The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night Volume XIII Part 15

Another tale in the Pandit's collection (No. 4) informs us that once upon a time in a town named Vajaimnagar there ruled a king named Sivchar. He was a most just king and ruled so well that no stone thrown up fell down, no crow pecked at the new-drawn milk, the lion and the bull drank water from the same pond, and peace and prosperity reigned throughout the kingdom. Notwithstanding all these blessings, care always sat on his face. His days and nights he spent in praying that G.o.d might bless him with a son. Wherever he saw ppal trees he ordered Brahmans to circ.u.mambulate them.[FN#404] Whatever medicines the doctors recommended he was ever ready to swallow, however bitter they might be. At last fortune favoured Sivchr; for what religious man fails to obtain his desire? The king in his sixtieth year had a son, and his joy knew no bounds.

In like fas.h.i.+on does the Persian "Sindibd Nma" begin: There reigned in India a sage and mighty monarch, the bricks of whose palace were not of stone or marble but of gold; the fuel of whose kitchen was fresh wood of aloes; who had brought under the signet of his authority the kingdoms of Rm and Abyssinia; and to whom were alike tributary the Ethiop Maharj and the Roman Kaysar. He was distinguished above all monarchs for his virtue clemency, and justice. But although he was the refuge of the Khalfate, he was not blessed with an heir: life and the world appeared profitless to him, because he had no fruit of the heart in the garden of his soul. One night, while reclining on his couch, sad and thoughtful, consumed with grief like a morning taper, he heaved a deep sigh upon which one of his favourite wives (he had a hundred in his harem), advancing towards him and kissing the ground, inquired the cause of his distress. He discloses it. His wife consoles him, encourages him to hope, and a.s.sures him that if he prayed, his prayers would be answered, but that at all events it was his duty to be resigned to the will of G.o.d. "Prayer is the only key that will open the door of difficulty." The king fasted for a whole week and was a.s.siduous in his devotions. One night he prayed with peculiar earnestness and self-abas.e.m.e.nt till morning. The companion of his couch was one of his wives, fairer than the sun and the envy of a pert. He clasped her in his embrace, exclaiming, "There is no strength, no power, save in G.o.d!" and he felt a.s.sured in his heart that his prayer was granted. In due time a son was born to him, and, eager to show his grat.i.tude, he bestowed munificent gifts and lavished his treasures on all his subjects.

The seventh of Lal Behari Day's "Folk-Tales of Bengal" opens as follows: Once on a time there reigned a king who had seven queens. He was very sad, for the seven queens were all barren. A holy mendicant, however, one day told the king that in a certain forest there grew a tree, on a branch of which hung seven mangoes; if the king himself plucked those mangoes and gave one to each of the queens they would all become mothers. So the king went to the forest, plucked the seven mangoes that grew upon one branch, and gave a mango to each of the queens to eat. In a short time the king's heart was filled with joy as he heard that the seven queens were pregnant.--In Miss Stokes' "Indian Fairy Tales,' p. 91, Rj Barbl receives from an ascetic 160 lich fruits, one of which he is to give to each of his 160 wives, who would have each a son.-- Similar instances occur in Steel and Temple's "Wide Awake Stories," from the Panjb and Kashmr, pp. 47 and 290, and in Natsa Sstr's "Dravidian Nights'

Entertainments" (a translation of the Tamil romance ent.i.tled "Madanakmarjankadai"), pp. 55, 56.--Among biblical instances of women having offspring after being long barren are: Sarah, the wife of Abraham (Gen. ch.

xv. 2 4, xxi. 1, 2); Rachel, the wife of Jacob (Gen. ch. x.x.x., 1, 22, 23); and Elisabeth, the wife of Zacharias, the high-priest, who were the parents of John the Baptist (Luke, ch. i.). Whether children be a "blessing,"

notwithstanding all that has been said and sung about the exquisite joys of paternity and maternity, is perhaps doubtful, generally speaking: one thing is certain, that many an honest fellow has had too much cause to "wonder why the devil he got an heir!"[FN#405]

Although no version or variant of the story of Khudadad and his Brothers has yet been found besides the one in the Turkish collection "Al-Farj ba'd al-s.h.i.+ddah," yet the elements of which it is composed occur in many European and Asiatic tales. As we have in Galland a story of sisters who envied their cadette, so, by way of justice to the "fair s.e.x," we have likewise this tale of envious brothers, which is a favourite theme of popular fictions, only in the story of Khudadad, the brothers were not at first aware of the hero's kins.h.i.+p to them, though they had been informed of it when they most ungratefully cut and slashed him with their swords as he lay asleep by the side of his beauteous bride the Princess of Daryabr.

