"A Moon she rises, Willow-wand she waves * Breathes ambergris and
gazeth a gazelle.
Meseems that sorrow wooes my heart and wins * And when she wends
makes haste therein to dwell.
Her face is fairer than the Stars of Wealth[FN#477] * And sheeny
brows the crescent Moon excel."
And quoth a third also,
"They shine fullest Moons, unveil Crescent-bright; *
Sway tenderest Branches and turn wild kine;
'Mid which is a Dark-eyed for love of whose charms *
The Sailors[FN#478] would joy to be ground low-li'en."
So Nur al-Din turned to her at once and clasping her to his
bosom, sucked first her upper lip and then her under lip and slid
his tongue between the twain into her mouth. Then he rose to her
and found her a pearl unthridden and a filly none but he had
ridden. So he abated her maidenhead and had of her amorous
delight and there was knitted between them a love-bond which
might never know breach nor severance.[FN#479] He rained upon her
cheeks kisses like the falling of pebbles into water, and struck
with stroke upon stroke, like the thrusting of spears in battle
brunt; for that Nur al-Din still yearned after clipping of necks
and sucking of lips and letting down of tress and pressing of
waist and biting of cheek and cavalcading on breast with Cairene
buckings and Yamani wrigglings and Abyssinian sobbings and Hindí
pamoisons and Nubian lasciviousness and Rífí leg-liftings[FN#480]
and Damiettan moanings and Sa'ídí[FN#481] hotness and Alexandrian
languishment[FN#482] and this damsel united in herself all these
virtues, together with excess of beauty and loveliness, and
indeed she was even as saith of her the poet,
"This is she I will never forget till I die * Nor draw near but
to those who to her draw nigh.
A being for semblance like Moon at full * Praise her Maker, her
Modeller glorify!
Tho' be sore my sin seeking love-liesse * On esperance-day ne'er
repent can I;
A couplet reciting which none can know * Save the youth who in
couplets and rhymes shall cry,
'None weeteth love but who bears its load * Nor passion, save
pleasures and pains he aby.'"
So Nur al-Din lay with the damsel through the night in solace and
delight,--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased
saying her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Seventy-fifth Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Nur al-Din
lay with that damsel through the night in solace and delight, the
twain garbed in the closely buttoned garments of embrace, safe
and secure against the misways of nights and days, and they
passed the dark hours after the goodliest fashion, fearing
naught, in their joys love-fraught, from excess of talk and
prate. As saith of them the right excellent poet,[FN#483]
"Go, visit her thou lovest, and regard not
The words detractors utter; envious churls
Can never favour love. Oh! sure the merciful
Ne'er make a thing more fair to look upon,
Than two fond lovers in each other's arms,
Speaking their passion in a mute embrace.
When heart has turned to heart, the fools would part them
Strike idly on cold steel. So when thou'st found
One purely, wholly thine, accept her true heart,
And live for her alone. Oh! thou that blamest
The love-struck for their love, give o'er thy talk
How canst thou minister to a mind diseased?"
When the morning morrowed in sheen and shone, Nur al-Din awoke
from deep sleep and found that she had brought water:[FN#484] so
they made the Ghusl-ablution, he and she, and he performed that
which behoved him of prayer to his Lord, after which she set
before him meat and drink, and he ate and drank. Then the damsel
put her hand under her pillow and pulling out the girdle which
she had knitted during the night, gave it to Nur al-Din, who
asked, "Whence cometh this girdle?"[FN#485] Answered she, "O my
lord, 'tis the silk thou boughtest yesterday for twenty dirhams.
Rise now and go to the Persian bazar and give it to the broker,
to cry for sale, and sell it not for less than twenty gold pieces
in ready money." Quoth Nur al-Din, "O Princess of fair ones how
can a thing, that cost twenty dirhams and will sell for as many
dinars, be made in a single night?"; and quoth she, "O my lord,
thou knowest not the value of this thing; but go to the market
therewith and give it to the broker, and when he shall cry it,
its worth will be made manifest to thee." Herewith he carried the
zone to the market and gave it to the broker, bidding him cry it,
whilst he himself sat down on a masonry bench before a shop. The
broker fared forth and returning after a while said to him, "O my
lord, rise take the price of thy zone, for it hath fetched twenty
dinars money down." When Nur al-Din heard this, he marvelled with
exceeding marvel and shook with delight. Then he rose, between
belief and misbelief, to take the money and when he had received
it, he went forthright and spent it all on silk of various
colours and returning home, gave his purchase to the damsel,
saying, "Make this all into girdles and teach me likewise how to
make them, that I may work with thee; for never in the length of
my life saw I a fairer craft than this craft nor a more abounding
in gain and profit. By Allah, 'tis better than the trade of a
merchant a thousand times!" She laughed at his language and said,
"O my lord, go to thy friend the druggist and borrow other thirty
dirhams of him, and to-morrow repay him from the price of the
girdle the thirty together with the fifty already loaned to
thee." So he rose and repaired to the druggist and said to him,
"O Uncle, lend me other thirty dirhams, and to-morrow, Almighty
Allah willing, I will repay thee the whole fourscore." The old
man weighed him out thirty dirhams, wherewith he went to the
market and buying meat and bread, dried fruits, and flowers as
before, carried them home to the damsel whose name was
Miriam,[FN#486] the Girdle-girl. She rose forthright and making
ready rich meats, set them before her lord Nur al-Din; after
which she brought the wine-service and they drank and plied each
other with drink. When the wine began to play with their wits,
his pleasant address and inner grace pleased her, and she recited
these two couplets,
"Said I to Slim-waist who the wine engraced * Brought in
musk-scented bowl and a superfine,
'Was it prest from thy cheek?' He replied 'Nay, nay! * When did
man from Roses e'er press the Wine?'"
And the damsel ceased not to carouse with her lord and ply him
with cup and bowl and require him to fill for her and give her to
drink of that which sweeteneth the spirits, and whenever he put
forth hand to her, she drew back from him, out of coquetry. The
wine added to her beauty and loveliness, and Nur al-Din recited
these two couplets,
"Slim-waist craved wine from her companeer; * Cried (in meeting
of friends when he feared for his fere,)
'An thou pass not the wine thou shalt pass the night, * A-banisht
my bed!' And he felt sore fear."
They ceased not drinking till drunkenness overpowered Nur al-Din
and he slept; whereupon she rose forthright and fell to work upon
a zone, as was her wont. When she had wrought it to end, she
wrapped it in paper and doffing her clothes, lay down by his side
and enjoyed dalliance and delight till morn appeared.--And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her
permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Seventy-sixth Night,
She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Miriam
the Girdle-girl, having finished her zone and wrapped it in paper
doffed her dress and lay down by the side of her lord; and then
happened to them what happened of dalliance and delight; and he
did his devoir like a man. On the morrow, she gave him the girdle
and said to him, "Carry this to the market and sell it for twenty
dinars, even as thou soldest its fellow yesterday." So he went to
the bazar and sold the girdle for twenty dinars, after which he
repaired to the druggist and paid him back the eighty dirhams,
thanking him for the bounties and calling down blessings upon
him. He asked, "O my son, hast thou sold the damsel?"; and Nur
al-Din answered, "Wouldst thou have me sell the soul out of my
body?" and he told him all that had passed, from commencement to
conclusion, whereat the druggist joyed with joy galore, than
which could be no more and said to him, "By Allah, O my son, thou
gladdenest me! Inshallah, mayst thou ever be in prosperity!
Indeed I wish thee well by reason of my affection for thy father
and the continuance of my friendship with him." Then Nur al-Din
left the Shaykh and straightway going to the market, bought meat
and fruit and wine and all that he needed according to his custom
and returned therewith to Miriam. They abode thus a whole year in
eating and drinking and mirth and merriment and love and good
comradeship, and every night she made a zone and he sold it on
the morrow for twenty dinars, wherewith he bought their needs and
gave the rest to her, to keep against a time of necessity. After
the twelvemonth she said to him one day, "O my lord, whenas thou
sellest the girdle to-morrow, buy for me with its price silk of
six colours, because I am minded to make thee a kerchief to wear
on thy shoulders, such as never son of merchant, no, nor King's
son, ever rejoiced in its like." So next day he fared forth to
the bazar and after selling the zone brought her the dyed silks
she sought and Miriam the Girdle-girl wrought at the kerchief a
whole week, for, every night, when she had made an end of the
zone, she would work awhile at the kerchief till it was finished.
Then she gave it to Nur al-Din, who put it on his shoulders and
went out to walk in the market-place, whilst all the merchants
and folk and notables of the town crowded about him, to gaze on
his beauty and that of the kerchief which was of the most
beautiful. Now it chanced that one night, after this, he awoke
from sleep and found Miriam weeping passing sore and reciting
these couplets,
"Nears my parting fro' my love, nigher draws the Severance-day *
Ah well-away for parting! and again ah well-away!
And in tway is torn my heart and O pine I'm doomed to bear * For
the nights that erst witnessed our pleasurable play!
No help for it but Envier the twain of us espy * With evil eye
and win to us his lamentable way.
For naught to us is sorer than the jealousy of men * And the
backbiter's eyne that with calumny affray."
He said, "O my lady Miriam,[FN#487] what aileth thee to weep?";
and she replied, "I weep for the anguish of parting for my heart
presageth me thereof." Quoth he, "O lady of fair ones, and who
shall interpose between us, seeing that I love thee above all
creatures and tender thee the most?"; and quoth she, "And I love
thee twice as well as thou me; but fair opinion of fortune still
garreth folk fall into affliction, and right well saith the
poet,[FN#488]
'Think'st thou thyself all prosperous, in days which prosp'rous
be,
Nor fearest thou impending ill, which comes by Heaven's decree?
We see the orbs of heav'n above, how numberless they are,
But sun and moon alone eclips'd, and ne'er a lesser star!
And many a tree on earth we see, some bare, some leafy green,
Of them, not one is hurt with stone save that has fruitful been!
See'st not th' refluent ocean, bear carrion on its tide,
While pearls beneath its wavy flow, fixed in the deep, abide?'"
Presently she added, "O my lord Nur al-Din, an thou desire to
nonsuit separation, be on thy guard against a swart-visaged
oldster, blind of the right eye and lame of the left leg; for he
it is who will be the cause of our severance. I saw him enter the
city and I opine that he is come hither in quest of me." Replied
Nur al-Din, "O lady of fair ones, if my eyes light on him, I will
slay him and make an example of him." Rejoined she, "O my lord,
slay him not; but talk not nor trade with him, neither buy nor
sell with him nor sit nor walk with him nor speak one word to
him, no, not even the answer prescribed by law,[FN#489] and I
pray Allah to preserve us from his craft and his mischief." Next
morning, Nur al-Din took the zone and carried it to the market,
where he sat down on a shop-bench and talked with the sons of the
merchants, till the drowsiness preceding slumber overcame him and
he lay down on the bench and fell asleep. Presently, behold, up
came the Frank whom the damsel had described to him, in company
with seven others, and seeing Nur al-Din lying asleep on the
bench, with his head wrapped in the kerchief which Miriam had
made for him and the edge thereof in his grasp, sat down by him
and hent the end of the kerchief in hand and examined it, turning
it over for some time. Nur al-Din sensed that there was something
and awoke; then, seeing the very man of whom Miriam had warned
him sitting by his side, cried out at him with a great cry which
startled him. Quoth the Frank, "What aileth thee to cry out thus
at us? Have we taken from thee aught?"; and quoth Nur al-Din, "By
Allah, O accursed, haddest thou taken aught from me, I would
carry thee before the Chief of Police!" Then said the Frank, "O
Moslem, I conjure thee by thy faith and by that wherein thou
believest, inform me whence thou haddest this kerchief;" and Nur
al-Din replied, "Tis the handiwork of my lady mother,"--And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her
permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Seventy-seventh Night,
She pursued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
Frank asked Nur al-Din anent the maker of the kerchief, he
answered, saying, "In very sooth this kerchief is the handiwork
of my mother, who made it for me with her own hand." Quoth the
Frank "Wilt thou sell it to me and take ready money for it?," and
quoth Nur al-Din, "By Allah, I will not sell it to thee or to any
else, for she made none other than it." "Sell it to me and I will
give thee to its price this very moment five hundred dinars,
money down; and let her who made it make thee another and a
finer." "I will not sell it at all, for there is not the like of
it in this city." "O my lord, wilt thou sell it for six hundred
ducats of fine gold?" And the Frank went on to add to his offer
hundred by hundred, till he bid nine hundred dinars; but Nur
al-Din said, "Allah will open to me otherwise than by my vending
it. I will never sell it, not for two thousand dinars nor more
than that; no, never." The Frank ceased not to tempt him with
money, till he bid him a thousand dinars, and the merchants
present said, "We sell thee the kerchief at that price:[FN#490]
pay down the money." Quoth Nur al-Din, "I will not sell it, I
swear by Allah!"[FN#491] But one of the merchants said to him,
"Know thou, O my son, that the value of this kerchief is an
hundred dinars at most and that to an eager purchaser, and if
this Frank pay thee down a thousand for it, thy profit will be
nine hundred dinars, and what gain canst thou desire greater than
this gain? Wherefore 'tis my rede that thou sell him this
kerchief at that price and bid her who wrought it make thee other
finer than it: so shalt thou profit nine hundred dinars by this
accursed Frank, the enemy of Allah and of The Faith." Nur al-Din
was abashed at the merchants and sold the kerchief to the Frank,
who, in their presence, paid him down the thousand dinars, with
which he would have returned to his handmaid to congratulate her
on what had passed; but the stranger said, "Harkye, O company of
merchants, stop my lord Nur al-Din, for you and he are my guests
this night. I have a jar of old Greek wine and a fat lamb, fresh
fruit, flowers and confections; wherefore do ye all cheer me with
your company to-night and not one of you tarry behind." So the
merchants said, "O my lord Nur al-Din, we desire that thou be
with us on the like of this night, so we may talk together, we
and thou, and we pray thee, of thy favour and bounty, to bear us
company, so we and thou, may be the guests of this Frank, for he
is a liberal man." And they conjured him by the oath of
divorce[FN#492] and hindered him by main force from going home.
