Transcriber's Notes

The first edition of this translation was published in London in 1802. It was translated indirectly by Edward Forster from the French translation of Antoine Galland titled Les mille et une nuits.

Footnotes appearing in the Preface were numbered alphabetically and moved to the end of the ebook with the endnotes.

THE

ARABIAN NIGHTS.

VOL. I.

THE

ARABIAN NIGHTS.

IN FOUR VOLUMES,

TRANSLATED BY

EDWARD FORSTER, M. A.

THE FOURTH EDITION.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE-STREET,

Reprinted by Assignment, for

THOMAS TEGG, NO. 111, CHEAPSIDE.

1815.

W. Lewis, Printer, St. John’s Square, London.

ADVERTISEMENT

TO THE FIRST EDITION.

Whatever rank an author or a translator may hold in the republic of letters, he is seldom listened to with much satisfaction whenever he speaks of himself, however necessary it may be for his own character, or however it may tend to the elucidation of his labours. His motives, indeed, either for writing, or publishing any work, will not much engage the attention of the Public, to whom the work itself is the only thing of consequence. And in this respect, as the translator of a work, which has stood the test of time, I confess, that I feel myself under no great apprehension. But of its merits, I shall have occasion to speak more at large in the Preface.—I must, however, trespass for some little time, in giving such explanations as appear to me to be necessary; in bestowing on others the praise which they deserve; and in endeavouring to extenuate the severity of that criticism, to which I may myself be exposed.

Some years ago, not to mention that it was the delight of my childhood, I was much struck with the beauties of the Arabian Nights; and being in possession of Monsieur Galland’s French copy, entitled, “Les mille et une Nuits, Contes Arabes,” I sometimes amused myself, while residing at Oxford, with doing a story into English. Two years since, I accidentally mentioned this circumstance to my Bookseller, who requested me to finish and publish my translation. The consequence of this and various other conversations, is the following publication; the faults of which, both as to embellishments and translation, must rest with myself. When I came to examine what had been done, which I did not until the matter was finally arranged, I found much more to do than I expected. And if an English Public can have been so long pleased with a translation, (I do not here use my own words,) “loaded with inelegancies, frequently deficient in grammar, and not always without errors,” I trust they will be indulgent to me, who have tried to remedy these defects; though with what success it is not for me to determine.

There is, however, one circumstance upon which I may be allowed to congratulate the Public as well as myself. I fortunately prevailed upon Mr. Smirke, whom every person of correct taste will acknowledge to be second to none in this range of the art, to paint for me a series of pictures, illustrative of this work; and of his exertions and success I cannot speak too highly. He has conceived the different styles, that were necessary for the humorous, the graceful, and the wonderful, with the mind of a man who knew and felt the beauties of his subject; and has executed them with the hand of a master, who knows how to give the full effect to his own conceptions. Nor, indeed, is this all that I owe to his kindness; for he has taken the trouble, not only to point out the different engravers, whose talents he thought best suited to the different pictures, but even to attend to the progress of their labours; and with the happiest consequence: for, I trust, no single work will be able to boast of such a series of beautiful and chaste engravings, which do honor to, and are worthy of, those who undertook them: and I think that these plates may, almost without an exception, be considered as examples of their finest work. The consequence, however, of all this has been the expenditure of a large sum of money for my Publisher, who will, I hope, find, in an extended patronage, an ample reward for his liberal endeavours to gratify the highly cultivated taste of an enlightened Public.

London, 5th April, 1802.

POSTSCRIPT

TO THE SECOND EDITION.

The kindness which has been shewn to the former edition of this work, demands the gratitude of the Translator, which he has endeavoured to evince by a careful revision of the work, with the view of making the present edition less inaccurate, and more worthy of their protection.

London, January, 1810.

PREFACE.

As the mass of readers may, on a broad scale, be divided into two classes; those who read for amusement only, and those who read for information and instruction; so also may the writers be ranged, under those who address themselves to the imagination, and those who endeavour to direct the understanding. But, however we may, among the former, wish, for the sake of perspicuity of system, to class them under these distinct heads, we shall probably often find a combination of both in the same person. There are very few, it is to be feared, whose anxiety for knowledge is so strong, that they seek it in its most rugged and intricate paths, unless incited to the pursuit by the powerful motives of interest or ambition. While among the more numerous class, although amusement be their predominant principle, yet many wish to find information and instruction amidst their pleasures; and most, if their choice be not very unfortunate, be their wishes what they may, cannot avoid picking up and retaining something by the way, that may stimulate the understanding, or expand the heart. Surely then such writers, I will not say, “who enlist the imagination under the banners of science,” for with much ultimate success that perhaps is impossible, but who blend moral instruction and useful information with amusing tales, have some merit. And when a work even does more than this, when it contains a correct delineation, and gives a detailed account of the peculiar manners, customs, and modes of life, of a part of the globe in which some of the most singular nations of the earth once flourished, its merit is infinitely great, and it deserves the perusal and attention of every one. And such a work, in the fullest extent, is the Arabian Nights; which is more descriptive of the people, customs, and conduct of Eastern countries during the middle ages, than any other existing work; and, as far as other writers or travellers have investigated these subjects, so far have the correctness and authenticity of this work been confirmed.

I know the Arabian Nights have been formerly regarded as a literary forgery; and considered merely as a collection of tales, in which the marvellous and absurd have been even clumsily mixed up with scraps of eastern manners, and as calculated only for the amusement of children. But, however people may differ as to the greater or less degree of merit of the work itself, there is, I believe, hardly any one who now questions its authenticity: and I shall take the liberty not only of quoting some authors, who have spoken much in its favor, but also of mentioning some individuals now alive, whose talents will, it is presumed, give great weight to their testimony.

The original Arabic work is much more voluminous than M. Galland’s translation; but I have very high authority for asserting, that he has selected all the best and most interesting tales. At the conclusion of a translation of some tales and anecdotes, from the Arabic and Persian, by Jonathan Scott, Esq. this gentleman states, that he has purchased of Dr. White, professor of Arabic, in the University of Oxford, seven volumes of Arabic manuscript tales, which were brought over from Turkey by Edward Wortley Montague, Esq. and that these tales are not in Galland. The size of these seven volumes is not mentioned, and it is impossible, therefore, to judge of the quantity they contain. In the catalogue of Oriental manuscripts belonging to Mr. Montague, and sold by auction in 1787, was one called, “The Arabian Tales, of one thousand and one nights, in six volumes complete.”

These Tales were purchased at Mr. Montague’s sale by Dr. White, and were afterwards transferred to Mr. Scott, as mentioned by him at the end of his volume of Translations, published in 1800. And I believe they will soon be deposited in the Bodleian library at Oxford. They contain many other tales besides those which M. Galland has translated; but most of those which he has omitted, are not near so entertaining as the tales he translated, although there are some equally so. In a work, indeed, of so great an extent, equality of excellence could not perhaps be expected. Certainly not, when we consider the tales as the work of different authors. It is, indeed, the opinion of a gentleman of very extensive Oriental knowledge, that the Arabian Nights originally consisted of not more perhaps than a fourth part of the manuscript purchased by Dr. White; but that writers in various parts of the East, where the Mussulman religion prevailed, have added to them so as to complete the thousand and one nights, which I believe to be the division of those Tales formerly in the possession of Dr. White. In a copy of the Arabic work, which is in the possession of Dr. Russel, the number of nights is about two hundred only; and it is also a doubt, whether the manuscripts either in the Vatican or in the Royal Library at Paris are complete.

It is the opinion of most Oriental scholars, that no two copies will be found exactly to correspond, even in the original contracted work, and still less so in the more enlarged manuscripts. The original work has probably been frequently increased, through the different provinces and kingdoms of the east, by the addition of such tales as were popular in each, either as a continuation, or blended into one work. For this reason the copy of Cairo will be found to differ from that of Constantinople. This also is a very strong reason, and amply accounts for any difference there may be in the same story, as literally translated by Mr. Richardson at the end of his Arabic Grammar, and as given by M. Galland. The former made use of a manuscript belonging to Sir William Jones; the latter translated from that in the king’s library at Paris. The copy also which was formerly in the possession of Dr. White, has the signature of the person who transcribed it, and of the family to which he belonged; namely, “Omar al Siftee;” but it has not the name of the place where he resided; it is now, therefore, impossible to ascertain the place whence Mr. Montague procured the manuscript.

Many of the tales, also omitted by Galland, besides those which are uninteresting, are extremely indelicate, both as to language and sentiments, and consequently very unfit for the perusal of a chaste and discerning public.

There have also been four volumes of tales published, as the continuation of the Arabian Nights, and which M. Galland did not translate, although the Arabic manuscript of the whole, as the French translator states, was brought over, and placed in the library of the king of France at the same time. This latter French work has since been published in English. These, however, are universally believed to be spurious, and the work of an European. Abundant evidence might be given of this, were I inclined to enter into the question. I shall only mention one instance.—An inhabitant of the country where the fact happened, is made to express the greatest astonishment at an appearance the most common. “What a thick infectious mist! How could it arise from dry sand, destitute of water! It is a very extraordinary phenomenon!” The man who wrote this could never have been in Arabia, nor even have consulted modern travellers, or he would have known, that this appearance is most frequent: and I cannot here resist giving, in proof of this, the words of an early Arabian poet, as beautifully translated by that elegant scholar, Professor Carlyle, whose death must be considered by all as a severe loss, from the elegance and refinement of his cultivated mind. I must be permitted to transcribe the whole of this exquisite little poem. The passage alluded to is in the last stanza but one. It is an elegy by Lebid Ben Rabiat Alamary, a native of Yeman, and a contemporary with Mahomet, to whom he was an early convert. “This elegy, as is evident from its nature, must have been written previous to Lebid’s change of religion. Its subject is one that must ever interest a feeling mind—the return of a person, after a long absence, to a place where he had spent his early years. It is, in fact, an Arabian Deserted Village.”

Those dear abodes, which once contain’d the fair,

Amidst Mitata’s wilds I seek in vain;

Nor towers, nor tents, nor cottages are there,

But scatter’d ruins, and a silent plain.

The proud canals, that once Rayanna grac’d,

Their course neglected and their waters gone,

Among the levell’d sands are dimly trac’d,

Like moss-grown letters on a mouldering stone.

Rayanna say, how many a tedious year

Its hallow’d circle o’er our heads hath roll’d,

Since to my vows thy tender maids gave ear,

And fondly listen’d to the tale I told?

How oft, since then, the star of spring, that pours

A never-failing stream, hath drench’d thy head?

How oft the summer’s cloud, in copious showers,

Or gentle drops, its genial influence shed?

How oft, since then, the hovering mist of morn,

Hath caus’d thy locks with glittering gems to glow?

How oft, hath eve her dewy treasure borne

To fall responsive to the breeze below?

The matted thistles, bending to the gale,

Now clothe those meadows once with verdure gay;

Amidst the windings of that lonely vale,

The teeming antelope and ostrich stray:

The large-eyed mother of the herd, that flies

Man’s noisy haunts, here finds a sure retreat,

Here tends her clustering young, till age supplies

Strength to their limbs and swiftness to their feet.

