Variants and Analogues of Some of the Tales
in Volumes XI and XII
By W. A. Clouston.
THE SLEEPER AND THE WAKER--Vol. XI. p. 1.
Few if the stories in the "Arabian Nights" which charmed our
marvelling boyhood were greater favourites than this one, under
the title of "Abou Hassan; or, the Sleeper Awakened." What
recked we in those days whence it was derived?--the story--the
story was the thing! As Sir R. F. Burton observes in his first
note, this is "the only one of the eleven added by Galland, whose
original has been discovered in Arabic;"[FN#483] and it is
probable that Galland heard it recited in a coffee-house during
his residence in Constantinople. The plot of the Induction to
Shakspeare's comedy of "The Taming of the Shrew" is similar to
the adventure of Ab� al-Hasan the Wag, and is generally believed
to have been adapted from a story entitled "The Waking Man's
Fortune" in Edward's collection of comic tales, 1570, which were
retold somewhat differently in Goulart's "Admirable and Memorable
Histories," 1607; both versions are reprinted in Mr. Hazlitt's
"Shakspeare Library," vol. iv., part I, pp. 403-414. In Percy's
"Reliques of Ancient English Poetry" we find the adventure told
in a ballad entitled "The Frolicksome Duke; or, the Tinker's Good
Fortune," from the Pepys collection: "whether it may be thought
to have suggested the hint to Shakspeare or is not rather of
latter date," says Percy, "the reader must determine:"
Now as fame does report, a young duke keeps a court,
One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport:
But amongst all the rest, here is one, I protest,
Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:
A poor tinker he found lying drunk on the ground,
As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swownd.
The duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben,
Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then.
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd
To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd;
Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes, and
hose,
And they put him in bed for to take his repose.
Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt,
They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:
On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.
In the morning when day, then admiring[FN#484] he lay,
For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay.
Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,
Till at last knights and squires they on him did wait;
And the chamberling bare, then did likewise declare,
He desired to know what apparel he'd ware:
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd,
And admired how he to this honour was rais'd.
Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,
Which he straitways put on without longer dispute;
With a star on his side, which the tinker offt ey'd,
And it seem'd for to swell him no little with pride;
For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife?
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.
From a convenient place, the right duke his good grace
Did observe his behavior in every case.
To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,
Trumpets sounding before him: thought he this is great:
Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view,
With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.
A find dinner was drest, both for him and his guests,
He was placed at the table above all the rest,
In a rich chair, or bed, lin'd with fine crimson red,
With a rich golden canopy over his head:
As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet,
With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.
While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine.
Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine,
Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl,
Till at last he began for to tumble and roul
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,
Being seven times drunker than ever before.
Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,
And restore him his old leather garments again:
'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,
And they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first;
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might,
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.
For his glory to him so pleasant did seem,
That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought
For a pardon as fearing he had set him at nought;
But his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade,
Such a frolick before I think never was plaid.
Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,
Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak;
Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground
Thou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round,
Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.
Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet bride
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?
Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?
Then I shall be a squire I well understand:
Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace,
I was never before in so happy a case.
The same story is also cited in the "Anatomy of Melancholy," part
2, sec. 2, memb. 4, from Ludovicus Vives in Epist.[FN#485] and Pont.
Heuter in Rerum Burgund., as follows:
"It is reported of Philippus Bonus, that good Duke of Burgundy,
that the said duke, at the marriage of Eleonora, sister to the
King of Portugal, at Bruges in Flanders, which was solemnized in
the deep of winter, when as by reason of the unseasonable (!)
weather he could neither hawk nor hunt, and was now tyred with
cards, dice, &c., and such other domestical sports, or to see
ladies dance, with some of his courtiers, he would in the evening
walk disguised all about the town. It so fortuned as he was
walking late one night, he found a country fellow dead drunk,
snorting on a bulk; he caused his followers to bring him to his
palace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and attiring
him after the court fashion, when he waked, he and they were all
ready to attend upon his excellency, persuading him that he was
some great duke. The poor fellow, admiring how he came there,
was served in state all the day long; after supper he saw them
dance, heard musick, and the rest of those court-like pleasures;
but late at night, when he was well tipled, and again fast asleep
they put on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place where
they first found him. Now the fellow had not made them so good
sport the day before, as he did when he returned to himself; all
the jest was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, after
some little admiration, the poor man told his friends he had seen
a vision, constantly beleeved it, would not otherwise be
perswaded; and so the jest ended."
