CHAPTER X.

BAHRAM IS LONG LOVE-SICK, BUT BY THE HELP OF TWO SYMPATHISING

FAIRY DAMSELS IS FINALLY UNITED TO THE BEAUTIFUL RUH-AFZA, AND

ALL ENDS HAPPILY.

Meanwhile Bahrám became thinner and thinner every day; but Saman-rú alone

knew the cause. She was constantly advising him to chase away from his

heart that love for a person of another race, which could only render

him unhappy. “The example,” said she, “of the perfect union which exists

between Táj ul-Mulúk and Bakáwalí should not lead you astray. It is a

happy exception. But it is contrary to the nature of things for a human

being to join himself to one of etherial substance.” These words made

no impression on the mind of Bahrám, and when she saw that the thorn of

love had pierced so deeply into his heart that it was hopeless to attempt

its extraction, she declared that all she could do was to conduct him to

Firdaus. Bahrám eagerly accepted this offer, and Saman-rú then clothed

him in women’s apparel, which suited him well, as he was yet beardless,

and carried him through the air to Firdaus, to the house of her sister,

called Banafshá,[218] who was hair-dresser to Rúh-afzá. The latter was

delighted at seeing Saman-rú, and at once asked who was the young lady

whom she had brought with her. “She is one of my friends,” said she,

“who desires to see this country. I have taken the liberty of bringing

her to you, in hopes that you will be so good as to show her all the

sights.” “Certainly,” said Banafshá; “I am willing to do anything that

might please you.” After this Saman-rú returned to Bakáwalí, and Bahrám

remained in the house of Banafshá, who showed her every kindness, led

her each day into a different garden, and pointed out everything worth

seeing; in the evening she discharged her duties as hair-dresser to

Rúh-afzá.

One evening Banafshá presented Bahrám to her young mistress, as a friend

of Saman-rú. She at once recognised Bahrám, in spite of his disguise, but

dissembled so well that he believed she did not know him. She induced

Banafshá to leave the young person with her. Therefore she withdrew and

Bahrám remained with his mistress. And when the Eternal Designer of the

affairs of this world had illumed the earth with the clear light of the

moon, Rúh-afzá led Bahrám into her private chamber, and said: “What is

your name, madam?” He replied: “I have had no name for a long time: I

only know yours.” “Why have you come here?” “Ask the taper: it will

tell you why the moth throws itself into the flame.” These pleasant

words gratified Rúh-afzá, but, affecting a severe countenance, she

said: “You are deceiving me; for I observe from your words that you are

not a woman. You have entered here by false pretences, and have thus

exposed my honour to the wind. Say, yourself, what punishment does such

hardihood deserve?” Poor Bahrám, who was quite ignorant of the artifices

of coquetry, and remembered the hard blows of his mistress on a former

occasion, thought that she was about to strike him again and drive him

from her presence. He trembled through fear and repeated these verses:

“Kill me; for better ’tis to die before

Thy sight, than live to suffer more and more.”

Then he fell down quite unconscious, and Rúh-afzá, not being able to

carry her feigned severity farther, ran up to him, put his head on her

knees, showered kisses on him, and by the sweet perfume of her breath

brought back his senses.

When Bahrám opened his eyes he perceived that he had assumed the _rôle_

of the Rose and Rúh-afzá that of the Nightingale.[219] Soon did he forget

his former vexations. Rúh-afzá, who was violently in love with him,

did not wish him to leave her, so to conceal him from the looks of the

malicious she fastened round his neck a talisman which changed him into

a bird.[220] In this form she kept him in a golden cage, which was hung

up before her eyes during the day, but at night she caused him to come

out, and restored him to his proper shape. This continued for some time;

but, as the Hindú proverb says, “love and musk cannot be long hidden”;

and Husn-árá began to suspect that all was not as it should be with her

daughter. One morning, at daybreak, she went to her daughter’s chamber,

and beating her, exclaimed: “You have drowned yourself in a vase full of

water! You are lost to all shame! You have disgraced the name of your

father! Let me at least know the name of your audacious accomplice,

else I will strangle you with my own hands!” These violent words caused

Rúh-afzá to tremble. “Dispel, my dear mother,” said she, “your vain

dream. I have never seen a mortal but at a distance. Should a kind

mother believe the gossiping reports of strangers?” But in spite of her

most vehement protestations, her mother believed her not; she insisted

that the ravisher who was in the house should be seized and punished

as he deserved. By her order cunning spies were employed to search for

Bahrám—in the earth, the air, and the sea, but without success: they

were all ignorant of the secret of the golden cage.[221] Husn-árá,

despairing at the failure of her spies, scolded her daughter’s maids, and

threatened them with the wrath of Muzaffar Sháh; whereupon one of them,

called Gul-rukh,[222] pointed out the mysterious cage, saying that she

had often observed Rúh-afzá, both night and day, caressing the dove which

was shut up in it;—might it not be surmised that there was some secret

in that circumstance? Immediately Husn-árá proceeded to her daughter’s

chamber and seized hold of the cage. Rúh-afzá, with horror and dismay,

saw her beloved bird in the talons of the falcon; but, trembling for

herself, she dared not utter a word, still less could she snatch it out

of the hands of the fowler of destiny. Husn-árá carried the cage to her

husband, who drew out the bird, and felt its wings and all its feathers

to see if he could discover any talisman. At last he found what was on

the bird’s neck, and on removing it, Bahrám appeared before him in his

natural form. The attendants were greatly astonished, and Muzaffar Sháh,

wild with passion, said to Bahrám: “Wicked wretch! fear you not my anger?

Death alone can punish thy audacity!” “Sire,” replied Bahrám, “I fear not

death; but I shall deeply regret my beloved mistress in leaving life;

and even in my grave a stream of blood will flow from my eyes.”[223] The

anger of Muzaffar Sháh, far from being appeased by these words, increased

to such a height that he gave orders to his people to go outside the city

and throw Bahrám into the fire, so that he should be reduced to ashes.

By good fortune, Táj ul-Mulúk and Bakáwalí were at that moment walking

together in the garden of Iram, and as they were not far from

Jazína-Firdaus, they determined to visit Rúh-afzá. On going thither they

passed the very spot where Bahrám was about to be burnt. He was already

on the fatal pyre, with the flames surrounding him. Bakáwalí, seeing the

pyre and the great crowd around it, ordered her chariot to draw near and

cried out: “Extinguish the fire and bring that young man to me. I shall

cause a thousand of you to be put to death, if you do not—ay, and raze

all your houses to the ground!” These threats greatly disconcerted the

officials, so they put out the fire and led Bahrám before the princess,

who made him enter her chariot, and conducted him into a quiet garden,

where leaving him with Táj ul-Mulúk, she then proceeded to visit Muzaffar

Sháh and Husn-árá, who received her with the greatest kindness, and after

embracing her, inquired the occasion of her visit. “It is mere chance,”

said she, “which brings me to you; but I have seen on my way hither an

incident which caused me great pain: some of your people were about to

burn the son of my father-in-law’s vazír, and, but for my interference,

he would ere this have been reduced to ashes. Why did you dream of giving

such instructions? Would his death change anything that has occurred?

Would it efface the _tika_[224] of slander? Supposing a hundred persons

already know of the adventure of Rúh-afzá, presently it will be known

to thousands. What you should rather do is pardon Bahrám his fault, and

marry him to your daughter; for he is full of spirit and of a handsome

appearance. If you despise human nature so much, why did you marry me to

Táj ul-Mulúk? Is there any difference between your daughter and me?”

Muzaffar Sháh bent his head on hearing this remonstrance, and said he

would think over it. Then Bakáwalí went in search of Rúh-afzá and found

her in tears; but patting her on the head she said smilingly: “You have

cried enough; wash yourself, change your dress, and come forth from your

cell. I have brought back your lover, safe and sound, and hope that you

will soon be married.” Rúh-afzá thanked Bakáwalí and embraced her most

affectionately, and the cousins remained together all night.[225] On the

morrow Bakáwalí led Rúh-afzá before her parents to be reconciled to them,

after which she set out with Táj ul-Mulúk and Bahrám for Jazíra-i Iram.

She related to her father and mother the story of Rúh-afzá and Bahrám,

and persuaded them to do for the latter, without loss of time, what her

uncle had done for Táj ul-Mulúk. They agreed, and, having clothed Bahrám

in royal robes, proceeded in great state to Firdaus, where suitable

arrangements had been made to receive the marriage procession, which soon

arrived at the palace of Muzaffar Sháh. The wedding guests were conducted

into the reception room, where dance and music continued the whole night.

After the ceremony of the collar and betel, they brought the bridegroom

into the interior of the palace, in order to accomplish the formalities

which still remained to be performed. Bakáwalí behaved towards Bahrám

as though she had been his sister. She held for him the Kurán and the

looking-glass, and made him drink the cup half-emptied by Rúh-afzá.[226]

When all these ceremonies had been performed, Muzaffar Sháh and Husn-árá

gave to their daughter, on the day of separation, a considerable dowry,

great quantity of ready money as well as jewels and slaves. Fírúz Sháh

and Táj ul-Mulúk at the head of the nuptial procession returned to

Jazír-i Iram, where they continued the festive rejoicings for several

days, after which Bakáwalí and her devoted husband conducted Bahrám and

his bride in great splendour to Mulk-i Nighárín. The father and mother

of Bahrám were overjoyed at the sight of their beloved son, and warmly

expressed their gratitude to Bakáwalí, who had brought him such great

good fortune. To celebrate the marriage of his son, the vazír gave a

grand banquet, to which great and small were alike invited, and even

the king himself honoured it with his presence. The festival continued

for several days. Everybody received presents; money was distributed

in abundance—all were delighted. After the king had been escorted back

to his palace and all the guests had retired to their homes, Bakáwalí

summoned Hammála, and ordered her to transport her palace to that spot,

which was soon accomplished, when she presented it to Rúh-afzá and Bahrám

for their residence. Thus terminated the adventures of these lovers: each

was content and happy.

MAY GOD GRANT TO EACH OF US THE LIKE FAVOUR!

PERSIAN STORIES.

PERSIAN STORIES.

THE THREE DECEITFUL WOMEN.

Once on a time there were three whales of the sea of fraud and

deceit—three dragons of the nature of thunder and the quickness of

lightning—three defamers of honour and reputation—in other words, three

men-deceiving, lascivious women, each of whom had, from the chancery

of her cunning, issued the diploma of turmoil to a hundred cities and

countries, and in the arts of fraud they accounted Satan as an admiring

spectator in the theatre of their stratagems. One of them was sitting

in the court of justice of the Kází’s embraces; the second was the

precious gem of the bazár-master’s diadem of compliance; and the third

was the beazle and ornament of the signet-ring of the life and soul of

the superintendent of police. They were constantly entrapping the fawns

of the prairie of deceit, with the grasp of cunning, and plundering the

wares of the caravan of tranquility of the hearts of both strangers and

acquaintances by means of the edge of the scimitar of fraud.[227]

One day this trefoil of roguery met at the public bath, and, according

to their homogeneous nature, they intermingled as intimately as a comb

with the hair: they tucked up the garment of amity to the waist of

union, entered the tank of agreement, seated themselves in the hot-house

of love, and poured from the dish of folly, by means of the key of

hypocrisy, the water of profusion upon the head of intercourse; they

rubbed with the brush of familiarity and the soap of affection the

stains of jealousies from each other’s limbs. After a while, when they

had brought the pot of concord to boil by the fire of mutual laudation,

they warmed the bath of association with the breeze of kindness and came

out.[228] In the dressing-room all three of them happened simultaneously

to find a ring, the gem of which surpassed the imagination of the

Jeweller of Destiny,[229] and the like of which he had never beheld in

the store-house of possibility. The finger of covetousness of each of

the three ladies pointed to the ring, and the right of its possession

became the object of dispute among them. But after their controversy had

been protracted to an undue length, the mother of the bathman,[230] who

had for years practised under the sorceress Shamsah[231] and had learnt

all sorts of tricks from her, stepped forward and said: “I am a woman

who has seen the world, and I have experienced many events of this

kind. Something has occurred to me with reference to this matter, and if

you will listen to my advice your difficulty will be solved. As I am a

faithful and honest person,” the old woman continued, “you may entrust

this ring to me. Each of you must sow the seed of deception into the

field of her husband’s folly, and she whose arrow of fraud shall settle

deepest in the target of her husband’s imbecility, and the rose of whose

act, being watered by the art and care of diligence, shall flourish more

than the plants of her competitors, shall, after due investigation by

myself, be put in possession of the much-coveted ring.” All three of them

agreed to this proposal, and surrendered the ring to the old hag. The

wife of the Kází said: “I shall be the first who writes the incantation

upon the name of the Kází.” Accordingly they dressed in the robe of

cunning, put on the mantle of deception, and departed to their respective

domiciles.

_The Trick of the Kází’s Wife._

In the first place, the wife of the Kází sat down in the court of

meditation and arrangement, and having for the purpose of solving this

problem opened the directory of falsehood, she perused it with great

diligence, scanning it from paragraph to paragraph, from the preface

to the conclusion. It so happened that a carpenter who was the Kází’s

neighbour had long paid attentions to the wife of the latter. He chopped

the tablet of his heart with the axe of uneasiness, and scratched the

board of his body with the plane of lamentation; he was in constant

motion like a saw, and though all his limbs were like a grating turned

into eyes, and he was sitting on the chair of expectation, he was not

able to attain his object; so that the hatchet of longing and burning

felled the palm-tree of his patience and equanimity, and his heart was

perforated by the auger of this grief. As the wife of the Kází was

aware of the sufferings of the carpenter, she called her confidential

slave-girl and said to her: “O thou Violet[232] of the garden of harmony,

the flower of whose body I have so long cherished in the parterre of

education! I have a little business which I mean to discharge this day

by the aid of thy intimacy. If thou wilt accomplish it cheerfully, I

shall ransom thee with my own money, and rejoice thy heart with various

gifts.” The girl replied: “Whatever my mistress orders, it is my duty

to perform.” The wife of the Kází said: “Go, unobserved by any one, to

the carpenter and tell him that the flame of his love has taken effect

on my heart; that I am aware of his having suffered torments on account

of my unkindness; and that on the day of resurrection I shall have to

answer for the sufferings I have caused to him: I am quite embarrassed

in this matter, and, in order to remove this awful responsibility, I am

prepared now to make good my past transgressions, and to meet him if

he will dig an underground passage between this house and his own, so

that we may be enabled to pluck the roses of mutual love whenever we

choose, and communicate freely by means of this passage.” The maid went

to the carpenter, and caused by the nectar of her eloquence this message

to bloom in his garden of hope. He presented the girl with a thousand

dínars[233] and said:

“I would ransom thee with my life,

O idol of the garden of purity!

I shall gird my loins for thy service

In a hundred thousand places.

It is a lifetime since I began to burn on the thread of exclusion and

separation, and put the collyrium of longing into the eye of desire to

behold that paragon of the world.

Melancholy for thee inspires my breast;

Desire for thee permeates my heart!

Thy behests I shall never disobey;

Thy will I shall follow with my soul.”

The carpenter dug a spacious passage between the two houses, and the lady

arrived by means of it in her lover’s domicile. When the carpenter beheld

the Jacob’s house of mourning of his heart illuminated by the Joseph’s

lamp of the coveted interview, he said:

“Welcome, my faithful idol!

My hut is the envy of Paradise.

Come, moon-like mistress, come!

Come, tender sweetheart, come!

Thy elegant speech is coquetry;

Thy gait is graceful as the rose:

Thou art the cynosure of love!

Thou art the model of tenderness!”

After mutual congratulations and compliments, that title-page of the

ledger of amorous intrigues said to the carpenter: “To-morrow I shall

come here, and you must bring the Kází to marry me to you.” When the

lady had explained the particulars of this matter to him, he drew the

hand of obedience over the eyes of compliance; and when on the next day

the kází of the morn placed the seal of brilliancy upon the volume of

the firmament, and the shaykh-sun seated himself upon the carpet of the

Orient and manifested himself by the consequence of light and brightness,

the Kází hastened from his haram to the court of justice. His tender

mistress, however, betook herself to the house of the carpenter, who

forgot the grief of separation, dressed himself in gaudy clothes, and

waiting on the Kází said: “O spreader of the superficies of the law, and

strengthener of the pillars of the affairs of mankind,

No matter in this world can be

Arranged without thy intervention.”

When the Kází perceived from this allocution that the carpenter came

on business, and concluded that it might be something profitable, he

replied: “Greeting to you! And may the mercy of God be upon your fathers

and ancestors, fortunate and blessed man! Welcome! Rest yourself awhile;

smoke tobacco and drink coffee, whilst you are acquainting me with your

intentions.” The carpenter said: “O Kází, I am a bridegroom and am very

restless to-day on that account: my bride is sitting in the house. As

the moon is this day in the first mansion of the Balance, and in the two

hours and nine minutes that are elapsing of the day it has a triangular

aspect with the sun, a hexagonal one with Jupiter, is in opposition

to Mercury, out of the influence of the Scorpion and the remaining

ill-boding influences, therefore I am of good cheer; and as the hour to

tie the matrimonial knot is quite propitious, I request your lordship

quickly to perform the ceremony.”[234]

As soon as the Kází heard about a wedding, he put the turban of

covetousness on his head, took the rosary of thanksgivings into his hand,

and went with the carpenter to the house of the latter. When he entered

he exclaimed: “Open, O opener of portals!” but when his eyes alighted

on the bride and he recognised in her the mistress of his own haram, a

thousand suspicions beset him; nevertheless he composed himself as well

as he was able, but could not help thinking: “This is a very wonderful

business; and I have never seen two persons resembling each other so

much.” While he thus plunged the pen of his mind into the inkstand of

meditation and amazement, the carpenter exclaimed: “My lord, the time is

passing, and what is the use of delaying?” The Kází looked up, and again

scrutinised the lady, but found no difference between her and his wife,

so he cried: “Praise be to God! There is no power nor strength but by

his will!” Then putting his hand to his breast he said: “What memory is

this?” and arose from his place. The carpenter asked: “O Kází, where are

you going?” The Kází replied: “My good fellow, my ‘Key of prosperity’

has been left in the house, and there is a prayer in it that must be

recited before pronouncing the matrimonial formula, in order to procure

the mutual enjoyment of the newly married couple.” Accordingly he went

to the house, but was forestalled by his spouse, who entered it through

the secret passage and lay down on her bed. When the Kází arrived and

saw his wife in this position he said: “I ask pardon of God from all

that displeases him in words, deeds, thoughts, or intentions! To what

a strange suspicion have I given way! May God forgive me!” His wife,

on hearing these exclamations, yawned and turned from one side to the

other, and said: “Violet, did I not tell you to allow no one to enter

this room, so that I might repose for a time?” Quoth the Kází: “Beloved

partner! there is no stranger. Excuse me, and pardon me for having

harboured evil suspicions concerning thee.” The wife replied: “Perhaps

you have become mad!”

The Kází again returned to the carpenter’s house, but his wife had

preceded him and was sitting in her former place. As soon as he looked at

her the same suspicions overwhelmed him, and he exclaimed in amazement:

“O Lord of glory! I have fallen into a strange predicament, and am, as it

were, between two screws of the horns of a dilemma that presses me, on

the one hand, quickly to perform the ceremony, and, on the other hand,

rather to defer it.” Then said the carpenter: “My lord Kází, I see you

despondent and hesitating in this business; and although you ought not

to expect anything from me because I am your neighbour, yet I will give

you these thousand dínars to hasten your proceedings, because the time

is elapsing.” No sooner did the Kází see the money than he put it at

once into his pocket and began: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the

Clement,” and continued to read the matrimonial formula till he arrived

at the words, “I marry,” when he perceived a black mole on the corner of

his wife’s lip, which he had so often kissed. He felt uneasy, and the

sugar of the thousand dínars was bitter in the palate of his greediness,

he again lowered his head into the collar of meditation and said within

himself: “O assembly of genii and men! are you able to withdraw

yourselves from the precincts of heaven and earth?” The carpenter

exclaimed: “O Kází, I really do not know the reason of your delay, nor

from the fountain of what pretence the water of this procrastination

is gushing.” The Kází smiled and thus replied: “O carpenter, we are

the sureties of legal affairs, the successors of the prophets, and the

pontiffs of the laws and canons of the ways of guidance. In every affair

that we perform we must attentively consider a thousand subtleties, lest

we should become liable to blame in the next world by the commission of

a fault. Why are you in such haste? All affairs in this world succeed

only by civility and patience, and not by confusion and impatience.

Thou resemblest that shepherd who was one day engaged in pasturing his

flock and became very thirsty. As a village was very near, he left his

sheep and entered it to look for water. He happened to pass near a tree

under the shadow of which a schoolmaster was teaching a crowd of boys.

After looking for a while, he perceived the teacher reposing and issuing

orders, and the boys humbly obeying him in all things and occupied in

melodiously rehearsing their lessons. This sort of employment disgusted

the shepherd with his own calling, and he thought: ‘While I am able to

learn this trade, I do not see why I should spend my whole life to no

profit by running about the fields with a lot of sheep. I must change

the profession of a shepherd for that of a schoolmaster, and then I

shall spend my days in comfort, like this man.’ Accordingly he stepped

forward and said: ‘My good master, I have a great inclination to learn

your business; please instruct me in it.’ When the master looked at the

figure and aspect of the shepherd, he was astonished, and saw he was an

ignorant fellow who had no capacity. For the sake of fun, however, he

took a piece of paper, wrote the alphabet on it, and said to the man:

‘Be seated, and read this.’ The shepherd asked: ‘Why do you not teach

me from these large books?’ Said the master: ‘You are but a beginner,

and you cannot read books till you have learned the alphabet.’ Quoth the

shepherd: ‘Master, what letters are you speaking about? Please fill me

with them now, for my flock roams about without a shepherd, and I have

no time to sit down and learn the alphabet.’ The schoolmaster smiled

at this and drove the shepherd away. O carpenter,” continued the Kází,

“do not fancy every business to be easy. Now I meditate and study how

to divide the possessions of a certain wealthy man, who died yesterday,

among thirty-two men who have inherited them. This has just occurred to

my mind, and I was engaged in multiplication and division.” Then the

Kází again glanced at the lady, and beginning to feel uneasy arose once

more. The carpenter asked: “O Kází, what fancy is moving you now, and

causes you to look so confused?” Said the Kází: “This transaction is one

of the greatest importance according to the religious law. It cannot

be performed unless after the general ablution, about the completeness

of which a doubt has just arisen in my mind; therefore I must return to

my house and renew it.” The carpenter answered: “You can wash yourself

here.” Quoth the Kází: “No, by God! I never perform my ablutions with

water which I have not seen before, and I have all the arrangements for

purification in my house.”

The Kází returned to his house accordingly, but his wife went before him

through the passage, and was reading a book when he entered her room.

He exclaimed: “I ask forgiveness from God, and I repent of all my sins

and transgressions.” The lady looked at him in astonishment, and said:

“This day I perceive the neck of your intellect confined in the halter

of a lunatic fit. How many times have you come and again gone away after

holding a soliloquy as madmen are wont to do! If you have become subject

to such a distemper, and do not take the proper steps to cure it, I shall

not be your nurse.” Said the Kází: “O Bilkís[235] of the compact of

prudence and innocence, to-day I have indulged in a suspicion regarding

thee: I have made a mistake—forgive me!” The wife answered: “The worst

people in the world are those who indulge in evil imputations, and those

of yours must be expiated.” She then gave a few dínars to Violet, bidding

her distribute them among the poor as a penitential expiation. After this

the Kází took an apple from his pocket, cut it in twain, and gave one

moiety to his wife, saying: “Though apples have many qualities, the chief

of them is to increase conjugal love: I intend to go to the bath.”

Putting the other half of the apple in his pocket, the Kází returned

to the house of the carpenter. His wife preceded him as usual, and sat

down in her place. When he drew near he saw the half of the apple in her

hand, and was greatly amazed, but said nothing, for fear of offending

the carpenter, who cried out: “O Kází, tell me for God’s sake what you

have to say, and why is all this going and coming and all this delay?

