the latter saw the great quantity of books and parchments which laid
about in every direction, he raised his hands in amazement, and cried
with warmth, “The wise Confucius might well say, ‘Blessed is he who
recognises the end of his destiny! The way that he must go to reach
his goal stands marked before his eyes. Uncertainty and doubt leave
him as soon as he enters on that way. Peace and tranquillity strew
roses on his path.’ But he also truly said, ‘Unhappy is he who
mistakes the branches of the tree for its roots, the leaves for fruit,
the shadow for the substance, and who knoweth not how to distinguish
the means from the end.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Ali.
“Sadi has said,” replied the little slave, “that the most unprofitable
of human beings, is a learned man who does not benefit his
fellow-creatures by his learning; we hear the mill clapping but see no
flour; a word without a deed is a cloud without rain, and a bow without
a string.”
Ali now wished to try whether the knowledge of the slave went beyond
these and similar maxims. He examined him and was astonished at his
proficiency in the Arabian, Persian, Hindoo, and Chinese philosophy.
“What is your name?” continued Ali.
“When I was born,” replied the hunchback, “my mother was of opinion
that I was so easily distinguishable as to require no name, thinking
that people would soon enough separate the ram from the goats without
tying a red ribbon round his neck.”
“Are you a Mohammedan?” asked Ali, again.
“Mahomet could neither read nor write; I worship Mithra; to him I bow
the knee, not to the rising in the east but to the setting in the west.”
“Then you worship the sun?”
“The sun itself is cold, and produces warmth only when combined with
the atmosphere of our earth. The fire has beautiful yellow locks and
sparkling eyes, it vivifies every thing with its love, and burns most
beautifully at night.”
“Still I must call you by a name,” said Ali.
“I am as diminutive, deformed, and ugly, as the renowned _Lockman_,”
said the slave, “and he was as shrewd and knew as much as I do. It was
the same with Æsop. Many are of opinion that they are one and the same
person; if this may be said of two it may also be applied to three.
Call me _Lockman_, and believe in the _metempsychosis_. It is the
cheapest belief, as it costs the creator least.”
Ali knew not whether to smile or be angry at this frivolous joke.
Indeed, he did not know whether he was joking; for every thing that
_Lockman_ (as we shall call the slave,) said, was mixed with a certain
serious grimace which again frequently changed into sarcastic ridicule.
On the same evening Ali read aloud the following passage from
Zoroaster’s “Wisdom:”
“The power hath work’d from all eternity:
Two angels are its subjects--Virtue, Vice,
Of light and darkness mingled;--aye at war.
When Virtue conquers, doubled is the light;
When Vice prevails the black abyss is glad.
To the last day the struggle shall endure.
Then Virtue shall have joy, and Vice have pain,
And never more these enemies shall meet.”
When Ali had read thus far, Lockman, who was still in the room, had so
violent a bleeding at the nose that he was obliged to leave it, and Ali
saw him no more that evening.
Early in the morning he was awakened by a singing which ascended from
the garden. He opened the window and heard a hoarse, though well
practised voice, sing the following words:
“Lovely spring returns again,
And his merry glance is warm,
And he sings a lively strain,
But the youth he cannot charm.
“Rosebuds all their fragrance shed,
But his heart they cannot move,
Seeking joys for ever fled,
Through the ruins he must rove.
“Does he dwell amid the flowers,
By some kindly beauty blest?
No; amid the ruin’d towers,
Where the screech owl builds her nest.
“No fair arms around him cling,
Ne’er he tastes a honied kiss;
Songs that ancient dreamers sing,
Those alone afford him bliss.
“Wake him from this sullen sleep,
Lovely spring thy pow’r display,
Or the youth too late will weep,
For the joys he flings away.”[1]
Ali went into the garden, and found Lockman sitting under a tree with a
guitar in his hand.
“Do you sing too?” asked Ali.
“If the screeching of an owl can be called singing,” replied he, “I
sing like the feathered songster of the grove.”
“Your guitar has a pleasant sound.”
“That it learned from a sheep when a wolf struck its claws into its
entrails.”
“What were you singing?”
“A poor song on a great subject composed by one of those poets who
always entreat us to take the will for the deed. Do you wish to hear
another?”
He sung again.
“Sure some madness it must be,
Thus the present hour to slight,
And to take thy sole delight
In the tales of memory.
Why shouldst thou thy time despise?
Why the past thus fondly prize?
Seek’st thou only what is gone?
Nay, what is’t thou wouldst recall?
