One Thousand and One Nights

by Richard Burton

  “Then affection cannot be transferred or exchanged,” said Hadgi-Achmet; “and as it forms part of the heart of man, it is of far higher consequence than material things, is it not?”

  “Yes, my lord,” answered Chamyl.

  “So that,” continued the dey, “we may say to a man, Sell, or give away, thy possessions; but we cannot, without absurdity, say to any one, Cease to love him whom thou lovest. For which reason, Chamyl, I condemn thee to leave with Ibrahim the child whom he loves, and whom thou voluntarily gavest him when thou hadst affection for thy two sons who are no more. As to thy possessions, thou canst bear them whithersoever thou wilt, for riches are not the heart.”

  “But I love my son,” cried Chamyl, “and I will have him, and him only, for my heir.”

  “Ah! thou lovest thy son,” rejoined Hadgi-Achmet. “It may be so, but thou gavest no proofs of it so long as thy two other children were alive. Moreover, thou hast taken a house in exchange for thy son; it is exactly the same as if thou hadst sold thy child.”

  “I was poor,” murmured Chamyl.

  “A lame excuse,” said the dey, “for there are many more poor men than rich men, yet we do not see poor men giving up their children for any gain whatsoever.”

  “No, no! I have not sold my son,” cried Chamyl, “and my son is mine.”

  “No, thy son is no longer thine,” said the dey, “for thou art not a father after my heart, and for ten years thy son has been cared for by the man to whom thou gavest him in exchange for a house. Ibrahim has not deserved that the child whom he so tenderly loves should be taken from him, and I order him to be left with him. But since thou wilt have none other than thy son for thine heir, I decree moreover that all thy property shall revert to him after thy death, which is nothing but justice.”

  Ibrahim then interposed. “My lord,” said he to the dey, “Ormed and I have no need of the fortune of Chamyl. What Allah has left to us is sufficient for our wants. Permit Chamyl then to preserve the right of choosing for himself an heir among orphans or poor children, of whom he will now probably adopt one.”

  “No,” replied the dey, “the man who has been able to calmly select one from among his own children and barter him for a house, can never attach himself to the orphan or the unfortunate. I see no reason to alter the judgment I have pronounced. Ormed will have for his inheritance the love of his adopted father and the wealth of his real one.”

  Chamyl withdrew, greatly incensed at this judgment, which seemed to him unjust, but which appeared highly equitable to the inhabitants of Aldgezaire.

  A third member of the divan then addressed Hadgi-Achmet:

  “All thy words bear the impress of the wisdom which illuminates thee. It suffices to hear thee, in order to know and venerate thee. If we do not abuse thy patience and thy goodness, it is because both are inexhaustible. Behold,” added he, “a woman veiled, according to the law. She accuses her husband of leaving her to perish with hunger, whilst her husband here maintains that the woman tells an infamous untruth, and that he supplies her with ample means for becoming fat and strong; he adds, that the famished locusts from the desert eat not more voraciously than doth this woman, all the while remaining lean and feeble, as thou seest. The woman persists in asserting that her husband scarcely gives her sufficient to languish on like a dying tree, and she claims thy pity and thy justice.”

  Hadgi-Achmet, having heard these words, knit his brows, his eyes flashed fire upon him who had just spoken, and upon those present at this audience. Then he said, “Mahmoud, dost thou declare that thou affordest sufficient nourishment to thy wife?”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied Mahmoud.

  “And thou, woman,” said the dey, “dost thou still maintain that thy husband leaves thee in want of nourishment?”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the poor starving woman in a faint voice, and extending her transparent hands and long thin arms, in a supplicating manner towards her master and her judge.

  “Art thou poor?” demanded Hadgi-Achmet of Mahmoud.

  “No, my lord,” replied Mahmoud, “I could support several wives if I wished, but it pleases me to have only this one in my house.”

  “Ah! thou couldst support several wives,” replied the dey; “and why then dost thou not give to this one all she desires, even supposing she devoured as voraciously as the famished locusts of the desert?”

  “I never refuse her any thing,” said Mahmoud.

