Then said she:--I have heard, O auspicious King, that early next

day the two Princes Bahman and Parwez rode as aforetime to the

hunting-ground and met Khusrau Shah, who asked them, saying,

"What answer bring ye from your sister?" Hereupon the elder

brother advancing said, "O shadow of Allah, verily we are thy

slaves and whatever thou deign bid that we are ready to obey.

These less than the least have referred the matter to their

sister and have obtained their consent; nay more, she blamed and

chided them for that they did not hurry to carry out the commands

of the Refuge of the World the moment they were delivered.

Therefore being sore displeased at us, she desireth us on her

behalf to plead forgiveness with the Sháhinshah[FN#372] for this

offence by us offered." Replied the King, "No crime have ye

committed to call forth the royal displeasure: nay more, it

delighteth the Shadow of Allah exceedingly to see the love ye

twain bear towards your sister." Hearing such words of

condescension and kindliness from the Shah, the Princes held

their peace and hung their heads for shame groundwards; and the

King who that day was not keen, according to his custom, after

the chase, whenever he saw the brothers hold aloof, called them

to his presence and heartened their hearts with words of favour;

and presently, when a-weary of sport, he turned the head of his

steed palace-ward and deigned order the Princes to ride by his

side. The Wazirs and Councillors and Courtiers one and all fumed

with envy and jealousy to see two unknowns entreated with such

especial favour; and as they rode at the head of the suite adown

the market-street all eyes were turned upon the youths and men

asked one of other, "Who be the two who ride beside the Shah?

Belong they to this city, or come they from some foreign land?"

And the folk praised and blessed them saying, "Allah send our

King of kings two Princes as godly and gallant as are these twain

who ride beside him. If our hapless Queen who languisheth in

durance had brought forth sons, by Allah's favour they would now

be of the same age as these young lords." But as soon as the

cavalcade reached the palace the King alighted from his horse and

led the Princes to his private chamber, a splendid retreat

magnificently furnished, wherein a table had been spread with

sumptuous meats and rarest cates; and having seated himself

thereat he motioned them to do likewise. Hereupon the brothers

making low obeisance also took their seats and ate in well-bred

silence with respectful mien. Then the Shah, desiring to warm

then into talk[FN#373] and thereby to test their wit and wisdom,

addressed them on themes galore and asked of them many questions;

and, inasmuch as they had been taught well and trained in every

art and science, they answered with propriety and perfect ease.

The Shah struck with admiration bitterly regretted that Almighty

Allah had not vouchsafed to him sons so handsome in semblance and

so apt and so learned as these twain; and, for the pleasure of

listening to them, he lingered at meat longer than he was wont to

do. And when he rose from table and retired with them to his

private apartment he still sat longwhile talking with them and at

last in his admiration he exclaimed, "Never until this day have I

set eyes on youths so well brought up and so comely and so

capable as are these, and methinks 'twere hard to find their

equals anywhere." In fine quoth he, "The time waxeth late, so now

let us cheer our hearts with music." And forthright the royal

band of minstrels and musicians began to sing and perform upon

instruments of mirth and merriment, whilst dancing-girls and boys

displayed their skill, and mimes and mummers played their parts.

The Princes enjoyed the spectacle with extreme joy and the last

hours of the afternoon passed in royal revelry and regale. But

when the sun had set and evening came on, the youths craved

dismissal from the Shah with many expressions of gratitude for

the exalted favours he had deigned bestow on them; and ere they

fared forth the King of kings bespake them, saying, "Come ye

again on the morrow to our hunting-ground as heretofore, and

thence return to the palace. By the beard of the Shah, he fain

would have you always with him, and solace him with your

companionship and converse." Prince Bahman, prostrating himself

before the presence, answered, "'Tis the very end and aim of all

our wishes, O Shadow of Allah upon Earth, that on the morrow when

thou shalt come from the chase and pass by our poor house, thou

graciously deign enter and rest in it awhile, thereby conferring

the highmost of honours upon ourselves and upon our sister.

Albeit the place is not worthy of the Shahinshah's exalted

presence, yet at times do mighty Kings condescend to visit the

huts of their slaves." The King, ever more and more enchanted

with their comeliness and pleasant speech, vouchsafed a most

gracious answer, saying, "The dwelling place of youths in your

estate and degree will certainly be goodly and right worthy of

you; and the Shah willingly consenteth for the morrow to become

the guest of you twain and of your sister whom, albeit he have

not yet seen, he is assured to find perfect in all gifts of body

and mind. Do ye twain therefore about early dawn-tide expect the

Shah at the usual trysting-place." The Princes then craved leave

to wend their ways; and going home said to their sister, "O

Perizadah, the Shah hath decreed that to-morrow he will come to

our house and rest here awhile after the hunt." Said she, "An so

it be, needs must we see to it that all be made ready for a royal

banquet and we may not be put to shame when the Shadow of Allah

shall deign shade us. There is no help but that in this matter I

ask of my slave, the Speaking-Bird, what counsel he would give;

and that I prepare according thereto such meats as are meet for

him and are pleasing to the royal palate."--And as the morn began

to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till

The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-fourth Night.

Then said she:--I have heard, O auspicious King, that the Princes

both approved of her plan and went to seek repose; whereupon

Perizadah sent for the cage and setting it before her said, "O

Bird, the Shah hath made a promise and hath decreed that he will

deign honour this our house on the morrow, wherefore we must

needs make ready for our liege lord the best of banquets and I

bid thee say me what dishes should the kitcheners cook for him?"

The Speaking-Bird replied, "O my lady, thou hast the most skilful

of cooks and confectioners. Do thou bid them dress for thee the

choicest dainties, but above all others see thou with thine own

eyes that they set before the Shah a dish of new green cucumbers

stuffed with pearls." Quoth the Princess in utter wonderment,

"Never until this time heard I of such a dainty! How? Cucumbers

with a filling of pearls! And what will the King, who cometh to

eat bread and not to gaze on stones, say to such meat?

Furthermore, I have not in my possession pearls enough to serve

for even a single cucumber." Replied the Speaking-Bird, "This

were an easy matter: do thou dread naught but only act as I shall

advise thee. I seek not aught save thy welfare and would on no

wise counsel thee to thy disadvantage. As for the pearls thou

shalt collect them on this wise: go thou to-morrow betimes to the

pleasure-gardens and bid a hole be dug at the foot of the first

tree in the avenue by thy right hand, and there shalt thou find

of pearls as large a store as thou shalt require." So after dawn

on the next day Princess Perizadah bade a gardener-lad accompany

her and fared to the sire within the pleasure-gardens whereof the

Speaking-Bird had told her. Here the boy dug a hole both deep and

wide when suddenly his spade struck upon somewhat hard, and he

removed with his hands the earth and discovered to view a golden

casket well nigh one foot square. Hereupon the young gardener

showed it to the Princess who explained, "I brought thee with me

for this very reason. Take heed and see that no harm come to it,

but dig it out and bring it to me with all care." When the lad

did her bidding she opened it forthright and found it filled with

pearls and unions fresh from the sea, round as rings and all of

one and the same size perfectly fitted for the purpose which the

Speaking-Bird had proposed. Perizadah rejoiced with extreme joy

at the sight and taking up the box walked back with it to the

house; and the Princes who had seen their sister faring forth

betimes with the gardener-lad and had wondered why she went to

the park thus early unaccording to her wonted custom, catching

sight of her from the casement quickly donned their walking

dresses and came to meet her. And as the two brothers walked

forwardes they saw the Princess approaching them with somewhat

unusual under her arm, which when they met, proved to be a golden

casket whereof they knew naught. Quoth they, "O our sister at

early light we espied thee going to the pleasure- grounds with a

gardener-lad empty handed, but now thou bringest back this golden

casket; so disclose to us where and how thou hast found it; and

haply there may be some hoard close hidden in the parterre?"

Perizadah replied, "Sooth ye say, O my brothers: I took this lad

with me and made him dig under a certain tree where we came upon

this box of pearls, at the sight whereof methinks your hearts

will be delighted." The Princess straightway opened the box and

her brothers sighting the pearls and unions were amazed with

extreme amazement and rejoiced greatly to see them. Quoth the

Princess, "Come now ye twain with me, for that I have in hand a

weighty matter;" and quoth Prince Bahman, "What is there to do? I

pray thee tell us without delay for never yet hast thou kept

aught of thy life from us." She made reply, "O my brothers, I

have naught to hide from you, nor think ye any ill of me, for I

am now about to tell you all the tale." Then she made known to

them what advice the Speaking-Bird had given to her; and they,

conning the matter over in this minds, marvelled much why her

slave had bidden them set a dish of green cucumbers stuffed with

pearls before the Shah, nor could they devise any reason for it.

Presently the Princess resumed, "The Speaking-Bird indeed is wise

and ware; so methinks this counsel must be for our advantage; and

at any rate it cannot be without some object and purpose. It

therefore behoveth us to do even as he hath commanded." Hereupon

the Princess went to her own chamber and summoning the head cook

said to him, "This day the Shah, the Shadow of Allah upon Earth,

will condescend here to eat the noon-meal. So do thou take heed

that the meats be of choiest flavour and fittest to set before

the Asylum of the World, but of all the dishes there is one thou

alone must make and let not another have a hand therein. This

shall be of the freshest green cucumbers with a stuffing of

unions and pearls."--And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held

her peace till

The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-fifth Night.