Save where the swelling stream hath swept those walls,

And giv’n their deep foundations to the light

(As the retouching pencil that recalls

A long-lost picture to the raptur’d sight:)

Save where the rains have wash’d the gather’d sand,

And bared the scanty fragments to our view,

(As the [a] dust sprinkled on a punctur’d hand

Bids the faint tints resume their azure hue.)

No mossy record of those once-lov’d seats

Points out the mansion to inquiring eyes;

No tottering wall, in echoing sounds, repeats

Our mournful questions and our bursting sighs.

Yet midst those ruin’d heaps, that naked plain,

Can faithful memory former scenes restore,

Recall the busy throng, the jocund train,

And picture all that charm’d us there before

Ne’er shall my heart the fatal morn forget,

That bore the fair-ones from these seats so dear—

I see, I see the crowding litters yet,

And yet the tent-poles rattle in my ear.

I see the maids with timid steps ascend,

The streamers wave in all their painted pride;

The floating curtains every fold extend,

And vainly strive the charms within to hide.

What graceful forms those envious folds enclose!

What melting glances thro’ those curtains play!

Sure Weira’s antelopes, or Tudah’s roes

Through yonder veils their sportive young survey.

The band mov’d on—to trace their steps I strove;

I saw them urge the camel’s hastening flight;

Till the white [] vapour, like a rising grove,

Snatch’d them for ever from my aching sight.

Nor since that morn have I Nawara seen,

The hands are burst, which held us once so fast;

Memory but tells me that such things have been,

And sad reflection adds, that they are past.

“The Arabians,” says Mr. Hole, who has written very ingeniously upon the subject of one of the tales in the Arabian Nights, and whom I shall more than once take the liberty of consulting, “are described by writers, who have personally visited them, as an acute and sensible people, and this performance, (the present work) was probably composed not many centuries after that period, when they had added to their native stores of education, those of ancient Greece. To them we are chiefly indebted for the preservation of those valuable remains of antiquity: and so fully established was their literary reputation in former days, that, when Europe was immersed in barbarism, all polite learning passed under the designation of Studia Arabum.” (Vide Blackwall’s Letters on Mythology.)

“In the eighth, ninth, and succeeding centuries, when the European world, (says Mr. Richardson, in the preface to his Arabic Grammar) was clouded with barbarity and ignorance; when sovereign princes and great feudal lords could neither write nor read, the Arabians rivalled the Romans of the Augustan age in erudition and genius; whilst, with a more extensive empire, [c] they excelled them in magnificence, and in the more refined splendour and elegance of life. The khalifs Al Modhi, Al Rashid, Al Mamoun, and other monarchs of the illustrious house of Al Abbas, were men of learning, genius, and politeness; learning and genius were found therefore the surest avenues to royal favor; they were consequently universally cultivated; princes, generals, and viziers being not only munificent patrons of literary merit, but holding themselves a conspicuous rank among writers of the most distinguished class.

“The Arabian chiefs, (with, it must be confessed, an alloy of ferocity) were in general brave, liberal, hospitable, ingenious, penetrating, fond of learning of every species, and carrying, to the most singular excess, their admiration of poetry and eloquence. With such dispositions and attachments, therefore, it is easy to conceive, that their language became naturally an important object of their attention. The dialects of their numerous tribes furnished them with rich mines: from these they freely borrowed; and formed, from the whole, a language, sublime, comprehensive, copious, energetic, delicate, majestic; adapted equally for the softness of love, or the poignancy of satire; for the mournfulness of elegy, or the grandeur of heroics; for the simplest tale, or the boldest effort of rhetoric.

“In every stile of composition, therefore, the books in this language are numerous, and many of them of high intrinsic worth; their books, however, and their language, remain still but imperfectly known in Europe; nor can we ever hope, perhaps, for much advancement in this branch of learning, till the formidable fancied difficulties of the study are removed; till curiosity is stimulated by a hope of success; till attention is fixed by a conviction of its utility.”

The Augustan age of Arabian literature may be considered to have been about the time that the power of the caliphs was at its height, and this was about the 170th year of the Hegira, and the 701st of the Christian Æra, and during the reign of Haroun Alraschid, who bears so conspicuous a part in these volumes, and of his immediate successors. “The monarchs themselves,” says Professor Carlyle, “loved and cultivated the sciences; the ministers followed their example; and men of genius flocked to the court of Bagdad, from all parts of the world, with an assurance of receiving those honors and rewards which their abilities merited. The empire of the Khaliphs was at this time one of the most powerful that has ever existed; it extended, in Asia, from the gulph of Persia and the confines of Tartary to the Mediterranean and Indian seas, and comprehended all the habitable part of Africa, from the isthmus of Suez to the Atlantic Ocean.” And it was probably not long after this, that most of these tales were written, for I believe it is generally supposed, that they were not all the production of one author, or of one age.

Of the tales themselves, I do not mean to enter into a long and minute investigation; although such an investigation would be, if well conducted, highly amusing, and at the same time instructive. But to carry on an inquiry of this sort, to the extent it ought, would require great research and labour, and would in itself form a separate work. Mr. Hole has even produced a small volume in the illustration only of one story, which occupies not more than the fifth part of one volume of the present tales. All the peculiarities and customs, which are mentioned in the Arabian Nights, might be illustrated by similar peculiarities and customs, which are not only known to have existed among the very people, of whom this work delineates the manners, at the very time when the work itself was composed, but which also still exist among the same nations. Such an inquiry too would tend to explain some parts of the present work, which must, without it, now appear, if not absurd, at least unaccountable. To shew, however, that even the most common things are not inserted without a motive, and to illustrate what might be otherwise considered as ridiculous, I shall give one or two instances of the manner of investigation and sort of illustration proposed.

In the story of the Merchant and Genius, Vol. I. page 29, the latter says, “I have sworn to kill thee, as thou hast killed my son; for whilst thou was throwing about the stones of the dates thou hadst eaten, my son passed by, and one of them struck him in the eye and caused his death.” Now this, at first sight, seems a singular, if not a ridiculous thing; but even this has its foundation in an Eastern custom. There are accounts (and I speak upon the authority of Warren Hastings, Esq. than whom no one is better acquainted with Oriental manners and history; and whose name is almost reverenced throughout that quarter of the world,) there are accounts of people having been killed by date stones, which were shot at them in a particular manner with both hands. Those persons who are in the habit of doing this, will send the stone with such velocity as to give a most violent blow. And it is in this manner that prisoners have sometimes been put to death: a man sits down at a little distance from the object he intends to destroy, and then attacks him by repeatedly shooting at him with the stone of the date, thrown from his two fore-fingers; and in this way puts an end to his life.—The former translation, by calling these stones, the “shells” of the date, besides totally mistaking the fact, dates having no shells but only stones, makes complete nonsense of the tale.

Thus, too, in the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, in Vol. IV. Morgiana says, that she knew the man she had killed to be a robber, who had come with the intention of murdering her master, because he eat no salt at supper. Now this in itself is perfectly unintelligible: but when we find it to be a custom among the Arabians, and some other Easter nations, that, if any one eat salt at another’s table, it is a sure pledge of the honor and integrity of the guest, and for the safety of the host, and that even a robber will not then break the laws of hospitality, every thing is explained; and the Author’s local knowledge and veracity are authenticated.

I must add one other singular instance. In the story of Sidi Nouman, Vol. IV. page 183, after he has been changed into a dog by his wife Aminè, there is a long account of his treatment, particularly by one person, who, though he gives him food in the street, yet is distressed at his getting into his house; and who is one of those who think, “that water and soap enough cannot be found to wash their clothes, if a dog has touched them.” Yet this very man threw the nicest pieces to him the next morning, when with other dogs he was waiting before the door. The following extract from the Travels in the East of M. Olivier, in 1793, will illustrate the circumstance.

“Although Mussulmen consider dogs as unclean animals, so much so that they avoid touching them, and prevent them from entering into their houses, yet they suffer them to breed considerably in most towns.

“The charity of the Turks in regard to them, consists in giving them sometimes bread, and what they cannot consume, in distributing to them daily the liver, lights, entrails, and head of the sheep which are killed in the slaughter-houses, because they never make use of those aliments, proscribed by their religion, and because the Christians, following their example, dare not eat them. Every day are seen in the streets men carrying on a long pole a great number of these livers and lights, in order to sell them at one or two sous to the devout and rich, who may be desirous of regaling with them the dogs of their neigbourhood.

“There are persons, who cause to be built near the door of their houses, huts for the purpose of lodging bitches and their young: they carry thither straw, and give them every day bread or meat. It is even said, that some have, on their death-bed, left legacies for the support of a certain number of these animals.”

Numerous also are the places where facts are mentioned, which are similar to others in works of authority. In the history of Codadad, Vol. III. p. 277, there is a custom, similar to that mentioned in the New Testament, of wiping the feet with the hair, as a mark of respect, where a woman, who was a sinner, wipes the feet of our Saviour. Luke, chap. vii. ver. 38, and John xii. v. 3. Thus in the story, “O, prince, what is there we can do for you? If either prayers or knowledge could restore you to life, we would wipe your feet with our white beards, we would address you in speeches of wisdom: but the King of the Universe has taken you away for ever.

Again, also, in the History of Schemselnihar and the prince of Persia, when the former was told that the caliph was coming to visit her, she ordered the paintings on silk, which were in the garden, to be taken down. In the same manner are paintings, or hangings, used in the Old Testament, where it is said, “The women wove hangings for the grove.” II. Kings, xxiii. v. 7.

It is in this manner that Mr. Hole proceeds to illustrate the seven voyages of Sindbad, which he calls the “Arabian Odyssey:” and by quoting from the different authors he has consulted for the occasion, accounts for, and sometimes even justifies, the most singular and extraordinary circumstances. I will here give an instance, which relates to that immense bird, the rock, which is also mentioned in various other places. Sindbad, in his second voyage, after trading successfully to different islands, lands on one abounding in fruit-trees, and meadows with streams running through them. He and his companions sit down by the side of a river, when Sindbad falls fast asleep, and on waking, finds himself deserted, and the ship making sail at a distance from the island. “You may easily imagine,” says Sindbad (Vol. I. p. 240), “the reflections that occurred to me in this dismal state. I thought I should have died with grief; I groaned and cried aloud; I beat my head, and threw myself on the ground, where I remained a long time overwhelmed with a confusion of thoughts, each more distressing than the other: I reproached myself a thousand times for my folly, in not being contented with my first voyage, which ought to have satisfied my desire of seeking adventures; but all my regrets were of no avail, and my repentance came too late. At length I resigned myself to the will of Heaven; and not knowing what would become of me, I ascended a high tree, from whence I looked on all sides, to see if I could not discover some object to inspire me with hope. Casting my eyes towards the sea, I could discover nothing but water and sky, but perceiving on the land side something white, I descended from the tree, and taking with me the remainder of my provisions, I walked towards the object, which was so distant that I could not distinguish what it was. As I approached, I perceived it to be a large white ball, of a prodigious size, and when I got near enough to touch it, I found it was soft. I walked round it to see if there were an opening, but could find none; and it appeared so even, that it was impossible to get up it. The circumference might be about fifty paces.

