Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the thirty-fifth night, she continued:
I have heard, O auspicious king, that al-Fadl said to his wife: ‘Don’t you know that in the background is my enemy, al-Mu‘in ibn Sawa. When he hears of this, he will go to the sultan and say: “This vizier of yours, whom you think loves you, has taken ten thousand dinars from you and has used it to buy a slave girl of unequalled beauty. Then when she pleased him, he told his son: ‘Do you take her, for you have a better right to her than the sultan.’ So he took her and deflowered her and she is now in his house.” When the sultan says: “This is a lie,” he will ask permission to raid my house and take the girl to him. The sultan will give permission and he will make a surprise attack and carry the girl off to the royal palace. When the sultan asks her, she will not be able to deny what happened. Then al-Mu‘in will say: “Master, you know that I gave you sound advice, but I find no favour with you.” The sultan will make an example of me with everyone looking on, and I shall lose my life.’
‘There is no need to tell anyone about this,’ said his wife, ‘for it happened in private, and so, as far as this is concerned, leave the affair in the hands of God.’ This quieted al-Fadl’s agitation, but as for Nur al-Din, he was afraid of what might happen. He stayed all day long in the orchard and at the end of the day he came to his mother and spent the night in her apartments, getting up before dawn and going back to the orchard. For a month, he carried on like this, not showing his face to his father. Then his mother said to his father: ‘Master, are we going to lose our son as well as the girl? If this goes on for too long, he will run away from us.’ ‘What are we to do?’ he asked. She said: ‘Stay awake tonight and when he comes, take hold of him, reconcile yourself with him and give him the girl, for she loves him and he loves her. I will pay you her price.’
Al-Fadl waited patiently until nightfall, and when Nur al-Din arrived, he seized him and was about to cut his throat. His mother then came up and cried: ‘What are you going to do to our son?’ ‘I shall cut his throat,’ he answered. ‘Am I of so little value to you?’ asked Nur al-Din. Al-Fadl’s eyes filled with tears and he said: ‘My son, how was it that the loss of my wealth and my life was unimportant to you?’ Nur al-Din said: ‘Listen to the words of the poet, father:
I may have sinned but men of understanding
Continue to give a general pardon to the sinner.
What is there for your enemy to hope
When he is at the nadir and you at the zenith?’
At that, al-Fadl let go of his son and, moved by pity, told him that he was forgiven, at which Nur al-Din rose and kissed his father’s hand. His father said: ‘If I knew that you would treat Anis al-Jalis fairly, I would give her to you.’ ‘How could I not treat her fairly?’ asked Nur al-Din. ‘I enjoin you,’ replied his father, ‘not to take another wife or a concubine and not to sell her.’ ‘I swear to you that I will not take another wife or sell her,’ said Nur al-Din, and he swore an oath on this. He then went in to join Anis al-Jalis and stayed with her for a year, while God Almighty caused the king to forget that he had wanted a slave girl.
As for al-Mu‘in, the story had come to his ears, but since his fellow vizier stood so high in the sultan’s favour, he did not dare to speak about it. At the end of a year, al-Fadl went to the baths, but he was still sweating when he came out and the fresh air proved harmful to him. He took to his bed and spent long sleepless hours as his illness grew worse and worse. He then summoned Nur al-Din and, when he came, he said: ‘Know, my son, that what God gives us as our daily bread is apportioned to us, that our allotted time is decreed by fate and that every living soul must drink of the cup of death.’ Then he recited:
I am a mortal: great is the Immortal God!
I know for sure that I shall die.
No mortal keeps his kingdom when he dies;
The kingdom belongs to Him Who does not die.
‘I have no instruction to give you, my son, except to fear God, to think about the consequences of your actions, and to do what I told you about the slave girl, Anis al-Jalis.’ ‘Father,’ said Nur al-Din, ‘who is your equal? You are known for your charitable acts, and preachers bless you from their pulpits.’ ‘My son,’ his father said, ‘I hope to find acceptance with Almighty God.’ Then he pronounced the two confessions of faith and was enrolled among the blessed. At that, his palace was turned upside down with cries of mourning. News reached the sultan; the people heard of al-Fadl’s death and children wept for him in their schools. Nur al-Din, his son, got up and made preparations for the funeral, which was attended by the emirs, officers of state and the people of the city, while among those who came was the vizier al-Mu‘in.
When the funeral cortège left the house, someone recited:
On Thursday I parted from my friends;
They washed me on a stone slab by the door.
They stripped me of the clothes that I had on,
Dressing me in what was not my own.
On the shoulders of four men they carried me
To the chapel, where people prayed for me,
Using a prayer where there is no prostration.
All my friends prayed over me, and then
They went with me into a vaulted house,
Whose door shall not be opened, though Time wears all away.
When the earth had been heaped over the corpse and his family and friends had left, Nur al-Din went back home, sobbing and tearful, and reciting in his distress:
They left on a Thursday evening;
I said goodbye to them and they to me.
When they had turned away, my soul went with them.
‘Return,’ I told it, but it said: ‘To where should I return –
To a bloodless body with no breath of life,
That is no more than rattling bones?
My eyes are blinded by the violence of my tears;
My ears are deaf and cannot hear.’
For a long time, he remained in deep mourning for his father, until one day, when he was seated in his father’s house, a knock came at the door. He rose and opened it, to find one of his father’s intimate friends and companions. The man came in, kissed his hand and said: ‘One who has left behind a son like you is not dead, and this is a path trodden by Muhammad, the master of all generations of mankind, earlier and later. Be of good heart, sir, and abandon your mourning.’ At that, Nur al-Din got up, went to the reception room and brought there all that was needed. His companions gathered around him, including ten young merchants, and he took his slave girl and began to eat and drink and to hold one entertainment after another, making generous gifts. His agent then came to him and said: ‘Sir, have you not heard it said that whoever spends without keeping a reckoning, becomes poor before he knows it? As the poet says:
I act as guardian and defend my cash,
For this, I know, serves as my sword and shield.
If I spend it on my most bitter foes,
I exchange good fortune among men for bad.
I spend on food and drink with happiness,
Giving away no single coin.
I guard my money from mean-natured folk,
Those people who are no true friends of mine.
I like this more than saying to some low man:
“Give me a dirham till tomorrow in exchange for five.”
He would shun me, turning away his face,
While my soul would be like that of a dog.
Men without money are disgraced,
Even if their virtues shine out like the sun.’
The agent went on: ‘Master, this enormous expenditure and these huge gifts are destroying your wealth.’ When Nur al-Din heard what his agent had to say, he looked at him and said: ‘I shall not pay attention to a single word of yours, for I have heard what the poet says:
If I have money which I do not give away,
May my hand wither and my foot not stir.
&nbs
p; Find me a man whose meanness won him fame,
Or one who died of generosity.’
Then he told the man: ‘If you have enough left for my morning meal, then don’t worry me about what to eat in the evening.’ The agent left him, while he himself set about enjoying the life of pleasure on which he had embarked. Whenever one of his companions said: ‘This is a beautiful thing,’ he would say: ‘It is yours as a gift,’ and if someone else said: ‘Such-and-such a house is beautiful,’ he would reply: ‘I give it to you.’ Both first thing and last thing each day, he would give entertainments, and for a whole year he continued in this way. Then, after a year was up, Anis al-Jalis came and recited:
You thought well of Time when Time was kind,
You did not fear the evils fate might bring.
The nights kept peace with you; you were deceived.
It is when the nights are undisturbed that distress comes.
When she had finished these lines, there was a knock on the door. Nur al-Din got up, followed, although he did not know it, by one of his companions. When he opened the door, he found his agent, and when he asked what news he had, the agent said: ‘What I feared for you has happened.’ ‘How is that?’ asked Nur al-Din. ‘Know,’ replied the man, ‘that I have nothing at my disposal worth a dirham, neither more nor less. Here are the account books showing your expenditure, and these are the ones that show your original capital.’ On hearing this, Nur al-Din looked down at the ground and exclaimed: ‘There is no might and no power except with God!’ The man who had secretly followed him was there to spy on him, and when he had heard what the agent had to say, he returned to his companions and told them: ‘Mind what you do, for Nur al-Din is bankrupt.’
