The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1,001 Nights

by vol 02 (tr Malcolm C

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

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that ISHAQ SAID:

  When it got hot I stopped in a street called al-Haram to shelter from the sun. There was a house there which had an extensive projection jutting out over the street. Before I had been there long, a black eunuch turned up leading a donkey which I could see was being ridden by a girl whose saddle cloth was studded with gems and who was wearing a dress of unsurpassable splendour. She was marked by gracefulness and had a lovely figure and languorous eyes. I asked a passer-by about her and was told that she was a singer.

  As soon as I saw her I fell in love with her, so much so that I could not keep my seat on my saddle. She went into the house at whose door I had halted, and I started to think of how I could get to her. While I was there, two handsome young men came up and asked permission to enter the house. Its owner allowed them in and I went with them, as they thought that he must have invited me. After we had sat for a time, food was brought and when we had eaten, wine was placed before us. Then the girl came out with a lute in her hand and, as we drank, she sang. I got up to relieve myself and the owner of the house then asked the two men about me, at which they said that they didn’t know me. ‘He must be a parasite,’ the owner said, ‘but he is a witty fellow, so treat him well.’

  I then came back and sat down in my place, after which the girl sang these lines to a charming tune:

  Say to the gazelle who is no gazelle,

  And to the kohl-eyed wild calf who is no calf,

  She behaves like a man in private but is no woman;

  She walks like a woman but is no man.

  Her performance was excellent and it impressed the guests who were drinking. She then sang in various styles to exotic melodies, and among these was a style of my own, in which she sang the lines:

  Deserted camping grounds, abandoned by their folk,

  Desolate after having been full of life, waste and erased.

  Here her performance was even better than before, and she followed this with various other styles and unusual airs, old and new, among which she included another of mine, to which she sang:

  Say to the one who turns away reproachfully,

  Remaining aloof from you,

  ‘You reached the goal you reached,

  Though you were only playing.’

  I asked her to sing it again so that I could show her how to get it right, but one of the two guests came up to me and said: ‘I have never seen a more impudent fellow than you. Not content with playing the parasite, you act brashly, confirming the proverbial saying “a parasite and brash”.’ I hung my head in shame making no reply, and although his friend tried to keep him away from me, he was not to be restrained. They then got up to perform the prayer, but I held back for a little until I had taken the lute and tightened and tuned it properly. Then I returned to my place and joined them in the prayer. When we had finished my opponent resumed his bitter abuse and kept on trying to pick a quarrel, while I stayed silent.

  The girl then took the lute, but when she touched it she found that there was something different about it and said: ‘Who has been touching my lute?’ ‘None of us have touched it,’ they said, but she insisted: ‘By God, it has certainly been touched by someone who knows about this art, as the strings have been tuned by a master.’ ‘It was I who tuned it,’ I told her. ‘For God’s sake, then, take it and play on it,’ she said, and I took it and played a strange and difficult air, to kill the living with delight and raise the dead. These were the lines that I sang:

  I had a heart which gave me life,

  But then it was consumed and burned with fire.

  Her love had not been granted me by God,

  And His servants have only what He grants.

  If my distress becomes the food of love,

  This, then, is what all lovers have to taste.

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

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that ISHAQ SAID:

  When I had finished these lines they all jumped up from their places and sat in front of me, urging me to give them another song. ‘Willingly,’ I said, and so, accompanying myself with skill, I sang:

  Who will help a heart wasted by misfortune,

  The halting place of sorrows coming from all sides?

  For the beloved who shot an arrow at this heart,

  The blood between my entrails and my ribs was shed unlawfully.

  On the day of parting it was clear that false suspicion

  Had led her to leave me.

  She shed my blood, which, but for love, would not have flowed,

  And is there any to seek vengeance for my blood?

  When the song was finished they all rose to their feet before throwing themselves to the ground in delight. I tossed the lute away, but they pleaded with me saying: ‘For God’s sake, don’t do this to us, but give us another song, may God Almighty increase His favours to you.’ I told them: ‘I shall give you another song and another and another, and I shall tell you who I am, for I am Ishaq ibn Ibrahim al-Mausili. Even when the caliph summons me, I act with haughtiness, but, thanks to you, I have had to listen today to the kind of vulgar abuse that I detest, and I swear that I shall utter no single word more or sit with you any longer until you throw this quarrelsome fellow out.’ The owner of the house said to him: ‘I warned you of this and I was afraid for you,’ after which they took him by the hand and led him off.

  I then picked up the lute again and sang those of my airs that the girl had sung, after which I whispered to the owner of the house that I had fallen in love with her and could not endure without her. ‘You may have her,’ said the man, ‘on one condition.’ ‘What is that?’ I asked, and he said: ‘That you stay with me for a month, after which the girl, with her jewellery and robes, will be yours.’ I agreed to this and stayed with him for the month without anyone knowing where I was, and although the caliph looked everywhere for me he could find no news of me. At the end of the month, her master handed the girl over to me together with her treasures and he also gave me another eunuch. I took all this back home, thinking that I had won the whole world, such was my delight at having got the girl.

  I rode off immediately to visit al-Ma’mun, and when I came into his presence he said: ‘Damn you, Ishaq, where have you been?’ When I told him the story, he gave orders that the owner of the house was to be brought to him immediately, and I told him where he lived. The caliph sent for him and asked him on his arrival about what had happened. The man told him and the caliph said: ‘You are a chivalrous man and, in my opinion, you should be helped in your chivalry,’ after which he gave him a hundred thousand dirhams. Next, he told me to bring the girl, which I did, and as her singing delighted him and gave him the greatest pleasure, he decreed that she was to be in attendance every Thursday at the palace and to sing from behind the curtain of the harem. I was given fifty thousand dirhams, and so not only did I gain by my excursion, but it turned out to be profitable to others as well.

  It is told that AL-‘UTBI SAID:

  One day I was sitting with a number of literary men and while we were talking about past days, the conversation turned to tales of lovers, to which each of us contributed. One old man had remained silent, but when the others had all finished he said: ‘Shall I tell you a story the like of which you have never heard?’ ‘Yes,’ we said, and he began: ‘You must know that I had a daughter who, although we didn’t know it, loved a young man who for his part loved a singing girl who loved my daughter. One day I was at a gathering at which the young man was present…’

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

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that THE OLD MAN SAID:
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  One day I was at a gathering at which the young man was present, and the singing girl, who was also there, sang these lines:

  For lovers, tears are signs of love’s humiliation,

  Especially for a lover finding no other who complains.

  ‘Well done, by God, my lady,’ said the young man, adding: ‘Will you let me die?’ ‘Yes,’ she replied from behind the curtain, ‘if you are a true lover.’ He put his head on a cushion and closed his eyes; then, when the wine cup came round to him, we shook him but he was dead.

  We gathered around him with all our pleasure having turned to sadness, and immediately after that we dispersed gloomily. My family were annoyed with me because I had not come back at my usual time, but in order to astonish them I told them what had happened to the young man. My daughter heard what I said and left the room where I was and went to another. I followed her and when I entered the room, I discovered her with her head on a cushion in exactly the same way that I had described the young man as lying, and, on shaking her, I found that she too was dead. We laid out her corpse, and when we carried it on a bier the next morning we met the funeral procession of the young man. Then, on the way to the cemetery, we came across a third bier being carried, and when we asked about this, we were told that the body was that of the singing girl, who, when she heard of my daughter’s death, had died in exactly the same way. All three were buried on the same day and this is the most astonishing of lovers’ tales.

  A story is told on the authority of al-Qasim ibn ‘Adi about a man of the Banu Tamim. THIS MAN SAID:

  I once went out in search of a stray beast and came to the watering places of the Banu Tayy, where I saw two groups of people standing close to each other and each group seemed to be having the same kind of argument. When I looked more closely, I saw a young man debilitated by illness and looking like a worn-out water skin. While I watched he recited these lines:

  Why does the lovely one not return?

  Is it meanness on her part or is she shunning me?

  I am ill, and all my family have visited my sickbed;

  Why are you not there among my visitors?

  Were you unwell, I would hurry to your side;

  No threats would make me leave.

  I cannot find you in the tribe and I remain alone;

  The loss of your love, you who bring me ease, is hard to bear.

  A girl standing in the second group heard what he said and ran in his direction, pursued by her family. She started to strike at them, and when the young man saw this he leapt towards her, as his family rushed at him and seized hold of him. He started to pull himself away, while the girl struggled to win clear of her own pursuers. When they were both free they ran towards each other, met, embraced between the two groups and then fell to the ground dead.

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

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that the young man and the girl met and embraced between the two groups, and then fell to the ground dead. THE MAN OF THE BANU TAMIM WENT ON:

  An old man came from the tents, stood over them and recited the formula: ‘To God we belong and to Him do we return.’ Then, shedding bitter tears, he said: ‘May Almighty God have mercy on the two of you! By God, if you were not united while you were alive, I shall unite you now you are dead.’ He ordered the preparations to be made, and after their bodies had been washed, they were covered by the same shroud and one grave was dug for them both. The people recited prayers over them, after which they were buried in that grave and I saw nobody, man or woman, in the two groups who was not weeping and slapping their own face. I asked the old man about the two and he told me: ‘This was my daughter and the other was my brother’s son. It was love that brought them to the end that you have seen.’ I asked him why he had not allowed them to marry each other and he replied: ‘I was afraid of shame and disgrace, into which I have now fallen.’

  This is one of the remarkable stories of lovers.

  It is told that ABU’L-‘ABBAS AL-MUBARRAD SAID:

  I was going with a company of travellers to al-Barid on business when we passed the monastery of Ezekiel. We had dismounted in the shade there when we were approached by a man who told us that in the monastery were madmen, among whom there was one who spoke words of wisdom. ‘If you saw him,’ the man added, ‘you would be astounded by what he says.’ We all got up and went into the monastery, where we saw a man sitting bare-headed on a mat in a small room, his eyes fixed on the wall.

  We greeted him and he returned the greeting without looking at us. ‘Recite him some poetry,’ said our guide, ‘for when he hears poetry he speaks.’ So I recited:

  You are the best of Eve’s children;

  Were it not for you, there would be nothing good or pleasant in the world.

  Those to whom God has shown your face

  Win immortality, not growing old or grey.

  When the man heard this, he turned towards us and recited:

  God knows that I am sorrowful,

  And I cannot express the sorrow that I feel.

  I have two souls, one that stays here,

  While the second has another place.

  I think my absent soul is like mine here,

  And that it suffers the same pain I feel.

  He then asked: ‘Are my lines good or bad?’ ‘They are certainly not bad; on the contrary, they are very good indeed,’ we told him. He reached out for a stone that he had by him and, thinking that he was going to throw it at us, we ran away from him, but instead he used it to strike his own chest with violent blows. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he told us, ‘but come closer to hear something of mine that you can take off with you.’ We went up to him and he recited:

  When they made their camels kneel just before the dawn,

  They mounted her on the crupper; the camels took away my love.

  I looked at her through prison bars,

  And said, as my tears flowed thanks to the pangs of love:

  ‘Camel driver, turn, so that I may take my leave of her;

  In separation and leave-taking lies our death.’

  I never broke my pledge of love for her;

  I wish I knew what they did with that pledge.

  He then looked at me and said: ‘Do you know what has happened to them?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘they are dead, may God Almighty have mercy on them.’ His expression changed and he jumped up, saying: ‘How do you know they are dead?’ ‘Were they alive,’ I told him, ‘they would not have abandoned you in this state.’ ‘True, by God,’ he said and added: ‘Now that they are gone, I too have no more love for life.’ He quivered and then fell on his face. We rushed up and shook him, but he was dead, may Almighty God have mercy on him. Astonished and deeply saddened, we made the preparations and then buried him.

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

  I have heard, O fortunate king, that ABU’L-‘ABBAS AL-MUBARRAD SAID:

  When the man fell dead we were saddened and, after making the preparations, we buried him. When I got back to Baghdad I went to visit the caliph al-Mutawakkil, who saw the marks of tears on my face and asked me what had happened. I then told him the story, which displeased him, and he said: ‘What made you say what you did? By God, if I saw that you were not sorry for it, I would punish you.’ Then he grieved for the dead lover for the rest of the day.

  It is told that ABU BAKR IBN MUHAMMAD AL-ANBARI SAID:

  I left al-Anbar on a journey to ‘Ammuriya in Byzantine territory and on the way I halted at the monastery of Dair al-Anwar in a village close to ‘Ammuriya itself. The head of the monastery, the superior of the monks, a man called ‘Abd al-Masih, came to me and brought me in, and I found forty monks there who entertained me admirably that night. I left the next day after having seen a devotion to worship on the part of the monks that
I had never met anywhere else. Then, after finishing my business in ‘Ammuriya, I went back to Anbar.

  In the following year I made the pilgrimage to Mecca, and while I was perambulating the Ka‘ba I saw ‘Abd al-Masih, the monk, who was also performing the perambulation together with five other monks of his. When I was sure who he was, I went up to him and said: ‘Aren’t you ‘Abd al-Masih, the monk?’ ‘No,’ he told me, ‘I am ‘Abd Allah, who seeks God’s mercy.’ I started to kiss his grey hairs, weeping as I did so, and then, taking him by the hand, I led him to the side to the sacred precinct, where I asked him to tell me how he had come to be converted to Islam. ‘That was a great wonder,’ HE REPLIED, AND WENT ON:

  A group of Muslim ascetics passed by the village where our monastery stands and they sent a young man off to buy food for them. In the market he saw and was charmed by a very lovely Christian girl, who was selling bread. He fell on his face in a faint and when he had recovered he went back to his companions to tell them what had happened, adding: ‘Go on your way; I am not going with you.’ They reproached him and warned him, but it was no use and so they left him. He went into the village and sat by the door of the girl’s shop, and when she asked what he wanted, he told her that he was in love with her. She turned away from him and he stayed there for three days without eating, staring at her face. When she saw that he was not going to leave her, she went to her family and told them about him. They turned the boys on him and the boys, for their part, threw stones at him, bruising his ribs and cutting his head. When this didn’t make him leave, the villagers determined to kill him, but one of them came to me and told me of the state the Muslim was in. I went out to see him and, finding him lying on the ground, I wiped the blood from his face, carried him to the monastery and treated his wounds. He stayed with me for fourteen days and when he could walk, he left…