Almet, the dervise, who watched the sacred lamp in the sepulchre of the
Prophet, as he one day rose up from the devotions of the morning, which
he had performed at the gate of the temple, with his body turned towards
the east, and his forehead on the earth, saw before him a man in splendid
apparel, attended by a long retinue, who gazed stedfastly at him, with a
look of mournful complacence, and seemed desirous to speak, but unwilling
to offend.
The Dervise, after a short silence, advanced, and saluting him with the
calm dignity which independence confers upon humility, requested that he
would reveal his purpose.
“Almet,” said the stranger, “thou seest before thee a man whom the hand
of prosperity has overwhelmed with wretchedness. Whatever I once desired
as the means of happiness, I now possess; but I am not yet happy, and
therefore I despair. I regret the lapse of time, because it glides away
without enjoyment; and as I expect nothing in the future but the vanities
of the past, I do not wish that the future should arrive. Yet I tremble
lest it should be cut off; and my heart sinks when I anticipate the
moment in which eternity shall close over the vacuity of my life, like
the sea upon the path of a ship, and leave no traces of my existence more
durable than the furrow which remains after the waves have united. If
in the treasures of thy wisdom there is any precept to obtain felicity,
vouchsafe it to me: for this purpose am I come; a purpose which yet I
feared to reveal, lest, like all the former, it should be disappointed.”
Almet listened, with looks of astonishment and pity, to this complaint of
a being, in whom reason was known to be a pledge of immortality; but the
serenity of his countenance soon returned; and stretching out his hand
towards heaven, “Stranger,” said he, “the knowledge which I have received
from the Prophet, I will communicate to thee.
“As I was sitting one evening at the porch of the temple, pensive and
alone, mine eye wandered among the multitude that was scattered before
me; and while I remarked the weariness and solicitude which was visible
in every countenance, I was suddenly struck with a sense of their
condition. ‘Wretched mortals,’ said I, ‘to what purpose are you busy?
Do the linens of Egypt, and the silks of Persia, bestow felicity on
those who wear them, equal to the wretchedness of yonder slaves, whom I
see leading the camels that bring them? Is the fineness of the texture,
or the splendour of the tints, regarded with delight by those to whom
custom has rendered them familiar? or can the power of habit render
others insensible of pain, who live only to traverse the desart; a
scene of dreadful uniformity, where a barren level is bounded only by
the horizon; where no change of prospect, or variety of images, relieves
the traveller from a sense of toil and danger, of whirlwinds which in
a moment may bury him in the sand, and of thirst, which the wealthy
have given half their possessions to allay? Do those on whom hereditary
diamonds sparkle with unregarded lustre, gain from the possession what is
lost by the wretch who seeks them in the mine; who lives excluded from
the common bounties of nature; to whom even the vicissitude of day and
night is not known; who sighs in perpetual darkness, and whose life is
one alternative of insensibility and labour? If those are not happy who
possess, in proportion as those are wretched who bestow, how vain a dream
is the life of man! and if there is, indeed, such difference in the value
of existence, how shall we acquit of partiality the hand by which this
difference has been made?”
While my thoughts thus multiplied, and my heart burned within me, I
became sensible of a sudden influence from above. The streets and the
crowds of Mecca disappeared; I found myself sitting on the declivity of
a mountain, and perceived at my right hand an angel, whom I knew to be
Azoran, the minister of reproof. When I saw him I was afraid. I cast
mine eye upon the ground, and was about to deprecate his anger, when he
commanded me to be silent. “Almet,” said he, “thou has devoted thy life
to meditation, that thy counsel might deliver ignorance from the mazes of
error, and deter presumption from the precipice of guilt; but the book
of nature thou hast read without understanding: it is again open before
thee: look up, consider it, and be wise.”
I looked up, and beheld an inclosure, beautiful as the gardens of
Paradise, but of a small extent. Through the middle there was a green
walk; at the end a wild desart; and beyond, impenetrable darkness. The
walk was shaded with trees of every kind, that were covered at once with
blossoms and fruit; innumerable birds were singing in the branches; the
grass was intermingled with flowers, which impregnated the breeze with
fragrance, and painted the path with beauty; on one side flowed a gentle,
transparent stream, which was just heard to murmur over the golden sands
that sparkled at the bottom; and on the other were walks and bowers,
fountains, grottoes, and cascades, which diversified the scene with
endless variety, but did not conceal the bounds.