Then they rose forthright and shutting up their shops, took Nur
al-Din and fared with the Frank, who brought them to a goodly and
spacious saloon, wherein were two daïses. Here he made them sit
and set before them a scarlet tray-cloth of goodly workmanship
and unique handiwork, wroughten in gold with figures of breaker
and broken, lover and beloved, asker and asked, whereon he ranged
precious vessels of porcelain and crystal, full of the costliest
confections, fruits and flowers, and brought them a flagon of old
Greek wine. Then he bade slaughter a fat lamb and kindling fire,
proceeded to roast of its flesh and feed the merchants therewith
and give them draughts of that wine, winking at them the while to
ply Nur al-Din with drink. Accordingly they ceased not plying him
with wine till he became drunken and took leave of his wits; so
when the Frank saw that he was drowned in liquor, he said to him,
"O my lord Nur al-Din, thou gladdenest us with thy company
to-night: welcome, and again welcome to thee." Then he engaged
him awhile in talk, till he could draw near to him, when he said,
with dissembling speech, "O my lord, Nur al-Din, wilt thou sell
me thy slave-girl, whom thou boughtest in presence of these
merchants a year ago for a thousand dinars? I will give thee at
this moment five thousand gold pieces for her and thou wilt thus
make four thousand ducats profit." Nur al-Din refused, but the
Frank ceased not to ply him with meat and drink and lure him with
lucre, still adding to his offers, till he bid him ten thousand
dinars for her; whereupon Nur al-Din, in his drunkenness, said
before the merchants, "I sell her to thee for ten thousand
dinars: hand over the money." At this the Frank rejoiced with joy
exceeding and took the merchants to witness the sale. They passed
the night in eating and drinking, mirth and merriment, till the
morning, when the Frank cried out to his pages, saying, "Bring me
the money." So they brought it to him and he counted out ten
thousand dinars to Nur al-Din, saying, "O my lord, take the price
of thy slave-girl, whom thou soldest to me last night, in the
presence of these Moslem merchants." Replied Nur al-Din, "O
accursed, I sold thee nothing and thou liest anent me, for I have
no slave-girls." Quoth the Frank, "In very sooth thou didst sell
her to me and these merchants were witnesses to the bargain."
Thereupon all said, "Yes, indeed! thou soldest him thy slave-girl
before us for ten thousand dinars, O Nur al-Din and we will all
bear witness against thee of the sale. Come, take the money and
deliver him the girl, and Allah will give thee a better than she
in her stead. Doth it irk thee, O Nur al-Din, that thou boughtest
the girl for a thousand dinars and hast enjoyed for a year and a
half her beauty and loveliness and taken thy fill of her converse
and her favours? Furthermore thou hast gained some ten thousand
golden dinars by the sale of the zones which she made thee every
day and thou soldest for twenty sequins, and after all this thou
hast sold her again at a profit of nine thousand dinars over and
above her original price. And withal thou deniest the sale and
belittlest and makest difficulties about the profit! What gain is
greater than this gain and what profit wouldst thou have
profitabler than this profit? An thou love her thou hast had thy
fill of her all this time: so take the money and buy thee another
handsomer than she; or we will marry thee to one of our daughters, lovelier than she, at a dowry of less than half this price, and
the rest of the money will remain in thy hand as capital." And
the merchants ceased not to ply him with persuasion and special
arguments till he took the ten thousand dinars, the price of the
damsel, and the Frank straightway fetched Kazis and witnesses,
who drew up the contract of sale by Nur al-Din of the handmaid
hight Miriam the Girdle-girl. Such was his case; but as regards
the damsel's, she sat awaiting her lord from morning till sundown
and from sundown till the noon of night; and when he returned
not, she was troubled and wept with sore weeping. The old
druggist heard her sobbing and sent his wife, who went in to
her and finding her in tears, said to her, "O my lady, what
aileth thee to weep?" Said she, "O my mother, I have sat waiting
the return of my lord, Nur al-Din all day; but he cometh not, and
I fear lest some one have played a trick on him, to make him sell
me, and he have fallen into the snare and sold me."--And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her
permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Seventy-eighth Night,
She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Miriam
the Girdle-girl said to the druggist's wife, "I am fearful lest
some one have been playing a trick on my lord to make him sell
me, and he have fallen into the snare and sold me." Said the
other, "O my lady Miriam, were they to give thy lord this hall
full of gold as thy price, yet would he not sell thee, for what I
know of his love to thee. But, O my lady, belike there be a
company come from his parents at Cairo and he hath made them an
entertainment in the lodging where they alighted, being ashamed
to bring them hither, for that the place is not spacious enough
for them or because their condition is less than that he should
bring them to his own house; or belike he preferred to conceal
thine affair from them, so passed the night with them; and
Inshallah! to-morrow he will come to thee safe and sound. So
burden not thy soul with cark and care, O my lady, for of a
certainty this is the cause of his absence from thee last night
and I will abide with thee this coming night and comfort thee,
until thy lord return to thee." So the druggist's wife abode with
her and cheered her with talk throughout the dark hours and, when
it was morning, Miriam saw her lord enter the street followed by
the Frank and amiddlemost a company of merchants, at which sight
her side-muscles quivered and her colour changed and she fell
a-shaking, as ship shaketh in mid-ocean for the violence of the
gale. When the druggist's wife saw this, she said to her, "O my
lady Miriam what aileth thee that I see thy case changed and thy
face grown pale and show disfeatured?" Replied she, "By Allah, O
my lady, my heart forebodeth me of parting and severance of
union!" And she bemoaned herself with the saddest sighs, reciting
these couplets,[FN#493]
"Incline not to parting, I pray; * For bitter its savour is aye.
E'en the sun at his setting turns pale * To think he must part
from the day;
And so, at his rising, for joy * Of reunion, he's radient and
gay."
Then Miriam wept passing sore wherethan naught could be more,
making sure of separation, and cried to the druggist's wife, "O
my mother, said I not to thee that my lord Nur al-Din had been
tricked into selling me? I doubt not but he hath sold me this
night to yonder Frank, albeit I bade him beware of him; but
deliberation availeth not against destiny. So the truth of my
words is made manifest to thee." Whilst they were talking,
behold, in came Nur al-Din, and the damsel looked at him and saw
that his colour was changed and that he trembled and there
appeared on his face signs of grief and repentance: so she said
to him, "O my lord Nur al-Din, meseemeth thou hast sold me."
Whereupon he wept with sore weeping and groaned and lamented and
recited these couplets,[FN#494]
"When e'er the Lord 'gainst any man,
Would fulminate some harsh decree,
And he be wise, and skilled to hear,
And used to see;
He stops his ears, and blinds his heart,
And from his brain ill judgment tears,
And makes it bald as 'twere a scalp,
Reft of its hairs;[FN#495]
Until the time when the whole man
Be pierced by this divine command;
Then He restores him intellect
To understand."
Then Nur al-Din began to excuse himself to his handmaid, saying,
"By Allah, O my lady Miriam, verily runneth the Reed with whatso
Allah hath decreed. The folk put a cheat on me to make me sell
thee, and I fell into the snare and sold thee. Indeed, I have
sorely failed of my duty to thee; but haply He who decreed our
disunion will vouchsafe us reunion." Quoth she, "I warned thee
against this, for this it was I dreaded." Then she strained him
to her bosom and kissed him between the eyes, reciting these
couplets,
"Now, by your love! your love I'll ne'er forget, * Though lost my
life for stress of pine and fret:
I weep and wail through livelong day and night * As moans the
dove on sandhill-tree beset.
O fairest friends, your absence spoils my life; * Nor find I
meeting-place as erst we met."
At this juncture, behold, the Frank came in to them and went up
to Miriam, to kiss her hands; but she dealt him a buffet with her
palm on the cheek, saying, "Avaunt, O accursed! Thou hast
followed after me without surcease, till thou hast cozened my
lord into selling me! But O accursed, all shall yet be well,
Inshallah!" The Frank laughed at her speech and wondered at her
deed and excused himself to her, saying, "O my lady Mirian, what
is my offence? Thy lord Nur al-Din here sold thee of his full
consent and of his own free will. Had he loved thee, by the right
of the Messiah, he had not transgressed against thee! And had he
not fulfilled his desire of thee, he had not sold thee." Quoth
one of the poets,
'Whom I irk let him fly fro' me fast and faster * If I name his
name I am no directer.
Nor the wide wide world is to me so narrow * That I act expecter
to this rejecter.'"[FN#496]
Now this handmaid was the daughter of the King of France, the
which is a wide and spacious city,[FN#497] abounding in
manufactures and rarities and trees and flowers and other
growths, and resembleth the city of Constantinople; and for her
going forth of her father's city there was a wondrous cause and
thereby hangeth a marvellous tale which we will set out in due
order, to divert and delight the hearer.[FN#498]--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Seventy-ninth Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the cause
of Miriam the Girdle-girl leaving her father and mother was a
wondrous and thereby hangeth a marvellous tale. She was reared
with her father and mother in honour and indulgence and learnt
rhetoric and penmanship and arithmetic and cavalarice and all
manner crafts, such as broidery and sewing and weaving and
girdle-making and silk-cord making and damascening gold on silver
and silver on gold, brief all the arts both of men and women,
till she became the union-pearl of her time and the unique gem of
her age and day. Moreover, Allah (to whom belong Might and
Majesty!) had endowed her with such beauty and loveliness and
elegance and perfection of grace that she excelled therein all
the folk of her time, and the Kings of the isles sought her in
marriage of her sire, but he refused to give her to wife to any
of her suitors, for that he loved her with passing love and could
not bear to be parted from her a single hour. Moreover, he had no
other daughter than herself, albeit he had many sons, but she was
dearer to him than all of them. It fortuned one year that she
fell sick of an exceeding sickness and came nigh upon death,
werefore she made a vow that, if she recovered from her malady,
she would make the pilgrimage to a certain monastery, situate in
such an island, which was high in repute among the Franks, who
used to make vows to it and look for a blessing therefrom. When
Miriam recovered from her sickness, she wished to accomplish her
vow anent the monastery and her sire despatched her to the
convent in a little ship, with sundry daughters of the
city-notables to wait upon her and patrician Knights to protect
them all. As they drew near the island, there came out upon them
a ship of the ships of the Moslems, champions of The Faith,
warring in Allah's way, who boarded the vessel and making prize
of all therein, knights and maidens, gifts and monies, sold their
booty in the city of Kayrawán.[FN#499] Miriam herself fell into
the hands of a Persian merchant, who was born impotent[FN#500]
and for whom no woman had ever discovered her nakedness; so he
set her to serve him. Presently, he fell ill and sickened well
nigh unto death, and the sickness abode with him two months,
during which she tended him after the goodliest fashion, till
Allah made him whole of his malady, when he recalled her
tenderness and loving-kindness to him and the persistent zeal
with which she had nurst him and being minded to requite her the
good offices she had done him, said to her, "Ask a boon of me?"