“The sun was then near setting; the air grew suddenly dark, as if obscured by a thick cloud. I was surprised at this change, but much more so when I perceived it to be occasioned by a bird of a most extraordinary size, which was flying towards me. I recollected having heard sailors speak of a bird called a rock; and I conceived, that the great white ball, which had drawn my attention, must be the egg of this bird. I was not mistaken; for shortly after it lighted on it, and placed itself as if to sit upon it. When I saw it coming I drew near to the egg, so that I had one of the claws of the bird just before me; this claw was as big as the trunk of a large tree.

“I tied myself to it with the linen of my turban, in hopes that the rock, when it took its flight the next morning, would carry me with it out of that desert island. My project succeeded; for at the break of day the rock flew away, and carried me to such a height, that I could not distinguish the earth: then it descended with such rapidity, that I almost lost my senses. When the rock had alighted, I quickly untied the knot that confined me to its foot, and had scarcely loosed myself, when it darted on a serpent, of an immeasurable length, and seizing it in its beak, flew away.”

“If any one choose, (says Mr. Hole,) to look into Bochart’s Hierozoicon, [d] he may find a more extravagant account of this bird, extracted from Arabian authors, than what is here given by Sindbad. Marco Paulo de Veneto, [e] a celebrated traveller in the 13th century, has a whole chapter “de maximâ ave Ruch.” [f] He there says, that this bird was occasionally found in islands difficult of access, which lie towards the south of Madagascar; that some people, who had seen it, affirmed, that the wing feathers were twelve paces in length, and all the other parts correspondent to them. These birds, he adds, would sometimes seize and fly away with an elephant, on whose flesh they usually fed: and that he acquired his information from an officer of the great Khan, who had been confined many years in one of those islands.

“Though this account of the officer was highly exaggerated, it was probably built on some foundation in truth. Pigafetta mentions, that he had heard there were fowls of such strength and magnitude near the gulf of China, as to be capable of carrying large animals [g] through the air: and that a bird, of stupendous size, exists in the southern parts of the Indian ocean, appears from the testimony of an English navigator, whose veracity is as unquestionable as his professional abilities. It is mentioned in Dr. Kippis’s Life of Cook, “that he found in an island, not far from New Holland, a bird’s nest, which was built with sticks upon the ground, and was no less than six and twenty feet in circumference, and two feet eight inches in height.”

In this manner might the whole work be gone through. And this mode of illustration would have been farther advantageous than what I have here pointed out. If diligently pursued, it might lead to interesting discoveries, relative to the progress of ideas from one nation to another. A scientific translator would not only be induced to trace many of these stories to a classic origin; but likewise to retrace some of the classic fictions to their primitive Eastern derivation.

In the middle ages the Arabians borrowed largely from the Greeks; and the latter, in much earlier times, derived from the banks of the Ganges, and not unfrequently through the medium of Egypt, the greater part of their literature and mythology. This fact seems to be clearly ascertained by late translations from the ancient writers of India; and from them the Arabs appear some times to have adopted directly, without the intervention of any other medium, many imaginary occurrences and popular tales. [h]

I shall now cite a few authors who have spoken of the Arabian Nights as containing faithful delineations of the manners and customs of Oriental nations; and begin with our fair countrywoman, Lady Mary Wortley Montague, from whose entertaining, and I believe accurate, letters I shall make two extracts. The first describes her visit to the wife of the second officer in the Turkish empire.

“I went to visit the Kahya’s lady, and was met at the door by two black eunuchs, who led me through a long gallery, between two ranks of beautiful young girls, with their hair finely platted, almost hanging to their feet, all dressed in fine light damasks, brocaded with silver. I was sorry that decency did not permit me to stop to consider them nearer; but that thought was lost upon my entrance into a large room, or pavilion, built round with gilded sashes, which were most of them thrown up; and the trees, planted near them, gave an agreeable shade, which hindered the sun from being troublesome. The jessamines and honeysuckles that twisted round their trunks, shed a soft perfume, increased by a white marble fountain, playing sweet water in the lower part of the room, which fell into three or four basons with a pleasing sound. The roof was painted with all sorts of flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tumbling down. On a sofa, raised three steps, and covered with fine Persian carpets, sat the Kahya’s lady, leaning on cushions of while satin embroidered; and at her feet sat two young girls, about twelve years old, lovely as angels, dressed perfectly rich, and almost covered with jewels. But they were hardly seen near the fair Fatima, (for that was her name,) so much her beauty effaced every thing I have seen, nay, all that has been called lovely either in England or Germany. I must own, that I never saw any thing so gloriously beautiful, nor can I recollect a face that would have been taken notice of near her’s. She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their fashion, by putting her hand to her heart with a sweetness full of majesty, that no court breeding could ever give. She ordered cushions to be given me; and took care to place me in the corner, which is the place of honor. I confess, though the Greek lady had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was struck with admiration, that I could not, for some time, speak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of features! That charming result of the whole! That lovely bloom of complexion, unsullied by art! The unutterable enchantment of her smile!—But her eyes!—Large and black, with all the soft languishment of the blue! every turn of her face discovering some new grace.

“She was dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flowered with silver, very well fitted to her shape, and shewing to advantage the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by the thin gauze of her shift. Her drawers were pale pink, her waistcoat green and silver, her slippers white satin, finely embroidered; her lovely arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle set round with diamonds; upon her head a rich Turkish handkerchief of pink and silver, her own fine black hair hanging a great length, in various tresses, and on one side of her head some bodkins of jewels. I am afraid you will accuse me of extravagance in this description. I think I have read some where, that women always speak in rapture, when they speak of beauty; and I cannot imagine why they should not be allowed to do so. I rather think it a virtue to be able to admire, without any mixture of desire or envy.

“The gravest writers have spoke with great warmth of some celebrated pictures and statues. The workmanship of Heaven certainly excells all our weak imitations; and, I think, has a much better claim to our praise. For my part, I am not ashamed to own, I took more pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, than the finest piece of sculpture could have given me. She told me the two girls at her feet were her daughters, though she appeared too young to be their mother. Her fair maids were ranged below the sofa, to the number of twenty, and put me in mind of the pictures of the ancient nymphs. I did not think all nature could have furnished such a scene of beauty. She made them a sign to play and dance. Four of them immediately began to play soft airs on instruments between a lute and a guitar, which they accompanied with their voices, while the others danced by turns.

“When I took my leave, two maids brought in a fine silver basket of embroidered handkerchiefs; she begged I would wear the richest for her sake, and gave the others to my women and interpretress.—I retired through the same ceremonies as before, and could not help thinking I had been some time in Mahomet’s paradise, so much I was charmed with what I had seen.”

How similar are most parts of this account to various descriptions in these tales! And in the passage which follows we have an equally similar representation of the splendour, magnificence, and richness of eastern dresses. It is an account of Lady M. W. Montagu’s visit to the sultana Hafiten, the late favourite of sultan Mustapha, after the death of the latter.

“I was led into a large room, with a sofa the whole length of it, adorned with white marble pillars like a ruelle, covered with pale blue-figured velvet, on a silver ground, with cushions of the same, where I was desired to repose till the sultana appeared, who had contrived this manner of reception to avoid rising at my entrance; though she made me an inclination of her head, when I rose up to her. I was very glad to observe a lady, that had been distinguished by the favour of an emperor, to whom beauties were, every day, presented from all parts of the world. But she did not seem to me to have ever been so beautiful as the fair Fatima I saw at Adrianople; though she had the remains of a fine face, more decayed by sorrow than time. But her dress was something so surprisingly rich, that I cannot forbear describing it to you. She wore a vest called Dualma, which differs from a caftan by longer sleeves, and folding over at the bottom. It was of purple cloth, strait to her shape, and thick set, on each side down to her feet and round the sleeves, with pearls of the best water, of the same size as their buttons commonly are, about the bigness of a pea; and to these buttons, large loops of diamonds in the form of those gold loops, so common on birthday coats. This habit was tied at the waist, with two large tassels of smaller pearls, and round the arms embroidered with large diamonds. Her shift was fastened at the bottom with a large diamond, shaped like a lozenge; her girdle, as broad as the broadest English ribband, entirely covered with diamonds. Round her neck she wore three chains, which reached to her knees; one of large pearls, at the bottom of which hung a fine coloured emerald, as big as a turkey’s egg; another, consisting of two hundred emeralds close joined together, of the most lively green, perfectly matched, every one as large as a half-crown piece, and as thick as three crown pieces; and another of small emeralds perfectly round. But her earrings eclipsed all the rest. They were two diamonds, shaped exactly like pears, as large as a big hazelnut. Round her talpoche she had four strings of pearl, the whitest and most perfect in the world, fastened with two roses, consisting of a large ruby for the middle stone, and round them twenty drops of clear diamonds to each. Besides this, her head-dress was covered with bodkins of emeralds and diamonds. She wore large diamond bracelets, and had five rings on her fingers, (except Mr. Pitt’s) the largest I ever saw in my life. ’Tis for jewellers to compute the value of these things; but, according to the common estimation of jewels in our part of the world, her whole dress must be worth a hundred thousand pounds sterling. This I am sure of, that no European queen has half the quantity, and the Empress’s jewels, though very fine, would look very mean near her’s. She gave me a dinner of fifty dishes of meat, which (after their fashion) were placed on the table one at a time, and were extremely tedious. But the magnificence of her table answered very well to that of her dress. The knives were of gold, and the hafts set with diamonds. But the piece of luxury which grieved my eyes, was the table-cloth and napkins, which were all tiffany, embroidered with silk and gold, in the finest manner, in natural flowers. It was with the utmost regret that I made use of these costly napkins, which were as finely wrought as the finest handkerchiefs that ever came out of this country. You may be sure that they were entirely spoiled before dinner was over. The sherbet (which is the liquor they drink with their meals) was served in china bowls; but the covers and salvers massy gold. After dinner, water was brought in gold basons, and towels of the same kind with the napkins, which I very unwillingly wiped my hands upon; and coffee was served in china with gold soucoups.

