the Per­sian sage mount­ed the ebony house, where­upon it soared with him high in air and de­scend­ed again. When King Sabur saw all this, he was amazed and per­plexed and felt like to fly for joy and said to the three sages, “Now I am cer­ti­fied of the truth of your words and it be­hoveth me to quit me of my promise. Ask ye, there­fore, what ye will, and I will give you that same.” Now the re­port of the King’s daugh­ters had reached the sages, so they an­swered, “If the King be con­tent with us and ac­cept of our gifts and al­low us to pre­fer a re­quest to him, we crave of him that he give us his three daugh­ters in mar­riage, that we may be his sons-​in-​law; for that the sta­bil­ity of Kings may not be gain­said.” Quoth the King, “I grant you that which you wish and you de­sire,” and bade sum­mon the Kazi forthright, that he might mar­ry each of the sages to one of his daugh­ters. Now it for­tuned that the Princess­es were be­hind a cur­tain, look­ing on; and when they heard this, the youngest con­sid­ered her hus­band to be and be­hold, he was an old man,[FN#7] an hun­dred years of age, with hair frost­ed, fore­head droop­ing, eye­brows mangy, ears slit­ten, beard and mus­ta­chios stained and dyed; eyes red and gog­gle; cheeks bleached and hol­low; flab­by nose like a brin­jall, or egg- plant[FN#8]; face like a cob­bler’s apron, teeth over­lap­ping and lips like camel’s kid­neys, loose and pen­du­lous; in brief a ter­ror, a hor­ror, a mon­ster, for he was of the folk of his time the un­sightli­est and of his age the fright­fullest; sundry of his grinders had been knocked out and his eye-​teeth were like the tusks of the Jin­ni who fright­eneth poul­try in hen-​hous­es. Now the girl was the fairest and most grace­ful of her time, more el­egant than the gazelle how­ev­er ten­der, than the gen­tlest zephyr blan­der and brighter than the moon at her full; for amorous fray right suit­able; con­found­ing in grace­ful sway the wav­ing bough and out­do­ing in swim­ming gait the pac­ing roe; in fine she was fair­er and sweet­er by far than all her sis­ters. So, when she saw her suit­or, she went to her cham­ber and strewed dust on her head and tore her clothes and fell to buf­fet­ing her face and weep­ing and wail­ing. Now the Prince, her broth­er, Ka­mar al-​Ak­már, or the Moon of Moons hight, was then new­ly re­turned from a jour­ney and, hear­ing her weep­ing and cry­ing came in to her (for he loved her with fond af­fec­tion, more than his oth­er sis­ters) and asked her, “What aileth thee? What hath be­fall­en thee? Tell me and con­ceal naught from me.” So she smote her breast and an­swered, “O my broth­er and my dear one, I have noth­ing to hide. If the palace be strait­ened up­on thy fa­ther, I will go out; and if he be re­solved up­on a foul thing, I will sep­arate my­self from him, though he con­sent not to make pro­vi­sion for me; and my Lord will pro­vide.” Quoth he, “Tell me what meaneth this talk and what hath strait­ened thy breast and trou­bled thy tem­per.” “O my broth­er and my dear one,” an­swered the Princess, “Know that my fa­ther hath promised me in mar­riage to a wicked ma­gi­cian who brought him, as a gift, a horse of black wood, and hath be­witched him with his craft and his egro­man­cy; but, as for me, I will none of him, and would, be­cause of him, I had nev­er come in­to this world!” Her broth­er soothed her and so­laced her, then fared to his sire and said, “What be this wiz­ard to whom thou hast giv­en my youngest sis­ter in mar­riage, and what is this present which he hath brought thee, so that thou hast killed[FN#9] my sis­ter with cha­grin? It is not right that this should be.” Now the Per­sian was stand­ing by and, when he heard the Prince’s words, he was mor­ti­fied and filled with fury and the King said, “O my son, an thou sawest this horse, thy wit would be con­found­ed and thou wouldst be am­at­ed with amaze­ment.” Then he bade the slaves bring the horse be­fore him and they did so; and, when the Prince saw it, it pleased him. So (be­ing an ac­com­plished cav­alier) he mount­ed it forthright and struck its sides with the shov­el-​shaped stir­rup-​irons; but it stirred not and the King said to the Sage, “Go show him its move­ment, that he al­so may help thee to win thy wish.” Now the Per­sian bore the Prince a grudge be­cause he willed not he should have his sis­ter; so he showed him the pin of as­cent on the right side of the horse and say­ing to him, “Trill this,” left him. There­upon the Prince trilled the pin and lo! the horse forth­with soared with him high in ether, as it were a bird, and gave not over­fly­ing till it dis­ap­peared from men’s es­py­ing, where­at the King was trou­bled and per­plexed about his case and said to the Per­sian, “O sage, look how thou mayest make him de­scend.” But he replied, “O my lord, I can do noth­ing, and thou wilt nev­er see him again till Res­ur­rec­tion-​day, for he, of his ig­no­rance and pride, asked me not of the pin of de­scent and I for­got to ac­quaint him there­with.” When the King heard this, he was en­raged with sore rage; and bade basti­na­do the sor­cer­er and clap him in jail, whilst he him­self cast the crown from his head and beat his face and smote his breast. More­over, he shut the doors of his palaces and gave him­self up to weep­ing and keen­ing, he and his wife and daugh­ters and all the folk of the city; and thus their joy was turned to an­noy and their glad­ness changed in­to sore af­flic­tion and sad­ness. Thus far con­cern­ing them; but as re­gards the Prince, the horse gave not over soar­ing with him till he drew near the sun, where­at he gave him­self up for lost and saw death in the skies, and was con­found­ed at his case, re­pent­ing him of hav­ing mount­ed the horse and say­ing to him­self, “Ver­ily, this was a de­vice of the Sage to de­stroy me on ac­count of my youngest sis­ter; but there is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Al­lah, the Glo­ri­ous, the Great! I am lost with­out re­course; but I won­der, did not he who made the as­cent-​pin make al­so a de­scent-​pin?” Now he was a man of wit and knowl­edge and in­tel­li­gence; so he fell to feel­ing all the parts of the horse, but saw noth­ing save a screw, like a cock’s head, on its right shoul­der and the like on the left, when quoth he to him­self, “I see no sign save these things like but­tons.” Present­ly he turned the right-​hand pin, where­upon the horse flew heav­en­wards with in­creased speed. So he left it and look­ing at the sin­is­ter shoul­der and find­ing an­oth­er pin, he wound it up and im­me­di­ate­ly the steed’s up­wards mo­tion slowed and ceased and it be­gan to de­scend, lit­tle by lit­tle, to­wards the face of the earth, while the rid­er be­came yet more cau­tious and care­ful of his life.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Fifty-​eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the Prince wound up the sin­is­ter screw, the steed’s up­ward mo­tion slowed and ceased, and it be­gan to de­scend, lit­tle by lit­tle, to­wards the earth while the rid­er be­came yet more cau­tious and care­ful of his life. And when he saw this and knew the us­es of the horse, his heart was filled with joy and glad­ness and he thanked Almighty Al­lah for that He had deigned de­liv­er him from de­struc­tion. Then he be­gan to turn the horse’s head whith­er­so­ev­er he would, mak­ing it rise and fall at plea­sure, till he had got­ten com­plete mas­tery over its ev­ery move­ment. He ceased not to de­scend the whole of that day, for that the steed’s as­cend­ing flight had borne him afar from the earth; and, as he de­scend­ed, he di­vert­ed him­self with view­ing the var­ious cities and coun­tries over which he passed and which he knew not, nev­er hav­ing seen them in his life. Amongst the rest, he de­scried a city or­dered af­ter the fairest fash­ion in the midst of a ver­dant and ri­ant land, rich in trees and streams, with gazelles pac­ing dain­ti­ly over the plains; where­at he fell a-​mus­ing and said to him­self, “Would I knew the name of yon town and in what land it is!” And he took to cir­cling about it and ob­serv­ing it right and left. By this time, the day be­gan to de­cline and the sun drew near to its down­ing; and he said in his mind, “Ver­ily I find no goodli­er place to night in than this city; so I will lodge here and ear­ly on the mor­row I will re­turn to my kith and kin and my king­dom; and tell my fa­ther and fam­ily what hath passed and ac­quaint him with what mine eyes have seen.” Then he ad­dressed him­self to seek­ing a place where­in he might safe­ly be­stow him­self and his horse and where none should de­scry him, and present­ly be­hold, he es­pied a-​mid­dle­most of the city a palace ris­ing high in up­per air sur­round­ed by a great wall with lofty crenelles and bat­tle­ments, guard­ed by forty black slaves, clad in com­plete mail and armed with spears and swords, bows and ar­rows. Quoth he, “This is a good­ly place,” and turned the de­scent-​pin, where­upon the horse sank down with him like a weary bird, and alight­ed gen­tly on the ter­race-​roof of the palace. So the Prince dis­mount­ed and ejac­ulat­ing “Al­ham­do­lil­lah”–praise be to Al­lah[FN#10]–he be­gan to go round about the horse and ex­am­ine it, say­ing, “By Al­lah, he who fash­ioned thee with these per­fec­tions was a cun­ning crafts­man, and if the Almighty ex­tend the term of my life and re­store me to my coun­try and kins­folk in safe­ty and re­unite me with my fa­ther, I will as­sured­ly be­stow up­on him all man­ner boun­ties and ben­efit him with the ut­most benef­icence.” By this time night had over­tak­en him and he sat on the roof till he was as­sured that all in the palace slept; and in­deed hunger and thirst were sore up­on him, for that he had not tast­ed food nor drunk wa­ter since he part­ed from his sire. So he said with­in him­self, “Sure­ly the like of this palace will not lack of vict­ual;” and, leav­ing the horse above, went down in search of some­what to eat. Present­ly, he came to a stair­case and de­scend­ing it to the bot­tom, found him­self in a court paved with white mar­ble and al­abaster, which shone in the light of the moon. He mar­velled at the place and the good­li­ness of its fash­ion, but sensed no sound of speak­er and saw no liv­ing soul and stood in per­plexed sur­prise, look­ing right and left and know­ing not whith­er he should wend. Then said he to him­self, “I may not do bet­ter than re­turn to where I left my horse and pass the night by it; and as soon as day shall dawn I will mount and ride away.”– And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Fifty-​ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that quoth the king’s son to him­self, “I may not do bet­ter than pass the night by my horse; and as soon as day shall dawn I will mount and ride away.” How­ev­er, as he tar­ried talk­ing to him­self, he es­pied a light with­in the palace, and mak­ing to­wards it, found that it came from a can­dle that stood be­fore a door of the Harim, at the head of a sleep­ing eu­nuch, as he were one of the Ifrits of Solomon or a tribesman of the Jinn, longer than lum­ber and broad­er than a bench. He lay be­fore the door, with the pom­mel of his sword gleam­ing in the flame of the can­dle, and at his head was a bag of leather[FN#11] hang­ing from a col­umn of gran­ite. When the Prince saw this, he was af­fright­ed and said, “I crave help from Al­lah the Supreme! O mine Holy One, even as Thou hast al­ready de­liv­ered me from de­struc­tion, so vouch­safe me strength to quit my­self of the ad­ven­ture of this palace!” So say­ing, he put out his hand to the bud­get and tak­ing it, car­ried it aside and opened it and found in it food of the best. He ate his fill and re­freshed him­self and drank wa­ter, af­ter which he hung up the pro­vi­sion-​bag in its place and draw­ing the eu­nuch’s sword from its sheath, took it, whilst the slave slept on, know­ing not whence des­tiny should come to him. Then the Prince fared for­wards in­to the palace and ceased not till he came to a sec­ond door, with a cur­tain drawn be­fore it; so he raised the cur­tain and be­hold, on en­ter­ing he saw a couch of the whitest ivory, in­laid with pearls and jacinths and jew­els, and four slave-​girls sleep­ing about it. He went up to the couch, to see what was there­on, and found a young la­dy ly­ing asleep, chemised with her hair[FN#12] as she were the full moon ris­ing[FN#13] over the East­ern hori­zon, with flow­er-​white brow and shin­ing hair-​par­ing and cheeks like blood-​red anemones and dain­ty moles there­on. He was amazed at her as she lay in her beau­ty and love­li­ness, her sym­me­try and grace, and he recked no more of death. So he went up to her, trem­bling in ev­ery nerve and, shud­der­ing with plea­sure, kissed her on the right cheek; where­upon she awoke forthright and opened her eyes, and see­ing the Prince stand­ing at her head, said to him, “Who art thou and whence comest thou?” Quoth he, “I am thy slave and thy lover.” Asked she, “And who brought thee hith­er?” and he an­swered, “My Lord and my for­tune.” Then said Shams al-​Nahár[FN#14] (for such was her name), “Hap­ly thou art he who de­mand­ed me yes­ter­day of my fa­ther in mar­riage and he re­ject­ed thee, pre­tend­ing that thou wast foul of favour. By Al­lah, my sire lied in his throat when he spoke this thing, for thou art not oth­er than beau­ti­ful.” Now the son of the King of Hind had sought her in mar­riage, but her fa­ther had re­ject­ed him, for that he was ug­ly and un­couth, and she thought the Prince was he. So, when she saw his beau­ty and grace (for in­deed he was like the ra­di­ant moon) the syn­the­ism[FN#15] of love gat hold of her heart as it were a flam­ing fire, and they fell to talk and con­verse. Sud­den­ly, her wait­ing-​wom­en awoke and, see­ing the Prince with their mis­tress, said to her, “Oh my la­dy, who is this with thee?” Quoth she, “I know not; I found him sit­ting by me, when I woke up: hap­ly ’tis he who seeketh me in mar­riage of my sire.” Quoth they, “O my la­dy, by Al­lah the All-​Fa­ther, this is not he who seeketh thee in mar­riage, for he is hideous and this man is hand­some and of high de­gree. In­deed, the oth­er is not fit to be his ser­vant.”[FN#16] Then the hand­maid­ens went out to the eu­nuch, and find­ing him slum­ber­ing awoke him, and he start­ed up in alarm. Said they, “How hap­peth it that thou art on guard at the palace and yet men come in to us, whilst we are asleep?” When the black heard this, he sprang in haste to his sword, but found it not; and fear took him and trem­bling. Then he went in, con­found­ed, to his mis­tress and see­ing the Prince sit­ting at talk with her, said to him, “O my lord, art thou man or Jin­ni?” Replied the Prince, “Woe to thee, O un­luck­iest of slaves: how darest thou even the sons of the roy­al Chos­roes[FN#17] with one of the un­be­liev­ing Sa­tans?” And he was as a rag­ing li­on. Then he took the sword in his hand and said to the slave, “I am the King’s son-​in-​law, and he hath mar­ried me to his daugh­ter and bid­den me go in to her.” And when the eu­nuch heard these words he replied, “O my lord, if thou be in­deed of kind a man as thou avouch­est, she is fit for none but for thee, and thou art wor­thi­er of her than any oth­er.” There­upon the eu­nuch ran to the King, shriek­ing loud and rend­ing his rai­ment and heav­ing dust up­on his head; and when the King heard his out­cry, he said to him, “What hath be­fall­en thee?: speak quick­ly and be brief; for thou hast flut­tered my heart.” An­swered the eu­nuch, “O King, come to thy daugh­ter’s suc­cour; for a dev­il of the Jinn, in the like­ness of a King’s son, hath got pos­ses­sion of her; so up and at him!” When the King heard this, he thought to kill him and said, “How camest thou to be care­less of my daugh­ter and let this de­mon come at her?” Then he be­took him­self to the Princess’s palace, where he found her slave-​wom­en stand­ing to await him and asked them, “What is come to my daugh­ter?” “O King,” an­swered they, “slum­ber over­came us and, when we awoke, we found a young man sit­ting up­on her couch in talk with her, as he were the full moon; nev­er saw we aught fair­er of favour than he. So we ques­tioned him of his case and he de­clared that thou hadst giv­en him thy daugh­ter in mar­riage. More than this we know not, nor do we know if he be a man or a Jin­ni; but he is mod­est and well bred, and doth noth­ing un­seem­ly or which lead­eth to dis­grace.” Now when the King heard these words, his wrath cooled and he raised the cur­tain lit­tle by lit­tle and look­ing in, saw sit­ting at talk with his daugh­ter a Prince of the goodli­est with a face like the full moon for sheen. At this sight he could not con­tain him­self, of his jeal­ousy for his daugh­ter’s hon­our; and, putting aside the cur­tain, rushed in up­on them drawn sword in hand like a fu­ri­ous Ghul. Now when the Prince saw him he asked the Princess, “Is this thy sire?”; and she an­swered, “Yes.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ti­eth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the Price saw the King rush­ing in up­on them, drawn sword in hand, like a fu­ri­ous Ghul he asked the Princess, “Is this thy sire?”; and she an­swered, “Yes.” Where­upon he sprang to his feet and, seiz­ing his sword, cried out at the King with so ter­ri­ble a cry that he was con­found­ed. Then the youth would have fall­en on him with the sword; but the King see­ing that the Prince was doughti­er than he, sheathed his scymi­tar and stood till the young man came up to him, when he ac­cost­ed him cour­te­ous­ly and said to him, “O youth, art thou a man or a Jin­ni?” Quoth the Prince, “Did I not re­spect thy right as mine host and thy daugh­ter’s hon­our, I would spill thy blood! How darest thou fel­low me with dev­ils, me that am a Prince of the sons of the roy­al Chos­roes who, had they wished to take thy king­dom, could shake thee like an earth­quake from thy glo­ry and thy do­min­ions and spoil thee of all thy pos­ses­sions?” Now when the King heard his words, he was con­found­ed with awe and bod­ily fear of him and re­joined, “If thou in­deed be of the sons of the Kings, as thou pre­tend­est, how cometh it that thou en­ter­est my palace with­out my per­mis­sion, and smirch­est mine hon­our, mak­ing thy way to my daugh­ter and feign­ing that thou art her hus­band and claim­ing that I have giv­en her to thee to wife, I that have slain Kings and Kings’ sons, who sought her of me in mar­riage? And now who shall save thee from my might and majesty when, if I cried out to my slaves and ser­vants and bade them put thee to the vilest of deaths they would slay thee forthright? Who shall de­liv­er thee out of my hand?” When the Prince heard this speech of the King he an­swered, “Ver­ily, I won­der at thee and at the short­ness and dense­ness of thy wit! Say me, canst cov­et for thy daugh­ter a mate come­li­er than my­self, and hast ev­er seen a stouter heart­ed man or one bet­ter fit­ted for a Sul­tan or a more glo­ri­ous in rank and do­min­ion than I?” Re­joined the King, “Nay, by Al­lah! but I would have had thee, O youth, act af­ter the cus­tom of Kings and de­mand her from me to wife be­fore wit­ness­es, that I might have mar­ried her to thee pub­licly; and now, even were I to mar­ry her to thee priv­ily, yet hast thou dis­hon­oured me in her per­son.” Re­joined the Prince, “Thou sayest sooth, O King, but if thou sum­mon thy slaves and thy sol­diers and they fall up­on me and slay me, as thou pre­tend­est, thou wouldst but pub­lish thine own dis­grace, and the folk would be di­vid­ed be­tween be­lief in thee and dis­be­lief in thee. Where­fore, O King, thou wilt do well, meseemeth, to turn from this thought to that which I shall coun­sel thee.” Quoth the King, “Let me hear what thou hast to ad­vise;” and quoth the Prince, “What I have to pro­pose to thee is this: ei­ther do thou meet me in com­bat sin­gu­lar, I and thou; and he who slayeth his ad­ver­sary shall be held the wor­thi­er and hav­ing a bet­ter ti­tle to the king­dom; or else, let me be this night and, whenas dawns the morn, draw out against me thy horse­men and foot­men and ser­vants; but first tell me their num­ber.” Said the King, “They are forty thou­sand horse, be­side my own slaves and their fol­low­ers,[FN#18] who are the like of them in num­ber.” There­upon said the Prince, “When the day shall break, do thou ar­ray them against me and say to them”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​first Night,

She con­tin­ued, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that quoth the Prince, “When day shall break, do thou ar­ray them against me and say to them: ‘This man is a suit­or to me for my daugh­ter’s hand, on con­di­tion that he shall do bat­tle sin­gle-​hand­ed against you all; for he pre­tendeth that he will over­come you and put you to the rout, and in­deed that ye can­not pre­vail against him.’ Af­ter which, leave me to do bat­tle with them: if they slay me, then is thy se­cret sur­er guard­ed and thine hon­our the bet­ter ward­ed; and if I over­come them and see their backs, then is it the like of me a King should cov­et to his son-​in-​law.” So the King ap­proved of his opin­ion and ac­cept­ed his propo­si­tion, de­spite his awe at the bold­ness of his speech and amaze at the pre­ten­sions of the Prince to meet in fight his whole host, such as he had de­scribed to him, be­ing at heart as­sured that he would per­ish in the fray and so he should be quit of him and freed from the fear of dis­hon­our. There­upon he called the eu­nuch and bade him go to his Wazir with­out stay and de­lay and com­mand him to as­sem­ble the whole of the army and cause them don their arms and ar­mour and mount their steeds. So the eu­nuch car­ried the King’s or­der to the Min­is­ter, who straight­away sum­moned the Cap­tains of the host and the Lords of the realm and bade them don their har­ness of der­ring-​do and mount horse and sal­ly forth in bat­tle ar­ray. Such was their case; but as re­gards the King, he sat a long while con­vers­ing with the young Prince, be­ing pleased with his wise speech and good sense and fine breed­ing. And when it was day-​break he re­turned to his palace and, seat­ing him­self on his throne, com­mand­ed his mer­ry men to mount and bade them sad­dle one of the best of the roy­al steeds with hand­some selle and hous­ings and trap­pings and bring it to the Prince. But the youth said, “O King, I will not mount horse, till I come in view of the troops and re­view them.” “Be it as thou wilt,” replied the King. Then the two re­paired to the pa­rade-​ground, where the troops were drawn up, and the young Prince looked up­on them and not­ed their great num­ber; af­ter which the King cried out to them, say­ing, “Ho, all ye men, there is come to me a youth who seeketh my daugh­ter in mar­riage; and in very sooth nev­er have I seen a goodli­er than he; no, nor a stouter of heart nor a doughti­er of arm, for he pre­tendeth that he can over­come you, sin­gle-​hand­ed, and force you to flight and that, were ye an hun­dred thou­sand in num­ber, yet for him would ye be but few. Now when he char­geth down on you, do ye re­ceive him up­on point of pike and sharp of sabre; for, in­deed, he hath un­der­tak­en a mighty mat­ter.” Then quoth the King to the Prince, “Up, O my son, and do thy de­voir on them.” An­swered he, “O King, thou dealest not just­ly and fair­ly by me: how shall I go forth against them, see­ing that I am afoot and the men be mount­ed?” The King re­tort­ed, “I bade thee mount, and thou re­fusedst; but choose thou which of my hors­es thou wilt.” Then he said, “Not one of thy hors­es pleaseth me, and I will ride none but that on which I came.” Asked the King, “And where is thy horse?” “Atop of thy palace.” “In what part of my palace?” “On the roof.” Now when the King heard these words, he cried, “Out on thee! this is the first sign thou hast giv­en of mad­ness. How can the horse be on the roof? But we shall at once see if thou speak the truth or lies.” Then he turned to one of his chief of­fi­cers and said to him, “Go to my palace and bring me what thou find­est on the roof.” So all the peo­ple mar­velled at the young Prince’s words, say­ing one to oth­er, “How can a horse come down the steps from the roof? Ver­ily this is a thing whose like we nev­er heard.” In the mean­time the King’s mes­sen­ger re­paired to the palace and mount­ing to the roof, found the horse stand­ing there and nev­er had he looked on a hand­somer; but when he drew near and ex­am­ined it, he saw that it was made of ebony and ivory. Now the of­fi­cer was ac­com­pa­nied by oth­er high of­fi­cers, who al­so looked on and they laughed to one an­oth­er, say­ing, “Was it of the like of this horse that the youth spake? We can­not deem him oth­er than mad; how­ev­er, we shall soon see the truth of his case.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​sec­ond Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the high of­fi­cials looked up­on the horse, they laughed one to oth­er and said, “Was it of the like of his horse that the youth spake? We can­not deem him oth­er than mad; how­ev­er, we shall soon see the truth of his case. Per­ad­ven­ture here­in is some mighty mat­ter, and he is a man of high de­gree.” Then they lift­ed up the horse bod­ily and, car­ry­ing it to the King, set it down be­fore him, and all the lieges flocked round to look at it, mar­vel­ling at the beau­ty of its pro­por­tions and the rich­ness of its sad­dle and bri­dle. The King al­so ad­mired it and won­dered at it with ex­treme won­der; and he asked the Prince, “O youth, is this thy horse?” He an­swered, “Yes, O King, this is my horse, and thou shalt soon see the mar­vel it showeth.” Re­joined the King, “Then take and mount it,” and the Prince re­tort­ed, “I will not mount till the troops with­draw afar from it.” So the King bade them re­tire a bow­shot from the horse; where­upon quoth its own­er, “O King, see thou; I am about to mount my horse and charge up­on thy host and scat­ter them right and left and split their hearts asun­der.” Said the King, “Do as thou wilt; and spare not their lives, for they will not spare thine.” Then the Prince mount­ed, whilst the troops ranged them­selves in ranks be­fore him, and one said to an­oth­er, “When the youth cometh be­tween the ranks, we will take him on the points of our pikes and the sharps of our sabres.” Quoth an­oth­er, “By Al­lah, this a mere mis­for­tune: how shall we slay a youth so come­ly of face and shape­ly of form?” And a third con­tin­ued, “Ye will have hard work to get the bet­ter of him; for the youth had not done this, but for what he knew of his own prowess and pre- em­inence of val­our.” Mean­while, hav­ing set­tled him­self in his sad­dle, the Prince turned the pin of as­cent; whilst all eyes were strained to see what he would do, where­upon the horse be­gan to heave and rock and sway to and fro and make the strangest of move­ments steed ev­er made, till its bel­ly was filled with air and it took flight with its rid­er and soared high in­to the sky. When the King saw this, he cried out to his men, say­ing, “Woe to you! catch him, catch him, ere he ’scape you!” But his Wazirs and Viceroys said to him, “O King, can a man over­take the fly­ing bird? This is sure­ly none but some mighty ma­gi­cian or Marid of the Jinn or dev­il, and Al­lah save thee from him. So praise thou the Almighty for de­liv­er­ance of thee and of all thy host from his hand.” Then the King re­turned to his palace af­ter see­ing the feat of the Prince and, go­ing in to his daugh­ter, ac­quaint­ed her with what had be­fall­en them both on the pa­rade-​ground. He found her grievous­ly af­flict­ed for the Prince and be­wail­ing her sep­ara­tion from him; where­fore she fell sick with vi­olent sick­ness and took to her pil­low. Now when her fa­ther saw her on this wise, he pressed her to his breast and kiss­ing her be­tween the eyes, said to her, “O my daugh­ter, praise Al­lah Almighty and thank Him for that He hath de­liv­ered us from this crafty en­chanter, this vil­lain, this low fel­low, this thief who thought on­ly of se­duc­ing thee!” And he re­peat­ed to her the sto­ry of the Prince and how he had dis­ap­peared in the fir­ma­ment; and he abused him and cursed him know­ing not how dear­ly his daugh­ter loved him. But she paid no heed to his words and did but re­dou­ble in her tears and wails, say­ing to her­self, “By Al­lah, I will nei­ther eat meat nor drain drink, till Al­lah re­unite me with him!” Her fa­ther was great­ly con­cerned for her case and mourned much over her plight; but, for all he could do to soother her, love-​long­ing on­ly in­creased on her.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the King mourned much over his daugh­ter’s plight but, for all he could do to soothe her, love-​long­ing on­ly in­creased on her. Thus far con­cern­ing the King and Princess Shams al-​Nahár; but as re­gards Prince Ka­mar al-​Ak­mar, when he had risen high in air, he turned his horse’s head to­wards his na­tive land, and be­ing alone mused up­on the beau­ty of the Princess and her love­li­ness. Now he had en­quired of the King’s peo­ple the name of the city and of its King and his daugh­ter; and men had told him that it was the city of Sana’á.[FN#19] So he jour­neyed with all speed, till he drew near his fa­ther’s cap­ital and, mak­ing an airy cir­cuit about the city, alight­ed on the roof of the King’s palace, where he left his horse, whilst he de­scend­ed in­to the palace and see­ing its thresh­old strewn with ash­es, though that one of his fam­ily was dead. Then he en­tered, as of wont, and found his fa­ther and moth­er and sis­ters clad in mourn­ing rai­ment of black, all pale of faces and lean of frames. When his sire de­scried him and was as­sured that it was in­deed his son, he cried out with a great cry and fell down in a fit, but af­ter a time com­ing to him­self, threw him­self up­on him and em­braced him, clip­ping him to his bo­som and re­joic­ing in him with ex­ceed­ing joy and ex­treme glad­ness. His moth­er and sis­ters heard this; so they came in and see­ing the Prince, fell up­on him, kiss­ing him and weep­ing, and joy­ing with ex­ceed­ing joy­ance. Then they ques­tioned him of his case; so he told them all that had passed from first to last, and his fa­ther said to him, “Praised be Al­lah for thy safe­ty, O coolth of my eyes and core of my heart!” Then the King bade hold high fes­ti­val, and the glad tid­ings flew through the city. So they beat drums and cym­bals and, doff­ing the weed of mourn­ing, they donned the gay garb of glad­ness and dec­orat­ed the streets and mar­kets; whilst the folk vied with one an­oth­er who should be the first to give the King joy, and the King pro­claimed a gen­er­al par­don and open­ing the pris­ons, re­leased those who were there­in pris­oned. More­over, he made ban­quets for the peo­ple, with great abun­dance of eat­ing and drink­ing, for sev­en days and nights and all crea­tures were glad­somest; and he took horse with his son and rode out with him, that the folk might see him and re­joice. Af­ter awhile the Prince asked about the mak­er of the horse, say­ing, “O my fa­ther, what hath for­tune done with him?”; and the King an­swered, “Al­lah nev­er bless him nor the hour where­in I set eyes on him! For he was the cause of thy sep­ara­tion from us, O my son, and he hath lain in gaol since the day of thy dis­ap­pear­ance.” Then the King bade re­lease him from prison and, send­ing for him, in­vest­ed him in a dress of sat­is­fac­tion and en­treat­ed him with the ut­most favour and mu­nif­icence, save that he would not give him his daugh­ter to wife; where­at the Sage raged with sore rage and re­pent­ed of that which he had done, know­ing that the Prince had se­cured the se­cret of the steed and the man­ner of its mo­tion. More­over, the King said to his son, “I reck thou wilt do will not to go near the horse hence­forth and more es­pe­cial­ly not to mount it af­ter this day; for thou know­est not its prop­er­ties, and be­like thou art in er­ror about it.” Not the Prince had told his fa­ther of his ad­ven­ture with the King of Sana’a and his daugh­ter and he said, “Had the King in­tend­ed to kill thee, he had done so; but thine hour was not yet come.” When the re­joic­ings were at an end, the peo­ple re­turned to their places and the King and his son to the palace, where they sat down and fell to eat­ing and drink­ing and mak­ing mer­ry. Now the King had a hand­some hand­maid­en who was skilled in play­ing the lute; so she took it and be­gan to sweep the strings and sing there­to be­fore the King and his son of sep­ara­tion of lovers, and she chant­ed the fol­low­ing vers­es:–

“Deem not that ab­sence breeds in me aught of for­get­ful­ness; * What should re­mem­ber I did you fro’ my re­mem­brance wane? Time dies but nev­er dies the fond­est love for you we bear; * And in your love I’ll die and in your love I’ll arise again.”[FN#20]

When the Prince heard these vers­es, the fires of long­ing flamed up in his heart and pine and pas­sion re­dou­bled up­on him. Grief and re­gret were sore up­on him and his bow­els yearned in him for love of the King’s daugh­ter of Sana’a; so he rose forthright and, es­cap­ing his fa­ther’s no­tice, went forth the palace to the horse and mount­ing it, turned the pin of as­cent, where­upon bird-​like it flew with him high in air and soared to­wards the up­per re­gions of the sky. In ear­ly morn­ing his fa­ther missed him and, go­ing up to the pin­na­cle of the palace, in great con­cern, saw his son ris­ing in­to the fir­ma­ment; where­at he was sore af­flict­ed and re­pent­ed in all pen­itence that he had not tak­en the horse and hid­den it; and he said to him­self, “By Al­lah, if but my son re­turn to me, I will de­stroy the horse, that my heart may be at rest con­cern­ing my son.” And he fell again to weep­ing and be­wail­ing him­self.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the King again fell to weep­ing and be­wail­ing him­self for his son. Such was his case; but as re­gards the Prince, he ceased not fly­ing on through air till he came to the city of Sana’a and alight­ed on the roof as be­fore. Then he crept down stealthi­ly and, find­ing the eu­nuch asleep, as of wont, raised the cur­tain and went on lit­tle by lit­tle, till he came to the door of the Princess’s al­cove-[FN#21]cham­ber and stopped to lis­ten; when lo! he heard her shed­ding plen­teous tears and recit­ing vers­es, whilst her wom­en slept round her. Present­ly, over­hear­ing her weep­ing and wail­ing quoth they, “O our mis­tress, why wilt thou mourn for one who mour­neth not for thee?” Quoth she, “O ye lit­tle of wit, is he for whom I mourn of those who for­get or who are for­got­ten?” And she fell again to wail­ing and weep­ing, till sleep over­came her. Here­at the Prince’s heart melt­ed for her and his gall-​blad­der was like to burst, so he en­tered and, see­ing her ly­ing asleep with­out cov­er­ing,[FN#22] touched her with his hand; where­upon she opened her eyes and es­pied him stand­ing by her. Said he, “Why all this cry­ing and mourn­ing?” And when she knew him, she threw her­self up­on him, and took him around the neck and kissed him and an­swered, “For thy sake and be­cause of my sep­ara­tion from thee.” Said he, “O my la­dy, I have been made des­olate by thee all this long time!” But she replied, “‘Tis thou who hast des­olat­ed me; and hadst thou tar­ried longer, I had sure­ly died!” Re­joined he, “O my la­dy, what think­est thou of my case with thy fa­ther and how he dealt with me? Were it not for my love of thee, O temp­ta­tion and se­duc­tion of the Three Worlds, I had cer­tain­ly slain him and made him a warn­ing to all be­hold­ers; but, even as I love thee, so I love him for thy sake.” Quoth she, “How couldst thou leave me: can my life be sweet to me af­ter thee?” Quoth he, “Let what hath hap­pened suf­fice: I am now hun­gry, and thirsty.” So she bade her maid­ens make ready meat and drink, and they sat eat­ing and drink­ing and con­vers­ing till night was well nigh end­ed; and when day broke he rose to take leave of her and de­part, ere the eu­nuch should awake. Shams al-​Na­har asked him, “Whith­er goest thou?”; and he an­swered, “To my fa­ther’s house, and I plight thee my troth that I will come to thee once in ev­ery week.” But she wept and said, “I con­jure thee, by Al­lah the Almighty, take me with thee where­so thou wen­dest and make me not taste anew the bit­ter­gourd[FN#23] of sep­ara­tion from thee.” Quoth he, “Wilt thou in­deed go with me?” and quoth she, “Yes.” “Then,” said he, “arise that we de­part.” So she rose forthright and go­ing to a chest, ar­rayed her­self in what was rich­est and dear­est to her of her trin­kets of gold and jew­els of price, and she fared forth, her hand­maids reck­ing naught. So he car­ried her up to the roof of the palace and, mount­ing the ebony horse, took her up be­hind him and made her fast to him­self, bind­ing her with strong bonds; af­ter which he turned the shoul­der-​pin of as­cent, and the horse rose with him high in air. When her slave-​wom­en saw this, they shrieked aloud and told her fa­ther and moth­er, who in hot haste ran to the palace-​roof and look­ing up, saw the mag­ical horse fly­ing away with the Prince and Princess. At this the King was trou­bled with ev­er-​in­creas­ing trou­ble and cried out, say­ing, “O King’s son, I con­jure thee, by Al­lah, have ruth on me and my wife and be­reave us not of our daugh­ter!” The Prince made him no re­ply; but, think­ing in him­self that the maid­en re­pent­ed of leav­ing fa­ther and moth­er, asked her, “O rav­ish­ment of the age, say me, wilt thou that I re­store thee to thy moth­er and fa­ther?”: where­upon she an­swered, “By Al­lah, O my lord, that is not my de­sire: my on­ly wish is to be with thee, wher­ev­er thou art; for I am dis­tract­ed by the love of thee from all else, even from my fa­ther and moth­er.” Hear­ing these words the Prince joyed with great joy, and made the horse fly and fare soft­ly with them, so as not to dis­qui­et her; nor did they stay their flight till they came in sight of a green mead­ow, where­in was a spring of run­ning wa­ter. Here they alight­ed and ate and drank; af­ter which the Prince took horse again and set her be­hind him, bind­ing her in his fear for her safe­ty; af­ter which they fared on till they came in sight of his fa­ther’s cap­ital. At this, the Prince was filled with joy and bethought him­self to show his beloved the seat of his do­min­ion and his fa­ther’s pow­er and dig­ni­ty and give her to know that it was greater than that of her sire. So he set her down in one of his fa­ther’s gar­dens with­out the city where his par­ent was wont to take his plea­sure; and, car­ry­ing her in­to a domed sum­mer-​house pre­pared there for the King, left the ebony horse at the door and charged the damsel keep watch over it, say­ing, “Sit here, till my mes­sen­ger come to thee; for I go now to my fa­ther, to make ready a palace for thee and show thee my roy­al es­tate.” She was de­light­ed when she heard these words and said to him, “Do as thou wilt;”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​fifth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the maid­en was de­light­ed when she heard these words and said to him, “Do as thou wilt;” for she there­by un­der­stood that she should not en­ter the city but with due hon­our and wor­ship, as be­came her rank. Then the Prince left her and be­took him­self to the palace of the King his fa­ther, who re­joiced in his re­turn and met him and wel­comed him; and the Prince said to him, “Know that I have brought with me the King’s daugh­ter of whom I told thee; and have left her with­out the city in such a gar­den and come to tell thee, that thou mayst make ready the pro­ces­sion of es­tate and go forth to meet her and show her thy roy­al dig­ni­ty and troops and guards.” An­swered the King, “With joy and glad­ness”; and straight­away bade dec­orate the town with the goodli­est adorn­ment. Then he took horse and rode out in all mag­nif­icence and majesty, he and his host, high of­fi­cers and house­hold, with drums and ket­tle-​drums, fifes and clar­ions and all man­ner in­stru­ments; whilst the Prince drew forth of his trea­suries jew­ellery and ap­par­el and what else of the things which Kings hoards and made a rare dis­play of wealth and splen­dour: more­over he got ready for the Princess a canopied lit­ter of bro­cades, green, red and yel­low, where­in he set In­di­an and Greek and Abyssini­an slave- girls. Then he left the lit­ter and those who were there­in and pre­ced­ed them to the pavil­ion where he had set her down; and searched but found naught, nei­ther Princess nor horse. When he saw this, he beat his face, and rent his rai­ment and be­gan to wan­der round about the gar­den, as he had lost his wits; af­ter which he came to his sens­es and said to him­self, “How could she have come at the se­cret of this horse, see­ing I told her noth­ing of it? Maybe the Per­sian sage who made the horse hath chanced up­on her and stolen her away, in re­venge for my fa­ther’s treat­ment of him.” Then he sought the guardians of the gar­den and asked them if they had seen any pass the precincts; and said, “Hath any one come in here? Tell me the truth and the whole truth or I will at once strike off your heads.” They were ter­ri­fied by his threats; but they an­swered with one voice, “We have seen no man en­ter save the Per­sian sage, who came to gath­er heal­ing herbs.” So the Prince was cer­ti­fied that it was in­deed he that had tak­en away the maid­en,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​sixth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the Prince heard their an­swer, he was cer­ti­fied that the Sage had tak­en away the maid­en and abode con­found­ed and per­plexed con­cern­ing his case. And he was abashed be­fore the folk and, turn­ing to his sire, told him what had hap­pened and said to him, “Take the troops and march them back to the city. As for me, I will nev­er re­turn till I have cleared up this af­fair.” When the King heard this, he wept and beat his breast and said to him, “O my son, calm thy choler and mas­ter thy cha­grin and come home with us and look what King’s daugh­ter thou wouldst fain have, that I may mar­ry thee to her.” But the Prince paid no heed to his words and farewelling him de­part­ed, whilst the King re­turned to the city and their joy was changed in­to sore an­noy. Now, as Des­tiny is­sued her de­cree, when the Prince left the Princess in the gar­den-​house and be­took him­self to his fa­ther’s palace, for the or­der­ing of his af­fair, the Per­sian en­tered the gar­den to pluck cer­tain sim­ples and, scent­ing the sweet savour of musk and per­fumes that ex­haled from the Princess and im­preg­nat­ed the whole place, fol­lowed it till he came to the pavil­ion and saw stand­ing at the door the horse which he had made with his own hands. His heart was filled with joy and glad­ness, for he had be­mourned its loss much since it had gone out of his hand: so he went up to it and, ex­am­in­ing its ev­ery part, found it whole and sound; where­upon he was about to mount and ride away, when he bethought him­self and said, “Needs must I first look what the Prince hath brought and left here with the horse.” So he en­tered the pavil­ion and, see­ing the Princess sit­ting there, as she were the sun shin­ing sheen in the sky serene, knew her at the first glance to be some high-​born la­dy and doubt­ed not but the Prince had brought her thith­er on the horse and left her in the pavil­ion, whilst he went to the city, to make ready for her en­try in state pro­ces­sion with all splen­dor. Then he went up to her and kissed the earth be­tween her hands, where­upon she raised her eyes to him and, find­ing him ex­ceed­ing­ly foul of face and favour, asked, “Who art thou?”; and he an­swered, “O my la­dy, I am a mes­sen­ger sent by the Prince who hath bid­den me bring thee to an­oth­er plea­sance near­er the city; for that my la­dy the Queen can­not walk so far and is un­will­ing, of her joy in thee, that an­oth­er should fore­stall her with thee.” Quoth she, “Where is the Prince?”; and quoth the Per­sian, “He is in the city, with his sire and forth­with he shall come for thee in great state.” Said she, “O thou! say me, could he find none hand­somer to send to me?”; where­at loud laughed the Sage and said, “Yea ver­ily, he hath not a Mameluke as ug­ly as I am; but, O my la­dy, let not the ill-​favour of my face and the foul­ness of my form de­ceive thee. Hadst thou prof­it­ed of me as hath the Prince, ver­ily thou wouldst praise my af­fair. In­deed, he chose me as his mes­sen­ger to thee, be­cause of my un­come­li­ness and loath­some­ness in his jeal­ous love of thee; else hath he Mamelukes and ne­gro slaves, pages, eu­nuchs and at­ten­dants out of num­ber, each goodli­er than oth­er.” Whenas she heard this, it com­mend­ed it­self to her rea­son and she be­lieved him; so she rose forthright;–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​sev­enth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the Per­sian sage ac­quaint­ed the Princess with the case of the King’s son, she be­lieved him; so she rose forthright; and, putting her hand in his, said, “O my fa­ther, what hast thou brought me to ride?” He replied, “O my la­dy, thou shalt ride the horse thou camest on;” and she, “I can­not ride it by my­self.” Where­upon he smiled and knew that he was her mas­ter and said, “I will ride with thee my­self.” So he mount­ed and, tak­ing her up be­hind him bound her to him­self with firm bonds, while she knew not what he would with her. Then he turned the as­cent-​pin, where­upon the bel­ly of the horse be­came full of wind and it swayed to and fro like a wave of the sea, and rose with them high in air nor slack­ened in its flight, till it was out of sight of the city. Now when Shams al-​Nahir saw this, she asked him, “Ho thou! what is be­come of that thou told­est me of my Prince, mak­ing me be­lieve that he sent thee to me?” An­swered the Per­sian, “Al­lah damn the Prince! he is a mean and skin-​flint knave.” She cried, “Woe to thee! How darest thou dis­obey thy lord’s com­mand­ment?” Where­to the Per­sian replied, “He is no lord of mine: know­est thou who I am?” Re­joined the Princess, “I know noth­ing of thee save what thou told­est me;” and re­tort­ed he, “What I told thee was a trick of mine against thee and the King’s son: I have long lament­ed the loss of this horse which is un­der us; for I con­struct­ed it and made my­self mas­ter of it. But now I have got­ten firm hold of it and of thee too, and I will burn his heart even as he hath burnt mine; nor shall he ev­er have the horse again; no, nev­er! So be of good cheer and keep thine eyes cool and clear; for I can be of more use to thee than he; and I am gen­er­ous as I am wealthy; my ser­vants and slaves shall obey thee as their mis­tress; I will robe thee in finest rai­ment and thine ev­ery wish shall be at thy will.” When she heard this, she buf­fet­ed her face and cried out, say­ing, “Ah, well-​away! I have not won my beloved and I have lost my fa­ther and moth­er!” And she wept bit­ter tears over what had be­fall­en her, whilst the Sage fared on with her, with­out ceas­ing, till he came to the land of the Greeks[FN#24] and alight­ed in a ver­dant mead, abound­ing in streams and trees. Now this mead­ow lay near a city where­in was a King of high puis­sance, and it chanced that he went forth that day to hunt and di­vert him­self. As he passed by the mead­ow, he saw the Per­sian stand­ing there, with the damsel and the horse by his side; and, be­fore the Sage was ware, the King’s slaves fell up­on him and car­ried him and the la­dy and the horse to their mas­ter who, not­ing the foul­ness of the man’s favour and his loath­some­ness and the beau­ty of the girl and her love­li­ness, said, “O my la­dy, what kin is this old­ster to thee?” The Per­sian made haste to re­ply, say­ing, “She is my wife and the daugh­ter of my fa­ther’s broth­er.” But the la­dy at once gave him the lie and said, “O King, by Al­lah, I know him not, nor is he my hus­band; nay, he is a wicked ma­gi­cian who hath stolen me away by force and fraud.” There­upon the King bade basti­na­do the Per­sian and they beat him till he was well-​nigh dead; af­ter which the King com­mand­ed to car­ry him to the city and cast him in­to jail; and, tak­ing from him the damsel and the ebony horse (though he knew not its prop­er­ties nor the se­cret of its mo­tion), set the girl in his ser­raglio and the horse amongst his hoards. Such was the case with the Sage and the la­dy; but as re­gards Prince Ka­mar al-​Ak­mar, he garbed him­self in trav­el­ling gear and tak­ing what he need­ed of mon­ey, set out track­ing their trail in very sor­ry plight; and jour­neyed from coun­try to coun­try and city to city seek­ing the Princess and en­quir­ing af­ter the ebony horse, whilst all who heard him mar­velled at him and deemed his talk ex­trav­agant. Thus he con­tin­ued do­ing a long while; but, for all his en­quiry and quest, he could hit on no new news of her. At last he came to her fa­ther’s city of Sana’a and there asked for her, but could get no tid­ings of her and found her fa­ther mourn­ing her loss. So he turned back and made for the land of the Greeks, con­tin­uing to en­quire con­cern­ing the twain as he went,– And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the King’s son made for the land of the Greeks, con­tin­uing to en­quire con­cern­ing the two as he went along, till, as chance would have it, he alight­ed at a cer­tain Khan and saw a com­pa­ny of mer­chants sit­ting at talk. So he sat down near them and heard one say, “O my friends, I late­ly wit­nessed a won­der of won­ders.” They asked, “What was that?” and he an­swered, “I was vis­it­ing such a dis­trict in such a city (nam­ing the city where­in was the Princess), and I heard its peo­ple chat­ting of a strange thing which had late­ly be­fall­en. It was that their King went out one day hunt­ing and cours­ing with a com­pa­ny of his courtiers and the lords of his realm; and, is­su­ing from the city, they came to a green mead­ow where they es­pied an old man stand­ing, with a wom­an sit­ting hard by a horse of ebony. The man was foulest-​foul of face and loath­ly of form, but the wom­an was a mar­vel of beau­ty and love­li­ness and el­egance and per­fect grace; and as for the wood­en horse, it was a mir­acle, nev­er saw eyes aught goodli­er than it nor more gra­cious than its make.” Asked the oth­ers, “And what did the King with them?”; and the mer­chant an­swered, “As for the man the King seized him and ques­tioned him of the damsel and he pre­tend­ed that she was his wife and the daugh­ter of his pa­ter­nal un­cle; but she gave him the lie forthright and de­clared that he was a sor­cer­er and a vil­lain. So the King took her from the old man and bade beat him and cast him in­to the trunk-​house. As for the ebony horse, I know not what be­came of it.” When the Prince heard these words, he drew near to the mer­chant and be­gan ques­tion­ing him dis­creet­ly and cour­te­ous­ly touch­ing the name of the city and of its King; which when he knew, he passed the night full of joy. And as soon as dawned the day he set out and trav­elled sans surcease till he reached that city; but, when he would have en­tered, the gate-​keep­ers laid hands on him, that they might bring him be­fore the King to ques­tion him of his con­di­tion and the craft in which he was skilled and the cause of his com­ing thith­er-​such be­ing the us­age and cus­tom of their ruler. Now it was sup­per-​time when he en­tered the city, and it was then im­pos­si­ble to go in to the King or take coun­sel with him re­spect­ing the stranger. So the guards car­ried him to the jail, think­ing to lay him by the heels there for the night; but, when the warders saw his beau­ty and love­li­ness, they could not find it in their hearts to im­prison him: they made him sit with them with­out the walls; and, when food came to them, he ate with them what suf­ficed him. As soon as they had made an end of eat­ing, they turned to the Prince and said, “What coun­try­man art thou?” “I come from Fars,” an­swered he, “the land of the Chos­roës.” When they heard this they laughed and one of them said, “O Chos­roan,[FN#25] I have heard the talk of men and their his­to­ries and I have looked in­to their con­di­tions; but nev­er saw I or heard I a big­ger liar than the Chos­roan which is with us in the jail.” Quoth an­oth­er, “And nev­er did I see aught fouler than his favour or more hideous than his vis­no­my.” Asked the Prince. “What have ye seen of his ly­ing?”; and they an­swered, “He pre­tendeth that he is one of the wise! Now the King came up­on him, as he went a- hunt­ing, and found with him a most beau­ti­ful wom­an and a horse of the black­est ebony, nev­er saw I a hand­somer. As for the damsel, she is with the King, who is en­am­oured of her and would fain mar­ry her; but she is mad, and were this man a leach as he claimeth to be, he would have healed her, for the King doth his ut­most to dis­cov­er a cure for her case and a rem­edy for her dis­ease, and this whole year past hath he spent trea­sure up­on physi­cians and as­trologers, on her ac­count; but none can avail to cure her. As for the horse, it is in the roy­al hoard-​house, and the ug­ly man is here with us in prison; and as soon as night fal­leth, he weep­eth and be­moaneth him­self and will not let us sleep.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Six­ty-​ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the warders had re­count­ed the case of the Per­sian egro­mancer they held in prison and his weep­ing and wail­ing, the Prince at once de­vised a de­vice where­by he might com­pass his de­sire; and present­ly the guards of the gate, be­ing mind­ed to sleep, led him in­to the jail and locked the door. So he over­heard the Per­sian weep­ing and be­moan­ing him­self, in his own tongue, and say­ing, “Alack, and alas for my sin, that I sinned against my­self and against the King’s son, in that which I did with the damsel; for I nei­ther left her nor won my will of her! All this cometh of my lack of sense, in that I sought for my­self that which I de­served not and which be­fit­ted not the like of me; for whoso seeketh what suit­eth him not at all, fal­leth with the like of my fall.” Now when the King’s son heard this, he ac­cost­ed him in Per­sian, say­ing, “How long will this weep­ing and wail­ing last? Say me, think­est thou that hath be­fall­en thee that which nev­er be­fel oth­er than thou?” Now when the Per­sian heard this, he made friends with him and be­gan to com­plain to him of his case and mis­for­tunes. And as soon as the morn­ing mor­rowed, the warders took the Prince and car­ried him be­fore their King, in­form­ing him that he had en­tered the city on the pre­vi­ous night, at a time when au­di­ence was im­pos­si­ble. Quoth the King to the Prince, “Whence comest thou and what is thy name and trade and why hast thou trav­elled hith­er?” He replied, “As to my name I am called in Per­sian Har­jah;[FN#26] as to my coun­try I come from the land of Fars; and I am of the men of art and es­pe­cial­ly of the art of medicine and heal­ing the sick and those whom the Jinns drive mad. For this I go round about all coun­tries and cities, to prof­it by adding knowl­edge to my knowl­edge, and when­ev­er I see a pa­tient I heal him and this is my craft.”[FN#27] Now when the King heard this, he re­joiced with ex­ceed­ing joy and said, “O ex­cel­lent Sage, thou hast in­deed come to us at a time when we need thee.” Then he ac­quaint­ed him with the case of the Princess, adding, “If thou cure her and re­cov­er her from her mad­ness, thou shalt have of me ev­ery­thing thou seek­est.” Replied the Prince, “Al­lah save and favour the King: de­scribe to me all thou hast seen of her in­san­ity and tell me how long it is since the ac­cess at­tacked her; al­so how thou camest by her and the horse and the Sage.” So the King told him the whole sto­ry, from first to last, adding, “The Sage is in goal.” Quoth the Prince, “O aus­pi­cious King, and what hast thou done with the horse?” Quoth the King, “O youth, it is with me yet, laid up in one of my trea­sure-​cham­bers,” where­upon said the Prince with­in him­self, “The best thing I can do is first to see the horse and as­sure my­self of its con­di­tion. If it be whole and sound, all will be well and end well; but, if its mo­tor-​works be de­stroyed, I must find some oth­er way of de­liv­er­ing my beloved.” There­upon he turned to the King and said to him, “O King, I must see the horse in ques­tion: hap­ly I may find in it some­what that will serve me for the re­cov­ery of the damsel.” “With all my heart,” replied the King, and tak­ing him by the hand, showed him in­to the place where the horse was. The Prince went round about it, ex­am­in­ing its con­di­tion, and found it whole and sound, where­at he re­joiced great­ly and said to the King, “Al­lah save and ex­alt the King! I would fain go in to the damsel, that I may see how it is with her; for I hope in Al­lah to heal her by my heal­ing hand through means of the horse.” Then he bade them take care of the horse and the King car­ried him to the Princess’s apart­ment where her lover found her wring­ing her hands and writhing and beat­ing her­self against the ground, and tear­ing her gar­ments to tat­ters as was her wont; but there was no mad­ness of Jinn in her, and she did this but that none might ap­proach her. When the Prince saw her thus, he said to her, “No harm shall be­tide thee, O rav­ish­ment of the three worlds;” and went on to soothe her and speak her fair, till he man­aged to whis­per, “I am Ka­mar al-​Ak­mar;” where­upon she cried out with a loud cry and fell down faint­ing for ex­cess of joy; but the King thought this was epilep­sy[FN#28] brought on by her fear of him, and by her sud­den­ly be­ing star­tled. Then the Prince put his mouth to her ear and said to her, “O Shams al-​Na­har, O se­duc­tion of the uni­verse, have a care for thy life and mine and be pa­tient and con­stant; for this our po­si­tion needeth suf­fer­ance and skil­ful con­trivance to make shift for our de­liv­ery from the tyran­ni­cal King. My first move will be now to go out to him and tell him that thou art pos­sessed of a Jinn and hence thy mad­ness; but that I will en­gage to heal thee and drive away the evil spir­it, if he will at once un­bind thy bonds. So when he cometh in to thee, do thou speak him smooth words, that he may think I have cured thee, and all will be done for us as we de­sire.” Quoth she, “Hear­ken­ing and obe­di­ence;” and he went out to the King in joy and glad­ness, and said to him, “O au­gust King, I have, by thy good for­tune, dis­cov­ered her dis­ease and its rem­edy, and have cured her for thee. So now do thou go in to her and speak her soft­ly and treat her kind­ly, and promise her what may please her; so shall all thou de­sirest of her be ac­com­plished to thee.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ti­eth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the Prince feigned him­self a leach and went in to the damsel and made him­self known to her and told her how he pur­posed to de­liv­er her, she cried “Hear­ken­ing and obe­di­ence!” He then fared forth from her and sought the King and said, “Go thou in to her and speak her soft­ly and promise her what may please her; so shall all thou de­sirest of her be ac­com­plished to thee.” There­upon the King went in to her and when she saw him, she rose and kiss­ing the ground be­fore him, bade him wel­come and said, “I ad­mire how thou hast come to vis­it thy hand­maid this day;” where­at he was ready to fly for joy and bade the wait­ing-​wom­en and the eu­nuchs at­tend her and car­ry her to the Ham­mam and make ready for her dress­es and adorn­ment. So they went in to her and salut­ed her, and she re­turned their salams with the goodli­est lan­guage and af­ter the pleas­an­test fash­ion; where­upon they clad her in roy­al ap­par­el and, clasp­ing a col­lar of jew­els about her neck, car­ried her to the bath and served her there. Then they brought her forth, as she were the full moon; and, when she came in­to the King’s pres­ence, she salut­ed him and kissed ground be­fore him; where­upon he joyed in her with joy ex­ceed­ing and said to the Prince, “O Sage, O philoso­pher, all this is of thy bless­ing. Al­lah in­crease to us the ben­efit of thy heal­ing breath!”[FN#29] The Prince replied, “O King, for the com­ple­tion of her cure it be­hoveth that thou go forth, thou and all thy troops and guards, to the place where thou found­est her, not for­get­ting the beast of black wood which was with her; for there­in is a dev­il; and, un­less I ex­or­cise him, he will re­turn to her and af­flict her at the head of ev­ery month.” “With love and glad­ness,” cried the King, “O thou Prince of all philoso­phers and most learned of all who see the light of day.” Then he brought out the ebony horse to the mead­ow in ques­tion and rode thith­er with all his troops and the Princess, lit­tle weet­ing the pur­pose of the Prince. Now when they came to the ap­point­ed place, the Prince, still habit­ed as a leach, bade them set the Princess and the steed as far as eye could reach from the King and his troops, and said to him, “With thy leave, and at thy word, I will now pro­ceed to the fu­mi­ga­tions and con­ju­ra­tions, and here im­prison the ad­ver­sary of mankind, that he may nev­er more re­turn to her. Af­ter this, I shall mount this wood­en horse which seemeth to be made of ebony, and take the damsel up be­hind me; where­upon it will shake and sway to and fro and fare for­wards, till it come to thee, when the af­fair will be at an end; and af­ter this thou mayst do with her as thou wilt.” When the King heard his words, he re­joiced with ex­treme joy; so the Prince mount­ed the horse and, tak­ing the damsel up be­hind him, whilst the King and his troops watched him, bound her fast to him. Then he turned the as­cend­ing-​pin and the horse took flight and soared with them high in air, till they dis­ap­peared from ev­ery eye. Af­ter this the King abode half the day, ex­pect­ing their re­turn; but they re­turned not. So when he de­spaired of them, re­pent­ing him great­ly of that which he had done and griev­ing sore for the loss of the damsel, he went back to the city with his troops. He then sent for the Per­sian who was in prison and said to him, “O thou traitor, O thou vil­lian, why didst thou hide from me the mys­tery of the ebony horse? And now a sharp­er hath come to me and hath car­ried it off, to­geth­er with a slave-​girl whose or­na­ments are worth a mint of mon­ey, and I shall nev­er see any­one or any­thing of them again!” So the Per­sian re­lat­ed to him all his past, first and last, and the King was seized with a fit of fury which well-​nigh end­ed his life. He shut him­self up in his palace for a while, mourn­ing and af­flict­ed; but at last his Wazirs came in to him and ap­plied them­selves to com­fort him, say­ing, “Ver­ily, he who took the damsel is an en­chanter, and praised be Al­lah who hath de­liv­ered thee from his craft and sor­cery!” And they ceased not from him, till he was com­fort­ed for her loss. Thus far con­cern­ing the King; but as for the Prince, he con­tin­ued his ca­reer to­wards his fa­ther’s cap­ital in joy and cheer, and stayed not till he alight­ed on his own palace, where he set the la­dy in safe­ty; af­ter which he went in to his fa­ther and moth­er and salut­ed them and ac­quaint­ed them with her com­ing, where­at they were filled with so­lace and glad­ness. Then he spread great ban­quets for the towns-​folk,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the King’s son spread great ban­quets for the towns-​folk and they held high fes­ti­val a whole month, at the end of which time he went in to the Princess and they took their joy of each oth­er with ex­ceed­ing joy. But his fa­ther brake the ebony horse in pieces and de­stroyed its mech­anism for flight; more­over the Prince wrote a let­ter to the Princess’s fa­ther, ad­vis­ing him of all that had be­fall­en her and in­form­ing him how she was now mar­ried to him and in all health and hap­pi­ness, and sent it by a mes­sen­ger, to­geth­er with cost­ly presents and cu­ri­ous rar­ities. And when the mes­sen­ger ar­rived at the city which was Sana’a and de­liv­ered the let­ter and the presents to the King, he read the mis­sive and re­joiced great­ly there­at and ac­cept­ed the presents, hon­our­ing and re­ward­ing the bear­er hand­some­ly. More­over, he for­ward­ed rich gifts to his son-​in-​law by the same mes­sen­ger, who re­turned to his mas­ter and ac­quaint­ed him with what had passed; where­at he was much cheered. And af­ter this the Prince wrote a let­ter ev­ery year to his fa­ther-​in-​law and sent him presents till, in course of time, his sire King Sabur de­ceased and he reigned in his stead, rul­ing just­ly over his lieges and con­duct­ing him­self well and righ­teous­ly to­wards them, so that the land sub­mit­ted to him and his sub­jects did him loy­al ser­vice; and Ka­mar al-​Ak­mar and his wife Shams al-​Na­har abode in the en­joy­ment of all sat­is­fac­tion and so­lace of life, till there came to them the De­stroy­er of deligights and Sun­der­er of so­ci­eties; the Plun­der­er of palaces, the Cater­er for ceme­ter­ies and the Gar­ner­er of graves. And now glo­ry be to the Liv­ing One who di­eth not and in whose hand is the do­min­ion of the worlds vis­ible and in­vis­ible! More­over I have heard tell the tale of