When Nur al-Din returned, his distress was plainly written on his face. One of his drinking companions then got to his feet, looked at him, and asked politely for leave to go. ‘Why do you want to go?’ asked Nur al-Din. ‘My wife is giving birth and I cannot be away from her. I would like to go and see her,’ replied the man. When Nur al-Din gave him leave, another stood up and said that he wanted to go to his brother, who was circumcising his son, and then everyone produced some excuse to leave, until eventually they had all gone and Nur al-Din was left alone. He called for Anis al-Jalis and said: ‘Do you see what has happened to me?’
He told her about the agent’s news and she said: ‘For some nights now I have been thinking of talking to you about this, but I heard you reciting:
If the world is generous to you, be generous with your worldly goods,
And give to everyone before good fortune goes.
Generosity will not destroy your luck,
Nor will meanness retain it when it turns away.
When I heard you speak these lines, I stayed silent and said nothing.’
Nur al-Din then pointed out: ‘You know that it is only to my companions that I have given away my wealth. They have left me with nothing, but I don’t think that they will abandon me without giving me something in return.’ ‘By God,’ said Anis al-Jalis, ‘they will be of no help at all to you.’ ‘I shall go to them at once,’ said Nur al-Din, ‘and knock on their doors. They may supply me with what I can use as trading capital, and I will then abandon pleasure and idle pastimes.’
He got up immediately and walked to the lane in which all ten of his companions lived. When he knocked on the first door, a slave girl came out and asked him who he was. He said to her: ‘Tell your master that Nur al-Din ‘Ali is standing at the door and that he says to you: “Your slave kisses your hand and awaits your generosity.” ’ The girl went in and told her master, but he shouted at her and told her to go back and tell Nur al-Din that he was not there, which she did. Nur al-Din turned away, saying to himself: ‘If this bastard pretends not to be there, perhaps one of the others may be more generous.’ So he went to the door of the second man and repeated what he had said before, but this man, too, pretended not to be in. So Nur al-Din recited:
They have gone, those who when you were standing at their door
Would generously give you meats and roasts.
When he had finished these lines, he said: ‘By God, I must test every one of them, for it may be that one of them may stand in place of all the rest.’ So he went round all ten, but not one opened his door, showed himself or broke a loaf for him. So he recited:
In his time of fortune man is like a tree;
People surround it while it bears its fruit.
But when the fruit it bore has gone,
They leave it to endure the heat and dust.
May ill befall the children of this age;
Not one in ten of them has proved sincere.
He then returned with redoubled concern to Anis al-Jalis, who said: ‘Didn’t I tell you, master, that these people would do you no good at all?’ ‘By God,’ he replied, ‘not one of them would show me his face and no one would acknowledge me.’ ‘Master,’ she then advised him, ‘sell the furniture and the household goods and wait for God’s providence, but dispose of them bit by bit.’
So Nur al-Din started to sell what he had and he went on until he had disposed of everything in the house and had nothing left. Then he looked at Anis al-Jalis and said: ‘What shall we do now?’ ‘My advice, master, is that you should get up at once, take me down to the market and sell me. You know that your father bought me for ten thousand dinars, and it may be that God will open the way for you to get something like that price. Then later, if God decrees that we should meet, meet we shall.’ ‘By God, Anis al-Jalis,’ he said to her, ‘I would not find it easy to part from you for a single hour.’ ‘Nor I, master,’ she replied, ‘but necessity has its own laws, as the poet says:
Necessity forces men in their affairs
To follow paths that do not fit good manners.
When someone brings himself to do something,
The reason for it matches what he does.’
At that Nur al-Din got to his feet and embraced Anis al-Jalis, with tears running down his cheeks like rain. He recited in his grief:
Stop; give me a glance before you go,
To distract a heart close to destruction as you leave.
But if you find this burdensome, then let me die
Of love; do not burden yourself.
He then went to the market and handed over Anis al-Jalis to the auctioneer. ‘Hajji Hasan,’ he said, ‘you know the value of what you are offering for sale.’ ‘Master,’ the auctioneer said, ‘I know the principles of my trade.’ Then he added: ‘Isn’t this Anis al-Jalis, whom your father bought from me for ten thousand dinars?’ ‘It is,’ said Nur al-Din, and Hasan then went to the merchants and, finding that they were not all there, he waited until they had arrived. The market was packed with slave girls of all races – Turks, Franks, Circassians, Abyssinians, Nubians, Takruris, Rumis, Tartars, Georgians and others. When he saw this, he came forward, took up his position and cried: ‘Merchants, men of wealth, not everything round is a walnut; not everything long is a banana; not everything red is meat; and not everything white is fat. But here is a unique pearl beyond all price. How much am I bid for her?’ ‘Four thousand five hundred dinars,’ said one, and the auctioneer opened the bidding at this sum.
As he was calling it out, al-Mu‘in ibn Sawa, who happened to be passing, caught sight of Nur al-Din standing at the edge of the market. ‘What is Ibn Khaqan’s son doing here?’ he asked himself. ‘Does this good-for-nothing have anything left over for buying slave girls?’ He looked then heard the auctioneer in the market, surrounded by merchants, calling for bids. ‘I think that Nur al-Din must be bankrupt,’ he said to himself, ‘and that he has brought Anis al-Jalis to sell her. How refreshing this is for me!’
He summoned the auctioneer, who came and kissed the ground before him. ‘I want this girl whom you are auctioning,’ al-Mu‘in said. The auctioneer could not oppose him and replied: ‘Sir, let it be in God’s Name.’ Then he brought the girl and showed her to him. The vizier approved of her and said: ‘Hasan, how much hav
e you been bid for the girl?’ ‘Four thousand five hundred dinars was the opening bid,’ the man replied. ‘My bid is four thousand five hundred,’ said al-Mu‘in, and when they heard that, none of the merchants was able to advance the bidding by a single dirham. They knew al-Mu‘in’s evil nature and so held back. Al-Mu‘in then said to the auctioneer: ‘What are you waiting for? Go and bid four thousand dinars for me and you can have five hundred for yourself.’ The man went to Nur al-Din and said: ‘Master, you have lost the girl for nothing.’ ‘How is that?’ Nur-al-Din asked. ‘We opened the auction at four thousand five hundred,’ the auctioneer explained, ‘and then this tyrant, al-Mu‘in, came by the market and admired the girl when he saw her. He told me to get her for four thousand dinars, promising me five hundred for myself. I think that he knows that she belongs to you. Were he to hand over the cash immediately, that would be fine, but I know his evil ways. He will write you a note of hand to get the money from his agents, and then when you have gone he will send a man to tell them not to pay you anything. Every time you go to ask them for the money, they will say: “We’ll give it to you soon,” and they will put you off like this, day after day. You are a proud man and when they get tired of your coming to press them, they will say: “Show us the note.” Then, when you hand it over, they will tear it up, and you will have lost the price of the girl.’
When Nur al-Din heard what the auctioneer had to say, he looked at him and asked what to do. The man replied: ‘I can give you advice which, if you accept it, will turn out to your best advantage.’ ‘What is that?’ Nur al-Din asked. ‘I suggest,’ he replied, ‘that you come up to me now as I am standing in the middle of the market and that you snatch the girl from me, slap her and say: “Whore, now that I have brought you to the market, I am released from the oath that I swore to bring you here and to get the auctioneer to call for bids for you. This I have now done.” It may be that this ruse will work with al-Mu‘in and with the others, and they will think that you only brought her here to fulfil an oath.’
The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights: Volume 1 Page 35