THE CAPTIVE.
Haschem was not dead; he still lived, but in such retirement that it
was impossible to discover his abode. He followed the snow-white bird
till evening, without clearly knowing why: he was induced to think he
could catch the curious creature, particularly as it flew at such a
moderate height from the ground, and so slowly that he hoped quickly
to reach it. The tardiness of its flight made him conjecture that it
must have a defect in its wing: he often stretched out his hand to it,
and drew near it, but the bird again raised its wings, and flew a
little in advance. Haschem now felt himself tired, and would have
given up the pursuit, but the bird also seemed fatigued; he approached
it, but again the bird flew a little farther off. In this chase he
reached a hill, which he climbed; he was now in a narrow
meadow-valley, which he ran along; twilight came, but the snow-white
colour of the bird still lighted him on. At last the pursued bird
perched in a thicket; he hastened to it, but when he closed his hand
to take his prisoner, it flew away, leaving only one feather of its
tail behind, which he had tightly grasped; still he saw it through the
twilight flying before him, and he hastened after it. The bird seemed
now to quicken its pace; and as he followed and had once nearly caught
it, he continued the pursuit with more eagerness: he ran through the
high grass, and with his strained sight fixed on this glimmering white
object, he saw nothing else. Thus he came unexpectedly to a little dam
which lay across his path; he jumped in and tried to climb the other
side, but it was so steep that he fell in with some of the crumbling
earth: while the water rushed over his head he lost all consciousness.
When he came to himself, he lay on the turf, and a tall, grey-headed
man, of strange appearance, stood before him, clothed in a long black
robe, which reached to his ankles, and was fastened by a glittering
girdle of a fiery colour. Instead of a turban, he wore a high pointed
cap on his head, at the end of which was a tassel of the same hue as
the girdle.
"Has your life returned to you?" he asked: "you deserved to be
suffocated in the mud. Come, we must go farther before daylight quite
leaves us."
With these words he raised him from the ground, passed his left arm
round his body, and flew with him through the air as quickly as an
arrow. Haschem again momentarily lost recollection: it is not known
how long he remained in this condition. He awoke at last as from a
deep sleep; and as he looked around, the first thing he recognized was
a cage of gold wire, which hung from the ceiling by a long golden
chain, and within was the snow-white bird he had so long followed. He
found himself alone with this bird in a hall, the roof of which was
supported on pillars of white marble, and the walls were built of
smooth pale-green stones. The openings to the windows were skilfully
contrived with so many windings and narrow gratings, that even the
white bird could have found no space to pass through, even if it had
escaped from the cage. Beside one wall stood a crystal urn; and from
this fell a stream of clear water, which, passing over the curved brim
of the urn, dripped into a white basin beneath, from which it
disappeared unseen.
Whilst he observed this, and wondered what had happened to him, and
how he came there, he suddenly heard the old man in the black robe
enter from behind a curtain. He carried a small golden box in his
hand, and approached him with these words:
"You have now caught the white bird; you now have it in a cage: in
this box is food for it, and there is water; take diligent care of it,
and mind that it does not escape."
As he said this he disappeared. Haschem now arose and walked round the
hall: he looked through the windows, and ascertained that he must be
in a foreign land, as the forms of the mountains and trees were quite
different to any he had before seen. The hall seemed high, as if it
were the upper storey of a lofty tower. No other edifice was to be
seen, and from the windows he could not distinguish the trees and
plants which bloomed beneath. He drew the curtain aside, and
discovered an outlet; but there was a thick metal door which he could
not open. He was now very much embarrassed, for he began to feel
hungry, and could find nothing that would serve him for food. He
examined the walls, to see if he could discover any concealed outlet.
He tried to open the windows, that he might put his head out to see if
there was anybody in the building beneath, to whom he might cry out.
There was no door: he could not open the windows; and as far as he
could stretch his sight in every direction, he could see nobody. He
threw himself in despair on the pillow on which he recovered his
consciousness, and wrung his hands, and wept, and cried,
"I am, then, imprisoned--imprisoned in a dungeon where splendour and
riches are lavished around! Of what avail is it that these walls are
built of precious stones? that this lattice is of fine gold? that this
cage is of gold, and hangs on a golden chain? I am as much a prisoner
behind golden lattices as I should be behind iron."
As hunger pinched him still more, he cried out, "How much rather would
I be in the vilest prison, with the coarsest food, than be confined in
this splendid hall, where I must die of hunger!"
Then he again called out of the lattices, in hopes that his voice
might be heard, and aid brought; but nobody appeared, and no one
answered him. When he again threw himself, weeping, on his couch,
after such useless attempts, he observed that the white bird fluttered
restlessly in its prison, and pecked on the golden dish, where food
was placed, without finding any.
"Poor brother in misfortune!" said Haschem, "you shall not suffer
want; I will take care of you: come, I will bring you assistance."
He took the pans from the cage, and filled one with water from the
urn, the other with grain from the gold box which the old man had
given him. Scarcely had he hung the last on the cage, when, on turning
round, he saw a table behind him covered with costly viands. He was
astonished, and could not understand how all this had happened; but
still it was not long before he attacked the meats with the zest of a
young man who has fasted for several days. Although these viands were
altogether different from those he had been accustomed to taste in his
father's house, still they all appeared excellent. He ate till he was
fully satisfied, and then took a golden cup from the table, with which
he quenched his thirst with pure water from the urn. Afterwards he
threw himself on a couch and fell asleep.
When he awoke, he felt strong and well. He arose and walked round the
hall, and he then observed that the table with the meats had
disappeared. This did not please him, as he had thought to make a good
supper of the remainder. He did not allow this, however, to trouble
him much, as he was now sure that he was not to die of hunger. He had
now leisure enough to examine his prison more closely. He searched
all anew pillars, walls, and floor; but he could nowhere find a
crevice or a fissure: all was fast and whole. His view from the
windows did not allow him to make any discovery: he only saw that he
was very far from the earth, and in a spacious valley. Mountains were
to be seen in the distance, with curiously pointed summits: the
nearest offered no change of prospect, and the farthest was too
distant to raise his spirits by its contemplation: it was a high,
wearisome abode. As soon as he had completed this examination, and
found there was nothing to occupy him, he turned his attention to the
white bird in the cage. Here was still life; and if the cage was
narrow, yet the prisoner could hop about on the different perches.
Soon it remained still, and looked at him with its bright eyes; and it
seemed as if sense and speech lay in these eyes, only the
interpretation was wanting. Night put an end to these reflections.
On the next morning he observed that the bird again wanted food. He
filled its seed-box with grain from the golden box, and gave it fresh
water from the urn. Scarcely had he done this, when the table, covered
with meats, again stood in the same place as the day before. This day
passed like the former, and the following in the same manner. Haschem
wept and mourned, took care of the little bird, fed it, and was every
time rewarded in the same manner with the table covered with dishes,
as soon as he had filled the bird's seed-box. He could not perceive
who brought the table, nor how it disappeared. It always came when he
stood beside the cage with his back turned, and without any noise.
On the ninth day the old man suddenly appeared to him, and said,
"To-day is a day of repose for you: you have performed your duty
during the preceding days in giving the bird its food; now you may
amuse yourself in the garden till evening."
He led him through a door into a narrow passage, at the end of which
they descended twenty steps. Then he opened a small metal trap-door,
and Haschem again descended twenty steps more. They came to a similar
door; and after descending twenty more steps to another, and so on,
till after passing the ninth door, they found themselves in the open
air.
"Remain here till you are called," said the old man, who went back
into the building through the same doors, which he shut after him.
Haschem was very curious to examine more closely the building in which
he had been imprisoned: he therefore went round it, and narrowly
observed it. It was a tower of nine storeys, each about fifteen feet
in height. The tower had nine angles and nine flat walls; in each
storey were three windows, so contrived that for every two walls
without a window, the third had one. These windows were not directly
over one another in the storeys, but alternate; so that only three
appeared in each wall. This distribution of regularity and order
reigned throughout the whole building. The walls were made of large
pieces of gold, quite as smooth as glass, like large stones; and these
were so skilfully put together that, even when closely looked at, the
joints could not be discovered. The lattices of the windows were all
of gold, like those in the upper hall, and the lower doors through
which he had passed were of a yellow metal, inclining to green.
All these considerations were not calculated to lessen his conviction
that no man could possibly find him out in such a prison. Suddenly a
new hope awoke in him.
"I am no longer shut up in the tower," said he to himself; "here I am
in the open air, in a garden: I can clamber and jump like a monkey. I
may possibly find some outlet from this garden, by which I can
escape."
He immediately turned from the tower, and hastened through the
gardens, seeking freedom; but he soon discovered that this hope was
vain. With a few steps he reached the end of the garden, and stood
before a gate of lattice-work of strong smooth iron bars, so close
together that he could scarcely pass his arm through. He tried to
climb it by holding by the upper bars with his hands; but his feet
slipped on the smooth iron, and he hurt his knee so much that, in
consequence of not being able to bear the pain, he fell backwards on
the earth. He now examined the lattice closely to see if there were no
means of escape; but all was in vain--everywhere the bars were high,
thick, and like polished glass. Mournfully he wandered round the
garden: the sun's rays darting down scorched up the grass, and he
sought some shade where he might screen himself from their influence.
He lay down on a neighbouring mossy bank, and meditated anew on his
fate. Besides his own grief at his imprisonment, the thought of his
father's sorrow at his loss pained him. The exhaustion consequent on
his tears and loud lamentations, joined with the noontide heat, at
last caused him to fall into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the table
covered with meats was again before him: he ate, and wandered anew
mournfully through the garden, meditating whether he could not make a
ladder from the trees around him, to aid him in his escape over the
lattice. But there was something wanting for this work: he had not
even a dagger or a pocket-knife. During these thoughts the old man
appeared, and said,
"Evening is drawing on. Follow me in."
He led him again to the upper room of the tower, and locked the metal
door upon him.
There was no change observable in his prison--only the bird seemed
harassed and mournful: it sat quiet and still on the lowest perch; its
plumage was rough, and its eyes dull.
"Poor creature," said Haschem, "what is the matter? Are you ill?"
It seemed as if the bird was affected by these sympathizing questions;
but it soon sank again into its former dejection. He mused long upon
this.
The next day and the following ones passed like the former; but on the
ninth the old man again appeared, led him into the garden, and at
night conducted him back into the hall. He took care of the bird; and
as soon as he had given it food and water, he always found the table
covered with meats behind him. In the intervals he stood at the
lattice of one of the three windows looking on the plain below,
earnestly hoping to catch sight of some person to free him from his
captivity.
In such monotonous employment many months passed away. Every ninth day
the old man appeared, and gave him leave to walk in the garden; but he
did not derive much amusement from his strolls in this narrow
enclosure. In the meantime he asked the old man many times the reason
of his imprisonment, and how long it was to last. No answer was
vouchsafed but these words: "Every man has his own fate. This is
thine."