ETHIOPIAN NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS.
The Landscapes of Ethiopia—My Evenings beside the
Nile—Experiences of the Arabian Nights—The Story of the
Sultana Zobeide and the Wood-cutter—Character of the Arabian
Tales—Religion.
“For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Al-Raschid.”—TENNYSON.
With my voyage on the Ethiopian Nile a thread of romance was woven,
which, in the Oriental mood that had now become native to me, greatly
added to the charm of the journey. My nights’ entertainments were better
than the Arabian. The moon was at the full, and although, during the
day, a light north-wind filled my sails, it invariably fell calm at
sunset, and remained so for two or three hours. During the afternoon,
I lay stretched on my carpet on the deck, looking through half-closed
eyes on the glittering river and his banks. The western shore was one
long bower of Paradise—so green, so bright, so heaped with the deep, cool
foliage of majestic sycamores and endless clusters of palms. I had seen
no such beautiful palms since leaving Minyeh, in Lower Egypt. There they
were taller, but had not the exceeding richness and glory of these. The
sun shone hot in a cloudless blue heaven, and the air was of a glassy,
burning clearness, like that which dwells in the inmost heart of fire.
The colors of the landscape were as if enamelled on gold, so intense, so
glowing in their intoxicating depth and splendor. When, at last, the wind
fell—except a breeze just strong enough to shake the creamy odor out of
the purple bean-blossoms—and the sun went down in a bed of pale orange
light, the moon came up the other side of heaven, a broad disc of yellow
fire, and bridged the glassy Nile with her beams.
[Illustration: Moonlight on the Ethiopian Nile.]
At such times, I selected a pleasant spot on the western bank of the
river, where the palms were loftiest and most thickly clustered, and had
the boat moored to the shore. Achmet then spread my carpet and piled my
cushions on the shelving bank of white sand, at the foot of the trees,
where, as I lay, I could see the long, feathery leaves high above my
head, and at the same time look upon the broad wake of the moon, as she
rose beyond the Nile. The sand was as fine and soft as a bed of down,
and retained an agreeable warmth from the sunshine which had lain upon
it all day. As we rarely halted near a village, there was no sound to
disturb the balmy repose of the scene, except, now and then, the whine
of a jackal prowling along the edge of the Desert. Achmet crossed his
legs beside me on the sand, and Ali, who at such times had special charge
of my pipe, sat at my feet, ready to replenish it as often as occasion
required. My boatmen, after gathering dry palm-leaves and the resinous
branches of the mimosa, kindled a fire beside some neighboring patch
of _dookhn_, and squatted around it, smoking and chatting in subdued
tones, that their gossip might not disturb my meditations. Their white
turbans and lean dark faces were brought out in strong relief by the
red fire-light, and completed the reality of a picture which was more
beautiful than dreams.
On the first of these evenings, after my pipe had been filled for the
third time, Achmet, finding that I showed no disposition to break the
silence, and rightly judging that I would rather listen than talk,
addressed me. “Master,” said he, “I know many stories, such as the
story-tellers relate in the coffee-houses of Cairo. If you will give me
permission, I will tell you some which I think you will find diverting.”
“Excellent!” said I; “nothing will please me better, provided you tell
them in Arabic. This will be more agreeable to both of us, and whenever I
cannot understand your words, I will interrupt you, and you shall explain
them as well as you can, in English.” He immediately commenced, and
while those evening calms lasted, I had such a living experience of the
Arabian Nights, as would have seemed to me a greater marvel than any they
describe, had it been foreshown to my boyish vision, when I first hung
over the charmed pages. There, in my African mood, the most marvellous
particulars seemed quite real and natural, and I enjoyed those flowers of
Eastern romance with a zest unknown before. After my recent reception,
as a king of the Franks, in the capital of Berber, it was not difficult
to imagine myself Shahriar, the Sultan of the Indies, especially as the
moon showed me my turbaned shadow on the sand. If the amber mouth-piece
of my pipe was not studded with jewels, and if the zerf which held my
coffee-cup was brass instead of gold, it was all the same by moonlight.
Achmet, seated on the sand, a little below my throne, was Sheherazade,
and Ali, kneeling at my feet, her sister, Dinarzade; though, to speak
candidly, my imagination could not stretch quite so far. In this respect,
Shahriar had greatly the advantage of me. I bitterly felt the difference
between my dusky vizier, and his vizier’s daughter. Nor did Ali, who
listened to the stories with great interest, expressing his satisfaction
occasionally by a deep guttural chuckle, ever surprise me by saying: “If
you are not asleep, my sister, I beg of you to recount to me one of those
delightful stories you know.”
Nevertheless, those nights possessed a charm which separates them from
all other nights I have known. The stories resembled those of the
Arabian tale in being sometimes prolonged from one day to another.
One of them, in fact, was “Ganem, the Slave of Love,” but, as told by
Achmet, differing slightly from the English version. The principal story,
however, was new to me, and as I am not aware that it has ever been
translated, I may be pardoned for telling it as it was told to me, taking
the liberty to substitute my own words for Achmet’s mixture of Arabic
and English. I was too thoroughly given up to the pleasant illusion, to
note down the story at the time, and I regret that many peculiarities of
expression have escaped me, which then led me to consider it a genuine
product of the age which produced the Thousand and One Nights.
“You already know, my Master,” Achmet began, “that many hundred years
ago all the people of Islam were governed by a caliph, whose capital
was Baghdad, and I doubt not that you have heard of the great Caliph,
Haroun Al-Raschid, who certainly was not only the wisest man of his
day, but the wisest that has been known since the days of our Prophet,
Mohammed, whose name be exalted! It rarely happens that a wise and great
man ever finds a wife, whose wisdom is any match for his own; for as the
wise men whom Allah sends upon the earth are few, so are the wise women
still fewer. But herein was the Caliph favored of Heaven. Since the days
of Balkis, the Queen of Sheba, whom even the prophet Solomon could not
help but honor, there was no woman equal in virtue or in wisdom to the
Sultana Zubeydeh (Zobeide). The Caliph never failed to consult her on all
important matters, and her prudence and intelligence were united with
his, in the government of his great empire, even as the sun and moon are
sometimes seen shining in the heavens at the same time.
“But do not imagine that Haroun Al-Raschid and the Sultana Zubeydeh were
destitute of faults. None except the Prophets of God—may their names be
extolled for ever!—were ever entirely just, or wise, or prudent. The
Caliph was subject to fits of jealousy and mistrust, which frequently led
him to commit acts that obliged him, afterwards, to eat of the bitter
fruit of repentance; and as for Zubeydeh, with all her wisdom she had
a sharp tongue in her head, and was often so little discreet as to say
things which brought upon her the displeasure of the Commander of the
Faithful.
“It chanced that, once upon a time, they were both seated in a window of
the _hareem_, which overlooked one of the streets of Baghdad. The Caliph
was in an ill-humor, for a beautiful Georgian slave whom his vizier had
recently brought him, had disappeared from the harem, and he saw in
this the work of Zubeydeh, who was always jealous of any rival to her
beauty. Now as they were sitting there, looking down into the street,
a poor wood-cutter came along, with a bundle of sticks upon his head.
His body was lean with poverty, and his only clothing was a tattered
cloth, bound around his waist. But the most wonderful thing was, that
in passing through the wood where he had collected his load, a serpent
had seized him by the heel, but his feet were so hardened by toil that
they resembled the hoofs of a camel, and he neither felt the teeth of
the serpent, nor knew that he was still dragging it after him as he
walked. The Caliph marvelled when he beheld this, but Zubeydeh exclaimed:
‘See, O Commander of the Faithful! there is the man’s wife!’ ‘What!’
exclaimed Haroun, with sudden wrath: ‘Is the wife then a serpent to the
man, which stings him none the less because he does not feel it? Thou
serpent, because thou hast stung me, and because thou hast made sport of
the honest poverty of that poor creature, thou shalt take the serpent’s
place!’ Zubeydeh answered not a word, for she knew that to speak would
but increase the Caliph’s anger. Haroun clapped his hands thrice, and
presently Mesrour, his chief eunuch, appeared. ‘Here Mesrour!’ said he,
‘take this woman with thee, follow yonder wood-cutter, and present her to
him as his wife, whom the Caliph hath ordered him to accept.’
“Mesrour laid his hands upon his breast and bowed his head, in token of
obedience. He then beckoned to Zubeydeh, who rose, covered herself with
a veil and a feridjee, such as is worn by the wives of the poor, and
followed him. When they had overtaken the wood-cutter, Mesrour delivered
to him the message of the Caliph, and presented to him the veiled
Zubeydeh. ‘There is no God but God!’ said the poor man; ‘but how can I
support a wife—I, who can scarcely live by my own labors?’ ‘Dost thou
dare to disobey the Commander of the Faithful?’ cried Mesrour, in such
a savage tone, that the man trembled from head to foot; but Zubeydeh,
speaking for the first time, said: ‘Take me with thee, O Man! since it is
the Caliph’s will. I will serve thee faithfully, and perhaps the burden
of thy poverty may be lightened through me.’ The man thereupon obeyed,
and they proceeded together to his house, which was in a remote part
of the city. There were but two miserable rooms, with a roof which was
beginning to fall in, from decay. The wood-cutter, having thrown down
his bundle, went out to the bazaar, purchased some rice and a little
salt, and brought a jar of water from the fountain. This was all he could
afford, and Zubeydeh, who had kindled a fire in the mean time, cooked it
and placed it before him. But when he would have had her raise her veil
and sit down to eat with him, she refused, saying: ‘I have promised that
I shall not increase the burden of thy poverty. Promise me, in return,
that thou wilt never seek to look upon my face, nor to enter that room,
which I have chosen for my apartment. I am not without learning, O Man!
and if thou wilt respect my wishes, it shall be well for thee.’
“The wood-cutter, who was not naturally deficient in intelligence,
perceived from the words of Zubeydeh that she was a superior person,
and, judging that he could not do better than to follow her counsel,
promised at once all that she desired. She then declared, that as she
intended to take charge of his household, he must give to her, every
evening, all the money he had received for his wood during the day. The
man consented to this likewise, produced a handful of copper coins, which
altogether amounted to only one piastre—but you must know, my master,
that a piastre, in the days of Haroun Al-Raschid, was four or five times
as much as it is nowadays. Thus they lived together for several weeks,
the wood-cutter going to the forest every day, and paying his gains every
night into the hands of Zubeydeh, who kept his miserable house clean
and comfortable and prepared his food. She managed things with so much
economy that she was enabled to save two paràs every day, out of the
piastre which he gave her. When she had amassed twenty piastres in this
way, she gave them to the wood-cutter, saying: ‘Go now to the market
and buy thee an ass with this money. Thou canst thus bring home thrice
as much wood as before, and the ass can subsist upon the grass which he
finds in the forest, and which costs thee nothing.’ ‘By Allah!’ exclaimed
the wood-cutter; ‘thou art a wonderful woman, and I will obey thee in
every thing.’
“He forthwith did as Zubeydeh ordered, and was now enabled to give
her three or four piastres every evening. She presented him with a
more decent garment, and added butter to his pillau of rice, but still
preserved such a strict economy, that in a short time he was master of
three asses instead of one, and was obliged to hire a man to assist him
in cutting wood. One evening, as the asses came home with their loads,
Zubeydeh remarked that the wood gave out a grateful fragrance, like that
of musk or ambergris, and upon examining it more closely, she found that
it was a most precious article—in fact, that it had been cut from one
of those spicy trees which sprang up where the tears of Adam fell upon
the Earth, as he bewailed his expulsion from Paradise. For at that time
the juices of the fruits of Paradise still remained in his body, and
his tears were flavored by them—which was the cause of all the spices
that grow in the lands of Serendib and India. Zubeydeh asked of the
wood-cutter: ‘To whom dost thou sell this wood?’ and from his answer she
found that it was all purchased by some Jewish merchants, who gave him no
more for it than for the common wood with which she cooked his rice. ‘The
accursed Jews!’ she exclaimed: ‘Go thou to them immediately, and threaten
to accuse them before the Cadi of defrauding a son of the Faith, unless
they agree to pay thee for this wood henceforth, twelve times as much as
they have paid before!’
“The man lost no time in visiting the Jewish merchants, who, when they
saw that their fraud had been discovered, were greatly alarmed, and
immediately agreed to pay him all that he demanded. The wood-cutter now
brought home every night three donkey-loads of the precious wood, and
paid to Zubeydeh from one to two hundred piastres. She was soon able to
purchase a better house, where she not only gave the man more nourishing
food, but sent for a teacher to instruct him how to read and write. He
had so improved in appearance by this time, and had profited so well by
the wise conversation of Zubeydeh, that he was quite like another person,
and those who had known him in his poverty no longer recognized him. For
this reason, the Caliph, who soon repented of his anger towards Zubeydeh
and made every effort to recover her, was unable to find any trace of
him. Mesrour sought day and night through the streets of Baghdad, but as
Zubeydeh never left the wood-cutter’s house, all his search was in vain,
and the Caliph was like one distracted.
“One day, as the wood-cutter was on his way to the forest, he was met by
three persons, who desired to hire his asses for the day. ‘But,’ said
he, ‘I make my living from the wood which the asses carry to the city.’
‘What profit do you make upon each load?’ asked one of the men. ‘If it
is a good load, I often make fifty piastres,’ answered the wood-cutter.
‘Well,’ said the men, ‘we will give you two hundred piastres as the hire
of each ass, for one day.’ The wood-cutter, who had not expected such an
extraordinary offer, was about to accept it at once, when he reflected
that he had obeyed in all things the advice of Zubeydeh, and ought not
to take such a step without her consent. He thereupon requested the men
to wait while he returned home and consulted his wife. ‘You have done
right, O my lord!’ said Zubeydeh: ‘I commend your prudence, and am quite
willing that you should accept the offer of the men, as the money will
purchase other asses and repay you for the loss of the day’s profit, if
the persons should not return.’
“Now the three men were three celebrated robbers, who had amassed a vast
treasure, which they kept concealed in a cave in one of the neighboring
mountains. They hired the donkeys in order to transport this treasure to
a barque in which they had taken passage to Bassora, where they intended
to establish themselves as rich foreign merchants. But Allah, who governs
all things, allows the plans of the wicked to prosper for a time, only
that he may throw them into more utter ruin at the last. The robbers went
to their secret cave with the donkeys and loaded them with all their
spoils—great sacks of gold, of rubies, diamonds and emeralds, which the
beasts were scarcely strong enough to carry. On their way to the river
below Baghdad, where the boat was waiting for them, two of them stopped
to drink at a well, while the other went on with the asses. Said one of
the twain to the other: “Let us kill our comrade, that we may have the
greater treasure.” He at once agreed, and they had no sooner overtaken
the third robber, than the first, with one stroke of his sabre, made
his head fly from his body. The two then proceeded together for a short
distance, when the murderer said: ‘I must have more than half of the
treasure, because I killed our comrade.’ ‘If you begin by claiming more
than half, you will in the end claim the whole,’ said the other robber,
who refused to agree. They presently set upon each other with their
swords, and after fighting for some time, both of them received so many
wounds that they fell dead in the road.
“The asses, finding that no one was driving them any longer, took, from
habit, the road to the wood-cutter’s house, where they arrived safely,
with the treasure upon their backs. Great was the amazement of their
master, who, at Zubeydeh’s command, carried the heavy sacks into the
house. But when he had opened one of them, and the splendor of the jewels
filled the whole room, Zubeydeh exclaimed: ‘God is great! Now, indeed, I
see that my conduct is acceptable to Him, and that His hand hurries my
design more swiftly to its completion.’ But, as she knew not what had
happened to the robbers, and supposed that the owner of the treasure
would have his loss proclaimed in the bazaars, she determined to keep the
sacks closed for the space of a moon, after which, according to the law,
they would become her property, if they had not been claimed in the mean
time. Of course, no proclamation of the loss was made, and at the end
of the moon, she considered that she had a just right to the treasure,
which, upon computation proved to be even greater than that of the Caliph
Haroun Al-Raschid.
“She commanded the wood-cutter to send her at once the most renowned
architect of Baghdad, whom she directed to build, exactly opposite to
the Caliph’s Palace, another palace which should surpass in splendor any
thing that had ever been beheld. For the purchase of the materials and
the hire of the workmen, she gave him a hundred thousand pieces of gold.
‘If men ask,’ said she, ‘for whom you are building the palace, tell them
it is for the son of a foreign king.’ The architect employed all the
workmen in Baghdad, and followed her instructions so well, that in two
months the palace was finished. The like of it had never been seen, and
the Caliph’s palace faded before its magnificence as the face of the moon
fades when the sun has risen above the horizon. The walls were of marble,
white as snow; the gates of ivory, inlaid with pearl; the domes were
gilded, so that when the sun shone, the eye could not look upon them; and
from a great fountain of silver, in the court-yard, a jet of rose-colored
water, which diffused an agreeable odor, leaped into air. Of this palace
it might be said, in the words of the poet: ‘Truly it resembles Paradise;
or is it the lost House of Irem, built from the treasures of King
Sheddad? May kindness dwell upon the lips of the lord of this palace, and
charity find refuge in his heart, that he be adjudged worthy to enjoy
such splendor!’
“During the building of the palace, Zubeydeh employed the best masters
in teaching the wood-cutter all the accomplishments which his present
condition required that he should possess. In a short time he was a very
pattern of elegance in his manner; his words were choice and spoken with
dignity and propriety, and his demeanor was that of one born to command
rather than to obey. When she had succeeded to the full extent of her
wishes, she commenced teaching him to play chess, and spent several hours
a day in this manner, until he finally played with a skill equal to her
own. By this time, the palace was completed, and after having purchased
horses and slaves, and every thing necessary to the maintenance of a
princely household, Zubeydeh and the wood-cutter took possession of it
during the night, in order that they might not be observed by the Caliph.
Zubeydeh bade the wood-cutter remember the promise he had made her. She
still retained her own apartments, with a number of female slaves to
attend her, and she now presented to him, as a harem becoming a prince,
twenty Circassian girls, each one fairer than the morning-star.
“The next morning she called the wood-cutter, and addressed him thus:
‘You see, my lord! what I have done for you. You remember in what
misery I found you, and how, by your following my advice, every thing
was changed. I intend to exalt you still higher, and in order that my
plans may not be frustrated, I now ask you to promise that you will
obey me in all things, for a month from this time.’ Zubeydeh made this
demand, for she knew how quickly a change of fortune may change a man’s
character, and how he will soon come to look upon that as a right which
Allah granted him as a boon. But the wood-cutter threw himself at her
feet, and said: ‘O Queen! it is for you to command, and it is for me to
obey. You have taught me understanding and wisdom; you have given me the
wealth of kings. May Allah forget me, if I forget to give you, in return,
gratitude and obedience.’ ‘Go, then,’ continued Zubeydeh, ‘mount this
horse, and attended by twenty slaves on horseback, visit the coffee-house
in the great bazaar. Take with thee a purse of three thousand pieces of
gold, and as thou goest on thy way, scatter a handful occasionally among
the beggars. Take thy seat in the coffee-house, where thou wilt see the
Vizier’s son, who is a skilful player of chess. He will challenge the
multitude to play with him, and when no one accepts, do thou engage him
for a thousand pieces of gold. Thou wilt win; but pay him the thousand
pieces as if thou hadst lost, give two hundred pieces to the master of
the coffee-house, divide two hundred pieces among the attendants, and
scatter the remainder among the beggars.’
“The wood-cutter performed all that Zubeydeh commanded. He accepted the
challenge of the Vizier’s son, won the game, yet paid him a thousand
pieces of gold as if he had lost, and then rode back to the palace,
followed by the acclamations of the multitude, who were loud in their
praises of his beauty, the elegance of his speech, his unbounded
munificence, and the splendor of his attendance. Every day he visited the
coffee-house, gave two hundred pieces of gold to the master, two hundred
to the servants, and distributed six hundred among the beggars. But the
Vizier’s son, overcome with chagrin at his defeat, remained at home,
where, in a few days, he sickened and died. These things coming to the
Vizier’s ear, he felt a great desire to see the foreign prince, whose
wealth and generosity were the talk of all Baghdad; and as he believed
himself to be the greatest chess-player in the world, he determined to
challenge him to a game. He thereupon visited the coffee-house, where
he had not remained long when the wood-cutter made his appearance, in
even greater splendor than before. This was in accordance with the
instructions of Zubeydeh, who was informed of all that had taken place.
He at once accepted the Vizier’s challenge to play, for a stake of two
thousand pieces of gold. After a hard-fought battle, the Vizier was
fairly beaten, but the wood-cutter paid him the two thousand pieces of
gold, as if he had lost the game, gave away another thousand as usual,
and retired to his palace.
“The Vizier took his defeat so much to heart, that his chagrin, combined
with grief for the loss of his son, carried him off in a few days. This
circumstance brought the whole history to the ears of Haroun Al-Raschid
himself, who was immediately seized with a strong desire to play chess
with the foreign prince, not doubting but that, as he had always beaten
his Vizier, he would be more than a match for the new antagonist.
Accordingly he sent an officer to the palace of the wood-cutter, with
a message that the Commander of the Faithful desired to offer his
hospitality to the son of the foreign king. By Zubeydeh’s advice, the
invitation was accepted, and the officer speedily returned to Haroun
Al-Raschid, to whom he gave such a description of the magnificence
of the new palace, that the Caliph’s mouth began to water, and he
exclaimed: ‘By Allah! I must look to this. No man, who has not the ring
of Solomon on his finger, shall surpass me in my own capital!’ In a
short time the wood-cutter arrived, attired in such splendor that the
day seemed brighter for his appearance, and attended by forty black
slaves, in dresses of crimson silk, with turbans of white and gold,
and golden swords by their sides. They formed a double row from the
court-yard to the throne-hall where the Caliph sat, and up the avenue
thus formed the wood-cutter advanced, preceded by two slaves in dresses
of cloth-of-silver, who placed at the Caliph’s feet two crystal goblets
filled with rubies and emeralds of immense size. The Caliph, delighted
with this superb present, rose, embraced the supposed prince, and seated
him by his side. From the great wealth displayed by the wood-cutter, and
the perfect grace and propriety of his manners, the Caliph suspected that
he was no less a personage than the son of the King of Cathay.
“After a handsome repast had been served, the Caliph proposed a game of
chess, stating that he had heard much of the prince’s skill in playing.
‘After I shall have played with you, O Commander of the Faithful!’ said
the wood-cutter, ‘you will hear no more of my skill.’ The Caliph was
charmed with the modesty of this speech, and the compliment to himself,
and they immediately began to play. The wood-cutter, although he might
easily have beaten the Caliph, suffered the latter to win the first
game, which put him into the best humor possible. But when the second
game had been played, and the wood-cutter was the victor, he perceived
that the Caliph’s face became dark, and his good-humor was gone. ‘You
are too generous to your servant, O Caliph!’ said he; ‘had you not given
me this success as an encouragement, I should have lost a second time.’
At these words Haroun smiled, and they played a third game, which the
wood-cutter purposely allowed him to win. Such was the counsel given to
him by Zubeydeh, who said: ‘If thou permittest him to win the first game,
he will be so well pleased, that thou mayest venture to defeat him on the
second game. Then, when he has won the third game, thy having been once
victorious will magnify his opinion of his own skill; for where we never
suffer defeat, we at last regard our conquests with indifference.’
“The result was precisely as Zubeydeh had predicted. The Caliph was
charmed with the foreign prince, and in a few days made him his Vizier.
The wood-cutter filled his exalted station with dignity and judgment, and
became at once a great favorite with the people of Baghdad. The month of
obedience which he promised to Zubeydeh was now drawing to a close, when
she said to him: ‘Cease to visit the Caliph, and do not leave thy palace
for two or three days. When the Caliph sends for thee, return for answer
that thou art ill.’ She foresaw that the Caliph would then come to see
his Vizier, and gave the wood-cutter complete instructions, concerning
what he should say and do.
“Haroun Al-Raschid no sooner heard of the illness of his Vizier, than
he went personally to his palace, to see him. He was amazed at the
size and splendor of the edifice. ‘Truly,’ said he, striking his hands
together, ‘this man hath found the ring of Solomon, which compels the
assistance of the genii. In all my life I have never seen such a palace
as this.’ He found the Vizier reclining on a couch of cloth-of-gold, in
a chamber, the walls whereof were of mother-of-pearl, and the floor of
ivory. There was a fountain of perfumed water in the centre, and beside
it stood a jasmine-tree, growing in a vase of crystal. ‘How is this?’
said the Caliph, seating himself on one end of the couch; ‘a man whom the
genii serve, should have the secrets of health in his hands.’ ‘It is no
fever,’ said the Vizier; ‘but the other day as I was washing myself in
the fountain, before the evening prayer, I stooped too near the jasmine
tree, and one of its thorns scratched my left arm.’ ‘What!’ cried the
Caliph, in amazement; ‘the scratch of a blunt jasmine-thorn has made
you ill!’. ‘You wonder at it, no doubt, O Commander of the Faithful!’
said the Vizier; ‘because, only a few months ago, you saw that I was
insensible to the fangs of a serpent, which had fastened upon my heel.’
‘There is no God but God!’ exclaimed Haroun Al-Raschid, as by these words
he recognized the poor wood-cutter, who had passed under the window of
his palace—‘hast thou indeed found the ring of Solomon?—and where is the
woman whom Mesrour, at my command, brought to thee?’
“‘She is here!’ said Zubeydeh, entering the door. She turned towards
the Caliph, and slightly lifting her veil, showed him her face, more
beautiful than ever. Haroun, with a cry of joy, was on the point of
clasping her in his arms, when he stopped suddenly, and said: ‘But thou
art now the wife of that man.’ ‘Not so, great Caliph!’ exclaimed the
Vizier who rose to his feet, now that there was no longer any need to
affect illness; ‘from the day that she entered my house, I have never
seen her face. By the beard of the Prophet, she is not less pure than
she is wise. It is she who has made me all that I am. Obedience to her
was the seed from which the tree of my fortune has grown.’ Zubeydeh then
knelt at the Caliph’s feet, and said: ‘O Commander of the Faithful,
restore me to the light of your favor. I swear to you that I am not
less your wife than when the cloud of your anger overshadowed me. This
honorable man has never ceased to respect me. My thoughtless words led
you to send me forth to take the place of the serpent, but I have now
shown you that a wife may also be to her husband as the staff, whereon
he leans for support; as the camel, which bringeth him riches; as the
tent, which shelters and protects him; as the bath, which maketh him
comely, and as the lamp, whereby his steps are enlightened.’
“Haroun Al-Raschid had long since bitterly repented of his rashness and
cruelty. He now saw in what had happened, the hand of Allah, who had
turned that which he had intended as a punishment, into a triumph. He
restored Zubeydeh at once to his favor, and to the wood-cutter, whom
he still retained as Vizier, he gave his eldest daughter in marriage.
All the citizens of Baghdad took part in the festivities, which lasted
two weeks, and the Caliph, to commemorate his gratitude, built a superb
mosque, which is called the Mosque of the Restoration to this very day.
The Vizier nobly requited all the pains which the Sultana Zubeydeh had
taken with his education, and showed so much wisdom and justice in
his administration of the laws, that the Caliph never had occasion to
be dissatisfied with him. Thus they all lived together in the utmost
happiness and concord, until they were each, in turn, visited by the
Terminator of Delights and the Separator of Companions.”
So ended Achmet’s story; but without the moonlight, the tall
Ethiopian palms and the soothing pipe, as accessories, I fear that
this reproduction of it retains little of the charm which I found in
the original. It was followed by other and wilder tales, stamped in
every part with the unmistakable signet of the Orient. They were all
characterized by the belief in an inevitable Destiny, which seems to
be the informing soul of all Oriental literature. This belief affords
every liberty to the poet and romancer, and the Arabic authors have not
scrupled to make liberal use of it. There is no hazard in surrounding
your hero with all sorts of real and imaginary dangers, or in heaping
up obstacles in the path of his designs, when you know that his destiny
obliges him to overcome them. He becomes, for the time, the impersonation
of Fate, and circumstances yield before him. You see, plainly, that he
was chosen, in the beginning, to do the very thing which he accomplishes,
in the end. If a miracle is needed for his success, it is not withheld.
Difficulties crowd upon him to the last, only that the final triumph
may be more complete and striking. Yet with all these violations of
probability, the Oriental tales exhibit a great fertility of invention
and sparkle with touches of genuine human nature. The deep and absorbing
interest with which the unlettered Arabs listen to their recital—the hold
which they have upon the popular heart of the East—attests their value,
as illustrations of Eastern life.
From Poetry we frequently passed to Religion, and Achmet was astonished
to find me familiar not only with Mohammed, but with Ali and Abdullah
and Abu-talib, and with many incidents of the Prophet’s life, which were
new to him. The Persian chronicles were fresh in my memory, and all the
wonders related of Mohammed by that solemn old biographer, Mohammed
Bekr, came up again as vividly as when I first read them. We compared
notes, he repeated passages of the Koran, and so the Giaour and the True
Believer discussed the nature of their faith, but always ended by passing
beyond Prophet and Apostle, to the one great and good God, who is equally
merciful to all men. I could sincerely adopt the first article of his
faith: “_La illah il’ Allah!_” “There is no God but God,” while he was
equally ready to accept the first commandment of mine.