The Project Gutenberg eBook of The adventures of Hatim Taï, by Anonymous

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The adventures of Hatim Taï, a romance, by Anonymous

THE
ADVENTURES OF HATIM TAÏ
A Romance

[COPYRIGHT.]

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

This remarkable and fascinating romance, in its English version, was originally published under the auspices of the Oriental Translation Fund sixty-five years ago. Issued in the form of a costly folio, it was buried in great libraries, and scarcely found its way at all to the general public. The publishers of the present edition, becoming acquainted with the rare merits and the intense interest of the work, have resolved to bring it, in a more available shape, to the attention of the large class of refined readers who cannot fail to be both delighted and edified by it.

The preface by the accomplished translator of the work from the Persian dealt much with philological matters which are of no interest save to critical students or linguists. Omitting these portions, re-arranging and condensing the rest, and adding some new matter, the present editor seeks here simply to furnish such an introduction as will enable those who approach the work to occupy the right point of view for an appreciative perusal of it. He has inserted in the text itself, in order not to encumber the pages with footnotes, such changes or explanatory phrases as will remove any obscurities which might perplex the reader.

The story consists of seven connected tales, of the same general character with those of the Arabian Nights Entertainments. In exciting interest, in ethical charm, in imaginative richness of startling adventures, it is not one whit inferior to the very best of those world-renowned masterpieces. It is a magnificent specimen of that ideal freedom of genius which creates its own world, peoples it with its own productions and events, and sympathizes, in vivid interior reproduction, with the romantic experiences of its characters and their destinies. Herein it is a valuable education of the reader in dramatic liberty of mind, fertility of fancy, quickness and strength of emotional action and reaction.

The whole production is also marked by an eminently humane and heroic spirit. The illustrious personage who figures as its hero, and whose thrilling adventures it records, was in his time regarded as an unequalled pattern of bravery, wisdom, and generosity. Hatim ben Ubaid ben Sa’id, chief of the tribe of Taï, lived in the latter half of the sixth century of the Christian era. His native country was Arabia felix, otherwise named Yemen. As the country was then divided into numerous tribes, it is probable that his sway extended only over a few thousand warriors who bore his family name of Taï and owned his chieftaincy. At all events he had in the highest degree all the virtues then most admired. An Arabian author of the twelfth century says of him: “Hatim was brave, liberal, wise, victorious. When he fought, he conquered; when he plundered, he carried off; when he was asked, he gave; when he shot his arrow, he hit the mark; and whomsoever he captured, he liberated.”

It is related of him that when he went a-hunting he never wounded the creatures he pursued with an arrow or any other deadly weapon, but used to catch them in nets and again set them at liberty. He never, it is said, uttered abusive language, but always spoke mildly. He possessed beauty so extreme that all men and women admired him and coveted his companionship. When any one approached him with a complaint and laid hold of the bridle of his horse, he would address the suppliant in consoling terms, examine into his grievances and afford him protection; for tyranny or wrong he countenanced not.

Naturally the chief who drew such encomiums became the favorite theme of poetry and romance. Throughout the East the name of Hatim Taï is synonymous with heroism and liberality. The highest compliment that can be paid to a generous man is to call him the Hatim of the day. Among the many allusions to him by Arabic and Persian authors, the two following anecdotes may here suffice:

The Greek emperor contemporary with Hatim once sent an embassador to Yemen to ask of the chief the gift of a favorite horse. The magnanimous Arab had received no intimation either of the embassy or of its object, and therefore was quite unprepared for the reception of the embassador when he arrived. In order to provide a suitable entertainment for his distinguished guest and his attendants he had no other resource than to order his favorite horse to be killed and roasted for the occasion. This was done. After the feast the embassador stated the wish of his royal master. Hatim replied: “It is too late. The horse has been slain for our repast. When you came I knew not the object of your journey, and had no other food to offer you.” The second anecdote is still more astonishing. It is indeed quite on a par with the transcendental idealism of the goodness of Buddha, who is said actually to have given himself as a meal for a famished tigress. One day Hatim went to the desert, and there suddenly came upon a lion. He said in his heart: “It will be inhuman for me to attack this lion with my weapon; yet if I smite him not he will devour me. Perhaps by the divine favor I may soothe his heart.” In mild tones he said to the lion[1]: “Creature of God, if thou art hungry for my flesh, it is at thy service; devour me and be not sad-hearted.” At these words the lion lowered his head and fell at the feet of Hatim and began to wipe his eyes against them. Hatim said: “Creature of God, far be it from me that thou shouldst depart hungry. Of my own free will I give myself up, and if thou eatest me not it will distress me.” The lion thereupon laid his face in the dust and then departed to his haunt. The story, in its child-like naïveté and sweetness, is closely akin to some of the legends of Saint Francis of Assisi.

In the Kozal-ul-Sufa is the following brief notice of the death of Hatim. “In the eighth year after the birth of the Prophet, died Noushirwan the Just and Hatim Taï the Generous, both famous for their virtues.” In the same work it is further stated that toward the close of the life of Mohammed the host of the Faithful, in propagating the religion of the prophet, ravaged and laid waste the territory of the tribe of Taï. Adi, the son of Hatim, fled to Syria; but his sister and such of his people as were spared were brought as prisoners to Medina. The prophet gave them their choice of embracing the faith or of having their heads cut off. Then the daughter of Hatim stood forth and pleaded the cause of her tribe. On hearing the revered name of Hatim, Mohammed issued a free pardon to the whole tribe of Taï.

According to D’Herbelot, the tomb of Hatim is to be seen at Aovaredh, a small village in Arabia. The spot consecrated by his dust is still visited with the reverence due to the memory of the generous and devoted.

If he who now writes these words in commendation of the fascinating romance herewith presented to the public can judge from his own experience to infer that of others, no fit reader of the Adventures of Hatim Taï will ever forget the pleasure the perusal of them gave him or lose from his soul the inspiring impulse imparted by the transcendent tenderness, docility, heroism, magnanimity, purity and piety that breathe through the moral teachings incarnated in them.

To the thoughtful scholar the highest interest of the whole work lies in the fact that it is an embodiment of the Mohammedan ideal of human excellence. Hatim walks before us as the impersonated model of what man should be according to the standard of Islam. In that ideal the four chief virtues are faith, veracity, kindness and blind submission to the decrees of fate. The Christian ideal puts in place of blind submission to the will of God as fate, an intelligent and loving coöperation of the will of the creature with the will of the Creator as rational freedom. The Islamite hero, in shooting at the mark on which his life depends, confides all to Allah and shuts his eyes as he shoots. The Christian pattern under such circumstances would equally trust in God, but also take careful aim. For he hears God say: “I will guide thee with mine eye, seeing with thine!”

THE ADVENTURES OF HATIM TAÏ.

BOOK I.

Containing the history of Husn Bānū, the daughter of Burzakh the merchant—Her expulsion from the King of Khorasan’s capital, and her removal from her country—Her finding in the desert the treasures of seven kings, and her beneficence towards mankind—Her becoming celebrated in the world, and her being beloved by Munir, the Assyrian prince—Hatim hears of the circumstance—His visit to Husn Bānū on account of her seven remarkable sayings, of which he undertakes an explanation.

In the kingdom of Khorasan there lived a monarch named Kurdan Shah, who supported in his train five hundred thousand horsemen and ten thousand couriers, also musketeers and archers. Each of his nobles he entrusted with the care of a province; his justice and equity were such that he made the lion and the lamb drink water from the same fountain; and he never oppressed his subjects. In his reign there lived a merchant, named Burzakh, who possessed much wealth and dignity, and whose agents travelled in all directions in pursuit of commerce. He himself was on intimate terms with the king, and the monarch’s regard for him was extreme. After some time, when his hour arrived, he died, and left no heir except an only daughter, Husn Banu, on whom was settled the whole of her father’s wealth. At this period Husn Banu was twelve years old, and Burzakh on his death-bed left his daughter to the king’s care, who with great kindness said, “She is my own daughter”; and he accordingly made over to Husn Banu all the wealth left by her father.

Shortly after, the daughter, who was possessed of wisdom, and looked on worldly wealth as sand, began to bestow her treasures in charity, and she used to remark, “that we ought not to entangle ourselves amidst the contaminations of the world.” Having sent for her nurse, she consulted her, saying, “My dear mother, it is not my intention to marry; pray tell me by what means I can keep myself secure from the hands of worldly men.” The nurse replied, “I have seven propositions which you shall put to every man who desires to become your husband; whosoever shall answer them properly, and shall agree to the terms which they embrace, him you shall accept. The seven propositions are the following:

Husn Banu highly approved of these propositions; and one day shortly after, when seated in her balcony, and viewing the surrounding prospect, a dervise attended by forty slaves passed by, and his feet touched not the earth. When Husn Banu saw the pious man, she said to her nurse, “Oh, mother, who is this high personage that travels so magnificently, and whose foot treads not the ground, except it be paved with bricks of gold and silver?” The nurse replied, “Life of thy mother, this dervise is the king’s spiritual guide, and Kurdan Shah every month goes and waits upon this holy man, submits himself to him, and acts according to his advice; in short, he is devout and in communion with the Creator.” Husn Banu said, “My dear nurse, I have a desire to invite him to this house to an entertainment, and shew him every mark of respect”; to which proposal the nurse gave her approbation. She then called one of her attendants, and said to him, “Go to the presence of that illustrious man, and convey to his eminence my desire, stating that a certain lady invites his holiness to an entertainment; if out of condescension becoming the great, and benevolence becoming the pious, he should deign to visit the said humble lady, she will be most happy on the occasion.” When the attendant of Husn Banu waited on the dervise, and stated to him her representation, the pious man consented, and said, “To-morrow I will assuredly come.” The servant brought the intelligence to Husn Banu that the dervise would come next day, at which she was highly delighted, and gave orders to prepare all sorts of viands for the pious man. She also prepared for an offering to him nine suits of silken garments embroidered with gold, and seven trays of pure brilliant gold, along with several baskets full of fruit.

On the following morning the dervise with his forty attendants proceeded to the house of Husn Banu. Now although this dervise was a man in appearance, he possessed the nature of Shaïtan the fiend, and when going on his way he would not deign to tread the earth: for his slaves paved his path with bricks of gold and silver, and on these alone he placed his feet and walked; and in this mode of marching he came to Husn Banu’s house. When the latter was informed that the dervise was arrived, she ordered them to cover the space extending from the outer gate to the interior of the house with carpets embroidered with gold and silver, on which the pious man might walk. After the dervise stepped upon the carpet, he entered the house, and was seated on a throne befitting a king.

Husn Banu in the first place brought for the acceptance of the dervise the trays full of gold and silver, which he accepted not, saying, “These sculptured pieces of worldly dross are of no service to me.” When they saw that the dervise would not accept the money, they then brought him the baskets filled with sweet fruits, and laid them on the table. All the trays and other dishes, and also the dish-covers, were of gold and silver, as were likewise the ewers and goglets; and the whole display was princely. The couches and screens were richly embroidered with gold, and they placed before the dervise food of every kind and variety, and sweetmeats of every description; and they waited upon him for washing his hands, with ewers and goglets of gold. The arrangements of the table being finished the dervise began to eat; but ever and anon his eye wandered to the gold and the various utensils, and he said in his heart: “Gracious heaven! what a wealthy man Burzakh the merchant must have been, who possessed in his house treasures and stores to such an extent that it seems almost the wealth of a crowned head!” He at the same time considered in his heart, “This very night we must come into the house of Burzakh’s daughter and seize this treasure and furniture—we must have recourse to theft.” When the dervise had finished eating, they presented him with perfumes; but he all along had his eyes on the various movables.

After some time, as evening approached, the dervise took leave of Husn Banu. Her waiting men and other servants who had been in attendance on the dervise went to sleep. When about a watch of the night had passed, the dervise with his forty satellites, who were complete thieves, entered the house of Husn Banu, and having killed such of her people as attempted to give the alarm, securely carried off the whole property. Husn Banu with her nurse having ensconced themselves in the lattice, were observing the thieves, and knew them. After the latter had gone and the morning advanced, Husn Banu having taken with her a few of her domestics who had survived from the hands of that treacherous villain, came to the king’s court, and represented her grievance. The king asked, “Who is this, and against whom does she demand justice?” The attendants replied, “Sire, this is the daughter of Burzakh the merchant; she says, if it please the king, she will come to his presence and represent her own case.” The king summoned Husn Banu to his presence; she stated, “Long live the king! Yesterday, as a sacred duty, I gave an entertainment to a dervise, and bestowed on him my food; and this last night he has committed murder in my house. He with his forty attendants privately entered my dwelling and carried off the whole amount of my money and property, and my people lie slain and wounded; thus has the dark-minded dervise acted towards me.” The king on hearing this accusation was enraged and said: “Foolish woman, bringest thou accusations against the most eminent of the age? he covets nothing earthly.” Husn Banu replied, “Oh, upright prince! he deserves not to be called the eminent but rather the fiend of the age.” At this reply the king grew furious, and ordered that both herself and her attendants should be stoned to death, in order that others might take warning, and not utter such calumnies respecting his Majesty’s confessor and counsellor. Here the prime minister stood up and said, “Sire, this is the daughter of Burzakh the merchant, and you have been pleased already to shew her kindness; but now when her father is no more, if you cause the daughter to be thus put to death, then will perish from the hearts of your subjects all confidence in the king’s protection towards their surviving children; and instead thereof, they will be filled with distrust: for this reason, Sire, I have deemed it proper to warn you.” To this the king replied, “Well, for the sake of Burzakh, we shall spare her life; but you shall expel her from the city and confiscate her house; this instant she must be sent without the gates.” The people executed the order, and Husn Banu and her nurse turned their faces to the desert with weeping and lamentation; and the attendants of the hapless lady, reduced to ruin, wandered through the streets of the city. Husn Banu frequently said, “Oh, mother! this dervise has been a grievous curse to us; and yet, oh, God! what crime have we committed that we should be involved in such calamities?” The nurse endeavored to console her, saying, “My child, no remedy can be applied against the revolutions of fortune.”

In a few days they reached the desert, where, underneath a shady tree, exhausted with hunger and thirst, they fell asleep. To Husn Banu a man appeared in a dream, saying, “Be not sorrowful, underneath this tree is buried the treasure of the seven regions, which wealth the king of truth has here kept hidden for thy sake: arise and take possession thereof.” She said, “I am a woman and alone, how can I bring it out of the earth?” To this the man replied, “Do thou dig a little with a spade; let the means be applied by thee, and God will grant success. Moreover, no one is able forcibly to deprive thee of this wealth: arise then and build a city on this spot.”

The lady and her nurse accordingly got up, and with a piece of wood began to dig the earth, when instantly a pit full of yellow gold presented itself. It seemed like seven houses filled with pure gold, and also chests full of jewels of every description. There were likewise four cups full of rubies and costly pearls of the size of ducks’-eggs. Husn Banu rejoiced, and in conformity with the true faith, she stooped to the ground and rendered thousands of thanks to God the Most High. She then handed some of the gold to her nurse, and said, “Mother, do you return to the city and procure us people, and bring us some food to eat and raiment to put on, and at the same time look out for laborers and architects, for on this spot I will build a solid edifice.” The nurse objected, saying, “How can I leave you here alone until some one else arrive?” Whilst they were in this conversation, who should pass by but the foster-brother of Husn Banu, dressed in a mendicant’s habit. He recognized them and fell at the feet of Husn Banu, who weeping from joy lifted him up to her side, and consoled him, saying, “Brother, be of good cheer, God, the great and glorious, has bestowed on us abundance of wealth, even beyond calculation. Take part of it and proceed to the city; bring hither all my dependents and relations, and purchase tents and bring them, for on this spot we shall build lofty edifices, forming a spacious city; but you must not communicate this secret to any one.” The brother having taken part of the gold came to the city; and having assembled Husn Banu’s former dependents, who wandered begging about the streets, he procured elegant tents, and returned with them. Husn Banu, delighted, had the tents erected; and soon after her brother went a second time to the city, and waited on the principal builders, saying, “Send along with me your brother craftsmen; my master intends to build a mansion in the desert: he is a most generous man, and will reward you amply.” The builder to whom he spoke sent one of his brothers, named Muâmmir, along with Husn Banu’s foster-brother, and both returned to where that lady resided. The builder selected a pleasant spot, and there erected a lofty mansion; and Husn Banu bestowed on him a liberal remuneration. The builder, thus enriched, sent for his friends and strenuously labored in the rearing of edifices, the digging of wells, and the building of a palace.

