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                     THE CALIPH’S NIGHT ADVENTURE.


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                         Supplemental
                                      Nights
                          _TO THE BOOK OF THE_
                      Thousand Nights and a Night
              _WITH NOTES ANTHROPOLOGICAL AND EXPLANATORY_
                          VOLUME III. Part 2.


                                   BY

                           RICHARD F. BURTON

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        PRINTED BY THE BURTON CLUB FOR PRIVATE SUBSCRIBERS ONLY




                            Shammar Edition

                Limited to one thousand numbered sets,
                of which this is

                              Number ____




                     THE CALIPH’S NIGHT ADVENTURE.


I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Caliph Harun al-Rashid was one
night wakeful exceedingly and when he rose in the morning restlessness
gat hold of him. Wherefore all about him were troubled for that “Folk
aye follow Prince’s fashion;” they rejoice exceedingly with his joy and
are sorrowful with his sorrows albeit they know not the cause why they
are so affected. Presently the Commander of the Faithful sent for Masrúr
the Eunuch, and when he came to him cried, “Fetch me my Wazir, Ja’afar
the Barmaki, without stay or delay.” Accordingly, he went out and
returned with the Minister who, finding him alone, which was indeed
rare, and seeing as he drew near that he was in a melancholic humour,
never even raising his eyes, stopped till his lord would vouchsafe to
look upon him. At last the Prince of True Believers cast his glance upon
Ja’afar, but forthright turned away his head and sat motionless as
before. The Wazir descrying naught in the Caliph’s aspect that concerned
him personally, strengthened his purpose and bespake him on this wise,
“O Commander of the Faithful, wilt thine Highness deign suffer me to ask
whence cometh this sadness?” and the Caliph answered, with a clearer
brow, “Verily, O Wazir, these moods have of late become troublesome to
me, nor are they to be moved save by hearing strange tales and verses;
and, if thou come not hither on a pressing affair, thou wilt gladden me
by relating somewhat to dispel my sadness.” Replied the Wazir, “O
Commander of the Faithful, my office compelleth me to stand on thy
service, and I would fain remind thee that this is the day appointed for
informing thyself of the good governance of thy capital and its
environs; and this matter shall, Inshallah, divert thy mind and dispel
its gloom.” The Caliph answered, “Thou dost well to remind me, for that
I had wholly forgotten it; so fare forth and change thy vestments while
I do the same with mine.” Presently the twain donned habits of stranger
merchants and issued out by a private postern of the palace-garden,
which led them into the fields. After they had skirted the city, they
reached the Euphrates’ bank at some distance from the gate opening on
that side, without having observed aught of disorder; then they crossed
the river in the first ferry-boat they found, and, making a second round
on the further side, they passed over the bridge that joined the two
halves of Baghdad-town. At the bridge-foot they met with a blind old man
who asked alms of them; and the Caliph turned about and crossed his palm
with a dinar, whereupon the beggar caught hold of his hand, and held him
fast, saying, “O beneficent man, whoso thou ever may be, whom Allah hath
inspired to bestow an alms upon me, refuse not the favour I crave of
thee, which is, to strike me a buffet upon the ear, for that I deserve
such punishment and a greater still.” After these words he quitted his
hold of the Caliph’s hand that it might smite him, yet for fear lest the
stranger pass on without so doing he grasped him fast by his long
robe.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


              The end of the Six Hundred and Fifth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Caliph,
surprised by the blind man’s words and deeds said, “I may not grant thy
request nor will I minish the merit of my charity, by treating thee as
thou wouldst have me entreat thee.” Saying these words, he strove to get
away from the blind man, but he who after his long experience expected
this refusal of his benefactor, did his utmost to keep hold of him, and
cried, “O my lord, forgive my audacity and my persistency; and I implore
thee either give me a cuff on the ear, or take back thine alms, for I
may not receive it save on that condition, without falsing a solemn oath
I have sworn before the face of Allah; and, if thou knew the reason,
thou wouldst accord with me that the penalty is light indeed.” Then the
Caliph not caring to be delayed any longer, yielded to the blind man’s
importunity, and gave him a slight cuff: whereupon he loosed him
forthright and thanked him and blessed him. When the Caliph and his
Wazir had walked some way from the blind man, the former exclaimed,
“This blind beggar must assuredly have some right good cause for
behaving himself in such manner to all who give him alms, and I would
fain know it. Do thou return to him and tell him who I am, and bid him
fail not to appear at my palace about mid-afternoon prayer-time that I
may converse with him, and hear whatso he hath to say.” Hereupon Ja’afar
went back and bestowed alms on the blind man giving him another cuff on
the ear and apprised him of the Caliph’s command, and returned
forthright to his lord. Presently, when the twain reached the town, they
found in a square a vast crowd of folk gazing at a handsome youth and a
well-shaped, who was mounted on a mare which he rode at fullest speed
round the open space, spurring and whipping the beast so cruelly that
she was covered with sweat and blood. Seeing this the Caliph, amazed at
the youth’s brutality, stopped to ask the bystanders an they knew why he
tortured and tormented the mare on such wise; but he could learn naught
save that for some while past, every day at the same time, he had
entreated her after the same fashion. Hereat as they walked along, the
Caliph bid his Wazir especially notice the place and order the young man
to come without failing on the next day, at the hour appointed for the
blind man. But ere the Caliph reached his palace, he saw in a street,
which he had not passed through for many months, a newly-built mansion,
which seemed to him the palace of some great lord of the land. He asked
the Wazir an he knew its owner; and Ja’afar answered he did not but
would make inquiry. So he consulted a neighbour who told him that the
house-owner was one Khwájah Hasan surnamed Al-Habbál from his
handicraft, rope-making; that he himself had seen the man at work in the
days of his poverty, that he knew not how Fate and Fortune had
befriended him, yet that the same Khwájah had gotten such exceeding
wealth that he had been enabled to pay honourably and sumptuously all
the expenses he had incurred when building his palace. Then the Wazir
returned to the Caliph, and gave him a full account of whatso he had
heard, whereat cried the Prince of True Believers, “I must see this
Khwajah Hasan al-Habbal: do thou therefore, O Wazir, go and tell him to
come to my palace, at the same hour thou hast appointed for the other
twain.” The Minister did his lord’s bidding and the next day, after
mid-afternoon prayers, the Caliph retired to his own apartment and
Ja’afar introduced the three persons whereof we have been speaking and
presented them to the Caliph. All prostrated themselves at his feet and
when they rose up, the Commander of the Faithful asked his name of the
blind man, who answered he was hight Baba Abdullah. “O Servant of
Allah,” cried the Caliph, “thy manner of asking alms yesterday seemed so
strange to me that, had it not been for certain considerations, I should
not have granted thy petition; nay, I would have prevented thy giving
further offence to the folk. And now I have bidden thee hither that I
may know from thyself what impelled thee to swear that rash oath whereof
thou toldest me, that I may better judge whether thou have done well or
ill, and if I should suffer thee to persist in a practice which
meseemeth must set so pernicious an example. Tell me openly how such mad
thought entered into thy head, and conceal not aught, for I will know
the truth and the full truth.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad
held her peace till


              The end of the Six Hundred and Sixth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Baba Abdullah
terrified by these words, cast himself a second time at the Caliph’s
feet with his face prone to the ground, and when he rose again, said, “O
Commander of the Faithful, I crave pardon of thy Highness for my
audacity, in that I dared require, and well-nigh compelled thee to do a
thing which verily seemeth contrary to sound sense. I acknowledge mine
offence; but as I knew not thy Highness at that time, I implore thy
clemency, and I pray thou wilt consider my ignorance of thine exalted
degree. And now as to the extravagance of my action, I readily admit
that it must be strange to the sons of Adam; but in the eye of Allah
’tis but a slight penance wherewith I have charged myself for an
enormous crime of which I am guilty, and wherefor, an all the people in
the world were each and every to give me a cuff on the ear ’twould not
be sufficient atonement. Thy Highness shall judge of it thyself, when I,
in telling my tale according to thy commandment, will inform thee of
what was my offence.” And here he began to relate


            _THE STORY OF THE BLIND MAN, BABA ABDULLAH._[1]

O my lord the Caliph, I, the humblest of thy slaves, was born in
Baghdad, where my father and mother, presently dying within a few days
of each other, left me a fortune large enough to last me throughout my
lifetime. But I knew not its value and soon I had squandered it in
luxury and loose living and I cared naught for thrift or for increasing
my store. But when little was left to me of my substance, I repented of
my evil courses and toiled and laboured hard by day and night to
increase my remaining stock of money. It is truly said, “After waste
cometh knowledge of worth.” Thus little by little I got together
fourscore camels, which I let on hire to merchants, and thus I made
goodly gain each time I found occasion: moreover I was wont to engage
myself together with my beasts and on this wise I journeyed over all the
dominions and domains of thy Highness. Brief, I hoped ere long to reap
an abundant crop of gold by the hiring out of my baggage animals.——And
as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


             The end of the Six Hundred and Seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Baba Abdullah
continued his tale in these words:—Once I had carried merchants’ stuffs
to Bassorah for shipping Indiawards and I was returning to Baghdad with
my beasts unladen. Now as I fared homewards I chanced pass across a
plain of excellent pasturage lying fallow and far from any village, and
there unsaddled the camels which I hobbled and tethered together that
they might crop the luxuriant herbs and thorns and yet not fare astray.
Presently appeared a Darwaysh who was travelling afoot for Bassorah, and
he took seat beside me to enjoy ease after unease; whereat I asked him
whence he wayfared and whither he was wending. He also asked me the same
question and when we had told each to other our own tales, we produced
our provisions and brake our fast together, talking of various matters
as we ate. Quoth the Darwaysh, “I know a spot hard by which enholdeth a
hoard and its wealth is so wonder-great that shouldst thou load upon thy
fourscore camels the heaviest burthens of golden coins and costly gems
from that treasure there will appear no minishing thereof.” Hearing
these words I rejoiced with exceeding joy and gathering from his mien
and demeanour that he did not deceive me, I arose forthright and falling
upon his neck, exclaimed, “O Hallow of Allah, who carest naught for this
world’s goods and hast renounced all mundane lusts and luxuries,
assuredly thou hast full knowledge of this treasure, for naught
remaineth hidden from holy men as thou art. I pray thee tell me where it
may be found that I may load my fourscore beasts with bales of Ashrafis
and jewels: I wot full well that thou hast no greed for the wealth of
this world, but take, I pray thee, one of these my fourscore camels as
recompense and reward for the favour.” Thus spake I with my tongue but
in my heart I sorely grieved to think that I must part with a single
camel-load of coins and gems; withal I reflected that the other
three-score and nineteen camel-loads would contain riches to my heart’s
content. Accordingly, as I wavered in mind, at one moment consenting and
at the next instant repenting, the Darwaysh noting my greed and covetise
and avarice, replied, “Not so, O my brother: one camel doth not suffice
me that I should shew thee all this hoard. On a single condition only
will I tell thee of the place; to wit, that we twain lead the animals
thither and lade them with the treasure, then shalt thou give me one
half thereof and take the other half to thyself. With forty camels’ load
of costly ores and minerals for sure thou canst buy thousands more of
camels.” Then, seeing that refusal was impossible, I cried “So be it! I
agree to thy proposal and I will do as thou desirest;” for in my heart I
had conned the matter over and well I wist that forty camel-loads of
gold and gems would suffice me and many generations of my descendants;
and I feared lest an I gainsay him I should repent for ever and ever
having let so great a treasure slip out of hand. Accordingly, giving
full consent to all he said, I got together every one of my beasts and
set me a-wayfaring along with the Fakír.[2] After travelling over some
short distance we came upon a gorge between two craggy mountain-walls
towering high in crescent form and the pass was exceeding narrow so that
the animals were forced to pace in single file, but further on it flared
out and we could thread it without difficulty into the broad Wady below.
No human being was anywhere to be seen or heard in this wild land, so we
were undisturbed and easy in our minds nor feared aught. Then quoth the
Darwaysh, “Leave here the camels and come with me.”——And as the morn
began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


              The end of the Six Hundred and Eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the blind man Baba
Abdullah pursued his tale on this wise:—I did as the Darwaysh had bidden
me; and, nakhing[3] all the camels, I followed in wake of him. After
walking a short way from the halting-place he produced a flint and steel
and struck fire therewith and lit some sticks he had gotten together;
then, throwing a handful of strong-smelling incense upon the flames, he
muttered words of incantation which I could by no means understand. At
once a cloud of smoke arose, and spireing upwards veiled the mountains;
and presently, the vapour clearing away, we saw a huge rock with pathway
leading to its perpendicular face. Here the precipice showed an open
door, wherethrough appeared in the bowels of the mountain a splendid
palace, the workmanship of the Jinns, for no man had power to build
aught like it. In due time, after sore toil, we entered therein and
found an endless treasure, ranged in mounds with the utmost ordinance
and regularity. Seeing a heap of Ashrafis I pounced upon it as a vulture
swoopeth upon her quarry, the carrion, and fell to filling the sacks
with golden coin to my heart’s content. The bags were big, but I was
constrained to stuff them only in proportion to the strength of my
beasts. The Darwaysh, too, busied himself in like manner, but he charged
his sacks with gems and jewels only, counselling me the while to do as
he did. So I cast aside the ducats and filled my bags with naught save
the most precious of the stonery. When we had wrought our best, we set
the well-stuffed sacks upon the camels’ backs and we made ready to
depart; but, before we left the treasure-house wherein stood ranged
thousands of golden vessels, exquisite in shape and workmanship, the
Darwaysh went into a hidden chamber and brought from out a silvern
casket a little golden box full of some unguent, which he showed to me,
and then he placed it in his pocket. Presently, he again threw incense
upon the fire and recited his incantations and conjurations, whereat the
door closed and the rock became as before. We then divided the camels,
he taking one half and I the other; and, passing through the strait and
gloomy gorge in single file, we came out upon the open plain. Here our
way parted, he wending in the direction of Bassorah and I Baghdad-wards;
and when about to leave him I showered thanks upon the Darwaysh who had
obtained me all this wealth and riches worth a thousand thousand of gold
coins; and farewelled him with deep emotions of gratitude; after which
we embraced and wended our several ways. But hardly had I bidden adieu
to the Fakir and had gone some little distance from him with my file of
camels than the Shaytan tempted me with greed of gain so that I said to
myself, “The Darwaysh is alone in the world, without friends or kinsman,
and is wholly estranged from matters mundane. What will these
camel-loads of filthy lucre advantage him? Moreover, engrossed by the
care of the camels, not to speak of the deceitfulness of riches, he may
neglect his prayer and worship: therefore it behoveth me to take back
from him some few of my beasts.” With this resolve I made the camels
halt and tying up their forelegs ran back after the holy man and called
out his name. He heard my loud shouts and awaited me forthright; and, as
soon as I approached him I said, “When I had quitted thee a thought came
into my mind; to wit, that thou art a recluse who keepest thyself aloof
from earthly things, pure in heart and busied only with orison and
devotion. Now care of all these camels will cause thee only toil and
moil and trouble and waste of precious time: ’twere better then to give
them back and not run the risk of these discomforts and dangers.” The
Darwaysh replied, “O my son, thou speakest sooth. The tending of all
these animals will bring me naught save ache of head, so do thou take of
them as many as thou listest. I thought not of the burthen and pother
till thou drewest my attention thereto; but now I am forewarned thereof;
so may Almighty Allah keep thee in His holy keeping!” Accordingly, I
took ten camels of him and was about to gang my gait when suddenly it
struck me, “This Fakir was unconcerned at giving up ten camels, so
’twere better I ask more of him.” Thereupon I drew nearer to him and
said, “Thou canst hardly manage thirty camels; do give me, I pray thee,
other ten.” Said he, “O my son, do whatso thou wishest! Take thee other
ten camels; twenty will suffice me.” I did his bidding and driving off
the twenty added them to my forty. Then the spirit of concupiscence
possessed me, and I bethought me more and more to get yet other ten
camels from his share; so I retraced my steps for the third time and
asked him for another ten, and of these, as also the remaining ten, I
wheedled him. The Darwaysh gladly gave up the last of his camels, and,
shaking out his skirts,[4] made ready to depart; but still my accursed
greed stuck to me. Albeit I had got the fourscore beasts laden with
Ashrafis and jewels, and I might have gone home happy and content, with
wealth for fourscore generations, Satan tempted me still more, and urged
me also to take the box of ointment, which I supposed to contain
something more precious than rubies.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


              The end of the Six Hundred and Ninth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Baba Abdullah
continued his tale in these words:—So when I had again farewelled and
embraced him I paused awhile and said, “What wilt thou do with the
little box of salve thou hast taken to thy portion? I pray thee give me
that also.” The Fakir would by no means part with it, whereupon I lusted
the more to possess it, and resolved in my mind that, should the holy
man give it up of his free will, then well and good, but if not I would
force it from him. Seeing my intent he drew the box from out his
breast-pocket[5] and handed it to me saying, “O my son, an thou wouldst
have this box of ointment, then freely do I give it to thee; but first
it behoveth thee to learn the virtue of the unguent it containeth.”
Hearing these words I said, “Forasmuch as thou hast shown me all this
favour, I beseech thee tell me of this ointment and what of properties
it possesseth.” Quoth he, “The wonders of this ointment are passing
strange and rare. An thou close thy left eye and rub upon the lid the
smallest bit of the salve then all the treasures of the world now
concealed from thy gaze will come to sight; but an thou rub aught
thereof upon thy right eye thou shalt straightway become stone-blind of
both.” Thereat I bethought me of putting this wondrous unguent to the
test and placing in his hand the box I said, “I see thou understandest
this matter right well; so now I pray thee apply somewhat of the
ointment with thine own hand to my left eyelid.” The Darwaysh thereupon
closed my left eye and with his finger rubbed a little of the unguent
over the lid; and when I opened it and looked around I saw the hidden
hoards of the earth in countless quantities even as the Fakir had told
me I should see them. Then closing my right eyelid, I bade him apply
some of the salve to that eye also. Said he, “O my son, I have
forewarned thee that if I rub it upon thy right eyelid thou shalt become
stone-blind of both. Put far from thee this foolish thought: why
shouldst thou bring this evil to no purpose on thyself?” He spake sooth
indeed, but by reason of my accursed ill-fate I would not heed his words
and considered in my mind, “If applying the salve to the left eyelid
hath produced such effect, assuredly far more wondrous still shall be
the result when rubbed on the right eye. This fellow doth play me false
and keepeth back from me the truth of the matter.” When I had thus
determined in my mind I laughed and said to the holy man, “Thou art
deceiving me to the intent that I should not advantage myself by the
secret, for that rubbing the unguent upon the right eyelid hath some
greater virtue than applying it to the left eye, and thou wouldst
withhold the matter from me. It can never be that the same ointment hath
qualities so contrary and virtues so diverse.” Replied the other, “Allah
Almighty is my witness that the marvels of the ointment be none other
save these whereof I bespake thee; O dear my friend, have faith in me,
for naught hath been told thee save what is sober sooth.” Still would I
not believe his words, thinking that he dissembled with me and kept
secret from me the main virtue of the unguent. Wherefore filled with
this foolish thought I pressed him sore and begged that he rub the
ointment upon my right eyelid; but he still refused and said, “Thou
seest how much of favour I have shown to thee: wherefore should I now do
thee so dire an evil? Know for a surety that it would bring thee
life-long grief and misery; and I beseech thee, by Allah the Almighty,
abandon this thy purpose and believe my words.” But the more he refused
so much the more did I persist; and in fine I made oath and sware by
Allah, saying, “O Darwaysh, what things soever I have asked of thee thou
gavest freely unto me and now remaineth only this request for me to
make. Allah upon thee, gainsay me not and grant me this last of thy
boons: and whatever shall betide me I will not hold thee responsible
therefor. Let Destiny decide for good or for evil.” When the holy man
saw that his denial was of no avail and that I irked him with exceeding
persistence, he put the smallest bit of ointment on my right lid and, as
I opened wide my eyes, lo and behold! both were stone-blind: naught
could I see for the black darkness before them and ever since that day
have I been sightless and helpless as thou foundest me. When I knew that
I was blinded, I exclaimed, “O Darwaysh of ill-omen, what thou didst
foretell hath come to pass;” and I fell to cursing him and saying, “O
would to Heaven thou hadst never brought me to the hoard or hadst given
me such wealth. What now avail me all this gold and jewels? Take back
thy forty camels and make me whole again.” Replied he, “What evil have I
done to thee? I showed thee favours more than any man hath ever dealt to
another. Thou wouldst not heed my rede, but didst harden thy heart and
lustest to obtain this wealth and to pry into the hidden treasures of
the earth. Thou wouldst not be content with what thou hadst and thou
didst misdoubt my words thinking that I would play thee false. Thy case
is beyond all hope, for never more wilt thou regain thy sight; no,
never.” Then said I with tears and lamentations, “O Fakir, take back thy
fourscore camels laden with gold and precious stones and wend thy way: I
absolve thee from all blame, natheless I beseech thee by Allah Almighty
to restore my sight an thou art able.” He answered not a word, but
leaving me in miserable plight presently took the load to Bassorah,
driving before him the fourscore camels laden with wealth. I cried aloud
and besought him to lead me with him away from the life-destroying
wilderness, or to put me on the path of some caravan, but he regarded
not my cries and abandoned me there.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


              The end of the Six Hundred and Tenth Night.

Then said she:——“I have heard, O auspicious king, that Baba Abdullah the
blind man resumed his story, saying:—So when the Darwaysh departed from
me, I had well-nigh died of grief and wrath at the loss of my sight and
of my riches, and from the pangs of thirst[6] and hunger. Next day by
good fortune a caravan from Bassorah passed that way; and, seeing me in
such a grievous condition, the merchants had compassion on me and made
me travel with them to Baghdad. Naught could I do save beg my bread in
order to keep myself alive; so I became a mendicant and made this vow to
Allah Almighty that, as a punishment for this my unlucky greed and
cursed covetise, I would require a cuff upon my ear from everyone who
might take pity on my case and give an alms. On this wise it was that
yesterday I pursued thee with such pertinacity.” When the blind man made
an end of his story the Caliph said, “O Baba Abdullah! thine offence was
grievous; may Allah have mercy on thee therefor. It now remaineth to
thee to tell thy case to devotees and anchorites that they may offer up
their potent prayers in thy behalf. Take no thought for thy daily wants:
I have determined that for thy living thou shalt have a dole of four
dirhams a day from my royal treasury according to thy need as long as
thou mayest live. But see that thou go no more to ask for alms about my
city.” So Baba Abdullah returned thanks to the Prince of True Believers,
saying, “I will do according to thy bidding.” Now when the Caliph Harun
al-Rashid had heard the story of Baba Abdullah and the Darwaysh, he
turned to and addressed the young man whom he had seen riding at fullest
speed upon the mare and savagely lashing and ill-treating her. “What is
thy name?” quoth he, and quoth the youth, bowing his brow groundwards,
“My name, O Commander of the Faithful, is Sídí Nu’umán.”[7] Then said
the Caliph, “Hearken now, O Sidi Nu’uman! Ofttimes have I watched the
horsemen exercise their horses, and I myself have often done likewise,
but never saw I any who rode so mercilessly as thou didst ride thy mare,
for thou didst ply both whip and shovel-iron in cruellest fashion. The
folk all stood to gaze with wonderment, but chiefly I, who was
constrained against my wish to stop and ask the cause of the bystanders.
None, however, could make clear the matter, and all men said that thou
art wont each day to ride the mare in this most brutal fashion, whereat
my mind marvelled all the more. I now would ask of thee the cause of
this thy ruthless savagery, and see that thou tell me every whit and
leave not aught unsaid.” Sidi Nu’uman, hearing the order of the
Commander of the Faithful, became aware he was fully bent upon hearing
the whole matter and would on no wise suffer him to depart until all was
explained. So the colour of his countenance changed and he stood
speechless like a statue through fear and trepidation; whereat said the
Prince of True Believers, “O Sidi Nu’uman, fear naught but tell me all
thy tale. Regard me in the light of one of thy friends and speak without
reserve, and explain to me the matter fully as thou wouldst do hadst
thou been speaking to thy familiars. Moreover, an thou art afraid of any
matter which thou shalt confide to me and if thou dread my indignation,
I grant thee immunity and a free pardon.” At these comforting words of
the Caliph, Sidi Nu’uman took courage, and with clasped hands replied,
“I trust I have not in this matter done aught contrary to thy Highness’s
law and custom, and therefore will I willingly obey thy bidding and
relate to thee all my tale. If I have offended in anything then am I
worthy of thy punishment. ’Tis true that I have daily exercised the mare
and ridden her at speed around the hippodrome as thou sawest me do; and
I lashed and gored her with all my might. Thou hadst compassion on the
mare and didst deem me cruel-hearted to entreat her thus, but when thou
shalt have heard all my adventure thou wilt admit, Inshallah—God
willing—that this be only a trifling penalty for her offence, and that
not she but I deserve thy pity and pardon! With thy permission I will
now begin my story.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her
peace till


             The end of the Six Hundred and Eleventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Caliph Harun
al-Rashid accorded the youth permission to speak and that the rider of
the mare began in these words the




                        HISTORY OF SIDI NU’UMAN.


O lord of beneficence and benevolence, my parents were possessed of
wealth and riches sufficient to provide their son when they died with
ample means for a life-long livelihood so that he might pass his days
like a Grandee of the land in ease and joyance and delight. I—their only
child—had nor care nor trouble about any matter until one day of the
days, when in the prime of manhood, I was a-minded to take unto me a
wife, a woman winsome and comely to look upon, that we might live
together in mutual love and double blessedness. But Allah Almighty
willed not that a model helpmate become mine; nay, Destiny wedded me to
grief and the direst misery. I married a maid who in outward form and
features was a model of beauty and loveliness without, however, one
single gracious gift of mind or soul; and on the very second day after
the wedding her evil nature began to manifest itself. Thou art well
aware, O Prince of True Believers, that by Moslem custom none may look
upon the face of his betrothed before the marriage-contract, nor after
wedlock can he complain should his bride prove a shrew or a fright: he
must needs dwell with her in such content as he may and be thankful for
his fate, be it fair or unfair. When I saw first the face of my bride
and learnt that it was passing comely, I joyed with exceeding joy and
gave thanks to Almighty Allah that He had bestowed on me so charming a
mate. That night I slept with her in joy and love-delight; but next day
when the noon-meal was spread for me and her I found her not at table
and sent to summon her; and after some delay, she came and sat her down.
I dissembled my annoyance and forbore for this late-coming to find fault
with her; which I soon had ample reason to do. It so happened that
amongst the many dishes which were served up to us was a fine pilaff,[8]
of which I, according to the custom in our city, began to eat with a
spoon; but she, in lieu of it pulled out an ear-pick from her pocket and
therewith, fell to picking up the rice and ate it grain by grain. Seeing
this strange conduct I was sore amazed and fuming inwardly said in sweet
tones, “O my Aminah,[9] what be this way of eating? hast thou learnt it
of thy people or art thou counting grains of rice purposing to make a
hearty meal hereafter? Thou hast eaten but ten or twenty during all this
time. Or haply thou art practising thrift? if so I would have thee know
that Allah Almighty hath given me abundant store and fear not on that
account; but do thou, O my dearling, as all do and eat as thou seest thy
husband eat.” I fondly thought that she would assuredly vouchsafe some
words of thanks, but never a syllable spake she and ceased not picking
up grain after grain: nay more, in order to provoke me to greater
displeasure, she paused for a long time between each. Now when the next
course of cakes came on she idly brake some bread and tossed a crumb or
two into her mouth; in fact she ate less than would satisfy the stomach
of a sparrow. I marvelled much to see her so obstinate and selfwilled
but I said to myself, in mine innocence, “May be she hath not been
accustomed to eat with men, and especially she may be too shame-faced to
eat heartily in presence of her husband: she will in time do whatso do
other folk.” I thought also that perchance she hath already broken her
fast and lost appetite, or haply it hath been her habit to eat alone. So
I said nothing and after dinner went out to smell the air and play the
Jaríd[10] and thought no more of the matter. When, however, we two sat
again at meat my bride ate after the same fashion as before; nay, she
would ever persist in her perversity; whereat I was sore troubled in
mind, and marvelled how without food she kept herself alive. One night
it chanced that deeming me fast asleep she rose up in stealth from my
side, I being wide awake: when I saw her step cautiously from the bed as
one fearing lest she might disturb me. I wondered with exceeding wonder
why she should arise from sleep to leave me thus and methought I would
look into the matter. Wherefore I still feigned sleep and snored but
watched her as I lay, and presently saw her dress herself and leave the
room; I then sprang off the bed and throwing on my robe and slinging my
sword across my shoulder looked out of the window to spy whither she
went. Presently she crossed the courtyard and opening the street-door
fared forth; and I also ran out through the entrance which she had left
unlocked; then followed her by the light of the moon until she entered a
cemetery hard by our home.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


             The end of the Six Hundred and Twelfth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard O auspicious King, that Sidi Nu’uman
continued his story saying:—But when I beheld Aminah my bride enter the
cemetery, I stood without and close to the wall over which I peered so
that I could espy her well but she could not discover me. Then what did
I behold but Aminah sitting with a Ghúl![11] Thy Highness wotteth well
that Ghuls be of the race of devils; to wit, they are unclean spirits
which inhabit ruins and which terrify solitary wayfarers and at times
seizing them feed upon their flesh; and if by day they find not any
traveller to eat they go by night to the graveyards and dig out and
devour dead bodies. So I was sore amazed and terrified to see my wife
thus seated with a Ghul. Then the twain dug up from the grave a corpse
which had been newly buried, and the Ghul and my wife Aminah tore off
pieces of the flesh which she ate making merry the while and chatting
with her companion; but inasmuch as I stood at some distance I could not
hear what it was they said. At this sight I trembled with exceeding
fear. And when they had made an end of eating they cast the bones into
the pit and thereover heaped up the earth e’en as it was before. Leaving
them thus engaged in their foul and fulsome work, I hastened home; and,
allowing the street-door to remain half-open as my bride had done, I
reached my room, and throwing myself upon our bed feigned sleep.
Presently Aminah came and doffing her dress calmly lay beside me, and I
knew by her manner that she had not seen me at all, nor guessed that I
had followed her to the cemetery. This gave me great relief of mind,
withal I loathed to bed beside a cannibal and a corpse-eater; howbeit I
lay still despite extreme misliking till the Muezzin’s call for
dawn-prayers, when getting up I busied myself with the Wuzú-ablution and
set forth mosque-wards. Then having said my prayers and fulfilled my
ceremonial duties,[12] I strolled about the gardens, and during this
walk having turned over the matter in my mind, determined that it
behoved me to remove my bride from such ill companionship, and wean her
from the habit of devouring dead bodies. With these thoughts I came back
home at dinner-time, when Aminah on seeing me return bade the servants
serve up the noontide-meal and we twain sat at table; but as before she
fell to picking up the rice grain by grain. Thereat said I to her, “O my
wife, it irketh me much to see thee picking up each grain of rice like a
hen. If this dish suit not thy taste see there are, by Allah’s grace and
the Almighty’s favour, all kinds of meats before us. Do thou eat of that
which pleaseth thee most; each day the table is bespread with dishes of
different kinds and if these please thee not, thou hast only to order
whatsoever food thy soul desireth. Yet I would ask of thee one question:
Is there no meat upon the table as rich and toothsome as man’s flesh,
that thou refusest every dish they set before thee?” Ere I had finished
speaking my wife became assured that I was aware of her night adventure:
she suddenly waxed wroth with exceeding wrath, her face flushed red as
fire, her eyeballs started out from their sockets and she foamed at the
mouth with ungovernable fury. Seeing her in this mood I was terrified
and my sense and reason fled by reason of my affright; but presently in
the madness of her passion she took up a tasse of water which stood
beside her and dipping her fingers in the contents muttered some words
which I could not understand; then sprinkling some drops over me, cried,
“Accursed that thou art! for this thine insolence and betrayal do thou
be straightway turned into a dog.” At once I became transmewed and she,
picking up a staff began to ribroast me right mercilessly and well-nigh
killed me. I ran about from room to room but she pursued me with the
stick, and tunded and belaboured me with might and main, till she was
clean exhausted. She then threw the street-door half open and, as I made
for it to save my life, attempted violently to close it, so as to
squeeze my soul out of my body; but I saw her design and baffled it,
leaving behind me, however, the tip of my tail; and piteously yelping
hereat I escaped further basting and thought myself lucky to get away
from her without broken bones. When I stood in the street still whining
and ailing, the dogs of the quarter seeing a stranger, at once came
rushing at me barking and biting;[13] and I with tail between my legs
tore along the market-place and ran into the shop of one who sold
sheeps’ and goats’ heads and trotters; and there crouching low hid me in
a dark corner.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


           The end of the Sixth Hundred and Thirteenth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Sidi Nu’uman
continued his story as follows:—The shopkeeper, despite his scruples of
conscience which caused him to hold all dogs impure,[14] had ruth upon
my sorry plight and drove away the yelling and grinning curs that would
have followed me into his shop; and I, escaping this danger of doom,
passed all the night hid in my corner. Early next morning the butcher
sallied forth to buy his usual wares, sheeps’ heads and hooves; and,
coming back with a large supply, he began to lay them out for sale
within the shop when I, seeing that a whole pack of dogs had gathered
about the place attracted by the smell of flesh, also joined them. The
owner noticed me among the ragged tykes and said to himself, “This dog
hath tasted naught since yesterday when it ran yelping hungrily and hid
within my shop.” He then threw me a fair sized piece of meat, but I
refused it and went up to him and wagged my tail to the end that he
might know my wish to stay with him and be protected by his stall: he,
however, thought that I had eaten my sufficiency, and, picking up a
staff frightened me and chased me away. So when I saw how the butcher
heeded not my case, I trotted off and wandering to and fro presently
came to a bakery and stood before the door wherethrough I espied the
baker at breakfast. Albeit I made no sign as though I wanted aught of
food, he threw me a bittock of bread; and I, in lieu of snapping it up
and greedily swallowing it, as is the fashion with all dogs, the gentle
and simple of them, approached him with it and gazed in his face and
wagged my tail by way of thanks. He was pleased by this my well-bred
behaviour and smiled at me; whereat I, albeit not one whit anhungered,
but merely to humour him, fell to eating the bread, little by little
slowly and leisurely, to testify my respect. He was yet more satisfied
with my manners and wished to keep me in his shop; and I, noting his
intent, sat by the door and looked wistfully at him, whereby he knew
that I desired naught of him save his protection. He then caressed me
and took charge of me and kept me to guard his store, but I would not
enter his house till after he had led the way; he also showed me where
to lie o’nights and fed me well at every meal and entreated me right
hospitably. I likewise would watch his every movement and always lay
down or rose up even as he bade me; and whenas he left his lodging or
walked anywhither he took me with him. If ever when I lay asleep he went
outside and found me not, he would stand still in the street and call to
me crying, “Bakht! Bakht!”[15] an auspicious name he had given to me;
and straightway on hearing him I would rush about and frisk before the
door; and when he set out to taste the air I paced beside him now
running on ahead, now following at his heels and ever and anon looking
up in his face. Thus some time passed during which I lived with him in
all comfort; till one day of the days it so chanced that a woman came to
the bakery to buy her bread and gave the owner several dirhams to its
price, whereof one was bad coin whilst the others were good. My master
tested all the silvers and, finding out the false bit, returned it
demanding a true dirham in exchange; but the woman wrangled and would
not take it back and swore that it was sound. Quoth the baker, “The
dirham is beyond all doubt a worthless: see yonder dog of mine, he is
but a beast, yet mark me he will tell thee whether it be true or false
silver.” So he called me by my name, “Bakht! Bakht!” whereat I sprang up
and ran towards him and he, throwing all the moneys upon the ground
before me, cried, “Here look these dirhams over and if there be a false
coin among them separate it from all the others.” I inspected the
silvers each by each and found the counterfeit: then, putting it on one
side and all the others on another, I placed my paw upon the false
silver and wagging what remained of my tail looked up at my master’s
face. The baker was delighted with my sagacity, and the woman also,
marvelling with excessive marvel at what had happened, took back her bad
dirham and paid another in exchange. But when the buyer fared forth, my
master called together his neighbours and gossips and related to them
this matter; so they threw down on the ground before me coins both good
and bad, in order that they might test me and see with their own eyes an
I were as clever as my master had said I was. Many times in succession I
picked out the false coin from amongst the true and placed my paw upon
them without once failing; so all went away astounded and related the
case to each and every one they saw and thus the bruit of me spread
abroad throughout the city. That livelong day I spent in testing dirhams
fair and foul.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


           The end of the Sixth Hundred and Fourteenth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Sidi Nu’uman
continued his story saying:—From that day forwards the baker honoured me
yet more highly, and all his friends and familiars laughed and said,
“Forsooth thou hast in this dog a mighty good Shroff.”[16] And some
envied my master his luck in having me within the shop, and tried
ofttimes to entice me away, but the baker kept me with him nor would he
ever allow me to leave his side; for the fame of me brought him a host
of customers from every quarter of the town, even the farthest. Not many
days after there came another woman to buy loaves at our shop and paid
the baker six dirhams whereof one was worthless. My master passed them
over to me for test and trial, and straightway I picked out the false
one, and placing paw thereon looked up in the woman’s face. Hereat she
waxed confused and confessed that it was miscoined and praised me for
that I had found it out; then, going forth the same woman made signs to
me that I should follow her unbeknown to the baker. Now I had not ceased
praying Allah that somehow He would restore me to my human form and
hoped that some good follower of the Almighty would take note of this my
sorry condition and vouchsafe me succour. So as the woman turned several
times and looked at me, I was persuaded in my mind that she had
knowledge of my case; I therefore kept my eyes upon her; which seeing
she came back ere she had stepped many paces, and beckoned me to
accompany her. I understood her signal and sneaking out of the presence
of the baker, who was busy heating his oven, followed in her wake.
Pleased beyond all measure to see me obey her, she went straightway home
with me, and entering she locked the door and led me into a room where
sat a fair maid in embroidered dress whom I judged by her favour to be
the good woman’s daughter. The damsel was well skilled in arts magical;
so the mother said to her, “O my daughter, here is a dog which telleth
bad dirhams from good dirhams. When first I heard the marvel I bethought
me that the beastie must be a man whom some base wretch and
cruel-hearted had turned into a dog. Methought that to-day I would see
this animal and test it when buying loaves at the booth of yonder baker
and behold, it hath acquitted itself after the fairest of fashions and
hath stood the test and trial. Look well, O my daughter, at this dog and
see whether it be indeed an animal or a man transformed into a beast by
gramarye.” The young lady, who had veiled her face,[17] hereupon
considered me attentively and presently cried, “O my mother, ’tis even
as thou sayest, and this I will prove to thee forthright.” Then rising
from her seat she took a basin of water and dipping hand therein
sprinkled some drops upon me saying, “An thou wert born a dog then do
thou abide a dog, but an thou wert born a man then, by virtue of this
water, resume thy human favour and figure.” Immediately I was
transformed from the shape of a dog to human semblance and I fell at the
maiden’s feet and kissed the ground before her giving her thanks; then,
bussing the hem of her garment, I cried, “O my lady, thou hast been
exceeding gracious unto one unbeknown to thee and a stranger. How can I
find words wherewith to thank and bless thee as thou deservest? Tell me
now, I pray thee, how and whereby I may shew my gratitude to thee? From
this day forth I am beholden to thy kindness and am become thy slave.”
Then I related all my case and told her of Aminah’s wickedness and what
of wrongs she had wrought me; and I made due acknowledgment to her
mother for that she had brought me to her home. Herewith quoth the
damsel to me, “O Sidi Nu’uman, I pray thee bestow not such exceeding
thanks upon me, for rather am I glad and grateful in conferring this
service upon one so well-deserving as thou art. I have been familiar
with thy wife Aminah for a long time before thou didst marry her; I also
knew that she had skill in witchcraft and she likewise knoweth of my
art, for we twain learnt together of one and the same mistress in the
science. We met ofttimes at the Hammam as friends but, inasmuch as she
was ill-mannered and ill-tempered, I declined further intimacy with her.
Think not that it sufficeth me to have made thee recover thy form as it
was aforetime; nay, verily needs must I take due vengeance of her for
the wrong she hath done thee. And this will I do at thy hand, so shalt
thou have mastery over her and find thyself lord of thine own house and
home.[18] Tarry here awhile until I come again.” So saying the damsel
passed into another room and I remained sitting and talking with her
mother and praised her excellence and kindness towards me. The ancient
dame also related strange and rare deeds of wonder done by her with pure
purpose and lawful means, till the girl returned with an ewer in hand
and said, “O Sidi Nu’uman, my magical art doth tell me that Aminah is at
this present away from home but she will return thither presently.
Meanwhile she dissembleth with the domestics and feigneth grief at
severance from thee; and she hath pretended that, as thou sattest at
meat with her, thou didst suddenly arise and fare forth on some weighty
matter, when presently a dog rushed through the open door into the room
and she drove it away with a staff.” Then giving me a gugglet full of
the water the maiden resumed, “O Sidi Nu’uman, go now to thine own house
and, keeping this gugglet by thee, await patiently Aminah’s coming. Anon
she will return and seeing thee will be sore perplexed and will hasten
to escape from thee; but before she go forth sprinkle some drops from
this gugglet upon her and recite these spells which I shall teach thee.
I need not tell thee more; thou wilt espy with thine own eyes what shall
happen.” Having said these words the young lady taught me magical
phrases which I fixed in my memory full firmly, and after this I took my
leave and farewelled them both. When I reached home it happened even as
the young magician had told me; and I had tarried but a short time in
the house when Aminah came in. I held the gugglet in hand and she seeing
me trembled with sore trembling and would fain have run away; but I
hastily sprinkled some drops upon her and repeated the magical words,
whereat she was turned into a mare—the animal thy Highness deigned
remark but yesterday. I marvelled greatly to sight this transformation
and seizing the mare’s mane led her to the stable and secured her with a
halter.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Fifteenth Night.

Then said she:——“I have heard, O auspicious King, that Sidi Nu’uman
continued his story saying:—When I had secured the mare, I loaded her
with reproaches for her wickedness and her base behaviour, and lashed
her with a whip till my forearm was tired.[19] Then I resolved within
myself that I would ride her at full speed round the square each day and
thus inflict upon her the justest penalty.” Herewith Sidi Nu’uman held
his peace, having made an end of telling his tale; but presently he
resumed, “O Commander of the Faithful, I trow thou art not displeased at
this my conduct, nay rather thou wouldst punish such a woman with a
punishment still greater than this.” He then kissed the hem of the
Caliph’s robe and kept silence; and Harun al-Rashid, perceiving that he
had said all his say, exclaimed, “In very sooth thy story is exceeding
strange and rare. The wrongdoing of thy wife hath no excuse and thy
requital is methinks in due measure and just degree, but I would ask
thee one thing—How long wilt thou chastise her thus, and how long will
she remain in bestial guise? ’Twere better now for thee to seek the
young lady by whose magical skill thy wife was transformed and beg that
she bring her back to human shape. And yet I fear me greatly lest
perchance whenas this sorceress, this Ghulah, shall find herself
restored to woman’s form and resumeth her conjurations and incantations
she may—who knoweth?—requite thee with far greater wrong than she hath
done thee heretofore, and from this thou wilt not be able to escape.”
After this the Prince of True Believers forbore to urge the matter,
albeit he was mild and merciful by nature,[20] and addressing the third
man whom the Wazir had brought before him said, “As I was walking in
such a quarter I was astonished to see thy mansion, so great and so
grand is it; and when I made enquiry of the townsfolk they answered each
and every, that the palace belongeth to one (thyself) whom they called
Khwájah Hasan. They added that thou wast erewhile exceeding poor and in
straitened case, but that Allah Almighty had widened thy means and had
now sent thee wealth in such store that thou hast builded the finest of
buildings; moreover, that albeit thou hast so princely a domicile and
such abundance of riches, thou art not unmindful of thy former estate,
and thou dost not waste thy substance in riotous living but thou addest
thereto by lawful trade. The neighbourhood all speaketh well of thee and
not a wight of them hath aught to say against thee; so I now would know
of thee the certainty of these things, and hear from thine own lips how
thou didst gain this abundant wealth. I have summoned thee before me
that I might be assured of all such matters by actual hearsay: so fear
not to tell me all thy tale; I desire naught of thee save knowledge of
this thy case. Enjoy thou to thy heart’s content the opulence that
Almighty Allah deigned bestow upon thee, and let thy soul have pleasure
therein.” Thus spake the Caliph and the gracious words reassured the
man. Then Khwajah Hasan threw himself before the Commander of the
Faithful and, kissing the carpet at the foot of the throne, exclaimed,
“O Prince of True Believers I will relate to thee a faithful relation of
my adventure, and Almighty Allah be my witness that I have not done
aught contrary to thy laws and just commandments, and that all this my
wealth is by the favour and goodness of Allah alone.” Harun al-Rashid
hereupon again bade him speak out boldly and forthwith he began to
recount in the following words the




                HISTORY OF KHWAJAH HASAN AL-HABBAL.[21]


O lord of beneficence! obedient to thy royal behest, I will now inform
thy Highness of the means and the measures whereby Destiny dowered me
with such wealth; but first I would thou hear somewhat of two amongst my
friends who abode in the House of Peace, Baghdad. They twain are yet
alive and both well know the history which thy slave shall now relate.
One of them, men call Sa’d, the other Sa’dí.[22] Now Sa’di opined that
without riches no one in this world could be happy and independent;
moreover that without hard toil and trouble and wariness and wisdom
withal it were impossible to become wealthy. But Sa’d differing
therefrom would affirm that affluence cometh not to any save by decree
of Destiny and fiat of Fate and Fortune. Sa’d was a poor man while Sa’di
had great store of good; yet there sprang up a firm friendship between
them and fond affection each for other; nor were they ever wont to
differ upon any matter save only upon this; to wit, that Sa’di relied
solely upon deliberation and forethought and Sa’d upon doom and man’s
lot. It chanced one day that, as they sat talking together on this
matter, quoth Sa’di, “A poor man is he who either is born a pauper and
passeth all his days in want and penury, or he who having been born to
wealth and comfort, doth in the time of manhood squander all he hath and
falleth into grievous need; then lacketh he the power to regain his
riches and to live at ease by wit and industry.” Sa’d made answer,
saying, “Nor wit nor industry availeth aught to any one, but Fate alone
enableth him to acquire and to preserve riches. Misery and want are but
accidents and deliberation is naught. Full many a poor man hath waxed
affluent by favour of Fate and richards manifold have, despite their
skill and store, been reduced to misery and beggary.” Quoth Sa’di, “Thou
speakest foolishly. Howbeit put we the matter to fair test and find out
for ourselves some handicraftsman scanty of means and living upon his
daily wage; him let us provide with money, then will he without a doubt
increase his stock and abide in ease and comfort, and so shalt thou be
persuaded that my words be true.” Now as they twain were walking on,
they passed through the lane wherein stood my lodging and saw me
a-twisting ropes, which craft my father and grandfather and many
generations before me had followed. By the condition of my home and
dress they judged that I was a needy man; whereupon Sa’d pointing me out
to Sa’di said, “An thou wouldst make trial of this our matter of
dispute, see yonder wight. He hath dwelt here for many years and by this
trade of rope-making doth gain a bare subsistence for himself and his. I
know his case right well of old; he is a worthy subject for the trial;
so do thou give him some gold pieces and test the matter.” “Right
willingly,” replied Sa’di, “but first let us take full cognizance of
him.” So the two friends came up to me, whereat I left my work and
saluted them. They returned my salam after which quoth Sa’di, “Prithee
what be thy name?” Quoth I, “My name is Hasan, but by reason of my trade
of rope-making all men call me Hasan al-Habbál.”——And as the morn began
to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Sixteenth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Hasan al-Habbal
(the Ropemaker) continued his story, saying:—Thereupon Sa’di asked me,
“How farest thou by this industry? Methinks thou art blithe and quite
content therewith. Thou hast worked long and well and doubtless thou
hast laid by large store of hemp and other stock. Thy forbears carried
on this craft for many years and must have left thee much of capital and
property which thou hast turned to good account and on this wise thou
hast largely increased thy wealth.” Quoth I, “O my lord, no money have I
in pouch whereby I may live happy or even buy me enough to eat. This is
my case that every day, from dawn till eve, I spend in making ropes, nor
have I one single moment wherein to take rest; and still I am sore
straitened to provide even dry bread for myself and family. A wife have
I and five small children, who are yet too young to help me ply this
business: and ’tis no easy matter to supply their daily wants; how then
canst thou suppose that I am enabled to put by large store of hemp and
stock? What ropes I twist each day I sell straightway, and of the money
earned thereby I spend part upon our needs and with the rest I buy hemp
wherewith I twist ropes on the next day. However, praise be to Almighty
Allah that, despite this my state of penury, He provideth us with bread
sufficing our necessity.” When I had made known all my condition Sa’di
replied, “O Hasan, now I am certified of thy case and indeed ’tis other
than I had supposed; and, given that I give thee a purse of two hundred
Ashrafis, assuredly thou shalt therewith greatly add to thy gains and be
enabled to live in ease and affluence: what sayest thou thereto?” Said
I, “An thou favour me with such bounty I should hope to grow richer than
all and every of my fellow-craftsmen, albeit Baghdad-town is prosperous
as it is populous.” Then Sa’di, deeming me true and trustworthy, pulled
out of his pocket a purse of two hundred gold pieces and handing them to
me said, “Take these coins and trade therewith. May Allah advance thee,
but see to it that thou use this money with all heed, and waste it not
in folly and ungraciousness. I and my friend Sa’d will rejoice with all
joy to hear of thy well-being; and, if hereafter we come again and find
thee in flourishing condition, ’twill be matter of much satisfaction to
us both.” Accordingly, O Commander of the Faithful, I took the purse of
gold with much gladness and a grateful heart and, placing it in my
pocket, thanked Sa’di kissing his garment-hem, whereupon the two friends
fared forth. And I, O Prince of True Believers, seeing the twain depart,
went on working, but was sore puzzled and perplexed as to where I might
bestow the purse; for my house contained neither cupboard nor locker.
Howbeit I took it home and kept the matter hidden from my wife and
children and when alone and unobserved I drew out ten gold coins by way
of spending-money; then, binding the purse-mouth with a bit of string I
tied it tightly in the folds of my turband and wound the cloth around my
head. Presently, I went off to the market-street and bought me a stock
of hemp and coming homewards I laid in some meat for supper, it being
now a long while since we had tasted flesh. But as I trudged along the
road, meat in hand, a kite[23] came suddenly swooping down, and would
have snatched the morsel from out my hand had I not driven off the bird
with the other hand. Then it had fain pounced upon the flesh on the left
side but again I scared it away and thus, whilst exerting myself with
frantic efforts to ward off the bird, by ill luck my turband fell to the
ground. At once that accursed kite swooped down and flew off with it in
its talons; and I ran pursuing it and shouted aloud. Hearing my cries
the Bazar-folk, men and women and a rout of children, did what they
could to scare it away and make the beastly bird drop its prey, but they
shouted and cast stones in vain: the kite would not let drop the turband
and presently flew clean out of sight. I was sore distressed and
heavy-hearted to lose the Ashrafis as I hied me home bearing the hemp
and what of food I had bought, but chiefly was I vexed and grieved in
mind, and ready to die of shame at the thought of what Sa’di would say;
especially when I reflected how he would misdoubt my words, nor deem the
tale true when I should tell him that a kite had carried off my turband
with the gold pieces, but rather would he think that I had practised
some deceit and had devised some amusing fable by way of excuse. Howbeit
I hugely enjoyed what had remained of the ten Ashrafis and with my wife
and children fared sumptuously for some days. Presently, when all the
gold was spent and naught remained thereof, I became as poor and needy
as before; withal I was content and thankful to Almighty Allah nor
blamed my lot. He had sent in his mercy this purse of gold to me
unawares and now He had taken it away, wherefore I was grateful and
satisfied, for what He doeth is ever well done.——And as the morn began
to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Seventeenth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Master Hasan the
Ropemaker continued his story in these words:—My wife, who knew not of
the matter of the Ashrafis, presently perceived that I was ill at ease
and I was compelled for a quiet life to let her know my secret; moreover
the neighbours came round to ask me of my case: but I was right loath to
tell them all that had betided; they could not bring back what was gone
and they would assuredly rejoice at my calamity. However, when they
pressed me close I told them every whit; and some thought that I had
spoken falsely and derided me and others that I was daft and
hare-brained and my words were the wild pratings of an idiot or the
drivel of dreams. The youngsters made abundant fun of me and laughed to
think that I, who never in my born days had sighted a golden coin,
should tell how I had gotten so many Ashrafis, and how a kite had flown
away with them. My wife, however, gave full credence to my tale and wept
and beat her breast for sorrow. Thus six months passed over us, when it
chanced one day that the two friends, to wit, Sa’di and Sa’d, came to my
quarter of the town, when quoth Sa’d to Sa’di, “Lo, yonder is the street
where dwelleth Hasan al-Habbal. Come let us go and see how he hath added
to his stock and how far he hath prospered by means of the two hundred
Ashrafis thou gavest him.” Sa’di rejoined, “’Tis well said; indeed, we
have not seen him for many days: I would fain visit him and I should
rejoice to hear that he hath prospered.” So the twain walked along
towards my house, Sa’d saying to Sa’di, “Forsooth I perceive that he
appeareth the same in semblance, poor and ill-conditioned as before; he
weareth old and tattered garments, save that his turband seemeth
somewhat newer and cleaner. Look well and judge thyself and ’tis even as
I said.” Thereupon Sa’di came up closer to me and he also understood
that my condition was unaltered; and presently the two friends addressed
me. After the usual salutation Sa’d asked, “O Hasan, how fareth it with
thee, and how goeth it with thy business and have the two hundred
Ashrafis stood thee in good stead and amended thy trade?” To this
answered I, “O my lords, how can I tell you of the sad mishap that hath
befallen me? I dare not speak for very shame, yet cannot I keep the
adventure concealed. Verily a marvellous matter and a wondrous hath
happened to me, the tale whereof will fill you with wonderment and
suspicion, for I wot full well that ye will not believe it, and that I
shall be to you as one that dealeth in lies; withal needs must I tell
you the whole however unwillingly.” Hereat I recounted to them every
whit that had betided me first and last, especially that which had
befallen me from the kite; but Sa’di misdoubted me and mistrusted me and
cried, “O Hasan, thou speakest but in jest and dost dissemble with us.
’Tis hard to believe the tale thou tellest. Kites are not wont to fly
off with turbands, but only with such things as they can eat. Thou
wouldst but outwit us and thou art of those who, when some good fortune
cometh to them unforeseen, do straightways abandon their work or their
business and, wasting all in pleasuring, become once more poor and
thereafter must nilly-willy eke out a living as best they may. This
methinks be especially the case with thee; thou hast squandered our gift
with all speed and now art needy as before.” “O good my lord, not so,”
cried I; “this blame and these hard words ill befit my deserts, for I am
wholly innocent of all thou imputest to me. The strange mishap whereof I
told thee is the truest of truths; and to prove that it is no lie all
the townsfolk have knowledge thereof and in good sooth I do not play
thee false. ’Tis certain that kites do not fly away with turbands; but
such mishaps, wondrous and marvellous, may betide mankind especially the
miserable of lot.” Sa’d also espoused my cause and said, “O Sa’di,
ofttimes have we seen and heard how kites carry off many things besides
comestibles; and his tale may not be wholly contrary to reason.” Then
Sa’di pulled out from his pocket a purseful of gold pieces and counted
out and gave me another two hundred, saying, “O Hasan, take these
Ashrafis, but see that thou keep them with all heed and diligence and
beware, and again I say beware, lest thou lose them like the others.
Expend them in such fashion that thou mayst reap full benefit therefrom
and prosper even as thou seest thy neighbours prosper.” I took the money
from him and poured out thanks and blessings upon his head, and when
they went their ways I returned to my rope-walk and thence in due time
straight home. My wife and children were abroad, so again I took ten
gold coins of the two hundred and securely tied up the remainder in a
piece of cloth; then I looked around to find a spot wherein to hide my
hoard so that my wife and youngsters might not come to know of it and
lay hands thereon. Presently, I espied a large earthen jar full of bran
standing in a corner of the room, so herein I hid the rag with the gold
coins and I misdeemed that it was safely concealed from wife and
wees.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Eighteenth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Hasan al-Habbal
thus continued his story:—When I had put the Ashrafis a-bottom the jar
of bran, my wife came in and I said naught to her of the two friends or
of aught had happened, but I set out for the Bazar to buy hemp. Now as
soon as I had left the house there came, by evil fate impelled, a man
who sold Tafl, or fuller’s earth,[24] wherewith the poorer sort of women
are wont to wash their hair. My wife would fain have bought some but not
a single Kauri[25] or almond had she. Then she took thought and said to
herself, “This jar of bran is here to no purpose, I will exchange it for
the clay,” and he also, the Tafl-seller, agreed to this proposal and
went off taking the jar of bran as the price of the washing-earth. Anon
I came back with a load of hemp upon my head and other five on the heads
of as many porters who accompanied me; and I helped them off with their
burthens and, after storing the stuff in a room, I paid and dismissed
them. Then I stretched me out upon the floor to take rest awhile and
looking towards the corner where once stood the jar of bran I found it
gone. Words fail me, O Prince of True Believers, to describe the tumult
of feelings which filled my heart at the sight. I sprang up with all
speed and calling to my wife enquired of her whither the jar had been
carried; and she replied that she had exchanged its contents for a
trifle of washing clay. Then cried I aloud, “O wretched, O miserable,
what hast thou done? thou hast ruined me and thy children; thou hast
given away great wealth to that clay-selling fellow!” Then I told her
all that had betided me, of the coming of the two friends and how I had
hidden the hundred and ninety Ashrafis within the bran-jar; and she, on
hearing this wept sore and beat her breast and tore her hair crying,
“Where now shall I find that clay-seller? The wight is a stranger, never
before did I see him about this quarter or this street.” Then turning to
me she continued, “Herein thou hast dealt right foolishly, for that thou
didst not tell me of the matter, nor didst place any trust in me;
otherwise this mishap would never have happened to us; no, never.” And
she lamented with loud lamentation and bitter whereat I said, “Make not
such hubbub nor display such trouble, lest our neighbours overhear thee,
and learning of our mishap peradventure laugh at us and call us fools.
It behoveth us to rest content with the will of Almighty Allah.” However
the ten Ashrafis which I had taken from the two hundred sufficed me to
carry on my trade and to live with more of ease for some short while;
but I ever grieved and I marvelled much anent what could be said to
Sa’di when he should come again; for inasmuch as he believed me not the
first time I was assured in my mind that now he would denounce me aloud
as a cheat and a liar. One day of the days the twain, to wit, Sa’d and
Sa’di, came strolling towards my house conversing and, as usual, arguing
about me and my case; and I seeing them from afar left off working that
I might hide myself, as I could not for very shame come forth and accost
them. Seeing this and not guessing the reason they entered my dwelling
and, saluting me with the salam, asked me how I had fared. I durst not
raise my eyes so abashed and mortified was I, and with bended brow
returned the greeting; when they, noting my sorry plight, marvelled
saying, “Is all well with thee? Why art thou in this state? Hast thou
not made good use of the gold or hast thou wasted thy wealth in lewd
living?” Quoth I, “O my lords, the story of the Ashrafis is none other
than this. When ye departed from me I went home with the purse of money
and, finding no one was in the house for all had gone out somewhere, I
took out therefrom ten gold pieces. Then I put the rest together with
the purse within a large earthen jar filled full of bran which had long
stood in one corner of the room, so might the matter be kept privy from
my wife and children. But whilst I was in the market buying me some
hemp, my wife returned home; and at that moment there came in to her a
man which sold fuller’s earth for washing hair. She had need thereof
withal naught to pay with; so she went out to him and said, “I am clean
without coin, but I have a quantity of bran; say me, wilt thou have that
in change for thy clay?” The man agreed and accordingly my wife took the
earth of him, and gave him in exchange the jarful of bran which he
carried away with him and ganged his gait. An ye ask:—“Wherefore didst
thou not confide the matter to thy spouse and tell her that thou hadst
put the money in the jar?” I on my side answer, that ye gave me strict
injunctions to keep the money this time with the utmost heed and
caution. Methought that stead was the safest wherein to store the gold
and I was loath to trust my wife lest haply she take some coin therefrom
and expend it upon her household. O my lords, I am certified of your
goodness and graciousness, but poverty and penury are writ in my Book of
Fate; how then can I aspire to possessions and prosperity? Withal, never
while I breathe the breath of life, shall I be forgetful of this your
generous favour.” Quoth Sa’di, “Meseemeth I have disbursed four hundred
Ashrafis to no purpose in giving them to thee; yet the intent wherewith
they were given was that thou shouldst benefit thereby, not that I claim
thy praise and thanksgiving.” So they twain compassionated and condoled
with me in my misfortune; and presently Sa’d, an upright man and one who
had acquaintance with me since many a year, produced a leaden coin[26]
which he had picked up from the path and was still carrying in his
pocket; and, after shewing it to Sa’di, said to me, “Seest thou this bit
of lead? Take it and by favour of Fate thou shalt find out what
blessings it will bring to thee.” Sa’di on espying it laughed aloud and
made jest of the matter and flouting said, “What advantage will there be
to Hasan from this mite of lead and in what way shall he use it?” Sa’d
handing me the leaden coin retorted in reply, “Give no heed to whatso
Sa’di may say, but keep this by thee. Let him laugh an he please. One
day haply shall come to pass, Inshallah—an it be the will of Almighty
Allah—that thou shalt by means thereof become a wealthy man and a
magnifico.” I took the bit of lead and put it in my pocket, and the
twain bade me farewell and went their way.——And as the morn began to
dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Nineteenth Night.

Then said she——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Hasan al-Habbal
thus continued his story:—As soon as Sa’d and Sa’di had departed, I went
on rope-twisting until night came and when doffing my dress to go to bed
the bit of lead which Sa’d had given me fell out of my pocket; so I
picked it up and set it carelessly in a small niche in the wall.[27] Now
that very night so it happened that a fisherman, one of my neighbours,
stood in need of a small coin[28] wherewith to buy some twine for
mending his drag-net, as he was wont to do during the dark hours, in
order that he might catch the fish ere dawn of day and selling his
quarry, buy victuals for himself and his household. So, as he was
accustomed to rise while yet somewhat of night remained, he bade his
wife go round about to all the neighbours and borrow a copper that he
might buy the twine required; and the woman went everywhere, from house
to house, but nowhere could she get loan of a farthing, and at last she
came home weary and disappointed. Quoth the fisherman to her, “Hast thou
been to Hasan al-Habbal?” and quoth she, “Nay, I have not tried at his
place. It is the furthest of all the neighbours’ houses and fanciest
thou, even had I gone there, I could thence have brought back aught?”
“Off with thee, O laziest of hussies and good-for-nothing of baggages,”
cried the fisherman, “away with thee this instant; perchance he hath a
copper to lend us.” Accordingly the woman, grumbling and muttering,
fared forth and coming to my dwelling knocked at the door, saying, “O
Hasan al-Habbal, my husband is in sore need of a pice wherewith to buy
some twine for mending his nets.” Minding me of the coin which Sa’d had
given me and where it had been put away, I shouted out to her, “Have
patience, my spouse will go forth to thee and give thee what thou
needest.” My wife, hearing all this hubbub, woke from sleep, and I told
her where to find the bit of money, whereupon she fetched it and gave it
to the woman, who joyed with exceeding joy, and said, “Thou and thy
husband have shown great kindness to my man, wherefore I promise thee
that whatsoever fish he may chance to catch at the first throw of the
net shall be thine; and I am assured that my goodman, when he shall hear
of this my promise, will consent thereto.” Accordingly when the woman
took the money to her husband and told him of what pledge she had given,
he was right willing, and said to her, “Thou hast done well and wisely
in that thou madest this covenant.” Then having bought some twine and
mended all the nets he rose before dawn and hastened riverwards to catch
fish according to his custom. But when he cast the net into the stream
for the first throw and haled it in, he found that it contained but one
fish and that a full span[29] or so in thickness, which he placed apart
as my portion. Then he threw the net again and again and at each cast he
caught many fishes both small and great, but none reached in size that
he first had netted. As soon as he returned home the fisherman came at
once to me and brought the fish he had netted in my name, and said, “O
our neighbour, my wife promised over night that thou shouldst have
whatever fishes should come to ground at the first net-throw; and this
fish is the only one I caught. Here it is, prithee take it as a
thanks-offering for the kindness of last night, and as fulfilment of the
promise. If Allah Almighty had vouchsafed to me of fish a seine-full,
all had been thine but ’tis thy fate that only this one was landed at
the first cast.” Said I, “The mite I gave thee yesternight was not of
such value that I should look for somewhat in return;” and refused to
accept it. But after much “say and said” he would not take back the
fish, and he insisted that it was mine: wherefore I agreed to keep it
and gave it to my wife, saying, “O woman, this fish is a return for the
mite I gave last night to the fisherman our neighbour. Sa’d hath
declared that by means of that coin I shall attain to much riches and
abundant opulence.” Then I recounted to my wife how my two friends had
visited me and what they said and did, and all concerning the leaden
coin which Sa’d had given to me. She wondered at seeing but a single
fish and said, “How shall I cook it? Meseemeth ’twere best to cut it up
and broil it for the children, especially as we have naught of spices
and condiments wherewith to dress it otherwise.” Then, as she sliced and
cleansed the fish she found within its belly a large diamond which she
supposed to be a bit of glass or crystal; for she oft had heard tell of
diamonds[30] but never with her own eyes had she beheld one. So she gave
it to the youngest of the children for a plaything and when the others
saw it, by reason of its brightness and brilliancy all desired to have
it and each kept it in turn awhile; moreover when night came and the
lamp was lighted they crowded round the stone and gazed upon its beauty,
and screamed and shouted with delight.[31] When my wife had spread the
table we sat down to supper and the eldest boy set the diamond upon the
tray, and as soon as we all had finished eating, the children fought and
scrambled as before for it. At first I paid no heed to their noise and
hubbub, but when it waxed exceeding loud and irksome I asked my eldest
lad the cause why they quarrelled and made such turmoil. Quoth he, “The
trouble and dispute are about a piece of glass which giveth forth a
light as bright as the lamp.” Whereat I told him to produce it and
marvelled greatly to see its sparkling water, and enquired of my wife
whence she had gotten the piece of crystal. Quoth she, “This I found
within the belly of the fish as I was gutting it.” Still I did not
suppose it to be aught but glass. Presently I bade my wife hide the lamp
behind the hearth.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her
peace till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Twentieth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Hasan al-Habbal
thus continued his story:—And when my wife had hidden the lamp from
view, such was the brightness of the diamond that we could see right
well without other light; wherefore I placed it upon the hearth[32] that
we might work by it, and said within myself, “The coin that Sa’d left
with me hath produced this benefit that we no longer stand in need of a
lamp: at least it saveth us oil.” When the youngsters saw me put out the
lamp and use the glass in its stead they jumped and danced for joy, and
screamed and shouted with glee so that all the neighbours round about
could hear them when I chid them and sent them to bed; we also went to
rest and right soon fell asleep. Next day I woke betimes and went on
with my work and thought not of the piece of glass. Now there dwelt hard
by us a wealthy Jew, a jeweller who bought and sold all kinds of
precious stones; and, as he and his wife essayed to sleep that night, by
reason of the noise and clamour of the children they were disturbed for
many hours and slumber visited not their eyes. And when morn appeared,
the jeweller’s wife came to our house to make complaint both for herself
and her husband anent the hubbub and shouting. Ere she could say a word
of blame my wife, guessing the intent wherewith she came, addressed her
saying, “O Rahíl,[33] I fear me that my children pestered thee last
night with their laughing and crying. I crave thine indulgence in this
matter; well thou must wot how children now cry now laugh at trifles.
Come in and see the cause of all their excitement wherefor thou wouldst
justly call me to account.” She did accordingly and saw the bit of glass
about which the youngsters had made such din and uproar; and when she,
who had long experience of all manner precious stones, beheld the
diamond she was filled with wonderment. My wife then told her how she
had found it in the fish’s belly, whereupon quoth the Jewess, “This bit
of glass is more excellent than all other sorts of glass. I too have
such an one as this which I am wont to wear sometimes; and wouldst thou
sell it I will buy this thing of thee.” Hearing her words the children
began to cry and said, “O mother dear, an thou wilt not sell it we
promise henceforth to make no noise.” Understanding that they would by
no means part with it, the women held their peace and presently the
Jewess fared forth, but ere she took her leave she whispered my wife,
“See that thou tell the matter to none; and, if thou have a mind to sell
it at once send me word.” Now the Jew was sitting in his shop when his
wife went to him and told him of the bit of glass. Quoth he, “Go
straightway back and offer a price for it, saying that ’tis for me.
Begin with some small bidding, then raise the sum until thou get it.”
The Jewess thereupon returned to my house and offered twenty Ashrafis,
which my wife deemed a large sum to give for such a trifle; however, she
would not close the bargain. At that moment I happened to leave my work
and, coming home to our noon-meal, saw the two women talking on the
threshold; and my wife stopped me, saying, “This neighbour biddeth
twenty Ashrafis to price for the piece of glass, but I have as yet given
her no reply. What sayest thou?” Then I bethought me of what Sa’d had
told me; to wit, that much wealth would come to me by virtue of his
leaden coin. The Jewess seeing how I hesitated bethought her that I
would not consent to the price; so quoth she, “O neighbour, an thou wilt
not agree to part with the bit of glass for twenty pieces of gold, I
will e’en give thee fifty.” Hereat I reflected that whereas the Jewess
raised her offer so readily from twenty golden pieces to fifty, this
glass must surely be of great value; so I kept silence and answered her
not a word. Then noting that I still held my peace she cried, “Take then
one hundred: this be its full value; nay I know not in very deed if my
husband will consent to so high a price.” Said I in reply, “O my good
woman, why talk so foolishly? I will not sell it for aught less than an
hundred thousand[34] gold coins; and thou mayest take it at that price
but only because thou art neighbour to us.” The Jewess raised her offer
coin by coin to fifty thousand Ashrafis and said, “I pray thee wait till
morning and sell it not till then, so that my man may come round and see
it.” “Right willingly,” quoth I; “by all manner of means let thy husband
drop in and inspect it.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-first Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Hasan al-Habbal
thus continued his story.—Next day the Jew came to my house and I drew
forth and showed to him the diamond which shone and glittered in my palm
with light as bright as any lamp’s. Presently, assured that all which
his wife had told him of its water and lustre was strictly true, he took
it in hand and, examining it and turning it about, marvelled with mighty
marvel at its beauty saying, “My wife made offer of fifty thousand gold
pieces: see now I will give thee yet another twenty thousand.” Said I,
“Thy wife hath surely named to thee what sum I fixed; to wit, one
hundred thousand Ashrafis and naught less: I shall not abate one jot or
tittle of this price.” The Jew did all he could to buy it for a lesser
sum; but I answered only, “It mattereth naught; an thou desire not to
come to my terms I must needs sell it to some other jeweller.” At length
he consented and weighed me out two thousand gold pieces by way of
earnest-money, saying, “To-morrow I will bring the amount of my offer
and carry off my diamond.” To this I gave assent and so, on the day
following, he came to me and weighed out the full sum of one hundred
thousand Ashrafis, which he had raised amongst his friends and partners
in business. Then I gave him the diamond which had brought me such
exceeding wealth, and offered thanks to him and praises unto Almighty
Allah for this great good Fortune gotten unawares, and much I hoped soon
to see my two friends, Sa’d and Sa’di, and to thank them likewise. So
first I set my house in order and gave spending-money to my wife for
home-necessaries and for clothing herself and children; moreover, I also
bought me a fine mansion and furnished it with the best. Then said I to
my wife, who thought of nothing save rich clothes and high diet and a
life of ease and enjoyment, “It behoveth us not to give up this our
craft: we must needs put by some coin and carry on the business.”
Accordingly, I went to all the rope-makers of the city and buying with
much money several manufactories put them to work, and over each
establishment I set an overseer, an intelligent man and a trustworthy,
so that there is not now throughout Baghdad-city a single ward or
quarter that hath not walks and workshops of mine for rope-making. Nay,
further, I have in each town and every district of Al-Irak warehouses,
all under charge of honest supervisors; and thus it is that I have
amassed such a muchel of wealth. Lastly, for my own especial place of
business I bought another house, a ruined place with a sufficiency of
land adjoining; and, pulling down the old shell, I edified in lieu
thereof the new and spacious edifice which thy Highness hath deigned
yesterday to look upon. Here all my workmen are lodged and here also are
kept my office-books and accounts; and besides my warehouse it
containeth apartments fitted with furniture in simple style
all-sufficient for myself and my family. After some time I quitted my
old home, wherein Sa’d and Sa’di had seen me working, and went and lived
in the new mansion and not long after this removal my two friends and
benefactors bethought them that they would come and visit me. They
marvelled much when, entering my old workshop, they found me not, and
they asked the neighbours, “Where dwelleth such and such a ropemaker? Is
he alive or dead?” Quoth the folk “He now is a rich merchant; and men no
longer call him simply ‘Hasan,’ but entitle him ‘Master Hasan the
Ropemaker.’ He hath built him a splendid building and he dwelleth in
such and such a quarter.” Whereupon the two familiars set forth in
search of me; and they rejoiced at the good report; albeit Sa’di would
by no means be convinced that all my wealth had sprung (as Sa’d
contended) from its root, that small leaden coin. Presently, conning the
matter over in his mind he said to his comrade, “It delighteth me much
to hear of all this good fortune which hath betided Hasan, despite that
he twice deceived me and took from me four hundred gold pieces, whereby
he hath gotten to himself these riches; for it is absurd to think that
it hath come from the leaden coin thou gavest him. Withal I do forgive
him and owe him no grudge.” Replied the other, “Thou art mistaken. I
know Hasan of old to be a good man and true: he would not delude thee
and what he told us is simple sooth. I am persuaded in my mind that he
hath won all his wealth and opulence by the leaden coin: however we
shall hear anon what he may have to say.” Conversing thus they came into
the street wherein I now dwell and, seeing a large and magnificent
mansion and a new-made, they guessed it was mine. So they knocked and,
on the porter opening, Sa’di marvelled to see such grandeur and so many
folk sitting within, and feared lest haply they had unwittingly entered
the house of some Emir. Then plucking courage he enquired of the porter,
“Is this the dwelling-place of Khwajah Hasan al-Habbal?”——And as the
morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-second Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Hasan al-Habbal
continued thus his story:—The porter made reply, “This is verily the
house of Khwajah Hasan al-Habbal; he is within and he sitteth in his
office. I pray thee enter and one of the slaves will make known thy
coming to him.” Hereupon the two friends walked in, and as soon as I saw
them I recognised them, and rising up to them I ran and kissed the hems
of their garments. They would fain have fallen on my neck and embraced
me, but with meekness of mind I would not suffer them so to do; and
presently I led them into a large and spacious saloon, and bade them sit
upon the highmost seats of honour. They would have constrained me to
take the best place, but I exclaimed, “O my lords, I am on no wise
better than the poor ropemaker Hasan, who not unmindful of your worth
and goodness ever prayeth for your welfare, and who deserveth not to sit
in higher stead than you.” Then they took seat and I opposite them, when
quoth Sa’di, “My heart rejoiceth with exceeding joy to see thee in this
condition, for that Allah hath given thee all even as thou wishest. I
doubt not thou has gotten all this abundance and opulence by means of
the four hundred gold pieces which I gave to thee; but say me truly
wherefore didst thou twice deceive me and bespeak me falsely?” Sa’d
listened to these words with silent indignation, and ere I could make
reply he broke out saying, “O Sa’di, how often have I assured thee that
all which Hasan said aforetime anent the losing of the Ashrafis is very
sooth and no leasing?” Then they began to dispute each with other; when
I, recovering from my surprise, exclaimed, “O my lords, of what avail is
this contention? Be not at variance, I beseech you, on my account. All
that had befallen me I made known to you; and, whether ye believe my
words or ye believe them not, it mattereth but little. Now hearken to
the whole truth of my tale.” Then I made known to them the story of the
piece of lead which I had given to the fisherman and of the diamond
found in the fish’s belly; brief, I told them every whit even as I have
now related to thy Highness. On hearing all my adventure Sa’di said, “O
Khwajah Hasan, it seemeth to me passing strange that so great a diamond
should be found in the belly of a fish; and I deem it a thing impossible
that a kite should fly off with thy turband, or that thy wife should
give away the jar of bran in exchange for fuller’s earth. Thou sayest
the tale is true, still can I not give credit to thy words, for I know
full well that the four hundred gold pieces have gotten thee all this
wealth.” But when they twain rose up to take their leave, I also arose
and said, “O my lords, ye have shown favour to me in that ye have thus
deigned visit me in my poor home. I beseech you now to taste of my food
and to tarry here this night under your servant’s roof; as to-morrow I
would fain take you by the way of the river to a country-house which I
have lately bought.” Hereto they consented with some objections; and I,
after giving orders for the evening meal, showed them about the house
and displayed the furniture and entertained them with pleasing words and
pleasant converse, till a slave came and announced that supper was
served. So I led them to the saloon wherein were ranged the trays loaded
with many kinds of meats; on all sides stood camphorated wax
candles,[35] and before the table were gathered musicians singing and
playing on various instruments of mirth and merriment, whilst in the
upper part of the saloon men and women were dancing and making much
diversion. When we had supped we went to bed, and rising early we prayed
the dawn-prayer, and presently embarked on a large and well-appointed
boat, and the rowers rowing with a flowing tide soon landed us at my
country seat. Then we strolled in a body about the grounds and entered
the house, when I showed them our new buildings and displayed to them
all that appertained thereto; and hereat they marvelled with great
marvel. Thence we repaired to the garden and saw, planted in rows along
the walks, fruit trees of all kinds with ripe fruit bowed down, and
watered with water from the river by means of brick-work channels. All
round were flowering shrubs whose perfume gladdened the Zephyr; here and
there fountains and jets of water shot high in air; and sweet-voiced
birds made melody amid the leafy branches hymning the One, the Eternal;
in short, the sights and scents on every side filled the soul with joy
and gladness. My two friends walked about in joyance and delight, and
thanked me again and again for bringing them to so lovely a site and
said, “Almighty Allah prosper thee in house and garth.” At last I led
them to the foot of a tall tree near to one of the garden walls and
shewed them a little summer-house wherein I was wont to take rest and
refreshment; and the room was furnished with cushions and divans and
pillows purfled with virgin gold.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-third Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Hasan al-Habbal
thus pursued his tale:—Now so it happened that, as we sat at rest within
that summer-house, two sons of mine, whom I had sent together with their
governor to my country-place for change of water and air,[36] were
roaming about the garden seeking birds’ nests. Presently they came
across a big one upon the topmost boughs and tried to swarm up the trunk
and carry it off, but by reason of their lack of strength and little
practice they durst not venture so high; whereupon they bade a slave-boy
who ever attended on them, climb the tree. He did their bidding, but
when looking into the nest he was amazed with exceeding amazement to see
it mainly made of an old turband. So he brought down the stuff and
handed it to the lads. My eldest son took it from his hands and carried
it to the arbour for me to see, and set it at my feet saying in high
glee, “O my father, look here; this nest is made of cloth.” Sa’d and
Sa’di wondered with all wonderment at the sight and the marvel grew the
greater when I, after considering it closely, recognised it for the very
turband whereon the kite had swooped and which had been borne off by the
bird. Then quoth I to my two friends, “Examine well this turband and
certify yourselves that it is the self-same one worn upon my head when
first ye honoured me with your presence.” Quoth Sa’d, “I know it not,”
and quoth Sa’di, “An thou find within it the hundred and ninety gold
pieces, then shalt thou be assured that is thy turband in very sooth.” I
said, “O my lord, this is, well I wot, that very turband.” And as I held
it in my hand, I found it heavy of weight, and opening out the folds
felt somewhat tied up in one of the corners of the cloth;[37] so I
unrolled the swathes when lo and behold! I came upon the purse of gold
pieces. Hereat, shewing it to Sa’di, I cried, “Canst thou not recognise
this purse?” and he replied, “’Tis in truth the very purse of Ashrafis
which I gave thee when first we met.” Then I opened the mouth and,
pouring out the gold in one heap upon the carpet, bade him count his
money; and he turned it over coin by coin and made the sum thereof one
hundred and ninety Ashrafis. Hereat waxing sore ashamed and confounded,
he exclaimed, “Now do I believe thy words: nevertheless must thou admit
that thou hast earned one half of this thy prodigious wealth with the
two hundred gold pieces I gave thee after our second visit, and the
other half by means of the mite thou gottest from Sa’d.” To this I made
no answer, but my friends ceased not to dispute upon the matter. We then
sat down to meat and drink, and when we had eaten our sufficiency, I and
my two friends went to sleep in the cool arbour; after which when the
sun was well-nigh set we mounted and rode off to Baghdad leaving the
servants to follow. However, arrived at the city we found all the shops
shut and nowhere could we get grain and forage for the horses, and I
sent off two slave-boys who had run alongside of us to search for
provender. One of them found a jar of bran in the shop of a corn-dealer
and paying for the provision brought it, together with the jar, under
promise that on the morrow he would carry back the vessel. Then he began
to take out the bran by handfuls in the dark and to set it before the
horses,——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-fourth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious king, that Hasan al-Habbal
thus continued his story:—So as the slave-boy took out the bran by
handfuls and set it before the horses, suddenly his hand came upon a
piece of cloth wherein was somewhat heavy. He brought it to me even as
he found it and said, “See, is not this cloth the very one of whose loss
thou hast ofttimes spoken to us?” I took it and wondering with great
wonder knew it was the self-same piece of stuff wherein I had tied up
the hundred and fourscore and ten Ashrafis before hiding them in the jar
of bran. Then said I to my friends, “O my lords, it hath pleased
Almighty Allah, ere we parted, I and you, to bear me witness of my words
and to stablish that I told you naught save whatso was very sooth.” And
I resumed, addressing Sa’di, “See here the other sum of money, that is,
the hundred and ninety Ashrafis which thou gavest me and which I tied up
in this very piece of cloth I now recognise.” Then I sent for the
earthen jar that they might see it, and also bade carry it to my wife
that she also might bear witness, an it be or be not the very bran jar
which she gave in exchange for fuller’s earth. Anon she sent us word and
said, “Yea verily I know it well. ’Tis the same jar which I had filled
with bran.” Accordingly Sa’di owned that he was wrong and said to Sa’d,
“Now I know that thou speakest truth, and am convinced that wealth
cometh not by wealth; but only by the grace of Almighty Allah doth a
poor man become a rich man.” And he begged pardon for his mistrust and
unbelief. We accepted his excuses whereupon we retired to rest and early
on the morrow my two friends bade me adieu and journeyed homewards with
full persuasion that I had done no wrong and had not squandered the
moneys they had given me.—Now when the Caliph Harun al-Rashid had heard
the story of Khwajah Hasan to the end, he said, “I have known thee of
old by fair report of thee from the folk who, one and all, declare that
thou art a good man and true. Moreover the self-same diamond whereby
thou hast attained to so great riches is now in my treasury; so I would
fain send for Sa’di forthright that he may see it with his own eyes, and
weet for certain that not by means of money do men become or rich or
poor.” The Prince of True Believers said moreover to Khwajah Hasan
al-Habbal, “Go now and tell thy tale to my treasurer that he may take it
down in writing for an everlasting memorial, and place the writ in the
treasury together with the diamond.” Then the Caliph with a nod
dismissed Khwajah Hasan; and Sidi Nu’uman and Baba Abdullah also kissed
the foot of the throne and departed. So when Queen Shahrazad had made an
end of relating this history she was about to begin the story of ’Alí
Bábá and the Forty Thieves, but King Shahryar prevented her, saying, “O
Shahrazad, I am well pleased with this thy tale, but now the dawn
appeareth and the chanticleer of morn doth sound his shrill clarion.
This day also I spare thy life, to the intent that I may listen at my
ease to this new history of thine at the end of the coming night.”
Hereupon the three took their rest until the fittest time drew
near.——And as the morning morrowed Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-fifth Night.

With the dawn Dunyazad awoke Queen Shahrazad from slumber sweet and
said, “Arise, O my sister, but alas! ’tis a bitter thing to stand in awe
of coming doom.” Replied Shahrazad, “O dear my sister, be not thou
downhearted: if life’s span be spent naught can avert the sharp-edged
sword. Yet place thy trust in Allah Almighty and put far from thee all
such anxious thoughts: my tales are tokens of life prolonged.” Whereupon
Queen Shahrazad began to tell in these words the story of




                  ALI BABA AND THE FORTY THIEVES.[38]


In days of yore and in times and tides long gone before there dwelt in a
certain town of Persia two brothers one named Kásim and the other ’Alí
Bábá, who at their father’s demise had divided the little wealth he had
left to them with equitable division, and had lost no time in wasting
and spending it all. The elder, however, presently took to himself a
wife, the daughter of an opulent merchant; so that when his
father-in-law fared to the mercy of Almighty Allah, he became owner of a
large shop filled with rare goods and costly wares and of a store-house
stocked with precious stuffs; likewise of much gold that was buried in
the ground. Thus was he known throughout the city as a substantial man.
But the woman whom Ali Baba had married was poor and needy; they lived,
therefore, in a mean hovel and Ali Baba eked out a scanty livelihood by
the sale of fuel which he daily collected in the jungle[39] and carried
about the town to the Bazar upon his three asses. Now it chanced one day
that Ali Baba had cut dead branches and dry fuel sufficient for his
need, and had placed the load upon his beasts when suddenly he espied a
dust-cloud spireing high in air to his right and moving rapidly towards
him; and when he closely considered it he descried a troop of horsemen
riding on amain and about to reach him. At this sight he was sore
alarmed, and fearing lest perchance they were a band of bandits who
would slay him and drive off his donkeys, in his affright he began to
run; but forasmuch as they were near hand and he could not escape from
out the forest, he drove his animals laden with the fuel into a bye-way
of the bushes and swarmed up a thick trunk of a huge tree to hide
himself therein; and he sat upon a branch whence he could descry
everything beneath him whilst none below could catch a glimpse of him
above; and that tree grew close beside a rock which towered high
above-head. The horsemen, young, active, and doughty riders, came close
up to the rock-face and all dismounted; whereat Ali Baba took good note
of them and soon he was fully persuaded by their mien and demeanour that
they were a troop of highwaymen who, having fallen upon a caravan had
despoiled it and carried off the spoil and brought their booty to this
place with intent of concealing it safely in some cache. Moreover he
observed that they were forty in number.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-sixth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious king, that Ali Baba saw the
robbers, as soon as they came under the tree, each unbridle his horse
and hobble it; then all took off their saddle-bags which proved to be
full of gold and silver. The man who seemed to be the captain presently
pushed forwards, load on shoulder, through thorns and thickets, till he
came up to a certain spot where he uttered these strange words, “Open, O
Simsim!”[40] and forthwith appeared a wide doorway in the face of the
rock. The robbers went in and last of all their Chief and then the
portal shut of itself. Long while they stayed within the cave whilst Ali
Baba was constrained to abide perched upon the tree, reflecting that if
he came down peradventure the band might issue forth that very moment
and seize him and slay him. At last he had determined to mount one of
the horses and driving on his asses to return townwards, when suddenly
the portal flew open. The robber-chief was first to issue forth; then,
standing at the entrance, he saw and counted his men as they came out,
and lastly he spake the magical words, “Shut, O Simsim!” whereat the
door closed of itself. When all had passed muster and review, each slung
on his saddle-bags and bridled his own horse and as soon as ready they
rode off, led by the leader, in the direction whence they came. Ali Baba
remained still perched on the tree and watched their departure; nor
would he descend until what time they were clean gone out of sight, lest
perchance one of them return and look around and descry him. Then he
thought within himself, “I too will try the virtue of those magical
words and see if at my bidding the door will open and close.” So he
called out aloud, “Open, O Simsim!” And no sooner had he spoken than
straightway the portal flew open and he entered within. He saw a large
cavern and a vaulted, in height equalling the stature of a full-grown
man and it was hewn in the live stone and lighted up with light that
came through air-holes and bullseyes in the upper surface of the rock
which formed the roof. He had expected to find naught save outer gloom
in this robbers’ den, and he was surprised to see the whole room filled
with bales of all manner stuffs, and heaped up from sole to ceiling with
camel-loads of silks and brocades and embroidered cloths and mounds on
mounds of vari-coloured carpetings; besides which he espied coins golden
and silvern without measure or account, some piled upon the ground and
others bound in leathern bags and sacks. Seeing these goods and moneys
in such abundance, Ali Baba determined in his mind that not during a few
years only but for many generations thieves must have stored their gains
and spoils in this place. When he stood within the cave, its door had
closed upon him, yet he was not dismayed since he had kept in memory the
magical words; and he took no heed of the precious stuffs around him,
but applied himself only and wholly to the sacks of Ashrafis. Of these
he carried out as many as he judged sufficient burthen for the beasts;
then he loaded them upon his animals, and covered this plunder with
sticks and fuel, so none might discern the bags, but might think that he
was carrying home his usual ware. Lastly he called out, “Shut, O
Simsim!” and forthwith the door closed, for the spell so wrought that
whensoever any entered the cave, its portal shut of itself behind him;
and, as he issued therefrom, the same would neither open nor close again
till he had pronounced the words, “Shut, O Simsim!” Presently, having
laden his asses Ali Baba urged them before him with all speed to the
city and reaching home he drove them into the yard; and, shutting close
the outer door, took down first the sticks and fuel and after the bags
of gold which he carried in to his wife. She felt them and finding them
full of coin suspected that Ali Baba had been robbing and fell to
berating and blaming him for that he should do so ill a thing.——And as
the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that quoth Ali Baba to
his wife:—“Indeed I am no robber and rather do thou rejoice with me at
our good fortune.” Hereupon he told her of his adventure and began to
pour the gold from the bags in heaps before her, and her sight was
dazzled by the sheen and her heart delighted at his recital and
adventures. Then she began counting the gold, whereat quoth Ali Baba, “O
silly woman, how long wilt thou continue turning over the coin? now let
me dig a hole wherein to hide this treasure that none may know its
secret.” Quoth she, “Right is thy rede! still would I weigh the moneys
and have some inkling of their amount;” and he replied, “As thou
pleasest, but see thou tell no man.” So she went off in haste to Kasim’s
home to borrow weights and scales wherewith she might balance the
Ashrafis and make some reckoning of their value; and when she could not
find Kasim she said to his wife, “Lend me, I pray thee, thy scales for a
moment.” Replied her sister-in-law,[41] “Hast thou need of the bigger
balance or the smaller?” and the other rejoined, “I need not the large
scales, give me the little;” and her sister-in-law cried, “Stay here a
moment whilst I look about and find thy want.” With this pretext Kasim’s
wife went aside and secretly smeared wax and suet over the pan of the
balance, that she might know what thing it was Ali Baba’s wife would
weigh, for she made sure that whatso it be some bit thereof would stick
to the wax and fat. So the woman took this opportunity to satisfy her
curiosity, and Ali Baba’s wife suspecting naught thereof carried home
the scales and began to weigh the gold, whilst Ali Baba ceased not
digging; and, when the money was weighed, they twain stowed it into the
hole which they carefully filled up with earth. Then the good wife took
back the scales to her kinswoman, all unknowing that an Ashrafi had
adhered to the cup of the scales; but when Kasim’s wife espied the gold
coin she fumed with envy and wrath, saying to herself, “So ho! they
borrowed my balance to weigh out Ashrafis?” and she marvelled greatly
whence so poor a man as Ali Baba had gotten such store of wealth that he
should be obliged to weigh it with a pair of scales. Now after long
pondering the matter, when her husband returned home at eventide, she
said to him, “O man, thou deemest thyself a wight of wealth and
substance, but lo, thy brother Ali Baba is an Emir by the side of thee
and richer far than thou art. He hath such heaps of gold that he must
needs weigh his moneys with scales, whilst thou, forsooth, art satisfied
to count thy coin.” “Whence knowest thou this?” asked Kasim, and in
answer his wife related all anent the pair of scales and how she found
an Ashrafi stuck to them, and shewed him the gold coin which bore the
mark and superscription of some ancient king. No sleep had Kasim all
that night by reason of his envy and jealousy and covetise; and next
morning he rose betimes and going to Ali Baba said, “O my brother, to
all appearance thou art poor and needy; but in effect thou hast a store
of wealth so abundant that perforce thou must weigh thy gold with
scales.” Quoth Ali Baba, “What is this thou sayest? I understand thee
not; make clear thy purport;” and quoth Kasim with ready rage, “Feign
not that thou art ignorant of what I say and think not to deceive me.”
Then showing him the Ashrafi he cried, “Thousands of gold coins such as
these thou hast put by; and meanwhile my wife found this one stuck to
the cup of the scales.” Then Ali Baba understood how both Kasim and his
wife knew that he had store of Ashrafis, and said in his mind that it
would not avail him to keep the matter hidden, but would rather cause
ill-will and mischief; and thus he was induced to tell his brother every
whit concerning the bandits[42] and also of the treasure trove in the
cave. When he had heard the story, Kasim exclaimed, “I would fain learn
of thee the certainty of the place where thou foundest the moneys; also
the magical words whereby the door opened and closed; and I forewarn
thee an thou tell me not the whole truth, I will give notice of those
Ashrafis to the Wálí;[43] then shalt thou forfeit all thy wealth and be
disgraced and thrown into gaol.” Thereupon Ali Baba told him his tale
not forgetting the magical words; and Kasim who kept careful heed of all
these matters next day set out, driving ten mules he had hired, and
readily found the place which Ali Baba had described to him. And when he
came to the aforesaid rock and to the tree whereon Ali Baba had hidden
himself, and he had made sure of the door he cried in great joy, “Open,
O Simsim!” The portal yawned wide at once and Kasim went within and saw
the piles of jewels and treasures lying ranged all around; and, as soon
as he stood amongst them the door shut after him as wont to do. He
walked about in ecstasy marvelling at the treasures, and when weary of
admiration he gathered together bags of Ashrafis, a sufficient load for
his ten mules, and placed them by the entrance in readiness to be
carried outside and set upon the beasts. But by the will of Allah
Almighty he had clean forgotten the cabalistic words and cried out,
“Open, O Barley!” whereat the door refused to move. Astonished and
confused beyond measure he named the names of all manner of grains save
sesame, which had slipped from his memory as though he had never heard
the word; whereat in his dire distress he heeded not the Ashrafis that
lay heaped at the entrance and paced to and fro, backwards and forwards,
within the cave sorely puzzled and perplexed. The wealth whose sight had
erewhile filled his heart with joy and gladness was now the cause of
bitter grief and sadness.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Kasim gave up all
hope of the life which he by his greed and envy had so sore imperilled.
It came to pass that at noontide the robbers, returning by that way, saw
from afar some mules standing beside the entrance and much they
marvelled at what had brought the beasts to that place; for, inasmuch as
Kasim by mischance had failed to tether or hobble them, they had strayed
about the jungle and were browsing hither and thither. However, the
thieves paid scant regard to the estrays nor cared they to secure them,
but only wondered by what means they had wandered so far from the town.
Then, reaching the cave the Captain and his troop dismounted and going
up to the door repeated the formula and at once it flew open. Now Kasim
had heard from within the cave the horse-hooves drawing nigh and yet
nigher; and he fell down to the ground in a fit of fear never doubting
that it was the clatter of the banditti who would slaughter him without
fail. Howbeit he presently took heart of grace and at the moment when
the door flew open he rushed out hoping to make good his escape. But the
unhappy ran full tilt against the Captain who stood in front of the
band, and felled him to the ground; whereupon a robber standing near his
chief at once bared his brand and with one cut clave Kasim clean in
twain. Thereupon the robbers rushed into the cavern, and put back as
they were before the bags of Ashrafis which Kasim had heaped up at the
doorway ready for taking away; nor recked they aught of those which Ali
Baba had removed, so dazed and amazed were they to discover by what
means the strange man had effected an entrance. All knew that it was not
possible for any to drop through the skylights so tall and steep was the
rock’s face, withal slippery of ascent; and also that none could enter
by the portal unless he knew the magical words whereby to open it.
However they presently quartered the dead body of Kasim and hung it to
the door within the cavern, two parts to the right jamb and as many to
the left[44] that the sight might be a warning of approaching doom for
all who dared enter the cave. Then coming out they closed the hoard door
and rode away upon their wonted work. Now when night fell and Kasim came
not home, his wife waxed uneasy in mind and running round to Ali Baba
said, “O my brother, Kasim hath not returned: thou knowest whither he
went, and sore I fear me some misfortune hath betided him.” Ali Baba
also divined that a mishap had happened to prevent his return; not the
less, however, he strove to comfort his sister-in-law with words of
cheer and said, “O wife of my brother, Kasim haply exerciseth discretion
and, avoiding the city, cometh by a roundabout road and will be here
anon. This, I do believe, is the reason why he tarrieth.” Thereupon
comforted in spirit Kasim’s wife fared homewards and sat awaiting her
husband’s return; but when half the night was spent and still he came
not, she was as one distraught. She feared to cry aloud for her grief,
lest haply the neighbours hearing her should come and learn the secret;
so she wept in silence and upbraiding herself fell to thinking,
“Wherefore did I disclose this secret to him and beget envy and jealousy
of Ali Baba? this be the fruit thereof and hence the disaster that hath
come down upon me.” She spent the rest of the night in bitter tears and
early on the morrow hied in hottest hurry to Ali Baba and prayed that he
would go forth in quest of his brother; so he strove to console her and
straightway set out with his asses for the forest. Presently, reaching
the rock he wondered to see stains of blood freshly shed and not finding
his brother or the ten mules he forefelt a calamity from so evil a sign.
He then went to the door and saving, “Open, O Simsim!” he pushed in and
saw the dead body of Kasim, two parts hanging to the right, and the rest
to the left of the entrance. Albeit he was affrighted beyond measure of
affright he wrapped the quarters in two cloths and laid them upon one of
his asses, hiding them carefully with sticks and fuel that none might
see them. Then he placed the bags of gold upon the two other animals and
likewise covered them most carefully; and, when all was made ready he
closed the cave-door with the magical words, and set him forth wending
homewards with all ward and watchfulness. The asses with the load of
Ashrafis he made over to his wife and bade her bury the bags with
diligence; but he told her not the condition in which he had come upon
his brother Kasim. Then he went with the other ass, to wit, the beast
whereon was laid the corpse to the widow’s house and knocked gently at
the door. Now Kasim had a slave-girl shrewd and sharp-witted,
Morgiana[45] hight. She as softly undid the bolt and admitted Ali Baba
and the ass into the courtyard of the house, when he let down the body
from the beast’s back and said, “O Morgiana, haste thee and make thee
ready to perform the rites for the burial of thy lord: I now go to tell
the tidings to thy mistress and I will quickly return to help thee in
this matter.” At that instant Kasim’s widow seeing her brother-in-law,
exclaimed, “O Ali Baba, what news bringest thou of my spouse? Alas, I
see grief tokens written upon thy countenance. Say quickly what hath
happened.” Then he recounted to her how it had fared with her husband
and how he had been slain by the robbers and in what wise he had brought
home the dead body.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her
peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Twenty-ninth Night,

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Ali Baba
pursued:—“O my lady, what was to happen hath happened, but it behoveth
us to keep this matter secret, for that our lives depend upon privacy.”
She wept with sore weeping and made answer, “It hath fared with my
husband according to the fiat of Fate; and now for thy safety’s sake I
give thee my word to keep the affair concealed.” He replied, “Naught can
avail when Allah hath decreed. Rest thee in patience; until the days of
thy widowhood[46] be accomplisht; after which time I will take thee to
wife, and thou shalt live in comfort and happiness; and fear not lest my
first spouse vex thee or show aught of jealousy, for that she is kindly
and tender of heart.” The widow lamenting her loss noisily, cried, “Be
it as e’en thou please.” Then Ali Baba farewelled her, weeping and
wailing for her husband; and joining Morgiana took counsel with her how
to manage the burial of his brother. So, after much consultation and
many warnings, he left the slave-girl and departed home driving his ass
before him. As soon as Ali Baba had fared forth Morgiana went quickly to
a druggist’s shop; and, that she might the better dissemble with him and
not make known the matter, she asked of him a drug often administered to
men when diseased with dangerous distemper. He gave it saying, “Who is
there in thy house that lieth so ill as to require this medicine?” and
said she, “My Master Kasim is sick well-nigh unto death: for many days
he hath nor spoken nor tasted aught of food, so that almost we despair
of his life.” Next day Morgiana went again and asked the druggist for
more of medicine and essences such as are adhibited to the sick when at
door of death, that the moribund may haply rally before the last breath.
The man gave the potion and she taking it sighed aloud and wept, saying,
“I fear me he may not have strength to drink this draught: methinks all
will be over with him ere I return to the house.” Meanwhile Ali Baba was
anxiously awaiting to hear sounds of wailing and lamentation in Kasim’s
home that he might at such signal hasten thither and take part in the
ceremonies of the funeral. Early on the second day Morgiana went with
veiled face to one Bábá Mustafá,[47] a tailor well shotten in years
whose craft was to make shrouds and cerecloths; and as soon as she saw
him open his shop she gave him a gold piece and said, “Do thou bind a
bandage over thine eyes and come along with me.” Mustafa made as though
he would not go, whereat Morgiana placed a second gold coin in his palm
and entreated him to accompany her. The tailor presently consented for
greed of gain, so tying a kerchief tightly over his eyes she led him by
the hand to the house wherein lay the dead body of her master. Then,
taking off the bandage in the darkened room she bade him sew together
the quarters of the corpse, limb to its limb; and, casting a cloth upon
the body, said to the tailor, “Make haste and sew a shroud according to
the size of this dead man and I will give thee therefor yet another
ducat.” Baba Mustafa quickly made the cere cloth of fitting length and
breadth, and Morgiana paid him the promised Ashrafi; then once more
bandaging his eyes led him back to the place whence she had brought him.
After this she returned hurriedly home and with the help of Ali Baba
washed the body in warm water and donning the shroud lay the corpse upon
a clean place ready for burial. This done Morgiana went to the mosque
and gave notice to an Imám[48] that a funeral was awaiting the mourners
in a certain household, and prayed that he would come to read the
prayers for the dead; and the Imám went back with her. Then four
neighbours took up the bier[49] and bore it on their shoulders and fared
forth with the Imam and others who were wont to give assistance at such
obsequies. After the funeral prayers were ended four other men carried
off the coffin; and Morgiana walked before it bare of head, striking her
breast and weeping and wailing with exceeding loud lament, whilst Ali
Baba and the neighbours came behind. In such order they entered the
cemetery and buried him; then, leaving him to Munkar and Nakir[50]—the
Questioners of the Dead—all wended their ways. Presently the women of
the quarter, according to the custom of the city, gathered together in
the house of mourning and sat an hour with Kasim’s widow comforting and
condoling, presently leaving her somewhat resigned and cheered. Ali Baba
stayed forty days at home in ceremonial lamentation for the loss of his
brother; so none within the town save himself and his wife (Kasim’s
widow) and Morgiana knew aught about the secret. And when the forty days
of mourning were ended Ali Baba removed to his own quarters all the
property belonging to the deceased and openly married the widow; then he
appointed his nephew, his brother’s eldest son, who had lived a long
time with a wealthy merchant and was perfect of knowledge in all matters
of trade, such as selling and buying, to take charge of the defunct’s
shop and to carry on the business.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Thirtieth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, it so chanced one day
when the robbers, as was their wont, came to the treasure-cave that they
marvelled exceedingly to find nor sign nor trace of Kasim’s body whilst
they observed that much of gold had been carried off. Quoth the Captain,
“Now it behoveth us to make enquiry in this matter; else shall we suffer
much of loss and this our treasure, which we and our forefathers have
amassed during the course of many years, will little by little be wasted
and spoiled.” Hereto all assented and with single mind agreed that he
whom they had slain had knowledge of the magical words whereby the door
was made to open; moreover that some one beside him had cognizance of
the spell and had carried off the body, and also much of gold; wherefore
they needs must make diligent research and find out who the man ever
might be. They then took counsel and determined that one amongst them,
who should be sagacious and deft of wit, must don the dress of some
merchant from foreign parts; then, repairing to the city he must go
about from quarter to quarter and from street to street, and learn if
any townsman had lately died and if so where he wont to dwell, that with
this clue they might be enabled to find the wight they sought. Hereat
said one of the robbers, “Grant me leave that I fare and find out such
tidings in the town and bring thee word anon; and if I fail of my
purpose I hold my life in forfeit.” Accordingly that bandit, after
disguising himself by dress, pushed at night into the town and next
morning early he repaired to the market-square and saw that none of the
shops had yet been opened, save only that of Baba Mustafa the tailor,
who thread and needle in hand sat upon his working-stool. The thief bade
him good day and said, “’Tis yet dark: how canst thou see to sew?” Said
the tailor, “I perceive thou art a stranger. Despite my years my
eyesight is so keen that only yesterday I sewed together a dead body
whilst sitting in a room quite darkened.” Quoth the bandit thereupon to
himself, “I shall get somewhat of my want from this snip;” and to secure
a further clue he asked, “Meseemeth thou wouldst jest with me and thou
meanest that a cerecloth for a corpse was stitched by thee and that thy
business is to sew shrouds.” Answered the tailor, “It mattereth not to
thee: question me no more questions.” Thereupon the robber placed an
Ashrafi in his hand and continued, “I desire not to discover aught thou
hidest, albeit my breast like every honest man’s is the grave of
secrets; and this only would I learn of thee, in what house didst thou
do that job? Canst thou direct me thither, or thyself conduct me
thereto?” The tailor took the gold with greed and cried, “I have not
seen with my own eyes the way to that house. A certain bondswoman led me
to a place which I know right well and there she bandaged my eyes and
guided me to some tenement and lastly carried me into a darkened room
where lay the dead body dismembered. Then she unbound the kerchief and
bade me sew together first the corpse and then the shroud, which having
done she again blindfolded me and led me back to the stead whence she
had brought me and left me there. Thou seest then I am not able to tell
thee where thou shalt find the house.” Quoth the robber, “Albeit thou
knowest not the dwelling whereof thou speakest, still canst thou take me
to the place where thou wast blindfolded; then I will bind a kerchief
over thine eyes and lead thee as thou wast led: on this wise perchance
thou mayest hit upon the site. An thou wilt do this favour by me, see
here another golden ducat is thine.” Thereupon the bandit slipped a
second Ashrafi into the tailor’s palm, and Baba Mustafa thrust it with
the first into his pocket; then, leaving his shop as it was, he walked
to the place where Morgiana had tied the kerchief around his eyes, and
with him went the robber who, after binding on the bandage, led him by
the hand. Baba Mustafa, who was clever and keen-witted, presently
striking the street whereby he had fared with the handmaid, walked on
counting step by step; then, halting suddenly, he said, “Thus far I came
with her;” and the twain stopped in front of Kasim’s house wherein now
dwelt his brother Ali Baba.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad
held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-First Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the robber then
made marks with white chalk upon the door to the end that he might
readily find it at some future time, and removing the bandage from the
tailor’s eyes said, “O Baba Mustafa, I thank thee for this favour: and
Almighty Allah guerdon thee for thy goodness. Tell me now, I pray thee,
who dwelleth in yonder house?” Quoth he, “In very sooth I wot not, for I
have little knowledge concerning this quarter of the city;” and the
bandit, understanding that he could find no further clue from the
tailor, dismissed him to his shop with abundant thanks, and hastened
back to the tryst-place in the jungle where the band awaited his coming.
Not long after it so fortuned that Morgiana, going out upon some errand,
marvelled exceedingly at seeing the chalk-marks showing white in the
door; she stood awhile deep in thought and presently divined that some
enemy had made the signs that he might recognize the house and play some
sleight upon her lord. She therefore chalked the doors of all her
neighbours in like manner and kept the matter secret, never entrusting
it or to master or to mistress. Meanwhile the robber told his comrades
his tale of adventure and how he had found the clue; so the Captain and
with him all the band went one after other by different ways till they
entered the city; and he who had placed the mark on Ali Baba’s door
accompanied the Chief to point out the place. He conducted him
straightway to the house and shewing the sign exclaimed, “Here dwelleth
he of whom we are in search!” But when the Captain looked around him he
saw that all the dwellings bore chalk-marks after like fashion and he
wondered saying, “By what manner of means knowest thou which house of
all these houses that bear similar signs is that whereof thou spakest?”
Hereat the robber-guide was confounded beyond measure of confusion, and
could make no answer; then with an oath he cried, “I did assuredly set a
sign upon a door, but I know not whence came all the marks upon the
other entrances; nor can I say for a surety which it was I chalked.”
Thereupon the Captain returned to the market-place and said to his men,
“We have toiled and laboured in vain, nor have we found the house we
went forth to seek. Return we now to the forest our rendezvous: I also
will fare thither.” Then all trooped off and assembled together within
the treasure-cave; and, when the robbers had all met, the Captain judged
him worthy of punishment who had spoken falsely and had led them through
the city to no purpose. So he imprisoned him in presence of them
all;[51] and then said he, “To him amongst you will I show special
favour who shall go to town and bring me intelligence whereby we may lay
hands upon the plunderer of our property.” Hereat another of the company
came forward and said, “I am ready to go and enquire into the case, and
’tis I who will bring thee to thy wish.” The Captain after giving him
presents and promises despatched him upon his errand; and by the decree
of Destiny which none may gainsay, this second robber went first to the
house of Baba Mustafa the tailor, as had done the thief who had foregone
him. In like manner he also persuaded the snip with gifts of golden coin
that he be led hoodwinked and thus too he was guided to Ali Baba’s door.
Here noting the work of his predecessor, he affixed to the jamb a mark
with red chalk the better to distinguish it from the others whereon
still showed the white. Then hied he back in stealth to his company; but
Morgiana on her part also descried the red sign on the entrance and with
subtle forethought marked all the others after the same fashion; nor
told she any what she had done. Meanwhile the bandit rejoined his band
and vauntingly said, “O our Captain, I have found the house and thereon
put a mark whereby I shall distinguish it clearly from all its
neighbours.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-second Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Captain
despatched another of his men to the city and he found the place, but,
as aforetime, when the troop repaired thither they saw each and every
house marked with signs of red chalk. So they returned disappointed and
the Captain, waxing displeased exceedingly and distraught, clapped also
this spy into gaol. Then said the chief to himself, “Two men have failed
in their endeavour and have met their rightful meed of punishment; and I
trow that none other of my band will essay to follow up their research;
so I myself will go and find the house of this wight,” Accordingly he
fared along and aided by the tailor Baba Mustafa, who had gained much
gain of golden pieces in this matter, he hit upon the house of Ali Baba;
and here he made no outward show or sign, but marked it on the
tablet[52] of his heart and impressed the picture upon the page of his
memory. Then returning to the jungle he said to his men, “I have full
cognizance of the place and have limned it clearly in my mind; so now
there will be no difficulty in finding it. Go forth straightways and buy
me and bring hither nineteen mules together with one large leathern jar
of mustard oil and seven and thirty vessels of the same kind clean
empty. Without me and the two locked up in gaol ye number thirty-seven
souls; so I will stow you away armed and accoutred each within his jar
and will load two upon each mule, and upon the nineteenth mule there
shall be a man in an empty jar on one side, and on the other the jar
full of oil. I for my part, in guise of an oil-merchant, will drive the
mules into the town, arriving at the house by night, and will ask
permission of its master to tarry there until morning. After this we
shall seek occasion during the dark hours to rise up and fall upon him
and slay him.” Furthermore the Captain spake saying, “When we have made
an end of him we shall recover the gold and treasure whereof he robbed
us and bring it back upon the mules.” This counsel pleased the robbers
who went forthwith and purchased mules and huge leathern jars, and did
as the Captain had bidden them. And after a delay of three days shortly
before nightfall they arose; and over-smearing all the jars with oil of
mustard, each hid him inside an empty vessel. The Chief then disguised
himself in trader’s gear and placed the jars upon the nineteen mules; to
wit, the thirty-seven vessels in each of which lay a robber armed and
accoutred, and the one that was full of oil. This done, he drove the
beasts before him and presently he reached Ali Baba’s place at
nightfall; when it chanced that the house-master was strolling after
supper to and fro in front of his home. The Captain saluted him with the
salam and said, “I come from such and such a village with oil; and
ofttimes have I been here a-selling oil, but now to my grief I have
arrived too late and I am sore troubled and perplexed as to where I
shall spend the night. An thou have pity on me I pray thee grant that I
tarry here in thy courtyard and ease the mules by taking down the jars
and giving the beasts somewhat of fodder.” Albeit Ali Baba had heard the
Captain’s voice when perched upon the tree and had seen him enter the
cave, yet by reason of the disguise he knew him not for the leader of
the thieves, and granted his request with hearty welcome and gave him
full license to halt there for the night. He then pointed out an empty
shed wherein to tether the mules, and bade one of the slave-boys go
fetch grain and water. He also gave orders to the slave-girl Morgiana
saying, “A guest hath come hither and tarrieth here to-night. Do thou
busy thyself with all speed about his supper and make ready the
guest-bed for him.” Presently, when the Captain had let down all the
jars and had fed and watered his mules, Ali Baba received him with all
courtesy and kindness, and summoning Morgiana said in his presence, “See
thou fail not in service of this our stranger nor suffer him to lack for
aught. To-morrow early I would fare to the Hammam and bathe; so do thou
give my slave-boy Abdullah a suit of clean white clothes which I may put
on after washing; moreover make thee ready a somewhat of broth overnight
that I may drink it after my return home.” Replied she, “I will have all
in readiness as thou hast bidden.” So Ali Baba retired to his rest, and
the Captain, having supped, repaired to the shed and saw that all the
mules had their food and drink for the night.——And as the morn began to
dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-third Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Captain, after
seeing to the mules and the jars which Ali Baba and his household held
to be full of oil, finding utter privacy, whispered to his men who were
in ambush, “This night at midnight when ye hear my voice, do you quickly
open with your sharp knives the leathern jars from top to bottom and
issue forth without delay.” Then passing through the kitchen he reached
the chamber wherein a bed had been dispread for him, Morgiana showing
the way with a lamp. Quoth she, “An thou need aught beside I pray thee
command this thy slave who is ever ready to obey thy say!” He made
answer, “Naught else need I;” then, putting out the light, he lay him
down on the bed to sleep awhile ere the time came to rouse his men and
finish off the work. Meanwhile Morgiana did as her master had bidden
her: she first took out a suit of clean white clothes and made it over
to Abdullah who had not yet gone to rest; then she placed the pipkin
upon the hearth to boil the broth and blew the fire till it burnt
briskly. After a short delay she needs must see an the broth be boiling,
but by that time all the lamps had gone out and she found that the oil
was spent and that nowhere could she get a light. The slave-boy Abdullah
observed that she was troubled and perplexed hereat, and quoth he to
her, “Why make so much ado? In yonder shed are many jars of oil: go now
and take as much soever as thou listest.” Morgiana gave thanks to him
for his suggestion; and Abdullah, who was lying at his ease in the hall,
went off to sleep so that he might wake betimes and serve Ali Baba in
the bath. So the handmaiden rose[53] and with oil-can in hand walked to
the shed where stood the leathern jars all ranged in rows. Now, as she
drew nigh unto one of the vessels, the thief who was hidden therein
hearing the tread of footsteps bethought him that it was of his Captain
whose summons he awaited; so he whispered, “Is it now time for us to
sally forth?” Morgiana started back affrighted at the sound of human
accents; but, inasmuch as she was bold and ready of wit, she replied,
“The time is not yet come,” and said to herself, “These jars are not
full of oil and herein I perceive a manner of mystery. Haply the oil
merchant hatcheth some treacherous plot against my lord; so Allah, the
Compassionating, the Compassionate, protect us from his snares!”
Wherefore she answered in a voice made like to the Captain’s, “Not yet,
the time is not come.” Then she went to the next jar and returned the
same reply to him who was within, and so on to all the vessels one by
one. Then said she in herself, “Laud to the Lord! my master took this
fellow in believing him to be an oil-merchant, but lo, he hath admitted
a band of robbers, who only await the signal to fall upon him and
plunder the place and do him die.” Then passed she on to the furthest
jar and finding it brimming with oil, filled her can, and returning to
the kitchen, trimmed the lamp and lit the wicks; then, bringing forth a
large cauldron, she set it upon the fire, and filling it with oil from
out the jar heaped wood upon the hearth and fanned it to a fierce flame
the readier to boil its contents. When this was done she baled it out in
potfuls and poured it seething hot into the leathern vessels one by one
while the thieves unable to escape were scalded to death and every jar
contained a corpse.[54] Thus did this slave-girl by her subtle wit make
a clean end of all noiselessly and unknown even to the dwellers in the
house. Now when she had satisfied herself that each and every of the men
had been slain, she went back to the kitchen and shutting to the door
sat brewing Ali Baba’s broth. Scarce had an hour passed before the
Captain woke from sleep; and, opening wide his window, saw that all was
dark and silent; so he clapped his hands as a signal for his men to come
forth but not a sound was heard in return. After awhile he clapped again
and called aloud but got no answer; and when he cried out a third time
without reply he was perplexed and went out to the shed wherein stood
the jars. He thought to himself, “Perchance all are fallen asleep whenas
the time for action is now at hand, so I must e’en awaken them without
stay or delay.” Then approaching the nearest jar he was startled by a
smell of oil and seething flesh; and touching it outside he felt it
reeking hot; then going to the others one by one, he found all in like
condition. Hereat he knew for a surety the fate which had betided his
band and, fearing for his own safety, he clomb on to the wall, and
thence dropping into a garden made his escape in high dudgeon and sore
disappointment. Morgiana awaited awhile to see the Captain return from
the shed but he came not; whereat she knew that he had scaled the wall
and had taken to flight, for that the street-door was double-locked; and
the thieves being all disposed of on this wise Morgiana laid her down to
sleep in perfect solace and ease of mind. When two hours of darkness yet
remained, Ali Baba awoke and went to the Hammam knowing naught of the
night adventure, for the gallant slave-girl had not aroused him, nor
indeed had she deemed such action expedient, because had she sought an
opportunity of reporting to him her plan, she might haply have lost her
chance and spoiled the project. The sun was high over the horizon when
Ali Baba walked back from the Baths; and he marvelled exceedingly to see
the jars still standing under the shed and said, “How cometh it that he,
the oil-merchant my guest, hath not carried to the market his mules and
jars of oil?”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-fourth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Ali Baba presently
asked Morgiana what had befallen the oil-merchant his guest whom he had
placed under her charge; and she answered, “Allah Almighty vouchsafe to
thee six score years and ten of safety! I will tell thee in privacy of
this merchant.” So Ali Baba went apart with his slave-girl, who taking
him without the house first locked the court-door; then showing him a
jar she said, “Prithee look into this and see if within there be oil or
aught else.” Thereupon peering inside it he perceived a man at which
sight he cried aloud and fain would have fled in his fright. Quoth
Morgiana, “Fear him not, this man hath no longer the force to work thee
harm, he lieth dead and stone-dead.” Hearing such words of comfort and
reassurance Ali Baba asked, “O Morgiana, what evils have we escaped and
by what means hath this wretch become the quarry of Fate?” She answered
“Alhamdolillah—Praise be to Almighty Allah!—I will inform thee fully of
the case; but hush thee, speak not aloud, lest haply the neighbours
learn the secret and it end in our confusion. Look now into all the
jars, one by one from first to last.” So Ali Baba examined them
severally and found in each a man fully armed and accoutred and all lay
scalded to death. Hereat speechless for sheer amazement he stared at the
jars, but presently recovering himself he asked, “And where is he, the
oil-merchant?” Answered she, “Of him also I will inform thee. The
villain was no trader but a traitorous assassin whose honied words would
have ensnared thee to thy doom; and now I will tell thee what he was and
what hath happened; but, meanwhile thou art fresh from the Hammam and
thou shouldst first drink somewhat of this broth for thy stomach’s and
thy health’s sake.” So Ali Baba went within and Morgiana served up the
mess; after which quoth her master, “I fain would hear this wondrous
story: prithee tell it to me and set my heart at ease.” Hereat the
handmaid fell to relating whatso had betided in these words, “O my
master, when thou badest me boil the broth and retiredst to rest, thy
slave in obedience to thy command took out a suit of clean white clothes
and gave it to the boy Abdullah; then kindled the fire and set on the
broth. As soon as it was ready I had need to light a lamp so that I
might see to skim it, but all the oil was spent, and, learning this I
told my want to the slave-boy Abdullah, who advised me to draw somewhat
from the jars which stood under the shed. Accordingly, I took a can and
went to the first vessel when suddenly I heard a voice within whisper
with all caution, ‘Is it now time for us to sally forth?’ I was amazed
thereat and judged that the pretended merchant had laid some plot to
slay thee; so I replied, ‘The time is not yet come.’ Then I went to the
second jar and heard another voice to which I made the like answer, and
so on with all of them. I now was certified that these men awaited only
some signal from their Chief whom thou didst take to guest within thy
walls supposing him to be a merchant in oil; and that after thou
receivedst him hospitably the miscreant had brought these men to murther
thee and to plunder thy good and spoil thy house. But I gave him no
opportunity to win his wish. The last jar I found full of oil and taking
somewhat therefrom I lit the lamp; then, putting a large cauldron upon
the fire, I filled it up with oil which I brought from the jar and made
a fierce blaze under it; and, when the contents were seething hot, I
took out sundry cansful with intent to scald them all to death, and
going to each jar in due order, I poured within them one by one boiling
oil. On this wise having destroyed them utterly, I returned to the
kitchen and having extinguished the lamps stood by the window watching
what might happen, and how that false merchant would act next. Not long
after I had taken my station, the robber-captain awoke and ofttimes
signalled to his thieves. Then getting no reply he came downstairs and
went out to the jars, and finding that all his men were slain he fled
through the darkness I know not whither. So when he had clean
disappeared I was assured that, the door being double-locked, he had
scaled the wall and dropped into the garden and made his escape. Then
with my heart at rest I slept.” And Morgiana, after telling her story to
her master, presently added, “This is the whole truth I have related to
thee. For some days indeed have I had inkling of such matter, but
withheld it from thee deeming it inexpedient to risk the chance of its
meeting the neighbours’ ears; now, however, there is no help but to tell
thee thereof. One day as I came to the house-door I espied thereon a
white chalk-mark, and on the next day a red sign beside the white. I
knew not the intent wherewith the marks were made, nevertheless I set
others upon the entrances of sundry neighbours, judging that some enemy
had done this deed whereby to encompass my master’s destruction.
Therefore I made the marks on all the other doors in such perfect
conformity with those I found, that it would be hard to distinguish
amongst them.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-fifth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Morgiana continued
to Ali Baba:—“Judge now and see if these signs and all this villainy be
not the work of the bandits of the forest, who marked our house that on
such wise they might know it again. Of these forty thieves there yet
remain two others concerning whose case I know naught; so beware of
them, but chiefly of the third remaining robber, their Captain, who fled
hence alive. Take good heed and be thou cautious of him, for, shouldst
thou fall into his hands, he will in no wise spare thee but will surely
murther thee. I will do all that lieth in me to save from hurt and harm
thy life and property, nor shall thy slave be found wanting in any
service to my lord.” Hearing these words Ali Baba rejoiced with
exceeding joyance and said to her, “I am well pleased with thee for this
thy conduct; and say me what wouldst thou have me do in thy behalf; I
shall not fail to remember thy brave deed so long as breath in me
remaineth.” Quoth she, “It behoveth us before all things forthright to
bury these bodies in the ground, that so the secret be not known to any
one.” Hereupon Ali Baba took with him his slave-boy Abdullah into the
garden and there under a tree they dug for the corpses of the thieves a
deep pit in size proportionate to its contents, and they dragged the
bodies (having carried off their weapons) to the fosse and threw them
in; then, covering up the remains of the seven and thirty robbers they
made the ground appear level and clean as it wont to be. They also hid
the leathern jars and the gear and arms and presently Ali Baba sent the
mules by ones and twos to the Bazar and sold them all with the able aid
of his slave-boy Abdullah. Thus the matter was hushed up nor did it
reach the ears of any; however, Ali Baba ceased not to be ill at ease
lest haply the Captain or the surviving two robbers should wreak their
vengeance on his head. He kept himself private with all caution and took
heed that none learn a word of what had happened and of the wealth which
he had carried off from the bandits’ cave. Meanwhile the Captain of the
thieves having escaped with his life, fled to the forest in hot wrath
and sore irk of mind; and his senses were scattered and the colour of
his visage vanished like ascending smoke. Then he thought the matter
over again and again, and at last he firmly resolved that he needs must
take the life of Ali Baba, else he would lose all the treasure which his
enemy, by knowledge of the magical words, would take away and turn to
his own use. Furthermore, he determined that he would undertake the
business single-handed; and, that after getting rid of Ali Baba, he
would gather together another band of banditti and would pursue his
career of brigandage, as indeed his forbears had done for many
generations. So he lay down to rest that night, and rising early in the
morning donned a dress of suitable appearance; then going to the city
alighted at a caravanserai, thinking to himself, “Doubtless the murther
of so many men hath reached the Wali’s ears, and Ali Baba hath been
seized and brought to justice, and his house is levelled and his good is
confiscated. The townsfolk must surely have heard tidings of these
matters.” So he straightway asked of the keeper of the khán, “What
strange things have happened in the city during the last few days?” and
the other told him all that he had seen and heard, but the Captain could
not learn a whit of that which most concerned him. Hereby he understood
that Ali Baba was ware and wise, and that he had not only carried away
such store of treasure but he had also destroyed so many lives and
withal had come off scatheless; furthermore, that he himself must needs
have all his wits alert not to fall into the hands of his foe and
perish. With this resolve the Captain hired a shop in the Bazar, whither
he bore whole bales of the finest stuffs and goodly merchandise from his
forest treasure-house; and presently he took his seat within the store
and fell to doing merchant’s business. By chance his place fronted the
booth of the defunct Kasim where his son, Ali Baba’s nephew, now traded;
and the Captain, who called himself Khwajah Hasan, soon formed
acquaintance and friendship with the shopkeepers around about him and
treated all with profuse civilities, but he was especially gracious and
cordial to the son of Kasim, a handsome youth and a well-dressed, and
ofttimes he would sit and chat with him for a long while. A few days
after it chanced that Ali Baba, as he was sometime wont to do, came to
see his nephew, whom he found sitting in his shop. The Captain saw and
recognised him at sight and one morning he asked the young man, saying,
“Prithee tell me, who is he that ever and anon cometh to thee at thy
place of sale?” whereto the youth made answer, “He is my uncle, the
brother of my father.” Whereupon the Captain showed him yet greater
favour and affection the better to deceive him for his own devices, and
gave him presents and made him sit at meat with him and fed him with the
daintiest of dishes. Presently Ali Baba’s nephew bethought him it was
only right and proper that he also should invite the merchant to supper,
but whereas his own house was small, and he was straitened for room and
could not make a show of splendour, as did Khwajah Hasan, he took
counsel with his uncle on the matter.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-sixth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Ali Baba replied
to his nephew:—“Thou sayest well: it behoveth thee to entreat thy friend
in fairest fashion even as he hath entreated thee. On the morrow, which
is Friday, shut thy shop as do all merchants of repute; then, after the
early meal, take Khwajah Hasan to smell the air,[55] and as thou walkest
lead him hither unawares; meanwhile I will give orders that Morgiana
shall make ready for his coming the best of viands and all necessaries
for a feast. Trouble not thyself on any wise, but leave the matter in my
hands.” Accordingly on the next day, to wit, Friday, the nephew of Ali
Baba took Khwajah Hasan to walk about the garden; and, as they were
returning he led him by the street wherein his uncle dwelt. When they
came to the house, the youth stopped at the door and knocking said, “O
my lord, this is my second home: my uncle hath heard much of thee and of
thy goodness me-wards and desireth with exceeding desire to see thee;
so, shouldst thou consent to enter and visit him, I shall be truly glad
and thankful to thee.” Albeit Khwajah Hasan rejoiced in heart that he
had thus found means whereby he might have access to his enemy’s house
and household, and although he hoped soon to attain his end by
treachery, yet he hesitated to enter in and stood to make his excuses
and walk away. But when the door was opened by the slave-porter, Ali
Baba’s nephew seized his companion’s hand and after abundant persuasion
led him in, whereat he entered with great show of cheerfulness as though
much pleased and honoured. The house-master received him with all favour
and worship and asked him of his welfare, and said to him, “O my lord, I
am obliged and thankful to thee for that thou hast shewn favour to the
son of my brother and I perceive that thou regardest him with an
affection even fonder than my own.” Khwajah Hasan replied with pleasant
words and said, “Thy nephew vastly taketh my fancy and in him I am well
pleased, for that although young in years yet he hath been endued by
Allah with much of wisdom.” Thus they twain conversed with friendly
conversation and presently the guest rose to depart and said, “O my
lord, thy slave must now farewell thee; but on some future
day—Inshallah—he will again wait upon thee.” Ali Baba, however, would
not let him leave and asked, “Whither wendest thou, O my friend? I would
invite thee to my table and I pray thee sit at meat with us and after
hie thee home in peace. Perchance the dishes are not as delicate as
those whereof thou art wont to eat, still deign grant me this request I
pray thee and refresh thyself with my victual.” Quoth Khwajah Hasan, “O
my lord I am beholden to thee for thy gracious invitation, and with
pleasure would I sit at meat with thee, but for a special reason must I
needs excuse myself; suffer me therefore to depart for I may not tarry
longer nor accept thy gracious offer.” Hereto the host made reply, “I
pray thee, O my lord, tell me what may be the reason so urgent and
weighty?” And Khwajah Hasan answered, “The cause is this: I must not, by
order of the physician, who cured me lately of my complaint, eat aught
of food prepared with salt.” Quoth Ali Baba, “An this be all, deprive me
not, I pray thee, of the honour thy company will confer upon me: as the
meats are not yet cooked, I will forbid the kitchener to make use of any
salt. Tarry here awhile and I will return anon to thee.” So saying Ali
Baba went in to Morgiana and bade her not put salt into any one of the
dishes; and she, while busied with her cooking, fell to marvelling
greatly at such order and asked her master, “Who is he that eateth meat
wherein is no salt?” He answered, “What to thee mattereth it who he may
be? only do thou my bidding.” She rejoined, “’Tis well: all shall be as
thou wishest;” but in mind she wondered at the man who made such strange
request and desired much to look upon him. Wherefore, when all the meats
were ready for serving up, she helped the slave-boy Abdullah to spread
the table and set on the meal; and no sooner did she see Khwajah Hasan
than she knew who he was, albeit he had disguised himself in the dress
of a stranger merchant; furthermore, when she eyed him attentively she
espied a dagger hidden under his robe. “So ho!” quoth she to herself,
“this is the cause why the villain eateth not of salt, for that he
seeketh an opportunity to slay my master whose mortal enemy he is;
howbeit I will be beforehand with him and despatch him ere he find a
chance to harm my lord.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Morgiana, having
spread a white cloth upon the table and served up the meal, went back to
the kitchen and thought out her plot against the robber-Captain. Now
when Ali Baba and Khwajah Hasan had eaten their sufficiency, the
slave-boy Abdullah brought Morgiana word to serve the dessert, and she
cleared the table and set on fruit fresh and dried in salvers, then she
placed by the side of Ali Baba a small tripod for three cups with a
flagon of wine, and lastly she went off with the slave-boy Abdullah into
another room, as though she would herself eat supper. Then Khwajah
Hasan, that is, the Captain of the robbers, perceiving that the coast
was clear, exulted mightily saying to himself, “The time hath come for
me to take full vengeance; with one thrust of my dagger I will despatch
this fellow, then escape across the garden and wend my ways. His nephew
will not adventure to stay my hand, for an he do but move a finger or
toe with that intent another stab will settle his earthly account. Still
must I wait awhile until the slave-boy and the cook-maid shall have
eaten and lain down to rest them in the kitchen.” Morgiana, however,
watched him wistfully and divining his purpose said in her mind, “I must
not allow this villain advantage over my lord, but by some means I must
make void his project and at once put an end to the life of him.”
Accordingly, the trusty slave-girl changed her dress with all haste and
donned such clothes as dancers wear; she veiled her face with a costly
kerchief; around her head she bound a fine turband, and about her middle
she tied a waist-cloth worked with gold and silver wherein she stuck a
dagger, whose hilt was rich in filigree and jewelry. Thus disguised she
said to the slave-boy Abdullah, “Take now thy tambourine that we may
play and sing and dance in honour of our master’s guest.” So he did her
bidding and the twain went into the room, the lad playing and the lass
following. Then, making a low congée, they asked leave to perform and
disport and play; and Ali Baba gave permission, saying, “Dance now and
do your best that this our guest may be mirthful and merry.” Quoth
Khwajah Hasan, “O my lord, thou dost indeed provide much pleasant
entertainment.” Then the slave-boy Abdullah standing by began to strike
the tambourine whilst Morgiana rose up and showed her perfect art and
pleased them vastly with graceful steps and sportive motion; and
suddenly drawing the poniard from her belt she brandished it and paced
from side to side, a spectacle which pleased them most of all. At times
also she stood before them, now clapping the sharp-edged dagger under
her armpit and then setting it against her breast. Lastly she took the
tambourine from the slave-boy Abdullah, and still holding the poniard in
her right she went round for largesse as is the custom amongst
merry-makers. First she stood before Ali Baba who threw a gold coin into
the tambourine, and his nephew likewise put in an Ashrafi; then Khwajah
Hasan, seeing her about to approach him, fell to pulling out his purse,
when she heartened her heart and quick as the blinding leven she plunged
the dagger into his vitals, and forthwith the miscreant fell back
stone-dead. Ali Baba was dismayed and cried in his wrath, “O unhappy,
what is this deed thou hast done to bring about my ruin!” But she
replied, “Nay, O my lord, rather to save thee and not to cause thee harm
have I slain this man: loosen his garments and see what thou wilt
discover thereunder.” So Ali Baba searched the dead man’s dress and
found concealed therein a dagger. Then said Morgiana, “This wretch was
thy deadly enemy. Consider him well: he is none other than the oil
merchant, the Captain of the band of robbers. Whenas he came hither with
intent to take thy life, he would not eat thy salt; and when thou
toldest me that he wished not any in the meat I suspected him and at
first sight I was assured that he would surely do thee die; Almighty
Allah be praised ’tis even as I thought.” Then Ali Baba lavished upon
her thanks and expressions of gratitude, saying, “Lo, these two times
hast thou saved me from his hand,” and falling upon her neck he cried,
“See thou art free, and as reward for this thy fealty I have wedded thee
to my nephew.” Then turning to the youth he said, “Do as I bid thee and
thou shalt prosper. I would that thou marry Morgiana, who is a model of
duty and loyalty: thou seest now yon Khwajah Hasan sought thy friendship
only that he might find opportunity to take my life, but this maiden
with her good sense and her wisdom hath slain him and saved us.”——And as
the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Ali Baba’s nephew
straightway consented to marry Morgiana. After which the three, raising
the dead body bore it forth with all heed and vigilance and privily
buried it in the garden, and for many years no one knew aught thereof.
In due time Ali Baba married his brother’s son to Morgiana with great
pomp, and spread a bride-feast in most sumptuous fashion for his friends
and neighbours, and made merry with them and enjoyed singing and all
manner of dancing and amusements. He prospered in every undertaking and
Time smiled upon him and a new source of wealth was opened to him. For
fear of the thieves he had not once visited the jungle-cave wherein lay
the treasure, since the day he had carried forth the corpse of his
brother Kasim. But some time after, he mounted his hackney one morning
and journeyed thither, with all care and caution, till finding no signs
of man or horse, and reassured in his mind he ventured to draw near the
door. Then alighting from his beast he tied it up to a tree, and going
to the entrance pronounced the words which he had not forgotten, “Open,
O Simsim!” Hereat, as was its wont, the door flew open, and entering
thereby he saw the goods and hoard of gold and silver untouched and
lying as he had left them. So he felt assured that not one of all the
thieves remained alive, and, that save himself there was not a soul who
knew the secret of the place. At once he bound in his saddlecloth a load
of Ashrafis such as his horse could bear and brought it home; and in
after days he showed the hoard to his sons and sons’ sons and taught
them how the door could be caused to open and shut. Thus Ali Baba and
his household lived all their lives in wealth and joyance in that city
where erst he had been a pauper, and by the blessing of that secret
treasure he rose to high degree and dignities.——And as the morn began to
dawn Shahrazad held her peace till




                ALI KHWAJAH AND THE MERCHANT OF BAGHDAD.


           The end of the Six Hundred and Thirty-ninth Night.

Then by the command of King Shahryar Queen Shahrazad began to tell in
these words the story of




               _ALI KHWAJAH AND THE MERCHANT OF BAGHDAD_.



Under the reign of the Caliph Harun al-Rashid there dwelt in the city of
Baghdad a certain merchant, ’Alí Khwájah hight, who had a small stock of
goods wherewith he bought and sold and made a bare livelihood, abiding
alone and without a family in the house of his forbears. Now so it came
to pass that each night for three nights together he saw in vision a
venerable Shaykh who bespake him thus, “Thou art beholden to make a
pilgrimage to Meccah; why abidest thou sunk in heedless slumber and
farest not forth as it behoveth thee?”[56] Hearing these words he became
sore startled and affrighted, so that he sold shop and goods and all
that he had; and, with firm intent to visit the Holy House of Almighty
Allah, he let his home on hire and joined a caravan that was journeying
to Meccah the Magnified. But ere he left his natal city he placed a
thousand gold pieces, which were over and above his need for the
journey, within an earthen jar filled up with Asáfírí[57] or Sparrow
olives; and, having made fast the mouth thereof, he carried the jar to a
merchant-friend of many years standing and said, “Belike, O my brother,
thou hast heard tell that I purpose going with a caravan on pilgrimage
to Meccah, the Holy City; so I have brought a jar of olives the which, I
pray thee, preserve for me in trust against my return.” The merchant at
once arose and handing the key of his warehouse to Ali Khwajah said,
“Here, take the key and open the store and therein place the jar
anywhere thou choosest, and when thou shalt come back thou wilt find it
even as thou leftest it.” Hereupon Ali Khwajah did his friend’s bidding
and locking up the door returned the key to its master. Then loading his
travelling goods upon a dromedary and mounting a second beast he fared
forth with the caravan. They came at length to Meccah the Magnified, and
it was the month Zú al-Hijjah wherein myriads of Moslems hie thither on
pilgrimage and pray and prostrate before the Ka’abah-temple. And when he
had circuited the Holy House and fulfilled all the rites and ceremonies
required of palmers, he set up a shop for sale of merchandise.[58] By
chance two merchants passing along that street espied the fine stuffs
and goods in Ali Khwajah’s booth and approved much of them and praised
their beauty and excellence. Presently quoth one to other, “This man
bringeth here most rare and costly goods: now in Cairo, the capital of
Egypt-land would he get full value for them, and far more than in the
markets of this city.” Hearing mention of Cairo, Ali Khwajah conceived a
sore longing to visit that famous capital, so he gave up his intent of
return Baghdad-wards and purposed wayfaring to Egypt. Accordingly he
joined a caravan and arriving thither was well pleased with the place,
both country and city; and selling his merchandise he made great gain
therefrom. Then buying other goods and stuffs he purposed to make
Damascus; but for one full month he tarried at Cairo and visited her
sanctuaries and saintly places and after leaving her walls he solaced
himself with seeing many famous cities distant several days’ journey
from the capital along the banks of the River Nilus. Presently, bidding
adieu to Egypt he arrived at the Sanctified House,[59] Jerusalem and
prayed in the Temple of the Banu Isra’íl which the Moslems had
re-edified. In due time he reached Damascus and observed that the city
was well builded and much peopled, and that the fields and meads were
well-watered with springs and channels and that the gardens and vergiers
were laden with flowers and fruits. Amid such delights Ali Khwajah
hardly thought of Baghdad; withal he ceased not to pursue his journey
through Aleppo, Mosul and Shiráz, tarrying some time at all of these
towns, especially at Shiráz, till at length after seven years of
wayfaring he came back to Baghdad.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


             The end of the Six Hundred and Fortieth Night.

Then said she:——It behoveth thee now, O auspicious King, to hear of the
Baghdad merchant and his lack of probity. For seven long years he never
once thought of Ali Khwajah or of the trust committed to his charge;
till one day as his wife sat at meat with him at the evening meal, their
talk by chance was of olives. Quoth she to him, “I would now fain have
some that I may eat of them;” and quoth he, “As thou speakest thereof I
bethink me of that Ali Khwajah who seven years ago fared on a pilgrimage
to Meccah, and ere he went left in trust with me a jar of Sparrowolives
which still cumbereth the store-house. Who knoweth where he is or what
hath betided him? A man who lately returned with the Hajj-caravan
brought me word that Ali Khwajah had quitted Meccah the Magnified with
intent to journey on to Egypt. Allah Almighty alone knoweth an he be
still alive or he be now dead; however, if his olives be in good
condition I will go bring some hither that we may taste them: so give me
a platter and a lamp that I may fetch thee somewhat of them.” His wife,
an honest woman and an upright, made answer, “Allah forbid that thou
shouldst do a deed so base and break thy word and covenant. Who can
tell? Thou art not assured by any of his death; perchance he may come
back from Egypt safe and sound to-morrow or the day after; then wilt
thou, an thou cannot deliver unharmed to him what he hath left in
pledge, be ashamed of this thy broken troth and we shall be disgraced
before man and dishonoured in the presence of thy friend. I will not for
my part have any hand in such meanness nor will I taste the olives;
furthermore, it standeth not to reason that after seven years’ keeping
they should be fit to eat. I do implore thee to forswear this ill
purpose.” On such wise the merchant’s wife protested and prayed her
husband that he meddle not with Ali Khwajah’s olives, and shamed him of
his intent so that for the nonce he cast the matter from his mind.
However, although the trader refrained that evening from taking Ali
Khwajah’s olives, yet he kept the design in memory until one day when,
of his obstinacy and unfaith, he resolved to carry out his project; and
rising up walked towards the store-room dish in hand. By chance he met
his wife who said, “I am no partner with thee in this ill-action: in
very truth some evil shall befal thee an thou do such deed.” He heard
her but heeded her not; and, going to the store-room opened the jar and
found the olives spoiled and white with mould; but presently he tilted
up the jar and pouring some of its contents into the dish, suddenly saw
an Ashrafi fall from the vessel together with the fruit. Then, filled
with greed, he turned out all that was within into another jar and
wondered with exceeding wonder to find the lower half full of golden
coins. Presently, putting up the moneys and the olives he closed the
vessel and going back said to his wife, “Thou spakest sooth, for I have
examined the jar and have found the fruit mouldy and foul of smell;
wherefore I returned it to its place and left it as it was aforetime.”
That night the merchant could not sleep a wink for thinking of the gold
and how he might lay hands thereon; and when morning morrowed he took
out all the Ashrafis and buying some fresh olives in the Bazar filled up
the jar with them and closed the mouth and set it in its usual place.
Now it came to pass by Allah’s mercy that at the end of the month Ali
Khwajah returned safe and sound to Baghdad; and he first went to his old
friend, to wit, the merchant who, greeting him with feigned joy, fell on
his neck, but withal was sore troubled and perplexed at what might
happen. After salutations and much rejoicing on either part Ali Khwajah
bespake the merchant on business and begged that he might take back his
jar of Asafiri-olives which he had placed in charge of his familiar.
Quoth the merchant to Ali Khwajah, “O my friend, I wot not where thou
didst leave thy jar of olives; but here is the key, go down to the
store-house and take all that is thine own.” So Ali Khwajah did as he
was bidden and carrying the jar from the magazine took his leave and
hastened home; but, when he opened the vessel and found not the gold
coins, he was distracted and overwhelmed with grief and made bitter
lamentation. Then he returned to the merchant and said, “O my friend,
Allah, the All-present and the All-seeing, be my witness that, when I
went on my pilgrimage to Meccah the Magnified, I left a thousand
Ashrafis in that jar, and now I find them not. Canst thou tell me aught
concerning them? An thou in thy sore need have made use of them, it
mattereth not so thou wilt give them back as soon as thou art able.” The
merchant, apparently pitying him, said, “O good my friend, thou didst
thyself with thine hand set the jar inside the store-room. I wist not
that thou hadst aught in it save olives; yet as thou didst leave it, so
in like manner didst thou find it and carry it away; and now thou
chargest me with theft of Ashrafis. It seemeth strange and passing
strange that thou shouldst make such accusation. When thou wentest thou
madest no mention of any money in the jar, but saidst that it was full
of olives, even as thou hast found it. Hadst thou left gold coins
therein, then surely thou wouldst have recovered them.” Hereupon Ali
Khwajah begged hard with much entreaty, saying, “Those thousand Ashrafis
were all I owned, the money earned by years of toil: I do beseech thee
have pity on my case and give them back to me.” Replied the merchant,
waxing wroth with great wrath, “O my friend, a fine fellow thou art to
talk of honesty and withal make such false and lying charge. Begone: hie
thee hence and come not to my house again; for now I know thee as thou
art, a swindler and impostor.” Hearing this dispute between Ali Khwajah
and the merchant all the people of the quarter came crowding to the
shop.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-first Night,

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the multitude
which thronged about the merchant’s shop warmly took up the matter; and
thus it became well known to all, rich and poor, within the city of
Baghdad how that one Ali Khwajah had hidden a thousand Ashrafis within a
jar of olives and had placed it on trust with a certain merchant;
moreover how, after pilgrim-ageing to Meccah and seven years of travel
the poor man had returned, and that the rich man had gainsaid his words
anent the gold and was ready to make oath that he had not received any
trust of the kind. At length, when naught else availed, Ali Khwajah was
constrained to bring the matter before the Kazi, and to claim one
thousand Ashrafis of his false friend. The Judge asked, “What witnesses
hast thou who may speak for thee?” and the plaintiff answered, “O my
lord the Kazi, I feared to tell the matter to any man lest all come to
know of my secret. Allah Almighty is my sole testimony. This merchant
was my friend and I recked not that he would prove dishonest and
unfaithful.” Quoth the Judge, “Then must I needs send for the merchant
and hear what he saith on oath;” and when the defendant came they made
him swear by all he deemed holy, facing Ka’abah-wards with hands
uplifted, and he cried, “I swear that I know naught of any Ashrafis
belonging to Ali Khwajah.”[60] Hereat the Kazi pronounced him innocent
and dismissed him from court; and Ali Khwajah went home sad at heart and
said to himself, “Alas, what justice is this which hath been meted out
to me, that I should lose my money, and my just cause be deemed unjust!
It hath been truly said:—He loseth the lave who sueth before a knave.”
On the next day he drew out a statement of his case; and, as the Caliph
Harun al-Rashid was on his way to Friday-prayers, he fell down on the
ground before him and presented to him the paper. The Commander of the
Faithful read the petition and having understood the case deigned give
order saying, “To-morrow bring the accuser and the accused to the
audience-hall and place the petition before my presence, for I myself
will enquire into this matter.” That night the Prince of True Believers,
as was his wont, donned disguise to walk about the squares of Baghdad
and its streets and lanes and, accompanied by Ja’afar the Barmaki and
Masrúr the Sworder of his vengeance, proceeded to espy what happened in
the city. Immediately on issuing forth he came upon an open place in the
Bazar when he heard the hubbub of children a-playing and saw at scanty
distance some ten or dozen boys making sport amongst themselves in the
moonlight; and he stopped awhile to watch their diversion. Then one
amongst the lads, a goodly and a fair-complexioned, said to the others,
“Come now and let us play the game of Kazi: I will be the Judge; let one
of you be Ali Khwajah, and another the merchant with whom he placed the
thousand Ashrafis in pledge before faring on his pilgrimage: so come ye
before me and let each one plead his plea.” When the Caliph heard the
name of Ali Khwajah he minded him of the petition which had been
presented to him for justice against the merchant, and bethought him
that he would wait and see how the boy would perform the part of Kazi in
their game and upon what decision he would decide. So the Prince watched
the mock-trial with keen interest saying to himself, “This case hath
verily made such stir within the city that even the children know
thereof and re-act it in their sports.” Presently, he amongst the lads
who took the part of Ali Khwajah the plaintiff and his playmate who
represented the merchant of Baghdad accused of theft, advanced and stood
before the boy who as the Kazi sat in pomp and dignity. Quoth the Judge,
“O Ali Khwajah, what is thy claim against this merchant?” and the
complainant preferred his charge in a plea of full detail. Then said the
Kazi to the boy who acted merchant, “What answerest thou to this
complaint and why didst thou not return the gold pieces?” The accused
made reply even as the real defendant had done and denied the charge
before the Judge, professing himself ready to take oath thereto. Then
said the boy-Kazi, “Ere thou swear on oath that thou hast not taken the
money, I would fain see for myself the jar of olives which the plaintiff
deposited with thee on trust.” Then turning to the boy who represented
Ali Khwajah he cried, “Go thou and instantly produce the jar that I may
inspect it.” And when the vessel was brought the Kazi said to the two
contentious, “See now and say me: be this the very jar which thou, the
plaintiff, leftest with the defendant?” and both answered that it was
one and the same. Then said the self-constituted Judge, “Open now the
jar and bring hither some of the contents that I may see the state in
which the Asafiri-olives actually are.” Then tasting of the fruit, “How
is this? I find their flavour is fresh and their state excellent. Surely
during the lapse of seven twelvemonths the olives would have become
mouldy and rotten. Bring now before me two oil-merchants of the town
that they may pass opinion upon them.” Then two other of the boys
assumed the parts commanded and coming into court stood before the Kazi,
who asked, “Are ye olive-merchants by trade?” They answered, “We are and
this hath been our calling for many generations and in buying and
selling olives we earn our daily bread.” Then said the Kazi, “Tell me
now, how long do olives keep fresh and well-flavoured?” and said they,
“O my lord, however carefully we keep them, after the third year they
change flavour and colour and become no longer fit for food, in fact
they are good only to be cast away.” Thereupon quoth the boy-Kazi,
“Examine me now these olives that are in this jar and say me how old are
they and what is their condition and savour.”——And as the morn began to
dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-second Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the two boys who
played the parts of oil-merchants pretended to take some berries from
the jar and taste them and presently they said, “O our lord the Kazi,
these olives are in fair condition and full-flavoured.” Quoth the Kazi,
“Ye speak falsely, for ’tis seven years since Ali Khwajah put them in
the jar as he was about to go a-pilgrimageing;” and quoth they, “Say
whatso thou wilt, those olives are of this year’s growth, and there is
not an oil-merchant in all Baghdad but who will agree with us.” Moreover
the accused was made to taste and smell the fruits and he could not but
admit that it was even so as they had avouched. Then said the boy-Kazi
to the boy-defendant, “’Tis clear thou art a rogue and a rascal, and
thou hast done a deed wherefor thou richly deservest the gibbet.”
Hearing this the children frisked about and clapped their hands with
glee and gladness, then seizing hold of him who acted as the merchant of
Baghdad, they led him off as to execution. The Commander of the
Faithful, Harun al-Rashid, was greatly pleased at this acuteness of the
boy who had assumed the part of judge in the play, and commanded his
Wazir Ja’afar saying, “Mark well the lad who enacted the Kazi in this
mock-trial and see that thou produce him on the morrow: he shall try the
case in my presence substantially and in real earnest, even as we have
heard him deal with it in play. Summon also the Kazi of this city that
he may learn the administration of justice from this child. Moreover
send word to Ali Khwajah bidding him bring with him the jar of olives,
and have also in readiness two oil-merchants of the town.” Thus as they
walked along the Caliph gave orders to the Wazir and then returned to
his palace. So on the morrow Ja’afar the Barmaki went to that quarter of
the town where the children had enacted the mock-trial and asked the
schoolmaster where his scholars might be, and he answered, “They have
all gone away, each to his home.” So the Minister visited the houses
pointed out to him and ordered the little ones to appear in his
presence. Accordingly they were brought before him, when he said to
them, “Who amongst you is he that yesternight acted the part of Kazi in
play and passed sentence in the case of Ali Khwajah?” The eldest of them
replied, “’Twas I, O my lord the Wazir;” and then he waxed pale, not
knowing why the question was put. Cried the Minister, “Come along with
me; the Commander of the Faithful hath need of thee.” At this the mother
of the lad was sore afraid and wept; but Ja’afar comforted her and said,
“O my lady, have no fear and trouble not thyself. Thy son will soon
return to thee in safety, Inshallah—God willing—and methinks the Sultan
will show much favour unto him.” The woman’s heart was heartened on
hearing these words of the Wazir and she joyfully dressed her boy in his
best attire and sent him off with the Wazir, who led him by the hand to
the Caliph’s audience-hall and executed all the other commandments which
had been issued by his liege lord. Then the Commander of the Faithful,
having taken seat upon the throne of justice, set the boy upon a seat
beside him, and as soon as the contending parties appeared before him,
that is Ali Khwajah and the merchant of Baghdad, he commanded them to
state each man his case in presence of the child who should adjudge the
suit. So the two, plaintiff and defendant recounted their contention
before the boy in full detail; and when the accused stoutly denied the
charge and was about to swear on oath that what he said was true, with
hands uplifted and facing Ka’abah-wards, the child-Kazi prevented him,
saying, “Enough! swear not on oath till thou art bidden; and first let
the jar of olives be produced in Court.” Forthwith the jar was brought
forward and placed before him; and the lad bade open it; then, tasting
one he gave also to two oil-merchants who had been summoned, that they
might do likewise and declare how old was the fruit and whether its
savour was good or bad. They did his bidding and said, “The flavour of
these olives hath not changed and they are of this year’s growth.” Then
said the boy, “Methinks ye are mistaken, for seven years ago Ali Khwajah
put the olives into the jar: how then could fruit of this year find
their way therein?” But they replied, “’Tis even as we say: an thou
believe not our words send straightway for other oil-merchants and make
enquiry of them, so shalt thou know if we speak sooth or lies.” But when
the merchant of Baghdad saw that he could no longer avail to prove his
innocence, he confessed everything; to wit, how he had taken out the
Ashrafis and filled the jar with fresh olives. Hearing this the boy said
to the Prince of True Believers, “O gracious Sovereign, last night in
play we tried this cause, but thou alone hast power to apply the
penalty. I have adjudged the matter in thy presence and I humbly pray
that thou punish this merchant according to the law of the Koran and the
custom of the Apostle; and thou decree the restoring of his thousand
gold pieces to Ali Khwajah, for that he hath been proved entitled to
them.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-third Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Caliph ordered
the merchant of Baghdad to be taken away and be hanged, after he should
have made known where he had put the thousand Ashrafis and that these
should have been restored to their rightful owner, Ali Khwajah. He also
turned to the Kazi who had hastily adjudged the case, and bade him learn
from that lad to do his duty more sedulously and conscientiously.
Moreover the Prince of True Believers embraced the boy, and ordered that
the Wazir give him a thousand pieces of gold from the royal treasury and
conduct him safely to his home and parents.[61] And after, when the lad
grew to man’s estate, the Commander of the Faithful made him one of his
cup-companions and furthered his fortunes and ever entreated him with
the highmost honour. But when Queen Shahrazad had ended the story of Ali
Khwajah and the merchant of Baghdad she said, “Now, O auspicious King, I
would relate a more excellent history than any, shouldst thou be pleased
to hear that I have to say;” and King Shahryar replied, “By Allah! what
an admirable tale is this thou hast told: my ears do long to hear
another as rare and commendable.” So Shahrazad began forthright to
recount the adventures of[62]




               PRINCE AHMAD AND THE FAIRY PERI-BANU.[63]


In days of yore and times long gone before there was a Sultan of India
who begat three sons; the eldest hight Prince Husayn, the second Prince
Ali, and the youngest Prince Ahmad; moreover he had a niece, named
Princess Nur al-Nihár,[64] the daughter of his cadet brother who, dying
early, left his only child under her uncle’s charge. The King busied
himself with abundant diligence about her instruction and took all care
that she should be taught to read and write, sew and embroider, sing and
deftly touch all instruments of mirth and merriment. This Princess also
in beauty and loveliness and in wit and wisdom far excelled all the
maidens of her own age in every land. She was brought up with the
Princes her cousins in all joyance; and they ate together and played
together and slept together; and the king had determined in his mind
that when she reached marriageable age he would give her in wedlock to
some one of the neighbouring royalties; but, when she came to years of
discretion, her uncle perceived that the three Princes his sons were all
three deep in love of her, and each desired in his heart to woo and to
win and to wed her. Wherefore was the King sore troubled in mind and
said to himself, “An I give the Lady Nur al-Nihár in wedlock to any one
of her cousins, the other twain will be dissatisfied and murmur against
my decision; withal my soul cannot endure to see them grieved and
disappointed. And should I marry her to some stranger the three Princes
my sons will be sore distressed and saddened in soul; nay, who knoweth
that they may not slay themselves or go forth and betake them to some
far and foreign land? The matter is a troublous and a perilous; so it
behoveth me their sire to take action on such wise that if one of them
espouse her, the other two be not displeased thereat.” Long time the
Sultan revolved the matter in his mind; and at length he devised a
device; and, sending for the three Princes, addressed them saying, “O my
sons, ye are in my opinion of equal merit one with other; nor can I give
preference to any of you and marry him to the Princess Nur al-Nihar; nor
yet am I empowered to wed her with all three. But I have thought of one
plan whereby she shall be wife to one of you, and yet shall not cause
aught of irk or envy to his brethren; so may your mutual love and
affection remain unabated, and one shall never be jealous of the other’s
happiness. Brief, my device is this:—Go ye and travel to distant
countries, each one separating himself from the others; and do ye bring
me back the thing most wondrous and marvellous of all sights ye may see
upon your wayfarings; and he who shall return with the rarest of
curiosities shall be husband to the Princess Nur al-Nihar. Consent ye
now to this proposal; and whatso of money ye require for travel and for
the purchase of objects seld-seen and singular, take ye from the royal
treasury as much as ye desire.” The three Princes, who were ever
submissive to their sire, consented with one voice to this proposal, and
each was satisfied and confident that he would bring the King the most
extraordinary of gifts and thereby win the Princess to wife. So the
Sultan bade give to each what moneys he wanted without stint or account,
and counselled them to make ready for the journey without stay or delay
and depart their home in the Peace of Allah.——And as the morn began to
dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-fourth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the three princely
brothers forthright made them ready for journey and voyage. So they
donned disguise, preferring the dress of wandering merchants; and,
buying such things as they needed and taking with them each his suite
they mounted steeds of purest blood and rode forth in a body from the
palace. For several stages they travelled the same road until, reaching
a place where it branched off in three different ways, they alighted at
a Khan and ate the evening meal. Then they made compact and covenant,
that whereas they had thus far travelled together they should at break
of day take separate roads and each wend his own way and all seek
different and distant regions, agreeing to travel for the space of one
year only, after which, should they be in the land of the living, all
three would rendezvous at that same caravanserai and return in company
to the King their sire. Furthermore, they determined that the first who
came back to the Khan should await the arrival of the next, and that two
of them should tarry there in expectancy of the third. Then, all this
matter duly settled, they retired to rest, and when the morning morrowed
they fell on one another’s necks and bade farewell; and, lastly,
mounting their horses, they rode forth each in his own direction. Now
Prince Husayn, the eldest, had oft heard recount the wonders of the land
Bishangarh[65], and for a long while had wished to visit it; so he took
the road which led thither, and, joining himself to a caravan journeying
that way, accompanied it by land and by water and traversed many
regions, desert wilds and stony wolds, dense jungles and fertile tracts,
with fields and hamlets and gardens and townships. After three months
spent in wayfare at length he made Bishangarh, a region over-reigned by
manifold rulers, so great was its extent and so far reaching was its
power. He put up at a Khan built specially for merchants who came from
the farthest lands, and from the folk who dwelt therein he heard tell
that the city contained a large central market[66] wherein men bought
and sold all manner of rarities and wondrous things. Accordingly, next
day Prince Husayn repaired to the Bazar and on sighting it he stood
amazed at the prospect of its length and width. It was divided into many
streets, all vaulted over but lit up by skylights; and the shops on
either side were substantially builded, all after one pattern and nearly
of the same size, while each was fronted by an awning which kept off the
glare and made a grateful shade. Within these shops were ranged and
ordered various kinds of wares; there were bales of “woven air”[67] and
linens of finest tissue, plain-white or dyed or adorned with life-like
patterns wherefrom beasts and trees and blooms stood out so distinctly
that one might believe them to be very ferals, bosquets and gardens.
There were moreover silken goods, brocaded stuffs, and finest satins
from Persia and Egypt of endless profusion; in the China warehouses
stood glass vessels of all kinds, and here and there were stores wherein
tapestries and thousands of foot-carpets lay for sale. So Prince Husayn
walked on from shop to shop and marvelled much to see such wondrous
things whereof he had never even dreamt: and he came at length to the
Goldsmiths’ Lane and espied gems and jewels and golden and silvern
vessels studded with diamonds and rubies, emeralds, pearls and other
precious stones, all so lustrous and dazzling bright that the stores
were lit up with their singular brilliancy. Hereat he said to himself,
“If in one street only there be such wealth and jewels so rare, Allah
Almighty and none save He knoweth what may be the riches in all this
city.” He was not less astonished to behold the Brahmins, how their
woman-kind for excess of opulence bedecked themselves with the finest
gems and were ornamented with the richest gear from front to foot: their
very slave-boys and handmaids wore golden necklaces and bracelets and
bangles studded with precious stones. Along the length of one
market-street were ranged hosts of flower-sellers; for all the folk,
both high and low, wore wreaths and garlands: some carried nosegays in
hand, other some bound fillets round their heads, while not a few had
ropes and festoons surrounding and hanging from their necks. The whole
place seemed one huge parterre of bloomery; even traders set bouquets in
every shop and stall, and the scented air was heavy with perfume.
Strolling to and fro Prince Husayn was presently tired and would fain
have sat him down somewhere to rest awhile, when one of the merchants,
noting his look of weariness, with kindly courtesy prayed him be seated
in his store. After saluting him with the salam the stranger sat down;
and anon he saw a broker come that way, offering for sale a carpet some
four yards square, and crying, “This be for sale; who giveth me its
worth; to wit, thirty thousand gold pieces?”——And as the morn began to
dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-fifth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Prince
marvelled with excessive marvel at the price, and, beckoning the dealer,
examined his wares right well; then said he, “A carpet such as this is
selleth for a few silverlings. What special virtue hath it that thou
demand therefor the sum of thirty thousand gold coins?” The broker,
believing Husayn to be a merchant man lately arrived at Bishangarh,
answered him saying, “O my lord, thinkest thou I price this carpet at
too high a value? My master hath bidden me not to sell it for less than
forty thousand Ashrafis.” Quoth the Prince, “It surely doth possess some
wondrous virtue, otherwise wouldst thou not demand so prodigious a sum;”
and quoth the broker, “’Tis true, O my lord, its properties are singular
and marvellous. Whoever sitteth on this carpet and willeth in thought to
be taken up and set down upon other site will, in the twinkling of an
eye, be borne thither, be that place nearhand or distant many a day’s
journey and difficult to reach.”[68] The Prince hearing these words said
to himself, “Naught so wonder-rare as this rug can I carry back to the
Sultan my sire to my gift, or any that afford him higher satisfaction
and delight. Almighty Allah be praised, the aim of my wayfare is
attained and hereby, Inshallah! I shall win to my wish. This, if
anything, will be to him a joy for ever.” Wherefore the Prince, with
intent to buy the Flying Carpet, turned to the broker and said, “If
indeed it have properties such as thou describest, verily the price thou
askest therefor is not over much, and I am ready to pay thee the sum
required.” The other rejoined, “An thou doubt my words I pray thee put
them to the test and by such proof remove thy suspicions. Sit now upon
this square of tapestry, and at thy mere wish and will it shall
transport us to the caravanserai wherein thou abidest: on this wise
shalt thou be certified of my words being sooth, and when assured of
their truth thou mayest count out to me, there and then, but not before,
the value of my wares.” Accordingly, the man spread out the carpet upon
the ground behind his shop and seated the Prince thereupon, he sitting
by his side. Then, at the mere will[69] and wish of Prince Husayn, the
twain were at once transported as though borne by the throne of Solomon
to the Khan. So the eldest of the brothers joyed with exceeding joy to
think that he had won so rare a thing, whose like could nowhere be found
in the lands nor amongst the Kings; and his heart and soul were
gladdened for that he had come to Bishangarh and hit upon such a
prodigy. Accordingly he counted out the forty thousand Ashrafis as
payment for the carpet, and gave, moreover, another twenty thousand by
way of sweetmeat to the broker. Furthermore, he ceased not saying to
himself that the King on seeing it would forthright wed him to the
Princess Nur al-Nihar; for it were clear impossible that either of his
brothers, e’en though they searched the whole world over and over, could
find a rarity to compare with this. He longed to take seat upon the
carpet that very instant and fly to his own country, or, at least, to
await his brothers at the caravanserai where they had parted under
promise and covenant, pledged and concluded, to meet again at the year’s
end. But presently he bethought him that the delay would be long and
longsome, and much he feared lest he be tempted to take some rash step;
wherefore he resolved upon sojourning in the country whose King and
subjects he had ardently desired to behold for many a day, and
determined that he would pass the time in sight-seeing and in pleasuring
over the lands adjoining. So Prince Husayn tarried in Bishangarh some
months. Now the King of that country was wont to hold a high court once
every week for hearing disputes and adjudging causes which concerned
foreign merchants; and thus the Prince ofttimes saw the King, but to
none would he tell a word of his adventure. However, inasmuch as he was
comely of countenance, graceful of gait, and courteous of accost, stout
hearted and strong, wise and ware and witty, he was held by the folk in
higher honour than the Sultan; not to speak of the traders his fellows;
and in due time he became a favourite at court and learned of the ruler
himself all matters concerning his kingdom and his grandeur and
greatness. The Prince also visited the most famous Pagodas[70] of that
country. The first he saw was wrought in brass and orichalch of most
exquisite workmanship: its inner cell measured three yards square and
contained amiddlemost a golden image in size and stature like unto a man
of wondrous beauty; and so cunning was the workmanship that the face
seemed to fix its eyes, two immense rubies of enormous value, upon all
beholders no matter where they stood.[71] He also saw another
idol-temple, not less strange and rare than this, builded in a village
on a plain surface of some half acre long and broad, wherein bloomed
lovely rose-trees and jasmine and herb-basil and many other
sweet-scented plants, whose perfume made the air rich with fragrance.
Around its court ran a wall three feet high, so that no animal might
stray therein; and in the centre was a terrace well-nigh the height of a
man, all made of white marble and wavy alabaster, each and every slab
being dressed so deftly and joined with such nice joinery that the whole
pavement albeit covering so great a space, seemed to the sight but a
single stone. In the centre of the terrace stood the domed fane towering
some fifty cubits high and conspicuous for many miles around: its length
was thirty cubits and its breadth twenty, and the red marbles of the
revetment were clean polished as a mirror, so that every image was
reflected in it to the life. The dome was exquisitely carved and
sumptuously ornamented without; and within were ranged in due rank and
sequence rows and rows of idols. To this, the Holy of Holies, from morn
till eve thousands of Brahmins, men and women, came flocking for daily
worship. They had sports and diversions as well as rites and ceremonies:
some feasted and others danced, some sang, others played on instruments
of mirth and merriment, while here and there were plays and revels and
innocent merry-makings. And hither at every season flocked from distant
lands hosts of pilgrims seeking to fulfil their vows and to perform
their orisons; all bringing gifts of gold and silver coin and presents
rare and costly which they offered to the gods in presence of the royal
officers.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-sixth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Prince Husayn also
saw a fête held once a year within the city of Bishangarh, and the Ryots
all, both great and small, gathered together and circumambulated the
Pagodas; chiefly circuiting one which in size and grandeur surpassed all
others. Great and learned Pandits versed in the Shástras[72] made
journeys of four or five months and greeted one another at that
festival; thither too the folk from all parts of India pilgrimaged in
such crowds that Prince Husayn was astounded at the sight; and, by
reason of the multitudes that thronged around the temples, he could not
see the mode in which the gods were worshipped. On one side of the
adjacent plain which stretched far and wide, stood a new-made
scaffolding of ample size and great magnificence, nine storeys high, and
the lower part supported by forty pillars; and here one day in every
week the King assembled his Wazirs for the purpose of meting out justice
to all strangers in the land. The palace within was richly adorned and
furnished with costly furniture: without, upon the wall-faces were
limned homely landscapes and scenes of foreign parts and notably all
manner beasts and birds and insects even gnats and flies, portrayed with
such skill of brain and cunning of hand that they seemed real and alive
and the country-folk and villagers seeing from afar paintings of lions
and tigers and similar ravenous beasts, were filled with awe and dismay.
On the three other sides of the scaffolding were pavilions, also of
wood, built for use of the commons, illuminated and decorated inside and
outside like the first, and wroughten so cunningly that men could turn
them round, with all the people in them, and moving them about transfer
them to whatsoever quarter they willed. On such wise they shifted these
huge buildings by aid of machinery;[73] and the folk inside could look
upon a succession of sports and games. Moreover, on each side of the
square elephants were ranged in ranks, the number amounting to well-nigh
one thousand, their trunks and ears and hinder parts being painted with
cinnabar and adorned with various lively figures; their housings were of
gold brocade and their howdahs purfled with silver, carrying minstrels
who performed on various instruments, whilst buffoons delighted the
crowd with their jokes and mimes played their most diverting parts. Of
all the sports, however, which the Prince beheld, the elephant-show
amused him most and filled him with the greatest admiration. One huge
beast, which could be wheeled about where the keepers ever listed, for
that his feet rested upon a post which travelled on casters, held in his
trunk a flageolet whereon he played so sweetly well that all the people
were fain to cry Bravo! There was another but a smaller animal which
stood upon one end of a beam laid crosswise upon, and attached with
hinges to, a wooden block eight cubits high, and on the further end was
placed an iron weight as heavy as the elephant, who would press down for
some time upon the beam until the end touched the ground, and then the
weight would raise him up again.[74] Thus the beam swung like a see-saw
aloft and adown; and, as it moved, the elephant swayed to and fro and
kept time with the bands of music, loudly trumpeting the while. The
people moreover could wheel about this elephant from place to place as
he stood balanced on the beam; and such exhibitions of learned elephants
were mostly made in presence of the King. Prince Husayn spent well-nigh
a year in sight-seeing amongst the fairs and festivals of Bishangarh;
and, when the period of the fraternal compact drew near, he spread his
carpet upon the courtground behind the Khan wherein he lodged, and
sitting thereon, together with the suite and the steeds and all he had
brought with him, mentally wished that he might be transported to the
caravanserai where the three brothers had agreed to meet. No sooner had
he formed the thought than straightway, in the twinkling of an eye, the
carpet rose high in air and sped through space and carried them to the
appointed stead where, still garbed as a merchant he remained in
expectation of his brothers’ coming. Hearken now, O auspicious King, to
what befel Prince Ali, the second brother of Prince Husayn. On the third
day after he had parted from the two others, he also joined a caravan
and journeyed towards Persia; then, after a march of four months
arriving at Shiraz, the capital of Iran-land, he alighted at a Khan, he
and his fellow-travellers with whom he had made a manner of friendship;
and, passing as a jeweller, there took up his abode with them. Next day
the traders fared forth to buy wares and to sell their goods; but Prince
Ali, who had brought with him naught of vendible, and only the things he
needed, presently doffed his travelling dress, and in company with a
comrade of the caravan entered the chief Bazar, known as the
Bazistán,[75] or cloth-market. Ali strolled about the place, which was
built of brick and where all the shops had arched roofs resting on
handsome columns; and he admired greatly to behold the splendid
store-houses exposing for sale all manner goods of countless value. He
wondered much what wealth was in the town if a single market-street
contained riches such as these. And as the brokers went about crying
their goods for sale, he saw one of them hending in hand an ivory tube
in length about a cubit, which he was offering for sale at the price of
thirty thousand Ashrafis. Hearing such demand Prince Ali thought to
himself, “Assuredly this fellow is a fool who asketh such a price for so
paltry a thing.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Prince Ali
presently asked one of the shopkeepers with whom he had made
acquaintance, saying, “O my friend, is this man a maniac that he asketh
a sum of thirty thousand Ashrafis for this little pipe of ivory? Surely
none save an idiot would give him such a price and waste upon it such a
mint of money.” Said the shopman, “O my lord, this broker is wiser and
warier than all the others of his calling, and by means of him I have
sold goods worth thousands of sequins. Until yesterday he was in his
sound senses; but I cannot say what state is his to-day and whether or
no he have lost his wits; but this wot I well, that if he ask thirty
thousand for yon ivory tube, ’twill be worth that same or even more.
Howbeit we shall see with our own eyes. Sit thee here and rest within
the shop until he pass this way.” So Prince Ali took where he was bidden
and presently the broker was seen coming up the street. Then the shopman
calling to him said, “O man, rare merit hath yon little pipe; for all
the folk are astounded to hear thee ask so high a price therefor; nay
more, this friend of mine thinketh that thou art crazy.” The broker, a
man of sense, was on no wise chafed at these words but answered with
gentle speech, “O my lord, I doubt not but that thou must deem me a
madman to ask so high a price, and set so great a value upon an article
so mean; but when I shall have made known to thee its properties and
virtues, thou wilt most readily consent to take it at that valuation.
Not thou alone but all men who have heard me cry my cry laugh and name
me ninny.” So saying, the broker showed the Spying Tube to Prince Ali
and handing it to him said, “Examine well this ivory, the properties of
which I will explain to thee. Thou seest that it is furnished with a
piece of glass at either end;[76] and, shouldst thou apply one extremity
thereof to thine eye, thou shalt see what thing soe’er thou listest and
it shall appear close by thy side though parted from thee by many an
hundred of miles.” Replied the Prince “This passeth all conception, nor
can I believe it to be veridical until I shall have tested it and I
become satisfied that ’tis even as thou sayest.” Hereupon the broker
placed the little tube in Prince Ali’s hand, and showing him the way to
handle it said, “Whatso thou mayest wish to descry will be shown to thee
by looking through this ivory.” Prince Ali silently wished to sight his
sire, and when he placed the pipe close to his eye forthwith he saw him
hale and hearty, seated on his throne and dispensing justice to the
people of his dominion. Then the youth longed with great longing to look
upon his lady-love the Princess Nur al-Nihar; and straightway he saw her
also sitting upon her bed, sound and sane, talking and laughing, whilst
a host of handmaids stood around awaiting her commands. The Prince was
astonished exceedingly to behold this strange and wondrous spectacle,
and said to himself, “An I should wander the whole world over for ten
years or more and search in its every corner and cranny, I shall never
find aught so rare and precious as this tube of ivory.” Then quoth he to
the broker, “The virtues of thy pipe I find are indeed those thou hast
described, and right willingly I give thee to its price the thirty
thousand Ashrafis.” Replied the salesman, “O my lord, my master hath
sworn an oath that he will not part with it for less than forty thousand
gold pieces.” Hereupon the Prince, understanding that the broker was a
just man and a true, weighed out to him the forty thousand sequins and
became master of the Spying Tube, enraptured with the thought that
assuredly it would satisfy his sire and obtain for him the hand of
Princess Nur al-Nihar. So with mind at ease Ali journeyed through Shiraz
and over sundry parts of Persia; and in fine, when the year was
well-nigh spent he joined a caravan and, travelling back to India,
arrived safe and sound at the appointed caravanserai whither Prince
Husayn had foregone him. There the twain tarried awaiting the third
brother’s safe return. Such, O King Shahryar, is the story of the two
brothers; and now I beseech thee incline thine ear and hearken to what
befel the youngest, to wit Prince Ahmad; for indeed his adventure is yet
more peregrine and seld-seen of all. When he had parted from his
brothers, he took the road leading to Samarkand; and, arriving there
after long travel, he also like his brothers alighted at a Khan. Next
day he fared forth to see the market-square, which folk call the
Bazistan, and he found it fairly laid out, the shops wroughten with
cunning workmanship and filled with rare stuffs and precious goods and
costly merchandise. Now as he wandered to and fro he came across a
broker who was hawking a Magical Apple and crying aloud, “Who will buy
this fruit, the price whereof be thirty-five thousand gold pieces?”
Quoth Prince Ahmad to the man, “Prithee let me see the fruit thou
holdest in hand, and explain to me what hidden virtue it possesseth that
thou art asking for it so high a value.” Quoth the other, smiling and
handing to him the apple, “Marvel not at this, O good my lord: in sooth
I am certified that when I shall have explained its properties and thou
shalt see how it advantageth all mankind, thou wilt not deem my demand
exorbitant; nay, rather thou wilt gladly give a treasure-house of gold
so thou may possess it.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the broker said
moreover to Prince Ahmad, “Now hearken to me, O my lord, and I will tell
thee what of virtue lieth in this artificial apple. If anyone be sick of
a sickness however sore, nay more if he be ill nigh unto death, and
perchance he smell this pome, he will forthwith recover and become well
and whole of whatsoever disease he had, plague or pleurisy, fever or
other malignant distemper, as though he never had been attacked; and his
strength will return to him forthright, and after smelling this fruit he
will be free from all ailment and malady so long as life shall remain to
him.” Quoth Prince Ahmad, “How shall I be assured that what thou
speakest is truth? If the matter be even as thou sayest, then verily I
will give thee right gladly the sum thou demandest.” Quoth the broker,
“O my lord, all men who dwell in the parts about Samarkand know full
well how there once lived in this city a sage of wondrous skill who,
after many years of toil and travail, wrought this apple by mixing
medicines from herbs and minerals countless in number. All his good,
which was great, he expended upon it, and when he had perfected it he
made whole thousands of sick folk whom he directed only to smell the
fruit. But, alas! his life presently came to an end and death overtook
him suddenly ere he could save himself by the marvellous scent; and, as
he had won no wealth and left only a bereaved wife and a large family of
young children and dependants manifold, his widow had no help but
provide for them a maintenance by parting with this prodigy.” While the
salesman was telling his tale to the Prince a crowd of citizens gathered
around them and one amongst the folk, who was well known to the broker,
came forward and said, “A friend of mine lieth at home sick to the
death: the doctors and surgeons all despair of his life; so I beseech
thee let him smell this fruit that he may live.” Hearing these words,
Prince Ahmad turned to the salesman and said, “O my friend, if this sick
man of whom thou hearest can recover strength by smelling the apple,
then will I straightway buy it of thee at a valuation of forty thousand
Ashrafis.” The man had permission to sell it for a sum of thirty-five
thousand; so he was satisfied to receive five thousand by way of
brokerage, and he rejoined, “’Tis well, O my lord; now mayest thou test
the virtues of this apple and be persuaded in thy mind: hundreds of
ailing folk have I made whole by means of it.” Accordingly the Prince
accompanied the people to the sick man’s house and found him lying on
his bed with the breath in his nostrils; but, as soon as the dying man
smelt the fruit, at once recovering strength he rose in perfect health,
sane and sound. Hereupon Ahmad bought the Magical Apple of the dealer
and counted out to him the forty thousand Ashrafis. Presently, having
gained the object of his travels, he resolved to join some caravan
marching Indiawards and return to his father’s home; but meanwhile he
resolved to solace himself with the sights and marvels of Samarkand. His
especial joy was to gaze upon the glorious plain hight Soghd,[77] one of
the wonders of this world: the land on all sides was a delight to the
sight, emerald-green and bright, with crystal rills like the plains of
Paradise; the gardens bore all manner flowers and fruits and the cities
and palaces gladdened the stranger’s gaze. After some days Prince Ahmad
joined a caravan of merchants wending Indiawards; and, when his long and
longsome travel was ended, he at last reached the caravanserai where his
two brothers, Husayn and Ali, impatiently awaited his arrival. The three
rejoiced with exceeding joy to meet once more and fell on one another’s
necks; thanking Allah who had brought them back safe and sound, hale and
hearty, after such prolonged and longsome absence. Then Prince Husayn,
being the eldest, turned to them and said, “Now it behoveth us each to
recount what hath betided him and announce what rare thing he hath
brought back and what be the virtues thereof; and I, being the
first-born, will be the foremost to tell my adventures. I bring with me
from Bishangarh, a carpet, mean to look at, but such are its properties
that should any sit thereon and wish in mind to visit country or city,
he will at once be carried thither in ease and safety although it be
distant months, nay years of journey. I have paid forty thousand gold
pieces to its price; and, after seeing all the wonders of
Bishangarh-land, I took seat upon my purchase and willed myself at this
spot. Straightway I found myself here as I wished and have tarried in
this caravanserai three months awaiting your arrival. The flying carpet
is with me; so let him who listeth make trial of it.” When the senior
Prince had made an end of telling his tale, Prince Ali spake next and
said, “O my brother, this carpet which thou hast brought is marvel-rare
and hath most wondrous gifts; nor according to thy statement hath any in
all the world seen aught to compare with it.” Then bringing forth the
Spying Tube, he pursued, “Look ye here, I too have bought for forty
thousand Ashrafis somewhat whose merits I will now show forth to
you.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Forty-ninth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Prince Ali
enlarged upon the virtues of his purchase and said:—“Ye see this ivory
pipe? By means of it man may descry objects hidden from his sight and
distant from him many a mile. ’Tis truly a most wondrous matter and
right worthy your inspection, and you two may try it an ye will. Place
but an eye close to the smaller glass and form a wish in mind to see
what thing soe’er your soul desireth; and, whether it be near hand or
distant many hundreds of miles, this ivory will make the object look
clear and close to you.” At these words Prince Husayn took the pipe from
Prince Ali and, applying his eye to one end as he had been directed,
then wished in his heart to behold the Princess Nur al-Nihar;[78] and
the two brothers watched him to learn what he would say. Suddenly they
saw his face change colour and wither as a wilted flower, while in his
agitation and distress a flood of tears gushed from his eyes; and, ere
his brothers recovered from their amazement and could enquire the cause
of such strangeness, he cried aloud, “Alas! and well-away. We have
endured toil and travail, and we have travelled so far and wide hoping
to wed the Princess Nur al-Nihar. But ’tis all in vain: I saw her lying
on her bed death-sick and like to breathe her last and around her stood
her women all weeping and wailing in the sorest of sorrow. O my
brothers, an ye would see her once again for the last time, take ye one
final look through the glass ere she be no more.” Hereat Prince Ali
seized the Spying Tube and peered through it and found the condition of
the Princess even as his brother Husayn had described; so he presently
passed it over to Prince Ahmad, who also looked and was certified that
the Lady Nur al-Nihar was about to give up the ghost. So he said to his
elder brothers, “We three are alike love-distraught for the Princess and
the dearest wish of each one is to win her. Her life is on the ebb,
still I can save her and make her whole if we hasten to her without stay
or delay.” So saying he pulled from his pocket the Magical Apple and
showed it to them crying, “This thing is not less in value than either
the Flying Carpet or the Spying Tube. In Samarkand I bought it for forty
thousand gold pieces and here is the best opportunity to try its
virtues. The folk told me that if a sick man hold it to his nose,
although on the point of death, he will wax at once well and hale again:
I have myself tested it, and now ye shall see for yourselves its
marvel-cure when I shall apply it to the case of Nur al-Nihar. Only, let
us seek her presence ere she die.” Quoth Prince Husayn, “This were an
easy matter: my carpet shall carry us in the twinkling of an eye
straight to the bedside of our beloved. Do ye without hesitation sit
down with me thereupon, for there is room sufficient to accommodate us
three; we shall instantly be carried thither and our servants can follow
us.” Accordingly, the three Princes disposed themselves upon the Flying
Carpet and each willed in his mind to reach the bedside of Nur al-Nihar,
when instantly they found themselves within her apartment. The handmaids
and eunuchs in waiting were terrified at the sight and marvelled how
these stranger men could have entered the chamber; and, as the Castratos
were fain fall upon them, brand in hand, they recognised the Princes and
drew back still in wonderment at their intrusion. Then the brothers rose
forthright from the Flying Carpet and Prince Ahmad came forwards and put
the Magical Apple to the nostrils of the lady, who lay stretched on the
couch in unconscious state; and as the scent reached her brain the
sickness left her and the cure was complete. She opened wide her eyes
and sitting erect upon her bed looked all around and chiefly at the
Princes as they stood before her; for she felt that she had waxed hale
and hearty and as though she awoke after the sweetest of slumber.
Presently she rose from her couch and bade her tire-women dress her the
while they related to her the sudden coming of the three Princes, her
uncle’s sons, and how Prince Ahmad had made her smell something whereby
she had recovered of her illness. And after she had made the Ablution of
Health she joyed with exceeding joy to see the Princes and returned
thanks to them, but chiefly to Prince Ahmad in that he had restored her
to health and life.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her
peace till


