There was once a knight, who, from his earliest infancy, appeared
to be the peculiar favourite of Fortune. His birth was noble; his
person equally remarkable for strength and beauty; his
possessions so extensive as to furnish the amusements of hawking
and hunting in the highest perfection. Though he had found no
opportunity of signalising his courage in war, he had borne away
the prize at numberless tournaments; his courtesy was the theme
of general praise; his hall was the seat of unceasing plenty; it
was crowded with minstrels, whom he entertained with princely
liberality, and the possession of a beautiful wife and three
lovely children completed the sum of earthly happiness.
Sir Isumbras had many virtues, but he had one vice. In the pride
of his heart he forgot the Giver of all good things, and
considered the blessings so abundantly showered upon him as the
proper and just reward of his distinguished merit. Instances of
this overweening presumption might perhaps be found in all ages
among the possessors of wealth and power; but few sinners have
the good fortune to be recalled, like Sir Isumbras, by a severe
but salutary punishment, to the pious sentiments of Christian
humility.
It was usual with knights to amuse themselves with hawking or
hunting whenever they were not occupied by some more serious
business; and, as business seldom intervened, they thus amused
themselves every day in the year. One morning, being mounted on
his favourite steed, surrounded by his dogs, and with a hawk on
his wrist, Sir Isumbras cast his eyes on the sky, and discovered
an angel, who, hovering over him, reproached him with his pride,
and announced the punishment of instant and complete degradation.
The terrified knight immediately fell on his knees; acknowledged
the justice of his sentence; returned thanks to Heaven for
deigning to visit him with adversity while the possession of
youth and health enabled him to endure it; and, filled with
contrition, prepared to return from the forest. But scarcely had
the angel disappeared when his good steed suddenly fell dead
under him, the hawk dropped from his wrist; his hounds wasted and
expired; and, being thus left alone, he hastened on foot towards
his palace, filled with melancholy forebodings, but impatient to
learn the whole extent of his misfortune.
He was presently met by a part of his household, who, with many
tears, informed him that his horses and oxen had been suddenly
struck dead with lightning, and that his capons were all stung to
death with adders. He received the tidings with humble
resignation, commanded his servants to abstain from murmurs
against Providence, and passed on. He was next met by a page, who
related that his castle was burned to the ground, that many of
his servants had lost their lives, and that his wife and children
had with great difficulty escaped from the flames. Sir Isumbras,
rejoiced that Heaven had yet spared those who were most dear to
him, bestowed upon the astonished page his purse of gold as a
reward for the intelligence.
A doleful sight then gan he see;
His wife and children three
Out of the fire were fled:
There they sat, under a thorn,
Bare and naked as they were born,
Brought out of their bed.
A woful man then was he,
When he saw them all naked be,
The lady said, all so blive,
"For nothing, sir, be ye adrad."
He did off his surcoat of pallade,[FN#572]
And with it clad his wife.
His scarlet mantle then shore[FN#573] he;
Therein he closed his children three
That naked before him stood.
He then proposed to his wife that, as an expiation of their sins,
they should at once under take a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; so,
cutting with his knife a sign of the cross on his bare shoulder,
he set off with the four companions of his misery, resolving to
beg his bread till they should arrive at the Holy Sepulchre.
After passing through "seven lands," supported by the scanty alms
of the charitable, they arrived at length at a forest, where they
wandered during three days without meeting a single habitation.
Their food was reduced to the few berries which they were able to
collect; and the children, unaccustomed to such hard fare, began
to sink under the accumulated difficulties of their journey. In
this situation they were stopped by a wide and rapid though
shallow river. Sir Isumbras, taking his eldest son in his arms,
carried him over to the opposite bank, and placing him under a
bush of broom, directed him to dry his tears, and amuse himself
by playing with the blossoms till his return with his brothers.
But scarcely had he left the place when a lion, starting from a
neighbouring thicket, seized the child and bore him away into the
recesses of the forest. The second son became, in like manner,
the prey of an enormous leopard; and the disconsolate mother,
when carried over with her infant to the fatal spot, was with
difficulty persuaded to survive the loss of her two elder
children. Sir Isumbras, though he could not repress the tears
extorted by this cruel calamity, exerted himself to console his
wife and humbly confessing his sins, contented himself with
praying that his present misery might be accepted by Heaven as a
partial expiation.
Through forest they went days three,
Till they came to the Greekish sea;
They grette,[FN#574] and were full wo!
As they stood upon the land,
They saw a fleet sailand,[FN#575]
Three hundred ships and mo.[FN#576]
With top-castels set on-loft,
Richly then were they wrought,
With joy and mickle[FN#577] pride:
A heathen king was therein,
That Christendom came to win;
His power was full wide.
It was now seven days since the pilgrims had tasted bread or
meat, the soudan's[FN#578] galley, therefore, was no sooner moored
to the beach than the hastened on board to beg for food. The
soudan, under the apprehension that they were spies, ordered them
to be driven back on shore; but his attendants observed to him
that these could not be common beggars; that the robust limbs and
tall stature of the husband proved him to be a knight in
disguise, and that the delicate complexion of the wife, who was
"bright as blossom on tree," formed a striking contrast to the
ragged apparel with which she was very imperfectly covered. They
were now brought into the royal presence; and the soudan,
addressing Sir Isumbras, immediately offered him as much treasure
as he should require, on condition that he should renounce
Christianity and consent to fight under the Saracen banners. The
answer was a respectful but peremptory refusal, concluded by an
earnest petition for a little food; but the soudan, having by
this time turned his eyes from Sir Isumbras to the beautiful
companion of his pilgrimage, paid no attention to his request.
