When I heard what she had to say, as the arrows of her glances pierced my heart, I wept so bitterly that my eye sockets became ulcerated and I recited the following lines:
Let me kiss your left hand ten times;
I know how much better it is than the right.
When you wash away your excrement,
Your left hand is closer to the place you clean.
She then told me to leave, and this was after I had got a total of four hundred mithqals of gold from her, which I use for my expenses. I came here to pray to God, Glorious and Almighty, that her husband might go back again to the kitchen maid and I might go back to her.
When the emir in charge of the pilgrimage heard the man’s story he let him go and told the bystanders: ‘I conjure you in God’s Name to pray for him, for he is to be excused.’
The story is told that one night the caliph Harun al-Rashid was very restive. He summoned his vizier, Ja‘far the Barmecide, and told him that he was feeling depressed and that he wanted to go out that night to inspect the streets of Baghdad and investigate the affairs of his subjects. The two of them were to go disguised as traders so that no one might recognize them. ‘To hear is to obey,’ said the vizier, and getting up immediately and taking off their splendid robes, they dressed as traders. There were three of them in all, the caliph, Ja‘far and Masrur, the executioner, and they walked from place to place until they came to the Tigris. There, seeing an old man sitting in a boat, they went up to him and, after greeting him, they said: ‘Would you be so good as to take us for a trip in your boat in exchange for the fee of a dinar?’
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the two hundred and eighty-sixth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that they said to the old man: ‘We would like you to take us for a trip in your boat in exchange for the fee of a dinar.’
‘Who can go for a trip,’ he asked them, ‘when every night the caliph Harun al-Rashid sails down the Tigris in a little barge with a herald who calls out to everyone, great and small, high and low, boys or young men, that whoever takes out a boat to sail on the Tigris will have his head struck off or will be hanged from his own mast? You can see him now, for here is his barge coming.’
The caliph and Ja‘far said: ‘Shaikh, take these two dinars and bring us under one of these arches until the caliph’s boat has passed.’ ‘Produce the gold; I put my trust in Almighty God,’ he said before taking the money, and he had rowed them for a short distance when a barge came down the middle of the stream, lit with candles and lanterns. ‘Didn’t I tell you that the caliph sails on the river every night?’ exclaimed the old man, and he prayed: ‘God the Shelterer, do not remove our shelter.’ He brought them under an arch and covered them with some black cloth. The three of them looked out from under this and saw in the bow of the boat a man holding a lantern of red gold in which scented aloes wood was burning. He was wearing a gown of red satin with a turban capped with Mosuli silk. He had yellow brocade on one shoulder, while hanging over the other was a bag of green silk filled with scented aloes wood, which he used instead of firewood to keep the lamp burning. At the stern was another man dressed in the same costume with a similar lamp in his hand. In the barge the caliph saw two hundred mamluks standing to the right and the left of a throne of red gold, on which sat a young man beautiful as the moon, wearing a black robe embroidered with yellow gold. In front of him was a double of the vizier Ja‘far, while standing at his head was a double of Masrur, holding a drawn sword in his hand. With him were twenty companions.
When the caliph saw this, he called to Ja‘far. ‘Here I am, Commander of the Faithful,’ Ja‘far answered. ‘Perhaps this is one of my sons, al-Ma’mun or al-Amin,’ the caliph said. He stared at the young man seated on the throne and noted the perfection of his beauty and grace, allied to a symmetry of form. He called again to Ja‘far, and when Ja‘far replied he said: ‘The man sitting there has all the appearance of the caliph; the one in front of him is just like you, and the other is like Masrur, while his companions are like mine. This affair baffles me…’
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the two hundred and eighty-seventh night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that when the caliph saw this, he was astonished and said: ‘By God, this affair astonishes me.’ ‘Me too, by God,’ said Ja‘far.
The barge passed out of sight and the old man rowed his boat out from under cover, exclaiming: ‘Praise be to God that we’re safe and that nobody found us!’ ‘Shaikh,’ asked Harun, ‘does the caliph do this every night?’ ‘Yes, master,’ said the man, ‘and he has been doing it for a whole year.’ Harun then asked him if he would be good enough to wait there for them on the following night in return for five gold dinars, adding: ‘We are strangers who want an excursion and we are staying in the al-Khandaq quarter.’ The man agreed willingly, after which the caliph, Ja‘far and Masrur left him and set off for the palace. They took off their traders’ clothes, and after putting on their official robes each sat down in his own place. In came the emirs, viziers, chamberlains and deputies, and the public assembly was convened.
At the end of the day, when the people of all classes had dispersed, every one going off on his own way, Harun said: ‘Ja‘far, come with me to look at “the second caliph”.’ Ja‘far and Masrur laughed, and then, having dressed as merchants, they went out cheerfully, leaving by the private door. When they got to the Tigris they found the old boatman sitting waiting for them. They boarded his boat and before they had been sitting there long, the barge of ‘the second caliph’ came towards them. They turned and on close inspection saw that, while the torch-bearers were calling out the same proclamation, the two hundred mamluks were not the same ones as before. Harun said to Ja‘far: ‘Had I heard of this, I wouldn’t have believed it, but now I have seen it with my own eyes.’ Then he said to the boatman: ‘Take these ten dinars, shaikh, and row us on a parallel course, for they are in the light while we shall be in the darkness, and we shall be able to look at them as much as we want but they won’t be able to see us.’ The old man took the ten dinars and rowed alongside them in the shadow of the barge…
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the two hundred and eighty-eighth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that the caliph told the boatman to take ten dinars and row them on a parallel course to that of the barge, the boatman saying: ‘To hear is to obey.’ He rowed on in the shadow until he and his passengers arrived opposite orchards.
When they got there, they saw that the barge had anchored by an enclosure, where there were servants standing with a mule saddled and bridled. ‘The second caliph’ disembarked and after mounting the mule he moved off surrounded by his companions, with linkmen shouting and servants busying themselves in attendance on him. Harun, Ja‘far and Masrur went ashore and, after making their way through the mamluks, they got ahead of them. The linkmen turned towards them, and seeing three strangers dressed as traders they pointed to them angrily. The three were brought before ‘the second caliph’, who looked at them and asked: ‘How did you get here and what has brought you at this time?’ ‘Master,’ they answered, ‘we are traders and are strangers in these parts. We arrived today and were out for an evening stroll when we saw you coming, and then these people came and laid hands on us and brought us before you. This is our story.’ ‘The second caliph’ said: ‘Since you are strangers, no harm shall come to you, but if you were from Baghdad I would cut off your heads.’ He then turned to his vizier and said: ‘Take these people with you for they are our guests tonight.’ ‘To hear is to obey, master,’ said the vizier, and he took the three to a lofty palace, magnificent and splendidly built, such as no sultan ever possessed, rising from the ground and touching the edges of the clouds. It had a door of teak inlaid with gleaming go
ld, leading to a hall with a tinkling fountain, and in it were carpets and pillows, together with brocaded cushions and mattresses; there were also hanging curtains and furnishings to dazzle the mind and baffle description. On the door were inscribed these lines:
Greetings and peace be to a palace
Which the days have invested with their loveliness.
In it are wonders and marvels of all kinds,
Before whose diversity pens are bewildered.
‘The second caliph’ entered with his entourage and sat down on a golden throne studded with jewels and covered with a rug of yellow silk. While his companions took their own seats, the executioner stood before him. Tables were spread and after they had eaten, the dishes were removed and they washed their hands. Then drinking vessels were brought; bottles and glasses were ranged in order and wine was passed around. When it reached Harun al-Rashid he refused it and ‘the second caliph’ asked Ja‘far: ‘Why isn’t your friend drinking?’ ‘For a long time he has not drunk wine, master,’ answered Ja‘far. ‘I have another kind of drink, made from apples, which may suit him,’ the host said, and on his instructions this was immediately fetched. The man then came to Harun and told him: ‘Whenever the wine comes round to you, drink from this.’
The company continued to enjoy themselves as the wine cups were passed around until the drink went to their heads and took over their wits.
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the two hundred and eighty-ninth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that ‘the second caliph’ and his companions continued to drink until the wine had gone to their heads and taken over their wits.
The caliph said to Ja‘far: ‘By God, we don’t have cups like these. I wish I knew about this young man.’ While the two of them were whispering, the man turned and, noticing what they were doing, he said: ‘It’s unsociable to whisper.’ ‘We weren’t being unsociable,’ said Ja‘far. ‘My friend here was saying that, although we have visited many lands, been intimate with great kings and associated with soldiers, we have never seen anything better organized or more splendid than what we have come across tonight. However, it is a saying of the Baghdadis that wine without music may lead to a headache.’ When ‘the second caliph’ heard this he smiled and relaxed before striking a round gong with a staff that he held in his hand. At this a door opened and through it came a eunuch carrying an ivory chair inlaid with gleaming gold. He was followed by a girl of outstanding beauty, grace, splendour and perfection. The eunuch set the chair down and she took her seat on it like the bright sun in a cloudless sky. In her hand she was holding a lute made by Indian craftsmen, and she placed this in her lap, bending over it like a mother with her child. She sang to it, playing twenty-four airs with variations in such a way as to astonish the minds of the listeners. Then she returned to the first of these and sang the following lines as she played:
The voice of love speaks to you from my heart,
Telling of me that I love you.
The burning pains of a tortured heart witness for me,
Together with my wounded eyes and my quick-flowing tears.
Before I loved you I did not know what love might be,
But the fate of His creation is preordained by God.
When ‘the second caliph’ heard her sing these lines, he gave a great cry and tore the robe that he was wearing down to its hem. The curtain was lowered and his servants brought him another, more splendid than the first, which he put on, and he sat down as before, resuming the conversation. When the wine cup reached him he again struck the gong with his staff and again a door opened. Out came a eunuch carrying a golden chair, followed by another girl even more lovely than the first. She took her seat on the chair, holding a lute that would distress the heart of the envious and, to its accompaniment, she sang the following lines:
How can I endure it when my heart is on fire with longing,
And a perpetual flood of tears flows from my eyes?
By God, there is no pleasure in life to rejoice me.
How can a heart be happy that is filled up with my grief?
When the young man heard these lines, he again gave a great cry and tore his robe down to its hem. The curtain was lowered and they brought him another one and, after having put it on, he took his seat as before and began to talk at his ease. The next time the wine cup came to him, he struck the gong. A eunuch came out with a chair, followed by a girl more beautiful than the one before. She sat down holding a lute, to which she sang these lines:
Cut short this separation; treat me less roughly;
I swear to you that my heart cannot forget you.
Have pity on the emaciated lover, sad and grieving,
Passionate and enslaved by love for you.
Worn away by sickness through the excess of passion,
He beseeches God for your approval.
Full moon, whose place is in my heart,
How can I choose any other but you among mankind?
On hearing this, the young man again cried out and tore his robe. The curtain was lowered; he was brought a new robe and again he returned to his companions. The wine cups were passed around and when the wine reached him he struck the gong. When the door opened a servant came out with a chair. A girl, who had followed, sat down, took up a lute, tuned it and sang these lines:
How long will this separation and this hatred last
Until the joy that has passed returns to me again?
We lived together in the same country;
In our enjoyment we thought the envious paid no heed.
But time betrayed us, forcing us to part;
Leaving our dwellings like a barren waste.
You censure me; do you want me to be consoled?
My heart, I see, will not obey your voice.
Abandon blame and leave me with my love.
For love is not yet emptied from my heart.
You broke your oath and chose another love,
But, though you are away, my heart will not forget.
‘The second caliph’ gave a loud cry when he heard these lines, tore his clothes…
Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the two hundred and ninetieth night, SHE CONTINUED:
I have heard, O fortunate king, that when ‘the second caliph’ heard these lines, he gave a loud cry and tore his clothes and fell down in a faint. The attendants were about to lower the curtain as usual, but its cords stuck and Harun al-Rashid had the chance to turn and look at him. On his body he saw scars of a whipping, and when he was certain of what he had seen, he exclaimed: ‘By God, Ja‘far, this is a handsome young man but he is also a foul thief!’ ‘How do you know that, Commander of the Faithful?’ asked Ja‘far, and the caliph replied that he had seen scars left by a flogging on his sides. The curtain was then lowered, new robes were fetched and the young man returned to sit as before with his companions.
He then turned and noticed that Harun and Ja‘far were whispering together. He asked them what the matter was and Ja‘far replied: ‘Nothing is wrong, master, but you must know that my companion here is a merchant who has travelled through all cities and regions and has associated with kings and men of excellence. He was telling me that our lord, the caliph, has been guilty of great extravagance tonight and that he has never seen anyone else act as he has done in any other part of the world. He has torn such-and-such a number of robes, each worth thousands of dinars, and this is excessive extravagance.’ ‘The second caliph’ replied: ‘Man, the money is mine and the materials are mine. This is one of the favours that I confer on my servants and my attendants, for every robe that I tear goes to one of my companions here, and with each robe I make them a payment of five hundred dinars.’ ‘That is excellently done, master,’ said the vizier Ja‘far, and he then recited these lines:
Generous deeds have built their home in the palm of your hand,
&nbs
p; And you have allowed all of mankind to share your wealth.
The doors of good deeds may be shut;
Your hands are a key to open them again.
When the young man heard these lines, he presented Ja‘far with a thousand dinars and a robe. As the wine cups then circulated among the company and the wine was enjoyed, Harun told him to ask the young man about the marks of a beating on his body in order to see what answer he would give. ‘Don’t be hasty, master,’ said Ja‘far. ‘Go gently, for patience is better.’ ‘By my head and by the tomb of al-‘Abbas,’ replied Harun, ‘if you don’t ask him I will have the life choked out of you.’ ‘Why are you and your companion whispering together?’ asked the young man, turning to Ja‘far. ‘Tell me what is the matter with you.’ ‘All is well,’ said Ja‘far, but the young man told him: ‘I ask you in the Name of God to tell me about yourselves without concealing anything.’ ‘Master,’ replied Ja‘far, ‘my friend saw on your body the marks of whips and scourges. He was astonished at that, wondering how the caliph could possibly have been beaten, and he wants to know the reason for it.’
The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights: Volume 1 Page 119