beauteous Damsel, and she ordered the prince to be brought before her.
The damsel dwelt in a little marble palace, and before the palace was a
golden basin which was fed by the water of four streams. The courtyard
of this palace also was a vast garden wherein were many great trees and
fragrant flowers and singing-birds, and to the youth it seemed like the
gate of Paradise.
Suddenly the door of the palace was opened, and the garden was so
flooded with light that the eyes of
[Illustration: The World’s most Beauteous Damsel.--p. 159.]
the youth were dazzled even to blindness. It was the World’s most
beauteous Damsel who had appeared in the door of the palace, and the
great light was the rosiness of her two radiant cheeks. She approached
the prince and spoke to him, but scarcely did the youth perceive her
than he fainted away before her eyes. When he came to himself again they
brought him into the damsel’s palace, and there he rejoiced exceedingly
in the World’s most beauteous Damsel, for her face was as the face of a
Houri, and her presence was as a vision of Peris.
“Oh, prince!” began the damsel, “thou that art the son of Shah Suleiman,
canst aid me in my deep distress. In the vast garden of the Demon of
Autumn there is a bunch of singing-pomegranates: if thou canst get them
for me I will be thine for ever and ever.”
Then the youth gave her his hand upon it, the hand of loyal friendship,
and departed far far away. He went on and on without stopping, he went
on, and for months and months he crossed deserts where man had never
trod, and mountains over which there was no path. “Oh, my Creator,” he
sighed, “wilt thou not show me the right way?” and he rose up again each
morning from the place where he had sunk down exhausted the night
before, and so he went on and on from day to day till the path led him
right down to the roots of the mountains. There it seemed to him as if
it were the Day of Judgment. Such a noise, such a hubbub, such a
hurly-burly of sounds arose that all the hills and rocks around him
trembled. The youth knew not whether it was friend or foe, man or
spirit, and as he went on further, trembling with fear, the noise grew
louder and the dust rose up round about him like smoke. He knew not
where he was going, but he might have known from what he heard that the
smaller garden of the Demon of Autumn was now but a six-months’ journey
off, and all this great hubbub and clamour was the talisman of the gate
of the garden.
And now he drew still nearer and could see the gate of the smaller
garden, and could hear the roaring of the talismans in the gate, and
could perceive the guardian of the gate also. Then he went up to him and
told him of his trouble. “But art thou not afraid of this great
commotion?” asked the guardian of the gate. “Is it not because of thee
that all the talismans are so impatient? even I am afraid thereat!”
But the youth did nothing but inquire continually about the cluster of
singing-pomegranates.
“‘Tis a hard task to reach that,” said the guardian, “yet if thou art
not afraid, perhaps thou mayest get it after all. Three-months’ journey
from hence thou wilt come to such another place of talismans, there
also there is a garden, and the guardian of that garden is my own
mother. But whatever thou dost, take care not to draw nigh to her, nor
let her draw nigh to thee. Give her my salaams, but tell her nothing of
thy trouble unless she ask thee.”
So the youth went on towards the second garden, and after a
three-months’ journey such a monstrous din and racket arose around him
as to make the former noise seem nothing. This was the greater garden of
the Demon of Autumn, and the great din proceeded from the talismans of
the garden. The youth lay down beside a rock, and when he had waited a
little he saw something like a man approaching him, but as it came
nearer he perceived that it was an old woman, a little beldame of thrice
thirty winters. The hairs of her head were as white as snow, red circles
were round her eyes, her eyebrows were like pointed darts, the fire of
hell was in her eyes, her nails were two ells long, her teeth were like
faggots, her two lips had only one jaw, she shuffled along leaning on a
stick, drew in her breath through her nose, and coughed and sneezed at
every step she took. “Oh-oh! oh-oh!” she groaned, shuffling painfully
along in her large slippers, till it seemed as if she would never be
able to reach the new-comer. This was the mother of the guardian of the
lesser garden, and she herself was the guardian of the larger one.
At last she got up to the youth, and asked him what he was doing in
those parts? The prince gave her the compliments of her son. “Ah, the
vagabond!” said the old woman, “where didst thou meet with him? That
wicked lad of mine knew that I would have compassion on thee, so he sent
thee hither. Very well, let us make an end of thee.” And with that she
seized hold of him, and cried: “Hi, Earless!” and something came running
up to him, and before he knew where he was, the youth found himself
seated on its back. He looked down upon it and saw beneath him a
creature like a shrunken huddled toad, that had neither eyes nor ears.