  The poor veiled woman sighed.

  “Well,” added Hadgi-Achmet, “since thou art both rich and generous, I will put thee in the position to repel an accusation so disgraceful to thee as that of leaving the woman whom thou hast espoused to perish of hunger. To which end I order that thy wife shall dwell in my palace in the apartments of my women and receive from thee a pension which will enable her to purchase whatever food she may desire. If at the end of a year of peace and plenty she should still possess that feeble voice and that excessive thinness which inspire my compassion, I shall regard her as inflicted with an incurable malady, and will leave her to go and die beneath thy roof; but if, on the contrary, she regains strength and voice, thou shalt be hung, not only for having violated the law which commands the husband to minister to the support of his wife, but still more for having lied before thy lord and thy judge, who knows and ever will know how to punish those who offend him.”

  Having spoken thus, Hadgi-Achmet cast terrible looks upon all the men present at this audience. Mahmoud withdrew only too sure of being hung next year, and every one preserved a gloomy silence which lasted for several minutes.

  Hadgi-Achmet meanwhile resumed: “If there remains any other cause for me to judge, let it be declared.”

  Then with less self-possession and confidence than his colleagues had displayed, a fourth member of the divan presented himself. “Here, my lord,” said he, “is a strange affair which occupies us, and which thou alone canst judge.

  “These two men here present are twin-brothers. They have always loved each other, and have never been separated. Their father is just dead. After having deplored his loss, they said to each other: ‘The roof of our father’s dwelling has sheltered us to this day, let it shelter us still; and let us amicably share all that is left us by our father, arms, vestments, or jewels.’

  “But all at once an object presented itself which could not be divided, and for the loss of which nothing else would compensate. The article in question is a holy amulet, which it is said bestows wisdom on him who wears it upon his breast beneath his tunic. Now the two brothers equally desire wisdom, and both would fain possess the precious talisman left them by their father.”

  Hadgi-Achmet having heard these words, knit his brows, again his eyes flashed fire, as he said to one of the twins:

  “Mozza, canst thou not yield to thy brother, who so earnestly desires it, the amulet left you both by your father?”

  “No, my lord,” replied Mozza, “I could easily reconcile myself to my brother’s being richer than myself, but not to his being wiser!”

  Hadgi-Achmet turned to the other brother:

  “Farzan, canst thou not yield to thy brother the amulet he wishes to possess?”

  “No, my lord,” replied Farzan, “for wisdom not alone bestows upon its possessor the things of the earth, but those also which belong to heaven, and I desire those above all.”

  Hadgi-Achmet then ordered Mozza to place upon his breast beneath his tunic the cherished amulet, which being done, he said to the young man:

  “I am charmed to find that thou preferrest wisdom to fortune, for wisdom is above all. But dost thou not see that it is wise to be at peace with thy brother, and that to obtain this peace there is no sacrifice too great? To yield to thy brother is the beginning and the end of wisdom; he who yields is ever the best and the wisest. On this ground thou wilt now, I am persuaded, yield cheerfully this amulet to thy brother.”

  “I repeat, my lord,” answered Mozza, “that I will yield every thing to my brother, slaves, diamonds,
house — my entire fortune; but I will never willingly give up this sacred amulet: it is the only heritage I covet.”

  “Ah!” said Hadgi-Achmet, “thou hast not changed thy mind then! well, give me thy father’s amulet.”

  Mozza reluctantly handed the precious talisman to the dey.

  “Farzan,” said the dey, “place this amulet upon thy breast, and beneath thy tunic.”

  Farzan obeyed. He had no sooner placed the amulet upon his breast than he felt so lively a joy that he would have embraced his brother had he dared, and his eyes glistened with pleasure.

  “Ah!” said Hadgi-Achmet, addressing himself to Farzan, “I perceive that this amulet has great power over thee. Thy heart is opened to wisdom, and thou wilt renounce foolish quarrels, wilt thou not, and yield to thy brother the talisman which he so much desires, and of which he has perhaps greater need than thou?”

  “I!” cried Farzan, “rather would I die than part with my father’s amulet! I feel myself capable of plunging my dagger into the bosom of any one rash enough to attempt to tear it from me, whoever he might be.”

  “In truth,” rejoined Hadgi-Achmet, “I see that this amulet is far from bestowing all the wisdom of which you young men deem it capable. On the contrary it only seems to me fit to sow dissensions between you, since notwithstanding you have both worn it upon your breast, you have nevertheless preserved your animosity and unjust pretensions in the dispute in question. For which reason I ordain that this precious talisman, of whose real power we are doubtless ignorant, shall remain in my palace and be restored in ten years’ time to whichever of you two shall have given by his conduct the most incontestable proofs of piety and virtue.”

  Having heard this sentence, the two brothers sorrowfully withdrew. But they had no sooner crossed the threshold of the palace, than they were reconciled to each other, avowing that the dey had acted with justice, and thenceforth they lived happy and united as before.

  In the mean time, Hadgi-Achmet, having delivered these four judgments, knit his brows once more, and turning to the members of the divan, addressed them as follows:

  “Joyfully have I just occupied myself with the smallest things which concern the welfare and repose of my subjects, and I should not regret my time had it been employed in affairs still more trifling. Every thing appears of importance to me which in any way relates to the wellbeing of one of those over whom Allah has made me sovereign. I nothing doubt that you applaud my conduct, and that you would gladly imitate my zeal in the service of the people. Your praises prove it; but I know well that men such as you prefer proving their zeal by actions, rather than by words. I am about therefore to entrust you with a task of great importance to me, since it is for the most interesting class of my subjects, namely, the most unfortunate. I am about to distribute before the Ramadan, four sacks of rice among poor old men and widows. An unskilful hand has contrived in filling these sacks with the rice, to spill amongst it a quantity of oats. Now as I do not wish these poor people to think themselves treated with contempt by receiving rice mixed with oats, I wish that pious hands should carefully sift the rice and extract from it these grains. It is on you I rely for the performance of this duty, which awaits you in one of the halls of my palace. I cannot at this moment be an eye-witness of your zeal in obeying me, and serving the people; but before your task is finished, I will be with you.”

  Having spoken these words, the dey caused the members of the divan to be respectfully conducted by his guards to a large hall, where they found four sacks of rice and several baskets.

  The members of the divan feeling persuaded that this was an affair which more nearly concerned their heads than the sacks of rice, set themselves silently to this unexpected work, whilst the guards remained stationary at the entrance of the hall in which the labour was being carried on.

  The flight of a musquito might have been heard in this hall where the members of the divan were busily engaged sifting the rice for the poor, all the while vowing to be revenged upon Hadgi-Achmet, if they ever had the power.

  Towards the evening the members of the divan were joined by Hadgi-Achmet, who perceiving that one of them had made less progress in his task than his three colleagues, said,

  “I would not accuse thee of want of zeal: man knows not always what he wishes, nor knows what he can do; I will therefore aid thee in thy task,” and he began gravely to assist the four members of the divan in sifting the rice of the poor.

  The tasks being accomplished, the four sacks of rice were carefully closed. Hadgi-Achmet thanked his enemies, and caused them to be conducted with the greatest respect to the gates of his palace.

  These men left to themselves, regarded each other with consternation and shame; they then said, “We would fain have laughed at Hadgi-Achmet, and it is he who has mocked us. Let us henceforth abstain from criticizing his scrupulous exactitude in rendering justice, but let us think only of avenging ourselves.”

  But they sought the opportunity in vain. Hadgi-Achmet, who had commenced his career by so carefully mending his old slippers, held the reins of power with a strong hand, and whilst other deys in those times almost always met a violent death by steel or poison, he died peacefully in his palace, after having lived many long years.

  V.

  THE TUNISIAN SAGE; OR, THE POWDER OF LONGEVITY.

  Selim-ben-Foubi had been twenty years engaged in commerce when he inherited a fortune which greatly surpassed his wants and even his desires.