“When I took my leave of her, I was complimented with perfumes, as at the grand’s vizier’s, and presented with a very fine embroidered handkerchief. Her slaves were to the number of thirty, besides ten little ones, the eldest not above seven years old. These were the most beautiful girls I ever saw, all richly dressed: and I observed, that the sultana took a great deal of pleasure in these lovely children, which is a vast expense; for there is not a handsome girl of that age to be bought under a hundred pounds sterling. They wore little garlands of flowers, and their own hair braided, which was all their head-dress, but their habits were all of gold stuffs. These served her coffee, kneeling; brought water when she washed, &c. &c. ’Tis a great part of the business of the older slaves, to take care of these young girls, to teach them to embroider, and to serve them as carefully as if they were children of the family. Now do you imagine I have entertained you, all this while, with a relation that has, at least, received many embellishments from my hand? This, you will say, is but too like the Arabian Tales. Those embroidered napkins! and a jewel as large as a turkey’s egg?—You forget, dear sister, those very tales were written by an author of this country, and (except the enchantments) are a real representation of the manners here. We travellers are in very hard circumstances. If we say nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull, and we have observed nothing. If we tell any thing new, we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic, not allowing either for the difference of ranks, which afford difference of company, or more curiosity, or the change of customs, that happens every twenty years in every country. But the truth is, people judge of travellers exactly with the same candour, good-nature, and impartiality, they judge of their neighbours upon all occasions. For my part, if I live to return amongst you, I am so well acquainted with the morals of all my dear friends and acquaintances, that I am resolved to tell them nothing at all, to avoid the imputation, (which their charity would certainly incline them to) of my telling too much. But, I depend upon your knowing me enough, to believe whatever I seriously assert for truth; though I give you leave to be surprised at an account so new to you. But what would you say, if I told you, that I have been in a Haram, where the winter apartment was wainscotted with inlaid work of mother-of-pearl, ivory of different colours, and olive wood, exactly like the little boxes you have seen brought out of this country; and in those rooms designed for summer, the walls are all crusted with Japan china, the roofs gilt, and the floors spread with the finest Persian carpets; yet there is nothing more true; such is the palace of my lovely friend, the fair Fatima.” I trust, the amusing style and singular nature of these extracts will fully justify the length of them.

Mr. Dallaway, in his late work, called “Constantinople, antient and modern,” has the following passage. “Much of the romantic air which pervades the domestic habits of the persons described in the Arabian Nights, particularly in inferior life, will be observed in passing through the streets of Constantinople. And we receive, with additional pleasure, a remembrance of the delight with which we at first perused them, in finding them authentic portraits of every Oriental nation.” Thus, also, and in strong terms, speak the authors of the British Critic. “This work has been admired, and always will, for the simplicity of its narrative, combined with all that the most luxuriant imagination can require; for the accuracy of its representation of Oriental manners, and for the interest and curiosity it awakens in the learned and unlearned, the young and the old. And we have known some of the most grave, and most learned men retain, with delight, the impression made by these volumes.”

In some observations on the passage to India, Colonel Capper speaks in the highest terms, and gives an animated account of the power which these tales still possess over the minds of the Arabs. “The Arabian Nights,” says he, “contain much curious and useful observation. They are by many people erroneously supposed to be a spurious production, and are therefore slighted in a manner they do not deserve. They were written by an Arabian, and are universally read and admired throughout Asia, by all ranks of men, both old and young: considered, therefore, as an original work, descriptive, as they are, of the manners and customs of the East in general, and also of the Arabians in particular, they surely must be thought to merit the attention of the curious, nor are they, in my opinion, destitute of merit in other respects; for although the extravagance of some of the stories is carried too far, yet, on the whole, one cannot help admiring the fancy and invention of the author, in striking out such a variety of pleasing incidents; pleasing I will call them, because they have frequently afforded me much amusement; nor do I envy any man his feelings who is above being pleased with them. But before any person decides upon the merit of these books, he should be an eye-witness of the effect they produce on those who best understand them. I have more than once seen the Arabians in the desert, sitting round a fire, listening to these stories with such attention and pleasure as totally to forget the fatigue and hardship with which, an instant before, they were entirely overcome. In short, not to dwell any longer on this subject, they are in the same estimation all over Asia, that the adventures of Don Quixote are in Spain, and it is presumed no man of genius or taste would think of making the tour of that country without previously reading the work of Cervantes.”

To this list of authors, many of whom are still living, I shall now add the opinion which another illustrious character entertains of this work, and I trust that by inserting an extract from a letter of Warren Hastings, Esq. that gentleman will not think I have taken too great a liberty. He entertains the highest opinion of the original work, and adds, that “M. Galland has selected the best of the tales, and rendered those which he has given us, if not quite faithfully, yet with the costume and manners perfectly correct, and the language both elegant and Oriental. Our English translation of his work is mean and coarse beyond criticism.”

Mr. Richardson, at the end of his Arabic Grammar, has given, what he calls a literal translation of part of one of these tales; any person, therefore, who is curious to see how far M. Galland has deviated from the original, may compare the two. The translation itself is too long for insertion. He takes the story of Alnaschar, the Barber’s fifth brother; “in which,” he says, “the folly of aerial castle-building is displayed in an agreeable vein of humour. I shall endeavour to make the version as literal as possible, which the reader may compare with the Arabian Nights, where he will find a greater deviation from the original, than even a free translation seemed to require.” Mr. Richardson does not, I believe, give the whole of the tale, even from the manuscript he made use of; and the other slight circumstances, in which M. Galland differs from him, may probably have arisen from their making use of different manuscripts.

In the second volume of M. Galland’s work, he says, in a note, that the hundred-and-first, and hundred-and-second nights (according to his division of it,) are, in the original, employed in a description of the seven different dresses worn by the daughter of Schemseddin Mohammed (See Vol. 1. page 328, and note 13, of this translation); and interspersed with poetry in praise of the bride, which however beautiful it might be in Arabic, would not, he says, be worth translating into French: and that he has therefore omitted these two nights. How tiresome the description of these dresses might be I know not; nor how little suited these particular verses were to the ear of a Frenchman; but if they be at all similar to those beautiful specimens with which Professor Carlyle has gratified our English ear, we certainly have, in this instance, to regret M. Galland’s omission. And, in proof of this, I shall insert a few stanzas from the Arabic poetry; particularly as some of them relate to, or are the production of, persons mentioned in this work; as, for instance, the caliph Haroun Alraschid, his grand vizier Giafar, the poet Isaac, &c.

In the history of Noureddin and the Beautiful Persian, Volume III. p. 53. Haroun Alraschid exclaims, “On my life, I have never heard so good a voice, nor a better player on the lute; Isaac, whom I believed to be the best in the world, is much inferior to her.” The person, here mentioned, is Isaac Almousely, whom the Orientals esteem as the best musician that was ever known. He was a Persian by birth, but resided entirely, in the early part of his life, at Mousel, (Moussoul.) Mahadi, the father of Haroun Alraschid, having one day, by accident, heard him sing one of his own compositions, accompanied by his lute, was so delighted with his performance, that he carried him to Bagdad, and made him his principal musician; in which situation he continued during the reign of several caliphs.

When Haroun Alraschid succeeded to the throne, which he did after the death of his elder brother Hadi, Isaac composed the following verses on his inauguration, and on the appointment of Yahia, the father of Jaafer (Giafar,) and the founder of the greatness of the family called the Barmecides.

Th’ affrighted sun ere-while had fled,

And hid his radiant face in night;

A cheerless gloom the world o’erspread—

But Haroun came and all was bright.

Again the sun shoots forth his rays,

Nature is deck’d in Beauty’s robe;

For mighty Haroun’s sceptre sways,

And Yahia’s arm sustains the globe.

Professor Carlyle gives the following instance of the power of music over the mind of this monarch: Haroun Alraschid having quarrelled with his mistress, Meridah, left her in a rage, and refused to see her any more. The lady was in despair, and knew not how to bring about a reconciliation. In the mean time, the vizier Jaafar, (Giafar) who had always been the friend of Meridah, sent for Almousely; and giving him a song composed for the occasion, desired him to perform it before the caliph, with all the pathos he was master of. The musician obeyed; and such were the powers he possessed, that Haroun’s anger was instantly appeased; he rushed into the presence of Meridah, and taking all the blame of the quarrel, entreated her to forgive him, and bury every thing that had passed in eternal oblivion. Ebn Khalican, the historian, adds, that both Haroun and the lady instantly rewarded the minister and musician with a considerable present.

As the family of the Barmecides is mentioned very often, in several parts of this work, it may not be improper to give a slight sketch of them, especially as it was Haroun Alraschid who not only increased the power and interest which they first acquired under his father, but who also effected their ruin. The family of Barmec was descended from the ancient Persian monarchs, and was very rich; but it was at the court of Bagdad that the Barmecides arrived at their full splendour. The character of the first, who was thus distinguished, was that of a man possessed of great virtue and great talents. He was called Yahia Ben Khaled, the same that was celebrated in the preceding verses; and that was appointed by Mahadi governor to his son Haroun Alraschid, who, when he succeeded to the throne, appointed him grand vizier; and when old age obliged him to resign that office, his second son, Jaafer, (Giafar) was appointed in his place. The abilities of the son equalled those of the father. “He was the most admired writer, and most eloquent speaker, of his age;” and while in office, “he displayed the accuracy of a man of business and the comprehensive ideas of a statesman.” His former acquirements, however, caused him to become the companion, as well as the minister, of the caliph, who at last grew so much attached to him, that he appointed his elder brother, Fadhel, grand vizier in his place, that the affairs of the state might not deprive him of the pleasure of his society. For seventeen years these brothers were all-powerful; when, at once, the whole family were involved in disgrace; and the ill-treatment they experienced must eternally stain the character of Haroun. The cause of their disgrace is uncertain; Professor Carlyle gives the following as most probable. “The Khaliph had a sister, called Abassa, of whom he was passionately fond, and whose company he preferred to every thing but the conversation of Jaafer. These two pleasures he would fain have joined together by carrying Jaafar with him in his visits to Abassa; but the laws of the haram, which forbad any one, except a near relation, from being introduced there, made that impossible; and he was obliged to be absent either from his sister or his favourite. At length he discovered a method, which he hoped would enable him to enjoy, at the same time, the society of these two persons, who were so dear to him. This was to unite Jaafar and Abassa in marriage. They were married accordingly, but with this express condition, that they should never meet but in the presence of the khaliph.

“Their interviews, however, were very frequent; and as neither could be insensible of the amiable qualities which the other possessed, a mutual affection took place between them. Blinded by their passion they forgot the khaliph’s injunction, and the consequences of their interview were but too apparent. Abassa was delivered of a son, whom they privately sent to be educated at Mecca.

“For some time their amour was concealed from Alraschid; but the khaliph having at length received intelligence of it, he gave way to his rage, and determined to take the most severe revenge. In consequence of this cruel resolve, he immediately commanded Jaafar to be put to death, and the whole race of Barmec to be deprived of their possessions, and thrown into prison. These orders were obeyed. Jaafer was beheaded in the antichamber of the royal apartment, whither he had come to request an interview with the implacable Haroun: and his father and brothers, perished in confinement.” The destruction of this family was looked upon as a general calamity; “all of whom,” says an Eastern writer, “enjoyed the singular felicity of being loved as much, when in the plenitude of their power, as in a private station; and of being praised as much, after their disgrace and ruin, as when they were at the summit of their prosperity.” The following verses were written on their fall:

No, Barmec! time hath never shewn

So sad a change of wayward fate;

Nor sorrowing mortals ever known

A grief so true, a loss so great.

Spouse of the world! Thy soothing breast

Did balm to every woe afford;

And now no more by thee caress’d,

The widow’d world bewails her lord.

The following lines were spoken extempore by Ibrahim Ben Adham, a hermit of Syria, who was equally admired for his piety and his poetry, upon meeting Haroun Alraschid going to Mecca with a magnificent train, as Ibrahim himself was returning from his pilgrimage to that place, which he performed quite alone, and without making any provision for his journey.

Religion's gems can ne'er adorn

The flimsy robe by Pleasure worn,

Its feeble texture soon would tear,

And give those jewels to the air.

