One Thousand and One Nights

by Richard Burton

  He could not utter those words without letting fall some tears. The lady was moved; but was so far from being displeased at the declaration he made, that she felt secret joy; for her heart began to yield. However, she concealed her feelings, and as if she had not regarded what Ganem had said. “I should have been very cautious,” answered she, “of shewing you my veil, had I thought it would have given you so much uneasiness; but I do not perceive that what I have to say to you can make your condition so deplorable as you imagine.”

  “You must understand,” proceeded she, “in order to acquaint you with my story, that my name is Fetnah (which signifies disturbance), which was given me at my birth, because it was judged that the sight of me would one day occasion many calamities. Of this you cannot be ignorant, since there is nobody in Bagdad but knows that the caliph, my sovereign lord and yours, has a favourite so called.

  “I was carried into his palace in my tenderest years, and I have been brought up with all the care that is usually taken with such persons of my sex as are destined to reside there. I made no little progress in all they took the pains to teach me; and that, with some share of beauty, gained me the affection of the caliph, who allotted me a particular apartment adjoining to his own. That prince was not satisfied with such a mark of distinction; he appointed twenty women to wait on me, and as many eunuchs; and ever since he has made me such considerable presents, that I saw myself richer than any queen in the world. You may judge by what I have said, that Zobeide, the caliph’s wife and kinswoman, could not but be jealous of my happiness. Though Haroon has all the regard imaginable for her, she has taken every possible opportunity to ruin me.

  “Hitherto I had secured myself against all her snares, but at length I fell under the last effort of her jealousy; and, had it not been for you, must now have been exposed to inevitable death. I question not but she had corrupted one of my slaves, who last night, in some lemonade, gave me a drug, which causes such a dead sleep, that it is easy to dispose of those who have taken it; for that sleep is so profound, that nothing can dispel it for the space of seven or eight hours. I have the more reason to judge so, because naturally I am a very bad sleeper, and apt to wake at the least noise.

  “Zobeide, the better to put her design in execution, has availed herself of the absence of the caliph, who went lately to put himself at the head of his troops, to chastise some neighbouring kings, who have formed a league of rebellion. Were it not for this opportunity, my rival, outrageous as she is, durst not have presumed to attempt any thing against my life. I know not what she will do to conceal this action from the caliph, but you see it highly concerns me that you should keep my secret. My life depends on it. I shall be safe in your house as long as the caliph is from Bagdad. It concerns you to keep my adventure private; for should Zobeide know the obligation I owe you, she would punish you for having saved me.

  “When the caliph returns, I shall not need to be so much upon my guard. I shall find means to acquaint him with all that has happened, and I am fully persuaded he will be more earnest than myself to requite a service which restores me to his love.”

  As soon as Haroon al Rusheed’s beautiful favourite had done speaking, Ganem said, “Madam, I return you a thousand thanks for having given me the information I took the liberty to desire of you; and I beg of you to believe, that you are here in safety; the sentiments you have inspired are a pledge of my secrecy.

  “As for my slaves, they may perhaps fail of the fidelity they owe me, should they know by what accident and in what place I had the happiness to find you. I dare assure you, however, that they will not have the curiosity to inquire. It is so natural for young men to purchase beautiful slaves, that it will be no way surprising to them to see you here, believing you to be one, and that I have bought you. They will also conclude that I have some particular reasons for bringing you home as they saw I did. Set your heart, therefore, at rest, as to that point, and remain satisfied that you shall be served with all the respect that is due to the favourite of so great a monarch as our sovereign the caliph. But great as he is, give me leave, madam, to declare, that nothing can make me recall the present I have made you of my heart. I know, and shall never forget, ‘that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave;’ but I loved you before you told me that you were engaged to the caliph; it is not in my power to overcome a passion which, though now in its infancy, has all the force of a love strengthened by a perfect of situation. I wish your august and most fortunate lover may avenge you of the malice of Zobeide, by calling you back to him; and when you shall be restored to his wishes, that you may remember the unfortunate Ganem, who is no less your conquest than the caliph. Powerful as that prince is, I flatter myself he will not be able to blot me out of your remembrance. He cannot love you more passionately than I do; and I shall never cease to love you into whatever part of the world I may go to expire, after having lost you.”