The soudan beheld that lady there,
Him thought an angel that she were,
Comen a-down from heaven;
"Man! I will give thee gold and fee,
An thou that woman will sellen me,
More than thou can neven.[FN#579]
I will give thee an hundred pound
Of pennies that been whole and round,
And rich robes seven:
She shall be queen of my land,
And all men bow unto her hand,
And none withstand her steven."[FN#580]
Sir Isumbras said, "Nay!
My wife I will nought sell away,
Though ye me for her sloo![FN#581]
I weddid her in Goddislay,
To hold her to mine ending day,
Both for weal and wo."
It evidently would require no small share of casuistry to
construe this declaration into an acceptance of the bargain, but
the Saracens, having heard the offer of their sovereign,
deliberately counted out the stipulated sum on the mantle of Sir
Isumbras; took possession of the lady, carried the knight with
his infant son on shore; beat him till he was scarcely able to
move, and then returned for further orders. During this
operation, the soudan, with his own hand, placed the regal crown
on the head of his intended bride; but recollecting that the
original project of the voyage to Europe was to conquer it, which
might possibly occasion a loss of some time, he delayed his
intended nuptial, and ordered a fast-sailing vessel to convey her
to his dominions, providing her at the same time with a charter
addressed to his subjects, in which he enjoined them to obey her,
from the moment of her landing, as their legitimate sovereign.
The lady, emboldened by these tokens of deference on the part of
her new lord, now fell on her knees and entreated his permission
to pass a few moments in private with her former husband, and the
request was instantly granted by the complaisant Saracen. Sir
Isumbras, still smarting from his bruises, was conducted with
great respect and ceremony to his wife, who, embracing him with
tears, earnestly conjured him to seek her out as soon as possible
in her new dominions, to slay his infidel rival, and to take
possession of a throne which was probably reserved to him by
Heaven as an indemnification for his past losses. She then
supplied him with provisions for a fortnight; kissed him and her
infant son; swooned three times, and then set sail for Africa.
Sir Isumbras, who had been set on shore quite confounded by this
quick succession of strange adventures, followed the vessel with
his eyes till it vanished from his sight, and then taking his son
by the hand led him up to some rocky woodlands in the
neighbourhood. Here they sat down under a tree, and after a short
repast, which was moistened with their tears, resumed their
journey. But they were again bewildered in the forest, and, after
gaining the summit of the mountain without being able to descry a
single habitation, lay down on the bare ground and resigned
themselves to sleep. The next morning Sir Isumbras found that his
misfortunes were not yet terminated. He had carried his stock of
provisions, together with his gold, the fatal present of the
soudan, enveloped in a scarlet mantle; and scarcely had the sun
darted its first rays on the earth when an eagle, attracted by
the red cloth, swooped down upon the treasure and bore it off in
his talons. Sir Isumbras, waking at the moment, perceived the
theft, and for some time hastily pursued the flight of the bird,
who, he expected, would speedily drop the heavy and useless
burthen; but he was disappointed; for the eagle, constantly
towering as he approached the sea, at length directed his flight
towards the opposite shore of Africa. Sir Isumbras slowly
returned to his child, whom he had no longer the means of
feeding; but the wretched father only arrived in time to behold
the boy snatched from him by a unicorn. The knight was now quite
disheartened. But his last calamity was so evidently miraculous
that even the grief of the father was nearly absorbed by the
contrition of the sinner. He fell on his knees and uttered a most
fervent prayer to Jesus and the Virgin, and then proceeded on his
journey.
His attention was soon attracted by the sound of a smith's
bellows: he quickly repaired to the forge and requested the
charitable donation of a little food; but was told by the
labourers that he seemed as well able to work as they did, and
they had nothing to throw away in charity.
Then answered the knight again,
"For meat would I swink[FN#582] fain."
Fast he bare and drow,[FN#583]
They given him meat and drink anon.
And taughten him to bear stone:
Then had he shame enow.
This servitude lasted a twelvemonth, and seven years expired
before he had fully attained all the mysteries of his new
profession. He employed his few leisure hours in fabricating a
complete suit of armour: every year had brought him an account of
the progress of the Saracens; and he could not help entertaining
a hope that his arm, though so ignobly employed, was destined at
some future day to revenge the wrongs of the Christians, as well
as the injury which he had personally received from the
unbelievers.
At length he heard that the Christian army had again taken the
field; that the day was fixed for a great and final effort; and
that a plain at an inconsiderable distance from his shop was
appointed for the scene of action. Sir Isumbras rose before day,
buckled on his armour, and mounting a horse which had hitherto
been employed in carrying coals, proceeded to the field and took
a careful view of the disposition of both armies. When the
trumpets gave the signal to charge, he dismounted, fell on his
knees, and after a short but fervent prayer to Heaven, again
sprang into his saddle and rode into the thickest ranks of the
enemy. His uncouth war-horse and awkward armour had scarcely less
effect than his wonderful address and courage in attracting the
attention of both parties; and when after three desperate
charges, his sorry steed was slain under him, one of the
Christian chiefs make a powerful effort for his rescue, bore him
to a neighbouring eminence, and presented to him a more suitable
coat of armour, and a horse more worthy of the heroic rider.
When he was armed on that stead,
It is seen where his horse yede,[FN#584]
And shall be evermore.
As sparkle glides off the glede,[FN#585]
In that stour he made many bleed,
And wrought hem wonder sore.
He rode up into the mountain,
The soudan soon hath he slain,
And many that with him were.
All that day lasted the fight;
Sir Isumbras, that noble knight,
Wan the battle there.
Knights and squires have him sought,
And before the king him brought;
Full sore wounded was he.
They asked what was his name;
He said, "Sire, a smith's man;
What will ye do with me?"
The Christian king said, than,
"I trow never smith's man
In war was half so wight."
"I bid[FN#586] you, give me meat and drink
And what that I will after think,
Till I have kevered[FN#587] my might."
The king a great oath sware,
As soon as he whole were,
That he would dub him knight.
