A journey to Central Africa

With my voyage on the Ethiopian Nile a thread of romance was woven, which, in the Oriental mood that had now become native to me, greatly added to the charm of the journey. My nights’ entertainments were better than the Arabian. The moon was at the full, and although, during the day, a light north-wind filled my sails, it invariably fell calm at sunset, and remained so for two or three hours. During the afternoon, I lay stretched on my carpet on the deck, looking through half-closed eyes on the glittering river and his banks. The western shore was one long bower of Paradise—so green, so bright, so heaped with the deep, cool foliage of majestic sycamores and endless clusters of palms. I had seen no such beautiful palms since leaving Minyeh, in Lower Egypt. There they were taller, but had not the exceeding richness and glory of these. The sun shone hot in a cloudless blue heaven, and the air was of a glassy, burning clearness, like that which dwells in the inmost heart of fire. The colors of the landscape were as if enamelled on gold, so intense, so glowing in their intoxicating depth and splendor. When, at last, the wind fell—except a breeze just strong enough to shake the creamy odor out of the purple bean-blossoms—and the sun went down in a bed of pale orange light, the moon came up the other side of heaven, a broad disc of yellow fire, and bridged the glassy Nile with her beams.

At such times, I selected a pleasant spot on the western bank of the river, where the palms were loftiest and most thickly clustered, and had the boat moored to the shore. Achmet then spread my carpet and piled my cushions on the shelving bank of white sand, at the foot of the trees, where, as I lay, I could see the long, feathery leaves high above my head, and at the same time look upon the broad wake of the moon, as she rose beyond the Nile. The sand was as fine and soft as a bed of down, and retained an agreeable warmth from the sunshine which had lain upon it all day. As we rarely halted near a village, there was no sound to disturb the balmy repose of the scene, except, now and then, the whine of a jackal prowling along the edge of the Desert. Achmet crossed his legs beside me on the sand, and Ali, who at such times had special charge of my pipe, sat at my feet, ready to replenish it as often as occasion required. My boatmen, after gathering dry palm-leaves and the resinous branches of the mimosa, kindled a fire beside some neighboring patch of dookhn, and squatted around it, smoking and chatting in subdued tones, that their gossip might not disturb my meditations. Their white turbans and lean dark faces were brought out in strong relief by the red fire-light, and completed the reality of a picture which was more beautiful than dreams.

On the first of these evenings, after my pipe had been filled for the third time, Achmet, finding that I showed no disposition to break the silence, and rightly judging that I would rather listen than talk, addressed me. “Master,” said he, “I know many stories, such as the story-tellers relate in the coffee-houses of Cairo. If you will give me permission, I will tell you some which I think you will find diverting.” “Excellent!” said I; “nothing will please me better, provided you tell them in Arabic. This will be more agreeable to both of us, and whenever I cannot understand your words, I will interrupt you, and you shall explain them as well as you can, in English.” He immediately commenced, and while those evening calms lasted, I had such a living experience of the Arabian Nights, as would have seemed to me a greater marvel than any they describe, had it been foreshown to my boyish vision, when I first hung over the charmed pages. There, in my African mood, the most marvellous particulars seemed quite real and natural, and I enjoyed those flowers of Eastern romance with a zest unknown before. After my recent reception, as a king of the Franks, in the capital of Berber, it was not difficult to imagine myself Shahriar, the Sultan of the Indies, especially as the moon showed me my turbaned shadow on the sand. If the amber mouth-piece of my pipe was not studded with jewels, and if the zerf which held my coffee-cup was brass instead of gold, it was all the same by moonlight. Achmet, seated on the sand, a little below my throne, was Sheherazade, and Ali, kneeling at my feet, her sister, Dinarzade; though, to speak candidly, my imagination could not stretch quite so far. In this respect, Shahriar had greatly the advantage of me. I bitterly felt the difference between my dusky vizier, and his vizier’s daughter. Nor did Ali, who listened to the stories with great interest, expressing his satisfaction occasionally by a deep guttural chuckle, ever surprise me by saying: “If you are not asleep, my sister, I beg of you to recount to me one of those delightful stories you know.”

Nevertheless, those nights possessed a charm which separates them from all other nights I have known. The stories resembled those of the Arabian tale in being sometimes prolonged from one day to another. One of them, in fact, was “Ganem, the Slave of Love,” but, as told by Achmet, differing slightly from the English version. The principal story, however, was new to me, and as I am not aware that it has ever been translated, I may be pardoned for telling it as it was told to me, taking the liberty to substitute my own words for Achmet’s mixture of Arabic and English. I was too thoroughly given up to the pleasant illusion, to note down the story at the time, and I regret that many peculiarities of expression have escaped me, which then led me to consider it a genuine product of the age which produced the Thousand and One Nights.

“You already know, my Master,” Achmet began, “that many hundred years ago all the people of Islam were governed by a caliph, whose capital was Baghdad, and I doubt not that you have heard of the great Caliph, Haroun Al-Raschid, who certainly was not only the wisest man of his day, but the wisest that has been known since the days of our Prophet, Mohammed, whose name be exalted! It rarely happens that a wise and great man ever finds a wife, whose wisdom is any match for his own; for as the wise men whom Allah sends upon the earth are few, so are the wise women still fewer. But herein was the Caliph favored of Heaven. Since the days of Balkis, the Queen of Sheba, whom even the prophet Solomon could not help but honor, there was no woman equal in virtue or in wisdom to the Sultana Zubeydeh (Zobeide). The Caliph never failed to consult her on all important matters, and her prudence and intelligence were united with his, in the government of his great empire, even as the sun and moon are sometimes seen shining in the heavens at the same time.

“But do not imagine that Haroun Al-Raschid and the Sultana Zubeydeh were destitute of faults. None except the Prophets of God—may their names be extolled for ever!—were ever entirely just, or wise, or prudent. The Caliph was subject to fits of jealousy and mistrust, which frequently led him to commit acts that obliged him, afterwards, to eat of the bitter fruit of repentance; and as for Zubeydeh, with all her wisdom she had a sharp tongue in her head, and was often so little discreet as to say things which brought upon her the displeasure of the Commander of the Faithful.

“It chanced that, once upon a time, they were both seated in a window of the hareem, which overlooked one of the streets of Baghdad. The Caliph was in an ill-humor, for a beautiful Georgian slave whom his vizier had recently brought him, had disappeared from the harem, and he saw in this the work of Zubeydeh, who was always jealous of any rival to her beauty. Now as they were sitting there, looking down into the street, a poor wood-cutter came along, with a bundle of sticks upon his head. His body was lean with poverty, and his only clothing was a tattered cloth, bound around his waist. But the most wonderful thing was, that in passing through the wood where he had collected his load, a serpent had seized him by the heel, but his feet were so hardened by toil that they resembled the hoofs of a camel, and he neither felt the teeth of the serpent, nor knew that he was still dragging it after him as he walked. The Caliph marvelled when he beheld this, but Zubeydeh exclaimed: ‘See, O Commander of the Faithful! there is the man’s wife!’ ‘What!’ exclaimed Haroun, with sudden wrath: ‘Is the wife then a serpent to the man, which stings him none the less because he does not feel it? Thou serpent, because thou hast stung me, and because thou hast made sport of the honest poverty of that poor creature, thou shalt take the serpent’s place!’ Zubeydeh answered not a word, for she knew that to speak would but increase the Caliph’s anger. Haroun clapped his hands thrice, and presently Mesrour, his chief eunuch, appeared. ‘Here Mesrour!’ said he, ‘take this woman with thee, follow yonder wood-cutter, and present her to him as his wife, whom the Caliph hath ordered him to accept.’

“Mesrour laid his hands upon his breast and bowed his head, in token of obedience. He then beckoned to Zubeydeh, who rose, covered herself with a veil and a feridjee, such as is worn by the wives of the poor, and followed him. When they had overtaken the wood-cutter, Mesrour delivered to him the message of the Caliph, and presented to him the veiled Zubeydeh. ‘There is no God but God!’ said the poor man; ‘but how can I support a wife—I, who can scarcely live by my own labors?’ ‘Dost thou dare to disobey the Commander of the Faithful?’ cried Mesrour, in such a savage tone, that the man trembled from head to foot; but Zubeydeh, speaking for the first time, said: ‘Take me with thee, O Man! since it is the Caliph’s will. I will serve thee faithfully, and perhaps the burden of thy poverty may be lightened through me.’ The man thereupon obeyed, and they proceeded together to his house, which was in a remote part of the city. There were but two miserable rooms, with a roof which was beginning to fall in, from decay. The wood-cutter, having thrown down his bundle, went out to the bazaar, purchased some rice and a little salt, and brought a jar of water from the fountain. This was all he could afford, and Zubeydeh, who had kindled a fire in the mean time, cooked it and placed it before him. But when he would have had her raise her veil and sit down to eat with him, she refused, saying: ‘I have promised that I shall not increase the burden of thy poverty. Promise me, in return, that thou wilt never seek to look upon my face, nor to enter that room, which I have chosen for my apartment. I am not without learning, O Man! and if thou wilt respect my wishes, it shall be well for thee.’

“The wood-cutter, who was not naturally deficient in intelligence, perceived from the words of Zubeydeh that she was a superior person, and, judging that he could not do better than to follow her counsel, promised at once all that she desired. She then declared, that as she intended to take charge of his household, he must give to her, every evening, all the money he had received for his wood during the day. The man consented to this likewise, produced a handful of copper coins, which altogether amounted to only one piastre—but you must know, my master, that a piastre, in the days of Haroun Al-Raschid, was four or five times as much as it is nowadays. Thus they lived together for several weeks, the wood-cutter going to the forest every day, and paying his gains every night into the hands of Zubeydeh, who kept his miserable house clean and comfortable and prepared his food. She managed things with so much economy that she was enabled to save two paràs every day, out of the piastre which he gave her. When she had amassed twenty piastres in this way, she gave them to the wood-cutter, saying: ‘Go now to the market and buy thee an ass with this money. Thou canst thus bring home thrice as much wood as before, and the ass can subsist upon the grass which he finds in the forest, and which costs thee nothing.’ ‘By Allah!’ exclaimed the wood-cutter; ‘thou art a wonderful woman, and I will obey thee in every thing.’

“He forthwith did as Zubeydeh ordered, and was now enabled to give her three or four piastres every evening. She presented him with a more decent garment, and added butter to his pillau of rice, but still preserved such a strict economy, that in a short time he was master of three asses instead of one, and was obliged to hire a man to assist him in cutting wood. One evening, as the asses came home with their loads, Zubeydeh remarked that the wood gave out a grateful fragrance, like that of musk or ambergris, and upon examining it more closely, she found that it was a most precious article—in fact, that it had been cut from one of those spicy trees which sprang up where the tears of Adam fell upon the Earth, as he bewailed his expulsion from Paradise. For at that time the juices of the fruits of Paradise still remained in his body, and his tears were flavored by them—which was the cause of all the spices that grow in the lands of Serendib and India. Zubeydeh asked of the wood-cutter: ‘To whom dost thou sell this wood?’ and from his answer she found that it was all purchased by some Jewish merchants, who gave him no more for it than for the common wood with which she cooked his rice. ‘The accursed Jews!’ she exclaimed: ‘Go thou to them immediately, and threaten to accuse them before the Cadi of defrauding a son of the Faith, unless they agree to pay thee for this wood henceforth, twelve times as much as they have paid before!’

“The man lost no time in visiting the Jewish merchants, who, when they saw that their fraud had been discovered, were greatly alarmed, and immediately agreed to pay him all that he demanded. The wood-cutter now brought home every night three donkey-loads of the precious wood, and paid to Zubeydeh from one to two hundred piastres. She was soon able to purchase a better house, where she not only gave the man more nourishing food, but sent for a teacher to instruct him how to read and write. He had so improved in appearance by this time, and had profited so well by the wise conversation of Zubeydeh, that he was quite like another person, and those who had known him in his poverty no longer recognized him. For this reason, the Caliph, who soon repented of his anger towards Zubeydeh and made every effort to recover her, was unable to find any trace of him. Mesrour sought day and night through the streets of Baghdad, but as Zubeydeh never left the wood-cutter’s house, all his search was in vain, and the Caliph was like one distracted.

“One day, as the wood-cutter was on his way to the forest, he was met by three persons, who desired to hire his asses for the day. ‘But,’ said he, ‘I make my living from the wood which the asses carry to the city.’ ‘What profit do you make upon each load?’ asked one of the men. ‘If it is a good load, I often make fifty piastres,’ answered the wood-cutter. ‘Well,’ said the men, ‘we will give you two hundred piastres as the hire of each ass, for one day.’ The wood-cutter, who had not expected such an extraordinary offer, was about to accept it at once, when he reflected that he had obeyed in all things the advice of Zubeydeh, and ought not to take such a step without her consent. He thereupon requested the men to wait while he returned home and consulted his wife. ‘You have done right, O my lord!’ said Zubeydeh: ‘I commend your prudence, and am quite willing that you should accept the offer of the men, as the money will purchase other asses and repay you for the loss of the day’s profit, if the persons should not return.’

“Now the three men were three celebrated robbers, who had amassed a vast treasure, which they kept concealed in a cave in one of the neighboring mountains. They hired the donkeys in order to transport this treasure to a barque in which they had taken passage to Bassora, where they intended to establish themselves as rich foreign merchants. But Allah, who governs all things, allows the plans of the wicked to prosper for a time, only that he may throw them into more utter ruin at the last. The robbers went to their secret cave with the donkeys and loaded them with all their spoils—great sacks of gold, of rubies, diamonds and emeralds, which the beasts were scarcely strong enough to carry. On their way to the river below Baghdad, where the boat was waiting for them, two of them stopped to drink at a well, while the other went on with the asses. Said one of the twain to the other: “Let us kill our comrade, that we may have the greater treasure.” He at once agreed, and they had no sooner overtaken the third robber, than the first, with one stroke of his sabre, made his head fly from his body. The two then proceeded together for a short distance, when the murderer said: ‘I must have more than half of the treasure, because I killed our comrade.’ ‘If you begin by claiming more than half, you will in the end claim the whole,’ said the other robber, who refused to agree. They presently set upon each other with their swords, and after fighting for some time, both of them received so many wounds that they fell dead in the road.

“The asses, finding that no one was driving them any longer, took, from habit, the road to the wood-cutter’s house, where they arrived safely, with the treasure upon their backs. Great was the amazement of their master, who, at Zubeydeh’s command, carried the heavy sacks into the house. But when he had opened one of them, and the splendor of the jewels filled the whole room, Zubeydeh exclaimed: ‘God is great! Now, indeed, I see that my conduct is acceptable to Him, and that His hand hurries my design more swiftly to its completion.’ But, as she knew not what had happened to the robbers, and supposed that the owner of the treasure would have his loss proclaimed in the bazaars, she determined to keep the sacks closed for the space of a moon, after which, according to the law, they would become her property, if they had not been claimed in the mean time. Of course, no proclamation of the loss was made, and at the end of the moon, she considered that she had a just right to the treasure, which, upon computation proved to be even greater than that of the Caliph Haroun Al-Raschid.

“She commanded the wood-cutter to send her at once the most renowned architect of Baghdad, whom she directed to build, exactly opposite to the Caliph’s Palace, another palace which should surpass in splendor any thing that had ever been beheld. For the purchase of the materials and the hire of the workmen, she gave him a hundred thousand pieces of gold. ‘If men ask,’ said she, ‘for whom you are building the palace, tell them it is for the son of a foreign king.’ The architect employed all the workmen in Baghdad, and followed her instructions so well, that in two months the palace was finished. The like of it had never been seen, and the Caliph’s palace faded before its magnificence as the face of the moon fades when the sun has risen above the horizon. The walls were of marble, white as snow; the gates of ivory, inlaid with pearl; the domes were gilded, so that when the sun shone, the eye could not look upon them; and from a great fountain of silver, in the court-yard, a jet of rose-colored water, which diffused an agreeable odor, leaped into air. Of this palace it might be said, in the words of the poet: ‘Truly it resembles Paradise; or is it the lost House of Irem, built from the treasures of King Sheddad? May kindness dwell upon the lips of the lord of this palace, and charity find refuge in his heart, that he be adjudged worthy to enjoy such splendor!’

“During the building of the palace, Zubeydeh employed the best masters in teaching the wood-cutter all the accomplishments which his present condition required that he should possess. In a short time he was a very pattern of elegance in his manner; his words were choice and spoken with dignity and propriety, and his demeanor was that of one born to command rather than to obey. When she had succeeded to the full extent of her wishes, she commenced teaching him to play chess, and spent several hours a day in this manner, until he finally played with a skill equal to her own. By this time, the palace was completed, and after having purchased horses and slaves, and every thing necessary to the maintenance of a princely household, Zubeydeh and the wood-cutter took possession of it during the night, in order that they might not be observed by the Caliph. Zubeydeh bade the wood-cutter remember the promise he had made her. She still retained her own apartments, with a number of female slaves to attend her, and she now presented to him, as a harem becoming a prince, twenty Circassian girls, each one fairer than the morning-star.

“The next morning she called the wood-cutter, and addressed him thus: ‘You see, my lord! what I have done for you. You remember in what misery I found you, and how, by your following my advice, every thing was changed. I intend to exalt you still higher, and in order that my plans may not be frustrated, I now ask you to promise that you will obey me in all things, for a month from this time.’ Zubeydeh made this demand, for she knew how quickly a change of fortune may change a man’s character, and how he will soon come to look upon that as a right which Allah granted him as a boon. But the wood-cutter threw himself at her feet, and said: ‘O Queen! it is for you to command, and it is for me to obey. You have taught me understanding and wisdom; you have given me the wealth of kings. May Allah forget me, if I forget to give you, in return, gratitude and obedience.’ ‘Go, then,’ continued Zubeydeh, ‘mount this horse, and attended by twenty slaves on horseback, visit the coffee-house in the great bazaar. Take with thee a purse of three thousand pieces of gold, and as thou goest on thy way, scatter a handful occasionally among the beggars. Take thy seat in the coffee-house, where thou wilt see the Vizier’s son, who is a skilful player of chess. He will challenge the multitude to play with him, and when no one accepts, do thou engage him for a thousand pieces of gold. Thou wilt win; but pay him the thousand pieces as if thou hadst lost, give two hundred pieces to the master of the coffee-house, divide two hundred pieces among the attendants, and scatter the remainder among the beggars.’

“The wood-cutter performed all that Zubeydeh commanded. He accepted the challenge of the Vizier’s son, won the game, yet paid him a thousand pieces of gold as if he had lost, and then rode back to the palace, followed by the acclamations of the multitude, who were loud in their praises of his beauty, the elegance of his speech, his unbounded munificence, and the splendor of his attendance. Every day he visited the coffee-house, gave two hundred pieces of gold to the master, two hundred to the servants, and distributed six hundred among the beggars. But the Vizier’s son, overcome with chagrin at his defeat, remained at home, where, in a few days, he sickened and died. These things coming to the Vizier’s ear, he felt a great desire to see the foreign prince, whose wealth and generosity were the talk of all Baghdad; and as he believed himself to be the greatest chess-player in the world, he determined to challenge him to a game. He thereupon visited the coffee-house, where he had not remained long when the wood-cutter made his appearance, in even greater splendor than before. This was in accordance with the instructions of Zubeydeh, who was informed of all that had taken place. He at once accepted the Vizier’s challenge to play, for a stake of two thousand pieces of gold. After a hard-fought battle, the Vizier was fairly beaten, but the wood-cutter paid him the two thousand pieces of gold, as if he had lost the game, gave away another thousand as usual, and retired to his palace.

“The Vizier took his defeat so much to heart, that his chagrin, combined with grief for the loss of his son, carried him off in a few days. This circumstance brought the whole history to the ears of Haroun Al-Raschid himself, who was immediately seized with a strong desire to play chess with the foreign prince, not doubting but that, as he had always beaten his Vizier, he would be more than a match for the new antagonist. Accordingly he sent an officer to the palace of the wood-cutter, with a message that the Commander of the Faithful desired to offer his hospitality to the son of the foreign king. By Zubeydeh’s advice, the invitation was accepted, and the officer speedily returned to Haroun Al-Raschid, to whom he gave such a description of the magnificence of the new palace, that the Caliph’s mouth began to water, and he exclaimed: ‘By Allah! I must look to this. No man, who has not the ring of Solomon on his finger, shall surpass me in my own capital!’ In a short time the wood-cutter arrived, attired in such splendor that the day seemed brighter for his appearance, and attended by forty black slaves, in dresses of crimson silk, with turbans of white and gold, and golden swords by their sides. They formed a double row from the court-yard to the throne-hall where the Caliph sat, and up the avenue thus formed the wood-cutter advanced, preceded by two slaves in dresses of cloth-of-silver, who placed at the Caliph’s feet two crystal goblets filled with rubies and emeralds of immense size. The Caliph, delighted with this superb present, rose, embraced the supposed prince, and seated him by his side. From the great wealth displayed by the wood-cutter, and the perfect grace and propriety of his manners, the Caliph suspected that he was no less a personage than the son of the King of Cathay.

“After a handsome repast had been served, the Caliph proposed a game of chess, stating that he had heard much of the prince’s skill in playing. ‘After I shall have played with you, O Commander of the Faithful!’ said the wood-cutter, ‘you will hear no more of my skill.’ The Caliph was charmed with the modesty of this speech, and the compliment to himself, and they immediately began to play. The wood-cutter, although he might easily have beaten the Caliph, suffered the latter to win the first game, which put him into the best humor possible. But when the second game had been played, and the wood-cutter was the victor, he perceived that the Caliph’s face became dark, and his good-humor was gone. ‘You are too generous to your servant, O Caliph!’ said he; ‘had you not given me this success as an encouragement, I should have lost a second time.’ At these words Haroun smiled, and they played a third game, which the wood-cutter purposely allowed him to win. Such was the counsel given to him by Zubeydeh, who said: ‘If thou permittest him to win the first game, he will be so well pleased, that thou mayest venture to defeat him on the second game. Then, when he has won the third game, thy having been once victorious will magnify his opinion of his own skill; for where we never suffer defeat, we at last regard our conquests with indifference.’

“The result was precisely as Zubeydeh had predicted. The Caliph was charmed with the foreign prince, and in a few days made him his Vizier. The wood-cutter filled his exalted station with dignity and judgment, and became at once a great favorite with the people of Baghdad. The month of obedience which he promised to Zubeydeh was now drawing to a close, when she said to him: ‘Cease to visit the Caliph, and do not leave thy palace for two or three days. When the Caliph sends for thee, return for answer that thou art ill.’ She foresaw that the Caliph would then come to see his Vizier, and gave the wood-cutter complete instructions, concerning what he should say and do.

“Haroun Al-Raschid no sooner heard of the illness of his Vizier, than he went personally to his palace, to see him. He was amazed at the size and splendor of the edifice. ‘Truly,’ said he, striking his hands together, ‘this man hath found the ring of Solomon, which compels the assistance of the genii. In all my life I have never seen such a palace as this.’ He found the Vizier reclining on a couch of cloth-of-gold, in a chamber, the walls whereof were of mother-of-pearl, and the floor of ivory. There was a fountain of perfumed water in the centre, and beside it stood a jasmine-tree, growing in a vase of crystal. ‘How is this?’ said the Caliph, seating himself on one end of the couch; ‘a man whom the genii serve, should have the secrets of health in his hands.’ ‘It is no fever,’ said the Vizier; ‘but the other day as I was washing myself in the fountain, before the evening prayer, I stooped too near the jasmine tree, and one of its thorns scratched my left arm.’ ‘What!’ cried the Caliph, in amazement; ‘the scratch of a blunt jasmine-thorn has made you ill!’. ‘You wonder at it, no doubt, O Commander of the Faithful!’ said the Vizier; ‘because, only a few months ago, you saw that I was insensible to the fangs of a serpent, which had fastened upon my heel.’ ‘There is no God but God!’ exclaimed Haroun Al-Raschid, as by these words he recognized the poor wood-cutter, who had passed under the window of his palace—‘hast thou indeed found the ring of Solomon?—and where is the woman whom Mesrour, at my command, brought to thee?’

“‘She is here!’ said Zubeydeh, entering the door. She turned towards the Caliph, and slightly lifting her veil, showed him her face, more beautiful than ever. Haroun, with a cry of joy, was on the point of clasping her in his arms, when he stopped suddenly, and said: ‘But thou art now the wife of that man.’ ‘Not so, great Caliph!’ exclaimed the Vizier who rose to his feet, now that there was no longer any need to affect illness; ‘from the day that she entered my house, I have never seen her face. By the beard of the Prophet, she is not less pure than she is wise. It is she who has made me all that I am. Obedience to her was the seed from which the tree of my fortune has grown.’ Zubeydeh then knelt at the Caliph’s feet, and said: ‘O Commander of the Faithful, restore me to the light of your favor. I swear to you that I am not less your wife than when the cloud of your anger overshadowed me. This honorable man has never ceased to respect me. My thoughtless words led you to send me forth to take the place of the serpent, but I have now shown you that a wife may also be to her husband as the staff, whereon he leans for support; as the camel, which bringeth him riches; as the tent, which shelters and protects him; as the bath, which maketh him comely, and as the lamp, whereby his steps are enlightened.’

“Haroun Al-Raschid had long since bitterly repented of his rashness and cruelty. He now saw in what had happened, the hand of Allah, who had turned that which he had intended as a punishment, into a triumph. He restored Zubeydeh at once to his favor, and to the wood-cutter, whom he still retained as Vizier, he gave his eldest daughter in marriage. All the citizens of Baghdad took part in the festivities, which lasted two weeks, and the Caliph, to commemorate his gratitude, built a superb mosque, which is called the Mosque of the Restoration to this very day. The Vizier nobly requited all the pains which the Sultana Zubeydeh had taken with his education, and showed so much wisdom and justice in his administration of the laws, that the Caliph never had occasion to be dissatisfied with him. Thus they all lived together in the utmost happiness and concord, until they were each, in turn, visited by the Terminator of Delights and the Separator of Companions.”

So ended Achmet’s story; but without the moonlight, the tall Ethiopian palms and the soothing pipe, as accessories, I fear that this reproduction of it retains little of the charm which I found in the original. It was followed by other and wilder tales, stamped in every part with the unmistakable signet of the Orient. They were all characterized by the belief in an inevitable Destiny, which seems to be the informing soul of all Oriental literature. This belief affords every liberty to the poet and romancer, and the Arabic authors have not scrupled to make liberal use of it. There is no hazard in surrounding your hero with all sorts of real and imaginary dangers, or in heaping up obstacles in the path of his designs, when you know that his destiny obliges him to overcome them. He becomes, for the time, the impersonation of Fate, and circumstances yield before him. You see, plainly, that he was chosen, in the beginning, to do the very thing which he accomplishes, in the end. If a miracle is needed for his success, it is not withheld. Difficulties crowd upon him to the last, only that the final triumph may be more complete and striking. Yet with all these violations of probability, the Oriental tales exhibit a great fertility of invention and sparkle with touches of genuine human nature. The deep and absorbing interest with which the unlettered Arabs listen to their recital—the hold which they have upon the popular heart of the East—attests their value, as illustrations of Eastern life.

From Poetry we frequently passed to Religion, and Achmet was astonished to find me familiar not only with Mohammed, but with Ali and Abdullah and Abu-talib, and with many incidents of the Prophet’s life, which were new to him. The Persian chronicles were fresh in my memory, and all the wonders related of Mohammed by that solemn old biographer, Mohammed Bekr, came up again as vividly as when I first read them. We compared notes, he repeated passages of the Koran, and so the Giaour and the True Believer discussed the nature of their faith, but always ended by passing beyond Prophet and Apostle, to the one great and good God, who is equally merciful to all men. I could sincerely adopt the first article of his faith: “La illah il’ Allah!” “There is no God but God,” while he was equally ready to accept the first commandment of mine.