Sometimes it is not a brother, or brothers, but a treacherous friend or a secret, cowardly rival, who attempts the life of the hero and claims the credit and reward for his bold achievement. Many examples must occur to readers familiar with Icelandic, Norwegian, and German folk-tales which need not here be cited. In the old French romance of the Chevalier Berinus and his gallant son Aigres de l'Aimant, the King of Loquiferne is in love with the Princess Melia, daughter of a king named Absalon, who would give her only to the prince who should bring with him two knights prepared to combat with and slay two fierce lions, or would attempt this feat himself. None of the barons of the King of Loquiferne offering themselves for the adventure, Aigres undertakes it very readily, and is accompanied by a knight named Aars, who has charge of a casket of jewels destined for the princess as a wedding-gift.

Young Aigres encounters and kills the lions singlehanded, and the lily-livered and faithless Aars envies him the glory of his exploit. On their way back to Loquiferne with the Princess Melia, as they pa.s.s near a deep well Aars purposely allows the casket of jewels to fall into it and pretends to be distracted at the misfortune. But the gallant Aigres securing one end of his horse's reins to the top of the well descends by this improvised rope, and when he dives into the water to recover the casket the rascal Aars cuts the reins and compels the princess and her maid to follow him. His triumph is brief, however, for Melia and her maid are taken from him, without his striking a blow in their defence, by a king who is in love with the princess.

Aars proceeds to the court of the King of Loquiferne and tells him how the lady had been s.n.a.t.c.hed out of his hands by a king who attacked him with a great army while Aigres had fled like a craven. Meanwhile Aigres contrives to get out of the well, and finds his steed and armour close by: he is fortunate in rescuing the princess and her maid from the king who had taken them from Aars, and arriving at the court of Loquiferne denounces Aars as a coward and traitor, and the princess Melia confirms his a.s.sertions; so the carpet-knight is for ever disgraced.

Another example not very generally known is found in the Urd romance, "Gul- Bakwal:" When the hero, Taj al-Malk, the youngest son of King Zayn al-Malk, is born, the astrologers cast his horoscope and predict that the king will lose his sight as soon as he looks upon him. In order to prevent such a calamity, the king causes the child and his mother to be placed in a house far distant from the city, where Zayn al-Malk grows up into a handsome, courageous youth. By chance he meets his father, the king, while the latter is hunting, and the king no sooner casts his eyes on the youth than he becomes blind. The royal physicians tell him that only the Rose of Bakwal can restore his sight, and the four other sons of the king set out together to procure this wonderful flower. They fall victims to the wiles of a courtesan, who wins all their money at play and ultimately imprisons them in her house.

In the meantime Taj al-Malk has started on the same errand; he outwits the courtesan, obtains the liberation of his brothers, and then journeys to Jinnistn, where, by the help of a friendly demon, he plucks the Rose in the garden of the beauteous fairy Bakwal, and retraces his way homeward. Meeting with his four brothers on the road, he acquaints them of his success, and on their doubting the virtue of the flower, it is applied to the eyes of a blind man, and his sight is instantly restored. Upon this the brothers take the flower from Taj al-Malk by force and hasten with it to their father. But the hero's friends the demons build for him a splendid palace, and the fame of his wealth soon reaches the court of his father, who, with the four brothers and the ministers of state, visits him, and after a great feast Taj al-Malk makes himself known to the king and relates the whole story of how he procured the flower that had restored his sight. The king falls upon his son's neck and weeps tears of joy, saying, "You have restored the light of my eyes by the Rose of Bakwal, and by the sight of you the door of cheerfulness has been opened in my sorrowful heart. It is inc.u.mbent on me to make known this enlivening news to your mother, who has looked out for you with anxiety and I must cause her, who has been afflicted with grief at your absence, to drink the sherbet of the glad tidings of your safety." Then the king went to Taj al-Malk's mother, made many apologies for his ill treatment of her, exalted her higher than she was previously, and gave her the joyful news of her son's arrival. The remainder of the romance recounts the marvellous adventures of the hero in fairyland, whither he proceeds to rejoin Bakwal, and where he undergoes many strange transformations; but ultimately all is "merry as marriage beds."--Nothing is said about the punishment or pardon of the treacherous brothers, but doubtless in the original form of the story the hero acted as generously towards them as did Khudadad when his father would have put the forty brothers to death. It seems somewhat strange that after Khudadad's brothers had killed him (as they believed) they did not take the Princess Daryabr away with them, which generally happens in stories of this kind.