This was Earless, and away it went with him. When he first saw it, it
was as small as a worm, but the moment he was on its back it took such
leaps that every three of them covered as much space as a vast ocean.
Suddenly Earless stopped short and said to him: “Whatever thou mayest
see, whatever thou mayest hear, take care not to speak, or it will be
all up with thee,” and with that it vanished.
There in the rippling water in front of the prince, like a dream-shape,
lay a large garden. This garden had neither beginning nor end, and
within it were such trees and flowers and sweet fruit as the eye of man
hath never seen. Whithersoever one turned nothing was to be heard but
the rustling of soft wings and the songs of nightingales, so that the
whole atmosphere of that garden seemed to be an eternal song. The youth
looked all about him, his reason died away within him, he entered the
garden. But then he heard quite near to him such a woeful wailing that
his heart was like to break, and the thought of the cluster of
pomegranates occurred to his mind. His eyes sought for them in every
direction but in vain, till he came to the centre of the garden, where
was a fountain and a little palace made of flowers, and the pomegranates
hung down from the flowery palace like so many shining lamps. The youth
plucked a branch, but no sooner had he done so than there was a horrible
cry, and a warning voice exclaimed--
“A son of man of us hath ta’en,
We by a son of man are slain!”
The youth scarce had time to escape from the garden. “Hasten! fly!”
cried Earless, who was waiting again at the gate. The youth jumped on
its back, and in a couple of leaps they were beyond the ocean. Then only
did the youth think of looking at the cluster of pomegranates. There
were fifty pomegranates on it, and each one had a different voice, and
each voice had a different song--it was just as if all the music in the
wide world was gathered together in one place. By this time they had
reached the old grandmother, the old old beldame of thrice thirty
winters.
“Guard well thy pomegranate cluster,” said the old woman, “never leave
it out of thy sight. If on the first night of thy wedding thou and thy
bride are able to listen to their music all night without going to sleep
once, these pomegranates will love thee, and after that thou wilt have
nothing more to fear, for they will deliver thee from every ill.” Then
they went from the old mother to the son; he also bade them take to
heart his mother’s words, and then the youth went on his way to his
sole-beloved, the World’s most beauteous Damsel.
The girl was awaiting him with the greatest impatience, for she also
dearly loved the prince, and her days were passed in anxiety lest some
mischief should befall the youth. All at once she heard the sound of
music, the fifty pomegranates were singing fifty different songs with
fifty different voices, and she opened her heart to the beautiful music.
The damsel rushed forth to meet the youth, and at their joyous embrace
the pomegranates rang out with a melody so sweet that the like of it is
not to be found in this world, but only in Allah’s world beyond the
grave. Forty days and forty nights did the wedding-feast last, and on
the fortieth day the King’s son went in unto his bride, and they lay
down and listened to the pomegranates. Then when the day was born again
they arose, and the pomegranate cluster rejoiced again in their love,
and so they went on their way to the prince’s own kingdom. There all the
feasting began again, and in his joy the old Padishah resigned his
kingdom to his son, the Padishah of the cluster of Pomegranates.
THE PADISHAH OF THE FORTY PERIS
In the old, old time, in the age of fairy tales, there was once the
daughter of a Padishah who was as fair as the full moon, as slim as a
cypress-tree, with eyes like coals, and hair like the night, and her
eyebrows were like bows, and her eyeballs like the darts of archers. In
the palace of the Padishah was a garden, and in the midst of the garden
a fountain of water, and there the maid sat the livelong day sewing and
stitching.
One day she put her ring upon her sewing-table, but scarcely had she
laid it down when there came a little dove and took up the ring and flew
away with it. Now the little dove was so lovely that the damsel at once
fell in love with it. The next day the damsel took off her bracelet, and
immediately the dove was there and flew off with that too. Then the
damsel was so consumed with love that she neither ate nor drank, and
could scarce tarry till the next day for the dove to come forth again.
And on the third day she brought her sewing-table, put upon it her lace
handkerchief, and placed herself close beside it. She waited for the
dove, and waited and waited, and lo! all at once there he was right
before her, and he caught up the handkerchief and away he flew. Then the
damsel had scarce strength enough to rise up; weeping bitterly she went
into the palace, and there she threw herself on the ground in a passion
of grief.
Her old waiting-woman came running towards her: “O Sultana!” cried she,
“wherefore dost thou weep so sorely?--what ails thee?”
“I am sick, my heart is sick!” replied the daughter of the Sultan, and
with that she fell a-weeping and a-wailing worse than ever.
The old waiting-woman feared to tell of this new thing, for the damsel
was the only daughter of the Padishah, but when she perceived how pale
the damsel was growing, and how she wept and sobbed, the waiting-woman
took her courage in both hands, went to the Padishah, and told him of
his daughter’s woe. Then the Padishah was afraid, and went to see his
daughter, and after him came many wise men and many cunning leeches, but
not one of them could cure her sickness.
But on the next day the Padishah’s Vizier said to him: “The wise men
and the leeches cannot help the damsel, the only medicine that can cure
her lies hidden elsewhere.” Then he advised the Padishah to make a great
bath, the water whereof should cure all sick people, but whoever bathed
therein was to be made to tell the story of his life. So the Padishah
caused the bath to be made, and proclaimed throughout the city that the
water of this bath would give back his hair to the bald, and his hearing
to the deaf, and his sight to the blind, and the use of his legs to the
lame. Then all the people flocked in crowds to have a bath for nothing,
and each one of them had to tell the story of his life and his ailment
before he returned home again.
Now in that same city dwelt the bald-headed son of a bed-ridden mother,
and the fame of the wonder-working bath reached their ears also. “Let us
go too,” said the son; “perchance the pair of us shall be cured.”
“How can I go when I can’t stand on my legs?” groaned the old
woman.--“Oh, we shall be able to manage that,” replied bald-pate, and
taking his mother on his shoulders he set out for the bath.
They went on and on and on, through the level plains by the flowing
river, till at last the son was tired and put his mother down upon the
ground. At that same instant a cock lighted down beside them with a big
pitcher of water on its back, and hastened off with it. Then the young
man became very curious to know why and whither this cock was carrying
water; so after the bird he went. The cock went on till it came to a
great castle, and at the foot of this castle was a little hole through
which water was gurgling. Still the youth followed the cock, squeezed
himself with the utmost difficulty through the hole, and no sooner had
he begun to look about him than he saw before him a palace so
magnificent that his eyes and mouth stood wide open with astonishment.
No other human being had ever stood in the path that led up to this
palace. All over it he went, through all the rooms, from vestibule to
attic, admiring their splendour without ceasing, till weariness overcame
him. “If only I could find a living being here!” said he to himself, and
with that he hid himself in a large armoury, from whence he could easily
pounce out upon any one who came.
He had not waited very long when three doves flew on to the window-sill,
and after shivering there a little while turned into three damsels, all
so beautiful that the young man did not know which to look at first.
“Alas, alas!” cried the three damsels, “we are late, we are late! Our
Padishah will be here presently, and nothing is ready!” Then one seized
a broom and brushed everything clean, the second spread the table, and
the third fetched all manner of meats. Then they all three began to
shiver once more, and three doves flew out of the window.
Meanwhile the bald-pate had grown very hungry, and he thought to
himself: “Nobody sees me, why should I not take a morsel or two from
that table?” So he stretched his hand out from his hiding-place, and was
just about to touch the food with it when he got such a blow on the
fingers that the place swelled up. He stretched out the other hand, and
got a still greater blow on that. The youth was very frightened at this,
and he had scarcely drawn back his hand when a white dove flew into the
room. It fell a-shivering and immediately turned into a beautiful youth.
And now he went to a cupboard, opened it, and took out a ring, a
bracelet, and a lace handkerchief. “Oh, lucky ring that thou art!” cried
he, “to be allowed to sit on a beautiful finger; and oh, lucky bracelet,
to be allowed to lie on a beautiful arm.” Then the beautiful youth fell
a-sobbing, and dried his tears one by one on the lace handkerchief. Then
he put them into the cupboard again, tasted one or two of the dishes,
and laid him down to sleep.
It was as much as the bald-pate could do to await the dawn of the day.
But then the beautiful youth arose, shivered, and flew away as a white
dove. Bald-pate too came out of his hiding-place, went down into the
courtyard, and crept once more through the hole at the foot of the
tower.
Outside he found his poor old mother weeping all alone, but the youth
pacified her with the assurance that their troubles were nearly at an
end, took her on his back again, and went to the bath. There they
bathed, and immediately the old woman was able to stand on her legs, and
the bald-pate got his hair back again. Then they began to tell their
stories, and when the Sultan’s daughter heard what the youth had seen
and heard at midnight, it was as though a stream of fresh health
instantly poured into her. She rose from her bed and promised the youth
a great treasure if he would bring her to that tower. So the youth went
with the princess, showed her the walls of the palace, helped her
through the little hole, brought her into the chamber of the doves, and
pointed out to her the armoury where he had been able to hide himself.
After that the youth returned home with great treasure and perfect
health, and lived all his days with his old mother.
At eventide the three doves flew into the room. They scoured and
cleaned, brought the meats for the table, and flew away again. Soon
afterwards the white dove came flying in, and how did that damsel feel
when she saw her darling little dove once more? But when the dove had
turned into a youth again, and stood there like a glorious full moon,
the damsel scarcely knew where she was, but gazed continuously on his
dazzling face.
Then the youth went to the cupboard, opened it, and took out the ring,
the bracelet, and the lace handkerchief that belonged to the daughter of
the Sultan. “Oh, thou ring! how happy shouldst thou be to sit on a
beauteous finger! Oh, thou bracelet! how happy thou shouldst be to lie
on a beauteous arm!” he cried. Then he took the lace handkerchief and
dried his tears, and at the sight thereof the heart of the damsel was
nigh to breaking. Then she tapped with her fingers on the door of the
armoury. The youth approached it, opened the door, and there stood his
heart’s darling. Then the joy of the youth was so great that it was
almost woe.
He asked the damsel how she had come thither to the palace of the Peris.
Then she told him of her journey, and how sick for love she had been.
Then the youth told her that he also was the son of a mortal mother, but
when he was only three days old the Peris had stolen him, and carried
him to this palace and made him their Padishah. He was with them the
whole day, and had only two hours to himself in the twenty-four. The
damsel, he said, might stay with him, and walk about here the whole day,
but towards evening she must hide herself; for if the forty Peris came
and saw her with him they would not leave her alive. To-morrow, he said,
he would show her his mother’s palace, where they would live in peace,
and he would be with her for two hours out of the twenty-four.
So the next day the Padishah of the Peris took the damsel and showed her
his mother’s palace. “When thou goest there,” said the Padishah, “bid
them have compassion on thee, and receive thee in memory of Bahtiyar
Bey, and when my mother hears my name she will not refuse thy request.”
So the damsel went up to the house and knocked at the door. An old woman
came and opened it, and when she saw the damsel and heard her son’s
name, she burst into tears and took her in. There the damsel stayed a
long time, and every day the little bird came to visit her, until a son
was born to the daughter of the Sultan. But the old woman never knew
that her son came to the house, nor that the damsel had been brought to
bed.
One day the little bird came, flew upon the window-sill, and said: “Oh,
my Sultana, what is my little seedling doing?”--“No harm hath happened
to our little seedling,” replied she, “but he awaits the coming of
Bahtiyar.”--“Oh! if only my mother knew,” sighed the youth, “she would
open her best room.” With that he flew into the room, turned into a man,
and fondled in his arms his wife and his little child. But when two
hours had passed he shivered a little, and a little dove flew out of the
window.
But the mother had heard her son’s speech, and could scarce contain
herself for joy. She hastened to her daughter-in-law, fondled and
caressed her, led her into her most beautiful room, and put everything
in order against her son’s arrival. She knew that the forty Peris had
robbed her of him, and she took counsel with herself how she might steal
him back again.
“When my son comes to-morrow,” said the old woman, “contrive so that he
stays beyond his time, and leave the rest to me.”
The next day the bird flew into the window, and lo! the damsel was
nowhere to be seen in the room. Then he flew into the more beautiful
room, and cried, “Oh! my Sultana, what is our little seedling
doing?”--And the damsel replied: “No harm hath befallen our little
seedling, but he awaits the coming of Bahtiyar.” Then the bird flew into
the room and changed into a man, and was so taken up with talking to his
wife, so filled with the joy of playing with his child and seeing it
play, that he took no count of time at all.
But what was the old woman doing all this time?
[Illustration: The Padishah of the Peris.--p. 174.]
There was a large cypress-tree in front of the house, and there the
forty doves were sometimes wont to alight. The old woman went and hung
this tree full of venomous needles. Towards evening, when the Padishah’s
two hours had run out, the doves who were the forty Peris came to seek
their Padishah, and alighted on the cypress-tree, but scarcely had their
feet touched the needles than they fell down to the ground poisoned.
Meanwhile, however, the youth suddenly remembered the time, and great
was his terror when he came out of the palace so late. He looked to the
right of him and he looked to the left, and when he looked towards the
cypress-tree there were the forty doves. And now his joy was as great as
his terror had been before. First he fell upon the neck of his consort,
and then he ran to his mother and embraced her, so great was his joy
that he had escaped from the hands of the Peris.
Thereupon they made them such a banquet that even after forty days they
had not got to the end of it. So they had their hearts’ desires, and ate
and drank and rejoiced with a great joy. May we too get the desires of
our hearts, with good eating and drinking to comfort us!
THE SERPENT-PERI AND THE MAGIC MIRROR
There was once upon a time a poor wood-cutter who had an only son. One
day this poor man fell sick and said to his son: “If I should die follow
thou my handicraft, and go every day into the wood. Thou mayest cut down
whatever trees thou dost find there, but at the edge of the wood is a
cypress-tree, that thou must leave standing.” Two days afterwards the
man died and was buried.
But the son went into the wood and cut down the trees, only the
cypress-tree he left alone. One day the youth stood close to this tree
and thought to himself: “What can be the matter with this tree, seeing
that I am not allowed to lay a hand upon it?” So he looked at it, and
considered it curiously, till at last he took his axe and went with evil
intent towards the tree. But he had scarcely lifted his foot when the
cypress-tree drew away from him. The wood-cutter mounted his ass and
pursued the tree but could not overtake it, and in the meantime eventide
came upon them. Then he dismounted from his ass and tied it to a tree,
but he himself climbed to the top of the tree to await the dawn.
Next morning, when the sky grew red, he descended from the tree, and
there at the foot of it lay only the bones of his ass. “Never mind, I’ll
go on foot,” said the wood-cutter, and he continued his pursuit of the
cypress, the tree going on before and he following after. All that day
he pursued but could not come up with it. The third day also he
shouldered his axe and pursued the tree, when he suddenly came upon an
elephant and a serpent fighting with each other. Believe the truth or
not as you will, but the truth is this, that the serpent was swallowing
the elephant; but the elephant’s great tusk stuck in the serpent’s
throat, and both beasts, seeing the youth staring at them, begged him to
help them.
What didn’t the elephant promise him if only he would slay the serpent!
“Nay, but all I would have thee do,” said the serpent, “is to break his
tusk off; the work is lighter, and the reward will be greater.” At these
words the youth seized his axe and chopped the elephant’s tusk right
off. The serpent then swallowed the elephant, thanked the youth, and
promised to keep his word and give him his reward.
While they were on the road the serpent stopped at a spring and said to
the youth: “Wait while I bathe in this water, and whatever may happen,
fear not!” With that the serpent plunged into the water, and immediately
there arose such a terrible storm, such a tempest, such a hurricane,
with lightning-flash upon lightning-flash, and thunder-bolt upon
thunder-bolt, that the Day of Judgment could not well be worse.
Presently the serpent came out of the bath, and then all was quiet
again.
They went a long way, and they went a little way, they took coffee, they
smoked their chibooks, they gathered violets on the road, till at last
they drew near to a house, and then the serpent said: “In a short time
we shall arrive at my mother’s house. When she opens the door, say thou
art my kinsman, and she will invite thee into the house. She will offer
thee coffee but do not drink it, she will offer thee meat but do not eat
it; but there’s a little bit of a mirror hanging up in the corner of the
door, ask my mother for that!”