The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights

by vol 02 (tr Malcolm C

  For how could money ransom such a mole?

  Blessed be God, Who left the cheek hairless,

  And has set all of beauty in that mole.

  Then he pointed to the second, whose lips he kissed, and he recited:

  There is a beloved on whose cheek is a mole,

  Like musk set over pure camphor.

  This sight amazed my eyes,

  And the mole said: ‘Bless the Prophet.’

  He then pointed to the third, kissing him ten times, and recited:

  Gold was melted in a silver cup

  By a youth whose hands were stained with wine.

  With the cupbearers he took round a glass of wine,

  While his eyes brought round two more,

  A handsome gazelle of Turkish stock,

  Whose waist strains against the twin peaks of Hunain.

  I may be settled in Baghdad the crooked,

  But my heart is tugged two ways.

  One love leads it to Diyar Bakr.

  And another to the land of the two mosques.

  Each of the boys drank two cups of wine, and when it was Abu Nuwas’s turn, he took the cup and recited:

  Only take wine given by the hand of a fawn,

  Which it resembles in delicacy and he resembles it.

  No one can enjoy drinking such a wine

  Unless its pourer is a smooth-cheeked boy.

  He drank the glass and, when his turn came round again, overcome by pleasure, he recited:

  Take as your companion cups of wine,

  One following the other, followed by yet more,

  From the hand of a dark-lipped beauty who, after sleep,

  Is delicate as musk or as an apple.

  Take your cup only from the hand of a fawn,

  To kiss whose cheek is sweeter than the taste of wine.

  He then became too drunk to distinguish his hand from his head, and so he started to kiss and embrace the boys, wrapping legs around legs, with no concern for sin or disgrace. He recited:

  Perfect pleasure comes only when a man drinks wine

  With pretty boys as his companions.

  One of them sings to you and then another

  Raises you from the dead with a glass, greeting you.

  Every time you need a kiss

  From one, he lets you sip his lips.

  Good fortune to them; with them my day was sweet

  And marvellously pleasant.

  We take our wine both neat and mixed,

  And slake our lust on whoever falls asleep.

  While they were occupied like this, there was a knock on the door and, after permission to enter had been given, in came the Commander of the Faithful, Harun al-Rashid. They all got up and kissed the ground before him, and the awe that he inspired caused Abu Nuwas to recover his senses. ‘Abu Nuwas,’ the caliph called to him. ‘Here I am, Commander of the Faithful, may God aid you,’ he answered, and when the caliph then asked: ‘What is all this?’, he replied: ‘The matter speaks for itself.’ The caliph said: ‘Having asked for guidance from Almighty God, I have appointed you as qadi of the panders.’ ‘Do you want me to assume this office?’ Abu Nuwas asked, and when the caliph said yes, Abu Nuwas said: ‘And is there any case that you would like to bring before me?’ The caliph turned away in anger, leaving Abu Nuwas and the boys, and he spent the night still full of rage against him, while Abu Nuwas himself passed the most delightful of nights in pleasure and relaxation.

  The next day, when the morning star shone out, Abu Nuwas broke up his party and sent the boys away. He then dressed in his formal robes, left his house and set out for the caliph’s palace. It was the caliph’s habit, when he had dismissed his court, to go to his salon, where he would summon poets and musicians, together with his boon companions. Each would sit in his appointed place and nowhere else. It happened that on that day, after he had gone through this routine, Abu Nuwas arrived and was about to take his seat when the caliph summoned Masrur, the executioner, whom he ordered to strip Abu Nuwas of his clothes, tie a donkey’s pack saddle on his back, fastened with a strap between his thighs, put a halter over his head and lead him round the apartments of the slave girls…

  Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the three hundred and eighty-third night, SHE CONTINUED:

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that the caliph summoned Masrur, the executioner, whom he ordered to strip Abu Nuwas of his clothes, tie a donkey’s pack saddle on his back, fastened with a strap between his thighs, put a halter over his head and lead him round the apartments of the slave girls, the harem and the other quarters, so that he might be held up to ridicule, after which Masrur was to cut off his head and bring it to him.

  ‘To hear is to obey,’ said Masrur, and he started to carry out the caliph’s orders, taking Abu Nuwas around the apartments, of which there was one for every day of the year. Abu Nuwas was exercising his wit, and as everyone who saw him gave him money, he came back with his pockets full. When he was in this state, Ja‘far the Barmecide, who had been absent on an important mission, arrived and entered the caliph’s presence. On seeing Abu Nuwas in this state and recognizing him, he called to him. ‘Here I am, master,’ replied Abu Nuwas, and Ja‘far asked him: ‘What wrong have you done to be punished like this?’ ‘None at all,’ said Abu Nuwas, ‘except that I presented our master the caliph with the best of my poetry and he presented me with the best of his robes.’ On hearing this the caliph laughed, although his heart was still full of rage, and he forgave Abu Nuwas, ordering him to be given a bag full of money.

  A story is told that a Basran bought a slave girl to whom he gave the best of educations. He loved her dearly and spent all his money on pleasure and enjoyment with her until there was nothing left and he was in abject poverty. The girl then said: ‘Sell me, master, as you need the money that I shall fetch. I’m sorry to see how poor you have become and it will be better for you to sell me and have money to spend, rather than for me to stay with you, and it may be that God will increase your fortune.’ Because of his straitened circumstances the man agreed and he took her to the market, where the auctioneer showed her to the emir of Basra, ‘Abd Allah ibn Ma‘mar al-Taimi. He admired her and bought her for five hundred dinars, paying the price over to her former owner.

  When her new master was about to go off with her, she burst into tears and recited these lines:

  Enjoy the money you have got;

  For me all that remains is care and grief.

  I say to my soul, wracked as it is with woe:

  ‘The lover has gone, however much you grieve.’

  When the Basran heard her, he sighed deeply and recited:

  As there is nothing that you can do here,

  And death is the only way out, forgive me.

  Morning and evening, my companion will be your memory;

  It is of this I’ll talk to my careworn heart.

  Farewell. We cannot visit one another

  Or enjoy union, unless Ibn Ma‘mar wills it.

  When Ibn Ma‘mar heard their verses and saw their distress, he exclaimed: ‘By God, may I never help to part you. I see that you love each other, so take the cash and the girl, man, and may God’s blessing be on both of you, for the parting of lovers is hard for them to bear.’ Both of them then kissed his hand and left, after which they remained together until they were separated by death. Praise be to God, Who does not die.

  *

  A story is told that among the Banu ‘Udhra there was a graceful man who was constantly falling in love. As it happened he loved a beautiful woman from his own tribe, but although he sent messages to her day after day, she continued to treat him harshly and shun him, until the ardour of his passion had such an effect on him that he fell gravely ill and took to his bed. He could not sleep; word of his lovesickness spread through his tribe…

  Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the three hundred and
eighty-fourth night, SHE CONTINUED:

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that he took to his bed. He could not sleep; word of his lovesickness spread through his tribe, and it became so serious that he came close to death. His relatives and those of the woman kept asking her to visit him, but she refused, until he was on the point of death. When they told her, she had pity on him and came to see him. When he caught sight of her, his eyes filled with tears and he recited broken-heartedly:

  I conjure you that, when my bier passes you by,

  Carried on the shoulders of four men,

  You follow it until you give a greeting

  To the grave of a dead man buried in the earth.

  When she heard this she wept bitterly and said: ‘By God, I didn’t think that your passion had gone so far as to threaten your life, and had I known, I would have come to your aid and enjoyed union with you.’ At that, his tears fell as if from a rain cloud and he recited:

  She approached when death came between me and her,

  Granting the gift of union, when this could not help.

  Then with a groan he died.

  In tears the woman fell on to his corpse, kissing it and weeping, and she continued to weep until she fell down in a faint. When she recovered, she instructed her family to bury her in her lover’s grave when she died. Tearfully she recited these lines:

  When we lived on earth, our life was easy;

  Our tribe, our dwelling and our land were proud of us.

  Then Time’s misfortunes broke our union

  And under the earth our shrouds united us.

  After she had finished her poem, she again wept bitterly and she continued weeping and wailing until she fell down in a faint. After remaining unconscious for three days, she died and was buried in her lover’s grave. This was one of love’s remarkable coincidences.

  A story is told that al-Sahib Badr al-Din, the vizier of Yemen, had a remarkably handsome brother of whom he was very fond. He looked for a man to tutor him and found an imposing and dignified shaikh, a chaste and pious man, whom he installed next door to his own house. The arrangement lasted for some time, and each day the shaikh would come from his own house to that of Badr al-Din to teach his brother and then go back home. It happened that the man fell violently in love with the boy and was so disturbed that one day he complained to him of his plight. ‘What can I do?’ said the boy. ‘I can’t get away from my brother night or day, for he stays by me the whole time, as you see.’ The shaikh said: ‘My house is next to yours. When your brother is asleep, you can pretend to be asleep yourself. Then get up as though to relieve yourself and come to the parapet on the roof and I’ll give you a hand from the other side. You can then sit with me briefly before going back without your brother noticing.’ ‘To hear is to obey,’ said the boy. The shaikh then got ready gifts suitable for one of his rank.

  As for the boy, he went to the latrine and after waiting until his brother had gone to bed and, some time later in the night, had fallen deeply asleep, he himself went off to the parapet, where he found the shaikh standing waiting for him. The shaikh took him by the hand and brought him to his sitting room. There they sat and drank together as the wine cups circulated and the shaikh began to sing. The rays of the moon, which was full that night, shone on them and they tasted such pleasure, delight and happy fortune as would dazzle mind and eye, surpassing all description. Meanwhile Badr al-Din woke, and failing to find his brother, he got up in alarm and discovered that the door was open. He went out through it and, hearing the murmur of voices, he climbed over the parapet on to the shaikh’s roof. He could see light streaming from the house and, looking from behind the wall, he saw the shaikh and his brother with the wine circulating between them. The shaikh, who was holding a glass in his hand, noticed him and sang the following lines:

  He poured me wine from the moisture of his mouth,

  And greeted me with down-covered cheeks.

  I spent the night in embraces, cheek to cheek,

  With a handsome youth who has no equal among mankind.

  The full moon* was looking down over us;

  Ask it not to give away its brother.

  Such was the courtesy of Badr al-Din that when he heard this he said: ‘By God, I shall not give them away,’ and so he went off, leaving them in perfect happiness.

  A story is told that a boy and a slave girl studied in the same school. The boy was in love with the girl…

  Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the three hundred and eighty-fifth night, SHE CONTINUED:

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that the boy was in love with the girl and passionately attached to her. One day, when the other children weren’t looking, he took her slate and wrote the following lines on it:

  What do you say of one emaciated by illness

  Through his great love for you, which leaves him at a loss?

  He complains of the passion and pain of his love,

  And cannot hide what lies within his heart.

  When the girl took back her slate she saw this poem written on it, and on grasping its meaning, she shed tears of pity and wrote beneath the boy’s lines:

  When I see a lover suffering from his love, I treat him well.

  Come what may, I will let him reach the goal of his love.

  The teacher then happened to come in, and on finding the slate when their attention was distracted, he took it and read what was written on it. He felt sympathy for their plight and wrote the following lines beneath theirs:

  Grant union to your lover; fear no punishment;

  The lover is bewildered by his love.

  Don’t fear the awe-inspiring teacher;

  He too at times suffered the pains of love.

  It then happened that the girl’s owner came into the school, and finding her slate, he took it and read what the three of them had written on it. He, too, then added beneath their lines:

  May God not part you through the length of time,

  And may your slanderers stay at a loss.

  As for the teacher, I can swear by God

  I never saw a greater pimp than this.

  He then sent for the qadi and the notaries and drew up a marriage contract for the two in front of the assembled witnesses. He gave a feast for them and treated them with the greatest generosity. They lived together in pleasure and happiness until they were visited by the destroyer of delights and the parter of companions.

  A story is told that al-Mutalammis fled from al-Nu‘man ibn al-Mundhir and was absent for so long that it was thought he must be dead. He had a beautiful wife named Umaima, whose family advised her to remarry. She refused, but because of the number of her suitors her family continued to press her until eventually she yielded to force and reluctantly agreed to a marriage they had arranged with a man from her own tribe, although she was still deeply in love with al-Mutalammis. On her enforced wedding night, al-Mutalammis came back. He heard the noise of flutes and tambourines in the encampment and, noticing the signs of a wedding feast, he asked some boys about it. They told him: ‘Umaima, the wife of al-Mutalammis, has been married to So-and-So and this is the wedding night.’

  When al-Mutalammis heard this, he tricked his way in with a group of women and found the bridal pair on their dais. As the groom went up to the bride she heaved a deep sigh and recited through her tears:

  Misfortunes crowd on me; would that I knew

  In what land you may be, Mutalammis.

  Her husband, al-Mutalammis, was a well-known poet and he answered her:

  Know I am very near at hand, Umaima,

  I never ceased to long for you when the caravan halted for the night.

  At that the bridegroom realized what had happened and he went out in a hurry, reciting:

  I enjoyed good fortune and then met its opposite;

  May you be brought together in a spacious room.

  When the bridegroom had left them, al-Mutalammis remained alone with Umaima,
and they continued to enjoy all the pleasures and delights of a happy life until death parted them. Glory be to God, the Lord of earth and heaven.

  It is reported that the caliph Harun al-Rashid was deeply in love with his wife, Zubaida. He laid out a pleasure garden for her, in which was a pool fringed with trees to which water was channelled from all sides. The trees were so thickly intertwined that if anyone went to bathe in the pool they could not be seen because of the quantity of leaves. It happened that one day Zubaida entered the garden and went to the pool…

  Morning now dawned and Shahrazad broke off from what she had been allowed to say. Then, when it was the three hundred and eighty-sixth night, SHE CONTINUED:

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that it happened that one day Zubaida entered the garden and went to the pool, admiring its shining beauty and its screening trees. As it was a very hot day she took off her clothes and went to stand in the water. It was not deep enough to cover anyone who stood up and so she began filling a silver jug with water and pouring it over herself. The caliph, who knew where she had gone, came down from the palace to spy on her from behind the leaves, and he saw her standing there naked, showing those parts that are normally kept hidden. When she noticed him and realized what he had seen, she turned and looked at him. Modesty led her to put her hand over her private parts, but these were too plump to be entirely concealed.

  The caliph, filled with delight, turned back immediately and recited:

  My eyes saw the cause of my ruin,

  And separation caused the fire of passion to burn up.

  He did not know how to go on after that and so he sent for Abu Nuwas. When Abu Nuwas had come, the caliph told him to recite a poem for him with this as its first line. ‘To hear is to obey,’ said Abu Nuwas, and after the briefest of pauses he extemporized the following lines: