One Thousand and One Nights

by Richard Burton

  Then the king was much astonished, and praised highly the discernment of the man who was fastidious about the fair sex, and immediately had given to the third Bráhman, who was fastidious about beds, in accordance with his taste, a bed composed of seven mattresses placed upon a bedstead. White smooth sheets and coverlets were laid upon the bed, and the fastidious man slept upon it in a splendid room. But, before half a watch of the night had passed, he rose up from that bed, with his hand pressed to his side, screaming in an agony of pain. And the king’s officers, who were there, saw a red crooked mark on his side, as if a hair had been pressed deep into it. And they went and told the king, and the king said to them, “Look and see if there is not something under the mattress.” So they went and examined the bottom of the mattresses one by one, and they found a hair in the middle of the bedstead underneath them all. And they took it and showed it to the king, and they also brought the man who was fastidious about beds, and when the king saw the state of his body, he was astonished. And he spent the whole night in wondering how a hair could make so deep an impression on his skin through seven mattresses.499

  And the next morning the king gave three hundred thousand gold pieces to those fastidious men, because they were persons of wonderful discernment and refinement. And they remained in great comfort in the king’s court, forgetting all about the turtle, and little did they reck of the fact that they had incurred sin by obstructing their father’s sacrifice.500

  The story of the brothers who were so very “knowing” is common to most countries, with occasional local modifications. It is not often we find the knowledge of the “quintessence of things” concentrated in a single individual, as in the case of the ex- king of our tale, but we have his exact counterpart — and the circumstance is significant — in No. 2 of the “Cento Novelle Antiche,” the first Italian collection of short stories, made in the 13th century, where a prisoner informs the king of Greece that a certain horse has been suckled by a she-ass, that a jewel contains a flaw, and that the king himself is a baker. Mr. Tawney, in a note on the Vetála story, as above, refers also to the decisions of Hamlet in Saxo Grammaticus, 1839, , in Simrock’s “Quellen des Shakespeare,” I, 81-85; 5, 170; he lays down that some bread tastes of blood (the corn was grown on a battlefield); that some liquor tastes of iron (the malt was mixed with water taken from a well in which some rusty swords had lain); that some bacon tastes of corpses (the pig had eaten a corpse); lastly, that the king is a servant and his wife a serving-maid. But in most versions of the story three brothers are the gifted heroes.

  In “Mélusine”501 for 5 Nov. 1885, M. René Basset cites an interesting variant (in which, as is often the case, the “Lost Camel” plays a part, but we are not concerned about it at present) from Radloff’s “Proben der Volksliteratur der türkischen Stämme Süd-Sibiriens,” as follows:

  Richard Francis Burton’s translation: detailed table of contents

  SIBERIAN VERSION

  Meat and bread were set before the three brothers, and the prince went out. The eldest said, “The prince is a slave;” the second, “This is dog’s flesh;” the youngest, “This bread has grown over the legs of a dead body.” The prince heard them. He took a knife and ran to find his mother. “Tell me the truth,” cried he- -”were you unfaithful to my father during his absence? A man who is here has called me a slave.” “My son,” replied she, “If I don’t tell the truth, I shall die; if I tell it, I shall die. When thy father was absent, I gave myself up to a slave.” The prince left his mother and ran to the house of the shepherd: “The meat which you have cooked to-day — what is it? Tell the truth, otherwise I’ll cut your head off.” “Master, if I tell it, I shall die; if I don’t, I shall die. I will be truthful. It was a lamb whose mother had no milk; on the day of its birth, it was suckled by a bitch: that is to-day’s ewe.” The prince left the shepherd and ran to the house of the husbandman: “Tell the truth, or else I’ll cut off your head. Three young men have come to my house. I have placed bread before them, and they say that the grain has grown over the limbs of a dead man.” “I will be frank with you. I ploughed with my plough in a place where were (buried) the limbs of a man; without knowing it, I sowed some wheat, which grew up.” The prince quitted his slave and returned to his house, where were seated the strangers. He said to the first, “Young man, how do you know that I am a slave?” “Because you went out as soon as the repast was brought in.” He asked the second, “How do you know that the meat which was served was that of a dog?” “Because it has a disagreeable taste like the flesh of a dog.” Then to the third: “How come you to know that this bread was grown over the limbs of a dead person?” “What shall I say? It smells of the limbs of a dead body; that is why I recognised it. If you do not believe me, ask your slave; he will tell you that what I say is true.”

  In the same paper (col. 516) M. René Basset cites a somewhat elaborate variant, from Stier’s “Ungarische Sagen und Märchen,” in which, once more, the knowledge of the “quintessence of things” is concentrated in a single individual.

  Richard Francis Burton’s translation: detailed table of contents

  HUNGARIAN VERSION

  A clever Magyar is introduced with his companions in disguise into the camp of the king of the Tátárs, who is menacing his country. The prince, suspicious, causes him to be carefully watched by his mother, a skilful sorceress. They brought in the evening’s repast. “What good wine the prince has!” said she. “Yes,” replied one, “but it contains human blood.” The sorceress took note of the bed from whence these words proceeded, and when all were asleep she deftly cut a lock of hair from him who had spoken, crept stealthily out of the room, and brought this mark to her son. The strangers started up, and when our hero discovered what had been done to him, he cut a lock from all, to render his detection impossible. When they came to dinner, the king knew not from whom the lock had been taken. The following night the mother of the prince again slipped into the room, and said, “What good bread has the prince of the Tátárs!” “Very good,” replied one, “it is made with the milk of a woman.” When all were asleep, she cut a little off the moustache of him who was lying in the bed from which the voice proceeded. This time the Magyars were still more on the alert, and when they were apprised of the matter, they all cut a little from their moustaches, so that next morning the prince found himself again foiled. The third night the old lady hid herself, and said in a loud voice, “What a handsome man is the prince of the Tátárs!” “Yes,” replied one, “but he is a bastard.” When all were asleep, the old lady made a mark on the visor of the helmet of the one from whence had come the words, and then acquainted her son of what she had done. In the morning the prince perceived that all the helmets were similarly marked.502 At length he refrained, and said, “I see that there is among you a master greater than myself; that is why I desire very earnestly to know him. He may make himself known; I should like to see and know this extraordinary man, who is more clever and powerful than myself.” The young man started up from his seat and said, “I have not wished to be stronger or wiser than yourself. I have only wished to find out what you had preconcerted for us. I am the person who has been marked three nights.” “It is well, young man. But prove now your words: How is there human blood in the wine?” “Call your butler and he will tell you.” The butler came in trembling all over, and confessed that when he corked the wine he had cut his finger with the knife, and a drop of blood had fallen into the cask. “But how is there woman’s milk in the bread?” asked the king. “Call the bakeress,” he replied, “and she will tell it you.” When they questioned her, she confessed that she was kneading the bread and at the same time suckling her baby, and that on pressing it to her breast some milk flowed and was mixed with the bread. The sorceress, the mother of the king, when they came to the third revelation of the young man, confessed in her turn that the king was illegitimate.

  Mr. Tawney refers to the Chevalier de Mailly’s version of the Three Princes of Serendip (Ceylon):
The three are sitting at table, and eating a leg of lamb, sent with some splendid wine from the table of the emperor Bahrám. The eldest maintains that the wine was made of grapes that grew in a cemetery; the second, that the lamb was brought up on dog’s milk; while the third asserts that the emperor had put to death the son of the wazír. And that the latter is bent on vengeance. All these statements turn out to be well-grounded. Mr. Tawney also refers to parallel stories in the Breslau edition of The Nights; namely, in Night 458, it is similarly conjectured that the bread was baked by a sick woman; that the kid was suckled by a bitch, and that the sultan is illegitimate; and in Night 459, a gem-cutter guesses that a jewel has an internal flaw, a man skilled in the pedigrees of horses divines that a horse is the offspring of a female buffalo, and a man skilled in human pedigrees that the mother of the favourite queen was a rope-dancer. Similar incidents occur in “The Sultan of Yemen and his Three Sons,” one of the Additional Tales translated by Scott, from the Wortley-Montague MS., now in the Bodleian Library, and comprised in vol. vi. of his edition of “The Arabian Nights Entertainments,” published at London in 1811.