Husn Banu shewed them the greatest kindness, and said, “Now we must have a city built here.” Muâmmir replied, that it was not lawful to build a city without an order from the king; but if his Majesty should grant permission, it would then be an easy matter. Husn Banu admitted the truth of this remark; and having dressed herself in man’s apparel, she mounted an Arab steed, and summoned several of her attendants. She also carried with her for a present, a cup full of rubies and a casket of brilliant jewels, and thus proceeded to the city, where she arrived a few days after. She then made presents to the king’s officers, who speedily conveyed the information to their master, that a certain merchant had arrived from abroad, and that he wished to offer presents to the king; that he now stood at the gate, a man of beautiful countenance and elegant form. The king gave orders to bring him in. Husn Banu accordingly entered, and after performing her obeisance to the king, she presented to him the casket of jewels and the cup full of rubies. When the king beheld the jewels and the cup, he was highly delighted, and said, “Sir, whence art thou?” She replied, “My father was a merchant of Iram, and in the course of events he died at sea. As I happened to be passing this way and had heard of your Majesty’s good qualities, my desire of expressing my attachment and of tendering my humble services became excessive. It is the wish of your slave to pass the remainder of his life in the service of your Highness. When admitted to kiss the threshold of your sublime gates, my prosperity will become permanent and my happiness complete. Now I have no kindred; I am an orphan, and have pitched my tents, in a tract of the desert, where I hope, through your majesty’s kindness and generosity, I may be allowed to build a city.” At this statement the king shewed much sympathy, and presented the stranger with a dress of honor, adding, with the greatest courtesy and affection, “As you have no father, let me be as a father to you, and let me adopt you as my son.” Husn Banu, with profound obeisance, replied, “Since your Majesty has adopted me into the royal family, and has raised from the dust this abject slave, let me state that my name is Behram; may I hope that my name will be deemed fit for this threshold, of which may the head be exalted.” Hereupon Kurdan Shah bestowed on Husn Banu the name of Mahrū Shah[2] and said, “My dear son, the desert is far distant, you must build your city near my capital, and I shall call your city by the name of Shahabad.” Husn Banu respectfully replied, “May the king’s life-time be long. I have taken a fancy to that desert, and besides it would be disrespectful to build any city in the vicinity of your Majesty’s capital. May I hope that an order will be issued to the principal architects enjoining them to make preparations for the building of a city.” Kurdan Shah gave his orders to the architects to that effect, and taking a most affectionate leave of Husn Banu, said, “My dear son, when will you return? you must not deprive me long of your visits.” Husn Banu, making a profound obeisance, said, “I hope that once every month I may kiss the threshold of your Majesty.”

Pleased and happy, Husn Banu returned to the desert, and ordered Muâmmir to draw up the plan of a city. Having sent for more artists to proceed speedily with the building, Muâmmir engaged in the building of the edifices which were to form the city, and promoted the work night and day with all expedition. Husn Banu from month to month made a journey to the city to visit the king, whose kindness and affection towards her were daily increasing. After two or three years a spacious city was built, and its name was called Shahabad; after which, Husn Banu ordered the builders to be munificently rewarded. It happened one day after Husn Banu had arrived to wait upon the king, that his Majesty was proceeding to visit the dervise formerly mentioned, and his eye having caught Husn Banu, he said, “My dear Mahrū Shah, to-day I am going to visit the most eminent man of the age: if you have a desire to do me a favor, pray accompany me; for to have seen this saint of the time is of itself eternal felicity.” In reply, Husn Banu said, “Truly my happiness in this is twofold; first, in being honored with the sight of this eminent personage; and, secondly, in attending your Majesty thither”; but in her heart she said that the sight of such a fiend was an abomination. In short, she accompanied the king to the abode of the dervise, and in conformity with his Majesty’s example, paid her respects to that pious man. Kurdan Shah spoke much in praise and commendation of Mahrū Shah, who in the meanwhile held down her head and listened, thinking in her own mind, “These praises are on account of the jewels and cup which I presented; for otherwise I am the daughter of Burzakh the merchant, and this king once expelled me from his city.”

When the king was about to take leave of the dervise, Husn Banu respectfully stood up and said, “If your holiness will deign to visit my house, I hope it will not be unbecoming the condescension of the illustrious.” The execrable dervise said, “I will assuredly come”; and Husn Banu observed, “The house of your slave is far distant, but in the capital is the residence of Burzakh the merchant, a house which is very commodious, and which I hope you will honor with a visit.” She then addressed the king, saying, “The house of Burzakh happens to be unoccupied; may I be favored for a few days with the use of it, that I may perform my respects to his holiness without his having the trouble of going a distance; and after giving him a feast, I shall proceed to my own city.” The king asked her, “Whence, my son, have you known the name of Burzakh?” Husn Banu replied, “There are many men in this city who were in his service; of them I have learned that such a house was suitable for a few days’ residence.” The king said, “I bestow upon you that house as a present.”

Husn Banu having made her obeisance came to her father’s house; and when she found it fallen to decay she gave vent to many a tear, and issued orders to have it repaired. Meanwhile she herself went to the city, and about a month after she sent to her father’s house the materials for the entertainment, consisting of trays of gold and silver, and vessels also of gold and silver; and having taken a cup full of rubies and jewels likewise she carried them with her. She then sent forward her attendants to the mansion, and went herself before the king, and said, “Now I will go for some days to the house of Burzakh; to-morrow I expect to entertain the renowned dervise with a banquet, and pass some time in attendance upon him.” On this, the king observed, “It is well, such being the choice of my son; but consider this house even as your own.” Husn Banu stood up and spoke: “This befriended slave of your august Highness is truly fortunate, but is unable to express a suitable acknowledgment. All the choice remaining in this slave is in the will of your Majesty, wheresoever you command me there I will stay.” The king added, “Wheresoever you be, let your heart be at ease.”

Husn Banu having taken leave of the king went to her father’s house, and ordered the materials for the banquet to be prepared. She also sent one of her servants to wait upon the dervise, and say that, if his Holiness would deign to visit her next day, it would be the highest favor. When the detestable Azrak heard the word banquet, he replied that he would assuredly come next day. Husn Banu ordered a princely throne, as on the previous occasion, and got ready the entertainment. Next day the abominable dervise came, and Husn Banu presented for his acceptance the jewels and the cup of rubies which she had brought with her; the dervise rejected them all. She at the same time placed all her movables on a side-board, in order that the eye of the dervise might constantly fall upon them, and that his avarice might be increased. The dervise observed them, and said in his heart, “To-night I shall make some contrivance for carrying off all this treasure”; and Husn Banu was at the same time rejoicing in her heart, thinking, “This night I shall have you with all this property tied together and carried before the king.”

In short, they brought the banquet before him, and presented him with water to wash his hands[3], and offered him food of every description; and the dervise along with his forty attendants began to eat. After having taken a few mouthfuls, he commanded that they should desist. Husn Banu made many apologies, and said, “Do me the kindness to eat, for your so doing will be happiness to your slave.” The dervise answered, saying, “To the pious a few mouthfuls are sufficient; to please you I have eaten heartily, but my usual food consists of a few grains of wheat.” When they had ceased from eating, they were presented with perfumes; but the dervise was saying in his heart, “The whole of this property is mine.” After some time the villainous Azrak took leave of Mahrū Shah and came to his own house, and deliberated with his attendant dervises one with another, saying, “I have made a vow, and consecrated it, and all the food you have eaten is to you as well as myself an accursed thing, till you bring away the jewels, the gold, and the silver.” All the attendants said, “It is well”; and when the night set in, the whole of them with their chief were in readiness for the theft.

Husn Banu also consulted her own people; and ordered them to leave the whole property in the same way as at the banquet, and open all the doors. She also wrote an explanatory letter to the captain of the night-watch, concluding, “We shall be on our guard here; do you also come and place yourselves in ambush, and the instant that my people raise a shout, present yourselves with the utmost speed.” She then charged her own people, saying, “When the thieves come, you are not to move till they, after having seized the property, are on their return; then you shall bind them all fast with the goods in their possession; and give the signal to the captain, that he may come and seize them.” Husn Banu’s men, agreeably to what their mistress had commanded, stationed themselves as quietly as if they were dead. Meanwhile, Azrak with his forty pious satellites arrived and entered the residence of Mahrū Shah, and all the property in money or effects which was found they tied up in bundles, and were carrying them off; Azrak himself having taken in his hands the cup full of rubies, was returning with them. At that instant Husn Banu’s people and those belonging to the captain rushed from their hiding-places, and bound the thieves with their hands behind their backs, whose hearts were like to burst from spite. The thieves were then consigned to the charge of the night-watch, each having the bundle which he carried fastened to his neck. Strict orders were issued to secure them fast till morning, when the affair should be decided before the king.

When Husn Banu saw that the enemy were overpowered and taken captives, she called her servants and rewarded them munificently, and then said, “So much of the night still remains, that you may pass the time in repose.” Next morning, when the king opened the public court, and was seated on the throne of royalty, he observed, “This last night there was a great uproar; does any one know the cause of it?” During this, the captain entered, and gave his report, saying, “About the time of midnight a gang of thieves entered the residence of Mahrū Shah, the house that belonged to Burzakh the merchant; they had seized all the property that Mahrū Shah had taken thither with him, and were on their return when information was given to me. I hurried to the spot, and having secured the thieves with the property, I have now brought them before the public court; and of the truth of this, Sire, we are certain for we have witnessed the fact.” When they were thus discoursing, Mahrū Shah entered and made his obeisance. The king having caused him to be seated, said, “My son, pray did the thieves last night break into your house?” Husn Banu said, in reply, “Long live your Majesty: the captain of the city arrived with assistance in time; and now it will be best to summon the thieves into your royal presence.” The king ordered them to be brought. The captain led them before the king in a row, at the head of which was Azrak with the cup of rubies suspended to his neck, and after him the other dervises, each having the bundle which he had stolen fastened to his neck, and his hands tied behind him.

The instant the king saw them he remarked, that, “This man at their head greatly resembles a certain dervise.” Husn Banu said, “Please your Majesty, let them be called nearer, and closely inspected; it is impossible that he should be the pious dervise.” The king made a signal to the captain, who made the thieves one by one with his bundle pass before his Majesty. The captain having thus sent them by turns, Husn Banu rose up, and seizing the hand of the dervise with the cup of rubies, led him before the king. His Majesty asked, “What is this fastened to the neck of Azrak?” Husn Banu displayed the cup of rubies to the king’s sight. The king was lost in amazement, and at last said, “Let every one of them be executed on the scaffold, in order that the rest of the priesthood may be deterred from such villainy, and that they may not mislead the people; and let them also be stripped naked.” When the thieves were stripped of their clothes, all their implements for thieving were discovered. The king issued an order, stating, “Let them be speedily executed on the gibbet, and let whatever property belongs to Mahrū Shah be returned to his own possession.”

When Husn Banu saw that they were conveying Azrak to execution, she arose from her seat and stood with hands joined before the king. His Majesty said, “What is your request?” Husn Banu replied, “Oh, my Lord, I am the hereditary child of your court, nay, I am your Majesty’s adopted daughter, the child of Burzakh the merchant. I am she whom your Majesty on account of this very dervise sentenced to banishment from your capital. The property that belonged to my father is still in the residence of the dervise; his house must, therefore, be searched, that the whole of his villainy may be discovered, and that the veracity of your daughter’s declaration may be confirmed before your Majesty.” The king, on hearing these words, was greatly surprised, and gave orders for searching the house of Azrak. He then addressed Husn Banu, saying, “I lately called thee my child, there my tongue uttered and my mind conceived what was true. Thou art no longer Burzakh’s daughter, thou art my own daughter.”—“May I hope then,” said Husn Banu, “that your Highness will condescend to visit the house of your daughter in the desert; there I have immense wealth, which I will freely bestow on him who is both my king and my father.” To this invitation his Majesty agreed; and in the meantime all the property left by Burzakh was discovered in the house of Azrak, and Husn Banu having presented the same to the king, returned to Shahabad, and ordered the streets of the city to be adorned on each side with elegant mirrors preparatory to his Majesty’s visit. Two days after, Kurdan Shah arrived at Shahabad, where Husn Banu received him with due honors, and conducted him to her own palace. She then presented his Majesty with another cup full of rubies and a golden tray filled with costly jewels, after which she pointed out the seven pits containing the gold.

His Majesty was delighted, and Husn Banu requested him to issue orders to his attendants for conveying the gold by loads to the royal treasury. The king gave orders to that effect to his prime minister, who along with the accountants proceeded to the mouth of the pit. Whenever they attempted to take up the gold in order to convey it away, the whole of it was turned into the forms of serpents and dragons. The attendants were terrified, and sent notice of the circumstance to the king. His Majesty on hearing this was astonished, and Husn Banu’s countenance turned pale whilst she dreaded what proceedings he might adopt. The king observed her anxiety, and said, “My child, why has thy countenance turned pale? Let nothing disturb thy mind, but be of good cheer, for this gold is destined for thee, and over it I have no power. Whatsoever thou pleasest do with it, take it into thy own possession and use it.” Husn Banu, making her obeisance, addressed the king with the following request: “Sire, it is my wish to make this city my home, and to spend this treasure in the service of God, and also that no one may molest my retirement.” Kurdan Shah in courteous phrase replied, “Wheresoever thou dwellest thou art my child, and hast the command of this treasure in thy own hand; do, therefore, as thou thinkest fit.”

Kurdan Shah then sent back his people to guard his palace, and he himself, after residing seven days at the house of Husn Banu, returned to the capital. After that, Husn Banu fitted up another house for entertaining travellers, and bounteously furnished every individual with food and drink suitable to his rank, and presented him at his departure with money for his journey, and such other articles as might be deemed useful, shewing her guests every attention. In a short time the name of Husn Banu, was celebrated by the travellers through every city and town to this effect: “There is a young lady not yet married, by name Husn Banu, who is extremely bounteous towards her fellow-creatures. Her servants and attendants are so endowed with integrity that they will not defraud the stranger of a single farthing. Gracious heaven! what an age is this, when menials are so conscientious! What wonderful liberality, whereby they freely bestow golden coins upon the poor! In the present times, people of the world in general feel reluctant for every farthing they give to the poor, and menials without scruple pilfer men’s property; but such as these have neither the fear of God nor regard for the Prophet.” In short, Husn Banu’s fame shone clearer than the sun throughout the quarters of the earth as far as the confines of the world.

The History of Shahzada Munir.

Historians have informed us that there was a certain king of Kharzim who had a son accomplished in mind; and that, through the medium of several men of intelligence, the fame of Husn Banu came to the hearing of this prince. In the heart of this youth was formed an eager desire to see Husn Banu; he therefore sent his own painter with the view of having a sight of Husn Banu, so as to have a portrait of her drawn and brought to him. The painter departed, and after several days arrived in Shahabad, where Husn Banu’s people, according to their custom, attended and presented him with food, shewing him every attention. After some stay, when about to take leave, they conveyed him to Husn Banu’s presence; she kindly inquired into his circumstances, and offered him money for his journey. The painter said, “My wish is to serve under your government, and spend the remainder of my life on your threshold.” Husn Banu asked, “What is your profession?”—“I am,” said he, “a painter, who can delineate the moon from behind a curtain.”[4] Husn Banu then said, “Well, you may delay your departure for a little.” Some short time after she began to consider in her mind, “How can I get a portrait of myself, for the painter is a stranger. However, what will be the harm of his delineating my features from behind a curtain?” The painter said, “Most bountiful lady, do you stand on the roof of the house[5], and cause a vessel full of water to be placed below, then look down into that vessel.” Husn Banu did so, and the painter seeing her form in the water, drew the picture and went with it to his own house, where he delineated every line and mole[6] that existed on the original. He at the same time made two copies of the portrait, one of which he presented to Husn Banu, and the other he kept for himself. Shortly after, he requested leave of Husn Banu to return for his family, if agreeable to her; on which she furnished him with money for the journey, and granted him permission.

The painter then conveyed the portrait of Husn Banu to his own prince, who, the instant he saw the picture, became quite frantic. When he returned to his senses, he determined in his own mind to set off without his father’s leave; and without money or necessaries for the journey, without informing any one of his design, and taking no one with him, he put his trust in God, and at the dead of night departed for Shahabad, where in due time he arrived, after encountering the fatigues of the road. Husn Banu’s people brought him food, as was their wont with regard to others, and shewed him all possible attention. Next morning they offered the prince coins of yellow gold, saying, “Accept this for expenditure on your way.” The prince replied, “To me gold is of no use.” Husn Banu’s people observed, “You seem penniless, pray accept this gold, for our lady bestows it in the service of God.” As he persisted in saying that it had no value for him, they informed Husn Banu, that “a traveller arrived yesterday, who will neither eat food sufficient for him, nor accept gold.” Husn Banu having summoned him to her presence, said, “Well, stranger, why do you refuse gold? Gold is a thing which in times of difficulty people find useful; it converts the pale countenance to red.” The prince replied, “When I came hither, I left much treasure and gold behind me. I am Prince of Kharzim; thy portrait has driven me mad, and my ardent desire to see thy face has sent me hither.” Husn Banu held down her head, and after some time said, “Young man, abandon such vain ideas; if you were the zephyr itself, you should not have wafted your breath over my ringlets.” The prince to this replied, “At least I will sacrifice my miserable life at thy gates.”—“To give away your life,” said Husn Banu, “is easy, but to see my face is impossible: however, if this idea has found a place in your heart, then you must submit to my injunctions.” The prince said, “Command me, and I shall from my soul consider it as a favor.” Husn Banu said, “The first thing I have to propose is this saying, ‘What I once saw, I long for a second time’; and you must travel till you find an explanation of it. Inform me where the man is that utters these words, and also what he has seen. After you have brought me a solution of this first enigma, I shall tell you the second.” The prince asked where that man dwelt; to which Husn Banu replied, “If I myself knew that, I should have sent my own people for the investigation of the circumstance.” The prince held down his head for some time, and then said, “I am ignorant in what direction I ought to go.”—“Then,” replied Husn Banu, “banish from your thought the idea of seeing my face.” Here the prince observed, “Thus bewildered, whither can I go? I have at least one resource left, and that is to die in thy city.”—“In my city,” said Husn Banu, “there is no room for such as speak thus foolishly; my people would not suffer your remaining.” Hereupon the prince said, “I suppose I must direct my steps towards the desert, in order to find the way and explore the intricacies leading to the abode of that man who exclaims in the words above-mentioned. If my stars prove friendly it is well, and if otherwise, I will sacrifice my life for thee.” Husn Banu then stated, “It will be requisite to enter into an agreement as to the length of time for which I am to expect your return.” To this the prince said, “For the space of a year.”

