The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, Volume III
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Title: The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, Volume III
Translator: John Payne
Release date: August 1, 2005 [eBook #8657]
Most recently updated: February 26, 2015
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8657
Credits: Produced by JC Byers, Ralph Zimmerman, Renate Preuss, Anne Soulard, and Coralee Sheehan
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF THE THOUSAND NIGHTS AND ONE NIGHT, VOLUME III ***
Produced by JC Byers, Ralph Zimmerman, Renate Preuss, Anne
Soulard, and Coralee Sheehan
Editorial Note: Project Gutenberg also has the translation of this work by
Richard F. Burton in 16 volumes.
THE BOOK OF THE THOUSAND NIGHTS AND ONE NIGHT:
Now First Completely Done Into English
Prose and Verse, From The Original Arabic,
By John Payne
(Author of "The Masque of Shadows," "Intaglios: Sonnets," "Songs
of Life and Death,"
"Lautrec," "The Poems of Master Francis Villon of Paris," "New
Poems," Etc, Etc.).
In Nine Volumes:
VOLUME THE THIRD.
London
Printed For Subscribers Only
1901
Delhi Edition
Contents of The Third Volume.
1. The Birds and Beasts and the Son of Adam
2. The Hermits
3. The Water-Foul and the Tortoise
4. The Wolf and the Fox
a. The Hawk and the Partridge
5. The Mouse and the Weasel
6. The Cat and the Crow
7. The Fox and the Crow
a. The Mouse and the Flea
b. The Falcon and the Birds
c. The Sparrow and the Eagle
8. The Hedgehog and the Pigeons
a. The Merchant and the Two Sharpers
9. The Thief and his Monkey
a. The Foolish Weaver
10. The Sparrow and the Peacock
11. Ali Ben Bekkar and Shemsennehar
12. Kemeezzeman and Boudour
a. Nimeh Ben er Rebya and Num his Slave Girl
13. Alaeddin Abou Esh Shamat
14. Hatim et Yai: His Generosity After Death
15. Maan Ben Zaideh and the Three Girls
16. Maan Ben Zaideh and the Bedouin
17. The City of Lebtait
18. The Khalif Hisham and the Arab Youth
19. Ibrahim Ben el Mehdi and the Barber-surgeon
20. The City of Irem
21. Isaac of Mosul's Story of Khedijeh and the Khalif Mamoun
22. The Scavenger and the Noble Lady of Baghdad
23. The Mock Khalif
24. Ali the Persian and the Kurd Sharper
THE BOOK OF THE THOUSAND NIGHTS
AND ONE NIGHT
When Shehrzad had made an end of the history of King Omar teen
Ennuman and his sons, Shehriyar said to her, "I desire that thou
tell me some story about birds;" and Dunyazad, hearing this, said
to her sister, "All this while I have never seen the Sultan light
at heart till this night; and this gives me hope that the issue
may be a happy one for thee with him." Then drowsiness overcame
the Sultan; so he slept and Shehrzad, perceiving the approach of
day, was silent.
When it was the hundred and forty-sixth night, Shehrzad began as
follows: "I have heard tell, O august King, that
STORY OF THE BIRDS AND BEASTS AND THE SON
OF ADAM.
A peacock once abode with his mate on the sea-shore, in a place
that abounded in trees and streams, but was infested with lions
and all manner other wild beasts, and for fear of these latter,
the two birds were wont to roost by night upon a tree, going
forth by day in quest of food. They abode thus awhile, till,
their fear increasing on them, they cast about for some other
place wherein to dwell, and in the course of their search, they
happened on an island abounding in trees and streams. So they
alighted there and ate of its fruits and drank of its waters.
Whilst they were thus engaged, up came a duck, in a state of
great affright, and stayed not till she reached the tree on which
the two peacocks were perched, when she seemed reassured. The
peacock doubted not but that she had some rare story; so he asked
her of her case and the cause of her alarm, to which she replied,
'I am sick for sorrow and my fear of the son of Adam: beware, O
beware of the sons of Adam!' 'Fear not,' rejoined the peacock,
'now that thou hast won to us.' 'Praised be God,' cried the
duck, 'who hath done away my trouble and my concern with your
neigbourhood! For indeed I come, desiring your friendship.'
Thereupon the peahen came down to her and said, 'Welcome and fair
welcome! No harm shall befall thee: how can the son of Adam come
at us and we in this island midmost the sea? From the land he
cannot win to us, neither can he come up to us out of the sea. So
be of good cheer and tell us what hath betided thee from him.
'Know then, O peahen,' answered the duck, 'that I have dwelt all
my life in this island in peace and safety and have seen no
disquieting thing, till one night, as I was asleep, I saw in a
dream the semblance of a son of Adam, who talked with me and I
with him. Then I heard one say to me, "O duck, beware of the son
of Adam and be not beguiled by his words nor by that he may
suggest to thee; for he aboundeth in wiles and deceit; so beware
with all wariness of his perfidy, for he is crafty and guileful,
even as saith of him the poet:
He giveth thee honeyed words with the tip of his tongue, galore.
But sure he will cozen thee, as the fox cloth, evermore.
For know that the son of Adam beguileth the fish and draweth them
forth of the waters and shooteth the birds with a pellet of clay
and entrappeth the elephant with his craft. None is safe from his
mischief, and neither beast nor bird escapeth him. Thus have I
told thee what I have heard concerning the son of Adam." I awoke,
fearful and trembling (continued the duck), and from that time to
this my heart hath not known gladness, for fear of the son of
Adam, lest he take me unawares by his craft or trap me in his
snares. By the time the end of the day overtook me, I was grown
weak and my strength and courage failed me; so, desiring to eat
and drink, I went forth, troubled in spirit and with a heart ill
at ease. I walked on, till I reached yonder mountain, where I saw
a tawny lion-whelp at the door of a cave. When he saw me, he
rejoiced greatly in me, for my colour pleased him and my elegant
shape: so he cried out to me, saying "Draw nigh unto me." So I
went up to him and he said to me, "What is thy name and thy
kind?" Quoth I, "My name is 'duck,' and I am of the bird-kind;
but thou, why tarriest thou in this place till now?" "My father
the lion," answered he, "has bidden me many a day beware of the
son of Adam, and it befell this night that I saw in my sleep the
semblance of a son of Adam." And he went on to tell me the like
of that I have told you. When I heard this, I said to him, "O
lion, I resort to thee, that thou mayst kill the son of Adam and
steadfastly address thy thought to his slaughter; for I am
greatly in fear for myself of him, and fear is added to my fear,
for that thou also fearest the son of Adam, and thou the Sultan
of the beasts. Then, O my sister, I ceased not to bid him beware
of the son of Adam and urge him to slay him, till he rose of a
sudden from his stead and went out, lashing his flanks with his
tail. He fared on, and I after him, till we came to a place,
where several roads met, and saw cloud of dust arise, which,
presently clearing away, discovered a naked runaway ass, and now
running and galloping and now rolling in the dust. When the
lion saw the ass, he cried out to him, and he came up to him
submissively. Then said the lion, "Harkye, crack-brain! What is
thy kind and what brings thee hither?" "O, son of the Sultan,"
answered the ass, "I am by kind an ass, and the cause of my
coming hither is that I am fleeing from the son of Adam." "Dost
thou fear then that he will kill thee?" asked the lion-whelp.
"Not so, O son of the Sultan," replied the ass; "but I fear lest
he put a cheat on me; for he hath a thing called the pad, that he
sets on my back, and a thing called the girth, that he binds
about my belly, and a thing called the crupper, that he puts
under my tail, and a thing called the bit, that he places in my
mouth; and he fashions me a goad and goads me with it and makes
me run more than my strength. If I stumble, he curses me, and
if I bray, he reviles me; and when I grow old and can no longer
run, he puts a wooden pannel on me and delivers me to the
water-carriers, who load my back with water from the river, in
skins and other vessels, such as jars, and I wear out my life in
misery and abasement and fatigue till I die, when they cast me on
the rubbish-heaps to the dogs. So what misery can surpass this,
and what calamities can be greater than these?" When, O peahen, I
heard the ass's words, my skin shuddered at the son of Adam and I
said to the lion-whelp, "Of a verity, O my lord, the ass hath
excuse, and his words add terror to my terror." Then said the
lion to the ass, "Whither goest thou?" "Before the rising of the
sun" answered he, "I espied the son of Adam afar off and fled
from him, and now I am minded to flee forth and run without
ceasing, for the greatness of my fear of him, so haply I may find
a place to shelter me from the perfidious son of Adam." Whilst he
was thus discoursing, seeking the while to take leave of us and
go away, behold, another cloud of dust arose, at sight of which
the ass brayed and cried out and let fly a great crack of wind.
Presently, the dust lifted and discovered a handsome black horse
of elegant shape, with white feet and fine legs and a brow-star
like a dirhem, which made towards us, neighing, and stayed not
till he stood before the whelp, the son of the lion, who, when he
saw him, marvelled at his beauty and said to him, "What is thy
kind, O noble wild beast, and wherefore fleest thou into this
vast and wide desert?" "O lord of the beasts," answered he, "I am
of the horse-kind, and I am fleeing from the son of Adam." The
whelp wondered at the horse's words and said to him, "Say not
thus; for it is shame for thee, seeing that thou art tall and
stout. How comes it that thou fearest the son of Adam, thou, with
thy bulk of body and thy swiftness of running, when I, for all my
littleness of body, am resolved to find out the son of Adam, and
rushing on him, eat his flesh, that I may allay the affright of
this poor duck and make her to dwell in peace in her own place.
But now thou hast wrung my heart with thy talk and turned me back
from what I had resolved to do, in that, for all thy bulk, the
son of Adam hath mastered thee and feared neither thy height nor
thy breadth, though, wert thou to kick him with thy foot, thou
wouldst kill him, nor could he prevail against thee, but thou
wouldst make him drink the cup of death." The horse laughed, when
he heard the whelp's words, and replied, "Far, far is it from my
power to overcome him, O king's son! Let not my length and my
breadth nor yet my bulk delude thee, with respect to the son
of Adam; for he, of the excess of his guile and his cunning,
fashions for me a thing called a hobble and hobbles my four legs
with ropes of palm-fibres, bound with felt, and makes me fast by
the head to a high picket, so that I remain standing and can
neither sit nor lie down, being tied up. When he hath a mind to
ride me, he binds on his feet a thing of iron called a stirrup
and lays on my back another thing called a saddle, which he
fastens by two girths, passed under my armpits. Then he sets in
my mouth a thing of iron he calls a bit, to which he ties a thing
of leather called a rein; and when he mounts on the saddle on
my back, he takes the rein in his hand and guides me with it,
goading my flanks the while with the stirrups[FN#1], till he
makes them bleed: so do not ask, O king's son, what I endure from
the son of Adam. When I grow old and lean and can no longer run
swiftly, he sells me to the miller, who makes me turn in the
mill, and I cease not from turning night and day, till I grow
decrepit. Then he in turn sells me to the knacker, who slaughters
me and flays off my hide, after which he plucks out my tail,
which he sells to the sieve-makers, and melts down my fat for
tallow." At this, the young lion's anger and vexation redoubled,
and he said to the horse, "When didst thou leave the son of
Adam?" "At mid-day," replied the horse; "and he is now on my
track." Whilst the whelp was thus conversing with the horse,
there arose a cloud of dust and presently subsiding, discovered a
furious camel, which made toward us, braying and pawing the earth
with his feet. When the whelp saw how great and lusty he was, he
took him to be the son of Adam and was about to spring at him,
when I said to him, "O king's son, this is not the son of Adam,
but a camel, and me seems he is fleeing from the son of Adam."
As I spoke, O my sister, the camel came up and saluted the
lion-whelp, who returned his greeting and said to him, "What
brings thee hither?" Quoth he, "I am fleeing from the son of
Adam." "And thou," said the whelp, "with thy huge frame and
length and breadth, how comes it that thou fearest the son of
Adam, seeing that one kick of thy foot would kill him?" "O son of
the Sultan," answered the camel, "know that the son of Adam has
wiles, which none can withstand, nor can any but Death prevail
against him; for he puts in my nostrils a twine of goat's-hair he
calls a nose-ring and over my head a thing he calls a halter;
then he delivers me to the least of his children, and the
youngling draws me along by the nose-ring, for all my size and
strength. Then they load me with the heaviest of burdens and go
long journeys with me and put me to hard labours all hours of the
day and night. When I grow old and feeble, my master keeps me not
with him, but sells me to the knacker, who slaughters me and
sells my hide to the tanners and my flesh to the cooks: so do not
ask what I suffer from the son of Adam." "When didst thou leave
the son of Adam?" asked the young lion. "At sundown," replied the
camel; "and I doubt not but that, having missed me, he is now in
search of me: wherefore, O son of the Sultan, let me go, that I
may flee into the deserts and the wilds." "Wait awhile, O camel,"
said the whelp, "till thou see how I will rend him in pieces and
give thee to eat of his flesh, whilst I crunch his bones and
drink his blood." "O king's son," rejoined the camel, "I fear for
thee from the son of Adam, for he is wily and perfidious." And he
repeated the following verse:
Whenas on any land the oppressor cloth alight, There's nothing
left for those, that dwell therein, but flight.
Whilst the camel was speaking, there arose a cloud of dust,
which opened and showed a short thin old man, with a basket of
carpenters' tools on his shoulder and a branch of a tree and
eight planks on his head. He had little children in his hand, and
came on at a brisk pace, till he drew near us. When I saw him, O
my sister, I fell down for excess of affright; but the young lion
rose and went to meet the carpenter, who smiled in his face and
said to him, with a glib tongue, "O illustrious king and lord of
the long arm, may God prosper shine evening and shine endeavour
and increase thy velour and strengthen thee! Protect me from that
which hath betided me and smitten me with its mischief, for I
have found no helper save only thee." And he stood before him,
weeping and groaning and lamenting. When the whelp heard his
weeping and wailing, he said, "I will succour thee from that thou
fearest. Who hath done thee wrong and what art thou, O wild
beast, whose like I never saw in my life nor saw I ever one
goodlier of form or more eloquent of tongue than thou? What is
thy case?" "O lord of the beasts," answered the man, "I am a
carpenter; he who hath wronged me is a son of Adam, and by break
of dawn he will be with thee in this place." When the lion heard
this, the light in his face was changed to darkness and he roared
and snorted and his eyes cast forth sparks. Then he said, "By
Allah, I will watch this night till the dawn, nor will I return
to my father till I have compassed my intent. But thou,"
continued he, addressing the carpenter, "I see thou art short of
step, and I would not wound thy feelings, for that I am generous
of heart; yet do I deem thee unable to keep pace with the wild
beasts: tell me then whither thou goest." "Know," answered the
carpenter, "that I am on my way to thy father's Vizier, the Lynx;
for when he heard that the son of Adam had set foot in this
country, he feared greatly for himself and sent one of the beasts
for me, to make him a house, wherein he should dwell, that it
might shelter him and hold his enemy from him, so not one of the
sons of Adam should come at him." When the young lion heard this,
he envied the lynx and said to the carpenter, "By my life, thou
must make me a house with these planks, ere thou make one for the
lynx! When thou hast done my work, go to the lynx and make him
what he wishes." "O lord of the beasts," answered the carpenter,
"I cannot make thee aught, till I have made the lynx what he
desires: then will I return to thy service and make thee a house,
to ward thee from shine enemy." "By Allah," exclaimed the whelp,
"I will not let thee go hence, till thou make me a house of these
planks!" So saying, he sprang upon the carpenter, thinking to
jest with him, and gave him a cuff with his paw. The blow knocked
the basket off the man's shoulder and he fell down in a swoon,
whereupon the young lion laughed at him and said, "Out on thee, O
carpenter! Of a truth thou art weak and hast no strength; so it
is excusable in thee to fear the son of Adam." Now the carpenter
was exceeding wroth; but he dissembled his anger, for fear of the
whelp, and sat up and smiled in his face, saying, "Well, I will
make thee the house." With this, he took the planks, and nailing
them together, made a house in the form of a chest, after the
measure of the young lion. In this he cut a large opening, to
which he made a stout cover and bored many holes therein, leaving
the door open. Then he took out some nails of wrought iron and a
hammer and said to the young lion, "Enter this opening, that I
may fit it to thy measure." The whelp was glad and went up to the
opening, but saw that it was strait; and the carpenter said to
him, "Crouch down and so enter." So the whelp crouched down and
entered the chest, but his tail remained outside. Then he would
have drawn back and come out; but the carpenter said to him,
"Wait till I see if there be room for thy tail with thee." So
saying, he twisted up the young lion's tail, and stuffing it into
the chest, whipped the lid on to the opening and nailed it down;
whereat the whelp cried out and said, "O carpenter, what is this
narrow house thou hast made me? Let me out." But the carpenter
laughed and answered, "God forbid! Repentance avails nothing for
what is passed, and indeed thou shalt not come out of this place.
Verily thou art fallen into the trap and there is no escape for
thee from duresse, O vilest of wild beasts!" "O my brother,"
rejoined the whelp, "what manner of words are these?" "Know, O
dog of the desert," answered the man, "that thou hast fallen into
that which thou fearedst; Fate hath overthrown thee, nor did
thought-taking profit thee." When the whelp heard these words, he
knew that this was indeed the very son of Adam, against whom he
had been warned by his father on wake and by the mysterious voice
in sleep; and I also, O my sister, was certified that this was
indeed he without doubt; wherefore there took me great fear of
him for myself and I withdrew a little apart and waited to see
what he would do with the young lion. Then I saw the son of Adam
dig a pit hard by the chest and throwing the latter therein, heap
brushwood upon it and burn the young lion with fire. At this
sight, my fear of the son of Adam redoubled, and in my affright I
have been these two days fleeing from him.'"
When the peahen heard the duck's story, she wondered exceedingly
and said to her, 'O my sister, thou art safe here from the son of
Adam, for we are in one of the islands of the sea, whither there
is no way for him; so do thou take up shine abode with us, till
God make easy shine and our affair.' Quoth the duck, 'I fear lest
some calamity come upon me by night, for no runaway can rid him
of fate.' 'Abide with us,' rejoined the peahen, 'and be even as
we;' and ceased not to persuade her, till she yielded, saying, 'O
my sister, thou knowest how little is my fortitude: had I not
seen thee here, I had not remained.' 'That which is written on
our foreheads,' said the peahen, 'we must indeed fulfil, and when
our appointed day draws near, who shall deliver us? But not a
soul passes away except it have accomplished its predestined term
and fortune.' As they talked, a cloud of dust appeared, at sight
of which the duck shrieked aloud and ran down into the sea,
crying out, 'Beware, beware, albeit there is no fleeing from Fate
and Fortune!' After awhile, the dust subsided and discovered an
antelope; whereat the duck and the peahen were reassured and the
latter said to her companion, 'O my sister, this thou seest and
wouldst have me beware of is an antelope, and he is making for
us. He will do us no hurt, for the antelope feeds upon the herbs
of the earth, and even as thou art of the bird-kind, so is he of
the beast-kind. So be of good cheer and leave care-taking; for
care-taking wasteth the body.' Hardly had the peahen done
speaking, when the antelope came up to them, thinking to shelter
under the shade of the tree, and seeing the two birds, saluted
them and said, 'I came to this island to-day, and I have seen
none richer in herbage nor more pleasant of habitance.' Then he
besought them of company and amity, and they, seeing his friendly
behaviour to them, welcomed him and gladly accepted his offer. So
they swore friendship one to another and abode in the island in
peace and safety, eating and drinking and sleeping in common,
till one day there came thither a ship, that had strayed from its
course in the sea. It cast anchor near them, and the crew
landing, dispersed about the island. They soon caught sight of
the three animals and made for them, whereupon the peahen flew up
into the tree and the antelope fled into the desert, but the duck
abode paralysed (by fear). So they chased her, till they caught
her and carried her with them to the ship, whilst she cried out
and said, 'Caution availed me nothing against Fate and destiny!'
When the peahen saw what had betided the duck, she came down from
the tree, saying, 'I see that misfortunes lie in wait for all.
But for yonder ship, parting had not befallen between me and this
duck, for she was one of the best of friends. Then she flew off
and rejoined the antelope, who saluted her and gave her joy of
her safety and enquired for the duck, to which she replied, 'The
enemy hath taken her, and I loathe the sojourn of this island
after her.' Then she wept for the loss of the duck and repeated
the following verses:
The day of severance broke my heart in tway. God do the like unto
the severance-day!
And also these:
I pray that we may yet foregather once again. That I may tell her
all that parting wrought of pain.
The antelope was greatly moved at hearing of their comrade's
fate, but dissuaded the peahen from her resolve to leave the
island. So they abode there together, eating and drinking in
peace and safety, save that they ceased not to mourn for the loss
of the duck, and the antelope said to the peahen, 'Thou seest, O
my sister, how the folk who came forth of the ship were the means
of our severance from the duck and of her destruction; so do thou
beware of them and guard thyself from them and from the craft of
the son of Adam and his perfidy.' But the peahen replied, 'I am
assured that nought caused her death but her neglect to celebrate
the praises of God, and indeed I said to her, "Verily I fear for
thee, because thou art not careful to praise God; for all things
that He hath made do glorify Him, and if any neglect to do so, it
leadeth to their destruction."' When the antelope heard the
peahen's words, he exclaimed, 'May God make fair thy face!' and
betook himself to the celebration of the praises of the Almighty,
never after slackening therefrom. And it is said that his form of
adoration was as follows: 'Glory be to the Requiter of good and
evil, the Lord of glory and dominion!'
THE HERMITS.
There was once a hermit, who served God on a certain mountain,
whither resorted a pair of pigeons; and he was wont to make two
parts of his daily bread, eating one half himself and giving the
other to the pigeons. He prayed also for them, that they might be
blest with increase; so they increased and multiplied greatly.
Now they resorted only to that mountain, and the reason of
their foregathering with the holy man was their assiduity in
celebrating the praises of God; for it is said that the pigeons'
formula of praise is, 'Glory be to the Creator of all things,
Who appointeth to every one his daily bread, Who builded the
heavens and spread out the earth like a carpet!' They dwelt thus
together, in the happiest of life, they and their brood, till the
holy man died, when the company of the pigeons was broken up, and
they all dispersed among the towns and villages and mountains.
Now in a certain other mountain there dwelt a shepherd, a man of
piety and chastity and understanding; and he had flocks of sheep,
which he tended, and made his living by their milk and wool. The
mountain aforesaid abounded in trees and pasturage and wild
beasts, but the latter had no power over the peasant nor over his
flocks; so he continued to dwell therein, in security, taking no
thought to the things of the world, by reason of his happiness
and assiduity in prayer and devotion, till God ordained that he
should fall exceeding sick. So he betook himself to a cavern in
the mountain, and his sheep used to go out in the morning to the
pasturage and take refuge at night in the cave. Now God was
minded to try him and prove his obedience and constancy; so He
sent him one of His angels, who came in to him in the semblance
of a fair woman and sat down before him. When the shepherd saw
the woman seated before him, his flesh shuddered with horror of
her and he said to her, 'O woman, what brings thee hither? I have
no need of thee, nor is there aught betwixt thee and me that
calls for thy coming in to me.' 'O man,' answered she, 'dost thou
not note my beauty and grace and the fragrance of my breath and
knowest thou not the need women have of men and men of women?
Behold, I have chosen to be near thee and desire to enjoy thy
company; so who shall forbid thee from me? Indeed, I come to thee
willingly and do not withhold myself from thee: there is none
with us whom we need fear; and I wish to abide with thee as long
as thou sojournest in this mountain and be thy companion. I offer
myself to thee, for thou needest the service of women; and if
thou know me, thy sickness will leave thee and health return to
thee and thou wilt repent thee of having forsworn the company of
women during thy past life. Indeed, I give thee good advice: so
give ear to my counsel and draw near unto me.' Quoth he, 'Go out
from me, O deceitful and perfidious woman! I will not incline to
thee nor approach thee. I want not thy company; he who coveteth
thee renounceth the future life, and he who coveteth the future
life renounceth thee, for thou seduces the first and the last.
God the Most High lieth in wait for His servants and woe unto him
who is afflicted with thy company!' 'O thou that errest from the
truth and wanderest from the path of reason,' answered she, 'turn
thy face to me and look upon my charms and profit by my nearness,
as did the wise who have gone before thee. Indeed, they were
richer than thou in experience and greater of wit; yet they
rejected not the society of women, as thou dost, but took their
pleasure of them and their company, and it did them no hurt, in
body or in soul. Wherefore do thou turn from thy resolve and thou
shalt praise the issue of shine affair.' 'All thou sayest I deny
and abhor,' rejoined the shepherd, 'and reject all thou offerest;
for thou art cunning and perfidious and there is no faith in
thee, neither honour. How much foulness cost thou hide under thy
beauty and how many a pious man hast thou seduced, whose end was
repentance and perdition! Avaunt from me, O thou who devotes
thyself to corrupt others!' So saying, he threw his goat's-hair
cloak over his eyes, that he might not see her face, and betook
himself to calling upon the name of his Lord. When the angel saw
the excellence of his obedience (to God), he went out from him
and ascended to heaven.
Now hard by the mountain was a village wherein dwelt a pious man,
who knew not the other's stead, till one night he saw in a dream
one who said to him, 'In such a place near to thee is a pious
man: go to him and be at his command.' So when it was day, he set
out afoot to go thither, and at the time when the heat was
grievous upon him, he came to a tree, which grew beside a spring
of running water. He sat down to rest in the shadow of the tree,
and birds and beasts came to the spring to drink; but when they
saw him, they took fright and fled. Then said he, 'There is no
power and no virtue save in God the Most High! I am resting here,
to the hurt of the beasts and fowls.' So he rose and went on,
blaming himself and saying, 'My tarrying here hath wronged these
beasts and birds, and what excuse have I towards my Creator and
the Creator of these creatures, for that I was the cause of their
flight from their watering-place and their pasture? Alas, my
confusion before my Lord on the day when He shall avenge the
sheep of the goats!' And he wept and repeated the following
verses:
By Allah, if men knew for what they are create, They would not go
and sleep, unheeding of their fate!
Soon cometh death, then wake and resurrection come; Then judgment
and reproof and terrors passing great.
Obey me or command, the most of us are like. The dwellers in the
cave, [FN#2] asleep early and late.
Then he fared on, weeping for that he had driven the birds and
beasts from the spring by sitting down under the tree, till he
came to the shepherd's dwelling and going in, saluted him. The
shepherd returned his greeting and embraced him, weeping and
saying, 'What brings thee hither, where no man hath ever come in
to me?' Quoth the other, 'I saw in my sleep one who described to
me this thy stead and bade me repair to thee and salute thee: so
I came, in obedience to the commandment.' The shepherd welcomed
him, rejoicing in his company, and they both abode in the cavern,
doing fair service to their Lord and living upon the flesh and
milk of their sheep, having put away from them wealth and
children and other the goods of this world, till there came to
them Death, the Certain, the Inevitable. And this is the end of
their story."
"O Shehrzad," said King Shehriyar, "thou puttest me out of
conceit with my kingdom and makest me repent of having slain so
many women and maidens. Hast thou any stories of birds?" "Yes,"
answered she, and began as follows:
THE WATER-FOWL AND THE TORTOISE
"A water-fowl flew high up into the air and alighted on rock in
the midst of a running water. As it sat, behold, the water
floated up a carcase, that was swollen and rose high out of the
water, and lodged it against the rock. The bird drew near and
examining it, found that it was the dead body of a man and saw in
it spear and sword wounds. So he said in himself, 'Belike, this
was some evil-doer, and a company of men joined themselves
together against him and slew him and were at peace from him and
his mischief.' Whilst he was marvelling at this, vultures and
eagles came down upon the carcase from all sides; which when the
water-fowl saw, he was sore affrighted and said, 'I cannot endure
to abide here longer.' So he flew away in quest of a place where
he might harbour, till the carcase should come to an end and the
birds of prey leave it, and stayed not in his flight, till he
came to a river with a tree in its midst. He alighted on the
tree, troubled and distraught and grieved for his separation from
his native place, and said to himself, 'Verily grief and vexation
cease not to follow me: I was at my ease, when I saw the carcase,
and rejoiced therein exceedingly, saying, "This is a gift of God
to me;" but my joy became sorrow and my gladness mourning, for
the lions of the birds[FN#3] took it and made prize of it and
came between it and me. How can I trust in this world or hope to
be secure from misfortune therein? Indeed, the proverb says, "The
world is the dwelling of him who hath no dwelling: he who hath no
understanding is deceived by it and trusteth in it with his
wealth and his child and his family and his folk; nor doth he who
is deluded by it leave to rely upon it, walking proudly upon the
earth, till he is laid under it and the dust is cast over him by
him who was dearest and nearest to him of all men; but nought is
better for the noble than patience under its cares and miseries."
I have left my native place, and it is abhorrent to me to quit my
brethren and friends and loved ones.' Whilst he was thus devising
with himself, behold, a tortoise descended into the water and
approaching the bird, saluted him, saying, 'O my lord, what hath
exiled thee and driven thee afar from thy place?' 'The descent of
enemies thereon,' replied the water-fowl; 'for the understanding
cannot brook the neighbourhood of his enemy; even as well says
the poet:
Whenas on any land the oppressor doth alight, There's nothing
left for those, that dwell therein, but flight.'
Quoth the tortoise, 'If the case be as thou sayest, I will not
leave thee nor cease to be before thee, that I may do thy need
and fulfil thy service; for it is said that there is no sorer
desolation than that of him who is an exile, cut off from friends
and country; and also that no calamity equals that of severance
from virtuous folk; but the best solace for the understanding is
to seek companionship in his strangerhood and be patient under
adversity. Wherefore I hope that thou wilt find thine account
in my company, for I will be to thee a servant and a helper.'
'Verily, thou art right in what thou sayest,' answered the
water-fowl; 'for, by my life, I have found grief and pain in
separation, what while I have been absent from my stead and
sundered from my friends and brethren, seeing that in severance
is an admonition to him who will be admonished and matter of
thought for him who will take thought. If one find not a
companion to console him, good is cut off from him for ever and
evil stablished with him eternally; and there is nothing for the
wise but to solace himself in every event with brethren and be
instant in patience and constancy; for indeed these two are
praiseworthy qualities, that uphold one under calamities and
shifts of fortune and ward off affliction and consternation, come
what will.' 'Beware of sorrow,' rejoined the tortoise, 'for it
will corrupt thy life to thee and do away thy fortitude.' And
they gave not over converse, till the bird said, 'Never shall I
leave to fear the strokes of fortune and the vicissitudes of
events.' When the tortoise heard this, he came up to him and
kissing him between the eyes, said to him, 'Never may the company
of the birds cease to be blest in thee and find good in thy
counsel! How shalt thou be burdened with inquietude and harm?'
And he went on to comfort the water-fowl and soothe his disquiet,
till he became reassured. Then he flew to the place, where the
carcase was, and found the birds of prey gone and nothing left of
the body but bones; whereupon he returned to the tortoise and
acquainted him with this, saying, 'I wish to return to my stead
and enjoy the society of my friends; for the wise cannot endure
separation from his native place.' So they both went thither and
found nought to affright them; whereupon the water-fowl repeated
the following verses:
Full many a sorry chance doth light upon a man and fill His life
with trouble, yet with God the issue bideth still.
His case is sore on him, but when its meshes straitened are To
att'rest, they relax, although he deem they never will.
So they abode there in peace and gladness, till one day fate led
thither a hungry hawk, which drove its talons into the bird's
belly and killed him, nor did caution stand him in stead seeing
that his hour was come. Now the cause of his death was that he
neglected to praise God, and it is said that his form of
adoration was as follows, 'Glory be to our Lord in that He
ordereth and ordaineth, and glory be to our Lord in that He
maketh rich and maketh poor!'"
"O Shehrzad," said the Sultan, "verily, thou overwhelmest me with
admonitions and salutary instances! Hast thou any stories of
beasts?" "Yes," answered she. "Know, O King, that
THE WOLF AND THE FOX.
A fox and a wolf once dwelt in the same den, harbouring therein
together day and night; but the wolf was cruel and oppressive to
the fox. They abode thus awhile, till one day the fox exhorted
the wolf to use gentle dealing and leave evil-doing, saying, 'If
thou persist in thine arrogance, belike God will give the son of
Adam power over thee, for he is past master in guile and craft
and knavery. By his devices he brings down the birds from the air
and draws the fish forth of the waters and sunders mountains in
twain and transports them from place to place. All this is of his
craft and wiliness; wherefore do thou betake thyself to equity
and fair dealing and leave evil and tyranny; and thou shalt fare
the better for it.' But the wolf rejected his counsel and
answered him roughly, saying, 'Thou hast no call to speak of
matters of weight and stress.' And he dealt the fox a buffet that
laid him senseless; but, when he revived, he smiled in the wolf's
face and excused himself for his unseemly speech, repeating the
following verses:
If I have sinned in aught that's worthy of reproach Or if I've
made default against the love of you,
Lo, I repent my fault; so let thy clemency The sinner comprehend,
that doth for pardon sue.
The wolf accepted his excuse and held his hand from him, saying,
'Speak not of that which concerns thee not, or thou shalt hear
what will not please thee.' 'I hear and obey,' answered the fox;
'henceforth I will abstain from what pleaseth thee not; for the
sage says, "Speak thou not of that whereof thou art not asked;
answer not, when thou art not called upon; leave that which
concerns thee not for that which does concern thee and lavish not
good counsel on the wicked, for they will repay thee therefor
with evil."' And he smiled in the wolf's face, but in his heart
he meditated treachery against him and said in himself, 'Needs
must I compass the destruction of this wolf.' So he bore with his
ill usage, saying in himself, 'Verily arrogance and falsehood
lead to perdition and cast into confusion, and it is said, "He
who is arrogant suffers and he who is ignorant repents and he who
fears is safe: fair dealing is a characteristic of the noble, and
gentle manners are the noblest of gains." It behoves me to
dissemble with this tyrant, and needs must he be cast down.' Then
said he to the wolf, 'Verily, the Lord pardons his erring servant
and relents towards him, if he confess his sins; and I am a weak
slave and have sinned in presuming to counsel thee. If thou
knewest the pain that befell me by thy buffet, thou wouldst see
that an elephant could not stand against it nor endure it: but I
complain not of the pain of the blow, because of the contentment
that hath betided me through it; for though it was exceeding
grievous to me, yet its issue was gladness. As saith the sage,
"The blow of the teacher is at first exceeding grievous, but the
end of it is sweeter than clarified honey."' Quoth the wolf, 'I
pardon thine offence and pass over thy fault; but be thou ware of
my strength and avow thyself my slave; for thou knowest how
rigorously I deal with those that transgress against me.'
Thereupon the fox prostrated himself to the wolf, saying, 'May
God prolong thy life and mayst thou cease never to subdue thine
enemies!' And he abode in fear of the wolf and ceased not to
wheedle him and dissemble with him.
One day, the fox came to a vineyard and saw a breach in its wall;
but he mistrusted it and said in himself, 'Verily, there must be
some reason for this breach and the adage says, "He who sees a
cleft in the earth and doth not shun it or be wary in going up to
it, is self-deluded and exposes himself to destruction." Indeed,
it is well known that some folk make a semblant of a fox in their
vineyards, even to setting before it grapes in dishes, that foxes
may see it and come to it and fall into destruction. Meseems,
this breach is a snare and the proverb says, "Prudence is the
half of cleverness." Now prudence requires that I examine this
breach and see if there be ought therein that may lead to
perdition; and covetise shall not make me cast myself into
destruction.' So he went up to the breach and examining it
warily, discovered a deep pit, lightly covered (with boughs and
earth), which the owner of the vineyard had dug, thinking to trap
therein the wild beasts that laid waste his vines. Then he drew
back from it, saying in himself, 'I have found it as I expected.
Praised be God that I was wary of it! I hope that my enemy the
wolf, who makes my life miserable, will fall into it; so will the
vineyard be left to me and I shall enjoy it alone and dwell
therein in peace.' So saying, he shook his head and laughed
aloud, repeating the following verses:
Would God I might see, even now, A wolf fallen into yon pit,
That this long time hath tortured my heart And made me quaff
bitters, God wit!
God grant I may live and be spared And eke of the wolf be made
quit!
So the vineyard of him shall be rid And I find my purchase in it.
Then he returned in haste to the wolf and said to him, 'God hath
made plain the way for thee into the vineyard, without toil. This
is of thy good luck; so mayst thou enjoy the easy booty and the
plentiful provant that God hath opened up to thee without
trouble!' 'What proof hast thou of what thou sayest?' asked the
wolf; and the fox answered, 'I went up to the vineyard and found
that the owner was dead, having been devoured by wolves: so I
entered and saw the fruit shining on the trees.' The wolf
misdoubted not of the fox's report and gluttony got hold on him;
so he rose and repaired to the breach, blinded by greed; whilst
the fox stopped short and lay as one dead, applying to the case
the following verse:
Lustest after Leila's favours? Look thou rather bear in mind That
'tis covetise plays havoc with the necks of human kind.
Then said he to the wolf, 'Enter the vineyard: thou art spared
the trouble of climbing, for the wall is broken down, and with
God be the rest of the benefit.' So the wolf went on, thinking to
enter the vineyard; but when he came to the middle of the
covering (of the pit), he fell in; whereupon the fox shook for
delight and gladness; his care and concern left him and he sang
out for joy and recited the following verses:
Fortune hath taken ruth on my case; Yea, she hath pitied the
length of my pain,
Doing away from me that which I feared And granting me that
whereto I was fain.
So I will pardon her all the sins She sinned against me once and
again;
Since for the wolf there is no escape From certain ruin and
bitter bane,
And now the vineyard is all my own And no fool sharer in my
domain.
Then he looked into the pit, and seeing the wolf weeping for
sorrow and repentance over himself, wept with him; whereupon the
wolf raised his head to him and said, 'Is it of pity for me thou
weepest, O Aboulhussein?' [FN#4] 'Not so,' answered the fox, 'by
Him who cast thee into the pit! I weep for the length of thy past
life and for regret that thou didst not sooner fall into the pit;
for hadst thou done so before I met with thee, I had been at
peace: but thou wast spared till the fulfilment of thine allotted
term.' The wolf thought he was jesting and said, 'O sinner, go to
my mother and tell her what has befallen me, so haply she may
make shift for my release.' 'Verily,' answered the fox, 'the
excess of thy gluttony and thy much greed have brought thee to
destruction, since thou art fallen into a pit whence thou wilt
never escape. O witless wolf, knowest thou not the proverb, "He
who taketh no thought to results, Fate is no friend to him, nor
shall he be safe from perils?"' 'O Aboulhussein,' said the wolf,
'thou wast wont to show me affection and covet my friendship and
fear the greatness of my strength. Bear me not malice for that I
did with thee, for he who hath power and forgiveth, his reward is
with God; even as saith the poet:
Sow benefits aye, though in other than fitting soil. A benefit's
never lost, wherever it may be sown;
And though time tarry full long to bring it to harvest-tide, Yet
no man reapeth its fruit, save he who sowed it alone.'
'O most witless of beasts of prey and stupidest of the wildings
of the earth,' rejoined the fox, 'hast thou forgotten thine
arrogance and pride and tyranny and how thou disregardedst the
due of comradeship and wouldst not take counsel by what the poet
says:
Do no oppression, whilst the power thereto is in thine hand, For
still in danger of revenge the sad oppressor goes.
Thine eyes will sleep anon, what while the opprest, on wake, call
down Curses upon thee, and God's eye shuts never in repose.'
'O Aboulhussein,' replied the wolf, 'reproach me not for past
offences; for forgiveness is expected of the noble, and the
practice of kindness is the best of treasures. How well says the
poet:
Hasten to do good works, whenever thou hast the power, For thou
art not able thereto at every season and hour.'
And he went on to humble himself to the fox and say to him,
'Haply, thou canst do somewhat to deliver me from destruction.'
'O witless, deluded, perfidious, crafty wolf,' answered the fox,
'hope not for deliverance, for this is but the just reward of thy
foul dealing.' Then he laughed from ear to ear and repeated the
following verses:
A truce to thy strife to beguile me! For nothing of me shalt thou
gain. Thy prayers are but idle; thou sowedst Vexation; so
reap it amain.
'O gentlest of beasts of prey,' said the wolf, 'I deem thee too
faithful to leave me in this pit.' Then he wept and sighed and
recited the following verses, whilst the tears streamed from his
eyes:
O thou, whose kindnesses to me are more than one, I trow, Whose
bounties unto me vouchsafed are countless as the sand,
No shift of fortune in my time has ever fall'n on me, But I have
found thee ready still to take me by the hand.
'O stupid enemy,' said the fox, 'how art thou reduced to humility
and obsequiousness and abjection and submission, after disdain
and pride and tyranny and arrogance! Verily, I companied with
thee and cajoled thee but for fear of thy violence and not in
hope of fair treatment from thee: but now trembling is come upon
thee and vengeance hath overtaken thee.' And he repeated the
following verses:
O thou that for aye on beguiling art bent, Thou'rt fall'n in the
snare of thine evil intent.
So taste of the anguish that knows no relent And be with the rest
of the wolven forspent!
'O clement one,' replied the wolf, 'speak not with the tongue of
despite nor look with its eyes; but fulfil the covenant of
fellowship with me, ere the time for action pass away. Rise, make
shift to get me a rope and tie one end of it to a tree; then let
the other end down to me, that I may lay hold of it, so haply I
may escape from this my strait, and I will give thee all my hand
possesseth of treasures.' Quoth the fox, 'Thou persistest in talk
of that wherein thy deliverance is not. Hope not for this, for
thou shalt not get of me wherewithal to save thyself; but call to
mind thy past ill deeds and the craft and perfidy thou didst
imagine against me and bethink thee how near thou art to being
stoned to death. For know that thy soul is about to leave the
world and cease and depart from it; so shalt thou come to
destruction and evil is the abiding-place to which thou goest!'
'O Aboulhussein,' rejoined the wolf, 'hasten to return to
friendliness and persist not in this rancour. Know that he, who
saves a soul from perdition, is as if he had restored it to life,
and he, who saves a soul alive, is as if he had saved all
mankind. Do not ensue wickedness, for the wise forbid it: and it
were indeed the most manifest wickedness to leave me in this pit
to drink the agony of death and look upon destruction, whenas it
lies in thy power to deliver me from my strait. Wherefore go thou
about to release me and deal benevolently with me.' 'O thou
barbarous wretch,' answered the fox, 'I liken thee, because of
the fairness of thy professions and the foulness of thine intent
and thy practice, to the hawk with the partridge.' 'How so ?'
asked the wolf; and the fox said,
The Hawk and the Partridge.
'I entered a vineyard one day and saw a hawk stoop upon a
partridge and seize it: but the partridge escaped from him and
entering its nest, hid itself there. The hawk followed and called
out to it, saying, "O wittol, I saw thee in the desert, hungry,
and took pity on thee; so I gathered grain for thee and took hold
of thee that thou mightest eat; but thou fledst, wherefore I know
not, except it were to slight me. So come out and take the grain
I have brought thee to eat, and much good may it do thee!" The
partridge believed what he said and came out, whereupon the hawk
stuck his talons into him and seized him. "Is this that which
thou saidst thou hadst brought me from the desert," cried the
partridge, "and of which thou badest me eat, saying, 'Much good
may it do thee?' Thou hast lied to me and may God make what thou
eatest of my flesh to be a deadly poison in thy maw!" So when the
hawk had eaten the partridge, his feathers fell off and his
strength failed and he died on the spot. Know, then, O wolf, that
he, who digs a pit for his brother, soon falls into it himself,
and thou first dealtest perfidiously with me.' 'Spare me this
talk and these moral instances,' said the wolf, 'and remind me
not of my former ill deeds, for the sorry plight I am in suffices
me, seeing that I am fallen into a place, in which even my enemy
would pity me, to say nothing of my friend. So make thou some
shift to deliver me and be thou thereby my saviour. If this cause
thee aught of hardship, think that a true friend will endure the
sorest travail for his friend's sake and risk his life to deliver
him from perdition; and indeed it hath been said, "A tender
friend is better than an own brother." So if thou bestir thyself
and help me and deliver me, I will gather thee such store of
gear, as shall be a provision for thee against the time of want,
and teach thee rare tricks to gain access to fruitful vineyards
and strip the fruit-laden trees.' 'How excellent,' rejoined the
fox, laughing, 'is what the learned say of those who are past
measure ignorant, like unto thee!' 'What do they say?' asked the
wolf; and the fox answered, 'They say that the gross of body are
gross of nature, far from understanding and nigh unto ignorance.
As for thy saying, O perfidious, stupid self-deceiver, that a
friend should suffer hardship to succour his friend, it is true,
as thou sayest: but tell me, of thine ignorance and poverty of
wit, how can I be a true friend to thee, considering thy
treachery? Dost thou count me thy friend? Behold, I am thine
enemy, that exulteth in thy misfortune; and couldst thou
understand it, this word were sorer to thee than slaughter and
arrow-shot. As for thy promise to provide me a store against the
time of want and teach me tricks to enter vineyards and spoil
fruit-trees, how comes it, O crafty traitor, that thou knowest
not a trick to save thyself from destruction? How far art thou
from profiting thyself and how far am I from lending ear to thy
speech! If thou have any tricks, make shift for thyself to save
thee from this peril, wherefrom I pray God to make thine escape
distant! So look, O idiot, if there be any trick with thee and
save thyself from death therewith, before thou lavish instruction
on others. But thou art like a certain sick man, who went to
another, suffering from the same disease, and said to him, "Shall
I heal thee of thy disease?" "Why dost thou not begin by healing
thyself?" answered the other; so he left him and went his way.
And thou, O ignorant wolf, art like this; so stay where thou art
and be patient under what hath befallen thee.' When the wolf
heard what the fox said, he knew he had no hope from him; so he
wept for himself, saying, 'Verily, I have been heedless of mine
affair; but if God deliver me from this scrape, I will assuredly
repent of my arrogance towards those who are weaker than I and
will put on wool and go upon the mountains, celebrating the
praises of God the Most High and fearing His wrath. Yea, I will
sunder myself from all the other wild beasts and feed the poor
and those who fight for the Faith.' Then he wept and lamented,
till the heart of the fox was softened and he took pity on him,
whenas he heard his humble words and his professions of
repentance for his past arrogance and tyranny. So he sprang up
joyfully and going to the brink of the pit, sat down on his hind
quarters and let his tail fall therein; whereupon the wolf arose
and putting out his paw, pulled the fox's tail, so that he fell
down into the pit with him. Then said the wolf, 'O fox of little
ruth, why didst thou exult over me, thou that wast my companion
and under my dominion? Now thou art fallen into the pit with me
and retribution hath soon overtaken thee. Verily, the wise have
said, "If one of you reproach his brother with sucking the teats
of a bitch, he also shall suck her," and how well saith the poet:
When fortune's blows on some fall hard and heavily, With others
of our kind as friend encampeth she.
So say to those who joy in our distress, "Awake; For those who
mock our woes shall suffer even as we."
And death in company is the best of things; wherefore I will make
haste to kill thee, ere thou see me killed.' 'Alas! Alas!' said
the fox in himself. 'I am fallen in with this tyrant, and my case
calls for the use of craft and cunning; for indeed it is said
that a woman fashions her ornaments for the festival day, and
quoth the proverb, "I have kept thee, O my tear, against the time
of my distress!" Except I make shift to circumvent this
overbearing beast, I am lost without recourse; and how well says
the poet:
Provide thee by craft, for thou liv'st in a time Whose folk are
as lions that lurk in a wood,
And set thou the mill-stream of knavery abroach, That the mill of
subsistence may grind for thy food,
And pluck the fruits boldly; but if they escape From thy grasp,
then content thee with hay to thy food.'
Then said he to the wolf, 'Hasten not to slay me, for that is not
my desert and thou wouldst repent it, O valiant beast, lord of
might and exceeding prowess! If thou hold thy hand and consider
what I shall tell thee, thou wilt know that which I purpose; but
if thou hasten to kill me, it will profit thee nothing and we
shall both die here.' 'O wily deceiver,' answered the wolf, 'how
hopest thou to work my deliverance and thine own, that thou
wouldst have me grant thee time? Speak and let me know thy
purpose.' 'As for my purpose,' replied the fox, 'it was such as
deserves that thou reward me handsomely for it; for when I heard
thy promises and thy confession of thy past ill conduct and
regrets for not having earlier repented and done good and thy
vows, shouldst thou escape from this thy stress, to leave harming
thy fellows and others and forswear eating grapes and other
fruits and devote thyself to humility and cut thy claws and break
thy teeth and don wool and offer thyself as a sacrifice to God
the Most High,--when (I say), I heard thy repentance and vows of
amendment, compassion took me for thee, though before I was
anxious for thy destruction, and I felt bound to save thee from
this thy present plight. So I let down my tail, that thou
mightest grasp it and make thine escape. Yet wouldst thou not put
off thy wonted violence and brutality nor soughtest to save
thyself by fair means, but gavest me such a tug that I thought my
soul would depart my body, so that thou and I are become involved
in the same stead of ruin and death. There is but one thing can
deliver us, to which if thou agree, we shall both escape; and
after it behoves thee to keep the vows thou hast made, and I will
be thy friend.' 'What is it thou hast to propose?' asked the
wolf. 'It is,' answered the fox, 'that thou stand up, and I will
climb up on to thy head and so bring myself nigh on a level with
the surface of the earth. Then will I give a spring and as soon
as I reach the ground, I will fetch thee what thou mayst lay hold
of and make thine escape.' 'I have no faith in thy word,'
rejoined the wolf, 'for the wise have said, "He who practices
trust in the place of hate, errs," and "He who trusts in the
faithless is a dupe; he who tries those that have been [already]
tried (and found wanting) shall reap repentance and his days
shall pass away without profit; and he who cannot distinguish
between cases, giving each its due part, his good fortune will be
small and his afflictions many." How well saith the poet:
Be thy thought ever ill and of all men beware; Suspicion of good
parts the helpfullest was e'er.
For nothing brings a man to peril and distress As doth the doing
good (to men) and thinking fair.
And another:
Be constant ever in suspect; 'twill save thee aye anew; For he
who lives a wakeful life, his troubles are but few.
Meet thou the foeman in thy way with open, smiling face; But in
thy heart set up a host shall battle with him do.
And yet another:
Thy worst of foes is thy nearest friend, in whom thou puttest
trust; So look thou be on thy guard with men and use them
warily aye.
'Tis weakness to augur well of fate; think rather ill of it. And
be in fear of its shifts and tricks, lest it should thee
bewray.'
'Verily,' said the fox, 'distrust is not to be commended in
every case; on the contrary, a confiding disposition is the
characteristic of a noble nature and its issue is freedom from
terrors. Now it behoves thee, O wolf, to put in practice some
device for thy deliverance from this thou art in and the escape
of us both will be better than our death: so leave thy distrust
and rancour; for if thou trust in me, one of two things will
happen; either I shall bring thee whereof to lay hold and escape,
or I shall play thee false and save myself and leave thee; and
this latter may not be, for I am not safe from falling into
some such strait as this thou art in, which would be fitting
punishment of perfidy. Indeed the adage saith, "Faith is fair and
perfidy foul." It behoves thee, therefore, to trust in me, for I
am not ignorant of the vicissitudes of Fortune: so delay not to
contrive some device for our deliverance, for the case is too
urgent for further talk.' 'To tell thee the truth,' replied the
wolf, 'for all my want of confidence in thy fidelity, I knew what
was in thy mind and that thou wast minded to deliver me, whenas
thou heardest my repentance, and I said in myself, "If what he
asserts be true, he will have repaired the ill he did: and if
false, it rests with God to requite him." So, behold, I accept
thy proposal, and if thou betray me, may thy perfidy be the cause
of thy destruction!' Then he stood upright in the pit and taking
the fox upon his shoulders, raised him to the level of the
ground, whereupon the latter gave a spring and lighted on the
surface of the earth. When he found himself in safety, he fell
down senseless, and the wolf said to him, 'O my friend, neglect
not my case and delay not to deliver me.' The fox laughed
derisively and replied, 'O dupe, it was but my laughing at thee
and making mock of thee that threw me into thy hands: for when I
heard thee profess repentance, mirth and gladness seized me and I
frisked about and danced and made merry, so that my tail fell
down into the pit and thou caughtest hold of it and draggedst me
down with thee. Why should I be other than a helper in thy
destruction, seeing that thou art of the host of the devil! I
dreamt yesterday that I danced at thy wedding and related my
dream to an interpreter, who told me that I should fall into a
great danger and escape from it. So now I know that my falling
into thy hand and my escape are the fulfilment of my dream, and
thou, O ignorant dupe, knowest me for thine enemy; so how canst
thou, of thine ignorance and lack of wit, hope for deliverance at
my hands, after all thou hast heard of harsh words from me, and
wherefore should I endeavour for thy deliverance, whenas the wise
have said, "In the death of the wicked is peace for mankind and
purgation for the earth?" Yet, but that I fear to reap more
affliction by keeping faith with thee than could follow perfidy,
I would do my endeavour to save thee.' When the wolf heard this,
he bit his paws for despite and was at his wit's end what to do.
Then he gave the fox fair words, but this availed nought; so he
said to him softly, 'Verily, you foxes are the most pleasant
spoken of folk and the subtlest in jest, and this is but a jest
of thine; but all times are not good for sport and jesting.' 'O
dolt,' answered the fox, 'jesting hath a limit, that the jester
overpasses not, and deem not that God will again give thee power
over me, after having once delivered me from thee.' Quoth the
wolf, 'It behoves thee to endeavour for my release, by reason of
our brotherhood and fellowship, and if thou deliver me, I will
assuredly make fair thy reward.' 'The wise say,' rejoined the
fox,' "Fraternize not with the ignorant and wicked, for he will
shame thee and not adorn thee,--nor with the liar, for if thou do
good, he will hide it, and if evil, he will publish it;" and
again, "There is help for everything but death: all may be
mended, save natural depravity, and everything may be warded off,
except Fate." As for the reward thou promisest me, I liken thee
therein to the serpent that fled from the charmer. A man saw her
affrighted and said to her, "What ails thee, O serpent?" Quoth
she, "I am fleeing from the serpent-charmer, who is in chase of
me, and if thou wilt save me and hide me with thee, I will make
fair thy recompense and do thee all manner of kindness." So he
took her, moved both by desire of the promised recompense and a
wish to find favour with God, and hid her in his bosom. When the
charmer had passed and gone his way and the serpent had no longer
any reason to fear, he said to her, "Where is the recompense thou
didst promise me? Behold, I have saved thee from that thou
dreadest." "Tell me where I shall bite thee," replied she, "for
thou knowest we overpass not that recompense." So saying, she
gave him a bite, of which he died. And I liken thee, O dullard,
to the serpent in her dealings with the man. Hast thou not heard
what the poet says?
Trust not in one in whose heart thou hast made wrath to abide And
thinkest his anger at last is over and pacified.
Verily vipers, though smooth and soft to the feel and the eye And
graceful of movements they be, yet death-dealing venom they
hide.'
'O glib-tongue, lord of the fair face,' said the wolf, 'thou art
not ignorant of my case and of men's fear of me and knowest how I
assault the strong places and root up the vines. Wherefore, do as
I bid thee and bear thyself to me as a servant to his lord.' 'O
stupid dullard,' answered the fox, 'that seekest a vain thing, I
marvel at thy stupidity and effrontery, in that thou biddest me
serve thee and order myself towards thee as I were a slave bought
with thy money; but thou shalt see what is in store for thee, in
the way of breaking thy head with stones and knocking out thy
traitor's teeth.' So saying, he went up to a hill that gave upon
the vineyard and standing there, called out to the people of the
place, nor did he give over crying, till he woke them and they,
seeing him, came up to him in haste. He held his ground till they
drew near him and near the pit, when he turned and fled. So they
looked into the pit and spying the wolf, fell to pelting him with
heavy stones, nor did they leave smiting him with sticks and
stones and piercing him with lances, till they killed him and
went away; whereupon the fox returned to the pit and looking
down, saw the wolf dead: so he wagged his head for excess of joy
and chanted the following verses:
Fate took the soul o' the wolf and snatched it far away; Foul
fall it for a soul that's lost and perished aye!
How oft, O Gaffer Grim, my ruin hast thou sought! But unrelenting
bale is fallen on thee this day.
Thou fellst into a pit, wherein there's none may fall Except the
blasts of death blow on him for a prey.
Then he abode alone in the vineyard, secure and fearing no hurt.
THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL.
A mouse and a weasel once dwelt in the house of a poor peasant,
one of whose friends fell sick and the doctor prescribed him
husked sesame. So he sought of one of his comrades sesame and
gave the peasant a measure thereof to husk for him; and he
carried it home to his wife and bade her dress it. So she steeped
it and husked it and spread it out to dry. When the weasel saw
the grain, he came up to it and fell to carrying it away to his
hole, nor stinted all day, till he had borne off the most of it.
Presently, in came the peasant's wife, and seeing great part of
the sesame gone, stood awhile wondering; after which she sat down
to watch and find out the cause. After awhile, out came the
weasel to carry off more of the grain, but spying the woman
seated there, knew that she was on the watch for him and said to
himself, 'Verily, this affair is like to end ill. I fear me this
woman is on the watch for me and Fortune is no friend to those
who look not to the issues: so I must do a fair deed, whereby I
may manifest my innocence and wash out all the ill I have done.'
So saying, he began to take of the sesame in his hole and carry
it out and lay it back upon the rest. The woman stood by and
seeing the weasel do thus, said in herself, 'Verily, this is not
the thief, for he brings it back from the hole of him that stole
it and returns it to its place. Indeed, he hath done us a
kindness in restoring us the sesame and the reward of those that
do us good is that we do them the like. It is clear that this is
not he who stole the grain. But I will not leave watching till I
find out who is the thief.' The weasel guessed what was in her
mind, so he went to the mouse and said to her, 'O my sister,
there is no good in him who does not observe the claims of
neighbourship and shows no constancy in friendship.' 'True, O my
friend,' answered the mouse, 'and I delight in thee and in thy
neighbourhood; but what is the motive of thy speech?' Quoth the
weasel, 'The master of the house has brought home sesame and has
eaten his fill of it, he and his family, and left much; every
living soul has eaten of it, and if thou take of it in thy turn,
thou art worthier thereof than any other.' This pleased the mouse
and she chirped and danced and frisked her ears and tail, and
greed for the grain deluded her; so she rose at once and issuing
forth of her hole, saw the sesame peeled and dry, shining with
whiteness, and the woman sitting watching, armed with a stick.
The mouse could not contain herself, but taking no thought to the
issue of the affair, ran up to the sesame and fell to messing it
and eating of it; whereupon the woman smote her with the stick
and cleft her head in twain: so her greed and heedlessness of the
issue of her actions led to her destruction."
"By Allah," said the Sultan to Shehrzad, "this is a goodly story!
Hast thou any story bearing upon the beauty of true friendship
and the observance of its obligations in time of distress and
rescuing from destruction?" "Yes, answered she; "it hath teached
me that
THE CAT AND THE CROW.
A crow and a cat once lived in brotherhood. One day, as they were
together under a tree, they spied a leopard making towards them,
of which they had not been ware, till he was close upon them. The
crow at once flew up to the top of the tree; but the cat abode
confounded and said to the crow, 'O my friend, hast thou no
device to save me? All my hope is in thee.' 'Indeed,' answered
the crow, 'it behoveth brethren, in case of need, to cast about
for a device, whenas any peril overtakes them, and right well
saith the poet:
He is a right true friend who is with thee indeed And will
himself undo, to help thee in thy need,
Who, when love's severance is by evil fate decreed, To join your
sundered lives will risk his own and bleed.'
Now hard by the tree were shepherds with their dogs; so the crow
flew towards them and smote the face of the earth with his wings,
cawing and crying out, to draw their attention. Then he went up
to one of the dogs and flapped his wings in his eyes and flew up
a little way, whilst the dog ran after him, thinking to catch
him. Presently, one of the shepherds raised his head and saw the
bird flying near the ground and lighting now and then; so he
followed him, and the crow gave not over flying just out of the
dogs' reach and tempting them to pursue and snap at him: but as
soon as they came near him, he would fly up a little; and so he
brought them to the tree. When they saw the leopard, they rushed
upon it, and it turned and fled. Now the leopard thought to eat
the cat, but the latter was saved by the craft of its friend the
crow. This story, O King, shows that the friendship of the
virtuous saves and delivers from difficulties and dangers.
THE FOX AND THE CROW.
A fox once dwelt in a cave of a certain mountain, and as often as
a cub was born to him and grew stout, he would eat it, for,
except he did so, he had died of hunger; and this was grievous to
him. Now on the top of the same mountain a crow had made his
nest, and the fox said to himself, 'I have a mind to strike up a
friendship with this crow and make a comrade of him, that he may
help me to my day's meat, for he can do what I cannot.' So he
made for the crow's stead, and when he came within earshot, he
saluted him, saying, 'O my neighbour, verily a true-believer
hath two claims upon his true-believing neighbour, that of
neighbourliness and that of community of faith; and know, O my
friend, that thou art my neighbour and hast a claim upon me,
which it behoves me to observe, the more that I have been long
thy neighbour. Moreover, God hath set in my breast a store of
love to thee, that bids me speak thee fair and solicit thy
friendship. What sayst thou?' 'Verily,' answered the crow, 'the
best speech is that which is soothest, and most like thou
speakest with thy tongue that which is not in thy heart. I fear
lest thy friendship be but of the tongue, outward, and shine
enmity of the heart, inward; for that thou art the Eater and I
the Eaten, and to hold aloof one from the other were more apt to
us than friendship and fellowship. What, then, maketh thee seek
that thou mayst not come at and desire what may not be, seeing
that thou art of the beast and I of the bird kind? Verily, this
brotherhood [thou profferest] may not be, neither were it
seemly.' He who knoweth the abiding-place of excellent things,'
rejoined the fox, 'betters choice in what he chooses therefrom,
so haply he may win to advantage his brethren; and indeed I
should love to be near thee and I have chosen thy companionship,
to the end that we may help one another to our several desires;
and success shall surely wait upon our loves. I have store of
tales of the goodliness of friendship, which, an it like thee, I
will relate to thee.' 'Thou hast my leave,' answered the crow;
'let me hear thy story and weigh it and judge of thine intent
thereby.' 'Hear then, O my friend,' rejoined the fox, 'that which
is told of a mouse and a flea and which bears out what I have
said to thee.' 'How so?' asked the crow. 'It is said,' answered
the fox, 'that
The Mouse and the Flea.
A mouse once dwelt in the house of a rich and busy merchant. One
night, a flea took shelter in the merchant's bed and finding his
body soft and being athirst, drank of his blood. The smart of the
bite awoke the merchant, who sat up and called to his serving men
and maids. So they hastened to him and tucking up their sleeves,
fell to searching for the flea. As soon as the latter was ware of
the search, he turned to flee and happening on the mouse's hole,
entered it. When the mouse saw him, she said to him, "What brings
thee in to me, seeing that thou art not of my kind and canst not
therefore be assured of safety from violence or ill-usage?"
"Verily," answered the flea, "I took refuge in thy dwelling from
slaughter and come to thee, seeking thy protection and not
anywise coveting thy house, nor shall aught of mischief betide
thee from me nor aught to make thee leave it. Nay, I hope to
repay thy favours to me with all good, and thou shalt assuredly
see and praise the issue of my words." "If the case be as thou
sayest," answered the mouse, "be at thine ease here; for nought
shall betide thee, save what may pleasure thee; there shall fall
on thee rain of peace alone nor shall aught befall thee, but what
befalls me. I will give thee my love without stint and do not
thou regret thy loss of the merchant's blood nor lament for thy
subsistence from him, but be content with what little of
sufficient sustenance thou canst lightly come by; for indeed this
is the safer for thee, and I have heard that one of the moral
poets saith as follows:
I have trodden the road of content and retirement And lived out
my life with whatever betided;
With a morsel of bread and a draught of cold water, Coarse salt
and patched garments content I abided.