In a nunnery they him leaved,
To heal the wound in his heved,[FN#588]
That he took in that fight.
The nuns of him were full fain,
For he had the soudan slain,
And many heathen hounds;
For his sorrow they gan sore rue;
Every day they salved him new,
And stopp�d well his wounds.
We may fairly presume, without derogating from the merit of the
holy sisters or from the virtue of their salves and bandages,
that the knight's recovery was no less accelerated by the
pleasure of having chastised the insolent possessor of his wife
and the author of his contumelious beating. In a few days his
health was restored; and having provided himself with a "scrip
and pike" and the other accoutrements of a palmer, he took his
leave of the nuns, directed his steps once more to the "Greekish
Sea," and, embarking on board of a vessel which he found ready to
sail, speedily arrived at the port of Acre.
During seven years, which were employed in visiting every part of
the Holy Land, the penitent Sir Isumbras led a life of continued
labour and mortification: fed during the day by the precarious
contributions of the charitable, and sleeping at night in the
open air, without any addition to the scanty covering which his
pilgrim's weeds, after seven years service, were able to afford.
At length his patience and contrition were rewarded. After a day
spent in fruitless applications for a little food,
Beside the burgh of Jerusalem
He set him down by a well-stream,
Sore wepand[FN#589] for his sin.
And as he sat, about midnight,
There came an angel fair and bright,
And brought him bread and wine;
He said, "Palmer, well thou be!
The King of Heaven greeteth well thee;
Forgiven is sin thine."
Sir Isumbras accepted with pious gratitude the donation of food,
by which his strength was instantly restored, and again set out
on his travels; but he was still a widower, still deprived of his
children, and as poor as ever; nor had his heavenly monitor
afforded him any hint for his future guidance. He wandered
therefore through the country, without any settled purpose, till
he arrived at a "rich burgh," built round a "fair castle," the
possessor of which, he was told, was a charitable queen, who
daily distributed a florin of gold to every poor man who
approached her gates, and even condescended to provide food and
lodging within her palace for such as were distinguished by
superior misery. Sir Isumbras presented himself with the rest;
and his emaciated form and squalid garments procured him instant
admittance.
The rich queen in hall was set;
Knights her served, at hand and feet,
In rich robes of pall:
In the floor a cloth was laid;
"The poor palmer," the steward said,
"Shall sit above you all."
Meat and drink forth they brought;
He sat still, and ate right nought,
But looked about the hall.
So mickle he saw of game and glee
(Swiche mirthis he was wont to see)
The tears he let down fall.
Conduct so unusual attracted the attention of the whole company,
and even of the queen, who, ordering "a chair with a cushion" to
be placed near the palmer, took her seat in it, entered into
conversation with him on the subject of his long and painful
pilgrimage, and was much edified by the moral lessons which he
interspersed in his narrative. But no importunity could induce
him to taste food: he was sick at heart, and required the aid of
solitary meditation to overcome the painful recollections which
continually assailed him The queen was more and more astonished,
but at length left him to his reflections, after declaring that,
"for her lord's soul, or for his love, if he were still alive,"
she was determined to retain the holy palmer in her palace, and
to assign him a convenient apartment, together with a servant to
attend him.
An interval of fifteen years, passed in the laborious occupations
of blacksmith and pilgrim, may be supposed to have produced a
very considerable alteration in the appearance of Sir Isumbras;
and even his voice, subdued by disease and penance, may have
failed to discover the gallant knight under the disguise which he
had so long assumed. But that his wife (for such she was) should
have been equally altered by the sole operation of time; that the
air and gestures and action of a person once so dear and so
familiar to him should have awakened no trace of recollection in
the mind of a husband, though in the midst of scenes which
painfully recalled the memory of his former splendour, is more
extraordinary. Be this as it may, the knight and the queen,
though lodged under the same roof and passing much of their time
together, continued to bewail the miseries of their protracted
widowhood. Sir Isumbras, however, speedily recovered, in the
plentiful court of the rich queen, his health and strength, and
with these the desire of returning to his former exercises. A
tournament was proclaimed; and the lists, which were formed
immediately under the windows of the castle, were quickly occupied
by a number of Saracen knights, all of whom Sir Isumbras
successively overthrew. So dreadful was the stroke of his spear,
that many were killed at the first encounter; some escaped with a
few broken bones; others were thrown headlong into the castle
ditch; but the greater number consulted their safety by a timely
flight; while the queen contemplated with pleasure and
astonishment the unparalleled exploits of her favourite palmer.
Then fell it, upon a day,
The Knight went him for to play,
As it was ere his kind;
A fowl's nest he found on high;
A red cloth therein he seygh[FN#590]
Wavand[FN#591] in the wind.
To the nest he gan win;[FN#592]
His own mantle he found therein;
The gold there gan he find.
The painful recollection awakened by this discovery weighed
heavily on the soul of Sir Isumbras. He bore the fatal treasure
to his chamber, concealed it under his bed, and spent the
remainder of the day in tears and lamentations. The images of his
lost wife and children now began to haunt him continually; and
his altered demeanour attracted the attention and excited the
curiosity of the whole court, and even of the queen, who could
only learn from the palmer's attendant that his melancholy seemed
to originate in the discovery of something in a bird's nest. With
this strange report she was compelled to be satisfied, till Sir
Isumbras, with the hope of dissipating his grief, began to resume
his usual exercises in the field; but no sooner had he quitted
his chamber than the "squires" by her command broke open the
door, discovered the treasure, and hastened with it to the royal
apartment. The sight of the gold and the scarlet mantle
immediately explained to the queen the whole mystery of the
palmer's behaviour. She burst into tears; kissed with fervent
devotion the memorial of her lost husband; fell into a swoon; and
on her recovery told the story to her attendants, and enjoined
them to go in quest of the palmer, and to bring him at once
before her. A short explanation removed her few remaining doubts;
she threw herself into the arms of her husband, and the reunion
of this long separated couple was immediately followed by the
coronation of Sir Isumbras and by a protracted series of
festivities.