  As he had lost all his children, his great wealth caused him but little joy, and he felt it even embarrassing to possess so much gold and so many precious things, of which he should never be able to make any use.

  “I am now fifty,” said he, “and were I to live to a hundred, I should not spend half of what I possess. I can only take one meal at a time, dress in a single suit, and sleep in but one bed. Hence if I can but rest in peace in a substantial and commodious house, eat as much as I desire, and invite a friend to partake of my repast, that is all I need wish for. I have therefore resolved to give away the half of my fortune during my lifetime, that I may enjoy the pleasure of beholding happiness of my own creating.”

  Having formed this generous project, Selim nevertheless wished before putting it into execution to take counsel with two of his friends.

  Quitting therefore his country-house at Boudjaréah, he repaired to Aldgezaire, where in the garden of the grand mosque dwelt usually a sage mufti, a grave and reverend man. Seating himself by his side beneath the shade of some flowering pomegranate trees, he thus accosted him:

  “Mehemet, I have come to visit thee in order to open my whole heart to thee and take counsel of thy wisdom. I am suddenly become very rich, as thou knowest, and I have no son to inherit my wealth; is it not too great for a single solitary man? speak, answer me.”

  “That which Allah gives should never be despised,” replied the sage.

  “I do not disdain my riches,” replied Selim, “but I am thinking of sharing them with others, and of keeping only what is necessary to my existence for the remainder of my days.”

  “Thou knowest not what the number of thy days will be.”

  “I will suppose that I may enjoy the longest of lives, a hundred years for example, thinkest thou I shall live yet longer?”

  “Allah alone knows.”

  “Let us say five hundred,” continued Selim, “surely that covers all chances; well then, during this long course of years, would it not be more agreeable to me to know that my riches are useful, than to feel that they were hidden in some coffer, where they might become an object of envy to the poor, or tempt the cupidity of the ill-doer?”

  “May be so,” said the mufti.

  “My thought is a good one then?”

  “It may be; but will it be good in practice? I cannot say. Nothing is more common than to think wisely; nothing more rare than to put wise thoughts into practice.”

  “Advise me,” said Selim, “and I shall then be sure of fulfilling the law, and of doin
g good. How ought I to distribute the half of my large fortune?”

  The mufti reflected profoundly, and then replied:

  “I advise thee first to take at least one year to reflect upon thy project. Time is the sun that ripens the thoughts of men. We never repent of having reflected before acting; we often regret not having done so. Reflect then, and afterwards come and consult with me.”

  Selim quitted the mosque, and repaired to Bab-a-Zoun street, to the house of his other friend, a Moorish merchant, who laboured hard to support himself by his calling. He began thus:

  “We have been friends and have known each other these ten years, for which reason I come to put to thee this question: ‘In what way, thinkest thou, a man who is both rich and beneficent should employ his fortune, in order to be useful?’”

  The Moorish merchant replied: “Thou makest a very singular demand of me. I cannot believe that a man can find any difficulty in giving, if he really possess the desire. He may found a mosque, succour the aged, support the widow and the orphan, enrich his friends, if he have any, and the rich are seldom without friends.”

  “But thou,” rejoined Selim, “if thou hadst aught to give away, what wouldst thou do?”

  “I? I cannot fancy myself having any thing to give away, seeing that I can scarcely pay the rent of my poor shop, and fill that shop with a few sacks of rice and a little coffee. If I had money, it is very certain that I should begin by buying a house and goods. It is of no use to say to a poor man like me, ‘To whom wouldst thou give thy money?’ But I repeat to thee there is no lack of good actions to be done. Happy he who has only to choose.”

  “Thou art right,” said Selim to his friend; and quitting him, he returned to his country-house at Boudjaréah. One of his neighbours, Achmet the Arab, accosted him upon the road thither; and Selim, having stopped to converse with his friend, said to him: “Thou art of a ripe age, and art not wanting in experience of the things of this life. Tell me then if thou considerest that it would be well for a man who is rich and childless to give away, while still living, the half of his fortune, reserving the other half, upon which to subsist honourably the remainder of his days.”