I do not think that this is a story imported from the East: the
adventure is just as likely to have happened in Bruges as in
Baghd�d; but the exquisite humor of the Arabian tale is wanting-
-even Shakspeare's Christopher Sly is not to be compared with
honest Ab� al-Hasan the Wag.
This story of the Sleeper and the Waker recalls the similar
device practised by the Chief of the Assassins--that formidable,
murderous association, the terror of the Crusades--on promising
novices. Von Hammer, in his "History of the Assassins," end of
Book iv., gives a graphic description of the charming gardens
into which the novices were carried while insensible from
hashish:
In the center of the Persian as well as the Assyrian territory of
the Assassins, that is to say, both at Alamut and Massiat, were
situated, in a space surrounded by walls, splendid gardens--true
Eastern paradises. There were flower-beds and thickets of
fruit-trees, intersected by canals, shady walks, and verdant
glades, where the sparkling stream bubbled at every step; bowers
of roses and vineyards; luxurious halls and porcelain kiosks,
adorned with Persian carpets and Grecian stuffs, where
drinking-vessels of gold, silver, and crystal glittered on trays
of the same costly materials; charming maidens and handsome boys
of Muhammed's Paradise, soft as the cushions on which they
reposed, and intoxicating as the wine which they presented. The
music of the harp was mingled with the songs of birds, and the
melodious tones of the songstress harmonized with the murmur of
the brooks. Everything breathed pleasure, rapture, and
sensuality. A youth, who was deemed worthy by his strength and
resolution to be initiated into the Assassin service, was invited
to the table and conversation of the grand master, or grand
prior, he was then intoxicated with hashish and carried into the
garden, which on awaking he believed to be Paradise; everything
around him, the houris in particular, contributing to confirm the
delusion. After he had experienced as much of the pleasures of
Paradise, which the Prophet has promised to the faithful, as his
strength would admit; after quaffing enervating delight from the
eyes of the houris and intoxicating wine from the glittering
goblets; he sank into the lethargy produced by debility and the
opiate, on awakening from which, after a few hours, he again
found himself by the side of his superior. The latter endeavoured
to convince him that corporeally he had not left his side, but
that spiritually he had been wrapped into Paradise and had there
enjoyed a foretaste of the bliss which awaits the faithful who
devote their lives to the service of the faith and the obedience
of their chiefs.
THE TEN WAZIRS; OR, THE HISTORY OF KING �Z�DBAKHT AND HIS SON
Vol. XI. p. 55.
The precise date of the Persian original of this romance
("Bakhty�r N�ma") has not been ascertained, but it was probably
composed before the beginning of the fifteenth century, since
there exists in the Bodleian Library a unique Turk� version, in
the Uygur language and characters, which was written in 1434.
Only three of the tales have hitherto been found in other Asiatic
storybooks. The Turk� version, according to M. Jaubert, who
gives an account of the MS. and a translation of one of the tales
in the Journal Asiatique, tome x. 1827, is characterised by
"great sobriety of ornament and extreme simplicity of style, and
the evident intention on the part of the translator to suppress
all that may not have appeared to him sufficiently probable, and
all that might justly be taxed with exaggeration;" and he adds
that "apart from the interest which the writing and phraseology
of the work may possess for those who study the history of
languages, it is rather curious to see how a T�t�r translator
sets to work to bring within the range of his readers stories
embellished in the original with descriptions and images
familiar, doubtless, to a learned and refined nation like the
Persians, but foreign to shepherds."
At least three different versions are known to the Malays-
-different in the frame, or leading story, if not in the
subordinate tales. One of those is described in the second
volume of Newbold's work on Malacca, the frame of which is
similar to the Persian original and its Arabian derivative,
excepting that the name of the king is Z�dbokhtin and that of the
minister's daughter (who is nameless in the Persian) is Mahrwat.
Two others are described in Van den Berg's account of Malay,
Arabic, Javanese and other MSS. published at Batavia, 1877: p.
21, No. 132 is entitled "The History of Ghul�m, son of
Z�dbukht�n, King of Ad�n, in Persia," and the frame also
corresponds with our version, with the important difference that
the robber-chief who had brought up Ghul�m, "learning that he had
become a person of consequence, came to his residence to visit
him, but finding him imprisoned, he was much concerned, and asked
the king's pardon on his behalf, telling him at the same time how
he had formerly found Ghul�m in the jungle; from which the king
knew that Ghul�m was his son." The second version noticed by Van
den Berg (p. 32, No. 179), though similar in title to the Persian
original, "History of Prince Bakhty�r," differs very materially
in the leading story, the outline of which is as follows: This
prince, when his father was put to flight by a younger brother,
who wished to dethrone him, was born in a jungle, and abandoned
by his parents. A merchant named Idr�s took charge of him and
brought him up. Later on he became one of the officers of state
with his own father, who had in the meanwhile found another
kingdom, and decided with fairness, the cases brought before him.
He was, however, put in prison on account of a supposed attempt
on the king's life, and would have been put to death had he not
stayed the execution by telling various beautiful stories. Even
the king came repeatedly to listen to him. At one of these
visits Bakhty�r's foster-father Idr�s was present, and related to
his adopted son how he had found him in the jungle. The king, on
hearing this, perceived that it was his son who had been brought
up by Idr�s, recognised Bakhty�r as such, and made over to him the
kingdom."--I have little doubt that this romance is of Indian
extraction.
STORY OF KING DADBIN AND HIS WAZIRS.--Vol. XI. p. 94.
This agrees pretty closely with the Turk� version of the same
story (rendered into French by M. Jaubert), though in the latter
the names of the characters are the same as in the Persian, King
D�d�n and the Waz�rs K�mg�r and K�rd�r. In the Persian story,
the damsel is tied hands and feet and placed upon a camel, which
is then turned into a dreary wilderness. "Here she suffered from
the intense heat and from thirst; but she resigned herself to the
will of Providence, conscious of her own innocence. Just then
the camel lay down, and on the spot a fountain of delicious water
suddenly sprang forth; the cords which bound her hands and feet
dropped off; she refreshed herself by a draught of the water, and
fervently returned thanks to Heaven for this blessing and her
wonderful preservation." This two-fold miracle does not appear
in the Turk� and Arabian versions. It is not the cameleer of the
King of Persia, but of King D�d�n, who meets with the pious
damsel in the wilderness. He takes her to his own house and one
day relates his adventure to King D�d�n, who expresses a wish to
see such a prodigy of sanctity. The conclusion of the Persian
story is quite dramatic: The cameleer, having consented, returned
at once to his house, accompanied by the king, who waited at the
door of the apartment where the daughter of K�mg�r was engaged in
prayer. When she had concluded he approached, and with
astonishment recognised her. Having tenderly embraced her, he
wept, and entreated her forgiveness. This she readily granted,
but begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment while
she should converse with K�rd�r, whom she sent for. When he
arrived, and beheld her with a thousand expressions of fondness,
he inquired how she had escaped, and told her that on the day the
king had banished her into the wilderness, he had sent people to
seek her and bring her to him. "How much better would it have
been," he added, "had you followed my advice, and agreed to my
proposal of poisoning the king, who, I said, would one day
destroy you as he had done your father! But you rejected my
advice, and declared yourself ready to submit to whatever
Providence should decree. Hereafter you will pay more attention
to my words. But now let us not think of what is past. I am
your slave, and you are dearer to me than my own eyes." So
saying, he attempted to clasp the daughter of K�mg�r in his arms,
when the king, who was concealed behind the hangings, rushed
furiously on him and put him to death. After this he conducted
the damsel to his palace, and constantly lamented his
precipitancy in having killed her father.--This tale seems to
have been taken from the Persian "T�t� N�ma," or Parrot-book,
composed by Nahkshab� about the year 1306;[FN#486] it occurs in
the 51st Night of the India Office MS. 2573, under the title of
"Story of the Daughter of the Vaz�r Kh�ssa, and how she found
safety through the blessing of her piety:" the name of the king
is Bahram, and the Waz�rs are called Kh�ssa and Khal�ssa.