The Story of the Blind Man, Baba Abdullah--p. 178.

An incident in the Muhammedan version of the legend of the Seven Sleepers may have furnished a hint for this well-told tale. When the evil-minded Dekia.n.u.s views the Hid Treasure, which he had covenanted with the aged man who read the Tablet for him and conducted him to the spot should be equitably divided betwixt them--when he had beheld with wonder and astonishment the incalculable riches contained in the seven chambers, he says within himself, "And must I share this with the old man?" Then he ponders and thinks, "Nay, but I will give him a goodly portion ;" but finally he resolves to give him nothing--nay more, to take away his life so that there should be none on earth besides himself acquainted with the source of his wealth. In vain does the old man bid him take all the treasure and swear that he will ever preserve the secret: Dekia.n.u.s smote him with his sword so that he died.

There is a tale in the Persian story-book "Shamsah wa Kahkahah" (also ent.i.tled "Mahbb al-Kalb") which bears some a.n.a.logy to the story of the Blind Man, Baba Abdullah. A skilful geomancer is desired by a tradesman to cast his horoscope. He does so, and informs the tradesman that he is to find a treasure. The man is incredulous, but after the operation is repeated with the same result at length becomes convinced of the accuracy of the geomancer's calculations, locks his door, and forthwith they both begin to dig the floor.

They come upon a large stone which on removal is found to have covered a well.

The geomancer lowers the tradesman down it in a basket, which the latter fills with gold and silver and precious stones, and it is drawn up by the geomancer.

When this has been repeated several times and the geomancer views the immense quant.i.ty of glittering treasure heaped up beside him, covetous thoughts enter his mind, and he determines to leave the tradesman to his fate at the bottom of the well, take all the wealth for himself, and live in comfort and luxury the rest of his days. Accordingly he does not again let the basket down, and the poor tradesman, suspecting his iniquitous design, calls out piteously to his perfidious friend, imploring him not to leave him there to perish, and swearing that the treasure should be equally shared as between brothers. But the covetous geomancer is deaf to his appeal, and begins to consider how the treasure might be conveyed to his own house without attracting the notice of any of the folk of the quarter, and in the midst of his cogitatious he falls asleep. Now it happened that the poor tradesman had an enemy who had long waited for an opportunity to do him a personal injury, and that very night he came to the house, and by means of a rope with a hook which he fastened to the wall he climbed on to the roof and descended into the place where the geomancer was sleeping. The man, mistaking him for the tradesman, seized the geomancer and with a sharp awl pierced his eyes, blinding him for ever. But, having thus effected his revenge as he thought, in groping his way out of the house he stumbled into the well and broke his foot. The tradesman, taking him for the geomancer, come for more gold, upbraided him for his insatiable avarice, and the man, in his turn, supposing him to have been thrown into the well by the tradesman, replied, "Be satisfied; I have punished him who cast you into this place," but as he began to howl from the pain of his broken foot, the tradesman knew that he was not the geomancer. Next morning the tradesman's son arrives from a long trading journey, with much gold and merchandise and many slaves. On entering his father's house he is astounded to perceive the open well and by the side of it a vast heap of treasure and a man holding both hands to his eyes and wailing bitterly, lamenting the covetousness which had caused him the loss of his eyesight. The young man sends a slave down into the well and the first person drawn up is the tradesman, who is both surprised and overjoyed to behold his son once more, and tells him the whole story. His enemy is then taken out and is dismayed to find that he has blinded the wrong man. Both the geomancer and the tradesman's enemy are pardoned, but the latter dies soon after, while the geomancer retires to a cave in the mountains, where every morning and evening two small loaves are thrown in to him by an unknown hand, and during the rest of his life he never ceased to repeat this distich:

If you possess one barley grain of justice, You will never have half a grain of sorrow.

But much more closely resembling the story of Baba Adbullah is a tale in the Persian romance which recounts the imaginary adventures of Hatim Ta'. A blind man is confined in a cage which is suspended from a branch of a tree, and constantly exclaims, "Do evil to none; if you do, evil will overtake you."