             The end of the Six Hundred and Fiftieth Night.

Then she said:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the brothers also
were gladdened with exceeding gladness to see the Princess Nur al-Nihar
recover so suddenly from mortal malady; and, presently taking leave of
her, they fared to greet their father. Meanwhile the Eunuchs had
reported the whole matter to the Sultan, and when the Princes came
before him he rose and embraced them tenderly and kissed them on their
foreheads, filled with satisfaction to see them again and to hear from
them the welfare of the Princess, who was dear to him as she had been
his daughter. Then the three brothers produced each one the wondrous
thing he had brought from his wayfare; and Prince Husayn first showed
the Flying Carpet which in the twinkling of an eye had transported them
home from far distant exile and said, “For outward show this carpet hath
no merit, but inasmuch as it possesseth such wondrous virtue, methinks
’tis impossible to find in all the world aught that can compare to it
for rarity.” Next, Prince Ali presented to the King his Spying Tube and
said, “The mirror of Jamshíd[79] is as vain and naught beside this pipe,
by means whereof all things from East to West and from North to South
are made clearly visible to the ken of man.” Last of all, Prince Ahmad
produced the Magical Apple which wondrously saved the dear life of Nur
al-Nihar and said, “By means of this fruit all maladies and grievous
distempers are at once made whole.” Thus each presented his rarity to
the Sultan, saying, “O our lord, deign examine well these gifts we have
brought and do thou pronounce which of them all is most excellent and
admirable; so, according to thy promise, he amongst us on whom thy
choice may fall shall marry the Princess Nur al-Nihar.” When the King
had patiently listened to their several claims and had understood how
each gift took part in restoring health to his niece, for a while he
dove deep in the sea of thought and then answered, “Should I award the
palm of merit to Prince Ahmad, whose Magical Apple cured the Princess,
then should I deal unfairly by the other two. Albeit his rarity restored
her to life and health from mortal illness, yet say me how had he known
of her condition save by the virtue of Prince Ali’s Spying Tube? In like
manner, but for the Flying Carpet of Prince Husayn, which brought you
three hither in a moment’s space, the Magical Apple would have been of
no avail. Wherefore ’tis my rede all three had like part and can claim
equal merit in healing her; for it were impossible to have made her
whole if any one thing of the three were wanting; furthermore all three
objects are wondrous and marvellous without one surpassing other, nor
can I, with aught of reason, assign preference or precedence to any. My
promise was to marry the Lady Nur al-Nihar to him who should produce the
rarest of rarities, but although strange ’tis not less true that all are
alike in the one essential condition. The difficulty still remaineth and
the question is yet unsolved, whilst I fain would have the matter
settled ere the close of day, and without prejudice to any. So needs
must I fix upon some plan whereby I may be able to adjudge one of you to
be the winner, and bestow upon him the hand of Princess Nur al-Nihar,
according to my plighted word; and thus absolve myself from all
responsibility. Now I have resolved upon this course of action; to wit,
that ye should mount each one his own steed and all of you be provided
with bow and arrows; then do ye ride forth to the Maydán—the
hippodrome—whither I and my Ministers of State and Grandees of the
kingdom and Lords of the land will follow you. There in my presence ye
shall each, turn by turn, shoot a shaft with all your might and main;
and he amongst you whose arrow shall fly the farthest will be adjudged
by me worthiest to win the Princess Nur al-Nihar to wife.” Accordingly
the three Princes, who could not gainsay the decision of their sire nor
question its wisdom and justice, backed their coursers, and each taking
his bow and arrows made straight for the place appointed. The King also,
when he had stored the presents in the royal treasury, arrived there
with his Wazirs and the dignitaries of his realm; and as soon as all was
ready, the eldest son and heir, Prince Husayn, essayed his strength and
skill and shot a shaft far along the level plain. After him Prince Ali
hent his bow in hand and, discharging an arrow in like direction,
overshot the first; and lastly came Prince Ahmad’s turn. He too aimed at
the same end, but such was the decree of Destiny, that although the
knights and courtiers urged on their horses to note where his shaft
might strike ground, withal they saw no trace thereof and none of them
knew if it had sunk into the bowels of earth or had flown up to the
confines of the sky. Some, indeed, there were who with evil mind held
that Prince Ahmad had not shot any bolt, and that his arrow had never
left his bow. So at last the King bade no more search be made for it and
declared himself in favour of Prince Ali and adjudged that he should wed
the Princess Nur al-Nihar, forasmuch as his arrow had outsped that of
Prince Husayn. Accordingly, in due course the marriage rites and
ceremonies were performed after the law and ritual of the land with
exceeding pomp and grandeur. But Prince Husayn would not be present at
the bride-feast by reason of his disappointment and jealousy, for he had
loved the Lady Nur al-Nihar with a love far exceeding that of either of
his brothers; and he doffed his princely dress and donning the garb of a
Fakir fared forth to live a hermit’s life. Prince Ahmad also burned with
envy and refused to join the wedding-feast: he did not, however, like
Prince Husayn, retire to a hermitage, but he spent all his days in
searching for his shaft to find where it had fallen. Now it so fortuned
that one morning he went again, alone as was his wont, in quest thereof,
and starting from the stead whence they had shot their shafts reached
the place where the arrows of Princes Husayn and Ali had been found.
Then going straight forwards he cast his glances on every side over hill
and dale to his right and to his left——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-first Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Prince Ahmad went
searching for his shaft over hill and dale when, after covering some
three parasangs, suddenly he espied it lying flat upon a rock.[80]
Hereat he marvelled greatly, wondering how the arrow had flown so far,
but even more so when he went up to it and saw that it had not stuck in
the ground but appeared to have rebounded and to have fallen flat upon a
slab of stone. Quoth he to himself, “There must assuredly be some
mystery in this matter: else how could anyone shoot a shaft to such a
distance and find it fallen after so strange a fashion.” Then, threading
his way amongst the pointed crags and huge boulders, he presently came
to a hollow in the ground which ended in a subterraneous passage, and
after pacing a few paces he espied an iron door. He pushed this open
with all ease, for that it had no bolt, and entering, arrow in hand, he
came upon an easy slope by which he descended. But whereas he feared to
find all pitch-dark, he discovered at some distance a spacious square, a
widening of the cave, which was lighted on every side with lamps and
candelabra. Then advancing some fifty cubits or more his glance fell
upon a vast and handsome palace, and presently there issued from within
to the portico a lovely maiden lovesome and lovable, a fairy-form robed
in princely robes and adorned from front to foot with the costliest of
jewels. She walked with slow and stately gait, withal graceful and
blandishing, whilst around her ranged her attendants like the stars
about a moon of the fourteenth night. Seeing this vision of beauty,
Prince Ahmad hastened to salute her with the salam and she returned it;
then coming forwards greeted him graciously and said in sweetest
accents, “Well come and welcome, O Prince Ahmad: I am pleased to have
sight of thee. How fareth it with thy Highness and why hast thou tarried
so long away from me?” The King’s son marvelled greatly to hear her name
him by his name; for that he knew not who she was, as they had never
seen each other aforetime—how then came she to have learnt his title and
condition? Then kissing ground before her he said, “O my lady, I owe
thee much of thanks and gratitude for that thou art pleased to welcome
me with words of cheer in this strange place where I, alone and a
stranger, durst enter with exceeding hesitation and trepidation. But it
perplexeth me sorely to think how thou camest to learn the name of thy
slave.” Quoth she with a smile, “O my lord, come hither and let us sit
at ease within yon belvedere; and there I will give an answer to thine
asking.” So they went thither, Prince Ahmad following her footsteps; and
on reaching it he was filled with wonder to see its vaulted roof of
exquisite workmanship and adorned with gold and lapis lazuli[81] and
paintings and ornaments, whose like was nowhere to be found in the
world. The lady seeing his astonishment said to the Prince, “This
mansion is nothing beside all my others which now, of my free will, I
have made thine own; and when thou seest them thou shalt have just cause
for wonderment.” Then that sylph-like being took seat upon a raised daïs
and with abundant show of affection seated Prince Ahmad by her side.
Presently quoth she, “Albeit thou know me not, I know thee well, as thou
shalt see with surprise when I shall tell thee all my tale. But first it
behoveth me disclose to thee who I am. In Holy Writ belike thou hast
read that this world is the dwelling-place not only of men, but also of
a race hight the Jánn in form likest to mortals. I am the only daughter
of a Jinn chief of noblest strain and my name is Perí Bánú. So marvel
not to hear me tell thee who thou art and who is the King thy sire and
who is Nur al-Nihar, the daughter of thine uncle. I have full knowledge
of all concerning thyself and thy kith and kin; how thou art one of
three brothers who all and each were daft for love of Princess Nur
al-Nihar and strave to win her from one another to wife. Furthermore thy
sire deemed it best to send you all far and wide over foreign lands, and
thou faredest to far Samarkand and broughtest back a Magical Apple made
with rare art and mystery which thou boughtest for forty thousand
Ashrafis; then by means whereof thou madest the Princess thy lady-love
whole of a grievous malady, whilst Prince Husayn, thine elder brother,
bought for the same sum of money a Flying Carpet at Bishangarh, and
Prince Ali also brought home a Spying Tube from Shiraz-city. Let this
suffice to show thee that naught is hidden from me of all thy case; and
now do thou tell me in very truth whom dost thou admire the more, for
beauty and loveliness, me or the lady Nur al-Nihar thy brother’s wife?
My heart longeth for thee with excessive longing and desireth that we
may be married and enjoy the pleasures of life and the joyance of love.
So say me, art thou also willing to wed me, or pinest thou in preference
for the daughter of thine uncle? In the fulness of my affection for thee
I stood by thy side unseen during the archery-meeting upon the plain of
trial, and when thou shottest thy shaft I knew that it would fall far
short of Prince Ali’s[82], so I hent it in hand ere it touched ground
and carried it away from sight, and striking it upon the iron door
caused it rebound and lie flat upon the rock where thou didst find it.
And ever since that day I have been sitting in expectancy, wotting well
that thou wouldst search for it until thou find it, and by such means I
was certified of bringing thee hither to me.” Thus spake the beautiful
maiden Peri-Banu who with eyes fall of love-longing looked up at Prince
Ahmad; and then with modest shame bent low her brow and averted her
glance.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-second Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that when Prince Ahmad
heard these words of Peri-Banu he rejoiced with joy exceeding, and said
to himself; “The Princess Nur al-Nihar is not within my power to win,
and Peri-Banu doth outvie her in comeliness of favour and in loveliness
of form and in gracefulness of gait.” In short so charmed was he and
captivated that he clean forgot his love for his cousin; and, noting
that the heart of his new enchantress inclined towards him, he replied,
“O my lady, O fairest of the fair, naught else do I desire save that I
may serve thee and do thy bidding all my life long. But I am of human
and thou of non-human birth. Thy friends and family, kith and kin, will
haply be displeased with thee an thou unite with me in such union.” But
she made answer, “I have full sanction of my parents to marry as I list
and whomsoever I may prefer. Thou sayest that thou wilt be my servant,
nay, rather be thou my lord and master; for I myself and my life and all
my good are very thine, and I shall ever be thy bondswoman. Consent now,
I beseech thee, to accept me for thy wife: my heart doth tell me thou
wilt not refuse my request.” Then Peri-Banu added, “I have told thee
already that in this matter I act with fullest authority. Besides all
this there is a custom and immemorial usage with us fairy-folk that,
when we maidens come to marriageable age and years of understanding,
each one may wed, according the dictates of her heart, the person that
pleaseth her most and whom she judgeth likely to make her days happy.
Thus wife and husband live with each other all their lives in harmony
and happiness. But if a girl be given away in marriage by the parents,
according to their choice and not hers, and she be mated to a helpmate
unmeet for her, because ill-shapen or ill-conditioned or unfit to win
her affection, then are they twain likely to be at variance each with
other for the rest of their days; and endless troubles result to them
from such ill-sorted union. Nor are we bound by another law which
bindeth modest virgins of the race of Adam; for we freely announce our
preference to those we love, nor must we wait and pine to be wooed and
won.” When Prince Ahmad heard these words of answer, he rejoiced with
exceeding joy and stooping down essayed to kiss the skirt of her
garment, but she prevented him, and in lieu of her hem gave him her
hand. The Prince clasped it with rapture and according to the custom of
that place, he kissed it and placed it to his breast and upon his eyes.
Hereat quoth the Fairy, smiling a charming smile, “With my hand locked
in thine plight me thy troth even as I pledge my faith to thee, that I
will alway true and loyal be, nor ever prove faithless or fail of
constancy.” And quoth the Prince, “O loveliest of beings, O dearling of
my soul, thinkest thou that I can ever become a traitor to my own heart,
I who love thee to distraction and dedicate to thee my body and my
sprite; to thee who art my queen, the very empress of me? Freely I give
myself to thee, do thou with me whatso thou wilt.” Hereupon Peri-Banu
said to Prince Ahmad, “Thou art my husband and I am thy wife.[83] This
solemn promise made between thee and me standeth in stead of
marriage-contract: no need have we of Kazi, for with us all other forms
and ceremonies are superfluous and of no avail. Anon I will show thee
the chamber where we shall pass the bride-night; and methinks thou wilt
admire it and confess that there is none like thereto in the whole world
of men.” Presently her handmaidens spread the table and served up dishes
of various kinds, and the finest wines in flagons and goblets of gold
dubbed with jewels. So they twain sat at meat and ate and drank their
sufficiency. Then Peri-Banu took Prince Ahmad by the hand and led him to
her private chamber wherein she slept; and he stood upon the threshold
amazed to see its magnificence and the heaps of gems and precious stones
which dazed his sight, till recovering himself he cried, “Methinks there
is not in the universe a room so splendid and decked with costly
furniture and gemmed articles such as this.” Quoth Peri-Banu, “An thou
so admire and praise this palace what wilt thou say when sighting the
mansions and castles of my sire the Jann-King? Haply too when thou shalt
behold my garden thou wilt be filled with wonder and delight; but now
’tis over late to lead thee thither and night approacheth.” Then she
ushered Prince Ahmad into another room where the supper had been spread,
and the splendour of this saloon yielded in naught to any of the others;
nay, rather it was the more gorgeous and dazzling. Hundreds of wax
candles set in candelabra of the finest amber[84] and the purest
crystal, ranged on all sides, rained floods of light, whilst golden
flowerpots and vessels of finest workmanship and priceless worth, of
lovely shapes and wondrous art, adorned the niches and the walls.——And
as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-third Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that tongue of man can
never describe the magnificence of that room in which bands of virgin
Peris, loveliest of forms and fairest of features, garbed in choicest
garments played on sweet-toned instruments of mirth and merriment or
sang lays of amorous significance to strains of heart-bewitching music.
Then they twain, to wit the bride and bridegroom sat down at meat, ever
and anon delaying to indulge in toyings and bashful love-play and chaste
caresses. Peri-Banu with her own hands passed the choicest mouthfuls to
Prince Ahmad and made him taste of each dish and dainty, telling him
their names and whereof they were composed. But how shall I, O
auspicious King Shahryar, avail to give thee any notion of those
Jinn-made dishes or to describe with due meed of praise the delicious
flavour of meats such as no mortal ever tasted or ever beheld? Then,
when both had supped, they drank the choicest wines, and ate with relish
sweet conserves and dry fruits and a dessert of various delicacies. At
length, when they had their requirement of eating and drinking, they
retired into another room which contained a raised daïs of the grandest,
bedecked with gold-purfled cushions and pillows wrought with seed-pearl
and Achæmenian tapestries, whereupon they took seat side by side for
converse and solace. Then came in a troop of Jinns and fairies who
danced and sang before them with wondrous grace and art; and this pretty
show pleased Peri-Banu and Prince Ahmad, who watched the sports and
displays with ever-renewed delight. At last the newly wedded couple rose
and retired, weary of revelry, to another chamber, wherein they found
that the slaves had dispread the genial bed, whose frame was gold
studded with jewels and whose furniture was of satin and sendal flowered
with the rarest embroidery. Here the guests who attended at the marriage
festival and the handmaids of the palace, ranged in two lines, hailed
the bride and bridegroom as they went within; and then, craving
dismissal, they all departed leaving them to take their joyance in bed.
On such wise the marriage-festival and nuptial merry-makings were kept
up day after day, with new dishes and novel sports, novel dances and new
music; and, had Prince Ahmad lived a thousand years with mortal kind,
never could he have seen such revels or heard such strains or enjoyed
such love-liesse. Thus six months soon passed in the Fairyland beside
Peri-Banu, whom he loved with a love so fond that he would not lose her
from his sight for a moment’s space; but would feel restless and
ill-at-ease whenas he ceased to look upon her. In like manner Peri-Banu
was fulfilled with affection for him and strove to please her bridegroom
more and more every moment by new arts of dalliance and fresh appliances
of pleasure, until so absorbing waxed his passion for her that the
thought of home and kindred, kith and kin, faded from his thoughts and
fled his mind. But after a time his memory awoke from slumber and at
times he found himself longing to look upon his father, albeit well did
he wot that it were impossible to find out how the far one fared unless
he went himself to visit him. So one day quoth he to Peri-Banu, “An it
be thy pleasure, I pray thee give me thy command that I may leave thee
for a few days to see my sire, who doubtless grieveth at my long absence
and suffereth all the sorrows of separation from his son.” Peri-Banu,
hearing these words was dismayed with sore dismay, for that she thought
within herself that this was only an excuse whereby he might escape and
leave her after enjoyment and possession had made her love pall upon the
palate of his mind. So quoth she in reply, “Hast thou forgotten thy vows
and thy plighted troth, that thou wishest to leave me now? Have love and
longing ceased to stir thee, whilst my heart always throbbeth in
raptures as it hath ever done at the very thought of thee?” Replied the
Prince, “O dearling of my soul, my queen, my empress, what be these
doubts that haunt thy mind, and why such sad misgivings and sorrowful
words? I know full well that the love of thee and thine affection
me-wards are even as thou sayest; and did I not acknowledge this truth
or did I prove unthankful or fail to regard thee with a passion as warm
and deep, as tender and as true as thine own, I were indeed an ingrate
and a traitor of the darkest dye. Far be it from me to desire severance
from thee nor hath any thought of leaving thee never to return at any
time crossed my mind. But my father is now an old man well shotten in
years and he is sore grieved in mind at this long separation from his
youngest son. If thou wilt deign command, I would fain go visit him and
with all haste return to thine arms; yet I would not do aught in this
matter against thy will; and such is my fond affection for thee that I
would fain be at all hours of the day and watches of the night by thy
side nor leave thee for a moment of time.” Peri-Banu was somewhat
comforted by this speech; and from his looks, words and acts she was
certified that Prince Ahmad really loved her with fondest love and that
his heart was true as steel to her as was his tongue. Whereupon she
granted him leave and liberty to set forth and see his sire, whilst at
the same time she gave him strict commandment not to tarry long with his
kith and kin. Hearken now, O auspicious King Shahryar, to what befel the
Sultan of Hindostan and how it fared with him after the marriage of
Prince Ali to Princess Nur al-Nihar.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-fourth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that not seeing Prince
Husayn and Prince Ahmad for the space of many days the Sultan waxed
exceeding sad and heavy-hearted, and one morning after Darbár,[85] asked
his Wazirs and Ministers what had betided them and where they were.
Hereto the councillors made answer saying, “O our lord, and shadow of
Allah upon earth, thine eldest son and fruit of thy vitals and heir
apparent to thine Empire the Prince Husayn, in his disappointment and
jealousy and bitter grief hath doffed his royal robes to become a
hermit, a devotee, renouncing all worldly lusts and gusts. Prince Ahmad
thy third son also in high dudgeon hath left the city; and of him none
knoweth aught, whither he hath fled or what hath befallen him.” The King
was sore distressed and bade them write without stay or delay and
forthright despatch firmans and commands to all the Nabobs and Governors
of the provinces, with strict injunctions to make straight search for
Prince Ahmad and to send him to his sire the moment he was found. But,
albeit the commandments were carried out to the letter and all the
seekers used the greatest diligence none came upon any trace of him.
Then, with increased sadness of heart, the Sultan ordered his Grand
Wazir to go in quest of the fugitive and the Minister replied, “Upon my
head be it and mine eyes! Thy servant hath already caused most careful
research to be made in every quarter, but not the smallest clue hath yet
come to hand: and this matter troubleth me the more for that he was dear
to me as a son.” The Ministers and Grandees now understood that the King
was overwhelmed with woe, tearful-eyed and heavy-hearted by reason of
the loss of Prince Ahmad; whereupon bethought the Grand Wazir of a
certain witch famed for the Black Art who could conjure down the stars
from heaven; and who was a noted dweller in the capital. So going to the
Sultan he spake highly of her skill in knowledge of the abstruse,[86]
saying “Let the King, I pray thee, send for this sorceress and enquire
of her concerning his lost son.” And the King replied, “’Tis well said:
let her be brought hither and haply she shall give me tidings of the
Prince and how he fareth.” So they fetched the Sorceress and set her
before the Sultan, who said, “O my good woman, I would have thee know
that ever since the marriage of Prince Ali with the Lady Nur al-Nihar,
my youngest son Prince Ahmad,[87] who was disappointed in her love, hath
disappeared from our sight and no man knoweth aught of him. Do thou
forthright apply thy magical craft and tell me only this:—Is he yet
alive or is he dead? An he live I would learn where is he and how fareth
he; moreover, I would ask, Is it written in my book of Destiny that I
shall see him yet again?” To this the Witch made reply, “O Lord of the
Age and ruler of the times and tide, ’tis not possible for me at once to
answer all these questions which belong to the knowledge of Hidden
Things; but, if thy Highness deign grant me one day of grace, I will
consult my books of gramarye and on the morrow will give thee a
sufficient reply and a satisfactory.” The Sultan to this assented,
saying, “An thou can give me detailed and adequate answer, and set my
mind at ease after this sorrow, thou shalt have an exceeding great
reward and I will honour thee with highmost honour.” Next day the
Sorceress, accompanied by the Grand Wazir, craved permission to appear
before the presence, and when it was granted came forward and said, “I
have made ample investigation by my art and mystery and I have assured
myself that Prince Ahmad is yet in the land of the living. Be not
therefore uneasy in thy mind on his account; but at present, save this
only, naught else can I discover regarding him, nor can I say for sure
where he be or how he is to be found.” At these words the Sultan took
comfort, and hope sprang up within his breast that he should see his son
again ere he died. Now return we to the story of Prince Ahmad. Whenas
Peri-Banu understood that he was bent upon visiting his sire and she was
convinced that his love her-wards remained firm and steadfast as before,
she took thought and determined that it would ill become her to refuse
him leave and liberty for such purpose; so she again pondered the matter
in her mind and debated with herself for many an hour till at length,
one day of the days, she turned to her husband and said, “Albeit my
heart consenteth not to part from thee for a moment or to lose sight of
thee for a single instant, still inasmuch as thou hast ofttimes made
entreaty of me and hast shown thyself so solicitous to see thy sire, I
will no longer baffle thy wish. But this my favour will depend upon one
condition; otherwise I will never grant thy petition and give thee such
permission. Swear to me the most binding of oaths that thou wilt haste
thee back hither with all possible speed, and thou wilt not by long
absence cause me yearning grief and anxious waiting for thy safe return
to me.” Prince Ahmad, well pleased to win his wish, thanked her saying,
“O my beloved, fear not for me after any fashion and rest assured I will
come back to thee with all haste as soon as I shall have seen my sire;
and life hath no charms for me away from thy presence. Although I must
needs be severed from thee for a few days, yet will my heart ever turn
to thee and to thee only.” These words of Prince Ahmad gladdened the
heart of Peri-Banu and drove away the darksome doubts and mysterious
misgivings which ever haunted her nightly dreams and her daily
musings.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-fifth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Peri-Banu
gladdened by these premises addressed her husband, Prince Ahmad, “So
now, as soon as thy heart desireth, go thou and pay thy respects to thy
sire; but ere thou set out I would charge thee with one charge and look
that on no wise thou forget my rede and my counsel. Speak not to any a
single word of this thy marriage, nor of the strange sights thou hast
seen and the wonders thou hast witnessed; but keep them carefully
concealed from thy father and thy brethren and from thy kith and kin,
one and all. This only shalt thou tell thy sire, so his mind may be set
at ease, that thou art buxom and happy; also that thou hast returned
home for a while only with the object of seeing him and becoming assured
of his welfare.” Then she gave orders to her people, bidding them make
ready for the journey without delay; and when all things were prepared
she appointed twenty horsemen, armed cap-à-pie and fully accoutred, to
accompany her husband, and gave him a horse of perfect form and
proportions, swift as the blinding leven or the rushing wind; and its
housings and furniture were bedeckt with precious ores and studded with
jewels. Then she fell on his neck and they embraced with warmest love;
and as the twain bade adieu, Prince Ahmad, to set her mind at rest,
renewed his protestations and sware to her again his solemn oath. Then
mounting his horse and followed by his suite (all Jinn-born cavaliers)
he set forth with mighty pomp and circumstance, and riding diligently he
soon reached his father’s capital. Here he was received with loud
acclamations, the like of which had never been known in the land. The
Ministers and Officers of State, the citizens and the Ryots all rejoiced
with exceeding joy to see him once more, and the folk left their work
and with blessings and low obeisances joined the cavalcade; and,
crowding around him in every side, escorted him to the palace-gates.
When the Prince reached the threshold he dismounted and, entering the
audience-hall, fell at his father’s feet and kissed them in a transport
of filial affection. The Sultan, well nigh distraught for delight at the
unexpected sight of Prince Ahmad, rose from his throne and threw himself
upon his son’s neck weeping for very joy and kissed his forehead saying,
“O dear my child, in despair at the loss of the Lady Nur al-Nihar thou
didst suddenly fly from thy home, and, despite all research, nor trace
nor sign of thee was to be found however sedulously we sought thee; and
I, distracted at thy disappearance, am reduced to this condition in
which thou seest me. Where hast thou been this long while, and how hast
thou lived all this time?” Replied Prince Ahmad, “’Tis true, O my lord
the King, that I was downhearted and distressed to see Prince Ali gain
the hand of my cousin, but that is not the whole cause of my absence.
Thou mayest remember how, when we three brothers rode at thy command to
yonder plain for a trial of archery, my shaft, albeit the place was
large and flat, disappeared from sight and none could find where it had
fallen. Now so it fortuned that one day in sore heaviness of mind I
fared forth alone and unaccompanied to examine the ground thereabout and
try if haply I could find my arrow. But when I reached the spot where
the shafts of my brothers, Princes Husayn and Ali, had been picked up, I
made search in all directions, right and left, before and behind,
thinking that thereabouts mine also might come to hand; but all my
trouble was in vain: I found neither shaft nor aught else. So walking
onwards in obstinate research, I went a long way, and at last
despairing, I would have given up the quest, for full well I knew that
my bow could not have carried so far, and indeed that ’twere impossible
for any marksman to have driven bolt or pile to such distance, when
suddenly I espied it lying flat upon a rock some four parasangs[88]
distant from this place.” The Sultan marvelled with much marvel at his
words and the Prince presently resumed, “So when I picked up the arrow,
O my lord, and considered it closely I knew it for the very one I had
shot, but admired in my mind how it had come to fly so far, and I
doubted not but that there was a somewhat mysterious about the matter.
While I thus reflected I came upon the place where I have sojourned ever
since that day in perfect solace and happiness. I may not tell thee more
of my tale than this; for I came only to ease thy mind on my account,
and now I pray thee deign grant me thy supreme permission that I return
forthright to my home of delights. From time to time I will not cease to
wait upon thee and to enquire of thy welfare with all the affection of a
son.” Replied the King, “O my child, the sight of thee hath gladdened
mine eyes; and I am now satisfied; and not unwillingly I give thee leave
to go, since thou art happy in some place so near hand; but shouldst
thou at any time delay thy coming hither, say me, how shall I be able to
get tidings of thy good health and welfare?” And quoth Prince Ahmad, “O
my lord the King, that which thou requirest of me is part of my secret
and this must remain deep hidden in my breast: as I said before, I may
not discover it to thee nor say aught that might lead to its discovery.
However, be not uneasy in thy soul, for I will appear before thee full
many a time and haply I may irk thee with continual coming.” “O my son,”
rejoined the Sultan, “I would not learn thy secret an thou would keep it
from me, but there is one only thing I desire of thee, which is, that
ever and anon I may be assured of thine enduring health and happiness.
Thou hast my full permission to hie thee home, but forget not at least
once a month to come and see me even as now thou dost, lest such
forgetfulness cause me anxiety and trouble, cark and care.” So Prince
Ahmad tarried with his father three days full-told, but never for a
moment did the memory of the Lady Peri-Banu fade from his mind; and on
the fourth day he mounted horse and returned with the same pomp and
pageantry wherewith he came.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad
held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-sixth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Peri-Banu joyed
with exceeding joy at the sight of Prince Ahmad as he returned to his
home; and it seemed to her as though they had been parted for three
hundred years: such is love that moments of separation are longsome and
weary as twelvemonths. The Prince offered much of excuses for his short
absence and his words delighted Peri-Banu yet the more. So these twain,
lover and beloved, passed the time in perfect happiness, taking their
pleasure one with other. Thus a month went by and Prince Ahmad never
once mentioned the name of his sire nor expressed a wish to go visit him
according to his promise. Noting this change, the Lady Peri-Banu said to
him one day, “Thou toldest me aforetime that once in the beginning of
each month thou wouldst fare forth and travel to thy father’s court and
learn news of his welfare: why then neglectest thou so to do, seeing
that he will be distressed and anxiously expecting thee?” Replied Prince
Ahmad, “’Tis even as thou sayest, but, awaiting thy command and thy
permission, I have forborne to propose the journey to thee.” And she
made answer, “Let thy faring and thy returning rest not on my giving
thee liberty of leave. At the beginning of each month as it cometh
round, do thou ride forth, and from this time forwards thou hast no need
to ask permission of me. Stay with thy sire three days full-told and on
the fourth come back to me without fail.” Accordingly, on the next day
betimes in the morning Prince Ahmad took his departure and as aforetime
rode forth with abundant pomp and parade and repaired to the palace of
the Sultan his sire, to whom he made his obeisance. On like manner
continued he to do each month with a suite of horsemen larger and more
brilliant than before, whilst he himself was more splendidly mounted and
equipped. And whenever the Crescent appeared in the Western sky he
fondly farewelled his wife and paid his visit to the King, with whom he
tarried three whole days, and on the fourth returned to dwell with
Peri-Banu. But, as each and every time he went, his equipage was greater
and grander than the last, at length one of the Wazirs, a favourite and
cup-companion of the King, was filled with wonderment and jealousy to
see Prince Ahmad appear at the palace with such opulence and
magnificence. So he said in himself, “None can tell whence cometh this
Prince, and by what means he hath obtained so splendid a suite.” Then of
his envy and malice that Wazir fell to plying the King with deceitful
words and said, “O my liege lord and mighty sovran, it ill becometh thee
to be thus heedless of Prince Ahmad’s proceedings. Seest thou not how
day after day his retinue increaseth in numbers and puissance? What an
he should plot against thee and cast thee into prison, and take from
thee the reins of the realm? Right well thou wottest that inasmuch as
thou didst wed Prince Ali to the Lady Nur al-Nihar thou provokedest the
wrath of Prince Husayn and Prince Ahmad; so that one of them in the
bitterness of his soul renounced the pomps and vanities of this world
and hath become a Fakir, whilst the other, to wit, Prince Ahmad,
appeareth before thy presence in such inordinate power and majesty.
Doubtless they both seek their revenge; and, having gotten thee into
their power, the twain will deal treacherously with thee. So I would
have thee beware, and again I say beware; and seize the forelock of
opportunity ere it be too late; for the wise have said:—

 Thou canst bar a spring with a sod of clay ✿ But when grown ’twill bear
    a big host away.”

Thus spake that malicious Wazir; and presently he resumed, “Thou knowest
also that when Prince Ahmad would end his three days’ visits he never
asketh thy leave nor farewelleth thee nor biddeth adieu to any one of
his family. Such conduct is the beginning of rebellion and proveth him
to be rancorous of heart. But ’tis for thee in thy wisdom to decide.”
These words sank deep in the heart of the simple-minded Sultan and grew
a crop of the direst suspicions. He presently thought within himself,
“Who knoweth the mind and designs of Prince Ahmad, whether they be
dutiful or undutiful towards me? Haply he may be plotting vengeance; so
it besitteth me to make enquiries concerning him, to discover where he
dwelleth and by what means he hath attained to such puissance and
opulence.” Filled with these jealous thoughts, he sent in private one
day, unbeknown to the Grand Wazir who would at all times befriend Prince
Ahmad, to summon the Witch; and, admitting her by a secret postern to
his private chamber, asked of her saying, “Thou didst aforetime learn by
thy magical art that Prince Ahmad was alive and didst bring me tidings
of him. I am beholden to thee for this good office, and now I would
desire of thee to make further quest into his case and ease my mind,
which is sore disturbed. Albeit my son still liveth and cometh to visit
me every month, yet am I clean ignorant of the place wherein he dwelleth
and whence he setteth out to see me; for that he keepeth the matter
close hidden from his sire. Go thou forthright and privily, without the
knowledge of any, my Wazirs and Nabobs, my courtiers and my household;
and make thou diligent research and with all haste bring me word
whereabouts he liveth. He now sojourneth here upon his wonted visit;
and, on the fourth day, without leave-taking or mention of departure to
me or to any of the Ministers and Officers, he will summon his suite and
mount his steed; then will he ride to some little distance hence and
suddenly disappear. Do thou without stay or delay forego him on the path
and lie perdue in some convenient hollow hard by the road whence thou
mayest learn where he hometh; then quickly bring me tidings thereof.”
Accordingly, the Sorceress departed the presence of the King; and, after
walking over the four parasangs, she hid herself within a hollow of the
rocks hard by the place where Prince Ahmad had found his arrow, and
there awaited his arrival. Early on the morrow the Prince, as was his
wont, set out upon his journey without taking leave of his sire or
farewelling any of the Ministers. So when they drew nigh, the Sorceress
caught sight of the Prince and of the retinue that rode before and
beside him; and she saw them enter a hollow way which forked into a many
of byways; and so steep and dangerous were the cliffs and boulders about
the track that hardly could a footman safely pace that path. Seeing this
the Sorceress bethought her that it must surely lead to some cavern or
haply to a subterraneous passage, or to a souterrain the abode of Jinns
and fairies; when suddenly the Prince and all his suite vanished from
her view. So she crept out of the hiding-place wherein she had ensconced
herself and wandered far and wide seeking, as diligently as she was
able, but never finding the subterraneous passage nor yet could she
discern the iron door which Prince Ahmad had espied, for none of human
flesh and blood had power to see this save he alone to whom it was made
visible by the Fairy Peri-Banu; furthermore it was ever concealed from
the prying eyes of woman-kind. Then said the Sorceress to herself, “This
toil and moil have I undertaken to no purpose; yea, verily, I have
failed to find out that wherefor I came.” So she went forthright back to
the Sultan and reported to him all that had betided her, how she had
lain in wait amid the cliffs and boulders and had seen the Prince and
suite ride up the most perilous of paths and, having entered a hollow
way, disappear in an eye-twinkling from her sight. And she ended by
saying, “Albeit I strove my utmost to find out the spot wherein the
Prince abideth, yet could I on no wise succeed; and I pray thy Highness
may grant me time to search further into the matter and to find out this
mystery which by skill and caution on my part shall not long abide
concealed.” Answered the Sultan, “Be it as thou wilt: I grant thee
leisure to make enquiry and after a time I shall await thy return
hither.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that moreover the King
largessed the Witch with a diamond of large size and of great price,
saying, “Take this stone to guerdon for thy trouble and travail and in
earnest of future favours; so, when thou shalt return and bring me word
that thou hast searched and found out the secret, thou shalt have a
Bakhshish of far greater worth and I will make thy heart rejoice with
choicest joy and honour thee with highmost honour.” So the Sorceress
looked forwards to the coming of the Prince, for well she knew that at
the sight of each crescent he rode home to visit his sire and was bound
to abide with him three days, even as the Lady Peri-Banu had permitted
and had enjoined him. Now when the moon had waxed and waned, on the day
before the Prince would leave home upon his monthly visit, the Witch
betook her to the rocks and sat beside the place whence she imagined he
would issue forth; and next morning early he and his suite, composed of
many a mounted knight with his esquire afoot, who now always accompanied
him in increasing numbers, rode forth gallantly through the iron doorway
and passed hard by the place where she lay in wait for him. The
Sorceress crouched low upon the ground in her tattered rags; and, seeing
a heap by his way, the Prince at first supposed that a slice of stone
had fallen from the rocks across his path. But as he drew nigh she fell
to weeping and wailing with might and main as though in sore dolour and
distress, and she ceased not to crave his countenance and assistance
with increase of tears and lamentations. The Prince seeing her sore
sorrow had pity on her, and reining in his horse, asked her what she had
to require of him and what was the cause of her cries and lamentations.
At this the cunning crone but cried the more, and the Prince was
affected with compassion still livelier at seeing her tears and hearing
her broken, feeble words. So when the Sorceress perceived that Prince
Ahmad had ruth on her and would fain show favour to her, she heaved a
heavy sigh and in woeful tones, mingled with moans and groans, addressed
him in these false words, withal holding the hem of his garment and at
times stopping as if convulsed with pain, “O my lord and lord of all
loveliness, as I was journeying from my home in yonder city upon an
errand to such a place, behold, when I came thus far upon my way,
suddenly a hot fit of fever seized me and a shivering and a trembling,
so that I lost all strength and fell down helpless as thou seest me; and
still no power have I in hand or foot to rise from the ground and to
return to my place.” Replied the Prince, “Alas, O good woman, there is
no house at hand where thou mayest go and be fitly tended and tendered.
Howbeit I know a stead whither, an thou wilt, I can convey thee and
where by care and kindness thou shalt (Inshallah!) soon recover of thy
complaint. Come then with me as best thou canst.” With loud moans and
groans the Witch made answer, “So weak am I in every limb and helpless
that I can by no means rise off the ground or move save with the help of
some friendly hand.” The Prince then bade one of his horsemen lift up
the feeble and ailing old woman and set her upon his steed; and the
cavalier did his lord’s bidding forthright and mounted her astraddle
upon the crupper of his courser: then, Prince Ahmad rode back with her
and entering by the iron door carried her to his apartment and sent for
Peri-Banu. His wife hurriedly coming forth to the Prince asked him in
her flurry, “Is all well and wherefore hast thou come back and what
wouldst thou that thou hast sent for me?” Prince Ahmad then told her of
the old woman who was healthless and helpless, adding, “Scarce had I set
out on my journey when I espied this ancient dame lying hard by the
roadside, suffering and in sore distress. My heart felt pity for her to
see her in such case and constrained me to bring her hither as I could
not leave her to die among the rocks; and I pray thee of thy bounty take
her in and give her medicines that she may soon be made whole of this
her malady. An thou wilt show this favour I shall not cease to thank
thee and be beholden to thee.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad
held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Peri-Banu looked
at the old woman and charged a twain of her handmaidens that they carry
her into a room apart and tend her with the tenderest care and the
uttermost of diligence. The attendants did as she bade them and
transported the Sorceress to the place she had designed. Then Peri-Banu
addressed Prince Ahmad saying, “O my lord, I am pleased to see thy
pitiful kindness towards this ancient dame, and I surely will look to
her case even as thou hast enjoined me; but my heart misgiveth me and
much I fear some evil will result from thy goodness. This woman is not
so ill as she doth make believe, but practiseth deceit upon thee and I
ween that some enemy or envier hath plotted a plot against me and thee.
Howbeit go now in peace upon thy journey.” The Prince, who on no wise
took to heart the words of his wife, presently replied to her, “O my
lady, Almighty Allah forfend thee from all offence! With thee to help
and guard me I fear naught of ill: I know of no foeman who would compass
my destruction, for I bear no grudge against any living being, and I
foresee no evil at the hands of man or Jann.” Thereupon the Prince again
took leave of Peri-Banu and repaired with his attendants to the palace
of his sire who, by reason of the malice of his crafty Minister, was
inwardly afraid to see his son; but not the less he welcomed him with
great outward show of love and affection. Meanwhile the two fairy
handmaidens, to whom Peri-Banu had given charge of the Witch, bore her
away to a spacious room splendidly furnished; and laid her on a bed
having a mattress of satin and a brocaded coverlet. Then one of them sat
by her side whilst the other with all speed fetched, in a cup of
porcelain, an essence which was a sovereign draught for ague and fever.
Presently they raised her up and seated her on the couch saying, “Drain
thou this drink. It is the water of the Lions’ Fount and whoso tasteth
of the same is forthwith made whole of what disease soever he hath.” The
Sorceress took the cup with great difficulty and after swallowing the
contents lay back on the bed; and the handmaidens spread the quilt over
her saying, “Now rest awhile and thou shalt soon feel the virtues of
this medicine.” Then they left her to sleep for an hour or so; but
presently the Witch, who had feigned sickness to the intent only that
she might learn where Prince Ahmad abode and might inform the Sultan
thereof, being assured that she had discovered all that she desired,
rose up and summoning the damsels said to them, “The drinking of that
draught hath restored to me all my health and strength: I now feel hale
and hearty once more and my limbs are filled with new life and vigour.
So at once acquaint your lady herewith, that I may kiss the hem of her
robe and return my thanks for her goodness me-wards, then depart and hie
me home again.” Accordingly, the two handmaidens took the Sorceress with
them and showed her as they went along the several apartments, each more
magnificent and kingly than the other; and at length they reached the
belvedere which was the noblest saloon of all, and fitted and filled
with furniture exceeding costly and curious. There sat Peri-Banu upon a
throne which was adorned with diamonds and rubies, emeralds, pearls and
other gems of unwonted size and water, whilst round about her stood
fairies of lovely form and features, robed in the richest raiments and
awaiting with folded hands her commandments. The Sorceress marvelled
with extreme marvel to see the splendour of the chambers and their
furniture, but chiefly when she beheld the Lady Peri-Banu seated upon
the jewelled throne; nor could she speak a word for confusion and awe,
but she bent down low and placed her head upon Peri-Banu’s feet. Quoth
the Princess in soft speech and reassuring tones, “O good woman, it
pleaseth me greatly to see thee a guest in this my palace, and I joy
even more to learn that thou be wholly quit of thy sickness. So now
solace thy spirits with walking all round about the place and my
servants will accompany thee and show thee what there is worthy of thine
inspection.” Hereat the Witch again louted low and kissed the carpet
under Peri-Banu’s feet, and took leave of her hostess in goodly phrase
and with great show of gratitude for her favours. The handmaids then led
her round the palace and displayed to her all the rooms, which dazed and
dazzled her sight so that she could not find words to praise them
sufficiently. Then she went her ways and the fairies escorted her past
the iron doorway whereby Prince Ahmad had brought her in, and left her,
bidding her God-speed and blessing her; and the foul crone with many
thanks took the road to her own home. But when she had walked to some
distance she was minded to see the iron door, so might she with ease
know it again; so she went back, but lo and behold! the entrance had
vanished and was invisible to her as to all other women. Accordingly,
after searching on all sides and pacing to and fro and finding nor sign
nor trace of palace or portal, she repaired in despair to the city and,
creeping along a deserted pathway, entered the palace, according to her
custom, by the private postern. When safely within she straightway sent
word by an eunuch to the Sultan, who ordered that she be brought before
him. She approached him with troubled countenance, whereat, perceiving
that she had failed to carry out her purpose, he asked, “What news? Hast
thou accomplished thy design or hast thou been baffled therein?”——And as
the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Fifty-ninth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Sorceress, who
was a mere creature of the malicious Wazir, replied, “O King of kings,
this matter have I fully searched out even as thou gavest command, and I
am about to tell thee all that hath betided me. The signs of sorrow and
marks of melancholy thou notest upon my countenance are for other cause
which narrowly concerneth thy welfare.” Then she began to recount her
adventure in these terms, “Now when I had reached the rocks I sat me
down feigning sickness; and, as Prince Ahmad passed that way and heard
my complaining and saw my grievous condition, he had compassion on me.
After some ‘said and say’ he took me with him by a subterranean passage
and through an iron door to a magnificent palace and gave me in charge
of a fairy, Peri-Banu hight, of passing beauty and loveliness, such as
human eye hath never yet seen. Prince Ahmad bade her make me her guest
for some few days and bring me a medicine which would complete my cure,
and she to please him at once appointed handmaidens to attend upon me.
So I was certified that the twain were one flesh, husband and wife. I
feigned to be exceeding frail and feeble and made as though I had not
strength to walk or even to stand; whereat the two damsels supported me,
one on either side, and I was carried into a room where they gave me
somewhat to drink and put me upon a bed to rest and sleep. Then thought
I to myself:—Verily I have gained the object wherefor I had feigned
sickness; and I was assured that it availed no more to practise deceit.
Accordingly, after a short while I arose and said to the attendants that
the draught which they had given me to drink had cut short the fever and
had restored strength to my limbs and life to my frame. Then they led me
to the presence of the Lady Peri-Banu, who was exceeding pleased to see
me once more hale and hearty, and bade her handmaidens conduct me around
the palace and show each room in its beauty and splendour; after which I
craved leave to wend my ways and here am I again to work thy will.” When
thus she had made known to the King all that had betided her, she
resumed, “Perchance, on hearing of the might and majesty, opulence and
magnificence of the Lady Peri-Banu, thou wilt be gladdened and say
within thyself:—’Tis well that Prince Ahmad is wedded to this Fairy and
hath gotten for himself such wealth and power; but to the thinking of
this thy slave the matter is quite other. It is not well, I dare avouch,
that thy son should possess such puissance and treasures, for who
knoweth but that he may by good aid of Peri-Banu bring about division
and disturbance in the realm? Beware of the wiles and malice of women.
The Prince is bewitched with love of her, and peradventure at her
incitement he may act towards thee otherwise than right, and lay hands
on thy hoards and seduce thy subjects and become master of thy kingdom;
and albeit he would not of his own free will do aught to his father and
his forbears save what was pious and dutiful, yet the charms of his
Princess may work upon him little by little and end by making him a
rebel and what more I may not say. Now mayest thou see that the matter
is a weighty, so be not heedless but give it full consideration.” Then
the Sorceress made ready to gang her gait when spake the King, saying,
“I am beholden to thee in two things; the first, that thou tookest upon
thyself much toil and travail, and on my behalf riskedst thy life to
learn the truth anent my son Prince Ahmad. Secondly, I am thankful for
that thou hast given me a rede so sound and such wholesome counsel.” So
saying, he dismissed her with the highmost honour; but no sooner had she
left the palace than he, sore distraught, summoned his second Wazir, the
malicious Minister who had incited him against Prince Ahmad, and when he
and his friends appeared in the presence he laid before them the whole
matter and asked of them, saying, “What is your counsel, and what must I
do to protect myself and my kingdom against the wiles of this Fairy?”
Replied one of his councillors, “’Tis but a trifling matter and the
remedy is simple and nearhand. Command that Prince Ahmad, who is now
within the city if not in the palace, be detained as one taken prisoner.
Let him not be put to death, lest haply the deed may engender rebellion;
but at any rate place him under arrest and if he prove violent clap him
in irons.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


             The end of the Six Hundred and Sixtieth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that this felon counsel
pleased the malicious Minister and all his fautors and flatterers highly
approved his rede. The Sultan kept silence and made no reply, but on the
morrow he sent and summoned the Sorceress and debated with her whether
he should or should not cast Prince Ahmad into prison. Quoth she, “O
King of kings, this counsel is clean contrary to sound sense and right
reason. An thou throw Prince Ahmad into gaol, so must thou also do with
all his knights and their esquires; and inasmuch as they are Jinns and
Márids, who can tell their power of reprisals? Nor prison-cells nor
gates of adamant can keep them in; they will forthwith escape and report
such violence to the Fairy who, wroth with extreme wrath to find her
husband doomed to durance vile like a common malefactor, and that too
for no default or crime but by a treacherous arrest, will assuredly deal
the direst of vengeance on thy head and do us a damage we shall not be
able to forfend. An thou wilt confide in me, I will advise thee how to
act, whereby thou mayest win thy wish and no evil will come nigh thee or
thy kingship. Thou knowest well that to Jinns and Fairies is power given
of doing in one short moment deeds marvellous and wondrous, which
mortals fail to effect after long years of toil and trouble. Now whenas
thou goest a-hunting or on other expedition, thou requirest pavilions
for thyself and many tents for thy retinue and attendants and soldiery;
and in making ready and transporting such store much time and wealth are
wastefully expended. I would advise, O King of kings, that thou try
Prince Ahmad by the following test: do thou bid him bring to thee a
Sháhmiyánah[89] so long and so broad that it will cover and lodge the
whole of thy court and men-at-arms and camp-followers, likewise the
beasts of burthen; and yet it must be so light that a man may hold it in
the hollow of his hand and carry it whithersoever he listeth.” Then,
after holding her peace for a while, she added, still addressing the
Sultan, “And as soon as Prince Ahmad shall acquit himself of this
commission, do thou demand of him a somewhat still greater and more
wondrous wherewith I will make thee ware, and which he will find
grievous of execution. On this wise shalt thou fill thy treasury with
rare inventions and strange, the handicraft of Jánn, nor will this cease
till such time in fine when thy son shall be at his wits’ end to carry
out thy requirements. Then, humbled and abashed, he will never dare to
enter thy capital or even thy presence; and thus shalt thou be saved
from fear of harm at his hands, and thou shalt not have need to put him
in gaol or, worse still, to do him dead.” Hearing these words of wisdom,
the Sultan made known the Witch’s device to his advisers and asked them
what they deemed thereof. They held their peace and answered not a word
of good or ill; while he himself highly approved it and said no more.
Next day Prince Ahmad came to visit the King, who welcomed him with
overflowing affection and clasping him to his bosom kissed him on eyes
and forehead. Long time they sat conversing on various subjects, till at
length the Sultan finding an occasion spake thus, “O dear my son, O
Ahmad, for many a day have I been sad at heart and sorrowful of soul
because of separation from thee, and when thou camest back I was
gladdened with great gladness at sight of thee, and albeit thou didst
and dost still withhold from me the knowledge of thy whereabouts, I
refrained from asking thee or seeking to find out thy secret, since it
was not according to thy mind to tell me of thine abode. Now, however, I
have heard say that thou art wedded to a mighty Jinníyah[90], of passing
beauty; and the tidings please me with the highmost possible pleasure. I
desire not to learn aught from thee concerning thy Fairy-wife save
whatso thou wouldst entrust to me of thine own free will; but, say me,
should I at any time, require somewhat of thee, canst thou obtain it
from her? Doth she regard thee with such favour that she will not deny
thee anything thou askest of her?” Quoth the Prince, “O my lord, what
dost thou demand of me? My wife is devoted to her husband in heart and
soul, so prithee let me learn what it is thou wouldst have of me and
her.” Replied the Sultan, “Thou knowest that ofttimes I fare a-hunting
or on some foray and fray, when I have great need of tents and pavilions
and Shahmiyanahs, with herds and troops of camels and mules and other
beasts of burden to carry the camp from place to place. I would,
therefore, that thou bring me a tent so light that a man may carry it in
the hollow of his hand, and yet so large that it may contain my court
and all my host and camp and suttlers and bât-animals. An thou wouldst
ask the Lady for this gift I know full well that she can give it; and
hereby shalt thou save me much of trouble in providing carriage for the
tentage and spare me much waste and loss of beasts and men.” The Prince
replied, “O my sire the Sultan, trouble not thy thought. I will at once
make known thy wish to my wife, the Lady Peri-Banu; and, albeit little I
wot an fairies have the faculty of making a pavilion such as thou
describest, or indeed (supposing that they have such power), an she will
grant me or not grant me her aidance; and, moreover, although I cannot
promise thee such present, yet whatsoever lieth in my ability to do,
that will I gladly do for thy service.”——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-first Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that quoth the King to
Prince Ahmad, “Shouldst thou perchance fail in this matter and bring me
not the gift required, O my son, I will never see thy face again. A
sorry husband thou, in good sooth, if thy wife refuse so mean a thing
and hasten not to do all thou biddest her do; giving thee to see that
thou art of small value and consequence in her eyes, and that her love
for thee is a quantity well-nigh to naught. But do thou, O my child, go
forth and straightway ask her for the tent. An she give it thee know
thou she desireth thee and thou art the dearest of all things to her;
and I have been informed that she loveth thee with all her heart and
soul and will by no means refuse thee aught thou requirest, were it even
the balls of her eyes.” Now Prince Ahmad was ever wont to tarry three
days each month with the Sultan his sire, and return to his spouse on
the fourth; but this time he stayed two days only and farewelled his
father on the third. As he passed into the palace Peri-Banu could not
but note that he was sad at heart and downcast of face; so she asked of
him, “Is all well with thee? Why has thou come to-day and not to-morrow
from the presence of the King thy father, and why carriest thou so
triste a countenance?” Whereupon, after kissing her brow and fondly
embracing her, he told her the whole matter, first to last, and she made
answer, “I will speedily set thy mind at rest, for I would not see thee
so saddened for a moment longer. Howbeit, O my love, from this petition
of the Sultan thy sire I am certified that his end draweth nigh, and he
will soon depart this world to the mercy of Allah the Almighty.[91] Some
enemy hath done this deed and much of mischief hath made for thee; and
the result is that thy father, all unmindful of his coming doom, doth
seek diligently his own destruction.” The Prince, anxious and alarmed,
thus answered his wife, “Almighty Allah be praised, the King my liege
lord is in the best of health and showeth no sign of disorder or
decrepitude: ’tis but this morning I left him hale and hearty, and in
very sooth I never saw him in better case. Strange, indeed, that thou
shouldst ken what shall betide him before I have told thee aught
concerning him, and especially how he hath come to learn of our marriage
and of our home.” Quoth Peri-Banu, “O my Prince, thou knowest what I
said to thee whenas I saw the old dame whom thou broughtest hither as
one afflicted with the ague and fever. That woman, who is a Witch of
Satan’s breed, hath disclosed to thy father all he sought to learn
concerning this our dwelling-place. And notwithstanding that I saw full
clearly she was nor sick nor sorry, but only feigning a fever, I gave
her medicine to drink which cureth complaints of all kinds, and she
falsely made believe that by its virtues she had recovered health and
strength. So when she came to take leave of me, I sent her with two of
my damsels and bid them display to her every apartment in the palace
together with its furniture and decorations, that she might better know
the condition of me and thee. Now all this did I on thy account only,
for thou badest me show compassion to the ancient woman and I was
rejoiced to see her departing safe and sound and in the best of spirits.
Save her alone, no human being had ever power to know aught of this
place, much less to come hither.” Prince Ahmad hearing these words
thanked and praised her and said, “O sun-faced beauty, I would beg of
thee to grant me a boon whereof my father hath made request of me; to
wit, a Shahmiyanah of such dimensions that it may shelter him and his
many, his camp and bât-cattle and withal may be carried in the hollow of
the hand. An such marvel exist I wot not, yet would I do my utmost to
procure it, and carry it to him right loyally.” Quoth she, “Why trouble
thyself for so small a matter? I will forthright send for it and give it
thee.” Then she summoned one of her handmaids who was treasurer to her
and said, “O Nur Jehán,[92] go thou at once and bring me a pavilion of
such and such a fashion.” So she fared forth without delay and as
quickly came back with the pavilion which, at her lady’s bidding, she
placed in the palm of Prince Ahmad’s hand.——And as the morn began to
dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-second Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Prince Ahmad hent
the pavilion in hand and thought to himself, “What is this Peri-Banu
giveth me? Surely she doth make a mock of me.” His wife, however,
reading his mind in his face, fell to laughing aloud, and asked, “What
is it, O my dearling Prince? Dost thou think that I am jesting and
jibing at thee?” Then she continued, addressing the treasurer Nur Jehan,
“Take now yon tent from Prince Ahmad and set it upon the plain that he
may see its vast size and know if it be such an one as required by the
Sultan his sire.” The handmaid took the pavilion and pitched it afar
from the Palace; and yet one end thereof reached thereto from the outer
limit of the plain; and so immense was its size that (as Prince Ahmad
perceived) there was room therein for all the King’s court; and, were
two armies ranged under it with their camp-followers and bât-animals,
one would on no wise crowd or inconvenience the other. He then begged
pardon of Peri-Banu saying, “I wot not that the Shahmiyanah was so
prodigious of extent and of so marvellous a nature; wherefore I
misdoubted when first I saw it.” The Treasurer presently struck the tent
and returned it to the palm of his hand; then, without stay or delay, he
took horse and followed by his retinue rode back to the royal presence,
where after obeisance and suit and service he presented the tent. The
Sultan also, at first sight of the gift, thought it a small matter, but
marvelled with extreme marvel to see its size when pitched, for it would
have shaded his capital and its suburbs. He was not, however, wholly
satisfied, for the size of the pavilion now appeared to him superfluous;
but his son assured him that it would always fit itself to its contents.
He thanked the Prince for bringing him so rare a present, saying, “O my
son, acquaint thy consort with my obligation to her and offer my
grateful thanks for this her bounteous gift. Now indeed know I of a
truth that she doth love thee with the whole of her heart and soul and
all my doubts and fears are well-nigh set at rest.” Then the King
commanded they should pack up the tent and store it with all care in the
royal treasury. Now strange it is but true, that when the Sultan
received this rare present from the Prince, the fear and doubt, the envy
and jealousy of his son, which the Witch and the malicious Wazir and his
other ill-advisers had bred in his breast, waxed greater and livelier
than before; because he was now certified that in very truth the
Jinniyah was gracious beyond measure to her mate and that,
notwithstanding the great wealth and power of the sovereign, she could
outvie him in mighty deeds for the aidance of her husband. Accordingly,
he feared with excessive fear lest haply she seek opportunity to slay
him in favour of the Prince whom she might enthrone in his stead. So he
bade bring the Witch who had counselled him aforetime, and upon whose
sleight and malice he now mainly relied. When he related to her the
result of her rede, she took thought for a while; then, raising her brow
said, “O King of kings, thou troublest thyself for naught: thou needest
only command Prince Ahmad to bring thee of the water of the Lions’
Spring. He must perforce for his honour’s sake fulfil thy wish, and if
he fail he will for very shame not dare to show his face again at court.
No better plan than this canst thou adopt; so look to it nor loiter on
thy way.” Next day at eventide, as the Sultan was seated in full Darbar
surrounded by his Wazirs and Ministers, Prince Ahmad came forwards and
making due obeisance took seat by his side and below him. Hereat, the
King addressed him, as was his wont, with great show of favour saying,
“It delighteth me mightily that thou hast brought me the tent I required
of thee; for surely in my Treasury there be naught so rare and strange.
Yet one other thing lack I, and couldst thou bring it me I shall rejoice
with joy exceeding. I have heard tell that the Jinniyah, thy consort,
maketh constant use of a water which floweth from the Lions’ Spring, the
drinking whereof doeth away with fevers and all other deadly diseases. I
know thou art anxious that I live in health; and thou wilt gladden me by
bringing somewhat of that water, so I may drink thereof when occasion
shall require, and well I wot that, as thou valuest my love and
affection thee-wards, thou wilt not refuse to grant me my request.”
Prince Ahmad on hearing this demand was struck with surprise that his
sire should so soon make a second demand. So he kept silence awhile,
thinking within himself, “I have managed by some means to obtain the
tent from the Lady Peri-Banu, but Allah only knoweth how she will now
act, and whether this fresh request will or will not rouse her wrath.
Howbeit I know that she will on no wise deny me any boon I may ask of
her.” So after much hesitation Prince Ahmad made reply, “O my lord the
King, I have no power to do aught in this matter, which resteth only
with my spouse the Princess; yet will I petition her to give the water;
and, if she vouchsafe consent I will bring it straight to thee. Indeed I
cannot promise thee such boon with all certainty: I would gladly do my
endeavour in all and everything that can benefit thee, but to ask her
for this water is a work more weighty than asking for the tent.” Next
day the Prince took his departure and returned to Peri-Banu; and after
loving embraces and greetings quoth he, “O my lady and light of my eyes,
the Sultan my sire sendeth thee his grateful thanks for the granting of
his wish; to wit, the pavilion; and now he adventureth himself once more
and, certified of thy bounty and beneficence, he would pray from thy
hand the boon of a little water from the Lions’ Spring. Withal I would
assure thee that an the giving of this water please thee not, let the
matter be clean forgotten; for to do all thou willest is my one and only
wish.” Peri-Banu made reply, “Methinks the Sultan, thy sire, would put
both me and thee to the test by requiring such boons as those suggested
to him by the Sorceress.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-third Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Peri-Banu said
further to Prince Ahmad, “Natheless I will grant this largesse also as
the Sultan hath set his mind upon it, and no harm shall come therefrom
to me or to thee, albe ’tis a matter of great risk and danger, and it is
prompted by not a little of malice and ungraciousness. But give careful
heed to my words, nor neglect thou aught of them, or thy destruction is
certain-sure. I now will tell thee what to do. In the hall of yonder
castle which riseth on that mountain is a fountain sentinelled by four
lions fierce and ravening; and they watch and ward the path that leadeth
thereto, a pair standing on guard whilst the other two take their turn
to rest, and thus no living thing hath power to pass by them. Yet will I
make known to thee the means whereby thou mayest win thy wish without
any hurt or harm befalling thee from the furious beasts.” Thus saying
she drew from an ivory box a clew of thread and, by means of a needle
one of those wherewith she had been plying her work, made thereof a
ball. This she placed in the hands of her husband, and said, “First, be
thou careful that thou keep about thee with all diligence this ball,
whose use I shall presently explain to thee. Secondly, choose for
thyself two horses of great speed, one for thine own riding, whilst on
the other thou shalt load the carcass of a freshly slaughtered sheep cut
into four quarters. In the third place, take with thee a phial wherewith
I will provide thee, and this is for carrying the water which thou,
Inshallah—God willing—shalt bring back. As soon as the morn shall morrow
do thou arise with the light and go forth riding thy chosen steed and
leading the other alongside of thee by the reins. When thou shalt reach
the iron portals which open upon the castle-court, at no great distance
from the gate, do thou cast the ball of thread upon the ground before
thee. Forthwith it will begin rolling onwards of its own will towards
the castle door; and do thou follow it through the open entrance until
such time as it stop its course. At this moment thou shalt see the four
lions; and the two that wake and watch will rouse the twain that sleep
and rest. All four will turn their jaws to the ground and growl and roar
with hideous howlings, and make as though about to fall upon thee and
tear thee limb from limb. However, fear not nor be dismayed, but ride
boldly on and throw to the ground from off the led-horse the sheep’s
quarters, one to each lion. See that thou alight not from thy steed, but
gore his ribs with thy shovel-stirrup[93] and ride with all thy might
and main up to the basin which gathereth the water. Here dismount and
fill the phial whilst the lions will be busied eating. Lastly, return
with all speed and the beasts will not prevent thy passing by them.”
Next day, at peep of morn, Prince Ahmad did according to all that
Peri-Banu had bidden him and rode forth to the castle. Then, having
passed through the iron portals and crossed the court and opened the
door, he entered the hall, where he threw the quarters of the sheep
before the lions, one to each, and speedily reached the Spring. He
filled his phial with water from the basin and hurried back with all
haste. But when he had ridden some little distance he turned about and
saw two of the guardian lions following upon his track; however, he was
on no wise daunted but drew his sabre from the sheath to prepare him for
self-protection. Hereat one of the twain seeing him bare his brand for
defence, retired a little way from the road and, standing at gaze,
nodded his head and wagged his tail, as though to pray the Prince to put
up his scimitar and to assure him that he might ride in peace and fear
no peril. The other lion then sprang forwards ahead of him and kept
close him, and the two never ceased to escort him until they reached the
city, nay even the gate of the Palace. The second twain also brought up
the rear till Prince Ahmad had entered the Palace-door; and, when they
were certified of this, all four went back by the way they came. Seeing
such wondrous spectacle, the townsfolk all fled in dire dismay, albeit
the enchanted beasts molested no man; and presently some mounted
horsemen espying their lord riding alone and unattended came up to him
and helped him alight. The Sultan was sitting in his audience-hall
conversing with his Wazirs and Ministers when his son appeared before
him; and Prince Ahmad, having greeted him and blessed him and, in
dutiful fashion, prayed for his permanence of existence and prosperity
and opulence, placed before his feet the phial full of the water from
the Lions’ Spring, saying, “Lo, I have brought thee the boon thou
desiredst of me. This water is most rare and hard to obtain; nor is
there in all thy Treasure-house aught so notable and of such value as
this. If ever thou fall ill of any malady (Almighty Allah forfend this
should be in thy Destiny!) then drink a draught thereof and forthwith
thou shalt be made whole of whatso distemper thou hast.” When Prince
Ahmad had made an end of speaking, the Sultan, with all love and
affection, grace and honour, embraced him and kissed his head; then,
seating him on his right said, “O my son, I am beholden to thee, beyond
count and measure, for that thou hast adventured thy life and brought
this water with great irk and risk from so perilous a place.” Now the
Witch had erewhile informed the King concerning the Lions’ Spring and of
the mortal dangers which beset the site; so that he knew right well how
gallant was his son’s derring-do; and presently he said, “Say me, O my
child, how couldst thou venture thither and escape from the lions and
broughtest back the water, thyself remaining safe and sound?”——And as
the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-fourth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Prince
replied, “By thy favour, O my lord the Sultan, have I returned in safety
from that stead mainly because I did according to the bidding of my
spouse, the Lady Peri-Banu; and I have brought the water from the Lions’
Spring only by carrying out her commands.” Then he made known to his
father all that had befallen him in going and returning; and when the
Sultan noted the pre-eminent valiance and prowess of his son he only
feared the more, and the malice and the rancour, envy and jealousy which
filled his heart waxed tenfold greater than before. However, dissembling
his true sentiments he dismissed Prince Ahmad and betaking him to his
private chamber at once sent word to bid the Witch appear in the
presence; and when she came, he told her of the Prince’s visit and all
about the bringing of the water from the Lions’ Spring. She had already
heard somewhat thereof by reason of the hubbub in the city at the coming
of the lions; but, as soon as she had given ear to the whole account,
she marvelled with mighty marvel and, after whispering in the Sultan’s
ear her new device, said to him in triumph, “O King of kings, this time
thou shalt lay a charge on the Prince and such commandment methinks will
trouble him and it shall go hard with him to execute aught thereof.”
“Thou sayest well,” replied the Sovran, “now indeed will I try this plan
thou hast projected for me.” Wherefore, next day whenas Prince Ahmad
came to the presence of his sire, the King said to him, “O dear my
child, it delighteth me exceedingly to see thy virtue and valour and the
filial love wherewith thou art fulfilled, good gifts chiefly shown by
obtaining for me the two rarities I asked of thee. And now one other and
final requirement I have of thee; and, shouldst thou avail to satisfy my
desire, I shall be well pleased in my beloved son and render thanks to
him for the rest of my days.” Prince Ahmad answered, “What is the boon
thou requirest? I will for my part do thy bidding as far as in me
lieth.” Then quoth the King in reply to the Prince, “I would fain have
thee bring me a man of size and stature no more than three feet high,
with beard full twenty ells in length, who beareth on his shoulder a
quarter staff of steel, thirteen score pounds in weight, which he
wieldeth with ease and swingeth around his head without wrinkle on brow,
even as men wield cudgels of wood.” On this wise the Sultan, led astray
by the Doom of Destiny and heedless alike of good and evil, asked that
which should bring surest destruction upon himself. Prince Ahmad also,
with blind obedience out of pure affection to his parent, was ready to
supply him with all he required unknowing what was prepared for him in
the Secret Purpose. Accordingly he said, “O my sire the Sultan, I trow
me ’twill be hard to find, all the world over, a man such as thou
desirest, still I will work my best to do thy bidding.” Thereupon the
Prince retired from the presence and returned, as usual, to his palace
where he greeted Peri-Banu with love and gladness; but his face was
troubled and his heart was heavy at the thought of the King’s last
behest. Perceiving his pre-occupation the Princess asked him, saying, “O
dear my lord, what tidings bringest thou for me to-day?” Hereto replied
he, “The Sultan at each visit requireth of me some new thing and
burtheneth me with his requests; and to-day he purposeth to try me and,
in the hopes of putting me to shame, he asketh somewhat which ’twere
vain to hope I can find in all the world.” Thereupon Prince Ahmad told
her all the King had said to him.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-fifth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Peri-Banu hearing
these words said to the Prince, “Trouble not thyself at all in this
matter. Thou didst venture at great risk to carry off for thy father
water from the Lions’ Spring and thou succeededst in winning thy wish.
Now this task is on no wise more difficult or dangerous than was that:
nay, ’tis the easier, for that he thou describest is none other than
Shabbar, my brother-german. Although we both have the same parents, yet
it pleased Almighty Allah to enform us in different figures and to make
him unlike his sister as being in mortal mould can be. Moreover he is
valiant and adventurous, always seeking some geste and exploit whereby
to further my interest, and right willingly doth he carry out whatso he
undertaketh. He is shaped and formed as the Sultan thy sire hath
described, nor useth he any weapons save the Nabbút[94] or quarter staff
of steel. And see now I will send for him, but be not thou dismayed at
sighting him.” Replied Prince Ahmad, “If he be in truth thine own
brother what matter how he looketh? I shall be pleased to see him as
when one welcometh a valued friend or a beloved kinsman. Wherefore
should I fear to look upon him?” Hearing these words Peri-Banu
despatched one of her attendants who brought to her from her private
treasury a chafing-dish of gold; then she bade a fire be lit therein,
and sending for a casket of noble metals studded with gems, the gift of
her kinsmen, she took therefrom some incense and cast it upon the
flames. Herewith issued a dense smoke spireing high in air and spreading
all about the palace; and a few moments after, Peri-Banu who had ceased
her conjurations cried, “Lookye my brother Shabbar cometh! canst thou
distinguish his form?” The Prince looked up and saw a mannikin in
stature dwarfish and no more than three feet high, and with a boss on
breast and a hump on back; withal he carried himself with stately mien
and majestic air. On his right shoulder was borne his quarter staff of
steel thirteen score pounds in weight. His beard was thick and twenty
cubits in length but arranged so skilfully that it stood clear off from
the ground; he wore also a twisted pair of long mustachios curling up to
his ears, and all his face was covered with long pile. His eyes were not
unlike unto pig’s eyes; and his head, on which was placed a crown-like
coiffure, was enormous of bulk, contrasting with the meanness of his
stature. Prince Ahmad sat calmly beside his wife, the Fairy, and felt no
fear as the figure approached; and presently Shabbar walked up and
glancing at him asked Peri-Banu saying, “Who be this mortal who sitteth
hard by thee?” Hereto she replied, “O my brother, this is my beloved
husband, Prince Ahmad, son of the Sultan of Hindostan. I sent thee not
an invitation to the wedding as thou wast then engaged on some great
expedition; now, however, by the grace of Almighty Allah thou hast
returned triumphant and victorious over thy foes, wherefore I have
summoned thee upon a matter which nearly concerneth me.” Hearing these
words Shabbar looked graciously at Prince Ahmad, saying, “O my beloved
sister, is there any service I can render to him?” and she replied, “The
Sultan his sire desireth ardently to see thee, and I pray thee go
forthright to him and take the Prince with thee by way of guide.” Said
he, “This instant I am ready to set forth;” but said she, “Not yet, O my
brother. Thou art fatigued with journeying; so defer until the morrow
thy visit to the King, and this evening I will make known to thee all
that concerneth Prince Ahmad.” Presently the time came; so Peri-Banu
informed her brother Shabbar concerning the King and his
ill-counsellors; but she dwelt mainly upon the misdeeds of the old
woman, the Witch; and how she had schemed to injure Prince Ahmad and
despitefully prevent his going to city or court, and she had gained such
influence over the Sultan that he had given up his will to hers and
ceased not doing whatso she bade him. Next day at dawn Shabbar the Jinn
and Prince Ahmad set out together upon a visit to the Sultan; and, when
they had reached the city gates, all the folk, nobles and commons, were
struck with consternation at the dwarf’s hideous form; and, flying on
every side in affright and running into shops and houses, barred the
doors and closed the casements and hid themselves therein. So
panic-stricken indeed was their flight that many feet lost shoes and
sandals in running, while from the heads of others their loosened
turbands fell to earth. And when they twain approached the palace
through streets and squares and market-places desolate as the Desert of
Samáwah,[95] all the keepers of the gates took to their heels at sight
of Shabbar and fled, so there was none to hinder their entering. They
walked straight on to the audience-chamber where the Sultan was holding
Darbar, and they found in attendance on him a host of Ministers and
Councillors, great and small, each standing in his proper rank and
station. They too on seeing Shabbar speedily took flight in dire dismay
and hid themselves; also the guards had deserted their posts nor cared
in any way to let or stay the twain. The Sovran still sat motionless on
his throne, where Shabbar went up to him with lordly mien and royal
dignity and cried, “O King, thou hast expressed a wish to see me; and
lo, I am here. Say now what wouldst thou have me do?”——And as the morn
began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-sixth Night.

