One Thousand and One Nights

by Richard Burton

  As one saved from drowning, and the hands of justice, (or rather injustice,) I might well have considered myself eminently bound to return thanks to the Almighty. My situation, however, was such as to render me rather indifferent as to what might happen to me; for I was without money, without friends, without credit, and reduced either to subsist on charity, or to perish of hunger. I quitted Ormus, without knowing what would become of me, and walked in the direction of the prairie of Lar, which is between the mountains and the Persian Gulf. On arriving there, I met a caravan of merchants from Hindostan, who were setting out for Schiras, and, joining myself to them, I gained a subsistence by rendering myself useful on trifling occasions. On our arrival at Schiras, where the shah Tahmaspe held his court, I stopped for some time in that city.

  One day, when returning from the great mosque to the caravansary where I lodged, I saw an officer of the king of Persia, richly dressed and very handsome; looking at me attentively, he came up to me and said, “Young man, from what country do you come; for I see you are a stranger, and evidently not in a very prosperous condition?” I replied, that I came from Bagdad, and that his conjecture was but too well founded. I then related my history more at length, to which he listened attentively, and with much feeling for my misfortunes. He next asked me how old I was; and when I told him that I was nineteen years of age, he desired me to follow him, and walking before me proceeded to the king’s palace, which I entered along with him. Conducting me into a very elegant apartment, he asked me, “What is your name?” I replied, “Aswad;” he then asked many other questions, and being satisfied with my replies, said at last:

  “Aswad, your misfortunes have affected me greatly, and I wish to assist you as a father: I am the capi-aga of the king of Persia; there is now a place vacant for a new page, and I have appointed you to it. You are young and handsome, and I cannot make a better choice, for there is not one among the present pages who surpasses you in good looks.”

  Captain of the door of the king’s chamber.

  I thanked the capi-aga for his kindness, and he forthwith took me under his command, and caused me to be equipped in the dress of a page. I was made acquainted with my duties, which I soon learned to discharge in such a manner as to gain the esteem of the zuluflis, and to confer honour on my protector.

  The officer in command of the pages.

  There was a rule that no page of the twelve chambers should, under pain of death, remain in the gardens of the seraglio after a certain hour, when the women were accustomed occasionally to walk there. The same rule extended to all the officers of the palace and the soldiers of the guard. Being in the gardens one evening quite alone, and musing on my misfortunes, I became so lost in thought that I did not perceive that the proper time for men to leave the gardens was already past: knowing that no time was to be lost, I quickened my pace in order to enter the palace, when just as I was turning the corner of one of the walks, a lady appeared before me. She was of a majestic stature, and in spite of the darkness I could see that she was both young and beautiful. “You are in a great hurry,” she remarked; “what can it be that obliges you to walk so fast?”

  “I have very good reasons for doing so,” I replied, “and if you belong to the palace, as doubtless you do, you cannot be ignorant of them. You know that men are forbidden to appear in the gardens after a certain hour, and that whoever breaks this rule suffers death.”

  “You have been rather slow in remembering the rule,” replied the lady, “for the hour is long past; however, on another account you may thank your stars you have loitered, for if you had not, you would not have met with me.”

  “How unfortunate for me that I should have mistaken the time,” I exclaimed, thinking only that I had placed my life in danger.

  “Don’t reproach yourself,” said the lady; “if you do, I shall feel offended. You ought to look on your misfortune to be rather a source of congratulation. It is very true that the danger in which you are placed presents ideas disagreeable enough, but it is not quite so certain that you will be beheaded, for the king is a good prince, who may be induced to forgive you. Who are you?”

  “I am one of the pages,” I replied.

  “Indeed!” she exclaimed, “you make very wise observations for a page; the grand vizir could not make better. Well, don’t distress yourself about what may happen to-morrow, the events of which are hidden from you, and are only known to Heaven, which has perhaps even now prepared a means of escape for you. Leave then the future to take care of itself, and think only of the present. If you knew who I am, and the great honour conferred upon you by this adventure, instead of poisoning the precious moments by bitter reflections, you would esteem yourself the most fortunate of mortals.”

  By such animating language the lady at length dispelled my fears: the idea of the punishment which threatened me vanished from my mind as I abandoned myself to the flattering ideas which she held out to me, and I proceeded somewhat over ardently to ingratiate myself with my companion. The next moment, however, as if at a signal from her, I found myself surrounded by ten or a dozen women who had concealed themselves close by, in order to listen to our conversation. It was easy now to see that the woman who had played me this trick was laughing at me. I supposed she was one of the female slaves of the princess of Persia who was desirous of having a little amusement at my expense. All the other women ran quickly to her assistance, and, bursting into laughter, began to surround me, and to joke with me. One remarked that I was of a lively character, and well fitted for an amusing companion. “If I should ever walk all alone at night,” said another, “I hope I shall meet with somebody quite as clever as this page.” Their pleasantries put me quite out of countenance, while every now and then they laughed outrageously, and I felt as ashamed as if they had rallied me for being too bashful. They even made themselves merry at my having permitted the hour for leaving the gardens to escape me, and said that it would be a pity if I were to die on that account; and that I well deserved to live since I was so devoted to the service of the ladies. The first one then, whom I had heard addressed as Cale-Cairi, said to another, “It is for you, my princess, to determine respecting his lot: is it your wish that he should be abandoned to his fate, or shall we lend him our assistance?”

  “He must be saved from the danger he is in,” replied the princess: “I give my consent for him to live; and, indeed, to the end that he may remember this adventure of his for a long time to come, we must make it still more agreeable to him; let him come to my apartments.”

  When I entered the chamber of Zelica Begum — for such was her name, and she was the princess of Persia — she inquired my name, and how long I had been a page. When I had satisfied her curiosity on these points she said:

  “Well, Aswad, make yourself at home, and forget that you are in an apartment which is forbidden to be entered by any man: forget that I am Zelica: speak to us as if you were with a party of young ladies, the daughters of plain citizens of Schiras: look attentively at all these young women, and tell me frankly which one among us all you like best.”

  Although Zelica’s slaves were perfectly beautiful, and the princess herself might be considered to have a just claim to the preference, my heart decided at once in favour of the charming Cale-Cairi; but concealing sentiments which would seem to cast Zelica into the shade, I said to her that she ought not to place herself in the same rank with the others, or contend with her slaves for the possession of my heart, for that her beauty was such that wherever she was seen, all eyes must be directed to her, and her alone. While speaking thus, however, I could not resist looking at Cale-Cairi in a way which would make her think that my language had been dictated by courtesy alone, and not by the real feelings of my breast. Zelica noticing this, said, “Aswad, you flatter me too much: you must be more candid: I am certain that you have not spoken your real sentiments, and you must really answer me truly in reply to my question: open your inmost soul to us: we all beg you to do this, and you cannot confer a greater plea
sure both on myself and all my slaves.” Yielding at last to their urgent requests, I threw off my timidity, and addressing myself to Zelica, I said:

  “I will then endeavour to comply with your highness’s wishes: it would be difficult to decide which of the exquisitely beautiful assemblage before me is the most beautiful, but I will avow to you that the amiable Cale-Cairi is the lady for whom the inclinations of my heart plead the most strongly.”

  Zelica, instead of being offended by my boldness, replied: “I am well pleased, Aswad, that you have given the preference to Cale-Cairi; she is my favourite, and that is sufficient to prove that your taste is not bad. You do not know the full worth of the fair lady whom you have chosen: we unite in owning that she excels us all.”

  The princess and her slaves now began to banter Cale-Cairi on the triumph which her charms had achieved — and she received all their witticisms in very good part. Zelica then ordered a lute to be brought, and placing it in Cale’s hands, said to her, “Show your lover what you can do with it,” and she played upon it in a style which enchanted me, accompanying it at the same time with her voice in a song which indicated that when a lover has made choice of a suitable object, he ought to love that dear one for ever. An old slave at length came to inform us that daylight was approaching, and that there was no time to be lost, if it were intended that I should quit the apartments in safety. Zelica then told me to follow the slave, who led me through many galleries, and by many windings and turnings, until we reached a little gate of which she had the key; and on the door being opened, I went out, and as it was now daylight, I saw that I was no longer in the palace. A few hours after I rejoined my companions.

  Eight days after this, an eunuch came to the door of the king’s apartments, and said that he wished to speak with me. I went to him and inquired what he wanted.

  “Is not your name Aswad?” he asked.

  I replied that it was. He then put a note into my hands, and went away. The letter stated that if I felt inclined to pay a visit to the gardens of the seraglio next night, and would be at the same place as before, I should there see a lady who was very sensibly touched with the preference I had given to her over all the princess’s women. Although I suspected that Cale-Cairi had taken a fancy to me, I had no idea of receiving such a letter as this from her. Intoxicated with my good luck, I asked leave from the oda-baschi to pay a visit to a dervise — who was a countryman of my own, and who had just arrived from Mecca. Leave being granted me, I ran, or rather flew, to the gardens of the seraglio, as soon as night was come. If, on the first occasion time fled too swiftly and surprised me into stopping after the hour for leaving the gardens, it seemed now too slow in bringing me the promised pleasure, and I thought the hour of retreat would never come. It did come, however, and I could see, shortly afterwards, approaching the place where I was concealed, a lady whom I recognized by her stature and air to be Cale-Cairi. Transported with delight, I drew near, and throwing myself at her feet, I remained for some time prostrate on the ground without speaking a word, so completely had I lost all self-possession.

  “Rise, Aswad,” she said, “I am enraptured at having inspired you with such feelings towards me, for I will confess to you that for my part I have not been able to resist a friendly regard for you. Your youth, good looks, and lively and brilliant wit, but more than all, perhaps, your preferring me to other ladies of great beauty, have endeared you to me. My conduct proves this sufficiently; but, alas! my dear Aswad,” she added, sighing, “I scarcely know whether I ought to be proud of the conquest I have made, or rather to regard it as an event which will embitter the whole course of my life.”

  “But, madam,” I replied, “why give way to such gloomy presentiments at the very time when your presence brings me such delight?”