UNS AL-​WU­JUD AND THE WAZIR’S DAUGH­TER AL- WARD FI’L-​AK­MAM OR ROSE-​IN-​HOOD.[FN#30]

There was once, in days of yore and in ages and times long gone be­fore, a King of great pow­er and lord of glo­ry and do­min­ion ga­lore; who had a Wazir Ibrahim hight, and this Wazir’s daugh­ter was a damsel of ex­traor­di­nary beau­ty and love­li­ness, gift­ed with pass­ing bril­lian­cy and the per­fec­tion of grace, pos­sessed of abun­dant wit, and in all good breed­ing com­plete. But she loved was­sail and wine and the hu­man face di­vine and choice vers­es and rare sto­ries; and the del­ica­cy of her in­ner gifts in­vit­ed all hearts to love, even as saith the po­et, de­scrib­ing her,

“Like moon she shines amid the star­ry sky, * Rob­ing in tress­es black­est ink out­vie. The morn­ing-​breezes give her boughs fair drink, * And like a branch she sways with sup­ple ply: She smiles in pass­ing us. O thou that art * Fairest in yel­low robed, or cramoisie, Thou playest with my wit in love, as though * Spar­row in hand of play­ful boy were I.”[FN#31]

Her name was Rose-​in-​Hood and she was so named for her young and ten­der beau­ty and the fresh­ness of her bril­lian­cy; and the King loved her in his cups be­cause of her ac­com­plish­ments and fine man­ners. Now it was the King’s cus­tom year­ly to gath­er to­geth­er all the no­bles of his realm and play with the ball.[FN#32] So when the day came round where­on the folk as­sem­bled for ballplay, the Min­is­ter’s daugh­ter seat­ed her­self at her lat­tice, to di­vert her­self by look­ing on at the game; and, as they were at play, her glance fell up­on a youth among the guards than whom nev­er was seen a come­li­er face nor a goodli­er form; for he was bright of favour show­ing white teeth when he smiled, tall-​statured and broad-​shoul­dered. She looked at him again and again and could not take her fill of gaz­ing; and present­ly said to her nurse, “What is the name of yon­der hand­some young man among the troops?” Replied the nurse, “O my daugh­ter, the dear fel­lows are all hand­some. Which of them dost thou mean?” Said Rose-​in-​Hood, “Wait till he come past and I will point him out to thee.” So she took an ap­ple and as he rode by dropped it on him, where­upon he raised his head, to see who did this, and es­pied the Wazir’s daugh­ter at the win­dow, as she were the moon of fullest light in the dark­ness of the night; nor did he with­draw his eyes, till his heart was ut­ter­ly lost to her, and he re­cit­ed these lines,

“Was’t archer shot me, or was’t thine eyes * Ru­ined lover’s heart that thy charms es­pies? Was the notched shaft[FN#33] from a host out­shot, * Or from lat­ticed win­dow in sud­den guise?”

When the game was at an end, and all had left the ground, she asked her nurse, “What is the name of that youth I showed thee?”; and the good wom­an an­swered, “His name is Uns al-​Wu­jud;” where­at Rose-​in-​Hood shook her head and lay down on her couch, with thoughts a-​fire for love. Then, sigh­ing deeply, she im­pro­vised these cou­plets,

“He missed not who dubbed thee, ‘World’s de­light,’ * A world’s love con­join­ing to boun­ty’s light:[FN#34] O thou, whose favour the full moon favours, * Whose charms make life and the liv­ing bright! Thou hast none equal among mankind; * Sul­tan of Beau­ty, and proof I’ll cite: Thine eye-​brows are lik­est a well-​formed Nún,[FN#35] * And thine eyes a Sád,[FN#36] by His hand in­dite; Thy shape is the soft, green bough that gives * When asked to all with all-​gra­cious sprite: Thou ex­cellest knights of the world in stowre, * With de­light and beau­ty and boun­ty dight.”

When she had fin­ished her vers­es, she wrote them on a sheet of pa­per, which she fold­ed in a piece of golf-​em­broi­dered silk and placed un­der her pil­low. Now one of her nurs­es had seen her; so she came up to her and held her in talk till she slept, when she stole the scroll from un­der her pil­low; and, af­ter read­ing it, knew that she had fall­en in love with Uns al-​Wu­jud. Then she re­turned the scroll to its place and when her mis­tress awoke, she said to her, “O my la­dy, in­deed I am to thee a true coun­sel­lor and am ten­der­ly anx­ious on thy ac­count. Know that love is a tyrant and the hid­ing it melteth iron and en­taileth sick­ness and un­ease; nor for whoso con­fes­seth it is there aught of re­proach.” Re­joined Rose-​in-​Hood, “And what is the medicine of pas­sion, O nurse mine?” An­swered the nurse, “The medicine of pas­sion is en­joy­ment” Quoth she, “And how may one come by en­joy­ment?” Quoth the oth­er, “By let­ters and mes­sages, my la­dy; by whis­pered words of com­pli­ment and by greet­ings be­fore the world;[FN#37] all this bringeth lovers to­geth­er and makes hard mat­ters easy. So if thou have aught at heart, mis­tress mine, I am the fittest to keep thy se­cret and do thy de­sires and car­ry thy let­ters.” Now when the damsel heard this, her rea­son flew and fled for joy; but she re­strained her­self from speech till she should see the is­sue of the mat­ter, say­ing with­in her­self, “None knoweth this thing of me, nor will I trust this one with my se­cret, till I have tried her.” Then said the wom­an, “O my la­dy, I saw in my sleep as though a man came to me and said: ‘Thy mis­tress and Uns al-​Wu­jud love each oth­er; so do thou serve their case by car­ry­ing their mes­sages and do­ing their de­sires and keep­ing their se­crets; and much good shall be­fal thee.’ So now I have told thee my vi­sion and it is thine to de­cide.” Quoth Rose-​in-​Hood, af­ter she heard of the dream,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​sec­ond Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Rose-​in- Hood asked her nurse af­ter hear­ing of the dream, “Tell me, canst thou keep a se­cret, O my nurse?”; where­to she an­swered, “And how should I not keep se­cre­cy, I that am of the flow­er of the free?”[FN#38] Then the maid­en pulled out the scroll, where­on she had writ­ten the vers­es and said, “Car­ry me this my let­ter to Uns al-​Wu­jud and bring me his re­ply.” The nurse took the let­ter and, re­pair­ing to Uns al-​Wu­jud, kissed his hands and greet­ed him right cour­te­ous­ly, then gave him the pa­per; and he read it and, com­pre­hend­ing the con­tents, wrote on the back these cou­plets,

“I soothe my heart and my love re­pel; * But my state in­ter­prets my love too well: When tears flow I tell them mine eyes are ill, * Lest the cen­sor see and my case fortell, I was fan­cy-​free and un­knew I Love; * But I fell in love and in mad­ness fell. I show you my case and com­plain of pain, * Pine and ec­sta­sy that your ruth com­pel: I write you with tears of eyes, so be­like * They ex­plain the love come my heart to quell; Al­lah guard a face that is veiled with charms, * Whose thrall is Moon and the Stars as well: In her beau­ty I nev­er be­held the like; * From her sway the branch­es learn sway and swell: I beg you, an ’tis not too much of pains, * To call;[FN#39] ’twere boon with­out par­al­lel. I give you a soul you will hap­ly take. * To which Union is Heav­en, Dis­union Hell.”

Then he fold­ed the let­ter and kiss­ing it, gave it to the go- be­tween and said to her, “O nurse, in­cline the la­dy’s heart to me.” “To hear is to obey,” an­swered she and car­ried the script to her mis­tress, who kissed it and laid it on her head, then she opened it and read it and un­der­stood it and wrote at the foot of it these cou­plets,

“O whose heart by our beau­ty is cap­tive ta’en, * Have pa­tience and all thou shalt hap­ly gain! When we knew that thy love was a true af­fect, * And what pained our heart to thy heart gave pain, We had grant­ed thee wished-​for call and more; * But hin­dered so do­ing the cham­ber­lain. When the night grows dark, through our love’s ex­cess * Fire burns our vi­tals with might and main: And sleep from our beds is driv­en afar, * And our bod­ies are tor­tured by pas­sion-​bane. ‘Hide Love!’ in Love’s code is the first com­mand; * And from rais­ing his veil thy hand re­strain: I fell love-​ful­filled by yon gazelle: * Would he nev­er wan­der from where I dwell!”

Then she fold­ed the let­ter and gave it to the nurse, who took it and went out from her mis­tress to seek the young man; but, as she would fare forth, the cham­ber­lain met her and said to her, “Whith­er away?” “To the bath,” an­swered she; but in her fear and con­fu­sion, she dropped the let­ter, with­out know­ing it, and went off un­reck­ing what she had done; when one of the eu­nuchs, see­ing it ly­ing in the way, picked it up. When the nurse came with­out the door, she sought for it, but found it not, so turned back to her mis­tress and told her of this and what had be­fall­en her. Mean­while, the Wazir came out of the Harim and seat­ed him­self on his couch; where­upon be­hold, the eu­nuch, who had picked up the let­ter, came in to him, hend­ing it in hand and said, “O my lord, I found this pa­per ly­ing up­on the floor and picked it up.” So the Min­is­ter took it from his hand, fold­ed as it was, and open­ing it, read the vers­es as above set down. Then, af­ter mas­ter­ing the mean­ing, he ex­am­ined the writ­ing and knew it for his daugh­ter’s hand; where­upon he went to her moth­er, weep­ing so abun­dant tears that his beard was wet­ted. His wife asked him, “What maketh thee weep, O my lord?”; and he an­swered, “Take this let­ter and see what is there­in.” So she took it and found it to be a love-​let­ter from her daugh­ter Rose-​in-​Hood to Uns al-​Wu­jud: where­upon the ready drops sprang to her eyes; but she com­posed her mind, and, gulp­ing down her tears, said to her hus­band, “O my lord, there is no prof­it in weep­ing: the right course is to cast about for a means of keep­ing thine hon­our and con­ceal­ing the af­fair of thy daugh­ter.” And she went on to com­fort him and light­en his trou­ble; but he said, “I am fear­ful for my daugh­ter by rea­son of this new pas­sion. Know­est thou not that the Sul­tan loveth Uns al- Wu­jud with ex­ceed­ing love? And my fear hath two caus­es. The first con­cer­neth my­self; it is, that she is my daugh­ter: the sec­ond is on ac­count of the King; for that Uns al-​Wu­jud is a favourite with the Sul­tan and per­ad­ven­ture great trou­bles shall come out of this af­fair. What deemest thou should be done?”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the Wazir, af­ter re­count­ing the af­fair of his daugh­ter, asked his wife, “What deemest thou should be done?” And she an­swered, “Have pa­tience whilst I pray the prayer for right di­rec­tion.” So she prayed a two-​bow prayer ac­cord­ing to the prophet­ic[FN#40] or­di­nance for seek­ing di­vine guid­ance; af­ter which she said to her hus­band, “In the midst of the Sea of Trea­sures[FN#41] standeth a moun­tain named the Mount of the Be­reaved Moth­er (the cause of which be­ing so called shall present­ly fol­low in its place, In­shal­lah!); and thith­er can none have ac­cess, save with pains and dif­fi­cul­ty and dis­tress: do thou make that same her abid­ing-​place.” Ac­cord­ing­ly the Min­is­ter and his wife agreed to build on that moun­tain a vir­gin cas­tle and lodge their daugh­ter there­in with the nec­es­sary pro­vi­sion to be re­newed year by year and at­ten­dants to cheer and to serve her. Ac­cord­ing­ly he col­lect­ed car­pen­ters, builders and ar­chi­tects and despatched them to the moun­tain, where they build­ed her an im­preg­nable cas­tle, nev­er saw eyes the like there­of. Then he made ready vivers and car­riage for the jour­ney and, go­ing in to his daugh­ter by night, bade her pre­pare to set out on a plea­sure-​ex­cur­sion. There­upon her heart pre­saged the sor­rows of sep­ara­tion and, when she went forth and saw the prepa­ra­tions for the jour­ney, she wept with sore weep­ing and wrote that up­on the door which might ac­quaint her lover with what had passed and with the trans­ports of pas­sion and grief that were up­on her, trans­ports such as would make the flesh to shiv­er and hair to stare, and melt the hard­est stone with care, and tear from ev­ery eye a tear. And what she wrote were these cou­plets,

“By Al­lah, O thou house, if my beloved a morn go by, * And greet with signs and sig­nals lover e’er is wont to fly, I pray thee give him our salams in pure and fra­grant guise, * For he in­deed may nev­er know where we this eve shall lie. I wot not whith­er they have fared, thus bear­ing us afar * At speed, and light­ly-​quipt, the lighter from one love to fly: When starkens night, the birds in brake or branch­es snug­ly perched * Wail for our sor­row and an­nounce our hap­less des­tiny: The tongue of their con­di­tion saith, ‘Alas, alas for woe, * And heavy brunt of part­ing-​blow two lovers must aby’: When viewed I sep­ara­tion-​cups were filled to the brim * And us with mer­est sor­row-​wine Fate came so fast to ply, I mixed them with be­com­ing share of pa­tience self to ex­cuse, * But Pa­tience for the loss of you her so­lace doth refuse.”

Now when she end­ed her lines, she mount­ed and they set for­ward with her, cross­ing and cut­ting over wold and wild and ri­ant dale and rugged hill, till they came to the shore of the Sea of Trea­sures; here they pitched their tents and built her a great ship, where­in they went down with her and her suite and car­ried them over to the moun­tain. The Min­is­ter had or­dered them, on reach­ing the jour­ney’s end, to set her in the cas­tle and to make their way back to the shore, where they were to break up the ves­sel. So they did his bid­ding and re­turned home, weep­ing over what had be­fall­en. Such was their case; but as re­gards Uns al- Wu­jud, he arose from sleep and prayed the dawn-​prayer, af­ter which he took horse and rode forth to at­tend up­on the Sul­tan. On his way, he passed by the Wazir’s house, think­ing per­chance to see some of his fol­low­ers as of wont; but he saw no one and, look­ing up­on the door, he read writ­ten there­on the vers­es afore­said. At this sight, his sens­es failed him; fire was kin­dled in his vi­tals and he re­turned to his lodg­ing, where he passed the day in trou­ble and trans­ports of grief, with­out find­ing ease or pa­tience, till night dark­ened up­on him, when his yearn­ing and love-​long­ing re­dou­bled. There­upon, by way of con­ceal­ment, he dis­guised him­self in the ragged garb of a Fakir,[FN#42] and set out wan­der­ing at ran­dom through the glooms of night, dis­tract­ed and know­ing not whith­er he went. So he wan­dered on all that night and next day, till the heat of the sun waxed fierce and the moun­tains flamed like fire and thirst was grievous up­on him. Present­ly, he es­pied a tree, by whose side was a thin thread of run­ning wa­ter; so he made to­wards it and sit­ting down in the shade, on the bank of the rivulet, es­sayed to drink, but found that the wa­ter had no taste in his mouth;[FN#43] and, in­deed his colour had changed and his face had yel­lowed, and his feet were swollen with trav­el and tra­vail. So he shed co­pi­ous tears and re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“The lover is drunk­en with love of friend; * On a long­ing that groweth his joys de­pend: Love-​dis­tract­ed, ar­dent, be­wil­dered, lost * From home, nor may food aught of plea­sure lend: How can life be de­light­some to one in love, * And from lover part­ed, ’twere strange, un­kenned! I melt with the fire of my pine for them, * And the tears down my cheek in a stream de­scend. Shall I see them, say me, or one that comes * From the camp, who th’ af­flict­ed heart shall tend?”

And af­ter thus recit­ing he wept till he wet­ted the hard dry ground; but anon with­out loss of time he rose and fared on again over waste and wold, till there came out up­on him a li­on, with a neck buried in tan­gled mane, a head the big­ness of a dome, a mouth wider than the door there­of and teeth like ele­phants’ tusks. Now when Uns al-​Wu­jud saw him, he gave him­self up for lost, and turn­ing[FN#44] to­wards the Tem­ple of Mec­cah, pro­nounced the pro­fes­sions of the faith and pre­pared for death. He had read in books that whoso will flat­ter the li­on, be­guileth him,[FN#45] for that he is read­ily duped by smooth speech and gen­tled by be­ing glo­ri­fied; so he be­gan and said, “O Li­on of the for­est! O Lord of the waste! O ter­ri­ble Leo! O fa­ther of fight­ers! O Sul­tan of wild beasts! Be­hold, I am a lover in long­ing, whom pas­sion and sev­er­ance have been wrong­ing; since I part­ed from my dear, I have lost my rea­son­ing gear; where­fore, to my speech do thou give ear and have ruth on my pas­sion and hope and fear.” When the li­on heard this, he drew back from him and sit­ting down on his hindquar­ters, raised his head to him and be­gan to frisk tail and paws; which when Uns al-​Wu­jud saw, he re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“Li­on of the wold wilt thou mur­ther me, * Ere I meet her who doomed me to slav­ery? I am not game and I bear no fat; * For the loss of my love makes me sick­ness dree; And es­trange­ment from her hath so worn me down * I am like a shape in a shroud we see. O thou sire of spoils,[FN#46] O thou li­on of war, * Give not my pains to the blamer’s gree. I burn with love, I am drowned in tears * For a part­ing from lover, sore mis­ery! And my thoughts of her in the murk of night * For love hath make my be­ing unbe.”

As he had fin­ished his lines the li­on rose,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that as Uns al- Wu­jud end­ed his lines, the li­on arose and stalked slow­ly up to him, with eyes tear-​rail­ing and licked him with his tongue, then walked on be­fore him, sign­ing to him as though say­ing, “Fol­low me.” So he fol­lowed him, and the beast ceased not lead­ing him on for a while till he brought him up a moun­tain, and guid­ed him to the far­ther side, where he came up­on the track of a car­avan over the desert, and knew it to be that of Rose-​in-​Hood and her com­pa­ny. Then he took the trail and, when the li­on saw that he knew the track for that of the par­ty which es­cort­ed her, he turned back and went his way; whilst Uns al-​Wu­jud walked along the foot-​marks day and night, till they brought him to a dash­ing sea, swollen with clash­ing surge. The trail led down to the sandy shore and there broke off; where­by he knew that they had tak­en ship and had con­tin­ued their jour­ney by wa­ter. So he lost hope of find­ing his lover and with hot tears he re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“Far is the fane and pa­tience faileth me; * How can I seek them[FN#47] o’er the abyssmal sea; Or how be pa­tient, when my vi­tals burn * For love of them, and sleep waxed in­som­ny? Since the sad day they left the home and fled, * My heart’s con­sumed by love’s ar­den­cy: Say­hun, Jay­hun,[FN#48] Eu­phrates-​like my tears, * Make flood no del­uged rain its like can see: Mine eye­lids chafed with run­ning tears re­main, * My heart from fiery sparks is nev­er free; The hosts of love and long­ing pressed me * And made the hosts of pa­tience break and flee. I’ve risked my life too freely for their love; * And risk of life the least of ills shall be. Al­lah ne’er pun­ish eye that saw those charms * En­shrined, and pass­ing full moon’s bril­lian­cy! I found me felled by fair wide-​opened eyes, * Which pierced my heart with string­less archery: And soft, lithe, sway­ing shape en­rap­tured me * As sway the branch­es of the wil­low-​tree: Wi’ them I cov­et union that I win, * O’er love-​pains cark and care, a mas­tery. For love of them aye, morn and eve I pine, * And doubt all came to me from evil eyne.”

And when his lines were end­ed he wept, till he swooned away, and abode in his swoon a long while; but as soon as he came to him­self, he looked right and left and see­ing no one in the desert, he be­came fear­ful of the wild beasts; so he clomb to the top of a high moun­tain, where he heard the voice of a son of Adam speak­ing with­in a cave. He lis­tened and lo! they were the ac­cents of a devo­tee, who had for­sworn the world and giv­en him­self up to pi­ous works and wor­ship. He knocked thrice at the cav­ern-​door, but the her­mit made him no an­swer, nei­ther came forth to him; where­fore he groaned aloud and re­cit­ed these cou­plets.

“What path­way find I my de­sire t’ob­tain, * How ’scape from care and cark and pain and bane? All ter­rors join to make me old and hoar * Of head and heart, ere youth from me is ta’en: Nor find I any aid my pas­sion, nor * A friend to light­en load of bane and pain. How great and many trou­bles I’ve en­dured! * For­tune hath turned her back I see un­fain. Ah mer­cy, mer­cy on the lover’s heart, * Doomed cup of part­ing and de­ser­tion drain! A fire is in his heart, his vi­tals waste, * And sev­er­ance made his rea­son vainest vain. How dread the day I came to her abode * And saw the writ they wrote on door­way lain! I wept, till gave I earth to drink my grief; * But still to near and far[FN#49] I did but feign: Then strayed I till in waste a li­on sprang * On me, and but for flat­ter­ing words had slain: I soothed him: so he spared me and lent me aid, * He too might hap­ly of love’s taste com­plain. O devo­tee, that idlest in thy cave, * Meseems eke thou hast learned Love’s might and main; But if, at end of woes, with them I league, * Straight I’ll for­get all suf­fer­ing and fa­tigue.”

Hard­ly had he made an end of these vers­es when, be­hold! the door of the cav­ern opened and he heard one say, “Alas, the pity of it!”[FN#50] So he en­tered and salut­ed the devo­tee, who re­turned his salam and asked him, “What is thy name?” An­swered the young man, “Uns al-​Wu­jud.” “And what caused thee to come hith­er?” quoth the her­mit. So he told him his sto­ry in its en­tire­ty, omit­ting naught of his mis­for­tunes; where­at he wept and said, “O Uns al- Wu­jud, these twen­ty years have I passed in this place, but nev­er be­held I any man here, un­til yes­ter­day, when I heard a noise of weep­ing and lamen­ta­tion and, look­ing forth in the di­rec­tion of the sound, saw many peo­ple and tents pitched on the sea-​shore; and the par­ty at once pro­ceed­ed to build a ship, in which cer­tain of them em­barked and sailed over the wa­ters. Then some of the crew re­turned with the ship and break­ing it up, went their way; and I sus­pect that those who em­barked in the ship and re­turned not, are they whom thou seek­est. In that case, O Uns al-​Wu­jud, thy grief must needs be great and sore and thou art ex­cus­able, though nev­er yet was lover but suf­fered love-​long­ing.” Then he re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“Uns al-​Wu­jud, dost deem me fan­cy-​free, * When pine and long­ing slay and quick­en me? I have known love and yearn­ing from the years * Since moth­er-​milk I drank, nor e’er was free. Long strug­gled I with Love, till learnt his might; * Ask thou of him, he’ll tell with will­ing gree. Love-​sick and pin­ing drank I pas­sion-​cup, * And well-​nigh per­ished in mine agony. Strong was I, but my strength to weak­ness turned, * And eye-​sword brake through Pa­tience ar­moury: Hope not to win love-​joys, with­out an­noy; * Con­trary ev­er links with con­trary. But fear not change from lover true; be true * Un­to thy wish, some day thine own ’twill be. Love hath for­bid­den to his votaries * Re­lin­quish­ment as dead­li­est heresy.”

The eremite, hav­ing end­ed his verse, rose and, com­ing up to Uns al-​Wu­jud, em­braced him,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​fifth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the eremite hav­ing end­ed his verse, rose and com­ing up to Uns al-​Wu­jud em­braced him, and they wept to­geth­er, till the hills rang with their cries and they fell down faint­ing. When they re­vived, they swore broth­er­hood[FN#51] in Al­lah Almighty; af­ter which said Uns al-​Wu­jud, “This very night will I pray to God and seek of Him di­rec­tion[FN#52] anent what thou shouldst do to at­tain thy de­sire.” Thus it was with them; but as re­gards Rose-​in-​Hood, when they brought her to the moun­tain and set her in the cas­tle and she be­held its or­der­ing, she wept and ex­claimed, “By Al­lah, thou art a good­ly place, save that thou lack­est in thee the pres­ence of the beloved!”[FN#53] Then see­ing birds in the is­land, she bade her peo­ple set snares for them and put all they caught in cages with­in the cas­tle; and they did so. But she sat at a lat­tice and bethought her of what had passed, and de­sire and pas­sion and dis­trac­tion re­dou­bled up­on her, till she burst in­to tears and re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“O to whom now, of my de­sire com­plain­ing sore, shall I * Be­wail my part­ing from my fere com­pel­lèd thus to fly? Flames rage with­in what un­der­lies my ribs, yet hide them I * In deep­est se­cret dread­ing aye the jeal­ous hos­tile spy: I am grown as lean, at­ten­uate as any pick of tooth,[FN#54] * By sore es­trange­ment, ab­sence, ar­dour, cease­less sob and sigh. Where is the eye of my beloved to see how I’m be­come * Like tree stripped bare of leafage left to linger and to die. They tyran­nised over me whom they con­fined in place * Where­to the lover of my heart may nev­er draw him nigh: I beg the Sun for me to give greet­ings a thou­sand­fold, * At time of ris­ing and again when set­ting from the sky, To the beloved one who shames a full moon’s love­li­ness, * When shows that slen­der form that doth the wil­low-​branch out­vie. If Rose her­self would even with his cheek, I say of her * ‘Thou art not like it if to me my por­tion thou de­ny:’[FN#55] His hon­ey-​dew of lips is like the grate­ful wa­ter draught * Would cool me when a fire in heart up­flameth fierce and high: How shall I give him up who is my heart and soul of me, * My mal­ady my wast­ing cause, my love, sole leach of me?”

Then, as the glooms of night closed around her, her yearn­ing in­creased and she called to mind the past and re­cit­ed al­so these cou­plets,

“‘Tis dark: my trans­port and un­ease now gath­er might and main, * And love-​de­sire pro­voketh me to wake my wont­ed pain: The pang of part­ing takes for ev­er place with­in my breast, * And pin­ing makes me des­olate in des­ti­tu­tion lain. Ec­sta­sy sore mal­treats my soul and yearn­ing burns my sprite, * And tears be­tray love’s se­cresy which I would lief con­tain: I weet no way, I know no case that can make light my load, * Or heal my wast­ing body or cast out from me this bane. A hell of fire is in my heart up­flames with lam­bent tongue * And Laza’s fur­nace-​fires with­in my liv­er place have ta’en. O thou, ex­ag­ger­at­ing blame for what be­fel, enough * I bear with pa­tience what­soe’er hath writ for me the Pen! I swear, by Al­lah, ne’er to find aught com­fort for their loss; * “Tis oath of pas­sion’s chil­dren and their oaths are ne’er in vain. O Night! Salams of me to friends and let to them be known * Of thee true knowl­edge how I wake and wak­ing ev­er wone.”

Mean­while, the her­mit said to Uns al-​Wu­jud, “Go down to the palm- grove in the val­ley and fetch some fi­bre.”[FN#56] So he went and re­turned with the palm-​fi­bre, which the her­mit took and, twist­ing in­to ropes, make there­with a net,[FN#57] such as is used for car­ry­ing straw; af­ter which he said, “O Uns al-​Wu­jud, in the heart of the val­ley groweth a gourd, which springeth up and dri­eth up­on its roots. Go down there and fill this sack there­with; then tie it to­geth­er and, cast­ing it in­to the wa­ter, em­bark there­on and make for the midst of the sea, so hap­ly thou shalt win thy wish; for whoso nev­er ven­tureth shall not have what he seeketh.” “I hear and obey,” an­swered Uns al-​Wu­jud. Then he bade the her­mit farewell af­ter the holy man had prayed for him; and, be­tak­ing him­self to the sole of the val­ley, did as his ad­vis­er had coun­selled him; made the sack, launched it up­on the wa­ter, and pushed from shore. Then there arose a wind, which drave him out to sea, till he was lost to the eremite’s view; and he ceased not to float over the abysses of the ocean, one bil­low toss­ing him up and an­oth­er bear­ing him down (and he be­hold­ing the while the dan­gers and mar­vels of the deep), for the space of three days. At the end of that time Fate cast him up­on the Mount of the Bereft Moth­er, where he land­ed, gid­dy and tot­ter­ing like a chick un­fledged, and at the last of his strength for hunger and thirst; but, find­ing there streams flow­ing and birds on the branch­es coo­ing and fruit-​laden trees in clus­ters and singly grow­ing, he ate of the fruits and drank of the rills. Then he walked on till he saw some white thing afar off, and mak­ing for it, found that it was a strong­ly for­ti­fied cas­tle. So he went up to the gate and see­ing it locked, sat down by it; and there he sat for three days when be­hold, the gate opened and an eu­nuch came out, who find­ing Uns al-​Wu­jud there seat­ed, said to him, “Whence camest thou and who brought thee hith­er?” Quoth he, “From Is­pa­han and I was voy­ag­ing with mer­chan­dise when my ship was wrecked and the waves cast me up­on the far­ther side of this is­land.” Where­upon the eu­nuch wept and em­braced him, say­ing, “Al­lah pre­serve thee, O thou friend­ly face! Is­pa­han is mine own coun­try and I have there a cousin, the daugh­ter of my fa­ther’s broth­er, whom I loved from my child­hood and cher­ished with fond af­fec­tion; but a peo­ple stronger than we fell up­on us in for­ay and tak­ing me among oth­er booty, cut off my yard[FN#58] and sold me for a cas­tra­to, whilst I was yet a lad; and this is how I came to be in such case.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​sixth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the eu­nuch who came forth from the cas­tle, where Rose-​in-​Hood was con­fined, told Uns al-​Wu­jud all his tale and said:–“The raiders who cap­tured me cut off my yard and sold me for a cas­tra­to; and this is how I came to be in such case.”[FN#59] And af­ter salut­ing him and wish­ing him long life, the eu­nuch car­ried him in­to the court­yard of the cas­tle, where he saw a great tank of wa­ter, sur­round­ed by trees, on whose branch­es hung cages of sil­ver, with doors of gold, and there­in birds were war­bling and singing the prais­es of the Re­quit­ing King. And when he came to the first cage he looked in and lo! a tur­tle dove, on see­ing him, raised her voice and cried out, say­ing, “O Thou Boun­ty-​fraught!” Where­at he fell down faint­ing and af­ter com­ing to him­self, he sighed heav­ily and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“O tur­tle dove, like me art thou dis­traught? * Then pray the Lord and sing ‘O Boun­ty-​fraught!’ Would I knew an thy moan were sign of joy, * Or cry of love-​de­sire in heart in­wrought,– An moan thou pin­ing for a lover gone * Who left thee woe be­gone to pine in thought,– Or if like me hast lost thy fond­est friend, * And sev­er­ance long de­sire to mem­ory brought? O Al­lah, guard a faith­ful lover’s lot * I will not leave her though my bones go rot!”

Then, af­ter end­ing his vers­es, he faint­ed again; and, present­ly re­viv­ing he went on to the sec­ond cage, where­in he found a ring­dove. When it saw him, it sang out, “O Eter­nal, I thank thee!” and he groaned and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“I heard a ring­dove chant­ing plain­tive­ly, * ‘I thank Thee, O Eter­nal for this mis­ery!’ Hap­ly, per­chance, may Al­lah, of His grace, * Send me by this long round my love to see. Full oft[FN#60] she comes with hon­eyed lips dark red, * And heaps up lowe up­on love’s ar­den­cy. Quoth I (while long­ing fires flame high and fierce * In heart, and wast­ing life’s vi­tal­ity, And tears like gouts of blood go rail­ing down * In tor­rents over cheeks now pale of blee), ‘None e’er trod earth that was not born to woe, * But I will pa­tient dree mine agony, So help me Al­lah! till that hap­py day * When with my mis­tress I unite shall be: Then will I spend my good on lover-​wights, * Who’re of my tribe and of the faith of me; And loose the very birds from jail set free, * And change my grief for glad­dest gree and glee!’”

Then he went on to the third cage, where­in he found a mock­ing­bird[FN#61] which, when it saw him, set up a song, and he re­cit­ed the fol­low­ing cou­plets,

“Pleaseth me yon Haz­ar of mock­ing strain * Like voice of lover pained by love in vain. Woe’s me for lovers! Ah how many men * By nights and pine and pas­sion low are lain! As though by stress of love they had been made * Morn-​less and sleep-​less by their pain and bane. When I went daft for him who con­quered me * And pined for him who proved of proud­est strain, My tears in streams down trick­led and I cried * ‘These long-​linkt tears bind like an adamant-​chain:’ Grew con­cu­pis­cence, sev­er­ance long, and I * Lost Pa­tience’ hoards and grief waxed sovereign: If Jus­tice bide in world and me unite * With him I love and Al­lah veil us deign, I’ll strip my clothes that he my form shall sight * With part­ing, dis­tance, grief, how poor of plight!”

Then he went to the fourth cage, where he found a Bul­bul[FN#62] which, at sight of him, be­gan to sway to and fro and sing its plain­tive des­cant; and when he heard its com­plaint, he burst in­to tears and re­peat­ed these cou­plets.

“The Bul­bul’s note, whenas dawn is nigh, * Tells the lover from strains of strings to fly: Com­plaineth for pas­sion Uns al-​Wu­jud, * For pine that would be­ing to him de­ny. How many a strain do we hear, whose sound * Soft­ens stones and the rock can mol­li­fy: And the breeze of morn­ing that sweet­ly speaks * Of mead­ows in flow­ered green­ery. And scents and sounds in the morn­ing-​tide * Of birds and zephyrs in fra­grance vie; But I think of one, of an ab­sent friend, * And tears rail like rain from a show­ery sky; And the flamy tongues in my breast up­rise * As sparks from gleed that in dark air fly. Al­lah deign vouch­safe to a lover dis­traught * Some­day the face of his dear to de­scry! For lovers, in­deed, no ex­cuse is clear, * Save ex­cuse of sight and ex­cuse of eye.”

Then he walked on a lit­tle and came to a good­ly cage, than which was no goodli­er there, and in it a cul­ver of the for­est, that is to say, a wood-​pi­geon,[FN#63] the bird renowned among birds as the min­strel of love-​long­ing, with a col­lar of jew­els about its neck mar­vel­lous fine and fair. He con­sid­ered it awhile and, see­ing it ab­sent­ly brood­ing in its cage, he shed tears and re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“O cul­ver of copse,[FN#64] with salams I greet; * O broth­er of lovers who woe must weet! I love a gazelle who is slen­der-​slim, * Whose glances for keen­ness the scymi­tar beat: For her love are my heart and my vi­tals a-​fire, * And my frame con­sumes in love’s fever-​heat. The sweet taste of food is un­law­ful for me, * And for­bid­den is slum­ber, un­law­fullest sweet. En­durance and so­lace have trav­elled from me, * And love homes in my heart and grief takes firm seat: How shall life deal joy when they flee my sight * Who are joy and glad­ness and life and sprite?”

As soon as Uns al-​Wu­jud had end­ed his verse,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​sev­enth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that as soon as Uns al-​Wu­jud had end­ed his verse, the wood-​cul­ver awoke from its brood­ing and cooed a re­ply to his lines and shrilled and trilled with its thrilling notes till it all but spake with hu­man speech;[FN#65] and the tongue of the case talked for it and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“O lover, thou bringest to thought a tide * When the strength of my youth first fad­ed and died; And a friend of whose form I was ‘namoured, * Se­duc­tive and dight with beau­ty’s pride; Whose voice, as he sat on the sand­hill-​tree, * From the Nay’s[FN#66] sweet sound turned my heart aside; A fowler snared him in net, the while * ‘O that man would leave me at large!’ he cried; I had hoped he might some­what of mer­cy show * When a hap­less lover he so es­pied; But Al­lah smite him who tore me away, * In his hard­ness of heart, from my lover’s side; But aye my de­sire for him groweth more, * And my heart with the fires of dis­junc­tion is fried: Al­lah guard a true lover, who strives with love, * And hath borne the tor­ments I still abide! And, see­ing me bound in this cage, with mind * Of ruth, re­lease me my love to find.”

Then Uns al-​Wu­jud turned to his com­pan­ion, the Is­pa­hahi, and said, “What palace is this? Who built it and who abideth in it?” Quoth the eu­nuch, “The Wazir of a cer­tain King built it to guard his daugh­ter, fear­ing for her the ac­ci­dents of Time and the in­ci­dents of For­tune, and lodged her here­in, her and her at­ten­dants; nor do we open it save once in ev­ery year, when their pro­vi­sion cometh to them.” And Uns al-​Wu­jud said to him­self, “I have gained my end, though I may have long to wait.” Such was his case; but as re­gards Rose-​in-​Hood, of a truth she took no plea­sure in eat­ing or drink­ing, sit­ting or sleep­ing; but her de­sire and pas­sion and dis­trac­tion re­dou­bled on her, and she went wan­der­ing about the cas­tle-​cor­ners, but could find no is­sue; where­fore she shed tears and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“They have cru­el­ly ta’en me from him, my beloved, * And made me taste an­guish in prison ta’en: They have fired my heart with the flames of love, * Barred all sight of him whom to see I’m fain: In a lofty palace they pris­oned me * On a moun­tain placed in the mid­dle main. If they’d have me for­get him, right vain’s their wish, * For my love is grown of a stronger strain. How can I for­get him whose face was cause * Of all I suf­fer, of all I ‘plain? The whole of my days in sor­row’s spent, * And in thought of him through the night I’m lain. Re­mem­brance of him cheers my soli­tude, * While I lorn of his pres­ence and lone re­main. Would I knew if, af­ter this all, my fate * To oblige the de­sire of my hear will deign.”

When her vers­es were end­ed, she as­cend­ed to the ter­race-​roof of the cas­tle af­ter don­ning her rich­est clothes and trin­kets and throw­ing a neck­lace of jew­els around her neck. Then bind­ing to­geth­er some dress­es of Ba’al­bak[FN#67] stuff by way of rope, she tied them to the crenelles and let her­self down there­by to the ground. And she fared on over wastes and wa­ter­less wilds, till she came to the shore, where she saw a fish­er­man ply­ing here and there over the sea, for the wind had driv­en him on to the is­land. When he saw her, he was af­fright­ed[FN#68] and pushed off again, fly­ing from her; but she cried out and made press­ing signs to him to re­turn, ver­si­fy­ing with these cou­plets,

“O fish­er­man no care hast thou to fear, * I’m but an earth-​born maid in mor­tal sphere; I pray thee linger and my prayer grant * And to my true un­hap­py tale give ear: Pity (so Al­lah spare thee!) warmest love; * Say, hast thou seen him-​my beloved fere? I love a love­ly youth whose face ex­cels * Sun­light, and pass­es moon when clear­est clear: The fawn, that sees his glance, is fain to cry * ‘I am his thrall’ and own him­self no peer: Beau­ty hath writ­ten, on his win­some cheek, * Rare lines of preg­nant sense for ev­ery seer; Who sights the light of love his soul is saved; * Who strays is In­fi­del to Hell an­ear: An thou in mer­cy show his sight, O rare![FN#69] * Thou shalt have ev­ery wish, the dear­est dear, Of ru­bies and what lik­est are to them * Fresh pearls and unions new, the seashell’s tear: My friend, thou wilt for­sure grant my de­sire * Whose heart is melt­ed in love’s hottest fire.

When the fish­er­man heard her words, he wept and made moan and lament­ed; then, re­call­ing what had be­tid­ed him­self in the days of his youth, when love had the mas­tery over him and long­ing and de­sire and dis­trac­tion were sore up­on him and the fires of pas­sion con­sumed him, replied with these cou­plets,

“What fair ex­cuse is this my pin­ing plight, * With wast­ed limbs and tears’ un­ceas­ing blight; And eye­lids open in the night­ly murk, * And heart like fire-​stick[FN#70] ready fire to smite; In­deed love bur­dened us in ear­ly youth, * And true from false coin soon we learned aright: Then did we sell our soul on way of love, * And drunk of many a well[FN#71] to win her sight; Ven­tur­ing very life to gain her grace, * And make high prof­it per­illing a mite. ‘Tis Love’s re­li­gion whoso buys with life * His lover’s grace, with high­est gain is dight.”

And when he end­ed his verse, he moored his boat to the beach and said to her, “Em­bark, so may I car­ry thee whith­er thou wilt.” There­upon she em­barked and he put off with her; but they had not gone far from land, be­fore there came out a stern-​wind up­on the boat and drove it swift­ly out of sight of shore. Now the fish­er­man knew not whith­er he went, and the strong wind blew with­out ceas­ing three days, when it fell by leave of Al­lah Almighty, and they sailed on and ceased not sail­ing till they came in sight of a city sit­ting up­on the sea-​shore,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the fish­er­man’s craft, car­ry­ing Rose-​in-​Hood, made the city sit­ting up­on the sea-​shore, the man set about mak­ing fast to the land. Now the King of the city was a Prince of pith and puis­sance named Dirbas, the Li­on; and he chanced at that mo­ment to be seat­ed, with his son, at a win­dow in the roy­al palace giv­ing up­on the sea; and hap­pen­ing to look out sea­wards, they saw the fish­ing- boat make the land. They ob­served it nar­row­ly and es­pied there­in a young la­dy, as she were the full moon over­hang­ing the hori­zon- edge, with pen­dants in her ears of cost­ly bal­ass-​ru­bies and a col­lar of pre­cious stones about her throat. Here­by the King knew that this must in­deed be the daugh­ter of some King or great no­ble and, go­ing forth of the sea-​gate of the palace, went down to the boat, where he found the la­dy asleep and the fish­er­man bus­ied in mak­ing fast to shore. So he went up to her and aroused her, where­upon she awoke, weep­ing; and he asked her, “Whence comest thou and whose daugh­ter art thou and what be the cause of thy com­ing hith­er?”; and she an­swered, “I am the daugh­ter of Ibrahim, Wazir to King Shamikh; and the man­ner of my com­ing hith­er is won­drous and the cause there­of mar­vel­lous.” And she told him her whole sto­ry first and last, hid­ing naught from him; then she groaned aloud and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“Tear-​drops have chafed mine eye­lids and rail down in won­drous wise, * For part­ing pain that fills my sprite and turns to springs mine eyes, For sake of friend who ev­er dwells with­in my vi­tals homed, * And I may nev­er win my wish of him in any guise. He hath a favour fair and bright, and bril­liant is his face, * Which ev­ery Turk and Arab wight in love­li­ness out­vies: The Sun and fullest Moon lout low whenas his charms they sight, * And lover-​like they bend to him whene’er he deigneth rise. A won­drous spell of gra­marye like Kohl be­decks his eyne, * And shows thee bow with shaft on string make ready ere it flies: O thou, to whom I told my case ex­pect­ing all ex­cuse, * Pity a lover-​wight for whom Love-​shafts such fate de­vise! Ver­ily, Love hath cast me on your coast de­spite of me * Of will now weak, and fain I trust mine hon­our thou wilt prize: For no­ble men, whenas per­chance alight up­on their bounds, * Grace-​wor­thy guests, con­fess their worth and raise to dig­ni­ties. Then, O thou hope of me, to lovers’ fol­ly veil af­ford * And be to them re­union cause, thou on­ly liefest lord!”

And when she had end­ed her vers­es, she again told the King her sad tale and shed plen­teous tears and re­cit­ed these cou­plets bear­ing on her case,

“We lived till saw we all the mar­vels Love can bear; * Each month to thee we hope shall fare as Ra­jab[FN#72] fare: Is it not won­drous, when I saw them march amorn * That I with wa­ter o’ eyes in heart lit flames that flare? That these mine eye­lids rain fast drop­ping gouts of blood? * That now my cheek grows gold where rose and lily were? As though the saf­flow­er hue, that over­spread my cheeks, * Were Joseph’s coat made stain of ly­ing blood to wear.”

Now when the King heard her words he was cer­ti­fied of her love and long­ing and was moved to ruth for her; so he said to her, “Fear noth­ing and be not trou­bled; thou hast come to the term of thy wish­es; for there is no help but that I win for thee thy will and bring thee to thy de­sire.” And he im­pro­vised these cou­plets,

“Daugh­ter of no­bles, who thine aim shalt gain; * Hear glad­dest news nor fear aught hurt of bane! This day I’ll pack up wealth, and send it on * To Shámikh, guard­ed by a cham­pi­on-​train; Fresh pods of musk I’ll send him and bro­cades, * And sil­ver white and gold of yel­low vein: Yes, and a let­ter shall in­form him eke * That I of kin­ship with that King am fain: And I this day will lend thee bestest aid, * That all thou cov­etest thy soul as­sain. I, too, have tast­ed love and know its taste * And can ex­cuse whoso the same cup drain.”[FN#73]

Then, end­ing his verse, he went forth to his troops and sum­moned his Wazir; and, caus­ing him to pack up count­less trea­sure, com­mand­ed him car­ry it to King Shamikh and say to him, “Needs must thou send me a per­son named Uns al-​Wu­jud;” and say more­over “The King is mind­ed to al­ly him­self with thee by mar­ry­ing his daugh­ter to Uns al-​Wu­jud, thine of­fi­cer. So there is no help but thou despatch him to me, that the mar­riage may be sol­em­nized in her fa­ther’s king­dom.” And he wrote a let­ter to King Shamikh to this ef­fect, and gave it to the Min­is­ter, charg­ing him strict­ly to bring back Uns al-​Wu­jud and warn­ing him, “An thou fail thou shalt be de­posed and de­grad­ed.” An­swered the Wazir, “I hear and obey;” and, set­ting out forthright with the trea­sures, in due course ar­rived at the court of King Shamikh whom he salut­ed in the name of King Dirbas and de­liv­ered the let­ter and the presents. Now when King Shamikh read the let­ter and saw the name of Uns al-​Wu­jud, he burst in­to tears and said to the Wazir “And where, or where, is Uns al-​Wu­jud?; he went from us and we know not his place of abid­ing; on­ly bring him to me, and I will give thee dou­ble the presents thou hast brought me.” And he wept and groaned and lament­ed, say­ing these cou­plets,

“To me re­store my dear; * I want not wealth un­told: Nor crave I gifts of pearls * Or gems or store of gold: He was to us a moon * In beau­ty’s heav­en­ly fold. Pass­ing in form and soul; * With roe com­pare with­hold! His form a wil­low-​wand, * His fruit, lures man­ifold; But wil­low lack­eth pow­er * Men’s hearts to have and hold. I reared him from a babe * On cot of coax­ing roll’d; And now I mourn for him * With woe in soul en­soul’d.”

