THE SYMPATHIZING RULER.
In a few days the Caliph Haroun al Raschid went, as he was accustomed,
in disguise, with his Grand Vizier Giafar, and Mesrour his
Chamberlain, through the streets of Bagdad, to see with his own eyes
and to hear with his own ears how justice and order were maintained by
his servants, and whether his people were happy and prosperous. He
had, as usual, chosen the last hour of the evening for this walk,
because he thought that at this time he could look deeper into men's
joys and pleasures, as they had then ended their daily toils, and were
seeking comfort and repose in the bosom of their family. In his
progress he came to a street distinguished by peculiar silence and
quiet. As he approached a house, before the door of which two men were
standing whispering, Haroun al Raschid addressed them with these
words:
"Why do you whisper, as if you were concerting a crime? is not this
street lonely enough, that you cannot hold your discourse aloud? Can
you tell me why this street is so quiet, as though every inhabitant
were dead?"
"I can easily tell you, my lord," answered one of the whisperers:
"here, in the next house, lives the unfortunate Naima, and, as usual
at this hour, his friend Saad sits with him to console him. Now, all
the inhabitants of this street respect this man, and wish not to
remind him, by any outburst of joy, that happier men than himself live
in his neighbourhood."
Before the Caliph could answer him, he turned away and went into the
house, and the other followed him.
"Have you ever heard of this unfortunate Naima before?" asked Haroun
al Raschid of his Grand Vizier; and as he answered in the negative, he
said, "Let us rap at the door of the next house, where this Naima
dwells; perhaps we may discover the cause of his sorrow."
They drew near, and saw the light from the inner court shining through
a crevice. The Caliph placed his eye at this crevice, and after he had
watched for some time, he beckoned his followers to him, and said,
"Two grey-headed men are sitting in this court by a lamp, and one
seems to be comforting the other; but this latter continues to weep
more bitterly. Both seem of the same rank; and I am desirous to know
what sorrow oppresses the unfortunate Naima. Order him to appear at my
palace early to-morrow morning; perhaps it may be in my power to
lighten his calamity."
The next day the Grand Vizier executed his commission. Naima was
frightened when his presence was required at the palace. He was led
into the great hall where the divan usually assembled; but he was
quite alone there when the servants had left him. He reviewed the
whole of his past life, to see if he had sinned in any way so as to
bring on him the displeasure of the righteous Caliph; for he knew that
Haroun al Raschid often, in a mysterious manner, discovered the faults
of his subjects, and punished them accordingly. But he could not call
to mind any deed of which he, felt ashamed, nor any that deserved
punishment. Whilst he was thus meditating, a curtain was drawn back,
and the Caliph entered, followed by his Vizier and his Chamberlain.
Naima rose from the ground, and bowed with his head even to the carpet
on which the Caliph stood.
"Naima," said the Caliph, "a heavy weight of grief oppress you; and by
the anxiety which your neighbours manifest to show respect for the
sorrows of your soul, I must consider you as a man of great worth. I
wish to know the cause of your despondency: will you confess it before
these two witnesses, or would you rather confide to me alone the
reason of your tears?"
"Ruler of the Faithful," answered Naima, "sorrow is great and deep in
my soul; but still the cause of it is unworthy to distract for a
moment the attention of the Caliph from the cares of his kingdom."
But Haroun al Raschid answered, "That which fills the heart of the
meanest of my subjects with such grief that it consumes his life is
not unworthy of my care. When I am careful for my whole kingdom, this
care extends to each individual; if, then, I am careful for one, this
one is a member of the whole, and thus my care is not lost. But speak,
what is the cause of your sorrow and your tears?"
Then Naima recounted the mysterious disappearance of his son; how he
had sought for him everywhere, and how all trouble had been useless,
so that all his messengers had returned home without the least trace
of him. "I must therefore weep for him as one that is dead"--thus he
ended his relation; "and tears, perhaps, might appease my sorrow, if
at the same time a ray of hope did not dart through my heart that
possibly he is still alive; but where does he live, if indeed he be
still alive? This ray of hope keeps the wound in the father's heart
always open."
"You have real cause for grief," answered the Caliph, "and I
comprehend that the uncertainty of your son's fate must be as terrible
to bear as would be the mournful certainty of his death. You did wrong
in not applying to me before: my power extends not only over
believers, but also in foreign lands. Other kings and rulers I have as
my servants, whose eyes see for me, whose ears hear for me, and whose
hands perform what is necessary for my pleasure. That which was not
possible to yourself, your friends, and your servants to accomplish,
might perhaps have been easy to me. Now go home, and believe that you
shall obtain news of your son, if he lives on the earth, in any land
where my power can reach."
With these words he dismissed him, after he had first inquired the
marks by which his lost son might be recognized.
When Naima again sat with his friend Saad in the evening, he related
to him the gracious and comforting words of the Caliph. Saad perceived
that hope was again revived in his friend's heart, and that he
confidently trusted to find his son. He thought it therefore his duty
to damp this hope, and said,
"Beloved friend, I have once heard a speech, which by its truth sank
deeply in my memory: it is, 'Trust not in princes; they are but men.'
The moral of which is, that the mightiest on earth are subject to
fate. If the Caliph have influence in distant lands, it must be in a
confined and narrow limit. That which is but a span distant is under
the control of all-governing fate, even from the meanest slave to the
Ruler of the Faithful."
But if the power of Haroun al Raschid were bounded by the immensity of
fate, yet he did all he could to fulfil the hope he had raised in
Naima's heart. He gave a commission to all his servants in his
kingdom, high and low, and to his ambassadors in the neighbouring
kingdoms, and even sent into distant lands, with the princes of which
he was friendly, and on the same day dispatched messengers with the
charge to search for Haschem with all diligence, and gave them a
description how they might recognize him if they found him. But week
after week passed away, month after month, and even a whole year
elapsed, without intelligence being received either of the life or
death of the lost one. So all hope of finding him now deserted the
father for ever.