The Saracen subjects of the Christian sovereign continued, with
unshaken loyalty, to partake of the plentiful entertainments
provided for all ranks of people on this solemn occasion; but no
sooner had the pious Sir Isumbras signified to them the necessity
of their immediate conversion, than his whole "parliament"
adopted the resolution of deposing and committing to the flames
their newly-acquired sovereign, as soon as they should have
obtained the concurrence of the neighbouring princes. Two of
these readily joined their forces for the accomplishment of this
salutary purpose, and invading the territories of Sir Isumbras
with an army of thirty thousand men, sent him, according to usual
custom, a solemn defiance. Sir Isumbras boldly answered the
defiance, issued the necessary orders, called for his arms,
sprang upon his horse, and prepared to march out against the
enemy; when he discovered that his subjects had, to a man,
abandoned him, and that he must encounter singly the whole host
of the invaders.
Sir Isumbras was bold and keen,
And took his leave at the queen,
And sighed wonder sore:
He said, "Madam, have good day!
Sickerly, as you I say,
For now and evermore!"
"Help me, sir, that I were dight
In arms, as it were a knight;
I will with you fare:
Gif God would us grace send,
That we may together end,
Then done were all my care."
Soon was the lady dight
In arms, as it were a knight;
He gave her spear and shield:
Again[FN#593] thirty thousand Saracens and mo.[FN#594]
There came no more but they two,
When they met in field.
Never, probably, did a contest take place between such
disproportioned forces. Sir Isumbras was rather encumbered than
assisted by the presence of his beautiful but feeble helpmate;
and the faithful couple were upon the point of being crushed by
the charge of the enemy, when three unknown knights suddenly made
their appearance, and as suddenly turned the fortune of the day.
The first of these was mounted on a lion, the second on a
leopard, and the third on a unicorn. The Saracen cavalry, at the
first sight of these unexpected antagonists, dispersed in all
directions. But flight and resistance were equally hopeless:
three and twenty thousand unbelievers were soon laid lifeless on
the plain by the talons of the lion and leopard and by the
resistless horn of the unicorn, or by the swords of their young
and intrepid riders; and the small remnant of the Saracen army
who escaped from the general carnage quickly spread, through
every corner of the Mohammedan world, the news of this signal and
truly miraculous victory.
Sir Isumbras, who does not seem to have possessed the talent for
unravelling mysteries, had never suspected that his three
wonderful auxiliaries were his own children, whom Providence had
sent to his assistance at the moment of his greatest distress;
but he was not the less thankful when informed of the happy
termination of all his calamities. The royal family were received
in the city with every demonstration of joy by his penitent
subjects; whose loyalty had been completely revived by the recent
miracle. Magnificent entertainments were provided; after which
Sir Isumbras, having easily overrun the territories of his two
pagan neighbours, who had been slain in the last battle,
proceeded to conquer a third kingdom for his youngest son; and
the four monarchs, uniting their efforts for the propagation of
the true faith, enjoyed the happiness of witnessing the baptism
of all the inhabitants of their respective dominions.
They lived and died in good intent;
Unto heaven their souls went,
When that they dead were.
Jesu Christ, heaven's king,
Give us, aye, his blessing,
And shield us from care!
On comparing these several versions it will be seen that, while
they differ one from another m some of the details, yet the
fundamental outline is identical, with the single exception of
the Tibetan story, which, in common with Tibetan tales generally,
has departed very considerably from the original. A king, or
knight, is suddenly deprived of all his possessions, and with his
wife and two children becomes a wanderer on the face of the
earth; his wife is forcibly taken from him; he afterwards loses
his two sons; he is once more raised to affluence; his sons,
having been adopted and educated by a charitable person, enter
his service; their mother recognises them through overhearing
their conversation; finally husband and wife and children are
happily re-united. Such is the general outline of the story,
though modifications have been made in the details of the
different versions-- probably through its being transmitted
orally in some instances. Thus in the Arabian story, the king is
ruined apparently in consequence of no fault of his own; in the
Panj�b� version, he relinquishes his wealth to a fak�r as a pious
action; in the Kashm�r� and in the romance of Sir Isumbras, the
hero loses his wealth as a punishment for his overweening pride;
in the legend of St. Eustache, as in the story of Job, the
calamities which overtake the Christian convert are designed by
Heaven as a trial of his patience and fortitude; while even in
the corrupted Tibetan story the ruin of the monarch is reflected
in the destruction of the parents of the heroine by a hurricane.
In both the Kashm�r� and the Panj�b� versions, the father is
swallowed by a fish (or an alligator) in re-crossing the river to
fetch his second child; in the Tibetan story the wife loses her
husband, who is killed by a snake, and having taken one of her
children over the river, she is returning for the other when,
looking back, she discovers her babe in the jaws of a wolf: both
her children perish: in the European versions they are carried
off by wild beasts and rescued by strangers--the romance of Sir
Isumbras is singular in representing the number of children to be
three. Only in the Arabian story do we find the father carrying
his wife and children in safety across the stream, and the latter
afterwards lost in the forest. The Kashm�r� and "Gesta" versions
correspond exactly in representing the shipman as seizing the
lady because her husband could not pay the passage-money: in the
Arabian she is entrapped in the ship, owned by a Magian, on the
pretext that there is on board a woman in labour; in Sir Isumbras
she is forcibly "bought" by the Soudan. She is locked up in a
chest by the Magian; sent to rule his country by the Soudan;
respectfully treated by the merchant in the Kashm�r� story, and,
apparently, also by Kandan in the Panj�b� legend; in the story of
St. Eustache her persecutor dies and she is living in humble
circumstances when discovered by her husband.--I think there is
internal evidence, apart from the existence of the Tibetan
version, to lead to the conclusion that the story is of Buddhist
extraction, and if such be the fact, it furnishes a further
example of the indebtedness of Christian hagiology to Buddhist
tales and legends.