Then, turn­ing to the Wazir who had brought the presents and the mis­sive, he said, “Go back to thy liege and ac­quaint him that Uns al-​Wu­jud hath been miss­ing this year past, and his lord knoweth not whith­er he is gone nor hath any tid­ings of him.” An­swered the Min­is­ter of King Dirbas, “O my lord, my mas­ter said to me, ‘An thou fail to bring him back, thou shalt be de­grad­ed from the Wazi­rate and shall not en­ter my city. How then can I re­turn with­out him?’” So King Shamikh said to his Wazir Ibrahim, “Take a com­pa­ny and go with him and make ye search for Uns al-​Wu­jud ev­ery­where.” He replied, “Hear­ken­ing and obe­di­ence;” and, tak­ing a body of his own re­tain­ers, set out ac­com­pa­nied by the Wazir of King Dirbas seek­ing Uns al-​Wu­jud.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Sev­en­ty-​ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Ibrahim, Wazir to King Shamikh, took him a body of his re­tain­ers and, ac­com­pa­nied by the Min­is­ter of King Dirbas, set out seek­ing Uns al-​Wu­jud. And as of­ten as they fell in with wild Arabs or oth­ers they asked of the youth, say­ing, “Tell us have ye seen a man whose name is so and so and his sem­blance thus and thus?” But they all an­swered, “We know him not.” Still they con­tin­ued their quest, en­quir­ing in city and ham­let and seek­ing in fer­tile plain and stony hall and in the wild and in the wold, till they made the Moun­tain of the Be­reaved Moth­er; and the Wazir of King Dirbas said to Ibrahim, “Why is this moun­tain thus called?” He an­swered, “Once of old time, here so­journed a Jin­niyah, of the Jinn of Chi­na, who loved a mor­tal with pas­sion­ate love; and, be­ing in fear of her life from her own peo­ple, searched all the earth over for a place, where she might hide him from them, till she hap­pened on this moun­tain and, find­ing it cut off from both men and Jinn, there be­ing no ac­cess to it, car­ried off her beloved and lodged him there­in. There, when she could es­cape no­tice of her kith and kin, she used priv­ily to vis­it him, and con­tin­ued so do­ing till she had borne him a num­ber of chil­dren; and the mer­chants, sail­ing by the moun­tain, in their voy­ages over the main, heard the weep­ing of the chil­dren, as it were the wail­ing of a wom­an bereft of her babes, and said, ‘Is there here a moth­er be­reaved of her chil­dren?’ For which rea­son the place was named the Moun­tain of the Be­reaved Moth­er.” And the Wazir of King Dirbas mar­velled at his words. Then they land­ed and, mak­ing for the cas­tle, knocked at the gate which was opened to them by an eu­nuch, who knew the Wazir Ibrahim and kissed his hands. The Min­is­ter en­tered and found in the court­yard, among the serv­ing- men, a Fakir, which was Uns al-​Wu­jud, but he knew him not and said, “Whence cometh yon­der wight?” Quoth they, “He is a mer­chant, who hath lost his goods, but saved him­self; and he is an ec­stat­ic.”[FN#74] So the Wazir left him and went on in­to the cas­tle, where he found no trace of his daugh­ter and ques­tioned her wom­en, who an­swered, “We wot not how or whith­er she went; this place mis­liked her and she tar­ried in it but a short time.” Where­upon he wept sore and re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“Ho thou, the house, whose birds were singing gay, * Whose sills their wealth and pride were wont dis­play! Till came the lover wail­ing for his love, * And found thy doors wide open to the way; Would Heav­en I knew where is my soul that erst * Was homed in house, whose own­ers fared away! ‘Twas stored with all things bright and beau­ti­ful, * And showed its porters ranged in fair ar­ray: They clothed it with bro­cades a bride be­come;[FN#75] * Would I knew whith­er went its lords, ah, say!”

Af­ter end­ing his vers­es he again shed tears, and groaned and be­moaned him­self, ex­claim­ing, “There is no de­liv­er­ance from the des­tiny de­creed by Al­lah; nor is there any es­cape from that which He hath pre­des­tined!” Then he went up to the roof and found the strips of Ba’al­bak stuff tied to the crenelles and hang­ing down to the ground, and thus it was he knew that she had de­scend­ed thence and had fled forth, as one dis­tract­ed and de­ment­ed with de­sire and pas­sion. Present­ly, he turned and see­ing there two birds, a gor-​crow and an owl he just­ly deemed this an omen of ill; so he groaned and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“I came to my dear friends’ door, of my hopes the goal, * Whose sight mote as­suage my sor­row and woes of soul: No friends found I there, nor was there an­oth­er thing * To find, save a cor­by-​crow and an ill-​omened owl. And the tongue o’ the case to me seemed to say, * ‘In­deed This part­ing two lovers fond was cru­el and foul! So taste thou the sor­row thou madest them taste and live * In grief: wend thy ways and now in thy sor­row prowl!’”

Then he de­scend­ed from the cas­tle-​roof, weep­ing, and bade the ser­vants fare forth and search the mount for their mis­tress; so they sought for her, but found her not. Such was their case; but as re­gards Uns al-​Wu­jud, when he was cer­ti­fied that Rose-​in-​Hood was in­deed gone, he cried with a great cry and fell down in a faint­ing-​fit, nor came to him­self for a long time, whilst the folk deemed that his spir­it had been with­drawn by the Com­pas­sion­at­ing One; and that he was ab­sorbed in con­tem­pla­tion of the splen­dour, majesty and beau­ty of the Re­quit­ing One. Then, de­spair­ing of find­ing Uns al-​Wu­jud, and see­ing that the Wazir Ibrahim was dis­tract­ed for the loss of his daugh­ter, the Min­is­ter of King Dirbas ad­dressed him­self to re­turn to his own coun­try, al­beit he had not at­tained the ob­ject of his jour­ney, and while bid­ding his com­pan­ion adieu, said to him, “I have a mind to take the Fakir with me; it may be Al­lah Almighty will in­cline the King’s heart to me by his bless­ing, for that he is a holy man; and there­after, I will send him to Is­pa­han, which is near our coun­try.” “Do as thou wilt,” an­swered Ibrahim. So they took leave of each oth­er and de­part­ed, each for his own moth­er land, the Wazir of King Dirbas car­ry­ing with him Uns al-​Wu­jud,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Eight­ieth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the Wazir of King Dirbas car­ried with him Uns al-​Wu­jud who was still in­sen­si­ble. They bore him with them on mule-​back (he un­know­ing if he were car­ried or not) for three days, when he came to him­self and said, “Where am I?” “Thou art in com­pa­ny with the Min­is­ter of King Dirbas,” replied they and went and gave news of his re­cov­er­ing to the Wazir, who sent him rose-​wa­ter and sher­bet of sug­ar, of which they gave him to drink and re­stored him. Then they ceased not far­ing on till they drew near King Dirbas’s cap­ital and the King, be­ing ad­vised of his Wazir’s com­ing, wrote to him, say­ing, “If Uns al-​Wu­jud be not with thee, come not to me ev­er.” Now when the Wazir read the roy­al man­date, it was grievous to him, for he knew not that Rose-​in-​Hood was with the King, nor why he had been sent in quest of Uns al-​Wu­jud, nor the King’s rea­son for de­sir­ing the al­liance; whilst Uns al-​Wu­jud al­so knew not whith­er they were bear­ing him or that the Wazir had been sent in quest of him; nor did the Wazir know that the Fakir he had with him was Uns al-​Wu­jud him­self. And when the Min­is­ter saw that the sick man was whole, he said to him, “I was despatched by the King on an er­rand, which I have not been able to ac­com­plish. So, when he heard of my re­turn, he wrote to me, say­ing, ‘Ex­cept thou have ful­filled my need en­ter not my city.’” “And what is the King’s need?” asked Uns al-​Wu­jud. So the Wazir told him the whole tale, and he said, “Fear noth­ing, but go bold­ly to the King and take me with thee; and I will be sure­ty to thee for the com­ing of Uns al-​Wu­jud.” At this the Wazir re­joiced and cried, “Is this true which thou sayest?” “Yes,” replied he; where­upon the Wazir mount­ed and car­ried him to King Dirbas who, af­ter re­ceiv­ing their salu­ta­tions said to him, “Where is Uns al-​Wu­jud?” An­swered the young man, “O King, I know where he is.” So the King called him to him and said, “Where?” Re­turned Uns al-​Wu­jud, “He is near-​hand and very near; but tell me what thou wouldst with him, and I will fetch him in­to thy pres­ence.” The King replied, “With joy and good gree, but the case cal­leth for pri­va­cy.” So he or­dered the folk to with­draw and, car­ry­ing Uns al-​Wu­jud in­to his cab­inet, told him the whole sto­ry; where­upon quoth the youth, “Robe me in rich rai­ment, and I will forthright bring Uns al-​Wu­jud to thee.” So they brought him a sump­tu­ous dress, and he donned it and said, “I am Uns al-​Wu­jud, the World’s De­light, and to the en­vi­ous a de­spite”; and present­ly he smote with his glances ev­ery sprite, and be­gan these cou­plets to re­cite,

“My loved one’s name in cheer­less soli­tude aye cheereth me * And driv­eth off my des­per­ance and de­spon­den­cy: I have no helper[FN#76] but my tears that ev­er flow in fount, * And as they flow, they light­en woe and force my grief to flee. My long­ing is so vi­olent naught like it ere was seen; * My love- tale is a mar­vel and my love a sight to see: I spend the night with lids of eye that nev­er close in sleep, * And pass in pas­sion twixt the Hells and Edens heav­en­ly. I had of pa­tience fairish store, but now no more have I; * And love’s sole gift to me hath been aye-​grow­ing mis­ery: My frame is wast­ed by the pain of part­ing from my own, * And long­ing changed my shape and form and made me oth­er be. Mine eye­lids by my tor­rent tears are chafed, and ul­cer­ate, * The tears, whose flow to stay is mere im­pos­si­bil­ity. My man­ly strength is sore im­paired for I have lost my heart; * How many griefs up­on my griefs have I been doomed to dree! My heart and head are like in age with sim­ilar hoari­ness * By loss of Beau­ty’s lord,[FN#77] of lords the galaxy: De­spite our wills they part­ed us and doomed us part­ed wone, * While they (our lords) de­sire no more than love in uni­ty. Then ah, would Heav­en that I wot if stress of part­ing done, * The world will grant me sight of them in union fain and free– Roll up the scroll of sev­er­ance which oth­ers would un­roll– * Ef­face my trou­ble by the grace of meet­ing’s ju­bilee! And shall I see them homed with me in cup-​com­pa­ny, * And change my melan­cholic mood for joy and jol­li­ty?”

And when he had end­ed his vers­es the King cried aloud, “By Al­lah, ye are in­deed a pair of lovers true and fain and in Beau­ty’s heav­en of shin­ing stars a twain: your sto­ry is won­drous and your case mar­vel­lous.” Then he told him all that had be­fall­ed Rose-​in- Hood; and Uns al-​Wu­jud said, “Where is she, O King of the age?” “She is with me now,” an­swered Dirbas and, send­ing for the Kazi and the wit­ness­es, drew up the con­tract of mar­riage be­tween her and him. Then he hon­oured Uns al-​Wu­jud with favours and boun­ties and sent to King Shamikh ac­quaint­ing him with what had be­fall­en, where­at this King joyed with ex­ceed­ing joy and wrote back the fol­low­ing pur­port. “Since the cer­emo­ny of con­tract hath been per­formed at thy court, it be­hoveth that the mar­riage and its con­sum­ma­tion be at mine.” Then he made ready camels, hors­es and men and sent them in quest of the pair; and when the em­bassy reached King Dirbas, he gave the lovers much trea­sure and despatched them to King Shamikh’s court with a com­pa­ny of his own troops. The day of their ar­rival was a no­table day, nev­er was seen a grander; for the King gath­ered to­geth­er all the singing- wom­en and play­ers on in­stru­ments of mu­sic and made wed­ding ban­quets and held high fes­ti­val sev­en days; and on each day he gave largesse to the folk and be­stowed on them sump­tu­ous robes of hon­our. Then Uns al-​Wu­jud went in to Rose-​in-​Hood and they em­braced and sat weep­ing for ex­cess of joy and glad­ness, whilst she re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“Joy­ance is come, dis­pelling cark and care; * We are unit­ed, en­viers may de­spair. The breeze of union blows, en­quick­en­ing * Forms, hearts and vi­tals, fresh with fra­grant air: The splen­dour of de­light with scents ap­pears, * And round us[FN#78] flags and drums show glad­ness rare. Deem not we’re weep­ing for our stress of grief;* It is for joy our tears as tor­rents fare: How many fears we’ve seen that now are past! * And bore we pa­tient what was sore to bear: One hour of joy­ance made us both for­get * What from ex­cess of ter­ror grey’d our hair.”

And when the vers­es were end­ed, they again em­braced and ceased not from their em­brace, till they fell down in a swoon,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Eighty-​first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Uns al- Wu­jud and Rose-​in-​Hood em­braced when they fore­gath­ered and ceased not from their em­brace, till they fell down in a swoon for the de­light of re­union; and when they came to them­selves, Uns al- Wu­jud re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“How joy­ous­ly sweet are the nights that unite, * When my dear­ling deigns keep me the troth she did plight; When union con­joins us in all that we have, * And part­ing is sev­ered and sun­dered from sight, To us comes the world with her favour so fair, * Af­ter frown and aver­sion and might de­spight! Hath plant­ed her ban­ner Good For­tune for us, * And we drink of her cup in the purest de­light. We have met and com­plained of the piti­ful Past, * And of nights a full many that doomed us to blight. But now, O my la­dy, the Past is for­got; * The Com­pas­sion­ate par­don the Past for un­right! How sweet is ex­is­tence, how glad is to be! * This union my pas­sion doth on­ly in­cite.”

And when he end­ed his vers­es they once more em­braced, drowned in the sea of pas­sion; and lay down to­geth­er in the pri­vate apart­ment carous­ing and con­vers­ing and quot­ing vers­es and telling pleas­ant tales and anec­dotes. On this wise sev­en days passed over them whilst they knew not night from day and it was to them, for very stress of gai­ety and glad­ness, plea­sure and pos­ses­sion, as if the sev­en days were but one day with ne’er a mor­row. Not did they know the sev­enth day,[FN#79] but by the com­ing of the singers and play­ers on in­stru­ments of mu­sic; where­at Rose-​in-​Hood be­yond mea­sure won­dered and im­pro­vised these cou­plets,

“In spite of en­viers’ jeal­ousy, at end * We have won all we hoped of the friend: We’ve crowned our meet­ing with a close em­brace * On quilts where new bro­cades with sendal blend; On bed of per­fumed leather, which the spoils * Of downy birds lux­uri­ous­ly dis­tend. But I ab­stain me from un­need­ed wine, * When hon­ey-​dews of lips sweet musk can lend: Now from the sweets of union we un­know * Time near and far, if slow or fast it wend, The sev­enth night hath come and gone, O strange! * How went the nights we nev­er reckt or kenned; Till, on the sev­enth wish­ing joy they said, * ‘Al­lah pro­long the meet of friend with friend!’”

When she had fin­ished her song, Uns al-​Wu­jud kissed her, more than an hun­dred times, and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“O day of joys to ei­ther lover fain! * The loved one came and freed from lone­ly pain: She blest me with all in­ner charms she hath; * And com­panied with in­ner grace deep lain: She made me drain the wine of love till I, * Was faint with joys her love had made me drain: We toyed and joyed and on each oth­er lay; * Then fell to wine and soft melo­di­ous strain: And for ex­cess of joy­ance nev­er knew, * How went the day and how it came again. Fair fall each lover, may he union win * And gain of joy like me the am­plest gain; Nor weet the taste of sev­er­ance’ bit­ter fruit * And joys as­sain them as they us as­sain!”

Then they went forth and dis­tribut­ed to the folk alms and presents of mon­ey and rai­ment and rare gifts and oth­er to­kens of gen­eros­ity; af­ter which Rose-​in-​Hood bade clear the bath for her[FN#80] and, turn­ing to Uns al-​Wu­jud said to him, “O coolth of my eyes, I have a mind to see thee in the Ham­mam, and there­in we will be alone to­geth­er.” He joy­ful­ly con­sent­ed to this, and she let scent the Ham­mam with all sorts of per­fumed woods and essences, and light the wax-​can­dles. Then of the ex­cess of her con­tent­ment she re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“O who didst win my love in oth­er date * (And Present e’er must speak of past es­tate); And, oh! who art my sole suf­fi­cien­cy, * Nor want I oth­er friends with me to mate: Come to the Ham­mam, O my light of eyes, * And en­ter Eden through Gehen­na-​gate! We’ll scent with am­ber­gris and aloes-​wood * Till float the heavy clouds with fra­grant freight; And to the World we’ll par­don all her sins * And sue for mer­cy the Com­pas­sion­ate; And I will cry, when I de­scry thee there, * ‘Good cheer, sweet love, all bless­ings on thee wait!’”[FN#81]

Where­upon they arose and fared to the bath and took their plea­sure there­in; af­ter which they re­turned to their palace and there abode in the ful­ness of en­joy­ment, till there came to them the De­stroy­er of De­lights and the Sun­der­er of so­ci­eties; and glo­ry be to Him who changeth not nei­ther ceaseth, and to whom ev­ery­thing re­tur­neth! And they al­so tell a tale of

ABU NOWAS WITH THE THREE BOYS AND THE CALIPH HARUN AL-​RASHID[FN#82]

Abu Nowas one day shut him­self up and, mak­ing ready a rich­ly-​fur­nished feast, col­lect­ed for it meats of all kinds and of ev­ery colour that lips and tongue can de­sire. Then he went forth, to seek a min­ion wor­thy of such en­ter­tain­ment, say­ing, “Al­lah, my Lord and my Mas­ter, I be­seech Thee to send me one who be­fit­teth this ban­quet and who is fit to carouse with me this day!” Hard­ly had he made an end of speak­ing when he es­pied three youths hand­some and beard­less, as they were of the boys of Par­adise,[FN#83] dif­fer­ing in com­plex­ion but fel­lows in in­com­pa­ra­ble beau­ty; and all hearts yearned with de­sire to the sway­ing of their bend­ing shapes, even to what saith the po­et,

“I passed a beard­less pair with­out com­pare * And cried, ‘I love you, both you fer­ly fir!’ ‘Mon­ey’d?’ quoth one: quoth I, ‘And lav­ish too;’ * Then said the fair pair, ‘Pere, c’est notre af­faire.’”

Now Abu Nowas was giv­en to these joys and loved to sport and make mer­ry with fair boys and cull the rose from ev­ery bright­ly bloom­ing check, even as saith the bard,

Full many a rev­erend Shaykh feels sting of flesh, * Loves pret­ty faces, shows at Plea­sure’s de­pot: Awakes in Mo­sul,[FN#84] land of pu­ri­ty; * And all the day dreams on­ly of Alep­po.[FN#85]

So he ac­cost­ed them with the salu­ta­tion, and they re­turned his greet­ing with ci­vil­ity and all hon­our and would have gone their sev­er­al ways, but he stayed them, re­peat­ing these cou­plets,

“Steer ye your steps to none but me * Who hath a mine of lux­ury:- Old wine that shines with bright­est blee * Made by the monk in monastery; And mut­ton-​meat the tooth­somest * And birds of all va­ri­ety. Then eat of these and drink of those * Old wines that bring you jol­li­ty: And have each oth­er, turn by turn, * Sham­poo­ing this my tool you see.”[FN#86]

There­upon the youths were be­guiled by his vers­es and con­sent­ed to his wish­es,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three hun­dred and Eighty-​sec­ond Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Abu Nowas be­guiled the youths with his wish­es, say­ing, “We hear and obey;” and ac­com­pa­nied him to his lodg­ing, where they found all ready that he had set forth in his cou­plets. They sat down and ate and drank and made mer­ry awhile, af­ter which they ap­pealed to Abu Nowas to de­cide which of them was hand­someth of face and shap­li­est of form. So he point­ed to one of them and, hav­ing kissed him twice over, re­cit­ed the fol­low­ing vers­es,

“I’ll ran­som that beau­ty-​spot with my soup; * Where’s it and where is a mon­ey-​dole?[FN#87] Praise Him who hair­less hath made that cheek * And bid Beau­ty bide in that mole, that mole!”

Then he point­ed to an­oth­er and, kiss­ing his lips, re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“And lovel­ing weareth on his cheek a mole * Like musk, which vir­gin cam­phor ne’er lets off it: My peep­ers mar­vel such a con­trast see­ing; * And cried the Mole to me, ‘Now bless the Prophet.’”[FN#88]

Then he point­ed to the third and, af­ter kiss­ing him half a score times re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“Melt­ed pure gold in sil­vern bowl to drain * The youth, whose fin­gers wore a winey stain: He with the draw­ers[FN#89] served one cup of wine, * And served his wan­der­ing eyes the oth­er twain. A lovel­ing, of the sons of Turks,[FN#90] a fawn * Whose waist con­joins the dou­ble Mounts Honayn.[FN#91] Could Eve’s cor­rupt­ing daugh­ers[FN#92] tempt my heart * Con­tent with two-​fold lure ‘twould bear the bane. Un­to Di­yar-​I-​Bakr (’maid-​land ‘[FN#93] this one lures; * That lures to two-​mosqued cities of the plain.”[FN#94]

Now each of the youths had drunk two cups, and when it came to the turn of Abu Nowas, he took the gob­let and re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“Drink not strong wine save at the slen­der dear­ling’s hand; * Each like to oth­er in all gifts the spirt grace: For wine can nev­er glad­den top­er’s heart and soul, * Un­less the cup-​boy show a bright and sparkling face.”

Then he drank off his cup and the bowl went round, and when it came to Abu Nowas again, joy­ance got the mas­tery of him and he re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“For cup-​friends cup suc­ceed­ing cup as­sign, * Brim­ming with grape-​juice, brought in endliess line, By hand of brown-​lipped[FN#95] Beau­ty who is sweet * At wake as ap­ple or musk finest fine.[FN#96] Drink not the wine ex­cept from hand of fawn * Whose cheek to kiss is sweet­er than the wine.”

Present­ly the drink got in­to his nod­dle, drunk­en­ness mas­tered him and he knew not hand from head, so that he lolled from side to side in joy and in­clined to the youths one and all, anon kiss­ing them and anon em­brac­ing them leg over­ly­ing leg. And he showed no sense of sin or shame, but re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“None wot­teth best joy­ance but gen­er­ous youth * When the pret­ty ones deign with him com­pa­ny keep: This sings to him, sings to him that, when he wants * A pick-​me-​up[FN#97] ly­ing there all of a heap: And when of a lovel­ing he needeth a kiss, * He takes from his lips or a draught or a nip; Heav­en bless them! How sweet­ly my day with them sped; * A won­der­ful har­vest of plea­sure I reap: Let us drink our good liquor both wa­tered and pure, * And agree to swive all who dare slum­ber and sleep.”

While they were in this de­boshed state be­hold, there came a knock­ing at the door; so they bade him who knocked en­ter, and be­hold, it was the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Harun al-​Rashid. When they saw him, they all rose and kissed ground be­fore him; and Abu Nowas threw off the fumes of the wine for awe of the Caliph, who said to him, “Hol­la, Abu Nowas!” He replied, “Adsum, at thy ser­vice, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, whom Al­lah pre­serve!” The Caliph asked, “What state is this?” and the po­et an­swered, “O Prince of True Be­liev­ers, my state in­du­bitably dis­penseth with ques­tions.” Quoth the Caliph, “O Abu Nowas, I have sought di­rec­tion of Al­lah Almighty and have ap­point­ed thee Kazi of pimps and pan­ders.” Asked he, “Dost thou in­deed in­vest me with that high of­fice, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful?”; and the Caliph an­swered “I do;” where­upon Abu Nowas re­joined, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, hast thou any suit to pre­fer to me?” Here­at the Caliph was wroth and present­ly turned away and left them, full of rage, and passed the night sore an-​an­gered against Abu Nowas, who amid the par­ty he had in­vit­ed spent the mer­ri­est of nights and the jol­liest and joy­ous­est. And when day-​break dawned and the star of morn ap­peared in sheen and shone, he broke up the sit­ting and, dis­miss­ing the youths, donned his court-​dress and leav­ing his house set out for the palace of the Caliph. Now it was the cus­tom of the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, when the Di­van broke up, to with­draw to his sit­ting-​sa­loon and sum­mon thith­er his po­ets and cup-​com­pan­ions and mu­si­cians, each hav­ing his own place, which he might not over­pass. So it hap­pened that day, he re­tired to his sa­loom, and the friends and fa­mil­iars came and seat­ed them­selves, each in his rank and de­gree. Present­ly, in walked Abu Nowas and was about to take his usu­al seat, when the Caliph cried to Mas­rur, the sworder, and bade him strip the po­et of his clothes and bind an ass’s pack­sad­dle on his back and a hal­ter about his head and a crup­per un­der his rump and lead him round to all the lodg­ings of the slave-​girls, –And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three hun­dred and Eighty-​third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the Caliph com­mand­ed Mas­rur, the sworder, to strip Abu Nowas of his court-​suit and bind an ass’s pack­sad­dle on his back and a hal­ter about his head, and a crup­per un­der his rump and lead him round to all the lodg­ings of the slave-​girls, and the cham­bers of the Harim, that the wom­en might make mock of him; then cut off his head and bring it to him. “Hear­ken­ing and obe­di­ence,” replied Mas­rur and, do­ing with Abu Nowas as the Caliph had bid­den him, led him round all the cham­bers whose num­ber equalled the days of the year; but Abu Nowas was a fun­ny fel­low, so he made all the girls laugh with his buf­fooner­ies and each gave him some­thing where­by he re­turned not save with a pock­et­ful of mon­ey. And while this was go­ing on be­hold, Ja’afar the Barme­cide, who had been ab­sent on an im­por­tant busi­ness for the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, en­tered and recog­nis­ing the po­et, al­beit in this plight, said to him, “Hol­la, Abu Nowas!” He said, “Here at thy ser­vice, O our lord.” Ja’afar asked, “What of­fence hast thou com­mit­ted to bring this pun­ish­ment on thee?” There­upon he an­swered, “None what­so­ev­er, ex­cept that I made our lord the Caliph a present of the best of my po­et­ry and he pre­sent­ed me, in re­turn, with the best of his rai­ment.” When the Prince of True Be­liev­ers head this, he laughed, from a heart full of wrath,[FN#98] and par­doned Abu Nowas, and al­so gave him a myr­iad of mon­ey. And they al­so re­count the tale of

AB­DAL­LAH BIN MA’AMAR WITH THE MAN OF BAS­SO­RAH AND HIS SLAVE-​GIRL.

A cer­tain man of Bas­so­rah once bought a slave-​girl and reared and ed­ucat­ed her right well. More­over, he loved her very dear­ly and spent all his sub­stance in plea­sur­ing and mer­ry-​mak­ing with her, til he had naught left and ex­treme pover­ty was sore up­on him. So she said to him, “O my mas­ter, sell me; for thou needest my price and it maketh my heart ache to see thy sor­ry and want-​full plight. If thou vend me and make use of my val­ue, ’twill be bet­ter for thee than keep­ing me by thee, and hap­ly Almighty Al­lah will am­ple thee and amend thy for­tune.” He agreed to this for the strait­ness of his case, and car­ried her to the bazar, where the bro­ker of­fered her for sale to the Gov­er­nor of Bas­so­rah, by name Ab­dal­lah bin Ma’amar al-​Tay­mi, and she pleased him. So he bought her, for five hun­dred di­nars and paid the sum to her mas­ter; but when he book the mon­ey and was about to go away, the girl burst in­to tears and re­peat­ed these two cou­plets,

“May coins though gainest joy in heart in­stil; * For me re­maineth naught save sad­dest ill: I say un­to my soul which sore­ly grieves, * ‘Thy friend de­parteth an thou will nor nill.’”

And when her mas­ter heard this, he groaned and replied in these cou­plets,

“Al­beit this thy case lack all re­source, * Nor find­eth aught but death’s doom, par­don still; Evening and morn­ing, thoughts of thee will dole * Com­fort to heart all woes and griefs full fill: Peace be up­on thee! Meet we now no more * Nor pair ex­cept at Ibn Ma’amar’s will.”

Now when Ab­dul­lah bin Ma’amar heard these vers­es and saw their af­fec­tion, he ex­claimed, “By Al­lah, I will not as­sist fate in sep­arat­ing you; for it is ev­ident to me that ye two in­deed love each oth­er. So take the mon­ey and the damsel, O man, and Al­lah bless thee in both; for ver­ily part­ing be grievous to lovers.” So they kissed his hand and go­ing away, ceased not to dwell to­geth­er, till death did them part; and glo­ry be to Him whom death over-​taketh not! And amon­st sto­ries is that of

THE LOVERS OF THE BANU[FN#99] OZRAH

There was once, among the Banu Ozrah, a hand­some and ac­com­plished man, who was nev­er a sin­gle day out of love, and it chanced that he be­came en­am­oured of a beau­ty of his own tribe and sent her many mes­sages; but she ceased not to en­treat him with cru­el­ty and dis­dain; till, for stress of love and long­ing and de­sire and dis­trac­tion, he fell sick of a sore sick­ness and took to his pil­low and mur­dered sleep. His mal­ady re­dou­bled on him and his tor­ments in­creased and he was well nigh dead when his case be­came known among the folk and his pas­sion no­to­ri­ous;–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Eighty-​fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the man took to his pil­low and mur­dered sleep. So his case be­came known and his pas­sion no­to­ri­ous; and his in­fir­mi­ty grew up­on him and his pains re­dou­bled un­til he was well nigh dead. His fam­ily and hers were ur­gent with her to vis­it him, but she re­fused, till he was at the point of death when, be­ing told of this, she re­lent­ed to­wards him and vouch­safed him a vis­it. As soon as he saw her, his eyes ran over with tears and he re­peat­ed from a bro­ken heart,

“An, by thy life, pass thee my fu­ner­al train, * A bier up­borne up­on the necks of four, Wilt thou not fol­low it, and greet the grave * Where shall my corpse be graved for ev­er­more?”

Hear­ing this, she wept with sore weep­ing and said to him, “By Al­lah, I sus­pect­ed not that pas­sion had come to such a pass with thee, as to cast thee in­to the arms of death! Had I wist of this, I had been favourable to thy wish, and thou shouldst have had thy will.” At this his tears streamed down even as the clouds rail rain, and he re­peat­ed this verse,

“She drew near whenas death was de­part­ing us, * And deigned union grant when ‘twas use­less all.”

Then he groaned one groan and died. So she fell on him, kiss­ing him and weep­ing and ceased not weep­ing un­til she swooned away; and when she came to her­self, she charged her peo­ple to bury her in his grave and with stream­ing eyes re­cit­ed these two cou­plets,

“We lived on earth a life of fair con­tent; * And tribe and house and home of us were proud; But Time in whirling flight de­part­ed us, * To join us now in womb of earth and shroud.[FN#100]”

Then she fell again to weep­ing, nor gave over shed­ding tears and lament­ing till she faint­ed away; and she lay three days, sense­less. Then she died and was buried in his grave. This is one of the strange chances of love.[FN#101] And I have heard re­lat­ed a tale of the

WAZIR OF AL-​YA­MAN AND HIS YOUNG BROTH­ER

It is said that Badr al-​Din, Wazir of Al-​Ya­man, had a young broth­er of sin­gu­lar beau­ty and kept strait watch over him; so he ap­plied him­self to seek a tu­tor for him and, com­ing up­on a Shaykh of dig­ni­fied and rev­erend as­pect, chaste and re­li­gious, lodged him in a house next his own. This last­ed a long time, and he used to come dai­ly from his dwelling to that of Sáhib[FN#102] Badr al-​Din and teach the young broth­er. Af­ter a while, the old man’s heart was tak­en with love for the youth, and long­ing grew up­on him and his vi­tals were trou­bled, till one day, he be­moaned his case to the boy, who said, “What can I do, see­ing that I may not leave my broth­er night or day? and thou thy­self seest how care­ful he is over me.” Quoth the Shaykh, “My lodg­ing ad­joineth thine; so there will be no dif­fi­cul­ty, when thy broth­er sleep­eth, to rise and, en­ter­ing the privy, feign thy­self asleep. Then come to the para­pet[FN#103] of the ter­race-​roof and I will re­ceive thee on the oth­er side of the wall; so shalt thou sit with me an eye-​twin­kling and re­turn with­out thy broth­er’s knowl­edge.” “I hear and obey,” an­swered the lad; and the tu­tor be­gan to pre­pare gifts suit­able to his de­gree. Now when a while of the night was past, he en­tered the wa­ter-​clos­et and wait­ed un­til his broth­er lay down on his bed and took pa­tience till he was drowned in sleep, when he rose and go­ing to the para­pet of the ter­race-​roof, found stand­ing there to await him the old man, who gave him his hand and car­ried him to the sit­ting-​cham­ber, where he had made ready var­ious dain­ties for his en­ter­tain­ment, and they sat down to carouse. Now it was the night of the full moon and, as they sat with the wine-​cup go­ing round, her rays shone up­on them, and the gov­er­nor fell to singing. But, whilst they were thus in joy and jol­li­ty and mirth and mer­ri­ment, such as con­foundeth the wit and the sight and de­fi­eth de­scrip­tion, lo! the Wazir awoke and, miss­ing his broth­er, arose in af­fright and found the door open. So he went up to the roof and hear­ing a noise of talk, climbed over the para­pet to the ad­join­ing ter­race and saw a light shin­ing from the lodg­ing. He looked in from be­hind the wall, and es­pied his broth­er and his tu­tor sit­ting at carouse; but the Shaykh be­came aware of him and sang cup in hand, to a live­ly mea­sure these cou­plets,

“He made me drain his wine of hon­eyed lips, * Toast­ing with cheeks which rose and myr­tle smoth­er: Then night­ed in em­brace, cheek to my cheek, * A lovel­ing midst mankind with­out an­oth­er. When the full moon arose on us and shone * Pray she tra­duce us not to the big broth­er.”

And it proved the per­fect po­lite­ness of the Wazir Badr al-​Din that, when he heard this, he said, “By Al­lah, I will not be­tray you!” And he went away and left them to their di­ver­sions. They al­so tell a tale con­cern­ing

THE LOVES OF THE BOY AND GIRL AT SCHOOL

A free boy and a slave-​girl once learnt to­geth­er in school, and the boy fell pas­sion­ate­ly in love with the girl.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Eighty-​Fifth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the lad fell pas­sion­ate­ly in love with the slave-​lass: so one day, when the oth­er boys were heed­less, he took her tablet[FN#104] and wrote on it these two cou­plets,

“What sayest thou of him by sick­ness waste, * Un­til he’s clean dis­traught for love of thee? Who in the trans­port of his pain com­plains, * Nor can bear load of heart in se­cre­cy?”

Now when the girl took her tablet, she read the vers­es writ­ten there­on and un­der­stand­ing them, wept for ruth of him; then she wrote there­un­der these two cou­plets,

“An if we be­hold a lover love-​for­done * De­sir­ing us, our favours he shall see: Yea, what he wills of us he shall ob­tain, * And so be­fal us what be­falling be.”

Now it chanced that the teach­er came in on them and tak­ing the tablet, un­no­ticed, read what was writ­ten there­on. So he was moved to pity of their case and wrote on the tablet be­neath those al­ready writ­ten these two cou­plets ad­dressed to the girl,

“Con­sole thy lover, fear no con­se­quence; * He is daft with lov­ing lowe’s in­san­ity; But for the teach­er fear not aught from him; * Love-​pain he learned long be­fore learnt ye.”

Present­ly it so hap­pened that the girl’s own­er en­tered the school about the same time and, find­ing the tablet, read the above vers­es in­dit­ed by the boy, the girl and the school­mas­ter; and wrote un­der them these two cou­plets,

“May Al­lah nev­er make you part­ing dree * And be your cen­sur­er shamed weari­ly! But for the teach­er ne’er, by Al­lah, eye * Of mine be­held a big­ger pimp than he!”

Then he sent for the Kazi and wit­ness­es and mar­ried them on the spot. More­over, he made them a wed­ding-​feast and treat­ed them with ex­ceed­ing mu­nif­icence; and they ceased not abid­ing to­geth­er in joy and hap­pi­ness, till there came to them the De­stroy­er of de­lights and the Sev­er­er of so­ci­eties. And equal­ly pleas­ant is the sto­ry of

AL-​MU­TA­LAM­MIS AND HIS WIFE UMAYMAH

It is re­lat­ed Al-​Mu­ta­lam­mis[FN#105] once fled from Al-​Nu’uman bin Mun­zir[FN#106] and was ab­sent so long that folk deemed him dead. Now he had a beau­ti­ful wife, Umaymah by name, and her fam­ily urged her to mar­ry again; but she re­fused, for that she loved her hus­band Al-​Mu­ta­lam­mis very dear­ly. How­ev­er, they were ur­gent with her, be­cause of the mul­ti­tude of her suit­ors, and im­por­tuned with her till at last she con­sent­ed, albe re­luc­tant­ly; and they es­poused her to a man of her own tribe. Now on the night of the wed­ding, Al-​Mu­ta­lam­mis came back and, hear­ing in the camp a noise of pipes and tabrets and see­ing signs of a wed­ding fes­ti­val, asked some of the chil­dren what was the mer­ry-​mak­ing, to which they replied, “They have mar­ried Umaymah wife of Al-​Mu­ta­lam­mis, to such an one, and he goes in to her this night.” When he heard this, he planned to en­ter the house amongst the mob of wom­en and saw the twain seat­ed on the bridal couch.[FN#107] By and by, the bride­groom came up to her, where­upon she sighed heav­ily and weep­ing, re­cit­ed this cou­plet,

“Would Heav­en I knew (but many are the shifts of joy and woe) * In what far dis­tant land thou art, my Mu­ta­lam­mis, oh!”

Now Al-​Mu­ta­lam­mis was a renowned po­et; so he an­swered her say­ing;

“Right near at hand, Umaymah mine! when’er the car­avan * Halt­ed, I nev­er ceased for thee to pine, I would thou know.”

When the bride­groom heard this, he guess how the case stood and went forth from them in hast im­pro­vis­ing,

“I was in bestest luck, but now my luck goes con­trary: * A hos­pitable house and room con­tain your loves, you two!”

And he re­turned not but left the twain to their pri­va­cy. So Al- Mu­ta­lam­mis and his wife abode to­geth­er in all com­fort and so­lace of life and in all its joys and jol­li­ties till death part­ed them. And glo­ry be to Him at whose com­mand the earth and the heav­ens shall arise! And among oth­er tales is that of

THE CALIPH HARUM AL-​RASHID AND QUEEN ZUBAY­DAH IN THE BATH

The Caliph Harun al-​Rashid loved the La­dy Zubay­dah with ex­ceed­ing love and laid out for her a pleasaunce, where­in he made a great tank and set there­abouts a screen of trees and led thith­er wa­ter from all sides; hence the trees grew and in­ter­laced over the basin so dense­ly, that one could go in and wash, with­out be­ing seen of any, for the thick­ness of the leafage. It chanced, one day, that Queen Zubay­dah en­tered the gar­den and, com­ing to the swim­ming-​bath,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Eighty-​sixth Night

She said, It hath reached me, “O aus­pi­cious King, that Queen Zubay­dah en­tered the gar­den one day and, com­ing to the swim­ming- bath, gazed up­on its good­li­ness; and the sheen of the wa­ter and the over­shad­ing of the trees pleased her. Now it was a day of ex­ceed­ing heat; so she doffed her clothes and, en­ter­ing the tank, which was not deep enough to cov­er the whole per­son, fell to pour­ing the wa­ter over her­self from an ew­er of sil­ver. It al­so hap­pened that the Caliph heard she was in the pool; so he left his palace and came down to spy up­on her through the screen of the fo­liage. He stood be­hind the trees and es­pied her moth­er- nude, show­ing ev­ery­thing that is kept hid­den. Present­ly, she be­came aware of him and turn­ing, saw him be­hind the trees and was ashamed that he should see her naked. So she laid her hands on her parts, but the Mount of Venus es­caped from be­tween them, by rea­son of its great­ness and plump­ness; and the Caliph at once turned and went away, won­der­ing and recit­ing this cou­plet,

“I looked on her with lov­ing eyne * And grew anew my old re­pine:”

But he knew not what to say next; so he sent for Abu Nowas and said to him, “Make me a piece of verse com­menc­ing with this line.” “I hear and obey,” replied the po­et and in an eye- twin­kling ex­tem­po­rised these cou­plets,

“I looked on her with long­ing eyne * And grew anew my old re­pine For the gazelle, who cap­tured me * Where the two lo­tus-​trees in­cline: There was the wa­ter poured on it * From ew­er of the sil­vern mine; And seen me she had hid­den it * But ‘twas too plump for fin­gers fine. Would Heav­en that I were on it, * An hour, or bet­ter two hours, li’en.”[FN#108]

There­upon the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful smiled and made him a hand­some present and he went away re­joic­ing. And I have heard an­oth­er sto­ry of

HARUN AL-​RASHID AND THE THREE PO­ETS

The Prince of True Be­liev­ers, Caliph Harun al-​Rashid, was ex­ceed­ing rest­less one night; so he rose and walked about his palace, till he hap­pened up­on a hand­maid over­come with wine. Now he was prodi­gious­ly en­am­oured of this damsel; so he played with her and pulled her to him, where­upon her zone fell down and her pet­ti­coat-​trousers were loosed and he be­sought her of amorous favour. But she said to him, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful wait till to-​mor­row night, for I am un­pre­pared for thee, know­ing not of thy com­ing.” So he left her and went away. But, when the mor­row showed its light and the sun shone bright, he sent a page to her say­ing, “The Com­man­der of the Faith­ful is about to vis­it thine apart­ment;” but she replied, “Day doth away with the promise of night.” So he said to his courtiers, “Make me some­what of verse, in­tro­duc­ing these words, ‘The Promise of Night is ef­faced by Day.’” An­swered they, “We hear and obey,” and Al- Rakáshi[FN#109] came for­ward and re­cit­ed the fol­low­ing cou­plets,

“By Al­lah, couldst thou but feel my pain, * Thy rest had turned and had fled away. Hath left me in sor­row and love dis­traught, * Un­seen and un­see­ing, that fairest may: She promised me grace, then jilt­ed and said, * ‘The promise of night is ef­faced by day!’”

Then Abu Mus’ab came for­ward and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“When wilt thou be wise and love-​heat al­lay * That from food and sleep­ing so leads astray? Suf­fices thee not ev­er weep­ing eye, * And vi­tals on fire when thy name they say? He must smile and laugh and in pride must cry * ‘The promise of Night is ef­faced by Day.’”

Last came Abu Nowas and re­cit­ed the fol­low­ing cou­plets,

“As love waxt longer less met we tway * And fell out, but end­ed the use­less fray; One night in the palace I found her fou’; * Yet of mod­esty still there was some dis­play: The veil from her shoul­ders had slipt; and showed * Her loos­ened trousers Love’s seat and stay: And rat­tled the breezes her huge hind cheeks * And the branch where two lit­tle pomegranates lay: Quoth I, ‘Give me tryst;’ where­to quoth she * To-​mor­row the fane shall wear best ar­ray:’ Next day I asked her, ‘Thy word?’ Said she * ‘The promise of Night is ef­faced by Day.’”

The Caliph bade give a myr­iad of mon­ey each to Al-​Rakashi and Abu Mus’ab, but bade strike off the head of Abu Nowas, say­ing, “Thou wast with us yestern­ight in the palace.” Said he, “By Al­lah, I slept not but in my own house! I was di­rect­ed to what I said by thine own words as to the sub­ject of the verse; and in­deed quoth Almighty Al­lah (and He is the truest of all speak­ers): ‘As for po­ets (dev­ils pur­sue them!) dost thou not see that they rove as bereft of their sens­es through ev­ery val­ley and that they say that which they do not?’”[FN#110] So the Caliph for­gave him and gave him two myr­iads of mon­ey. And an­oth­er tale is that of

MUS’AB BIN AL-​ZUBAYR AND AY­ISHAH HIS WIFE

It is told of Mus’ab bin al-​Zubayr[FN#111] that he met in Al- Med­inah Iz­zah, who was one of the shrewdest of wom­en, and said to her, “I have a mind to mar­ry Ay­ishah[FN#112] daugh­ter of Tal­hah, and I should like thee to go her­wards and spy out for me how she is made.” So she went away and re­turn­ing to Mus’ab, said, “I have seen her, and her face is fair­er than health; she hath large and well-​opened eyes and un­der them a nose straight and smooth as a cane; oval cheeks and a mouth like a cleft pomegranate, a neck as a sil­ver ew­er and be­low it a bo­som with two breasts like twin- pomegranates and fur­ther down a slim waist and a slen­der stom­ach with a navel there­in as it were a cas­ket of ivory, and back parts like a hum­mock of sand; and plumply round­ed thighs and calves like columns of al­abaster; but I saw her feet to be large, and thou wilt fall short with her in time of need.” Up­on this re­port he mar­ried her,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Eighty-​sev­enth Day

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Iz­zah this wise re­port­ed of Ay­ishah bint Tal­hah, Mus’ab mar­ried her and went in to her. And present­ly Iz­zah in­vit­ed Ay­ishah and the wom­en of the tribe Ku­raysh to her house, when Ay­ishah sang these two cou­plets with Mus’ab stand­ing by,

“And the lips of girls, that are per­fume sweet; * So nice to kiss when with smiles they greet: Yet ne’er tast­ed I them, but in thought of him; * And by thought the Ruler rules world­ly seat.”

The night of Mus’ab’s go­ing in un­to her, he de­part­ed not from her, till af­ter sev­en bouts; and on the mor­row, a free­wom­an of his met him and said to him, “May I be thy sac­ri­fice! Thou art per­fect, even in this.” And a cer­tain wom­an said, “I was with Ay­ishah, when her hus­band came in to her, and she lust­ed for him; so he fell up­on her and she snarked and snort­ed and made use of all won­der of move­ments and mar­vel­lous new in­ven­tions, and I the while with­in hear­ing. So, when he came out from her, I said to her, ‘How canst thou do thus with thy rank and no­bil­ity and con­di­tion, and I in thy house?’ Quoth she, ‘Ver­ily a wom­an should bring her hus­band all of which she is mis­tress, by way of ex­cite­ment and rare buck­ings and wrig­glings and moti­ta­tions.[FN#113] What dis­lik­est thou of this?’ And I an­swered ‘I would have this by nights.’ Re­joined she, ‘Thus is it by day and by night I do more than this; for when he seeth me, de­sire stir­reth him up and he fal­leth in heat; so he put­teth it out to me and I obey him, and it is as thou seest.’” And there al­so hath reached me an ac­count of

ABU AL-​ASWAD AND HIS SLAVE-​GIRL

Abu al-​Aswad bought a na­tive-​born slave-​girl, who was blind of an eye, and she pleased him; but his peo­ple de­cried her to him; where­at he won­dered and, turn­ing the palms of his hands up­wards,[FN#114] re­cit­ed these two cou­plets,

“They find me fault with her where I de­fault ne’er find, * Save hap­ly that a speck in ei­ther eye may show: But if her eyes have fault, of fault her form hath none, * Slim-​built above the waist and heav­ily made be­low.”