If God willed it, He made my life easy of living; Else, I was
contented with what He provided."
"O my sister," rejoined the flea, "I hearken to thine injunction
and submit myself to yield thee obedience, nor have I power to
gainsay thee, till life be fulfilled, in this fair intent."
"Purity of intent suffices to sincere affection," replied the
mouse. So love befell and was contracted between them and after
this, the flea used (by night) to go to the merchant's bed and
not exceed moderation (in sucking his blood) and harbour with the
mouse by day in the latter's hole. One night, the merchant
brought home great store of dinars and began to turn them over.
When the mouse heard the chink of the coin, she put her head out
of her hole and gazed at it, till the merchant laid it under his
pillow and went to sleep, when she said to the flea, "Seest thou
not the favourable opportunity and the great good fortune! Hast
thou any device to bring us to our desire of yonder dinars?"
"Verily," answered the flea, "it is not good for one to strive
for aught, but if he be able to compass his desire; for if he
lack of ableness thereto, he falls into that of which he should
be ware and attains not his wish for weakness, though he use all
possible cunning, like the sparrow that picks up grain and falls
into the net and is caught by the fowler. Thou hast no strength
to take the dinars and carry them into thy hole, nor can I do
this; on the contrary, I could not lift a single dinar; so what
hast thou to do with them?" Quoth the mouse, "I have made me
these seventy openings, whence I may go out, and set apart a
place for things of price, strong and safe; and if thou canst
contrive to get the merchant out of the house, I doubt not of
success, so Fate aid me." "I will engage to get him out of the
house for thee," answered the flea and going to the merchant's
bed, gave him a terrible bite, such as he had never before felt,
then fled to a place of safety. The merchant awoke and sought for
the flea, but finding it not, lay down again on his other side.
Then came the flea and bit him again, more sharply than before.
So he lost patience and leaving his bed, went out and lay down on
the bench before the door and slept there and awoke not till the
morning. Meanwhile the mouse came out and fell to carrying the
dinars into her hole, till not one was left; and when it was day,
the merchant began to accuse the folk and imagine all manner of
things. And know, O wise, clear-sighted and experienced crow
(continued the fox), that I only tell thee this to the intent
that thou mayst reap the recompense of thy goodness to me, even
as the mouse reaped the reward of her kindness to the flea; for
see how he repaid her and requited her with the goodliest of
requitals.' Quoth the crow, 'It lies with the benefactor to show
benevolence or not; nor is it incumbent on us to behave kindly to
whoso seeks an impossible connection. If I show thee favour, who
art by nature my enemy, I am the cause of my own destruction, and
thou, O fox, art full of craft and cunning. Now those, whose
characteristics these are, are not to be trusted upon oath, and
he who is not to be trusted upon oath, there is no good faith in
him. I heard but late of thy perfidious dealing with thy comrade
the wolf and how thou leddest him into destruction by thy perfidy
and guile, and this though he was of thine own kind and thou
hadst long companied with him; yet didst thou not spare him; and
if thou didst thus with thy fellow, that was of thine own kind,
how can I have confidence in thy fidelity and what would be thy
dealing with thine enemy of other than thy kind? Nor can I liken
thee and me but to the Falcon and the Birds.' 'How so?' asked the
fox. 'They say,' answered the crow, 'that
The Falcon and the Birds.
There was once a falcon who was a cruel tyrant in the days of his
youth, so that the beasts of prey of the air and of the earth
feared him and none was safe from his mischief; and many were the
instances of his tyranny, for he did nothing but oppress and
injure all the other birds. As the years passed over him, he grew
weak and his strength failed, so that he was oppressed with
hunger; but his cunning increased with the waning of his strength
and he redoubled in his endeavour and determined to go to the
general rendezvous of the birds, that he might eat their
leavings, and in this manner he gained his living by cunning,
whenas he could do so no longer by strength and violence. And
thou, O fox, art like this: if thy strength fail thee, thy
cunning fails not; and I doubt not that thy seeking my friendship
is a device to get thy subsistence; but I am none of those who
put themselves at thy mercy, for God hath given me strength in my
wings and caution in my heart and sight in my eyes, and I know
that he who apeth a stronger than he, wearieth himself and is
often destroyed, wherefore I fear for thee lest, if thou ape a
stronger than thou, there befall thee what befell the sparrow.'
'What befell the sparrow?' asked the fox. 'I conjure thee, by
Allah, to tell me his story.' 'I have heard,' replied the crow,
'that
The Sparrow and the Eagle.
A sparrow was once hovering over a sheep-fold, when he saw a
great eagle swoop down upon a lamb and carry it off in his claws.
Thereupon the sparrow clapped his wings and said, "I will do even
as the eagle hath done;" and he conceited himself and aped a
greater than he. So he flew down forthright and lighted on the
back of a fat ram, with a thick fleece that was become matted, by
his lying in his dung and stale, till it was like felt. As soon
as the sparrow lighted on the sheep's back, he clapped his wings
and would have flown away, but his feet became tangled in the
wool and he could not win free. All this while the shepherd was
looking on, having seen as well what happened with the eagle as
with the sparrow; so he came up to the latter in a rage and
seized him. Then he plucked out his wing-feathers and tying his
feet with a twine, carried him to his children and threw him to
them. "What is this?" asked they and he answered, "This is one
that aped a greater than himself and came to grief." Now thou, O
fox,' continued the crow, 'art like this and I would have thee
beware of aping a greater than thou, lest thou perish. This is
all I have to say to thee; so go from me in peace.' When the fox
despaired of the crow's friendship, he turned away, groaning and
gnashing his teeth for sorrow and disappointment, which when the
crow heard, he said to him, 'O fox, why dost thou gnash thy
teeth?' 'Because I find thee wilier than myself,' answered the
fox and made off to his den."
"O Shehrzad," said the Sultan, "how excellent and delightful are
these thy stories! Hast thou more of the like edifying tales?"
"It is said," answered she, "that
THE HEDGEHOG AND THE PIGEONS.
A hedgehog once took up his abode under a palm-tree, on which
roosted a pair of wood-pigeons, that had made their nest there
and lived an easy life, and he said to himself, 'These pigeons
eat of the fruit of the palm-tree, and I have no means of getting
at it; but needs must I go about with them.' So he dug a hole at
the foot of the palm-tree and took up his lodging there, he and
his wife. Moreover, he made a place of prayer beside the hole, in
which he shut himself and made a show of piety and abstinence and
renunciation of the world. The male pigeon saw him praying and
worshipping and inclined to him for his much devoutness and said
to him, 'How long hast thou been thus?' 'Thirty years,' replied
the hedgehog. 'What is thy food?' asked the bird and the other
answered, 'What falls from the palm-tree.' 'And what is thy
clothing?' asked the pigeon. 'Prickles,' replied the hedgehog; 'I
profit by their roughness.' 'And why,' continued the bird, 'hast
thou chosen this place rather than another?' 'I chose it,'
answered the hedgehog, 'that I might guide the erring into
the right way and teach the ignorant.' 'I had thought thee
other-guise than this,' rejoined the pigeon; but now I feel a
yearning for that which is with thee.' Quoth the hedgehog, 'I
fear lest thy deed belie thy speech and thou be even as the
husbandman, who neglected to sow in season, saying, "I fear lest
the days bring me not to my desire, and I shall only waste my
substance by making haste to sow." When the time of harvest came
and he saw the folk gathering in their crops, he repented him of
what he had lost by his tardiness and died of chagrin and
vexation.' 'What then shall I do,' asked the pigeon, 'that I
may be freed from the bonds of the world and give myself up
altogether to the service of my Lord?' 'Betake thee to preparing
for the next world,' answered the hedgehog, 'and content thyself
with a pittance of food.' 'How can I do this,' said the pigeon,
'I that am a bird and may not go beyond the palm-tree whereon is
my food? Nor, could I do so, do I know another place, wherein I
may abide.' Quoth the hedgehog, 'Thou canst shake down of the
fruit of the palm what shall suffice thee and thy wife for a
year's victual; then do ye take up your abode in a nest under the
tree, that ye may seek to be guided in the right way, and do ye
turn to what ye have shaken down and store it up against the time
of need; and when the fruits are spent and the time is long upon
you, address yourselves to abstinence from food.' 'May God
requite thee with good,' exclaimed the pigeon, 'for the fair
intent with which thou hast reminded me of the world to come and
hast directed me into the right way!' Then he and his wife busied
themselves in knocking down the dates, till nothing was left on
the palm-tree, whilst the hedgehog, finding whereof to eat,
rejoiced and filled his den with the dates, storing them up for
his subsistence and saying in himself, 'When the pigeon and his
wife have need of their provant, they will seek it of me,
trusting in my devoutness and abstinence; and from what they have
heard of my pious counsels and admonitions, they will draw near
unto me. Then will I seize them and eat them, after which I shall
have the place and all that drops from the palm-tree, to suffice
me.' Presently the pigeon and his wife came down and finding that
the hedgehog had carried off all the dates, said to him, 'O pious
and devout-spoken hedgehog of good counsel, we can find no sign
of the dates and know not on what else we shall feed.' 'Belike,'
replied the hedgehog, 'the winds have carried them away; but the
turning from the provision to the Provider is of the essence of
prosperity, and He who cut the corners of the mouth will not
leave it without victual.' And he gave not over preaching to them
thus and making a show of piety and cozening them with fine
words, till they put faith in him and entered his den, without
suspicion, where-upon he sprang to the door and gnashed his
tusks, and the pigeon, seeing his perfidy manifested, said to
him, 'What has to-night to do with yester-night? Knowest thou not
that there is a Helper for the oppressed? Beware of treachery and
craft, lest there befall thee what befell the sharpers who
plotted against the merchant.' 'What was that?' asked the
hedgehog. 'I have heard tell,' answered the pigeon, 'that
The Merchant and the Two Sharpers.
There was once in a city called Sendeh a very wealthy merchant,
who made ready merchandise and set out with it for such a city,
thinking to sell it there. There followed him two sharpers, who
had made up into bales what goods they could get and giving out
to him that they also were merchants, companied with him by the
way. At the first halting-place, they agreed to play him false
and take his goods; but, at the same time, each purposed inwardly
foul play to the other, saying in himself, "If I can cheat my
comrade, it will be well for me and I shall have all to myself."
So each took food and putting therein poison, brought it to his
fellow; and they both ate of the poisoned mess and died. Now they
had been sitting talking with the merchant; so when they left him
and were long absent from him, he sought for them and found them
both dead; whereby he knew that they were sharpers, who had
plotted to play him foul, but their treachery had recoiled upon
themselves; so the merchant was preserved and took what they
had.'"
"O Shehrzad," said the Sultan, "verily thou hast aroused me to
all whereof I was negligent! Continue to edify me with these
fables." Quoth she, "It has come to my knowledge, O King, that
THE THIEF AND HIS MONKEY.
A certain man had a monkey and was a thief, who never entered one
of the markets of the city in which he dwelt, but he made off
with great purchase. One day, he saw a man offering for sale worn
clothes, and he went calling them in the market, but none bid for
them, and all to whom he showed them refused to buy of him.
Presently, the thief saw him put the clothes in a wrapper and sit
down to rest for weariness; so he made the ape sport before him,
and whilst he was busy gazing at it, stole the parcel from him.
Then he took the ape and made off to a lonely place, where he
opened the wrapper and taking out the old clothes, wrapped them
in a piece of costly stuff. This he carried to another market and
exposed it for sale with what was therein, making it a condition
that it should not be opened and tempting the folk with the
lowness of the price he set on it. A certain man saw the wrapper
and it pleased him; so he bought the parcel on these terms and
carried it home, doubting not but he had gotten a prize. When his
wife saw it, she said, 'What is this?' And he answered, 'It is
precious stuff, that I have bought below its worth, meaning to
sell it again and take the profit.' 'O dupe,' rejoined she,
'would this stuff be sold under its value, except it were stolen?
Dost thou not know that he who buys a ware, without examining it,
erreth? And indeed he is like unto the weaver.' 'What is the
story of the weaver?' asked he; and she said, 'I have heard tell
that
The Foolish Weaver.
There was once in a certain village a weaver who could not earn
his living save by excessive toil. One day, it chanced that a
rich man of the neighbourhood made a feast and bade the folk
thereto. The weaver was present and saw such as were richly clad
served with delicate meats and made much of by the master of the
house, for what he saw of their gallant array. So he said in
himself, "If I change this my craft for another, easier and
better considered and paid, I shall amass store of wealth and
buy rich clothes, that so I may rise in rank and be exalted in
men's eyes and become like unto these." Presently, one of the
mountebanks there climbed up to the top of a steep and lofty wall
and threw himself down, alighting on his feet; which when the
weaver saw, he said to himself, "Needs must I do as this fellow
hath done, for surely I shall not fail of it." So he climbed up
on to the wall and casting himself down to the ground, broke his
neck and died forthright. I tell thee this (continued the woman)
that thou mayst get thy living by that fashion thou knowest and
throughly understandest, lest greed enter into thee and thou lust
after what is not of thy competence.' Quoth he, 'Not every wise
man is saved by his wisdom nor is every fool lost by his folly. I
have seen a skilful charmer versed in the ways of serpents,
bitten by a snake and killed, and I have known others prevail
over serpents, who had no skill in them and no knowledge of their
ways.' And he hearkened not to his wife, but went on buying
stolen goods below their value, till he fell under suspicion and
perished.
THE SPARROW AND THE PEACOCK.
There was once a sparrow, that used every day to visit a certain
king of the birds and was the first to go in to him and the last
to leave him. One day, a company of birds assembled on a high
mountain, and one of them said to another, 'Verily, we are waxed
many and many are the differences between us, and needs must we
have a king to order our affairs, so shall we be at one and our
differences will cease.' Thereupon up came the sparrow and
counselled them to make the peacock,--that is, the prince he used
to visit,--king over them. So they chose the peacock to their
king and he bestowed largesse on them and made the sparrow his
secretary and vizier. Now the sparrow was wont bytimes to leave
his assiduity [in the personal service of the king] and look into
affairs [in general]. One day, he came not at the usual time,
whereat the peacock was sore troubled; but presently, he returned
and the peacock said to him, 'What hath delayed thee, that art
the nearest to me of all my servants and the dearest?' Quoth the
sparrow, 'I have seen a thing that is doubtful to me and at which
I am affrighted.' 'What was it thou sawest?' asked the king; and
the sparrow answered, 'I saw a man set up a net, hard by my nest,
and drive its pegs fast into the ground. Then he strewed grain in
its midst and withdrew afar off. As I sat watching what he would
do, behold, fate and destiny drove thither a crane and his wife,
which fell into the midst of the net and began to cry out;
whereupon the fowler came up and took them. This troubled me, and
this is the reason of my absence from thee, O king of the age;
but never again will I abide in that nest, for fear of the net.'
'Depart not thy dwelling,' rejoined the peacock; 'for precaution
will avail thee nothing against destiny.' And the sparrow obeyed
his commandment, saying, 'I will take patience and not depart, in
obedience to the king.' So he continued to visit the king and
carry him food and water, taking care for himself, till one day
he saw two sparrows fighting on the ground and said in himself,
'How can I, who am the king's vizier, look on and see sparrows
fighting in my neighbourhood? By Allah, I must make peace between
them!' So he flew down to them, to reconcile them; but the fowler
cast the net over them and taking the sparrow in question, gave
him to his fellow, saying, 'Take care of him, for he is the
fattest and finest I ever saw.' But the sparrow said in himself,
'I have fallen into that which I feared and it was none but the
peacock that inspired me with a false security. It availed me
nothing to beware of the stroke of fate, since for him who taketh
precaution there is no fleeing from destiny; and how well says
the poet:
That which is not to be shall by no means be brought To pass, and
that which is to be shall come, unsought,
Even at the time ordained; but he that knoweth not The truth is
still deceived and finds his hopes grown nought.'
STORY OF ALI BEN BEKKAR AND SHEMSENNEHAR.
There lived once [at Baghdad] in the days of the Khalif Haroun er
Reshid a merchant named Aboulhusn Ali ben Tahir, who was great of
goods and grace, handsome and pleasant-mannered, beloved of all.
He used to enter the royal palace without asking leave, for all
the Khalif's concubines and slave-girls loved him, and he was
wont to company with Er Reshid and recite verses to him and tell
him witty stories. Withal he sold and bought in the merchants'
bazaar, and there used to sit in his shop a youth named Ali ben
Bekkar, a descendant of the ancient kings of Persia, who was fair
of face and elegant of shape, with rosy cheeks and joined
eyebrows, sweet of speech and laughing-lipped, a lover of mirth
and gaiety. It chanced one day, as they sat laughing and talking,
there came up ten damsels like moons, every one of them
accomplished in beauty and symmetry, and amongst them a young
lady riding on a mule with housings of brocade and golden
stirrups. She was swathed in a veil of fine stuff, with a girdle
of gold-embroidered silk, and was even as says the poet:
She hath a skin like very silk and a soft speech and sweet;
Gracious to all, her words are nor too many nor too few.
Two eyes she hath, quoth God Most High, "Be," and forthright they
were; They work as wine upon the hearts of those whom they
ensue.
Add to my passion, love of her, each night; and, solacement Of
loves, the Resurrection be thy day of rendezvous!
The lady alighted at Aboulhusn's shop and sitting down there,
saluted him, and he returned her salute. When Ali ben Bekkar saw
her, she ravished his understanding and he rose to go away; but
she said to him, 'Sit in thy place. We came to thee and thou
goest away: this is not fair.' 'O my lady,' answered he, 'by
Allah, I flee from what I see; for the tongue of the case saith:
She's the sun and her dwelling's in heaven on high; Look, then,
to thine heart thou fair patience commend.
Thou mayst not climb up to her place in the sky, Nor may she to
thee from her heaven descend.'
When she heard this, she smiled and said to Aboulhusn, 'What is
the name of this young man?' 'He is a stranger,' answered he.
'What countryman is he?' asked she, and the merchant replied, 'He
is a descendant of the (ancient) kings of Persia; his name is Ali
ben Bekkar, and indeed it behoves us to use strangers with
honour.' 'When my damsel comes to thee,' rejoined she, 'come thou
at once to us and bring him with thee, that we may entertain him
in our abode, lest he blame us and say, "There is no hospitality
in the people of Baghdad:" for niggardliness is the worst fault
that a man can have. Thou hearest what I say to thee and if thou
disobey me, thou wilt incur my displeasure and I will never again
visit thee or salute thee.' 'On my head and eyes,' answered
Aboulhusn; 'God preserve me from thy displeasure, fair lady!'
Then she rose and went away, leaving Ali ben Bekkar in a state
of bewilderment. Presently, the damsel came and said to the
merchant, 'O my lord Aboulhusn, my lady Shemsennehar, the
favourite of the Commander of the Faithful Haroun er Reshid, bids
thee to her, thee and thy friend, my lord Ali ben Bekkar.' So he
rose and taking Ali with him, followed the girl to the Khalif's
palace, where she carried them into a chamber and made them sit
down. They talked together awhile, till she set trays of food
before them, and they ate and washed their hands. Then she
brought them wine, and they drank and made merry; after which she
bade them rise and carried them into another chamber, vaulted
upon four columns and adorned and furnished after the goodliest
fashion with various kinds of furniture and decorations, as it
were one of the pavilions of Paradise. They were amazed at the
rarities they saw and as they were gazing at these marvels, up
came ten damsels, like moons, with a proud and graceful gait,
dazzling the sight and confounding the wit, and ranged themselves
in two ranks, as they were of the houris of Paradise. After
awhile, in came ten other damsels, with lutes and other
instruments of mirth and music in their hands, who saluted the
two guests and sitting down, fell to tuning their instruments.
Then they rose and standing before them, played and sang and
recited verses: and indeed each one of them was a seduction to
the faithful. Whilst they were thus occupied, there entered other
ten damsels like unto them, high-bosomed and of an equal age,
with black eyes and rosy cheeks, joined eyebrows and languorous
looks, a seduction to the faithful and a delight to all who
looked upon them, clad in various kinds of coloured silks, with
ornaments that amazed the wit. They took up their station at the
door, and there succeeded them yet other ten damsels, fairer than
they, clad in gorgeous apparel, such as defies description; and
they also stationed themselves by the door. Then in came a band
of twenty damsels and amongst them the lady Shemsennehar, as she
were the moon among the stars, scarved with the luxuriance of her
hair and dressed in a blue robe and a veil of silk, embroidered
with gold and jewels. About her middle she wore a girdle set with
various kinds of precious stones, and she advanced with a
graceful and coquettish gait, till she came to the couch that
stood at the upper end of the chamber and seated herself thereon.
When Ali ben Bekkar saw her, he repeated the following couplets:
Yes, this is she indeed, the source of all my ill, For whom with
long desire I languish at Love's will.
