A blind man of Orvieto, of the name of Cola, hit upon a device to
recover a hundred florins he had been cheated of, which showed he
was possessed of all the eyes of Argus, though he had unluckily
lost his own. And this he did without wasting a farthing either
upon law or arbitration, by sheer dexterity; for he had formerly
been a barber, and accustomed to shave very close, having then
all his eyes about him, which had been now closed for about
thirty years. Alms seemed then the only resource to which he
could betake himself, and such was the surprising progress he in
a short time made in his new trade that he counted a hundred
florins in his purse, which he secretly carried about him until
he could find a safer place. His gains far surpassed anything he
had realised with his razor and scissors; indeed, they increased
so fast that he no longer knew where to bestow them; until one
morning happening to remain the last, as he believed, in the
church, he thought of depositing his purse of a hundred florins
under a loose tile in the floor behind the door, knowing the
situation of the place perfectly well. After listening some time
without hearing a foot stirring, he very cautiously laid it in
the spot; but unluckily there remained a certain Juccio
Pezzichernolo, offering his adoration before an image of San
Giovanni Boccadoro, who happened to see Cola busily engaged
behind the door. He continued his adorations until he saw the
blind man depart, when, not in the least suspecting the truth, he
approached and searched the place. He soon found the identical
tile, and on removing it with the help of his knife, he found the
purse, which he very quietly put into his pocket, replacing the
tiles just as they were, and, resolving to say nothing about it,
he went home.
At the end of three days the blind mendicant, desirous of
inspecting his treasure, took a quiet time for visiting the
place, and removing the tile searched a long while in great
perturbation, but all in vain, to find his beloved purse. At last,
replacing things just as they were, he was compelled to return in
no very enviable state of mind to his dwelling; and there
meditating on his loss, the harvest of the toil of so many days,
by dint of intense thinking a bright thought struck him (as
frequently happens by cogitating in the dark), how he had yet a
kind of chance of redeeming his lost spoils. Accordingly in the
morning he called his young guide, a lad about nine years old,
saying, "My son, lead me to church," and before setting out he
tutored him how he was to behave, seating himself at his side
before the entrance, and particularly remarking every person who
should enter into the church. "Now, if you happen to see any one
who takes particular notice of me, and who either laughs or makes
any sign, be sure you observe it and tell me." The boy promised
he would; and they proceeded accordingly and took their station
before the church
When the dinner-hour arrived, the father and son prepared to
leave the place, the former inquiring by the way whether his son
had observed any one looking hard at him as he passed along.
"That I did," answered the lad, "but only one, and he laughed as
he went past us. I do not know his name, but he is strongly
marked with the small-pox and lives somewhere near the Frati
Minori." "Do you think, my dear lad," said his father, "that you
could take me to his shop, and tell me when you see him there?"
"To be sure I could," said the lad. "Then come, let us lose no
time," replied the father, "and when we are there tell me, and
while I speak to him you can step on one side and wait for me."
So the sharp little fellow led him along the way until he reached
a cheesemonger's stall, when he acquainted his father, and
brought him close to it. No sooner did the blind man hear him
speaking with his customers than he recognised him for the same
Juccio with whom he had formerly been acquainted during his days
of light. When the coast was a little clear, our blind hero
entreated some moments' conversation, and Juccio, half suspecting
the occasion took him on one side into a little room, saying,
"Cola, friend, what good news?" "Why," said Cola, "I am come to
consult you, in great hopes you will be of use to me. You know
it is a long time since I lost my sight, and being in a destitute
condition, I was compelled to earn my subsistence by begging
alms. Now, by the grace of God, and with the help of you and of
other good people of Orvieto, I have saved a sum of two hundred
florins, one hundred of which I have deposited in a safe place,
and the other is in the hands of my relations, which I expect to
receive with interest in the course of a week. Now if you would
consent to receive, and to employ for me to the best advantage,
the whole sum of two hundred florins it would be doing me a great
kindness, for there is no one besides in all Orvieto in whom I
dare to confide; nor do I like to be at the expense of paying a
notary for doing business which we can as well transact
ourselves. Only I wish you would say nothing about it, but
receive the two hundred florins from me to employ as you think
best. Say not a word about it, for there would be an end of my
calling were it known I had received so large a sum in alms."