Thrice happy they, who seek th’ abode

Of peace and pleasure in their God!

Who spurn the world, its joys despise,

And grasp at bliss beyond the skies.

Although the little poem, which comes next has no apparent connection with any particular part of this work, I cannot help inserting it from that beautiful vein of feeling which runs through every line. It was sung before the caliph Wathek, the grandson of Haroun Alraschid, as a specimen of the author’s talents.

THE ADIEU.

BY ABOU MOHAMMED.

The boatmen shout, “’Tis time to part,

No longer we can stay;”

’Twas then Maimuna taught my heart

How much a glance could say.

With trembling steps to me she came;

“Farewell,” she would have cried,

But ere her lips the words could frame,

In half form’d sounds it died.

Then bending down, with looks of love,

Her arms she round me flung,

And, as the gale hangs on the grove,

Upon my breast she hung.

My willing arms embrac'd the maid,

My heart with raptures beat;

While she but wept the more, and said,

Would we had never met.”

In these times, when from the difference of manners, and a variety of other circumstances and causes, even the most successful poets cannot boast of the friendship, and profuse liberality of kings, the manner in which the monarchs of the East rewarded them, is almost incredible. The presents, which Abou Teman Habib, a native of Damascus, but who spent his life chiefly at the court of Bagdad, is reported to have received, are enormous. He is said to have had a present of fifty thousand pieces of gold for a single poem. He died before he was forty, and his early death was predicted by a contemporary writer, in these words: “The mind of Abou Teman must soon wear out his body, as the blade of an Indian scimitar destroys its scabbard.” When his mistress accused him of extravagance, he addressed her in the following words:

Ungenerous and mistaken maid,

To scorn me thus because I'm poor!

Canst thou a liberal hand upbraid

For dealing round some worthless ore?

To spare’s the wish of little souls,

The great but gather to bestow;

Yon current down the mountain rolls,

And stagnates in the swamp below.

To these specimens of the elegant and pathetic I cannot avoid adding the three sweet stanzas of Ebn Alrumi, who flourished in the tenth century of the Christian æra, on a lady weeping.

When I beheld thy blue eyes shine

Thro’ the bright drops that pity drew,

I saw beneath those tears of thine

A blue eyed violet bath’d in dew.

The violet ever scents the gale,

Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,

But sweetest through a dewy veil

Its colours glow, its odours breath.

And thus thy charms in brightness rise—

When wit and pleasure round thee play,

When mirth sits smiling in thine eyes,

Who but admires their sprightly ray?

But when thro’ pity’s flood they gleam,

Who but must love their soften’d beam?

It was not among the troubadours and provencals of France, and the improvisatori of Italy, that the custom of extempore recitation alone existed. It flourished and was carried to great perfection in Arabia during the caliphat, and in many other Oriental nations. The Arabians indeed are said to have been the inventors both of extempore recitation and of rhyme, from whom it came to the Spaniards, and thence into France and Italy. [] And in all the Oriental nations it was almost constantly accompanied with music. We have, throughout the Arabian Nights, continual examples of this; and there never seems to have been a grand entertainment, where these recitations, as well as dancing, were not introduced. As a specimen of this, and it is the last I shall insert, I have been tempted to give the following extempore verses by Ebn Alramacram, the occasion of which is said, by Abulfeda, to have been as follows: Carawash, sultan of Mousel, being in a party with his principal musician, Barkaidy, his vizier, Ebn Fadhi, his chamberlain, Jaber, and Ebn Alramacram, the poet, he determined to amuse himself at the expense of his companions. He therefore commanded Alramacram to recite some verses, which, at the same time that they satirised his officers, should compliment himself. The poet obeyed: and taking the night which happened to be stormy, for his subject, instantly replied as follows:

Lowering as Barkaidy’s face

The wintry night came in,

Cold as the music of his bass,

And lengthen’d as his chin.

Sleep from my aching eyes had fled,

And kept as far apart,

As sense from Ebn Fadhi’s head,

Or virtue from his heart.

The dubious paths my footsteps balk'd,

I slipp’d along the sod,

As if on Jaber’s faith I’d walk’d,

Or on his truth had trod.

At length the rising king of day

Burst on the gloomy wood,

Like Carawash’s eye, whose ray

Dispenses every good.

In India too, at this time, their exists a different species of improvisatori. Instead of having newspapers, as with us, to accompany the breakfast table, (there are indeed newspapers in the East, but they are chiefly for the use of Europeans,) where the fatigue of reading would be too great for Asiatic enjoyment, there is a set of men, whose regular profession it is to go round and report the news of every sort, that may have happened. And to this they constantly add the knowledge of a variety of stories, tales, and apologues, which, at the desire of their employer, they recite with great animation, humour, and action, as long as he wishes to be amused. And while this is going on, he attends to the reciter or not, while he enjoys his hooka, takes his coffee, or reclines at ease on his sofa. Many of these stories also are of a similar nature to some in the following work. And instances are not uncommon, in which these men have continued such recitation without any cessation for four or five hours together.

I am fearful, I may have dwelt too long upon this subject; but the beauty of the poetry has led me on; and a true lover of poetry, like a true poet, must be enthusiastic, and enthusiasm often carries a person beyond the strict limits of prudence: the pleasure also of selection was too great to be slightly indulged. My only difficulty was to fix upon so few, where all were excellent.

Before I conclude this Preface, there are two other points perhaps necessary to be mentioned. In the first place, there are in M. Galland various errors and contradictions with respect to time and place. Some few of these I have taken the liberty to correct, others I thought it best not to alter; trusting that every candid reader will allow for such errors, which, with respect to the work at large, are of little moment. Secondly, in respect to names; I have constantly followed M. Galland, both because these names are already best known, and because other writers do not agree about the orthography of them. Whether, therefore, we take the Mahomet of Professor White and M. Galland, the Mohammed of Carlyle, or the Mahummud of Scot; whether we say the caliph and sultaun Haroon al Rasheed with the last, or the khaliph and sultan Haroun Alraschid with Carlyle, is in my opinion a matter of little moment. There is one thing, which would be much better; and that is, for all writers to adhere to one mode, whether it comes nearest to the pronunciation in the original language, or not.

TO THE

AUTHOR OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

Bless’d child of Genius, whose fantastic sprite

Rides on the vivid lightnings flash, or roves

Thro’ flow’ry vallies and Elysian groves;

Or, borne on vent’rous pinions, takes its flight

To those dread realms, where, hid from mortal sight,

Fierce Genii roam, or where, in bright alcoves,

Mild Fairies reign, and woo their secret loves;

Whate’er thy theme, whether the magic might

Of the stern kings, that dwell ’mid ocean’s roar,

Or Sindbad’s perils, or the cruel wiles

Of Afric’s curst enchanters, charm us more;

Or ought more wond’rous still our ear beguiles;

Well pleased we listen to thy fabling lore,

And truth itself with less attraction smiles.

THO. RUSSELL.

THE

ARABIAN NIGHTS.

IT is recorded in the chronicles of the Sassanians, [1] those ancient monarchs of Persia who extended their empire over the continent and islands of India, beyond the Ganges, and almost to China, that there was an illustrious prince of that powerful house, who was as much beloved by his subjects for his wisdom and prudence, as he was feared by the surrounding states, from the report of his bravery, and the reputation of his hardy and well-disciplined army. He had two sons: the elder, called Schahriar, was endowed with all the virtues of his father, nor was Schahzenan, the younger, less deserving of praise.

This king, after a reign as glorious as it was long, sunk into the tomb of his ancestors, and Schahriar ascended the throne. Although his brother was excluded by the laws of the empire from all power, and became nothing more than a subject, yet the exalted and magnificent situation of Schahriar gave rise to no envious or discontented thoughts: his whole endeavor was to please and make Schahriar happy. This was by no means difficult. The sultan, who was always fond of his brother, was delighted with his attention; and wishing that he should partake of his own power and wealth, he bestowed on him the kingdom of Great Tartary. Schahzenan went immediately and took possession of his empire, and fixed his residence at Samarcand, the chief city.

These two kings had been separated about ten years, when Schahriar, ardently wishing to see his brother, determined to send an ambassador to him, with an invitation to his court. For this purpose he fixed on his first vizier, who went with a splendid and appropriate retinue. When he approached Samarcand, Schahzenan, being acquainted with his arrival, immediately went out to meet him, with all his court most magnificently dressed for the occasion; so great was the honor paid to the minister of the sultan. The king of Tartary received him with signs of great joy; and instantly inquired after the sultan, his brother. Having satisfied his curiosity, the vizier unfolded the purpose of his embassy. Schahzenan, who was much affected at the kindness and recollection of his brother, then addressed the vizier in these words:

“Sage vizier, the sultan, my brother, does me too much honor; he could not propose any thing more agreeable to me. It is impossible that his wish to see me can exceed my anxious desire of again beholding him; time has not weakened my regard any more than his. My kingdom is tranquil, and I require only ten days to prepare for my departure: for this short time you need not have the trouble of entering the city: pitch your tents, and remain in this place: I will take care and order every refreshment and accommodation for you and your whole train,” This was immediately done; and the king had scarcely returned to his palace, when the vizier saw an immense quantity of all sorts of provisions arrive, accompanied with rare and valuable presents.

In the mean time Schahzenan made every preparation for his journey. He dispatched with celerity his most pressing business: he established a regency to govern the kingdom during his absence, and put a minister, on whose abilities and fidelity he had the firmest reliance, at the head of it. At the end of ten days every thing was ready; he took a tender leave of the queen, his consort, and accompanied by such officers as he had appointed to attend him, left Samarcand in the evening. He proceeded directly to a royal pavilion, which had been erected near the vizier’s tent. Schahzenan remained in conversation with the ambassador till about midnight; but wishing once again to embrace his queen, whom he tenderly loved, he returned privately to the palace, and went directly to her apartment, who not expecting his return, had received into her chamber one of the lowest officers of the household. They had been in bed some time, and were both in the deepest sleep.

The king, thinking how agreeably the queen, of whose affection he had no doubt, would be surprised at his unexpected return, entered the chamber without making any noise. Conceive, then, his astonishment at seeing, by the lights which are always hung in the royal apartments, another man in her arms. He stood for an instant motionless, almost doubting his own eyes. Being, however, too certain of the truth. “Have I then,” said he to himself, “scarcely left my palace, or gone from under the walls of Samarcand, before they dare thus to disgrace me? Wretch! your crime shall not go unrequited. As king, it is my duty to punish the crimes that are committed within my states; as an offended husband, I ought to sacrifice you to my just resentment.” The unfortunate monarch, yielding to his first fury, drew his scimitar, and approaching the bed, with one stroke changed their sleep into death: then taking them up one after the other, he threw them from the window into the foss that surrounded the palace.

Having thus satisfied his revenge, he went from the city as he entered, and retired to his pavilion. On his arrival, without relating what had passed to any one, he ordered the tents to be struck, and began his journey. Every thing was soon ready, and it was scarcely day-light when they commenced their march to the sound of drums and other instruments. The whole train were filled with joy, except the king, who could think of nothing but his queen’s infidelity, and he became a prey to the deepest grief and melancholy during the whole journey.