Near her, I feel my soul on fire and bones worn waste For
yearning after her that doth my heart fulfih
Then said he to Aboulhusn, 'Thou hadst dealt more kindly with me
to have forewarned me of these things; that I might have prepared
my mind and taken patience to support what hath befallen me ;'
and he wept and groaned and complained. 'O my brother,' replied
Aboulhusn, 'I meant thee nought but good; but I feared to tell
thee of this, lest such transport should overcome thee as might
hinder thee from foregathering with her and intervene between
thee and her: but take courage and be of good heart, for she is
well disposed to thee and inclineth to favour thee.' 'What is the
lady's name?' asked Ali ben Bekkar. 'She is called Shemsennehar,'
answered Aboulhusn 'she is one of the favourites of the Commander
of the Faithful Haroun er Reshid and this is the palace of the
Khalifate.' Then Shemsennehar sat gazing upon Ali ben Bekkar's
charms and he upon hers, till each was engrossed with love of the
other. Presently, she commanded the damsels to sit; so they sat
down, each in her place, on a couch before one of the windows,
and she bade them sing; whereupon one of them took a lute and
sang the following verses:
Twice be the message to my love made known, And take the answer
from his lips alone.
To thee, O monarch of the fair, I come And stand, of this my case
to make my moan.
O thou my sovereign, dear my heart and life, That in my inmost
bosom hast thy throne,
Prithee, bestow a kiss upon thy slave; If not as gift, then even
as a loan.
I will repay it, (mayst thou never fail!) Even as I took it, not
a little gone.
Or, if thou wish for more than thou didst lend, Take and content
thee; it is all thine own.
May health's fair garment ever gladden thee, Thee that o'er me
the wede of woe hast thrown!
Her singing charmed Ali ben Bekkar, and he said to her, 'Sing me
more of the like of these verses.' So she struck the strings and
sang as follows:
By excess of estrangement, beloved mine, Thou hast taught long
weeping unto my eyne.
O joy of my sight and its desire, O goal of my hopes, my
worship's shrine,
Have pity on one, whose eyes are drowned In the sorrowful lover's
tears of brine!
When she had finished, Shemsennehar said to another damsel, 'Sing
us somewhat, thou.' So she played a lively measure and sang the
following verses:
His looks 'twas made me drunken, in sooth, and not his wine; And
the grace of his gait has banished sleep from these eyes of
mine.
'Twas not the wine-cup dazed me, but e'en his glossy curls; His
charms it was that raised me and not the juice o' the vine.
His winding browlocks have routed my patience, and my wit Is done
away by the beauties his garments do enshrine.[FN#5]
When Shemsennehar heard this, she sighed heavily, and the song
pleased her. Then she bade another damsel sing; so she took the
lute and chanted the following:
A face that vies, indeed, with heaven's lamp, the sun; The
welling of youth's springs upon him scarce begun.
His curling whiskers write letters wherein the sense Of love in
the extreme is writ for every one.
Beauty proclaimed of him, whenas with him it met, "A stuff in
God's best loom was fashioned forth and done!"
When she had finished, Ali Ben Bekkar. said to the damsel nearest
him, 'Sing us somewhat, thou.' So she took the lute and sang
these verses:
The time of union's all too slight For coquetry and prudish
flight.
Not thus the noble are. How long This deadly distance and
despite?
Ah, profit by the auspicious time, To sip the sweets of
love-delight.
Ali ben Bekkar followed up her song with plentiful tears; and
when Shemsennehar saw him weeping and groaning and lamenting, she
burned with love-longing and desire and passion and transport
consumed her. So she rose from the couch and came to the door of
the alcove, where Ali met her and they embraced and fell down
a-swoon in the doorway; whereupon the damsels came to them and
carrying them into the alcove, sprinkled rose-water upon them.
When they revived, they missed Aboulhusn, who had hidden himself
behind a couch, and the young lady said, 'Where is Aboulhusn?' So
he showed himself to her from beside the couch, and she saluted
him, saying, 'I pray God to give me the means of requiting thee
thy kindness!' Then she turned to Ali ben Bekkar and said to him,
'O my lord, passion has not reached this pass with thee, without
doing the like with me; but there is nothing for it but to bear
patiently what hath befallen us.' 'By Allah, O my lady,' rejoined
he, 'converse with thee may not content me nor gazing upon thee
assuage the fire of my heart, nor will the love of thee, that
hath mastered my soul, leave me, but with the passing away of my
life.' So saying, he wept and the tears ran down upon his cheeks,
like unstrung pearls. When Shemsennehar saw him weep, she wept
for his weeping; and Aboulhusn exclaimed, 'By Allah, I wonder at
your plight and am confounded at your behaviour; of a truth, your
affair is amazing and your case marvellous. If ye weep thus, what
while ye are yet together, how will it be when ye are parted?
Indeed, this is no time for weeping and wailing, but for
foregathering and gladness; rejoice, therefore, and make merry
and weep no more.' Then Shemsennehar signed to a damsel, who went
out and returned with handmaids bearing a table, whereon were
silver dishes, full of all manner rich meats. They set the table
before them, and Shemsennehar began to eat and to feed Ali ben
Bekkar, till they were satisfied, when the table was removed and
they washed their hands. Presently the waiting-women brought
censors and casting bottles and sprinkled them with rose-water
and incensed them with aloes and ambergris and other perfumes;
after which they set on dishes of graven gold, containing all
manner of sherbets, besides fruits and confections, all that the
heart can desire or the eye delight in, and one brought a flagon
of carnelian, full of wine. Then Shemsennehar chose out ten
handmaids and ten singing-women to attend on them and dismissing
the rest to their apartments, bade some of those who remained
smite the lute. They did as she bade them and one of them sang
the following verses:
My soul be a ransom for him who returned my salute with a smile
And revived in my breast the longing for union after
despair!
The hands of passion have brought my secret thoughts to the light
And that which is in my bosom unto my censors laid bare.
The very tears of my eyes press betwixt me and him, As though
they, even as I, enamoured of him were.
When she had finished, Shemsennehar rose and filling a. cup,
drank it off, then filled it again and gave it to Ali ben Bekkar;
after which she bade another damsel sing; and she sang the
following verses:
My tears, as they flow, are alike to my wine, as I brim it up!
For my eyes pour forth of their lids the like of what froths
in my cup.[FN#6]
By Allah, I know not, for sure, whether my eyelids it is Run over
with wine or else of my tears it is that I sup!
Then Ali ben Bekkar drank off his cup and returned it to
Shemsennehar. She filled it again and gave it to Aboulhusn, who
drank it off. Then she took the lute, saying, 'None shall sing
over my cup but myself.' So she tuned the strings and sang these
verses:
The hurrying tears upon his cheeks course down from either eye'
For very passion, and love's fires within his heart flame
high.
He weeps whilst near to those he loves, for fear lest they
depart: So, whether near or far they be, his tears are never
dry.
And again:
Our lives for thee, O cupbearer, O thou whom beauty's self From
the bright parting of thy hair doth to the feet army!
The full moon[FN#7] from thy collar-folds rises, the
Pleiades[FN#8] Shine from thy mouth and in thine hands there
beams the sun of day.[FN#9]
I trow, the goblets wherewithal thou mak'st us drunk are those
Thou pourest to us from thine eyes, that lead the wit
astray.
Is it no wonder that thou art a moon for ever full And that thy
lovers 'tis, not thou, that wane and waste away?
Art thou a god, that thou, indeed, by favouring whom thou wilt
And slighting others, canst at once bring back to life and
slay?
GCod moulded beauty from thy form and eke perfumed the breeze With
the sheer sweetness of the scent that cleaves to thee alway.
None of the people of this world, an angel sure thou art, Whom
thy Creator hath sent down, to hearten our dismay.
When Ali and Aboulhusn and the bystanders heard Shemsennehar's
song, they were transported and laughed and sported; but while
they were thus engaged, up came a damsel, trembling for fear, and
said, 'O my lady, Afif and Mesrour and Merjan and others of the
Commander of the Faithful's eunuchs, whom I know not, are at the
door.' When they heard this they were like to die of fright, but
Shemsennehar laughed and said, 'Have no fear.' Then said she to
the damsel, 'Hold them in parley, whilst we remove hence.' And
she caused shut the doors of the alcove upon Ali and Aboulhusn
and drew the curtains over them; after which she shut the door of
the saloon and went out by the privy gate into the garden, where
she seated herself on a couch she had there and bade one of the
damsels rub her feet. Then she dismissed the rest of her women
and bade the portress admit those who were at the door; whereupon
Mesrour entered, he and his company, twenty men with drawn
swords, and saluted her. Quoth she, 'Wherefore come-ye?' And they
answered, 'The Commander of the Faithful salutes thee. He wearies
for thy sight and would have thee to know that this with him is a
day of great joy and gladness and he is minded to seal his
gladness with thy present company: wilt thou then go to him or
shall he come to thee?' At this she rose, and kissing the earth,
said, 'I hear and obey the commandment of the Commander of the
Faithful.' Then she summoned the chief (female) officers of her
household and other damsels and made a show of complying with the
Khalif's orders and commanding them to make preparations for his
reception, albeit all was in readiness; and she said to the
eunuchs, 'Go to the Commander of the Faithful and tell him that I
await him after a little space, that I may make ready for him a
place with carpets and so forth.' So they returned in haste to
the Khalif, whilst Shemsennehar, doffing her (outer) clothing,
repaired to her beloved Ali ben Bekkar and strained him to her
bosom and bade him farewell, whereat he wept sore and said, 'O my
lady, this leave-taking will lead to the ruin of my soul and the
loss of my life; but I pray God to grant me patience to bear this
my love, wherewith He hath smitten me!' 'By Allah, answered she,
'none will suffer perdition but I; for thou wilt go out to the
market and company with those that will divert thee, and thine
honour will be in safety and thy passion concealed; whilst I
shall fall into trouble and weariness nor find any to console me,
more by token that I have given the Khalif a rendezvous, wherein
haply great peril shall betide me, by reason of my love and
longing passion for thee and my grief at being parted from thee.
For with what voice shall I sing and with what heart shall I
present me before the Khalif and with what speech shall I
entertain the Commander of the Faithful and with what eyes shall
I look upon a place where thou art not and take part in a banquet
at which thou art not present and with what taste shall I drink
wine of which thou partakest not?' 'Be not troubled,' said
Aboulhusn 'but take patience and be not remiss in entertaining
the Commander of the Faithful this night, neither show him any
neglect, but be of good courage.' At this juncture, up came a
damsel, who said to Shemsennehar, 'O my lady, the Khalif's pages
are come.' So she rose to her feet and said to the maid, 'Take
Aboulhusn and his friend and carry them to the upper gallery
giving upon the garden and there leave them, till it be dark;
when do thou make shift to carry them forth.' Accordingly, the
girl carried them up to the gallery and locking the door upon
them, went away. As they sat looking on the garden, the Khalif
appeared, preceded by near a hundred eunuchs with drawn swords
and compassed about with a score of damsels, as they were moons,
holding each a lighted flambeau. They were clad in the richest of
raiment and on each one's head was a crown set with diamonds
and rubies. The Khalif walked in their midst with a majestic
gait, whilst Mesrour and Afif and Wesif went before him and
Shemsennehar and all her damsels rose to receive him and meeting
him at the garden door, kissed the earth before him; nor did they
cease to go before him, till they brought him to the couch,
whereon he sat down, whilst all the waiting-women and eunuchs
stood before him and there came fair maids and slave-girls with
lighted flambeaux and perfumes and essences and instruments of
music. Then he bade the singers sit down, each in her room, and
Shemsennehar came up and seating herself on a stool by the
Khalif's side, began to converse with him, whilst Ali and the
jeweller looked on and listened, unseen of the prince. The Khalif
fell to jesting and toying with Shemsennehar and bade throw open
the (garden) pavilion. So they opened the doors and windows and
lighted the flambeaux till the place shone in the season of
darkness even as the day. The eunuchs removed thither the
wine-service and (quoth Aboulhusn), 'I saw drinking-vessels and
rarities, whose like mine eyes never beheld, vases of gold and
silver and all manner precious stones and jewels, such as beggar
description, till indeed meseemed I was dreaming, for excess of
amazement at what I saw!' But as for Ali ben Bekkar, from the
moment Shemsennehar left him, he lay prostrate on the ground for
excess of passion and desire and when he revived, he fell to
gazing upon these things that had not their like, and saying to
Aboulhusn, 'O my brother, I fear lest the Khalif see us or come
to know of us; but the most of my fear is for thee. For myself, I
know that I am surely lost past recourse, and the cause of my
destruction is nought but excess of passion and love-longing and
desire and separation from my beloved, after union with her; but
I beseech God to deliver us from this predicament.' Then they
continued to look on, till the banquet was spread before the
Khalif, when he turned to one of the damsels and said to her, 'O
Gheram, let us hear some of thine enchanting songs.' So she tool:
the lute and tuning it, sang as follows:
The longing of a Bedouin maid, whose folk are far away, Who
yearns after the willow of the Hejaz and the bay,--
Whose tears, when she on travellers lights, might for their water
serve And eke her passion, with its heat, their bivouac-fire
purvey,--
Is not more fierce nor ardent than my longing for my love, Who
deem: that I commit a crime in loving him alway.
When Shemsennehar heard this, she slipped off the stool on which
she sat and fell to the earth insensible; where upon the damsels
came and lifted her up. When Ali ben Bekkar saw this from the
gallery, he also fell down senseless, and Aboulhusn said, 'Verily
Fate hath apportioned passion equally between you!' As he spoke,
in came the damsel who had brought them thither and said to him,
'O Aboulhusn, arise and come down, thou and thy friend, for of a
truth the world is grown strait upon us and I fear lest our case
be discovered or the Khalif become aware of you: so, except you
descend at once, we are dead folk. 'How shall this youth
descend,' replied he, 'seeing that he hath not strength to rise?'
With this she fell to sprinkling rose-water on Ali ben Bekkar,
till he came to himself, when Aboulhusn lifted him up and the
damsel stayed him. So they went down from the gallery and walked
on awhile, till they came to a little iron door, which the damsel
opened, and they found themselves on the Tigris' bank. Here they
sat down on a stone bench, whilst the girl clapped her hands and
there came up a man with a little boat, to whom said she, 'Carry
these two young men to the other bank.' So they all three entered
the boat and the man put off with them; and as they launched out
into the stream, Ali ben Bekkar looked back towards the Khalif's
palace and the pavilion and the garden and bade them farewell
with these verses:
I stretch forth a feeble hand to bid farewell to thee, With the
other upon my burning breast, beneath the heart of me.
But be not this the last of the love betwixt us twain And let not
this the last of my soul's refreshment be.
The damsel said to the boatman, 'Make haste with them.' So he
plied his oars swiftly till they reached the opposite bank, where
they landed, and she took lease of them, saying, 'It were my wish
not to leave you, but I can go no farther than this.' Then she
turned back, whilst Ali ben Bekkar lay on the ground before
Aboulhusn and could not rise, till the latter said to him, 'This
place is not sure and I am in fear of our lives, by reason of the
thieves and highwaymen and men of lawlessness.' With this Ali
arose and essayed to walk a little, but could not. Now Aboulhusn
had friends in that quarter, so he made for the house of one of
them, in whom he trusted and who was of his intimates, and
knocked at the door. The man came out quickly and seeing them,
bade them welcome and brought them into his house, where he made
them sit down and talked with them and asked them whence they
came. Quoth Aboulhusn 'We came out but now, being moved thereto
by a man with whom I had dealings and who hath in his hands
monies of mine. It was told me that he was minded to flee into
foreign countries with my money; so I came out to-night in quest
of him, taking with me this my friend Ali ben Bekkar for company
but he hid from us and we could get no speech of him So we turned
back, empty-handed, and knew not whither to go, for it were
irksome to us to return home at this hour of the night; wherefore
we came to thee, knowing thy wonted courtesy and kindness.' 'Ye
are right welcome,' answered the host, and studied to do them
honour. They abode with him the rest of the night, and as soon as
it was day, they left him and made their way back to the city.
When they came to Aboulhusn's house, the latter conjured his
friend to enter; so they went in and lying down on the bed, slept
awhile. When they awoke, Aboulhusn bade his servants spread the
house with rich carpets saying in himself, 'Needs must I divert
this youth and distract him from thoughts of his affliction, for
I know his case better than another.' Then he called for water
for Ali ben Bekkar, and the latter rose and making his ablutions,
prayed the obligatory prayers that he had omitted for the past
day and night; after which he sat down and began to solace
himself with talk with his friend. When Aboulhusn saw this, he
turned to him and said, 'O my lord, it were better for thy case
that thou abide with me this night, so thy heart may be lightened
and the anguish of love-longing that is upon thee be dispelled
and thou make merry with us and haply the fire of thy heart be
allayed.' 'O my brother,' answered Ali, 'do what seemeth good to
thee; for I may not anywise escape from what hath befallen me.'
Accordingly, Aboulhusn arose and bade his servants summon some of
the choicest of his friends and sent for singers and musicians.
Meanwhile he made ready meat and drink for them, and they came
and sat eating and drinking and making merry till nightfall Then
they lit the candles, and the cups of friendship and good
fellowship went round amongst them, and the time passed
pleasantly with them. Presently, a singing-woman took the lute
and sang the following verses:
Fate launched at me a dart, the arrow of an eye; It pierced me
and cut off from those I love am I.
Fortune hath mauled me sore and patience fails me now; But long
have I forebode misfortune drawing nigh.
When Ali ben Bekkar heard this, he fell to the earth in a swoon
and abode thus till daybreak, and Aboulhusn despaired of him.
But, with the dawning, he came to himself and sought to go home;
nor could Aboulhusn deny him, for fear of the issue of his
affair. So he made his servants bring a mule and mounting Ali
thereon, carried him to his lodging, he and one of his men. When
he was safe at home, the merchant thanked God for his deliverance
from that peril and sat awhile with him, comforting him; but Ali
could not contain himself, for the violence of his passion and
love-longing. Presently Aboulhusn rose to take leave of him and
Ali said, 'O my brother, leave me not without news.' 'I hear and
obey, answered Aboulhusn, and repairing to his shop, opened it
and sat there all day, expecting news of Shemsennehar; but none
came. He passed the night in his own house and when it was day,
he went to Ali ben Bekkar's lodging and found him laid on his
bed, with his friends about him and physicians feeling his pulse
and prescribing this or that. When he saw Aboulhusn, he smiled,
and the latter saluting him, enquired how he did and sat with him
till the folk withdrew, when he said to him, 'What plight is
this?' Quoth Ali, 'It was noised abroad that I was ill and I have
no strength to rise and walk, so as to give the lie to the report
of my sickness, but continue lying here as thou seest. So my
friends heard of me and came to visit me. But, O my brother, hast
thou seen the damsel or heard any news of her?' 'I have not seen
her,' answered Aboulhusn, 'since we parted from her on the
Tigris' bank; but, O my brother, beware of scandal and leave this
weeping.' 'O my brother,' rejoined Ali, 'indeed, I have no
control over myself ;' and he sighed and recited the following
verses:
She giveth unto her hand that whereof mine doth fail, A dye on
the wrist, wherewith she doth my patience assail
She standeth in fear for her hand of the arrows she shoots from
her eyes; So, for protection, she's fain to clothe it in
armour of mail.[FN#10]
The doctor in ignorance felt my pulse, and I said to him, "Leave
thou my hand alone; my heart it is that doth ail."
Quoth she to the dream of the night, that visited me and fled,
"By Allah, describe him to me and bate me no jot of the
tale!"
It answered, "I put him away, though he perish of thirst, and
said, 'Stand off from the watering-place!' So he could not
to drink avail."
She poured forth the pearls of her tears from her eyes' narcissus
and gave The rose of her cheeks to drink and bit upon
jujubes[FN#11] with hail.[FN#12]
Then he said, 'O Aboulhusn, I am smitten with an affliction, from
which I deemed myself in surety, and there is no greater ease for
me than death.' 'Be patient,' answered his friend: 'peradventure
God will heal thee.' Then he went out from him and repairing
to his shop, opened it, nor had he sat long, when up came
Shemsennehar's hand-maid, who saluted him. He returned her salute
and looking at her, saw that her heart was palpitating and that
she was troubled and bore the traces of affliction: so he said to
her, 'Thou art welcome. How is it with Shemsennehar?' 'I will
tell thee,' answered she; 'but first tell me how doth Ali ben
Bekkar.' So he told her all that had passed, whereat she was
grieved and sighed and lamented and marvelled at his case. Then
said she, 'My lady's case is still stranger than this; for when
you went away, I turned back, troubled at heart for you and
hardly crediting your escape, and found her lying prostrate in
the pavilion, speaking not nor answering any, whilst the
Commander of the Faithful sat by her head, unknowing what aided
her and finding none who could give him news of her. She ceased
not from her swoon till midnight, when she revived and the Khalif
said to her, "What ails thee, O Shemsennehar, and what has
behllen thee this night?" "May God make me thy ransom, O
Commander of the Faithful!" answered she. "Verily, bile rose in
me and lighted a fire in my body, so that I lost my senses for
excess of pain, and I know no more." "What hast thou eaten
to-day?" asked the Khalif. Quoth she, "I broke my fast on
something I had never before eaten." Then she feigned to be
recovered and calling for wine, drank it and begged the Khalif to
resume his diversion. So he sat down again on his couch in the
pavilion and made her sit as before. When she saw me, she asked
me how you fared; so I told her what I had done with you and
repeated to her the verses that Ali ben BeLkar had recited at
parting, whereat she wept secretly, but presently stinted. After
awhile, the Khalif ordered a damsel to sing, and she chanted the
following verses:
Life, as I live, has not been sweet since I did part from thee;
Would God I knew but how it fared with thee too after me!
If thou be weeping tears of brine for sev'rance of our loves, Ah,
then, indeed, 'twere meet my tears of very blood should be.
