rapid Tigris, which takes its name Thir (an arrow), from its rapidity.
All hastened through the almost dilapidated suburb and came to a
beautiful mosque, near which the caravan, with which his father had
lately arrived, was still halting. They were taking rest in order to
continue their journey. How strange it appeared to him to wander
through this moveable commercial city, where houses were camels, and
elephants were palaces! Ali passed one of these elephants, on the back
of which was constructed a house of tolerable size. It was noon, and
the children who were playing about on the grass were called to their
dinner. Their father, who stood among them, took one after the other
and handed them over to the elephant, who, raising them with his trunk,
lifted them slowly and carefully through the air, and then bent his
trunk over his head, and gave the child to its mother, who stood above
in the door and received them from him without the least sign of fear,
and without any of the children crying from terror. The open mosque
was crowded with people, some of whom were offering thanks to Allah for
their happy return, while others were imploring a blessing on the
progress of their journey. Ali was so pleased with this singular and
motley assembly, that he loitered the whole day among them. Towards
the evening some merchants invited him into their tents, where Indian
youths and girls danced to the sound of the triangle and flute. These
hospitable Arabs were delighted at being able to offer him a good
supper and a comfortable resting-place for the night.
Early in the cool of the next morning he started on his way, and
wandered over a barren uninhabited plain. He found pleasure in working
his way through the sand to reach some fertile spots which lie, like
islands, in the yellow dust, with their verdant ground and their
isolated palm trees, which pleasantly spread their leaves like
parasols, while there is something divine in their refreshing coolness.
Ali felt himself inspired: the Arab in his desert feels like the
mountaineer on his rocky mountains, and like the islander at the sight
of the ocean. When he sees it for the first time, he finds himself
like a bird in its own element, and confidently abandons himself to the
impulse of his feelings. The over-excited youth exhausted all his
strength. Noon approached, and the heat was oppressive. Ali hastened
with quick pace towards the distant mountains, and, like his ancestress
Hagar, in former days, wished for a fountain to quench his thirst.
Having once heard of a fountain near the spot where he now was, his
delight was great on approaching a large tract where many palms of an
indifferent growth arched themselves over a spring. The rippling water
excited and increased his thirst as he stood near it.
Think of his sorrow when he saw, rising from the water, clouds of smoke
which smelt of sulphur! In despair at this disappointment he threw
himself on the ground under the palm trees, and, being exhausted from
heat, and wearied with his exertions, fell asleep immediately.
He had not been sleeping long, when he was suddenly aroused by a
powerful voice. On opening his eyes he perceived a man in a loose
linen gown, sitting on a camel which was laden with pitchers and
leather water-pipes.
“Unhappy man!” he cried, “are you weary of your life that you lie here
so wantonly to end it?”
Ali jumped up, and the man on his camel started, as he had not expected
thus to arouse the sleeper, although, urged by compassion, he had
called to him.
“What do you mean?” asked Ali, “what harm can I suffer in sleeping,
during the heat of noon, under these palm trees?”
“Do you not know this spring?” asked the stranger.
“No!” said Ali; and he began to tell whence he came and whither he
intended to go.
The man replied, “It seems as if the evil spirit is busy here, not
merely at midnight, but also in the clear noon day. Follow me to the
palm tree farthest from the spring there, and I will refresh you with a
cooling draught. I live in the next village, where the water is still
so bad that we are obliged to fetch our daily supply from the Tigris.
All the pitchers and pipes which you see, are filled from the river of
your native city. I cannot but laugh to think that you come to us from
the Tigris to drink; indeed that you choose the most noxious spring, of
one of which it may be said that it is supplied by hell itself.”
These words would have excited Ali’s curiosity immediately, had not his
thirst proved the stronger. He went with the man, who reached him a
pitcher, and said: “There, quench your thirst, and then mount my camel
with me. We shall soon be in my village, where you can take rest, and
towards the evening you may proceed quietly to Babylon.”
Ali thanked him, and mounted the camel, and they rode in silence across
the plain for the rest of the way, until they came to a yet larger
oasis covered with trees and huts. Only a broad sandy road separated
them from the verdant ground which sloped down from the mountains
towards the desert in all its freshness. The water-carrier made Ali
enter his hut, where they mutually invited each other as guests, the
former asking the latter to partake of his cooling sherbet, the latter
inviting the former to partake of the good things which he had in his
knapsack.
