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"Legitimate. Pray, good Menouni, what may that word mean?"
"Legitimate, your sublime highness, implies that a king and his
descendants are chosen by Allah to reign over a people."
"Well, but I don't see that Allah had much to do with the choice of
Acota."
"Nor with the choice of any other king, I suspect, your sublime
highness; but still the people were made to believe so, and that is all
that is sufficient. Allah does not interfere in the choice of any but
those who reign over true believers. The sultan is the Holy Prophet's
vicegerent on earth--and he, guided by the Prophet, invests virtue and
wisdom with the kalaats of dignity, in the persons of his pachas."
"Very true," said the pacha, "the sultan is guided by Allah, and,"
continued he in a low tone to Mustapha, "a few hundred purses to boot.
Menouni, you may proceed."
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Amidst the cries of "Long live Acota, Souffraria's legitimate king!"
Acota was led to the throne by the attendant grandees of the nation,
where he received the homage of all present. It was arranged by the
grandees and mollahs that the marriage should take place the next day.
The assembly broke up, and hastened in every direction to make
preparations for the expected ceremony.
But who can describe the jealousy, the envy, and the indignation which
swelled in the breasts of Mezrimbi and his father, the chief brahmin?
They met, they consulted, they planned, and they schemed. Acota was not
yet king, although he was proclaimed as such--he was not king until his
marriage with the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu, "the cream tart of
delight," and should he be scarred or blemished before the marriage of
the ensuing day, then must the brahmin, by the will of the old king,
choose his successor; and who could he choose but his own son?
"Father," said young Mezrimbi, his beautiful countenance distorted by
the vilest passions of Jehanum, "I have planned as follows:--I have
mutes ready to obey my wishes, and a corrosive burning acid, which will
eat deeply into the flesh of the proud Acota. I know that he will pass
the time away in the garden of the royal grove. I know even the bower
in which he hath wooed and won the fair princess. Let us call these
mutes, explain to them what we wish, and by to-morrow's sun the throne
of Souffraria will fall to the race of Mezrimbi. Are we not of the
purest blood of the plains, and is not Acota but a rayah of the
mountains?"
And the chief brahmin was pleased with his son's proposal; the mutes
were summoned, the black, tongueless, everythingless, hideous creatures,
bowed in their humility, and followed their master, who, with the chief
brahmin, ventured by a circuitous rout to invade the precincts of the
royal grove. Slowly and cautiously did they proceed towards the bower,
where, as Mezrimbi had truly said, Acota was waiting for his beloved
princess. Fortunately, as they approached, a disturbed snake, hissing
in his anger, caused an exclamation from the old brahmin, which aroused
Acota from his delicious reverie. Through the foliage he perceived and
recognised Mezrimbi, his father, and the mutes. Convinced that they
meditated mischief towards himself, he secreted himself among the
rose-bushes, lying prostrate on the ground; but in his haste, he left
his cloak and mandolin. Mezrimbi entered the bower, and explained to
the mutes by signs what it was which he desired, showed them the cloak
and mandolin to make known the object of his wrath, and put into their
hands the bottle of corrosive acid. They satisfied him that they
comprehended his wishes, and the party then retired, the chief brahmin
quitting the grove for his own house, the mutes lying in wait under some
bushes for the arrival of Acota, and Mezrimbi walking away into the
recesses of the grove, anxious as to the issue of the plot. Acota,
perfectly aware of what was intended, laughed in his sleeve, and thanked
Allah for this fortunate discovery; he crawled away on his hands and
knees, so as not to be perceived, and hid himself, with his cloak and
mandolin, watching in turn the motions of the others--and thus did all
parties watch until the sun descended behind the blue hills which
divided the kingdom of Souffraria from that of the other kingdom, which
my treacherous memory has dared to forget in your highness's sublime
presence. Mezrimbi was the only one who was not motionless: he paced up
and down in all the anxiety of anticipation and doubt, and at last he
stopped, and, tired out with contending feelings, sat down at the foot
of a tree, close to where Acota was concealed. The nightingale was
pouring forth her sweet melody, and friendly to lovers, she continued it
until Mezrimbi, who had listened to it, and whose angry feelings had
been soothed with her dulcet strains, fell fast asleep. Acota perceived
it, and approaching him softly, laid his cloak over him, and taking up
his mandolin, struck a chord which he knew would not be lost upon the
quick-eared mutes, although not so loud as to awake Mezrimbi. Acota was
right; in a minute he perceived the dark beings crawling through the
underwood like the jackals who had scented out their prey, and Acota was
again concealed in the thick foliage. They approached like shadows in
the dark, and perceived the sleeping Mezrimbi with the cloak of Acota
and the mandolin, which Acota, after striking it, had laid by his side.
It was sufficient. Mezrimbi's face was covered with the burning acid
before even he was awakened; his screams were smothered in a shawl, and
satisfied with having obeyed the injunctions of their master, the mutes
hastened back to report their success, taking, however, the precaution
of tying the hands and feet of Mezrimbi, that he might not go home to
receive any help in his distress. They escaped out of the gardens, and
reported to the chief brahmin the success of the operations, and how
they had left him, Acota, in the woods. The old Mezrimbi, upon
reflection, thought it advisable that the person of Acota should be in
his power, that he might be able to produce him when required upon the
ensuing day. He therefore desired the mutes to go back and bring Acota
to the house, keeping a strict guard that he might not escape.
When the mutes had quitted Mezrimbi, Acota rose from his hiding-place,
and went towards the unfortunate wretch, who still groaned with pain,
but his face was muffled up in the shawl, so that his features were
hidden. At first Acota had intended to have reviled and scoffed at his
treacherous enemy, but his good heart forbade it. Another idea then
came into his head. He took off the cloak of Mezrimbi, and substituted
his own; he exchanged turbans and scymitars, and then left him and went
home. Shortly after Acota had quitted the wood, the mutes returned,
lifted the miserable Mezrimbi on their shoulders and carried him to the
house of the chief brahmin, who having ordered him to be guarded in an
out-house, said his prayers, and went to bed.
The sun rose and poured his beaming rays upon the land of Souffraria,
and thousands and thousands of the inhabitants had risen before him, to
prepare for the day of delight, the day on which they were to be blessed
with a king--the day on which the beauteous Princess Babe-bi-bobu, the
cream tart of delight, was no longer to remain unmarried. Silks and
satins from China, shawls and scarfs from Cashmere, jewels, and gold,
and diamonds--horses and camels, and elephants, were to be seen spread
over the plains, and the city of Souffra. All was joy, and jubilee, and
feasting, and talking, for the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu was that
day to be married.
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"I wish to Heaven she was," observed the pacha, impatiently.
"May it please your sublime highness, she soon will be."
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At an early hour the proclamation was made, that the princess was about
to take unto herself a husband from the high caste youths of Souffra,
and that all whom it might concern should repair to the palace, to be
present at the ceremony. As it concerned all Souffra--all Souffra was
there. The sun had nearly reached to the zenith, and looked down almost
enviously upon the gay scene beneath, broiling the brains of the good
people of Souffra, whose heads paved, as it were, the country for ten
square miles, when the beauteous Princess Babe-bi-bobu made her
appearance in the hall of audience, attended by her maidens and the
grandees of Souffra, who were the executors to her father's will. At
the head of them was the chief brahmin, who looked anxiously among the
crowd for his son Mezrimbi, who had not made his appearance that
morning. At last he espied his rich dress, his mantle, his turban and
jewelled scymitar, but his face was muffled up in a shawl, and the chief
brahmin smiled at the witty conceit of his son, that of having his own
beauteous person unmuffled as well as that of the now _scarred_ Acota.
And then silence was commanded by a thousand brazen trumpets, and
enforced by the discharge of two thousand pieces of artillery, ten
square miles of people repeated the order for silence, in loud and
reiterated shouts--and at last silence obeyed the order, and there was
silence. The chief brahmin rose, and having delivered an extemporaneous
prayer, suitable to the solemnity and importance of the occasion, he
proceeded to read the will of the late king--he then descanted upon the
Molean controversy, and how it was now an article of the Souffrarian
faith, which it was heresy and impalement not to believe, that "moles
were not scars, and only blemishes when they were considered so to be."
The choice of the princess, continued the learned brahmin, has however,
not been made; she has left to chance that which was to have proceeded
from her own free will, and that without consulting with the ministers
of our holy religion. My heart told me yesterday that such was not
right, and contrary not only to the king's will, but the will of Heaven;
and I communed deeply on the subject after I had prayed nine times--and
a dream descended on me in my sleep, and I was told that the conditions
of the will would be fulfilled. How to explain this answer from above I
know not: perhaps the youth who was fortunate in discovering the flower
is also the youth of the princess's choice.
"Even so," replied the princess, in a soft melodious voice, "and
therefore is my father's will obeyed."
"Where, then, is the fortunate youth?" said the chief brahmin; "let him
appear."
Babe-bi-bobu, who, as well as others, had in vain looked round for
Acota, was astonished at his not making his appearance, and still more
so when he did, as they thought, appear, led in by the four black mutes,
with his face enveloped in a shawl.
"This, then," said the chief brahmin, "is the favoured youth, Acota.
Remove the shawl, and lead him to the princess."
The mutes obeyed, and to the horror of Babe-bi-bobu, there stood Acota,
as she thought, with a face so scarred and burnt, that his features were
not distinguishable. She started from her throne, uttered one wild
shriek, which was said to have been heard by the whole ten square miles
of population, and fainted in the arms of her attendants.
"We know his dress, most noble grandees," continued the chief brahmin,
"but how can we recognise in that object, the youth without scar or
blemish? It is the will of Heaven," continued the chief brahmin,
piously and reverently bending low. And all the other grandees replied
in the same pious manner, "It is the will of Heaven."
"I say," continued the chief brahmin, "that this must have been
occasioned by the princess not having chosen as ordained by the will of
her father, but having impiously left to chance what was to have been
decided by free will. Is not the hand, the finger of Providence made
manifest?" continued he, appealing to the grandees. And they all bowed
low, and declared that the hand and finger of Providence were manifest;
while the mutes, who knew that it was their hands and fingers which had
done the deed, chuckled as well as they could with the remnants of their
tongues. "And now," continued the chief brahmin, "we must obey the will
of the late king, which expressly states, that if any accident should
happen after the choice of the princess had been made, that I, the chief
of our holy religion, should select her husband. By virtue, then, of my
power, I call thee forth, my son, Mezrimbi, to take his place. Bow down
to Mezrimbi, the future king of Souffraria."
Acota, muffled up to the eyes, and dressed in the garments of Mezrimbi,
stepped forth, and the chief brahmin, and all present, in pursuance to
his order, prostrated themselves before Acota, with their foreheads in
the dust. Acota took that opportunity of removing the shawl, and, when
they rose up, stood by the throne, resplendent in his beauty and his
pride. At the sight of him, the chief brahmin raised a cry, which was
heard, not only further than the shriek of the beautiful Princess
Babe-bi-bobu, but had the effect of recalling her to life and
recollection. All joined in the cry of astonishment when they beheld
Acota in the garments of Mezrimbi.
"Who, then, art thou?" exclaimed the chief brahmin, to his son, in
Acota's dress.
"I am," exclaimed his son, exhausted with pain and mortification, "I
am--I was Mezrimbi."
"Grandees," cried Acota, "as the chief brahmin has already asserted, and
as you have agreed, in that you behold the finger of Heaven, which ever
punishes hypocrisy, cruelty, and injustice;" and the chief brahmin fell
down in a fit, and was carried out, with his unfortunate son Mezrimbi.
In the meantime the beauteous Princess Babe-bi-bobu had recovered, and
was in the arms of Acota, who, resigning her to her attendant maidens,
addressed the assembly in a speech of so much eloquence, so much beauty,
and so much force, that it was written down in letters of gold, being
considered the _ne plus ultra_ of the Souffrarian language; he explained
to them the nefarious attempt of Mezrimbi to counteract the will of
Heaven, and how he had fallen into the snare which he had laid for
others. And when he had finished, the whole assembly hailed him as
their king; and the population, whose heads paved, as it were, a space
of ten square miles, cried out, "Long life to the king Acota, and his
beautiful princess Babe-bi-bobu, the cream tart of delight!"
Who can attempt to describe the magnificent procession which took place
that evening, who can describe the proud and splendid bearing of king
Acota, or the beaming eyes of the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu.
Shall I narrate how the nightingales sang themselves to death--shall I--
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"No, pray don't," interrupted the pacha, "only let us know one thing--
was the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu married at last?"
"She was, that very evening, your sublime highness."
"Allah be praised!" rejoined the pacha. "Mustapha, let Menouni know
what it is to tell a story to a pacha, even though it is rather a long
one, and I thought the princess would never have been married." And the
pacha rose and waddled to his harem.