“I cannot quite agree with you,” he replied; “even the little that I have seen I admire greatly, and I will reserve my judgment until you have shown me the whole.”
The princess then led the way from room to room, and the Sultan examined everything carefully. “Do you call this a simple country house?” he said at last. “Why, if every country house was like this, the towns would soon be deserted. I am no longer astonished that you do not wish to leave it. Let us go into the gardens, which I am sure are no less beautiful than the rooms.”
A small door opened straight into the garden, and the first object that met the Sultan’s eyes was the Golden Water.
“What lovely coloured water!” he exclaimed; “where is the spring, and how do you make the fountain rise so high? I do not believe there is anything like it in the world.” He went forward to examine it, and when he had satisfied his curiosity, the princess conducted him towards the Singing Tree.
As they drew near, the Sultan was startled by the sound of strange voices, but could see nothing. “Where have you hidden your musicians?” he asked the princess; “are they up in the air, or under the earth? Surely the owners of such charming voices ought not to conceal themselves!”
“Sire,” answered the princess, “the voices all come from the tree which is straight in front of us; and if you will deign to advance a few steps, you will see that they become clearer.”
The Sultan did as he was told, and was so wrapt in delight at what he heard that he stood some time in silence.
“Tell me, madam, I pray you,” he said at last, “how this marvellous tree came into your garden? It must have been brought from a great distance, or else, fond as I am of all curiosities, I could not have missed hearing of it! What is its name?”
“The only name it has, sire,” replied she, “is the Singing Tree, and it is not a native of this country. Its history is mixed up with those of the Golden Water and the Talking Bird, which you have not yet seen. If your Highness wishes I will tell you the whole story, when you have recovered from your fatigue.”
“Indeed, madam,” returned he, “you show me so many wonders that it is impossible to feel any fatigue. Let us go once more and look at the Golden Water; and I am dying to see the Talking Bird.”
The Sultan could hardly tear himself away from the Golden Water, which puzzled him more and more. “You say,” he observed to the princess, “that this water does not come from any spring, neither is brought by pipes. All I understand is, that neither it nor the Singing Tree is a native of this country.”
“It is as you say, sire,” answered the princess, “and if you examine the basin, you will see that it is all in one piece, and therefore the water could not have been brought through it. What is more astonishing is, that I only emptied a small flaskful into the basin, and it increased to the quantity you now see.”
“Well, I will look at it no more to-day,” said the Sultan. “Take me to the Talking Bird.”
On approaching the house, the Sultan noticed a vast quantity of birds, whose voices filled the air, and he inquired why they were so much more numerous here than in any other part of the garden.
“Sire,” answered the princess, “do you see that cage hanging in one of the windows of the saloon? that is the Talking Bird, whose voice you can hear above them all, even above that of the nightingale. And the birds crowd to this spot, to add their songs to his.”
The Sultan stepped through the window, but the bird took no notice, continuing his song as before.
“My slave,” said the princess, “this is the Sultan; make him a pretty speech.”
The bird stopped singing at once, and all the other birds stopped too.
“The Sultan is welcome,” he said. “I wish him long life and all prosperity.”
“I thank you, good bird,” answered the Sultan, seating himself before the repast, which was spread at a table near the window, “and I am enchanted to see in you the Sultan and King of the Birds.”
The Sultan, noticing that his favourite dish of cucumber was placed before him, proceeded to help himself to it, and was amazed to and that the stuffing was of pearls. “A novelty, indeed!” cried he, “but I do not understand the reason of it; one cannot eat pearls!”
“Sire,” replied the bird, before either the princes or the princess could speak, “surely your Highness cannot be so surprised at beholding a cucumber stuffed with pearls, when you believed without any difficulty that the Sultana had presented you, instead of children, with a dog, a cat, and a log of wood.”
“I believed it,” answered the Sultan, “because the women attending on her told me so.”
“The women, sire,” said the bird, “were the sisters of the Sultana, who were devoured with jealousy at the honour you had done her, and in order to revenge themselves invented this story. Have them examined, and they will confess their crime. These are your children, who were saved from death by the intendant of your gardens, and brought up by him as if they were his own.”
Like a flash the truth came to the mind of the Sultan. “Bird,” he cried, “my heart tells me that what you say is true. My children,” he added, “let me embrace you, and embrace each other, not only as brothers and sister, but as having in you the blood royal of Persia which could flow in no nobler veins.”
When the first moments of emotion were over, the Sultan hastened to finish his repast, and then turning to his children he exclaimed: “To-day you have made acquaintance with your father. To-morrow I will bring you the Sultana your mother. Be ready to receive her.”
The Sultan then mounted his horse and rode quickly back to the capital. Without an instant’s delay he sent for the grand-vizir, and ordered him to seize and question the Sultana’s sisters that very day. This was done. They were confronted with each other and proved guilty, and were executed in less than an hour.
But the Sultan did not wait to hear that his orders had been carried out before going on foot, followed by his whole court to the door of the great mosque, and drawing the Sultana with his own hand out of the narrow prison where she had spent so many years, “Madam,” he cried, embracing her with tears in his eyes, “I have come to ask your pardon for the injustice I have done you, and to repair it as far as I may. I have already begun by punishing the authors of this abominable crime, and I hope you will forgive me when I introduce you to our children, who are the most charming and accomplished creatures in the whole world. Come with me, and take back your position and all the honour that is due to you.”
This speech was delivered in the presence of a vast multitude of people, who had gathered from all parts on the first hint of what was happening, and the news was passed from mouth to mouth in a few seconds.
Early next day the Sultan and Sultana, dressed in robes of state and followed by all the court, set out for the country house of their children. Here the Sultan presented them to the Sultana one by one, and for some time there was nothing but embraces and tears and tender words. Then they ate of the magnificent dinner which had been prepared for them, and after they were all refreshed they went into the garden, where the Sultan pointed out to his wife the Golden Water and the Singing Tree. As to the Talking Bird, she had already made acquaintance with him.
In the evening they rode together back to the capital, the princes on each side of their father, and the princess with her mother. Long before they reached the gates the way was lined with people, and the air filled with shouts of welcome, with which were mingled the songs of the Talking Bird, sitting in its cage on the lap of the princess, and of the birds who followed it.
And in this manner they came back to their father’s palace.
JULIA PARDOE 1857 ADAPTATION
THE THOUSAND AND ONE DAYS; A COMPANION TO THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION.
THE STORY OF HASSAN ABDALLAH; OR, THE ENCHANTED KEYS.
THE STORY OF HASSAN ABDALLAH.
THE STORY OF THE BASKET-MAKER.
THE STORY OF TH
E DERVISE ABOUNADAR.
CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF HASSAN ABDALLAH.
SOLIMAN BEY AND THE THREE STORY-TELLERS.
THE FIRST STORY-TELLER.
THE SECOND STORY-TELLER.
THE THIRD STORY-TELLER.
THE STORY OF PRINCE KHALAF AND THE PRINCESS OF CHINA.
THE STORY OF PRINCE AL ABBAS.
CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF PRINCE KHALAF AND THE PRINCESS OF CHINA.
THE STORY OF LIN-IN.
A CHINESE TALE.
CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF PRINCE KHALAF AND THE PRINCESS OF CHINA.
THE WISE DEY.
THE TUNISIAN SAGE; OR, THE POWDER OF LONGEVITY.
THE NOSE FOR GOLD.
THE STORY OF THE TREASURES OF BASRA.
HISTORY OF ABOULCASSEM.
CONCLUSION OF THE STORY OF THE TREASURES OF BASRA.
THE OLD CAMEL.
THE STORY OF MEDJEDDIN.
THE STORY OF KING BEDREDDIN-LOLO AND HIS VIZIR ATALMULC.
THE OLD PAIR OF SLIPPERS.
