CHAPTER VII.

THE RETURN TO HIS FATHER.

The heavens seemed to favour the resolution of the returning son: the

warmest weather and most favourable winds seconded his journey, and

the ship anchored in the harbour without accident. He took some

servants; bought some camels, which he loaded with the King's

presents, and so went through Balsora along the river to Bagdad.

One beautiful evening he came near the city to the place where he had

lain at the feet of his father and Saad, and listened to their

discourses: their last discourse there returned to his memory.

"Well," said he to himself, "it is true that it is easy for a man to

be seduced from virtue into one false step, if he is not watchful, but

relies on his own power: so it happened to me. I thought that my heart

was always right, and neglected to try if what I did was just. In this

manner have I so much forgotten my love for my father, and had nearly

committed a great wrong; whilst I, in the intoxication of good

fortune, was about to sacrifice to my vanity the happiness of the

Princess and her betrothed. And you, my dearest father, were also

right when you maintained that a heart accustomed to virtue from early

years would only for a short time wander from the right road. I have

myself experienced the truth of these words, and I therefore thank you

with tears that you always accustomed me to what was good."

Whilst he spoke, he lifted up his eyes, and saw a single hut where the

palm-trees used to stand. A venerable old man, much marked by sorrow,

appeared at the door: he stood still before the threshold, and watched

the youth with astonishment. The young man gazed earnestly at him. He

suddenly recognized the features of the old man, and threw himself on

his knees before him, seized his hand, and bowing his head on it,

bedewed it with his tears, and covered it with kisses.

"My father!" cried he: "is it so indeed? Have you so much altered in

the course of so few years?--that is my fault. Father, forgive your

easily offending son, who forgot you in the height of prosperity."

Naima stretched his other hand to him, blessed him, and said, "Rise

up, my son, rise: he who feels repentance is forgiven."

He rose and threw himself into his father's arms.

When he looked up, he saw a man approach, leading a maiden whose

features he recognized. It was Saad and his daughter Zoraine,

Haschem's playfellow. After welcoming him, they sat down, and Haschem

related to them all that had happened to him since that evening. He

related, truly and candidly, how he had forgotten his father, and

nearly fallen into greater crimes, because he had been blinded by

fortune, by empty greatness, and honour. Whilst they were sitting,

they observed three birds, who came from a distance, and seemed to

pursue one another. They soon perceived a black bird, which flew

anxiously, and seemed followed by a bird of prey. He would soon have

reached his prey, had he not been pursued by a larger bird; and to

avoid this, he was often compelled to go from side to side: at last

they came to close conflict. The pursued black bird flew into

Haschem's lap; the bird of prey, struck by his pursuer, fell to the

ground at their feet, and was, by his strong hooked bill and sharp

claws, soon killed and torn to pieces. Scarcely had the last

occurrence taken place, when the conqueror changed into a

venerable-looking sage. He turned to Haschem, who was quite

astonished, and said,

"Dip quickly your forefinger in the blood of this slain one, and

anoint with it the beak of the black bird."

Haschem obeyed immediately; and scarcely had he touched the black

bird's beak with the blood, than it changed, and a handsome youth in

kingly dress stood before them.

"Guess who this is," said the genius.

"Mundian Oppu?" asked Haschem.

And the genius answered, "It is he!" And as he stood looking at the

young man with astonishment, he said, "You do not perceive how and why

all this has happened. I could explain to you all these mysteries; but

to what purpose? It is not necessary for weak men to know the threads

by which their fates are linked together: suffice it to know that it

was necessary that you should perform all this, that you might be

tried. You are found worthy, and Heaven rewards you with Zoraine, the

early companion of your youth, now to be your wife."

Then Haschem turned towards Zoraine, and looked inquiringly at Saad,

her father. This latter said,

"With joy I listen to the will of fate: the highest wish of my heart

will now be fulfilled."

"Know," continued the genius, "that the slain bird was the enchanter

who had changed the Princess Handa and the Prince Mundian Oppu. They

were also to pass through trials: thus it was decreed by fate.

Because the enchanter only fulfilled the will of fate from selfish

motives, and carried his revenge beyond it, and contrary to it, the

King of the Genii commanded me to slay him."

With these words he disappeared from their sight. They returned now in

happy union to the city; and Naima, who had built his hut at the edge

of the wood, to be always near the place of his sorrow, dwelt again

with his children. Prince Mundian Oppu went back to Selandia in the

same ship that had brought Haschem. He was received there with

immeasurable joy, and was soon married to his early love. But

Haschem's name lived long in their memory, and in that of all the

inhabitants of that island.

When the Caliph Haroun al Raschid heard of Haschem's return, he had

him called before him, and made him relate his history. The Caliph was

so pleased with him, that he took him into his palace, and gave him an

important post in his Court. His history he caused to be inscribed in

the records of his kingdom. As Giafar, his old Vizier, wished to end

his life in quietness, the Caliph raised Haschem to be Grand Vizier;

and he continued long in this office, to the pleasure of his relatives

and the happiness of the people, by whom he was greatly beloved.

[Illustration]

The Pantofles.

[Illustration]

In Bagdad lived an old merchant, of the name of Abon Casem, who was

famous for his riches, but still more for his avarice. His coffers

were small to look at--if you could get a sight of them--and very

dirty; but they were crammed with jewels. His clothes were as scanty

as need be; but then, even in his clothes, there was _multum in

parvo_: to wit, much dirt, in little space. All the embroidery he wore

was of that kind which is of necessity attendant upon a ragged state

of drapery. It meandered over his bony form in all the beauty of

ill-sewn patches. His turban was of the finest kind of linen for

lasting: a kind of canvas, and so mixed with elementary substances

that its original colour, if it still existed, was invisible. But, of

all his habiliments, his slippers were most deserving the study of the

curious. They were the extreme cases, both of his body and his dirt.

The soles consisted chiefly of huge nails, and the upper leathers of

almost everything. The ship of the Argonauts was not a greater

miscellany. During the ten years of their performance in the character

of shoes, the most skilful cobblers had exercised their science and

ingenuity in keeping them together. The accumulation of materials had

been so great, and their weight was so heavy in proportion, that they

were promoted to honours of proverbialism; and Abon Casem's slippers

became a favourite comparison when a superfluity of weight was the

subject of discourse.

It happened one day, as this precious merchant was walking in the

market, that he had a great quantity of fine glass bottles offered him

for sale; and, as the proposed bargain was greatly on his side, and he

made it still more so, he bought them. The vendor informed him,

furthermore, that a perfumer having lately become bankrupt, had no

resource left but to sell, at a very low price, a large quantity of

rose-water; and Casem, greatly rejoicing at this news, and, hastening

to the poor man's shop, bought up all the rose-water at half its

value. He then carried it home, and comfortably put it in his bottles.

Delighted with these good bargains, and buoyant in his spirits, our

hero, instead of making a feast, according to the custom of his

fellows, thought it more advisable to go to the bath, where he had not

been for some time.

While employed in the intricate business of undressing, one of his

friends, or one whom he believed such--for your misers seldom have

any--observed that his pantofles had made him quite the bye-word of

the city, and that it was high time to buy a new pair.

"To say the truth," said Casem, "I have long thought of doing so; but

they are not yet so worn as to be unable to serve me a little longer."

And, having undressed himself, he went into the stove.

During the luxury he was there enjoying, the Cadi of Bagdad came in,

and, having undressed himself, he went into the stove likewise. Casem

soon after came out, and, having dressed himself, looked about for his

pantofles; but nowhere could he find them. In the place of his own, he

found a pair sufficiently different to be not only new, but splendid.

And, feeling convinced that they were a gift from his friend--not the

less so, perhaps, because he wished it--he triumphantly thrust his

toes in them, and issued forth into the air, radiant with joy and a

skin nearly clean.

On the other hand, when the Cadi had performed the necessary

purifications, and was dressed, his slaves looked for his lordship's

slippers in vain. Nowhere could they be found. Instead of the

embroidered pantofles of the Judge, they detected, in a corner, only

the phenomena left by Casem, which were too well known to leave a

doubt how their master's had disappeared. The slaves went immediately

for Casem, and brought him back to the indignant magistrate, who, deaf

to his attempts at defence, sent him to prison. Now, in the East, the

claws of justice open just as wide, and no wider than the purse of the

culprit; and it may be supposed that Abon Casem, who was known to be

as rich as he was miserly, did not get his freedom at the same rate as

his rose-water.

The miserable Casem returned home, tearing his beard--for beard is not

a dear stuff--and, being mightily enraged with the pantofles, he

seized upon them, and threw them out of his window into the Tigris.

It happened a few days after that some fishermen drew their nets under

the window, and the weight being greater than usual, they were

exulting in their success, when out came the pantofles. Furious

against Casem (for who did not know Casem's pantofles?), they threw

them in at the window, at the same time reviling him for the accident.

Unhappy Casem! The pantofles flew into his room, fell among his

bottles, which were ranged with great care along the shelf, and,

overthrowing them, covered the room with glass and rose-water.

Imagine, if you can, the miser's agony! With a loud voice, and tearing

his beard, according to custom, he roared out, "Accursed pantofles,

will you never cease persecuting the wretched Casem?"

So saying, he took a spade, and went into his garden to bury them.

It so happened that one of his neighbours was looking out of window at

the time, and seeing Casem poking about the earth in his garden, he

ran to the Cadi, and told him that his old friend had discovered a

treasure. Nothing more was requisite to excite the cupidity of the

Judge. He allowed the miser to aver, as loudly as he pleased, that he

was burying his slippers, and had found no treasure, but at the same

time demanded the treasure he had found. Casem talked to no purpose.

Wearied out at last with his own asseverations, he paid the money, and

departed, cursing the very souls of the pantofles.

Determined to get rid of these unhappy moveables, our hero walked to

some distance from the city, and threw them into a reservoir, hoping

he had now fairly seen the last of them; but the evil genii, not yet

tired of tormenting him, guided the pantofles precisely to the mouth

of the conduit. From this point they were carried along into the city,

and, sticking at the mouth of the aqueduct, they stopped it up, and

prevented the water from flowing into the basin. The overseers of the

city fountains, seeing that the water had stopped, immediately set

about repairing the damage, and at length dragged into the face of day

the old reprobate slippers, which they immediately took to the Cadi,

complaining loudly of the damage they had caused.

The unfortunate proprietor was now condemned to pay a fine still

heavier than before; but far was he from having the luck of seeing his

chattels detained. The Cadi, having delivered the sentence, said, like

a conscientious magistrate, that he had no power of retaining other

peoples' property, upon which the slippers, with much solemnity, were

faithfully returned to their distracted master. He carried them home

with him, meditating as he went--and as well as he was able to

meditate--how he should destroy them; at length he determined upon

committing them to the flames. He accordingly tried to do so, but

they were too wet; so he put them on a terrace to dry. But the evil

genii, as aforesaid, had reserved a still more cruel accident than any

before; for a dog, whose master lived hard by, seeing these strange

wild fowl of a pair of shoes, jumped from one terrace to the other,

till he came to the miser's, and began to play with one of them: in

his sport he dropped it over the balustrade, and it fell, heavy with

hobnails and the accumulated dirt of years, on the tender head of an

infant, and killed him on the spot. The parents went straight to the

Cadi, and complained that they had found their child dead, and Casem's

pantofle lying by it, upon which the Judge condemned him to pay a very

heavy fine.

Casem returned home, and taking the pantofles, went back to the Cadi,

crying out with an enthusiasm that convulsed everybody, "Behold!

behold! See here the fatal cause of all the sufferings of Casem! these

pantofles, which have at length brought ruin upon his head. My Lord

Cadi, be so merciful, I pray you, as to give an edict that may free me

from all imputation of accident which these slippers henceforth may

occasion, as they certainly will to anybody who ventures into their

accursed leather!"

The Cadi could not refuse this request, and the miser learned to his

cost the ill effects of not buying a new pair of shoes.

[Illustration]

Story of the Prince and the Lions.

[Illustration]

In a great city of the East lived Prince Azgid, who grew up to manhood

beloved by every one, for he was virtuous, intelligent, and

accomplished, though somewhat of a timorous disposition, and this was

indeed his chief fault. His father had died, and he had reached now

the proper age to mount the throne, a time having been already fixed

for the ceremony, to which the young man was looking forward with

great interest.