THEN said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the King made no
reply to Shabbar, but held up his hands before his eyes that he might
not behold that frightful figure, and turning his head would fain have
fled in terror. Shabbar was filled with fury at this rudeness on the
part of the Sultan, and was wroth with exceeding wrath to think that he
had troubled himself to come at the bidding of such a craven, who now on
seeing him would fain run away. So the Jinn, without an instant’s delay,
raised his quarter staff of steel, and, swinging it twice in air, before
Prince Ahmad could reach the throne or on any wise interfere, struck the
Sultan so fiercely upon the poll that his skull was smashed and his
brains were scattered over the floor. And when Shabbar had made an end
of this offender, he savagely turned upon the Grand Wazir who stood on
the Sultan’s right, and incontinently would have slain him also, but the
Prince craved pardon for his life and said, “Kill him not: he is my
friend and hath at no time said one evil word against me. But such is
not the case with the others, his fellows.” Hearing these words the
infuriated Shabbar fell upon the Ministers and ill-counsellors on either
side, to wit, all who had devised evil devices against Prince Ahmad, and
slew them each and every and suffered none to escape save only those who
had taken flight and hidden themselves. Then, going from the hall of
justice to the courtyard, the Dwarf said to the Wazir whose life the
Prince had saved, “Harkye, there is a Witch who beareth enmity against
my brother, the husband of my sister. See that thou produce her
forthright; likewise the villain who filled his father’s mind with hate
and malice, envy and jealousy against him, so may I quite them in full
measure for their misdeeds.” The Grand Wazir produced them all, first
the Sorceress, and then the malicious minister with his rout of fautors
and flatterers, and Shabbar felled them one after the other with his
quarter staff of steel and killed them pitilessly, crying to the
Sorceress, “This is the end of all thy machinations with the King, and
this is the fruit of thy deceit and treachery; so learn not to feign
thyself sick.” And in the blindness of his passion he would have slain
all the inhabitants of the city, but Prince Ahmad prevented him and
pacified him with soft and flattering words. Hereupon Shabbar habited
his brother in the royal habit and seated him on the throne and
proclaimed him Sultan of Hindostan. The people all, both high and low,
rejoiced with exceeding joy to hear these tidings, for Prince Ahmad was
beloved by every one; so they crowded to swear fealty and bring presents
and Nazaránahs[96] and raised shouts of acclamation crying out, “Long
live King Ahmad!” When all this was done, Shabbar sent for his sister,
Peri-Banu, and made her Queen under the title of Shahr-Banu;[97] and in
due time taking leave of her and of King Ahmad, the Jinni returned to
his own home.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that after these things
King Ahmad summoned Prince Ali his brother and Nur al-Nihar and made him
governor of a large city hard by the capital, and dismissed him thither
in high state and splendour. Also he commissioned an official to wait
upon Prince Husayn and tell him all the tidings, and sent word saying,
“I will appoint thee ruler over any capital or country thy soul
desireth; and, if thou consent, I will forward thee letters of
appointment.” But inasmuch as the Prince was wholly content and entirely
happy in Darwaysh-hood, he cared naught for rule or government or aught
of worldly vanities; so he sent back the official with his duty and
grateful thanks, requesting that he might be left to live his life in
solitude and renunciation of matters mundane. Now when Queen Shahrazad
had made an end of telling her story and yet the night was not wholly
spent, King Shahryar spake saying, “This thy story, admirable and most
wonderful, hath given me extreme delight; and I pray thee do thou tell
us another tale till such time as the last hours of this our night be
passed.” She replied, “Be it as thou wilt, O auspicious King: I am thy
slave to do as thou shalt bid.” Then she began to relate the tale of




             THE TWO SISTERS WHO ENVIED THEIR CADETTE.[98]


In days of yore and in times long gone before there lived a King of
Persia, Khusrau Sháh hight, renowned for justice and righteousness. His
father, dying at a good old age, had left him sole heir to all the realm
and, under his rule, the tiger and the kid drank side by side at the
same Ghát[99]; and his treasury was ever full and his troops and guards
were numberless. Now it was his wont to don disguise and, attended by a
trusty Wazir, to wander about the street at night-time. Whereby things
seld-seen and haps peregrine became known to him, the which, should I
tell thee all thereof, O auspicious King, would weary thee beyond
measure. So he took seat upon the throne of his forbears and when the
appointed days of mourning were ended, according to the custom of that
country, he caused his exalted name, that is Khusrau Shah, be struck
upon all the coins of the kingdom and entered into the formula of public
prayer.[100] And when stablished in his sovranty he went forth as
aforetime on one evening accompanied by his Grand Wazir, both in
merchant’s habit, walking the streets and squares, the markets and
lanes, the better to note what might take place both of good and of bad.
By chance they passed, as the night darkened, through a quarter where
dwelt people of the poorer class; and, as they walked on, the Shah heard
inside a house women talking with loud voices; then going near, he
peeped in by the door-chink, and saw three fair sisters who having
supped together were seated on a divan talking one to other. The King
thereupon applied his ear to the crack and listened eagerly to what they
said, and heard each and every declaring what was the thing she most
desired.[101] Quoth the eldest, “I would I were married to the Shah’s
head Baker for then should I ever have bread to eat, the whitest and
choicest in the city, and your hearts would be fulfilled with envy and
jealousy and malice at my good luck.” Quoth the second, “I would rather
wive with the Shah’s chief Kitchener and eat of dainty dishes that are
placed before his Highness, wherewith the royal bread which is common
throughout the Palace cannot compare for gust and flavour.” And quoth
the third and youngest of the three, and by far the most beautiful and
lovely of them all, a maiden of charming nature, full of wit and humour;
sharp-witted, wary and wise, when her turn came to tell her wish, “O
sisters, my ambition is not as ordinary as yours. I care not for fine
bread nor glutton-like do I long for dainty dishes. I look to somewhat
nobler and higher: indeed I would desire nothing less than to be married
by the King and become the mother of a beautiful Prince, a model of form
and in mind as masterful as valorous. His hair should be golden on one
side and silvern on the other: when weeping he should drop pearls in
place of tears, and when laughing his rosy lips should be fresh as the
blossom new-blown.” The Shah was amazed with exceeding amazement to hear
the wishes of the three sisters, but chiefly of the youngest and
determined in himself that he would gratify them all. Wherefore quoth he
to the Grand Wazir, “Mark well this house and on the morrow bring before
me these maidens whom we heard discoursing;” and quoth the Wazir, “O
Asylum of the Universe, I hear but to obey.” Thereupon the twain walked
back to the palace and laid them down to rest. When morning morrowed,
the Minister went for the sisters and brought them to the King, who,
after greeting them and heartening their hearts, said to them in kindly
tone, “O ye maidens of weal, last night what was it that in merry word
and jest ye spake one to other? Take heed ye tell the Shah every whit in
full detail, for all must become known to us; something have we heard,
but now the King would have ye recount your discourse to his royal
ears.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that at these words of
the Shah the sisters, confused and filled with shame, durst not reply
but stood before him silent with heads bent low; and despite all
questioning and encouragement they could not pluck up courage. However,
the youngest was of passing comeliness in form and feature and forthwith
the Shah became desperately enamoured of her; and of his love began
reassuring them and saying, “O ye Princesses of fair ones, be not afraid
nor troubled in thought; nor let bashfulness or shyness prevent you
telling the Shah what three wishes you wished, for fain would he fulfil
them all.” Thereat they threw themselves at his feet and, craving his
pardon for their boldness and freedom of speech, told him the whole
talk, each one repeating the wish she had wished; and on that very day
Khusrau Shah married the eldest sister to his chief Baker, and the
second sister to his head Cook, and bade make all things ready for his
own wedding with the youngest sister. So when the preparations for the
royal nuptials had been made after costliest fashion, the King’s
marriage was celebrated with royal pomp and pageantry, and the bride
received the titles of Light of the Harem and Bánú of Irán-land. The
other two maidens were likewise married, one to the King’s Baker the
other to his Cook, after a manner according to their several degrees in
life and with little show of grandeur and circumstance. Now it had been
only right and reasonable that these twain having won each her own wish,
should have passed their time in solace and happiness, but the decree of
Destiny doomed otherwise; and, as soon as they saw the grand estate
whereto their youngest sister had risen, and the magnificence of her
marriage-festival, their hearts were fired with envy and jealousy and
sore despite and they resolved upon giving the rein to their hatred and
malignancy and to work her some foul mischief. On this wise they
remained for many months consumed with rancour, day and night; and they
burned with grief and anger whenever they sighted aught of her superior
style and state. One morning as the two met at the Hammám and found
privacy and opportunity, quoth the eldest sister to the second, “A
grievous thing it is indeed that she, our youngest sister, no lovelier
than ourselves, should thus be raised to the dignity and majesty of
Queendom and indeed the thought is overhard to bear.” Quoth the other,
“O sister mine, I also am perplexed and displeased at this thing, and I
know not what of merit the Shah could have seen in her that he was
tempted to choose her for his consort. She ill befitteth that high
estate with that face like a monkey’s favour; and, save her youth, I
know nothing that could commend her to his Highness that he should so
exalt her above her fellows. To my mind thou and not she art fit to
share the royal bed; and I nurse a grudge against the King for that he
hath made this jade his Queen.” And the eldest sister rejoined, “I
likewise marvel beyond all measure; and I swear that thy youth and
beauty, thy well-shaped figure and lovely favour and goodliness of gifts
past challenge or compare, might well have sufficed to win the King and
have tempted him to wed and bed with thee and make thee his crowned
Queen and Sovran Lady in lieu of taking to his arms this paltry
strumpet. Indeed he hath shown no sense of what is right and just in
leaving thee disappointed; and on this account only the matter troubleth
me with exceeding trouble.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad
held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Sixty-ninth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the two sisters
took counsel each with other how they might abase their youngest sister
in the Shah’s sight and cause her downfall and utter ruin. Day and night
they conned over the matter in their minds and spoke at great length
about it when they ever met together, and pondered endless plans to
injure the Queen their sister, and if possible bring about her death;
but they could fix upon none. And, whilst they bore this despite and
hatred towards her and diligently and deliberately sought the means of
gratifying their bitter envy, hatred and malice, she on the other hand
regarded them with the same favour and affection as she had done before
marriage and thought only how to advantage their low estate. Now when
some months of her wedded life had passed, the fair Queen was found to
be with child whereof the glad tidings filled the Shah with joy; and
straightway he commanded all the people of the capital and throughout
the whole Empire keep holiday with feasts and dancing and every manner
jollity as became so rare and important an occasion. But as soon as the
news came to the ears of the two Envious Sisters they were constrained
perforce to offer their congratulations to the Queen; and, after a long
visit, as the twain were about to crave dismissal they said, “Thanks be
to Almighty Allah, O our sister, who hath shown us this happy day. One
boon have we to ask of thee: to wit, that when the time shall come for
thee to be delivered of a child, we may assist as midwives at thy
confinement, and be with thee and nurse thee for the space of forty
days.” The Queen in her gladness made reply, “O sisters mine, I fain
would have it so; for at a time of such need I know of none on whom to
rely with such dependence as upon you. During my coming trial your
presence with me will be most welcome and opportune; but I can do only
what thing the Shah biddeth nor can I do aught save by his leave. My
advice is thus:—Make known this matter to your mates who have always
access to the royal presence, and let them personally apply for your
attendance as midwives; I doubt not but that the Shah will give you
leave to assist me and remain by my side, considering the fond
relationship between us three.” Then the two sisters returned home full
of evil thoughts and malice, and told their wishes to their husbands
who, in turn, bespake Khusrau Shah, and proffered their petition with
all humility, little knowing what was hidden from them in the Secret
Purpose. The King replied, “When I shall have thought the matter over in
my mind, I will give you suitable orders.” So saying he privately
visited the Queen and to her said, “O my lady, an it please thee,
methinks ’twould be well to summon thy sisters and secure their aidance,
when thou shalt be labouring of child, in lieu of any stranger: and if
thou be of the same mind as myself let me at once learn and take steps
to obtain their consent and concert ere thy time arriveth. They will
wait on thee with more loving care than any hired nurse and thou wilt
find thyself the safer in their hands.” Replied the Queen, “O my lord
the Shah, I also venture to think that ’twould be well to have my
sisters by my side and not mere aliens at such an hour.” Accordingly he
sent word to them and from that day they dwelt within the palace to make
all ready for the expected confinement; and on this wise they found
means to carry out their despiteful plot which during so many days they
had devised to scanty purpose. When her full tale of months had been
told, the Banu was brought to bed of a man-child marvellous in beauty,
whereat the fire of envy and hatred was kindled with redoubled fury in
the sisters’ breasts. So they again took counsel nor suffered ruth or
natural affection to move their cruel hearts; and presently, with great
care and secrecy, they wrapped the new-born in a bit of blanket and
putting him into a basket cast him into a canal which flowed hard by the
Queen’s apartment.[102] They then placed a dead puppy in the place of
the prince and showed it to the other midwives and nurses, averring that
the Queen had given birth to such abortion. When these untoward tidings
reached the King’s ears he was sore discomforted and waxed wroth with
exceeding wrath.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace
till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Seventieth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the King, inflamed
with sudden fierceness, drew his sword and would have slain his Queen
had not the Grand Wazir, who happened to be in his presence at the time,
restrained his rage and diverted him from his unjust design and
barbarous purpose. Quoth he, “O Shadow of Allah upon earth, this mishap
is ordained of the Almighty Lord whose will no man hath power to
gainsay. The Queen is guiltless of offence against thee, for what is
born of her is born without her choice, and she indeed hath no hand
therein.” With this and other sage counsels he dissuaded his lord from
carrying out his fell purpose and saved the guiltless Queen from a
sudden and cruel death. Meanwhile the basket wherein lay the newly-born
Prince was carried by the current into a rivulet which flowed through
the royal gardens; and, as the Intendant of the pleasure grounds and
pleasaunces chanced to walk along the bank, by the decree of Destiny he
caught sight of the basket floating by, and he called a gardener,
bidding him lay hold of it and bring it to him that he might see what
was therein. The man ran along the rivulet side; and, with a long stick
drawing the basket to land, showed it to the Intendant who opened it and
beheld within a new-born babe, a boy of wondrous beauty wrapped in a bit
of blanket; at which sight he was astounded beyond measure of surprise.
Now it so chanced that the Intendant, who was one of the Emirs and who
stood high in favour with the Sovran, had no children: withal he never
ceased offering prayers and vows to Almighty Allah that he might have a
son to keep alive his memory and continue his name. Delighted at the
sight he took home the basket with the babe and giving it to his wife
said, “See how Allah hath sent to us this man-child which I just now
found floating upon the waters; and do thou apply thee forthright and
fetch a wet-nurse to give him milk and nourish him; and bring him up
with care and tenderness as though he were thine own.” So the
Intendant’s wife took charge of the child with great gladness and reared
him with her whole heart, diligently as though born of her own womb; nor
did the Intendant say aught to any, or seek to find out whose might be
the child lest haply some one claim and take it from him. He was
certified in his mind that the boy came from the Queen’s quarter of the
palace, but deemed it inexpedient to make too strict enquiry concerning
the matter; and he and his spouse kept the secret with all secrecy. A
year after this the Queen gave birth to a second son, when her sisters,
the Satanesses full of spite, did with this babe, even as they had done
by the first: they wrapped it in a cloth and set it in a basket which
they threw into the stream, then gave out that the Queen had brought
forth a kitten. But once more, by the mercy of Allah Almighty, this boy
came to the hands of that same Intendant of the gardens who carried him
to his wife and placed him under her charge with strict injunctions to
take care of the second foundling sedulously as she had done with the
first. The Shah, enraged to hear the evil tidings, again rose up to slay
the Queen; but as before the Grand Wazir prevented him and calmed his
wrath with words of wholesome rede and a second time saved the unhappy
mother’s life. And after another year had gone by the Banu was brought
to bed and this time bore a daughter by whom the sisters did as they had
done by her brothers: they set the innocent inside a basket and threw
her into the stream; and the Intendant found her also and took her to
his wife and bade her rear the infant together with the other two
castaways. Hereupon the Envious Sisters, wild with malice, reported that
the Queen had given birth to a musk-ratling;[103] whereat King Khusrau
could no longer stay his wrath and indignation. So he cried in furious
rage to the Grand Wazir, “What, shall the Shah suffer this woman, who
beareth naught but vermin and abortions, to share the joys of his bed?
Nay more, the King can no longer allow her to live, else she will fill
the palace with monstrous births: in very sooth, she is herself a
monster, and it behoveth us to rid this place of such unclean creature
and accursed.” So saying the Shah commanded them do her to death; but
the ministers and high officers of estate who stood before the presence
fell at the royal feet and besought pardon and mercy for the Queen. The
Grand Wazir also said with folded hands, “O Sháhinsháh[104]—O King of
the kings—thy slave would fain represent that ’tis not in accordance
with the course of justice or the laws of the land to take the life of a
woman for no fault of her own. She cannot interfere with Destiny, nor
can she prevent unnatural births such as have thrice betided her; and
such mishaps have oftentimes befallen other women, whose cases call for
compassion and not punishment. An the King be displeased with her then
let him cease to live with her, and the loss of his gracious favour will
be a penalty dire enough; and, if the Shah cannot suffer the sight of
her, then let her be confined in some room apart, and let her expiate
her offence by alms deeds and charity until ’Izráíl, the Angel of Death,
separate her soul from her flesh.” Hearing these words of counsel from
his aged Councillor, Khusrau Shah recognised that it had been wrong to
slay the Queen, for that she could on no wise do away with aught that
was determined by Fate and Destiny; and presently he said to the Grand
Wazir, “Her life is spared at thine intercession, O wise man and ware;
yet will the King doom her to a weird which, haply, is hardly less hard
to bear than death. And now do thou forthright make ready, by the side
of the Cathedral-mosque, a wooden cage with iron bars and lock the Queen
therein as one would confine a ferocious wild beast.[105] Then every
Mussulman who wendeth his way to public prayers shall spit in her face
ere he set foot within the fane, and if any fail to carry out this
command he shall be punished in like manner. So place guards and
inspectors to enforce obedience and let me hear if there be aught of
gainsaying.” The Wazir durst not make reply but carried out the Shah’s
commandments; and this punishment inflicted upon the blameless Queen had
far better befitted her Envious Sisters.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-first Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the cage was made
ready with all speed; and, when the forty days after purification of
child-bed[106] had come to an end, the Banu was locked therein; and,
according to the King’s commandment, all who came to prayer in the Great
Mosque would first spit in her face. The hapless woman, well knowing
that she was not worthy of this ignominy, bore her sufferings with all
patience and fortitude; nor were they few who deemed her blameless and
undeserving to endure these torments and tortures inflicted upon her by
the Shah; and they pitied her and offered prayers and made vows for her
release. Meanwhile the Intendant of the gardens and his wife brought up
the two Princes and the Princess with all love and tenderness; and, as
the children grew in years, their love for these adopted ones increased
in like proportion. They gave the eldest Prince the name Bahman,[107]
and to his brother Parwez;[108] and, as the maiden was rare of beauty
and passing of loveliness and graciousness, they called her
Perízádah.[109] When the Princes became of years to receive instruction,
the Intendant of the gardens appointed tutors and masters to teach them
reading and writing and all the arts and sciences: the Princess also,
showing like eagerness to acquire knowledge, was taught letters by the
same instructors, and soon could read and write with as perfect fluency
and facility as could her brothers. Then they were placed under the most
learned of the Philosophers and the Olema, who taught them the
interpretation of the Koran and the sayings of the Apostle; the science
of geometry as well as poetry and history, and even the abstruse
sciences and the mystic doctrines of the Enlightened; and their teachers
were astonished to find how soon and how far all three made progress in
their studies and bid fair to outstrip even the sages however learned.
Moreover, they all three were reared to horsemanship and skill in the
chase, to shooting with shafts and lunging with lance and sway of sabre
and jerking the Jeríd, with other manly and warlike sports. Besides all
this the Princess Perizadah was taught to sing and play on various
instruments of mirth and merriment, wherein she became the peerless
pearl of her age and time. The Intendant was exceeding glad of heart to
find his adopted children prove themselves such proficients in every
branch of knowledge; and presently, forasmuch as his lodging was small
and unfit for the growing family, he bought at a little distance from
the city a piece of land sufficiently large to contain fields and
meadows and copses. Here he fell to building a mansion of great
magnificence; and busied himself day and night with supervising the
architects and masons and other artificers. He adorned the walls inside
and out with sculptural work of the finest and paintings of the
choicest, and he fitted every apartment with richest furniture. In the
front of his mansion he bade lay out a garden and stocked it with
scented flowers and fragrant shrubs and fruit trees whose produce was as
that of Paradise. There was moreover a large park girt on all sides by a
high wall wherein he reared game, both fur and feather, as sport for the
two Princes and their sister. And when the mansion was finished and fit
for habitation, the Intendant, who had faithfully served the Shah for
many generations of men, craved leave of his lord that he might bid
adieu to the city and take up his abode in his new country seat; and the
King, who had always looked upon him with the eye of favour, granted to
him the required boon right heartily; furthermore, to prove his high
opinion of his old servant and his services, he inquired of him if he
had aught to request that it might be granted to him. Replied the other,
“O my liege lord, thy slave desireth naught save that he may spend the
remnant of his days under the shadow of the Shah’s protection, with body
and soul devoted to his service, even as I served the sire before the
son.” The Shah dismissed him with words of thanks and comfort, when he
left the city and taking with him the two Princes and their sister, he
carried them to his newly-built mansion. Some years before this time his
wife had departed to the mercy of Allah, and he had passed only five or
six months in his second home when he too suddenly fell sick and was
admitted into the number of those who have found ruth. Withal he had
neglected every occasion of telling his three foundlings the strange
tale of their birth and how he had carried them to his home as castaways
and had reared them as rearlings and had cherished them as his own
children. But he had time to charge them, ere he died, that they three
should never cease to live together in love and honour and affection and
respect one towards other. The loss of their protector caused them to
grieve with bitter grief, for they all thought he was their real father;
so they bewailed them and buried him as befitted; after which the two
brothers and their sister dwelt together in peace and plenty. But one
day of the days the Princes, who were full of daring and of highest
mettle, rode forth a-hunting and Princess Perizadah was left alone at
home when an ancient woman——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-second Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that perchance an
ancient woman of the Moslems, a recluse and a devotee came to the door
and begged leave to enter within and repeat her prayers, as it was then
the canonical hour and she had but time to make the Wuzú-ablution.
Perizadah bade bring her and saluted her with the salam and kindly
welcomed her; then, when the holy woman had made an end of her orisons,
the handmaids of the Princess, at her command, conducted her all through
the house and grounds, and displayed to her the rooms with their
furniture and fittings, and lastly the garden and orchard and game-park.
She was well pleased with all she saw and said within herself, “The man
who built this mansion and laid out these parterres and vergiers was
verily an accomplished artist and a wight of marvellous skill.” At last
the slaves led her back to the Princess who, awaiting her return, was
sitting in the belvedere; and quoth she to the devotee, “Come, O good my
mother, do thou sit beside me and make me happy by the company of a
pious recluse whom I am fortunate enough to have entertained unawares,
and suffer I listen to thy words of grace and thereby gain no small
advantage in this world and the next. Thou hast chosen the right path
and straight whereon to walk, and that which all men strive for and pine
for.” The holy woman would fain have seated herself at the feet of the
Princess, but she courteously arose and took her by the hand and
constrained her to sit beside her. Quoth she, “O my lady, mine eyes
never yet beheld one so well-mannered as thou art: indeed, I am unworthy
to sit with thee, natheless, as thou biddest, I will e’en do thy
bidding.” As they sat conversing each with other the slave-girls set
before them a table whereon were placed some platters of bread and cakes
with saucers full of fruits both fresh and dried, and various kinds of
cakes and sweetmeats. The Princess took one of the cakes and giving it
to the good woman said, “O my mother, refresh thyself herewith and eat
of the fruits such as thou likest. ’Tis now long since thou didst leave
thy home and I trow thou hast not tasted aught of food upon the road.”
Replied the holy woman, “O lady of gentle birth, I am not wont to taste
of dainty dishes such as these, but I can ill refuse thy provision,
since Allah the Almighty deigneth send me food and support by so liberal
and generous a hand as thine.” And when they twain had eaten somewhat
and cheered their hearts, the Princess asked the devotee concerning the
manner of her worship and of her austere life; whereto she made due
answer and explained according to her knowledge. The Princess then
exclaimed, “Tell me, I pray thee, what thou thinkest of this mansion and
the fashion of its building and the furniture and the appurtenances; and
say me is all perfect and appropriate, or is aught still lacking in
mansion or garden?” And she replied, “Since thou deignest ask my
opinion, I confess to thee that both the building and the parterres are
finished and furnished to perfection; and the belongings are in the best
of taste and in the highest of ordinance. Still to my thinking there be
three things here wanting, which if thou hadst the place would be most
complete.” The Princess Perizadah adjured her saying, “O my aunt, I
beseech thee tell me what three articles yet are lacking, that I may
lose nor pains nor toil to obtain them;” and, as the maiden pressed her
with much entreaty, the devotee was constrained to tell her. Quoth she,
“O gentle lady, the first thing is the Speaking-Bird, called
Bulbul-i-hazár-dástán;[110] he is very rare and hard to find but,
whenever he poureth out his melodious notes, thousands of birds fly to
him from every side and join him in his harmony. The next thing is the
Singing-Tree, whose smooth and glossy leaves when shaken by the wind and
rubbed one against other send forth tuneful tones which strike the ear
like the notes of sweet-voiced minstrels, ravishing the hearts of all
who listen. The third thing is the Golden-Water of transparent purity,
whereof should but one drop be dripped into a basin and this be placed
inside the garden it presently will fill the vessel brimful and will
spout upwards in gerbes playing like a fountain that jets: moreover it
never ceaseth plying, and all the water as it shooteth up falleth back
again inside the basin, not one gout thereof being lost.” Replied the
Princess, “I doubt not but thou knowest for a certainty the very spot
where these wondrous things are to be found; and I pray thee tell me now
the place and means whereby I may take action to obtain them.”——And as
the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-third Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the holy woman
thus answered the Princess, “These three rarities are not to be found,
save on the boundary-line that lieth between the land of Hind and the
confining countries, a score of marches along the road that leadeth
Eastwards from this mansion. Let him who goeth forth in quest of them
ask the first man he meeteth on the twentieth stage concerning the spot
where he may find the Speaking-Bird, the Singing-Tree and the
Golden-Water; and he will direct the seeker where to come upon all
three.” When she had made an end of speaking the Devotee, with many
blessings and prayers and vows for her well-being, farewelled the lady
Perizadah and fared forth homewards. The Princess, however, ceased not
to ponder her words and ever to dwell in memory upon the relation of the
holy woman who, never thinking that her hostess had asked for
information save by way of curiosity, nor really purposed in mind to set
forth with intent of finding the rarities, had heedlessly told all she
knew and had given a clue to the discovery. But Perizadah kept these
matters deeply graven on the tablets of her heart with firm resolution
to follow the directions and, by all means in her power, to gain
possession of these three wonders. Withal, the more she reflected the
harder appeared the enterprise, and her fear of failing only added to
her unease. Now whilst she sat perplexed with anxious thought and anon
terrified with sore affright, her brothers rode back from the
hunting-ground; and they marvelled much to see her sad of semblance and
low-spirited, wondering the while what it was that troubled her.
Presently quoth Prince Bahman, “O sister mine, why art thou so heavy of
heart this day? Almighty Allah forbid thou be ill in health or that
aught have betided thee to cause thy displeasure or to make thee
melancholy. Tell us I beseech thee what it is, that we may be sharers in
thy sorrow and be alert to aid thee.” The Princess answered not a word,
but after long silence raised her head and looked up at her brothers;
then casting down her eyes she said in curt phrase that naught was amiss
with her. Quoth Prince Bahman, “Full well I wot that there is a somewhat
on thy mind which thou hesitatest to tell us; and now hear me swear a
strong oath that I will never leave thy side till thou shalt have told
us what cause it is that troubleth thee. Haply thou art aweary of our
affection and thou wouldst undo the fraternal tie which hath united us
from our infancy.” When she saw her brothers so distressed and
distraught, she was compelled to speak and said, “Albeit, O my
dearlings, to tell you wherefore I am sad and sorrowful may cause you
grief, still there is no help but I explain the matter to you twain.
This mansion, which our dear father (who hath found ruth) builded for
us, is perfect in every attribute nor lacketh it any condition of
comfort or completion. Howbeit I have found out by chance this day that
there are yet three things which, were they set within these walls, of
the house and grounds, would make our place beyond compare, and in the
wide world there would be naught with it to pair. These three things are
the Speaking-Bird and the Singing-Tree and the Golden-Water; and ever
since I heard of them my heart is filled with extreme desire to place
them within our domain and excessive longing to obtain them by any means
within my power. It now behoveth you help me with your best endeavour
and to consider what person will aid me in getting possession of these
rarities.” Replied Prince Bahman, “My life and that of my brother are at
thy service to carry out thy purpose with heart and soul; and, couldst
thou give me but a clue to the place where these strange things are
found, I would sally forth in quest of them at daybreak as soon as the
morning shall morrow.” When Prince Parwez understood that his brother
was about to make this journey, he spake saying, “O my brother, thou art
eldest of us, so do thou stay at home while I go forth to seek for these
three things and bring them to our sister. And indeed it were more
fitting for me to undertake a task which may occupy me for years.”
Replied Prince Bahman, “I have full confidence in thy strength and
prowess, and whatso I am able to perform thou canst do as well as I can.
Still it is my firm resolve to fare forth upon this adventure alone and
unaided, and thou must stay and take care of our sister and our home.”
So next day Prince Bahman learned from the Princess the road whereon he
was to travel and the marks and signs whereby to find the place.
Presently, he donned armour and arms and bidding the twain adieu, he
took horse and was about to ride forth with the stoutest of hearts,
whereat Princess Perizadah’s eyes brimmed with tears and in faltering
accents she addressed him saying, “O dear my brother, this bitter
separation is heart-breaking; and sore sorrowful am I to see thee part
from us. This disunion and thine absence in a distant land cause me
grief and woe far exceeding that wherewith I mourned and pined for the
rarities wherefor thou quittest us. If only we might have some news of
thee from day to day then would I feel somewhat comforted and consoled;
but now ’tis clear otherwise and regret is of none avail.”——And as the
morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-fourth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Prince Bahman made
answer in these words: “O sister mine, I am fully determined in mind to
attempt this derring-do: be thou not however anxious or alarmed, for
Inshallah—God willing—I shall return successful and triumphant. After my
departure shouldst thou at any time feel in fear for my safety, then by
this token which I leave thee thou shalt know of my fate and lot, good
or evil.” Then, drawing from his waist-shawl a little hunting-knife like
a whittle, he gave it to Princess Perizadah, saying, “Take now this
blade and keep it ever by thee; and shouldst thou at any day or hour be
solicitous concerning my condition, draw it from its sheath; and, if the
steel be clean and bright as ’tis now then know that I am alive and safe
and sound; but an thou find stains of blood thereon then shalt thou know
that I am slain, and naught remaineth for thee to do save to pray for me
as for one dead.” With these words of solace the Prince departed on his
journey, and travelled straight along the road to India, turning nor to
right hand nor to left but ever keeping the same object in view. Thus a
score of days was spent in journeying from the land of Iran, and upon
the twentieth he reached the end of his travel. Here he suddenly sighted
an ancient man of frightful aspect sitting beneath a tree hard by his
thatched hut wherein he was wont to shelter himself from the rains of
spring and the heats of summer and the autumnal miasmas and the wintry
frosts. So shotten in years was this Shaykh that hair and beard,
mustachios and whiskers were white as snow, and the growth of his upper
lip was so long and so thick that it covered and concealed his mouth,
while his beard swept the ground and the nails of his hands and feet had
grown to resemble the claws of a wild beast. Upon his head he wore a
broad-brimmed hat of woven palm-leaves like that of a Malábár fisherman,
and all his remaining habit was a strip of matting girded around his
waist. Now this Shaykh was a Darwaysh who for many years had fled the
world and all worldly pleasures; who lived a holy life of poverty and
chastity and other-worldliness whereby his semblance had become such as
I, O auspicious King, have described to thee. From early dawn that day
Prince Bahman had been watchful and vigilant, ever looking on all sides
to descry some one who could supply him with information touching the
whereabouts of the rarities he sought; and this was the first human
being he had sighted on that stage, the twentieth and last of his
journey. So he rode up to him, being assured that the Shaykh must be the
wight of whom the holy woman had spoken. Then Prince Bahman dismounting
and making low obeisance to the Darwaysh, said, “O my father, Allah
Almighty prolong thy years and grant thee all thy wishes!” Whereto the
Fakir made answer but in accents so indistinct that the Prince could not
distinguish a single word he said; and presently Bahman understood that
his moustache had on such wise closed and concealed his mouth that his
utterance became indistinct and he only muttered when he would have
spoken. He therefore haltered his horse to a tree and pulling out a pair
of scissors said, “O holy man, thy lips are wholly hidden by this
overlong hair; suffer me, I pray thee, clip the bristling growth which
overspreadeth thy face and which is so long and thick that thou art
fearsome to behold; nay, more like to a bear than to a human being.” The
Darwaysh with a nod consented, and when the Prince had clipped it and
trimmed the growth, his face once more looked young and fresh as that of
a man in the prime of youth. Presently quoth Bahman to him, “Would
Heaven I had a mirror wherein to show thee thy face, so wouldst thou see
how youthful thou seemest, and how thy favour hath become far more like
that of folk than whilom it was.” These flattering words pleased the
Darwaysh who smiling said, “I thank thee much for this thy goodly
service and kindly offices; and, if in return I can do aught of favour
for thee, I pray thee let me know, and I will attempt to satisfy thee in
all things with my very heart and soul.” Then said the Prince, “O holy
man, I have come hither from far distant lands along a toilsome road in
quest of three things; to wit, a certain Speaking-Bird, a Singing-Tree
and a Golden-Water; and this know I for certain that they are all to be
found hard by this site.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-fifth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Prince,
turning to the Darwaysh, continued, “O Devotee, albeit well I wot that
the three things I seek are in this land and nearhand, yet I know not
the exact spot wherein to find them. An thou have true information
concerning the place and will inform me thereof, I on my part will never
forget thy kindness, and I shall have the satisfaction of feeling that
this long and toilsome wayfare hath not been wholly vain.” Hearing these
words of the Prince, the Darwaysh changed countenance and his face waxed
troubled and his colour wan; then he bent his glance downwards and sat
in deepest silence. Whereat the other said, “O holy father, dost thou
not understand the words wherewith I have bespoken thee? An thou art
ignorant of the matter prithee let me know straightway that I may again
fare onwards until such time as I find a man who can inform me thereof.”
After a long pause the Darwaysh made reply, “O stranger, ’tis true I ken
full well the site whereof thou art in search; but I hold thee dear in
that thou hast been of service to me; and I am loath for thine own sake
to tell thee where to find that stead.” And the Prince rejoined, “Say
me, O Fakir, why dost thou withhold this knowledge from me, and
wherefore art thou not lief to let me learn it?” Replied the other,
“’Tis a hard road to travel and full of perils and dangers. Besides
thyself many have come hither and have asked the path of me, and I
refused to tell them, but they heeded not my warning and pressed me sore
and compelled me to disclose the secret which I would have buried in my
breast. Know, O my son, that all those braves have perished in their
pride and not one of them hath returned to me safe and sound. Now, an
thy life be dear to thee, follow my counsel and fare no further, but
rather turn thee back without stay or delay and make for house and home
and family.” Hereto Prince Bahman, stern in resolution, made reply,
“Thou hast after kindly guise and friendly fashion advised me with the
best of advice; and I, having heard all thou hast to say, do thank thee
gratefully. But I reck not one jot or tittle of what dangers affront me,
nor shall thy threats however fatal deter me from my purpose: moreover,
if thieves or foemen haply fall upon me, I am armed at point and can and
will protect myself, for I am certified that none can outvie me in
strength and stowre.” To this the Fakir made reply, “The beings who will
cut thy path and bar thy progress to that place are unseen of man, nor
will they appear to thee on any wise: how then canst thou defend thyself
against them?” And he replied, “So be it, still I fear not and I pray
thee only show me the road thither.” When the Darwaysh was assured that
the Prince had fully determined in mind to attempt the exploit and would
by no means turn or be turned back from carrying out his purpose, he
thrust his hand into a bag which lay hard by and took therefrom a ball,
and said, “Alas, O my son, thou wilt not accept my counsel and I needs
must let thee follow thy wilful way. Take this ball and, mounting thy
horse, throw it in front of thee, and as long as it shall roll onwards
do thou ride after it, but when it shall stop at the hill-foot dismount
from thy horse and throw the reins upon his neck and leave him alone,
for he will stay there without moving until such time as thou return.
Then manfully breast the ascent, and on either side of the path, right
and left, thou shalt see a scatter of huge black boulders. Here the
sound of many voices in confused clamour and frightful will suddenly
strike thine ears, to raise thy wrath and to fill thee with fear and
hinder thy higher course uphill. Have a heed that thou be not dismayed,
also beware, and again I say beware, lest thou turn thy head at any time
and cast a look backwards. An thy courage fail thee, or thou allow
thyself one glance behind thee, thou shalt be transformed that very
moment into a black rock; for know thou, O Prince, that all those stones
which thou shalt see strewn upon thy way were men whilom and braves like
thyself, who went forth with intent to gain the three things thou
seekest, but frightened at those sounds lost human shape and became
black boulders. However, shouldst thou reach the hill-top safe and
sound, thou shalt find on the very summit a cage and perched therein the
Speaking-Bird ready to answer all thy queries. So ask of him where thou
mayest find the Singing-Tree and the Golden-Water, and he will tell thee
all thou requirest. When thou shalt safely have seized all three thou
wilt be free from further danger; yet, inasmuch as thou hast not yet set
out upon this journey give ear to my counsel. I beg of thee desist from
this thy purpose and return home in peace whilst thou hast yet the
power.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-sixth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Prince made
answer to the Darwaysh, “Until, O thou holy man, such time as I win to
my purpose I will not go back; no, never; therefore adieu.” So he
mounted his horse and threw the ball in front of him; and it rolled
forward at racing-speed and he, with gaze intent thereupon, rode after
it and did not suffer it to gain upon him. When it had reached the hill
whereof the Darwaysh spake, it ceased to make further way, whereupon the
Prince dismounted and throwing the reins on his horse’s neck left him
and fared on afoot to the slope. As far as he could see, the line of his
path from the hill-foot to the head was strewn with a scatter of huge
black boulders; withal his heart felt naught of fear. He had not taken
more than some four or five paces before a hideous din and a terrible
hubbub of many voices arose, even as the Darwaysh had forewarned him.
Prince Bahman, however, walked on valiantly with front erect and
fearless tread, but he saw no living thing and heard only the
Voices[111] sounding all around him. Some said, “Who is yon fool man and
whence hath he come? Stop him, let him not pass!” Others shouted out,
“Fall on him, seize this zany and slay him!” Then the report waxed
louder and louder still, likest to the roar of thunder, and many Voices
yelled out, “Thief! Assassin! Murtherer!” Another muttered in taunting
undertones, “Let him be, fine fellow that he is! Suffer him to pass on,
for he and he only shall get the cage and the Speaking-Bird.” The Prince
feared naught but advanced hot foot with his wonted nerve and spirit;
presently, however, when the Voices kept approaching nearer and nearer
to him and increased in number on every side, he was sore perplexed. His
legs began to tremble, he staggered and in fine overcome by fear he
clean forgot the warning of the Darwaysh and looked back, whereat he was
incontinently turned to stone like the scores of knights and adventurers
who had foregone him. Meantime the Princess Perizadah ever carried the
hunting-knife, which Bahman her brother had given her, sheathed as it
was in her maiden zone. She had kept it there ever since he set out upon
his perilous expedition, and whenever she felt disposed she would bare
the blade and judge by its sheen how fared her brother. Now until that
day when he was transmewed to stone she found it, as often as she looked
at it, clean and bright; but on the very evening when that evil fate
betided him perchance Prince Parwez said to Perizadah, “O sister mine,
give me I pray thee the hunting-knife that I may see how goeth it with
our brother.” She took it from her waist-belt and handed it to him; and
as soon as he unsheathed the knife lo and behold! he saw gouts of gore
begin to drop from it. Noting this he dashed the hunting-knife down and
burst out into loud lamentations, whilst the Princess who divined what
had happened shed a flood of bitter tears and cried with sighs and sobs,
“Alas, O my brother, thou hast given thy life for me. Ah, woe is me and
well-away! why did I tell thee of the Speaking-Bird and the Singing-Tree
and the Golden-Water? Wherefore did I ask that holy woman how she liked
our home, and hear of those three things in answer to my question? Would
to Heaven she had never crossed our threshold and darkened our doors!
Ungrateful hypocrite, dost thou requite me on such wise for the favour
and the honour I was fain to show thee; and what made me ask of thee the
means whereby to win these things? If now I obtain possession of them
what will they advantage me, seeing that my brother Bahman is no more?
What should I ever do with them?” Thus did Perizadah indulge her grief
bewailing her sad fate; while Parwez in like manner moaned for his
brother Bahman with exceeding bitter mourning. At last the Prince, who
despite his sorrow was assured that his sister still ardently desired to
possess the three marvels, turned to Perizadah and said, “It behoveth
me, O my sister, to set out forthright and to discover whether Bahman
our brother met his death by doom of Destiny, or whether some enemy have
slain him; and if he hath been killed then must I take full vengeance on
his murtherer.” Perizadah besought him with much weeping and wailing not
to leave her, and said, “O joy of my heart, Allah upon thee, follow not
in the footsteps of our dear departed brother nor quit me in order to
attempt a journey so rife in risks. I care naught for those things in my
fear lest I lose thee also while attempting such enterprise.” But Prince
Parwez would on no wise listen to her lament and next day took leave of
her, but ere he fared she said to him, “The hunting-knife which Bahman
left with me was the means of informing us concerning the mishap which
happened to him; but, say me how shall I know what happeneth to thee?”
Then he produced a string of pearls which numbered one hundred and said,
“As long as thou shalt see these pearls all parted one from other and
each running loose upon the string, then do thou know that I am alive;
but an thou shouldst find them fixed and adhering together then be thou
ware that I am dead.” The Princess taking the string of pearls hung it
around her neck, determined to observe it hour after hour and find out
how it fared with her second brother. After this Prince Parwez set out
upon his travels and at the twentieth stage came to the same spot where
Bahman had found the Darwaysh and saw him there in like condition. Then,
after saluting him with the salam, the Prince asked, “Canst thou tell me
where to find the Speaking-Bird and the Singing-Tree and the
Golden-Water; and by what manner of means I may get possession of them?
An thou can I pray thee inform me of this matter.”——And as the morn
began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


         The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Darwaysh
strave to stay Prince Parwez from his design and shewed him all the
dangers on the way. Quoth he, “Not many days ago one like unto thee in
years and in features came hither and enquired of me concerning the
matter thou now seekest. I warned him of the perils of the place and
would have weaned him from his wilful ways, but he paid no wise heed to
my warnings and refused to accept my counsel. He went off with full
instructions from me how to find those things he sought; but as yet he
hath not returned, and doubtless he also hath perished like the many who
preceded him upon that perilous enterprise.” Then said Prince Parwez, “O
holy father, I know the man of whom thou speakest, for that he was my
brother; and I learned that he was dead, but have no inkling of the
cause whereby he died.” Replied the Darwaysh, “O my lord, I can inform
thee on this matter; he hath been transmewed into a black stone, like
the others of whom I just now spake to thee. If thou wilt not accept my
advice and act according to my counsel thou also surely shalt perish by
the same means as did thy brother; and I solemnly forewarn thee to
desist from this endeavour.” Prince Parwez having pondered these words,
presently made reply, “O Darwaysh, I thank thee again and again and am
much beholden to thee in that thou art fain of my welfare and thou hast
given me the kindest of counsel and the friendliest of advice; nor am I
worthy of such favours bestowed upon a stranger. But now remaineth
naught for me to beseech save that thou wilt point out the path, for I
am fully purposed to fare forwards and on no wise to desist from my
endeavour. I pray thee favour me with full instructions for the road
even as thou favourest my brother.” Then said the Darwaysh, “An thou
wilt not lend ear to my warnings and do as I desire thee, it mattereth
to me neither mickle nor little. Choose for thyself and I by doom of
Destiny must perforce forward thy attempt and albeit, by reason of my
great age and infirmities, I may not conduct thee to the place I will
not grudge thee a guide.” Then Prince Parwez mounted his horse and the
Darwaysh taking one of many balls from out his scrip placed it in the
youth’s hands, directing him the while what to do, as he had counselled
his brother Bahman; and, after giving him much advice and many warnings
he ended with saying, “O my lord, have a heed not to be perplexed and
terrified by the threatening Voices,[112] and sounds from unseen beings,
which shall strike thine ear; but advance dauntless to the hill-top
where thou shalt find the cage with the Speaking-Bird and the
Singing-Tree and the Golden-Water.” The Fakir then bid him adieu with
words of good omen and the Prince set forth. He threw the ball on the
ground before him and, as it rolled up the path, he urged his horse to
keep pace with it. But when he reached the hill-foot and saw that the
ball had stopped and lay still, he dismounted forthright and paused
awhile ere he should begin to climb and conned well in his mind the
directions, one and all, given to him by the Darwaysh. Then, with firm
courage and fast resolve, he set out afoot to reach the hill-top. But
hardly had he begun to climb before he heard a voice beside him
threatening him in churlish tongue and crying, “O youth of ill-omen,
stand still that I may trounce thee for this thine insolence.” Hearing
these insulting words of the Invisible Speaker, Prince Parwez felt his
blood boil over; he could not refrain his rage and in his passion he
clean forgot the words of wisdom wherewith the Fakir had warned him. He
seized his sword and drawing it from the scabbard, turned about to slay
the man who durst insult him on such wise; but he saw no one and, in the
act of looking back both he and his horse became black stones. Meanwhile
the Princess ceased not at all hours of the day and watches of the night
to consult the string of pearls which Parwez had left her: she counted
them overnight when she retired to rest, she slept with them around her
neck during the hours of darkness, and when she awoke at the dawn of day
she first of all consulted them and noted their condition. Now at the
very hour when her second brother was turned to stone she found the
pearls sticking one to other so close together that she might not move a
single bead apart from its fellows and she knew thereby that Prince
Parwez also was lost to her for ever.——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Princess
Perizadah was sore grieved at so sudden a blow and said to herself, “Ah!
woe is me and well-away! How bitter will be living without the love of
such brothers whose youthtide was sacrificed for me! ’Tis but right that
I share their fate whate’er be my lot; else what shall I have to say on
the Day of Doom and the Resurrection of the Dead and the Judgment of
Mankind?” Wherefore next morning, without further let or stay, she
donned disguise of man’s attire; and, warning her women and slaves that
she would be absent on an errand for a term of days during which they
would be in charge of the house and goods, she mounted her hackney and
set out alone and unattended. Now, inasmuch as she was skilled in
horsemanship and had been wont to accompany her brothers when hunting
and hawking, she was better fitted than other women to bear the toils
and travails of travel. So on the twentieth day she arrived safe and
sound at the hermitage-hut where, seeing the same Shaykh, she took seat
beside him and after salaming to him and greeting him she asked him, “O
holy father, suffer me to rest and refresh myself awhile in this site of
good omen; then deign point out to me, I pray thee, the direction of the
place, at no far distance herefrom, wherein are found a certain
Speaking-Bird and a Singing-Tree and a Golden-Water. An thou wilt tell
me I shall deem this the greatest of favour.” Replied the Darwaysh, “Thy
voice revealeth to me that thou art a woman and no man, albeit attired
in male’s apparel. Well I wot the stead whereof thou speakest and which
containeth the marvellous things thou hast named. But say me, what is
thy purpose in asking me?” The Princess made reply, “I have been told
many a tale anent these rare and wondrous things, and I would fain get
possession of them and bear them to my home and make them its choicest
adornments.” And said the Fakir, “O my daughter, in very truth these
matters are exceeding rare and admirable: right fit are they for fair
ones like thyself to win and take back with thee, but thou hast little
inkling of the dangers manifold and dire that encompass them. Better far
were it for thee to cast away this vain thought and go back by the road
thou camest.” Replied the Princess, “O holy father and far-famed
anchorite, I come from a distant land whereto I will nevermore return
except after winning my wish; no, never! I pray thee tell me the nature
of those dangers and what they be, that hearing thereof my heart may
judge if I have or have not the strength and the spirit to meet them.”
Then the Shaykh described to the Princess all the risks of the road as
erst he had informed Princes Bahman and Parwez; and he ended with
saying, “The dangers will display themselves as soon as thou shalt begin
to climb the hill-foot and shall not end till such time as thou wilt
have reached the hill-head where is the home of the Speaking-Bird. Then,
if thou be fortunate enough to seize him, he will direct thee where to
find the Singing-Tree and the Golden-Water. All the time thou climbest
the hill, Voices from throats unseen and accents fierce and fell shall
resound in thine ears. Furthermore, thou shalt see black rocks and
boulders strewn upon thy path; and these, thou must know, are the
transformed bodies of men who with exceeding courage attempted the same
enterprise, but filled with sudden fear and tempted to turn and to look
backwards were changed into stones. Now do thou steadily bear in mind
what was their case. At the first they listened to those fearful sounds
and cursings with firm souls, but anon their hearts and minds misgave
them, or, haply, they fumed with fury to hear the villain words
addressed to them and they turned about and gazed behind them, whereat
both men and horses became black boulders.” But when the Darwaysh had
told her every whit, the Princess made reply, “From what thou sayest it
seemeth clear to me that these Voices can do nothing but threaten and
frighten by their terrible din; furthermore that there is naught to
prevent a man climbing up the hill, nor is there any fear of any one
attacking him; all he hath to do is on no account to look behind him.”
And after a short pause she presently added, “O Fakir, albeit a woman
yet I have both nerve and thews to carry me through this adventure. I
shall not heed the Voices nor be enraged thereat, neither will they have
any power to dismay me: moreover, I have devised a device whereby my
success on this point is assured.” “And what wilt thou do?” asked he,
and she answered, “I will stop mine ears with cotton so may not my mind
be disturbed and reason perturbed by hearing those awesome sounds.” The
Fakir marvelled with great marvel and presently exclaimed, “O my lady,
methinks thou art destined to get possession of the things thou seekest.
This plan hath not occurred to any hitherto[113] and hence it is haply
that one and all have failed miserably and have perished in the attempt.
Take good heed to thyself however, nor run any risk other than the
enterprise requireth.” She replied, “I have no cause for fear since this
one and only danger is before me to prevent happy issue. My heart doth
bear me witness that I shall surely gain the guerdon wherefor I have
undertaken such toil and trouble. But now do thou tell me what I must
do, and whither to win my wish I must wend.” The Darwaysh once more
besought her to return home, but Perizadah refused to listen and
remained as firm and resolute as before; so when he saw that she was
fully bent upon carrying out her purpose he exclaimed, “Depart, O my
daughter, in the peace of Almighty Allah and His blessing; and may He
defend thy youth and beauty from all danger.” Then taking from his bag a
ball he gave it her and said, “When thou art seated in saddle throw this
before thee and follow it whitherso it lead thee; and when it shall stop
at the hill-foot then dismount and climb the slope. What will happen
after I have already told thee.”——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Seventy-ninth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Princess after
farewelling the Fakir straightway bestrode her steed and threw the ball
in front of his hooves as she had been bidden do. It rolled along before
her in the direction of the hill and she urged her hackney to keep up
with it, until reaching the hill it suddenly stopped. Hereat the
Princess dismounted forthwith and having carefully plugged both her ears
with cotton, began to breast the slope with fearless heart and dauntless
soul; and as soon as she had advanced a few steps a hubbub of voices
broke out all around her, but she heard not a sound, by reason of her
hearing being blunted by the cotton-wool. Then hideous cries arose with
horrid din, still she heard them not; and at last they grew to a storm
of shouts and shrieks and groans and moans flavoured with foul language
such as shameless women use when railing one at other. She caught now
and then an echo of the sounds but recked naught thereof and only
laughed and said to herself, “What care I for their scoffs and jeers and
fulsome taunts? Let them hoot on and bark and bay as they may: this at
least shall not turn me from my purpose.” As she approached the goal the
path became perilous in the extreme and the air was so filled with an
infernal din and such awful sounds that even Rustam would have quailed
thereat and the bold spirit of Asfandiyar[114] have quaked with terror.
The Princess, however, pressed on with uttermost speed and dauntless
heart till she neared the hill-top and espied above her the cage in
which the Speaking-Bird was singing with melodious tones; but, seeing
the Princess draw nigh, he broke out despite his puny form in thundering
tones and cried, “Return, O fool: hie thee back nor dare come nearer.”
Princess Perizadah heeded not his clamour a whit but bravely reached the
hill-top, and running over the level piece of ground made for the cage
and seized it saying, “At last I have thee and thou shalt not escape
me.” She then pulled out the cotton-wool wherewith she had stopped her
ears, and heard the Speaking-Bird reply in gentle accents, “O lady
valiant and noble, be of good cheer for no harm or evil shall betide
thee, as hath happened to those who essayed to make me their prize.
Albeit I am encaged I have much secret knowledge of what happeneth in
the world of men and I am content to become thy slave, and for thee to
be my liege lady. Moreover I am more familiar with all that concerneth
thee even than thou art thyself; and one day of the days I will do thee
a service which shall deserve thy gratitude. What now is thy command?
Speak that I may fulfil thy wish.” Princess Perizadah was gladdened by
these words, but in the midst of her joy she grieved at the thought of
how she had lost her brothers whom she loved with a love so dear, and
anon she said to the Speaking-Bird, “Full many a thing I want, but first
tell me if the Golden-Water, of which I have heard so much, be nigh unto
this place and if so do thou show me where to find it.” The Bird
directed her accordingly and the Princess took a silver flagon she had
brought with her and filled it brimful from the magical fount. Then
quoth she to the Bird, “The third and last prize I have come to seek is
the Singing-Tree: discover to me where that also can be found.” The Bird
replied, “O Princess of fair ones, behind thy back in yonder clump that
lieth close at hand groweth the Tree;” so she went forthright to the
copse and found the Tree she sought singing with sweetest toned voice.
But inasmuch as it was huge in girth she returned to her slave the Bird
and said, “The Tree indeed I found but ’tis lofty and bulky; how then
shall I pull it up?” and he made answer, “Pluck but a branchlet of the
Tree and plant it in thy garden: ’twill at once take root and in
shortest time be as gross and fair a growth as that in yonder copse.” So
the Princess broke off a twig, and now that she had secured the three
things, whereof the holy woman spake to her, she was exceeding joyful
and turning to the Bird said, “I have in very deed won my wish, but one
thing is yet wanting to my full satisfaction. My brothers who ventured
forth with this same purpose are lying hereabouts turned into black
stones; and I fain would have them brought to life again and the twain
return with me in all satisfaction and assurance of success. Tell me now
some plan whereby mine every desire may be fulfilled.”——And as the morn
began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


            The end of the Six Hundred and Eightieth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Speaking-Bird
replied, “O Princess, trouble not thyself, the thing is easy. Sprinkle
some of the Golden-Water from the flagon upon the black stones lying
round about, and by virtue thereof each and every shall come to life
again, thy two brothers as well as the others.” So Princess Perizadah’s
heart was set at rest and taking the three prizes with her she fared
forth and scattered a few drops from the silver flagon upon each black
stone as she passed it when, lo and behold! they came to life as men and
horses. Amongst them were her brothers whom she at once knew and falling
on their necks she embraced them, and asked in tones of surprise, “O my
brothers, what do ye here?” To this they answered, “We lay fast asleep.”
Quoth she, “Strange indeed that ye take delight in slumber away from me
and ye forget the purpose wherefor ye left me; to wit, the winning of
the Speaking-Bird and the Singing-Tree and the Golden-Water. Did ye not
see this place all bestrown with dark hued rocks? Look now and say if
there be aught left of them. These men and horses now standing around us
were all black stones as ye yourselves also were; but, by the boon of
Almighty Allah, all have come to life again and await the signal to
depart. And if now ye wish to learn by what strange miracle both ye and
they have recovered human shape, know ye that it hath been wrought by
virtue of a water contained in this flagon which I sprinkled on the
rocks with leave of the Lord of all Living. When I had gained possession
of this cage and its Speaking-Bird, and also of the Singing-Tree, a wand
whereof ye see in my hand, and lastly of the Golden-Water, I would not
take them home with me unless ye twain could also bear me company; so I
asked of this Bird the means whereby ye could be brought to life again.
He made me drop some drops of the Golden-Water on the boulders and when
I had done this ye two like all the others returned to life and to your
proper forms.” Hearing these her words the Princes Bahman and Parwez
thanked and praised their sister Perizadah; and all the others she had
saved showered thanks and blessings on her head saying with one accord,
“O our lady, we are now thy slaves; nor can a life-long service repay
the debt of gratitude we owe thee for this favour thou hast shown us.
Command and we are ready to obey thee with our hearts and our souls.”
Quoth Perizadah, “The bringing back to life of these my brothers were my
aim and purpose, and in so doing ye too have profited thereby; and I
accept your acknowledgments as another pleasure. But now do ye mount
each and every man his horse and ride back by the way ye came to your
homes in Allah’s peace.” On this wise the Princess dismissed them and
made herself also ready to depart; but, as she was about to bestride her
steed, Prince Bahman asked permission of her that he might hold in hand
the cage and ride in front of her. She answered, “Not so, O brother
mine; this Bird is now my slave and I will carry him myself. An thou
wilt, take thou this twig with thee, but hold the cage only till I am
seated in saddle.” She then mounted her hackney and, placing the cage
before her on the pommel, bade her brother Parwez take charge of the
Golden-Water in the silver flagon and carry it with all care and the
Prince did her bidding without gainsaying. And when they all were ready
to ride forth, including the knights and the squires whom Perizadah had
brought to life by sprinkling the Water the Princess turned to them and
said, “Why delay we our departure and how is it that none offereth to
lead us?” But as all hesitated she gave command, “Now let him amongst
your number whose noblesse and high degree entitle him to such
distinction fare before us and show us the way.” Then all with one
accord replied, “O Princess of fair ones, there be none amongst us
worthy of such honour, nor may any wight dare to ride before thee.” So
when she saw that none amongst them claimed pre-eminence or right of
guidance, and none desired to take precedence of the rest, she made
excuse and said, “O my lords, ’tis not for me by right to lead the way,
but since ye order I must needs obey.” Accordingly she pushed on to the
front, and after came her brothers and behind them the rest. And as they
journeyed on all desired to see the holy man, and thank him for his
favours and friendly rede, but when they reached the spot where he dwelt
they found him dead, and they knew not if old age had taken him away, or
if he perished in his pride because the Princess Perizadah had found and
had carried off the three things whereof he had been appointed by
Destiny guard and guide.——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held
her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-first Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that all the company
rode on, and as each one arrived at the road which led him to his natal
land he took leave of the Lady Perizadah and went his way, until all
were gone and the Princess and her brothers were the only left. At last
they reached their journey’s end safe and sound, and on entering their
mansion Perizadah hung the cage inside the garden hard by the belvedere
and no sooner did the Speaking-Bird begin to sing than flights of
ringdoves and bulbuls and nightingales and skylarks and parrots and
other songsters came flocking around him from afar and anear. Likewise
she set the twig, which she had taken from the Singing-Tree, in a choice
parterre also hard by the belvedere, and forthright it took root and put
forth boughs and buds and grew goodly in growth, till it became a trunk
as large as that from which she had plucked the twig, whilst from its
leafage went forth bewitching sounds rivalling the music of the parent
tree. She lastly bid them carve her a basin of pure white marble and set
it in the centre of the pleasure grounds; then she poured therein the
Golden-Water and forthright it filled the bowl and shot upwards like a
spouting fountain some twenty feet in height; moreover the gerbes and
jets fell back whence they came and not one drop was lost: whereby the
working of the waters was unbroken and ever similar. Now but few days
passed ere the report of these three wonders was bruited abroad and
flocked the folk daily from the city to solace themselves with the
sight, and the gates stood always open wide and all who came had
entrance to the house and gardens and free leave to walk about at will
and see these rarities which affected them with admiration and delight.
Then also, as soon as both the Princes had recovered from the toils of
travel, they began to go a-hunting as heretofore; and it chanced one day
they rode forth several miles from home and were both busied in the
chase, when the Shah of Irán-land came by decree of Destiny to the same
place for the same purpose. The Princes, seeing a band of knights and
huntsmen drawing near, were fain to ride home and to avoid such meeting;
so they left the hunting-grounds and turned them homewards. But as Fate
and lot would have it they hit upon the very road whereby King Khusrau
Shah was coming, and so narrow was the path that they could not avoid
the horsemen by wheeling round and wending another way. So they drew
rein perforce and dismounting they salamed and did obeisance to the Shah
and stood between his hands with heads bent low. The Sovran, seeing the
horses’ fine trappings and the Princes’ costly garments, thought that
the two youths were in the suite of his Wazirs and his Ministers of
state and much wished to look upon their faces; he therefore bade them
raise their heads and stand upright in the presence and they obeyed his
bidding with modest mien and downcast eyes. He was charmed to behold
their comeliness of favour and their graceful forms and their noble air
and their courtly mien; and, after gazing at them for some time in not a
little wonder and admiration, he asked them who they were and what might
be their names and where they abode. Hereto Prince Bahman made reply, “O
Asylum of the Universe, we are the sons of one whose life was spent in
serving the Shah, the Intendant of the royal gardens and pleasaunces. As
his days drew to a close he builded him a home without the town for us
to dwell in till we should grow to man’s estate and become fit to do thy
Highness suit and service and carry out thy royal commands.” The Shah
furthermore asked them, “How is it that ye go a-hunting? This is a
special sport of Kings and is not meant for the general of his subjects
and dependants.” Prince Bahman rejoined, “O Refuge of the World, we yet
are young in years and being brought up at home we know little of
courtly customs; but, as we look to bear arms in the armies of the Shah
we fain would train our bodies to toil and moil.” This answer was
honoured by the royal approof and the King rejoined, “The Shah would see
how ye deal with noble game; so choose ye whatever quarry ye will and
bring it down in the presence.” The Princes hereat remounted their
horses and joined the Sovran; and when they reached the thick-most of
the forest, Prince Bahman started a tiger and Prince Parwez rode after a
bear; and the twain used their spears with such skill and good will that
each killed his quarry and laid it at the Shah’s feet. Then entering the
wood again Prince Bahman slew a bear, and Prince Parwez a tiger[115] and
did as before; but when they would have ridden off the third time the
King forbade them saying, “What! would ye strip the royal preserve of
all the game? This be enough and more than enough, the Shah wished only
to put your valour to the proof and having seen it with his own eyes he
is fully satisfied. Come now with us and stand before us as we sit at
meat.” Prince Bahman made reply, “We are not worthy of the high honour
and dignity wherewith thou favourest us thy humble servants. We
dutifully and humbly petition thy Highness to hold us excused for this
day; but if the Asylum of the Universe deign appoint some other time thy
slaves will right gladly execute thy auspicious orders.”——And as the
morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-second Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that Khusrau Shah,
astonished at their refusal, asked the cause thereof when Prince Bahman
answered, “May I be thy sacrifice,[116] O King of kings, we have at home
an only sister; and all three are bound together with bonds of the
fondest affection; so we brothers go not anywhere without consulting her
nor doth she aught save according to our counsel.” The King was pleased
to see such fraternal love and union and presently quoth he, “By the
head of the Shah,[117] he freely giveth you leave to go to-day: consult
your sister and meet the Shadow of Allah[118] to-morrow at this
hunting-ground, and tell him what she saith and if she be content to let
you twain come and wait upon the Shah at meat.” So the Princes
farewelled and prayed for him; then rode back home; but they both forgot
to tell their sister how they had fallen in with the King; and of all
that passed between them they remembered not one word.[119] Next day
again they went a-hunting and on returning from the chase the Shah
enquired of them, “Have ye consulted with your sister if ye may serve
the King, and what saith she thereto? Have ye obtained permission from
her?” On hearing these words the Princes waxed aghast with fear; the
colour of their faces changed, and each began to look into the other’s
eyes. Then Bahman said, “Pardon, O Refuge of the World, this our
transgression. We both forgot the command and remembered not to tell our
sister.” Replied the King, “It mattereth naught! ask her to-day and
bring me word to-morrow.” But it so happened that on that day also they
forgot the message yet the King was not annoyed at their shortness of
memory, but taking from his pocket three little balls of gold, and tying
them in a kerchief of silk, he handed them to Prince Bahman saying, “Put
these balls in thy waist-shawl, so shalt thou not forget to ask thy
sister; and if perchance the matter escape thy memory, when thou shalt
go to bed and take off thy girdle, haply the sound of them falling to
the ground will remind thee of thy promise.” Despite this strict
injunction of the Shadow of Allah the Princes on that day also clean
forgot the order and the promise they had made to the King. When,
however, night came on, and Prince Bahman went to his bed-chamber for
sleep, he loosed his girdle and down fell the golden balls and at the
sound the message of the Shah flashed across his thought. So he and his
brother Parwez at once hastened to Perizadah’s bower, where she was
about retiring to rest; and, with many excuses for troubling her at so
unseasonable an hour, reported to her all that had happened. She
lamented their thoughtlessness which for three successive days had
caused them forget the royal behest and ended with saying, “Fortune hath
favoured you, O my brothers, and brought you suddenly to the notice of
the Asylum of the Universe, a chance which often hath led to the height
of good. It grieveth me sore that in your over regard for our fraternal
love and union ye did not take service with the King when he deigned
command you. Moreover ye have far greater cause for regret and
repentance than I in that ye failed to plead a sufficient excuse and
that which ye offered must have sounded rude and churlish. A right
dangerous thing it is to thwart Kingly wishes. In his extreme
condescension the Shah commandeth you to take service with him and ye,
in rebelling against his exalted orders have done foolishly and ye have
caused me much trouble of mind. Howbeit I will sue counsel from my slave
the Speaking-Bird and see what he may say; for when I have ever any hard
and weighty question to decide I fail not to ask his advice.” Hereupon
the Princess set the cage by her side and after telling her slave all
that her brothers had made known to her, asked admonition of him
regarding what they should do. The Speaking-Bird made answer, “It
behoveth the Princes to gratify the Shah in all things he requireth of
them; moreover, let them make ready a feast for the King and humbly pray
him to visit this house, and thereby testify to him loyalty and devotion
to his royal person.” Then said the Princess, “O Bird, my brothers are
most dear to me nor would I suffer them leave my sight for one moment if
it were possible; and Allah forfend that this daring on their part do
injury to our love and affection.” Said the Speaking-Bird, “I have
counselled thee for the best and have offered thee the right rede; nor
do thou fear aught in following it, for naught save good shall come
therefrom.” “But,” quoth the Princess, “an the Shadow of Allah honour us
by crossing the threshold of this house needs must I present myself
before him with face unveiled?”[120] “By all means,” quoth the
Speaking-Bird, “this will not harm thee, nay rather ’twill be to thine
advantage.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-third Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that early next day the
two Princes Bahman and Parwez rode as aforetime to the hunting-ground
and met Khusrau Shah, who asked them, saying, “What answer bring ye from
your sister?” Hereupon the elder brother advancing said, “O Shadow of
Allah, verily we are thy slaves and whatever thou deign bid that we are
ready to obey. These less than the least have referred the matter to
their sister and have obtained her consent; nay more, she blamed and
chided them for that they did not hurry to carry out the commands of the
Refuge of the World the moment they were delivered. Therefore being sore
displeased at us, she desireth us on her behalf to plead forgiveness
with the Sháhinshah[121] for this offence by us offered.” Replied the
King, “No crime have ye committed to call forth the royal displeasure:
nay more, it delighteth the Shadow of Allah exceedingly to see the love
ye twain bear towards your sister.” Hearing such words of condescension
and kindliness from the Shah, the Princes held their peace and hung
their heads for shame groundwards; and the King who that day was not
keen, according to his custom, after the chase, whenever he saw the
brothers hold aloof, called them to his presence and heartened their
hearts with words of favour; and presently, when aweary of sport, he
turned the head of his steed palace-wards and deigned order the Princes
to ride by his side. The Wazirs and Councillors and Courtiers one and
all fumed with envy and jealousy to see two unknowns entreated with such
especial favour; and as they rode at the head of the suite adown the
market-street all eyes were turned upon the youths and men asked one of
other, “Who be the two who ride beside the Shah? Belong they to this
city, or come they from some foreign land?” And the folk praised and
blessed them saying, “Allah send our King of kings two Princes as goodly
and gallant as are these twain who ride beside him. If our hapless Queen
who languisheth in durance had brought forth sons, by Allah’s favour
they would now be of the same age as these young lords.” But as soon as
the cavalcade reached the palace the King alighted from his horse and
led the Princes to his private chamber, a splendid retreat magnificently
furnished, wherein a table had been spread with sumptuous meats and
rarest cates; and having seated himself thereat he motioned them to do
likewise. Hereupon the brothers making low obeisance also took their
seats and ate in well-bred silence with respectful mien. Then the Shah,
desiring to warm them into talk[122] and thereby to test their wit and
wisdom, addressed them on themes galore and asked of them many
questions; and, inasmuch as they had been taught well and trained in
every art and science, they answered with propriety and perfect ease.
The Shah struck with admiration bitterly regretted that Almighty Allah
had not vouchsafed to him sons so handsome in semblance and so apt and
so learned as these twain; and, for the pleasure of listening to them,
he lingered at meat longer than he was wont to do. And when he rose from
table and retired with them to his private apartment he still sat
longwhile talking with them and at last in his admiration he exclaimed,
“Never until this day have I set eyes on youths so well brought up and
so comely and so capable as are these, and methinks ’twere hard to find
their equals anywhere.” In fine quoth he, “The time waxeth late, so now
let us cheer our hearts with music.” And forthright the royal band of
minstrels and musicians began to sing and perform upon instruments of
mirth and merriment, whilst dancing-girls and boys displayed their
skill, and mimes and mummers played their parts. The Princes enjoyed the
spectacle with extreme joy and the last hours of the afternoon passed in
royal revelry and regale. But when the sun had set and evening came on,
the youths craved dismissal from the Shah with many expressions of
gratitude for the exalted favours he had deigned bestow on them; and ere
they fared forth the King of kings bespake them, saying, “Come ye again
on the morrow to our hunting-ground as heretofore, and thence return to
the palace. By the beard of the Shah, he fain would have you always with
him, and solace him with your companionship and converse.” Prince
Bahman, prostrating himself before the presence, answered, “’Tis the
very end and aim of all our wishes, O Shadow of Allah upon Earth, that
on the morrow when thou shalt come from the chase and pass by our poor
house, thou graciously deign enter and rest in it awhile, thereby
conferring the highmost of honours upon ourselves and upon our sister.
Albeit the place is not worthy of the Shahinshah’s exalted presence, yet
at times do mighty Kings condescend to visit the huts of their slaves.”
The King, ever more and more enchanted with their comeliness and
pleasant speech, vouchsafed a most gracious answer, saying, “The
dwelling-place of youths in your estate and degree will certainly be
goodly and right worthy of you; and the Shah willingly consenteth for
the morrow to become the guest of you twain and of your sister whom,
albeit he have not yet seen, he is assured to find perfect in all gifts
of body and mind. Do ye twain therefore about early dawn-tide expect the
Shah at the usual trysting place.” The Princes then craved leave to wend
their ways; and going home said to their sister, “O Perizadah, the Shah
hath decreed that to-morrow he will come to our house and rest here
awhile after the hunt.” Said she, “An so it be, needs must we see to it
that all be made ready for a royal banquet and we may not be put to
shame when the Shadow of Allah shall deign shade us. There is no help
but that in this matter I ask of my slave, the Speaking-Bird, what
counsel he would give; and that prepare according thereto such meats as
are meet for him and are pleasing to the royal palate.”——And as the morn
began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-fourth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Princes both
approved of her plan and went to seek repose; whereupon Perizadah sent
for the cage and setting it before her said, “O Bird, the Shah hath made
a promise and hath decreed that he will deign honour this our house on
the morrow, wherefore we must needs make ready for our liege lord the
best of banquets and I bid thee say me what dishes should the kitcheners
cook for him?” The Speaking-Bird replied, “O my lady, thou hast the most
skilful of cooks and confectioners. Do thou bid them dress for thee the
choicest dainties, but above all others see thou with thine own eyes
that they set before the Shah a dish of new green cucumbers stuffed with
pearls.” Quoth the Princess in utter wonderment, “Never until this time
heard I of such a dainty! How? cucumbers with a filling of pearls! And
what will the King, who cometh to eat bread and not to gaze on stones,
say to such meat? Furthermore, I have not in my possession pearls enough
to serve for even a single cucumber.” Replied the Speaking-Bird, “This
were an easy matter: do thou dread naught but only act as I shall advise
thee. I seek not aught save thy welfare and would on no wise counsel
thee to thy disadvantage. As for the pearls thou shalt collect them on
this wise; go thou to-morrow betimes to the pleasure-gardens and bid a
hole be dug at the foot of the first tree in the avenue to thy right
hand, and there shalt thou find of pearls as large a store as thou shalt
require.” So after dawn on the next day Princess Perizadah bade a
gardener-lad accompany her and fared to the site within the
pleasure-gardens whereof the Speaking-Bird had told her. Here the boy
dug a hole both deep and wide when suddenly his spade struck upon
somewhat hard, and he removed with his hands the earth and discovered to
view a golden casket well-nigh one foot square. Hereupon the young
gardener showed it to the Princess who exclaimed, “I brought thee with
me for this very reason. Take heed and see that no harm come to it, but
dig it out and bring it to me with all care.” When the lad did her
bidding she opened it forthright and found it filled with pearls and
unions fresh from the sea, round as rings and all of one and the same
size perfectly fitted for the purpose which the Speaking-Bird had
proposed. Perizadah rejoiced with extreme joy at the sight and taking up
the box walked back with it to the house; and the Princes who had seen
their sister faring forth betimes with the gardener-lad and had wondered
why she went to the park thus early unaccording to her wonted custom,
catching sight of her from the casement quickly donned their walking
dresses and came to meet her. And as the two brothers walked forwards
they saw the Princess approaching them with somewhat unusual under her
arm, which when they met, proved to be a golden casket whereof they knew
naught. Quoth they, “O our sister, at early light we espied thee going
to the pleasure grounds with a gardener-lad empty handed, but now thou
bringest back this golden casket; so disclose to us where and how thou
hast found it; and haply there may be some hoard close hidden in the
parterre?” Perizadah replied, “Sooth ye say, O my brothers: I took this
lad with me and made him dig under a certain tree where we came upon
this box of pearls, at the sight whereof methinks your hearts will be
delighted.” The Princess straightway opened the box and her Brothers
sighting the pearls and unions were amazed with extreme amazement and
rejoiced greatly to see them. Quoth the Princess, “Come now ye twain
with me, for that I have in hand a weighty matter;” and quoth Prince
Bahman, “What is there to do? I pray thee tell us without delay for
never yet hast thou kept aught of thy life from us.” She made reply, “O
my brothers, I have nothing to hide from you, nor think ye any ill of
me, for I am now about to tell you all the tale.” Then she made known to
them what advice the Speaking-Bird had given to her; and they, conning
the matter over in their minds, marvelled much why her slave had bidden
them set a dish of green cucumbers stuffed with pearls before the Shah,
nor could they devise any reason for it. Presently the Princess resumed,
“The Speaking-Bird indeed is wise and ware; so methinks this counsel
must be for our advantage; and at any rate it cannot be without some
object and purpose. It therefore behoveth us to do even as he hath
commanded.” Hereupon the Princess went to her own chamber and summoning
the head cook said to him, “This day the Shah, the Shadow of Allah upon
Earth, will condescend here to eat the noon-meal. So do thou take heed
that the meats be of choicest flavour and fittest to set before the
Asylum of the World, but of all the dishes there is one thou alone must
make and let not another have a hand therein. This shall be of the
freshest green cucumbers with a stuffing of unions and pearls.”——And as
the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-fifth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the head Cook
listened to this order of the Princess with wonderment and said in
himself, “Who ever heard of such a dish or dreamed of ordering such an
one.” The Lady seeing his astonishment betrayed in his semblance without
the science of thought-reading,[123] said to him, “It seemeth from thy
countenance that thou deemest me daft of wits to give thee such order. I
know that no one ever tasted a dish of the kind, but what is that to
thee? Do thou e’en as thou art bidden. Thou seest this box brimful of
pearls; so take of them as many as thou needest for the dish, and what
remaineth over leave in the box.” The Kitchener who could answer nothing
in his confusion and amazement, chose as many precious stones as he
required, and presently fared away to superintend the meats being cooked
and made ready for the feast. Meanwhile the Princess went over the house
and grounds and gave directions to the slaves about the ordinance
thereof, lending especial attention to the carpets and divans, the lamps
and all other furniture. Next day at break of dawn Princes Bahman and
Parwez rode forth in rich attire to the appointed place where they first
met the Shah, who was also punctual to his promise and vouchsafed to
join them in the hunt. Now when the sun had risen high and its rays
waxed hot, the King gave up the chase, and set forth with the Princes to
their house; and as they drew nigh thereto the cadet pushed forwards and
sent word to the Princess that the Asylum of the World was coming in all
good omen. Accordingly, she hastened to receive him and stood waiting
his arrival at the inner entrance; and after, when the King rode up to
the gate and dismounting within the court stepped over the threshold of
the house-door, she fell down at his feet and did him worship. Hereat
her brothers said, “O Asylum of the World, this is our sister of whom we
spake;” and the Shah with gracious kindness and condescension raised her
by the hand, and when he saw her face he marvelled much at its wondrous
comeliness and loveliness. He thought in himself, “How like she is to
her brothers in favour and form, and I trow there be none of all my
lieges in city or country who can compare with them for beauty and noble
bearing. This country-house also exceedeth all that I have ever seen in
splendour and grandeur.” The Princess then led the Shah through the
house and showed him all the magnificence thereof, while he rejoiced
with extreme joy at everything that met his sight. So when King Khusrau
had considered whatso was in the mansion he said to the Princess, “This
home of thine is far grander than any palace owned by the Shah, who
would now stroll about the pleasure-garden, never doubting but that it
will be delightsome as the house.” Hereat the Princess threw wide open
the door whence the grounds could be seen; and at once the King beheld
before and above all other things, the fountain which cast up
incessantly, in gerbes and jets, water clear as crystal withal golden of
hue. Seeing such prodigy he cried, “This is indeed a glorious gusher:
never before saw I one so admirable. But say me where is its source, and
by what means doth it shoot up in spurts so high? Whence cometh this
constant supply and in what fashion was it formed? The Shah would fain
see it near hand.” “O King of kings, and Lord of the lands,” quoth the
Princess, “be pleased to do whatso thou desirest.” Thereupon they went
up to the fountain and the Shah stood gazing upon it with delight when
behold, he heard a concert of sugar-sweet voices choiring with the
harmony and melody of wit-ravishing music. So he turned him round and
gazed about him to discover the singers, but no one was in sight; and
albeit he looked both far and near all was in vain, he heard the voices
but he could descry no songster. At length completely baffled he
exclaimed, “Whence come these most musical of sounds; and rise they from
the bowels of earth or are they floating in the depths of air? They fill
the heart with rapture, but strangely surprise the senses to see that no
one singer is in sight.” Replied the Princess with a smile, “O Lord of
lords, there are no minstrels here and the strains which strike the
Shah’s ear come from yonder tree. Deign walk on, I pray thee, and
examine it well.” So he advanced thereto, ever more and more enchanted
with the music, and he gazed now at the Golden-Water and now at the
Singing-Tree till lost in wonderment and amazement; then, “O Allah,”
said he to himself, “is all this Nature-made or magical, for in very
deed the place is full of mystery?” Presently, turning to the Princess
quoth he, “O my lady, prithee whence came ye by this wondrous tree which
hath been planted in the middlemost of this garden: did anyone bring it
from some far distant land as a rare gift, and by what name is it
known?” Quoth Perizadah in reply, “O King of kings, this marvel hight
Singing-Tree groweth not in our country. ’Twere long to recount whence
and by what means I obtained it; and suffice it for the present to say
that the Tree, together with the Golden-Water and the Speaking-Bird,
were all found by me at one and the same time. Deign now accompany thy
slave and look upon this third rarity; and when the Shah shall have
rested and recovered from the toils and travails of hunting, the tale of
these three strange things shall be told to the Asylum of the World in
fullest detail.” Hereto the King replied, “All the Shah’s fatigue hath
gone for gazing upon these wonders; and now to visit the
Speaking-Bird.”——And as the morning began to dawn Shahrazad held her
peace till


           The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-sixth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Princess took
the King and when she had shown to him the Speaking-Bird, they returned
to the garden where he never ceased considering the fountain with
extreme surprise and presently exclaimed, “How is this? No spring whence
cometh all this water meeteth the Shah’s eye, and no channel; nor is
there any reservoir large enough to contain it.” She replied, “Thou
speakest sooth, O King of kings! This jetting fount hath no source; and
it springeth from a small marble basin which I filled from a single
flagon of the Golden-Water; and by the might of Allah Almighty it
increased and waxed copious until it shot up in this huge gerbe which
the Shah seeth. Furthermore it ever playeth day and night; and,
marvellous to relate, the water falling back from that height into the
basin minisheth not in quantity nor is aught of it spilt or wasted.”
Hereat the King, filled with wonder and astonishment, bade go back to
the Speaking-Bird; whereupon the Princess led him to the belvedere
whence he looked out upon thousands of all manner fowls carolling in the
trees and filling air with their hymns and praises of the Creator; so he
asked his guide, “O my lady, whence come these countless songsters which
haunt yonder tree and make the welkin resound with their melodious
notes; yet they affect none other of the trees?” Quoth Perizadah, “O
King of kings, they are all attracted by the Speaking-Bird and flock
hither to accompany his song; and for that his cage hangeth to the
window of this belvedere they prefer only the nearest of the trees; and
here he may be heard singing sweeter notes than any of the others, nay
in a plaint more musical far than that of any nightingale.” And as the
Shah drew nigh the cage and gave ear to the Bird’s singing, the Princess
called to her captive saying, “Ho, my slave the Bird, dost thou not
perceive the Asylum of the Universe is here that thou payest him not due
homage and worship?” Hearing these words the Speaking-Bird forthright
ceased his shrilling and at the same moment all the other songsters sat
in deepest silence; for they were loyal to their liege lord nor durst
any one utter a note when he held his peace. The Speaking-Bird then
spake in human voice saying, “O great King, may Almighty Allah by His
Might and Majesty accord thee health and happiness;” so the Shah
returned the salutation and the Slave of Princess Perizadah ceased not
to shower blessings upon his head. Meanwhile the tables were spread
after sumptuous fashion and the choicest meats were set before the
company which was seated in due order and degree, the Shah placing
himself hard by the Speaking-Bird and close to the casement where the
cage was hung. Then the dish of green cucumbers having been set before
him, he put forth his hand to help himself, but drew it back in
wonderment when he saw that the cucumbers, ranged in order upon the
plate, were stuffed with pearls which appeared at either end. He asked
the Princess and her brothers, “What is this dish? It cannot be meant
for food; then wherefore is it placed before the Shah? Explain to me, I
command you, what this thing meaneth.” They could not give an answer
unknowing what reply to make, and as all held their peace the
Speaking-Bird answered for them saying, “O King of the Age and the Time,
dost thou deem it strange to see a dish of cucumbers stuffed with
pearls? How much stranger then it is that thou wast not astonished to
hear that the Queen thy Consort had, contrary to the laws of Allah’s
ordinance, given birth to such animals as dog and cat and musk-rat. This
should have caused thee far more of wonder, for who hath ever heard of
woman bearing such as these?” Hereat the Shah made answer to the
Speaking-Bird, “All that thou sayest is right indeed and I know that
such things are not after the law of Almighty Allah; but I believed the
reports of the midwives, the wise women who were with the Queen such
time she was brought to bed, for they were not strangers but her own
sisters, born of the same parents as herself. How then could I do
otherwise than trust their words?” Quoth the Speaking-Bird, “O King of
kings, indeed the truth of the matter is not hidden from me. Albeit they
be the sisters of thy Queen, yet seeing the royal favours and affection
towards their cadette they were consumed with anger and hatred and
despite by reason of their envy and jealousy. So they devised evil
devices against her and their deceits at last succeeded in diverting thy
thoughts from her, and in hiding her virtues from thy sight. Now are
their malice and treason made manifest to thee; and, if thou require
further proof, do thou summon them and question them of the case. They
cannot hide it from thee and will be reduced to confess and crave thy
pardon.”——And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-seventh Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Speaking-Bird
said also to Khusrau Shah, “These two royal brothers so comely and
stalwart and this lovely Princess, their sister, are thine own lawful
children to whom the Queen thy Consort gave birth. The midwives, thy
sisters-in-law, by reason of the blackness of their hearts and faces
bore them away as soon as they were born: indeed every time a child was
given to thee they wrapped it in a bit of blanket and putting it in a
basket committed it to the stream which floweth by the palace to the
intent that it might die an obscure death. But it so fortuned that the
Intendant of thy royal gardens espied these baskets one and all as they
floated past his grounds, and took charge of the infants he found
therein. He then caused them to be nursed and reared with all care and,
whilst they were growing up to man’s estate, he looked to their being
taught every art and science; and whilst his life endured he dealt with
them and brought them up in love and tenderness as though they had been
his very own. And now, O Khusrau Shah, wake from thy sleep of ignorance
and heedlessness, and know that these two Princes Bahman and Parwez and
the Princess Perizadah their sister are thine own issue and thy rightful
heirs.” When the King heard these words and was assured of their purport
being true and understood the evil doing of those Satans, his
sisters-in-law, he said, “O Bird, I am indeed persuaded of thy
soothfastness, for when I first saw these youths at the hunting-ground
my bowels yearned with affection towards them and my heart felt
constrained to love them as though they had been my own seed. Both they
and their sister have drawn my affections to them as a magnet draweth
iron: and the voice of blood crieth to me and compelleth me to confess
the tie and to acknowledge that they are my true children, borne in the
womb of my Queen, whose direful Destiny I have been the means of
carrying out.” Then turning to the Princes and their sister he said with
tearful eyes and broken voice, “Ye are my children and henceforth do ye
regard me as your father.” At this they ran to him with rare delight and
falling on his neck embraced him. Then they all sat down to meat and
when they had finished eating, Khusrau Shah said to them, “O my
children, I must now leave you, but Inshallah—Allah willing—I will come
again to-morrow and bring with me the Queen your mother.” So saying he
farewelled them fondly and mounting his horse departed to his palace;
and no sooner had he seated himself upon his throne than he summoned the
Grand Wazir and commanded him saying, “Do thou send this instant and
bind in heaviest bonds those vile women, the sisters of my Queen; for
their ill deeds have at last come to light and they deserve to die the
death of murtherers. Let the Sworder forthright make sharp his sword;
for the ground thirsteth for their blood. Go see thyself that they are
beheaded without stay or delay: await not other order, but instantly
obey my commandment.” The Grand Wazir went forth at once and in his
presence the Envious Sisters were decapitated and thus underwent fit
punishment for their malice and their evil doing. After this, Khusrau
Shah with his retinue walked afoot to the Cathedral-mosque whereby the
Queen had been imprisoned for so many years in bitter grief and woe, and
with his own hands he led her forth from her cage and tenderly embraced
her. Then seeing her sad plight and her care-worn countenance and
wretched attire he wept and cried, “Allah Almighty forgive me this mine
unjust and wrongful dealing towards thee. I have put to death thy
sisters who deceitfully and despitefully raised my wrath and anger
against thee, the innocent, the guiltless; and they have received due
retribution for their misdeeds.”——And as the morn began to dawn
Shahrazad held her peace till


          The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-eighth Night.