  An analogous tale occurs in Mr. E. J. W. Gibb’s recently- published translation of the “History of the Forty Vezirs (the Lady’s Fourth Story, ff.), the motif of which is that “all things return to their origin:”

  Richard Francis Burton’s translation: detailed table of contents

  TURKISH ANALOGUE.

  There was in the palace of the world a king who was very desirous of seeing Khizr503 (peace on him!), and he would even say, “If there be any one who will show me Khizr, I will give him whatsoever he may wish.” Now there was at that time a man poor of estate, and from the stress of his poverty he said to himself, “Let me go and speak to the king, that if he provide for me during three years, either I shall be dead, or the king will be dead, or he will forgive me my fault, or I shall on somewise win to escape, and in this way shall I make merry for a time.” So he went to the king and spake these words to him.504 The king said, “An thou show him not, then I will kill thee,” and that poor man consented. Then the king let give him much wealth and money, and the poor man took that wealth and money and went to his house. Three years he spent in merriment and delight, and he rested at ease till the term was accomplished. At the end of that time he fled and hid himself in a trackless place and he began to quake for fear. Of a sudden he saw a personage with white raiment and shining face, who saluted him. The poor man returned the salutation, and the radiant being asked, “Why art thou thus sad?” but he gave no answer. Again the radiant being asked him and sware to him, saying, “Do indeed tell to me thy plight, that I may find thee some remedy.” So that hapless one narrated his story from its beginning to its end, and the radiant being said, “Come, I will go with thee to the king, and I will answer for thee.” So they arose.

  Now the king wanted that hapless one, and while they were going some of the king’s officers who were seeking met them, and they straightway seized the poor man and brought him to the king. Quoth the king, “Lo, the three years are accomplished; come now, and show me Khizr.” The poor man said, “My king, grace and bounty are the work of kings — forgive my sin.” Quoth the king, “I made a pact; till I have killed thee, I shall not have fulfilled it.” And he looked to his chief vezír and said, “How should this be done?” Quoth the vezír, “This man should be hewn in many pieces and then hung up on butchers’ hooks, that others may see and lie not before the king.” Said that radiant being, “True spake the vezír; — all things return to their origin.” Then the king looked to the second vezír and said, “What sayest thou?” He replied, “This man should be boiled in a cauldron.” Said that radiant being, “True spake the vezír; — all things return to their origin.” The king looked to the third vezir and said, “What sayest though?” The vezír replied, “This man should be hewn in small pieces and baked in an oven.” Again said that elder, “True spake the vezír; — all things return to their origin.” Then quoth the king to the fourth vezír, “Let us see what sayest thou?” The vezír replied, “O king, the wealth thou gavest this poor creature was for the love of Khizr (peace on him!). he, thinking to find him, accepted it; now that he has not found him he seeks pardon. This were befitting, that thou set free this poor creature for the love of Khizr.” Said that elder, “True spake the vezír; — all things return to their origin.” Then the king said to the elder, “O elder, my vezírs have said different things contrary the one to the other, and thou hast said concerning each of them, ‘True spake the vezír; - all things return to their origin.’ What is the reason thereof?” That elder replied, “O king, thy first vezír is a butcher’s son; therefore did he draw to his origin. Thy second vezír is a cook’s son, and he likewise proposed a punishment as became his origin. Thy third vezír is a baker’s son; he likewise proposed a punishment as became his origin. But thy fourth vezír is of gentle birth; compassion therefore becomes his origin, so he had compassion on that hapless one, and sought to do good and counselled liberation. O king, all things return to their origin.”505 And he gave the king much counsel, and at last said, “Lo, I am Khizr,” and vanished.506