  Fetnah perceived that Ganem was under the greatest of afflictions, and his situation affected her; but considering the uneasiness she was likely to bring upon herself, by prosecuting the conversation on that subject, which might insensibly lead her to discover the inclination she felt for him; “I perceive,” said she, “that this conversation gives you too much uneasiness; let us change the subject, and talk of the infinite obligation I owe you. I can never sufficiently express my gratitude, when I reflect that, without your assistance, I should never again have beheld the light of the sun.”

  It was happy for them both, that somebody just then knocked at the door; Ganem went to see who it was, and found it to be one of his slaves come to acquaint him that the entertainment was ready. Ganem, who, by way of precaution, would have none of his slaves come into the room where Fetnah was, took what was brought, and served it up himself to his beautiful guest, whose soul was ravished to behold what attention he paid her.

  When they had eaten, Ganem took away, as he had covered the table; and having delivered all things at the door of the apartment to his slaves, “Madam,” said he to Fetnah, “you may now perhaps desire to take some rest; I will leave you, and when you have reposed yourself, you shall find me ready to receive your commands.”

  Having thus spoken, he left her, and went to purchase two women-slaves. He also bought two parcels, one of fine linen, and the other of all such things as were proper to make up a toilet fit for the caliph’s favourite. Having conducted home the two women-slaves, he presented them to Fetnah, saying, “Madam, a person of your quality cannot be without two waiting-maids, at least, to serve you; be pleased to accept of these.”

  Fetnah, admiring Ganem’s attention, said, “My lord, I perceive you are not one that will do things by halves: you add by your courtesy to the obligations I owe you already; but I hope I shall not die ungrateful, and that heaven will soon place me in a condition to requite all your acts of generosity.”

  When the women-slaves were withdrawn into a chamber adjoining, he sat down on the sofa, but at some distance from Fetnah, in token of respect. He then began to discourse of his passion. “I dare not so much as hope,” said he, “to excite the least sensibility in a heart like yours, destined for the greatest prince in the world. Alas! it would be a comfort to me in my misfortune, if I could but flatter myself, that you have not looked upon the excess of my love with indifference.” “My lord,” answered Fetnah “Alas! madam,” said Ganem, interrupting her at the word lord, “this is the second time you have done me the honour to call me lord; the presence of the women-slaves hindered me the first time from taking notice of it to you: in the name of God, madam, do not give me this title of honour; it does not belong to me; treat me, I beseech you, as your slave: I am, and shall never cease to be so.”

  “No, no,” replied Fetnah, interrupting him in her turn, “I shall be cautious how I treat with such disrespect a man to whom I owe my life. I should be ungrateful, could I say or do any thing that did not become you. Leave me, therefore, to follow the dictates of my gratitude, and do not require of me, that I sho
uld misbehave myself towards you, in return for the benefits I have received. I shall never be guilty of such conduct; I am too sensible of your respectful behaviour to abuse it; and I will not hesitate to own, that I do not regard your care with indifference. You know the reasons that condemn me to silence.”

  Ganem was enraptured at this declaration; he wept for joy, and not being able to find expressions significant enough, in his own opinion, to return Fetnah thanks, was satisfied with telling her, that as she knew what she owed to the caliph, he, on his part, was not ignorant “that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.”

  Night drawing on, he rose up to fetch a light, which he brought in himself, as also a collation.