STORY OF AYLAN SHAH AND AB� TAMM�M--Vol. XI p. 112.
The catastrophe of this story forms the subject of the Lady's
37th tale in the text of the Turkish "Forty Vez�rs," translated
by Mr. E. J. W. Gibb. This is how it goes:
In the palace of the world there was a king, and that king had
three vez�rs, but there was rivalry between them. Two of them
day and night incited the king against the third, saying, "He is
a traitor." But the king believed them not. At length they
promised two pages much gold, and instructed them thus: "When the
king has lain down, ere he yet fall asleep, do ye feign to think
him asleep, and while talking with each other, say at a fitting
time, 'I have heard from such a one that yon vez�r says this and
that concerning the king, and that he hates him; many people say
that vez�r is an enemy to our king.'" So they did this, and when
the king heard this, he said in his heart, "What those vez�rs
said is then true; when the very pages have heard somewhat it
must indeed have some foundation. Till now, I believed not those
vez�rs, but it is then true." And the king executed that vez�r.
The other vez�rs were glad and gave the pages the gold they had
promised. So they took it and went to a private place, and while
they were dividing it one of them said, "I spake first; I want
more." The other said, "If I had not said he was an enemy to our
king, the king would not have killed him; I shall take more."
And while they were quarrelling with one another the king passed
by there, and he listened attentively to their words, and when he
learned of the matter, he said, "Dost thou see, they have by a
trick made us kill that hapless vez�r." And he was repentant.
STORY OF KING SULAYMAN SHAH AND HIS NIECE.--Vol. XI. p. 131.
The Persian original has been very considerably amplified by the
Arabian translator. In the "Bakhty�r N�ma" there is not a word
about the two brothers and their fair cousin, the attempted
murder of the infant, and the adventures of the fugitive young
prince. This story has also been taken from the "T�t� N�ma" of
Nakhshab�, Night the 50th of the India Office MS. 2573, where,
under the title of "Story of the Daughter of the Kaysar of Roum,
and her trouble by reason of her son," it is told somewhat as
follows:
In former times there was a great king, whose army was numerous
and whose treasury was full to overflowing; but, having no enemy
to contend with, he neglected to pay his soldiers, in consequence
of which they were in a state of destitution and discontent. At
length one day the soldiers went to the prime minister and made
their condition known to him. The vaz�r promised that he would
speedily devise a plan by which they should have employment and
money. Next morning he presented himself before the king, and
said that it was widely reported the Kaysar of Roum had a
daughter unsurpassed for beauty--one who was fit only for such a
great monarch as his Majesty; and suggested that it would be
advantageous if an alliance were formed between two such great
potentates. The notion pleased the king well, and he forthwith
despatched to Roum an ambassador with rich gifts, and requested
the Kaysar to grant him his daughter in marriage. But the Kaysar
waxed wroth at this, and refused to give his daughter to the
king. When the ambassador returned thus unsuccessful, the king,
enraged at being made of no account, resolved to make war upon
the Kaysar; so, opening the doors of his treasury, he distributed
much money among his troops, and then, "with a woe-bringing host,
and a blood-drinking army, he trampled Roum and the folk of Roum
in the dust." And when the Kaysar was become powerless, he sent
his daughter to the king, who married her according to the law of
Islam.
