the mystery which kept him in such perplexity, instantly ordered his
officers to go and catch an egret in his gardens. One was brought to
him, which he immediately gave to the old nurse. She tore its breast,
accompanying this action, extremely simple in itself, with a magical
charm, and the Sultan was put in possession of its reeking heart.
While the Prince was reflecting on the surprising virtues of this
method, the nurse had gone secretly to the apartment of Chamsada.
"Everything goes well," said she to her. "Let your heart be filled
with hope, and let your mouth be prepared to disclose the truth,
without any reserve. Expect this night to receive a mysterious visit.
It will be from the Sultan himself, with the heart of an egret in his
hand. As soon as you perceive that he brings it near yours, feign to
be asleep, but answer with precision all the questions which he may
put to you, and let truth flow from your mouth, unsullied by the
slightest scruple."
Chamsada tenderly thanked the nurse, and prepared herself to second
this innocent stratagem, beseeching the favour of the holy Prophet to
carry conviction to his heart who was endeavouring to discover the
truth.
As soon as night had spread her shades, Chamsada, contrary to her
custom, signified that she had need of rest. She sent away her slaves,
and threw herself upon a sofa. Scarcely had she been there two hours
when the Sultan, impatient to prove the nurse's secret, presented
himself at the apartment of his favourite: he found there the chief of
the eunuchs.
"How is Chamsada employed?" demanded he.
"She had need of rest," replied the eunuch, "and I believe she is upon
her sofa."
The Sultan entered without making the least noise, and found her
asleep. He approached very near her, in order the better to judge of
the soundness of her sleep, and, thinking it profound, he judged it
proper to try his experiment, and gently applied the heart of the bird
to that of Chamsada, saying to her, "Chamsada, who is that young man
whom you were caressing when one of my ministers surprised you?"
"He is Shaseliman," replied she, without awaking, "the only child of
my first marriage with the son of Selimansha my uncle."
"This child was stabbed in his cradle; I am assured of this by letters
from your uncle himself."
"He was indeed wounded, but the stroke was not mortal; skilful
surgeons restored him to life; and this was kept a secret from the
murderer of my husband."
"Why have you concealed it from me, who loved you so dearly?"
"Because my uncle, whose memory I cherished, and wished to be
respected, had for a political reason imposed upon you respecting this
fact. If what I have told you does not appear possible, interrogate
the young man, and his mouth will confirm the truth of this
declaration."
Having got this ray of light, the Sultan gave over his inquiries,
withdrew from his spouse, whom he supposed still asleep, left her
apartment, and gave orders that the young man and the slave should be
brought out of the dungeons in which they were shut up. This order was
immediately executed.
The unfortunate Shaseliman, who was languishing in his prison,
suddenly hearing the vaults resound with the noise of the bolts and
keys, believed that his last hour was come, and that the ignominy of
punishment was about to terminate his existence.
"O Allah!" said he, raising his innocent hands to heaven, "my life is
in Thy hands; to Thee I resign it; but watch over the life of my
mother!"
Shaseliman and the slave were brought before the Sultan. The Prince
did not leave to others the care of proving a fact so important to his
honour and repose. He ran to the young man, and searched in his bosom
for the scar of Balavan's poniard; he found it, and, transported with
joy, he exclaimed, "O Allah! for ever be Thou blessed for having
preserved me from the dreadful crime I was about to commit! and thou
His great Prophet, a signal mark of whose protection the virtues of
Chamsada have drawn down upon me, to so many favours still add that of
enabling me to efface, by my services, the dreadful sorrows I have
occasioned, and the idea of the injustice I was about to commit!"
Then throwing himself into the arms of Shaseliman, "Come, dear and
unfortunate Prince, come to my heart! Let your image be joined there
with that of my beloved Chamsada, that my most tender affections may
henceforth be centred on one object alone! But deign to satisfy my
curiosity, and inform me by what chain of events you have been
conducted hither, unknown to all the world. How have you existed?
Speak, Prince. I am impatient to know more particularly the person who
restores me to happiness."
Shaseliman, encouraged by the demonstration of such affecting
kindness, then gave a faithful detail of his adventures, from the very
moment in which he had been hurled from the throne into prison, even
to that in which, reduced to the humble condition of a shepherd, he
had been found by the messenger of his mother, surrounded by robbers,
drawn up out of the well into which they had been let down, and
conducted to the Court of the Sultan.
While this recital engaged the attention of Bensirak, Chamsada, his
spouse, although less troubled than on the preceding days, was not
altogether in a tranquil state. The events had become too important
for her. She endeavoured to find out with what design the Sultan,
after having questioned her, had departed so abruptly. She had not
been able to learn what he had done, nor what was become of him, since
the confession which she had made to him. She was indulging these
reflections, and continued sunk in the sleep in which the Sultan
seemed to surprise her. All at once twenty slaves, carrying flambeaux,
came to illuminate her apartment; they walked before the Sultan, who
conducted by the hand and looked with kindness on the beloved son of
the most virtuous of mothers. He had caused Shaseliman to be dressed
in the most magnificent garments; he was adorned with beautiful
diamonds, in which Bensirak had delighted to be decked on the days of
triumph.
"Soothe your sorrows, adorable Chamsada," cried he, throwing himself
into her arms. "The favour of Heaven restores to you a husband and a
son, whose feelings and affection secure your felicity for ever."
Shaseliman, on his knees, kissed the hands of his mother; and tears of
consolation expressed the sentiments of the son and of the delighted
pair.
As soon as day had succeeded this happy night, the Sultan assembled
the best of his troops, and put himself at their head, accompanied by
Shaseliman. He took the road for Persia, causing heralds go before
him, and announce to the people of that kingdom that he was about to
re-establish on the throne their rightful King, assassinated,
persecuted, and dethroned by the usurper Balavan. Scarcely had they
reached the frontiers of Persia, when a party of the faithful subjects
of the old King Selimansha, always attached to the blood of this
august family, came to range themselves under the banners of the
Sultan of Egypt and of Shaseliman. The perfidious Balavan heard this
intelligence, and endeavoured to assemble his forces, in order to
dispute the ground with a powerful enemy who came to overwhelm him;
but no one would repair to his colours, and he was obliged to shut
himself up in his capital with his usual guard and the few subjects on
whose fidelity he thought he could depend.
But if virtue, pursued by a superior force, is so often deserted,
where are the resources of guilt?
Ispahan is invested, and Balavan, betrayed by his ministers, is
delivered up to the Sultan Bensirak, who, turning his eyes from a
monster who had dishonoured the throne by the most dreadful crimes,
and directing himself to Shaseliman,
"My son," said he, "to you I commit the scourge of your subjects and
your father's murderer; dispose of his lot, and give orders for his
punishment."
"O my benefactor! O my father! it belongs not to me to dispose of
him," replied Shaseliman; "vengeance must come down from above. Let
him go to the frontiers to guard that dangerous post with which I was
entrusted. If he is innocent, he will be preserved as I have been; but
if he is guilty, his decree is pronounced, and nothing can suspend its
execution."
The Sultan approved of the decision of Shaseliman, and Balavan set out
to make head against the infidels. But divine justice was now
prepared to inflict its stroke. He was taken, chained, and thrown into
the fatal well, where gnawing remorse and dreadful despair continued
to torment him till the moment of his death.
Meanwhile the presumptive heir of the Persian crown, the happy
Shaseliman, seated on the throne of his ancestors, received the oaths
of his people. He commenced a reign of which the wisdom and piety
recalled to the Persians the sublime virtues of the Grand Caliph
Moavie. The Sultan of Egypt, after having seen this young Sovereign
shine in the splendour of the most distinguished virtues, and having
tenderly embraced him, returned to his dominions, and by his presence
completed the joy of Chamsada. Nothing afterwards disturbed the repose
of this happy pair, and having reached at last the term allotted to
human greatness, they fell asleep in that peace which is the portion
of faithful Mussulmans.
* * * * *
"Sire," said Aladin to King Bohetzad, after having finished his
recital, "see by what secret and wonderful ways Providence delivered
Shaseliman from the hands of persecution! See how it led Balavan into
the very gulf he had dug for another! No, Allah will never suffer
guilt to triumph and innocence to be punished. His vigilance and
justice nothing can escape, and sooner or later He will tear asunder
the veil with which the wicked are covered. As for me, sire,
encouraged by my conscience and convinced that man cannot alter the
decrees of my destiny, I am always firm and hopeful. I only fear that
your justice will light on your Viziers, my accusers."
At this discourse, equally firm, wise, and modest, the King was left
still more irresolute than ever.
"Let the execution of the sentence be suspended," said he; "let this
young man be conducted back to prison. The silence of the night, and
the reflections which his recital will occasion, may enlighten my
judgment, and to-morrow I shall more easily take my resolution."
As soon as Aladin had been led back to his dungeon, one of the Viziers
began:
"Sire, your Majesty suffers yourself to be overcome by the magic of
this young impostor's discourses. The great Prophet preserve you from
yielding to sentiments of mercy in his behalf! When guilt remains
unpunished, the splendour of the throne is obscured. You are seated
there for no other purpose but to administer justice: the crime of
this villain is evident, and his punishment ought to be signal; the
most awful should be fixed upon, that it may serve as an example to
such."
"Let orders be immediately given," interrupted Bohetzad eagerly, "to
erect a scaffold without the walls of the city, on the most elevated
situation. Let the dread of death terrify those who might attempt to
follow his footsteps. Such is my final resolution, and let it be
announced to the people by the public criers."
The ten Viziers were well pleased to hear this resolution. They hoped
at length, by their secret plots, to make the object of their envy
fall beneath the sword of justice, and were eager to order the
apparatus of punishment.
On the morning of the following day, which was the eleventh since the
confinement of Aladin, the ten Viziers went to the King.
"Sire," said they, "your orders are obeyed; your pleasure is known,
and the people assembled round the spot wait only for him who is to
die there."
Bohetzad gave orders that the criminal should be brought to him. As
soon as he appeared the ten Viziers lifted up their voices against
him.
"Wretch! offspring of villains!" said they to him, "the scythe of
death is raised over thy head; thy stratagems are exhausted, and thou
art about to receive the reward of thy crimes and rashness."
"Audacious ministers," said Aladin, looking at them with a confident
but modest air, "it belongs not to you to mark my forehead with the
seal of death! If the decree which strikes me comes not from Heaven,
what could all your attempts avail? Guilt alone can be afraid of them.
But since I have nothing wherewith to reproach myself, had I even my
head under the fatal sword, I should be preserved from the stroke,
like the slave who was accused although innocent."
"Sire," interrupted all the Viziers at once, "impose silence on this
audacious fellow; he wishes still to deceive your Majesty by a new
tale."
"I wish not to impose upon the King," said Aladin; "it is you who
cherish falsehood and imposture."
"Stop!" said Bohetzad to him; "I will yet put my patience to a last
effort, and agree to hear the history of your slave and of his
deliverance."
"Oh, the clemency of my King!" replied Aladin. "May truth at length
reach your heart, which is so difficult of access! I wish not by a
false relation to deceive your Majesty; the story I am going to relate
is well known throughout all Chaldea."
HISTORY OF THE KING OF HARAM, AND OF THE SLAVE.
The King of Haram, uneasy at the manner in which his Viziers and Cadis
administered justice in the provinces of his empire, went one night
from his palace disguised, and only escorted by two eunuchs. By chance
he passed near a dungeon, from whence he heard a plaintive and
lamentable voice. He learned that this place served as a prison, in
which criminals condemned to death were shut up; and approaching
nearer it in order to hear distinctly the doleful accents, which
appeared to come from the bowels of the earth, he heard these words:
"O powerful Allah! Thou who watchest constantly over the unfortunate,
stooping under the burden of his misery, wilt Thou suffer innocence,
falsely accused, to sink under presumptions which a fatal destiny hath
heaped upon it? Infinite mercy! none of Thy creatures are
insignificant in Thy eyes; Thou hearest the cries of a worm; listen to
that of Thy slave; and if my death is not determined by Thy
providence, arrest the stroke with which I am threatened."
A silence, interrupted only by sighs, succeeded this prayer. The King
of Haram returned to his palace with a heart moved by these
lamentations, and a spirit troubled with this adventure. In vain did
he seek repose: the idea of the death of an innocent person agitated
him, and he only waited the return of day to clear up this mystery.