  “It is not,” she replied, “a foolish fear that now, at such a moment as this, causes me annoyance and disturbs the pleasure of our meeting; my fears are only too well founded, and you are ignorant of the cause of my grief. The princess Zelica loves you, and when she has freed herself, as she will do soon, from the splendid bondage in which she is held, she will inform you of your happiness. When she confesses to you that you are dear to her, how will you receive such a glorious avowal? Will your love for me hold out against the honour of having the affections of the first princess in the world?”

  “Yes, charming Cale-Cairi,” I said, interrupting her; “I would prefer you even to Zelica. Were it to please Heaven that you should have even a still more formidable rival, you would see that nothing could shake the constancy of a heart that is devoted to you.”

  “Unhappy Aswad!” exclaimed the lady, “whither does your love carry you? What a fatal assurance you are giving me of your fidelity! You forget that I am a slave of the princess of Persia. If you were to repay her kindness by ingratitude you would draw down her anger upon us both, and we should perish. Better it were that I should yield you up to so powerful a rival; it would be the only means of saving ourselves.”

  “No, no,” I replied hastily; “there is another means which I should rather choose in my despair, and that would be to banish myself from the court altogether. After my retreat you would be safe from the vengeance of Zelica, and you would regain your peace of mind: by degrees you would forget the unfortunate Aswad, who would retire into the deserts to seek for rest in his misfortunes.”

  I spoke with such deep feeling and truth that the lady was herself overcome with my grief, and said:

  “Cease, Aswad, to yield to a needless affliction. You are mistaken; your merits are such that it would be wrong to keep you longer in the dark. I am Zelica herself, and not her slave. That night when you came to my apartment I personated Cale-Cairi, and you supposed my attendant to be myself.”

  Zelica then called one of her women, who ran to her from amidst some cypress trees where she was concealed, and I perceived that she was the slave whom I supposed to be the princess of Persia.

  “Aswad,” said the princess to me, “you now see the true Cale-Cairi; I give her back her name and take my own: I have no wish to disguise myself any longer. Although your love is greater than your ambition, I am certain that it will be a source of new pleasure to you to know that the lady who loves you is a princess.”

  We passed nearly the whole night in walking about and conversing, and daylight would no doubt have found us in the gardens, had not Cale-Cairi, who was with us, taken care to inform us that it was time to withdraw. It was needful then that we should separate, but before I parted from Zelica the princess said to me:

  “Adieu, Aswad! do not forget me. We shall see each other again, and I will soon let you know how dear you are to me.” I threw myself at her feet to thank her for so flattering a promise, after which Cale-Cairi took me out by the same winding passages as before, and I then left the seraglio.

  Beloved by the august princess whom I idolized, and forming an enchanting image of what she had promised me, I abandoned myself to the most pleasing fancies that the mind could depict, when an unlooked-for event deprived me all on a sudden of my proud hopes. I had heard a report that the princess Zelica was ill, and two days afterwards the rumour of her death was circulated in the palace. I was unwilling to give credit to this fatal intelligence, and refused to do so until I saw preparations going for the funeral ceremony. I did not see the whole of it, because excessive grief threw me into a succession of dangerous fainting fits which lasted for a long time. One of the officers of the palace gave directions for me to be carried into the pages’ room, where great care was taken of me; my limbs were rubbed with a balm of exceeding virtue, and in spite of my overwhelming misery, such was the progress I made, that in two days my strength was restored. A stay in Schiras, however, having become insupportable, I secretly left the court of Persia three days after the interment of my beloved princess. Overwhelmed with grief, I walked all night without knowing whither I was going or where I ought to go. Next morning, having stopped to rest myself, a young man approached who was dressed in a ver
y extraordinary manner. Coming up to me he saluted me and presented me with a green branch which he held in his hand, and after having civilly made me accept it, he began to recite some Persian verses to induce me to bestow my charity upon him. As I had no money I could not give him any. Thinking that I was ignorant of the Persian language he recited some Arabic verses, but seeing that he had no better success this way than the other, and that I did not do what he wanted, he said to me, “Brother, I cannot persuade myself that you are deficient in charity, but rather in the means wherewith to exercise it.”

  “You are right,” I said, “I have not a farthing in the world, and I know not even where to shelter my head.”

  “Unfortunate man,” he exclaimed, “what a sad plight you are in; I really pity you, and wish, moreover, to assist you.”

  I was not a little astonished to be thus addressed by a man who had been asking alms of me a moment before, and I supposed that the assistance he offered was merely that of his prayers, when he went on to say:

  “I am one of those merry fellows they call fakirs; and I can tell you, that though we subsist entirely on charity, we fare none the less sumptuously for that, as we have discovered the secret of exciting the compassion of well-meaning people by an appearance of mortification and penance which we well know how to impart to ourselves. It is true there are a few fakirs fools enough to be really what they seem, and who lead a life of such austerity as sometimes to go ten whole days without the least nourishment. But we are a little less rigorous than these ascetics; we make no pretensions to the reality of their virtues, only to the appearance of them. Will you become one of our fraternity? I am now on my way to meet two of them at Bost; if you have a fancy to make the fourth, you have but to follow me.”