THE HISTORY OF ATALMULC, SURNAMED “THE SORROWFUL VIZIR,” AND THE PRINCESS ZELICA.
CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF KING BEDREDDIN-LOLO AND HIS VIZIR.
THE STORY OF MALEK AND THE PRINCESS SCHIRINE.
CONCLUSION.
INTRODUCTION.
The Compiler of the graceful little volume which I have the pleasure of introducing to the public, has conferred an undeniable benefit upon the youth of England by presenting to them a collection of Oriental Tales, which, rich in the elements of interest and entertainment, are nevertheless entirely free from the licentiousness which renders so many of the fictions of the East, beautiful and brilliant as they are, most objectionable for young and ardent minds. There is indeed no lack of the wonderful in the pages before us, any more than in the Arabian and Persian Tales already so well known: but it will be seen that the supernatural agency in the narratives is used as a means to work out totally different results. There is, in truth, scarcely one of these Tales which does not inculcate a valuable moral lesson; as may be seen by reference to “The Powder of Longevity,” “The Old Camel,” and “The Story of the Dervise Abounadar” among several, others.
The present collection of Eastern Stories has been principally derived from the works of different Oriental Scholars on the Continent, and little doubt can be entertained of the genuineness of their origin; while they have been carefully selected, and do honour to the good taste of their Compiler. An acknowledgment is also due to him for his adherence to the good old orthography to which we have all been accustomed from our childhood, in the case of such titles as “Caliph,” “Vizier,” “Houri,” “Genii,” &c.; as, however critically correct and learned the spelling of Mr. Lane may be in his magnificent version of the “Thousand and One Nights,” and however appropriate to a work of so much research and value to Oriental students, it would have been alike fatiguing and out of character to have embarrassed a volume, simply intended for the amusement of youthful readers, by a number of hard and unfamiliar words, difficult of pronunciation to all save the initiated; and for the pleasure of the young requiring translation fully as much as the narrative itself.
In one of the Tales there will be at once detected a portion of the favourite old story of Aladdin’s Lamp, in the subterranean gem-garden discovered by the handsome youth; while in another, mention is made of the already-familiar legend of the hidden city of Ad, so popular among the ancient Arabs; but these repetitions will cease to create any surprise when it is remembered that the professional story-tellers of the East are a wandering race, who travel from city to city, exhibiting their talent during seasons of festivity, in the palaces of the wealthy and the public coffee-houses. Those admitted to the women’s apartments are universally aged crones, whose volubility is something marvellous; and they are always welcome guests to the indolent beauties, who listen to them for hours together without a symptom of weariness, as they pour forth their narratives in a monotonous voice strangely displeasing to European ears. The men, while reciting their tales, indulge in violent gesticulations and contortions of the body, which appear to produce great delight in their audience. Since they generally travel two or three in company; and, save in rare cases of improvisation, their stock of narrative is common to all, it is their ambition so individually to embellish, heighten, and amplify their subject-matter, as to outshine their competitors; and it is consequently to this cause that the numerous variations of the same Tale which have reached Europe must be attributed.
Most of our readers will also recognize in the Story of the Princess Schirine the groundwork of one of Hans Andersen’s beautiful Danish Tales, “The Flying Trunk.”
Taken altogether, there can be no doubt that the “Thousand and One Days” merit the warm welcome which I trust awaits them.
J. P.
London, Feb. 1857.
THE STORY OF HASSAN ABDALLAH; OR, THE ENCHANTED KEYS.
Theilon, caliph of Egypt, died, after having bequeathed his power to his son, Mohammed, who, like a wise and good prince, proceeded to root out abuses, and finally caused peace and justice to flourish throughout his dominions. Instead of oppressing his people by new taxes, he employed the treasures, which his father had amassed by violence, in supporting learned men, rewarding the brave, and assisting the unfortunate. Every thing succeeded under his happy sway; the risings of the Nile were regular and abundant; every year the soil produced rich harvests; and commerce, honoured and protected, caused the gold of foreign nations to flow abundantly into the ports of Egypt.