Here the blind mendicant stopped; and the sly Juccio, imagining
he might thus become master of the entire sum, said he should be
very happy to serve him in every way he could and would return an
answer the next morning as to the best way of laying out the
money. Cola then took his leave, while Juccio, going directly
for the purse, deposited it in its old place being in full
expectation of soon receiving it again with the addition of the
other hundred, as it was clear that Cola had not yet missed the
money. The cunning old mendicant on his part expected that he
would do no less, and trusting that his plot might have
succeeded, he set out the very same day to the church, and had
the delight, on removing the tile, to find his purse really
there. Seizing upon it with the utmost eagerness, he concealed
it under his clothes, and placing the tiles exactly in the same
position, he hastened home whistling, troubling himself very
little about his appointment of the next day.
The sly thief Juccio set out accordingly the next morning to see
his friend Cola, and actually met him on the road. "Whither are
you going?" inquired Juccio. "I was going," said Cola, "to your
house." The former, then taking the blind man aside, said, "I am
resolved to do what you ask; and since you are pleased to confide
in me, I will tell you of a plan that I have in hand for laying
out your money to advantage. If you will put the two hundred
florins into my possession, I will make a purchase in cheese and
salt meat, a speculation which cannot fail to turn to good
account." "Thank you," quoth Cola, "I am going to-day for the
other hundred, which I mean to bring, and when you have got them
both, you can do with them what you think proper." Juccio said,
"Then let me have them soon, for I think I can secure this
bargain; and as the soldiers are come into the town, who are fond
of these articles, I think it cannot fail to answer; so go, and
Heaven speed you." And Cola went; but with very different
intentions from those imagined by his friend--Cola being now
clear-sighted, and Juccio truly blind. The next day Cola called
on his friend with very downcast and melancholy looks, and when
Juccio bade him good day, he said, "I wish from my soul it were a
good, or even a middling, day for me." "Why, what is the
matter?" "The matter?" echoed Cola; "why, it is all over with
me: some rascal has stolen a hundred florins from the place where
they were hidden, and I cannot recover a penny from my relations,
so that I may eat my fingers off or anything I have to expect."
Juccio replied, "This is like all the rest of my speculations. I
have invariably lost where I expected to make a good hit. What I
shall do I know not; for if the person should choose to keep me
to the agreement I made for you, I shall be in a pretty dilemma
indeed." "Yet," said Cola, "I think my condition is still worse
than yours. I shall be sadly distressed and shall have to amass
a fresh capital, which will take me ever so long. And when I have
got it, I will take care not to conceal it in a hole in the
floor, or trust it, Juccio, into any friend's hands." "But,"
said Juccio, "if we could contrive to recover what is owing by
your relations, we might still make some pretty profit of it, I
doubt not." For he thought, if he could only get hold of the
hundred he had returned it would still be something in his way.
"Why," said Cola, "to tell the truth, if I were to proceed
against my relations I believe I might get it; but such a thing
would ruin my business, my dear Juccio, for ever: the world
would know I was worth money, and I should get no more money from
the world; so I fear I shall hardly be able to profit by your
kindness, though I shall always consider myself as much obliged
as if I had actually cleared a large sum. Moreover, I am going
to teach another blind man my profession, and if we have luck you
shall see me again, and we can venture a speculation together."
So far the wily mendicant, to whom Juccio said, "Well, go and try
to get money soon, and bring it; you know where to find me, but
look sharp about you and the Lord speed you; farewell."
"Farewell," said Cola; "and I am well rid of thee," he whispered
to himself, and going upon his way, in a short time he doubled
his capital; but he no longer went near his friend Juccio to know
how he should invest it. He had great diversion in telling the
story to his companions during their feasts, always concluding,
"By St. Lucia! Juccio is the blinder man of the two: he thought
it was a bold stroke to risk his hundred to double the amount."
For my own part, I think the blind must possess a more acute
intellect than other people, inasmuch as the light, exhibiting
such a variety of objects to view, is apt to distract the
attention, of which many examples might be adduced. For
instance, two gentlemen may be conversing together on some matter
of business, and in the middle of a sentence a fine woman happens
to pass by, and they will suddenly stop, gazing after her; or a
fine equipage or any other object is enough to turn the current
of their thoughts. And then we are obliged to recollect
ourselves, saying, "Where was I?" "What was it that I was
observing?"--a thing which never occurs to a blind man. The
philosopher Democritus very properly on this account knocked his
eyes out in order to catch objects in a juster light with his
mind's eye.
It is impossible to describe Juccio's vexation on going to church
and finding the florins were gone. His regret was far greater
than if he had actually lost a hundred of his own; as is known to
be the case with all inveterate rogues, half of whose pleasure
consists in depriving others of their lawful property.