AL-MALIK AL-ZAHIR AND THE SIXTEEN CAPTAINS OF POLICE.--Vol. XII.
p. 3.
We must, I think, regard this group of tales as being genuine
narratives of the exploits of Egyptian sharpers. From the days of
Herodotus to the present time, Egypt has bred the most expert
thieves in the world. The policemen don't generally exhibit much
ability for coping with the sharpers whose tricks they so well
recount; but indeed our home-grown "bobbies" are not particularly
quick-witted.
THE THIEF'S TALE.--Vol. XII. p. 42.
A parallel to the woman's trick of shaving off the beards and
blackening the faces of the robbers is found in the well-known
legend, as told by Herodotus (Euterpe, 121), of the robbery of
the treasure-house of Rhampsinitus king of Egypt, where the
clever thief, having made the soldiers dead drunk, shaves off the
right side of their beards and then decamps with his brother's
headless body.
THE NINTH CONSTABLE'S STORY.--Vol. XII. p. 46.
The narrow escape of the singing-girl hidden under a pile of
halfah grass may be compared with an adventure of a fugitive
Mexican prince whose history, as related by Prescott, is as full
of romantic daring and hair's-breadth 'scapes as that of
Scanderbeg or the "Young Chevalier." This prince had just time to
turn the crest of a hill as his enemies were climbing it on the
other side, when he fell in with a girl who was reaping chian, a
Mexican plant, the seed of which is much used in the drinks of
the country. He persuaded her to cover him with the stalks she
had been cutting. When his pursuers came up and inquired if she
had seen the fugitive, the girl coolly answered that she had, and
pointed out a path as the one he had taken.
THE FIFTEENTH CONSTABLE'S STORY.--Vol. XII. p. 59.
The concluding part of this story differs very materially from
that of the Greek legend of Ibycus (fl. B.C. 540), which is thus
related in a small MS. collection of Arabian and Persian
anecdotes in my possession, done into English from the French:
It is written in the history of the first kings that in the reign
of a Grecian king there lived a philosopher named Ibycus, who
surpassed in sagacity all other sages of Greece. Ibycus was once
sent by the king to a neighbouring court. On the way he was
attacked by robbers who, suspecting him to have much money,
formed the design of killing him. "Your object in taking my life,"
said Ibycus, "is to obtain my money; I give it up to you, but
allow me to live." The robbers paid no attention to his words,
and persisted in their purpose. The wretched Ibycus, in his
despair, looked about him to see if any one was coming to his
assistance, but no person was in sight. At that very moment a
flock of cranes flew overhead. "O cranes!" cried Ibycus, "know
that I have been seized in this desert by these wicked men, and I
die from their blows. Avenge me, and demand from them my blood."
At these words the robbers burst into laughter: "To take away
life from those who have lost their reason," they observed, "is
to add nothing to their hurt." So saying, they killed Ibycus and
divided his money. On receipt of the news that Ibycus had been
murdered, the inhabitants of the town were exasperated and felt
great sorrow. They caused strict inquiries to be made for the
murderers, but they could not be found. After some time the
Greeks were celebrating a feast. The inhabitants of the adjoining
districts came in crowds to the temples. The murderers of Ibycus
also came, and everywhere showed themselves. Meanwhile a flock of
cranes appeared in the air and hovered above the people, uttering
cries so loud and prolonged that the prayers and ceremonies were
interrupted. One of the robbers looked with a smile at his
comrades, saying, by way of joke, "These cranes come without
doubt to avenge the blood of Ibycus." Some one of the town, who
was near them, heard these words, repeated them to his neighbour,
and they together reported them to the king. The robbers were
taken, strictly cross-examined, confessed their crime, and
suffered for it a just punishment. In this way the cranes
inflicted vengeance on the murderers of Ibycus. But we ought to
see in this incident a matter which is concealed in it: This
philosopher, although apparently addressing his words to the
cranes, was really imploring help from their Creator; he hoped,
in asking their aid, that He would not suffer his blood to flow
unavenged. So God accomplished his hopes, and willed that cranes
should be the cause that his death was avenged in order that the
sages of the world should learn from it the power and wisdom of
the Creator.
This ancient legend was probably introduced into Arabian
literature in the 9th century, when translations of so many of the
best Greek works were made; and, no doubt, it was adapted in the
following Indian (Muslim) story:[FN#595]
There was a certain pir, or saint, of great wisdom, learning, and
sanctity, who sat by the wayside expounding the Kur�n to all who
would listen to him. He dwelt in the out-buildings of a ruined
mosque close by, his only companion being a maina, or
hill-starling, which he had taught to proclaim the excellence of
the formula of his religion, saying, "The Prophet is just!" It
chanced that two travellers passing that way beheld the holy man
at his devotions, and though far from being religious persons yet
tarried a while to hear the words of truth. Evening now drawing
on, the saint invited his apparently pious auditors to his
dwelling, and set before them such coarse food as he had to
offer. Having eaten and refreshed themselves, they were
astonished at the wisdom displayed by the bird, who continued to
repeat holy texts from the Kur�n. The meal ended, they all lay
down to sleep, and while the good man reposed, his treacherous
guests, who envied him the possession a bird that in their hands
might be the means of enriching them, determined to steal the
treasure and murder its master. So they stabbed the sleeping
devotee to the heart and then seized hold of the bird's cage.
But, unperceived by them, the door of it had been left open and
the bird was not to be found. After searching for the bird in
vain, they considered it necessary to dispose of the body, since,
if discovered, suspicion would assuredly fall upon them; and
carrying it away to what they deemed a safe distance they buried
it. Vexed to be obliged to leave the place without obtaining the
reward of their evil deeds, they again looked carefully for the
bird, but without success; it was nowhere to be seen, and so they
were compelled to go forward without the object of their search.
The maina had witnessed the atrocious deed, and unseen had
followed the murderers to the place were they had buried the
body; it then perched upon the tree beneath which the saint had
been wont to enlighten the minds of his followers, and when they
assembled flew into their midst, exclaiming, "The Prophet is
just!" making short flights and then returning. These unusual
motions, together with the absence of their preceptor, induced
the people to follow it, and directing its flight to the grave of
its master, it uttered a mournful cry over the newly-covered
grave. The villagers, astonished, began to remove the earth, and
soon discovered the bloody corse. Surprised and horror-stricken,
they looked about for some traces of the murderers, and
perceiving that the bird had resumed the movements which had
first induced them to follow it, they suffered it to lead them
forward. Before evening fell, the avengers came up with two men,
who no sooner heard the maina exclaim, "The Prophet is just'" and
saw the crowd that accompanied it, than they fell upon their
knees, confessing that the Prophet had indeed brought their evil
deeds to light; so, their crime being thus made manifest, summary
justice was inflicted upon them.
TALE OF THE DAMSEL TUHFAT AL-KULUB.--Vol. XII. p. 70.
An entertaining story, but very inconsistent in the character of
Iblis, who is constantly termed, in good Muslim fashion, "the
accursed," yet seems to be somewhat of a follower of the Prophet,
and on the whole a good-natured sort of fellow. His mode of
expressing his approval of the damsel's musical "talent" is, to
say the least, original.
WOMEN'S WILES.--Vol. XII. p. 99.
A variant--perhaps an older form--of this story occurs in the
tale of Prince Fadlallah, which is interwoven with the History of
Prince Calaf and the Princess of China, in the Persian tales of
"The Thousand and One Days":
The prince, on his way to Baghdad, is attacked by robbers, his
followers are all slain, and himself made prisoner, but he is set
at liberty by the compassionate wife of the robber-chief during
his absence on a plundering expedition. When he reaches Baghdad
he has no resource but to beg his bread, and having stationed
himself in front of a large mansion, an old female slave
presently comes out and gives him a loaf. At this moment a gust
of wind blew aside the curtain of a window and discovered to his
admiring eyes a most beautiful damsel, of whom he became
immediately enamoured. He inquired of a passerby the name of the
owner of the mansion, and was informed that it belonged to a man
called Mouaffac, who had been lately governor of the city, but
having quarrelled with the k�z�, who was of a revengeful
disposition, the latter had found means to disgrace him with the
khal�f and to have him deprived of his office. After lingering
near the house in vain till nightfall, in hopes of once more
obtaining a glimpse of this beauty, he retired for the night to a
burying-ground, where he was soon joined by two thieves, who
pressed upon him a share of the good cheer with which they had
provided themselves, but while the thieves were feasting and
talking over a robbery which they had just accomplished, the
police suddenly pounced upon them, and took all three and cast
them into prison.
In the morning they were examined by the k�z�, and the thieves,
seeing it was useless to deny it, confessed their crime. The
prince then told the k�z� how he chanced to fall into company of
the thieves, who confirmed all he said, and he was set at
liberty. Then the k�z� began to question him as to how he had
employed his time since he came to Baghd�d, to which he answered
very frankly but concealed his rank. On his mentioning the brief
glance he had of the beautiful lady at the window of the
ex-governor's house, the k�z�'s eyes sparkled with apparent
satifaction, and he assured the prince that he should have the
lady for his bride; for, believing the prince to be a mere
beggarly adventurer, he resolved to foist him on Mouaffac as the
son of a great monarch. So, having sent the prince to the bath and
provided him with rich garments, the k�z� despatched a messenger
to request Mouaffac to come to him on important business. When
the ex-governor arrived, the k�z� told him blandly that there was
now an excellent opportunity for doing away the ill will that had
so long existed between them. "It is this," continued he: "the
prince of Basra, having fallen in love with your daughter from
report of her great beauty, has just come to Baghd�d, unknown to
his father, and intends to demand her of you in marriage. He is
lodged in my house, and is most anxious that this affair should
be arranged by my interposition, which is the more agreeable to
me, since it will, I trust, be the means of reconciling our
differences." Mouaffac expressed his surprise that the prince of
Basra should think of marrying his daughter, and especially that
the proposal should come through the k�z�, of all men. But the k�z�
begged him to forget their former animosity and consent to the
immediate celebration of the nuptials. While they were thus
talking, the prince entered, in a magnificent dress, and was not
a little astonished to be presented to Mouaffac by the
treacherous k�z� as the prince of Basra, who had come as a suitor
for his daughter in marriage. The ex-governor saluted him with
every token of profound respect, and expressed his sense of the
honour of such an alliance: his daughter was unworthy to wait
upon the meanest of the prince's slaves. In brief, the marriage
is at once celebrated, and the prince duly retires to the bridal
chamber with the beauteous daughter of Mouaffac. But in the
morning, at an early hour, a servant of the k�z� knocks at his
door, and, on the prince opening it, says that he brings him his
rags of clothes and is required to take back the dress which the
k�z� had lent him yesterday to personate the prince of Basra. The
prince, having donned his tattered garments, said to his wife,
"The k�z� thinks he has married you to a wretched beggar, but I
am no whit inferior in rank to the prince of Basra--I am also a
prince, being the only son of the king of Mosel," and then
proceeded to recount all his adventures. When he had concluded
his recital, the lady despatched a servant to procure a suitable
dress for the prince, which when he had put on, she said, "I see
it all: the k�z�, no doubt, believes that by this time we are all
overwhelmed with shame and grief. But what must be his feelings
when he learns that he has been a benefactor to his enemies!