When my lady heard this, she fell back on the sofa in a swoon,
and I seized her hand and sprinkled rose-water on her face, till
she revived, when I said to her, "O my lady, do not bring ruin on
thyself and on all thy house-hold, but be patient, by the life of
thy beloved!" "Can aught befall me worse than death?" answered
she. "That, indeed, I long for, for, by Allah, my ease is
therein." Whilst we were talking, another damsel sang the
following words of the poet:
"Patience shall peradventure lead to solacement," quoth they; and
I, "Where's patience to be had, now he is gone away?"
He made a binding covenant with me to cut the cords Of patience,
when we two embraced upon the parting day.
When Shemsennehar heard this, she swooned away once more, which
when the Khalif saw, he came to her in haste and commanded the
wine-service to be removed and each damsel to return to her
chamber. He abode with her the rest of the night, and when it was
day, he sent for physicians and men of art and bade them medicine
her, knowing not that her sickness arose from passion and
love-longing. He tarried with her till he deemed her in a way of
recovery, when he returned to his palace, sore concerned for her
illness, and she bade me go to thee and bring her news of Ali ben
Bekkar. So I came, leaving with her a number of her bodywomen;
and this is what has delayed me from thee.' When Aboulhusn heard
her story, he marvelled and said, 'By Allah, I have acquainted
thee with his whole case; so now return to thy mistress; salute
her for me and exhort her to patience and secrecy and tell her
that I know it to be a hard matter and one that calls for prudent
ordering.' She thanked him and taking leave of him, returned to
her mistress, whilst he abode in his place till the end of the
day, when he shut the shop and betaking himself to Ali ben
Bekkar's house, knocked at the door. One of the servants came out
and admitted him; and when Ali saw him, he smiled and re-joiced
in his coming, saying, 'O Aboulhusn, thou hast made a weary man
of me by thine absence from me this day; for indeed my soul is
pledged to thee for the rest of my days.' 'Leave this talk,'
answered the other. 'Were thy healing at the price of my hand, I
would cut it off, ere thou couldst ask me; and could I ransom
thee with my life, I had already laid it down for thee. This very
day, Shemsennehar's handmaid has been with me and told me that
what hindered her from coming before this was the Khalif's
sojourn with her mistress;' and he went on to repeat to him all
that the girl had told him of Shemsennehar; at which Ali lamented
sore and wept and said to him, 'O my brother, I conjure thee by
God to help me in this mine affliction and teach me how I shall
do! Moreover, I beg thee of thy grace to abide with me this
night, that I may have the solace of thy company.' Aboulhusn
agreed to this; so they talked together till the night darkened,
when Ali groaned aloud and lamented and wept copious tears,
reciting the following verses:
My eye holds thine image ever; thy name in my mouth is aye And
still in my heart is thy sojourn; so how canst thou absent
be?
How sore is my lamentation for life that passes away Nor is
there, alas! in union a part for thee and me!
And also these:
She cleft with the sword of her glance the helm of my courage in
two And the mail of my patience she pierced with the spear
of her shape through and through.
She unveiled to us, under the musk of the mole that is set on her
cheek, carnphor-whlte dawning a-break through a night of the
ambergris' hue.[FN#13]
Her spirit was stirred to chagrin and she bit on cornelian[FN#14]
with pearls,[FN#15] Whose unions unvalued abide in a lakelet
of sugary dew.
She sighed for impatience and smote with her palm on the snows of
her breast. Her hand left a scar; so I saw what never before
met my view;
Pens fashioned of coral (her nails), that, dinting the book of
her breast Five lines, scored in ambergris ink, on a table
of crystal drew,
O ye that go girded with steel, O swordsmen, I rede you beware Of
the stroke of her death-dealing eyes, that never looked yet
but they slew!
And guard yourselves, ye of the spears, and fence off her thrust
from your hearts, If she tilt with the quivering lance of
her shape straight and slender at you.
Then he gave a great cry and fell down in a swoon. Aboulhusn
thought that his soul had departed his body and he ceased not
from his swoon till daybreak, when he came to himself and talked
with his friend, who sat with him till the forenoon. Then he left
him and repaired to his shop. Hardly had he opened it, when the
damsel came and stood before him. As soon as he saw her, she made
a sign of salutation to him, which he returned; and she greeted
him for her mistress, saying, 'How doth Ali ben BeLkar?' 'O good
damsel,' replied he, 'ask me not how he doth nor what he suffers
for excess of passion; for he sleeps not by night neither rests
by day; wakefulness wasteth him and affliction hath gotten the
mastery of him and his case is distressful to his friend.' Quoth
she, 'My lady salutes thee and him, and indeed she is in worse
case than he. She hath written him a letter and here it is. When
she gave it me, she said to me, "Do not return save with the
answer." So wilt thou go with me to him and get his reply?' 'I
hear and obey,' answered Aboulhusn, and shutting his shop,
carried her, by a different way to that by which he came, to Ali
ben Bekkar's house, where he left her standing at the door and
entered. When Ali saw him, he rejoiced, and Aboulhusn said to
him, 'The reason of my coming is that such an one hath sent his
handmaid to thee with a letter, containing his greeting to thee
and excusing himself for that he hath tarried by reason of a
certain matter that hath betided him. The girl stands even now at
the door: shall she have leave to enter?' And he signed to him
that it was Shemsennehar's slave-girl. Ali understood his sign
and answered, 'Bring her in.' So she entered and when he saw her,
he shook for joy and signed to her, as who should say, 'How doth
thy lord, may God grant him health and recovery!' 'He is well,'
answered she and pulling out the letter, gave it to him. He took
it and kissing it, opened and read it; after which he handed it
to Aboulhusn, who found written therein what follows:
The messenger of me will give thee news aright; So let his true
report suffice thee for my sight.
A lover hast thou left, for love of thee distraught; Her eyes
cease never-more from watching, day or night.
I brace myself to bear affliction, for to foil The buffets of
ill-fate is given to no wight.
But be thou of good cheer; for never shall my heart Forget thee
nor thy thought be absent from my spright.
Look on thy wasted frame and what is fallen thereon And thence
infer of me and argue of my plight.
To proceed: I have written thee a letter without fingers and
speak to thee without tongue; to tell thee my whole state, I have
an eye from which sleeplessness is never absent and a heart
whence sorrowful thought stirs not. It is with me as I had never
known health nor let sadness, neither beheld a fair face nor
spent an hour of pleasant life; but it is as I were made up of
love-longing and of the pain of passion and chagrin. Sickness is
unceasing upon me and my yearning redoubles ever; desire
increases still and longing rages in my heart. I pray God to
hasten our union and dispel the trouble of my mind: and I would
fain have thee write me some words, that I may solace myself
withal. Moreover, I would have thee put on a becoming patience,
till God give relief; and peace be on thee.' When Ali ben Bekkar
had read this letter, he said, 'With what hand shall I write and
with what tongue shall I make moan and lament? Indeed she addeth
sickness to my sickness and draweth death upon my death!' Then he
sat up and taking inkhorn and paper, wrote the following reply:
'In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. O my lady,
thy letter hath reached me and hath given ease to a mind worn out
with passion and desire and brought healing to a wounded heart,
cankered with languishment and sickness; for indeed I am become
even as saith the poet:
Bosom contracted and grievous thought dilated, Eyes ever wakeful
and body wearied aye;
Patience cut off and separation ever present, Reason disordered
and heart all stolen away.
Know that complaining quenches not the fire of calamity; but it
eases him whom love-longing consumes and separation destroys; and
so I comfort myself with the mention of the word "union;" for how
well saith the poet:
If love had not pain and pleasure, satisfaction and despite,
Where of messengers and letters were for lovers the
delight?'
When he had made an end of this letter, he gave it to Aboulhusn,
saying, 'Read it and give it to the damsel.' So he took it and
read it and its words stirred his soul and its meaning wounded
his vitals. Then he gave it to the girl, and Ali said to her,
'Salute thy lady for me and tell her of my passion and longing
and how love is blent with my flesh and my bones; and say to her
that I need one who shall deliver me from the sea of destruction
and save me from this dilemma; for of a truth fortune oppresseth
me with its vicissitudes; and is there any helper to free me from
its defilements?' So saying, he wept and the damsel wept for his
weeping. Then she took leave of him and Aboulhusn went out with
her and bade her farewell. So she went her way and he returned to
his shop, which he opened, and sat down there, according to his
wont; but as he sat, he found his bosom straitened and his heart
oppressed and was troubled about his case. He ceased not from
melancholy thought the rest of that day and night, and on the
morrow he betook himself to Ali ben Bekkar, with whom he sat till
the folk withdrew, when he asked him how he did. Ali began to
complain of passion and descant upon the longing and distraction
that possessed him, ending by repeating the following words of
the poet:
Folk have made moan of passion before me of past years, And live
and dead for absence have suffered pains and fears;
But what within my bosom I harbour, with mine eyes I've never
seen the like of nor heard it with mine ears.
And also these:
I've suffered for thy love what Caïs, that madman[FN#16] hight,
Did never undergo for love of Leila bright.
Yet chase I not the beasts o' the desert, as did he; For madness
hath its kinds for this and th' other wight.
Quoth Aboulhusn, 'Never did I see or hear of one like unto thee
in thy love! If thou sufferest all this transport and sickness
and trouble, being enamoured of one who returns thy passion, how
would it be with thee, if she whom thou lovest were contrary and
perfidious? Meseems, thy case will be discovered, if thou abide
thus.' His words pleased Ali ben Bekkar and he trusted in him and
thanked him.
Now Aboulhusn had a friend, to whom he had discovered his affair
and that of Ali ben Bekkar and who knew that they were close
friends; but none other than he was acquainted with what was
betwixt them. He was wont to come to him and enquire how Ali did
and after a little, he began to ask about the damsel; but
Aboulhusn put him off, saying, 'She invited him to her and there
was between him and her what passeth words, and this is the end
of their affair; but I have devised me a plan which I would fain
submit to thy judgment.' 'And what is that?' asked his friend. 'O
my brother,' answered Aboulhusn, 'I am a man well known, having
much dealing among the notables, both men and women, and I fear
lest the affair of these twain get wind and this lead to my death
and the seizure of my goods and the ruin of my repute and that of
my family. Wherefore I purpose to get together my property and
make ready forthright and repair to the city of Bassora and abide
there, till I see what comes of their affair, that none may know
of me, for passion hath mastered them and letters pass between
them. Their go-between and confidant at this present is a
slave-girl, who hath till now kept their counsel, but I fear lest
haply she be vexed with them or anxiety get the better of her and
she discover their case to some one and the matter be noised
abroad and prove the cause of my ruin; for I have no excuse
before God or man.' 'Thou acquaintest me with a perilous matter,'
rejoined his friend, 'and one from the like of which the wise and
understanding will shrink in affright. May God preserve thee and
avert from thee the evil thou dreadest! Assuredly, thy resolve is
a wise one.' So Aboulhusn returned home and betook himself to
setting his affairs in order and preparing for his journey; nor
had three days elapsed ere he made an end of his business and
departed for Bassora. Three days after, his friend came to visit
him, but finding him not, asked the neighbours of him; and they
answered, 'He set out three days ago for Bassora, for he had
dealings with merchants there and is gone thither to collect his
debts; but he will soon return.' The man was confounded at the
news and knew not whither to go; and he said in himself, 'Would I
had not parted with Aboulhusn!' Then he bethought him how he
should gain access to Ali ben Bekkar and repairing to the
latter's lodging, said to one of his servants, 'Ask leave for me
of thy master that I may go in and salute him.' So the servant
went in and told his master and presently returning, invited the
man to enter. So he went in and found Ali ben Bekkar lying back
on the pillow and saluted him. Ali returned his greeting and bade
him welcome; whereupon the other began to excuse himself for
having held aloof from him all this while and added, 'O my lord,
there was a close friendship between Aboulhusn and myself, so
that I used to trust him with my secrets and could not brook to
be severed from him an hour. It chanced but now that I was absent
three days' space on certain business with a company of my
friends, and when I came back, I found his shop shut; so I asked
the neighbours of him and they replied, "He is gone to Bassora."
Now I know he had no surer friend than thou; so I conjure thee,
by Allah, to tell me what thou knowest of him.' When Ali heard
this, his colour changed and he was troubled and answered, 'I
never heard of his departure till this day, and if it be as thou
sayest, weariness is come upon me.' And he repeated the following
verses:
Whilom I wept for what was past of joy and pleasant cheer, Whilst
yet the objects of my love were unremoved and near;
But now my sad and sorry fate hath sundered me and them And I
to-day must weep for those that were to me most dear.
Then he bent his head awhile in thought and presently raising it,
said to one of his servants, 'Go to Aboulhusn'' house and enquire
whether he be at home or gone on a journey. If they say, "He is
abroad;" ask whither.' The servant went out and presently
returning, said to his master, 'When I asked after Aboulhusn, his
people told me that he was gone on a journey to Bassora; but I
saw a damsel standing at the door, who knew me, though I knew her
not, and said to me, "Art thou not servant to Ali ben Bekkar?"
"Yes," answered I. And she said, "I have a message for him from
one who is the dearest of all folk to him." So she came with me
and is now at the door.' Quoth Ali, 'Bring her in.' So the
servant went out and brought her in, and the man who was with Ali
ben Bekkar looked at her and found her comely. She came up to Ali
and saluting him, talked with him privily; and he from time to
time exclaimed with an oath and swore that he had not done as she
avouched. Then she took leave of him and went away. When she was
gone, Aboulhusn's friend, who was a jeweller, took occasion to
speak and said to Ali ben Bekkar, 'Doubtless, the women of the
palace have some claim upon thee or thou hast dealings with the
Khalif's household?' 'Who told thee of this?' asked Ali. 'I
know it by yonder damsel,' replied the jeweller, 'who is
Shemsennehar's slave-girl; for she came to me awhile since with a
written order for a necklace of jewels; and I sent her a costly
one.' When Ali heard this, he was greatly troubled, so that the
jeweller feared for his life, but after awhile he recovered
himself and said, 'O my brother, I conjure thee by Allah to tell
me truly how thou knowest her.' 'Do not press me as to this,'
replied the other; and Ali said, 'Indeed, I will not desist from
thee till thou tell me the truth.' 'Then,' said the jeweller, 'I
will tell thee all, that thou mayst not distrust me nor be
alarmed at what I said, nor will I conceal aught from thee, but
will discover to thee the truth of the matter, on condition that
thou possess me with the true state of thy case and the cause of
thy sickness.' Then he told him all that had passed between
Aboulhusn and himself, adding that he had acted thus only out of
friendship for him and of his desire to serve him and assuring
him that he would keep his secret and venture life and goods in
his service. So Ali in turn told him his story and added, 'By
Allah, O my brother, nought moved me to keep my case secret from
thee and others but my fear lest the folk should lift the veils
of protection from certain persons.' 'And I,' rejoined the
jeweller, 'desired not to foregather with thee but of the great
affection I bear thee and my zeal for thee in every case and my
compassion for the anguish thy heart endureth for severance.
Haply, I may be a comforter to thee in the room of my friend
Aboulhusn, during his absence. So take heart and be of good
cheer.' Ali thanked him and repeated the following verses:
If, 'I am patient,' I say, since forth from me he went, My tears
give me the lie and the stress of my lament.
And how shall I hide the tears, that flow in streams adown The
table of my cheek for his evanishment?
Then he was silent awhile, and presently said to the jeweller,
'Knowest thou what the girl whispered to me?' 'Not I, by Allah, O
my lord,' answered he. Quoth Ali, 'She would have it that I had
counselled Aboulhusn to go to Bassora and that I had used this
device to put a stop to our correspondence and intercourse. I
swore to her that this was not so: but she would not credit me
and went away to her mistress, persisting in her injurious
suspicions; and indeed I know not what I shall do without
Aboulhusn, for she inclined to him and gave ear to his word.' 'O
my brother,' answered the jeweller, 'I guessed as much from her
manner; but, if it please God the Most High, I will help thee to
thy desire.' 'Who can help me,' rejoined Ali, 'and how wilt thou
do with her, when she takes umbrage like a wilding of the
desert?' 'By Allah,' exclaimed the jeweller, 'needs must I
do my utmost endeavour to help thee and contrive to make her
acquaintance, without exposure or mischief!' Then he asked leave
to depart, and Ali said, 'O my brother, see thou keep my counsel'
And he looked at him and wept. The jeweller bade him farewell and
went away, knowing not what he should do to further his wishes;
but as he went along pondering the matter, he spied a letter
lying in the road, and taking it up, found that it bore the
following superscription, 'From the least worthy of lovers to the
most excellent of beloved ones.' He opened it and found these
words written therein:
'The messenger brought me a promise of union and delight; But yet
that he had mistaken 'twas constant in my spright.
Wherefore I joyed not: but sorrow was added unto me, For that I
knew my envoy had read thee not aright.
To proceed: Know, O my lord, that I am ignorant of the cause of
the breaking off of the correspondence between thee and me: but
if it arise from cruelty on thy part, I will meet it with
fidelity, and if love have departed from thee, I will remain
constant to my love in absence for I am with thee even as says
the poet:
Be haughty and I will be patient; capricious, I'll bear; turn
away, I'll draw near thee; be harsh, I'll be abject;
command, I'll give ear and obey.
As he was reading, up came the slave-girl, looking right and
left, and seeing the letter in the jeweller's hand, said to him,
'O my lord, this letter is one I let fall.' He made her no
answer, but walked on, and she followed him, till he came to his
house, when he entered and she after him, saying, 'O my lord,
give me back the letter, for it fell from me.' He turned to her
and said, 'O good slave-girl, fear not, neither grieve, for
verily God the Protector loves to protect [His creatures]; but
tell me the truth of thy case, for I am one who keepeth counsel.
I conjure thee by an oath to hide from me nothing of thy lady's
affair; for haply God shall help me to further her wishes and
make easy what is hard by my hand' 'O my lord,' answered she,
'indeed a secret is not lost whereof thou art the keeper; nor
shall any affair come to nought for which thou strivest. Know
that my heart inclines to thee, and do thou give me the letter.'
Then she told him the whole story, adding, 'God is witness to
what I say.' 'Thou hast spoken truly,' said the jeweller, 'for I
am acquainted with the root of the matter.' Then he told her how
he had come by Ali ben Bekkar's secret and related to her all
that had passed, whereat she rejoiced; and they agreed that she
should carry the letter to Ali and return and tell the jeweller
all that passed. Accordingly he gave her the letter and she took
it and sealed it up as it was before, saying, 'My mistress
Shemsennehar gave it to me sealed; and when he hath read it and
given me the reply, I will bring it to thee.' Then she repaired
to Ali ben Bekkar, whom she found waiting, and gave him the
letter. He read it and writing an answer, gave it to the damsel.
She carried it to the jeweller, who broke the seal and read what
was written therein, as follows:
'Neglected are our messages, for lo, our go-between, That wont to
keep our counsel erst, is wroth with us, I ween.
So choose us out a messenger, a true and trusty wight, Yea, one
of whom fidelity, not falsehood, is well seen.
To proceed: Verily, I have not entered upon perfidy nor left
fidelity; I have not used cruelty, neither have I put off loyalty
nor broken faith. I have not ceased from affection nor severed
myself from grief; neither have I found aught after separation
but misery and ruin. I know nothing of that thou avouchest nor do
I love aught but that which thou lovest. By Him who knoweth the
secret of the hidden things, I have no desire but to be united
with her whom I love and my one business is the concealment of my
passion, though sickness consume me. This is the exposition of my
case and peace be on thee.' When the jeweller read this letter,
he wept sore and the girl said to him, 'Leave not this place,
till I return to thee; for he suspects me of such and such
things, in which he is excusable; so it is my desire to bring
thee in company with my mistress Shemsennehar, howsoever I may
contrive it. I left her prostrate, awaiting my return with the
answer.' Then she went away and the jeweller passed the night in
a state of agitation. On the morrow he prayed the morning prayer
and sat awaiting the girl's coming. Presently she came in to him,
rejoicing, and he said to her, 'What news, O damsel?' Quoth she,
'I gave my mistress Ali ben Bekkar's reply, and when she read it,
she was troubled in her mind; but I said to her, "O my lady, have
no fear of the hindrance of your affair by reason of Aboulhusn's
absence, for I have found one to take his place, better than he
and more of worth and apt to keep secrets." Then I told her what
was between Aboulhusn and thyself and how thou camest by his
confidence and that of Ali ben Bekkar and how I met with thee and
showed her how matters stood betwixt thee and me. Now she is
minded to have speech of thee, that she may be assured by thy
words of the covenants between thee and him; so do thou make
ready to go with me to her forthwith. When the jeweller heard
the girl's words, he saw that what she proposed was a grave
matter and a great peril, not lightly to be undertaken or entered
upon, and said to her, 'O my stster, verily, I am of the common
people and not like unto Aboulhusn; for he was of high rank and
repute and was wont to frequent the Khalif's household, because
of their need of his wares. As for me, he used to talk with me,
and I trembled before him the while. So, if thy mistress would
have speech of me, it must be in some place other than the
Khalif's palace and far from the abode of the Commander of the
Faithful; for my reason will not let me do what thou proposest.'
Accordingly, he refused to go with her, and she went on to assure
him of impunity, saying, 'Fear not,' and pressed him, till he
consented to accompany her; but, when he would have risen, his
legs bent under him and his hands trembled and he exclaimed, 'God
forbid that I should go with thee! Indeed, I cannot do this.'