A few days previous to the event the old Vizier called upon the

Prince, and telling him he wished to take a walk with him, led him out

of the town to a mountain, on one side of which was a wide staircase

of white marble, with a handsome balustrade on each side. It had three

broad landings, and on these the Vizier and Prince rested as they

ascended the stairs, for it was of great height, and they were both

sorely tired before they reached the top. There was a small house on

the summit, out of which came a black slave, who made a profound

obeisance to the visitors, and, leading the way, took them a short

distance to a kind of arena dug in the ground, and faced also with

white marble. He then took out a key and opened a brazen door,

whereupon the Prince drew near, and, looking down, saw a red lion of

fierce aspect and tremendous size. He wondered what it all meant, and

gazed with a look of inquiry into the face of the Vizier, who, having

ordered the servant to retire, thus spoke:

"My son," said he, "the day is now very near on which you are to

ascend the throne; but before you can do so you must fulfil a custom

which has been established for many ages, and which your father and

all your ancestors submitted to; in short, you must descend into this

den with a dagger, and fight yonder lion. This will test your courage

and fortitude, and show whether you are really worthy of governing a

kingdom."

When the young man heard this, he turned pale, and almost fell to the

ground.

"This is a severe task," said he; "is there no alternative, nor any

method by which I may evade it?"

"None, whatever," answered the Vizier.

"Can I not have a few days granted me to think over the matter, and

prepare for the sore trial?" asked the youth.

"Oh, yes!" returned the other, "that you can have, of course."

Whereupon he beckoned to the slave to lock the door, and the visitors

descended the stairs and returned to the palace.

The joy of Azgid's life seemed now to have fled, and he was suddenly

immersed in deep despair. The horrid combat he was to engage in was

continually before him. He could neither eat nor drink, but wandered

about the palace like one distracted, or sat moping for hours, with

his head buried in his hands, speaking to no one. He was glad when

night came, that he might hide himself from observation, and retired

to his chamber in tears. But he found no comfort there. Sleep fled

from him, and he lay tossing upon his bed, anxiously awaiting the

return of day. During the tedious hours of darkness he had meditated

what course he had best pursue, and at length came to the resolution

that he would extricate himself from the dilemma he was in by bidding

farewell to his home, and seeking peace and safety in some far-distant

land.

Accordingly, as soon as it was daylight, he hastily dressed himself,

and going to the stables, mounted a fleet horse and rode off. Glad was

he when he got outside the town, and turning round to take a last

look, he thus exclaimed:

"Oh, cursed city! cursed home! what misery lies within you! May each

hour carry me farther from you! and may these eyes never behold you

again!"

With these words he put spurs to his horse, and was soon out of sight

of the detested spot. He journeyed forward with a light heart, and on

the third day came to a pleasant country overgrown with forest trees,

intermingled with lawns and romantic vales.

Proceeding a little farther on, he heard the sound of delicious music,

and soon overtook a handsome youth of ruddy countenance, somewhat

younger than himself, playing on a flute, and leading a few sheep.

The shepherd, on seeing the stranger, stopped playing, and saluted him

very courteously; but Azgid begged him to go on, telling him what an

admirer of music he was, and that he had never in his life heard such

enchanting strains.

The young man smiled at this compliment, and commenced playing some

fresh tunes; and, when he had finished, he informed the Prince that he

was slave to a rich shepherd named Oaxus, who lived near, and who

would be rejoiced to see him, and show him some hospitality.

In a few moments they reached the abode of Oaxus.

It was a low stone building of considerable size, with a porch

surrounding it, overgrown with vines and flowers. Around it was a

large yard, encircled with a high wall, in which were some flocks of

sheep, with a number of men tending them.

On entering, the old shepherd came forward and gave the stranger a

hearty welcome, leading him into a neat apartment, and setting before

him a handsome repast. After Azgid had finished eating, he thought it

his duty to give his kind host some information as to who he was, and

thus spoke:

"My friend," said he, "you no doubt wonder at seeing a stranger of my

appearance thus suddenly visiting you, and will naturally wish to

inquire who I am. This wish I can only in part gratify. Suffice it to

say that I am a Prince whom troubles at home have driven abroad; but

my name I cannot tell. That is a secret lodged in my own breast, to be

imparted to no one. If no inconvenience to you, it would please me

much to remain in this delightful spot. I have ample means at my

disposal, and will remunerate you for whatever trouble I may put you

to."

Oaxus replied to this speech in the kindest manner, begging the young

man to say nothing about remuneration, for that the company of one so

exalted and accomplished would more than repay him for any trouble he

might be put to in entertaining him, and that nothing would give him

more happiness than to have him remain there to the end of his days.

"But come, Asdril," said he, addressing the musician, "take the Prince

and show him what is most worthy to be seen in this neighbourhood.

Lead him to the waterfalls, the fountains, the rocks and vales, for I

perceive our guest is one able to appreciate nature's beauties."

The young shepherd did as requested, and, taking up his flute, led the

youth to all the pleasantest and most interesting spots.

They wandered about the sloping hills and deep valleys, and over

beautiful lawns, sprinkled with trees of immense size. At one time

they stood by the side of some gently murmuring stream, and now they

were startled with a romantic cascade, whose flashing waters tumbled

from mossy cliffs and echoed far and wide. They now entered a shady

vale, and, seating themselves on a rock, the shepherd commenced

playing his flute. The Prince listened with delight, for, as we said

before, he was passionately fond of music, and had never in his life

heard any one who pleased him so much. Indeed, he made up his mind

that, if ever he left the place, he would endeavour to purchase from

Oaxus the accomplished slave, and have him as his constant companion

as long as he lived.

Thus did Azgid enjoy himself amid these delicious scenes,

congratulating himself that he had escaped from all his troubles, and

had at last reached a spot where he might live in peace and

tranquillity for ever.

But his joy was not to last long; for young Asdril on a sudden rose

up, and, taking his companion by the hand, told him it was time for

them to be gone.

"Why so?" asked the Prince. "Why should we so soon leave these

enchanting scenes?"

"Alas!" answered the shepherd, "this place is infested with lions.

They come out at a certain hour every day, and we all have to retire

within the walls of our abode and close the gates. See here,"

continued he, rolling up his sleeve, and showing a great scar on his

arm, "this is what I received in an encounter with these fierce

beasts. I once lagged behind, and was with great difficulty saved from

destruction. So, let us lose no time, but make the best of our way

home."

On hearing these words, the Prince turned pale; but he said nothing,

and they silently returned to the house.

On reaching the gate, Azgid called for his horse, and, having mounted,

told his host that he was about to leave, and thanked him for his

kindness. "Farewell, Oaxus!" said he. "Farewell, young Asdril! I

thought I should have remained here forever; but fate decrees

otherwise. I must seek another abode, another home." And, so saying,

he put spurs to his horse and galloped away.

He journeyed on and on, and soon left the groves and green valleys.

The country became more barren, trees began to disappear, and, not

long after, scarcely any verdure was visible. He was soon in the midst

of the desert. Far as the eye could reach, the vast plain spread

before him. Not a shrub or blade of grass could be seen, and nothing

met the view but, now and then, some low sand-hills, piled up by the

wind like drifts of snow, among which, with much fatigue to his horse,

he pursued his way. The sun blazed on him with great power; and it

was with much satisfaction, on the third day, that he perceived in the

distance a number of black tents, which he knew to be an encampment of

Arabs.

As he drew near, a band of warriors, mounted on fine horses and

brandishing their spears, came forth to meet him. This was their usual

mode of welcoming a stranger.

They seemed struck with the appearance of Azgid, and showed him much

respect, forming a sort of guard around him, and leading him to the

tent of their chief.

The latter was a person of dignified aspect, somewhat past the prime

of life. His name was Sheik Hajaar. He sat smoking in front of his

tent; and, when the youth approached, he rose up and cordially saluted

him. He then took him inside the tent, and set before him a repast, of

which, when the young man had eaten, he thought it his duty to inform

his kind host who he was.

"My friend," said he, "you are no doubt surprised at seeing a stranger

of my appearance thus suddenly visiting you, and will naturally wish

to inquire who I am. This wish I can only in part gratify: suffice it,

then, to say that I am a Prince whom troubles at home have driven

abroad, but my name I cannot tell; that is a secret lodged within my

own breast, to be imparted to no one. If no inconvenience to you, it

would please me much to remain here. I have ample means at my command,

and will remunerate you for whatever trouble I may put you to."

The Sheik replied that the company of one so exalted and accomplished

was remuneration enough, and that he would be rejoiced to have him as

his guest for ever. He then introduced him to a number of his friends,

and leading him out, presented him with a beautiful horse of great

value. Azgid thought he had never in his life seen so fine an animal;

and when he mounted him he found him so gentle and docile as scarcely

to require any management, for the intelligent creature seemed to

anticipate all his wishes.

"But, come," said the Sheik, "it is time for us to be off: to-day we

hunt the antelope; you, Prince, will of course accompany us."

Azgid, with a smile, replied in the affirmative, and they started off

in pursuit of the game. They soon overtook a herd, and commenced

chasing them--spears flew, and the air resounded with cries. The

Prince was exhilarated with the sport, and enjoyed himself

exceedingly. "Ah!" thought he, "this is a happy life, and these

children of the desert are happy people: I am resolved never to quit

them." The hunt lasted nearly the whole day, and about sunset the

company returned with the spoil, which consisted of more than a dozen

antelopes. These sports were kept up nearly every day, and Azgid's

time passed most agreeably.

A week had now elapsed, and the youth had one night retired to rest,

congratulating himself on the happy life he led, when the Sheik Hajaar

quietly approached his couch, and thus spake:

"My son," said he, "I have come to tell you how much my people are

pleased with you, and especially with the spirit you evince in the

sports of the chase. But these sports do not comprise all our life: we

have frequent wars with hostile tribes, where great valour is

necessary. My men are all approved warriors, and, before they can have

perfect confidence in you as a trusty comrade, desire to see some

specimen of your prowess. Two leagues south of this is a range of

hills infested with lions; rise, then, early on the morrow, mount your

horse, take your sword and spear, and slay and bring us the skin of

one of these savage beasts: then will we be assured of your courage,

and have confidence in you in the day of battle."

Having thus spoke, the Sheik bid him good night, and retired. His

words disturbed Azgid extremely. "Ah!" thought he, "here are the lions

again! wherever I go I meet them. I thought I had found at last a

quiet home, but I am mistaken; this is not the place for me." He then

got out of bed, and, lifting up the covering of the tent, slipped out,

and went first to see the horse the Sheik had given him. He found him

tethered among the others, and, going up to him, threw his arms around

him and kissed him. "Farewell, kind creature," said he, "I grieve to

leave you!" The animal leaned his head on his shoulders, and seemed to

return his good feelings. The youth then sought his own steed, and,

having mounted him, started off.

He rode over the trackless sands, with the bright stars glittering

above him, a homeless wanderer, not knowing whither he was going. At

length morning began to appear, and soon the sun rose and beat upon

his head with its fierce rays; by the middle of the day he was

rejoiced to perceive that he was leaving the desert; and late in the

afternoon he reached a charming region of hill and dale, streams and

meadows.

He soon after came to one of the most beautiful palaces he had ever

seen. It was built of porphyry, and stood in the midst of an immense

garden, where every plant and flower grew that could delight the sight

or regale the senses. Trees loaded with all kinds of delicious fruits,

some trimmed and cut into the most curious shapes, were seen on all

sides. Statues of exquisite forms stood among them. From many of these

fountains spouted upwards to a vast height, whose waters fell

murmuring into large basins, where gold-fish, swans and other

water-fowl were seen swimming about. Peacocks and other gorgeous birds

strutted and flew around in every direction; and so many objects met

the young man's eye, as he slowly rode up the broad avenue, that he

stopped almost every moment to gaze and admire. At last lie reached

the portico, which was raised twenty steps, and adorned with twelve

columns of clear jasper.

The owner of the palace, who was an Emir of great wealth, was seated

on the portico, in company with his daughter, the golden-haired

Perizide.

On seeing a stranger of such dignified mien approaching, he rose up

and went to welcome him. He led him up the steps, and introduced him

to the young lady, who became at once interested with the looks and

demeanour of the handsome youth. The Emir then took his guest inside

the palace.

Azgid looked round with wonder. If the exterior of the building

delighted him, how much more was he pleased with its interior? The

hall was of vast size, with a noble staircase in the middle; the

apartments were spacious, and shone with gold; the walls and ceilings

were covered with the most exquisite paintings in fresco; and vases of

precious stones, statues, and all kinds of rare curiosities were

ranged around; the windows were of something that resembled pearl, and

were stained with different colours, so that, as the sun shone through

them, the tesselated floor received the rays, and glittered with all

the tints of the rainbow. Azgid gazed with astonishment. The Emir now

set before him a collation composed of the most delicate viands,

delicious fruits, and wines.

After he had finished eating, the Prince thought it his duty to inform

his kind host who he was.

"Sir," said he, "you no doubt wonder at one of my appearance thus

suddenly visiting you, and will naturally wish to inquire who I am.

This wish I can only in part gratify. Suffice it, then, to say that I

am a Prince whom troubles at home have driven abroad, but my name I

cannot tell: that is a secret lodged in my own breast, to be imparted

to no one. If no inconvenience to you, it would delight me much to

remain with you; and at some future day, if fortune should again smile

upon me, I will be happy to return the favour, and reciprocate your

hospitality."

The Emir replied to this speech in the kindest manner, telling the

youth that he did him a great honour in making him a visit, and that

he hoped he would remain to the end of his days. He further informed

him that he expected that night a number of his friends to favour him

with their company, and, wishing to look after the preparations for

the banquet, he begged his guest to excuse him for a short time.

When the Emir retired, Azgid was left alone with the fair Perizide,

and was struck more than ever with her ravishing beauty. In fact, he

fell deeply in love with her. She, on her part, seemed not insensible

to his merits, and exerted herself to amuse and entertain him. She led

him into the garden, showing him all the rare sights, and bidding him

observe the consummate art with which the shrubbery and trees were

arranged, and the charming green alleys and vistas which opened before

them as they walked along.

They explored the beauties of this fairy scene, seating themselves by

the side of the glittering fountains, and sometimes beneath the dark

shadows of the flowery arbours, through which the rays of a bright

full moon began now to penetrate.

They then returned to the palace, and, approaching, heard the strains

of festive music, and perceived the building illuminated from top to

bottom. They passed through the throngs on the portico, and entered

the house, which was lit up with hundreds of dazzling lustres, and

crowded with guests, all habited in splendid dresses. Perizide led the

youth into the grand saloon, and seated him on one of the purple

divans.

The attendants now served up a splendid supper, brought in on gold and

silver trays, and which consisted of every delicacy that could be

procured. It was made up of many courses, and lasted a considerable

time, and at its conclusion the room was partially cleared, and a

number of dancing girls, of elegant form and richly clad, entered the

apartment, and amused the guests with their graceful movements. Azgid,

observing a lute lying near him, took it up, and, telling the lady how

fond he was of music, begged her to favour him with an air. Perizide

complied with his request very graciously, and commenced playing. The

Prince listened with delight, and was drinking in the soft strains

with rapt attention, when he suddenly heard a loud and very unusual

sound.

"What noise is that?" asked the youth.

"I heard nothing," replied his companion; "nor do I think there was

any. It is your imagination only that fancies it."

Whereupon she went on playing; but she had only proceeded a few

minutes, when the Prince started a second time.

"There it is again!" said he. "Did you not hear it?"

"I heard nothing," answered Perizide, "but the sound of music and the

merry voices of hundreds of happy guests. It must be your imagination,

Prince, as I said before, and nothing else."

"Perhaps it is," returned the youth, striking his forehead. "You must

pardon me, fair lady: I have lately passed through many trying scenes,

and I fear my nerves are none of the strongest."

Perizide thereupon resumed her lute, but she had not proceeded very

long, when her guest again cried out,

"Oh!" said he, "tell me not that this is imagination! I heard it most

distinctly. Explain to me I pray, what it means."

"Oh," replied the young lady, laughing, "that is Boulak, our black

porter. He is a great pet and a privileged character; he gets drowsy

sometimes, and often yawns, and that was the sound you just heard."

"Good Heavens!" said Azgid, "what lungs he must have, to make such a

yawn as that!"

Perizide made no reply except a smile, but went on playing the lute,

when, having finished, the Prince complimented her highly for her

performance. It was by this time pretty late, and the guests gradually

retired; Perizide also went to her chamber, and the Prince and the

Emir were left alone.

They passed nearly an hour smoking and conversing very pleasantly,

till at length the host rose up, and telling his guest it was

bed-time, took him by the hand to lead him to his chamber. They

proceeded to the hall, and soon reached the great staircase, which was

of white marble, with a handsome balustrade on each side. When they

came to the foot of it, Azgid gazed for a moment admiring its beauty;

but what was his horror, when, on looking up, he spied a black lion of

immense size lying stretched on the topmost landing. He trembled and

turned pale.

"What is that?" said he, pointing with his finger.

"Oh," returned the Emir, "that is Boulak, our black porter. He is

tame, and will not hurt you if you are not afraid of him; but he can

tell when any one fears him, and then he becomes ferocious."

"I fear him," whispered the Prince, "and fear him greatly."

"You must cast aside your fear, my son," replied the other, "and then

there is not the slightest danger."

"That is easier said than done," answered the youth. "I try to cast it

aside, but do not succeed. No, I believe I will not go to my chamber,

but will sleep somewhere else, where there is no need of approaching

this terrible beast."

"Just as you like," replied the Emir. "You can return to the saloon,

and repose on one of those divans."

The Prince accordingly took up his lodgings in the saloon, and having

bid his friend "Good night," he carefully locked the door and windows,

making everything as secure as possible. He then lay down on the

cushions, listening eagerly if he might perchance hear any sound. But

all was silent; for every soul had retired, and the vast mansion

presented a striking contrast to the noisy merriment which a little

while before had reigned everywhere.

The young man now composed himself to rest, thinking that the lion was

most probably fast asleep and would not disturb him--but he was

mistaken; for in the course of an hour he heard most evidently a soft,

heavy tread coming down the stairs. The beast, on reaching the hall,

seemed for a moment to pause; then his steps were heard moving along

the vast corridor, till it could be no longer distinguished.

Azgid now breathed more freely, and was in hopes that his tormentor

had retired to some secluded part of the building, and had gone to

sleep; but he was doomed to be disappointed, for in a short time he

heard the faint steps approaching nearer and nearer, and perceived

that the beast stopped every now and then, snuffing with his nose, as

if in search of some one. At last he came to the door, putting his

nose at the lower part, and snuffing louder than ever; then he sprang

with his fore feet against it, giving it such a push as almost to

burst it open, and at the same time uttering a tremendous roar, which

echoed through the palace.

Azgid jumped from his couch in dismay, and retreated to the farthest

corner of the room; his hair stood on end, and the cold perspiration

rolled from his body. He believed for a certainty that the door would

fly open, and then the lion would rush in and devour him; but nothing

of the kind occurred, for in a few moments the beast again went

upstairs, and nothing more was heard of him.

The Prince then lay down on his couch--but not to sleep: he revolved

in his mind all that had happened to him since his departure from his

own city, and thinking that Providence would not afflict him in such a

manner for nought, but that there must be some design in it, he came

to the determination that he would instantly return home, and fulfil

the law and custom of his country by fighting the lion.

Early on the morrow, the Emir came to wake his guest, and bid him

"Good morning." He found the young man in tears, and putting his arm

round him, thus spoke:

"My son," said he, "your behaviour last night, when about to retire,

surprised me greatly, and my amazement is increased now at seeing you

in this unhappy state. What ails you, my son? Tell me all, and hide

nothing from me; and first let me know frankly who you are?"

"I am one," replied the youth, "who has fled from duty. I am Azgid,

son of the renowned King Almamoun. I fled from a work Providence

assigned to me to perform--but my sin followed me. I searched far and

wide for comfort, but in vain--trouble and disaster pursued me

wherever I went. But I have repented, and am now going back to

retrieve my error, and meet the trial from which I once endeavoured to

escape."

"I am rejoiced to hear you thus speak," said the Emir. "I was well

acquainted with your father, and think I know now from what duty it

was you tried to escape. Go back, then, to your home, my son, and may

Heaven grant you strength to perform your excellent resolution."

He then ordered his guest's horse to be brought, which when the youth

hath mounted, he asked his host to remember him to the beautiful

Perizide, and beg her to excuse him for leaving her in so strange and

abrupt a manner.

"I will do as you desire," replied the other, "and when my daughter

learns the cause of your departure, she will think more of you than

ever."

Thus with mutual good wishes the two friends separated, and Azgid rode

away. He pursued the same route he had travelled before, and on the

second day reached the desert and the encampment of the Arabs. He

found the Sheik Hajaar, sitting in his tent door, calmly smoking his

pipe: the Sheik was surprised at seeing him, and begged him to

dismount and refresh himself; but this the Prince refused to do,

saying that he had only come to explain his past strange behaviour in

leaving his hospitable abode so abruptly.

"I am Azgid," continued he, "son of the renowned King Almamoun. I was

sorely troubled in mind when I visited you, for I had fled from duty;

but I am now going back to retrieve my error and begin a new life. But

tell me, I pray, how is that beautiful animal I used to ride with so

much pleasure?"

"He is well," answered the other, "and it would please me much if you

could remain and ride him again; but I feel that it would be wrong to

interrupt you in such a pious journey as you now undertake. Go on,

then, my son: may Heaven prosper you in your good resolutions, and

peace be with you."

So saying, he bade the Prince farewell, and the latter, having

returned his salutation, rode off.

He pursued his course rapidly, and in a day or two arrived at the

abode of Oaxus, whom he found in the courtyard, busily engaged in

tending his sheep and goats. The old man was delighted to see him, and

begged him to dismount; but the Prince declined doing so, and went on

to explain who he was in the same words he had used to the Sheik

Hajaar. Oaxus was much astonished when he heard the account, and

congratulated the young man on the happy change that had come over

him.

"Go on, my friend," continued he: "may Heaven prosper you, and give

you strength to carry out your wise designs."

"Farewell," replied Azgid, "and tell young Asdril that if fortune

favours me, I hope one day to be back, and listen to his sweet music

again in spite of the lions."

With these words he rode away, and travelling on, in due time reached

his own city. He proceeded at once to the palace, and sought out the

old Vizier, to whom he related all that had happened to him, and all

that he intended to do, without concealing anything.

"And now," said he, "lead me at once to the lion, and let me fight him

and fulfil the law, as all my ancestors have done before me."

The old man heard this speech with great pleasure, and almost wept for

joy: he tenderly embraced his young friend, and, smiling, told him not

to run into extremes nor to be in too great a hurry; for that his

trial with the lion had better be put off for a week at least, and

that in the meantime he needed rest and refreshment. To this

suggestion Azgid acceded, and waited till the day his friend had fixed

upon.

It at length arrived, and very early in the morning the Prince arose

and prepared for the combat. He clad himself in a light garment, tying

a sash around it, in which he stuck a sharp dagger, took a spear in

his hand, and, accompanied by the Vizier, left the palace and

proceeded to the mountain. They climbed up the high steps and reached

the top, whereupon the slave met them, and, going before, unlocked the

gate. The young man looked down and saw the lion, sitting on his

haunches, at one end of the arena; he then shook hands with his

companions, and committing himself to the care of Heaven, sprang in.

The beast gave a loud roar when he saw him, and crouching down, drew

himself slowly toward his opponent, glaring fiercely on him all the

while. The Prince quailed not, but gazed steadily on the animal, and

advanced on him spear in hand; the lion now gave another loud roar,

and bounding forward, sprang over the youth's head. He then returned,

and commenced licking his hands and rubbing himself against his body.

The Vizier now called out joyfully to his young friend, telling him he

had conquered, and begging him to approach; and, with the assistance

of the slave, he lifted him out of the den, the lion following like a

dog.

"Yes, Azgid," continued the old man, embracing the Prince, "the beast

is tame and will injure no one; but, ignorant of this, you encountered

him, and the proof of your valour is complete. Come, then, and ascend

your throne, for you are worthy of it."

They then began to descend the stairs, and Azgid, observing a couple

of figures on the landing, asked the Vizier who they were.

"I know not," replied he; "I can see them, but the height is too great

for me to distinguish who they are."

In a little while they reached the platform, when the new-comers

proved to be Oaxus and Asdril.

"Azgid," said the old shepherd, "I have come to congratulate you on

your good fortune and happy deliverance; and here, too, is young

Asdril, whose music you so much admired, and whom I now present to you

as your own."

"Oaxus," replied the Prince, "I heartily thank you; and as for you,

Asdril, you are no longer a slave: from this moment you are free. You

shall be the companion of my leisure hours, and entertain me with your

delightful strains."

They now began to descend again; and Azgid, observing a group on the

second landing, asked the Vizier who they were.

"I know not," replied he; "I can see them, but the height is too great

for me to distinguish who they are."

In a little while they reached the platform, when the new-comers

proved to be the Sheik Hajaar, with a group of Arabs, leading the

beautiful horse with which the Prince had been so much pleased.

"Azgid," said the Sheik, "I have come to congratulate you on your good

fortune and happy deliverance. I have brought you as a present the

horse you used to ride when you honoured me with a visit: will your

Highness deign to accept of it as a slight testimonial of my loyal

regard?"

"Valiant Sheik," answered the young man, "I am rejoiced to see you

again, and receive with gratitude your noble gift; you could not have

given me anything more acceptable."

He then embraced the Sheik, and kissed the beautiful animal, who

seemed to recognize him.

They then began to descend; and the Prince, observing at the bottom of

the stairs quite a concourse of people, inquired of the Vizier who

they were.

"I know not," replied he; "I can see them, but the height is too great

for me to distinguish who they are."

In a little while they reached the end of the staircase, when the

new-comers proved to be the Emir, with a large retinue of his guards,

with music and banners.

"Azgid," said the Emir, "I am come to congratulate you on your good

fortune and happy deliverance. I have brought no present; that I

considered needless, since myself and all that I have are yours."

"Noble Emir," cried the youth, "I am rejoiced to see you--tell me, how

is Perizide? as soon as I have been crowned I intend to visit her with

the speed of lightning."

"There is no need of that," returned the other: "come with me;" and,

so saying, he led the young man to a splendid white steed, on which

sat a lady, covered with a long veil. The Emir lifted the veil, and

Azgid beheld the beautiful face of his beloved mistress.

Their meeting, as may be imagined, was most tender and affectionate;

and the Vizier, having ordered the music to strike up, the whole

procession moved toward the palace.

"How strange it seems!" said the Prince: "when I fled from my duty

everything went wrong with me; but now, after fulfilling it, good luck

meets me at every step."

Azgid was crowned the same day, and in the evening his nuptials with

the fair Perizide were celebrated; they lived long and happily; and

the Prince ordered the story of his life to be written in the annals

of the kingdom, and an inscription in gold letters to be placed over

the door of the palace, with these words: "_Never run from the

lion._"

[Illustration]

The City of the Demons

[Illustration]

In days of yore there lived in the flourishing city of Cairo a Hebrew

Rabbi, by name Jochonan, who was the most learned of his nation. His

fame went over the East, and the most distant people sent their young

men to imbibe wisdom from his lips. He was deeply skilled in the

traditions of the fathers, and his word on a disputed point was

decisive. He was pious, just, temperate, and strict; but he had one

vice: a love of gold had seized upon his heart, and he opened not his

hand to the poor. Yet he was wealthy above most: his wisdom being to

him the source of riches. The Hebrews of the city were grieved at

this blemish on the wisest of their people; but, though the elders of

the tribes continued to reverence him for his fame, the women and

children of Cairo called him by no other name than that of Rabbi

Jochonan the Miser.

None knew so well as he the ceremonies necessary for initiation into

the religion of Moses, and, consequently, the exercise of those solemn

offices was to him another source of gain. One day, as he walked in

the fields about Cairo, conversing with a youth on the interpretation

of the law, it so happened that the Angel of Death smote the young man

suddenly, and he fell dead before the feet of the Rabbi, even while he

was yet speaking. When the Rabbi found that the youth was dead, he

rent his garments, and glorified the Lord. But his heart was touched,

and the thoughts of death troubled him in the visions of the night. He

felt uneasy when he reflected on his hardness to the poor; and he

said,

"Blessed be the name of the Lord! The first good thing that I am asked

to do in that holy name will I perform." But he sighed, for he feared

that some one might ask of him a portion of his gold.

While yet he thought upon these things, there came a loud cry at his

gate.

"Awake, thou sleeper!" said the voice, "awake! A child is in danger of

death, and the mother hath sent me for thee, that thou mayest do thine

office."

"The night is dark and gloomy," said the Rabbi, coming to his

casement, "and mine age is great: are there not younger men than I in

Cairo?"

"For thee only, Rabbi Jochonan, whom some call the Wise, but whom

others call Rabbi Jochonan the Miser, was I sent. Here is gold," said

he, taking out a purse of sequins; "I want not thy labour for nothing.

I adjure thee to come, in the name of the living God."

So the Rabbi thought upon the vow he had just made, and he groaned in

spirit, for the purse sounded heavy.

"As thou hast adjured me by that name, I go with thee," said he to the

man; "but I hope the distance is not far. Put up thy gold."

"The place is at hand," said the stranger, who was a gallant youth, in

magnificent attire. "Be speedy, for time presses."

Jochonan arose, dressed himself, and accompanied the stranger, after

having carefully locked up all the doors of his house, and deposited

his keys in a secret place--at which the stranger smiled.

"I never remember," said the Rabbi, "so dark a night. Be thou to me as

a guide, for I can hardly see the way."

"I know it well," replied the stranger with a sigh. "It is a way much

frequented, and travelled hourly by many. Lean upon mine arm, and fear

not."

They journeyed on, and, though the darkness was great, yet the Rabbi

could see, when it occasionally brightened, that he was in a place

strange to him.

"I thought," said he, "I knew all the country for leagues about Cairo,

yet I know not where I am. I hope, young man," said he to his

companion, "that thou hast not missed the way." And his heart misgave

him.

"Fear not," returned the stranger; "your journey is even now done."

And, as he spoke, the feet of the Rabbi slipped from under him, and he

rolled down a great height. When he recovered, he found that his

companion had fallen also, and stood by his side.

"Nay, young man," said the Rabbi, "if thus thou sportest with the grey

hairs of age, thy days are numbered. Woe unto him who insults the

hoary head!"

The stranger made an excuse, and they journeyed on some little farther

in silence. The darkness grew less, and the astonished Rabbi, lifting

up his eyes, found that they had come to the gates of a city which he

had never before seen. Yet he knew all the cities of the land of

Egypt, and he had walked but half an hour from his dwelling in Cairo.

So he knew not what to think, but followed the man with trembling.

They soon entered the gates of the city, which was lighted up as if

there were a festival in every house. The streets were full of

revellers, and nothing but a sound of joy could be heard. But when

Jochonan looked upon their faces, they were the faces of men pained

within; and he saw, by the marks they bore, that they were

Mazikin.[1] He was terrified in his soul, and, by the light of the

torches, he looked also upon the face of his companion, and, behold!

he saw upon him too the mark that showed him to be a Demon. The Rabbi

feared excessively--almost to fainting; but he thought it better to be

silent, and sadly he followed his guide, who brought him to a splendid

house in the most magnificent quarter of the city.

[Footnote 1: Demons]

"Enter here," said the Demon to Jochonan, "for this house is mine. The

lady and the child are in the upper chamber." And accordingly the

sorrowful Rabbi ascended the stairs to find them.

The lady, whose dazzling beauty was shrouded by melancholy beyond

hope, lay in bed; the child, in rich raiment, slumbered on the lap of

the nurse, by her side.

"I have brought to thee, light of my eyes!" said the Demon, "Rebecca,

beloved of my soul! I have brought unto thee Rabbi Jochonan the Wise,

for whom thou didst desire. Let him, then, speedily begin his office;

I shall fetch all things necessary, for he is in haste to depart." He

smiled bitterly as he said these words, looking at the Rabbi, and left

the room, followed by the nurse.

When Jochonan and the lady were alone, she turned in the bed towards

him, and said,

"Unhappy man that thou art! knowest thou where thou hast been

brought?"

"I do," said he, with a heavy groan. "I know that I am in a city of

the Mazikin."

"Know then, further," said she, and the tears gushed from eyes

brighter than the diamond, "know then, further, that up one is ever

brought here unless he hath sinned before the Lord. What my sin hath

been imports not to thee--and I seek not to know thine. But here thou

remainest for ever--lost, even as I am lost." And she wept again.

The Rabbi dashed his turban on the ground, and, tearing his hair,

exclaimed, "Woe is me! Who art thou, woman, that speakest to me thus?"

"I am a Hebrew woman," said she, "the daughter of a Doctor of the

Laws, in the city of Bagdad; and being brought hither--it matters not

how--I am married to a Prince among the Mazikin, even him who was sent

for thee. And that child whom thou sawest is our first-born, and I

could not bear the thought that the soul of our innocent babe should

perish. I therefore besought my husband to try and bring hither a

priest, that the law of Moses (blessed be his memory!) should be done;

and thy fame, which has spread to Bagdad, and lands farther towards

the rising of the sun, made me think of thee. Now, my husband, though

great among the Mazikin, is more just than the other Demons; and he

loves me, whom he hath ruined, with a love of despair. So he said that

the name of Jochonan the Wise was familiar unto him, and that he knew

thou wouldst not be able to refuse. What thou hast done to give him

power over thee is known to thyself."

"I swear, before Heaven," said the Rabbi, "that I have ever diligently

kept the law, and walked steadfastly according to the traditions of

our fathers from the days of my youth upward. I have wronged no man in

word or deed, and I have daily worshipped the Lord, minutely

performing all the ceremonies thereto needful."

"Nay," said the lady, "all this thou mightest have done, and more, and

yet be in the power of the Demons. But time passes, for I hear the

foot of my husband mounting the stair. There is one chance of thine

escape."

"What is that, O lady of beauty?" said the agonized Rabbi.

"Eat not, drink not, nor take fee or reward while here, and as long as

thou canst do thus, the Mazikin have no power over thee, dead or

alive. Have courage and persevere."

As she ceased from speaking, her husband entered the room, followed by

the nurse, who bore all things requisite for the ministration of the

Rabbi. With a heavy heart he performed his duty, and the child was

numbered among the Faithful. But when, as usual, at the conclusion of

the ceremony, the wine was handed round to be tasted by the child, the

mother, and the Rabbi, he refused it when it came to him, saying,

"Spare me, my lord, for I have made a vow that I fast this day, and I

will eat not, neither will I drink."

"Be it as thou pleasest," said the Demon; "I will not that thou

shouldst break thy vow." And he laughed aloud.

So the poor Rabbi was taken into a chamber looking into a garden,

where he passed the remainder of the night and the day, weeping and

praying to the Lord that He would deliver him from the city of Demons.

But when the twelfth hour came, and the sun was set, the Prince of the

Mazikin came again unto him, and said,

"Eat now, I pray thee, for the day of thy vow is past." And he set

meat before him.

"Pardon again thy servant, my lord," said Jochonan, "in this thing. I

have another vow for this day also. I pray thee be not angry with thy

servant."

"I am not angry," said the Demon; "be it as thou pleasest: I respect

thy vow." And he laughed louder than before.

So the Rabbi sat another day in his chamber by the garden, weeping and

praying; and when the sun had gone behind the hills, the Prince of the

Mazikin again stood before him, and said,

"Eat now, for thou must be an hungered. It was a sore vow of thine."

And he offered him daintier meats.

And Jochonan felt a strong desire to eat, but he prayed inwardly to

the Lord, and the temptation passed, and he answered, "Excuse thy

servant yet a third time, my lord, that I eat not. I have renewed my

vow."

"Be it so, then," said the other: "arise, and follow me."

The Demon took a torch in his hand, and led the Rabbi, through winding

passages of his palace, to the door of a lofty chamber, which he

opened with a key that he took from a niche in the wall. On entering

the room, Jochonan saw that it was of solid silver--floor, ceiling,

walls, even to the threshold and the door-posts; and the curiously

carved roof and borders of the ceiling shone in the torchlight as if

they were the fanciful work of frost. In the midst were heaps of

silver money, piled up in immense urns of the same metal, even over

the brim.

"Thou hast done me a serviceable act, Rabbi," said the Demon: "take of

these what thou pleasest; ay, were it the whole."

"I cannot, my lord," said Jochonan. "I was adjured by thee to come

hither in the name of God, and in that name I came, not for fee or for

reward."

"Follow me," said the Prince of the Mazikin; and Jochonan did so into

an inner chamber.

It was of gold, as the other was of silver. Its golden roof was

supported by pillars and pilasters of gold, resting upon a golden

floor. The treasures of the kings of the earth would not purchase one

of the four and twenty vessels of golden coins, which were disposed in

six rows along the room. No wonder! for they were filled by the

constant labours of the Demons of the Mine. The heart of Jochonan was

moved by avarice when he saw them shining in yellow light, like the

autumnal sun, as they reflected the beams of the torch. But God

enabled him to persevere.

"These are thine," said the Demon: "one of the vessels which thou

beholdest would make thee richest of the sons of men, and I give thee

them all."

But Jochonan refused again, and the Prince of the Mazikin opened the

door of a third chamber, which was called the Hall of Diamonds. When

the Rabbi entered, he screamed aloud, and put his hands over his eyes,

for the lustre of the jewels dazzled him, as if he had looked upon the

noonday sun. In vases of agate were heaped diamonds beyond numeration,

the smallest of which was larger than a pigeon's egg. On alabaster

tables lay amethysts, topazes, rubies, beryls, and all other precious

stones, wrought by the hands of skilful artists, beyond power of

computation. The room was lighted by a carbuncle, which, from the end

of the hall, poured its ever-living light, brighter than the rays of

noontide, but cooler than the gentle radiance of the dewy moon. This

was a sore trial to the Rabbi; but he was strengthened from above, and

he refused again.

"Thou knowest me, then, I perceive, O Jochonan, son of Ben-David,"

said the Prince of the Mazikin. "I am a Demon who would tempt thee to

destruction. As thou hast withstood so far, I tempt thee no more.

Thou hast done a service which, though I value it not, is acceptable

in the sight of her whose love is dearer to me than the light of life.

Sad has been that love to thee, my Rebecca! Why should I do that which

would make thy cureless grief more grievous?--You have yet another

chamber to see," said he to Jochonan, who had closed his eyes, and was

praying fervently to the Lord, beating his breast.

Far different from the other chambers, the one into which the Rabbi

was next introduced was a mean and paltry apartment without furniture.

On its filthy walls hung innumerable bunches of rusty keys of all

sizes, disposed without order. Among them, to the astonishment of

Jochonan, hung the keys of his own house--those which he had put to

hide when he came on this miserable journey--and he gazed upon them

intently.

"What dost thou see," said the Demon, "that makes thee look so

eagerly? Can he who has refused silver and gold and diamonds be moved

by a paltry bunch of rusty iron?"

"They are mine own, my lord," said the Rabbi. "Them will I take, if

they be offered me."

"Take them, then," said the Demon, putting them into his hand: "thou

mayst depart. But, Rabbi, open not thy house only when thou returnest

to Cairo, but thy heart also. That thou didst not open it before was

that which gave me power over thee. It was well that thou didst one

act of charity in coming with me without reward, for it has been thy

salvation. Be no more Rabbi Jochonan the Miser."

The Rabbi bowed to the ground, and blessed the Lord for his escape.

"But how," said he, "am I to return, for I know not the way?"

"Close thine eyes," said the Demon.

He did so, and, in the space of a moment, heard the voice of the

Prince of the Mazikin ordering him to open them again. And behold,

when he opened them, he stood in the centre of his own chamber, in his

house at Cairo, with the keys in his hand.

When he recovered from his surprise, and had offered thanksgivings to

God, he opened his house, and his heart also. He gave alms to the

poor, he cheered the heart of the widow, and lightened the destitution

of the orphan. His hospitable board was open to the stranger, and his

purse was at the service of all who needed to share it. His life was a

perpetual act of benevolence, and the blessings showered upon him by

all were returned bountifully upon him by the hand of God.

But people wondered, and said, "Is not this the man who was called

Rabbi Jochonan the Miser? What hath made the change?"

And it became a saying in Cairo. When it came to the ears of the

Rabbi, he called his friends together, and he avowed his former love

of gold, and the danger to which it had exposed him, relating all

which has been above told, in the hall of the new palace that he built

by the side of the river, on the left hand, as thou goest down the

course of the great stream. And wise men, who were scribes, wrote it

down from his mouth for the benefit of mankind, that they might profit

thereby. And a venerable man, with a beard of snow, who had read it in

these books, and at whose feet I sat that I might learn the wisdom of

the old time, told it to me. And I write it in the tongue of England,

the merry and the free, on the tenth day of the month Nisan, in the

year, according to the lesser computation, five hundred ninety and

seven, that thou mayest learn good thereof. If not, the fault be upon

thee.

[Illustration]

Jussuf, the Merchant of Balsora.

[Illustration]

Many hundred years ago, when the renowned Caliph Haroun al Raschid

ruled in Bagdad, there lived in the town of Balsora a merchant of good

repute, who was called Jussuf. He had received a considerable property

by inheritance from his father; and his paternal house, which was

esteemed as the most splendid palace of the town, was situated on one

of the finest spots. He was obliged to keep a great number both of

male and female slaves, as well for the management of his household

affairs, as also to assist him in his commercial pursuits, for his

business was very extensive. The largest warehouse in the bazaar of

the city belonged to him, and it was always filled with the most

precious goods, which he caused to be collected from the remotest

parts of the globe--either in ships or on the backs of his camels.

There you might see all the rarest and choicest gifts of nature,

together with the finest and richest productions of art; the most

costly tissues and stuffs, the most valuable vessels and implements of

silver and gold; elegant jewellery and trinkets, adorned skilfully

with sparkling stones of considerable value, heaped up one on another.

But the agreeable manner and contrast in which all these were exposed

for sale gratified the eye more than even the costly articles

themselves. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that the crowd in

his warehouse, in so great and rich a city, was very numerous.

It had already become a custom for people to apply to Jussuf if they

wished to buy anything which had come in fashion with the wealthy

citizen, either on account of its intrinsic value or of its skilful

workmanship. Could they find the required goods as fine or as

beautiful at another magazine, still they always preferred to go to

Jussuf, even if they paid him more dearly for them. They felt

confident that they should find everything more genuine, more

handsome, and more tasteful there than at any other merchant's. This,

however, may have been only a favourable prepossession; but it is

nevertheless certain, that in no other warehouse were so many objects,

alike useful and ornamental, collected together, as in that of Jussuf.

And as his business flourished more and more, so his riches increased

from day to day. At the same time his cares and exertions in watching

after the number of men whom he employed, his zeal in the equipment of

his ships, and in the forwarding and dispatching of his caravans,

increased in equal measure.

He had continued his business in this way for several years, and had

altogether neglected his health through his perseverance and

unflinching attention, when he felt at once that his usual strength

was declining, and that he should soon become exhausted unless he

permitted himself at times to take some recreation. He therefore very

willingly took the opportunity which offered itself accidentally about

this time of buying a fine estate. It was situated only a few miles

from the town, by the side of a stream, in a country as pleasant as it

was fruitful, combining means for hunting and for fishing; and the

price was so moderate that he resolved on the purchase without much

consideration. He purposed to detach himself for a few weeks from his

business, and to devote himself to pleasure and repose in the quiet

and calm of his country residence. He caused a new and elegant country

house to be built by a skilful architect on an eminence, instead of

the old one, surrounded by a large pleasant artificial garden. As all

was settled and prepared, he shut up his warehouse at the end of every

week early enough for him to ride over. There he would repose from the

troubles of the preceding days, and recreate himself with hunting and

fishing, and collect new strength in the peaceful serenity of his

country estate.

But custom is often stronger than our inclinations: he had become so

accustomed to an active life, that his thoughts always returned to his

wares in his warehouse, or to his ships that were transporting his

goods over distant seas. Hence it happened that he soon entertained a

hope of drawing large profits, as well as the restoration of his

health, from this country residence. He employed himself very

successfully in the chase and in fishing, or in raising choice flowers

in the beds before his house, or else with the care of rare foreign

birds, which he fed and kept in a large aviary. But these only charmed

him for a time: the chase of wild beasts appeared to him too soon to

be but a cruel sport; fishing was tedious; the cultivation of his

flowers, too, was monotonous; and, if he contemplated the imprisoned

foreign birds, he heartily pitied them because they were deprived of

freedom. One day he had tried everything to divert himself, but

without success; at last he seated himself, half discontented, in the

open colonnade which extended along the side of his country house,

and his eye glanced over the flower-beds before him into the extreme

distance: there his gaze could follow over a small tract the course of

the river Schat al Arab, which, rising at the mouths of the Euphrates

and Tigris, flows between shores clothed with verdure. Some large

merchant ships were sailing by; several fishing-boats were visible.

"Ah, thou magnificent stream!" exclaimed Jussuf, who had given himself

to reflection after he had viewed it for some time; "what a pity that

thou must fall into the sea so soon below the kingly town of Balsora!

There thou art, wasted and forgotten; the navigator on the great sea

never thinks that the streams of his native country flow mingled with

the waves through which the keel of his ship cuts. Now, then,"

continued he, after a short reflection, "it is all the better for me:

now I am still active in business; my ships set out at morning, noon,

and evening; my camels march to India through the deserts of Arabia,

and the plains of Tartary and Persia; thousands and thousands of men

call me still the rich and great merchant Jussuf, and praise me as the

most lucky of mortals; yet a little while, and my existence will be

lost as thine, in the sea of eternity."

Among such earnest considerations and soliloquies, he had hardly

observed that a large variegated butterfly, hovering over the

neighbouring flower-bed, moved slowly to and fro, just as if it were

undecided in choosing on which flower it would alight. He was very

attentive to its broad wings, which glittered with the most splendid

colours, while the insect, brilliantly variegated, settled on a

scarlet poppy, as though it wished to eclipse the magnificence of the

flower with the variety of its different hues.

"What splendid colours! What beautifully delineated wings!" exclaimed

Jussuf. "Oh that I might possess the rare insect! The dyers who stain

my silk stuffs, and the weavers, might take the liveliness of the

colours, the design, and the well-wrought combination of colours, for

a pattern."

When the butterfly settled itself quietly on the poppy, Jussuf

approached it carefully to catch it; but, as he had no other

convenient thing at his hand, he took off his turban, and covered the

butterfly and the flower. The butterfly had not flown away, therefore

it must be under the turban. Already he rejoiced at his lucky capture,

and was proceeding to raise the turban slowly a little on one side, in

order to seize the imprisoned insect securely, when he remarked that

the turban was raising itself, and that under it a human form was

growing up higher and higher out of the flower. Full of astonishment,

he drew back a step. As he kept his eyes fixed on the object, a maiden

of astonishing beauty appeared before him, such as he had never before

seen. Her face was veiled, and his turban was on her head: smilingly

she removed it, and extended it to him, saying, with a mischievous

look,

"There, friend Jussuf, take it again: this turban is accustomed to

ornament a brain in which rule very earnest and high thoughts; it

would, perhaps, feel very badly honoured were it to serve as a

covering for my frivolous caprices."

"Thou jestest, high daughter of a genius," exclaimed Jussuf, sinking

on his knees: "thy incomparable beauty testifies that thou art no

ordinary mortal, if even the wonderful manner in which thou hast

appeared had not fixed it beyond all doubt."

"It may be," replied the maiden, "that thou hast rightly guessed. But

that is no matter; I am come here to-day to help to banish your idle

thoughts: come, run a race with me."

Immediately she threw the poppy which he had covered with his turban

roughly in his face, and ran away. Jussuf remained irresolute, and

looked after her; then she stopped her pace, and called back to him,

"Art thou transformed into a statue? canst thou not run? run, and

catch me, if you can."

Her mischievous manner gave her an irresistible grace, which urged him

to begin the race, even although he did not wish to join in it. She

flew on, allowing him sometimes to approach her, and then turned

suddenly aside out of the way, and ran over the turf to avoid him: she

did not even spare the flower-beds; and when she wanted to escape from

him, she passed over them without caring for the finest plants. The

more she provoked him in different ways, the more he exerted all his

strength to catch her. At last she appeared exhausted, and threw

herself, breathing heavily, on a bank of turf. "Here is an asylum,"

exclaimed she.

Tired and breathless with the unusual exertion of running, he followed

her example, and sat down near her on the bank. While they were

resting, she plucked some flowers and branches of a flourishing shrub,

which had spread itself from the bank into a green roof over their

heads, and skilfully wove a garland.

"Come," said she to Jussuf, when the wreath was ready, "come, let us

throw up the garland."

She arose at these words and led him to the nearest open space; she

leaped around, dancing in a circle and holding the garland on high in

her right hand, and then threw it up high into the air. The garland of

flowers rose while she sang these words:

"Rise, thou garland fresh and fair,

Blend thy hues in liquid air:

Downward sinking, may'st thou be

A fairy coronal for me."

High above the shoots of the surrounding trees it seemed to remain

hovering in the sunshine which lighted the colours of the flowers,

inducing a very peculiar splendour. Then it sank down gradually in

soft vibrations, and settled on her head, as if she had placed it

there herself as a crown. She took it from her locks and handed it to

Jussuf.

"Now it is thy turn," said she; "throw it up, and see whether it will

fall on thy head."

Jussuf took it and threw it as high as he could; but it did not from

his hand attain the sunny height, and the garland fell quickly, and at

a great distance, to the ground before him. By the time he had

altogether recollected himself, she was at the spot, and had already

raised the garland, and was laughing heartily at his awkwardness. She

threw it up, dancing in the former manner, and sang the spell. This

time also the garland ascended high above the tops of the trees into

the sunshine, and sank down on her head as at first. Jussuf must needs

try again, but he succeeded no better than before. Thereupon she again

threw it up, and caught it once more. After she had thus shown him

several times, she cried out, laughing mischievously,

"Well, hast thou not yet observed why thou failest? Why dost thou not

sing my little song when thou throwest up the garland? Try once more,

and sing the spell; then it will succeed better."

Jussuf did so. He threw the garland and sang the verse; and, behold,

the garland hovered in the sunshine, and descended in soft vibrations

on his head, crowning his turban.

"Dost thou see?" said the maiden, laughingly: "the spell is of very

great avail." She threw up the wreath again several times, and then

she took it, and exclaimed, "Now it is enough; but the game will be

tedious." She threw it up high, and sang:

"Flower-garland, raise thee high,

Float in sunshine brilliantly;

Lend thy varied hues, to shed

Light on the darksome forest-head."

The garland floated far out over the open space towards the edge of

the park; there it melted suddenly in the air, and the blossoms rained

down as it were on a dark cypress, and clung to it, so that it was

adorned at once with a number of splendid flowers. Jussuf saw this

with astonishment.

"Well," exclaimed he, "thou conjurest. How is it possible that a

cypress-tree should bear such beautiful blossoms?"

But she answered, "What is there to be wondered at? Who would make

such a commotion about a merry game? Come," continued she, "let us

play at ball." And jumping up, she picked a ripe pomegranate from a

neighbouring tree, placed herself at a tolerable distance from him at

a shrub, and threw him the apple for a ball. Jussuf had been very fond

of playing at ball in his younger days, and still possessed some

skill, so that he caught it.

"Well, indeed, well done," exclaimed she, as she caught it from

Jussuf, who had not thrown it quite straight, with the same ease as if

it had fallen from the hand of the ablest thrower.

They threw it in this way several times to each other, till at last

Jussuf let it fall.

"Oh!" cried she, "well done! whoever lets it fall, to him the

punishment is due." And when she had caught the pomegranate again, she

winked at him, and exclaimed, "Now come back, I will give you a blow

on the face." But Jussuf remained where he was, watching for the

throw, that he might avoid it. "Come back," she said still; but he

remained stationary.

Then she breathed low some words over the pomegranate, and threw it

suddenly at Jussuf. He wished to avoid the blow, by bending down

quickly; but before he could succeed, he felt it on his forehead. The

pomegranate was so violently thrown that it burst in pieces. The

numerous grains lay scattered on the ground; but hardly had they

touched the earth than they changed into so many wasps, which flew

into the air and swarmed round his head. In the anguish of their

stings, he held his hands before his eyes and ran on; but the swarm of

wasps followed him, buzzing around him.

"Throw now thy turban on the ground," called the maiden at last to

him, who was standing in the distance, loudly laughing at his anguish.

He listened, and obeyed her call without thinking of it, and quickly

all the wasps crept under the turban. He stood in astonishment, and

looked at the turban. Then the maiden approached him with ceaseless

laughter, and said,

"What has happened to thee, friend Jussuf? Why dost thou gaze upon thy

turban with such anxious attention? It is a pity they are not bees,

the honey might be collected there. Take it up and put it on thy

head."

He stooped down and raised it with cautious slowness; but, to his

astonishment, all the wasps had disappeared; only a green lizard ran

to and fro, and was lost among the grass and the leaves near the

pathway.

"Where did that go?" asked Jussuf, reflectingly. "That was a

pomegranate and became wasps, and where are they now gone?"

"What!" rejoined the maiden; "where did it go? Who would ask such a

thing? How are wasps and pomegranates generally produced in this

world? Or can you tell me how it is that grass comes up and grows out

of a grain of seed? or how is it that a fig-tree can spring up from

each little seed of the fig? The case is just so; and if people would

ask questions about everything, there would be no end to such

inquiries. But man must not inquire too closely. Come," continued she,

quickly changing to a quieter and more mischievous manner, "Dost thou

see those figs hanging on the branch over the way? let us see if you

can jump high enough to reach and pick them."

He saw the figs, and sprang, but did not nearly reach the height at

which they hung. She encouraged him to jump again and again, and at

every awkward spring she laughed at his fruitless exertions. She then

took a short run with little steps, and, floating as easily in the air

as if she were borne on wings, plucked the figs, and then was wafted

down as softly on the other side.

"See," said she to him, holding out the figs, "here they are; now we

will eat them together. We have earned them with one spring."

Jussuf declined them. "They all belong to thee," said he; "for thou

alone didst pick them. I could not reach."

"Do you wish to make me angry?" said she. "Hast thou not tired thyself

more than I?--there, take and eat." She forced him, by her friendly

manner, to eat half the figs; while she pressed the other to her lips,

sucked a little of its juice, and then threw it away. "I did that,"

said she, clapping her hands, "that thou mightest not soon forget me:

now thou must think of me for some time."

Immediately she began a new game with him, and after a short time

another, and so on, continually changing the sport. The serious Jussuf

jumped, and hopped, and danced just as she wished, and tried to

perform all the tricks she invented, as if he were a boy. At last they

came to a fish-pond which was in the garden. She jumped into the boat,

which was standing all ready, and rowed with ease into the middle of

the little lake. Then she stopped and called to him,

"Come here, my true playfellow, come to me."

Jussuf stood on the bank, and would have willingly walked to her

through the water; but he knew that it was too deep, and he could not

swim.

"Art thou not coming?" said she; "art thou afraid of the water?"

"I cannot swim," answered he.

"Well, that is no consequence," she called out; "do as I do." And at

these words she sprang lightly out of the boat, and walked over the

surface of the waves as if on dry land; the water did not even moisten

the sole of her sandal.

"Oh that I could!" exclaimed Jussuf. "But I am too heavy; I should

sink at once."

The maiden had in the meantime sprung back into the boat, and called

out, "If thou wilt not come to me, I will never come again to thee;

nor will I now stay any longer with thee. Evening is drawing near. For

the future, then, thou mayest sit alone and grow ill tempered; and if

thou ever wishest to see thy playmate again, thou mayest seek her in

the native country of the variegated butterfly, which thou believedst

thou hadst caught to-day, but which has flown away. Recollect, and

come before I have counted three. One--two--three." As she said the

last number she disappeared.

Jussuf now saw the variegated butterfly flutter over the lake, and

lose itself among the flowers of the garden; the boat moved back

towards the bank where it had before been placed. The abandoned Jussuf

stood for some time, as if in a dream; but when the evening twilight

veiled the distant hills, he awoke to consciousness. Then the

occurrences of the day appeared like a wonderful vision to his soul.

In the silence of his chamber he soon threw himself on his bed, and

here everything recurred to his memory; and he now wondered less at

the wonderful appearance of the maiden than at himself--that he, a

serious man, who till now had lived in the activity and cares of

business, should have amused himself for several hours with childish

games, at which he had not before played since his earliest boyish

days. Gradually his thoughts passed into dreams.

He awoke late the next morning. The sun was already high in the

heavens, and his slaves had long been waiting at the threshold of the

door which led to his room, to receive his commands. He remembered

that he wished to return early in the morning to the town, because it

was his custom regularly to keep open his warehouse on this day of the

week. It proved, therefore, very agreeable to him, when he went out,

to find his horse was standing ready saddled before the house.

After he had dressed quickly, and taken his breakfast, he mounted his

splendid Arab steed, and rode towards Balsora, followed by several

slaves. When he arrived at the bazaar to open his warehouse, a number

of customers were already assembled, and the crowd increased at every

moment, so that he could hardly satisfy all--he had not hands enough.

When all was produced that was wished for, time was wanting to give

the inquirers the needful information about the worth and quality of

the goods; and if a purchaser wished to pay for his articles, he had

no time to count over the money, but he placed it uncounted in his

money-box, trusting to the honour of his customers. This press of

business so fully occupied his attention, that he soon forgot his last

night's adventure, though at first the form of his fair playmate was

present to his soul. So many days passed away in the bustle of his

vast employment.

One day, about the end of the week, when he was busy in his warehouse,

the public crier went by, offering for sale some small foreign insects

and butterflies; and holding the case in which they were in the air,

"Who will buy," he exclaimed--"who will buy fine bright silken

creatures, very cheap, very cheap?" Jussuf raised his eyes by chance,

while conversing with a customer about a necklace of jewels, and

perceived in the case the beautiful butterfly which he wanted to catch

himself a few days before, and out of which his comical playmate had

raised herself from the poppy.

Then his words died on his lips. He looked at the crier, dumb for a

minute, and then called him back quickly. "Let me see," said he; and

when he had convinced himself that he was not mistaken, he offered the

man at once a thousand sequins, without allowing him to ask anything.

The crier gave him the case quickly, as if he feared that Jussuf would

repent of his purchase, and smilingly received the purse of gold.

"I thank thee," said he. "It is well that I know thee to be an amateur

in such things. If I get any more, I will certainly bring them to thee

first. People say, indeed, that thou dost not sell cheaply. I have

convinced myself thou also payest well for what thou purchasest."

Overjoyed, and praising his good fortune, he went away.

Jussuf had scarcely received the case of insects, when he carefully

examined it in a division of his warehouse, whilst a red blush mantled

over his face, and his looks betokened the greatest pleasure. The

bystanders could not believe that he was such a lover of insects, and

such a connoisseur; and they conjectured that his eyes must have

discovered some extraordinary value in the purchased case. But from

this moment Jussuf paid little more attention to his business. This

absence of mind increased every moment, and often caused him to ask

quite a trifling sum for very precious goods, and an unconscionably

high one for those equally insignificant. He could scarcely conceal

his chagrin whenever new customers made their appearance; and all saw

with wonder, how--contrary to his usual custom--he hailed with joy the

time for closing his warehouse, and how joyously he departed with his

case of insects!

Immediately he wrapped the case in a cloth, and had it carried by some

slaves who accompanied him to his house. Till now he did not know why

he had so much value for the butterfly; he was only led to purchase it

by some impulse, and had not as yet given himself any reasons for it.

For the first time, as he lay quietly in bed, he asked himself this

question: "What shall I do with thee?" Then--"The other butterfly flew

away over the flowers of my garden some days ago; this is dry and

pierced, as if it had been dead for many years. What connection can it

have with my bright and waggish playmate, who is only fit to be a

daughter of the genii?"

He recalled to himself everything in the remarkable occurrence--even

the most trifling events that happened in their different games, from

the appearance of the maiden to her disappearance out of the boat,

returned to his mind. Then he thought over her last words. "What did

she say?" said he to himself. "Did she not say, 'If thou shouldst wish

to see me, thou must seek me in the fatherland of the variegated

butterflies?'"

Now a thought shot through his mind which made all perfectly clear to

him. He confessed to himself that he had been more happy with her fun

and play than he had been before since his boyhood, and that he had

then quite forgotten all the cares and troubles of business. He

earnestly longed to have always about him so merry a playfellow, to

afford him diversion with her childish mirth.

"This playmate of thine," continued he, speaking to himself, "if she

has entirely disappeared, and no track leads to her, has not a chance

fallen into thy hands by this butterfly? Still thou canst seek for her

in her native land. But what naturalist could name it from this

imperfect description, without having seen the butterfly?"

He then recalled to his memory many tales which he had heard in his

childhood, in which were instances of daughters of genii, who,

becoming the wives of mortals, blessed them in a wonderful manner,

and, after the death of their husbands, returned to the kingdom of the

genii.

Amid such thoughts as these he sank into slumber, and awoke the next

morning with the firm resolution of seeking the daughter of the genii,

and of choosing her for his wife. The first thing, then, was for him

to discover the native country of the butterflies; for it was there

that he was to find her. He took, therefore, the butterfly out of the

case from among the other insects, and set out for one of the suburbs

of Balsora.

There lived in one of the last houses a man who he was aware knew not

only the name of every beast, stone, and plant, but also the hidden

strength of nature and her mysterious operations. This man had once

been his master, and to his instruction Jussuf owed his intimate

knowledge of the manifold productions of nature out of which the

various goods were manufactured in different lands, and which afforded

him the means of always purchasing the best and most superior

articles, whereby he obtained such a crowd of customers. In order to

show his gratitude to his master for this instruction, he had given

him, out of the inheritance of his father, this large house, with the

surrounding vast garden, that he might live undisturbed in his secret

studies.

With this man he now took refuge, hoping certainly to receive from him

some information about the native land of his silken butterfly. Upon

his knocking at the door, an old servant, the only one in the house,

opened it, and led him into a chamber in which his old master was

sitting upon a cushion, before a large table covered with a black

cloth. Rolls of parchment with unknown characters, compasses, a

sextant, a triangle, and other instruments, lay scattered round in

disorder. He received Jussuf with friendly nods, without rising from

his cushion, motioning him to sit down opposite, and then said,

"Ah, ah! my Jussuf; this is a rare visit. Hast thou at last been able

to spare an hour from thy business to pay a visit to the old Modibjah?

I hear that thou art become the most popular merchant in all Balsora,

and that thou hast immense connections. I am glad of it; then all is

right and prosperous. What one has once chosen for his calling, for

that one must entirely live. What we do must be done well; and may

that one live who devotes his life to a useful activity!"

Jussuf was prevented by a certain shyness from mentioning his wish at

once to his grave master. He said how he had longed to see him once

more, to hear how he was; and reproached him tenderly for not coming

to see him. He added that he had certainly a great many curious things

in his warehouses, and that he had promised himself the pleasure of

showing them all to his wise master. Perhaps he might find among them

something that might be useful to him, and it would be a pleasure to

him to give it to him.

At these words Modibjah laughed, and answered, "I want none of thy

goods. What I wanted thou hast given me: while thou continuest to me

this house and garden as my property, I am contented, so that I remain

undisturbed. Here I can devote myself to my reflections and my

pursuits undistracted and unobserved by the curiosity of mankind. Then

I should have erred in visiting thee; for thy time is equally taken up

with the cares and business of thy profession; and I should but have

disturbed thee with my visits. But now speak," said he, ending his

discourse: "I see from thy looks that a particular request brings thee

to me."

Jussuf blushed that his master should have so seen through him, and

then related to him how the numerous cares and exertions of his

business had produced a prejudicial effect on his health, and how he

had been obliged to seek diversion; that he had then renewed a

partiality which he had in his boyish years, and had again begun to

collect butterflies and other insects. "But," continued he, "the

necessary knowledge is wanting to me. Some days ago I bought by chance

a collection of butterflies, of whose names and native country I know

nothing." He drew out the box at these words, and held it open before

the old man.

But hardly had he glanced at it when he shook his head silently; and,

considering, at last he said, "Poor Jussuf! Still thou wishest to

inquire about it as of secondary import, as if I did not know that

thou only comest to me for this reason. Art thou gone so far as to

play the hypocrite with thy old master?"

"Well, then, I am curious to learn the name and the country of this

butterfly," answered Jussuf, with a trembling voice.

Then the grey haired old man raised himself from his cushion, and

looked at Jussuf with such a searching and piercing glance, that he

was constrained through his shame to cast down his eyes.

"Still, I should do thee injustice were I to blame thee," continued

he: "I know that thou art still innocent. I can only lament that thou

shouldst have fallen into the snares of my implacable enemy. In order

to obtain the victory over me, she will seek to ruin thee." He laid

his hand on his forehead, and sank into profound reflection.

At last Jussuf broke silence, and said, "I do not understand thee.

What enemy dost thou mean? See, it is my fault for not having told

thee the whole openly. Now shalt thou know all." He then related to

him, without any reserve, the transactions of the previous days.

When he had finished, the old man answered, "Now thou hast been candid

with me, and hast a claim to equal sincerity on my side. But I know

that thou art not now capable of hearing the truth--that it is a

useless trouble to attempt to cure thee of thy delusion. If I were to

conceal the native land of the butterflies from thee, I know that thou

wouldst find ways and means of learning what thou now desirest to

discover. Thou wouldst fain find her who is thy enemy, although thou

deemest her to be thine innocent friend. I will show thee the way to

her. But I will think of ways and means to guard thee against her

wickedness. For that purpose I must know thy exact age. If thou hast

not quite forgotten thy former love for thy true master, tell me now

the day and hour of thy birth."

Jussuf willingly told him the day and the hour, for he was very glad

that Modibjah promised to tell him the native country of the

butterfly. What he said about the wickedness of an enemy he took for

the whims of an old man, and therefore it did not weigh at all with

him. In the meanwhile, Modibjah had gone into a side-chamber, and now

brought out a large, deep box, whilst he cleared away the parchments

and instruments spread about on the table. On the cover a great number

of cross lines were drawn through one another, and among them were

worked innumerable gold and silver stars. After he had carefully

traced all these, he produced a small box of ebony, skilfully inlaid

with streaks of mother-of-pearl.

"I have reckoned thine age," said he: "thou art now just thirty years,

nine months, and seven days, and eight hours old. All these years,

months, days, and hours form the figure of fifty-four. God be praised

and His great Prophet, it is not yet of the worst."

During this speech he sat down, and at a nod from him Jussuf seated

himself opposite. Then he pressed a hidden spring in the little black

box, the lid sprang up, and he shook the contents before Jussuf on the

table. They were a number of half-moons, little stars, triangles, and

other figures of ivory.

"Count out fifty-four of them," said he. And Jussuf did it.

After the old man had quickly collected the remainder together, and

placed them again in the box, he called to him to throw the figures

that he had counted out in the air in such a manner that they should

fall down on the table-cloth. Jussuf did as he was desired, and the

figures spread themselves in their fall over the whole table. The old

man considered them attentively for some time, and began to murmur,

half-singing, a form of words in a foreign language, and touched with

his finger quickly, as if he were counting one or other of them, now

and then taking away one and placing it with the others in the box. He

repeated his words twice, and counted and pointed with his finger,

taking away from the figures as at first, till at last there only

remained nine. Now he began another speech, which appeared to Jussuf

to be in a different language, and sang it three times, while he took

away more of the ivory figures, and pointed to some of the gold and

silver worked stars. At last he had collected all the three nearest

constellations.

"It is good," said the old man, with a joyful and tranquil

countenance. "I now know what I wanted; now I can tell you what you so

earnestly wish to know. If thou wishest to find thy vain, trifling

playmate, go towards the rising of the sun till thou comest to a town

of Persia, in the neighbourhood of which are situated the ruins of an

old royal city, now destroyed. There stay till the third day after the

new moon. Then go to the ruins in the evening. On the eastern edge, at

some distance from the heap of relics, thou wilt find a large

well-formed stone, which once served as the head; seat thyself on this

stone, and at the moment when the narrow illumined streak of the moon,

like a fiery ship, seems to swim over the mountains on the horizon,

call out the word 'Haschanascha,' and a sign-post will soon appear.

But then thou art still distant from the object of thy journey. But

may the exertions and vicissitudes of thy long travel so lessen thy

foolishly-ardent desire that thou mayest listen to the voice of a

prudent friend, who will certainly be near thee when thou hast need of

him."

Hardly had Jussuf heard where he was to go when he sprang out of his

seat, in order to take leave at once of Modibjah, and to commence his

journey. The wish which Modibjah had expressed was hardly heard by

him.

"Wait, wait," said the former; "who knows whether we shall ever see

each other again? This journey leads thee far away, and I am old.

Thou art also a mortal, who mayest be overwhelmed by the dangers thou

hast to encounter. Here, take this as a token of remembrance." At

these words he reached him a small leathern pouch.

"What is this?" asked Jussuf, after he had opened it, and saw in it a

rather opaque milk-white stone, at the bottom of which a red spark

seemed to shine. "That is certainly a talisman."

"It is a talisman," answered Modibjah: "esteem it for my sake. Use it

when thy strength and intellect are not sufficient for thee. As long

as thou perceivest the spark, thou wilt proceed in the right way, and

wilt not encounter any danger; but the contrary will happen when the

spark appears to be quite extinguished. Then breathe over it the name

'Haschanascha.' Do not allow it to be taken away from thee, either by

force or by stratagem; nor give it willingly as a present to any

stranger's hand. If thou shouldst wish to make an experiment, throw it

behind thee over thy head."

Jussuf thanked his master for the present, and hid the talisman in his

bosom; he then took leave of his master in an absent spirit and

hastened home. He immediately gave his slaves the necessary charges,

committed the care of his house to an old faithful servant, locked up

his warehouse in the bazaar, and proceeded in the evening of the same

day, with a train of twenty armed and well-mounted followers, and with

forty camels loaded with gold and precious things of all kinds, and

with all necessaries, out at the eastern gate of the city of Balsora.

Whoever perceived or heard, that Jussuf had set out on a distant

journey believed that he had gone to fetch some rare goods which he

could not entrust to his servants; and people were generally in

curious expectation to see what could be the interest in any jewels

that should induce the so greatly-altered merchant, who till now let

everything be managed by his servants, to go himself on the journey,

and with so small an escort.

Jussuf kept exactly to the rule of his old master, and proceeded

straight towards the rising of the sun. He reached, with his little

caravan, without any particular adventures, the plains which extend

between the mountains and the Persian Sea. But here the summer heat

was so oppressive that he turned more to the left towards the north,

that he might find in the neighbourhood of the mountains some shade

from the trees and, above all, springs of water, which, murmuring down

from the mountains, might serve for coolness and refreshment to them,

after they had wandered far in the plains through dry sand. He

proceeded for some days towards his destination without the occurrence

of anything unusual or remarkable. After some days, he reached a spot

where a small rivulet flowed between two mountains.

The opposite side of this mountain extended out a long way towards the

sea-coast, so that there was only a very narrow slip of the plain.

Uncertain whether he should go straight towards the sea, or turn off

to the left along the valley through which the rivulet wound, he

ordered his slaves to stop. He looked round to see if he could not

perceive in the surrounding country some track to indicate the

proximity of men, of whose advice he might avail himself; but there

was not a hut, nor a tent, nor a flock to be seen far or near.

Although fertile, the country appeared quite desolate. Some of his

slaves advised the direction along the sea-shore, because there were

imprinted the footsteps of camels and horses of earlier travellers;

others suggested, on the contrary, to advance along the river. But

Jussuf shook his head at these counsels.

"Why should we," said he, "enter in uncertainty on either of those

roads? If we proceed to the right by the sea-coast, it will lead us

too far south; if we follow the valley of the river, it will conduct

us straight to its entrance towards the north; but farther up it may

take another direction, whereby we might be enabled to continue our

route, even if it be a very winding way; or we may ascend the

mountains, which will probably be higher and steeper near the source

of the river. Our camels already throw a long shadow on the earth, and

in two hours we must select a place for repose. It is therefore more

prudent to stay here. Two roads evidently unite at this point, and

therefore it cannot be long before some one arrives from one side or

the other, who can give us the desired information. So make

preparations to pass the night here."

As he commanded, so they did. The slaves unpacked from the camels what

was necessary, and quickly erected a tent for their master of

variegated painted poles and thick silk stuffs. Then they kindled a

fire on a neighbouring spot, and made preparations for the meals of

all.

In the meantime, Jussuf wandered to the foremost height of the

mountains, towards the valley of the river, and rejoiced at the richly

blossoming flowers which seemed heaped on all the shrubs, and at the

magnificent country, and the refreshing air which floated up to him

out of the valley. As he walked carelessly along, his foot struck

against a ripe melon, which still hung fast to a withered branch.

"Well," thought he to himself, "a juicy melon is a refreshing fruit in

the heat of the day." He picked it and took it home to the encampment.

There he delivered it to a slave, and charged him to take care that it

was freed of its seeds, and brought up to his meal with the other

dishes. He then entered his tent, which had meanwhile been erected,

and stretched himself on his soft cushion, covered with costly cloths,

that he might rest awhile. He soon sank into slumber, exhausted with

the fatigue of the day; but he was shortly roused from his dream. Two

of his slaves stood at his couch, and exclaimed,

"Master! master! come out and see the wonder!"

"What is the matter?" said he, raising himself up.

"O master, the melon!" they called out at once.

"Well, what of the melon? Perhaps it is beginning to decay, or is it

not good for anything? if so, throw it away. Was it worth while to

wake me up about that?"

"Oh, no, master, do not be angry; but that is not it," said the

slaves.

"Perhaps one of you has eaten it, not knowing that I picked it for

myself?"

"No, master! no, master!" cried the slaves, as it were with one mouth.

"Who would do that? Come and see yourself."

"I see I must come myself if I wish to learn what has happened," said

Jussuf, half unwillingly; and rising from his couch, he followed them

out of the tent. They led him to the place where they had made

preparations for the meal. There he saw a melon, in form like the one

which he had found, but of such a gigantic size, that he had never

before seen one like it. "Whence, then, comes this monster of a

melon?" said he to the slaves, who were standing at a distance with

signs of astonishment and fear.

"Yes, master, that is the same melon that you brought here yourself,"

answered several voices at once.

"But that was so small, that I could conveniently span it with my

fingers, and carry it in my hand," returned he; "but three men could

scarcely surround this with their arms." They assured him that it was

the same melon which he had bought. "Then," continued he, "things

cannot go right if a ripe and gathered melon can grow to such a

monstrous size."

At these words, the slave to whom he had given the melon came to him

and said, "It may well be that things do not go right." He then

related to him that he had laid the melon down where the large one now

lay; that when he had come near it, at a later period, a great wasp

had settled on the melon and pierced it with its sting. Hardly had it

flown away, when a bee came buzzing, and lodged on it: after stinging

it, this one also flew away. From this moment the melon grew larger

and larger; and they should have called him to see the wonder long

ago, had not they all been fixed with curiosity and astonishment to

see what would happen.

Since the rising of the moon, which was how beaming above the horizon

in full splendour, had the melon ceased increasing. They asked Jussuf

what should now happen, and imagined that he would not ask them to cut

up and pare the melon.

"That we cannot do," said they, finishing their speech, "for it is

evident that magic is at play here. An ordinary melon cannot grow any

more after it is ripe and picked off the tree; and even if that were

possible, it could not in any case grow to such an immense size as

never has been seen before in the world. Who knows what is hidden in

it?"

"Oh, you silly cowards!" exclaimed Jussuf, provoked at the terror of

his servants,--"shame on you! You are in a foreign land, and do not

consider that everything here is not exactly as it is at home. What

can be concealed in it? Outside is the peel; under the peel is the

pulp; and in the middle is the texture of cells, with the seeds. Look

here," said he to those who stood next to him, as he took off his

short broad scimitar: "I will cut off a piece, that you may see that

it is as I say."

While he spoke, he made two vigorous cuts--one along and the other

across the melon, so as to loosen a four-angled piece of the peel. Now

he commanded one of his slaves to lift up the piece.

As the slave anxiously approached the melon, in order to obey the

command of his master, the piece sprang out of it with wonderful

strength over his head, so that he tumbled backwards on the ground

from terror.

"Mahomet, great Prophet, stand by us!" exclaimed the slaves, when they

saw this. But soon their astonishment changed to terror, and they all

ran away, when suddenly a human figure rose out of the aperture in the

melon, and, with one spring, stood before Jussuf. The latter drew

back, startled as much at the sudden and unexpected appearance of the

man as at his unusual figure. The top of his perfectly flat face was

disfigured by two monstrous eyes, and by long black eyebrows, which

extended over the greatest part of his face. On his short upper lip he

had a narrow but long, hairy, stiff substance, the ends of which

reached to the crown of his head, and there intermixed with his hair

in two tufts, which stood sideways in the air like antennae. His dress

was marked with bright shining stripes of a black and brimstone

colour; and behind him a transparent head-covering hung in two

gauze-like wings nearly down to the ground. His clothes fitted tight

everywhere. He also wore a girdle round his body, which rendered his

leanness still more striking. Besides this, the nail of his middle

finger was very long, and bent over like a hoe. His whole figure had

the appearance of an immense wasp.

The man had hardly observed that Jussuf shrank before him, when he

seized the wings of his head-dress with both his hard hands, and gave

a leap, as if he were trying to fly.

Jussuf was too frightened to ask him who he was, and what he wanted.

But the man immediately uttered a guttural, grumbling sound, which was

probably intended for a song; and Jussuf heard these words:

"I come, a slave at one's behest,

Who knoweth more than thou canst tell;

She warned thee, whiles of friends the best,

Of bees that lurk in honied bell.

Guide well thy course; nor seek, proud man,

Whate'er thou deem'st a better way;

She can each hidden secret scan--

So follow thou without delay."

When his song was nearly ended, another voice hummed on the side where

the melon lay. On looking there, Jussuf saw a second human form, as

wonderful as the first, rise out of the aperture. This one had a dark

dress, inclining to olive-green, and his form was rather less slim

than that of the former; but he had the appearance of a bee in human

form. Leaping also nearer to Jussuf, it sang in a higher but equally

buzzing tone:

"Mark me well: oh, what can be

Direful wasps but plagues to thee?

Thine is every vain desire;

Yet the bees that never tire,

They can serve and tend thee well--

The busy storers of the cell.

Keep me, then; thy path shall prove

A path of hope that leads to love."

But the first one grumbled again, so that Jussuf could not understand

any more.

However terrified Jussuf might have been at this appearance, he yet

collected himself, and said, "Her dear servants seem to mean very

well, but----"

Before he had finished his speech, both of them were grumbling and

buzzing at him.

He understood still so much, that each of them wished to lessen the

reputation of his fellow, and to make him suspected in his eyes. Both

turned against each other again, and hummed and buzzed at one another

with unheard-of obstinacy. Their struggle became constantly more

vehement, and at last they seized each other in mad rage, and whirled

round, struggling and burring in a circle. Jussuf saw a kind of lance

and a long dagger shine, and both of them fell down pierced through

at his feet. In their dying moments they begged him to bury them in

their cradle. He nodded assuringly, and they lay dead in the moment.

Immediately Jussuf called his slaves to him, who were standing in the

distance in earnest expectation, and ordered them to carry the dead

bodies to the melon. But they refused, certainly with humble excuses,

but still with steadfast decision.

"In the name of all natural things," said they, "we will prove to thee

our certain obedience; but do not ask us to make ourselves unclean, or

to meddle with such unnatural appearances."

He represented to them quietly that he could not place both the dead

bodies in the hollow melon, and that one of them must help him--that

what he ventured they might also venture; but they denied

perseveringly, and no one appeared ready to lend a helping hand. Angry

at their obstinacy, Jussuf was on the point of chastising them with

the flat part of his sabre-blade, when one of the slaves called out,

"Hold, hold, dear master! the dead bodies are no longer there!"

They had certainly vanished; and when he looked on the ground where

they had lain, he discovered in the dust a dead wasp and a dead bee.

"See, see!" said he, in perfect astonishment; "would not any one

believe that all those things were only a delusion of the mind? If the

great melon did not lie there now, I should be inclined to think that

I had, in a mad fancy, taken the bees and wasps for large figures of

men."

At these words, he turned to the side where the melon had been, and,

lo! that had also disappeared. Approaching nearer, he found in its

place the little melon again, just as he had picked it during his

walk. In its side he discovered a small four-angled opening. Then he

went quickly back, fetched the two dead insects, and put them through

the aperture into the melon.

"It may now be as it may," said he to himself. "I promised them to

bury their dead bodies in the melon, and I fulfil this promise."

"Now, you will not wish to eat any of this enchanted melon?" inquired

one of the slaves; and as Jussuf shook his head in the negative, and

at once entered his tent, the slave gave the melon a kick with his

foot, so that it rolled all the way down the hill, and fell below into

the river that flowed there. The waves swept over it.

The night passed tranquilly. At first, Jussuf could not get any sleep,

for the events of wonder had so stirred up his soul. At last fatigue

conquered, and he slumbered till near morning.

In the commencement of his journey he had made an arrangement that

four of his slaves should watch every night alternately. In the

morning he asked with uncommon curiosity whether nothing had happened

in the night, or whether no traveller had passed by from whom they

might learn the direction. But no one had gone by.

Low-spirited at not having any sure direction for his journey, he

struck his bosom, and said, "So are we borne away and removed from

good fortune." He had with the blow hit the pouch containing the

talisman which he had received from his master Modibjah, and which

till now he had quite forgotten. He pulled it out, opened the pouch,

and said, "Thou hast disclosed thyself in a good hour. Come, tell me

whether I shall do well if I proceed through the valley along the

river-side."

After he had considered it, he exclaimed joyfully, "Yes, yes; the

resolution is good; the fiery spark still shines living in the stone."

He immediately gave orders for departure, and the procession, rode out

into the valley. His slaves wondered that he who had been so uncertain

about the direction should now be so secure, and take so confident a

resolution. The journey was much more pleasant in the valley than it

had before been. The air from the stream was cooled, for a mild breeze

was always breathing through the valley; and they soon reached an

inhabited place, and learned that they were in the direct road to a

small town, in whose neighbourhood were situated the ruins of the old

royal city. Pleased as Jussuf was at this news, still it was rather

disagreeable, to him: he remembered that on the evening of his

adventure with the melon the moon was in full splendour, and he could

now calculate that he would arrive several days too early for the

first object of his journey. And what should he set about in that

small town till, on the third day after the new moon, he should find

his sign-post? However, he continued on his way by small day journeys.

At last he came to the little town in whose neighbourhood the ruins

were situated, and stopped at a caravanserai. Whilst his people

unloaded the camels and settled everything, he wandered idly through

the town to see something of it. In the course of his walk a young man

presented himself to him, who was willing to show him in passing the

few curiosities of the place. While they were conversing together they

made themselves known to each other; and Jussuf learned that the young

man's name was Hassan Assad, a man of whom his people had often spoken

to him in terms of commendation, and who had been very useful to him

several times in commissions for goods in Persia. He heartily thanked

him, therefore, and assured him of his pleasure at being able to form

his personal acquaintance. Hassan also seemed very much pleased to

have seen the far-famed merchant from Balsora face to face, and

offered to be his guide and companion as long as he remained in those

parts.

"To-morrow," said he, "I have some necessary business to do in Shiraz,

which I cannot put off. But without doubt thou also art going there,

for thou wilt certainly have to give large orders to the ablest silver

and gold workers, and to the most skilful silk-weavers; and because

personal acquaintance with our correspondents is very useful, I will

join thee in thy journey. In this way it will not be necessary for us

to separate again on the first day of our acquaintance; nor can it be

disagreeable to thee to go with me, who am already known there, and

can lead thee to the dwellings of all those with whom I am connected

in commerce."

Jussuf's mind had been but little turned on trade, and now he could

not recollect the names of all the people with whom he transacted

business in Shiraz: besides, he had a certain aversion to disclose the

true reasons for his journey; so he let his friendly companion

entertain the idea that he had come to Persia for the purpose of

purchasing and giving commissions. And, because he must still wait

several days for the new moon, he willingly accepted Hassan's

proposal, and promised to accompany him the next morning to the great

and celebrated town of Shiraz, and to spend some days with him there.

The distance to Shiraz was not far, and Jussuf reached it with his new

friend the next day before the noonday heat. Hassan conducted him in

the afternoon to the house of a rich merchant, with whom he had long

had considerable dealings.

"Here," said he, "I bring you the far-famed merchant Jussuf from

Balsora, whose name cannot be strange to you, since you have long done

business with him. He has taken this journey to make new purchases,

and also to become personally acquainted with those who have hitherto

served him so satisfactorily."

The dealer was very glad to become acquainted with the renowned

Jussuf, and, as what Hassan had said appeared very natural to him, he

continued, "If I do not mistake, I furnished thee lately with a

considerable quantity of oil of roses. Thou wert, then, pleased with

it?"

Jussuf assured him of his perfect satisfaction with the supply.

"Ah," continued the dealer, "thou must now again give me a commission;

for I have at present a much better supply, and I can let thee have it

at a very moderate price, although it is of a superior quality."

Jussuf was ashamed to confess that he had entirely neglected his

magazine and warehouse, and could not think of his business. He

therefore left him in his error, and gave him a considerable order for

oil of roses. But, as he thought of travelling farther, and the time

of his return was not decided, he ordered him to wait for further

instructions for sending the oil. Still, he paid the amount

beforehand. In this manner he went to all his friends in trade in

Shiraz. Hassan conducted him, announcing that his appearance in Persia

was to give orders; and so he was seduced into fresh commissions and

fresh purchases. At the silk-weavers' he ordered many hundred pieces

of silk stuffs; at others, a quantity of gold and silver stuffs; at

the jewellers' costly trinkets, and gold and silver vessels, and

implements. His companion not only led him to such dealers and

workers as he was already acquainted with in business, but introduced

him to many others. They induced him, partly by the beauty of their

goods, partly by their moderate prices, to make extensive purchases,

and to take himself large orders for goods which he promised to send

them from Balsora. It could not fail that a merchant of such fame as

Jussuf, who gave so many orders in the same town, should attract

attention. They sought after him with a friendly spirit in every

place; they asked him to all the feasts which were given in those days

in the families where he was known. Now he was to appear at a banquet

in the town; then at a rural feast in one of the largest and most

splendid gardens in the suburbs. People exerted themselves on all

sides to show him honour and to give him pleasure.

The new moon had arrived in the meantime, and Jussuf had still so many

invitations that he would have been obliged to remain till after the

full moon to fulfil them all. But the third evening after the new moon

had been named to him as the decisive moment, and he would not neglect

it. Hassan persuaded him strongly to stay a few more days, and those

who had invited him pressed him very much; but he continued steadfast

against longer delay, and he set out early on the third day after the

new moon for the little town where he had left his slaves and camels.