If this affair is disagreeable to you, I shall bring Shaykh Jahtás,

or Mullah Allam-Abhuda, the servant of the college, to perform the

matrimonial ceremony. O Kází, I expected more kindness from you as a

neighbour. This business is not worth so much haggling about, and if you

wish more than the thousand, take these five hundred dínars.” When the

Kází saw this additional sum of money he was overpowered by covetousness

and exclaimed: “I take refuge with God from the lapidated Satan![236]

I marry and couple!” Then his eye again alighted on the countenance

of his wife and he saw she wore the ruby necklace which he had bought

for three thousand dínars. He shook his head and said: “Every now and

then I must somehow stop: I do not know what is again distracting my

attention,” and he glanced once more at his wife. Quoth the carpenter:

“O Kází, your amorous looks have convinced me that your desires are

centred in the possession of this lady, for your eyes constantly wander

over her countenance. If this be the case, do not make a secret of it,

that we may consult her opinion on the matter.” The Kází thought within

himself, that, as the carpenter was an ignorant and illiterate man, he

might play a trick on him, and recite something else instead of the

marriage formula, so that, if his suspicions proved to be well-founded,

he might be able to annul the marriage. So he sat down on his haunches

and recited: “Iazghára, Iajargára Aftanys Salanká, Dáma Talkuvára,” etc.

Then he spoke to the carpenter: “Say, ‘I agree.’” But as the carpenter

had frequently heard the marriage formula, he answered: “Kází, this is

a formula read to country fellows and retainers. I have given thee one

thousand five hundred dínars to marry me like one of the grandees. I am

not a child to be thus played with: this formula is not worth twenty

dínars. Either return me the money or recite the proper manly formula.”

Quoth the Kází: “You are but a working man, carpenter, why then do you

entertain such high pretensions? I have just now read to you the formula

which I made use of in marrying Mullah Abdullah, the householder in the

market, yet you want a formula used for grandees, scholars, and judges,

and to give me a headache!” The carpenter replied: “I also covet science

and distinction.” Said the Kází: “How will you convince me of that?” The

carpenter continued: “I know the story of the ‘Sun and Moon.’[237] I have

heard the tale of ‘Sayf ul-Mulúk and Badya’á ul-Jumál.’ I have likewise

seen ‘The Road to the Mosque.’ My father used to pass once every day

near the school-house of Mullah Namatullah Kylak.” Said the Kází: “There

is no science or perfection higher than this. I did not know the degree

or limit which thou hast attained.”[238] In consequence of this irony

of the Kází, the carpenter put a feather in his bonnet[239] and said:

“There is no excuse.” Once more the Kází attempted to begin the formula,

but when he looked at the half of the apple that was in the lady’s

hand, he cried: “Woman, give me that half-apple!” She complied, and the

Kází took the other half from his pocket, and by placing the two halves

together he found them to fit exactly. The carpenter exclaimed: “Kází,

apparently some jugglery is going on here! What delusion are you subject

to every moment?” The Kází replied: “I have done this simply to produce

conjugal love between you.” Then he again rose and wanted to go to his

house for the purpose of verifying his surmises, but the lady turned to

the carpenter and said: “Foolish man, hast thou brought me here to marry

me, or to make a laughing-stock of me? I have never before seen such

proceedings. I think his eyes have become subject to [the disease called]

pearl-water.” The Kází took no notice of these remarks, but hastened

to his house, where his wife met him with these words: “O Kází, thou

resemblest those people who have the pearl-water in their eyes.” Said

he: “There is no God but _the_ God! The other woman has spoken the same

thing. Tell me at all events what is the distemper called pearl-water.”

His wife answered: “Pearl-water is a humour caused by heavy particles in

the stomach rising into the head, and from thence descending into the

eyelids, which injures the eyes, so that different persons appear to be

the same, and cannot be distinguished from each other. If this malady is

not cured it degenerates into blindness.” Quoth the Kází: “Perhaps this

is because I have not kept my depraved appetite in subjection. Several

days ago I was with the superintendent of police in the house of Kávas

the Armenian, who had died; we went there to take an inventory of his

goods and chattels for the Amír. The children of Khoja Kávas had, by way

of a sweetmeat, something baked in hog’s blood; as I was hungry and this

food happened to be delicious, I ate somewhat freely of it; and as it had

been prepared from the property of the deceased man, it may possibly have

had its consequences.”[240]

A third time the Kází returned to the carpenter’s house, and when he

beheld his wife, and glanced stealthily at her, the lady was wroth

and said to the carpenter: “This fellow is every now and then casting

amorous glances at me, and through my connection with thee I have lost my

reputation. Either drive him away or forfeit my company.” Quoth the Kází:

“Respectable virgin and honourable lady, in all matters consideration is

useful.” The carpenter lost his patience and exclaimed: “You have nearly

killed me with your folly and loquacity. I do not wish any longer for

marriage. If thou hast considered this woman worthy of thy haram, why

hast thou for so long a time been undecided?” Whilst the carpenter was

thus talking, they heard the voice of the muezzin, and he exclaimed:

“Alas, it is noon[241]—the propitious hour has elapsed!” Said the Kází:

“You are a carpenter; you know how to handle the saw and the axe, to

make windows and doors. But what idea have you of the rotation of the

spheres—about good and bad stars and hours? This science belongs to our

profession.” Then taking an almanac from his pocket and opening it, he

said: “The moon is a luminary of quick motion. Yesterday she entered the

sign of the Balance, but has so quickly travelled through the degrees

that she feels tired to-day and is still reposing, and will not travel

to-morrow. From hour to hour till to-morrow, inclusive, wedding dinners

and other feasts are propitious. I shall now go to my house and prepare

a medicine for the pearl-water of my eyes, as it will probably hinder me

from studying.” But the carpenter and the lady seized the Kází, one on

either side, and said: “Mayhap the affairs of this world are only a play!

By Allah, we shall not let thee go ere thou hast tied the matrimonial

knot.” Quoth the Kází: “Let me go, else I shall immediately write a

mandate for the capital punishment of both of you.” They rejoined: “May

the columns of the house of Khoja Ratyl, the merchant, fall upon you, if

you do us the least harm!” Upon this the Kází turned his face upwards

and prayed: “O Judge of the court of justice of destiny, protect me

from the evil of all mad persons and from all malefactors, and grant me

health and peace! Thou judgest—thou art the sovereign Judge!” As he had

no alternative now but to marry the lady to the carpenter, and as at

that time it was customary for the bride to kiss the hand of the Kází

after the termination of the ceremony, the lady stepped forward for this

purpose; but the Kází was so anxious to mark his wife for identification

afterwards, that he struck her such a blow on the cheek with his clenched

hand as to cause her to bleed profusely. Then he ran into his own house,

where he found his wife disfiguring her face and crying out: “I renounce

such an adulterous husband, who is carrying on an intrigue with the

carpenter’s wife.” She and her maids then took him by the throat and

pulled off his turban, and he fled into the street. The carpenter, who

had heard the noise, came out, and seeing him with his head uncovered

placed his own turban on it, and said: “O Kází, women are of an imperfect

understanding, and quarrels between husbands and wives have taken place

at all times. If you have lost your senses, this can easily be remedied

by taking up your lodging for a few days in a madhouse, until your spouse

repents of her deed.” And so the Kází went to repose himself in a lunatic

asylum.

* * * * *

The secret-knowing bulbul of the musical-hall of narratives, namely, the

pen, thus continues its melody: After the wife of the Kází had severed

the robe of his conjugal authority with the scissors of deceit, she again

stitched it with the needle of fraud, and invested with it the bosom of

the wretched Kází’s imbecility by means of the above-narrated tricks.

Then she sent word to her two accomplices, that she had drawn the bow of

machination to its utmost extent by the exertion of her skill, that she

had with the arrow thereof hit the target of the conditions stipulated,

and that now the field was free to them for the display of their cunning.

_The Trick of the Bazár-Master’s Wife._

The blandly-ambling pea-fowl of the pen continues the narrative as

follows: Now it was the turn of the bazár-master’s wife, whose tricks

were of a kind to instruct Iblís in the laws of deceit and fraud.[242]

She began to weigh all kinds of stratagems in the balance of meditation,

to enable her to decide what course of roguery would be best for her

object. She happened to have a nurse who had also attained the highest

degree of intrigue by the instigations of Iblís, and was her assistant

in all her devices; so calling this woman, and anointing with the balsam

of flattery the limbs of her attachment, she said: “O beloved and kind

mother, the ornaments and pictures of my house of fraud and cunning are

the offspring of thy instructions. It is long since the bond of amity

was torn between me and my husband. In spite of all my endeavours, I am

unable to cope with his sagacity; but I trust in thy affection, and hope

that we shall be able to arrange this matter by thy assistance.” The

nurse answered: “Ornament of the tribe of the lovely!

My soul is longing and my eyes waiting,

Both to be sacrificed at thy behest.

As long as the child of the spirit remains in the cradle of my body, and

the milk of motion and rest circulates in the members of it, I cannot

avoid obeying thy commands. I sincerely comply with all thy orders.” Then

said the wife of the bazár-master: “As I was one day coming from the

bath, the son of a banker was walking in the lane. And when the smoke

of the torch of my tenderness reached his nostrils, he fell from the

courser of the intellect upon the ground of insensibility and followed me

everywhere with groans and sighs; but the vanity of seeing myself beloved

allowed me not to sprinkle the rose-water of a glance upon the face of

his expectation. When he arrived at the door of my house, he sobbed, and

then went away. I know that the bird of his heart is captivated by the

pursuit after the grain of this phantom, and is imprisoned in the meshes

of exclusion. I want thee to go to him and convey to him the following

message: ‘From that day when the chamberlain of carelessness hindered

me from admitting thee to the intimacy of an interview, I dreamed every

night fearful dreams, and am to this day at all times so much plunged

into the drowning waters of uneasiness, that it has become plain to me

that all this is the consequence of thy disappointment and exclusion. Now

I wish to remedy my incivility by promenading a little in the gardens

of thy love and attachment. As the bazár-master will be engaged till

the morning in some business, the house will not be encumbered by his

presence. So put on a woman’s veil, bring wine and the requisites for

amusement, and come hither, that we may sweeten our palates with the

honey of meeting each other.’”

After the lady had despatched her nurse to the banker’s son, the

bazár-master arrived, and his wife thus addressed him: “Beloved husband,

to-morrow, one of the principal ladies of the town, whose acquaintance

I have made at the bath, will come to me on a visit. As it is for my

interest to receive her with all possible courtesy, you must remain in

the town-hall to-morrow until evening. Send in the supplies required for

a handsome entertainment, and please to arrange all in such a manner as

we shall not reap shame from anything.” The bazár-master lighted the lamp

of acquiescence in the assembly of compliance and said: “Let it be so.”

When the banker of morn sat down in the shop of the horizon, and when the

unalloyed gold of the sun stamped in the mint of creation with the legend

of brilliancy, and the light began to ascend towards the meridian of the

sphere, the son of the banker put on costly garments, perfumed himself,

and threw over his clothes a large veil, and taking under it a flask of

ruby-coloured wine, proceeded with a thousand joyful expectations to the

mansion of his mistress, who had, like the crescent moon on a festive

eve, gone to meet him with open arms as far as the vestibule of the

house, saying:

“To-day my moon visits me with joy,

And renews the covenant of love with his light.

Thou art welcome! For the rays of thy sun-like countenance have made

my humble cottage the object of jealousy of the palaces of Europe, and

delightful, like Paradise!

Come! For without thee I cannot endure life:

The eyelids of my repose meet not sleep without thee.

I wish not for the water of immortality through Khizr:

Thy cheeks are not less to me than immortality.”

The lady took him into the interior apartments, divested him of the veil,

threw the hand of amity over the neck of his affection, begged his pardon

for her past offence, entangled with kindness the feet of his heart in

the stirrup-leathers of hope, then entirely undressed him, and said:

“Rest thyself comfortably in this secret apartment until I go and bring

the requisites for company and music, when we shall enjoy ourselves.”

She went out and said to her female attendants: “When I go in again,

you must call the bazár-master into the house and say: ‘Our lady has

brought a strange man, with whom she is amusing herself and drinking

wine.’” Then she returned to the young man and kept him company. In the

meantime her husband was informed of what was going on in his house, and

becoming greatly excited, sent in a servant to inquire. The lady said

to the youth, in seeming perplexity: “This coming of my husband is not

without a cause—perhaps he has a notion that you are here.” The youth,

trembling with terror, said: “Alas, I shall lose my life through this

affair; for the bazár-master is jealous, and will injure me.” Then the

lady opened a chest and said to the young man: “Conceal yourself in this

chest until I see what will come of the business;” and having locked

the box and put away the youth’s clothes, she met her husband, who was

inflamed like an oven. Throwing her arms round his neck, she exclaimed:

“Darling of my soul! I see thee greatly discomposed and confused—what

is it?” He replied: “My reason is unwilling to put faith in what I have

heard, and I want you to tell me the truth.” The lady smiled and said:

“What thou hast heard is quite true. The lamp of my heart was for a long

time blazing in the assembly of love towards a young man; the palm-tree

of his imagination likewise bore the fruit of attachment to me; and now I

have brought him and am in his company. Love is innate in human nature,

but has never manifested itself between me and thee. Hast thou not

heard of Laylá and Majnún, or read the story of Yúzuf and Zulaykhá? Is

there anyone in the world who has not felt the pangs of love? He in the

mother-shell of whose heart affection finds no refuge has indeed reaped

no fruit from the spring of life.

Love is the ornament of the rose-grove of the heart;

It is the guide and leader to each mansion.

The breast is a lamp whose flame is love;

The heart is a shell, and love the pearl in it.

The lamp without a flame is the grave;

Without a pearl the shell has no light.

O bazár-master!” she continued, “there is no man or woman who has not

tasted the pleasures of this passion; it is inherent in life, and its

exhilarating breezes invigorate the rose-garden of politeness. There is

no animate being whose nostrils have not been perfumed by the fragrance

of the garden of love: perhaps I have no heart, and am no human being?

How long shall I dwell with thee? In all circumstances a change of

climate becomes necessary. My unfortunate friend has been long prostrated

on the bed of sickness for the love which he bears to me, and on account

of his exclusion. Humanity and compassion are the chief corner-stones of

Islám, and what shall I answer on the day of resurrection if I do not act

in compliance with these two duties? Hast thou not heard that a mendicant

must not be sent away unrelieved, and that if an ant creep away with one

grain the stores will not be diminished?

No harm befalls the granary

If a poor ant obtains half a grain.

A hundred thousand persons drink water from one fountain, and several

people eat fruit from one date-tree. What deficiency will be entailed

upon the rose-grove of my tenderness if the odour of a rose bring

tranquility to the nostrils of an unfortunate man? Quench the thirst of

a thirsty man with a drop of water, and rescue a fainting one from the

labyrinth of distress; for good acts are a dam to misfortunes. Be not

melancholy, O bazár-master, for in the banquet of my existence the plates

of my tender delicacies are so numerous that a thousand persons like

thyself may be satisfied by them for many years.”

The bazár-master said, with astonishment: “Worthless, foolish, and vain

woman, what senseless words are you saying?” She replied: “I swear, by

the gratitude due for thy affection and friendship, that everything I

said was only fun and dissimulation. But if you have any doubts on the

subject come and see for yourself.” She then led the way, and her husband

followed her until they reached her chamber. When he beheld the youth’s

clothes, the arrangements for drinking, and the decorations, he began to

blaze up like a flame, and to ferment like a tub of wine—in short, he was

quite beside himself, and asked: “Where is the young man?” She answered:

“He is in that chest. I have concealed him in it, and if you do not

believe it, take the key—open and look.” The bazár-master had no sooner

taken the key than his wife burst into laughter, clapped her hands, and

exclaimed: “I remember, but you forget!” Her husband threw down the key,

and said: “Miserable woman, you have destroyed my patience. Was it worth

while thus to trifle with my affection?” With these words he left the

house; but during the conversation the young man was like one suspended

between death and life. When it was evening the lady opened the chest,

and said to him: “Leave this place quickly, and remove the spectacle of

this intention from your eyes, for you were near being invested with the

robe of a lover.” The young man thanked God for having preserved his

life, and fled precipitately.[243]

* * * * *

After the bird of the bazár-master’s wife had laid this egg in the nest

of deceit, she informed the spouse of the superintendent of police that

she had also spread her net and captured the coveted game; and that now,

the field being free, she was prepared to see what fruit the tree of her

friend’s accomplishments would bear.

_The Trick of the Wife of the Superintendent of Police._

The narrator of this tale causes the rose-bud of his rhetoric to

blossom from the dew of composition as follows: When the wife of the

superintendent of police was apprised that her turn had come, she

revolved and meditated for some time what trick she was to play off upon

her lord, and after coming to a conclusion she said to him one evening:

“To-morrow I wish that we should both enjoy ourselves at home without

interruption, and I mean to prepare some cakes.” He replied: “Very well,

my dear; I have longed for such an occasion.” The lady had a servant

who was very obedient and always covered with the mantle of attachment

to her. Next morning she called this lad and said to him: “I have long

contemplated the Hyacinth[244] grove of thy symmetrical stature. I know

that thou travelest constantly and faithfully on the road of compliance

with all my wishes, and that thou seekest to serve me. I have a little

business which I wish thee to do for me.” The lad answered: “I shall be

happy to comply.” Then the lady gave him a thousand dínars and said: “Go

to the convent which is in our neighbourhood, give this money to one of

the Kalandars,[245] and say: ‘A prisoner whom the Amír had surrendered

to the police escaped last night. He resembles thee greatly; and as the

superintendent of police is unable to give account of his prisoner to

the Amír, he has despatched a man to take thee instead of the escaped

criminal. I have compassion for thee and mean to rescue thee. Take this

sum of money; give me thy dress, and flee from this town; for if thou

remainest till the morning thou wilt be subject to torture and lose thy

life.’”

The lad acted as he was ordered; brought the Kalandar’s garments and

handed them to his mistress. When it was morning the lady said to her

husband: “I know you have long wished to eat sweetmeats, and, if you

will allow me, I will make some to-day.” He said: “Very well.” His wife

then made all things ready and began to bake the sweetmeats, when the

superintendent of police said: “Last night a theft was committed in

such a place and I sat up late to extort confessions; and as I have had

a sleepless night, I feel tired and wish to repose a little.” The lady

answered: “Very well;” so her husband reclined on the pillow of rest;

and when the sweetmeats were ready she took a portion, and after putting

an opiate into one she roused him, saying: “How long will you sleep?

This is a day of feasting and pleasure, not of sleep and laziness. Lift

up your head and see if I have made the sweets according to your taste.”

He raised his head and ate a piece of the hot cake and presently a deep

sleep overcame him. The lady at once undressed her husband and put on

him the Kalandar’s garments, and the slave-boy shaved his beard and made

tattoo marks on his body.

When night had set in the lady called to the slave-boy: “Hyacinth, take

the superintendent on thy back and carry him to the convent in the place

of that Kalandar, and should he wish to return home in the morning do

not allow him.” The lad obeyed; and towards morning the superintendent

recovered his senses a little, but as the opiate had made his palate very

bitter he became extremely thirsty. He fancied he was in his own house

and bawled out: “Narcissus,[246] bring water.” The other Kalandars awoke,

and after hearing several shouts of this kind they concluded he was under

the effects of bhang and said: “Poor fellow! The narcissus is in the

garden. This is the convent of sufferers, and there are green garments

enough here. Arise and sober thyself; for the morning and harbinger of

benefits, as well as of the acquisition of victuals for subsistence,

is approaching.” When the superintendent heard these words he thought

they were in a dream, for he had not yet fully recovered his senses. He

sat quietly, but was amazed on beholding the vaults and ceiling of the

convent. He got up, looked at the clothes in which he was dressed, and

at the marks tattooed on his body, and began to doubt whether he was

awake or asleep. He washed his face, and perceived that the caravan of

his mustachios had likewise departed from the plain of his countenance.

In this state of perplexity he went out of the monastery and proceeded

to his house. There his wife and servants had made their arrangements

and were expecting his arrival. Approaching the door and knocking for

admission, Hyacinth demanded: “Whom seekest thou, O Kalandar?” “I want

to enter the house.” Quoth the slave-boy: “Evidently thou hast taken

thy morning draught of bhang more copiously than usual, since thou

hast thus foolishly mistaken the road to thy convent. Depart! This is

not the place in which vagabond Kalandars are harboured. This is the

mansion of the superintendent of the police, and if the símurgh should

look uncivilly at this place from his fastness in the west of Mount

Káf,[247] the wings of his impertinence would be at once singed.” The

superintendent replied: “What nonsense is this thou art speaking? Get out

of my way, for I do not relish thy imbecile prattle.” But when he would

have entered, Hyacinth dealt him a blow on the shoulder with a bludgeon,

which the superintendent returned with a box on the ear, and they began

to wrestle together. Just then the lady and her slave-girls rushed forth

from the rear and assailed the superintendent with sticks and stones,

shouting: “This Kalandar wishes in broad daylight to force his way into

the house of the superintendent, who is unfortunately sick, else he would

have hanged the rascal.” By this time all the neighbours were assembled

before the house, and on seeing the Kalandar’s shameless proceedings they

exclaimed: “Look at that impudent Kalandar, who wants forcibly to enter

the house of the superintendent!” Ultimately the crowd amounted to more

than five hundred persons, and the superintendent was put to flight,

pursued by all the boys of the town, who pelted him with stones.

At a distance of three farsangs from the town was a village, where the

superintendent concealed himself in a corner of the mosque. In the

evenings he went from house to house and begged for food to sustain life,

until his beard grew again and the tattoo marks began to disappear.

Whenever any one inquired for the superintendent at his house, the

answer was, that the gentleman was sick. After a month had passed, the

grief of separation and the misery of his condition had again drawn the

superintendent back to the city. He went to the monastery because fear

hindered him from going to his own house. His wife happened one day to

catch a glimpse of him from a window, and perceived him sitting in the

same dress with a company of Kalandars. She felt compassion for him, and

thought: “He has had enough of this!” Making a loaf and putting an opiate

into it, she said to the slave-boy: “When all the Kalandars are asleep,

go and place this loaf under the head of the superintendent,” which he

did accordingly. When the superintendent awoke during the night and found

the loaf, he supposed it had been placed there by one of his companions,

and ate part of it and fell into a deep sleep. Some hours afterwards, the

slave-boy, as directed by his mistress, went to the convent, and taking

the superintendent on his back carried him home.

When it was morning the lady took off the Kalandar’s dress from her

husband and clothed him in his own garments, and then began to bake

sweetmeats as on the former occasion. After some time the gentleman began

to move, and his wife exclaimed: “O superintendent, do not sleep so much.

I have told you that we are to spend this day in joy and festivity, and

it was not right of you to pass the time in this lazy manner. Lift up

your head and see the beautiful sweetmeats I have baked for you.” When

the superintendent opened his eyes and saw himself dressed in his own

clothes, the rose-bush of his amazement again brought forth the flowers

of astonishment, and he cried: “God be praised! What has happened to

me?” He sat up, and said: “Wife, things have occurred to me which I can

hardly describe.” Quoth the lady: “From your uneasy motions during sleep,

it appears that you have had very strange dreams.” “Strange dreams!”

echoed the husband. “From the moment I lay down I have experienced the

most extraordinary adventures.” The lady rejoined: “Assuredly! Last night

you ate food which disagreed with your stomach, and to-day its vapours

seem to have ascended into your brains, causing you all this distress.”

Said he: “You are right. Last evening I was with a party at the house of

Serjeant Bahman, where I heartily partook of a pillau, and it has surely

been the cause of all my trouble.”

* * * * *

When the three companions in the lists of deceit had executed their

different stratagems, they went according to arrangement to the same

bath, in order to state their cases to the old hag who had promised to

award the ring to the most cunning of the three ladies; but to their

surprise and chagrin they learned that she had departed to another

country, thus outwitting them all, and kept the coveted ring for herself.

THE ENVIOUS VAZÍR.

In days of yore and times of old there was a merchant in Yaman of the

name of Khoja Bashír, who was adorned with all good qualities. He enjoyed

the intimacy of the king’s society, and the star of his good luck was

so much in the ascendant with the king’s favour that the splendour of

the lamp of his presence was constantly illuming the courtly assembly

of royalty, which could never for a moment dispense with it. The king

was accustomed to avail himself of his advice in all grave and subtle

affairs, and rewarded him with many favours. But his majesty had a Vazír

of an envious disposition, the merchandise of whose unhappy temper was

neither current nor acceptable in the warehouse of humane qualities. This

Vazír hated Khoja Bashír because he was superior to himself in ability

and was much in the king’s intimacy. He thus reasoned with himself: “It

is probable that the king will become alienated from me and confer the

vazírate upon Khoja Bashír. It is every man’s duty to look after his own

affairs and endeavour to remove his enemies. While Khoja Bashír continues

to drink from the cup of life and dress in the robe of royal favours,

the colour of distress will never be removed from the face of the sun

of my quietude, nor can my heart rest for a moment in peace. Therefore

I must make the utmost efforts and concoct a plan by which Khoja Bashír

will not only lose the regard of the king but be either put to death or

exiled from this city.” Day and night this purpose was uppermost in his

mind, until on one occasion he happened to be alone with the sultan, and

availing himself of the opportunity he said to his majesty:

“O king of high lineage and great power,

By thy existence the throne’s glory is honoured!

May the flag of thy prosperity and grandeur always adorn the sphere!

The very dust of thy court brightens the eye of dignity!

As, according to the canons of government and the administration of

affairs, vazírs are called the keys of the treasury of the regulations

of business, and the bankers of the good and evil transactions of the

governments of honoured potentates, I venture to trouble your majesty

about a matter which has taken place in opposition to the customs of

obedience.” The king said: “Speak,” and the Vazír thus proceeded: “Two

things injure the edifice and the dignity of government: one is to

lightly esteem honoured and respected persons, and the other is to exalt

those who are mean and nameless. Every one who seeks the shadow of the

humaí of prosperity and of royalty must for several reasons keep in mind

these two things. Khoja Bashír, the merchant, who is placed on the upper

seat of your majesty’s proximity and regard, is a man of low extraction,

a criminal, and notorious for his immorality. His wife is an adulteress,

who has stepped quite beyond the pale of modesty, and scruples not to

be present and to roam in all assemblies and crowds and associate with

all sorts of vagabonds and profligate persons. And it is a matter of

astonishment that, with all your perfections and wisdom, your majesty

should have fallen into this heedlessness.” As the king had many times

tried the character of Khoja Bashír on the touchstone of examination and

experience, and had never discovered a flaw in the gem of his essence

and qualities, he was amazed, and, refusing to assent to the accusations

of the Vazír, he said to him: “It is scarcely possible that I should

associate with a man of that description. I have found him perfect, and

the pure gold of his morals void of the dross and alloy of vices. What

you say about his character is far from probable, and you must establish

your asseveration by witnesses and proofs, that I may believe it, else I

shall punish you with the utmost severity.” The Vazír now regretted and

repented of what he had said, but asked the king for a week’s respite;

and during that time his mind was day and night wandering like a pen over

the plain of composition, and meditating by what ruse he might strike the

lightning of defamation into the granary of the modesty of Khoja Bashír’s

wife.

In that city lived a deceitful old hag, who was well skilled in all

sorts of cunning tricks. The Vazír sent for her, and, after anointing

all the limbs of her expectations with the oil of promises, he said to

her: “There is an engagement between me and the king, and for my purpose

I require you to bring me, in any way you possibly can, some token from

Khoja Bashír’s wife.” The old crone answered: “By my soul! I shall

endeavour my utmost to do you this piece of service.” Next day she put on

an old tattered dress, and assumed the appearance of a poor and destitute

creature; and going to the house of Khoja Bashír, as if to beg, wished

to enter, but the porter repulsed her, upon which she exclaimed: “O

accursed one! hast thou not heard that

‘Whoever impedes the begging of the poor

Is a mean wretch, who will go to hell’?

What loss wilt thou suffer if I go into the prosperous house of the Khoja

and the ant of my hope obtain one grain of profit from the storehouse of

his succour?” She again put forth the foot of effort to gain admittance,

but the porter held his staff before her, and said: “The Khoja is at

present with the king, and I cannot allow any person to enter in his

absence.” Hereupon the old woman threw herself upon the ground, and

screamed: “The doorkeeper has killed me!” She bit and wounded her limbs,

besmeared them with blood, and cried: “Alas, my little ones will be

orphans!” When the wife of the Khoja heard the clamour of the hag she

sent the eunuchs out, and when they saw an old woman lying on the ground,

apparently in the agony of death, they asked her: “Who art thou, and what

has happened to thee?” She replied: “I am a poor, weak, old woman, and

have come to the prosperous mansion of the Khoja in the hope of obtaining

assistance, but in consequence of my unfounded expectations my life has

fallen a prey to the winds of annihilation from the beating inflicted

on me by the doorkeeper.” The eunuchs blamed the porter, saying:

“Unfortunate man! The removal of misfortunes and the attainment of

high degrees are connected with the advent [and relief] of mendicants.

Art thou not ashamed of having so unmercifully stricken this old

beggar-woman?” The porter swore to the untruthfulness of her assertions,

and related the whole matter, after which the eunuchs communicated the

facts to the wife of the Khoja, who was very kind-hearted, and said to

them: “Bring the poor creature in, by all means, that I may investigate

her case; for destitute persons and darveshes are the caravan of God’s

mercy and pity, and to injure them kindles the flame of his anger.”

The eunuchs wrapped the old hag in a carpet and carried her before the

Khoja’s wife, who at once applied to her nostrils different perfumes,

such as castor, sandal, and aloe. After a while the old crone opened her

eyes and let loose the general of the caravan of deceit, namely, her

tongue, in praises and good wishes for the lady, saying: “Noble lady,

may you obtain the approbation of God, and may your future circumstances

be still more prosperous! Had my weak limbs not been strengthened by

the balsam of your kindness, the stamina of my life would have been

disturbed by the grasp of death in consequence of the ill-treatment

which I received from the doorkeeper, and my little children would have

been afflicted by the bitter poison of becoming orphans.” Then she began

freely to weep and lament, saying: “O treacherous Destiny! thou hast

thrown me into the heart-burning flames of the death of Khoja Távus, my

husband. Was it not enough to deprive me of so great a blessing, and

to subject me to the trials of poverty, and to compel me to seek for a

precarious maintenance for my children, and to induce me to do things

of which my slaves would have been ashamed? O noble lady, I was a woman

of honour and reputation, and of a very high family, but the reverses

of Fortune have deprived me of my husband and property, and driven me

away from the mansion of tranquility and comfort. Every day a thousand

destitute and worthy persons were supplied from the table of my bounty.

But one day I sent a mendicant away empty-handed, and on that account

the torrent of diminution has overthrown the castle of my affluence, and

reduced me to this needy condition. The poor are the spies of the palace

of monotheism: to give them alms, and to treat them well, is an occasion

of the increase of the vernal garden of God’s favour; but to disappoint

them brings on the destruction of the mansion of comfort and life.

If thou debar a beggar of aid

Thou wilt enjoy no pleasure.

The prayer of the mendicant

Will preserve thee from ill luck.

Give thy scraps to the poor,

That thou mayest always prosper.

O respected and noble lady, the fame of Khoja Bashír’s liberal

disposition has to-day induced me to apply at this place. I came here

eagerly to obtain a morsel of your bounty; but as such an accident has

befallen me, God be praised, what other remedy is there but patience and

gratitude? What use is there to contend with Fate?”

By this address the old hag had so well sown the seeds of weeping and

lamentation in the net of incantation, and had so dexterously sung the

threnody of her sadness and poverty, that the unsuspecting bird of the

lady’s simplicity was taken in the meshes of her ruse. The lady wept, and

begged her pardon for the injuries she had received from the doorkeeper,

and said: “Wait until the Khoja returns home, and I will give thee gold

and silver enough for the comfort of the remainder of thy life, and thou

wilt not need to make any more demands on the liberality of others.

Though thou seest much property here, I am not able to dispose of it

without my husband’s permission.” The old crone waited till evening, but

the Khoja had not returned, so she said: “Honoured lady, the Khoja has

not yet come, and my little children, who know that I have taken refuge

at this threshold, are expecting to participate in his bounty.” The lady

divested herself of a robe, handed it to the old trot, and said: “This

dress is my own property; sell it and provide for your orphans, until I

get something handsome for you from the Khoja in the morning.”

The old woman took the robe and hastened with it to the house of the

Vazír, saying to him: “I have obtained an evident token from the wife

of Khoja Bashír.” The Vazír was extremely rejoiced, and proceeded that

very night to the king after the Khoja had departed to say his prayers,

and, showing the dress, said: “May the spheres always revolve according

to the will of your majesty, and may the sun of your prosperity shine

in the zenith of good fortune! Your humble servant has brought a token

of the guilt of Khoja Bashír’s wife, who often comes to me; but, in

consideration of my virtue and of the favour which I enjoy from your

majesty, as well as because of the good will I bear towards Khoja

Bashír,[248] I have always tried to dissuade her from her misconduct and

never admitted her into my house. Last night, however, for the purpose

of obtaining some proof of her guilt I sent for her; she was with me

till morning, and this is a sign of her presence. Even this evening she

came again, but I sent her away. Let this robe be shown to Khoja Bashír,

and if he should not recognise it I shall find means to give him the

particulars.” The king was greatly displeased, and the vazír took his

leave. When Khoja Bashír returned the king said nothing to him about the

affair, and the Khoja, as usual, slept in the palace. But when the belle

of the morn invested herself with the robe of dawn and seated herself in

the edifice of the Orient, the king showed the garment to Khoja Bashír,

saying: “Last night the police met a gang of thieves and took this dress

from them. I wonder whose it may be?” As soon as the Khoja’s eye alighted

on the garment he recognised it, trembled and became pale, and said: “The

dress belongs to one of your servant’s household; but as I have been for

some time in attendance on your majesty, I do not know what has happened

in my family.” Then said the king: “You vile wretch! Are you not ashamed

to keep so guilty a woman in your house, who spends every night in the

company of a fresh lover? Last night your wife was in the house of the

Vazír till morning, and this dress has been brought to me as a proof of

the fact. I am in fault to have admitted such an unprincipled fellow into

my society.” Khoja Bashír was thunder-struck; but as he had no reason to

doubt his wife’s modesty, he knew that this was a trick of the Vazír. He

tried in vain to undeceive the king, who was so excited that he at once

issued orders for his execution, and so he was taken from the palace to

the place where he was to be put to death.

The Khoja had a slave-boy who was much attached to him, and he ran to

the house and informed his master’s wife of what had happened. The lady

said: “There is no harm done. I gave away the dress in charity and for

the sake of gaining favour with the Most High; nor can the promise which

he has given with reference to the beneficent ever fail in its effects,

and he will not allow any ill to befall the Khoja.” She handed a purse

of gold to the lad and bade him give it to the executioners, to induce

them to delay carrying out the sentence on the Khoja, to which they

willingly consented, as they had received many favours from him while

he was in the king’s service. In the meantime the Khoja’s wife threw a

veil over her head and went to the palace, where she found the Vazír,

who had come to prevent any attempt that might be made to rescue the

Khoja. The lady exclaimed: “O king, I seek justice from the tyranny and

wickedness of the Vazír!” Said the king: “What injustice has the Vazír

done you?” She answered: “I am a stipendiary of grandees, and in this way

do I gain my livelihood. It is almost fifteen years since I began to wait

on the Vazír. He promised to give me nine hundred dirhams annually, but

he now presumes upon his high station and gives me nothing. Last night

when I asked him for what is due to me he threatened to have me killed.”

The Vazír was amazed, and on being questioned by the king said: “This

woman speaks what is not true. I swear by the head of your majesty that

I have never seen her nor do I know her.” Then the lady said: “He has

made a false oath by the head of his benefactor! Let him write down his

assertion, and if his treachery should become evident to your majesty

let him be duly punished.” The Vazír arose and scrutinised the face and

stature of the lady, and then wrote a declaration that he had never seen

or known this woman, and that if his assertion proved false he would

resign his life and leave his blood to be licked by the dogs. After the

Vazír had delivered this paper to the king, the lady said: “Let it be

known to the exalted mind of your majesty that I am the wife of Khoja

Bashír, the merchant, against whom this tyrannical individual, to satisfy

his hatred and envy, concocted this stratagem with reference to me. God

the Most High has said that whoever uses cunning towards another shall

also be over-reached by cunning.” She then explained the matter fully,

and added: “As the Vazír declares that he does not know me, how could I

have been with him last night?”

The king became convinced of the treachery of the Vazír, who was

overwhelmed with shame and fell, as it were, into the agonies of death.

