In the mean time, Mesrour reached Zobeide’s apartment, and going into her closet laughing, clapped his hands like one who had something very agreeable to tell.
The caliph, naturally impatient, and piqued a little at the princess’s contradiction, as soon as he saw Mesrour, “Vile slave,” said he, “is this a time to laugh? Why do not you tell me which is dead, the husband or the wife?”
“Commander of the faithful,” answered Mesrour, putting on a serious countenance, “it is Nouzhatoul-aouadat who is dead, for the loss of whom About Hassan is as much afflicted as when he appeared before your majesty.” The caliph not giving him time to pursue his story, interrupted him, and cried out, laughing heartily, “Good news! Zobeide, your mistress, was a moment ago possessed of the palace of paintings, and now it is mine. She staked it against my garden of pleasures, since you went; therefore you could not have done me greater pleasure. I will take care to reward you: but give me a true account of what you saw.”
“Commander of the faithful,” said Mesrour, “when I came to Abou Hassan’s apartment, I found the door open, and he was bewailing the death of his wife. He sat at the head of the deceased, who was laid out in the middle of the room, with her feet towards Mecca, and was covered with the piece of brocade which your majesty presented to Abou Hassan. After I had expressed the share I took in his grief, I went and lifted up the pall at the head, and knew Nouzhatoul-aouadat, though her face was much swelled and changed. I exhorted Abou Hassan in the best manner I could to be comforted; and when I came away, told him I would attend at his wife’s funeral, and desired him not to remove the corpse till I came. This is all I can tell your majesty.” “I ask no more,” said the caliph, laughing heartily, “and I am well satisfied with your exactness.” Then addressing himself to Zobeide, “Well, madam,” said he, “have you yet any thing to say against so certain a truth? Will you still believe that Nouzhatoul-aouadat is alive, and that Abou Hassan is dead? And will you not own that you have lost your wager?”
“How, sir,” replied Zobeide, who would not believe one word Mesrour said, “do you think that I regard that impertinent fellow of a slave, who knows not what he says? I am not blind or mad. With these eyes I saw Nouzhatoul-aouadat in the greatest affliction; I spoke to her myself, and she told me that her husband was dead.” “Madam,” replied Mesrour, “I swear to you by your own life, and that of the commander of the faithful, which are both dear to me, that Nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and Abou Hassan is living.”
“Thou liest, base despicable slave,” said Zobeide in a rage, “and I will confound thee immediately.” Clapping her hands together, she called her women, who all approached. “Come hither,” said the princess to them, “and speak the truth. Who was that who came and spoke with me a little before the caliph entered?” The women all answered that it was poor afflicted Nouzhatoul-aouadat. “And what,” added she, addressing herself to her treasurer, “did I order you to give her?” “Madam,” answered the treasurer, “I gave Nouzhatoul-aouadat, by your orders, a purse of a hundred pieces of gold and a piece of brocade, which she carried away with her.” “Well, then, sorry slave,” said Zobeide to Mesrour, in passion, “what have you to say to all this? Whom do you think now I ought to believe, you or my treasurer, my women, and myself?”
Mesrour did not want for arguments to contradict the princess; but, as he was afraid of provoking her too much, chose rather to be silent, though he was satisfied that the wife was dead, and not the husband.
During the whole of this dispute between Zobeide and Mesrour, the caliph, who heard the evidence on both sides, and was persuaded of the contrary of what the princess asserted, because he had himself seen and spoken to Abou Hassan, and from what Mesrour had told him, laughed heartily to see Zobeide so exasperated. “Madam,” said he to her, “once more I repeat that I know not who was the author of that saying, that ‘Women sometimes lose their wits,’ but I am sure you make it good. Mesrour has just come from Abou Hassan’s, and tells you that he saw Nouzhatoul-aouadat lying dead in the middle of the room, Abou Hassan alive, and sitting by her; and yet you will not believe this evidence, which nobody can reasonably refuse; I cannot comprehend this conduit.”
Zobeide would not hear the caliph. “Pardon me, commander of the faithful,” replied she, “if I suspect you: I see that you have contrived with Mesrour to vex me, and to try my patience. And as I perceive that this report was concerted between you, I beg leave to send a person to Abou Hassan’s, to know whether or not I am in the wrong.”
The caliph consented, and the princess charged with this important commission an old nurse, who had lived with her from her infancy. “Hark you nurse,” said she, “you see my dispute with the commander of the faithful, and Mesrour; I need tell you no more. Go to Abou Hassan’s or rather to Nouzhatoul-aouadat’s, for Abou Hassan is dead, and clear up this matter for me. If you bring me good news, a handsome present is your reward: make haste, and return immediately.”
The nurse set out, to the great joy of the caliph, who was delighted to see Zobeide in this embarrassment; but Mesrour, extremely mortified to find the princess so angry with him, did all he could to appease her, and to make her and the caliph both satisfied with him. He was overjoyed when Zobeide sent the nurse; because he was persuaded that the report she must make would agree with his, justify him, and restore him to her favour.
In the mean time Abou Hassan, who watched at the window, perceived the nurse at a distance, and guessing that she was sent by Zobeide, called his wife, and told her that the princess’s nurse was coming to know the truth. “Therefore,” said he, “make haste and lay me out.” Accordingly Nouzhatoul-aouadat covered him with the brocade Zobeide had given her, and put his turban upon his face. The nurse, eager to acquit herself of her commission, hobbled as fast as age would allow her, and entering the room, perceived Nouzhatoul-aouadat in tears, her hair dishevelled, and seated at the head of her husband, beating her breast, with all the expressions of violent grief.
The good old nurse went directly to the false widow. “My dear Nouzhatoul-aouadat,” said she, with a sorrowful countenance, “I come not to interrupt your grief and tears for a husband whom you loved so tenderly.” “Ah! good mother,” replied the counterfeit widow, “you see my misfortune, and how unhappy I am from the loss of my beloved Abou Hassan. Abou Hassan, my dear husband!” cried she, “what have I done that you should leave me so soon? Have I not always preferred your will to my own? Alas! what will become of poor Nouzhatoul-aouadat?”
“This black-faced Mesrour,” cried the nurse, lifting up her hands, “deserves to be punished for having caused so great a difference between my good mistress and the commander of the faithful, by the falsehood he has told them. Daughter,” continued she, “that villain Mesrour has asserted, with inconceivable impudence, before our good mistress, that you were dead, and Abou Hassan was alive.”
“Alas! my good mother,” cried Nouzhatoul-aouadat, “I wish to Heaven that it was true! I should not be in this sorrowful state, nor bewail a husband so dear to me!” At these words she wept afresh, and with redoubled tears and cries feigned the deepest sorrow.
The nurse was so much moved by her tears, that she sat down by her, and cried too. Then gently lifting up the turban and cloth, looked at the face of the corpse. “Ah! poor Abou Hassan,” she cried, covering his face again, “God have mercy upon thee. Adieu, child,” said she to Nouzhatoul-aouadat: “if I could stay longer with you, I would with all my heart; but I am obliged to return immediately, to deliver my mistress from the uneasiness that black villain has occasioned her, by his impudent lie, assuring her with an oath that you were dead.”
As soon as the nurse was gone, Nouzhatoul-aouadat wiped her eyes and released Abou Hassan; they both went and sat down on a sofa against the window, expecting what would be the end of this stratagem, and to be ready to act according as circumstances might require.
The nurse, in the mean time, made all the haste she could to Zobeide. The pleasure of carrying the pri
ncess news favourable to her wager, but still more the hopes of a good reward, added wings to her feet, and running into the princess’s closet quite out of breath, she gave her a true account of all she had seen. Zobeide hearkened to the old woman’s relation with a most sensible pleasure; and when she had done, said, with a tone which shewed triumph at having, as she supposed, won her wager: “Repeat it once more before the caliph, who looks upon us all to be fools, would make us believe we have no sense of religion, nor fear of God; and tell your story to that wicked black slave, who had the insolence to assert a wilful falsehood.”
Mesrour, who expected the nurse’s report would prove favourable on his side, was much mortified to find it so much the contrary, and so vexed at the anger Zobeide expressed against him, for a thing which he thought himself surer of than any body, that he was glad of an opportunity of speaking his mind freely to the old women, which he durst not do to the princess. “Old toothless,” said he to the nurse, “you are a liar, and there is no truth in what you say; for I saw with my own eyes Nouzhatoul-aouadat laid out in the middle of the room.”