Dreamy pleasures--that is all;
Fit for puling babes alone.
“Nay, suppose this honor’d Past
Should return to thee at last,
Friend, thou soon wouldst say: ‘The star
Shines more brightly when afar.’
When the Future’s sunbeams glow,
Fancy paints a glittering bow;
O’er the cloudy Past ’tis spread,
Venture near, and it has fled.
In the centre thou shouldst be,
If thou wouldst the magic see.”
From this time Ali, as usual, went frequently to Izaser’s temple,
attended by Lockman.
“Why do you always go this way?” he once asked Ali. “Are not the other
suburbs also beautiful?”
“I do not know them as well as these,” replied Ali. “This
neighbourhood has been familiar to me from childhood; every step
recalls to my memory some moment of my past life, and cannot,
therefore, but be most dear to me.”
When they were on the point of going out on the following day, Lockman
had put off the handsome dress which Ali had given to him, and appeared
again in his former tattered slave’s coat.
“What is that?” asked Ali. “Why have you again put on those rags?
Have I not given you a good, decent suit?”
“Forgive me, master,” said he, “I am not so familiar with my new suit
as with this: this has been familiar to me in my early life, every hole
and every rent recalls to my memory some past moment, and therefore
cannot but be extremely dear to me.”
Ali understood him, and found that he was not altogether wrong. “Go
back,” said he, “and put on your new suit, and then I will go another
way with you.”
They went out at the opposite gate which brought them to another
winding of the Tigris. Here they found many gardens surrounded by high
walls, between which were beautiful avenues of trees, and stone benches
for the repose of travellers. Ali sat down on one of these benches,
and, having looked round for some time, sank as usual into a deep
reverie. When he had awakened from it he was going to ask Lockman for
something, but not seeing him, was obliged to call him several times.
Upon which his slave appeared from a thick copse adjoining the wall.
“Come, Lockman,” cried Ali, “I want you to tell me something.”
“Such things cannot be told at all,” replied the latter, with a sigh.
“Do you wish to hear trite similes of rosy cheeks, ruby lips, pearly
teeth, lily hands, bosoms like pomegranates covered with snow, eyebrows
like rainbows? Come and see for yourself, for you will behold an
incomparable beauty, who being a female is probably not always the
same.”
Ali approached the copse, where, through a hole in a wall, he could see
into a beautiful garden, with splendid _jets d’eau_ which fell into
basins of marble. A lovely female form was sitting on the turf, and
many other beautiful girls surrounded her as the paler lights of heaven
surround the evening star. Her youth was in its highest splendour, and
was adorned with those beautiful colours which are otherwise found only
in the most dissimilar objects in nature, and which Lockman had named.
But Ali perceived besides, a grace playing on her lips, and a spirit in
her eyes such as we see neither in the lustre of rubies nor in that of
diamonds. Innocence and infantine serenity animated her countenance;
her movements were natural and easy, like those of a Zephyr; and from
the affability which she showed to her attendants, Ali inferred the
gentleness of her disposition. He stood enraptured in the
contemplation of this beauty, believing that he beheld an angelic
being. A deep red was suddenly suffused over his face, while,
beckoning to his slave, he retired from the wall. He looked in again,
and perceived that her slaves were undressing her. Her long hair
already fell over her bare shoulders, and her white garment floated
loosely round her beautiful bosom. Officious hands loosened the tight
bodice, and from all the preparations it was evident that she was about
to take a refreshing bath in the hour of evening.
“Master,” cried Lockman, “in the name of Allah and the prophet, pray
wait and continue watching.”
Ali, incensed, took him by the collar and threw him backwards.
“Oh, you are not in your senses,” cried the slave, vexed, as he
followed him; “you shut your mouth close that you may not enjoy the
manna in the wilderness which falls from heaven; you will not take a
refreshing draught in the desert when it is offered. You are no
Mussulman. A Mussulman loves sensual pleasure, the prophet has
permitted it to us in this life, and promised it in the next.”
“The prophet did not enjoin what he permitted,” said Ali. “As the
angel took out of his heart the black drops in which were concealed the
seeds of evil, in the same manner also can the angel purify the heart
of every man.”
“You are no true Mussulman,” said Lockman, “neither war nor sensual
pleasure delight you.”
“No,” replied Ali, “they do not; but courage and love do.”
“Go to the foggy Europe,” cried Lockman; “you are no Asiatic; the
prophet of Nazareth has misled you. Your virtue is not an active one,
it is only abstinence; your life is but a continued preparation for
death.”