Then said she:--I have heard, O auspicious King, that the head

Cook listened to this order of the Princess with wonderment and

said in himself, "Who ever heard of such a dish or dreamed of

ordering such a one." The Lady seeing his astonishment betrayed

in his semblance without the science of thought-reading,[FN#374]

said to him, "It seemeth from thy countenance that thou deemest

me daft of wit to give thee such order. I know that no one ever

tasted a dish of the kind, but what is that to thee? Do thou e'en

as thou art bidden. Thou seest this box brimful on pearls; so

take of them as many as thou needest for the dish, and what

remaineth over leave in the box." The Kitchener who could answer

nothing in his confusion and amazement, chose as many precious

stones as he required, and presently fared away to superintend

the meats being cooked and made ready for the feast. Meanwhile

the Princess when over the house and grounds and gave directions

to the slaves about the ordinance thereof, leading especial

attention to the carpets and divans, the lamps and all other

furniture. Next day at break of dawn Princes Bahman and Parwez

rode forth in rich attire to the appointed place where they first

met the Shah, who was also punctual to his promise and vouchsafed

to join them in the hunt. Now when the sun had risen high and its

rays waxed hot, the King gave up the chase, and set forth with

the Princes to their house; and as they drew nigh thereto the

cadet pushed forwards and sent word to the Princess that the

Asylum of the World was coming in all good omen. Accordingly, he

hastened to receive him and stood waiting his arrival at the

inner entrance; and after, when the King rode up to the gate and

dismounting within the court stepped over the threshold of the

house-door, she fell down at his feet and did worship. Hereat her

brothers said, "O Asylum of the World, this is our sister of whom

we spake;" and the Shah with gracious kindness and condescension

raised her by the hand, and when he saw her face he marvelled

much at its wondrous comeliness and loveliness. He thought in

himself, "How like she is to her brothers in favour and form, and

I trow there be none of all my lieges in city or country who can

compare with them for beauty and noble bearing. This country-

house also exceedeth all that I have ever seen in splendour and

grandeur." The Princess then led the Shah through the house and

showed him all the magnificence thereof, while he rejoiced with

extreme joy at everything that met his sight. So when King

Khusrau had considered whatso was in the mansion he said to the

Princess, "This home of thine is far grander than any palace

owned by the Shah, who would now stroll about the pleasure-

garden, never doubting but that it will be delightsome at the

house." Hereat the Princess threw wide open the door whence the

grounds could be seen; and at once the King beheld before and

above all other things, the fountain which cast up incessantly,

in gerbes and jets, water clear as crystal withal golden of hue.

Seeing such prodigy he cried, "This is indeed a glorious gusher:

never before saw I one so admirable. But say me where is its

source, and by what means doth it shoot up in spurts so high?

Whence cometh this constant supply and in what fashion was it

formed? The Shah would fain see it near hand." "O King of kings,

and Lord of the lands," quoth the Princess, "be pleased to do

whatso thou desirest." Thereupon they went up to the fountain and

the Shah stood gazing upon it with delight when behold, he heard

a concert of sugar-sweet voices choiring with the harmony and

melody of wit-ravishing music. So he turned him around and gazed

about him to discover the singers, but no one was in sight; and

albeit he looketh both hard and near all was in vain, he heard

the voices but he could descry no songster. At length completely

baffled he exclaimed, "Whence come these most musical of sounds;

and rise they from the bowels of earth or are they floating in

the depths of air? They fill the heart with rapture, but

strangely surprise the senses to see that no one singer is in

sight." Replied the Princess with a smile "O Lord of lords, there

are no minstrels here and the strains which strike the Shah's ear

come from yonder tree. Deign walk on, I pray thee, and examine it

well." So be advanced thereto, ever more and more enchanted with

the music, and he gazed now at the Golden-Water and now at the

Singing-Tree till lost in wonderment and amazement; then, "O

Allah," said he to himself, "is all this Nature-made or magical,

for in very deed the place is full of mystery?" Presently,

turning to the Princess quoth he, "O my lady, prithee whence came

ye by this wondrous tree which hath been planted in the

middlemost of this garden: did anyone bring it from some far

distant land as a rare gift, and by what name is it known?" Quoth

Perizadah in reply, "O King of kings, this marvel hight Singing-

Tree groweth not in our country. 'Twere long to recount whence

and by what means I obtained it; and suffice it for the present

to say that the Tree, together with the Golden-Water and the

Speaking-Bird, were all found by me at one and the same time.

Deign now accompany thy slave and look upon this third rarity;

and when the Shah shall have rested and recovered from the toils

and travails of hunting, the tale of these three strange things

shall be told to the Asylum of the World in fullest detail."

Hereto the King replied, "All the Shah's fatigue hath gone for

gazing upon these wonders; and now to visit the Speaking-Bird."--

And as the morning began to dawn Shahrazad held her peace till

The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-sixth Night.

Then said she:--I have heard, O auspicious King, that the

Princess took the King and when she had shown to him the

Speaking-Bird, they returned to the garden where he never ceased

considering the fountain with extreme surprise and presently

exclaimes, "How is this? No spring whence cometh all this water

meeteth the Shah's eye, and no channel; nor is there any

reservoir large enough to contain it." She replied, "Thou

speakest sooth, O King of kings! This jetting font hath no

source; and it springeth from a small marble basin which I filled

from a single flagon of the Golden-Water; and by the might of

Allah Almighty it increased and waxed copious until it shot up in

this huge gerbe which the Shah seeth. Furthermore it ever playeth

day and night; and, marvellous to relate, the water falling back

from that height into the basin minisheth not in quantity nor is

aught of it spilt or wasted." Hereat the King, filled with wonder

and astonishment, bade go back to the Speaking-Bird; whereupon

the Princess led him to the belvedere whence he looked out upon

thousands of all manner fowls carolling in the trees and filling

air with their hymns and prises of the Creator; so he asked his

guide, "O my lady, whence come these countless songsters which

haunt yonder tree and make the welkin resound with their

melodious notes; yet they affect none other of the trees?" Quoth

Perizadah, "O King of kings, they are all attracted by the

Speaking-Bird and flock hither to accompany his song; and for

that his cage hangeth to the window of this belvedere they prefer

only the nearest of the trees; and here he may be heard singing

sweeter notes than any of the others, nay in a plaint more

musical than that of any nightingale." And as the Shah drew nigh

the cage and gave ear to the Bird's singing, the Princess called

to her captive saying, "Ho, my slave the Bird, dost thou not

perceive the Asylum of the Universe is here that thou payest him

not due homage and worship?" Hearing these words the Speaking-

Bird forthright ceased his shrilling and at the same moment all

the other songsters sat in deepest silence; for they were loyal

to their liege lord nor durst any one utter a note when he held

his peace. The Speaking-Bird then spake in human voice saying, "O

great King, may Almighty Allah by His Might and Majesty accord

thee health and happiness;" so the Shah returned the salutation

and the Slave of Princess Perizadah ceased not to shower

blessings upon his head. Meanwhile the tables were spread after

sumptuous fashion and the choicest meats were set before the

company which was seated in due order and degree, the Shah

placing himself hard by the Speaking-Bird and close to the

casement where the cage was hung. Then the dish of green

cucumbers having been set before him, he put forth his hand to

help himself, but drew it back in wonderment when he saw that the

cucumbers, ranged in order upon the plate, were stuffed with

pearls which appeared at either end. He asked the Princess and

her brothers, "What is this dish? It cannot be meant for food;

then wherefore is it placed before the Shah? Explain to me, I

command you, what this thing meaneth." They could not give an

answer unknowing what reply to make, and as all held their peace

the Speaking-Bird answered for them saying, "O King of the Age

and the Time, dost thou deem it strange to see a dish of

cucumbers stuffed with pearls? How much stranger then it is that

thou wast not astonished to hear that the Queen thy Consort had,

contrary to the laws of Allah's ordinance, given birth to such

animals as dog and cat and musk-rat. This should have caused thee

far more of wonder, for who hath ever heard of woman bearing such

as these?" Hereat the Shah made answer to the Speaking-Bird, "All

that thou sayest is right indeed and I know that such things are

not after the law of Almighty Allah; but I believed the reports

of the midwives, the wise women who were with the Queen such time

she was brought to bed, for they were not strangers but her own

sisters, born of the same parents as herself. How then could I do

otherwise than trust their words?" Quoth the Speaking-Bird, "O

King of kings, indeed the truth of the matter is not hidden from

me. Albeit they be the sisters of thy Queen, yet seeing the royal

favours and affection towards their cadette they were consumed

with anger and hatred and despite by reason of their envy and

jealousy. So they devised evil devices against her and their

deceits at last succeeded in diverting thy thoughts from her, and

in hiding her virtues from thy sight. Now are their malice and

treason made manifest to thee; and, if thou require further

proof, do thou summon them and question them of the case. They

cannot hide it from thee and will be reduced to confess and crave

thy pardon."--And as the morn began to dawn Shahrazad held her

peace till

The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-seventh Night.