Hatim having promised to mend his condition and relieve him, he relates his history as follows:

"I am by occupation a merchant, and my name is Hamr. When I became of age my father had finished the building of this city, and he called the same after my name. Shortly after, my father departed on a sea-voyage, and left me in charge of the city. I was a free hearted and social young man, and so in a short time expended all the property left under my care by my father. Thus I became surrounded with poverty and want, and as I knew that my father had hidden treasures somewhere in the house, I resolved to discover them if possible. I searched everywhere, but found nothing, and, to complete my woe, I received the news of my father's death, the s.h.i.+p in which he sailed being wrecked.

"One day as I was sauntering, mournful and dejected, through the bazr, I espied a learned man who cried out, 'If any one has lost his money by theft or otherwise, my knowledge of the occult sciences enables me to recover the same, but on condition that I receive one fourth of the amount.' When I heard this seasonable proclamation, I immediately approached the man of science, and stated to him my sad condition and how I had been reduced from affluence to poverty. The sage undertook to restore my wealth, and above all to discover the treasures concealed in my father's house. I conducted him to the house and showed him every apartment, which he carefully examined one after another. At length by his art he discovered the stores we were in search of; and when I saw the gold and silver and other valuables, which exceeded calculation, the demon of fraud entered my heart, and I refused to fulfil my promise of giving a fourth of the property to the man of wisdom. I offered him only a few small pieces of silver; instead of accepting which, he stood for a few moments in silent meditation, and with a look of scorn said, 'Do I thus receive the fourth part of your treasure which you agreed to give me? Base man, of what perjury are you guilty?' On hearing this I became enraged, and having struck him several blows on the face, I expelled him from my house. In a few days however he returned. and so far ingratiated himself into my confidence that we became intimate friends; and night and day he displayed before my sight the various hidden treasures contained within the bowels of the earth. One day I asked him to instruct me in this wonderful science, to which he answered that no instruction was requisite. 'Here,' said he, 'is a composition of surma and whoever applies the same to his eyes, to him will all the wealth of this world become visible.'[FN#406] 'Most learned sir,' I replied, 'if you will anoint mine eyes with this substance I promise to share with you the half of all such treasures as I may discover.' 'I agree,' said my friend; 'meanwhile let us retire to the desert, where we shall be free from interruption.'

"We immediately set out, and when we arrived there I was surprised at seeing this cage and asked my companion whose it was. I received for answer, that it belonged to no one. In short, we both sat down at the foot of this tree, and the sage, having produced the surma from his pocket, began to apply it to my eyes. But, alas! no sooner had he applied this composition than I became totally deprived of sight. In a voice of sorrow I asked him why he had thus treated me, and he replied, 'Such is the reward of treachery; and if you wish to recover your sight, you must for some time undergo penance in this cage.

You must utter no complaint and you shall exclaim from time to time, 'Do no evil to any one; if you do, evil will befall you.' I entreated the sage to relieve me, saying, 'You are a mere mortal like myself, and dare you thus torment a fellow-creature? How will you account for your deeds to the Supreme Judge?' He answered, 'This is the reward of your treachery.' Seeing him inexorable, I begged of him to inform me when and how my sight was to be restored, and he told me, that a n.o.ble youth should one day visit me, and to him I was to make known my condition, and farther state, that in the desert of Himyar there is a certain herb called the Flower of Light, which the youth was to procure and apply to my eyes, by means of which my sight should be restored."

When the man in the cage had ended his story, the magnanimous Hatim bade him be of good cheer, for he would at once endeavour to relieve him. By the aid of the fairies, who carry him through the air for the s.p.a.ce of seven days, he arrives in the desert where the Flowers of Light s.h.i.+ne brilliant as lamps on a festival night, diffusing the sweetest perfume far and wide; and recking naught for the serpents, scorpions, and beasts of prey which infested the place (for he had a talisman that protected him), he advances and plucks three of the largest and most brilliant flowers. Returning in the same manner as he had gone thither, he reaches the spot where the blind man Hamir is imprisoned; taking down the cage, he releases the wretched man, compresses the stalk of the flower so that the juice drops upon his sightless eyeb.a.l.l.s, and when this has been repeated three times Hamir opens his eyes, and seeing Hatim falls prostrate at his feet with a profusion of thanks.

Although there are some differences in the details of the story of Baba Abdullah and that of Hamir, as above, yet the general similarity between them is sufficient to warrant the conclusion that if one was not adapted from the other, both must have been derived from the same source; and here we have, I think, clear evidence of the genuineness of another of the tales which Galland was believed to have invented himself.