There are many analogous stories, one of which is the well-known
tale of the merchant who, before going on a journey, deposited
with a dervish 1,000 sequins, which he thought it prudent to
reserve in case of accidents. When he returned and requested his
deposit, the dervish flatly denied that he ever had any of his
money. Upon this the merchant went and laid his case before the
kazi, who advised him to return to the dervish and speak
pleasantly to him, which he does, but receives nothing but abuse.
He informed the kazi of this, and was told not to go near the
dervish for the present, but to be at ease for he should have his
money next day. The kazi then sent for the dervish, and after
entertaining him sumptuously, told him that, for certain reasons,
he was desirous of removing a considerable sum of money from his
house; that he knew of no person in whom he could confide so much
as himself; and that if he would come the following evening at a
late hour, he should have the precious deposit. On hearing this,
the dervish expressed his gratification that so much confidence
should be placed in his integrity, and agreed to take charge of
the treasure. Next day the merchant returned to the kazi, who
bade him go back to the dervish and demand his money once more,
and should he refuse, threaten to complain to the kazi. The
result may be readily guessed: no sooner did the merchant mention
the kazi than the rascally dervish said, "My good friend, what
need is there to complain to the kazi? Here is your money; it
was only a little joke on my part." But in the evening, when he
went to receive the kazi's pretended deposit, he experienced the
truth of the saw, that "covetousness sews up the eyes of
cunning."
A variant of this is found in the continental "Gesta Romanorum" (ch.
cxviii. of Swan's translation), in which a knight deposits ten
talents with a respectable old man, who when called upon to
refund the money denies all knowledge of it. By the advice of an
old woman the knight has ten chests made, and employs a person to
take them to the old man and represent them as containing
treasure; and while one of them is being carried into his house
the knight enters and in the stranger's presence demands his
money, which is at once delivered to him.
In Mr. Edward Rehatsek's translated selections from the Persian
story-book "Shamsa � Kuhkuha" (see ante, p. 329), printed at
Bombay in 1871, under the title of "Amusing Stories," there is a
tale (No. xviii.) which also bears some resemblance to that of
the Melancholist and the Sharper; and as Mr. Rehatsek's little
work is exceedingly scarce, I give it in extenso as follows:
There was in Damascus a man of the name of Zayn el-Arab, with the
honey of whose life the poison of hardships was always mixed.
Day and night he hastened like the breeze from north to south in
the world of exertion, and he was burning brightly like straw,
from his endeavours in the oven of acquisition in order to gain a
loaf of bread and feed his family. In course of time, however,
he succeeded in accumulating a considerable sum of money, but as
he had tasted the bitter poison of destitution, and had for a
very long time carried the heavy load of poverty upon his back,
and fearing to lose his property by the chameleon-like changes of
fortune, he took up his money on a certain night, carried it out
of the city, and buried it under a tree. After some time had
passed be began sorely to miss the presence of his treasure, and
betook himself to the tree to refresh his eyes with the sight of
it. But when he dug up the ground at the foot of the tree he
discovered that his soul-exhilarating deposit was refreshing the
palate of some one else. The morning of his prosperity was
suddenly changed into the evening of bitterness and
disappointment. He was perplexed to what friend to confide his
secret, and to what remedy to fly for the recovery of his
treasure. The lancet of grief had pierced the liver of his
peace, and the huntsman of distress had tied up the wings and
feet of the bird of his serenity. One day he went on some
business to a learned and wise man of the city with whom he was
on a footing of intimacy. This man said to him, "It is some time
since I perceived the glade of your circumstances to have been
destroyed by the burning coals of restlessness, and a sad change
to have taken place in your health. I do not know the reason,
nor what thorn of misfortune has pierced the foot of your heart,
nor what hardship has dawned from the east of your mind." Zayn
el-Arab wept tears of sadness and said, "O thou standard coin
from the mint of love! the treachery of misfortune has brought a
strange accident upon me, and the bow of destiny has let fly an
unpropitious arrow upon my feeble target. I have a heavy heart
and great sorrow, and were I to reveal it to you perhaps it would
be of no use and would plunge you also into grief." The learned
man said, "Since the hearts of intimate friends are like looking-
glasses and are receiving the figures of mutual secrets, it is at
all times necessary that they should communicate to each other
any difficulties which they have fallen into, that they may
remove them by taking in common those steps which prudence and
foresight should recommend." Zayn el-Arab replied, "Dear friend,
I had some gold, and fearing lest it should be stolen, I carried
it to such and such a place and buried it under a tree, and when
I again visited the place, I perceived the garment of my beloved
Joseph to be sprinkled with the blood of the wolf of deception."