And this is al­so told of

HARUN AL-​RASHID AND THE TWO SLAVE-​GIRLS

The Caliph Harun al-​Rashid lay one night be­tween two slave-​girls, one from Al-​Med­inah and the oth­er from Cu­fa and the Cu­fite rubbed his hands, whilst the Me­di­nite rubbed his feet and made his con­cern[FN#115] stand up. Quoth the Cu­fite, “I see thou wouldst keep the whole of the stock-​in-​trade to thy­self; give me my share of it.” And the oth­er an­swered, “I have been told by Má­lik, on the au­thor­ity of Hishám ibn Or­wah,[FN#116] who had it of his (grand) fa­ther, that the Prophet said, ‘Whoso quick­eneth the dead, the dead be­longeth to him and is his.’ But the Cu­fite took her un­awares and, push­ing her away, seized it all in her own hand and said, “Al-​A’amash tel­leth us, on the au­thor­ity of Khaysamah, who had it of Ab­dal­lah bin Mas’ud, that the Prophet de­clared, ‘Game be­longeth to him who taketh it, not to him who raiseth it.’” And this is al­so re­lat­ed of

THE CALIPH HARUN AL-​RASHID AND THE THREE SLAVE-​GIRLS

The Caliph Harun al-​Rashid once slept with three slave-​girls, a Mec­can, a Me­di­nite and an Irakite. The Med­inah girl put her hand to his yard and han­dled it, where­upon it rose and the Mec­can sprang up and drew it to her­self. Quoth the oth­er, “What is this un­just ag­gres­sion? A tra­di­tion was re­lat­ed to me by Má­lik[FN#117] af­ter Al-​Zuhri, af­ter Ab­dal­lah ibn Sálim, af­ter Sa’íd bin Za­yd, that the Apos­tle of Al­lah (whom Al­lah bless and keep!) said: ‘Whoso en­quick­eneth a dead land, it is his.’ And the Mec­can an­swered, “It is re­lat­ed to us by Su­fyán, from Abu Zanád, from Al-​A’araj, from Abu Ho­rayrah, that the Apos­tle of Al­lah said: ‘The quar­ry is his who catch­eth it, not his who starteth it.’” But the Irak girl pushed them both away and tak­ing it to her­self, said, “This is mine, till your con­tention be de­cid­ed.” And they tell a tale of

THE MILLER AND HIS WIFE

There was a miller, who had an ass to turn his mill; and he was mar­ried to a wicked wife, whom he loved, while she hat­ed him be­cause she was sweet up­on a neigh­bour, who mis­liked her and held aloof from her. One night, the miller saw, in his sleep, one who said to him, “Dig in such a spot of the ass’s round in the mill, and thou shalt find a hoard.” When he awoke, he told his wife the vi­sion and bade her keep the se­cret; but she told her neigh­bour,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three hun­dred and Eighty-​eighth Night

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the miller’s wife told the se­cret to the neigh­bour whom she loved, think­ing to win his favour; and he agreed with her to come to her by night. So he came and they dug in the mill and found the trea­sure and took it forth. Then he asked her, “How shall we do with this?” and she an­swered; “We will di­vide it in­to two halves and will share it equal­ly be­tween us, and do thou leave thy wife and I will cast about to rid me of my hus­band. Then shalt thou mar­ry me and, when we are con­joined, we will join the two halves of the trea­sure one to oth­er, and all will be in our hands.” Quoth he, “I fear lest Sa­tan se­duce thee and thou take some oth­er man oth­er than my­self; for gold in the house is like the sun in the world. I reck, there­fore, it were right that the mon­ey be all in my hands, so thou give thy whole mind to get­ting free of thy hus­band and com­ing to me.” Quoth she, “I fear even as thou fear­est, nor will I yield up my part to thee; for it was I di­rect­ed thee to it.” When he heard this, greed of gain prompt­ed him to kill her; so he slew her and threw her body in­to the emp­ty hoard-​hole; but day over­took him and hin­dered him from cov­er­ing it up; he there­fore took the mon­ey and went his way. Now af­ter a while the miller awoke and, miss­ing his wife, went in­to the mill, where he fas­tened the ass to the beam and shout­ed to it. It went on a lit­tle, then stopped; where­upon he beat it grievous­ly; but the more he bashed it, the more it drew back; for it was af­fright­ed at the dead wom­an and could not go for­ward. There­upon the Miller, un­know­ing what hin­dered the don­key, took out a knife and goad­ed it again and again, but still it would not budge. Then he was wroth with it, know­ing not the cause of its ob­sti­na­cy, and drove the knife in­to its flanks, and it fell down dead. But when the sun rose, he saw his don­key ly­ing dead and like­wise his wife in the place of the trea­sure, and great was his rage and sore his wrath for the loss of his hoard and the death of his wife and his ass. All this came of his let­ting his wife in­to his se­cret and not keep­ing it to him­self.[FN#118] And I have heard this tale of

THE SIM­PLE­TON AND THE SHARP­ER

A cer­tain sim­ple­ton was once walk­ing along, hal­ing his ass af­ter him by the hal­ter, when a pair of sharpers saw him and one said to his fel­low, “I will take that ass from yon­der wight.” Asked the oth­er, “How wilt thou do that?” “Fol­low me and I will show thee how,” an­swered the first. So the cony-​catch­er went up to the ass and, loos­ing it from the hal­ter, gave the beast to his fel­low; then he hal­tered his own head and fol­lowed Tom Fool till he knew the oth­er had got clean off with the ass, when he stood still. The oaf haled at the hal­ter, but the ras­cal stirred not; so he turned and see­ing the hal­ter on a man’s neck, said to him, “What art thou?” Quoth the sharp­er, “I am thine ass and my sto­ry is a won­der­ous one and ‘tis this. Know that I have a pi­ous old moth­er and come in to her one day, drunk; and she said to me: ‘O my son, re­pent to the Almighty of these thy trans­gres­sions.’ But I took my staff and beat her, where­upon she cursed me and Al­lah changed me in­to an ass and caused me fall in­to thy hands, where I have re­mained till this mo­ment. How­ev­er, to-​day, my moth­er called me to mind and her heart yearned to­wards me; so she prayed for me and the Lord re­stored me to my for­mer shape amongst the sons of Adam.” Cried the sil­ly one, “There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Al­lah, the Glo­ri­ous, the Great! Al­lah up­on thee, O my broth­er, ac­quit me of what I have done with thee in the way of rid­ing and so forth.” Then he let the cony-​catch­er go and re­turned home, drunk­en with cha­grin and con­cern as with wine. His wife asked him, “What aileth thee and where is the don­key?”; and he an­swered, “Thou know­est not what was this ass; but I will tell thee.” So he told her the sto­ry, and she ex­claimed, “Alack and alas for the pun­ish­ment we shall re­ceive from Almighty Al­lah! How could we have used a man as a beast of bur­den, all this while? And she gave alms by way of atone­ment and prayed par­don of Heav­en.[FN#119] Then the man abode awhile at home, idle and feck­less, till she said to him, “How long wilt thou sit at home do­ing naught? Go to the mar­ket and buy us an ass and ply thy work with it.” Ac­cord­ing­ly, he went to the mar­ket and stopped by the ass-​stand, where be­hold, he saw his own ass for sale. So he went up to it and clap­ping his mouth to its ear, said to it, “Woe to thee, thou ne’er-​do-​well! Doubt­less thou hast been get­ting drunk again and beat­ing thy moth­er! But, by Al­lah, I will nev­er buy thee more.”[FN#120] and he left it and went away. And they tell a tale con­cern­ing

THE KAZI ABU YUSUF WITH HARUN AL-​RASHID AND QUEEN ZUBAY­DAH

The Caliph Harun al-​Rashid went up one noon-​tide to his couch, to lie down; and mount­ing, found up­on the bed-​clothes se­men fresh­ly emit­ted; where­at he was star­tled and trou­bled with sore trou­ble. So he called the La­dy Zubay­dah and said to her, “What is that spilt on the bed?” She looked at it and replied, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, it is se­men.” Quoth he, “Tell me tru­ly what this meaneth or I will lay vi­olent hands on thee forthright.” Quoth she, “By Al­lah, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, in­deed I know not how it came there and I am guilt­less of that where­of you sus­pectest me.” So he sent for the Kazi Abú Yú­suf and ac­quaint­ed him of the case. The Judge raised his eyes to the ceil­ing and, see­ing a crack there­in, said to the Caliph, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, in very sooth the bat hath seed like that of a man,[FN#121] and this is bat’s se­men.” Then he called for a spear and thrust it in­to the crevice, where­upon down fell the bat. In this man­ner the Caliph’s sus­pi­cions were dis­pelled,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three hun­dred and Eighty-​ninth Night

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the Kazi Abu Yusuf took the spear and thrust it in­to the crevice, down fell the bat, and thus the Caliph’s sus­pi­cions were dis­pelled and the in­no­cence of Zubay­dah was made man­ifest; where­at she gave loud and lib­er­al vent to her joy and promised Abu Yusuf a mag­nif­icent re­ward. Now there were with her cer­tain de­li­cious fruits, out of their sea­son, and she knew of oth­ers in the gar­den; so she asked Abu Yusuf, “O Imam of the Faith, which wouldst thou rather have of the two kinds of fruits, those that are here or those that are not here?” And he an­swered, “Our code for­bid­deth us to pro­nounce judge­ment on the ab­sent; whenas they are present, we will give our de­ci­sion.” So she let bring the two kinds of fruits be­fore him; and he ate of both. Quoth she, “What is the dif­fer­ence be­tween them?” and quoth he, “As of­ten as I think to praise one kind, the ad­ver­sary put­teth in its claim.” The Caliph laughed at his an­swer[FN#122] and made him a rich present; and Zubay­dah al­so gave him what she had promised him, and he went away, re­joic­ing. See, then the virtues of this Imám and how his hands were man­ifest the truth and the in­no­cence of the La­dy Zubay­dah. And amongst oth­er sto­ries is that of

THE CALIPH AL-​HAKIM[FN#123] AND THE MER­CHANT

The Caliph Al-​Hákim bi-​Am­ri’llah was rid­ing out in state pro­ces­sion one day, when he passed along a gar­den, where­in he saw a man, sur­round­ed by ne­gro-​slaves and eu­nuchs. He asked him for a draught of wa­ter, and the man gave him to drink, say­ing, “Be­like, the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful will hon­our me by alight­ing in this my gar­den.” So the Caliph dis­mount­ed and with his suite en­tered the gar­den; where­upon the said man brought out to them an hun­dred rugs and an hun­dred leather mats and an hun­dred cush­ions; and set be­fore them an hun­dred dish­es of fruits, an hun­dred bowls of sweet­meats and an hun­dred jars of sug­ared sher­bets; at which the Caliph mar­velled with much amaze and said to his host, “O man, ver­ily this thy case is won­drous: didst thou know of our com­ing and make this prepa­ra­tion for us?” He replied, “No by Al­lah, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, I knew not of thy com­ing and I am a mer­chant of the rest of thy sub­jects; but I have an hun­dred con­cu­bines; so, when the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful hon­oured me by alight­ing with me, I sent to each of them, bid­ding her send me her morn­ing-​meal in the gar­den. So they sent me each of her fur­ni­ture and the sur­plus of her meat and drink: and ev­ery day each sendeth me a dish of meat and an­oth­er of cool­ing mari­nades, al­so a plat­ter of fruits and a bowl of sweet­meats and a jar of sher­bet. This is my noon-​day din­ner, nor have I added aught there­to for thee.” Then the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Al-​Hakim bi-​Am­ri’llah pros­trat­ed him­self in thanks­giv­ing to the Almighty (ex­tolled and ex­alt­ed be His name!) and said, “Praise be Al­lah, who hath been so boun­ti­ful to one of our lieges, that he en­ter­taineth the Caliph and his host, with­out mak­ing ready for them; nay, he feedeth them with the sur­plusage of his day’s pro­vi­sion!” Then he sent for all the dirhams in the trea­sury, that had been struck that year (and they were in num­ber three thou­sand and sev­en hun­dred thou­sand); nor did he mount un­til the mon­ey came, when he gave it to the mer­chant, say­ing, “Use this as thy state may re­quire; and thy gen­eros­ity de­serveth more than this.” Then he took horse and rode away. And I have heard a sto­ry con­cern­ing

KING KISRA ANUSHIR­WAN[FN#124] AND THE VIL­LAGE DAMSEL

The Just King, Kisrá Anúshir­wán, one day rode forth to the chase and, in pur­suit of a deer, be­came sep­arat­ed from his suite. Present­ly, he caught sight of a ham­let near hand and be­ing sore athirst, he made for it and pre­sent­ing him­self at the door of a house that lay by the way­side, asked for a draught of wa­ter. So a damsel came out and looked at him; then, go­ing back in­to the house, pressed the juice from a sin­gle sug­ar-​cane in­to a bowl and mixed it with wa­ter; af­ter which she strewed on the top some scent­ed stuff, as it were dust, and car­ried it tot he King. There­upon he see­ing in it what re­sem­bled dust, drank it, lit­tle by lit­tle, till he came to the end; when said he to her, “O damsel, the drink is good, and how sweet it had been but for this dust in it that trou­bleth it.” An­swered she, “O guest, I put in that pow­der for a pur­pose;” and he asked, “And why didst thou thus?”; so she replied, “I saw thee ex­ceed­ing­ly thirsty and feared that thou wouldst drain the whole at one draught and that this would thee mis­chief; and but for this dust that trou­bled the drink so hadst thou done.” The Just King won­dered at her words, know­ing that they came of her wit and good sense, and said to her, “From how many sug­ar canes didst thou ex­press this draught?” “One,” an­swered she; where­at Anushir­wan mar­velled and, call­ing for the reg­is­ter of the vil­lage tax­es, saw that its as­sess­ment was but lit­tle and bethought him to in­crease it, on his re­turn to his palace, say­ing in him­self, “A vil­lage where they get this much juice out of one sug­ar-​cane, why is it so light­ly taxed?” He then left the vil­lage and pur­sued his chase; and, as he came back at the end of the day, he passed alone by the same door and called again for drink; where­upon the same damsel came out and, know­ing him at a look, went in to fetch him wa­ter. It was some time be­fore she re­turned and Anushir­wan won­dered there­at and said to her, “Why hast thou tar­ried?”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three hun­dred and Nineti­eth Night

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Anushir­wan hur­ried the damsel and asked her, “Why hast thou tar­ried?” she an­swered, “Be­cause a sin­gle sug­ar-​cane gave not enough for thy need; so I pressed three; but they yield­ed not to much as one did be­fore.” Re­joined he, “What is the cause of that?”; and she replied, “The cause of it is that when the Sul­tan’s[FN#125] mind is changed against a folk, their pros­per­ity ceaseth and their good wax­eth less.” So Anushir­wan laughed and dis­missed from his mind that which he had pur­posed against the vil­lagers. More­over, he took the damsel to wife then and there, be­ing pleased with her much wit and acute­ness and the ex­cel­lence of her speech. And they tell an­oth­er tale of the

WA­TER-​CAR­RI­ER[FN#126] AND THE GOLD­SMITH’S WIFE

There was once, in the city of Bokhara, a wa­ter-​car­ri­er, who used to car­ry wa­ter to the house of a gold­smith and had done this thir­ty years. Now that gold­smith had a wife of ex­ceed­ing beau­ty and love­li­ness, bril­lian­cy and per­fect grace; and she was with­al renowned for piety, chasti­ty and mod­esty. One day the wa­ter- car­ri­er came, as of cus­tom, and poured the wa­ter in­to the cis­terns. Now the wom­an was stand­ing in the midst of the court; so he went close up to her and tak­ing her hand, stroked it and pressed it, then went away and left her. When her hus­band came home from the bazar, she said to him, “I would have thee tell me what thing thou hast done in the mar­ket this day, to anger Almighty Al­lah.” Quoth he, “I have done noth­ing to of­fend the Lord.” “Nay,” re­joined she, “but, by Al­lah, thou hast in­deed done some­thing to anger Him; and un­less thou tell me the whole truth, I will not abide in thy house, and thou shalt not see me, nor will I see thee.” So he con­fessed, “I will tell thee the truth of what I did this day. It so chanced that, as I was sit­ting in my shop, as of wont, a wom­an came up to me and bade me make her a bracelet of gold. Then she went away and I wrought her a bracelet and laid it aside. But when she re­turned and I brought her out the bracelet, she put forth her hand and I clasped the bracelet on her wrist; and I won­dered at the white­ness of her hand and the beau­ty of her wrist, which would cap­ti­vate any be­hold­er; and I re­called what the po­et saith,

‘Her fore-​arms, dight with their ban­gles, show * Like fire ablaze on the waves a-​flow; As by purest gold were the wa­ter girt, * And belt­ed around by a liv­ing lowe.’

So I took her hand and pressed it and squeezed it.” Said the wom­an, “Great God! Why didst thou this ill thing? Know that the wa­ter-​car­ri­er, who hath come to our house these thir­ty years, nor saw­st thou ev­er any trea­son in him took my hand this day and pressed and squeezed it.” Said her hus­band, “O wom­an, let us crave par­don of Al­lah! Ver­ily, I re­pent of what I did, and do thou ask for­give­ness of the Lord for me.” She cried, “Al­lah par­don me and thee, and re­ceive us in­to his holy keep­ing.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three hun­dred and Nine­ty-​first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the gold­smith’s wife cried out, “Al­lah par­don me and thee, and re­ceive us in­to his holy keep­ing!” And on the next day, the wa­ter-​car­ri­er came in to the jew­eller’s wife and, throw­ing him­self at her feet, grov­elled in the dust and be­sought par­don of her, say­ing, “O my la­dy, ac­quit me of that which Sa­tan de­lud­ed me to do; for it was he that se­duced me and led me astray.” She an­swered, “Go thy ways, the sin was not in thee, but in my hus­band, for that he did what he did in his shop, and Al­lah hath re­tal­iat­ed up­on him in this world.” And it re­lat­ed that the gold­smith, when his wife told him how the wa­ter-​car­ri­er had used her, said, “Tit for tat, and blow for blow!; had I done more the wa­ter-​car­ri­er had done more”;–which be­came a cur­rent by­word among the folk. There­fore it be­hoveth a wife to be both out­ward and in­ward with her hus­band; con­tent­ing her­self with lit­tle from him, if he can­not give her much, and tak­ing pat­tern by Ay­ishah the Truth­ful and Fa­timah the vir­gin moth­er (Al­lah Almighty ac­cept of them the twain!), that she may be of the com­pa­ny of the righ­teous an­ces­try.[FN#127] And I have heard the fol­low­ing tale of

KHUS­RAU AND SHIRIN AND THE FISH­ER­MAN

King Khus­rau[FN#128] Shahin­shah of Per­sia loved fish; and one day, as he sat in his sa­loon, he and Shirin his wife, there came a fish­er­man, with a great fish, and he laid it be­fore the King, who was pleased and or­dered the man four thou­sand dirhams.[FN#129] There­upon Shirin said to the King, “Thou hast done ill.” Asked he, “And why?”, and she an­swered, “Be­cause if, af­ter this, though give one of thy courtiers a like sum, he will dis­dain it and say, ‘He hath but giv­en me the like of what he gave the fish­er­man.’ And if thou give him less, the same will say, ‘He de­spiseth me and giveth me less than he gave the fish­er­man.’” Re­joined Khus­rau, “Thou art right, but it would dis­hon­our a king to go back on his gift; and the thing is done.” Quoth Shirin, “If thou wilt, I will con­trive thee a means to get it back from him.” Quoth he, “How so?”; and she said, “Call back, if thou so please, the fish­er­man and ask him if the fish be male or fe­male. If he say, ‘Male,’ say thou, ‘We want a fe­male,’ and if he say, ‘Fe­male,’ say, ‘We want a male.’” So the King sent for the fish­er­man, who was a man of wit and as­tute­ness, and said to him, “Is this fish male or fe­male?” where­upon the fish­er­man kissed the ground and an­swered, “This fish is an hermaphrodite,[FN#130] nei­ther male nor fe­male.” Khus­rau laughed at his clever re­ply and or­dered him oth­er four thou­sand dirhams. So the fish­er­man went to the trea­sur­er and, tak­ing his eight thou­sand dirhams, put them in a sack he had with him. Then, throw­ing it over his shoul­der, he was go­ing away, when he dropped a dirham; so he laid the bag off his back and stooped down to pick it up. Now the King and Shirin were look­ing on, and the Queen said, “O King, didst thou note the mean­ness of the man, in that he must needs stoop down to pick up the one dirham, and could not bring him­self to leave it for any of the King’s ser­vants?” When the King heard these words, he was ex­ceed­ing wroth with the fish­er­man and said, “Thou art right, O Shirin!” So he called the man back and said to him, “Thou low-​mind­ed car­le! Thou art no man! How couldst thou put the bag with all this mon­ey off thy back and bend thee ground­wards to pick up the one dirham and grudge to leave it where it fell?” There­upon the fish­er­man kissed the earth be­fore him and an­swered, “May Al­lah pro­long the King’s life! In­deed, I did not pick up the dirham off the ground be­cause of its val­ue in my eyes; but I raised it off the earth be­cause on one of its faces is the like­ness of the King and on the oth­er his name; and I feared lest any should un­wit­ting­ly set foot up­on it, thus dis­hon­our­ing the name and pre­sent­ment of the King, and I be blamed for this of­fence.” The King won­dered at his words and ap­proved of his wit and shrewd­ness, and or­dered him yet an­oth­er four thou­sand dirhams. More­over, he bade cry abroad in his king­dom, say­ing, “It be­hoveth none to be guid­ed by wom­en’s coun­sel; for whoso fol­loweth their ad­vice, los­eth, with his one dirham, oth­er twain.”[FN#131] And here is the tale they tell of

YAHYA BIN KHALID THE BARME­CIDE AND THE POOR MAN

Yahya bin Khálid the Barme­cide was re­turn­ing home, one day, from the Caliph’s palace, when he saw, at the gate of his man­sion, a man who rose as he drew near and salut­ed him, say­ing, “O Yahya, I am in sore need of that which is in they hand, and I make Al­lah my in­ter­me­di­ary with thee.” So Yahya caused a place to be set aside for him in his house and bade his trea­sur­er car­ry him a thou­sand dirhams ev­ery day and or­dered that his di­et be of the choic­est of his own meat. The man abode in this case a whole month, at the end of which time, hav­ing re­ceived in all thir­ty thou­sand dirhams and fear­ing lest Yahya should take the mon­ey from him, be­cause of the great­ness of the sum, he de­part­ed by stealth.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Nine­ty-​sec­ond Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the man, tak­ing with him the mon­ey, de­part­ed by stealth. But when they told Yahya of this, he said, “By Al­lah, though he had tar­ried with me to the end of his days, yet had I not stint­ed him of my largesse nor cut off from him the boun­ties of my hos­pi­tal­ity!” For, in­deed, the ex­cel­lences of the Barme­cides were past count nor can their virtues be com­mit­ted to de­scrip­tion, es­pe­cial­ly those of Yahya bin Khalid, for he was an ocean[FN#132] of no­ble qual­ities, even as saith the po­et of him,

“I asked of Boun­ty, ‘Art thou free?’ Quoth she, * ‘No, I am slave to Yahyá Khálid-​son!’ ‘Bought­en?’ asked I. ‘Al­lah for­fend,’ quoth she, * ‘By heir­ship, sire to sire’s trans­mis­sion!’”

And the fol­low­ing is re­lat­ed of

MO­HAMMED AL-​AMIN AND THE SLAVE-​GIRL

Ja’afar bin Musá al-​Há­di[FN#133] once had a slave-​girl, a lutist, called Al-​Badr al-​Kabír, than whom there was not in her time a fair­er of face nor shape­lier of shape nor a more el­egant of man­ners nor a more ac­com­plished in the art of singing and strik­ing the strings; she was in­deed per­fect in beau­ty and ex­treme in ev­ery charm. Now Mo­hammed al-​Amín,[FN#134] son of Zubay­dah, heard of her and was ur­gent with Ja’afar to sell her to him; but he replied, “Thou know­est it be­seemeth not one of my rank to sell slave-​girls nor set prices on con­cu­bines; but were she not a rear­ling I would send her to thee, as a gift, not grudge her to thee.” And Mo­hammed al-​Amin, some days af­ter this went to Ja’afar’s house, to make mer­ry; and the host set be­fore him that which it be­hoveth to set be­fore true friends and bade the damsel Al-​Badr al-​Kabir sing to him and glad­den him. So she tuned the lute and sang with a rav­ish­ing melody; whilst Mo­hammed al-​Amin fell to drink­ing and jol­li­ty and bade the cup­bear­ers ply Ja’afar with much wine, till they made him drunk­en, when he took the damsel and car­ried her to his own house, but laid not a fin­ger on her. And when the mor­row dawned he bade in­vite Ja’afar; and when he came, he set wine be­fore him and made the girl sing to him, from be­hind the cur­tain. Ja’afar knew her voice and was an­gered at this, but, of the no­ble­ness of his na­ture and the mag­na­nim­ity of his mind he showed no change. Now when the carousal was at an end, Al-​Amin com­mand­ed one of his ser­vants to fill the boat, where­in Ja’afar had come, with dirhams and di­nars and all man­ner of jew­els and jacinths and rich rai­ment and goods ga­lore. So he laid there­in a thou­sand myr­iads of mon­ey and a thou­sand fine pearls, each worth twen­ty thou­sand dirhams; nor did he give over load­ing the barge with all man­ner of things pre­cious and rare, till the boat­men cried out for help, say­ing, “The boat can’t hold any more;” where­upon he bade them car­ry all this to Ja’afar’s palace. Such are the ex­ploits of the mag­nan­imous, Al­lah have mer­cy on them! And a tale is re­lat­ed of

THE SONS OF YAHYA BIN KHALID AND SA’ID BIN SAL­IM AL-​BAHILI

Quoth Sa’íd bin Sálim al’Báhilí,[FN#135] I was once in very nar­row case, dur­ing the days of Harun al-​Rashid, and debts ac­cu­mu­lat­ed up­on me, bur­den­ing my back, and these I had no means of dis­charg­ing. I was at my wits’ end what to do, for my doors were block­ing up with cred­itors and I was with­out cease im­por­tuned for pay­ment by claimants, who dunned me in crowds till at last I was sore per­plexed and trou­bled. So I be­took my­self to Ab­dal­lah bin Má­lik al-​Khuza’í[FN#136] and be­sought him to ex­tend the hand of aid with his judge­ment and di­rect me of his good coun­sel to the door of re­lief; and he said, ‘None can save thee from this thy strait and sor­row­ful state save the Barme­cides.’ Quoth I, ‘Who can brook their pride and put up pa­tient­ly with their ar­ro­gant pre­ten­sions?’ and quoth he, ‘Thou wilt put up with all this for the bet­ter­ing of thy case.’”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Nine­ty-​third Night

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Ab­dal­lah ibn Ma­lik al-​Khuza’i said to Sa’id bin Sal­im, “Thou wilt put up with all this for the bet­ter­ing of thy case.” “So I left him sud­den­ly (con­tin­ued Sa’id) and went straight to Al-​Fa­zl and Ja’afar, sons of Yahyá bin Khálid, to whom I re­lat­ed my cir­cum­stances; where­to they replied, ‘Al­lah give thee His aid, and ren­der thee by His boun­ties in­de­pen­dent of His crea­tures and vouch­safe thee abun­dant weal and be­stow on thee what shall suf­fice thee, with­out the need of any but Him­self; for what­so He wil­leth that He can, and He is gra­cious with His ser­vants and knoweth their wants.’ So I went out from the twain and re­turned to Ab­dal­lah, with strait­ened breast and mind per­plexed and heavy of heart, and re­peat­ed to him what they had said. Quoth he, ‘Thou wouldst do well to abide with us this day, that we may see what Al­lah Almighty will de­cree.’ So I sat with him awhile, when lo! up came my ser­vant, who said to me, ‘O my lord, there are at our door many laden mules and with them a man, who says he is the agent of Al-​Fa­zl and Ja’afar bin Yahya.’ Quoth Ab­dal­lah, ‘I trust that re­lief is come to thee: rise up and go see what is the mat­ter.’ So I left him and, has­ten­ing to my house, found at the door a man who gave me a note where­in was writ­ten the fol­low­ing: ‘Af­ter thou hadst been with us and we heard thy case, we be­took our­selves to the Caliph and in­formed him that ill con­di­tion had re­duced thee to the hu­mil­ia­tion of beg­ging; where up­on he or­dered us to sup­ply thee with a thou­sand thou­sand dirhams from the Trea­sury. We rep­re­sent­ed to him: ‘The debtor will spend this mon­ey in pay­ing off cred­itors and wip­ing off debt; whence then shall he pro­vide for his sub­sis­tence? So he or­dered thee oth­er three hun­dred thou­sand, and each of us hath al­so sent thee, of his prop­er wealth, a thou­sand thou­sand dirhams: so that thou hast now three thou­sand thou­sand and three hun­dred thou­sand dirhams where­with­al to or­der and amend thine es­tate.’” See, then, the mu­nif­icence of these mag­nifi­cos: Almighty Al­lah have mer­cy on them! And a tale is told of

THE WOM­AN’S TRICK AGAINST HER HUS­BAND

A man brought his wife a fish one Fri­day and, bid­ding her to cook it against the end of the con­gre­ga­tion­al prayers, went out to his craft and busi­ness. Mean­while in came her friend who bade her to a wed­ding at his house; so she agreed and, lay­ing the fish in a jar of wa­ter, went off with him and was ab­sent a whole week till the Fri­day fol­low­ing;[FN#137] whilst her hus­band sought her from house to house and en­quired af­ter her; but none could give him any tid­ings of her. Now on the next Fri­day she came home and he fell foul of her; but she brought out to him the fish alive from the jar and as­sem­bled the folk against him and told them her tale.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Nine­ty-​fourth Night

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the wom­an brought out the fish alive from the wa­ter-​jar and as­sem­bled the folk against her hus­band, and told them her tale. He al­so told his; but they cred­it­ed him not and said, “It can­not be that the fish should have re­mained alive all this while.” So they proved him mad and im­pris­oned him and mocked at him, where up­on he shed tears in floods and re­cit­ed these two cou­plets,

“Old hag, of high de­gree in filthy life, * Whose face her mon­strous lewd­ness wit­ness­es. When men­stu­ous she bawds; when clean she whores; * And all her time bawd or adul­ter­ess is.”

And a tale is re­lat­ed of the

THE DE­VOUT WOM­AN AND THE TWO WICKED EL­DERS[FN#138]

There was in times of yore and in ages long gone be­fore, a vir­tu­ous wom­an among the chil­dren of Is­rael, who was pi­ous and de­vout and used ev­ery day to go out to the place of prayer, first en­ter­ing a gar­den, which ad­joined there­to, and there mak­ing the mi­nor ablu­tion. Now there were in this gar­den two old men, its keep­ers, and both Shaykhs fell in love with her and sought her favours; but she re­fused, where­upon said they, “Un­less thou yield thy body to us, we will bear wit­ness against thee of for­ni­ca­tion.” Quoth she, “Al­lah will pre­serve me from your froward­ness!” Then they opened the gar­den-​gate and cried out, and the folk came to them from all places, say­ing “What aileth you?” Quoth they, “We found this damsel in com­pa­ny with a youth who was do­ing lewd­ness with her; but he es­caped from our hands.” Now it was the wont of the peo­ple in those days to ex­pose adul­ter­er and adul­ter­ess to pub­lic re­proach for three days, and af­ter stone them. So they cried her name in the pub­lic streets for three days, while the two el­ders came up to her dai­ly and, lay­ing their hands on her head, said, “Praised be Al­lah who hath sent down on thee His righ­teous in­dig­na­tion!” Now on the fourth day, when they bore her away to stone her, they were fol­lowed by a lad named Daniel, who was then on­ly twelve years old, and this was to be the first of his mir­acles (up­on our Prophet and up­on him the bless­ing and peace!). And he ceased not fol­low­ing them to the place of ex­ecu­tion, till he came up with them and said to them, “Has­ten not to stone her, till I judge be­tween them.” So they set him a chair and he sat down and sum­moned the old men sep­arate­ly. (Now he was the first ev­er sep­arat­ed wit­ness­es.) Then said he to the first, “What sawest thou?”[FN#139] So he re­peat­ed to him his sto­ry, and Daniel asked, “In what part of the gar­den did this be­fal?” and he an­swered, “On the east­ern side, un­der a pear-​tree.” Then he called the oth­er old man and asked him the same ques­tion, and he replied, “On the west­ern side of the gar­den, un­der an ap­ple-​tree.” Mean­while the damsel stood by, with her hands and eyes raised heav­en­wards, im­plor­ing the Lord for de­liv­er­ance. Then Al­lah Almighty sent down His blast­ing lev­en-​fire up­on the el­ders and con­sumed them, and on this wise the Lord made man­ifest the in­no­cence of the damsel. Such was the first of the mir­acles of the Prophet Daniel, on whom be bless­ing and peace! And they re­late a tale of

JA’AFAR THE BARME­CIDE AND THE OLD BADAWL

The Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Harun al-​Rashid, went out one day, with Abu Ya’Kúb the cup-​com­pan­ion[FN#140] and Ja’afar the Barme­cide and Abu Nowas, in­to the desert, where they fell in with an old man, propt against his ass. The Caliph bade Ja’afar learn of him whence he came; so he asked him, “Whence comest thou?” and he an­swered, “From Bas­so­rah.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Nine­ty-​fifth Night,

She said, it hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Ja’afar asked the man, “Whence comest thou?”; he an­swered “From Bas­so­rah.” Quoth Ja’afar, “And whith­er goest thou?” Quoth the oth­er, “To Bagh­dad.” Then Ja’afar en­quired “And what wilt thou do there?” and the old man replied, “I go to seek medicine for my eye.” Said the Caliph, “O Ja’afar, make thou sport with him,” and an­swered Ja’afar, “I shall hear what I shall ex­ceed­ing­ly mis­like.”[FN#141] But Al-​Rashid re­joined, “I charge thee on my au­thor­ity, jest with him.” There­upon Ja’afar said to the Badawi, “If I pre­scribe thee a medicine that shall prof­it thee, what wilt thou give me in re­turn?” Quoth the oth­er, “Al­lah Almighty will re­quite the kind­ness with what is bet­ter for thee than any re­quital of mine.” Con­tin­ued Ja’afar, “Now lend me an ear and I will give thee a pre­scrip­tion, which I have giv­en to none but thee.” “What is that?” asked the Badawi; and Ja’afar an­swered, “Take three ounces of wind-​breaths and the like of sun­beams and the same of moon­shine and as much of lamp-​light; mix them well to­geth­er and let them lie in the wind three months. Then place them three months in a mor­tar with­out a bot­tom and pound them to a fine pow­der and af­ter trit­ura­tion set them in a cleft plat­ter, and let it stand in the wind oth­er three months; af­ter which use of this medicine three drachms ev­ery night in thy sleep, and, In­shal­lah! thou shalt be healed and whole.” Now when the Badawi heard this, he stretched him­self out to full length on the don­key’s back and let fly a ter­ri­ble loud fart[FN#142] and said to Ja’afar, “Take this fart in pay­ment of thy pre­scrip­tion. When I have fol­lowed it, if Al­lah grant me re­cov­ery, I will give thee a slave-​girl, who shall serve thee in they life­time a ser­vice, where­with Al­lah shall cut short thy term; and when thou di­est and the Lord hur­ri­eth thy soul to hell-​fire, she shall black­en thy face with her skite, of her mourn­ing for thee, and shall keen and beat her face, say­ing ‘O frosty-​beard, what a fool thou wast?’”[FN#143] there­upon Harun al-​Rashid laughed till he fell back­ward, and or­dered the Badawi three thou­sand sil­ver pieces. And a tale is told of

THE CALIPH OMAR BIN AL-​KHAT­TAB AND THE YOUNG BADAWI

The Sharif Husayn bin Rayyán re­lateth that the Caliph Omar bin Al-​Khat­táb was sit­ting one day judg­ing the folk and do­ing jus­tice be­tween his sub­jects, at­tend­ed by the best and wis­est of his coun­sel­lors, when there came up to him a youth come­ly and clean­ly at­tired, up­on whom two very hand­some youths had laid hold and were hal­ing by the col­lar till they set him in the pres­ence. Where­upon the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Omar, looked at him and them and bade them loose him; then, call­ing him near to him­self, asked the twain, “What is your case with him?” They an­swered, “O Prince of True Be­liev­ers, we are two broth­ers by one moth­er and as fol­low­ers of ver­ity known are we. We had a fa­ther, a very old man of good coun­sel, hon­oured by the tribes, sound of base­ness renowned for good­li­ness, who reared us ten­der­ly in child­hood, and load­ed us with favours in man­hood;”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Nine­ty-​sixth Night

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the two youths said to the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Omar son of Al- Khat­tab, “Our fa­ther was a man hon­oured by the tribes, sound of base­ness and renowned for good­li­ness, who reared us del­icate­ly in child­hood and load­ed us with favours in man­hood; in fine, a sea of no­ble and il­lus­tri­ous qual­ities, wor­thy of the po­et’s praise,

‘Is Aub’s-​Sakr of Shay­bán[FN#144]?’ they asked; * Quoth I, ‘Nay, by my life, of him’s Shay­bán: How many a sire rose high by a no­ble son, * As Al­lah’s prophet glo­ri­fied Ad­nan!’[FN#145]

Now he went forth this day to his gar­den, to re­fresh him­self amongst its trees and pluck the ripe fruits, when this young man slew him wron­gous­ly and swerved from the road of righ­teous­ness; where­fore we de­mand of thee the ret­ri­bu­tion of his crime and call up­on thee to pass judge­ment up­on him, ac­cord­ing to the com­mand­ment of Al­lah.” Then Omar cast a ter­ri­ble look at the ac­cused youth and said to him, “Ver­ily thou hear­est the com­plaint these two young men pre­fer; what hast thou in re­ply to aver?” But he was brave of heart and bold of speech, hav­ing doffed the robe of pusil­la­nim­ity and put off the garb of cow­ardry; so he smiled and spake in the most elo­quent and el­egant words; and, af­ter pay­ing the usu­al cer­emo­ni­al com­pli­ments to the Caliph, said, “”By Al­lah, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, I have in­deed giv­en ear to their com­plaint, and they have told the truth in that which they tell, so far as they have set out what be­fel; and the com­mand­ment of Al­lah is a de­creed de­cree.[FN#146] but I will forthright state my case be­tween they hands, and it is for thee to give com­mands. Know then, O Prince of the Faith­ful, that I am a very Arab of the Ara­bies,[FN#147] the no­blest of those that are be­neath the skies. I grew up in the dwellings of the wold and fell, till evil times my tribe be­fel, when I came to the out­skirts of this town, with my fam­ily and what­so goods I own: and, as I went along one of the paths lead­ing to its gar­dens, or­chards and garths, with my she-​camels high­ly es­teemed and by me most pre­cious deemed, and midst them a stal­lion of no­ble blood and shape right good, a plen­teous get­ter of brood, by whom the fe­males abun­dant­ly bore and who walked among them as though a king­ly crown he wore, one of the she-​camels broke away; and, run­ning to the gar­den of these young men’s fa­ther, where the trees showed above the wall, put forth her lips and be­gan to feed as in stall. I ran to her, to drive her away, when be­hold, there ap­peared, at a breach of the wall, an old man and grey, whose eyes sparkled with an­gry ray, hold­ing in his right a stone to throw and sway­ing to and fro, with a swing like a li­on ready for a spring. He cast the stone at my stal­lion, and it killed him for it struck a vi­tal part. When I saw the stal­lion drop dead be­side me, I felt live coals of anger kin­dled in my heart; so I took up the very same stone and throw­ing it at the old man, it was the cause of his bane and ban: thus his own wrong­ful act re­turned to him anew, and the man was slain of that where­with he slew. When the stone struck him, he cried out with a great cry and shrieked out a ter­ri­ble shriek, where­upon I has­tened from the spot; but these two young men hur­ried af­ter me and laid hands on me and be­fore thee car­ried me.” Quoth Omar (Almighty Al­lah ac­cept of him!), “Thou hast con­fessed what thou com­mit­tedest, and of ac­quit­tal there is no pos­si­ble oc­ca­sion; for ur­gent is the law of re­tal­ia­tion and they cried for mer­cy but it was not a time to es­cape.”[FN#148] the youth an­swered, “I hear and obey the judge­ment of the Imam, and I con­sent to all re­quired by the law of Al-​Is­lam; but I have a young broth­er, whose old fa­ther, be­fore his de­cease, ap­point­ed to him wealth in great store and gold ga­lore, and com­mit­ted his af­fair to me be­fore Al­lah, say­ing: ‘I give this in­to thy hand for thy broth­er; keep it for him with all thy might.’ So I took the mon­ey and buried it; nor doth any know of it but I. Now, if thou ad­judge me to be jus­ticed forthright, the mon­ey will lost and thou shalt be the cause of its loss; where­fore the child will sue thee for his due on the day when the Cre­ator shall judge be­tween His crea­tures. But, if thou wilt grant me three days’ de­lay, I will ap­point some guardian to ad­min­is­ter the af­fairs of the boy and re­turn to an­swer my debt; and I have one who will be my sure­ty for the ful­fill­ment of this my promise.” So the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful bowed his head awhile, then raised it and look­ing round up­on those present, said, “Who will stand sure­ty by me for his re­turn to this place?” And the youth looked at the faces of those who were in com­pa­ny and point­ing to Abu Zarr,[FN#149] in pref­er­ence to all present, said, “This man shall an­swer for me and be my bail.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Nine­ty-​sev­enth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the youth point­ed to Abu Zarr and said, “This man shall an­swer for me and be my bail,” Omar (Al­lah ac­cept of him!) said, O Abu Zarr, dost thou hear these words and wilt thou be sure­ty to me for the re­turn of this youth?” He an­swered, “Yes, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, I will be sure­ty for him for three days.” So the Caliph ac­cept­ed his guar­an­tee and let the young man go. Now when the ap­point­ed time passed and the days of grace were near­ly or quite at end yet the youth came not, the Caliph took seat in his coun­cil, with the Com­pan­ions sur­round­ing him, like the con­stel­la­tions about the moon, Abu Zarr and the plain­tiffs be­ing al­so present; and the avengers said, “Where is the de­fen­dant, O Abu Zarr, and how shall he re­turn, hav­ing once fled? But we will not stir from our places till thou bring him to us, that we may take of him our blood re­venge.” Replied Abu Zarr, “By the truth of the All-​Wise King, if the three days of grace ex­pire and the young man re­tur­neth not, I will ful­fill my war­ran­ty and sur­ren­der my per­son to the Imam;” and added Omar (whom Al­lah ac­cept!), “By the Lord, if the young man ap­pear not, I will as­sured­ly ex­ecute on Abu Zarr that which is pre­scribed by the law of Al-​Is­lam!”[FN#150] there­upon the eyes of the by­standers ran over with tears; those who looked on groaned aloud and great was the clam­our. Then the chiefs of the Com­pan­ions urged the plain­tiffs to ac­cept the blood-​wit and de­serve the thanks of the folk; but they both re­fused and would ac­cept noth­ing save the tal­ion. How­ev­er, as the folk were sway­ing to and fro like waves and loud­ly be­moan­ing Abu Zarr, be­hold, up came the young Badawi; and, stand­ing be­fore the Imam, salut­ed him right cour­te­ous­ly (with sweat-​bead­ed face and shin­ing with the cres­cent’s grace) and said to him, “I have giv­en the lad in charge to his moth­er’s broth­ers and have made them ac­quaint­ed with all that per­taineth to his af­fairs and let them in­to the se­crets of his monies; af­ter which I braved the heats of noon and have kept my word as a free- born man.” There­upon the folk mar­velled, see­ing his good faith and loy­al­ty and his of­fer­ing him­self to death with so stout a heart; and one said to him, “How no­ble a youth art thou and how loy­al to thy word of hon­our and thy de­voir!” Re­joined he, “Are ye not con­vinced that when death pre­sen­teth it­self, none can es­cape from it? And in­deed, I have kept my word, that it be not said, ‘Good faith is gone from among mankind.’ ” Said Abu Zarr, “By Al­lah, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, I be­came war­rant for this young man, with­out know­ing to what tribe he be­longed, nor had I seen him be­fore that day; but, when he turned away from all who were present and sin­gled me out, say­ing, ‘This man shall an­swer for me and be my bail,’ I thought it not right to refuse him, and gen­eros­ity for­bade to dis­ap­point his de­sire, there be­ing no harm in com­pli­ance there­with, that it be not bruit­ed abroad, Benev­olence is gone from among mankind.” Then said the two young men, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, we for­give this youth our fa­ther’s blood, see­ing that he hath changed des­ola­tion in­to cheer­ful­ness; that it be not said, Hu­man­ity is gone from among mankind.” So the Caliph re­joiced in the ac­quit­tance of the youth and his truth and good faith; more­over, he mag­ni­fied the gen­eros­ity of Abu Zarr, ex­tolling it over all his com­pan­ions, and ap­proved the re­solve of the two young men for its benev­olence, giv­ing them praise with thanks and ap­ply­ing to their case the say­ing of the po­et,

“Who doth kind­ness to men shall be paid again; * Ne’er is kind­ness lost be­twixt God and men.”

Then he of­fered to pay them, from the Trea­sury, the blood-​wit for their fa­ther; but they re­fused, say­ing, “We for­gave him on­ly of our de­sire un­to Al­lah,[FN#151] the Boun­ti­ful, the Ex­alt­ed; and he who is thus in­ten­tioned fol­loweth not his ben­efits with re­proach or with mis­chief.”[FN#152] and amongst the tales they re­late is that of

THE CALIPH AL-​MAA­MUN AND THE PYRA­MIDS[FN#153] OF EGYPT

It is told that the Caliph Al-​Maa­mun, son of Harun al-​Rashid, when he en­tered the God-​guard­ed city of Cairo, was mind­ed to pull down the Pyra­mids, that he might take what was there­in; but, when he went about to do this, he could not suc­ceed, al­beit his best was done. He ex­pend­ed a mint of mon­ey in the at­tempt,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred Nine­ty-​eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Al-​Maa­mun at­tempt­ing to pull down the Pyra­mids, ex­pend­ed his mint of mon­ey, but suc­ceed­ed on­ly in open­ing up a small tun­nel in one of them, where in it is said he found trea­sure to the ex­act amount of the monies he had spent in the works, nei­ther more nor less; where­at he mar­velled and tak­ing what he found there, de­sist­ed from his de­ter­mi­na­tion. Now the Pyra­mids are three, and they are one of the Won­ders of the World; nor is there on the face of earth aught like them for height and fash­ion and mys­ter­ies[FN#154]; for they are built of huge rocks, and the builders pro­ceed­ed by pierc­ing one block of stone and set­ting there­in up­right rods of iron[FN#155]; af­ter which they pierced a sec­ond block of stone and low­ered it up­on the first. Then they poured melt­ed lead up­on the clamps and set the blocks in ge­omet­ri­cal or­der, till the build­ing was com­plete. Now the height of each pyra­mid was an hun­dred cu­bits, of the nor­mal mea­sure of the day, and it had four faces, each three hun­dred cu­bits long from the base and thence bat­ter­ing up­wards to a point. The an­cients say that, in the west­ern Pyra­mid, are thir­ty cham­bers of par­ti-​coloured syen­ite, full of pre­cious gems and trea­sures ga­lore and rare im­ages and uten­sils and cost­ly weapons which are anoint­ed with egro­man­tic unguents, so that they may not rust un­til the day of Res­ur­rec­tion.[FN#156] There­in, al­so, are ves­sels of glass which bend and break not, con­tain­ing var­ious kinds of com­pound drugs and sym­pa­thet­ic wa­ters. In the sec­ond Pyra­mid are the records of the priests, writ­ten on tablets of syen­ite, to each priest his tablet, where­on are en­graved the won­ders of his craft and his feats; and on the walls are the hu­man fig­ures like idols, work­ing with their hands at all man­ner of mech­anism and seat­ed on stepped thrones. More­over, to each Pyra­mid there is a guardian trea­sur­er who keep­eth watch over it and wardeth it, to all eter­ni­ty, against the rav­ages of time and the shifts of events; and in­deed the mar­vels of these Pyra­mids as­tound all who have sight and in­sight. Many are the po­ems that de­scribe them, thou shalt there­by prof­it no small mat­ter, and among the rest, quoth one of them,

“If Kings would see their high em­prize pre­served, * ‘Twill be by tongues of mon­uments they laid: Seest not the Pyra­mids? These two en­dure * De­spite what change Time and Change have made.”

And quoth an­oth­er,

“Look on the Pyra­mids, and hear the twain * Re­count their an­nals of the long-​gone Past: Could they but speak, high mar­vels had they told * Of what Time did to man from first to last.”

And quoth a third,

“My friend I prithee tell me, ‘neath the sky * Is aught with Egypt’s Pyra­mids can com­pare? Build­ings which fright­en Time, albe what dwells * On back of earth in fear of Time must fare: If on their mar­vels rest my sight no more, * Yet these I ev­er shall in mem­ory bear.”

And quoth a fourth,

“Where is the man who built the Pyra­mids? * What was his tribe, what day and where his tomb? The mon­uments sur­vive the men who built * Awhile, till over­thrown by touch of Doom.”

And men al­so tell a tale of

THE THIEF AND THE MER­CHANT

There was once a thief who re­pent­ed to Almighty Al­lah with sin­cere pen­itence; so he opened him­self a shop for the sale of stuffs, where he con­tin­ued to trade awhile. It so chanced one day that he locked his shop and went home, and in the night there came to the bazar an art­ful thief dis­guised in the habit of the mer­chant, and pulling out keys from his sleeve, said to the watch­man of the mar­ket, “Light me this wax-​can­dle.” The watch­man took the ta­per and went to light it,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Three Hun­dred and Nine­ty-​ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the watch­man took the ta­per and went to light it, whilst the thief opened the shop and lit an­oth­er can­dle he had by him. When the watch­man came back, he found him seat­ed in the shop, ac­count- books in­hand, and reck­on­ing with his fin­gers; nor did he cease to do thus till point of day, when he said to the man, “Fetch me a camel-​driv­er and his camel, to car­ry some goods for me.” So the man fetched him a camel, and the thief took four bales[FN#157] of stuffs and gave them to the cameleer, who load­ed them on his beast. Then he gave the watch­man two dirhams and went away af­ter the camel-​driv­er, leav­ing the watch­man be­liev­ing him to be the own­er of the shop. Now when the morn­ing dawned and day broke the mer­chant came and the watch­man be­gan greet­ing him with bless­ings, be­cause of the two dirhams; but the shop-​keep­er won­dered at his words as one not know­ing what he meant. When he opened his shop, he saw the drop­pings of the wax and the ac­count-​book ly­ing on the floor, and look­ing round, found four bales of stuffs miss­ing. So he asked the watch­man what had hap­pened and he told him what has passed in the night and what had been said to the cameleer, where­upon the mer­chant bade him fetch the man and asked him, “Whith­er didst thou car­ry the stuffs this morn­ing?” An­swered the driv­er, “To such a land­ing-​place, and I stowed them on board such a ves­sel.” Said the mer­chant, “Come with me thith­er;” so the camel-​driv­er car­ried him to the land­ing-​place and said to him, “This be the bar­que and this be her own­er.” Quoth the mer­chant to the sea­man, “Whith­er didst thou car­ry the mer­chant and the stuff?” An­swered the boat-​mas­ter, “To such a place, where he fetched a camel-​driv­er and, set­ting the bales on the camel, went his ways I know not whith­er.” “Fetch me the cameleer who car­ried the goods,” said the mer­chant; so he fetched him and the mer­chant said to him, “Whith­er didst thou car­ry the bales of goods from the ship?” “To such a Khan,” an­swered he; and the mer­chant re­joined, “Come thith­er with me and show it to me.” So the camel-​man went with him to a place far dis­tant from the shore and showed him the Khan where he had set down the stuffs, and at the same time the false mer­chant’s mag­azine, which he opened and found there­in his four bales bound up as they had been packed. The thief had laid his cloak over them; so the mer­chant took the cloak as well as the bales and de­liv­ered them to the camel- driv­er, who laid them on his camel; af­ter which he locked the mag­azine and went away with the cameleer. On the way, he was con­front­ed with the thief who fol­lowed him, till he had shipped the bales, when he said to him, “O my broth­er (Al­lah have thee in His holy keep­ing!), thou hast in­deed re­cov­ered thy goods and naught of them is lost; so give me back my cloak.” The mer­chant laughed and, giv­ing him back his cloak, let him go un­hin­dered; where­upon both went their ways. And they tell a tale of

MAS­RUR THE EU­NUCH AND IBN AL-​KARIBI

The Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Harun al-​Rashid, was ex­ceed­ing­ly rest­less one night; so he said to his Wazir Ja’afar, “I am sleep­less to-​night and my breast is strait­ened and I know not what to do.” Now his cas­tra­to Mas­rúr was stand­ing be­fore him, and he laughed: where­upon the Caliph said “At whom laugh­est thou? Is it to make mock of me or hath mad­ness seized thee?” An­swered Mas­rur, “Nay, by Al­lah, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful,”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dredth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Harun al- Rashid said to Mas­rur the Sworder, “Dost thou laugh to make mock of me or hath mad­ness seized thee?” An­swered Mas­rur, “Nay, by Al­lah, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, I swear by thy kin­ship to the Prince of Apos­tles, I did it not of my free will; but I went out yes­ter­day to walk with­in sight of the palace and, com­ing to the bank of the Tigris, saw there the folk col­lect­ed; so I stopped and found a man, Ibn al-​Káribí hight, who was mak­ing them laugh; but just now I re­called what he said, and laugh­ter got the bet­ter of me; and I crave par­don of thee, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful!” Quoth the Caliph, “Bring him to me forthright;” so Mas­rur re­paired in all haste to Ibn al-​Karibi and said to him, “An­swer the sum­mons of the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful,” where­to he replied, “I hear and obey.” “But on con­di­tion,” added Mas­rur, “that, if he give thee aught, thou shalt have a quar­ter and the rest shall be mine.” Replied the droll, “Nay, thou shalt have half and I half.” Re­joined Mas­rur, “Not so, I will have three- quar­ters.” Last­ly said Ibn al-​Karibi, “Thou shalt have two- thirds and I the oth­er third;” to which Mas­rur agreed, af­ter much hig­gling and hag­gling, and they re­turned to the palace to­geth­er. Now when Ibn al-​Karibi came in­to the Caliph’s pres­ence he salut­ed him as men greet the Caliphate, and stood be­fore him; where­upon said Al-​Rashid to him, “If thou do not make me laugh, I will give thee three blows with this bag.” Quoth Ibn al-​Karibi in his mind, “And a small mat­ter were blows with that bag, see­ing that beat­ing with whips hurteth me not;” for he thought the bag was emp­ty. Then he be­gan to deal out his drol­leries, such as would make the dis­mall­est jem­my guf­faw, and gave vent to all man­ner of buf­fooner­ies; but the Caliph laughed not nei­ther smiled, where­at Ibn al-​Karibi mar­velled and was cha­grined and af­fright­ed. Then said the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, “Now hast thou earned the beat­ing,” and gave him a blow with the bag, where­in were four peb­bles each two ro­tols in weight. The blow fell on his neck and he gave a great cry, then call­ing to mind his com­pact with Mas­rur, said, “Par­don, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful! Hear two words from me.” Quoth the Caliph, “Say on,” and quoth Ibn al- Karibi, “Mas­rur made it a con­di­tion with me and I a covenant with him, that what­so­ev­er largesse might come to me of the boun­ties of the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, one-​third there­of should be mine and the rest his; nor did he agree to leave me so much as one- third, save af­ter much hig­gling and hag­gling. I have had my share and here standeth he, ready to re­ceive his por­tion; so pay him the two oth­er blows.” Now when the Caliph heard this, he laughed un­til he fell on his back; then call­ing Mas­rur, he gave him a blow, where­at he cried out and said, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, the one-​third suf­ficeth me: give him the two-​thirds.”– And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and First Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Mas­rur cried out, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful! The one-​third suf­ficeth me; give him the two-​thirds.” So the Caliph laughed at them and or­dered them a thou­sand di­nars each, and they went away, re­joic­ing at the largesse. And of the tales they tell is one of

THE DEVO­TEE PRINCE

The Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Harun al-​Rashid, had a son who, from the time he at­tained the age of six­teen, re­nounced the world and walked in the way[FN#158] of as­cetics and devo­tees. He was wont to go out to the grave­yards and say, “Ye once ruled the world, but that saved you not from death, and now are ye come to your sepul­chres! Would Heav­en I knew what ye said and what is said to you!”[FN#159] and he wept as one weep­eth who is trou­bled with fear and ap­pre­hen­sion, and re­peat­ed the worlds of the po­et,

“Af­fright me fu­ner­als at ev­ery time; * And wail­ing wom­en grieve me to the soul!”

Now it chanced one day, as he sat among the tombs, ac­cord­ing to his cus­tom, his fa­ther passed by in all his state, sur­round­ed by his Wazirs and Lords of the realm and the Of­fi­cers of his house­hold, who see­ing the Caliph’s son with a gown of woollen stuff on his body and a twist of wool on his head by way of tur­band, said to one an­oth­er, “Ver­ily this youth dis­hon­oureth the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful among Kings: but, if he re­proved him, he would leave his present way of life.” The Caliph heard these words; so quoth he to his son, “O my dear child, of a truth thou dis­gracest me by thy present way of life.” The young man looked at him and made no re­ply: then he beck­oned to a bird perched on the bat­tle­ments of the palace, and said to it, “O thou bird, I con­jure thee by Him who cre­at­ed thee, alight up­on my hand.” Where­upon straight­way it swooped down and perched on his fin­ger. Then quoth he, “Re­turn to thy place;” and it did so. Present­ly he said, “Alight on the hand of the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful;” but it re­fused there to perch, and he cried to his fa­ther, “It is thou that dis­gracest me amongst the Holy[FN#160] Ones, by the love of the world; and now I am re­solved to part from thee, nev­er to re­turn to thee, save in the world to come.” Then he went down to Bas­so­rah, where he took to work­ing with those which wrought in clay,[FN#161] re­ceiv­ing, as his day’s hire, but a dirham and a danik;[FN#162] and with the danik he fed him­self and gave alms of the dirham. (Quoth Abú Amir of Bas­so­rah) “There fell down a wall in my house; so I went forth to the sta­tion of the ar­ti­sans to find a man who should re­pair it for me, and my eyes fell on a hand­some youth of a ra­di­ant coun­te­nance. So I salut­ed him and asked him, ‘O my friend, dost thou seek work?’ ‘Yes,’ an­swered he; and I said, ‘Come with me and build a wall.’ He replied, ‘On cer­tain con­di­tions I will make with thee.’ Quoth I ‘What are they, O my friend?’; and quoth he, ‘My wage must be a dirham and a danik, and again when the Mu’ezzin cal­leth to prayer, thou shalt let me go pray with the con­gre­ga­tion.’ ‘It is well,’ an­swered I and car­ried him to my lace, where he fell to work, such work as I nev­er saw the like of. Pre­sent­ed I named to him the morn­ing-​meal; but he said, ‘No;’ and I knew that he was fast­ing.[FN#163] When he heard the call to prayer, he said to me, ‘Thou know­est the con­di­tion?’ ‘Yes,’ an­swered i. So he loosed his gir­dle and, ap­ply­ing him­self to the less­er ablu­tion, made it af­ter a fash­ion than which I nev­er saw a fair­er;[FN#164] then he went to the mosque and prayed with the con­gre­ga­tion and re­turned to his work. He did the same up­on the call to mid- af­ter­noon prayer, and when I saw him fall to work again there­after­ward, I said to him, ‘O my friend, ver­ily the hours of labour are over; a work­man’s day is but till the time of af­ter­noon-​prayer.’ But he replied, ‘Praise to the Lord, my ser­vice is till the night.’ And he ceased not to work till night­fall, when I gave him two dirhams; where­upon he asked ‘What is this!’; and I an­swered, ‘By Al­lah, this is but part of thy wage, be­cause of thy dili­gence in my ser­vice.’ But he threw them back to me say­ing, ‘I will have no more than was agreed up­on be­tween us twain.’ I urged him to take them, but could not pre­vail up­on him; so I gave him the dirham and the danik, and he went away. And when morn­ing dawned, I went to the sta­tion but found him not; so I en­quired for him and was told, ‘He cometh thith­er on­ly on Sab­baths.’ Ac­cord­ing­ly, when Sat­ur­day came, I be­took me to the mar­ket and find­ing him there, said to him, ‘Bis­mil­lah, do me the favour to come and work for me.’ Said he, ‘Up­on the con­di­tions thou wottest;’ and I an­swered ‘Yes!’ Then car­ry­ing him to my house I stood to watch him where he could not see me; and he took a hand­ful of pud­dled clay and laid it on the wall, when, be­hold, the stones ranged them­selves one up­on oth­er; and I said, ‘On this wise are Al­lah’s holy ones.’ he worked out his day and did even more than be­fore; and when it was night, I gave him his hire, and he took it and walked away. Now when the third Sat­ur­day came round, I went to the place of stand­ing, but found him not; so I asked af­ter him and they told me, ‘He is sick and ly­ing in the shan­ty of such a wom­an.’ Now this was an old wife, renowned for piety, who had a hov­el of reeds in the buri­al- ground. So I fared thith­er and found him stretched on the floor which was bare, with a brick for a pil­low and his face beam­ing like the new moon with light. I salut­ed him and he re­turned my salam; and I sat down at his head weep­ing over his fair young years and ab­sence from home and sub­mis­sion to the will of his Lord. Then said I to him, ‘Hast thou any need?’ ‘Yes,’ an­swered he; and I said, ‘What is it?’ He replied, ‘Come hith­er to-​mor­row in the forenoon and thou wilt find me dead. Wash me and dig my grave and tell none there­of: but shroud me in this my gown, af­ter thou hast un­sewn it and tak­en out what thou shalt find in the bo­som-​pock­et, which keep with thee. Then, when thou hast prayed over me and laid me in the dust, go to Bagh­dad and watch for the Caliph Harun al-​Rashid, till he come forth, when do thou give him what thou shalt find in the breast of my gown and bear him my salu­ta­tion.’ Then he ejac­ulat­ed the pro­fes­sion of the Faith and glo­ri­fied his God in the most elo­quent of words, recit­ing these cou­plets,

‘Car­ry the trust of him whom death awaits * To Al-​Rashid and God re­ward thy care! And say ‘An ex­ile who de­sired thy sight * Long lov­ing, from afar sends greet­ing fair. Nor hate nor irk (No!) him from thee with­drew, * Kiss­ing thy right to Heav­en brought him near.[FN#165] But what es­tranged his soul, O sire, from thee * Is that thy world­ly joys it would not share!’