Then said she:——I have heard, O auspicious King, that the King spake
kindly and fondly to his Consort, and told her all that had betided him,
and what the Speaking-Bird had made known to him, ending with these
words, “Come now with me to the palace where thou shalt see thy two sons
and daughter grown up to become the loveliest of beings. Hie with me and
embrace them and take them to thy bosom, for they are our children, the
light of our eyes. But first do thou repair to the Hammám and don thy
royal robes and jewels.” Meanwhile tidings of these events were noised
about the city how the King had at length shown due favour to the Queen,
and had released her from bondage with his own hands and prayed
forgiveness for the wrongs he had done to her; and how the Princes and
the Princess had been proved to be her true-born children, and also how
that Khusrau Shah had punished her sisters who conspired against her: so
joy and gladness prevailed both in city and kingdom, and all the folk
blessed the Shah’s Bánú and cursed the Satanesses her sisters. And next
day when the Queen had bathed in the Hammam and had donned royal dress
and regal jewels, she went to meet her children together with the King
who led up to her the Princes Bahman and Parwez and the Princess
Perizadah and said, “See, here are thy children, fruit of thy womb and
core of thy heart, thine own very sons and thy daughter: embrace them
with all a mother’s love and extend thy favour and affection to them
even as I have done. When thou didst give them birth, thine ill-omened
sisters bore them away from thee and cast them into yonder stream and
said that thou hadst been delivered first of a puppy, then of a kitten
and lastly of a musk-ratling. I cannot console myself for having
credited their calumnies and the only recompense I can make is to place
in thine embrace these three thou broughtest forth, and whom Allah
Almighty hath restored to us and hath made right worthy to be called our
children.” Then the Princes and Princess fell upon their mother’s neck
and fondly embraced her weeping tear-floods of joy. After this the Shah
and the Banu sat down to meat together with their children; and, when
they had made an end of eating, King Khusrau Shah repaired to the garden
with his Consort that he might show her the Singing-Tree and the
fountain of Golden-Water, whereat the Queen was filled with wonder and
delight. Next they turned to the belvedere and visited the Speaking-Bird
of whom, as they sat at meat, the King had spoken to her in highest
praise, and the Queen rejoiced in his sweet voice and melodious singing.
And when they had seen all these things, the King mounted horse, Prince
Bahman riding on his right hand and on his left Prince Parwez, while the
Queen took Princess Perizadah with her inside her litter, and thus they
set forth for the palace. As the royal cavalcade passed the city walls
and entered the capital with royal pomp and circumstance, the subjects
who had heard the glad tidings thronged in multitudes to see their
progress and volleyed shouts of acclamation; and as the lieges had
grieved aforetime to see the Queen-consort imprisoned, so now they
rejoiced with exceeding joy to find her free once more. But chiefly they
marvelled to look upon the Speaking-Bird, for the Princess carried the
cage with her, and as they rode along thousands of sweet-toned songsters
came swarming round them from every quarter, and flew as an escort to
the cage, filling the air with marvellous music; while flocks of others,
perching upon the trees and the housetops, carolled and warbled as it
were to greet their lord’s cage accompanying the royal cavalcade. And
when the palace was reached, the Shah and his Queen and his children sat
down to a sumptuous banquet; and the city was illuminated, and
everywhere dancings and merry-makings testified to the joy of the
lieges; and for many days these revels and rejoicings prevailed
throughout the capital and the kingdom where every man was blithe and
happy and had feastings and festivities in his house. After these
festivals King Khusrau Shah made his elder son Bahman heir to his throne
and kingdom and committed to his hands the affairs of state in their
entirety, and the Prince administered affairs with such wisdom and
success that the greatness and glory of the realm were increased
twofold. The Shah also entrusted to his youngest son Parwez the charge
of his army, both of horsemen and foot-soldiers; and Princess Perizadah
was given by her sire in marriage to a puissant King who reigned over a
mighty country; and lastly the Queen-mother forgot in perfect joy and
happiness the pangs of her captivity. Destiny ever afterwards endowed
them, one and all, with days the most delectable and they led the
liefest of lives until at last there came to them the Destroyer of
delights and the Sunderer of societies and the Depopulator of palaces
and the Garnerer of graveyards and the Reaper for Resurrection-day, and
they became as though they never had been. So laud be to the Lord who
dieth not and who knoweth no shadow of change.


                                 FINIS


[Illustration: ‏وٱلسلام‎]




    VARIANTS AND ANALOGUES OF THE TALES IN THE SUPPLEMENTAL NIGHTS,
                               VOL. III.


                           BY W. A. CLOUSTON,

      AUTHOR OF “POPULAR TALES AND FICTIONS: THEIR MIGRATIONS AND
                         TRANSFORMATIONS,” ETC.




                              =Appendix.=

   _VARIANTS AND ANALOGUES OF THE TALES IN THE SUPPLEMENTAL NIGHTS,_
                               VOL. III.

                           BY W. A. CLOUSTON.


                   _THE TALE OF ZAYN AL-ASNAM—p. 3._

This story is a compound of two distinct tales, namely, the Dream of
Riches and the Quest of the Ninth Image. It has always been one of the
most popular of the tales in our common version of the “Arabian Nights,”
with this advantage, that it is perhaps the only one of the whole
collection in which something like a moral purpose may be discovered—“a
virtuous woman is more precious than fine gold.” Baron de Sacy has
remarked of The Nights, that in the course of a few years after
Galland’s version appeared “it filled Europe with its fame, though
offering no object of moral or philosophical interest, and detailing
stories merely for the pleasure of relating them.” But this last
statement is not quite accurate: Shahrazad relates her stories merely to
prolong her own life.

It is a curious fact—and one perhaps not very generally known—that the
Tale of Zayn al-Asnám is one of two (the other being that of Khudádád)
which Galland repudiated, as having been foisted into his 8th volume
without his knowledge, as he expressly asserts in the “Avertissement” to
the 9th vol., promising to remove them in a second edition, which,
however, he did not live to see. I understand that M. Herrmann Zotenberg
purposes showing, in his forthcoming edition of “Aladdin,” that these
two _histoires_ (including that of the Princess of Daryábár, which is
interwoven with the tale of Khudádád and his Brothers) were Turkish
tales translated by M. Petis de la Croix and were intended to appear in
his “Mille et un Jours,” which was published, after his death, in 1710;
and that, like most of the tales in that work, they were derived from
the Turkish collection entitled “Al-Faráj ba’d al-Shiddah,” or Joy after
Affliction. But that Turkish story-book is said to be a translation of
the Persian collection entitled “Hazár ú Yek Rúz” (the Thousand and One
Days), which M. Petis rendered into French.

In the preface to Petis’ work it is stated that during his residence in
Persia, in 1675, he made a transcript of the “Hazár ú Yek Rúz,” by
permission of the author, a dervish named Mukhlis, of Isfahán. That
transcript has not, I understand, been found; but Sir William Ouseley
brought a manuscript from Persia which contained a portion of the “Hazár
ú Yek Rúz,” and which he says (“Travels,” vol. ii. p. 21, note) agreed
so far with the French version. And it does seem strange that Petis
should go to the Turkish book for tales to include in his “Mille et un
Jours” when he had before him a complete copy of the Persian original;
and even if he did so, how came his French rendering of the tales in
question into the hands of Galland’s publisher? The tales are not found
in Petis’ version, which is regularly divided into 1001 Days; and the
Turkish work, judging from the titles of the eleven first tales, of
which I have seen a transcript by M. Zotenberg, has a number of stories
which do not occur in the Persian.[124] But I think it very unlikely
that the tales of Khudádád and the Princess, foisted into Galland’s 8th
volume, were translated from the Turkish collection. In Galland the
story of the Princess Daryábár is inserted in that of Khudádád; while in
the Turkish story-book they are separate tales, the 6th recital being
under the title, “Of the Vazír with the Daughter of the Prince of
Daryábán,” and the 9th story is “Of the Sons of the Sovereign of Harrán
with Khudádád.” This does not seem to support the assertion that these
tales in Galland were derived from the Turkish versions: it is not to be
supposed, surely, that the translator of the versions in Galland
conceived the idea of fusing the two stories together?

The first part of the tale of Zayn al-Asnam—the Dream of Riches—is an
interesting variant of the tale in The Nights, vol. iv. p. 289, where
(briefly to recapitulate, for purposes of comparison by-and-by) a man of
Baghdad, having lost all his wealth and become destitute, dreams one
night that a figure appeared before him and told him that his fortune
was in Cairo. To that city he went accordingly, and as it was night when
he arrived, he took shelter in a mosque. A party of thieves just then
had got into an adjacent house from that same mosque, and the inmates,
discovering them, raised such an outcry as to bring the police at once
on the spot. The thieves contrive to get away, and the walí, finding
only the man of Baghdad in the mosque, causes him to be seized and
severely beaten, after which he sends him to prison, where the poor
fellow remains thirty days, when the walí sends for him and begins to
question him. The man tells his story, at which the walí laughs, calls
him an ass for coming so far because of a dream, and adds that he
himself had had a similar dream of a great treasure buried in the garden
of such a house in Baghdad, but he was not so silly as to go there. The
poor man recognises his own house and garden from the walí’s
description, and being set at liberty returns to Baghdad, and finds the
treasure on the very spot indicated.

Lane, who puts this story (as indeed he has done with much better ones)
among his notes, states that it is also related by El-Ishákí, who
flourished during the reign of the Khalíf El-Ma’mún (9th century); and
his editor Edward Stanley Poole adds that he found it also in a MS. of
Lane’s entitled “Murshid ez-Zúwár ilà Kubúr el-Abrar,” with the
difference that it is there related of an Egyptian saint who travelled
to Baghdad, and was in the same manner directed to his own house in
El-Fustát.

The same story is told in the 6th book of the “Masnaví,” an enormously
long sufí poem, written in Persian, by Jelál ed-Dín, the founder of the
sect of Muslim devotees generally known in Europe as the Dancing
Dervishes, who died in 1272. This version differs from the Arabian in
but a few and unimportant details: Arriving at Cairo, destitute and
hungry, he resolves to beg when it is dark, and is wandering about, “one
foot forward, one foot backwards,” for a third of the night, when
suddenly a watchman pounces on him and beats him with fist and stick—for
the people having been plagued with robbers, the Khalíf had given orders
to cut off the head of any one found abroad at night. The wretched man
begs for mercy till he has told his story, and when he has finished the
watchman acquaints him of a similar dream he had had of treasure at
Baghdad.[125]

A Turkish variant occurs in the “History of the Forty Vazírs,” where a
poor water-carrier of Cairo, named Nu’mán, presents his son’s teacher
with his only camel, which he used daily for carrying his skins of
water, as a reward for instructing the lad in the Kurán, and his wife
rails at him for his folly in no measured terms. In his sleep a
white-haired old man appears to him in a dream and tells him to go to
Damascus, where he would find his portion. After this has occurred three
times in succession, poor Nu’mán, spite of his wife’s remonstrances,
sets out for Damascus, enters a mosque there, and receives a loaf of
bread from a man who had been baking, and having eaten it falls asleep.
Returning home, his wife reviles him for giving away a camel and doing
other mad things. But again the venerable old man appears to him thrice
in a dream, and bids him dig close by himself, and there he would find
his provision. When he takes shovel and pick-axe to dig, his wife’s
tongue is more bitter than before, and after he has laboured a while and
begins to feel somewhat fatigued, when he asks her to take a short spell
at the work, she mocks him and calls him anything but a wise man. But on
his laying bare a stone slab, she thinks there must be something beneath
it, and offers to relieve him. “Nu’mán,” quoth she, “thou’rt weary now.”
“No, I’m rested,” says he. In the end he discovers a well, goes down
into it, and finds a jar full of sequins, upon seeing which his wife
clasps him lovingly round the neck, exclaiming, “O my noble little
hubby! Blessed be God for thy luck and thy fortune!” Her tune changes,
however, when the honest water-carrier tells her that he means to carry
the treasure to the King, which he does, and the King having caused the
money to be examined, the treasure is found to have the following legend
written on it: “This is an alms from God to Nu’mán, by reason of his
respect for the Kurán.”[126]

This curious story, which dates, as we have seen, at least as far back
as the 9th century, appears to be spread over Europe. Mr. E. Sidney
Hartland, in an able paper treating of several of its forms in “The
Antiquary” for February, 1887, pp. 45–48, gives a Sicilian version from
Dr. Pitré’s collection, which is to this effect:

A poor fellow at Palermo, who got his living by salting tunny and
selling it afterwards, dreamt one night that a person came to him and
said that if he wished to find his fortune he would find it under the
bridge of the Teste. Thither he goes and sees a man in rags, and is
beginning to retire when the man calls him back, informs him that he is
his fortune, and bids him go at midnight of that same night to the place
where he had deposited his casks of tunny, dig there, and whatever he
found was his own. The tunny-seller gets a pick-axe and at midnight
begins to dig. He comes upon a large flat stone, which he raises and
discovers a staircase; he descends, and at the bottom finds an immense
treasure of gold. In brief, he becomes so rich that he lends the King of
Spain “a million,” to enable him to carry on his wars; the King makes
him Viceroy of Sicily, and by-and-by, being unable to repay the loan,
raises him to the highest royal dignities.


Johannes Fungerus, in his “Etymologicon Latino-Græcum,” published at
Leyden in 1607, in art. _Somnus_, gravely relates the story, with a
young Dutchman for the hero and as having happened “within the memory of
our fathers, both as it has been handed down in truthful and honourable
fashion as well as frequently told to me.”[127] His “true story” may
thus be rendered:

A certain young man of Dort, in Holland, had squandered his wealth and
all his estate, and having contracted a debt, was unable to pay it. A
certain one appeared to him in a dream, and advised him to betake
himself to Kempen, and there on the bridge he would receive information
from some one as to the way in which he should be extricated from his
difficulties. He went there, and when he was in a sorrowful mood and
thinking upon what had been told him and promenaded almost the whole
day, a common beggar, who was asking alms, pitying his condition, sat
down and asked him, “Why so sad?” Thereupon the dreamer explained to him
his sad and mournful fate, and why he had come there: forsooth, under
the impulse of a dream, he had set out thither, and was expecting God,
as if by a wonder, to unravel this more than Gordian knot. The mendicant
answered, “Good Heaven! are you so mad and foolish as to rely on a
dream, which is emptier than nothing, and journey hither? I should
betake myself to Dort, to dig up a treasure buried under such a tree in
such a man’s garden (now this garden had belonged to the dreamer’s
father), likewise revealed to me in a dream.” The other remained silent
and pondering all that had been said to him, then hastened with all
speed to Dort, and under the aforesaid tree found a great heap of money,
which freed him from his obligations, and having paid off all his debts,
he set up in a more sumptuous style than before.


The second part of the tale, or novelette, of “The Spectre Barber,” by
Musæus (1735–1788), is probably an elaboration of some German popular
legend closely resembling the last-cited version, only in this instance
the hero does not dream, but is told by a ghost, in reward for a service
he had done it (or him), to tarry on the great bridge over the Weser, at
the time when day and night are equal, for a friend who would instruct
him what he must do to retrieve his fortune. He goes there at dawn, and
walks on the bridge till evening comes, when there remained no one but
himself and a wooden legged soldier to whom he had given a small coin in
the early morning, and who ventured at length to ask him why he had
promenaded the bridge all day. The youth at first said he was waiting
for a friend, but on the old soldier remarking that he could be no
friend who would keep him waiting so long, he said that he had only
dreamt he was to meet some friend (for he did not care to say anything
about his interview with the ghost), the old fellow observed that he had
had many dreams, but put not the least faith in them. “But my dream,”
quoth the youth, “was a most remarkable one.” “It couldn’t have been so
remarkable as one I had many years ago,” and so on, as usual, with this
addition, that the young man placed the old soldier in a snug little
cottage and gave him a comfortable annuity for life—taking care, we may
be sure, not to tell him a word as to the result of acting upon his
dream.

To what extent Musæus has enlarged his original material it is
impossible to say; but it is well known that, like Hans Anderson in
later times, he did “improve” and add to such popular tales and
traditions as he dealt with—a circumstance which renders him by no means
trustworthy for folk-lore purposes.


In Denmark our well-travelled little tale does duty in accounting for
the building of a parish church, as we learn from Thorpe, in his
“Northern Mythology,” vol. ii. p. 253:

Many years ago there lived in Erritsö, near Fredericia, a very poor man
who one day said, “If I had a large sum of money, I would build a church
for the parish.” The following night he dreamed that if he went to the
south bridge at Veile he would make his fortune. He followed the
intimation and strolled backwards and forwards on the bridge until it
grew late, but without seeing any sign of good fortune. When just on the
point of returning, he was accosted by an officer, who asked him why he
had spent a whole day so on the bridge. He told him his dream, on
hearing which the officer related to him in return that he also on the
preceding night had dreamed that in a barn in Erritsö, belonging to a
man whose name he mentioned, a treasure lay buried. Now the name he
mentioned was the man’s own, who prudently kept his own counsel,
hastened home, and found the treasure in the barn. The man was faithful
to his word, and built the church.[128]


Equally at home, as we have seen, in Sicily, Holland, Germany, and
Denmark, the identical legend is also domiciled in Scotland and England.
Thus Robert Chambers, in his “Popular Rhymes of Scotland,” ed. 1826, p.
56, speaking of Dundonald Castle, in Ayrshire, the ancient seat of King
Robert II., relates the following local tradition:

Donald, the builder, was originally a poor man, but had the faculty of
dreaming lucky dreams. Upon one occasion he dreamed thrice in one night
that if he were to go to London Bridge he would make a fortune. He went
accordingly, and saw a man looking over the parapet of the bridge, whom
he accosted courteously, and after a little conversation, entrusted him
with the secret of the occasion of his visiting London Bridge. The
stranger told him that he had made a very foolish errand, for he had
himself once had a similar vision, which directed him to go to a certain
spot in Ayrshire, in Scotland, where he would find a vast treasure, and
for his part he had never once thought of obeying the injunction. From
his description of the spot, however, the sly Scot at once perceived
that the treasure in question must be concealed nowhere but in his own
humble kail-yard at home, to which he immediately repaired, in full
expectation of finding it. Nor was he disappointed; for after destroying
many good and promising cabbages, and completely cracking credit with
his wife, who considered him as mad, he found a large potful of gold
coin, with which he built a stout castle for himself, and became the
founder of a flourishing family.

“This absurd story,” adds Chambers, “is localised in almost every
district of Scotland, always referring to London Bridge, and Hogg (the
Ettrick Shepherd) has worked up the fiction in a very amusing manner in
one of his ‘Winter Evening Tales,’ substituting the Bridge at Kelso for
that of London.”


But the legend of the Chapman, or Pedlar, of Swaffam, in Norfolk, handed
down, as it has been, from one credulous generation to another, with the
most minute details and perfect local colour, throws quite into the
shade all other versions or variants of the ancient tale of the poor man
of Baghdad. Blomfield, in his “History of Norfolk,” 8vo ed., vol. vi.
211–213, reproduces it as follows, from Sir Roger Twysden’s
“Reminiscences”:

“The story of the Pedlar of Swaffam Market is in substance this: That
dreaming one night, if he went to London, he should certainly meet with
a man upon London Bridge, which should tell him good news; he was so
perplexed in his mind that till he set upon his journey he could have no
rest. To London therefore he hastes, and walked upon the Bridge for some
hours, where being espied by a shopkeeper and asked what he wanted, he
answered, ‘You may well ask me that question, for truly (quoth he) I am
come hither upon a very vain errand,’ and so told the story of his dream
which occasioned his journey. Whereupon the shopkeeper replied, ‘Alas,
good friend, should I have heeded dreams I might have proved myself as
very a fool as thou hast; for ’tis not long since that I dreamt that at
a place called Swaffam Market, in Norfolk, dwells one John Chapman, a
pedlar, who hath a tree in his back yard, under which is buried a pot of
money. Now, therefore, if I should have made a journey thither to dig
for such hidden treasure, judge you whether I should not have been
counted a fool.’ To whom the Pedlar cunningly said, ‘Yes, truly: I will
therefore return home and follow my business, not heeding such dreams
henceforward.’ But when he came home (being satisfied that his dream was
fulfilled), he took occasion to dig in that place, and accordingly found
a large pot full of money, which he prudently concealed, putting the pot
among the rest of his brass. After a time, it happened that one who came
to his house, and beholding the pot, observed an inscription upon it,
which being in Latin he interpreted it, that under that there was
another twice as good.[129] Of this inscription the Pedlar was before
ignorant, or at least minded it not; but when he heard the meaning of
it, he said, ‘’Tis very true; in the shop where I bought this pot stood
another under it which was twice as big’; but considering that it might
tend to his further profit to dig deeper in the same place where he
found that, he fell again to work and discovered such a pot as was
intimated by the inscription, full of old coin; notwithstanding all
which, he so concealed his wealth that the neighbours took no notice of
it. But not long after the inhabitants of Swaffam resolving to re-edify
their church, and having consulted the workmen about the charge, they
made a levy, wherein they taxed the Pedlar according to no other rate
but what they had formerly done. But he, knowing his own ability, came
to the church and desired the workmen to show him their model and to
tell him what they esteemed the charge of the north aisle would amount
to; which when they told him, he presently undertook to pay them for
building it, and not only that, but for a very tall and beautiful tower
steeple.

“This is the tradition of the inhabitants, as it was told me there. And
in testimony thereof, there was then his picture, with his wife and
three children, in every window of the aisle, with an inscription
running through the bottom of all those windows, viz., ‘Orate pro bono
statu Johannis Chapman.... Uxoris ejus, et Liberorum suorum, qui quidem
Johannes hanc alam cum fenestris tecto et ... fieri fecit.’ It was in
Henry the

  Seventh’s time, but the year I now remember not, my notes being left
  with Mr. William Sedgwicke, who trickt the pictures, he being then
  with me. In that aisle is his seat, of an antique form, and on each
  side the entrance, the statue of the Pedlar of about a foot in
  length, with pack on his back, very artificially [? artistically]
  cut. This was sent me from Mr. William Dugdale, of Blyth Hall, in
  Warwickshire, in a letter dated Jan. 29th, 1652–3, which I have
  since learned from others to have been most true.—ROGER TWYSDEN.”


Mr. William E. A. Axon, in “The Antiquary,” vol. xi. p. 168, gives the
same version, with some slight variations, from a work entitled “New
Help to Discourse,” which he says was often printed between 1619 and
1696: The dream was “doubled and tripled,” and the Pedlar stood on the
bridge for two or three days; but no mention is made of his finding a
second pot of money: “he found an infinite mass of money, with part of
which he re-edified the church, having his statue therein to this day,
cut out in stone, with his pack on his back and his dog at his heels,
his memory being preserved by the same form or picture in most of the
glass windows in taverns and alehouses in that town to this day.” The
story is also told of a cobbler in Somersetshire (in an article on
Dreams, “Saturday Review,” Dec. 28, 1878), who dreamt three nights in
succession that if he went to London Bridge he would there meet with
something to his advantage. For three days he walked over the bridge,
when at length a stranger came up to him, and asked him why he had been
walking from end to end of the bridge for these three days, offering
nothing for sale nor purchasing aught. The man having told him of his
strange dream, the stranger said that he too had dreamt of a pot of gold
buried in a certain orchard in such a place in Somersetshire. Upon this
the cobbler returned home and found the pot of gold under an apple-tree.
He now sent his son to school, where he learnt Latin, and when the lad
had come home for his holidays, he happened to look at the pot that had
contained the gold and seeing some writing on it he said, “Father, I can
show you what I have learnt at school is of some use.” He then
translated the Latin inscription on the pot thus: “Look under and you
will find better.” They did look under and a large quantity of gold was
found. Mr. Axon gives a version of the legend in the Yorkshire dialect
in “The Antiquary,” vol. xii. pp. 121–2, and there is a similar story
connected with the parish church of Lambeth.[130]

Regarding the Norfolk tradition of the lucky and generous Pedlar,
Blomfield says that the north aisle of the church of Swaffam (or Sopham)
was certainly built by one John Chapman, who was churchwarden in 1462;
but he thinks that the figures of the pedlar etc. were only put “to set
forth the name of the founder: such rebuses are frequently met with on
old works.” The story is also told in Abraham de la Prynne’s Diary under
date Nov. 10, 1699, as “a constant tradition” concerning a pedlar in
Soffham.


Such is the close resemblance between the Turkish version of the Dream
and that in the tale of Zayn al-Asnam that I am disposed to consider
both as having been derived from the same source, which, however, could
hardly have been the story told by El-Ishákí. In Zayn al-Asnam a shaykh
appears to the prince in a dream and bids him hie to Egypt, where he
will find heaps of treasure; in the Turkish story the shaykh appears to
the poor water-carrier three times and bids him go to Damascus for the
like purpose. The prince arrives at Cairo and goes to sleep in a mosque,
when the shaykh again presents himself before him in a dream and tells
him that he has done well in obeying him—he had only made a trial of his
courage: “now return to thy capital and I will make thee wealthy”;—in
the Turkish story the water-carrier also goes into a mosque at Damascus
and receives a loaf of bread there from a baker. When the prince returns
home the shaykh appears to him once more and bids him take a pick-axe
and go to such a palace of his sire and dig in such a place, where he
should find riches;—in the Turkish story the water-carrier having
returned to his own house, the shaykh comes to him three times more and
bids him search near to where he is and he should find wealth. The
discovery by Zayn al-Asnam of his father’s hidden treasure, after he had
recklessly squandered all his means, bears some analogy to the
well-known ballad of the “Heir of Linne,” who, when reduced to utter
poverty, in obedience to his dying father’s injunction, should such be
his hap, went to hang himself in the “lonely lodge” and found there
concealed a store of gold.


With regard to the second part of the tale of Zayn al-Asnam—the Quest of
the Ninth Image—and the Turkish version of which my friend Mr. Gibb has
kindly furnished us with a translation from the mystical work of ’Alí
’Azíz Efendi, the Cretan, although no other version has hitherto been
found,[131] I have little doubt that the story is of either Indian or
Persian extraction, images and pictures being abhorred by orthodox (or
sunni) Muslims generally; and such also, I think, should we consider all
the Arabian tales of young men becoming madly enamoured of beautiful
girls from seeing their portraits—though we can readily believe that an
Arab as well as a Persian or Indian youth might fall in love with a
pretty maid from a mere description of her personal charms, as we are
told of the Bedouin coxcomb Amarah in the Romance of Antar. If the
Turkish version, which recounts the adventures of the Prince Abd
es-Samed in quest of the lacking image (the tenth, not the ninth, as in
the Arabian) was adapted from Zayn al-Asnam, the author has made
considerable modifications in re-telling the fascinating story, and, in
my opinion, it is not inferior to the Arabian version. In the Turkish,
the Prince’s father appears to him in a vision of the night,[132] and
conducts him to the treasure-vault, where he sees the vacant pedestal
and on it the paper in which his father directs him to go to Cairo and
seek counsel of the Shaykh Mubarak, who would instruct him how to obtain
the lacking image; and the prince is commissioned by the shaykh to bring
him a spotless virgin who has never so much as longed for the pleasures
of love, when he should receive the image for his reward. The shaykh
gives him a mirror which should remain clear when held before such a
virgin, but become dimmed when reflecting the features of another sort
of girl; also a purse which should be always full of money.[133] In the
Arabian story the Shaykh Mubarak accompanies Zayn al-Asnam in his quest
of the image to the land of Jinnistán, the King whereof it is who
requires the prince to procure him a pure virgin and then he would give
him the lacking image. In the Turkish version the prince Abd es-Samed
proceeds on the adventure alone, and after visiting many places without
success he goes to Baghdad, where by means of the Imam he at last finds
the desiderated virgin, whom he conducts to Mubarak. In the Arabian
story the Imam, Abu Bakr (Haji Bakr in the Turkish), is at first
inimical towards the prince and the shaykh, but after being propitiated
by a present of money he is all complaisance, and, as in the Turkish,
introduces the prince to the fallen vazír, the father of the spotless
virgin. The sudden conversion of the Imam from a bitter enemy to an
obliging friend is related with much humour: one day denouncing the
strangers to the folk assembled in the mosque as cutpurses and brigands,
and the next day withdrawing his statement, which he says he had made on
the information of one of the prince’s enviers, and cautioning the
people against entertaining aught but reverence for the strangers. This
amusing episode is omitted in the Turkish version. In one point the tale
of Zayn al-Asnam has the advantage of that of Abd es-Samed: it is much
more natural, or congruous, that the King of the Genii should affect to
require the chaste maiden and give the prince a magical mirror which
would test her purity, and that the freed slave Mubarak should accompany
the prince in his quest.


                _ALADDIN; OR, THE WONDERFUL LAMP—p. 52._

Those scholars who declared a number of the tales in Galland’s “Mille et
une Nuits” to be of his own invention, because they were not found in
any of the Arabic MS. texts of The Nights preserved in European
libraries, were unconsciously paying that learned and worthy man a very
high compliment, since the tales in question are among the best in his
work and have ever been, and probably will continue to be, among the
most popular favourites. But the fact that Galland seized the first
opportunity of intimating that two of those tales were not translated or
inserted by himself ought to have been alone amply sufficient
presumptive evidence of his good faith with regard to the others.

A friendly reviewer of my “Popular Tales and Fictions” etc. states that
modern collectors of European _Märchen_, though “working from 100 to 150
years after the appearance of the ‘Thousand and One Nights,’ in European
literature, have not found the special versions therein contained
distributed widely and profusely throughout Europe,” and that my chapter
on Aladdin is proof sufficient that they have not done so. The reviewer
goes on to say that I cite “numerous variants, but, save one from Rome,
variants of the _theme_, not of the _version_; some again, such as the
Mecklenburg and Danish forms, are more primitive in tone; and all lack
those effective and picturesque details which are the charm of the
Arabian story, and which a borrower only interested in the story as a
story might just be expected to retain.”[134]

But it is not contended that the folk-tales of Europe owe much, if
indeed anything at all, to the “Arabian Nights,” which is not only as it
now exists a comparatively modern work—Baron de Sacy has adduced good
reasons for placing the date of its composition in the middle of the 9th
century of the Hijra, or about 1446 A.D.—but was first made known in
Europe so late as the first quarter of the last century. Several of the
tales, and incidents of the tales, in the “Thousand and One Nights” were
current in Europe in the 12th century—imported by the Moors of Spain,
and by European travellers, pilgrims, and minstrels from the East. Thus
the Arabian tale of the Ebony (or Enchanted) Horse is virtually
identical with the Hispano-French romance of Cleomades and Claremonde;
that of Prince Kamar al-Zaman is fairly represented by the romance of
Peter of Provence and the Fair Maguelone. The episode of Astolphe and
Joconde in Ariosto’s “Orlando Furioso” is identical with the opening
story of The Nights which constitutes the frame of the collection.[135]
The Magnetic Rock (or rock of adamant) which figures in the adventures
of Sindbád occurs in the popular German story of “Herzog Ernst von
Baiern,” which is extant in a Latin poem that cannot be later than the
13th century and is probably a hundred years earlier.[136] The Valley of
Diamonds in the History of Sindbád is described by Marco Polo, who
travelled in the East in the 13th century; moreover, it had been known
in Europe from the 4th century, when the story connected with it was
related by Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis, who lays the scene in Scythia,
while Marco Polo and the author of Sindbád’s Voyages both place it in
India, where the fiction probably had its origin.

When we find a popular (_i.e._ oral) European tale reproduce the most
minute details of a story found in The Nights, we should conclude that
it has been derived therefrom and within quite recent times, and such I
am now disposed to think is the case of the Roman version of Aladdin
given by Miss Busk under the title of “How Cajusse was Married,”
notwithstanding the circumstance that the old woman from whom it was
obtained was almost wholly illiterate. A child who could read might have
told the story out of Galland to his or her nurse, through whom it would
afterwards assume local colour, with some modifications of the details.
But stories having all the essential features of the tale of Aladdin
were known throughout Europe long before Galland’s work was published,
and in forms strikingly resembling other Asiatic versions, from one of
which the Arabian tale must have been adapted. The incidents of the
Magician and Aladdin at the Cave, and the conveying of the Princess and
the vazír’s son three nights in succession to Aladdin’s house (which
occurs, in modified forms, in other tales in The Nights), I consider as
the work of the Arabian author. Stripped of these particulars, the
elements of the tale are identical in all versions, Eastern and Western:
a talisman, by means of which its possessor can command unlimited
wealth, &c.; its loss and the consequent disappearance of the
magnificent palace erected by supernatural agents who are subservient to
the owner of the talisman; and finally its recovery together with the
restoration of the palace to its original situation. The Arabian tale is
singular in the circumstance of the talisman (the Lamp) being recovered
by human means—by the devices of the hero himself, in fact; since in all
the European and the other Asiatic forms of the story it is recovered
by, as it was first obtained from, grateful animals. To my mind, this
latter is the pristine form of the tale, and points to a Buddhist
origin—mercy to all living creatures being one of the leading doctrines
of pure Buddhism.

The space at my disposal does not admit of the reproduction _in extenso_
of the numerous versions or variants of Aladdin: a brief outline of
their features will however serve my purpose. In the tale of Marúf the
Cobbler, which concludes the Búlák and Calcutta printed texts of The
Nights, we have an interesting version of Aladdin. The hero runs away
from his shrewish wife and under false pretences is married to a king’s
daughter. He confesses his imposture to the princess, who loves him
dearly, and she urges him to flee from her father’s vengeance and not to
return until his death should leave the throne vacant; and having
furnished him with money, he secretly quits the city at daybreak. After
riding some distance, he begins to feel hungry, and seeing a peasant
ploughing a field he goes up to him and asks for some food. The peasant
sets off to his house for eatables, and meanwhile Marúf begins to plough
a furrow, when presently the ploughshare strikes against something hard,
which he finds to be an iron ring. He tugs at the ring and raises a
slab, which discovers a number of steps, down which he goes and comes
into a cavern filled with gold and precious stones, and in a box made of
a single diamond he finds a talismanic ring, on placing which on his
finger a monstrous figure appears and expresses his readiness and
ability to obey all his commands. In brief, by means of this genie, the
hero obtains immense wealth in gold and jewels, and also rich
merchandise, which enable him to return to the city in the capacity of a
merchant, which he had professed himself when he married the princess.
The vazír, who had from the first believed him to be an arrant impostor,
lays a plot with the King to worm out of him the secret of his wealth,
and succeeds so well at a private supper, when Marúf is elevated with
wine, that he obtains possession of the ring, summons the genie, and
causes him to carry both the King and Marúf into a far distant desert.
He then compels the other ministers and the people to acknowledge him as
king, and resolves to marry the princess. She temporises with him;
invites him to sup with her; plies him with wine, induces him to throw
the ring into a corner of the room, pretending to be afraid of the demon
who is held captive in it; and when he has become insensible (in plain
English, dead drunk), she seizes the ring, summons the genie, and
commands him to secure the vazír and bring back her father and husband,
which he does “in less than no time.” The vazír is of course put to
death, and the princess takes charge of the ring for the future,
alleging that neither the King nor her husband is to be trusted with the
custody of such a treasure.

Another Arabian version is found—as Sir Richard Burton points out, note
2, p. 159—in “The Fisherman’s Son,” one of the tales translated by
Jonathan Scott from the Wortley-Montague MS. text of The Nights, where
the hero finds a magic ring inside a cock: like Aladdin, he marries the
King’s daughter and has a grand palace built for him by the genii. The
ring is afterwards disposed of to a Jew, in the same manner as was the
Lamp to the Magician, and the palace with the princess is conveyed to a
distant desert island. The fisherman’s son takes to flight. He purchases
of a man who offered them for sale a dog, a cat, and a rat, which turn
out to be well-disposed magicians, and they recover the ring from the
Jew’s mouth while he is asleep. The ring is dropped into the sea
accidentally while the animals are crossing it to rejoin their master,
but is brought to the hero by a fish which he had returned to the sea
out of pity in his fisherman days. The genie conveys the palace back
again, and so on.—In a Mongolian version (“Siddhí Kúr”) a young merchant
parts with all his wares to save a mouse, an ape, and a bear from being
tortured to death by boys. One of those creatures procures for him a
wishing-stone, by means of which he has a grand palace built and obtains
much treasure. He foolishly exchanges his talisman with the chief of a
caravan for all their gold and merchandise, and it is afterwards
restored to him by the grateful and ingenious animals.—In a Tamil
version—referred to by Sir Richard, p. 51, note 1—which occurs in the
“Madanakámarájankadai,” a poor wandering young prince buys a cat and a
serpent; at his mother’s suggestion, he sets the serpent at liberty and
receives from its father a wishing ring. He gets a city built in the
jungle—or rather where the jungle was—and marries a beautiful princess.
An old hag is employed by another King to procure him the princess for
his wife. She wheedles herself into the confidence of the unsuspecting
young lady, and learning from her the properties of the ring, induces
her to borrow it of her husband for a few minutes, in order that she
(the old trot) might apply it to her head to cure a severe headache. No
sooner has she got possession of the ring than she disappears, and
having delivered it to the other King, he “thought” of the princess, and
in the twinkling of an eye she is carried through the air and set down
before him. The ring is recovered by means of the cat which the hero had
fostered, and so on.

Sir Richard has referred to a number of Italian versions (p. 51, note
1), which will be found epitomised in a most valuable and interesting
paper, by my late friend Mr. H. C. Coote, on the sources of some of M.
Galland’s Tales, in the First Part of the Folk-Lore Record for 1880;
and, in conclusion, I may briefly glance at a few other European
variants. Among those which not only bear a close analogy one to another
but also to the Asiatic versions cited above are the following: No. 15
of M. Leger’s French collection of Slav Tales is a Bohemian version, in
which the hero, Jenik, saves a dog, a cat, and a serpent from being
killed. From the serpent’s father he gets an enchanted watch (evidently
a modern substitute for a talismanic stone, or ring), which procures him
a splendid palace and the King’s daughter for his bride. But the young
lady, unlike the Princess Badr al-Badúr with Aladdin, does not love
Jenik, and having learned from him the secret of his great wealth, she
steals the talisman and causes a palace to be built in the middle of the
sea, where she goes to live, after making Jenik’s palace disappear.
Jenik’s faithful dog and cat recover the talisman, which, as in the
Arabian story of the Fisherman’s Son, is dropped in the sea while they
are swimming back and restored by a fish.—In No. 9 of M. Dozon’s “Contes
Albanais” the hero saves a serpent’s life and gets in return a
wishing-stone and so on. The talisman is stolen by a rascally Jew on the
night of the wedding, and the palace with the princess is transported to
the distant sea-shore. The hero buys a cat and feeds it well. He and his
cat arrive at the spot where the palace now stands, and the cat compels
the chief of a colony of mice to steal the talisman from the Jew while
he is asleep.—A popular Greek version in Hahn’s collection combines
incidents found in Aladdin and in the versions in which grateful animals
play prominent parts: The hero rescues a snake which some boys are about
to kill and gets in reward from the snake’s father a sealring, which he
has only to lick and a black man will present himself, ready to obey his
orders. As in Aladdin, the first use he makes of the talisman is to have
his mother’s cupboard filled with dainty food. Then he bids his mother
“go to the King, and tell him he must give me his daughter in marriage.”
After many objections, she goes to deliver her message to the King, who
replies that if her son build a castle larger than his, he shall have
the princess to wife. The castle is built that same night, and when the
mother goes next morning to require the King’s performance of his
promise, he makes a farther stipulation that her son should first pave
the way between the two castles with gold. This is done at once, and the
King gives the hero his daughter. Here the resemblance to the Aladdin
story ceases and what follows (as well as what precedes) is analogous to
the other Asiatic forms. The princess has a black servant of whom she is
enamoured. She steals the ring and elopes with her sable paramour to an
island in the sea, where she has a castle erected by the power of the
ring. The black man sleeps with the ring under his tongue, but the
hero’s dog takes the cat on his back and swims to the island; and the
cat contrives to get the ring and deliver it to her master, who
straightway causes the castle to be removed from the island, then kills
the black man, and afterwards lives happily with the princess.—In a
Danish version (Prof. Grundtvig’s “Danske Folkeäventyr”) a peasant gets
from an aged man a wishing-box, and henceforward lives in grand style.
After his death the steward and servants cheat his son and heir, so that
in ten years he is ruined and turned out of house and home. All the
property he takes with him is an old sheepskin jacket, in which he finds
the wishing-box, which had been, unknown to him, the cause of his
father’s prosperity. When the “slave” of the box appears, the hero
merely asks for a fiddle that when played upon makes everybody who hears
it to dance.[137] He hires himself to the King, whose daughter gives
him, in jest, a written promise to marry him, in exchange for the
fiddle. The King, when the hero claims the princess, insists on her
keeping her promise, and they are married. Then follows the loss of the
wishing-box, as in the Greek version, only in place of a black man it is
a handsome cavalier who is the lady’s paramour. The recovery of the box
is accomplished by very different means, and may be passed over, as
belonging to another cycle of tales.[138]

It is perhaps hardly worth while to make a critical analysis of the tale
of Aladdin, since with all its gross inconsistencies it has such a hold
of the popular fancy that one would not wish it to be otherwise than it
is. But it must have occurred to many readers that the author has
blundered in representing the Magician as closing the Cave upon Aladdin
because he refused to give up the Lamp before he had been helped out. As
the lad was not aware of the properties of the Lamp, he could have had
no object in retaining it for himself, while the Magician in any case
was perfectly able to take it by force from him. And if he wished to do
away with Aladdin, yet incur no “blood-guiltiness” (see _ante_, p. 78
and note), he might surely have contrived to send him down into the Cave
again and then close it upon him. As to the Magician giving his ring to
Aladdin, I can’t agree with Sir Richard in thinking (p. 72, note 3) that
he had mistaken its powers; this seems to me quite impossible. The ring
was evidently a charm against personal injury as well as a talisman to
summon an all-powerful and obedient genie. It was only as a charm that
the Magician placed it on Aladdin’s finger, and, as the Hindustani
Version explains, he had in his rage and vexation forgot about the ring
when he closed the entrance to the Cave. It appears to me also
incongruous that the Lamp, which Aladdin found burning, should
afterwards only require to be rubbed in order to cause the genie to
appear. One should have supposed that the _lighting_ of it would have
been more natural or appropriate; and it is possible that such was in
the original form of the Aladdin version before it was reduced to
writing, since we find something of the kind in a Mecklenburg version
given in Grimm, under the title of “Das blaue Licht.” A soldier who had
long served his King is at last discharged without any pay. In the
course of his wanderings he comes to the hut of an old woman, who proves
to be a witch, and makes him work for her in return for his board and
lodging. One day she takes him to the edge of a dry well, and bids him
go down and get her the Blue Light which he would find at the bottom. He
consents, and she lets him down by a rope. When he has secured the Light
he signals to the old witch to draw him up, and when she has pulled him
within her reach, she bids him give her the Light; he refuses to do so
until he is quite out of the well, upon which she lets him fall to the
bottom again. After ruminating his condition for some time he bethinks
him of his pipe, which is in his pocket—he may as well have a smoke if
he is to perish. So he lights his pipe at the Blue Light, when instantly
there appears before him a black dwarf, with a hump on his back and a
feather in his cap, who demands to know what he wants, for he must obey
the possessor of the Blue Light. The soldier first requires to be taken
out of the well, and next the destruction of the old witch, after which
he helps himself to the treasures in the hag’s cottage, and goes off to
the nearest town, where he puts up at the best inn and gets himself fine
clothes. Then he determines to requite the King, who had sent him away
penniless, so he summons the Dwarf[139] and orders him to bring the
King’s daughter to his room that night, which the Dwarf does, and very
early in the morning he carries her back to her own chamber in the
palace. The princess tells her father that she has had a strange dream
of being borne through the air during the night to an old soldier’s
house. The King says that if it was not a dream, she should make a hole
in her pocket and put peas into it, and by their dropping out the place
where she was taken to could be easily traced. But the Dwarf when he
transports her the second night discovers the trick, and strews peas
through all the other streets, and the only result was the pigeons had a
rare feast. Then the King bids the princess hide one of her shoes in the
soldier’s room, if she is carried there again. A search is made for the
shoe in every house the next day, and when it is found in the soldier’s
room he runs off, but is soon caught and thrown into prison. In his
haste to escape he forgot to take the Blue Light with him. He finds only
a ducat in his pocket, and with this he bribes an old comrade whom he
sees passing to go and fetch him a parcel he had left at the inn, and so
he gets the Blue Light once more. He summons the Dwarf, who tells him to
be of good cheer, for all will yet be well, only he must take the Blue
Light with him when his trial comes on. He is found guilty and sentenced
to be hung upon the gallows-tree. On his way to execution he asks as a
last favour to be allowed to smoke, which being granted, he lights his
pipe and the Dwarf appears. “Send,” says the soldier—“send all these
people to the right about; as for the King, cut him into three pieces.”
The Dwarf lays about him with a will, and soon makes the crowd scuttle
off. The King begs hard for his life, and agrees to let the soldier have
the princess for his wife and the kingdom afterwards.

Thus, it will be seen, popular tales containing all the essential
elements of the story of Aladdin are spread over Europe, though hardly
any of the versions was probably derived from it; and the conclusion at
which I have arrived is that those elements, or incidents, have been
time out of mind the common property of European and Asiatic peoples,
and that the tale of Aladdin may be considered as an almost unique
version. The Mecklenburg legend is the only variant which has the
incident of the Magician requiring the Lamp before helping the hero out
of the Cave and that of the transporting of the princess from her palace
to the hero’s house during the night, but these are not, I think,
sufficient evidence that it was adapted from Galland.


The royal command that all shops are to be closed and everybody must
keep within doors while the Princess Badr al-Badúr proceeds to the bath
and Aladdin’s playing the part of Peeping Tom of Coventry occur in many
Eastern stories and find a curious analogue in the Adventures of
Kurroglú, the celebrated robber-poet, as translated by Dr. Alexander
Chodzko in his “Popular Poetry of Persia,” printed for the Oriental
Translation Fund, and copies of that work being somewhat scarce, I
daresay the story will be new to most of my readers:

Listen now to the tale about the Princess Nighara, daughter of the
Turkish sultan Murád. In the neighbourhood of Constantinople lived a man
who was known there under the name of Belli Ahmad. One day the Princess
Nighara went out for a walk through the bazárs of Constantinople. At the
same time Kurroglú’s fame spread over all Turkey; everybody was telling
stories about him, and all were struck with wonder. The Princess
Nighara’s fond heart particularly was filled with an ardent wish of
seeing this extraordinary hero, and she often thought in her mind, “O my
God, when will you allow me to behold Kurroglú?” It happened that while
Belli Ahmad was taking a walk in the bazars of Istambúl, he looked and
beheld on the platform of the building daroghs beating drums, whilst all
the inmates of the bazár, the workmen as well as the merchants, were
flying in a great hurry after having left their shops ajar. “Why are
they thus running?” inquired Belli Ahmad of a Turk. “Dost thou know
nothing? Then listen: Our king, Sultan Murad, is gone on a pilgrimage to
Mecca. His son Burji Sultan reigns until his father’s return. He has a
sister whose name is the Princess Nighara. Every Friday she goes to pray
in the great mosque. The Sultan’s will is that during the passage of the
princess through the bazárs, no man should remain there, but that all
the shops be left open. This is the reason of this panic and flight. As
soon as the princess has passed, the merchants and workmen will return
to their shops again.”

Belli Ahmad said in his heart, “Thy name is Belli Ahmad, and shalt thou
not see this beautiful Princess Nighara? If not, thou art unworthy of
the name of Belli[140] Ahmad.” He then looked to the right and left and
entered stealthily into a greengrocer’s shop enclosed within a few
boards. The train of the princess now appeared. First passed with their
whips farashes and yassáls, who led the procession and were followed by
eunuchs with canes of office (_chogan_) in their hands. At last appeared
the Princess Nighara, surrounded by a score of waiting-women. She walked
with a downcast countenance in front of them, and bending her head
towards the ground said to herself, “O thou earth on which my foot is
treading, I beseech thee, receive my prayer!”[141] Belli Ahmad saw and
heard her through the chinks of the boards behind which he sat
concealed. When Nighara saw the shop with vegetables she wondered why it
should be the only shop enclosed with boards whilst all the other shops
were standing open. She then said to her waiting-women, “What is the
reason of this? Whilst goldsmiths who possess a capital of a hundred
thousand tomans have left their shops open, how is it that this petty
merchant of vegetables, whose poor shop used always to be open, has shut
it up to-day? There must be something extraordinary in all this. Break
down the enclosure, my girls, and throw the boards aside.”

Belli Ahmad heard, and his soul was on the point of making its exit. He
threw himself with his face downwards as if he was prostrated by a
severe illness. When her orders had been executed Nighara entered the
shop. Perceiving a fellow stretched out his whole length and embracing
the floor with both hands, she kicked him with her foot,[142]
exclaiming, “Who art thou that wallowest in the dirt?” Belli Ahmad
sprang to his feet and bowing to the Princess said, “Lady, I am a
stranger here. God preserve you from being in a strange land anywhere! I
saw that the merchants of the bazár were beaten and driven away, and I
was frightened. But what was I to do? If I should hide myself in some
rich shop I might be taken for a thief. I have therefore chosen this
miserable hovel, where nothing can be found except greens, onions, and
mouldy biscuits. And even if there were in it a few copper pieces, the
owner at his departure must have taken them away. Pardon me, Princess;
my soul was at stake and I hid myself.”

Nighara inquired, “Stranger, what countryman art thou?” “I am a native
of Erzerúm.” “Hast thou seen in those parts the Castle of
Chamley-bill?”[143] “Yes, lady, I have seen it.” “In that valley lives a
man named Kurroglú: didst thou see him?” “O my Princess, I am one of his
servants; I am a slave purchased with his gold.” “Canst thou deliver him
a letter from me?” “And wherefore not, fairest? Thou hast only to write
and entrust it to me.” The Princess Nighara immediately wrote a letter
to Kurroglú with her own hand. And what did she write? Here it is: “O
thou who art called Kurroglú, the glory of thy name has thrown a spell
over the countries of Turkey. I have heard that thou hast carried away
Ayvaz from the town of Orfah. My name is Princess Nighara, Sultan
Murad’s daughter. I tell thee, that thou mayest learn if thou dost not
know it, that for a long time I have felt an ardent desire of seeing
thee. If thou art distinguished by courage, come to Istambúl and carry
me away.”

And the bold Kurroglú, when he read the lady’s billet, assumed the dress
of a Haji, gained access to the seraglio gardens on the pretence that he
was entrusted with a private message to the Princess Nighara from her
father the Sultan, whom he had met on the road to Mecca, and carried the
amorous young lady to his fortress of Chamley-bill.—The story, together
with the scene between the princess and Kurroglú in the gardens and the
palace, is, no doubt, a true picture of the “ways” of Turkish ladies of
high degree in former times, and confirms much that Sir Richard has
stated regarding Eastern women in his notes to The Nights and his
Terminal Essay.


                    A VERY DIFFERENT SORT OF ALADDIN

figures in a story which in the first part bears some analogy to the
celebrated Arabian tale, and which occurs in an interesting little work,
now apparently forgotten, entitled “The Orientalist; or, Letters of a
Rabbi. With Notes by James Noble, Oriental Master in the Scottish Naval
and Military Academy,” Edinburgh, 1831. The substance of the story is as
follows (p. 118 ff.):

An aged Dervish falls ill in the house of a poor widow, who tends him
with great care, with which he is so touched that he offers to take
charge of her only son Abdallah. The good woman gladly consents, and the
Dervish sets out accompanied by his young ward, having intimated to his
mother that they must perform a journey which would last about two
years. One day they arrived at a solitary place, and the Dervish said to
Abdallah, “My son, we are now at the end of our journey. I shall employ
my prayers to obtain from Allah that the earth shall open and make an
entrance wide enough to permit thee to descend into a place where thou
shalt find one of the greatest treasures that the earth contains. Hast
thou courage to descend into the subterranean vault?” Abdallah swore he
might depend upon his obedience and zeal. Then the Dervish lighted a
small fire, into which he cast a perfume; he read and prayed for some
moments, after which the earth opened, and he said to the young man,
“Thou mayest now enter. Remember that it is in thy power to do me a
great service, and that this is perhaps the only opportunity thou shalt
ever have of testifying to me that thou art not ungrateful. Do not let
thyself be dazzled by all the riches that thou shalt find there: think
only of seizing upon an iron candlestick with twelve branches, which
thou shalt find close to the door. That is absolutely necessary to me;
come up immediately and bring it to me.”

Abdallah descended, and, neglecting the advice of the Dervish, filled
his vest and sleeves with the gold and jewels which he found heaped up
in the vault, whereupon the opening by which he had entered closed of
itself. He had, however, sufficient presence of mind to seize the iron
candlestick, and endeavoured to find some other means of escape from the
vault. At length he discovers a narrow passage, which he follows until
he reaches the surface of the earth, and looking about for the Dervish
saw him not, but to his surprise found that he was close to his mother’s
house. On showing his wealth to his mother it all suddenly vanished. But
the candlestick remained. He lighted one of the branches, upon which a
dervish appeared, and after turning round for an hour, he threw down an
asper (about 3 farthings) and vanished. Next night he put a light in
each of the branches, when twelve dervishes appeared, and after
continuing their gyrations an hour, each threw down an asper and
vanished.

Thus Abdallah and his mother contrived to live for a time, till at
length he resolved to carry the candlestick to the Dervish, hoping to
obtain from him the treasure which he had seen in the vault. He
remembered his name and city, and on reaching his dwelling he found the
Dervish living in a magnificent palace with fifty porters at the gate.
Quoth the Dervish, when Abdallah appeared before him, “Thou art an
ungrateful wretch! Hadst thou known the value of the candlestick, thou
wouldst never have brought it to me. I will show thee its true use.”
Then the Dervish placed a light in each branch, whereupon twelve
dervishes appeared and began to whirl, but on his giving each a blow
with a cane in an instant they were changed into twelve heaps of
sequins, diamonds and other precious stones.

Ungrateful as Abdallah had shown himself, yet the Dervish gave him two
camels laden with gold and a slave, telling him he must depart the next
morning. During the night Abdallah stole the candlestick and placed it
at the bottom of one of his sacks. In the morning he took his leave of
the generous Dervish and set off. When about half a day’s journey from
his own city he sold the slave, that there should be no witness to his
former poverty, and bought another in his stead. Arriving home, he
carefully placed his loads of treasure in a private chamber, and then
put a light in each branch of the candlestick, and when the twelve
dervishes appeared, as usual, he dealt each a blow with a cane. But he
had not observed that the Dervish employed his left hand, and he had
naturally used his right, in consequence of which the twelve dervishes
each drew from under their robes a heavy club and beat him till he was
nearly dead, and then vanished, as did also the treasure, the camels,
the slave, and the wonder-working candlestick.


It is to be regretted that the author has not stated the sources whence
he drew his stories, but that they are without exception of Eastern
extraction does not admit of any doubt: some are taken from the
“Panchatantra,” “Hitopadesa,” or “Anvár-i Suhaylí,” and others are found
in other Asiatic story-books. I have however not met with the foregoing
elsewhere than in Noble’s little volume. The beginning of the story is
near akin to that of Aladdin: for the wicked magician who pretends to
take the tailor’s son under his care we have a dervish who in good faith
takes charge of the son of a poor widow who had nursed him through a
severe illness. The cave scene is very similar in both, only the
magician performs diabolical incantations, while the dervish practises
“white magic” and prays to Allah for assistance. The twelve-branched
candlestick takes the place of the Wonderful Lamp. Like Aladdin, young
Abdallah is shut in the cavern, though not because he refused to give up
the candlestick until he was safe above ground again, but because his
cupidity induced him to pocket some of the treasures which filled the
cave.

There is a strong Indian—even Buddhistic—flavour in the story of
Abdallah and the Dervish, and the apparition of the twelve whirling
fakírs, who when struck with a cane held in the left hand fall into so
many heaps of gold coin, has its analogue in the “Hitopadesa” and also
in the Persian Tales of a Parrot (“Tútí Náma”). The 10th Fable of Book
iii. of the “Hitopadesa” goes thus: In the city of Ayodhya (Oude) there
was a soldier named Churamani, who, being anxious for money, for a long
time with pain of body worshipped the deity the jewel of whose diadem is
the lunar crescent.[144] Being at length purified from his sins, in his
sleep he had a vision in which, through the favour of the deity, he was
directed by the lord of the Yakshas[145] to do as follows: “Early in the
morning, having been shaved, thou must stand, club in hand, concealed
behind the door of thy house; and the beggar whom thou seest come into
the court thou wilt put to death without mercy by blows of thy staff.
Instantly the beggar will become a pot full of gold, by which thou wilt
be comfortable the rest of thy life.” These instructions being followed,
it came to pass accordingly. But the barber who had been brought to
shave him, having witnessed it all, said to himself, “O, is this the
mode of gaining treasure? Why, then, may not I also do the same?” From
that day forward the barber in like manner, with club in hand, day after
day awaited the coming of the beggar. One day a beggar being so caught
was attacked by him and killed with the stick, for which offence the
barber himself was beaten by the King’s officers and died.

The same story is differently told, at greater length and with
considerable humour, in Nakhshabí’s Parrot-Book, but the outline of it
can only be given here: A rich merchant named Abd-el-Malik resolved to
give all his substance to the poor and needy before he departed this
life. At midnight an apparition stood before him in the habit of a fakír
and thus addressed him: “I am the apparition of thy good fortune and the
genius of thy future happiness.[146] When thou, with such unbounded
generosity, didst bequeath all thy wealth to the poor, I determined not
to pass by thy door unnoticed, but to enrich thee with an inexhaustible
treasure, suitable to the greatness of thy capacious soul. To accomplish
which I will every morning in this shape appear to thee; thou shalt
strike me a few blows on the head, and I shall instantly fall at thy
feet, transformed into an image of gold. From this take as much as thou
shalt have occasion for; and every member that shall be separated from
the image shall instantly be replaced by another of the same precious
metal.”[147] In the morning a covetous neighbour named Hajm visited the
merchant, and soon after the apparition presented itself. Abd-el-Malik
at once arose and after striking it several blows on the head with a
stick, it fell down and was changed into an image of gold. He took what
sufficed for the day’s needs and gave the larger portion to his visitor.
When Hajm the covetous returned to his own house he pondered what he had
seen, and concluding it would be as easy for him to convert fakírs into
gold, invited to a feast at his house all the fakírs of the province.
When they had feasted to their hearts’ content, Hajm seized a heavy club
and began to unmercifully belabour his guests till he broke their heads
and “the crimson torrent stained the carpet of hospitality.” The cries
of the fakírs soon brought the police to their assistance, and a great
crowd of people gathered outside the house. Hajm was immediately haled
before the magistrate, and attempted to justify his conduct by giving an
account of what he had seen done in the house of Abd-el-Malik. The
merchant was sent for and declared Hajm to be mad, no better proof of
which could be desired than his treatment of the fakírs. So Hajm the
covetous was sent forthwith to the hospital for lunatics.


                  _KHUDADAD AND HIS BROTHERS—p. 269._

Readers of The Nights must have observed that a large number of the
tales begin with an account of a certain powerful king, whose dominions
were almost boundless, whose treasury overflowed, and whose reign was a
blessing to his people; but he had one all-absorbing care—he had no son.
Thus in the tale of Khudadad we read that in the city of Harrán there
dwelt a sultan “of illustrious lineage, a protector of the people, a
lover of his lieges, a friend of mankind, and renowned for being gifted
with every good quality. Allah Almighty had bestowed upon him all that
his heart could desire, save the boon of a child; for though he had
lovely wives within his haram-door and concubines galore [far too many,
no doubt!], he had not been blessed with a son,” and so forth. This is
the “regulation” opening of by far the greater number of Asiatic
stories, even as it was _de rigueur_ for the old pagan Arab poets to
begin their _kasídas_ with a lamentation for the departure of a fair
one, whether real or imaginary. The Sultan of our story is constantly
petitioning Heaven for the boon of a son (who among Easterns is
considered as the “light of the house”), and at length there appears to
him in his slumbers a comely man who bids him go on the morrow to his
chief gardener and get from him a pomegranate, of which he should eat as
many seeds as he pleases, after which his prayers for offspring should
be granted. This remedy for barrenness is very common in Indian fictions
(to which I believe Khudadad belongs), only it is usually the king’s
wives who eat the seeds or fruit.[148] A few parallels to the opening of
our tale from Indian sources may prove somewhat interesting, both to
students of popular fictions and to those individuals who are vaguely
styled “general readers.”

A Kashmírí tale, entitled “The Four Princes,” translated by the Rev. J.
Hinton Knowles, in the “Indian Antiquary,” 1886,[149] thus begins: In
days long since gone by there lived a king most clever, most holy, and
most wise, who was a pattern king. His mind was always occupied with
plans for the improvement of his country and people; his _darbár_ was
open to all; his ear was ever ready to listen to the petition of the
humblest subject; he afforded every facility for trade; he established
hospitals for the sick, inns (_sará’e_) for travellers, and large
schools for those who wished to learn. These and many other such things
he did. Nothing was left undone that ought to be done, and nothing was
done that ought not to have been done. Under such a wise, just, and
beneficent ruler the people of course lived very happily. Few poor or
unenlightened or wicked persons were to be found in the country. But the
great and good king had not a son. This was an intense sorrow to him—the
one dark cloud that now and again overshadowed his otherwise happy and
glorious life. Every day he prayed earnestly to Siva to grant him an
heir to sit upon the throne after him. One day Siva appeared to him in
the garb of a yogí,[150] and bade him ask a boon and it should be
granted. “Take these four fruits,” said Siva, “and give them to your
wife to eat on such a day before sunrise. Then shall your wife give
birth to four sons who will be exceedingly clever and good.” The king
follows these instructions and in due course his wife is delivered of
four sons at one birth and thereupon dies. The rest of the story is a
variant of the Tamil romance “Alakésa Kathá,”[151] and of “Strike, but
hear!” in Rev. Lal Behari Day’s “Folk-Tales of Bengal.”

This is how the Tamil story of The Four Good Sisters begins (“Folk-Lore
in Southern India,” Part iii., by Pandit S. M. Natésa Sástrí[152]): In
the town of Tañjai there reigned a king named Hariji, who was a very
good and charitable sovereign. In his reign the tiger and the bull drank
out of the same pool, the serpent and the peacock amused themselves
under the same tree; and thus even birds and beasts of a quarrelsome and
inimical disposition lived together like sheep of the same flock. While
the brute creation of the great God was thus living in friendship and
happiness, need it be said that this king’s subjects led a life of peace
and prosperity unknown in any other country under the canopy of heaven?
But for all the peace which his subjects enjoyed, Harijí himself had no
joy: his face was always drooping, his lips never moved in laughter, and
he was as sad as sad could be, because he had no son.—After trying in
vain the distribution of charitable gifts which his ministers and the
priests recommended, the king resolves to retire into the wilderness and
there endeavour to propitiate Mahésvara [_i.e._ Siva], hoping thus to
have his desire fulfilled. He appoints his ministers to order the realm
during his absence, and doffing his royal robes clothes himself in the
bark of trees and takes up his abode in the desert. After practising the
most severe austerities for the space of three years, Siva, mounted on
his bull, with his spouse Párvatí by his side, appears before the
hermit, who is overjoyed at the sight of the deity. Siva bids him ask
any boon and it should be granted. The royal ascetic desires to have a
son. Then says Siva: “For thy long penance we grant thy request. Choose
then—a son who shall always be with thee till death, but shall be the
greatest fool in the whole world; or four daughters who shall live with
thee for a short time, then leave thee and return before thy death, but
who shall be the incarnation of learning. To thee is left to choose
which thou wilt have,” and so saying, the deity gives him a mango fruit
for his wife to eat, and then disappears. The king elects to have the
four learned daughters, whose history is very entertaining.

Another tale in the Pandit’s collection (No. 4) informs us that once
upon a time in a town named Vañjaimánagar there ruled a king named
Siváchár. He was a most just king and ruled so well that no stone thrown
up fell down, no crow pecked at the new-drawn milk, the lion and the
bull drank water from the same pond, and peace and prosperity reigned
throughout the kingdom. Notwithstanding all these blessings, care always
sat on his face. His days and nights he spent in praying that God might
bless him with a son. Wherever he saw _pípal_ trees he ordered Bráhmans
to circumambulate them.[153] Whatever medicines the doctors recommended
he was ever ready to swallow, however bitter they might be. At last
fortune favoured Siváchár; for what religious man fails to obtain his
desire? The king in his sixtieth year had a son, and his joy knew no
bounds.

In like fashion does the Persian “Sindibád Náma” begin: There reigned in
India a sage and mighty monarch, the bricks of whose palace were not of
stone or marble but of gold; the fuel of whose kitchen was fresh wood of
aloes; who had brought under the signet of his authority the kingdoms of
Rúm and Abyssinia; and to whom were alike tributary the Ethiop Maháráj
and the Roman Kaysar. He was distinguished above all monarchs for his
virtue, clemency, and justice. But although he was the refuge of the
Khalífate, he was not blessed with an heir: life and the world appeared
profitless to him, because he had no fruit of the heart in the garden of
his soul.—One night, while reclining on his couch, sad and thoughtful,
consumed with grief like a morning taper, he heaved a deep sigh, upon
which one of his favourite wives (he had a hundred in his harem),
advancing towards him and kissing the ground, inquired the cause of his
distress. He discloses it. His wife consoles him, encourages him to
hope, and assures him that if he prayed, his prayers would be answered;
but that at all events it was his duty to be resigned to the will of
God. “Prayer is the only key that will open the door of difficulty.” The
king fasted for a whole week and was assiduous in his devotions. One
night he prayed with peculiar earnestness and self-abasement till
morning. The companion of his couch was one of his wives, fairer than
the sun and the envy of a perí. He clasped her in his embrace,
exclaiming, “There is no strength, no power, save in God!” and he felt
assured in his heart that his prayer was granted. In due time a son was
born to him, and, eager to show his gratitude, he bestowed munificent
gifts and lavished his treasures on all his subjects.

The seventh of Lal Behari Day’s “Folk-Tales of Bengal” opens as follows:
Once on a time there reigned a king who had seven queens. He was very
sad, for the seven queens were all barren. A holy mendicant, however,
one day told the king that in a certain forest there grew a tree, on a
branch of which hung seven mangoes; if the king himself plucked those
mangoes and gave one to each of the queens they would all become
mothers. So the king went to the forest, plucked the seven mangoes that
grew upon one branch, and gave a mango to each of the queens to eat. In
a short time the king’s heart was filled with joy, as he heard that the
seven queens were pregnant.—In Miss Stokes’ “Indian Fairy Tales,” p. 91,
Rájá Barbál receives from an ascetic 160 _lichí_ fruits, one of which he
is to give to each of his 160 wives, who would have each a son.—Similar
instances occur in Steel and Temple’s “Wide Awake Stories”, from the
Panjáb and Kashmír, pp. 47 and 290, and in Natésa Sástrí’s “Dravidian
Nights’ Entertainments” (a translation of the Tamil romance entitled
“Madanakámarájankadai”), pp. 55, 56.—Among biblical instances of women
having offspring after being long barren are: Sarah, the wife of Abraham
(Gen. ch. xv. 2–4, xxi. 1, 2); Rachel, the wife of Jacob (Gen. ch. xxx.,
1, 22, 23); and Elisabeth, the wife of Zacharias, the high-priest, who
were the parents of John the Baptist (Luke, ch. i.). Whether children be
a “blessing,” notwithstanding all that has been said and sung about the
exquisite joys of paternity and maternity, is perhaps doubtful,
generally speaking: one thing is certain, that many an honest fellow has
had too much cause to “wonder why the devil he got an heir!”[154]

Although no version or variant of the story of Khudadad and his Brothers
has yet been found besides the one in the Turkish collection “Al-Faráj
ba’d al-Shiddah,” yet the elements of which it is composed occur in many
European and Asiatic tales. As we have in Galland a story of sisters who
envied their cadette, so, by way of justice to the “fair sex,” we have
likewise this tale of envious brothers, which is a favourite theme of
popular fictions, only in the story of Khudadad, the brothers were not
at first aware of the hero’s kinship to them, though they had been
informed of it when they most ungratefully cut and slashed him with
their swords as he lay asleep by the side of his beauteous bride the
Princess of Daryabár.

Sometimes it is not a brother, or brothers, but a treacherous friend or
a secret cowardly rival, who attempts the life of the hero and claims
the credit and reward for his bold achievement. Many examples must occur
to readers familiar with Icelandic, Norwegian, and German folk-tales,
which need not here be cited. In the old French romance of the Chevalier
Berinus and his gallant son Aigres de l’Aimant, the King of Loquiferne
is in love with the Princess Melia, daughter of a king named Absalon,
who would give her only to the prince who should bring with him two
knights prepared to combat with and slay two fierce lions, or would
attempt this feat himself. None of the barons of the King of Loquiferne
offering themselves for the adventure, Aigres undertakes it very
readily, and is accompanied by a knight named Açars, who has charge of a
casket of jewels destined for the princess as a wedding-gift. Young
Aigres encounters and kills the lions single-handed, and the
lily-livered and faithless Açars envies him the glory of his exploit. On
their way back to Loquiferne with the Princess Melia, as they pass near
a deep well Açars purposely allows the casket of jewels to fall into it
and pretends to be distracted at the misfortune. But the gallant Aigres
securing one end of his horse’s reins to the top of the well descends by
this improvised rope, and when he dives into the water to recover the
casket the rascal Açars cuts the reins and compels the princess and her
maid to follow him. His triumph is brief, however, for Melia and her
maid are taken from him, without his striking a blow in their defence,
by a king who is in love with the princess. Açars proceeds to the court
of the King of Loquiferne and tells him how the lady had been snatched
out of his hands by a king who attacked him with a great army while
Aigres had fled like a craven. Meanwhile Aigres contrives to get out of
the well, and finds his steed and armour close by: he is fortunate in
rescuing the princess and her maid from the king who had taken them from
Açars, and arriving at the court of Loquiferne denounces Açars as a
coward and traitor, and the princess Melia confirms his assertions; so
the carpet-knight is for ever disgraced.

Another example not very generally known is found in the Urdú romance,
“Gul-í Bakáwalí”: When the hero, Taj al-Malúk, the youngest son of King
Zayn al-Malúk, is born, the astrologers cast his horoscope and predict
that the king will lose his sight as soon as he looks upon him. In order
to prevent such a calamity, the king causes the child and his mother to
be placed in a house far distant from the city, where Zayn al-Malúk
grows up into a handsome, courageous youth. By chance he meets his
father, the king, while the latter is hunting, and the king no sooner
casts his eyes on the youth than he becomes blind. The royal physicians
tell him that only the Rose of Bakáwalí can restore his sight, and the
four other sons of the king set out together to procure this wonderful
flower. They fall victims to the wiles of a courtesan, who wins all
their money at play and ultimately imprisons them in her house. In the
meantime Taj al-Malúk has started on the same errand; he outwits the
courtesan, obtains the liberation of his brothers, and then journeys to
Jinnistán, where, by the help of a friendly demon, he plucks the Rose in
the garden of the beauteous fairy Bakáwalí, and retraces his way
homeward. Meeting with his four brothers on the road, he acquaints them
of his success, and on their doubting the virtue of the flower, it is
applied to the eyes of a blind man, and his sight is instantly restored.
Upon this the brothers take the flower from Taj al-Malúk by force and
hasten with it to their father. But the hero’s friends the demons build
for him a splendid palace, and the fame of his wealth soon reaches the
court of his father, who, with the four brothers and the ministers of
state, visits him, and after a great feast Taj al-Malúk makes himself
known to the king and relates the whole story of how he procured the
flower that had restored his sight. The king falls upon his son’s neck
and weeps tears of joy, saying, “You have restored the light of my eyes
by the Rose of Bakáwalí, and by the sight of you the door of
cheerfulness has been opened in my sorrowful heart. It is incumbent on
me to make known this enlivening news to your mother, who has looked out
for you with anxiety, and I must cause her, who has been afflicted with
grief at your absence, to drink the sherbet of the glad tidings of your
safety.” Then the king went to Taj al-Malúk’s mother, made many
apologies for his ill-treatment of her, exalted her higher than she was
previously, and gave her the joyful news of her son’s arrival. The
remainder of the romance recounts the marvellous adventures of the hero
in fairyland, whither he proceeds to rejoin Bakáwalí, and where he
undergoes many strange transformations; but ultimately all is “merry as
marriage bells.”—Nothing is said about the punishment or pardon of the
treacherous brothers, but doubtless in the original form of the story
the hero acted as generously towards them as did Khudadad when his
father would have put the forty brothers to death. It seems somewhat
strange that after Khudadad’s brothers had killed him (as they believed)
they did not take the Princess Daryabár away with them, which generally
happens in stories of this kind.


          _THE STORY OF THE BLIND MAN, BABA ABDULLAH—p. 311._

An incident in the Muhammedan version of the legend of the Seven
Sleepers may have furnished a hint for this well-told tale: When the
evil-minded Dekianus views the Hid Treasure, which he had covenanted
with the aged man who read the Tablet for him and conducted him to the
spot should be equitably divided betwixt them—when he had beheld with
wonder and astonishment the incalculable riches contained in the seven
chambers, he says within himself, “And must I share this with the old
man?” Then he ponders and thinks, “Nay, but I will give him a goodly
portion;” but finally he resolves to give him nothing—nay more, to take
away his life so that there should be none on earth besides himself
acquainted with the source of his wealth. In vain does the old man bid
him take all the treasure and swear that he will ever preserve the
secret: Dekianus smote him with his sword so that he died.

There is a tale in the Persian story-book “Shamsah wa Kahkahah” (also
entitled “Mahbúb al-Kalúb”) which bears some analogy to the story of the
Blind Man, Baba Abdullah. A skilful geomancer is desired by a tradesman
to cast his horoscope. He does so, and informs the tradesman that he is
to find a treasure. The man is incredulous, but after the operation is
repeated with the same result at length becomes convinced of the
accuracy of the geomancer’s calculations, locks his door, and forthwith
they both begin to dig the floor. They come upon a large stone which on
removal is found to have covered a well. The geomancer lowers the
tradesman down it in a basket, which the latter fills with gold and
silver and precious stones, and it is drawn up by the geomancer. When
this has been repeated several times and the geomancer views the immense
quantity of glittering treasure heaped up beside him, covetous thoughts
enter his mind, and he determines to leave the tradesman to his fate at
the bottom of the well, take all the wealth for himself, and live in
comfort and luxury the rest of his days. Accordingly he does not again
let the basket down, and the poor tradesman, suspecting his iniquitous
design, calls out piteously to his perfidious friend, imploring him not
to leave him there to perish, and swearing that the treasure should be
equally shared as between brothers. But the covetous geomancer is deaf
to his appeal, and begins to consider how the treasure might be conveyed
to his own house without attracting the notice of any of the folk of the
quarter, and in the midst of his cogitations he falls asleep. Now it
happened that the poor tradesman had an enemy who had long waited for an
opportunity to do him a personal injury, and that very night he came to
the house, and by means of a rope with a hook which he fastened to the
wall he climbed on to the roof and descended into the place where the
geomancer was sleeping. The man, mistaking him for the tradesman, seized
the geomancer and with a sharp awl pierced his eyes, blinding him for
ever. But, having thus effected his revenge as he thought, in groping
his way out of the house he stumbled into the well and broke his foot.
The tradesman taking him for the geomancer, come for more gold,
upbraided him for his insatiable avarice, and the man, in his turn,
supposing him to have been thrown into the well by the tradesman,
replied, “Be satisfied; I have punished him who cast you into this
place,” but as he began to howl from the pain of his broken foot, the
tradesman knew that he was not the geomancer. Next morning the
tradesman’s son arrives from a long trading journey, with much gold and
merchandise and many slaves. On entering his father’s house he is
astounded to perceive the open well and by the side of it a vast heap of
treasure and a man holding both hands to his eyes and wailing bitterly,
lamenting the covetousness which had caused him the loss of his
eyesight. The young man sends a slave down into the well and the first
person drawn up is the tradesman, who is both surprised and overjoyed to
behold his son once more, and tells him the whole story. His enemy is
then taken out and is dismayed to find that he has blinded the wrong
man. Both the geomancer and the tradesman’s enemy are pardoned, but the
latter dies soon after, while the geomancer retires to a cave in the
mountains, where every morning and evening two small loaves are thrown
in to him by an unknown hand, and during the rest of his life he never
ceased to repeat this distich:

              If you possess one barley grain of justice,
              You will never have half a grain of sorrow.

But much more closely resembling the story of Baba Abdullah is a tale in
the Persian romance which recounts the imaginary adventures of Hatim
Ta’í. A blind man is confined in a cage which is suspended from a branch
of a tree, and constantly exclaims, “Do evil to none; if you do, evil
will overtake you.” Hatim having promised to mend his condition and
relieve him, he relates his history as follows:

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

“One day as I was sauntering, mournful and dejected, through the bazár,
I espied a learned man who cried out, ‘If any one has lost his money by
theft or otherwise, my knowledge of the occult sciences enables me to
recover the same, but on condition that I receive one fourth of the
amount.’ When I heard this seasonable proclamation, I immediately
approached the man of science, and stated to him my sad condition and
how I had been reduced from affluence to poverty. The sage undertook to
restore my wealth, and above all to discover the treasures concealed in
my father’s house. I conducted him to the house and showed him every
apartment, which he carefully examined one after another. At length by
his art he discovered the stores we were in search of; and when I saw
the gold and silver and other valuables, which exceeded calculation, the
demon of fraud entered my heart, and I refused to fulfil my promise of
giving a fourth of the property to the man of wisdom. I offered him only
a few small pieces of silver; instead of accepting which, he stood for a
few moments in silent meditation, and with a look of scorn said, ‘Do I
thus receive the fourth part of your treasure which you agreed to give
me? Base man, of what perjury are you guilty?’ On hearing this I became
enraged, and having struck him several blows on the face, I expelled him
from my house. In a few days, however, he returned, and so far
ingratiated himself into my confidence that we became intimate friends;
and night and day he displayed before my sight the various hidden
treasures contained within the bowels of the earth. One day I asked him
to instruct me in this wonderful science, to which he answered that no
instruction was requisite. ‘Here,’ said he, ‘is a composition of surma,
and whoever applies the same to his eyes, to him will all the wealth of
this world become visible.’[155] ‘Most learned sir,’ I replied, ‘if you
will anoint mine eyes with this substance, I promise to share with you
the half of all such treasures as I may discover.’ ‘I agree,’ said my
friend; ‘meanwhile let us retire to the desert, where we shall be free
from interruption.’

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

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


Although there are some differences in the details of the story of Baba
Abdullah and that of Hamír, as above, yet the general similarity between
them is sufficient to warrant the conclusion that if one was not adapted
from the other, both must have been derived from the same source; and
here we have, I think, clear evidence of the genuineness of another of
the tales which Galland was believed to have invented himself.


                    _HISTORY OF SIDI NU’MAN—p. 325._

It is curious to find this current as a folk-tale at Palena, in the
Abruzzi, without any material variation except in the conclusion. My
friend Mr. E. Sidney Hartland has favoured me with the following
abstract of the Italian version, as given in vol. iii. of the “Archivio
per lo studio delle Tradizioni Popolari” (Palermo, 1882), p. 222:

There was once a husband and wife. The wife says that she cannot eat
anything, and only picks a few grains of rice with a large pin. Her
husband asks why she eats nothing, and she answers that she does not
want to eat. Meantime she goes out secretly every night, and the husband
begins to have suspicions of her. One night he follows her softly, and
finds she goes to the burial ground, where she meets with certain female
companions. They open a grave and feed on the flesh of the dead. The
next morning the husband cooks rice again, and the wife picks up a few
grains of it with a pin as before. The husband exclaims, “What! you
enjoy the flesh of dead men, and over rice you are so finical as to eat
it with a pin!” The wife is so enraged at learning that her husband
knows of her doings that she goes to the waterbucket, fills a small
bottle from it, and having muttered certain words over the water flings
it upon him and he instantly becomes transformed into a dog. A provision
merchant sees him running about, and takes and sets him on his counter.
When the people come to buy provisions the dog examines the money to see
if it be good, and the false coin he throws on the ground. One day a man
comes to buy bacon and offers false coin. The provision merchant refuses
to take it; they dispute over the matter, and it is referred to the dog,
who throws the money on the ground. The man is astonished, and returning
home tells his wife, who at once says that the dog is not a dog, and
desires her husband to bring her the animal that she may see it. The man
returns to the provision merchant and begs him to lend him the dog for a
little while, and takes it home. The wife, who is a companion of the
wife of him who has been changed into a dog, and understands witchcraft,
fills a bottle with water, pronounces certain words over it, and throws
the water upon the dog, who immediately becomes a man again, and she
advises him to do to his wife as she had done to him, and imparts the
secret to him. As soon as he returns home he fills the bottle with water
from the bucket, says the words he had learned, and throws the water
over his wife, who becomes a mare. He drives her out of the house and
beats her as flax is beaten. To every one who asks why he is thrashing
the mare he tells his story, and the people say, “Serve her right!” This
goes on for some time. At last, when the husband sees that his wife has
voided enough foam from the mouth, with another dash of water he changes
her back to her proper form, and henceforward she eats whatever is set
before her, obeys her husband in all things, and never goes out by night
again. So they live long, happy and contented.


This version from the Abruzzi so closely resembles the story of Sidi
Nu’mán that we should perhaps be justified in concluding it to have been
directly derived from Galland’s Nights, in the absence of any Venetian
version, which might well have been imported independently from the
East; but however this may be, the story in Galland bears unquestionable
internal evidence that it is a genuine Arabian narrative, having nothing
peculiarly European in its details.

A somewhat similar story is quite familiar to me, but I cannot at
present call to mind whether it occurs in a Persian collection or in The
Nights, in which the woman going out when she thinks her husband asleep,
the latter follows her to a hut at some distance which she enters, and
peeping into the hut, he sees a hideous black give her a severe beating
for not coming sooner, while she pleads that she could not venture to
quit the house until her husband was sound asleep. The two carouse
together, and by-and-by the black going outside for a purpose, the
husband strikes off his head with his sword and then conceals himself
close by. The woman, after waiting some time, goes out to see what is
detaining her paramour, and finding his headless body, she moans over it
in great sorrow, and then taking the corpse on her back carries it away
and throws it into the river. Her husband hastens home before her, and
so she suspects nothing. Some days after, when she refuses to do some
light work because of her physical weakness, her husband can no longer
control himself, and tells her that she had strength enough to carry on
her back the body of her black paramour, and so on.[156]

The ghoul-wife of Arabian tales, who eats little or nothing at home, has
her counterpart in the rákshasí of Indian fictions, who secretly devours
antelopes etc. There are many parallels in The Nights and other Asiatic
story-books to the incident of Sidi Nu’mán being changed back into his
proper form, the most noteworthy being perhaps the case of the Second
Calender in the shape of a monkey, or ape, whom the princess, an adept
in white magic, at once recognises as a man and veils her face, as does
the young woman in the case of Sidi Nu’mán: but while the Calender is
restored to his own form, the princess, alas! perishes in her encounter
with the genie who had transformed him.—In most of the Arabian tales of
magical transformations of men and women into beasts the victims are
ultimately restored to their natural forms, but in the Indian romance of
the princes Somasekhara and Chitrasekhara, a wicked king named Ugrabáhu
is permanently changed by some water taken from a magic fountain into a
monkey and sold to a beggar, who compels him to perform tricks in public
for his benefit. Heywood, in his “History of Women” (Book viii.), cites
some curious European stories of men being transformed into donkeys by
eating a certain kind of cheese.