Husn Banu then ordered them to present him with food to eat and water to wash his hands; and having furnished him with necessaries for his journey, she requested to know his name. The prince replied, that his name was Munīr Shamī[7]; and then taking leave of Husn Banu, like one deprived of sight and hearing, he shaped his course to the wilderness, and with tears in his eyes began to traverse the mountains and the deserts. In short, the prince wandered towards the borders of Yemen, and sitting down underneath a tree in the desert, he gave vent to his tears copiously as the showers of early spring. It happened that Hatim Taï was passing that way on a hunting excursion, and came close by the prince Munīr. Hatim seeing a handsome youth with elegant apparel thus weeping, his heart melted on his account, and his eyes were filled with tears, as he said, “What calamity can have befallen this stranger? I must go and inquire.” He went up to the prince, and in condoling language asked him, “Oh, brother! what distress has happened, what accident has occurred, that thou weepest so?” The prince raised his head, and was surprised at seeing a youth of pleasant countenance, and of air and gait noble as the sun, the flowers in the rosebud of his cheeks fully blown, clothed in elegant apparel, and having his person accoutred with armor, standing by him and interesting himself in his condition. He replied then, “Oh, youth of benignant countenance, to me what avails the mentioning of my sorrows, which can be alleviated neither by my telling nor by your hearing?” Hatim said to him, “Let your mind be at ease; communicate to me the secrets of your heart, and whatsoever lies in my power, as my trust is in God, I will not fail to perform. I will supply you with money if it be of use to you; and my frail life is constantly devoted to the service of the Almighty, which consists in relieving the distress of my fellow-creatures.” The prince Munīr, in rapture, exclaimed, “Oh, brother! may God preserve your life,” and instantly taking out Husn Banu’s portrait, which he kept in his bosom, he handed it to Hatim, and said, “Judge yourself what must be my condition.” Hatim looked at the portrait and remained for some time in a state of abstraction; at length, he said, “With regard to those questions which she proposes, if you can suggest to me any plan, I will use every exertion in its accomplishment.”

In short, Hatim carried the prince along with him into Yemen, and there hospitably entertained him. After they had rested three days, he asked the prince whether he had any method to point out by which he could serve him. The prince replied, “Alas! I can propose nothing; to you I resign the affair and its accomplishment, and will remain grateful for your kindness while I have the breath of life.” Hatim called his domestics and strictly charged them, saying, “You shall continue to supply travellers with food, and the poor with money, the same as if I myself were present; so that it may not be known that I have gone anywhere from home, and let each of you be diligently occupied in his own department.” Having issued these orders, he took the prince by the hand, and set out from the capital of Yemen on the road that leads to Shahabad, where, in the course of time, after encountering the toils of the journey, they both arrived.

Husn Banu’s people conveyed them to the caravanseraï, presented them with food, and offered them gold. Hatim rejected both, saying, “Worthy people, I have not come hither for food or gold; I will neither taste of the one nor accept of the other.” Of this the people informed Husn Banu, who having summoned them both to her presence, said to them, “Why do you refuse gold, a thing which will one day be of service to you? The wise have remarked, ‘A thing laid by, will be found useful, though it be even the head of a serpent.’”[8] Hatim observing that the amassing of gold was proper only for the purpose of distributing it, stated, “Lady, the fame of your beauty and perfections has reached my ears; now if you will agree to one request of mine, I will accept of your gold and eat of your food, but otherwise I will depart hungry and thirsty from your city.” Husn Banu asked him, “Stranger, what is the request with which you wish me to comply?” Hatim answered, saying, “For one instant unveil your face, and afterwards I shall do whatsoever you command.” Husn Banu said, “Till once you have brought a solution to my seven questions, it will be impossible for you to see me unveiled.” Hatim asked what the seven questions were; and without waiting the reply, added, “You must promise me further that, if I should answer them, you shall become mine, and that on whomsoever I may bestow you, you shall not dispute my commands.” Husn Banu assented, saying, “When I shall have become yours, you shall do with me what you think proper; you can either bestow me on any other person, or cause me to remain in your own house.” Hatim then observed, that it would be requisite to call some witnesses, in whose presence this agreement might be ratified. This was accordingly done, and Hatim had the agreement confirmed before several people. After this, food was presented, of which they partook, and Hatim addressing Husn Banu, said, “This prince is my brother, who is to remain in your city till my return, and to him I expect that you will pay some attention.” To this Husn Banu assented, and Hatim then requested to know her first question. “My first question,” replied Husn Banu, “is this: There is a certain man who exclaims, ‘What I once saw, I long for a second time.’ Where is that man? what has he seen? and why does he long for the same a second time? When you have brought me all this information, I shall then tell you my second question.” Hatim having heard this, took leave of Husn Banu, and having conducted the prince Munīr to the house appointed for guests, he set out on his perilous journey.

Hatim began to consider in his mind, “Now, where am I to go, of whom can I ask my way, and what plan ought I to adopt?” But, on further reflection, he said to himself, “I have, by the aid of God, devoted my whole exertions to the service of my fellow-creatures, without any selfish consideration: assuredly, then, my Creator will conduct me to the proper place.” With this reflection, he fixed his reliance on God, and proceeded towards the wilderness. After a few days he arrived in a desert where not a bird was seen to flap its wing. Two or three days thence he was startled at seeing a wolf in pursuit of a milch doe, and so near that he was on the point of seizing her. Hatim shouted aloud to the wolf, “Ravenous animal, desist, she has a young one, and the milk flows from her breast.” The wolf stood still, and said, “Undoubtedly you are Hatim, as your heart is endowed with such compassion.” He asked, “How do you know that I am Hatim?” The wolf replied, “There is none but Hatim who evinces compassion and kindness to this extent towards his fellow-creatures, rational and irrational; and the name of Hatim is renowned in every quarter. But as you have this day withheld me from my prey, let me now have something to eat.”—“What do you eat?” said Hatim. The wolf answered, “Flesh is my food.” Hatim said to him, “If the small quantity of flesh which is on my body be agreeable to you, say the word, and I will give it you.”—“Nothing can be better,” replied the wolf, “than the flesh on your thigh.” Hatim then unsheathed his knife, and having cut away the flesh from his own thigh, he threw it to the wolf. The latter ate, and was satisfied, and said, “Oh, Hatim! why have you left your own capital of Yemen, and for what reason do you wander in this desert?” Hatim told the wolf, that the prince Munīr Shamī had fallen in love with Husn Banu; that she had seven questions for proposing, and that she was to accept only that man who could answer them; “and I,” said Hatim, “have undertaken, through the aid of Providence, to accomplish this task. The first question is this: ‘Where is the man who exclaims, What I once saw, I long for a second time?’ In order to be informed of this I sallied forth, recommending myself to God; but not knowing where that man is, I have directed my course to the desert, and thus far I have advanced.” The wolf here replied, “I do not know myself the place where that man is, but I have heard from the report of others that his abode is in the desert of Hăwaïda, and that whosoever goes thither will see him.” Hatim asked the wolf whether he knew where the desert of Hăwaïda lay; to which he answered, “As you go forward from hence, the road branches into two; avoid the path to the left, and proceed on that to the right hand, and it will lead you to the desert of Hăwaïda.”

Meanwhile the doe, having testified her gratitude to Hatim, departed; and the wolf likewise took his leave. Each of these animals looked back to see whether Hatim followed them; but the pain arising from his wound was so intense that he could not proceed, and he fell down at the side of a tree. It happened that underneath that tree a pair of jackals had formed their haunt, and were at that moment absent in search of food. When the two jackals, who were a male and a female, returned, they observed Hatim asleep, and the following dialogue ensued between them: “Here is one of the human race; how has he been brought hither? We must quit this place, for he can have no sympathy towards creatures of a different species.” M. “It is probable that this is Hatim on his way to explore the desert of Hăwaïda; and he has sunk down exhausted from the pain in his thigh.”—F. “How do you know that this is Hatim?”—M. “I have been informed by the learned that on a certain day Hatim should arrive at this tree.”—F. “What sort of a personage is Hatim?”—M. “He is Prince of Yemen, and one of God’s elect, and many a trial awaits him; we must not leave him distressed in heart.”—F. “How has he fallen into this state?”—M. “A wolf was about to seize a milch doe, and Hatim cut the flesh from his own thigh, and gave it to the wolf in lieu of the doe, which he thus preserved by involving himself in calamity.”—F. “Among the human race, are there really some who are thus endowed with humanity? Heaven knows, there is little compassion in mankind!”—M. “The human race are the noblest of God’s creatures; and Hatim in particular is extremely generous, endowed with humanity, and of high honor; he is also one who feareth and adoreth the Creator, for whose sake he tore off his own flesh and gave it to the wolf.”—F. “Thus wounded in the thigh, how can he live? or when can he reach the desert of Hăwaïda?”—M. “If the brains of the fowl called the Părīrū[9] could be applied to his wound, a complete cure would take place in the space of an hour; but this remedy it is almost impossible to procure from the place where it is.”—F. “Where is it to be found?”—M. “In the desert of Mazanderan; it is a fowl like a peacock, with a head like that of the human race. He allures all those who attempt to seize him, by giving them sherbet to drink, by the gracefulness of his movements and the sweetness of his looks.”—F. “Who is it then that can bring this remedy, and by the grace of God restore Hatim to health?”—M. “If you will attend to this youth for the space of seven days, I will go and bring the head of that fowl.”—F. “Nothing can be better, for it will be an instance of humanity from the part of the brute creation towards the human race. Until you return, while life remains in my body, I will not suffer a living creature to come near this youth.”

Hatim listened to the conversation of the jackals, but he was so exhausted that he had not strength to raise up. Meanwhile the male jackal, leaving the female, set out for Mazanderan; and on his arrival there, he saw the animal he was in quest of, sleeping underneath a tree. He approached it, and seizing its head in his mouth, he gave it such a pull that he severed it from the body, and returning with it he arrived agreeably to his promise. The female during his absence had rested neither night nor day, nor did she suffer any living creature to approach the tree. Hatim was conscious of all this, how the jackal having procured the head of the Părīrū, had now placed it before his female companion. The female jackal then with her mouth forced open the head, and having extracted the brain, applied it to Hatim’s wound. The instant it was applied, Hatim’s pain was removed; he rose up, and looking at the jackals, said, “You, though of the brute creation, have acted most humanely towards me; but you have without cause deprived another animal of life: in this you have not done well.” The male jackal said, “For that crime let me be answerable; and do you rest at ease. What, though I am of the brute creation, still I acknowledge a merciful God.” About an hour passed in such discourse, after which the flesh closed on Hatim’s wound, and he experienced a complete cure. He then addressed the jackals, saying, “You have acted most beneficently towards me; command me then in any way I can do you a favor, and whatever service you will require of me I will with all my heart and soul accomplish.” The jackals replied, “In this neighborhood there live a couple of ravenous hyenas, that every year devour our young ones, our strength being of no avail against them. If it is in your power, remove from us their depredations, and it will be doing us the highest favor.”

Hatim requested the jackal to shew him the haunt of the hyenas; which being done, he set out, but found that the place was empty. He there sat down till it was night, when both hyenas male and female arrived, and were surprised at seeing a man stationed in their abode. Growling, they said to him in their own language, “Oh, son of man! this is our dwelling place, not yours; how came you to sit here? Arise, and go your way, otherwise we shall tear you to pieces in this very spot.” Hatim replied, “Creatures of the Almighty, your own lives are dear to you, so ought you to consider the lives of others; and if you delight in destroying life, tremble for your own. On what account do you devour the young of the helpless jackals? Truly you have not the fear of God, and you have need to repent.” They said to him, “How come you to feel sympathy for the jackals? why do you not look after your own affairs?” Hatim replied, “I beseech you, by that God who hath created you and the whole universe, to abstain from eating their flesh; God is bountiful, and he will assuredly send you sustenance.” The hyenas, in answer to this, said, “We never will spare them.”

When Hatim found them thus callous and unmerciful, and disinclined to act honestly, he instantly sprung forward and suspended himself to the necks of the hyenas, by which means he threw them down, and fettered them. He then considered with himself, “If I kill them it will be contrary to my nature; for hitherto I have not inflicted pain on any living creature.” But on farther reflection it came into his mind, that it was highly proper to chastise ferocious animals. He therefore drew forth his knife, and having broken the teeth and cut off the claws of the hyenas he left them, and devoutly prayed to God to relieve the pain of the animals. The hearer of prayers attended to Hatim’s request, and removed the pain from the hyenas. Hatim then untied the fetters and set the animals at liberty; they fell at his feet, saying, “How can we henceforth obtain sustenance?” He replied, “God is bountiful.” Meanwhile the jackals presented themselves, and said, “Henceforth let the maintenance of the hyenas be left to our care, and while we live we shall provide for them.”

Hatim took leave of the jackals and proceeded on his way through the desert. After he had gone, the female jackal said to the male, “It would be very unkind that Hatim should wander alone to the desert of Hawaida, and you not to shew him the way.” Here the male jackal running, made up to him, and said, “Oh, Hatim! let me accompany you to Hawaida.” Hatim answered, “Already you have done me one kind deed, which I have not yet requited; why then do you lay me under further obligations?” To this the jackal said, “Servant of the Almighty, why should I allow you to wander astray from the country?” Hatim replied, “I will by no means take you away in my company; and if you have a desire to set me on the right way, it is quite sufficient that you shew me the proper path.” The jackal then said, “Oh, youth! there is one way which is near, but it has dangers innumerable; and there is another which is circuitous, and extremely rough; for this reason allow me to go with you.” In reply to this, Hatim said, “Do you shew me the nearest way, and God will render it smooth for me.” The jackal then directed him, saying, “Go straight forward to a place where the road divides into four branches, and then select that which leads right on: it is the shortest way, and if you can go safe it will take you to the desert of Hawaida.” Hatim bade adieu to the jackal and advanced; and after one month he arrived at the four divisions of the road, and keeping the direct path, advanced in the direction of the desert.

After he had gone part of the way, several bears presented themselves to his sight; for there the king of the bears with a thousand of these uncouth animals held his court, and it happened on that particular day that they were out on an excursion. When Hatim was seen by the bears, they instantly sent intelligence to their king that they had that day beheld one of the human race. His Majesty commanded them to seize the man and bring him thither; and the bears having caught Hatim, carried him with them. When the king of the bears minutely observed Hatim, he gave orders that he should be taken care of, and conveyed to their abode, to which they all returned. After this, when Hatim was brought before the king, his Majesty said, “Descendant of Adam, be seated, and tell us whence you came, and what is your name; but that is unnecessary, for you are Hatim.” Hatim answered, “Yes, I am; and I have come hither in the service of my Creator.” His Majesty then said to him, “Truly you are most welcome, and I will give you my daughter in marriage, for as yet I have met with none so proper for a son-in-law that I could bestow her on him, as it would be unbecoming to espouse her to any of my subjects or servants.” On hearing this tempting proposal, Hatim held down his head. The king of the bears asked him, “What is the cause of your holding down your head? have you nothing to say in reply? am I forsooth unworthy of being your father-in-law?” Hatim at last said, “You are of the brute creation, I of the human race, what conformity is there between us?” The bear said, “Oh, Hatim! rest you content on that score, and let nothing disturb your mind, for my daughter is of your own species.”

His Majesty then ordered his daughter to be arrayed and presented, and said to Hatim, “Go and look at her for one instant.” Hatim rose up, and beheld a female in human shape, and beautiful as the moon in her fourteenth night. He was wrapt in wonder, and having returned to his Majesty, he said, “You are a king and I am a beggar; it would be disrespectful in me to presume to espouse your daughter.” The bear replied, “You shall accept of her, notwithstanding every objection which you can contrive. Pray are you not Prince of Yemen?” Hatim began to reflect, “What a scrape I have fallen into! I have come forth on a particular service; how then can I remain captive here?” The bear observed his thoughtfulness a second time, and said, “Oh, Hatim! if you accept not my daughter, I shall send you into a place of confinement, where you shall remain fast till the day of judgment.” Here Hatim attempted a reply, but the bear became angry, and ordered them to confine Hatim in a certain dungeon, and keep strict watch over him. Instantly the bears carried Hatim to the dungeon, and having removed a large stone of extreme hardness they made him fast, and replaced the stone as before on the mouth of the dungeon. In this hole, Hatim, hungry, thirsty, and bewildered, was left for the space of two weeks, at the expiration of which the king sent for him, and having made him sit beside him, said, “Oh, Hatim! will you now espouse my daughter?” Hatim still remained silent, and the king ordered fruits to be brought and presented to him. Hatim being hungry, ate of the fruit and quenched his thirst with pure water, after which the bear again insisted on his marrying his daughter. To this, Hatim at last replied, that there could be no relationship between mankind and other animals; on hearing which, the king of the bears ordered him to be again shut up in the dungeon.