When he approached the capital of the Indies, he perceived the sultan Schahriar and all his court coming out to greet him. What joyful sensations arose in their breasts at this fraternal meeting! They alighted and ran into each other’s arms: after a thousand expressions of regard, they remounted, and entered the city amidst the acclamations of the surrounding multitude. The sultan conducted the king, his brother, to a palace, which had been prepared for him. It communicated by a garden with his own; and was even more magnificent, as it was the spot where all the fêtes and splendid entertainments of the court were given; and it was now even increased in splendour by new and brilliant ornaments.

Schahriar immediately left the king of Tartary, in order that he might have time to bathe and change his dress; on his return from the bath he went immediately to him again. They seated themselves on a sofa, and as the courtiers, through respect, stood at a considerable distance, these two brothers conversed with each other at their ease, after so long an absence; and seemed even more united by affection than blood. They ate together at supper, and after their repast they again conversed, till Schahriar, perceiving the night far advanced, left his brother to repose.

The unfortunate Schahzenan retired to his couch; but if the presence of the sultan had for a while suspended his grief, it now returned with redoubled force. Instead of enjoying that rest he was so much in want of, the most agonizing reflection dwelt upon his mind. Every circumstance of his queen’s infidelity presented itself to his imagination with such violence, that it almost deprived him of his reason. Not being able to sleep, he arose, and giving way to these afflicting thoughts, they made such a deep impression of sorrow on his countenance, that the sultan could not fail of remarking it. “What cause of complaint,” thought he, “can the king of Tartary have? He cannot object the reception I have given him. I have received him as a brother whom I tenderly love; and I cannot reproach myself with any thing. Perhaps he feels a regret at the distance he is from his kingdom and his consort? If that indeed afflicts him, I must hasten the presents I am preparing for him, that he may set out, whenever he pleases, on his return to Samarcand.” This he immediately set about; and sent a part of the presents even the next day. These were composed of every thing rare, singular, and valuable, that India could produce. In the mean time the sultan endeavoured to amuse his brother by every species of pleasure; but the most splendid entertainments and gayest fêtes only served to increase his melancholy.

Schahriar having one morning given orders for a grand hunting party, at the distance of two days journey from the city, in a part of the country where there were plenty of stags, Schahzenan requested permission to remain in his palace, excusing himself on account of a slight indisposition. The sultan wishing to please him, gave him his choice, and went with all his court to partake of the sport. The king of Tartary was no sooner alone, than he shut himself up in his apartment. He seated himself at a window that looked over the garden; the view from thence, and the melody of the multitudes of birds, which had chosen that beautiful spot for their retreat, must have excited pleasant sensations in his breast, if he had been capable of feeling them: but totally absorbed and overwhelmed with the dreadful recollection of the queen’s infamous conduct, he more frequently lifted his eyes to heaven, complaining of his wretched fate, than fixed them on the beauties of the spot.

He remained thus occupied with his own melancholy thoughts, when his attention was roused by the following event. A secret door of the sultan’s palace suddenly opened, and out came twenty females; in the midst of whom were the sultana, who was easily distinguished by her superior manner. This princess, supposing the king of Tartary was engaged in the chase, approached without fear, even to the very windows of his apartments. The prince wishing, through curiosity, to observe them, placed himself at the window so as to see every thing that passed, without being at all seen. They who accompanied the sultana immediately threw off the long robes which they had first appeared in, and which entirely hid their faces. How great was his astonishment, when he saw, in this party, which he supposed to consist only of women, ten blacks, who each selected a mistress. Nor did the sultana, on her part, remain long without her lover. Clapping her hands, she called out, “Masoud, Masoud!” and another black instantly descended from a tree, and ran towards her.

Decency forbids us to enter into a detail of their conduct, nor is it at all necessary. Schahzenan saw enough to convince him that his brother had not less reason to complain than himself. The amusements of this amorous party lasted till midnight: they then bathed altogether in a large piece of water, and having put on their habits, they returned to the palace by the same secret door; and Masoud, who had come over the wall of the garden, escaped in the same way.

The whole of these transactions, which passed under his own eyes, caused many reflections in the king’s mind. “How absurd,” said he, “to think, that my misfortune is singular and uncommon! It is the inevitable destiny of all husbands, since even the sultan, my brother, the sovereign of so many states, the greatest monarch in the world, cannot avoid it. What weakness then in me to be thus affected at my own lot, and remain a prey to melancholy: it shall be so no longer. The recollection of a misfortune so common to all men, shall vex me no more, nor disturb my repose.” In short, from this moment, he ceased to repine. He had delayed going to supper till the whole of this extraordinary scene was over; he then ordered it to be brought, and eat with a better appetite than he had before done since his departure from Samarcand, and even enjoyed a fine concert that was performed during the repast.

From this time he resumed his former good humour, and when he heard of the sultan’s return, he went and paid his respects to him, with an air of gaiety and satisfaction. Schahriar, at first, took no notice of this change. He thought only of hinting at the refusal of his brother to accompany him to the chase; and without allowing him time to reply, he gave him an account of the great number of stags and other animals they had hunted, and the pleasure it had afforded. Schahzenan, having listened with great attention, took his turn to speak. As melancholy or chagrin no longer clouded his mind, his natural vivacity and wit became apparent in a thousand lively sallies.

The sultan, who expected to find him in the same state in which he left him, was delighted with his gaiety. “I thank heaven, my brother,” he cried, “for the happy change which has taken place during my absence. I am indeed truly rejoiced at it; but I have one favor to request, that I trust you will not refuse me.”—“What can I refuse you,” replied Schahzenan, “you may command me in every thing. Speak; I am impatient to know what you wish of me.”—“Since you have been at my court,” resumed the sultan, “I have only seen you a prey to the most gloomy melancholy, which I have tried, but in vain, to dissipate by every species of amusement in my power. I thought that your grief might arise from the distance you were from your kingdom; I imagined, also, that love might have its share, and that the queen of Samarcand, whom you had selected for her incomparable beauty, was partly the cause. I know not whether my conjectures were right or wrong, and it was for this very reason, and from the fear of displeasing you, that I did not importune you. Soon after, without my having in the least contributed to it, I find you, on my return from a hunting party, in the highest spirits; your mind quite free from that dark cloud which hung over it, and prevented all enjoyment. Tell me then, I intreat you, why you were so melancholy, and why you are so no longer?”

At this speech the king of Tartary mused for some time, meditating what to answer. At length he said, “you are my sultan and my master, yet do not, I beg of you, compel me to give you the satisfaction you demand.”—“Yes, yes, my brother,” cried the sultan, “you must comply; I wish it, do not therefore refuse me.”—Schahzenan could no longer resist his intreaties. “Well then, my brother,” said he, “since you command it, you shall be satisfied.” He then related the infidelity of the queen of Samarcand; and when he had finished his recital, “This,” continued he, “was the cause of my melancholy, was it not a sufficient one?”—“Oh, my brother,” cried the sultan, in a voice that shewed how much he sympathised with him, “what a dreadful tale have you unfolded to me! with what impatience have I listened to you. I praise you for having punished the wretches; and no one can reproach you for it; as it is only just. And I own, had I been in your place, I should perhaps have been less easily satisfied. I should not have been contented with taking away the life of one woman, but should have sacrificed a thousand to my resentment. I am not astonished at your melancholy; the cause was too powerful and acute not to yield to it. Heavens! what an adventure: your fate surely is most singular, nor can have ever happened to any one besides. Since, however, it has pleased God to afford you consolation, and as I am sure that it is equally as well founded as was the cause of your grief, inform me, I beg, of that also, and make me acquainted with the whole.”

Upon this point Schahzenan was in more difficulty than before, from the interest his brother seemed to take in it; but he was obliged to comply with his earnest request: “I am going to obey you,” said he, “since you absolutely require it; yet I fear my compliance will cause you more pain than even I have felt; but you must attach the fault to yourself alone, since you compel me to reveal what I wished to remain buried in eternal oblivion.”—“What you tell me,” interrupted Schahriar, “only heightens my curiosity; hasten to discover this secret, whatever may be its nature.” The king of Tartary, being no longer able to prevent it, detailed the whole that he had seen; the disguises of the blacks, the conduct of the sultana and her women; nor was Masoud forgotten. “After having witnessed this infamous scene,” continued he, “I began to think that all women were naturally of this disposition, and were unable to resist their inclinations. I was no sooner of this opinion, than it appeared to me a great weakness in any man to suffer his happiness to rest on their fidelity. This reflection produced many others, and I was, at length, convinced, that it was best to think of it no more. It has cost me some trouble, but I have accomplished it; and if you are of my opinion, you will follow my example.”

Notwithstanding the excellence of this advice, the sultan was unable to follow it. “What,” said he, furiously, “is it possible that the sultana of the Indies is capable of such base prostitution? No, no, my brother, I cannot believe what you have told me, unless I were to see it myself. It is a deception; you have been imposed upon; and it is too important a matter not to require positive proof.”—“If,” replied Schahzenan, “you wish to be witness to the fact, it will not be difficult to accomplish it. You have only to give orders for another hunting party, and after we have both left the city, with the court in our train, we will remain in our pavilions during the day, and at night we will return alone into my apartment. I am too certain that you will, during the next day, observe what I have before seen.” The sultan approved of the plan, and immediately ordered the party, so that the pavilions were erected that very day in the appointed place.

The two princes set out on the following morning with all their train. They arrived at the camp, and remained there till night. Schahriar then called his grand vizier, and without discovering his intention, commanded him to take his place during his absence, and to suffer no person to leave the camp upon any account whatever. As soon as the sultan had given these orders, he and his brother got on their horses, passed unknown through the camp, entered the city, and went directly to the palace occupied by Schahzenan. They then retired to rest, but rose early in the morning, and took their station at the same window where the king of Tartary had observed the former scene with the blacks. They enjoyed the freshness of the morning, for the sun had not yet risen; and during their conversation they frequently cast their eyes towards the secret door. At length it was opened, and to sum up all in a few words, the sultana, with her women, and the ten disguised blacks, instantly appeared, and having called Masoud, the sultan was soon too fatally convinced of his disgraceful misfortune. “Oh God!” he cried, “what indignity, what horror! is it possible, that the wife of so powerful a sovereign as I am, can be capable of such infamy. What prince, after this, can dare to call himself happy. Ah, my brother,” added he, embracing him, “let us renounce the world; fidelity is banished from it, and if it flatters us one moment, it betrays us the next. Let us leave our dominions and all the pomp that surrounds us, and in foreign kingdoms pass an obscure life, and endeavour to conceal our disgrace.” Schahzenan did not approve of this plan; but seeing the agony which his brother was then in, he dared not oppose it. “I have no other will than yours, my brother,” replied he, “I am ready to follow you wherever you please; but promise me, that you will return whenever you meet with any one who shall be more unfortunate than we are.”—“I do promise you,” replied the sultan, “but I very much doubt whether we shall ever meet with such a one.”—“I am of a different opinion,” added the king of Tartary, “and our journey may be shorter than you expect.”—They then departed secretly from the palace, and took a different road from that by which they came. They travelled as long as it was light, and passed the first night under some trees. As soon as the morning broke, they got up and resumed their journey, till they came to a beautiful meadow near the sea-shore, along which, at certain distances, were some very large and thick trees. They seated themselves under one of them to rest and take some refreshment, during which the infidelity of their respective queens became the subject of their discourse.