She said, "O my lord, I ask of thee that thou sell me not but to
the man of my choice." He answered, "So be it. I guarantee thee.
By Allah, O Miriam, I will not sell thee but to him of whom thou
shalt approve, and I put thy sale in thine own hand." And she
rejoiced herein with joy exceeding. Now the Persian had expounded
to her Al-Islam and she became a Moslemah and learnt of him the
rules of worship. Furthermore during that period the Perisan had
taught her the tenets of The Faith and the observances incumbent
upon her: he had made her learn the Koran by heart and master
somewhat of the theological sciences and the traditions of the
Prophet; after which, he brought her to Alexandria-city and sold
her to Nur al-Din, as we have before set out. Meanwhile, when her
father, the King of France, heard what had befallen his daughter
and her company, he saw Doomsday break and sent after her ships
full of knights and champions, horsemen and footmen; but they
fell not in any trace of her whom they sought in the
Islands[FN#501] of the Moslems; so all returned to him, crying
out and saying, "Well-away!" and "Ruin!" and "Well worth the
day!" The King grieved for her with exceeding grief and sent
after her that one-eyed lameter, blind of the left,[FN#502] for
that he was his chief Wazir, a stubborn tyrant and a froward
devil,[FN#503] full of craft and guile, bidding him make search
for her in all the lands of the Moslems and buy her, though with
a ship-load of gold. So the accursed sought her, in all the
islands of the Arabs and all the cities of the Moslems, but found
no sign of her till he came to Alexandria-city where he made
quest for her and presently discovered that she was with Nur
al-Din Ali the Cairene, being directed to the trace of her by the
kerchief aforesaid, for that none could have wrought it in such
goodly guise but she. Then he bribed the merchants to help him in
getting her from Nur al-Din and beguiled her lord into selling
her, as hath been already related. When he had her in his
possession, she ceased not to weep and wail: so he said to her,
"O my lady Miriam, put away from thee this mourning and grieving
and return with me to the city of thy sire, the seat of thy
kingship and the place of thy power and thy home, so thou mayst
be among thy servants and attendants and be quit of this
abasement and this strangerhood. Enough hath betided me of
travail, of travel and of disbursing monies on thine account, for
thy father bade me buy thee back, though with a shipload of gold;
and now I have spent nigh a year and a half in seeking thee." And
he fell to kissing her hands and feet and humbling himself to
her; but the more he kissed and grovelled she only redoubled in
wrath against him, and said to him, "O accursed, may Almighty
Allah not vouchsafe thee to win thy wish!" Presently his pages
brought her a she-mule with gold-embroidered housings and mounting
her thereon, raised over her head a silken canopy, with staves of
gold and silver, and the Franks walked round about her, till they
brought her forth the city by the sea-gate,[FN#504] where they
took boat with her and rowing out to a great ship in harbor
embarked therein. Then the monocular Wazir cried out to the
sailors, saying, "Up with the mast!" So they set it up forthright
and spreading the newly bent sails and the colours manned the
sweeps and put out to sea. Meanwhile Miriam continued to gaze
upon Alexandria, till it disappeared from her eyes, when she fell
a-weeping in her privacy with sore weeping.--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eightieth Night,
She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when
the Wazir of the Frankish King put out to sea in the ship bearing
Miriam the Girdle-girl, she gazed Alexandria-wards till the city
was hidden from her sight when she wailed and wept copious tears
and recited these couplets,
"O dwelling of my friends say is there no return * Uswards? But
what ken I of matters Allah made?
Still fare the ships of Severance, sailing hastily * And in my
wounded eyelids tear have ta'en their stead,
For parting from a friend who was my wish and will * Healed every
ill and every pain and pang allay'd.
Be thou, O Allah, substitute of me for him * Such charge some day
the care of Thee shall not evade."
Then she could not refrain from weeping and wailing. So the
patrician[FN#505] knights came up to her and would have comforted
her, but she heeded not their consoling words, being distracted
by the claims of passion and love-longing. And she shed tears and
moaned and complained and recited these couplets,
"The tongue of Love within my vitals speaketh * Saying, 'This
lover boon of Love aye seeketh!'
And burn my liver hottest coals of passion * And parting on my
heart sore suffering wreaketh.
How shall I face this fiery love concealing * When fro' my
wounded lids the tear aye leaketh?
In this plight Miriam abode during all the voyage; no peace was
left her at all nor would patience come at her call. Such was her
case in company with the Wazir, the monocular, the lameter; but
as regards Nur al-Din the Cairene, when the ship had sailed with
Miriam, the world was straitened upon him and he had neither
peace nor patience. He returned to the lodging where they twain
had dwelt, and its aspect was black and gloomy in his sight. Then
he saw the métier wherewith she had been wont to make the zones
and her dress that had been upon her beauteous body: so he
pressed them to his breast, whilst the tears gushed from his eyes
and he recited these couplets,
"Say me, will Union after parting e'er return to be * After
long-lasting torments, after hopeless misery?
Alas! Alas! what wont to be shall never more return * But grant
me still return of dearest her these eyne may see.
I wonder me will Allah deign our parted lives unite * And will my
dear one's plighted troth preserve with constancy!
Naught am I save the prey of death since parting parted us; * And
will my friends consent that I a weird so deadly dree?
Alas my sorrow! Sorrowing the lover scant avails; * Indeed I melt
away in grief and passion's ecstasy:
Past is the time of my delight when were we two conjoined: *
Would Heaven I wot if Destiny mine esperance will degree!
Redouble then, O Heart, thy pains and, O mine eyes, o'erflow *
With tears till not a tear remain within these eyne of me?
Again alas for loved ones lost and loss of patience eke! * For
helpers fail me and my griefs are grown beyond decree.
The Lord of Threefold Worlds I pray He deign to me return * My
lover and we meet as wont in joy and jubilee."
Then Nur al-Din wept with weeping galore than which naught could
be more; and peering into ever corner of the room, recited these
two couplets,
"I view their traces and with pain I pine * And by their sometime
home I weep and yearn;
And Him I pray who parting deigned decree * Some day He deign
vouchsafe me their return!"
Then Nur al-Din sprang to his feet and locking the door of the
house, fared forth running at speed, to the sea shore whence he
fixed his eyes on the place of the ship which had carried off his
Miriam whilst sighs burst from his breast and tears from his lids
as he recited these couplets,
"Peace be with you, sans you naught compensateth me * The near,
the far, two cases only here I see:
I yearn for you at every hour and tide as yearns * For
water-place wayfarer plodding wearily.
With you abide my hearing, heart and eyen-sight * And (sweeter
than the honeycomb) your memory.
Then, O my Grief when fared afar your retinue * And bore that
ship away my sole expectancy."
And Nur al-Din wept and wailed, bemoaned himself and complained,
crying out and saying, "O Miriam! O Miriam! Was it but a vision
of thee I saw in sleep or in the allusions of dreams?" And by
reason of that which grew on him of regrets, he recited these
couplets,[FN#506]
"Mazed with thy love no more I can feign patience,
This heart of mine has held none dear but thee!
And if mine eye hath gazed on other's beauty,
Ne'er be it joyed again with sight of thee!
I've sworn an oath I'll ne'er forget to love thee,
And sad's this breast that pines to meet with thee!
Thou'st made me drink a love-cup full of passion,
Blest time! When I may give the draught to thee!
Take with thee this my form where'er thou goest,
And when thou 'rt dead let me be laid near thee!
Call on me in my tomb, my bones shall answer
And sigh responses to a call from thee!
If it were asked, 'What wouldst thou Heaven should order?'
'His will,' I answer, 'First, and then what pleases thee.'"
As Nur al-Din was in this case, weeping and crying out, "O
Miriam! O Miriam!" behold, an old man landed from a vessel and
coming up to him, saw him shedding tears and heard him reciting
these verses,
"O Maryam of beauty[FN#507] return, for these eyne * Are as
densest clouds railing drops in line:
Ask amid mankind and my railers shall say * That mine eyelids are
drowning these eyeballs of mine."
Said the old man, "O my son, meseems thou weepest for the damsel
who sailed yesterday with the Frank?" When Nur al-Din heard these
words of the Shaykh he fell down in a swoon and lay for a long
while without life; then, coming to himself, he wept with sore
weeping and improvised these couplets,
"Shall we e'er be unite after severance-tide * And return in the
perfectest cheer to bide?
In my heart indeed is a lowe of love * And I'm pained by the
spies who my pain deride:
My days I pass in amaze distraught, * And her image a-nights I
would see by side:
By Allah, no hour brings me solace of love * And how can it when
makebates vex me and chide?
A soft-sided damsel of slenderest waist * Her arrows of eyne on
my heart hath plied?
Her form is like Bán[FN#508]-tree branch in garth * Shame her
charms the sun who his face most hide:
Did I not fear God (be He glorified!) * 'My Fair be glorified!'
Had I cried."
The old man looked at him and noting his beauty and grace and
symmetry and the fluency of his tongue and the seductiveness of
his charms, had ruth on him and his heart mourned for his case.
Now that Shaykh was the captain of a ship, bound to the damsel's
city, and in this ship were a hundred Moslem merchants, men of
the Saving Faith; so he said to Nur al-Din, "Have patience and
all will yet be well; I will bring thee to her an it be the will
of Allah, extolled and exalted be He!"--And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-first Night,
She pursued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
old skipper said to Nur al-Din, "I will bring thee to her,
Inshallah!" the youth asked, "When shall we set out?" and the
other said, "Come but three days more and we will depart in peace
and prosperity." Nur al-Din rejoiced at the captain's words with
joy exceeding and thanked him for his bounty and benevolence.
Then he recalled the days of love-liesse dear and union with his
slave-girl without peer, and he shed bitter tears and recited
these couplets,
"Say, will to me and you the Ruthful union show * My lords! Shall
e'er I win the wish of me or no?
A visit-boon by you will shifty Time vouchsafe? * And seize your
image eye-lids which so hungry grow?
With you were Union to be sold, I fain would buy; * But ah, I see
such grace doth all my means outgo!"
Then Nur al-Din went forthright to the market and bought what he
needed of viaticum and other necessaries for the voyage and
returned to the Rais, who said to him, "O my son, what is that
thou hast with thee?" said he, "My provisions and all whereof I
have need for the voyage." Thereupon quoth the old man, laughing,
"O my son, art thou going a-pleasuring to Pompey's
Pillar?[FN#509] Verily, between thee and that thou seekest is two
months' journey and the wind be fair and the weather favourable."
Then he took of him somewhat of money and going to the bazar,
bought him a sufficiency of all that he needed for the voyage and
filled him a large earthen jar[FN#510] with fresh water. Nur
al-Din abode in the ship three days until the merchants had made
an end of their precautions and preparations and embarked, when
they set sail and putting out to sea, fared on one-and-fifty
days. After this, there came out upon them corsairs,[FN#511]
pirates who sacked the ship and taking Nur al-Din and all therein
prisoners, carried them to the city of France and paraded them
before the King, who bade cast them into jail, Nur al-Din amongst
the number. As they were being led to prison the galleon[FN#512]
arrived with the Princess Miriam and the one-eyed Wazir, and when
it made the harbour, the lameter landed and going up to the King
gave him the glad news of his daughter's safe return: whereupon
they beat the kettledrums for good tidings and decorated the city
after the goodliest fashion. Then the King took horse, with all
his guards and lords and notables and rode down to the sea to
meet her. The moment the ship cast anchor she came ashore, and
the King saluted her and embraced her and mounting her on a
bloodsteed, bore her to the palace, where her mother received her
with open arms, and asked her of her case and whether she was a
maid as before or whether she had become a woman carnally known
by man.[FN#513] She replied, "O my mother, how should a girl, who
hath been sold from merchant to merchant in the land of Moslems,
a slave commanded, abide a virgin? The merchant who bought me
threatened me with the bastinado and violenced me and took my
maidenhead, after which he sold me to another and he again to a
third." When the Queen heard these her words, the light in her
eyes became night and she repeated her confession to the King who
was chagrined thereat and his affair was grievous to him. So he
expounded her case to his Grandees and Patricians[FN#514] who
said to him, "O King, she hath been defiled by the Moslems and
naught will purify her save the striking off of an hundred
Mohammedan heads." Whereupon the King sent for the True Believers
he had imprisoned; and they decapitated them, one after another,
beginning with the captain, till none was left save Nur al-Din.