After some days, Hatim, exhausted with hunger and thirst, fell into a slumber, and in a dream he saw an aged man, who thus addressed him: “Oh, Hatim! why art thou thus dilatory in the service which thou hast taken in hand; and why dost thou not comply with the bear’s request?” He answered, “If I accept his daughter, they will never permit me to leave them for the accomplishment of my task.” The aged man again replied, “On that alone your liberation depends, for otherwise you must soon perish in this dungeon; therefore accept as your wife the bear’s daughter, and for this compliance on your part, she will effectually assist in setting you at liberty.” Here Hatim awaked from his dream, and in about two weeks after he was again brought before the king of the bears. His Majesty seated Hatim beside him, and repeated his former proposal, which being agreed to, he took Hatim by the hand and placed him on his own throne, and issued orders for his grandees to be in attendance. Agreements were then entered into, according to the usages of that race, after which the bear conveyed Hatim to the apartment of his daughter. There, to his surprise, he found the halls decorated with the most splendid couches such as belong to royalty; and on a splendid throne was seated his bride arrayed in gold and all sorts of jewels. For a short time he stood bewildered, when the king took the hand of his daughter and resigned her to Hatim agreeably to established custom. Every day the king sent a variety of the most delicious fruits to Hatim, till at length the latter observed, that to live entirely on fruit did not agree with him, and that he would prefer more substantial food. On hearing this, the king ordered his emissaries to collect from places inhabited by men all sorts of flour, sugar, milk, and butter, also vessels of porcelain. The order was no sooner expressed than executed, and thus Hatim was enabled to fare sumptuously twice a day on food the most delicious, which he himself dressed.

In this manner six months elapsed, when one day Hatim, addressing the bear’s daughter, said, “I have left home on a special service, and your father has forcibly detained me here; if you will permit my absence for some time, and make your father assent to this measure, when I have accomplished my undertaking I will return and live with you.” The bear’s daughter instantly went to her father, and acquainted him with Hatim’s request; to which the king replied, “Daughter, he is your husband; if you are yourself satisfied you have my consent.” The daughter observed, “Hatim appears to be a man of sincerity; he will assuredly return according to his promise.” In short, the king gave his permission, and ordered some of his subjects to conduct Hatim beyond the boundaries of his dominions. Hatim having taken leave of his wife, departed, and after some time arrived at a sandy desert which contained not a single human dwelling. Hatim placed his reliance upon God and proceeded; meanwhile a mysterious man with tattered garment presented him every evening with a loaf of bread and a jug full of water. Of these, after offering his thanks to the Creator, he partook, and thus continued to advance. Suddenly he espied before him a dragon, the head of which was reared up to the height of a mountain. At first sight he was dreadfully alarmed, but gradually began to suppose that it must be a mass of sand. When he drew nearer, the dragon observing him, inhaled his breath, and Hatim was irresistibly drawn from the earth notwithstanding his utmost efforts to keep himself firm, and in an instant he was swallowed alive by the monster.

When Hatim found himself inside of the dragon, he remembered his Creator, and with pious resignation to his will, said, “This I have merited, polluted as I am with sins; it has been my wish to become one of the servants of God, but ah, helpless me! what avail my frail efforts?” Thus Hatim constantly kept in mind the beneficence of the Almighty: for whosoever puts his trust in God, and sincerely devotes his life and fortune to the accomplishing of what is acceptable unto the Almighty, him the Creator will never forsake when in calamity. Sometimes he trieth his servants even as he tried Job the prophet of Iram, who bore his sufferings with patience and resignation. In like manner it behoveth the true servants of the Almighty that in every calamity they remain patient and resigned.

For three days and nights Hatim thus continued in the loathsome abdomen of the dragon, where he would have speedily died were it not for a talismanic pearl which his wife, the bear’s daughter, had fixed in his turban previous to his departure. This pearl had a charm in it by which its possessor became secured against the bad effects of fire and poison, and hence the venom of the dragon had no effect on Hatim. In truth the bounteous Creator had in time provided him with an antidote, as it was his will that Hatim should live. Meanwhile the dragon, heartily wishing to be rid of Hatim, said to himself, “What troublesome stuff have I swallowed here? I can never digest it, for it still lives and moves about within me.” It may be conceived that Hatim found little rest within the dragon’s abdomen; and he was constantly endeavoring to stand up and walk about, the trampling of his feet upon the stomach of the monster so annoyed the latter that he coiled and reared in all directions.

At length, when he found that his food was really destructive and caused him such pain, he bore it no longer, and making a strong effort he vomited, and Hatim was once more thrown into the open air, where the dragon left him and fled into the wilderness. Hatim remained on the spot for some time till his clothes were dried by the sun, and then proceeded on his way till, after traversing the sandy desert, he arrived exhausted with hunger and thirst on the banks of a river. Here he began to wash both himself and his clothes, when he observed a large fish playing near him. Hatim was congratulating himself on this providential supply of food, when the fish, of which the half was a human form of extreme beauty, being in fact the mermaid, approached, and seizing him by the hand, instantly drew him into the river. Hatim struggled hard to keep his ground, but his strength was of no avail; the fish hurried him through the deep, and thus conveyed him into her place of residence. Here he found himself in a splendid apartment seated on a superb couch, and the mermaid endeavoring by every sort of contrivance to reconcile him to his captivity.

For seven nights and days Hatim remained the dejected captive of this monster of the deep. At last becoming desperate, he said, “I have travelled thus far on business the most urgent, leaving my home and kindred; why then dost thou urge me to become an inmate of this thy abode? My sadness will never allow me to be an agreeable companion; I pray thee then to conduct me to that place whence I have been forcibly dragged.” To this the mermaid replied, “Oh, Hatim! stay with me three days longer, and I will consent to thy release.” When the three days had elapsed, Hatim reminded the mermaid of her promise, to which she replied, “Everything which tends to thy welfare shall be accomplished, yet remain a few days more.” Hatim said, “Remember thy promise, for to stay a moment longer is to me impossible.” The mermaid finding Hatim resolute, at last took him by the hand, and in an instant conveyed him to the spot from which she had taken him, and as a last effort said, “Oh, Hatim! is it really your intention to part with me?”—“My duty,” said Hatim, “is urgent, and nothing shall make me shrink from it.” When Hatim gave this decisive answer, the mermaid vanished. He then finished the washing of his clothes, in which he had been previously interrupted, and after drying them in the sun, he dressed himself, and once more set out.

After he had journeyed for some days he approached a mountain, the top of which was covered with trees in beautiful clusters. Having ascended, he entered these groves, which were lined with elegant couches, and through which flowed rivulets of pure water. The cool zephyr wafting its fragrance through the trees rendered the situation refreshing to the soul. Hatim reclined on one of the couches, and soon fell asleep. Meanwhile the proprietor of the place passing by, was surprised on beholding a youth of graceful mien there asleep. He sat down beside him, and shortly after, Hatim, refreshed by sleep, sat up, and seeing a stranger, respectfully saluted him. The other, in courteous terms, returned his salutation, and said, “Whence came you, and whither are you going? Pray tell me, what are your motives for traversing this dreary waste?” Hatim replied, “I am on my way to the desert of Hawaida.” The stranger, on hearing this, said, “How came you to adopt so mad a resolution? has none of your friends been kind enough to prevent your journey?”—“Such,” said Hatim, “is my sincere intention; and placing my reliance on God, I have undertaken this task, and have proceeded thus far on my way. A prince, named Munir Shami, has fallen desperately in love with Husn Banu, the daughter of Burzakh the merchant. The lady has asked of the prince seven questions, the solution of which is beyond his power. Weeping in the agonies of despair, he quitted the haunts of men and turned his face to the mountains and deserts, where I chanced to meet with him. I inquired into the cause of his distress, and learned from him his heart-melting tale. It came into my mind, that to question the distressed as to his circumstances, and then not to make an effort to relieve him, would be a line of conduct unbecoming a man. For this reason, Sir, I have endeavored to do my best in his cause.”

The stranger then said, “Assuredly you must be Hatim himself; for with the exception of Hatim, there is not a man alive who would have acted in such a manner. Generous Hatim! God is beneficent, and to you will render the task easy; but remember, that hitherto no one has returned in safety from the desert of Hawaida, and the few who have thence retraced their steps became distracted in mind and lost to the world; however, since you go, give ear to my advice. The instant you approach the desert of Hawaida, they will assail you with enchantment, against which your power and strength will be of no avail. Around you will gather damsels of surpassing beauty, and among these will be a nymph heart-ravishing, of graceful form, with waving tresses resplendent as the full moon; the moment you behold her your heart will be beyond your control, but you must remain firm of mind and not give way. Should you then resolve to advance, you have merely to take this fair damsel by the hand, and in an instant you will find yourself in the desert of Hawaida. Now, Hatim! if you do not follow my advice, you will have cause to repent of it till your dying hour.”

When he had done speaking, a man advanced to the couch on which they sat, with a table in his hands, and having fixed it before them, he covered it with cloth and presented them with water to wash their hands. He then laid upon the table a large bowl full of milk and rice, and two flagons full of pure water the most delicious that Hatim had ever tasted. Having rested there during the night, Hatim next morning took leave of his host and departed. After journeying for some days, he arrived on the shore of a lake surrounded with shady trees and brimful of clear water. When he was wrapt in admiration of this scene, a nymph of more than mortal beauty, perfect from head to foot, gracefully arose from the water. Hatim, dazzled with her splendor, covered his eyes, and the nymph seizing him by the hand hurried him into the deep. Hatim found himself for some time sinking rapidly, till at last his feet rested on firm ground. He then opened his eyes, and to his astonishment beheld around him a most beautiful and extensive garden. Here the nymph of the lake shortly after quitted her hold of his hand, and vanished from his sight. Hatim walked a considerable way through the garden, when, lo! thousands of beautiful women approached him from every quarter, each of whom tried to win him with her attractions, and endeavored to pierce his heart with the arrows of her loving glances.

To all these, however, Hatim paid not the least regard, for he kept in mind the advice of the stranger who had lately entertained him, and said to himself, “This is all enchantment.” The damsels then laid hold of Hatim and conveyed him to a splendid palace, which was entirely formed of precious stones and all sorts of jewels and pearls, and also decorated with numberless paintings. When Hatim was inside the palace, standing near a throne which he viewed with admiration, he thought within himself, “Now that I am in this palace, why should I not for once sit upon that throne?” He therefore advanced. Placing his foot on the throne, he heard a tremendous crash; he started back, thinking that the throne had been broken under his weight. He once more examined it, and seeing no ground for what he had imagined, he mounted the throne and sat down. He was no sooner upon the throne than the noise was repeated, and the beautiful damsel whom the stranger on the mountain had mentioned to him as likely to take his heart captive, approached him with smiles the most alluring. She was arrayed in gold and jewels of the costliest sort: with a veil cast over her countenance, she advanced and stood at the foot of the throne. Hatim was completely bewildered, and felt the strongest inclination to remove the veil from her face; but then he remembered the advice he had received, and said in his own mind, “It is only by seizing the hand of this damsel that I am to be delivered from this enchantment; however, ere I depart I must see further into the delusions of this place.” For three nights and days Hatim remained seated on the throne. The darkness of the night was dispelled by magic lamps which to him were invisible, and his ears were delighted with melodious sounds. Fantastic groups in endless variety danced along the scene; but, all through, the damsel of surpassing beauty stood by the throne, sweetly smiling in his face. They presented him with food and fruits of every description in costly dishes; but although Hatim ate most heartily, his hunger was not in the least appeased. Wondering in his mind, he said to himself, “Though I am constantly eating I am never satiated, how is this to be accounted for?” In this manner three days had elapsed, and on the fourth he said to himself, “Oh, Hatim! were you to look for a hundred years at these delusive appearances, still you would not have tired of them. At the same time you have left behind you a helpless youth, whose expectations are fixed on your exertions; if you waste the time, what will you have to answer before God?”

Hatim then seized the hand of the fair damsel, which he had no sooner done than a female form issued from the foot of the throne, and struck him a blow which felled him to the ground. He opened his eyes, and on looking round him saw not a trace of the garden, the palace, the throne, or the damsels. A dreary and boundless wilderness presented itself to his view, which he knew to be the desert of Hawaida. He then commenced his search for the man in quest of whom he had travelled, and after he had wandered for some space, his ear was greeted by the welcome sound of “What I once saw, I long for a second time.” Hatim listened with attention, and three times did he distinctly hear this sound, after which all was silent. He proceeded in the direction in which the voice was heard, and for seven nights and days he thus advanced. On his way he often heard the words repeated as it were before him, but never could he discover the person by whom they were uttered.

Hatim, thus bewildered, still advanced; when, lo! on the evening of the ninth day he saw an old man resting himself on the bare earth. Hatim approached and saluted the old man, who courteously returning his salutation, said to him, “Young stranger, whence came you, and what is your business here?”—“Venerable Sir,” said Hatim, “my business here is to learn truly from you what is it that you have seen once, and long to behold a second time.”—“Sit down by me,” said the aged man, “and I will tell you all.” Hatim sat down, and in an instant two loaves and two flagons full of pure water miraculously appeared before them. The old man handed to Hatim one of the loaves and one of the pitchers full of water, and reserved an equal quantity for himself, and both of them silently ate and drank. After their refreshment, Hatim addressed the old man, saying, “Venerable Sir, pray tell me the meaning of these words which you have so often repeated.” To this, the aged man replied, “I once upon a time arrived at the border of a lake, from the waters of which arose a damsel of angelic appearance, who, seizing me by the hand, hurried me into the midst of the deep. When I opened my eyes, I beheld to my astonishment a beauteous garden, from every quarter of which damsels fairest of form came in troops around me. At last they carried me into a palace, and left me standing beside a gorgeous throne, which I mounted and then sat down, beholding with admiration the objects that presented themselves to my view. A beautiful damsel with a veil gracefully thrown over her face approached and stood before the throne. The instant I beheld her fairy form, I lost hold of the reins of my heart and became frantic. I removed the veil from her face; she smiled irresistibly, and my transport knew no bounds. I seized her hand in order to seat her upon the throne, when on a sudden another female form seemed to issue from the earth beneath us, and raising herself, she struck me a blow which hurled me into this desert. Here I wander restless and forlorn, and my thoughts are ever fixed on the image of that heart-ravishing angel.”

Thus spoke the aged man, and then sighing bitterly he shed a flood of tears, and like a maniac flew in every direction, crying aloud, “What I once saw, I long for a second time.” Hatim ran in pursuit of him, and seizing him by the arm, said to him, “Venerable Sir, will your mind be at ease if you should see that fairy form a second time?”—“Assuredly, young man,” said he, “but the case is impossible.”—“Follow me,” said Hatim, “and I will conduct you to her abode.” The old man joyfully accompanied Hatim; and after travelling for some days, they entered the shady groves on the banks of the lake already mentioned.

Hatim then addressed his aged companion, saying, “Now, venerable Sir, when you again arrive in the enchanted palace, if it be your wish to remain there admiring the angelic damsel, you must on no account seize her hand or remove her veil. If you lay hold of her hand, the same disaster from which you have now made your escape will again befall you, and your retracing your way back to that enchanted paradise will be impossible. That I have been enabled to do so, is owing to the kindness of a hermit of exemplary piety, who gave me proper directions when on my way hither. Do you now ascend into yonder tree on the border of the lake, and the beautiful nymph will arise out of the water as formerly.”

Here Hatim took leave of the old man, and the instant the latter ascended the tree that overhung the lake, the nymph gracefully arose out of the water, and seizing him by the hand hurried him into the midst of the deep. Hatim now began to retrace his steps towards Shahabad, and in a few days arrived at the abode of the hermit on the mountain, to whom he related his whole adventure. Having taken an affectionate leave of the hermit, he journeyed onwards till he arrived in the desert of the bears, where he spent a whole month enjoying the society of his beautiful wife, the bear’s daughter. That period having elapsed, he bade adieu to his wife and new kindred, and his next stage was the residence of the jackals. After parting with the latter, nothing occurred worth notice till his safe arrival in Shahabad, where he was recognized and conducted to the caravanseraï by Husn Banu’s people. The Prince Munir Shami prostrated himself at Hatim’s feet, in order to give vent to his gratitude; but Hatim raised him to his bosom, and related to him all that he had seen.

Hatim, accompanied by the prince, waited upon Husn Banu, who, having veiled herself, most courteously received them, and addressing Hatim, she said, “Tell me, brave youth, what news have you brought?”—“An aged man,” replied Hatim, “in the desert of Hawaida once saw by the effect of magic a damsel of angelic form. She deprived him of his heart and of his senses, and since that time he has traversed the wilderness, crying aloud, ‘What I once saw, I long for a second time.’” Hatim then gave a full account to Husn Banu of the nature of the enchanted paradise, and how he had conveyed the old man to the banks of the lake through which he might reënter the magic scene. “In fine,” said Hatim, “those sounds shall be heard no more in the desert, for I have conducted the old man to the abode of that Houri who had robbed him of his heart.”

When Husn Banu heard the whole adventure, she expressed her admiration; and the nurse addressing her, said, “The youth speaks truly, for the case is really as he has related.” Food was then brought in, and Hatim was urged to take refreshment. This done, he said to Husn Banu, “The Supreme Creator has enabled me to explain one of your questions; let me now hear another, that I may endeavor to accomplish its solution.”—“Rest yourself,” said Husn Banu, “for some days till you are recovered from your present fatigue.” Husn Banu at the same time was deeply though secretly enamoured of the prince Munir, but respect for her own dignity compelled her to abide by her declaration, and there was no resource except the solution of the seven questions.