Khoja Bashír was by the king’s order immediately brought back from the

place of execution, and his wife returned to her house. The old hag

was produced and examined, but would not confess until the instruments

of torture were brought, when she spoke as follows: “As women are of

imperfect understanding,[249] I cannot be guilty. At the instigation

of the Vazír I entered the house of the Khoja, where that virtuous and

modest lady, his wife, took off the robe from her own body and bestowed

it on me for the sake of God. Disregarding her kindness, the greediness

of my disposition induced me to transgress the straight path, in order

to obtain the reward promised to me by the Vazír.” The king caused both

the Vazír and the old hag to be suspended on the gallows. He approved

the prudent demeanour of the wife of Khoja Bashír, begged pardon of the

Khoja, and installed him into the dignity of the Vazír, whose whole

property he bestowed upon him.

THE BLIND BEGGAR.

There was a man in Tabríz the orbs of whose vision were deprived of the

faculty of seeing, and the stature of his circumstances had lost the robe

of wealth. He went from house to house begging and was in the habit of

chanting these verses:

“Whoever turns his face from the road of justice,

His breast will become a target for the shafts of misfortune.”

One day he went about according to his custom, and having stopped near a

rich man’s house, he began to beg, and also recited the above distich.

The master of the house refreshed his thirsty lips with the pleasant

shower of a gift and said: “I have often heard you chant these words;

tell me your reason for so doing.” The blind man thus replied:

“Kind and humane Sir, why do you ask me to relate to you an event which

is sad, and still rankles in my heart? My birth-place is in Syria, near

Damascus. My father in the beginning of his career was a hawker, and in

that business he considered honesty, piety, and justice as the principal

stock-in-trade of the shop of his livelihood. By the blessing of these

upright principles his condition was improved, and day by day the

darkness of his poverty was being dispelled by the lamp of prosperity;

his wealth gradually increased so much that he became a dealer in jewels,

and having with some other merchants undertaken an expedition to Bahrayn,

he bought there a great quantity of pearls and returned home. He engaged

in that business with several assistants and the star of his good fortune

was daily rising till it culminated, and he became one of the wealthiest

men in that country. The diver in the sea of Destiny extracted the pearl

of my father’s life from the shell of his existence. All his property

became mine; and having sat down in the depository of my father’s welfare

and ease, I spread like him the carpet of the self-same employment and

occupation. The tree of greediness for money had struck deep roots in my

heart; and worldliness had obtained such a complete dominion over me that

I was deprived once for all of the reins of self-control. In lucrative

speculations and mercantile transactions I took dishonesty and fraud

into my partnership; and, although I endeavoured to cover the reproving

eye of conscience with the sleeve of prohibition, I was unable to cope

with my insatiable greediness. It is considered as very mean to commence

business in the bazár before sunrise, but I was in the habit of doing

so,[250] and one day, just when I had opened my shop, there came a man

of sinister aspect, from whose face the jaundice of poverty had wiped

off the bloom of health. He began to praise God, and, having drawn from

his pocket a precious pearl, thus addressed me: “Young man, I had once

great riches and possessions, but by a sudden reverse of fortune I was

made penniless in the twinkling of an eye, and all that has remained to

me is this pearl. The destitution of my family and my own difficulties

have compelled me to offer it for sale in order to ward off other evils,

until the breeze of prosperity again begins to blow towards me.” I took

the pearl from his hand, and although it was extremely valuable and I

was astonished at its beauty, purity, and splendour, yet, influenced

by the cunning of our trade, I turned contemptuously towards the man

and said: “This pearl is not so precious as you suppose; your poverty,

however, induces me to buy it. What is the price?” Then I pretended to

busy myself with something else, but the desire to possess the pearl

had pervaded my whole being, and I was afraid lest it should become the

prey of another dealer. The man replied: “Dear friend, though you see

me now in a state of distress, there was a time when I presented many

such pearls to my friends. It is not worth while to make so much about

the sale of a single pearl, and I myself am perfectly aware of its real

value; but as I have come to your shop I should feel ashamed to go

round the others. Your own skill and knowledge are perfectly competent

to decide this matter, and you may offer me whatever you think just

and equitable.” He then handed the pearl to me once more, and though I

contended with my greediness to offer him one half of its value my wicked

nature would not consent. I drew forth twenty dirhams from my pocket and

placed them before him. He took the money, and drawing a deep sigh he

exclaimed: “What justice and humanity!” and went his way. I was highly

pleased at having thus obtained a gem for twenty dirhams which would have

been cheap at a thousand. I drew every moment the comb of complacency

over the mustachios of my shrewdness, and placed the hand of approbation

on the shoulder of my expertness, and never suspected that the day of

retribution would overtake me.

“Only two days had elapsed after this transaction when I again opened

my shop at sunrise, before any other inhabitant of the bazár had begun

to stir. I was arranging my shop when one of the principal citizens

passed on horseback, and, thrusting my head out from the door to see who

the cavalier was, the horse shied, the rider was thrown violently to

the ground and immediately expired. A crowd of attendants that followed

fell on me, beat me with sticks, and then tied my hands. The other

shopkeepers, who were unfriendly towards me on account of my greediness

of gain, began to gather round me; they heartily wished that I might

fall into some scrape, and much as I tried to explain no one paid any

attention; but one of them said: ‘The accumulation of wealth by the

unworthy and dishonest clearly points to accidents like this.’ So much

of this kind of talk passed that the majority were convinced of my

guilt, and declared that I had killed the man. The police, having tied

my hands and neck together, took me before the Amír of Damascus, who was

a rapacious man and coveted riches. He considered this as a very good

opportunity to attain his end; and the guards also said that, by the

coruscation of the Amír’s star of prosperity, this day a wonderfully

fat piece of game had fallen into their hands. No time was given me to

explain: the Amír made a sign that I should be decapitated. Some of the

bystanders, however, pleaded for mercy, and I was fined a thousand gold

dínars.

“By the depredation of this misfortune I was mulcted of more than half

of my property, and, although the loins of my patience had been crushed

by the burden of this loss, I again spread out on all sides the net of

acquisition, and the sportsman of my mind was running about in search

of the game of wealth, when one day, while I was sitting in my shop,

two well-dressed women came up, one of whom had a baby in her arms,

the other carried a casket, and both sat down on the threshold of the

shop. The woman with the child in her arms took some gold ashrafís from

her pocket, and, handing them to the other, said: ‘Give this money to

Haji Jalál Kazviní for the articles which you bought yesterday, and say

that I shall send him the balance to-morrow. Tell him also that he must

quickly procure the jewels which are required, because the wedding is to

take place in ten days. I will wait here for you; return speedily with

an answer.’ When the woman had departed on her errand I became anxious

for gain, because I had heard a wedding spoken of and had seen the gold

ashrafís; so I said to her who remained: ‘Lady of the haram of modesty,

where have you sent your companion?’ She replied: ‘The daughter of such

a citizen is to be given in marriage to the vazír’s son, and we, being

attached to the household of the young lady, have come to the bazár,

because we were in need of some fine linen and jewels; the first we

bought yesterday of Haji Jalál and have now sent him the price, with

orders to procure the jewels as soon as possible.’ On hearing this, I

poured a considerable sum of money into the pocket of my imagination,

and I said to her: ‘Noble and honoured lady, I have many precious

jewels. Allow me to exhibit them to you, and you may choose those which

you consider suitable; there will be no difficulty in agreeing about

the price.’ The woman answered: ‘The lady to whom the jewels are to be

submitted for approbation is very nice in her choice and difficult to

please. During the last few days we have shown her many jewels, but she

desires to see only high-priced gems; besides, we have already bargained

with Haji Jalál and bought jewels of him, and he is very considerate

towards ourselves.’ When she had spoken thus, I knocked at the door of

compliance and observed: ‘Nor would I be disposed to forfeit your good

will, because thereby I should be greatly benefited in the profitable

transaction of business with great people.’ She said: ‘We shall see.’

While we were thus conversing her companion returned and handed her a

string of valuable pearls. She cast a glance at me, whispered something

to her companion, and then continued speaking to her aloud: ‘Since you

have brought them, let them remain also.’ Turning to me, she said: ‘Show

us your jewels.’ I produced a small box which contained my principal

stock, displayed the most rare and beautiful pearls and gems which I

possessed, and stated the price of each. I also fixed the price of the

pearl which I bought from that stranger at two thousand dirhams. The

woman said: ‘I cannot tell whether they will approve of these or not.’

She sealed the box, took out her tablets and wrote something, which she

delivered with the box to her companion, and said to me: ‘I shall remain

here, while the lady of the house makes her choice. If you like, you may

send somebody with my friend, in order to learn where the house is.’ I

had a faithful servant whom I sent along with her companion, and the

woman herself sat down in my shop. Presently two men in the bazár began

to quarrel, and when they reached my door they drew their swords and

began to fight. A great crowd gathered quickly, and the men of the Amír

also came to fetch those who had witnessed the affair. They compelled the

shopkeepers to follow and dragged me also with them. Meanwhile the woman

remained sitting in my shop with the child in her arms, and said to me:

‘Do not be uneasy about your shop, for I will take care of it till you

return.’ I proceeded a few paces, till it occurred to me that the woman

might deceive me, so I said to the butcher whose shop was next to mine:

‘Take care of this woman.’ As he had no knowledge of my transaction with

her, he supposed that I wished him to take care of the shop only, and

said: ‘All right.’

“As some time had elapsed since my servant went with the woman and the

box of jewels and had not yet returned, and as the other woman was by

herself in my shop, I was full of anxiety and went with an oppressed

heart to the court of the Amír. When I arrived there all the witnesses

had been examined and discharged. I was taken into the presence of the

Amír to give my testimony, but being in a very distracted state of mind I

gave my evidence in a way which did not correspond with that of the other

witnesses. The Amír smiled and said: ‘This is the wretch who killed such

a man,’ and the people said: ‘So it is!’ The Amír continued: ‘This is the

reason why his evidence is contradicting that of all the others; such a

worthless fellow deserves to be severely punished.’ When I was led out

of the palace I gave a large sum to the officials to induce them to take

bail of respectable persons and set me at liberty.

“On returning to my shop, the woman was gone, and my servant was sitting

alone crying and in sore distress. I asked him what had become of the

jewels and the woman he accompanied; and he in his turn inquired what had

become of the woman he had left in the shop with me. I told him that I

had committed her to the care of the butcher, and demanded to know where

he had been and what he had done with the box of jewels. He replied:

‘You gave the box to the woman, and ordered me simply to follow her so

as to learn where the house is, and this I did. I went with her from the

bazár and passed through several streets until we reached the street of

the Forty Virgins; she stopped at the door of a house, before which a

number of respectable people were sitting, and bade me sit down till she

came out again. The woman went in, and I remained waiting for her till

near noon, but she did not make her appearance. When it was mid-day and

I heard the voice of the muezzin, and beheld crowds entering the house,

I supposed that somebody had died there and that the people were going

to condole with the relatives. After a while they all came out again.

At last I asked one of the people: “Does the woman who went in here not

intend to come out at all?” The man laughed and said: “Whose house do you

suppose this is? And what woman are you speaking about? Step forward,

there is none to prohibit you, and see what place this house is.” I

arose from my seat and entered the portico with fear and apprehension,

and proceeded till I reached the interior of a mosque where I saw people

engaged in prayer. On the opposite side of the mosque I saw an open

door through which people were also coming and going. Then I knew that

the woman must have passed through it. I went out by that door and saw

women like her walking about, but as there was nothing particular in her

dress by which I might have recognised her, and not knowing her name, I

wandered through the streets for some time and then hopelessly returned

to the shop.’[251]

“I was choked with grief at these tidings, and almost lost my senses. I

went to the butcher and asked him what had become of the woman whom I had

left to his care, and he answered: ‘When did you entrust a woman to me?

You only asked me to look after your shop. When you were gone I noticed a

woman sitting there with a child in her arms, and I asked her with whom

she had any business, to which she replied: “I want a sum of money from

the jeweller.” Presently she brought the child and said: “Let this child

remain here till I come back,” and went away, and there is the child in

your shop.’ I said: ‘Bring it out, that I may see it.’ The butcher did

so, and when I raised the veil from its face we discovered that it was a

plaster figure dressed up as an infant. I said to the butcher: ‘This is a

very strange child!’ He replied: ‘Leave off joking; go in and inquire for

the woman.’ I continued: ‘I entrusted the woman to your care, and I want

you to produce her. She remained in my shop as a pledge for more than

three thousand tománs’ worth of jewels.’ He replied: ‘You fool! Perhaps

I was your servant, that I should take care of the woman, instead of

your doing so yourself!’ I was in so great a state of excitement that I

took up his great knife which was lying near me and threw it at him; it

wounded him in the face. His friends and neighbours seized and carried me

before the Amír, who ordered them to kill me. But there were many that

said: ‘This man is crazy: of what use could it be to kill him? Let his

possessions be confiscated, and himself be expelled from the city, as a

warning to others.’

“All that I possessed was taken from me as a mulct for my crime, and

being driven out of the city, I went away poor and naked. When I reached

the desert I lost my road, and wandered about thirsty and hungry for

ten days, bitterly lamenting my misfortunes. Suddenly a man met me and

mounted me on a camel. Having carried me into the main road, he asked me

whether I knew him. I said: ‘Your voice seems to be that of a friend.’

He continued: ‘I am the man who sold you the pearl for twenty dirhams to

try your honesty, and I have it with me now’; and putting his hand into

his wallet he drew forth the same pearl and showed it to me, saying:

‘Know that I am King Akabil, and that several thousands of genii are

subject to me, and my occupation is to go about in the cities and bazárs

under various disguises, to discover whether people are honest in their

dealings. When I find one upright I always remain his friend and helper;

but when I see a man who is unjust and fraudulent, I endanger his life

and property. You ought to know that base actions are unrighteousness

and deceit towards your fellow beings. On account of your deceitfulness

and injustice, the granary of your immense property has in a very short

time been blown away by the wind of non-existence.’ I began to cry and

complain, but he said: ‘Remorse is now of no avail,’ and disappeared from

my sight. So I came to this country and am wandering about in a state

of helplessness and destitution, in bitter repentance and grief for my

former dishonesty and the loss of my property. Whatever I undertook,

nothing succeeded, and at last I became blind. Now begging has become my

trade; and the reason why I always chant the same distich is that neither

the high nor the low should quit the road of honesty and justice, lest

they be exiled, like myself, from the abode of peace and prosperity.”

THE KAZI OF GHAZNI AND THE MERCHANT’S WIFE.

During the reign of Sultan Mahmúd Sabaktaghin,[252] of Ghazní, a man was

travelling from Aderbaijan to Hindústán; and when he arrived in Ghazní,

he was much pleased with the climate and resolved to settle there. As he

had great experience in commerce, he went to the bazár, became a broker,

and was very successful in business. He intended to marry, and Fortune

being propitious to him, he entered into a matrimonial alliance with

a virtuous and handsome young woman. By degrees his business became

more and more flourishing, and, having accumulated much wealth, he was

numbered among the richest merchants. Wishing to extend his transactions

to Hindústán, he sent goods to that country; but as he had no connections

or intimate friends who might take charge of his wife till his return,

this thought troubled him greatly; and as it is the first duty of a

respectable man to be on his guard in this matter, and not to hazard his

reputation and honour, he determined not to start on his journey till

he had provided an asylum for his spouse. The Kází of the city being

noted for his piety, virtue, and honour, the merchant said to himself:

“I cannot do better than entrust the keeping of my wife to so godly and

honest a man, who enjoys the esteem of rich and poor; so she shall remain

in his house until I return from my journey.”

The merchant hastened to make his obeisance to the Kází, and said: “O

president of the judgment-seat of truth and piety, from whose highly

gifted and penetrating intellect the explanations of religious and

secular questions flow, and by whose essentially holy authority the

commendatory and prohibitory laws are corroborated—may your most

righteous opinion always remain the guide of those who seek to walk in

the straight path of piety! I, your humble servant, am an inhabitant of

this city, and it is my intention to undertake a journey to Hindústán. I

have a young wife, the leaves of whose modesty and virtue are bound up

in the splendid volume of her natural excellence; and as I have nobody

who might protect and take care of her, and lest she should fall under

the obloquy of false tongues, I venture to hope that she may find refuge

with your lordship.” The Kází placed the seal of acquiescence upon this

request, and said that he would take charge of her; and the merchant,

having furnished his wife with money to defray all the necessary expenses

for a year, delivered her to the Kází, and set out on his journey.

The lady passed all her time in the house of the Kází in prayer and

devotion; and nearly a whole year had elapsed, without the breeze of a

single profane glance having blown on the vernal abode of her face, and

without her having ever heard the bird of a voice in the foliage of her

ears, till one day the Kází unexpectedly made his appearance and looked

at her, when he perceived the Laylá-like beauty sitting within the black

mansion of her musky ringlets, and her sweet tenderness mounted upon the

face of attractiveness and melancholy, the Majnún of the Kází’s intellect

became troubled, and, Ferhád-like, he began to dig the Bistán of his

soul, which was melting and burning in the censer of distraction. He was

desirous of making an attack upon her virtue, but, being aware of her

pure nature and chastity, durst not attempt it. One day, however, when

his wife went to the public bath and had left the lady alone to take

care of the house, he was so completely dominated by his unlawful passion

that he threw skyward the turban of concupiscence and exclaimed:

“The desired game for which I looked in the skies

Has now on earth fallen into the net of my good fortune.”

He locked the door, and commenced his stratagem by complimenting her

modesty, and continued to address her in the following strain: “Virtuous

lady, the reputation of my honesty and piety has spread through the

world and penetrated all corners. Even the charms of the húrís of

Paradise could not seduce my righteous disposition from the road of

firm determination, or impel me to transgress the laws of purity; then

why do you avoid me so much? If the absence of intelligence and of the

knowledge of the true state of things keep your face veiled with the

curtain of bashfulness, my obedience to the laws of God and my fear of

eternal punishment at the day of resurrection prohibit me from allowing

the fire of sensuality to be kindled within me. I would not disturb your

peace, even with a single glance of my eye. Be of good cheer, therefore,

and throw aside the veil of apprehension from your face, for there is

no danger of sinning; and although it is against the law of God and the

Prophet to exact services from guests, yet as you belong to the house and

I am dependent on your kindness, I would request you to procure me some

food, for I am hungry.”

Drawing the prohibitory veil of bashfulness over her face, the lady

waited upon the Kází with all due modesty, and having placed food before

him she retired into a corner. Now the Kází had provided himself with a

drug which deprives of all sense any one who partakes of it, and he said

to the lady: “You know that three kinds of persons will be rejected from

the mercy of God on the day of the resurrection and subjected to endless

tortures: he who eats alone, he who sleeps alone, and he who travels

alone; and till now it has never happened to me that I did any of these

three things. As I am now eating alone, and one who does this has Satan

for his companion, and his faith is endangered, why should you not, in

order to free me from the snares of the Devil, defile your hands by

partaking of this meal?” He ceased not thus to press the lady till she

at length sat down near the table and helped herself to some food, into

which the Kází unobserved threw some of the drug. After she had eaten a

few morsels she felt faint, and on attempting to rise from the table her

feet refused to bear her and she fell senseless on the floor.

The Kází quickly gathered up the articles that were on the table and

purposed worse things, when he heard noises outside, which greatly

disturbed him, and he was perplexed where to conceal the unconscious

lady, so that nobody might discover the matter. He thought of the vault

where he kept his money and valuables, which was known only to himself,

and into it he thrust the lady, and then went out and found that his

family had returned from the bath.

The Kází asked his family: “Why did you leave the house empty?” They

answered: “We left the wife of the merchant to take care of the place.”

Quoth the Kází: “It is two hours since I came home, and I have seen no

one; why do you trust a stranger? She may have taken away something.”

They were all astonished, protested that she was not such a woman, and

wondered what had become of her. While this talk was going on, the

merchant, having just returned from his journey to Hindústán, came to

the house of the Kází to inquire for his wife. The Kází said: “It is

some time since your wife left my house, without giving notice or asking

permission.” But the merchant replied: “O Kází, this is not a time for

jesting; give me back my wife.” The Kází swore that he was in earnest.

But the merchant said: “I am too well acquainted with the nature and

disposition of my wife to believe her capable of such conduct. There must

be something more in this affair than appears.” At this the Kází affected

to be wroth, and said: “It is I who ought to be offended, you foolish

man. Why do you talk nonsense and needlessly insult us? Go and look for

your wife!”

As the merchant was devotedly attached to his wife, and the smoke of

distress was beginning to ascend from the oven of his brain, he tore the

collar of patience and hastened to make his complaint to the sultan,

and, prostrating himself upon the carpet of supplication, he recited

these verses:

“O exalted and happy monarch,

May felicity be the servant of your palace!

The Kází of the city has done me injustice

Greater than the blast of the tornado of the west.

If it be permitted, I will explain

The injustice of that mean-spirited wretch.”

The sultan replied: “Set forth your complaint, that I may become

acquainted with it.” Then the merchant spoke as follows: “I am a native

of Aderbaijan, and the fame of the justice and protection which the

poor obtain at the hands of your majesty induced me to settle in this

country, and I have dwelt for some years under the shadow of the sultan’s

protection. I had a beautiful and modest wife, and, purposing to travel

to Hindústán, I committed her a year ago to the charge of the Kází. Now

I have returned from my journey, the Kází, led away by covetousness,

refuses to give up to me my wife.” The sultan ordered the Kází to be

brought before him. When he appeared, the sultan asked him what he had

to say regarding the complaint which the merchant made against him.

Said the Kází: “May the torch of your majesty’s welfare be luminous and

the castle of opposition ruinous! This man entrusted his wife to me,

and it is nearly three months since she quitted my house without giving

notice, and up to this time she has not come back, and we have failed to

discover any trace of her.” To this the merchant responded: “Such conduct

is inconsistent with the character of my wife, and I do not believe it.”

The sultan asked: “Where are the witnesses?” The Kází said that several

neighbours and householders were acquainted with the fact, and wrote down

the names of a number of rascals whom he had bribed to give evidence

in his favour. At a sign from the sultan to the chamberlain they were

brought in and confirmed the assertion of the Kází, upon which the sultan

said to the merchant: “As the Kází has established his statement by

witnesses, your complaint falls to the ground,” and the merchant retired

disappointed.

Now the sultan was in the habit of walking about the bazárs and streets

of the city occasionally in disguise, mixing among the people, in order

to discover what they thought of him. That night he left his palace

according to his wont, and as he walked about he chanced to pass near

the door of a shop where a party of boys were playing at the game of

“The King and his Vazír.” One of the boys was made king, and said to

the others: “As I am king, you are all under my authority, and you must

not seek to evade my commands.” Another boy said: “If you give unjust

decisions like Sultan Mahmúd, we shall soon depose you.” The boy-king

asked: “What injustice has Sultan Mahmúd done?” The other boy answered:

“To-day the affair of the merchant came before the sultan. This merchant

had confided his wife to the keeping of the Kází, and he hid her in his

own house. The sultan called for witnesses, and the Kází gained the case

by producing in court witnesses whom he had previously bribed. It is a

great pity that people should have the administration of justice in their

hands who are unable to distinguish between right and wrong. Had I been

in the place of the sultan I should very soon have discovered the truth

or falsehood of the Kází’s witnesses.”

When the sultan had heard the conversation of these boys he sighed, and

returned to his palace in great agitation of mind; and next morning

as soon as it was daylight he sent a servant to fetch the boy who had

criticised his judgment of the merchant’s case. The boy was brought,

and the sultan received him in a very friendly manner, saying: “This

day you shall be my lieutenant from morning till evening, and I intend

to allow you to sit in judgment and to act entirely according to your

own will.” Then the sultan whispered to the chamberlain to invite the

merchant to repeat his complaint against the Kází, and the merchant,

having been brought into court, did so. The Kází and his witnesses were

next summoned, and when the Kází was about to seat himself the boy said:

“Ho, Master Kází, the leading-strings of justice and the power of tying

and untying knotty points of law have been long in your hands—how then do

you seem to be so ignorant of legal customs? You have been brought into

this court as a party in a law suit, and not as an assessor. It is the

rule that you should stand below, on an equality with your accuser, till

the court breaks up, and then you should obey whatever its decision may

be.” Then the Kází went and stood near the merchant, and again asserted

that the woman had left his house three months ago. The boy asked: “Have

you any witnesses?” The Kází pointed to his followers, saying: “These

are the witnesses.” The boy called one of them to him, and asked him in

a subdued voice whether he had seen the woman. He said: “Yes.” Then he

asked what signs there were on her person, stature, or face. The man

became embarrassed and said: “She had a mole on her forehead; one of

her teeth is wanting; she is of fresh complexion; tall and slender.”