'Reassure thyself,' answered she; 'if it irk thee to go to the
Khalif's palace and thou canst not muster up courage to accompany
me, I will make her come to thee; so stir not from thy place till
I return to thee with her.' Then she went away and returning
after a little, said to the jeweller, 'Look that there be with
thee neither slave-girl nor man-slave nor any other.' Quoth he,
'I have but an old negress-slave, who waits on me.' So she locked
the door between the jeweller and his negress and sent his
man-servants out of the house, after which she went out and
presently returned, followed by a lady, who filled the house with
the sweet scent of her perfumes. When the jeweller saw her, he
sprang to his feet and set her a couch and a cushion, and she sat
down. He seated himself before her and she abode awhile without
speaking, till she was rested, when she unveiled her face and it
seemed to the jeweller as if the sun had risen in his house. Then
said she to her slave-girl, 'Is this the man of whom thou spakest
to me?' 'Yes,' answered she; whereupon the lady turned to the
jeweller and said to him, 'How is it with thee?' 'Well,' replied
he. 'May God preserve thy life and that of the Commander of the
Faithful!' Quoth she, 'Thou hast moved us to come to thee and
possess thee with our secret.' Then she questioned him of
his household and family; and he discovered to her all his
circumstance and said to her, 'I have another house, which I have
set apart for entertaining my friends and brethren, and there is
none there save the old negress, of whom I spoke to thy handmaid.'
She asked him how he came first to know of the matter and what
had made Aboulhusn absent himself, so he told her all and she
bewailed the loss of Aboulhusn and said to the jeweller, 'Know
that the minds of men are at one in desires, and however they may
differ in estate, men are still men and have need one of the
other: an affair is not accomplished without speech nor is a wish
fulfilled save by endeavour: ease comes not but after weariness
nor is succour compassed save by the help of the generous. Now I
have trusted my secret to thee and it is in thy power to expose
or shield us; I say no more, because of thy generosity of nature.
Thou knowest that this my hand-maid keeps my counsel and is
therefore in high favour with me and I have chosen her to
transact my affairs of importance. So let none be worthier in thy
sight than she and acquaint her with thine affair. Be of good
cheer, for thou art safe from what thou fearest on our account,
and there is no shut place but she shall open it to thee. She
shall bring thee messages from me to Ali ben Bekkar, and thou
shalt be our go-between.' So saying, she rose, scarcely able to
stand, and the jeweller forewent her to the door of the house,
after which he returned and sat down again in his place, having
seen of her beauty what dazzled him and heard of her speech what
confounded his wit and witnessed of her grace and courtesy what
bewitched him. He sat musing on her perfections till his trouble
subsided, when he called for food and ate enough to stay his
stomach. Then he changed his clothes and repairing to Ali ben
Bekkar's house, knocked at the door. The servants hastened to
admit him and brought him to their master, whom he found laid
upon his bed. When he saw the jeweller, he said to him, 'Thou
hast tarried long from me and hast added concern to my concern.'
Then he dismissed his servants and bade shut the doors, after
which he said to the jeweller, 'By Allah, O my brother, I have
not closed my eyes since I saw thee last; for the slave-girl
came to me yesterday with a sealed letter from her mistress
Shemsennehar;' and went on to tell him all that had passed,
adding, 'Indeed, I am perplexed concerning mine affair and my
patience fails me: for Aboulhusn was of comfort to me, because he
knew the girl.' When the jeweller heard this, he laughed and Ali
said, 'Why dost thou laugh at my words, thou in whom I rejoiced
and to whom I looked for succour against the shifts of fortune?'
Then he sighed and wept and repeated the following verses:
Many an one laughs at my weeping, whenas he looks on my pain. Had
he but suffered as I have, he, also, to weep would be fain.
No one hath ruth on the smitten, for that he is doomed to endure
But he who alike is afflicted and long in affliction hath
lain
My passion, my yearning, my sighing, my care and distraction end
woe Are all for a loved one, whose dwelling is in my heart's
innermost fane.
He made his abode in my bosom and never will leave it again; And
yet with my love to foregather I weary and travail in vain.
I know of no friend I can choose me to stand in his stead unto
me, Nor ever, save him, a companion, to cherish and love
have I ta'en.[FN#17]
When the jeweller heard this, he wept also and told him all that
had passed betwixt himself and the slave-girl and her mistress,
since he left him, whilst Ali gave ear to his speech, and at
every fresh word his colour shifted 'twixt white and red and his
body grew now stronger and now weaker, till he came to the end of
his tale, when Ali wept and said to him, 'O my brother, I am a
lost man in any event. Would my end were near, that I might be at
rest from ail this! But I beg thee, of thy favour, to be my
helper and comforter in all my affairs, till God accomplish
His will; and I will not gainsay thee in aught.' Quoth the
jeweller, 'Nothing will quench the fire of thy passion save union
with her whom thou lovest: and this must not be in this perilous
place, but in a house of mine other than in which the girl and
her mistress came to me. This place she chose for herself, to the
intent that ye may there foregather and complain one to the other
of what you have suffered from the pangs of love.' 'O my lord,'
answered Ali ben Bekkar, 'do as thou wilt and may God requite
thee for me! What thou deemest fit will be right: but be not long
about it, lest I die of this anguish.' So I abode with him (quoth
the jeweller) that night, entertaining him with converse, till
daybreak, when I prayed the morning prayers and going out from
him, returned to my house. Hardly had I done so, when the damsel
came up and saluted me. I returned her greeting and told her what
had passed between Ali ben Bekkar and myself; and she said, 'Know
that the Khalif has left us and there is none in our lodging, and
it is safer for us and better.' 'True,' replied I; 'yet it is not
like my house yonder, which is both surer and fitter for us.' 'Be
it as thou wilt,' rejoined she. 'I will go to my lady and tell
her what thou sayest.' So she went away and presently returned
and said to me, 'It is to be as thou sayest: so make us ready the
place and expect us.' Then she took out a purse of diners and
said to me, 'My lady salutes thee and bids thee take this and
provide therewith what the case calls for.' But I swore that I
would have nought of it; so she took the purse and returning to
her mistress, said to her, 'He would not take the money, but gave
it back to me.' 'No matter,' answered Shemsennehar. As soon as
she was gone, I betook myself to my other house and transported
thither all that was needful, by way of furniture and utensils
and rich carpets and vessels of china and glass and gold and
silver, and made ready meat and drink for the occasion. When the
damsel came and saw what I had done, it pleased her and she bade
me fetch Ali ben Bekkar; but I said, 'None shall fetch him but
thou.' Accordingly she went to him and brought him back, dressed
to perfection and looking his best. I met him and welcomed him
and making him sit down on a couch befitting his condition, set
before him sweet-scented flowers in vases of china and crystal of
various colours. Then I set on a tray of vari-coloured meats, of
such as rejoice the heart with their sight, and sat talking with
him and diverting him, whi'st the girl went away and was absent
till after sundown, when she returned with Shemsennehar, attended
by two maids and no more. When Ali saw her, he rose and embraced
her and they both fell down in a swoon. They lay awhile
insensible, then, coming to themselves, began to complain to each
other of the pains of separation. They sat awhile, conversing
with eloquence and tenderness, after which they perfumed
themselves and fell to thanking me for what I had done. Said I,
'Have ye a mind for food?' 'Yes,' answered they. So I set food
before them, and they ate till they were satisfied and washed
their hands, after which I carried them to another room and
brought them wine. So they drank and grew merry with wine and
inclined to one another, and Shemsennehar said to me, 'O my lord,
complete thy kindness by bringing us a lute or other instrument
of music that the measure of our joy may be filled.' 'On my head
and eyes,' answered I and rising, brought her a lute. She took it
and tuned it, then laying it in her lap, made masterly music, at
once exciting to sorrowful thoughts and cheering the afflicted;
after which she sang the following verses:
I wake and I watch till it seemeth as I were in love with unrest
And I waste and I languish, as sickness, meseemeth, were
born in my breast.
The tides of my tears, ever flowing, have burnt up my cheeks with
their heat: Would I knew if our loves, after sev'rance, with
union again will be blest!
She went on to sing song after song, choice words set to various
airs, till our minds were bewitched and it seemed as if the very
room would dance with excess of pleasure for the marvel of her
sweet singing and there was nor thought nor reason left in us.
When we had sat awhile and the cup had gone round amongst us, the
damsel took the lute and sang the following verses to a lively
measure:
My love a visit promised me and did fulfil his plight One night
that I shall reckon aye for many and many a night.
O night of raptures that the fates vouchsafed unto us twain;
Unheeded of the railing tribe and in the spies' despite!
My loved one lay the night with me and I of my content Clipped
him with my left hand, while he embraced me with his right.
I strained him to my breast and drank his lips' sweet wine, what
while I of the honey and of him who sells it had delight.
Whilst we were thus drowned in the sea of gladness, in came a
little maid, trembling, and said, 'O my lady, look how you may go
away, for the folk are upon us and have surrounded the house, and
we know not the cause of this.' When I heard this, I arose in
affright, and behold, in came a slave-girl, who said, 'Calamity
hath overtaken you!' At the same moment, the door was burst open
and there rushed in upon us half a score masked men, with
poniards in their hands and swords by their sides, and as many
more behind them. When I saw this, the world, for all its
wideness, was straitened on me and I looked to the door, but saw
no way out; so I sprang (from the roof) into the house of one of
my neighbours and hid myself there. Thence I heard a great uproar
in my house and concluded that the Khalif had gotten wind of us
and sent the chief of the police to seize us and bring us before
him. So I abode confounded and remained in my place, without
daring to move, till midnight, when the master of the house
became aware of me and being greatly affrighted, made at me with
a drawn sword in his hand, saying, 'Who is this in my house?'
Quoth I, 'I am thy neighbour, the jeweller;' and he knew me and
held his hand. Then he fetched a light and coming up to me, said,
'O my brother, indeed that which hath befallen thee this night is
grievous to me.' 'O my brother,' answered I, 'tell me who it was
entered my house and broke in the door, for I fled to thee, not
knowing what was the matter.' Quoth he, 'The robbers, who visited
our neighbours yesterday and slew such an one and took his goods,
saw thee yesterday bringing hither furniture and what not; so
they broke in upon thee and stole thy goods and slew thy guests.'
Then we arose, he and I, and repaired to my house, which I found
empty and stripped of everything, whereat I was confounded and
said to myself, 'I care not for the loss of the gear, though
indeed I borrowed part thereof of my friends; yet is there no
harm in that, for they know my excuse in the loss of my goods and
the pillage of my house; but as for Ali ben Bekkar and the
Khalif's favourite, I fear lest their case get wind and this
cause the loss of my life.' So I turned to my neighbour and said
to him, 'Thou art my brother and my neighbour and wilt cover my
nakedness; what dost thou counsel me to do?' 'I counsel thee to
wait,' answered he; 'for they who entered thy house and stole thy
goods have murdered the better part of a company from the
Khalif's palace, besides some of the police, and the Khalif's
officers are now in quest of them on every side. Haply they will
chance on them and so thy wish will come about without effort of
thine.' Then I returned to my other house, that in which I dwelt,
saying to myself, 'This that hath befallen me is what Aboulhusn
feared and from which he fled to Bassora.' Presently the pillage
of my pleasure-house was noised abroad among the folk, and they
came to me from all sides, some rejoicing in my misfortune and
others excusing me and condoling with me, whilst I bewailed
myself to them and ate not neither drank for grief. As I sat,
repenting me of what I had done, one of my servants came in to me
and said, 'There is a man at the door, who asks for thee; and I
know him not.' So I went out and found at the door a man whom I
knew not. I saluted him, and he said to me, 'I have somewhat to
say to thee privily.' So I brought him in and said to him, 'What
hast thou to say to me?' Quoth he, 'Come with me to thine other
house.' 'Doss thou then know my other house,' asked I. 'I know
all about thee,' replied he, 'and I know that also wherewith God
will dispel thy concern.' So I said to myself, 'I will go with
him whither he will;' and we went out and walked on till we came
to my other house, which when he saw, he said to me, 'It is
without door or doorkeeper, and we cannot sit in it; so come thou
with me to another house.' Accordingly, he went on from place to
place and I with him, till the night overtook us. Yet I put no
question to him and we ceased not to walk on, till we reached the
open country. He kept saying, 'Follow me,' and quickened his
pace, whilst I hurried after him, heartening myself to go on.
Presently; we came to the river-bank, where he took boat with me,
and the boatman rowed us over to the other side. Here my guide
landed and I after him and he took my hand and led me to a street
I had never before entered, nor do I know in what quarter it is.
Presently he stopped at the door of a house, and opening, entered
and made me enter with him; after which he bolted the door with a
bolt of iron and carried me along the vestibule, till he brought
me in presence of ten men, brothers, as they were one and the
same man. We saluted them and they returned our greeting and bade
us be seated; so we sat down. Now I was like to die for very
weariness; so they brought rose-water and sprinkled it on my
face, after which they gave me to drink and set food before me,
of which some of them ate with me. Quoth I to myself, 'Were there
aught of harm in the food, they would not eat with me.' So I ate,
and when we had washed our hands, each of us returned to his
place. Then said they to me, 'Dost thou know us?' 'I never in my
life saw you nor this your abode,' answered I; 'nay, I know not
even him who brought me hither.' Said they, 'Tell us thy case and
lie not in aught.' 'Know then,' rejoined I, 'that my case is
strange and my affair marvellous: but do you know aught of me?'
'Yes,' answered they; 'it was we took thy goods yesternight and
carried off thy friend and her who was singing to him.' 'May God
let down the veil of His protection over you!' said I. 'But
where is my friend and she who was singing to him?' They pointed
to two doors and replied, 'They are yonder, each in a room apart;
but, by Allah, O our brother, the secret of their case is known
to none but thee, for from the time we brought them hither, we
have not seen them nor questioned them of their condition, seeing
them to be persons of rank and dignity. This it was that hindered
us from putting them to death: so tell us the truth of their case
and be assured of their safety and thine own.' When I heard this,
I was like to die of fright and said to them, 'O my brethren, if
generosity were lost, it would not be found save with you and had
I a secret, which I feared to divulge, your breasts alone should
have the keeping of it.' And I went on to expatiate to them in
this sense, till I saw that frankness would profit me more than
concealment; so I told them the whole story. When they heard it,
they said, 'And is this young man Ali ben Bekkar and this damsel
Shemsennehar?' 'Yes,' answered I. This was grievous to them and
they rose and made their excuses to the two lovers. Then they said
to me, 'Part of what we took from thy house is spent, but here is
what is left of it.' So saying, they gave me back the most part
of my goods and engaged to return them to my house and restore me
the rest. So my heart was set at ease, and some of them abode
with me, whilst the rest fetched Ali ben Bekkar and Shemsennehar,
who were well-nigh dead for excess of fear. Then they all sallied
forth with us and I went up to the two lovers and saluting them,
said to them, 'What became of the damsel and the two maids?' 'We
know nothing of them,' answered they. Then we walked on till we
came to the river-bank, where we all embarked in the boat that
had brought me over before, and the boatman rowed us to the other
side; but hardly had we landed and sat down on the bank to rest,
when a troop of horse swooped down on us like eagles and
surrounded us on all sides, whereupon the robbers with us sprang
up in haste and the boatman, putting back for them, took them in
and pushed off into mid-stream, leaving us on the bank, unable to
move or abide still. The horseman said to us, 'Whence come ye?'
And we were perplexed for an answer; but I said, 'Those ye saw
with us are rogues: we know them not. As for us, we are singers,
whom they would have taken to sing to them, nor could we win free
of them, save by subtlety and fair words, and they have but now
left us.' They looked at Ali and Shemsennehar and said to me,
'Thou hast not spoken sooth; but if thy tale be true, tell us who
you are and whence you come and in what quarter you dwell.' I
knew not what to answer, but Shemsennehar sprang up and
approaching the captain of the troop, spoke with him privily,
whereupon he dismounted and setting her on his steed, began to
lead it along by the bridle. Two of his men did the like with Ali
ben Bekkar and myself, and they fared on with us, till they
reached a certain part of the river-bank, when the captain sang
out in jargon and there came to us a number of men with two
boats. The captain embarked with Shemsennehar in one boat and
went his way, whilst the rest of his men put off in the other,
with Ali ben Bekkar and myself, and rowed on with us, we the
while enduring the agonies of death for excess of fear, till they
came to a place whence there was a way to our quarter. Here we
landed and walked on, escorted by some of the horsemen, till we
came to Ali ben Bekkar's house, where they took leave of us and
went their way. We entered the house and abode there, unable to
stir and knowing not night from day, till nightfall of the next
day, when I came to myself and saw Ali ben Bekkar stretched out
without sense or motion, and the men and women of his household
weeping over him. When they saw that I had recovered my senses,
some of them came to me and helping me sit up, said to me, 'Tell
us what hath befallen our son and how he came in this plight.' 'O
folk,' answered I, 'hearken to me and importune me not; but be
patient and he will come to himself and tell you his story for
himself.' And I was round with them and made them afraid of a
scandal between us; but as we were thus, behold, Ali ben Bekkar
moved in his bed, whereat his friends rejoiced and the [most part
of the] folk withdrew from him; but his people forbade me to go
away. Then they sprinkled rose-water on his face, and he
presently revived and breathed the air, whereupon they questioned
him of his case. He essayed to answer them, but could not speak
forthright and signed to them to let me go home. So they let me
go, and I returned to my own house, supported by two men and
hardly crediting my escape. When my people saw me thus, they fell
a-shrieking and buffeting their faces; but I signed to them to
hold their peace, and they were silent. Then the two men went
their way and I threw myself down on my bed, where I lay the rest
of the night and awoke not till the forenoon, when I found my
people collected round me and they said, 'What hath befallen thee
and what (evil) hath smitten thee with its mischief?' Quoth I,
'Bring me to drink.' So they brought me wine, and I drank what I
would and said to them, 'Wine got the better of me and it was
this caused the state in which ye saw me' Then they went away,
and I made my excuses to my friends and asked if any of the goods
that had been stolen from my other house had been returned.'
'Yes,' answered they. 'Some of them have come back: and the
manner of their coming was that a man came and threw them down
in the doorway and we saw him not.' So I comforted myself and
abode two days, unable to rise, at the end of which time I
began to regain strength and went to the bath, for I was worn
out with fatigue and troubled at heart for Ali ben Bekkar and
Shemsennehar, because I had no news of them all this time and
could neither get to Ali's house nor rest in my own, out of fear
for myself. And I repented to God the Most High of what I had
done and praised Him for my safety. Then I bethought me to go to
such and such a place and see the folk and divert myself; so I
went to the stuff-market and sat awhile with a friend of mine
there. When I rose to go, I saw a woman standing in my road; so I
looked at her, and behold it was Shemsennehar's slave-girl. When
I saw her, the world grew dark in my eyes and I hurried on. She
followed me, but I was afraid and fled from her, trembling
whenever I looked at her, whilst she pursued me, saying, 'Stop,
that I may tell thee somewhat.' But I heeded her not and went on,
till I reached a mosque in an unfrequented spot, and she said to
me, 'Enter the mosque, that I may say a word to thee, and fear
nothing.' And she conjured me: so I entered the mosque, and she
after me. I prayed a two-bow prayer, after which I turned to her,
sighing, and said, 'What dost thou want?' She asked me how I did,
and I told her all that had befallen myself and Ali ben Bekkar
and asked her for news of herself. 'Know,' answered she, 'that
when I and the two maids saw the robbers break open thy door, we
doubted not but they were the Khalif's officers and would seize
us and our mistress and we perish forthright: so we fled over the
roofs and casting ourselves down from a high place, took refuge
with some people, who harboured us and brought us to the palace,
where we arrived in the sorriest of plights. We concealed our
case and abode on coals of fire till nightfall, when I opened the
river-gate and calling the boatman who had carried us the night
before, said to him, "I know not what is come of my mistress; so
take me in thy boat, that we may seek her on the river: it may be
I shall chance on some news of her." So he took me into the boat
and rowed about with me till midnight, when I spied a boat making
towards the water-gate, with one man rowing and another standing
up and a woman lying prostrate between them. When they reached
the shore and the woman landed, I looked at her, and behold, it
was Shemsennehar. So I landed and joined her, dazed for joy,
after having lost hope of her. When I came up to her, she bade me
give the man who had brought her thither a thousand diners, and I
and the two maids carried her in and laid her on her bed, and she
at death's door. She abode thus all that day and the next day and
I forbade the eunuchs and women to go in to her; but on the third
day, she revived and I found her as she had come out of the
grave. So I sprinkled rose-water upon her face and changed her
clothes and washed her hands and feet, nor did I cease to
persuade her, till I brought her to eat a little and drink some
wine, though she had no mind to it. As soon as she had breathed
the air and strength began to return to her, I fell to upbraiding
her, saying, "Consider, O my lady, and have pity on thyself; thou
seest what has betided us Surely, enough of evil hath befallen
thee and thou hast been nigh upon death." "By Allah, O good
damsel," replied she, "death were easier to me than what hath
befallen me; for I had renounced all hope of deliverance and gave
myself up for lost. When the robbers took us from the jeweller's
house, they asked me who I was; I replied, 'I am a singing-girl,'
and they believed me. Then they said to Ali ben Bekkar, 'And who
art thou and what is thy condition?' And he answered, 'I am of
the common people.' So they carried us to their abode, and we
hurried on with them for fear; but when they had us with them in
the house, they looked at me and seeing the clothes I wore and my
necklaces and jewellery, believed me not and said to me, 'No
singing-girl ever had such jewels as these; tell us the truth of
thy case.' I returned them no answer, saying in myself, 'Now will
they kill me for my clothes and ornaments;' and I spoke not a
word. Then they turned to Ali ben Bekkar and said to him, 'And
thou, who and whence art thou? For thy favour is not as that of
the common folk.' But he was silent and we ceased not to keep our
counsel and weep, till God inclined the rogues' hearts towards us
and they said to us, 'Who is the owner of the house in which you
were?' 'Such an one, the jeweller,' answered we; whereupon quoth
one of them, 'I know him well and where he lives, and I will
engage to bring him to you forthright.' Then they agreed to set
me in a place by myself and Ali ben Bekkar in a place by himself,
and said to us, 'Be at rest and fear not lest your secret be
divulged; ye are safe from us.' Meanwhile their comrade went away
and returned with the jeweller, who made known to them our case,
and we joined company with him; after which one of the band
fetched a boat, in which they embarked us all three and rowing us
over the river, landed us on the opposite bank and went away;
whereupon up came a horse-patrol and asked us who we were. So I
spoke with the captain and said to him, 'I am Shemsennehar, the
Khalif's favourite; I had drunken wine and went out to visit
certain of my acquaintance of the wives of the Viziers, when
yonder rogues laid hold of me and brought me hither; but when
they saw you, they fled. I met these men with them; so do thou
escort me and them to a place of safety and I will requite thee.'