They tare off a strip of his skirt and binding his eyes
therewith, led him to the rug of blood and were about to smite
his neck, when behold, an ancient dame came up to the King at
that very moment and said, "O my lord, thou didst vow to bestow
upon each and every church five Moslem captives, to help us in
the service thereof, so Allah would restore thee thy daughter the
Princess Miriam; and now she is restored to thee, so do thou
fulfil thy vow." The King replied, "O my mother, by the virtue of
the Messiah and the Veritable Faith, there remaineth to me of the
prisoners but this one captive, whom they are about to put to
death: so take him with thee to help in the service of the
church, till there come to me more prisoners of the Moslems, when
I will send thee other four. Hadst thou come earlier, before they
hewed off the heads of these, I had given thee as many as thou
wouldest have." The old woman thanked the King for his boon and
wished him continuance of life, glory and prosperity. Then
without loss of time she went up to Nur al-Din, whom she raised
from the rug of blood; and, looking narrowly at him saw a comely
youth and a dainty, with a delicate skin and a face like the moon
at her full; whereupon she carried him to the church and said to
him, "O my son, doff these clothes which are upon thee, for they
are fit only for the service of the Sultan."[FN#515] So saying
the ancient dame brought him a gown and hood of black wool and a
broad girdle,[FN#516] in which she clad and cowled him; and,
after binding on his belt, bade him do the service of the church.
Accordingly, he served the church seven days, at the end of which
time behold, the old woman came up to him and said, "O Moslem,
don thy silken dress and take these ten dirhams and go out
forthright and divert thyself abroad this day, and tarry not here
a single moment, lest thou lose thy life." Quoth he, "What is to
do, O my mother?"; and quoth she, "Know, O my son, that the
King's daughter, the Princess Miriam the Girdle-girl, hath a mind
to visit the church this day, to seek a blessing by pilgrimage
and to make oblation thereto, a douceur[FN#517] of thank-offering
for her deliverance from the land of the Moslems and in
fulfilment of the vows she vowed to the Messiah, so he would save
her. With her are four hundred damsels, not one of whom but is
perfect in beauty and loveliness and all of them are daughters of
Wazirs and Emirs and Grandees: they will be here during this very
hour and if their eyes fall on thee in this church, they will hew
thee in pieces with swords." Thereupon Nur al-Din took the ten
dirhams from the ancient dame, and donning his own dress, went
out to the bazar and walked about the city and took his pleasure
therein, till he knew its highways and gates,--And Shahrazad
perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-second Night,
She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Nur
al-Din, after donning his own dress and taking the ten dirhams
from the ancient dame, fared forth to the market streets and
wandered about a while till he knew every quarter of the city,
after which he returned to the church[FN#518] and saw the
Princess Miriam the Girdle-girl, daughter of the King of France
come up to the fane, attended by four hundred damsels,
high-bosomed maids like moons, amongst whom was the daughter of
the one-eyed Wazir and those of the Emirs and Lords of the realm;
and she walked in their midst as she were moon among stars. When
his eyes fell upon her Nur al-Din could not contain himself, but
cried out from the core of his heart, "O Miriam! O Miriam!" When
the damsels heard his outcry they ran at him with swords shining
bright like flashes of leven-light and would have slain him
forthright. But the Princess turned and looking on him, knew him
with fullest knowledge, and said to her maidens, "Leave this
youth; doubtless he is mad, for the signs of madness be manifest
on his face." When Nur al-Din heard this, he uncovered his head
and rolled his eyes and made signs with his hands and twisted his
legs, foaming the while at the mouth. Quoth the Princess, "Said I
not that the poor youth was mad? Bring him to me and stand off
from him, that I may hear what he saith; for I know the speech of
the Arabs and will look into his case and see if his madness
admit of cure or not." So they laid hold of him and brought him
to her; after which they withdrew to a distance and she said to
him, "Hast thou come hither on my account and ventured thy life
for my sake and feignest thyself mad?" He replied, "O my lady,
hast thou not heard the saying of the poet?,[FN#519]
'Quoth they, 'Thou'rt surely raving mad for her thou lov'st;' and
I, 'There is no pleasantness in life but for the mad,'
reply.
Compare my madness with herself for whom I rave; if she Accord
therewith, then blame me not for that which I aby.'"
Miriam replied, "By Allah, O Nur al-Din, indeed thou hast sinned
against thyself, for I warned thee of this before it befell thee:
yet wouldst thou not hearken to me, but followedst thine own lust:
albeit that whereof I gave thee to know I learnt not by means of
inspiration nor physiognomy[FN#520] nor dreams, but by
eye-witness and very sight; for I saw the one-eyed Wazir and knew
that he was not come to Alexandria but in quest of me." Said he,
"O my lady Miriam, we seek refuge with Allah from the error of
the intelligent!"[FN#521] Then his affliction redoubled on him
and he recited this saying,[FN#522]
"Pass o'er my fault, for 'tis the wise man's wont
Of other's sins to take no harsh account;
And as all crimes have made my breast their site,
So thine all shapes of mercy should unite.
Who from above would mercy seek to know,
Should first be merciful to those below."
Then Nur al-Din and Princess Miriam ceased not from lovers'
chiding which to trace would be tedious, relating each to other
that which had befallen them and reciting verses and making moan,
one to other, of the violence of passion and the pangs of pine
and desire, whilst the tears ran down their cheeks like rivers,
till there was left them no strength to say a word and so they
continued till day deprated and night darkened. Now the Princess
was clad in a green dress, purfled with red gold and broidered
with pearls and gems which enhanced her beauty and loveliness and
inner grace; and right well quoth the poet of her,[FN#523]
"Like the full moon she shineth in garments all of green, With
loosened vest and collars and flowing hair beseen.
'What is thy name?' I asked her, and she replied, 'I'm she Who
roasts the hearts of lovers on coals of love and teen.
I am the pure white silver, ay, and the gold wherewith The
bondsmen from strait prison and dour releasèd been.'
Quoth I, 'I'm all with rigours consumed;' but 'On a rock,' Said
she, 'such as my heart is, thy plaints are wasted clean.'
'Even if thy heart,' I answered, 'be rock in very deed, Yet hath
God caused fair water well from the rock, I ween.'"
And when night darkened on them the Lady Miriam went up to her
women and asked them, "Have ye locked the door?"; and they
answered, "Indeed we have locked it." So she took them and went
with them to a place called the Chapel of the Lady Mary the
Virgin, Mother of Light, because the Nazarenes hold that there
are her heart and soul. The girls betook themselves to prayer for
blessings from above and circuited all the church; and when they
had made an end of their visitation, the Princess turned to them
and said, "I desire to pass the night alone in the Virgin's
chapel and seek a blessing thereof, for that yearning after it
hath betided me, by reason of my long absence in the land of the
Moslems; and as for you, when ye have made an end of your
visitation, do ye sleep whereso ye will." Replied they, "With
love and goodly gree: be it as thou wilt!"; and leaving her alone
in the chapel, dispersed about the church and slept. The Lady
Miriam waited till they were out of sight and hearing, then went
in search of Nur al-Din, whom she found sitting in a corner on
live coals, awaiting her. He rose and kissed her hands and feet
and she sat down and seated him by her side. Then she pulled off
all that was upon her of raiment and ornaments and fine linen and
taking Nur al-Din in her arms strained him to her bosom. And they
ceased not, she and he, from kissing and clipping and strumming
to the tune of "hocus-pocus,"[FN#524] saying the while, "How
short are the nights of Union and the nights of Disunion how long
are they!" and reciting these verses,
"O Night of Union, Time's virginal prized, * White star of the
Nights with auroral dyes,
Thou garrest Dawn after Noon to rise * Say art thou Kohl in
Morning's Eyes,
Or wast thou Slumber to bleared eye lief?
O Night of Parting, how long thy stay * Whose latest hours aye
the first portray,
This endless circle that noways may * Show breach till the coming
of Judgment-day,
Day when dies the lover of parting-grief."[FN#525]
As they were in this mighty delight and joy engrossing they heard
one of the servants of the Saint[FN#526] smite the gong[FN#527]
upon the roof, to call the folk to the rites of their worship,
and he was even as saith the poet,
"I saw him strike the gong and asked of him straightway, * Who
made the Fawn[FN#528] at striking going so knowing, eh?'
And to my soul, 'What smiting irketh thee the more-- * Striking
the gong or striking note of going,[FN#529] say?'"
--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her
permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-third Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Nur al-Din
and Miriam the Girdle-girl rose forthwith and donned her clothes
and ornaments; but this was grievous to Nur al-Din, and his
gladness was troubled; the tears streamed from his eyes and he
recited these couplets,
"I ceasèd not to kiss that cheek with budding roses dight * And
eyes down cast and bit the same with most emphatic bite;
Until we were in gloria[FN#530] and lay him down the spy * And
sank his eyes within his brain declining further sight:
And struck the gongs as they that had the charge of them were
like * Muezzin crying duty-prayers in Allah's book indite.
Then rose she up right hastily and donned the dress she'd doffed
* Sore fearing lest a shooting-star[FN#531] upon our heads
alight.
And cried, 'O wish and will of me, O end of all my hopes! *
Behold the morning comes to us in brightest whitest light.'
I swear if but one day of rule were given to my life * And I were
made an Emperor of majesty and might,
Adown I'd break the buttresses of churches one and all * And by
their slaughter rid the earth of every shaveling wight."
Then the Lady Miriam pressed him to her bosom and kissed his
cheek and asked him, "O Nur al-Din, how long hast thou been in
this town?" "Seven days." "Hast thou walked about in it, and dost
thou know its ways and issues and its sea-gates and land gates?"
"Yes!" "Knowest thou the way to the offertory-chest[FN#532] of
the church?" "Yes!" "Since thou knowest all this, as soon as the
first third[FN#533] of the coming night is over, go to the
offertory-chest and take thence what thou wishest and willest.
Then open the door that giveth upon the tunnel[FN#534] leading to
the sea, and go down to the harbour, where thou wilt find a
little ship and ten men therein, and when the Rais shall see
thee, he will put out his hand to thee. Give him thy hand and he
will take thee up into the ship, and do thou wait there till I
come to thee. But 'ware and have a care lest sleep overtake thee
this night, or thou wilt repent whenas repentance shall avail
thee naught." Then the Princess farewelled him and going forth
from Nur al-Din, aroused from sleep her women and the rest of the
damsels, with whom she betook herself to the church door and
knocked; whereupon the ancient dame opened to her and she went
forth and found the knights and varlets standing without. They
brought her a dapple she-mule and she mounted: whereupon they
raised over her head a canopy[FN#535] with curtains of silk, and
the knights took hold of the mule's halter. Then the
guards[FN#536] encompassed her about, drawn brand in hand, and
fared on with her, followed by her, till they brought her to the
palace of the King her father. Meanwhile, Nur al-Din abode
concealed behind the curtain, under cover of which Miriam and he
had passed the night, till it was broad day, when the main door
was opened and the church became full of people. Then he mingled
with the folk and accosted the old Prioress, the guardian[FN#537]
of the shrine, who said to him, "Where didst thou lie last
night?" Said he, "In the town as thou badest me." Quoth she, "O
my son, thou hast done the right thing; for, hadst thou nighted
in the Church, she had slain thee on the foulest wise." And quoth
he, "Praised be Allah who hath delivered me from the evil of this
night!" Then he busied himself with the service of the church and
ceased not busying till day departed and night with darkness
starkened when he arose and opened the offertory-chest and took
thence of jewels whatso was light of weight and weighty of worth.
Then he tarried till the first watch of the night was past, when
he made his way to the postern of the tunnel and opening it, went
forth, calling on Allah for protection, and ceased not faring on
until, after finding and opening the door, he came to the sea.
Here he discovered the vessel moored to the shore near the gate;
and her skipper, a tall old man of comely aspect with a long
beard, standing in the waist, his ten men being ranged before
him. Nur al-Din gave him his hand, as Miriam had bidden him, and
the captain took it and pulling him on board of the ship cried
out to his crew, saying, "Cast off the moorings and put out to
sea with us, ere day break." Said one of the ten, "O my lord the
Captain, how shall we put out now, when the King hath notified us
that to-morrow he will embark in this ship and go round about the
sea, being fearful for his daughter Miriam from the Moslem
thieves?" But the Rais cried out at them saying, "Woe to you, O
accursed; Dare ye gainsay me and bandy words with me?" So saying
the old captain bared his blade and with it dealt the sailor who
had spoken a thrust in the throat, that the steel came out
gleaming from his nape; and quoth another of the sailors, "What
hath our comrade done of crime, that thou shouldst cut his
throat?" Thereupon the captain clapped hand to sword and smote
off the speaker's head, nor did he leave smiting the rest of the
sailors till he had slain them all, one after other, and cast the
ten bodies ashore. Then he turned to Nur al-Din and cried out at
him with a terrible great cry, that made him tremble, saying, "Go
down and pull up the mooring-stake." Nur al-Din feared lest he
should strike him also with the sword; so he sprang up and leapt
ashore and pulling up the stake jumped aboard again, swiftlier
than the dazzling leven. The captain ceased not to bid him do
this and do that and tack and wear hither and thither and look at
the stars, and Nur al-Din did all that he bade him, with heart
a-quaking for affright; whilst he himself spread the sails, and
the ship fared with the twain into the dashing sea, swollen with
clashing billows.--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and
ceased to say her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-fourth Night,
She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when
the old skipper had made sail he drave the ship, aided by Nur
al-Din, into the dashing sea before a favouring gale. Meanwhile,
Nur al-Din held on to the tackle immersed in deep thought, and
drowned in the sea of solicitude, knowing not what was hidden for
him in the future; and whenever he looked at the captain, his
heart quaked and he knew not whither the Rais went with him. He
abode thus, preoccupied with care and doubt, till it was high
day, when he looked at the skipper and saw him take hold of his
long beard and pull at it, whereupon it came off in his hand and
Nur al-Din, examining it, saw that it was but a false beard glued
on. So he straitly considered that same Rais, and behold, it was
the Princess Miriam, his mistress and the dearling of his heart,
who had contrived to waylay the captain and slay him and skinned
off his beard, which she had stuck on to her own face. At this
Nur al-Din was transported for joy, and his breast broadened and
he marvelled at her prowess and the stoutness of her heart and
said to her, "Welcome, O my hope and my desire and the end of
mine every wish!" Then love and gladness agitated him and he made
sure of winning to his hopes and his expectancy; wherefore he
broke out into song and chanted these couplets,
"To all who unknown my love for the May * From whom Fate disjoins
me O say, I pray,
'Ask my kith and kin of my love that aye * Ensweetens my verses
to lovely lay:
For the loss of the tribesmen my life o'er sway!'
Their names when named heal all malady; * Cure and chase from
heart every pain I dree:
And my longings for love reach so high degree * That my Sprite is
maddened each morn I see,
And am grown of the crowd to be saw and say.
No blame in them will I e'er espy: * No! nor aught of solace sans
them descry:
Your love hath shot me with pine, and I * Bear in heart a flame
that shall never die,
But fire my liver with fiery ray.
All folk my sickness for marvel score * That in darkest night I
wake evermore
What ails them to torture this heart forlore * And deem right for
loving my blood t' outpour:
And yet--how justly unjust are they!
Would I wot who 'twas could obtain of you * To wrong a youth
who's so fain of you:
By my life and by Him who made men of you * And the spy tell
aught I complain of you
He lies, by Allah, in foulest way!
May the Lord my sickness never dispel, * Nor ever my heart of its
pains be well,
What day I regret that in love I fell * Or laud any land but
wherein ye dwell:
Wring my heart and ye will or make glad and gay!
I have vitals shall ever be true to you * Though racked by the
rigours not new to you
Ere this wrong and this right I but sue to you: * Do what you
will to thrall who to you
Shall ne'er grudge his life at your feet to lay."
When Nur al-Din ceased to sing, the Princess Miriam marvelled at
his song and thanked him therefor, saying, "Whoso's case is thus
it behoveth him to walk the ways of men and never do the deed of
curs and cowards." Now she was stout of heart and cunning in the
sailing of ships over the salt sea, and she knew all the winds
and their shiftings and every course of the main. So Nur al-Din
said, "O my lady, hadst thou prolonged this case on me,[FN#538] I
had surely died for stress of affright and chagrin, more by token
of the fire of passion and love-longing and the cruel pangs of
separation." She laughed at his speech and rising without stay or
delay brought out somewhat of food and liquor; and they ate and
drank and enjoyed themselves and made merry. Then she drew forth
rubies and other gems and precious stones and costly trinkets of
gold and silver and all manner things of price, light of weight
and weighty of worth, which she had taken from the palace of her
sire and his treasuries, and displayed them to Nur al-Din, who
rejoiced therein with joy exceeding. All this while the wind blew
fair for them and merrily sailed the ship nor ceased sailing till
they drew near the city of Alexandria and sighted its landmarks,
old and new, and Pompey's Pillar. When they made the port, Nur
al-Din landed forthright and securing the ship to one of the
Fulling-Stones,[FN#539] took somewhat of the treasures that
Miriam had brought with her, and said to her, "O my lady, tarry
in the ship, against I return and carry thee up into the city in
such way as I should wish and will." Quoth she, "It behoveth that
this be done quickly, for tardiness in affairs engendereth
repentance." Quoth he, "There is no tardiness in me;" and,
leaving her in the ship, went up into the city to the house of
the druggist his father's old fried, to borrow of his wife for
Miriam veil and mantilla, and walking boots and
petticoat-trousers after the usage of the women of Alexandria,
unknowing that there was appointed to betide him of the shifts of
Time, the Father of Wonders, that which was far beyond his
reckoning. Thus it befel Nur al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-girl;
but as regards her sire the King of France, when he arose in the
morning, he missed his daughter and questioned her women and her
eunuchs of her. Answered they, "O our lord, she went out last
night, to go to Church and after that we have no tidings of her."
But, as the King talked with them, behold, there arose so great a
clamour of cries below the palace, that the place rang thereto,
and he said, "What may be the news?" The folk replied, "O King,
we have found ten men slain on the sea-shore, and the royal yacht
is missing. Moreover we saw the postern of the Church, which
giveth upon the tunnel leading to the sea, wide open; and the
Moslem prisoner, who served in the Church, is missing." Quoth the
King, "An my ship be lost, without doubt or dispute."--And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her
permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-fifth Night,
She pursued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
King of France missed his daughter they brought him tidings of
her, saying, "Thy yacht is lost"; and he replied, "An the craft
be lost, without dispute or doubt my daughter is in it." So he
summoned without stay or delay the Captain of the Port and cried
out at him, saying, "By the virtue[FN#540] of the Messiah and the
Faith which is no liar, except thou and thy fighting men overtake
my ship forthright and bring it back to me, with those who are
therein, I will do thee die the foulest of deaths and make a
terrible example of thee!" Thereupon the captain went out from
before him, trembling, and betook himself to the ancient dame of
the Church, to whom said he, 'Heardest thou aught from the
captive, that was with thee, anent his native land and what
countryman he was?" And she answered, "He used to say, I come
from the town of Alexandria." When the captain heard the old
woman's words he returned forthright to the port and cried out to
the sailors, "Make ready and set sail." So they did his bidding
and straightway putting out to sea, fared night and day till they
sighted the city of Alexandria at the very time when Nur al-Din
landed, leaving the Princess in the ship. They soon espied the
royal yacht and knew her; so they moored their own vessel at a
distance therefrom and putting off in a little frigate they had
with them, which drew but two cubits of water and in which were
an hundred fighting-men, amongst them the one-eyed Wazir (for
that he was a stubborn tyrant and a froward devil and a wily
thief, none could avail against his craft, as he were Abu
Mohammed al-Battál[FN#541]), they ceased not rowing till they
reached the bark and boarding her, all at once, found none
therein save the Princess Miriam. So they took her and the ship,
and returning to their own vessel, after they had landed and
waited a long while,[FN#542] set sail forthright for the land of
the Franks, having accomplished their errand, without a fight or
even drawing sword. The wind blew fair for them and they sailed
on, without ceasing and with all diligence, till they reached the
city of France and landing with the Princess Miriam carried her
to her father, who received her, seated on the throne of his
Kingship. As soon as he saw her, he said to her, "Woe to thee, O
traitress! What ailed thee to leave the faith of thy fathers and
forefathers and the safeguard of the Messiah, on whom is our
reliance, and follow after the faith of the Vagrants,[FN#543] to
wit, the faith of Al-Islam, the which arose with the sword
against the Cross and the Images?" Replied Miriam, "I am not at
fault, I went out by night to the church, to visit the Lady Mary
and seek a blessing of her, when there fell upon me unawares a
band of Moslem robbers, who gagged me and bound me fast and
carrying me on board the barque, set sail with me for their own
country. However, I beguiled them and talked with them of their
religion, till they loosed my bonds; and ere I knew it thy men
overtook me and delivered me. And by the virtue of the Messiah
and the Faith which is no liar and the Cross and the Crucified
thereon, I rejoiced with joy exceeding in my release from them
and my bosom broadened and I was glad for my deliverance from the
bondage of the Moslems!" Rejoined the King, "Thou liest, O whore!
O adultress! By the virtue of that which is revealed of
prohibition and permission in the manifest Evangel,[FN#544] I
will assuredly do thee die by the foulest of deaths and make thee
the vilest of examples! Did it not suffice thee to do as thou
didst the first time and put off thy lies upon us, but thou must
return upon us with thy deceitful inventions?" Thereupon the King
bade kill her and crucify her over the palace gate; but, at that
moment the one-eyed Wazir, who had long been enamoured of the
Princess, came in to him and said, "Ho King! slay her not, but
give her to me to wife, and I will watch over her with the utmost
warding, nor will I go in unto her, till I have built her a
palace of solid stone, exceeding high of foundation, so no
thieves may avail to climb up to its terrace-roof; and when I
have made an end of building it, I will sacrifice thirty Moslems
before the gate thereof, as an expiatory offering to the Messiah
for myself and for her." The King granted his request and bade
the priests and monks and patriarchs marry the Princess to him;
so they did his bidding, whereupon he bade set about building a
strong and lofty palace, befitting her rank and the workmen fell
to work upon it. On this wise it betided the Princess Miriam and
her sire and the one-eyed Wazir; but as regards Nur al-Din, when
he came back with the petticoat-trousers and mantilla and walking
boots and all the attire of Alexandrian women which he had
borrowed of the druggist's wife, he "found the air void and the
fane afar[FN#545]";--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and
ceased to say her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-sixth Night,
She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when Nur
al-Din, "found the air void[FN#546] and the fane afar," his
heart sank within him and he wept floods of tears and recited
these verses,[FN#547]
"The phantom of Soada came by night to wake me towards morning
while my companions were sleeping in the desert:
But when we awoke to behold the nightly phantom, I saw the air
vacant, and the place of visitation distant."
Then Nur al-Din walked on along the sea-shore and turned right
and left, till he saw folk gathered together on the beach and
heard them say, "O Moslems, there remaineth no honour to
Alexandria-city, since the Franks enter it and snatch away those
who are therein and return to their own land, at their
leisure[FN#548] nor pursued of any of the Moslems or fighters for
the Faith!" Quoth Nur al-Din to them, "What is to do?"; and quoth
they, "O my son, one of the ships of the Franks, full of armed
men, came down but now upon the port and carried off a ship which
was moored here, with her that was therein, and made unmolested
for their own land." Nur al-Din fell down a-swoon, on hearing
these words; and when he recovered they questioned him of his
case and he told them all that had befallen him first and last;
whereupon they all took to reviling him and railing at him,
saying, "Why couldst thou not bring her up into the town without
mantilla and muffler?" And all and each of the folk gave him some
grievous word, berating him with sharp speech, and shooting at
him some shaft of reproach, albeit one said, "Let him be; that
which hath befallen him sufficeth him," till he again fell down
in a fainting-fit. And behold, at this moment, up came the old
druggist, who, seeing the folk gathered together, drew near to
learn what was the matter and found Nur al-Din lying a-swoon in
their midst. So he sat down at his head and arousing him, said to
him as soon as he recovered, "O my son, what is this case in
which I see thee?" Nur al-Din said, "O uncle, I had brought back
in a barque my lost slave-girl from her father's city, suffering
patiently all I suffered of perils and hardships; and when I came
with her to this port, I made the vessel fast to the shore and
leaving her therein, repaired to thy dwelling and took of thy
consort what was needful for her, that I might bring her up into
the town; but the Franks came and capturing barque and damsel
made off unhindered, and returned to their own land." Now when
the Shaykh, the druggist, heard this, the light in his eyes
became night and he grieved with sore grieving for Nur al-Din and
said to him, "O my son, why didst thou not bring her out of the
ship into the city without mantilla? But speech availeth not at
this season; so rise, O my son, and come up with me to the city;
haply Allah will vouchsafe thee a girl fairer than she, who shall
console thee for her. Alhamdolillah-praised be Allah-who hath not
made thee lose aught by her! Nay, thou hast gained by her. And
bethink thee, O my son, that Union and Disunion are in the hands
of the Most High King." Replied Nur al-Din, "By Allah, O uncle,
I can never be consoled for her loss nor will I ever leave
seeking her, though on her account I drink the cup of death!"
Rejoined the druggist, "O my son, and what art thou minded to
do?" Quoth Nur al-Din, "I am minded to return to the land of the
Franks[FN#549] and enter the city of France and emperil myself
there; come what may, loss of life or gain of life." Quoth the
druggist, "O my son, there is an old saw, 'Not always doth the
crock escape the shock'; and if they did thee no hurt the first
time, belike they will slay thee this time, more by token that
they know thee now with full knowledge." Quoth Nur al-Din, "O my
uncle, let me set out and be slain for the love of her
straightway and not die of despair for her loss by slow
torments." Now as Fate determined there was then a ship in port
ready to sail, for its passengers had made an end of their
affairs[FN#550] and the sailors had pulled up the mooring-stakes,
when Nur al-Din embarked in her. So they shook out their canvas
and relying on the Compassionate, put out to sea and sailed many
days, with fair wind and weather, till behold, they fell in with
certain of the Frank cruisers, which were scouring those waters
and seizing upon all ships they saw, in their fear for the King's
daughter from the Moslem corsairs: and as often as they made
prize of a Moslem ship, they carried all her people to the King
of France, who put them to death in fulfilment of the vow he had
vowed on account of his daughter Miriam. So, seeing the ship
wherein was Nur al-Din they boarded her and taking him and the
rest of the company prisoners, to the number of an hundred
Moslems, carried them to the King and set them between his hands.
He bade cut their throats. Accordingly they slaughtered them all
forthwith, one after another, till there was none left but Nur
al-Din, whom the headsman had left to the last, in pity of his
tender age and slender shape. When the King saw him, he knew him
right well and said to him, "Art thou not Nur al-Din, who was
with us before?" Said he, "I was never with thee: and my name is
not Nur al-Din, but Ibrahim." Rejoined the King; "Thou liest,
thou art Nur al-Din, he whom I gave to the ancient dame the
Prioress, to help her in the service of the church." But Nur
al-Din replied, "O my lord, my name is Ibrahim." Quoth the King,
"Wait a while," and bade his knights fetch the old woman
forthright, saying, "When she cometh and seeth thee, she will
know an thou be Nur al-Din or not." At this juncture, behold, in
came the one-eyed Wazir who had married the Princess and kissing
the earth before the King said to him, "Know, O King, that the
palace is finished; and thou knowest how I vowed to the Messiah
that, when I had made an end of building it, I would cut thirty
Moslems' throats before its doors; wherefore I am come to take
them of thee, that I may sacrifice them and so fulfil my vow to
the Messiah. They shall be at my charge, by way of loan, and
whenas there come prisoners to my hands, I will give thee other
thirty in lieu of them." Replied the King, 'By the virtue of the
Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, I have but this one
captive left!" And he pointed to Nur al-Din, saying, "Take him
and slaughter him at this very moment and the rest I will send
thee when there come to my hands other prisoners of the Moslems."
Thereupon the one-eyed Wazir arose and took Nur al-Din and
carried him to his palace, thinking to slaughter him on the
threshold of the gate; but the painters said to him, "O my lord,
we have two days' painting yet to do: so bear with us and delay
to cut the throat of this captive, till we have made an end of
our work; haply by that time the rest of the thirty will come, so
thou mayst despatch them all at one bout and accomplish thy vow
in a single day." Thereupon the Wazir bade imprison Nur
al-Din.--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased
saying her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-seventh Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
Wazir bade imprison Nur al-Din, they carried him to the stables
and left him there in chains, hungering and thirsting and making
moan for himself; for indeed he saw death face to face. Now it
fortuned, by the ordinance of Destiny and fore-ordained Fate,
that the King had two stallions, own brothers,[FN#551] such as
the Chosroe Kings might sigh in vain to possess themselves of one
of them; they were called Sábik and Láhik[FN#552] and one of them
was pure silvern white while the other was black as the darksome
night. And all the Kings of the isles had said, "Whoso stealeth
us one of these stallions, we will give him all he seeketh of red
gold and pearls and gems;" but none could avail to steal them.
Now one of them fell sick of a jaundice and there came a
whiteness over his eyes;[FN#553] whereupon the King gathered
together all the farriers in the city to treat him; but they all
failed of his cure. Presently the Wazir came into the King; and
finding him troubled because of the horse, thought to do away his
concern and said to him, "O King, give me the stallion and I will
cure him," The King consented and caused carry the horse to the
stable wherein Nur al-Din lay chained; but, when he missed his
brother, he cried out with an exceeding great cry and neighed, so
that he affrighted all the folk. The Wazir, seeing that he did
thus but because he was parted from his brother, went to tell the
King, who said, "If this, which is but a beast, cannot brook to
be parted from his brother, how should it be with those that have
reason?" And he bade his grooms take the other horse and put him
with his brother in the Wazir's stables, saying, "Tell the
Minister that the two stallions be a gift from me to him, for the
sake of my daughter Miriam." Nur al-Din was lying in the stable,
chained and shackled, when they brought in the two stallions and
he saw that one of them had a film over his eyes. Now he had some
knowledge of horses and of the doctoring of their diseases; so he
said to himself, "This by Allah is my opportunity! I will go to
the Wazir and lie to him, saying, 'I will heal thee this horse':
then will I do with him somewhat that shall destroy his eyes, and
he will slay me and I shall be at rest from this woe-full life."
So he waited till the Wazir entered the stable, to look upon the
steed, and said to him, "O my lord, what will be my due, an I
heal this horse, and make his eyes whole again?" Replied the
Wazir, "As my head liveth, an thou cure him, I will spare thy
life and give thee leave to crave a boon of me!" And Nur al-Din
said, "O my lord, bid my hands be unbound!" So the Wazir bade
unbind him and he rose and taking virgin glass,[FN#554] brayed it
and mixed it with unslaked lime and a menstruum of onion-juice.
Then he applied the whole to the horse's eyes and bound them up,
saying in himself, "Now will his eyes be put out and they will
slay me and I shall be at rest from this woe-full life." Then he
passed the night with a heart free from the uncertainty[FN#555]
of cark and care, humbling himself to Allah the Most High and
saying, "O Lord, in Thy knowledge is that which dispenseth with
asking and craving!" Now when the morning morrowed and the sun
shone, the Wazir came to the stable and, loosing the bandage from
the horse's eyes considered them and found them finer than
before, by the ordinance of the King who openeth evermore. So he
said to Nur al-Din, "O Moslem, never in the world saw I the like
of thee for the excellence of thy knowledge. By the virtue of the
Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, thou makest me with
wonder to admire, for all the farriers of our land have failed to
heal this horse!" Then he went up to Nur al-Din and, doing off
his shackles with his own hand, clad him in a costly dress and
made him his master of the Horse; and he appointed him stipends
and allowances and lodged him in a story over the stables. So Nur
al-Din abode awhile, eating and drinking and making merry and
bidding and forbidding those who tended the horses; and whoso
neglected or failed to fodder those tied up in the stable wherein
was his service, he would throw down and beat with grievous
beating and lay him by the legs in bilboes of iron. Furthermore,
he used every day to descend and visit the stallions and rub them
down with his own hand, by reason of that which he knew of their
value in the Wazir's eyes and his love for them; wherefore the
Minister rejoiced in him with joy exceeding and his breast
broadened and he was right glad, unknowing what was to be the
issue of his case. Now in the new palace, which the one-eyed
Wazir had bought for Princess Miriam, was a lattice-window
overlooking his old house and the flat wherein Nur al-Din lodged.
The Wazir had a daughter, a virgin of extreme loveliness, as she
were a fleeing gazelle or a bending branchlet, and it chanced
that she sat one day at the lattice aforesaid and behold, she
heard Nur al-Din, singing and solacing himself under his sorrows
by improvising these verses,
"O my Censor who wakest a-morn to see * The joys of life and its
jubilee!
Had the fangs of Destiny bitten thee * In such bitter case thou
hadst pled this plea,
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
But from Fate's despight thou art safe this day;- * From her
falsest fay and her crying 'Nay!'
Yet blame him not whom his woes waylay * Who distraught shall say
in his agony,
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Excuse such lovers in flight abhorr'd * Nor to Love's distreses
thine aid afford:
Lest thy self be bound by same binding cord * And drink of Love's
bitterest injury.
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
In His service I wont as the days went by * With freest heart
through the nights to lie;
Nor tasted wake, nor of Love aught reckt * Ere my heart to
subjection summoned he:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
None weet of Love and his humbling wrong * Save those he sickened
so sore, so long,
Who have lost their wits 'mid the lover-throng * Draining
bitterest cup by his hard decree:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
How oft in Night's gloom he cause wake to rue * Lovers' eyne, and
from eyelids their sleep withdrew;
Till tears to the railing of torrents grew, * Overflowing cheeks
, unconfined and free:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
How many a man he has joyed to steep * In pain, and for pine hath
he plundered sleep,--
Made don garb of mourning the deepest deep * And even his
dreaming forced to flee:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
How oft sufferance fails me! How bones are wasted * And down my
cheeks torrent tear-drops hasted:
And embittered She all the food I tasted * However sweet it was
wont to be:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Most hapless of men who like me must love, * And must watch when
Night droops her wing from above,
Who, swimming the main where affection drove * Must sign and sink
in that gloomy sea:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Who is he to whom Love e'er stinted spite * And who scaped his
springes and easy sleight;
Who free from Love lived in life's delight? * Where is he can
boast of such liberty?
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Deign Lord such suffering wight maintain * Then best Protector,
protect him deign!
Establish him and his life assain * And defend him from all
calamity:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'"
And when Nur al-Din ended his say and ceased to sing his rhyming
lay, the Wazir's daughter said to herself, "By the virtue of the
Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, verily this Moslem is a
handsome youth! But doubtless he is a lover separated from his
mistress. Would Heaven I wot an the beloved of this fair one is
fair like unto him and if she pine for him as he for her! An she
be seemly as he is, it behoveth him to pour forth tears and make
moan of passion; but, an she be other than fair, his days are
wasted in vain regrets and he is denied the taste of
delights."--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to
say her permitted say.
When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-eighth Night,
She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
Wazir's daughter said to herself, "An his beloved be fair as he,
it behoveth him to pour forth tears; and, if other than fair, his
heart is wasted in vain regrets!" Now Miriam the Girdle-girl, the
Minister's consort, had removed to the new palace the day before
and the Wazir's daughter knew that she was straitened of breast;
so she was minded to seek her and talk with her and tell her the
tidings of the young man and the rhymes and verses she had heard
him recite; but, before she could carry out her design the
Princess sent for her to cheer her with her converse. So she went
to her and found her heavy at heart and her tears hurrying down
her cheeks; and whilst she was weeping with sore weeping she
recited these couplets,
"My life is gone but love-longings remain * And my breast is
straitened with pine and pain:
And my heart for parting to melt is fain * Yet hoping that union
will come again,
And join us in one who now are twain.
Stint your blame to him who in heart's your thrall * With the
wasted frame which his sorrows gall,
Nor with aim of arrow his heart appal * For parted lover is
saddest of all,
And Love's cup of bitters is sweet to drain!"
Quoth the Wazir's daughter to her, "What aileth thee, O Princess,
to be thus straitened in breast and sorrowful of thought?"
Whereupon Miriam recalled the greatness of the delights that were
past and recited these two couplets,
"I will bear in patience estrangement of friend * And on cheeks
rail tears that like torrents wend:
Haply Allah will solace my sorrow, for He * Neath the ribs of
unease maketh ease at end."
Said the Wazir's daughter, "O Princess, let not thy breast be
straitened, but come with me straightway to the lattice; for
there is with us in the stable[FN#556] a comely young man,
slender of shape and sweet of speech, and meseemeth he is a
parted lover." Miriam asked, "And by what sign knowest thou that
he is a parted lover?"; and she answered, "O Queen, I know it by
his improvising odes and verses all watches of the night and
tides of the day." Quoth the Princess in herself, "If what the
Wazir's daughter says be true, these are assuredly the traits of
the baffled, the wretched Ali Nur al-Din. Would I knew if indeed
he be the youth of whom she speaketh?" At this thought,
love-longing and distraction of passion redoubled on her and she
rose at once and walking with the maiden to the lattice, looked
down upon the stables, where she saw her love and lord Nur al-Din
and fixing her eyes steadfastly upon him, knew him with the
bestest knowledge of love, albeit he was sick, of the greatness
of his affection for her and of the fire of passion, and the
anguish of separation and yearning and distraction. Sore upon him
was emaciation and he was improvising and saying,
"My heart is a thrall; my tears ne'er abate * And their rains the
railing of clouds amate;
'Twixt my weeping and watching and wanting love; * And whining
and pining for dearest mate.
Ah my burning heat, my desire, my lowe! * For the plagues that
torture my heart are eight;
And five upon five are in suite of them; * So stand and listen to
all I state:
Mem'ry, madding thoughts, moaning languishment, * Stress of
longing love, plight disconsolate;
In travail, affliction and strangerhood, * And annoy and joy when
on her I wait.
Fail me patience and stay for engrossing care * And sorrows my
suffering soul regrate.
On my heart the possession of passion grows * O who ask of what
fire in my heart's create,
Why my tears in vitals should kindle flame, * Burning heart with
ardours insatiate,
Know, I'm drowned in Deluge[FN#557] of tears and my soul * From
Lazá-lowe fares to Háwiyah-goal."[FN#558]
When the Princess Miriam beheld Nur al-Din and heard his loquence
and verse and speech, she made certain that it was indeed her
lord Nur al-Din; but she concealed her case from the Wazir's
daughter and said to her, "By the virtue of the Messiah and the
Faith which is no liar, I thought not thou knewest of my
sadness!" Then she arose forthright and withdrawing from the
window, returned to her own place, whilst the Wazir's daughter
went to her own occupations. The Princess awaited patiently
awhile, then returned to the window and sat there, gazing upon
her beloved Nur al-Din and delighting her eyes with his beauty
and inner and outer grace. And indeed, she saw that he was like
unto moon at full on fourteenth night; but he was ever sighing
with tears never drying, for that he recalled whatso he had been
abying. So he recited these couplets,
"I hope for Union with my love which I may ne'er obtain * At all,
but bitterness of life is all the gain I gain:
My tears are likest to the main for ebb and flow of tide; * But
when I meet the blamer-wight to staunch my tears I'm fain.
Woe to the wretch who garred us part by spelling of his
spells;[FN#559] * Could I but hend his tongue in hand I'd
cut his tongue in twain:
Yet will I never blame the days for whatso deed they did *
Mingling with merest, purest gall the cup they made me
drain!
To whom shall I address myself; and whom but you shall seek * A
heart left hostage in your Court, by you a captive ta'en?
Who shall avenge my wrongs on you,[FN#560] tyrant despotical *
Whose tyranny but grows the more, the more I dare complain?
I made him regnant of my soul that he the reign assain * But me
he wasted wasting too the soul I gave to reign.
Ho thou, the Fawn, whom I so lief erst gathered to my breast *
Enow of severance tasted I to own its might and main,
Thou'rt he whose favours joined in one all beauties known to man,
* Yet I thereon have wasted all my Patience' fair domain.
I entertained him in my heart whereto he brought unrest * But I
am satisfied that I such guest could entertain.
My tears for ever flow and flood, likest the surging sea * And
would I wot the track to take that I thereto attain.
Yet sore I fear that I shall die in depths of my chagrin * And
must despair for evermore to win the wish I'd win."
When Miriam heard the verses of Nur al-Din the loving-hearted,
the parted; they kindled in her vitals a fire of desire, and
while her eyes ran over with tears, she recited these two
couplets,
"I longed for him I love; but, when we met, * I was amazed nor
tongue nor eyes I found.
I had got ready volumes of reproach; * But when we met, could
syllable no sound."
When Nur al-Din heard the voice of Princess Miriam, he knew it
and wept bitter tears, saying, "By Allah, this is the chanting of
the Lady Miriam."--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and
ceased saying her permitted say.
End of Volume 8.
Arabian Nights, Volume 8
Footnotes
[FN#1] Ironicè; we are safe as long as we are defended by such a
brave.
[FN#2] Blue, azure. This is hardly the place for a protest, but
I must not neglect the opportunity of cautioning my readers
against rendering Bahr al-Azrak ("Blue River") by "Blue Nile." No
Arab ever knew it by that name or thereby equalled it with the
White Nile. The term was a pure invention of Abyssinian Bruce who
was well aware of the unfact he was propagating, but his
inordinate vanity and self-esteem, contrasting so curiously with
many noble qualities, especially courage and self-reliance,
tempted him to this and many other a traveller's tale.
[FN#3] This is orthodox Moslem doctrine and it does something
for the dignity of human nature which has been so unwisely
depreciated and degraded by Christianity. The contrast of Moslem
dignity and Christian abasement in the East is patent to every
unblind traveller.
[FN#4] Here ends vol. iii. of the Mac. Edit.
[FN#5] This famous tale is a sister prose-poem to the "Arabian
Odyssey" Sindbad the Seaman; only the Bassorite's travels are in
Jinn-land and Japan. It has points of resemblance in
"fundamental outline" with the Persian Romance of the Fairy Hasan
Bánú and King Bahrám-i-Gúr. See also the Kathá (s.s.) and the two
sons of the Asúra Máyá; the Tartar "Sidhi Kúr" (Tales of a
Vampire or Enchanted Corpse) translated by Mr. W. J. Thoms (the
Father of "Folk-lore" in 1846,) in "Lays and Legends of various
Nations"; the Persian Bahár-i-Dánish (Prime of Lore). Miss
Stokes' "Indian Fairy Tales"; Miss Frere's "Old Deccan Days" and
Mrs. F. A. Steel's "Tale of the King and his Seven Sons," with
notes by Lieutenant (now Captain) R. C. Temple (Folk-lore of the
Panjab, Indian Antiquary of March, 1882).
[FN#6] In the Mac. Edit. (vol. iv. i.) the merchant has two
sons who became one a brazier ("dealer in copper-wares" says Lane
iii. 385) and the other a goldsmith. The Bresl. Edit. (v. 264)
mentions only one son, Hasan, the hero of the story which is
entitled, "Tale of Hasan al-Basrí and the Isles of Wák Wák."
[FN#7] Arab. "Shásh Abyaz:" this distinctive sign of the True
Believer was adopted by the Persian to conceal his being a
fire-worshipper, Magian or "Guebre." The latter word was
introduced from the French by Lord Byron and it is certainly far
superior to Moore's "Gheber."
[FN#8] Persians being always a suspected folk.
[FN#9] Arab. "Al-Búdikah" afterwards used (Night dcclxxix) in
the sense of crucible or melting-pot, in modern parlance a
pipe-bowl; and also written "Bútakah," an Arab distortion of the
Persian "Bútah."
[FN#10] Arab. "Sindán" or "Sindiyán" (Dozy). "Sandán," anvil;
"Sindán," big, strong (Steingass).
[FN#11] Arab. "Kímiya," (see vol. i. 305) properly the
substance which transmutes metals, the "philosopher's stone"
which, by the by, is not a stone; and comes from {chymeía,chymós} = a fluid, a wet drug, as opposed to Iksír (Al-) {Xerón, Xérion}, a dry
drug. Those who care to see how it is still studied will consult
my History of Sindh (chapt. vii) and my experience which pointed
only to the use made of it in base coinage. Hence in mod. tongue
Kímiyáwi, an alchemist, means a coiner, a smasher. The reader
must not suppose that the transmutation of metals is a dead
study: I calculate that there are about one hundred workers in
London alone.
[FN#12] Arab. "Al-Kír," a bellows also = Kúr, a furnace. For
the full meaning of this sentence, see my "Book of the Sword," p.
119.
[FN#13] Lit. "bade him lean upon it with the shears" (Al-Káz).
[FN#14] There are many kinds of Kohls (Hindos. Surmá and
Kajjal) used in medicine and magic. See Herklots, p. 227.
[FN#15] Arab. "Sabíkah" = bar, lamina, from "Sabk" = melting,
smelting: the lump in the crucible would be hammered out into an
ingot in order to conceal the operation
[FN#16] i.e. £375.
[FN#17] Such report has cost many a life: the suspicion was and
is still deadly as heresy in a "new Christian" under the
Inquisition.
[FN#18] Here there is a double entendre: openly it means, "Few
men recognise as they should the bond of bread and salt:" the
other sense would be (and that accounts for the smile), "What the
deuce do I care for the bond?"
[FN#19] Arab. "Kabbát" in the Bresl. Edit. "Ka'abán ": Lane
(iii. 519) reads "Ka'áb plur. of Ka'ab a cup."
[FN#20] A most palpable sneer. But Hasan is purposely
represented as a "softy" till aroused and energized by the magic
of Love.
[FN#21] Arab. "Al-iksír" (see Night dcclxxix, supra p. 9): the
Greek word which has returned from a trip to Arabia and
reappeared in Europe as "Elixir."
[FN#22] "Awák" plur. of "Ukíyah," the well-known "oke," or
"ocque," a weight varying from 1 to 2 lbs. In Morocco it is
pronounced "Wukíyah," and = the Spanish ounce (p. 279 Rudimentos
del Arabe Vulgar, etc., by Fr. José de Lorchundi, Madrid,
Rivadeneyra, 1872).
[FN#23] These lines have occurred in vol. iv. 267, where
references to other places are given. I quote Lane by way of
variety. In the text they are supposed to have been written by
the Persian, a hint that Hasan would never be seen again.
[FN#24] i.e. a superfetation of iniquity.
[FN#25] Arab. "Kurbán," Heb. { }Corban = offering, oblation to be brought to
the priest's house or to the altar of the tribal God Yahveh,
Jehovah (Levit. ii, 2-3 etc.). Amongst the Maronites Kurban is
the host (-wafer) and amongst the Turks 'Id al-Kurban
(sacrifice-feast) is the Greater Bayram, the time of Pilgrimage.
[FN#26] Nár = fire, being feminine, like the names of the other
"elements."
[FN#27] The Egyptian Kurbáj of hippopotamus-hide (Burkh. Nubia,
pp. 62,282) or elephant-hide (Turner ii. 365). Hence the Fr.
Cravache (as Cravat is from Croat).
[FN#28] In Mac. Edit. "Bahriyah": in Bresl. Edit. "Nawátíyah."
See vol. vi. 242, for {Naýtes}, navita, nauta.
[FN#29] In Bresl. Edit. (iv. 285) "Yá Khwájah," for which see
vol. vi. 46.
[FN#30] Arab. "Tabl" (vulg. baz) = a kettle-drum about half a
foot broad held in the left hand and beaten with a stick or
leathern thong. Lane refers to his description (M.E. ii. chapt.
v.) of the Dervish's drum of tinned copper with parchment face,
and renders Zakhmah or Zukhmah (strap, stirrup-leather) by
"plectrum," which gives a wrong idea. The Bresl. Edit. ignores
the strap.
[FN#31] The "Spartivento" of Italy, mostly a tall headland which
divides the clouds. The most remarkable feature of the kind is
the Dalmatian Island, Pelagosa.
[FN#32] The "Rocs" (Al-Arkhákh) in the Bresl. Edit. (iv. 290).
The Rakham = aquiline vulture.
[FN#33] Lane here quotes a similar incident in the romance "Sayf
Zú al-Yazan," so called from the hero, whose son, Misr, is sewn
up in a camel's hide by Bahrám, a treacherous Magian, and is
carried by the Rukhs to a mountain-top.
[FN#34] These lines occurred in Night xxvi. vol. i. 275: I quote
Mr. Payne for variety.
[FN#35] Thus a Moslem can not only circumcise and marry himself
but can also bury canonically himself. The form of this prayer
is given by Lane M. E. chapt. xv.
[FN#36] i.e. If I fail in my self-imposed duty, thou shalt
charge me therewith on the Judgment-day.
[FN#37] Arab. "Al-Alwán," plur. of laun (colour). The latter
in Egyptian Arabic means a "dish of meat." See Burckhardt No.
279. I repeat that the great traveller's "Arabic Proverbs" wants
republishing for two reasons. First he had not sufficient
command of English to translate with the necessary laconism and
assonance: secondly in his day British Philistinism was too
rampant to permit a literal translation. Consequently the book
falls short of what the Oriental student requires; and I have
prepared it for my friend Mr. Quaritch.
[FN#38] i.e. Lofty, high-builded. See Night dcclxviii. vol. vii.
p. 347. In the Bresl. Edit. Al-Masíd (as in Al-Kazwíni): in the
Mac. Edit. Al-Mashid
[FN#39] Arab. "Munkati" here = cut off from the rest of the
world. Applied to a man, and a popular term of abuse in Al-Hijáz,
it means one cut off from the blessings of Allah and the benefits
of mankind; a pauvre sire. (Pilgrimage ii. 22.)
[FN#40] Arab. "Baras au Juzám," the two common forms of leprosy.
See vol. iv. 51. Popular superstition in Syria holds that coition
during the menses breeds the Juzám, Dáa al-Kabír (Great Evil) or
Dáa al-Fíl (Elephantine Evil), i.e. Elephantiasis and that the
days between the beginning of the flow (Sabíl) to that of coition
shows the age when the progeny will be attacked; for instance if
it take place on the first day, the disease will appear in the
tenth year, on the fourth the fortieth and so on. The only
diseases really dreaded by the Badawin are leprosy and small-pox.
Coition during the menses is forbidden by all Eastern faiths
under the severest penalties. Al-Mas'údi relates how a man thus
begotten became a determined enemy of Ali; and the ancient Jews
attributed the magical powers of Joshua Nazarenus to this
accident of his birth, the popular idea being that sorcerers are
thus impurely engendered.
[FN#41] By adoption - See vol. iii. 151. This sudden affection
(not love) suggests the "Come to my arms, my slight
acquaintance!" of the Anti-Jacobin. But it is true to Eastern
nature; and nothing can be more charming than this fast
friendship between the Princess and Hasan.
[FN#42] En tout bien et en tout honneur, be it understood.
[FN#43] He had done nothing of the kind; but the feminine mind
is prone to exaggeration. Also Hasan had told them a fib, to
prejudice them against the Persian.
[FN#44] These nervous movements have been reduced to a system in
the Turk. "Ihtilájnámeh" = Book of palpitations, prognosticating
from the subsultus tendinum and other involuntary movements of
the body from head to foot; according to Ja'afar the Just, Daniel
the Prophet, Alexander the Great; the Sages of Persia and the
Wise Men of Greece. In England we attend chiefly to the eye and
ear.
[FN#45] Revenge, amongst the Arabs, is a sacred duty; and, in
their state of civilization, society could not be kept together
without it. So the slaughter of a villain is held to be a
sacrifice to Allah, who amongst Christians claims for Himself the
monopoly of vengeance.
[FN#46] Arab. "Zindík." See vol. v. 230.
[FN#47] Lane translates this "put for him the remaining food and
water;" but Al-Ákhar (Mac. Edit.) evidently refers to the Najíb
(dromedary).
[FN#48] We can hardly see the heroism of the deed, but it must
be remembered that Bahram was a wicked sorcerer, whom it was
every good Moslem's bounden duty to slay. Compare the treatment
of witches in England two centuries ago.
[FN#49] The mother in Arab tales is ma mère, now becoming
somewhat ridiculous in France on account of the over use of that
venerable personage.
[FN#50] The forbidden closet occurs also in Sayf Zú al-Yazan,
who enters it and finds the bird-girls. Trébutien ii, 208 says,
"Il est assez remarquable qu'il existe en Allemagne une tradition
à peu près semblable, et qui a fourni le sujet d'un des contes de
Musaeus, entitulé, le voile enlevé." Here Hasan is artfully left
alone in a large palace without other companions but his thoughts
and the reader is left to divine the train of ideas which drove
him to open the door.
[FN#51] Arab. "Buhayrah" (Bresl. Edit. "Bahrah"), the tank or
cistern in the Hosh (court-yard) of an Eastern house. Here,
however, it is a rain-cistern on the flat roof of the palace (See
Night dcccviii).
[FN#52] This description of the view is one of the most gorgeous
in The Nights.
[FN#53] Here again are the "Swan-maidens" (See vol. v. 346) "one
of the primitive myths, the common heritage of the whole Aryan
(Iranian) race." In Persia Bahram-i-Gúr when carried off by the
Dív Sapíd seizes the Peri's dove-coat: in Santháli folk-lore
Torica, the Goatherd, steals the garment doffed by one of the
daughters of the sun; and hence the twelve birds of Russian
Story. To the same cycle belong the Seal-tales of the Faroe
Islands (Thorpe's Northern Mythology) and the wise women or
mermaids of Shetland (Hibbert). Wayland the smith captures a
wife by seizing a mermaid's raiment and so did Sir Hagán by
annexing the wardrobe of a Danubian water-nymph. Lettsom, the
translator, mixes up this swan-raiment with that of the Valkyries
or Choosers of the Slain. In real life stealing women's clothes
is an old trick and has often induced them, after having been
seen naked, to offer their persons spontaneously. Of this I knew
two cases in India, where the theft is justified by divine
example. The blue god Krishna, a barbarous and grotesque Hindu
Apollo, robbed the raiment of the pretty Gopálís (cowherdesses)
who were bathing in the Arjun River and carried them to the top
of a Kunduna tree; nor would he restore them till he had reviewed
the naked girls and taken one of them to wife. See also Imr
al-Kays (of the Mu'allakah) with "Onaiza" at the port of
Daratjuljul (Clouston's Arabian Poetry, p.4). A critic has
complained of my tracing the origin of the Swan-maiden legend to
the physical resemblance between the bird and a high-bred girl
(vol. v. 346). I should have explained my theory which is
shortly, that we must seek a material basis for all so-called
supernaturalisms, and that anthropomorphism satisfactorily
explains the Swan-maiden, as it does the angel and the devil.
There is much to say on the subject; but this is not the place
for long discussion.
[FN#54] Arab. "Nafs Ammárah," corresponding with our canting
term "The Flesh." Nafs al-Nátíkah is the intellectual soul or
function; Nafs al-Ghazabíyah = the animal function and Nafs al
Shahwáníyah = the vegetative property.
[FN#55] The lines occur in vol. ii. 331: I have quoted Mr.
Payne. Here they are singularly out of place.
[FN#56] Not the "green gown" of Anglo-India i.e. a white
ball-dress with blades of grass sticking to it in consequence of
a "fall backwards."
[FN#57] These lines occur in vol. i. 219: I have borrowed from
Torrens (p. 219).
[FN#58] The appearance of which ends the fast and begins the
Lesser Festival. See vol. i. 84.
[FN#59] See note, vol. i. 84, for notices of the large navel;
much appreciated by Easterns.
[FN#60] Arab. "Shá'ir Al-Walahán" = the love-distraught poet;
Lane has "a distracted poet." My learned friend Professor Aloys
Sprenger has consulted, upon the subject of Al-Walahán the
well-known Professor of Arabic at Halle, Dr. Thorbeck, who
remarks that the word (here as further on) must be an adjective,
mad, love-distraught, not a "lakab" or poetical cognomen. He
generally finds it written Al-Shá'ir al-Walahán (the
love-demented poet) not Al-Walahán al-Shá'ir = Walahán the Poet.
Note this burst of song after the sweet youth falls in love: it
explains the cause of verse-quotation in The Nights, poetry being
the natural language of love and battle.
[FN#61] "Them" as usual for "her."
[FN#62] Here Lane proposes a transposition, for "Wa-huwá (and
he) fi'l-hubbi," to read "Fi 'l-hubbi wa huwa (wa-hwa);" but the
latter is given in the Mac. Edit.
[FN#63] For the pun in "Sabr"=aloe or patience. See vol. i.
138. In Herr Landberg (i. 93) we find a misunderstanding of the
couplet--
"Aw'ákibu s-sabri (Kála ba'azuhum)
Mahmúdah: Kultu, 'khshi an takhirriní.'"
"The effects of patience" (or aloes) quoth one "are
praiseworthy!" Quoth I, "Much I fear lest it make me stool."
Mahmúdah is not only un laxatif, but a slang name for a
confection of aloes.
[FN#64] Arab. "Akúna fidá-ka." Fidá = ransom, self-sacrifice and
Fidá'an = instead of. The phrase, which everywhere occurs in The
Nights, means, "I would give my life to save thine "
[FN#65] Thus accounting for his sickness, improbably enough but
in flattering way. Like a good friend (feminine) she does not
hesitate a moment in prescribing a fib.
[FN#66] i.e. the 25,000 Amazons who in the Bresl. Edit. (ii.
308) are all made to be the King's Banát" = daughters or
protégées. The Amazons of Dahome (see my "Mission") who may now
number 5,000 are all officially wives of the King and are called
by the lieges "our mothers."
[FN#67] The tale-teller has made up his mind about the damsel;
although in this part of the story she is the chief and eldest
sister and subsequently she appears as the youngest daughter of
the supreme Jinn King. The mystification is artfully explained
by the extraordinary likeness of the two sisters. (See Night
dcccxi.)
[FN#68] This is a reminiscence of the old-fashioned "marriage by
capture," of which many traces survive, even among the civilised
who wholly ignore their origin.
[FN#69] Meaning her companions and suite.
[FN#70] Arab. "'Abáah" vulg. "'Abáyah." See vol. ii. 133.
[FN#71] Feet in the East lack that development of sebaceous
glands which afflicts Europeans.
[FN#72] i.e. cutting the animals' throats after Moslem law.
[FN#73] In Night dcclxxviii. supra p.5, we find the orthodox
Moslem doctrine that "a single mortal is better in Allah's sight
than a thousand Jinns." For, I repeat, Al-Islam systematically
exalts human nature which Christianity takes infinite trouble to
degrade and debase. The results of its ignoble teaching are only
too evident in the East: the Christians of the so-called (and
miscalled) "Holy Land" are a disgrace to the faith and the
idiomatic Persian term for a Nazarene is "Tarsá" = funker,
coward.
[FN#74] Arab. "Sakaba Kúrahá;" the forge in which children are
hammered out?
[FN#75] Arab. "Má al-Maláhat" = water (brilliancy) of beauty.
[FN#76] The fourth of the Seven Heavens, the "Garden of
Eternity," made of yellow coral.
[FN#77] How strange this must sound to the Young Woman of London
in the nineteenth century.
[FN#78] "Forty days" is a quasi-religious period amongst Moslem
for praying, fasting and religious exercises: here it represents
our "honey-moon." See vol. v. p. 62.
[FN#79] Yá layta, still popular. Herr Carlo Landberg (Proverbes
et Dictons du Peuple Arabe, vol. i. of Syria, Leyden, E. J.
Brill, 1883) explains layta for rayta (=raayta) by permutation of
liquids and argues that the contraction is ancient (p. 42). But
the Herr is no Arabist: "Layta" means "would to Heaven," or,
simply "I wish," "I pray" (for something possible or impossible);
whilst "La'alla" (perhaps, it may be) prays only for the
possible: and both are simply particles governing the noun in
the oblique or accusative case.
[FN#80] "His" for "her," i.e. herself, making somewhat of
confusion between her state and that of her son.
[FN#81] i.e. his mother; the words are not in the Mac. Edit.
[FN#82] Baghdad is called House of Peace, amongst other reasons,
from the Dijlah (Tigris) River and Valley "of Peace." The word
was variously written Baghdád, Bághdád, (our old Bughdaud and
Bagdat), Baghzáz, Baghzán, Baghdán, Baghzám and Maghdád as Makkah
and Bakkah (Koran iii. 90). Religious Moslems held Bágh (idol)
and Dád (gift) an ill-omened conjunction, and the Greeks changed
it to Eirenopolis. (See Ouseley's Oriental Collcctions, vol. i.
pp. 18-20.)
[FN#83] This is a popular saying but hardly a "vulgar proverb."
(Lane iii. 522.) It reminds rather of Shakespear's:
"So loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly."
[FN#84] i.e. God forbid that I should oppose thee!
[FN#85] Here the writer again forgets apparently, that Shahrazad
is speaking: she may, however, use the plural for the singular
when speaking of herself.
[FN#86] i.e. She would have pleaded ill-treatment and lawfully
demanded to be sold.
[FN#87] The Hindus speak of "the only bond that woman knows--her
heart."
[FN#88] i.e. a rarity, a present (especially in Persian).
[FN#89] Arab. "Al-bisát" wa'l-masnad lit. the carpet and the
cushion.
[FN#90] For "Báb al-bahr" and "Báb al-Barr" see vol. iii. 281.
[FN#91] She was the daughter of Ja'afar bin Mansúr; but, as will
be seen, The Nights again and again called her father Al-Kásim.
[FN#92] This is an error for the fifth which occurs in the
popular saying, "Is he the fifth of the sons of Al-Abbás!" i.e.
Harun al-Rashid. Lane (note, in loco) thus accounts for the
frequent mention of the Caliph, the greatest of the Abbasides in
The Nights. But this is a causa non causa.
[FN#93] i.e. I find thy beauty all-sufficient. So the proverb
"The son of the quarter (young neighbour) filleth not the eye,"
which prefers a stranger.
[FN#94] They are mere doggerel, like most of the pièces de
circonstance.