They had not long conversed together, when they heard a most horrible noise very near them, towards the sea; and a sudden loud and lamentable cry that filled them with dread. The sea itself immediately opened, and they observed an immense black column rising out of it, whose top seemed lost in the clouds. This sight redoubled their fears; they instantly got up, and climbed to the top of a tree, which appeared likely to conceal them. They were scarcely got there, when looking towards the spot from whence the noise came, and where the sea had opened, they observed, that the black column unfolded itself, as it were, and approached the shore. For a moment, they could not conceive what it was, but it very soon became evident.

It was one of those wicked genii who are the avowed enemies to mankind. He was black and hideous, and in form like an immense giant. He carried on his head a large glass case, secured by four locks of bright steel. With this he came into the meadow, and set it down at the foot of the very tree in which the princes were hidden. They, knowing the great danger they were in, gave themselves up for lost.

This wicked genius then sat down near the case, and having opened it with four keys, which were suspended from his girdle, a female, superbly dressed, of a fine figure and incomparable beauty, immediately came out. The monster made her sit by his side, and casting an amorous look at her, he said, “Lady, thou most accomplished of all that are admired for their beauty, whom I carried away on the very day of thy nuptials, and to whom I have been continually constant since, suffer me to repose a few moments near thee; feeling myself overcome with sleep, I sought this place to indulge in a little rest.” Having said this, he let his immense head fall on her lap; and stretching out his legs, which extended almost to the sea, he immediately fell asleep, and began to snore, till the very shore echoed with the noise.

The lady, raising her eyes by chance, perceived the princes in the tree, and immediately made a sign with her hand for them to come down without making any noise. When they found they were thus discovered, their fears became more violent. They entreated her, by signs, to permit them to remain where they were; but she, on the contrary, having gently lifted up the giant’s head, and placed it softly on the ground, got up, and said to them in a low but animated voice, “Descend; it is absolutely necessary that you should come down to me.” In vain did they endeavour, by various methods, to make her comprehend how much they dreaded her hideous companion:—“Come down,” continued she, in the same tone, “for if you hesitate, I will wake him, and request him to destroy you.”

These words so much alarmed them, that they began to descend, though with all possible precaution. When they were on the ground, the lady took them by the hand, and leading them among some trees, she directly made a proposal to them of a nature not the most modest. At first they refused her; but she obliged them by fresh threats to comply with her wishes. Having gratified her inclination, she observed, that they had each a ring on their fingers, which she requested of them. She had no sooner received them, than taking a small box out of a parcel, that contained her wardrobe, she drew from it a string of rings of various sorts, and shewing it to the princes, said, “Do you know what this means?”—“We do not,” they answered, “but it remains for you to inform us.”—“They are,” she replied, “the rings of all those on whom I have bestowed my favors. There are exactly ninety-eight, and yours, which I have requested for that purpose, will make a hundred, which I wished to accomplish. Observe,” continued she, “the hundred lovers that I have now had, in spite of all the precautions and vigilance of this wretch, who never quits me. Let him shut me up in his glass case, and conceal me at the bottom of the sea, if he pleases, I will not fail to make his caution useless. You may know by this, that when once a female has formed any scheme, neither husband nor lover can prevent its accomplishment. Men had better put no restraint upon women, and it would be the means of preserving them chaste.” The lady, having said this, added their rings to the list. She then seated herself as before, replaced the head of the genius upon her lap, and made a sign to the princes to depart.

They immediately retreated by the same road They came, and when they were out of sight of the lady and her formidable companion, Schahriar said to Schahzenan, “what think you, brother, of this adventure which hath happened to us? Has not this genius got a truly faithful mistress? Do you not agree, that nothing can equal the malice of women? “I do,” replied the king of Tartary, “and you must allow also, that the genius has much more to complain of, and is more unfortunate than we are. Since, therefore, we have found what we were in search of, let us return to our dominions, and not suffer this to prevent us from forming a fresh marriage. With respect to myself, I know by what method I expect to preserve inviolate the fidelity I think due to me. I will not now explain myself, but you shall one day learn; and I have no doubt but you will follow my example.” The sultan was of the same opinion as his brother, and pursuing their journey, they arrived, towards the end of the third night, at the camp.

The news of the sultan’s return being known, the courtiers hastened early in the morning to the royal pavilion. He received them in a more lively manner than usual, and gratified all of them by his gracious reception. He then declared, that he should proceed no further, and ordering them to mount, he immediately set out on his return.

The sultan was no sooner arrived, than he hastened to the apartment of the sultana. He ordered her to be bound, and having delivered her to his grand vizier, he commanded him to have her strangled. This sentence was executed by him without enquiring into the crime for which she suffered. The indignant prince did not stop here; he beheaded all the sultana’s women with his own hand. After this rigorous proceeding, being persuaded that a truly virtuous woman did not exist, he resolved, in order to prevent a possibility of infidelity for the future, to marry every night, and have his mistress strangled in the morning. Having imposed this cruel law upon himself, he swore to observe it immediately on the departure of the king, his brother; who soon after took his leave, and returned to his own kingdom, loaded with the most magnificent presents.

When Schahzenan was gone, the sultan failed not to order his grand vizier to bring him the daughter of one of his generals. The vizier obeyed; and the sultan, having passed the night with her, delivered her into the hands of the vizier for execution, and commanded him to procure another against the following night. However repugnant these commands might be to the vizier, he was obliged to submit. He then brought the sultan the daughter of a subaltern officer, who, as usual, suffered death the next morning. The next was the daughter of a citizen. And thus every day a maiden was married, and every day a wife was sacrificed.

The report of this unexampled inhumanity spread a universal consternation through the city. In one place a wretched father was in tears for the loss of his daughter; in another, the air resounded with the groans of tender mothers, who dreaded lest the same fate should attend their offspring. In this manner, instead of the praises and blessings with which, till now, they loaded their monarch, all his subjects poured out imprecations on his head.

The grand vizier, who, as has been mentioned, was the unwilling agent of this horrid injustice, had two daughters; the elder was called Scheherazadè, and the youngest Dinarzadè. The latter was by no means deficient in merit; but Scheherazadè was possessed of a degree of courage beyond her sex, joined to an extent of knowledge and degree of penetration that was truly astonishing. She had read much, and was possessed of so great a memory, that she never forgot any thing she had once perused. She had applied also, with much success, to philosophy, to medicine, to history, and to the arts; and made better verses than the most celebrated poets of the time. Besides this, her beauty was incomparable; and her virtuous disposition crowned all those valuable qualities.

The vizier was passionately fond of so deserving a daughter. As they were conversing together one day, she addressed him in these words: “I have a favor to ask of you, my father; and I entreat you not to refuse me.”—“I will not refuse you,” replied he, “provided the request be just and reasonable.”—“It is impossible,” added Scheherazadè, “to be more just, as you will judge from the motives I have in making it. My design is to put a stop to this dreadful barbarity which the sultan exercises over the inhabitants of this city. I wish to dispel the just apprehension which all mothers entertain for the safety of their daughters.”—“Your intention, my child” said the vizier, “is very laudable; but the evil which you wish to cure seems to me without a remedy; how would you set about it?”—“Since, by your means,” replied Scheherazadè, “the sultan celebrates a fresh marriage every day, I conjure you, by the tender affection you have for me, to procure me the honor of his bed.” This speech filled the vizier with horror. “O God!” cried he eagerly, “have you lost your senses, my daughter, that you make me so dangerous a request? Do you know, that the sultan has solemnly sworn, he will receive no one to his bed but for one night; and that he regularly orders her to be carried to execution in the morning? Can you then think of being allied to him? Recollect to what your indiscreet zeal exposes you.”—“Yes, my father,” replied this virtuous damsel, “I am aware of the danger I run, but it does not deter me from my purpose. If I die, my death will be glorious; and, if I succeed, I shall render my country an important service.”—“No, no,” replied the vizier, “do not suppose, that any thing you can urge will induce me to comply with your wishes, and put you in so dreadful a situation. Can I, alas! obey the sultan, when he orders me to plunge a poniard into your bosom. What horrible employment for a father! If you do not yourself fear death, at least hesitate to inflict on me the pain of being the wretched instrument, and embruing my hand with your blood.”—“Still, my father,” said Scheherazadè, “I implore you to grant my request.”—“Your obstinacy,” replied he, “excites my anger; why can you wish thus to rush to your own destruction? They who do not look forward to the end of a dangerous enterprise, know not how to bring it to a fortunate conclusion. The same thing will, I fear, happen to you, which did to the ass, who was well off, yet could not keep so.”—“What happened to the ass?” replied Scheherazadè. “Listen to me,” answered the vizier, “and I will relate the story.”

THE FABLE

OF THE ASS, THE OX, AND THE LABOURER.

A very rich merchant had several houses in the country, where he bred a considerable number of cattle of various descriptions. It happened, that he went to reside on one of his estates with his wife and children, for the purpose of superintending some improvements. The merchant understood the language of beasts; but it was only on the condition of not imparting what he heard to any one, under the penalty of death. Consequently he was prevented from communicating the knowledge he might thus acquire.

He had put by chance an ox and an ass into the same stall; and being one day seated near them, he heard the ox say to the ass: “How happy do I think your lot, when I consider the repose you enjoy, and the little labour you are required to perform. A servant looks after you with great care, washes you, feeds you with fine sifted barley, and gives you fresh and clean water; your greatest task is to carry the merchant, our master, when he has occasion to take a short journey; but for that, your whole life would be passed in idleness. How different now is the manner in which they treat me: my condition is as unfortunate as yours is pleasant. It is scarcely midnight when they yoke me to a plough, with which they make me turn up the ground the whole day; this sometimes quite exhausts me; while the labourer, who is constantly behind, continually urges me on with his goad. The weight and force of the plough, too, chafes all the skin from my neck. After having worked from morning till night, they give me unwholesome dirty beans, or even something worse; and to complete my misery, after having been obliged to satisfy my hunger upon such uninviting food, I am compelled to pass the night in my own filth. Have I not then reason to envy your lot?”

The ass suffered the ox to say what he pleased without interruption; and when he had finished, the former addressed him in these words: “In truth they are not much out when they call you an idiot, since you pass your life just as they please, and are not capable of forming a good resolution. What benefit, pray, do you derive from all your indignities? You even destroy yourself for the ease, pleasure, and profit of those who do not thank you for it. Believe me, they would not treat you thus if you possessed as much courage as strength; when they come to tie you to the manger, what resistance, pray, do you ever make? Do you ever put them in mind of your horns? Do you ever shew your anger by stamping on the ground with your feet? Why don’t you inspire them with dread by your bellowing? Nature has given you the means of making yourself respected, and yet you neglect to use them. They bring you bad beans and chaff; well, do not eat them, smell at them only, and leave them. Thus, if you follow my plans, you will soon perceive a change, which you will thank me for.” The ox took the advice of the ass very kindly, and shewed himself much obliged to him. “My dear companion,” added he, “I will not fail to do as you bid me, and you shall see how I will acquit myself.” After this conversation, of which the merchant lost not a word, they were silent.

Early the next morning, the labourer came for the ox, and yoked him to the plough, and set him to work as usual. The latter, who had not forgotten the advice he had received, was very unruly the whole day; and at night, when the labourer attempted to fasten him as usual to the stall, the malicious animal, instead of turning his horns towards him for that purpose, began to be outrageous, and ran roaring back; he even put down his horns to strike him; in short, he did exactly as the ass had taught him. The day following when the man came, he found the manger still full of beans and chaff; and the animal lying on the ground, with his legs stretched out, and making a strange groaning. The labourer thought it very ill, and that it was useless to take him to work; he therefore immediately went and informed the merchant of it.

The latter perceived that the bad advice of the ass had been followed; and in order to punish him as he deserved, he told the labourer to go and take the ass instead of the ox, and not fail to give him plenty of exercise. The man obeyed; and the ass was obliged to drag the plough the whole day, which tired him the more, because he was unaccustomed to it; besides which, he was so completely beaten, that he could scarcely support himself when he came back.

In the mean time the ox was very well satisfied, he eat all that was in his rack, and had rested the whole day. He was highly pleased with himself for having followed the advice of the ass, and blessed him a thousand times for the good he had procured him. As soon as he saw him return, he did not fail to repeat his thanks. The ass was so enraged at having been thus ill treated, that he would not answer a word. “My own imprudence,” said he to himself, “has alone brought this misfortune upon me. I lived happily, every thing was pleasant, I had all I wished for, and I may thank myself only for this reverse. If I cannot contrive some trick to get out of the scrape, my destruction is inevitable.” In saying this his strength was so much exhausted, that he fell down in his stall half dead.

In this place the grand vizier said to Scheherazade, “You are, my child, this ass, and expose yourself through a false idea of prudence and rectitude. Trust to me; and remain here in safety, without seeking your own destruction.”—“Sir,” replied Scheherazadè, “the example which you have brought, does not alter my resolution; and I shall not cease importuning you, till I have obtained from you the favor of presenting me to the sultan as his consort.” The vizier, finding her persist in her request, said, “Well then, since you will remain thus obstinate, I shall be obliged to treat you as the merchant I mentioned did his wife.”

Being told in what a miserable state the ass was, he was curious to know what passed between him and the ox; after supper, therefore, he went out by moonlight, accompanied by his wife, and sat down near them; on his arrival, he heard the ass say to the ox, “Tell me, brother, what you mean to do when the labourer brings your food to-morrow?—“Mean to do?” replied the ox, “why what you taught me. At first I shall begin to retreat, then put down my horns as yesterday, and pretend to be ill, and almost dying.”—“Take care,” interrupted the ass, “what you are about, lest you destroy yourself; for in coming home yesterday evening, I heard the merchant, our master, say what made me tremble for you.”—“What did you hear?” asked the latter; “conceal nothing from me, I entreat you.”—“Our master,” replied the ass, addressed his labourer in these sad words, ‘Since the ox can neither eat nor support himself, I wish him to be killed to-morrow; we will give his flesh in charity to the poor, and you shall carry his skin, which will be useful to the currier; do not therefore fail to send for the butcher.’ This is what I heard; and the interest I take in your safety, and the friendship I have for you, induces me to mention it, and offer you my opinion on the subject. At first when they bring you beans and chaff, get up and begin eating directly. Our master by this will suppose that you have recovered, and will, without doubt, revoke the sentence for your death; in my opinion, if you act otherwise, it is all over with you.”

This speech produced the intended effect; the ox was much troubled, and lowed with fear. The merchant, who had listened to every thing with great attention, burst into a fit of laughter that quite surprised his wife. “Tell me,” said she, “what you laugh at, that I may join in it.”—“Be satisfied,” he answered, “at hearing me.”—“No, no,” she added, “I wish to know the cause.”—“That satisfaction,” replied the husband, “I cannot afford you: I can only tell you, that I laughed at what the ass said to the ox; the rest is a secret, which I must not reveal.”—“And why not?” asked his wife. “Because, if I tell you, it will cost me my life.”—“You trifle with me,” added she; “this can never be true; and if you do not immediately inform me what you laughed at, I swear, by the great Ruler of the earth, that we will live together no longer.”

In saying this, she went back to the house, shut herself up, and cried the whole night. Her husband slept alone; and finding that she continued in the same state the next day, he said, “How foolish it is to afflict yourself this way: the thing is not worth it, nor can it be of so much consequence to you to know it, as for me to keep it concealed. Think no more of it then, I conjure you.”—“I shall, however, so continue to think of it,” replied she, “that I shall not cease to lament, till my curiosity is satisfied.”—“Do I not seriously tell you,” added he, “that if I were to yield to your foolish importunities, it would cost me my life.”—“Whatever happens rests with God,” said she, “but I shall not alter my mind.”—“I see very plainly,” answered the merchant, “it is not possible to make you submit to reason, and that your obstinacy will kill you; therefore I will call your children, that they may have the satisfaction of seeing you before you die.” He then ordered his family to be present, and sent also for the parents and other relations of his wife; when they were all assembled, he explained to them his motives for calling them together: and requested them to use all their influence with his wife, and endeavour to convince her of the folly of her conduct. She rejected them all, and said she had rather die than give up this point to her husband. Each of her parents urged every argument, and used every persuasion in their power; they told her, that what she wished to know could be of no consequence to her; but they could make no impression either by their authority or eloquence. When her children saw that nothing could alter her resolution, they began to lament most bitterly; the merchant himself knew not what to do. A little while afterwards he was sitting by chance at the door of his house, considering whether he should not even sacrifice himself in order to save his wife, whom he so tenderly loved.

This merchant, my child (continued the vizier, still addressing Scheherazadè) had fifty hens and only one cock, and also a very faithful dog. While he was sitting at the door, meditating what plan to pursue, he saw the dog run towards the cock, who was amusing himself with a hen, and address him in these words: “You will not, O cock, be suffered to live long, if you are not ashamed of being thus employed to-day.” The latter, strutting up to the dog, haughtily answered, “Who shall prevent my doing what I please to-day as well as at other times?”—“Are you ignorant then,” replied the dog, “that our master is in great affliction? His wife wishes him to reveal a secret of such a nature, that the discovery will cost him his life: and it is feared he will be unable to resist her importunities, as the tears of one he so much loves afflict him to such a degree: we are all alarmed at the dangerous situation he is in, while you, insulting our grief, have the impertinence to divert yourself with your hens.”

“Our master is a fool then,” replied the cock; “he has only one wife, and cannot gain his point; while I have fifty, and do just as I please. Let him return to his senses, and he will easily get out of the embarrassment he is in.”—“What would you do?” said the dog.—“What?” answered the cock, “why let him only go into the room where his wife is, and after shutting the door, take a good-sized stick, and give her a handsome beating; I will answer for it she will soon know better, and not worry him to reveal what he ought to keep secret.” The merchant no sooner heard what the cock said, than he got up, and taking rather a large stick, went to his wife, who was still weeping. Having shut the door he applied the remedy so effectually, that she soon exclaimed, “Enough, enough, my husband, leave me, and I will ask no more questions.” On hearing this, and believing that she repented of her ill-timed curiosity, he gave over beating her, and opening the door, all her family came in, heartily glad at finding her more rational, and congratulated her husband on the happy expedient he found out for the purpose. “You deserve, my daughter,” added the grand vizier, “to be treated like the merchant’s wife.”

“Do not, sir,” answered Scheherazadè, “think ill of me if I still persist in my sentiments. The history of this woman does not shake my resolution; I could recount, on the other hand, many others which ought to persuade you not to oppose my design. Pardon me too, if I add, that your opposition will be useless; when paternal tenderness shall have refused the request I make, I will present myself to the sultan.” At length her father, overcome by his daughter’s firmness, yielded to her entreaties: and, although he was much afflicted at not being able to conquer her resolution, he immediately went to Schahriar and announced to him, that Scheherazadè herself would be his bride on the following night.

The sultan was much astonished at the sacrifice of the grand vizier. “Is it possible,” said he, “that you can give up your own child?”—“Sire,” replied the vizier, “she has herself made the offer. The dreadful fate that hangs over her does not alarm her; and she prefers, even to her existence, the honor of being the consort of your majesty, though it be but for one night.”—“Vizier,” said the sultan, “do not deceive yourself with any hopes; for be assured, that in delivering Scheherazadè into your charge to-morrow, it will be with an order for her death; and if you disobey, your own head shall be the forfeit.”—“Although,” answered the vizier, “my heart is distracted at fulfilling your majesty’s commands, although human nature has much to lament, and although I am her father, I will answer for the fidelity of this arm.” Schahriar accepted his minister’s offer, and informed him he might bring his daughter when he pleased.

When the grand vizier carried this intelligence to Scheherazadè, she seemed as much rejoiced as if it had been of the most pleasing nature; she thanked her father for obliging her so greatly; and observing him to be much afflicted, she consoled him by saying, that she hoped he would be so far from repenting her marriage with the sultan, that it would become a subject of joy to him for the remainder of his life.

She now occupied herself with the manner in which she should appear before the sultan; but before she went to the palace she called her sister, Dinarzadè, aside, and said, “I am in great want of your assistance, my dear sister, in a very important affair: and I hope you will not refuse me. My father is going to conduct me to the palace as the wife of the sultan. Do not let this news alarm you, but attend rather to what I say. As soon as I shall have presented myself before the sultan, I shall intreat him to suffer you to sleep in the bridal chamber, that I may enjoy, for the last time, your company. If I obtain this favor, as I expect, remember to awaken me to-morrow morning an hour before day-break, and address these words to me: “If you are not asleep, my sister, I beg of you, till the morning appears, to recount to me one of those delightful stories you know.” I will immediately begin to tell you one; and I flatter myself that by these means I shall free the kingdom from the consternation in which it is.” Dinarzadè promised to do with pleasure what she required.

When the hour of retiring approached, the grand vizier conducted Scheherazadè to the palace, and after introducing her to the sultan’s apartment, took his leave. They were no sooner alone than the sultan ordered her to take off her veil. He was charmed with her beauty; but perceiving her in tears, he demanded the cause of them. “Sire,” answered Scheherazade, “I have a sister, whom I tenderly love, and whose attachment to me is equally strong; I earnestly wish, that she might be permitted to pass the night in this apartment, that we might again see each other, and again take a tender farewell. Will you then consent that I shall have the consolation of giving her this last proof of my affection? Schahriar having agreed to it, they sent for Dinarzadè, who came directly. The sultan passed the night with Scheherazadè on an elevated couch, as was the custom among the eastern monarchs; and Dinarzadè slept at the foot of it on a mattress, prepared for the purpose.

Dinarzadè, having awoke about an hour before day, did not fail to do what her sister had ordered her. “My dear sister,” she said, “if you are not asleep, I entreat you, as it will soon be light, to relate to me one of those agreeable tales you know. It will, alas, be the last time I shall receive that pleasure.”