The learned man said, "This is a grave accident, and it will be
difficult to get on the track of your gold. Perhaps some one saw
you bury it: he who has taken it will have to give an account of
it in the next world, for God is omniscient. Give me ten days'
delay, that I may study the book of expedients and stratagems,
when mayhap somewhat will occur to me."
That knowing man sat down for ten days in the school of
meditation, and how much so ever he turned over the leaves of the
volume of his mind from the preface to the epilogue, he could hit
upon no plan. On the tenth day they again met in the street, and
he said to Zayn el-Arab, "Although the diver of my mind has
plunged deeply and searched diligently in this deep sea, he has
been unable to seize the precious pearl of a wise plan of
operation: may God recompense you from the stores of His hidden
treasury!" They were conversing in this way when a lunatic met
them and said, "Well, my boys, what secret- mongering have you
got between you?" The learned man said to Zayn el-Arab, "Come,
let us relate our case to this crazy fellow, to see the flower of
the plant that may bloom from his mind." Zayn el-Arab replied,
"Dear friend, you, with all your knowledge, cannot devise
anything during ten days: what information are we likely to gain
from a poor lunatic who does not know whether it is now day or
night?" The learned man said, "There is no telling what he may
say to us. But you know that the most foolish as well as the most
wise have ideas, and a sentence uttered at random has sometimes
furnished a clue by which the desired object may be attained."
Meanwhile a little boy also came up, and perceiving the lunatic
stopped to see his tricks. The two friends explained their case
to the lunatic, who then seemed immersed in thought for some
time, after which he said, "He who took the root of that tree for
a medicine also took the gold," and having thus spoken, he turned
his back upon them and went his way. They consulted with each
other what indication this remark might furnish, when the little
boy who had overheard the conversation, asked what kind of tree
it was. Zayn el-Arab replied that it was a jujube tree. The boy
said, "This is an easy matter: you ought to inquire of all the
doctors of this town for whom a medicine has been prescribed of
the roots of this tree." They greatly admired the boy's
acuteness and also of the lunatic's lucky thought.[FN#511] The
learned man was well acquainted with all the physicians of the
city and made his enquiries, till he met with one who informed
him that about twenty days ago he had prescribed for a merchant
of the name of Khoja Semender, who suffered from asthma, and that
one of the remedies was the root of that jujube tree. The
learned man soon discovered the merchant's house, found him
enjoying excellent health, and said to him, "Ah, Khoja, all the
goods of this world ought to be surrendered to procure health.
By the blessing of God, you have recovered your health, and you
ought to give up what you found at the root of that tree, because
the owner of it is a worthy man and possesses nothing else." The
honest merchant answered, "It is true, I have found it, and it is
with me. If you will describe it I will deliver it into your
hands." The exact sum being stated, the merchant at once
delivered up the gold.
In the "Kath� Sarit S�gara," Book vi. ch. 33, we have probably
the original of this last story: A wealthy merchant provided a
Br�hman with a lodging near his own house, and every day gave him
a large quantity of unhusked rice and other presents and in
course of time he received like gifts from other great merchants.
In this way the miserly fellow gradually accumulated a thousand
d�n�rs, and going into the forest he dug a hole and buried it in
the ground, and he went daily to carefully examine the spot. One
day, however, he discovered that his hoard had been stolen, and
he went to his friend the merchant near whose house he lived,
and, weeping bitterly, told him of his loss, and that he had
resolved to go to a holy bathing-place and there starve himself
to death. The merchant tried to console him and dissuade him
from his resolution, saying, "Br�hman, why do you long to die for
the loss of your wealth? Wealth, like an unseasonable cloud,
suddenly comes and goes." But the Br�hman would not abandon his
fixed determination to commit suicide, for wealth is dearer to
the miser than life itself. When he was about to depart for the
holy place, the king, having heard of it, came and asked him,
"Br�hman, do you know of any mark by which you can distinguish
the place where you buried your d�n�rs?" He replied, "There is a
small tree in the wood, at the foot of which I buried that
money." Then said the king, "I will find the money and give it
back to you, or I will give it you from my own treasury;--do not
commit suicide, Br�hman."
When the king returned to his palace, he pretended to have a
headache, and summoned all the physicians in the city by
proclamation with beat of drum. And he took aside every one of
them singly and questioned them privately, saying, "What patients
have you, and what medicines have you prescribed for each?" And
they thereupon, one by one, answered the king's questions. At
length a physician said, "The merchant M�tridatta has been out of
sorts, O king, and this is the second day I have prescribed for
him n�gabal� (the plant Uraria Lagopodioides)." Then the king
sent for the merchant, and said to him, "Tell me, who fetched you
the n�gabal�?" The merchant replied, "My servant, your highness."
On hearing this, the king at once summoned the servant and said
to him, "Give up that treasure belonging to a Br�hman, consisting
of a store of d�n�rs, which you found when you were digging at
the foot of the tree for n�gabal�." When the king said this to
him the servant was frightened, and confessed immediately; and
bringing the money left it there. Then the king summoned the
Br�hman and gave him, who had been fasting meanwhile, the d�n�rs,
lost and found again, like a second soul external to his body.
Thus did the king by his wisdom recover to the Br�hman his wealth
which had been taken away from the root of the tree, knowing that
that simple grew in such spots.
TALE OF THE DEVOUT WOMAN ACCUSED OF LEWDNESS.--Vol. XI. p. 270.
This is one of three Arabian variants of Chaucer's Man of Law's Tale (the Story of Constance), of which there are numerous versions--see my paper entitled "The Innocent Persecuted Wife," pp. 365-414 of "Originals and Analogues of some of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales."
THE WEAVER WHO BECAME A LEACH BY ORDER OF HIS WIFE.--Vol. XI. p. 282.
Somewhat resembling this, but much more elaborate, is the amusing
story of Ahmed the Cobbler, in Sir John Malcolm's "Sketches of
Persia," ch. xx., the original of which is probably found in the
tale of Harisarman, book vi. ch. 30, of the "Kath� Sarit S�gara,"
and it has many European variants, such as the German story of
Doctor Allwissend, in Grimm's collection, and that of the
Charcoal Burner in Sir George Dasent's "Tales from the Fjeld.--
According to the Persian story, Ahmed the Cobbler had a young and
pretty wife, of whom he was very fond. She was ever forming grand
schemes of riches and splendour, and was firmly persuaded that
she was destined to great fortune. It happened one evening, while
in this frame of mind, that she went to the public baths, where
she saw a lady retiring dressed in a magnificent robe, covered
with jewels, and surrounded by slaves. This was the very
condition she had always longed for, and she eagerly inquired the
name of the happy person who had so many attendants and such fine
jewels. She learned it was the wife of the chief astrologer to
the king. With this information she returned home. Ahmed met her
at the door, but was received with a frown, nor could all his
caresses obtain a smile or a word; for several hours she
continued silent, and in apparent misery; at length she said,
"Cease your caresses, unless you are ready to give me a proof
that you do really and sincerely love me." "What proof of love,"
exclaimed poor Ahmed, "can you desire that I will not give?"
"Give over cobbling, it is a vile, low trade, and never yields
more than ten or twelve d�n�rs a day. Turn astrologer; your
fortune will be made, and I shall have all I wish and be happy."
"Astrologer!" cried Ahmed--"astrologer! Have you forgotten who I
am--a cobbler, without any learning--that you want me to engage
in a profession which requires so much skill and knowledge?" "I
neither think nor care about your qualifications," said the
enraged wife; "all I know is that if you do not turn astrologer
immediately, I will be divorced from you to-morrow." The cobbler
remonstrated, but in vain. The figure of the astrologer's wife,
with her jewels and her slaves, took complete possession of her
imagination. All night it haunted her: she dreamt of nothing
else, and on awakening declared that she would leave the house if
her husband did not comply with her wishes. What could poor Ahmed
do? He was no astrologer; but he was dotingly fond of his wife,
and he could not bear the idea of losing her. He promised to
obey, and having sold his little stock, bought an astrolabe, an
astronomical almanac, and a table of the twelve signs of the
zodiac. Furnished with these, he went to the market-place, crying,
"I am an astrologer! I know the sun, and the moon, and the stars,
and the twelve signs of the zodiac; I can calculate nativities; I
can foretell everything that is to happen." No man was better
known than Ahmed the Cobbler. A crowd soon gathered round him.
"What, friend Ahmed," said one, "have you worked till your head
is turned?" "Are you tired of looking down at your last," cried
another, "that you are now looking up at the stars?" These and a
thousand other jokes assailed the ears of the poor cobbler, who
notwithstanding continued to exclaim that he was an astrologer,
having resolved on doing what he could to please his beautiful
wife.
It so happened that the king's jeweller was passing by. He was in
great distress, having lost the richest ruby belonging to the
king. Every search had been made to recover this inestimable
jewel, but to no purpose; and as the jeweller knew he could no
longer conceal its loss from the king, he looked forward to death
as inevitable. In this hopeless state, while wandering about the
town, he reached the crowd around Ahmed, and asked what was the
matter. "Don't you know Ahmed the Cobbler?" said one of the
bystanders, laughing. "He has been inspired and is become an
astrologer." A drowning man will catch at a broken reed: the
jeweller no sooner heard the sound of the word astrologer than he
went up to Ahmed, told him what had happened, and said, "If you
understand your art, you must be able to discover the king's
ruby. Do so, and I will give you two hundred pieces of gold. But
if you do not succeed within six hours, I will use my influence
at court to have you put to death as an impostor." Poor Ahmed was
thunderstruck. He stood long without being able to speak,
reflecting on his misfortunes, and grieving, above all, that his
wife, whom he so loved, had, by her envy and selfishness, brought
him to such a fearful alternative. Full of these sad thoughts, he
exclaimed aloud, "O woman! woman! thou art more baneful to the
happiness of man than the poisonous dragon of the desert!" Now
the lost ruby had been secreted by the jeweller's wife, who,
disquieted by those alarms which ever attend guilt, sent one of
her female slaves to watch her husband. This slave, on seeing her
master speak to the astrologer, drew near; and when she heard
Ahmed, after some moments of abstraction, compare a woman to a
poisonous dragon, she was satisfied that he must know everything.
She ran to her mistress, and, breathless with fear, cried, "You
are discovered by a vile astrologer! Before six hours are past
the whole story will be known, and you will become infamous, if
you are even so fortunate as to escape with life, unless you can
find some way of prevailing on him to be merciful." She then
related what she had seen and heard; and Ahmed's exclamation
carried as complete conviction to the mind of the terrified lady
as it had done to that of her slave. The jeweller's wife hastily
throwing on her veil, went in search of the dreaded astrologer.
When she found him, she cried, "Spare my honour and my life, and
I will confess everything." "What can you have to confess to me?"
said Ahmed, in amazement. "O nothing--nothing with which you are
not already acquainted. You know too well that I stole the king's
ruby. I did so to punish my husband, who uses me most cruelly;
and I thought by this means to obtain riches for myself and have
him put to death. But you, most wonderful man, from whom nothing
is hidden, have discovered and defeated my wicked plan. I beg
only for mercy, and will do whatever you command me." An angel
from heaven could not have brought more consolation to Ahmed than
did the jeweller's wife. He assumed all the dignified solemnity
that became his new character, and said, "Woman! I know all thou
hast done, and it is fortunate for thee that thou hast come to
confess thy sin and beg for mercy before it was too late. Return
to thy house; put the ruby under the pillow of the couch on which
thy husband sleeps; let it be laid on the side farthest from the
door; and be satisfied thy guilt shall never be even suspected."
The jeweller's wife went home and did as she was instructed. In
an hour Ahmed followed her, and told the jeweller he had made his
calculations, and found by the aspect of the sun and moon, and by
the configuration of the stars, that the ruby was at that moment
lying under the pillow of his couch on the side farthest from the
door. The jeweller thought Ahmed must be crazy; but as a ray of
hope is like a ray from heaven to the wretched, he ran to his
couch, and there, to his joy and wonder, found the ruby in the
very place described. He came back to Ahmed, embraced him, called
him his dearest friend and the preserver of his life, gave him
two hundred pieces of gold, declaring that he was the first
astrologer of the age.
Ahmed returned home with his lucky gains, and would gladly have
resumed his cobbling but his wife insisting on his continuing to
practice his new profession, there was no help but to go out
again next day and proclaim his astrological accomplishments. By
mere chance he is the means of a lady recovering a valuable
necklace which she had lost at the bath, and forty chests of gold
stolen from the king's treasury, and is finally rewarded with the
hand of the king's daughter in marriage.
STORY OF THE KING WHO LOST KINGDOM, WIFE AND WEALTH.--Vol. XI. p. 319.
In the "Indian Antiquary" for June 1886 the Rev. J. Hinton
Knowles gives a translation of what he terms a Kashm�r� Tale,
under the title of "Pride Abased," which, he says, was told him
by "a Brahman named Mukund B�y�, who resides at Suth�, Sr�nagar,"
and which is an interesting variant of the Waz�r Er-Rahwan's
second story of the King who lost his Realm and Wealth: