The Translator’s Foreword.
This work, labourious as it may appear, has been to me a labour
of love, an unfailing source of solace and satisfaction. During my
long years of official banishment to the luxuriant and deadly
deserts of Western Africa, and to the dull and dreary half
clearings of South America, it proved itself a charm, a talisman
against ennui and despondency. Impossible even to open the pages
without a vision starting into view; with out drawing a picture
from the pinacothek of the brain; without reviving a host of
memories and reminiscences which are not the common property of
travellers, however widely they may have travelled. From my dull
and commonplace and “respectable” surroundings, the
Jinn bore me at once to the land of my pre-direction, Arabia, a
region so familiar to my mind that even at first sight, it seemed a
reminiscence of some by gone metem-psychic life in the distant
Past. Again I stood under the diaphanous skies, in air glorious as
aether, whose every breath raises men’s spirits like
sparkling wine. Once more I saw the evening star hanging like a
solitaire from the pure front of the western firmament; and the
after glow transfiguring and transforming, as by magic, the homely
and rugged features of the scene into a fairy land lit with a light
which never shines on other soils or seas. Then would appear the
woollen tents, low and black, of the true Badawin, mere dots in the
boundless waste of lion tawny clays and gazelle brown gravels, and
the camp fire dotting like a glow worm the village centre.
Presently, sweetened by distance, would be heard the wild weird
song of lads and lasses, driving or rather pelting, through the
gloaming their sheep and goats; and the measured chant of the
spearsmen gravely stalking behind their charge, the camels; mingled
with bleating of the flocks and the bellowing of the humpy herds;
while the reremouse flitted overhead with his tiny shriek, and the
rave of the jackal resounded through deepening glooms,
and—most musical of music—the palm trees answered the
whispers of the night breeze with the softest tones of falling
water.
And then a shift of scene. The Shaykhs and “white
beards” of the tribe gravely take their places, sitting with
outspread skirts like hillocks on the plain, as the Arabs say,
around the camp fire, whilst I reward their hospitality and secure
its continuance by reading or reciting a few pages of their
favourite tales. The women and children stand motionless as
silhouettes outside the ring; and all are breathless with
attention; they seem to drink in the words with eyes and mouths as
well as with ears. The most fantastic flights of fancy, the wildest
improbabilities, the most impossible of impossibilities, appear to
them utterly natural, mere matters of every day occurrence. They
enter thoroughly into each phase of feeling touched upon by the
author: they take a personal pride in the chivalrous nature and
knightly prowess of Taj al-Mulúk; they are touched with tenderness
by the self sacrificing love of Azízah; their mouths water as they
hear of heaps of untold gold given away in largesse like clay; they
chuckle with delight every time a Kázi or a Fakír—a judge or
a reverend—is scurvily entreated by some Pantagruelist of the
Wilderness; and, despite their normal solemnity and impassibility,
all roar with laughter, sometimes rolling upon the ground till the
reader’s gravity is sorely tried, at the tales of the
garrulous Barber and of Ali and the Kurdish Sharper. To this
magnetising mood the sole exception is when a Badawi of superior
accomplishments, who sometimes says his prayers, ejaculates a
startling “Astagh-faru’llah”—I pray
Allah’s pardon!—for listening, not to Carlyle’s
“downright lies,” but to light mention of the sex whose
name is never heard amongst the nobility of the Desert.
Nor was it only in Arabia that the immortal Nights did me such
notable service: I found the wildlings of Somali land equally
amenable to its discipline; no one was deaf to the charm and the
two women cooks of my caravan, on its way to Harar, were in
continently dubbed by my men “Shahrazad” and
“Dinazad.”
It may be permitted me also to note that this translation is a
natural outcome of my Pilgrimage to Al–Medinah and Meccah.
Arriving at Aden in the (so called) winter of 1852, I put up with
my old and dear friend, Steinhaeuser, to whose memory this volume
is inscribed; and, when talking over Arabia and the Arabs, we at
once came to the same conclusion that, while the name of this
wondrous treasury of Moslem folk lore is familiar to almost every
English child, no general reader is aware of the valuables it
contains, nor indeed will the door open to any but Arabists. Before
parting we agreed to “collaborate” and produce a full,
complete, unvarnished, uncastrated copy of the great original, my
friend taking the prose and I the metrical part; and we
corresponded upon the subject for years. But whilst I was in the
Brazil, Steinhaeuser died suddenly of apoplexy at Berne in
Switzerland and, after the fashion of Anglo India, his valuable
Mss. left at Aden were dispersed, and very little of his labours
came into my hands.
Thus I was left alone to my work, which progressed fitfully amid
a host of obstructions. At length, in the spring of 1879, the
tedious process of copying began and the book commenced to take
finished form. But, during the winter of 1881–82, I saw in
the literary journals a notice of a new version by Mr. John Payne,
well known to scholars for his prowess in English verse, especially
for his translation of “The Poems of Master Francis Villon,
of Paris.” Being then engaged on an expedition to the Gold
Coast (for gold), which seemed likely to cover some months, I wrote
to the “Athenaeum” (Nov. 13, 1881) and to Mr. Payne,
who was wholly unconscious that we were engaged on the same work,
and freely offered him precedence and possession of the field till
no longer wanted. He accepted my offer as frankly, and his priority
entailed another delay lasting till the spring of 1885. These
details will partly account for the lateness of my appearing, but
there is yet another cause. Professional ambition suggested that
literary labours, unpopular with the vulgar and the half educated,
are not likely to help a man up the ladder of promotion. But common
sense presently suggested to me that, professionally speaking, I
was not a success, and, at the same time, that I had no cause to be
ashamed of my failure. In our day, when we live under a despotism
of the lower “middle class” Philister who can pardon
anything but superiority, the prizes of competitive services are
monopolized by certain “pets” of the Médiocratie, and
prime favourites of that jealous and potent majority—the
Mediocnties who know “no nonsense about merit.” It is
hard for an outsider to realise how perfect is the monopoly of
common place, and to comprehend how fatal a stumbling stone that
man sets in the way of his own advancement who dares to think for
himself, or who knows more or who does more than the mob of
gentlemen employee who know very little and who do even less.
Yet, however behindhand I may be, there is still ample room and
verge for an English version of the “Arabian Nights’
Entertainments.”
Our century of translations, popular and vernacular, from
(Professor Antoine) Galland’s delightful abbreviation and
adaptation (A.D. 1704), in no wise represent the eastern original.
The best and latest, the Rev. Mr. Foster’s, which is diffuse
and verbose, and Mr. G. Moir Bussey’s, which is a re-
correction, abound in gallicisms of style and idiom; and one and
all degrade a chef d’oeuvre of the highest anthropological
and ethnographical interest and importance to a mere fairy book, a
nice present for little boys.
After nearly a century had elapsed, Dr. Jonathan Scott (LL.D.
H.E.I.C.‘s S., Persian Secretary to the G. G. Bengal;
Oriental Professor, etc., etc.), printed his “Tales,
Anecdotes, and Letters, translated from the Arabic and
Persian,” (Cadell and Davies, London, A.D. 1800); and
followed in 1811 with an edition of “The Arabian
Nights’ Entertainments” from the Ms. of Edward Wortley
Montague (in 6 vols., small 8vo, London: Longmans, etc.). This work
he (and he only) describes as “Carefully revised and
occasionally corrected from the Arabic.” The reading public
did not wholly reject it, sundry texts were founded upon the Scott
version and it has been imperfectly reprinted (4 vole., 8vo, Nimmo
and Bain, London, 1883). But most men, little recking what a small
portion of the original they were reading, satisfied themselves
with the Anglo French epitome and metaphrase. At length in 1838,
Mr. Henry Torrens, B.A., Irishman, lawyer (“of the Inner
Temple”) and Bengal Civilian, took a step in the right
direction; and began to translate, “The Book of the Thousand
Nights and One Night,” (1 vol., 8vo, Calcutta: W. Thacker and
Co.) from the Arabic of the Ćgyptian (!) Ms. edited by Mr.