Mohammed determined, one day, to take the census of the officers of his army, and of all the persons in public situations whose salaries were paid out of the treasury. The vizirs, to the number of forty, first made their appearance and knelt in succession before the sovereign. They were, for the most part, men venerable from their age, and some of them had long beards of snowy whiteness. They all wore on their heads tiaras of gold, enriched with precious stones, and carried in their hands long staves as badges of their power. One enumerated the battles in which he had been engaged, and the honourable wounds he had received; another recounted the long and laborious studies he had pursued, in order to render himself master of the various sciences, and to qualify himself to serve the state by his wisdom and knowledge.
After the vizirs, came the governors of provinces, the generals, and the great officers of the army; and next to them the civil magistrates, and all who were entrusted with the preservation of the peace and the awarding of justice. Behind these walked the public executioner, who, although stout and well-fed, like a man who had nothing to do, went along as if depressed with grief, and instead of carrying his sword naked on his shoulder, he kept it in its scabbard. When he came into the presence of the prince, he threw himself at his feet, and exclaimed, “O mighty prince, the day of justice and of munificence is at last about to dawn on me! Since the death of the terrible Theilon, under whose reign my life was happy and my condition prosperous, I have seen my occupation and its emoluments diminish daily. If Egypt continue thus to live in peace and plenty, I shall run great danger of perishing with hunger, and my family will be brought to misery and ruin.”
Mohammed listened in silence to the complaints of the headsman, and acknowledged that there was some foundation for them, for his salary was small, and the chief part of his profits arose from what he obtained from criminals, either by way of gift, or as a rightful fee. In times of trouble, quarrelling, and violence, he had lived, in fact, in a state of ease and affluence, while now, under the present prosperous reign, he had nothing better than the prospect of beggary before him.
“Is it then true,” exclaimed the caliph, “that the happiness of all is a dream? that what is joy to one, may be the cause of grief to another? O executioner, fear not as to your fate! May it, indeed, please God that, under my reign, your sword, — which is almost as often an instrument of vengeance as of justice, — may remain useless and covered with rust. But, in order to enable you
to provide for the wants of yourself and your family, without the unhappy necessity of exercising your fatal office, you shall receive every year the sum of two hundred dinars.”
In this way all the officers and servants of the palace passed before the notice of the prince; he interrogated each on the nature of his occupation and his past services, on his means of existence, and on the salary which he received. When he found that any one held a situation of a painful and difficult nature, for which he was inadequately remunerated, the caliph diminished his duties and increased his pay; and, on the other hand, when he found the contrary to be the case, he lessened the salary and increased the duties of the office. After having, in this way, performed many acts of wisdom and justice, the caliph observed, among the officers of the civil service, a sheik, whose wrinkled countenance and stooping figure indicated his great age. The caliph called him up, in order to inquire what was his employment in the palace, and the sum which it yielded him.
“Prince,” the old man replied, “my only employment is to take care of a chest that was committed to my charge by your father, the late caliph, and for attending to which he allowed me ten pieces of gold a month.”
“It seems to me,” replied Mohammed, “that the reward is great for so slight a service. Pray what are the contents of this chest?”
“I received it,” replied the sheik, “in charge forty years ago, and I solemnly swear to you that I know not what it contains.”
The caliph commanded the chest to be brought to him, which was of pure gold, and most richly adorned. The old man opened it. It contained a manuscript written in brilliant characters on the skin of a gazelle, painted purple and sprinkled with a red dust. Neither the prince, however, nor his ministers, nor the ulemas who were present, could decipher the writing. By the caliph’s order, the wise men of Egypt were summoned, as well as others from Syria, Persia, and India, but to no purpose; not one was able to interpret the mysterious characters. The book remained open for a long time, exposed to the gaze of all, and a great reward was offered to any one who could bring forward a person of sufficient learning to read it.
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