The boy asked: “What hour of the day was it when she went away from the

Kází’s house?” The man replied: “Morning.” “Remain in this place,” said

the boy. Then he called another witness, who thus described the woman:

“She is of low stature and is lean; her cheeks are white and red; she

has a mole near her mouth; she left the house in the afternoon.” Having

placed this man in another corner, the boy called for a third witness,

whose evidence contradicted both the others; and gradually he examined

them all and found they disagreed from each other in everything. The

sultan was sitting by the side of the boy and heard all; and when the

hearing of the witnesses was ended the boy said: “You God-forgetting

wretches, why do you give false evidence? Let the instruments of torture

be brought that we may find out the truth.” As soon as they heard the

word torture they all offered to say the truth, and confessed themselves

to be a set of poor fellows whom the Kází had bribed with a sum of money

and instructed what to say, and that they knew nothing whatever about the

woman. Then the boy called the Kází, and asked him what he had to say in

this business. The Kází commenced to tremble and said: “The truth is as I

have stated.” The boy said: “Our Kází is a bold man, and his haughtiness

hinders him from confessing the truth: the instruments of torture ought

to be employed.” When the Kází heard this, the fear of torture greatly

distressed him, and he confessed the truth. On this the boy kissed the

floor of good manners with the lips of obedience and said: “The rest of

this affair is to be settled by the sultan.” The sultan was much pleased

with the acuteness and intelligence of the boy, and ordered the Kází to

be beheaded and all his property to be given to the merchant’s wife. The

boy was treated kindly and educated, until by degrees he won the entire

confidence of the sultan and became one of his greatest favourites.

THE INDEPENDENT MAN AND HIS TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

Historians relate that there were two men of the inhabitants of Kabúl

sitting in the corner of poverty, fettered with the chains of hardships

and difficulties. The thunderstorms and disturbance of the whirlpools of

the sphere’s revolution had overturned the boat of their possessions, and

it had become the prey of the whale of destruction. They were screwed in

the press of poverty and destitution, like flower-beds from which the

oil is to be squeezed out, and the pain and suffering of distress caused

them to change colour at each moment like a chameleon till each day was

changed into evening. Although they hastened with the foot of labour and

diligence in the performance of their occupations, they could never reach

the desired mansion of their object on account of their unpropitious

fortune and their constant mishaps. The blackness of their morning

tinctured the night even of the poor with the reflection of grief, and

the mirror of their evening imparted new sorrow to orphans.

One day they said to each other: “In this country the gates of peace are

shut upon us, and it is a maxim of the wise that if people meet with

difficulties in their own country they ought to remove to another. As the

liberal Sultan Mahmúd is now reigning, we must go to Ghazní and do our

best to see him, when perhaps the aroma of his generosity will perfume

the nostrils of our intention, and our dilapidated circumstances will be

altered.” So they set out for Ghazní, and on the road they were joined by

a man, the rose-bush of whose disposition was always kept fresh by the

dew of piety, and who passed his life in contentment, like one of the

blest. He asked them: “My brothers, the shoe of what desire have you put

on the foot of your intention? And towards the castle of what pretension

have you turned the face of your inclination?” They answered: “Since the

lamp of each of us has been extinguished by the wind of misfortune, and

the thorn of hardships has pierced the feet of our hearts, and as we

could not find the plaster in Kabúl by which the wound of our untoward

condition might be healed; and hearing that the gates of the generosity

and liberality of Sultan Mahmúd the Ghaznivide have been opened to the

rich and poor, and that the banquet of his unbounded graciousness is

always spread for the relief of the poor, we hope to re-light the lamp

of our circumstances at the blaze of his regard.” Those two men of Kabúl

also asked the young man about his intention, and he replied: “Having

no possessions in my own country, and the day of my well-being having

reached the evening, I am in pursuit of a lawful means of support, but

I do not expect aught from Sultan Mahmúd or persons like him. I desire

grace and favour of a Sultan, the door of the treasury of whose gifts is

besieged by a hundred thousand men as indigent as Sultan Mahmúd, who are

contemplating with the eye of hope the storehouse of his infinite grace

and bounty.” In short, the three travellers pursued their journey in

company till they arrived in Ghazní, where they took up their lodging in

a ruined building.

One night all three of them were sitting together in the ruin, conversing

on various subjects. It happened that Sultan Mahmúd, accompanied by two

of his intimates, had left the palace to walk about in the moonlight.

They passed through several streets and lanes till they came near the

ruin, and, attracted by the voices, they discovered the travellers and

asked them who they were. The two men of Kabúl replied: “We are benumbed

by the crapula of the wine of helplessness and distress; we are veiled

by the curtain of misery; we are riding the horse of poverty, and are

roaming through the ups and downs of this world; and now our fate has

guided us to this place, and we shall see how our affairs terminate.” The

sultan asked: “What are your wishes?” They answered: “If we tell them,

they will never be accomplished; so there is no use in relating them.”

Quoth the sultan: “Since the inhabitants of this world are bound to aid

each other, it is your duty to inform me of your desires, in order that

the complicated knot of that affair may be disentangled by the help of

some one’s nail.” One of them replied: “I was one of the rich and the

prosperous, and possessed great wealth. This world, which is inconstant

like the hues of the chameleon, has ceased to be propitious to me; and

the shame of poverty and the disgrace of my family have induced me to

quit my country. If I were possessed of ten thousand dínars, I should

consider the sum as a capital which might enable me to raise my head

again and return to my country.” The other said: “I had a wife sitting

veiled in the haram of compliance: the loveliness of the sun of her

features surpassed the rose in beauty, and the moon was lessened in

splendour by the rays of her cheeks. I loved her much, and could not live

one moment without her. She died, and the fire of grief has burnt my

liver, and thrown me into the most unhappy condition. Should his highness

the sultan present me with a member of his haram, so that by the sun

of her presence the mansion of my joy and happiness might become again

illumined, I would gladly return to my country.” The third companion

remained silent, and the sultan turning to him asked: “Do you not wish

for anything?” He answered: “I have to do with God. I need neither a

wife nor gold. I turn my face towards the vivifying treasury of God’s

mercy, by whom desires are granted, who knows the innermost recesses of

our hearts, and what every one deserves: my wishes are all regulated by

his good pleasure. If you are in the enjoyment of God’s favour and are

able from him to obtain your desires, pray to him for my sake that he may

grant me the grace that I should not once draw my breath contrary to his

goodwill.” The sultan said nothing, but arose and departed.

When the chamberlain of Destiny had opened the gates of life upon the

inhabited earth, and the world-illuming king, the sun, had seated

himself in the azure tent of the upper sky, the sultan ordered the three

strangers that were in the ruin to be brought into his presence. When

they perceived the sultan, they knew him to be the same man who had been

with them the preceding night, and they were under the apprehension that

he would be angry with them. The sultan called them forward, and inquired

of each of them his wants, and the two men of Kabúl repeated what they

had said on the previous evening. When the third stranger’s turn came he

said:

“Bitter indeed to our lips is the colocynth of mendicancy;

We have tasted the sweets of liberality from the hands of the

noble-minded.

O thou illuminated speculum of potentates, as long as the storehouse of

the works of God is full of blessings, may the treasury of thy desires

also remain plentifully provided with the exhilarating gold, silver, and

jewels of prosperity! Although people in general may be rejoicing with

the delicacies of the table of thy bounty, and thyself mayest thereby

taste the sweets of good deeds, still those that sit in the tent of

exquisite feelings have so much refreshed their palates with the honey

of contentment that they would by no means defile their lips with a

single mouthful which belongs to others.

The palate of the contented has never been sweetened by the liberal;

The delights of independence are far above the delights which

liberality can bestow.[253]

My hopes and expectations are dependent on the threshold of the Eternal

King: he will grant to me all that he thinks fit, without my fastening

myself on the skirts of petition to any one else, or jeopardising the

position of a retiring and modest individual.”

The sultan tried much, but could not induce the young man to act contrary

to his avowed principles, and to open his lips to beg for some favour.

He gave orders that the man who was in want of a wife should be provided

with one of his own damsels, and presented the man who wanted money with

two purses of gold. Then he said: “Now, all three of you, return to your

own countries.” In obedience to this order they set out together on their

journey to Kabúl. After proceeding about two parasangs,[254] the man who

obtained the gold felt tired by carrying it, so he handed it to his

empty-handed companion, requesting him to carry it for a short time till

he had rested himself.

Now the chroniclers relate that when the three men left the presence of

the sultan, he turned to his courtiers and said: “That independent man

has put me greatly to shame. He left me as if I were in the position of

a poor man; and although I tried much he would not accept of anything.”

One of the courtiers, who was labouring under the asthma of covetousness,

and as the covetous are the natural enemies of the contented, thus

gave expression to his innate feelings: “The sultans and kings of this

world are the collectors of the treasury of God; and, according to the

requirements of the order of mundane affairs, he grants drafts or letters

of credit to the poor for the alleviation of their wants, which drafts

the rich are bound to accept and honour. Whoever refuses to apply to

kings for help scorns their favour, and in this manner acts contrary to

the will of God, on account of his pride and independence. Such a man is

certainly deserving of death, and ought to be so punished.” The sultan

became excited, and ordered one of his chamberlains to proceed on the

same road which the three men had taken, and, leaving undisturbed the man

who had the gold and him who had the girl, to kill the third person who

was empty-handed, and bring his head. It so happened, however, that when

the messenger of the sultan overtook them, the independent man carried

the gold upon his back, and the possessor of the gold was empty-handed.

The chamberlain made no inquiry, but cut off the head of the proprietor

of the gold and returned with it to the sultan. When the sultan had

looked well at the head he exclaimed: “You are a thoughtless fellow, and

have made a mistake.” He despatched forthwith another chamberlain, and

enjoined him to decapitate that man who was without any burden whatever.

But now it fortuned that the possessor of the girl had entrusted her

for a time to the independent man, and fallen a little behind. When

the messenger came up, he perceived the owner of the girl following

empty-handed in the wake of the independent man, and immediately cut off

his head, and on presenting it to his master, the sultan, after looking

at it, cried in astonishment: “This man has also been killed by mistake!”

The sultan reflected for a while, and when he became calm, perceived that

the grace of God had been a bulwark of protection to that independent

man, which had prevented him from coming to any harm. He summoned another

attendant, and commanded him to pursue the same road, and bring into his

presence the man who possessed both the gold and the girl, which he did

accordingly. As soon as the sultan beheld the man, he smiled, and said:

“What has become of your companions?” He answered: “May the life of the

sultan be everlasting, and may the compliant hand of the sweetheart

Prosperity be always round his neck! He who presented them with the gold

and the maid has in return taken their lives; and indeed whoever prefers

the creature to the Creator turns away his face from the threshold of

real felicity, has no refuge whither he might flee, will be trampled

under the feet of distressing events, and will not pluck a single flower

from the rose-garden of his desires.

Whoever averts his face from his portals

Will meet with no regard, to whatever door he turns.”

These observations of the man aroused the sultan from the sleep of

indolence, and made him aware that this person had tasted the sweets of

benefits from the spread-table of the love and knowledge of God; and he

said to him: “Thou ornament of the society of obedience to the laws of

God! I am very anxious to bestow something upon you, that I may become

infinitely your debtor. I adjure you, by God, to ask something of me.”

That happy man thus answered: “I have two wishes. The first is, that

you send a very considerable sum of money to Kabúl, to recompense the

heirs of the two men who have been slain without any guilt of their own;

and the second is, that I may be allowed to enjoy the lease of a small

dwelling, in which I may carry on the trade of a weaver, and thus earn

an honest livelihood.” The sultan stroked the face of agreement with the

finger of beneficence, and said: “You flower-gatherer in the gardens of

beneficence! I have also three requests to make of you, with which I

trust your kindness will comply. The first is, that, should you entertain

any ill-feeling towards me, I beg you to forget it; the second is, that

you pray to God that he may blot out my sins from the book of my actions

with reference to those two innocent men; and the third is, that you come

to me every Friday evening, so that I may profit by my intercourse with

you.” The man agreed to all this, and applied himself diligently to his

business, till his singleness of purpose placed him in possession of the

key to prosperity and wealth; and the gates of well-being having become

open in correspondence with his expectation, he was enabled to advance

money to the royal treasury whenever it was required, to redeem many

people from the penalty of death, and to do much good to worthy and poor

people.

THE KING WHO LEARNED A TRADE.