They had scarcely satisfied their hunger and thirst, than the
water-carrier, at Ali’s request, began to say “I am astonished that you
have never heard of Ali Haymmamy’s spring. Know then that this spring,
as I before said, was formerly a pure one, indeed it was a mineral
spring whither innumerable paralytics resorted. It takes its name from
Ali, son-in-law of our holy prophet, who is said to have knelt once on
this spot to perform his devotions. Wishing as a sincere Mussulman to
wash his face and hands before prayer, and finding no water near, it is
reported that he rubbed his hands, in full confidence in the Almighty,
in the hot sands, and that this immediately ran from his fingers like
limpid water--from this it is said the spring takes its origin. But
the evil spirits, that mar every thing as far as they are able, have,
by Allah’s long suffering and hidden intention, since taken possession
of this spring, particularly the abominable Zelulu, who fixes his
nocturnal abode in the desert. It is believed that he dwells in the
spring; and that he has not only corrupted the water, so that it has
entirely lost its healing virtue, but that it has, moreover, become
poisonous and mortal. The sulphureous vapours arising from it infect
the air with pestilence. You will now readily understand my
astonishment at finding you asleep there, and you may thank your sound
constitution and my assistance for your deliverance.”
Great was Ali’s astonishment on hearing this. He pressed the carrier’s
hand with gratitude, and some pieces of gold accompanied the pressure.
The poor man was so delighted at this, that Ali quite forgot the danger
he had escaped in the joy of his companion. The latter accompanied him
some distance on his way, and now Ali soon came to pleasant groves of
cypress, maple, and cedar, through which he went down to the ruins of
Babylon which lay on the mighty river.
There he now stood surrounded by widely scattered ruins overgrown with
grass and moss. Some pillars and fragments of walls rose near the
banks and were reflected in the waves of the slowly flowing Euphrates.
A herdsman sat on an architrave playing his reed-pipe, while his goats
wandered about browsing on the grass between the stones.
“Do you know this place?” asked Ali.
“I have a hut in the neighbourhood,” said the shepherd.
“And what mean these heaps of stones?”
“It is said that in ancient time a city stood upon this spot.”
“Cannot you tell me something about it?”
“No; it has been desolate from time immemorial; neither my father nor
my grandfather ever saw it different.”
Ali stood lost in thought. He was moved by seeing the young shepherd
sitting on the stone like the unconcerned Present on the grave of the
Past,--on the shore of the stream of time which rushes by like the
paradisaical Euphrates, the river that saw the fall of Adam as well as
that of Babylon, and still rolls onwards its fresh and youthful waves.
Every uncommon mark in the mouldering stones delighted him, and his
thoughts were as much engaged with surrounding objects as the young
shepherd seemed indifferent to them. Like Ali he plucked the grass
from the ruins, though not like him in order to read the inscriptions,
but to give to his goats what they were unable to reach for themselves.
Towards the evening Ali set out on his way back to Bagdad, and wandered
thoughtfully over the plain. The evening was cool and bright, and
after he had proceeded a few hundred paces, his eyes already discerned
Bagdad. He did not think it necessary to hasten, feeling sure that he
must soon reach the city, but loitered long on the charming verdant
spots in the sandy plain. The moon arose and shone so brightly, that
the night appeared almost as light as day. Hence Ali did not take any
account of the time; he felt weary, and seeing a large stone at some
distance from him in which seats were cut out, he could not resist
sitting down and, with his head resting on his hand, gazing over the
calm, clear, and cool, desert before him. The wind was rustling
through the palms over his head. Conceive his astonishment when the
wind was suddenly hushed, and when he again heard the spring ripple a
few yards off, and smelt the noxious vapours which the breezes had
before wafted to the opposite side.
Terrified, he jumped up and ran back more than a hundred yards. He saw
that a thunder-storm was suddenly approaching. By the dim moonlight,
which every moment threatened to be obscured by the black clouds, he
could scarcely distinguish the path that would lead him home. However,
he hastened onwards, and cursed the habit which, on the slightest
occasion, always misled him to shut himself up from surrounding
objects, like flowers which close in the evening, so that he did not
think where he was, or what took place near him. It grew darker and
darker, thick clouds obscured the moon, loud thunder rolled over his
head, but not a drop of rain descended. A burning wind rushed through
the desert and stirred up the sand, so that he was obliged every minute
to shut his eyes.
“Are there really evil spirits living,” he said to himself, “that can
hurt man? No; innocence is the real great seal of Solomon, which not
even the terrible Eblis dares to break.” He had scarcely uttered these
words than a frightful darkness forced him to stand still. Suddenly
the sky and earth were burning with a pale flame, a forked flash of
lightning shot over his head, and struck a hollow tree close by his
side. At the same time a pelting shower of rain streamed from the
clouds, and Ali fell to the ground, stunned by the tremendous
thunder-claps. Thus he lay for some time. At length all became calm,
and he arose; but what was his horror when he saw against the deep blue
moonlit sky, a monstrous black giant standing on the plain! The huge
head reached high in the air, and looked upon Ali with a large
sparkling eye. Ali was about to flee, but fear paralysed his feet.
Trembling, he again turned his face towards the formidable figure which
he fancied would crush him. How surprised and delighted was he on
discovering that the formidable monster was nothing but a large black
cloud, the last remnant of the thunderstorm, with an opening in the
centre, through which the moon was beaming! This discovery restored
his courage as quickly as he had before lost it. He now perceived that
the whole was nothing more than a natural phenomenon, such, doubtless,
as had often occurred in this narrow valley, and had given rise to the
superstition of the people. He now proceeded onwards with fresh
vigour, and it was not long before he crossed the bridge of the Tigris
with a light heart, delighted at having so fortunately completed his
adventure. But the black, Zelulu (for he it really was who amused
himself with deceiving the conceited youth), stared smiling after him
with his glowing eye, and then burst out into such loud laughter, that
the palms of the desert trembled. Then, shaking the mane of his
monstrous head, he folded up the large airy bulk of his body and
floated over the spring, where, forming himself into a pillar, he
suddenly rushed down with a tremendous howl. From this time he
determined to persecute the youth.
Ali, on his return, found his father’s house in the greatest state of
confusion and distress. His father was not there, and when he asked
after him, an old slave said to him, “Unhappy son, at this moment the
executioner is perhaps inflicting the fatal wound on him.” Ali stood
speechless and pale. The cause of the unhappy event was as follows:
Ibrahim bore an implacable hatred against Hussain, Cadi of Bagdad, and
the latter entertained a similar feeling in return; nay, people in the
city were wont to name Ibrahim and Hussain if they wished to cite an
instance of two irreconcileable enemies. Both had been educated, after
the death of their parents, in the house of a mutual relative. Nothing
can be worse than men of an entirely opposite disposition being
compelled to hold daily intercourse; repugnance and hatred increase
more and more, and their conversation becomes a constant feud. Hussain
was proud and gloomy; Ibrahim vehement and animated. Daily did they
reproach each other; the former considering the latter a frivolous
sensualist, the latter considering the former a cold, selfish egotist.
As they advanced in years their hatred increased. Their guardian had a
beautiful daughter, whom both, as members of the family, had
opportunities of seeing. Ibrahim fell in love with her, and hoped that
his affections would be returned, and the father’s consent obtained.
But as Hussain, by his natural talent, industry, and perseverance, soon
raised himself to an important station, he obtained, contrary to
Ibrahim’s expectation, the consent of the beautiful Mirza and her
parent. Ibrahim was so enraged at this, that out of revenge he shortly
after took two wives. One presented him with Ali at the cost of her
own life. Mirza lived with Hussain for some years before she bore him
a daughter. Some time had now past, Mirza had died, and separation,
which usually weakens enmity as well as friendship, had almost
extinguished the hatred of the cheerful Ibrahim. An occurrence,
however, showed that it still burned fiercely in the heart of the
haughty Hussain; and this poured fresh oil into Ibrahim’s fire, which,
as it appeared, death alone could now extinguish.