History of Sidi Nu'man--p. 187.

It is curious to find this current as a folk-tale at Palena, in the Abruzzi, without any material variation except in the conclusion. My friend, Mr. E.

Sidney Hartland, has favoured me with the following abstract of the Italian version, as given in vol. iii. of the "Archivio per lo studio delle Tradizioni Popolari" (Palermo, 1882), p. 222:

There was once a husband and wife. The wife says that she cannot eat anything, and only picks a few grains of rice with a large pin. Her husband asks why she eats nothing, and she answers that she does not want to eat. Meantime she goes out secretly every night, and the husband begins to have suspicions of her.

One night he follows her softly and finds she goes to the burial ground, where she meets with certain female companions. They open a grave and feed on the flesh of the dead. The next morning the husband cooks rice again, and the wife picks up a few grains of it with a pin as before. The husband exclaims, "What!

you enjoy the flesh of dead men, and over rice you are so finical as to eat it with a pin!" The wife is so enraged at learning that her husband knows of her doings that she goes to the water-bucket, fills a small bottle from it, and having muttered certain words over the water flings it upon him and he instantly becomes transformed into a dog. A provision merchant sees him running about, and takes and sets him on his counter. When the people come to buy provisions the dog examines the money to see if it be good, and the false coin he throws on the ground. One day a man comes to buy bacon and offers false coin. The provision merchant refuses to take it; they dispute over the matter, and it is referred to the dog, who throws the money on the ground. The man is astonished, and returning home tells his wife, who at once says that the dog is not a dog, and desires her husband to bring her the animal that she may see it. The man returns to the provision merchant and begs him to lend him the dog for a little while, and takes it home. The wife, who is a companion of the wife of him who has been changed into a dog, and understands witchcraft, fills a bottle with water, p.r.o.nounces certain words over it, and throws the water upon the dog, who immediately becomes a man again, and she advises him to do to his wife as she had done to him, and imparts the secret to him. As soon as he returns home he fills the bottle with water from the bucket, says the words he had learned, and throws the water over his wife, who becomes a mare. He drives her out of the house and beats her as flax is beaten. To every one who asks why he is thras.h.i.+ng the mare he tells his story, and the people say, "Serve her right!" This goes on for some time. At last, when the husband sees that his wife has voided enough foam from the mouth, with another dash of water he changes her back to her proper form, and henceforward she eats whatever is set before her, obeys her husband in all things, and never goes out by night again. So they live long, happy and contented.

This version from the Abruzzi so closely resembles the story of Sidi Nu'mn that we should perhaps be justified in concluding it to have been directly derived from Galland's Nights, in the absence of any Venetian version, which might well have been imported independently from the East, but however this may be, the story in Galland bears unquestionable internal evidence that it is a genuine Arabian narrative, having nothing peculiarly European in its details.

A somewhat similar story is quite familiar to me, but I cannot at present call to mind whether it occurs in a Persian collection or in The Nights, in which the woman going out when she thinks her husband asleep, the latter follows her to a hut at some distance which she enters, and peeping into the hut, he sees a hideous black give her a severe beating for not coming sooner, while she pleads that she could not venture to quit the house until her husband was sound asleep. The two carouse together, and by-and-by the black going outside for a purpose, the husband strikes off his head with his sword and then conceals himself close by. The woman, after waiting some time, goes out to see what is detaining her paramour, and finding his headless body, she moans over it in great sorrow, and then taking the corpse on her back carries it away and throws it into the river. Her husband hastens home before her, and so she suspects nothing. Some days after, when she refuses to do some light work because of her physical weakness, her husband can no longer control himself, and tells her that she had strength enough to carry on her back the body of her black paramour, and so on.[FN#407]

The ghoul-wife of Arabian tales, who eats little or nothing at home, has her in the rkshas of Indian fictions, who secretly devours antelopes, etc. There are many parallels in The Nights and other Asiatic story-books to the incident of Sidi Nu'man being changed back into his proper form, the most noteworthy being perhaps the case of the Second Calender in the shape of a monkey, or ape, whom the princess, an adept in white magic, at once recognizes as a man and veils her face, as does the young woman in the case of Sidi Nu'man: but while the Calender is restored to his own form, the princess, alas! perishes in her encounter with the genie who had transformed him.--In most of the Arabian tales of magical transformations of men and women into beasts the victims are ultimately restored to their natural forms, but in the Indian romance of the princess Somasekhara and Chitrasekhara, a wicked king named Ugrabhu is permanently changed by some water taken from a magic fountain into a monkey and sold to a beggar, who compels him to perform tricks in public for his benefit. Heywood, in his "History of Women" (Book viii.), cites some curious European stories of men being transformed into donkeys by eating a certain kind of cheese,

History of Khwajah Hasan Al-habbal--p. 198.