When the captain heard my speech, he knew me and alighting,
mounted me on his horse; and in like manner did two of his men
with Ali and the jeweller. And now my heart is on fire on their
account, especially for Ali's friend the jeweller: so do thou go
to him and salute him and ask him for news of Ali ben Bekkar." I
spoke to her and blamed her and bade her beware, saying' "O my
lady, have a care for thyself and give up this intrigue." But she
was angered at my words and cried out at me. So I came forth in
quest of thee, but found thee not and dared not go to Ali's
house; so stood watching for thee, that I might ask thee of him
and know how it is with him. And I beg thee, of thy favour, to
take some money of me, for belike thou borrowedst of thy friends
some of the goods, and as they are lost, it behoves thee to make
them compensation.' 'I hear and obey,' answered I. 'Go on.' And I
walked with her till we drew near my house, when she said to me,
'Wait till I return to thee.' So she went away and presently
returned with a bag of money, which she handed to me, saying, 'O
my lord, where shall we meet?' Quoth I, 'I will go to my house at
once and suffer hardship for thy sake and contrive how thou mayst
win to him, for access to him is difficult at this present.' 'Let
me know where I shall come to thee,' said she, and I answered,
'In my other house; I will go thither forthright and have the
doors repaired and the place made secure again, and henceforth we
will meet there.' Then she took leave of me and went her way,
whilst I carried the money home, and counting it, found it five
thousand diners. I gave my people some of it and made good their
loss to all who had lent me aught, after which I took my servants
and repaired to my other house, with builders and carpenters,
who restored it to its former state. Moreover, I placed my
negress-slave there and forgot what had befallen me. Then I
repaired to Ali ben Bekkar's house, where his servants accosted
me, saying, 'Our lord calls for thee day and night and hath
promised his freedom to whichever of us brings thee to him; so we
have been in quest of thee everywhere, but knew not where to find
thee. Our master is by way of recovery, but he has frequent
relapses, and when he revives, he names thee and says, "Needs
must ye bring him to me, though but for an instant," and sinks
back into his torpor.' So I went in to Ali ben Bekkar and finding
him unable to speak, sat down at his head, whereupon he opened
his eyes and seeing me, wept and said, 'Welcome and fair
welcome!' I raised him and making him sit up, strained him to my
bosom, and he said, 'Know, O my brother, that, since I took to my
bed, I have not sat up till now: praised be God that I see thee
again!' Presently, little by little, I made him stand up and walk
a few steps, after which I changed his clothes and he drank some
wine. All this he did to please me. Then, seeing him to be
somewhat restored, I told him what had befallen me with the
slave-girl, none else hearing me, and said to him, 'I know what
thou sufferest; but take heart and be of good courage; for
henceforth nought shall betide thee, but what shall rejoice thee
and ease thine heart.' He smiled and called for food, which being
brought, he signed to his servants, and they withdrew. Then said
he to me, 'O my brother, thou seest what hath befallen me;' and
he made his excuses to me and enquired how I had fared all that
while. I told him all that had befallen me, from first to last,
at which he wondered and calling his servants, said, 'Bring me
such and such things.' Accordingly, they brought in rich carpets
and hangings and utensils of gold and silver, more than I had
lost, and he gave them all to me; so I sent them to my house and
abode with him that night. When the day began to break, he said
to me, 'To everything there is an end, and the end of love is
death or enjoyment. I am nearer unto death, would I had died ere
this befell! For, had not God favoured us, we had been discovered
and put to shame. And now I know not what shall deliver me from
this my strait, and were it not that I fear God, I would hasten
my own death; for know, O my brother, that I am like the bird in
the cage and that my life is of a surety perished, by reason of
the distresses that have befallen me; yet hath it a fixed period
and an appointed term.' And he wept and groaned and repeated the
following verses:
Indeed, it sufficeth the lover the time that his tears have run;
As for affliction, of patience it hath him all fordone.
He who concealeth the secrets conjoined us heretofore And now His
hand hath severed that which Himself made one.
When he had finished, I said to him, 'O my lord, I would fain
return to my house; it may be the damsel will come back to me
with news.' 'It is well,' answered he; 'go and return to me
speedily with news, for thou seest my condition.' So I took leave
of him and went home. Hardly had I sat down, when up came the
damsel, choked with her tears. 'What is the matter?' asked I, and
she said, 'O my lord, what we feared has fallen on us; for, when
I returned yesterday to my lady, I found her enraged with one of
the two maids who were with us the other night, and she ordered
her to be beaten. The girl took fright and ran away; but one of
the gate-keepers stopped her and would have sent her back to her
mistress. However, she let fall some hints, which excited his
curiosity; so he coaxed her and led her on to talk, and she
acquainted him with our case. This came to the ears of the
Khalif, who bade remove my mistress and all her gear to his own
palace and set over her a guard of twenty eunuchs. Since then he
has not visited her nor given her to know the cause of his
action, but I suspect this to be the cause; wherefore I am in
fear for myself and am perplexed, O my lord, knowing not what I
shall do nor how I shall order my affair and hers, for she had
none more trusted nor trustier than myself. So do thou go quickly
to Ali ben Bekkar and acquaint him with this, that he may be on
his guard; and if the affair be discovered, we will cast about
for a means of saving ourselves.' At this, I was sore troubled
and the world grew dark in my sight for the girl's words. Then
she turned to go, and I said to her, 'What is to be done?' Quoth
she, 'My counsel is that thou hasten to Ali ben Bekkar, if thou
be indeed his friend and desire his escape; thine be it to carry
him the news forthright, and be it mine to watch for further
news.' Then she took her leave of me and went away. I followed
her out and betaking myself to Ali ben Bekkar, found him
flattering himself with hopes of speedy enjoyment and staying
himself with vain expectations. When he saw me, he said, 'I see
thou hast come back to me forthwith' 'Summon up all thy
patience,' answered I, 'and put away thy vain doting and shake
off thy preoccupation, for there hath befallen that which may
bring about the loss of thy life and goods.' When he heard this,
he was troubled and his colour changed and he said to me, 'O my
brother, tell me what hath happened.' 'O my lord,' replied I,
'such and such things have happened and thou art lost without
recourse, if thou abide in this thy house till the end of the
day.' At this he was confounded and his soul well-nigh departed
his body, but he recovered himself and said to me, 'What shall I
do, O my brother, and what is thine advice?' 'My advice,'
answered I, 'is that thou take what thou canst of thy property
and whom of thy servants thou trustest and flee with me to a land
other than this, ere the day come to an end.' And he said, 'I
hear and obey.' So he rose, giddy and dazed, now walking and now
falling down and took what came under his hand. Then he made an
excuse to his household and gave them his last injunctions, after
which he loaded three camels and mounted his hackney. I did the
like and we went forth privily in disguise and fared on all day
and night, till nigh upon morning, when we unloaded and hobbling
our camels, lay down to sleep; but, being worn with fatigue, we
neglected to keep watch, so that there fell on us robbers, who
stripped us of all we had and slew our servants, when they would
have defended us, after which they made off with their booty,
leaving us naked and in the sorriest of plights. As soon as they
were gone, we arose and walked on till morning, when we came to a
village and took refuge in its mosque. We sat in a corner of the
mosque all that day and the next night, without meat or drink;
and at daybreak, we prayed the morning prayer and sat down again.
Presently, a man entered and saluting us, prayed a two-bow
prayer, after which he turned to us and said, 'O folk, are ye
strangers?' 'Yes,' answered we, 'robbers waylaid us and stripped
us, and we came to this town, but know none here with whom we may
shelter.' Quoth he, 'What say you? Will you come home with me?'
And I said to Ali ben Bekkar, 'Let us go with him, and we shall
escape two evils; first, our fear lest some one who knows us
enter the mosque and so we be discovered; and secondly, that we
are strangers and have no place to lodge in.' 'As thou wilt,'
answered he. Then the man said to us again, 'O poor folk, give
ear unto me and come with me to my house.' 'We hear and obey,'
answered I; whereupon he pulled off a part of his own clothes and
covered us therewith and made his excuses to us and spoke kindly
to us. Then we accompanied him to his house and he knocked at the
door, whereupon a little servant came out and opened to us. We
entered after our host, who called for a parcel of clothes and
muslin for turbans, and gave us each a suit of clothes and a
piece of muslin; so we made us turbans and sat down. Presently,
in came a damsel with a tray of food and set it before us,
saying, 'Eat.' We ate a little and she took away the tray; after
which we abode with our host till nightfall, when Ali ben Bekkar
sighed and said to me, 'Know, O my brother, that I am a dead man
and I have a charge to give thee: it is that, when thou seest me
dead, thou go to my mother and tell her and bid her come hither,
that she may be present at the washing of my body and take order
for my funeral; and do thou exhort her to bear my loss with
patience.' Then he fell down in a swoon and when he revived, he
heard a damsel singing afar off and addressed himself to give ear
to her and hearken to her voice; and now he was absent from the
world and now came to himself, and anon he wept for grief and
mourning at what had befallen him. Presently, he heard the damsel
sing the following verses:
Parting hath wrought in haste our union to undo After the
straitest loves and concord 'twixt us two.
The shifts of night and day have torn our lives apart. When shall
we meet again? Ah, would to God I knew!
After conjoined delight, how bitter sev'rance is! Would God it
had no power to baffle lovers true!
Death's anguish hath its hour, then endeth; but the pain Of
sev'rance from the loved at heart is ever new.
Could we but find a way to come at parting's self, We'd surely
make it taste of parting's cup of rue.
When he heard this, he gave one sob and his soul quitted his
body. As soon as I saw that he was dead, I committed his body to
the care of the master of the house and said to him, 'I go to
Baghdad, to tell his mother and kinsfolk, that they may come
hither and take order for his burial' So I betook myself to
Baghdad and going to my house, changed my clothes, after which I
repaired to Ali ben Bekkar's lodging. When his servants saw me,
they came to me and questioned me of him, and I bade them ask
leave for me to go in to his mother. She bade admit me; so I
entered and saluting her, said, 'Verily God orders the lives of
all creatures by His commandment and when He decreeth aught,
there is no escaping its fulfilment, nor can any soul depart but
by His leave, according to the Writ which prescribeth the
appointed terms.' She guessed by these words that her son was
dead and wept sore, then she said to me, 'I conjure thee by
Allah, tell me, is my son dead?' I could not answer her for tears
and much grief, and when she saw me thus, she was choked with
weeping and fell down in a swoon. As soon as she came to herself,
she said to me, 'Tell me how my son died.' 'May God abundantly
requite thee for him!' answered I and told her all that had
befallen him, from first to last. 'Did he give thee any charge?'
asked she. 'Yes,' answered I and told her what he had said,
adding, 'Hasten to take order for his funeral.' When she heard
this, she swooned away again; and when she recovered, she
addressed herself to do as I bade her. Then I returned to my
house; and as I went along, musing sadly upon his fair youth, a
woman caught hold of my hand. I looked at her and behold, it was
Shemsennehar's slave-girl, broken for grief. When we knew each
other, we both wept and gave not over weeping till we reached my
house, and I said to her, 'Knowest thou the news of Ali ben
Bekkar?' 'No, by Allah,' replied she; so I told her the manner of
his death and all that had passed, whilst we both wept; after
which I said to her, 'And how is it with thy mistress?' Quoth
she, 'The Khalif would not hear a word against her, but saw all
her actions in a favourable light, of the great love he bore her,
and said to her, "O Shemsennehar, thou art dear to me and I will
bear with thee and cherish thee, despite thine enemies." Then he
bade furnish her a saloon decorated with gold and a handsome
sleeping-chamber, and she abode with him in all ease of life and
high favour. One day, as he sat at wine, according to his wont,
with his favourites before him, he bade them be seated in their
places and made Shemsennehar sit by his side. (Now her patience
was exhausted and her disorder redoubled upon her.) Then he bade
one of the damsels sing: so she took a lute and tuning it,
preluded and sang the following verses:
One sought me of lore and I yielded and gave him that which he
sought. And my tears write the tale of my transport in
furrows upon my cheek.
Meseemeth as if the teardrops were ware, indeed, of our case And
hide what I'd fain discover and tell what to hide I seek.
How can I hope to be secret and hide the love that I feel, Whenas
the stress of my longing my passion for thee doth speak?
Death, since the loss of my loved ones, is sweet to me: would I
knew What unto them is pleasant, now that they've lost me
eke!
When Shemsennehar heard these verses, she could not keep her
seat, but fell down in a swoon, whereupon the Khalif threw the
cup from his hand and drew her to him, crying out. The damsels
clamoured and he turned her over and shook her, and behold, she
was dead. The Khalif grieved sore for her death and bade break
all the vessels and lutes and other instruments of mirth and
music in the place; then carrying her body to his closet, he
abode with her the rest of the night. When the day broke, he laid
her out and commanded to wash her and shroud her and bury her.
And he mourned very sore for her and questioned not of her case
nor what ailed her. And I beg thee in God's name,' continued the
damsel, 'to let me know the day of the coming of Ali ben Bekkar's
funeral train, that I may be present at his burial.' Quoth I,
'For myself, thou canst find me where thou wilt; but thou, who
can come at thee where thou art?' 'On the day of Shemsennehar's
death,' answered she, 'the Commander of the Faithful freed all
her women, myself among the rest; and we are now abiding at the
tomb in such a place.' So I accompanied her to the burial-ground
and visited Shemennehar's tomb;[FN#18] after which I went my way
and awaited the coming of Ali ben Bekkar's funeral. When it
arrived, the people of Baghdad went forth to meet it and I with
them; and I saw the damsel among the women and she the loudest of
them in lamentation, crying out and wailing with a voice that
rent the vitals and made the heart ache. Never was seen in
Baghdad a greater funeral than his and we ceased not to follow in
crowds, till we reached the cemetery and buried him to the mercy
of God the most High; nor from that time to this have I ceased to
visit his tomb and that of Shemsennehar." This, then, is their
story, and may God the Most High have mercy upon them!
KEMEREZZEMAN AND BUDOUR.
There was once, of old time, a king called Shehriman, who was
lord of many troops and guards and officers and reigned over
certain islands, known as the Khalidan Islands, on the borders of
the land of the Persians; but he was grown old and decrepit,
without having been blessed with a son, albeit he had four wives,
daughters of kings, and threescore concubines, with each of whom
he was wont to lie one night in turn. This preyed upon his mind
and disquieted him, so that he complained thereof to one of his
Viziers, saying, 'I fear lest my kingdom be lost, when I die, for
that I have no son to take it after me.' 'O King,' answered the
Vizier, 'peradventure God shall yet provide for this; do thou put
thy trust in Him and be constant in supplication to Him.' So the
King rose and making his ablutions, prayed a two-bow prayer with
a believing heart; after which he called one of his wives to bed
and lay with her forthright. By God's grace, she conceived by
him and when her months were accomplished, she bore a male child,
like the moon on the night of its full. The King named him
Kemerezzeman and rejoiced in him with exceeding joy and bade
decorate the city in his honour. So they decorated the city
seven days, whilst the drums beat and the messengers bore the
glad tidings abroad. Meanwhile nurses and attendants were
provided for the boy and he was reared in splendour and delight,
until he reached the age of fifteen. He grew up of surpassing
beauty and symmetry, and his father loved him very dear, so that
he could not brook to be parted from him day or night. One day,
he complained to one of his Viziers of the excess of his love for
his son, saying, 'O Vizier, of a truth I fear the shifts and
accidents of fortune for my son Kemerezzeman and fain would I
marry him in my lifetime.' 'O King,' answered the Vizier,
'marriage is one of the most honourable of actions, and thou
wouldst indeed do well to marry thy son in thy lifetime, ere
thou make him king.' Quoth the King, 'Fetch me my son;' so
Kemerezzeman came and bowed his head before his father, out of
modesty. 'O Kemerezzeman,' said the King, 'I desire to marry
thee and rejoice in thee in my lifetime.' 'O my father,'
answered the prince, 'know that I have no wish to marry, nor doth
my soul incline to women; for that I have read many books and
heard much talk concerning their craft and perfidy, even as saith
the poet:
If ye would know of women and question of their case, Lo, I am
versed in their fashions and skilled all else above.
When a man's head grows grizzled or for the nonce his wealth
Falls from his hand, then, trust me, he hath no part in
their love.
And again:
Gainsay women; he obeyeth Allah best who saith them nay, And he
prospers not who giveth them his bridle-rein to sway;
For they'll hinder him from winning to perfection in his gifts,
Though a thousand years he study, seeking after wisdom's
way.
Wherefore (continued Kemerezzeman) marriage is a thing to which I
will never consent; no, not though I drink the cup of death.'
When the King heard this, the light in his sight became darkness
and he was excessively chagrined at his son's lack of obedience
to his wishes; yet, for the great love he bore him, he forbore to
press him and was not wroth with him, but caressed him and spoke
him fair and showed him all manner of kindness such as tends to
cultivate affection. He took patience with him a whole year,
during which time Kemerezzeman increased daily in beauty and
elegance and amorous grace, till he became perfect in eloquence
and loveliness. All men were ravished with his beauty and every
breeze that blew carried the tidings of his charms; he was a
seduction to lovers and a garden of delight to longing hearts,
for he was sweet of speech and his face put the full moon to
shame. Accomplished in symmetry as in elegance and engaging
manners, his shape was slender and graceful as the willow-wand or
the flowering cane and his cheeks might pass for roses or
blood-red anemones. He was, in fine, charming in all respects,
even as the poet hath said of him:
He comes and "Blest be God!" say all men, high and base. "Glory
to Him who shaped and fashioned forth his face!"
He's monarch of the fair, wherever they may be; For, lo, they're
all become the liegemen of his grace.
The water of his mouth is liquid honey-dew And 'twixt his lips
for teeth fine pearls do interlace.
Perfect in every trait of beauty and unique, His witching
loveliness distracts the human race.
Beauty itself hath writ these words upon his cheek, "Except this
youth there's none that's fair in any place."
When the year came to an end, the King called his son to him and
said, 'O my son, wilt thou not hearken to me?' Whereupon
Kemerezzeman fell down for respect and shame before his father
and replied, 'O my father, how should I not hearken to thee,
seeing that God commandeth me to obey thee and not gainsay thee?'
'O my son,' said King Shehriman, 'know that I desire to marry
thee and rejoice in thee, whilst yet I live, and make thee king
over my realm, before my death.' When the prince heard this, he
bowed his head awhile, then raised it and said, 'O my father,
this is a thing that I will never do, though I drink the cup of
death. I know of a surety that God the Most High enjoins on me
obedience to thee; but in His name I conjure thee, press me not
in this matter of marriage, neither think that I will ever marry
my life long; for that I have read the books both of the ancients
and the moderns and have come to know all the troubles and
calamities that have befallen them through women and the
disasters that have sprung from their craft without end. How
well says the poet:
He, whom the baggages entrap, Deliverance shall never know,
Although a thousand forts he build, Plated with lead;--'gainst
such a foe
It shall not profit him to build Nor citadels avail, I trow.
Women are traitresses to all, Both near and far and high and low.
With fingers dyed and flowing hair Plaited with tresses, sweet of
show,
And eyelids beautified with kohl, They make one drink of bale and
woe.
And no less excellently saith another:
Women, for all to chastity they're bidden, everywhere Are carrion
tossed about of all the vultures of the air.
To-night their converse, ay, and all their secret charms are
thine, But on the morn their leg and wrist fall to another's
share;
Like to an inn in which thou lodg'st, departing with the dawn,
And one thou know'st not, after thee, lights down and lodges
there.
When King Shehriman heard these his son's words, he made him no
answer, of his great love for him, but redoubled in favour and
kindness to him. As soon as the audience was over, he called his
Vizier and taking him apart, said to him, 'O Vizier, tell me how
I shall do with my son in this matter of his marriage. I took
counsel with thee thereon and thou didst counsel me to marry him,
before making him king. I have spoken with him once and again of
marriage, a
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