Now that princess had a son by a former husband, and the Kaysar
had said to her before she departed, "Beware that thou mention
not thy son, for my love for his society is great, and I cannot
part with him."[FN#487] But the princess was sick at heart for
the absence of her son, and she was ever pondering how she should
speak to the king about him, and in what manner she might
contrive to bring him to her. It happened one day the king gave
her a string of pearls and a casket of jewels. She said, "With
my father is a slave who is well skilled in the science of
jewels." The king replied, "If I should ask that slave of thy
father, would he give him to me?" "Nay," said she, "for he holds
him in the place of a son. But if the king desire him, I will
send a merchant to Roum, and I myself will give him a token, and
with pleasant wiles and fair speeches will bring him hither."
Then the king sent for a clever merchant who knew Arabic
eloquently and the language of Roum, and gave him goods for
trading and sent him to Roum with the object of procuring the
slave. But the daughter of the Kaysar said privily to the
merchant, "That slave is my son; I have, for a good reason, said
to the king that he is a slave; so thou must bring him as a
slave, and let it be thy duty to take care of him." In due
course the merchant brought the youth to the king's service; and
when the king saw his fair face, and discovered in him many
pleasing and varied accomplishments, he treated him with
distinction and favour, and conferred on the merchant a robe of
honour and gifts. His mother saw him from afar, and was pleased
with receiving a secret salutation from him.
One day the king had gone to the chase, and the palace remained
void of rivals; so the mother called in her son, kissed his fair
face, and told him the tale of her great sorrow. A chamberlain
became aware of the secret, and another suspicion fell upon him,
and he said to himself, "The harem of the king is the sanctuary
of security and the palace of protection. If I speak not of
this, I shall be guilty of treachery and shall have wrought
unfaithfulness." When the king returned from the chase, the
chamberlain related to him what he had seen, and the eking was
angry and said, "This woman hath deceived me with words and
deeds, and has brought hither her desire by craft and cunning.
This conjecture must be true, else why did she play such a trick?
And why did she hatch such a plot? And why did she send the
merchant?" Then the king, enraged, went into the harem, and the
queen saw from his countenance that the occurrence of the night
before had become known to him, and she said, "Be it not that I
see the king angry?" He said, "How should I not be angry? Thou,
by craft and trickery, and intrigue, and plotting, hast brought
thy desire from Roum--what wantonness is this that thou hast
done?" And then he thought to slay her, but he forbore, because
of his great love for her. But he ordered the chamberlain to
carry the youth to some obscure place, and straightway sever his
head from his body. When the poor mother saw this, she well-nigh
fell on her face, and her soul was near leaving her body. But
she knew that sorrow would not avail, and so she restrained
herself.
And when the chamberlain took the youth into his own house, he
said to him, "O youth, knowest thou not that the harem of the
king is the sanctuary of security? What great treachery is this
that thou hast perpetrated?" The youth replied, "That queen is
my mother, and I am her true son. Because of her natural
delicacy, she said not to the king that she had a son by another
husband. And when yearning came over her, she contrived to bring
me here from Roum; and while the king was engaged in the chase,
maternal love stirred in her, and she called me to her and
embraced me." On hearing this, the chamberlain said to himself,
"What is passing in his mother's breast? What I have not done I
can yet do, and it were better that I preserve this youth some
days, for such a rose may not be wounded through idle words, and
such a bough may not be broken by a breath. For some day the
truth of this matter will be disclosed, and it will become known
to the king when repentance may be of no avail." So he went
before the king and said, "That which was commanded have I
fulfilled." On hearing this the king's wrath was to some extent
removed, but his trust in the Kaysar's daughter was departed;
while she, poor creature, was grieved and dazed at the loss of
her son.
Now in the palace-harem there was an old woman, who said to the
queen, "How is it that I find thee sorrowful?" And the queen
told the whole story, concealing nothing. This old woman was a
heroine in the field of craft, and she answered, "Keep thy mind
at ease; I will devise a stratagem by which the heart of the king
will be pleased with thee, and every grief he has will vanish
from his heart." The queen said that, if she did so, she should
be amply rewarded. One day the old woman, seeing the king alone,
said to him, "Why is thy former aspect altered? And why are
there traces of care and anxiety visible on thy countenance?"
The king then told her all. Then said the old woman, "I have an
amulet of the charms of Sulayman, in the Syriac language, and in
the writing of the jinn (genii). When the queen is asleep, do
thou place it on her breast, and whatever it may be, she will
tell the truth of it. But take care, fall not asleep, but listen
well to what she says." The king wondered at this and said,
"Give me that amulet, that the truth of this matter may be
learned." So the old woman gave him the amulet, and then went to
the queen and explained what she had done, and said, "Do thou
feign to be asleep, and relate the whole of thy story
faithfully."
When a watch of the night was past, the king laid the amulet upon
his wife's breast, and she thus began: "By a former husband I had
a son, and when my father gave me to this king, I was ashamed to
say I had a tall son. When my yearning passed all bounds, I
brought him here by an artifice. One day that the king was gone
to the chase I called him into the house, when, after the way of
mothers, I took him in my arms and kissed him. This reached the
king's ears; he unwittingly gave it another construction, and cut
off the head of that innocent boy, and withdrew from me his own
heart. Alike is my son lost to me and the king angry." When the
king heard these words he kissed her and exclaimed, "O my life,
what an error is this thou hast committed! Thou hast brought
calumny upon thyself, and hast given such a son to the winds, and
hast made me ashamed!" Straightway he called the chamberlain,
and said, "That boy whom thou hast killed is the son of my
beloved and the darling of my beauty! Where is his grave, that we
may make there a guest-house?" The chamberlain said, "That youth
is yet alive. When the king commanded his death, I was about to
kill him, but he said, 'That queen is my mother. Through modesty
before the king, she revealed not the secret that she has a tall
son. Kill me not; it may be that some day the truth will become
known, and repentance profiteth not, and regret is useless." The
king commanded them to bring the youth; so they brought him
forthwith. And when the mother saw the face of her son, she
thanked God and praised the Most High, and became one of the
Muslims, and from the sect of unbelievers came into the faith of
Islam. And the king favoured the chamberlain in the highest
degree, and they passed the rest of their lives in comfort and
ease.
FIRUZ AND HIS WIFE.--Vol. XI. p. 185.
This tale, as Sir R. F. Burton remarks, is a rechauff� of that of
the King and the Wazir's Wife in the "Malice of Women," or the
Seven Waz�rs (vol. vi. 129); and at p. 308 we have yet another
variant.[FN#488] It occurs in all the Eastern texts of the Book
of Sindib�d, and it is commonly termed by students of that cycle
of stories "The Lion's Track," from the parabolical manner in
which the husband justifies his conduct before the king. I have
cited some versions in the Appendix to my edition of the Book of
Sindib�d (p. 256 ff.), and to these may be added the following
Venetian variant, from Crane's "Italian Popular Tales," as an
example of how a story becomes garbled in passing orally from one
generation unto another generation:
A king, averse from marriage, commanded his steward to remain
single. The latter, however, one day saw a beautiful girl named
Vigna and married her secretly. Although he kept her closely
confined in her chamber, the king became suspicious, and sent the
steward on an embassy. After his departure the king entered the
apartment occupied by him, and saw his wife asleep. He did not
disturb her, but in leaving the room accidentally dropped one of
his gloves on the bed. When the husband returned he found the
glove, but kept a discreet silence, ceasing, however, all
demonstration of affection, believing his wife had been
unfaithful. The king, desirous to see again the beautiful woman,
made a feast and ordered the steward to bring his wife. He
denied that he had one, but brought her at last, and while every
one else was talking gaily at the feast she was silent. The king
observed it and asked the cause of her silence, and she answered
with a pun on her own name, "Vineyard I was, and Vineyard I am.
