The Project Gutenberg eBook of Eastern Tales, by Many Story Tellers

n compiling this volume of Eastern Tales, the Editor has been careful to select only those best suited to youthful readers. They have been gathered from both ancient and modern, French, Italian, and English sources, and therefore offer great variety of style and subject.

In the stories taken from the Tales of the Genii, an omission of a few words has been made, to fit them for their place in this volume.

EASTERN TALES.

Jalaladdeen of Bagdad.

nce upon a time there lived in the city of Bagdad a young man called Jalaladdeen. It was not his native place; but, in his early days, his father had taken up his abode there. He was, however, little acquainted with the town, in which he had grown up a sturdy youth; for his father inhabited a small house in one of the suburbs, and lived a very retired and frugal life. They managed[2] their household affairs, and cultivated their small garden, without the aid of any domestics.

One day the father, feeling his end approaching, called for his son once more to his bed-side before his death, and said to him, "Jalaladdeen, my dearest son, thou seest that I have arrived at the bourne of my earthly career: now I should joyously quit this life, were it not for the thought that I must leave thee here alone. After my death, thou wilt find that thou are not so poor as thou mayest have conceived, and that too with good reason, from our hitherto contracted habits of life. Nevertheless, guard against the impression that thou art in possession of inexhaustible riches. Reflect that a year has three hundred and sixty-five days, and that the smallest expenditure, when it occurs daily, will in the end amount to no inconsiderable sum. Pay careful heed, therefore, to these my instructions, and be contented with the necessaries of life. Provide that which is indispensable to thy subsistence; but beware of purchasing superfluities. Man's wants increase daily, if he do not accustom himself in his early days to practise self-denial. But shouldest thou ever be so unhappy as to neglect these my sincere cautions, and consequently fall into poverty, I have only this piece of advice left for thee:—Take this rope, fasten it to the nail in yonder wall, and pull stoutly three times."

After these words, with his latest strength he drew a new rope from under the head of his bed, and presented it to Jalaladdeen: the next moment he expired.

So remarkable was the last lesson of the dying father to Jalaladdeen, that he carefully preserved the rope. The care of the funeral of the deceased, and the grief for the loss of his parent, and his own abandonment in the world, occupied Jalaladdeen's mind for the first week; but soon the household matters demanded his attention, and he speedily found his father's words verified. One day he discovered in a chamber which his father had always kept locked, and which he himself had never before entered, a great quantity of gold and jewels. He still, however, persevered in his accustomed solitary and frugal life in the same manner as before the death of his father. He fetched his daily provisions for himself,[3] worked in his garden, and dressed his own food. One day it happened that as he went to fetch a piece of meat from his butcher, he passed a house adjacent to his own, from an inner room of which there sounded joyous voices, jokes, songs, and laughter. He felt a desire to open the door a little and to peep in; and a tastefully furnished chamber, hung with light blue silk draperies ornamented with golden lace, presented itself to his view. Beneath a canopy reclined five richly dressed young men at a table covered with a costly cloth, on which stood dishes and plates. On a side-board stood drinking-vessels and jugs; and five slaves were busily employed in serving the company with viands and liquors. At sight of this cheerful and joyous assemblage, Jalaladdeen felt discontented with his lot.

"How happy are they!" said he to himself: "here they repose together, and take their refreshments in common, savoured by sprightly conversation and jokes. Alas! I, poor Jalaladdeen, must sit at home alone, and take my solitary meal!"

While he was indulging in these reflections, one of the young men observed him; and, as Jalaladdeen was withdrawing, he stepped forward hastily and invited him in a most friendly manner to remain with them during the day, and to pass it in a cheerful and convivial spirit. Jalaladdeen endeavoured to excuse himself by pointing to his mean garb, intimating his inability to mix in such society; but his objections were of no avail. He was conducted to the table in a most courteous manner, and seated with them. The slaves waited on him, and placed before him viands with which he was at once pleased and astonished.

As one of the slaves handed him a full goblet, he held it doubtfully in his hand for some time, without tasting it. Upon this, one of the young men, who appeared to be the host, said, "Why do you not drink?"

"I do not know," replied he, "what the liquor is: I am fearful it may be wine, which our great Prophet has forbidden us."

"Do you know," said one, "why the Prophet forbade his disciples to drink wine?"[4]

As Jalaladdeen replied in the negative, the other proceeded thus: "The Prophet observed many of his disciples, when they had partaken freely of the vine, brawling and quarrelsome; and therefore he forbade it. The beverage, however, was very different in its effects: some of them it rendered lazy and inactive; others, too, would defy the whole world, when heated by its influence. But why should he order us to shun it? He in fact allows us to use it, so long as we do not abuse it; and as we are all good companions, and avoid brawls in every possible way, there is no danger of neglecting the Prophet's command."

In consequence of this explanation, Jalaladdeen lifted the flagon to his mouth, and emptied it with the greatest pleasure. "Sorry company spoils good liquor." This maxim was readily adopted. In consequence of his father's precepts, Jalaladdeen had always been in the habit of treating all religious tenets with the greatest respect. But fearful that, by remaining long with his new acquaintance, he should neglect his father's words, he contrived at first to drink very sparingly. The beverage, which he had hitherto never tasted, proved very agreeable to his palate; and when the host called upon him to drain his cup, "Ah," thought he, "I have made one false step; I have erred from the right path! Whether I drink little, or empty the goblet, is of no great consequence; for I have broken the commandment of the Prophet."

He quaffed again and again, and had his cup filled so frequently, that he gradually forgot all his good intentions, and felt a degree of excitement which seemed to run through his veins in a manner he had never before experienced. He had by this time lost all self-command; and as he could neither call sense nor recollection to his aid, by degrees he fashioned himself to the habits of his friends, and pleased them more and more.

"Here, friend," said one of them at last, "your company is very pleasant. I wish to have you always with us, that we may revel and enjoy ourselves together."

"I would willingly do so," said Jalaladdeen; "but I must first[5] know what your society is, and whether it would be proper for me to conform to its customs. Some associations are dangerous."

"Have no fear on that account," said one: "our brotherhood is perfectly harmless, and its aim innocent. See, we are five unencumbered young men, each having some independent property. We have linked ourselves together, and formed a confederacy to meet at one another's residences, and to enjoy ourselves day after day in comfort and pleasure. He to whose lot it has fallen to become host to-day provides meat and drink, and if it should cost him something more than usual, he makes up the loss by becoming on the next occasions the guest of others. In this manner we pass a life devoid of care, and feast, joke, and laugh with one another the livelong day."

The condition into which the wine and the luxuries of the table had brought Jalaladdeen disposed him to be well pleased with the offer, and he was easily induced to identify his lot with theirs. When evening drew on, and he rose to take his departure, they showed him the house of meeting for the morrow, and he returned to his own home delighted with the events of the day, and, retiring to rest, was soon locked in profound sleep, and lulled by happy dreams.

When he awoke the next morning, he reflected on the transactions of the previous day, lamenting that he had so entirely disregarded his father's last words, and had totally neglected the observance of the Prophet's command. These thoughts, coupled with the admonition of his dying father, occasioned great anguish to his heart; and the recollection of the vast expense incurred by the feasting of the former day, and the calculation of the sum he should require to entertain his friends with similar hospitality, made him feel an inclination to withdraw from the connection; but, as he had pledged his word, he was reluctant to quit them at so early a stage.

He then calculated what he should require, and proceeded to the chamber where his riches lay. But the sight of the treasures banished all cares from his breast; "for," thought he to himself, "if I should expend a sum similar to that of yesterday, I shall want[6] but very little of this gold." He then took a bag of gold with him, and went out to purchase the necessaries for the banquet.

On arriving at the city he took a porter with him, and bought various articles for the feast: a table for six, with a costly cover and carpet. From thence he proceeded to a silversmith, and purchased jugs, and flagons, and drinking-vessels, and other utensils for the table, superior to those of his friends. Then he visited a china-shop, and selected some of the handsomest porcelain china and Japan ware that was to be found, and provided himself with elegant services of plates and dishes. He continued in this manner furnishing himself with every useful and ornamental article for one of his largest rooms.

While he was thus employed in collecting and dispatching to his house these various utensils, the time for assembling at his friend's house drew near. He accordingly bent his steps thither, and was most gladly welcomed. They sat down to table, and when the first course was served, "You should have brought a slave with you," said the host, "as we do: that is one of our customs."

Jalaladdeen explained that he had not yet purchased a slave, but undertook to procure one by the following morning.

The day passed, like the former one, in great glee and festivity. The second supply of wine was ordered, and Jalaladdeen took his first goblet with great hesitation; but this was soon dissipated by his friends, and his cup was filled again and again, till he became exactly in the same condition as on the previous occasion.

After three or four days, he was altogether accustomed to his new mode of living; and he was at a loss to comprehend how he could have remained so long in his old quiet habits, blaming his father in his mind for keeping him in retirement so many years, and for depriving him of the happiness of a convivial life.

He looked back with joy to the day upon which he had formed an acquaintance with his new friends, and congratulated himself on the prospect of a closer intimacy with them. He soon provided himself with two slaves: to one he confided the duties of the kitchen; the office of the other was to wait upon him and his friends.[7]

When the young men met for the first time at his house, they were astonished at its meanness and the want of accommodation, owing to the small size of the rooms. Jalaladdeen apologized to them, saying it had been his father's house, and that in consequence he did not wish to part with it. Though his companions approved of this motive, still they considered that he ought to provide a spacious dining-room for their comfort, or to build an open pavilion in the garden, where they might assemble more conveniently.

"In this small chamber," said one, "it is impossible to enjoy oneself at ease: the room is so contracted and inconvenient."

"Yes, brother," said another; "you must do something: a pavilion must be erected in the garden; and while you are about it, let it be both handsome and commodious."

Then they suggested all kinds of plans for the building, each one pointing out some novel feature or other which he particularly begged might not be forgotten in its construction.

Jalaladdeen was soon thoroughly convinced of the necessity of providing a large room for their comfort; and pledging himself now, as he knew what was required, to follow the suggestion of his friends, he promised to use his best endeavours to render the building conformable to their several tastes.

He accordingly the next day sent for an architect, who well knew how to enlarge upon what was necessary for the solidity of the pavilion, what was requisite for its proper appearance, and what the cost of the building would be, and desired him to erect it. Jalaladdeen yielded to his opinion on every point, hoping to gain the praise and approbation of his friends; and in order to carry this out more fully, he would not suffer any one to enter the garden during the progress of the work.

At length the pavilion was completed, and the friends were assembled together there for the banquet. Everything was deemed praiseworthy, and highly approved.

At last, however, one exclaimed, "It is much to be regretted, friend Jalaladdeen, that your garden is so small. What a miserable prospect you have! On this side nothing but poor vegetable-[8]gardens; on the other side that ugly old building obstructs the view. If I were in your place, I would buy up the land around, pull down the barracks and the little buildings adjacent, and thus make one vast pleasure-garden, befitting such a splendid pavilion."

As the rest of the guests concurred, Jalaladdeen began to think himself that to erect a large handsome pavilion on such small grounds was indeed a mistake. He immediately, therefore, bought up all the small gardens, for which he was obliged to pay a very heavy price—firstly, because the owners did not wish to part with them; and secondly, as the produce of the ground was necessary for their subsistence.

As he had now got the requisite space on all sides, he employed a skilful gardener to lay out the grounds tastefully; and in order to cultivate this new garden, and keep it constantly in proper order, he was compelled to enlarge his establishment by a head gardener and several assistants. His house was too small to accommodate them. He therefore built a dwelling-house for them on a suitable spot of the garden. Thus one foolish expenditure always renders another outlay necessary.

Soon, by degrees, their manner of living became more and more expensive, as each endeavoured to excel the others in the splendour of his hospitality, and to procure for the next meeting at his house scarcer viands and more costly wines. In this manner they vied with each other, increasing their expenses with savoury spices and the most delicious perfumes.

This daily intercourse, however, was soon discontinued; and they assembled every day at Jalaladdeen's pavilion. He took a delight in being continual host, on account of the praise they lavished upon him, and the assurance they gave him that his table produced the best fare, and that the taste of his saloon was of the most superior order. By this means, in a short time his treasures of gold were expended; still he comforted himself with his precious stones, of which he possessed an immense quantity. At last these gems were squandered away; and he offered one costly article after another to a jeweller for sale, who on each occasion named a less price than before. Soon his only remaining valuable ring was sold[9] for a small sum; and Jalaladdeen entertained his friends for the last time.

In the course of the banquet, he took the opportunity of explaining the state of his affairs, and begged some one of them to undertake the office of host, as they had been in the habit of doing. But his friends on this occasion received his announcement with great surprise.

"Are you obliged to have recourse to such means?" said another. "You have invited us here, and furnished your table most sumptuously; and are matters thus with you? If it be so, you are rightly served. Your profligate habits have led us into great expenses. 'T is good; you have given us a proof of what such things lead to."

"What!" said a third, "do you wish us to take up the office of host in order to come to the same end at which you have arrived?"

"I will give you some sound advice," said a fourth: "whenever you meet with a fool who is inclined to lay out his money in the purchase of such a poor tasteless garden as you have made, dispose of it to him, and with the proceeds take a little shop, and support yourself by trade."

"Look to yourself," said the fifth: "I am very sorry for you; but I cannot help you."

They then left him, some upbraiding him, others shrugging their Shoulders with pity.

"These are friends indeed!" said Jalaladdeen, bitterly, as they deserted him. "Oh, why did I neglect my father's injunctions? Even on the first day of our acquaintance, I should have taken warning by their carelessness in disregarding the Prophet's commandment concerning the abuse of wine. Ah me! I am justly punished."

He immediately began to retrench his household expenditure, and shortly his handsome tapestries and costly goods were all sold off, and he was reduced to the necessity of economizing most rigidly. But deeply as he felt the loss of those comforts which he had so lately enjoyed, his reflections bore still heavier upon him.

In his contemplations one day on his unhappy lot, he laid himself[10] down in the same chamber in which he had received his dying father's commands. Here he experienced the most bitter anguish for the past—looked forward with sorrow and amazement to the future, as he had no one to advise and counsel him. Here his eye lighted upon the nail in the wall; and the last words of his father rung again in his ears—"Take this rope; you will see a nail in the wall; fasten it, and pull three times."

Jalaladdeen immediately opened a drawer where the rope lay, fetched a stool to the spot, made fast the end of the rope to the nail, and pulled with all his might. At the third pull he found he had torn the nail out of the wall, which had brought with it a square piece of board, thus leaving a large opening: he observed, too, that this was not the effect of chance, but of design. How great, then, was his astonishment when, on fetching a ladder, and looking into the opening, he discovered a much larger bag of gold, pearls, and other precious stones, than that one he found on a previous occasion, and which he had so thoughtlessly squandered. He now perceived that his father had prevented his touching this treasure until he should have learnt by misfortune how easily vast riches are dissipated, and should have been convinced by experience of the truth of his fatherly instructions and warning.

In order to avoid falling again into the hands of his profligate friends, should they hear of his improved circumstances, and to rid himself of their company for ever, he sold his house, and bought another, moderately large, pleasantly situated in an open plain in the neighbourhood of a mosque. He fitted it up conveniently; for his wealth, though not limited, was still not superfluously large.

When he took possession of his new house, the person who had sold it to him said, "I must leave something of my own here with you, as I have not been able to remove it, though with the best intention." He then conducted him into one of the apartments in which was standing a large copper vessel of elaborate workmanship. The cover of the vessel was sealed, and on the seal Jalaladdeen perceived the letters of a strange language.

"Sir," said the former owner, "this chest has stood in this room from time immemorial. My father forbade me to break the seal,[11] and declared that he who should lay his hand on it for such a purpose would suffer severely for his foolhardiness. I have, I confess, in former times felt a strong inclination to loosen the seal, but fear has hitherto deterred me; but to-day as I had all my furniture removed from this house, I had this chest also conveyed to my new dwelling; but scarcely had the porter placed it down, when it disappeared. However, I found it shortly afterwards in this room again, and ordered its removal a second time; but it was soon standing here again in its old place. Perhaps a tutelary genius, invisible to us, inhabits the house. However, as it will not suffer itself to be removed, you may keep it here in the name of the Prophet. But forget not my warning—leave the seal unbroken."

Jalaladdeen felt half inclined to doubt these words; but nodding his head, he said to the man, "Well, well, leave the chest here; and if at any time I find it inconvenient, you will not, of course, object to remove it."

Scarcely had the man quitted the house, when Jalaladdeen called a slave, and desired him to place the vessel in a corner of the house.

"'T is an old chest," said he: "remove it; its old appearance does not correspond with the decorations of this room, which I intend to use as my sleeping-chamber. Now," said he to himself, "I shall see if the man has told the truth."

The slave removed the chest without ceremony, and Jalaladdeen contemplated, for some time, with great earnestness, the spot where it had lately stood; and as it did not appear again, he fancied that he had rid himself of it for ever. All at once, however, it was standing on the same spot once more, without his having observed by what agency it had been done. He had it then removed again and again, and on each occasion it returned to the same chamber. Seeing at last all his efforts fruitless, he permitted it to remain. The adventure, however, was too remarkable to make no impression on his mind. He threw himself down in his clothes on his couch; but sleep was denied to him. A train of thought on the subject of the wondrous chest, and his fear on account of the warning he had received, disturbed his mind, and prevented him from taking any rest. There he lay awake till midnight, and saw[12] the chest glittering in the light of the moon, which fell upon it as it streamed through the window.

Curiosity at once overcame his fear: he started up and procured an iron tool with which he could break the seal of the cover, and took a hammer and chisel with him. With the aid of these instruments he broke through the leaden seal; but scarcely had it given way, when the lid opened, and a blue curling smoke arose from it, and from the midst of it issued a hideous old woman in a strange dress. She carried a crutch under her left arm, and held another in her right hand. She limped over the side of the vessel, and hobbling towards the astonished Jalaladdeen, said,

"Fool, fool that thou art! is it befitting for thee, so young as thou art, to stand there like an old idler? Go forth into the world, and fetch the wonder-stone from Mount Massis, otherwise thou canst never be my husband."

After these words she hobbled back on her crutch to the copper vessel, gathered herself together, as it were, into a ball, tumbled hastily in, and closed the cover on herself.

Overcome with fear and astonishment, Jalaladdeen threw himself upon his couch; but the dawn of morning found him still awake. He endeavoured to beguile the day in the arrangement of his house; but, nevertheless, he could not chase from his memory the wonderful spectacle which he had witnessed, and the portentous words that attended it. He felt an uneasiness which he endeavoured in vain to subdue, nor could he rest satisfied until he had investigated the cause of his anxiety.

At length he was so exhausted by the business of the day, fatigue, and want of rest, that he laid himself down early in the evenings and fell asleep; but at the hour of midnight he awoke again. He saw the vessel open, and the blue smoke arising from it, and from the midst of it the ugly old woman hobbled towards him, and cried out, as she swung her crutch to and fro in the air,

"Fool, fool, young idle fool! think of the stone of Mount Massis, otherwise thou canst not be my husband."

After these words she limped back again, gathered herself up as before, and the lid of the urn closed once more of itself.[13]

This occurred every night; but after that Jalaladdeen had recovered from the agitation caused by her first appearance, he slept as soundly as ever: still the old woman woke him night after night by thrusts in the ribs with her crutch, and on every occasion repeated the same or similar words.

But she generally awoke him in the midst of a dream, in which he always saw a very beautiful young lady, who rose from a kingly throne near him, and touched him with her golden sceptre. To this succeeded the reality of the hideous old woman; and instead of the sceptre, the crutch was wielded against him.

He often endeavoured by day to get the vessel removed; and sometimes even it was thrown into the river which flows by Bagdad; but still it always found its way back to his chamber at night. He then caused his couch to be removed to another room, but this was to no purpose, as the vessel always followed it. Thus matters went on, till the nightly disturbances, and still more the disturbed state of his mind, affected him to such a degree, that his health was very much impaired. He sought the advice of physicians, who prescribed all kinds of stimulants and restoratives; but their combined skill could not restore him to his lost rest. At length one of the physicians said to him,

"My skill has done all it can, my medicines avail nothing: if your illness were really that of the body, you would have been restored to health long since; but if your indisposition has its source in the mind, my prescriptions cannot aid you. Seek a magician—that is my advice: he by his occult science may be enabled to discover the cause of your bad health, and to effect a cure."

"It cannot be denied," said he, "that the cause of my illness is seated in my mind, and till that be removed, my health cannot be restored."

He then sought out one of the most skilful magicians of the day, and disclosed to him the circumstances of his nightly disturbance, assuring him, that before the first night on which the old woman had made her odious appearance out of the vessel, his rest had never been impaired. He ended by begging and entreating of him[14] that he would use all his skill to make the vision cease, and to rid his house of the fatal urn.

"You tell me that this vessel was fastened down by a leaden seal; if it be loose, let me see it."

Jalaladdeen immediately conducted the magician to his house, and showed him the vessel, to which the seal was still attached. The magician studied with great attention the inscription on the seal, and then turning to Jalaladdeen, spoke thus:

"All my skill put together could not accomplish your wishes: know that this is the seal of the great Solomon; and it is inevitable, that he who breaks it must become an inmate of the vessel. To counteract this fate is not in the power of the most mighty magician. You are in the hands of this old woman, and no human power or wisdom can extricate you from it."

This speech involved Jalaladdeen in the greatest perplexity; he threw himself upon the ground, beat his breast, and sobbed and wept violently.

"Whence," exclaimed he, "is the power of this hideous old woman? Shall I, to the end of my days, remain in her trammels? Shall she, even when I have recovered from my illness, and lie wrapped in sweet dreams, approach my couch, and rouse me with her crutch to listen to her croaking voice? Whither can I fly for comfort? I would rather die than drag on a miserable existence in such trouble and anxiety. Take this dagger, I pray you, and stab me, and thus put an end to my illness."

With this he handed a dagger to the magician, and prayed him with many tears, as he bared his breast, to plunge it in, and rid him of his sufferings.

"Heaven forbid that I should commit such an act," replied the magician. "You are, without doubt, destined for great deeds, which will be worthy of you, one of which is, that you should break the seal of the great Solomon. You tell me that the old woman has desired you to fetch the wonder-stone from Mount Massis; follow her advice, journey to the mountain, and work out your[15] good fortune. Perhaps your fate may take another and a more prosperous turn."

He lengthened out his speech in the same tone and spirit, and spoke seriously for some time, till at length he succeeded in quieting Jalaladdeen; so that he embraced the hope of being restored one day to perfect health.

"But," said he to the magician, "whither shall I bend my course? where is Mount Massis? and even if I succeed in reaching it, how shall I discover the wonder-stone?"

Hereupon the magician promised to consider all these points, and to give him the necessary instructions on the morrow.

On the following night the ugly old woman appeared again out of the vessel; but did not, as on former occasions, rouse him with her crutch; but it seemed as though he woke of his own accord, and found her standing by his bed-side.

"Now," said she to him, "will you at last be wise, and give up this idleness? it will prove advantageous both to you and me."

She then addressed him in the most friendly terms, and left him in her usual manner.

The next morning the magician made his appearance again, and gave him the necessary information as to the course to be pursued. He told him that the wonder-stone lay concealed in a stone castle about midway up Mount Massis; but that the enterprise required great patience, perseverance, and skill. With such words as these he brought his speech to a close, and left Jalaladdeen to his own reflections.

"The mountain is difficult of ascent, and is guarded by vigilant genii: he who cannot comply with their singular demands must certainly sink under the dangers to be encountered, or at least withdraw from the attempt without bringing it to completion."

Jalaladdeen assured the magician that he had sufficient patience to carry him through any trial, and that he was ready and willing to submit to any labour, if by that means he could rid himself of the illness from which he was at that time suffering.

"Then," said he, "where is Mount Massis? which I have never before heard of."[16]

"You will know it, perhaps, by another name; it is also called Mount Ararat. There was, at some time or other, a great flood upon the earth, which destroyed every creature, man and beast, save one, who, with his wife and family, was warned by Allah; and placed in a large vessel, which floated upon the waters; then, as soon as the flood subsided, the ship remained fixed on one of the two ridges of the mountain; from this time the mount has been considered holy, and the spot most devoutly worshipped."

"I have heard of it," replied Jalaladdeen; "but in which direction am I to journey, in order to discover this wonder-stone?"

"You must follow the course of the Tigris," said he, "and then you will be at no great distance from the place."

Jalaladdeen immediately set his house in order, hired some armed attendants, took from his chest some gold and valuable jewels, and set off on his journey, following the windings of the river. The road appeared pleasant to him, and no danger or misfortune occurred to annoy him; the weather was fine, and he feasted his eyes upon the various features of the country, which were most beautiful and enchanting, travelling cheerfully onward. He began to forget his old sorrows and grievances, and to enjoy an unusual degree of happiness, as he left behind him the vision of the ugly old woman; for she never visited him again from the time he quitted his home.

At length he arrived with his suite on a high eminence, from which he beheld a most beautiful expanse of country, and in the distance the most charming scenery, from morning till night. In a corner of the valley a single hill towered up to the sky; farther on rose a chain of mountains; but the little hill was formed at the summit into two peaks. A cloud floated over their tops, one of which shot up more lofty than the other, and the sun cast a brilliant light upon them. But it was remarkable, that the nearer one approached the hill, the higher it appeared, and more majestic. At its base lay a very fruitful plain, and on the other side stood at little city.

Jalaladdeen inquired the name of the city, and was told that it was Semænum.[17]

The people laughed at his simplicity, and inquired whether or not he had heard of the great flood from which only one man and his wife, and three sons with their wives also, escaped.

"These eight persons," added they, "on their descent from the mountain, took up their abode here, and laid the foundation of the city."

After this Jalaladdeen heard that the castle in which the wonder-stone was concealed lay on the other side of the hill; but still no one knew anything of the stone, nor had the inhabitants a satisfactory idea of the castle. But he was informed that so many extraordinary and gigantic masses of stone were standing in the various clefts of the mount, that their appearance was certainly that of a castle, and that the lofty crowning point in the distance resembled a tower.

"However," added the relaters, "yonder spot is not accessible, nor has it ever been heard of, within the memory of man, that any one ever dreamt of attempting its ascent. Everybody dreads the road on that side of the hill, as it has been said that mighty genii carry on their orgies there; and there is also a tradition, that a traveller once undertook to attain the summit, but that he had never been known to return."

As soon as Jalaladdeen had clearly ascertained from the inhabitants on which side of the hill the so-called castle was situated, he felt a strong inclination to journey on towards it at that minute, regardless of the warnings of the neighbouring people and the entreaties of his guide. He accordingly took some of his gold and jewels with him, and set off on his journey, ordering his guide to remain behind. He gave these last instructions to his servants:

"If I return not in three months, you may regard my property here as your own; then go back each one to his home, or wherever his inclination may lead him."

He soon lost his road, and arrived at unknown and intricate paths, with which the foot of the mountain was surrounded. Gradually the trees and all traces of vegetation disappeared, save here[18] and there a tuft of close underwood, which sprang up in the clefts of the rocks. Round about him were piled blocks of stone of monstrous size, and his farther progress was soon altogether stopped. There rose before him a massive stone wall like a tower, which was so steep and smooth, that it was impossible to pass it. He therefore made a wide circuit round, and at last found himself in a broad chasm of the rock, which seemed to extend far into the mountain.

Wild and unfrequented as this appeared, nevertheless he ventured to descend. The way was very laborious; he was often obliged to mount sharp-pointed masses of rock, often to wind along between crags and briars, often again to descend into deep abysses, down which rapid streams rushed violently, and then again to clamber up on the other side. At times he hung suspended from one side, searching out in vain a resting-place for his foot, to furnish him a support in his progress.

At length, after long and incessant labour through a dangerous pathway, he arrived at the steep summit, from which he discovered massive walls and lofty towers, that appeared to be constructed of rough unhewn stone. With the last exertion of his exhausted strength, he ascended these heights, and found himself before an opening. He knew not whether this was merely a cleft in the rock resembling a doorway, or a doorway hewn in the rough rock like a natural chasm. It was formed of upright blocks of stone, on which was cast another of wonderful size; but there was no door. He laboured now more assiduously than ever through the thorns and pointed stones, which lay here and there over the little level space that extended in front of the opening, till he stood before the dark entrance. The gloom concealed the nature of the interior of the cavity from his view, and he stood for a short time on the threshold, thinking on his past trials and collecting his scattered senses. As he was about to enter, a man stepped up to him, armed with a bow and bearing on his back a quiver of arrows.

"Take the bow," said he to Jalaladdeen, "choose yourself an arrow, and go do your duty."

So surprised and astonished was he, that he seized the bow, drew an arrow from the quiver, and asked,[19]

"There," answered the man, pointing in the distance, "far beyond you must go; there is a great sea, which you must compass to its southern side, and then proceed through a wide expanse of plain until you arrive at a large inland lake, called the Eagles' Lake. There, every morning immediately after sunrise, you will see a swarm of black eagles on the shore, and among them a single white one. This kill, and, in proof of what you have done, bring back here the left wing."

This announcement came like a thunderbolt upon the miserable Jalaladdeen, who had fancied that he had arrived very near the end of his journey. But now he was ordered to proceed still farther through an unknown tract of land. On looking back he saw that the sun had already sunk in the heavens, and that dusky and humid clouds were gathering over the sky; so, turning to the man, he said,

"The night is fast drawing on, and I am very weary; and if I were to be exposed for so many hours in the abyss of this rocky ravine, I should certainly perish. May I not be permitted to pass the night here?"

The man nodded assent, and ordered Jalaladdeen to follow him. They passed into a dark hall from the entrance, with a vaulted roof formed of rough blocks of stone, from which hung a single iron lamp, that spread a feeble and dim light around. His conductor left him here alone, and two domestics soon appeared. They brought him an ottoman, and made him understand by signs that he was to sit down. They then placed a table before him with meat and drink, and stationed themselves at a respectful distance from him, waiting to serve him. He ate and drank and refreshed himself after the labours of the day, while the attendants handed everything to him with the greatest attention.

As soon as he had satisfied the craving of his appetite, they removed the table with its appendages, and beckoned to him to follow them. They conducted him through a side passage to a door, and when they had drawn back the curtain which hung before it, Jalaladdeen stood mute with astonishment.

The chamber was precisely like his sleeping-room at Bagdad:[20] every article of furniture was of the same size and colour as his, and occupied exactly the same position.

"You are surprised at this chamber," said one of the attendants: "our master wished to make it as comfortable for you as possible after your long journey, and he thinks that a man never experiences more comforts than in his own house."

With this they saluted him, and retired; but Jalaladdeen was too much astonished to sink to rest immediately; he accordingly walked round the room and inspected everything. It was his own chamber, with his own cushions, tapestries, and carpet; the curtains which he had purchased on entering his new house were there, and even the most minute article of furniture was the same; and that nothing might be wanting, there stood, on the precise spot, the fatal vessel which he had not been able to remove from his room by any means. Disagreeable as this last was, still he was so taken with surprise at the strange resemblance to his own chamber, that it made no impression on his mind; and at last he laid himself down on the couch, and Nature soon asserting her rights, he slumbered. He slept soundly throughout the night, and experienced the same happy dream which had so often visited him when at home. He saw a beautiful young maiden in princely garb, adorned with the most costly jewels, and at the moment that she raised herself from her queenly throne, and bent towards him her golden sceptre, he awoke, and the hideous old woman hobbled up to him.

"Commit no rash act of folly," said she, in a hoarse croaking voice; "do not go without a dog: they must give you one."

She then turned herself about, shook her crutch at him in a menacing manner, and disappeared all at once into the vessel, as on every former occasion.

"A dog!" said Jalaladdeen to himself: "what shall I do with such an unclean animal? However, she seems to know of the journey in store for me."

And revolving the matter in his mind, it appeared to him better to follow her advice. In the midst of his thoughts he again fell fast asleep; and when he awoke, he found, to his no small surprise,[21] that he had been slumbering in a chasm of the rock upon a bed of dried mountain grass.

The sun shone in upon him, and before him stood the man who had given him the bow and arrow, and who immediately reminded him of his journey, and urged him to prepare speedily to do his duty. He arose at once, and declared himself ready.

"But," said he, calling to mind the old woman's words, "could I not have a dog to accompany me on the way?"

"Certainly," replied the man; and at his call a large dog with broad paws made its appearance, and began to run round him in a friendly manner, barking for joy. He then tore off a small piece of the hem of his garment, and having shewn it to the dog, gave it to Jalaladdeen, and said,

"So long as you bear this with you, the dog will follow you wherever you go; be therefore careful of it. Now proceed, turn not back to the town, but go straight on to the east."

The dog immediately bounded forward, and, on issuing from the hollow of the rock, turned toward the east. Jalaladdeen followed, and found, to his astonishment, a winding path, not altogether level, but still not very inconvenient. Whenever a dangerous spot showed itself at times, the dog discovered another path by which the danger might be avoided. Jalaladdeen therefore allowed him to run on before, and followed his steps.

They soon reached the plain, and arrived at a hilly district, where the mountains rose higher and higher behind them in the distance. The land on the other side declined gently; and, afar off, they beheld the sea. Many days, however, passed before he was able to make the wide circuit which led to the southern side. He then found himself in a flat country, and, after a journey of fourteen days, arrived at the shores of the Eagle Lake. Jalaladdeen threw himself down, in the evening, upon a dry spot of the shore; for in the course of his long journey he had habituated himself to rest on the earth under the broad canopy of heaven.

In the morning, his dog awoke him by a low barking and lively indications of restlessness. He had hardly risen from the ground, when the dog sprang joyously up to him, looking to one side, as[22] though to direct his attention. On turning his eyes towards the spot, he discovered a great multitude of black birds hovering over the trees, and felt satisfied that they were the eagles. He then looked anxiously for the white one, which he was to kill; but in vain. Whilst he was engaged in the search, the dog made a circuit, and crept close to them beneath some bushes; then, by a sudden loud bark, he dislodged them from the spot, and they flew in the direction of Jalaladdeen, across the lake. He, on a sudden, discovered the snow-white eagle among the others, and bent his bow, and, although the bird was now at so great a distance that no ordinary shot could have reached it, still the arrow flew straight to its mark, and he saw the object of his aim fall far from the shore into the blue waters of the lake.

"What avails my fortunate shot?" said he, looking with vexation on the waves which bore it farther from the shore.

Immediately the dog plunged hastily into the water, and swimming with extraordinary rapidity, seized the eagle in his mouth, and brought it safely to his master. Jalaladdeen quickly drew out the arrow, which had pierced it through the middle of the body, and cutting off the left wing, secured it to his person. During this operation, he had smeared his fingers with blood; and, as he was wiping it off on the inside of his girdle, the little piece of the man's garment, which he had hitherto kept safely, fell to the ground without his noticing it. Hereupon the dog caught up the body of the eagle, which Jalaladdeen had thrown away, and ran off with it at full speed.

Jalaladdeen called repeatedly to the dog, and coaxed him to return, but in vain; so he proceeded home on his way alone. He certainly met with nothing of material import to molest him in his journey; nevertheless he had to encounter a thousand little obstacles, which very much impeded his progress. He could not discover the path by which he had originally come, but frequently arrived at places where there was no road, or at thick forests, through which he was obliged to hew a path with his sabre, and to pass the night upon the naked earth beneath the open sky.

After a much longer journey than before, and many different[23] detours, he arrived at a spot from which he could see the two-pointed head of Mount Massis. When, after some days, he came to the foot of the mount, he was in hopes of finding the path by which he had descended in company with the dog; but he looked for it in vain, and was obliged to climb up by one of the dreadful rocky ravines, at the risk of his life, as on a former occasion.

At length, weary and exhausted, he arrived at the opening, and was about to enter, with the eagle's wing in his hand, when the man who had given him the bow and arrow presented himself before him, and said,

He then called the dog by name, who immediately appeared from the castle, carrying the eagle's body in his mouth.

As soon as the man had applied the wing to the place from which it had been cut, and compared it with the other, he said to him, nodding approvingly, "'T is well: I have that which I wanted. But stay here a moment; my brother will come to you, and inform you what you must do for him, if you wish to have your desire fulfilled." With these words, he entered the hollow again, and the dog accompanied him.

Jalaladdeen followed him with his eyes; and then, sighing deeply, said, "Another labour still! I fancied I had already discovered the wonder-stone of Mount Massis, and now I must journey out into the world again on anew adventure. God knows whither the brother will send me."

His soliloquy was interrupted by the appearance of a man, who stepped forward from the opening, and presented to him a lance with a glittering steel head.

Jalaladdeen took it, and intimated his readiness to undertake the mission, at the same time asking, "What is my duty?"

The man answered, "On the way hence to Mount Lebanon, on the other side of the Tigris and Euphrates, the traveller comes, after a journey of some days, to a vast desert. There, in the middle[24] of a large barren and sandy plain, lies a fruitful oasis, watered by a little stream, on whose brink grow tall palms, refreshing the wanderer with their shade and fruit. But the neighbourhood of the palms is frequented by a monstrous lion of a dark colour,—the only one that has wandered into the district,—and his ferocity renders it dangerous to rest beneath their shade. This you must kill—not only for the safety of future travellers, but in order to accomplish your own wishes. Then bring here to me the lion's tail; you will hereafter need it."

Again it was evening; and Jalaladdeen begged permission to recruit his strength and refresh himself by a night's rest. The man assented, and made a sign that he should follow him. In the hall he was again provided with meat and drink by the two attendants; and after his repast, they conducted him to the same door, drew back the curtain from before it, and he again, to his utter amazement, found himself in his own sleeping-chamber at Bagdad. Once more he recognized every article of furniture as his own, or exactly similar to his own, and the copper vessel standing precisely on the same spot. He then threw himself on his couch, and was soon locked in deep slumber. But at the hour of midnight he was again roused from his dream by the hideous old woman, who stood by his bed-side, flourishing her crutch in a threatening attitude, and calling upon him in a hoarse, croaking voice,

"See thou commit no rash act of folly," she cried. "Go not on foot to the desert, otherwise the floating clouds of sand will bury thee for ever before thou arrivest at the palms; or if thou shouldest attain the spot, the lion will tear thee in pieces if he find no other booty. They must give thee a camel: see that thou demand it." At these words she shook her crutch at him, and disappeared into the vessel.

"A camel!" said Jalaladdeen to himself: "can they possibly have camels in this unfrequented place? And even if they had, how could I descend to the plain with such a beast, through the clefts in the rocks, from this height?"

His weariness was so great that, amid a chain of thoughts that[25] attended the vision, he fell fast asleep again. The next morning he was awoke by the man who gave him the lance, and he discovered himself at the opening of the rock, as on a former occasion. The sun again shone through the hollow, and the man said to him,

"'T is time that you should make ready to do your duty: take the bow and arrow, together with my lance, and journey on to the desert."

At the moment he called to mind the injunction of the old woman, and answered, "For my passage through the desert I shall require a camel."

"Then thou shalt have one," replied the man; and, on emerging a second time from the opening, there stood a camel, ready furnished with many necessaries for his comfort and convenience during the journey.

To his astonishment, after he had mounted the animal, it proceeded by an easy pathway down the side of the mountain; and, although he could see nothing but impassable spots, huge blocks of stone, and deep abysses both before and behind, still the camel travelled on by a level and gently declining track.

On this occasion, too, his journey was more prosperous and far more speedy than at the first. He arrived at the desert without any mishap, and in the evening reached the fruitful strip of land where the palms stood. The camel immediately refreshed itself with water, while Jalaladdeen's repast consisted of dates from the neighbouring trees. He then allowed the camel to browse upon the brink of the stream, while he resigned himself, without care, to rest beneath the shade. He was soon, however, terrified by the roar of a lion, which sounded close to him; accordingly he sprang up hastily, seized his arms, and took up a position behind some large palms, which concealed him from the sight of his approaching enemy. Soon the lion drew on with rapid strides, and was about to rush upon the browsing camel, when Jalaladdeen shot an arrow, which took effect in his right eye. Scarcely had the dart reached the lion, when he sprang vengefully forward on his foe, whom he had but that moment discovered. Jalaladdeen, nothing daunted, stepped boldly forwards, and thrust at him with the point of his[26] lance; but the lion bounded on with such force, that he could not withstand the attack: he fell, and the whole bulk of the lion rolled over him. Jalaladdeen gave himself up for lost: he lay senseless some time, and when he had recovered sufficiently to comprehend his dreadful situation, the moon was high in the heavens. He was very weak, and bruised all over the body, and he felt some great weight upon him. By means of considerable exertion, he released himself, and remarked for the first time that his clothes were saturated with blood. He immediately fancied that he had been wounded by the teeth or claws of the lion, and accordingly rolled over to the water and washed himself; but, after a very careful examination of his person, he could not discover a wound. The coolness of the water refreshed his limbs, and eased the pain of the bruises in the various parts of his body. After this he was soon enabled to stand up, and he found that the weight which had been pressing upon him was the lion, dead and stiff, and soaked in his blood. In its bound forward it had pierced itself with the lance, and had fallen to the ground, in consequence of the furious attack it was designing. The body of the dead lion proved a soft pillow, and its bulk was so immense that Jalaladdeen could recline at full length upon its back with great ease. In this manner he slept on, and did not rise till broad daylight, when he felt himself fully refreshed and well. He then cut off the lion's tail, and remounted the camel, which had strayed to a short distance from the spot.

The return to the castle on the mount was prosperous, and not marked by any particular adventure. He soon left the desert behind, and found himself at the foot of Mount Massis. But as evening was approaching, he considered whether it would be better to rest till morning, and then ascend the acclivity; the camel, however, perseveringly trotted on with that zeal which animals generally show when approaching their accustomed dwelling.

The last gleam of day had not disappeared in the western sky when he found himself in the little chamber before the well-known entrance of the castle. Although the distance from the foot of the hill thus far up to the castle, notwithstanding the rapid steps of the beast, had occupied the greater part of a whole day, yet it appeared[27] that it could now be accomplished in the short space of a single hour. Jalaladdeen could not comprehend how he had reached it so rapidly; but it occurred to him for the first time that he had never seen so extraordinary a pathway, or one accompanied with so much difficulty and danger. He contemplated with surprise the rapidity with which he had completed this journey, and made a sign to the camel to kneel, to give his rider an opportunity of descending and unloading him. He took his arms and the lion's tail, and entered the gate of the castle.

On his entry he was met by a man, who took his lance from him and said, "Hast thou done thy duty?"

And as Jalaladdeen presented to him the lion's tail, he said that he had failed in nothing.

"Good," said he; "but still I will put it to the test, to prove whether you are right."

He then called out aloud four names, upon which immediately appeared four large dogs out of the chasm in the rock, dragging after them the dead body of the dark lion. The man now applied the tail to the lion's body, and on finding that it corresponded, "Good," said he; "I have now what I desire. Wait, however, a short time, and my brother will come and tell you what he requires you to do for him, if you are inclined to see your wishes fulfilled." With these words he retired into the castle, and the four dogs dragged in the lion after him.

"Alas!" said Jalaladdeen, "I have not yet accomplished my labours! Who knows how many brothers may be dwelling here together? And if I receive only a slight demand from each of them, a year may elapse ere I obtain the wonder-stone."

He had scarcely uttered these words when the third brother advanced, and handing to him a basket made of rushes, accompanied it with the words, "Go and do thy duty."

The man shrugged up his shoulders, and said, "That is for[28] you to look to: water you must bring in this basket, and without the aid of any other vessel; for you will stand in need of the water."

"That is impossible," replied Jalaladdeen. "Set me to any other kind of work—send me into a distant country on the other side of the Caucasus, let me herd with wild beasts, and I will, without making any objection, obey your injunctions, even at the risk of my life; but do not require impossibilities of me."

"'T is not impossible," answered the man. "Reflect: I dare not say anything more to you. You have till morning to consider what you will do. Come in here and refresh yourself with food and rest."

Jalaladdeen followed him, and was conducted into a chamber, where he was abundantly supplied with viands and liquors. The bed-room appropriated to him was that in which he had formerly rested and known as his own; and he laid himself down, exhausted and overcome with grief on account of the new demand made upon him. He awoke again at midnight, and the little old woman stood once more before him with her uplifted crutch.

"Commit no rash act of folly," said she. "Seek not water out of the deep: carry that not in thy basket; the water which thou must bring in it will not escape through it. Step out; above thou wilt find the water I speak of; thence thou must fetch it. Dost thou hear? Be not foolish: hast thou lost thine understanding?"

After she had disappeared, as on previous occasions, Jalaladdeen rolled about for some time on his couch, sleepless and perplexed with care. It appeared to him like an unsolvable riddle.

"What! shall I not fetch water from the depth, whence commonly springs and streams flow? and yet shall I go upwards? and am I to carry it in a simple wicker basket?"

At last, however, he fell asleep again, and was awoke in the morning, with positive orders to make ready to do his duty. As he was preparing, he said, "The way up the rock and the oft-frequented path is dangerous; could I not get a travelling-staff to help me?"

"Here is one ready," answered the man, handing him a long[29] pole, made of a light tough wood, with a strong iron spike fixed to it. He then shook him heartily by the hand, and let him out of the opening.

When he gained the exterior, he looked all around him. He hoped to discover some track which would indicate in what direction he should set out; but stones and ruins, the effects of a great convulsion of nature, surrounded, in a wild and unnatural confusion, the small and even spot before the entrance of the castle. But what most astonished him was, that the road which had appeared formerly to be impassable for his camel should now present an even and unencumbered path. At last, after various attempts, by great good fortune, he found a part where, by help of his travelling-staff, he was able to climb up the projecting mass of rock. On the other side he found a spot by which he could, without much danger, descend into a large plain. It seemed to him like the same piece of rock on which he, in the first instance, had got in proceeding from the castle. He was nearly, from this circumstance, led to descend there; but he thought of the warning given to him by the old woman in good time, who had advised him not to fetch water from the bottom, but from the summit, and he accordingly bent his steps upwards. But here the road lay through enormous fragments of rock, choked up at intervals with briars and thorns. At length, after frequently-repeated efforts, he succeeded in journeying on a short distance by the help of his travelling-staff, when a spot presented itself where there was a chasm in the rock, which it was impossible for him to surmount. He was accordingly obliged to turn sideways till he had passed it, in order to follow up his prescribed route. He toiled on with intense exertion, endeavouring to reach the summit of the rock, for more than an hour; but, from various obstacles, had not made any great progress. At last, worn out with fatigue, he sat himself down beneath the shade of an overhanging crag, to recruit his strength, in order to renew the attempt with increased vigour.

Up to this time, through all his wanderings, he had not found a stream from whose source he was able to draw water. He had certainly seen in deep hollows small rivulets issuing from the rock,[30] which by their fall covered the neighbouring plain with white flakes of foam. Still, although he persevered assiduously, he could not discover one spot which he could approach sufficiently near.

He was by this time suffering intensely from thirst; for, notwithstanding the height at which he had arrived, where the cold was more severe than in the hollows beneath, still his anxiety, and his journey upwards beneath the midday sun, had parched his lips, and he had not yet been able to reach a stream at which to moisten them.

"Fool, fool that I am!" exclaimed Jalaladdeen, bitterly; "why should I thus exhaust my strength? If I attain the summit of the hill, I shall meet with no water; or even if I were to find a spring at the top of it, still I should not be able to carry its waters in a rush basket."

He then reasoned with himself whether or not it were better to return; but then the thought flashed across his mind that the words of the old woman had on two previous occasions been fully verified. He therefore determined to follow her advice once more.

"Did she not assure me," said he, "that I should find water enough above me? 'T is passing strange: the streams certainly flow thence, or remain still in their channels."

With this he set forward again on his ascent, and it now appeared that he had advanced much farther than he had been aware of, and in a shorter space of time. He had not proceeded far when he arrived at a spot hollowed out, and sheltered from behind by a large mass of rock. In this cavity was a quantity of snow and ice, which the air at that height could not melt, and to which the rays of the sun could not penetrate through the surrounding masses.

Jalaladdeen laid himself down to rest at the edge of the snow, and refreshed himself with its grateful coolness by taking a small quantity in his hands, and by applying it to his lips. He first of all moistened the exterior of his mouth, and then swallowed a little with great pleasure. This at once solved the mystery of the problem.

"Here," said he, "is a large expanse of snow: the tops of the mountains are covered with it. What is snow but water? and such[31] water I can easily carry in my rush basket; and even if some should melt in the journey, it cannot all dissolve and escape."

He then began immediately to fill the basket with clean snow from the middle of a heap, and to render it more firm, he pressed it together with his hands. As soon as he had filled his basket, he set off joyously on his return; but it seemed as though he must again have taken a different route, as he did not meet in the course of his way one of the thousand obstacles that had impeded his progress on his journey in search of this water.

The last traces of sunlight were fast disappearing in the west when he found himself at the entrance of the castle. Immediately the three brothers advanced to meet him.

"See," said the third, who had imposed this last mission on him, "see, thou hast brought us water in a rush basket."

With these words they ushered him into the interior, and gave him the joyful intelligence that he had now accomplished everything that was necessary to put him in possession of the wonder-stone.

"You must know," said they, "that the wonder-stone is concealed in an iron chest; but the bolt, by lapse of time, is so thoroughly rusted that no power has yet been discovered sufficient to force it back and to disclose the contents. There is, however, a tradition that he who shall be deemed worthy to possess this treasure, and who shall have successfully performed all our commands, shall be endued with power to draw back the bolt—a feat which has been deemed impossible for many hundred years. But, as destiny often depends on circumstances which mortals consider trivial and insignificant, so in this case a combination of materials is requisite, by whose agency alone a sure and happy success can crown our hitherto prosperous attempts. It would, doubtless, be imagined that a rusty bolt might be moved by the application of a little oil or grease, of whatever nature it might be; but in this case nothing save that portion of marrow which is contained in the lion's tail will be efficient, and this, too, must be boiled in water fetched in a rush basket. Nor is this all: the marrow must be applied with three feathers plucked from the left wing of a white eagle, the king of eagles in Eagle Land."[32]

After these words they conducted him into a chamber; in the middle of it stood a large iron chest, whose cover was fastened down by seven strong iron bolts.

"Behold the chest in which the wonder-stone is hid," said they. "Let us proceed to work immediately."

Hereupon they brought in a cauldron, and filled it with snow from the rush basket, and placed it on a fire in the kitchen. The lion's tail was then cut into pieces and thrown into the water; the fat was soon extracted, and floated at the top. Then the first of the three brothers brought in the eagle's wing, and Jalaladdeen was ordered to pluck out the three outside feathers, and with them to anoint the bolts. While he was thus occupied, a drop of the fat fell upon his hands, which he rubbed over them.

"Right, right!" said another brother, who had observed it with great satisfaction; "it is very strengthening to the limbs."

And he accordingly rubbed both his hands and feet, and immediately experienced a pleasurable sensation of new vigour.

Jalaladdeen had been exceedingly fatigued by the toils of the day; nevertheless by this application he felt as recruited as he had on other occasions in consequence of a prolonged and peaceful slumber.

"The marrow has done its work," said the second brother; "it has already unclosed the bolt. Approach, then, and open the chest."

Jalaladdeen bowed, and with great apparent ease withdrew the bolts. As soon as he had lifted up the lid he beheld a beautiful gem, which appeared to be a rare specimen of the onyx. In the middle of it was a golden hook, to which a chain was attached, by which it might be suspended from the neck. Upon the stone was an engraving of an altar, upon which a sacrificial fire was burning, and before it a suppliant family bowed the knee; over this was thrown a white vestment archwise in the form of a rainbow.

"It is," replied the brothers; and continuing, "Hail, thou happy youth!" they exclaimed; "hail, prince! thou wilt shortly be seated on the throne of thy fathers."[33]

"A Prince!" cried Jalaladdeen, in astonishment; "a Prince! My father died at Bagdad, a quiet, retired man, and never in the whole course of my life did I hear him say that he had ever been a King."

"He was a King," exclaimed one of the brothers; "but his subjects made war against him, and drove him into exile; they then elected another Sultan, who sat upon the throne there many years. He is since dead, and the people are not unanimous in raising his daughter to the queenly station. They are divided into two factions, opposed to one another with the most dreadful hatred and animosity. Go thither, and give thy people peace."

"Whither shall I go?" asked Jalaladdeen, anxiously. "How shall I procure myself to be recognized as their lawful monarch?"

"That will be easily accomplished," answered one of the brothers, "by the agency of this wonder-stone. Place the chain round thy neck, and support the gem on thy breast. Now come," said they, as soon as he had complied with this direction; "thou hast no time to spare: refresh thyself, as though for a long journey, with meat and drink, and then set out."

They then conducted him into an adjoining room, and waited upon him themselves; after his repast they handed to him a crystal goblet filled with a liquor most agreeable to his palate, superior to any drink he had formerly tasted.

"Now proceed onward," said they: "this is the first step towards your happiness."

One of them then traced a small cross with his forefinger upon the wall, and immediately there opened a small vaulted chamber.

"What!" said Jalaladdeen, "am I to enter that gloomy hole?" shuddering and involuntarily drawing back, in consequence of the cold damp vapour that issued from it.

"Hand him another goblet to refresh himself," said one of the brothers, and at the same time filling one for him.

Then the third brother presented to him the eagle's wing and the tip of the lion's tail, which had been reserved from the cauldron, and the arrow and lance, too, with which he had killed them.[34]

"I obey," answered Jalaladdeen; "but suffer me before my departure to ask, Who are ye?"

"We are three genii," said they, "sent here by the King of Spirits, as keepers of the mysteries of the holy Mount Massis. But proceed, in order that thou mayest arrive in due time at thy destination." They led him to the opening, and as he was stooping down to enter it, "See," said they, "if thou shouldst return by this way, throw upon the ground this wing of the eagle and the tail of the lion, and call out in a loud voice our names, Arjeh, Neschar, and Mana-Guma. We shall then know what thou requirest."

With these words the passage closed upon him, and he found himself in such dense darkness that there was not a single glimmer of light through the whole space. The ground as he advanced was even, and for the first few steps he could walk upright, so that it did not seem inconvenient. Suddenly, however, he came to a gradual declivity, and after a few steps he felt the bottom sinking beneath his feet. He could no longer remain upright, but sank upon his knees, and eventually sat himself down; for it gave way more and more, and the more he struggled the lower he sank. At last he bent forward with his head laid upon his knee, as he was completely exhausted, in consequence of the rapid though gradual fall of earth. How long he might have been descending he could not tell, as his self-possession had entirely deserted him; and when he recovered himself, he seemed to be just awakening out of a sound sleep. This commotion was suspended for a moment, and he felt the spot on which he was seated rising up again; but it soon descended, and continued to ascend and descend with unceasing force and rapidity. But at times he lost all consciousness, and recovered his recollection again as the motion changed and proceeded downwards. In this manner was he driven from sleeping to waking, overcome with exhaustion and perplexed with the darksomeness of his journey. How long he was in this gloomy passage he knew not: at one time he thought that the journey had been one of several days; but then this could not be so, as he had[35] not even once experienced the cravings of hunger or thirst: as he had not suffered in this particular, he felt convinced that the time that had elapsed was much less, and that it must have appeared so from his total abstinence.

At length he perceived a small gleam of light at the farther end of this way, and by it he observed that he was in a narrow part of a subterranean chamber, which seemed scarcely large enough to admit his body. His movements, however, were so quick that he brought himself nearer and nearer to the light at every step, till at last he succeeded in extricating himself. He found himself standing upon a mount on a spot hitherto unknown to him, which was illumined by the sun from the opposite horizon. Here he remained, gazing joyously around, and breathing now for the first time the pure fresh air.

On a sudden he heard a loud warlike sound at the foot of the hill; and, on a closer inspection, he discovered several companies, ranged in battle order half-way up the hill, and preparing for the attack. Without allowing himself time for reflection, he threw the lion's tail and eagle's wing to the ground, exclaiming at the same time in a loud voice the names of the three genii of Mount Massis, "Arjeh, Neschar, Mana-Guma!"

Scarcely had he uttered the last word, when he found himself mounted upon a noble white steed with a black tail, the arrow in his left hand, and the spear in his right; and without his taking hold of the reins, which were ornamented with gold and precious stones, the tractable steed flew along the hill rapidly, and bore him safely between the two contending factions.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Jalaladdeen in a tone of anger to both parties, who immediately ceased their hostile contentions, through their amazement at the sudden appearance of the stranger horseman. "What is the cause of this deadly feud?"

At these words a joyous train of voices proceeded from the band upon his right hand; and the combatants immediately threw down their weapons, exclaiming,

"This, this is he who shall bring peace to our people! This is[36] the appointed Sultan! Lo! it was prophesied that he should appear upon a white horse with a black tail, upon the longest day of the year. Hail, Sultan! all hail!"

Upon this the commander of the company approached Jalaladdeen with submission, bending before him with his arms crossed upon his breast; and the troops threw themselves upon the earth, each one bowing low with his forehead to the dust.

Hereupon the leader of the opposite faction sprang forward, crying out, "Down with them! down with them!"

But Jalaladdeen's horse turned towards him instinctively, and bore him to the band.

"Why would you prolong the strife and contest?" cried he. "What is your complaint?"

"They carry arms for Gulnaschare," was the answer. "Dost thou not know that a young maiden dares to rule over a people of warlike customs—that she arrogates to herself a right to the throne, alleging that thus it hath been decreed she should reign until the son of the late banished Sultan shall appear, who is the appointed one to share the sovereignty? Canst thou be such a stranger in the country as to be ignorant of the prediction of the prophet and the astrologers? and how she has led her subjects into grievous error, to the effect that the Prince Jalaladdeen would appear in a wonderful manner in the country on the longest day of the year, and fall upon his enemies with the strength of a lion and the swiftness of an eagle?"

Upon this Jalaladdeen cried out aloud, "The people have not been led into error, nor have they been deceived; they have heard the truth. Behold, I am Jalaladdeen; and if ye do not all, to a man, cease from your hostilities, ye shall be made to feel the strength of the lion and the swiftness of the eagle."

But the leader of the party said, "What! hast thou suffered thyself to be deceived, and to be made an advocate of the imposition? Now our arms must decide it."

At these words they pressed upon him and drew near, when Jalaladdeen wielded his lance with the swiftness of lightning, and with extraordinary strength and courage beat them off, one after[37] the other. His steed gave a joyous neigh, and bounded forward among the crowd; while the troops of Gulnaschare followed after him, seeing his perilous position.

When the enemy saw their leader weltering in his blood, and the courageous youth heading their antagonists, they fled in disorder; some even threw their arms from them, and surrendered at discretion.

Jalaladdeen and his troops pursued the fugitives; but so fleet was his steed, that he found himself alone in the midst of the flying, while his band had not yet come up. As soon as the enemy perceived this, they surrounded him and enclosed him in a large circle. In this emergency the swiftness of the eagle and the strength of the lion proved necessary to him; and his steed, as though endued with reason, turned itself about continually, shooting quick glances like lightning from its eyeballs, so that Jalaladdeen could perceive every man in the circle who stood near him. In this manner he struck them to the ground, or shot them through before they had determined upon their method of attack, or could see through his manœuvres. But, to his astonishment, he found that he had a fresh arrow in his hand after every shot from his bow. In a short time there was a large circle of killed and wounded round him. At length his own army arrived; and the enemy again took to flight. Jalaladdeen pursued after them again, to a narrow pass, whence there was no escape. Here they threw themselves upon their faces, and humbly sought for mercy. Jalaladdeen then proceeded to the capital of the country, followed by his warriors, and accompanied by a train of many thousand prisoners and captured foes.

The news of his appearance upon the hill, and the account of the victory which he had subsequently gained, had already reached the city; and the elders poured out to the gate to meet him. The prophets and astrologers also flocked together to welcome him as the appointed Sultan, and to escort him to the royal palace. The streets through which they passed were magnificently decorated; and the joy of the populace was such as greets an ancient and once loved lord on his entry into his capital.[38]

In the palace yard the upper officers of the household, the servants of the Court, and the slaves, were drawn up to welcome him with becoming respect. Here he dismounted from his horse, passed up the steps, and proceeded through the colonnades and antechambers which led to the throne-room, where Gulnaschare was seated, surrounded by a splendid retinue.

The royal maiden rose from her throne at his entrance; but how amazed and confused was Jalaladdeen! She was not altogether unknown to him; for he now saw before him in reality the young maid who had been so often present to him in his dreams, out of which he had been so repeatedly roused by the old woman belabouring him with her crutch. She gazed upon him with an affectionate smile; and as he drew near, she descended the steps of her throne, extended to him the golden sceptre, and touched him with the point of it.

Jalaladdeen was too confused to reply to her; but the gem suspended from his neck assured her as to his identity.

"That is it," said she, in continuation. "The possession of that stone proves thee destined to become my husband, and to reign over the vast empire of the Moguls, from which thou, with thy father, wast banished in thine early days."

She then took him by the hand, led him up the steps, and seated him upon the throne, bent before him, and delivered the sceptre into his hand.

"Behold," said she to the surrounding multitude, "behold your rightful sovereign! It was written in the book of fate that Janghiz his father should, in consequence of his covetousness, be driven into exile by my father Khamar; then that the innocent son, after many severe proofs and labours imposed by the King of Spirits, if deemed worthy, should share the throne with me."

"He has been tried, and is found worthy!" exclaimed all the prophets and astrologers.

"Hail to him! hail, Sultan!" immediately burst from the lips of all present in the palace; and the multitudes in the streets and approaches reiterated the shout.[39]

"Heartily do I thank Allah and the Prophet that my fate has taken so wondrous and happy a turn; but, above all, I prize my good fortune in becoming the husband of this amiable Princess."

"Didst thou so often wish for me when I, in the guise of an old woman, roused thee night after night from thy peaceful slumbers and happy dreams with my crutch?"

"Passing strange, perchance, it may seem; but nevertheless it is so: all things are possible to the King of Spirits, which mortal mind can barely comprehend."

The marriage ceremony was now ordered to take place; and one festivity followed another; happiness, and joy, and peace, reigned together.

Jalaladdeen ruled for many years over the kingdom of the Moguls, and enlarged it by many prosperous conquests; he brought it to a state of peace and tranquillity which it had never experienced in former years, and which, after his death, it did not long enjoy.

The Story of Haschem.

CHAPTER I.

THE LOST SON.

ore than a thousand years ago, there lived in the famous city of Bagdad a man called Naima, who, although he was now grey with age, had still the lusty strength of earlier days. The opening of his life was devoted to trade; and in pursuit of it he made many journeys, by which he not only gained great intellectual treasures and experiences, but also acquired property, which afforded him, not certainly the means for extravagant expenditure, but still sufficient to live in comfort. He had the good sense and wisdom to be satisfied with such moderate possessions, and to enjoy them in peaceful quiet—labouring meanwhile for the improvement[41] of his only son. Many of his acquaintance, however, sought to amass greater wealth, forgetting, as it would seem, that by such constant efforts, life itself, after its meridian, would be but lost without some new and higher enjoyment. The city of Mossul was his home in early days; but he quitted it, and took up his abode in Bagdad, partly owing to the suggestions of a friend with whom he had been on the most intimate and confidential terms from his youth—partly, too, for the sake of the education of his son, as he expected that a residence in that city would produce worthy and lasting impressions on the mind of the young man.

Bagdad was, at this time, under the rule of the famed Caliph Haroun al Raschid, and was the resort of strangers from all parts of the globe, where artists and sages of that country mingled among those of the neighbouring lands. Nor had Naima conceived a vain expectation. His son Haschem was a young man gifted with good natural abilities, and endowed with a pure unsullied heart. He used every opportunity which chance threw in his way to extend his knowledge, cultivate his mind, or to improve his disposition; nor was he deficient in bodily exercises and warlike accomplishments; so that through good discipline he became powerful in body and strong in mind. He was, therefore, as was natural enough, not only the joy and pride of his father, but was loved and esteemed by all who knew him, and was often pointed out by the elders, to others of his own age, as an example worthy of imitation. As the father saw his greatest treasure in the person of his only son, so he, with all the fervour of a well-directed mind, clung to his father.

Some years passed over them in this mutual love, heightened still more by the companionship of their friend Saad, and their happiness was full and uninterrupted. It chanced one day that Naima and Saad were taking their accustomed walk in the princely gardens adjoining the city in front of the gate. The heat of the summer's day had been diminished by a gentle rain, and the two strolled on in happy conversation, and extended their walk beyond its ordinary length. The last gardens were already left behind them, and they wandered on over green meadow-land; behind a little wood, at the entrance of which stood high palms, whose[42] shadows invited to repose. A fresh spring gushed from a neighbouring rock, and meandered sparkling among the verdant herbage and variegated flowers.

The two friends lay down in the shade, and conversed on the dangers to which the most virtuous men are subject, and how easily one may, through passion, be led into a false step, if he allow himself to confide in his own firmness of purpose.

"I have known men," continued Saad, "who, although among the best and noblest whom I have ever known in the course of my life, were led unawares, by too great self-confidence, to an action which they might easily have avoided by a little caution, but which has been the beginning of a long chain of transgressions and vices, ending in their complete ruin."

Naima maintained that a heart accustomed from early youth to virtue would, on the contrary, not be easily led to commit a serious fault; and even if it should happen so, that it would readily find its way back from a slight error to the right road.

They talked still longer on these subjects, each endeavouring to confirm his assertions by examples. Haschem, stretched beside them, listened with attention to their instructive conversation; but suddenly he sprang to his feet, and ran quickly up the woody hill, at the foot of which they were reposing. Saad and his father looked after him with astonishment, as they could not comprehend what had occasioned his sudden departure. Then they saw that a little bird, as white as snow, was flying before him, which he was trying to catch. He was soon lost to their view among the bushes; they cried to him, and begged him to come back—but in vain. They waited for a quarter of an hour, and still Haschem did not return. Uneasy as to what had become of him, they advanced in the direction in which he had disappeared; but they could discover nothing. They called his name: the wood echoed it. At last the sun set; then said Saad,

"Let us return home: your son is a robust and strong young man; he will easily find his way back into the city. Perhaps he has gone home some other way."

After long opposition, the father was at last persuaded to return[43] without his son; but he was still full of anxiety, which no arguments could overcome. When they arrived at the city, his friend accompanied him to his house. They entered hastily, and inquired for Haschem; but he had not returned. Saad's hopes were of no more avail; Naima would no longer listen to him, but weeping, threw himself on his couch. Saad rebuked him for this weakness, and represented to him that it might easily have happened that the young man had lost his way in the pursuit of the bird, and could not recover the track.

"He has certainly found a shelter where he will remain till morning," continued he; "he will return here early to-morrow, and will laugh heartily at your unmanly spirit and desponding grief."

When Saad was gone Naima gave free scope to his feelings. He wept aloud, tore his beard, and threw himself upon the ground, like a madman. The servants and slaves of the house stood around in motionless astonishment, as they were not accustomed to see their master exhibiting such passionate emotion; others sought to console him, but fruitlessly; so they cried and bewailed with him for his dear son, who was beloved by them all. After a sleepless night, the afflicted father was not at all quieted. He wished early in the morning to send messengers in all directions; but Saad, who had come to hear if the lost one had returned home, explained to him how foolish this step would be.

"Remember," said he, "that your Haschem has most probably found a night's lodging, and slept better than you. If he had set out on his way at daybreak, he could not be here now; and if you send these messengers after him, he may perhaps come home by a shorter path, while they will be searching for him in vain. Wait, at least, till noon."

Naima yielded: he appointed the messengers to be ready at noon, and in the meanwhile walked through the gardens and in the country round about the city, where they had been on the preceding day. His friend accompanied him, although he pointed out that Haschem might, in the interval, have reached home while they were walking, and that he was thus perhaps giving himself more grief than was necessary.[44]

"I have given up to you in the rest," replied Naima; "let me at least in this instance have my own will, that I may walk here."

They went together to the fountain in the rock near the palms; they climbed the neighbouring heights; they called the name of the lost one in all directions; but no sound was heard in reply. At noon they went home, and asked all they met if they had not seen a young man, whom they accurately described. Nobody could give them any information about him. Naima now sent out his messengers in all directions; to each he promised a rich reward, but tenfold to that one who should lead the lost one back to his arms. They set out joyfully, each one hoping to gain the tenfold sum, and they all intended to return home in the evening; but these hopes were disappointed. Naima with earnest desire expected them in the evening; none came. At last a few returned on the third day. They had gone a day's journey in the appointed direction, had sought everywhere, had described the wanderer to all they had met, but none had seen him. The rest of the messengers also returned, one by one, and none had discovered the least trace of him. The hopes of the sorrowing father had almost disappeared: only one of the dispatched messengers was not yet come back. Although it was probable that this one might remain away without success, he still clung to the hope that he at least might discover a trace of his son, who had disappeared in so unaccountable a manner. But when this last messenger returned on the tenth day, and reported that all his researches had been without success, the parent's grief knew no bounds. His friend Saad stood by him comforting him, and inquired, together with all his friends, whether no tidings could be learned of Haschem. He could not have been killed, for then his corpse would have been found; he had no cause to conceal himself; he could not have been attacked by enemies, as he had none: might he, in the pursuit of the bird, have been led to the brink of the stream, and have thrown himself in, and been carried away by the waves? Scarcely did the possibility of this idea arise, when two messengers were dispatched to each side of the river to make fresh search, from its junction with the Euphrates above Balsora to the spot where it flows into the[45] Arabian Sea, to ascertain if the corpse of Haschem had been washed ashore. But these messengers also returned to the anxious father, and had not found what they sought. Now the father and his friend gave up Haschem for lost; Naima's manly spirit was broken; grief for his lost son shortened his life; he soon became old: all joy had by this time fled from his mind; and his sorrow was only a little alleviated when his faithful friend Saad sat by him in the evening, talked with him of his son, relating the virtues by which he had been distinguished, and told him how it had been his darling wish that this excellent young man should marry his daughter Zoraine.

CHAPTER II.

THE SYMPATHIZING RULER.

In a few days the Caliph Haroun al Raschid went, as he was accustomed, in disguise, with his Grand Vizier Giafar, and Mesrour his Chamberlain, through the streets of Bagdad, to see with his own eyes and to hear with his own ears how justice and order were maintained by his servants, and whether his people were happy and prosperous. He had, as usual, chosen the last hour of the evening for this walk, because he thought that at this time he could look deeper into men's joys and pleasures, as they had then ended their daily toils, and were seeking comfort and repose in the bosom of their family. In his progress he came to a street distinguished by peculiar silence and quiet. As he approached a house, before the door of which two men were standing whispering, Haroun al Raschid addressed them with these words:

"Why do you whisper, as if you were concerting a crime? is not this street lonely enough, that you cannot hold your discourse aloud? Can you tell me why this street is so quiet, as though every inhabitant were dead?"

"I can easily tell you, my lord," answered one of the whisperers: "here, in the next house, lives the unfortunate Naima, and, as usual at this hour, his friend Saad sits with him to console him.[46] Now, all the inhabitants of this street respect this man, and wish not to remind him, by any outburst of joy, that happier men than himself live in his neighbourhood."

Before the Caliph could answer him, he turned away and went into the house, and the other followed him.

"Have you ever heard of this unfortunate Naima before?" asked Haroun al Raschid of his Grand Vizier; and as he answered in the negative, he said, "Let us rap at the door of the next house, where this Naima dwells; perhaps we may discover the cause of his sorrow."

They drew near, and saw the light from the inner court shining through a crevice. The Caliph placed his eye at this crevice, and after he had watched for some time, he beckoned his followers to him, and said, "Two grey-headed men are sitting in this court by a lamp, and one seems to be comforting the other; but this latter continues to weep more bitterly. Both seem of the same rank; and I am desirous to know what sorrow oppresses the unfortunate Naima. Order him to appear at my palace early to-morrow morning; perhaps it may be in my power to lighten his calamity."

The next day the Grand Vizier executed his commission. Naima was frightened when his presence was required at the palace. He was led into the great hall where the divan usually assembled; but he was quite alone there when the servants had left him. He reviewed the whole of his past life, to see if he had sinned in any way so as to bring on him the displeasure of the righteous Caliph; for he knew that Haroun al Raschid often, in a mysterious manner, discovered the faults of his subjects, and punished them accordingly. But he could not call to mind any deed of which he, felt ashamed, nor any that deserved punishment. Whilst he was thus meditating, a curtain was drawn back, and the Caliph entered, followed by his Vizier and his Chamberlain. Naima rose from the ground, and bowed with his head even to the carpet on which the Caliph stood.

"Naima," said the Caliph, "a heavy weight of grief oppress you; and by the anxiety which your neighbours manifest to show respect for the sorrows of your soul, I must consider you as a man of great[47] worth. I wish to know the cause of your despondency: will you confess it before these two witnesses, or would you rather confide to me alone the reason of your tears?"

"Ruler of the Faithful," answered Naima, "sorrow is great and deep in my soul; but still the cause of it is unworthy to distract for a moment the attention of the Caliph from the cares of his kingdom."

But Haroun al Raschid answered, "That which fills the heart of the meanest of my subjects with such grief that it consumes his life is not unworthy of my care. When I am careful for my whole kingdom, this care extends to each individual; if, then, I am careful for one, this one is a member of the whole, and thus my care is not lost. But speak, what is the cause of your sorrow and your tears?"

Then Naima recounted the mysterious disappearance of his son; how he had sought for him everywhere, and how all trouble had been useless, so that all his messengers had returned home without the least trace of him. "I must therefore weep for him as one that is dead"—thus he ended his relation; "and tears, perhaps, might appease my sorrow, if at the same time a ray of hope did not dart through my heart that possibly he is still alive; but where does he live, if indeed he be still alive? This ray of hope keeps the wound in the father's heart always open."

"You have real cause for grief," answered the Caliph, "and I comprehend that the uncertainty of your son's fate must be as terrible to bear as would be the mournful certainty of his death. You did wrong in not applying to me before: my power extends not only over believers, but also in foreign lands. Other kings and rulers I have as my servants, whose eyes see for me, whose ears hear for me, and whose hands perform what is necessary for my pleasure. That which was not possible to yourself, your friends, and your servants to accomplish, might perhaps have been easy to me. Now go home, and believe that you shall obtain news of your son, if he lives on the earth, in any land where my power can reach."

With these words he dismissed him, after he had first inquired the marks by which his lost son might be recognized.[48]

When Naima again sat with his friend Saad in the evening, he related to him the gracious and comforting words of the Caliph. Saad perceived that hope was again revived in his friend's heart, and that he confidently trusted to find his son. He thought it therefore his duty to damp this hope, and said,

"Beloved friend, I have once heard a speech, which by its truth sank deeply in my memory: it is, 'Trust not in princes; they are but men.' The moral of which is, that the mightiest on earth are subject to fate. If the Caliph have influence in distant lands, it must be in a confined and narrow limit. That which is but a span distant is under the control of all-governing fate, even from the meanest slave to the Ruler of the Faithful."

But if the power of Haroun al Raschid were bounded by the immensity of fate, yet he did all he could to fulfil the hope he had raised in Naima's heart. He gave a commission to all his servants in his kingdom, high and low, and to his ambassadors in the neighbouring kingdoms, and even sent into distant lands, with the princes of which he was friendly, and on the same day dispatched messengers with the charge to search for Haschem with all diligence, and gave them a description how they might recognize him if they found him. But week after week passed away, month after month, and even a whole year elapsed, without intelligence being received either of the life or death of the lost one. So all hope of finding him now deserted the father for ever.

CHAPTER III.

THE CAPTIVE.

Haschem was not dead; he still lived, but in such retirement that it was impossible to discover his abode. He followed the snow-white bird till evening, without clearly knowing why: he was induced to think he could catch the curious creature, particularly as it flew at such a moderate height from the ground, and so slowly that he hoped quickly to reach it. The tardiness of[49] its flight made him conjecture that it must have a defect in its wing: he often stretched out his hand to it, and drew near it, but the bird again raised its wings, and flew a little in advance. Haschem now felt himself tired, and would have given up the pursuit, but the bird also seemed fatigued; he approached it, but again the bird flew a little farther off. In this chase he reached a hill, which he climbed; he was now in a narrow meadow-valley, which he ran along; twilight came, but the snow-white colour of the bird still lighted him on. At last the pursued bird perched in a thicket; he hastened to it, but when he closed his hand to take his prisoner, it flew away, leaving only one feather of its tail behind, which he had tightly grasped; still he saw it through the twilight flying before him, and he hastened after it. The bird seemed now to quicken its pace; and as he followed and had once nearly caught it, he continued the pursuit with more eagerness: he ran through the high grass, and with his strained sight fixed on this glimmering white object, he saw nothing else. Thus he came unexpectedly to a little dam which lay across his path; he jumped in and tried to climb the other side, but it was so steep that he fell in with some of the crumbling earth: while the water rushed over his head he lost all consciousness. When he came to himself, he lay on the turf, and a tall, grey-headed man, of strange appearance, stood before him, clothed in a long black robe, which reached to his ankles, and was fastened by a glittering girdle of a fiery colour. Instead of a turban, he wore a high pointed cap on his head, at the end of which was a tassel of the same hue as the girdle.

"Has your life returned to you?" he asked: "you deserved to be suffocated in the mud. Come, we must go farther before daylight quite leaves us."

With these words he raised him from the ground, passed his left arm round his body, and flew with him through the air as quickly as an arrow. Haschem again momentarily lost recollection: it is not known how long he remained in this condition. He awoke at last as from a deep sleep; and as he looked around, the first thing he recognized was a cage of gold wire, which hung from the ceiling by a long golden chain, and within was the snow-white bird he[50] had so long followed. He found himself alone with this bird in a hall, the roof of which was supported on pillars of white marble, and the walls were built of smooth pale-green stones. The openings to the windows were skilfully contrived with so many windings and narrow gratings, that even the white bird could have found no space to pass through, even if it had escaped from the cage. Beside one wall stood a crystal urn; and from this fell a stream of clear water, which, passing over the curved brim of the urn, dripped into a white basin beneath, from which it disappeared unseen.

Whilst he observed this, and wondered what had happened to him, and how he came there, he suddenly heard the old man in the black robe enter from behind a curtain. He carried a small golden box in his hand, and approached him with these words:

"You have now caught the white bird; you now have it in a cage: in this box is food for it, and there is water; take diligent care of it, and mind that it does not escape."

As he said this he disappeared. Haschem now arose and walked round the hall: he looked through the windows, and ascertained that he must be in a foreign land, as the forms of the mountains and trees were quite different to any he had before seen. The hall seemed high, as if it were the upper storey of a lofty tower. No other edifice was to be seen, and from the windows he could not distinguish the trees and plants which bloomed beneath. He drew the curtain aside, and discovered an outlet; but there was a thick metal door which he could not open. He was now very much embarrassed, for he began to feel hungry, and could find nothing that would serve him for food. He examined the walls, to see if he could discover any concealed outlet. He tried to open the windows, that he might put his head out to see if there was anybody in the building beneath, to whom he might cry out. There was no door: he could not open the windows; and as far as he could stretch his sight in every direction, he could see nobody. He threw himself in despair on the pillow on which he recovered his consciousness, and wrung his hands, and wept, and cried,

"I am, then, imprisoned—imprisoned in a dungeon where splendour[51] and riches are lavished around! Of what avail is it that these walls are built of precious stones? that this lattice is of fine gold? that this cage is of gold, and hangs on a golden chain? I am as much a prisoner behind golden lattices as I should be behind iron."

As hunger pinched him still more, he cried out, "How much rather would I be in the vilest prison, with the coarsest food, than be confined in this splendid hall, where I must die of hunger!"

Then he again called out of the lattices, in hopes that his voice might be heard, and aid brought; but nobody appeared, and no one answered him. When he again threw himself, weeping, on his couch, after such useless attempts, he observed that the white bird fluttered restlessly in its prison, and pecked on the golden dish, where food was placed, without finding any.

"Poor brother in misfortune!" said Haschem, "you shall not suffer want; I will take care of you: come, I will bring you assistance."

He took the pans from the cage, and filled one with water from the urn, the other with grain from the gold box which the old man had given him. Scarcely had he hung the last on the cage, when, on turning round, he saw a table behind him covered with costly viands. He was astonished, and could not understand how all this had happened; but still it was not long before he attacked the meats with the zest of a young man who has fasted for several days. Although these viands were altogether different from those he had been accustomed to taste in his father's house, still they all appeared excellent. He ate till he was fully satisfied, and then took a golden cup from the table, with which he quenched his thirst with pure water from the urn. Afterwards he threw himself on a couch and fell asleep.

When he awoke, he felt strong and well. He arose and walked round the hall, and he then observed that the table with the meats had disappeared. This did not please him, as he had thought to make a good supper of the remainder. He did not allow this, however, to trouble him much, as he was now sure that he was not to die of hunger. He had now leisure enough to examine his[52] prison more closely. He searched all anew pillars, walls, and floor; but he could nowhere find a crevice or a fissure: all was fast and whole. His view from the windows did not allow him to make any discovery: he only saw that he was very far from the earth, and in a spacious valley. Mountains were to be seen in the distance, with curiously pointed summits: the nearest offered no change of prospect, and the farthest was too distant to raise his spirits by its contemplation: it was a high, wearisome abode. As soon as he had completed this examination, and found there was nothing to occupy him, he turned his attention to the white bird in the cage. Here was still life; and if the cage was narrow, yet the prisoner could hop about on the different perches. Soon it remained still, and looked at him with its bright eyes; and it seemed as if sense and speech lay in these eyes, only the interpretation was wanting. Night put an end to these reflections.

On the next morning he observed that the bird again wanted food. He filled its seed-box with grain from the golden box, and gave it fresh water from the urn. Scarcely had he done this, when the table, covered with meats, again stood in the same place as the day before. This day passed like the former, and the following in the same manner. Haschem wept and mourned, took care of the little bird, fed it, and was every time rewarded in the same manner with the table covered with dishes, as soon as he had filled the bird's seed-box. He could not perceive who brought the table, nor how it disappeared. It always came when he stood beside the cage with his back turned, and without any noise.

On the ninth day the old man suddenly appeared to him, and said, "To-day is a day of repose for you: you have performed your duty during the preceding days in giving the bird its food; now you may amuse yourself in the garden till evening."

He led him through a door into a narrow passage, at the end of which they descended twenty steps. Then he opened a small metal trap-door, and Haschem again descended twenty steps more. They came to a similar door; and after descending twenty more steps to another, and so on, till after passing the ninth door, they found themselves in the open air.[53]

"Remain here till you are called," said the old man, who went back into the building through the same doors, which he shut after him.

Haschem was very curious to examine more closely the building in which he had been imprisoned: he therefore went round it, and narrowly observed it. It was a tower of nine storeys, each about fifteen feet in height. The tower had nine angles and nine flat walls; in each storey were three windows, so contrived that for every two walls without a window, the third had one. These windows were not directly over one another in the storeys, but alternate; so that only three appeared in each wall. This distribution of regularity and order reigned throughout the whole building. The walls were made of large pieces of gold, quite as smooth as glass, like large stones; and these were so skilfully put together that, even when closely looked at, the joints could not be discovered. The lattices of the windows were all of gold, like those in the upper hall, and the lower doors through which he had passed were of a yellow metal, inclining to green.

All these considerations were not calculated to lessen his conviction that no man could possibly find him out in such a prison. Suddenly a new hope awoke in him.

"I am no longer shut up in the tower," said he to himself; "here I am in the open air, in a garden: I can clamber and jump like a monkey. I may possibly find some outlet from this garden, by which I can escape."

He immediately turned from the tower, and hastened through the gardens, seeking freedom; but he soon discovered that this hope was vain. With a few steps he reached the end of the garden, and stood before a gate of lattice-work of strong smooth iron bars, so close together that he could scarcely pass his arm through. He tried to climb it by holding by the upper bars with his hands; but his feet slipped on the smooth iron, and he hurt his knee so much that, in consequence of not being able to bear the pain, he fell backwards on the earth. He now examined the lattice closely to see if there were no means of escape; but all was in vain—everywhere the bars were high, thick, and like polished glass. Mournfully[54] he wandered round the garden: the sun's rays darting down scorched up the grass, and he sought some shade where he might screen himself from their influence. He lay down on a neighbouring mossy bank, and meditated anew on his fate. Besides his own grief at his imprisonment, the thought of his father's sorrow at his loss pained him. The exhaustion consequent on his tears and loud lamentations, joined with the noontide heat, at last caused him to fall into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the table covered with meats was again before him: he ate, and wandered anew mournfully through the garden, meditating whether he could not make a ladder from the trees around him, to aid him in his escape over the lattice. But there was something wanting for this work: he had not even a dagger or a pocket-knife. During these thoughts the old man appeared, and said,

He led him again to the upper room of the tower, and locked the metal door upon him.

There was no change observable in his prison—only the bird seemed harassed and mournful: it sat quiet and still on the lowest perch; its plumage was rough, and its eyes dull.

It seemed as if the bird was affected by these sympathizing questions; but it soon sank again into its former dejection. He mused long upon this.

The next day and the following ones passed like the former; but on the ninth the old man again appeared, led him into the garden, and at night conducted him back into the hall. He took care of the bird; and as soon as he had given it food and water, he always found the table covered with meats behind him. In the intervals he stood at the lattice of one of the three windows looking on the plain below, earnestly hoping to catch sight of some person to free him from his captivity.

In such monotonous employment many months passed away. Every ninth day the old man appeared, and gave him leave to walk in the garden; but he did not derive much amusement from[55] his strolls in this narrow enclosure. In the meantime he asked the old man many times the reason of his imprisonment, and how long it was to last. No answer was vouchsafed but these words: "Every man has his own fate. This is thine."

CHAPTER IV.

THE DELIVERANCE.

One day the old man appeared and led him into the garden; but he had not been there more than a quarter of an hour, when he returned, called him in, and then quickly retired with marks of disquietude. Haschem also remarked that the white bird, which he loved more every day, sat at the bottom of its cage, more mournful than usual after his visit. He drew near, and observed a little door, which he had never before seen. He examined it closely, and found a fine bolt which passed into a ring of gold wire. These were made so skilfully, like concealed ornaments, that nobody could have discovered them if his attention had not been drawn to them by accident. Haschem pushed back the bolt and opened the door; the bird moved as if some sudden joy had seized it, hopped out, and as soon as it touched the floor, it was transformed, and in its stead a young maiden stood before Haschem, clothed in a white silk robe; beautiful dark locks streamed over her neck and shoulders, and a thin fragrant veil fell over them, fastened to a forehead-band set with precious stones; her finely-formed countenance was as white as ivory, relieved by the softest shade of a rose.

Surprised and astonished, Haschem started back and said, "By the beard of the Prophet, I conjure you to tell me whether you are of human race, or whether you belong to the genii?"

"I am a weak maiden," said she, "and implore you to deliver me from the hands of this cruel magician. I will reward you handsomely for it. Know, I am the only daughter of Kadga Singa, King of Selandia; and this wicked enchanter has cunningly carried[56] me off from my father's palace, and shut me up in this cage. He has one son, as ugly as night, whom he wishes me to take for my husband. Every ninth day he comes, brings him with him, and praises his excellent qualities—presses me for my consent, and threatens me with cruel tortures if I give it not at the next new moon. On that day he will have kept me a year in imprisonment, and longer than a year he says he will not wait, and still give good words: then will the time of my punishment begin. I conjure you, therefore, to help me!"

"Noble royal maiden," answered Haschem, "how willingly would I help you! but, alas, I am only a weak man, and cannot free myself. But tell me—how is it possible? You say the enchanter brings his hateful son with him: why, then, have I never seen him?"

"Well," pursued Haschem, "the son could not conceal himself from me on the steps, or in the narrow passage."

The Princess related to him that the young man was every time a white bird, like herself; that the enchanter put him into the cage with her, and that she felt such a dislike to him that she always fluttered about the cage to avoid getting near him; but that he, with his contrary friendly feeling, would follow her and settle confidingly near her.

"Oh," she continued, "you must have remarked how tired and mournful I always was when you returned on the ninth day."

Haschem, astonished at this explanation, assured her of his willingness to help her, but bewailed his helplessness. But the Princess would not give up hopes of their safety.

"It seems to me," said she, "a good omen that the enchanter has to-day received a message which caused him to leave so early and in such haste that he did not securely close the cage, and that[57] you returned so early to-day from the garden. This day is my birthday, the only day that I can be delivered from the magician's power. On any other day I should still have remained a dumb bird if you had freed me from my cage; only on this day has my touching the floor restored me to my natural form: the enchantment lies in the cage."

Haschem then seized the cage, and said, "If it be so, we will break the enchantment." He threw the cage to the ground, stamped on it with his feet till it was quite flat and its shape no longer distinguishable, then he rolled it together, and threw it into a corner of the hall.

At this moment a frightful noise resounded through the air like violent thunder, a gale of wind seemed to shake the hall, and suddenly the doors opened, the curtains were drawn aside, and the magician stood before them with a countenance full of anger.

"Ah!" cried he, "weak worms, what have you presumed to do? How did you learn to break my charm in this manner? Who bid you destroy the cage?"

Haschem, terrified, could answer nothing. Then the enchanter turned to the Maiden, and cried,

"And you, you thought this miserable worm could defend you against my power: I will show you how useless it is to oppose me."

He felt in the pocket of his black robe, and pulled out a thin box. This he opened, and a white bird flew out and perched on the table. Then he took a small box from his girdle and opened it: it was filled with grains of millet. From these he took one, laid it before the bird, who had scarcely eaten it before such a distorted man stood in its place, that both Haschem and the Princess screamed aloud. His head was large and thick, his eyes red and dark, his nose small and pressed quite flat, his lips thick and bluish-red, his chin broad and projecting, and on his head grew a few stiff white hairs; a hump grew out of his breast, and a similar one from his back, and his shoulders were quite drawn up: his head was so jammed between them that his ears could not be seen. His head and upper part of his body were so unshapely, and his legs so weak and thin, that it was wonderful how they supported him: he[58] tottered about incessantly, balancing himself first on one leg, then on the other.

"Go in, my son," said the enchanter to this misformed creature: "behold! there is your bride. She does not wish to wait till the new moon, which I fixed upon for your betrothal: to-day she has effected her change by the help of this friend. Go, my son, give your bride a kiss, and then thank this young man."

The deformed creature approached the Princess with a horrible fiendish laugh. She averted her face with disgust, and stretched out her arms, motioning him away. And now courage returned to Haschem. Resolved to venture all, he stepped before the Princess, and gave the deformity such a blow that he reeled. He instantly assumed the form of a terrible dragon; but Haschem, drawing a scimitar which he still wore, cut him down. He fell with such violence on the corner of the pedestal of one of the marble pillars that it was broken to pieces: a stream of blood flowed from the wound, and, resuming his former shape, the monster gave a hollow groan. Now Haschem thought of the father's rage and revenge, and gave up his life for lost. But the enchanter stood quite confounded as he observed his son's mortal wound; then, threw himself down beside him, and examined it, and wrung his hands, forgetting his revenge in his sorrow. Haschem quickly seized the hand of the Princess, and led her through the door and down the steps. All the doors were open, and they fortunately came into the garden. Soon they stood before the lattice of the iron wicket, which was closed to them.

"Of what use is our flight?" said Haschem; "we are still in the power of the enchanter; and even if we were on the other side of the wicket, and concealed ourselves in the deepest cavern, he would discover us by his knowledge, and wreak his vengeance on us."

"I am of a different opinion," said the Princess. "I know there are things of which men think little, but on which the superior power of the magician depends. It appears to me that if we could get out of this place, we should be safe."

They went farther, and came to a spot where many trees had been uprooted by a hurricane. One of these lay overturned, with[59] its crown resting on the lattice, and its boughs and branches hanging far over the other side. At this sight the young man rejoiced: he climbed quickly up the trunk, pulled the Princess after him, and led her with great care and tenderness into the crown of the tree. They then clambered over the spiked top of the wicket, and let themselves down on the other side by the overhanging branches. They did not quite reach to the ground, but near enough for them to leap down: when they let go their hands, they fell softly to the earth. They quickly jumped up, and proceeded as rapidly as the strength of the Princess and the unknown way would allow them through the thickets, underwood, and plains studded with prickly plants, towards the distant mountains.

After the two fugitives had continued their flight for several successive hours without looking back on the scene of their imprisonment, the Princess felt her strength exhausted, and could go no farther; she begged her companion to repose for a short time. Haschem sought a place free from bushes, and clad with moss and long grass. They seated themselves there, and Haschem entreated her to relate her history. She was soon ready, and commenced thus:

"My early history is very simple and unimportant. I am called Handa, the only daughter of the Sultan of the island Selandia. My mother was brought from beyond Arabia and Mount Caucasus over the wide-stretching sea, and was sold to him as a slave. Soon attracted by her excessive beauty and pleasing manners, he raised her to the dignity of his principal wife. My earliest youth was spent in pleasing sports under my mother's eyes. She died before I had passed the age of childhood, as the change from the mild climate of her land to the heat of my father's shortened her days. After the loss of my mother, which did not much affect me, as I was too young to feel it, I enjoyed many happy days. My father loved me as his greatest treasure, and was wise enough to confide me to a careful nurse. Every evening I passed several hours with him, as soon as he was released from the cares of government, and one whole day in each week he devoted to conversation with me. We then went together in a light bark to a neighbouring promontory,[60] where he had a beautiful palace and gardens. The air there blew cooler and more refreshing, the trees and shrubs were clothed with fresher green than in the shut-up garden in the capital, and we passed the whole day in the open air. In the meantime I had outgrown childhood, and was beloved by a Prince, the son of a neighbouring King, to whom I was betrothed, and who was to succeed my father in his kingdom. This Prince, whose name was Mundian Oppu, also often took part in these visits to the castle on the promontory.

"It happened one day, as we were sitting on a terrace by the sea, a foreign ship anchored just below us. A foreigner caused himself to be landed in a little boat, and asked us permission to appear before us, as he had many costly wares to offer for sale. I was desirous to see the stranger's wares, and begged my father to grant the desired petition. The man laid many costly trinkets of gold and precious stones before us, and my father bought some, with which I was much pleased. I remarked that the merchant watched me closely, but he did this with such evident pleasure that my vanity ascribed it to his opinion of my pleasing expression, and found no harm in it. Whilst he shewed his wares, he let fall some words which intimated that he had left his most precious articles behind in the ship. He had there many curious birds, particularly a snow-white bird, which was the most beautiful of all creatures of this kind. He managed thus to raise my desires so much that I begged my father to allow me to go with the stranger to his ship to see these silken stuffs: my father was weak enough to comply with this unreasonable wish. A suitable train should have accompanied me, but the stranger prevented this. He said his boat had only room in it for three people, and that he should not like to show his wares if many people came into his ship. 'They are only things for the royal Princess,' he said, 'and I dare not expose her to danger. I can never forget that a powerful King has entrusted his only daughter to my care; therefore your betrothed Prince Mundian Oppu may accompany you as a watchful protector.' We went with the merchant to the ship. There we found an immense number of extraordinary things and unknown[61] animals. In the place where in other ships the rowers sat were great apes; on high on the mast sat an eagle; in the inner rooms were many large and small cages of smooth ebony with thick gold bars, behind which moved a confused multitude of animals.

"My desire was now directed to the snow-white bird, about which I made inquiry. He showed it me high up in a box, and as I could not see it distinctly, he took it out and put it on my hand. 'It is quite singular,' said he, 'when the bird is here, it can only remain a few days alive, but I have found the corn of life, which I give it each week, and it is then refreshed for nine days.' We asked for the corn of life, of which we had never heard, and he opened a little box and took out three grains. He gave me one to give the bird, the other I was to try, and the third Prince Mundian Oppu. When I offered the grain to the bird, it refused to peck it; and when I pressed my hand closer, the bird drew back, lost its balance, and fell down with outspread wings. I hastened to it, picked it up perhaps somewhat roughly, and as it tried to escape, I held some of its tail-feathers fast, so that it lay fluttering in my hand. I was very much frightened, and the merchant seemed so also. He soon laughed with malicious joy, and said that I should swallow the corn, because it would prevent the flight of the frightened prisoner. He said the same to the Prince, and we swallowed the grains in the same moment. I felt a wonderful transformation pass over me, and found that I was changed into a snow-white bird; and when I looked towards the Prince, in his stead I saw a black bird. Now the stranger, who was no other than the enchanter, seized me, and shut me up in the golden cage which you have trodden to pieces. The apes began to ply the oars, and the ship moved with unusual swiftness over the sea. I still saw my father sitting on the terrace, and the wonder of the servants as they saw the ship depart: I believed that I heard their voices calling us back. But what could I do in my cage? The black bird flew to the promontory; and from that moment I have neither heard nor seen anything of Prince Mundian Oppu.

"When my home was far in the distance, and even the summit of the mountain could no longer be distinguished, the enchanter[62] rose with my cage high in the air, leaving his ship behind, and bore me into the hall of the tower. How he brought the other white bird, I don't know: I only know that he took it out of his pocket and put it into the cage. 'Now you have a companion,' said he. As I took him for a real bird, I considered myself, though unfortunate, superior to him, and drew myself back into a corner. But the bird came nearer, and followed me. At last I lost patience, and pecked his eyes. When the enchanter saw this, he took out a little box, and took from it a grain, which he laid before the bird, who picked it immediately. It was then changed into a man, as ugly as you saw him in the tower. He desired me, as I have already told you, to take that deformity for my husband, and promised me that, on my consent, I should be immediately restored to my proper form, and assured me that otherwise I should always remain as a bird, except on my birthday. I have now no other wish than to return to my father in Selandia, because I know he is living in great affliction, if, indeed, sorrow at my loss have not already brought him to the grave."

CHAPTER V.

THE FAITHFUL CONDUCTOR HOME.

At the conclusion of this relation, Haschem thought with compassion of his father, and had his mournful countenance and bowed-down form before his mind. He knew, from the great love he had always shown him, that he must have pined for his loss.

"Princess," said he, "your desire cannot be greater than mine. Still, I swear to you that I will not return to my father till I have safely conducted you to your native land, or have given you over to safe guides to bring you to your father; if I do not, may Heaven not grant my father life to receive this joy!"

They journeyed on with renewed vigour. But evening was drawing near, and they must find a resting-place for the night. Fortune was favourable: they soon found a spot, shadowed, by a high bush.[63]

Haschem broke away the boughs so as to form a hedge, which quite concealed the Princess, and to which he only left a narrow entrance, before which he lay down to watch. Night passed without danger. However anxiously Haschem strove against sleep, to watch over his companion, it at last weighed down his eyelids, and they both awoke with the first rays of the sun. Their good star soon led them to a spot where they found refreshing wood-berries, the names of which were unknown to them, and they were anxious to discover if they were poisonous; but hunger made them venture. They wandered the whole day, resting alternately. At every step the journey became more hazardous. The thickets became thicker and higher; they were often obliged to creep between the boughs, and their clothes hung in rags. On the fourth day they reached the foot of the mountain. There they found cultivated land and human habitations. Haschem inquired where they were, and asked for the sea. The people told them the name of the country, which was unknown to Haschem and the Princess Handa. On the other side of the high mountain lay a large flat land, whose coast was washed by the sea. They received this information with great joy. They descended the mountain, came to the flat land, and at last, after a wearisome journey, during which they had seen the sun rise and set seven times, they arrived at the sea-coast. A ship lay ready at anchor, and when they inquired its destination, the steersman answered, "We are going to Selandia to fetch a cargo of cinnamon." To Haschem's question where they came from, and what this land where they were was called, he received for answer, "that the ship belonged to a merchant of Balsora, and that it had been cast on these unknown shores by a violent storm."

When the Princess perceived that the ship was going towards her native land, she was very much rejoiced. She took one of the precious stones out of her forehead-band, and gave it as a reward for her and her companion. The following morning they weighed anchor, and, after a prosperous voyage, they reached the same place where the enchanter's ship had formerly lain at anchor when he carried off the Princess.

They were landed in a small boat, and Handa led her deliverer[64] into the beautiful leafy walks of the imperial gardens. In this way they came to a terrace, from which they could see the ship. Instead of pressing quickly forwards, they concealed themselves behind a bush. A very melancholy old man sat on this terrace, looking over the sea; and while a flood of tears ran down his face,

"Ah!" cried he, "it was just so on the day that my sorrows began! There lay the ship of the robber, there landed the boat which carried away my beloved daughter and her betrothed. It was even at the same hour of the day. I have sent messengers into all the neighbouring lands; I have caused the opposite sea-coasts to be searched; but all has been in vain! I must die, and never see my child again."

He pronounced these words aloud, and covered his face as he bowed himself forward on his hands.

Princess Handa wished to hasten to him, but Haschem held her back, and said, "Let me first prepare him for your arrival, else joy may kill him." And he sprang forward, and bowed before the sorrowing old man, making his forehead touch the ground.

The King then said, "Who are you? Are you a beggar, and do you need any gift? It shall be given you: go to my palace."

Haschem stood up and answered, "In such circumstances you might well take me for a beggar, O great King Kadga Singa. But know that under these ragged clothes is concealed a magician, who is come to change your tears into smiles, your sobs into transports of joy."

"I have only to speak three words," he answered, "and it will happen. Are you strong enough to support the highest joy that your heart can conceive and feel?"

At these questions a ray of hope in the soul of the mourning father beamed through his tearful eyes. "What is it? Who are you who can promise this?" asked he.

"Draw near, Princess Handa, your father is prepared," cried the youth; and she sprang forwards into her father's open arms.

Then was Haschem's word fulfilled: his tears were changed into smiles, his sobs into transports of joy. Their embrace continued long. At last Kadga Singa raised himself, beckoned Haschem to approach, and said, "You are a magician; such an one I have never before seen. By your magic words you have changed the mournful course of my life into the brightest sunshine. I will not now ask you who you are, and what I have to thank you for; I will not now inquire what chance brought you to my daughter; I shall only give myself up to joy at her return."

They went back to the capital in a kingly boat, and soon the joyful news of the unexpected reappearance of the Princess spread everywhere. Numbers assembled at the palace to ascertain if the news were true; and Princess Handa went out to the gate and down the steps. Then arose a shout of joy of a thousand voices, and loud wishes for her health and happiness.

CHAPTER VI.

REWARD.

The next day, after the King had heard the history of her imprisonment related by his daughter, and with what devotion Haschem had watched over her, and when Haschem had narrated his history, Kadga Singa was very thoughtful, and caused his council to assemble to deliberate how they should reward him.

"If he were not so young," said some of them, "he might be made Grand Vizier, the next in dignity to the King, or be appointed Governor of a province. But his youth prevents his being raised over the people next to the King."

After longer consultation, the eldest of the councillors rose, and said, "Kadga Singa, my King and lord. The youth has certainly performed a great service to you and the Princess Handa; therefore it seems to me that his reward ought to come from you. It[66] seems to me that the King, having received from him good in his family, must reward him from his family. Were I in such a case, I would appoint him as Mundiana, and give him for a wife the daughter whom he has restored."

The whole assembly were of the same opinion, and the King gave them to understand that this was also his wish.

"I am old," he said, "and can easily perceive that the cares of this land will soon need other hands to support them. I shall be much pleased to see my daughter with a noble husband. Prince Mundian Oppu has disappeared, whom I had before chosen; and this youth, although of meaner origin, is of noble soul, and will soon, under my guidance, acquire the necessary circumspection to promote justice and order in my kingdom."

He did not delay, but immediately caused Haschem to be called. A costly band of gold and silver was fastened round his forehead, and the King then said, "I herewith appoint you Mundiana."

The eldest councillor stepped forward, and said, "This name points out the highest step of honour which the King can bestow. You are found worthy of this honour; and no other lives who bears this title, because Prince Mundian Oppu has disappeared."

An elephant covered with costly trappings was now brought in by its keeper, and upon it was a richly ornamented seat. On this the new Mundiana was placed, and led through the streets. Heralds went before him, and cried aloud, "Listen to what Kadga Singa makes known to all people. This youth has restored to him his dearest jewel which he had lost. In gratitude, the King has nominated him Mundiana, and has appointed his daughter Handa for his wife. To-morrow will the betrothal be celebrated; and everybody is requested to come into the court of the palace to partake of the joy of the festival."

Haschem knew not how all this had come about. He received clothes and rich arms as a present from the King; and the King[67] so highly favoured him that he was not only to be husband of the Princess Handa, but was to succeed Kadga Singa on the throne, and to reign over that beautiful and rich land. In this happiness he forgot his early life, his father's sorrow, and even Zoraine his playfellow in youth, his father's faithful friend Saad, and thought no more of his home or his fatherland. The next day his betrothal with the Princess was celebrated with great pomp.

The Princess had willingly yielded to her father's wish, without manifesting any particular joy, or showing any affection for her future husband; although she felt very friendly towards him, and treated him with great respect and attention, as her grateful heart did not forget in prosperity how much she had owed to him in misfortune.

The first days and weeks passed in the delights of joy: then he was introduced by the King into the council, and taught the business of the State. The King and councillors had often reason to wonder at his acuteness in judgment in difficult cases, and, above all, at his perception of right and wrong. Soon no sentence was pronounced without his opinion being first consulted; and it often happened that it was contrary to that of the rest of the council; but the reasons for his decision always prevailed. In all lands the justice and wisdom of the King's future son-in-law were praised, and it was hoped that fortune would permit him to rule over the land.

A whole year had now elapsed, and the day was fast approaching when he was to marry the Princess and ascend the throne. One day, as usual, he sought his betrothed, the Princess Handa, in her apartments. As he was announced by a servant, he went in quickly, and saw the Princess hastily wiping her eyes; and as he drew nearer, he found the traces of her tears. Sympathizing with her, he asked the cause of her grief, and she tried to avoid answering him; but as he continued to urge her, she at last said, "I dare tell you why these tears flow, because you are good and compassionate, and will not consider it a crime that I have a feeling and sympathizing heart. You know that I was formerly beloved by Prince Mundian Oppu, the son of the neighbouring[68] King. I related to you that this Prince was changed into a blackbird by the enchanter, and flew from the ship to the promontory of the island where our country seat was situated. Now, I must tell you that I grieve so much the more about this Prince's fate, as from my own change I can compassionate his mournful condition. I could not repress this desire, and I have obtained certain news of his life and present condition by the secret knowledge of a clever Tirinaxian. And in this manner I have learned that he still lives in his new form, and that he has flown, from fear of the snares of the hunter, whom we call Dodda Waddas, out of the land into distant regions; and that it is ordained by fate that he shall never regain his human form if I give my hand to another husband. Sorrow at this mournful destiny has drawn these tears from my eyes, the traces of which you observed."

This narrative made a deep impression on Haschem: he discovered also that Handa had acceded to her father's wish only from gratitude and filial obedience, whilst her affection was fixed on the absent Prince. He saw that he must purchase the good fortune to be husband of the noble Princess, and son-in-law of the great King Kadga Singa, and after him to be King of Selandia, only by the misfortunes of Prince Mundian Oppu. He asked himself if this were right, and was obliged to confess that his reason and knowledge of justice and honour were opposed to it. He saw that the intoxication of good fortune had hitherto blinded him. Then the remembrance of his father came before him, and he imagined him pining away at the uncertainty of his son's fate. He bitterly reproached himself for his long forgetfulness, and for not having sent an embassy to announce his safe arrival in Selandia.

Scarcely had these thoughts and feelings arisen in his breast, than he made up his mind. He took Handa's hand, and promised her that he would do all he could to find her former lover, and restore him to her. Then he went to the King, told him all, and begged him to let him go to fulfil a son's duty to a father whom he had too long neglected. Kadga Singa sighed deeply at these disclosures of his future son-in-law: he proposed to send a ship to bring his father, so that he might end his life in sharing his son's[69] good fortune and companionship. But Haschem declared to him, with determination, that he could never be his son-in-law or successor to the throne.

"I cannot purchase such good fortune at another's expense," said he. "It was otherwise before I knew the decision of fate; but now that I know the Prince Mundian Oppu must, through my happiness, always remain in his present condition, if I thus take away the possibility of his ever returning to human form, I should be in the highest degree culpable. Therefore I voluntarily give up my good fortune."

All the persuasions and urgings of Kadga Singa were useless. The councillors also, and the Grand Vizier and the Governors of the provinces, begged him to continue in the land, and to take still more share in the government. He remained firm in his resolution. He promised the Princess, who was astonished at his honourable spirit, that as soon as he had seen and comforted his father, he would demand information of Prince Mundian Oppu from all the sages and magicians of his native land, and that he would try all means to restore him to his former condition. As he was determined to set out, the King gave him costly presents, besides many precious stones from his treasury, and provided him with a ship, and all necessaries for the voyage. He took leave, and the good wishes of all who knew him accompanied him.

CHAPTER VII.

THE RETURN TO HIS FATHER.

The heavens seemed to favour the resolution of the returning son: the warmest weather and most favourable winds seconded his journey, and the ship anchored in the harbour without accident. He took some servants; bought some camels, which he loaded with the King's presents, and so went through Balsora along the river to Bagdad.

One beautiful evening he came near the city to the place where[70] he had lain at the feet of his father and Saad, and listened to their discourses: their last discourse there returned to his memory.

"Well," said he to himself, "it is true that it is easy for a man to be seduced from virtue into one false step, if he is not watchful, but relies on his own power: so it happened to me. I thought that my heart was always right, and neglected to try if what I did was just. In this manner have I so much forgotten my love for my father, and had nearly committed a great wrong; whilst I, in the intoxication of good fortune, was about to sacrifice to my vanity the happiness of the Princess and her betrothed. And you, my dearest father, were also right when you maintained that a heart accustomed to virtue from early years would only for a short time wander from the right road. I have myself experienced the truth of these words, and I therefore thank you with tears that you always accustomed me to what was good."

Whilst he spoke, he lifted up his eyes, and saw a single hut where the palm-trees used to stand. A venerable old man, much marked by sorrow, appeared at the door: he stood still before the threshold, and watched the youth with astonishment. The young man gazed earnestly at him. He suddenly recognized the features of the old man, and threw himself on his knees before him, seized his hand, and bowing his head on it, bedewed it with his tears, and covered it with kisses.

"My father!" cried he: "is it so indeed? Have you so much altered in the course of so few years?—that is my fault. Father, forgive your easily offending son, who forgot you in the height of prosperity."

Naima stretched his other hand to him, blessed him, and said, "Rise up, my son, rise: he who feels repentance is forgiven."

When he looked up, he saw a man approach, leading a maiden whose features he recognized. It was Saad and his daughter Zoraine, Haschem's playfellow. After welcoming him, they sat down, and Haschem related to them all that had happened to him since that evening. He related, truly and candidly, how he had forgotten his father, and nearly fallen into greater crimes, because[71] he had been blinded by fortune, by empty greatness, and honour. Whilst they were sitting, they observed three birds, who came from a distance, and seemed to pursue one another. They soon perceived a black bird, which flew anxiously, and seemed followed by a bird of prey. He would soon have reached his prey, had he not been pursued by a larger bird; and to avoid this, he was often compelled to go from side to side: at last they came to close conflict. The pursued black bird flew into Haschem's lap; the bird of prey, struck by his pursuer, fell to the ground at their feet, and was, by his strong hooked bill and sharp claws, soon killed and torn to pieces. Scarcely had the last occurrence taken place, when the conqueror changed into a venerable-looking sage. He turned to Haschem, who was quite astonished, and said,

"Dip quickly your forefinger in the blood of this slain one, and anoint with it the beak of the black bird."

Haschem obeyed immediately; and scarcely had he touched the black bird's beak with the blood, than it changed, and a handsome youth in kingly dress stood before them.

And the genius answered, "It is he!" And as he stood looking at the young man with astonishment, he said, "You do not perceive how and why all this has happened. I could explain to you all these mysteries; but to what purpose? It is not necessary for weak men to know the threads by which their fates are linked together: suffice it to know that it was necessary that you should perform all this, that you might be tried. You are found worthy, and Heaven rewards you with Zoraine, the early companion of your youth, now to be your wife."

Then Haschem turned towards Zoraine, and looked inquiringly at Saad, her father. This latter said,

"With joy I listen to the will of fate: the highest wish of my heart will now be fulfilled."

"Know," continued the genius, "that the slain bird was the enchanter who had changed the Princess Handa and the Prince Mundian Oppu. They were also to pass through trials: thus it[72] was decreed by fate. Because the enchanter only fulfilled the will of fate from selfish motives, and carried his revenge beyond it, and contrary to it, the King of the Genii commanded me to slay him."

With these words he disappeared from their sight. They returned now in happy union to the city; and Naima, who had built his hut at the edge of the wood, to be always near the place of his sorrow, dwelt again with his children. Prince Mundian Oppu went back to Selandia in the same ship that had brought Haschem. He was received there with immeasurable joy, and was soon married to his early love. But Haschem's name lived long in their memory, and in that of all the inhabitants of that island.

When the Caliph Haroun al Raschid heard of Haschem's return, he had him called before him, and made him relate his history. The Caliph was so pleased with him, that he took him into his palace, and gave him an important post in his Court. His history he caused to be inscribed in the records of his kingdom. As Giafar, his old Vizier, wished to end his life in quietness, the Caliph raised Haschem to be Grand Vizier; and he continued long in this office, to the pleasure of his relatives and the happiness of the people, by whom he was greatly beloved.

The Pantofles.

n Bagdad lived an old merchant, of the name of Abon Casem, who was famous for his riches, but still more for his avarice. His coffers were small to look at—if you could get a sight of them—and very dirty; but they were crammed with jewels. His clothes were as scanty as need be; but then, even in his clothes, there was multum in parvo: to wit, much dirt, in little space. All the embroidery he wore was of that kind which is of necessity attendant upon a ragged state of drapery. It meandered[74] over his bony form in all the beauty of ill-sewn patches. His turban was of the finest kind of linen for lasting: a kind of canvas, and so mixed with elementary substances that its original colour, if it still existed, was invisible. But, of all his habiliments, his slippers were most deserving the study of the curious. They were the extreme cases, both of his body and his dirt. The soles consisted chiefly of huge nails, and the upper leathers of almost everything. The ship of the Argonauts was not a greater miscellany. During the ten years of their performance in the character of shoes, the most skilful cobblers had exercised their science and ingenuity in keeping them together. The accumulation of materials had been so great, and their weight was so heavy in proportion, that they were promoted to honours of proverbialism; and Abon Casem's slippers became a favourite comparison when a superfluity of weight was the subject of discourse.

It happened one day, as this precious merchant was walking in the market, that he had a great quantity of fine glass bottles offered him for sale; and, as the proposed bargain was greatly on his side, and he made it still more so, he bought them. The vendor informed him, furthermore, that a perfumer having lately become bankrupt, had no resource left but to sell, at a very low price, a large quantity of rose-water; and Casem, greatly rejoicing at this news, and, hastening to the poor man's shop, bought up all the rose-water at half its value. He then carried it home, and comfortably put it in his bottles. Delighted with these good bargains, and buoyant in his spirits, our hero, instead of making a feast, according to the custom of his fellows, thought it more advisable to go to the bath, where he had not been for some time.

While employed in the intricate business of undressing, one of his friends, or one whom he believed such—for your misers seldom have any—observed that his pantofles had made him quite the bye-word of the city, and that it was high time to buy a new pair.

"To say the truth," said Casem, "I have long thought of doing so; but they are not yet so worn as to be unable to serve me a little longer." And, having undressed himself, he went into the stove.[75]

During the luxury he was there enjoying, the Cadi of Bagdad came in, and, having undressed himself, he went into the stove likewise. Casem soon after came out, and, having dressed himself, looked about for his pantofles; but nowhere could he find them. In the place of his own, he found a pair sufficiently different to be not only new, but splendid. And, feeling convinced that they were a gift from his friend—not the less so, perhaps, because he wished it—he triumphantly thrust his toes in them, and issued forth into the air, radiant with joy and a skin nearly clean.

On the other hand, when the Cadi had performed the necessary purifications, and was dressed, his slaves looked for his lordship's slippers in vain. Nowhere could they be found. Instead of the embroidered pantofles of the Judge, they detected, in a corner, only the phenomena left by Casem, which were too well known to leave a doubt how their master's had disappeared. The slaves went immediately for Casem, and brought him back to the indignant magistrate, who, deaf to his attempts at defence, sent him to prison. Now, in the East, the claws of justice open just as wide, and no wider than the purse of the culprit; and it may be supposed that Abon Casem, who was known to be as rich as he was miserly, did not get his freedom at the same rate as his rose-water.

The miserable Casem returned home, tearing his beard—for beard is not a dear stuff—and, being mightily enraged with the pantofles, he seized upon them, and threw them out of his window into the Tigris.

It happened a few days after that some fishermen drew their nets under the window, and the weight being greater than usual, they were exulting in their success, when out came the pantofles. Furious against Casem (for who did not know Casem's pantofles?), they threw them in at the window, at the same time reviling him for the accident. Unhappy Casem! The pantofles flew into his room, fell among his bottles, which were ranged with great care along the shelf, and, overthrowing them, covered the room with glass and rose-water. Imagine, if you can, the miser's agony! With a loud voice, and tearing his beard, according to custom,[76] he roared out, "Accursed pantofles, will you never cease persecuting the wretched Casem?"

It so happened that one of his neighbours was looking out of window at the time, and seeing Casem poking about the earth in his garden, he ran to the Cadi, and told him that his old friend had discovered a treasure. Nothing more was requisite to excite the cupidity of the Judge. He allowed the miser to aver, as loudly as he pleased, that he was burying his slippers, and had found no treasure, but at the same time demanded the treasure he had found. Casem talked to no purpose. Wearied out at last with his own asseverations, he paid the money, and departed, cursing the very souls of the pantofles.

Determined to get rid of these unhappy moveables, our hero walked to some distance from the city, and threw them into a reservoir, hoping he had now fairly seen the last of them; but the evil genii, not yet tired of tormenting him, guided the pantofles precisely to the mouth of the conduit. From this point they were carried along into the city, and, sticking at the mouth of the aqueduct, they stopped it up, and prevented the water from flowing into the basin. The overseers of the city fountains, seeing that the water had stopped, immediately set about repairing the damage, and at length dragged into the face of day the old reprobate slippers, which they immediately took to the Cadi, complaining loudly of the damage they had caused.

The unfortunate proprietor was now condemned to pay a fine still heavier than before; but far was he from having the luck of seeing his chattels detained. The Cadi, having delivered the sentence, said, like a conscientious magistrate, that he had no power of retaining other peoples' property, upon which the slippers, with much solemnity, were faithfully returned to their distracted master. He carried them home with him, meditating as he went—and as well as he was able to meditate—how he should destroy them; at length he determined upon committing them to the flames. He accordingly tried to do so, but they[77] were too wet; so he put them on a terrace to dry. But the evil genii, as aforesaid, had reserved a still more cruel accident than any before; for a dog, whose master lived hard by, seeing these strange wild fowl of a pair of shoes, jumped from one terrace to the other, till he came to the miser's, and began to play with one of them: in his sport he dropped it over the balustrade, and it fell, heavy with hobnails and the accumulated dirt of years, on the tender head of an infant, and killed him on the spot. The parents went straight to the Cadi, and complained that they had found their child dead, and Casem's pantofle lying by it, upon which the Judge condemned him to pay a very heavy fine.

Casem returned home, and taking the pantofles, went back to the Cadi, crying out with an enthusiasm that convulsed everybody, "Behold! behold! See here the fatal cause of all the sufferings of Casem! these pantofles, which have at length brought ruin upon his head. My Lord Cadi, be so merciful, I pray you, as to give an edict that may free me from all imputation of accident which these slippers henceforth may occasion, as they certainly will to anybody who ventures into their accursed leather!"

The Cadi could not refuse this request, and the miser learned to his cost the ill effects of not buying a new pair of shoes.

Story of the Prince and the Lions.

n a great city of the East lived Prince Azgid, who grew up to manhood beloved by every one, for he was virtuous, intelligent, and accomplished, though somewhat of a timorous disposition, and this was indeed his chief fault. His father had died, and he had reached now the proper age to mount the throne, a time having been already fixed for the ceremony, to which the young man was looking forward with great interest.

A few days previous to the event the old Vizier called upon the Prince, and telling him he wished to take a walk with him, led him out of the town to a mountain, on one side of which was a wide staircase of white marble, with a handsome balustrade on each side. It had three broad landings, and on these the Vizier and Prince[79] rested as they ascended the stairs, for it was of great height, and they were both sorely tired before they reached the top. There was a small house on the summit, out of which came a black slave, who made a profound obeisance to the visitors, and, leading the way, took them a short distance to a kind of arena dug in the ground, and faced also with white marble. He then took out a key and opened a brazen door, whereupon the Prince drew near, and, looking down, saw a red lion of fierce aspect and tremendous size. He wondered what it all meant, and gazed with a look of inquiry into the face of the Vizier, who, having ordered the servant to retire, thus spoke:

"My son," said he, "the day is now very near on which you are to ascend the throne; but before you can do so you must fulfil a custom which has been established for many ages, and which your father and all your ancestors submitted to; in short, you must descend into this den with a dagger, and fight yonder lion. This will test your courage and fortitude, and show whether you are really worthy of governing a kingdom."

"This is a severe task," said he; "is there no alternative, nor any method by which I may evade it?"

"Can I not have a few days granted me to think over the matter, and prepare for the sore trial?" asked the youth.

"Oh, yes!" returned the other, "that you can have, of course." Whereupon he beckoned to the slave to lock the door, and the visitors descended the stairs and returned to the palace.

The joy of Azgid's life seemed now to have fled, and he was suddenly immersed in deep despair. The horrid combat he was to engage in was continually before him. He could neither eat nor drink, but wandered about the palace like one distracted, or sat moping for hours, with his head buried in his hands, speaking to no one. He was glad when night came, that he might hide himself from observation, and retired to his chamber in tears. But he found no comfort there. Sleep fled from him, and he lay tossing[80] upon his bed, anxiously awaiting the return of day. During the tedious hours of darkness he had meditated what course he had best pursue, and at length came to the resolution that he would extricate himself from the dilemma he was in by bidding farewell to his home, and seeking peace and safety in some far-distant land.

Accordingly, as soon as it was daylight, he hastily dressed himself, and going to the stables, mounted a fleet horse and rode off. Glad was he when he got outside the town, and turning round to take a last look, he thus exclaimed:

"Oh, cursed city! cursed home! what misery lies within you! May each hour carry me farther from you! and may these eyes never behold you again!"

With these words he put spurs to his horse, and was soon out of sight of the detested spot. He journeyed forward with a light heart, and on the third day came to a pleasant country overgrown with forest trees, intermingled with lawns and romantic vales.

Proceeding a little farther on, he heard the sound of delicious music, and soon overtook a handsome youth of ruddy countenance, somewhat younger than himself, playing on a flute, and leading a few sheep.

The shepherd, on seeing the stranger, stopped playing, and saluted him very courteously; but Azgid begged him to go on, telling him what an admirer of music he was, and that he had never in his life heard such enchanting strains.

The young man smiled at this compliment, and commenced playing some fresh tunes; and, when he had finished, he informed the Prince that he was slave to a rich shepherd named Oaxus, who lived near, and who would be rejoiced to see him, and show him some hospitality.

It was a low stone building of considerable size, with a porch surrounding it, overgrown with vines and flowers. Around it was a large yard, encircled with a high wall, in which were some flocks of sheep, with a number of men tending them.

On entering, the old shepherd came forward and gave the stranger[81] a hearty welcome, leading him into a neat apartment, and setting before him a handsome repast. After Azgid had finished eating, he thought it his duty to give his kind host some information as to who he was, and thus spoke:

"My friend," said he, "you no doubt wonder at seeing a stranger of my appearance thus suddenly visiting you, and will naturally wish to inquire who I am. This wish I can only in part gratify. Suffice it to say that I am a Prince whom troubles at home have driven abroad; but my name I cannot tell. That is a secret lodged in my own breast, to be imparted to no one. If no inconvenience to you, it would please me much to remain in this delightful spot. I have ample means at my disposal, and will remunerate you for whatever trouble I may put you to."

Oaxus replied to this speech in the kindest manner, begging the young man to say nothing about remuneration, for that the company of one so exalted and accomplished would more than repay him for any trouble he might be put to in entertaining him, and that nothing would give him more happiness than to have him remain there to the end of his days.

"But come, Asdril," said he, addressing the musician, "take the Prince and show him what is most worthy to be seen in this neighbourhood. Lead him to the waterfalls, the fountains, the rocks and vales, for I perceive our guest is one able to appreciate nature's beauties."

The young shepherd did as requested, and, taking up his flute, led the youth to all the pleasantest and most interesting spots.

They wandered about the sloping hills and deep valleys, and over beautiful lawns, sprinkled with trees of immense size. At one time they stood by the side of some gently murmuring stream, and now they were startled with a romantic cascade, whose flashing waters tumbled from mossy cliffs and echoed far and wide. They now entered a shady vale, and, seating themselves on a rock, the shepherd commenced playing his flute. The Prince listened with delight, for, as we said before, he was passionately fond of music, and had never in his life heard any one who pleased him so much. Indeed, he made up his mind that, if ever he left the place, he[82] would endeavour to purchase from Oaxus the accomplished slave, and have him as his constant companion as long as he lived.

Thus did Azgid enjoy himself amid these delicious scenes, congratulating himself that he had escaped from all his troubles, and had at last reached a spot where he might live in peace and tranquillity for ever.

But his joy was not to last long; for young Asdril on a sudden rose up, and, taking his companion by the hand, told him it was time for them to be gone.

"Why so?" asked the Prince. "Why should we so soon leave these enchanting scenes?"

"Alas!" answered the shepherd, "this place is infested with lions. They come out at a certain hour every day, and we all have to retire within the walls of our abode and close the gates. See here," continued he, rolling up his sleeve, and showing a great scar on his arm, "this is what I received in an encounter with these fierce beasts. I once lagged behind, and was with great difficulty saved from destruction. So, let us lose no time, but make the best of our way home."

On hearing these words, the Prince turned pale; but he said nothing, and they silently returned to the house.

On reaching the gate, Azgid called for his horse, and, having mounted, told his host that he was about to leave, and thanked him for his kindness. "Farewell, Oaxus!" said he. "Farewell, young Asdril! I thought I should have remained here forever; but fate decrees otherwise. I must seek another abode, another home." And, so saying, he put spurs to his horse and galloped away.

He journeyed on and on, and soon left the groves and green valleys. The country became more barren, trees began to disappear, and, not long after, scarcely any verdure was visible. He was soon in the midst of the desert. Far as the eye could reach, the vast plain spread before him. Not a shrub or blade of grass could be seen, and nothing met the view but, now and then, some low sand-hills, piled up by the wind like drifts of snow, among which, with much fatigue to his horse, he pursued his way. The[83] sun blazed on him with great power; and it was with much satisfaction, on the third day, that he perceived in the distance a number of black tents, which he knew to be an encampment of Arabs.

As he drew near, a band of warriors, mounted on fine horses and brandishing their spears, came forth to meet him. This was their usual mode of welcoming a stranger.

They seemed struck with the appearance of Azgid, and showed him much respect, forming a sort of guard around him, and leading him to the tent of their chief.

The latter was a person of dignified aspect, somewhat past the prime of life. His name was Sheik Hajaar. He sat smoking in front of his tent; and, when the youth approached, he rose up and cordially saluted him. He then took him inside the tent, and set before him a repast, of which, when the young man had eaten, he thought it his duty to inform his kind host who he was.

"My friend," said he, "you are no doubt surprised at seeing a stranger of my appearance thus suddenly visiting you, and will naturally wish to inquire who I am. This wish I can only in part gratify: suffice it, then, to say that I am a Prince whom troubles at home have driven abroad, but my name I cannot tell; that is a secret lodged within my own breast, to be imparted to no one. If no inconvenience to you, it would please me much to remain here. I have ample means at my command, and will remunerate you for whatever trouble I may put you to."

The Sheik replied that the company of one so exalted and accomplished was remuneration enough, and that he would be rejoiced to have him as his guest for ever. He then introduced him to a number of his friends, and leading him out, presented him with a beautiful horse of great value. Azgid thought he had never in his life seen so fine an animal; and when he mounted him he found him so gentle and docile as scarcely to require any management, for the intelligent creature seemed to anticipate all his wishes.

"But, come," said the Sheik, "it is time for us to be off: to-day we hunt the antelope; you, Prince, will of course accompany us."

Azgid, with a smile, replied in the affirmative, and they started[84] off in pursuit of the game. They soon overtook a herd, and commenced chasing them—spears flew, and the air resounded with cries. The Prince was exhilarated with the sport, and enjoyed himself exceedingly. "Ah!" thought he, "this is a happy life, and these children of the desert are happy people: I am resolved never to quit them." The hunt lasted nearly the whole day, and about sunset the company returned with the spoil, which consisted of more than a dozen antelopes. These sports were kept up nearly every day, and Azgid's time passed most agreeably.

A week had now elapsed, and the youth had one night retired to rest, congratulating himself on the happy life he led, when the Sheik Hajaar quietly approached his couch, and thus spake:

"My son," said he, "I have come to tell you how much my people are pleased with you, and especially with the spirit you evince in the sports of the chase. But these sports do not comprise all our life: we have frequent wars with hostile tribes, where great valour is necessary. My men are all approved warriors, and, before they can have perfect confidence in you as a trusty comrade, desire to see some specimen of your prowess. Two leagues south of this is a range of hills infested with lions; rise, then, early on the morrow, mount your horse, take your sword and spear, and slay and bring us the skin of one of these savage beasts: then will we be assured of your courage, and have confidence in you in the day of battle."

Having thus spoke, the Sheik bid him good night, and retired. His words disturbed Azgid extremely. "Ah!" thought he, "here are the lions again! wherever I go I meet them. I thought I had found at last a quiet home, but I am mistaken; this is not the place for me." He then got out of bed, and, lifting up the covering of the tent, slipped out, and went first to see the horse the Sheik had given him. He found him tethered among the others, and, going up to him, threw his arms around him and kissed him. "Farewell, kind creature," said he, "I grieve to leave you!" The animal leaned his head on his shoulders, and seemed to return his good feelings. The youth then sought his own steed, and, having mounted him, started off.[85]

He rode over the trackless sands, with the bright stars glittering above him, a homeless wanderer, not knowing whither he was going. At length morning began to appear, and soon the sun rose and beat upon his head with its fierce rays; by the middle of the day he was rejoiced to perceive that he was leaving the desert; and late in the afternoon he reached a charming region of hill and dale, streams and meadows.

He soon after came to one of the most beautiful palaces he had ever seen. It was built of porphyry, and stood in the midst of an immense garden, where every plant and flower grew that could delight the sight or regale the senses. Trees loaded with all kinds of delicious fruits, some trimmed and cut into the most curious shapes, were seen on all sides. Statues of exquisite forms stood among them. From many of these fountains spouted upwards to a vast height, whose waters fell murmuring into large basins, where gold-fish, swans and other water-fowl were seen swimming about. Peacocks and other gorgeous birds strutted and flew around in every direction; and so many objects met the young man's eye, as he slowly rode up the broad avenue, that he stopped almost every moment to gaze and admire. At last lie reached the portico, which was raised twenty steps, and adorned with twelve columns of clear jasper.

The owner of the palace, who was an Emir of great wealth, was seated on the portico, in company with his daughter, the golden-haired Perizide.

On seeing a stranger of such dignified mien approaching, he rose up and went to welcome him. He led him up the steps, and introduced him to the young lady, who became at once interested with the looks and demeanour of the handsome youth. The Emir then took his guest inside the palace.

Azgid looked round with wonder. If the exterior of the building delighted him, how much more was he pleased with its interior? The hall was of vast size, with a noble staircase in the middle; the apartments were spacious, and shone with gold; the walls and ceilings were covered with the most exquisite paintings in fresco; and vases of precious stones, statues, and all kinds of rare curiosities[86] were ranged around; the windows were of something that resembled pearl, and were stained with different colours, so that, as the sun shone through them, the tesselated floor received the rays, and glittered with all the tints of the rainbow. Azgid gazed with astonishment. The Emir now set before him a collation composed of the most delicate viands, delicious fruits, and wines.

After he had finished eating, the Prince thought it his duty to inform his kind host who he was.

"Sir," said he, "you no doubt wonder at one of my appearance thus suddenly visiting you, and will naturally wish to inquire who I am. This wish I can only in part gratify. Suffice it, then, to say that I am a Prince whom troubles at home have driven abroad, but my name I cannot tell: that is a secret lodged in my own breast, to be imparted to no one. If no inconvenience to you, it would delight me much to remain with you; and at some future day, if fortune should again smile upon me, I will be happy to return the favour, and reciprocate your hospitality."

The Emir replied to this speech in the kindest manner, telling the youth that he did him a great honour in making him a visit, and that he hoped he would remain to the end of his days. He further informed him that he expected that night a number of his friends to favour him with their company, and, wishing to look after the preparations for the banquet, he begged his guest to excuse him for a short time.

When the Emir retired, Azgid was left alone with the fair Perizide, and was struck more than ever with her ravishing beauty. In fact, he fell deeply in love with her. She, on her part, seemed not insensible to his merits, and exerted herself to amuse and entertain him. She led him into the garden, showing him all the rare sights, and bidding him observe the consummate art with which the shrubbery and trees were arranged, and the charming green alleys and vistas which opened before them as they walked along.

They explored the beauties of this fairy scene, seating themselves by the side of the glittering fountains, and sometimes beneath the dark shadows of the flowery arbours, through which the rays of a bright full moon began now to penetrate.[87]

They then returned to the palace, and, approaching, heard the strains of festive music, and perceived the building illuminated from top to bottom. They passed through the throngs on the portico, and entered the house, which was lit up with hundreds of dazzling lustres, and crowded with guests, all habited in splendid dresses. Perizide led the youth into the grand saloon, and seated him on one of the purple divans.

The attendants now served up a splendid supper, brought in on gold and silver trays, and which consisted of every delicacy that could be procured. It was made up of many courses, and lasted a considerable time, and at its conclusion the room was partially cleared, and a number of dancing girls, of elegant form and richly clad, entered the apartment, and amused the guests with their graceful movements. Azgid, observing a lute lying near him, took it up, and, telling the lady how fond he was of music, begged her to favour him with an air. Perizide complied with his request very graciously, and commenced playing. The Prince listened with delight, and was drinking in the soft strains with rapt attention, when he suddenly heard a loud and very unusual sound.

"I heard nothing," replied his companion; "nor do I think there was any. It is your imagination only that fancies it."

Whereupon she went on playing; but she had only proceeded a few minutes, when the Prince started a second time.

"I heard nothing," answered Perizide, "but the sound of music and the merry voices of hundreds of happy guests. It must be your imagination, Prince, as I said before, and nothing else."

"Perhaps it is," returned the youth, striking his forehead. "You must pardon me, fair lady: I have lately passed through many trying scenes, and I fear my nerves are none of the strongest."

Perizide thereupon resumed her lute, but she had not proceeded very long, when her guest again cried out,

"Oh!" said he, "tell me not that this is imagination! I heard it most distinctly. Explain to me I pray, what it means."

"Oh," replied the young lady, laughing, "that is Boulak, our[88] black porter. He is a great pet and a privileged character; he gets drowsy sometimes, and often yawns, and that was the sound you just heard."

"Good Heavens!" said Azgid, "what lungs he must have, to make such a yawn as that!"

Perizide made no reply except a smile, but went on playing the lute, when, having finished, the Prince complimented her highly for her performance. It was by this time pretty late, and the guests gradually retired; Perizide also went to her chamber, and the Prince and the Emir were left alone.

They passed nearly an hour smoking and conversing very pleasantly, till at length the host rose up, and telling his guest it was bed-time, took him by the hand to lead him to his chamber. They proceeded to the hall, and soon reached the great staircase, which was of white marble, with a handsome balustrade on each side. When they came to the foot of it, Azgid gazed for a moment admiring its beauty; but what was his horror, when, on looking up, he spied a black lion of immense size lying stretched on the topmost landing. He trembled and turned pale.

"Oh," returned the Emir, "that is Boulak, our black porter. He is tame, and will not hurt you if you are not afraid of him; but he can tell when any one fears him, and then he becomes ferocious."

"You must cast aside your fear, my son," replied the other, "and then there is not the slightest danger."

"That is easier said than done," answered the youth. "I try to cast it aside, but do not succeed. No, I believe I will not go to my chamber, but will sleep somewhere else, where there is no need of approaching this terrible beast."

"Just as you like," replied the Emir. "You can return to the saloon, and repose on one of those divans."

The Prince accordingly took up his lodgings in the saloon, and having bid his friend "Good night," he carefully locked the door and windows, making everything as secure as possible. He then[89] lay down on the cushions, listening eagerly if he might perchance hear any sound. But all was silent; for every soul had retired, and the vast mansion presented a striking contrast to the noisy merriment which a little while before had reigned everywhere.

The young man now composed himself to rest, thinking that the lion was most probably fast asleep and would not disturb him—but he was mistaken; for in the course of an hour he heard most evidently a soft, heavy tread coming down the stairs. The beast, on reaching the hall, seemed for a moment to pause; then his steps were heard moving along the vast corridor, till it could be no longer distinguished.

Azgid now breathed more freely, and was in hopes that his tormentor had retired to some secluded part of the building, and had gone to sleep; but he was doomed to be disappointed, for in a short time he heard the faint steps approaching nearer and nearer, and perceived that the beast stopped every now and then, snuffing with his nose, as if in search of some one. At last he came to the door, putting his nose at the lower part, and snuffing louder than ever; then he sprang with his fore feet against it, giving it such a push as almost to burst it open, and at the same time uttering a tremendous roar, which echoed through the palace.

Azgid jumped from his couch in dismay, and retreated to the farthest corner of the room; his hair stood on end, and the cold perspiration rolled from his body. He believed for a certainty that the door would fly open, and then the lion would rush in and devour him; but nothing of the kind occurred, for in a few moments the beast again went upstairs, and nothing more was heard of him.

The Prince then lay down on his couch—but not to sleep: he revolved in his mind all that had happened to him since his departure from his own city, and thinking that Providence would not afflict him in such a manner for nought, but that there must be some design in it, he came to the determination that he would instantly return home, and fulfil the law and custom of his country by fighting the lion.

Early on the morrow, the Emir came to wake his guest, and bid[90] him "Good morning." He found the young man in tears, and putting his arm round him, thus spoke:

"My son," said he, "your behaviour last night, when about to retire, surprised me greatly, and my amazement is increased now at seeing you in this unhappy state. What ails you, my son? Tell me all, and hide nothing from me; and first let me know frankly who you are?"

"I am one," replied the youth, "who has fled from duty. I am Azgid, son of the renowned King Almamoun. I fled from a work Providence assigned to me to perform—but my sin followed me. I searched far and wide for comfort, but in vain—trouble and disaster pursued me wherever I went. But I have repented, and am now going back to retrieve my error, and meet the trial from which I once endeavoured to escape."

"I am rejoiced to hear you thus speak," said the Emir. "I was well acquainted with your father, and think I know now from what duty it was you tried to escape. Go back, then, to your home, my son, and may Heaven grant you strength to perform your excellent resolution."

He then ordered his guest's horse to be brought, which when the youth hath mounted, he asked his host to remember him to the beautiful Perizide, and beg her to excuse him for leaving her in so strange and abrupt a manner.

"I will do as you desire," replied the other, "and when my daughter learns the cause of your departure, she will think more of you than ever."

Thus with mutual good wishes the two friends separated, and Azgid rode away. He pursued the same route he had travelled before, and on the second day reached the desert and the encampment of the Arabs. He found the Sheik Hajaar, sitting in his tent door, calmly smoking his pipe: the Sheik was surprised at seeing him, and begged him to dismount and refresh himself; but this the Prince refused to do, saying that he had only come to explain his past strange behaviour in leaving his hospitable abode so abruptly.

"I am Azgid," continued he, "son of the renowned King[91] Almamoun. I was sorely troubled in mind when I visited you, for I had fled from duty; but I am now going back to retrieve my error and begin a new life. But tell me, I pray, how is that beautiful animal I used to ride with so much pleasure?"

"He is well," answered the other, "and it would please me much if you could remain and ride him again; but I feel that it would be wrong to interrupt you in such a pious journey as you now undertake. Go on, then, my son: may Heaven prosper you in your good resolutions, and peace be with you."

So saying, he bade the Prince farewell, and the latter, having returned his salutation, rode off.

He pursued his course rapidly, and in a day or two arrived at the abode of Oaxus, whom he found in the courtyard, busily engaged in tending his sheep and goats. The old man was delighted to see him, and begged him to dismount; but the Prince declined doing so, and went on to explain who he was in the same words he had used to the Sheik Hajaar. Oaxus was much astonished when he heard the account, and congratulated the young man on the happy change that had come over him.

"Go on, my friend," continued he: "may Heaven prosper you, and give you strength to carry out your wise designs."

"Farewell," replied Azgid, "and tell young Asdril that if fortune favours me, I hope one day to be back, and listen to his sweet music again in spite of the lions."

With these words he rode away, and travelling on, in due time reached his own city. He proceeded at once to the palace, and sought out the old Vizier, to whom he related all that had happened to him, and all that he intended to do, without concealing anything.

"And now," said he, "lead me at once to the lion, and let me fight him and fulfil the law, as all my ancestors have done before me."

The old man heard this speech with great pleasure, and almost wept for joy: he tenderly embraced his young friend, and, smiling, told him not to run into extremes nor to be in too great a hurry; for that his trial with the lion had better be put off for a week at least, and that in the meantime he needed rest and refreshment.[92] To this suggestion Azgid acceded, and waited till the day his friend had fixed upon.

It at length arrived, and very early in the morning the Prince arose and prepared for the combat. He clad himself in a light garment, tying a sash around it, in which he stuck a sharp dagger, took a spear in his hand, and, accompanied by the Vizier, left the palace and proceeded to the mountain. They climbed up the high steps and reached the top, whereupon the slave met them, and, going before, unlocked the gate. The young man looked down and saw the lion, sitting on his haunches, at one end of the arena; he then shook hands with his companions, and committing himself to the care of Heaven, sprang in. The beast gave a loud roar when he saw him, and crouching down, drew himself slowly toward his opponent, glaring fiercely on him all the while. The Prince quailed not, but gazed steadily on the animal, and advanced on him spear in hand; the lion now gave another loud roar, and bounding forward, sprang over the youth's head. He then returned, and commenced licking his hands and rubbing himself against his body.

The Vizier now called out joyfully to his young friend, telling him he had conquered, and begging him to approach; and, with the assistance of the slave, he lifted him out of the den, the lion following like a dog.

"Yes, Azgid," continued the old man, embracing the Prince, "the beast is tame and will injure no one; but, ignorant of this, you encountered him, and the proof of your valour is complete. Come, then, and ascend your throne, for you are worthy of it."

They then began to descend the stairs, and Azgid, observing a couple of figures on the landing, asked the Vizier who they were.

"I know not," replied he; "I can see them, but the height is too great for me to distinguish who they are."

In a little while they reached the platform, when the new-comers proved to be Oaxus and Asdril.

"Azgid," said the old shepherd, "I have come to congratulate you on your good fortune and happy deliverance; and here, too, is young Asdril, whose music you so much admired, and whom I now present to you as your own."[93]

"Oaxus," replied the Prince, "I heartily thank you; and as for you, Asdril, you are no longer a slave: from this moment you are free. You shall be the companion of my leisure hours, and entertain me with your delightful strains."

They now began to descend again; and Azgid, observing a group on the second landing, asked the Vizier who they were.

"I know not," replied he; "I can see them, but the height is too great for me to distinguish who they are."

In a little while they reached the platform, when the new-comers proved to be the Sheik Hajaar, with a group of Arabs, leading the beautiful horse with which the Prince had been so much pleased.

"Azgid," said the Sheik, "I have come to congratulate you on your good fortune and happy deliverance. I have brought you as a present the horse you used to ride when you honoured me with a visit: will your Highness deign to accept of it as a slight testimonial of my loyal regard?"

"Valiant Sheik," answered the young man, "I am rejoiced to see you again, and receive with gratitude your noble gift; you could not have given me anything more acceptable."

He then embraced the Sheik, and kissed the beautiful animal, who seemed to recognize him.

They then began to descend; and the Prince, observing at the bottom of the stairs quite a concourse of people, inquired of the Vizier who they were.

"I know not," replied he; "I can see them, but the height is too great for me to distinguish who they are."

In a little while they reached the end of the staircase, when the new-comers proved to be the Emir, with a large retinue of his guards, with music and banners.

"Azgid," said the Emir, "I am come to congratulate you on your good fortune and happy deliverance. I have brought no present; that I considered needless, since myself and all that I have are yours."

"Noble Emir," cried the youth, "I am rejoiced to see you—tell me, how is Perizide? as soon as I have been crowned I intend to visit her with the speed of lightning."[94]

"There is no need of that," returned the other: "come with me;" and, so saying, he led the young man to a splendid white steed, on which sat a lady, covered with a long veil. The Emir lifted the veil, and Azgid beheld the beautiful face of his beloved mistress.

Their meeting, as may be imagined, was most tender and affectionate; and the Vizier, having ordered the music to strike up, the whole procession moved toward the palace.

"How strange it seems!" said the Prince: "when I fled from my duty everything went wrong with me; but now, after fulfilling it, good luck meets me at every step."

Azgid was crowned the same day, and in the evening his nuptials with the fair Perizide were celebrated; they lived long and happily; and the Prince ordered the story of his life to be written in the annals of the kingdom, and an inscription in gold letters to be placed over the door of the palace, with these words: "Never run from the lion."

The
City of the Demons

n days of yore there lived in the flourishing city of Cairo a Hebrew Rabbi, by name Jochonan, who was the most learned of his nation. His fame went over the East, and the most distant people sent their young men to imbibe wisdom from his lips. He was deeply skilled in the traditions of the fathers, and his word on a disputed point was decisive. He was pious, just, temperate, and strict; but he had one vice: a love of gold had seized upon his heart, and he opened not his hand to the poor. Yet he was wealthy above most: his wisdom being to him the source of riches. The Hebrews of the city were grieved[96] at this blemish on the wisest of their people; but, though the elders of the tribes continued to reverence him for his fame, the women and children of Cairo called him by no other name than that of Rabbi Jochonan the Miser.

None knew so well as he the ceremonies necessary for initiation into the religion of Moses, and, consequently, the exercise of those solemn offices was to him another source of gain. One day, as he walked in the fields about Cairo, conversing with a youth on the interpretation of the law, it so happened that the Angel of Death smote the young man suddenly, and he fell dead before the feet of the Rabbi, even while he was yet speaking. When the Rabbi found that the youth was dead, he rent his garments, and glorified the Lord. But his heart was touched, and the thoughts of death troubled him in the visions of the night. He felt uneasy when he reflected on his hardness to the poor; and he said,

"Blessed be the name of the Lord! The first good thing that I am asked to do in that holy name will I perform." But he sighed, for he feared that some one might ask of him a portion of his gold.

"Awake, thou sleeper!" said the voice, "awake! A child is in danger of death, and the mother hath sent me for thee, that thou mayest do thine office."

"The night is dark and gloomy," said the Rabbi, coming to his casement, "and mine age is great: are there not younger men than I in Cairo?"

"For thee only, Rabbi Jochonan, whom some call the Wise, but whom others call Rabbi Jochonan the Miser, was I sent. Here is gold," said he, taking out a purse of sequins; "I want not thy labour for nothing. I adjure thee to come, in the name of the living God."

So the Rabbi thought upon the vow he had just made, and he groaned in spirit, for the purse sounded heavy.

"As thou hast adjured me by that name, I go with thee," said he to the man; "but I hope the distance is not far. Put up thy gold."[97]

"The place is at hand," said the stranger, who was a gallant youth, in magnificent attire. "Be speedy, for time presses."

Jochonan arose, dressed himself, and accompanied the stranger, after having carefully locked up all the doors of his house, and deposited his keys in a secret place—at which the stranger smiled.

"I never remember," said the Rabbi, "so dark a night. Be thou to me as a guide, for I can hardly see the way."

"I know it well," replied the stranger with a sigh. "It is a way much frequented, and travelled hourly by many. Lean upon mine arm, and fear not."

They journeyed on, and, though the darkness was great, yet the Rabbi could see, when it occasionally brightened, that he was in a place strange to him.

"I thought," said he, "I knew all the country for leagues about Cairo, yet I know not where I am. I hope, young man," said he to his companion, "that thou hast not missed the way." And his heart misgave him.

"Fear not," returned the stranger; "your journey is even now done." And, as he spoke, the feet of the Rabbi slipped from under him, and he rolled down a great height. When he recovered, he found that his companion had fallen also, and stood by his side.

"Nay, young man," said the Rabbi, "if thus thou sportest with the grey hairs of age, thy days are numbered. Woe unto him who insults the hoary head!"

The stranger made an excuse, and they journeyed on some little farther in silence. The darkness grew less, and the astonished Rabbi, lifting up his eyes, found that they had come to the gates of a city which he had never before seen. Yet he knew all the cities of the land of Egypt, and he had walked but half an hour from his dwelling in Cairo. So he knew not what to think, but followed the man with trembling.

They soon entered the gates of the city, which was lighted up as if there were a festival in every house. The streets were full of revellers, and nothing but a sound of joy could be heard. But when Jochonan looked upon their faces, they were the faces of men pained within; and he saw, by the marks they bore, that they were[98] Mazikin.[1] He was terrified in his soul, and, by the light of the torches, he looked also upon the face of his companion, and, behold! he saw upon him too the mark that showed him to be a Demon. The Rabbi feared excessively—almost to fainting; but he thought it better to be silent, and sadly he followed his guide, who brought him to a splendid house in the most magnificent quarter of the city.

"Enter here," said the Demon to Jochonan, "for this house is mine. The lady and the child are in the upper chamber." And accordingly the sorrowful Rabbi ascended the stairs to find them.

The lady, whose dazzling beauty was shrouded by melancholy beyond hope, lay in bed; the child, in rich raiment, slumbered on the lap of the nurse, by her side.

"I have brought to thee, light of my eyes!" said the Demon, "Rebecca, beloved of my soul! I have brought unto thee Rabbi Jochonan the Wise, for whom thou didst desire. Let him, then, speedily begin his office; I shall fetch all things necessary, for he is in haste to depart." He smiled bitterly as he said these words, looking at the Rabbi, and left the room, followed by the nurse.

When Jochonan and the lady were alone, she turned in the bed towards him, and said,

"I do," said he, with a heavy groan. "I know that I am in a city of the Mazikin."

"Know then, further," said she, and the tears gushed from eyes brighter than the diamond, "know then, further, that up one is ever brought here unless he hath sinned before the Lord. What my sin hath been imports not to thee—and I seek not to know thine. But here thou remainest for ever—lost, even as I am lost." And she wept again.

The Rabbi dashed his turban on the ground, and, tearing his hair, exclaimed, "Woe is me! Who art thou, woman, that speakest to me thus?"

"I am a Hebrew woman," said she, "the daughter of a Doctor of the Laws, in the city of Bagdad; and being brought hither—it matters not how—I am married to a Prince among the Mazikin, even him who was sent for thee. And that child whom thou sawest is our first-born, and I could not bear the thought that the soul of our innocent babe should perish. I therefore besought my husband to try and bring hither a priest, that the law of Moses (blessed be his memory!) should be done; and thy fame, which has spread to Bagdad, and lands farther towards the rising of the sun, made me think of thee. Now, my husband, though great among the Mazikin, is more just than the other Demons; and he loves me, whom he hath ruined, with a love of despair. So he said that the name of Jochonan the Wise was familiar unto him, and that he knew thou wouldst not be able to refuse. What thou hast done to give him power over thee is known to thyself."

"I swear, before Heaven," said the Rabbi, "that I have ever diligently kept the law, and walked steadfastly according to the traditions of our fathers from the days of my youth upward. I have wronged no man in word or deed, and I have daily worshipped the Lord, minutely performing all the ceremonies thereto needful."

"Nay," said the lady, "all this thou mightest have done, and more, and yet be in the power of the Demons. But time passes, for I hear the foot of my husband mounting the stair. There is one chance of thine escape."

"Eat not, drink not, nor take fee or reward while here, and as long as thou canst do thus, the Mazikin have no power over thee, dead or alive. Have courage and persevere."

As she ceased from speaking, her husband entered the room, followed by the nurse, who bore all things requisite for the ministration of the Rabbi. With a heavy heart he performed his duty, and the child was numbered among the Faithful. But when, as usual, at the conclusion of the ceremony, the wine was handed round to be tasted by the child, the mother, and the Rabbi, he refused it when it came to him, saying,[100]

"Spare me, my lord, for I have made a vow that I fast this day, and I will eat not, neither will I drink."

"Be it as thou pleasest," said the Demon; "I will not that thou shouldst break thy vow." And he laughed aloud.

So the poor Rabbi was taken into a chamber looking into a garden, where he passed the remainder of the night and the day, weeping and praying to the Lord that He would deliver him from the city of Demons. But when the twelfth hour came, and the sun was set, the Prince of the Mazikin came again unto him, and said,

"Eat now, I pray thee, for the day of thy vow is past." And he set meat before him.

"Pardon again thy servant, my lord," said Jochonan, "in this thing. I have another vow for this day also. I pray thee be not angry with thy servant."

"I am not angry," said the Demon; "be it as thou pleasest: I respect thy vow." And he laughed louder than before.

So the Rabbi sat another day in his chamber by the garden, weeping and praying; and when the sun had gone behind the hills, the Prince of the Mazikin again stood before him, and said,

"Eat now, for thou must be an hungered. It was a sore vow of thine." And he offered him daintier meats.

And Jochonan felt a strong desire to eat, but he prayed inwardly to the Lord, and the temptation passed, and he answered, "Excuse thy servant yet a third time, my lord, that I eat not. I have renewed my vow."

The Demon took a torch in his hand, and led the Rabbi, through winding passages of his palace, to the door of a lofty chamber, which he opened with a key that he took from a niche in the wall. On entering the room, Jochonan saw that it was of solid silver—floor, ceiling, walls, even to the threshold and the door-posts; and the curiously carved roof and borders of the ceiling shone in the torchlight as if they were the fanciful work of frost. In the midst were heaps of silver money, piled up in immense urns of the same metal, even over the brim.[101]

"Thou hast done me a serviceable act, Rabbi," said the Demon: "take of these what thou pleasest; ay, were it the whole."

"I cannot, my lord," said Jochonan. "I was adjured by thee to come hither in the name of God, and in that name I came, not for fee or for reward."

"Follow me," said the Prince of the Mazikin; and Jochonan did so into an inner chamber.

It was of gold, as the other was of silver. Its golden roof was supported by pillars and pilasters of gold, resting upon a golden floor. The treasures of the kings of the earth would not purchase one of the four and twenty vessels of golden coins, which were disposed in six rows along the room. No wonder! for they were filled by the constant labours of the Demons of the Mine. The heart of Jochonan was moved by avarice when he saw them shining in yellow light, like the autumnal sun, as they reflected the beams of the torch. But God enabled him to persevere.

"These are thine," said the Demon: "one of the vessels which thou beholdest would make thee richest of the sons of men, and I give thee them all."

But Jochonan refused again, and the Prince of the Mazikin opened the door of a third chamber, which was called the Hall of Diamonds. When the Rabbi entered, he screamed aloud, and put his hands over his eyes, for the lustre of the jewels dazzled him, as if he had looked upon the noonday sun. In vases of agate were heaped diamonds beyond numeration, the smallest of which was larger than a pigeon's egg. On alabaster tables lay amethysts, topazes, rubies, beryls, and all other precious stones, wrought by the hands of skilful artists, beyond power of computation. The room was lighted by a carbuncle, which, from the end of the hall, poured its ever-living light, brighter than the rays of noontide, but cooler than the gentle radiance of the dewy moon. This was a sore trial to the Rabbi; but he was strengthened from above, and he refused again.

"Thou knowest me, then, I perceive, O Jochonan, son of Ben-David," said the Prince of the Mazikin. "I am a Demon who would tempt thee to destruction. As thou hast withstood so far,[102] I tempt thee no more. Thou hast done a service which, though I value it not, is acceptable in the sight of her whose love is dearer to me than the light of life. Sad has been that love to thee, my Rebecca! Why should I do that which would make thy cureless grief more grievous?—You have yet another chamber to see," said he to Jochonan, who had closed his eyes, and was praying fervently to the Lord, beating his breast.

Far different from the other chambers, the one into which the Rabbi was next introduced was a mean and paltry apartment without furniture. On its filthy walls hung innumerable bunches of rusty keys of all sizes, disposed without order. Among them, to the astonishment of Jochonan, hung the keys of his own house—those which he had put to hide when he came on this miserable journey—and he gazed upon them intently.

"What dost thou see," said the Demon, "that makes thee look so eagerly? Can he who has refused silver and gold and diamonds be moved by a paltry bunch of rusty iron?"

"They are mine own, my lord," said the Rabbi. "Them will I take, if they be offered me."

"Take them, then," said the Demon, putting them into his hand: "thou mayst depart. But, Rabbi, open not thy house only when thou returnest to Cairo, but thy heart also. That thou didst not open it before was that which gave me power over thee. It was well that thou didst one act of charity in coming with me without reward, for it has been thy salvation. Be no more Rabbi Jochonan the Miser."

The Rabbi bowed to the ground, and blessed the Lord for his escape. "But how," said he, "am I to return, for I know not the way?"

He did so, and, in the space of a moment, heard the voice of the Prince of the Mazikin ordering him to open them again. And behold, when he opened them, he stood in the centre of his own chamber, in his house at Cairo, with the keys in his hand.

When he recovered from his surprise, and had offered thanksgivings to God, he opened his house, and his heart also. He gave[103] alms to the poor, he cheered the heart of the widow, and lightened the destitution of the orphan. His hospitable board was open to the stranger, and his purse was at the service of all who needed to share it. His life was a perpetual act of benevolence, and the blessings showered upon him by all were returned bountifully upon him by the hand of God.

But people wondered, and said, "Is not this the man who was called Rabbi Jochonan the Miser? What hath made the change?"

And it became a saying in Cairo. When it came to the ears of the Rabbi, he called his friends together, and he avowed his former love of gold, and the danger to which it had exposed him, relating all which has been above told, in the hall of the new palace that he built by the side of the river, on the left hand, as thou goest down the course of the great stream. And wise men, who were scribes, wrote it down from his mouth for the benefit of mankind, that they might profit thereby. And a venerable man, with a beard of snow, who had read it in these books, and at whose feet I sat that I might learn the wisdom of the old time, told it to me. And I write it in the tongue of England, the merry and the free, on the tenth day of the month Nisan, in the year, according to the lesser computation, five hundred ninety and seven, that thou mayest learn good thereof. If not, the fault be upon thee.

Jussuf, the Merchant of Balsora.

any hundred years ago, when the renowned Caliph Haroun al Raschid ruled in Bagdad, there lived in the town of Balsora a merchant of good repute, who was called Jussuf. He had received a considerable property by inheritance from[105] his father; and his paternal house, which was esteemed as the most splendid palace of the town, was situated on one of the finest spots. He was obliged to keep a great number both of male and female slaves, as well for the management of his household affairs, as also to assist him in his commercial pursuits, for his business was very extensive. The largest warehouse in the bazaar of the city belonged to him, and it was always filled with the most precious goods, which he caused to be collected from the remotest parts of the globe—either in ships or on the backs of his camels. There you might see all the rarest and choicest gifts of nature, together with the finest and richest productions of art; the most costly tissues and stuffs, the most valuable vessels and implements of silver and gold; elegant jewellery and trinkets, adorned skilfully with sparkling stones of considerable value, heaped up one on another. But the agreeable manner and contrast in which all these were exposed for sale gratified the eye more than even the costly articles themselves. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that the crowd in his warehouse, in so great and rich a city, was very numerous.

It had already become a custom for people to apply to Jussuf if they wished to buy anything which had come in fashion with the wealthy citizen, either on account of its intrinsic value or of its skilful workmanship. Could they find the required goods as fine or as beautiful at another magazine, still they always preferred to go to Jussuf, even if they paid him more dearly for them. They felt confident that they should find everything more genuine, more handsome, and more tasteful there than at any other merchant's. This, however, may have been only a favourable prepossession; but it is nevertheless certain, that in no other warehouse were so many objects, alike useful and ornamental, collected together, as in that of Jussuf.

And as his business flourished more and more, so his riches increased from day to day. At the same time his cares and exertions in watching after the number of men whom he employed, his zeal in the equipment of his ships, and in the forwarding and dispatching of his caravans, increased in equal measure.

He had continued his business in this way for several years, and[106] had altogether neglected his health through his perseverance and unflinching attention, when he felt at once that his usual strength was declining, and that he should soon become exhausted unless he permitted himself at times to take some recreation. He therefore very willingly took the opportunity which offered itself accidentally about this time of buying a fine estate. It was situated only a few miles from the town, by the side of a stream, in a country as pleasant as it was fruitful, combining means for hunting and for fishing; and the price was so moderate that he resolved on the purchase without much consideration. He purposed to detach himself for a few weeks from his business, and to devote himself to pleasure and repose in the quiet and calm of his country residence. He caused a new and elegant country house to be built by a skilful architect on an eminence, instead of the old one, surrounded by a large pleasant artificial garden. As all was settled and prepared, he shut up his warehouse at the end of every week early enough for him to ride over. There he would repose from the troubles of the preceding days, and recreate himself with hunting and fishing, and collect new strength in the peaceful serenity of his country estate.

But custom is often stronger than our inclinations: he had become so accustomed to an active life, that his thoughts always returned to his wares in his warehouse, or to his ships that were transporting his goods over distant seas. Hence it happened that he soon entertained a hope of drawing large profits, as well as the restoration of his health, from this country residence. He employed himself very successfully in the chase and in fishing, or in raising choice flowers in the beds before his house, or else with the care of rare foreign birds, which he fed and kept in a large aviary. But these only charmed him for a time: the chase of wild beasts appeared to him too soon to be but a cruel sport; fishing was tedious; the cultivation of his flowers, too, was monotonous; and, if he contemplated the imprisoned foreign birds, he heartily pitied them because they were deprived of freedom. One day he had tried everything to divert himself, but without success; at last he seated himself, half discontented, in the open colonnade which[107] extended along the side of his country house, and his eye glanced over the flower-beds before him into the extreme distance: there his gaze could follow over a small tract the course of the river Schat al Arab, which, rising at the mouths of the Euphrates and Tigris, flows between shores clothed with verdure. Some large merchant ships were sailing by; several fishing-boats were visible.

"Ah, thou magnificent stream!" exclaimed Jussuf, who had given himself to reflection after he had viewed it for some time; "what a pity that thou must fall into the sea so soon below the kingly town of Balsora! There thou art, wasted and forgotten; the navigator on the great sea never thinks that the streams of his native country flow mingled with the waves through which the keel of his ship cuts. Now, then," continued he, after a short reflection, "it is all the better for me: now I am still active in business; my ships set out at morning, noon, and evening; my camels march to India through the deserts of Arabia, and the plains of Tartary and Persia; thousands and thousands of men call me still the rich and great merchant Jussuf, and praise me as the most lucky of mortals; yet a little while, and my existence will be lost as thine, in the sea of eternity."

Among such earnest considerations and soliloquies, he had hardly observed that a large variegated butterfly, hovering over the neighbouring flower-bed, moved slowly to and fro, just as if it were undecided in choosing on which flower it would alight. He was very attentive to its broad wings, which glittered with the most splendid colours, while the insect, brilliantly variegated, settled on a scarlet poppy, as though it wished to eclipse the magnificence of the flower with the variety of its different hues.

"What splendid colours! What beautifully delineated wings!" exclaimed Jussuf. "Oh that I might possess the rare insect! The dyers who stain my silk stuffs, and the weavers, might take the liveliness of the colours, the design, and the well-wrought combination of colours, for a pattern."

When the butterfly settled itself quietly on the poppy, Jussuf approached it carefully to catch it; but, as he had no other convenient thing at his hand, he took off his turban, and covered the[108] butterfly and the flower. The butterfly had not flown away, therefore it must be under the turban. Already he rejoiced at his lucky capture, and was proceeding to raise the turban slowly a little on one side, in order to seize the imprisoned insect securely, when he remarked that the turban was raising itself, and that under it a human form was growing up higher and higher out of the flower. Full of astonishment, he drew back a step. As he kept his eyes fixed on the object, a maiden of astonishing beauty appeared before him, such as he had never before seen. Her face was veiled, and his turban was on her head: smilingly she removed it, and extended it to him, saying, with a mischievous look,

"There, friend Jussuf, take it again: this turban is accustomed to ornament a brain in which rule very earnest and high thoughts; it would, perhaps, feel very badly honoured were it to serve as a covering for my frivolous caprices."

"Thou jestest, high daughter of a genius," exclaimed Jussuf, sinking on his knees: "thy incomparable beauty testifies that thou art no ordinary mortal, if even the wonderful manner in which thou hast appeared had not fixed it beyond all doubt."

"It may be," replied the maiden, "that thou hast rightly guessed. But that is no matter; I am come here to-day to help to banish your idle thoughts: come, run a race with me."

Immediately she threw the poppy which he had covered with his turban roughly in his face, and ran away. Jussuf remained irresolute, and looked after her; then she stopped her pace, and called back to him,

"Art thou transformed into a statue? canst thou not run? run, and catch me, if you can."

Her mischievous manner gave her an irresistible grace, which urged him to begin the race, even although he did not wish to join in it. She flew on, allowing him sometimes to approach her, and then turned suddenly aside out of the way, and ran over the turf to avoid him: she did not even spare the flower-beds; and when she wanted to escape from him, she passed over them without caring for the finest plants. The more she provoked him in different ways, the more he exerted all his strength to catch her.[109] At last she appeared exhausted, and threw herself, breathing heavily, on a bank of turf. "Here is an asylum," exclaimed she.

Tired and breathless with the unusual exertion of running, he followed her example, and sat down near her on the bank. While they were resting, she plucked some flowers and branches of a flourishing shrub, which had spread itself from the bank into a green roof over their heads, and skilfully wove a garland.

"Come," said she to Jussuf, when the wreath was ready, "come, let us throw up the garland."

She arose at these words and led him to the nearest open space; she leaped around, dancing in a circle and holding the garland on high in her right hand, and then threw it up high into the air. The garland of flowers rose while she sang these words:

"Rise, thou garland fresh and fair,
Blend thy hues in liquid air:
Downward sinking, may'st thou be
A fairy coronal for me."

High above the shoots of the surrounding trees it seemed to remain hovering in the sunshine which lighted the colours of the flowers, inducing a very peculiar splendour. Then it sank down gradually in soft vibrations, and settled on her head, as if she had placed it there herself as a crown. She took it from her locks and handed it to Jussuf.

"Now it is thy turn," said she; "throw it up, and see whether it will fall on thy head."

Jussuf took it and threw it as high as he could; but it did not from his hand attain the sunny height, and the garland fell quickly, and at a great distance, to the ground before him. By the time he had altogether recollected himself, she was at the spot, and had already raised the garland, and was laughing heartily at his awkwardness. She threw it up, dancing in the former manner, and sang the spell. This time also the garland ascended high above the tops of the trees into the sunshine, and sank down on her head as at first. Jussuf must needs try again, but he succeeded no better than before. Thereupon she again threw it up, and caught[110] it once more. After she had thus shown him several times, she cried out, laughing mischievously,

"Well, hast thou not yet observed why thou failest? Why dost thou not sing my little song when thou throwest up the garland? Try once more, and sing the spell; then it will succeed better."

Jussuf did so. He threw the garland and sang the verse; and, behold, the garland hovered in the sunshine, and descended in soft vibrations on his head, crowning his turban.

"Dost thou see?" said the maiden, laughingly: "the spell is of very great avail." She threw up the wreath again several times, and then she took it, and exclaimed, "Now it is enough; but the game will be tedious." She threw it up high, and sang:

"Flower-garland, raise thee high,
Float in sunshine brilliantly;
Lend thy varied hues, to shed
Light on the darksome forest-head."

The garland floated far out over the open space towards the edge of the park; there it melted suddenly in the air, and the blossoms rained down as it were on a dark cypress, and clung to it, so that it was adorned at once with a number of splendid flowers. Jussuf saw this with astonishment.

"Well," exclaimed he, "thou conjurest. How is it possible that a cypress-tree should bear such beautiful blossoms?"

But she answered, "What is there to be wondered at? Who would make such a commotion about a merry game? Come," continued she, "let us play at ball." And jumping up, she picked a ripe pomegranate from a neighbouring tree, placed herself at a tolerable distance from him at a shrub, and threw him the apple for a ball. Jussuf had been very fond of playing at ball in his younger days, and still possessed some skill, so that he caught it.

"Well, indeed, well done," exclaimed she, as she caught it from Jussuf, who had not thrown it quite straight, with the same ease as if it had fallen from the hand of the ablest thrower.

They threw it in this way several times to each other, till at last Jussuf let it fall.

"Oh!" cried she, "well done! whoever lets it fall, to him the[111] punishment is due." And when she had caught the pomegranate again, she winked at him, and exclaimed, "Now come back, I will give you a blow on the face." But Jussuf remained where he was, watching for the throw, that he might avoid it. "Come back," she said still; but he remained stationary.

Then she breathed low some words over the pomegranate, and threw it suddenly at Jussuf. He wished to avoid the blow, by bending down quickly; but before he could succeed, he felt it on his forehead. The pomegranate was so violently thrown that it burst in pieces. The numerous grains lay scattered on the ground; but hardly had they touched the earth than they changed into so many wasps, which flew into the air and swarmed round his head. In the anguish of their stings, he held his hands before his eyes and ran on; but the swarm of wasps followed him, buzzing around him.

"Throw now thy turban on the ground," called the maiden at last to him, who was standing in the distance, loudly laughing at his anguish.

He listened, and obeyed her call without thinking of it, and quickly all the wasps crept under the turban. He stood in astonishment, and looked at the turban. Then the maiden approached him with ceaseless laughter, and said,

"What has happened to thee, friend Jussuf? Why dost thou gaze upon thy turban with such anxious attention? It is a pity they are not bees, the honey might be collected there. Take it up and put it on thy head."

He stooped down and raised it with cautious slowness; but, to his astonishment, all the wasps had disappeared; only a green lizard ran to and fro, and was lost among the grass and the leaves near the pathway.

"Where did that go?" asked Jussuf, reflectingly. "That was a pomegranate and became wasps, and where are they now gone?"

"What!" rejoined the maiden; "where did it go? Who would ask such a thing? How are wasps and pomegranates generally produced in this world? Or can you tell me how it is that grass comes up and grows out of a grain of seed? or how is it that a[112] fig-tree can spring up from each little seed of the fig? The case is just so; and if people would ask questions about everything, there would be no end to such inquiries. But man must not inquire too closely. Come," continued she, quickly changing to a quieter and more mischievous manner, "Dost thou see those figs hanging on the branch over the way? let us see if you can jump high enough to reach and pick them."

He saw the figs, and sprang, but did not nearly reach the height at which they hung. She encouraged him to jump again and again, and at every awkward spring she laughed at his fruitless exertions. She then took a short run with little steps, and, floating as easily in the air as if she were borne on wings, plucked the figs, and then was wafted down as softly on the other side.

"See," said she to him, holding out the figs, "here they are; now we will eat them together. We have earned them with one spring."

Jussuf declined them. "They all belong to thee," said he; "for thou alone didst pick them. I could not reach."

"Do you wish to make me angry?" said she. "Hast thou not tired thyself more than I?—there, take and eat." She forced him, by her friendly manner, to eat half the figs; while she pressed the other to her lips, sucked a little of its juice, and then threw it away. "I did that," said she, clapping her hands, "that thou mightest not soon forget me: now thou must think of me for some time."

Immediately she began a new game with him, and after a short time another, and so on, continually changing the sport. The serious Jussuf jumped, and hopped, and danced just as she wished, and tried to perform all the tricks she invented, as if he were a boy. At last they came to a fish-pond which was in the garden. She jumped into the boat, which was standing all ready, and rowed with ease into the middle of the little lake. Then she stopped and called to him,

Jussuf stood on the bank, and would have willingly walked to her through the water; but he knew that it was too deep, and he could not swim.[113]

"Well, that is no consequence," she called out; "do as I do." And at these words she sprang lightly out of the boat, and walked over the surface of the waves as if on dry land; the water did not even moisten the sole of her sandal.

"Oh that I could!" exclaimed Jussuf. "But I am too heavy; I should sink at once."

The maiden had in the meantime sprung back into the boat, and called out, "If thou wilt not come to me, I will never come again to thee; nor will I now stay any longer with thee. Evening is drawing near. For the future, then, thou mayest sit alone and grow ill tempered; and if thou ever wishest to see thy playmate again, thou mayest seek her in the native country of the variegated butterfly, which thou believedst thou hadst caught to-day, but which has flown away. Recollect, and come before I have counted three. One—two—three." As she said the last number she disappeared.

Jussuf now saw the variegated butterfly flutter over the lake, and lose itself among the flowers of the garden; the boat moved back towards the bank where it had before been placed. The abandoned Jussuf stood for some time, as if in a dream; but when the evening twilight veiled the distant hills, he awoke to consciousness. Then the occurrences of the day appeared like a wonderful vision to his soul. In the silence of his chamber he soon threw himself on his bed, and here everything recurred to his memory; and he now wondered less at the wonderful appearance of the maiden than at himself—that he, a serious man, who till now had lived in the activity and cares of business, should have amused himself for several hours with childish games, at which he had not before played since his earliest boyish days. Gradually his thoughts passed into dreams.

He awoke late the next morning. The sun was already high in the heavens, and his slaves had long been waiting at the threshold of the door which led to his room, to receive his commands. He remembered that he wished to return early in the morning to the[114] town, because it was his custom regularly to keep open his warehouse on this day of the week. It proved, therefore, very agreeable to him, when he went out, to find his horse was standing ready saddled before the house.

After he had dressed quickly, and taken his breakfast, he mounted his splendid Arab steed, and rode towards Balsora, followed by several slaves. When he arrived at the bazaar to open his warehouse, a number of customers were already assembled, and the crowd increased at every moment, so that he could hardly satisfy all—he had not hands enough. When all was produced that was wished for, time was wanting to give the inquirers the needful information about the worth and quality of the goods; and if a purchaser wished to pay for his articles, he had no time to count over the money, but he placed it uncounted in his money-box, trusting to the honour of his customers. This press of business so fully occupied his attention, that he soon forgot his last night's adventure, though at first the form of his fair playmate was present to his soul. So many days passed away in the bustle of his vast employment.

One day, about the end of the week, when he was busy in his warehouse, the public crier went by, offering for sale some small foreign insects and butterflies; and holding the case in which they were in the air, "Who will buy," he exclaimed—"who will buy fine bright silken creatures, very cheap, very cheap?" Jussuf raised his eyes by chance, while conversing with a customer about a necklace of jewels, and perceived in the case the beautiful butterfly which he wanted to catch himself a few days before, and out of which his comical playmate had raised herself from the poppy.

Then his words died on his lips. He looked at the crier, dumb for a minute, and then called him back quickly. "Let me see," said he; and when he had convinced himself that he was not mistaken, he offered the man at once a thousand sequins, without allowing him to ask anything.

The crier gave him the case quickly, as if he feared that Jussuf would repent of his purchase, and smilingly received the purse of gold.[115]

"I thank thee," said he. "It is well that I know thee to be an amateur in such things. If I get any more, I will certainly bring them to thee first. People say, indeed, that thou dost not sell cheaply. I have convinced myself thou also payest well for what thou purchasest." Overjoyed, and praising his good fortune, he went away.

Jussuf had scarcely received the case of insects, when he carefully examined it in a division of his warehouse, whilst a red blush mantled over his face, and his looks betokened the greatest pleasure. The bystanders could not believe that he was such a lover of insects, and such a connoisseur; and they conjectured that his eyes must have discovered some extraordinary value in the purchased case. But from this moment Jussuf paid little more attention to his business. This absence of mind increased every moment, and often caused him to ask quite a trifling sum for very precious goods, and an unconscionably high one for those equally insignificant. He could scarcely conceal his chagrin whenever new customers made their appearance; and all saw with wonder, how—contrary to his usual custom—he hailed with joy the time for closing his warehouse, and how joyously he departed with his case of insects!

Immediately he wrapped the case in a cloth, and had it carried by some slaves who accompanied him to his house. Till now he did not know why he had so much value for the butterfly; he was only led to purchase it by some impulse, and had not as yet given himself any reasons for it. For the first time, as he lay quietly in bed, he asked himself this question: "What shall I do with thee?" Then—"The other butterfly flew away over the flowers of my garden some days ago; this is dry and pierced, as if it had been dead for many years. What connection can it have with my bright and waggish playmate, who is only fit to be a daughter of the genii?"

He recalled to himself everything in the remarkable occurrence—even the most trifling events that happened in their different games, from the appearance of the maiden to her disappearance out of the boat, returned to his mind. Then he thought over her[116] last words. "What did she say?" said he to himself. "Did she not say, 'If thou shouldst wish to see me, thou must seek me in the fatherland of the variegated butterflies?'"

Now a thought shot through his mind which made all perfectly clear to him. He confessed to himself that he had been more happy with her fun and play than he had been before since his boyhood, and that he had then quite forgotten all the cares and troubles of business. He earnestly longed to have always about him so merry a playfellow, to afford him diversion with her childish mirth.

"This playmate of thine," continued he, speaking to himself, "if she has entirely disappeared, and no track leads to her, has not a chance fallen into thy hands by this butterfly? Still thou canst seek for her in her native land. But what naturalist could name it from this imperfect description, without having seen the butterfly?"

He then recalled to his memory many tales which he had heard in his childhood, in which were instances of daughters of genii, who, becoming the wives of mortals, blessed them in a wonderful manner, and, after the death of their husbands, returned to the kingdom of the genii.

Amid such thoughts as these he sank into slumber, and awoke the next morning with the firm resolution of seeking the daughter of the genii, and of choosing her for his wife. The first thing, then, was for him to discover the native country of the butterflies; for it was there that he was to find her. He took, therefore, the butterfly out of the case from among the other insects, and set out for one of the suburbs of Balsora.

There lived in one of the last houses a man who he was aware knew not only the name of every beast, stone, and plant, but also the hidden strength of nature and her mysterious operations. This man had once been his master, and to his instruction Jussuf owed his intimate knowledge of the manifold productions of nature out of which the various goods were manufactured in different lands, and which afforded him the means of always purchasing the best and most superior articles, whereby he obtained such a crowd of customers. In order to show his gratitude to his master for this[117] instruction, he had given him, out of the inheritance of his father, this large house, with the surrounding vast garden, that he might live undisturbed in his secret studies.

With this man he now took refuge, hoping certainly to receive from him some information about the native land of his silken butterfly. Upon his knocking at the door, an old servant, the only one in the house, opened it, and led him into a chamber in which his old master was sitting upon a cushion, before a large table covered with a black cloth. Rolls of parchment with unknown characters, compasses, a sextant, a triangle, and other instruments, lay scattered round in disorder. He received Jussuf with friendly nods, without rising from his cushion, motioning him to sit down opposite, and then said,

"Ah, ah! my Jussuf; this is a rare visit. Hast thou at last been able to spare an hour from thy business to pay a visit to the old Modibjah? I hear that thou art become the most popular merchant in all Balsora, and that thou hast immense connections. I am glad of it; then all is right and prosperous. What one has once chosen for his calling, for that one must entirely live. What we do must be done well; and may that one live who devotes his life to a useful activity!"

Jussuf was prevented by a certain shyness from mentioning his wish at once to his grave master. He said how he had longed to see him once more, to hear how he was; and reproached him tenderly for not coming to see him. He added that he had certainly a great many curious things in his warehouses, and that he had promised himself the pleasure of showing them all to his wise master. Perhaps he might find among them something that might be useful to him, and it would be a pleasure to him to give it to him.

At these words Modibjah laughed, and answered, "I want none of thy goods. What I wanted thou hast given me: while thou continuest to me this house and garden as my property, I am contented, so that I remain undisturbed. Here I can devote myself to my reflections and my pursuits undistracted and unobserved by the curiosity of mankind. Then I should have erred in visiting thee; for thy time is equally taken up with the cares and[118] business of thy profession; and I should but have disturbed thee with my visits. But now speak," said he, ending his discourse: "I see from thy looks that a particular request brings thee to me."

Jussuf blushed that his master should have so seen through him, and then related to him how the numerous cares and exertions of his business had produced a prejudicial effect on his health, and how he had been obliged to seek diversion; that he had then renewed a partiality which he had in his boyish years, and had again begun to collect butterflies and other insects. "But," continued he, "the necessary knowledge is wanting to me. Some days ago I bought by chance a collection of butterflies, of whose names and native country I know nothing." He drew out the box at these words, and held it open before the old man.

But hardly had he glanced at it when he shook his head silently; and, considering, at last he said, "Poor Jussuf! Still thou wishest to inquire about it as of secondary import, as if I did not know that thou only comest to me for this reason. Art thou gone so far as to play the hypocrite with thy old master?"

"Well, then, I am curious to learn the name and the country of this butterfly," answered Jussuf, with a trembling voice.

Then the grey haired old man raised himself from his cushion, and looked at Jussuf with such a searching and piercing glance, that he was constrained through his shame to cast down his eyes.

"Still, I should do thee injustice were I to blame thee," continued he: "I know that thou art still innocent. I can only lament that thou shouldst have fallen into the snares of my implacable enemy. In order to obtain the victory over me, she will seek to ruin thee." He laid his hand on his forehead, and sank into profound reflection.

At last Jussuf broke silence, and said, "I do not understand thee. What enemy dost thou mean? See, it is my fault for not having told thee the whole openly. Now shalt thou know all." He then related to him, without any reserve, the transactions of the previous days.

When he had finished, the old man answered, "Now thou hast been candid with me, and hast a claim to equal sincerity on my[119] side. But I know that thou art not now capable of hearing the truth—that it is a useless trouble to attempt to cure thee of thy delusion. If I were to conceal the native land of the butterflies from thee, I know that thou wouldst find ways and means of learning what thou now desirest to discover. Thou wouldst fain find her who is thy enemy, although thou deemest her to be thine innocent friend. I will show thee the way to her. But I will think of ways and means to guard thee against her wickedness. For that purpose I must know thy exact age. If thou hast not quite forgotten thy former love for thy true master, tell me now the day and hour of thy birth."

Jussuf willingly told him the day and the hour, for he was very glad that Modibjah promised to tell him the native country of the butterfly. What he said about the wickedness of an enemy he took for the whims of an old man, and therefore it did not weigh at all with him. In the meanwhile, Modibjah had gone into a side-chamber, and now brought out a large, deep box, whilst he cleared away the parchments and instruments spread about on the table. On the cover a great number of cross lines were drawn through one another, and among them were worked innumerable gold and silver stars. After he had carefully traced all these, he produced a small box of ebony, skilfully inlaid with streaks of mother-of-pearl.

"I have reckoned thine age," said he: "thou art now just thirty years, nine months, and seven days, and eight hours old. All these years, months, days, and hours form the figure of fifty-four. God be praised and His great Prophet, it is not yet of the worst."

During this speech he sat down, and at a nod from him Jussuf seated himself opposite. Then he pressed a hidden spring in the little black box, the lid sprang up, and he shook the contents before Jussuf on the table. They were a number of half-moons, little stars, triangles, and other figures of ivory.

After the old man had quickly collected the remainder together, and placed them again in the box, he called to him to throw the figures that he had counted out in the air in such a manner that[120] they should fall down on the table-cloth. Jussuf did as he was desired, and the figures spread themselves in their fall over the whole table. The old man considered them attentively for some time, and began to murmur, half-singing, a form of words in a foreign language, and touched with his finger quickly, as if he were counting one or other of them, now and then taking away one and placing it with the others in the box. He repeated his words twice, and counted and pointed with his finger, taking away from the figures as at first, till at last there only remained nine. Now he began another speech, which appeared to Jussuf to be in a different language, and sang it three times, while he took away more of the ivory figures, and pointed to some of the gold and silver worked stars. At last he had collected all the three nearest constellations.

"It is good," said the old man, with a joyful and tranquil countenance. "I now know what I wanted; now I can tell you what you so earnestly wish to know. If thou wishest to find thy vain, trifling playmate, go towards the rising of the sun till thou comest to a town of Persia, in the neighbourhood of which are situated the ruins of an old royal city, now destroyed. There stay till the third day after the new moon. Then go to the ruins in the evening. On the eastern edge, at some distance from the heap of relics, thou wilt find a large well-formed stone, which once served as the head; seat thyself on this stone, and at the moment when the narrow illumined streak of the moon, like a fiery ship, seems to swim over the mountains on the horizon, call out the word 'Haschanascha,' and a sign-post will soon appear. But then thou art still distant from the object of thy journey. But may the exertions and vicissitudes of thy long travel so lessen thy foolishly-ardent desire that thou mayest listen to the voice of a prudent friend, who will certainly be near thee when thou hast need of him."

Hardly had Jussuf heard where he was to go when he sprang out of his seat, in order to take leave at once of Modibjah, and to commence his journey. The wish which Modibjah had expressed was hardly heard by him.

"Wait, wait," said the former; "who knows whether we shall ever see each other again? This journey leads thee far away, and[121] I am old. Thou art also a mortal, who mayest be overwhelmed by the dangers thou hast to encounter. Here, take this as a token of remembrance." At these words he reached him a small leathern pouch.

"What is this?" asked Jussuf, after he had opened it, and saw in it a rather opaque milk-white stone, at the bottom of which a red spark seemed to shine. "That is certainly a talisman."

"It is a talisman," answered Modibjah: "esteem it for my sake. Use it when thy strength and intellect are not sufficient for thee. As long as thou perceivest the spark, thou wilt proceed in the right way, and wilt not encounter any danger; but the contrary will happen when the spark appears to be quite extinguished. Then breathe over it the name 'Haschanascha.' Do not allow it to be taken away from thee, either by force or by stratagem; nor give it willingly as a present to any stranger's hand. If thou shouldst wish to make an experiment, throw it behind thee over thy head."

Jussuf thanked his master for the present, and hid the talisman in his bosom; he then took leave of his master in an absent spirit and hastened home. He immediately gave his slaves the necessary charges, committed the care of his house to an old faithful servant, locked up his warehouse in the bazaar, and proceeded in the evening of the same day, with a train of twenty armed and well-mounted followers, and with forty camels loaded with gold and precious things of all kinds, and with all necessaries, out at the eastern gate of the city of Balsora. Whoever perceived or heard, that Jussuf had set out on a distant journey believed that he had gone to fetch some rare goods which he could not entrust to his servants; and people were generally in curious expectation to see what could be the interest in any jewels that should induce the so greatly-altered merchant, who till now let everything be managed by his servants, to go himself on the journey, and with so small an escort.

Jussuf kept exactly to the rule of his old master, and proceeded straight towards the rising of the sun. He reached, with his little caravan, without any particular adventures, the plains which extend between the mountains and the Persian Sea. But here the summer heat was so oppressive that he turned more to the left towards the[122] north, that he might find in the neighbourhood of the mountains some shade from the trees and, above all, springs of water, which, murmuring down from the mountains, might serve for coolness and refreshment to them, after they had wandered far in the plains through dry sand. He proceeded for some days towards his destination without the occurrence of anything unusual or remarkable. After some days, he reached a spot where a small rivulet flowed between two mountains.

The opposite side of this mountain extended out a long way towards the sea-coast, so that there was only a very narrow slip of the plain. Uncertain whether he should go straight towards the sea, or turn off to the left along the valley through which the rivulet wound, he ordered his slaves to stop. He looked round to see if he could not perceive in the surrounding country some track to indicate the proximity of men, of whose advice he might avail himself; but there was not a hut, nor a tent, nor a flock to be seen far or near. Although fertile, the country appeared quite desolate. Some of his slaves advised the direction along the sea-shore, because there were imprinted the footsteps of camels and horses of earlier travellers; others suggested, on the contrary, to advance along the river. But Jussuf shook his head at these counsels.

"Why should we," said he, "enter in uncertainty on either of those roads? If we proceed to the right by the sea-coast, it will lead us too far south; if we follow the valley of the river, it will conduct us straight to its entrance towards the north; but farther up it may take another direction, whereby we might be enabled to continue our route, even if it be a very winding way; or we may ascend the mountains, which will probably be higher and steeper near the source of the river. Our camels already throw a long shadow on the earth, and in two hours we must select a place for repose. It is therefore more prudent to stay here. Two roads evidently unite at this point, and therefore it cannot be long before some one arrives from one side or the other, who can give us the desired information. So make preparations to pass the night here."

As he commanded, so they did. The slaves unpacked from the camels what was necessary, and quickly erected a tent for their[123] master of variegated painted poles and thick silk stuffs. Then they kindled a fire on a neighbouring spot, and made preparations for the meals of all.

In the meantime, Jussuf wandered to the foremost height of the mountains, towards the valley of the river, and rejoiced at the richly blossoming flowers which seemed heaped on all the shrubs, and at the magnificent country, and the refreshing air which floated up to him out of the valley. As he walked carelessly along, his foot struck against a ripe melon, which still hung fast to a withered branch. "Well," thought he to himself, "a juicy melon is a refreshing fruit in the heat of the day." He picked it and took it home to the encampment. There he delivered it to a slave, and charged him to take care that it was freed of its seeds, and brought up to his meal with the other dishes. He then entered his tent, which had meanwhile been erected, and stretched himself on his soft cushion, covered with costly cloths, that he might rest awhile. He soon sank into slumber, exhausted with the fatigue of the day; but he was shortly roused from his dream. Two of his slaves stood at his couch, and exclaimed,

"Well, what of the melon? Perhaps it is beginning to decay, or is it not good for anything? if so, throw it away. Was it worth while to wake me up about that?"

"No, master! no, master!" cried the slaves, as it were with one mouth. "Who would do that? Come and see yourself."

"I see I must come myself if I wish to learn what has happened," said Jussuf, half unwillingly; and rising from his couch, he followed them out of the tent. They led him to the place where they had made preparations for the meal. There he saw a melon, in form like the one which he had found, but of such a gigantic size, that[124] he had never before seen one like it. "Whence, then, comes this monster of a melon?" said he to the slaves, who were standing at a distance with signs of astonishment and fear.

"Yes, master, that is the same melon that you brought here yourself," answered several voices at once.

"But that was so small, that I could conveniently span it with my fingers, and carry it in my hand," returned he; "but three men could scarcely surround this with their arms." They assured him that it was the same melon which he had bought. "Then," continued he, "things cannot go right if a ripe and gathered melon can grow to such a monstrous size."

At these words, the slave to whom he had given the melon came to him and said, "It may well be that things do not go right." He then related to him that he had laid the melon down where the large one now lay; that when he had come near it, at a later period, a great wasp had settled on the melon and pierced it with its sting. Hardly had it flown away, when a bee came buzzing, and lodged on it: after stinging it, this one also flew away. From this moment the melon grew larger and larger; and they should have called him to see the wonder long ago, had not they all been fixed with curiosity and astonishment to see what would happen.

Since the rising of the moon, which was how beaming above the horizon in full splendour, had the melon ceased increasing. They asked Jussuf what should now happen, and imagined that he would not ask them to cut up and pare the melon.

"That we cannot do," said they, finishing their speech, "for it is evident that magic is at play here. An ordinary melon cannot grow any more after it is ripe and picked off the tree; and even if that were possible, it could not in any case grow to such an immense size as never has been seen before in the world. Who knows what is hidden in it?"

"Oh, you silly cowards!" exclaimed Jussuf, provoked at the terror of his servants,—"shame on you! You are in a foreign land, and do not consider that everything here is not exactly as it is at home. What can be concealed in it? Outside is the peel; under the peel is the pulp; and in the middle is the texture of cells, with[125] the seeds. Look here," said he to those who stood next to him, as he took off his short broad scimitar: "I will cut off a piece, that you may see that it is as I say."

While he spoke, he made two vigorous cuts—one along and the other across the melon, so as to loosen a four-angled piece of the peel. Now he commanded one of his slaves to lift up the piece.

As the slave anxiously approached the melon, in order to obey the command of his master, the piece sprang out of it with wonderful strength over his head, so that he tumbled backwards on the ground from terror.

"Mahomet, great Prophet, stand by us!" exclaimed the slaves, when they saw this. But soon their astonishment changed to terror, and they all ran away, when suddenly a human figure rose out of the aperture in the melon, and, with one spring, stood before Jussuf. The latter drew back, startled as much at the sudden and unexpected appearance of the man as at his unusual figure. The top of his perfectly flat face was disfigured by two monstrous eyes, and by long black eyebrows, which extended over the greatest part of his face. On his short upper lip he had a narrow but long, hairy, stiff substance, the ends of which reached to the crown of his head, and there intermixed with his hair in two tufts, which stood sideways in the air like antennæ. His dress was marked with bright shining stripes of a black and brimstone colour; and behind him a transparent head-covering hung in two gauze-like wings nearly down to the ground. His clothes fitted tight everywhere. He also wore a girdle round his body, which rendered his leanness still more striking. Besides this, the nail of his middle finger was very long, and bent over like a hoe. His whole figure had the appearance of an immense wasp.

The man had hardly observed that Jussuf shrank before him, when he seized the wings of his head-dress with both his hard hands, and gave a leap, as if he were trying to fly.

Jussuf was too frightened to ask him who he was, and what he wanted. But the man immediately uttered a guttural, grumbling sound, which was probably intended for a song; and Jussuf heard these words:[126]

"I come, a slave at one's behest,
Who knoweth more than thou canst tell;
She warned thee, whiles of friends the best,
Of bees that lurk in honied bell.
Guide well thy course; nor seek, proud man,
Whate'er thou deem'st a better way;
She can each hidden secret scan—
So follow thou without delay."

When his song was nearly ended, another voice hummed on the side where the melon lay. On looking there, Jussuf saw a second human form, as wonderful as the first, rise out of the aperture. This one had a dark dress, inclining to olive-green, and his form was rather less slim than that of the former; but he had the appearance of a bee in human form. Leaping also nearer to Jussuf, it sang in a higher but equally buzzing tone:

"Mark me well: oh, what can be
Direful wasps but plagues to thee?
Thine is every vain desire;
Yet the bees that never tire,
They can serve and tend thee well—
The busy storers of the cell.
Keep me, then; thy path shall prove
A path of hope that leads to love."

However terrified Jussuf might have been at this appearance, he yet collected himself, and said, "Her dear servants seem to mean very well, but——"

Before he had finished his speech, both of them were grumbling and buzzing at him.

He understood still so much, that each of them wished to lessen the reputation of his fellow, and to make him suspected in his eyes. Both turned against each other again, and hummed and buzzed at one another with unheard-of obstinacy. Their struggle became constantly more vehement, and at last they seized each other in mad rage, and whirled round, struggling and burring in a circle. Jussuf saw a kind of lance and a long dagger shine, and both of[127] them fell down pierced through at his feet. In their dying moments they begged him to bury them in their cradle. He nodded assuringly, and they lay dead in the moment. Immediately Jussuf called his slaves to him, who were standing in the distance in earnest expectation, and ordered them to carry the dead bodies to the melon. But they refused, certainly with humble excuses, but still with steadfast decision.

"In the name of all natural things," said they, "we will prove to thee our certain obedience; but do not ask us to make ourselves unclean, or to meddle with such unnatural appearances."

He represented to them quietly that he could not place both the dead bodies in the hollow melon, and that one of them must help him—that what he ventured they might also venture; but they denied perseveringly, and no one appeared ready to lend a helping hand. Angry at their obstinacy, Jussuf was on the point of chastising them with the flat part of his sabre-blade, when one of the slaves called out,

They had certainly vanished; and when he looked on the ground where they had lain, he discovered in the dust a dead wasp and a dead bee.

"See, see!" said he, in perfect astonishment; "would not any one believe that all those things were only a delusion of the mind? If the great melon did not lie there now, I should be inclined to think that I had, in a mad fancy, taken the bees and wasps for large figures of men."

At these words, he turned to the side where the melon had been, and, lo! that had also disappeared. Approaching nearer, he found in its place the little melon again, just as he had picked it during his walk. In its side he discovered a small four-angled opening. Then he went quickly back, fetched the two dead insects, and put them through the aperture into the melon.

"It may now be as it may," said he to himself. "I promised them to bury their dead bodies in the melon, and I fulfil this promise."[128]

"Now, you will not wish to eat any of this enchanted melon?" inquired one of the slaves; and as Jussuf shook his head in the negative, and at once entered his tent, the slave gave the melon a kick with his foot, so that it rolled all the way down the hill, and fell below into the river that flowed there. The waves swept over it.

The night passed tranquilly. At first, Jussuf could not get any sleep, for the events of wonder had so stirred up his soul. At last fatigue conquered, and he slumbered till near morning.

In the commencement of his journey he had made an arrangement that four of his slaves should watch every night alternately. In the morning he asked with uncommon curiosity whether nothing had happened in the night, or whether no traveller had passed by from whom they might learn the direction. But no one had gone by.

Low-spirited at not having any sure direction for his journey, he struck his bosom, and said, "So are we borne away and removed from good fortune." He had with the blow hit the pouch containing the talisman which he had received from his master Modibjah, and which till now he had quite forgotten. He pulled it out, opened the pouch, and said, "Thou hast disclosed thyself in a good hour. Come, tell me whether I shall do well if I proceed through the valley along the river-side."

After he had considered it, he exclaimed joyfully, "Yes, yes; the resolution is good; the fiery spark still shines living in the stone." He immediately gave orders for departure, and the procession, rode out into the valley. His slaves wondered that he who had been so uncertain about the direction should now be so secure, and take so confident a resolution. The journey was much more pleasant in the valley than it had before been. The air from the stream was cooled, for a mild breeze was always breathing through the valley; and they soon reached an inhabited place, and learned that they were in the direct road to a small town, in whose neighbourhood were situated the ruins of the old royal city. Pleased as Jussuf was at this news, still it was rather disagreeable, to him: he remembered that on the evening of his adventure with the melon the[129] moon was in full splendour, and he could now calculate that he would arrive several days too early for the first object of his journey. And what should he set about in that small town till, on the third day after the new moon, he should find his sign-post? However, he continued on his way by small day journeys. At last he came to the little town in whose neighbourhood the ruins were situated, and stopped at a caravanserai. Whilst his people unloaded the camels and settled everything, he wandered idly through the town to see something of it. In the course of his walk a young man presented himself to him, who was willing to show him in passing the few curiosities of the place. While they were conversing together they made themselves known to each other; and Jussuf learned that the young man's name was Hassan Assad, a man of whom his people had often spoken to him in terms of commendation, and who had been very useful to him several times in commissions for goods in Persia. He heartily thanked him, therefore, and assured him of his pleasure at being able to form his personal acquaintance. Hassan also seemed very much pleased to have seen the far-famed merchant from Balsora face to face, and offered to be his guide and companion as long as he remained in those parts.

"To-morrow," said he, "I have some necessary business to do in Shiraz, which I cannot put off. But without doubt thou also art going there, for thou wilt certainly have to give large orders to the ablest silver and gold workers, and to the most skilful silk-weavers; and because personal acquaintance with our correspondents is very useful, I will join thee in thy journey. In this way it will not be necessary for us to separate again on the first day of our acquaintance; nor can it be disagreeable to thee to go with me, who am already known there, and can lead thee to the dwellings of all those with whom I am connected in commerce."

Jussuf's mind had been but little turned on trade, and now he could not recollect the names of all the people with whom he transacted business in Shiraz: besides, he had a certain aversion to disclose the true reasons for his journey; so he let his friendly companion entertain the idea that he had come to Persia for the[130] purpose of purchasing and giving commissions. And, because he must still wait several days for the new moon, he willingly accepted Hassan's proposal, and promised to accompany him the next morning to the great and celebrated town of Shiraz, and to spend some days with him there. The distance to Shiraz was not far, and Jussuf reached it with his new friend the next day before the noonday heat. Hassan conducted him in the afternoon to the house of a rich merchant, with whom he had long had considerable dealings.

"Here," said he, "I bring you the far-famed merchant Jussuf from Balsora, whose name cannot be strange to you, since you have long done business with him. He has taken this journey to make new purchases, and also to become personally acquainted with those who have hitherto served him so satisfactorily."

The dealer was very glad to become acquainted with the renowned Jussuf, and, as what Hassan had said appeared very natural to him, he continued, "If I do not mistake, I furnished thee lately with a considerable quantity of oil of roses. Thou wert, then, pleased with it?"

"Ah," continued the dealer, "thou must now again give me a commission; for I have at present a much better supply, and I can let thee have it at a very moderate price, although it is of a superior quality."

Jussuf was ashamed to confess that he had entirely neglected his magazine and warehouse, and could not think of his business. He therefore left him in his error, and gave him a considerable order for oil of roses. But, as he thought of travelling farther, and the time of his return was not decided, he ordered him to wait for further instructions for sending the oil. Still, he paid the amount beforehand. In this manner he went to all his friends in trade in Shiraz. Hassan conducted him, announcing that his appearance in Persia was to give orders; and so he was seduced into fresh commissions and fresh purchases. At the silk-weavers' he ordered many hundred pieces of silk stuffs; at others, a quantity of gold and silver stuffs; at the jewellers' costly trinkets, and gold and silver vessels, and implements. His companion not only led him[131] to such dealers and workers as he was already acquainted with in business, but introduced him to many others. They induced him, partly by the beauty of their goods, partly by their moderate prices, to make extensive purchases, and to take himself large orders for goods which he promised to send them from Balsora. It could not fail that a merchant of such fame as Jussuf, who gave so many orders in the same town, should attract attention. They sought after him with a friendly spirit in every place; they asked him to all the feasts which were given in those days in the families where he was known. Now he was to appear at a banquet in the town; then at a rural feast in one of the largest and most splendid gardens in the suburbs. People exerted themselves on all sides to show him honour and to give him pleasure.

The new moon had arrived in the meantime, and Jussuf had still so many invitations that he would have been obliged to remain till after the full moon to fulfil them all. But the third evening after the new moon had been named to him as the decisive moment, and he would not neglect it. Hassan persuaded him strongly to stay a few more days, and those who had invited him pressed him very much; but he continued steadfast against longer delay, and he set out early on the third day after the new moon for the little town where he had left his slaves and camels.

On arriving there, he found everything in order. He rested till evening, and then went out, without any companions, to the ruins of the destroyed town. Before sunset he was on the eastern side of them, and had soon also found, at some distance, the marked-out stone. He seated himself on it; and the sun had hardly gone down when he observed the moon riding like a golden ship through the blue of the obscure sky. He waited with palpitating heart and anxious impatience for the moment when it should seem to stand on the mountain-ridges on the western horizon. Then he called out quickly and loudly, "Haschanascha!" He expected that at this call a guide would immediately appear to him; but nothing appeared. The moon was, in the meantime, sunk behind the mountains; but the bright and sparkling stars still lighted the dark blue sky. He stood by the stone on which he had hitherto sat, and was[132] going to return to his people in the town, discouraged at his deluded expectations, when he heard his name called by a well-known voice. He turned towards the place from whence it came, and soon recognized, in the light of the stars, his friend Hassan, whom he thought he had left that morning in Shiraz.

"Well, well," said he, as he drew nearer to Jussuf, "it seemed to me that thou stopped behind the mountains. Whenever I wished to speak with thee of thy journey, thou always soughtest to evade me, and turned the conversation some other way. Now all is clear to me: with me thou needest not have made any mystery of it; since I find thee here to-day, the third day after the new moon, I already know everything. I regret very much that I must serve thee in this case, for I have already conducted many on this road, and none of them have ever come back."

"How, Hassan Assad, thou the guide that I was to find here?" exclaimed Jussuf. "Thou wilt lead me to the object of my desires?"

"No," answered Hassan, "I cannot myself conduct thee: I can only bring thee on the right road; but come, now, and follow me."

He led him back near the extensive ruins of the destroyed city: they soon found tolerably passable roads, the few unobstructed tracks of the former principal streets of the large royal city; but they were often obliged to scramble over the rubbish of overthrown buildings, across pillars, and the remains of mighty columns. His guide turned now right, now left, to seek the easiest road; then backwards, then forwards. They might, perhaps, have spent an hour scrambling about in this manner, when at last Hassan arrived at a passage, closed with a small iron door, which was not covered with ruins: here he took a little silver hammer, and knocked nine times on the head of a great nail which was in the door: at each knock he stopped for some seconds, and Jussuf heard the sound in singular tones inside the door, as if it reached to a great distance. At the last stroke the door flew open, and showed a row of steps leading down to a cellar-like vault.

"Here we must descend," said Hassan; "here thou wilt see many wonderful things, and thou wilt have rich presents; but take care not to refuse any presents, or to speak a word: only when thou[133] art asked if thou hast enough, always answer no, till they abuse thee as an unreasonable person, and ask thee what thou still desirest, then say the word 'Ketlafgat,'—it is the name of a talisman, without which thou canst never attain the end of thy wishes."

Jussuf observed the word, and promised to obey his instructor. They now descended the steps together; and the door closed behind them with a great noise. As they proceeded in profound darkness, Jussuf thought of the talisman which he had received from Modibjah: he wished to see if he were walking in the right road, and drew it out of the pouch: although it was very dark, he still discerned the bright red spark in the stone. He now descended after his guide with more courage. They might have left about fifty steps behind when they arrived at a large room: over this was raised a vast round vault from the ground, in the form of a regular hemisphere. From the middle of the vault hung a great lamp, on which, out of twelve branches, burned twelve long dazzling white flames. The whole vault played with thousands of lights of this flame, as if it were faced with an innumerable number of small mirrors. As Jussuf moved to one side, curious to see the cause of this reflection, he perceived that the vault was covered with eight large oriental pearls of the greatest clearness, and that the space between four of them was filled up with a smaller. He tried to detach one of the large pearls from the wall; but it was so fast cemented that it was impossible to remove it. In the meantime his guide had reached a concealed door, and had knocked three times with his little hammer on one spot. The door sprang open, and they entered a spacious four-cornered room, on the walls of which were very large friezes, supported too by pillars of solid gold. But each of the panels of the flat part of the wall stood on a transparent gay green smooth-polished stone, which Jussuf could only consider to be most valuable emeralds—however improbable it seemed. Hassan allowed him no time to look about him: he had already opened a third room with the strokes of his silver hammer. The form of this was octagonal: the pillars and sockets were of silver; but the panels rested on a precious stone of a bright blue colour.[134]

In the same manner they reached a more splendid and larger room. They had already passed through twelve without having found any living creature. Thus, with all this splendour, there was an unpleasant air of desertion, which oppressed Jussuf so much that he would willingly have imparted his feeling to his companion; but he strode on with such seriousness and caution, in his passage through the opened doors and rooms, that he had not courage to say a word aloud. After they had passed through the twelfth chamber, Hassan knocked three times with his hammer on the ground, which consisted of clear large and small quadrangles of the most magnificent polished stripes of jasper. Immediately one of these quadrangles opened and fell back, as if it were a trap-door: here were disclosed many steps of beautiful crystal, which led down still deeper. They descended, and the trap-door shut down behind them. Jussuf saw no lamp by which the long descent of steps was lighted, nor any window through which the light of day could enter; but still it was not dark around them, for at each footstep shone a clear blue light. He observed that this proceeded from a small ball which rolled down before him from step to step, and, every time that it alighted on a step, a clear blue ray of light streamed out, which spread out its rays till the ball had rolled to another. At last the steps ceased, and before him extended a long passage, the opposite end of which was lighted by a clear point: they approached it, and soon discovered a folding-door with glass windows, through which shone the bright daylight. They passed through it, and found themselves in a splendid garden, full of rare flowers and shrubs, such as Jussuf had never before seen. At the entrance, two slaves approached him, who bowed to him respectfully, but silently, and beckoned to him to follow them. They led him into a large summer-house: there sat some men whom Jussuf took for dervishes; they stood up and greeted him.

"Thou comest to fetch the treasure of the poor," said one of them: "thy desires shall be fulfilled." He immediately made a sign to the others, and they all moved off through another door. "Men," continued he, "certainly are complete fools; they fix their hearts on such useless things; and the more they have the more insatiable they are."[135]

He shook his head contemptuously. Before he had said anything more, the remaining dervishes came back, one bringing a number of purses filled with sequins; two others bringing precious boxes filled with pearls; the third, two boxes with great diamonds of the finest fire; a fourth, two boxes full of the finest emeralds; and so each one another precious thing.

"I said so," grumbled the dervish. And, at a sign from him, the others again went and brought, as at the first time, purses of gold and boxes of jewels.

With still greater signs of displeasure, the dervish caused a fresh burden of similar presents to be brought. And, as Jussuf could not carry any more, he asked again, "Now hast thou not enough, at last?"

Then the dervish got up, and turned round on one foot angrily, and exclaimed, "Thou shameful man, art thou insatiable? Thou canst not take all with thee that thou hast already received, and thou must load thy companion also with the trifles in order to convey them hence, and yet thou hast not enough, thou glutton!"

Immediately the other dervishes surrounded him, and screamed out, as from a cave, "Glutton! impudent creature! avaricious man!"

Then Jussuf said the word that Hassan had taught him for this occasion, "Ketlafgat."

He had hardly spoken it, when the other dervishes sat down, and he who had asked the question went out of the summer-house. He soon came back with a small box, which he gave to Jussuf: it was made of mean wood, and without any ornament.[136]

"Here is what thou desirest," said he. And, while he reached to him a small golden key, he added, "Henceforward thou no longer needest a guide. Go where thy inclination leads thee: thou wilt always be in the right road if thou do not open this box with the key; but, if thou art once in despair, and all hope has vanished of reaching the end of thy journey, thou mayest then open it."

He made a sign with his hand, and immediately the two slaves were ready to conduct him away. Hassan took the boxes and the purses, which Jussuf could not carry, in his pockets, and bowed to go away.

Then the dervish called after him, "Many persons have already fetched the Ketlafgat from us, and it has always come back to us: it will return from thee also."

The slaves led them another way out of the garden into the entrance of a cave in the rock, shut the door behind them, and left them in a dark passage. They groped about with their hands, and soon felt a door. Hassan knocked again nine times with his hammer, and, behold, the door opened at the last blow, and they issued out at another end of the ruins of the destroyed town into the open air.

"Now we dare speak again," said Hassan. "What dost thou think of doing? morning is not very distant. Wilt thou not return to the town, and unload thyself of thy treasures?"

But Jussuf shook his head thoughtfully, and said, "What shall I do? What shall I say? I have lately witnessed such wonders that I am almost unable to think. I am no longer the man that I was, who had a decided will of his own. I appear to myself like a play-ball to beings of a superhuman nature. Every man, however, plays this part to a certain extent."

"Well, bethink thee. See, I have packed up the treasures for thee, and would willingly be released soon from thee, for I must return to Shiraz in good time to-day, as thou probably knowest. Let us hasten, then, back to the little town: there thou canst consider with thy people what thou shalt do."

Jussuf followed him in deep thought, and, soon arriving at the town, they entered the caravanserai. The slaves received their[137] master with joy, for they had become suspicious at his going out without attendants, and, not coming back at night, they feared lest some misfortune should have happened to him.

After he had laid down the purses and the boxes with the jewels, he turned to Hassan, and said, "Thou hast already performed so many services for me, that I must trespass and require still further from thee. I see that this train will be more troublesome than serviceable to me in my long journey; but I cannot leave it behind. Do me the pleasure of taking these slaves, camels, and all the treasures which are contained in each bale of goods, and travel with them as if they were thine own property. If I return happily, and thou art willing, should I be in need, to let me have part back again, I will accept it from thee as a free-will present; should I not return, I shall have no more need of them."

After a short conversation, Hassan consented, and immediately ordered his camels to be laden to return to Shiraz. Jussuf took some of the boxes of precious stones, a good number of purses with sequins, and, above all, the box with the talisman Ketlafgat, loaded his horse with them, took leave of Hassan with heartfelt thankfulness, commanded his slaves to obey their new master, mounted his horse, and rode at the dawn of morning towards the rising of the sun.

Jussuf had proceeded ten days in this direction without anything remarkable happening to him. On the evening of the eleventh day he arrived at a high hill, which appeared fruitless, not a tree or a bush to be seen. There was not a village, a hut, or a tent within his sight all round. He was obliged to resolve to pass the night under the open sky, and looked about to see to what he could fasten his horse; for, although it was a tame, trusty animal, yet he was afraid that it might run away in the night. At last, finding nothing, he unbuckled the pack-saddle, and let his steed pasture on the half-withered grass, which was the only thing there. Then he lay down on the ground, and soon fell asleep; but he suddenly awoke again, and, looking for his horse, found it had vanished; he looked towards the place where the saddle was laid—that was not there either. It was clear to him that a robber had taken his[138] horse. He peered round in the deceptive moonlight, but could perceive nothing. He was much grieved, and said to himself, "It is quite just: I had a company of true servants, and have sent them away in a frivolous manner; I had immense riches, and have given them into the hands of a stranger without surety, who may live happily in their possession whilst I must starve." But he soon continued, with collected courage, "Yet of what use are all the goods of the earth to me? What help would a whole army of the most faithful and the boldest companions be to me? I seek a gift with which I shall ever be on the right road, as the dervish said, and I always carry the box and the golden key with me. Everything may go if the talisman Ketlafgat remains to me, which will preserve me if despair should seize me in the attainment of my wishes."

As he spoke thus to himself, he saw a number of riders appear in the distance, and he soon perceived that they were riding straight to him. He looked round for some place of shelter; but there was no place on the level high plains where he could hide himself. The riders approached nearer: he saw them divide and form a cross, and so they advanced till they came quite near. Some of them alighted and went with drawn sabres to him. He found that all defence was vain, and, throwing away his sabre, he knelt down, bowing himself to the ground like a humble slave.

"Seize him!" called out the leader of the horsemen, "and seat him on a spare horse, and bring him with us; but, by your lives, stand by me, and see that he does not escape."

Both the horsemen to whom he had spoken these words inclined full of reverence to him, then seized Jussuf, bound his hands, and seated him on a horse, and, taking him between them, rode, alternately seizing the bridle of his horse, at a fast trot over the high plains. The remaining riders followed at a little distance. With short interruptions, which were necessary for the forage of the horses and the rest of the men and animals, they continued riding for several days. About the tenth day they reached a wide valley through which flowed a great river. Jussuf saw cultivated fields, gardens, and men's dwellings. They made him alight from his[139] horse, and led him into the little room of a house. There they gave him everything necessary to make himself clean after so long a journey. For a man who had before lived in the greatest affluence, he had felt very heavily in these last days of his imprisonment his want of cleanliness: it seemed to him, therefore, a most wonderful favour of fate that they now brought him water with which to bathe himself, a comb, and some ointment for his beard, and signified to him that he was to take a bath and anoint himself. After he had bathed, combed his beard, and anointed himself, he was conducted to the garden of the house; and here the owner of it advanced towards him. After he had observed him with searching looks, he said to his companions,

"Good! the man is quite right; keep him carefully and examine him for nine days, then we will take him to his place, and sacrifice him to the fire." He winked with his eye, and his servants took him back to his chamber, which they carefully watched.

In his solitude Jussuf thought over his fate. He lamented again his thoughtlessness in exposing himself alone to the dangers of a journey in an unknown country; he bewailed his fate in falling into the hands of fire-worshippers, and tried several times to open the box with the golden key. Then said he to himself, "What hope can I now have of attaining the end of my wishes? I am a captive, and well watched; and if I am delivered from captivity, it will be to sacrifice me to the flames." Often hope woke again. He still possessed the treasures that he carried about his body, and they were not inconsiderable: he concealed them carefully, for he hoped that they might be a means of bribery to his companions on the road to sacrifice, and that he might thus purchase his freedom. He received daily clean and good food, and would have had nothing of which to complain, if he had not wanted freedom, and had not the fear of death before his eyes.

On the morning of the ninth day he had a farther and faster passage from the house where he was imprisoned. Eighty black slaves rode forward on white horses. Then came as many white slaves on black horses. After these came a number of riders, whom Jussuf could easily discern to be those who had taken him prisoner.[140] Behind these, and surrounded by them, rode the master of the country, who had destined him to be sacrificed. Then came twenty venerable grey-headed men, in red and gold striped garments, each of whom bore a broad glittering blade, and a bundle of dry bamboo-sticks. Behind them followed ten youths, with coal-dishes full of glowing coals. And now Jussuf was brought forth, and, with his hands fastened, and his feet chained to the horse, he rode between his former companions. Behind him followed a number of armed men, and then a crowd of people. In this order the procession wound along the valley. Towards evening they chose a place for encampment, and struck some tents. Jussuf was watched in a distinct tent. As he observed that stillness reigned in the camp, he approached the entrance of his tent, and called out, half aloud,

The watchman who guarded his tent answered him, "When my hour is up, I will fetch you some water from the river. Till then remain quiet."

"Alas!" sighed Jussuf, "my lips thirst not for water; my soul thirsts after liberty. I will prove myself very grateful if you will let me escape."

This conversation continued for some time. Jussuf offered him six purses of sequins, and a large diamond, which was worth ten times their value. He had still a box of the finest and most costly diamonds, which he had taken from Hassan. But the guard always urged other objections. He did not deny that he would willingly win the prize; but he dreaded the consequences. Jussuf proposed that he should flee with him, and seek another home; but he would not listen to it.

"I cannot separate from my wife and children; I must return home. What good would all the possessions of earth be to me if I were obliged to live a fugitive in a strange country, and consume my life longing after my kindred?"

Then a thought flashed through Jussuf's mind. "Let me stop your mouth—let me bind and tie you, that they may perceive that[141] you were overcome. When they find you so, you can exculpate yourself, saying that I was too strong for you—that I stopped your mouth, so that you could not cry for help. I will give you what I have said, and you can bury it in the sand, and dig it up at some fit season."

The bargain was soon struck. Jussuf gave him what he had promised. The guard buried the purses in the sand, hid the diamond in a fold of his garment, and then allowed Jussuf to tie his hands and feet, and to stop his mouth. Then Jussuf passed as quietly through the camp as he could, mounted one of the horses which stood ready saddled, and set off at a full gallop.

Thus he escaped fortunately. He rode the whole night, and thereby won a lengthened start. But still he feared that they might perceive the track of the horse's hoofs, and follow him, and fetch him back; so he killed his horse (whose strength was relaxing) with his dagger, and fled into a neighbouring wood, where he hoped, by its thickness, to be screened from the pursuit of riders. Here he refreshed himself by drinking at a spring of water, and with fruits and berries, which grew there in abundance. He then went on farther and farther. He observed, in his flight, the traces of wild beasts, and was therefore afraid to lie down on the ground. In the evening he climbed a high tree, bound himself fast to a branch, and composed himself for the night. His seat was very uncomfortable, and he always feared danger. Still his resolution overcame his fear, and he slept quietly for some hours, and, strengthened with new courage, he descended, and continued his wanderings through the wood. He lived also this day on berries and wild fruits, and again ascended a high tree in the evening, in which he spent the night.

Thus he passed several days. At last he remarked that here the land rose considerably. The wood soon became broken in parts with rocks; the growth of the trees was not so considerable; the shrubs gradually disappeared altogether; great masses of rock covered the ground. Between them grew luxuriantly small bushes. At last only grass and moss were to be seen. He went farther, and soon saw a bare high rock, from which extended, far and wide,[142] only great wooded mountains. In the distance arose still higher cliffs over the woods, whose summits shone white in the sunlight; and from some of them there arose a thick smoke, as though there were a huge furnace underneath, the chimney being the top of the mountain. The air blew here cold and cutting. Jussuf thought he could not spend the night among the bare rocks, so he wandered on with activity. Before night came on he had reached a place where high trees were growing, and where he again found a safe, but uncomfortable, sleeping-place. He wandered about for many days on the wooded mountains, and again reached a high ridge, over which he passed, until he arrived at a valley through which a brook ran, in a serpentine direction, among verdant meadows. He traced the brook through the valley, and reached a spot where it flowed into a river. He now followed the course of the river, and as night came on before he perceived any human habitations, he lay down on the bank among the high grass, and resolved to sleep there, since he had not seen any track of wild beasts in his passage through the valley. The hope of at last reaching some inhabited spot, after so long and lonely a wandering among deserted woods, had urged him on this day to a longer journey, and he was thereby much exhausted. He had also only slept for many days in a sitting and tiresome posture; he therefore found the high grass very agreeable, and slept till dawn of morning. He would probably have not even then awoke had he not been forced to do so.

When he came to himself, he saw some men on the ground, who were busy fastening his hands and feet with fine but very strong string. He wrestled with them, and threw them down. But all was in vain: he was bound, and they laid him on a litter of bamboo-sticks, and carried him off with rapid strides. They soon reached a place where the river became deeper, and broader, so that it was navigable for boats. Here lay a vessel on the bank, into which they carried him, and conveyed him up the stream. After a journey of several hours, they reached a great city. They passed by several gardens and country houses, and at last arrived at the middle of the city, which was divided by the river, but connected by several[143] high bridges. They lay off the shore, and carried Jussuf out of the ship into the court of a great palace, where everybody collected at once from the neighbourhood, even the casual passers-by. They observed him with curious looks, handled his clothes, which were all cut and torn about by his wanderings in the thicknesses of the woods, and laughed at him. At last the owner of the palace appeared at the principal gate with a large retinue of distinguished servants. From the respect of those around him, and the awe with which all present withdrew to a distance, Jussuf concluded that he must be the Sultan, or the Prince of the country. He looked at the poor captive, and spoke to his servants in a language which Jussuf did not understand. They immediately brought a large cage of strong bamboo-poles. Jussuf was unbound, pushed in, and locked up. They then brought out a tame elephant, put the cage on it, and so led him through the streets of the town, whilst the crier called out some taunting thing in every street, and pointed at him with his stick. The boys threw stones at him, and even persons of more mature age derided him in every possible manner. If he showed himself in pain from any of the stones hitting him, and crouched up, or if he evaded any of the stones by the bars of his prison, every one burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter. Tired of their ill treatment, he cowered on the ground, turning his face downwards, and putting his hands over his head, to guard it against the blows of the stones. As soon as the crier remarked this, he pushed him with his long stick, and gave him such pokes in the ribs, that he was obliged to sit up. Jussuf was enraged and in despair. He turned round as quickly as possible in his narrow cage, seized a bar of the lattice-work, and, shaking it, screamed out,

"Is there any man among you who understands my language? Do you take me, then, for a strange outlandish animal, that you lead me about in a cage as a sight?"

And, as no one answered him, he despaired anew, and upbraided his tormentors. New laughter followed this. At last they accomplished the circuit of the town. At the palace the cage was again taken down from the elephant's back and placed on four posts, of[144] the height of a man's stature, which stood in the court before the entrance of the garden of the palace. They brought him some food, consisting of parboiled rice, which, in his displeasure, he allowed to remain untouched. At first, several curious people had collected from among the servants around him; but they soon dispersed, and left him alone to despair and bitter reflection.

He thought on his situation, and how he was in a distant land where nobody understood his language, nor could aid in delivering him from his mournful imprisonment. At this moment death would have been welcome. He seized his dagger, which he had carefully concealed in a fold of his robe, intending to put an end to his life by its means. As he drew it from the sheath, a ray of the sun fell on the blade, and reflected back the fiery glance so as to dazzle his eyes like a glow of fire. A spark lighted his talisman, and immediately he remembered the words of his old preceptor Modibjah. He put the dagger back, and took from his bosom the pouch containing the talisman; but, as he looked at the stone, the spark disappeared. It was a milk-white stone, like an ordinary fragment of white porcelain: then he breathed on it with a deep sigh, and with his lips said, "Haschanascha!"

Scarcely had he pronounced this name, than a slave appeared, passed before the cage, and said, "Oh, you poor knave, how I pity you!"

As Jussuf heard these words, he cried out joyfully, "That is my native language! Oh, pity an unfortunate, and tell me why I am so maltreated!"

"I dare not now," answered the slave: "wait till midnight, then I will come and speak to you. I pity you exceedingly: at the first glance I recognized you as a countryman, and wished extremely to lighten your fate." With these words he disappeared through another door in the palace.

The thought that he had found a man with whom he could converse on his misfortune, and who felt a sympathy for him, consoled Jussuf: all idea of killing himself was quite forgotten; on the contrary, he saw himself again free to pursue his journey. In this disposition he felt with renewed vigour the necessity of supporting[145] life, and partook of the meal spread before him. The strengthening of his body refreshed his spirits. In gaining tranquillity of mind and body, his sorrows passed away, and he fell asleep in his cage. He awoke at midnight: the slave had come to speak to him.

"If you will promise with a holy oath," said he to Jussuf, "that you will not place me in danger by your conduct, but will talk with me quietly, for the time of our conversation, I will let you out of the cage."

"By the beard of the Prophet!" swore Jussuf, "I will be very quiet, and will not put you in any danger."

At this oath, the slave climbed up a small ladder and opened the cage, which was fastened very cunningly without a lock, but so that nobody could open it unless he knew the secret. He helped Jussuf down, and went with him into the garden, the door of which stood open. There they seated themselves, and Jussuf asked,

"Why am I imprisoned? What is the reason that I am held up in this scandalous manner as a show, and shut up in a cage like a wild beast?"

To these questions the slave replied, "The King and the inhabitants of this city are worshippers of a snake; their idol is a great serpent, to whom they have erected a large and magnificent temple, where he is attended by a great number of priests: the priests mislead the people, and what they wish takes place. Now, the King has one Princess—the daughter of his wife by a former marriage—she is black like a negress; but she has learned from her mother to know and to venerate the Prophet. The King loves this black Princess dearly as an only daughter; but the priests have misled him, and persuaded him to send her away from the Court and city, and to keep her confined in a palace built under a stream; for they have a prophecy, according to which, at the time when the white summit of that mountain, which lies to the north-east from the tower of the palace and from the cupola of the temple, can be seen to smoke, a man shall come to the kingdom who shall marry the King's daughter, and put all the worshippers of the serpent to fire and sword. Now," he continued, "the mountain has begun to smoke: the King has therefore, by the advice of his priests, given[146] commandment to his servants to seize all the foreigners they meet, that they may be sacrificed to their idol. So you were found, and are now destined to be a victim. The priests know of your imprisonment, and are making preparations for a very grand sacrifice, which is to last seven days."

"What!" cried Jussuf, "shall I be offered to a snake—to a stupid, superstitious fancy?" He wept, and begged and prayed the slave to let him escape.

"How will you escape?" asked the slave. "It is not possible through the palace—guards are at every entrance; and you would also fall into the hands of the watchmen in the city. You cannot fly over the garden wall, for on the other side is a deep ditch, full of mud and water. If you jumped over, you would be embedded in the mud."

Jussuf exhausted himself in prayers and entreaties to persuade the slave to help him in his flight.

"Only one means is possible," he replied. "To-morrow is the day on which a messenger is usually sent to the Princess's palace, to inquire, in the King's name, after her health and wishes. I have many times had this commission, and will offer again. If I go, I am sure she will have me brought before her, as she knows I belong to the Faithful, and speak many languages which she learned from her mother. I will relate to her your imprisonment, and ask her assistance or counsel. She is as clever as good and innocent, and can give excellent advice."

Although Jussuf placed little reliance on this plan, still there was some hope of success, and the only hope that he could find. He therefore agreed to it, and returned to his cage, in which the slave fastened him, having told him that if he did not return at noon, he was to take it as a sign that he was sent on the embassy to the Princess.

On the morrow a slave brought him some food, and curious people came with the King's servants to see him; but the day passed without Jussuf being able to observe his countryman among the remaining slaves in the court below. Full of hope, he watched[147] the approach of night, when he hoped to receive counsel and help. The slave came at midnight and called him by his name.

"Alas! my lord," answered the slave, "I know not what to think. Although the Princess is a faithful follower of the Prophet, she was very quiet when I related your history: I expected she would have concerned herself about your being offered to a snake; but she heard me tranquilly."

"No; she said no other word," answered the slave, "than, 'Tell your countryman that everybody must be obedient, and resigned to the will of Heaven. Heathenish prophecies are often the consequence of godly truth and wisdom.'"

"What can I conclude from that?" said Jussuf. "In Allah's name, I must give myself up as a sacrifice to a snake, because it is the will of Heaven!"

"Listen," said the slave: "do not abandon all hope; I will give you good counsel. She has charged me to tell the King that to-morrow she wishes once more to visit her father in his palace. This is the first time since she has dwelt in her own palace. The King has sent her permission, as he thinks the prophecy cannot be now fulfilled, seeing that he has you in his power. She will certainly go into the garden, and pass through that farther door. When she passes, call her, and relate your case, and beg her to deliver you. She understands your language, and will certainly feel pity when she hears and sees you." He now turned away as a glimmer of light fell on him from one of the palace windows. "Farewell, I must away," whispered he; "it must not be betrayed that I have given you advice. Do not forget to call to her: only from her can you hope for anything. Call her Haschanascha: that is her name." With these words he left the palace quickly.

"Haschanascha is her name! How? Is not that the name of her whom I was to call in the ruins of the destroyed capital? Shall I not call her if the spark in Modibjah's talisman no longer shines? Is not Haschanascha the magic word which has led me[148] here alone, away from all men who understand my language and share my anxieties?"

So he spoke to himself, and determined to follow the counsel given him by the slave.

After he had passed the night, partly in unquiet wakefulness, partly in dozing, he observed in the early part of the morning a great disturbance and unusual business in the courtyard. It was quiet in the inner court, when the Princess at last came. At this moment all pressed into the square before the palace. When Jussuf saw this, he pulled the talisman out of his pocket, and thought, "I must see if the stone preserves its spark. It seems a good sign of deliverance." And, behold, as he drew it forth, the red spot shone more fiery than ever. At noon he suddenly heard a trampling, as if the procession of slaves of the Princess were going into the garden. He attentively watched the appointed door, and he soon saw her pass, and her father, followed by a long train.

At this moment Jussuf cried out, "Haschanascha! Haschanascha! pity an unfortunate!"

On hearing the cry she looked up at Jussuf, and the King also gazed at him full of astonishment. Meantime the Princess drew near, and he followed her close. When he had said some words to her, she asked Jussuf,

Jussuf knew that he ought not to betray the faithful slave, and yet he wished to confess the truth. He said, therefore,

"Before I knew that it was the name of a human being, my old teacher, Modibjah, taught me, whatever difficulties and dangers befell me, to pronounce the word Haschanascha. It has always been a defence to me whenever I have pronounced it. May it this time also procure me assistance!"

"You have named to me a very dear name," answered the Princess; "and it is a sign that you are he whom I must release from being sacrificed. But there is only one way—you must be my husband. This is the command of a higher being whom you[149] must obey. Examine, if you will not thus purchase life and liberty at too dear a price. Without the fulfilling of this condition, I cannot deliver you. I give you time for consideration. When I return from the garden, let me know your determination."

She pronounced these words in a loud, earnest tone, and then turned with her father into the garden. The train of slaves accompanied them. Jussuf gave himself up to deep thought.

"I had selected a different one for my future bride; I would not take many wives, according to our customs, but only one companion for life, who was my playfellow, whom I have sought for, and for whose sake I have encountered these dangers. If I take this black Princess for my wife, it will only be from love of life, that I may be freed from prison. Then I must leave my old playfellow."

He thus meditated for some time, and at last resolved of the two evils to choose the lesser. When the Princess returned from the garden, he called her by name, and she approached with her father, and asked him, with an earnest mien and firm tone, what resolution he had adopted.

"How could I remain a moment in doubt?" answered he. "You, dearest Princess, will condescend to a poor unknown, and become my wife. You are the sun of my life. Without you life is worth nothing."

At these words she broke out into a hearty laugh. When she had finished laughing, she said, "Ah! I see you are like all men—a hypocrite and a jester. Much truth is in your jesting words. I am the sun of your life! Without me life would be worth nothing! Indeed, without me, you would be sacrificed to a snake!" She seated herself, and said, "Be not afraid: swear to me by the Prophet that you will take me for your wife, and you shall to-day be delivered from your prison."

Jussuf swore; and now she turned to her father, and spoke earnestly with him in his language. But the faithful slave approached the cage, and interpreted all that was said.

"It is not prudent to keep this man imprisoned without knowing whether he is the right one to offer to the snake. You have[150] seized the best, and in the meanwhile justice is forgotten. Have the priests to the snake called, that they may see him, and that I may speak with them."

The King answered that this would be easy, as two priests had arrived from the snake's temple, before they had gone into the garden, to demand an audience.

They were called, and there soon appeared the priests in long white garments, with particoloured girdles.

"Is this the man pointed out by your god?" asked she, as they approached Jussuf's cage.

"It is, it is!" they cried in the same voice, and bowed humbly before the Princess.

Then she replied, with contempt, "Be silent to me about your snake!" And she turned to the King, and said, "My King and father, will you suffer yourself any longer to be deceived by these stupid and obstinate men? They give out that they have divine knowledge, and yet they are as ignorant as a maiden of sixteen! I beg you, have their god, the snake, brought here, and I will prove that I speak truth; but they, only deceit and falsehood."

At these words, the priests doubled their fists, and struck their foreheads and breasts, and bowed themselves to the ground, and jumped about as if seized by convulsions.

Then the King looked at the Princess with a frightened countenance, and said, "Child, take heed what you do; revile not the gods."

All the servants who stood around were astonished, not rightly comprehending what was passing. But the Princess earnestly coaxed the King to cause the priests to bring the divine serpent there, that they might test the truth of what she had spoken. The King gave the command, and the priests left; at the Princess's request the King remained. All stood around in anxious expectation.[151]

They had not to wait long before a numerous train of priests appeared, eight of whom bore, on four golden staves, a costly chest adorned with gold, ebony, and precious stones, and placed it in the middle of the court. Then they bowed before the King, and the high priest stepped forward and said,

"The King has given us an unusual command, and we fear that a great misfortune is about to happen. What is the reason that we are summoned from the recesses of the temple, and must even bring the divine snake in its chest with us?"

Then the Princess said, "I will explain all. It is doubted that you really take charge of a divine snake; therefore let the chest be opened, and show it to the people."

Then the priests answered, "Do the people doubt of our god? Let the doubters approach and be convinced."

He opened the lid, and every one saw a great snake in the chest It lay stupefied, as snakes usually do after a heavy repast.

The Princess approached the chest, and cried, "Behold, doubters! is not this a snake?" Then she turned to the high priest, and asked, "Has your god shown you no sign by which you may know the man that ought to be sacrificed?" The high priest mused, but did not reply. Then she said, "Now I will show you the truth. Man does not properly understand heavenly things. I honour your prudence; but answer me another question. Would your god know its enemies if there were any such here? And would he revenge himself on them if they attempted his life?"

"Certainly, certainly!" vociferated the priest. "Fire would fall from heaven and destroy them."

"Very well," she said; "I am the enemy, and your god dies by my hand." And quickly, even before she had quite uttered these words, she drew her poniard and with it pierced the head of the snake, so that the weapon ran into its chest and transfixed it.

The priests gave a common cry, and the King seized the Princess by both arms, and pulled her back.

"What you, my father, ought long since to have done," she replied. "Will you all believe," she called aloud to the spectators,[152] "that I have done right in killing this snake, if I tell you what you will find within it?"

After a short pause, the King answered, "Yes, certainly." And the people cried, "Then is the snake rightly slain—it was no god."

The priests said to the King, "She shall tell us; but we will accuse her of its death if she does not speak truth."

Then she said, "There is a man among us whose wife sits at home weeping and bewailing, for she had a beautiful little boy, eighteen months old, who often ran about the streets. This child did not return home yesterday: it was taken to the snake's temple, and the priests know where it is. Let the man step forward and seek his child in the snake's belly."

While she was speaking, a deep silence reigned around; but now a man broke forth from the crowd, and said, "It is true; I am the man. My beautiful boy, my Hamed, has not returned, and my wife sits at home and weeps. I left her, for I could not bear to hear her lament."

Then arose a common shout of astonishment and compassion from all, and he waited long for silence.

Then the Princess said to the man, "Draw your sword, cut open the snake, and you will find your child. I do not know if life still remain in him—the snake has only swallowed it an hour."

The man approached the chest, drew his sword with a trembling hand, and opened the snake with an anxious face. When, behold, he pulled out his child! He immediately ran with him from the palace, as he thought he discovered some slight traces of life in him. Then the priests fell on their knees before the King, and begged for pardon.

But the people, who were assembled in great crowds, cried, "Down with them! down with them!" and laid hands on them, as the King commanded them to be imprisoned.

The Princess now turned to the King, and said, "Let us release this unfortunate man: he has come as a stranger into our land, to[153] whom you ought to have shown hospitality; instead of which you have imprisoned him as a criminal; you have mocked and jeered him, whilst, by your oath, you should have allowed him to quit your city free. Let what you have said in mockery of him be now reversed to his honour; for a King's word must not be blown away by the wind. This and no other shall be my husband."

The King commanded, and the prisoner was immediately freed. He bowed thankfully to the King and Princess. The King raised him, embraced him, called him his son, and led him to the Princess, saying,

"Let him be your husband: the solemnities of marriage shall be immediately prepared."

He caused his servants to proclaim through the city that the marriage of Princess Haschanascha was to be celebrated the next day, and all people were invited to assemble before the palace and to feast there. In his palace he pointed out to Jussuf a wing, in the apartments of which he for the future should dwell with his wife.

But the Princess said, "I will inhabit the apartments which I formerly dwelt in in this palace; for I only consider myself as his betrothed, till an imam of the religion which we both profess has pronounced over us the marriage blessing."

The King did not oppose her, but said, "You may command all as it pleases you. Since yesterday, I have discovered that you possess more knowledge and wisdom than the rest of mankind."

The betrothal was celebrated with great splendour. The King, according to his former oath, showed Jussuf all honour, carried him to his different country seats, pointed out to him his gardens and lands, prepared many feasts, and did all to make his residence in his Court agreeable. The Princess accompanied them everywhere, and helped not a little to render these short journeys pleasing and satisfactory. She watched with great care for the convenience of her future husband, and sought to fulfil even his smallest wish before he had spoken it; so that Jussuf was often astonished, and said to himself, "She must read my thoughts before they arise." He felt that he was happy in everything except in her having a black complexion. One day they all went together[154] to a beautiful neighbouring hunting-seat, in the environs of which a grand hunt was held. The Princess Haschanascha took part in it. She rode on a tame elephant, over whose back was thrown a cloth embroidered with gold. On the middle of its back a couch was skilfully fastened, and over this a canopy was raised on four slender pillars of gold. Jussuf remained generally near her during the hunt. He rode on a beautiful horse of the most noble race, which the King had sent him from his stable. Whenever he saw a curious bird or a wild beast, he aimed so well that the animal always fell pierced by his arrow. In the evening when they returned to the palace from the wood, Jussuf wished to remain there some days away from the bustle of the Court, and the King granted this wish. He left behind some servants to wait on him, and returned with his daughter to the capital.

At parting, Haschanascha appeared very sad, and Jussuf perceived tears in her eyes.

"I know," said she, "this stay will be unfortunate for me; you will forget me: even the talisman of your teacher Modibjah will fall into other hands, and on it depends my life. Might it be that this body—this hateful black veil of Haschanascha—should fall to pieces if it might conduce to your happiness. You will soon awake from a bright dream to longer and more bitter sorrows."

Jussuf consoled her, and represented that she troubled herself with useless fears. He took an affectionate farewell of her, and saw the procession depart not without emotion: he would willingly have accompanied her, but an irresistible feeling held him back. He went, as he was now quite alone, into the garden, which was adorned with curious flowers.

"Why was it," said he anxiously to himself, "that Haschanascha was to-day so mournful at parting? She is so prudent, and with her clear eyes foresees the events of life. Why can she fear that I should ever allow Modibjah's talisman to get into a stranger's hands when I always wear it?" With these words he pulled the little bag out, and said, "No, I will never separate from you unless you are taken by force. But can robbers be sheltered in this land?"

Whilst he asked himself these questions, he thought that it[155] would be better not to carry it in his bosom, where it might easily be found if he were searched. He therefore wrapped it up carefully in the folds of his turban, and believed it to be quite safe.

Night had spread its veil over the garden, and he returned to the palace. Wonderful dreams disturbed his sleep, and their impressions accompanied him when he went into the garden the next morning. He had dreamt a great deal about red poppy-flowers, and now he saw them before him in the garden-beds. He found some alone in a bed, and while he watched them he again saw in fancy the same butterfly that he had before seen in his own garden upon similar flowers, and the memory of the circumstances Of the last time were deeply graven in his soul. Then he again dwelt upon the maiden to seek whom he had made this journey. Thus, amid these reflections, he took hold of the wooden box which he had received from the dervish in the subterraneous chambers in the ruined city near Shiraz.

"Without thee," said he, "could I never have obtained the object of my desires? And of what use have you been to me till to-day? You ought to lead me straight to my mark, and I should always be in the right way as long as I did not open the box with the golden key. You indeed have led me through dangers and misery, and at the end to a betrothal with a maiden as different from the one I sought as day from night. And shall I open you only when I have lost all hope to attain my desire? Well, let us see what it contains."

With these words he pulled out the golden key and unlocked the box; but he let it fall to the earth with a joyous cry, for scarcely had he opened it when the curious butterfly flew out, hovered in the sunshine over the flowers, and soon settled on one of the poppies. He quickly snatched off his turban, and covered with it the butterfly and the flowers. When he raised it, a figure was underneath, and before him stood his pleasant playfellow.

"I am truly she," she answered. "Have you quite forgotten me, that you have allowed so long a time to elapse without asking[156] after me? But what have you done with your turban? Let us see."

She took it from his head, sought in the folds, and pulled out the little bag with the talisman.

"Oh, oh!" cried she, returning his turban, "do you carry such things about with you? You will not want it any more: I will keep it." And she sprang forward.

He ran after her and caught her, begging her to return his pouch, explaining that it contained a talisman which had hitherto preserved him from every danger.

"Well," said she, when he paused, "and the only error is, that you have met with me again to-day."

She assured him that she would never return the talisman, and began many games with him as they had done in the garden at Balsora. At dinner-time he asked her to go into the palace to take some refreshment. She looked at him with a scornful laugh, and said, "I? Go under a roof—sit to table with you to partake of meats prepared from the flesh of animals and the flour of wheat? What can you mean? Do you not recollect the fig that we ate together? It still nourishes me; but I know that you need more."

She went to a neighbouring bush, plucked a white blossom, and offered it to him. "There, drink honey," said she.

When he took the flower, it changed into a silver-gilt goblet filled with delicious drink. He drank, and felt himself quite refreshed, strengthened, and satisfied. They again played many childish games together, and the maiden always invented new pastimes. The day passed by, and Jussuf did not perceive how the hours flew away: the sun was just sinking; then his playfellow sprang over a neighbouring bush, and cried, "Good night."

As she passed over the flowers of the bush, she disappeared from Jussuf's eyes, and he saw only the butterfly flying. When he returned to the palace, his servants were much rejoiced. They had waited for him since noon, and had searched for him in the gardens, as an embassy had been sent from the capital to bring him news that the Princess had suddenly fallen ill. He caused the messengers to be brought before him, to learn from them all the[157] attendant circumstances. He discovered from them that she had retired to rest early the preceding evening, and had risen quite well in the morning after a peaceful slumber; but hardly had the sun shone half an hour, when she fell, and was obliged to be carried to her apartments. She soon came to herself, but felt very weak, and informed her sorrowing father that she must die. Jussuf was very thoughtful, for he remembered her warning about the talisman, and also recollected that it was exactly the same hour in which the maiden had taken it from the folds of his turban. He resolved early the next morning to desire the talisman from her earnestly, and then to hasten to the city; and commanded the embassy to return at sunrise the next day, to announce his arrival in the evening. In the loneliness of night he felt angry with himself. But the loss of the talisman, which exceedingly disquieted him, was not the only reason: it was a mortifying feeling to him that he had passed the whole day in childish sports, according to the caprice of his playfellow. He thought over all the words they had spoken, and found nothing in them but excessive frivolity.

He arose the next morning by daybreak, and at sunrise he again stood in the garden. Scarcely had the sun's rays dried the dew, when the beautiful butterfly hovered over the beds. Once more it settled on a poppy. Jussuf covered it with his turban—the change was again completed—the maiden once more stood before him. He immediately demanded of her the little bag with the talisman.

She mocked him with a mischievous laugh, and said, "You shall not have it to-day: perhaps to-morrow, if you are polite."

Then they again began their sports, and Jussuf soon forgot in their amusements everything else, and played and sported with her. She gave him, in the same manner as yesterday, honey to drink from a flower, after she had sipped a little herself, and knew how to draw him round the gardens in her sports, so that nobody met them. On this day also his servants sought him in the garden, and could not find him; another messenger had arrived from the city, wishing to speak to him in great haste.

He did not return to the palace till she had flown away as a butterfly. The messenger informed him that the Princess still remained[158] very unwell, and that her weakness had materially increased when he did not arrive as he had promised. She had not said anything about this delay; but the King was very unhappy, and requested that he would come to the city the next day. He promised it, ordered the messenger to return at daybreak, and went into his sleeping-apartment. There he again reproached himself as on the previous day, and resolved to set out on the morrow, as soon as his playmate should return the talisman. When he met her the next day in the garden, he immediately asked for it.

"How now, Jussuf?" said she. "What a tone! Is this the way to greet your frolicking playmate? Is it worth while to make such a fuss about a miserable fragment of stone?" She bowed to him, laughing, and ran off.

Jussuf followed, and when he got near her, cried, "It concerns the life of the Princess."

Then she stopped, and asked, "Is this the reason of your earnestness? The Princess? The black negress? What binds you to her? Do you consider her as a creature like yourself? And, even if it were so, what can such a tiresome serious person be to you? Have you ever played with her an hour so merrily as we have played the whole day? And, believe me, my stock is not yet nearly exhausted. I have novelties every day."

She again began a game, and, before Jussuf could recollect himself, he had deeply entered into it; and he had soon forgotten the messenger, his intentions, and his resolutions. He played with her till evening, and returned to the palace when she had disappeared as usual. He had been sought for as on the former days, but in vain. A fresh messenger had brought still worse tidings of Haschanascha's health, and he made the bitterest reproaches to himself for his neglect. He ordered his horse to be saddled, and, as it was a moonlight night, he returned to the city with the messenger. At his arrival, he saw the windows of the apartment inhabited by his betrothed still illuminated. He immediately went in and inquired after her health: people shrugged their shoulders, and he hastened to go in to her. She lay, breathing faintly, on her pillow, and beckoned to him to draw near: she then motioned to the servants,[159] who left the apartment. He threw himself on his knees by the couch and wept, mourned her affliction, and regretted that he had not paid more attention to her warnings.

"I know how it has happened," she said; "still, the worst has not happened. You have been forced to leave the talisman in her hands: take care that she does not keep it with your consent. I am now weak and ill: I shall become still weaker; but so long as you possess the earnest wish to recover the talisman, my life will be preserved. Return, now, whence you came, and let not the King see you. He is angry with you because he is sure you are the cause of my illness."

He obeyed her will, and returned to the hunting-seat by daybreak. He would not lose the vivid recollection of Haschanascha's mournful condition by going to sleep; but went immediately into the garden, and when the sun had sufficient influence to dry the dew on the flowers, he again saw the butterfly settle on a poppy. This time he kept his turban on his head, and tried to catch the butterfly with his hand; but it eluded him, and a wasp within the same flower stung his hand, so that it swelled very much. The butterfly flew away, and did not return to the garden. The hours passed very slowly, and would have seemed longer if his mind had not been agitated by various plans to recover the talisman. To do this, he must find its present possessor, and he reproached himself with having allowed the butterfly to escape by his awkwardness. At noon he returned to the palace, to the great astonishment of his servants, who were now accustomed not to see him all day. When he had eaten, he reposed a few hours on his couch, and, on his awaking, a messenger had come from the city with the news that the Princess was better since the morning. Thus the day concluded with more inward peace than heretofore: only one fear made him sad, that perhaps the butterfly had disappeared for ever from the garden, and then he could never recover his talisman.

But the next morning, when he went into the garden, he found the butterfly perched on a poppy in the sunshine. He threw his turban over it, and again the maiden stood before him. He asked her why she had not come the previous day, and she answered,[160]

"Oh, there was a clumsy peasant in the garden who tried to catch me in his hand, like an ugly fly! He would have rubbed the beautiful dust off my wings; and then, what would have become of my beauty? I could not allow it, for my clothing is beautiful." She laughed so maliciously, that he well knew who she meant by the clumsy peasant.

Before he could reply, she had engaged him in a new game, and then in another, and so on, that he could find no opportunity to demand the talisman. Even so passed the next and some following days. Messengers arrived daily from the city to bring news of the Princess's health. But these news were not comforting: the invalid grew worse from day to day, and the whole company of physicians knew no name for the disease, nor could they apply a remedy. If the priests were to be believed, this long and extraordinary sickness was a consequence of killing the sacred snake, and a punishment from heaven. Scarcely had this conclusion reached the King's ear, than it found credence in his weak mind. He caused the still imprisoned high priest to be called before him, and he advised that the priests should be immediately set at liberty, and reinstated in their former rank. It was proclaimed through the city that sacrifices and gifts should be offered, and that all the people were to return to the worship of the snake. The priests gave it out that they had found a similar snake, and Jussuf was again destined for the principal sacrifice, as the Princess lay so near death that she scarcely breathed or gave any sign of life. Jussuf had, in the meanwhile, passed many days in play; and, although he daily received tidings of the Princess, he was ignorant of everything else that passed in the capital. On one of the last days, he proposed to his playfellow that she should be his wife, and go home with him.

But she laughed, and said, "Are you not already betrothed to Haschanascha? Did you think I did not know it? I also know that you have dared this with many women. You have turned your house into a seraglio, as birds are kept in a cage. How hateful must such a life be! Shall I allow myself to be bound for life by the speaking of a hoary imam? Heaven forbid it!"[161] She began to jump and dance before Jussuf, while she sang:

"A happy life, a roving wing,
A sprightly dance, a voice to sing,
To sport 'mid flowers and crowns of spring,
Such, such be the life for me.
No care to-day, no toil the morrow,
Ever sunshine, never sorrow:
I sip and quaff the honied wine
With my rosy lips divine.
Fearless I stray, whate'er my will,
Seeking pleasure, pleasure still.
Such, such be the life for me:
Who aims at more, a fool is he."

When she had finished her song, she bowed before Jussuf in a mocking mood, and said,

"How does that please you, Jussuf? Why, you are making a face as if you had drunk poison. What thoughts are now passing through your head?"

"I am thinking of the talisman," answered Jussuf. "Give it me to-day. Haschanascha lies at the point of death."

"What of that?" asked she, jestingly: "if there be one such black creature more or less in the world, what consequence is it to you? Come, will you give me your talisman? It has served you well. Be polite for once, and say that you give it me."

She approached him, patted his cheek with her left hand, and holding out the talisman with her right, said smiling,[162]

Jussuf's first impulse was to say Yes; but when he looked into her eyes, and, instead of human eyes, saw a great number of butterflies' eyes, horror came over him. He snatched away the talisman, and threw it quickly over his head, calling on Haschanascha's name.

At this moment Haschanascha's elephant appeared exactly as he had seen it at the hunt. A brown slave, with a head-dress of beautiful feathers and variegated jewels, acted as leader, with a short staff in his hand. A maiden holding a drawn bow knelt on the elephant, and before Jussuf perceived it, the arrow flew from the bow, and his playfellow lay in his arms, pierced through with the arrow. Fright and astonishment took possession of him. Before he recovered himself, the elephant, with its guide, had disappeared, and also the deadly-struck maiden lay no longer in his arms. He looked on the ground to find traces of her blood, which he had seen gush out. There lay the beautiful butterfly, transfixed with a needle shaped like an arrow, as men keep such insects in a collection. He took it from the ground, and perceived again the wooden box and golden key which he had formerly opened and dropped. In doubt whether he were awake or asleep, he shut the butterfly fast up in the box, and was going thoughtfully away. Then the faithful slave came running to him, quite breathless, and cried,

"Flee quickly through the garden! The servants of the priests have already arrived in the palace-yard, and ask for you: you are again destined for a sacrifice."

"She must be dead," answered the slave, and pressed him, half with prayers and entreaties, and half with force, to take flight.

Jussuf hastened through the garden into the wood which joined it, and ran like a startled roe urged forward by terror and dread of its pursuers. The wood covered his flight. He came to the river below the capital, and found a ship about to go down the stream. The man who guided it yielded to his earnest request, took him in, and immediately set sail. At the approach of night, Jussuf thought they would have landed; but the man informed him, to his great[163] joy, that the moon would shine clearly, and favour their voyage. They let the ship float down, and only guided it with a rudder now and then, when they saw a rock or a dangerous place stand out of the water.

At midnight Jussuf made the man understand that he would guide the rudder. He gave it up readily, and lay down to sleep. He sat alone in the stillness of night at the helm, and thought over the events of the last few days. All passed distinctly before his mind. He remembered Haschanascha's sorrow at his resolution to remain alone at the hunting-seat; her warning about the talisman; her illness when he no longer possessed it; her life withering away, and her death. Then he thought of the sorrow of her foster-father the King, and how he had again fallen under the dominion of the crafty and deceitful snake-priests. Also the image of his playful companion rose before him, and the merry childish sports in which they had both joined, and in which he had always forgotten all the care and sorrow of Haschanascha.

He saw her, again, pierced by the arrow, sinking in his arms. He also remembered Haschanascha's appearance as she knelt on the elephant, and shot the deadly arrow at his companion. Could this only have been a shade of the dead one? or was it she herself? No; she herself was dead: the faithful slave had assured him so. All these reflections brought no peace to his soul. Involuntarily Haschanascha's superiority to his playfellow rose before him, and he felt with surprise that at these thoughts his cheeks were wet with tears.

On the morrow they came near a city: he wished to recompense the seaman, who had now reached his destination. Whilst he sought for a piece of gold out of his purse, he remembered that he had left the box of diamonds with the rest of his goods in the palace in his hasty flight. The seaman would take nothing, but assured him that by having taken charge of the vessel during the night he had quite earned his passage-money.

Jussuf parted from him with many thanks. In the city he sold his costly clothes, which he had bought new in the city of the snake-worshippers, clothed himself in the mean dress of a dervish,[164] had his eyebrows scraped off, and set off on foot along the course of the river. After a tedious wandering of some weeks, he happily reached the place where, in his former journey, he had observed the river flow by a city into the sea. He met there many who spoke his language, and from them he learned that a ship lay in the harbour, which was to sail the next day to Balsora. He immediately resolved to embark in it, and return home.

The captain was very ready to take him, and when he asked about the passage-money, he answered, "What! you want to pay passage-money? What would my master say if I took anything from a poor devil like you? No, no, the rich merchant Jussuf of Balsora, who has twenty such ships on the sea, takes no passage-money from a poor dervish."

Then the captain laughed heartily, and said, "Indeed he lives. He is now, certainly, on a distant journey, but his business still prospers. Look at this proof. This box of diamonds is a treasure than which no Sultan has any more precious in his treasury, and this has been given me to-day by one of his servants to convey to Balsora."

Jussuf saw with astonishment the box which he had left behind in his flight from the hunting-seat. He did not wish to be recognized in his poor condition, and feared to be taken for an impostor if he claimed the treasure. But he could not understand how the box could come into the captain's hands. He therefore turned to him, and said,

"Forgive me, sir, my curiosity, and tell me if you knew Jussuf's servant who brought the box?"

But the captain answered angrily, "Listen. I have certainly mistaken you, as I thought you were a dervish; therefore I am displeased that you speak so disrespectfully of the mighty merchant Jussuf, talking of him as if he were your equal. When you next pronounce his name, give him the honour due to him, and forget not the 'lord.' But as you asked if I knew the servant, know that I had never seen him before; but I did not doubt, when he gave it me in my lord's name. If he had given me only the[165] ten thousandth part in worth in his lord's name, there would have been cause to doubt."

The next day a favourable south wind blew; they weighed anchor, and the ship, under press of sail, left the harbour for the open sea.

The voyage was prosperous. No cloud overcast the heavens, the wind continued favourable, and, in the shortest possible time, they landed in the Port of Balsora. There lay many new ships at anchor, ready prepared, and laden with various wares.

"See," said the active captain to Jussuf, in saying farewell; "these new ships belong also to the same Lord Jussuf. Do not forget when you go into the city to see his palace, and also his warehouse in the bazaar."

Jussuf promised not to forget it; and, on his entrance into the city, went straight to the bazaar. He passed through the row where his warehouse used to stand, and was astonished to see a much larger one in its place, adorned on the outside with precious metals and costly stones; but in the interior was contained riches and a great heap of jewels, such as he had seen in the subterranean chambers of the ruins near Shiraz.

He pushed through the crowd, and saw that six young men were unceasingly occupied in selling. He pressed forward, and stood immediately before one of the traders.

"To whom does this warehouse belong?" asked he, when no buyer seemed ready to occupy him.

"You must only have arrived here to-day, if you do not know that there is only one merchant in Balsora who can display such riches. You must have heard the name of the merchant Jussuf, the king of merchants!"

"Oh, yes! I have certainly heard that name," answered Jussuf; "but I thought that he had shut up his warehouse, and gone on a far journey."

"That is very true," replied the young man; "but a few weeks ago he sent his brother, Hassan Assad, who carries on the commerce, and has taken account of the treasures which he sends here from his journeys. This business is much increased; it is well seen[166] that my Lord Jussuf does not leave his affairs in strange hands without good reason."

"You named his brother, and I have heard that your lord had no brother. What do you, then, mean?" asked Jussuf.

"I know not how it seems to you," said the young man. "What is there so much to be wondered at, and to stand with open mouth? Why should not my Lord Jussuf have a wife? for he might have them by the dozen. If all this interests you so much, go to his palace: there are idle people enough there that can satisfy your curiosity. I have no time: some buyers are waiting whom I have neglected by my conversation with you."

He turned to the customers, apologized for his inattention, and demanded their wishes.

Jussuf resolved to follow his advice and go to the palace. He no longer recognized it: two small palaces which stood on each side had been thrown down, and, in their places, two wings had been added to his own. The principal door of the middle palace stood open, and many male and female servants went in and out. He asked one of the porters to whom the palace belonged, and received the same answer as at the bazaar.

"But will your lord ever come again?" he asked. "He has been gone a long while; no man knows where he is, and he has sent no messengers back."

"What! sent no messenger?" cried both porters in a breath; "he has sent his wife here a long time since, and has himself arrived to-day. His brother Hassan Assad has always had sure news of him, and so he knew of his arrival to-day, and has prepared everything for his reception. His old teacher, who had not before been seen for years, has come forth to-day from his solitude, and arrived here."

"See, see!" answered both, "you know his name better than we. Yes, yes, his name is Modibjah: I could not recollect."[167]

"No, no," said one of them, obstructing the way; "what business have you in? The marriage ceremony is about to be performed in the hall, after the manner of our religion; the imam is just now gone in; therefore no strangers can be admitted."

"What!" cried Jussuf, "your lord already arrived? Where is the impostor? Let me in, that I may confront him."

"Do you not know your lord," asked Jussuf, full of indignation, "that you thus oppose him?"

They assured him that they had not been long in Assad's service, and did not know Jussuf; but they had been told that he was arrived.

"Yes," cried Jussuf, "he is arrived, but not yet in his palace; he will soon be in."

With these words he pushed the nearest on one side, threw him to the ground, and then the other also. He pressed forward quickly into the splendid hall, unopposed by the numerous servants, to whom he seemed to come from the passage into the hall. He placed himself in the midst, and cried with great earnestness,

"Who dares here to usurp Jussuf's place? Who dares here to pass for Jussuf's wife? I am Jussuf, who was thought lost! Where is the impostor? Let him come here, that he may receive the just reward of his treachery."

"You speak of deceit! Nobody here passes for Jussuf but yourself. We expected him, because we have sure knowledge that he has landed to-day. You may be the expected one. Now for the proof: what word will your lips breathe on this talisman?" He held to him Modibjah's talisman. Jussuf looked astonished and surprised, for the spark had disappeared.

"Haschanascha!" he cried, with a sigh. The spark shone out clear, and a veiled lady walked forth from the circle of numerous assembled guests, and asked, as she threw her veil back, "Do you[168] remember Haschanascha, your betrothed?" But he looked at her with marks of astonished joy. There were indeed the beautiful features of her face, the mild look of her soft eyes, the happy seriousness that reigned in Haschanascha's forehead; but her dark complexion had disappeared, and in its place played a soft blush, like the first breath of dawn, on her cheeks.

"Haschanascha!" cried he, at last awaking from his astonishment, "are you indeed she? I can no longer trust my senses, since I have been lost in so many adventures and dreams, that I cannot distinguish between reality and dreaming. Is it possible that you live? You were dead through my guilt."

"Ask not after what is past," said Modibjah's voice. "The King of the Genii has selected you to be his favourite on earth. Two daughters of genii were destined to try to lead you different ways; human nature nearly conquered, but you came out at last victorious from the fight. You have chosen the nobler. May she adorn your life with greater joy, as she helped you to conquer your selfishness, which bound you in weakness to the form you carried in the box! This is Haschanascha, the sister of your friend Hassan Assad, who has carried on your business since you separated from him near Shiraz. I am uncle to both; and that your wife may not enter your house as a beggar, here are the presents destined for the wedding present, which you saw under the ruins of the destroyed capital."

With these words he embraced Jussuf, who was again lost in astonishment. The young man who had offered him the talisman stepped forward, and Jussuf recognized in him his friend Hassan, and saluting him with heartfelt joy, called him his dear brother. In the same hour the imam pronounced over Jussuf and Haschanascha the blessing, and performed the usual prayers and ceremonies. Then were splendid feasts prepared that lasted many days, and such as never at any other time were celebrated in Balsora; so that in after years people spoke of the splendour with which the rich merchant Jussuf's wedding had been consummated. He attained with Haschanascha a great and very happy old age, and his latest descendants revere his memory.

The Seven Sleepers.

[The "Seven Sleepers" is a Mahommedan as well as Christian legend. It is alluded to in the Koran: and many of the circumstances of the following Tale are related in the notes to Sale's translation of it.]

istorians relate that there was in ancient Persia a shepherd named Dakianos, who for thirty years had attended his sheep without having ever neglected the holy custom of making his daily prayers. All those who knew him did justice to his probity; and nature had endowed him with an eloquence capable of raising him to the highest employments, had he lived in the great world.

One day, as he was at his usual prayers, his flock took fright and were dispersed. Dakianos ran every way to reassemble them, and perceiving that one of his sheep had got half of its body into the hole of a rock, where it could not get out, he ran to it and delivered it; but he was struck with a dazzling light which immediately shone out of the opening. He examined what it was that produced it, and soon found that it proceeded from a tablet or plate of gold, of no very large extent: he opened the hole still farther, and found[170] himself in a vault, which was not above seven feet high, and about four or five broad. He considered this tablet of gold with much attention, but could not read it, neither could he comprehend what the four lines signified which he saw written thereon. To inform himself, therefore, of this mystery, he took it away with him, and, as soon as it was night, he put it under his vest and repaired to the city. His first care was to show it to those who, as he was informed, were the most learned men; but, however versed they might be in the sciences, there was not one of them who could explain this inscription.

However, one of the doctors said to him, "No person here can translate these characters. Go into Egypt: you will find there a venerable man, of three hundred years of age, who can read the most ancient writings, and who knows all the sciences; he alone can satisfy your curiosity."

Dakianos delivered his flock to the person to whom it belonged, and departed immediately for Egypt.

As soon as he arrived there, he inquired after the old man, who was so celebrated that everybody was ready to show him his house. He went to him there, told him the occasion of his journey, and presented to him the tablet of gold. The old man received it with affability, and was struck with astonishment at the sight of this wonder. He read the characters with the greatest ease; but, after having reflected some time, he cast his eyes upon Dakianos, and said to him,

"These characters," resumed the old man, "promise to the person who shall find them, events which it is not likely can happen to you. You have," continued he, "a happy countenance, and this inscription speaks of an infidel, whose end must be fatal and tragical. But since fortune has given you this tablet, that which is written upon it doubtless regards you."

Dakianos, surprised with this discourse, answered, "How can it be as you say? I have said my prayers every day these thirty years. I have never been an infidel; how can I then be a reprobate?"[171]

"If it had been three hundred years," replied the old man, "you will be no less the victim of darkness."

These last words pierced the heart of Dakianos. He groaned, he sighed, he even wept, and he cried out, "Would that I had never found this golden tablet! That I had never shown it you and that I had never heard so terrible a sentence!"

"What use would it have been to you not to have brought it to me?" said this learned man. "The predestination of Allah is from all eternity; what is written in the Book of Life cannot be effaced. But I may be mistaken: the knowledge of men is often doubtful, Allah alone is infallible. I can, however, inform you that this golden tablet indicates a most considerable treasure, and that an those riches belong to him who shall be the possessor of the tablet."

This word riches consoled Dakianos, and in the transport of his soul he said to the old man, "Delay not a moment; let us go to seek the treasure. We will share it like two brothers."

But the old man said to him, sighing, "You will no sooner be the master of all these riches than you will abuse them. It is not an easy talent to know how to be rich; and I shall perhaps be the first to repent having done you this service."

"What a discourse you hold to me!" cried Dakianos. "What shall I owe the obligation to you of procuring me such treasures, shall you make my fortune, and do you think I shall be failing in my return? An infidel would not be guilty of such ingratitude, and I cannot so much as harbour a thought of it. I swear, then, to look upon you as my father, and to share equally all the riches with you; or, rather, you shall give me what share you please, and I shall always be content."

These protestations would not much have reassured the old man, but avarice—the only passion which is felt at a certain age—overcame his reflections, and he consented to their departure. They arrived at the place where Dakianos had found the tablet of gold. The old man commanded him to dig the ground about twenty feet round. They soon discovered a gate of steel, and the old man told Dakianos to open it. Dakianos obeyed with such eager haste that he broke the door open with his foot, though the key was in the[172] lock. They both of them entered into a vault, without being discouraged by the great obscurity which reigned there. After having gone some steps, a faint light enabled them to distinguish objects. The farther they advanced, the more the light increased. They found themselves at last before a large and magnificent palace, the seven gates of which were closed, but the keys were fastened by them. Dakianos took that of the first gate, and opened it.

The first apartment enclosed ornaments and habits of the greatest magnificence, and above all, girdles of solid gold, adorned with jewels. They opened the second, which they found filled with sabres, the hilts and sheaths of which were covered with the most precious stones. The third was adorned with an infinite number of cuirasses, coats of mail, and helmets of gold of different fashions, and all the arms were enriched with the most magnificent jewels. The fourth enclosed the most superb horse furniture, answerable to the magnificence of the arms. The fifth offered to their sight piles of gold and silver ingots. The sixth was full of gold coin; and it was scarcely possible to enter into the seventh, it was so heaped with sapphires, with amethysts, and diamonds.

These immense treasures dazzled Dakianos. From that moment he was sorry that he had a witness of his good fortune.

"Do you consider," said he to the old man, "of what consequence secrecy will be upon this occasion?"

"But," resumed Dakianos, "if the King has the least knowledge of this treasure, his first act will be to confiscate it. Are you sure of yourself? Do you fear nothing from your own indiscretion?"

"The desire of possessing the half of those riches," replied the old man, "ought to be a pledge that will satisfy you."

"The half of these riches!" interrupted Dakianos, with an alteration visible in his countenance, "but that half surpasses the treasures of the greatest kings."

The old man perceived this alteration, and said to him, "If you think the half too much for me, you may give me only a quarter of it."

"Most willingly," returned Dakianos. "But what precaution[173] will you take to remove them with safety? You will cause us to be discovered, and be the occasion of our ruin."

"Well, then," replied the old man, "though you have promised me much more, give me only one of the apartments—I shall be fully satisfied. You do not answer my question."

"We will examine at leisure what you have proposed to me," returned Dakianos. "I am glad, however, that you are more reasonable, and that you begin to understand yourself."

Dakianos again examined these riches with more avidity, and his eyes were still further dazzled by them. After having thoroughly considered the magnificent apartment of the diamonds, in which they then were, "You are sensible," said he to the old man, "that this is, without contradiction, the most valuable, and that it is not natural I should yield up to you the lawful right I have over it?"

"You have reason for what you say," returned the old man, "and I do not demand it of you."

"This treasure," said Dakianos, after having looked upon it for some time, "is certainly what would cause the least trouble, and be the most easily disposed of; it may be useful also towards preserving all the rest, either by establishing a guard or raising walls; therefore I believe you too reasonable," continued he, "not to agree to the necessity that obliges me to keep it."

"I agree to it," replied the old man; "let us pass on to another. These piles of ingots of silver and gold are not all necessary to you," said he, as he viewed the fifth apartment.

"No," returned Dakianos, "I might possibly do without some of these; but I have too great obligations to you, to expose you, by giving them to you: how could you convey them away? What a trouble it would be to you to dispose of them!"

"No, no," added Dakianos, "I love you too well to consent to it; besides, it would be the means to have me discovered; you would be arrested, and you could not prevent yourself from accusing me. Let us see the others."[174]

They opened the fourth apartment. "This horse-furniture is absolutely unsuitable to you; your age is an obstacle to the use of it."

He made use of the same difficulty to refuse him the cuirasses and the armour which filled the third. When he had locked that up with the same care as the rest, they found themselves in that which contained the sabres; and the old man said to him, "These arms are easy to carry, I will go and offer them to the Kings of the Indies; I will sell them separately, and you will run no risk."

As he said these words he examined them, both the weight of the gold and the value of the diamonds. At length he drew one of them out of the scabbard; then he compared all the riches of which he might be the sole possessor, with the head of one man; and, unable to conceive how he could have hesitated so long, "I distrust thee!" said he, springing upon the old man.

The old man embraced his knees. "Be moved," said he to him, "with my old age! The treasures no longer make any impression upon me, and I pretend not to them."

"Truly I believe not," resumed Dakianos: "they are mine, the tablet of gold gives them to me."

The old man recalled his promises to his memory. "But I will cancel them," pursued he: "in return for the obligation you have to me I only demand my life."

"I have offended thee too far," replied Dakianos: "thy life would be my death, it would give me too much inquietude."

Then at one blow striking off the head of the old man, "Now," cried he, "my secret is my own!"

The first care of Dakianos was immediately to make a grave and to inter this unfortunate victim of his avarice. He feared not remorse, though he dreaded a witness; his heart was wholly occupied with the treasure that he possessed, and his mind with the methods of preserving it. But after devouring it with his eyes, and enjoying that cruel satisfaction, in what trouble did he not find himself when he was obliged to leave it in order to seek for provision?[175] How often did he reproach himself with not having carried it with him? And if he ever remembered the old man, it was only to accuse his memory, and to persuade himself that he must have had some bad design, since he had not advertised him of a thing which he might have foreseen without being so learned as he really was. Not to die with hunger in this subterranean vault, he was obliged to quit it. What succours could he find in so barren a desert as that with which it was surrounded? He was obliged, therefore, to go to a place at some distance; but how could he resolve upon that, especially at a time when the ground lately removed might attract the curiosity of a traveller? Dakianos almost determined to let himself die rather than lose sight of his treasure. All that he could do to calm his inquietudes was not to depart till night, when he took some handfuls of the gold coin and repaired to the city, where he bought a horse, which he loaded with biscuit and with a small barrel of water, and returned before daybreak to seek his treasure, which he found in the same condition he had left it, with as much pleasure as he had felt chagrin at leaving it.

His first care was, with incredible fatigue, to make a very deep ditch round the cavern. He contrived a passage to it underground, the opening of which he covered with his clothes, that in a few days he laid upon them, and afterwards raised a hut of earth to preserve himself from the weather. All that he suffered during these immense labours is not to be conceived, and no one could have imagined, who had seen him thus wasted with labour and fatigue, that he was the richest inhabitant of the earth.

When he had conducted his work so far as to be able to leave it without fear, he repaired again to the city, but with the same precaution—that is to say, he went only in the night. He employed it wholly in purchasing some slaves, with whose assistance by degrees he brought thither everything that was necessary for his safety and convenience. Soon after, he gathered workmen, with whose aid he built more solidly the works which he had begun. He surrounded the place with three walls of stone, and lay always between the first and the second. He took great care to spread abroad a report after this that he carried on a large foreign commerce,[176] and spoke much of the fortune he had made in Egypt. Upon this pretext—for there must be one for becoming so suddenly rich—he built a magnificent palace: that of the thousand columns erected by Melik Jouna, the ancient King of the Indies, was nothing in comparison to it. Such great magnificence soon made him considered and respected by the world, and the pains he had given himself to preserve his riches not only flattered his self-love, but easily persuaded him that he had acquired them, and might enjoy them without remorse, the old man being totally forgotten.

It was easy for him to bring out the treasures from his vault, the secret of which was not trusted to any person. He sent caravans to all parts of the Indies to authorize the expenses he bestowed in slaves, in building, in women, and in horses, and fortune also favoured a commerce which was of little consequence to him. His heart, fully satisfied as to riches, was not long insensible to ambition. The Court has strong attractions for the rich; they are received so graciously, they are praised in so delicate and so insinuating a manner, that they are generally seduced by it. And Dakianos, who now joined to his opulence an immeasurable ambition, neglected nothing to introduce himself at the Court of the King of Persia; but made presents to the viziers to obtain their protection, and, by gaining it, rendered himself their slave. His magnificence and his generosity, as he foresaw and wished, soon reached the ears of the King, who desired to see him.

Dakianos had an audience as soon as he appeared at Court, and to give a favourable impression of himself, and to deserve the favour of the King, he brought him presents which the greatest Kings upon earth could not, perhaps, have collected together. It is generally by nines that Eastern presents are given, when their magnificence is extended to the last degree. He therefore caused himself to be preceded by nine superb camels. The first was loaded with nine suits and ornaments of gold, adorned with the most beautiful jewels, of which the girdles were of the greatest lustre. The second bore nine sabres, the hilts and scabbards of which were of gold adorned with diamonds. Upon the third were seen nine suits of armour of equal magnificence. The fourth had for its load nine[177] suits of horse furniture, suitable to the other presents. Nine cases full of sapphires were upon the fifth. Nine other cases heaped with rubies loaded the sixth. The same weight of emeralds was upon the seventh. The amethysts, in an equal number of cases, was the load of the eighth. At last, there appeared upon the ninth camel nine cases of diamonds. Nine young women of the greatest beauty, and magnificently adorned, followed this caravan; and eight young slaves immediately preceded Dakianos.

In the midst of the surprise which these presents gave to the King and the whole Court, some of those who composed it, and who, according to the customs of that place, endeavoured to criticise upon it, and who wished to contradict those who applauded it, or to show the justness of their own remarks, demanded where was the ninth slave. Dakianos, who expected the question, pointed to himself. The King, pleased with the turn of delicacy, which he joined to such magnificent presents, received him with extreme distinction; and, his natural eloquence increasing his favour, it was impossible for the Prince to be without him. He seated Dakianos by himself, gave him the pleasure of his music, sent him every day dishes from the royal table, and very often the most exquisite wines; during which, on the other side, Dakianos returned all this bounty by presents, the quantity of which was as surprising as their magnificence. At length his continued liberality and his eloquence procured him so great a power over the heart of the King, that he created him his Vizier, that they might never part; yet the confidence and the friendship he testified to him gave him still more power than the charge with which he was provided.

Dakianos governed Persia with an absolute sway: he ought to have enjoyed a happiness which might satisfy his vanity. But can ambition ever be satisfied? The mountain of Kaf may set bounds to the world, but never to the ideas and wishes of the ambitious. The King being informed of the arrival of an ambassador from Greece, gave him audience immediately. The ambassador, after having kissed the foot of the throne, delivered him a letter, which he caused his secretary to read aloud, it was conceived in these terms:[178]

"I, Emperor and Sultan of seven climates, to you, King of Persia. As soon as my royal letter shall be delivered to you, fail not to send to me the tribute of seven years. If you make any difficulty to satisfy me, know that I have an army in readiness to march against you."

This letter caused so much astonishment in the King, that he knew not what answer to make to it. Dakianos, to deliver the King from the perplexity he was in, rose from his place, touched the ground with his head, and endeavoured to restore his spirits.

"The letter of the Emperor of Greece," said he, "ought not to afflict you: it is easy to answer it, and to make him repent his menaces and his insolence. Order your most faithful subjects to join with me, who am the humblest of your slaves; I shall inform them what they have to do."

These words consoled the King: he gave his orders in pursuance of them, and Dakianos raised above a hundred thousand men for the King, whilst on his side he assembled ten thousand more, whom he equipped at his own expense. The King joined to this chosen troop two thousand of the most valiant soldiers, whom he had always had near his own person, and of whom he formed the guard of Dakianos, and declared him general of this army of one hundred and twelve thousand men. The new general took leave of the King, and put himself at the head of his troops, which served as an escort to all his riches, which he took care to convey along with him, and which ten thousand camels could scarce carry. The King of Persia, who parted from his Vizier with regret, accompanied him for three days, and quitted him with tears in his eyes, giving him a thousand benedictions, and repeating to him a thousand times that he was his strength, his support, and, what was much more, the only friend of his heart. Dakianos chose out the most warlike men in all the cities through which he passed, equipped them at his own expense, and gave them whatever pay they demanded. The report which was spread abroad of this magnificence drew together men from all parts of the world, and his army was in a short time increased to three hundred thousand soldiers.[179]

The Emperor of Greece, upon the news he had of the Persian army, immediately assembled his troops, and advanced to meet Dakianos with seven hundred thousand men. As soon as he perceived the enemy, he divided his army into two bodies, and gave the signal for battle. The troops of Dakianos acted with so much valour, and their first onset was so terrible, that the army of the Grecians had not time to recover themselves, and they were almost as soon defeated as attacked. Dakianos ordered the Grecian Emperor, whom he had taken prisoner, to be beheaded, and without the least difficulty made himself master of all his dominions, of which he caused himself to be acknowledged sovereign. The first business of this new monarch was to write the following letter to the King of Persia:

"I have defeated and overcome Cæsar,[2] I have conquered his dominions, I have mounted his throne, and have been acknowledged the sovereign of his whole empire. As soon as this letter is delivered to you, defer not a moment to send me the tribute due for seven years: if you make the least difficulty to pay it me, you must submit to the same fate as Cæsar."

[2] In the East they always give that name to the Emperors of Greece.

This letter, with great reason, provoked the King of Persia beyond all the bounds of moderation. Without loss of time he assembled his troops; but before he put himself at their head to march towards the confines of Greece, he returned this answer to Dakianos:

"Can a man so despicable as thou art have possibly conquered Greece? Thou hast betrayed me—I, who am thy King, and who am seated upon the golden throne of my ancestors. Thou hast attacked me, notwithstanding the gratitude and fidelity thou owest to me. I am upon my departure to cause even the very memory of thee to perish, to restore Greece to her former situation, and to deliver her to her lawful sovereign!"

This daring answer of the King of Persia threw Dakianos into the most dreadful rage: he immediately formed a detachment of two hundred thousand men from his army to advance and give [180]battle to the King of Persia. Those troops were not long without meeting him. The combat was bloody and obstinate; but at length the King of Persia was defeated, taken prisoner, and conducted to Dakianos.

When that Prince was in his presence, "Wretch!" said he to him, "how canst thou bear my sight, thou most ungrateful of mankind?"

"I ungrateful?" replied Dakianos. "I have levied troops at my own expense; I have spent the greater part of my immense treasures; I have, therefore, bought this conquest. I have done more: I have fought; I have revenged thy quarrel. What canst thou reproach me with?"

It is hard for those in power to bear a well-founded reproach. The only answer of Dakianos was to command his head to be struck off, and immediately to send troops to seize on his dominions. He chose Ephesus to fix his residence in; but, not thinking that city magnificent enough, he caused it to be rebuilt with the utmost elegance, and gave all his care to the erecting of a palace, which was unparalleled for its solidity, its extent, and its magnificence. He erected in the centre of it a kiosk, the walls of which were six hundred feet long, and the cement and all the jointings of it were of silver. This kiosk contained a thousand chambers, each of which enclosed a throne of gold: he caused three hundred and sixty-five gates of crystal to be made, which he placed in such a manner that every day throughout the year the rising sun shone upon one of them. His palace had seven hundred porters; sixty viziers were occupied in his affairs. There were always in the hall of audience sixty thrones, on which were seated those who had signalized themselves in war. He had seven thousand astrologers, who assembled every day, and continually declared to him the different influences of the stars. He was always surrounded by ten thousand ichoglans, who wore girdles and crowns of solid gold, and were most magnificently clad: they had no other employment but that of being always ready to receive his orders. He appointed sixty pashas, each of whom had under his command two thousand well-made and[181] valiant young men, who each in particular commanded two thousand soldiers.

One day, when Dakianos was in the height of his splendour, an old man arose from beneath the throne upon which he was seated. The King, amazed, asked him who he was. He was an unbelieving genie, but, far from confessing it,

"I am," he answered, "a prophet of God: I obey His orders by coming to you. Know, therefore, that He has made me the god of the heavens, and that He ordains that you should be the god of the earth."

Some time after, Dakianos had again the same apparition, and the genie repeated to him the same things; but he answered him,

"Your power, your great actions, and the care that Allah has taken of you, ought to persuade you; but if you will not believe me," pursued the old man, "do what I shall tell you, and you will soon be convinced."

Dakianos, whose pride this flattered, and who had nothing more to desire of human greatness, promised him to consent to everything.

What he desired was executed. And when Dakianos was placed there, "Prince," said the genie to him, "there is at the bottom of the sea a fish, the bigness of which is known only to Allah, and which every day comes to land. It remains there till noon to adore the Almighty. No person interrupts its prayers: when they are finished, it plunges again to the bottom of the sea."

The fish appeared as usual, and the genie said to Dakianos, "Though the fish will not believe your power, it has, however, declared to all the fishes of the sea that you are the god of the earth. It fears nothing, and comes now to inform itself. You will know the truth of what I have declared to you," continued he, "if you will only condescend to say to him, 'I am the god of the[182] earth.' Your voice will freeze him with terror—he cannot hear it without surprise, and will certainly take flight."

This proposition pleased Dakianos, and he called the fish, and said to it, "'I am the god of the earth.'"

These words of infidelity made the fish immediately plunge to the bottom of the sea, in the fear he was under lest the Almighty Power should dart His thunder to punish that impostor. Dakianos easily persuaded himself that the fish was an infidel, and that his presence had made him take flight. From that moment he believed all the deluding words of the genie, and soon had no doubt left of his divinity. Not only his subjects adored him, but people came from all corners of the world to give him those marks of adoration which he exacted; for he caused all those to be thrown into a burning furnace who refused to adore him.

In the number of the ten thousand slaves who stood always before him with their hands crossed upon their breasts, there were six Greeks who possessed his confidence, and who approached the nearest to his person. They were named Jemlikha, Mekchilinia, Mechlima, Merlima, Debermouch, and Charnouch. They were generally placed in an equal number upon his right and left hand. Jemlikha was one whom he most favoured, nature having endowed him with all her charms: his words were sweeter than the honey of Arabia, and his wit sparkling and agreeable; in a word, this young man united in himself all perfections. Their employments engaged both him and his companions to pay that homage to Dakianos which was due to God alone.

One day, as Dakianos was at table, Jemlikha held a fan to drive away the flies that might incommode him: there came one which settled itself with so much obstinacy upon the dish he was eating that he was obliged to give it up. Jemlikha, struck with this slight event, thought it ridiculous that a man who could not drive away even a fly that troubled him, should pretend to divinity. "Surely," continued he, "I ought to have no regard for such a god."

Some time after, Dakianos entered into one of his apartments to repose himself for some hours; and Jemlikha still waited by[183] him with the fan. Allah once more sent the same fly, and at this time it placed itself upon the face of the monarch. Jemlikha would have driven it away lest it should interrupt his lord's sleep; but his pains were in vain: it awakened Dakianos, and threw him into the greatest impatience. Jemlikha, already touched by his first reflections, said within himself, "This man certainly is no more a god than I am: there can be but one God, and it is He who has created the sun that gives us light."

From that time Jemlikha used the custom of saying every night when he lay down, "The true God is He who created the heavens, and fixed them in the air without a pillar."

It is difficult to make a serious reflection and not to communicate it to a friend. Jemlikha declared all his doubts to his companions. "A man," says he, "who cannot disengage himself from a fly, can he have power over the works of nature?" Then he related the adventure of the fly.

Jemlikha told them what he thought, and they were so far persuaded of it, that from that day they joined with him every night in prayer. Their assembling themselves together in private places soon became the subject of conversation. Dakianos being informed of it, sent for them into his presence, and said to them,

They contented themselves with answering him, "We adore the Sovereign Master of the world."

The King, who took that answer to mean himself, loaded them with caresses, and bestowed upon each of them a robe of honour. They retired, covered with the favours of their master, and their first care was to adore and thank the High God for His bounty to them. Jemlikha afterwards said to them,

"If there should be again such an information given to the King as has now put us into such imminent danger, we can hope for no further mercy from him. I imagine, therefore, the only resolution we can take is to quit our country, and to seek another, where we may adore God without constraint."[184]

"But how can we take our flight?" replied his companions. "We know no other country but this."

"Let us put our trust in God," resumed Jemlikha, "and make use of any favourable circumstance. We are not to follow Dakianos when he goes on his magnificent chase for six days at the head of his army: what hinders us taking that time for our departure? We will demand permission of the officers of the palace that guard us to play at feheukian;[3] we will go out of the square, throw the ball to a great distance, and take our flight upon those swift horses which are usually given us for that exercise."

[3] An exercise performed on horseback.

They approved this project, and waited with impatience for the time of its execution. At length Dakianos departed with his numerous army.

The day after the King's departure they put in execution what they had projected. The eunuchs pursued them, and would have forced them to return back to the palace; but they answered them,

"We are tired of our King: he endeavours to pass for the God of the earth, and we adore Him alone who has created all that we behold."

The young men had already drawn their sabres, and in a moment they put the eunuchs out of a condition of following them. Then Jemlikha said to them, "My friends, we are ruined if we do not use all possible expedition."

They immediately put their horses at full speed, which so much fatigued them that their strength was soon exhausted. They were then obliged to continue their journey on foot, but being tired, and faint with thirst and hunger, they stopped on the side of the road, and, with entire confidence in God, prayed to Him to relieve them. Some faithful genii heard them, and, touched with their situation, they inspired into Jemlikha the thought of ascending a mountain, at the foot of which they were. It was not without pain that he arrived at the summit; but at length he perceived a spring, the pure and clear water of which was to him the water of life, and a shepherd sitting by it, who sang whilst his flock was feeding.

Jemlikha called to his companions: the few words he could make them hear augmented their strength, and gave them courage sufficient to ascend the mountain.

The shepherd, whose name was Keschetiouch, gave them some provisions, and they drank of the water of this delightful fountain. This refreshment re-established their strength, and their first care was to return their thanks to Heaven for it. Then Keschetiouch said to them,

"How have you found the way to a place where I never yet saw any mortal? If I am not mistaken, you are fugitives. Trust me with your misfortunes: I may perhaps be of some service to you."

Jemlikha related to him all that had happened to them, and his discourse struck the light of faith into the heart of this shepherd, God so enlightening his mind, that he soon learned and repeated with them their prayers. Afterwards he told them he would never quit them.

"Ephesus," says he, "is so near to this place, that you will still be in some danger. Doubt not but Dakianos will use his utmost efforts to have you seized. I know a cavern not far from hence, which perhaps in a forty years' search could not be found: I will conduct you there."

The shepherd had a little dog, which he called Catnier, that followed them. They did not care to take him with them; and using all their skill to drive him away, they at last threw a stone at him, which broke his leg; but he still followed them limping. They threw a second at him, which did not turn him back, though it broke his other fore leg, so that he walked only upon his two hind feet, continuing his march. The third stone having broke one more, he was no longer in a condition to stand. But Allah gave the gift of speech to this little dog, who said to them,

"Alas! you go to seek after Allah, and you have prevented me from all hope of going with you! Am not I also the creature of Allah? Are you alone obliged to acknowledge Him?"

They were so astonished at this wonderful miracle, and moved with the condition to which they had reduced the dog, that they[186] carried him in turn, and went on begging the protection of Heaven. They were not long before they arrived at the cavern to which the shepherd conducted them, and finding themselves fatigued with their journey, they lay down to sleep; but by the particular mission of Heaven, they slept with their eyes open, in such a manner that no one could suspect they tasted any real repose. The cavern was so gloomy, the heat of the sun could not incommode them; a gentle, pleasing wind incessantly refreshed them, and a long narrow opening gave an entrance to the rays of the sun at his rising.

In the meantime those eunuchs who had escaped from the sabres of the young slaves came directly to give an account of what had passed to Dakianos. He was in despair at their flight, and as he was recollecting in his mind the favours he had shown them, and accusing them of the highest ingratitude, the same unfaithful genie who had so often appeared to him presented himself before him, and said to him,

"Your slaves have quitted you only that they might worship another God, in whom they place all their trust."

This discourse so heightened the anger of Dakianos that he conjured the genie to let him know the place of their retreat.

"I alone can bring you to it," returned the genie. "All mankind would search for it in vain, but I will conduct you to it at the head of your army."

They immediately departed, and were not long before they arrived at the mouth of the cavern. The genie then said to Dakianos,

Dakianos, who was wholly possessed with the spirit of revenge, immediately would have entered it; but that moment there burst out from the cave a dreadful vapour, which was followed by a furious wind, and a darkness that spread over all that part of the world. The army gave back with horror; but anger redoubling the courage of Dakianos, he advanced to the entrance of the cavern, but it was with incredible difficulty, and, in spite of all his efforts, it was absolutely impossible for him to enter it, the air being so impenetrable. He perceived Catnier, who slept with his head resting upon his paw, and distinguished plainly the six young Greeks[187] and the shepherd, who were all in a profound sleep, though he was far from suspecting it, as their eyes were open. Dakianos was not rash enough to renew his efforts—a secret horror restrained him. The sight of this cavern and all the prodigies of Heaven spread so great a terror in his mind that he returned to his army, and said that he had discovered his slaves, who had prostrated themselves before him without having the courage to speak to him, and that he had left them prisoners in the cavern till he fixed his resolution respecting their punishment. In effect, he consulted his sixty viziers, and demanded of them what remarkable vengeance he could exercise upon these young slaves; but no advice of theirs could give him satisfaction. He had recourse, therefore, to his genie, who advised him to command the architects, who always marched along with him, to raise a very thick wall, which should entirely close up the entrance of the cavern, and take away all hope of succour from those who were enclosed in it.

"You must take care for your own glory to cause to be engraved upon this wall the time, the year, and the reasons that obliged you to erect it; that will be the means," said he, "of informing posterity that you revenged yourself with a greatness of spirit."

Dakianos approved this counsel, and caused a wall to be erected as thick and solid as those of Alexandria; but he had the precaution to reserve one passage, of which he alone knew the entrance, in hopes of being one day able to seize upon his slaves, and with a view of examining the events at the cavern, which, in spite of himself, continually took up his thoughts. He added to all these precautions that of placing a guard of twenty thousand men, who encamped before the wall. All his armies had orders to relieve this body of troops every month, who were commanded to put to death all those who endeavoured to approach a place which enclosed those whose revolt and flight were the first misfortunes of his life; for till that moment everything had succeeded happily to him. A desire of revenge joined itself to the insult he had received from them, which appeared greater to him, as nothing had ever before dared to resist him. To a man intoxicated with his power, of which he had been himself the sole cause, so positive an opposition[188] to his will was a cruel situation. Nothing could prevent him from repairing every day to the cavern in order to make new efforts to enter it, or at least to feed his eyes with the objects of his vengeance.

The calm which was enjoyed by those whom he still looked upon as his slaves redoubled his fury. Their eyes, which were, as he imagined, fixed upon him—their silence to all the reproaches and invectives with which he loaded them—even their attitude—all were marks of the greatest contempt of him. One day, when he had joined to his usual speeches the blackest imprecations against Heaven, Allah permitted Catnier, without any motion, to answer him:

"Wretch! darest thou blaspheme a God who has let thee live, notwithstanding the crimes that thou hast been guilty of? Believest thou that He has forgot to punish the fate of the learned Egyptian, whom thy avarice put to death, contrary to the most sacred oaths?"

Dakianos, whose wrath was impotent there, went out, distracted and provoked with the insulting reproaches that he received from the dog of his slaves. What a subject of humility! But far from having recourse to prayer, and imploring Allah's clemency, his pride revolted, and by a sentiment natural to the wicked, who generally render those who are subject to them answerable for everything that wounds their vanity, at his return he caused to be executed, in the public square, above two thousand men, who had refused to adore him. These examples of severity spread abroad the fire of a rebellion, which was lighted in all parts of his dominions; and, notwithstanding the anxiety that these troubles gave him to stop the progress of them, an inward emotion, which he could not resist, led him continually towards the cavern.

"What is it I go there to seek?" said he within himself. "The reproaches and contempt of one of the vilest animals, whilst I am everywhere adored—whilst every word that comes from my sacred mouth is revered. Yet, notwithstanding this, what am I in the eyes of an animal whom God protects? A shadow of power—an object of impotence! Ah! Dakianos, what shame! what confusion But, however, I have concealed it, notwithstanding this[189] God, who will torment me, and His efforts will be in vain against my regulations. How happy I am to have concealed from my subjects the knowledge of such a misfortune! How prudent was I in erecting a wall which forbids all entrance to the cavern, and in hindering all mankind from approaching it by the troops which I have disposed before it! But in what manner can my slaves have subsisted whilst I have kept them enclosed there? Doubtless they have some communication into the country, and that communication is unknown to me. To remedy this inconvenience, I must surround the mountain with my troops." Accordingly he gave orders to six hundred thousand men to form an encampment round it, and to let no person approach a place that was so odious to him.

When he had taken these new precautions, he returned to the entrance of the cavern, and said, with a fierce and haughty voice,

Catnier answered him again, "We fear thee not: God is our protector. But believe me, and return to Ephesus: thy presence is become necessary there."

Dakianos perceiving that he would give no further answer, returned to the city, and found that several of the chief of the eunuchs of his seraglio were murdered. Dakianos, distracted at this affront, could not forbear returning to the cavern, and saying to Catnier (because he was the only creature that answered him),

"If thy God could restore me the honour that has been taken from me, I would endeavour——"

Catnier answered him, "Go, return to Ephesus; other misfortunes attend thee there."

These words threw Dakianos into the utmost confusion. He returned immediately, and found that the demon of hatred had seized upon his three sons, that they had drawn their sabres against each other, and that the angel of death was come to fetch them hence, which he did before his eyes. What an affliction to a father! What a disappointment to an ambitious mind, who depended upon giving each of them an empire in different parts of the world![190]

In the midst of the sorrow with which he was surrounded, he could not prevent himself from returning once more to the cavern. "Wretches!" said he to them, "what torments ought I not to make you suffer when you shall fall into my hands? However, restore me my children, and I will forgive all that you have done against me."

"God will restore no children whom He has banished from the world to punish the crimes of their father. Go, return to Ephesus. Thou deservest to find new misfortunes there."

"It is too much," cried Dakianos, retiring; and immediately, with rage and despair in his heart, he commanded all his troops, and all the inhabitants of Ephesus, to bring each of them a faggot, and see his orders executed. Then he caused this enormous quantity of wood to be piled before the cavern, in hopes of stifling those whom it enclosed; but the wind beat back the flames of this amazing fire against the army (who took to flight), and against the city. No private house, notwithstanding, was in the least incommoded by it; but the fire seized upon the palace of Dakianos, which was wholly reduced to ashes, and all the treasure which he had amassed with so much care vanished in a moment, whilst the cavern did not undergo the least alteration. This last prodigy engaged him to have recourse to the seven sleepers, and to Catnier himself, begging them to intercede for him. The little dog answered him thus:

"It is fear, and not piety, that seems to soften the hardness of thy heart. Begone: thou canst not deceive Allah."

Dakianos retired, confounded with this last reproach, but still more distracted at having humbled himself so far.

In the midst of all these misfortunes which succeeded each other to oppress this enemy of God, the revolt, which was considerably augmented, demanded an example to be made, and the heart of Dakianos engaged him to render it of the greatest severity. To that effect he caused to be erected in the public square, upon the ashes of his palace, a throne of iron; he commanded all his[191] Court and all his troops to be clothed in red,[4] and to be covered with black turbans. He took care to put on the same habit, with a design of murdering in one moment five or six hundred thousand souls, whom he resolved to sacrifice to the safety of his throne, to the manes of his children, to his lost honour, and to what affected him still more, the incessant remorse and horror that gnawed his heart. But before he performed this cruel execution, he resolved once more to visit the cavern, in hopes that his weapons, the usual confidence of the wicked, might intimidate those whom by prayers or by menaces he could obtain nothing from. When he arrived there, he redoubled his usual blasphemies.

[4] This colour in the East is a mark of the vengeance of princes.

"Tremble, thou wretch!" said Catnier then to him, without any emotion or so much as raising his head, which lay upon his paws.

Dakianos, at that word, listening only to his resentment, took his arrows and his bow.

He then shot an arrow at him with the utmost strength of his arm; but a supernatural power made it fall at the feet of him who shot it, and at the same instant there sprang out of the cavern a serpent, which was above twenty feet in length, and whose dreadful and inflamed look made him tremble. Dakianos would have taken his flight; but the serpent soon overtook him, grasped him round the body, and dragged him through the whole city, that all his subjects might be witnesses of his terror and of his punishment. He then conveyed him to the iron throne which he had prepared for the scene of his vengeance. It was there that, being devoured by degrees, Dakianos by his dreadful sufferings gave a terrible example of the punishment due to ingratitude and impiety. The serpent afterwards returned to his cavern without having done the [192]least hurt to any person, and all the inhabitants of Ephesus loaded it with benedictions at its departure.

Several Kings succeeded Dakianos, and filled his throne during the time of one hundred and forty years; after which it fell into the power of the ancient Greeks, who enjoyed it for the space of one hundred and sixty-nine years longer. When the time of the repose of the Seven Sleepers was accomplished, that which was written happened unto them. One of the seven awakened at that instant; and the dawn beginning to appear, he raised himself up, and said within himself, "I seem to have slept at least twenty-four hours;" and by degrees the others awakened, struck with the same idea.

Jemlikha, always more lively than the rest, leapt up immediately, and was extremely surprised to find, at the opening of the cavern, a wall erected of large square stones, which entirely enclosed it. He returned to his companions and told them the occasion of his astonishment. Notwithstanding this inconvenience, they agreed that they must absolutely send one of their number to the city to buy provisions; and casting their eyes upon the shepherd, Jemlikha gave him money, telling him that he ran no hazard by going. The shepherd rising to do them that service, at that moment Catnier [5] awakened, perfectly cured of his broken legs, and ran to caress them. The shepherd strove in vain to get out of the cavern, for the passage that Dakianos had reserved to himself was fallen down; and examining the wall carefully, he remarked the enormous bigness of the stones that composed it; and through the chinks that time had made between them, he saw with astonishment that part of the trees were dead, others were fallen, and that the water of the springs was differently placed; in one word, he was so confounded at the uncommon change that he perceived, that he returned into the cavern to inform his companions of this surprising event. They [193]immediately arose and went to the entrance to judge of it themselves; but every fresh object redoubled their amazement.

[5] There are ten animals which, according to Mahommedans, must enter into Paradise: the whale that swallowed Jonas; the ant of Solomon; the ram of Ismael; the cuckoo of Belkis; the camel of the Prophet of God; the ass of Aazis, Queen of Saba; the calf of Abraham; the camel of the Prophet Saleb; the ox of Moses; and the dog that accompanied the Seven Sleepers.

Jemlikha then said to the shepherd, "Give me thy habit; I will go myself to the city and fetch what is necessary for us, and endeavour to find out what we cannot now comprehend."

The shepherd gave him his habit, and took his in return. Jemlikha, with much labour, made himself a passage through the ruins of this thick wall, followed the road to the city, and remarked over the gate a standard, upon which was written, "There is no other god but the true God."

He was astonished to find that one night had produced so great a change. "Is not this a vision?" said he. "Do I awake, or do I feel the illusions of a dream?"

Whilst he made these embarrassing reflections, he saw a man come out of the castle, whom he approached, and asked him if this city was not called Ephesus. He told him that was its name.

"It belongs to Encouch: he is the King of it, and has his residence in it," replied the man.

He satisfied his curiosity by telling him that they represented the holy name of God.

"But I apprehend," interrupted Jemlikha, with eagerness, "that Dakianos is the King of this city, and that he makes himself be worshipped here as a god."

"What an uncommon sleep I am in!" cried Jemlikha. "Awaken me, I conjure you," said he to him.

The man, surprised in his turn, could not forbear saying to him, "What! you have asked me reasonable and sensible questions, you have understood my answers, and can you imagine that you are asleep?"[194]

Jemlikha, ashamed of speaking to him so inadvertently, quitted him, saying within himself, "Most high Allah, have you deprived me of reason?"

With this confusion of ideas, he entered into the city, which he could not in the least recollect: the houses, the temples, the seraglios, appeared under a new form to him. At length he stopped before the door of a baker, where he chose out several loaves, and presented his money for them: the baker examined it, and looking upon Jemlikha with much attention, he was alarmed at it, and said to him,

"Why dost thou look upon me? Give me thy bread, take my money, and concern thyself no further."

The baker answered him with the most eager curiosity, "Where hast thou found this money?"

"I don't know this money," replied the baker, "it is not the coin of the King that now reigns. Let me share the treasure which thou hast doubtless been so happy as to find, and I promise thee to be secret."

Jemlikha, almost out of patience, said to him, "This money is struck with the image of Dakianos, the absolute lord of this country. What can I tell thee more?"

But the baker, still prepossessed with the same idea, pursued thus: "Thou comest from the country: believe me, thy occupation of a shepherd has not rendered thee cunning enough to deceive me, nor to impose upon me. God has favoured thee with the discovery of a treasure: if thou dost not consent to share it with me, I will go this moment and declare it to the King; he will soon have thee arrested, thy riches will be seized upon, and perhaps thou mayest be put to death for not having declared them."

Jemlikha, impatient at this discourse of the baker's, would have taken his bread and left him; but the baker detained him, and, their dispute growing hot, a mob gathered round them to listen to it. Jemlikha said to the baker,

"I went out of the city but yesterday, I return to it this day. What can make thee imagine that I have found a treasure?"[195]

"Nothing is more true," returned the baker, "and I am resolved to have a share of it."

A man belonging to the King running in at the noise, and in the incertitude he was in of the event, went and fetched the guards, who seized upon Jemlikha, and conducted him before the King, whom they informed of the occasion of this dispute.

And the Prince said to him, "Where hast thou found those ancient coins they speak of?"

"Sire," replied Jemlikha, "I carried them yesterday from this city; but in one night Ephesus has taken so different a form that I no longer know it: all whom I have met, all whom I see, are unknown to me, and yet I was born in this city, and I cannot express the confusion of my mind."

The King said to him, "Thou seemest to have sense; thy countenance is agreeable, and thy manner composed: how can thy speech be so unreasonable? Is it to abuse me that thou feignest this distraction? I will absolutely know where thou hast concealed the treasure which thy good fortune has made thee possessor of. The fifth part by law belongs to me, and I consent to leave thee the remainder."

"Sire," replied Jemlikha, "I have not found a treasure, but certainly I have lost my senses."

Jemlikha durst not speak too plainly, he still fearing lest this King, who was unknown to him, should be one of the viziers of Dakianos, who might order him to be conveyed to that Prince, who perhaps was absent.

Happily for him, Encouch had a Vizier of a penetrating genius, and who had an extensive knowledge of the precepts of the law, and of ancient history: that of Dakianos was not unknown to him, and by consequence he had some knowledge of the Seven Sleepers, who were imagined to be in a neighbouring cavern. The discourse of Jemlikha gave him suspicions; and to enlighten them, he said in a whisper to the King, "I am much deceived, or this young man attended upon Dakianos. God enlightened his mind, he quitted him, and retired into a cavern with five of his companions, a shepherd, and a little dog. Those seven persons were to appear out[196] of this cavern after having slept three hundred and nine years: their awakening was to confirm the people in their duty, and everything induces me to believe that this young man is the former slave of Dakianos."

Encouch, with reason, reposed much confidence in his Vizier; therefore, addressing himself to Jemlikha, "Relate thy adventure to us without disguise," said he, "or I will have thee seized this moment."

Jemlikha, who knew the necessity his friends were under of his return, obeyed him, notwithstanding the fear he was under of seeing Dakianos, and finished his recital, which proved conformable to all that the Vizier had read in history; but what still further convinced the King was, that he added, "Your Majesty may be pleased to know that I have a house, a son, and several relations in this city, that can bear witness to the truth of what I have said."

"Consider," said the prudent Vizier to him, "that all thou hast related to the King happened three hundred and nine years since."

"I make no answer out of respect," returned Jemlikha, "to all the difficulties that are made; but to persuade you of what I have advanced, there is a considerable treasure, concealed by me in the house that belongs to me, which none but myself has the knowledge of."

The King and all his Court immediately rose to repair to this house. But Jemlikha, who went first, in order to conduct them, looked all round, and knew neither the street nor his own house.

He was in this confusion, when God permitted an Angel, under the form of a young man, to come to his assistance, who said to him, "Servant of the true God, you seem to be much astonished."

"How can I but be surprised?" replied Jemlikha; "this city is so changed in one night, that I cannot find my house, nor even the street in which it is situated."

Jemlikha, still accompanied by the King, the Beys, and the[197] Viziers, followed the Angel of God, who after some time stopped before a door and disappeared, saying to him, "Behold your house."

Jemlikha, through his confidence in God, entered into it, and saw an old man, unknown to him, and who was surrounded by several young people. He saluted them all very politely, and said very affably to the old man, "This house, I believe, belongs to me; why do I find you here? and what business have you to do in it?"

"I believe you are mistaken," replied the old man, with the same affability. "This house has long been in our family. My grandfather left it to my father, who is not yet dead, but who indeed has but one breath of life left."

The young men would have answered, and were enraged at Jemlikha; but the old man said to them, "Be not angry, my children; passion is never necessary. He has perhaps some good reason to give us: let us hearken to him."

He afterwards turned himself towards Jemlikha, and said to him, "How can this house belong to you? By what right do you pretend to it? Who are you?"

"Ah! venerable old man," returned Jemlikha, "how can I tell you of my adventure? None of those to whom I have related it will give credit to it; I cannot myself comprehend it: judge of the situation I am in!"

The old man, touched with his affliction, said to him, "Take courage, my child: I interest myself in your fate; my heart was moved at the sight of you."

Jemlikha, reassured by this discourse, related to the old man all that had happened to him; and he had no sooner heard his story than he went and brought out a picture to compare it with Jemlikha. When he had examined him for some time, he sighed, and his trouble and concern increased. He kissed the picture several times, and threw himself at the feet of Jemlikha, prostrating his wrinkled countenance, and his beard, whitened by age, upon the ground. At length he cried out,

The torrent of tears which ran from his eyes prevented him from[198] saying more. The King and his Viziers, whom this scene had rendered very attentive to the conversation, said then to the old man,

He could not finish these words without bursting again into tears. He afterwards took him by the hand, and conducted him through the house. Jemlikha, perceiving a beam of cypress, said,

"It was I who caused that beam to be placed. Under the end of it will be found a large stone of granite; it covers ten vases, equal to those that are in the King's treasury. They are filled with gold pieces of the coin of Dakianos, and each of those pieces weighs a hundred drachmas."

Whilst they laboured to raise up the cypress beam, the old man approached Jemlikha with the greatest respect, and said to him, "My father is still alive, but he has very little strength left. It is he who has formerly related to me some of the things that you have told me. Come," continued he, "come and see my father, and your descendant."

Jemlikha followed him into another apartment, and saw a very old man. They made him swallow a drop of milk; he opened his eyes, and could not forbear shedding a torrent of tears when he heard who Jemlikha was, and Jemlikha could not restrain his. What an astonishment to all those who saw a young man whose grandson's son was in that excess of decrepitude—an old man oppressed with years, and the children of that old man resembling by their tone and countenance their great-grandfather! The people at the sight of this miracle could not forbear admiring the greatness of the power of God. They examined the annals, and found that the three hundred and nine years were accomplished that day.

When the beam of cypress was taken up, they found all that Jemlikha had declared. He made a present of one part of the treasure to the King, and gave the other to the children of his great-grandson.

The King after this said to Jemlikha, "We are now convinced[199] of the truth of thy history: let us go to thy companions in the cavern, and give them assistance."

The Prince then, caused a great quantity of provisions to be carried with him, and departed, accompanied with his army and all the people, to repair to the cavern. It appeared so dreadful that no one had courage to enter it. It is said, however, that the King resolved to do it—that he saw the companions of Jemlikha—but that it was at the very moment of his entering it that Jemlikha gave up the ghost, with the six others and the little dog. He even heard them repeat their acts of adoration to the Sovereign Master of the universe, and die as they pronounced them. Encouch caused everything to be brought that was necessary to pay them the last duty, and had them interred in the same cavern where they had slept so long. When all the people were gone out of it, by a particular permission of God, the entrance of the cavern was closed, and since that time it has been impossible for any man to enter it. The King commanded a column to be erected some paces from it, upon which he caused to be engraved the history of the Seven Sleepers, to make known the power of God, to inspire a horror for ingratitude, and to show by this example the efficacy of prayer.

The Enchanters.

t the death of the mighty Dabulcombar, the Lord of the East, Misnar, the first-born of the Sultan, ascended the throne of India; but, though he had scarcely arrived at the age of manhood, yet neither the splendour of his Court nor the flatteries of the East could steal from the youthful Sultan the knowledge of himself.

His first royal command was to assemble together the wise men throughout his extensive dominions, from Cabul and Attok in the west to Kehoa and Thoanoa in the east. The learned and devout accordingly came from every part of his dominions. On an appointed day the Sultan ordered the illustrious assembly to meet in the divan, where, being placed on the throne of his forefathers, he thus opened unto them the desires of his heart:

"O ye sources of light and fountains of knowledge!" said[201] Misnar, "more precious are your counsels to me than the mines of Raalconda: wisdom is the true support of honour, and the Sultan is established by the counsel of his sages. Say, then, what course shall Misnar pursue that may secure him on the throne of the mighty Dabulcombar?"

The sages in the divan were struck with astonishment at the condescension of their young Sultan, and one and all fell prostrate before his throne. "May wisdom," said they, "guide the footsteps of the illustrious Misnar! may the mind of our Sultan be as the eye of day!"

Then arose the prophet Zeuramaund, and said, "I perceive, O mighty Sultan, the dark clouds of evil are gathering to disturb the hours of futurity; the spirits of the wicked are preparing the storm and the tempest against thee!"

The venerable sages looked aghast as Zeuramaund uttered these ominous predictions; the whole council were dismayed at his words, and all fell again prostrate on the earth.

Misnar alone appeared to be unconcerned at his predicted fate. "O my friends," said the youthful Sultan, "the rose cannot blossom without the thorn, nor life be unchequered by the frowns of fate. Grieve not, then, that trials await me, since the spirit of prudence and virtue blossoms fairest in a rugged soil."

The sages arose as their royal master spake, and beheld with wonder the youthful countenance of their prudent Sultan.

Silence and amazement for a time prevailed, till one of the sages, advancing before the rest, thus counselled the intrepid Prince:

"O light of the earth!" said the trembling sage, "whose virtue and innocence have not been vexed by frauds, and deceit, whose pure mind seeth not the foul devices of man's heart, trust not to the fickle interpositions of chance, where thine own arm can work security, and establish a permanent foundation to thy father's throne. Thou hast a brother, O my Sultan, whose veins are filled with royal blood, and whose heart is by descent above control. Ahubal, therefore, ere his youth unfolds in the fulness of manhood, should be cut off."

"What!" said the young Sultan Misnar, "what do thy base suspicious[202] fears advise? Is there no way to build up the seat of justice and mercy but in murder and fratricide? Never let him who was born to execute judgment secure his honours by cruelty and oppression. The righteous Allah planted me not here to spread a poisonous shade over the offspring of His Prophet Mahomet: though fear and submission be a subject's tribute, yet is mercy the attribute of Allah, and the most pleasing endowment of the vicegerents of earth. But as thou, weak man, hast dared to advise the extirpation of one of the race of the mighty Dabulcombar, the vengeance of my injured brother's blood fasten upon thy life!"

The guards of the divan, hearing the sentence of the Sultan, approached with their drawn sabres towards the decrepit sage; but Misnar, rising, cried out,

"Who of my subjects shall dare to violate with blood the sanctity of this refuge for the oppressed? Let the divan of justice be sacred: nevertheless, lead that author of malice from my sight, and let his own blood make satisfaction for the cruelty of his desires."

As he spake thus, the guards attempted to seize the sage; but when they advanced towards him, flames of fire burst from his mouth, and his whole form appeared as that of a fiery dragon. The rest of the sages fled from the dreadful monster; but Misnar, with an intrepid countenance, stood before his throne, with his drawn sabre pointing towards the dragon, when through the flames he perceived a hoary magician on the back of the monster.

"Vain, O silly child of Mahomet!" said the enchanter, "were thy sabre against the power of my art, did not a superior force uphold thee; but tremble at thy doom: twice four of my race are determined against thee, and the throne of Dabulcombar noddeth over thy head; fear hath now preserved thee, and the weakness of thy heart, which the credulous believers of Mahomet will call prudence and moderation; but the fiend of darkness is let loose, and the powers of enchantment shall prevail." As the old magician spake thus, his fiery dragon, with tremendous hissings, arose, and, cleaving the dome of the divan, disappeared from their sight.

"Thus," said the illustrious Misnar, "let the enemies of Mahomet be dismayed! But inform me, O ye sages, under the semblance of[203] which of your brethren did that foul enchanter gain admittance here?"

"As I travelled on the mountains from Queda," answered Bahilu, the hermit of the Faithful from Queda, "and saw neither the footsteps of beasts nor the flights of birds, behold, I chanced to pass through a cavern, in whose hollow sides I found this accursed sage, to whom I unfolded the invitation of the Sultan of India, and we journeyed together towards the divan; but ere we entered he said unto me, 'Put thy hand forth, and pull me toward thee into the divan, calling on the name of Mahomet; for the evil spirits are on me and vex me.'"

"May the power of the Sultan of the East be multiplied!" said he; "but know, O Sultan, that neither evil genius nor enchanter can enter this seat of justice unless he be invited in the name of Mahomet."

"If it be so," answered the Sultan Misnar, "then neither can they be masked against the voice of justice; for Thou, O righteous Allah, wilt uphold the tribunal which Thou has founded upon earth, and make the visions of fraud to depart from him who seeketh truth. Therefore," continued the Sultan, "lest this assembly be still tainted with malice and infidelity, I command the evil spirits to stand confessed before me."

At his word, sulphurous smokes arose, and from the thronged assembly seven hideous forms broke forth.

First, on a vulture's pinions, the fell enchanter Tasnar soared aloft, whose skin was as the parched Indian's when he writhes impaled upon the bloody stake.

Next, on the back of an enormous scorpion, whose tail dropped deadly poison, Ahaback appeared, and with his eyes darted malignant flashes on the youthful Sultan.

Happuck, a subtle magician, followed him, seated on the shoulders of a tiger, whose mane was shagged with snakes, and whose tail was covered with twining adders.

Hapacuson also, that decrepit hag, who personated the righteous Sallasalsor, from Nechal, now stripped of the garments of hypocrisy,[204] filled the eyes of the sages with terror and amazement. Her lean bones, wrapped round with yellow skin, appeared like the superstitious mummies of western Egypt. She was mounted on a dreadful monster. Its form was like the deadly spider, but in bulk like the elephant of the woods; hairs, like cobwebs, covered its long bony legs, and from behind, a bag of venom, of a whitish hue, spurted forth its malignant influence.

She was followed by her malicious sister Ulin, squatting on the back of a hideous toad.

Then, with a loud hiss, started forth, in many a fold, a black serpent, in length and bulk like the cedars of the forest, bearing the powerful enchantress Desra, whose wide-extended ears covered a head of iniquity.

Last, with majestic horrors, the giant Kifri swelled into his full proportion: the long alligator that bore him groaned with his load, and opening all his mouths (for every scale appeared a mouth), vomited forth streams of blood. In his hand the giant brandished a tall pine, and, shaking it at the dauntless Misnar, said,

"Tremble, vile reptile, at a giant's wrath! tremble at the magic powers of all my brethren, for thy doom is fixed!"

At these words, the infernal crew joined with Kifri, and all at once pronounced in harsh discordant sounds, "Tremble, vile reptile, for thy doom is fixed!"

The enchanters were then involved in a thick cloud of smoke, from which issued flashes of lightning, which, ascending to the roof of the divan, disappeared in a moment.

"There is neither wisdom nor prudence," said Misnar, as he prostrated himself on the ground, after the enchantments were at an end, "but what is derived from Allah. If Thou dost vouchsafe to direct my steps, O Protector of Mussulmen, the fear of evil shall not come upon me."

"Happy," said Candusa, the imam of Lahor, "happy is the Prince whose trust is in Allah, and whose wisdom cometh from the Heavens."

"Happy," said all the sages, humbling themselves before the Sultan Misnar, "happy is our Sultan, the favourite of Allah!"[205]

"That, O sages," replied Misnar, "is too much for even the Sultan of the East to hear. But, may the all-righteous Allah approve of my thoughts and actions; so shall the infernal powers destroy the wretches that employ them, and the dark poisoned arrow recoil upon him that blew it forth. But, O sages, though your numbers are reduced, your integrity is more tried and approved; therefore let your Sultan partake of the sweetness of your counsels, and learn from aged experience the wisdom of the sons of earth. Say, then, what doth the peace and security of my throne require from me concerning my brother Ahubal, the issue of the mighty Dabulcombar?"

"Far be it from me," said the sage Carnakan, "to presume to utter my words as oracles before the Prince; but may not the security of the East require that the Prince thy brother be not enlarged, as my Sultan is, to do whatsoever seemeth good in his heart? Should not the younger be as servant to the first-born of his father, and are not all the Princes the vassals of the Sultans of the East? Let, therefore, the Prince Ahubal enjoy the pleasure of life; but let him be removed from giving pain and uneasiness to my royal Sultan Misnar. At the sources of the springs of Ava, on the craggy rocks of Aboulfaken, is a royal castle built by the sage Illfakircki, to which there is no passage but through a narrow vale, which may be ever guarded by the slaves of Misnar. Hither let the Prince be sent; and let him live there, and enjoy life, without having any power to molest the glories of thy reign."

The counsel of Carnakan was agreeable to the Sultan and his sages; and Misnar gave immediate orders, that the mutes of his seraglio should attend the Prince to the royal castle at Aboulfaken; and then dismissing, for the present, the assembled sages, he commanded them to attend the divan every week.

In a few days, the mutes and guards who were sent with the Prince Ahubal being admitted into the presence of their Sultan, fell on their faces, and cried out,

"Oh, let not the displeasure of the Sultan visit his slaves, who, in obedience to thy royal word, journeyed toward the castle of Aboulfaken, and, as they passed along through the deserts, a party[206] of five thousand horse appeared, who, setting upon us, ordered us either to deliver up the Prince Ahubal, or defend him with our lives. Thy slaves would willingly have chosen the latter fate. Yet, alas! what were four hundred guards and twenty mutes to the army that opposed us? But our consultation was vain; for while we debated how to defend ourselves, the Prince drew his sabre, and, killing three of our number, cut his way through the guards to his friends. The horsemen then would have set upon us and hewed us in pieces; but their chief forbade them, saying, 'No, let them live, and be the messengers of the Prince's escape. Go,' continued he, 'dastard slaves! and let your Sultan know, that Ahubal has friends who will shortly punish him for his designs on the Prince.'"

At these words of the guards Misnar gave a deep sigh, and said, "Human prudence alone is far too weak to fight against the wiles of the deceitful; but Allah is more powerful than man. I will therefore send for the prophets, and inquire of them where I may seek for the assistance of Mahomet."

The Sultan then commanded Zeuramaund and his tribe, and Mangelo the prophet, from the hollow rocks of Caxol, to be brought before him; and when they were come into his presence, he demanded of them, where he might seek for the assistance of Mahomet, and the countenance of Allah.

"In the tomb of the Prophet of Mecca is the signet of Mahomet, which no human power may remove; but if the Prophet will hear the prayer of the Sultan, it may easily be taken thence."

"Yes," replied Mangelo, "the seal of Mahomet will indeed preserve the Prince from enchantment; but it is also necessary that he put on the girdle of Opakka, which is worn by the giant Kifri, the sworn enemy of the Eastern throne. For although the signet of Mahomet will preserve the Sultan from evil, yet will the girdle of Opakka only save him from deceit."

The Sultan Misnar was moved at the discourse of his prophets, and spent the night in thought and perplexity. He had little hope that the signet of Mahomet, which had for ages remained immovable,[207] should yield to him; or that, with all his numerous armies, he should be able to force the girdle of Opakka from the loins of an enchanter, who could in a moment overwhelm his troops by the power of his art. However, he determined the next morning to go with his Court on a public pilgrimage to Mecca, and to offer up the most solemn petitions to the Prophet of his faith.

Early in the morning the Sultan arose from his seraglio, and commanded his courtiers to prepare the procession, as he intended immediately to make a public pilgrimage to Mecca.

But as Misnar was making known his intentions, a messenger arrived in haste at the entrance of the seraglio, who brought advice that one of the southern kingdoms had revolted, and was led on by a skilful heroine, who declared her intentions of placing Ahubal, the brother of the Sultan, on the throne of India.

Misnar was conscious that this revolt was brought about through the contrivances of the enchanters, and therefore despaired of conquering them by means of his armies; but lest the other kingdoms, seeing no troops were sent to repel the rebels, should also join the adverse party, the Sultan commanded the signal of war to sound; and sending for his Grand Vizier Horam in private, he ordered him to lead out the armies of Delhi against the rebels, and to dispatch daily messengers to the capital, to bring advice of his success.

The Vizier Horam received the Sultan's commission with reverence, and said, "Let not my Sultan be angry at his slave. If my lord should require ten thousand messengers, his slave Horam would dispatch them. But if my lord will accept of this tablet, he shall know in a moment the success of his servant, though numberless leagues distant."

"What!" said Misnar, taking the tablet from his Vizier. "By what means is this tablet endued with these rare virtues?"

"My lord," answered Horam, "when my father, through the malice of his enemies, was banished from the presence of the mighty Dabulcombar—whom the houris of Paradise do serve—he called me to him, and said, 'O Horam, the evil-minded have prevailed, and thy father has fallen a sacrifice to the enemies of truth! No more, my son, shall I behold the children of my strength, nor[208] the splendour of my Sultan's Court. Whither I go, I know not. But take this tablet, my son; and whatever befalleth thy parent shall at times be made known to thee in the leaves of this book; and to whomsoever thou givest it, that friend shall, after my death, read therein whatever Horam my son shall wish to make known unto him.'"

"Faithful Horam," answered the Sultan, "your present is of such exquisite value, that I shall, in confidence, honour you with the first place in my esteem. Know, then, my faithful Vizier, that the powers of enchantment are let loose against my throne, and the prophets have said, 'Thou shalt not prevail but with the signet of Mahomet and the girdle of Opakka;' therefore it is expedient that I first go to Mecca to obtain this valuable gift of the Prophet. My purpose this morning was to go surrounded by the nobles of my Court; but while rebellion stalketh abroad, pageants are idle, and the parade of a Sultan's pilgrimage will give my enemies time to increase in their numbers and strength. No, Horam; I myself will in secret approach the tomb of my Prophet, for Allah requireth the service of the heart, and searcheth out the purity of his servants' intentions: I shall go with greater humility as a peasant than as a prince. In the meantime my royal tent shall be pitched, and Horam only shall be suffered to approach it. So shall my slaves imagine their Sultan goeth forth with them to the field, and their hearts shall be strengthened."

"Be the desires of the Sultan fulfilled," said Horam, with reverence; "but will not my lord take with him a guard in his pilgrimage?—for the dangers of the journey are great over the mountains and deserts, and the voyage by the seas is perilous."

"No," answered the Sultan; "those who are my slaves here, may at a distance become my masters, and sell me to my foes: where the trust is great, great is the danger also. Shall I set guards over my person in the heart of my kingdom amidst my faithful subjects, and trust my life in a slave's hand where I am neither known nor respected?"

The Vizier Horam was struck with the prudence of his youthful Sultan, and bowed in assent to his words.[209]

In a few days the armies of India assembled; the royal tent was pitched, and the Vizier was declared the leader of his Sultan's forces. Misnar entered his tent in great state, and Horam alone followed the Sultan into the retirements of the movable pavilion.

The Vizier had, according to the Sultan's instructions, prepared a disguise for his master; and at midnight led him, like a peasant, through the encampment into a wood, where, falling at his feet, he besought him to consider well the dangers he was about to encounter.

"Horam," answered the Sultan, "I well know the goodness of thy heart, and that thy fears arise from thy love. Sensible am I that the dangers of my pilgrimage are great; but what resource have I left? More than man is risen up against me, and more than man must assist me, or I perish. To whom, then, can I fly, but to the Prophet of the Faithful? For I am well assured that no enchantment shall prevail against me while I journey toward Mecca, for such is the faith of all true believers: though they may oppress and fatigue me, yet in the end shall I triumph. Besides, Horam, there remains no other course for me."

"True, my Sultan," answered the Vizier: "without Allah, vain is the counsel of man; but is not Allah everywhere present to aid and defend the sons of the Faithful?"

"Though Allah be all-powerful," answered Misnar, "yet is not the slave of His hand to direct the Lord of all things. If we would gain the help and assistance of Allah, we must obey His commands; and well are we assured in the law of our Prophet, that at Mecca shall the prayer of the Faithful be heard. Wherefore, O Horam, no longer my slave, but my friend, lead forth my armies with confidence and trust, and doubt not that He, who daily refresheth the sun with light, will shortly restore Misnar to the throne of his forefathers."

As he spake thus the Sultan broke from his Vizier, Horam, who had fallen at his feet weeping at his fixed resolves, and penetrated into the gloomy recesses of the forest.

All was silence and darkness, save where, through broken fragments of fleeting clouds, the moon sometimes threw a feeble light on the gloom of the forest.[210]

"This gloomy recess," said Misnar, as he passed on, "which hides me from the world, makes me better known to myself. In the Court of my forefathers I am called the 'light of the world,' the 'glory of the East,' and the 'eye of day;' but in the wild forest of Tarapajan I am a poor helpless creature. What, then, is the pride of man but deceit, and the glories of the earth but shadows? Surely more had I to fear from enchantment on the throne of Dabulcombar than in the bosom of this forest. Here the wild beast will not flatter me, nor will the lordly lion acknowledge me the Sultan of his wild domains."

With such thoughts Misnar passed on for many days; till one night, at a distance, he perceived the skies looked red with light from various fires, and, by the noise, found that some Indians were carousing in the woods before him.

The disguised Sultan endeavoured to avoid them, striking into a path which led round their fires; but some of the Indians observing him, called to their brother peasant, and desired him to partake of their mirth.

Misnar thought it would be vain to refuse the request, as they all seemed disposed to insist on their demands, and therefore hastened to the scene of their festivity.

Here he found ten or twelve fires, with a number of males and females, some sitting, and some dancing around them to the sound of rustic music.

"What!" said an ancient female, "though you are a stranger in Tarapajan, and know not that the Feast of Tigers is celebrated by these nightly fires, yet must you now learn that no stranger comes but to partake of our joy, nor departs till, the fires are extinct."

"This," answered the old woman, "is the third night, and these fires must blaze yet eleven nights and days more, during which time the axe is not seen in the hand of the forester, nor doth the bow twang in the woods of Tarapajan; neither may he which seeth these rites depart till they be fulfilled."[211]

Misnar was thunderstruck at this relation. And ere he could answer, the crowd gathered round him.

"Come," said he that appeared to be the chief, "let us initiate this stranger into our rites: bring hither the skin of the tiger, and the paw of the lion, and the lance, and the bow that twangs not in the woods of Tarapajan during these nightly festivals."

Then one brought the skin of a tiger, and threw it over the shoulders of Misnar; another came with the paw of a lion, and hung it before him; a third brought a lance, and put it in Misnar's right hand; and a fourth slung a bow on his breast. Then all the crowd made a loud howling, and danced round the astonished Sultan.

"Now," said the chief, when the dance was finished, "sound the hollow instruments of brass, which give notice to the moon and to the stars that this stranger is about to swear not to reveal our rites. Lay thine hand on thy head," said the chief to the disguised Sultan, "and put thy fingers on thy mouth, and say, 'As the starless night is dark, as the cave of death is dark, so shall my thoughts and words continue in darkness concerning the festival of tigers.'"

"And wherefore," said Misnar, "is this silence imposed? And what shall befall him that sweareth not unto you? Is not the mind of man free? And who shall offend him who seeketh not to offend others?"

"Whosoever," answered the chief, "travelleth, should become obedient to the customs of those people among whom he tarrieth."

"Right," continued Misnar; "and I am willing, on two conditions, to fulfil your will: first, you shall all swear that I be at liberty to pursue my journey on the eleventh day; and, next, that I shall not be bound to perform aught contrary to the law of Mahomet."

"Stranger," replied the chief, "when we are at liberty to depart, thou shalt depart likewise; but during this festival, which is held in honour of our noble ancestor, who remained fourteen days in this forest till he had subdued a ravenous race of tigers, no man that has entered here may stir hence till the fires be extinguished:[212] for by the fire did our ancestor drive away and destroy the tigers and beasts of the forest, and by fire do we commemorate his mighty deeds. Neither," continued the chief, "may we reveal these rites to any one but those who by accident espy them; for such as are present with us we are bound to receive into our society; wherefore we compel those who come among us to keep in silence the knowledge of our rites."

"If such is your custom," answered Misnar, "I shall willingly comply, and swear to you, that 'As the starless night is dark, as the cave of death is dark, so shall my words and thoughts continue in darkness concerning the festival of tigers.'"

As he uttered these words, the whole assembly again danced around him, till the hollow brazen instruments were ordered to sound, and all the inhabitants of the forest were commanded to receive the disguised Sultan as their brother.

Then the men, one by one, passed by Misnar, each as he passed laying the hand of the Sultan on his breast. After they were passed by, came the females also, who embraced their new brother. These Misnar suffered to pass on without much reflection, till, among the youngest, who last approached, he beheld a beautiful virgin, with downcast looks, drawing near him, and who seemed ashamed of that freedom the custom of the place obliged her to use.

At sight of this lovely figure, Misnar at once forgot his purpose and his crown, and was impatient till the ceremony brought her near to him. The other females perceived his emotion; and the chief of the festival approaching her, asked the lovely Noradin "whether she would at length fix her choice? for in this place," continued the chief, addressing himself to Misnar, "every sex hath freedom, and none are compelled to take the hand they do not love. Noradin hath for these three days been courted by all our tribe, but she has refused every advance: if she refuse not you, our joy will be complete, and then none of our company will be without his companion."

Misnar, forgetting the great designs of his heart, waited for the fair one's answer, and felt more fear at her silence than at this dreadful enchantments of his monstrous enemies. At length[213] Noradin answered, "May the joy of my comrades be complete!" Misnar, in raptures at the fair Noradin's preference, took her by the hand, and led up the dance, while the instruments of brass a third time sounded, to proclaim the choice of Noradin.

At the appearance of day, each repaired to the cottages around, and Misnar and Noradin were led by the chief to a spot, where shortly the whole assembly built them a cottage of bamboo and the leaves of the plantain.

As soon as they retired, Noradin, taking Misnar by the hand, asked him whether she deserved his constant love for the choice she had made. Misnar reflected upon the words of his fair companion, and his heart recoiled at them.

"What!" said the Sultan to himself, "shall I, for the gratification of my passion, give up the glories of my father's kingdom, and the viceregency of Mahomet? Or shall I basely betray that love which is proffered me, and embitter fair Noradin's future cup of life? No," said he aloud, turning to his amiable companion, "never let the man of integrity deceive the heart that means to make him happy. Forgive me, all-beauteous Noradin! but the volumes of my fate are open, and the Prophet of the Faithful will not permit me to indulge here my secret affections: though the soul of thy slave will be torn and divided, yet must he depart with the expiring fires of your festival."

"Base, cold, and senseless wretch!" said the false Noradin (as the beauteous vision vanished from the eyes of the Sultan, and he beheld the enchantress Ulin before him), "call not thy frozen purpose virtue, but the green fruits of unripened manhood. Though thou art escaped, puny animal as thou art! from the power of my enchantments, yet shall the southern kingdoms of India feel my scourge. Proceed, then, superstitious reptile! on thy tame pilgrimage to Mecca, while Horam feels the vengeance of my army in the sultry deserts of Ahajah."

As she spake thus, she stretched out her wand, and the fires and the foresters, and the enchantress Ulin, disappeared from the sight of the astonished Sultan.

The Sultan immediately prostrated himself on the ground, and[214] gave glory to God for his wonderful escape; and, pursuing his journey, continued his course for two moons through the wide-extended forest of Tarapajan.

During this time he daily examined the tablets which the Vizier Horam had given him; but was very uneasy at finding the leaves always fair. "Alas!" said he to himself, "I have trusted to a base man, who perhaps has taken this advantage of my credulity, and intends to set the crown of India on my brother's head! There needed not the powers of enchantment to overthrow me, since I have betrayed at once my folly and my cause."

Misnar, therefore, resolved to travel back to Delhi, and learn the cause of Horam's silence; but as he neglected not to look on the tablets every day, he at length found the following inscription therein:

"Horam, the faithful slave of the Sultan of the East, to Misnar, the lord of his heart.

"Some time after I left my royal Sultan in the forest, while my heart was sad within me, came a hasty messenger from the outskirts of the rebel army, and declared their approach, and that the southern provinces had revolted, and were added to the opposers of the Sultan of the East. When thy slave was certain of this intelligence from the mouths of many, who hastened to the camp with these bad tidings, I commanded the armies of India to be increased, and a more exact discipline to be observed in my master's camp; and, perceiving that the enemy hastened to meet the forces, I shortened the march of my slaves, that the fatigues of the deserts might not prevail more against them than the face and the sword of their enemies. Moreover, I led thy troops through the most cultivated countries, that the necessaries of life might with the greater ease be procured for the multitudes that followed thy tent. But, alas! the presence of my lord is not with his people, and the army murmur that they are led by a Sultan who cheers not their labours by the light of his person; so that the hearts of thy people are withdrawn from Horam thy slave, and the captains of thousands demand admittance to thy tent, and accuse thy Vizier of evil devices against thee, my lord the Sultan."[215]

As the Sultan read this intelligence in the tablet of Horam, his heart failed within him, and the sight of his eyes was as a mist before him.

"O Misnar! Misnar!" said he, falling to the ground, "the fiend of darkness is let loose upon thee! and the powers of enchantment still prevail!"

"Yes," said Ulin the enchantress, who immediately appeared, "the powers of enchantment shall prevail! Misnar, the faithful servant of Mahomet, hath at length yielded to my power, and Allah hath given to my vengeance the wretch that doubts His protection. Crawl, therefore," continued she, "vile reptile, on the earth, and become a toad."

At the powerful voice of her enchantment, the Sultan shrank from his natural form and became a reptile on the earth. His change of form did not take from Misnar his memory or recollection: he was sensible of his disgrace, and of the justness of his sentence; and though he could not fly from himself, yet he hastened into the thicket, that he might hide from the light of heaven. But the calls of nature soon drove him from his recess, to seek his proper food in the desert. He crawled forth, and was led on by a scent that pleased him: his spirits seemed enlivened by the sweet odour, and his cold feeble limbs were endued with brisker motion.

"Surely," said he, in his heart, "the bounteous Allah hath not left the meanest of His creatures without comfort and joy. The smell is as the smell of roses, and life and vigour are in these attractive paths."

With these thoughts he crawled forwards into the thickest covert; and though his body was drawn with a secret impulse, yet his mind was filled with horror when he came in sight of a mangled and corrupted body, which lay hid among the bushes. One of his own deformed kind sat squatting beside it, and, like himself, seemed to desire and yet detest the loathsome feast.

Misnar, at sight of one of his hideous kind, was filled with scorn and rage; and, forgetting his transformation, was about to drive him from the mangled body, when the reptile, opening his mouth, addressed him in the language of Delhi.[216]

"Whether thou art really what thy form bespeaks thee," said the reptile, "or, like me, the victim of enchantment, answer."

The Sultan, surprised at this address, and perceiving that misery was not his portion alone, desired to know by what means his fellow-creature suffered such a wretched change.

"Since I perceive by your speech," said the reptile, "that one event has happened to us both, I shall not be adverse to declare to you the cause of my transformation; but I shall expect that my confidence will not be misplaced, and that, after I have made you acquainted with my history, you will not refuse to reveal your own."

"A similitude in our fates," replied Misnar, "has already made us brethren, and I should be unreasonable to ask a favour I meant not to return."

"Well, then," said he, "we will depart from this wretched sight into a different thicket, where we may unmolested bewail our uncommon fates; for although the enchantress Ulin, to disgrace our former natures, and to make us the more sensible of our present deformity, obliges us to meet daily before this horrid spectacle, yet our food is of the fruits of the earth; for the wicked enchantress has not the power to make us, even in this deformed habit, do that which is contrary to our human nature."

"Here," continued the first, "is another of our brethren, and another will soon be here: we were three before you came among us.—Where, O Princess, is the last victim of Ulin's rage?" said he to the second.

"He was basking," answered the second, "in the sand; but I aroused him, and he is now on his way."

In a few minutes the third arrived. As soon as he had beheld the mangled body, and, the attraction ceased, the first leading the way, they departed into another thicket.

"Here," said the first, "O stranger, we may rest securely, and the serpent cannot annoy us, for we are seated under the shade of the fragrant cinnamon."

"We are obliged to you for your care of us," said Misnar; "but I am eager to hear the cause of your transformation."[217]

THE HISTORY OF MAHOUD.

I am (replied the toad) the son of a jeweller in Delhi, and my name is Mahoud. My father, after a life of industry and parsimony, finding himself declining, sent for me, and on his death-bed said, "O Mahoud, my days have been the days of care, but success hath attended them. I have toiled, that thou mayest reap; sown, that thou mayest gather; and laboured, that my son may enjoy the fruits of my industry. My peace and comfort have been sacrificed to thine; and now I die, assured that my beloved Mahoud will not be pinched by poverty or oppressed by penury and want."

Thus said my aged father, and expired, and my tears accompanied his departing spirit; but these soon gave place to that ardent curiosity which drove me to explore the riches he had left me.

I opened box after box with silent rapture, and was pleased to find wealth sufficient to satisfy even the appetite of youth. Many diamonds were among my father's wealth, besides large quantities of gold and silver; so that, in my youthful judgment, there appeared no end to my riches.

It was not wonderful that, being so suddenly put in possession of these riches, I should seek every pleasure and diversion which wealth could purchase. All who were the companions of my childhood, all who would court an inexperienced heart, were admitted to my table; and the strict laws of Mahomet were less regarded at my house than the rich wines which sparkled at my feasts. Nor were the charms of the fair forgotten; and while our goblets were filled with wine, we envied not the deceased their rivers of milk.

Thus passed I my life among those who jest with religion, and make their mock at the rules of prudence and sobriety. But the time soon came when my hours of revelry were to be changed for those of sorrow, and when I was first to learn that a father's prudence will not secure a wicked son from the shafts of bitterness and grief.

My possessions, though ample, were nearly exhausted by ignorance and extortion; my jewels were gone; unacquainted with their value, I had flung them away rather than sold them; my[218] silver and gold were become the property of my friends, who, when I applied to them in return, were much more assiduous, if possible, in keeping it from me than I had been in squandering it on them. So that, in a little while, even the merchants, who had been such gainers by me, came to demand some trifling sums that I had borrowed from them, which being unable to pay, they seized my furniture and stripped me of my clothes to satisfy their demands.

In this situation I was turned out of my own doors by those whom I had received a thousand times in my arms, and spurned at like a dog by those whom I had pressed to my bosom.

Stung by reflecting on my former follies, and ignorant where to fly for shelter, I covered myself with some few rags that had been cast to me, and sat down before the house of a rich young man, who, like myself, seemed to be squandering his wealth on the scum of the earth.

Bennaskar—for that was his name—soon came forth, with his minstrels and singers at his heels, and, seeing a miserable figure before his door, he asked what I wanted. I told him that once, like himself, I gave life to the dance and mirth to my friends; but that want of caution had been the cause of my ruin, and too much confidence in those who least deserved my favour.

Several of his friends, hearing this, would have driven me from his presence, saying it was unfit such a wretch should even enjoy the blessings of the air; but Bennaskar would not suffer it, and asked me, "Whether the insincerity of my friends had taught me to be sincere to others?"

I answered that I had ever been sincere, even to those who were undeserving, and that I would rather die than betray my friend.

"If what you say is true," said Bennaskar, "I will try you. Go in, and my servants shall clothe you, and you shall live with me. I only ask in return, that you never disclose to any one what you hear or see transacted in my house."

"Sir," answered I, "your offer is gracious, and bespeaks your generous intentions; but I do not choose to live on another's bounty unless I can make myself useful."[219]

"That," answered Bennaskar, "you may do if I find I can trust you. I have long been in search of one I could trust. I want such an one, but cannot find him."

The friends of Bennaskar then surrounded their lord, and each confusedly offered their services to him.

"No," said the young man, "though I appear unthoughtful in your eyes, O, servile race of flatterers! yet know, to your confusion, that I have tried you all, and find you trifling and insincere. This man alone refuses my proffered love unless he can return it, and this man alone is worthy of my esteem."

The friends of Bennaskar were thunderstruck at his words, and renewed their protestations; but he commanded his servants to drive them from his house, and, taking me by the hand, he led me into an inner but sumptuous apartment.

As soon as we entered, I prostrated myself at his feet, and said, "Let not my lord be angry with his servant, but thou hast not told me what service thou wilt expect from me."

"All that I require," answered Bennaskar, "is that you disclose not to any one what you hear or see transacted in my house."

"My lord," answered I, "of what service can I be to you by such a compliance? If I am silent thy slaves may speak, and I shall be blamed for their insincerity. I pray thee, let me return to my rags, and set me not in a place where thy vassals will be tempted to ruin me in thy favour."

"Your answer," said Bennaskar, "is the answer of a prudent man. But fear not: I cannot do without you, and I hope you will not refuse my proffered love. What you will see, none will see besides you; therefore none but yourself will be unfaithful to me."

On this assurance, I accepted the offer of Bennaskar. After which the slaves led me to the bath, where I washed, and was perfumed, and arrayed in a vestment of my lord's.

Bennaskar was impatient to see me; and, as I was led into his presence, the young man hastened to meet me, and, folding me in his arms, he said, "May I at length meet a friend I call trust?"

Bennaskar then led me into another apartment, and meats were set before us, and he ordered the females that danced to come and entertain us.

Thus I spent my time with the agreeable Bennaskar: every day we varied our enjoyments, and were mutually satisfied with each other.

I had now been with my friend eighteen days, and nothing had occurred to interrupt our friendship, when, on the nineteenth morning, Bennaskar appeared with a clouded visage.

"What," said I, "my lord, is the cause of your grief? Shall not Mahoud share alike with you the smiles and the frowns of Allah?"

"It is," replied I, with a smile; "but doth Bennaskar intend to change with that fluctuating planet?"

"O Mahoud," said Bennaskar, "the fate of thy friend is dependent on the caprice of the stars. To-night must I put thy utmost friendship to the trial. If Mahoud prove insincere, then is Bennaskar cursed among men. If thy heart is not firm, now, while there is time, depart. But why should I doubt thee? surely Mahoud is of the sons of the Faithful. What must I say? Leave me, Mahoud, leave me; nay, if thou departest, where shall I find thy fellow? and the presence of a friend is necessary to my quiet."

"Then," answered I, "fear not, Bennaskar: Mahoud may be unhappy, but he cannot be unjust. But what is this dreadful trial that obliges Bennaskar to suspect his friend?"

"True," said Bennaskar, "Mahoud is undeserving of suspicion. Let us wait till the sun sink from the skies, and the stars return with their glimmering light."

Bennaskar then proceeded to the bath, and arrayed himself in a costly robe, and desired me to do the same. I obeyed my friend, and we met in the saloon together.

"Alas!" said Bennaskar, as we met, "how can I request my friend to wear the image of deformity?"

"What image of deformity," said I, "must Mahoud wear? All[221] appearances are to Mahoud alike; and the severer the trial, the more shall I commend thy friendship."

"Then," said Bennaskar, pulling out a pot of black ointment, "thou must suffer me to disguise thy face with this ointment: to-night thou must personate a black slave."

"Is such a trifle," said I, "the test of friendship? Give me the ointment, and furnish me with the habit of a slave."

"The habit," answered Bennaskar, "is ready, and all is ready; but you must not as yet disguise yourself, lest my slaves observe us. Come, let us for the present enjoy ourselves, and, when night approaches, Bennaskar will rely on the friendship of Mahoud."

The slaves then brought us the costly viands of Delhi; but Bennaskar remained pensive, and seemed not to relish the dainties before him.

I endeavoured all I could to divert his melancholy; I smiled, I sang before him; the dancers were introduced with music to dissipate his gloom; but Bennaskar still remained mute. The music continued till night, when Bennaskar commanded the slaves to withdraw, and, taking a lamp in his hand, led me through several apartments.

"Mahoud," said he, as we went along, "has never yet seen the wonders of my palace."

"I am happy, my lord," answered I, "to see your wealth; but I am not inquisitive to explore, unbidden, the secrets of another."

We had now arrived at a small vaulted room, from the centre of which hung a lamp, which Bennaskar trimmed, putting out the one he held in his hand.

"Now," said he, "Mahoud, enter that closet which is opposite to us, and put on the slave's dress which you will find there, and anoint thy face and hands with this black ointment."

"Kind Mahoud," said Bennaskar, "thou art excellently disguised; now obey with silence, and stand as a mute before his lord."

"Take hold, Mahoud," said he, "of that iron ring which is fastened to the middle of the floor, and pull."

I obeyed, and a little trap-door opened. On looking down, I perceived a woman in rich vestments, half buried in the earth. I shuddered at the sight, and was falling backward, when Bennaskar struck me with a chabouc,[6] which he drew from his bosom, and said, "Villain, if thou fail me, I shall use thee as my slave."

Although enraged at the blow, yet I remembered my promise, and returned to the trap-door.

"Slave," said Bennaskar, "dig that female out of the ground: the spade and the mattock are hidden under the floor."

I immediately jumped down, found the tools, and began to work; but neither my fear nor my labour could prevent me from fixing my eyes on the lovely female, who seemed as one dead.

As soon as I had removed the earth from her, which I did with great care, Bennaskar commanded me to lift the body into the apartment, gave me a phial of clear blue liquor, and ordered me to pour it into her mouth, while he retired to the closet.

I willingly obeyed, and hastened to administer the liquid, while Bennaskar retired.

The liquor was no sooner swallowed than the lovely female began to move, and in a short time opening her eyes, she cast them upon me, and shrieked out, clapping her hands together and crying, "O Allah, defend me!"

"Hemjunah," said he, "are you as yet disposed to yield yourself to the will of Bennaskar, or must we still experience the evils of opposite enchantment?"

"Wretch!" answered the fair stranger, "I fear not the powers of your accursed magic, for Macoma has assured me that you shall not be able to harm me except with my own consent; and Mahomet, though for a time he permits this enchantment, will at length assuredly deliver me."

"Then," answered Bennaskar, "must the lash be inflicted. Here," continued he, "slave Mahoud, inflict fifty lashes on that obdurate female."

I took the chabouc from Bennaskar, and began, with trembling, my cruel office, lamenting my own blind compliance in promising to obey a monster whom I had mistaken for a friend.

As the lash touched the beautiful Hemjunah, she made the vaulted roof re-echo with her cries; nor did my heart feel less sensibly the strokes which I gave than her own. The tears trickled down my cheeks, and I prayed inwardly to be delivered from the hateful task.

"What," said Bennaskar from the closet, "what doth Hemjunah now say to my desires?"

"The hard-hearted and the cruel," said Hemjunah, faintly, "are the last to win the soft affections of a female heart: rather let me die than be the property of the vile Bennaskar."

"If so," said he, coming from the closet, "die: for the present I resign my power. Let Macoma hide thee again in the dust of the earth."

Bennaskar no sooner appeared than the beautiful Hemjunah again seemed to die away, and immediately a hissing noise was heard, and an ugly dwarf arose from the trap-door, and took the body of Hemjunah and replaced it in the earth, and the trap-door was closed with a roaring noise.

Bennaskar then beckoned me to follow him, and leading me to the bath, bade me wash and return to the saloon in my proper vestments.

I was so surprised at these horrors that I hardly knew what I did. However, in the bath I had time to recollect myself; but recollection was of little service, for reflection rather increased than cleared my confusion. One moment I resolved to apply to the Cadi, and declare every circumstance of the terrible adventure. The next I was awed by the thoughts of my rash and imprudent vows of secrecy.

"Bennaskar," said I, "has for a month appeared as an angel before me; but one base action has deformed all his former purity.[224] How can I reconcile these inconsistencies? Can he, who is the tenderest, the best of friends, be also the vilest and most cruel of mankind? I have been accessory to the torture of a most beautiful female—one, too, who called on the perfect Allah to deliver her. I have been the instrument of a mean revenge on a helpless woman, and now I yet delay to inform the Cadi of the villanies of this house of enchantment."

I resolved immediately to repair to the Cadi, and give him full information of the sorceries of Bennaskar. I hastened out of the bath, threw my vestments over me, and advanced to the door.

"But," said I, as I went along, "what am I about to do? I shall forfeit my faith without serving the distressed. Bennaskar expects me in the saloon, and when he finds that I am gone forth, he will, by the power of his art, secrete the beautiful female from the eyes of the Cadi. I have been the guest of Bennaskar a month, and never, till this day, did I perceive the rooms through which I was led to that detestable act of cruelty: nay, Bennaskar himself was obliged to wait: he was impatient till the full of the moon, and oppressed with sorrow and care when it arose. I will, therefore, for the present, return to Bennaskar, and will put on the face of cheerfulness, and make my countenance to shine before him."

"I am," answered I, "just risen from the bath, and I come to meet my friend Bennaskar."

"Mahoud," answered Bennaskar, "art thou faithful, and wilt thou ever remain faithful to thy friend?"

These words embarrassed me, and, not daring to answer otherwise, I said, "Why doth my lord doubt the sincerity of my heart?"

"I doubt not," continued Bennaskar, "that my friend is amazed at the scene he lately beheld. But ask no explanations: let thy mouth be ever closed to seek or reveal."

"Then," answered I, "you doubt the faithfulness of Mahoud;[225] else why may not I know the meaning of the wonders I have seen?"

"The age of thy friendship," said Bennaskar, "is a month, and wouldst thou be admitted in so short a time to all the secrets of my heart? Forbear, rash youth. A well-tried friend is Bennaskar's joy; but woes and death are in the paths of his enemies."

As he said this, he frowned and left me, and I retired to my apartment, irresolute in mind. As I entered my chamber, I perceived a small book open on a desk before the burning lamps. I went up to it, and found it was the Koran of our holy law. Being little desirous of sleep, I sat down; and as I read, methought I saw the name of Mahoud in the book.

"Mahoud! Mahoud! Mahoud! there is much good in the world, but there is more evil; the good is the gift of Allah, but the evil is the choice of His creatures. Because of man's sin, and because of the darkness of his heart, do the evil genii and the enchantments of wickedness prevail. Even now is Mahoud in the house of a magician, to whom he is imprudently bound by the ties of honour: to draw back is meanness; but to persist is sin. When men act wrong, they subject themselves to the power of a wicked race; and we who are the guardians of mortality cannot interpose but in proportion to their remorse. Taken by the crafty dissimulation of Bennaskar, thy easy soul gave in to his snares, and thy prudence was decoyed by the voice of his mouth. Thou hast promised, at all events, not to reveal the secrets of his house, and thou hast, unknowingly, joined thyself in the fellowship of the wicked. But can man, who is bound to the service of Allah by an unalterable law, dispose of himself against the will of his Maker? or can the worm of the earth, the property of Heaven, set up itself against the hand that formed it? Had Mahoud engaged to conceal everything but what the law of Mahomet obliged him to reveal, he had behaved wisely; but he who walketh in darkness will undoubtedly fall into the pit. Past errors cannot be recalled; and Mahoud must learn the wisdom of experience.[226] Under the resemblance of the Koran, behold, the genius Macoma instructs thine heart. I perceive evil will attend thee, if thou dost attempt the enlargement of the Princess of Cassimir; and yet, without it, thou must still continue the servant of cruelty and oppression. Choose, therefore, for yourself: if injured innocence can move thee, boldly suffer in the cause of truth, and take this book in thy bosom, which shall at all times admit thee to a sight of the Princess; if not, be still the slave of the enemy of thy Prophet."

After this, I looked again on the book, but found I could read no more; however, I hesitated not to engage in the service of the Princess; and therefore, taking the book in my bosom, and the lamp in my hand, I went toward the saloon, supposing that Bennaskar was asleep. I searched for the rooms through which I had passed before, and soon perceived the vaulted apartment at the end of them.

I hastened to take up the trap-door, and touching the Princess Hemjunah with the book, essayed to deliver her from her miserable confinement. The Princess awoke at the touch of the book; but, at the sight of me, shrieked aloud, and I feared her cries would awaken Bennaskar. I assured her that I was sent by the genius Macoma to effect her deliverance, and that I abhorred every kind of cruelty which I had practised upon her.

"Alas!" said she, still shrieking at intervals, "your story betrays your wickedness. I never before saw you, unless you are, as I suspect, the magician Bennaskar under some feigned appearance; but rest assured, vile man! that no deceit or cruelty shall ever make me the creature of Bennaskar. I will ever persist in my hatred of you; and I am assured that you cannot injure or destroy me."

"Most gracious Princess Hemjunah!" said I, prostrating myself before her, "let me beseech you to hear me: I am not Bennaskar, nor a creature of Bennaskar's, but the servant of the genius Macoma, who has instructed me, by means of this holy book (which I then pulled out), to attempt your rescue, and I am willing to lay down my life for your safety. You have not indeed seen[227] me in my present character, but this very night was I brought hither by Bennaskar, under the similitude of a slave, and forced, through a most accursed oath, to inflict the severest tortures on the most delicate of her sex."

"Wretch!" said the Princess, "I am now convinced of thy perfidy, allowing thine own account to be true; for what promise could bind thee to a cruel action? and why not rather be thyself a sufferer than make an innocent virgin the subject of thy cruelties? But if thou art truly the servant of Macoma, and ashamed of thy late inhuman deeds, quit the house of the vile Bennaskar, and inform the Cadi of his cruelties and sorceries."

"Rather," said I, "let me dig around you, and release you from this miserable confinement."

"That," said the Princess, "you cannot do, unless you are indeed, as I suspect, the wretch Bennaskar; for by his command alone can I be released. Oh, fool that I was," continued she, with tears, "to listen for a moment to the falsehood of man!"

"If my information," said I, "O lovely Hemjunah, will avail, this moment will I fly to the Cadi, and acquaint him with your distress."

I then hastened to go; but oh, imagine my terror and amazement when I saw Bennaskar moving through the apartments which led to the vaulted chamber!

As he advanced, Hemjunah shrieked, and I was ready to sink: though my intentions were just and good, yet was I terrified by his appearance, so much was I sunk by the rash promise which I had made; and I every moment expected the dreadful effects of his powerful malice.

As Bennaskar entered the vaulted chamber, I shrank back with fear, and dared not lift up my eyes; but my terror was soon quieted, when I saw him fall prostrate at my feet. I then no longer doubted that the genius Macoma supported me, and attributed his behaviour to her supernatural power.

"O Mahoud," said Bennaskar, "the friend of my bosom, the partner of my secrets; although the power of love has not the rule in thine heart, yet pity those who are the slaves of its dominion;[228] if the lovely Princess of Cassimir did but know the purity of my heart, the——"

"Hear not the villain," said Hemjunah, "O servant of Macoma, unless he release me from this detested place: me he hath already deceived; and you will be subjected likewise to his power, unless the prudent spirit of Macoma direct thee."

"Then," said Bennaskar, rising up, and laying bare his bosom, "here, Mahoud, strike, and end my miseries, and the miseries of Hemjunah; but never will Bennaskar consent to lose the treasure of his heart."

"I will not," answered I, "lift up my private arm against thy life, but I shall deliver thee to the power of the Cadi, who is the deputy of the great Allah's vicegerent."

"Give me, then," said the Princess of Cassimir, "the book of the genius Macoma, that I may be defended from the insults and contrivances of the base Bennaskar."

The request of the Princess appeared to be so reasonable, that I obeyed her, and put the book into her hands.

Bennaskar, when I was leaving the vaulted chamber, besought me not to destroy the friend who had supported me; but I told him that Allah was to be obeyed rather than man.

I hastened to the Cadi; but as it was night, his officers told me I could not be heard, till I informed them that I had in my power a wicked magician, who, by sorceries, had stolen the Princess of Cassimir. When they heard this, they acquainted the Cadi; and that vigilant magistrate arose, and followed me to the house of Bennaskar with his guard.

As I entered the house, I was amazed to see him standing in the entrance with a lamp in his hand; but my astonishment increased when I saw him fall down before the Cadi, and confess his guilt.

The Cadi commanded the guards to seize him, and then ordered him to lead us to the place where he had concealed the Princess of Cassimir. Bennaskar obeyed; but as he went through the apartments, he said to me, "Mahoud, you are sensible that the Princess Hemjunah's body is half buried in the earth, and uncovered;[229] therefore prevail upon the Cadi that he suffer us to go before and release her: for my part, my sins oppress me, and I wish to restore to her dignity a much-injured Princess."

"If," said I, "you will promise to release the Princess, I will endeavour to prevail on the Cadi to permit what you propose; but, otherwise, let the whole world be a witness of your wicked malice."

"O my friend," said Bennaskar, "accuse me not, my own heart persecutes me sufficiently. Yes, Mahoud," continued he, "I will, as you require me, release the Princess, and trust to the mercy of the Cadi; for the service of the evil genii will neither bring me profit nor peace."

I was pleased at this repentance of Bennaskar, and besought the Cadi that he would suffer us to enter the vaulted chamber first, and recover the Princess from her enchantment. The Cadi acquiesced in my proposal, but ordered the guards to surround the entrance, while Bennaskar and myself entered the chamber.

As soon as we entered, Bennaskar seized me suddenly by the throat, and, before I could speak or recollect myself, he dragged me into the closet and shut the door after us.

"Now," said he, "villain! receive the just rewards of a perjured heart." Saying this, he spat in my face, and threw me on the ground, and then flew out of the closet, shutting the door forcibly after him.

I remained for some moments stupefied by my fall; but after a time arose, and opening the closet, I was surprised to see neither the Princess of Cassimir nor the magician Bennaskar.

While I was in this confusion, the Cadi and his guards, being impatient at our stay, entered the chamber, and the Cadi commanded his guards to seize me, saying, "Villain! where is the Princess of Cassimir, and the man who revealed thy unrighteous actions?"

At this I began to answer, when I perceived that my voice was as the voice of Bennaskar. I immediately looked on my clothes, and found them changed. In short, I doubted not that my malicious foe had transformed me into his own appearance.[230]

I fell at the feet of the Cadi, and besought him for one moment to hear me. I acquainted him with every circumstance of my adventures, from my entrance into the house of Bennaskar to the present moment. But he and his guards laughed at my tale, and commanded me to deliver up my friend and the Princess of Cassimir. In vain did I call Allah to witness the truth of my story; the Cadi was enraged at my persisting in the tale, and ordered his guards to give me a hundred strokes with the chabouc.

To add to my misfortune, Bennaskar appeared at one end of the room; and when I cried out and pointed to him, the Cadi, who saw him not, thinking that I meant to mock him, ordered me another hundred lashes with the chabouc.

Vexed with myself, and subdued by the pain, I fell on the ground, and my guards were ordered to carry me to the prison, where I was loaded with chains, and thrown into a deep dungeon.

The next morning I was brought out again before the Cadi, and carried into the hall of justice. The Cadi there passed sentence upon me, that I should be burnt alive the next day unless I delivered up Mahoud and the Princess of Cassimir.

Finding it vain to repeat my declarations that I was the real Mahoud, and that I suffered through the vile enchantments of Bennaskar, I remained silent; but this was construed into surliness, and I was ordered five hundred bastinadoes to make me speak.

The Cadi then commanded me to be carried back to the dungeon, and ordered a large pile of wood to be raised in the market-place, whereon I was to be burnt the next morning, before all the people.

I spent the night in the utmost horror, and earnestly wished that the sun might never more behold my sorrows. But the darkness passed away as usual, and I beheld the dreadful morning dawn. A tumultuous crowd had collected before the door of the dungeon to see me pass to execution, and as I was dragged along, the common people nearly overwhelmed me with stones.

As I advanced to the pile, I perceived the Cadi and his officers were seated before it. He commanded me to be brought again before him ere I was bound to the pile.[231]

"Art thou," said he, "wretched magician, willing to bring forth the Princess, or thy friend, who are concealed by thy wicked arts, or must the sentence of our law be executed upon thee?"

"O judge," said I, "since my tale will not gain credit with thee, at least let me know by whose accusation it is that I am brought before thee, and who it is that accuses me of magic or sorcery. Am not I Bennaskar, the wealthy merchant of Delhi? and where are my accusers? Who dare say aught against my fame? You came into my house by night, you seized my person, you inflicted on me the punishment of a slave; you cast me into a dungeon, and condemned me to the flames; and all this without the appearance of a single witness against me: wherefore, O Cadi, I appeal unto the righteous Sultan of the East, and I hope my fellow-citizens will not suffer me to be executed while no proofs of guilt are brought against me."

"Young man," answered the Cadi, "your appeal is unnecessary, for I am not desirous of destroying my fellow-creatures without a cause. Your plea were just and proper, did not your own confession contradict your present assertion. Yesterday you declared that you were not Bennaskar, and to-day you say you are; wherefore out of your own lips I have convicted you of falsehood; whereas, had you really been Bennaskar the merchant, and not a magician, there had been no need of two different accounts of yourself."

The people, hearing this distinction of the Cadi, applauded their judge; and one and all cried out that I was a magician, and deserved the flames.

The guards were then ordered to bind me on the pile, and I was led up and fixed to a post by the chains which had been fastened on my body the day before; and now, amidst the acclamations of the mob, was the pile kindled, and the smoke and the flame surrounded the unfortunate Mahoud.

In a moment the crowd and the heavens disappeared from my sight, and I found myself in the body of a toad, at the bottom of the pile. I hopped forward out of the flames, and with difficulty hid myself beneath a stone in the street.[232]

The crowd, having waited till the pile was consumed, carried the ashes out of the city, and scattered them in the air. I remained till night beneath the stone.

It was my intention, as soon as it was dark, to creep out of the city into the woods; but sleep overtook me at the time when animals retire to their rest, and when I awoke in the morning I found myself in this forest, where I remained during the space of a moon alone, till I met with these two miserable companions of my solitude.

"Your adventures, O Mahoud," said the Sultan of India, "are wonderful, and an excellent lesson of caution and prudence to us who are joined in one common fate; and since I perceive both your misfortunes and my own have been brought about by our want of trust and prudence, I shall, with the utmost resignation, acknowledge that the all-perfect Allah is ever willing to assist those who are not wanting to themselves.

"But, O Mahoud, suffer me, ere I declare my own grief, to ask what has become of the lovely Hemjunah, the Princess of Cassimir? and wonder not at my solicitude, for the mention of her name brings to my memory ideas of the past. How was it possible that lovely being should be betrayed into the powers of those wicked enchanters? But why should I be surprised at her weakness, who am myself the object of their malice? Surely," continued the Sultan, "this our companion, whom you called Princess, cannot be the daughter of Zebenezer, the Sultan of Cassimir?"

"You are right, indeed, in your conjectures," answered Mahoud; "the Princess of Cassimir is a fellow-sufferer wi

	PAGE
JALALADDEEN OF BAGDAD	1
THE STORY OF HASCHEM	40
THE PANTOFLES	73
STORY OF THE PRINCE AND THE LIONS	78
THE CITY OF THE DEMONS	95
JUSSUF, THE MERCHANT OF BALSORA	104
THE SEVEN SLEEPERS	169
THE ENCHANTERS; OR, MISNAR, THE SULTAN OF INDIA	200
SADIK BEG	306
HALECHALBE AND THE UNKNOWN LADY	309
THE FOUR TALISMANS	341
THE STORY OF BOHETZAD; OR, THE LOST CHILD	366
URAD; OR, THE FAIR WANDERER	499
ALISCHAR AND SMARAGDINE	524

THE "CHANDOS CLASSICS."

Eastern Tales

BY

MANY STORY TELLERS

COMPILED AND EDITED FROM ANCIENT AND MODERN AUTHORS BY

MRS. VALENTINE

Author of "Sea Fights and Land Battles," &c., &c., &c.

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON

FREDERICK WARNE & CO.

BEDFORD STREET, STRAND

PREFACE.

CONTENTS

EASTERN TALES.

Jalaladdeen of Bagdad.

The Story of Haschem.

CHAPTER I.

THE LOST SON.

CHAPTER II.

THE SYMPATHIZING RULER.

CHAPTER III.

THE CAPTIVE.

CHAPTER IV.

THE DELIVERANCE.

CHAPTER V.

THE FAITHFUL CONDUCTOR HOME.

CHAPTER VI.

REWARD.

CHAPTER VII.

THE RETURN TO HIS FATHER.

The Pantofles.

Story of the Prince and the Lions.

The
City of the Demons

Jussuf, the Merchant of Balsora.

The Seven Sleepers.

The Enchanters.

THE HISTORY OF MAHOUD.

THE "CHANDOS CLASSICS."

Eastern Tales

BY

MANY STORY TELLERS

COMPILED AND EDITED FROM ANCIENT AND MODERN AUTHORS BY

MRS. VALENTINE

Author of "Sea Fights and Land Battles," &c., &c., &c.

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON

FREDERICK WARNE & CO.

BEDFORD STREET, STRAND

PREFACE.

CONTENTS

EASTERN TALES.

Jalaladdeen of Bagdad.

The Story of Haschem.

CHAPTER I.

THE LOST SON.

CHAPTER II.

THE SYMPATHIZING RULER.

CHAPTER III.

THE CAPTIVE.

CHAPTER IV.

THE DELIVERANCE.

CHAPTER V.

THE FAITHFUL CONDUCTOR HOME.

CHAPTER VI.

REWARD.

CHAPTER VII.

THE RETURN TO HIS FATHER.

The Pantofles.

Story of the Prince and the Lions.

The City of the Demons

Jussuf, the Merchant of Balsora.

The Seven Sleepers.

The Enchanters.

THE HISTORY OF MAHOUD.

The
City of the Demons