Then said she:--I have heard, O auspicious King, that the

Speaking-Bird also said to Khusrau Shah, "These two royal

brothers so comely and stalwart and this lovely Princess, their

sister, are thine own lawful children to whom the Queen thy

Consort gave birth. The midwives, thy sisters-in-law, by reason

of the blackness of their hearts and faces bore them away as soon

as they were born: indeed every time a child was given to thee

they wrapped it in a bit of blanket and putting it in a basket

committed it to the stream which floweth by the palace to the

intent that it might die an obscure death. But it so fortuned

that the Intendant of thy royal gardens espied these baskets one

and all as they floated past his grounds, and took charge of the

infants he found therein. He then caused them to be nursed and

reared with all care and, whilst they were growing up to man's

estate, he looked to their being taught every art and science;

and whilst his life endured he dealt with them and brought them

up in love and tenderness as though they had been his very own.

And now, O Khusrau Shah, wake from thy sleep of ignorance and

heedlessness, and know that these two Princes Bahman and Parwez

and the Princess Perizadah their sister are thine own issue and

thy rightful heirs." When the King heard these words and was

assured of the purport being true and understood the evil doing

of those Satans, his sisters-in-law, he said, "O Bird, I am

indeed persuaded of thy soothfastness, for when I first saw these

youths at the hunting-ground my bowels yearned with affection

towards them and my heart felt constrained to love them as though

they had been my own seed. Both they and their sister have drawn

my affections to them as a magnet draweth iron: and the voice of

blood crieth to me and compelleth me to confess the tie and to

acknowledge that they are my true children, borne in the womb of

my Queen, whose direful Destiny I have been the means of carrying

out." Then turning to the Princes and their sister he said with

tearful eyes and broken voice, "Ye are my children and henceforth

do ye regard me as your father." At this they ran to him with

rare delight and falling on his neck embraced him. Then they all

sat down to meat and when they had finished eating, Khusrau Shah

said to them, "O my children, I must now leave you, but

Inshallah--Allah willing--I will come again to-morrow and bring

with me the Queen your mother." So saying he farewelled them

fondly and mounting his horse departed to his palace; and no

sooner had he seated himself upon his throne than he summoned the

Grand Wazir and commanded him saying, "Do thou send this instant

and bind in heaviest bonds those vile women, the sisters of my

Queen; for their ill deeds have at last come to light and they

deserve to die the death of murtherers. Let the Sworder

forthright make sharp his sword; for the ground thirsteth for

their blood. Go see thyself that they are beheaded without stay

or delay: await not other order, but instantly obey my

commandment." The Grand Wazir went forth at one and in his

presence the Envious Sisters were decapitated and this underwent

fit punishment for their malice and their evil doing. After this,

Khusrau Shah with his retinue walked afoot to the Cathedral-

mosque whereby the Queen had been imprisoned for so many years in

bitter grief and tenderly embraced her. Then seeing her sad

plight and her careworn countenance and wretched attire he wept

and cried, "Allah Almighty forgive me this mine unjust and

wrongful dealing towards thee. I have put to death thy sisters

who deceitfully and despitefully raised my wrath and anger

against thee, the innocent, the guiltless; and they have received

due retribution for their misdeeds."--And as the morn began to

dawn Shahrazad held her peace till

The end of the Six Hundred and Eighty-eighth Night.

Then said she:--I have heard, O auspicious King that the King

spake kindly and fondly to his Consort, and told her all that had

betided him, and what the Speaking-Bird had made known to him,

ending with these words, "Come now with me to the palace where

thou shalt thee thy two sons and daughter grown up to become the

loveliest of things. Hie with me and embrace them and take them

to thy bosom, for they are our children, the light of our etes.

But first do thou repair to the Hammam and don thy royal robes

and jewels." Meanwhile tidings of these events were noised about

the city how the King had at length shown due favour to the

Queen, and had released her from bondage with his own hands and

prayed forgiveness for the wrongs he had done to her; and how the

Princes and the Princess had been proved to be her true-born

children, and also how Khusrau Shah had punished her sisters who

conspired against her; so joy and gladness prevailed both in city

and kingdom, and all the folk blessed the Shah's Bánú and cursed

the Satanesses her sisters. And next day when the Queen had

bathed in the Hammam and had donned royal dress and regal jewels,

she went to meet her children together with the King who led up

to her the Princes Bahman and Parwez and the Princess Perizadah

and said, "See, here are thy children, fruit of thy womb and core

of thy heart, thine own very sons and thy daughter: embrace them

with all a mother's love and extend thy favour and affection to

them even as I have done. When thou didst give them birth, thine

illomened sisters bore them away from thee and cast them into

yonder stream and said that thou hadst been delivered first of a

puppy, then of a kitten and lastly of a musk-ratling. I cannot

console myself for having credited their calumnies and the only

recompense I can make is to place in thine embrace these three

thou broughtest forth, and whom Allah Almighty hath restored to

us and hath made right worthy to be called our children." Then

the Princes and Princess fell upon their mother's neck and fondly

embraced her weeping tear-floods of joy. After this the Shah and

the Banu sai down to meat together with their children; and when

they had made an end of eating, King Khusrau Shah repaired to the

garden with his Consort that he might show her the Singing-Tree

and the fountain of Golden-Water, whereat the Queen was filled

with wonder and delight. Next they turned to the belvedere and

visited the Speaking-Bird of whom, as they sat at meat, the King

had spoken to her in highest praise, and the Queen rejoiced in

his sweet voice and melodious singing. And when they had seen all

these things, the King mounted horse, Prince Bahman riding on his

right hand and on his left Prince Parwez, while the Queen took

Princess Perizadah with her inside her litter, and thus they set

forth for the palace. As the royal cavalcade passed the city

walls and entered the capital with royal pomp and circumstance,

the subjects who had heard the glad tidings thronged in

multitudes to see their progress and volleyed shouts of

acclamation; and as the lieges had grieved aforetime to see the

Queen-consort imprisoned, so now the rejoiced with exceeding joy

to find her free once more. But chiefly they marvelled to look

upon the Speaking-Bird, for the Princess carried the cage with

her, and as they rode along thousands of sweet-toned songsters

came swarming round them from every quarter, and flew as an

escort to the cage, filling the air with marvellous music; while

flocks of others, perching upon the trees and the housetops,

carolled and warbled as it were to greet their lord's cage

accompanying the royal cavalcade. And when the palace was

reached, the Shah and his Queen and his children sat down to a

sumptuous banquet; and the city was illuminated, and everywhere

dancings and merry-makings testified to the joy of the lieges;

and for many days these revels and rejoicings prevailed

throughout the capital and the kingdom where every man was blithe

and happy and had feastings and festivities in his house, After

these festivals King Khusrau Shah made his elder son Bahman heir

to his throne and kingdom and committed to his hands the affairs

of state in their entirety, and the Prince administered affairs

with such wisdom and success that the greatness and glory of the

realm were increased twofold. The Shah also entrusted to his

youngest son Parwez the charge of his army, both of horsemen and

foot-soldiers; and Princess Perizadah was given by her sire in

marriage to a puissant King who reigned over a mighty country;

and lastly the Queen-mother forgot in perfect joy and happiness

the pangs of her captivity. Destiny ever afterwards endowed them,

one and all, with days the most delectable and they led the

liefest of lives until at last there came to them the Destroyer

of delights and the Sunderer of societies and the Depopulator of

palaces and the Garnerer of graveyards and the Reaper for

Resurrection-day, and they became as though they had never been.

So laud be to the Lord who dieth not and who knoweth no shadow of

change.

End of Volume 9.

Appendix.

VARIANTS AND ANALOGUES OF THE TALES In VOLUME XIII.

By W. A. Clouston.

The Tale of Zayn Al-Asnam--p. 1.

This story is a compound of two distinct tales, namely, the Dream of Riches

and the Quest of the Ninth Image. It has always been one of the most popular

of the tales in our common version of the "Arabian Nights," with this

advantage, that it is perhaps the only one of the whole collection in which

something like a moral purpose may be discovered--"a virtuous woman is more

precious than fine gold." Baron de Sacy has remarked of The Nights, that in

the course of a few years after Galland's version appeared "it filled Europe

with its fame, though offering no object of moral or philosophical interest,

and detailing stories merely for the pleasure of relating them." But this last

statement is not quite accurate: Shahrazad relates her stories merely to

prolong her own life.

It is a curious fact--and one perhaps not very generally known--that the Tale

of Zayn al-Asnám is one of two (the other being that of Khudádád) which

Galland repudiated, as having been foisted into his 8th volume without his

knowledge, as he expressly asserts in the "Avertissement" to the 9th vol.,

promising to remove them in a second edition, which, however, he did not live

to see. I understand that M. Herrmann Zotenberg purposes showing, in his

forthcoming edition of "Aladdin," that these two histoires (including that of

the Princess of Daryábár, which is interwoven with the tale of Khudádád and

his Brothers) were Turkish tales translated by M. Petis de la Croix and were

intended to appear in his "Mille et un Jours," which was published, after his

death, in 1710; and that, like most of the tales in that work, they were

derived from the Turkish collection entitled "Al-Faráj ba'd al-Shiddah," or

Joy after Affliction. But that Turkish story-book is said to be a translation

of the Persian collection entitled "Hazár ú Yek Rúz" (the Thousand and One

Days), which M. Petis rendered into French.

