equal temper, mildness, great docility and zeal for her service,
which shewed she was rather actuated by inclination than duty,
hesitated not to believe her on her word, and ordered her
treasurer to fetch a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of rich
brocade.
The slave soon returned with the purse and piece of brocade,
which, by Zobeide's order, she delivered to Nouzhatoul-aouadat,
who threw herself again at the princess's feet, and thanked her
with great self-satisfaction at finding she had succeeded so
well. "Go," said Zobeide, "use that brocade to cover the corpse
of your husband, and with the money bury him handsomely, as he
deserves. Moderate the transport of your afflictions: I will take
care of you."
As soon as Nouzhatoul-aouadat got out of the princess's presence,
she dried up her tears, and returned with joy to Abou Hassan, to
give him an account of her good success. When she came home she
burst out a laughing on seeing her husband still stretched out in
the middle of the floor; she ran to him, bade him rise and see
the fruits of his stratagem. He arose, and rejoiced with his wife
at the sight of the purse and brocade. Unable to contain herself
at the success of her artifice, "Come, husband," said she,
laughing, "let me act the dead part, and see if you can manage
the caliph as well as I have done Zobeide."
"That is the temper of all women," replied Abou Hassan, "who, we
may well say, have always the vanity to believe they can do
things better than men, though at the same time what good they do
is by their advice. It would be odd indeed, if I, who laid this
plot myself, could not carry it on as well as you. But let us
lose no time in idle discourse; lie down in my place, and witness
if I do not come off with as much applause."
Abou Hassan wrapped up his wife as she had done him, and with his
turban unrolled, like a man in the greatest affliction, ran to
the caliph, who was holding a private council with Jaaffier and
other confidential viziers. He presented himself at the door, and
the officer, knowing he had free access, opened it. He entered
holding with one hand his handkerchief before his eyes, to hide
the feigned tears, which trickled down his cheeks, and striking
his breast with the other, with exclamations expressing
extraordinary grief.
The caliph, always used to see Abou Hassan with a merry
countenance, was very much surprised to behold him in so much
distress. He interrupted the business of the council to inquire
the cause of his grief. "Commander of the faithful," answered
Abou Hassan, with repeated sighs and sobs, "God preserve your
majesty on the throne, which you fill so gloriously! a greater
calamity could not have befallen me than what I now lament. Alas!
Nouzhatoul-aouadat whom you in your bounty gave me for a wife to
gladden my existence, alas!" at this exclamation Abou Hassan
pretended to have his heart so full, that he could not utter
more, but poured forth a flood of tears.
The caliph, who now understood that Abou Hassan came to tell him
of the death of his wife, seemed much concerned, and said to him
with an air which shewed how much he regretted her loss, "God be
merciful to her: she was a good slave, and we gave her to you
with an intention to make you happy: she deserved a longer life."
The tears then ran down his face, so that he was obliged to pull
out his handkerchief to wipe them off. The grief of Abou Hassan,
and the tears of the caliph, excited those of Jaaffier and the
other viziers. They bewailed the death of Nouzhatoul-aouadat,
who, on her part, was only impatient to hear how Abou Hassan
succeeded.
The caliph had the same suspicion of the husband that Zobeide had
of the wife, and imagined that he had occasioned her death.
"Wretch!" said he, in a tone of indignation, "have not you been
the cause of your wife's death by your ill treatment of her? You
ought at least to have had some regard for the princess my
consort, who loved her more than the rest of her slaves, yet
consented to give her to you. What a return for her kindness!"
"Commander of the faithful," replied Abou Hassan, affecting to
weep more bitterly than before, "can your majesty for a moment
suppose that Abou Hassan, whom you have loaded with your favours
and kindness, and on whom you have conferred honours he could
never have aspired to, can have been capable of such ingratitude?
I loved Nouzhatoul-aouadat my wife as much on these accounts, as
for the many good qualities she possessed, and which drew from me
all the attachment, tenderness, and love she deserved. But, my
lord," added he, "she was to die, and God would no longer suffer
me to enjoy a happiness for which I was indebted to your majesty
and your beloved consort."
Abou Hassan dissembled so well, that the caliph, who had never
heard how extravagantly he and his wife had lived, no longer
doubting his sincerity, ordered his treasurer, who was present,
to give Abou Hassan a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a
piece of brocade. Abou Hassan immediately cast himself at the
caliph's feet, and thanked him for his present. "Follow the
treasurer," said the monarch; "throw the brocade over the corpse,
and with the money shew the last testimony of thy love for thy
wife."
Abou Hassan made no reply to these obliging words of the caliph,
but retiring with a low prostration, followed the treasurer; and
as soon as he had got the purse and piece of brocade, went home,
well pleased with having found out so quick and easy a way of
supplying the necessity which had given him so much uneasiness.
Nouzhatoul-aouadat, weary with lying so long in one posture,
waited not till Abou Hassan bade her rise; but as soon as she
heard the door open, sprang up, ran to her husband, and asked him
if he had imposed on the caliph as cleverly as she had done on
Zobeide. "You see," said he, shewing her the stuff, and shaking
the purse, "that I can act a sorrowful husband for a living wife,
as well as you can a weeping widow for a husband not dead." Abou
Hassan, however, was not without his fears that this double plot
might be attended with some ill consequences. He thought it would
not be amiss to put his wife on her guard as to what might
happen, that they might aft in concert. "For," added he, "the
better we succeed in embarrassing the caliph and Zobeide, the
more they will be pleased at last, and perhaps may shew their
satisfaction by greater liberality." This last consideration
induced them to carry on their stratagem farther.
The caliph, though he had important affairs to decide, was so
impatient to condole with the princess on the death of her slave,
that he rose up as soon as Abou Hassan was gone, and put off the
council to another day. "Follow me," said he to Mesrour, who
always attended him wherever he went, and was in all his
councils, "let us go and share with the princess the grief which
the death of her slave Nouzhatoul-aouadat must have occasioned."
Accordingly they went to Zobeide's apartment, whom the caliph
found sitting on a sofa, much afflicted, and still in tears.
"Madam," said the caliph, going up to her, "it is unnecessary to
tell you how much I partake with you in your affliction; since
you must be sensible that what gives you pleasure or trouble, has
the same effect on me. But we are all mortal, and must surrender
up to God that life he has given us, when he requires it.
Nouzhatoul-aouadat, your faithful slave, was endued with
qualifications that deserved your esteem, and I cannot but
approve your expressing it after her death; but consider all your
grief will not restore her to life. Therefore, madam, if you love
me, and will take my advice, be comforted for this loss, take
care of a life which you know is precious to me, and constitutes
all the happiness of mine."
If the princess was charmed with these tender sentiments which
the caliph expressed in his compliments, she was amazed to hear
of Nouzhatoulaouadat's death. This news threw her into such
astonishment, that she was not able to return an answer for some
time. At last recovering, she replied with an air expressive of
surprise, "Commander of the faithful, I am very sensible of all
your tender sentiments; but give me leave to say, I cannot
comprehend the news you tell me of the death of my slave, who is
in perfect health. My affliction is for the death of Abou Hassan,
her husband, your favourite, whom I esteemed, as much for the
regard you had for him, as his having so often diverted me
agreeably, and for whom I had as great a value as yourself. But
the little concern you shew for his death, and your so soon
forgetting a man in whose company you have so often told me you
took so much pleasure, surprises me; and this insensibility seems
the greater, from the deception you would put upon me in changing
his death for that of my slave."
The caliph, who thought that he was perfectly well informed of
the death of the slave, and had just reason to believe so,
because he had both seen and heard Abou Hassan, laughed, and
shrugged up his shoulders, to hear Zobeide talk in this manner.
"Mesrour," said he, to the eunuch, "what do you think of the
princess's discourse? Do not women sometimes lose their senses;
for you have heard and seen all as well as myself?" Then turning
to Zobeide, "Madam," said he, "shed no more tears for Abou
Hassan, for I can assure you he is well; but rather bewail the
death of your dear slave. It is not many moments since her
husband came in the most inexpressible affliction, to tell me of
the death of his wife. I gave him a purse of a hundred pieces of
gold and a piece of brocade, to comfort him, and bury her; and
Mesrour, who was present, can tell you the same."
The princess took this discourse of the caliph's to be all a
jest, and thought he had a mind to impose upon her. "Commander of
the faithful," replied she, "though you are used to banter, I
must tell you, this is not a proper time for pleasantry. What I
tell you is very serious; I do not talk of my slave's death, but
of Abou Hassan's, her husband, whose fate I bewail, and so ought
you too." "Madam," said the caliph, putting on a grave
countenance, "I tell you without raillery that you are deceived;
Nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and Abou Hassan is alive, and in
perfect health."
Zobeide was much piqued at this dry answer of the caliph.
"Commander of the faithful," replied she smartly, "God preserve
you from continuing longer in this mistake, surely you would make
me think your mind is not as usual. Give me leave to repeat to
you once more, that it is Abou Hassan who is dead, and that my
slave Nouzhatoul-aouadat, his widow, is living. It is not an hour
since she went from hence. She came here in so disconsolate a
state, that the sight of her was enough to have drawn tears from
my eyes, if she had not told me her affliction. All my women, who
wept with me, can bear me witness, and tell you also that I made
her a present of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade;
the grief which you found me in, was on account of the death of
her husband; and just at the instant you entered, I was going to
send you a compliment of condolence."
At these words of Zobeide, the caliph cried out in a fit of
laughter, "This, madam, is a strange piece of obstinacy; but,"
continued he seriously, "you may depend upon Nouzhatoul-aouadat's
being dead." "I tell you no, sir," replied Zobeide sharply; "it
is Abou Hassan that is dead, and you shall never make me believe
otherwise."
Upon this the caliph's anger rose in his countenance. He seated
himself on the sofa at some distance from the princess, and speaking
to Mesrour, said, "Go immediately, see which it is, and bring me word;
for though I am certain that it is Nouzhatoul-aouadat, I would rather
take this method than be any longer obstinately positive about the
matter, though of its certainty I am perfectly satisfied." No sooner
had the caliph commanded than Mesrour was gone. "You will see,"
continued he, addressing himself to Zobeide, "in a moment, which of us
is right." "For my part," replied Zobeide, "I know very well that I am
in the right, and you will find it to be Abou Hassan." "And for
myself," returned the caliph, "I am so sure that it is
Nouzhatoul-aouadat, that I will lay you what wager you please that
Abou Hassan is well."
"Do not think to come off so," said Zobeide; "I accept your
wager, and I am so well persuaded of his death, that I would
willingly lay the thing dearest to me in the world against what
you will, though it were of less value. You know what I have in
my disposal, and what I value most; propose the bet, and I will
stand to it."
"Since it is so," said the caliph, "I will lay my garden of
pleasures against your palace of paintings, though the one is
worth much more than the other." "Is the question at present,"
replied Zobeide, "if your garden is more valuable than my palace?
That is not the point. You have made choice of what you thought
fit belonging to me, as an equivalent against what you lay; I
accept the wager, and that I will abide by it, I take God to
witness." The caliph took the same oath, and both waited
Mesrour's return.
While the caliph and Zobeide were disputing so earnestly, and
with so much warmth, Abou Hassan, who foresaw their difference,
was very attentive to whatever might happen. As soon as he
perceived Mesrour through a window, at which he sat talking with
his wife, and observed that he was coming directly to their
apartment, he guessed his commission, and bade his wife make
haste to act the dead part once more, as they had agreed, without
loss of time; but they were so pressed, that Abou Hassan had much
ado to wrap up his wife, and lay the piece of brocade which the
caliph had given him upon her, before Mesrour reached the house.
This done, he opened the door of his apartment, and with a
melancholy, dejected countenance, and his handkerchief before his
eyes, went and sat down at the head of the pretended deceased.
By the time he was seated, Mesrour came into the room. The dismal
sight which met his eyes, gave him a secret joy on account of the
errand the caliph had sent him on. Abou Hassan rose up to meet
him, and kissing his hand out of respect, said, sighing and
sobbing, "You see me under the greatest calamity that ever could
have befallen me the death of my dear wife, Nouzhatoul-aouadat,
whom you honoured with your favours."
Mesrour, affected by this discourse, could not refuse some tears to
the memory of the deceased. He lifted up the cloth a little at the
head, and peeping under it, let it down again, and said, with a deep
sigh, "There is no other God but Allah, we must all submit to his
will, and every creature must return to him. Nouzhatoul-aouadat, my
good sister," added he, sighing, "thy days have been few: God have
mercy on thee." Then turning to Abou Hassan, who was all the time in
tears, "We may well say," added he, "that women sometimes have whims,
and lose their senses in a most unpardonable manner; for Zobeide, good
mistress as she is, is in that situation at present; she will maintain
to the caliph that you are dead, and not your wife; and whatever the
caliph can say to the contrary, he cannot persuade her otherwise. He
called me to witness and confirm this truth; for you know I was
present when you came and told him the sorrowful news: but all
signifies nothing. They are both positive; and the caliph, to convince
Zobeide, has sent me to know the truth, but I fear I shall not be
believed; for when women once take up a thing, they are not to be
beaten out of it."
"God keep the commander of the faithful in the possession and
right use of his senses," replied Abou Hassan, still sighing and
weeping; "you see how it is, and that I have not imposed upon his
majesty. And I wish to Heaven," continued he, to dissemble the
better, "that I had no occasion to have told him the melancholy
and afflicting news. Alas! I cannot enough express my irreparable
loss!" "That is true," replied Mesrour, "and I can assure you I
take a great share in your affliction; but you must be comforted,
and not abandon yourself to your grief. I leave you with
reluctance, to return to the caliph; but I beg the favour of you
not to bury the corpse till I come again; for I will assist at
the interment, and accompany it with my prayers." Mesrour went to
give an account of his visit. Abou Hassan attended him to the
door, told him he did not deserve the honour he intended him: and
for fear Mesrour should return to say something else, followed
him with his eyes for some time, and when he saw him at a
distance, returned to his wife and released her. "This is
already," said he, "a new scene of mirth, but I fancy it will not
be the last; for certainly the princess Zobeide will not believe
Mesrour, but will laugh at him, since she has too substantial a
reason to the contrary; therefore we must expect some new event."
While Abou Hassan was talking thus, Nouzhatoul-aouadat had time
to put on her clothes again, and both went and sat down on a sofa
opposite to the window, where they could see all that passed.
In the mean time, Mesrour reached Zobeide's apartment, and going
into her closet laughing, clapped his hands like one who had
something very agreeable to tell.
The caliph, naturally impatient, and piqued a little at the
princess's contradiction, as soon as he saw Mesrour, "Vile
slave," said he, "is this a time to laugh? Why do not you tell me
which is dead, the husband or the wife?"
"Commander of the faithful," answered Mesrour, putting on a
serious countenance, "it is Nouzhatoul-aouadat who is dead, for
the loss of whom About Hassan is as much afflicted as when he
appeared before your majesty." The caliph not giving him time to
pursue his story, interrupted him, and cried out, laughing
heartily, "Good news! Zobeide, your mistress, was a moment ago
possessed of the palace of paintings, and now it is mine. She
staked it against my garden of pleasures, since you went;
therefore you could not have done me greater pleasure. I will
take care to reward you: but give me a true account of what you
saw."
"Commander of the faithful," said Mesrour, "when I came to Abou
Hassan's apartment, I found the door open, and he was bewailing
the death of his wife. He sat at the head of the deceased, who
was laid out in the middle of the room, with her feet towards
Mecca, and was covered with the piece of brocade which your
majesty presented to Abou Hassan. After I had expressed the share
I took in his grief, I went and lifted up the pall at the head,
and knew Nouzhatoul-aouadat, though her face was much swelled and
changed. I exhorted Abou Hassan in the best manner I could to be
comforted; and when I came away, told him I would attend at his
wife's funeral, and desired him not to remove the corpse till I
came. This is all I can tell your majesty." "I ask no more," said
the caliph, laughing heartily, "and I am well satisfied with your
exactness." Then addressing himself to Zobeide, "Well, madam,"
said he, "have you yet any thing to say against so certain a
truth? Will you still believe that Nouzhatoul-aouadat is alive,
and that Abou Hassan is dead? And will you not own that you have
lost your wager?"
"How, sir," replied Zobeide, who would not believe one word
Mesrour said, "do you think that I regard that impertinent fellow
of a slave, who knows not what he says? I am not blind or mad.
With these eyes I saw Nouzhatoul-aouadat in the greatest
affliction; I spoke to her myself, and she told me that her
husband was dead." "Madam," replied Mesrour, "I swear to you by
your own life, and that of the commander of the faithful, which
are both dear to me, that Nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and Abou
Hassan is living."
"Thou liest, base despicable slave," said Zobeide in a rage, "and
I will confound thee immediately." Clapping her hands together,
she called her women, who all approached. "Come hither," said the
princess to them, "and speak the truth. Who was that who came and
spoke with me a little before the caliph entered?" The women all
answered that it was poor afflicted Nouzhatoul-aouadat. "And
what," added she, addressing herself to her treasurer, "did I
order you to give her?" "Madam," answered the treasurer, "I gave
Nouzhatoul-aouadat, by your orders, a purse of a hundred pieces
of gold and a piece of brocade, which she carried away with her."
"Well, then, sorry slave," said Zobeide to Mesrour, in passion,
"what have you to say to all this? Whom do you think now I ought
to believe, you or my treasurer, my women, and myself?"
Mesrour did not want for arguments to contradict the princess;
but, as he was afraid of provoking her too much, chose rather to
be silent, though he was satisfied that the wife was dead, and
not the husband.
During the whole of this dispute between Zobeide and Mesrour, the
caliph, who heard the evidence on both sides, and was persuaded
of the contrary of what the princess asserted, because he had
himself seen and spoken to Abou Hassan, and from what Mesrour had
told him, laughed heartily to see Zobeide so exasperated.
"Madam," said he to her, "once more I repeat that I know not who
was the author of that saying, that 'Women sometimes lose their
wits,' but I am sure you make it good. Mesrour has just come from
Abou Hassan's, and tells you that he saw Nouzhatoul-aouadat lying
dead in the middle of the room, Abou Hassan alive, and sitting by
her; and yet you will not believe this evidence, which nobody can
reasonably refuse; I cannot comprehend this conduit."
Zobeide would not hear the caliph. "Pardon me, commander of the
faithful," replied she, "if I suspect you: I see that you have
contrived with Mesrour to vex me, and to try my patience. And as
I perceive that this report was concerted between you, I beg
leave to send a person to Abou Hassan's, to know whether or not I
am in the wrong."
The caliph consented, and the princess charged with this
important commission an old nurse, who had lived with her from
her infancy. "Hark you nurse," said she, "you see my dispute with
the commander of the faithful, and Mesrour; I need tell you no
more. Go to Abou Hassan's or rather to Nouzhatoul-aouadat's, for
Abou Hassan is dead, and clear up this matter for me. If you
bring me good news, a handsome present is your reward: make
haste, and return immediately."
The nurse set out, to the great joy of the caliph, who was
delighted to see Zobeide in this embarrassment; but Mesrour,
extremely mortified to find the princess so angry with him, did
all he could to appease her, and to make her and the caliph both
satisfied with him. He was overjoyed when Zobeide sent the nurse;
because he was persuaded that the report she must make would
agree with his, justify him, and restore him to her favour.
In the mean time Abou Hassan, who watched at the window,
perceived the nurse at a distance, and guessing that she was sent
by Zobeide, called his wife, and told her that the princess's
nurse was coming to know the truth. "Therefore," said he, "make
haste and lay me out." Accordingly Nouzhatoul-aouadat covered him
with the brocade Zobeide had given her, and put his turban upon
his face. The nurse, eager to acquit herself of her commission,
hobbled as fast as age would allow her, and entering the room,
perceived Nouzhatoul-aouadat in tears, her hair dishevelled, and
seated at the head of her husband, beating her breast, with all
the expressions of violent grief.
The good old nurse went directly to the false widow. "My dear
Nouzhatoul-aouadat," said she, with a sorrowful countenance, "I
come not to interrupt your grief and tears for a husband whom you
loved so tenderly." "Ah! good mother," replied the counterfeit
widow, "you see my misfortune, and how unhappy I am from the loss
of my beloved Abou Hassan. Abou Hassan, my dear husband!" cried
she, "what have I done that you should leave me so soon? Have I
not always preferred your will to my own? Alas! what will become
of poor Nouzhatoul-aouadat?"
"This black-faced Mesrour," cried the nurse, lifting up her
hands, "deserves to be punished for having caused so great a
difference between my good mistress and the commander of the
faithful, by the falsehood he has told them. Daughter," continued
she, "that villain Mesrour has asserted, with inconceivable
impudence, before our good mistress, that you were dead, and Abou
Hassan was alive."