(CONCLUDED.)
In the first moon of the following year, the Calif came again to Mecca,
with the same secrecy, and for the same purposes. He was willing once
more to see the man, whom he considered as deriving felicity from
himself. But he found me, not singing at my work, ruddy with health, and
vivid with cheerfulness; but pale and dejected, sitting on the ground,
and chewing opium, which contributed to substitute the phantoms of
imagination for the realities of greatness. He entered with a kind of
joyful impatience in his countenance, which, the moment he beheld me, was
changed to a mixture of wonder and pity. I had often wished for another
opportunity to address the Calif; yet I was confounded at his presence,
and throwing myself at his feet, I laid my hand upon my head, and was
speechless. “Hassan,” said he, “what canst thou have lost, whose wealth
was the labour of thy own hand; and what can have made thee sad, the
spring of whose joy was in thy own bosom?—What evil has befallen thee?
Speak, and if I can remove it, thou art happy.” I was now encouraged
to look up, and I replied, “Let my Lord forgive the presumption of his
servant, who rather than utter a falsehood, would be dumb for ever. I am
become wretched by the loss of that which I never possessed: thou hast
raised wishes which indeed I am not worthy thou shouldst satisfy: but why
should it be thought, that he who was happy in obscurity and indigence,
would not have been rendered more happy by eminence and wealth?”
When I had finished this speech, Almalic stood some moments in suspense,
and I continued prostrate before him. “Hassan,” said he, “I perceive, not
with indignation but regret, that I mistook thy character; I now discover
avarice and ambition in thy heart, which lay torpid only because their
objects were too remote to rouse them. I cannot, therefore, invest thee
with authority, because I would not subject my people to oppression; and
because I would not be compelled to punish thee for crimes which I first
enabled thee to commit.
“But as I have taken from thee that which I cannot restore, I will
at least gratify the wishes that I excited, lest thy heart accuse me
of injustice, and thou continue still a stranger to thyself. Arise,
therefore, and follow me.” I sprung from the ground as it were with
the wing of an eagle; I kissed the hem of his garment in an extasy of
gratitude and joy; and when I went from my house, my heart leaped as
if it had escaped from the den of a lion. I followed Almalic to the
caravansary in which he lodged; and after he had fulfilled his vows, he
took me with him to Medina. He gave me an apartment in the seraglio; I
was attended by his own servants; my provisions were sent from his own
table; and I received every week a sum from his treasury, which exceeded
the most romantic of my expectations. But I soon discovered, that no
dainty was so tasteful, as the food to which labour procured an appetite;
no slumbers so sweet as those which weariness invited; and no time so
well enjoyed, as that in which diligence is expecting its reward. I
remembered these enjoyments with regret; and while I was sighing in the
midst of superfluities, which though they encumbered life, yet I could
not give up, they were suddenly taken away.
Almalic, in the midst of the glory of his kingdom, and in the full vigour
of his life, expired suddenly in the bath; such, thou knowest, was the
destiny which the Almighty had written upon his head.
His son Aububeker, who succeeded to the throne, was incensed against
me, by some who regarded me at once with contempt and envy: he suddenly
withdrew my pension, and commanded that I should be expelled the
palace; a command which my enemies executed with so much rigour, that
within twelve hours I found myself in the streets of Medina, indigent
and friendless, exposed to hunger and derision, with all the habits of
luxury, and all the sensibility of pride. O! let not thy heart despise
me, thou whom experience hast not taught, that it is misery to lose that
which it is not happiness to possess. O! that for me, this lesson had not
been written on the tablets of Providence! I have travelled from Medina
to Mecca: but I cannot fly from myself. How different are the states in
which I have been placed! The remembrance of both is bitter; for the
pleasures of neither can return. Hassan, having thus ended his story,
smote his hands together, and looking upwards, burst into tears.
Omar, having waited till this agony was past, went to him, and taking him
by the hand, “My son,” said he, “more is yet in thy power than Almalic
could give, or Aububeker take away. The lesson of thy life the Prophet
has in mercy appointed me to explain.
“Thou wast once content with poverty and labour, only because they were
become habitual, and ease and affluence were placed beyond thy hope; for
when ease and affluence approached thee, thou wast content with poverty
and labour no more. That which then became the object, was also the bound
of thy hope; and he, whose utmost hope is disappointed, must inevitably
be wretched. If thy supreme desire had been the delights of Paradise, and
thou hadst believed that by the tenor of thy life these delights had been
secured, as more could not have been given thee, thou wouldst not have
regretted that less was not offered. The content which was once enjoyed
was but the lethargy of the soul; and the distress which is now suffered,
will but quicken it to action. Depart, therefore, and be thankful for all
things: put thy trust in Him, who alone can gratify the wish of reason,
and satisfy the soul with good: fix thy hope upon that portion, in
comparison of which the world is as the drop of the bucket, and the dust
of the balance. Return, my son, to thy labour; thy food shall be again
tasteful, and thy rest shall be sweet: to thy content also will be added
stability, when it depends not upon that which is possessed upon earth,
but upon that which is expected in Heaven.”
Hassan, upon whose mind the Angel of instruction impressed the counsel of
Omar, hastened to prostrate himself in the temple of the Prophet. Peace
dawned upon his mind like the radiance of the morning: he returned to his
labour with cheerfulness; his devotion became fervent and habitual: and
the latter days of Hassan were happier than the first.