How this entertaining story found its way into North Germany--and nowhere else in Europe, so far as I am aware--it is not easy to say, but its twin-brother seems to be orally current there, in all essential details, excepting the marvellous conclusion. For the poor ropemaker, however, a struggling weaver and for the two gentlemen, Sa'd and Sa'd, three rich students are subst.i.tuted. There does not appear (according to the version given by Thorpe in his "Yule Tide Stories," which he ent.i.tles, not inaptly, The Three Gifts) to be any difference of opinion among the students regarding the influence of Destiny, or Fate, upon men's fortunes: they simply give the poor weaver a hundred dollars "to a.s.sist him in his housekeeping." The weaver hides the money in a heap of rags, unknown to his wife, who sells them to a rag-collector for a trifling sum. A year afterwards the students are again pa.s.sing the house of the weaver and find him poorer than ever. He tells them of his mishap and they give him another hundred dollars warning him to be more careful with the money this time. The weaver conceals the dollars in the ash-tub, again without the cognisance of his wife, who disposes of the ashes for a few pieces of soap. At the end of the second year the students once more visit the wretched weaver, and on being informed of his loss, they throw a bit of lead at his feet, saying it's of no use to give such a fool money, and go away in a great huff. The weaver picks up the lead and places it on the window sill. By-and-by a neighbour, who is a fisherman, comes in and asks for a bit of lead or some other heavy thing, for his net, and on receiving the lead thrown down by the students promises to give him in return the first large fish he catches. The weaver does get a fine fish, which he immediately cuts open, and finds in its stomach a "large stone," which he lays on the window-sill, where, as it becomes dark, the stone gives forth a brighter and brighter light, "just like a candle," and then he places it so that it illuminates the whole apartment. "That's a cheap lamp," quoth he to his wife: "wouldst not like to dispose of it as thou didst the two hundred dollars?" The next evening a merchant happening to ride past the weaver's house perceives the brilliant stone, and alighting from his horse, enters and looks at it, then offers ten dollars for it, but the weaver says the stone is not for sale.

"What! not even for twenty dollars?" "Not even for that." The merchant keeps on increasing his offers till he reaches a thousand dollars, which was about half its real value, for the stone was a diamond, and which the weaver accepts, and thus he becomes the richest man in all the village. His wife, however, took credit to herself for his prosperity, often saying to him, "How well it was that I threw away the money twice, for thou hast me to thank for thy good luck!"--and here the German story ends. For the turban of the ropemaker and the kite that carried it off, with its precious lining, we have the heap of rags and the rag-collector; but the ashes exchanged for soap agrees with the Arabian story almost exactly.

The incident of the kite carrying off the poor ropemaker's turban in which he had deposited the most part of the gold pieces that he received from the gentleman who believed that "money makes money"--an unquestionable fact, in spite of our story--is of very frequent occurrence in both Western and Eastern fictions. My readers will recollect its exact parallel in the abstract of the romance of Sir Isumbras, cited in Appendix to the preceding volumes: how the Knight, with his little son, after the soudan's s.h.i.+p has sailed away with his wife, is bewildered in a forest, where they fall asleep, and in the morning at sunrise when he awakes, an eagle pounces down and carries off his scarlet mantle, in which he had tied up his scanty store of provisions together with the gold he had received from the soudan; and how many years after he found it in a bird's nest (Supp. Nights, vol. ii. p. 260 and p. 263).--And, not to multiply examples, a similar incident occurs in the "Kath Sarit Sgara," Book ix. ch. 54, where a merchant named Samudrasra is s.h.i.+pwrecked and contrives to reach the land, where he perceives the corpse of a man, round the loins of which is a cloth with a knot in it. On unfastening the cloth he finds in it a necklace studded with jewels. The merchant proceeds towards a city called Kalasapuri, carrying the necklace in his hand. Overpowered by the heat, he sits down in a shady place and falls asleep. The necklace is recognised by some pa.s.sing policemen as that of the king's daughter, and the merchant is at once taken before the king and accused of having stolen it. While the merchant is being examined, a kite swoops down and carries off the necklace. Presently a voice from heaven declares that the merchant is innocent, explains how the necklace came into his possession, and orders the king to dismiss him with honour. This celestial testimony in favour of the accused satisfies the king, who gives the merchant much wealth and sends him on his way. The rest of the story is as follows: "And after he had crossed the sea, he travelled with a caravan, and one day, at evening time, he reached a wood. The caravan encamped in the wood for the night, and while Samudrasra was awake a powerful host of bandits attacked it. While the bandits were ma.s.sacring the members of the caravan, Samudrasra left his wares and fled, and climbed up a banyan-tree without being discovered. The host of bandits departed, after they had carried off all the wealth, and the merchant spent that night there, perplexed with fear and distracted with grief. In the morning he cast his eves towards the top of the tree, and saw, as fate would have it, what looked like the light of a lamp, trembling among the leaves. And in his astonishment he climbed up the tree and saw a kite's nest, in which there was a heap of glittering priceless jewelled ornaments. He took them all out of it, and found among the ornaments that necklace which he had found in Svarnadvpa and the kite had carried off.

