Eastern Tales by Many Story Tellers 8 – Anonymous · Verses Across
Literature · Short Stories
Eastern Tales by Many Story Tellers 8Jussuf, the Merchant of Balsora (part 3)
18
Literature · Short Stories
Eastern Tales by Many Story Tellers 8
Jussuf, the Merchant of Balsora (part 3)
AnonymousEnglish
Jussuf asked if she had not sent him any counsel.
"No; she said no other word," answered the slave, "than, 'Tell your countryman that everybody must be obedient, and resigned to the will of Heaven. Heathenish prophecies are often the consequence of godly truth and wisdom.'"
"What can I conclude from that?" said Jussuf. "In Allah's name, I must give myself up as a sacrifice to a snake, because it is the will of Heaven!"
He then broke out in desperate tears and cries.
"Listen," said the slave: "do not abandon all hope; I will give you good counsel. She has charged me to tell the King that to-morrow she wishes once more to visit her father in his palace. This is the first time since she has dwelt in her own palace. The King has sent her permission, as he thinks the prophecy cannot be now fulfilled, seeing that he has you in his power. She will certainly go into the garden, and pass through that farther door. When she passes, call her, and relate your case, and beg her to deliver you. She understands your language, and will certainly feel pity when she hears and sees you." He now turned away as a glimmer of light fell on him from one of the palace windows. "Farewell, I must away," whispered he; "it must not be betrayed that I have given you advice. Do not forget to call to her: only from her can you hope for anything. Call her Haschanascha: that is her name." With these words he left the palace quickly.
"Haschanascha is her name! How? Is not that the name of her whom I was to call in the ruins of the destroyed capital? Shall I not call her if the spark in Modibjah's talisman no longer shines? Is not Haschanascha the magic word which has led me here alone, away from all men who understand my language and share my anxieties?"
So he spoke to himself, and determined to follow the counsel given him by the slave.
After he had passed the night, partly in unquiet wakefulness, partly in dozing, he observed in the early part of the morning a great disturbance and unusual business in the courtyard. It was quiet in the inner court, when the Princess at last came. At this moment all pressed into the square before the palace. When Jussuf saw this, he pulled the talisman out of his pocket, and thought, "I must see if the stone preserves its spark. It seems a good sign of deliverance." And, behold, as he drew it forth, the red spot shone more fiery than ever. At noon he suddenly heard a trampling, as if the procession of slaves of the Princess were going into the garden. He attentively watched the appointed door, and he soon saw her pass, and her father, followed by a long train.
At this moment Jussuf cried out, "Haschanascha! Haschanascha! pity an unfortunate!"
On hearing the cry she looked up at Jussuf, and the King also gazed at him full of astonishment. Meantime the Princess drew near, and he followed her close. When he had said some words to her, she asked Jussuf,
"My King and foster-father asks who taught you the name Haschanascha?"
Jussuf knew that he ought not to betray the faithful slave, and yet he wished to confess the truth. He said, therefore,
"Before I knew that it was the name of a human being, my old teacher, Modibjah, taught me, whatever difficulties and dangers befell me, to pronounce the word Haschanascha. It has always been a defence to me whenever I have pronounced it. May it this time also procure me assistance!"
"You have named to me a very dear name," answered the Princess; "and it is a sign that you are he whom I must release from being sacrificed. But there is only one way--you must be my husband. This is the command of a higher being whom you must obey. Examine, if you will not thus purchase life and liberty at too dear a price. Without the fulfilling of this condition, I cannot deliver you. I give you time for consideration. When I return from the garden, let me know your determination."
She pronounced these words in a loud, earnest tone, and then turned with her father into the garden. The train of slaves accompanied them. Jussuf gave himself up to deep thought.
"I had selected a different one for my future bride; I would not take many wives, according to our customs, but only one companion for life, who was my playfellow, whom I have sought for, and for whose sake I have encountered these dangers. If I take this black Princess for my wife, it will only be from love of life, that I may be freed from prison. Then I must leave my old playfellow."
He thus meditated for some time, and at last resolved of the two evils to choose the lesser. When the Princess returned from the garden, he called her by name, and she approached with her father, and asked him, with an earnest mien and firm tone, what resolution he had adopted.
"How could I remain a moment in doubt?" answered he. "You, dearest Princess, will condescend to a poor unknown, and become my wife. You are the sun of my life. Without you life is worth nothing."
At these words she broke out into a hearty laugh. When she had finished laughing, she said, "Ah! I see you are like all men--a hypocrite and a jester. Much truth is in your jesting words. I am the sun of your life! Without me life would be worth nothing! Indeed, without me, you would be sacrificed to a snake!" She seated herself, and said, "Be not afraid: swear to me by the Prophet that you will take me for your wife, and you shall to-day be delivered from your prison."
Jussuf swore; and now she turned to her father, and spoke earnestly with him in his language. But the faithful slave approached the cage, and interpreted all that was said.
"It is not prudent to keep this man imprisoned without knowing whether he is the right one to offer to the snake. You have seized the best, and in the meanwhile justice is forgotten. Have the priests to the snake called, that they may see him, and that I may speak with them."
The King answered that this would be easy, as two priests had arrived from the snake's temple, before they had gone into the garden, to demand an audience.
They were called, and there soon appeared the priests in long white garments, with particoloured girdles.
"Is this the man pointed out by your god?" asked she, as they approached Jussuf's cage.
"It is, it is!" they cried in the same voice, and bowed humbly before the Princess.
"What have you for a sign?" she again asked.
"We have no sign," they answered; "but he it is."
"You have no sign! How, then, do you know he is the right one?" asked she.
To which they answered, "The divine snake has discovered it."
Then she replied, with contempt, "Be silent to me about your snake!" And she turned to the King, and said, "My King and father, will you suffer yourself any longer to be deceived by these stupid and obstinate men? They give out that they have divine knowledge, and yet they are as ignorant as a maiden of sixteen! I beg you, have their god, the snake, brought here, and I will prove that I speak truth; but they, only deceit and falsehood."
At these words, the priests doubled their fists, and struck their foreheads and breasts, and bowed themselves to the ground, and jumped about as if seized by convulsions.
Then the King looked at the Princess with a frightened countenance, and said, "Child, take heed what you do; revile not the gods."
All the servants who stood around were astonished, not rightly comprehending what was passing. But the Princess earnestly coaxed the King to cause the priests to bring the divine serpent there, that they might test the truth of what she had spoken. The King gave the command, and the priests left; at the Princess's request the King remained. All stood around in anxious expectation.
They had not to wait long before a numerous train of priests appeared, eight of whom bore, on four golden staves, a costly chest adorned with gold, ebony, and precious stones, and placed it in the middle of the court. Then they bowed before the King, and the high priest stepped forward and said,
"The King has given us an unusual command, and we fear that a great misfortune is about to happen. What is the reason that we are summoned from the recesses of the temple, and must even bring the divine snake in its chest with us?"
Then the Princess said, "I will explain all. It is doubted that you really take charge of a divine snake; therefore let the chest be opened, and show it to the people."
Then the priests answered, "Do the people doubt of our god? Let the doubters approach and be convinced."
He opened the lid, and every one saw a great snake in the chest It lay stupefied, as snakes usually do after a heavy repast.
The Princess approached the chest, and cried, "Behold, doubters! is not this a snake?" Then she turned to the high priest, and asked, "Has your god shown you no sign by which you may know the man that ought to be sacrificed?" The high priest mused, but did not reply. Then she said, "Now I will show you the truth. Man does not properly understand heavenly things. I honour your prudence; but answer me another question. Would your god know its enemies if there were any such here? And would he revenge himself on them if they attempted his life?"
"Certainly, certainly!" vociferated the priest. "Fire would fall from heaven and destroy them."
"Very well," she said; "I am the enemy, and your god dies by my hand." And quickly, even before she had quite uttered these words, she drew her poniard and with it pierced the head of the snake, so that the weapon ran into its chest and transfixed it.
The priests gave a common cry, and the King seized the Princess by both arms, and pulled her back.
"My child, my child!" he cried, "what have you done?"
"What you, my father, ought long since to have done," she replied. "Will you all believe," she called aloud to the spectators, "that I have done right in killing this snake, if I tell you what you will find within it?"
After a short pause, the King answered, "Yes, certainly." And the people cried, "Then is the snake rightly slain--it was no god."
The priests said to the King, "She shall tell us; but we will accuse her of its death if she does not speak truth."
The Princess cried with a firm voice, "Let it be so; I promise them."
The King bowed consent.
Then she said, "There is a man among us whose wife sits at home weeping and bewailing, for she had a beautiful little boy, eighteen months old, who often ran about the streets. This child did not return home yesterday: it was taken to the snake's temple, and the priests know where it is. Let the man step forward and seek his child in the snake's belly."
While she was speaking, a deep silence reigned around; but now a man broke forth from the crowd, and said, "It is true; I am the man. My beautiful boy, my Hamed, has not returned, and my wife sits at home and weeps. I left her, for I could not bear to hear her lament."
Then arose a common shout of astonishment and compassion from all, and he waited long for silence.
Then the Princess said to the man, "Draw your sword, cut open the snake, and you will find your child. I do not know if life still remain in him--the snake has only swallowed it an hour."
The man approached the chest, drew his sword with a trembling hand, and opened the snake with an anxious face. When, behold, he pulled out his child! He immediately ran with him from the palace, as he thought he discovered some slight traces of life in him. Then the priests fell on their knees before the King, and begged for pardon.
But the people, who were assembled in great crowds, cried, "Down with them! down with them!" and laid hands on them, as the King commanded them to be imprisoned.
The Princess now turned to the King, and said, "Let us release this unfortunate man: he has come as a stranger into our land, to whom you ought to have shown hospitality; instead of which you have imprisoned him as a criminal; you have mocked and jeered him, whilst, by your oath, you should have allowed him to quit your city free. Let what you have said in mockery of him be now reversed to his honour; for a King's word must not be blown away by the wind. This and no other shall be my husband."
The King commanded, and the prisoner was immediately freed. He bowed thankfully to the King and Princess. The King raised him, embraced him, called him his son, and led him to the Princess, saying,
"Let him be your husband: the solemnities of marriage shall be immediately prepared."
He caused his servants to proclaim through the city that the marriage of Princess Haschanascha was to be celebrated the next day, and all people were invited to assemble before the palace and to feast there. In his palace he pointed out to Jussuf a wing, in the apartments of which he for the future should dwell with his wife.
But the Princess said, "I will inhabit the apartments which I formerly dwelt in in this palace; for I only consider myself as his betrothed, till an imam of the religion which we both profess has pronounced over us the marriage blessing."
The King did not oppose her, but said, "You may command all as it pleases you. Since yesterday, I have discovered that you possess more knowledge and wisdom than the rest of mankind."
The betrothal was celebrated with great splendour. The King, according to his former oath, showed Jussuf all honour, carried him to his different country seats, pointed out to him his gardens and lands, prepared many feasts, and did all to make his residence in his Court agreeable. The Princess accompanied them everywhere, and helped not a little to render these short journeys pleasing and satisfactory. She watched with great care for the convenience of her future husband, and sought to fulfil even his smallest wish before he had spoken it; so that Jussuf was often astonished, and said to himself, "She must read my thoughts before they arise." He felt that he was happy in everything except in her having a black complexion. One day they all went together to a beautiful neighbouring hunting-seat, in the environs of which a grand hunt was held. The Princess Haschanascha took part in it. She rode on a tame elephant, over whose back was thrown a cloth embroidered with gold. On the middle of its back a couch was skilfully fastened, and over this a canopy was raised on four slender pillars of gold. Jussuf remained generally near her during the hunt. He rode on a beautiful horse of the most noble race, which the King had sent him from his stable. Whenever he saw a curious bird or a wild beast, he aimed so well that the animal always fell pierced by his arrow. In the evening when they returned to the palace from the wood, Jussuf wished to remain there some days away from the bustle of the Court, and the King granted this wish. He left behind some servants to wait on him, and returned with his daughter to the capital.
At parting, Haschanascha appeared very sad, and Jussuf perceived tears in her eyes.
"I know," said she, "this stay will be unfortunate for me; you will forget me: even the talisman of your teacher Modibjah will fall into other hands, and on it depends my life. Might it be that this body--this hateful black veil of Haschanascha--should fall to pieces if it might conduce to your happiness. You will soon awake from a bright dream to longer and more bitter sorrows."
Jussuf consoled her, and represented that she troubled herself with useless fears. He took an affectionate farewell of her, and saw the procession depart not without emotion: he would willingly have accompanied her, but an irresistible feeling held him back. He went, as he was now quite alone, into the garden, which was adorned with curious flowers.
"Why was it," said he anxiously to himself, "that Haschanascha was to-day so mournful at parting? She is so prudent, and with her clear eyes foresees the events of life. Why can she fear that I should ever allow Modibjah's talisman to get into a stranger's hands when I always wear it?" With these words he pulled the little bag out, and said, "No, I will never separate from you unless you are taken by force. But can robbers be sheltered in this land?"
Whilst he asked himself these questions, he thought that it would be better not to carry it in his bosom, where it might easily be found if he were searched. He therefore wrapped it up carefully in the folds of his turban, and believed it to be quite safe.
Night had spread its veil over the garden, and he returned to the palace. Wonderful dreams disturbed his sleep, and their impressions accompanied him when he went into the garden the next morning. He had dreamt a great deal about red poppy-flowers, and now he saw them before him in the garden-beds. He found some alone in a bed, and while he watched them he again saw in fancy the same butterfly that he had before seen in his own garden upon similar flowers, and the memory of the circumstances Of the last time were deeply graven in his soul. Then he again dwelt upon the maiden to seek whom he had made this journey. Thus, amid these reflections, he took hold of the wooden box which he had received from the dervish in the subterraneous chambers in the ruined city near Shiraz.
"Without thee," said he, "could I never have obtained the object of my desires? And of what use have you been to me till to-day? You ought to lead me straight to my mark, and I should always be in the right way as long as I did not open the box with the golden key. You indeed have led me through dangers and misery, and at the end to a betrothal with a maiden as different from the one I sought as day from night. And shall I open you only when I have lost all hope to attain my desire? Well, let us see what it contains."
With these words he pulled out the golden key and unlocked the box; but he let it fall to the earth with a joyous cry, for scarcely had he opened it when the curious butterfly flew out, hovered in the sunshine over the flowers, and soon settled on one of the poppies. He quickly snatched off his turban, and covered with it the butterfly and the flowers. When he raised it, a figure was underneath, and before him stood his pleasant playfellow.
"Are you truly she? Do I really see you at last?" he cried, astonished.
"I am truly she," she answered. "Have you quite forgotten me, that you have allowed so long a time to elapse without asking after me? But what have you done with your turban? Let us see."
She took it from his head, sought in the folds, and pulled out the little bag with the talisman.
"Oh, oh!" cried she, returning his turban, "do you carry such things about with you? You will not want it any more: I will keep it." And she sprang forward.
He ran after her and caught her, begging her to return his pouch, explaining that it contained a talisman which had hitherto preserved him from every danger.
"Well," said she, when he paused, "and the only error is, that you have met with me again to-day."
She assured him that she would never return the talisman, and began many games with him as they had done in the garden at Balsora. At dinner-time he asked her to go into the palace to take some refreshment. She looked at him with a scornful laugh, and said, "I? Go under a roof--sit to table with you to partake of meats prepared from the flesh of animals and the flour of wheat? What can you mean? Do you not recollect the fig that we ate together? It still nourishes me; but I know that you need more."
She went to a neighbouring bush, plucked a white blossom, and offered it to him. "There, drink honey," said she.
When he took the flower, it changed into a silver-gilt goblet filled with delicious drink. He drank, and felt himself quite refreshed, strengthened, and satisfied. They again played many childish games together, and the maiden always invented new pastimes. The day passed by, and Jussuf did not perceive how the hours flew away: the sun was just sinking; then his playfellow sprang over a neighbouring bush, and cried, "Good night."
As she passed over the flowers of the bush, she disappeared from Jussuf's eyes, and he saw only the butterfly flying. When he returned to the palace, his servants were much rejoiced. They had waited for him since noon, and had searched for him in the gardens, as an embassy had been sent from the capital to bring him news that the Princess had suddenly fallen ill. He caused the messengers to be brought before him, to learn from them all the attendant circumstances. He discovered from them that she had retired to rest early the preceding evening, and had risen quite well in the morning after a peaceful slumber; but hardly had the sun shone half an hour, when she fell, and was obliged to be carried to her apartments. She soon came to herself, but felt very weak, and informed her sorrowing father that she must die. Jussuf was very thoughtful, for he remembered her warning about the talisman, and also recollected that it was exactly the same hour in which the maiden had taken it from the folds of his turban. He resolved early the next morning to desire the talisman from her earnestly, and then to hasten to the city; and commanded the embassy to return at sunrise the next day, to announce his arrival in the evening. In the loneliness of night he felt angry with himself. But the loss of the talisman, which exceedingly disquieted him, was not the only reason: it was a mortifying feeling to him that he had passed the whole day in childish sports, according to the caprice of his playfellow. He thought over all the words they had spoken, and found nothing in them but excessive frivolity.
He arose the next morning by daybreak, and at sunrise he again stood in the garden. Scarcely had the sun's rays dried the dew, when the beautiful butterfly hovered over the beds. Once more it settled on a poppy. Jussuf covered it with his turban--the change was again completed--the maiden once more stood before him. He immediately demanded of her the little bag with the talisman.
She mocked him with a mischievous laugh, and said, "You shall not have it to-day: perhaps to-morrow, if you are polite."
Then they again began their sports, and Jussuf soon forgot in their amusements everything else, and played and sported with her. She gave him, in the same manner as yesterday, honey to drink from a flower, after she had sipped a little herself, and knew how to draw him round the gardens in her sports, so that nobody met them. On this day also his servants sought him in the garden, and could not find him; another messenger had arrived from the city, wishing to speak to him in great haste.
He did not return to the palace till she had flown away as a butterfly. The messenger informed him that the Princess still remained very unwell, and that her weakness had materially increased when he did not arrive as he had promised. She had not said anything about this delay; but the King was very unhappy, and requested that he would come to the city the next day. He promised it, ordered the messenger to return at daybreak, and went into his sleeping-apartment. There he again reproached himself as on the previous day, and resolved to set out on the morrow, as soon as his playmate should return the talisman. When he met her the next day in the garden, he immediately asked for it.
"How now, Jussuf?" said she. "What a tone! Is this the way to greet your frolicking playmate? Is it worth while to make such a fuss about a miserable fragment of stone?" She bowed to him, laughing, and ran off.
Jussuf followed, and when he got near her, cried, "It concerns the life of the Princess."
Then she stopped, and asked, "Is this the reason of your earnestness? The Princess? The black negress? What binds you to her? Do you consider her as a creature like yourself? And, even if it were so, what can such a tiresome serious person be to you? Have you ever played with her an hour so merrily as we have played the whole day? And, believe me, my stock is not yet nearly exhausted. I have novelties every day."
She again began a game, and, before Jussuf could recollect himself, he had deeply entered into it; and he had soon forgotten the messenger, his intentions, and his resolutions. He played with her till evening, and returned to the palace when she had disappeared as usual. He had been sought for as on the former days, but in vain. A fresh messenger had brought still worse tidings of Haschanascha's health, and he made the bitterest reproaches to himself for his neglect. He ordered his horse to be saddled, and, as it was a moonlight night, he returned to the city with the messenger. At his arrival, he saw the windows of the apartment inhabited by his betrothed still illuminated. He immediately went in and inquired after her health: people shrugged their shoulders, and he hastened to go in to her. She lay, breathing faintly, on her pillow, and beckoned to him to draw near: she then motioned to the servants, who left the apartment. He threw himself on his knees by the couch and wept, mourned her affliction, and regretted that he had not paid more attention to her warnings.
"I know how it has happened," she said; "still, the worst has not happened. You have been forced to leave the talisman in her hands: take care that she does not keep it with your consent. I am now weak and ill: I shall become still weaker; but so long as you possess the earnest wish to recover the talisman, my life will be preserved. Return, now, whence you came, and let not the King see you. He is angry with you because he is sure you are the cause of my illness."
He obeyed her will, and returned to the hunting-seat by daybreak. He would not lose the vivid recollection of Haschanascha's mournful condition by going to sleep; but went immediately into the garden, and when the sun had sufficient influence to dry the dew on the flowers, he again saw the butterfly settle on a poppy. This time he kept his turban on his head, and tried to catch the butterfly with his hand; but it eluded him, and a wasp within the same flower stung his hand, so that it swelled very much. The butterfly flew away, and did not return to the garden. The hours passed very slowly, and would have seemed longer if his mind had not been agitated by various plans to recover the talisman. To do this, he must find its present possessor, and he reproached himself with having allowed the butterfly to escape by his awkwardness. At noon he returned to the palace, to the great astonishment of his servants, who were now accustomed not to see him all day. When he had eaten, he reposed a few hours on his couch, and, on his awaking, a messenger had come from the city with the news that the Princess was better since the morning. Thus the day concluded with more inward peace than heretofore: only one fear made him sad, that perhaps the butterfly had disappeared for ever from the garden, and then he could never recover his talisman.
But the next morning, when he went into the garden, he found the butterfly perched on a poppy in the sunshine. He threw his turban over it, and again the maiden stood before him. He asked her why she had not come the previous day, and she answered,
"Oh, there was a clumsy peasant in the garden who tried to catch me in his hand, like an ugly fly! He would have rubbed the beautiful dust off my wings; and then, what would have become of my beauty? I could not allow it, for my clothing is beautiful." She laughed so maliciously, that he well knew who she meant by the clumsy peasant.
Before he could reply, she had engaged him in a new game, and then in another, and so on, that he could find no opportunity to demand the talisman. Even so passed the next and some following days. Messengers arrived daily from the city to bring news of the Princess's health. But these news were not comforting: the invalid grew worse from day to day, and the whole company of physicians knew no name for the disease, nor could they apply a remedy. If the priests were to be believed, this long and extraordinary sickness was a consequence of killing the sacred snake, and a punishment from heaven. Scarcely had this conclusion reached the King's ear, than it found credence in his weak mind. He caused the still imprisoned high priest to be called before him, and he advised that the priests should be immediately set at liberty, and reinstated in their former rank. It was proclaimed through the city that sacrifices and gifts should be offered, and that all the people were to return to the worship of the snake. The priests gave it out that they had found a similar snake, and Jussuf was again destined for the principal sacrifice, as the Princess lay so near death that she scarcely breathed or gave any sign of life. Jussuf had, in the meanwhile, passed many days in play; and, although he daily received tidings of the Princess, he was ignorant of everything else that passed in the capital. On one of the last days, he proposed to his playfellow that she should be his wife, and go home with him.
But she laughed, and said, "Are you not already betrothed to Haschanascha? Did you think I did not know it? I also know that you have dared this with many women. You have turned your house into a seraglio, as birds are kept in a cage. How hateful must such a life be! Shall I allow myself to be bound for life by the speaking of a hoary imam? Heaven forbid it!" She began to jump and dance before Jussuf, while she sang:
"A happy life, a roving wing,
A sprightly dance, a voice to sing,
To sport 'mid flowers and crowns of spring,
Such, such be the life for me.
No care to-day, no toil the morrow,
Ever sunshine, never sorrow:
I sip and quaff the honied wine
With my rosy lips divine.
Fearless I stray, whate'er my will,
Seeking pleasure, pleasure still.
Such, such be the life for me:
Who aims at more, a fool is he."
When she had finished her song, she bowed before Jussuf in a mocking mood, and said,
"How does that please you, Jussuf? Why, you are making a face as if you had drunk poison. What thoughts are now passing through your head?"
"I am thinking of the talisman," answered Jussuf. "Give it me to-day. Haschanascha lies at the point of death."
"What of that?" asked she, jestingly: "if there be one such black creature more or less in the world, what consequence is it to you? Come, will you give me your talisman? It has served you well. Be polite for once, and say that you give it me."
She approached him, patted his cheek with her left hand, and holding out the talisman with her right, said smiling,
"Does it belong to me? Is it not true that you have given it me?"
Jussuf's first impulse was to say Yes; but when he looked into her eyes, and, instead of human eyes, saw a great number of butterflies' eyes, horror came over him. He snatched away the talisman, and threw it quickly over his head, calling on Haschanascha's name.
At this moment Haschanascha's elephant appeared exactly as he had seen it at the hunt. A brown slave, with a head-dress of beautiful feathers and variegated jewels, acted as leader, with a short staff in his hand. A maiden holding a drawn bow knelt on the elephant, and before Jussuf perceived it, the arrow flew from the bow, and his playfellow lay in his arms, pierced through with the arrow. Fright and astonishment took possession of him. Before he recovered himself, the elephant, with its guide, had disappeared, and also the deadly-struck maiden lay no longer in his arms. He looked on the ground to find traces of her blood, which he had seen gush out. There lay the beautiful butterfly, transfixed with a needle shaped like an arrow, as men keep such insects in a collection. He took it from the ground, and perceived again the wooden box and golden key which he had formerly opened and dropped. In doubt whether he were awake or asleep, he shut the butterfly fast up in the box, and was going thoughtfully away. Then the faithful slave came running to him, quite breathless, and cried,
"Flee quickly through the garden! The servants of the priests have already arrived in the palace-yard, and ask for you: you are again destined for a sacrifice."
He asked after the Princess.
"She must be dead," answered the slave, and pressed him, half with prayers and entreaties, and half with force, to take flight.
Jussuf hastened through the garden into the wood which joined it, and ran like a startled roe urged forward by terror and dread of its pursuers. The wood covered his flight. He came to the river below the capital, and found a ship about to go down the stream. The man who guided it yielded to his earnest request, took him in, and immediately set sail. At the approach of night, Jussuf thought they would have landed; but the man informed him, to his great joy, that the moon would shine clearly, and favour their voyage. They let the ship float down, and only guided it with a rudder now and then, when they saw a rock or a dangerous place stand out of the water.
At midnight Jussuf made the man understand that he would guide the rudder. He gave it up readily, and lay down to sleep. He sat alone in the stillness of night at the helm, and thought over the events of the last few days. All passed distinctly before his mind. He remembered Haschanascha's sorrow at his resolution to remain alone at the hunting-seat; her warning about the talisman; her illness when he no longer possessed it; her life withering away, and her death. Then he thought of the sorrow of her foster-father the King, and how he had again fallen under the dominion of the crafty and deceitful snake-priests. Also the image of his playful companion rose before him, and the merry childish sports in which they had both joined, and in which he had always forgotten all the care and sorrow of Haschanascha.
He saw her, again, pierced by the arrow, sinking in his arms. He also remembered Haschanascha's appearance as she knelt on the elephant, and shot the deadly arrow at his companion. Could this only have been a shade of the dead one? or was it she herself? No; she herself was dead: the faithful slave had assured him so. All these reflections brought no peace to his soul. Involuntarily Haschanascha's superiority to his playfellow rose before him, and he felt with surprise that at these thoughts his cheeks were wet with tears.
On the morrow they came near a city: he wished to recompense the seaman, who had now reached his destination. Whilst he sought for a piece of gold out of his purse, he remembered that he had left the box of diamonds with the rest of his goods in the palace in his hasty flight. The seaman would take nothing, but assured him that by having taken charge of the vessel during the night he had quite earned his passage-money.
Jussuf parted from him with many thanks. In the city he sold his costly clothes, which he had bought new in the city of the snake-worshippers, clothed himself in the mean dress of a dervish, had his eyebrows scraped off, and set off on foot along the course of the river. After a tedious wandering of some weeks, he happily reached the place where, in his former journey, he had observed the river flow by a city into the sea. He met there many who spoke his language, and from them he learned that a ship lay in the harbour, which was to sail the next day to Balsora. He immediately resolved to embark in it, and return home.
The captain was very ready to take him, and when he asked about the passage-money, he answered, "What! you want to pay passage-money? What would my master say if I took anything from a poor devil like you? No, no, the rich merchant Jussuf of Balsora, who has twenty such ships on the sea, takes no passage-money from a poor dervish."
"How!" asked Jussuf, "does the merchant Jussuf still live?"
Then the captain laughed heartily, and said, "Indeed he lives. He is now, certainly, on a distant journey, but his business still prospers. Look at this proof. This box of diamonds is a treasure than which no Sultan has any more precious in his treasury, and this has been given me to-day by one of his servants to convey to Balsora."
Jussuf saw with astonishment the box which he had left behind in his flight from the hunting-seat. He did not wish to be recognized in his poor condition, and feared to be taken for an impostor if he claimed the treasure. But he could not understand how the box could come into the captain's hands. He therefore turned to him, and said,
"Forgive me, sir, my curiosity, and tell me if you knew Jussuf's servant who brought the box?"
But the captain answered angrily, "Listen. I have certainly mistaken you, as I thought you were a dervish; therefore I am displeased that you speak so disrespectfully of the mighty merchant Jussuf, talking of him as if he were your equal. When you next pronounce his name, give him the honour due to him, and forget not the 'lord.' But as you asked if I knew the servant, know that I had never seen him before; but I did not doubt, when he gave it me in my lord's name. If he had given me only the ten thousandth part in worth in his lord's name, there would have been cause to doubt."
The next day a favourable south wind blew; they weighed anchor, and the ship, under press of sail, left the harbour for the open sea.
The voyage was prosperous. No cloud overcast the heavens, the wind continued favourable, and, in the shortest possible time, they landed in the Port of Balsora. There lay many new ships at anchor, ready prepared, and laden with various wares.
"See," said the active captain to Jussuf, in saying farewell; "these new ships belong also to the same Lord Jussuf. Do not forget when you go into the city to see his palace, and also his warehouse in the bazaar."
Jussuf promised not to forget it; and, on his entrance into the city, went straight to the bazaar. He passed through the row where his warehouse used to stand, and was astonished to see a much larger one in its place, adorned on the outside with precious metals and costly stones; but in the interior was contained riches and a great heap of jewels, such as he had seen in the subterranean chambers of the ruins near Shiraz.
He pushed through the crowd, and saw that six young men were unceasingly occupied in selling. He pressed forward, and stood immediately before one of the traders.
"To whom does this warehouse belong?" asked he, when no buyer seemed ready to occupy him.
"You must only have arrived here to-day, if you do not know that there is only one merchant in Balsora who can display such riches. You must have heard the name of the merchant Jussuf, the king of merchants!"
"Oh, yes! I have certainly heard that name," answered Jussuf; "but I thought that he had shut up his warehouse, and gone on a far journey."
"That is very true," replied the young man; "but a few weeks ago he sent his brother, Hassan Assad, who carries on the commerce, and has taken account of the treasures which he sends here from his journeys. This business is much increased; it is well seen that my Lord Jussuf does not leave his affairs in strange hands without good reason."
"You named his brother, and I have heard that your lord had no brother. What do you, then, mean?" asked Jussuf.
"Hassan Assad is not his brother, but his wife's brother," was the answer.
"His wife?" asked Jussuf, with unfeigned astonishment.
"I know not how it seems to you," said the young man. "What is there so much to be wondered at, and to stand with open mouth? Why should not my Lord Jussuf have a wife? for he might have them by the dozen. If all this interests you so much, go to his palace: there are idle people enough there that can satisfy your curiosity. I have no time: some buyers are waiting whom I have neglected by my conversation with you."
He turned to the customers, apologized for his inattention, and demanded their wishes.
Jussuf resolved to follow his advice and go to the palace. He no longer recognized it: two small palaces which stood on each side had been thrown down, and, in their places, two wings had been added to his own. The principal door of the middle palace stood open, and many male and female servants went in and out. He asked one of the porters to whom the palace belonged, and received the same answer as at the bazaar.
"But will your lord ever come again?" he asked. "He has been gone a long while; no man knows where he is, and he has sent no messengers back."
"What! sent no messenger?" cried both porters in a breath; "he has sent his wife here a long time since, and has himself arrived to-day. His brother Hassan Assad has always had sure news of him, and so he knew of his arrival to-day, and has prepared everything for his reception. His old teacher, who had not before been seen for years, has come forth to-day from his solitude, and arrived here."
"What! Modibjah also here?" he asked.
"See, see!" answered both, "you know his name better than we. Yes, yes, his name is Modibjah: I could not recollect."
"Let me go in, good people," said he, "that I may speak to him."
"No, no," said one of them, obstructing the way; "what business have you in? The marriage ceremony is about to be performed in the hall, after the manner of our religion; the imam is just now gone in; therefore no strangers can be admitted."
"What!" cried Jussuf, "your lord already arrived? Where is the impostor? Let me in, that I may confront him."
Both porters opposed him, because he tried to force his way in.
"Do you not know your lord," asked Jussuf, full of indignation, "that you thus oppose him?"
They assured him that they had not been long in Assad's service, and did not know Jussuf; but they had been told that he was arrived.
"Yes," cried Jussuf, "he is arrived, but not yet in his palace; he will soon be in."
With these words he pushed the nearest on one side, threw him to the ground, and then the other also. He pressed forward quickly into the splendid hall, unopposed by the numerous servants, to whom he seemed to come from the passage into the hall. He placed himself in the midst, and cried with great earnestness,
"Who dares here to usurp Jussuf's place? Who dares here to pass for Jussuf's wife? I am Jussuf, who was thought lost! Where is the impostor? Let him come here, that he may receive the just reward of his treachery."
Whilst he spoke a richly-dressed man, but unknown to him, approached, and said,
"You speak of deceit! Nobody here passes for Jussuf but yourself. We expected him, because we have sure knowledge that he has landed to-day. You may be the expected one. Now for the proof: what word will your lips breathe on this talisman?" He held to him Modibjah's talisman. Jussuf looked astonished and surprised, for the spark had disappeared.
"Haschanascha!" he cried, with a sigh. The spark shone out clear, and a veiled lady walked forth from the circle of numerous assembled guests, and asked, as she threw her veil back, "Do you remember Haschanascha, your betrothed?" But he looked at her with marks of astonished joy. There were indeed the beautiful features of her face, the mild look of her soft eyes, the happy seriousness that reigned in Haschanascha's forehead; but her dark complexion had disappeared, and in its place played a soft blush, like the first breath of dawn, on her cheeks.
"Haschanascha!" cried he, at last awaking from his astonishment, "are you indeed she? I can no longer trust my senses, since I have been lost in so many adventures and dreams, that I cannot distinguish between reality and dreaming. Is it possible that you live? You were dead through my guilt."
"Ask not after what is past," said Modibjah's voice. "The King of the Genii has selected you to be his favourite on earth. Two daughters of genii were destined to try to lead you different ways; human nature nearly conquered, but you came out at last victorious from the fight. You have chosen the nobler. May she adorn your life with greater joy, as she helped you to conquer your selfishness, which bound you in weakness to the form you carried in the box! This is Haschanascha, the sister of your friend Hassan Assad, who has carried on your business since you separated from him near Shiraz. I am uncle to both; and that your wife may not enter your house as a beggar, here are the presents destined for the wedding present, which you saw under the ruins of the destroyed capital."
With these words he embraced Jussuf, who was again lost in astonishment. The young man who had offered him the talisman stepped forward, and Jussuf recognized in him his friend Hassan, and saluting him with heartfelt joy, called him his dear brother. In the same hour the imam pronounced over Jussuf and Haschanascha the blessing, and performed the usual prayers and ceremonies. Then were splendid feasts prepared that lasted many days, and such as never at any other time were celebrated in Balsora; so that in after years people spoke of the splendour with which the rich merchant Jussuf's wedding had been consummated. He attained with Haschanascha a great and very happy old age, and his latest descendants revere his memory.