  They both sat down at table, and at first complimented each other on the fruit as they presented it reciprocally. The excellence of the wine insensibly drew them both to drink; and having drunk two or three glasses, they agreed that neither should take another glass without first singing some air. Ganem sung verses ex tempore, expressive of the vehemence of his passion; and Fetnah, encouraged by his example, composed and sung verses relating to her adventure, and always containing something which Ganem might take in a sense favourable to himself; except in this, she most exactly observed the fidelity due to the caliph. The collation continued till very late, and the night was far advanced before they thought of parting. Ganem then withdrew to another apartment, leaving Fetnah where she was, the women slaves he had bought coming in to wait upon her.

  They lived together in this manner for several days. The young merchant went not abroad, unless upon of the utmost consequence, and even for that took the time when the lady was reposing; for he could not prevail upon himself to lose a moment that might be spent in her company. All his thoughts were taken up with his dear Fetnah, who, on her side, gave way to her inclination, confessed she had no less affection for him than he had for her. However, fond as they were of each other, their respect for the caliph kept them within due bounds, which still heightened their passion.

  Whilst Fetnah, thus snatched from the jaws of death, passed her time so agreeably with Ganem, Zobeide was not without some apprehensions in the palace of Haroon al Rusheed.

  No sooner had the three slaves, entrusted with the execution of her revenge, carried away the chest, without knowing what it contained, or so much as the least curiosity to inquire (being used to pay a blind obedience to her commands), than she was seized with a tormenting uneasiness; a thousand perplexing thoughts disturbed her rest; sleep fled from her eyes, and she spent the night in contriving how to conceal her crime. “My consort,” said she, “loves Fetnah more than ever he did any of his favourites. What shall I say to him at his return, when he inquires of me after her?” Many contrivances occurred to her, but none were satisfactory. Still she met with difficulties, and knew not where to fix. There lived with her a lady advanced in years, who had bred her up from her infancy. As soon as it was day, she sent for her, and having entrusted her with the secret, said, “My good mother, you have always assisted me with your advice; if ever I stood in need of it, it is now, when the business before you is to still my thoughts, distracted by a mortal anxiety, and to show me some way to satisfy the caliph.”

  “My dear mistress,” replied the old lady, “it had been much better not to have run yourself into the difficulties you labour under; but since the thing is done, the best consolation is to think no more of it. All that must now be thought of, is how to deceive the commander of the believers; and I am of opinion, that you should immediately cause a wooden image resembling a dead body to be carved. We will shroud it up in linen, and when shut up in a coffin, it shall be buried in some part of the palace; you shall then immediately cause a marble mausoleum to be built, in the form of a dome, over the burial place, and erect a tomb, which shall be covered with embroidered cloth, and set about with great candlesticks and large wax tapers. There is another thing,” added the old lady, “which ought not to be forgotten; you must put on mourning, and cause the same to be done by your own and Fetnah’s women, your eunuchs, and all the officers of the palace. When the caliph returns, and sees you all and the palace in mourning, he will not fail to ask the occasion of it. You will then have an opportunity of insinuating yourself into his favour, by saying, it was out of respect to him that you paid the last honours to Fetnah, snatched away by sudden death. You may tell him, you have caused a mausoleum to be built, and, in short, that you have paid all the last honours to his favourite, as he would have done himself had he been present. His passion for her being extraordinary, he will certainly go to shed tears upon her grave; and perhaps,” added the old woman, “he will not believe she is really dead. He may, possibly, suspect you have turned her out of the palace through jealousy, and look upon all the mourning as an artifice to deceive him, and prevent his making inquiries after her. It is likely he will cause the coffin to be taken up and opened, and it is certain he will be convinced of her death, as soon as he shall see the figure of a dead body buried. He will be pleased with all you shall have done, and express his gratitude. As for the wooden image, I will myself undertake to have it cut by a carver in the city, who shall not know the purpose for which it is designed. As for your part, madam, order Fetnah’s woman, who yesterday gave her the lemonade, to give out, among her companions, that she has just found her mistress dead in her bed; and in order that they may only think of lamenting, without offering to go into her chamber, let her add, she has already acquainted you with the circumstance, and that you have ordered Mesrour to cause her to be buried.”