In the preface to Petis' work it is stated that during his residence in

Persia, in 1675, he made a transcript of the "Hazár ú Yek Rúz," by permission

of the author, a dervish named Mukhlis, of Isfahán. That transcript has not, I

understand, been found; but Sir William Ouseley brought a manuscript from

Persia which contained a portion of the "Hazár ú Yek Rúz," and which he says

("Travels" vol. ii. p. 21, note) agreed so far with the French version. And it

does seem strange that Petis should go to the Turkish book for tales to

include in his "Mille et un Jours" when he had before him a complete copy of

the Persian original, and even if he did so, how came his French rendering of

the tales in question into the hands of Galland's publisher? The tales are not

found in Petis' version, which is regularly divided into 1001 Days, and the

Turkish work, judging from the titles of the eleven first tales, of which I

have seen a transcript by M. Zotenberg, has a number of stories which do not

occur in the Persian.[FN#375] But I think it very unlikely that the tales of

Khudádád and the Princess foisted into Galland's 8th volume, were translated

from the Turkish collection. In Galland the story of the Princess Daryábár is

inserted in that of Khudádád; while in the Turkish story-book they are

separate tales, the 6th recital being under the title, "Of the Vazír with the

Daughter of the Prince of Daryábán," and the 9th story is "Of the Sons of the

Sovereign of Harrán with Khudádád." This does not seem to support the

assertion that these tales in Galland were derived from the Turkish versions:

and it is not to be supposed, surely, that the translator of the versions in

Galland conceived the idea of fusing the two stories together?

The first part of the tale of Zaun al-Asnam--the Dream of Riches--is an

interesting variant of the tale in The Nights, vol. iv. p. 289, where (briefly

to recapitulate, for purposes of comparison by-and-by) a man of Baghdad,

having lost all his wealth and become destitute, dreams one night that a

figure appeared before him and told him that his fortune was in Cairo. To that

city he went accordingly, and as it was night when he arrived, he took shelter

in a mosque. A party of thieves just then had got into an adjacent house from

that same mosque, and the inmates, discovering them, raised such an outcry as

to bring the police at once on the spot. The thieves contrive to get away, and

the walí, finding only the man of Baghdad in the mosque, causes him to be

seized and severely beaten after which he sends him to prison, where the poor

fellow remains thirty days, when the walí sends for him and begins to question

him. The man tells his story, at which the walí laughs, calls him an ass for

coming so far because of a dream, and adds that he himself had had a similar

dream of a great treasure buried in the garden of such a house in Baghdad, but

he was not so silly as to go there. The poor man recognises his own house and

garden from the walí's description, and being set at liberty returns to

Baghdad, and finds the treasure on the very spot indicated.

Lane, who puts this story (as indeed he has done with much better ones) among

his notes, states that it is also related by El-Ishákí, who flourished during

the reign of the Khalíf El-Ma'mún (9th century), and his editor Edward Stanley

Poole adds that he found it also in a MS. of Lane's entitled "Murshid ez-Zúwar

ilá el-Abrar," with the difference that it is there related of an Egyptian

saint who travelled to Baghdad, and was in the same manner directed to his own

house in El-Fustát.

The same story is told in the 6th book of the "Masnaví," an enormously long

sufí poem, written in Persian, by Jelád ed-Din, the founder of the sect of

Muslim devotees generally known in Europe as the Dancing Dervishes, who died

in 1272. This version differs from the Arabian in but a few and unimportant

details: Arriving at Cairo, destitute and hungry, he resolves to beg when it

is dark, and is wandering about, "one foot forward, one foot backwards," for a

third of the night, when suddenly a watchman pounces on him and beats him with

fist and stick--for the people having been plagued with robbers, the Khalíf

had given orders to cut off the head of any one found abroad at night. The

wretched man begs for mercy till he has told his story, and when he has

finished the watchman acquaints him of a similar dream he had had of treasure

at Baghdad.[FN#376]

A Turkish variant occurs in the "History of the Forty Vazírs," where a poor

water-carrier of Cairo, named Nu'mán, presents his son's teacher with his only

camel, which he used daily for carrying his skins of water, as a reward for

instructing the lad in the Kurán, and his wife rails at him for his folly in

no measured terms. In his sleep a white haired old man appears to him in a

dream and tells him to go to Damascus, where he would find his portion. After

this has occurred three times in succession, poor Nu'mán, spite of his wife's

remonstrances, sets out for Damascus, enters a mosque there, and receives a

loaf of bread from a man who had been baking, and having eaten it falls

asleep. Returning home, his wife reviles him for giving away a camel and doing

other mad things. But again the venerable old man appears to him thrice in a

dream, and bids him dig close by himself, and there he would find his

provision. When he takes shovel and pick-axe to dig, his wife's tongue is more

bitter than before, and after he had laboured a while and begins to feel

somewhat fatigued, when he asks her to take a short spell at the work, she

mocks him and calls him anything but a wise man. But on his laying bare a

stone slab, she thinks there must be something beneath it, and offers to

relieve him. "Nu'mán," quoth she "thou'rt weary now." "No, I'm rested, says

he. In the end he discovers a well, goes down into it, and finds a jar full of

sequins, upon seeing which his wife clasps him lovingly round the neck,

exclaiming, "O my noble little hubby! Blessed be God for thy luck and thy

fortune!" Her tune changes, however, when the honest water-carrier tells her

that he means to carry the treasure to the King, which he does, and the King

having caused the money to be examined, the treasure is found to have the

following legend written on it: "This is an alms from God to Nu'mán, by reason

of his respect for the Kurán."[FN#377]

This curious story, which dates, as we have seen, at least as far back as the

9th century appears to be spread over Europe. Mr. E. Sidney Hartland, in an

able paper treating of several of its forms in "The Antiquary" for February,

1887, pp. 45-48, gives a Sicilian version from Dr. Pitre's collection, which

is to this effect:

A poor fellow at Palermo, who got his living by salting tunny and selling it

afterwards dreamt one night that a person came to him and said that if he

wished to find his fortune he would find it under the bridge of the Teste.

Thither he goes and sees a man in rags and is beginning to retire when the man

calls him back, informs him that he is his fortune and bids him go at midnight

of that same night to the place where he had deposited his casks of tunny, dig

there, and whatever he found was his own. The tunny-seller gets a pick-axe and

at midnight begins to dig. He comes upon a large flat stone, which he raises

and discovers a staircase; he descends, and at the bottom finds an immense

treasure of gold. In brief, he becomes so rich that he lends the King of Spain

"a million," to enable him to carry on his wars; the King makes him Viceroy of

Sicily, and by-and by, being unable to repay the loan, raises him to the

highest royal dignities.

Johannes Fungerus, in his "Etymologicon Latino-Gr cum," published at Leyden in

1607, in art. Somnus, gravely relates the story, with a young Dutchman for the

hero and as having happened "within the memory of our fathers, both as it has

been handed down in truthful and honourable fashion as well as frequently told

to me."[FN#378] His "true story" may thus be rendered:

A certain young man of Dort, in Holland, had squandered his wealth and all his

estate and having contracted a debt, was unable to pay it. A certain one

appeared to him in a dream, and advised him to betake himself to Kempen, and

there on the bridge he would receive information from some one as to the way

in which he should be extricated from his difficulties. He went there, and

when he was in a sorrowful mood and thinking upon what had been told him and

promenaded almost the whole day, a common beggar, who was asking alms, pitying

his condition, sat down and asked him, "Why so sad?" Thereupon the dreamer

explained to him his sad and mournful fate, and why he had come there

forsooth, under the impulse of a dream, he had set out thither, and was

expecting God as if by a wonder, to unravel this more than Gordian knot. The

mendicant answered "Good Heaven! are you so mad and foolish as to rely on a

dream, which is emptier than nothing, and journey hither? I should betake

myself to Dort, to dig up a treasure buried under such a tree in such a man's

garden (now this garden had belonged to the dreamer's father), likewise

revealed to me in a dream." The other remained silent and pondering all that

had been said to him, then hastened with all speed to Dort, and under the

aforesaid tree found a great heap of money, which freed him from his

obligations, and having paid off all his debts, he set up in a more sumptuous

style than before.

The second part of the tale, or novelette, of "The Spectre Barber," by Musaeus

(1735-1788), is probably an elaboration of some German popular legend closely

resembling the last-cited version, only in this instance the hero does not

dream, but is told by a ghost, in reward for a service he had done it (or

him), to tarry on the great bridge over the Weser, at the time when day and

night are equal, for a friend who would instruct him what he must do to

retrieve his fortune. He goes there at dawn, and walks on the bridge till

evening comes, when there remained no one but himself and a wooden legged

soldier to whom he had given a small coin in the early morning, and who

ventured at length to ask him why he had promenaded the bridge all day. The

youth at first said he was waiting for a friend, but on the old soldier

remarking that he could be no friend who would keep him waiting so long, he

said that he had only dreamt he was to meet some friend (for he did not care

to say anything about his interview with the ghost), the old fellow observed

that he had had many dreams, but put not the least faith in them. "But my

dream," quoth the youth, "was a most remarkable one." "It couldn't have been

so remarkable as one I had many years ago," and so on, as usual, with this

addition, that the young man placed the old soldier in a snug little cottage

and gave him a comfortable annuity for life--taking care, we may be sure, not

to tell him a word as to the result of acting upon his dream.

To what extent Musaeus has enlarged his original material it is impossible to

say; but it is well known that, like Hans Andersen in later times, he did

"improve and add to such popular tales and traditions as he dealt with--a

circumstance which renders him by no means trustworthy for folk-lore purposes.

In Denmark our well-travelled little tale does duty in accounting for the

building of a parish church, as we learn from Thorpe, in his "Northern

Mythology," vol. ii. p. 253:

Many years ago there lived in Errits˜, near Frederica, a very poor man who one

day said, "If I had a large sum of money, I would build a church for the

parish." The following night he dreamed that if he went to the south bridge at

Veile he would make his fortune. He followed the intimation and strolled

backwards and forwards on the bridge until it grew late, but without seeing

any sign of good fortune. When just on the point of returning, he was accosted

by an officer, who asked him why he had spent a whole day so on the bridge. He

told him his dream, on hearing which the officer related to him in return that

he also on the preceding night had dreamed that in a barn in Errits˜,

belonging to a man whose name he mentioned, a treasure lay buried. Now the

name he mentioned was the man's own, who prudently kept his own counsel,

hastened home, and found the treasure in a barn. The man was faithful to his

word, and built the church.[FN#379]

Equally at home, as we have seen, in Sicily, Holland, Germany, and Denmark,

the identical legend is also domiciled in Scotland and England. Thus Robert

Chambers, in his "Popular Rhymes of Scotland," ed. 1826, p. 56, speaking of

Dundonald Castle, in Ayrshire, the ancient seat of King Robert II., relates

the following local tradition:

Donald, the builder, was originally a poor man, but had the faculty of

dreaming lucky dreams. Upon one occasion he dreamed thrice in one night that

if he were to go to London Bridge he would make a fortune. He went

accordingly, and saw a man looking over the parapet of the bridge, whom he

accosted courteously, and after a little conversation, intrusted him with the

secret of the occasion of his visiting London Bridge. The stranger told him

that he had made a very foolish errand, for he had himself once had a similar

vision, which directed him to go to a certain spot in Ayrshire, in Scotland,

where he would find a vast treasure, and for his part he had never once

thought of obeying the injunction. From his description of the spot, however,

the sly Scot at once perceived that the treasure in question must be concealed

nowhere but in his own humble kail-yard at home, to which he immediately

repaired, in full expectation of finding it. Nor was he disappointed; for

after destroying many good and promising cabbages, and completely cracking

credit with his wife, who considered him as mad, he found a large potful of

gold coin, with which he built a stout castle for himself, and became the

founder of a flourishing family.

"This absurd story," adds Chambers, "is localised in almost every district of

Scotland always referring to London Bridge, and Hogg (the Ettrick Shepherd)

has worked up the fiction in a very amusing manner in one of his 'Winter

Evening Tales,' substituting the Bridge at Kelso for that of London."

But the legend of the Chapman, or Pedlar, of Swaffam, in Norfolk, handed down,

as it has been, from one credulous generation to another, with the most minute

details and perfect local colour, throws quite into the shade all other

versions or variants of the ancient tale of the poor man of Baghdad.

Blomfield, in his "History of Norfolk," 8vo ea., vol. vi. 211-213, reproduces

it as follows, from Sir Roger Twysden's "Reminiscences":

"The story of the Pedlar of Swaffam Market is in substance this: That dreaming

one night, if he went to London, he should certainly meet with man upon London

Bridge which should tell him good news; he was so perplexed in his mind that

till he set upon his journey he could have no rest. To London therefore he

hastes, and walked upon the Bridge for some hours, where being espied by a

shopkeeper and asked what he wanted, he answered, 'You may well ask me that

question, for truly (quoth he) I am come hither upon a very vain errand,' and

so told the story of his dream which occasioned his journey. Whereupon the

shopkeeper replied, 'Alas, good friend, should I have heeded dreams I might

have proved myself as very a fool as thou hast; for 'tis not long since that I

dreamt that at a place called Swaffam Market, in Norfolk, dwells one John

Chapman, a pedlar, who hath a tree in his back yard, under which is buried a

pot of money. Now, therefore if I should have made a journey thither to dig

for such hidden treasure, judge you whether I should not have been counted a

fool.' To whom the Pedlar cunningly said, 'Yes, truly: I will therefore return

home and follow my business, not heeding such dreams hence-forward.' But when

he came home (being satisfied that his dream was fulfilled), he took occasion

to dig in that place, and accordingly found a large pot full of money, which

he prudently concealed, putting the pot among the rest of his brass. After a

time, it happened that one who came to his house, and beholding the pot,

observed an inscription upon it, which being in Latin he interpreted it, that

under that there was another twice as good.[FN#380] Of this inscription the

Pedlar was before ignorant, or at least minded it not; but when he heard the

meaning of it, he said, ' 'Tis very true, in the shop where I bought this pot

stood another under it which was twice as big'; but considering that it might

tend to his further profit to dig deeper in the same place where he found

that, he fell again to work and discovered such a pot as was intimated by the

inscription, full of old coin; notwithstanding all which, he so concealed his

wealth that the neighbours took no notice of it. But not long after the

inhabitants of Swaffam resolving to re-edify their church, and having

consulted the workmen about the charge, they made a levy, wherein they taxed

the Pedlar according to no other rate but what they had formerly done. But he,

knowing his own ability, came to the church and desired the workmen to show

him their model and to tell him what they esteemed the charge of the north

aisle would amount to, which when they told him, he presently undertook to pay

them for building it, and not only that, but for a very tall and beautiful

tower steeple.

"This is the tradition of the inhabitants, as it was told me there. And in

testimony thereof, there was then his picture, with his wife and three

children, in every window of the aisle, with an inscription running through

the bottom of all those windows, viz., 'Orate pro bono statu Johannis

Chapman.... Uxoris ejus, et Liberorum quorum, qui quidem Johannes hanc alam

cum fenestris tecto et . . . fieri fecit.' It was in Henry the Seventh's time,

but the year I now remember not, my notes being left with Mr. William

Sedgwicke, who trickt the pictures, he being then with me. In that aisle is

his seat, of an antique form, and on each side the entrance, the statue of the

Pedlar of about a foot in length, with pack on his back, very artificially

[?artistically] cut. This was sent me from Mr. William Dugdale, of Blyth Hall,

in Warwickshire, in a letter dated Jan. 29th, 1652-3, which I have since

learned from others to have been most True.˚Roger Twysden."

Mr. William E. A. Axon, in "The Antiquary," vol. xi. p. 168, gives the same

version, with some slight variations, from a work entitled "New Help to

Discourse," which he says was often printed between 1619 and 1696: The dream

was "doubled and tripled," and the Pedlar stood on the bridge for two or three

days; but no mention is made of his finding a second pot of money: "he found

an infinite mass of money, with part of which he re-edified the church, having

his statue therein to this day, cut out in stone, with his pack on his back

and his dog at his heels, his memory being preserved by the same form or

picture in most of the glass windows in taverns and alehouses in that town to

this day." The story is also told of a cobbler in Somersetshire (in an article

on Dreams, "Saturday Review," Dec. 28, 1878), who dreamt three nights in

succession that if he went to London Bridge he would there meet with something

to his advantage. For three days he walked over the bridge, when at length a

stranger came up to him, and asked him why he had been walking from end to end

of the bridge for these three days, offering nothing for sale nor purchasing

aught. The man having told him of his strange dream, the stranger said that he

too had dreamt of a lot of gold buried in a certain orchard in such a place in

Somersetshire. Upon this the cobbler returned home and found the pot of gold

under an apple-tree. He now sent his son to school, where he learnt Latin, and

when the lad had come home for his holidays, he happened to look at the pot

that had contained the gold and seeing some writing on it he said, "Father, I

can show you what I have learnt at school is of some use." He then translated

the Latin inscription on the pot thus: "Look under and you will find better "

They did look under and a large quantity of gold was found. Mr. Axon gives a

version of the legend in the Yorkshire dialect in "The Antiquary," vol. xii.

pp. 121-2, and there is a similar story connected with the parish church of

Lambeth.[FN#381]

Regarding the Norfolk tradition of the lucky and generous Pedlar, Blomfield

says that the north side of the church of Swaffam (or Sopham) was certainly

built by one John Chapman, who was churchwarden in 1462; but he thinks that

the figures of the pedlar, etc., were only put "to set forth the name of the

founder: such rebuses are frequently met with on old works." The story is also

told in Abraham de la Prynne's Diary under date Nov. 10, 1699, as "a constant

tradition" concerning a pedlar in Soffham.