“You are a notorious liar yourself,” replied the nurse, with an insulting air, “to dare maintain so great a falsity before my face, who am just come from seeing Abou Hassan dead, laid out, and have left his wife alive.” “I am not an impostor,” replied Mesrour; “it is you who endeavour to lead us all into error.”
“What impudence,” said the nurse, “to dare tell me I lie in the presence of their majesties, when I saw just now with my own eyes what I have had the honour to tell them.” “Indeed, nurse,” answered Mesrour again, “you had better hold your tongue, for you certainly doat.”
Zobeide, who could no longer endure this want of respect in Mesrour, who, without any regard to her, treated her nurse so injuriously in her presence, without giving the old lady time to reply to so gross an affront, said to the caliph, “Commander of the faithful, I demand justice for this insolence to us both.” She was so enraged she could say no more, but burst into tears.
The caliph, who had heard all the dispute, thought it very intricate. He mused some time, and could not tell what to think of so many contradictions. The princess on her part, as well as Mesrour, the nurse, and all the women slaves, who were present, were as much puzzled, and remained silent. At last the caliph, addressing himself to Zobeide, said, “I see we are all liars; myself first, then you, Mesrour, and you, nurse; or at least it seems not one can be believed more than the other; therefore let us go ourselves to examine the truth, for I can see no other way to clear up these doubts.”
So saying, the caliph arose, the princess followed him, and Mesrour went before to open the doors. “Commander of the faithful,” said he, “I am overjoyed that your majesty has taken this course; and shall be much more, when I shall make it plainly appear to the nurse, not that she doats, since the expression is unfortunately displeasing to my good mistress, but that her report is not true.”
The nurse wanted not a reply; “Hold your tongue, black face,” said she; “you doat yourself.”
Zobeide, who was much provoked at Mesrour, could not bear to hear him attack her nurse again without taking her part: “Vile slave,” said she, “say what you will, I maintain my nurse speaks the truth, and look upon you as a mere liar.” “Madam,” replied Mesrour, “if nurse is so very certain that Nouzhatoul-aouadat is alive, and Abou Hassan dead, I will lay her what she dares of it.” The nurse was as ready as he; “I dare,” said she, “take you at your word: let us see if you dare unsay it.” Mesrour stood to his word; and they laid a piece of gold brocade with silver flowers before the caliph and the princess.
The apartment from which the caliph and Zobeide set out, though distant from Abou Hassan’s, was nevertheless just opposite, so that he perceived them coming, and told his wife that he was much mistaken if the caliph and Zobeide, preceded by Mesrour, and followed by a great number of women, were not about to do them the honour of a visit. She looked through a lattice and saw them, seemed frightened, and cried out, “What shall we do? we are ruined.” “Fear nothing,” replied Abou Hassan. “Have you forgotten already what we agreed on? We will both feign ourselves dead, and you shall see all will go well. At the slow rate they are coming, we shall be ready before they reach the door.” Accordingly, Abou Hassan and his wife wrapped up and covered themselves with the pieces of brocade, and waited patiently for their visitors.
Mesrour, who came first, opened the door, and the caliph and Zobeide, followed by their attendants, entered the room; but were struck with horror, and stood motionless, at the spectacle which presented itself to their view, not knowing what to think. At length Zobeide breaking silence, said to the caliph, “Alas! they are both dead! You have done much,” continued she, looking at the caliph and Mesrour, “to endeavour to make me believe that my dear slave was dead, and I find it is true: grief at the loss of her husband has certainly killed her.” “Say rather, madam,” answered the caliph, prepossessed to the contrary, that Nouzhatoul-aouadat died first, “the afflicted Abou Hassan sunk under his grief, and could not survive his dear wife; you ought, therefore, to confess that you have lost your wager, and that your palace of paintings is mine.”
“Hold there,” answered Zobeide, warmed at being contradicted by the caliph; “I will maintain you have lost your garden of pleasures. Abou Hassan died first; since my nurse told you, as well as me, that she saw her alive, and weeping for the death of her husband.”
The dispute of the caliph and Zobeide brought on another between Mesrour and the nurse, who had wagered as well as they; each affirmed to have won, and at length they proceeded to abuse each other very grossly.
At last the caliph, reflecting on what had passed, began to think that Zobeide had as much reason as himself to maintain that she had won. In this embarrassment of not being able to find out the truth, he advanced towards the corpses, and sat down at the head, searching for some expedient that might gain him the victory over Zobeide. “I swear,” cried he presently after, “by the holy name of God, that I will give a thousand pieces of gold to him who can tell me which of these two died first.”
No sooner were these words out of the caliph’s mouth, than he heard a voice under Abou Hassan’s piece of brocade say, “Commander of the faithful, I died first, give me the thousand pieces of gold.” At the same instant Abou Hassan threw off the piece of brocade, and springing up, prostrated himself at his feet, while his wife did the same to Zobeide, keeping on her piece of brocade out of decency. The princess at first shrieked out, but recovering herself, expressed great joy to see her dear slave rise again, just when she was almost inconsolable at having seen her dead. “Ah! wicked Nouzhatoul-aouadat,” cried she, “what have I suffered for your sake? However, I forgive you from my heart, since you are not dead.”
The caliph was not so much surprised, when he heard Abou Hassan’s voice: but thought he should have died with laughing at this unravelling of the mystery, and to hear Abou Hassan ask so seriously for the thousand pieces of gold. “What, Abou Hassan,” said he, continuing to laugh aloud, “hast thou conspired against my life, to kill me a second time with laughing? How came this thought into your head, to surprise Zobeide and me thus, when we least thought of such a trick?”
“Commander of the faithful,” replied Abou Hassan, “I will declare to your majesty the whole truth, without the least reserve. Your majesty knows that I always loved to eat and drink well’ and the wife you gave me rather increased than restrained this propensity. With these dispositions your majesty may easily suppose we might spend a good estate; and to make short of my story, we were not sparing of what your majesty so generously gave us. This morning, accounting with our caterer, who took care to provide every thing for us, and paying what we owed him, we found we had nothing left. Then, reflections on what was past, and resolutions to manage better for the future, crowded into our thoughts; we formed a thousand projects, all of which we rejected. At last, the shame of seeing ourselves reduced to so low a condi
tion, and not daring to tell your majesty, made us contrive this stratagem to relieve our necessities, and to divert you, which we hope your majesty will be pleased to pardon.”
The caliph was satisfied with Abou Hassan’s sincerity, and Zobeide, who had till now been very serious, began to laugh at the thought of Abou Hassan’s scheme. The caliph, who had not ceased laughing at the singularity of the adventure, rising, said to Abou Hassan and his wife, “Follow me; I will give you the thousand pieces of gold I promised, for joy to find you are not dead.” Zobeide desired him to let her make her slave a present of the same sum, for the same reason. By this means Abou Hassan and his wife Nouzhatoul-aouadat preserved the favour of the caliph Haroon al Rusheed and the princess Zobeide, and by their liberalities were enabled to pursue their pleasures.
THE STORY OF ALLA AD DEEN; OR, THE WONDERFUL LAMP.
In the capital of one of the large and rich provinces of the kingdom of China, the name of which I do not recollect, there lived a tailor, named Mustapha, who was so poor, that he could hardly, by his daily labour, maintain himself and his family, which consisted of a wife and son.
His son, who was called Alla ad Deen, had been brought up in a very careless and idle manner, and by that means had contracted many vicious habits. He was wicked, obstinate, and disobedient to his father and mother, who, when he grew up, could not keep him within doors. He was in the habit of going out early in the morning, and would stay out all day, playing in the streets and public places with idle children of his own age.
When he was old enough to learn a trade, his father not being able to put him out to any other, took him into his own shop, and taught him how to use his needle: but neither fair words nor the fear of chastisement were capable of fixing his lively genius. All his father’s endeavours to keep him to his work were in vain; for no sooner was his back turned, than he was gone for that day. Mustapha chastised him, but Alla ad Deen was incorrigible, and his father, to his great grief, was forced to abandon him to his idleness: and was so much troubled at not being able to reclaim him, that it threw him into a fit of sickness, of which he died in a few months.
One Thousand and One Nights Page 93