heart of his daughter shall his sword find its way to yours.”
“That would not be a very strong shield,” cried a hoarse voice, from
the wall; “come, master, save your life, and own the fidelity of your
servant.”
Ali cast his eyes upwards and saw Lockman sitting astride on the wall,
with a rope ladder which he quickly lowered. He embraced his beloved,
and availed himself of this mode of rescue, which came as if sent by
Heaven. He was soon on the other side of the wall with Lockman, who,
with singular speed, took him round the corner and concealed him in a
thick hedge. As soon as night came on he hastened home, attended by
Lockman, and thanked him for his marked fidelity and his intrepid
courage.
The first thing he now did was to speak to his father and confide his
secret to him. He said, at length, “As you love your son, conquer your
hatred against Hussain, go with me to him, solicit the hand of his
daughter for me, and offer your hand to him in reconciliation.”
“Is this possible, my son?” said Ibrahim. “Can love so far carry you
away that it makes you forget what you owe to your father? You ask of
me to degrade myself for the sake of your passion?”
“Is it degrading to reconcile oneself with one’s enemy?” asked Ali.
“I did once make a step towards a reconciliation,” replied Ibrahim,
“which was contemptuously spurned, and I have sworn by the Omnipotent
Allah that as sure as the gold cloth was torn, so surely shall Hussain
be for ever torn from my heart. Compose yourself, my son, conquer your
passion; there are pretty girls enough in Bagdad besides her. I am
rich and can buy the most beautiful slaves for you; but never think of
an alliance with the blood of Hussain; it would be an union against
nature, and the day of your union would be the day of your father’s
death.”
All the entreaties and persuasions of Ali were of no avail with his
father; the otherwise mild Ibrahim was incensed against his son to a
degree that had never been known before, and, turning his back upon
him, he said, “Be silent and forget your folly if you do not wish, me
to curse the moment in which your mother brought you into the world.
He who loves Hussain’s daughter cannot love me, and I must look upon
him as an enemy who intends evil against me.”
Ali was now left alone in despair. Soon, however, Lockman made his
appearance, and asked him, “Why are you so dejected?”
“Fate will deprive me of my earthly bliss,” replied Ali.
“When did fate ever do so?” rejoined Lockman, “that must have happened
in a moment when I was not present.”
“Begone,” cried Ali, “am I not unhappy enough without your mockery
aggravating my grief?”
“I come not only with mockery,” said Lockman, “but sometimes with rope
ladders.”
“Pardon me,” said Ali, “grief made me forget your kindness.”
“Well,” replied Lockman, “I forgive every thing but awkwardness.”
“And what remedy is there for me?”
“Nothing easier than to find the remedy for you, provided you will make
use of it.”
Ali looked at him amazed.
“Have you then forgotten the caliph entirely? His favour, and what he
told you at the time?” asked Lockman.
A ray of hope now darted through Ali’s desponding mind.
“Go to the caliph,” continued Lockman, “confess all to him; he will be
amused, nay, rejoiced, for it will flatter him to find that you have
been at last caught in the net of love. You have before now found
favour in his sight; he will laugh at your love intrigue and give his
orders; one word from him will be the foundation of your happiness.”
Ali was delighted, but his joy shortly left him after a closer
examination of Lockman’s advice. He thought of the wrath of Hussain,
his vindictive disposition, and said to himself: “If I am to go I must
go at once, to-morrow it will be too late; he is spiteful, he is cadi,
and has the power to put his evil designs into execution.”
“Then go this very evening,” said Lockman.
Ali wrapt himself in his cloak and went. The evening was already
advanced, but the weather was fine and the moon shone. When he arrived
at the palace he saw that it was splendidly lighted up, and he heard
music. “Ah,” he said, with anxious heart, “the caliph is celebrating a
festival to-night; there is no hope of my being admitted, and to-morrow
it will be too late.”
His fears were confirmed by the words of the porters, who told him that
the caliph would speak to no one so late, and that he must return the
next day. One of them, however, said: “What can this stranger have to
say to the caliph? Why is he wrapt up in a large cloak, and why does
he come at this hour of the night? Confusion is in his face. Might he
not be a traitor who intends to murder the caliph in a private
interview? I think it will be most advisable to bring him to the cadi
that he may guard him for the night in his house. To-morrow he can be
released again if found innocent.”
Several of the others agreed to this proposal, saying: “It is not the
first time that such an attempt has been made against the caliph’s
life. The caliph is too noble-minded to have any suspicion; but it is
the duty of his servants to watch over his safety.”
The terror of Ali may easily be conceived when one of the guard laid
hands on him to conduct him to Hussain. In his alarm he threw back his
cloak, and cried: “I am Ali the son of Ibrahim! the caliph knows me and
has shown me distinguished favour. I have to communicate things of
importance, and you will incur his highest displeasure if you treat a
peaceful citizen like a base vagabond.”
Fortunately for Ali one of the guard knew him; and persuaded the others
to release him, assuring him that it was impossible to speak to the
caliph that night, and that he must return the following day.
Ali, in this state of uncertainty, walked a long time up and down the
street. He had been denied an appeal to his only deliverer; he was
unwilling to return to the house of his incensed father without having
effected his purpose; and from the enraged cadi he had to fear the
worst. Deeply distressed, he sat down on a bench on the banks of the
Tigris.
He had not been there long before he perceived three old dervishes
coming slowly up the street. They saluted him, but he scarcely noticed
it. One of them came up to him and sat down next to him, whilst the
others pursued their way.
“Let it not displease you, sir,” said the old man, “that I address you
without knowing you,--but if one has no acquaintance one must try to
make some. We are dervishes, and are coming from Basra in order to
speak to the caliph on matters of consequence. Unfortunately we
arrived here too late. He celebrates a festival for a new slave whom
he has received into his harem: and we were obliged to quit the palace
without succeeding in our object. We had hoped to be allowed to sleep
quietly in the outer court of the palace until to-morrow; but this
hospitality is no longer permitted, as they fear the safety of the
caliph might be endangered. We have already been walking about for
more than an hour to find accommodation in an inn. I am the oldest,
and am most weary,--permit me, therefore, to rest myself at your side;
my companions will perhaps be more successful in their search.”
“I regret,” said Ali, “that this evening I am disposed to any thing
rather than to entertaining people by my conversation. But if you will
go to my father’s house (telling him at the same time where he resided)
he will receive you hospitably, and will feel pleasure in entertaining
you during your stay in Bagdad. Come with me and I will show you the
way. It is, moreover, not safe for us to loiter any longer about the
streets, for the constables of the cadi have orders to arrest every one
whom they meet after a certain hour.”
“Why, we have nothing to fear from them to night,” replied the dervish,
“as they are making merry at the cadi’s expense, in consequence of the
great fortune which his daughter has met.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Ali.
“Why,” replied he, “have you not heard that she has been given to the
caliph, and that the festival is celebrated on her account? If the
love she has kindled in the caliph, when he saw her for the first time,
is of lasting duration, she may entertain the hope of becoming one of
his most favourite wives.”
“Impossible!” cried Ali.
“It is quite true,” said the dervish.
“Then,” exclaimed Ali, “I must speak to the caliph. He must restore
her to me! I will strike down the guards if they offer to prevent my
entrance. I will murder the caliph, and then her and myself----”
“Young man, you are mad! Would you murder the Commander of the
Faithful? The mere utterance of such a design is high treason.”
“I go,” cried Ali, half frantic, “I can die with Gulhyndi, but not
survive her dishonour and my own.”
“What dishonour?” asked the dervish. “Can it be any thing but the
highest honour for her to rest in the arms of Haroun al Raschid?”
“Heaven and earth!” said Ali, as he attempted to go.
“Wait an instant,” said the old man, “and compose yourself. Is it
possible,” he continued, “that the same city can contain two men of
such opposite temperaments? Love has changed you to a blood-thirsty
tiger, and a youth named Ali is said to live here who is a pattern of
such a cool nature, that his fame has reached us even at Basra.”
“I am this very Ali!” cried the unfortunate youth.
“You Ali? Impossible! Ali is wise.”
“The highest wisdom is love,” said Ali; “but why do I tarry here, and
waste my time upon you, while--ah?----”
He was going to tear himself away from the old man and hasten to the
palace, but the dervish said, “As you are in such great haste, I will
detain you only long enough to listen to one word of reason, if your
agitated feelings will allow you. You have offered us a night’s
lodging without knowing us, and thereby laid us under some obligation,
and as it is, moreover, the duty of men of our pious order to assist
believers as far as we can, follow my advice and come with us, and we
will bring you before the caliph. My companions are approaching and
will go with us. Your purpose of striking down the guards is sheer
madness, and you will repent it if you reflect a moment. In order to
be admitted, we must say we come on important business from the
governor of Basra. Once in the caliph’s presence, we will, as
ministers of religion and virtue, throw ourselves at his feet and
solicit your betrothed from him. Perhaps we may move him,--perhaps he
will be touched by your situation, and if he is not, then there is
still time enough for you to act as despair prompts you.” Ali thanked
the good dervish for his offer. The other two were soon informed of
the plan, and immediately assented to it as the best arrangement,
though they had some difficulty in persuading Ali, who, notwithstanding
the distracted state of his mind, perceived to what danger they exposed
themselves on his account.
Arrived at the palace, they found but little difficulty in obtaining
admittance; a few words to the guards procured them a ready entrance,
and much respect was shown to the eldest. They were led through
several apartments into a magnificent saloon, which was lighted with
innumerable wax tapers. In the back ground stood the caliph’s throne,
and a great number of young girls afforded amusement by music and
dancing. Ali, however, could discern neither the caliph nor Gulhyndi;
and turning to the old dervish, with his face quite pale, he asked,
“Where are they?”
“The caliph has probably retired to his own apartment with his young
bride,” replied he. “Alas! poor Ali, we have come too late.”
Ali shuddered, when the dervish began to break out into loud laughter,
and throwing off his cap and cloak, stood before him in princely
splendour as Haroun al Raschid. “Wise Ali,” he cried, “must I see you
again in a situation where you are not a hair’s breadth wiser than the
caliph?” So saying, he took him by the hand and led him to an
adjoining apartment, where he was received by Gulhyndi. “Accept your
bride from my hands,” said the caliph; “she is yours, and I renounce
all my claims to her. But I will not proceed in an arbitrary manner in
this affair; I have sent for your parents, and trust to obtain their
consent.” He had scarcely uttered these words, when Hussain and
Ibrahim were brought in. “Hussain!” said the caliph, sternly, “I have
reason to be very angry with you. You have not offered me your
daughter on my own account, you have employed me as an instrument to
wreak your revenge. You have sacrificed this poor girl to prevent
Ali’s union with her; she would be unhappy, had not despair inspired
her with courage to disclose all to me. Give your consent, as that is
the only way by which you can be restored to my favour.”
“Commander of the Faithful!” replied Hussain, “yours is the power, but
you are good and just, and you will not abuse it. From the moment when
I discovered that my daughter would be beautiful, I formed the
resolution that she should belong to you or none. I was obliged thus
suddenly to put this resolution into effect by this youth, the son of
my deadly enemy, who has not solicited my daughter from me, but has
cunningly crept into my house in order to seduce her. That I give to
you what I thought too good for every one else cannot surely displease
you. You are the father of your people, and you will not punish with
your displeasure your slave, who in his trouble, flies to you for
refuge.”
“I know all,” said the caliph; “use no shifts. You and Ibrahim shall
become friends again, and render your children happy;--such is my will.”
“This alliance,” replied Hussain, “would be my greatest misfortune, and
death more welcome. I entreat you, sire, if I have shown any fidelity
and zeal towards you during my long service; reward them by allowing me
the authority of a father; do not deprive me of the power over the fate
of my child.”
“She cannot be mine,” cried Al Raschid.
“Then,” said Hussain, “my misfortune is great; permit me and my
daughter to go home, and mourn the loss of your favour in sackcloth and
ashes.”
“And you, Ibrahim,” said the caliph, turning to him, “will you not
advance a step towards the happiness of your child?”
“Commander of the Faithful,” said Ibrahim, “I do not think that a man
is made more unhappy by not obtaining a woman upon whom he has set his
heart, perhaps only for a moment. If it were so, I ought to be very
unhappy, for Hussain is the very man who once robbed me of my
betrothed, and with her the hope of my youth. I trust my son will be
contented to share the fate of his father, and to suffer what I have
suffered--a grief which I know, from experience, does not endure long,
and for which the world affords us sufficient compensation.”
The blood came into Al Raschid’s face, and a fire flashed from his
eyes, which usually was the forerunner of sudden wrath; still he
restrained himself. “Is it your unalterable resolution,” he asked, “to
conspire against the happiness of this young man, and against my will?”
Both parents perceived the emotion of the caliph’s mind. Hussain
continued calm, but Ibrahim turned pale, and threw himself at the
caliph’s feet, exclaiming: “I am your slave, your pleasure be done!
You are wise, and you act as the successor of the Prophet, as the
guardian angel of religion and the people. I give my consent.” “My
son,” he thought within himself, “may take several wives; he may
repudiate her whom he took first; I shall not lose so much as Hussain,
and be no nearer to him than formerly.”
Hussain contemplated him, smiling, with a chilling and contemptuous
expression.
“And what do you say, Hussain?” asked the caliph.
“Commander of the Faithful, your will be done. To-morrow I will
celebrate the nuptials of my daughter; but you will permit me to take
her home with me to-night. Ali’s betrothed must not pass the night in
the harem of the caliph.”
“Take her; but your life shall answer for her.”
“I answer for her with my life,” said Hussain, with composure; and
taking his daughter by her hand, he retired.
“Oh! let him not go hence!” exclaimed Ali. “Gulhyndi, my beloved!”
She turned round, and looked at Ali with a sorrowful smile, and then
went away with her father. The caliph consoled Ali, who went home with
Ibrahim, in the greatest despair.
When Hussain arrived home, he ordered his daughter to go to bed
immediately, that she might rise with the early dawn, bathe, perform
her devotions, and prepare for a long journey which they would make
together. Poor Gulhyndi passed the night in the greatest affliction,
being convinced that her father had arranged every thing for flight,
and that she had seen Ali for the last time.
Early the next morning Hussain entered her chamber, and seeing her on
her knees in fervent prayer, retired until she had finished; he then
ordered Maria to go to her room. He now said to his daughter: “I was
delighted to see you praying so fervently. I doubt not but that Allah
will forgive the sins that you have committed in this world against
your father and your honour. All is now over in this world. My enemy
has triumphed; he has won the heart of the caliph, and Haroun al
Raschid will use his power, and have me executed if I do not comply
with his wish. As ever since I commenced life, honour always had a
higher worth than life itself, I now much prefer death to disgrace.
But I will not quit this world until I have deprived you of the
possibility of degrading me after my death, by a shameful alliance with
the son of my worst enemy. The prophet has given every Mussulman the
right of chastising his children, and has made him the master of their
lives. As a wise guardian, who sees that the flower which he has
carefully cultivated will, in time, be destroyed by worms, so do I
pluck you, fair bud, that you may not wither disgracefully. I take you
with me to the everlasting habitations, and hope to answer there for
this act with a good conscience. Praised be Allah, the Lord of the
creation, the Judge of the last day, the most merciful Being!”
With these words he took a dagger from his bosom, and plunged it into
the heart of the beautiful Gulhyndi. For an instant he held his
daughter, who was now pale in his arms, looked at her, and then laid
her gently on the ground. He now took a blue silk cord, put it round
his neck, drew it tight without trembling, and thus voluntarily cut
short his days, faithful to his pride and implacability.
The following morning the caliph went for Hussain and Gulhyndi; only
their corpses were found. Ali shed many tears on the pale face of his
Gulhyndi, but they could not wake her. It being a custom with the
Mohammedans to bury their dead three hours after their decease, Hussain
and his daughter were deposited immediately in a burial vault outside
of the city, whither Ali followed his beloved. When all had retired,
he alone continued sitting in the burying-ground, on her tomb. In the
clear night, when the moon illumined the tomb, he said, after a deep
silence: “I must see her once more; the sacred moon shall once more
shine upon her in my arms, before her beautiful body is reduced to
dust.” As he said these words, he saw something moving in the high
grass between the graves. In hopes that it was the grave-digger, he
went near, to ask him to lift the stone from the tomb. On approaching
quite close, he discovered that it was Lockman, and shuddered at
meeting this little monster on so sacred a spot. By the pale moonlight
he appeared to him more hideous and fiend-like than formerly. “What
are you doing here?” he asked him.
“I assist my master, as I am ever wont to do.”
“I no longer want your assistance; you are the cause of her misfortune
and her death; you seduced me to see her; without me she would still
live and be happy.”
“Would you rather wish never to have seen her?”
“Go call the grave-digger, and then go home.”
“The grave-digger is from home; I know what you want, and can afford
you better assistance than he.”
“You shall not move the stone from the grave.”
“That would be of little use, for she is not in it.”
“She is with Allah, but her body is there. I have myself lowered the
coffin into the vault, and have never since left the spot.”
“Where her body is, there she also is,” said Lockman; “but neither of
them is in the vault.”
Having said these words, he picked up a human bone from the ground, and
knocked with it gently three times on the stone, which moved of its own
accord. “Now look in,” said he.
Ali looked, and saw Gulhyndi’s and Hussain’s coffins standing open and
empty. “Heaven! what is this?” cried Ali, rending his clothes in
despair.
“Gulhyndi is not dead,” said Lockman; “she lives, and still lives for
you; if you wish to see her, go some night across the desert. Rest
yourself near the spring of Ali Haymmamy, and then go towards the ruins
of Babylon; towards the west there is a large grotto of marble; at its
entrance you will find me ready to conduct you to your beloved. Banish
fear from your heart, and harbour no unworthy suspicion towards your
friend and protector.”
When Lockman had thus spoken, he went away and disappeared among the
graves, a few pale blue _ignes fatui_ alone marking the way which he
went. Ali, who followed him with his eye, started up as from a
frightful dream, scarcely knowing what to think of all that had
happened. The moon cast her pale light on the tomb enclosing the
coffins; a heavy dew had fallen on the grass, and grasshoppers were
chirping on its moist blades.
SECOND PART.
In the centre of Upper Asia, the most ancient, and, at the same time
the least known country in the world, is a high table-land, across
which runs a chain of lofty rocky mountains. Its soil consists of
coarse sand and gravel, in which, however, are often found the most
beautiful precious stones. Here and there is found, during the
summer-season, patches of rich pasture to which the Mongols bring their
cattle. Over its greatest extent it is quite barren, without either
tree or shrub, although in some places springs are gushing forth which
soon run off in the stony ground. The elevated basins in the
snow-capped mountains are reservoirs from which innumerable small
rivulets flow down in every direction through the crevices, and form
the mighty rivers of Asia.
Large heaps of stones are piled up at short distances, pointing out the
way to the caravans, and near them wells are dug out for their
refreshment in the burning heat. Besides these are found many salt
lakes among these mountains, which, viewed from a distance, have a
reddish appearance. The wild horse Dscheggetai is seen running about
in herds. In its slight make it resembles the mule; and with its slim
stag-like neck, and its beautiful cream colour, it rushes across the
desert like clouds of drifted sand. All the domestic animals of
Europe, the dog, cat, ox, rein-deer, and horse, here rove in their
primitive wildness, at war with the still wilder and untamed lions,
tigers, panthers, and the horrible serpents who dwell in the clefts and
creep forth in the darkness of night. Here and there the diggers of
rhubarb have built their huts on some rocky fastness under the green
cedars, and are the only human beings who are met in this wild scene.
In these immense unknown regions there are parts surrounded by chains
of lofty mountains, where beautiful nature still blooms in a
paradisaical youthfulness, which no mortal eye ever yet has seen.
Here the spirits live in all their natural grandeur, as in the first
days of creation before Allah had formed man. They choose their abode
according to their several dispositions; the evil spirits, whose nature
is malicious, and whose deeds are destructive, haunt, for the most
part, the wildest and most barren spots, living in dark damp caverns
deep below the earth, and bestride at night the pestilential winds to
visit the men on the fertile southern coasts of Asia. The good spirits
live in cool grottoes in the beautiful and fertile parts near springs,
and often with the morning dawn soar through the air to Arabia, Persia,
and India, to refresh and accompany those men who render themselves
worthy of their assistance. The Eastern nations call this unknown
wonderful land Ginistan; and though knowing it to be on the earth, they
yet think it inaccessible, and separate it from all the inhabited
countries of the globe.