Two years ago, Ibrahim had returned from a journey, and among other
precious articles, had brought with him some Indian gold cloth, such as
had never been seen before. Hussain heard of this, and as his daughter
had grown up to be one of the most beautiful maidens in Bagdad, his
paternal pride was set upon adorning his lovely child by all the means
of art and of wealth. He had seen the cloth in passing Ibrahim’s shop,
but not wishing to purchase it himself, had sent a slave to Ibrahim,
and commissioned him to settle the bargain. Ibrahim looked upon this
as the first step towards a reconciliation on the part of Hussain; and
being of a more forgiving disposition than he, and, moreover, being in
a cheerful humour, in anticipation of a happy future, he gave the cloth
to the slave, telling him to say to Hussain, that he wished him to
accept of it as a token of former friendship. A short time after this,
the slave returned with the cloth, and said that his master had looked
upon it as a great insult, that a merchant presumed to offer presents
to the cadi, as these must always look, more or less, like bribes; and
that Ibrahim ought to name a price for it, as the cadi was quite able
to pay for it, although he did not every year bring home riches on his
mules. This haughty answer was so revolting to Ibrahim, that he took
the cloth from the slave’s hands, and tearing it to pieces, exclaimed:
“Tell your master, that thus I tear the last bonds of our former
friendship,--that I tear up by the roots the flowers which childhood
had woven into the golden ground of our life.”
Late in the evening of the day on which this had happened, and after
Ibrahim had for some time shut up his shop, he heard a knock at the
door. He went and opened it, but did not see any body. He had
scarcely gone away, when the knocking was repeated. He opened again,
and again saw no one. Vexed at this, he was returning to his room,
when suddenly a louder knocking than before was heard. He now ran
quickly to the door, and burst it open, in hopes of meeting the
insolent person who was thus tantalising him. As soon as he had opened
it, there stood outside a pretty, middle-aged woman in black, holding a
staff in her hand. “What do you want?” cried Ibrahim.
“I have a request to make, friend,” said she. “My beautiful daughter
is soon to be married; I am poor, and cannot afford a handsome bridal
dress, such as she deserves. Give me the gold cloth which you have
torn to-day; it will be good enough for us, and has lost its greatest
value for you. If old friends forsake us, we must look for new ones.”
Ibrahim, who was liberal, gave her the cloth, which she contemplated
attentively, and then said: “It has suffered great injury; it will cost
pains to stick it together again; still it can be remedied.” Upon this
she saluted Ibrahim kindly, and went away, and he never again saw her.
Ibrahim now gave daily vent to his anger in vehement words against
Hussain; and whatever he said was reported to the latter, with
additions, so that the enraged cadi only watched for an opportunity to
take revenge. This occurred sooner than he expected. The kind, mild
government of Haroun al Raschid, however beneficent in some respects,
produced in a certain degree disagreeable consequences for himself.
The populace had scarcely perceived that they were not forced to
tremble slavishly before the noble caliph, than they began to censure
his conduct and calumniate him, with the greatest audacity. For some
time he allowed this to pass unnoticed. But the insolence increased;
and he now all at once issued orders, that any one presuming to revile
the actions of the caliph should be executed without mercy. This order
had been made public a few days after Ibrahim’s return, indeed on the
very morning when his son had gone to Babylon. Being much engaged, he
remained at home during that morning, and it was not till nearly
evening that he went to a khan, where he was in the habit of spending a
few hours every day. He had not spoken to any person, and knew nothing
of the proclamation. He had scarcely entered the khan, when a crier
came through the street, exclaiming that every one should step aside to
make way, as Zobeide, the favourite wife of the caliph was about to
pass with her slaves. Ibrahim, who was in a merry mood, and did not
often weigh his words nicely, said: “They call Haroun al Raschid the
wisest man. It may be that he possesses singular qualities; but as
regards women, he is the weakest creature that I never knew. My son,
who is twenty years old, is ten times wiser on that score than he is.”
Ibrahim had no sooner said these words, than he was seized by the
officers of the cadi, and brought before Hussain. His grief can easily
be conceived, when he heard the sentence of death. He entreated
Hussain, in the name of their youthful friendship, to save his life.
“You yourself have violated our friendship,” replied the latter,
coldly; “there are here witnesses of your words, and I cannot save you.
All I can do is, to bring you to the Commander of the Faithful, who
wishes to see the first violator of his proclamation, and to witness
his execution.”
So far the old slave related. Ali was paralysed with horror; a
messenger from the caliph first recalled him to consciousness. “Do you
bring me his gray head?” asked Ali; “has the axe already dyed his thin
silvery hair with blood?”
“I will bring you to your father,” replied the messenger. “The caliph
has granted him permission to take leave of his son before he dies.”
“Is he still living?” cried Ali, and he hastened to the palace. On
entering it, he saw the caliph sitting on his throne; while before him
his father, with his hands tied behind him, was kneeling on a carpet.
A silver basin stood near, and the executioner had already drawn his
bright, sharp sword. Ali embraced his father.
“I cannot clasp you in my arms, my son,” said the old man, “but I die
for your sake; parental fondness made my lips utter those words.”
“Untie his hands!” cried the caliph; “let him embrace his son before he
dies.”
Ali threw himself at the caliph’s feet, and said, imploringly: “Restore
me my father.”
“I pity your fate,” said Haroun al Raschid, with emotion, “but I have
sworn that the blood of him who should revile my majesty and
benevolence shall flow.”
“Oh! then there is hope of delivery,” cried Ali. “Am I not blood of my
father’s blood? Let, then, my blood flow for his, that I may fall a
sacrifice to your revenge, and that my death may release you from your
oath.”
“What is it that you dare to offer me, young man?” said the caliph,
sternly. “Do not think to soften my heart by a trick so common! What
I have determined is unalterable, and in the name of Almighty God I
tell you your tears cannot move me.”
Ali knelt down. “Strike!” he cried to the slave, as he stretched out
his neck.
“What are you doing, my son?” cried the old man.
“I imitate my father,” said Ali. “From love to me you have exposed
yourself to death, from love to you I will suffer it for you.”
“And your mistress--how will she wring her white hands!” said the
caliph.
“Commander of the Faithful, I have none,” said Ali.
“How? Have you no passion? has not all-powerful love struck root in
your heart?”
“I love God,” said Ali, “my father, and you, my liege, even in death;
for I know that you are otherwise good and just; I love nature, men,
and every thing beautiful that flourishes and lives; but no woman has
yet awakened a passion!”
“Then Ibrahim was right,” cried Haroun al Raschid, laughing; “then you
are really wiser than the caliph. Rise, my friends,” he continued,
“neither of you shall die. Ibrahim has not violated my law; he knew it
not. He has not praised his son at the expense of the caliph; my oath
does not require his blood. Forgive me the terrors of death which I
have caused you. A prince has seldom an opportunity of looking into
the secrets of the heart with his own eyes. Only on the boundary which
separates death from life, all considerations disappear, and only thus
could I discover in you a virtue which I now admire. Go home, honest
Ibrahim, you are healthy and cheerful, by nature, so that this shock
will not be attended with any dangerous consequences. And you, wise
Ali,” he continued, smiling, “I will see you again a year hence, and
learn whether you are then as wise as you are now.” As soon as he had
concluded, he dismissed them, and sent them home laden with splendid
presents.
Hussain was an eye-witness of the scene. It may easily be conceived
how this sudden act of grace inflamed his hatred, and with what triumph
the father and son returned home again.
Ibrahim lived happily with his son, who applied himself anew, with
great industry, to the acquisition of knowledge. Once a slave came to
Ali’s room and begged him to come down, as his father had purchased
something for him in the market. He went down accordingly, and was
much surprised at seeing a little, deformed creature, dressed as a
slave, standing before him. The little man wore a high hat, with a
cock’s feather, on his head; his chest, as well as his back, formed a
hump; his squinting eyes were of a pale gray, like those of a cat; and
his nose hung over his mouth like a bunch of grapes, and was of a
violet colour. For the rest, he was cheerful, brisk, and healthy,
notwithstanding all his excrescences; and with his right eye, which was
triangular, he looked attentively at Ali, whilst the left was concealed
in the angle between the nose and forehead.
Whilst Ali stood wondering at this paragon of human ugliness, his
father could not suppress his laughter, and said: “Have I not been to
the market at a lucky moment? An hour afterwards it would have been
too late, so numerous were those who wished to purchase him. I owe it
to my prompt decision that I got him for two hundred pieces of gold.
Only think, my wise son, you lock yourself up within four walls, to
suck, like a bee, sweetness from old manuscripts; and yet this
hunchback slave, who never has had time to sit at home and pore over
books, is declared by the opinion of all connoisseurs, to be unequalled
in learning throughout Arabia and Persia. You may easily see it in
him; wisdom breaks forth in every part of him, and, therefore, great
must be the superfluity within! Take him with you; I present him to
you to assist you in your studies, and divert you in your hours of
leisure.”