Then he be­took him­self to prayer, ask­ing par­don of Al­lah’–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Sec­ond Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the youth then be­took him­self to ask­ing par­don of Al­lah and to in­vok­ing prayer and praise up­on the Apos­tle and the Lord of the Just and re­peat­ing vers­es of the Ko­ran; af­ter which he re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“O sire, be not de­ceived by world­ly joys; * For life must pass, and joy must learn to mourn; When thou art told of folk in evil plight, * Think thou must an­swer for all hearts for­lorn; And when thou bear thy dead to­wards the tombs, * Know thou wilt like­wise on that way be bourne.”

Con­tin­ued Abu the Bas­ri, “Now when the youth had end­ed his charge and his vers­es I left him and went home. On the mor­row, I re­turned, at the ap­point­ed hour, and found him in­deed dead, the mer­cy of Al­lah be up­on him! So I washed him and, un­sewing his gown, found in the bo­som a ru­by worth thou­sands of gold pieces and said to my­self, ‘By Al­lah, this youth was in­deed weaned from world­ly things!’ Af­ter I had buried him, I made my way to Bagh­dad and, go­ing to the Caliph’s palace, wait­ed till he came forth, when I ad­dressed him in one of the streets and gave him the ru­by, which when he saw, he knew and fell down in a faint­ing- fit. His at­ten­dants laid hands on me, but he re­vived and said to them, ‘Re­lease him and bring him cour­te­ous­ly to the palace.’ They did his bid­ding, and when he re­turned, he sent for me and car­ry­ing me in­to his cham­ber said to me, ‘How doth the own­er of this ru­by?’ Quoth I, ‘Ver­ily, he is dead;’ and told him what had passed; where­upon he fell a-​weep­ing and said, ‘The son hath gained; but the sire hath lost.’ Then he called out, say­ing, ‘Ho, such an one!’; and be­hold there came out to him a la­dy who, when she saw me, would have with­drawn; but he cried to her, ‘Come, and mind him not.’ So she en­tered and salut­ed, and he threw her the ru­by, which when she saw and she knew, she shrieked a great shriek and fell down in a swoon. As soon as she came to her­self, she said, ‘O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, what hath Al­lah done with my son?’; and he said to me, ‘Do thou tell her his case’ (as he could not speak for weep­ing). Ac­cord­ing­ly, I re­peat­ed the sto­ry to her, and she be­gan to shed tears and say in a faint and wail­ing voice, ‘How I have longed for thy sight, O so­lace of mine eyes![FN#166] Would I might have giv­en thee to drink, when thou hadst none to slake thy thirst! Would I might have cheered thee, whenas thou found­est nev­er a cheer­er!’ And she poured forth tears and re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

‘I weep for one whose lot a lone­ly death be­fel; * With­out a friend to whom he might com­plain and moan: And af­ter glo­ry and glad union with his friends, * He woke to des­ola­tion, friend­less, lorn and lone; What For­tune hides a while she soon to all men shall show; * Death nev­er spared a man; no, not a sin­gle one: O ab­sent one, my Lord de­creed thee stranger­hood, * Far from thy near­est friends and to long ex­ile gone: Though Death for­bid my hope of meet­ing here again, * On Doom-​day’s mor­row we shall meet again, my son![FN#167]

Quoth I, ‘O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, was he in­deed thy son?’ Quoth he, ‘Yes, and in­deed, be­fore I suc­ceed­ed to this of­fice, he was wont to vis­it the learned and com­pa­ny with the de­vout; but, when I be­came Caliph, he grew es­tranged from me and with­drew him­self apart.[FN#168] Then said I to his moth­er, ‘Ver­ily this thy son hath cut the world and de­vot­ed his life to Almighty Al­lah, and it may be that hard times shall be­fal him and he be smit­ten with tri­al of evil chance; where­fore do thou giv­en him this ru­by, which he may find use­ful in hour of need.’ So she gave it him, con­jur­ing him to take it, and he obeyed her bid­ding. Then he left to us the things of our world and re­moved him­self from us; nor did he cease to be ab­sent from us, till he went to the pres­ence of Al­lah (to whom be Hon­our and Glo­ry!), pi­ous and pure.’ Then said he, ‘Come, show me his grave.’ So, I trav­elled with him to Bas­so­rah and showed him his son’s grave; and when he saw it, he wept and lament­ed, till he fell down in a swoon; af­ter which he re­cov­ered and asked par­don of the Lord, say­ing, ‘We are Al­lah’s and un­to Him we are re­turn­ing!’; and in­volved bless­ings on the dead. Then he asked me to be­come his com­pan­ion, but I said to him, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, ver­ily, in thy son’s case is for me the most mo­men­tous of ad­mo­ni­tions!’ And I re­cit­ed these cou­plets,

“‘Tis I am the stranger, vis­it­ed by none; * I am the stranger though in town my own: ‘Tis I am the stranger! Lack­ing kith and son, * And friend to whom I mote for aid­ance run. I house in mosques which are my on­ly home; * My heart there wones and shall for ev­er wone: Then laud ye Al­lah, Lord of Worlds, as long * As soul and body dwell in union!’”

And a fa­mous tale is told of

THE UN­WISE SCHOOL­MAS­TER WHO FELL IN LOVE BY RE­PORT

Quoth one of the learned, “I passed once by a school, where­in a school­mas­ter was teach­ing chil­dren; so I en­tered, find­ing him a good-​look­ing man and a well-​dressed; when he rose to me and made me sit with him. Then I ex­am­ined him in the Ko­ran and in syn­tax and prosody and lex­icog­ra­phy; and be­hold, he was per­fect in all re­quired of him, so I said to him, ‘Al­lah strength­en thy pur­pose! Thou art in­deed versed in all that is req­ui­site,’ there­after I fre­quent­ed him a while, dis­cov­er­ing dai­ly some new ex­cel­lence in him, and quoth I to my­self, ‘This is in­deed a won­der in any do­minie; for the wise are agreed up­on a lack of wit in chil­dren’s teach­ers.’ Then I sep­arat­ed my­self from him and sought him and vis­it­ed him on­ly ev­ery few days, till com­ing to see him one day as of wont, I found the school shut and made en­quiry of his neigh­bors, who replied, ‘Some one is dead in his house.’ So I said in my mind, ‘It be­hoveth me to pay him a vis­it of con­do­lence,’ and go­ing to his house, knocked at the door, when a slave-​girl came out to me and asked, ‘What dost thou want?’ and I an­swered, ‘I want thy mas­ter.’ She replied, ‘He is sit­ting alone, mourn­ing;’ and I re­joined, ‘Tell him that his friend so and so seeketh to con­sole him.’ She went in and told him; and he said, ‘Ad­mit him.’ So she brought me in to him, and I found him seat­ed alone and his head bound with mourn­ing fil­lets. So I said to him, ‘Al­lah re­quite thee am­ply! this is a path all must per­force tread, and it be­hoveth thee to take pa­tience;’ adding, ‘But who is dead un­to thee?’ He an­swered, ‘One who was dear­est of the folk to me, and best beloved.’ ‘Per­haps thy fa­ther?’ ‘No!’ ‘Thy broth­er?’ “No!’ “One of thy kin­dred?’ ‘No!’ Then asked I, ‘What re­la­tion was the dead to thee?’; and he an­swered, ‘My lover.’ Quoth I to my­self, ‘This is the first proof to swear by his lack of wit.’ So I said to him, ‘As­sured­ly there be oth­ers than she and fair­er;’ and he made an­swer, ‘I nev­er saw her, that I might judge whether or no there be oth­ers fair­er than she.’ Quoth I to my­self, ‘This is an­oth­er proof pos­itive.’ Then I said to him, ‘And how couldst thou fall in love with one thou hast nev­er seen?’ He replied ‘Know that I was sit­ting one day at the win­dow, when lo! there passed by a man, singing the fol­low­ing dis­tich,

‘Umm Amr’,[FN#169] thy boons Al­lah re­pay! * Give back my heart be’t where it may!’”

And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the school­mas­ter con­tin­ued, ” ‘When I heard the man hum­ming these words as he passed along the street, I said to my­self ‘Ex­cept this Umm Am­ru were with­out equal in the world, the po­ets had not cel­ebrat­ed her in ode and can­zon.’ So I fell in love with her; but, two days af­ter, the same man passed, singing the fol­low­ing cou­plet,

‘Ass and Umm Amr’ went their way; * Nor she, nor ass re­turned for aye.’

There­upon I knew she was dead and mourned for her. This was three days ago, and I have been mourn­ing ev­er since. So I left him, (con­clud­ed the learned one) and fared forth, hav­ing as­sured my­self of the weak­ness of the gerund-​grinder’s wit.” And they tell an­oth­er and a sim­ilar tale of

THE FOOL­ISH DO­MINIE[FN#170]

Once up­on a time, a school­mas­ter was vis­it­ed by a man of let­ters who en­tered a school and, sit­ting down by the host’s side, en­tered in­to dis­course with him and found him an ac­com­plished the­olo­gian, po­et gram­mar­ian, philol­ogist and po­et; in­tel­li­gent, well bred and pleas­ant spo­ken; where­at he won­dered, say­ing in him­self, “It can­not be that a man who tea­cheth chil­dren in a school, should have a per­fect wit.” Now when he was about to go away, the pedant said to him, “Thou are my guest to-​night;” and he con­sent­ed to re­ceive hos­pi­tal­ity and ac­com­pa­nied him to his house, where he made much of him and set food be­fore him. They ate and drank and sat talk­ing, till a third part of the night was past when the host spread his guest a bed and went up to his Harim. The stranger lay down and ad­dressed him­self to sleep, when, be­hold, there arose a great clam­our in the wom­en’s rooms. He asked what was the mat­ter and they said, “A ter­ri­ble thing hath be­fall­en the Shaykh and he is at the last gasp.” Said he, “Take me up to him”; so they took him up to the ped­agogue whom he found ly­ing in­sen­si­ble, with his blood stream­ing down. He sprin­kled wa­ter on his face and when he re­vived, he asked him, “What hath be­tid­ed thee? When thou left­est me, thou wast in all good cheer and whole of body,” and he an­swered, “O my broth­er, af­ter I left thee, I sat med­itat­ing on the cre­ative works of Almighty Al­lah, and said to my­self: ‘In ev­ery thing the Lord hath cre­at­ed for man, there is an use; for He (to Whom be glo­ry!) made the hands to seize, the feet to walk, the eyes to see, the ears to hear and the pe­nis to in­crease and mul­ti­ply; and so on with all the mem­bers of the body, ex­cept these two bal­locks; there is no use in them.’ So I took a ra­zor I had by me and cut them off; and there be­fel me what thou seest.” So the guest left him and went away, say­ing, “He was in the right who said, ‘Ver­ily no school­mas­ter who tea­cheth chil­dren can have a per­fect wit, though he know all the sci­ences.’” And they tell a pleas­ant tale of the

IL­LIT­ER­ATE WHO SET UP FOR A SCHOOL­MAS­TER

There was once, among the me­nials[FN#171] of a cer­tain mosque, a man who knew not how to write or even to read and who gained his bread by gulling folk. One day, it oc­curred to him to open a school and teach chil­dren; so he got to­geth­er writ­ing-​tablets and writ­ten pa­pers and hung them up in a high place. Then he great­ened his tur­band[FN#172] and sat down at the door of the school; and when the peo­ple, who passed by, saw his huge head- gear and tablets and scrolls, they thought he must be a very learned ped­agogue; so they brought him their chil­dren; and he would say to this, “Write,” and to that “Read”; and thus the lit­tle ones taught each oth­er. Now one day, as he sat as of wont, at the door of the school, be­hold, up came a wom­an let­ter in hand, and he said in his mind, “This wom­an doubt­less seeketh me, that I may read her the mis­sive she hath in her hand: how shall I do with her, see­ing I can­not read writ­ing?” And he would fain have gone down and fled from her; but, be­fore he could do this, she over­took him and said to him, “Whith­er away?” Quoth he, “I pur­pose to pray the noon-​prayer and re­turn.” Quoth she, “Noon is yet dis­tant, so read me this let­ter.” He took the let­ter and turn­ing it up­side down, fell to look­ing at it, now shak­ing his head till his tur­band quiv­ered, then danc­ing his eye­brows and anon show­ing anger and con­cern. Now the let­ter came from the wom­an’s hus­band, who was ab­sent; and when she saw the do­minie do on this wise, she said to her­self, “Doubt­less my hus­band is dead, and this learned doc­tor of law and re­li­gion is ashamed to tell me so.” So she said to him, “O my lord, if he be dead, tell me;” but he shook his head and held his peace. Then said she, “Shall I rend my rai­ment?” “Rend!” replied he. “Shall I beat my face?” asked she; and he an­swered, “Beat!” So she took the let­ter from his hand and re­turned home fell a-​weep­ing, she and her chil­dren. Present­ly, one of her neigh­bours heard her sob­bing and ask­ing what aileth her, was an­swered, “Of a truth she hath got­ten a let­ter, telling her that her hus­band is dead.” Quoth the man, “This is a false­hood; for I had a let­ter from him but yes­ter­day, ad­vis­ing me that he is whole and in good health and will be with her af­ter ten days.” So he rose forthright and go­ing in to her, said, “Where is the let­ter which came to thee?” She brought it to him, and he took it and read it; and lo! it ran as fol­lows, “Af­ter the usu­al salu­ta­tions, I am well and in good health and whole and will be with you all af­ter ten days. Mean­while, I send you a quilt and an ex­tin­guish­er.”[FN#173] So she took the let­ter and, re­turn­ing to the school­mas­ter, said to him, “What in­duced thee to deal thus with me?” And she re­peat­ed to him what her neigh­bour had told her of her hus­band’s well- be­ing and of his hav­ing sent her a quilt and an ex­tin­guish­er. An­swered he, “Thou art in the right, O good wom­an; for I was, at the time”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the ped­agogue replied, “Ver­ily I was at that time fashed and ab­sent- mind­ed and, see­ing the ex­tin­guish­er wrapped up in the quilt, I thought that he was dead and they had shroud­ed him.” The wom­an, not smok­ing the cheat, said, “Thou art ex­cused,” and tak­ing the let­ter, went her ways.[FN#174] And they re­late a sto­ry of

THE KING AND THE VIR­TU­OUS WIFE.

A cer­tain King once went forth in dis­guise, to look in­to the af­fairs of his lieges. Present­ly, he came to a great vil­lage which he en­tered unat­tend­ed and be­ing athirst, stopped at the door of a house and asked for wa­ter. There came out to him a fair wom­an with a gug­glet, which she gave him, and he drank. When he looked at her, he was rav­ished with her and be­sought her favours. Now she knew him; so she led him in­to the house and, mak­ing him sit down, brought out a book and said to him, “Look there­in whilst I or­der my af­fair and re­turn to thee.” So he looked in­to the book, and be­hold, it treat­ed of the Di­vine pro­hi­bi­tion against ad­voutry and of the pun­ish­ments which Al­lah hath pre­pared for those who com­mit adul­ter­ous sin. When he read this, his flesh quaked and his hair bris­tled and he re­pent­ed to Almighty Al­lah: then he called the wom­an and, giv­ing her the book, went away. Now her hus­band was ab­sent and when he re­turned, she told him what had passed, where­at he was con­found­ed and said in him­self, “I fear lest the King’s de­sire have fall­en up­on her.” And he dared not have to do with her and know her car­nal­ly af­ter this. When some time had past, the wife told her kins­folk of her hus­band’s con­duct, and they com­plained of him to the King, say­ing, “Al­lah ad­vance the King! This man hired of us a piece of land for tillage, and tilled it awhile; then left it fal­low and nei­ther tilled it nor for­sook it, that we might let it to one who would till it. In­deed, harm is come to the field, and we fear its cor­rup­tion, for such land as that if it be not sown, spoi­leth.” Quoth the King to the man, “What hin­dereth thee from sow­ing thy land?” An­swered he, “Al­lah ad­vance the King! It reached me that the li­on en­tered the field where­fore I stood in awe of him and dared not draw near it, since know­ing that I can­not cope with the li­on, I stand in fear of him.” The King un­der­stood the para­ble and re­joined, say­ing, “O man, the li­on trod and tram­pled not thy land, and it is good for seed so do thou till it and Al­lah pros­per thee in it, for the li­on hath done it no hurt.” Then he bade give the man and his wife a hand­some present and sent them away.[FN#175] And amongst the sto­ries is that of

ABD AL-​RAH­MAN THE MAGHRIBI’S STO­RY OF THE RUKH.[FN#176]

There was once a man of the peo­ple of West Africa who had jour­neyed far and wide and tra­versed many a desert and a tide. He was once cast up­on an is­land, where he abode a long while and, re­turn­ing thence to his na­tive coun­try, brought with him the quill of a wing feath­er of a young Rukh, whilst yet in egg and un­hatched; and this quill was big enough to hold a goat skin of wa­ter, for it is said that the length of the Rukh chick’s wing, when he cometh forth of the egg, is a thou­sand fath­oms. The folk mar­velled at this quill, when they saw it, and the man who was called Abd al-​Rah­man the Moor (and he was known, to boot, as the Chi­na­man, for his long so­journ in Cathay), re­lat­ed to them the fol­low­ing ad­ven­ture, one of many of his trav­eller’s tales of mar­vel. He was on a voy­age in the Chi­na seas–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Fifth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Abd al- Rah­man, the Moor­man, the Chi­na­man, was wont to tell won­drous tales amongst which was the fol­low­ing. He was on a voy­age in the Chi­na seas with a com­pa­ny of mer­chants, when they sight­ed an is­land from afar; so they steered for it and, mak­ing fast there­to, saw that it was large and spa­cious. The ship’s crew went ashore to get wood and wa­ter, tak­ing with them hatch­ets and ropes and wa­ter skies (the trav­ellers ac­com­pa­ny­ing them), and present­ly es­pied a great dome, white and gleam­ing, an hun­dred cu­bits long. So they made to­wards it and draw­ing near, found that it was an egg of the Rukh and fell on it with ax­es and stones and sticks till they un­cov­ered the young bird and found the chick as it were a firm set hill. So they plucked out one of the wing feath­ers, but could not do so, save by help­ing one an­oth­er, for all the quills were not full grown, af­ter which they took what they could car­ry of the young bird’s flesh and cut­ting the quill away from the vane, re­turned to the ship. Then they set sail and putting out to sea, voy­aged with a fair wind all that night, till the sun rose; and while ev­ery­thing went well, they saw the Rukh come fly­ing af­ter them, as he were a vast cloud, with a rock in his talons, like a great heap big­ger than the ship. As soon as he poised him­self in air over the ves­sel, he let fall the rock up­on it; but the craft, hav­ing great way on her, out­went the rock, which fell in­to the sea with a loud crash and a hor­ri­ble. So Al­lah de­creed their de­liv­er­ance and saved them from doom; and they cooked the young bird’s flesh and ate it. Now there were amongst them old white beard­ed men; and when they awoke on the mor­row, they found that their beards had turned black, nor did any who had eat­en of the young Rukh grow gray ev­er af­ter. Some said the cause of the re­turn of youth to them and the ceas­ing of hoari­ness from them was that they had heat­ed the pot with ar­row wood, whilst oth­ers would have it that it came of eat­ing the Rukh chick’s flesh; and this is in­deed a won­der of won­ders.[FN#177] And a sto­ry is re­lat­ed of

ADI BIN ZA­YD AND THE PRINCESS HIND.

Al-​Nu’uman Bin Al-​Mun­zir, King of the Arabs of Irak, had a daugh­ter named Hind, who went out one Pasch, which is a feast day of the Nazarenes, to the White Church, to take the sacra­ment; she was eleven years old and was the loveli­est wom­an of her age and time; and it so chanced that on the same day came to Hi­rah[FN#178] a young man called ‘Adí bin Za­yd[FN#179] with presents from the Chos­roë to Al-​Nu’uman, and he al­so went to the White Church, to com­mu­ni­cate. He was tall of stature and fair of favour, with hand­some eyes and smooth cheeks, and had with him a com­pa­ny of his peo­ple. Now there was with Hind bint al-​Nu’uman a slave girl named Máriyah, who was en­am­oured of Adi, but had not been able to fore­gath­er with him. So, when she saw him in the church, she said to Hind, “Look at yon­der youth. By Al­lah, he is hand­somer than all thou seest!” Hind asked, “And who is he?” and Mariyah an­swered, “Adi bin Za­yd.” Quoth Al-​Nu’uman’s daugh­ter, “I fear lest he know me, if I draw near­er to look on him.” Quoth Mariyah, “How should he know thee when he hath nev­er seen thee?” So she drew near him and found him jest­ing with the youths his com­pan­ions; and in­deed he sur­passed them all, not on­ly in his per­son­al charms but in the ex­cel­lence of his speech, the elo­quence of his tongue and the rich­ness of his rai­ment. When the Princess saw him, she was rav­ished with him, her rea­son was con­found­ed and her colour changed; and Mariyah, see­ing her in­cli­na­tion to him, said to her, “Speak him.” So she spoke to him and went away. Now when he looked up­on her and heard her speech, he was cap­ti­vat­ed by her and his wit was dazed; his heart flut­tered, and his colour changed so that his com­pan­ions sus­pect­ed him, and he whis­pered one of them to fol­low her and find out who she was. The young man went af­ter her and re­turn­ing in­formed him that she was princess Hind, daugh­ter of Al-​Nu’uman. So Adi left the church, know­ing not whith­er he went, for ex­cess of love, and recit­ing these two cou­plets,

“O friends of me, one favour more I pray: * Un­to the con­vents[FN#180] find more your way: Turn me that so I face the land of Hind; * Then go, and fairest greet­ings for me say.”

Then he went to his lodg­ing and lay that night, rest­less and with­out ap­petite for the food of sleep.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Sixth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Adi end­ed his vers­es he went to his lodg­ing and lay that night rest­less and with­out ap­petite for the food of sleep. Now on the mor­row Mariyah ac­cost­ed him and he re­ceived her kind­ly, though be­fore he would not in­cline to her, and said to her, “What is thy will?” Quoth she, “I have a want of thee;” and quoth he, “Name it, for by Al­lah, thou shalt not ask me aught, but I will give it thee!” So she told him that she loved him, and her want of him was that he would grant her a lover’s pri­va­cy; and he agreed to do her will, on con­di­tion that she would serve him with Hind and de­vise some de­vice to bring them to­geth­er. Then he took her in­to a vint­ner’s tav­ern in one of the by streets of Hi­rah, and lay with her; af­ter which she re­turned to Hind and asked her, “Dost thou not long to see Adi?” She an­swered, “How can this be? In­deed my long­ing for him makes me rest­less, and no re­pose is left me since yes­ter­day.” Quoth Mariyah, “I will ap­point him to be in such a place, where thou canst look on him from the palace.” Quoth Hind, “Do what thou wilt,” and agreed with her up­on the place. So Adi came, and the Princess looked out up­on him; and, when she saw him, she was like to top­ple down from the palace top and said, “O Mariyah, ex­cept thou bring him in to me this night, I shall die.” So say­ing, she fell to the ground in a faint­ing fit, and her serv­ing wom­en lift­ed her up and bore her in­to the palace; whilst Mariyah has­tened to Al-​Nu’uman and dis­cov­ered the whole mat­ter to him with per­fect truth, telling him that in­deed she was mad for the love of Adi; and ex­cept he mar­ry her to him she must be put to shame and die of love for him, which would dis­grace her fa­ther among the Arabs, adding at the end, “There is no cure for this but wed­lock.” The King bowed his head awhile in thought and ex­claimed again and again, “Ver­ily, we are Al­lah’s and un­to Him we are re­turn­ing!” Then said he “Woe to thee! How shall the mar­riage be brought about, see­ing I mis­like to open the mat­ter?” And she said, “He is yet more ar­dent­ly in love and yet more de­sire­ful of her than she is of him; and I will so or­der the af­fair that he shall be un­aware of his case be­ing known to thee; but do not be­tray thy­self, O King.” Then she went to Adi and, af­ter ac­quaint­ing him with ev­ery­thing said, “Make a feast and bid the King there­to; and, when the wine hath got­ten the bet­ter of him, ask of him his daugh­ter, for he will not refuse thee.” Quoth Adi, “I fear lest this en­rage him against me and be the cause of en­mi­ty be­tween us.” But quoth she, “I came not to thee, till I had set­tled the whole af­fair with him.” Then she re­turned to Al- Nu’uman and said to him, “Seek of Adi that he en­ter­tain thee in his house.” Replied the King, “There is no harm in that;” and af­ter three days, be­sought Adi to give him and his lords the morn­ing meal in his house. He con­sent­ed and the King went to him; and when the wine had tak­en ef­fect on Al-​Nu’uman, Adi rose and sought of him his daugh­ter in wed­lock. He con­sent­ed and mar­ried them and brought her to him af­ter three days; and they abode at Al-​Nu’uman’s court, in all so­lace of life and its de­light–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Sev­enth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Adi abode with Hind bint Al-​Nu’uman bin Mun­zir three years in all so­lace of life and its de­light, af­ter which time the King was wroth with Adi and slew him. Hind mourned for him with grievous mourn­ing and built her an her­mitage out­side the city, whith­er she re­tired and be­came a re­li­gious, weep­ing and be­wail­ing her hus­band till she died. And her her­mitage is seen to this day in the sub­urbs of Hi­rah. They al­so tell a tale of

DI’IBIL AL-​KHUZA’I WITH THE LA­DY AND MUS­LIM BIN AL-​WALID.

Quoth Di’ibil al Khuzá’i[FN#181], “I was sit­ting one day at the gate of Al Karkh,[FN#182] when a damsel came past. Nev­er saw I a fair­er faced or bet­ter formed than she, walk­ing with a volup­tuous sway­ing gait and rav­ish­ing all be­hold­ers with her lithe and un­du­lat­ing pace. Now as my eyes fell on her, I was cap­ti­vat­ed by her and my vi­tals trem­bled and meseemed my heart flew forth of my breast; so I stood be­fore her and I ac­cost­ed her with this verse,

‘The tears of these eyes find easy re­lease; * But sleep flies these eye­lids with­out surcease.’

Where­on she turned her face and look­ing at me, straight­way made an­swer with this dis­tich,

‘A tri­fle this an his eyes be sore, * When her eyes say ‘yes’ to his love’s caprice!’

I was as­tound­ed at the readi­ness of her re­ply and the flu­en­cy of her speech and re­joined with this verse,

‘Say, cloth heart of my fair in­cline to him * Whose tears like a swelling stream in­crease?’

And she an­swered me with­out hes­ita­tion, thus,

‘If thou crave our love, know that love’s a loan; * And a debt to be paid by us twain a piece.’

Nev­er en­tered my ears aught sweet­er than her speech nor ev­er saw I brighter than her face: so I changed rhyme and rhythm to try her, in my won­der at her words, and re­peat­ed this cou­plet,

‘Will Fate with joy of union ev­er bless our sight, * And one de­sire­ful one with oth­er one unite.’

She smiled at this (nev­er saw I fair­er than her mouth nor sweet­er than her lips), and an­swered me, with­out stay or de­lay, in the fol­low­ing dis­tich,

“Pray, tell me what hath Fate to do be­twixt us twain? * Thou’rt Elate: so bless our eyne with union and de­light.’

At this, I sprang up and fell to kiss­ing her hands and cried, ‘I had not thought that For­tune would vouch­safe me such oc­ca­sion. Do thou fol­low me, not of bid­ding or against thy will, but of the grace of thee and thy favour to me.’ Then I went on and she af­ter me. Now at that time I had no lodg­ing I deemed fit for the like of her; but Mus­lim bin al-​Walíd[FN#183] was my fast friend, and he had a hand­some house. So I made for his abode and knocked at the door, where­upon he came out, and I salut­ed him, say­ing, ‘’Tis for time like this that friends are trea­sured up’; and he replied, ‘With love and glad­ness! Come in you twain.’ So we en­tered but found mon­ey scarce with him: how­ev­er, he gave me a ker­chief, say­ing, ‘Car­ry it to the bazar and sell it and buy food and what else thou needest.’ I took the hand­ker­chief, and has­ten­ing to the mar­ket, sold it and bought what we re­quired of vict­uals and oth­er mat­ters; but when I re­turned, I found that Mus­lim had re­tired, with her to an un­der­ground cham­ber.[FN#184] When he heard my step he hur­ried out and said to me, ‘Al­lah re­quite thee the kind­ness thou hast done me, O Abu Ali and re­ward thee in time to come and reck­on it of thy good deeds on the Day of Doom!’ So say­ing, he took from me the food and wine and shut the door in my face. His words en­raged me and I knew not what to do, but he stood be­hind the door, shak­ing for mirth; and, when he saw me thus, he said to me, ‘I con­jure thee on my life, O Abu Ali, tell who it was com­posed this cou­plet?,

‘I lay in her arms all night, leav­ing him * To sleep foul-​heart­ed but clean of staff.’

At this my rage re­dou­bled, and I replied, ‘He who wrote this oth­er cou­plet’,

‘One, I wish him in belt a thou­sand horns, * Ex­ceed­ing in mighty height Man­af.’[FN#185]

Then I be­gan to abuse him and re­proach him with the foul­ness of his ac­tion and his lack of hon­our; and he was silent, nev­er ut­ter­ing a word. But, when I had fin­ished, he smiled and said, ‘Out on thee, O fool! Thou hast en­tered my house and sold my ker­chief and spent my sil­ver: so, with whom art thou wroth, O pimp?’[FN#186] Then he left me and went away to her, whilst I said, ‘By Al­lah, thou art right to twit me as nin­com­poop and pan­der!’ Then I left his door and went away in sore con­cern, and I feel its trace in my heart to this very day; for I nev­er had my will of her nor, in­deed, ev­er heard of her more.” And amongst oth­er tales is that about

ISAAC OF MO­SUL AND THE MER­CHANT.

Quoth Ishak bin Ibrahim al Mausili, “It so chanced that, one day feel­ing weary of be­ing on du­ty at the Palace and in at­ten­dance up­on the Caliph, I mount­ed horse and went forth, at break of dawn, hav­ing a mind to ride out in the open coun­try and take my plea­sure. So I said to my ser­vants, ‘If there come a mes­sen­ger from the Caliph or an­oth­er, say that I set out at day break, up­on a press­ing busi­ness, and that ye know not whith­er I am gone.’ Then I fared forth alone and went round about the city, till the sun waxed hot, when I halt­ed in a great thor­ough­fare known as Al Haram,”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Ishak bin Ibrahim the Mausili con­tin­ued: “When the sun waxed hot I halt­ed in a great thor­ough­fare known as Al-​Haram, to take shel­ter in the shade and found it in a spa­cious wing of a house which pro­ject­ed over the street. And I stood there but a lit­tle while be­fore there came up a black slave, lead­ing an ass be­strid­den by a damsel; and un­der her were hous­ings set with gems and pearls and up­on her were the rich­est of clothes, rich­ness can go no far­ther; and I saw that she was el­egant of make with lan­guorous look and grace­ful mien. I asked one of the passers by who she was, and he said, ‘She is a singer,’ so I fell in love with her at first sight: hard­ly could I keep my seat on horse­back. She en­tered the house at whose gate I stood; and, as I was plan­ning a de­vice to gain ac­cess to her, there came up two men young and come­ly who asked ad­mis­sion and the house­mas­ter gave them leave to en­ter. So they alight­ed and I al­so and they en­tered and I with them, they sup­pos­ing that the mas­ter of the house had in­vit­ed me; and we sat awhile, till food was brought and we ate. Then they set wine be­fore us, and the damsel came out, with a lute in her hand. She sang and we drank, till I rose to obey a call of na­ture. There­upon the host ques­tioned the two oth­ers of me, and they replied that they knew me not; where­upon quoth he, ‘This is a par­asite[FN#187]; but he is a pleas­ant fel­low, so treat him cour­te­ous­ly.’ Then I came back and sat down in my place, whilst the damsel sang to a pleas­ing air these two cou­plets,

‘Say to the she gazelle, who’s no gazelle, * And Kohl’d ariel who’s no ariel.[FN#188] Who lies with male, and yet no fe­male is, * Whose gait is fe­male most un­like the male.’

She sang it right well, and the com­pa­ny drank and her song pleased them. Then she car­olled var­ious pieces to rare mea­sures, and amongst the rest one of mine, which con­sist­ed of this dis­tich,

‘Bare hills and camp­ground des­olate * And friends who all have ganged their gait. How sev­er­ance af­ter union leaves * Me and their homes in sad­dest state!’

Her singing this time was even bet­ter than the first; then she chant­ed oth­er rare pieces, old and new, and amongst them, an­oth­er of mine with the fol­low­ing two cou­plets,

‘Say to an­gry lover who turns away, * And shows thee his side what­so thou ‘Thou wrought­est all that by thee was wrought, * Albe ’twas hap­ly thy sport and play.’

I prayed her to re­peat the song, that I might cor­rect it for her; where­upon one of the two men ac­cost­ed me and said, ‘Nev­er saw we a more im­pu­dent lick plat­ter than thou. Art thou not con­tent with spong­ing, but thou must eke med­dle and mud­dle? Of very sooth, in thee is the say­ing made true, Par­asite and push­ing wight.’ So I hung down my head for shame and made him no an­swer, whilst his com­pan­ion would have with­held him from me, but he would not be re­strained. Present­ly, they rose to pray, but I lagged be­hind a lit­tle and, tak­ing the lute, screwed up the sides and brought it in­to per­fect tune. Then I stood up in my place to pray with the rest; and when we had end­ed pray­ing, the same man fell again to blam­ing me and re­vil­ing me and per­sist­ed in his rude­ness, whilst I held my peace. There­upon the damsel took the lute and touch­ing it, knew that it had been al­tered, and said, ‘Who hath touched my lute?’ Quoth they, ‘None of us hath touched it.’ Quoth she, ‘Nay, by Al­lah, some one hath touched it, and he is an artist, a past mas­ter in the craft; for he hath ar­ranged the strings and tuned them like one who is a per­fect per­former.’ Said I, ‘It was I tuned it;’ and said she, ‘Then, Al­lah up­on thee, take it and play on it!’ So I took it; and, play­ing a piece so dif­fi­cult and so rare, that it went nigh to dead­en the quick and quick­en the dead, I sang there­to these cou­plets,

‘I had a heart, and with it lived my life: * ‘Twas seared with fire and burnt with lov­ing-​lowe: I nev­er won the bless­ing of her love; * God would not on His slave such boon be­stow: If what I’ve tast­ed be the food of Love, * Must taste it all men who love food would know.’”

–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Ishak of Mo­sul thus con­tin­ued: “Now when I had fin­ished my verse, there was not one of the com­pa­ny but sprang from his place and sat down like school­boys be­fore me, say­ing, ‘Al­lah up­on thee, O our lord, sing us an­oth­er song.’ ‘With plea­sure,’ said I, and play­ing an­oth­er mea­sure in mas­ter­ly fash­ion, sang there­to these cou­plets,

‘Ho thou whose heart is melt­ed down by force of Amor’s fire, * And griefs from ev­ery side against thy hap­pi­ness con­spire: Un­law­ful is that he who pierced my vi­tals with his shaft, * My blood be­tween my midriff and my breast bone[FN#189] he de­sire, ‘Twas plain, up­on our sev­er­ance day, that he had set his mind * On an eter­nal part­ing, moved by tongue of en­vi­ous liar: He sheds my blood he ne’er had shed ex­cept by wound of love, * Will none de­mand my blood of him, my wreck of him re­quire?’

When I had made an end of this song, there was not one of them but rose to his feet and threw him­self up­on the ground for ex­cess of de­light. Then I cast the lute from my hand, but they said, ‘Al­lah up­on thee, do not on this wise, but let us hear an­oth­er song, so Al­lah Almighty in­crease thee of His boun­ty!’ Replied I, ‘O folk, I will sing you an­oth­er song and an­oth­er and an­oth­er and will tell you who I am. I am Ishak bin Ibrahim al Mausili, and by Al­lah, I bear my­self proud­ly to the Caliph when he seeketh me. Ye have to­day made me hear abuse from an un­man­ner­ly car­le such as I loathe; and by Al­lah, I will not speak a word nor sit with you, till ye put yon­der quar­rel­some churl out from among you!’ Quoth the fel­low’s com­pan­ion to him, ‘This is what I warned thee against, fear­ing for thy good name.’ So they hent him by the hand and thrust him out; and I took the lute and sang over again the songs of my own com­pos­ing which the damsel had sung. Then I whis­pered the host that she had tak­en my heart and that I had no pa­tience to ab­stain from her. Quoth he ‘She is thine on one con­di­tion.’ I asked, ‘What is that?’ and he an­swered, ‘It is that thou abide with me a month, when the damsel and all be­long­ing to her of rai­ment and jew­ellery shall be thine.’ I re­joined, ‘It is well, I will do this.’ So I tar­ried with him a whole month, whilst none knew where I was and the Caliph sought me ev­ery­where, but could come by no news of me; and at the end of this time, the mer­chant de­liv­ered to me the damsel, to­geth­er with all that per­tained to her of things of price and an eu­nuch to at­tend up­on her. So I brought all that to my lodg­ing, feel­ing as I were lord of the whole world, for ex­ceed­ing de­light in her; then I rode forthright to Al-​Maa­mun. And when I stood in the pres­ence, he said, ‘Woe to thee, O Ishak, where hast thou been?’ So I ac­quaint­ed him with the sto­ry and he said, ‘Bring me that man at once.’ There­upon I told him where he lived and he sent and fetched him and ques­tioned him of the case; when he re­peat­ed the sto­ry and the Caliph said to him, ‘Thou art a man of right gen­er­ous mind, and it is on­ly fit­ting that thou be aid­ed in thy gen­eros­ity.’ Then he or­dered him an hun­dred thou­sand dirhams and said to me, ‘O Ishak, bring the damsel be­fore me.’ So I brought her to him, and she sang and de­light­ed him; and be­ing great­ly glad­dened by her he said to me, ‘I ap­point her turn of ser­vice ev­ery Thurs­day, when she must come and sing to me from be­hind the cur­tain.’ And he or­dered her fifty thou­sand dirhams, so by Al­lah, I prof­it­ed both my­self and oth­ers by my ride.” And amongst the tales they tell is one of

THE THREE UN­FOR­TU­NATE LOVERS.

Quoth Al-’Ut­bí[FN#190], “I was sit­ting one day with a com­pa­ny of ed­ucat­ed men, telling sto­ries of the folk, when the talk turned up­on leg­ends of lovers and each of us said his say there­anent. Now there was in our com­pa­ny an old man, who re­mained silent, till all had spo­ken and had no more to say, when quoth he, ‘Shall I tell you a thing, the like of which you nev­er heard; no, nev­er?’ ‘Yes,’ quoth we; and he said, ‘Know, then, that I had a daugh­ter, who loved a youth, but we knew it not; while the youth loved a singing girl, who in her turn loved my daugh­ter. One day, I was present at an as­sem­bly, where­in were al­so the youth’”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Tenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the Shaykh con­tin­ued: ‘One day, I was present at an as­sem­bly where­in were al­so the youth and the singing girl and she chant­ed to us these cou­plets,

‘Prove how Love bringeth low * Lover those tears that run Low­er­ing him still the more * When pity finds he none.’

Cried the youth, ‘By Al­lah, thou hast said well, O my mis­tress.’ Dost thou in­cite me to die?’ An­swered the girl from be­hind the cur­tain, ‘Yes, if thou be a true lover.’ So he laid his head on a cush­ion and closed his eyes; and when the cup came round to him, we shook him and be­hold, he was dead.[FN#191] There­with we all flocked to him, and our plea­sure was trou­bled and we grieved and broke up at once. When I came home, my peo­ple took in bad part my re­turn­ing be­fore the ap­point­ed time, and I told them what had be­fall­en the youth, think­ing that there­by I should great­ly sur­prise them. My daugh­ter heard my words and ris­ing, went from the sit­ting cham­ber in­to an­oth­er, whith­er I fol­lowed her and found her ly­ing with her head on a cush­ion, even as I had told of the young man. So I shook her and lo! she was dead. Then we laid her out and set forth next morn­ing to bury her, whilst the friends of the young man set forth in like guise to bury him. As we were on the way to the buri­al place, we met a third fu­ner­al and ask­ing whose it was, were told that it was that of the singing girl who, hear­ing of my daugh­ter’s death, had done even as she did and was dead. So we buried them all three on one day, and this is the rarest tale that ev­er was heard of lovers.” And they al­so tell a tale of

HOW ABU HASAN BRAKE WIND.

They re­count that in the City Kauk­abán of Al-​Ya­man there was a man of the Fa­zlí tribe who had left Badawi life, and be­come a towns­man for many years and was a mer­chant of the most op­ulent mer­chants. His wife had de­ceased when both were young; and his friends were in­stant with him to mar­ry again, ev­er quot­ing to him the words of the po­et,

“Go, gos­sip! re-​wed thee, for Prime draweth near: A wife is an al­manac–good for the year.”

So be­ing weary of con­tention, Abu Hasan en­tered in­to ne­go­ti­ations with the old wom­en who pro­cure match­es, and mar­ried a maid like Cano­pus when he hangeth over the seas of Al-​Hind. He made high fes­ti­val there­for, bid­ding to the wed­ding ban­quet kith and kin, Ole­ma and Fakirs; friends and foes and all his ac­quain­tances of that coun­try­side. The whole house was thrown open to feast­ing: there were rices of five sev­er­al colours, and sher­bets of as many more; and kids stuffed with wal­nuts and al­monds and pis­ta­chios and a camel colt[FN#192] roast­ed whole. So they ate and drank and made mirth and mer­ri­ment; and the bride was dis­played in her sev­en dress­es and one more, to the wom­en, who could not take their eyes off her. At last, the bride­groom was sum­moned to the cham­ber where she sat en­throned; and he rose slow­ly and with dig­ni­ty from his di­van; but in so do­ing, for that he was over full of meat and drink, lo and be­hold! he let fly a fart, great and ter­ri­ble. There­upon each guest turned to his neigh­bour and talked aloud and made as though he had heard noth­ing, fear­ing for his life. But a con­sum­ing fire was lit in Abu Hasan’s heart; so he pre­tend­ed a call of na­ture; and, in lieu of seek­ing the bride cham­ber, he went down to the house court and sad­dled his mare and rode off, weep­ing bit­ter­ly, through the shad­ow of the night. In time he reached Láhej where he found a ship ready to sail for In­dia; so he shipped on board and made Cali­cut of Mal­abar. Here he met with many Arabs, es­pe­cial­ly Hazramís[FN#193], who rec­om­mend­ed him to the King; and this King (who was a Kafir) trust­ed him and ad­vanced him to the cap­tain­ship of his body guard. He re­mained ten years in all so­lace and de­light of life; at the end of which time he was seized with home sick­ness; and the long­ing to be­hold his na­tive land was that of a lover pin­ing for his beloved; and he came near to die of yearn­ing de­sire. But his ap­point­ed day had not dawned; so, af­ter tak­ing the first bath of health, he left the King with­out leave, and in due course land­ed at Makallá of Hazra­maut. Here he donned the rags of a re­li­gious; and, keep­ing his name and case se­cret, fared for Kauk­aban afoot; en­dur­ing a thou­sand hard­ships of hunger, thirst and fa­tigue; and brav­ing a thou­sand dan­gers from the li­on, the snake and the Ghul. But when he drew near his old home, he looked down up­on it from the hills with brim­ming eyes, and said in him­self, “Hap­ly they might know thee; so I will wan­der about the out­skirts, and hear­ken to the folk. Al­lah grant that my case be not re­mem­bered by them!” He lis­tened care­ful­ly for sev­en nights and sev­en days, till it so chanced that, as he was sit­ting at the door of a hut, he heard the voice of a young girl say­ing, “O my moth­er, tell me the day when I was born; for such an one of my com­pan­ions is about to take an omen[FN#194] for me.” And the moth­er an­swered, “Thou was born, O my daugh­ter, on the very night when Abu Hasan fart­ed.” Now the lis­ten­er no soon­er heard these words than he rose up from the bench, and fled away say­ing to him­self, “Ver­ily thy fart hath be­come a date, which shall last for ev­er and ev­er; even as the po­et said,

‘As long as palms shall shift the flow­er; * As long as palms shall sift the flour.’[FN#195]

And he ceased not trav­el­ling and voy­ag­ing and re­turned to In­dia; and there abode in self ex­ile till he died; and the mer­cy of Al­lah be up­on him![FN#196] And they tell an­oth­er sto­ry of

THE LOVERS OF THE BANU TAYY.

Kásim, son of Adi, was wont to re­late that a man of the Banú Tamím spake as fol­lows: “I went out one day in search of an estray and, com­ing to the wa­ters of the Banu Tayy, saw two com­pa­nies of peo­ple near one an­oth­er, and be­hold, those of one com­pa­ny were dis­put­ing among them­selves even as the oth­er. So I watched them and ob­served, in one of the com­pa­nies, a youth wast­ed with sick­ness, as he were a worn-​out dried-​up wa­ter­skin. And as I looked on him, lo! he re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

‘What ails the Beau­ty she re­tur­neth not? * Is’t Beau­ty’s irk or grudg­ing to my lot? I sick­ened and my friends all came to call; * What stayed thee call­ing with the friend­ly knot? Hadst thou been sick, I had come run­ning fast * To thee, nor threats had kept me from the spot: Mid them I miss thee, and I lie alone; * Sweet­heart, to lose thy love sad loss I wot!’

His words were heard by a damsel in the oth­er com­pa­ny who has­tened to­wards him, and when her peo­ple fol­lowed her, she fought them off. Then the youth caught sight of her and sprang up and ran to­wards her, whilst the peo­ple of his par­ty ran af­ter him and laid hold of him. How­ev­er he haled and freed him­self from them, and she in like man­ner loosed her­self; and, when they were free, each ran to oth­er and meet­ing be­tween the two par­ties, em­braced and fell dead up­on the ground.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred ante Eleventh Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that “the young man and the maid met be­tween the two par­ties and em­braced and both fell dead up­on the ground; where­at came there out an old man from one of the tents and stood over them ex­claim­ing, ‘Ver­ily, we are Al­lah’s and un­to Him we are re­turn­ing!’ Then weep­ing sore he said, ‘Al­lah have ruth on you both! by the Almighty, though you were not unit­ed in your lives, I will at least unite you af­ter your deaths.’ And he bade lay them out: so they washed them and shroud­ed them in one shroud and dug for them one grave and prayed one prayer over them both and buried them in one tomb; nor was there man or wom­an in the two par­ties but I saw weep­ing over them and buf­fet­ing their faces. Then I ques­tioned the Shaykh of them, and he said, ‘She was my daugh­ter and he my broth­er’s son; and love brought them to the pass thou seest.’ I ex­claimed, ‘Al­lah amend thee! but why didst thou not mar­ry them to each oth­er?’ Quoth he, ‘I feared shame[FN#197] and dis­hon­our; and now I am fall­en in­to both.’ ” And they tell a tale of

THE MAD LOVER.

Quoth Abu ‘l-​Ab­bás al-​Mubar­rad,[FN#198] “I set out one day with a com­pa­ny to Al-​Bárid on an oc­ca­sion and, com­ing to the monastery of Hi­rakl,[FN#199] we alight­ed in its shade. Present­ly a man came out to us and said, ‘There are mad­men in the monastery,[FN#200] and amongst them one who speaketh wis­dom; if ye saw him, ye would mar­vel at his speech.’ So we arose all and went in­to the monastery’ where we saw a man seat­ed on a skin mat in one of the cells, with bare head and eyes in­tent­ly fixed up­on the wall. We salut­ed him, and he re­turned our salaam, with­out look­ing at us, and one said to us, ‘Re­peat some vers­es to him; for, when he heareth verse, he speaketh.’ So I re­peat­ed these two cou­plets,

‘O best of race to whom gave Hawwa[FN#201] boon of birth, * Ex­cept for thee the world were nei­ther sweet nor fair! Thou’rt he, whose face, by Al­lah shown to man, * Doth ward off death, de­cay and hoary hair.’

When he heard from me this praise of the Apos­tle he turned to­wards us and re­peat­ed these lines,

‘Well Al­lah wot­teth I am sore­ly plagued: * Nor can I show my pain to hu­man sight. Two souls have I, one soul is here con­tained, * While oth­er woneth in an­oth­er site. Meseems the ab­sent soul’s like present soul, * And that she suf­fers what to me is dight.’

Then he asked us. ‘Have I said well or said ill? And we an­swered, ‘Thou hast said the clean con­trary of ill, well and right well.’ Then he put out his hand to a stone, that was by him and took it up; where­upon think­ing he would throw it at us we fled from him; but he fell to beat­ing up­on his breast there­with vi­olent blows and said to us, ‘Fear not, but draw near and hear some­what from me and re­ceive it from me.’ So we came back, and he re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

‘When they made their camels yel­low white kneel down at dawn­ing grey * They mount­ed her on crup­per and the camel went his way, Mine eye balls through the prison wall be­held them, and I cried * With stream­ing eye­lids and a heart that burnt in dire dis­may O camel driv­er turn thy beast that I farewell my love! * In part­ing and farewelling her I see my doomed day I’m faith­ful to my vows of love which I have nev­er broke, * Would Heav­en I kenned what they have done with vows that vowed they!’

Then he looked at me and said, ‘Say me, dost thou know what they did?’[FN#202] An­swered I, ‘Yes, they are dead; Almighty Al­lah have mer­cy on them!’ At this his face changed and he sprang to his feet and cried out, ‘How know­est thou they be dead?;’ and I replied, ‘Were they alive they had not left thee thus.’ Quoth he, ‘By Al­lah, thou art right, and I care not to live af­ter them.’ Then his side mus­cles quiv­ered and he fell on his face; and we ran up to him and shook him and found him dead, the mer­cy of the Almighty be on him! At this we mar­velled and mourned for him and, sore mourn­ing, laid him out and buried him”.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twelfth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that al-​Mubar­rad thus con­tin­ued: “When the man fell we mourned over him with sore mourn­ing and laid him out and buried him. And when I re­turned to Bagh­dad and went in to the Caliph al-​Mu­tawakkil, he saw the trace of tears on my face and said to me, ‘What is this?’ So I told him what had passed and it was grievous to him and he cried, ‘What moved thee to deal thus with him?[FN#203] By Al­lah, if I thought thou didst not re­pent it and re­gret him I would pun­ish thee there­for!’ And he mourned for him the rest of the day.” And amongst the tales they tell is one of

THE PRI­OR WHO BE­CAME A MOSLEM.

Quoth Abu Bakr Mo­hammed ibn Al-​An­bári[FN#204]: “I once left An­bár on a jour­ney to ‘Amúríyah,[FN#205] where there came out to me the pri­or of the monastery and su­pe­ri­or of the monkery, Abd al-​Masíh hight, and brought me in­to the build­ing. There I found forty re­li­gious, who en­ter­tained me that night with fair guest rite, and I left them af­ter see­ing among them such dili­gence in ado­ra­tion and de­vo­tion as I nev­er be­held the like of in any oth­ers. Next day I farewelled them and fared forth and, af­ter do­ing my busi­ness at ‘Amuriyah, I re­turned to my home at An­bar. And next year I made pil­grim­age to Mec­cah and as I was cir­cum­am­bu­lat­ing the Holy House I saw Abd al-​Masih the monk al­so com­pass­ing the Ka’abah, and with him five of his fel­lows, the shavel­ings. Now when I was sure that it was in­deed he, I ac­cost­ed him, say­ing, ‘Art thou not Abd al-​Masih, the Re­li­gious?’ and he replied, ‘Nay, I am Ab­dal­lah, the De­sirous.’[FN#206] There­with I fell to kiss­ing his grey hairs and shed­ding tears; then, tak­ing him by the hand, I led him aside in­to a cor­ner of the Tem­ple and said to him, ‘Tell me the cause of thy con­ver­sion to al-​Is­lam;’ and he made re­ply, ‘Ver­ily, ’twas a won­der of won­ders, and be­fell thus. A com­pa­ny of Moslem devo­tees came to the vil­lage where­in is our con­vent, and sent a youth to buy them food. He saw, in the mar­ket, a Chris­tian damsel sell­ing bread, who was of the fairest of wom­en; and he was struck at first sight with such love of her, that his sens­es failed him and he fell on his face in a faint­ing fit. When he re­vived, he re­turned to his com­pan­ions and told them what had be­fall­en him, say­ing, ‘Go ye about your busi­ness; I may not go with you.’ They chid­ed him and ex­hort­ed him, but he paid no heed to them; so they left him whilst he en­tered the vil­lage and seat­ed him­self at the door of the wom­an’s booth.[FN#207] She asked him what he want­ed, and he told her that he was in love with her where­upon she turned from him; but he abode in his place three days with­out tast­ing food, keep­ing his eyes fixed on her face. Now whenas she saw that he de­part­ed not from her, she went to her peo­ple and ac­quaint­ed them with his case, and they set on him the vil­lage boys, who stoned him and bruised his ribs and broke his head; but, for all this, he would not budge. Then the vil­lagers took coun­sel to­geth­er to slay him; but a man of them came to me and told me of his case, and I went out to him and found him ly­ing pros­trate on the ground. So I wiped the blood from his face and car­ried him to the con­vent, and dressed his wounds; and there he abode with me four­teen days. But as soon as he could walk, he left the monastery”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­teenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Ab­dal­lah the Re­li­gious con­tin­ued: “So I car­ried him to the con­vent and dressed his wounds, and he abode with me four­teen days. But as soon as he could walk, he left the monastery and re­turned to the door of the wom­an ’s booth, where he sat gaz­ing on her as be­fore. When she saw him she came out to him and said, ‘By Al­lah thou movest me to pity! wilt thou en­ter my faith that I may mar­ry thee?’ He cried, ‘Al­lah for­bid that I should put off the faith of Uni­ty and en­ter that of Plu­ral­ity!’[FN#208] Quoth she, ‘Come in with me to my house and take thy will of me and wend thy ways in peace.’ Quoth he, ‘Not so, I will not waste the wor­ship of twelve years for the lust of an eye-​twin­kle.’ Said she, ‘Then de­part from me forth­with;’ and he said, ‘My heart will not suf­fer me to do that;’ where­upon she turned her coun­te­nance from him. Present­ly the boys found him out and be­gan to pelt him with stones; and he fell on his face, say­ing, ‘Ver­ily, Al­lah is my pro­tec­tor, who sent down the Book of the Ko­ran; and He pro­tecteth the Righ­teous![FN#209] At this I sal­lied forth and driv­ing away the boys, lift­ed his head from the ground and heard him say, ‘Al­lah mine, unite me with her in Par­adise!’ Then I car­ried him to the monastery, but he died, be­fore I could reach it, and I bore him with­out the vil­lage and I dug for him a grave and buried him. And next night when half of it was spent, the damsel cried with a great cry (and she in her bed); so the vil­lagers flocked to her and ques­tioned her of her case. Quoth she, ‘As I slept, be­hold the Moslem man came in to me and tak­ing me by the hand, car­ried me to the gate of Par­adise; but the Guardian de­nied me en­trance, say­ing, ‘Tis for­bid­den to un­be­liev­ers.’ So I em­braced Al Is­lam at his hands and, en­ter­ing with him, be­held there­in pavil­ions and trees, such as I can­not de­scribe to you. More­over, he brought me to a pavil­ion of jew­els and said to me, ‘Of a truth this is my pavil­ion and thine, nor will I en­ter it save with thee; but, af­ter five nights thou shalt be with me there­in, if it be the will of Al­lah Almighty.’ Then he put forth his hand to a tree which grew at the door of the pavil­ion and plucked there from two ap­ples and gave them to me, say­ing, ‘Eat this and keep the oth­er, that the monks may see it.’ So I ate one of them and nev­er tast­ed I aught sweet­er.’ “–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Four­teenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the wom­an con­tin­ued: “‘So he plucked two ap­ples and gave them to me, say­ing, ‘Eat this and keep the oth­er that the monks may see it.’ So I ate one of them and nev­er tast­ed I aught sweet­er. Then he took my hand and fared forth and car­ried me back to my house; and, when I awoke, I found the taste of the ap­ple in my mouth and the oth­er in my hand.’ So say­ing she brought out the ap­ple, and in the dark­ness of the night it shone as it were a sparkling star. So they car­ried her (and the ap­ple with her) to the monastery, where she re­peat­ed her vi­sion and showed it to us; nev­er saw we its like among all the fruits of the world. Then I took a knife and cut the ap­ple in­to pieces ac­cord­ing as we were folk in com­pa­ny; and nev­er knew we aught more de­li­cious than its savour nor more de­light­some than its scent; but we said, ‘Hap­ly this was a dev­il that ap­peared un­to her to se­duce her from her faith.’ There­upon her peo­ple took her and went away; but she ab­stained from eat­ing and drink­ing and on the fifth night she rose from her bed, and go­ing forth the vil­lage to the grave of her Moslem lover threw her­self up­on it and died, her fam­ily not know­ing what was come of her. But, on the mor­row, there came to the vil­lage two Moslem el­ders, clad in hair cloth, and with them two wom­en in like garb, and said, ‘O peo­ple of the vil­lage, with you is a wom­an Saint, a Waliyah of the friends of Al­lah, who died a Moslemah; and we will take charge of her in lieu of you.’ So the vil­lagers sought her and found her dead on the Moslem’s grave; and they said, ‘This was one of us and she died in our faith; so we will take charge of her.’ Re­joined the two old men, ‘Nay, she died a Moslemah and we claim her.’ And the dis­pute waxed to a quar­rel be­tween them, till one of the Shaykhs said, ‘Be this the test of her faith: the forty monks of the monastery shall come and try to lift her from the grave. If they suc­ceed, then she died a Nazarene; if not, one of us shall come and lift her up and if she be lift­ed by him, she died a Moslemah.’ The vil­lagers agreed to this and fetched the forty monks, who heart­ened one an­oth­er, and came to her to lift her, but could not. Then we tied a great rope round her mid­dle and haled at it; but the rope broke in sun­der, and she stirred not; and the vil­lagers came and did the like, but could not move her from her place.[FN#210] At last, when all means failed, we said to one of the two Shaykhs, ‘Come thou and lift her.’ So he went up to the grave and, cov­er­ing her with his man­tle, said, ‘In the name of Al­lah the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate, and of the Faith of the Apos­tle of Al­lah, on whom be prayers and peace!’ Then he lift­ed her and, tak­ing her in his bo­som, be­took him­self with her to a cave hard by, where they laid her, and the two wom­en came and washed her and shroud­ed her. Then the two el­ders bore her to her Moslem lover’s grave and prayed over her and buried her by his side and went their ways. Now we were eye wit­ness­es of all this; and, when we were alone with one an­oth­er, we said, ‘In sooth, the truth is most wor­thy to be fol­lowed;’[FN#211] and in­deed the ver­ity hath been made man­ifest to us, nor is there a proof more patent of the truth of al-​Is­lam than that we have seen this day with our eyes.’ So I and all the monks be­came Moslems and on like wise did the vil­lagers; and we sent to the peo­ple of Mesopotamia for a doc­tor of the law, to in­struct us in the or­di­nances of al-​Is­lam and the canons of the Faith. They sent us a learned man and a pi­ous, who taught us the rites of prayer and the tenets of the faith; and we are now in ease abound­ing; so to Al­lah be the praise and the thanks!” And they al­so tell a tale of

THE LOVES OF ABU ISA AND KUR­RAT AL-​AYN.

Quoth Am­rú bin Masa’dah:[FN#212] “Abú Isá, son of al-​Rashíd and broth­er to al-​Maa­mun, was en­am­oured of one Kur­rat al-​Ayn, a slave girl be­long­ing to Ali bin Hishám,[FN#213] and she al­so loved him; but he con­cealed his pas­sion, com­plain­ing of it to none nei­ther dis­cov­er­ing his se­cret to any­one, of his pride and mag­na­nim­ity; for he had used his ut­most en­deav­our to pur­chase her of her mas­ter, but he had failed. At last when his pa­tience was at an end and his pas­sion was sore on him and he was help­less in the mat­ter, he went in to al-​Maa­mun, one day of state af­ter the folk had re­tired, and said to him, ‘O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, if thou wilt this day make tri­al of thine Al­cay­des by tak­ing them un­awares, thou wilt know the gen­er­ous from the mean and note each one’s place, af­ter the qual­ity of his mind.’ But, in say­ing this he pur­posed on­ly to sit with Kur­rat al-​Ayn in her lord’s house. Quoth al-​Maa­mun, ‘Right is thy reck­ing,’ and bade make ready a barge, called ‘the Fly­er,’ where­in he em­barked with Abu Isa and a par­ty of his chief of­fi­cers. The first man­sion he vis­it­ed un­ex­pect­ed­ly was that of Hamíd al-​Taw­il of Tús, whom he found seat­ed”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Fif­teenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that al-​Maa­mun em­barked with his chief of­fi­cers and fared on till they reached the man­sion of Hamíd al-​Taw­il of Tús; and, un­ex­pect­ed­ly en­ter­ing they found him seat­ed on a mat and be­fore him singers and play­ers with lutes and fla­geo­lets and oth­er in­stru­ments of mu­sic in their hands. So Al Maa­mun sat with him awhile and present­ly he set be­fore him dish­es of noth­ing but flesh meat, with no birds among them. The Caliph would not taste there­of and Abu Isa said to him, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, we have tak­en the own­er of this place un­awares, and he knew not of thy com­ing; but now let us go to an­oth­er place which is pre­pared for thee and fit­ted for thee.” There­upon the Caliph arose and be­took him­self with his broth­er Abu Isa and his suite, to the abode of Ali son of Hisham who, on hear­ing of their ap­proach, came out and re­ceived them with the goodli­est of re­cep­tion, and kissed the earth be­fore the King. Then he brought them in­to his man­sion and opened to them a sa­loon than which seer nev­er saw a goodli­er. Its floors, pil­lars and walls were of many coloured mar­bles, adorned with Greek paint­ings: and it was spread with mat­ting of Sind[FN#214] where­on were car­pets and tapestry of Bas­so­rah make, fit­ted to the length and breadth of the room. So the Caliph sat awhile, ex­am­in­ing the house and its ceil­ings and walls, then said, “Give us some­what to eat.” So they brought him forth­with near­ly an hun­dred dish­es of poul­try be­sides oth­er birds and bre­wis­es, frit­ters and cool­ing mari­nades. When he had eat­en, he said, “Give us some thing to drink, O Ali;” and the host set be­fore him, in ves­sels of gold and sil­ver and crys­tal, raisin wine boiled down to one third with fruits and spices; and the cup­bear­ers were pages like moons, clad in gar­ments of Alexan­dri­an stuff in­ter­wo­ven with gold and bear­ing on their breasts beakers of crys­tal, full of rose wa­ter min­gled with musk. So al-​Maa­mun mar­velled with ex­ceed­ing mar­vel at all he saw and said, “Ho thou, Abu al-​Hasan!” Where­upon Ali sprang to the Caliph’s car­pet and kiss­ing it, said, “At thy ser­vice, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful!” and stood be­fore him. Quoth al-​Maa­mun, “Let us hear some pleas­ant and mer­ry song.” Replied Ali, “I hear and obey, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful,” and said to one of his eu­nuchs, “Fetch the singing wom­en.” So the slave went out and present­ly re­turned, fol­lowed by ten cas­tratos, bear­ing ten stools of gold, which they set down in due or­der; and af­ter these came ten damsels, con­cu­bines of the mas­ter, as they were shin­ing full moons or gar­dens full of bloom, clad in black bro­cade, with crowns of gold on their heads; and they passed along the room till they sat down on the stools, when sang they sundry songs. Al-​Maa­mun looked at one of them; and, be­ing cap­ti­vat­ed by her el­egance and fair favour, asked her, “What is thy name, O damsel?”; and she an­swered, “My name is Sajáhí,[FN#215] O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful,” and he said, “Sing to us, O Sa­jahi!” So she played a live­ly mea­sure and sang these cou­plets,

“I walk, for fear of in­ter­view, the weak­ling’s walk * Who sees two li­on whelps the fount draw nigh: My cloak acts sword, my heart’s per­plex’d with fright, * Lest jeal­ous hos­tile eyes th’ ap­proach de­scry: Till sud­den hapt I on a del­icate maid * Like desert-​doe that fails her fawns to es­py.”

Quoth the Caliph, “Thou hast done well, O damsel! whose are these lines?” She an­swered, “Writ­ten by Am­ru bin Ma’di Karib al -Zubay­di,[FN#216] and the air is Ma’abid’s.”[FN#217] Then the Caliph and Abu Isa and Ali drank and the damsels went away and were suc­ceed­ed by oth­er ten, all clad in flow­ered silk of Al-​Ya­man, bro­cad­ed with gold, who sat down on the chairs and sang var­ious songs. The Caliph looked at one of the con­cu­bines, who was like a wild heifer of the waste, and said to her, “What is thy name, O damsel?” She replied, “My name is Zabiyah,[FN#218] 0 Com­man­der of the Faith­ful;” and he, “Sing to us Zabiyah;” so she war­bled like a bird with many a trill and sang these two cou­plets,

“Houris, and high­born Dames who feel no fear of men, * Like Mec­can game for­bid­den man to slam:[FN#219] Their soft sweet voic­es make you deem them whores, * But bars them from all whor­ing Al-​Is­lam.”

When she had fin­ished, al-​Maa­mun cried, “favoured of Al­lah art thou!”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Six­teenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the slave girl fin­ished her song, al-​Maa­mun cried, “Favoured of Al­lah art thou! Whose is this verse?” and she an­swered, “Jarír’s[FN#220] and the air is By Ibn Surayj.” Then the Caliph and his com­pa­ny drank, whilst the girls went away and there came forth yet oth­er ten, as they were ru­bies, robed in red bro­cade in­wo­ven with gold and pur­fled with pearls and jew­els whilst all their heads were bare. They sat down on the stools and sang var­ious airs; so the Caliph looked at one of them, who was like the sun of the day, and asked her, “What is thy name, O damsel?”; and she an­swered, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, my name is Fátin.” “Sing to us, O Fatin,” quoth he; where­at she played a live­ly mea­sure and sang these cou­plets,

“Deign grant thy favours; since ’tis time I were en­graced; * Tnough of sev­er­ance hath it been my lot to taste. Thou’rt he whose face cloth ev­ery gift and charm unite, * Yet is my pa­tience spent for that ’twas sore mis­placed: I’ve wast­ed life in lov­ing thee; and would high Heav­en * Grant me one meet­ing hour for all this wil­ful waste.”

“Well sung, O Fatin!” ex­claimed the Caliph; “whose verse is this?” And she an­swered, “Adi bin Za­yd’s, and the air is an­tique.” Then all three drank, whilst the damsels re­tired and were suc­ceed­ed by oth­er ten maid­ens, as they were sparkling stars, clad in flow­ered silk em­broi­dered with red gold and girt with jew­elled zones. They sat down and sang var­ious mo­tives; and the Caliph asked one of them, who was like a wand of wil­low, “What is thy name, O damsel?”; and she an­swered, “My name is Rashaa,[FN#221] 0 Com­man­der of the Faith­ful.” “Sing to us, O Rashaa,” quoth he; so she played a live­ly mea­sure and sang these cou­plets,

“And wand-​like Houri, who can pas­sion heal * Like young gazelle that paceth o’er the plain: I drain this wine cup on the toast, her cheek, * Each cup dis­put­ing till she bends in twain Then sleeps the night with me, the while I cry * ‘This is the on­ly gain my Soul would gain!’ “

Said the Caliph, “Well done, O damsel! Sing us some­thing more.” So she rose and kiss­ing the ground be­fore him, sang the fol­low­ing dis­tich,

“She came out to gaze on the bridal at ease * In a shift that reeked of am­ber­gris.”

The Caliph was high­ly pleased with this cou­plet and, when the slave girl saw how much it de­light­ed him, she re­peat­ed it sev­er­al times. Then said al-​Maa­mun, “Bring up ‘the Fly­er,’” be­ing mind­ed to em­bark and de­part: but Ali bin Hisham said to him, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, I have a slave girl, whom I bought for ten thou­sand din­ers; she hath tak­en my heart in whole and part, and I would fain dis­play her to the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful. If she please him and he will ac­cept of her, she is his: and if not, let him hear some­thing from her.” Said the Caliph, “Bring her to me;” and forth came a damsel, as she were a branch­let of wil­low, with se­duc­ing eyes and eye­brows set like twin bows; and on her head she wore a crown of red gold crust­ed with pearls and jew­elled, un­der which was a fil­let bear­ing this cou­plet wrought in let­ters of chryso­lite,

“A Jin­niyah this, with her Jinn, to show * How to pierce man’s heart with a string­less bow!”

The hand­maid­en walked, with the gait of a gazelle in flight and fit to damn a devo­tee, till she came to a chair, where­on she seat­ed her­self.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Sev­en­teenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the hand maid­en walked with the gait of a gazelle in flight, fit to damn a devo­tee, till she came to a chair where­on she seat­ed her­self. And Al-​Maa­mun mar­velled at her beau­ty and love­li­ness; but, when Abu Isa saw her, his heart throbbed with pain, his colour changed to pale and wan and he was in evil case. Asked the Caliph, “O Abu Isa, what aileth thee to change thus?”; and he an­swered, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, it is be­cause of a twitch that seizeth me be­times.” Quoth the Caliph, “Hast thou known yon­der damsel be­fore to day?” Quoth he, “Yes, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, can the moon be con­cealed?” Then said al-​Maa­mun to her, “What is thy name, O damsel?”; and she replied, “My name is Kur­rat al-​Ayn. O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful,” and he re­joined, “Sing to us, O Kur­rat al-​Ayn.” So she sang these two cou­plets,

“The loved ones left thee in mid­dle night, * And fared with the pil­grims when dawn shone bright: The tents of pride round the domes they pitched, * And with broi­dered cur­tains were veiled fro’ sight.”

Quoth the Caliph, “Favoured of Heav­en art thou, O Kur­rat al-​Ayn! Whose song is that?”; where­to she an­swered “The words are by Di’ibil al-​Khuza’i, and the air by Zurzúr al-​Saghír.” Abu Isa looked at her and his tears choked him; so that the com­pa­ny mar­velled at him. Then she turned to al-​Maa­mun and said to him, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, wilt thou give me leave to change the words?” Said he, “Sing what thou wilt;” so she played a mer­ry mea­sure and car­olled these cou­plets,

“If thou should please a friend who pleaseth thee * Frankly, in pub­lic prac­tise se­cre­cy. And spurn the slan­der­er’s tale, who sel­dom[FN#222] * seeks Ex­cept the sev­er­ance of true love to see. They say, when lover’s near, he tires of love, * And ab­sence is for love best rem­edy: Both cures we tried and yet we are not cured, * With­al we judge that near­ness eas­ier be: Yet near­ness is of no avail when he * Thou lovest lends thee love un­will­ing­ly.”

But when she had fin­ished, Abu Isa said, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful,” –And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Eigh­teenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Kur­rat al-​Ayn had fin­ished her verse, Abu Isa said, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, though we en­dure dis­grace, we shall be at ease.[FN#223] Dost thou give me leave to re­ply to her?” Quoth the Caliph, “Yes, say what thou wilt to her.” So he swal­lowed his tears and sang these two dis­tichs,

“Silent I woned and nev­er owned my love; * But from my heart I hid love’s bliss­ful boon; Yet, if my eyes should man­ifest my love, * ‘Tis for my near­ness to the shin­ing moon.”

Then Kur­rat al-​Ayn took the lute and played a live­ly tune and re­joined with these cou­plets,

“An what thou claimest were the re­al truth, * With on­ly Hope con­tent thou hadst not been Nor couldest pa­tient live with­out the girl * So rare of in­ner grace and out­ward mien. But there is noth­ing in the claim of thee * At all, save tongue and talk that lit­tle mean.”

When Abu Isa heard this he fell to weep­ing and wail­ing and ev­idenc­ing his trou­ble and an­guish. Then he raised his eyes to her and sigh­ing, re­peat­ed these cou­plets,

“Un­der my rai­ment a waste body lies, * And in my spir­it all com­pris­ing prize. I have a heart, whose pain shall aye en­dure, * And tears like tor­rents pour these woe­ful eyes. Whene’er a wise man spies me, straight he chides * Love, that mis­leads me thus in ways un­wise: O Lord, I lack the pow­er this dole to bear: * Come sud­den Death or joy in bestest guise!”

When he had end­ed, Ali bin Hisham sprang up and kiss­ing his feet, said, “O my lord, Al­lah hear­ing thy se­cret hath an­swered thy prayer and con­sen­teth to thy tak­ing her with all she hath of things rare and fair, so the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful have no mind to her.” Quoth Al Maa­mun, “Had we a mind to her, we would pre­fer Abu Isa be­fore our­selves and help him to his de­sire.” So say­ing, he rose and em­bark­ing, went away, whilst Abu Isa tar­ried for Kur­rat al-​Ayn, whom he took and car­ried to his own house, his breast swelling with joy. See then the gen­eros­ity of Ali son of Hisham! And they tell a tale of

AL-​AMIN SON OF AL-​RASHID AND HIS UN­CLE IBRAHIM BIN AL-​MAH­DI.

Al-​Amin,[FN#224] broth­er of al-​Maa­mun, once en­tered the house of his un­cle Ibrahim bin al-​Mah­di, where he saw a slave girl play­ing up­on the lute; and, she be­ing one of the fairest of wom­en, his heart in­clined to her. Ibrahim, see­ing how it was with him, sent the girl to him, with rich rai­ment and pre­cious or­na­ments. When he saw her, he thought that his un­cle had lain with her; so he was loath to have to do with her, be­cause of that, and ac­cept­ing what came with her sent her back to Ibrahim. His un­cle learnt the cause of this from one of al-​Amin’s eu­nuchs; so he took a shift of wa­tered silk and worked up­on its skirt, in let­ters of gold, these two cou­plets,

“No! I de­clare by Him to whom all bow, * Of noth­ing ‘neath her pet­ti­coat I trow: Nor med­dle with her mouth; nor aught did I * But see and hear her, and it was enow!”

Then he clad her in the shift and, giv­ing her a lute, sent her back again to his nephew. When she came in­to al-​Amin’s pres­ence, she kissed ground be­fore him and tun­ing the lute, sang there­to these two cou­plets,

“Thy breast thou baredst send­ing back the gift; * Show­ing unlove for me with­outen shift: An thou bear spite of Past, the Past for­give, * And for the Caliphate cast the Past adrift.”

When she had made an end of her verse, Al-​Amin looked at her and, see­ing what was up­on her skirt, could no longer con­trol him self, And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Nine­teenth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Al-​Amin looked at the damsel and saw what was up­on her skirt, he could no longer con­trol him­self, but drew near un­to her and kissed her and ap­point­ed her a sep­arate lodg­ing in his palace. More­over, he thanked his un­cle for this and be­stowed on him the gov­ern­ment of Rayy. And a tale is told of

AL-​FATH BIN KHAKAN AND THE CALIPH AL-​MU­TAWAKKIL.

Al-​Mu­tawakkil[FN#225] was once tak­ing medicine, and folk sent him by way of so­lace all sorts of presents and rar­ities and things cost­ly and pre­cious. Amongst oth­ers, al-​Fath bin Khákán[FN#226] sent him a vir­gin slave, high breast­ed, of the fairest among wom­en of her time, and with her a vase of crys­tal, con­tain­ing rud­dy wine, and a gob­let of red gold, where­on were graven in black these cou­plets,

“Since our Imam came forth from medicine, * Which made him health and hearti­ness rewin, There is no heal­ing draught more sovereign * Than well boiled wine this gold­en gob­let in: Then let him break the seal for him se­cured; * ‘Tis best pre­scrip­tion af­ter medicine[FN#227]

Now when the damsel en­tered, the physi­cian Yohan­ná[FN#228] was with the Caliph, and as he read the cou­plets, he smiled and said, “By Al­lah, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Fath is bet­ter versed than I in the art of heal­ing: so let not the Prince of True Be­liev­ers gain­say his pre­scrip­tion.” Ac­cord­ing­ly, the Caliph fol­lowed the recipe con­tained in the po­et­ry and was made whole by the bless­ing of Al­lah and won his ev­ery wish. And among tales they tell is one of

THE MAN’S DIS­PUTE WITH THE LEARNED WOM­AN CON­CERN­ING THE REL­ATIVE EX­CEL­LENCE OF MALE AND FE­MALE.

Quoth a cer­tain man of learn­ing, “I nev­er saw amongst wom­an kind one wit­ti­er, and wis­er, bet­ter read and by na­ture more gen­er­ous­ly bred; and in man­ners and morals more per­fect­ed than a preach­er of the peo­ple of Bagh­dad, by name Sitt al-​Mashá’ikh.[FN#229] It chanced that she came to Hamah city in the year of the Flight five hun­dred and six­ty and one[FN#230]; and there de­liv­ered salu­tary ex­hor­ta­tions to the folk from the pro­fes­so­ri­al chair. Now there used to vis­it her house a num­ber of stu­dents of di­vin­ity and per­sons of learn­ing and po­lite let­ters, who would dis­cuss with her ques­tions of the­ol­ogy and dis­pute with her on con­tro­ver­sial points. I went to her one day, with a friend of mine, a man of years and ed­uca­tion; and when we had tak­en our seats, she set be­fore us a dish of fruit and seat­ed her­self be­hind a cur­tain. Now she had a broth­er, a hand­some youth, who stood be­hind us, to serve us. And when we had eat­en we fell to dis­put­ing up­on points of di­vin­ity, and I pro­pound­ed to her a the­olog­ical ques­tion bear­ing up­on a dif­fer­ence be­tween the Imams, the Founders of the Four Schools. She pro­ceed­ed to speak in an­swer, whilst I lis­tened; but all the while my friend fell to look­ing up­on her broth­er’s face and ad­mir­ing his beau­ties with­out pay­ing any heed to what she dis­coursed. Now as she was watch­ing him from be­hind the cur­tain; when she had made an end of her speech, she turned to him and said, ‘Me­thinks thou be of those who give men the pref­er­ence over wom­en!’ He replied, ‘As­sured­ly,’ and she asked, ‘And why so?’; where­to he an­swered, ‘For that Al­lah hath made the mas­cu­line wor­thi­er than the fem­inine,’” –And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ti­eth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the Shaykh replied, ” ‘For that Al­lah hath made the mas­cu­line wor­thi­er than the fem­inine; and I like the ex­celling and mis­like the ex­celled.’ She laughed and present­ly said, ‘Wilt thou deal fair­ly with me in de­bate, if I bat­tle the mat­ter with thee?’ and he re­joined, ‘Yes.’ Then quoth she, ‘What is the ev­idence of the su­pe­ri­or­ity of the male to the fe­male?’ Quoth he, ‘It is of two kinds, tra­di­tion­al and rea­son­able. The au­thor­ita­tive part de­riv­eth from the Ko­ran and the Tra­di­tions of the Apos­tle. As for the first we have the very words of Almighty Al­lah, ‘Men shall have the pre-​em­inence above wom­en be­cause of those ad­van­tages where­in Al­lah hath caused the one of them to ex­cel the oth­er;[FN#231] and again, ‘If there be not two men, let there be one man and two wom­en;’[FN#232] and again, when treat­ing of in­her­itance, ‘If there be broth­ers and sis­ters let a male have as much as the por­tion of two fe­males.’[FN#233] Thus Al­lah (ex­tolled and ex­alt­ed be He!) hath in these places pre­ferred the male over the fe­male and tea­cheth that a wom­an is as the half of a man, for that he is wor­thi­er than she. As for the Sun­nah tra­di­tions, is it not re­port­ed of the Prophet (whom Al­lah save and as­sain!) that he ap­point­ed the blood mon­ey for a wom­an to be half that of a man. And as for the ev­idence of rea­son, the male is the agent and ac­tive and the fe­male the pa­tient and pas­sive.’[FN#234] Re­joined she, ‘Thou hast said well, O my lord, but, by Al­lah, thou hast proved my con­tention with thine own lips and hast ad­vanced ev­idence which tel­leth against thee, and not for thee. And thus it is: Al­lah (ex­tolled and ex­alt­ed be He!) pre­ferred the male above the fe­male sole­ly be­cause of the in­her­ent con­di­tion and es­sen­tial qual­ity of mas­culin­ity; and in this there is no dis­pute be­tween us. Now this qual­ity of male-​hood is com­mon to the child, the boy, the youth, the adult and the old man; nor is there any dis­tinc­tion be­tween them in this. If, then, the su­pe­ri­or ex­cel­lence of male mas­cu­lant be­long to him sole­ly by virtue of man­hood, it be­hoveth that thy heart in­cline and thy sole de­light in the gray­beard, equal­ly with the boy; see­ing that there is no dis­tinc­tion be­tween them, in point of male-​hood. But the dif­fer­ence be­tween thee and me tur­neth up­on the ac­ci­dent of qual­ities that are sought as con­sti­tut­ing the plea­sure of in­ter­course and its en­joy­ment; and thou hast ad­duced no proof of the su­pe­ri­or­ity of the youth over the young girl in this mat­ter of non-​es­sen­tials.’ He made an­swer, ‘O rev­erend la­dy, know­est thou not that which is pe­cu­liar to the youth of lim­ber shape and rosy cheeks and pleas­ant smile and sweet­ness of speech? Youths are, in these re­spects su­pe­ri­or to wom­en; and the proof of this is what they tra­di­tion­al­ly re­port of the Prophet (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!) that he said, ‘Stay not thy gaze up­on the beard­less, for in them is a mo­men­tary eye glance at the black eyed girls of Par­adise.’ Nor in­deed is the su­pe­ri­or­ity of the lad over the lass hid­den to any of mankind, and how well saith Abu Nowas,[FN#235]

‘The least of him is the be­ing free * From month­ly cours­es and preg­nan­cy.’

And the say­ing of an­oth­er po­et,

‘Quoth our Imam, Abu Nowas, who was * For mad de­bauch and wag­gish­ness renowned: ‘O tribe that loves the cheeks of boys, take fill * Of joys in Par­adise shall ne’er be found!’

So if any one en­large in praise of a slave girl and wish to en­hance her val­ue by the men­tion of her beau­ties, he likeneth her to a youth,’” –And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the Shaykh con­tin­ued, “‘So if any one en­large in praise of a slave girl and wish to en­hance her val­ue by the men­tion of her beau­ties, he likeneth her to a youth, be­cause of the il­lus­tri­ous qual­ities that be­long to the male, even as saith the po­et,

‘Boy like of back­side, in the deed of kind, * She sways, as sways the wand like boughs a-​wind.’

An youths, then, were not bet­ter and fair­er than girls, why should these be likened to them? And know al­so (Almighty Al­lah pre­serve thee!) that a youth is easy to be led, adapt­ing him­self to ev­ery rede, pleas­ant of con­verse and man­ners, in­clin­ing to as­sent rather than dis­sent, es­pe­cial­ly when his side face is new­ly down’d and his up­per lip is first em­browned, and the pur­ple lights of youth on his cheeks abound, so that he is like the full moon sound; and how good­ly is the say­ing of Abu Tam­mám[FN#236],

‘The slan­der­ers said ‘There’s hair up­on his cheeks’; * Quoth I, ‘Ex­ceed not, that’s no blem­ish there.’ When he could bear that hal­ing of his hips * And pearl-​beads shad­ed by mus­ta­chio hair;[FN#237] And Rose swore solemn, holi­est oath that is, * From that fair cheek she nev­er­more would fare I spoke with eye­lids with­out need of speech, * And they who an­swered me his eye­brows were. He’s even fair­er than thou knewest him, * And cheek down guards from all would over­dare. Brighter and sweet­er now are grown his charms, * Since down robes lip and cheek be­fore were bare. And those who blame me for my love of him, * When him they men­tion say of him, ‘Thy Fair’!’

And quoth al-​Hariri[FN#238] and quoth ex­cel­lent­ly well,

‘My cen­sors say, ‘What means this pine for him? * Seest not the flow­ing hair on cheeks a flow­ing?’ I say, ‘By Al­lah, an ye deem I dote, * Look at the truth in those fine eyes a-​show­ing! But for the down that veils his cheek and chin, * His brow had dazed all eyes no sight al­low­ing: And whoso so­journs in a growth­less land, * How shall he move from land fair growths a-​grow­ing?’

And quoth an­oth­er,

‘My blamers say of me, ‘He is con­soled,’ And lie! * No con­so­la­tion comes to those who pine and sigh. I had no so­lace when Rose bloomed alone on cheek, * Now Basil blooms there­on and now con­soled am I.’

And again,

‘Slim waist­ed one, whose looks with down of cheek * In slaugh­ter­ing mankind each oth­er hur­tle With the Nar­cis­sus blade he shed­deth blood, * The baldrick of whose sheath is fresh­est myr­tle.’[FN#239]

And again,

‘Not with his must I’m drunk, but ver­ily * Those curls turn man­ly heads like newest wine[FN#240] Each of his beau­ties en­vies each, and all * Would be the silky down on side face li’en.’

Such are the ex­cel­len­cies of the youth which wom­en do not own, and they more than suf­fice to give those the pref­er­ence over these.’ She replied, ‘Al­lah give thee health! ver­ily, thou hast im­posed the de­bate up­on thy­self; and thou hast spo­ken and hast not stint­ed and hast brought proofs to sup­port ev­ery as­ser­tion. But, ‘Now is the truth be­come man­ifest;’[FN#241] so swerve thou not from the path there­of; and, if thou be not con­tent with a sum­ma­ry of ev­idence, I will set it be­fore thee in fullest de­tail. Al­lah up­on thee, where is the youth be­side the girl and who shall com­pare kid and wild cow? The girl is soft of speech, fair of form, like a branch­let of basil, with teeth like chamomile-​petals and hair like hal­ters where­from to hang hearts. Her cheeks are like blood-​red anemones and her face like a pip­pin: she hath lips like wine and breasts like pomegranates twain and a shape sup­ple as a rat­tan-​cane. Her body is well formed and with slop­ing shoul­ders dight; she hath a nose like the edge of a sword shin­ing bright and a fore­head bril­liant white and eye­brows which unite and eyes stained by Na­ture’s hand black as night. If she speak, fresh young pearls are scat­tered from her mouth forthright and all hearts are rav­ished by the dain­ti­ness of her sprite; when she smileth thou wouldst ween the moon shone out her lips be­tween and when she eyes thee, sword blades flash from the babes of her eyes. In her all beau­ties to con­clu­sion come, and she is the cen­tre of at­trac­tion to trav­eller and stay-​at-​home. She hath two lips of cramoisy, than cream smoother and of taste than hon­ey sweet­er,’” –And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​sec­ond Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the preach­er wom­an thus pur­sued her theme in the praise of fair maids, “‘She hath two lips of cramoisy, than cream smoother and than hon­ey sweet­er;’ adding, ‘And she hath a bo­som, as it were a way two hills be­tween which are a pair of breasts like globes of ivory sheen; like­wise, a stom­ach right smooth, flanks soft as the palm-​spathe and creased with folds and dim­ples which over­lap one an­oth­er, and lib­er­al thighs, which like columns of pearl arise, and back parts which bil­low and beat to­geth­er like seas of glass or moun­tains of glance, and two feet and hands of gra­cious mould like un­to in­gots of vir­gin gold. So, O mis­er­able! where are mor­tal men be­side the Jinn? Know­est thou not that puis­sant princes and po­tent Kings be­fore wom­en ev­er humbly bend and on them for de­light de­pend? Ver­ily, they may say, ‘We rule over necks and rob hearts.’ These wom­en! how many a rich man have they not pau­pered, how many a pow­er­ful man have they not pros­trat­ed and how many a su­pe­ri­or man have they not en­slaved! In­deed, they se­duce the sage and send the saint to shame and bring the wealthy to want and plunge the for­tune favoured in­to penury. Yet for all this, the wise but re­dou­ble in af­fec­tion of them and hon­our; nor do they count this op­pres­sion or dis­hon­our. How many a man for them hath of­fend­ed his Mak­er and called down on him self the wrath of his fa­ther and moth­er! And all this be­cause of the con­quest of their love over hearts. Know­est thou not, O wretched one, that for them are built pavil­ions, and slave girls are for sale;[FN#242] that for them tear floods rail and for them are col­lect­ed jew­els of price and am­ber­gris and musk odor­if­er­ous; and armies are ar­rayed and pleasaunces made and wealth heaped up and smit­ten off is many a head? And in­deed he spoke sooth in the words, ‘Whoso saith the world meaneth wom­an.’ Now as for thy ci­ta­tion from the Holy Tra­di­tions, it is an ar­gu­ment against thee and not for thee in that the Prophet (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!) com­pareth the beard­less with the black eyed girls of Par­adise. Now, doubt­less, the sub­ject of com­par­ison is wor­thi­er than the ob­ject there with com­pared; so, un­less wom­en be the wor­thi­er and the goodli­er, where­fore should oth­er than they be likened to them? As for thy say­ing that girls are likened to boys, the case is not so, but the con­trary: boys are likened to girls; for folk say, Yon­der boy is like a girl. As for what proof thou quotest from the po­ets, the vers­es were the prod­uct of a com­plex­ion un­nat­ural in this re­spect; and as for the ha­bit­ual sodomites and catamites, of­fend­ers against re­li­gion, Almighty Al­lah hath con­demned them in His Holy Book,[FN#243] here­in He de­nounceth their filthy prac­tices, say­ing, ‘Do ye ap­proach un­to the males among mankind[FN#244] and leave your wives which your Lord hath cre­at­ed for you? Sure­ly ye are a peo­ple who transgress!’ These it is that liken girls to boys, of their ex­ceed­ing profli­ga­cy and un­gra­cious­ness and in­cli­na­tion to fol­low the fiend and own lusts, so that they say, ‘She is apt for two tricks,’[FN#245] and these are all wan­der­ers from the way of right and the righ­teous. Quoth their chief Abu Nowas,

‘Slim waist and boy­ish wits de­light * Wencher, as well as Sodomite,’[FN#246]

As for what thou sayest of a youth’s first hair on cheek and lips and how they add to his beau­ty and love­li­ness, by Al­lah, thou strayest from the straight path of sooth and sayest that which is oth­er than the truth; for whiskers change the charms of the come­ly in­to ug­li­ness (quot­ing these cou­plets),

‘That sprout­ing hair up­on his face took wreak * For lovers’ vengeance, all did vain­ly seek. I see not on his face a sign fuli- * genous, ex­cept his curls are hue of reek. If so his pa­per[FN#247] most­ly be be­grimed * Where deemest thou the reed shall draw a streak? If any raise him oth­er fairs above, * This on­ly proves the judge of wits is weak.’

And when she end­ed her verse she re­sumed, ‘Laud be to Al­lah Almighty,’” –And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the preach­er wom­an end­ed her verse she re­sumed, ad­dress­ing the man, ” ‘Laud to Al­lah Almighty! how can it be hid from thee that the per­fect plea­sure is in wom­en and that abid­ing bless­ings are not to be found but with them, see­ing that Al­lah (ex­tolled and ex­alt­ed be He!) hath promised His prophets and saints black eyed damsels in Par­adise and hath ap­point­ed these for a rec­om­pense of their god­ly works. And had the Almighty known that the joy supreme was in the pos­ses­sion of oth­er than wom­en, He had re­ward­ed them there­with and promised it to them. And quoth he (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!), ‘The things I hold dear­est of the things of your world are three: wom­en and per­fume and the so­lace of my eyes in prayer.’ Ver­ily Al­lah hath ap­point­ed boys to serve his prophets and saints in Par­adise, be­cause Par­adise is the abode of joy and de­light, which could not be com­plete with­out the ser­vice of youths; but, as to the use of them for aught but ser­vice, it is Hell’s pu­trid­ity[FN#248] and cor­rup­tion and turpi­tude. How well saith the po­et,

‘Men’s turn­ing un­to bums of boys is bump­tious; * Whoso love no­ble wom­en show their own no­blesse. How many good­ly wights have slept the night, en­joy­ing * But­tocks of boys, and woke at morn in foulest mess Their gar­ments stained by saf­flow­er, which is yel­low merde; * Their shame pro­claim­ing, show­ing colour of dis­tress. Who can de­ny the charge, when so be­wrayed are they * That e’en by day light shows the dung up­on their dress? What con­trast wi’ the man, who slept a glad­some night * By Houri maid for glance a mere en­chanter­ess, He ris­es off her bor­row­ing whole­some bon­ny scent; * That fills the house with whiffs of per­fumed good­li­ness. No boy de­served place by side of her to hold; * Canst even aloes wood with what fills pool of cess!’[FN#249]

Then said she, ‘O folk ye have made me to break the bounds of mod­esty and the cir­cle of free born wom­en and in­dulge in idle talk of cham­ber­ing and wan­ton­ness, which be­seemeth not peo­ple of learn­ing. But the breasts of free-​borns are the sepul­chres of se­crets’ and such con­ver­sa­tions are in con­fi­dence. More­over, ac­tions are ac­cord­ing to in­ten­tions,[FN#250] and I crave par­don of Al­lah for my­self and you and all Moslems, see­ing that He is the Par­don­er and the Com­pas­sion­ate.’ Then she held her peace and there­after would an­swer us of naught; so we went our way, re­joic­ing in that we had prof­it­ed by her con­tention and yet sor­row­ing to part from her.” And among the tales they tell is one of

ABU SUWAYD AND THE PRET­TY OLD WOM­AN.

Quoth Abu Suwayd, “I and a com­pa­ny of my friends, en­tered a gar­den one day to buy some­what of fruit; and we saw in a cor­ner an old wom­an, who was bright of face, but her head-​hair was white, and she was comb­ing it with an ivory comb. We stopped be­fore her, yet she paid no heed to us nei­ther veiled her face: so I said to her, ‘O old wom­an,[FN#251] wert thou to dye thy hair black, thou wouldst be hand­somer than a girl: what hin­dereth thee from this?’ She raised her head to­wards me”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that Abu Suwayd con­tin­ued: “When I spake these words to the an­cient dame she raised her head to­wards me and, open­ing wide her eyes, re­cit­ed these two cou­plets,

‘I dyed what years have dyed, but this my stain­ing * Lasts not, while that of days is aye re­main­ing: Days when be­clad in gear of youth I fared, * Raked fore and aft by men with joy un­feign­ing.’

I cried, ‘By Al­lah, favoured art thou for an old wom­an! How sin­cere art thou in thine af­ter-​pine for for­bid­den plea­sures and how false is thy pre­tence of re­pen­tance from froward­ness!’” And an­oth­er tale is that of

THE EMIR ALI BIN TAHIR AND THE GIRL MUU­NIS.

Once on a time was dis­played for sale to Ali bin Mo­hammed bin Ab­dal­lah bin Táhir[FN#252] a slave-​girl called Muu­nis who was su­pe­ri­or to her fel­lows in beau­ty and breed­ing, and to boot an ac­com­plished po­et­ess; and he asked her of her name. Replied she, “Al­lah ad­vance the Emir, my name is Muu­nis.”[FN#253] Now he knew this be­fore; so he bowed his head awhile, then rais­ing his eyes to her, re­cit­ed this verse,

“What sayest of one by a sick­ness caught * For the love of thy love till he waxed dis­traught?”

An­swered she, “Al­lah ex­alt the Emir!” and re­cit­ed this verse in re­ply,

“If we saw a lover who pains as he ought, * Wi’ love we would grant him all favours he sought.”

She pleased him: so he bought her for sev­en­ty thou­sand dirhams and be­gat on her Obayd’ Al­lah bin Mo­hammed, af­ter­wards min­is­ter of Po­lice.[FN#254] And we are told by Abu al-​Ayná[FN#255] a tale of

THE WOM­AN WHO HAD A BOY AND THE OTH­ER WHO HAD A MAN TO LOVER.

Quoth Abu al-​Ayná, “There were in our street two wom­en, one of whom had for lover a man and the oth­er a beard­less youth, and they fore­gath­ered one night on the ter­race-​roof of a house ad­join­ing mine, know­ing not that I was near. Quoth the boy’s lover to the oth­er, ‘O my sis­ter, how canst thou bear with pa­tience the harsh­ness of thy lover’s beard as it fal­leth on thy breast, when he bus­seth thee and his mus­ta­chios rub thy cheek and lips?’ Replied the oth­er, ‘Sil­ly that thou art, what deck­eth the tree save its leaves and the cu­cum­ber but its warts?[FN#256] Didst ev­er see in the world aught ugli­er than a scald-​head bald of his beard? Know­est thou not that the beard is to men as the side­locks to wom­en; and what is the dif­fer­ence be­tween chin and cheek?[FN#257] Know­est thou not that Al­lah (ex­tolled and ex­alt­ed be He!) hath cre­at­ed an an­gel in Heav­en, who saith: ‘Glo­ry be to Him who or­na­menteth men with beards and wom­en with long hair?’ So, were not the beard even as the tress­es in come­li­ness, it had not been cou­pled with them, O sil­ly! How shall I spread-​ea­gle my­self un­der a boy, who will emit long be­fore I can go off and fore­stall me in limp­ness of pe­nis and cli­toris; and leave a man who, when he taketh breath clip­peth close and when he en­tereth goeth leisure­ly, and when he hath done, re­peateth, and when he pusheth poketh hard, and as of­ten as he with­draweth, re­tur­neth?’ The boy’s le­man was ed­ified by her speech and said, ‘I for­swear my lover by the lord of the Ka’abah!’” And amongst tales is one of

ALI THE CAIRENE AND THE HAUNT­ED HOUSE IN BAGH­DAD.

There lived once, in the city of Cairo, a mer­chant who had great store of monies and bul­lion, gems and jew­els, and lands and hous­es be­yond count, and his name was Hasan the Jew­eller, the Bagh­dad man. Fur­ther­more Al­lah had blessed him with a son of per­fect beau­ty and bril­lian­cy; rosy-​cheeked, fair of face and well-​fig­ured, whom he named Ali of Cairo, and had taught the Ko­ran and sci­ence and elo­cu­tion and the oth­er branch­es of po­lite ed­uca­tion, till he be­came pro­fi­cient in all man­ner of knowl­edge. He was un­der his fa­ther’s hand in trade but, af­ter a while, Hasan fell sick and his sick­ness grew up­on him, till he made sure of death; so he called his son to him,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​fifth Night,

She said, it hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the Jew­eller, the Bagh­da­di, fell sick and made sure of death, he called to him his son, named Ali of Cairo, and said, “O my son, ver­ily this world pas­seth away; but the next world en­dureth for aye. Ev­ery soul shall taste of death;[FN#258] and now, O my son, my de­cease is at hand and I de­sire to charge thee with a charge, which if thou ob­serve, thou shalt abide in safe­ty and pros­per­ity, till thou meet Almighty Al­lah; but if thou fol­low it not, there shall be­fal thee much weari­ness and thou wilt re­pent of hav­ing trans­gressed mine in­junc­tions.” Replied Ali, “O my fa­ther, how shall I do oth­er than hear­ken to thy words and act ac­cord­ing to thy charge, see­ing that I am bound­en by the law of the Faith to obey thee and give ear to thy com­mand?” Re­joined his fa­ther, “O my son, I leave thee lands and hous­es and goods and wealth past count; so that wert thou each day to spend there­of five hun­dred di­nars, thou wouldst miss naught of it. But, O my son, look that thou live in the fear of Al­lah and fol­low His Cho­sen One, Mustafa, (whom may He bless and pre­serve!) in what­so he is re­port­ed to have bid­den and for­bid­den in his tra­di­tion­al law.[FN#259] Be thou con­stant in alms-​deeds and the prac­tice of benef­icence and in con­sort­ing with men of worth and piety and learn­ing; and look that thou have a care for the poor and needy and shun avarice and mean­ness and the con­ver­sa­tion of the wicked or those of sus­pi­cious char­ac­ter. Look thou kind­ly up­on thy ser­vants and fam­ily, and al­so up­on thy wife, for she is of the daugh­ters of the great and is big with child by thee; hap­ly Al­lah will vouch­safe thee vir­tu­ous is­sue by her.” And he ceased not to ex­hort him thus, weep­ing and say­ing, “O my son, I be­seech Al­lah the Boun­ti­ful, the Lord of the glo­ri­ous Empyre­an[FN#260] to de­liv­er thee from all straits that may en­com­pass thee and grant thee His ready re­lief!” There­upon his son wept with sore weep­ing and said, “O my fa­ther, I am melt­ed by thy words, for these are as the words of one that saith farewell.” Replied the mer­chant, “Yes, O my son, I am aware of my con­di­tion: for­get thou not my charge.” Then he fell to re­peat­ing the two pro­fes­sions of the Faith and to recit­ing vers­es of the Ko­ran, un­til the ap­point­ed hour ar­rived, when he said, “Draw near un­to me, O my son.” So Ali drew near and he kissed him; then he sighed and his soul de­part­ed his body and he went to the mer­cy of Almighty Al­lah.[FN#261] There­with great grief fell up­on Ali; the clam­our of keen­ing arose in his house and his fa­ther’s friends flocked to him. Then he be­took him­self to prepar­ing the body for buri­al and made him a splen­did fu­ner­al. They bore his bier to the place of prayer and prayed over him, then to the ceme­tery, where they buried him and re­cit­ed over him what suit­ed of the sub­lime Ko­ran; af­ter which they re­turned to the house and con­doled with the dead man’s son and wend­ed each his own way. More­over, Ali prayed the Fri­day prayer for his fa­ther and had per­lec­tions of the Ko­ran ev­ery day for the nor­mal forty, dur­ing which time he abode in the house and went not forth, save to the place of prayer; and ev­ery Fri­day he vis­it­ed his fa­ther’s tomb. So he ceased not from his pray­ing and recit­ing for some time, un­til his fel­lows of the sons of the mer­chants came in to him one day and salut­ing him, said, “How long this thy mourn­ing and ne­glect­ing thy busi­ness and the com­pa­ny of thy friends? Ver­ily, this is a fash­ion which will bring thee weari­ness, and thy body will suf­fer for it ex­ceed­ing­ly.” Now when they came in to him, Ib­lis the Ac­cursed was with them, prompt­ing them; and they went on to rec­om­mend him to ac­com­pa­ny them to the bazar, whilst Ib­lis tempt­ed him to con­sent to them, till he yield­ed,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​sixth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the sons of the mer­chants went in to Ali the Cairene, son of Hasan the Jew­eller, they rec­om­mend­ed him to ac­com­pa­ny them to the bazar, till he yield­ed, that the will of Al­lah (ex­tolled and ex­alt­ed be He!) might be ful­filled; and he left the house of mourn­ing with them. Present­ly they said, “Mount thy she-​mule and ride with us to such a gar­den, that we may so­lace us there and that thy grief and de­spon­den­cy may de­part from thee.” So he mount­ed and tak­ing his slave, went with them to the gar­den in ques­tion; and when they en­tered one of them went and mak­ing ready the morn­ing-​meal, brought it to them there. So they ate and were mer­ry and sat in talk, till the end of the day, when they mount­ed and re­turned each to his own lodg­ing, where they passed the night. As soon as the mor­row dawned, they again vis­it­ed Ali and said, “Come with us.” Asked he, “Whith­er?”; and they an­swered, “To such a gar­den; for it is fin­er than the first and more plea­sur­able.” So he went with them to the gar­den, and one of them, go­ing away, made ready the morn­ing-​meal and brought it to them, to­geth­er with strong heady wine; and af­ter eat­ing, they brought out the wine, when quoth Ali, “What is this? and quoth they, “This is what dis­pel­leth sad­ness and bright­eneth glad­ness. And they ceased not to com­mend it to him, till they pre­vailed up­on him and he drank with them. Then they sat, drink­ing and talk­ing, till the end of the day, when each re­turned home. But as for Ali, the Cairene, he was gid­dy with wine and in this plight went in to his wife, who said to him, “What aileth thee that thou art so changed?” He said, “We were mak­ing mer­ry to-​day, when one of my com­pan­ions brought us liquor; so my friends drank and I with them, and this gid­di­ness came up­on me.” And she replied, “O my lord, say me, hast thou for­got­ten thy fa­ther’s in­junc­tion and done that from which he for­bade thee, in con­sort­ing with doubt­ful folk?” An­swered he, “These be of the sons of the mer­chants; they are no sus­pi­cious folk, on­ly lovers of mirth and good cheer.” And he con­tin­ued to lead this life with his friends, day af­ter day, go­ing from place to place and feast­ing with them and drink­ing, till they said to him, “Our turns are end­ed, and now it is thy turn.” “Well come, and wel­come and fair cheer!” cried he; so on the mor­row, he made ready all that the case called for of meat and drink, two-​fold what they had pro­vid­ed, and tak­ing cooks and tent-​pitch­ers and cof­fee-​mak­ers,[FN#262] re­paired with the oth­ers to Al-​Rauzah[FN#263] and the Nilome­ter, where they abode a whole month, eat­ing and drink­ing and hear­ing mu­sic and mak­ing mer­ry. At the end of the month, Ali found that he had spent a great sum of mon­ey; but Ib­lis the Ac­cursed de­lud­ed him and said to him, “Though thou shouldst spend ev­ery day a like sum yet wouldst thou not miss aught of it.” So he took no ac­count of mon­ey ex­pens­es and con­tin­ued this way of life for three years, whilst his wife re­mon­strat­ed with him and re­mind­ed him of his fa­ther’s charge; but he hear­kened not to her words, till he had spent all the ready monies he had, when he fell to sell­ing his jew­els and spend­ing their price, un­til they al­so were all gone. Then he sold his hous­es, fields, farms and gar­dens, one af­ter oth­er, till they like­wise were all gone and he had noth­ing left but the ten­ement where­in he lived. So he tore out the mar­ble and wood-​work and sold it and spent of its price, till he had made an end of all this al­so, when he took thought with him­self and, find­ing that he had noth­ing left to ex­pend, sold the house it­self and spent the pur­chase-​mon­ey. Af­ter that, the man who had bought the house came to him and said “Seek out for thy­self a lodg­ing, as I have need of my house.” So he bethought him­self and, find­ing that he had no want of a house, ex­cept for his wife, who had borne him a son and daugh­ter (he had not a ser­vant left), he hired a large room in one of the mean courts[FN#264] and there took up his abode, af­ter hav­ing lived in hon­our and lux­ury, with many eu­nuchs and much wealth; and he soon came to want one day’s bread. Quoth his wife, “Of this I warned thee and ex­hort­ed thee to obey thy fa­ther’s charge, and thou wouldst not hear­ken to me; but there is no Majesty and there is no Might, save in Al­lah, the Glo­ri­ous, the Great! Whence shall the lit­tle ones eat? Arise then, go round to thy friends, the sons of the mer­chants: be­like they will give thee some­what on which we may live this day.” So he arose and went to his friends one by one; but they all hid their faces from him and gave him in­ju­ri­ous words re­volt­ing to hear, but naught else; and he re­turned to his wife and said to her, “They have giv­en me noth­ing.” There­upon she went forth to beg of her neigh­bours the where­with­al to keep them­selves alive,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​sev­enth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the wife of Ali the Cairene, see­ing her hus­band re­turn emp­ty-​hand­ed, went forth to beg of her neigh­bours the where­with­al to keep them­selves alive and re­paired to a wom­an, whom she had known in for­mer days. When she came in to her and she saw her case, she rose and re­ceiv­ing her kind­ly, wept and said, “What hath be­fall­en you?” So she told her all that her hus­band had done, and the oth­er replied, “Well come and wel­come and fair cheer!; what­ev­er thou needest, Seek it of me, with­out price.” Quoth she, “Al­lah re­quite thee abun­dant­ly!”[FN#265] Then her friend gave her as much pro­vi­sion as would suf­fice her­self and her fam­ily a whole month, and she took it and re­turned to her lodg­ing. When her hus­band saw her, he wept and asked, “Whence hadst thou that?”; and she an­swered, “I got it of such a wom­an; for, when I told her what had be­fall­en us, she failed me not in aught, but said, ‘Seek of me all thou needest.’” Where­upon her hus­band re­joined, “Since thou hast this much I will be­take my­self to a place I have in my mind; per­ad­ven­ture Al­lah Almighty will bring us re­lief.”[FN#266] With these words he took leave of her and kissed his chil­dren and went out, not know­ing whith­er he should go, and he con­tin­ued walk­ing on till he came to Bulák, where he saw a ship about to sail for Dami­et­ta.[FN#267] Here he met a man, be­tween whom and his fa­ther there had been friend­ship, and he salut­ed him and said to him, “Whith­er now?” Replied Ali, “To Dami­et­ta: I have friends there, whom I would en­quire af­ter and vis­it them and then re­turn.” The man took him home and treat­ed him hon­ourably; then, fur­nish­ing him with vivers for the voy­age and giv­ing him some gold pieces, em­barked him on board the ves­sel bound for Dami­et­ta. When they reached it, Ali land­ed, not know­ing whith­er to go; but as he was walk­ing along, a mer­chant saw him and had pity on him, and car­ried him to his house. Here he abode awhile, af­ter which he said in him­self, “How long this so­journ­ing in oth­er folk’s homes?” Then he left the mer­chant’s place and walked to the wharf where, af­ter en­quiry, he found a ship ready to sail for Syr­ia. His hos­pitable host pro­vid­ed him with pro­vi­sion and em­barked him in the ship; and it set sail and Ali reached in due sea­son the Syr­ian shores where he dis­em­barked and jour­neyed till he en­tered Dam­as­cus. As he walked about the great thor­ough­fare be­hold, a kind­ly man saw him and took him to his house, where he tar­ried for a time till, one day, go­ing abroad, he saw a car­avan about to start for Bagh­dad and bethought him­self to jour­ney thith­er with it. There­upon he re­turned to his host and tak­ing leave of him, set out with the Cafi­lah. Now Al­lah (ex­tolled and ex­alt­ed be He!) in­clined to him the heart of one of the mer­chants, so that he took him with him, and Ali ate and drank with him, till they came with­in one day’s jour­ney of Bagh­dad. Here, how­ev­er, a com­pa­ny of high­way­men fell up­on the car­avan and took all they had and but few of the mer­chants es­caped. These made each for a sep­arate place of refuge; but as for Ali the Cairene he fared for Bagh­dad, where he ar­rived at sun­down, as the gate­keep­ers were about to shut the gates, and said to them, “Let me in with you.” They ad­mit­ted him and asked him, “Whence come, and whith­er wend­ing?” and he an­swered, “I am a man from Cairo-​city and have with me mules laden with mer­chan­dise and slaves and ser­vants. I forewent them, to look me out a place where­in to de­posit my goods: but, as I rode along on my she-​mule, there fell up­on me a com­pa­ny of ban­dit­ti, who took my mule and gear; nor did I es­cape from them but at my last gasp.” The gate-​guard en­treat­ed him hon­ourably and bade him be of good cheer, say­ing, “Abide with us this night, and in the morn­ing we will look thee out a place be­fit­ting thee.” Then he sought in his breast-​pock­et and, find­ing a di­nar of those giv­en to him by the mer­chant at Bu­lak, hand­ed it to one of the gate­keep­ers, say­ing, “Take this and change it and bring us some­thing to eat.” The man took it and went to the mar­ket, where he changed it, and brought Ali bread and cooked meat: so he ate, he and the gate-​guards, and he lay the night with them. Now on the mor­row, one of the warders car­ried him to a cer­tain of the mer­chants of Bagh­dad, to whom he told the same sto­ry, and he be­lieved him, deem­ing that he was a mer­chant and had with him loads of mer­chan­dise. Then he took him up in­to his shop and en­treat­ed him with hon­our; more­over, he sent to his house for a splen­did suit of his own ap­par­el for him and car­ried him to the Ham­mam. “So,” quoth Ali of Cairo: “I went with him to the bath, and when we came out, he took me and brought me to his house, where he set the morn­ing-​meal be­fore us, and we ate and made mer­ry. Then said he to one of his black slaves, ‘Ho Mas’dd, take this thy lord: show him the two hous­es stand­ing in such a place, and whichev­er pleaseth him, give him the key of it and come back.’ So I went with the slave, till we came to a street-​road where stood three hous­es side by side, new­ly built and yet shut up. He opened the first and I looked at it; and we did the same to the sec­ond; af­ter which he said to me ‘Of which shall I give thee the key?’ ‘To whom doth the big house be­long?’ ‘To us!’ ‘Open it, that I may view it.’ ‘Thou hast no busi­ness there.’ ‘Where­fore?’ ‘Be­cause it is haunt­ed, and none nighteth there but in the morn­ing he is a dead man; nor do we use to open the door, when re­mov­ing the corpse, but mount the ter­race-​roof of one of the oth­er two hous­es and take it up thence. For this rea­son my mas­ter hath aban­doned the house and saith: ‘I will nev­er again give it to any one.’ ‘Open it,’ I cried, ‘that I may view it;’ and I said in my mind, ‘This is what I seek; I will pass the night there and in the morn­ing be a dead man and be at peace from this my case.’ So he opened it and I en­tered and found it a splen­did house, with­out its like; and I said to the slave, ‘I will have none oth­er than this house; give me its key.’ But he re­joined, ‘I will not give thee this key till I con­sult my mas­ter,’”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the ne­gro (con­tin­ued Ali of Cairo) “re­joined, ‘I will not give thee its key till I con­sult my mas­ter,’” and go­ing to him, re­port­ed, “‘The Egyp­tian trad­er saith, ‘I will lodge in none but the big house.’” Now when the mer­chant heard this, he rose and com­ing to Ali, spake thus to him, “O my lord, thou hast no need of this house.” But he an­swered, “I will lodge in none oth­er than this; for I care naught for this sil­ly say­ing.” Quoth the oth­er, “Write me an ac­knowl­edg­ment that, if aught hap­pen to thee, I am not re­spon­si­ble.” Quoth Ali, “So be it;” where­upon the mer­chant fetched an as­ses­sor from the Kazi’s court and, tak­ing the pre­scribed ac­knowl­edg­ment, de­liv­ered to him the key where­with he en­tered the house. The mer­chant sent him bed­ding by a black­amoor who spread it for him on the built bench be­hind the door[FN#268] and walked away. Present­ly Ali went about and, see­ing in the in­ner court a well with a buck­et, let this down and drew wa­ter, where­with he made the less­er ablu­tion and prayed the oblig­atory prayers. Then he sat awhile, till the slave brought him the evening meal from his mas­ter’s house, to­geth­er with a lamp, a can­dle and can­dle­stick, a basin and ew­er and a gug­glet[FN#269]; af­ter which he left him and re­turned home. Ali light­ed the can­dle, supped at his ease and prayed the night-​prayer; and present­ly he said to him­self, “Come, take the bed­ding and go up­stairs and sleep there; ’twill be bet­ter than here.” So he took the bed and car­ried it up­stairs, where he found a splen­did sa­loon, with gild­ed ceil­ing and floor and walls cased with coloured mar­bles. He spread his bed there and sit­ting down, be­gan to re­cite some­what of the Sub­lime Ko­ran, when (ere he was ware) he heard one call­ing to him and ask­ing, “O Ali, O son of Hasan, say me, shall I send thee down the gold?” And he an­swered, “Where be the gold thou hast to send?” But hard­ly had he spo­ken, when gold pieces be­gan to rain down on him, like stones from a cat­apult, nor ceased till the sa­loon was full. Then, af­ter the gold­en show­er, said the Voice, “Set me free, that I may go my way; for I have made an end of my ser­vice and have de­liv­ered un­to thee that which was en­trust­ed to me for thee.” Quoth Ali, “I ad­jure thee, by Al­lah the Almighty, to tell me the cause of this gold-​rain.” Replied the Voice, “This is a trea­sure that was tal­is­man’d to thee of old time, and to ev­ery one who en­tered the house, we used to come and say: ‘O Ali, O son of Hasan, shall we send thee down the gold?’ Where­at he would be af­fright­ed and cry out, and we would come down to him and break his neck and go away. But, when thou camest and we ac­cost­ed thee by thy name and that of thy fa­ther, say­ing, ‘Shall we send thee down the gold?’ and thou madest an­swer to us, ‘And where be the gold?’ we knew thee for the own­er of it and sent it down. More­over, there is yet an­oth­er hoard for thee in the land of Al-​Ya­man and thou wouldst do well to jour­ney thith­er and fetch it. And now I would fain have thee set me free, that I may go my way.” Said Ali, “By Al­lah, I will not set thee free, till thou bring me hith­er the trea­sure from the land of Al-​Ya­man!” Said the Voice, “An I bring it to thee, wilt thou re­lease me and eke the ser­vant of the oth­er hoard?” “Yes,” replied Ali, and the Voice cried, “Swear to me.” So he swore to him, and he was about to go away, when Ali said to him, “I have one oth­er need to ask of thee;” and he, “What is that?” Quoth Ali, “I have a wife and chil­dren at Cairo in such a place; thou needs must fetch them to me, at their ease and with­out their un­ease.” Quoth he, “I will bring them to thee in a mule-​lit­ter[FN#270] and much state, with a train of eu­nuchs and ser­vants, to­geth­er with the trea­sure from Al-​Ya­man, In­shal­lah!”[FN#271] Then he took of him leave of ab­sence for three days, when all this should be with him, and van­ished. As soon as it was morn­ing Ali went round about the sa­loon, seek­ing a place where­in to store the gold, and saw on the edge of the dais a mar­ble slab with a turn­ing-​pin; so he turned the pin and the slab sank and showed a door which he opened and en­ter­ing, found a great clos­et, full of bags of coarse stuff care­ful­ly sewn. So he be­gan tak­ing out the bags and fell to fill­ing them with gold and stor­ing them in the clos­et, till he had trans­port­ed thith­er all the hoard­ed gold, where­upon he shut the door and turn­ing the pin, the slab re­turned to its place. Then he went down and seat­ed him­self on the bench be­hind the door; and present­ly there came a knock; so he opened and found the mer­chant’s slave who, see­ing him com­fort­ably sit­ting, re­turned in haste to his mas­ter,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Twen­ty-​ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the house-​own­er’s black slave re­turned and knocked at the door, Ali the Cairene, son of the mer­chant Hasan, opened it to him and the ne­gro, see­ing him com­fort­ably sit­ting, re­turned in haste to his mas­ter with the good tid­ings, say­ing, “O my Lord, the mer­chant, who is lodged in the house in­hab­it­ed by the Jinn,[FN#272] is alive and well and sit­teth on the bench be­hind the door.” Then the mer­chant rose joy­ful­ly and went to the house, tak­ing break­fast with him; and, when he saw Ali, he em­braced him and kissed him be­tween the eyes, ask­ing, “How hath Al­lah dealt with thee?”; and Ali an­swered, “Right well, I slept up­stairs in the mar­ble sa­loon.” Quoth the mer­chant, “Did aught come to thee or didst thou see any thing?” and quoth Ali “No, I re­cit­ed some lit­tle of the Sub­lime Ko­ran and slept till morn­ing, when I arose and, af­ter mak­ing the mi­nor ablu­tion and pray­ing, seat­ed my­self on the bench be­hind the door.” “Praised be Al­lah for safe­ty!” ex­claimed the mer­chant, then left him and present­ly sent him black slaves and white Mamelukes and hand­maid­ens with house­hold gear. They swept the house from top to bot­tom and fur­nished it with mag­nif­icent fur­ni­ture; af­ter which three white slaves and three blacks and four slave-​girls re­mained with him, to serve him, while the rest re­turned to their mas­ter’s house. Now when the mer­chants heard of him, they sent him presents of all man­ner things of price, even to food and drink and clothes, and took him with them to the mar­ket, ask­ing, “When will thy bag­gage ar­rive?” And he an­swered, “Af­ter three days it will sure­ly come.” When the term had elapsed, the ser­vant of the first hoard, the gold­en rain, came to him and said, “Go forth and meet the trea­sure I have brought thee from Al-​Ya­man to­geth­er with thy Harim; for I bring part of the wealth in the sem­blance of cost­ly mer­chan­dise; but the eu­nuchs and Mamelukes and the mules and hors­es and camels are all of the Jann.” Now the Jin­ni, when he be­took him­self to Cairo, found Ali’s wife and chil­dren in sore mis­ery, naked and hun­gry; so he car­ried them out of the city in a trav­el­ling-​lit­ter and clad them in sump­tu­ous rai­ment of the stuffs which were in the trea­sure of Al-​Ya­man. So when Ali heard this, he arose and re­pair­ing to the mer­chants, said to them, “Rise and go forth with us from the city, to meet the car­avan bring­ing my mer­chan­dise, and hon­our us with the pres­ence of your Harims, to meet my Harim.” “Hear­ken­ing and obe­di­ence,” an­swered they and, send­ing for their Harims, went forth all to­geth­er and took seat in one of the city-​gar­dens; and as they sat talk­ing, be­hold, a dust-​cloud arose out of the heart of the desert, and they flocked forth to see what it was. Present­ly it lift­ed and dis­cov­ered mules and mule­teers, tent-​pitch­ers and linkmen, who came on, singing and danc­ing, till they reached the gar­den, when the chief of the mule­teers walked up to Ali and kiss­ing his hand, said to him, “O my mas­ter, we have been long on the way, for we pur­posed en­ter­ing yes­ter­day; but we were in fear of the ban­dits, so abode in our sta­tion four days, till Almighty Al­lah rid us of them.” There­upon the mer­chants mount­ed their mules and rode for­ward with the car­avan, the Harims wait­ing be­hind, till Ali’s wife and chil­dren mount­ed with them; and they all en­tered in splen­did train. The mer­chants mar­velled at the num­ber of mules laden with chests, whilst the wom­en of the mer­chants won­dered at the rich­ness of the ap­par­el of his wife and the fine rai­ment of her chil­dren; and kept say­ing each to oth­er, “Ver­ily, the King of Bagh­dad hath no such gear; no, nor any oth­er of the kings or lords or mer­chants!” So they ceased not to fare for­wards in high great state, the men with Ali of Cairo and the Harims with his Harim, till they came to the man­sion,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ti­eth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that they ceased not to fare for­wards in high state, the men with Ali’s men and the wom­en with his wife, till they came to the man­sion, where they alight­ed and brought the mules and their bur­dens in­to the midst of the court­yard. Then they un­load­ed them and ware­housed the goods whilst the mer­chants’ wives went up with Ali’s fam­ily to the sa­loon, which they found as it were a lux­uri­ant gar­den, spread with mag­nif­icent fur­ni­ture. They sat in mirth and good cheer till noon, when they brought them up the mid­day meal, all man­ner meats and sweet­meats of the very best; and they ate and drank cost­ly sher­bets and per­fumed them­selves there­after with rose-​wa­ter and scent­ed woods. Then they took leave and went home, men and wom­en; and, when the mer­chants re­turned to their places, they sent presents to the hus­band ac­cord­ing to their con­di­tions; and their wives like­wise sent presents to the wife, so that there came to them great store of hand­maids and ne­groes and Mamelukes; and all kinds of goods, such as grain, sug­ar and so forth, in abun­dance be­yond ac­count. As for the Bagh­dad mer­chant, the land­lord of the house, he abode with Ali and quit­ted him not, but said to him, “Let the black slaves and ser­vants take the mules and the com­mon cat­tle in­to one of my oth­er hous­es, to rest.” Quoth Ali, “They set out again to-​night for such a place.” Then he gave them leave to go forth and camp out­side the city, that they might start on their jour­ney at night-​come; where­upon, hard­ly be­liev­ing that they were dis­missed, they took leave of him and de­part­ing to the out­liers of the city, flew off through the air to their sev­er­al abodes. So Ali and his house-​own­er sat to­geth­er till a third of the night was past, when their col­lo­quy end­ed and the mer­chant re­turned to his own house and Ali went up to his wife and chil­dren and af­ter salut­ing them, said, “What hath be­fall­en you in my ab­sence all this time?” So she told him what they had suf­fered of hunger and naked­ness and tra­vail, and he said, “Praised be Al­lah for safe­ty! How did ye come?” An­swered she, “O my lord, I was asleep with my chil­dren yestern­ight, when sud­den­ly and un­ex­pect­ed­ly one raised us from the ground and flew with us through the fir­ma­ment with­out do­ing us any hurt, nor did he leave fly­ing with us, till he set us down in a place as it were an Arab camp­ing-​ground, where we saw laden mules and a trav­el­ling lit­ter borne up­on two great mules, and around it ser­vants, all boys and men. So I asked them, ‘Who are ye and what are these loads and where are we?;’ and they an­swered, ‘We are the ser­vants of the mer­chant Ali of Cairo, son of the mer­chant- jew­eller, who hath sent us to fetch you to him at Bagh­dad.’ Quoth I, ‘Tell me, is it far or near, hence to Bagh­dad?’ They replied, ‘Near: there li­eth be­tween us and the city but the dark­ness of the night.’ Then they mount­ed us in the lit­ter and, when the mor­row dawned, we found our­selves with thee, with­out hav­ing suf­fered any hurt what­ev­er.” Quoth he, “Who gave you these dress­es?;” and quoth she, “The chief of the car­avan opened one of the box­es on the mules and tak­ing out there­of these clothes, clad me and thy chil­dren each in a suit; af­ter which he locked the case and gave me the key, say­ing, ‘Take care of it, till thou give it to thy hus­band.’ And here it is safe by me.” So say­ing, she gave him the key, and he said, “Dost thou know the chest?” Said she, “Yes, I know it.” So he took her down to the mag­azine and showed her the box­es, when she cried, “This is the one whence the dress­es were tak­en;” up­on which he put the key in the lock and opened the chest, where­in he found much rai­ment and the keys of all the oth­er cas­es. So he took them and fell to open­ing them, one af­ter an­oth­er, and feast­ing his eyes up­on the gems and pre­cious ores they con­tained, whose like was not found with any of the kings; af­ter which he locked them again, took the keys, and re­turned to the sa­loon, say­ing to his wife, “This is of the boun­ty of Almighty Al­lah!” Then bring­ing her to the se­cret slab he turned the pin and opened the door of the clos­et, in­to which he en­tered with her and showed her the gold he had laid up there­in. Quoth she, “Whence came all this to thee?” “It came to me by the grace of my Lord,” an­swered he:–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Ali’s wife had looked up­on the gold she said to him, “Whence came all this to thee?” “It came to me by the grace of my Lord,” an­swered he: “When I left thee in my trou­ble, I shipped at Bu­lak for Dami­et­ta and met a friend there who for­ward­ed me to Dam­as­cus”: in brief he told her all that had be­fall­en him, from first to last. Said she, “O my lord, all this cometh by boon of thy fa­ther’s bless­ing and orisons when he prayed for thee, be­fore his death, say­ing, ‘I be­seech Al­lah to cast thee in­to no straits ex­cept He grant thee ready re­lief!’ So praised be Al­lah Almighty for that He hath brought thee de­liv­er­ance and hath re­quit­ed thee with more than went from thee! But Al­lah up­on thee, O my lord, re­turn not to thy prac­tice of as­so­ci­at­ing with doubt­ful folk; but look thou fear Al­lah (whose name be ex­alt­ed!) both in pri­vate and in pub­lic.” And as she went on to ad­mon­ish him, he said, “I ac­cept thine ad­mo­ni­tion and beg the Almighty to re­move the froward from amongst us and sta­blish us in His obe­di­ence and in the ob­ser­vance of the law and prac­tice of His Prophet, on whom be bless­ings and peace!” Af­ter that Ali and his wife and chil­dren were in all so­lace of life and glad­ness; and he opened him a shop in the mer­chants’ bazar and, stock­ing it with a some­what of jew­els and bul­lion, sat there­in with his chil­dren and white ser­vants. Present­ly he be­came the most con­sid­er­able of the mer­chants of Bagh­dad, and his re­port reached the King of that city,[FN#273] who sent a mes­sen­ger to com­mand his at­ten­dance, say­ing, “An­swer the sum­mons of the King who re­quireth thee.” He replied, “I hear and obey,” and straight­way pre­pared his present and he took four trays of red gold and, fill­ing them with jew­els and pre­cious met­als, such as no King pos­sessed, went up to the palace and pre­sent­ing him­self be­fore the pres­ence, kissed the ground be­tween his hands and wished him en­durance of goods and glo­ry in the finest lan­guage he could com­mand. Said the King, “O mer­chant, thou cheer­est our city with thy pres­ence!” and Ali re­joined, “O King of the age, thy slave hath brought thee a gift and hopeth for ac­cep­tance there­of from thy favour.” Then he laid the four trays be­fore the King, who un­cov­ered them and see­ing that they con­tained gems, whose fel­lows he pos­sessed not and whose worth equalled trea­suries of mon­ey, said, “Thy present is ac­cept­ed, O mer­chant, and In­shal­lah! we will re­quite thee with its like.” And Ali kissed his hands and went away; where­upon the King called his grandees and said to them, “How many of the Kings have sought my daugh­ter in mar­riage?” “Many,” an­swered they; and he asked, “Hath any of them giv­en me the like of this gift?”; where­to they replied, “Not one, for that none of them hath its like;” and he said, “I have con­sult­ed Al­lah Almighty by lot as to mar­ry­ing my daugh­ter to this mer­chant. What say ye?” “Be it as thou reck­est,” an­swered they. Then he bade the eu­nuch car­ry the four trays in­to his ser­raglio and go­ing in to his wife, laid them be­fore her. She un­cov­ered them and see­ing there­in that whose like she pos­sessed not; no, nor a frac­tion there­of, said to him, “From which of the Kings hadst thou these?: per­chance of one of the roy­al­ties that seek thy daugh­ter in mar­riage?” Said he, “Not so, I had them of an Egyp­tian mer­chant, who is late­ly come to this our city. Now when I heard of his com­ing I sent to com­mand him to us, think­ing to make his ac­quain­tance, so hap­ly we might find with him some­what of jew­els and buy them of him for our daugh­ter’s trousseau. He obeyed our sum­mons and brought us these four trays, as a present, and I saw him to be a hand­some youth of dig­ni­fied as­pect and in­tel­li­gent as el­egant, al­most such as should be the sons of Kings. Where­fore my heart in­clined to him at sight, and my heart re­joiced in him and I thought good to mar­ry my daugh­ter to him. So I showed the gift to my grandees, who agreed with me that none of the Kings hath the like of these and I told them my project. But what sayst thou?”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​sec­ond Night,

She con­tin­ued, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the King of Bagh­dad, af­ter show­ing the presents to his wife and high­ly prais­ing Ali, the mer­chant-​jew­eller, and in­form­ing her of the pro­posed mar­riage, asked, “But what sayst thou?” She replied, “O King of the age, the or­der­ing this af­fair is in Al­lah’s hand, and thine, and what­so Al­lah wil­leth shall come to pass.” Re­joined the King, “If it be His will, I will mar­ry her to none oth­er than this young man.” He slept on this re­solve and on the mor­row, he went out to his Di­van and sum­moned Ali and the rest of the mer­chants of Bagh­dad, and when all came bade them be seat­ed. Then said he, “Bring me the Kazi of the Di­van” and they brought him; where­upon the King said to him, “O Kazi, write the con­tract of mar­riage be­tween my daugh­ter and the mer­chant Ali the Cairene.” But Ali said, “Thy par­don, O our lord the Sul­tan! It be­fit­teth not that a trad­er such as I, be the King’s son-​in-​law.” Quoth the King, “It is my will to be­stow this favour up­on thee, as well as the Wazi­rate;” and he in­vest­ed him forth­with in the Wazir’s of­fice and min­is­te­ri­al robes. Then Ali sat down in the chair of the Wazi­rate and said, “O King of the age, thou hast be­stowed on me this; and in­deed I am hon­oured by thy boun­ties; but hear one word I have to say to thee!” He replied, “Say on, and fear not.” Quoth Ali, “Since it is thine au­gust res­olu­tion to mar­ry thy daugh­ter, thou wouldst do bet­ter to mar­ry her to my son. Quoth the King, “Hast thou then a son?”; and Ali replied, “Yes.” “Send for him forth­with,” said the King. There­upon an­swered Ali “Hear­ken­ing and obe­di­ence!”, and despatched a ser­vant to fetch his son, who came and kiss­ing the ground be­fore the King, stood in an at­ti­tude of re­spect. The King looked at him and see­ing him to be yet come­li­er than his daugh­ter and goodli­er than she in stature and pro­por­tion and bright­ness and per­fec­tion, said to him, “What is thy name, O my son?” “My name is Hasan, O our lord the Sul­tan,” replied the young man, who was then four­teen years old. Then the Sul­tan said to the Kazi, “Write the con­tract of mar­riage be­tween my daugh­ter Husn al-​Wu­jdd and Hasan, son of the mer­chant Ali the Cairene.” So he wrote the mar­riage-​con­tract be­tween them, and the af­fair was end­ed in the goodli­est fash­ion; af­ter which all in the Di­van went their ways and the mer­chants fol­lowed the Wazir Ali, es­cort­ing him to his house, where they gave him joy of his ad­vance­ment and de­part­ed. Then he went in to his wife, who see­ing him clad in the Wazir’s habit, ex­claimed, “What is this?”; when he told her all that had passed from first to last and she joyed there­in with ex­ceed­ing joy. So sped the night and on the mor­row, he went up to the Di­van, where the King re­ceived him with es­pe­cial favour and seat­ing him close by his side, said, “O Wazir, we pur­pose to be­gin the wed­ding fes­tiv­ities and bring thy son in to our daugh­ter.” Replied Ali, “O our lord the Sul­tan, what­so thou deemest good is good.” So the Sul­tan gave or­ders to cel­ebrate the fes­tiv­ities, and they dec­orat­ed the city and held high fes­ti­val for thir­ty days, in all joy and glad­ness; at the end of which time, Hasan, son of the Wazir Ali, went in to the Princess and en­joyed her beau­ty and love­li­ness. When the Queen saw her daugh­ter’s hus­band, she con­ceived a warm af­fec­tion for him, and in like man­ner she re­joiced great­ly in his moth­er. Then the King bade build for his son-​in-​law Hasan Ali-​son a palace be­side his own; so they built him with all speed a splen­did palace in which he took up his abode; and his moth­er used to tar­ry with him some days and then go down to her own house. Af­ter awhile the Queen said to her hus­band, “O King of the age, Hasan’s la­dy-​moth­er can­not take up her abode with her son and leave the Wazir; nei­ther can she tar­ry with the Wazir and leave her son.” “Thou sayest sooth,” replied the King, and bade ed­ify a third palace be­side that of Hasan, which be­ing done in a few days he caused re­move thith­er the goods of the Wazir, and the Min­is­ter and his wife took up their abode there. Now the three palaces com­mu­ni­cat­ed with one an­oth­er, so that when the King had a mind to speak with the Wazir by night, he would go to him or send to fetch him; and so with Hasan and his fa­ther and moth­er. On this wise they dwelt in all so­lace and in the great­est hap­pi­ness–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the King and the Wazir and his son ceased not to dwell in all so­lace and in the great­est hap­pi­ness awhile, till the King fell ill and his sick­ness grew on him. So he sum­moned the lords of his realm and said to them, “There is come up­on me a sore mal­ady, per­ad­ven­ture a mor­tal; and I have there­fore sum­moned you to con­sult you re­spect­ing a cer­tain mat­ter, on which I would have you coun­sel me as you deem well.” They asked, “What is the mat­ter of which thou wouldst take coun­sel with us, O King?”; and he an­swered, “I am old and sick­ly and I fear for the realm af­ter me from its en­emies; so I would have you all agree up­on some one, that I may pro­claim him King in my life­time and so ye may be at ease.” Where­upon quoth they with one voice, “We all ap­prove of thy daugh­ter’s hus­band Hasan, son of the Wazir Ali; for we have seen his wit and per­fect un­der­stand­ing, and he knoweth the place of all, great and small.” Asked the King, “Are ye in­deed agreed up­on this?” and they an­swered, “Yes.” Re­joined he “Per­ad­ven­ture ye all say this to my face, of re­spect for me; but be­hind my back ye will say oth­er­wise.” How­ev­er, they all replied, “By Al­lah, our word is one and the same in pub­lic and in pri­vate, and we ac­cept him frankly and with hearti­ness of heart and breadth of breast.” Quoth he, “Since the case is thus, bring the Kazi of the Holy Law and all the Cham­ber­lains and Viceroys and Of­fi­cers of state be­fore me to-​mor­row, and we will or­der the af­fair af­ter the goodli­est fash­ion.” “We hear and we obey,” an­swered they and with­draw­ing, no­ti­fied all the Ole­ma,[FN#274] the doc­tors of the law and the chief per­son­ages among the Emirs. So when the mor­row dawned, they came up to the Di­van and, hav­ing craved and ob­tained per­mis­sion to en­ter, they salut­ed the King, say­ing, “Here are we all in thy pres­ence.” Where­to he made re­ply, “O Emirs of Bagh­dad, whom will ye have to be King over you af­ter me, that I may in­au­gu­rate him dur­ing my life­time, be­fore the pres­ence of you all?” Quoth they with one voice, “We are agreed up­on thy daugh­ter’s hus­band Hasan, son of the Wazir Ali.” Quoth he, “If it be so, go all of you and bring him be­fore me.” So they all arose and, re­pair­ing to Hasan’s palace, said to him, “Rise, come with us to the King.” “Where­fore?” asked he, and they an­swered, “For a thing that will ben­efit both us and thee.” So he went in with them to the King and kissed the ground be­fore his fa­ther-​in-​law who said to him, “Be seat­ed, O my son!” He sat down and the King con­tin­ued, “O Hasan, all the Emirs have ap­proved of thee and agreed to make thee King over them af­ter me; and it is my pur­pose to pro­claim thee, whilst I yet live, and so make an end of the busi­ness.” But Hasan stood up and, kiss­ing the ground once more be­fore the King, said to him, “O our lord the King, among the Emirs there be many who are old­er than I and greater of worth; ac­quit me there­fore of this thing.” But all the Emirs cried out say­ing, “We con­sent not but that thou be King over us.” Then said Hasan, “My fa­ther is old­er than I, and I and he are one thing; and it be­fits not to ad­vance me over him.” But Ali said, “I will con­sent to noth­ing save what­so con­tenteth my brethren; and they have all cho­sen and agreed up­on thee; where­fore gain­say thou not the King’s com­mand­ment and that of thy brethren.” And Hasan hung his head abashed be­fore the King and his fa­ther. Then said the King to the Emirs, “Do ye all ac­cept of him?” “We do,” an­swered they and re­cit­ed there­upon sev­en Fáti­hahs.[FN#275] So the King said, “O Kazi, draw up a le­gal in­stru­ment tes­ti­fy­ing of these Emirs that they are agreed to make King over them my daugh­ter’s hus­band Hasan.” The Kazi wrote the act and made it bind­ing on all men,[FN#276] af­ter they had sworn in a body the oath of feal­ty to Hasan. Then the King did like­wise and bade him take his seat on the throne of king­ship; where­upon they all arose and kissed King Hasan’s hands and did homage to him, and swore leal­ty to him. And the new King dis­pensed jus­tice among the peo­ple that day in fash­ion right roy­al, and in­vest­ed the grandees of the realm in splen­did robes of hon­our. When the Di­van broke up, he went in to and kissed the hands of his fa­ther-​in-​law who spake thus to him, “O my son, look thou rule the lieges in the fear of Al­lah;”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when King Hasan was quit of the Di­van, he went in to and kissed the hands of his wife’s fa­ther, who spake thus to him, “O my son, look thou rule the lieges in the fear of Al­lah;” where­to he replied, “O my fa­ther, through thy prayers for me, the grace and guid­ance of Al­lah will come to me.” Then he en­tered his own palace and was met by his wife and her moth­er and their at­ten­dants, who kissed his hands and gave him joy of his ad­vance­ment, say­ing, “Be this day blessed!” Next he went in to his fa­ther and moth­er, who joyed with ex­ceed­ing joy in that which Al­lah had vouch­safed him of his ad­vance­ment to the king­ship, and his fa­ther charged him to fear Al­lah and to deal mer­ci­ful­ly with his sub­jects. He passed the night in glee and glad­ness, and on the mor­row, hav­ing prayed the oblig­atory prayers end­ing with the usu­al short chap­ters[FN#277] of the Ko­ran, he went up to the Di­van, whith­er came all his of­fi­cers and dig­ni­taries. He passed the day in dis­pens­ing jus­tice among the folk, bid­ding to gra­cious­ness and for­bid­ding un­gra­cious­ness and ap­point­ing to place and dis­plac­ing, till day- end, when the Di­van broke up, af­ter the goodli­est fash­ion, and all the troops with­drew and each went his own way. Then he arose and re­paired to the palace, where he found his fa­ther-​in-​law’s sick­ness grown heavy up­on him and said to him, “May no ill be­fal thee!” At this the old King opened his eyes and said, “O Hasan!” and he replied, “At thy ser­vice, O my lord.” Quoth the old King “Mine ap­point­ed hour is at hand: be thou care­ful of thy wife and her moth­er, and look thou fear Al­lah and hon­our thy par­ents; and bide in awe of the majesty of the Re­quit­ing King and bear in mind that He com­man­deth jus­tice and good works.” And King Hasan replied, “I hear and obey.” Now af­ter this the old King lin­gered three days and then de­part­ed in­to the mer­cy of Almighty Al­lah. So they laid him out and shroud­ed and buried him and held over him read­ings and per­lec­tions of the Ko­ran, to the end of the cus­tom­ary forty days. And King Hasan, son of the Wazir, reigned in his stead, and his sub­jects joyed in him and all his days were glad­ness; more­over, his fa­ther ceased not to be his chief Wazir on his right hand, and he took to him­self an­oth­er Wazir, to be at his left hand. His reign was a pros­per­ous and well or­dered, and he lived a long life as King of Bagh­dad; and Al­lah blessed him, by the old King’s daugh­ter, with three sons who in­her­it­ed the king­dom af­ter him; and they abode in the so­lace of life and its plea­sures till there came to them the De­stroy­er of de­lights and the Sev­er­er of so­ci­eties. And the glo­ry be to Him who is eter­nal and in whose hand are an­nulling and con­firm­ing. And of the tales they tell is one of

THE PIL­GRIM MAN AND THE OLD WOM­AN.

A man of the pil­grims once slept a long sleep and awak­ing, found no trace of the car­avan. So he rose up and walked on, but lost his way and present­ly came to a tent, where he saw an old wom­an stand­ing at the en­trance and by her side a dog asleep. He went up to the tent and, salut­ing the old wom­an, sought of her food, when she replied, “Go to yon­der Wady and catch thy suf­fi­cien­cy of ser­pents, that I may broil of them for thee and give thee to eat.” Re­joined the pil­grim, “I dare not catch ser­pents nor did I ev­er eat them.” Quoth the old wom­an, “I will go with thee and catch some; fear not.” So she went with him, fol­lowed by the dog, to the val­ley and, catch­ing a suf­fi­cient num­ber of ser­pents, pro­ceed­ed to broil them. He saw noth­ing for it (saith the sto­ry teller) but to eat, in fear of hunger and ex­haus­tion; so he ate of the ser­pents.[FN#278] Then he was athirst and asked for wa­ter to drink; and she an­swered, “Go to the spring and drink.” Ac­cord­ing­ly, he went to the spring and found the wa­ter there­of bit­ter; yet needs must he drink of it de­spite its bit­ter­ness, be­cause of the vi­olence of his thirst. Present­ly he re­turned to the old wom­an and said to her, “I mar­vel, O an­cient dame, at thy choos­ing to so­journ in this place”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​fifth Night,

She said, it hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the palmer-​man drank the bit­ter draught for stress of thirst, he re­turned and said “I mar­vel, O an­cient dame, at thy choos­ing to so­journ in this place and thy putting up with such meat and drink!” She asked, “And how is it then in thy coun­try?”; where­to he an­swered, “In my coun­try are hous­es wide and spa­cious and fruits ripe and de­li­cious and wa­ters sweet and viands sa­vorous and of good­ly use and meats fat and full of juice and flocks in­nu­mer­ous and all things pleas­ant and all the goods of life, the like where­of are not, save in the Par­adise which Al­lah the Om­nipo­tent hath promised to His ser­vants pi­ous.” Replied she, “All this have I heard: but tell me, have ye a Sul­tan who ruleth over you and is tyran­ni­cal in his rule and un­der whose hand you are; one who, if any of you com­mit an of­fence, taketh his goods and ru­ineth him and who, whenas he will, tur­neth you out of house and home and up­rooteth you, stock and branch?” Replied the man, “In­deed that may be;” and she re­joined, “If so, by Al­lah, these your de­li­cious food and life of dain­ty­hood and gifts how­ev­er good, with tyran­ny and op­pres­sion, are but a search­ing poi­son, while our coarse meat which in free­dom and safe­ty we eat is a health­ful medicine. Hast thou not heard that the best of boons, af­ter Al-​Is­lam, the true Faith, are san­ity and se­cu­ri­ty?”[FN#279] “Now such boons (quoth he who tel­leth the tale) may be by the just rule of the Sul­tan, Vice-​re­gent of Al­lah on His earth, and the good­ness of his poli­ty. The Sul­tan of time past need­ed but lit­tle aw­ful­ness, for when the lieges saw him, they feared him; but the Sul­tan of these days hath need of the most ac­com­plished poli­ty and the ut­most majesty, be­cause men are not as men of by-​gone time and this our age is one of folk op­pro­bri­ous, and is great­ly calami­tous, not­ed for fol­ly and hard­ness of heart and in­clined to hate and en­mi­ty. If, there­fore, the Sul­tan (which Almighty Al­lah for­fend!) be weak or want­ing in poli­ty and majesty, this will be the as­sured cause of his coun­try’s ru­in. Quoth the proverb, ‘An hun­dred years of the Sul­tan’s tyran­ny, but not one year of the peo­ple’s tyran­ny one over oth­er.’ When the lieges op­press one an­oth­er, Al­lah set­teth over them a tyran­ni­cal Sul­tan and a ter­ri­ble King. Thus it is told in his­to­ry that one day there was sent to Al-​Ha­jjáj bin Yú­suf a slip of pa­per, where­on was writ­ten, ‘Fear Al­lah and op­press not His ser­vants with all man­ner of op­pres­sion.’ When he read this, he mount­ed the pul­pit (for he was elo­quent and ev­er ready of speech), and said, ‘O folk, Al­lah Almighty hath made me ruler over you, by rea­son of your froward­ness;’”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​sixth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Ha­jjaj Yousuf-​son read the pa­per he mount­ed the pul­pit and said, “O folk, Al­lah Almighty hath made me ruler over you by rea­son of your froward­ness; and in­deed, though I die yet will ye not be de­liv­ered from op­pres­sion, with these your ill deeds; for the Almighty hath cre­at­ed like un­to me many an one. If it be not I, ’twill be one more mis­chievous than I and a might­ier in op­pres­sion and a more mer­ci­less in his majesty; even as saith the po­et:[FN#280]–

‘For not a deed the hand can try Save ‘neath the hand of God on high, Nor tyrant harsh work tyran­ny Un­crushed by tyrant harsh as he.’

Tyran­ny is feared: but jus­tice is the best of all things. We beg Al­lah to bet­ter our case!” And among tales is that of

ABU AL-​HUSN AND HIS SLAVE-​GIRL TAWAD­DUD.[FN#281]

There was once in Bagh­dad a man of con­se­quence and rich in monies and im­move­ables, who was one of the chiefs of the mer­chants; and Al­lah had large­ly en­dowed him with world­ly goods, but had not vouch­safed him what he longed for of off­spring; and there passed over him a long space of time, with­out his be­ing blessed with is­sue, male or fe­male. His years waxed great; his bones be­came wast­ed and his back bent; weak­ness and weari­ness grew up­on him, and he feared the loss of his wealth and pos­ses­sions, see­ing he had no child whom he might make his heir and by whom his name should be re­mem­bered. So he be­took him­self with sup­pli­ca­tion to Almighty Al­lah, fast­ing by day and pray­ing through the night. More­over, he vowed many vows to the Liv­ing, the Eter­nal; and vis­it­ed the pi­ous and was con­stant in sup­pli­ca­tion to the Most High­est, till He gave ear to him and ac­cept­ed his prayer and took pity on his strain­ing and com­plain­ing; so that, be­fore many days were past, he knew car­nal­ly one of his wom­en and she con­ceived by him the same night. In due time she fin­ished her months and, cast­ing her bur­den, bore a male child as he were a slice of the moon; where­upon the mer­chant ful­filled his vows in his grat­itude to Al­lah, (to whom be hon­our and glo­ry!) and gave alms and clothed the wid­ow and the or­phan. On the sev­enth night af­ter the boy’s birth, he named him Abu al-​Husn,[FN#282] and the wet-​nurs­es suck­led him and the dry-​nurs­es dan­dled him and the ser­vants and the slaves car­ried him and han­dled him, till he shot up and grew tall and throve great­ly and learnt the Sub­lime Ko­ran and the or­di­nances of Al-​Is­lam and the Canons of the True Faith; and cal­lig­ra­phy and po­et­ry and math­emat­ics and archery. On this wise he be­came the union-​pearl of his age and the goodli­est of the folk of his time and his day; fair of face and of tongue flu­ent, car­ry­ing him­self with a light and grace­ful gait and glo­ry­ing in his stature pro­por­tion­ate and amorous graces which were to many a bait: and his cheeks were red and flow­er-​white was his fore­head and his side face waxed brown with ten­der down, even as saith one, de­scrib­ing him,

“The spring of the down on cheeks right clear­ly shows: * And how when the Spring is gone shall last the rose? Dost thou not see that the growth up­on his cheek * Is vi­olet- bloom that from its leaves out­grows.”

He abode awhile in ease and hap­pi­ness with his fa­ther, who re­joiced and de­light­ed in him, till he came to man’s es­tate, when the mer­chant one day made him sit down be­fore him and said, “O my son, the ap­point­ed term draweth near; my hour of death is at hand and it re­maineth but to meet Al­lah (to whom be­long Majesty and Might!). I leave thee what shall suf­fice thee, even to thy son’s son, of monies and man­sions, farms and gar­dens; where­fore, fear thou Almighty Al­lah, O my son, in deal­ing with that which I be­queath to thee and fol­low none but those who will help thee to the Di­vine favour.” Not long af­ter, he sick­ened and died; so his son or­dered his fu­ner­al,[FN#283] af­ter the goodli­est wise, and bury­ing him, re­turned to his house and sat mourn­ing for him many days and nights. But be­hold, cer­tain of his friends came in to him and said to him, “Whoso leaveth a son like thee is not dead; in­deed, what is past is past and fled and mourn­ing be­seemeth none but the young maid and the wife clois­tered.” And they ceased not from him till they wrought on him to en­ter the Ham­mam and break off his mourn­ing.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​sev­enth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when Abu al-​Husn was vis­it­ed by his friends and tak­en to the Ham­man and per­suad­ed to break off his mourn­ing, he present­ly for­got his fa­ther’s charge, and his head was turned by his rich­es; he thought for­tune would al­ways wone with him as it was, and that wealth would ev­er wax and nev­er wane. So he ate and drank and made mer­ry and took his plea­sure and gave gifts of gear and coin and was pro­fuse with gold and ad­drest him­self up to eat­ing fowls and break­ing the seals of wine-​flasks and lis­ten­ing to the gig­gle of the daugh­ter of the vine, as she gur­gled from the flagon and en­joy­ing the jin­gle of the singing-​girls; nor did he give over this way of life, till his wealth was wast­ed and the case wors­ened and all his goods went from him and he bit his hands[FN#284] in bit­ter pen­itence. For of a truth he had noth­ing left, af­ter that which he had squan­dered, but a con­cu­bine, a slave-​girl whom his fa­ther had be­queathed to him with the rest of his es­tate: and she had no equal in beau­ty and love­li­ness and bright­ness and live­li­ness and sym­met­ric stature and per­fect grace. She was past mis­tress in ev­ery man­ner of arts and ac­com­plish­ments and en­dowed with many ex­cel­lences, sur­pass­ing all the folk of her age and time. She was grown more no­to­ri­ous than a way-​mark,[FN#285] for her se­duc­tive ge­nius, and out­did the fair both in the­ory and prac­tice, and she was not­ed for her swim­ming gait, flex­ile and del­icate, al­beit she was full five feet in height and by all the boons of for­tune deckt and dight, with strait arched brows twain, as they were the cres­cent moon of Sha’abán,[FN#286] and eyes like gazelles’ eyne; and nose like the edge of scymi­tar fine and cheeks like anemones of blood-​red shine; and mouth like Solomon’s seal and sign and teeth like neck­laces of pearls in line; and navel hold­ing an ounce of oil of ben­zoin and waist more slen­der than his body whom love hath wast­ed and whom con­ceal­ment hath made sick with pine and hind parts heav­ier than two hills of sand; briefly she was a vol­ume of charms af­ter his say­ing who saith,

“Her fair shape rav­isheth, if face to face she did ap­pear, * And if she turn, for sev­er­ance from her she slayeth sheer. Sun-​like, full-​moon-​like, sapling-​like, un­to her char­ac­ter * Es­trange­ment no wise ap­per­tains nor cru­el­ty aus­tere. Un­der the bo­som of her shift the garths of Eden are * And the full-​moon re­vol­veth still up­on her neck-​rings’ sphere.”[FN#287]

She seemed a full moon ris­ing and a gazelle brows­ing, a girl of nine plus five[FN#288] sham­ing the moon and sun, even as saith of her the say­er elo­quent and in­ge­nious,

“Sem­blance of full-​moon Heav­en bore, * When five and five are con­joined by four; ‘Tis not my sin if she made of me * Its like when it riseth hori­zon o’er.”[FN#289]

Clean of skin, odor­if­er­ous of breath, it seemed as if she were of fire fash­ioned and of crys­tal mould­ed; rose-​red was the cheek of her and per­fect the shape and form of her; even as one saith of her, de­scrib­ing her,

“Scent­ed with san­dal[FN#290] and musk, right proud­ly doth she go, * With gold and sil­ver and rose and saf­fron-​colour aglow. A flow­er in a gar­den she is, a pearl in an ouch of gold * Or an im­age in chapel[FN#291] set for wor­ship of high and low. Slen­der and shape­ly she is; vi­vac­ity bids her arise, * But the weight of her hips says, ‘Sit, or soft­ly and slow­ly go.’ Whenas her favours I seek and sue for my heart’s de­sire, * ‘Be gra­cious,’ her beau­ty says; but her co­quetry an­swers, ‘No.’ Glo­ry to Him who made beau­ty her por­tion, and that * Of her lover to be the prate of the cen­sur­ers, heigho!”[FN#292]

She cap­ti­vat­ed all who saw her, with the ex­cel­lence of her beau­ty and the sweet­ness of her smile,[FN#293] and shot them down with the shafts she launched from her eyes; and with­al she was elo­quent of speech and ex­cel­lent­ly skilled in verse. Now when Abu al-​Husn had squan­dered all his gold, and his ill-​plight all could be­hold, and there re­mained to him naught save this slave-​girl, he abode three days with­out tast­ing meat or tak­ing rest in sleep, and the hand­maid said to him, “O my lord, car­ry me to the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, Harun al-​Rashid,”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that quoth the slave-​girl to her mas­ter, “O my lord, car­ry me to Harun al-​Rashid, fifth of the sons of Ab­bas, and seek of him to my price ten thou­sand di­nars. If he deem me dear, say to him: ‘O Prince of True Be­liev­ers, my hand­maid is worth more than this: do but prove her, and her val­ue will be mag­ni­fied in thine eyes; for this slave-​girl hath not her equal, and she were un­fit to any but thou.’” And she added, “Be­ware, O my lord, of sell­ing me at less than the sum I have named; in­deed ’tis but lit­tle for the like of me.” Now her own­er knew not her worth nor that she had no equal in her day; but he car­ried her to the Caliph and set her in the pres­ence and re­peat­ed what she had bid­den him say. The Caliph asked her, “What is thy name?”; to which she an­swered, “My name is Tawad­dud.”[FN#294] He then en­quired, “O Tawad­dud, in what branch­es of knowl­edge dost thou ex­cel?”; and she replied, “O my lord, I am versed in syn­tax and po­et­ry and ju­rispru­dence and ex­ege­sis and phi­los­ophy; and I am skilled in mu­sic and the knowl­edge of the Di­vine or­di­nances and in arith­metic and geodesy and ge­om­etry and the fa­bles of the an­cients. I know the Sub­lime Ko­ran by heart and have read it ac­cord­ing to the sev­en, the ten and the four­teen modes. I know the num­ber of its chap­ters and ver­sets and sec­tions and words; and its halves and fourths and eighths and tenths; the num­ber of pros­tra­tions which oc­cur in it and the sum to­tal of its let­ters; and I know what there is in it of ab­ro­gat­ing and ab­ro­gat­ed[FN#295]; al­so what parts of it were re­vealed at Al-​Med­inah and what at Mec­cah and the cause of the dif­fer­ent rev­ela­tions. I know the Holy Tra­di­tions of the Apos­tle’s say­ings, his­tor­ical and leg­endary, the es­tab­lished and those whose as­crip­tion is doubt­ful; and I have stud­ied the ex­act sci­ences, ge­om­etry and phi­los­ophy and medicine and log­ic and rhetoric and com­po­si­tion; and I have learnt many things by rote and am pas­sion­ate­ly fond of po­et­ry. I can play the lute and know its gamut and notes and no­ta­tion and the crescen­do and dimin­uen­do. If I sing and dance, I se­duce, and if I dress and scent my­self, I slay. In fine, I have reached a pitch of per­fec­tion such as can be es­ti­mat­ed on­ly by those of them who are firm­ly root­ed in knowl­edge.”[FN#296] Now when the Caliph heard these words spo­ken by one so young, he won­dered at her elo­quence, and turn­ing to Abu al-​Husn, said, “I will sum­mon those who shall dis­cuss with her all she claimeth to know; if she an­swer cor­rect­ly, I will give thee the price thou ask­est for her and more; and if not, thou art fit­ter to have her than I.” “With glad­ness and good­ly gree, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful,” replied Abu al-​Husn. So the Caliph wrote to the Viceroy of Bas­so­rah, to send him Ibrahim bin Siyyár the prosodist, who was the first man of his day in ar­gu­ment and elo­quence and po­et­ry and log­ic, and bade him bring with him read­ers of the Ko­ran and learned doc­tors of the law and physi­cians and as­trologers and sci­en­tists and math­emati­cians and philoso­phers; and Ibrahim was more learned than all. In a lit­tle while they ar­rived at the palace of the Caliphate, know­ing not what was to do, and the Caliph sent for them to his sit­ting-​cham­ber and or­dered them to be seat­ed. So they sat down and he bade bring the damsel Tawad­dud who came and un­veil­ing, showed her­self, as she were a sparkling star.[FN#297] The Caliph set her a stool of gold; and she salut­ed, and speak­ing with an elo­quent tongue, said, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, bid the Ole­ma and the doc­tors of law and leach­es and as­trologers and sci­en­tists and math­emati­cians and all here present con­tend with me in ar­gu­ment.” So he said to them, “I de­sire of you that ye dis­pute with this damsel on the things of her faith, and stul­ti­fy her ar­gu­ment in all she ad­vanceth;” and they an­swered, say­ing, “We hear and we obey Al­lah and thee, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful.” Up­on this Tawad­dud bowed her head and said, “Which of you is the doc­tor of the law, the schol­ar, versed in the read­ings of the Ko­ran and in the Tra­di­tions?” Quoth one of them, “I am the man thou seek­est.” Quoth she, “Then ask me of what thou wilt.” Said the doc­tor, “Hast thou read the pre­cious book of Al­lah and dost thou know its can­celling and can­celled parts and hast thou med­itat­ed its ver­sets and its let­ters?” “Yes,” an­swered she. “Then,” said he, “I will pro­ceed to ques­tion thee of the obli­ga­tions and the im­mutable or­di­nances: so tell me of these, O damsel, and who is thy Lord, who thy prophet, who thy Guide, what is thy point of fronting in prayer, and who be thy brethren? Al­so what thy spir­itu­al path and what thy high­way?” Where­to she replied, “Al­lah is my Lord, and Mo­hammed (whom Al­lah save and as­sain!) my prophet, and the Ko­ran is my guide and the Ka’abah my fronting; and the True-​be­liev­ers are my brethren. The prac­tice of good is my path and the Sun­nah my high­way.” The Caliph again mar­velled at her words so elo­quent­ly spo­ken by one so young; and the doc­tor pur­sued, “O damsel, with what do we know Almighty Al­lah?” Said she, “With the un­der­stand­ing.” Said he, “And what is the un­der­stand­ing?” Quoth she, “It is of two kinds, nat­ural and ac­quired.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Thir­ty-​ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that the damsel con­tin­ued, “The un­der­stand­ing is of two kinds, nat­ural and ac­quired. The nat­ural is that which Al­lah (to whom be hon­our and glo­ry!) cre­at­ed for the right di­rec­tion of His ser­vants af­ter His will; and the ac­quired is that which men ac­com­plish by dint of study and fair knowl­edge.” He re­joined, “Thou hast an­swered well.” Q “Where is the seat of the un­der­stand­ing?”–“Al­lah casteth it in the heart whence its lus­trous beams as­cend to the brain and there be­come fixed.” Q “How know­est thou the Prophet of Al­lah?” “By the read­ing of Al­lah’s Holy Book and by signs and proofs and por­tents and mir­acles!” Q “What are the obli­ga­tions and the im­mutable or­di­nances?” “The obli­ga­tions are five. (1) Tes­ti­fi­ca­tion that there is no iláh[FN#298] but Al­lah, no god but the God alone and One, which for part­ner hath none, and that Mo­hammed is His ser­vant and His apos­tle. (2) The stand­ing in prayers.[FN#299] (3) The pay­ment of the poor-​rate. (4) Fast­ing Ra­mazan. (5) The Pil­grim­age to Al­lah’s Holy House for all to whom the jour­ney is pos­si­ble. The im­mutable or­di­nances are four; to wit, night and day and sun and moon, the which build up life and hope; nor any son of Adam wot­teth if they will be de­stroyed on the Day of Judg­ment.” Q “What are the oblig­atory ob­ser­vances of the Faith?” “They are five, prayer, alms­giv­ing, fast­ing, pil­grim­age, fight­ing for the Faith and ab­sti­nence from the for­bid­den.” Q “Why dost thou stand up to pray?” “To ex­press the de­vout in­tent of the slave ac­knowl­edg­ing the De­ity.” Q “What are the oblig­atory con­di­tions which pre­cede stand­ing in prayer?” “Pu­rifi­ca­tion, cov­er­ing the shame, avoid­ance of soiled clothes, stand­ing on a clean place, fronting the Ka’abah, an up­right pos­ture, the in­tent[FN#300] and the pro­nounc­ing ‘Al­la­ho Ak­bar’ of pro­hi­bi­tion.”[FN#301] Q “With what shouldest thou go forth from thy house to pray?” “With the in­tent of wor­ship men­tal­ly pro­nounced.” Q “With what in­tent shouldest thou en­ter the mosque?” “With an in­tent of ser­vice.” Q “Why do we front the Ki­blah[FN#302]?” “In obe­di­ence to three Di­vine or­ders and one Tra­di­tion­al or­di­nance.” Q “What are the be­gin­ning, the con­se­cra­tion and the end of prayer?” “Pu­rifi­ca­tion be­gin­neth prayer, say­ing the Al­la­ho Ak­bar of pro­hi­bi­tion con­se­crateth, and the salu­ta­tion en­deth prayer.” Q “What de­serveth he who ne­glecteth prayer?” “It is re­port­ed, among the au­then­tic Tra­di­tions of the Prophet, that he said, ‘Whoso ne­glecteth prayer wil­ful­ly and pur­pose­ly hath no part in Al-​Is­lam.’”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and For­ti­eth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that af­ter the damsel had re­peat­ed the words of that Holy Tra­di­tion the doc­tor cried, “Thou hast replied aright: now say me, what is prayer?” “Prayer is com­mu­nion be­tween the slave and his lord, and in it are ten virtues: (1) it il­lu­mineth the heart; (2) it maketh the face shine; (3) it pleaseth the Com­pas­sion­ate One; (4) it an­gereth Sa­tan; (5) it con­jureth calami­ty; (6) it wardeth off the mis­chief of en­emies; (7) it mul­ti­pli­eth mer­cy; (8) it for­fend­eth vengeance and pun­ish­ment; (9) it bringeth the slave nigh un­to his lord; and (10) it re­straineth from lewd­ness and froward­ness. Hence it is one of the ab­so­lute req­ui­sites and oblig­atory or­di­nances and the pil­lar of the Faith.” Q “What is the key of prayer?” “Wuzd or the less­er ablu­tion.”[FN#303] Q “What is the key to the less­er ablu­tion?” “In­ten­tion and nam­ing the Almighty.” Q “What is the key of nam­ing the Almighty?” “As­sured faith.” Q “What is the key of faith?” “Trust in the Lord.” Q “What is the key of trust in the Lord?” “Hope.” Q “What is the key of hope?” “Obe­di­ence.” Q “What is the key of obe­di­ence?” “The con­fes­sion of the Uni­ty and the ac­knowl­edg­ment of the di­vin­ity of Al­lah.” Q “What are the Di­vine or­di­nances of Wuzu, the mi­nor ablu­tion?” “They are six, ac­cord­ing to the canon of the Imam al-​Shá­fi’í Mo­hammed bin Idris (of whom Al­lah ac­cept!): (1) in­tent while wash­ing the face; (2) wash­ing the face; (3) wash­ing the hands and fore­arms; (4) wip­ing part of the head; (5) wash­ing the feet and heels; and (6) ob­serv­ing due or­der.[FN#304] And the tra­di­tion­al statutes are ten: (1) nom­ina­tion; (2) and wash­ing the hands be­fore putting them in­to the wa­ter-​pot; (3) and mouth-​rins­ing; (4) and snuff­ing;[FN#305] (5) and wip­ing the whole head; (6) and wet­ting the ears with­in and with­out with fresh wa­ter; (7) and sep­arat­ing a thick beard; (8) and sep­arat­ing the fin­gers and toes;[FN#306] (9) and wash­ing the right foot be­fore the left and (10) do­ing each of these thrice and all in un­bro­ken or­der. When the mi­nor ablu­tion is end­ed, the wor­ship­per should say, I tes­ti­fy that there is no god but the God, the One, which for part­ner hath none, and I tes­ti­fy that Mo­hammed is His ser­vant and His apos­tle. O my Al­lah, make me of those who re­pent and in pu­ri­ty are per­ma­nent! Glo­ry to Thee, O my God, and in Thy praise I bear wit­ness, that there is no god save Thou! I crave par­don of Thee and I re­pent to Thee! For it is re­port­ed, in the Holy Tra­di­tions, that the Prophet (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!) said of this prayer, ‘Whoso en­deth ev­ery ablu­tion with this prayer, the eight gates of Par­adise are open to him; he shall en­ter at which he pleaseth.’” Q “When a man pur­poseth ablu­tion, what be­tideth him from the an­gels and the dev­ils?” “When a man pre­pareth for ablu­tion, the an­gels come and stand on his right and the dev­ils on his left hand.[FN#307] If he name Almighty Al­lah at the be­gin­ning of the ablu­tion, the dev­ils flee from him and the an­gels hov­er over him with a pavil­ion of light, hav­ing four ropes, to each an an­gel glo­ri­fy­ing Al­lah and crav­ing par­don for him, so long as he re­maineth silent or cal­leth up­on the name of Al­lah. But if he omit to be­gin wash­ing with nam­ing Al­lah (to whom be­long might and majesty!), nei­ther re­main silent, the dev­ils take com­mand of him; and the an­gels de­part from him and Sa­tan whis­pereth evil thoughts un­to him, till he fall in­to doubt and come short in his ablu­tion. For (quoth he on whom be bless­ing and peace!), ‘A per­fect ablu­tion driv­eth away Sa­tan and as­sureth against the tyran­ny of the Sul­tan’; and again quoth he, ‘If calami­ty be­fal one who is not pure by ablu­tion; ver­ily and as­sured­ly let him blame none but him­self.’” Q “What should a man do when he awaketh from sleep?” “He should wash his hands thrice, be­fore putting them in­to the wa­ter ves­sel.” Q “What are the Ko­ran­ic and tra­di­tion­al or­ders anent Ghusl, the com­plete ablu­tion[FN#308]?” “The di­vine or­di­nances are in­tent and ‘crown­ing’[FN#309] the whole body with wa­ter, that is, the liq­uid shall come at ev­ery part of the hair and skin. Now the tra­di­tion­al or­di­nances are the mi­nor ablu­tion as pre­lim­inary; rub­bing the body; sep­arat­ing the hair and de­fer­ring in words[FN#310] the wash­ing of the feet till the end of the ablu­tion.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel had re­count­ed to the doc­tor what were the di­vine and tra­di­tion­al or­ders anent Ghusl or to­tal ablu­tion, quoth he, “Thou hast replied aright: now tell me what are the oc­ca­sions for Tayam­mum, or mak­ing the ablu­tion with sand and dust; and what are the or­di­nances there­of, di­vine and hu­man?” “The rea­sons are sev­en, viz.: want of wa­ter; fear lest wa­ter lack; need there­to; go­ing astray on a march; sick­ness; hav­ing bro­ken bones in splints and hav­ing open wounds.[FN#311] As for its or­di­nances, the di­vine num­ber four, viz., in­tent, dust, clap­ping it to the face and clap­ping it up­on the hands; and the hu­man num­ber two, nom­ina­tion and pre­fer­ring the right be­fore the left hand.” Q “What are the con­di­tions, the pil­lars or es­sen­tials, and the tra­di­tion­al statutes of prayer?” “The con­di­tions are five: (1) pu­rifi­ca­tion of the mem­bers; (2) cov­er­ing of the privy parts; (3) ob­serv­ing the prop­er hours, ei­ther of cer­tain­ty or to the best of one’s be­lief; (4) fronting the Ki­blah; and (5) stand­ing on a clean place. The pil­lars or es­sen­tials num­ber twelve: (1) in­tent; (2) the Tak­bír or mag­ni­fi­ca­tion of pro­hi­bi­tion; (3) stand­ing when able to stand[FN#312]; (4) re­peat­ing the Fati­hah or open­ing chap­ter of the Ko­ran and say­ing, ‘In the name of Al­lah, the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate!’ with a verse there­of ac­cord­ing to the canon of the Imam Al-​Shafi’i; (5) bow­ing the body and keep­ing it bowed; (6) re­turn­ing to the up­right pos­ture and so re­main­ing for the time req­ui­site; (7) pros­tra­tion and per­ma­nence there­in; (8) sit­ting be­tween two pros­tra­tions and per­ma­nence there­in; (9) re­peat­ing the lat­ter pro­fes­sion of the Faith and sit­ting up there­for; (10) in­vok­ing bene­dic­tion on the Prophet (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!) (11) the first Salu­ta­tion,[FN#313] and (12) the in­tent of mak­ing an end of prayer ex­pressed in words. But the tra­di­tion­al statutes are the call to prayer; the stand­ing pos­ture; rais­ing the hands (to ei­ther side of the face) whilst pro­nounc­ing the pro­hi­bi­tion; ut­ter­ing the mag­ni­fi­ca­tion be­fore recit­ing the Fati­hah; seek­ing refuge with Al­lah[FN#314]; say­ing, ‘Amen’; re­peat­ing the chap­ter of the Ko­ran af­ter the Fati­hah, re­peat­ing the mag­ni­fi­ca­tions dur­ing change of pos­ture; say­ing, ‘May Al­lah hear him who praiseth Him! and O our Lord, to Thee be the praise!’; pray­ing aloud in the prop­er place[FN#315] and pray­ing un­der the breath prayers so pre­scribed; the first pro­fes­sion of uni­ty and sit­ting up there­to; bless­ing the Prophet there­in; bless­ing his fam­ily in the lat­ter pro­fes­sion and the sec­ond Salu­ta­tion.” Q “On what is the Za­kát or oblig­atory poor-​rate tax­able?” “On gold and sil­ver and camels and ox­en and sheep and wheat and bar­ley and hol­cus and mil­let and beans and vetch­es and rice and raisins and dates.” Q “What is the Za­kát or poor-​rate on gold?” “Be­low twen­ty miskals or di­nars, noth­ing; but on that amount half a di­nar for ev­ery score and so on pro­por­tion­al­ly.[FN#316]” Q “On sil­ver?” “Un­der two hun­dred dirhams noth­ing, then five dirhams on ev­ery two hun­dred and so forth.” Q “On camels?” “For ev­ery five, an ewe, or for ev­ery twen­ty-​five a preg­nant camel.” Q “On sheep?” “An ewe for ev­ery forty head,” Q “What are the or­di­nances of the Ra­mazan Fast?” “The Ko­ran­ic are in­tent; ab­sti­nence from eat­ing, drink­ing and car­nal cop­ula­tion, and the stop­page of vom­it­ing. It is in­cum­bent on all who sub­mit to the Law, save wom­en in their cours­es and forty days af­ter child­birth; and it be­comes oblig­atory on sight of the new moon or on news of its ap­pear­ance, brought by a trust­wor­thy per­son and com­mend­ing it­self as truth to the hear­er’s heart; and among its req­ui­sites is that the in­tent be pro­nounced at night­fall. The tra­di­tion­al or­di­nances of fast­ing are, has­ten­ing to break the fast at sun­down; de­fer­ring the fore-​dawn meal,[FN#317] and ab­stain­ing from speech, save for good works and for call­ing on the name of Al­lah and recit­ing the Ko­ran.” Q “What things vi­ti­ate not the fast?” “The use of unguents and eye-​pow­ders and the dust of the road and the un­de­signed swal­low­ing of sali­va and the emis­sion of seed in noc­tur­nal pol­lu­tion or at the sight of a strange wom­an and blood­ing and cup­ping; none of these things vi­ti­ates the fast.” Q “What are the prayers of the two great an­nu­al Fes­ti­vals?” “Two one-​bow prayers, which be a tra­di­tion­al or­di­nance, with­out call to prayer or stand­ing up to pro­nounce the call;[FN#318] but let the Moslem say, ‘Prayer is a col­lec­tor of all folk!’[FN#319] and pro­nounce ‘Al­la­ho Ak­bar’ sev­en times in the first prayer, be­sides the Tak­bir of pro­hi­bi­tion; and, in the sec­ond, five times, be­sides the mag­ni­fi­ca­tion of ris­ing up (ac­cord­ing to the doc­trine of the Imam Al-​Shafi’i, on whom Al­lah have mer­cy!) and make the pro­fes­sion of the Faith.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​sec­ond Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel had an­swered the doc­tor anent the Fes­ti­val-​prayers, quoth he, “Thou hast replied aright: now tell me what are the prayers pre­scribed on the oc­ca­sion of an eclipse of the sun or moon?” “Two one-​bow prayers with­out call to prayer or stand­ing there­to by the wor­ship­per, who shall make in each two-​bow prayer dou­ble stand­ing up and dou­ble in­cli­na­tions and two-​fold pros­tra­tions, then sit and tes­ti­fy and salute.” Q “What is the rit­ual of prayer for rain?” “Two one-​bow prayers with­out call to prayer or stand­ing there­to; then shall the Moslem make the pro­fes­sion and salute. More­over the Imam shall de­liv­er an ex­hor­ta­tion and ask par­don of Al­lah, in place of the mag­ni­fi­ca­tion, as in the two ser­mons of the Fes­ti­vals and turn his man­tle up­per edge down­wards and pray and sup­pli­cate.” Q “What are the Witr, the ad­di­tion­al or oc­ca­sion­al prayers?” “The least is a one-​bow prayer and the most eleven.” Q “What is the forenoon prayer?” “At least, two one-​bow prayers and at most, twelve.” Q “What hast thou to say of the I’itikáf or re­treat[FN#320]?” “It is a mat­ter of tra­di­tion­al or­di­nance.” Q “What are its con­di­tions?” “(1) in­tent; (2) not leav­ing the mosque save of ne­ces­si­ty; (3) not hav­ing to do with a wom­an; (4) fast­ing; and (5) ab­stain­ing from speech.” Q “Un­der what con­di­tions is the Ha­jj or Pil­grim­age[FN#321] oblig­atory?” “Man­hood, and un­der­stand­ing and be­ing a Moslem and prac­ti­ca­bil­ity; in which case it is oblig­atory on all, once be­fore death.” Q “What are the Ko­ran­ic statutes of the Pil­grim­age?” “(1) The Ihrám or pil­grim’s habit; (2) the stand­ing at Arafat; (3) cir­cum­am­bu­lat­ing the Ka’abah; (4) run­ning be­tween Safá and Mar­wah[FN#322]; and (5) shav­ing or clip­ping the hair.” Q “What are the Ko­ran­ic statutes of the ‘Um­rah[FN#323] or less­er pil­grim­age?” “As­sum­ing the pil­grim’s habit and com­pass­ing and run­ning.” Q “What are the Ko­ran­ic or­di­nances of the as­sump­tion of the pil­grim’s habit?”[FN#324] “Doff­ing sewn gar­ments, for­swear­ing per­fume and ceas­ing to shave the head or pare the nails, and avoid­ing the killing of game, and es­chew­ing car­nal cop­ula­tion.” Q “What are the tra­di­tion­al statutes of the pil­grim­age?” “(1) The cry­ing out ‘Lab­bay’ka, Adsum, Here am I, O our Lord, here am I!’[FN#325]4 (2) the Ka’abah-​cir­cuit­ings[FN#326] of ar­rival and de­par­ture; (3) the pass­ing the night at the Mosque of Muz­dal­ifah and in the val­ley of Mi­na, and (4) the lap­ida­tion.[FN#327]” Q “What is the Ji­hád or Holy War and its es­sen­tials?” “Its es­sen­tials are: (1) the de­scent of the In­fi­dels up­on us; (2) the pres­ence of the Imam; (3) a state of prepa­ra­tion; and (4) firm­ness in meet­ing the foe. Its tra­di­tion­al or­di­nance is in­ci­tal to bat­tle, in that the Most High hath said, ‘O thou my Prophet, in­cite the faith­ful to fight!’[FN#328]” Q “What are the or­di­nances of buy­ing and sell­ing?” “The Ko­ran­ic are: (1) of­fer and ac­cep­tance and (2) if the thing sold be a white slave, by whom one prof­iteth, all pos­si­ble en­deav­our to con­vert him to Al-​Is­lam; and (3) to ab­stain from usury; the tra­di­tion­al are: mak­ing void[FN#329] and op­tion be­fore not af­ter sep­arat­ing, ac­cord­ing to his say­ing (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!), ‘The par­ties to a sale shall have the op­tion of can­celling or al­ter­ing terms whilst they are yet un­sep­arat­ed.’”, Q “What is it for­bid­den to sell for what?” “On this point I mind me of an au­then­tic tra­di­tion, re­port­ed by Náf’i[FN#330] of the Apos­tle of Al­lah, that he for­bade the barter of dried dates for fresh and fresh figs for dry and jerked for fresh meat and cream for clar­ified but­ter; in fine, all eat­ables of one and the same kind, it is un­law­ful to buy or barter some for oth­er some.[FN#331]” Now when the doc­tor of law heard her words and knew that she was wit-​keen, pen­etra­tive, in­ge­nious and learned in ju­rispru­dence and the Tra­di­tions and the in­ter­pre­ta­tion of the Ko­ran and what not else, he said in his mind, “Needs must I ma­noeu­vre with her, that I may over­come her in the as­sem­bly of the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful.” So he said to her, “O damsel, what is the lex­ico­graph­ical mean­ing of Wuzu?” And she an­swered, “Philo­log­ical­ly it sig­ni­fi­eth clean­li­ness and free­dom from im­pu­ri­ties.” Q “And of Salát or prayer?” “An in­vo­ca­tion of good” Q “And of Ghusl?” “Pu­rifi­ca­tion.” Q “And of Saum or fast­ing?” “Ab­sten­tion.” Q “And of Za­kát?” “In­crease. Q “And of Ha­jj or pil­grim­age?” “Vis­ita­tion.” Q “And of Ji­hád?” “Re­pelling.” With this the doc­tor’s ar­gu­ments were cut off,–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the doc­tor’s ar­gu­ments were cut off, he rose to his feet and said, “Bear wit­ness against me, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, that this damsel is more learned in the Law than I am.” Quoth she, “I will ask thee some­what, which do thou an­swer me speed­ily, an thou be in­deed a learned man.” Quoth he, “Say on;” and she said, “What are the ar­rows of the Faith?” An­swered he, “They num­ber ten: (1) Tes­ti­fi­ca­tion, that is, re­li­gion; (2) Prayer, that is, the covenant; (3) Alms, that is, pu­rifi­ca­tion; (4) Fast­ing, that is, de­fen­sive ar­mour; (5) Pil­grim­age, that is, the Law; (6) Fight­ing for the Faith, that is, a gen­er­al du­ty; (7) Bid­ding to benef­icence and (8) For­bid­ding from froward­ness, both of which are a man’s hon­our; (9) Com­mune,[FN#332] that is, so­cia­ble­ness of the Faith­ful; and (10) Seek­ing knowl­edge, that is, the praise­wor­thy path.” She re­joined, “Thou hast replied aright and now re­maineth but one ques­tion, ‘What be the roots or fun­da­men­tals of Al-​Is­lam?’” He said “They are four: sin­cer­ity of be­lief, truth of in­tent, ob­ser­vance of the law­ful lim­it and keep­ing the covenant.” Then said she, “I have one more ques­tion to ask thee, which if thou an­swer, it is well; else, I will take thy clothes.” Quoth he, “Speak, O damsel;” and she said, “What are the branch­es or su­per­struc­ture of Al-​Is­lam?” But he was silent awhile and made no re­ply: so she cried “Doff thy clothes and I will ex­pound them to thee.” Quoth the Caliph “Ex­pound them, and I will make him put off his clothes for thee.” She said, “There are two-​and-​twen­ty branch­es: (1) hold­ing fast to the Book of Al­lah the Most High­est; (2) tak­ing ex­am­ple by His Apos­tle (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!); (3) ab­stain­ing from evil do­ing; (4) eat­ing what is law­ful and (5) avoid­ing what is un­law­ful; (6) resti­tu­tion of things wrong­ful­ly tak­en; (7) re­pen­tance; (8) knowl­edge of the Law; (9) love of the Friend,[FN#333] (10) and of the fol­low­ers of the true Rev­ela­tion; (11) be­lief in the apos­tles of Al-​Is­lam; (12) fear of apos­ta­cy; (13) prepa­ra­tion for de­part­ing this life; (14) force of con­vic­tion; (15) mer­cy on all pos­si­ble oc­ca­sions; (16) strength in time of weak­ness; (17) pa­tience un­der tri­als; (18) knowl­edge of Al­lah Almighty and (19) of what His Prophet hath made known to us; (20) thwart­ing Ib­lis the ac­cursed; (21) striv­ing earnest­ly against the lusts of the soul and war­ring them down, and (22) de­vo­tion to the one God.” Now when the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful heard her words, he bade the pro­fes­sor put off his clothes and hood­ed tur­band; and so did that doc­tor and went forth, beat­en and con­found­ed, from the Caliph’s pres­ence. There­upon an­oth­er man stood up and said to her, “O damsel, hear a few ques­tions from me.” Quoth she, “Say on;’ and he asked, “What are the con­di­tions of pur­chase by ad­vance?” where­to she an­swered, “That the price be fixed, the kind be fixed and the pe­ri­od of de­liv­ery be fixed and known.” Q “What are the Ko­ran­ic and the tra­di­tion­al canons of eat­ing?” “The con­fes­sion that Al­lah Almighty provideth the eater and giveth him meat and drink, with thanks­giv­ing to Him there­for.” Q “What is thanks­giv­ing?” “The use by the crea­ture of that which the Cre­ator vouch­safeth to him, ac­cord­ing as it was cre­at­ed for the crea­ture.” Q “What are the tra­di­tion­al canons of eat­ing?” “The Bis­mil­lah[FN#334] and wash­ing both hands; sit­ting on the left of the hind part; eat­ing with three fin­gers, and eat­ing of that which hath been du­ly mas­ti­cat­ed.[FN#335]” Q “What are good man­ners in eat­ing?” “Tak­ing small mouth­fuls and look­ing lit­tle at one’s ta­ble-​com­pan­ion.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​fourth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel had an­swered con­cern­ing good man­ners in eat­ing, the doc­tor who was try­ing her, re­joined, “Thou hast replied aright. Now tell me what are the stays of the heart and their sup­ports?”[FN#336] “The stays and sup­ports both num­ber three: (1) hold­ing fast to the Faith, the sup­port where­of is the shun­ning of in­fi­deli­ty; (2) hold­ing fast to the Tra­di­tion­al Law, and its sup­port the shun­ning of in­no­va­tion; and (3) hold­ing fast to obe­di­ence, and its sup­port the shun­ning of dis­obe­di­ence.” Q “What are the con­di­tions of Wuzu?” “(1) be­ing a Moslem; (2) dis­cern­ment of good and evil; (3) pu­ri­ty of the wa­ter, and (4) ab­sence of ma­te­ri­al or re­li­gious im­ped­iments.” Q “What is be­lief?” “It is di­vid­ed in­to nine parts: (1) be­lief in the One wor­shipped; (2) be­lief in the con­di­tion of slav­ery of the wor­ship­per; (3) be­lief in the per­son­al­ity of the De­ity; (4) be­lief in the Two Hand­fuls;[FN#337] (5) be­lief in Prov­idence which al­lot­teth to man his lot; (6) be­lief in the Ab­ro­gat­ing and (7) in the Ab­ro­gat­ed; (8) be­lief in Al­lah, His an­gels and apos­tles; and (9) in fore-​or­dained Fate, gen­er­al and in­di­vid­ual, its good and ill, its sweet and bit­ter.” Q “What three things do away oth­er three?” “It is told of Su­fyán al-​Saurí[FN#338] that he said, ‘Three things do away with oth­er three. Mak­ing light of the pi­ous doth away the fu­ture life; mak­ing light of Kings doth away this life; and, mak­ing light of ex­pen­di­ture doth away wealth.’” Q “What are the keys of the heav­ens, and how many gates have they.?” “Quoth Almighty Al­lah, ‘And the heav­en shall be opened and be full of por­tals;’[FN#339] and quoth he whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!, ‘None knoweth the num­ber of the gates of heav­ens, save He who cre­at­ed the heav­ens, and there is no son of Adam but hath two gates al­lot­ted to him in the heav­ens, one where­by his dai­ly bread de­scen­deth and an­oth­er wherethrough his works as­cend. The first gate is not closed, save when his term of life cometh to an end, nor the gate of works, good and evil, till his soul as­cend for judg­ment.’” Q “Tell me of a thing and a half thing and a no-​thing.” “The thing is the Moslem; the half thing the hyp­ocrite,[FN#340] and the no-​thing the mis­cre­ant.” Q “Tell me of var­ious kinds of hearts.” “There is the whole heart, the sick heart, the con­trite heart, the vowed heart and the en­light­ened heart. Now the whole heart is that of Abra­ham, the Friend of Al­lah; the sick heart is that of the Un­be­liev­er in Al-​Is­lam; the con­trite heart is that of the pi­ous who fear the Lord; the vowed heart is that of our Lord Mo­hammed (whom Al­lah bless and keep!) and the il­lu­mi­nat­ed heart is that of his fol­low­ers. Fur­ther­more, the hearts of learned Ole­ma are of three kinds, the heart which is in love with this world; the heart which loveth the next world, and the heart which loveth its Lord; and it is said that hearts are three, the sus­pend­ed, that of the in­fi­del; the non-​ex­is­tent, that of the hyp­ocrite; and the con­stant, that of the True-​be­liev­er. More­over, it is said that the firm heart is of three kinds, viz., the heart di­lat­ed with light and faith, the heart wound­ed with fear of es­trange­ment, and the heart which feareth to be for­sak­en of its Supreme Friend.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​fifth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the sec­ond doc­tor de­clared. “Thou hast said well,” quoth she to the Caliph, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, he hath ques­tioned me, till he is weary, and now I will ask of him two ques­tions. If he an­swer them both, it is well; and if not, I will take his clothes and he shall wend in peace.” Quoth the doc­tor, “Ask me what thou wilt,” and she said, “What sayest thou re­li­gion is?” An­swered he, “Re­li­gion is con­fes­sion of Faith with the tongue and con­vic­tion with the heart and cor­re­spon­dent ac­tion with the mem­bers. He (up­on whom be bless­ings and peace!) hath said, ‘The be­liev­er is not per­fect in be­lief, ex­cept he per­fect him­self in five qual­ities, name­ly: trust in Al­lah,[FN#341] com­mit­tal of his af­fair to Al­lah, sub­mis­sion to the com­mands of Al­lah, ac­qui­es­cence in the de­crees of Al­lah; and that all he doth be done for sake of Al­lah; so is he of those who are ac­cept­able to the De­ity, and who give to Him and with­hold for Him; and such man is per­fect in be­lief.’” Then said she, “What is the Di­vine or­di­nance of or­di­nances and the or­di­nance which is the ini­tia­tor of all or­di­nances and that of which all oth­ers stand in need and that which com­pre­hen­deth all oth­ers; and what is the tra­di­tion­al or­di­nance that en­tereth in­to the Ko­ran­ic, and the prophet­ic prac­tice where­by the Di­vine is com­plet­ed?” But he was silent and made no re­ply; where­upon the Caliph bade her ex­pound and or­dered him to doff his clothes and give them to her. Said she, “O doc­tor, the Ko­ran­ic or­di­nance of or­di­nances is the knowl­edge of Al­lah Almighty; that, which is the ini­tia­tive of all oth­ers, is the tes­ti­fy­ing there is no god but the God and Mo­hammed is the Apos­tle of God; that, of which all oth­ers have need, is the Wuzu-​ablu­tion; that, which com­priseth all oth­ers, is the Ghusl-​ablu­tion from de­file­ment[FN#342]; the Tra­di­tion­al or­di­nance that en­tereth in­to the Ko­ran­ic, is the sep­ara­tion of the fin­gers and the thick beard;[FN#343] and that, where­with all Ko­ran­ic or­di­nances are com­plet­ed, is cir­cum­ci­sion.”[FN#344] There­with was made man­ifest the de­feat of the doc­tor, who rose to his feet and said, “I call Al­lah to wit­ness, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, that this damsel is more learned than I in the­ol­ogy and what per­taineth to the Law.” So say­ing, he put off his clothes and went away ig­no­min­ious­ly worsted. Then she turned to the rest of the learned men present and said, “O mas­ters, which of you is the Ko­ranist, the read­er and re­citer of the Ko­ran, versed in the sev­en read­ings and in syn­tax and in lex­icog­ra­phy?” There­upon a pro­fes­sor arose and, seat­ing him­self be­fore her, said “Hast thou read the Book of Almighty Al­lah and made thy­self thor­ough­ly ac­quaint­ed with its signs, that is its vers­es, and its ab­ro­gat­ing parts and ab­ro­gat­ed por­tions, its un­equiv­ocal com­mands and its am­bigu­ous; and the dif­fer­ence of its rev­ela­tions, Mec­can and Med­inan? Dost thou un­der­stand its in­ter­pre­ta­tion and hast thou stud­ied it, ac­cord­ing to the var­ious tra­di­tions and ori­gins?” “Yes,” an­swered she; and he said, “What then is the num­ber of its chap­ters, how many are the decades and ver­sets, how many words and how many let­ters and how many acts of pros­tra­tion and how many prophets and how many chap­ters are Med­inan and how many are Mec­can and how many birds are men­tioned in it?” Replied she, “O my lord, its chap­ters are an hun­dred and four­teen, where­of sev­en­ty were re­vealed at Mec­cah and forty-​four at Al-​Med­inah; and it con­taineth six hun­dred and twen­ty-​one decades; six thou­sand three hun­dred and thir­ty-​six ver­sets;[FN#345] sev­en­ty-​nine thou­sand four hun­dred and thir­ty-​nine words and three hun­dred and twen­ty-​three thou­sand and six hun­dred and sev­en­ty let­ters; and to the read­er there­of, for ev­ery let­ter, are giv­en ten ben­efits. The acts of pros­tra­tion it com­priseth are four­teen.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​sixth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the pro­fes­sor of Ko­ran­ic ex­ege­sis ques­tioned the damsel, she con­tin­ued, “As re­gards the Prophets named in the Book there be five-​and-​twen­ty, to wit, Adam, Noah,[FN#346] Abra­ham, Ish­mael, Isaac, Ja­cob, Joseph, Lot, El­isha, Jon­ah, Sal­ih,[FN#347] or Heber, Húd,[FN#348] Shua’yb or Jethro,[FN#349] David, Solomon, Zú’l-​kafl or Joshua, Idrís, Elias, Yahyá or John the Bap­tist, Zacharias, Job, Moses, Aaron, Je­sus and Mo­hammed,[FN#350] the peace of Al­lah and His bless­ing be on them all! More­over, nine fly­ing things are men­tioned in the Ko­ran, name­ly, the gnat, the bee, the fly, the ant, the hoopoe, the crow, the lo­cust, the swal­low and the bird of Je­sus[FN#351] (on whom be peace!), to wit, the bat.” Q “Which is the most ex­cel­lent chap­ter of the Ko­ran?” “That of The Cow.[FN#352]” Q “Which is the most mag­nif­icent verse?” “That of the Throne; it hath fifty words, bear­ing in each fifty bless­ings.” Q “What sign or verse hath in it nine signs or won­ders?” “That in which quoth Al­lah Almighty, ‘Ver­ily, in the cre­ation of the Heav­en and the Earth: and in the vi­cis­si­tude of night, and day; and in the ship which saileth through the sea laden with what is prof­itable for mankind; and in the rain-​wa­ter which God sendeth down from Heav­en, quick­en­ing there­by the dead ground and re­plen­ish­ing the same with all sorts of cat­tle; and in the change of winds and in the clouds that are com­pelled to do ser­vice be­tween the Heav­en and the Earth;[FN#353]–are signs to peo­ple of un­der­stand­ing.’” Q “Which verse is the most just?” “That in which Al­lah saith, ‘Ver­ily, Al­lah en­joineth jus­tice and the do­ing of good, and the giv­ing un­to kin­dred what shall be nec­es­sary; and He for­bid­deth wicked­ness and in­iq­ui­ty and op­pres­sion’”[FN#354] Q “Which is the most greedy?” “That in which quoth Al­lah, ‘Is it that ev­ery man of them greedeth to en­ter the Gar­den of De­light?’”[FN#355] Q “Which is the most hope­ful?” “That in which quoth Almighty Al­lah, ‘Say: O my ser­vants who have trans­gressed against your own souls, de­spair not of the mer­cy of Al­lah; see­ing, that Al­lah for­giveth all sins; aye Gra­cious, Mer­ci­ful is He.’”[FN#356] Q “By what school of in­to­na­tion dost thou read?” “By that of the peo­ple of Par­adise, to wit, the ver­sion of Náf’i.” Q “In which verse doth Al­lah make prophets lie?”[FN#357] “In that where­in He saith, ‘They (the broth­ers of Joseph) brought his in­ner gar­ment stained with false blood.’”[FN#358] Q “In which doth He make un­be­liev­ers speak the truth?” “In that where­in He saith, ‘The Jews say, ‘The Chris­tians are ground­ed on noth­ing,’ and the Chris­tians say, ‘The Jews are ground­ed on noth­ing’; and yet they both read the Scrip­tures;’[FN#359] and, so say­ing, all say sooth.” Q “In which doth God speak in his own per­son?” “In that in which he saith, ‘I have not cre­at­ed Genii and men for any oth­er end than that they should serve me.’”[FN#360] Q “In which verse do the an­gels speak?” “In that which saith, ‘But we cel­ebrate Thy praise and ex­tol Thy ho­li­ness.’”[FN#361] Q “What sayest thou of the for­mu­la:–I seek refuge with Al­lah from Sa­tan the Stoned?” “It is oblig­atory by com­mand­ment of Al­lah on all be­fore read­ing the Ko­ran, as ap­peareth by His say­ing, ‘When thou read­est the Ko­ran, seek refuge with Al­lah from Sa­tan the Stoned.’”[FN#362] Q “What sig­ni­fy the words ’seek­ing refuge’[FN#363] and what are the vari­ants of the for­mu­la?” “Some say, ‘I take refuge with Al­lah the All-​hear­ing and All-​know­ing,’ and oth­ers, ‘With Al­lah the Strong;’ but the best is that where­of the Sub­lime Ko­ran speaketh and the Tra­di­tions per­pet­uate. And he (whom Al­lah bless and keep!) was used to ejac­ulate, ‘I seek refuge with Al­lah from Sa­tan the Stoned.’ And quoth a Tra­di­tion, re­port­ed by Naf’i on the au­thor­ity of his adopt­ed fa­ther, ‘The apos­tle of Al­lah, was wont when he rose in the night to pray, to say aloud, ‘Al­la­ho Ak­bar’; God is Most Great, with all Majesty! Praise be to Al­lah abun­dant­ly! Glo­ry to Al­lah morn and even be!’ Then would he say, ‘I seek refuge with Al­lah from Sa­tan the Stoned and from the delu­sions of the Dev­ils and their evil sug­ges­tions.’ And it is told of Ibn Ab­bas[FN#364] (of whom Al­lah ac­cept!) that he said, ‘The first time Gabriel came down to the Prophet with rev­ela­tion he taught him the ’seek­ing refuge,’ say­ing, ‘O Mo­hammed, say, I seek refuge with Al­lah the All-​hear­ing and All-​know­ing;’ then say, ‘In the name of Al­lah the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate!’ Read, in the name of thy Lord who cre­at­ed;–cre­at­ed man of blood-​clots.”[FN#365] Now when the Ko­ranist heard her words he mar­velled at her ex­pres­sions, her elo­quence, her learn­ing, her ex­cel­lence, and said, “O damsel, what sayst thou of the verse ‘In the name of Al­lah, the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate’? Is it one of the vers­es of the Ko­ran?” “Yes; it is a ver­set of ‘The Ant’[FN#366] oc­cur­ring al­so at the head of the first and be­tween ev­ery two fol­low­ing chap­ters; and there is much dif­fer­ence of opin­ion, re­spect­ing this, among the learned.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​sev­enth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel had told the pro­fes­sor con­cern­ing the dif­fer­ence of opin­ion among the learned touch­ing the “Bas­malah,” he said, “Thou hast replied aright: now tell me why is not the for­mu­la writ­ten at the head of the chap­ter of Im­mu­ni­ty[FN#367]?”; and she an­swered, “When this chap­ter was re­vealed from on high for the dis­so­lu­tion of the al­liance be­tween the Prophet and the idol­aters, He (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!) sent Ali[FN#368] ibn Abí Tálib (whose face Al­lah hon­our!) there­with, and he read the chap­ter to them, but did not read the Bas­malah.”[FN#369] Q “What of the ex­cel­lence of the for­mu­la and its bless­ing?” “It is told of the Prophet that he said, ‘Nev­er is the Bas­malah pro­nounced over aught, but there is a bless­ing in it;’ and it is re­port­ed, on au­thor­ity of Him (whom Al­lah bless and pre­serve!) that the Lord of Glo­ry swore by His glo­ry that nev­er should the Bas­malah be pro­nounced over a sick per­son, but he should be healed of his sick­ness. More­over, it is said that, when Al­lah cre­at­ed the empyre­an, it was ag­itat­ed with an ex­ceed­ing ag­ita­tion; but He wrote on it, ‘Bis­mil­lah’ and its ag­ita­tion sub­sid­ed. When the for­mu­la first de­scend­ed from heav­en to the Prophet, he said, ‘I am safe from three things, earth­quake and meta­mor­pho­sis and drown­ing; and in­deed its boons are great and its bless­ings too many to enu­mer­ate. It is told of Al­lah’s Apos­tle that he said, ‘There will be brought on the Judg­ment-​day a man with whom He shall reck­on and find­ing no good deed to his ac­count, shall or­der him to the Fire; but the man will cry, ‘O my God, Thou hast not dealt just­ly by me!’ Then shall Al­lah (to whom be hon­our and glo­ry!) say, ‘How so?’ and the man shall an­swer, O Lord, for that Thou callest Thy­self the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate, yet wilt Thou pun­ish me with the Fire!’ And Al­lah (mag­ni­fied be His Majesty!) shall re­ply, ‘I did in­deed name my­self the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate. Car­ry My ser­vant to Par­adise, of My mer­cy, for I am the most Mer­ci­ful of the mer­ci­fuls!’” Q “What was the ori­gin of the use of the Bas­malah?” “When Al­lah sent down from Heav­en the Ko­ran, they wrote, ‘In Thy name, O my God!’; when Al­lah re­vealed the words, ‘Say: Call up­on Al­lah, or call up­on the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, what days ye pray, for hath He the most ex­cel­lent names,’[FN#370] they wrote, ‘In the name of Al­lah, the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate; and, when He re­vealed the words, ‘Your God is one God, there is no God but He, the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate,’[FN#371] they wrote, ‘In the name of Al­lah, the Com­pas­sion­at­ing, the Com­pas­sion­ate!’” Now when the Ko­ranist heard her re­ply, he hung down his head and said to him­self, “This be a mar­vel of mar­vels! How hath this slave-​girl ex­pound­ed the ori­gin of the Bas­malah? But, by Al­lah, needs must I go a bout with her and hap­ly de­feat her.” So he asked, “Did Al­lah re­veal the Ko­ran all at once or at times man­ifold?” She an­swered, “Gabriel the Faith­ful (on whom be peace!) de­scend­ed with it from the Lord of the Worlds up­on His Prophet Mo­hammed, Prince of the Apos­tles and Seal of the Prophets, by de­tached ver­sets: bid­ding and for­bid­ding, covenant­ing and com­mi­nat­ing, and con­tain­ing ad­vices and in­stances in the course of twen­ty years as oc­ca­sion called for it.” Q “Which chap­ter was first re­vealed?” “Ac­cord­ing to Ibn Ab­bas, that en­ti­tuled ‘Con­gealed Blood’:[FN#372] and, ac­cord­ing to Jábir bin Ab­dil­lah,[FN#373] that called ‘The Cov­ered’ which pre­ced­ed all oth­ers.[FN#374]” Q “Which ver­set was the last re­vealed?” “That of ‘Usury’,[FN#375] and it is al­so said, the verse, ‘When there cometh Al­lah’s suc­cour and vic­to­ry.’”[FN#376]–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel told the Ko­ranist which was the last verse he said, “Thou hast replied aright; now tell me the names of the Com­pan­ions who col­lect­ed the Ko­ran, in the life­time of the Apos­tle of Al­lah.” And she an­swered “They were four, Ubay ibn Ka’ab, Za­yd ibn Sábit, Abú Obay­dah ‘Aamir bin Jar­ráh, and Oth­mán bin Af­fán[FN#377] (Al­lah ac­cept of them one and all!)” Q “Who are the read­ers, from whom the ac­cept­ed read­ing of the Ko­ran is tak­en?” “They num­ber four, Ab­dal­lah bin Mas’úd, Ubay bin Ka’ab, Ma’az bin Ja­bal and Sálim bin Ab­dil­lah.” Q “What sayest thou of the words of the Most High, ‘That which is sac­ri­ficed to stones’”?[FN#378] “The stones are idols, which are set up and wor­shipped, in­stead of Al­lah the Most High, and from this we seek refuge with Al­lah.” Q “What sayest thou of the words of the Most High ‘Thou know­est what is in my soul, and I know not what is in Thy soul’”?[FN#379] “They mean, ‘Thou know­est the truth of me and what is in me, and I know not what is in Thee;’ and the proof of this are His words,[FN#380] ‘Thou art He who wottest the hid­den things’; and it is said, al­so, ‘Thou know­est my essence, but I know not Thine essence.’” Q “What sayst thou of the words of the Most High, ‘O true be­liev­ers, for­bid not your­selves the good things which Al­lah hath al­lowed you?’”[FN#381] “My Shaykh (on whom Al­lah have mer­cy!) told me that the Com­pan­ion Al-​Za­hhák re­lat­ed: ‘There was a peo­ple of the True-​be­liev­ers who said, ‘We will dock our mem­bers mas­cu­line and don sack­cloth;’ where­upon this verse was re­vealed. But Al-​Kutá­dah de­clareth that it was re­vealed on ac­count of sundry Com­pan­ions of the Apos­tle of Al­lah, name­ly, Ali ibn Abí Tálib and Oth­mán bin Musa’ab and oth­ers, who said, ‘We will geld our­selves and don hair cloth and make us monks.’” Q “What sayest thou of the words of the Most High­est, ‘And Al­lah took Abra­ham for His friend’”?[FN#382] “The friend of Al­lah is the needy, the poor, and (ac­cord­ing to an­oth­er say­ing) he is the lover, he who is de­tached from the world in the love of Al­lah Almighty and in whose at­tach­ment there is no falling away.” Now when the Ko­ranist[FN#383] saw her pass on in speech with the pas­sage of the clouds and that she stayed not in re­ply, he rose to his feet and said, “I take Al­lah to wit­ness, O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, that this damsel is more learned than I in Ko­ran­ic ex­ege­sis and what per­taineth there­to.” Then said she, “I will ask thee one ques­tion, which if thou an­swer it is well; but if thou an­swer not, I will strip off thy clothes.” Quoth the Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, “Ask on,” and she en­quired, “Which ver­set of the Ko­ran hath in it three-​and-​twen­ty Káfs, which six­teen Míms, which an hun­dred and forty ‘Ayns[FN#384] and which sec­tion[FN#385] lack­eth the for­mu­la, ‘To Whom be­long glo­ry and glo­ri­fi­ca­tion and majesty[FN#386]?’” The Ko­ranist could not re­ply, and she said to him, “Put off thy clothes.” So he doffed them, and she con­tin­ued, “O Com­man­der of the Faith­ful, the ver­set of the six­teen Mims is in the chap­ter Húd and is the say­ing of the Most High, ‘It was said, O Noah, go down in peace from us, and bless­ing up­on thee!’[FN#387] that of the three-​and-​twen­ty Kafs is the verse called of the Faith, in the chap­ter of The Cow; that of the hun­dred and forty Ayns is in the chap­ter of Al-​A’aráf,[FN#388] where the Lord saith, ‘And Moses chose sev­en­ty men of his tribe to at­tend our ap­point­ed time;[FN#389] to each man a pair of eyes.’[FN#390] And the les­son, which lack­eth the for­mu­la, ‘To Whom be glo­ry and glo­ri­fi­ca­tion,’ is that which com­pris­es the chap­ters, The Hour draweth nigh and the Moon shall be cloven in twain[FN#391]; The Com­pas­sion­ate and The Event.”[FN#392] There­upon the pro­fes­sor de­part­ed in con­fu­sion.–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Forty-​ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel de­feat­ed the Ko­ranist and took off his clothes and sent him away con­fused, then came for­ward the skilled physi­cian and said to her, “We are free of the­ol­ogy and come now to phys­iol­ogy. Tell me, there­fore, how is man made; how many veins, bones and ver­te­brae are there in his body; which is the first and chief vein and why Adam was named Adam?” She replied, “Adam was called Adam, be­cause of his udmah, that is, the wheat­en colour of his com­plex­ion and al­so (it is said) be­cause he was cre­at­ed of the adim of the earth, that is to say, of the sur­face-​soil. His breast was made of the earth of the Ka’abah, his head of earth from the East and his legs of earth from the West. There were cre­at­ed for him sev­en doors in his head, viz., the eyes, the ears, the nos­trils and the mouth, and two pas­sages, be­fore and be­hind. The eyes were made the seat of the sight-​sense, the ears the seat of the hear­ing-​sense, the nos­trils the seat of the smell-​sense, the mouth the seat of the taste-​sense and the tongue to ut­ter what is in the heart of man.[FN#393] Now Adam was made of a com­pound of the four el­ements, which be wa­ter, earth, fire and air. The yel­low bile is the hu­mour of fire, be­ing hot-​dry; the black bile that of earth, be­ing cold-​dry; the phlegm that of wa­ter, be­ing cold-​moist, and the blood that of air, be­ing hot-​moist.[FN#394] There were made in man three hun­dred and six­ty veins, two hun­dred and forty-​nine bones, and three souls[FN#395] or spir­its, the an­imal, the ra­tio­nal and the nat­ural, to each of which is al­lot­ted its prop­er func­tion. More­over, Al­lah made him a heart and spleen and lungs and six in­testines and a liv­er and two kid­neys and but­tocks and brain and bones and skin and five sens­es; hear­ing, see­ing, smell, taste, touch. The heart He set on the left side of the breast and made the stom­ach the guide and gov­er­nor there­of. He ap­point­ed the lungs for a fan to the heart and sta­blished the liv­er on the right side, op­po­site there­to. More­over, He made, be­sides this, the di­aphragm and the vis­cera and set up the bones of the breast and lat­ticed them with the ribs.” Q “How many ven­tri­cles are there in a man’s head?” “Three, which con­tain five fac­ul­ties, styled the in­trin­sic sens­es, to wit, com­mon sense, imag­ina­tion, the think­ing fac­ul­ty, per­cep­tion and mem­ory.” Q “De­scribe to me the con­fig­ura­tion of the bones.”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Fifti­eth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the physi­cist said to her, “De­scribe to me the con­fig­ura­tion of the bones,” she replied, “Man’s frame con­sists of two hun­dred and forty bones, which are di­vid­ed in­to three parts, the head, the trunk and the ex­trem­ities. The head is di­vid­ed in­to cal­var­ium and face. The skull is con­struct­ed of eight bones, and to it are at­tached the four os­se­lets of the ear. The face is fur­nished with an up­per jaw of eleven bones and a low­er jaw of one; and to these are added the teeth two-​and-​thir­ty in num­ber, and the os hy­oides.[FN#396] The trunk is di­vid­ed in­to spinal col­umn, breast and basin. The spinal col­umn is made up of four-​and-​twen­ty bones, called Fikár or ver­te­bræ; the breast, of the breast­bone and the ribs, which are four-​and-​twen­ty in num­ber, twelve on each side; and the basin of the hips, the sacrum[FN#397] and os coc­cy­gis. The ex­trem­ities di­vid­ed in­to up­per and low­er, arms and legs. The arms are again di­vid­ed: first­ly in­to shoul­der, com­pris­ing shoul­der blades and col­lar bone; sec­ond­ly in­to the up­per arm which is one bone; third­ly in­to fore-​arm, com­posed of two bones, the ra­dius and the ul­na; and fourth­ly in­to the hand, con­sist­ing of the wrist, the metacar­pus of five and the fin­gers, which num­ber five, of three bones each, called the pha­langes, ex­cept the thumb, which hath but two. The low­er ex­trem­ities are di­vid­ed: first­ly in­to thigh, which is one bone; sec­ond­ly in­to leg, com­posed of three bones, the tib­ia, the fibu­la and the patel­la; and third­ly in­to the foot, di­vid­ed, like the hand, in­to tar­sus, metatar­sus and toes; and is com­posed of sev­en bones, ranged in two rows, two in one and five in the oth­er; and the metatar­sus is com­posed of five bones and the toes num­ber five, each of three pha­langes ex­cept the big toe which hath on­ly two.” Q “Which is the root of the veins?” “The aor­ta, from which they ram­ify, and they are many, none knoweth the tale of them save He who cre­at­ed them; but I re­peat, it is said that they num­ber three hun­dred and six­ty.[FN#398] More­over, Al­lah hath ap­point­ed the tongue as in­ter­preter for the thought, the eyes to serve as lanterns, the nos­trils to smell with, and the hands for pre­hen­sors. The liv­er is the seat of pity, the spleen of laugh­ter[FN#399] and the kid­neys of craft; the lungs are ven­ti­la­tors, the stom­ach the store-​house, and the heart the prop and pil­lar of the body. When the heart is sound, the whole body is sound, and when the heart is cor­rupt, the whole body is cor­rupt.” Q “What are the out­ward signs and symp­toms ev­idenc­ing dis­ease in the mem­bers of the body, both ex­ter­nal and in­ter­nal?” “A physi­cian, who is a man of un­der­stand­ing, looketh in­to the state of the body and is guid­ed by the feel of the hands,[FN#400] ac­cord­ing as they are firm or flab­by, hot or cool, moist or dry. In­ter­nal dis­or­ders are al­so in­di­cat­ed by ex­ter­nal symp­toms, such as yel­low­ness of the white of the eyes, which de­noteth jaun­dice, and bend­ing of the back, which de­noteth dis­ease of the lungs.” And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased say­ing her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Fifty-​first Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel had de­scribed to the doc­tor the out­er signs and symp­toms quoth he, “Thou hast replied aright! now what are the in­ter­nal symp­toms of dis­ease?” “The sci­ence of the di­ag­no­sis of dis­ease by in­ter­nal symp­toms is found­ed up­on six canons: (1) the pa­tient’s ac­tions; (2) what is evac­uat­ed from his body; (3) the na­ture of the pain; and (4) the site there­of; (5) swelling; and (6) the ef­flu­via giv­en off his per­son.” Q “How cometh hurt to the head?” “By the in­ges­tion of food up­on food, be­fore the first be di­gest­ed, and by full­ness up­on full­ness; this it is that wasteth peo­ples. He who would live long, let him be ear­ly with the morn­ing-​meal and not late with the evening-​meal; let him be spar­ing of com­merce with wom­en and chary of such de­ple­to­ry mea­sures as cup­ping and blood-​let­ting; and let him make of his bel­ly three parts, one for food, one for drink and the third for air; for that a man’s in­testines are eigh­teen spans in length and it be­fit­teth that he ap­point six for meat, six for drink, and six for breath. If he walk, let him go gen­tly; it will be whole­somer for him and bet­ter for his body and more in ac­cor­dance with the say­ing of the Almighty, ‘Walk not proud­ly on the earth.’”[FN#401] Q “What are the symp­toms of yel­low bile and what is to be feared there­from?” “The symp­toms are sal­low com­plex­ion and bit­ter taste in the mouth with dry­ness; fail­ure of the ap­petite, vene­re­al and oth­er, and rapid pulse; and the pa­tient hath to fear high fever and delir­ium and erup­tions and jaun­dice and tu­mour and ul­cers of the bow­els and ex­ces­sive thirst.” Q “What are the symp­toms of black bile and what hath the pa­tient to fear from it, an it get the mas­tery of the body?” “The symp­toms are false ap­petite and great men­tal dis­qui­et and cark and care; and it be­hoveth that it be evac­uat­ed, else it will gen­er­ate melan­cho­lia[FN#402] and lep­rosy and can­cer and dis­ease of the spleen and ul­cer­ation of the bow­els.” Q “In­to how many branch­es is the art of medicine di­vid­ed?” “In­to two: the art of di­ag­nos­ing dis­eases, and that of restor­ing the dis­eased body to health.” Q “When is the drink­ing of medicine more ef­fi­ca­cious than oth­er­when?” “When the sap runs in the wood and the grape thick­ens in the clus­ter and the two aus­pi­cious plan­ets, Jupiter and Venus, are in the as­cen­dant; then set­teth in the prop­er sea­son for drink­ing of drugs and do­ing away of dis­ease.” Q “What time is it, when, if a man drink wa­ter from a new ves­sel, the drink is sweet­er and lighter or more di­gestible to him than at an­oth­er time, and there as­cen­deth to him a pleas­ant fra­grance and a pen­etrat­ing?” “When he wait­eth awhile af­ter eat­ing, as quoth the po­et,

‘Drink not up­on thy food in haste but wait awhile; * Else thou with hal­ter shalt thy frame to sick­ness lead: And pa­tient bear a lit­tle thirst from food, then drink; * And thus, O broth­er, hap­ly thou shalt win thy need.[FN#403]’”

Q “What food is it that giveth not rise to ail­ments?” “That which is not eat­en but af­ter hunger, and when it is eat­en, the ribs are not filled with it, even as saith Jálínús or Galen the physi­cian, ‘Whoso will take in food, let him go slow­ly and he shall not go wrong­ly.’ And to con­clude with His say­ing (on whom be bless­ing and peace!), ‘The stom­ach is the house of dis­ease, and di­et is the head of heal­ing; for the ori­gin of all sick­ness is in­di­ges­tion, that is to say, cor­rup­tion of the meat’”–And Shahrazad per­ceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her per­mit­ted say.

When it was the Four Hun­dred and Fifty-​sec­ond Night,

She con­tin­ued, It hath reached me, O aus­pi­cious King, that when the damsel said to the doc­tor, “‘The stom­ach is the house of dis­ease and di­et is the head of heal­ing; for the ori­gin of all sick­ness is in­di­ges­tion, that is to say, cor­rup­tion of the meat in the stom­ach;’” he re­joined, “Thou hast replied aright! what sayest thou of the Ham­mam?” “Let not the full man en­ter it. Quoth the Prophet, ‘The bath is the bless­ing of the house, for that it cleanseth the body and cal­leth to mind the Fire.’” Q “What Ham­mams are best for bathing in?” “Those whose wa­ters are sweet and whose space is am