I was loved and no longer am. I know not for what reason the
Vineyard has lost its season." Her husband, who heard this,
replied, "Vineyard thou wast, and Vineyard thou art: the Vineyard
lost its season, for the lion's claw." The king, who understood
what he meant, answered, "I entered the Vineyard; I touched the
leaves; but I swear by my crown that I have not tasted the
fruit." Then the steward understood that his wife was innocent,
and the two made peace, and always after lived happy and
contented.
So far as I am aware, this tale of "The Lion's Track" is not
popularly known in any European country besides Italy; and it is
not found in any of the Western versions of the Book of Sindib�d,
generally known under the title of the "History of the Seven Wise
Masters," how, then, did it reach Venice, and become among the
people "familiar in their mouths as household words?" I answer,
that the intimate commercial relations which long existed between
the Venetian Republic and Egypt and Syria are amply sufficient to
account for the currency of this and scores of other Eastern
tales in Italy. This is not one of those fictions introduced
into the south of Europe through the Ottomans, since Boccaccio
has made use of the first part of it in his "Decameron," Day I.
nov. 5; and it is curious to observe that the garbled Venetian
popular version has preserved the chief characteristic of the
Eastern story--the allegorical reference to the king as a lion
and his assuring the husband that the lion had done no injury to
his "Vineyard."
KING SHAH BAKHT AND HIS WAZIR AL-RAHWAN.--Vol. XI. p. 127.
While the frame-story of this interesting group is similar to
that of the Ten Waz�rs (vol. i. p. 55), insomuch as in both a
king's favourite is sentenced to death in consequence of the
false accusations of his enemies, and obtains a respite from day
to day by relating stories to the king, there is yet a very
important difference: Like those of the renowned Shahrazad, the
stories which Al-Rahwan tells have no particular, at least no
uniform, "purpose," his sole object being to prolong his life by
telling the king an entertaining story, promising, when he has
ended his recital, to relate one still "stranger" the next night,
if the king will spare his life another day. On the other hand,
Bakhty�r, while actuated by the same motive, appeals to the
king's reason, by relating stories distinctly designed to exhibit
the evils of hasty judgements and precipitate conduct--in fact,
to illustrate the maxim,
Each order given by a reigning king,
Should after long reflection be expressed;
For it may be that endless woe will spring
From a command he paused not to digest.
And in this respect they are consistent with the circumstances of
the case, like the tales of the Book of Sindib�d, from which the
frame of the Ten Waz�rs was imitated, and in which the Waz�rs
relate stories showing the depravity and profligacy of women and
that no reliance should be placed on their unsupported
assertions, and to these the lady opposes equally cogent stories
setting forth the wickedness and perfidy of men. Closely
resembling the frame-story of the Ten Waz�rs, however, is that of
a Tamil romance entitled, "Alakeswara Kath�," a copy of which,
written on palm leaves, was in the celebrated Mackenzie
collection, of which Dr. H. H. Wilson published a descriptive
catalogue; it is "a story of the R�j� of Alakepura and his four
ministers, who, being falsely accused of violating the sanctity
of the inner apartments, vindicate their innocence and disarm the
king's wrath by relating a number of stories." Judging by the
specimen given by Wilson, the well-known tale of the Lost Camel,
it seems probable that the ministers' stories, like those of
Bakhty�r, are suited to their own case and illustrate the truth
of the adage that "appearances are often deceptive." Whether in
the Siamese collection "Nonthuk Pakkaranam" (referred to in vol.
i. p. 191) the stories related by the Princess Kankras to the
King of Pataliput (Palibothra), to save her father's life, are
similarly designed, does not appear from Benfey's notice of the
work in his paper in "Orient and Occident," iii. 171 ff. He says
that the title of the book, "Nonthuk Pakkaranam," is taken from
the name of a wise ox, Nonthuk, that plays the principal part in
the longest of the tales, which are all apparently translated
from the Sanskrit, in which language the title would be Nandaka
Prakaranam, the History of Nandaka.
Most of the tales related by the wazir Al-Rahwan are not only in
themselves entertaining, but are of very considerable importance
from the story-comparer's point of view, since in this group
occur Eastern forms of tales which were known in Italy in the
14th century, and some had spread over Europe even earlier. The
reader will have seen from Sir R. F. Burton's notes that not a
few of the stories have their parallels or analogues in countries
far apart, and it is interesting to find four of them which
properly belong to the Eastern texts of the Book of Sindibad,
with the frame-story of which that of this group has so close an
affinity.
THE ART OF ENLARGING PEARLS.--Vol. XI. p.197.
"Quoth she, I have a bangle; sell it and buy seed pearls with the
price; then round them
and fashion them into great pearls."
For want of a more suitable place, I shall here reproduce an
account of the "Method of making false pearls" (nothing else
being meant in the above passage), cited, from Postl. Com. Dict.,
in vol. xxvi. of Rees' Cyclop�dia," London, 1819:
"Take of thrice distilled vinegar two pounds, Venice turpentine
one pound, mix them together into a mass and put them into a
cucurbit, fit a head and receiver to it, and after you have luted
the joints set it when dry on a sand furnace, to distil the
vinegar from it; do not give it too much heat, lest the stuff
swell up. After this put the vinegar into another glass cucurbit
in which there is a quantity of seed pearls wrapped in a piece of
thin silk, but so as not to touch the vinegar; put a cover or
head upon the cucurbit, lute it well and put it in bal. Mari�,
where you may let it remain a fortnight. The heat of the balneum
will raise the fumes of the vinegar, and they will soften the
pearls in the silk and bring them to the consistence of a paste,
which being done, take them out and mould them to what bigness,
form, and shape you please. Your mould must be of fine silver,
the inside gilt; you must also refrain from touching the paste
with your fingers, but use silver-gilt utensils, with which fill
your moulds. When they are moulded, bore them through with a
hog's bristle or gold wire, and then tread them again on gold
wire, and put them into a glass, close it up, and set them in the
sun to dry. After they are thoroughly dry, put them in a glass
matrass into a stream of running water and leave them there
twenty days; by that time they will contract the natural hardness
and solidity of pearls. Then take them out of the matrass and
hang them in mercurial water, where they will moisten, swell, and
assume their Oriental beauty; after which shift them into a
matrass hermitically closed to prevent any water coming to them,
and let it down into a well, to continue there about eight days.
Then draw the matrass up, and in opening it you will find pearls
exactly resembling Oriental ones." (Here follows a recipe for
making the mercurial water used in the process, with which I need
not occupy more space.)
A similar formula, "To make of small pearls a necklace of large
ones," is given in the "Lady's Magazine" for 1831, vol. iv., p.
119, which is said to be extracted from a scarce old book. Thus,
whatever mystery may surround the art is Asiatic countries there
is evidently none about it in Europe. The process appears to be
somewhat tedious and complicated, but is doubtless profitable.
In Philostratus' Life of Appolonius there is a curious passage
about pearl-making which has been generally considered as a mere
"traveller's tale": Apollonious relates that the inhabitants of
the shores of the Red Sea, after having calmed the water by means
of oil, dived after the shell-fish, enticed them with some bait
to open their shells, and having pricked the animals with a
sharp-pointed instrument, received the liquor that flowed from
them in small holes made in an iron vessel, in which it hardened
into real pearls.--It is stated by several reputable writers that
the Chinese do likewise at the present day. And Sir R. F. Burton
informs me that when he was on the coast of Midian he found the
Arabs were in the habit of "growing" pearls by inserting a grain
of sand into the shells.
THE SINGER AND THE DRUGGIST.--Vol. XI. p. 203.
The diverting adventures related in the first part of this tale
should be of peculiar interest to the student of Shakspeare as
well as to those engaged in tracing the genealogy of popular
fiction. Jonathan Scott has given--for reasons of his own--a
meagre abstract of a similar tale which occurs in the "Bah�r-i-
D�nish" (vol. iii. App., p. 291), as follows: