Nights 21 to 40
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the twenty-first night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O auspicious king, that the vizier got up to greet him, saying: ‘Go in to your wife tonight and tomorrow I will take you to the sultan. I hope that God will grant you every blessing.’ Nur al-Din then did as the vizier had said.
So much for him, but as for Shams al-Din, his brother, when he came back from his journey with the sultan of Cairo and failed to find Nur al-Din, he asked the servants about him. They replied: ‘The day that you left with the sultan, he mounted his mule with its ceremonial trappings and told us that he was going in the direction of Qalyub and would be away for a day or two. No one was to follow him for he was depressed, and from that day to this we have heard no news of him.’ Shams al-Din was disturbed by the departure of his brother and bitterly sorry to have lost him. ‘This is because of my angry words to him that night,’ he said to himself. ‘He must have taken them to heart and gone off on his travels. I must send after him.’ He went to the sultan and told him what had happened, and he then wrote notes and posted instructions to his agents throughout the lands. As it happened, however, in the twenty days that Shams al-Din had been away with the sultan, Nur al-Din had travelled to distant regions, and although Shams al-Din’s agents searched, they had to come back with no news of him. Shams al-Din then despaired of his brother and said: ‘I went too far in what I said to him about our children’s marriage. I wish that I hadn’t done this; it was due to my stupidity and mismanagement.’
Shortly after this, he proposed to the daughter of a Cairene merchant and after the contract had been drawn up, the marriage was consummated. As it happened, this coincided with the wedding of Nur al-Din to the daughter of the vizier of Basra, as God Almighty had willed it, in order that what He had decreed might be fulfilled among His creatures. What the brothers had said in their conversation came about, in that both their wives became pregnant. The wife of Shams al-Din, the Egyptian vizier, gave birth to the most beautiful girl who had ever been seen in Cairo, while the wife of Nur al-Din gave birth to a son as handsome as any of the people of his age. He was as the poet described:
A slender youth whose hair and whose forehead
Leave mankind to enjoy both dark and light.
Find no fault with the mole upon his cheek;
Every corn-poppy has its own black spot.
Another poet has produced these lines:
If beauty comes to be measured against him,
It must hang down its head in shame.
Asked: ‘Have you ever seen a sight like this?’
It answers: ‘No, I never have.’
Nur al-Din named his son Badr al-Din Hasan and his grandfather was overjoyed at his birth and gave banquets and feasts worthy of the sons of kings. He then took Nur al-Din and brought him to the sultan. When he appeared before the sultan, Nur al-Din kissed the ground and, being as eloquent as he was courageous, handsome and generous, he recited:
My lord, may your prosperity endure,
And may you live while dark and dawn remain.
When men talk of your high-mindedness,
Time itself dances as it claps its hands.
The sultan rose to greet his two visitors, thanked Nur al-Din for what he had said and asked the vizier who he was. The vizier told him Nur al-Din’s story from beginning to end, adding that he was his own nephew. ‘How can he be your brother’s son,’ asked the sultan, ‘when we have never heard of him?’ ‘My lord, the sultan,’ replied the vizier, ‘I had a brother who was vizier of Egypt. On his death, he left two sons, the elder of whom has taken his father’s place as vizier, while this, the younger son, has come to me. I swore that I would marry my daughter to no one else, and when he arrived, this is what I did. He is young and I am very old. I am hard of hearing and my control of affairs is weak, and so I would ask my master to appoint him in my place. He is my nephew, the husband of my daughter, someone well fitted to be vizier, as he is a man of judgement and a good manager.’
The sultan found what he saw of Nur al-Din to be to his taste and so he granted the vizier’s request and promoted Nur al-Din to the vizierate. On his orders, the new vizier was given a robe of honour and one of the special mules, as well as pay and allowances. He kissed the sultan’s hand and he and his father-in-law went back joyfully to their house, saying: ‘This is due to the good luck brought by baby Hasan.’ The next day, Nur al-Din went to the sultan, kissed the ground and recited:
Happiness is renewed on every day
Together with good fortune, confounding envious schemes.
May the whiteness of your days not cease,
While the days of your enemies are black.
The sultan ordered him to take the vizier’s seat, which he did, and he then took in hand the duties of his office, investigating the affairs of the people and their lawsuits, as is the habit of viziers. Watching him, the sultan was astonished at what he was doing, his intelligence and powers of administration, all of which won him the sultan’s affection and his intimate regard. When the court was dismissed, Nur al-Din went home and delighted his father-in-law by telling him what had happened. The young man continued to act as vizier until, both by night and by day, he became inseparable from the sultan. His pay and allowances were increased and he became rich; he owned shops that traded on his account, slaves, mamluks, and many flourishing estates with water wheels and gardens.
When Hasan was four years old, the old vizier, Nur al-Din’s father-in-law, died and Nur al-Din gave him the most lavish of funerals. He then concerned himself with the upbringing of his son, and when the boy grew strong and had reached the age of seven, his father brought in a tutor to teach him at home, telling the man to give him the best instruction. The tutor taught Hasan to read and made him commit to heart many useful branches of learning, as well as getting him to memorize the Quran, over a period of years.
Hasan became ever more beautiful and well formed, as the poet puts it:
A moon reaches its full in the heavens of his beauty,
While the sun shines from his blooming cheeks.
All beauty is his and it is as though
All that is fair in men derives from him.
He was brought up in his father’s palace, which throughout his early years he never left, until one day his father took him, clothed him in one of his most splendid robes, mounted him up on one of the best of his mules and brought him to the sultan. The sultan looked at the boy with admiration and felt affection for him. As for the townspeople, when he passed for the first time on his way to the sultan with his father, they were astonished at his beauty and they sat in the street waiting for him to come back so that they could have the pleasure of looking at his comely and well-shaped form. This was as the poet puts it:
One night as the astronomer watched, he saw
The form of a graceful youth wandering in his twin robes.
He observed how Gemini had spread for him
The graceful beauty that his flanks displayed.
Saturn had granted him black hair,
Colouring his temples with the shade of musk.
From Mars derived the redness of his cheeks,
While Sagittarius shot arrows from his eyelids.
Mercury supplied keenness of mind,
And the Bear forbade slanderers to look at him.
The astronomer was bewildered at what he saw
And then ran forward to kiss the earth before him.*
When the sultan saw Hasan, he conferred his favour and affection on him and told his father that he must always, and without fail, bring the boy with him to court. ‘To hear is to obey,’ replied Nur al-Din, after which he took him back home. Every day from then on he went with him to the sultan until the boy reached the age of fifteen. It was then that Nur al-Din fell ill and, sending for his son, he said: ‘Know, my son, that this world is transitory, while the next world is
eternal. I wish to give you various injunctions, so try to understand what I have to say and take heed of it.’ He then started to tell Hasan how to deal well with people and how to manage his affairs. Then he remembered his brother and his native land and he wept for the loss of loved ones. Wiping away his tears, he recited:
If I complain of distance, what am I to say,
And if I feel longing, what way of escape is there?
I might send messengers to speak for me,
But none of them can convey a lover’s complaint.
I might show endurance, but after the beloved’s loss
The life span of the lover is not long.
Nothing is left except yearning and grief,
Together with tears that stream down my cheeks.
Those whom I love are absent from my sight,
But they are found still settled in my heart.
Do you not see, though I have long been spurned,
My covenant is subject to no change?
Has her distance led you to forget your love?
Have tears and fasting given you a cure?
We are of the same clan, both you and I,
But you still try me with long-lasting censure.
When Nur al-Din, in tears, had finished reciting this, he turned to his son and said: ‘Before I give you my injunctions, you must know that you have an uncle who is vizier of Egypt. I parted from him and left him without his leave. Take a scroll of paper and write down what I shall dictate.’ Hasan took the paper and started to write, while his father dictated an account of what had happened to him from start to finish. He noted the date of the consummation of his marriage with the old vizier’s daughter, explaining how he had arrived at Basra and met his father-in-law, adding: ‘Many years have passed since the day of our quarrel. This is what I have written to him, and may God now be with him in my stead.’
He folded the letter, sealed it, and said: ‘Hasan, my son, keep this testament, for in it is an account of your origin and your genealogy. If anything happens to you, go to Egypt, ask for your uncle and tell him that I have died in a foreign land, longing for him.’ Hasan took the paper, folded it and sewed it up in a fold of material, before placing it in the wrapper of his turban, all the while shedding tears at the thought of being parted from his father while he himself was still young. Nur al-Din then said: ‘I give you five injunctions. The first is: do not be on intimate terms with anyone, for in this way you will be safe from the evil they may do you. Safety lies in seclusion, so do not be too familiar with anyone. I have heard what the poet says:
There is no one in this age of yours for whose friendship you can hope;
When Time is harsh to you, no friend will stay faithful.
Live alone and choose no one in whom to trust.
This, then, is my advice; it is enough.
The second injunction, my son, is to injure no man, lest Time injure you, for one day it will favour you and the next day it will harm you, and this world is a loan to be repaid. I have heard what the poet says:
Act slowly; do not rush to what you want.
Be merciful and be known for your mercy.
No power surpasses that of God,
And every wrongdoer will be oppressed.
The third injunction is to keep silent and to concern yourself with your own faults and not with those of others. The saying goes: “Whoever stays silent, escapes,” and I have heard the poet say:
Silence is an adornment which affords you safety,
But if you speak, refrain from babble.
If you regret your silence once,
You will regret having spoken many times.
The fourth injunction, my son, is this: be on your guard against drinking wine, for wine is the root of all discord and it carries away men’s wits, so I repeat, guard against it. I have heard the poet say:
I gave up drinking wine and have become
A source of guidance for its censurers.
Drink makes the drunken stray from the right path,
And opens the door to evil.
The fifth injunction is this: guard your wealth and it will guard you; protect it and it will protect you. Do not overspend or you will find yourself in need of help from the most insignificant people. Look after your money, for it will be a salve for your wounds. I have heard the poet say:
If I lack money, then I have no friends,
But all men are my friends when I have wealth.
How many friends have helped me spend,
But when the money went, they all deserted me.’
Nur al-Din went on delivering his injunctions to Hasan until his soul left his body, after which Hasan stayed at home mourning for him, with the sultan and all the emirs joining in his grief. His mourning extended for two months after the funeral, during which time he did not ride out, attend court or present himself before the sultan. This earned him the sultan’s anger, as a result of which one of the chamberlains was appointed vizier in his place, with orders to set his seal on Nur al-Din’s properties, wealth, buildings and possessions.
The new vizier set out to do this and to arrest Hasan and take him to the sultan to deal with the young man as he saw fit. Among his soldiers was one of the dead vizier’s mamluks, and when he heard what was about to happen, he quickly rode to Hasan, and found him sitting by the door of his house, broken-hearted and with his head bowed in sorrow. The mamluk dismounted, kissed his hand and said: ‘My master and son of my master, quick, quick, run away before you are doomed.’ ‘What is the matter?’ asked Hasan, trembling. ‘The sultan is angry with you and has ordered your arrest,’ replied the mamluk. ‘Misfortune is hot on my heels, so flee for your life.’ ‘Is there time for me to go inside to fetch some money to help me in exile?’ Hasan asked. ‘Get up now, master,’ urged the mamluk, ‘and leave at once.’
So Hasan got up, reciting these lines:
If you meet injustice, save your life
And let the house lament its builders.
You can replace the country that you lose,
But there is no replacement for your life.
Send out no messenger on any grave affair,
For only you yourself will give you good advice.
The lion’s neck is only thick
Because it looks after all its own affairs.*
Then, heeding the mamluk’s warning, he covered his head with the skirt of his robe and walked off until he got outside the city. He heard the people saying that the sultan had sent the new vizier to the old vizier’s house, to set his seal on his wealth and his properties and to arrest his son, Hasan, in order to bring him for execution, and they were sorry for this because of the young man’s beauty.
On hearing what they were saying, Hasan left the city immediately, without knowing where he was going, until fate led him to his father’s grave. He entered the cemetery and made his way among the tombs until he reached that of his father. There he sat down, unwinding the skirt of his robe from his head. On the cloth were embroidered in gold the lines:
You whose face gleams
Like stars and dew,
May your fame last for ever
And your exalted glory stay eternally.
As he was sitting there, a Jew, who appeared to be a money-changer, came up to him, carrying saddlebags containing a great quantity of gold. After approaching him, this Jew said: ‘Master, why is it that I see that you are drained of colour?’ Hasan replied: ‘I was sleeping just now, when in a dream I saw my father reproaching me for not having visited him. I got up in alarm, and I was afraid that if I did not pay him a visit before the end of the day, it might go hard with me.’ ‘Master,’ said the Jew, ‘your father sent out trading ships, some of which have just arrived and I want to buy the cargo of the first of them from you for this thousand dinars of gold.’ He then brought out a purse filled with gold, from which he counted out a thousand dinars and gave them to Hasan in return for which he asked for a signed bill of sale. Hasan took a piece of paper, on which he
wrote: ‘The writer of this note, Hasan, son of Nur al-Din, has sold to Ishaq the Jew for a thousand dinars the cargo of the first of his father’s ships to come to port, the sale price having been paid in advance.’
After Ishaq had taken the note, Hasan began to weep as he remembered the glory that had been his, and he recited:
The dwelling is no dwelling since you left,
And since you left, we have no neighbours there.
My old familiar friends are now no friends,
Nor are the moons still moons.
You left and this has made the world a wilderness,
And the wide lands are now all dark.
Would that the crow that croaked of your going
Were stripped of feathers and could find no nest.
I have scant store of patience. Now that you have gone,
My body is gaunt and many a veil is torn.
Do you think that those past nights will ever come again
As we once knew them, and the same home shelter us?
He wept bitterly, and as night drew in, he rested his head on his father’s tomb and fell asleep. As he slept, the moon rose: his head slipped from the tombstone and he slept on his back, with his face gleaming in the moonlight. It so happened that the cemetery was frequented by jinn who believed in God. A jinniya came and looked at the sleeping Hasan and, struck by wonder at his beauty, she exclaimed: ‘Glory to God, it is as though this youth is one of the children of Paradise.’ She then flew off, making her customary circuit in the air. Seeing an ‘ifrit flying by, she greeted him and asked him where he had come from. ‘From Cairo,’ he said, and she asked: ‘Would you like to go with me to see the beauty of this youth asleep in the cemetery?’ The ‘ifrit agreed and they flew down to the tomb. ‘Have you ever in your life seen anything to match this?’ the jinniya asked. ‘Glory be to the Matchless God!’ the ‘ifrit exclaimed. ‘But sister,’ he added, ‘would you like me to tell you what I have seen?’ ‘What was that?’ she asked. ‘I have seen someone who is like this youth in the land of Egypt. This is the daughter of Shams al-Din, a girl about twenty years old, beautiful, graceful, splendid, perfectly formed and proportioned. When she passed this age, the sultan of Egypt learned of her, sent for Shams al-Din, her father, and said: “Vizier, I hear that you have a daughter and I would like to ask you for her hand in marriage.” “My master,” said Shams al-Din, “accept my excuse and have pity on the tears that I must shed. You know that my brother Nur al-Din left us and went away we don’t know where. He was my partner in the vizierate and the reason that he left in anger was that we had sat talking about marriage and children and this caused the quarrel. From the day that her mother gave birth to her, some eighteen years ago, I have sworn that I shall marry my daughter to none but my brother’s son. A short time ago, I heard that my brother married the daughter of the vizier of Basra, who bore him a son, and out of respect for my brother I shall marry my daughter to no other man. I have noted the date of my own marriage, my wife’s pregnancy and the birth of this girl. She is the destined bride of her cousin; while for the sultan there are girls aplenty.”
The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights: Volume 1 Page 20