              _HISTORY OF KHWAJAH HASAN AL-HABBAL—p. 341._

How this entertaining story found its way into North Germany—and nowhere
else in Europe, so far as I am aware—it is not easy to say, but its
twin-brother seems to be orally current there, in all essential details,
excepting the marvellous conclusion. For the poor ropemaker, however, a
struggling weaver and for the two gentlemen, Sa’d and Sa’dí, three rich
students are substituted. There does not appear (according to the
version given by Thorpe in his “Yule Tide Stories,” which he entitles,
not inaptly, The Three Gifts) to be any difference of opinion among the
students regarding the influence of Destiny, or Fate, upon men’s
fortunes: they simply give the poor weaver a hundred dollars, “to assist
him in his housekeeping.” The weaver hides the money in a heap of rags,
unknown to his wife, who sells them to a rag-collector for a trifling
sum. A year afterwards the students are again passing the house of the
weaver and find him poorer than ever. He tells them of his mishap and
they give him another hundred dollars, warning him to be more careful
with the money this time. The weaver conceals the dollars in the
ash-tub, again without the cognisance of his wife, who disposes of the
ashes for a few pieces of soap. At the end of the second year the
students once more visit the wretched weaver, and on being informed of
his loss, they throw a bit of lead at his feet, saying it’s of no use to
give such a fool money, and go away in a great huff. The weaver picks up
the lead and places it on the window-sill. By-and-by a neighbour, who is
a fisherman, comes in and asks for a bit of lead or some other heavy
thing, for his net, and on receiving the lead thrown down by the
students promises to give him in return the first large fish he catches.
The weaver does get a fine fish, which he immediately cuts open, and
finds in its stomach a “large stone,” which he lays on the window-sill,
where, as it becomes dark, the stone gives forth a brighter and brighter
light, “just like a candle,” and then he places it so that it
illuminates the whole apartment. “That’s a cheap lamp,” quoth he to his
wife: “wouldst not like to dispose of it as thou didst the two hundred
dollars?” The next evening a merchant happening to ride past the
weaver’s house perceives the brilliant stone, and alighting from his
horse, enters and looks at it, then offers ten dollars for it, but the
weaver says the stone is not for sale. “What! not even for twenty
dollars?” “Not even for that.” The merchant keeps on increasing his
offers till he reaches a thousand dollars, which was about half its real
value, for the stone was a diamond, and which the weaver accepts, and
thus he becomes the richest man in all the village. His wife, however,
took credit to herself for his prosperity, often saying to him, “How
well it was that I threw away the money twice, for thou hast me to thank
for thy good luck!”—and here the German story ends. For the turban of
the ropemaker and the kite that carried it off, with its precious
lining, we have the heap of rags and the rag-collector; but the ashes
exchanged for soap agrees with the Arabian story almost exactly.

The incident of the kite carrying off the poor ropemaker’s turban in
which he had deposited the most part of the gold pieces that he received
from the gentleman who believed that “money makes money”—an
unquestionable fact, in spite of our story—is of very frequent
occurrence in both Western and Eastern fictions. My readers will
recollect its exact parallel in the abstract of the romance of Sir
Isumbras, cited in Appendix to the preceding volumes: how the Knight,
with his little son, after the soudan’s ship has sailed away with his
wife, is bewildered in a forest, where they fall asleep, and in the
morning at sunrise when he awakes, an eagle pounces down and carries off
his scarlet mantle, in which he had tied up his scanty store of
provisions together with the gold he had received from the soudan; and
how many years after he found it in a bird’s nest (Supp. Nights, vol.
ii. p. 361 and p. 365).—And, not to multiply examples, a similar
incident occurs in the “Kathá Sarit Ságara,” Book ix. ch. 54, where a
merchant named Samudrasúra is shipwrecked and contrives to reach the
land, where he perceives the corpse of a man, round the loins of which
is a cloth with a knot in it. On unfastening the cloth he finds in it a
necklace studded with jewels. The merchant proceeds towards a city
called Kalasapuri, carrying the necklace in his hand. Overpowered by the
heat, he sits down in a shady place and falls asleep. The necklace is
recognised by some passing policemen as that of the king’s daughter, and
the merchant is at once taken before the king and accused of having
stolen it. While the merchant is being examined, a kite swoops down and
carries off the necklace. Presently a voice from heaven declares that
the merchant is innocent, explains how the necklace came into his
possession, and orders the king to dismiss him with honour. This
celestial testimony in favour of the accused satisfies the king, who
gives the merchant much wealth and sends him on his way. The rest of the
story is as follows: “And after he had crossed the sea, he travelled
with a caravan, and one day, at evening time, he reached a wood. The
caravan encamped in the wood for the night, and while Samudrasúra was
awake a powerful host of bandits attacked it. While the bandits were
massacring the members of the caravan, Samudrasúra left his wares and
fled, and climbed up a banyan-tree without being discovered. The host of
bandits departed, after they had carried off all the wealth, and the
merchant spent that night there, perplexed with fear and distracted with
grief. In the morning he cast his eyes towards the top of the tree, and
saw, as fate would have it, what looked like the light of a lamp,
trembling among the leaves. And in his astonishment he climbed up the
tree and saw a kite’s nest, in which there was a heap of glittering
priceless jewelled ornaments. He took them all out of it, and found
among the ornaments that necklace which he had found in Svarnadvípa and
the kite had carried off. He obtained from that nest unlimited wealth,
and descending from the tree, he went off delighted, and reached in
course of time his own city of Harshapúra. There the merchant
Samudrasúra remained, enjoying himself to his heart’s content, with his
family, free from the desire of any other wealth.”

There is nothing improbable—at all events, nothing impossible—in the
History of Khwajah Hasan al-Habbál. That he should lose the two sums of
money in the manner described is quite natural, and the incidents carry
with them the moral: “Always take your wife into your confidence” (but
the Khwajah was a Muslim), notwithstanding the great good luck which
afterwards befell, and which, after all, was by mere chance. There is
nothing improbable in the finding of the turban with the money intact in
the bird’s nest, but that this should occur while the Khwajah’s
benefactors were his guests is—well, _very_ extraordinary indeed! As to
the pot of bran—why, some little license must be allowed a story-teller,
that is all that need be said! The story from beginning to end is a most
charming one, and will continue to afford pleasure to old and young—to
“generations yet unborn.”


                _ALI BABA AND THE FORTY THIEVES—p. 369._

I confess to entertaining a peculiar affection for this tale. It was the
first of the tales of the “Arabian Nights Entertainments” which I read
in the days of my “marvelling boyhood”—eheu! fugaces, &c., &c. I may
therefore be somewhat prejudiced in its favour, just as I still consider
Scott’s “Waverley” as the best of his long series of fascinating
fictions, that being the first of them which I read—as it was the first
he wrote. But “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves”—the “open, sesame!”
“shut, sesame!”—the sackfuls of gold and silver and the bales of rich
merchandise in the robbers’ cave—the avaricious brother forgetting the
magical formula which would open the door and permit him to escape with
his booty—his four quarters hung up _in terrorem_—and above all, the
clever, devoted slave-girl, Morgiana, who in every way outwitted the
crafty robber-chief;—these incidents remain stamped in my memory
ineffaceably: like the initials of lovers’ names cut into the bark of a
growing tree, which, so far from disappearing, become larger by the
lapse of time. To me this delightful tale will ever be, as Hafiz sings
of something, “freshly fresh and newly new.” I care not much though it
never be found in an Arabic or any other Oriental dress—but that it is
of Asiatic invention is self-evident; there is, in my poor opinion,
nothing to excel it, if indeed to equal it, for intense interest and
graphic narrative power in all the Nights proper.


Sir Richard Burton has remarked, in note 1, p. 369, that Mr. Coote could
only find in the south of Europe, or in the Levant, analogues of two of
the incidents of this tale, yet one of those may accepted as proof of
its Eastern extraction, namely, in the Cyprian story of “Three Eyes,”
where the ogre attempts to rescue his wife with a party of blacks
concealed in bales: “The King’s jester went downstairs, in order to open
the bales and take something out of them. Directly he approached one of
the sacks, the black man answered from the inside, ‘Is it time, master?’
In the same manner he tried all the sacks, and then went upstairs and
told them that the sacks were full of black men. Directly the King’s
bride heard this, she made the jester and the company go downstairs.
They take the executioner with them, and go to the first sack. The black
man says from the inside, ‘Is it time?’ ‘Yes,’ say they to him, and
directly he came out they cut his head off. In the same manner they go
to the other sacks and kill the other black men.”[157]

The first part of the tale of Ali Baba—ending with the death of his
greedy brother—is current in North Germany, to this effect:

A poor woodcutter, about to fell a beech at the back of the scattered
ruins of the castle of Dummburg, seeing a monk approach slowly through
the forest, hid himself behind a tree. The monk passed by and went among
the rocks. The woodcutter stole cautiously after him and saw that he
stopped at a small door which had never been discovered by the
villagers. The monk knocks gently and cries, “Little door, open!” and
the door springs open. He also cries, “Little door, shut!” and the door
is closed. The woodcutter carefully observes the place, and next Sunday
goes secretly and obtains access to the vault by the same means as that
employed by the monk. He finds in it “large open vessels and sacks full
of old dollars and fine guilders, together with heavy gold pieces,
caskets filled with jewels and pearls, costly shrines and images of
saints, which lay about or stood on tables of silver in corners of the
vault.” He takes but a small quantity of the coin, and as he is quitting
the vault a voice cries, “Come again!” First giving to the church, for
behoof of the poor, a tenth of what he had taken, he goes to the town
and buys clothes for his wife and children, giving out to his neighbours
that he had found an old dollar and a few guilders under the roots of a
tree that he had felled. Next Sunday he again visits the vault, this
time supplying himself somewhat more liberally from the hoard, but still
with moderation and discretion, and “Come again!” cries a voice as he is
leaving. He now gives to the church two tenths, and resolves to bury the
rest of the money he had taken in his cellar. But he can’t resist a
desire to first measure the gold, for he could not count it. So he
borrows for this purpose a corn-measure of a neighbour—a very rich but
penurious man, who starved himself, hoarded up corn, cheated the
labourer of his hire, robbed the widow and the orphan, and lent money on
pledges. Now the measure had some cracks in the bottom, through which
the miser shook some grains of corn into his own heap when selling it to
the poor labourer, and into these cracks two or three small coins
lodged, which the miser was not slow to discover. He goes to the
woodcutter and asks him what it was he had been measuring. “Pine-cones
and beans.” But the miser holds up the coins he had found in the cracks
of the measure, and threatens to inform upon him and have him put to the
question if he will not disclose to him the secret of his money. So the
woodcutter is constrained to tell him the whole story and much against
his will, but not before he had made the miser promise that he would
give one-tenth to the church, he conducts him to the vault. The miser
enters, with a number of sacks, the woodcutter waiting outside to
receive them when filled with treasure. But while the miser is gloating
over the enormous wealth before him—even “wealth beyond the dreams of
avarice”—a great black dog comes and lays himself down on the sacks.
Terrified at the flaming eyes of the dog, the miser crept towards the
door, but in his fear forgot the proper words, and instead of saying,
“Little door, open!” he cried, “Little door, shut!” The woodcutter,
having waited a long time, approached the door, and knocking gently and
crying “Little door, open!” the door sprang open and he entered. There
lay the bleeding body of his wicked neighbour, stretched on his sacks,
but the vessels of gold and silver, and diamonds and pearls, sank deeper
and deeper into the earth before his eyes, till all had completely
vanished.[158]


The resemblance which this North German tale bears to the first part of
“Ali Baba” is striking, and is certainly not merely fortuitous; the
fundamental outline of the latter is readily recognisable in the legend
of the Dummburg, notwithstanding differences in the details. In both the
hero is a poor woodcutter, or faggot-maker; for the band of robbers a
monk is substituted in the German legend, and for the “open, sesame” and
“shut, sesame,” we have “little door, shut,” and “little door, open.” In
both the borrowing of a corn-measure is the cause of the secret being
revealed—in the one case, to Kasim, the greedy brother of Ali Baba, and
in the other, to a miserly old hunks; the fate of the latter and the
disappearance of all the treasure are essentially German touches. The
subsequent incidents of the tale of Ali Baba, in which the main interest
of the narrative is concentrated;—Ali Baba’s carrying off the four
quarters of his brother’s body and having them sewed together; the
artifices by which the slave-girl checkmates the robber-chief and his
followers in their attempts to discover the man who had learned the
secret of the treasure-cave—her marking all the doors in the street and
her pouring boiling oil on the robbers concealed in the oil-skins in the
courtyard;—these incidents seem to have been adapted, or imitated, from
some version of the world-wide story of the Robbery of the Royal
Treasury, as told by Herodotus, of Rhampsinitus, King of Egypt, in which
the hero performs a series of similar exploits to recover the headless
body of his brother and at the same time escape detection. Moreover, the
conclusion of the tale of Ali Baba, where we are told he lived in
comfort and happiness on the wealth concealed in the robbers’ cave, and
“in after days he showed the hoard to his sons and his sons’ sons, and
taught them how the door could be caused to open and shut”—this is near
akin to the beginning of Herodotus’ legend of the royal treasury: the
architect who built it left a stone loose, yet so nicely adjusted that
it could not be discovered by any one not in the secret, by removing
which he gained access to the royal stores of gold, and having taken
what he wanted replaced the stone as before; on his deathbed he revealed
the secret to his two sons as a legacy for their future maintenance. The
discovery of Ali Baba’s being possessed of much money from some coins
adhering to the bottom of the corn-measure is an incident of very
frequent occurrence in popular fictions; for instance, in the Icelandic
story of the Magic Quern that ground out gold or whatever its possessor
desired (Powell and Magnússon’s collection, second series); in the
Indian tale of the Six Brothers (Vernieux’s collection) and its Irish
analogue, “Little Fairly”; in the modern Greek popular tale of the Man
with Three Grapes (Le Grand’s French collection), and a host of other
tales, both Western and Eastern. The fate of Ali Baba’s rich and
avaricious brother, envious of his good luck, finds also many
parallels—_mutatis mutandis_—as in the story of the Magic Quern, already
referred to, and the Mongolian tale of the poor man and the Dakinis, the
14th Relation of Siddhí Kúr. Morgiana’s counter-device of marking all
the doors in the street, so that her master’s house should not be
recognised, often occurs, in different forms: in my work on Popular
Tales and Fictions, vol. ii. pp. 164, 165, a number of examples are
cited. The pretended merchant’s objecting to eat meat cooked with salt,
which fortunately aroused Morgiana’s suspicions of his real
character—for robber and murderer as he was, he would not be “false to
his salt”[159]—recalls an anecdote related by D’Herbelot, which may find
a place here, in conclusion: The famous robber Yacúb bin Layth,
afterwards the founder of a dynasty of Persian monarchs called
Soffarides, in one of his expeditions broke into the royal palace and
having collected a large quantity of plunder, was on the point of
carrying it off when his foot struck against something which made him
stumble. Supposing it not to be an article of value, he put it to his
mouth, the better to distinguish it. From the taste he found it was a
lump of salt, the symbol and pledge of hospitality, on which he was so
touched that he retired immediately without carrying away any part of
his booty. The next morning the greatest astonishment was caused
throughout the palace on the discovery of the valuables packed up and
ready for removal. Yacúb was arrested and brought before the prince, to
whom he gave a faithful account of the whole affair, and by this means
so ingratiated himself with his sovereign that he employed him as a man
of courage and ability in many arduous enterprises, in which he was so
successful as to be raised to the command of the royal troops, whose
confidence in and affection for their general induced them on the
prince’s death to prefer his interest to that of the heir to the throne,
from whence he afterwards spread his extensive conquests.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Since the foregoing was in type I discovered that I had overlooked
another German version, in Grimm, which preserves some features of the
Arabian tale omitted in the legend of The Dummburg:

There were two brothers, one rich, the other poor. The poor brother, one
day wheeling a barrow through the forest, had just come to a
naked-looking mountain, when he saw twelve great wild men approaching,
and he hid himself in a tree, believing them to be robbers. “Semsi
mountain, Semsi mountain, open!” they cried, and the mountain opened,
and they went in. Presently they came out, carrying heavy sacks. “Semsi
mountain, Semsi mountain, shut thyself!” they cried; the mountain closed
and they went away. The poor man went up then and cried, “Semsi
mountain, Semsi mountain, open!” the mountain opens, he goes in, finds a
cavern full of gold, silver, and jewels, fills his pockets with gold
only, and coming out cries, “Semsi mountain, Semsi mountain, shut
thyself!” He returns home and lives happily till his gold is exhausted.
Then “he went to his brother to borrow a measure that held a bushel, and
brought himself some more.” This he does again, and this time the rich
brother smears the inside of the bushel with pitch, and when he gets it
back finds a gold coin sticking to it, so he taxes his poor brother with
having treasure and learns the secret. Off he drives, resolved to bring
back, not gold, but jewels. He gets in by saying, “Semsi mountain, Semsi
mountain, open!” He loads himself with precious stones, but has
forgotten the word, and cries only “Simeli mountain, Simeli mountain,
open!” The robbers return and charge him with having twice stolen from
them. He vainly protests, “It was not I,” and they cut his head off.


Here the twelve wild men represent the forty robbers, and, as in Ali
Baba, it is the hero’s brother who falls a victim to his own cupidity.
In the Arabian tale the hero climbs up into a tree when he sees the
robbers approach; in The Dummburg he hides himself behind a tree to
watch the proceedings of the monk; and in Grimm’s version he hides in a
tree. On this last-cited story W. Grimm has the following note: “It is
remarkable that this story, which is told in the province of Münster, is
told also in the Hartz, about The Dummburg, and closely resembles the
Eastern story of ‘The Forty Thieves,’ where even the rock Sesam, which
falls open at the words Semsi and Semeli, recalls the name of the
mountain in the German saga. This name for a mountain is, according to a
document in Pistorius (3, 642), very ancient in Germany. A mountain in
Grabfeld is called Similes, and in a Swiss song a Simeliberg is again
mentioned. This makes us think of the Swiss word ‘Sinel,’ for ‘sinbel,’
round. In Meier, No. 53, we find ‘Open, Simson.’ In Pröhle’s ‘Märchen
für die Jugend,’ No. 30, where the story is amplified, it is
Simsimseliger Mountain. There is also a Polish story which is very like
it.” Dr. Grimm is mistaken in saying that in the Arabian tale the “rock
Sesam” falls open at the words Semsi and Semeli: even in his own
version, as the brother finds to his cost, the word Simeli does not open
the rock. In Ali Baba the word is “Simsim” (Fr. Sesame), a species of
grain, which the brother having forgot, he cries out “Barley.” The
“Open, Simson” in Meier’s version and the “Semsi” in Grimm’s story are
evidently corruptions of “Simsim,” or “Samsam,” and seem to show that
the story did not become current in Germany through Galland’s work.


Dr. N. B. Dennys, in his “Folk-Lore of China, and its Affinities with
that of the Aryan and Semitic Races,” p. 134, cites a legend of the cave
Kwang-sio-foo in Kiang-si, which reflects part of the tale of Ali Baba:
There was in the neighbourhood a poor herdsman named Chang, his sole
surviving relative being a grandmother with whom he lived. One day,
happening to pass near the cave, he overheard some one using the
following words: “Shih mun kai, Kwai Ku hsen shêng lai,” Stone door,
open; Mr. Kwai Ku is coming. Upon this the door of the cave opened and
the speaker entered. Having remained there for some time he came out,
and saying, “Stone door, close; Mr. Kwai Ku is going,” the door again
closed and the visitor departed. Chang’s curiosity was naturally
excited, and having several times heard the formula repeated, he waited
one day until the genie (for such he was) had taken his departure and
essayed to obtain an entrance. To his great delight the door yielded,
and having gone inside he found himself in a romantic grotto of immense
extent. Nothing however in the shape of treasure met his eye, so having
fully explored the place he returned to the door, which shut at his
bidding, and went home. Upon telling his grandmother of his adventure
she expressed a strong wish to see the wonderful cavern; and thither
they accordingly went together the next day. Wandering about in
admiration of the scenery, they became separated, and Chang at length,
supposing that his grandmother had left, passed out of the door and
ordered it to shut. Reaching home, he found to his dismay that she had
not yet arrived. She must of course have been locked up in the cave, so
back he sped and before long was using the magic sentence to obtain
access. But alas! the talisman had failed, and poor Chang fell into an
agony of apprehension as he reflected that his grandmother would either
be starved to death or killed by the enraged genie. While in this
perplexity the genie appeared and asked him what was amiss. Chang
frankly told him the truth and implored him to open the door. This the
genie refused to do, but told him that his grandmother’s disappearance
was a matter of fate. The cave demanded a victim. Had it been a male,
every succeeding generation of his family would have seen one of its
members arrive at princely rank. In the case of a woman her descendants
would in a similar way possess power over demons. Somewhat comforted to
know that he was not exactly responsible for his grandmother’s death,
Chang returned home and in process of time married. His first son duly
became Chang tien shih (Chang, the Master of Heaven), who about A.D. 25
was the first holder of an office which has existed uninterruptedly to
the present day.


           _ALI KHWAJAH AND THE MERCHANT OF BAGHDAD—p. 405._

_Precocious Children._—See note at end of the Tale, p. 416.—In the
(apocryphal) Arabic Gospel of the Saviour’s Infancy is the following
passage:

“Now in the month of Adar, Jesus, after the manner of a King, assembled
the boys together. They spread their clothes on the ground and he sat
down upon them. Then they put on his head a crown made of flowers, and
like chamber-servants stood in his presence, on the right and on the
left, as if he was a king. And whoever passed by that way was forcibly
dragged by the boys, saying, ‘Come hither and adore the king; then go
away.’”

A striking parallel to this is found in the beginning of the Mongolian
Tales of Ardshi Bordshi—_i.e._, the celebrated Indian monarch, Rájá
Bhoja, as given in Miss Busk’s “Sagas from the Far East,” p. 252.

“Long ages ago there lived a mighty king called Ardshi Bordshi.[160] In
the neighbourhood of his residence was a hill where the boys who were
tending the calves were wont to pass the time by running up and down.
But they had also another custom, and it was that whichever of them won
the race was king for the day—an ordinary game enough, only that when it
was played in this place the Boy-King thus constituted was at once
endowed with such extraordinary importance and majesty that everyone was
constrained to treat him as a real king. He had not only ministers and
dignitaries among his playfellows, who prostrated themselves before him,
and fulfilled all his behests, but whoever passed that way could not
choose but pay him homage also.”[161]

This is followed by an analogous story to that of Alí Khwajah and the
Merchant of Baghdad, under the title of “The False Friend,” in which a
merchant on a trading journey entrusts a friend with a valuable jewel to
give to his wife on his return home, and the friend retaining it for his
own use suborns two men to bear witness that they saw him deliver it to
the merchant’s wife, so the King dismisses the suit. But the Boy-King
undertakes to try the case _de novo_; causes the two witnesses to be
confined in separate places, each with a piece of clay which he is
required to make into the form of the jewel, and the models are found to
be different one from the other, and both from the shape of the jewel as
described by the false friend. A similar story occurs in several Indian
collections, with a Kází instead of the Boy-King.


A curious instance of precocity is related in the Third Book of the
“Masnaví” (see _ante_, p. 556), of which Mr. E. H. Whinfield gives an
outline in his admirable and most useful abridgment of that work: The
boys wished to obtain a holiday, and the sharpest of them suggested that
when the master came into school each boy should condole with him on his
alleged sickly appearance. Accordingly, when he entered, one said, “O
master, how pale you are looking!” and another said, “You are looking
very ill to-day,” and so on. The master at first answered that there was
nothing the matter with him, but as one boy after another continued
assuring him that he looked very ill, he was at length deluded into
imagining that he must really be ill. So he returned to his house,
making the boys follow him here, and told his wife that he was not well,
bidding her mark how pale he was. His wife assured him he was not
looking pale, and offered to convince him by bringing a mirror; but he
refused to look at it, and took to his bed. He then ordered the boys to
begin their lessons; but they assured him that the noise made his head
ache, and he believed them, and dismissed them to their homes, to the
annoyance of their mothers.


Another example of juvenile cleverness is found in a Persian collection
of anecdotes entitled “Latá’yif At-Taw’áyif”, by ’Alí ibn Husain
Al-Va’iz Al-Káshifí: One day Núrshírván saw in a dream that he was
drinking with a frog out of the same cup. When he awoke he told this
dream to his vazír, but he knew not the interpretation of it. The king
grew angry and said, “How long have I maintained thee, that if any
difficulty should arise thou mightest unloose the knot of it, and if any
matter weighed on my heart thou shouldst lighten it? Now I give thee
three days, that thou mayest find out the meaning of this dream, and
remove the trouble of my mind; and if, within that space, thou art not
successful, I will kill thee.” The vazír went from the presence of
Núrshírván confounded and much in trouble. He gathered together all the
sages and interpreters of dreams, and told the matter to them, but they
were unable to explain it; and the vazír resigned his soul to death. But
this story was told in the city, and on the third day he heard that
there was a mountain, ten farsangs distant from the city, in which was a
cave, and in this cave a sage who had chosen the path of seclusion, and
lived apart from mankind, and had turned his face to the wall. The vazír
set out for his place of retirement, saying to himself, “Perhaps he will
be able to lay a plaster on my wound, and relieve it from the throbbings
of care.” So he mounted his horse, and went to find the sage. At the
moment he arrived at the hill a company of boys were playing together.
One of them cried out with a loud voice, “The vazír is running
everywhere in search of an interpreter, and all avails him nothing; now
the interpretation of the dream is with me, and the truth of it is clear
to me.” When these words reached the ears of the vazír he drew in the
reins, and calling the boy to him asked him, “What is thy name?” He
replied, “Buzurjmihr.” The vazír said, “All the sages and interpreters
have failed in loosing the knot of this difficulty—how dost thou, so
young in years, pretend to be able to do it.” He replied, “All the world
is not given to every one.” The vazír said, “If thou speakest truth,
explain.” Said the boy, “Take me to the monarch, that I may there
unloose the knot of this difficulty.” The vazír said, “If thou shouldst
fail, what then will come of it?” The boy replied, “I will give up my
own blood to the king, that they may slay me instead of thee.” The vazír
took the boy with him, returned, and told the whole matter to the king
and produced the boy in his presence. The king was very angry, and said,
“All the wise men and dream-interpreters of the court were unable to
satisfy me, and thou bringest me a child, and expectest that he shall
loose the knot of the difficulty.” The vazír bowed his head. And
Buzurjmihr said, “Look not upon his youth, but see whether he is able to
expound the mystery or not.” The king then said, “Speak.” He replied, “I
cannot speak in this multitude.” So those who were present retired, and
the monarch and the youth were left alone. Then said the youth, “A
stranger has found entrance into thy seraglio, and is dishonouring thee,
along with a girl who is one of thy concubines.” The king was much moved
at this interpretation, and looked from one of the wise men to another,
and at length said to the boy, “This is a serious matter thou hast
asserted; how shall this matter be proceeded in, and in what way fully
known?” The boy replied, “Command that every beautiful woman in thy
seraglio pass before thee unveiled, that the truth of this matter may be
made apparent.” The king ordered them to pass before him as the boy had
said, and considered the face of each one attentively. Among them came a
young girl extremely beautiful, whom the king much regarded. When she
came opposite to him, a shuddering as of palsy, fell upon her, and she
shook from head to foot, so that she was hardly able to stand. The king
called her to him, and threatening her greatly, bade her speak the
truth. She confessed that she loved a handsome slave and had privately
introduced him into the seraglio. The king ordered them both to be
impaled, and turning to the rewarding of Buzurjmihr, he made him the
object of his special bounty.

This story has been imported into the “History of the Seven Wise Masters
of Rome,” the European form of the Book of Sindibád, where the prince
discovers to his father the paramour of his stepmother, the empress, in
the person of a young man disguised as one of her maid-servants, and its
presence in the work is quite inconsistent with the lady’s violent lust
after the young prince. There is a similar tale in the Hebrew version,
“Mishlé Sandabar,” but the disguised youth is not detected. Vatsyayana,
in his “Káma Sutra” (or Aphorisms of Love), speaks of it as a common
practice in India thus to smuggle men into the women’s apartments in
female attire. In the Introduction to the “Kathá Sarit Ságara,”
Vararuchi relates how King Yogananda saw his queen leaning out of a
window and asking questions of a Bráhman guest that was looking up. That
trivial circumstance threw the king into a passion, and he gave orders
that the Bráhman should be put to death; for jealousy interferes with
discernment. Then as that Bráhman was being led off to the place of
execution in order that he should be put to death, a fish in the market
laughed aloud, though it was dead. The king hearing it immediately
prohibited for the present the execution of the Bráhman, and asked
Vararuchi the reason why the fish laughed. He desired time to think over
the matter and learned from the conversation of a rákshasí with her
children that the fish said to himself, “All the king’s wives are
dissolute, for in every part of his harem there are men dressed up as
women, and nevertheless while those escape, an innocent Bráhman is to be
put to death”; and this tickled the fish so that he laughed. Mr. Tawney
says that Dr. Liebrecht, in “Orient und Occident,” vol. i. p. 341,
compares this story with one in the old French romance of Merlin. There
Merlin laughs because the wife of Julius Cæsar had twelve young men
disguised as ladies-in-waiting. Benfey, in a note on Liebrecht’s
article, compares with the story of Merlin one by the Countess
d’Aulnois, No. 36 of Basile’s “Pentamerone,” Straparola, iv. 1, and a
story in the “Suka Saptatí.” In this some cooked fish laugh so that the
whole town hears them; the reason being the same as in the above story
and in that of Merlin. In a Kashmírí version, which has several other
incidents and bears a close resemblance to No. 4 of M. Legrand’s
“Recueil de Contes Populaires Grecs,” to the story of “The Clever Girl”
in Professor T. F. Crane’s “Italian Popular Tales,” and to a fable in
the Talmud, the king requires his vazír to inform him within six months
why the fish laughed in presence of the queen. The vazír sends his son
abroad until the king’s anger had somewhat cooled—for himself he expects
nothing but death. The vazír’s son learns from the clever daughter of a
farmer that the laughing of the fish indicates that there is a man in
the palace unknown to the king. He hastens home and tells his father the
secret, who at once communicates it to the king. All the female
attendants in the palace are called together and ordered to jump across
the mouth of a pit which he has caused to be dug: the man would betray
his sex in the trial. Only one person succeeded and he was found to be a
man.[162] Thus was the queen satisfied, and the faithful old vazír
saved, and his son, of course, married the farmer’s clever daughter.


                _PRINCE AHMAD AND THE PERI-BANU—p. 419._

How, in the name of all that is wonderful—how has it happened that this
ever-delightful tale is not found in any text of The Nights? And how
could it be supposed for a moment that Galland was capable of conceiving
such a tale—redolent, as it is, of the East and of Fairyland? Not that
Fairyland where “True Thomas,” otherwise ycleped Thomas the Rymer,
otherwise Thomas of Erceldoune, passed several years in the bewitching
society of the Fairy Queen, years which appeared to him as only so many
moments: but Eastern Fairyland, with all its enchanting scenes; where
priceless gems are as plentiful as “autumnal leaves which strow the
brooks in Vallombrosa”; where, in the royal banqueting-hall, illuminated
with hundreds of wax candles, in candelabra of the finest amber and the
purest crystal, are bands of charming damsels, fairest of form and
feature, who play on sweet-toned instruments which discourse
heart-ravishing strains of melody;—meanwhile the beauteous Perí Bánú is
seated on a throne adorned with diamonds and rubies and emeralds, and
pearls and other gems, and by her side is the thrice-happy Prince Ahmad,
who feels himself amply indemnified for the loss of his fair cousin
Princess Núr-en-Nihár. Auspicious was that day when he shot the arrow
which the enamoured Perí Bánú caused to be wafted through the air much
farther than arm of flesh could ever send the feathered messenger! And
when the Prince feels a natural longing to visit his father in the land
of mortals from time to time, behold the splendid cavalcade issue from
the portals of the fairy palace—the gallant jinn-born cavaliers, mounted
on superb steeds with gorgeous housings, who accompany him to his
father’s capital! But alas! the brightest sky is sooner or later
overcast—human felicity is—etc., etc. The old king’s mind is poisoned
against his noble son by the whisperings of a malignant and envious
minister—a snake in the grass—a fly in the ointment of Prince Ahmad’s
beatitude! And to think of the old witch gaining access to the fairy
palace—it was nothing less than an atrocity! And the tasks which she
induces the king to set Prince Ahmad to perform—but they are all
accomplished for him by his fairy bride. The only thing to regret—the
_fatal_ blemish in the tale—is the slaughter of the old king. Shabbar
did right well to dash into the smallest pieces the wicked vazír and the
foul witch and all who aided and abetted them, but “to kill a king!” and
a well-meaning if soft-headed king, who was, like many better men, led
astray by evil counsellors!


Having thus blown off the steam—I mean to say, having thus ventilated
the enthusiasm engendered by again reading the tale of Prince Ahmad and
the Perí Bánú, I am now in a fitter frame of mind for the business of
examining some versions and variants of it; for though the tale has not
yet been found in Arabic, it is known from the banks of Ganga to the
snow-clad hills and vales of Iceland—that strange land whose heart is
full of the fiercest fires. This tale, like that of Zayn al-Asnám,
comprises two distinct stories, which have no necessary connection, to
wit, (1) the adventures of the Three Princes, each in quest of the
rarest treasure, wherewith to win the beautiful Princess Núr-en-Nihár;
and (2) the subsequent history of the third Prince and the Perí Bánú.
The oldest known form of the story concludes with the recovery of the
lady—not from death’s door, but from a giant who had carried her off,
and the rival claims of the heroes to the hand of the lady are left
undecided: certainly a most unsatisfactory ending, though it must be
confessed the case was, as the priest found that of Paddy and the stolen
pullet, somewhat “abstruse.” In the “Vetálapanchavinsati,” or
Twenty-five Tales of a Vampyre (concerning which collection see Appendix
to the preceding volumes, p. 320), the fifth recital is to this purpose:

There was a Bráhman in Ajjayini (Oojein) whose name was Harisvamin; he
had a son named Devasvamin and a daughter far famed for her wondrous
beauty and rightly called Somaprabha (Moonlight). When the maiden had
attained marriageable age, she declared to her parents that she was only
to be married to a man who possessed heroism, or knowledge, or magic
power. It happened soon after this that Harisvamin was sent by the king
on state business to the Dekkan, and while there a young Brahman, who
had heard the report of Somaprabha’s beauty, came to him as a suitor for
the hand of his daughter. Harisvamin informed him of the qualifications
which her husband must possess, and the Bráhman answered that he was
endowed with magic power, and having shown this to the father’s
satisfaction, he promised to give him his daughter on the seventh day
from that time. In like manner, at home, the son and the wife of
Harisvamin had, unknown to each other, promised Somaprabha to a young
man who was skilled in the use of missile weapons and was very brave,
and to a youth who possessed knowledge of the past, the present, and the
future; and the marriage was also fixed to take place on the seventh
day. When Harisvamin returned home he at once told his wife and son of
the contract he had entered into with the young Bráhman, and they in
their turn acquainted him of their separate engagements, and all were
much perplexed what course to adopt in the circumstances.

On the seventh day the three suitors arrived, but Somaprabha was found
to have disappeared in some inexplicable manner. The father then
appealed to the man of knowledge, saying, “Tell me where my daughter is
gone?” He replied, “She has been carried off by a rákshasa to his
habitation in the Vindhya forest.” Then quoth the man of magic power,
“Be of good cheer, for I will take you in a moment where the possessor
of knowledge says she is.” And forthwith he prepared a magic chariot
that could fly through the air, provided all sorts of weapons, and made
Harisvamin, the man of knowledge, and the brave man enter it along with
himself, and in a moment carried them to the dwelling of the rákshasa.
Then followed a wonderful fight between the brave man and the rákshasa,
and in a short time the hero cut off his head, after which they took
Somaprabha into the chariot and quickly returned to Harisvamin’s house.
And now arose a great dispute between the three suitors. Said the man of
knowledge, “If I had not known where the maiden was, how could she have
been discovered?” The man of magic argued, “If I had not made this
chariot that can fly through the air, how could you all have come and
returned in a moment?” Then the brave man said, “If I had not slain the
rákshasa, how could the maiden have been rescued?” While they were thus
wrangling Harisvamin remained silent, perplexed in mind. The Vampyre,
having told this story to the King, demanded to know to whom the maiden
should have been given. The King replied, “She ought to have been given
to the brave man; for he won her by the might of his arm and at the risk
of his life, slaying that rakshasa in combat.” But the man of knowledge
and the man of magic power were appointed by the Creator to serve as his
instruments. The perplexed Harisvamin would have been glad, no doubt,
could he have had such a logical solution of the question as this of the
sagacious King Trivikramasena—such was his six-syllabled name.

The Hindí version (“Baytâl Pachísí”) corresponds with the Sanskrit, but
in the Tamil version the father, after hearing from each of the three
suitors an account of his accomplishments, promises to give his daughter
to “one of them.” Meanwhile a giant comes and carries off the damsel.
There is no difference in the rest of the story.


In the Persian Parrot-Book (“Tútí Náma”) where the tale is also
found[163]—it is the 34th recital of the loquacious bird in the India
Office MS. No. 2573, the 6th in B. Gerrans’ partial translation, 1792,
and the 22nd in Káderi’s abridgment—the first suitor says that his art
is to discover anything lost and to predict future events; the second
can make a horse of wood which would fly through the air; and the third
was an unerring archer.

In the Persian “Sindibád Náma,” a princess, while amusing herself in a
garden with her maidens, is carried away by a demon to his cave in the
mountains. The king proclaims that he will give his daughter in marriage
to whoever should bring her back. Four brothers offer themselves for the
undertaking: one is a guide who has travelled over the world; the second
is a daring robber, who would take the prey even from the lion’s mouth;
the third is a brave warrior; and the fourth is a skilful physician. The
guide leads the three others to the demon’s cave; the robber steals the
damsel while the demon is absent; the physician, finding her at death’s
door, restores her to perfect health; while the warrior puts to flight a
host of demons who sallied out of the cave.


The Sanskrit story has undergone a curious transformation among the
Kalmuks. In the 9th Relation of Siddhí Kúr (a Mongolian version of the
Vampyre Tales) six youths are companions: an astrologer, a smith, a
doctor, a mechanic, a painter, and a rich man’s son. At the mouth of a
great river each plants a tree of life and separates, taking different
roads, having agreed to meet again at the same spot, when if the tree of
any of them is found to be withered it will be a token that he is dead.
The rich man’s son marries a beautiful girl, who is taken from him by
the Khan, and the youth is at the same time put to death by the Khan’s
soldiers and buried under a great rock. When the five other young men
meet at the time and place appointed they find the tree of the rich
youth withered. Thereupon the astrologer by his art discovers where the
youth is buried; the smith breaks the rock asunder; the physician
restores the youth to life, and he tells them how the Khan had robbed
him of his wife and killed him. The mechanic then constructs a flying
chariot in the form of Garuda—the bird of Vishnu; the counterpart of the
Arabian rukh—which the painter decorates, and when it is finished the
rich youth enters it and is swiftly borne through the air to the roof of
the Khan’s dwelling, where he alights. The Khan, supposing the machine
to be a real Garuda, sends the rich youth’s own wife to the roof with
some food for it. Could anything have been more fortunate? The youth
takes her into the wooden Garuda and they quickly arrive at the place
where his companions waited for his return. When they beheld the
marvellous beauty of the lady the five skilful men instantly fell in
love with her, and began to quarrel among themselves, each claiming the
lady as his by right, and drawing their knives they fought and slew one
another. So the rich youth was left in undisputed possession of his
beautiful bride.


Coming back to Europe we find the primitive form of the story partly
preserved in a Greek popular version given in Hahn’s collection: Three
young men are in love with the same girl, and agree to go away and meet
again at a given time, when he who shall have learned the best craft
shall marry the girl. They meet after three years’ absence. One has
become a famous astronomer; the second is so skilful a physician that he
can raise the dead; and the third can run faster than the wind. The
astronomer looks at the girl’s star and knows from its trembling that
she is on the point of death. The physician prepares a medicine, which
the third runs off with at the top of his speed, and pours it down the
girl’s throat just in time to save her life—though, for the matter of
that, she might as well have died, since the second suitor was able to
resuscitate the dead!


But the German tale of the Four Clever Brothers, divested of the
preliminary incidents which have been brought into it from different
folk-tales, more nearly approaches the form of the original, as we may
term the Sanskrit story for convenience’ sake: A poor man sends his four
sons into the world, each to learn some craft by which he might gain his
own livelihood. After travelling together for some time they came to a
place where four roads branched off and there they separated, each going
along one of the roads, having agreed to meet at the same spot that day
four years. One learns to be an excellent astronomer and, on quitting,
his master gives him a telescope,[164] saying, “With this thou canst see
whatever takes place either on earth or in heaven, and nothing can
remain concealed from thee.” Another becomes a most expert thief. The
third learns to be a sharpshooter and gets from his master a _gun_ which
would never fail him: whatever he aimed at he was sure to hit. And the
youngest becomes a very clever tailor and is presented by his master
with a needle, which could sew anything together, hard or soft. At the
end of the four years they met according to agreement, and returning
together to their father’s house, they satisfied the old man with a
display of their abilities. Soon after this the king’s daughter was
carried off by a dragon, and the king proclaimed that whoever brought
her back should have her to wife. This the four clever brothers thought
was a fine chance for them, and they resolved to liberate the king’s
daughter. The astronomer looked through his telescope and saw the
princess far away on a rock in the sea and the dragon watching beside
her. Then they went and got a ship from the king, and sailed over the
sea till they came to the rock, where the princess was sitting and the
dragon was asleep with his head in her lap. The hunter feared to shoot
lest he should kill the princess. Then the thief crept up the rock and
stole her from under the dragon so cleverly that the monster did not
awake. Full of joy, they hurried off with her and sailed away. But
presently the dragon awoke and missing the princess flew after them
through the air. Just as he was hovering above the ship to swoop down
upon it, the hunter shot him through the heart and he tumbled down dead,
but falling on the vessel his carcass smashed it into pieces. They laid
hold of two planks and drifted about till the tailor with his wonderful
needle sewed the planks together, and then they collected the fragments
of the ship which the tailor also sewed together so skilfully that their
ship was again seaworthy, and they soon got home in safety. The king was
right glad to see his daughter and told the four brothers they must
settle among themselves which of them should have her to wife. Upon this
they began to wrangle with one another. The astronomer said, “If I had
not seen the princess, all your arts would have been useless, so she is
mine.” The thief claimed her, because he had rescued her from the
dragon; the hunter, because he had shot the monster; and the tailor,
because he had sewn the ship together and saved them all from drowning.
Then the king decreed: “Each of you has an equal right, and as all of
you cannot have her, none of you shall; but I will give to each as a
reward half a kingdom,” with which the four clever brothers were well
contented.


The story has assumed a droll form among the Albanians, in which no
fewer than seven remarkably endowed youths play their parts in rescuing
a king’s daughter from the Devil, who had stolen her out of the palace.
One of the heroes could hear far off; the second could make the earth
open; the third could steal from any one without his knowing it; the
fourth could throw an object to the end of the world; the fifth could
erect an impregnable tower; the sixth could bring down anything however
high it might be in the air; and the seventh could catch whatever fell
from any height. So they set off together, and after travelling a long
way, the first lays his ear to the ground. “I hear him,” he says. Then
the second causes the earth to open, and down they go, and find the
Devil sound asleep, snoring like thunder, with the princess clasped to
his breast. The third youth steals her without waking the fiend. Then
the fourth takes off the Devil’s shoes and flings them to the end of the
world, and off they all go with the princess. The Devil wakes and goes
after them, but first he must find his shoes—though what need he could
have for shoes it is not easy to say; but mayhap the Devil of the
Albanians is _minus_ horns, hoof, and tail! This gives the fifth hero
time to erect his impregnable tower before the fiend returns from the
end of the world. When he comes to the tower he finds all his skill is
naught, so he has recourse to artifice, which indeed has always been his
_forte_. He begs piteously to be allowed one last look of his beloved
princess. They can’t refuse him so slight a favour, and make a tiny hole
in the tower wall, but, tiny as it is, the Devil is able to pull the
princess through it and instantly mounts on high with her. Now is the
marksman’s opportunity: he shoots at the fiend and down he comes, “like
a hundred of bricks” (as we _don’t_ say in the classics), at the same
time letting go the princess, who is cleverly caught by the seventh
hero, and is none the worse for her aerial journey. The princess chooses
the seventh for her husband, as he is the youngest and best looking, but
her father the king rewards his companions handsomely and all are
satisfied.

The charming history of Prince Ahmad and his fairy bride is “conspicuous
from its absence” in all these versions, but it reappears in the Italian
collection of Nerucci: “Novelle Popolari Montalesi,” No. xl., p. 335,
with some variations from Galland’s story:

A certain king had three daughters, and a neighbouring king had three
sons, who were much devoted to the chase. They arrived at the city of
the first king, and all fell in love with his daughter[165] and wanted
to marry her. Her father said it was impossible to content them all, but
if one of them would ask her, and if he pleased her, he would not oppose
the marriage. They could not agree which it was to be, and her father
proposed that they should all travel, and the one who at the end of six
months brought the most beautiful and wonderful present should marry
her. They set out in different directions and at the end of six months
they meet by appointment at a certain inn. The eldest brings a magic
carpet on which he is wafted whithersoever he will. (It goes a hundred
miles in a day.) The second brings a telescope which shows whatever is
happening a hundred miles away. The youngest brings three stones of a
grape, one of which put into the mouth of a person who is dying restores
him to life. They at once test the telescope by wishing to see the
princess, and they find her dying—at the last gasp indeed. By means of
the carpet they reach the palace in time to save her life with one of
the grape-stones. Each claims the victory. Her father, almost at his
wits’ end to decide the question, decrees that they shall shoot with the
crossbow, and he who shoots farthest shall win the princess. The second
brother shoots farther than the first; but the youngest shoots so far
that they cannot find where his arrow has fallen. He persists in the
search and falls down a deep hole, from the bottom of which he can
scarcely see a speck of the sky. There an ogre (_mago_) appears to him
and also a bevy of young fairy maidens of extreme beauty. They lead him
to a marvellous palace, give him refreshments and provide him with a
room and a bed, where every night one of the fairies bears him company.
He spends his days in pleasure until the king’s daughter is almost
forgotten. At last he begins to think he ought to learn what has become
of his brothers, his father, and the lady. The chief fairy however,
tries to dissuade him, warning him that evil will befall him if he
return to his brothers. He persists, and she tells him that the princess
is given to his eldest brother, who reigns in his father-in-law’s stead,
the latter having died, and that his own father is also dead; and she
warns him again not to go. But he goes. His eldest brother says that he
thought he was dead “in that hole.” The hero replies that, on the
contrary, he fares so well with a bevy of young and beautiful fairies
that he does not even envy him, and would not change places with him for
all the treasures in the world. His brother, devoured by rage, demands
that the hero bring him within eight days a pavilion of silk which will
lodge three hundred soldiers, otherwise he will destroy his palace of
delights. The hero, affrighted, returns to the fairies and relates his
brother’s threats. The chief fairy says, “Didn’t I tell you so? You
deserve that I should leave you to your fate; but, out of pity for your
youth, I will help you.” And he returns to his brother within eight days
with the required pavilion. But his brother is not satisfied: he demands
another silk pavilion for 600 soldiers, else he will lay waste the abode
of the fairies. This pavilion he also receives from the fairies, and it
was much finer and richer than the first. His brother’s demands rise
when he sees that the hero does not find any difficulty in satisfying
him. He now commands that a column of iron 12 cubits (_braccia_) high be
erected in the midst of a piazza. The chief of the fairies also complies
with this requirement. The column is ready in a moment, and as the hero
cannot carry it himself, she gives it to the guardian ogre, who carries
it upon his shoulders, and presents himself, along with the hero, before
the eldest brother. As soon as the latter comes to see the column set in
the piazza the ogre knocks him down and reduces him to pulp
(_cofaccino_, lit., a cake), and the hero marries his brother’s widow
and becomes king in his stead.


Almost suspiciously like the story in Galland in many of the details is
an Icelandic version in Powell and Magnússon’s collection, yet I cannot
conceive how the peasantry of that country could have got it out of “Les
Mille et une Nuits.” There are two ways by which the story might have
reached them independently of Galland’s work: the Arabs and Persians
traded extensively in former times with Scandinavia, through Russia, and
this as well as other Norse tales of undoubtedly Eastern extraction may
have been communicated by the same channel[166]; or the Norsemen may
have taken it back with them from the South of Europe. But however this
may be, the Icelandic version is so quaint in its diction, has such a
fresh aroma about it, and such novel particulars, that I feel justified
in giving it here in full:

It is said that once, in the days of old, there was a good and wealthy
king who ruled over a great and powerful realm; but neither his name nor
that of his kingdom is given, nor the latter’s whereabouts in the world.
He had a queen, and by her three sons, who were all fine youths and
hopeful, and the king loved them well. The king had taken, too, a king’s
daughter from a neighbouring kingdom, to foster her, and she was brought
up with his sons. She was of the same age as they, and the most
beautiful and accomplished lady that had ever been seen in those days,
and the king loved her in no way less than his own sons. When the
princess was of age, all the king’s sons fell in love with her, and
things even went so far that they all of them engaged her at once, each
in his own name. Their father, being the princess’s foster-father, had
the right of bestowing her in marriage, as her own father was dead. But
as he was fond of all his sons equally the answer he gave them was, that
he left it to the lady’s own choice to take for a husband whichever of
the brothers she loved the most. On a certain day he had the princess
called up to him and declared his will to her, telling her that she
might choose for a husband whichever she liked best of his sons. The
princess answered, “Bound I am in duty to obey your words. But as to
this choice of one of your sons to be my husband I am in the greatest
perplexity; for I must confess they are all equally dear to me, and I
cannot choose one before the other.” When the king heard this answer of
the princess he found himself in a new embarrassment, and thought a long
while what he could do that should be equally agreeable to all parties,
and at last hit upon the following decision of the matter: that all his
sons should after a year’s travel return each with a precious thing, and
that he who had the finest thing should be the princess’s husband. This
decision the king’s sons found to be a just one and they agreed to meet
after one year at a certain castle in the country, whence they should go
all together, to the town, in order to lay their gifts before the
princess. And now their departure from the country was arranged as well
as could be.

First the tale tells of the eldest, that he went from one land to
another, and from one city to another, in search of a precious thing,
but found nowhere anything that at all suited his ideas. At last the
news came to his ears that there was a princess who had so fine a
spy-glass that nothing so marvellous had ever been seen or heard of
before. In it one could see all over the world, every place, every city,
every man, and every living being that moved on the face of the earth,
and what every living thing in the world was doing. Now the prince
thought that surely there could be no more precious thing at all likely
to turn up for him than this telescope; he therefore went to the
princess, in order to buy the spy-glass if possible. But by no means
could he prevail upon the king’s daughter to part with her spy-glass,
till he had told her his whole story and why he wanted it, and used all
his powers of entreaty. As might be expected, he paid for it well.
Having got it he returned home, glad at his luck, and hoping to wed the
king’s daughter.

The story next turns to the second son. He had to struggle with the same
difficulties as his elder brother. He travelled for a long while over
the wide world without finding anything at all suitable, and thus for a
time he saw no chance of his wishes being fulfilled. Once he came into a
very well-peopled city; and went about in search of precious things
among the merchants, but neither did he find nor even see what he
wanted. He heard that there lived a short way from the town a dwarf, the
cleverest maker of curious and cunning things. He therefore resolved to
go to the dwarf in order to try whether he could be persuaded to make
him any costly thing. The dwarf said that he had ceased to make things
of that sort now and he must beg to be excused from making anything of
the kind for the prince. But he said that he had a piece of cloth, made
in his younger days, with which, however, he was very unwilling to part.
The king’s son asked the nature and use of the cloth. The dwarf
answered, “On this cloth one can go all over the world, as well through
the air as on the water. Runes are on it, which must be understood by
him who uses it.” Now the prince saw that a more precious thing than
this could scarcely be found, and therefore asked the dwarf by all means
to let him have the cloth. And although the dwarf would not at first
part with his cloth at all, yet at last, hearing what would happen if
the king’s son did not get it, he sold it to him at a mighty high price.
The prince was truly glad to have got the cloth, for it was not only a
cloth of great value, but also the greatest of treasures in other
respects, having gold-seams and jewel-embroidery. After this he returned
home, hoping to get the best of his brothers in the contest for the
damsel.

The youngest prince left home last of all the three brethren.[167] First
he travelled from one village to another in his own country, and went
about asking for precious things of every merchant he met on his way, as
also on all sides where there was the slightest hope of his getting what
he wanted. But all his endeavours were in vain, and the greater part of
the year was spent in fruitless search till at last he waxed sad in mind
at his lot. At this time he came into a well-peopled city, whereto
people were gathered from all parts of the world. He went from one
merchant to another till at last he came to one who sold apples.[168]
This merchant said he had an apple that was of so strange a nature that
if it was put into the arm-hole of a dying man he would at once return
to life. He declared that it was the property of his family and had
always been used in the family as a medicine. As soon as the king’s son
heard this he would by all means have the apple, deeming that he would
never be able to find a thing more acceptable to the king’s daughter
than this. He therefore asked the merchant to sell him the apple and
told him all the story of his search, and that his earthly welfare was
based upon his being in no way inferior to his brethren in his choice of
precious things for the princess. The merchant felt pity for the prince
when he had told him his story, so much so that he sold him the apple,
and the prince returned home, glad and comforted at his happy luck.

Now nothing more is related of the three brothers till they met together
at the place before appointed. When they were all together each related
the striking points in his travelling. All being here, the eldest
brother thought that he would be the first to see the princess and find
out how she was; and therefore he took forth his spy-glass and turned it
towards the city. But what saw he? The beloved princess lying in her
bed, in the very jaws of death! The king, his father, and all the
highest nobles of the court were standing round the bed in the blackness
of sorrow, sad in their minds, and ready to receive the last sigh of the
fair princess. When the prince saw this lamentable sight he was grieved
beyond measure. He told his brothers what he had seen and they were no
less struck with sorrow than himself. They began bewailing loudly,
saying that they would give all they had never to have undertaken this
journey, for then at least they would have been able to perform the last
offices for the fair princess. But in the midst of these bewailings the
second brother bethought him of his cloth, and remembered that he could
get to the town on it in a moment. He told this to his brothers and they
were glad at such good and unexpected news. Now the cloth was unfolded
and they all stepped on to it, and in one moment it was high in the air
and in the next inside the town. When they were there they made all
haste to reach the room of the princess, where everybody wore an air of
deep sadness. They were told that the princess’s every breath was her
last. Then the youngest brother remembered his wonderful apple, and
thought that it would never be more wanted to show its healing power
than now. He therefore went straight into the bed-room of the princess
and placed the apple under her right arm. And at the same moment it was
as if a new breath of life flushed through the whole body of the
princess; her eyes opened, and after a little while she began to speak
to the folk around her. This and the return of the king’s sons caused
great joy at the court of the king.

Now some time went by until the princess was fully recovered. Then a
large meeting was called together, at which the brothers were bidden to
show their treasures. First the eldest made his appearance, and showing
his spy-glass told what a wonderful thing it was, and also how it was
due to this glass that the life of the fair princess had ever been
saved, as he had seen through it how matters stood in the town. He
therefore did not doubt for a moment that his gift was the one which
would secure him the fair princess.

Next stepped forward the second brother with the cloth. Having described
its powers, he said, “I am of opinion that my brother’s having seen the
princess first would have proved of little avail had I not had the
cloth, for thereupon we came so quickly to the place to save the
princess: and I must declare that to my mind, the cloth is the chief
cause of the king’s daughter’s recovery.”

Next stepped forward the youngest prince and said, as he laid the apple
before the people, “Little would the glass and the cloth have availed to
save the princess’s life had I not had the apple. What could we brothers
have profited in being only witnesses of the beloved damsel’s death?
What would this have done, but awaken our grief and regret? It is due
alone to the apple that the princess is yet alive; wherefore I find
myself the most deserving of her.”

Then a long discussion arose in the meeting, and the decision at last
came out, that all the three things had worked equally towards the
princess’s recovery, as might be seen from the fact that if one had been
wanting the others would have been worthless. It was therefore declared
that, as all gifts had equal claim to the prize, no one could decide to
whom the princess should belong.

After this the king planned another contrivance in order to come to some
end of the matter. He soon should try their skill in shooting, and he
who proved to be the ablest shooter of them should have the princess. So
a mark was raised and the eldest brother stepped forward with his bow
and quiver. He shot, and no great distance from the mark fell his arrow.
After that stepped forward the second brother, and his arrow well-nigh
reached the mark. Last of all stepped forward the third and youngest
brother, and his arrow seemed to go farther than the others, but in
spite of continued search for many days it could not be found. The king
decided in this matter that his second son should marry the princess.
They were married accordingly, and as the king, the father of the
princess, was dead, his daughter now succeeded him, and her husband
became king over his wife’s inheritance. They are now out this tale, as
is also the eldest brother, who settled in life abroad.

The youngest brother stayed at home with his father, highly displeased
at the decision the latter had given concerning the marriage of the
princess. He was wont to wander about every day where he fancied his
arrow had fallen, and at last he found it fixed in an oak in the forest,
and saw that it had by far outstripped the mark. He now called together
witnesses to the place where the arrow was, with the intention of
bringing about some justice in his case. But of this there was no
chance, for the king said he could by no means alter his decision. At
this the king’s son was so grieved that he went well-nigh out of his
wits. One day he busked for a journey, with the full intention of never
again setting foot in his country. He took with him all he possessed of
fine and precious things, nobody knowing his rede, not even his father,
the king.

He went into a great forest and wandered about there many days, without
knowing whither he was going, and at last, yielding to hunger and
weariness, he found himself no longer equal to travelling; so he sat
down under a tree, thinking that his sad and sorrowful life would here
come to a close. But after he had sat thus awhile he saw ten people, all
in fine attire and bright armour, come riding towards the stone. On
arriving there they dismounted, and having greeted the king’s son begged
him to go with them, and mount the spare horse they had with them,
saddled and bridled in royal fashion. He accepted this offer and mounted
the horse, and after this they rode on their way till they came to a
large city. The riders dismounted and led the prince into the town,
which was governed by a young and beautiful maiden-queen. The riders led
the king’s son at once to the virgin-queen, who received him with great
kindness. She told him that she had heard of all the ill-luck that had
befallen him and also that he had fled from his father. “Then,” quoth
she, “a burning love for you was kindled in my breast and a longing to
heal your wounds. You must know that it was I who sent the ten riders to
find you out and bring you hither. I give you the chance of staying
here; I offer you the rule of my whole kingdom, and I will try to
sweeten your embittered life;—this is all that I am able to do.”
Although the prince was in a sad and gloomy state of mind, he saw
nothing better than to accept this generous offer and agree to the
marriage with the maiden-queen. A grand feast was made ready, and they
were married according to the ways of that country. And the young king
took at once in hand the government, which he managed with much ability.

Now the story turns homewards, to the old king. After the disappearance
of his son he became sad and weary of life, being, as he was, sinking in
age. His queen also had died sometime since. One day it happened that a
wayfaring woman came to the palace. She had much knowledge about many
things and knew how to tell many tales.[169] The king was greatly
delighted with her storytelling and she got soon into his favour. Thus
some time passed. But in course of time the king fell deeply in love
with this woman, and at last married her and made her his queen, in
spite of strong dissent from the court. Shortly this new queen began
meddling in the affairs of the government, and it soon turned out that
she was spoiling everything by her redes, whenever she had the chance.
Once it happened that the queen spoke to the king and said, “Strange
indeed it seems to me that you make no inquiry about your youngest son’s
running away: smaller faults have been often chastised than that. You
must have heard that he has become king in one of the neighbouring
kingdoms, and that it is a common tale that he is going to invade your
dominions with a great army whenever he gets the wished-for opportunity,
in order to avenge the injustice he thinks he has suffered in that
bygone bridal question. Now I want you to be the first in throwing this
danger off-hand.” The king showed little interest in the matter and paid
to his wife’s chattering but little attention. But she contrived at
length so to speak to him as to make him place faith in her words, and
he asked her to give him good redes, that this matter might be arranged
in such a way as to be least observed by other folk. The queen said,
“You must send men with gifts to him and pray him to come to you for an
interview, in order to arrange certain political matters before your
death, as also to strengthen your friendship with an interchange of
marks of kindred. And then I will give you further advice as to what to
do.” The king was satisfied with this and equipped his messengers
royally.

Then the messengers came before the young king, saying they were sent by
his father, who wished his son to come and see him without delay. To
this the young king answered well, and lost no time in busking his men
and himself. But when his queen knew this she said he would assuredly
rue this journey. The king went off, however, and nothing is said of his
travels till he came to the town where his father lived. His father
received him rather coldly, much to the wonder and amazement of his son.
And when he had been there a short while his father gave him a good
chiding for having run away. “Thereby,” said the old king, “you have
shown full contempt of myself and caused me such sorrow as well-nigh
brought me to the grave. Therefore, according to the law, you have
deserved to die; but as you have delivered yourself up into my power and
are, on the other hand, my son, I have no mind to have you killed. But I
have three tasks for you which you must have performed within a year, on
pain of death. The first is that you bring me a tent which will hold one
hundred men but can yet be hidden in the closed hand;[170] the second,
that you shall bring me water that cures all ailments;[171] and the
third, that you shall bring me hither a man who has not his like in the
whole world.” “Show me whither I shall go to obtain these things,” said
the young king. “That you must find out for yourself,” replied the
other.

Then the old king turned his back upon his son and went off. Away went
also the young king, no farewells being said, and nothing is told of his
travels till he came home to his realm. He was then very sad and
heavy-minded, and the queen seeing this asked him earnestly what had
befallen him and what caused the gloom on his mind. He declared that
this did not regard her. The queen answered, “I know that tasks must
have been set you which it will not prove easy to perform. But what will
it avail you to sit sullen and sad on account of such things? Behave as
a man, and try if these tasks may not indeed be accomplished.”

Now the king thought it best tell the queen all that had happened and
how matters stood. “All this,” said the queen, “is the rede of your
stepmother, and it would be well indeed if she could do you no more harm
by it than she has already tried to do. She has chosen such difficulties
as she thought you would not easily get over, but I can do something
here. The tent is in my possession, so there is that difficulty over.
The water you have to get is a short way hence but very hard of
approach. It is in a well and the well is in a cave hellishly dark. The
well is watched by seven lions and three serpents, and from these
monsters nobody has ever returned alive; and the nature of the water is
that it has no healing power whatever unless it be drawn when all these
monsters are awake. Now I will risk the undertaking of drawing the
water.” So the queen made herself ready to go to the cave, taking with
her seven oxen and three pigs. When she came before the cave she ordered
the oxen to be killed and thrown before the lions and the pigs before
the serpents. And while these monsters tore and devoured the carcases
the queen stepped down into the well and drew as much water as she
wanted. And she left the cave just in time, as the beasts finished
devouring their bait. After this the queen went home to the palace,
having thus got over the second trial.

Then she came to her husband and said, “Now two of the tasks are done,
but the third and indeed the hardest, of them is left. Moreover, this is
one you must perform yourself, but I can give you some hints as to
whither to go for it. I have got a half brother who rules over an island
not far from hence. He is three feet high, and has one eye in the middle
of his forehead. He has a beard thirty ells long, stiff and hard as a
hog’s bristles. He has a dog’s snout and cat’s ears, and I should
scarcely fancy he has his like in the whole world. When he travels he
flings himself forward on a staff of fifty ells’ length, with a pace as
swift as a bird’s flight. Once when my father was out hunting he was
charmed by an ogress who lived in a cave under a waterfall, and with her
he begat this bugbear. The island is one-third of my father’s realm, but
his son finds it too small for him. My father had a ring, the greatest
gem, which each of us would have, sister and brother, but I got it,
wherefore he has been my enemy ever since. Now I will write him a letter
and send him the ring, in the hope that that will soften him and turn
him in our favour. You shall make ready to go to him, with a splendid
suite, and when you come to his palace-door you shall take off your
crown and creep bareheaded over the floor up to his throne. Then you
shall kiss his right foot and give him the letter and the ring. And if
he orders you to stand up, you have succeeded in your task, if not, you
have failed.”

So he did everything that he was bidden by the queen, and when he
appeared before the one-eyed king he was stupefied at his tremendous
ugliness and his bugbear appearance; but he plucked up courage as best
he could and gave him the letter and the ring. When the king saw the
letter and the ring his face brightened up, and he said, “Surely my
sister finds herself in straits now, as she sends me this ring.” And
when he had read the letter he bade the king, his brother-in-law, stand
up, and declared that he was ready to comply with his sister’s wish and
to go off at once without delay. He seized his staff and started away,
but stopped now and then for his brother-in-law and his suite, to whom
he gave a good chiding for their slowness.[172] They continued thus
their march until they came to the palace of the queen, the ugly king’s
sister; but when they arrived there the one-eyed king cried with a
roaring voice to his sister, and asked her what she wished, as she had
troubled him to come so far from home. She then told him all the matter
as it really was and begged him to help her husband out of the trial put
before him. He said he was ready to do so, but would brook no delay.

Now both kings went off, and nothing is told of their journey until they
came to the old king. The young king announced to his father his coming
and that he brought with him what he had ordered last year. He wished
his father to call together a _ting_,[173] in order that he might show
openly how he had performed his tasks. This was done, and the king and
the queen and other great folk were assembled. First the tent was put
forward and nobody could find fault with it. Secondly the young king
gave the wondrous healing water to his father. The queen was prayed to
taste it and see if it was the right water, taken at the right time. She
said that both things were as they should be. Then said the old king,
“Now the third and heaviest of all the tasks is left: come, and have it
off your hands quickly.” Then the young king summoned the king with one
eye, and as he appeared on the _ting_ he waxed so hideous that all the
people were struck with fright and horror, and most of all the king.
When this ugly monarch had shown himself for a while there he thrust his
staff against the breast of the queen and tilted her up into the air on
the top of it, and then thrust her against the ground with such force
that every bone in her body was broken. She turned at once into the most
monstrous troll ever beheld. After this the one-eyed king rushed away
from the _ting_ and the people thronged round the old king in order to
help him, for he was in the very jaws of death from fright. The healing
water was sprinkled on him and refreshed him.

After the death of the queen, who was killed of course when she turned
into a troll, the king confessed that all the tasks which he had given
his son to perform were undeserved and that he had acted thus, egged on
by the queen. He called his son to him and humbly begged his forgiveness
for what he had done against him. He declared he would atone for it by
giving into his hand all that kingdom, while he himself only wished to
live in peace and quiet for the rest of his days. So the young king sent
for his queen and for the courtiers whom he loved most. And, to make a
long story short, they gave up their former kingdom to the king with one
eye, as a reward, for his lifetime, but governed the realm of the old
king to a high age, in great glee and happiness.


           _THE TWO SISTERS WHO ENVIED THEIR CADETTE—p. 491._

Legends of castaway infants are common to the folk-lore of almost all
countries and date far back into antiquity. The most usual mode of
exposing them—to perish or be rescued, as chance might direct—is placing
them in a box and launching them into a river. The story of Moses in the
bulrushes, which must of course be familiar to everybody, is not only
paralleled in ancient Greek and Roman legends (_e.g._ Perseus, Cyrus,
Romulus), but finds its analogue in Babylonian folk-lore.[174] The
leading idea of the tale of the Envious Sisters, who substituted a
puppy, a kitten, and a rat for the three babes their young sister the
queen had borne and sent the little innocents away to be destroyed,
appealing, as it does, to the strongest of human instincts, is the theme
of many popular fictions from India to Iceland. With a malignant
mother-in-law in place of the two sisters, it is the basis of a mediæval
European romance entitled “The Knight of the Swan,” and of a similar
tale which occurs in “Dolopathus,” the oldest version of the “Seven Wise
Masters,” written in Latin prose about the year 1180: A king while
hunting loses his way in a forest and coming to a fountain perceives a
beautiful lady, whom he carries home and duly espouses, much against the
will of his mother, Matabrun. Some time after, having to lead his
knights and men-at-arms against an enemy, he commits the queen, now far
advanced in pregnancy, to the care of his mother, who undertakes that no
harm shall befall her during his absence. The queen is delivered at one
birth of seven lovely children, six boys and one girl, each of whom has
a silver chain round its neck.[175] The king’s mother plots with the
midwife to do away with the babes and place seven little dogs in bed
beside the poor queen. She gives the children to one of her squires,
charging him either to slay them or cast them into the river. But when
the squire enters a forest his heart relents and laying the infants,
wrapped in his mantle, on the ground, he returns and tells his mistress
that he has done her behest. When the king returns, the wicked Matabrun
accuses his wife to him of having had unnatural commerce with a dog, and
shows him the seven puppies. The scene which follows presents a striking
likeness to that in the Arabian story after the birth of the third
child. King Oriant is full of wrath, and at once assembles his
counsellors, “dukes, earls, knights and other lords of the realm, with
the bishop and prelate of the church,” and having stated the case, the
bishop pleads in favour of the queen, and finally induces him not to put
her to death, but confine her in prison for the rest of her life.
Meanwhile the children are discovered by an aged hermit, who takes them
to his dwelling, baptises them, and brings them up. After some years it
happens that a yeoman in the service of the king’s mother, while hunting
in the forest, perceives the seven children with silver chains round
their necks seated under a tree. He reports this to Matabrun, who
forthwith sends him back to kill the children and bring her their silver
chains. He finds but six of them, one being absent with the hermit, who
was gone alms-seeking; and, touched by their innocent looks, he merely
takes off the silver chains, whereupon they become transformed into
pretty white swans and fly away. How the innocence of the queen is
afterwards vindicated by her son Helyas—he who escaped being changed
into a swan—and how his brethren and sister are restored to their proper
forms would take too long to tell, and indeed the rest of the romance
has no bearing on the Arabian tale.[176]

In another mediæval work, from which Chaucer derived his Man of Law’s
Tale, the Life of Constance, by Nicholas Trivet, an English Dominican
monk, the saintly heroine is married to a king, in whose absence at the
wars his mother plots against her daughter-in-law. When Constance gives
birth to a son, the old queen causes letters to be written to the king,
in which his wife is declared to be an evil spirit in the form of a
woman and that she had borne, not a human child, but a hideous monster.
The king, in reply, commands Constance to be tended carefully until his
return. But the traitress contrives by means of letters forged in the
king’s name to have Constance and her son sent to sea in a ship, where
she meets with strange adventures. Needless to say, the old queen’s
wicked devices ultimately come to naught.


The story of the Envious Sisters as told by Galland was known in Italy
(as Dr. W. Grimm points out in the valuable notes to his _K. u. H. M._)
many generations before the learned Frenchman was born, through the
“Pleasant Nights” of Straparola. That Galland took his story from the
Italian novelist it is impossible to believe, since, as Mr. Coote has
observed, Straparola’s work “was already known in France for a couple of
centuries through a popular French translation” and Galland would at
once have been an easily convicted copyist. Moreover, the story,
imitated from Straparola, by Madame d’Aulnois, under the title of “La
Belle Etoile et Le Prince Cheri,” had been published before Galland’s
last two volumes appeared, and both those writers had the same
publisher. It is clear, therefore, that Galland neither invented the
story nor borrowed it from Straparola or Madame d’Aulnois. Whence, then,
did he obtain it?—that is the question. His Arabic source has not yet
been discovered, but a variant of the world-wide story is at the present
day orally current in Egypt and forms No. xi. of “Contes Arabes
Modernes. Recueillis et Traduits par Guillaume Spitta Bey” (Paris,
1883), of which the following is a translation:


                         MODERN ARABIC VERSION.

There was once a King who said to his vazír, “Let us take a walk through
the town during the night.” In walking about they came to a house where
they heard people talking, and stopping before it they heard a girl say,
“If the King would marry me, I would make him a tart (or pie) so large
that it would serve for him and his army.” And another said, “If the
King would marry me, I would make him a tent that would shelter him and
his whole army.” Then a third said, “If the King would marry me, I would
present him with a daughter and a son, with golden hair, and hair of
hyacinth colour alternately; if they should weep, it would thunder, and
if they should laugh, the sun and moon would appear.” The King on
hearing these words went away, and on the following day he sent for the
three girls and made the contract of marriage with them. He passed the
first night with the one who had spoken first, and said to her, “Where
is the tart that would be sufficient for me and my army?” She answered
him, “The words of the night are greased with butter: when day appears
they melt away.” The next night he slept with the second, saying to her,
“Where is the tent which would be large enough for me and my army?” She
answered him, “It was an idea that came into my mind.” So the King
ordered them to go down into the kitchen among the slaves. He passed the
third night with the little one, saying, “Where are the boy and girl
whose hair is to be like gold and hyacinth?” She replied, “Tarry with me
nine months and nine minutes.” In due time she became pregnant, and on
the night of her confinement the midwife was sent for. Then the other
wife of the King went and met her in the street and said to her, “When
she has been delivered, how much will the King give you?” She answered,
“He will issue orders to give me fifteen mahbúbs.”[177] The other said,
“Behold, here are forty mahbúbs from me. Take these two little blind
puppies, and when she has given birth to a son and a daughter, take them
and place them in a box and put these two puppies in their stead, and
remove the children.” The midwife took the money and the little dogs and
went away. When the King’s new wife was safely delivered, the midwife
did according to her agreement with the other wife of the King, and then
went before him and said, “I fear to speak.” He answered, “Speak; I
grant you pardon.” Then said she, “Your wife has been delivered of two
dogs.” Then the King gave orders, saying, “Take and cover her with tar,
and bind her to the staircase, and let any one who may go up or down
spit upon her,” which was done accordingly. And the midwife carried away
the children and threw them into the river.

Now there was a fisherman who lived on an island with his wife, and they
had no children. On the morrow he went to the water-side to fish and
found a box driven on to the shore. He carried it home to his wife, and
placing it between them, he said, “Listen, my dear, I am going to make a
bargain with you: if this contains money, it will be for me; if it
contains children, they will be for you.” She replied, “Very well, I am
quite content.” They then opened the box and found in it a baby boy and
girl. The baby boy had his finger in the baby girl’s mouth and the
latter had her finger in his mouth, and they were sucking one another’s
fingers. The woman took them out of the box and prayed to Heaven, “Make
milk come into my breasts, for the sake of these little ones.” And by
the Almighty power the milk came into her breasts, and she continued to
bring them up until they had reached the age of twelve years.

One day the fisherman caught two large white fish, and the youth said to
him, “These two white fish are pretty, my father; I will take and sell
them, or carry them as a present to the King.” So the boy took them and
went away. He sat down with them in the Fish Market: people gathered
about him, and those who did not look at the fish looked at the boy. The
King also came past, and seeing the two white fish and the boy he called
to him, saying, “What is the price, my lad?” The boy answered, “They are
a present for you, my prince.” Thereupon the King took him to the palace
and said to him, “What is your name?” and he replied, “My name is
Muhammed, and my father is the fisherman who lives on the island.” Then
the King gave him thirty mahbúbs, saying, “Go away, discreet one, and
every day return here to my house.” So the lad returned home and gave
the money to his father. The next morning two more white fish were
caught and Muhammed carried them to the King, who took him into his
garden and made him sit down opposite him. The King remained there
drinking his wine and looking on the beauty of the youth: love for the
lad entered his heart and he remained with him two hours.[178] Then he
gave orders to provide the youth with a horse for his use in coming to
and returning from his house, and Muhammed mounted the horse and rode
home.

When he visited the King the following day he was again led into the
garden, and the other wife of the King, looking from her window saw the
lad and recognised him. She at once sent for the old midwife, and said
to her, “I bade you kill the children, yet they are still living upon
the earth.” Replied the old woman, “Have patience with me, O Queen, for
three days, and I will kill him.” Then she went away, and having
procured a pitcher, tied it to her girdle, bewitched it, mounted on it,
and struck it with a whip, and forthwith the pitcher flew away with her
and descended upon the island near the fisherman’s cottage.[179] She
found the young girl, Muhammed’s sister, sitting alone, and thus
addressed her: “My dear, why are you thus alone and sad? Tell your
brother to fetch you the rose of Arab Zandyk, that it may sing to you
and amuse you, instead of your being thus lonely and low-spirited.” When
her brother came home, he found her displeased and asked her, “Why are
you vexed, my sister?” She replied, “I should like the rose of Arab
Zandyk, that it may sing to me and amuse me.” “At your command,” said
he; “I am going to bring it to you.”

He mounted his horse and travelled into the midst of the desert, where
he perceived an ogress seated and pounding wheat with a millstone on her
arm. Alighting, he came up to her and saluted her saying, “Peace be with
you, mother ogress.” She replied, “If your safety did not prevail over
your words, I would eat the flesh from off your bones.” Then she asked,
“Where are you going, Muhammed the Discreet?” He answered, “I am in
quest of the singing rose of Arab Zandyk.” She showed him the way,
saying, “You will find before the palace a kid and a dog fastened, and
before the kid a piece of meat and before the dog a bunch of clover:
lift the meat and throw it to the dog, and give the clover to the
kid.[180] Then the door will open for you: enter and pluck the rose;
return immediately, without looking behind you, because, if you do so,
you will be bewitched and changed into stone, like the enchanted ones
who are there.” Muhammed the Discreet carefully followed the
instructions of the ogress: plucked the rose, went out by the door, put
back the meat before the kid and the clover before the dog, and carried
the rose home to his sister.

Then he again went to the house of the King, who saluted him and said,
“Where hast thou been, discreet one? Why hast thou absented thyself so
long from my house?” And he answered, “I was sick, O King.” Then the
King took him by the hand and entered the garden, and both sat down. The
wife of the King saw them seated together, and sending for the midwife
she angrily asked, “Why do you befool me, old woman?” She replied, “Have
patience with me for three days more, O Queen.” Then she mounted her
pitcher, and arriving at the house of the young girl, she said, “Has thy
brother fetched thee the rose?” “Yes,” answered the girl, “but it does
not sing.” Quoth the old woman, “It only sings with its looking-glass,”
and then went away. When the youth returned he found his sister vexed,
and he asked, “Why are you so sad, my sister?” She replied, “I should
like the looking-glass of the rose, by means of which it sings.” Quoth
he, “I obey your orders, and will bring it to you.”

Muhammed the Discreet rode on till he came to the ogress, who asked him
what he wanted. “I wish,” said he, “the looking-glass of the rose.”
“Well, go and do with the dog and kid as you did before. When you have
entered the garden you will find some stairs; go up them, and in the
first room you come to you will find the mirror suspended. Take it, and
set out directly, without looking behind you. If the earth shake with
you, keep a brave heart, otherwise you will have gone on a fruitless
errand.” He went and did according to the instructions of the ogress. In
taking away the mirror the earth shook under him, but he made his heart
as hard as an anvil and cared nothing for the shaking. But when he
brought the mirror to his sister and she had placed it before the rose
of Arab Zandyk, still the rose sang not.

When he visited the King, he excused his absence, saying, “I was on a
journey with my father, but here am I, returned once more.” The King led
him by the hand into the garden, and the wife of the King again
perceiving him she sent for the midwife and demanded of her, “Why do you
mock me again, old woman?” Quoth she, “Have patience with me for three
days, O Queen; this time will be the beginning and the end.” Then she
rode on her pitcher to the island, and asked the young girl, “Has thy
brother brought thee the mirror?” “Yes; but still the rose sings not.”
“Ah, it only sings with its mistress, who is called Arab Zandyk,” and so
saying she departed. Muhammed the Discreet on his return home again
found his sister disconsolate, and in answer to his inquiries she said,
“I desire Arab Zandyk, mistress of the rose and of the mirror, that I
may amuse myself with her when you are absent.”

He at once mounted his horse and rode on till he came to the house of
the ogress. “How fares it with you, mother ogress?” “What do you want
now, Muhammed the Discreet?” “I wish Arab Zandyk, mistress of the rose
and of the mirror.” Quoth the ogress, “Many kings and pashas have not
been able to bring her: she has changed them all into stone; and thou
art small and poor—what will become of thee?” “Only, my dear mother
ogress, show me the way, and I shall bring her, with the permission of
God.” Said the ogress: “Go to the west side of the palace; there you
will find an open window. Bring your horse under the window and then cry
in a loud voice, ‘Descend, Arab Zandyk!’” Muhammed the Wary went
accordingly, halted beneath the window, and cried out, “Descend, Arab
Zandyk!” She looked from her window scornfully and said, “Go away, young
man.” Muhammed the Discreet raised his eyes and found that half of his
horse was changed into stone. A second time cried he in a loud voice,
“Descend, Arab Zandyk!” She insulted him and said, “I tell you, go away,
young man.” He looked again and found his horse entirely enchanted and
half of himself as well. A third time he cried in a loud voice, “I tell
you, descend, Arab Zandyk!” She inclined herself half out of the window,
and her hair fell down to the ground. Muhammed the Discreet seized it,
twined it round his hand, pulled her out, and threw her on the earth.
Then said she, “Thou art my fate, Muhammed the Wary; relinquish thy hold
of my hair, by the life of thy father the King.” Quoth he, “My father is
a fisherman.” “Nay,” she replied, “thy father is the King; by-and-by I
will tell thee his history.” Quoth he, “I will leave hold of your hair
when you have set at liberty the enchanted men.” She made a sign with
her right arm and they were at once set free. They rushed headlong
towards Muhammed the Prudent to take her from him, but some of them
said, “Thanks to him who hath delivered us: do you still wish to take
her from him?” So they left him and went their several ways.

Arab Zandyk then took him by the hand and led him into her castle. She
gave her servants orders to build a palace in the midst of the isle of
the fisherman, which being accomplished, she took Muhammed the Discreet
and her soldiers and proceeded thither, and then said she to him, “Go to
the King, and when he asks where you have been, reply, ‘I have been
preparing my nuptials and invite you, with your army.’” He went to the
King and spoke as Arab Zandyk had instructed him, upon which the King
laughed and said to his vazír, “This young man is the son of a fisherman
and comes to invite me, with my army!” Quoth the vazír, “On account of
your love for him, command that the soldiers take with them food for
eight days, and we also will take our provender for eight days.” The
King having issued orders to that effect, and all being ready, they all
set out, and arriving at the house of the fisherman’s son, they found a
large number of beautiful tents erected for the soldiers’ accommodation
and the King was astonished. Then came the feasting—one dainty dish
being quickly followed by another still more delicious, and the soldiers
said among themselves, “We should like to remain here for two years to
eat meat and not be obliged to eat only beans and lentils.” They
continued there forty days until the nuptials were completed, well
content with their fare. Then the King departed with his army. The King
sent a return invitation, and Arab Zandyk commanded her soldiers to set
out in order to precede her to the capital. When the soldiers arrived
they filled the town so that there was scarcely sufficient house-room
for them. Then Arab Zandyk set out accompanied by Muhammed and his
sister. They entered the royal palace, and as they ascended the
staircase Arab Zandyk perceived the mother of Muhammed covered with tar
and in chains, so she threw over her a cashmere shawl and covered her.
The servants who were standing about said to Arab Zandyk, “Why do you
cover her with a shawl? Spit upon her when you go up and also when you
come down.” She asked, “Why so?” Said they, “Because she gave birth to
two dogs.” Then they went to the King and said, “A lady amongst the
strangers has thrown a cashmere shawl over her who is fastened to the
staircase, and has covered her without spitting upon her.” The King went
and met Arab Zandyk and asked, “Why have you covered her?” Said she,
“Give orders that she be conducted to the bath, cleansed, and dressed in
a royal robe, after which I will relate her history.” The King gave the
required orders, and when she was decked in a royal robe they conducted
her into the divan. Then said the King to Arab Zandyk, “Tell me now the
history.” Said she, “Listen, O King, the fisherman will speak,” and then
Arab Zandyk said to the fisherman, “Is it true that your wife gave birth
to Muhammed and his sister at one time or at separate times?” He
replied, “My wife has no children.” “Where, then, did you get them?”
Quoth he, “I went one morning to fish, and found them in a box on the
bank of the river. I took them home, and my wife brought them up.” Arab
Zandyk then said, “Hast thou heard, O King?” and turning to his wife,
“Are these thy children, O woman?” Said she, “Tell them to uncover their
heads that I may see them.” When they uncovered their heads, they were
seen to have alternately hair of gold and hair of hyacinth. The King
then asked her, “Are these thy children?” “Tell them to weep: if it
thunders and rains, they are my children, and if it does not thunder or
rain, they are not mine.” The children wept, and it thundered and
rained. Then he asked her again, “Are these thy children?” And she said,
“Tell them to laugh: if the sun and moon appear, they are my children.”
They told them to laugh, and the sun and moon appeared. Then he asked
her once more, “Are these thy children?” and she said, “They are my
children!” Then the King appointed the fisherman vazír of his right
hand, and commanded that the city be illuminated for forty whole days;
on the last day he caused his other wife and the old witch (the midwife)
to be led out and burnt, and their ashes to be dispersed to the winds.


The variations between this and Galland’s story are very considerable,
it must be allowed, and though the fundamental outline is the same in
both, they should be regarded as distinct versions of the same tale, and
both are represented by Asiatic and European stories. Here the fairy
Arab Zandyk plays the part of the Speaking-Bird, which, however, has its
equivalent in the preceding tale (No. x.) of Spitta Bey’s collection:

A man dies, leaving three sons and one daughter. The sons build a palace
for their sister and mother. The girl falls in love with some one who is
not considered as an eligible _parti_ by the brothers. By the advice of
an old woman, the girl asks her brothers to get her the singing
nightingale, in hope that the bird would throw sand on them and thus
send them down to the seventh earth. The eldest before setting out on
this quest leaves his chaplet with his younger brother, saying that if
it shrank it would be a token that he was dead. Journeying through the
desert some one tells him that many persons have been lost in their
quest of the singing nightingale: he must hide himself till he sees the
bird go into its cage and fall asleep, then shut the cage and carry it
off. But he does not wait long enough, and tries to shut the cage while
the bird’s feet are still outside, so the bird takes up sand with its
feet and throws it on him, and he descends to the seventh earth. The
second brother, finding the chaplet shrunk, goes off in his turn,
leaving his ring with the youngest brother—if it contract on the finger
it will betoken his death. He meets with the same fate as his elder
brother, and now the youngest, finding the ring contract, sets out,
leaving with his mother a rose, which will fade if he dies. He waits
till the singing nightingale is asleep, and then shuts him in the cage.
The bird in alarm implores to be set at liberty, but the youth demands
first the restoration of his brothers, and the bird tells him to scatter
on the ground some sand from beneath the cage, which he does, when only
a crowd of negroes and Turks (? Tátárs) appear, and confess their
failure to capture the singing nightingale. Then the bird bids him
scatter white sand, which being done, 500 whites and the two lost
brothers appear and the three return home with the bird, which sings so
charmingly in the palace that all the people come to listen to it
outside.—The rest of this story tells of the amours of the girl and a
black, who, at her instigation, kills her eldest brother, but he is
resuscitated by the Water of Life.


Through the Moors, perhaps, the story found its way among the wandering
tribes (the Kabail) of Northern Africa, who have curiously distorted its
chief features, though not beyond recognition, as will be seen from the
following abstract of their version, from M. Rivière’s collection of
“Contes Populaires de la Kabylie du Djurdjura” (Paris, 1882):


                            KABA’IL VERSION.

A man has two wives, one of whom is childless, the other bears in
succession seven sons and a daughter. The childless wife cuts off the
little finger of each and takes them one by one into the forest, where
they are brought up. An old woman comes one day and tells the daughter
that if her brothers love her they will give her a bat. The girl cries
to her brothers for a bat, and one of them consults an aged man, who
sends him to the sea-shore. He puts down his gun under a tree, and a bat
from above cries out, “What wild beast is this?” The youth replies, “You
just go to sleep, old fellow.” The bat comes down, touches the gun and
it becomes a piece of wood; touches the youth and he becomes
microscopic. This in turn happens to all the brothers, after which the
girl goes to the sea-shore, and when she is under the tree the bat calls
out, “What wild beast is this?” But she does not answer; she waits till
the bat is asleep, then climbs the tree, and catching the “bird”
(_sic_), asks it where her brothers are, and on her promising to clothe
the bat in silver and gold, the creature touches the guns and the
brothers, and they are restored to their proper forms. The bat then
conducts them to their father’s house, where he asks lodgings and is
refused by the childless wife. The husband takes them in however and
kills a sheep for their entertainment. The childless wife poisons the
meat, and the bat warns the children, bidding them try a cock, a dog,
and a cat with it, which is done, and the animals die. The brothers now
decline the food and ask that their sister be allowed to prepare
somewhat for them to eat. Then the bat touches the eyes of the children,
who immediately recognise their parents, and great is the rejoicing. The
childless wife is torn in pieces by being dragged at the tail of a wild
horse, and the bat, having been dressed in silver and gold, is sent back
to his tree.


Sir Richard has given (p. 491, note) some particulars of the version in
Hahn’s collection of modern Greek tales, which generally corresponds
with Galland’s story. There is a different version in M. Legrand’s
“Recueil de Contes Populaires Grecs” (Paris, 1881), which combines
incidents in the modern Arabic story of Arab Zandyk with some of those
in Galland and some which it has exclusively:


                         MODERN GREEK VERSION.

Three daughters of an old woman disobey the order of the King, not to
use a light at night because of the scarcity of oil, and work on as
usual. The King in going round the town to see if his order is obeyed
comes to their house, and overhears the eldest girl express a wish that
she were married to the royal baker, so that she should have plenty of
bread. The second wishes the King’s cook for her husband, to have royal
meals galore. The youngest wishes to have the king himself, saying she
would bear him, as children, “Sun,” “Moon,” and “Star.” Next day the
King sends for them and marries each as she had wished. When the
youngest brings forth the three children, in successive years, her
mother-in-law, on the advice of a “wise woman,” (? the midwife)
substitutes a dog, a cat, and a serpent, and causes the infants to be
put in a box and sent down the river, and the queen is disgraced.

An old monk, in the habit of going down to the river and taking one fish
daily, one day gets two fishes, and asks God the reason. In reply he is
told that he will henceforth have two mouths to feed. Presently, he
finds the box with the infant “Sun” in it and takes him home. Next year
he gets one day three fishes, and finds the infant “Moon”; and the third
year he has four fishes one day and finds the baby girl, “Star.” When
the children have grown up the monk sends them to town in order that
they should learn the ways of the world. The eldest hearing a Jew
offering a box for sale, saying, “Whoever buys this box will be sorry
for it, and he who does not buy it will be equally sorry,” purchases it
and on taking it home finds his sister weeping for the golden apple
which the “wise woman” (who had found them out) told her she must get.
He opens the Jew’s box and finds a green and winged horse in it. The
horse tells him how to get the golden apple from the forty guardian
dragons. They go and get it. After this the old woman comes again and
tells the sister that she must get the golden bough, on which all the
birds in the world sing, and this also is procured by the help of the
green and winged horse. A third time the old trot comes and says to the
girl, “You must get Tzitzinæna to explain the language of birds.” The
eldest brother starts off on the horse, and arriving at the dwelling of
Tzitzinæna he calls her name, whereupon he, with the horse, is turned to
stone up to the knees; and calling again on her they become marble to
the waist. Then the youth burns a hair he had got from the monk, who
instantly appears, calls out “Tzitzinæna,” and she comes forth, and with
the water of immortality the youth and horse are disenchanted. After the
youth has returned home with Tzitzinæna, the King sees the three
children and thinks them like those his wife had promised to bear him.
He invites them to dinner, at which Tzitzinæna warns them of poisoned
meats, some of which they give to a dog they had brought with them, and
the animal dies on the spot. They ask the King to dine at their house
and he goes. Tzitzinæna by clapping her hands thrice procures a royal
feast for him; then, having induced the King to send for his wife, she
tells the whole story of the mother-in-law’s evil doings, and shows the
King that “Sun,” “Moon” and “Star” are his own children. The King’s
mother and the old woman are torn to pieces.


In Albania, as might be expected, our story is orally current in a form
which resembles both the Greek version, as above, and the tale of Arab
Zandyk, more especially the latter; and it may have been derived from
the Turks, though I am not aware that the story has been found in
Turkish. This is an abstract of the second of M. Dozon’s “Contes
Albanais” (Paris, 1881), a most entertaining collection:


                           ALBANIAN VERSION.

There was a King who had three daughters. When he died, his successor
proclaimed by the crier am order prohibiting the use of lights during
the night of his accession. Having made this announcement, the King
disguised himself and went forth alone. After walking about from place
to place he came to the abode of the daughters of the late King, and
going up close to it he overheard their conversation. This is what the
eldest was saying, “If the King took me for his wife, I would make him a
carpet upon which the whole of his army could be seated and there would
still be room to spare.” Then said the second, “If the King would take
me for his wife, I would make him a tent under which the whole army
could be sheltered, and room would still remain.” Lastly, the youngest
said, “If the King should espouse me, I would bring him a son and a
daughter with a star on their foreheads and a moon on their shoulders.”

The King, who had not lost a word of this conversation, sent for the
sisters on the morrow and married all three.[181] The eldest, as she had
declared, made a carpet on which the whole army was seated, and yet
there was room to spare. The second, in her turn, made a tent under
which all the army found shelter. As to the youngest, after a time, she
grew great, and her confinement approached. The day she was delivered
the King was absent, and on his return he inquired what she had given
birth to. The two elder sisters replied, “A little cat and a little
mouse.” On hearing this the King ordered the mother to be placed upon
the staircase, and commanded every one who entered to spit upon her.

Now she had given birth to a boy and a girl, but her two sisters, after
having shut them up in a box, sent them away by a servant to be exposed
on the bank of the river, and a violent wind afterwards arising, the box
was drifted to the other side. There was a mill on that side, where
dwelt an old man and his wife. The old man having found the box brought
it home. They opened it, and discovered the boy and the girl, with a
star on their foreheads and a moon on their shoulders. Astonished
thereat, they took them out and brought the children up as well as they
could.

Time passed away; the old woman died, and soon after came the turn of
the old man. Before dying he called the youth to him and said, “Know, my
son, that in such a place is a cave where there is a bridle which
belongs to me. That bridle is thine; but avoid opening the cave before
forty days have elapsed, if you wish the bridle to do whatever you
command.” The forty days having expired, the young man went to the cave,
and on opening it found the bridle. He took it in his hand and said to
it, “I want two horses,” and in a moment two horses appeared. The
brother and sister mounted them, and in the twinkling of an eye they
arrived in their father’s country. There the young man opened a café,
and his sister remained secluded at home.

As the café was the best in the country, the King came to hear of it,
and when he entered it he saw the youth, who had a star on his forehead.
He thought him so beautiful [and lingered so long] that he returned late
to the palace, when he was asked why he had tarried so late. He replied,
that a young lad had opened a café, and was so beautiful that he had
never seen his equal; and, what was most extraordinary, there was a star
on his brow. The sisters no sooner heard these words of the King than
they understood that he referred to their younger sister’s son. Full of
rage and spite, they quickly devised a plan of causing his death. What
did they do? They sent to his sister an old woman, who said to her, “Thy
brother, O my daughter, can hardly love thee, for he is all day at the
café and has a good time of it, while he leaves thee here alone. If he
truly loves thee, tell him to bring thee a flower from the Belle of the
Earth, so that thou too mayest have something to divert thyself with.”
On returning home that evening the young man found his sister quite
afflicted, and asked the cause of her grief. “Why should I not grieve?”
said she. “You leave me alone, secluded here, while you go about as your
fancy directs. If you love me, go to the Belle of the Earth and bring a
flower, so that I too may be amused.” “Console yourself,” replied he,
and at once gave orders to the bridle. An enormous horse appeared, which
he mounted and set off.

As he journeyed, a lamia presented herself before him, and said, “I have
a great desire to eat thee, but thou also excitest pity, and so I leave
thee thy life.” The young man then inquired of her how he could find the
Belle of the Earth. “I know nothing about it, my son,” replied the
lamia; “but go ask my second sister.” So he rode off and came to her,
and she drew near, intending to devour him, but seeing him so beautiful,
she asked where he was going. He told his story and said, “Do you know
the way to the Belle of the Earth?” But she in her turn sent him to her
elder sister, who on seeing him rushed out to eat him, but, like the
others, was touched by his comeliness and spared him; and when he
inquired after the Belle of the Earth, “Take this handkerchief,” said
she, “and when thou arrivest at her abode, use it to open the door.
Inside thou wilt see a lion and a lamb; throw brains to the lion and
grass to the lamb.” So he went forward and did all the lamia advised. He
tried the door and it opened; threw brains to the lion and grass to the
lamb, and they allowed him to pass. He went in and pulled a flower, and
he had no sooner done so than he found himself at his own door.

Great was his sister’s joy as she began playing with the flower. But on
the morrow the two sisters sent the old woman to her again. “Has he
brought thee the flower?” she asked. “Yes, he has.” “Thou art content,”
said the old hag; “but if thou hadst the handkerchief of the Belle of
the Earth, it would be quite another thing.” When her brother came home
he found her in tears, and in reply to his inquiries, “What pleasure,”
said she—“what pleasure can this flower give me? So long as I have not
the handkerchief of the Belle of the Earth I shall not be happy.” Then
he, desirous that his sister should have no cause for grief, mounted his
horse, and in the same manner as he had obtained the flower, possessed
himself of the handkerchief and brought it home to his sister.

On the morrow, when the young man had gone to his café, the old witch
again visited his sister, who informed her that her brother had brought
her the handkerchief. “How happy,” said the sorceress—“how happy thou
art in having a brother who brings thee whatever thou desirest! But if
thou dost wish to spend thy life like a pasha’s wife, thou must also
obtain the owner of that handkerchief.”

To please his sister, the young man once more sets out, and coming to
the eldest of the lamiæ and telling her his errand, “O my son,” said
she, “thou canst go there, but as to carrying away the mistress of the
handkerchief, that is not so easy. However, try in some way to obtain
possession of her ring, for therein lies all her power.” So he continues
his journey, and after passing the lion and the lamb he comes to the
chamber of the Belle of the Earth. He finds her asleep, and approaching
her noiselessly draws the ring from her finger, upon which she awakes
and discovering that she had not her ring, there was no alternative but
to submit to his will. They set out together and in the twinkling of an
eye arrived at the young man’s house. On perceiving them the sister was
overcome with joy.

It happened next day that the King again went to the café, and on his
return home ordered supper to be prepared, saying that he had invited
the young man and all his friends. The sisters instructed the cooks to
put poison in the food, which they did accordingly. At nightfall the
young man arrived, accompanied by the Belle of the Earth, whom he had
married, and his sister. But none of them, notwithstanding the
entreaties of the King, would touch any food, for the Belle of the Earth
had revealed to them that the meats were poisoned: they merely ate a few
mouthfuls out of the King’s mess.

Supper over, the King invited each one to tell a story, and when it came
to the young man’s turn, he recounted the whole story of his adventures.
Then the King recognised in him the son of his fairest wife, whom,
deceived by the lies of her sisters, he had exposed on the staircase. So
he instantly ordered the two sisters to be seized and cut to pieces, and
he took back his wife. As for the young man, he became his heir. He grew
old and prospered.


The points of difference between, and the relative merits of, Galland’s
story and Straparola’s


                            ITALIAN VERSION,

and whence both were probably obtained, will be considered later on, as
several other versions or variants remain to be noticed or cited, before
attempting a comparative analysis, not the least interesting of which is
a


                            BRETON VERSION.

In “Melusine,” for 1878, col. 206 ff., M. Luzel gives a Breton version,
under the title of “Les Trois Filles du Boulanger; ou, L’Eau qui danse,
la Pomme qui chante, et l’Oiseau de Vérité,” which does not appear to
have been derived from Galland’s story, although it corresponds with it
closely in the first part. A prince overhears the conversation of three
daughters of an old baker, who is a widower. The eldest says that she
loves the king’s gardener; the second, that she loves the king’s valet;
and the youngest says the prince is her love, to whom she would bear two
boys, each with a star of gold on his brow, and a girl, with a star of
silver. The father chides them for talking nonsense and sends them to
bed. The following day the prince sends for the girls to come to the
palace one after the other, and having questioned them, tells the
youngest that he desires to see her father. When she delivers the royal
message the old baker begins to shake in his shoes, and exclaims, “I
told you that your frivolous remarks would come to the ears of the
prince, and now he sends for me to have me punished, without a doubt.”
“No, no, dear father; go to the palace and fear nothing.” He goes, and,
to be brief, the three marriages duly take place. The sisters married to
the royal gardener and valet soon become jealous of the young queen, and
when they find she is about to become a mother they consult a fairy, who
advises them to gain over the midwife and get her to substitute a little
dog and throw the child into the river, which is done accordingly, when
the first son with the gold star is born. For the second son, a dog is
also substituted, and the king, as on the former occasion, says, “God’s
will be done: take care of the poor creature.” But when the little girl
with the silver star is smuggled away and the king is shown a third
puppy as the queen’s offspring, he is enraged. “They’ll call me the
father of dogs!” he exclaims, “and not without cause.” He orders the
queen to be shut up in a tower and fed on bread and water. The children
are picked up by a gardener, who has a garden close to the river, and
brought up by his wife as their own. In course of time the worthy couple
die, and the king causes the children to be brought to the palace (how
he came to know of them the story-teller does not inform us), and as
they were very pretty and had been well brought up, he was greatly
pleased with them. Every Sunday they went to grand mass in the church,
each having a ribbon on the brow to conceal the stars. All the folk were
astonished at their beauty.

One day, when the king was out hunting, an old woman came into the
kitchen of the palace, where the sister happened to be, and exclaimed,
“O how cold I am,” and she trembled and her teeth chattered. “Come near
the fire, my good mother,” said the little girl. “Blessings on you, my
child! How beautiful you are! If you had but the Water that dances, the
Apple that sings, and the Bird of Truth, you’d not have your equal on
the earth.” “Yes, but how to obtain these wonders?” “You have two
brothers who can procure them for you,” and so saying, the old woman
went away. When she told her brothers what the old woman had said, the
eldest before setting out in quest of the three treasures leaves a
poignard which as long as it can be drawn out of its sheath would
betoken his welfare. One day it can’t be drawn out, so the second
brother goes off, leaving with his sister a rosary, as in Galland. When
she finds the beads won’t run on the string, she goes herself, on
horseback, as a cavalier. She comes to a large plain, and in a hollow
tree sees a little old man with a beard of great length, which she trims
for him. The old man tells her that 60 leagues distant is an inn by the
roadside, she may enter it, and having refreshed herself with food and
drink, leave her horse there, and promise to pay on her return. After
quitting the inn she will see a very high mountain, to climb which will
require hands and feet, and she’ll have to encounter a furious storm of
hail and snow; it will be bitterly cold: take care and not lose courage,
but mount on. She’ll see on either side a number of stone
pillars—persons like herself who have been thus transformed because they
lost heart. On the summit is a plain, bordered with flowers, blooming as
in May. She will see a gold seat under an apple-tree and should sit down
and make it appear as if asleep; presently the bird will descend from
branch to branch and enter the cage; quickly close it on the bird, for
it is the Bird of Truth. Cut a branch of the tree, with an apple on it,
for it is the Apple that sings. Lastly, there is also the fountain of
Water which dances: fill a flask from the fountain and in descending the
hill sprinkle a few drops of the water on the stone pillars and the
enchanted young princes and knights will come to life again. Such were
the instructions of the little old man, for which the princess thanked
him and went on her way. Arriving at the summit of the mountain, she
discovered the cage and sitting down under the tree feigned to be
asleep, when presently the merle entered and she at once rose up and
closed it. The merle, seeing that he was a prisoner, said, “You have
captured me, daughter of the King of France. Many others have tried to
seize me, but none has been able till now, and you must have been
counselled by some one.” The princess then cut a branch of the tree with
an apple on it, filled her flask with water from the fountain that
danced, and as she went down the hill sprinkled a few drops on the stone
pillars, which were instantly turned into princes, dukes, barons, and
knights, and last of all her two brothers came to life, but they did not
know her. All pressed about the princess, some saying, “Give me the
Water which dances,” others, “Give me the Apple which sings,” and
others, “Give me the Bird of Truth.” But she departed quickly, carrying
with her the three treasures, and passing the inn where she had left her
horse she paid her bill and returned home, where she arrived long before
her brothers. When at length they came home she embraced them, saying,
“Ah, my poor brothers! How much anxiety you have caused me! How long
your journey has lasted! But God be praised that you are back here
again.” “Alas, my poor sister, we have indeed remained a long time away,
and after all have not succeeded in our quest. But we may consider
ourselves fortunate in having been able to return.” “How!” said the
princess, “do you not bring me the Water which dances, the Apple which
sings, and the Bird of Truth?” “Alas! my poor sister, a young knight who
was a stranger to us carried them all away—curse the rascal.” The old
king who had no children (or rather, who believed he had none) loved the
two brothers and the sister very much and was highly delighted to see
them back again. He caused a grand feast to be prepared, to which he
invited princes, dukes, marquises, barons, and generals. Towards the end
of the banquet the young girl placed on the table the Water, the Apple,
and the Bird, and bade each do its duty, whereupon the Water began to
dance, and the Apple began to sing, and the bird began to hop about the
table, and all present, in ecstasy, mouth and eyes wide open, looked and
listened to these wonders. Never before had they seen such a sight. “To
whom belong these marvels?” said the king when at length he was able to
speak. “To me, sire,” replied the young girl. “Is that so?” said the
King. “And from whom did you get them?” “I myself procured them with
much trouble,” answered she. Then the two brothers knew that it was
their sister who had delivered them. As to the king, he nearly lost his
head in his joy and admiration. “My crown and my kingdom for your
wonders, and you yourself, my young girl, shall be my queen,” he
exclaimed. “Patience for a little, sire,” said she, “until you have
heard my bird speak—the Bird of Truth, for he has important things to
reveal to you. My little bird, now speak the truth.” “I consent,”
replied the bird; “but let no one go out of this room,” and all the
doors were closed. The old sorceress of a midwife and one of the king’s
sisters-in-law were present, and became very uneasy at hearing these
words. “Come now, my bird,” then said the girl, “speak the truth,” and
this is what the bird said: “Twenty years ago, sire, your wife was shut
up in a tower, abandoned by everybody, and you have long believed her to
be dead. She has been accused unjustly.” The old midwife and the king’s
sister-in law now felt indisposed and wished to leave the room. “Let no
one depart hence,” said the king. “Continue to speak the truth, my
little bird.” “You have had two sons and a daughter, sire,” the bird
went on to say—“all three born of your lady, and here they are! Remove
their bandages and you will see that each of them has a star on the
forehead.” They removed the bandages and saw a gold star on the brow of
each of the boys and a silver star on the girl’s brow. “The authors of
all the evil,” continued the bird, “are your two sisters-in-law and this
midwife—this sorceress of the devil. They have made you believe that
your wife only gave birth to little dogs, and your poor children were
exposed on the Seine as soon as they were born. When the midwife—that
sorceress of hell—learned that the children had been saved and
afterwards brought to the palace, she sought again to destroy them.
Penetrating one day into the palace, disguised as a beggar, and
affecting to be perishing from cold and hunger, she incited in the mind
of the princess the desire to possess the Dancing-Water, the
Singing-Apple, and the Bird of Truth—myself. Her two brothers went, one
after the other, in quest of these things, and the sorceress took very
good care that they should never return. Nor would they have returned,
if their sister had not succeeded in delivering them after great toil
and trouble.” As the bird ended his story, the king became unconscious,
and when he revived he went himself to fetch the queen from the tower.
He soon returned with her to the festive chamber, holding her by the
hand. She was beautiful and gracious as ever, and having ate and drank a
little, she died on the spot. The king, distraught with grief and anger,
ordered a furnace to be heated, and threw into it his sister-in-law and
the midwife—“ce tison de l’enfer!” As to the princess and her two
brothers, I think they made good marriages all three, and as to the
bird, they do not say if it continues still to speak the truth;—“mais je
présume que oui, puisque ce n’était pas un homme!”


It would indeed be surprising did we not find our story popularly known
throughout Germany in various forms. Under the title of “The Three
Little Birds” a version is given in Grimm’s _K. u. H. M._ (No. 96, vol.
i. of Mrs. Hunt’s English translation), which reproduces the chief
particulars of Galland’s tale with at least one characteristic German
addition:


                            GERMAN VERSION.

A king, who dwelt on the Keuterberg, was out hunting one day, when he
was seen by three young girls who were watching their cows on the
mountain, and the eldest, pointing to him, calls out to the two others,
“If I do not get that one, I’ll have none;” the second, from another
part of the hill, pointing to the one who was on the king’s right hand,
cries, “If I don’t get that one, I’ll have none;” and the youngest,
pointing to the one who was on the king’s left hand, shouts, “And if I
don’t get him, I’ll have none.” When the king has returned home he sends
for the three girls, and after questioning them as to what they had said
to each other about himself and his two ministers, he takes the eldest
girl for his own wife and marries the two others to the ministers. The
king was very fond of his wife, for she was fair and beautiful of face,
and when he had to go abroad for a season he left her in charge of the
two sisters who were the wives of his ministers, as she was about to
become a mother. Now the two sisters had no children, and when the queen
gave birth to a boy who “brought a red star into the world with him,”
they threw him into the river, whereupon a little bird flew up into the
air, singing:

                      “To thy death art thou sped,
                      Until God’s word be said.
                      In the white lily bloom,
                      Brave boy, is thy tomb.”

When the king came home they told him his queen had been delivered of a
dog, and he said, “What God does is well done.” The same thing happens
the two following years: when the queen had another little boy, the
sisters substituted a dog and the king said, “What God does is well
done;” but when she was delivered of a beautiful little girl, and they
told the king she had this time born a cat, he grew angry and ordered
the poor queen to be thrown into prison. On each occasion a fisherman
who dwelt near the river drew the child from the water soon after it was
thrown in, and having no children, his wife lovingly reared them. When
they had grown up, the eldest once went with some other boys to fish,
and they would not have him with them, saying to him, “Go away,
foundling.” The boy, much grieved, goes to the fisherman and asks
whether he is a foundling, and the old man tells him the whole story,
upon which the youth, spite of the fisherman’s entreaties, at once sets
off to seek his father. After walking for many days he came to a great
river, by the side of which was an old woman fishing. He accosted her
very respectfully, and she took him on her back and carried him across
the water. When a year had gone by, the second boy set out in search of
his brother, and the same happened to him as to the elder one. Then the
girl went to look for her two brothers, and coming to the water she said
to the old woman, “Good day, mother. May God help you with your
fishing.” (The brothers had said to her that she would seek long enough
before she caught any fish, and she replied, “And thou wilt seek long
enough before thou findest thy father”—hence their failure in their
quest.)

When the old woman heard that, she became quite friendly, and carried
her over the water, gave her a wand, and said to her, “Go, my daughter,
ever onwards by this road, and when you come to a great black dog, you
must pass it silently and boldly, without either laughing or looking at
it. Then you will come to a great high castle, on the threshold of which
you must let the wand fall, and go straight through the castle and out
again on the other side. There you will see an old fountain out of which
a large tree has grown, whereon hangs a bird in a cage, which you must
take down. Take likewise a glass of water out of the fountain, and with
these two things go back by the same way. Pick up the wand again from
the threshold and take it with you, and when you again pass by the dog
strike him in the face with it, but be sure that you hit him, and then
just come back here to me.” The maiden found everything exactly as the
old woman had said, and on her way back she found her two brothers who
had sought each other over half the world. They went together where the
black dog was lying on the road; she struck it in the face and it turned
into a handsome prince, who went with them to the river. There the old
woman was still standing. She rejoiced much to see them again, and
carried them all over the water, and then she too went away, for now she
was freed. The others, however, went to the old fisherman, and all were
glad that they had found each other again, and they hung the bird in its
cage on the wall. But the second son could not settle at home, and took
his crossbow and went a-hunting. When he was tired he took his flute and
played on it. The king happened to be also hunting, and hearing the
music went up to the youth, and said, “Who has given thee leave to hunt
here?” “O, no one.” “To whom dost thou belong, then?” “I am the
fisherman’s son.” “But he has no children.” “If thou wilt not believe
it, come with me.” The king did so, and questioned the fisherman, who
told the whole story, and the little bird on the wall began to sing:

                   “The mother sits alone
                     There in the prison small;
                   O King of the royal blood,
                     These are thy children all.

                   The sisters twain, so false,
                     They wrought the children woe,
                   There in the waters deep,
                     Where the fishers come and go.”

Then the king took the fisherman, the three little children, and the
bird back with him to the castle, and ordered his wife to be taken out
of prison and brought before him. She had become very ill and weak, but
her daughter gave her some of the water of the fountain to drink and she
became strong and healthy. But the two false sisters were burnt, and the
maiden was married to the Prince.


Even in Iceland, as already stated, the same tale has long cheered the
hardy peasant’s fire-side circle, while the “wind without did roar and
rustle.” That it should have reached that out-of-the-way country through
Galland’s version is surely inconceivable, notwithstanding the general
resemblance which it bears to the “Histoire des Deux Sœurs jalouses de
leur Cadette.” It is found in Powell and Magnússon’s “Legends of
Iceland,” second series, and as that excellent work is not often met
with (and why so, I cannot understand), moreover, as the story is told
with much naïveté, I give it here in full:


                           ICELANDIC VERSION.

Not very far from a town where dwelt the king lived once upon a time a
farmer. He was well to do and had three daughters; the eldest was twenty
years of age, the two others younger, but both marriageable. Once, when
they were walking outside their father’s farm, they saw the king coming
riding on horseback with two followers, his secretary and his bootmaker.
The king was unmarried, as were also those two men. When they saw him,
the eldest of the sisters said, “I do not wish anything higher than to
be the wife of the king’s shoemaker.” Said the second, “And I of the
king’s secretary.” Then the youngest said, “I wish that I were the wife
of the king himself.” Now the king heard that they were talking
together, and said to his followers, “I will go to the girls yonder and
know what it is they were talking about. It seemed to me that I heard
one of them say, ‘The king himself.’” His followers said that what the
girls had been chattering about could hardly be of much importance. The
king did not heed this, however, but declared that they would all go to
the girls and have a talk with them. This they did. The king then asked
what they had been talking about a moment ago, when he and his men
passed them. The sisters were unwilling to tell the truth, but being
pressed hard by the king, did so at last. Now as the damsels pleased the
king, and he saw that they were both handsome and fair-spoken,
particularly the youngest of them, he said that all should be as they
had wished it. The sisters were amazed at this, but the king’s will must
be done.

So the three sisters were married, each to the husband she had chosen.
But when the youngest sister had become queen, the others began to cast
on her looks of envy and hatred, and would have her, at any cost,
dragged down from her lofty position. And they laid a plot for the
accomplishment of this their will. When the queen was going to be
confined for the first time, her sisters got leave to act as her
midwives. But as soon as the child was born they hid it away, and
ordered it to be thrown into a slough into which all the filth was cast.
But the man to whom they had entrusted this task could not bring himself
to do it, so put the child on the bank of the slough, thinking that some
one might find it and save its life. And so it fell out; for an old man
chanced to pass the slough soon afterwards, and finding a crying child
on the bank, thought it a strange find, took it up and brought it to his
home, cherishing it as he could. The queen’s sisters took a whelp and
showed it to the king as his queen’s offspring. The king was grieved at
this tale, but, being as fond of the queen as of his own life, he
restrained his anger and punished her not.

At the second and third confinement of the queen her sisters played the
same trick: they exposed the queen’s children in order to have them
drowned in the slough. The man, however, always left them on the bank,
and it so happened that the same old carl always passed by and took up
the children, and carried them home, and brought them up as best he
could. The queen’s sisters said that the second time the queen was
confined she had given birth to a kitten, and the third time, to a log
of wood. At this the king waxed furiously wroth, and ordered the queen
to be thrown into the house where he kept a lion, as he did not wish
this monster to fill his kingdom with deformities. And the sisters
thought that they had managed their boat well and were proud of their
success. The lion, however, did not devour the queen, but even gave her
part of his food and was friendly towards her, and thus the queen lived
with the lion a wretched enough life, without anybody’s knowing anything
about it.

Now the story turns to the old man who fostered the king’s children. The
eldest of these, a boy, he called Vilhjámr, the second, also a boy,
Sigurdr; the third child was a girl and her name is unknown. All that
came to him, or with whom he met, the old man would ask if they knew
nothing of the children he had found on the bank of the slough. But no
one seemed to have the faintest notion about their birth or descent. As
the children grew up they were hopeful and fine-looking. The carl had
now waxed very old, and, expecting his end, he gave the children this
rede, always to ask every one to whom they spoke for news of their
family and birth, in order that they might perchance be able at last to
trace out the truth. He himself told them all he knew about the matter.
After this the old man died, and the children followed closely his
advice. Once there came to them an old man, of whom they asked the same
questions as of all others. He said he could not give them any hints on
the matter himself, but that he could point out one to them who was able
to do so. He told them that a short way from their farm was a large
stone, whereupon was always sitting a bird which could both understand
and speak the tongue of men. It would be best for them, he went on, to
find this bird; but there was a difficulty in the matter to be got over
first, for many had gone there but none had ever returned. He said that
many king’s children had gone to this bird in order to know their future
fate, but they had all come short in the very thing needed. He told them
that whosoever wanted to mount the stone must be so steady as never to
look back, whatever he might hear or see, or whatever wonders seemed to
take place around the rock. All who did not succeed in this were changed
into stones, together with everything they had with them. This
steadiness no one had had yet, but whosoever had it could easily mount
the rock, and having once done so would be able to quicken all the
others who have been turned to stone there. For the top of the rock was
flat, and there was a trap-door on it, wherein the bird was sitting.
Underneath the trap-door was water, the nature of which was that it
would turn all the stones back to life again. The old man ended by
saying, “Now he who succeeds in getting to the top is allowed by the
bird to take the water and sprinkle the stone-changed folk, and call
them to life again, just as they were before.” This the king’s children
thought no hard task. The brothers, however, were the most outspoken
about the easiness of the thing. They thanked the old man much for his
story and took leave of him.

Not long after this, Vilhjámr, the eldest brother, went to the rock. But
before he left he said to his brother, that if three drops of blood
should fall on his knife at table while he was away, Sigurdr should at
once come to the rock, for then it would be sure that he fared like the
others. So Vilhjámr went away, following the old man’s directions, and
nothing further is told of him for a while. But after three days, or
about the time when his brother should have reached the stone, three
drops of blood fell upon Sigurdr’s knife, once, while at table. He was
startled at this and told his sister that he must needs leave her, in
order to help his brother. He made the same agreement with his sister as
Vilhjámr had before made with him. Then he went away, and, to make the
story short, all came to the same issue with him as with his brother,
and the blood-drops fell on his sister’s knife, at the time when Sigurdr
should have reached the stone.

Then the damsel went herself, to see what luck she might have. She
succeeded in finding the rock, and when she came there she was greatly
struck with the number of stones that surrounded it, in every shape and
position. Some had the form of chests, others of various animals, while
some again were in other forms. She paid no heed to all this, but going
straight forward to the great rock began climbing it. Then she heard,
all of a sudden, behind her a loud murmur of human voices, all talking,
one louder than another, and amongst the number she heard those of her
brothers. But she paid no heed to this, and took good care never to look
back, in spite of all she heard going on behind her. Then she got at
last to the top of the rock, and the bird greatly praised her steadiness
and constancy and promised both to tell her anything she chose to ask
him and to assist her in every way he could. First, she would have the
surrounding stones recalled to their natural shapes and life. This the
bird granted her, pointing to one of the stones and saying, “Methinks
you would free that one from his spell, if you knew who he was.” So the
king’s daughter sprinkled water over all the stones and they returned to
life again, and thanked her for their release with many fair words. Next
she asked the bird who were the parents of herself and her brothers, and
to whom they might trace their descent. The bird said that they were the
children of the king of that country, and told her how the queen’s
sisters had acted by them at their birth, and last of all told her how
her mother was in the lion’s den, and how she was nearer dead than alive
from sorrow and want of good food and comfort.

The stone which the bird had pointed out to the princess was a king’s
son, as noble as he was handsome. He cast affectionate looks to his
life-giver and it was plain that each loved the other. It was he who had
brought the greater part of the chest-shaped stones thither, the which
were coffers full of gold and jewels. When the bird had told to every
one that which each wanted to know, all the company of the disenchanted
scattered, the three children and the wealthy prince going together.
When they came home the first thing they did was to break into the
lion’s den. They found their mother lying in a swoon, for she had lost
her senses on hearing the house broken into. They took her away, and she
soon afterwards recovered. Then they dressed her in fitting attire, and
taking her to the palace asked audience of the king. This granted,
Vilhjamr, Sigurdr, and their sister declared to the king that they were
his children and that they had brought with them their mother from the
lion’s den. The king was amazed at this story and at all that had
happened. The sisters of the queen were sent for and questioned, and,
having got into scrapes by differing in accounts, confessed at last
their misdeed and told the truth. They were thrown before the same lion
that the queen had been given to, and it tore them to pieces immediately
and ate them up, hair and all.

Now the queen took her former rank, and a banquet was held in joy at
this happy turn of affairs, and for many days the palace resounded with
the glee of the feast. And at the end of it the foreign prince wooed the
king’s daughter and gained easily her hand, and thus the banquet was
begun afresh and became the young people’s marriage-feast. Such glee has
never been witnessed in any other kingdom. After the feast the strange
prince returned to his home with his bride and became king after his
father. Vilhjamr also married and took the kingdom after his father.
Sigurdr married a king’s daughter abroad, and became king after the
death of his father-in-law; and all of them lived in luck and
prosperity. And now is the story ended.


From bleak Iceland to sunny India is certainly a “far cry,” but we had
already got half-way thither in citing the Egypto-Arabian versions, and
then turned westwards and northwards. We must now, however, go all the
way to Bengal for our next form of the story, which is much simpler in
construction than any of the foregoing versions, and may be considered
as a transition stage of the tale in its migration to Europe. This is an
abridgment of the story—not of Envious Sisters but of jealous
co-wives—from the Rev. Lal Behari Day’s “Folk-Tales of Bengal,”[182] a
work of no small value to students of the genealogy of popular fictions:


                            BENGALÍ VERSION.

A certain King had six wives, none of whom had children, in spite of
doctors and all sorts of doctors’ stuff. He was advised by his ministers
to take a seventh wife. There was in the city a poor woman who earned
her livelihood by gathering cow-dung from the fields, kneading it into
cakes, which, after drying in the sun, she sold for fuel. She had a very
beautiful daughter, who had contracted friendship with three girls much
above her rank, namely, the daughter of the King’s minister, the
daughter of a rich merchant, and the daughter of the King’s chaplain. It
happened one day that all four were bathing together in a tank near the
palace, and the King overheard them conversing as follows: Said the
minister’s daughter, “The man who marries me won’t need to buy me any
clothes, for the cloth I once put on never gets soiled, never gets old,
and never tears.” The merchant’s daughter said, “And my husband will
also be a happy man, for the fuel which I use in cooking never turns to
ashes, but serves from day to day, and from year to year.” Quoth the
chaplain’s daughter, “My husband too will be a happy man, for when once
I cook rice it never gets finished; no matter how much we may eat, the
original quantity always remains in the pot.”[183] Then said the poor
woman’s daughter, “And the man who marries me will also be happy, for I
shall give birth to twin children, a son and a daughter; the girl will
be divinely beautiful, and the boy will have a moon on his forehead and
stars on the palms of his hands.”

The King didn’t care to have any of the three young ladies, but resolved
at once to marry the fourth girl, who would present him with such
extraordinary twin children, notwithstanding her humble birth, and their
nuptials were celebrated in due form, much to the chagrin of his six
wives. Some time after the King had occasion to go for six months to
another part of his dominions, and when about to set out he told his new
wife that he expected her to be confined before the period of his
absence was expired, and that he would like to be present with her at
the time, lest her enemies (her co-wives) might do her some injury. So
giving her a golden bell he bade her hang it in her room, and when the
pains of labour came on to ring it, and he would be with her in a
moment, no matter where he might be at the time; but she must only ring
it when her labour pains began. The six other wives had overheard all
this, and the day after the King had departed went to the new wife’s
room and affected to admire the golden bell, and asked her where she got
it and what was its use. The unsuspecting creature told them its
purpose, upon which they all exclaimed that it was impossible the King
could hear it ring at the distance of hundreds of miles, and besides,
how could the King travel such a distance in the twinkling of an eye?
They urged her to ring the bell and convince herself that what the King
had said to her was all nonsense. So she rang the bell, and the King
instantly appeared, and seeing her going about as usual, he asked her
why she had summoned him before her time. Without saying anything about
the six other wives, she replied that she had rung the bell merely out
of curiosity to know if what he had said was true. The King was angry,
and, telling her distinctly she was not to ring the bell until the
labour pains came upon her, went away again. Some weeks after the six
wives once more induced her to ring the bell, and when the King appeared
and found she was not about to be confined and that she had been merely
making another trial of the bell (for, as on the former occasion, she
did not say that her co-wives had instigated her), he was greatly
enraged, and told her that even should she ring when in the throes of
childbirth he should not come to her, and then went away. At last the
day of her confinement arrived, and when she rang the bell the King did
not come.[184] The six jealous wives seeing this went to her and said
that it was not customary for the ladies of the palace to be confined in
the royal apartments, and that she must go to a hut near the stables.
They then sent for the midwife of the palace, and heavily bribed her to
make away with the infant the moment it was born. The seventh wife gave
birth, as she had promised, to a son who had a moon on his forehead and
stars on the palms of his hands, and also to an uncommonly beautiful
girl. The midwife had come provided with a couple of newly-littered
pups, which she set before the mother, saying, “You have given birth to
these,” and took away the twin children in an earthen vessel, while the
mother was insensible. The King, though he was angry with his seventh
wife, yet recollecting that she was to give birth to an heir to his
throne, changed his mind, and came to see her the next morning. The pups
were produced before the King as the offspring of his new wife, and
great was his anger and vexation. He gave orders that she should be
expelled from the palace, clothed in leather, and employed in the
market-place to drive away crows and keep off dogs, all of which was
done accordingly.

The midwife placed the vessel containing the twins along with the
unburnt clay vessels which a potter had set in order and then gone to
sleep, intending to get up during the night and light his furnace; in
this way she thought the little innocents would be reduced to ashes. It
happened, however, that the potter and his wife overslept themselves
that night, and it was near daybreak when the woman awoke and roused her
husband. She then hastened to the furnace, and to her surprise found all
the pots thoroughly baked, although no fire had been applied to them.
Wondering at such good luck, she summoned her husband, who was equally
astonished and pleased, and attributed it all to some benevolent deity.
In turning over the pots he came upon the one in which the twins were
placed, and the wife looking on them as a gift from heaven (for she had
no children) carried them into the house and gave out to the neighbours
that they had been borne by herself. The children grew in stature and in
strength and when they played in the fields were the admiration of every
one that saw them. They were about twelve years of age when the potter
died, and his wife threw herself on the pyre and was burnt with her
husband’s body. The boy with the moon on his forehead (which he always
kept concealed with a turban, lest it should attract notice) and his
beautiful sister now broke up the potter’s establishment, sold his wheel
and pots and pans, and went to the bazár in the King’s city, which they
had no sooner entered than it was lit up brilliantly. The shopkeepers
thought them divine beings and built a house for them in the bazár. And
when they used to ramble about they were always followed at a distance
by the woman clothed in leather who was appointed by the King to drive
away the crows, and by some strange impulse, she also used to hang about
their house.[185]

The youth presently bought a horse and went hunting in the neighbouring
jungles. It happened one day, while following the chase, that the King
met him, and, struck with his beauty, felt an unaccountable yearning for
him.[185] As a deer went past the youth shot an arrow and in so doing
his turban fell off, on which a bright light, like that of the moon, was
seen shining on his forehead. When the King perceived this, it brought
to his mind the son with the moon on his forehead and stars on the palms
of his hands who was to have been born of his seventh queen, and would
have spoken with the youth, but he immediately galloped off. When the
King reached home his six wives observing his sadness asked him its
cause, and he told them of the youth he had seen in the forest with a
moon on his forehead. They began to wonder if the twins were not still
alive, and sending for the midwife closely questioned her as to the fate
of the children. She stoutly declared that she had herself seen them
burnt to ashes, but she would find out who the youth was whom the King
had met while hunting. She soon ascertained that two strangers were
living in a house in the bazár which the shopkeepers had built for them,
and when she entered the house the girl was alone, her brother having
gone into the jungle to hunt. Pretending to be her aunt, the old woman
said to her, “My dear child, you are so beautiful, you require only the
_kataki_[186] flower to properly set off your charms. You should tell
your brother to plant a row of that flower in your courtyard.” “I never
saw that flower,” said the girl. “Of course not; how could you? It does
not grow in this country, but on the other side of the ocean. Your
brother may try and get it for you, if you ask him.” This suggestion the
old trot made in the hope that the lad would lose his life in venturing
to obtain the flower. When he returned and his sister told him of the
visit of their aunt and asked him to get her the _kataki_ flower, on
which she had set her heart, he at once consented, albeit he thought the
woman had imposed upon his sister by calling herself their aunt.

Next morning he rode off on his fleet horse, and arriving on the borders
of an immense forest he saw a number of rákshasí[187] roaming about, he
went aside and shot with his arrows some deer and rhinoceroses and then
approaching the rákshasís called out, “O auntie dear, your nephew is
here.” A huge rakshasí strode towards him and said, “O, you are the
youth with the moon on your forehead and stars on the palms of your
hands. We were all expecting you, but as you have called me aunt, I will
not eat you. What is it you want? Have you brought anything for me to
eat?” The youth gave her the game he had killed, and she began devouring
it. After swallowing all the carcases she said, “Well, what do you
want?” He answered, “I want some _kataki_ flowers for my sister.” She
told him it would be very difficult for him to get them, as they were
guarded by seven hundred rákshasas, but if he was determined to attempt
it, he had better first go to his uncle on the north side of the jungle.
He goes, and greets the rákshasa, calling him uncle, and having regaled
him with deer and rhinoceroses as he had done his “aunt,” the rákshasa
tells him that in order to obtain the flower he must go through an
impenetrable forest of _kachiri_[188], and say to it, “O mother
_kachiri_, make way for me, else I perish,” upon which a passage will be
opened for him. Next he will come to the ocean, which he must petition
in the same terms, and it would make a way for him. After crossing the
ocean he’ll come to the gardens where the _kataki_ blooms. The forest
opens a passage for the youth, and the ocean stands up like two walls on
either side of him, so that he passes over dryshod.[189] He enters the
gardens and finds himself in a grand palace which appeared unoccupied.
In one of the apartments he sees a young damsel of more than earthly
beauty asleep on a golden bed, and going near discovers a stick of gold
lying near her head and a stick of silver near her feet. Taking them in
his hand, by accident the gold stick fell upon the feet of the sleeping
beauty, when she instantly awoke, and told him she knew that he was the
youth with the moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands;
that the seven hundred rákshasas who guarded the _kataki_ flowers were
then out hunting, but would return by sundown, and should they find him
they’d eat him. A rákshasí had brought her from her father’s palace, and
is so fond of her that she will not allow her to return home. By means
of the gold and silver sticks the rákshasí kills her when she goes off
in the morning, and by means of them also she is revived when she comes
back in the evening. He had better flee and save his life. But the youth
told her he would not go away without the _kataki_ flower, moreover,
that he would take her also with him. They spent the day in walking
about the gardens, and when it was drawing near the time for the return
of the rákshasas, the youth concealed himself under a great heap of the
_kataki_ flower which was in one of the rooms, having first “killed” the
damsel by touching her head with the golden stick. The return of the
seven hundred rákshasas was like the noise of a mighty tempest. One of
them entered the damsel’s room and revived her, saying at the same time,
“I smell a human being!”[190] The damsel replied, “How can a human being
come to this place?” and the rákshasa was satisfied. During the night
the damsel worms out of the rákshasí who was her mistress the secret
that the lives of the seven hundred rákshasas depended on the lives of a
male and female bee, which were in a wooden box at the bottom of a tank,
and that the only person who could seize and kill those bees was a youth
with a moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands—but
there could be no such youth, and so their lives were safe.[191] When
the rákshasas had all gone out as usual next morning, the damsel, having
been revived by the youth, told him how the demons could be killed, and,
to be brief, he was not slow to put her directions into practice. After
the death of the seven hundred rákshasas, the youth took some of the
_kataki_ flowers and left the palace accompanied by the beautiful
damsel, whose name was Pushpavati. They passed through the ocean and
forest of _kachiri_ in safety, and arriving at the house in the bazár
the youth with the moon on his forehead presented the _kataki_ flower to
his sister. Going out to hunt the next day, he met the king, and his
turban again falling off as he shot an arrow, the King saw the moon on
his forehead and desired his friendship. The youth invited the King to
his house, and he went thither at midday. Pushpavati then told the King
(for she knew the whole story from first to last) how his seventh wife
had been induced by his six other wives to ring the bell twice
needlessly; how she gave birth to a boy and a girl, and pups were
substituted for them; how the twins were miraculously saved and brought
up in the house of a potter, and so forth. When she had concluded the
King was highly enraged, and next day caused his six wicked wives to be
buried alive. The seventh queen was brought from the market-place and
reinstated in the palace, and the youth with a moon on his forehead and
stars on the palms of his hands lived happily with his beautiful
twin-sister.

In two other Hindú versions known to me—but the story is doubtless as
widely spread over India as we have seen it to be over Europe—only the
leading idea of Galland’s tale reappears, though one of them suggests
the romance of “Helyas, the Knight of the Swan,” namely, the story
called “Truth’s Triumph,” in Miss Frere’s “Old Deccan Days,” p. 55 ff.
Here a rájá and his minister walking together come to a large garden,
where is a _bringal_-tree bearing 100 fruits but having no leaves, and
the minister says to the rájá that whosoever should marry the gardener’s
daughter should have by her 100 boys and one girl. The rájá espoused the
maiden, much to the vexation of the 12 wives he had already, and then
follows a repetition of the golden bell affair, as in the Bengalí
version. Drapadi Bai, the gardener’s daughter and the new rání, gives
birth “right off,” to 100 sons and a daughter, all of whom are thrown by
the nurse on a dust-heap in which are a great number of rat-holes, the
jealous co-wives fully expecting that the voracious rodents would
quickly eat them up. The nurse tells the young rání that her children
had turned into stones; such is also the story the 12 co-wives tell the
rájá on his return, and he orders poor Drapadi Bai to be imprisoned for
life. But the rats, so far from devouring the children, nourished them
with the utmost care. It comes to the knowledge of the 12 co-wives that
the children are still alive; they are discovered and turned into
crows—all save the little girl, who luckily escapes the fate of her 100
brothers, gets married to a great rájá, and has a son named Ramchandra,
who effected the restoration to human form of his crow-uncles by means
of magic water which he obtained from a rákshasí.

The other story referred to is No. xx. of Miss Stokes’ “Indian Fairy
Tales,” which Mr. Coote could not have read, else he would not have been
at the trouble to maintain it was impossible that Galland derived his
tale from it: “so long,” says he, “as that story remained in the country
of its birth—India—it was absolutely inaccessible to him, for, great
traveller as he was, he never visited that far-off portion of the East.”
The fact is, this Hindú story only resembles Galland’s, and that
remotely, in the opening portion. Seven daughters of a poor man played
daily under the shady trees in the king’s garden with the gardener’s
daughter, and she used to say to them, “When I am married I shall have a
son—such a beautiful boy as he will be has never been seen. He will have
a moon on his forehead and a star on his chin,” and they all laughed at
her. The king, having overheard what she so often repeated, married her,
though he had already four wives. Then follows the golden bell affair
again, with a kettledrum substituted. When the young queen is about to
be confined her co-wives tell her it is the custom to bind the eyes of
women in her condition, to which she submits, and after she has borne
the wonderful boy she promised to do, they tell her she has been
delivered of a stone. The king degraded her to the condition of a
kitchen servant and never spoke to her. The nurse takes the baby in a
box and buries it in the jungle. But the king’s dog had followed her,
and when she went off he took the box out of the earth and swallowed the
baby. Six months after the dog brings him up, caresses him and swallows
him again. He does likewise at the end of a year, and the dog’s keeper,
having seen all told the four wives. They say to the king the dog had
torn their clothes, and he replies, he’ll have the brute shot to-morrow.
The dog overhears this and runs off to the king’s cow; he induces her to
save the child by swallowing him, and the cow consents. Next day the dog
is shot, and so on: the cow is to be killed and induces the king’s horse
to swallow the child, and so on.—There may have been originally some
mystical signification attached to this part of the tale, but it has
certainly no connection with our story.[192]


I had nearly omitted an Arabian version of the outcast infants which
seems to have hitherto escaped notice by story-comparers. Moreover, it
occurs in a text of The Nights, to wit, the Wortley-Montague MS., Nights
472–483, in the story of Abou Neeut and Abou Neeuteen = Abú Niyyet and
Abú Niyyeteyn, according to Dr. Redhouse; one of those translated by
Jonathan Scott in vol. vi. of his edition of the “Arabian Nights,”
where, at p. 227, the hero marries the King’s youngest daughter and the
King in dying leaves him heir to his throne, a bequest which is disputed
by the husbands of the two elder daughters. The young queen is brought
to bed of a son, and her sisters bribe the midwife to declare that she
has given birth to a dog and throw the infant at the gate of one of the
royal palaces. The same occurs when a second son is born. But at the
third lying-in of the princess her husband takes care to be present, and
the beautiful daughter she brings forth is saved from the clutches of
her vindictive sisters. The two little princes are taken up by a
gardener and reared as his own children. In course of time, it happened
that the King (Abú Neeut) and his daughter visited the garden and saw
the two little boys playing together and the young princess felt an
instinctive affection for them, and the King, finding them engaged in
martial play, making clay-horses, bows and arrows, &c., had the
curiosity to inquire into their history. The dates when they were found
agreed with those of the queen’s delivery; the midwife also confessed;
and the King left the guilty parties to be punished by the pangs of
their own consciences, being convinced that envy is the worst of
torments. The two young princes were formally acknowledged and grew up
to follow their father’s example.


We must go back to India once more if we would trace our tale to what is
perhaps its primitive form, and that is probably of Buddhist invention;
though it is quite possible this may be one of the numerous fictions
which have been time out of mind the common heritage of nearly all
peoples, and some of which the early Buddhists adapted to their own
purposes. Be this as it may, in the following tale, from Dr. Mitra’s
“Sanskrit Buddhist Literature of Nepál” (Calcutta: 1882), pp. 65, 66, we
seem to have somewhat like the germ of the Envious Sisters:


                           BUDDHIST VERSION.

King Brahmadatta picked up in Kampilla a destitute girl named Padmávatí,
who scattered lotuses at every step she moved, and made her his
favourite queen. She was very simple-minded. Other queens used to play
tricks upon her, and at the time of her first delivery cheated her most
shamefully. The wicked ladies said to her on that occasion, “Dear Padmá,
you are a rustic girl; you do not know how to give birth to a royal
child. Let us help you.” She yielded. They covered her eyes, threw into
the river the twin boys she had brought forth, and smeared her face with
blood. They deceived her by telling her that it was only a lump of flesh
that she had given birth to, and it had been thrown into the river. At
the same time they informed her husband that Padmá had eaten up her two
new-born sons. The King enraged at her inhuman conduct, ordered her to
instant execution. But there was a shrewd man in the court who privately
saved her life. A divinity appeared to the King in a dream, and revealed
the whole truth to him. The King made a strict investigation in the
harem, and found that Padmávatí had been perfectly innocent. He became
disconsolate, and gave vent to loud lamentations. Soon after some
fishermen appeared at court and presented the King with two infants, who
betrayed their royal lineage by the resemblance which their features
bore to those of the King. They were reported to have been found in a
vessel floating on the river. The courtier who saved Padmá’s life now
wished to produce her before the King, but she refused to return and
proceeded to her father’s hermitage. After the death of her father she
travelled through various places in the habit of a devotee; and in the
course of her peregrinations she stopped at Banáres, from whence
Brahmadatta conducted her to his capital with great honour.


I am of opinion that this Buddhist tale is the original form of the
“Envious Sisters”—that it ended with the restoration of the children and
the vindication of the innocence of their mother. The second part of our
story has no necessary connection with the first, the elements of which
it is composed being found in scores—nay, hundreds—of popular fictions
in every country: the quest of wonderful or magical objects; one brother
setting out, and by neglecting to follow the advice tendered him by some
person he meets on his way, he comes to grief; a second brother follows,
with the same result; and it is reserved for the youngest, and the least
esteemed, to successfully accomplish the adventure. In the second part
of the “Envious Sisters,” the girl, the youngest of the three children,
plays the part of the usual hero of folk-tales of this class. There is,
generally, a seemingly wretched old man—a hideous, misshapen dwarf—or an
ugly, decrepit old woman—who is treated with rudeness by the two elder
adventurers, so they do not speed in their enterprise; but the youngest
addresses the person in respectful terms—shares his only loaf with
him—and is rewarded by counsel which enables him to bring his adventure
to a successful end. In the “Envious Sisters,” which I cannot but think
Galland has garbled from his original, the eldest clips the beard of the
hermit, and presumably the second does the same, since we are told he
found the hermit in the like condition (albeit, his beard had been
trimmed but a few days before). Each of them receives the same
instructions. In a true folk-tale the two elder brothers would treat the
old man with contempt and suffer accordingly, while the youngest would
cut his nails and his beard, and make him more comfortable in his
person. We do not require to go to Asiatic folk-lore for tales in which
the elements of the second part of the “Envious Sisters” are to be
found. In the German story of the Fox’s Brush there is a quest of a
golden bird. The first brother sets off in high hope; on the road he
sees a fox, who calls out to him not to shoot at it, and says that
farther along the road are two inns, one of which is bright and cheerful
looking, and he should not go into it, but rather into the other, even
though it does not look very inviting. He shoots at the fox and misses
it, then continues his journey, and puts up at the fine inn, where
amidst riot and revel he forgets all about the business on which he had
set out. The same happens to the second brother. But the youngest says
to the fox that he will not shoot it, and the fox takes him on its tail
to the small inn, where he passes a quiet night, and in the morning is
conveyed by the fox to the castle, wherein is the golden bird in a
wooden cage, and so on. Analogous stories to this are plentiful
throughout Europe and Asia; there is one, I think, in the Wortley
Montague MS. of The Nights.

In Straparola’s version of the “Envious Sisters,” when the children’s
hair is combed pearls and precious stones fall out of it, whereby their
foster-parents become rich; this is only hinted at in Galland’s story:
the boy’s hair “should be golden on one side and silvern on the other;
when weeping he should drop pearls in place of tears, and when laughing
his rosy lips should be fresh as the blossom new-blown;” not another
word is afterwards said of this, while in the modern Arabic version the
children are finally identified by their mother through such
peculiarities. The silver chains with which the children are born in the
romance of “Helyas, the Knight of the Swan,” correspond with the “gold
star” etc. on the forehead in other stories. It only remains to observe
that the Bird of our tale who in the end relates the history of the
children to their father, is represented in the modern Arabic version by
the fairy Arab Zandyk, in the modern Greek by Tzitzinæna, and in the
Albanian by the Belle of the Earth.


                          _ADDITIONAL NOTES._


                       THE TALE OF ZAYN AL-ASNAM.

_The Dream of Riches._—In Croker’s Irish Fairy Legends there is a droll
version of this story, entitled “Dreaming Tim Jarvis.” Honest Tim, we
are told, “took to sleeping, and the sleep set him dreaming, and he
dreamed all night, and night after night, about crocks full of gold....
At last he dreamt that he found a mighty great crock of gold and silver,
and where, do you think? Every step of the way upon London Bridge
itself! Twice Tim dreamt it, and three times Tim dreamt the same thing;
and at last he made up his mind to transport himself, and go over to
London, in Pat Mahoney’s coaster—and so he did!” Tim walks on London
Bridge day after day until he sees a man with great black whiskers and a
black cloak that reached down to the ground, who accosts him, and he
tells the strange man about his dream. “Ho! ho!” says the strange man,
“is that all, Tim? I had a dream myself and I dreamed that I found a
crock of gold in the Fort field, on Jerry Driscoll’s ground at
Balledehob, and, by the same token, the pit where it lay was close to a
large furze bush, all full of yellow blossom.” Tim hastens back to his
old place, sells his cabin and garden, and buys the piece of waste
ground so minutely described by the man with black whiskers, finds the
pit, jumps into it, and is among the fairies, who give him leave to
stuff his pockets with gold; but when he returns to upper earth he
discovers that he has got only a handful of small stones mixed with
yellow furze blossoms.

In a note appended to this tale, Croker cites the following from Grimm’s
“Deutsche Sagan,” vol. i. p. 290: A man once dreamed that if he went to
Regensburg and walked on the bridge he should become rich. He went
accordingly; and when he had spent near a fortnight walking backwards
and forwards on the bridge, a rich merchant came up to him, wondering
what he was doing there every day, and asked him what he was looking
for. He answered that he had dreamed if he would go to the bridge of
Regensburg he should become rich. “Ha!” said the merchant, “what do you
say about dreams?—Dreams are but froth (_Träume sind Schäume_). I too
have dreamed that there is buried under yonder large tree (pointing to
it) a great kettle full of money; but I gave no heed to this, for dreams
are froth.” The man went immediately and dug under the tree, and there
he got a treasure, which made a rich man of him, and so his dream was
accomplished.—The same story is told of a baker’s boy at Lubeck, who
dreamed that he should find a treasure on the bridge; there he met a
beggar, who said he had dreamed there was one under a lime-tree in the
churchyard of Möllen, but he would not take the trouble of going there.
The baker’s boy went, and got the treasure.—It is curious to observe
that all the European versions of the story have reference to a bridge,
and it must have been brought westward in this form.

_The Quest of the Image._—It has only now occurred to my mind that there
is a very similar story in the romance of the Four Dervishes
(“Kissa-i-Chehár Darwesh”), a Persian work written in the 13th century,
and rendered into Urdú about 80 years ago, under the title of “Bagh o
Bahár” (Garden of Spring), of which an English translation was made by
L. F. Smith, which was afterwards improved by Duncan Forbes. There the
images are of monkeys—a circumstance which seems to point to an Indian
origin of the story—but the hero falls in love with the spotless girl,
and the jinn-king takes possession of her, though he is ultimately
compelled to give her up.—The fact of this story of the quest of the
lacking image being found in the Persian language is another proof that
the tales in The Nights were largely derived from Persian story-books.


                    ALADDIN; OR, THE WONDERFUL LAMP.

There is a distorted reflection of the story in M. René Basset’s
recently published “Contes Populaires Berbères,” No. xxix., which is to
this effect: A taleb proclaims, “Who will sell himself for 100 mitqals?”
One offers; the Kádí ratifies the sale; the (now) slave gives the money
to his mother, and follows the taleb. Away they go. The taleb repeats
certain words, upon which the earth opens, and he sends down the slave
for “the candlestick, the reed, and the box.” The slave hides the box in
his pocket and says he did not find it. They go off, and after a time
the slave discovers that his master has disappeared. He returns home,
hires a house, opens the box, and finds a cloth of silk with seven
folds; he undoes one of them, whereupon genii swarm about the room, and
a girl appears who dances till break of day. This occurs every night.
The king happens to be out on a nocturnal adventure, and hearing a
noise, enters the house and is amused till morning. He sends for the box
to be brought to the palace, gives the owner his daughter in marriage,
and continues to divert himself with the box till his death, when his
son-in-law succeeds him on the throne.


                    ALI BABA AND THE FORTY THIEVES.

My obliging friend, Mr. W. F. Kirby, who contributed to the 10th volume
of Sir Richard’s Nights proper the very able Bibliographical Essay, has
drawn my attention to an analogue of this tale in Geldart’s Folk-Lore of
Modern Greece: There were two brothers, one of whom was wealthy and had
four children, who were in feeble health, the other was poor and had
seven children, who were in robust health. The poor brother’s wife,
begging relief, was allowed to come twice a week to the house of the
rich brother to bake bread. Her children were starving, but the rich
people gave the mother nothing for several days, and all she could do
was to wash the dough off her hands for the children, who thrived, and
the rich man, discovering the cause, made his wife compel the poor woman
to wash her hands before she left the house. The father found his
children crying for food, and pretended to go to the wood for herbs, but
really purposing to kill himself by falling from a crag. But seeing a
great castle, he determined first to ascertain what it was, so he went
near, and, having climbed a tree, saw forty-nine dragons come out. When
they were gone he entered, and found a treasure, filled his bag, and
hurried away. On his return home he found his wife weeping bitterly, but
when he showed her the treasure, she said the first thing was to buy oil
to light a lamp to our Lady. Next day they bought a house, and moved
into it, but agreed only to buy what they needed for each day’s use and
nothing they could do without. For two months they went often to church
and helped the poor, till, one day, the wife of the rich man, who had
met with losses lately, called for them and was hospitably received. She
heard the story of the treasure, and the poor man offered to show his
brother the place. The rich brother miscounted the dragons as they left
the castle, and the one left to watch killed and quartered him. Two days
afterwards his brother went to look for him, brought home the severed
body, and got a tailor to sew the quarters together. Next day the
dragons called on the tailor to make them coats and shoes (_sic_), and
heard of his sewing together the body. He showed them the house, and
forty-eight dragons got into chests, which the forty-ninth deposited
with the poor man. The children, playing about the chests, heard the
dragons say, “Would that it were night, that we might eat them all!” So
the father took forty-eight spits and made them red hot, and thrust them
into the chests, and then said that a trick had been played upon him,
and sent his servant to throw them one by one into the sea. As often as
the servant returned he pretended to him that he did not throw the chest
far enough and it had come back and thus he disposed of the whole
number. In the morning when the last dragon came, the poor man told him
one chest was found open: he was seized with fear, pushed in and spitted
like the others, and the poor man became possessor of the dragons’
castle.


There can be no doubt, I think, that this story owes nothing to Galland,
but that it is a popular Greek version of the original Asiatic tale, of
which Galland’s “Ali Baba” is probably a fair reflection. The device of
pretending to the servant that the dragon he had thrown into the sea was
returned has its exact analogue in the humorous _fabliau_ of “Les Trois
Bossus,” where a rustic is made to believe that each of the hunchbacks
had come back again, with the addition that, on returning from the river
the third time, he seizes the lady’s hunchbacked husband and effectually
disposes of him.


                   THE TALE OF PRINCE AHMAD—_p. 419._

Though my paper on this tale is of considerable length, it would perhaps
have been deemed intolerably long had I cited all the versions of the
first part—the quest of the most wonderful thing—which are current in
Europe, for it is found everywhere, though with few variations of
importance. There are two, however, of which I may furnish the outlines
in this place.

In the “Pentamerone” of Basile,[193] a man sends his five sons into the
world to learn something. The eldest becomes a master-thief; the second
has learned the trade of shipwright; the third has become a skilful
archer; the fourth has found an herb which brings the dead to life; and
the youngest has learned the speech of birds. Soon after they have
returned home, they set out with their father to liberate a princess who
had been stolen by a wild man, and by the exercise of their several arts
succeed in their adventure. While they quarrel as to which of them had
by his efforts done most to deserve the princess for wife, the king
gives her to the father, as the stock of all those branches.

In the 45th of Laura Gonzenbach’s “Sicilianische Märchen,” the king’s
daughter is stolen by a giant and recovered by the seven sons of a poor
woman. The eldest can run like the wind; the second can hear, when he
puts his ear to the ground, all that goes on in the world; the third can
with a blow of his fist break through seven iron doors; the fourth is a
thief; the fifth can build an iron tower with a blow of his fist; the
sixth is an unfailing shot; the seventh has a guitar which can awaken
the dead. Youths thus wonderfully endowed figure in many tales, but
generally as the servants of the hero.

By comparing the different European versions it will be found that some
are similar to the first part of the tale of Prince Ahmad, insomuch as
the brothers become possessed of certain wonderful things which are each
instrumental in saving the damsel’s life; while others more closely
approach the oldest known form of the story, in representing the heroes
as being endowed with some extraordinary kind of power, by means of
which they rescue the damsel from a giant who had carried her off. It is
curious to observe that in the “Sindibád Náma” version the damsel is
both carried off by a demon and at death’s door, which is not the case
of any other Asiatic form of the story.




                                 INDEX.


 Abadan = never at all, 52.

 Áb o hawá = climate, 362.

 Abraham (according to Moslem born in Harrán), 269.

 Abraham (according to Jews and Christians emigrated to Harrán from “Ur
    of the Chaldees”), 270.

 Abú Antíká = father of antiquities (new noun in Arabic), 11.

 Adam’s Sons = a term that has not escaped ridicule amongst Moslems,
    149.

 Address to inanimate object highly idiomatic and must be cultivated by
    practical Arabists, 150.

 Affidavit amongst Moslems, 411.

 Africa (_Arab._ “Afrikíyah”), here used for the limited tract about
    Carthage (Tunis), _i.e._ Africa Propria, 76.

 Ághás, meaning Eunuch officers and officials, 112.

 Ajáib (_pl._ of ’Ajíb) = “Marvellous!” (used in Pers. as well as
    Arab.), 181.

 Alaeddin, _i.e._ the “Height or Glory (’Alá) of the Faith (al-Dín),”
    _pron._ Aláaddeen, 51.

 Alaeddin, a favourite with the stage, 51.

 ’Alamah = an undeflowered virgin, 119.

 Alexander the Great = Lord of the Two Horns, 148.

 Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (variants), 369.

 ’Álim = a learned man, 119.

 Allah (Prince ’Ajíb forbidden to call upon name of), 18.

 Allah, Shadow of—a title of the Shah, 531.

 Almahs (_fem._ of ’Álim = a learned man) = professional singing and
    dancing-girls, 119.

 Almás, _Arab._ (from ἀδάμας, and in _Hind._ “Hírá” and “Panná”) =
    diamond, 354.

 “Ambergris’d” (aphrodisiac), 31.

 Áminah, _i.e._ the secure (_fem._), 326.

 ’Andalíb, nightingale, 506.

 Aphrodisiacs, 133.

 ’Arab al-’Arbá = Arabian Arabs, 134.

 Arab al-Arbá = prehistoric Arabs, 145.

 Ardashír (King), son of Bábak, 180.

 Arstable (astrolabe), 159.

 ’Asá = Staff, one of the properties of Moslem Saints, 183.

 Asáfírí (olives, etc.), 405.

 Asfandiyâr = two heroes of the Shahnámeh, both types of reckless
    daring, 524.

 Ashkhás (_pl._ of Shakhs) = images (_vulg._ used in Moslem realms in
    the sense of persons or individuals), 12.

 Ashrafí (_Port._ Xerafim), a gold coin whose value has varied, 294.

 Astrolabe, (_tr._ “Astronomical-gear”), 159.

 Astrology and astronomy, 159.

 ’Atík = antique, 11.

 Ay Ni’am (Yea, verily, Yes indeed), an emphatic and now vulgar
    expression, 14, 31.

 Aysh (_Arab._) = Ayyu Shayyin and Laysh = li ayyi Shayyin, a popular
    corruption of olden date, 122.

 “Aysh Khabara-k?” = how art thou? 122.

 Ayyám al-Nifás (_Arab._) = the forty days after labour, during which a
    woman may not cohabit with her husband, 502.


 Baba used in Pers., Turk. and Hindostani for Dad! Dear! Child! 311.

 Baba Abdullah = Daddy Abdullah, 311.

 Backgammon = “(jeu de) dames,” a term of European origin, 180.

 Bádám or Bídám (almond), used by way of small change, 348.

 Badr al-Budúr, _i.e._ Full moon of full moons, 95.

 Bágh = Royal tiger, 530.

 Baghdad (explained), 25.

 Bahman, meaning one of the Spirits that presides over beasts of burden,
    502.

 Bakht = luck, good fortune, 331.

 Bánú = a lady, a dame of high degree, 419.

 Banú Adam = Sons of Adam (as opposed to Banú Elohim = Sons of the
    Gods), 88.

 Banú al-Asfar = Sons of the yellow (Esau’s posterity in Edom), 88.

 Banú al-Khashkhash = Sons of the (black) poppy (viz. Ethiopians), 88.

 Bassorah-city = “Balsorah” (Galland), “Bansrá” (H.V.), 3.

 Bayt al-Mukaddas = Sanctified House, 407.

 Bazzistán (_Arab._-_Pers._) = market-place for Bazz = cloth, 431.

 “Bean and ’twas split, A,” proverb suggesting “par nobile fratrum,”
    179.

 Bilisht = The long span between thumb-tip and minimus-tip, 353.

 Bishangarh, 422.

 Bisnagar (corruption of Sanskrit Vijáyanagara = City of Victory), 422.

 “Blood hideth not from blood” (_equiv. to_ Scotch “Blood is thicker
    than water”), 54.

 Blood revenge religiously laudable, 180.

 “Blood speaking to blood,” popular superstition, excusing unwarrantable
    liberties in Royal personages, 531.

 Breslau Ed. quoted, 51.

 Bridge at Baghdad made of the ribs of Og bin ’Unk (= Og of the Neck),
    19.

 Brow white as day and hair black as night (common conceit), 96.

 Bukhárí = a place for steaming, 355.

 Bulbul-i-hazár-dástán (_Arab._), usually shortened to “Hazár” = (bird
    of a thousand tales = the Thousand), generally called ’Andalíb, 506.

 But-Khánah = idol-house, _syn._ with But-Kadah = image-cuddy (_tr._
    “Pagodas”), 427.


 “Cage of Clapham,” 501.

 Cairo (magnificent city of Egypt), 58.

 Camel (not customary to mount lady upon in India), 294.

 Camel (“Ushtur” or “Unth”), 294.

 Camphor, use of, 361.

 Carpet (the Flying), prototype of, 425.

 Changes, contradictions and confusions inherent in Arab. stories, 93.

 Chhuchhundar, _Hind._ (_Sorex cærulescens_) = musk-rat, 500.

 China = the normal Oriental “despotism, tempered by assassination,”
    164.

 Chob-dár = rod-bearer, mace-bearer, usher, etc., 125.

 Circus tricks with elephants, horses, etc., 430.

 Coinage of Baghdad, 294.

 Conclusions of Tales compared, 303.

 Crows, audacious, and dangerous to men lying wounded, 344.


 Dahab ramli (_Arab._) = gold-dust washed out of the sand, _placer_-gold
    (_tr._ “pure sand-gold”), 126.

 Darbár (_Hind._), term for Royal Levée = Selám (_Pers._), 451.

 Darwaysh (_Pers._), _pron._ by Egyptians “Darwísh,” 313.

 Daryábár, _der._ from “Daryá,” the sea, and “bár” = region, 281.

 Daryábár (_Pers._ = the ocean land), a fancy name for a country, 281.

 “Dasht-i-lá-siwá-Hú” = a desert wherein is none save He (Allah), a
    howling wilderness, 284.

 “Daughters” secondary figures in geomancy, “mothers” being primary,
    156.

 “Daughter shall be in his name” = betrothed to her, 110.

 “Dhobí-ká kuttá, na Ghar-ká na Ghát-ká” (Hindí saying) = a washerman’s
    tyke, nor of the house nor of the Ghát-dyke, 491.

 Dhol = drums, 137.

 Diamonds, 354.

 Din (Al-); omission of, in proper names very common, 3.

 Dínárzád and Shahrázád (for Dunyázád and Shahrázád), 3.

 Divan-door, dismounting at, the highest of honours, 136.

 Divan or Darbár (levée), being also a _lit de justice_ and a Court of
    Cassation, 107.

 Díwan—origin of _Fr._ “Douane” and _Ital._ “Dogana,” etc., 7.

 Diyár Bakr, _lit._ Homes (or habitations) of Bakr (_pron._
    “Diyár-i-Bekír”), 269.

 Dogs, hatred of, inherited from Jewish ancestors, 330.

 “Dream is the inspiration of the True Believer, The,” 8.

 Dress, exchange of, 171.


 Earthquakes (curious coincidence), 21.

 Eaves-dropping (favourite incident of Eastern Storiology), 492.

 Egypt (magnificent city of) = Cairo, 58.

 Envious Sisters, The (various versions), 491.

 Evil eye, to keep off the = one of the functions of iron and steel,
    146.


 Fair play not a jewel to the Eastern mind, 180.

 Fakír, a title now debased in Nile Valley to an insult = “poor devil,”
    313.

 Fakír here the _Arab. syn._ of the _Pers._ “Darwaysh,” 313.

 Fakír also come to signify a Koran-chaunter, 314.

 “Falling-place of my head” = picturesque term for “birthplace,” 58.

 Fals (or Fils) = a fish scale, a spangle of metal, 294.

 Faraj (Al-) ba’d al-Shiddah = (Joy after Annoy), compared to Khudadad
    and his brothers, 269.

 Farajíyah = gaberdine, 30.

 “Farz,” devotions, 328.

 Fátimah = a weaner, 181.

 Fellah, natural fear of—being seen in fine gear, which would have been
    supposed to be stolen, 171.

 Fí ghuzúni zálika (_Arab._), a peculiar phrase (_tr._ “meanwhile”),
    142.

 Fils (or Fals) = a fish scale, a spangle of metal, 294.

 Firozábádí (author of “Kámús”), Tale of, 84.

 Firúzah (_Arab._) = turquoise, (_Pers. form_ Pírozah), 270.

 Flying Carpet (prototype of), 425.

 Food, calls for, at critical times not yet wholly obsolete amongst the
    civilised of the nineteenth century, 113.

 Force of, fancy, 182.

 Funeral, Customs at, 380.


 Gáikwár, 134.

 Galland quoted, 3, 12, 18, 19, 20, 22, 51, 53, 71, 77, 82, 87, 91, 108,
    110, 116, 140, 158, 160, 167, 171, 297, 303, 321, 327, 331, 334,
    335, 341, 348, 351, 353, 355, 363, 369, 377, 380, 385, 416, 422,
    429, 446, 472, 500, 506.

 Gandharba-lagana (fairy wedding) of the Hindus, 448.

 Gandharbas = heavenly choristers, 448.

 Gardens of the Hesperides and of King Isope (Chaucer), 74.

 “Ghánim bin Ayyúb = the Thrall o’ Love”—position of in Arab. texts
    compared with Galland, 303.

 Ghashím (_Arab._), from the root “Ghashm” (iniquity) = a “Johnny Raw”—a
    “raw laddie,” 91.

 Ghát (_pop._ “Ghaut”) = the steps (or path) which lead to a watering
    place, 491.

 Ghayr an (_Arab._) = otherwise that, except that (_tr._ “Still”), 82.

 Ghazn = a crease—a wrinkle, 142.

 Gheir (_Syriac_) = for (_der._ from Greek γὰρ), 82.

 Ghúlah = an ogress (_fem._ of Ghúl), 327.

 Giallo antico, verd’ antico = serpentine limestone, 139.

 Gil-i-sar-shúí (_Pers._) = head-washing clay (_tr._ “fuller’s earth”),
    348.

 Glass tokens (for coins), 351.


 Há! Há! so Háka (_fem._ Háki), _Arab._ = Here for thee (_tr._ “There!
    there!”), 89.

 Habashi = an Abyssinian, 276.

 Habshí (chief) of Jinjírah (= Al-Jazirah, the Island), admiral of the
    Grand Moghul’s fleets, 276.

 Háfiz = traditionist and Koran reader, 341.

 Hálah mutawassitah (_Arab._) = middle-class folk, 94.

 Hamídah = the Praiseworthy (according to Totárám Shayyán, instead of
    Fatimah = a weaner), 181.

 Hammam-hu (_Arab._) = bathed, _i.e._ scraping, kneading, soaping, etc.,
    133.

 Harrán, King of, 269.

 Harrán (the Hebrew Charran), 269.

 Harun al-Rashid and his famous pilgrimage from Baghdad to Meccah, 177.

 Hátif, or invisible speaker, 519.

 Hindostani Version quoted, 3, 4, 6, 8, 11, 12, 19, 26, 27, 33, 51, 57,
    61, 75, 79, 82, 85, 87, 95, 96, 97, 105, 113, 114, 116, 125, 129,
    133, 137, 140, 144, 147, 148, 150, 158, 159, 160, 161, 166, 167,
    170, 171, 174, 175, 180, 185, 188, 189, 294, 297, 355, 377, 380,
    422, 446.

 Hizám = girdle, sash, waist-belt, _tr._ “waist-shawl,” 20.

 Horses used in India, 297.

 Hydrophobia in Egypt, 330.

 Hypocrites = those who feign to be Moslems when they are miscreants,
    83.


 Ibn mín, a vulgarism for “man,” 53.

 Ibrahim al-Harráni (_Arab._ title for Abraham), 270.

 “’Iddah” = days during which a widow cannot marry (_tr._ “widowhood”),
    379.

 “If Almighty Allah have appointed unto thee aught thou shalt obtain it
    without toil and travail”—a favourable sentiment, 10.

 “’Ifr” (_fem._ ’Ifrah) = a wicked and dangerous man, 80.

 Ifrít, mostly derived from “’afar” = dust, 80.

 ’Ilm al-Ghayb (_Arab._) = the Science of Hidden Things, 452.

 ’Ilm al-Híah, _gen. tr._ “Astrology”—here meaning Scientific
    Physiognomy, 32.

 ’Ilm al-Mukáshafah = the Science by which Eastern adepts discover man’s
    secret thoughts (_tr._ “Thought-reading”), 539.

 ’Ilm al-Raml = (Science of the Sand), our geomancy, 156.

 Imám = a leader of prayer, 380.

 Imám = an antistes—a leader in prayer (a word with a host of meanings),
    27.

 ’Imán = faith, prayer, 380.

 ’Imárah = a building, _tr. here_ souterrain (probably clerical error
    for Maghárah = a cave, a souterrain), 15.

 Improbable details on which stories depend, 160.

 “I must present myself before him (the King) with face unveiled,” a
    Persian custom for women, 533.

 Infanticide (in accordance with the manners of the age), 497.

 “I will hire thee a shop in the Chauk”—Carfax or market-street, 61.


 Jabábirah—fabled Giant rulers of Syria, 86.

 Jám = _either_ mirror or cup (meaning doubtful), 440.

 Jám-i-Jamshíd, a well worn commonplace in Moslem folk-lore, 440.

 Jaríd = The Cane-play, 327.

 Jaríd, _pop._ Jeríd = the palm frond used as javelin, 145.

 Jatháni = the wife of an elder brother (_tr._ “sister-in-law”), 373.

 Jauharjíyyah, _tr._ jewellers (an Arab. plur. of an Arabised Turkish
    sing.—ji for—chí = (crafts) man), 95.

 Jazírah (Al-) (_Arab._) = Mesopotamia, 269.

 “Jews hold lawful to them the good of Moslems” (Comparison of Jew and
    Christian in matters relating to dealing), 93.

 Jewels (luminous), 354.

 Jinníyah = the Jinn feminine, 470.


 Ká’ah (_Arab._) = the apodyterium or undressing room upon which the
    vestibule of the Hammam opens (_tr._ “great hall”), 133.

 Kabbaltu = I have accepted, _i.e._ I accept emphatically, 37.

 “Káká Siyáh” (_Pers._), _i.e._ “black brother” (a domestic negro),
    pronounces Názi-núzí, 285.

 Káma (_Arab._) = he rose; _equiv. to_ “he began” in vulg. speech, 389.

 Káma-Shástra = the Cupid-gospel, 429.

 Kám Khudáí = master of his passions, 269.

 Kanání (_plur._ of Kinnínah) = glass bottles, 92.

 Kandíl (Al-) al-’ajíb = the Wonderful Lamp, 135.

 Kár’ah, now usually called “Maslakh” = stripping room, 133.

 Karúr = a crore, 129.

 Kashákísh (_Arab._), from the quadrille. ✔ Kashkasha = he gathered fuel
    (_here tr._ “fuel sticks”), 67.

 Kasír (the Little one), 390.

 Kattu from “Katta” = he cut (in breadth, as opposed to Kadda = he cut
    lengthwise), 52.

 Kauri (or “Cowrie,” _Cypræa moneta_), 348.

 Kawárijí (_Arab._) = one who uses the paddle, a rower (_tr._
    “boatman”), 18.

 Kazzák = Cossacks, bandits, etc. (_here tr._ “pirates”), 288.

 Khatíbah (_more usually_ “Khutbah”) = the Friday sermon preached by the
    Khatíb, 492.

 Khawábí (_Arab._) (_pl._ of Khábiyah) = large jars usually of pottery,
    11.

 Khudá, _mod. Pers._ form of old Khudáí = Sovereign-King, 269.

 Khudadad (derivation), 269.

 “Khudadad and his brothers,” position of, compared with Galland, 303.

 Khudadad and his brothers, relative position of, 269.

 Khurtúm = the trunk of an elephant, 19.

 Khuwáj = hunger, 61.

 “Khwájá” for “Khwájah,” 61.

 Khwájah = merchant and gentleman, 61.

 Khwájah is also a honorific title given by Khorásánis to their
    notables, 61.

 Khwájah Hasan al-Habbal = Master Hasan the Ropemaker, 341.

 Kidí, _pop. for_ Ka-zálika = on this wise, 174.

 Kimcobs = velvets with gold embroidery, 140.

 King in Persia speaks of himself in third person and swears by his own
    head, etc., 531.

 “King’s Command is upon the head and the eyes” = must be obeyed, 164.

 Kinship, Terms of, 373.

 Kiosque or belvedere (used to avoid confusion between Kiosque and
    window), 140.

 Kirámát = miracles, 181.

 Kírát (Carat), most often one twenty-fourth of the dinar, 91.

 “Kurbán-at básham” = May I become thy Corban or Sacrifice (formula used
    in addressing the Shah), 530.


 La’ab al-Andáb (_Arab._) = javelin-play, 154.

 “Laffa ’l-isnayn bi-zulúmati-h” = _tr._ winding his trunk around them
    (latter word = Khurtúm the trunk of an elephant), 19.

 Lájawardi, _tr._ “lapis lazuli,” 444.

 Lakh (Anglicised “lac”) = 100,000, 357.

 Lane quoted, 38, 119, 334, 492.

 Lauh = tablet (of the heart), 386.

 Lens, origin of, and its applied use in telescopes and microscopes,
    432.

 Líwán (_Arab._) = Saloon, 71.

 Lume eterno (of the Rosicrucians) = little sepulchral lamps burned by
    the Hebrews, Greeks and Romans, 72.


 Maghárah = a cave, a souterrain, 15.

 Maghrabi Sahhár = Wizard, 54.

 Maghrabi, the Magician (in classical Arabic “Maghribi = a dweller in
    the Sunset-land”), 53.

 Máh-i-Khudáí = the sovereign moon, 269.

 Majlis garm Karná = to give some life to the company (_tr._ “to warm
    them into talk”), 535.

 Malay Aigla = Sandal wood (_tr._ Eaglewood), 20.

 Mameluke Beys (dignity forbidding them to walk even the length of a
    carpet), 177.

 Mankalah, a favourite game in Egypt, 180.

 Marhúm (Al-) = my late brother (_tr._ “my brother who hath found
    mercy”), 58.

 Marjánah = the “Coralline” (from Marján = red coral), _tr._ “Morgiana,”
    378.

 Market (Central) = the great Bazar, the Indian “Chauk,” 422.

 Marmar Sumáki (_Arab._) = porphyry of which ancient Egypt supplied
    finest specimens (_tr._ “Sumáki marble”), 139.

 Marriages (Morganatic), 33.

 Maslakh = stripping room (also Ká’ah), 133.

 Mauza’ (_Arab._) = a place, an apartment, a saloon (_here tr._ “hall”),
    71.

 Maydán = plain, 145.

 Medinah (Al-), whose title is “Al-Munawwarah” = the Illumined, 58.

 Mesmerism (“impose her hand upon his head”), 189.

 Mesopotamia (_Heb._ Naharaym, _Arab._ Al-Jazírah), 269.

 Met (_Sindi_) = a kind of clay, 348.

 Mihaffah bi-takhtrawán (_Arab._) = a covered litter, 33.

 Miláh (pleasant) for Mubáh (permitted), 38.

 “Min ba’di an” for “Min ba’di má” = after that, 34.

 Mín (who) for “Man,” a Syro-Egyptian form common throughout the MS.,
    14.

 Mirror, a compromising magical article of many kinds, 23.

 Mirrors, made to open and shut in the East, 24.

 Misr = used in a threefold sense for Egypt, old Cairo and new Cairo,
    34.

 Modesty in story of Alaeddin, 148.

 “Moormen,” famed as Magicians, 54.

 Morier and the literal translation of the “Arabian Nights,” 191.

 Moslems make Wuzú-ablution and pray dawn-prayers before doing anything
    worldly, 141.

 Mother (all women resembled her); an absurd statement to the West but
    true in the East, 97.

 Mother takes rank before the wife, according to Moslem fashion, 301.

 “Mothers,” the prime figures of geomancy, daughters being secondary,
    156.

 Mubárak = The blessed or well omened, 13.

 Mukattaf al-Yadayn = arms crossed behind his back (a servile posture),
    16.

 Munáfik (_Arab._) = “an infidel who pretendeth to believe in Al-Islam”
    (_tr._ “hypocrite”), 83.

 Munawwarah (Al-) = the Illumined (title given to Al-Medinah), 58.

 Musawwadatayn (_Arab._) = _lit._ two black things, rough copies, etc.
    (_tr._ “affright”), 87.

 Mushayyadát, _tr._ “ high-builded,” 66.

 Músiká (_Arab._), _classically_ “Musikí,” = Μουσικὴ, _Pers._ Músikár =
    Music, 137.

 Mustapha, 53.

 Mut’ah = temporary and extempore marriage, 33.


 Nabbút (Egyptian and Syrian weapon), 482.

 Náblús = Samaria, 271.

 Nadb = brandishing or throwing the javelin, 154.

 Naharaym (_Heb._) = Mesopotamia, 269.

 Nakhing = making the camels kneel, 314.

 “Nakshat” and “Sifrat,” _tr._ Coin and Gold, 29.

 Nard = table, 180.

 Nardashír (Nard Ardashír?), 180.

 Nazaránah _prop._ = the gift (or gifts) offered by Moslem noble to his
    feudal superior, 486.

 Náz o andáz (_Pers._) = coquetry in a half-honest sense (_tr._ “amorous
    liveliness”), 285.

 Negroids dreaded by Hindús, 276.

 Nimak-harám, _tr._ “a traitor to the salt,” 286.

 Nur al-Nihár = Light of the Day, 419.

 Nur Jehán (_Pers._) = “Light of the World,” 473.


 “O Woman,” popular form of address, 108.

 Oarsman stands to his work in the East, 25.

 Objects (better kept hidden) seen with naked eye by telescope (vulgar
    belief), 438.

 Og bin ’Unk (= Og of the Neck), the fabled King of Bashan, 19.

 “Old lamps for new lamps—who will exchange?” 159.

 Onager, the Gúr-i-Khár of Persia, 282.

 Onager (wild ass) confounded with Zebra, 282.


 Pá-andáz (_Pers._) = a carpet made of costly stuffs—a perquisite of
    Royal attendants, 141.

 Pá-andáz = carpets and costly cloths (spread between Baghdad and Meccah
    for Harun al-Rashid), 177.

 Papal bulls and Kings’ letters (in Mediæval Europe) were placed for
    respect on the head, 89.

 Parasang (_Gr._ παρασάγγης), 456.

 Parwez, older pronunciation of the mod. (Khusrau) “Parvíz,” 502.

 Pashkhánah = a mosquito-curtain, 121.

 Paysá (pice) = two farthings and in weight = ½ an oz., 352.

 Penalty inflicted to ensure obedience, 336.

 Peri-Banu (The Fairy), 419.

 Peri (Parí) in its modern form has a superficial resemblance to
    “Fairy,” 419.

 Peris, 419.

 Perízádah = Fairy-born, 502.

 Phantasms from the Divine Presence of ’Ali ’Aziz Efendi, the Cretan,
    41.

 Pictures of faces whose eyes seem to follow beholders, 427.

 Pilaff (Turco-English form of Persian Puláo), 326.

 Pilgrimage quoted, 314, 330, 405, 406.

 Pilgrims settle in the two Holy Places, 406.

 Pír = saint, spiritual guide, 8.

 Pírozah = turquoise (_Arab. form_ Fíruzah), 270.

 “Písh-namáz” (_Pers._) = fore-prayer, 380.

 “Pointing the moral,” 265.

 Prayers for the Dead recited over bier, 380.

 Precocious children, 416.

 Primitive attire of Easterns in hot climate, 20.

 Prince, petty Indian, preceded in state processions by led horses whose
    saddles are studded with diamonds, 134.


 Rabite (steed of purest) = an Arab of noble strain, 287.

 “Rafá al-Bashkhánah” = he raised a hanging, a curtain (_tr._ “the
    arras”), 121.

 Rahíl = Rachel, 355.

 Ráih yasír (_Arab._) = about to become (peasant’s language), 131.

 Rajah of Baroda, 134.

 Ratl (_Arab._) _pron._ by Europeans “Rotl” (Rotolo) = pounds, 128.

 Re-union after severance—modesty in Alaeddin as contrasted with Kamar
    al-Zamán, etc., 176.

 Right hand (seated at the) a place of honour in Europe; amongst Moslems
    the place would be to the left, 136.

 “Ring and the Lamp” have a magical effect over physique and morale of
    the owner, 104.

 “Rise that I may seat myself in thy stead” (addressed to the full
    moon)—true Orientalism, 151.

 Rosso antico (mostly a porphyry), 139.

 Rukh = Roc, 186.

 Rukh (the mythical—mixed up with the mysterious bird Símurgh), 188.


 Sabbath (the) = the Saturday, 64.

 Sabba raml = cast in sand (may be clerical error for “Zaraba raml” = he
    struck sand, _i.e._ made geomantic figures), _here tr._ “striking a
    geomantic table,” 68.

 Sa’d = prosperity, 341.

 Sa’dí = prosperous, 341.

 Sádí (Al-) w’al-Ghádí = those who went forth betime (the latter may
    mean those who came for the morning meal), 27.

 Sáhal for Sahal (broad “Doric” of Syria), 125.

 Sahrá (_Arab._) = desert (applied by Persians to waste grounds about a
    town; _here to_ “barren hill-country”), 67.

 Samaria (according to Moslems, Shamrín and Shamrún), 271.

 Samáwah, confounded with Kerbela—a desert with a place of pilgrimage,
    484.

 Sámáwah (Town on Euphrates), 484.

 Sámáwah, Desert of, 484.

 Sarráf = a money-changer (_tr._ “shroff”), 333.

 Sárú (dakhalú, jalasú etc.), in the plural for the dual—popular and
    vulgar speech, 66.

 Seal ring (or Signet ring), 72.

 Seeking to release Soul of Prince who had perished, 298.

 Semi-abortions (preservation of, a curse in xixth century), 498.

 Serraglio-palace; _der. from_ Serai (Pers.) = a palace, _also der.
    from_ Cerrar (Spanish and Portuguese) = to shut up, 128.

 “Shadow of Allah,” a title of the Shah, 531.

 Shaghrí (_Pers._), _e.g._ “Kyafsh-i-Shaghrí” = slippers of shagreen,
    282.

 Shagreen (_der. from Pers._ “Shaghrí”) produced by skin of wild ass,
    282.

 Sháhinsháh = King of kings, 534.

 Sháhinsháh, a title first assumed by Ardashír, 500.

 Sháhmiyánah = a huge marquee or pavilion-tent in India, 469.

 Shahr-Bánu (_Pers._) = City-queen, 486.

 Shahwah (_Arab._) = lust, 33.

 Shahwah dáram = I am lustful, 33.

 “Shaking out his skirts,” a sign of willingly parting with possessions,
    316.

 Shakhs, either a person or an image (_here tr._ “Image”), 18.

 Sham’ádín, a would-be Arabic plural of the Persian “Sham’adán” =
    candlestick, chandelier, 109.

 Shamrín (and Shamrún) = Samaria, 271.

 Shástras—Hindu Scripture or Holy Writ, 429.

 Shayy bi-lásh = _lit._ “a thing gratis or in vain” (_here tr._ “matters
    beyond the range of matter”), 68.

 “She had never gone or come” = she was in her own home, 183.

 Shísheh-ká paysá = a (pice) small coin of glass, 351.

 Shīve-Zād, 47

 “Shúf-hu,” _Arab._ (colloquial form of “Shuf-hu”) = look upon him, 58.

 Sídí = my lord, 321.

 Sídí mistaken for Sayyid, 321.

 Sídí Nu’umán (sometimes “Sidi Nouman,” or “Sidi Nonman”), 321.

 Silvern platters, 93.

 Simsim (or “Samsam”) The grain = _Sesamum Orientale_, 370.

 Skin of wild ass produce the famous Shagreen, 282.

 Sleeping postures, 183.

 Sleeping with drawn sword between man and maid, 116.

 “Smell the air” = a walk, a “constitutional,” 397.

 “Son of a minute, The,” _i.e._ which would take effect in the shortest
    time, 171.

 Son (youngest of three) generally Fortune’s favourite in folk-lore,
    453.

 Soghd Samarkand = plain of Samarkand, 436.

 Soul of Prince who had perished (seeking to release), 298.

 Stirrup, The Arab, 478.

 Subjects (Persian) both women and men are virtually King’s slaves, 533.

 Suicide, Hindus adepts in, 166.

 Sullam (_pl._ “Salálim”) popularly used for a flight of steps (_tr.
    here_ souterrain-stairs), 75.

 Sulúk (_Arab._) a sufistical expression, the road to salvation (_tr._
    “paths”), 185.

 Suráyyát (_lit._ the Pleiades) and Sham’ádín, a would-be plural
    (Arabic) of the Persian “Sham’adán” = candlestick, chandelier, 109.


 Taffaytu-hu = to extinguish (_tr._ “put it out”), 84.

 Tafl (_Arab._) = a kind of clay, 348.

 Ták (or Tákah) = a little wall-niche, 351.

 Tamanná (_Arab._) = “She saluted the king by kissing her finger tips
    and raising them to her brow,” 108.

 Tawáf = Circuiting (an act of worship), 298.

 Teshurah = a Gift offered with the object of being admitted to the
    presence, 100.

 Thag, _equiv. to_ our English “Thug,” 374.

 Thag = simply a “cheat,” but may also mean a robber, assassin, etc.
    (_tr._ “Bandits”), 374.

 Theatre (shifting), 429.

 “There is not a present (Teshurah) to bring to the man of God,” 100.

 Thirst takes precedence of hunger, 320.

 Thought-reading, 539.

 “Three things lack permanency. Wealth without trading, Learning without
    disputation, Government without justice” (Sa’di in the Gulistan), 6.

 “Thy commands, O my mother, be upon my head, 89.

 “Thy Highness,” a form of addressing royalty common in Austria, 108.

 Trafír = trumpets, 137.

 “Treasure trove,” the possession of exposing the owner to torture, 105.

 Tú bará Thag hai = thou art a precious rascal, 374.

 Turcoman blood (steed of), 297.

 Turquoise stone, held as a talisman in the East, 270.


 ’Ubb (_Arab._) = bulge between breast and outer robe (_tr._ “breast
    pocket”), 317.

 “Uktuli’s-siráj,” the Persian “Chirághrá bi-kush” = kill the lamp, 84.

 Unth = Camel, 294.

 Ushtur = Camel, 294.


 Vijáyanagara = City of Victory, 422.

 Visions frequent in Al-Islam, 405.

 Voices, disembodied, 515.


 Wa’d al-Banât, or burial of Mauúdát (living daughters), 498.

 “Wáhid min al-Tujjár,” the very vulgar style, 64.

 Wahsh = Lion, 18.

 Wálí = the Civil Governor, 375.

 Walímah _prop._ = a marriage-feast, 15.

 Washing hands and face—a preparatory washing as a matter of cleanliness
    preceding the formal Wuzú-ablution, 168.

 Water-closet, wedding night in, 115.

 Wazífah _prop._ = task, a stipend, a salary, (_here tr._ “duties”),
    328.

 Wazir expected to know everything in Oriental countries, 163.

 Wedding, description of, 114.

 Wedding night in water-closet, 115.

 “What’s past is past and what is written is written and shall come to
    pass” (Sir C. Murray’s “Hassan”), 10.

 “Whoso leaveth issue dieth not” (popular saying amongst Moslems), 55.

 Wild ass (onager), 282.

 Wild ass, meat of, 282.

 Wild ass (skin of) produces the famous Shagreen, 282.

 Will of man, The, a mighty motive power, 426.

 Windows (first mention of in Arabic MS. of “Alaeddin”), 186.

 Women (Alaeddin used to think all resembled his mother); an absurd
    statement to the West but true in the East, 97.

 “Woven air,” local name of the Patna gauzes, 423.


 Yá Rájul (for Rajul) = O man (an Egypto-Syrian form), 58.

 Yámin, copyist’s error for “Yásimín,” _tr._ gelsamine, 19.

 Yaum al-Mahshar = _lit._ the Day of Assembly (_tr._ Judgment Day), 21.


 Zahab-ramlí = placer-gold, 15.

 Zalm = the dewlap of sheep or goat, 19.

 Zangi-i-Adam-kh’wár (_tr._ Ethiopian) afterwards called Habashi = an
    Abyssinian, 276.

 Zanzibár = Blackland, 281.

 Zarb Raml (Geomancy), 4.

 Zayn al-Asnam, object of the tale, 38.

 Zayn al-Asnam (Turkish) version by Mr. Gibb (note), 41.

 Zayn al-Asnam; _old ver._ “Ornament (adornment?) of the Statues,” 3.

 Zayn (al-Dín = Adornment of The Faith and owner of) al-Asnám = the
    Images, 3.

 Zij = table of the stars—almanack, 159.

-----

Footnote 1:

  _i.e._ Daddy Abdullah; the former is used in Pers. Turk. and
  Hindostani for dad! dear! child! and for the latter, see vol. v. 141.

Footnote 2:

  Here the Arab. syn. of the Pers. “Darwaysh,” which Egyptians pronounce
  “Darwísh.” In the Nile Valley the once revered title has been debased
  to an insult = “poor devil” (see Pilgrimage i, pp. 20–22); “Fakír”
  also has come to signify a Koran-chaunter.

Footnote 3:

  To “Nakh” is to make the camel kneel. See vol. ii. 139, and its
  references.

Footnote 4:

  As a sign that he parted willingly with all his possessions.

Footnote 5:

  Arab. “’Ubb” prop. = the bulge between the breast and the outer robe
  which is girdled round the waist to make a pouch. See vol. viii. 205.

Footnote 6:

  Thirst very justly takes precedence of hunger: a man may fast for
  forty days, but without water in a tropical country he would die
  within a week. For a description of the horrors of thirst see my
  “First Footsteps in East Africa,” pp. 387–8.

Footnote 7:

  In Galland it is Sidi Nouman; in many English translations, as in the
  “Lucknow” (Newul Kishore Press, 1880), it has become “Sidi Nonman.”
  The word has occurred in King Omar bin al-Nu’uman, vol. ii. 77 and
  325, and vol. v. 74. For Sídí = my lord, see vol. v. 283; Byron, in
  The Corsair, ii. 2, seems to mistake it for “Sayyid.”

               High in his hall reclines the turban’d Seyd,
               Around—the bearded chiefs he came to lead.

Footnote 8:

  The Turco-English form of the Persian “Puláo.”

Footnote 9:

  _i.e._ the secure (fem.). It was the name of the famous concubine of
  Solomon to whom he entrusted his ring (vol. vi. 84); also of the
  mother of Mohammed who having taken her son to Al-Medinah (Yathrib)
  died on the return journey. I cannot understand why the Apostle of
  Al-Islam, according to his biographers and commentators, refused to
  pray for his parent’s soul, she having been born in Al-Fitrah (the
  interval between the fall of Christianity and the birth of Al-Islam),
  when he had not begun to preach his “dispensation.” See Tabari, ii.
  450.

Footnote 10:

  The cane-play: see vol. vi. 263.

Footnote 11:

  Galland has _une Goule_, _i.e._ a Ghúlah, a she-Ghúl, an ogress. But
  the lady was supping with a male of that species, for which see vols.
  i. 55; vi. 36.

Footnote 12:

  In the text “Wazífah” prop. = a task, a stipend, a salary; but here =
  the “Farz” devotions which he considered to be his duty. In Spitta-Bey
  (_loc. cit._ p. 218) it is = duty, office, position.

Footnote 13:

  For this scene which is one of every day in the East; see Pilgrimage
  ii. pp. 52–54.

Footnote 14:

  This hate of the friend of man is inherited from Jewish ancestors;
  and, wherever the Hebrew element prevails, the muzzle, which has
  lately made its appearance in London, is strictly enforced, as at
  Trieste. Amongst the many boons which civilisation has conferred upon
  Cairo I may note hydrophobia; formerly unknown in Egypt the dreadful
  disease has lately caused more than one death. In India sporadic cases
  have at rare times occurred in my own knowledge since 1845.

Footnote 15:

  In Galland “Rougeau” = (for Rougeaud?) a red-faced (man), etc., and in
  the English version “Chance”: “Bakht” = luck, good fortune.

Footnote 16:

  In the text “Sarráf” = a money-changer. See vols. i. 210; iv. 270.

Footnote 17:

  Galland has forgotten this necessary detail: see vol. i. 30 and
  elsewhere. In Lane’s Story of the man metamorphosed to an ass, the old
  woman, “quickly covering her face, declared the fact.”

Footnote 18:

  In the normal forms of this story, which Galland has told very badly,
  the maiden would have married the man she saved.

Footnote 19:

  In other similar tales the injured one inflicts such penalty by the
  express command of his preserver who takes strong measures to ensure
  obedience.

Footnote 20:

  In the more finished tales of the true “Nights” the mare would have
  been restored to human shape after giving the best security for good
  conduct in time to come.

Footnote 21:

  _i.e._ Master Hasan the Ropemaker. Galland writes, after European
  fashion, “Hassan,” for which see vol. i. 251; and for “Khwájah” vol.
  vi. 146. “Al-Habbál” was the cognomen of a learned “Háfiz” (=
  traditionist and Koran reader), Abú Ishák Ibrahim, in Ibn Khall. ii.
  262; for another see iv. 410.

Footnote 22:

  “Sa’d” = prosperity and “Sa’dí” = prosperous; the surname of the
  “Persian moralist,” for whom see my friend F. F. Arbuthnot’s pleasant
  booklet, “Persian Portraits” (London, Quaritch, 1887).

Footnote 23:

  This is true to nature as may be seen any day at Bombay. The crows are
  equally audacious, and are dangerous to men lying wounded in solitary
  places.

Footnote 24:

  The Pers. “Gil-i-sar-shúl” (= head-washing clay), the Sindi “Met,” and
  the Arab. “Tafl,” a kind of clay much used in Persia, Afghanistan,
  Sind, etc. Galland turns it into _terre à decrasser_ and his English
  translators into “scouring sand which women use in baths.” This
  argillaceous earth mixed with mustard oil is locally used for clay and
  when rose-leaves and perfumes are used, it makes a tolerable
  wash-ball. See “Scinde or The Unhappy Valley,” i. 31.

Footnote 25:

  For the “Cowrie” (_Cypræa moneta_) see vol. iv. 77. The Bádám or Bídám
  (almond) used by way of small change in India, I have noted elsewhere.

Footnote 26:

  Galland has “_un morceau de plomb_,” which in the Hindi text becomes
  “Shíshah-ká-paysá” = a (pice) small coin of glass: the translator also
  terms it a “Faddah,” for which see Nusf (alias “Nuss”), vols. ii. 37;
  vi. 214 and ix. 139, 167. Glass tokens, by way of coins, were until
  late years made at Hebron, in Southern Syria.

Footnote 27:

  For the “Ták” or “Tákah” = the little wall-niche, see vol. vii. 361.

Footnote 28:

  In the French and English versions the coin is a bit of lead for
  weighting the net. For the “Paysá” (pice) = two farthings, and in
  weight = half an ounce, see Herklot’s Glossary, p. xcviii.

Footnote 29:

  In the text “bilisht” = the long span between thumb-tip and
  minimus-tip. Galland says _long plus d’une coudée et gros à
  proportion_.

Footnote 30:

  For the diamond (Arab. “Almás” from ἀδάμας, and in Hind. “Hírá” and
  “Panná”) see vols. vi. 15, ix. 325; and in latter correct, “Euritic,”
  a misprint for “dioritic.” I still cannot believe diamond-cutting to
  be an Indian art, and I must hold that it was known to the ancients.
  It could not have been an unpolished stone, that “Adamas notissimus”
  which according to Juvenal (vi. 156) Agrippa gave to his sister.
  Maundeville (A.D. 1322) has a long account of the mineral, “so hard
  that no man can polish it,” and called Hamese (“Almás?”). For Mr.
  Petrie and his theory, see vol. ix. 325. In most places where the
  diamond has been discovered of late years it had been used as a magic
  stone, _e.g._, by the Pagés or medicine-men of the Brazil, or for
  children’s playthings, which was the case with the South-African
  “Caffres.”

Footnote 31:

  These stones, especially the carbuncle, which give out light in
  darkness are a commonplace of Eastern folk-lore. For luminous jewels
  in folk-lore, see Mr. Clouston (i. 412.): the belief is not wholly
  extinct in England, and I have often heard of it in the Brazil and
  upon the African Gaboon. It appears to me that there may be a basis of
  fact to this fancy, the abnormal effect of precious stones upon
  mesmeric “sensitives.”

Footnote 32:

  The chimney and chimney-piece of Galland are not Eastern: the H. V.
  uses “Bukhárí” = a place for steaming.

Footnote 33:

  _i.e._ “Rachel.”

Footnote 34:

  In the text “lakh,” the Anglicised “lac” = 100,000.

Footnote 35:

  This use of camphor is noted by Gibbon (D. and F. iii. 195.)

Footnote 36:

  “Áb o hawá” = climate: see vol. ii. 4.

Footnote 37:

  Galland makes this article a linen cloth wrapped about the skull-cap
  or core of the turban.

Footnote 38:

  Mr. Coote (_loc. cit._ p. 185) is unable to produce a _puramythe_
  containing all of “Ali Bába;” but, for the two leading incidents he
  quotes from Prof. Sakellarios two tales collected in Cyprus. One is
  Morgiana marking the village doors (p. 187), which has occurred
  doubtless a hundred times. The other, in the “Story of Drakos,” is an
  ogre, hight “Three Eyes,” who attempts the rescue of his wife with a
  party of blackamoors (μαύρους) packed in bales and these are all
  discovered and slain.

Footnote 39:

  _Dans la forêt_, says Galland.

Footnote 40:

  Or “Samsam,” the grain = _Sesamum Orientale_: hence the French,
  _Sesame, ouvre-toi!_ The term is cabalistical, like Súlem, Súlam or
  Shúlam in the Directorium Vitæ Humanæ of Johannes di Capuâ: Inquit
  vir: Ibam in nocte plenilunii et ascendebam super domum ubi furari
  intendebam, et accedens ad fenestram ubi radii lune ingrediebantur, et
  dicebam hanc coniurationem, scilicet sulem sulem, septies, deinde
  amplectebar lumen lune et sine lesione descendebam ad domum, etc. (pp.
  24–25) par Joseph Derenbourg, Membre de l’Institut 1^{re} Fascicule,
  Paris, F. Vieweg, 67, Rue de Richelieu, 1887.

Footnote 41:

  In the text “Jatháni” = the wife of an elder brother. Hindostani, like
  other Eastern languages, is rich in terms for kinship whereof English
  is so exceptionally poor. Mr. Francis Galtson, in his well-known work
  “Hereditary Genius,” a misnomer by the by for “Hereditary Talent,”
  felt this want severely and was at pains to supply it.

Footnote 42:

  In the text “Thag,” our English “Thug,” often pronounced moreover by
  the Briton with the sibilant “th.” It means simply a cheat: you say to
  your servant “Tú bará Thag hai” = thou art a precious rascal; but it
  has also the secondary meaning of robber, assassin, and the tertiary
  of Bhawáni-worshippers who offer indiscriminate human sacrifices to
  the Deëss of Destruction. The word and the thing have been made
  popular in England through the “Confessions of a Thug” by my late
  friend Meadows Taylor; and I may record my conviction that were the
  English driven out of India, “Thuggee,” like piracy in Cutch and in
  the Persian Gulf, would revive at the shortest possible time.

Footnote 43:

  _i.e._ the Civil Governor, who would want nothing better.

Footnote 44:

  This is in Galland and it is followed by the H. V.; but it would be
  more natural to suppose that of the quarters two were hung up outside
  the door and the others within.

Footnote 45:

  I am unwilling to alter the time honoured corruption: properly it is
  written Marjánah = the “Coralline,” from Marján = red coral, for which
  see vols. ii. 100; vii. 373.

Footnote 46:

  _i.e._ the “’Iddah,” during which she could not marry. See vol. iii.
  292.

Footnote 47:

  In Galland he is a _savetier * * * naturellement gai, et qui avait
  toujours le mot pour rire_: the H.V. naturally changed him to a tailor
  as the Chámár or leather-worker would be inadmissible to polite
  conversation.

Footnote 48:

  _i.e._ a leader of prayer; the Pers. “Písh-namáz” = fore-prayer, see
  vols. ii. 203; iv. 111 and 227. Galland has “ímán,” which can mean
  only faith, belief, and in this blunder he is conscientiously followed
  by his translators—servum pecus.

Footnote 49:

  Galland nails down the corpse in the bier—a Christian practice—and he
  certainly knew better. Moreover, prayers for the dead are mostly
  recited over the bier when placed upon the brink of the grave; nor is
  it usual for a woman to play so prominent a part in the ceremony.

Footnote 50:

  See vols. v. 111, ix. 163 and x. 47.

Footnote 51:

  Galland is less merciful, “_Aussitôt le conducteur fut déclaré digne
  de mort tout d’une voix, et il s’y condamna lui-même_,” etc. The
  criminal, indeed, condemns himself and firmly offers his neck to be
  stricken.

Footnote 52:

  In the text “Lauh,” for which see vol. v. 73.

Footnote 53:

  In Arab. “Káma” = he rose, which, in vulgar speech especially in
  Egypt, = he began. So in Spitta-Bey’s “Contes Arabes Modernes” (p.
  124) “Kámat al-Sibhah dhákat fí yad akhí-h” = the chaplet began (lit.
  arose) to wax tight in his brother’s hand. This sense is shadowed
  forth in classical Arabic.

Footnote 54:

  So in old Arabian history “Kasír” (the Little One), the Arab Zopyrus,
  stows away in huge camel-bags the 2,000 warriors intended to surprise
  masterful Queen Zebba. Chronique de Tabari, vol. ii. 26. Also the
  armed men in boxes by which Shamar, King of Al-Yaman, took Shamar-kand
  = Shamar’s-town, now Samarkand. (Ibid. ii. 158.)

Footnote 55:

  _i.e._ for a walk, a “constitutional”: the phrase is very common in
  Egypt, and has occurred before.

Footnote 56:

  These visions are frequent in Al-Islam; see Pilgrimage iii. 254–55. Of
  course Christians are not subject to them, as Moslems also are never
  favoured with glimpses of the Blessed Virgin and the Saints; the best
  proof of their “Subjectivity.”

Footnote 57:

  For this word see De Sacy, Chrest. ii. 421. It has already occurred in
  The Nights, vol. iii. 295.

Footnote 58:

  Not a few pilgrims settle for a time or for life in the two Holy
  Places, which are thus kept supplied with fresh blood. See Pilgrimage
  ii. 260.

Footnote 59:

  _i.e._ Bayt al-Mukaddas, for which see vol. ii. 132.

Footnote 60:

  An affidavit amongst Moslems is “litis decisio,” as in the
  jurisprudence of mediæval Europe.

Footnote 61:

  In Arab folk-lore there are many instances of such precocious
  boys—_enfants terribles_ they must be in real life. In Ibn Khall.
  (iii. 104) we find notices of a book “Kitáb Nujabá al-Abná” = Treatise
  on Distinguished Children, by Ibn Zakaral-Sakalli (the Sicilian), ob.
  A.D. 1169–70. And the boy-Kazi is a favourite rôle in the plays of
  peasant-lads who enjoy the irreverent “chaff” almost as much as when
  “making a Pasha.” This reminds us of the boys electing Cyrus as their
  King in sport (Herodotus, i. 114). For the cycle of “Precocious
  Children” and their adventures, see Mr. Clouston (Popular Tales, etc.,
  ii. 1–14), who enters into the pedigree and affiliation. I must,
  however, differ with that able writer when he remarks at the end, “And
  now we may regard the story of Valerius Maximus with suspicion, and
  that of Lloyd as absolutely untrue, so far as William Noy’s alleged
  share in the ‘case.’” The jest or the event happening again and again
  is no valid proof of its untruth; and it is often harder to believe in
  derivation than in spontaneous growth.

Footnote 62:

  In Galland _Ali Cogia, Marchand de Bagdad_, is directly followed by
  the _Histoire du Cheval Enchanté_. For this “Ebony Horse,” as I have
  called it, see vol. v. p. 32.

Footnote 63:

  “Bánú” = a lady, a dame of high degree generally, _e.g._ the (Shah’s)
  Banu-i-Harem in James Morier (“The Mirza,” iii. 50), who rightly
  renders _Pari Banu_ = Pari of the first quality. “Peri” (Parí) in its
  modern form has a superficial resemblance to “Fairy;” but this
  disappears in the “Pairika” of the Avesta and the “Pairik” of the
  modern Parsee. In one language only, the Multání, there is a masculine
  form for the word “Pará” = a he-fairy (Scinde, ii. 203). In Al-Islam
  these Peris are beautiful feminine spirits who, created after the
  “Dívs” (Tabari, i. 7), mostly believe in Allah and the Koran and
  desire the good of mankind: they are often attacked by the said Dívs,
  giants or demons, who imprison them in cages hung to the highest
  trees, and here the captives are visited by their friends who feed
  them with the sweetest of scents. I have already contrasted them with
  the green-coated pygmies to which the grotesque fancy of Northern
  Europe has reduced them. Bánú in Pers. = a princess, a lady, and is
  still much used, _e.g._ Bánú-í-Harim, the Dame of the Serraglio, whom
  foreigners call “Queen of Persia;” and Árám-Banu = “the calm
  Princess,” a nickname. A Greek story equivalent of Prince Ahmad is
  told by Pio in _Contes Populaires Grecs_ (No. ii. p. 98) and called Τὸ
  χρυσὸ κουτάκι, the Golden box. Three youths (παλλικάρια) love the same
  girl and agree that whoever shall learn the best craft (ὅγεος μάθη
  πλεὶα καλὴν τέκνην) shall marry her; one becomes an astrologer, the
  second can raise the dead, and the third can run faster than air. They
  find her at death’s door, and her soul, which was at her teeth ready
  to start, goes down (καὶ πά ’ἣ ψυχή της κάτω, ποὔτανε πλειὰ στά δόντια
  της).

Footnote 64:

  Light of the Day.

Footnote 65:

  Galland has “Bisnagar,” which the H. V. corrupts to Bishan-Garh =
  Vishnu’s Fort, an utter misnomer. Bisnagar, like Bijnagar,
  Beejanuggur, Vizianuggur, etc., is a Prakrit corruption of the
  Sanskrit Vijáyanagara = City of Victory, the far-famed Hindu city and
  capital of the Narasingha or Lord of Southern India, mentioned in The
  Nights, vols. vi. 18; ix. 84. Nicolo de’ Conti in the xvth century
  found it a magnificent seat of Empire some fifteen marches south of
  the pestilential mountains which contained the diamond mines. Accounts
  of its renown and condition in the last generation have been given by
  James Grant (“Remarks on the Dekkan”) and by Captain Moore
  (“Operations of Little’s Detachment against Tippoo Sultan”). The
  latest description of it is in “The Indian Empire,” by Sir William W.
  Hunter. Vijáyanagar, village in Bellary district, Madras, lat. 15° 18′
  N., long. 76° 30′ E.; pop. (1871), 437, inhabiting 172 houses. The
  proper name of this village is _Hampi_, but Vijáyanagar was the name
  of the dynasty (?) and of the kingdom which had its capital here and
  was the last great Hindu power of the South. Founded by two
  adventurers in the middle of the xivth century, it lasted for two
  centuries till its star went down at Tálikot in A.D. 1565. For a
  description of the ruins of the old city of Vijáyanagar, which covers
  a total area of nine square miles, see “Murray’s Handbook for Madras,”
  by E. B. Eastwick (1879), vol. ix. p. 235. Authentic history in
  Southern India begins with the Hindu kingdom of Vijáyanagar, or
  Narsinha, from A.D. 1118 to 1565. The capital can still be traced
  within the Madras district of Bellary, on the right bank of the
  Tungabhadra river—vast ruins of temples, fortifications, tanks and
  bridges, haunted by hyænas and snakes. For at least three centuries
  Vijáyanagar ruled over the southern part of the Indian triangle. Its
  Rajas waged war and made peace on equal terms with the Mohamadan
  sultans of the Deccan. See vol. iv. p. 335, Sir W. W. Hunter’s
  “Imperial Gazetteer of India,” Edit. 1881.

Footnote 66:

  The writer means the great Bazar, the Indian “Chauk,” which = our
  English Carfax or Carfex (Carrefour) and forms the core of ancient
  cities in the East. It is in some places, as Damascus, large as one of
  the quarters, and the narrow streets or lanes, vaulted over or
  thatched, are all closed at night by heavy doors well guarded by men
  and dogs. Trades are still localised, each owning its own street,
  after the fashion of older England, where we read of Draper’s Lane and
  Butchers’ Row; Lombard Street, Cheapside and Old Jewry.

Footnote 67:

  The local name of the Patna gauzes. The term was originally applied to
  the produce of the Coan looms, which, however, was anticipated in
  ancient Egypt. See p. 287 of “L’Archéologie Égyptienne” (Paris, A.
  Quantin) of the learned Professor G. Maspero, a most able popular work
  by a savant who has left many regrets on the banks of Nilus.

Footnote 68:

  The great prototype of the Flying Carpet is that of Sulayman bin Dáúd,
  a fable which the Koran (chap. xxi. 81) borrowed from the Talmud, not
  from “Indian fictions.” It was of green sendal embroidered with gold
  and silver and studded with precious stones, and its length and
  breadth were such that all the Wise King’s host could stand upon it,
  the men to the left and the Jinns to the right of the throne; and when
  all were ordered, the Wind, at royal command, raised it and wafted it
  whither the Prophet would, while an army of birds flying overhead
  canopied the host from the sun. In the Middle Ages the legend assumed
  another form. “Duke Richard, surnamed ‘Richard sans peur,’ walking
  with his courtiers one evening in the forest of Moulineaux, near one
  of his castles on the banks of the Seine, hearing a prodigious noise
  coming towards him, sent one of his esquires to know what was the
  matter, who brought him word that it was a company of people under a
  leader or King. Richard, with five hundred of his bravest Normans,
  went out to see a sight which the peasants were so accustomed to that
  they viewed it two or three times a week without fear. The sight of
  the troop, preceded by two men, _who spread a cloth on the ground_,
  made all the Normans run away, and leave the Duke alone. He saw the
  strangers form themselves into a circle on the cloth, and on asking
  who they were, was told that they were the spirits of Charles V., King
  of France, and his servants, condemned to expiate their sins by
  fighting all night against the wicked and the damned. Richard desired
  to be of their party, and receiving a strict charge not to quit the
  cloth, was conveyed with them to Mount Sinai, where, leaving them
  without quitting the cloth, he said his prayers in the Church of St.
  Catherine’s Abbey there, while they were fighting, and returned with
  them. In proof of the truth of this story, he brought back half the
  wedding-ring of a knight in that convent, whose wife, after six years,
  concluded him dead, and was going to take a second husband.” (Note in
  the Lucknow Edition of The Nights.)

Footnote 69:

  Amongst Eastern peoples, and especially adepts, the will of man is not
  a mere term for a mental or cerebral operation, it takes the rank of a
  substance; it becomes a mighty motive power, like table-turning and
  other such phenomena which, now looked upon as child’s play, will
  perform a prime part in the Kinetics of the century to come. If a few
  pair of hands imposed upon a heavy dinner-table can raise it in the
  air, as I have often seen, what must we expect to result when the new
  motive force shall find its Franklin and be shown to the world as real
  “Vril”? The experiment of silently willing a subject to act in a
  manner not suggested by speech or sign has been repeatedly tried and
  succeeded in London drawing-rooms; and it has lately been suggested
  that atrocious crimes have resulted from overpowering volition. In
  cases of paralysis the Faculty is agreed upon the fact that local
  symptoms disappear when the will-power returns to the brain. And here
  I will boldly and baldly state my theory that, in sundry cases,
  spectral appearances (ghosts) and abnormal smells and sounds are
  simply the effect of a Will which has, so to speak, created them.

Footnote 70:

  The text has “But-Khánah” = idol-house (or room) syn. with “But-Kadah”
  = image-cuddy, which has been proposed as the derivation of the
  disputed “Pagoda.” The word “Khánah” also appears in our balcony,
  origin. “balcony,” through the South-European tongues, the Persian
  being “Bálá-khánah” = high room. From “Kadah” also we derive “cuddy,”
  now confined to nautical language.

Footnote 71:

  Europe contains sundry pictures which have, or are supposed to have,
  this property; witness the famous Sudarium bearing the head of Jesus.
  The trick, for it is not Art, is highly admired by the credulous.

Footnote 72:

  _i.e._ the Hindu Scripture or Holy Writ, _e.g._ “Káma-Shastra” = the
  Cupid-gospel.

Footnote 73:

  This shifting theatre is evidently borrowed by Galland from Pliny (N.
  H. xxxvi., 24) who tells that in B.C. 50, C. Curio built two large
  wooden theatres which could be wheeled round and formed into an
  amphitheatre. The simple device seems to stir the bile of the
  unmechanical old Roman, so unlike the Greek in powers of invention.

Footnote 74:

  This trick is now common in the circuses and hippodromes of Europe,
  horses and bulls being easily taught to perform it; but India has as
  yet not produced anything equal to the “Cyclist elephant” of Paris.

Footnote 75:

  This Arab.-Pers. compound, which we have corrupted to “Bezestein” or
  “Bezetzein” and “Bezesten,” properly means a market-place for Baz or
  Bazz = cloth, fine linen; but is used by many writers as = Bazar, see
  “Kaysariah,” vol. i, 266.

Footnote 76:

  The origin of the lens and its applied use to the telescope and the
  microscope are “lost” (as the Castle-guides of Edinburgh say) “in the
  glooms of antiquity.” Well ground glasses have been discovered amongst
  the finds of Egypt and Assyria: indeed much of the finer work of the
  primeval artists could not have been done without such aid. In Europe
  the “spy-glass” appears first in the Opus Majus of the learned Roger
  Bacon (circa A.D. 1270); and his “optic tube” (whence his saying “all
  things are known by perspective”), chiefly contributed to make his
  wide-spread fame as a wizard. The telescope was popularised by Galileo
  who (as mostly happens) carried off and still keeps, amongst the
  vulgar, all the honours of invention. Some “Illustrators” of The
  Nights confound this “Nazzárah,” the Pers. “Dúr-bín,” or far-seer,
  with the “Magic Mirror,” a speculum which according to Gower was set
  up in Rome by Virgilius the Magician; hence the Mirror of Glass in the
  Squire’s tale; Merlin’s glassie Mirror of Spenser (F. Q. ii. 24); the
  mirror in the head of the monstrous fowl which forecast the Spanish
  invasion to the Mexicans; the glass which in the hands of Cornelius
  Agrippa (A.D. 1520) showed to the Earl of Surrey fair Geraldine “sick
  in her bed;” to the globe of glass in The Lusiads; Dr. Dee’s
  show-stone, a bit of cannel-coal; and lastly the zinc and copper disk
  of the absurdly called “electro-biologist.” I have noticed this matter
  at some length in various places.

Footnote 77:

  D’Herbelot renders Soghd Samarkand = plain of Samarkand. Hence the old
  “Sogdiana,” the famed and classical capital of Máwaránnahr, our modern
  Transoxiana, now known as Samarkand. The Hindi translator has turned
  “Soghd” into “Sadá” and gravely notes that “the village appertained to
  Arabia.” He possibly had a dim remembrance of the popular legend which
  derives “Samarkand” from Shamir or Samar bin Afrikús, the Tobba King
  of Al-Yaman, who lay waste Soghd-city (“Shamir kand” = Shamir
  destroyed); and when rebuilt the place was called by the Arab.
  corruption Samarkand. See Ibn Khallikan ii. 480. Ibn Haukal (Kitáb al
  Mamálik wa al-Masálik = Book of Realms and Routes), whose Oriental
  Geography (xth century) was translated by Sir W. Ouseley (London,
  Oriental Press, 1800), followed by Abú ’l-Fidá, mentions the
  Himyaritic inscription upon an iron plate over the Kash portal of
  Samarkand (Appendix No. iii).

Footnote 78:

  The wish might have been highly indiscreet and have exposed the wisher
  to the resentment of the two other brothers. In parts of Europe it is
  still the belief of the vulgar that men who use telescopes can see
  even with the naked eye objects which are better kept hidden; and I
  have heard of troubles in the South of France because the villagers
  would not suffer the secret charms of their women to become as it were
  the public property of the lighthouse employés.

Footnote 79:

  “Jám-i-Jamshíd” is a well worn commonplace in Moslem folk-lore; but
  commentators cannot agree whether “Jám” be = a mirror or a cup. In the
  latter sense it would represent the Cyathomantic cup of the Patriarch
  Joseph and the symbolic bowl of Nestor. Jamshíd may be translated
  either Jam the Bright or the Cup of the Sun: this ancient King is the
  Solomon of the grand old Guebres.

Footnote 80:

  This passage may have suggested to Walter Scott one of his
  descriptions in “The Monastery.”

Footnote 81:

  In the text “Lájawardí,” for which see vols. iii. 33, and ix. 190.

Footnote 82:

  In Galland and the H.V. “Prince Husayn’s.”

Footnote 83:

  This is the “Gandharba-lagana” (fairy wedding) of the Hindus; a
  marriage which lacked only the normal ceremonies. For the Gandharbas =
  heavenly choristers see Moor’s “Hindú Pantheon,” p. 237, etc.

Footnote 84:

  “Perfumed with amber” (-gris?) says Galland.

Footnote 85:

  The Hind. term for the royal levée, as “Selám” is the Persian.

Footnote 86:

  Arab. “’Ilm al-Ghayb” = the Science of Hidden Things which, says the
  Hadis, belongeth only to the Lord. Yet amongst Moslems, as with other
  faiths, the instinctive longing to pry into the Future has produced a
  host of pseudo-sciences, Geomancy, Astrology, Prophecy and others
  which serve only to prove that such knowledge, in the present
  condition of human nature, is absolutely unattainable.

Footnote 87:

  In folk-lore and fairy tales the youngest son of mostly three brothers
  is generally Fortune’s favourite: at times also he is the fool or the
  unlucky one of the family, Cinderella being his counterpart (Mr.
  Clouston, i. 321).

Footnote 88:

  The parasang (Gr. παρασάγγης), which Ibn Khall. (iii. 315) reduces to
  three miles, has been derived wildly enough from Fars or Pars (Persia
  proper) sang = (mile) stone. Chardin supports the etymology, “because
  leagues are marked out with great tall stones in the East as well as
  the West, _e.g._ ad primam (vel secundam) lapidem.”

Footnote 89:

  A huge marquee or pavilion-tent in India.

Footnote 90:

  The Jinn feminine; see vol. i. 10. The word hardly corresponds with
  the Pers. “Peri” and Engl. “Fairy,” a creation, like the “Dív,” of the
  so-called “Aryan,” not “Semitic,” race.

Footnote 91:

  Galland makes the Fairy most unjustifiably fear that her husband is
  meditating the murder of his father; and the Hindí in this point has
  much the advantage of the Frenchman.

Footnote 92:

  Pers. = “Light of the World;” familiar to Europe as the name of the
  Grand Moghul Jehángír’s principal wife.

Footnote 93:

  The Arab stirrup, like that of the Argentine Gaucho, was originally
  made of wood, liable to break, and forming a frail support for lancer
  and sworder. A famous chief and warrior, Abú Sa’íd al-Muhallab (ob.
  A.H. 83 = 702) first gave orders to forge footrests of iron.

Footnote 94:

  For this Egyptian and Syrian weapon see vol. i. 234.

Footnote 95:

  See vol. vii. 93, where an error of punctuation confounds it with
  Kerbela,—a desert with a place of pilgrimage. “Samáwah” in Ibn Khall.
  (vol. i. 108) is also the name of a town on the Euphrates.

Footnote 96:

  Nazaránah prop. = the gift (or gifts) offered at visits by a Moslem
  noble or feoffee in India to his feudal superior; and the Kalíchah of
  Hindú, Malabar, Goa and the Blue Mountains (p. 197). Hence the
  periodical tributes and especially the presents which represent our
  “legacy-duty” and the “succession-duty” for Rajahs and Nabobs, the
  latter so highly lauded by “The Times,” as the logical converse of the
  Corn-laws which ruined our corn. The Nazaránah can always be made a
  permanent and a considerable source of revenue, far more important
  than such unpopular and un-Oriental device as an income-tax. But our
  financiers have yet to learn the A. B. C. of political economy in
  matters of assessment, which is to work upon familiar lines; and they
  especially who, like Mr. Wilson “mad as a hatter,” hold and hold forth
  that “what is good for England is good for the world.” These myopics
  decide on theoretical and sentimental grounds that a poll-tax is bad
  in principle, which it may be, still public opinion sanctions it and
  it can be increased without exciting discontent. The same with the
  “Nazaránah;” it has been the custom of ages immemorial, and a little
  more or a little less does not affect its popularity.

Footnote 97:

  Pers. = City-queen.

Footnote 98:

  Compare with this tale its modern and popular version _Histoire du
  Rossignol Chanteur_ (Spitta-Bey, No. x, p. 123): it contains the
  rosary (and the ring) that shrinks, the ball that rolls and the water
  that heals; etc. etc. Mr. Clouston somewhere asserts that the History
  of the Envious Sisters, like that of Prince Ahmad and the Perí-Banu,
  are taken from a MS. still preserved in the “King’s Library,” Paris;
  but he cannot quote his authority, De Sacy or Langlès. Mr. H. C. Coote
  (loc. cit. p. 189) declares it to be, and to have been, “an enormous
  favourite in Italy and Sicily: no folk-tale exists in those countries
  at all comparable to it in the number of its versions and in the
  extent of its distribution.” He begins two centuries before Galland,
  with Straparola (_Notti Piacevoli_), proceeds to Imbriani (_Novellaja
  Fiorentina_), Nerucci (_Novelle Montalesi_), Comparetti (_Novelline
  Italiane_) and Pitrè (_Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti popolari Italiani_,
  vol i.); and informs us that “the adventures of the young girl,
  independently of the joint history of herself and her brother, are
  also told in a separate _Fiaba_ in Italy. A tale called ‘La Favenilla
  Coraggiosa’ is given by Visentini in his _Fiabe Mantovane_ and it is
  as far as it is a counterpart of the second portion of Galland’s
  tale.” Mr. Coote also finds this story in Hahn’s “Griechische Märchen”
  entitled “Sun, Moon and Morning Star”—the names of the royal children.
  The King overhears the talk of three girls and marries the youngest
  despite his stepmother, who substitutes for her issue a puppy, a
  kitten and a mouse. The castaways are adopted by a herdsman whilst the
  mother is confined in a henhouse; and the King sees his offspring and
  exclaims, “These children are like those my wife promised me.” His
  stepmother, hearing this, threatens the nurse, who goes next morning
  disguised as a beggar-woman to the girl and induces her to long for
  the Bough that makes music, the Magic Mirror, and the bird
  Dickierette. The brothers set out to fetch them leaving their shirts
  which become black when the mishap befalls them. The sister, directed
  by a monk, catches the bird and revives the stones by the Water of
  Life and the denouement is brought about by a sausage stuffed with
  diamonds. In Miss Stokes’ Collection of Hindu Stories (No. xx.) “The
  Boy who had a moon on his brow and a star on his chin” also suggests
  the “Envious Sisters.”

Footnote 99:

  Pop. “Ghaut” = The steps (or path) which lead down to a
  watering-place. Hence the Hindi saying concerning the “rolling
  stone”—Dhobi-ka kuttá; na Ghar-ká na Ghát-ká, = a washerwoman’s tyke,
  nor of the house nor of the Ghát-dyke.

Footnote 100:

  Text “Khatíbah” more usually “Khutbah” = the Friday sermon preached by
  the Khatíb: in this the reigning sovereign is prayed for by name and
  his mention together with the change of coinage is the proof of his
  lawful rule. See Lane, M. E. chap. iii.

Footnote 101:

  This form of eaves-dropping, in which also the listener rarely hears
  any good of himself is, I need hardly now say, a favourite incident of
  Eastern storiology and even of history, _e.g._ Three men met together;
  one of them expressed the wish to obtain a thousand pieces of gold, so
  that he might trade with them; the other wished for an appointment
  under the Emir of the Moslems; the third wished to possess Yusuf’s
  wife, who was the handsomest of women and had great political
  influence. Yusuf, being informed of what they said, sent for the men,
  bestowed one thousand dinars on him who wished for that sum, gave an
  appointment to the other and said to him who wished to possess the
  lady: “Foolish man! what induced you to wish for that which you can
  never obtain?” He then sent him to her and she placed him in a tent
  where he remained three days, receiving, each day, one and the same
  kind of food. She had him then brought to her and said, “What did you
  eat these days past” He replied: “Always the same thing!”—“Well,” said
  she, “all women are the same thing.” She then ordered some money and a
  dress to be given him, after which, she dismissed him. (Ibn Khallikan
  iii. 463–64.)

Footnote 102:

  This ruthless attempt at infanticide was in accordance with the
  manners of the age nor has it yet disappeared from Rajput-land, China
  and sundry over-populous countries. Indeed it is a question if
  civilization may not be compelled to revive the law of Lycurgus which
  forbade a child, male or female, to be brought up without the
  approbation of public officers appointed _ad hoc_. One of the curses
  of the XIXth century is the increased skill of the midwife and the
  physician, who are now able to preserve worthless lives and to bring
  up semi-abortions whose only effect upon the breed is increased
  degeneracy. Amongst the Greeks and ancient Arabs the Malthusian
  practice was carried to excess. Poseidippus declares that in his day—

            A man, although poor, will not expose his son;
            But however rich, will not preserve his daughter.

  See the commentators’ descriptions of the Wa’d al-Banát or burial of
  Mauúdát (living daughters), the barbarous custom of the pagan Arabs
  (Koran, chaps. xvi. and lxxxi.), one of the many abominations, like
  the murderous vow of Jephtha, to which Al-Islam put a summary stop.
  (Ibn Khallikan, iii. 609–616). For such outcast children reported to
  be monsters, see pp. 402–412 of Mr. Clouston’s “Asiatic and European
  versions of four of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales,” printed by the
  Chaucer Society.

Footnote 103:

  Hind. Chhuchhundar (_Sorex cærulescens_) which occurs repeatedly in
  verse; _e.g._, when speaking of low men advanced to high degree, the
  people say:—

                 Chhuchhúndar-ke sir-par Chambelí-ka tel.
                 The Jasmine-oil on the musk-rat’s head.

  In Galland the Sultánah is brought to bed of _un morceau de bois_; and
  his Indian translator is more consequent. Hahn, as has been seen, also
  has the mouse but Hahn could hardly have reached Hindostan.

Footnote 104:

  This title of Sháhinshah was first assumed by Ardashír, the great
  Persian conqueror, after slaying the King of Ispahán, Ardawán. (Tabari
  ii. 73.)

Footnote 105:

  This imprisonment of the good Queen reminds home readers of the “Cage
  of Clapham” wherein a woman with child was imprisoned in A.D. 1700,
  and which was noted by Sir George Grove as still in existence about
  1830.

Footnote 106:

  Arab. Ayyám al-Nifás = the period of forty days after labour during
  which, according to Moslem law, a woman may not cohabit with her
  husband.

Footnote 107:

  A _clarum et venerabile nomen_ in Persia; meaning one of the Spirits
  that presides over beasts of burden; also a king in general, the P.N.
  of an ancient sovereign, etc.

Footnote 108:

  This is the older pronunciation of the mod. (Khusrau) “Parvíz”; and I
  owe an apology to Mr. C. J. Lyall (Ancient Arabian Poetry) for terming
  his “Khusrau Parvêz” an “ugly Indianism” (The Academy, No. 100). As he
  says (Ibid. vol. x. 85), “the Indians did not invent for Persian words
  the sounds _ê_ and _ô_, called _majhúl_ (_i.e._ ‘not known in Arabic’)
  by the Arabs, but received them at a time when these sounds were
  universally used in Persia. The substitution by Persians of _î_ and
  _û_ for _ê_ and _ô_ is quite modern.”

Footnote 109:

  _i.e._ Fairy-born, the Παρυσάτις (Parysatis) of the Greeks which some
  miswrite Παρύσατις.

Footnote 110:

  In Arab. usually shortened to “Hazár” (bird of a thousand tales = the
  Thousand), generally called “’Andalíb:” Galland has _Bulbulhezer_ and
  some of his translators debase it to _Bulbulkezer_. See vol. v. 148,
  and the Hazár-dastán of Kazwíní (De Sacy, Chrest. iii. 413). These
  rarities represent the Rukh’s egg in “Alaeddin.”

Footnote 111:

  These disembodied “voices” speaking either naturally or through
  instruments are a recognised phenomenon of the so-called
  “Spiritualism.” See p. 115 of “Supramundane Facts,” &c., edited by T.
  J. Nichols, M.D., &c., London, Pitman, 1865. I venture to remark that
  the medical treatment by Mesmerism, Braidism and hypnotics, which was
  violently denounced and derided in 1850, is in 1887 becoming a part of
  the regular professional practice and forms another item in the long
  list of the Fallacies of the Faculty and the Myopism of the
  “Scientist.”

Footnote 112:

  I may also note that the “Hátif,” or invisible Speaker, which must be
  subjective more often than objective, is a commonplace of Moslem
  thaumaturgy.

Footnote 113:

  It may have been borrowed from Ulysses and the Sirens.

Footnote 114:

  Two heroes of the Shahnámeh and both the types of reckless daring. The
  monomachy or duel between these braves lasted through two days.

Footnote 115:

  The “Bágh” or royal tiger, is still found in the jungles of Mázenderán
  and other regions of Northern Persia.

Footnote 116:

  In addressing the Shah every Persian begins with the formula
  “Kurbán-at básham” = may I become thy Corban or sacrifice. For this
  word (Kurbán) see vol. viii. 16.

Footnote 117:

  The King in Persia always speaks of himself in the third person and
  swears by his own blood and head, soul, life and death. The form of
  oath is ancient: Joseph, the first (but not the last) Jew-financier of
  Egypt, emphasises his speech “by the life of Pharaoh.” (Gen. xiii. 15,
  16).

Footnote 118:

  Another title of the Shah, making him quasi-divine, at any rate the
  nearest to the Almighty, like the Czar and the Emperor of China. Hence
  the subjects bow to him with the body at right angles as David did to
  Saul (1 Sam. xxiv. 8) or fall upon the face like Joshua (v. 14).

Footnote 119:

  A most improbable and absurd detail: its sole excuse is the popular
  superstition of “blood speaking to blood.” The youths being of the
  royal race felt that they could take unwarrantable liberties.

Footnote 120:

  This is still a Persian custom because all the subjects, women as well
  as men, are virtually the King’s slaves.

Footnote 121:

  _i.e._ King of kings, the Βασιλεὺς βασιλέων.

Footnote 122:

  _Majlis garm karná_, _i.e._, to give some life to the company.

Footnote 123:

  In Arabic “’Ilm al-Mukáshafah” = the Science by which Eastern adepts
  discover man’s secret thoughts. Of late years it has appeared in
  England but with the same quackery and imposture which have ruined
  “Spiritualism” as the Faith of the Future.

Footnote 124:

  Nor are those which do occur all in the same order: The first in the
  Turkish book, “Of ’Ebú-’l-Kásim of Basra, of the ’Emír of Basra, and
  of ’Ebú-’l-Faskh of Wásit,” is probably similar to the first in Petis,
  “History of Aboulcasem of Basra.” The second, “Of Fadzlu-’llah of
  Mawsil (Mosel), of ’Ebú-’l-Hasan, and of Máhyár of Wásit,” is
  evidently the seventh in Petis, “History of Fadlallah, Son of Bin
  Ortoc, King of Moussel.” The fourth, “Of Ridzwán-Sháh of China and the
  Shahristání Lady,” is the second in Petis, “History of King
  Razvanschad and of the Princess Cheheristany.” The eleventh, “Of the
  Sovereign without a care and of the Vazír full of care,” is the eighth
  in Petis, “History of King Bedreddin Lolo and of his Vizier
  Altalmulc.” The third, “Of the Builder of Bemm with the two Vazírs of
  the king of Kawáshar,” the seventh, “Of the Rogue Nasr and the son of
  the king of Khurásán,” and the tenth, “The Three Youths, the Old Man,
  and the Daughter of the King,” I cannot, from these titles, recognise
  in Petis; while the fifth, “Farrukh-Shád, Farrukh-Rúz, and
  Farrukh-Náz,” may be the same as the frame-story of the “Hazár ú Yek
  Rúz,” where the king is called Togrul-bey, his son Farrukrouz, and his
  daughter Farruknaz, and if this be the case, the Turkish book must
  differ considerably from the Persian in its plan.—Although “The
  Thousand and One Nights” has not been found in Persian, there exists a
  work in that language of which the plan is somewhat similar—but
  adapted from an Indian source. It is thus described by Dr. Rieu, in
  his Catalogue of Persian MSS. in the British Museum, vol. ii. p. 773:
  Tale of Shírzád, son of Gurgahan, emperor of China, and Gulshád,
  daughter of the vazír Farrukhzád (called the Story of the Nine
  Belvideres). Nine tales told by Gulshad to Shírzád, each in one of the
  nine belvideres of the royal palace, in order to save the forfeited
  life of her father.

Footnote 125:

  A translation of this version, omitting the moral reflections
  interspersed, is given by Professor E. B. Cowell in the “Journal of
  Philology,” 1876, vol. vi. p. 193. The great Persian mystic tells
  another story of a Dream of Riches, which, though only remotely allied
  to our tale, is very curious:

                   _THE FAKÍR AND THE HIDDEN TREASURE._

  Notwithstanding the clear evidence of God’s bounty, engendering those
  spiritual tastes in men, philosophers and learned men, wise in their
  own conceit, obstinately shut their eyes to it, and look afar off for
  what is really close to them, so that they incur the penalty of being
  “branded on the nostrils” [Kurán, lxviii. 16], adjudged against
  unbelievers. This is illustrated by the story of a poor Fakír who
  prayed to God that he might be fed without being obliged to work for
  his food. A divine voice came to him in his sleep and directed him to
  go to the house of a certain scribe and take a certain writing he
  should find there. He did so, and on reading the writing found that it
  contained directions for discovering a hidden treasure. The directions
  were as follows: “Go outside the city to the dome which covers the
  tomb of the martyr, turn your back to the tomb and your face towards
  Mecca, place an arrow in your bow, and where the arrow falls dig for
  the treasure.” But before the Fakír had time to commence the search
  the rumour of the writing and its purport had reached the King, who at
  once sent and took it away from the Fakír, and began to search for the
  treasure on his own account. After shooting many arrows and digging in
  all directions the King failed to find the treasure, and got weary of
  searching, and returned the writing to the Fakír. Then the Fakír tried
  what he could do, but failed to hit the spot where the treasure was
  buried. At last, despairing of success by his own unaided efforts, he
  cast his care upon God, and implored the divine assistance. Then a
  voice from heaven came to him, saying, “You were directed to fix an
  arrow in your bow, but not to draw your bow with all your might, as
  you have been doing. Shoot as gently as possible, that the arrow may
  fall close to you, for hidden treasure is indeed ‘nearer to you than
  your neck-vein’” [Kurán, l. 15]. Men overlook the spiritual treasures
  close to them, and for this reason it is that prophets have no honour
  in their own countries.—_Mr. E. H. Whinfield’s Abridgment of “The
  Masnavi-i Ma’navi.”_ (London, 1887.)

Footnote 126:

  See Mr. Gibb’s translation (London: Redway), p. 278.

Footnote 127:

  “Rem quæ contigit patrum memoriâ ut veram ita dignam relatu et
  sæpenumero mihi assertam ab hominibus fide dignis apponam.”

Footnote 128:

  Thorpe says that a nearly similar legend is current at Tanslet, on the
  island of Alsen.

Footnote 129:

  The common tradition is, it was in English rhyme, viz.

                           “Where this stood
                           Is another as good;”

  or, as some will have it:

                       “Under me doth lie
                       Another much richer than I.”

Footnote 130:

  Apropos to dreams, there is a very amusing story, entitled “Which was
  the Dream?” in Mr. F. H. Balfour’s “Leaves from my Chinese Scrap
  Book,” p. 106–7 (London: Trübner, 1887).

Footnote 131:

  The story in the Turkish collection, “Al-Faraj ba’d al-Shiddah,” where
  it forms the 8th recital, is doubtless identical with our Arabian
  version, since in both the King of the Genie figures, which is not the
  case in Mr. Gibb’s story.

Footnote 132:

  Although this version is not preceded, as in the Arabian, by the Dream
  of Riches, yet that incident occurs, I understand, in separate form in
  the work of ’Alí ’Azíz.

Footnote 133:

  Sir Richard has referred, in note 2, pp. 23, 24, to numerous different
  magical tests of chastity etc., and I may here add one more, to wit,
  the cup which Oberon, King of the Fairies, gave to Duke Huon of
  Bordeaux (according to the romance which recounts the marvellous
  adventures of that renowned Knight), which filled with wine in the
  hand of any man who was out of “deadly sin” and attempted to drink out
  of it, but was always empty in the hands of a sinful man. Charlemagne
  was shown to be sinful by this test, while Duke Huon, his wife, and a
  companion were proved to be free from sin.—In my “Popular Tales and
  Fictions” the subject of inexhaustible purses etc. is treated pretty
  fully—they frequently figure in folk-tales, from Iceland to Ceylon,
  from Japan to the Hebrides.

Footnote 134:

  “The Athenæum,” April 23, 1887, p. 542.

Footnote 135:

  See M. Eugène Lévêque’s “Les Mythes et les Légendes de l’Inde et la
  Perse” (Paris, 1880), p. 543, where the two are printed side by side.
  This was pointed out more than seventy years ago by Henry Weber in his
  Introduction to “Tales of the East,” edited by him.

Footnote 136:

  Also in the romance of Duke Huon of Bordeaux and the old French
  romance of the Chevalier Berinus. The myth was widely spread in the
  Middle Ages.

Footnote 137:

  Cf. the magic horn that Duke Huon of Bordeaux received from Oberon
  King of the Fairies, which caused even the Soudan of Babylon to caper
  about in spite of himself; and similar musical instruments in a
  hundred different tales, such as the old English poem of “The Friar
  and the Boy,” the German tale (in Grimm) of “The Jew among Thorns,”
  the “Pied Piper of Hamelin,” &c.

Footnote 138:

  Not distantly related to stories of this class are those in which the
  hero becomes possessed of some all-bestowing object—a purse, a box, a
  table-cloth, a sheep, a donkey, etc.—which being stolen from him he
  recovers by means of a magic club that on being commanded rattles on
  the pate and ribs of the thief and compels him to restore the
  treasure.

Footnote 139:

  The Dwarf had told the soldier, on leaving him after killing the old
  witch, that should his services be at any other time required, he had
  only to light his pipe at the Blue Light and he should instantly
  appear before him. The tobacco-pipe must be considered as a recent and
  quite unnecessary addition to the legend: evidently all the power of
  summoning the Dwarf was in the Blue Light, since he tells the soldier
  when he first appears before him in the well that he must obey its
  lord and master.

Footnote 140:

  Belli signifies famous, or notorious.

Footnote 141:

  This young lady’s notion of the “function of Prayer” was, to say the
  least, peculiar, in thus addressing her petition to the earth instead
  of to Heaven.

Footnote 142:

  The gentle, amiable creature!

Footnote 143:

  Chamley-bill was, says Dr. Chodzko, a fort built by Kurroglú, the
  ruins of which are still to be seen in the valley of Salmas, a
  district in the province of Aderbaijan.

Footnote 144:

  _i.e._ Kuvera, the god of wealth.

Footnote 145:

  The attendants of Kuvera.

Footnote 146:

  That every man has his “genius” of good or evil fortune is, I think,
  essentially a Buddhistic idea.

Footnote 147:

  Such being the case, what need was there for the apparition presenting
  itself every morning?—but no matter!

Footnote 148:

  Pandit S. M. Natésa Sástrí, in “Indian Notes and Queries,” for March,
  1887, says that women swallow large numbers of an insect called
  _pillai-púchchi_ (son-insect: _gryllas_) in the hope of bearing sons;
  they will also drink the water squeezed from the loin-cloth of a
  _sanyásí_ [devotee] after washing it for him!—Another correspondent in
  the same periodical, Pandit Putlíbái K. Raghunathjé, writes that Hindú
  women, for the purpose of having children, especially a son, observe
  the fourth lunar day of every dark fortnight as a fast, and break
  their fast only after seeing the moon, generally before 9 or 10 p.m. A
  dish of twenty-one small, marble-like balls of rice is prepared, in
  one of which is put some salt. The whole dish is then served up to the
  woman, and while eating it she should first lay her hands on the ball
  containing salt, as it is believed to be a positive sign that she will
  be blessed with a son. In that case she should give up eating the
  rest, but otherwise she should go on eating till she lays her hands on
  the salted ball. The Pandit adds, that the observance of this ball
  depends on the wish of the woman. She may observe it on only one,
  five, seven, eleven, or twenty-one lunar fourth days, or _chaturthí_.
  Should she altogether fail in picking out the salted ball first, she
  may be sure of remaining barren all her life long.

Footnote 149:

  I am glad to see among Messrs. Trübner and Co.’s announcements of
  forthcoming publications Mr. Knowles’ collection of “Folk-Tales of
  Kashmír” in popular handy-volume form.

Footnote 150:

  A holy man whose austerities have obtained for him supernatural
  powers.

Footnote 151:

  Also called “Story of the King and his Four Ministers.” There is
  another but wholly different Tamil romance entitled the “Alakésa
  Kathá,” in which a king’s daughter becomes a disembodied evil spirit,
  haunting during the night a particular choultry (or serai) for
  travellers, and if they do not answer aright to her cries she
  strangles them and vampyre-like sucks their blood.

Footnote 152:

  The Pandit informs me that his “Folk-Lore in Southern India” will be
  completed at press and issued shortly at Bombay. (London agents,
  Messrs. Trübner & Co.)

Footnote 153:

  In the “Kathá Sarit Ságara,” Book ii., ch. 14, when the King of Vatsa
  receives the hand of Vasavadatta, “like a beautiful shoot lately
  budded on the creeper of love,” she walks round the fire, keeping it
  to the right, on which Prof. Tawney remarks that “the practice of
  walking round an object of reverence, with the right hand towards it,
  has been exhaustively discussed by Dr. Samuel Fergusson in his paper,
  ‘On the ceremonial turn called Desiul,’ published in the Proceedings
  of the Royal Irish Academy, for March 1877 (vol i., series ii., No.
  12). He shows it to have existed among the ancient Romans as well as
  the Celts.... Dr. Fergusson is of opinion that this movement was a
  symbol of the cosmical rotation, an imitation of the apparent course
  of the sun in the heavens.”

Footnote 154:

  The affection of parents for their children is often a blind instinct,
  and sometimes selfish, though, after all, there is doubtless truth in
  these lines:

               “A mother’s love!
               If there be one thing pure,
               Where all beside is sullied,
               That can endure
               When all else pass away:
               If there be aught
               Surpassing human deed, or word, or thought,
               It is a mother’s love!”

Footnote 155:

  _Surma_ is a collyrium applied to the edges of the eyelids to increase
  the lustre of the eyes. A Persian poet, addressing the damsel of whom
  he is enamoured, says, “For eyes so intoxicated with love’s nectar
  what need is there of surma?”—This part of the story seems to be
  garbled; in another text of the romance of Hatim Ta’í it is only after
  the surma has been applied to the covetous man’s eyes that he beholds
  the hidden treasures.

Footnote 156:

  The first part of the story of the Young King of the Black Isles, in
  The Nights, bears some analogy to this, but there the paramour is only
  “half-killed” and the vindictive queen transforms her husband from the
  waist downwards into marble.

Footnote 157:

  On the Sources of some of Galland’s Tales. By Henry Charles Coote,
  F.S.A., “Folk-Lore Record,” 1881, vol. iii, part 2, p. 186.

Footnote 158:

  See Thorpe’s “Yule Tide Stories,” Bohn’s ed., pp. 481–486.—Thorpe says
  that “for many years the Dummburg was the abode of robbers, who slew
  the passing travellers and merchants whom they perceived on the road
  from Leipsig to Brunswick, and heaped together the treasures of the
  plundered churches and the surrounding country, which they concealed
  in subterranean caverns.” The peasantry would therefore regard the
  spot with superstitious awe, and once such a tale as that of Ali Baba
  got amongst them, the robbers’ haunt in their neighbourhood would soon
  become the scene of the poor woodcutter’s adventure.

Footnote 159:

  A Persian poet says:

            “He who violates the rights of the bread and salt
            Breaks, for his wretched self, head and neck.”

Footnote 160:

  Miss Busk reproduces the proper names as they are transliterated in
  Jülg’s German version of those Kalmuk and Mongolian Tales—from which a
  considerable portion of her book was rendered—thus: Ardshi Bordshi,
  Rakschasas, etc.; but drollest of all is “Ramajana” (Ramayana), which
  is right in German but not in English.

Footnote 161:

  The apocryphal gospels and the Christian hagiology are largely
  indebted to Buddhism; _e.g._, the Descent into Hell, of which there is
  such a graphic account in the Gospel of Nicodemus, seems to have been
  adapted from ancient Buddhist legends, now embodied in the opening
  chapters of a work entitled, “Káranda-vyúha,” which contain a
  description of the Boddhisattva Avalokiteswara’s descent into the hell
  Avíchi, to deliver the souls there held captive by Yama, the lord of
  the lower world. (See a paper by Professor E. B. Cowell, LL.D., in the
  “Journal of Philology,” 1876, vol. vi. pp. 222–231.) This legend also
  exists in Telugu, under the title of “Sánanda Charitra,” of which the
  outline is given in Taylor’s “Catalogue Raisonné of Oriental MSS. in
  the Government Library, Madras,” vol. ii. p. 643: Sánanda, the son of
  Purna Vitta and Bhadra Datta, heard from _munis_ accounts of the pains
  of the wicked, and wishing to see for himself, went to Yama-puri. His
  coming had been announced by Nárada. Yama showed the stranger the
  different lots of mankind in a future state, in details. Sánanda was
  touched with compassion for the miseries that he witnessed, and by the
  use of the five and six lettered spells he delivered those imprisoned
  souls and took them with him to Kailasa. Yama went to Siva and
  complained, but Siva civilly dismissed the appeal.—Under the title of
  “The Harrowing of Hell,” the apocryphal Christian legend was the theme
  of a Miracle Play in England during the Middle Ages, and indeed it
  seems to have been, in different forms, a popular favourite throughout
  Europe. Thus in a German tale Strong Hans goes to the Devil in hell
  and wants to serve him, and sees the pains in which souls are
  imprisoned standing beside the fire. Full of pity, he lifts up the
  lids and sets the souls free, on which the Devil at once drives him
  away. A somewhat similar notion occurs in an Icelandic tale of the Sin
  Sacks, in Powell and Magnússon’s collection (second series, p. 48).
  And in T. Crofton Croker’s “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South
  of Ireland,” ed. 1828, Part ii. p. 30 ff., we read of Soul Cages at
  the bottom of the sea, containing the spirits of drowned sailors,
  which the bold hero Jack Docherty set free.

Footnote 162:

  The Rabbins relate that among the Queen of Sheba’s tests of Solomon’s
  sagacity she brought before him a number of boys and girls apparelled
  all alike, and desired him to distinguish those of one sex from those
  of the other, as they stood in his presence. Solomon caused a large
  basin of water to be fetched in, and ordered them all to wash their
  hands. By this expedient he discovered the boys from the girls, since
  the former washed merely their hands, while the latter washed also
  their arms.

Footnote 163:

  Dr. W. Grimm, in the notes to his “Kinder und Hausmärchen,” referring
  to the German form of the story (which we shall come to by-and-by),
  says, “_The Parrot_, which is the fourth story in the Persian _Touti
  Nameh_, bears some resemblance to this”—the _Parrot_ is the reciter of
  all the stories in the collection, not the title of this particular
  tale.

Footnote 164:

  To Sir Richard Burton’s interesting note on the antiquity of the lens
  and its applied use to the telescope and microscope may be added a
  passage or two from Sir William Drummond’s “Origines; or, Remarks on
  the Origin of several Empires, States, and Cities,” 1825, vol. ii. p.
  246–250. This writer appears to think that telescopes were not unknown
  to the ancients and adduces plausible evidence in support of his
  opinion. “Moschopalus,” he says, “an ancient grammarian, mentions four
  instruments with which the astronomers of antiquity were accustomed to
  observe the stars—the _catoptron_, the _dioptron_, the _eisoptron_,
  and the _enoptron_.” He supposes the catoptron to have been the same
  with the astrolabe. “The dioptron seems to have been so named from a
  tube through which the observer looked. Were the other two instruments
  named from objects being reflected in a mirror placed within them?
  Aristotle says that the Greeks employed mirrors when they surveyed the
  celestial appearances. May we not conclude from this circumstance that
  astronomers were not always satisfied with looking through empty
  tubes?” He thinks the ancients were acquainted with lenses and has
  collected passages from various writers which corroborate his opinion,
  besides referring to the numerous uses to which glass was applied in
  the most remote ages. He goes on to say:

  “Some of the observations of the ancients must appear very
  extraordinary, if magnifying glasses had never been known among them.
  The boldness with which the Pythagoreans asserted that the surface of
  the moon was diversified by mountains and valleys can hardly be
  accounted for, unless Pythagoras had been convinced of the fact by the
  help of telescopes, which might have existed in the observatories of
  Egypt and Chaldea before those countries were conquered and laid waste
  by the Persians. Pliny (L. 11) says that 1600 stars had been counted
  in the 72 constellations, and by this expression I can only understand
  him to mean the 72 dodecans into which the Egyptians and Chaldeans
  divided the zodiac. Now this number of stars could never have been
  counted in the zodiac without the assistance of glasses. Ptolemy
  reckoned a much less number for the whole heavens. The missionaries
  found many more stars marked in the Chinese charts of the heavens than
  formerly existed in those which were in use in Europe. Suidas, at the
  word ὕαλος (glass), indicates, in explaining a passage in
  Aristophanes, that burning mirrors were occasionally made of glass.
  Now how can we suppose burning mirrors to have been made of glass
  without supposing the magnifying powers of glass to have been known?
  The Greeks, as Plutarch affirms, employed metallic mirrors, either
  plane, or convex, or concave, according to the use for which they were
  intended. If they could make burning mirrors of glass, they could have
  given any of these forms to glass. How then could they have avoided
  observing that two glasses, one convex and the other concave, placed
  at a certain distance from each other, magnified objects seen through
  them? Numerous experiments must have been made with concave and convex
  glasses before burning mirrors made of glass could have been employed.
  If astronomers never knew the magnifying powers of glass, and never
  placed lenses in the tubes of the dioptrons, what does Strabo (L. 3,
  c. 138) mean when he says: ‘Vapours produce the same effects as the
  tubes in magnifying objects of vision by refraction?’”

  Mr. W. F. Thompson, in his translation of the “Ahlák-i Jalaly,” from
  the Persian of Fakír Jání Muhammad (15th century), has the following
  note on the Jám-i Jámshíd and other magical mirrors: “Jámshíd,” the
  fourth of the Kaianian dynasty, the Solomon of the Persians. His cup
  was said to mirror the world, so that he could observe all that was
  passing elsewhere—a fiction of his own for state purposes, apparently,
  backed by the use of artificial mirrors. Nizámí tells that Alexander
  invented the steel mirror, by which he means, of course, that improved
  reflectors were used for telescopy in the days of Archimedes, but not
  early enough to have assisted Jámshíd, who belongs to the fabulous and
  unchronicled age. In the romance of Beyjan and Manija, in the “Shah
  Náma,” this mirror is used by the great Khosrú for the purpose of
  discovering the place of the hero’s imprisonment:

             “The mirror in his hand revolving shook,
             And earth’s whole surface glimmered in his look;
             Nor less the secrets of the starry sphere,
             The what, the when, the how depicted clear,
             From orbs celestial to the blade of grass,
             All nature floated in the magic glass.”

Footnote 165:

  We have been told this king had _three_ daughters.

Footnote 166:

  See in “Blackwood’s Magazine,” vol. iv., 1818, 1819, a translation,
  from the Danish of J. L. Ramussen, of “An Historical and Geographical
  Essay on the trade and commerce of the Arabians and Persians with
  Russia and Scandinavia during the Middle Ages.”—But learned
  Icelanders, while England was still semi-civilized, frequently made
  very long journeys into foreign lands: after performing the pilgrimage
  to Rome, they went to Syria, and some penetrated into Central Asia.

Footnote 167:

  This, of course, is absurd, as each was equally interested in the
  business; but it seems to indicate a vague reminiscence of the
  adventures of the Princes in the story of The Envious Sisters.

Footnote 168:

  There is a _naïveté_ about this that is peculiarly refreshing.

Footnote 169:

  This recalls the fairy Meliora, in the romance of Partenopex de Blois,
  who “knew of ancient tales a countless store.”

Footnote 170:

  In a Norwegian folk-tale the hero receives from a dwarf a magic ship
  that could enlarge itself so as to contain any number of men, yet
  could be carried in the pocket.

Footnote 171:

  The Water of Life, the Water of Immortality, the Fountain of Youth—a
  favourite and wide-spread myth during the Middle Ages. In the romance
  of Sir Huon of Bordeaux the hero boldly encounters a griffin, and
  after a desperate fight, in which he is sorely wounded, slays the
  monster. Close at hand he discovers a clear fountain, at the bottom of
  which is a gravel of precious stones. “Then he dyde of his helme and
  dranke of the water his fyll, and he had no sooner dranke thereof hut
  incontynent he was hole of all his woundys.” Nothing more frequently
  occurs in folk-tales than for the hero to be required to perform three
  difficult and dangerous tasks—sometimes impossible, without
  supernatural assistance.

Footnote 172:

                    “Say, will a courser of the Sun
                    All gently with a dray-horse run?”

Footnote 173:

  _Ting_: assembly of notables—of udallers, &c. The term survives in our
  word hus_tings_; and in _Ding_-wall—_Ting_-val; where tings were held.

Footnote 174:

  The last of the old Dublin ballad-singers, who assumed the respectable
  name of Zozimus, and is said to have been the author of the ditties
  wherewith he charmed his street auditors, was wont to chant the legend
  of the Finding of Moses in a version which has at least the merit of
  originality:

         “In Egypt’s land, upon the banks of Nile,
         King Pharoah’s daughter went to bathe in style;
         She took her dip, then went unto the land,
         And, to dry her royal pelt, she ran along the strand.

         A bulrush tripped her, whereupon she saw
         A smiling baby in a wad of straw;
         She took it up, and said, in accents mild—
         _Tare an’ agurs, girls! which av yez owns this child?_”

  The Babylonian analogue, as translated by the Rev. Prof. A. H. Sayce,
  in the first vol. of the “Folk-Lore Journal” (1883), is as follows:

  “Sargon, the mighty monarch, the King of Aganè, am I. My mother was a
  princess; my father I knew not; my father’s brother loved the
  mountain-land. In the city of Azipiranu, which on the bank of the
  Euphrates lies, my mother, the princess, conceived me; in an
  inaccessible spot she brought me forth. She placed me in a basket of
  rushes, with bitumen the door of my ark she closed. She launched me on
  the river, which drowned me not. The river bore me along, to Akki, the
  irrigator, it brought me. Akki, the irrigator, in the tenderness of
  his heart, lifted me up. Akki, the irrigator, as his own child brought
  me up. Akki, the irrigator, as his gardener appointed me, and in my
  gardenership the goddess Istar loved me. For 45 years the kingdom I
  have ruled, and the black-headed (Accadian) race have governed.”

Footnote 175:

  This strange notion may have been derived from some Eastern source,
  since it occurs in Indian fictions; for example, in Dr. Rájendralála
  Mitra’s “Sanskrit Buddhist Literature of Nepál,” p. 304, we read that
  “there lived in the village of Vásava a rich householder who had born
  unto him a son with a jewelled ring in his ear.” And in the
  “Mahábhárata” we are told of a king who had a son from whose body
  issued nothing but gold—the prototype of the gold-laying goose.

Footnote 176:

  Connected with this romance is the tale of “The Six Swans,” in Grimm’s
  collection—see Mrs. Hunt’s English translation, vol. i. p. 192.

Footnote 177:

  Mahbúb: a piece of gold, value about 10 francs; replaces the _dinár_
  of old tales. Those in Egypt are all since the time of the Turks: 9,
  7, or 6½ frs. according to issue—_Note by Spitta Bey_.

Footnote 178:

  Here again we have the old superstition of “blood speaking to blood,”
  referred to by Sir Richard, _ante_, p. 531, note 3. It often occurs in
  Asiatic stories. Thus in the Persian “Bakhtyár Náma,” when the adopted
  son of the robber-chief is brought with other captives, before the
  king (he is really the king’s own son, whom he and the queen abandoned
  in their flight through the desert), his majesty’s bowels strangely
  yearned towards the youth, and in the conclusion this is carried to
  absurdity: when Bakhtyár is found to be the son of the royal pair,
  “the milk sprang from the breasts of the queen,” as she looked on
  him—albeit she must then have been long past child-bearing!

Footnote 179:

  The enchanted pitcher does duty here for the witches’ broomstick and
  the fairies’ rush of European tales, but a similar conveyance is, I
  think, not unknown to Western folk-lore.

Footnote 180:

  In a Norse story the hero on entering a forbidden room in a troll’s
  house finds a horse with a pan of burning coals under his nose and a
  measure of corn at his tail; and when he removes the coals and
  substitutes the corn, the horse becomes his friend and adviser.

Footnote 181:

  M. Dozon does not think that Muslim customs allow of a man’s marrying
  three sisters at once; but we find the king does the same in the
  modern Arab version.

Footnote 182:

  London: Macmillan and Co., p. 236 ff.

Footnote 183:

  This recalls the biblical legend of the widow’s cruse, which has its
  exact counterpart in Singhalese folk-lore.

Footnote 184:

  This recalls the story of the herd-boy who cried “Wolf! wolf!”

Footnote 185:

  Again the old notion of maternal and paternal instincts; but the
  _children_ don’t often seem in folk-tales, to have a similar impulsive
  affection for their unknown parents.

Footnote 186:

  _Colotropis gigantea_.

Footnote 187:

  Rákshasas and rákshasís are male and female demons, or ogres, in the
  Hindú mythology.

Footnote 188:

  Literally, the _king of birds_, a fabulous species of horse remarkable
  for swiftness, which plays an important part in Tamil stories and
  romances.

Footnote 189:

  Here we have a parallel to the biblical legend of the passage of the
  Israelites dryshod over the Red Sea.

Footnote 190:

  Demons, ogres, trolls, giants, _et hoc genus omne_, never fail to
  discover the presence of human beings by their keen sense of smelling.
  “Fee, faw, fum! I smell the blood of a British man,” cries a giant
  when the renowned hero Jack is concealed in his castle. “Fum! fum!
  sento odor christianum,” exclaims an ogre in Italian folk-tales.
  “Femme, je sens la viande fraîche, la chair de chrétien!” says a giant
  to his wife in French stories.

Footnote 191:

  In my “Popular Tales and Fictions” a number of examples are cited of
  life depending on some extraneous object—vol. i. pp. 347–351.

Footnote 192:

  In the Tamil story-book, the English translation of which is called
  “The Dravidian Nights’ Entertainments,” a wandering princess, finding
  the labour pains coming upon her, takes shelter in the house of a
  dancing-woman, who says to the nurses, “If she gives birth to a
  daughter, it is well [because the woman could train her to follow her
  own ‘profession’], but if a son, I do not want him;—close her eyes,
  remove him to a place where you can kill him, and throwing a bit of
  wood on the ground tell her she has given birth to it.”—I daresay that
  a story similar to the Bengalí version exists among the Tamils.

Footnote 193:

  It is to be hoped we shall soon have Sir Richard Burton’s promised
  complete English translation of this work, since one half is, I
  understand, already done.

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                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as
      printed.
 3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together
      at the end of the last chapter.
 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.