  As soon as the old lady had spoken, Zobeide took a rich diamond ring out of her casket, and putting it on her finger, and embracing her in a transport of joy, said, “How infinitely am I beholden to you, my good mother! I should never have thought of so ingenious a contrivance. It cannot fail of success, and I begin to recover my peace. I leave the care of the wooden figure to you, and will go myself to order the rest.”

  The wooden image was got ready with as much expedition as Zobeide could have wished, and then conveyed by the old lady herself into Fetnah’s bed-chamber, where she dressed it like a dead body, and put it into a coffin. Then Mesrour, who was himself deceived by it, caused the coffin and the representation of Fetnah to be carried away, and buried with the usual ceremonies in the place appointed by Zobeide, the favourite’s women weeping and lamenting, she who had given her the lemonade setting them an example by her cries and lamentations.

  That very day Zobeide sent for the architect of the palace, and, according to orders, the mausoleum was finished in a short time. Such potent princesses as the consort of a monarch, whose power extended from east to west, are always punctually obeyed in whatsoever they command. She soon put on mourning with all the court; so that the news of Fetnah’s death was quickly spread over the city.

  Ganem was one of the last who heard of it; for, as I have before observed, he hardly ever went abroad. Being, however, at length informed of it, “Madam,” said he to the caliph’s fair favourite, “you are supposed in Bagdad to be dead, and I do not question but that Zobeide herself believes it. I bless heaven that I am the cause, and the happy witness of your being alive; would to God, that, taking advantage of this false report, you would share my fortune, and go far from hence to reign in my heart! But whither does this pleasing transport carry me? I do not consider that you are born to make the greatest prince in the world happy; and that only Haroon al Rusheed is worthy of you. Supposing you could resolve to give him up for me, and that you would follow me, ought I to consent? No, it is my part always to remember, ‘that what belongs to the master is forbidden to the slave.’”

  The lovely Fetnah, though moved by the tenderness of the passion he expressed, yet prevailed with herself not to encourage it. “My lord,” said she to him, “we cannot obstruct the momentary triumph of Zobeide. I am not surprised at the artifice she uses to conceal her guilt: but let her go on; I flatter myself that sorrow will soon follow her triumph. The caliph will return, and
we shall find the means privately to inform him of all that has happened. In the mean time let us be more cautious than ever, that she may not know I am alive. I have already told you the consequences to be apprehended from such a discovery.”

  At the end of three months the caliph returned to Bagdad with glory, having vanquished all his enemies. He entered the palace with impatience to embrace Fetnah; but was amazed to see all the officers in mourning; and his concern was redoubled when, approaching the apartment of Zobeide, he beheld that princess coming to meet him in mourning with all her women. He immediately asked her the cause, with much agitation. “Commander of the believers,” answered Zobeide, “I am in mourning for your slave Fetnah; who died so suddenly that it was impossible to apply any remedy to her disorder.” She would have proceeded, but the caliph did not give her time, being so agitated at the news, that he uttered a feeble exclamation, and fainted. On recovering himself, he, with a feeble voice, which sufficiently expressed his extreme grief, asked where his dear Fetnah had been buried. “Sir,” said Zobeide, “I myself took care of her funeral, and spared no cost to make it magnificent. I have caused a marble mausoleum to be built over her grave, and will attend you thither if you desire.”

  The caliph would not permit Zobeide to take that trouble, but contented himself to have Mesrour to conduct him. He went thither just as he was, in his camp dress. When he saw the tomb, the wax-lights round it, and the magnificence of the mausoleum, he was amazed that Zobeide should have performed the obsequies of her rival with so much pomp; and being naturally of a jealous temper, suspected his wife’s generosity and fancied his mistress might perhaps be yet alive; that Zobeide, taking advantage of his long absence, might have turned her out of the palace, ordering those she had entrusted to conduct her, to convey her so far off that she might never more be heard of. This was all he suspected; for he did not think Zobeide wicked enough to have attempted the life of his favourite.