Such is the close resemblance between the Turkish version of the Dream and

that in the tale of Zayn al-Asnam that I am disposed to consider both as

having been derived from the same source, which, however, could hardly have

been the story told by El-Isháki. In Zayn al-Asnam a shaykh appears to the

prince in a dream and bids him hie to Egypt, where he will find heaps of

treasure; in the Turkish story the shaykh appears to the poor water-carrier

three times and bids him go to Damascus for the like purpose. The prince

arrives at Cairo and goes to sleep in a mosque, when the shayka again presents

himself before him in a dream and tells him that he has done well in obeying

him--he had only made a trial of his courage: "now return to thy capital and I

will make thee wealthy,"-- in the Turkish story the water-carrier also goes

into a mosque at Damascus and receives a loaf of bread there from a baker.

When the prince returns home the shaykh appears to him once more and bids him

take a pickaxe and go to such a palace of his sire and dig in such a place,

where he should find riches,--in the Turkish story the water-carrier having

returned to his own house, the shaykh comes to him three times more and bids

him search near to where he is and he should find wealth. The discovery by

Zayn al-Asnam of his father's hidden treasure, after he had recklessly

squandered all his means, bears some analogy to the well-known ballad of the

"Heir of Linne," who, when reduced to utter poverty, in obedience to his dying

father's injunction, should such be his hap, went to hang himself in the

"lonely lodge" and found there concealed a store of gold.

With regard to the second part of the tale of Zayn al-Asnam--the Quest of the

Ninth Image--and the Turkish version of which my friend Mr. Gibb has kindly

furnished us with a translation from the mystical work of 'Alí 'Azíz Efendi,

the Cretan, although no other version has hitherto been found,[FN#382] I have

little doubt that the story is of either Indian or Persian extraction, images

and pictures being abhorred by orthodox (or sunni) Muslims generally; and such

also, I think, should we consider all the Arabian tales of young men becoming

madly enamoured of beautiful girls from seeing their portraits--though we can

readily believe that an Arab as well as a Persian or Indian youth might fall

in love with a pretty maid from a mere description of her personal charms, as

we are told of the Bedouin coxcomb Amarah in the Romance of Antar. If the

Turkish version, which recounts the adventures of the Prince Abd es-Samed in

quest of the lacking image (the tenth, not the ninth, as in the Arabian) was

adapted from Zayn al-Asnam, the author has made considerable modifications in

re-telling the fascinating story, and, in my opinion, it is not inferior to

the Arabian version. In the Turkish, the Prince's father appears to him in a

vision of the night,[FN#383] and conducts him to the treasure-vault, where he

sees the vacant pedestal and on it the paper in which his father directs him

to go to Cairo and seek counsel of the Shaykh Mubarak, who would instruct him

how to obtain the lacking image; and the prince is commissioned by the shaykh

to bring him a spotless virgin who has never so much as longed for the

pleasures of love, when he should receive the image for his reward. The shaykh

gives him a mirror which should remain clear when held before such a virgin,

but become dimmed when reflecting the features of another sort of girl; also a

purse which should be always full of money.[FN#384] In the Arabian story the

Shaykh Mubarak accompanies Zayn al-Asnam in his quest of the image to the land

of Jinnistán, the King whereof it is who requires the prince to procure him a

pure virgin and then he would give him the lacking image. In the Turkish

version the prince Abd es-Samed proceeds on the adventure alone, and after

visiting many places without success he goes to Baghdad, where by means of the

Imam he at last finds the desiderated virgin, whom he conducts to Mubarak. In

the Arabian story the Imam, Abu Bakr (Haji Bakr in the Turkish), is at first

inimical towards the prince and the shaykh but after being propitiated by a

present of money he is all complaisance, and, as in the Turkish, introduces

the prince to the fallen vazír, the father of the spotless virgin. The sudden

conversion of the Imam from a bitter enemy to an obliging friend is related

with much humour: one day denouncing the strangers to the folk assembled in

the mosque as cutpurses and brigands, and the next day withdrawing his

statement, which he says had been made on the information of one of the

prince's enviers, and cautioning the people against entertaining aught but

reverence for the strangers. This amusing episode is omitted in the Turkish

version. In one point the tale of Zayn al-Asnam has the advantage of that of

Abd es-Samed: it is much more natural, or congruous, that the King of the

Genii should affect to require the chaste maiden and give the prince a magical

mirror which would test her purity, and that the freed slave Mubarak should

accompany the prince in his quest.

Aladdin; Or, the Wonderful Lamp--p. 31.

Those scholars who declared a number of the tales in Galland's "Mille et une

Nuits" to be of his own invention, because they were not found in any of the

Arabic MS. texts of The Nights preserved in European libraries, were

unconsciously paying that learned and worthy man a very high compliment, since

the tales in question are among the best in his work and have ever been, and

probably will continue to be, among the most popular favourites. But that fact

that Galland seized the first opportunity of intimating that two of those

tales were not translated or inserted by himself ought to have been alone

amply sufficient presumptive evidence of his good faith with regard to the

others.

A friendly reviewer of my "Popular Tales and Fictions" etc. states that modern

collectors of European Märchen, though "working from 100 to 150 years after

the appearance of the 'Thousand and One Nights,' in European literature, have

not found the special versions therein contained distributed widely and

profusely throughout Europe," and that my chapter on Aladdin is proof

sufficient that they have not done so. The reviewer goes on to say that I cite

"numerous variants, but, save one from Rome, variants of the theme, not of the

version; some again, such as the Mecklenburg and Danish forms, are more

primitive in tone; and all lack those effective and picturesque details which

are the charm of the Arabian story, and which a borrower only interested in

the story as a story might just be expected to retain.''[FN#385]

But it is not contended that the folk-tales of Europe owe much, if indeed

anything at all, to the "Arabian Nights," which is not only as it now exists a

comparatively modern work--Baron de Sacy has adduced good reasons for placing

the date of its composition in the middle of the 9th century of the Hijra, or

about 1446 A.D. but was first made known in Europe so late as the first

quarter of the last century. Several of the tales, and incidents of the tales,

in the "Thousand and One Nights" were current in Europe in the 12th century--

imported by the Moors of Spain, and by European travellers, pilgrims, and

minstrels from the East. Thus the Arabian tale of the Ebony (or Enchanted)

Horse is virtually identical with the Hispano-French romance of Cleomades and

Claremonde; that of Prince Kamar al Zaman is fairly represented by the romance

of Peter of Provence and the Fair Maguelone. The episode of Astolphy and

Joconde in Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso" is identical with the opening story of

The Nights which constitutes the frame of the collection.[FN#386] The Magnetic

Rock (or rock of adamant) which figures in the adventures of Sindbád occurs in

the popular German story of "Herzog Ernst von Baiern," which is extant in a

Latin poem that cannot be later than the 13th century and is probably a

hundred years earlier.[FN#387] The Valley of Diamonds in the History of

Sindbád is described by Marco Polo who travelled in the East in the 13th

century; moreover, it had been known in Europe from the 4th century, when the

story connected with it was related by Epiphanius, bishop of Salamis, who lays

the scene in Scythia, while Marco Polo and the author of Sindbád's Voyages

both place it in India, where the fiction probably had its origin

When we find a popular (i.e. oral) European tale reproduce the most minute

details of a story found in The Nights, we should conclude that it has been

derived therefrom and within quite recent times, and such I am now disposed to

think is the case of the Roman version of Aladdin given by Miss Busk under the

title of "How Cajusse was Married," notwithstandtng the circumstance that the

old woman from whom it was obtained was almost wholly illiterate. A child who

could read might have told the story out of Galland to his or her nurse,

through whom it would afterwards assume local colour, with some modifications

of the details. But stories having all the essential features of the tale of

Aladdin were known throughout Europe long before Galland's work was published,

and in forms strikingly resembling other Asiatic versions, from one of which

the Arabian tale must have been adapted. The incidents of the Magician and

Aladdin at the Cave, and the conveying of the Princess and the vazír's son

three nights in succession to Aladdin's house (which occurs, in modified

forms, in other tales in The Nights), I consider as the work of the Arabian

author. Stripped of these particulars, the elements of the tale are identical

in all versions, Eastern and Western: a talisman, by means of which its

possessor can command unlimited wealth, &c.; its loss and the consequent

disappearance of the magnificent palace erected by supernatural agents who are

subservient to the owner of the talisman, and finally its recovery together

with the restoration of the palace to its original situation. The Arabian tale

is singular in the circumstance of the talisman (the Lamp) being recovered by

human means--by the devices of the hero himself, in fact, since in all the

European and the other Asiatic forms of the story it is recovered by, as it

was first obtained from, grateful animals. To my mind, this latter is the

pristine form of the tale, and points to a Buddhist origin--mercy to all hying

creatures being one of the leading doctrines of pure Buddhism.

The space at my disposal does not admit of the reproduction in extenso of the

numerous versions or variants of Aladdin: a brief outline of their features

will however serve my purpose. In the tale of Marúf the Cobbler, which

concludes the Búlák and Calcutta printed texts of The Nights, we have an

interesting version of Aladdin. The hero runs away from his shrewish wife and

under false presences is married to a king's daughter. He confesses his

imposture to the princess, who loves him dearly, and she urges him to flee

from her father's vengeance and not to return until his death should leave the

throne vacant, and having furnished him with money, he secretly quits the city

at daybreak. After riding some distance, he begins to feel hungry, and seeing

a peasant ploughing a field he goes up to him and asks for some food. The

peasant sets off to his house for eatables and meanwhile Marúf begins to

plough a furrow, when presently the ploughshare strikes against something

hard, which he finds to be an iron ring. He tugs at the ring and raises a

slab, which discovers a number of steps, down which he goes and comes into a

cavern filled with gold and precious stones, and in a box made of a single

diamond he finds a talismanic ring, on placing which on his finger a monstrous

figure appears and expresses his readiness and ability to obey all his

commands. In brief, by means of this genie, the hero obtains immense wealth in

gold and jewels, and also rich merchandise, which enable him to return to the

city in the capacity of a merchant, which he had professed himself when he

married the princess. The vazír, who had from the first believed him to be an

arrant impostor, lays a plot with the King to worm out of him the secret of

his wealth, and succeeds so well at a private supper, when Marúf is elevated

with wine, that he obtains possession of the ring, summons the genie, and

causes him to carry both the King and Marúf into a far distant desert. He then

compels the other ministers and the people to acknowledge him as king, and

resolves to marry the princess. She temporises with him; invites him to sup

with her; plies him with wine, induces him to throw the ring into a corner of

the room, pretending to be afraid of the demon who is held captive in it; and

when he has become insensible (in plain English, dead drunk), she seizes the

ring, summons the genie, and commands him to secure the vazír and bring back

her father and husband, which he does "in less than no time." The vazír is of

course put to death, and the princess takes charge of the ring for the future,

alleging that neither the King nor her husband is to be trusted with the

custody of such a treasure.

Another Arabian version is found--as Sir Richard Burton points out, note 1, p.

119--in "The Fisherman's Son," one of the tales translated by Jonathan Scott

from the Wortley Montague MS. text of The Nights, where the hero finds a magic

ring inside a cock: like Aladdin, he marries the King's daughter and has a

grand palace built for him by the genii. The ring is afterwards disposed of to

a Jew, in the same manner as was the Lamp to the Magician, and the palace with

the princess is conveyed to a distant desert island. The fisherman's son takes

to flight. He purchases of a man who offered them for sale a dog, a cat, and a

rat, which turn out to be well-disposed magicians, and they recover the ring

from the Jew's mouth while he is asleep. The ring is dropped into the sea

accidentally while the animals are crossing it to rejoin their master, but is

brought to the hero by a fish which he had returned to the sea out of pity in

his fisherman days. The genie conveys the palace back again, and so on.--In a

Mongolian version ("Siddhí Kúr") a young merchant parts with all his wares to

save a mouse, an ape, and a bear from being tortured to death by boys. One of

those creatures procures for him a wishing-stone, by means of which he has a

grand palace built and obtains much treasure. He foolishly exchanges his

talisman with the chief of a caravan for all their gold and merchandise, and

it is afterwards restored to him by the grateful and ingenious animals.--In a

Tamil version--referred to by Sir Richard, p. 30, note 2--which occurs in the

"Madanakámarájankadai," a poor wandering young prince buys a cat and a

serpent; at his mother's suggestion, he sets the serpent at liberty and

receives from his father a wishing ring. He gets a city built in the jungle--

or rather where the jungle was--and marries a beautiful princess. An old hag

is employed by another king to procure him the princess for his wife. She

wheedles herself into the confidence of the unsuspecting young lady, and

learning from her the properties of the ring, induces her to borrow it of her

husband for a few minutes, in order that she (the old trot) might apply it to

her head to cure a severe headache. No sooner has she got possession of the

ring than she disappears, and having delivered it to the other King, he

"thought" of the princess, and in the twinkling of an eye she is carried

through the air and set down before him. The ring is recovered by means of the

cat which the hero had fostered, and so on.

Sir Richard has referred to a number of Italian versions (p. 30, note 2),

which will be found epitomised in a most valuable and interesting paper, by my

late friend Mr. H. C. Coote, on the sources of some of M. Galland's Tales, in

the First Part of the Folk-Lore Record for 1880, and, in conclusion, I may

briefly glance at a few other European variants. Among those which not only

bear a close analogy one to another but also to the Asiatic versions cited

above are the following: No. 15 of M. Leger's French collection of Slav Tales

is a Bohemian version, in which the hero, Jenik, saves a dog, a cat, and a

serpent from being killed. From the serpent's father he gets an enchanted

watch (evidently a modern substitute for a talismanic stone, or ring), which

procures him a splendid palace and the King's daughter for his bride. But the

young lady, unlike the Princess Badr al-Budur with Aladdin, does not love

Jenik, and having learned from him the secret of his great wealth, she steals

the talisman and causes a palace to be built in the middle of the sea, where

she goes to live, after making Jenik's palace disappear. Jenik's faithful dog

and cat recover the talisman, which, as in the Arabian story of the

Fisherman's Son, is dropped in the sea while they are swimming back and

restored by a fish.--In No. 9 of M. and so "Comes Albanais" the hero saves a

serpent's life and gets in return a wishing-stone and so on. The talisman is

stolen by a rascally Jew on the night of the wedding, and the palace with the

princess is transported to the distant sea-shore. The hero buys a cat and

feeds it well. He and his cat arrive at the spot where the palace now stands,

and the cat compels the chief of a colony of mice to steal the talisman from

the Jew while he is asleep.--A popular Greek version in Hahn's collection

combines incidents found in Aladdin and in the versions in which grateful

animals play prominent parts: The hero rescues a snake which some boys are

about to kill and gets in reward from the snake's father a seal-ring, which he

has only to lick and a black man will present himself, ready to obey his

orders. As in Aladdin, the first use he makes of the talisman is to have his

mother's cupboard filled with dainty food. Then he bids his mother "go to the

King, and tell him he must give me his daughter in marriage." After many

objections, she goes to deliver her message to the King, who replies that if

her son build a castle larger than his, he shall have the princess to wife.

The castle is built that same night, and when the mother goes next morning to

require the King's performance of his promise, he makes a further stipulation

that her son should first pave the way between the two castles with gold. This

is done at once, and the King gives the hero his daughter. Here the

resemblance to the Aladdin story ceases and what follows (as well as what

precedes) is analogous to the other Asiatic forms. The princess has a black

servant of whom she is enamoured. She steals the ring and elopes with her

sable paramour to an island in the sea, where she has a castle erected by the

power of the ring. The black man sleeps with the ring under his tongue, but

the hero's dog takes the cat on his back and swims to the island; and the cat

contrives to get the ring and deliver it to her master, who straightway causes

the castle to be removed from the island, then kills the black man, and

afterwards lives happily with the princess.--In a Danish version (Prof.

Grundtvig's "Danske Folkeäventyr") a peasant gets from an aged man a

wishing-box, and henceforward lives in grand style. After his death the

steward and servants cheat his son and heir, so that in ten years he is ruined

and turned out of house and home. All the property he takes with him is an old

sheepskin jacket, in which he finds the wishing-box, which had been, unknown

to him, the cause of his father's prosperity. When the "slave" of the box

appears, the hero merely asks for a fiddle that when played upon makes

everybody who hears it to dance.[FN#388] He hires himself to the King, whose

daughter gives him, in jest, a written promise to marry him, in exchange for

the fiddle. The King, when the hero claims the princess, insists on her

keeping her promise, and they are married. Then follows the loss of the

wishing-box, as in the Greek version, only in place of a black man it is a

handsome cavalier who is the lady's paramour. The recovery of the box is

accomplished by very different means, and may be passed over, as belonging to

another cycle of tales.[FN#389]

It is perhaps hardly worth while to make a critical analysis of the tale of

Aladdin, since with all its gross inconsistencies it has such a hold of the

popular fancy that one would not wish it to be otherwise than it is. But it

must have occurred to many readers that the author has blundered in

representing the Magician as closing the Cave upon Aladdin because he refused

to give up the Lamp before he had been helped out. As the lad was not aware of

the properties of the Lamp, he could have had no object in retaining it for

himself, while the Magician in any case was perfectly able to take it by force

from him. And if he wished to do away with Aladdin, yet incur no

"blood-guiltiness" (see ante, p. 52 and note), he might surely have contrived

to send him down into the Cave again and then close it upon him. As to the

Magician giving his ring to Aladdin, I can't agree with Sir Richard in

thinking (p. 48, note 1) that he had mistaken its powers; this seems to me

quite impossible. The ring was evidently a charm against personal injury as

well as a talisman to summon an all-powerful and obedient genie. It was only

as a charm that the Magician placed it on Aladdin's finger, and, as the

Hindustani Version explains, he had in his rage and vexation forgot about the

ring when he closed the entrance to the Cave. It appears to me also

incongruous that the Lamp, which Aladdin found burning, should afterwards only

require to be rubbed in order to cause the genie to appear. One should have

supposed that the lighting of it would have been more natural or appropriate;

and it is possible that such was in the original form of the Aladdin version

before it was reduced to writing, since we find something of the kind in a

Mecklenburg version given in Grimm under the title of "Des blaue Licht." A

soldier who had long served his King is at last discharged without any pay. In

the course of his wanderings he comes to the hut of an old woman, who proves

to be a witch, and makes him work for her in return for his board and lodging.

One day she takes him to the edge of a dry well, and bids him go down and get

her the Blue Light which he would find at the bottom. He consents, and she

lets him down by a rope. When he has secured the Light he signals to the old

witch to draw him up, and when she has pulled him within her reach, she bids

him give her the Light, he refuses to do so until he is quite out of the well,

upon which she lets him fall to the bottom again. After ruminating his

condition for some time he bethinks him of his pipe, which is in his pocket--

he may as well have a smoke if he is to perish. So he lights his pipe at the

Blue Light, when instantly there appears before him a black dwarf, with a hump

on his back and a feather in his cap, who demands to know what he wants, for

he must obey the possessor of the Blue Light. The soldier first requires to be

taken out of the well, and next the destruction of the old witch, after which

he helps himself to the treasures in the hag's cottage, and goes off to the

nearest town, where he puts up at the best inn and gets himself fine clothes.

Then he determines to requite the King, who had sent him away penniless, so he

summons the Dwarf[FN#390] and orders him to bring the King's daughter to his

room that night, which the Dwarf does, and very early in the morning he

carries her back to her own chamber in the palace. The princess tells her

father that she has had a strange dream of being borne through the air during

the night to an old soldier's house. The King says that if it was not a dream,

she should make a hole in her pocket and put peas into it, and by their

dropping out the place where she was taken to could be easily traced. But the

Dwarf when he transports her the second night discovers the trick, and strews

peas through all the other streets, and the only result was the pigeons had a

rare feast. Then the King bids the princess hide one of her shoes in the

soldier's room, if she is carried there again. A search is made for the shoe

in every house the next day, and when it is found in the soldier's room he

runs off, but is soon caught and thrown into prison. In his haste to escape he

forgot to take the Blue Light with him. He finds only a ducat in his pocket,

and with this he bribes an old comrade whom he sees passing to go and fetch

him a parcel he had left at the inn, and so he gets the Blue Light once more.

He summons the Dwarf, who tells him to be of good cheer, for all will yet be

well, only he must take the Blue Light with him when his trial comes on. He is

found guilty and sentenced to be hung upon the gallows-tree. On his way to

execution he asks as a last favour to be allowed to smoke, which being

granted, he lights his pipe and the Dwarf appears. "Send," says the soldier--

"send all these people to the right about; as for the King, cut him into three

pieces." The Dwarf lays about him with a will, and soon makes the crowd

scuttle off. The King begs hard for his life, and agrees to let the soldier

have the princess for his wife and the kingdom afterwards.

Thus, it will be seen, popular tales containing all the essential elements of

the story of Aladdin are spread over Europe, though hardly any of the versions

was probably derived from it; and the conclusion at which I have arrived is

that those elements, or incidents have been time out of mind the common

property of European and Asiatic peoples, and that the tale of Aladdin may be

considered as an almost unique version. The Mecklenburg legend is the only

variant which has the incident of the Magician requiring the Lamp before

helping the hero out of the Cave and that of the transporting of the princess

from her palace to the hero's house during the night, but these are not, I

think, sufficient evidence that it was adapted from Galland.

The royal command that all shops are to be closed and everybody must keep

within doors while the Princess Badr al-Badúr proceeds to the bath and

Aladdin's playing the part of Peeping Tom of Coventry occur in many Eastern

stories and find a curious analogue in the Adventures of Kurroglú, the

celebrated robber-poet, as translated by Dr. Alexander Chodzko m his "Popular

Poetry of Persia," printed for the Oriental Translation Fund, and copies of

that work being somewhat scarce, I daresay the story will be new to most of my

readers:

Listen now to the tale about the Princess Nighara, daughter of the Turkish

sultan Murád. In the neighbourhood of Constantinople lived a man who was known

there under the name of Belli Ahmad. One day the Princess Nighara went out for

a walk through the bazárs of Constantinople. At the same time Kurroglú's fame

spread all over Turkey; everybody was telling stories about him, and all were

struck with wonder. The Princess Nighara's fond heart particularly was filled

with an ardent wish of seeing this extraordinary hero, and she often thought

in her mind, "O my God, when will you allow me to behold Kurroglú?" It

happened that while Belli Ahmad was taking a walk in the bazárs of Istambúl,

he looked and beheld on the platform of the building daroghs beating drums,

whilst all the inmates of the bazár, the workmen as well as the merchants,

were flying in a great hurry after having left their shops ajar. "Why are they

thus running;" inquired Belli Ahmad of a Turk. "Doss thou know nothing? Then

listen: Our king, Sultan Murad, is gone on a pilgrimage to Mecca. His son

Burji Sultan reigns until his father's return. He has a sister whose name is

the Princess Nighara. Every Friday she goes to pray in the great mosque. The

Sultan's will is that during the passage of the princess through the bazárs,

no man should remain there, but that all the shops be left open. This is the

reason of this panic and flight. As soon as the princess has passed, the

merchants and workmen will return to their shops again."

Belli Ahmad said in his heart, "Thy name is Belli Ahmad, and shalt thou not

see this beautiful Princess Nighara? If not, thou art unworthy of the name of

Belli[FN#391] Ahmad " He then looked to the right and left and entered

stealthily into a greengrocer's shop enclosed within a few boards. The train

of the princess now appeared. First passed with their whips farashes and

yassáls, who led the procession and were followed by eunuchs with canes of

office (chogan) in their hands. At last appeared the Princess Nighara,

surrounded by a score of waiting-women. She walked with a downcast countenance

in front of them, and bending her head towards the ground said to herself, "O

thou earth on which my foot is treading, I beseech thee, receive my

prayer!"[FN#392] Belli Ahmad saw and heard her through the chinks of the

boards behind which he sat concealed When Nighara saw the shop with vegetables

she wondered why it should be the only shop enclosed with boards whilst all

the other shops were standing open. She then said to her waiting-women, "What

is the reason of this? Whilst goldsmiths who possess a capital of a hundred

thousand tomans have left their shops open, how is it that this petty merchant

of vegetables, whose poor shop used always to be open, has shut it up to-day?

There must be something extraordinary in all this. Break down the enclosure,

my girls, and throw the boards aside."

Belli Ahmad heard, and his soul was on the point of making its exit. He threw

himself with his face downwards as if he was prostrated by a severe illness.

When her orders had been executed Nighara entered the shop. Perceiving a

fellow stretched out his whole length and embracing the floor with both hands,

she kicked him with her foot,[FN#393] exclaiming, "Who art thou that wallowest

in the dirt?" Belli Ahmad sprang to his feet and bowing to the Princess said,

"Lady, I am a stranger here. God preserve you from being in a strange land

anywhere! I saw that the merchants of the bazar were beaten and driven away,

and I was frightened. But what was I to do? If I should hide myself in some

rich shop I might be taken for a thief. I have therefore chosen this miserable

hovel, where nothing can be found except greens, onions, and mouldy biscuits.

And even if there were in it a few copper pieces, the owner at his departure

must have taken them away. Pardon me, Princess; my soul was at stake and I hid

myself."

Nighara inquired, "Stranger, what countryman art thou?" "I am a native of

Erzerúm." "Hast thou seen in those parts the Castle of Chamley-bill?"[FN#394]

"Yes, lady, I have seen it." "In that valley lives a man named Kurroglú: didst

thou see him?" "O my Princess, I am one of his servants, I am a slave

purchased with his gold." "Canst thou delver him a letter from me?" "And

wherefore not, fairest? Thou hast only to write and entrust it to me." The

Princess Nighara immediately wrote a letter to Kurroglú with her own hand. And

what did she write? Here it is: "O thou who art called Kurroglú, the glory of

thy name has thrown a spell over the countries of Turkey. I have heard that

thou hast carried away Ayvaz from the town of Orfah. My name is Princess

Nighara, Sultan Murad's daughter. I tell thee, that thou mayest learn if thou

dost not know it, that for a long time I have felt an ardent desire of seeing

thee. If thou art distinguished by courage, come to Istambul and carry me

away."

And the bold Kurroglú, when he read the lady's billet, assumed the dress of a

Haji, gained access to the seraglio gardens on the presence that he was

entrusted with a private message to the Princess Nighara from her father the

Sultan, whom he had met on the road to Mecca, and carried the amorous young

lady to his fortress of Chamley-bill.--The story, together with the scene

between the princess and Kurroglú in the gardens and the palace, is, no doubt,

a true picture of the "ways" of Turkish ladies of high degree in former times,

and confirms much that Sir Richard has stated regarding Eastern women in his

notes to The Nights and his Terminal Essay.