Hatim and the prince Munir rested for the night in the palace of Husn Banu, and next day waited upon her for the purpose of taking leave. Hatim requested to know her second question, which she told him, as follows: “I have heard,” said Husn Banu, “that a certain person has written above his door, ‘Do good, and cast it upon the waters.’ What means this motto, and where lives the writer of it? Having investigated this mystery, return and tell me the result; that is, the good that he has done, and cast upon the waters.” Hatim then took leave of Husn Banu, and having soothed the anxiety of the prince Munir, departed on his second adventure.

BOOK II.

Hatim’s journey in quest of the Man of the Motto—His arrival at the famous Mountain of Kaf[1]—His finding the motto in question written on the door of Harith, from whom he learns its signification—His return, and safe arrival in Shahabad.

When Hatim was taking leave of Husn Banu, he asked her, “Pray can you tell me in what country the man lives?”—“I have not,” said the lady, “the least idea.” The nurse, however, replied, saying, “He resides in the city of Maâdin, which is in a northerly direction, but I know nothing further as to where that city is situated.” Hatim, without further delay, set out from Shahabad, and proceeded towards the north. After several days had thus passed, he approached the skirts of a desert. It was then drawing towards evening, and Hatim, observing a tree on the confines of the wilderness, halted underneath it, and began to look around him on all sides. On a sudden, a voice that betokened the deepest sorrow reached his ear. His heart glowed with pity; and he said in his own mind, “Oh, Hatim! dost thou think it proper that a fellow-creature overwhelmed in distress should be thus left to sigh and lament, without thy inquiring into the cause of his sorrows?”

Hatim got up, and followed the direction of the voice which he had heard. He saw a young man stretched upon the ground, with his cheeks bedewed with tears; his eyes languid, and his color pale, who sighed and lamented bitterly as he uttered the following couplet:—

“Whither can I go, whom can I consult? Oh, tell me what cure to apply, for the arrow of love has pierced my inward soul.”

Hatim addressed the youth, saying, “Friend, what calamity has befallen you to occasion your sighing and weeping in this manner?”—“Brother,” said the youth, “why should I relate the tale of my woe? My telling it can bring no relief, and my rehearsing it will increase my anguish.” Here Hatim most kindly said to him, “At least let me know where lies the difficulty.” The young man thus proceeded with his story: “I am a merchant, and I sometimes visit a spacious city distant from hence about four farasangs[2]. In that city lives a merchant named Harith, who has a daughter of surpassing beauty, resembling the full moon. One day I went to the city in the way of business, and happened to pass by the dwelling of Harith the merchant. The daughter was at that moment looking out at one of the windows, and all at once my eyes were attracted towards her. The instant I beheld this beauty my heart rebelled beyond my control, and reason abandoned my mind; in a word, I was taken captive in the fetters of love.

“I inquired of some of the people in the city, ‘Pray, sirs, whose house is this?’—‘It is,’ said they, ‘the residence of Harith’s daughter.’ I asked them further, ‘Can you tell me whether the lady be married or not?’ They replied, ‘Truly, sir, she is unmarried as yet; her father has three questions, and has resolved to bestow his daughter on that man only who can answer them.’ My uneasiness was so great that I straightway went to Harith’s gate, and sent him a message announcing my object. Harith replied, saying, ‘I have no control over my daughter in this case, she is left to choose for herself. She has three questions to propose, and she will accept as her husband the man who can answer them to her satisfaction.’

“I thence proceeded to the door of the apartment of Harith’s daughter, and by message announced my attendance. The lady invited me to enter, and having caused me to be seated in an elegant chamber, she sent me word to this effect: ‘First you must sign an agreement with me, and then I will converse with you.’ To this I replied, that I was ready to obey whatever she should command. The lady then informed me, ‘If you solve my three questions, I shall become entirely yours; but if you succeed not, all your wealth shall be mine.’ In my ardor I at once agreed to these conditions, and requested her further commands.

“She proceeded, saying, ‘My first question is this: in the vicinity of our city is a cave the inside of which no one has hitherto explored, nor is it known how far it extends; examine this cave, and let me know the result.

“‘My second question is as follows: on the night of Jumat[3] a voice is heard in the wilderness of some one who exclaims, “I have done nothing which can benefit me this night.” Bring me an account of this person, and tell me why he reiterates such an exclamation.

“‘My third question: There is a fairy named Mahpari, who has in her possession the precious stone called the Shahmuhra[4]; find out this fairy’s abode, and procure for me the jewel.’

“When she had finished her commands, I returned to my house and conveyed to her the whole of my wealth, of which she is now in possession. I then quitted the city, and made my way into this desert. Here I wander involved in calamities: on the one hand, I have parted with all my substance, and have deprived myself of a home; and on the other, the arrow of love still pierces my heart.”[5]

Hatim, on hearing the young man’s history, said to him, “Let your mind be easy as to this affair; only conduct me to that city, and I shall endeavor to put you in possession of your mistress, and restore to you your lost property.” The youth said, “In my present state my wealth would be useless; let me but gain my mistress, for without her my life will be insupportable.”

Hatim took the youth by the hand, and both set out for the city. When they arrived, they rested a little at a caravanseraï; there Hatim left his companion, and having gone to the gate of Harith’s daughter, he addressed the porter, saying, “Tell your mistress that I wish to speak with her on matrimonial affairs.” The attendants immediately conveyed the intelligence to their mistress, that a youth had arrived at the gate who longed to converse with her. The lady, on hearing this, threw on her veil, and gave orders that Hatim should be introduced. She then stated to him the three queries above-mentioned, concerning which Hatim replied, “If your father will enter into a written agreement with me, I will solve your questions. The terms are as follows: when I shall have brought satisfactory answers to your questions, you must submit to be bestowed by me on whomsoever I please, and the choice of your disposal shall be left entirely with me.”

“When you have answered my questions,” said the lady, “I shall be yours; and then you may dispose of me as you deem proper.”—“Enough,” said Hatim; “now send for your father.” The father accordingly attended, and Hatim received from him a written agreement to the effect already stated. The daughter, addressing Hatim, said, “If you should prove unsuccessful in the solution of any of the above queries, what will be the consequence?”—“Wealth,” said Hatim, “I have none, but my head is at your disposal.” On hearing this, the lady was satisfied, and at Hatim’s request, thus stated her first question: “In the vicinity of this city is a cave, well known to all the inhabitants; bring me a true account of it, and inform me of its innermost secrets.”

Hatim took leave of the lady, and taking with him some of her people as guides, he set out from the city, and soon arrived at the mouth of the cave, which was situated about three farasangs distant. When the guides had brought Hatim to the mouth of the cave, he said to them, “Now, whether will you return to the city, or remain here till I come out?” They answered him, saying “We are ordered not to quit this spot till you come out, so here we shall remain; meanwhile one of us shall return to the city, in order to procure food.”

Hatim threw himself into the cave, and began to explore his way. For the whole of that, and several successive days, he continued to advance, till at last he saw a glimmering light. He then supposed that he had reached the extremity of the cave, and bethought himself that he ought to return. But on further consideration, he said in his own mind, “If people ask of me aught concerning the mysteries of its interior, what answer can I give?” He therefore issued out from the extremity of the cave, and continued to advance. Before him lay a boundless desert, through which flowed rivulets of water. Hatim had brought with him from the city two bags full of kernels of almonds, and a flask full of water. Of these he ate a few every day, and after expressing his thanks to the Creator, he pursued his route, and when his flask full of water was exhausted, he supplied himself from the streams that flowed through the desert.

After journeying for several days, Hatim beheld a lofty and extensive rampart, and after examining it all around he discovered that there was a town within it. He entered within the walls, and as he advanced towards the town found traces of its being inhabited; and when he approached still nearer, he saw that the natives were demons.[6]

The moment that Hatim was perceived by the demons they rushed upon him, male and female, and having surrounded him, they seized him with the intention of tearing him to pieces, in order to devour him. One of the demons interfered, saying, “This is one of Adam’s race, and his flesh is a most delicious morsel; if you appropriate him to your own use, and our king should know of it, he will certainly annihilate every soul of you. You must not therefore touch a hair of him without the king’s permission.” The demons asked, in return, “Who is he that will convey the information to the king?” The other replied, “Among us there are many enemies; therefore listen to my advice, and lay not a finger on this man.”

The demons accordingly left Hatim and retired to their haunts. Hatim then proceeded onwards through the city, and was very soon surrounded and laid hold of by others. Here his case was truly desperate, for they were ready to devour him. One of them, however, again interfered, and thus addressed them: “The deed you are about to do will be fatal to you. You must so proceed in this affair that the earthly man be conveyed to the king. His Majesty’s daughter is sick, and he himself is afflicted with an inward pain, from which he never enjoys a moment’s respite. Thousands of the human race have been procured, and are now kept in confinement by our monarch, but as yet he has found no remedy; and at the same time his Majesty says that he is to be cured by one of the sons of Adam. If, in short, the king should hear that in such a town a man should have arrived and been devoured by you, he would punish with death both yourselves and your wives and children. If, on the other hand, his Majesty’s health should be restored, what can be more gratifying? And if otherwise, why, then, this man will be kept in confinement along with the rest of his species.”

To this replied another of the demons: “We lately conveyed such a being as this to his Majesty, but no cure was the consequence; so we had nothing but reproaches for our trouble. Why should we concern ourselves with this man? Since he has once entered our country he cannot escape, and it is best to let him make his way to the king of his own accord, and I shall watch him in order that no one else may assail him.”

When Hatim had listened to this conversation of the demons, he said in his own mind, “Now, I wonder what can be the nature of their monarch’s disease? I must inquire into his case, as well as that of his daughter.” Having made this resolution, he departed and left the town. Shortly after he beheld at a distance another of their towns; and as he approached it, the demon inhabitants came upon him and carried him before their chief. Now it happened that the wife of the chief had a violent pain in her eyes, from which water constantly flowed.

When the demons entered with Hatim, the chief raised his head, which was bent downwards in sorrow for his wife, and thus addressed them: “Why have you brought hither this man? Release him, and let him go where he pleaseth.” When Hatim beheld the anguish of the chief, his heart was moved with pity, and he said to himself, “I must inquire into the cause of his affliction.” He approached, and said, “Most worthy chief, what grieves thee, and why sittest thou thus melancholy?”—“Son of man,” replied the demon chief, “what avails my telling thee? My wife is tormented with a pain in her eyes, without any interval of relief.”—“If,” said Hatim, “thou wilt conduct me to her presence, I will cure her of her pain.”

The demon rose up, and seizing Hatim by the hand, led him forthwith into his wife’s apartment. In passing, Hatim was struck with admiration as he viewed the princely couches that lined the spacious galleries laid out with neatness and regularity; and a splendid throne with piles of cushions, on which reclined the wife of the chief. As they approached her, the demon said to Hatim, “Behold in what a sea of affliction she is involved!”—“Of that,” said Hatim, “I will completely cure her, if thou wilt promise to conduct me to the king of the demons.”

The chief swore by the seal of Solomon[7], the prophet of Iram, and said, “Nothing can be more agreeable to me than to conduct thee before his Majesty, for it will afford me an opportunity of paying him my respects, and besides he is desirous to have some one of thy race that may cure him of his disease.” Hatim had brought with him the pearl which his wife had given him at parting with strict injunctions to preserve it, telling him at the same time, “This is a token of my affection, and is possessed of many virtues.” He now drew forth this pearl, and having immersed it in pure water, he applied the latter to the eyes of the chief’s wife. The instant this remedy was applied, her pain was alleviated, and the swelling of her eyes diminished, and they dried up. For some time previous she had been quite blind; but she now opened her eyes, and after two or three applications of this remedy she experienced a complete cure.

When the chief of the demons saw that his wife was cured, he with the utmost kindness detained Hatim some time at his house, and hospitably entertained him, and bestowed upon him every attention in his power. After some days he conducted him into the presence of the king, whose name was Farokash. When the demon chief was honored with an audience from his king, having made a low obeisance, he respectfully stood before his Majesty, and thus represented his errand: “Sire, one of the human race is come into my possession; he is the most learned of the age, and the most skilful of physicians, possessed of a most benevolent heart. My wife was so afflicted with a pain in her eyes that her life was despaired of, and in one day he completely cured her.”

When Farokash, the monarch of the demons, heard this intelligence, his heart rejoiced, and he gave orders to the chief to produce this learned man with all speed. Hatim was presented to the king, who treated him with great courtesy, and made him sit beside him. His Majesty then stated his case, saying, “For some time I have been afflicted with a pain in my stomach, and amidst my own subjects no one has been successful in curing me. Remediless, I have had recourse to the human race, but none of them has as yet afforded me the least relief.”

Hatim said to the king, “Pray tell me, Sire, are there many of your servants usually in attendance when you sit down to take food?” His Majesty replied, that every one of his servants usually stood in his presence at such times. Hatim then requested that he should be allowed to be present on that day when his Majesty should dine, which request was readily granted.

When the time of eating arrived, the table was laid out, and the food was placed upon it. When his Majesty was about to commence eating, Hatim requested him to desist for a little. He then took a joint of meat, and held it up so that every eye in the house might look upon it. He then ordered them to lay it aside under cover for about the space of an hour, after which he caused the cover to be removed, and lo! all the meat on the joint had in that short time become worms. Farokash was an observer of this wonderful occurrence, and remarked to Hatim, “Most learned Sir, this is truly strange.”—“This, Sire,” said Hatim, “accounts for the pain you suffer, and the cause of it is that a malignant eye has fallen upon the meat. Henceforth it will be necessary that you eat in private, and that all your attendants be previously satisfied with food; then your Majesty may eat to advantage, for the consequence will be a complete cure, and the pain will be removed.”

The king was highly pleased with Hatim’s advice, which he forthwith put in practice; and in a short time his pain entirely left him, and he enjoyed perfect health. He gratefully clasped Hatim to his bosom, and placed him upon a throne similar to his own. Hatim, thus honored, ventured to petition the king of the demons as follows: “Sire, you are now restored to health; may I beg that you will liberate such of my fellow-creatures as are now your prisoners, in order that they may return to their own country?”

His Majesty ordered that all the sons of Adam then in his possession should be ushered into his presence, which was done. He bestowed on each of them a splendid dress, and having furnished them with necessaries for their journey, dismissed them. The king then addressed Hatim, saying, “Learned Sir, I have a favor to ask of you, if it be not too much trouble for you to grant it.”—“It will afford me a sincere pleasure,” said Hatim, “to comply with your commands.”—“I have a daughter,” rejoined the king, “who has been sick for some time, and my wish is, that you will for an instant visit her.” To this Hatim readily assented, and the king, taking him by the hand, conducted him into the more private apartments of the house, and gave orders that his daughter should attend.

As the daughter of Farokash entered, Hatim viewed her face, the color of which had become pale and yellow. He gave orders to bring some water and sugar. These he mixed together so as to form a pleasant draught; he then dropped into it the charmed pearl, and handed the goblet to the king’s daughter to drink. In a short time she experienced great relief, and when night came she enjoyed a most profound sleep. At length her father, somewhat alarmed, said to Hatim, “Pray tell me, most learned man, what means this long sleep?”—“Sire, rest you satisfied; if this sleep had not ensued, we should have had cause to fear.”

For the space of three days Hatim continued to administer this draught to his patient, after which period she was allowed some small quantity of light food; and in the course of ten or fifteen days she was restored to perfect health, and her countenance assumed its natural appearance. Hatim then addressed Farokash, saying, “Your daughter is completely cured, so I hope you will allow me to depart, in order that I may look after my affairs.”

Farokash brought for Hatim’s acceptance such a mine of wealth, in gold and jewels as to be beyond calculation. His Majesty at the same time apologized to Hatim for such an offer, saying, “This dross is indeed unfit to be presented to you, but it will suit your servants and attendants; I therefore hope you will accept it as a mark of my regard.” Here Hatim observed, “I am alone; how then shall I be able to carry it?” On hearing this, the king gave orders to his demon subjects, saying, “Let all this wealth be carefully packed up, and you shall accompany this worthy man, in order to carry it to whatsoever place he may desire.”

Hatim took leave of the king, and taking the jewels and gold, departed under the guidance of the demons. In about six months he arrived at the extremity of the cave through which he had entered the dominions of Farokash. The guides accompanied him through the cave, and in the space of three days landed him safe at its mouth. Hatim asked them, “Have you any objections to go further?” They replied, “Our orders will not permit us to accompany you beyond the mouth of the cave”; and accordingly they laid down their burdens of gold and jewels on that same spot, and forthwith began to retrace their steps.

When the people that had been stationed at the mouth of the cave by Harith’s daughter saw the demons, they all ran off. Hatim shouted after them, “Good people, be not afraid; I am Hatim, the man who some time ago entered in order to explore this cave. I am now safely returned; why then do you run away from me?” The people looked back, and seeing Hatim, they recognized him and returned.

Hatim having sent for the youth whom he had left in the caravanseraï at his departure, said to him, “On you I bestow all this money and these jewels which I have procured.” He then caused the valuable effects to be conveyed into the city to the young man’s residence. The youth fell at Hatim’s feet, but the latter raised him up, and clasped him to his bosom.