(afterwards Sir)William H. Macnaghten. The attempt, or rather the
intention, was highly creditable; the copy was carefully moulded
upon the model and offered the best example of the verbatim et
literatim style. But the plucky author knew little of Arabic, and
least of what is most wanted, the dialect of Egypt and Syria. His
prose is so conscientious as to offer up spirit at the shrine of
letter; and his verse, always whimsical, has at times a manner of
Hibernian whoop which is comical when it should be pathetic. Lastly
he printed only one volume of a series which completed would have
contained nine or ten.
That amiable and devoted Arabist, the late Edward William Lane
does not score a success in his “New Translation of the Tales
of a Thousand and One Nights” (London: Charles Knight and
Co., MDCCCXXXIX.) of which there have been four English editions,
besides American, two edited by E. S. Poole. He chose the
abbreviating Bulak Edition; and, of its two hundred tales, he has
omitted about half and by far the more characteristic half: the
work was intended for “the drawing room table;” and,
consequently, the workman was compelled to avoid the
“objectionable” and aught “approaching to
licentiousness.” He converts the Arabian Nights into the
Arabian Chapters, arbitrarily changing the division and, worse
still, he converts some chapters into notes. He renders poetry by
prose and apologises for not omitting it altogether: he neglects
assonance and he is at once too Oriental and not Oriental enough.
He had small store of Arabic at the time—Lane of the Nights
is not Lane of the Dictionary—and his pages are disfigured by
many childish mistakes. Worst of all, the three handsome volumes
are rendered unreadable as Sale’s Koran by their anglicised
Latin, their sesquipedalian un English words, and the stiff and
stilted style of half a century ago when our prose was, perhaps,
the worst in Europe. Their cargo of Moslem learning was most
valuable to the student, but utterly out of place for readers of
“The Nights;” re-published, as these notes have been
separately (London, Chatto, 1883), they are an ethnological text
book.
Mr. John Payne has printed, for the Villon Society and for
private circulation only, the first and sole complete translation
of the great compendium, “comprising about four times as much
matter as that of Galland, and three times as much as that of any
other translator;” and I cannot but feel proud that he has
honoured me with the dedication of “The Book of The Thousand
Nights and One Night.” His version is most readable: his
English, with a sub-flavour of the Mabinogionic archaicism, is
admirable; and his style gives life and light to the nine volumes
whose matter is frequently heavy enough. He succeeds admirably in
the most difficult passages and he often hits upon choice and
special terms and the exact vernacular equivalent of the foreign
word, so happily and so picturesquely that all future translators
must perforce use the same expression under pain of falling far
short. But the learned and versatile author bound himself to issue
only five hundred copies, and “not to reproduce the work in
its complete and uncastrated form.” Consequently his
excellent version is caviaire to the general—practically
unprocurable.
And here I hasten to confess that ample use has been made of the
three versions above noted, the whole being blended by a callida
junctura into a homogeneous mass. But in the presence of so many
predecessors a writer is bound to show some raison d’etre for
making a fresh attempt and this I proceed to do with due
reserve.
Briefly, the object of this version is to show what “The
Thousand Nights and a Night” really is. Not, however, for
reasons to be more fully stated in the Terminal Essay, by straining
verbum reddere verbo, but by writing as the Arab would have written
in English. On this point I am all with Saint Jerome (Pref. in
Jobum) “Vel verbum e verbo, vel sensum e sensu, vel ex
utroque commixtum, et medic temperatum genus translationis.”
My work claims to be a faithful copy of the great Eastern Saga
book, by preserving intact, not only the spirit, but even the
mécanique, the manner and the matter. Hence, however prosy and long
drawn out be the formula, it retains the scheme of The Nights
because they are a prime feature in the original. The Ráwí or
reciter, to whose wits the task of supplying details is left, well
knows their value: the openings carefully repeat the names of the
dramatic personae and thus fix them in the hearer’s memory.
Without the Nights no Arabian Nights! Moreover it is necessary to
retain the whole apparatus: nothing more ill advised than Dr.
Jonathan Scott’s strange device of garnishing The Nights with
fancy head pieces and tail pieces or the splitting up of
Galland’s narrative by merely prefixing “Nuit,”
etc., ending moreover, with the ccxxxivth Night: yet this has been
done, apparently with the consent of the great Arabist Sylvestre de
Sacy (Paris, Ernest Bourdin). Moreover, holding that the
translator’s glory is to add something to his native tongue,
while avoiding the hideous hag like nakedness of Torrens and the
bald literalism of Lane, I have carefully Englished the picturesque
turns and novel expressions of the original in all their
outlandishness; for instance, when the dust cloud raised by a
tramping host is described as “walling the horizon.”
Hence peculiar attention has been paid to the tropes and figures
which the Arabic language often packs into a single term; and I
have never hesitated to coin a word when wanted, such as “she
snorted and sparked,” fully to represent the original. These,
like many in Rabelais, are mere barbarisms unless generally
adopted; in which case they become civilised and common
currency.
Despite objections manifold and manifest, I have preserved the
balance of sentences and the prose rhyme and rhythm which Easterns
look upon as mere music. This “Saj’a,” or cadence
of the cooing dove, has in Arabic its special duties. It adds a
sparkle to description and a point to proverb, epigram and
dialogue; it corresponds with our “artful alliteration”
(which in places I have substituted for it) and, generally, it
defines the boundaries between the classical and the popular styles
which jostle each other in The Nights. If at times it appear
strained and forced, after the wont of rhymed prose, the scholar
will observe that, despite the immense copiousness of assonants and
consonants in Arabic, the strain is often put upon it
intentionally, like the Rims cars of Dante and the Troubadours.
This rhymed prose may be “un English” and unpleasant,
even irritating to the British ear; still I look upon it as a sine
quâ non for a complete reproduction of the original. In the
Terminal Essay I shall revert to the subject.
On the other hand when treating the versical portion, which may
represent a total of ten thousand lines, I have not always bound
myself by the metrical bonds of the Arabic, which are artificial in
the extreme, and which in English can be made bearable only by a
tour de force. I allude especially to the monorhyme, Rim continuat
or tirade monorime, whose monotonous simplicity was preferred by
the Troubadours for threnodies. It may serve well for three or four
couplets but, when it extends, as in the Ghazal-cannon, to
eighteen, and in the Kasidah, elegy or ode, to more, it must either
satisfy itself with banal rhyme words, when the assonants should as
a rule be expressive and emphatic; or, it must display an
ingenuity, a smell of the oil, which assuredly does not add to the
reader’s pleasure. It can perhaps be done and it should be
done; but for me the task has no attractions: I can fence better in
shoes than in sabots. Finally I print the couplets in Arab form
separating the hemistichs by asterisks.
And now to consider one matter of special importance in the
book—its turpiloquium. This stumbling-block is of two kinds,
completely distinct. One is the simple, naďve and child like
indecency which, from Tangiers to Japan, occurs throughout general
conversation of high and low in the present day. It uses, like the
holy books of the Hebrews, expressions “plainly descriptive
of natural situations;” and it treats in an unconventionally
free and naked manner of subjects and matters which are usually, by
common consent, left undescribed. As Sir William Jones observed
long ago, “that anything natural can be offensively obscene
never seems to have occurred to the Indians or to their
legislators; a singularity (?) pervading their writings and
conversation, but no proof of moral depravity.” Another
justly observes, Les peuples primitifs n’y entendent pas
malice: ils appellent les choses par leurs noms et ne trouvent pas
condamnable ce qui est naturel. And they are prying as children.
For instance the European novelist marries off his hero and heroine
and leaves them to consummate marriage in privacy; even Tom Jones
has the decency to bolt the door. But the Eastern story teller,
especially this unknown “prose Shakespeare,” must usher
you, with a flourish, into the bridal chamber and narrate to you,
with infinite gusto, everything he sees and hears. Again we must
remember that grossness and indecency, in fact les turpitudes, are
matters of time and place; what is offensive in England is not so
in Egypt; what scandalises us now would have been a tame joke
tempore Elisœ. Withal The Nights will not be found in this
matter coarser than many passages of Shakespeare, Sterne, and
Swift, and their uncleanness rarely attains the perfection of
Alcofribas Naiser, “divin maitre et atroce cochon.” The
other element is absolute obscenity, sometimes, but not always,
tempered by wit, humour and drollery; here we have an exaggeration
of Petronius Arbiter, the handiwork of writers whose ancestry, the
most religious and the most debauched of mankind, practised every
abomination before the shrine of the Canopic Gods.