As soon as the sun had enlightened the earth, he called together his
ministers, and described to them the place from which the cries came
that had excited his pity. They informed him that the unfortunate
person confined in this dungeon was destined to die that very day upon
the scaffold. They gave him an account of his trial, from which the
crime appeared clear, and two witnesses certified that the slave, whom
his Majesty had heard, was the perpetrator of it. The King of Haram
could not resist what human justice reckons evidence, and immediately
confirmed the order for his execution.
The slave, convicted of the crime, was taken from the dungeon: he
walked to punishment with a firm and modest countenance; his hands
bound, and his eyes lifted up to Heaven, which was now his only hope.
He was at the foot of the scaffold; the executioners were preparing to
strip him of his clothes, when an unexpected noise entirely changed
the aspect of this scene of death. A hostile party, having formed the
design of making themselves masters of the city, waited until the
people, attracted by curiosity to see the execution, should have gone
out of it. They hastily quitted the ambuscade in which they were
concealed, fell upon the guard, and dispersed it. All those who
endeavoured to defend it either fell by the sword or were made
prisoners; not one escaped except the unhappy slave who was about to
suffer an ignominious death.
The enemy, dreading the approach of the King, then withdrew to a
distance in order to increase their forces, carrying with them the
booty they had got, and deferred to another time the consummation of
their enterprise.
Meanwhile, the slave, delivered from his chains by the hands of the
enemy, and still fearing lest people should be dispatched to pursue
him, gained the country, and walked day and night without stopping. At
length, overcome with fatigue, he stopped under the shade of a laurel,
which, from its size and height, appeared coeval with the world, and
sat down. Opposite to this tree, and very near it, was the entrance of
a dark cave; two torches threw a dreadful light around it, without
altogether dispelling its darkness. His attention was fixed with
astonishment on these objects, which inspired him with terror, when he
thought he observed these two lights move and advance towards him.
These bright fires were nothing but the glaring eyes of a monstrous
lion, which came out of the cave and slowly approached the unhappy
slave, who had nothing with which he could defend himself. The animal
seized him, and, without hurting him, carried him into the cave. He
instantly went out of it again, tore down the enormous laurel under
which the man had been formerly seated, and, having placed it at the
mouth of the cave in order to shut up its passage, ran into the desert
in search of its mate, whom the need of food for their whelps had
carried far from their common haunt.
The mouth of this cave, shut up by the trunk of the tree, was
inaccessible to all human power. However, there was still sufficient
light left for the slave to view the inside of this dreadful
habitation, to distinguish its inhabitants, and to see there the
fragments of bones and food with which the ground was covered. He saw
likewise two young lions couching on a heap of moss, who were not
frightened by his presence. In an opposite corner he perceived a heap
of human bones, the sad remains of the unfortunate whom the same
destiny that had brought him there had drawn toward this frightful
abode. Nevertheless, amid these objects, fear did not damp his
courage: he turned towards the south, and, like a faithful Mussulman,
addressed his prayer to the great Prophet with as much zeal and
fervour as if he had been in the most splendid mosque and in the most
secure asylum.
Full of confidence in the Sovereign Arbiter of Destiny, he then cast
his eyes into the dark cavities of this den. There were many clothes
in it: he put his hand into the pockets of one garment, and found
there a stone and a piece of steel for striking fire; the earth was
covered with a dry moss, which served as litter to the savage
inhabitants of this dwelling. The possibility of getting out revived
his courage; and scarcely was the enterprise conceived when it was put
in execution. He set fire to the moss which he had collected at the
mouth of the cave; the flames penetrated the moist bark of the
laurel's roots, and the fire speedily increasing, the tree lost its
support and fell upon its side with a crash, so as to leave the mouth
of the cave quite open. In examining this cave he had seen a bow,
sabres, and poniards, which might serve for his defence. He had also
discovered, by the light, a pan with coined gold, and pieces of this
metal, with precious jewels of different kinds. Provided in this
manner, with everything which could assist his escape, he armed
himself with what was necessary, cut away with his sabre the burning
branches which opposed his passage, and, blessing Heaven, at length
recovered his liberty.
Scarcely had the slave got out of this dangerous cave, when he
perceived the lion at the distance of four bowshots, and the lioness
somewhat farther off in the plain. He put upon his bow a deadly arrow;
and the lion, thinking to dart upon his prey, ran with great rapidity
against the arrow, which was discharged at him. The steel reached his
heart, and he fell lifeless.
The slave, freed from this enemy, soon had the other also to contend
with. He darted another arrow, but it made only a slight wound. The
animal, rendered still more furious, rushed forwards to throw him on
the ground. The slave opposed her with his poniard, and plunged it
into her side. The lioness, roaring aloud, made a new effort; but with
his scimitar he struck off one of her fore-paws, and disabled her for
further combat. She rolled along the earth, making the echoes resound
with her roaring: the young lions from the cave answered her with
hideous cries, which would have filled the most warlike soul with
terror. In the meantime the conqueror secured his victory by piercing
the animal in the vital parts, till at length she sank under the
vigour of his arm. He ran immediately to kill the whelps, and drew
them out of the cave. After this feat of valour, he looked in the
plain for a tree, the fruit of which might afford him nourishment, and
a stream in which he might quench his thirst; and still aided by
Providence, everything seemed subject to his desires and offered
itself to his hand.
Having at length recruited his strength, exhausted by so much fatigue,
he re-entered the cave whose inhabitants he had destroyed, made
himself master of the treasures it contained, shut up its entrance
with the branches of a tree, and, armed to as much advantage as
possible, and furnished with gold and silver to satisfy his wants, he
took the road to his native country. He arrived there at the end of
some days, and gave an account of his history to his relations. Camels
and slaves were dispatched to bring away the precious effects which
were left in the lions' den. Possessed of so much riches, the
beneficent slave shared them with the indigent. Not far from his
habitation he built an asylum for caravans, pilgrims, and travellers
who might be obliged to take that road; and from the spoils of a
lions' den he erected a temple of charity.
* * * * *
"Sire," added Aladin, after having finished his relation, "you see how
this slave, condemned to perish upon the scaffold, on the false
evidence of his enemies, and in danger of being devoured by lions, was
miraculously delivered from these dangers; while his accusers and
enemies, eager to feast their eyes with the sight of his tortures,
were massacred and punished. The King of Haram, deprived of part of
his subjects, suffered the punishment of his negligence in not
examining the proceedings himself, and not listening sufficiently to
complaints which, although they moved his pity, had not armed his
justice."
Bohetzad felt an unusual struggle betwixt his own power, the relations
and reflections of Aladin, and the solicitations of his ministers. A
voice within him pleaded powerfully against the judgment he had
pronounced; yet the orders which he had given publicly, the scaffold
already prepared without the walls of the city, the crowd of people
impatient to enjoy this execution, so long delayed, all seemed to
increase the embarrassment of the King. His Viziers, seeing him
hesitate again, were eager to fix his resolution by the strongest
remonstrances; and going over all the arguments they had already
alleged, they ended by alarming the King respecting the duration of
his power.
"I feel in spite of you," said the King, "that my heart revolts at
what I am doing; nevertheless, as the safety of my kingdom depends
upon this decree, I yield to your reasons. Let the criminal be
conducted to punishment."
That very instant the guard seized Aladin. He was bound with cords,
loaded with chains, and led without the city to the place where he was
to terminate his existence. The King himself, mounted upon an
elephant, and followed by his whole Court, repaired to the place of
punishment: he was seated upon a throne from which he would behold the
execution. The unfortunate Aladin was already on the scaffold, when
suddenly a stranger, rushing through the crowd, and removing the
guards and every obstacle that opposed his passage, threw himself into
the arms of Aladin.
"Oh, my son! my dear son!" exclaimed he, the tears flowing in a
torrent from his eyes. He could say no more, for grief stopped his
utterance.
This unexpected event threw the people into commotion, and the King
gave orders that the stranger should be brought before him.
"Sovereign monarch," said he to him, embracing his knees, "save the
life of the unfortunate young man whom you have condemned to death. If
a criminal must die, give orders for my punishment: I await it at your
feet."
"Who are you?" said the King. "What interest have you in this
criminal?"
"Sire, I am the chief of a band of robbers. Searching one day in the
desert for a fountain to allay the thirst of my company, I found upon
the grass, on the brink of a fountain, and at the feet of five
palm-trees, which covered it with their shadow, a piece of cloth
interwoven with gold, and some swaddling-clothes, on which an infant
lay. Moved with compassion for this innocent creature, I carried him
to my house, where my wife became his nurse. This child was not ours,
sire; but he was to us a gift from Heaven, and became dearer to us
than our own. He was endowed with such excellent qualities and so many
virtues, that we regretted our having abandoned those which the
exercise of our profession had made us forget; for in short--to my
shame I avow it, sire--we were robbers. He followed us in our
expeditions, and distinguished himself on every occasion by deeds of
valour and humanity. We lost him in a conflict with your troops."
No other circumstance was necessary to inform the King that he who was
about to die by his command was his only son! He rushed from his
throne, flew to Aladin, with his own poniard struck the cords off him,
and clasped him in his arms, with marks of the most tender affection.
"Ah! my son," exclaimed he, "I have been on the point of plunging in
my heart the dagger of endless repentance. My heart must have been
torn at the sight of a cruel punishment, and it has been mercifully
converted into a spectacle of triumph and joy, whose ravishing
splendour my soul can with difficulty support!"
He again embraced Aladin, set him upon his elephant, and returned to
the palace, amid the din of trumpets and the acclamations of the
people.
Baherjoa had been already informed of his unexpected happiness in
finding a son for whose fate she had been so often alarmed. In a short
time the King himself presented to her this dear child, dressed in
such splendid garments that it was not easy to discover the alteration
which a tedious confinement had produced upon him. The joy of this
event soon spread through all ranks in the kingdom. Courtiers,
merchants, and artists partook of it; the mosques were opened, and the
people crowded thither to render thanks to Allah and His Prophet;
public rejoicings testified the general happiness; the city of Ispahan
was on this day transformed into a scene of pleasure; and everything,
even the birds of heaven, sang the glory of the monarch and the
deliverance of Aladin.
The ten Viziers alone, far from participating in the public happiness,
were thrown into a dark dungeon, where the remorse of their
consciences anticipated the punishment which, at the end of the thirty
days that had been appointed for feasting, they were doomed to suffer.
At length, by the orders of the Sovereign, they were brought to the
foot of the throne, which was now become so formidable to them. Aladin
was seated at his father's right hand. They turned away their guilty
eyes, and after a silence that imposed respect and terror, Bohetzad
thus addressed them:
"Pretended supports of my throne!" said he to them, "ministers so
jealous of my glory! behold this criminal whom, with so much cruel
obstinacy and such distinguished eagerness, you pursued. I ought to
have sent him to punishment without hearing him! by listening to his
stories, I exposed my glory, my safety, and the peace of my subjects!
Justify yourselves if you can: you have liberty to speak."
In vain did the King endeavour to make these guilty ministers open
their mouths. They were seized with a mortal coldness; their eyes,
fixed on the ground, could not be drawn from it; their lips quivered;
their feeble limbs bent under their knees and seemed ready to fail
them.
"Speak," said Aladin to them in his turn: "where now is that
attachment to the rules of justice which rendered you so eloquent
against the son of a chief of the robbers, whose mere mistake was in
your eyes a crime which ought to be expiated by the most infamous
punishment? Are your courage and your zeal for the glory of the
kingdom annihilated? Guilt weighs you down, remorse preys upon you,
and you are confounded with shame."
"Your sentence, already written in heaven," resumed Bohetzad, "is
about to be executed on earth. On the scaffold where my son was to
suffer let these ten wretches finish their days, and let the public
criers announce this decree to the people."
The order was instantly executed.
Bohetzad then leading back his son to the palace, continually renewed
the tender proofs of his affection.
"Ah, dear son!" would he say, "how were you so little intimidated by
the death which threatened you as to recollect all the circumstances
you related? Whence have you drawn those numerous maxims and judicious
reflections which can only be the fruit of experience and study?"
"Sire," replied Aladin, "it was not I who spoke, but Heaven which
inspired me. In my infancy I had not been neglected; and since the
happy moment in which I had the good fortune to be placed near your
Majesty, I have been perfected in wisdom. The woman, whom I took for
my mother, early directed my attention to the divine Koran, by whose
sacred precepts, she told me, I ought to regulate my conduct. And that
which will appear most extraordinary to you, sire, is, that her
husband, led away by the force of habit, brought up in guilt almost
from his infancy, and not hesitating in the least to plunder caravans,
should yet be afraid of breaking his word. He was a faithful husband,
a kind master to his slaves, to me more than an affectionate father,
and of all men the least greedy of plunder. He cherished me; and as at
that time I was not so well informed as I am at present, I honoured
him as a benefactor and loved him as a parent."
"Enough respecting him, my son," replied the King. "Returning from the
awful scene they have just beheld, and warned by the signal which the
Muezzins have sounded from the tops of the mosques, the people are
about to fill them. Order my treasurer to follow you; let plentiful
alms and charity everywhere accompany your steps, and announce, in a
suitable manner, the heir, whom, for the prosperity of my empire,
Heaven has restored to my arms."
As soon as the religious ceremonies were finished, the King ordered
the chief of the robbers, who was known to have remained at Issessara,
to be conducted to the bath, to be decently dressed, and brought to
the palace, that he might enjoy the triumph of his adopted son. Far
from reproaching him with his former manner of life, but presuming on
the natural principles of this man, whom example had not corrupted,
whom opportunities had not seduced, and whom want had not provoked, he
appointed him to the command of a frontier province, where he must
necessarily command respect by his activity and military talents.
Bohetzad, Baherjoa, and Aladin, reunited by the ties of blood, of
love, and of friendship, passed many years in unalterable affection,
continually finding means to draw closer the knots which bound them
together. At length, the monarch, feeling from his age and strength
that it was time to resign the sceptre into more steady hands,
assembled his divan, his ministers, Viziers, Cadis, lawyers, princes,
lords, and all the grandees of the realm.
"Nature," said he to them, "hath called my son to succeed me; but, in
his miraculous preservation, Heaven has given a clear indication of
its will. In putting the crown upon his head this day, I only obey its
decrees, and give you a master more worthy than I to command."
The Adventures of Urad; or, The Fair Wanderer.
[Illustration]
On the banks of the river Tigris, far above where it washes the lofty
city of the Faithful, lived Nouri, in poverty and widowhood, whose
employment it was to tend the worm who clothes the richest and the
fairest with its beautiful web. Her husband, who was a guard to the
caravans of the merchants, lost his life in an engagement with the
wild Arabs, and left the poor woman no other means of supporting
herself, or her infant daughter Urad, but by her labours among the
silk-worms, which were little more than sufficient to support nature,
although her labours began ere the sunbeams played on the waters of
the Tigris, and ended not till the stars were reflected from its
surface. Such was the business of the disconsolate Nouri, when the
voluptuous Almurah was proclaimed Sultan throughout his extensive
dominions; nor was it long before his subjects felt the power of their
Sultan; for, Almurah resolving to inclose a large tract of land for
hunting and sporting, commanded the inhabitants of fourteen hundred
villages to be expelled from the limits of his intended inclosure.
A piteous train of helpless and ruined families were in one day driven
from their country and livelihood, and obliged to seek for shelter
amidst the forests, the caves, and deserts, which surround the more
uncultivated banks of the Tigris.
Many passed by the cottage of Nouri the widow, among whom she
distributed what little remains of provision she had saved from the
earnings of her labours the day before; and, her little stock being
exhausted, she had nothing but wishes and prayers left for the rest.
It happened, among the numerous throngs that travelled by her cottage,
that a young man came with wearied steps, bearing on his shoulders an
old and feeble woman; setting her down on the ground before the door
of Nouri, he besought her to give him a drop of water, to wash the
sand and the dust from his parched mouth.
Nouri, having already distributed the contents of her pitcher,
hastened to the river to fill it for the wearied young man; and, as
she went, she begged a morsel of provisions from a neighbour, whose
cottage stood on a rock which overlooked the flood.
With this, and her pitcher filled with water, the good Nouri returned,
and found the feeble old woman on the ground, but the young man was
not with her.
"Where," said Nouri, "O afflicted stranger, is the pious young man
that dutifully bore the burden of age on his shoulders?"
"Alas!" answered the stranger, "my son has brought me hither from the
tyranny of Almurah, and leaves me to perish in the deserts of Tigris.
No sooner were you gone for the water, than a crowd of young damsels
came this way, and led my cruel son from his perishing mother. But,
courteous stranger," said she to Nouri, "give me of that water to
drink, that my life fail not within me, for thirst, and hunger, and
trouble are hastening to put an end to the unhappy Houadir."
The tender and benevolent Nouri invited Houadir into the cottage, and
there placed her on a straw bed, and gave her the provisions, and a
cup of water to drink.
Houadir, being somewhat refreshed by the care of Nouri, acquainted her
with the cruel decree of Almurah, who had turned her son out of his
little patrimony, where, by the labour of his hands, he had for many
years supported her, and that till that day she had ever found him a
most dutiful and obedient son, and concluded with a wish that he would
shortly return to his poor helpless parent.
Nouri did all she could to comfort the wretched Houadir, and, having
persuaded her to rest awhile on the bed, returned to the labours of
the day.
When her work was finished, Nouri, with the wages of the day,
purchased some provisions, and brought them home to feed herself and
the little Urad, whose portion of food, as well as her own, had been
distributed to the unhappy wanderers.
As Nouri was giving a small morsel to Urad, Houadir awaked, and begged
that Nouri would be so kind as to spare her a bit of her provisions.
Immediately, before Nouri could rise, the little Urad ran nimbly to
the bed and offered her supper to the afflicted Houadir, who received
it with great pleasure from her hands, being assured her mother would
not let Urad be a loser by her benevolence.
Houadir continued several days with the widow Nouri, expecting the
return of her son; till, giving over all hopes of seeing him, and
observing that she was burdensome to the charitable widow, she one
evening, after the labours of the day, thus addressed her hospitable
friend:
"I perceive, benevolent Nouri, that my son has forsaken me, and that I
do but rob you and your poor infant of the scanty provision which you,
by your hourly toil, are earning: wherefore, listen to my proposal,
and judge whether I offer you a suitable return. There are many parts
of your business that, old as I am, I can help you in, as the winding
your silk and feeding your worms. Employ me, therefore, in such
business in the day as you think me capable of performing; and at
night, while your necessary cares busy you about the house, give me
leave (as I see your labour allows you no spare time) to instruct the
innocent Urad how to behave herself, when your death shall leave her
unsheltered from the storms and deceits of a troublesome world."
Nouri listened with pleasure to the words of Houadir.
"Yes," said she, "benevolent stranger, you well advise me how to
portion my poor infant, Urad, whom I could neither provide for by my
industry nor instruct without losing the daily bread I earn for her. I
perceive a little is sufficient for your support; nay, I know not how,
I seem to have greater plenty since you have been with me than before;
whether it be owing to the blessing of Heaven on you I know not."
"Far be it from me," said Houadir, "to see my generous benefactress
deceived; but the thinness of inhabitants, occasioned by the tyranny
of Almurah, is the cause that your provisions are more plentiful; but
yet I insist upon bearing my part in the burden of the day, and Urad
shall share my evening's labour."
From this time Houadir became a useful member of the family of Nouri,
and Urad was daily instructed by the good old stranger in the
pleasures and benefits of a virtuous, and the horrors and curses of an
evil, life.
Little Urad was greatly rejoiced at the lessons of Houadir, and was
never better pleased than when she was listening to the mild and
pleasing instructions of her affable mistress.
It was the custom of Houadir, whenever she taught Urad any new rule or
caution, to give her a peppercorn; requiring of her, as often as she
looked at them, to remember the lessons which she learnt at the time
she received them.
In this manner Urad continued to be instructed; greatly improving, as
well in virtue and religion, as in comeliness and beauty, till she was
near woman's estate; so that Nouri could scarcely believe she was the
mother of a daughter so amiable and graceful in person and manners.
Neither was Urad unskilled in the labours of the family, or the
silk-worm; for, Nouri growing old and sickly, she almost constantly,
by her industry, supported the whole cottage.
One evening, as Houadir was lecturing her attentive pupil, Nouri, who
lay sick on the straw bed, called Urad to her.
"My dear daughter," said Nouri, "I feel, alas! more for you than
myself: while Houadir lives, you will have indeed a better instructor
than your poor mother was capable of being unto you; but what will my
innocent lamb, my lovely Urad do, when she is left alone, the helpless
prey of craft or power? Consider, my dear child, that Allah would not
send you into the world to be necessarily and unavoidably wicked;
therefore always depend upon the assistance of our holy Prophet when
you do right, and let no circumstance of life, nor any persuasion,
ever bias you to live otherwise than according to the chaste and
virtuous precepts of the religious Houadir. May Allah and the Prophet
of the Faithful ever bless and preserve the innocence and chastity of
my dutiful and affectionate Urad!"
The widow Nouri spoke not again; her breath for ever fled from its
confinement, and her body was delivered to the waters of the Tigris.
The inconsolable Urad had now her most difficult lesson to learn from
the patient Houadir; and scarcely did she think it dutiful to moderate
the violence of her grief.
"Sorrows," said Houadir, "O duteous Urad, which arise from sin or evil
actions, cannot be assuaged without contrition or amendment of life;
there the soul is deservedly afflicted, and must feel before it can be
cured: such sorrows may my amiable pupil never experience! But the
afflictions of mortality are alike the portions of piety or iniquity:
it is necessary that we should be taught to part with the desirable
things of this life by degrees, and that by the frequency of such
losses our affections should be loosened from their earthly
attachments. While you continue good be not dejected, my obedient
Urad; and remember, it is one part of virtue to bear with patience and
resignation the unalterable decrees of Heaven; not but that I esteem
your sorrow, which arises from gratitude, duty, and affection. I do
not teach my pupil to part with her dearest friends without
reluctance, or wish her to be unconcerned at the loss of those who, by
a marvellous love, have sheltered her from all those storms which
must have overwhelmed helpless innocence. Only remember that your
tears be the tears of resignation, and that your sighs confess a heart
humbly yielding to His will who ordereth all things according to His
infinite knowledge and goodness."
"O pious Houadir," replied Urad, "just are thy precepts: it was Allah
that created my best of parents, and Allah is pleased to take her from
me; far be it from me, though an infinite sufferer, to dispute His
will; the loss indeed wounds me sorely, yet will I endeavour to bear
the blow with patience and resignation."
Houadir still continued her kind lessons and instructions, and Urad,
with a decent solemnity, attended both her labours and her teacher,
who was so pleased with the fruits which she saw spring forth from the
seeds of virtue that she had sown in the breast of her pupil, that she
now began to leave her more to herself, and exhorted her to set apart
some portion of each day to pray to her Prophet, and frequent
meditation and recollection of the rules she had given her, that so
her mind might never be suffered to grow forgetful of the truths she
had treasured up. "For," said the provident Houadir, "when it shall
please the Prophet to snatch me also from you, my dear Urad will then
have only the peppercorns to assist her."
"And how, my kind governess," said Urad, "will those corns assist me?"
"They will," answered Houadir, "each of them (if you remember the
precepts I gave you with them, but not otherwise), be serviceable in
the times of your necessities."
Urad, with great reluctance, from that time was obliged to go without
her evening lectures; which loss affected her much, for she knew no
greater pleasure in life than hanging over Houadir's persuasive
tongue, and hearing, with fixed attention, the sweet doctrines of
prudence, chastity, and virtue.
As Urad, according to her usual custom (after having spent some few
early hours at her employment), advanced toward the bed to call her
kind instructress, whose infirmities would not admit her to rise
betimes, she perceived that Houadir was risen from her bed.
The young virgin was amazed at the novelty of her instructress's
behaviour, especially as she seldom moved without assistance, and
hastened into a little inclosure to look after her; but not finding
Houadir there, she went to the neighbouring cottages, none of the
inhabitants of which could give any account of the good old matron;
nevertheless the anxious Urad continued her search, looking all around
the woods and forest, and often peeping over the rocks of the Tigris,
as fearful that some accident might have befallen her. In this
fruitless labour the poor virgin fatigued herself, till the sun, as
tired of her toils, refused any longer to assist her search; when,
returning to her lonely cot, she spent the night in tears and
lamentations.
The helpless Urad now gave herself up entirely to grief; and the
remembrance of her affectionate mother added a double portion of
sorrows to her heart: she neglected to open her lonely cottage, and
went not forth to the labours of the silk-worm; but, day after day,
with little or no nourishment, she continued weeping the loss of
Houadir, her mild instructress, and Nouri, her affectionate mother.