Before you disclose to him your real rank, however, we must
contrive to punish him for his malicious intentions. There is a
dyer in this town who has a frightfully ugly daughter-- but leave
this affair in my hands."
The lady then dressed herself in plain but becoming apparel, and
went out of the house alone. She proceeded to the court of the
k�z�, who no sooner cast his eyes upon her than he was struck
with her elegant form. He sent an officer to inquire of her who
she was and what she had come about. She made answer that she was
the daughter of an artisan in the city. and that she desired to
have some private conversation with the k�z�. When the officer
reported the lady's reply, the k�z� directed her to be conducted
into a private chamber, where he presently joined her, and
gallantly placed his services at her disposal. The lady now
removed her veil, and asked him whether he saw anything ugly or
repulsive in her features. The k�z� on seeing her beautiful face
was suddenly plunged in the sea of love, and declared that her
forehead was of polished silver, her eyes were sparkling
diamonds, her mouth a ruby casket containing a bracelet of
pearls. Then she displayed her arms, so white and plump, the
sight of which threw the k�z� into ecstasies and almost caused
him to faint. Quoth the lady, "I must tell you, my lord, that
with all the beauty I possess, my father, a dyer in the city,
keeps me secluded, and declares to all who come to ask me in
marriage that I am an ugly, deformed monster, a mere skeleton,
lame, and full of diseases." On this the k�z� burst into a tirade
against the brutal father who could thus traduce so much beauty,
and vowed that he would make her his wife that same day. The
lady, after expressing her fears that he would not find it easy
to gain her father's consent, took her leave and returned home.
The k�z� lost no time in sending for the dyer, and, after
complimenting him upon his reputation for piety, said to him, "I
am informed that behind the curtain of chastity you have a
daughter ripe for marriage. Is not this true?" Replied the dyer,
"My lord, you have been rightly informed. I have a daughter who
is indeed fully ripe for marriage, for she is more than thirty
years of age; but the poor creature is not fit to be a wife to
any man. She is very ugly, lame, leprous, and foolish. In short,
she is such a monster that I am obliged to keep her out of all
people's sight." "Ha!" exclaimed the k�z�, "you can't impose on
me with such a tale. I was prepared for it. But let me tell you
that I myself am ready and willing to marry that same ugly and
leprous daughter of yours, with all her defects." When the dyer
heard this, he looked the k�z� full in the face and said, "My
lord, you are welcome to divert yourself by making a jest of my
daughter." No," replied the k�z� "I am quite in earnest. I demand
your daughter in marriage." The dyer broke into laughter, saying,
'By Allah, some one has meant to play you a trick, my lord. I
forewarn you that she is ugly, lame, and leprous." "True,"
responded the k�z�, with a knowing smile; "I know her by these
tokens. I shall take her notwithstanding." The dyer, seeing him
determined to marry his daughter, and being now convinced that he
had been imposed upon by some ill-wisher, thought to himself, "I
must demand of him a round sum of money which may cause him to
cease troubling me any further about my poor daughter." So he
said to the k�z�, "My lord, I am ready to obey your command; but
I will not part with my daughter unless you pay me beforehand a
dowry of a thousand sequins." Replied the k�z�, "Although,
methinks, your demand is somewhat exorbitant, yet I will pay you
the money at once." which having done, he ordered the contract to
be drawn up. But when it came to be signed the dyer declared that
he would not sign save in the presence of a hundred men of the
law. "Thou art very distrustful," said the k�z�, "but I will
comply in everything, for I am resolved to make sure of thy
daughter." So he sent for all the men of law in the city, and
when they were assembled at the house of the k�z�, the dyer said
that he was now willing to sign the contract; "But I declare," he
added, "in the presence of these honourable witnesses, that I do
so on the condition that if my daughter should not prove to your
liking when you have seen her, and you should determine to
divorce her, you shall oblige yourself to give her a thousand
sequins of gold in addition to the same amount which I have
already received from you. "Agreed," said the k�z�, "I oblige
myself to it, and call this whole assembly to be witnesses. Art
thou now satisfied?" "I am," replied the dyer, who then went his
way, saying that he would at once send him his bride.
As soon as the dyer was gone, the assembly broke up, and the k�z�
was left alone in his house. He had been two years married to the daughter
of a merchant of Baghd�d, with whom he had hitherto lived on very
amicable terms. When she heard that he was arranging for a second
marriage, she came to him in a great rage. "How now," said she,
"two hands in one glove! two swords in one scabbard! two wives in
one house! Go, fickle man! Since the caresses of a young and
faithful wife cannot secure your constancy, I am ready to yield
my place to my rival and retire to my own family. Repudiate me--
return my dowry--and you shall never see me more." "I am glad you
have thus anticipated me," answered the k�z�, "for I was somewhat
perplexed how to acquaint you of my new marriage." So saying, he
opened a coffer and took out a purse of five hundred sequins of
gold, and putting it into her hands, "There, woman," said he,
"thy dowry is in that purse: begone, and take with you what
belongs to you. I divorce thee once; I divorce thee twice, three
times I divorce thee. And that thy parents may be satisfied thou
art divorced from me, I shall give thee a certificate signed by
myself and my nayb." This he did accordingly, and his wife went
to her father's house, with her bill of divorce and her dowry.
The k�z� then gave orders to furnish an apartment sumptuously for
the reception of his bride. The floor was spread with velvet
carpets, the walls were hung with rich tapestry, and couches of
gold and silver brocade were placed around the room. The bridal
chamber was decked with caskets filled with the most exquisite
perfumes. When everything was in readiness, the k�z� impatiently
expected the arrival of his bride, and at last was about to
despatch a messenger to the dyer's when a porter entered,
carrying a wooden chest covered with a piece of green taffeta.
