the sultan came into the closet, and seeing them in this
condition, asked Pirouzè whether she had received any bad news
concerning Codadad? "Alas! sir," said she, "all is over, my son
has lost his life, and to add to my sorrow, I cannot pay him the
funeral rites; for, in all probability, wild beasts have devoured
him." She then told him all she had heard from the surgeon, and
did not fail to enlarge on the inhuman manner in which Codadad
had been murdered by his brothers.
The sultan did not give Pirouzè time to finish her relation, but
transported with anger, and giving way to his passion, "Madam,"
said he to the princess, "those perfidious wretches who cause you
to shed these tears, and are the occasion of mortal grief to
their father, shall soon feel the punishment due to their guilt."
The sultan having spoken these words, with indignation in his
countenance, went directly to the presence-chamber where all his
courtiers attended, and such of the people as had petitions to
present to him. They were alarmed to see him in passion, and
thought his anger had been kindled against his people. Their
hearts were chilled with fear. He ascended the throne, and
causing his grand vizier to approach, "Hassan," said he, "go
immediately, take a thousand of my guards, and seize all the
princes, my sons; shut them up in the tower used as a prison for
murderers, and let this be done in a moment." All who were
present trembled at this extraordinary command; and the grand
vizier, without uttering a word, laid his hand on his head, to
express his obedience, and hastened from the hall to execute his
orders. In the mean time the sultan dismissed those who attended
for audience, and declared he would not hear of any business for
a month to come. He was still in the hall when the vizier
returned. "Are all my sons," demanded he, "in the tower?" "They
are, sir," answered the vizier, "I have obeyed your orders."
"This is not all," replied the sultan, "I have further commands
for you;" and so saying he went out of the hall of audience, and
returned to Pirouzè's apartment, the vizier following him. He
asked the princess where Codadad's widow had taken up her
lodging? Pirouzè's women told him, for the surgeon had not
forgotten that in his relation. The sultan then turning to his
minister, "Go," said he, "to this caravanserai, and conduct a
young princess who lodges there, with all the respect due to her
quality, to my palace."
The vizier was not long in performing what he was ordered. He
mounted on horseback with all the emirs and courtiers, and
repaired to the caravanserai, where the princess of Deryabar was
lodged, whom he acquainted with his orders; and presented her,
from the sultan, a fine white mule, whose saddle and bridle were
adorned with gold, rubies, and diamonds. She mounted, and
proceeded to the palace. The surgeon attended her, mounted on a
beautiful Tartar horse which the vizier had provided for him.
All the people were at their windows, or in the streets, to see
the cavalcade; and it being given out that the princess, whom
they conducted in such state to court, was Codadad's wife, the
city resounded with acclamations, the air rung with shouts of
joy, which would have been turned into lamentations had that
prince's fatal adventure been known; so much was he beloved by
all.
The princess of Deryabar found the sultan at the palace-gate,
waiting to receive her: he took her by the hand, and led her to
Pirouzè's apartment, where a very moving scene took place.
Codadad's wife found her affliction redouble at the sight of her
husband's father and mother; as, on the other hand, those parents
could not look on their son's wife without being much affected.
She cast herself at the sultan's feet, and having bathed them
with tears, was so overcome with grief, that she was not able to
speak. Pirouzè was in no better state. And the sultan, moved by
these affecting objects, gave way to his own feelings, and wept.
All three, mingling their tears and sighs, for some time observed
a silence, equally tender and pitiful. At length the princess of
Deryabar, being somewhat recovered, recounted the adventure of
the castle, and Codadad's disaster. Then she demanded justice
for the treachery of the princes. "Yes, madam," said the sultan,
"those ungrateful wretches shall perish; but Codadad's death must
be first made public, that the punishment of his brothers may not
cause my subjects to rebel; and though we have not my son's body,
we will not omit paying him the last duties." This said, he
directed his discourse to the vizier, and ordered him to cause to
be erected a dome of white marble, in a delightful plain, in the
midst of which the city of Harran stands. Then he appointed the
princess of Deryabar a suitable apartment in his palace,
acknowledging her for his daughter-in-law.
Hassan caused the work to be carried on with such diligence, and
employed so many workmen, that the dome was soon finished.
Within it was erected a tomb, which was covered with gold
brocade. When all was completed, the sultan ordered prayers to
be said, and appointed a day for the obsequies of his son.
On that day all the inhabitants of the city went out upon the
plain to see the ceremony performed, which was after the
following manner. The sultan, attended by his vizier and the
principal lords of the court, proceeded towards the dome, and
being come to it, he went in and sat down with them on carpets of
black satin embroidered with gold flowers. A great body of
horse-guards hanging their heads, drew up close about the dome,
and marched round it twice, observing a profound silence; but at
the third round they halted before the door, and all of them with
a loud voice pronounced these words: "O prince! son to the
sultan, could we by dint of sword, and human valour, repair your
misfortune, we would bring you back to life; but the King of
kings has commanded, and the angel of death has obeyed." Having
uttered these words, they drew off, to make way for a hundred old
men, all of them mounted on black mules, and having long grey
beards. These were anchorites, who had lived all their days
concealed in caves. They never appeared in sight of the world,
but when they were to assist at the obsequies of the sultans of
Harran, and of the princes of their family. Each of these
venerable persons carried on his head a book, which he held with
one hand. They took three turns round the dome without uttering
a word; then stopping before the door, one of them said, "O
prince! what can we do for thee? If thou couldst be restored to
life by prayer or learning, we would rub our grey beards at thy
feet, and recite prayers; but the King of the universe has taken
thee away for ever."
This said, the old men moved to a distance from the dome, and
immediately fifty beautiful young maidens drew near to it; each
of them mounted on a little white horse; they wore no veils, and
carried gold baskets full of all sorts of precious stones. They
also rode thrice round the dome, and halting at the same place as
the others had done, the youngest of them spoke in the name of
all, as follows: "O prince! once so beautiful, what relief can
you expect from us? If we could restore you to life by our
charms, we would become your slaves. But you are no longer
sensible to beauty, and have no more occasion for us."
When the young maids were withdrawn, the sultan and his courtiers
arose, and having walked thrice around the tomb, the sultan spoke
as follows: "O my dear son, light of my eyes, I have then lost
thee for ever!" He accompanied these words with sighs, and
watered the tomb with his tears; his courtiers weeping with him.
The gate of the dome was then closed, and all the people returned
to the city. Next day there were public prayers in all the
mosques, and the same was continued for eight days successively.
On the ninth the king resolved to cause the princes his sons to
be beheaded. The people incensed at their cruelty towards
Codadad, impatiently expected to see them executed. The
scaffolds were erecting, but the execution was respited, because,
on a sudden, intelligence was brought that the neighbouring
princes, who had before made war on the sultan of Harran, were
advancing with more numerous forces than on the first invasion,
and were then not far from the city. It had been long known that
they were preparing for war, but their preparations caused no
alarm. This news occasioned general consternation, and gave new
cause to lament the loss of Codadad, who had signalized himself
in the former war against the same enemies. "Alas!" said they,
"were the brave Codadad alive, we should little regard those
princes who are coming to surprise us." The sultan, nothing
dismayed, raised men with all possible speed, formed a
considerable army, and being too brave to await the enemy's
coming to attack him within his walls, marched out to meet them.
They, on their side, being informed by their advanced parties
that the sultan of Harran was marching to engage them, halted in
the plain, and formed their army.
As soon as the sultan discovered them, he also drew up his
forces, and ranged them in order of battle. The signal was given
and he attacked them with extraordinary vigour; nor was the
opposition inferior. Much blood was shed on both sides, and the
victory remained long dubious; but at length it seemed to incline
to the sultan of Harran's enemies, who, being more numerous, were
upon the point of surrounding him, when a great body of cavalry
appeared on the plain, and approached the two armies. The sight
of this fresh party daunted both sides, neither knowing what to
think of them: but their doubts were soon cleared; for they fell
upon the flank of the sultan of Harran's enemies with such a
furious charge, that they soon broke and routed them. Nor did
they stop here; they pursued them, and cut most of them in
pieces.
The sultan of Harran, who had attentively observed all that
passed, admired the bravery of this strange body of cavalry,
whose unexpected arrival had given the victory to his army. But,
above all, he was charmed with their chief, whom he had seen
fighting with a more than ordinary valour. He longed to know the
name of the generous hero. Impatient to see and thank him, he
advanced towards him, but perceived he was coming to prevent him.
The two princes drew near, and the sultan of Harran discovering
Codadad in the brave warrior who had just assisted him, or rather
defeated his enemies, became motionless with joy and surprise.
"Father," said Codadad to him, "you have sufficient cause to be
astonished at the sudden appearance before your majesty of a man,
whom perhaps you concluded to be dead. I should have been so had
not heaven preserved me still to serve you against your enemies."
"O my son!" cried the sultan, "is it possible that you are
restored to me? Alas! I despaired of seeing you more." So
saying he stretched out his arms to the young prince, who flew to
such a tender embrace.
"I know all, my son," said the sultan again, after having long
held him in his arms. "I know what return your brothers have
made you for delivering them out of the hands of the black; but
you shall be revenged to-morrow. Let us now go to the palace
where your mother, who has shed so many tears on your account,
expects me to rejoice with us for the defeat of our enemies.
What a joy will it be to her to be informed, that my victory is
your work!" "Sir," said Codadad, "give me leave to ask how you
could know the adventure of the castle? Have any of my brothers,
repenting, owned it to you?" "No," answered the sultan; "the
princess of Deryabar has given us an account of every thing, for
she is in my palace and came thither to demand justice against
your brothers." Codadad was transported with joy, to learn that
the princess his wife was at the court. "Let us go, sir," cried
he to his father in rapture, "let us go to my mother, who waits
for us. I am impatient to dry up her tears, as well as those of
the princess of Deryabar."
The sultan immediately returned to the city with his army, and
re-entered his palace victorious, amidst the acclamations of the
people, who followed him in crowds, praying to heaven to prolong
his life, and extolling Codadad to the skies. They found Pirouzè
and her daughter-in-law waiting to congratulate the sultan; but
words cannot express the transports of joy they felt, when they
saw the young prince with him: their embraces were mingled with
tears of a very different kind from those they had before shed
for him. When they had sufficiently yielded to all the emotions
that the ties of blood and love inspired, they asked Codadad by
what miracle he came to be still alive?
He answered, that a peasant mounted on a mule happening
accidentally to come into the tent, where he lay senseless, and
perceiving him alone, and stabbed in several places, had made him
fast on his mule, and carried him to his house, where he applied
to his wounds certain herbs chewed, which recovered him. "When I
found myself well," added he, "I returned thanks to the peasant,
and gave him all the diamonds I had. I then made for the city of
Harran; but being informed by the way, that some neighbouring
princes had gathered forces, and were on their march against the
sultan's subjects, I made myself known to the villagers, and
stirred them up to undertake his defence. I armed a great number
of young men, and heading them, happened to arrive at the time
when the two armies were engaged."
When he had done speaking, the sultan said, "Let us return thanks
to God for having preserved Codadad; but it is requisite that the
traitors, who would have destroyed him, should perish." "Sir,"
answered the generous prince, "though they are wicked and
ungrateful, consider they are your own flesh and blood: they are
my brothers; I forgive their offence, and beg you to pardon
them." This generosity drew tears from the sultan, who caused
the people to be assembled and declared Codadad his heir. He
then ordered the princes, who were prisoners, to be brought out
loaded with irons. Pirouzè's son struck off their chains, and
embraced them all successively, with as much sincerity and
affection as he had done in the court of the black's castle. The
people were charmed with Codadad's generosity, and loaded him
with applause. The surgeon was next nobly rewarded in requital
of the services he had done the princess of Deryabar.
THE STORY OF ABOU HASSAN, OR THE SLEEPER
AWAKENED.
In the reign of the caliph Haroon al Rusheed, there lived at
Bagdad a very rich merchant, who, having married a woman advanced
in years, had but one son, whom he named Abou Hassan, and
educated with great restraint: when his son was thirty years old,
the merchant dying, left him his sole heir, and master of great
riches, amassed together by much frugality and close application
to business. Abou Hassan, whose views and inclinations were very
different from those of his father, determined to make another
use of his wealth; for as his father had never allowed him any
money but what was just necessary for subsistence, and he had
always envied those young persons of his age who wanted for
nothing, and who debarred themselves from none of those pleasures
to which youth are so much addicted, he resolved in his turn to
distinguish himself by extravagancies proportionable to his
fortune. To this end he divided his riches into two parts; with
one half he bought houses in town, and land in the country, with
a resolution never to touch the income of his real estate, which
was considerable enough to live upon very handsomely, but lay it
all by as he received it. With the other half, which consisted of
ready money, he designed to make himself amends for the time he
had lost by the severe restraint in which his father had always
kept him.
With this intent, Abou Hassan formed a society with youths of his
own age and condition, who thought of nothing but how to make
their time pass agreeably. Every day he gave them splendid
entertainments, at which the most delicate viands were served up,
and the most exquisite wines flowed in profusion, while concerts
of the best vocal and instrumental music by performers of both
sexes heightened their pleasures, and this young band of
debauchees with the glasses in their hands, joined their songs
with the music. These feasts were accompanied by ballets, for
which the best dancers of both sexes were engaged. These
entertainments, renewed every day, were so expensive to Abou
Hassan, that he could not support the extravagance above a year:
and the great sum which he had appropriated to this prodigality
and the year ended together. As soon as he discontinued keeping
this table, his friends forsook him; whenever they saw him they
avoided him, and if by chance he met any of them, and went to
stop them, they always excused themselves on some presence or
other.
Abou Hassan was more affected by this behaviour of his friends,
who had forsaken him so basely and ungratefully, after all the
protestations they had made him, of inviolable attachment, than
by the loss of all the money he had so foolishly squandered. He
went melancholy and thoughtful, his countenance expressive of
deep vexation, into his mother's apartment, and sat down on the
end of a sofa at a distance from her. "What is the matter with
you, son?" said his mother, seeing him thus depressed. "Why are
you so altered, so dejected, and so different from yourself? You
could not certainly be more concerned, if you had lost all you
had. I know you have lived very extravagantly, and believe all
your money is spent; you have still, however, a good estate; and
the reason that I did not so much oppose your irregular way of
living was, that I knew the wise precaution you had taken to
preserve half your property. I do not, therefore, see why you
should plunge yourself into this deep melancholy."
At these words Abou Hassan melted into tears; and in the midst of
his sighs exclaimed, "Ah! mother, I see at last how insupportable
poverty must be; I am sensible that it deprives us of joy, as the
setting of the sun does of light. As poverty makes us forget all
the commendations passed upon us before our fall, it makes us
endeavour to conceal ourselves, and spend our nights in tears and
sorrow. In short, a poor man is looked upon, both by friends and
relations, as a stranger. You know, mother, how I have treated my
friends for this year past; I have entertained them with all
imaginable generosity, till I have spent all my money, and now
they have left me, when they suppose I can treat them no longer.
For my real estate, I thank heaven for having given me grace to
keep the oath I made not to encroach upon that. I shall now know
how to use what is left. But I will, however, try how far my
friends, who deserve not that I should call them so, will carry
their ingratitude. I will go to them one after another, and when
I have represented to them what I have done on their account, ask
them to make up a sum of money, to relieve me, merely to try if I
can find any sentiment of gratitude remaining in them."
"I do not pretend, son," said Abou Hassan's mother, "to dissuade
you from your design; but I can tell you beforehand, that you
have no ground for hope. Believe me, you will kind no relief but
from the estate you have reserved. I see you do not, but will
soon, know those people, who, among persons of your sort, are
generally called friends, and I wish to heaven you may know it in
the manner I desire, for your own good." "Mother," replied Abou
Hassan, "I am persuaded of the truth of what you say, but shall
be more certain of a fact which concerns me so nearly, when I
shall have informed myself fully of their baseness and
insensibility." Abou Hassan went immediately to his friends, whom
he found at home; represented to them the great need he was in,
and begged of them to assist him. He promised to give bonds to
pay them the money they might lend him; giving them to understand
at the same time, that it was, in a great measure, on their
account that he was so distressed. That he might the more
powerfully excite their generosity, he forgot not to allure them
with the hopes of being once again entertained in the same manner
as before.
Not one of his companions was affected with the arguments which
the afflicted Abou Hassan used to persuade them; and he had the
mortification to find, that many of them told him plainly they
did not know him.
He returned home full of indignation; and going into his mother's
apartment, said, "Ah! madam, you were right; instead of friends,
I have found none but perfidious ungrateful wretches, who deserve
not my friendship; I renounce them, and promise you I will never
see them more." He resolved to be as good as his word, and took
every precaution to avoid falling again into the inconvenience
which his former prodigality had occasioned; taking an oath never
to give an inhabitant of Bagdad any entertainment while he lived.
He drew the strong box into which he had put the rents received
from his estates from the recess where he had placed it in
reserve, put it in the room of that he had emptied, and resolved
to take out every day no more than was sufficient to defray the
expense of a single person to sup with him, who, according to the
oath he had taken, was not of Bagdad, but a stranger arrived in
the city the same day, and who must take his leave of him the
following morning.
Conformably to this plan, Abou Hassan took care every morning to
provide whatever was necessary, and towards the close of the
evening, went and sat at the end of Bagdad bridge; and as soon as
he saw a stranger, accosted him civilly invited him to sup and
lodge with him that night, and after having informed him of the
law he had imposed upon himself, conducted him to his house. The
repast with which Abou Hassan regaled his guests was not costly,
but well dressed, with plenty of good wine, and generally lasted
till the night was pretty far advanced; instead of entertaining
his guests with the affairs of state, his family, or business, as
is too frequent, he conversed on different agreeable subjects. He
was naturally of so gay and pleasant a temper, that he could give
the most agreeable turns to every subject, and make the most
melancholy persons merry. When he sent away his guest the next
morning, he always said, "God preserve you from all sorrow
wherever you go; when I invited you yesterday to come and sup
with me, I informed you of the law I have imposed on myself;
therefore do not take it ill if I tell you that we must never see
one another again, nor drink together, either at home or any
where else, for reasons best known to myself: so God conduct
you."
Abou Hassan was very exact in the observance of this oath, and
never looked upon or spoke to the strangers he had once
entertained; if he met them afterwards in the streets, the
squares, or any public assemblies, he affected not to see them,
and turned away to avoid them, that they might not speak to him,
or he have any communication with them. He had acted for a long
time in this manner, when, one afternoon, a little before sunset,
as he sat upon the bridge according to custom, the caliph Haroon
al Rusheed came by, but so disguised that it was impossible to
know him; for that monarch, though his chief ministers and
officers of justice acquitted themselves of their duty very
punctually, would nevertheless inform himself of every thing, and
for that purpose often disguised himself in different ways, and
walked through the city and suburbs of Bagdad, sometimes one way
and sometimes another. That day, being the first of the month, he
was dressed like a merchant of Moussul, and was followed by a
tall stout slave.
As the caliph had in his disguise a grave and respectable
appearance, Abou Hassan, who thought him to be a Moussul
merchant, rose up, and after having saluted him with a graceful
air, said to him, "Sir, I congratulate you on your happy arrival
in Bagdad, I beg you to do me the honour to sup with me, and
repose yourself at my house for this night, after the fatigue of
your journey." He then told him his custom of entertaining the
first stranger he met with. The caliph found something so odd and
singular in Abou Hassan's whim, that he was very desirous to know
the cause; and told him that he could not better merit a
civility, which he did not expect as a stranger, than by
accepting the obliging offer made him; that he had only to lead
the way, and he was ready to follow him.