The neighbouring cottagers, observing that Urad came no longer to the
silk-worms, and that her dwelling was daily shut up, after some time
knocked at her cottage, and demanded if Urad the daughter of Nouri was
living. Urad, seeing the concourse of people, came weeping and
trembling toward the door, and asked them the cause of their coming.
"O Urad," said her neighbours, "we saw you, not long ago, seeking your
friend Houadir, and we feared you also were missing, as you have
neither appeared among us, nor attended your daily labours among the
worms, who feed and provide for us by their subtle spinning."
"O my friends," answered Urad, "suffer a wretched maid to deplore the
loss of her dearest friends. Nouri, from whose breasts I sucked my
natural life, is now a prey to the vulture on the banks of the Tigris;
and Houadir, from whom I derive my better life, is passed away from me
like a vision in the night."
Her rustic acquaintance laughed at these sorrows of the virgin Urad.
"Alas!" said one, "Urad grieves that now she has to work for one,
instead of three." "Nay," cried another, "I wish my old folks were as
well bestowed." "And I," said a third, "were our house rid of the
old-fashioned lumber that fills it at present (my superannuated father
and mother), would soon bring a healthy young swain to supply their
places with love and affection." "Ay, true," answered two or three
more, "we must look out a clever young fellow for Urad; whom shall she
have?" "Oh, if that be all," said a crooked old maid, who was famous
for match-making, "I will send Darandu to comfort her, before night;
and, if I mistake not, he very well knows his business." "Well, pretty
Urad," cried they all, "Darandu will soon be here: he is fishing on
the Tigris; and it is but just that the river which has robbed you of
one comfort, should give you a better." At this speech, the rest
laughed very heartily, and they all ran away, crying out, "Oh, she
will do very well when Darandu approaches."
Urad, though she could despise the trifling of her country neighbours,
yet felt an oppression on her heart at the name of Darandu, who was a
youth of incomparable beauty, and added to the charms of his person an
engaging air, which was far above the reach of the rest of the country
swains, who lived on those remote banks of the Tigris. "But, O
Houadir, O Nouri!" said the afflicted virgin to herself, "never shall
Urad seek, in the arms of a lover, to forget the bounties and precepts
of so kind a mistress and so indulgent a parent."
These reflections hurried the wretched Urad into her usual sorrowful
train of thoughts, and she spent the rest of the day in tears and
weeping, calling for ever on Nouri and Houadir, and wishing that the
Prophet would permit her to follow them out of a world where she
foresaw neither comfort nor peace.
In the midst of these melancholy meditations, she was disturbed by a
knocking at the door. Urad arose with trembling, and asked who was
there.
"It is one," answered a voice in the softest tone, "who seeketh
comfort and cannot find it; who desires peace, and it is far from
him."
"Alas!" answered Urad, "few are the comforts of this cottage, and
peace is a stranger to this mournful roof: depart, O traveller,
whosoever thou art, and suffer the disconsolate Urad to indulge in
sorrows greater than those from which you wish to be relieved."
"Alas!" answered the voice without, "the griefs of the beautiful Urad
are my griefs; and the sorrows which afflict her, rend the soul of the
wretched Darandu!"
"Whatever may be the motive for this charitable visit, Darandu,"
answered Urad, "let me beseech you to depart; for ill does it become a
forlorn virgin to admit the conversation of the youths that surround
her: leave me, therefore, O swain, ere want of decency make you appear
odious in the sight of the virgins who inhabit the rocky banks of the
rapid Tigris."
"To convince the lovely Urad," answered Darandu, "that I came to
soothe her cares and condole with her in her losses (which I heard but
this evening), I now will quit this dear spot, which contains the
treasure of my heart, as, however terrible the parting is to me, I
rest satisfied that it pleases the fair conqueror of my heart, whose
peace to Darandu is more precious than the pomegranate in the sultry
noon, or the silver scales of ten thousand fishes enclosed in the nets
of my skilful comrades."
Darandu then left the door of the cottage, and Urad reclined on the
bed, till sleep finished her toils, and for a time released her from
the severe afflictions of her unguarded situation.
Early in the morning the fair Urad arose, and directed her steps to
the rocks of the Tigris, either invited thither by the melancholy
reflections which her departed mother occasioned, or willing to take a
nearer and more unobserved view of the gentle Darandu.
Darandu, who was just about to launch his vessel into the river,
perceived the beauteous mourner on the rocks; but he was too well
versed in love affairs to take any notice of her: he rather turned
from Urad, and endeavoured by his behaviour to persuade her that he
had not observed her, for it was enough for him to know that he was
not indifferent to her.
Urad, though she hardly knew the cause of her morning walk, yet
continued on the rocks till Darandu had taken in his nets, and, with
his companions, was steering up the stream in quest of the fishes of
the Tigris. She then returned to her cottage, more irresolute in her
thoughts, but less than ever inclined to the labours of her
profession.
At the return of the evening she was anxious lest Darandu should renew
his visit--an anxiety which, though it arose from fear, was yet near
allied to hope; nor was she less solicitous about provisions, as all
her little stock was entirely exhausted, and she had no other prospect
before her than to return to her labours, which her sorrows had
rendered irksome and disagreeable to her.
While she was meditating on these things, she heard a knocking at the
door, which fluttered her little less than the fears of hunger or the
sorrows of her lonely life.
For some time she had not courage to answer, till, the knocking being
repeated, she faintly asked who was at the door.
"It is Lahnar," answered a female: "Lahnar, your neighbour, seeks to
give Urad comfort, and to condole with the distressed mourner of a
mother and a friend."
"Lahnar," answered Urad, "is then a friend to the afflicted, and
kindly seeks to alleviate the sorrows of the wretched Urad."
She then opened the door, and Lahnar entered with a basket on her
head.
"Kind Lahnar," said the fair mourner, "leave your burden at the door,
and enter this cottage of affliction. Alas! alas! there once sat
Nouri, my ever-affectionate mother, and there Houadir, my kind
counsellor and director; but now are their seats vacant, and sorrow
and grief are the only companions of the miserable Urad!"
"Your losses are certainly great," answered Lahnar; "but you must
endeavour to bear them with patience, especially as they are the
common changes and alterations of life. Your good mother Nouri lived
to a great age, and Houadir, though a kind friend, may yet be
succeeded by one as amiable; but what I am most alarmed at, O Urad! is
your manner of life. We no longer see you busied among the leaves of
the mulberries, or gathering the bags of silk, or preparing them for
the wheels. You purchase no provision among us; you seek no comfort in
society; you live like the mole buried under the earth, which neither
sees nor is seen."
"My sorrows indeed hitherto," replied Urad, "have prevented my labour;
but to-morrow I shall again rise to my wonted employment."
"But even to-night," said Lahnar, "let my friend take some little
nourishment, that she may rise refreshed; for fasting will deject you
as well as grief; and suffer me to partake with you. And see, in this
basket I have brought my provisions, some boiled rice, and a few fish,
which my kind brother Darandu brought me this evening from the river
Tigris."
"Excuse me, kind Lahnar," answered Urad, "but I must refuse your
offer. Grief has driven away appetite to aught but itself far from me,
and I am not solicitous to take provisions which I cannot use."
"At least," replied Lahnar, "permit me to sit beside you, and eat of
what is here before us."
Upon which, without other excuses, Lahnar emptied her basket, and set
a bowl of rice and fish before Urad, and began to feed heartily on
that which she had brought for herself.
Urad was tempted by hunger and the example of Lahnar to begin, but she
was doubtful about tasting the fish of Darandu; wherefore she first
attempted the boiled rice, though her appetite was most inclined to
the fish, of which she at last ate very heartily, when she recollected
that as she had partaken with Lahnar, it was the same whatever part
she accepted.
Lahnar having finished her meal, and advised Urad to think of some
methods of social life, took her leave, and left the unsettled virgin
to meditate on her strange visitor.
Urad, though confused, could not help expressing some pleasure at this
visit; for such is the blessing of society, that it will always give
comfort to those who have been disused to its sweet effects.
But Urad, though pleased with the friendship of Lahnar, yet was
confounded when, some few minutes after, she perceived her again
returning.
"What," said Urad, "brings back Lahnar to the sorrows of this
cottage?"
"Urad," said Lahnar, "I will rest with my friend to-night, for the
shades of night cast horrors around, and I dare not disturb my
father's cottage by my late approach."
But as soon as she had admitted Lahnar, she perceived that it was
Darandu disguised in Lahnar's clothes. Urad, greatly terrified,
recollecting her lost friend Houadir, felt for a peppercorn, and let
it fall to the ground.
A violent rapping was in a moment heard at the cottage, at which Urad
uttered a loud cry, and Darandu, with shame and confusion, looked
trembling toward the door.
Urad ran forward and opened it, when the son of Houadir entered, and
asked Urad the reason of her cries.
"O thou blessed angel!" said Urad; "this wicked wretch is disguised in
his sister's clothes."
But Darandu was fled, as guilt is ever fearful, mean, and base.
"Now, Urad," said the son of Houadir, "before you close your doors
upon another man, let me resume my former features."
Upon which Urad looked, and beheld her old friend Houadir. At the
sight of Houadir, Urad was equally astonished and abashed.
"Why blushes, Urad?" said Houadir.
"How, O genius," said Urad, "for such I perceive thou art--how is Urad
guilty? I invited not Darandu hither: I wished not for him."
"Take care," answered Houadir, "what you say. If you wished not for
him, you hardly wished him away, and, but for your imprudence, he had
not entered your home. Consider how have your days been employed since
I left you? Have you continued to watch the labours of the silk-worm?
Have you repeated the lessons I gave you? or has the time of Urad been
consumed in idleness and disobedience? Has she shaken off her
dependence on Mahomet, and indulged the unavailing sorrows of her
heart?"
"Alas!" answered the fair Urad, "repeat no more, my ever-honoured
Houadir: I have indeed been guilty, under the mask of love and
affection; and I now plainly see the force of your first rule, that
idleness is the beginning of all evil and vice. Yes, my dearest
Houadir, had I attended to your instructions I had given no handle to
Darandu's insolence; but yet methinks some sorrows were allowable for
the loss of such a mother and such a friend."
"Sorrows," answered Houadir, "proceed from the heart, and, totally
indulged, soon require a change and vicissitude in our minds;
wherefore, in the midst of your griefs, your feet involuntarily
wandered after Darandu, and your soul, softened by idle sighs, was the
more easily impressed by the deceits of his tongue.
"But this remember, O Urad--for I must, I find, repeat an old
instruction to you--that of all things in the world, nothing should so
much engage a woman's attention as the avenues which lead to her
heart. Such are the wiles and deceits of men, that they are rarely to
be trusted with the most advanced post; give them but footing, though
that footing be innocent, and they will work night and day till their
wishes are accomplished. Trust not, therefore, to yourself alone, nor
suffer your heart to plead in their favour, lest it become as much
your enemy as the tempter, man. Place your security in flight, and
avoid every evil, lest it lead you into danger, for hard it is to turn
the head and look backward when a beautiful or agreeable object is
before you. Remember my instructions, O Urad! make a prudent use of
your peppercorns, and leave this place, which holds a man sensible of
your folly and resolute in his own dark and subtle intentions."
Urad was about to thank Houadir, but the genius was fled, and the
eyelids of the morning were opening in the east.
Urad, in a little wallet, packed up her small stock of necessaries,
and, full of terror and full of uncertainty, struck into the forest,
and without reflection took the widest path that offered. And first,
it was her care to repeat over deliberately the lessons of Houadir.
She then travelled slowly forward, often looking, and fearing to
behold the wicked Darandu at her heels.
After walking through the forest for the greater part of the day, she
came to a steep descent, on each side overshadowed with lofty trees;
this she walked down, and came to a small spot of ground surrounded by
hills, woods, and rocks. Here she found a spring of water, and sat
down on the grass to refresh herself after the travels of the day.
As Urad's meal was almost at an end she heard various voices issuing
from the woods on the hills opposite to that which she came down. Her
little heart beat quick at this alarm; and recollecting the advice of
Houadir, she began to repeat the lessons of her instructress, and ere
long she perceived through the trees several men coming down the hill,
who, at sight of her, gave a loud halloo, and ran forward, each being
eager who should first seize the prize.
Urad, trembling and sighing at her danger, forgot not to drop one of
her peppercorns, and immediately she found herself changed into a
pismire, and with great pleasure she looked for a hole in the ground,
and crept into it.
The robbers, coming down to the bottom of the vale, were surprised to
find their prize eloped; but they divided into separate bodies,
resolved to hunt till night, and then appointed that little vale as
the place of rendezvous.
Urad, perceiving that they were gone, wished herself into her original
form, but alas! her wish was not granted, and the once beautiful Urad
still continued an ugly pismire.
Late at night the robbers returned, and the moon shining bright,
reflected a gloomy horror upon their despairing faces. Urad shuddered
at the sight of them, though so well concealed, and dared hardly peep
out of her hole--so difficult is it to forget our former fears. The
gang resolved to spend the rest of the night in that place, and
therefore unloaded their wallets, and spread their wine and provisions
on the banks of the spring, grumbling and cursing each other all the
time for their unfortunate search.
Urad heard them lamenting their ill fortune with the utmost horror and
indignation, and praised continually the gracious Allah who had
rescued her from such inhuman wretches; while they with singing and
drinking spent the greatest part of the night, and wishing that their
comrades in the other part of the forest had been with them; at length
falling into drunkenness and sleep, they left the world to silence and
peace.
Urad, finding them fast asleep, crawled out of her hole, and going to
the first, she stung him in each eye, and thus she went round to them
all.
The poison of the little pismire working in their eyes, in a short
time occasioned them to awake in the utmost tortures; and perceiving
they were blind, and feeling the pain, they each supposed his
neighbour had blinded him in order to get away with the booty. This so
enraged them that, feeling about, they fell upon one another, and in a
short time almost the whole gang was demolished.
Urad beheld with astonishment the effect of her stings, and at a wish
resumed her pristine form, saying at the same time to herself, "I now
perceive that Providence is able by the most insignificant means to
work the greatest purposes."
Continuing her journey through the forest, she was terribly afraid of
meeting with the second band of robbers, and therefore she directed
her steps with the greatest caution and circumspection.
As she walked forward, and cast her eyes all around, and stopped at
every motion of the wind, she saw the son of Houadir coming to meet
her in the path in which she was travelling.
At this sight Urad ran toward him, and with joy begged her old
governess would unmask herself, and entertain her with instruction and
persuasion.
"No, my dear child," answered the son of Houadir, "that I cannot do at
present; the time is not as yet come. I will first, as you have been
tried, lead you to the palace of the Genii of the Forest, and present
your unspotted innocence before them; for, O my sweet Urad, my
heavenly pupil!" said he, kissing and taking her in his arms, "your
virtue is tried; I have found you worthy of the lessons which I gave
you. I foresaw evils might befall you, and therefore I took pity on
your innocence, and lived with Nouri your mother, that I might train
up my beloved Urad in the paths of virtue; and now your trial is past,
Urad shall enjoy the happiness of a genius."
Urad, though somewhat confounded at Houadir's embrace under the
appearance of a man, yet with great humility thanked her benefactor;
and the son of Houadir, turning to the left, led Urad into a little
by-path, so concealed that few, if any, might ever find its beginning.
After a long walk through various turnings and intricate windings,
they came to a small mean cottage, where, the son of Houadir leading
the way, Urad followed.
The son of Houadir striking fire with his stick, a bright flame arose
from the centre of the floor, into which he cast divers herbs, and
repeating some enchantments, the back part of the cottage opened and
presented to the view of Urad a beautiful dome, where she saw sitting
round a table a numerous assembly of gay persons of both sexes.
The son of Houadir, leading in Urad, said, "This, my dear pupil, is
the assembly of the Genii of the Forest." And, presenting her to the
company, "Behold," said he, "the beautiful and well-tried Urad. But
here you may cast off your reserve, fair maid, and indulge in the
innocent pleasures of the Genii of the Forest."
The son of Houadir then led her to the table, and seated her on the
same sofa with himself. The remainder of the day was spent in mirth
and pleasure.
Urad, having never beheld anything splendid or magnificent, was
greatly delighted at the gay company and beautiful saloon, nor did she
receive the caresses of the son of Houadir reluctantly.
At night, Urad was shown a glorious apartment to rest in, and the son
of Houadir attended her.
"My dear Houadir," said Urad, "when shall I behold your proper shape?
When shall I see you as my tutelary genius?"
"That," answered the son of Houadir, "I shall be in every shape; but
call neither one nor the other my _proper_ shape; for to a genius all
shapes are assumed: neither is this my proper shape, nor the wrinkles
of an old woman. But, to confess the truth, O beautiful Urad, from the
first moment of your birth I resolved to make you my bride, and
therefore did I so patiently watch your growing years, and instruct
you in the fear of vice and the love of virtue."
Urad, astonished at the words of the son of Houadir, knew not what
answer to make; but the natural timidity of her sex, and the
strangeness of the proposal, filled her with strange apprehensions.
However, she begged at least that the genius would, for a time, leave
her to herself.
"No, my lovely Urad," answered the son of Houadir, "never, never, will
thy faithful genius leave thee!"
"Why," said Urad, "didst thou bestow so many peppercorns upon me, as
they now will become useless?"
"Not useless," said the son of Houadir: "they are indeed little
preservatives against danger; but I have the seeds of some melons
which will not only rescue you, but always preserve you from harm.
Here, faithful Urad," continued he, "take these seeds, and, whenever
you are fearful, swallow one of these, and no dangers shall surround
you."
Urad thankfully received the seeds.
"And what," said she, "must I do with the peppercorns?"
"Give them," said the son of Houadir, "to me, and I will endue them
with stronger virtues, and thou shalt by them have power also over
others, as well as to defend thyself."
Urad pulled the peppercorns out of her bag, and presented them to the
son of Houadir, whose eyes flashed with joy at the sight, and he
immediately thrust them into the folds of his garments.
"O son of Houadir, what hast thou done?" said Urad.
"I have," answered the false son of Houadir, "gained the full
possession of my lovely Urad, and now may address her in my proper
shape." So saying, he resumed his natural figure, and became like a
satyr of the wood.
"I am," said he, "O beautiful Urad, the enchanter Repah, who range in
the solitude of the forest of the Tigris. You I saw surrounded by the
influence of the genius Houadir, and therefore was obliged to use
artifice to gain you as my wife."
The poor deluded victim, with tears in her eyes, implored his mercy
and forbearance; but he laughed at her tears, and told her her eyes
glittered the brighter for them.
Urad, in her despair, again put her hands into the bag whence she had
fatally resigned the peppercorns, and felt about in agony for her lost
treasure. And now finding none, and perceiving that the genius Houadir
attended not to her cries, she was drawing out her hand when, in a
corner of the bag, she felt one peppercorn, which had before escaped
her search.
She instantly drew it out, and, throwing it on the ground, the
enchanter stood motionless before her; the apartments vanished, and
she found herself with him in a dark hut, with various kinds of
necromantic instruments about her.
Urad, though fearful, yet was so much overcome with fatigue and fright
that she sank on the ground; and, happily for her, the enchanter was
in no condition to persecute her.
"Curse on my folly," said he, as he stood fixed to the ground, "that I
neglected to ask for the bag itself which held the gifts of the genius
Houadir! her pretty pupil had then been my slave, in spite of the many
fine lessons she had been taught by that pitiful and enthusiastic
genius; but now by chance, and not by the merit of thy virtues, or thy
education, art thou delivered from my seraglio. But this grieves me
not so much to lose a sickly girl as that I find a superior power
condemns me to declare to you the causes of your error.
"Know, then, Urad--I speak not from myself, but He speaks who, from
casual evil, can work out certain good--He forces me to declare that
no specious appearance, no false colours, should incline the virtuous
heart to listen to the wiles of deceit; for evil then comes most
terrible when it is cloaked under friendship. Why, then, had Urad so
great an opinion of her own judgment as to confide in the false
appearance of the son of Houadir when she might have consulted her
faithful monitors? The falling of a peppercorn would have taught her
to trust to no appearances, nor would she have parted with her
peppercorns, which were to refresh in her memory the sentiments of
virtue, chastity, and honour--no, not to Houadir herself. No adviser
can be good who would destroy what he himself has first inculcated;
and no appearance ought to bias us to receive as truths those things
which are contrary to virtue and religion. How, then, did Urad keep to
the instructions of Houadir?"
Thus spoke the enchanter, and no more; his mouth closed up, and he
stood fixed and motionless. And Urad, finding her spirits somewhat
recovered, hastened out of the hut, and perceived that it was morning.
She had now no more peppercorns to depend upon; wherefore she cried
to Houadir to succour her; but the genius was deaf to her entreaties.
"Poor miserable wretch!" said Urad to herself, "what will become of
thee, inclosed in a forest through which thou knowest no path? But,"
continued she, "why should I not examine the enchanter, who perhaps is
yet immovable in the cottage? I saw him fold them in the plaits of his
garments, and they may yet become mine."
So saying, she returned to the hut, where entering, the very sight of
the dumb enchanter affrighted her so much, that it was a long time
before she could venture near him. At length she put out her hand, and
pulled forth her beloved peppercorns, the enchanter still standing
motionless.
Away flew Urad like lightning from the hut, and ran till she had again
reached the road from which she had been decoyed.
She continued her journeying for seven days, feeding on the fruits of
the forest, and sleeping in the densest thickets.
The eighth day, as she was endeavouring to pass a ford where a small
rivulet had been swelled by the rains, she perceived a large body of
horsemen riding through the woods, and doubted not that it was the
remainder of the gang of robbers whom she had before met with.
Urad was now in some measure reconciled to danger; and therefore,
without much fear, dropped a peppercorn, and expected relief.
The peppercorn had been dropped some time, the horsemen advanced, and
no one appeared to her succour.
"Alas!" said Urad, "why has Houadir deceived me? Neither her advice,
nor her magical peppercorns, can save me from these cruel robbers. O
genius, genius! why hast thou forsaken me in my severest trials!"
By this time the robbers were come up, and were highly rejoiced to
find such a beautiful prize.
Their captain leaped from his horse to seize her, and the trembling
Urad gave a loud shriek, which was answered from the woods by the
roaring of a hundred lions.
"O Allah," said the chief, "the lions are upon us!"
"That may be," said he who was dismounted; "but were the whole world
set against me, I would secure my prize." So saying, he took Urad in
his arms to place her on his horse.
The roaring of the lions continued, and many of them came howling out
of the woods: the robbers fled in dismay, all but the ruffian who had
seized on the fair Urad, who was striving in vain to fix her on his
horse. A lion furiously made at him, and tore him limb from limb,
while Urad expected the same fate from several others who came roaring
around.
"But," said she, "better is death than infamy, and the paw of the
hungry lion, than slavery to a robber."
The noble beast, having devoured his prey, came fawning at the feet of
Urad, who was surprised at his behaviour and gentleness; but much more
was her astonishment increased when she heard him speak.
"O virgin (for none other can experience the assistance of our race,
or stand unhurt before us), I am the King and Sovereign of these
mighty forests, and am sent by the genius Houadir to thy protection.
But why did the distrustful Urad despair, or why did she accuse
Providence of deserting her? should not the relieved wait with
patience on the hand that supports him, and not cry out with
impatience, and charge its benefactor with neglect?"
"True, O royal lion," answered the fair Urad; "but fear is
irresistible, and the children of men are but weakness and
ingratitude. But blessed be Allah, who, though justly provoked at my
discontent, yet sent to my assistance the guardian of the fair. Yet
how cometh it to pass, O royal protector, that you, who are so bold
and so fierce in your nature, should yet behave with such tenderness
and kindness to a helpless virgin, whom you might with pleasure to
yourself in a moment devour?"
"The truly great and noble spirit," answered the lion, "takes a pride
in protecting innocence, neither can he wish to oppress it. Hence
learn, fair virgin, that of all mankind he only is noble, generous,
and truly virtuous, who is ready to defend helpless womanhood. What,
then, must you think of those mean wretches who cajole you under the
appearance of affection, and yet tell you that it was only to try you?
He that is suspicious is mean: he that is mean is unworthy of the
chaste affections of the virtuous maid. Wherefore, O Urad, shun him,
however honoured by mankind, or covered by the specious characters of
virtue, whoever attempts the honour of your chastity, for he cannot be
just: to deceive you he must himself swear falsely, and therefore
cannot be good; or if he tell the truth, he must be weak and
ungenerous, and unworthy of you."
In such conversation they passed along the forest, till, after a few
days, they were alarmed at the noise of the hunters and the music of
the chase.
"Alas!" said the beautiful Urad, "what is this that I hear?"
"It is," answered the royal beast, "the noise of the hunters; and thou
shalt escape, but me will they in sport destroy. The lion you call
cruel, who kills to devour. What, then, is he who wantons in the death
of those who advantage him not? But man is lord of all: let him look
to it how he governs!"
"Nay, but," answered Urad, "leave me, gentle protector, and provide
for your safety; nor fear but Houadir will prevent the storms that
hover over from breaking upon me."
"No," answered the royal beast, "she has commanded me to follow you
till I see her presence; and where can I better sacrifice my life than
in the service of chastity and virtue?"
The hunters were now in sight, but advanced not towards the lion; they
turned their coursers aside, and only one of superior mien, with
several attendants, rode towards Urad.
The lion erecting his mane, his eyes glowing with vivid lightnings,
drew up the wide sinews of his broad back, and with wrathful front
leaped towards him who seemed to have the command.
The horseman, perceiving his intention, poised his spear in his right
hand, and spurred his courser to meet him.
Ere the royal beast had reached the horseman, the rider threw his
spear, which, entering between the fore-paws of the lion, nailed him
to the ground. The enraged animal tore his paw from the ground; but
the spear still remained in his foot, and the anguish of the wound
made him shake the whole forest with his lordly roarings.
The stranger then rode up to the fair Urad, whom viewing, he cried
out, "By Allah! thou art worthy of the seraglio of the Vizier
Mussapulta: take her, my eunuchs, behind you, and bear her through the
forest of Bagdad, to the home of my ancestors."
The eunuchs obeyed, and bore her away, though Urad dropped her corn
upon the ground; but still she trusted in the help of Houadir.
The Vizier Mussapulta then ordered that one of his slaves should stay
behind, and destroy and bury the lion; which he commanded to be done
with the utmost caution, as Almurah had made a decree that if any
subjects should wound, maim, or destroy any lion in his forests, the
same should be put to death.
The eunuchs bore away Urad to the seraglio, taking her through by-ways
to the palace of the Vizier, lest her shrieks should be heard.
Mussapulta followed at a distance, and the slave was left with the
tortured and faithful lion.
In a few hours they reached the palace, and Urad, being conducted to
the seraglio, was ordered to be dressed, as the Vizier intended
visiting her.
Urad was thunderstruck at the news, and now began to fear Houadir had
forgotten her, and resolved, as soon as the eunuchs had left her, to
drop a second peppercorn. But poor Urad had forgotten to take her bag
from her old garments, which the women who dressed her had carried
away. She dissolved in fresh tears at this piece of carelessness.
"Well," said she, "surely Houadir will neglect me, if I so easily
neglect myself."
She waited that night with fear and trembling; but no Vizier appeared.
This eased her greatly, and the next day, when the eunuchs came, they
informed her that Mussapulta had that evening been sent by the Sultan
to quell an insurrection, and that they did not expect him home under
twenty days.
During this time no pains were spared with Urad to teach her the
accomplishments of the country, all which, in spite of her
unwillingness to learn in such a detestable place, she nevertheless
acquired with the utmost ease and facility.
The insurrection being quelled, the Vizier returned, and, not
unmindful of his fair captive, ordered that she might be prepared for
his reception in the evening.
Accordingly Urad was sumptuously adorned with jewels and brocades, and
looked more beautiful than the fairest Circassian; and the dignity of
her virtue added such a grace to her charms, that even her keepers,
the eunuchs, dared not look upon her. In the evening the chief eunuch
led her into the presence of Mussapulta. She shrank from him with
horror.
"What!" said he, "cannot a fortnight's pleasure in this palace efface
the remembrance of your sorrows? But be gay and cheerful, for know
that the Vizier Mussapulta esteems you beyond any of his wives."
"The esteem of a robber, the esteem of a lawless ranger," answered
Urad, "charms not the ears of virtue."
"What," said Mussapulta, sternly, "dost thou refuse my proffered love?
Then shalt thou die! Slay this proud maiden in my sight. Cut off her
head at once."
The eunuch hesitated.
"Why," said the proud Vizier, "do you delay to obey me?"
As he said this an eunuch came running in haste, crying, "The Sultan,
the Sultan Almurah, approaches!"
All was instant confusion. Mussapulta turned pale and trembled. He
ordered the eunuch to release the fair Urad, and at that moment the
faithful lion entered with the Sultan Almurah.
The lion instantly seized on the Vizier Mussapulta, and tore him limb
from limb. Yet the generous animal would not defile himself with the
carcass, but with great wrath tossed the bloody remains among the
females of the seraglio.
Almurah commanded Urad to advance, and at the sight of her,
"O royal beast," said he to the lion, "I wonder not that thou wert
unable to describe the beauties of this lovely maid, since they are
almost too dazzling to behold. O virtuous maid," continued Almurah,
"whose excellencies I have heard from this faithful animal, if thou
canst deign to accept of the heart of Almurah, thy Sultan will be the
happiest of mankind; but I swear, by my unalterable will, that no
power on earth shall force or distress you."
"Oh," sighed Urad, "royal Sultan, you honour your poor slave too much;
yet happy should I be were Houadir here!"
As she spoke, the genius Houadir entered the room: the face of the
sage instructress still remained, but a glowing splendour surrounded
her, and her walk was majestic and commanding. Almurah bowed to the
ground, Urad made obeisance, and the rest fell prostrate before her.
"My advice," said Houadir, "is necessary now, O Urad, nor ought young
virgins to enter into such engagements without counsel and the
approbation of those above them, how splendid and lucrative soever the
union may appear. I, who know the heart of Almurah, the servant of
Mahomet, know him to be virtuous: some excesses he has been guilty of,
but they were chiefly owing to his villanous Vizier, Mussapulta."
(Here the lion gave a dreadful roar.) "Against your command, Almurah,
did he wound this animal, which I endowed with speech for the service
of Urad, to teach her that strength and nobleness of soul would always
support the innocent.
"Mussapulta having wounded him, commanded his slave to put the royal
beast to death; but I gave the slave bowels of mercy, and he carried
him home to his cottage till the wound was healed, when the lion,
faithful to his trust, came towards you as you were hunting, and being
endowed with speech, declared the iniquity of Mussapulta--but he is no
more.
"Now, Urad, if thy mind incline to Almurah, receive his vows, but give
not thine hand where thy heart is estranged, for no splendour can
compensate the want of affection."
"If Almurah, my gracious lord," answered Urad, "will swear in three
things to do my desire, his handmaid will be happy to serve him."
"I swear," answered the fond Almurah. "Hadst thou three thousand
desires, Almurah would satisfy them or die."
"What strange things," said Houadir, "has Urad to ask of the Sultan
Almurah?"
"Whatever they are, gracious genius," said Almurah, "Urad, the lovely
Urad, may command me."
"Then," said Urad, "first I require that the poor inhabitants of the
forest be restored to their native lands, whence thou hast driven
them."
"By the great Allah, and Mahomet the Prophet of the just," answered
Almurah, "the deed was proposed and executed by the villain
Mussapulta! Yes, my lovely Urad shall be obeyed. But now, Urad,"
continued the Sultan, "ere you proceed in your requests, let me make
one sacrifice to chastity and justice, by vowing, in the presence of
the good genius Houadir, to dismiss my seraglio, and take thee only
for my wife."
"So noble a sacrifice," answered Urad, "demands my utmost returns;
wherefore, beneficent Sultan, I release thee from any further
compliance with my requests."
"Lovely Urad," said Almurah, "permit me, then, to dive into your
thoughts:--yes, by your kind glances on that noble beast, I perceive
you meditated to ask some bounty for your deliverer. He shall, fair
virgin, be honoured as Urad's guardian, and the friend of Almurah; he
shall live in my royal palace, with slaves to attend him; and, that
his rest may not be inglorious or his life useless, once every year
shall those who have injured the innocent be delivered up to his
honest rage."
The lovely Urad fell at the feet of her Sultan, and blessed him for
his favours; and the sage Houadir approved of Urad's request and the
promises of Almurah. The lion came and licked the feet of his
benefactors; and the genius Houadir, at parting, poured her blessings
on the royal pair.
[Illustration]
Alischar and Smaragdine.
[Illustration]
There lived once on a time, in the province of Khorassan, a rich
merchant, to whom, in his sixtieth year, a son was born, and he called
his name Alischar. Fifteen years afterwards the father died, but not
without giving his son, in the hour of death, many excellent advices
and moral instructions as to his conduct through life. Alischar buried
his father, and not long afterwards his mother also, and began to
exercise diligently the trade which his parents had bequeathed to him.
In this way a whole year was spent, without the least departure from
the wise course of behaviour which his father had prescribed for him
in his last moments. But, unfortunately, ere many weeks more were
gone, he fell into the company of certain vicious people, who seduced
him into a life of such luxury and extravagance, that in a short time
the money the old man had left him was entirely spent. Proceeding in
the same follies, he by-and-bye was obliged to part with the shop
itself,--the household furniture followed,--and, in a word, Alischar
was left without anything he could call his own, except the bare roof
over his head and the clothes upon his back.
Having nothing wherewithal to still the cravings of hunger, the youth
might now be seen daily roaming about the streets, idle and listless.
One day in this sad condition he was loitering about in the great
square of the city, when his attention was attracted by a crowd of
people, who seemed to be gathered around one who sold some merchandise
by auction. He drew near, and, mixing among the assemblage, saw that
the business was the selling of a beautiful young slave, who stood in
the midst with a form of the most fascinating elegance, cheeks that
outshone the rose, and beauty more dazzling than the reflection of the
full moon in a fountain of dissolved pearls. Scarcely had he looked
upon her ere love seized him and mastered him; he knew not what to do
or to say, but remained like a stone in the midst of the crowd,
gazing. The bystanders, who were ignorant that Alischar had so soon
dissipated his patrimony, never doubted that he had come in order to
be a bidder for the beautiful slave. The crier moved his situation so
as to stand right opposite to him, with the girl in his hand, and
began to call out the usual words more loudly than before, "Ye rich
merchants, ye honourable wholesale dealers, gentlemen all of worth and
condition, what say ye for this brunette slave, who is the mistress of
the moon of heaven, whose name is called Smaragdine, and whose fame is
purer than the pearl in the depths of the Red Sea? Say your bidding,
great and small."
At first five hundred and twenty-five ducats were offered; but
immediately there came forward an old man, by name Beschadeddin,
shapeless in his form and shuffling in his gait,--the aversion of
every eye that rested on him. This old man came forward across the
market-place, and offered without hesitation a thousand ducats.
The crier cast his eyes around, but the former bidders remained
silent, and then asked the master of the slave if he was satisfied
with this offer.
"I am," said the merchant, "but upon condition that the girl herself
is so also; for I have sworn to her, that she shall be sold to no one
for whose service she does not herself feel an inclination."
Upon this the crier turned to the girl, and asked her what she had to
say to the matter. She cast her bright eyes upon the hateful old man,
and replied, "Know ye not the verse of the old poet, how he says:
"'Grey hairs were never formed to give me delight;
Sooner would I twist my fingers amidst the dead leaves
That are about to fall from the tree, when the wind of winter
is blowing?'"
"You are right," said the auctioneer, laughing (and the master of the
slave re-echoed his laugh and his answer); "let us see whether we
cannot light upon a younger bidder."
With that there drew near a man whose years were not few, but he had
dyed his beard and moved trippingly. He also offered a thousand
ducats; but at that moment Smaragdine began to recite as from the book
of some poet, but the verses were in truth her own:
"'Say to him that dyes his beard, that I love not the false.
Deception is in him that conceals the works of God and Time.
He that disguises his countenance, how shall one put faith in his
words?'"
A third now came forward, but unfortunately he was one-eyed. The slave
regarded him, and quoted, or seemed to quote, without hesitation,
"'Avoid the one-eyed lover, maiden;
How shall he be thy safe guardian, fair woman?
Will he love thee better than the apple of his eye?'"
"Look round you," said the crier; "is there none here that pleases you
better?" And with this he pointed to a short stout man whose beard was
of unusual dimensions.
"Fie!" said the slave, "this is he whom the poet had in his eye when
he sang,
"'Providence has given my adorer too great an allowance of beard.
This bush resembles the night of winter--long, black, and cold.'"
"Choose for yourself, girl," said the auctioneer, laughing more
heartily than before; "I pray you look round upon all the circle of
the bystanders."
The slave cast her eyes slowly around the company, and at last rested
them upon Alischar, whose appearance had charmed her from the first
moment.
"Mr. Crier," said she, "I will belong to no one but this handsome
young man. It is of him that the poet was thinking when he wrote those
verses:
"'Sorrow and pain fly from the loveliness of his countenance,
And pierce the hearts of the maidens every one.
Why are they not veiled deeply over the eyes?
Why court they destruction in gazing upon his beauty?
The breath of his lip is like the odour of myrrh and camphor.
Men slander him; but the moon rises in heaven, and who will then
believe that there is darkness?'"
When she ceased from her recitation, her master drew near to Alischar,
and said, "Friend, you see what a wonder of beauty, education, and
eloquence this slave is; and, if you got such a treasure for a
thousand ducats, be assured you were a most fortunate man. I swear to
you that she can read the Koran in seven different methods--that she
excels equally in seven different styles of penmanship--that she
embroiders to admiration in silk, in silver, and in gold--and that you
will soon get your money out of her, if it were but by the sale of her
works in the market-place."
The crier also put in his word. "O sir," quoth he to Alischar, "it is
obvious that Providence has an especial kindness for you: she is a
pearl and a jewel. You are about to be the happiest of men."
Alischar could not help smiling when he heard all this.
"How!" said he to himself, "last night I went supperless to bed, and
yet these people all fancy I am in a condition to pay a thousand
ducats for a dark-eyed slave!"
He shook his head, for he would fain escape the pain of saying openly
that he was too poor to think of such a purchase.
"Quick," said the beautiful slave, "let me speak to the young man
myself: I must talk to him a little in private, for I am determined
that he, and he only, shall buy me."
The crier took her by the hand, and, leading her to Alischar, retired
a few paces to allow them opportunity of conversation.
"Amiable young man!" whispered she to the youth, "will you not buy
me?"
Alischar shook his head sorrowfully.
"Aha!" said she, "I have it. Perhaps you think I am too dear? Will you
give nine hundred ducats for me?"
"No."
"Eight hundred?"
"No."
"Seven hundred?"
"No, no."
And in this way she came down to one hundred ducats, receiving always
the same melancholy monosyllable in reply.
"I have not a hundred ducats in the world," said Alischar, and a deep
sigh came from his breast.
"Perhaps you could give ninety--eighty--seventy?"
At last he could not help himself, and whispered in her ear,--"Angel
of light!" said he, "I have neither gold nor silver, not to talk of
ducats; I have not a penny in the world: you must find another
purchaser."
"Do what I bid you," answers she. "Take hold of my hand, and kiss me
on the side of the cheek, for that is the signal of the bargain being
completed."
Alischar, scarcely conscious of his proceedings, obeyed the girl. The
instant afterwards she drew a purse from her bosom, and said, "Take
that, my love; you will find a thousand ducats in it: pay nine hundred
to my master for me, and lead your new slave home with all speed."
When they came to the house there was neither bed, sofa, table, nor
dish in it. The slave instantly sent Alischar to the market to get a
few necessary moveables and provisions. He did what she bade him.
Smaragdine forthwith put the house in the nicest order, and set about
dressing a little supper with the most exquisite skill. In short, the
next day Alischar married the beautiful slave. Then Smaragdine set
herself busily to work in embroidering a carpet. She represented on it
all sorts of quadrupeds so skilfully that one expected to see them
move; and birds, so that it was a wonder one did not hear them
singing. In the whole of this work she occupied only eight days, and
when these were over she sent her man to the market to sell the
carpet, cautioning him, however, with great strictness, to avoid
falling into any adventure that might terminate in their separation.
Alischar followed scrupulously the instructions of his wife, and in
this manner, supported by Smaragdine's needlework, they spent a whole
year of undisturbed felicity.
One day, as Alischar was going to market with one of Smaragdine's
coverlets, as usual, to sell, he happened to meet with a certain
Infidel who at once offered him sixty ducats for it. He had a secret
disinclination to have any dealings with a Giaour, and asked first
sixty-five, and then seventy ducats, and so up at last to a hundred.
The man, to his astonishment, said, "Well, there is your money;" and
not having the face to play the extortioner further, Alischar pursed
the gold, and returned homewards. He was close to the door of his
house ere he observed that the Giaour had been following him, and was
just behind him.
"I see you are now at home," said the Infidel, "and I beg you will
have the kindness to give me a cup of water, for I have been broiling
in the streets all day, and am ready to expire with thirst."
Alischar, who would never have forgiven himself for refusing so
trivial a civility, went immediately into the house for a jug of
water.
"Where have you been lingering so long to-day?" said Smaragdine. "I
know not how or why, but a certain painful anticipation of some
misfortune has been hanging over my mind ever since you went out. It
rejoices my very heart to see you come home sound and well again; but
what is it you want with the water-jug?"
"Only to refresh a person who seems about to die of thirst," answered
Alischar; "but I shall be back again in a moment, my dear Smaragdine."
With this he ran downstairs, and was surprised to find the Infidel,
whom he had left without on the street, seated within the porch.
"Dog of a Giaour!" says he, "what do you here?"
"Pardon me, good sir," replies the Giaour; "I was so wearied that my
legs refused to support me any longer, and it was a matter of mere
necessity that I should sit down somewhere."
Alischar gave him a cup of water, and waited to see him arise and take
his departure; but, behold, nothing was less in the man's mind.
"Out with you," at last cries Alischar; "out this moment, I say."
"Blessed," says the Giaour, "be they that refuse not a drink of water
to him who standeth athirst before the door, and who grudge not a bit
of bread to him that is a-hungered. Now my thirst is quenched, but my
hunger is even greater than that was. Give me a bit of bread and a
couple of onions, and for more I will not trouble you."
"Pack off!" said Alischar; "there is nothing in the house."
"With your leave, sir," says the other, producing his purse, "here are
one hundred ducats: have the kindness to seek some bread and onions
here in your neighbourhood, and I shall feel myself eternally obliged
by your condescension."
"The man is mad," thinks Alischar to himself; "but that is no reason
why I should suffer a hundred ducats to go a-begging for quarters."
"Haste, sir, haste!" continued the Giaour. "I am near to death, so
great is my hunger, and no one knows what sort of a misery that is
until he has experienced it himself. If it be but a crust, a crumb--a
morsel of dry meal even; but something I must have, else I want
strength to move myself from this seat."
"Wait a moment, then," said Alischar. And with that he went out,
taking care to lock the door behind him. He soon returned with roast
meat, pastry, honey, a water-melon, and some bread, upon a tray.
"Oh!" cried the Giaour, when he saw him returning so, "this is too
much. Ten men might dine on this, and here am I alone before it all,
unless you would do me the honour to sit with me."
"Eat alone," said Alischar harshly.
But by-and-bye the guest takes the water-melon, and divides it very
neatly into two parts, contriving by dexterous management of the knife
to besmear the one of these with a strong tincture of _nepenthe_ of
Crete and opium, enough to have put an elephant to sleep.
"Pray," said the Infidel, holding the medicated half towards Alischar,
"accept this beautiful slice of melon at the hands of your servant."
Alischar could not be so rude as to refuse this: he ate the fruit, and
in a moment the fatal effects of it were apparent, for he sank into
utter oblivion, losing all his senses at once.
The Giaour rises softly the moment he perceives this, locks the door,
and putting the key of the house in his pocket, runs with all speed to
inform his brother of the success of his treachery. This was the old
Beschadeddin, our acquaintance, who, though he pretended to be a
Mussulman, had always remained an Infidel. It was he who had excited
his brother to all this knavery, in order that he himself might if
possible gain possession of Smaragdine. He now took his people with
him, provided himself with gold, mounted his mule, and repaired
directly to Alischar's habitation. His slaves seized Smaragdine by
force, threatening her with instant death if she dared to utter a
single cry, and so conveyed her in safety to the house of their
master.
"Ah, wretch!" says the old reprobate, "have I got you at last into my
hands? I swear to you, that if you do not consent to renounce Mahomet
I will make minced meat of you forthwith."
"Hack me and hew me into a thousand shreds, if such be your pleasure,"
answers she; "but know, wretch of wretches! that a Moslem I am, and a
Moslem I will die. Allah chastises those He best loves with
difficulties and dangers, and upon Him alone I set all my trust."
Upon this the wretched ancient gave orders to his female slaves to
prick Smaragdine's flesh with pins, and then to tie her up in the
corner of the kitchen, but on no account to give her a morsel to eat.
But even this last blow had no effect on Smaragdine, who merely
exclaimed as she had been doing before,
"God is God, and Mahomet is His Prophet!"
When poor Alischar, on his part, awoke from his sleep, and found
himself alone in his bed, fear unutterable came into his mind, and he
began to cry out for his Smaragdine like one possessed. But his cries
were as useless as his searches: he could find his love nowhere, and
concluded that the vile Giaour had deceived him for the sake of
abstracting her. At first he sat in a corner shedding hot tears, hour
after hour, by himself; but perceiving that his tears were of no
avail, he tore his garments, took a stone in each hand, and walked
through the town beating his breast alternately with these stones, and
crying out all the time in a loud voice of distress, "O Smaragdine!
Smaragdine!"
The children collected about him, and first one and then another of
them entreated him to tell his story. He did so, and whoever heard him
pitied him. After he had in this way gone through the whole town, he
happened to see an old woman of his acquaintance sitting at her door,
and saluted her respectfully. The old lady, being knowing in such
matters, perceived at once the symptoms of a desolate lover, and asked
him the reason of his distress. He told her all, and she said to him,
"I am very much grieved for your case, my son; but take courage. I
certainly think my assistance will be of much advantage to you. Go
hence immediately, buy one of the bread-baskets in which the hawkers
carry their loaves about, and put a few articles of female attire in
it. I undertake to go about with the wares, and I flatter myself you
will ere long hear some tidings of Smaragdine."
Alischar was out of himself with joy even at this small glimpse of
hope; he covered the hand of the old dame with tears and kisses, and
forthwith fetched her what she had asked for. She made herself ready
without delay to commence her operations, and in the course of her
wanderings came, after no long space of time, to the very house of
Beschadeddin.
She happened to enter at a moment when the female slaves of the house
were misusing poor Smaragdine.
"And what," says she, "has the poor child done to you that you should
treat her so roughly?"
"In truth," they answered, "we do what we do against our own
inclination, but we must obey our master's orders."
"Not when he is from home, surely," says the old woman again; "do have
a little pity. Oblige me so far as to unbind this unfortunate, and
refresh her a little with some food."
The slave-girls, whose hearts were by no means destitute of
sensibility, loosed her bands, and left her for a moment alone with
the old woman. She made good use of the happy occasion, told her in
whose name she had come, and said that if she would take care to be at
the window exactly at midnight, Alischar would be there at that
moment, when she might easily drop upon his shoulders and regain her
freedom. With this she hies away to Alischar to make him acquainted
with her success. She assured him that Beschadeddin being from home,
the slaves had promised to leave Smaragdine unbound for that one
night, and he needed not many words to make him undertake the
adventure.
He was at the appointed spot the moment darkness closed, determined to
stand there and wait patiently for the time when his love should
appear. But alas! his sorrow had cost him many slumberless nights, and
now that he thought himself secure of his happiness again, long-absent
sleep came, and overpowered him suddenly where he stood on the street.
It happened that just about this time a thief was passing down the
same street. Perceiving that Alischar was fast asleep, this fellow
eased him of his turban, and setting that on his head, was about to
proceed on his way. Smaragdine, at this moment standing in the window,
saw the gleam of her lover's turban, and never doubting that it was
worn by Alischar himself, opened the lattice, and said to the thief in
an audible whisper,
"Come, come, love, I am ready to come down."
"Here is a fine adventure," quoth the thief to himself; "let us make
the best of it."
With this he placed himself below Smaragdine's window, received her on
his shoulders, and darted off with her like lightning.
"Oh," says she to him, "you are so strong, you trot as nimbly as if
you were a horse under me; and the good old woman had persuaded me
that grief had weakened you so that you could scarcely drag your own
limbs along."
The gentleman, on his part, made no answer to these observations, and
Smaragdine at last began to feel his face, which being very rough and
half covered with hair, her error was apparent, and she began to cry
out with all her might,
"Who art thou? who art thou?"
"Silence!" answered the thief: "I am Hirvan the Kurd, and I belong to
the band of Ahmed-ed-deyf. We are forty of us, all jolly brothers of
the trade, and a happy life shall you lead with us."
Smaragdine perceived into what horrors her error had plunged her: she
committed her soul to God and her body to the Prophet, and allowed
Hirvan to proceed with her in silence.
He conveyed her straight to a cavern without the city, which was the
hiding-place of the band. At that moment there was no one in it but
the mother of the captain, who had been left to arrange the plunder of
the preceding night, and in particular the wardrobe of a young
cavalier whom they had murdered, and whose horse and portmanteau were
observed just within the entrance of the cavern. The young robber
handed over Smaragdine to the old lady's protection, and went out
again in quest of more adventures; and no sooner were they alone than
the old one began to praise Smaragdine's beauty, and to felicitate her
upon the prospect of being bride to her own son, the captain, whose
manifold accomplishments she most vigorously extolled. Smaragdine,
after a little while, began to dry her tears, and by degrees affected
to be quite comforted. She even went so far as to say that she
regretted one thing more than all the rest, and this was that she
could not take a bath, and be ready to give the captain a reception
more worthy of his rank and character.
"Ah, the bath! the bath!" cries the old woman, "you are quite in the
right; there is no comfort in this world like the bath; but it is a
luxury I never enjoy, for I have nobody about me to shampoo me."
"Here am I," says Smaragdine; "allow me to attend on you the first,
and then you will do the like good office to me."
The bargain was soon struck. The bath was got into order, and the old
woman, the first time for many years, entered it. Smaragdine kept the
water very hot, and rubbed and scrubbed the old dame so, that she was
quite in transports, and at length fell fast asleep under the pleasing
influence. While she slept Smaragdine took possession of the clothes
and arms of the murdered cavalier, mounted his horse, and galloped
from the cavern, without having the least notion whither.
When morning broke she found herself in an uncultivated country,
destitute of any marks of human habitation. She ate some roots and
fruits, allowed her horse to graze under the trees, and so proceeded
all the day.
On the eleventh morning she descried, in the valley before her, a
noble and beautifully situated town; and behold, as she drew nearer to
the gates, there came from thence a multitude of horsemen, who
surrounded her upon the highway, threw themselves on the ground before
the hoofs of her horse, kissed her garment, and hailed her as the
Sultan sent to them by the especial care of Heaven. Each man clapped
his hands, and exclaimed, _Allah jausur es Sultaun_![18] that is to
say, God give victory to the Sultan, King of the world--blessed be thy
coming!
[Footnote 18: This is a cry which still survives in Egypt--the very
cry with which the inhabitants of that country welcomed successively,
in 1800-1, the Generals of the French, the Turkish, and the English
armies.]
What may all this mean? thinks the bewildered girl to herself. She
asked the question aloud, and the Lord High Chamberlain hastened to
answer it. "Know, sire," said he, "that when the Sovereign of this
city dies without children, all the inhabitants are, according to the
constitution, assembled together in the great street, there ready to
come out and salute as their Prince the first traveller who happens to
emerge from the wilderness; and in this manner it is impossible for us
not to acknowledge the finger of Providence, who gives the crown to
the person He judges most fit to wear it. Heaven be praised for having
sent us, on this occasion, a King such as you seem to be; for had it
been never such a ragamuffin, or even scoundrel, it must have been
equally our duty to welcome him as our lord."
"Believe not," answered Smaragdine, recollecting herself, "believe not
that in me you hail any low-born Prince. No, my lords, I am the son of
a noble house, who happened to take into my head the fancy of riding
through the world in quest of adventures; and here, as you perceive,
gentlemen, here is one that appears to be by no means of a despicable
description to begin with."
Without delay Smaragdine held her triumphant entry into the city,
opened the treasury chambers of the dead King, and distributed a large
proportion of the gold that was found there to propitiate the goodwill
of the inhabitants, above all of the army. In this way all hearts were
won, and every class of the people remained full of affection and
devotion to the sovereign authority. The Sultan alone was unhappy. Her
thoughts rested afar off upon her Alischar. In the harem she
constrained herself so far as to appear well pleased with the songs,
dances, and banquets prepared for her; but when night approached, she
retired to a solitary chamber, and spent the silent hours in fasting
and praying and melancholy reflection.
After a full twelve months had been passed in this manner, without any
tidings of the lost Alischar, she assembled on the feast of the New
Year the Viziers and lords of the chamber, and gave command that a
vast amphitheatre should be erected in the centre of the city. In the
midst a lofty dome was placed, below which seats were arranged for the
nobles of the realm. Here, when all was finished, Smaragdine
entertained them with a stately feast; and her heralds made
proclamation, that henceforth, on the first day of every new moon, a
season naturally devoted to festivities, the Sultan would give a
banquet to all his subjects in the amphitheatre: on that day, under
pain of death, no shop should be opened, nor merchandise cared for. On
the day of the first new moon, accordingly, the whole of the people
were assembled in the presence of their Prince. Each ate, drank, and
enjoyed himself as much as he could, well satisfied that in so doing
he fulfilled the decree of his Sovereign.
Glad at heart was Smaragdine, for she flattered herself that this
assembling of the people might one day or other furnish the means of
getting some intelligence concerning her dear Alischar. Just while
this thought passed through her mind, behold, a man rose up, and
stretching out his hand, drew to himself from some distance a dish of
milk, in which rice, sugar, and cinnamon were mingled, and there arose
a cry of "Shame! shame! shame on the glutton, who is unsatisfied with
that which the King's bounty had placed before his own seat."
"The reason," said the man, "is only this, that they have placed a
fricassee before me, and I eat no fricassees."
"I am convinced," cries another, "that this is some dog of an Infidel,
and that this happens to be one of their fast-days."
Smaragdine, whom this disturbance had not escaped, gave orders
forthwith that the man should be brought before her throne. The people
ceased from eating and drinking, and every eye and ear were fixed upon
the footstool of the Sultan.
"What is your name?" said Smaragdine, "and for what purpose have you
come into my states?"
The wretch, who had clothed himself in a white turban, which of right
belongs only to the Moslems, made answer, "My name is Ali; I am a
weaver by trade, and I have come hither in the hope to gain my bread
honestly by the labour of my hands."
"Well, well," says Smaragdine, "bring quickly hither my necromantic
tablet _Romla_, and the steel pen that belongs to it, and soon shall
the truth be made manifest."
With that she began, apparently, her calculation, cast her eyes
upwards, and after a pause of some moments, said, "Dog, thou liest!
Thou art a Giaour, and thou hast come hither with some wicked
intention. Confess the truth, or thy head flies from thy shoulders
upon the spot!"
"Pardon! pardon!" cried the stranger, altogether astonished; for he
never doubted that the secret virtue of the _Romla_ had detected him:
"pardon, great King! It is true I am a Giaour."
Smaragdine gave orders that he should instantly be hung, his carcass
thrown into the court of offal, and his head fixed before the gate of
the palace. The people witnessed the execution, and applauded equally
the astrological skill and the stern justice of their Sovereign.
On the first day of the second month the same festival was repeated.
It was again proclaimed that every one should eat, drink, and rejoice,
but that none should on any account touch anything but what happened
to be set before himself. The nobles assembled; the troops stood in
order of parade; the people had taken their places in the
amphitheatre. The King was on his throne, and surveyed the scene
around with attentive eyes. At this moment a foreigner came, all
hastily and dusty from his journey, to the door of the amphitheatre,
and his loud inquiries as to the meaning of the splendid scene before
him were heard distinctly even where the King sat. An old woman, near
the entrance, explained to him the meaning of the feast, but forgot to
inform him of the regulations as to meddling with dishes at a distance
from one's own place. The man took his place, and shortly afterwards
stretched out his hand to seize something a little way off. "Hold!"
cried at once a thousand voices; "hold, or you will be hanged."
The man, who had no very pure conscience to sustain his nerves, took
it for granted his fate was sealed; and, without a moment's delay,
began leaping over the benches, in the hopes to make his escape. The
King nodded; he was arrested and placed before the throne. "Who art
thou?" said Smaragdine, "and wherefore hast thou come into our
states?".
"My name," answered he, "is Osman. I am by profession a gardener, and
have come hither to seek for certain rare trees and flowers."
"Holla, there!" cries the King, "bring hither quickly my tablet
_Romla_ and the steel pen, and speedily will the truth see daylight."
With this, Smaragdine began to study the tablet attentively: she kept
her eyes for some moments fixed upon the sky, and then said, "Hateful
churl, thou liest! Thy name is Hirvan the Kurd, and by profession thou
art a thief. Confess the truth, wretch!"
The man's colour changed; his tongue refused its office; at length he
confessed the truth. The King ordered him to be hung immediately, his
carcass and head to be treated as had been done with those of the
Giaour. The people returned with quickened appetites to their dinner,
and admired more than ever the wisdom and rectitude of their Prince.
The first day of the third moon brought with it the usual
proclamation, the usual feast, and the usual consequences. A stranger
appears, who, not knowing the law of the festival, transgresses it
grossly, is accused, and finally conducted into the immediate presence
of Smaragdine, who puts to him the usual questions.
"My name," replies the stranger, "is Resim, and I am a poor dervish."
"Bring my _Romla_ tablet and my steel pen," cries the King.
They do as they are bid: Smaragdine casts her eyes upwards, preserves
for a moment the usual silence, and exclaims, "Thou liest, dog! thy
name is Beschadeddin; outwardly thou art a Moslem, but in heart an
unbeliever: confess the verity, or thou diest."
It was no one but Beschadeddin. Like the robber, he had, after the
loss of the beautiful slave, set out upon his travels in the hope of
finding her again, and his ill fortune had conducted him to the same
city. Full of dismay, he was constrained to confess the truth, and his
head figured forthwith beside those of his brother adventurers. The
feast proceeded with redoubled jollity, and louder than ever were the
sagacity and justice of the Sultan extolled. Smaragdine alone took no
part in the general merriment.
It was the first morning of the fourth moon, as the people were
congregated together for the usual festival, when there appeared, at
one of the doors of the amphitheatre, a young man, beautiful as the
day, but having the lustre of his complexion dimmed by the cloud of
long afflictions. It was Alischar, and Smaragdine had nigh swooned
away with the joy of beholding him.
After he awoke in the street without his turban, and learnt from the
old woman what had happened, and that his dear Smaragdine had indeed
vanished, though not in his company, his spirit was yielded up as a
prey to the bitterest anguish. A sore illness fell upon him, and for a
whole year he had lain helpless, nursed carefully by the good old
woman. But as soon as he began to recover a little strength, he set
out a-wandering though the world, if perchance he might yet once again
find his wife. It happened that he came on the morning of this
feast-day to the city where she was King, and, being unacquainted with
the regulations of the amphitheatre, he fell into a mistake similar to
that which had already proved fatal to so many travellers. He was,
like them, accused and summoned to the Prince's footstool. He knelt
down reverently, and kissed the dust before her; and being asked what
was his name and his business, made answer, without hesitation,
"My name is Alischar, and I am come hither, wandering over the whole
earth, in quest of the fountain of my life, my dear Smaragdine, whom I
have lost."
The King sent for the tablet _Romla_ and the steel pen. "You have said
the truth," says the King; "and I perceive that Heaven designs ere
long to restore to you your lost love."
With this she commanded them to lead Alischar to the bath, to clothe
him in a robe of honour, and treat him in her palace with all respect
and consideration.
Smaragdine could scarcely wait until night came, so great was her
impatience. When it was dark, she commanded that Alischar should be
brought before her, and invited him to partake of the royal supper.
The young man, who was naturally modest, was confounded with this
condescension, but constrained himself, and acquitted himself as well
as he could. It appeared that his behaviour gave no displeasure to the
King; for, supper being ended, the chief of the black eunuchs came
into the apartment, and Alischar heard him receive his Sovereign's
orders to place him in one of the palace sleeping-chambers.
Presently a whisper was heard close to his pillow, and ere he could
make any answer, his visitant revealed herself.
It was Smaragdine: she was out of herself with joy; she burst out into
loud laughter, such as could proceed from no lips but hers, and made
herself known to the enraptured Alischar.
Next morning the King called together the nobles of the city, and
requested them to choose some one to act as Viceroy for a season,
announcing the necessity of undertaking a journey to his own country
in company with the stranger.
They immediately complied with this request, and escorted the Prince
from their gates with all the splendour of royal attendance. But
Smaragdine had no intention ever to reclaim their homage: she had
found her Alischar, and preferred a life of love and peace in her
native place, to a disagreeable disguise and the troublesome
magnificence of sovereign estate.
FINIS.
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's Eastern Tales by Many Story Tellers, by Various