  The discovery of the king’s illegitimate birth, which occurs in so many versions, has its parallels in the story of the Nephew of Hippocrates in the “Seven Wise Masters,” and the Lady’s 2nd Story in Mr. Gibb’s translation of the “Forty Vezírs.” The extraordinary sensitiveness of the third young Bráhman, in the Vetála story, whose side was scratched by a hair that was under the seventh of the mattresses on which he lay, Rohde (says Tawney), in his “Griechische Novellistik,” , compares with a story told by Aelian of the Sybarite Smindyrides, who slept on a bed of rose-leaves and got up in the morning covered with blisters. He also quotes from the Chronicle of Tabari a story of a princess who was made to bleed by a rose-leaf lying in her bed.507

  The eleventh recital of the Vetála is about a king’s three sensitive wives: As one of the queens was playfully pulling the hair of the king, a blue lotus leaped from her ear and fell on her lap; immediately a wound was produced on the front of her thigh by the blow, and the delicate princess exclaimed, “Oh! oh!” and fainted. At night, the second retired with the king to an apartment on the roof of the palace exposed to the rays of the moon, which fell on the body of the queen, who was sleeping by the king’s side, where it was exposed by her garment blowing aside; immediately she woke up, exclaiming, “Alas! I am burnt,” and rose up from the bed rubbing her limbs. The king woke up in a state of alarm, crying out, “What is the meaning of this?” Then he got up and saw that blisters had been produced on the queen’s body. In the meanwhile the king’s third wife heard of it and left her palace to come to him. And when she got into the open air, she heard distinctly, as the night was still, the sound of a pestle pounding in a distant house. The moment the gazelle- eyed one heard it, she said, “Alas! I am killed,” and she sat down on the path, shaking her hands in an agony of pain. Then the girl turned back, and was conducted by her attendants to her own chamber, where she fell on her bed and groaned. And when her weeping attendants examined her, they saw that her hands were covered with bruises, and looked like lotuses upon which black beetles had settled.

  To this piteous tale of the three very sensitive queens Tawney appends the following note: Rohde, in his “Griechische Novellistik,” , compares with this a story told by Timćus, of a Sybarite who saw a husbandman hoeing a field, and contracted rupture from it. Another Sybarite, to whom he told the tale of his sad mishap, got ear-ache from hearing it. Oesterley, in his German translation of the Baitál Pachísí, points out that Grimm, in his “Kindermärchen,” iii. , quotes a similar incident from the travels of the Three sons of Giaffar: out of four princesses, one faints because a rose-twig is thrown into her face among some roses; a second shuts her eyes in order not to see the statue of a man; a third says, “Go away; the hairs in your fur cloak run into me;” and the fourth covers her face, fearing that some of the fish in a tank may belong to the ma
le sex. He also quotes a striking parallel from the “Elites des contes du Sieur d’Onville:” Four ladies dispute as to which of them is the most delicate. One has been lame for three months owing to a rose-leaf having fallen on her foot; another has had three ribs broken by a sheet in her bed having been crumpled; a third has held her head on one side for six weeks owing to one half of her head having three more hairs on it than the other; a fourth has broken a blood-vessel by a slight movement, and the rupture cannot be healed without breaking the whole limb.[Poor things!]

  THE PRINCE WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH THE PICTURE. — Vol. XI. .

  In the Persian tales of “The Thousand and One Days,” a young prince entered his father’s treasury one day, and saw there a little cedar chest “set with pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and topazes;” on opening it (for the key was in the lock) he beheld the picture of an exceedingly beautiful woman, with whom he immediately fell in love. Ascertaining the name of the lady from an inscription on the back of the portrait, he set off with a companion to discover her, and having been told by an old man at Baghdad that her father at one time reigned in Ceylon, he continued his journey thither, encountering many unheard-of adventures by the way. Ultimately he is informed that the lady with whose portrait he had become enamoured was one of the favourites of King Solomon. One should suppose that his would have effectually cured the love-sick prince; but no: he “could never banish her sweet image from his heart.”508