Ali broke off the conversation, and went away vexed, but soon forgot
Lockman. The lovely maiden on the turf was still present to his
imagination in all her beauty.
In anxious expectation he waited for the next evening, and went
unattended by Lockman.
On first arriving he sat down, and meditated to whom this garden could
possibly belong. He then walked several times up and down the avenue
between the walls, and not seeing any one near, could not resist
stopping by the hedge and looking through the hole into the garden.
However he saw no one, for the garden was forsaken. On the turf,
opposite the _jet d’eau_, lay a rose which he wished to possess. As he
still stood gazing some one tapped him softly on the shoulder, upon
which he looked around, and saw standing before him a middle-aged and
affable woman, who asked him smiling,
“What are you looking after, young gentleman?”
Ali was embarrassed.
“You need not answer,” said she. “Your little dwarf has been here this
morning, and has settled every thing with me. My mistress is very
anxious to see you.”
And without waiting for an answer, she took Ali by the hand, and led
him through an open garden door into a thick arbour where she left him.
The beautiful Gulhyndi came to meet him dressed in a fine black suit of
satin with short sleeves, which enhanced the natural whiteness of her
arms, hands, and neck. Her hair flowed in long tresses down her back;
and a deep bodice set with precious stones encircled her slender waist.
“You will be surprised, sir,” she said with natural freedom from
embarrassment, “at being brought so suddenly before a young girl whom
you do not know. I will at once free you from the state of uncertainty
in which you might easily remain to my disadvantage. Know then that I
have hazarded this step as the only means of becoming acquainted with a
man of such excellent qualities, whose intellectual conversation I have
long wished to enjoy. It is not for the first time that we see each
other; indeed, we have known each other for a long time.”
The fair one now took a long veil which concealed her face, leaving a
small opening only for the eyes, walked a few paces up and down, and
then asked him, “Do you know me thus?”
Ali started; it was his unknown friend of Izaser’s temple.
“I am certain you now know me. My name is Gulhyndi. I have long known
you, and better than you imagine. A pious dervish with whom I often
conversed in the temple on holy things, frequently spoke of you; and I
will not deny,” she continued, blushing, “that your appearance seems to
confirm me in what I have heard of you. My nurse, who is a Christian,
has exerted a great influence upon my education. We poor Arab women
are condemned to sit like prisoners in a cage without receiving
instruction or any cultivation for our minds. But I can bear it no
longer, and beseech you, noble young Mussulman, who surpass in sense
and judgment so many of your age, not to make me repent a step which
reason sanctions, although as a timid girl I must blush at it.”
“Lovely stranger,” said Ali, “I swear to you by Allah that I will
strive to merit your confidence, and never to make myself unworthy of
it.”
“All depends upon our devising a disguise under which I may see you
daily. Do you play an instrument?”
“I play the guitar,” replied Ali.
“That is fortunate. My father has promised that I shall learn this
instrument, and has given me permission to receive daily instruction
from a Frank slave in the presence of my nurse. You must be this
slave: will you not?”
“Lovely Gulhyndi,” said Ali, “I am your slave already.”
Gulhyndi blushed.
“You already act in character, you say sweet things to me, a fault with
all Franks; in this respect we Orientals have the advantage over them,
we tell the true feeling of our hearts plainly.”
“So do I; I have not disguised my nature.”
“This is a repetition,” cried she, laughing; “I see you are more
cunning than I thought; perhaps I have done wrong in reposing such
confidence in you.”
It was now agreed that Ali should procure a Frank dress, such as
liberated slaves wore, and should come the next day with his guitar.
Maria, the nurse, accompanied him to the door, entreating him to pardon
Lockman, who, from zeal for his master, and without his orders, had
that morning arranged the whole plan. The enraptured Ali promised it,
and inquired of her who her mistress was.
“As you value your own happiness and hers,” answered Maria, “ask me no
questions. Be it sufficient for you to know that her name is Gulhyndi.
She knows no more of you than that your name is Ali. The moment you
know more than this of each other, all your joy will be turned to
sadness.”
Ali was forced to promise that he would not inquire further. He
hastened to buy a beautiful guitar, and impatiently awaited the hour
which should again reveal to him his earthly Paradise. It arrived. He
entered the garden, and was led to the arbour as he had been the day
before, though Maria did not go away, but remained at the entrance.
Gulhyndi met him much more splendidly attired than on the previous day.
According to the fashion of Persia, she appeared in a light gay velvet
garment, which hung loosely around her body, and was not confined by a
bodice. Her beautiful face was encircled with strings of genuine
pearls and precious stones; on her fingers she wore diamonds set in
silver, the Orientals not being permitted to wear gold rings. She had
green stockings, which showed the symmetry of her ancles, and on her
small feet were shoes embroidered with gold. Smiling, she said: “Do
not think, dear Ali, that I have chosen this dress from vanity. My
father, who loves pomp, has been with me, and I have not had time to
change it as I expected. I will leave you for a moment, and will be
with you immediately, for this attire is not sociable. I can scarcely
turn my head with the weight of these jewels, nor move my fingers with
these rings.”
Having said these words, she went away, attended by Maria. Ali
followed her with his eyes; and though he wished he might see her in a
plain attire, which would rather display than conceal her graceful
form, yet he could not refrain, as she went away, from exclaiming, with
the poet; “How lovely is thy gait in shoes, thou daughter of princes!
Thy cheeks are lovely with gems, and thy neck with chains. Thine eyes
are as the eyes of doves, between thy tresses. Thy slender form is as
that of the palm-tree, and thy bosom is like doves. Oh! my dove in the
rock, show thy form again, and let me hear thy voice, for thy voice is
sweet, and thy form is lovely!”
It was not long before she returned in her black dress. How much more
beautiful did she look! On her partly veiled, swelling bosom, which
dazzled the eyes of Ali by its whiteness, hung a ruby, which was
blood-red with anger, at being surpassed by the redness of her lips. A
lily of silver was entwined in her hair. She took the guitar, saying:
“We must lose no time; you shall not bring it in vain; therefore, now
teach me.”
Ali obeyed, and taught her the touch of the strings. How did he
tremble, when he had to touch her white hands and delicate fingers!
She was as delighted as a child when she could play the first chord.
“How much sometimes there is in the combination of the elementary
sounds,” she cried.
“Lovely Gulhyndi,” said Ali, “the holy seven tones have the same
heavenly relation, by nature, as the holy seven colours that beam to us
from the rainbow. All we see and hear is nothing but a repetition, and
the variation of these.”
“Why, then, has the prophet forbidden music in the churches?” asked
Gulhyndi.
“The human voice,” replied he, “is the noblest instrument, and the most
worthy of Omnipotence; the prophet considered it a duty that man should
offer the best to God. We, fair Gulhyndi, will not despise the music
of these chords in this earthly life, since it supports and elevates
our human voice, and connects man with nature.”
The sun was now setting, and cast its last gleam over the wall into the
arbour. “Play and sing another song, as a farewell,” said she. Ali
sang as follows:
“My tuneful strings your music swell,
And sweetly tell
The feelings words can never tell aright.
Resound! In you my joys should be expressed.
Soften that breast,
And breathe to spring my transports of delight.
“Sing, as the nightingale from some dark tree
Pours melody;
And bear along my feelings on your wings;
And let my thoughts like some fair streamlet flow,
In evening’s glow,
When to far lands its gentle sound it brings.
“The thoughts for which all language is too weak,
The lyre can speak;
Although love’s fetters have the tongue confined.
When love has come, repose gives place to pain,
And words are vain.
Notes have no words--yet is their sense divined.”
After this Ali had frequent opportunities of seeing Gulhyndi. Once
finding her pale, and with her eyes red from weeping, he asked her with
sympathy: “Lovely Gulhyndi, what ails you?”
“I will and must tell you, Ali,” said she; “when you have heard me you
will be convinced of the necessity I felt to seek your advice and
confidence. I have told you already that my nurse is a Christian. She
has endeavoured to convert me to the Christian faith; but the lessons
which my mother gave me in my childhood have always closed my heart
against her persuasions and proofs. Still she has often rendered me
most uneasy; and though unsuccessful in these endeavours to convert me
to her religion, has shaken my faith in ours. ‘The prophet,’ she says,
‘excludes the female half of mankind from heaven; therefore, what are
you striving for? In this life you need no supernatural assistance,
and in the next it is denied you. But to go no farther than this life;
what have you become through the cruel institution of Mahomet? Before
your marriage you are a bird shut up in a cage, and when married, an
unhappy wife, who shares the favours of a tyrant with a hundred others.
Follow my advice, take your jewels and flee to Europe. My family is
large and happy, my native country is extensive and beautiful; its
women are much respected. Many youths will strive to please you; every
one will esteem himself happy to obtain your hand. The Christian
church will receive you in her bosom, and in the next life infinite
mercy awaits you.”
Gulhyndi was silent for a moment, to hear whether Ali would say any
thing in reply. As he continued silent, contemplating her attentively
with an affectionate look, she continued:
“I should not perhaps have been strong enough to withstand her
persuasions had not a singular occurrence taken place to confirm me.
During a sleepless night, when tormented with grief and anguish of
conscience, I lay on my couch with my hands folded, and all at once
fell into a sweet sleep, during which I dreamt I saw the ceiling of the
room opening, and a charming fairy coming down to me on a rosy cloud,
which filled the room with perfume. She appeared in an azure silk
garment, over which hung a transparent crape, on which were wrought
silver stars; on her head was a crown of diamonds, and her hands held a
sceptre of emerald. She bent over my pillow, touched my temples with
her sceptre, and said, ‘Be of good cheer daughter, flee not, and deny
not your faith. Virtue is a flower that blooms in every clime. Be
firm without despairing. I promise you a youth who will love you alone
and be faithful to you. He shall, like yourself, spring from the tribe
of Ishmael, and dwell in your tents.’ When she had said this she
disappeared. I have often seen her after this, when I have been in
trouble; but she has only floated down to me and contemplated me
smiling for a moment, which, however, has always inspired me with
fortitude for many days. For two months, however, I have not seen her,
and Maria urges me daily. Thus I met you in this state of excitement.
Oh, Ali! forsake not the timid roe which seeks shelter in your
protection.”
How was it possible for Ali to conceal his sentiments any longer?
“Gulhyndi,” he cried, “the youth which the good fairy promised you, you
have already found, if you will be satisfied with my love and fidelity.”
“Ali,” said she, trembling, “let not compassion for an unhappy being
make you think you love her.”
“I have not known before this day what love is,” said he; “but if it be
a feeling that supplants every other, and makes the beloved object its
sole desire on earth, then I love you.”
She could find no words in answer; her arms embraced the happy Ali, and
in the first kiss he enjoyed the highest happiness.
“But,” continued she, when she had in a measure recovered from the
first transport, “you still must flee, Ali, you must leave your country
if you love me. Oh, Allah, how could I expect this from thee,” she
exclaimed, with a sigh; “no, no, I shall act against the warning of my
good fairy. She promised me a lover with whom I should not be
compelled to flee, who should dwell with me in my tents. Alas, Ali,
this is impossible with you, and without you the world has no joys for
me.”
“Be of good cheer, beloved Gulhyndi, my father is a wealthy and
respected man; I do not know yours, but he cannot have any objection to
our union if the wealthy Ibrahim solicits you for his son, and grants
him the dowry.”
He had scarcely uttered these words, when the terrified Maria came
running to them, and crying: “For Heaven’s sake, children, compose
yourselves as you value your life. Your father is coming,” she said to
Gulhyndi; “play, play,” she said, to Ali.
He took the guitar and had scarcely played a few notes, when Hussain
Cadi entered the arbour. Ali’s terror may easily be conceived. His
hand almost dropped the guitar so greatly was he embarrassed.
Hussain looked at him attentively. “Is this the Greek slave,
daughter,” he asked, “whom your nurse procured to instruct you in
music?”
“Yes, father,” replied Gulhyndi, trembling.
“You are agitated, you have been weeping, what is the meaning of all
this?”
“Father, he has sung to me an air which has affected me deeply.”
“Ah! does he so well understand the art of moving your feelings?” asked
Hussain. “Play, you Christian dog,” said he, turning to Ali, “move me,
also, for once.”
“Pardon your slave, sir,” said Ali, “feelings cannot be forced; if this
sweet art is to produce its effect, the mind must be favourably attuned
before hand.”
“Then I suppose you understand how to effect this?” asked Hussain,
looking at Ali with a searching glance.
Ali was silent.
“Are you a freed slave? Who was your master in Bagdad before?”
In answer to this Ali mentioned a name.
“You seem to me to be rather an Arab than a Frank,” said Hussain, very
emphatically.
As Ali was going to reply, Hussain suddenly exclaimed, “Yes, it is he,
I know the hateful countenance, I know the detestable features.” Pale
with fury he put his hands to his side, but did not find his sword.
“Wait a moment,” he said, with affected indifference, “I shall be here
again instantly.”
Leaving the arbour hastily, he clapped his hands to summon a slave; but
none appearing, he hurried to the house. Ali and Gulhyndi were now in
the utmost despair.