Chapter VII: The Return to His Father (19)

"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.

Alischar and Smaragdine.

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."