"What hast thou brought me there, friend?" asked the k�z�. "My
lord," replied the porter, setting the chest on the floor, "I
bring your bride." The k�z� opened the chest, and discovered a
woman of three feet and a half, defective in every limb and
feature. He was horrified at the sight of this object, and
throwing the covering hastily over it, demanded of the porter,
"What wouldst thou have me do with this frightful creature?" "My
lord," said the porter, "this is the daughter of Omar the dyer,
who told me that you had espoused her out of pure inclination."
"O Allah!" exclaimed the k�z�, "is it possible to marry such a
monster as this?" Just then, the dyer, well knowing that the k�z�
must be surprised, came in. "Thou wretch," cried the k�z�, "how
dost thou dare to trifle with me? In place of this hideous
object, send hither your other daughter, whose beauty is beyond
comparison; otherwise thou shalt soon know what it is to insult
me." Quoth the dyer, "My lord, I swear, by Him who out of
darkness produced light, that I have no other daughter but this.
I told you repeatedly that she was not for your purpose, but you
would not believe my words. Who, then, is to blame?" Upon this
the k�z� began to cool, and said so the dyer, "I must tell you,
friend Omar, that this morning there came to me a most beautiful
damsel, who pretended that you were her father, and that you
represented her to everybody as a monster, on purpose to deter
all suitors that came to ask her in marriage." "My lord,"
answered the dyer, "this beautiful damsel must be an impostor;
some one, undoubtedly, owes you a grudge." Then the k�z�, having
reflected for a few minutes, said to the dyer, "Bid the porter
carry thy daughter home again. Keep the thousand sequins of gold
which I gave thee, but ask no more of me, if thou desirest that
we should continue friends." The dyer, knowing the implacable
disposition of the k�z�, thought it advisable to content himself
with what he had already gained, and the k�z�, having formally
divorced his hideous bride, sent her away with her father. The
affair soon got wind in the city and everybody was highly
diverted with the trick practiced on the k�z�.
It will be observed that in the Arabian story there are two
clever devices: that of the lady who tricks the boastful
merchant, whose motto was that men's craft is superior to women's
craft, into marrying the ugly daughter of the k�z�; and that of
the merchant to get rid of his bad bargain by disgusting the k�z�
with the alliance. The scene at the house of the worthy judge--
the crowd of low rascals piping, drumming, and capering, and
felicitating themselves on their pretended kinsman the merchant's
marriage--is highly humorous. This does not occur in the Persian
story, because it is the k�z�, who has been duped into marrying
the dyer's deformed daughter, and she is therefore simply packed
off again to her father's house.
That the tales of the "Thousand and One Days" are not (as is
supposed by the writer of an article on the several English
versions of The Nights in the "Edinburgh Review" for July 1886,
p. 167) mere imitations of Galland[FN#596] is most certain, apart
from the statement in the preface to Petis' French translation,
which there is no reason to doubt--see vol. x. of The Nights, p.
166, note 1. Sir William Ouseley, in his Travels, vol. ii., p.
21, note, states that he brought from Persia a manuscript which
comprised, inter alia, a portion of the "Haz�r � Yek R�z," or the
Thousand and One Days, which agreed with Petis' translation of
the same stories. In the Persian collection entitled "Shamsa �
Kuhkuha" occur several of the tales and incidents, for example,
the Story of Nasiraddoli King of Mousel, the Merchant of Baghd�d,
and the Fair Zeinib, while the Story of the King of Thibet and
the Princess of the Naimans has its parallel in the Turkish "Kirk
Vaz�r," or Forty Vaz�rs. Again, the Story of Couloufe and the
Beautiful Dilara reminds us of that of Haji the Cross-grained in
Malcolm's "Sketches of Persia." But of the French translation not
a single good word can be said--the Oriental "costume" and
phraseology have almost entirely disappeared, and between Petis
de la Croix and the author of "Gil Blas"--who is said to have had
a hand in the work--the tales have become ludicrously
Frenchified. The English translation made from the French is, if
possible, still worse. We there meet with "persons of quality,"
"persons of fashion," with "seigneurs," and a thousand and one
other inconsistencies and absurdities. A new translation is much
to be desired. The copy of the Persian text made by Petis is
probably in the Paris Library and Ouseley's fragment is doubtless
among his other Oriental MSS. in the Bodleian. But one should
suppose that copies of the "Haz�r � Yek R�z" may be readily
procured at Ispah�n or Tehr�n, and at a very moderate cost, since
the Persians now-a-days are so poor in general that they are
eager to exchange any books they possess for the "circulating
medium."
NUR AL-DIN AND THE DAMSEL SITT AL-MILAH.--Vol. XII. p. 151.
This is an excellent tale; the incidents occur naturally and the
reader's interest in the fortunes of the hero and heroine never
flags. The damsel's sojourn with the old Muezzin--her dispatching
him daily to the shroff--bears some analogy to part of the tale
of Ghanim the Slave of Love (vol. ii. of The Nights), which, by
the way, finds close parallels in the Turkish "Forty Vaz�rs" (the
Lady's 18th story in Mr. Gibb's translation), the Persian
"Thousand and One Days" (story of Aboulcasem of Basra), and the
"Bagh o Bah�r" (story of the First Dervish). This tale is, in
fact, a compound of incidents occurring in a number of different
Arabian fictions.
TALE OF KING INS BIN KAYS AND HIS DAUGHTER.--Vol. XII. p. 191.
Here we have another instance of a youth falling in love with the
portrait of a pretty girl (see ante, p. 328). The doughty deeds
performed by the young prince against thousands of his foes throw
into the shade the exploits of the Bedouin hero Antar, and those
of our own famous champions Sir Guy of Warwick and Sir Bevis of
Hampton.