He obtained from that nest unlimited wealth, and descending from the tree, he went off delighted, and reached in course of time his own city of Harshapra.

There the merchant Samudrasra remained, enjoying himself to his heart's content, with his family, free from the desire of any other wealth."

There is nothing improbable--at all events, nothing impossible--in the History of Khwajah Hasan al-Habbl. That he should lose the two sums of money in the manner described is quite natural, and the incidents carry with them the moral: "Always take your wife into your confidence" (but the Khwajah was a Muslim), notwithstanding the great good luck which afterwards befell, and which, after all, was by mere chance. There is nothing improbable in the finding of the turban with the money intact in the bird's nest, but that this should occur while the Khwajah's benefactors were his guests is--well, very extraordinary indeed! As to the pot of bran--why, some little license must be allowed a story-teller, that is all that need be said! The story from beginning to end is a most charming one, and will continue to afford pleasure to old and young--to "generations yet unborn."

Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves--p.219

I confess to entertaining a peculiar affection for this tale. It was the first of the tales of the "Arabian Nights Entertainments" which I read in the days of my "marvelling boyhood" eheu! fugaces, &c, etc. I may therefore be somewhat prejudiced in its favour, just as I still consider Scott's "Waverley" as the best of his long series of fascinating fictions, that being the first of them which I read--as it was the first he wrote. But "All Baba and the Forty Thieves"--the "open, sesame!" "shut, sesame!"--the sackfuls of gold and silver and the bales of rich merchandise in the robbers' cave--the avaricious brother forgetting the magical formula which would open the door and permit him to escape with his booty--his four quarters hung up in terrorem--and above all, the clever, devoted slave girl Morgiana, who in every way outwitted the crafty robber-chief,--these incidents remain stamped in my memory ineffaceably: like the initials of lovers' names cut into the bark of a growing tree, which, so far from disappearing, become larger by the lapse of time. To me this delightful tale will ever be, as Hafiz sings of something, "freshly fresh and newly new." I care not much though it never be found in an Arabic or any other Oriental dress--but that it is of Asiatic invention is self-evident; there is, in my poor opinion nothing to excel it, if indeed to equal it, for intense interest and graphic narrative power in all The Nights proper.

Sir Richard Burton has remarked, in note 1, p. 219, that Mr. Coote could only find in the south of Europe, or in the Levant, a.n.a.logues of two of the incidents of this tale, yet one of those may be accepted as proof of its Eastern extraction, namely, the Cyprian story of "Three Eyes," where the ogre attempts to rescue his wife with a party of blacks concealed in bales: "The King's jester went downstairs, in order to open the bales and takes something out of them. Directly he approached one of the sacks, the black man answered from the inside,'Is it time, master?' In the same manner he tried all the sacks, and then went upstairs and told them that the sacks were full of black men. Directly the King's bride heard this, she made the jester and the company go downstairs. They take the executioner with them, and go to the first sack.

The black man says from the inside, 'Is it time ?' 'Yes,' say they to him, and directly he came out they cut his head off. In the same manner they go to the other sacks and kill the other black men.''[FN#408]

The first part of the tale of Ali Baba--ending with the death of his greedy brother--is current in North Germany, to this effect: