A certain man had a fair wife, whom he loved so dearly that he
could scarcely allow her to be out of his sight. One day, being
obliged to go abroad about urgent affairs, he came to a place
where all sorts of birds were sold, and there bought a parrot,
which not only spoke very well, but could also give an account of
every thing that was done before it. He brought it in a cage to
his house, prayed his wife to put it in the chamber, and to take
care of it, during a journey he was obliged to undertake, and
then went out.
At his return, he took care to ask the parrot concerning what had
passed in his absence, and the bird told him things that gave him
occasion to upbraid his wife. She thought some of her slaves had
betrayed her, but all of them swore they had been faithful to
her; and they all agreed that it must have been the parrot that
had told tales.
Upon this, the wife bethought herself of a way how, she might
remove her husband's jealousy, and at the same time revenge
herself on the parrot, which she effected thus: Her husband being
gone another journey, she commanded a slave, in the night time,
to turn a hand-mill under the parrot's cage; she ordered another
to throw water, in form of rain, over the cage; and a third to
take a glass, and turn it to the right and to the left before the
parrot, so as the reflections of the candle might shine on its
face. The slaves spent great part of the night in doing what
their mistress commanded them, and acquitted themselves very
dexterously.
Next night the husband returned, and examined the parrot again
about what had passed during his absence. The bird answered, Good
master, the lightning, thunder, and rain, did so much disturb me
all night, that I cannot tell how much I suffered by it. The
husband, who knew that there had been neither thunder, lightning,
nor rain that night, fancied that the parrot, not having told him
the truth in this, might also have lied to him in the other; upon
which he took it out of the cage, and threw it with so much force
to the ground that he killed it; yet afterwards he understood, by
his neighbours, that the poor parrot had not lied to him when it
gave him an account of his wife's base conduct, which made him
repent that he had killed it. Scheherazade stopped here, because
she saw it was day.
All that you tell us, sister, says Dinarzade is so curious, that
nothing can be more agreeable. I shall be willing to divert you,
answers Scheherazade, if the sultan, my master, will allow me
time to do it. Schahriar, who took as much pleasure to hear the
sultaness as Dinarzade, rose, and went about his affairs, without
ordering the vizier to cut her off.
The Fifteenth Night.
Dinarzade was punctual this night, as she had been the former, to
awake her sister, and begged of her, as usual, to tell her a
story. I am going to do it, sister, says Scheherazade; but the
sultan interrupted her, for fear she should begin a new story,
and bid her finish the discourse between the Grecian king and his
vizier about his physician Douban. Sir, says Scheherazade, I will
obey you, and went on with the story as follows.
When the Grecian king, says the fisherman to the genie, had
finished the story of the parrot; and you, vizier, adds he,
because of the hatred you bear to the physician Douban, who never
did you any hurt, you would have me cut him off; but I will take
care of that, for fear I should repent it, as the husband did the
killing of his parrot.
The mischievous vizier was too much concerned to effect the ruin
of the physician Douban to stop here. Sir, says he, the death of
the parrot was but a trifle, and I believe his master did not
mourn for him long. But why should your fear of wronging an
innocent man hinder your putting this physician to death? Is it
not enough that he is accused of a design against your life to
authorize you to take away his? When the business in question is
to secure the life of a king, bare suspicion ought to pass for
certainty; and it is better to sacrifice the innocent than to
spare the guilty. But, sir, this is not an uncertain thing; the
physician Douban has certainly a mind to assassinate you. It is
not envy which makes me his enemy; it is only the zeal and
concern I have for preserving your majesty's life, that make me
give you my advice in a matter of this importance. If it be
false, I deserve to be punished in the same manner as a vizier
was formerly punished. What had that vizier done, says the
Grecian king, to deserve punishment? I will inform your majesty
of that, says the vizier, if you will be pleased to hear me.