In accordance with my purpose of reproducing the Nights, not
virginibus puerisque, but in as perfect a picture as my powers
permit, I have carefully sought out the English equivalent of every
Arabic word, however low it may be or “shocking” to
ears polite; preserving, on the other hand, all possible delicacy
where the indecency is not intentional; and, as a friend advises me
to state, not exaggerating the vulgarities and the indecencies
which, indeed, can hardly be exaggerated. For the coarseness and
crassness are but the shades of a picture which would otherwise be
all lights. The general tone of The Nights is exceptionally high
and pure. The devotional fervour often rises to the boiling point
of fanaticism. The pathos is sweet, deep and genuine; tender,
simple and true, utterly unlike much of our modern tinsel. Its
life, strong, splendid and multitudinous, is everywhere flavoured
with that unaffected pessimism and constitutional melancholy which
strike deepest root under the brightest skies and which sigh in the
face of heaven: —
Vita quid est hominis? Viridis floriscula mortis;
Sole Oriente oriens, sole cadente cadens.
Poetical justice is administered by the literary Kází with
exemplary impartiality and severity; “denouncing evil doers
and eulogising deeds admirably achieved.” The morale is sound
and healthy; and at times we descry, through the voluptuous and
libertine picture, vistas of a transcendental morality, the
morality of Socrates in Plato. Subtle corruption and covert
licentiousness are utterly absent; we find more
real”vice” in many a short French roman, say La Dame
aux Camélias, and in not a few English novels of our day than in
the thousands of pages of the Arab. Here we have nothing of that
most immodest modern modesty which sees covert implication where
nothing is implied, and “improper” allusion when
propriety is not outraged; nor do we meet with the Nineteenth
Century refinement; innocence of the word not of the thought;
morality of the tongue not of the heart, and the sincere homage
paid to virtue in guise of perfect hypocrisy. It is, indeed, this
unique contrast of a quaint element, childish crudities and nursery
indecencies and “vain and amatorious” phrase jostling
the finest and highest views of life and character, shown in the
kaleidoscopic shiftings of the marvellous picture with many a
“rich truth in a tale’s presence”, pointed by a
rough dry humour which compares well with “wut; “the
alternations of strength and weakness, of pathos and bathos, of the
boldest poetry (the diction of Job) and the baldest prose (the
Egyptian of today); the contact of religion and morality with the
orgies of African Apuleius and Petronius Arbiter—at times
taking away the reader’s breath—and, finally, the whole
dominated everywhere by that marvellous Oriental fancy, wherein the
spiritual and the supernatural are as common as the material and
the natural; it is this contrast, I say, which forms the chiefest
charm of The Nights, which gives it the most striking originality
and which makes it a perfect expositor of the medieval Moslem
mind.
Explanatory notes did not enter into Mr. Payne’s plan.
They do with mine: I can hardly imagine The Nights being read to
any profit by men of the West without commentary. My annotations
avoid only one subject, parallels of European folklore and fabliaux
which, however interesting, would overswell the bulk of a book
whose speciality is anthropology. The accidents of my life, it may
be said without undue presumption, my long dealings with Arabs and
other Mahommedans, and my familiarity not only with their idiom but
with their turn of thought, and with that racial individuality
which baffles description, have given me certain advantages over
the average student, however deeply he may have studied. These
volumes, moreover, afford me a long sought opportunity of noticing
practices and customs which interest all mankind and which
“Society” will not hear mentioned. Grate, the
historian, and Thackeray, the novelist, both lamented that the
bégueulerie of their countrymen condemned them to keep silence
where publicity was required; and that they could not even claim
the partial licence of a Fielding and a Smollett. Hence a score of
years ago I lent my best help to the late Dr. James Hunt in
founding the Anthropological Society, whose presidential chair I
first occupied (pp. 2–4 Anthropologia; London, Balliere, vol.
i., No. I, 1873). My motive was to supply travellers with an organ
which would rescue their observations from the outer darkness of
manuscript, and print their curious information on social and
sexual matters out of place in the popular book intended for the
Nipptisch and indeed better kept from public view. But, hardly had
we begun when “Respectability,” that whited sepulchre
full of all uncleanness, rose up against us.
“Propriety” cried us down with her brazen blatant
voice, and the weak kneed brethren fell away. Yet the organ was
much wanted and is wanted still. All now known barbarous tribes in
Inner Africa, America and Australia, whose instincts have not been
overlaid by reason, have a ceremony which they call “making
men.” As soon as the boy shows proofs of puberty, he and his
coevals are taken in hand by the mediciner and the Fetisheer; and,
under priestly tuition, they spend months in the
“bush,” enduring hardships and tortures which impress
the memory till they have mastered the “theorick and
practick” of social and sexual relations. Amongst the
civilised this fruit of the knowledge tree must be bought at the
price of the bitterest experience, and the consequences of
ignorance are peculiarly cruel. Here, then, I find at last an
opportunity of noticing in explanatory notes many details of the
text which would escape the reader’s observation, and I am
confident that they will form a repertory of Eastern knowledge in
its esoteric phase. The student who adds the notes of Lane
(“Arabian Society,” etc., before quoted) to mine will
know as much of the Moslem East and more than many Europeans who
have spent half their lives in Orient lands. For facility of
reference an index of anthropological notes is appended to each
volume.
The reader will kindly bear with the following technical
details. Steinhaeuser and I began and ended our work with the first
Bulak (“Bul.”) Edition printed at the port of Cairo in
A.H. 1251 = A.D. 1835. But when preparing my Mss. for print I found
the text incomplete, many of the stories being given in epitome and
not a few ruthlessly mutilated with head or feet wanting. Like most
Eastern scribes the Editor could not refrain from
“improvements,” which only debased the book; and his
sole title to excuse is that the second Bulak Edition (4 vols. A.H.
1279 = A.D. 1863), despite its being “revised and corrected
by Sheik Mahommed Qotch Al-Adewi,” is even worse; and the
same may be said of the Cairo Edit. (4 vols. A.H. 1297 = A. D.
1881). The Calcutta (“Calc.”) Edition, with ten lines
of Persian preface by the Editor, Ahmed al-Shirwani (A.D. 1814),
was cut short at the end of the first two hundred Nights, and thus
made room for Sir William Hay Macnaghten’s Edition (4 vols.
royal 4to) of 1839–42. This (“Mac.”), as by far
the least corrupt and the most complete, has been assumed for my
basis with occasional reference to the Breslau Edition
(“Bres.”) wretchedly edited from a hideous Egyptian Ms.
by Dr. Maximilian Habicht (1825–43). The Bayrut Text
“Alif–Leila we Leila” (4 vols. at. 8vo, Beirut,
1881–83) is a melancholy specimen of The Nights taken
entirely from the Bulak Edition by one Khalil Sarkis and converted
to Christianity; beginning without Bismillah, continued with
scrupulous castration and ending in ennui and disappointment. I
have not used this missionary production.
As regards the transliteration of Arabic words I deliberately
reject the artful and complicated system, ugly and clumsy withal,
affected by scientific modern Orientalists. Nor is my sympathy with
their prime object, namely to fit the Roman alphabet for
supplanting all others. Those who learn languages, and many do so,
by the eye as well as by the ear, well know the advantages of a
special character to distinguish, for instance, Syriac from Arabic,
Gujrati from Marathi. Again this Roman hand bewitched may have its
use in purely scientific and literary works; but it would be wholly
out of place in one whose purpose is that of the novel, to amuse
rather than to instruct. Moreover the devices perplex the simple
and teach nothing to the learned. Either the reader knows Arabic,
in which case Greek letters, italics and “upper case,”
diacritical points and similar typographic oddities are, as a rule
with some exceptions, unnecessary; or he does not know Arabic, when
none of these expedients will be of the least use to him. Indeed it
is a matter of secondary consideration what system we prefer,
provided that we mostly adhere to one and the same, for the sake of
a consistency which saves confusion to the reader. I have
especially avoided that of Mr. Lane, adopted by Mr. Payne, for
special reasons against which it was vain to protest: it represents
the debased brogue of Egypt or rather of Cairo; and such a word as
Kemer (ez-Zeman) would be utterly un-pronounceable to a Badawi. Nor
have I followed the practice of my learned friend, Reverend G. P.
Badger, in mixing bars and acute accents; the former unpleasantly
remind man of those hateful dactyls and spondees, and the latter
should, in my humble opinion, be applied to long vowels which in
Arabic double, or should double, the length of the shorts. Dr.
Badger uses the acute symbol to denote accent or stress of voice;
but such appoggio is unknown to those who speak with purest
articulation; for instance whilst the European pronounces
Mus-cat’, and the Arab villager Mas’-kat; the Children
of the Waste, “on whose tongues Allah descended,”
articulate Mas-kat. I have therefore followed the simple system
adopted in my “Pilgrimage,” and have accented Arabic
words only when first used, thinking it unnecessary to preserve
throughout what is an eyesore to the reader and a distress to the
printer. In the main I follow “Johnson on Richardson,”
a work known to every Anglo–Orientalist as the old and trusty
companion of his studies early and late; but even here I have made
sundry deviations for reasons which will be explained in the
Terminal Essay. As words are the embodiment of ideas and writing is
of words, so the word is the spoken word; and we should write it as
pronounced. Strictly speaking, the e-sound and the o-sound (viz.
the Italian o-sound not the English which is peculiar to us and
unknown to any other tongue) are not found in Arabic, except when
the figure Imálah obliges: hence they are called “Yá
al-Majhúl” and “Waw al-Majhúl” the unknown y (í)
and u. But in all tongues vowel-sounds, the flesh which clothes the
bones (consonants) of language, are affected by the consonants
which precede and more especially which follow them, hardening and
softening the articulation; and deeper sounds accompany certain
letters as the sád ( ) compared with the sín ( ). None save a
defective ear would hold, as Lane does, “Maulid” ( =
birth-festival) “more properly pronounced
‘Molid.’” Yet I prefer Khokh (peach) and Jokh
(broad cloth) to Khukh and Jukh; Ohod (mount) to Uhud; Obayd (a
little slave) to Ubayd; and Hosayn (a fortlet, not the P. N.
Al–Husayn) to Husayn. As for the short e in such words as
“Memlúk” for “Mamluk” (a white slave),
“Eshe” for “Asha” (supper), and
“Yemen” for “Al-Yaman,” I consider it a
flat Egyptianism, insufferable to an ear which admires the Badawi
pronunciation. Yet I prefer “Shelebi” (a dandy) from
the Turkish Chelebi, to “Shalabi;”
“Zebdani” (the Syrian village) to
“Zabdani,” and “Fes and Miknes” (by the
figure Imálah) to “Fas and Miknás,”, our “Fez and
Mequinez.”
With respect to proper names and untranslated Arabic words I
have rejected all system in favour of common sense. When a term is
incorporated in our tongue, I refuse to follow the purist and
mortify the reader by startling innovation. For instance, Aleppo,
Cairo and Bassorah are preferred to Halab, Kahirah and
Al–Basrah; when a word is half naturalised, like Alcoran or
Koran, Bashaw or Pasha, which the French write Pacha; and Mahomet
or Mohammed (for Muhammad), the modern form is adopted because the
more familiar. But I see no advantage in retaining,, simply because
they are the mistakes of a past generation, such words as
“Roc” (for Rikh),), Khalif (a pretentious blunder for
Kalífah and better written Caliph) and “genie” ( =
Jinn) a mere Gallic corruption not so terrible, however, as
“a Bedouin” ( = Badawi).). As little too would I follow
Mr. Lane in foisting upon the public such Arabisms as
“Khuff” (a riding boot), “Mikra’ah”
(a palm rod) and a host of others for which we have good English
equivalents. On the other hand I would use, but use sparingly,
certain Arabic exclamations, as “Bismillah” ( = in the
name of Allah!) and “Inshallah” ( = if Allah please!),
(= which have special applications and which have been made
familiar to English ears by the genius of Fraser and Morier.
I here end these desultory but necessary details to address the
reader in a few final words. He will not think lightly of my work
when I repeat to him that with the aid of my annotations
supplementing Lane’s, the student will readily and pleasantly
learn more of the Moslem’s manners and customs, laws and
religion than is known to the average Orientalist; and, if my
labours induce him to attack the text of The Nights he will become
master of much more Arabic than the ordinary Arab owns. This book
is indeed a legacy which I bequeath to my fellow countrymen in
their hour of need. Over devotion to Hindu, and especially to
Sanskrit literature, has led them astray from those (so called)
“Semitic” studies, which are the more requisite for us
as they teach us to deal successfully with a race more powerful
than any pagans—the Moslem. Apparently England is ever
forgetting that she is at present the greatest Mohammedan empire in
the world. Of late years she has systematically neglected Arabism
and, indeed, actively discouraged it in examinations for the Indian
Civil Service, where it is incomparably more valuable than Greek
and Latin. Hence, when suddenly compelled to assume the reins of
government in Moslem lands, as Afghanistan in times past and Egypt
at present, she fails after a fashion which scandalises her few
(very few) friends; and her crass ignorance concerning the Oriental
peoples which should most interest her, exposes her to the contempt
of Europe as well as of the Eastern world. When the regrettable
raids of 1883–84, culminating in the miserable affairs of
Tokar, Teb and Tamasi, were made upon the gallant Sudani negroids,
the Bisharin outlying Sawakin, who were battling for the holy cause
of liberty and religion and for escape from Turkish task-masters
and Egyptian tax-gatherers, not an English official in camp, after
the death of the gallant and lamented Major Morice, was capable of
speaking Arabic. Now Moslems are not to be ruled by raw youths who
should be at school and college instead of holding positions of
trust and emolument. He who would deal with them successfully must
be, firstly, honest and truthful and, secondly, familiar with and
favourably inclined to their manners and customs if not to their
law and religion. We may, perhaps, find it hard to restore to
England those pristine virtues, that tone and temper, which made
her what she is; but at any rate we (myself and a host of others)
can offer her the means of dispelling her ignorance concerning the
Eastern races with whom she is continually in contact.
In conclusion I must not forget to notice that the Arabic
ornamentations of these volumes were designed by my excellent
friend Yacoub Artin Pasha, of the Ministry of Instruction, Cairo,
with the aid of the well-known writing artist, Shayth Mohammed
Muunis the Cairene. My name, Al–Hajj Abdullah ( = the Pilgrim
Abdallah) was written by an English calligrapher, the lamented
Professor Palmer who found a premature death almost within sight of
Suez.
Richard F. Burton
Wanderers’ Club, August 15, 1885.
The Story Of King Shahryar and His Brother
In the Name of Allah,
the Compassionating, the Compassionate!
Praise Be to Allah
The Beneficent King
The Creator of the
Universe
Lord of the Three Worlds
Who Set Up the Firmament Without Pillars in Its Stead
and Who Stretched Out the Earth Even As A Bed
and Grace, and Prayer-BLESSlNG Be Upon Our Lord Mohammed
Lord of Apostolic Men
and Upon his Family and Companion Train
Prayer and Blessings Enduring and Grace Which Unto the Day of Doom
Shall Remain
Amen!
O Thou of the Three Worlds Sovereign!
And afterwards. Verily the works and words of those gone before
us have become instances and examples to men of our modern day,
that folk may view what admonishing chances befel other folk and
may therefrom take warning; and that they may peruse the annals of
antique peoples and all that hath betided them, and be thereby
ruled and restrained:—Praise, therefore, be to Him who hath
made the histories of the Past an admonition unto the Present! Now
of such instances are the tales called “A Thousand Nights and
a Night,” together with their far famed legends and wonders.
Therein it is related (but Allah is All knowing of His hidden
things and All ruling and All honoured and All giving and All
gracious and All merciful 1) that, in tide of yore and in time long gone
before, there was a King of the Kings of the Banu Sásán in the
Islands of India and China, a Lord of armies and guards and
servants and dependents.2 He left only two sons, one in the prime of
manhood and the other yet a youth, while both were Knights and
Braves, albeit the elder was a doughtier horseman than the younger.
So he succeeded to the empire; when he ruled the land and forded it
over his lieges with justice so exemplary that he was beloved by
all the peoples of his capital and of his kingdom. His name was
King Shahryár3,
and he made his younger brother, Shah Zamán hight, King of
Samarcand in Barbarian land. These two ceased not to abide in their
several realms and the law was ever carried out in their dominions;
and each ruled his own kingdom, with equity and fair dealing to his
subjects, in extreme solace and enjoyment; and this condition
continually endured for a score of years. But at the end of the
twentieth twelvemonth the elder King yearned for a sight of his
younger brother and felt that he must look upon him once more. So
he took counsel with his Wazír4 about visiting him, but the Minister,
finding the project unadvisable, recommended that a letter be
written and a present be sent under his charge to the younger
brother with an invitation to visit the elder. Having accepted this
advice the King forthwith bade prepare handsome gifts, such as
horses with saddles of gem encrusted gold; Mamelukes, or white
slaves; beautiful handmaids, high breasted virgins, and splendid
stuffs and costly. He then wrote a letter to Shah Zaman expressing
his warm love and great wish to see him, ending with these words,
“We therefore hope of the favour and affection of the beloved
brother that he will condescend to bestir himself and turn his face
us wards. Furthermore we have sent our Wazir to make all ordinance
for the march, and our one and only desire is to see thee ere we
die; but if thou delay or disappoint us we shall not survive the
blow. Wherewith peace be upon thee!” Then King Shahryar,
having sealed the missive and given it to the Wazir with the
offerings aforementioned, commanded him to shorten his skirts and
strain his strength and make all expedition in going and returning.
“Harkening and obedience!” quoth the Minister, who fell
to making ready without stay and packed up his loads and prepared
all his requisites without delay. This occupied him three days, and
on the dawn of the fourth he took leave of his King and marched
right away, over desert and hill’ way, stony waste and
pleasant lea without halting by night or by day. But whenever he
entered a realm whose ruler was subject to his Suzerain, where he
was greeted with magnificent gifts of gold and silver and all
manner of presents fair and rare, he would tarry there three
days,5 the term
of the guest rite; and, when he left on the fourth, he would be
honourably escorted for a whole day’s march. As soon as the
Wazir drew near Shah Zaman’s court in Samarcand he despatched
to report his arrival one of his high officials, who presented
himself before the King; and, kissing ground between his hands,
delivered his message. Hereupon the King commanded sundry of his
Grandees and Lords of his realm to fare forth and meet his
brother’s Wazir at the distance of a full day’s
journey; which they did, greeting him respectfully and wishing him
all prosperity and forming an escort and a procession. When he
entered the city he proceeded straightway to the palace, where he
presented himself in the royal presence; and, after kissing ground
and praying for the King’s health and happiness and for
victory over all his enemies, he informed him that his brother was
yearning to see him, and prayed for the pleasure of a visit. He
then delivered the letter which Shah Zaman took from his hand and
read: it contained sundry hints and allusions which required
thought; but, when the King had fully comprehended its import, he
said, “I hear and I obey the commands of the beloved
brother!” adding to the Wazir, “But we will not march
till after the third day’s hospitality.” He appointed
for the Minister fitting quarters of the palace; and, pitching
tents for the troops, rationed them with whatever they might
require of meat and drink and other necessaries. On the fourth day
he made ready for wayfare and got together sumptuous presents
befitting his elder brother’s majesty, and stablished his
chief Wazir viceroy of the land during his absence. Then he caused
his tents and camels and mules to be brought forth and encamped,
with their bales and loads, attend ants and guards, within sight of
the city, in readiness to set out next morning for his
brother’s capital. But when the night was half spent he
bethought him that he had forgotten in his palace somewhat which he
should have brought with him, so he re turned privily and entered
his apartments, where he found the Queen, his wife, asleep on his
own carpet bed, embracing with both arms a black cook of loathsome
aspect and foul with kitchen grease and grime. When he saw this the
world waxed black before his sight and he said, “If such case
happen while I am yet within sight of the city what will be the
doings of this damned whore during my long absence at my
brother’s court?” So he drew his scymitar and, cutting
the two in four pieces with a single blow, left them on the carpet
and returned presently to his camp without letting anyone know of
what had happened. Then he gave orders for immediate departure and
set out at once and began his travel; but he could not help
thinking over his wife’s treason and he kept ever saying to
himself, “How could she do this deed by me? How could she
work her own death?,” till excessive grief seized him, his
colour changed to yellow, his body waxed weak and he was threatened
with a dangerous malady, such an one as bringeth men to die. So the
Wazir shortened his stages and tarried long at the watering
stations and did his best to solace the King. Now when Shah Zaman
drew near the capital of his brother he despatched vaunt couriers
and messengers of glad tidings to announce his arrival, and
Shahryar came forth to meet him with his Wazirs and Emirs and Lords
and Grandees of his realm; and saluted him and joyed with exceeding
joy and caused the city to be decorated in his honour. When,
however, the brothers met, the elder could not but see the change
of complexion in the younger and questioned him of his case whereto
he replied, “Tis caused by the travails of wayfare and my
case needs care, for I have suffered from the change of water and
air! but Allah be praised for reuniting me with a brother so dear
and so rare!” On this wise he dissembled and kept his secret,
adding, “O King of the time and Caliph of the tide, only toil
and moil have tinged my face yellow with bile and hath made my eyes
sink deep in my head.” Then the two entered the capital in
all honour; and the elder brother lodged the younger in a palace
overhanging the pleasure garden; and, after a time, seeing his
condition still unchanged, he attributed it to his separation from
his country and kingdom. So he let him wend his own ways and asked
no questions of him till one day when he again said, “O my
brother, I see thou art grown weaker of body and yellower of
colour.” “O my brother,” replied Shah Zaman
“I have an internal wound:”6 still he would not tell him what he had
witnessed in his wife. Thereupon Shahryar summoned doctors and
surgeons and bade them treat his brother according to the rules of
art, which they did for a whole month; but their sherbets and
potions naught availed, for he would dwell upon the deed of his
wife, and despondency, instead of diminishing, prevailed, and leach
craft treatment utterly failed. One day his elder brother said to
him, “I am going forth to hunt and course and to take my
pleasure and pastime; maybe this would lighten thy heart.”
Shah Zaman, however, refused, saying, “O my brother, my soul
yearneth for naught of this sort and I entreat thy favour to suffer
me tarry quietly in this place, being wholly taken up with my
malady.” So King Shah Zaman passed his night in the palace
and, next morning, when his brother had fared forth, he removed
from his room and sat him down at one of the lattice windows
overlooking the pleasure grounds; and there he abode thinking with
saddest thought over his wife’s betrayal and burning sighs
issued from his tortured breast. And as he continued in this case
lo! a pastern of the palace, which was carefully kept private,
swung open and out of it came twenty slave girls surrounding his
bother’s wife who was wondrous fair, a model of beauty and
comeliness and symmetry and perfect loveliness and who paced with
the grace of a gazelle which panteth for the cooling stream.
Thereupon Shah Zaman drew back from the window, but he kept the
bevy in sight espying them from a place whence he could not be
espied. They walked under the very lattice and advanced a little
way into the garden till they came to a jetting fountain
amiddlemost a great basin of water; then they stripped off their
clothes and behold, ten of them were women, concubines of the King,
and the other ten were white slaves. Then they all paired off, each
with each: but the Queen, who was left alone, presently cried out
in a loud voice, “Here to me, O my lord Saeed!” and
then sprang with a drop leap from one of the trees a big slobbering
blackamoor with rolling eyes which showed the whites, a truly
hideous sight.7
He walked boldly up to her and threw his arms round her neck while
she embraced him as warmly; then he bussed her and winding his legs
round hers, as a button loop clasps a button, he threw her and
enjoyed her. On like wise did the other slaves with the girls till
all had satisfied their passions, and they ceased not from kissing
and clipping, coupling and carousing till day began to wane; when
the Mamelukes rose from the damsels’ bosoms and the
blackamoor slave dismounted from the Queen’s breast; the men
resumed their disguises and all, except the negro who swarmed up
the tree, entered the palace and closed the postern door as before.
Now, when Shah Zaman saw this conduct of his sister in law he said
in himself, “By Allah, my calamity is lighter than this! My
brother is a greater King among the kings than I am, yet this
infamy goeth on in his very palace, and his wife is in love with
that filthiest of filthy slaves. But this only showeth that they
all do it8 and
that there is no woman but who cuckoldeth her husband, then the
curse of Allah upon one and all and upon the fools who lean against
them for support or who place the reins of conduct in their
hands.” So he put away his melancholy and despondency, regret
and repine, and allayed his sorrow by constantly repeating those
words, adding, “ ’Tis my conviction that no man in this
world is safe from their malice!” When supper time came they
brought him the trays and he ate with voracious appetite, for he
had long refrained from meat, feeling unable to touch any dish
however dainty. Then he returned grateful thanks to Almighty Allah,
praising Him and blessing Him, and he spent a most restful night,
it having been long since he had savoured the sweet food of sleep.
Next day he broke his fast heartily and began to recover health and
strength, and presently regained excellent condition. His brother
came back from the chase ten days after, when he rode out to meet
him and they saluted each other; and when King Shahryar looked at
King Shah Zaman he saw how the hue of health had returned to him,
how his face had waxed ruddy and how he ate with an appetite after
his late scanty diet. He wondered much and said, “O my
brother, I was so anxious that thou wouldst join me in hunting and
chasing, and wouldst take thy pleasure and pastime in my
dominion!” He thanked him and excused himself; then the two
took horse and rode into the city and, when they were seated at
their ease in the palace, the food trays were set before them and
they ate their sufficiency. After the meats were removed and they
had washed their hands, King Shahryar turned to his brother and
said, “My mind is overcome with wonderment at thy condition.
I was desirous to carry thee with me to the chase but I saw thee
changed in hue, pale and wan to view, and in sore trouble of mind
too. But now Alham-dolillah—glory be to God!—I see thy
natural colour hath returned to thy face and that thou art again in
the best of case. It was my belief that thy sickness came of
severance from thy family and friends, and absence from capital and
country, so I refrained from troubling thee with further questions.
But now I beseech thee to expound to me the cause of thy complaint
and thy change of colour, and to explain the reason of thy recovery
and the return to the ruddy hue of health which I am wont to view.
So speak out and hide naught!” When Shah Zaman heard this he
bowed groundwards awhile his head, then raised it and said,
“I will tell thee what caused my complaint and my loss of
colour; but excuse my acquainting thee with the cause of its return
to me and the reason of my complete recovery: indeed I pray thee
not to press me for a reply.” Said Shahryar, who was much
surprised by these words, “Let me hear first what produced
thy pallor and thy poor condition.” “Know, then, O my
brother,” rejoined Shah Zaman, “that when thou sentest
thy Wazir with the invitation to place myself between thy hands, I
made ready and marched out of my city; but presently I minded me
having left behind me in the palace a string of jewels intended as
a gift to thee. I returned for it alone and found my wife on my
carpet bed and in the arms of a hideous black cook. So I slew the
twain and came to thee, yet my thoughts brooded over this business
and I lost my bloom and became weak. But excuse me if I still
refuse to tell thee what was the reason of my complexion
returning.” Shahryar shook his head, marvelling with extreme
marvel, and with the fire of wrath flaming up from his heart, he
cried, “Indeed, the malice of woman is mighty!” Then he
took refuge from them with Allah and said, “In very sooth, O
my brother, thou hast escaped many an evil by putting thy wife to
death,9 and right
excusable were thy wrath and grief for such mishap which never yet
befel crowned King like thee. By Allah, had the case been mine, I
would not have been satisfied without slaying a thousand women and
that way madness lies! But now praise be to Allah who hath tempered
to thee thy tribulation, and needs must thou acquaint me with that
which so suddenly restored to thee complexion and health, and
explain to me what causeth this concealment.” “O King
of the Age, again I pray thee excuse my so doing!”
“Nay, but thou must.” “I fear, O my brother, lest
the recital cause thee more anger and sorrow than afflicted
me.” “That were but a better reason,” quoth
Shahryar, “for telling me the whole history, and I conjure
thee by Allah not to keep back aught from me.” Thereupon Shah
Zaman told him all he had seen, from commencement to con elusion,
ending with these words, “When I beheld thy calamity and the
treason of thy wife, O my brother, and I resected that thou art in
years my senior and in sovereignty my superior, mine own sorrow was
belittled by the comparison, and my mind recovered tone and temper:
so throwing off melancholy and despondency, I was able to eat and
drink and sleep, and thus I speedily regained health and strength.
Such is the truth and the whole truth.” When King Shahryar
heard this he waxed wroth with exceeding wrath, and rage was like
to strangle him; but presently he recovered himself and said,
“O my brother, I would not give thee the lie in this matter,
but I cannot credit it till I see it with mine own eyes.”
“An thou wouldst look upon thy calamity,” quoth Shah
Zaman, “rise at once and make ready again for hunting and
coursing.10
and then hide thyself with me, so shalt thou witness it and shine
eyes shall verify it.” “True,” quoth the King;
whereupon he let make proclamation of his in tent to travel, and
the troops and tents fared forth without the city, camping within
sight, and Shahryar sallied out with them and took seat amidmost
his host, bidding the slaves admit no man to him. When night came
on he summoned his Wazir and said to him, “Sit thou in my
stead and let none wot of my absence till the term of three
days.” Then the brothers disguised themselves and returned by
night with all secrecy to the palace, where they passed the dark
hours: and at dawn they seated themselves at the lattice
overlooking the pleasure grounds, when presently the Queen and her
handmaids came out as before, and passing under the windows made
for the fountain. Here they stripped, ten of them being men to ten
women, and the King’s wife cried out, “Where art thou,
O Saeed?” The hideous blackamoor dropped from the tree
straightway; and, rushing into her arms without stay or delay,
cried out, “I am Sa’ad al Din Saood!”11 The lady laughed
heartily, and all fell to satisfying their lusts, and remained so
occupied for a couple of hours, when the white slaves rose up from
the handmaidens’ breasts and the blackamoor dismounted from
the Queen’s bosom: then they went into the basin and, after
performing the Ghusl, or complete ablution, donned their dresses
and retired as they had done before. When King Shahryar saw this
infamy of his wife and concubines he became as one distraught and
he cried out, “Only in utter solitude can man be safe from
the doings of this vile world! By Allah, life is naught but one
great wrong.” Presently he added, “Do not thwart me, O
my brother, in what I propose;” and the other answered,
“I will not.” So he said, “Let us up as we are
and depart forthright hence, for we have no concern with Kingship,
and let us overwander Allah’s earth, worshipping the Almighty
till we find some one to whom the like calamity hath happened; and
if we find none then will death be more welcome to us than
life.” So the two brothers issued from a second private
postern of the palace; and they never stinted wayfaring by day and
by night, until they reached a tree a middle of a meadow hard by a
spring of sweet water on the shore of the salt sea. Both drank of
it and sat down to take their rest; and when an hour of the day had
gone by: lo! they heard a mighty roar and uproar in the middle of
the main as though the heavens were falling upon the earth; and the
sea brake with waves before them, and from it towered a black
pillar, which grew and grew till it rose skywards and began making
for that meadow. Seeing it, they waxed fearful exceedingly and
climbed to the top of the tree, which was a lofty; whence they
gazed to see what might be the matter. And behold, it was a
Jinni,12 huge
of height and burly of breast and bulk, broad of brow and black of
blee, bearing on his head a coffer of crystal. He strode to land,
wading through the deep, and coming to the tree whereupon were the
two Kings, seated himself beneath it. He then set down the coffer
on its bottom and out it drew a casket, with seven padlocks of
steel, which he unlocked with seven keys of steel he took from
beside his thigh, and out of it a young lady to come was seen,
white-skinned and of winsomest mien, of stature fine and thin, and
bright as though a moon of the fourteenth night she had been, or
the sun raining lively sheen. Even so the poet Utayyah hath
excellently said:—
She rose like the morn as she shone through the night
And she gilded the grove with her gracious sight:
From her radiance the sun taketh increase when
She unveileth and shameth the moonshine bright.
Bow down all beings between her hands
As she showeth charms with her veil undight.
And she floodeth cities13 with torrent tears
When she flasheth her look of levee light.
The Jinni seated her under the tree by his side and looking at
her said, “O choicest love of this heart of mine! O dame of
noblest line, whom I snatched away on thy bride night that none
might prevent me taking thy maidenhead or tumble thee before I did,
and whom none save myself hath loved or hath enjoyed: O my
sweetheart! I would fief sleep a little while.” He then laid
his head upon the lady’s thighs; and, stretching out his legs
which extended down to the sea, slept and snored and sparked like
the roll of thunder. Presently she raised her head towards the tree
top and saw the two Kings perched near the summit; then she softly
lifted off her lap the Jinni’s pate which she was tired of
supporting and placed it upon the ground; then standing upright
under the tree signed to the Kings, “Come ye down, ye two,
and fear naught from this Ifrit.”14 They were in a terrible fright when
they found that she had seen them and answered her in the same
manner, “Allah upon thee15 and by thy modesty, O lady, excuse us from
coming down!” But she rejoined by saying, “Allah upon
you both, that ye come down forthright, and if ye come not, I will
rouse upon you my husband, this Ifrit, and he shall do you to die
by the illest of deaths;” and she continued making signals to
them. So, being afraid, they came down to her and she rose be fore
them and said, “Stroke me a strong stroke, without stay or
delay, otherwise will I arouse and set upon you this Ifrit who
shall slay you straightway.” They said to her, “O our
lady, we conjure thee by Allah, let us off this work, for we are
fugitives from such and in extreme dread and terror of this thy
husband. How then can we do it in such a way as thou
desirest?” “Leave this talk: it needs must be
so;” quoth she, and she swore them by Him16 who raised the skies on high,
without prop or pillar, that, if they worked not her will, she
would cause them to be slain and cast into the sea. Whereupon out
of fear King Shahryar said to King Shah Zaman, “O my brother,
do thou what she biddeth thee do;” but he replied, “I
will not do it till thou do it before I do.” And they began
disputing about futtering her. Then quoth she to the twain,
“How is it I see you disputing and demurring; if ye do not
come forward like men and do the deed of kind ye two, I will arouse
upon you the If rit.” At this, by reason of their sore dread
of the Jinni, both did by her what she bade them do; and, when they
had dismounted from her, she said, “Well done!” She
then took from her pocket a purse and drew out a knotted string,
whereon were strung five hundred and seventy17 seal rings, and asked,
“Know ye what be these?” They answered her saying,
“We know not!” Then quoth she; “These be the
signets of five hundred and seventy men who have all futtered me
upon the horns of this foul, this foolish, this filthy Ifrit; so
give me also your two seal rings, ye pair of brothers.” When
they had drawn their two rings from their hands and given them to
her, she said to them, “Of a truth this If rit bore me off on
my bride night, and put me into a casket and set the casket in a
coffer and to the coffer he affixed seven strong padlocks of steel
and deposited me on the deep bottom of the sea that raves, dashing
and clashing with waves; and guarded me so that I might remain
chaste and honest, quotha! none save himself might have connexion
with me. But I have lain under as many of my kind as I please, and
this wretched Jinni wotteth not that Des tiny may not be averted
nor hindered by aught, and that whatso woman willeth the same she
fulfilleth however man nilleth. Even so saith one of
them.—
Rely not on women;
Trust not to their hearts, Whose joys and whose sorrows
Are hung to their parts! Lying love they will swear thee
Whence guile ne’er departs:
Take Yusuf18
for sample
‘Ware sleights and ‘ware smarts!
Iblis19 ousted
Adam
(See ye not?) thro’ their arts.
And another saith:—
Stint thy blame, man! ’Twill drive to a passion without
bound;
My fault is not so heavy as fault in it hast found.
If true lover I become, then to me there cometh not
Save what happened unto many in the bygone stound.
For wonderful is he and right worthy of our praise
Who from wiles of female wits kept him safe and kept him
sound.”
Hearing these words they marvelled with exceeding marvel, and
she went from them to the Ifrit and, taking up his head on her
thigh as before, said to them softly, “Now wend your ways and
bear yourselves beyond the bounds of his malice.” So they
fared forth saying either to other, “Allah! Allah!”
and, “There be no Majesty and there be no Might save in
Allah, the Glorious, the Great; and with Him we seek refuge from
women’s malice and sleight, for of a truth it hath no mate in
might. Consider, O my brother, the ways of this marvellous lady
with an Ifrit who is so much more powerful than we are. Now since
there hath hap pened to him a greater mishap than that which befel
us and which should bear us abundant consolation, so return we to
our countries and capitals, and let us decide never to intermarry
with womankind and presently we will show them what will be our
action.” Thereupon they rode back to the tents of King
Shahryar, which they reached on the morning of the third day; and,
having mustered the Wazirs and Emirs, the Chamberlains and high
officials, he gave a robe of honour to his Viceroy and issued
orders for an immediate return to the city. There he sat him upon
his throne and sending for the Chief Minister, the father of the
two damsels who (Inshallah!) will presently be mentioned, he said,
“I command thee to take my wife and smite her to death; for
she hath broken her plight and her faith.” So he carried her
to the place of execution and did her die. Then King Shahryar took
brand in hand and repairing to the Serraglio slew all the
concubines and their Mamelukes.20 He also sware himself by a binding oath
that whatever wife he married he would abate her maidenhead at
night and slay her next morning to make sure of his honour;
“For,” said he, “there never was nor is there one
chaste woman upon face of earth.” Then Shah Zaman prayed for
permission to fare homewards; and he went forth equipped and
escorted and travelled till he reached his own country. Mean while
Shahryar commanded his Wazir to bring him the bride of the night
that he might go in to her; so he produced a most beautiful girl,
the daughter of one of the Emirs and the King went in unto her at
eventide and when morning dawned he bade his Minister strike off
her head; and the Wazir did accordingly for fear of the Sultan. On
this wise he continued for the space of three years; marrying a
maiden every night and killing her the next morning, till folk
raised an outcry against him and cursed him, praying Allah utterly
to destroy him and his rule; and women made an uproar and mothers
wept and parents fled with their daughters till there remained not
in the city a young person fit for carnal copulation. Presently the
King ordered his Chief Wazir, the same who was charged with the
executions, to bring him a virgin as was his wont; and the Minister
went forth and searched and found none; so he returned home in
sorrow and anxiety fearing for his life from the King. Now he had
two daughters, Shahrazad and Dunyazad hight,21 of whom the elder had perused
the books, annals and legends of preceding Kings, and the stories,
examples and instances of by gone men and things; indeed it was
said that she had collected a thousand books of histories relating
to antique races and departed rulers. She had perused the works of
the poets and knew them by heart; she had studied philosophy and
the sciences, arts and accomplish meets; and she was pleasant and
polite, wise and witty, well read and well bred. Now on that day
she said to her father, “Why do I see thee thus changed and
laden with cark and care? Concerning this matter quoth one of the
poets.—
Tell whoso hath sorrow
Grief never shall last: E’en as joy hath no morrow
So woe shall go past.”
When the Wazir heard from his daughter these words he related to
her, from first to last, all that had happened between him and the
King. Thereupon said she, “By Allah, O my father, how long
shall this slaughter of women endure? Shall I tell thee what is in
my mind in order to save both sides from destruction?”
“Say on, O my daughter,” quoth he, and quoth she,
“I wish thou wouldst give me in marriage to this King
Shahryar; either I shall live or I shall be a ransom for the virgin
daughters of Moslems and the cause of their deliverance from his
hands and thine.”22 “Allah upon thee!” cried he in
wrath exceeding that lacked no feeding, “O scanty of wit,
expose not thy life to such peril! How durst thou address me in
words so wide from wisdom and un far from foolishness? Know that
one who lacketh experience in worldly matters readily falleth into
misfortune; and whoso considereth not the end keepeth not the world
to friend, and the vulgar say:— I was lying at mine ease:
nought but my officiousness brought me unease.” “Needs
must thou,” she broke in, “make me a doer of this good
deed, and let him kill me an he will: I shall only die a ransom for
others.” “O my daughter,” asked he. “and
how shall that profit thee when thou shalt have thrown away thy
life?” and she answered, “O my father it must be, come
of it what will!” The Wazir was again moved to fury and
blamed and reproached her, ending with, “In very deed—I
fear lest the same befal thee which befel the Bull and the Ass with
the Husband man.” “And what,” asked she,
“betel them, O my father?” Whereupon the Wazir began
the
Tale of the Bull23 and the Ass.
Know, O my daughter, that there was once a merchant who owned
much money and many men, and who was rich in cattle and camels; he
had also a wife and family and he dwelt in the country, being
experienced in husbandry and devoted to agriculture. Now Allah Most
High had endowed him with under standing the tongues of beasts and
birds of every kind, but under pain of death if he divulged the
gift to any. So he kept it secret for very fear. He had in his cow
house a Bull and an Ass each tethered in his own stall one hard by
the other. As the merchant was sitting near hand one day with his
servants and his children were playing about him, he heard the Bull
say to the Ass, “Hail and health to thee O Father of
Waking!24 for
that thou enjoyest rest and good ministering; all under thee is
clean swept and fresh sprinkled; men wait upon thee and feed thee,
and thy provaunt is sifted barley and thy drink pure spring water,
while I (unhappy creature!) am led forth in the middle of the
night, when they set on my neck the plough and a something called
Yoke; and I tire at cleaving the earth from dawn of day till set of
sun. I am forced to do more than I can and to bear all manner of
ill treatment from night to night; after which they take me back
with my sides torn, my neck flayed, my legs aching and mine eyelids
sored with tears. Then they shut me up in the byre and throw me
beans and crushed straw,25 mixed with dirt and chaff; and I lie in
dung and filth and foul stinks through the livelong night. But thou
art ever in a place swept and sprinkled and cleansed, and thou art
always lying at ease, save when it happens (and seldom enough!)
that the master hath some business, when he mounts thee and rides
thee to town and returns with thee forthright. So it happens that I
am toiling and distress while thou takest shine ease and thy rest;
thou sleepest while I am sleepless; I hunger still while thou
eatest thy fill, and I win contempt while thou winnest good
will.” When the Bull ceased speaking, the Ass turned to wards
him and said, “O Broad o’ Brow,26 0 thou lost one! he lied not
who dubbed thee Bull head, for thou, O father of a Bull, hast
neither forethought nor contrivance; thou art the simplest of
simpletons,27
and thou knowest naught of good advisers. Hast thou not heard the
saying of the wise:—
For others these hardships and labours I bear
And theirs is the pleasure and mine is the care;
As the bleacher who blacketh his brow in the sun
To whiten the raiment which other men wear.28
But thou, O fool, art full of zeal and thou toilest and moilest
before the master; and thou tearest and wearest and slayest thy
self for the comfort of another. Hast thou never heard the saw that
saith, None to guide and from the way go wide? Thou wendest forth
at the call to dawn prayer and thou returnest not till sundown; and
through the livelong day thou endurest all manner hardships; to
wit, beating and belabouring and bad language. Now hearken to me,
Sir Bull! when they tie thee to thy stinking manger, thou pawest
the ground with thy forehand and rashest out with thy hind hoofs
and pushest with thy horns and bellowest aloud, so they deem thee
contented. And when they throw thee thy fodder thou fallest on it
with greed and hastenest to line thy fair fat paunch. But if thou
accept my advice it will be better for thee and thou wilt lead an
easier life even than mine. When thou goest a field and they lay
the thing called Yoke on thy neck, lie down and rise not again
though haply they swinge thee; and, if thou rise, lie down a second
time; and when they bring thee home and offer thee thy beans, fall
backwards and only sniff at thy meat and withdraw thee and taste it
not, and be satis fied with thy crushed straw and chaff; and on
this wise feign thou art sick, and cease not doing thus for a day
or two days or even three days, so shalt thou have rest from toil
and moil.” When the Bull heard these words he knew the Ass to
be his friend and thanked him, saying, “Right is thy
rede;” and prayed that all blessings might requite him, and
cried, “O Father Wakener!29 thou hast made up for my failings.”
(Now30 the
merchant, O my daughter, understood all that passed between them.)
Next day the driver took the Bull, and settling the plough on his
neck,31 made
him work as wont; but the Bull began to shirk his ploughing,
according to the advice of the Ass, and the ploughman drubbed him
till he broke the yoke and made off; but the man caught him up and
leathered him till he despaired of his life. Not the less, however,
would he do nothing but stand still and drop down till the evening.
Then the herd led him home and stabled him in his stall: but he
drew back from his manger and neither stamped nor ramped nor butted
nor bellowed as he was wont to do; whereat the man wondered. He
brought him the beans and husks, but he sniffed at them and left
them and lay down as far from them as he could and passed the whole
night fasting. The peasant came next morning; and, seeing the
manger full of beans, the crushed straw untasted and the ox lying
on his back in sorriest plight, with legs outstretched and swollen
belly, he was concerned for him, and said to himself, “By
Allah, he hath assuredly sickened and this is the cause why he
would not plough yesterday.” Then he went to the merchant and
reported, “O my master, the Bull is ailing; he refused his
fodder last night; nay more, he hath not tasted a scrap of it this
morning.” Now the merchant farmer understood what all this
meant, because he had overheard the talk between the Bull and the
Ass, so quoth he, “Take that rascal donkey, and set the yoke
on his neck, and bind him to the plough and make him do
Bull’s work.” Thereupon the ploughman took the Ass, and
worked him through the live long day at the Bull’s task; and,
when he failed for weakness, he made him eat stick till his ribs
were sore and his sides were sunken and his neck was hayed by the
yoke; and when he came home in the evening he could hardly drag his
limbs along, either fore hand or hind legs. But as for the Bull, he
had passed the day lying at full length and had eaten his fodder
with an excellent appetite, and he ceased not calling down
blessings on the Ass for his good advice, unknowing what had come
to him on his ac count. So when night set in and the Ass returned
to the byte the Bull rose up before him in honour, and said,
“May good tidings gladden thy heart, O Father Wakener!
through thee I have rested all this day and I have eaten my meat in
peace and quiet.” But the Ass returned no reply, for wrath
and heart burning and fatigue and the beating he had gotten; and he
repented with the most grievous of repentance; and quoth he to
himself: “This cometh of my folly in giving good counsel; as
the saw saith, I was in joy and gladness, nought save my
officiousness brought me this sadness. But I will bear in mind my
innate worth and the nobility of my nature; for what saith the
poet?
Shall the beautiful hue of the Basil32 fail
Tho’ the beetle’s foot o’er the Basil crawl?
And though spider and fly be its denizens
Shall disgrace attach to the royal hall?
The cowrie,33
I ken, shall have currency
But the pearl’s clear drop, shall its value fall?
And now I must take thought and put a trick upon him and return
him to his place, else I die.” Then he went aweary to his
manger, while the Bull thanked him and blessed him. And even so, O
my daughter, said the Wazir, thou wilt die for lack of wits;
therefore sit thee still and say naught and expose not thy life to
such stress; for, by Allah, I offer thee the best advice, which
cometh of my affection and kindly solicitude for thee.”
“O my father,” she answered, “needs must I go up
to this King and be married to him.” Quoth he, “Do not
this deed;” and quoth she, “Of a truth I will:”
whereat he rejoined, “If thou be not silent and bide still, I
will do with thee even what the merchant did with his wife.”
“And what did he?” asked she. “Know then,
answered the Wazir, that after the return of the Ass the merchant
came out on the terrace roof with his wife and family, for it was a
moonlit night and the moon at its full. Now the ter race overlooked
the cowhouse and presently, as he sat there with his children
playing about him, the trader heard the Ass say to the Bull,
“Tell me, O Father Broad o’ Brow, what thou purposest
to do to morrow?” The Bull answered, “What but continue
to follow thy counsel, O Aliboron? Indeed it was as good as good
could be