Meanwhile the people belonging to Harith’s daughter conveyed to their mistress the news of Hatim’s arrival. The merchant’s daughter immediately sent for him, and requested to know the result of his adventure. He minutely detailed to her the nature of the cave, and every circumstance connected with his journey among the demons. He then said to her, “Thus I have answered one of your questions; let me now hear your next, that I may immediately set about its solution.”

Harith’s daughter stated her second question, as follows: “There is heard in the desert the voice of a man, who exclaims, ‘I have done nothing which can benefit me this night.’”

On hearing this, Hatim returned to the caravanseraï, and after taking leave of the young man, set out for the desert. One night, which happened to be that of Jumat, as he was reclining under a tree, occupied in adoring the Supreme Creator, suddenly his ears caught the sound, “I have done nothing which might have been of service to me this night.” For the whole of that night Hatim continued to advance in the direction from which the sound reached his ear. When daylight came he again sat down under the shade of a tree, and began to deliberate with himself whether he should turn to the right hand or to the left.

While he was thus uncertain as to his route, he happened to espy a village on the confines of the desert. Thither he bent his steps, in order to take some repose till the night of Jumat should again arrive. When it came to the appointed hour, Hatim once more heard the sound repeated, and speedily set out in order to make up to it. He entered the desert, and for the whole of that night continued to advance without arresting his steps for an instant.

When daylight shone upon him, he halted for the purpose of repose, and soon after his ears were assailed with the voice of sorrow and lamentation. He started up, and after advancing some distance he beheld a village, the inhabitants of which were all assembled together weeping and lamenting bitterly. Hatim approached, and asked one of them, “What is the cause of your weeping and lamentation?” They answered him, “Once a week a monstrous giant comes to our village, and devours one of our number; and if we do not appease him by the sacrifice of a human creature, he will raze our abodes to the dust, and destroy us all. At present the lot has fallen on the son of our chief; on Thursday the monster will come, and the four days that intervene till that time are devoted to weeping and mourning. The youth’s relations are at this moment standing around him, extolling his virtues and lamenting his fate. This, Sir, is the cause of the grief that now overwhelms our village.”

Hatim inquired of the people, “Which of this assembly is the chief’s son, and which the parents and relatives?” These were pointed out to Hatim, who approached the chief, and said to him, “Honored Sir, pray tell me what sort of monster is this, and what form does he assume? Meanwhile be under no anxiety, for I, as substitute for your son, will face the giant.” The chief replied, “Brave youth! may heaven reward your generosity; you seem a stranger too in our village.”—“Suffice it for the present,” said Hatim, “that I have drunk of your waters; you have therefore a claim upon my friendship; only describe to me in what form this monster appears.”

The chief of the village drew a sketch of the monster upon the sand; on seeing which, Hatim observed, “This must be the giant Halūka; he is invulnerable against all weapons, but if you will follow my directions, I trust that, if it please God the Supreme, I may be able to overcome him.” The people anxiously asked, “How is this to be done?” Hatim, addressing the chief, said, “Are there any manufacturers of glass in your village?”—“There are,” said the chief, “two or three houses for that purpose.”

Immediately Hatim, accompanied by the chief, proceeded to the houses of the glass manufacturers, and gave orders to the latter to this effect: “Within four days you must make a mirror of two hundred feet in length and one hundred feet in breadth. Such a mirror will be necessary for the expulsion of the giant, and if you comply not he will destroy the whole of your village.” The glass manufacturers replied, “If you furnish us with the materials, we shall be able to have your mirror ready within the time specified.” Here the chief said to them, “Whatever amount of money may be of use to you, I shall furnish”; and he immediately sent them the sum they demanded. They then set about the forming of the mirror, and in the space of three days their task was finished.

When Hatim was informed that the mirror was ready, he commanded the men of the city to assemble, in order to convey the mirror to a certain spot without the city by which the giant usually entered. The people obeyed him, and conveyed the mirror safe to the appointed spot, and there erected it. Hatim then told them to bring as many sheets as when sewed together would cover the surface of the mirror, which order was speedily executed by the chief and his attendants.

Hatim now addressed the multitude, saying, “My good friends, you may in the meantime retire to your houses without the least uneasiness of mind. This night you may sleep in security; and if any of you is desirous to see the result of my stratagem, let him remain here with me.” The son of the chief promptly spoke out, “I will be your companion”; but his father forbade him, saying, “Already my wealth is expended in order to purchase your safety; why then do you venture to face the giant?”

On hearing this remark, Hatim said to the chief, “There is nothing to fear; you may rest satisfied that no harm will befall your son. If he should suffer the least injury, you shall be at liberty to do with me what you choose.” Here the youth himself boldly answered, “A few days ago, you had all resolved to sacrifice me to this monster; you will allow, then, that I am under no great obligations to you. I prefer the society of this brave man, who has been the means of my preservation. Would you be thought void of religion and reckless of fame? When a man who is an utter stranger places himself in so perilous a situation in order to avert the evil that threatens you, is it consistent with religion and honor to leave him alone, and retire to your houses?”

All the people, on hearing this address, insisted on remaining in company with Hatim; and having dressed some food in the open plain, they ate and rejoiced, saying, “This night the giant shall be destroyed.” The whole of that day passed, and when night arrived, a most terrific yell assailed their ears, such as usually accompanied the approach of the giant. They shuddered, and their faces assumed a yellow hue. “Fear not,” said Hatim; “keep strict silence, and be not under the least apprehension. You shall soon behold rare sport; the monster is coming, as is indicated by that howl.”

In the course of an hour the giant was so near as to be distinctly seen in shape like an immense dome. He had neither hands nor feet, but a tremendous mouth situated in the midst of his body. He advanced with a revolving motion, and from his jaws issued volumes of flame and clouds of smoke. When the people saw this terrific spectacle they trembled, and attempted to fly. “You have nothing to fear,” said Hatim, “stand quiet and look on; not the least harm will befall you.” Encouraged by Hatim’s address they stood silent as the dead, and trembling beheld the approach of the giant.

Hatim stood with his eye fixed on Halūka as he rolled towards him; and when the giant was within a few paces of the mirror, the curtain that covered it was suddenly pulled off. When Halūka beheld his own monstrous form in the glass, his breath was stopped from anger; he uttered a single yell, so loud as to make the desert and the mountains shake. Choking with rage, he remained for a short time, till at last his confined breath so inflated him that he burst with a noise like the crash of the thunderbolt, so that the hearers were struck senseless, and the echoes of the wilderness reverberated far and wide.

When the people were restored to their senses, what a spectacle they beheld! The desert was overspread with the entrails of Halūka, who now lay dead before them. The whole assembly, including the chief and his son, gathered around Hatim and prostrated themselves at his feet. They then addressed him: “Most learned Sir, tell us the reason why the monster has thus died as it were of his own accord.”—“You see,” replied Hatim, “the giant has come by his death, not from any weapon, but merely by the viewing of his own image, for he had never seen his own likeness in any other creature; rage stopped his breath so effectually that he burst.”

Next day the inhabitants of the village, each according to his means, produced all their valuables in gold, jewels, and diamonds, and offered them to Hatim, who would accept nothing, saying, “My good friends, these are not of the least use to me. In this affair I have merely discharged my duty towards God and my fellow-creatures.”—“May we ask,” said they, “what has been the cause of your coming into our village?” Hatim answered, “This is the eve of Jumat, when a voice will be heard in the desert, crying, ‘I have not done aught that will benefit me this night.’ In order to ascertain the meaning of this voice, I have journeyed hither, and to-night I intend to travel in pursuit of the mysterious being who utters the exclamation.”

The chief observed, “For some time now that voice has been heard by us also, but we do not know whence it proceeds.” Hatim remained in the village for the whole of that day, and at the usual time at night the voice reached his ear, and he instantly proceeded in the direction whence it came. For the whole of the night he continued to advance as he supposed towards the sound, and when daylight came he found himself still in the desert, where he again halted.

In short, Hatim thus journeyed onwards week after week for the space of two months, at the expiration of which period he at last came to a mound of sand of about five hundred feet in diameter. He ascended to the summit, and soon discovered that the voice issued from its interior. He halted and looked around him; and lo! a body of men consisting of about five hundred horsemen, and as many on foot, appeared drawn up in array before him. He approached them, but found that they were all statues of marble, being as he conjectured monuments of the illustrious dead. Among these tombs Hatim rested for a week, until the time of hearing the voice should again come round.

As the evening of Jumat closed its shades, Hatim ascended the sand-hill, and devoutly kneeling, poured out his soul in prayer before the Almighty Creator. When about a watch of the night had passed, the inmates of the tombs started into life, with countenances resembling angels. They arrayed the place with couches and thrones, on which they sat apparelled in robes of splendid description. But amidst these, one of the revived dead, with weeping eyes and mean apparel, his body sprinkled with dust and ashes, and his feet bare, came forth, and in humble posture sat upon the cold ground. Before each of those who sat on thrones and couches flowed streams of nectar, of which they freely drank, but none of them gave the least drop to the wretched man who sat upon the bare earth. The latter, after some time, fetched a deep sigh, and said, “Alas! I have not done that which might have benefited me this night.”

Hatim stood near and witnessed the whole scene, and rejoiced that his inquiries were now likely to prove successful. When the hour of midnight arrived, a table miraculously placed itself before each of them. On every table was laid a large vessel full of rice and milk, with a goblet full of pure water. But there stood a table apart from the rest furnished in like manner, and one of the company said, “Come, my friends, this traveller is our guest for the time, let him be introduced, and seated at this unoccupied table.” On hearing this, one of them arose, and advancing to Hatim, took him kindly by the hand, and conducting him to a couch, placed food before him.

Hatim’s attention was wholly occupied by the man who lay on the ground sighing and weeping, and at intervals exclaiming, “I have not done aught that can benefit me this night.” The latter, too, had a table, but instead of nectar and ambrosia his cup was filled with the juice of the zakkūm,[8] and the food of the condemned, and the most loathsome dregs mingled with blood. Hatim for some time held down his head in deep reflection, and at last began to taste of the fare before him. After he had refreshed himself with food and drink, the tables vanished from his view; but his thoughts ever reverted to the mysterious state of the wretched being who sat upon the ground before him.

Hatim, addressing the company, said, “Most worthy sirs, I have one request which, with your permission, I wish to state.” The whole assembly requested him to speak. Hatim then proceeded: “How comes it, worthy sirs, that you are seated on thrones, exalted in dignity, and regaled with such heavenly and delicious fare? And, on the other hand, tell me the reason why, instead of such food, the juice of the zakkūm with the most loathsome of dregs has been allotted as the portion of this miserable man who lies stretched on the bare earth?” To this they replied, “From us that mystery is utterly hidden; seek information from the sufferer himself.”

Hatim arose, and coming up to the man, said, “Pray, friend, what is the meaning of this mysterious exclamation which you utter? From what cause are you become involved in such misery? For heaven’s sake inform me of your condition.” The man of woe replied, “My kind friend, I am the chief of all this assembly. My name is Yusuf, and my occupation has been that of a merchant. I was journeying with goods and stores to the city of Khwarzim, and those whom you see here were my servants that attended me. In my disposition I was so great a miser that I never gave away in charity a single farthing of my money, nor one rag of apparel, nor a morsel of food; nay, not even a drop of water would I bestow on my fellow-creatures. These my attendants, on the other hand, were wont to give of their food to the hungry, and they clothed the naked, and bestowed their gold in charity upon the poor and the needy, and all such as were destitute. I used to chide them severely, saying, ‘Pray, for what purpose do you thus squander your money, and give away your food without any return?’ Their reply was: ‘This we do as a service acceptable to our Creator, and due to our fellow-creatures; a service of which we shall receive the reward and reap the advantages in a future state.’ On receiving from them such answers, I used to beat them, and often did I threaten them with punishment on account of their liberality. I also argued with them, but to no effect; and whenever any of them ventured to give me salutary advice, I paid not the least regard to him.

“On our journey a gang of robbers surrounded and overpowered us, and seized the whole of my property. They then murdered myself and all my attendants, and having buried us in this spot, they departed. Here we rest, alike martyrs: but my servants are, as you observe, crowned with glory for their charitable and generous disposition; and I, on account of my baseness and avarice, am plunged into the lowest depth of misery. After the robbers had murdered us, it was their intention to mutilate and leave exposed our corpses; but one of them said: ‘Have you not already seized their property, and slain them without cause? How inhuman then it would be to leave them unburied on the highway! Do you imagine that after such a savage deed you can ever enjoy the least portion of their wealth!’ The robbers listened to this address, and accordingly interred us in this desert.

“In my native country, my grandchildren and descendants are now living in a state of abject poverty. My residence was in the capital of China, in such a quarter [here he described the street and the house], and in a certain chamber of the house is buried an immense treasure in gold and jewels, of which no one has any information. This, too, is an instance of my avaricious disposition, and accounts for the state in which you now behold me. See what an exalted rank my servants have attained! They are seated upon thrones; they fare upon the most delicious food, and drink of the purest and coolest streams, and are clothed in the apparel of angels, while I am doomed to suffer the pangs of misery and despair.”

Hatim, on hearing this account, addressed him, saying, “Is it anyhow possible to administer to your relief?” Yusuf replied, “Many a long year have I now passed in this state of torment, but no one has hitherto listened to my cries. This night you have approached me, and compassionately interested yourself in my condition; on you, then, God the Supreme will bestow his guidance in your endeavors to serve me. Proceed forthwith to the capital of China, and find out my residence, which is in the division occupied by the linen merchants. My name, as I told you, is Yusuf, and in my day I was notorious in all quarters of the city, and my grandchildren are still there in a state of destitution. When you arrive at my residence, inform them of my condition, and tell them that in a certain apartment [which he particularly described] is buried a vast treasure of gold and jewels. This treasure you shall bring to light, and divide into four equal portions. Bestow one of these shares on my grandchildren, and the other three you shall expend in charitable deeds; in feeding the hungry, in clothing the naked, and in administering to the distress of the poor and needy. Do this, and perhaps my doom may be averted; for though I have suffered martyrdom, I am not entitled to salvation, so heinous is the crime of avarice; whereas my servants, on account of their liberality, are now in a state of happiness.”

Hatim solemnly promised, in the name of his Creator, that he would strictly perform what Yusuf desired him, and added: “I should no longer consider myself of the tribe of Taï, had I refused to lend you my aid in your distress.” Hatim remained there during the whole of the night, and witnessed what happiness the servants enjoyed, while their wretched master passed his time in weeping and lamentation. When the morning began to dawn the martyrs vanished from his sight, each into his silent cell.

Hatim then set out on his journey for the capital of China, and after he had advanced a considerable way, he arrived at the mouth of a well. There he espied a man in the act of drawing water; and as he was about to request of him to have some to drink, suddenly a serpent as large as the proboscis of an elephant reared its head from the water, and coiling itself round the body of the man, plunged with him into the deep. Hatim wrung his hands in agony, and exclaimed, “Alas! what a deed this snake has perpetrated! It has destroyed a poor man who came hither for water, and whose wife and children are anxiously expecting his return. Oh, Hatim! shall it be said that a poor man was deprived of life, and you standing by without lending him the least assistance? What will be your answer hereafter in the presence of your Creator?”

Thus he soliloquized, and instantly plunged into the water. In a short time he fixed his feet on firm ground, and on opening his eyes he was astonished in finding neither the well nor the water; but instead of these a spacious plain opened to his view, abounding with beautiful trees, in the midst of which he espied a lofty palace. He approached it, wondering within himself whither the serpent could have gone with the waterman, and whence sprung up the noble mansion that stood before him.

With these thoughts occupying his mind, he came close to the palace. There he beheld splendid galleries with elegant couches, and a throne brilliant as crystal surmounted with piles of cushions, on which lay asleep a monstrous creature of human form in stature like a giant. Hatim resolved on calling this monster to account for the snake and the waterman, but at the same time he hesitated, as he nowhere beheld any traces either of the serpent or the man. “At all events,” said Hatim to himself, “I shall approach him, and see what sort of subject he is.” Hatim went up to the giant, and as the latter was still asleep, he quietly took his seat beside him. He had not sat long when he espied in a corner of the garden the very serpent that had carried off the waterman.

As soon as the snake observed Hatim it rushed upon him, and he, enraged on account of the fate of the waterman, seized it by the two jaws, and exerting his whole strength, thus held it immovable. The snake raised such a hissing noise, that the giant who slept on the throne started up, and roared out to Hatim, “You son of man, what are you about? that is my courier.” Hatim replied, “I will not quit my hold unless my friend be restored to me.”

The giant called out to the serpent, “Beware: this seems to be a powerful man, and capable of tearing thy jaws asunder. Above all, take care that he discover not the passage into thy mouth!” When Hatim heard this, he stretched open the two jaws of the serpent, entered its mouth, and was instantly swallowed, notwithstanding the repeated warnings of the giant to the contrary. Arrived, as he thought, in the abdomen of the snake, he was surprised at finding himself in a spacious and sombre apartment. He began to grope his way through this strange abode, when suddenly a voice reached his ear, saying, “Oh, Hatim! whatsoever you meet with in this apartment, cut it with your dagger, for by that means only you will be released from this enchantment; and otherwise you cannot escape hence till the day of judgment.”

While Hatim was thus exploring his dark abode, he unexpectedly laid his hand on something in the shape of a heart. The moment he felt this substance he pulled out his knife and cut it into many pieces, agreeably to the warning voice he had heard. This was no sooner done than a flood of water rushed upon him, and he found himself overwhelmed amidst swelling billows. Exhausted, he began to sink, and after some time he once more felt the ground underneath his feet. He opened his eyes and looked around him, but no trace could he see of the palace, the giant, the serpent, the garden, or the dark chamber where he had lately been. Before him lay a boundless desert, strewed apparently with dead bodies. On coming nearer he observed that a few of these wretches were still alive, while others were in the agonies of death.

Among the living, Hatim discovered the very waterman whom the snake had carried off. He made up to him, and said, “Brother, how came you here?” The waterman replied, “I was drawing water from the well, when a serpent carried me off, and having conveyed me hither, vanished from my sight. What that serpent is, or where it is gone to, I know not.” Hatim questioned various other individuals as to their coming thither, and from all of them received for answer that the serpent had brought them. He then explained to them the nature of the enchantment by which they were held, and how he had broken the spell by entering the mouth of the snake, and cutting to pieces the heart in the dark chamber. He concluded, saying, “Give praise to God, for your enemy is now vanquished, and you are at liberty to go wherever you please.” The wretched men replied, “It is a long time since some of us came hither, and we know not the way by which we were brought. Most of our number have died of hunger and thirst, and we also were despairing of life; God the Supreme has in his mercy destined thee to be our deliverer.”

Hatim, after giving them proper directions, took his leave, and proceeded on his journey to the capital of China. In the course of a few days he entered that vast empire, and arrived at one of their principal cities. The sentinels at the gate immediately seized him, and said, “Who are you, and whither do you go? You must come before our governor, and give an account of yourself before we can allow you to advance any further.” Hatim, thus roughly handled, said to them, “Good people, is it the custom of your empire to annoy travellers in this manner?”

The sentinels replied, “The reason why we detain you is this: The daughter of our governor asks three questions of every traveller that enters the city; if he give a satisfactory answer, he is permitted to go his way, and if not, he is put to death; from which circumstance our city is called the city of Be-dad or Injustice.” Hatim having no choice, accompanied the sentinels, meditating as to the nature of the questions which would be put to him. At length the sentinels presented him to the governor: the latter asked of him, “Stranger, whence come you, and what is your name?”—“I am from Yemen,” said he, “and on my way to the capital of China. As to my name, it does not concern you: no one ought to annoy the traveller unnecessarily; on the other hand, he is entitled to kind treatment and hospitality from your hand, if you wish to set a good example to the world, and do what is acceptable to God the Supreme.”

The governor replied, “A severe scourge has fallen upon our city, which has always been famous for equity, so as to have merited the appellation of Adālatabad (the city of justice); but now, owing to the violent caprice of my daughter, its present name is Bedadabad. For some time past every traveller that arrived in our city has on her account been put to death, and their blood has fallen upon my head.” After some meditation, Hatim said to him, “Why do you not slay your daughter at once?”—“Is it possible,” replied the governor, “for any man to be the murderer of his own child, nay, of his only child? It is not in my heart to put her to death.” When Hatim heard this appeal, his eyes shed tears as he replied, “Alas, miserable man! you have no remedy. May the Almighty Creator remove from you this heavy affliction.” The governor of Adālatabad then conducted Hatim to his daughter’s apartment. The lady arrayed herself in her finest apparel, and summoned Hatim into the apartment occupied by the women, where she reclined upon a throne of shining gold. Hatim was struck with her beauty, which excelled that of all other mortals. She gracefully stood up, and modestly drawing her veil over her face, received Hatim with extreme courtesy and affection, for the instant she beheld him her heart felt for him. She took him by the hand and seated him upon a splendid throne, while she herself occupied another beside him.

She then sent for her nurse, and said to her, “My dear mother, this traveller who has arrived to-day has won my heart, and is mutually enamoured of me. He seems of noble rank; but, alas! to-morrow his life shall be sacrificed.” The nurse replied, “Alas, my child! it is your destiny to act with violence and oppression towards travellers, not even excepting this comely and noble youth; but there is no saying whether he may not prove successful in executing your commands.”—“Let me but know,” said Hatim, “the nature of the task which the lady proposes, and the reason why so many travellers are sacrificed in this city, which is now proverbial for cruelty.”—“Noble youth,” the nurse replied, “every night this lady becomes possessed of an evil spirit, and utters the most incoherent expressions, after which she proposes three enigmas to such strangers as may be found within the city. If the latter fail in solving her riddles, she causes them to be instantly put to death. None of us her attendants can venture to remain near her at such times lest some evil might be our lot.”

On hearing this statement, Hatim replied, “Well, I shall soon know by experience whether longer life or immediate death be destined for me.” He was then presented with food: but he rejected it, saying, “I will not eat of your food until I have accomplished the service you may impose upon me; such is my vow. I consider it inconsistent with probity in a man to waste his time in eating and drinking, or wantonly to throw away his life and leave unfinished the business intrusted to him by another; forgive me, then, for refusing your bounty.”—“Generous youth,” said the nurse, “I am confident that you will succeed in this affair; you speak the sentiments of rectitude and honor.”

Night arrived, and all the servants and attendants abandoned the palace, and shut fast the gates behind them, leaving Hatim to his fate. About the end of the first watch the lady became frantic, and spoke incoherently whatever came into her mind. She wildly cast her eyes on Hatim, and thus addressed him: “Stranger, who are you, and what is your business here? Answer my riddle, or you shall die.”—“What is your riddle?” said Hatim; “let me hear it.”

The lady then proceeded with her first question, which Hatim, after mature reflection, was fortunate enough to solve to her satisfaction, though it was of a nature unsuited for publication to the world and is therefore left unuttered here. “Tell me,” she then said, “the answer to my second question, which is this: There is a fruit sweet beyond measure to the taste of all living creatures, whether genii, men, beasts or birds; what fruit is this of which all are so fond?” Hatim instantly replied, “The fruit you allude to is their offspring, which are dear to all.”—“Tell me now,” said the lady, “my third and last question, what is it that no one desires, and yet every one obtains?”—“That,” replied Hatim, “is death, which is destined for all men, though no one wishes it.”

When the three questions were thus solved, the lady remained silent for some time, when suddenly she was seized with convulsions so as to fall from her couch. At last a snake, black and frightful, issued from her nostrils and rushed towards Hatim. He seized his scimitar with the intention of cutting it to pieces, but considered that it would be cruelty, to which he was averse: he therefore took out the talisman given him by the bear’s daughter, and threw it at the venomous reptile. The snake became tame as a lamb, and suffered him to hold it in his hands and shut it up in a silver vessel, after which he dug a pit in the ground of the size of a man’s grave, and having buried it, he replaced the earth and secured it with bricks and clay.

In about a watch after, the lady being restored to her senses, observed Hatim, and throwing her veil over her countenance, she said to him, “Stranger, who are you; and how came you to sit here?” He answered, “Have you then forgotten me? I am the traveller whom your people yesterday seized and conducted into your presence.” The governor’s daughter called her nurse, and asked her, “My dear mother, tell me how comes this youth to be here and alive this morning?” The nurse replied, “My child, God is merciful, and took this stranger under his protection; but tell me what is your state?”—“To-day,” she replied, “I feel quite relieved and in perfect health.” The nurse then, addressing Hatim, said, “Most learned of men, can you account to me for this change? Tell me what has occurred in your presence.”—“That,” replied Hatim, “I shall communicate to-morrow to her father.”

Next morning the governor summoned Hatim, and asked him, “Tell me, stranger, what has happened, and how are you alive?” Hatim detailed every circumstance as it occurred, saying, “Noble sir, about the end of the first watch your daughter was seized with a fit of raving madness, and began to utter the most incoherent language. At length her eyes happening to observe me, she said, ‘Rash stranger, how dare you enter my apartment? Your life is over unless you answer my questions.’ She then asked me three questions, one after another, all of which I satisfactorily answered. For some time after she remained silent, when all at once a black serpent issued from her nostrils, and rushed furiously towards me. I seized the reptile, and having shut it up in a silver vessel, I buried it in the court-yard; and since that moment your daughter has enjoyed sound health.”

When the governor heard this statement, he said, “Most noble youth, on you I bestow in marriage this my only child, which is no more than fulfilling the vow that I have made; I therefore hope you will accept her.”—“On one condition,” said Hatim, “will I receive her; that is, whenever I feel inclined to leave this place, I may either leave her here or take her with me and bestow her upon whomsoever I please.” To this the father agreed, and on that very day the marriage was celebrated according to the customs of the country, and the hours were spent in mirth and joy. Hatim remained there three months; after which period he took leave of his wife and departed. He at the same time left orders, saying, “Should my wife ever have a fine boy, and should the child prove himself to be of the tribe of Taï, tell him that his father’s country is in Arabia the happy; and thither let him come whenever he may form the desire of seeing me. If it be a daughter, let her be carefully brought up and married to a worthy man, and should my life be spared I shall yet visit you.”

Hatim kept awake the whole of that night in making preparations, and as soon as morning dawned, set out on his journey to the capital of China. In the course of a few days he arrived in that extensive city, and inquired for the quarter occupied by the linen merchants. The people shewed him the way thither, and when he reached the place he asked of the linen merchants, if they knew the residence of Yusuf the merchant, or whether any of his descendants still lived there. One of the linen merchants immediately went to the grandchildren of Yusuf, and said to them, “There is a stranger arrived from some far country, who is desirous to see you.” Yusuf’s grandsons instantly waited upon Hatim, who to their astonishment thus addressed them: “My friends, I have been commissioned to visit you by your grandfather, from whom I have a message for you.” When the grandchildren of Yusuf and the people of the bazar heard this extraordinary declaration, they laughed most heartily, and said to him in reply, “Truly, young stranger, you are quite crazy. It is a long period since Yusuf died; how then could he have sent you thither with a message?”—“How,” said Hatim, “could I have known that you reside in the linen bazar, and various other circumstances connected with you, had I not received my information from your grandfather? I have further tokens from which I shall prove my veracity if you will hear me; but the question now is, are you willing to listen to me or not?”

The people requested Hatim to proceed with his message, which he thus did: “In a certain apartment, near the bed where Yusuf was wont to sleep, there are buried treasures and jewels, of which none but myself has any information; these you shall bring to light, and divide into four equal portions, of which you shall keep one-fourth, and bestow the other three-fourths in the way which is acceptable to God the Most High, in relieving the wants of the poor and the distressed.” He then detailed to them minutely his late adventure, and having mentioned all that he had witnessed respecting their grandfather, he concluded, saying, “If Yusuf himself had not sent me, how could I have known so much about your house?”

The people said to him, “We cannot proceed further in this affair without applying to our king.” The relatives of Yusuf, therefore, conducted Hatim before the august monarch of China, and being admitted into the royal presence, they represented: “Sire, this youthful stranger asserts that he has seen our grandfather Yusuf, the merchant, by whom he has been commissioned hither with a message for us.” The king on hearing their statement could not refrain from laughter: at last he said to them, “The young man is mad; why, it is nearly one hundred years since old Yusuf, the merchant, died; how then could this stripling have ever seen him? Foolish youth,” continued the king, addressing Hatim, “has it ever been known that the dead held any communication with the living? But you are crazy, and all that I have to say to you is, quit my capital as soon as possible.”

Hatim firmly but respectfully replied, “Most upright king, this is one of the secret dispensations of the Almighty, and is beyond the comprehension of mortals. We believe that martyrs inherit life everlasting; Yusuf, however, when in this world was a miser, for which sin he is now in a state of torment; and should your Highness be pleased to listen seriously to my statement, it will be the means of procuring him salvation. If I be mad, how do I come to possess my information respecting the treasure concealed in Yusuf’s sleeping apartment which I have never seen?” When his Majesty of China heard this reply from Hatim, he desired the latter to state who he was, and how he had become concerned in this strange affair. Hatim related the cause of his journey to the tombs of the martyrs, and what he had there seen, and the state of suffering to which Yusuf was doomed. “I asked him,” said Hatim, “the cause of his misery, which he told me in detailing the particulars of his past life, and also the way in which he is likely to obtain relief. For this reason, Sire, I have journeyed to your capital, and if you believe not my statement, at least let the apartment in which the treasure is hidden be searched: if the gold and jewels be found as I have described them, it will be a proof of my sincerity; but if not, let me be doomed to the severest punishment.”

The king, after some reflection, resolved to search in person the apartment of Yusuf, to which he immediately proceeded, accompanied by Hatim. In the very spot which the latter pointed out, the gold and jewels were found, to the great astonishment of the king. The treasure was divided into four equal portions, one of which was made over to the grandchildren of Yusuf, and the remainder was given in charge to Hatim. “You,” said the king, “seem to be a man of integrity; accept this wealth then, and with your own hand distribute it in charity, after such manner as you deem proper.” Hatim for several days was occupied in his favorite task of relieving the wants of the destitute,—in administering food to the hungry, and in clothing those who were naked.

Having accomplished the object of his journey to the capital of China, Hatim began to make preparations for his return; he had the satisfaction of seeing the grandchildren of Yusuf now raised to a state of affluence and engaged in commerce. He took leave of the monarch, and returning by the way he came, he arrived in the city of Adālatabad, where he was affectionately received by his wife, who was at that time the mother of a boy. Hatim and his friends were extremely delighted on this occasion, and called the son Salim. Shortly after Hatim proceeded on his journey until he came to the desert in which were the tombs of the martyrs; amidst these receptacles of the dead he remained three days waiting the arrival of the eve of Jumat. At the appointed hour all the martyrs, as formerly, rose into life. Among them was Yusuf the merchant, but in a state different from his former condition. At midnight the tables, with food, were placed before them, of which Yusuf now partook. At the same time there appeared a table unoccupied, which was intended for Hatim, who at their request approached, and after the usual salutations, asked Yusuf how he fared.

The merchant replied: “Noble youth, by your humane exertion my condition has been improved, and I am now delivered from my torment; my food and drink are the same as that of the rest, but the thrones on which they sit are more splendid, and the apparel in which they are arrayed is more elegant than mine; on them too are bestowed perfumes, and substances of sweet fragrance, of which my portion is but small; but, alas, their desert is far greater than mine, for when they were in the fetters of human life their hands were ever active in charitable deeds. I, however, after severe penance, have been released from my state of misery; now I am happy and possessed of salvation. You are the means whereby the Almighty has accomplished this end, and on you he will bestow the reward of the righteous.”

Hatim spent the remainder of the night there as formerly, and when the morning dawned he departed. After traversing for several days the mountains and deserts, he came to a spot where he beheld a decrepit old woman sitting by the wayside. When the old woman observed him, she made a piteous appeal to his charity; and Hatim having pulled off a diamond ring from his finger, gave it to her and walked onwards. The old woman then cried out, “May heaven send one or two to aid me”; and in an instant seven young fellows rushed from the desert. Now these seven men were the sons of the old woman, and were notorious robbers in those quarters. The mother shewed them the diamond ring, and assured them that the traveller who gave it must be a man of wealth. The robbers overtook Hatim, and walked peaceably along with him for some space, conversing on various subjects. At last they said to him, “Noble Sir, we are here out of employment, and if you will permit us, it is our wish to accompany you to some city where we may earn our livelihood by service.”

To this request Hatim readily assented; and when the robbers found that he was duped by their false assertions, one of them came behind him, and casting a net over his head, they all seized him and conveyed him to the mouth of a pit which was close by. They stripped him of his clothing, and took possession of all the money and jewels that he had with him; after which they wounded him in several parts of his body with their daggers, and threw him into the pit. For a long time Hatim lay senseless; but as soon as his recollection was restored he searched for his talisman, which the robbers had fortunately left with his turban. The instant he brought it out the pit became quite dry; he then applied it to his wounds, which were speedily healed.

Hatim thus restored to perfect health could not, mild as he was, avoid making the following reflections: “What a trick those cowardly villains have played me! Well, if we should meet again I may give them something which will set their avarice forever at rest.” Occupied with these thoughts he fell into a profound sleep, and in a dream he beheld an aged man, who thus accosted him: “O, Hatim, let not thy heart be cast down. Thinkest thou that Divine Providence has sent thee hither without some wise and unerring design? Listen, and I will tell thee the cause of thy falling into this apparent calamity. In this pit the Creator, bountiful and gracious, hath kept hidden a treasure that is destined for thee. Arise and take possession of it; for thou art capable of employing it in that way which is most acceptable to the bountiful Giver. Let sadness no longer dwell in thy heart; he who is discontent is unfit for the service of God.”

To this mysterious man Hatim replied, “In every state that may befall me, I am always satisfied with the decrees of Providence; and though these may exceed my comprehension, I submit with resignation. Should the sacrifice of my life tend to promote the service of God, I am ready to yield it.”—“I am convinced,” continued the old man, “that thy words are sincere; meanwhile take away this treasure, which is thine.”—“I am alone,” said Hatim; “I cannot even liberate myself from this dungeon; of what use is it then to offer me so vast a treasure?”—“To-morrow,” replied the man, “two persons will pass this way who will set you at liberty; and by their aid you can bring out the treasure and carry it away.”—“It will be impossible for two persons,” said Hatim, “to release me from this prison; and as for the treasure, it is out of the question.”—“The two persons to whom I allude,” replied the man, “are able to accomplish both the one and the other”; and having thus spoken, he vanished, leaving Hatim to the enjoyment of a pleasant dream.

As soon as the morning rays dawned, the two persons arrived at the mouth of the pit, and called out, “Ah! Hatim, are you still alive?” To this he replied, “He who at first created me, hath preserved me.” The two strange beings that addressed him thrust each of them a hand into the pit, which was of immense depth, and to Hatim’s astonishment, their hands reached the bottom where he lay. They called aloud to him to hold fast by their hands, which he did, and in an instant he was set at liberty. Hatim thanked his deliverers, and said to them, “In this pit there are vast treasures of gold and jewels; if you can bring them to light, I will distribute the same in the service of God by relieving the wants of the poor and needy.” On hearing this, one of them threw himself into the pit, and handed up the treasure to the other, who remained outside. In the course of an hour all the hidden stores of the pit were brought up and packed together so as to be easily carried; after which the two took leave of Hatim and departed.

Hatim for some time viewed his treasure, and thus communed with himself: “How can I best dispose of this wealth? If the villains that lately maltreated me were here I should bestow it upon them, that they might for once be satisfied and cease from oppressing their fellow-creatures.” He then selected from the stores a suit of apparel, in which he dressed himself; and having filled a large bag with the most valuable jewels, he departed in quest of the old woman and her seven sons. He had not far advanced when he espied the object of his search, sitting, as formerly by the wayside. On seeing her Hatim was extremely glad, and walking up to her, he put his hand into his bundle and pulled out a handful of the finest jewels, which he scattered around her. The old woman, as formerly, gave the signal to her sons by exclaiming, “May heaven send one or two to aid me”; and forthwith the seven robbers presented themselves, and surrounding Hatim, asked him whither he was journeying. Hatim addressed them thus: “My good friends, I have one request to beg of you, which I hope you will allow me.”

The thieves desired him to speak, whereupon he thus continued: “You hunger and thirst for gold and worldly wealth; abandon your present iniquitous way of life, and withdraw your hands from oppressing your neighbors, and I will enrich you with gold and jewels to such a degree as will satisfy your utmost wishes.” To this exhortation the thieves replied, “Hunger and want have driven us to this avocation; and of course, if you give us all this wealth, we shall speedily abandon a line of life which is hateful to God and oppressive to man.”—“Well,” said Hatim, “repent of your past deeds, and give me your solemn and sincere promise never to transgress in future, and I shall satisfy your wants.”—“But ere we can conscientiously give you this promise,” replied the thieves, “shew us that immense treasure which you are to bestow upon us.” Hatim opened his bag and displayed the treasures which he possessed; on seeing which the thieves unanimously requested him to impose upon them whatever terms he chose. “Swear to me,” said Hatim, “a solemn oath in the following words: ‘Before God the wise and supreme, who observeth and knoweth all things, we promise never to lay our hands on the property of our fellow-creatures, nor henceforth to injure any one; otherwise may the wrath of heaven be upon us, and may our past deeds, of which we sincerely repent, never be forgiven.’”

Hereupon the thieves bound themselves by oath to follow his dictates, and expressed their penitence for their past sins; after which Hatim, having thus reclaimed them from the path of error, divided his treasure among them and departed. Having traversed part of the desert, he espied a dog lolling out his tongue, and exhausted with hunger and thirst. He at once supposed that some caravan, to which the dog belonged, must be at no great distance. When he approached, the poor animal in the most piteous manner seemed to implore his aid. Hatim felt for the misery of every living creature; he therefore lifted the dog in his arms, and carried it with him, in order to restore it with food and drink as soon as he could procure any. He had not long proceeded when he beheld a village at some distance before him, and thither he bent his steps. On his arrival the people presented him with a barley loaf and some curdled milk, the whole of which he gave to the dog. The exhausted animal, thus satisfied with food and drink, fawned on Hatim, as if expressing its sense of his kindness, and then lay down at his feet.

Hatim began to stroke the animal with his hands, and was meditating on the power and wisdom of the Almighty, who created the countless myriads of creatures that fill the universe, each with some characteristic in form and color peculiar to itself, when his hand passing over the head of the dog, he felt some hard substance resembling a horn. He wondered in his own mind what this could mean, “for,” said he, “I never heard of dogs having horns.” He examined it further, and found that an iron nail had been driven into the head of the dog. He drew it out, and instantly the animal assumed the shape of a young man.

Hatim sat for some time in silent abstraction, wondering at the miraculous occurrence which he had just witnessed. At last he addressed the young man, saying, “Tell me, Sir, who are you, and how have you been transformed into the likeness of an irrational animal? From what mysterious cause have you now recovered your proper shape on my removing the nail from your head?” The young man, struck with Hatim’s humane and amiable disposition, and full of gratitude for the service he had just rendered him, bowed his head to the dust as he replied, “Benevolent Sir, suffice it to say that I am of the human race; that by the foulest practice, which I am loth to detail, I was transformed into that shape wherein you lately saw me; and from which, through the Divine favor and your humane attention, I am now delivered.”—“I should like to know,” said Hatim, “if agreeable to you, the cause of your having assumed the shape of a dog.”

The young man, thus requested, proceeded with his own history. “Worthy Sir, I am the son of a merchant. My father, not many years ago, made a journey to the capital of China with a large stock of goods of various kinds, which he there disposed of to great advantage: in return, he supplied himself with the most valuable commodities produced in that country, which on his arrival in Kheta he converted into gold, and thus became immensely rich. As I was his only son, he wished to have me settled in life, and induced me to marry a beautiful young lady. Shortly after my marriage he died, and I became possessed of the whole of his property, and for some time my life passed in perfect felicity. At last my wealth was considerably diminished; I therefore made up an investment at Kheta, and, like my father, made a journey to China, which, of course, forced me to leave my home and country for a considerable period. During my absence, my wife had proved herself on several occasions a wicked woman, and at the same time procured this iron nail from some magicians. At length I returned home, and as soon as sleep overpowered my eyelids, my wife thrust the enchanted nail into my head, and instantly I was transformed into the shape of a dog. She then kicked me out of the house, and when thus driven into the public streets, all the dogs of the city flew at me. Winged with terror, I fled into the desert; and there for three days I had wandered without a morsel of food or a drop of water, until the auspicious hour when God the Supreme sent you to my relief.”

When Hatim heard this wonderful narrative, he for some time held down his head in the lap of reflection, after which he addressed the young man, saying: “My dear friend, pray tell me where is your residence?”—“It is,” said he, “about three days’ journey from this place, in the city of Suri.”—“That city,” rejoined Hatim, “I know well, for there resides Harith the merchant, whose beautiful daughter is so celebrated on account of her three questions. I am just on my return to that city, having found out the solution of her second question, which runs thus: I have done nothing that can be of use to me this night.”—“You speak truly,” replied the young man, “as to Harith and his fair daughter. I know them well, being their fellow-citizen, and I rejoice in the prospect of your company thither.”

Hatim then advised the young man to preserve the magic nail with the utmost care, and as soon as he arrived at his house, to serve his wife as she had him.

After the slave had been killed, all received from him presents, and Hatim was for that day detained as his guest, and the hours were spent in pleasure. Next morning Hatim took farewell of the young man, and returning to the caravanseraï, met with the lover of Harith’s daughter. He courteously addressed the youth, whose name was Naīm, and made many inquiries after his condition, to all of which the other replied; adding: “It is now several months since the voice was last heard in the wilderness, and from that circumstance Harith’s daughter is expecting your return crowned with success.”—“Rejoice, my friend,” said Hatim, “for I have really succeeded in procuring the most accurate information respecting the voice in the desert.”

Hatim then made straight for the gate of Harith, and announced his presence to the domestics; who forthwith informed their mistress that the Arabian prince had returned, and waited at her gates. She ordered them to admit him; and on Hatim’s entrance, she eagerly requested to know the result of his adventure, of which he gave her a detail from end to end. “You speak truly,” said the lady in return: “the voice has now ceased to be heard, and you have accomplished my second task: it only remains for you to procure me the Shahmuhra from Mahparí, the king of the fairies.”

Hatim took leave of Harith’s daughter, and returning to the caravanseraï, said to his young friend: “Now I depart in quest of the Shahmuhra.” The youth prostrated himself at Hatim’s feet, and gave vent to his gratitude. Hatim raised him up, and embracing him, said: “Rejoice, my friend, for as soon as I shall, by the aid of God, have accomplished this third task, I shall put you in possession of your beloved.” Hatim left the city of Suri, and placing his reliance upon Divine Providence, set out in quest of the Shahmuhra. After he had advanced a small distance, he sat down to rest under the shade of a tree, not knowing which way to proceed. At length his mind recurred to the cave that led to the world of demons, and he resolved to wait upon Farokash their king, and receive his direction to the abode of Mahparí, assured that the demons could furnish him with the requisite information. He therefore got up, and made for the mouth of the cave, which he entered as formerly, and in the course of a week he reached its further extremity, and issued into the desert by the route previously described. Shortly after the demons flocked around him from all quarters, and recognizing their former visitor, they conducted him to their homes, and vied with each other in their hospitality and attention.

Hatim thus advanced from town to town, till at length his majesty Farokash, hearing of his approach, came out to receive him, and with all honors conducted him to his palace, seated him upon a throne, and presented him with a variety of eatables the most delicious, and in short, testified in every way the pleasure he felt in the meeting. After some time, the king requested to know of Hatim the cause of his visit; to which the latter replied: “Sire, I am on my journey in quest of the Shahmuhra, which is in the possession of Mahparí; in this enterprise may I venture to solicit your aid?”—“Young man,” said Farokash, “you aim at things that are beyond the power of the human race. There is not one of my demon subjects that can enter the dominions of Mahparí and return alive; far less then is it practicable by you, a mere mortal.”—“Sire,” replied Hatim, “the Almighty Power, that has preserved me in your kingdom, will watch over me in the fairy world, and thence conduct me back in safety. In the meantime, may I request your Highness to furnish me with guides, who may shew me the way thither? Otherwise I should wander astray.”—“I wish,” said Farokash, “that you would abandon this absurd enterprise, so inconsistent with reason.”—“How can I,” replied Hatim, “without disgrace relinquish the task which I have undertaken? My word is pledged to accomplish it, and a promise is sacred.”

On hearing this reply Farokash remained silent, as he felt assured that compliance with Hatim’s request would be only hastening his ruin. Three days were spent in discharging the rights of hospitality, after which Hatim addressed the king, and said, “Sire, allow me to depart, for the occasion is urgent: let it not be said that the tormented lover has died in his protracted expectation of me; in such a case I should have become responsible for his death, and what would be my answer before the great Judge? The love-sick youth in whose cause I labor is sincere in heart, and ardent in his affection; his life depends on my successful exertions, and my failure would be the cause of his death.”

The king of the demons summoned a few of his subjects and gave them instructions to the following effect: “You shall conduct this young stranger to the boundaries of Mahparí’s dominions, and remain there until his return, if such be his fate.” The demons lifted Hatim on their shoulders, and with the speed of the wind began to traverse the wide-spreading desert. In the course of a month they arrived at the confines of fairy-land, where the demons halted, and addressing Hatim, said, “We are now in sight of the mountain Kaf, and here begin the territories of Mahparí, within which we dare not enter; for close upon the limits of that mountain are stationed thousands of fairies ready to destroy us.”

Hatim took leave of the demons, and fearlessly passed the bounds of the fairy regions, and from day to day approached nearer the mountain whose top seemed to pierce the skies and whose sides abounded with green trees in endless variety. When he arrived at the base of the mountain the fairies assembled from all sides, and said one to another: “Here comes one of Adam’s race whom we must instantly put to death, as he has the hardihood to approach this mountain.” The fairies hereupon rushed to the base of the mountain, and laying hold of Hatim, carried him up, and when they had bound his hands and feet with chains, they asked him, “Tell us, mortal, whence come you? what is your business? and who has conducted you hither?”—“I come,” said Hatim, “from the city of Suri, under the guidance of my Creator.”—“Pray,” said the fairies to him, “are you come at the request of the daughter of Harith, the merchant?” Hatim reflected in his own mind, “Now if I tell them the truth, and say that I am come in quest of the Shahmuhra, they will assuredly destroy me; and if I speak falsely it will be unworthy of me, having never done so in my life; in this case, then, silence is the best policy.”

Meanwhile the fairies came to the resolution of casting him into the fire, “For,” said they, “he is in all probability come for the Shahmuhra.” They quickly heaped together piles of dried wood, to which they set fire, and throwing Hatim into the midst of it, they all set up a loud shout of laughter, and there left him. Hatim, remembering his Maker, took into his mouth the talisman of the bear’s daughter, which rendered him completely proof against fire. For three days he remained in that state, after which period he came out without even a thread of his garment being burnt.

Hatim had no sooner made his escape than he was again seized and bound by the fairies, who thus addressed him: “Three days since a man very like you fell into our hands, and we cast him into the fire, and burnt him; pray are you that individual, or some one else of the human race?”—“O, you troop of simpletons,” replied Hatim, “assuredly, such fools as you are never will exist; if, as you say, you burnt that individual, how do you imagine that he should be again alive? But the truth is, the Almighty has preserved me amidst the burning flames.” The fairies, on hearing this, again threw Hatim into the fire, from which, after a considerable time, he coolly walked out unhurt; a third time they repeated the experiment, and at length becoming convinced that he was not to be destroyed by burning, they carried him to the shore of the salt sea, and cast him into the midst of the deep, and there, leaving him to his fate, they departed.

Whilst Hatim was cutting his way by swimming amidst the billows of the ocean, a large nihang (sea-serpent) happened to espy him. This monster rushed upon him, and in an instant swallowed him alive. Hatim, thus rescued from drowning, on coming to his senses attempted to stand up and move about, whereby the sea-serpent became so desperately annoyed that he darted towards the shore, and with great exertion succeeded in disgorging him on dry land, after which he plunged into the deep.

Hatim in that spot lay, helpless and exhausted with hunger and thirst, for the space of two days and nights, after which time he rose up, and wandered he knew not whither, until he found himself in the midst of a wilderness of sand. Here he continued to stray till a troop of fairies happened to observe him; these immediately surrounded him, and said, one to another, “Here is a mortal man, how can he have come hither?” Addressing Hatim, they said to him, “You seem to be of the human race, pray who brought you into our territory?”—“The merciful Creator,” replied Hatim, “first conducted me into your dominions, but since my arrival I have been cast into the sea, and swallowed by a monstrous nihang, from whose inside I was ejected two days ago. I am now exhausted with hunger; if you have any compassion within you, let me have something to eat, and water to quench my thirst.”

To this reply the fairies rejoined, “We dare not administer to you even a drop of water, for our king has strictly ordered us to slay every one of the race of men or demons that may come in our way; if we, therefore, delay a moment in putting you to death, the wrath of his Majesty will overtake us.” Here one of the fairies said to his companions, “Where is our king, and where are we?[9] This wretched being is not come hither of his own accord! God is merciful! You know not from what distance he may have been brought by the nihang, and his being found here is accidental, as it was natural he should make an effort to preserve his life. He is one of the human race too, and our superior, nay, the noblest of the sublunary creation; let us convey him to our abodes, and afford him kind treatment.”—“But,” said the rest of the fairies, “if we spare him, and our king hear of it, his Majesty will put us to death.” On hearing this discussion Hatim addressed them, saying, “My friends, if it is your duty and interest to slay me, I am quite resigned without further dispute.”

That fairy, however, who spoke in his favor still held out, saying, “My worthy companions, our king is far distant, even seven days’ journey hence; and who among us is likely to turn informer?” In short, they all at last agreed to spare Hatim’s life; whereupon they carried him to their dwellings, and gave him food to eat, and fruits and water to quench his thirst, so that in a short time he perfectly recovered. The fairies, charmed with Hatim’s gracefulness and eloquence, crowded around him, and felt the greatest pleasure in listening to his conversation; they daily supplied him with food the most delicious, and fruits the most refreshing, and spent their whole time in his society. In a few days Hatim became a universal favorite, so that he ventured to ask their leave to depart, in order to accomplish his enterprise. “Pray tell us,” said they, “what is your business here, and what brought you into our world?” Hatim told them without reserve: “The demon subjects of Farokash conducted me as far as your boundaries, beyond which they durst not penetrate. As soon as I entered your dominions, the fairies that guard your coasts laid hold of me, and three times did they cast me into the burning flames, but from all their evil designs the hand of the Creator protected me; they afterwards threw me into the sea, from which I escaped as I have already told you.”—“And pray,” asked they, “what business have you so important, that you undergo such toils and perils for its accomplishment?”—“My business,” replied Hatim, “is with Mahparí.”—“Beware, frail man,” said the fairies, “how you speak of Mahparí; we are his subjects, and he has enjoined us not to suffer a man or demon to enter his dominions; should he hear of our affording you an asylum, he would instantly slay us all.”

In answer Hatim said: “If it is our destiny to enjoy longer life, no one can slay us; and if you are afraid of the consequence, you can bind me hand and foot, and carry me as a captive into the presence of your king.”—“What you propose,” rejoined they, “is utterly absurd; you have already shared of our hospitality; you and we have eaten salt together[10]; do you imagine, then, that we can deliver you up to certain destruction?”—“Be under no hesitation,” replied Hatim, “on account of any danger that threatens me, for it is my resolution to have an audience of Mahparí as soon as possible; therefore convey me thither at all risks.” The fairies were sadly perplexed on hearing Hatim’s mad design, and deliberated amongst themselves what was best to be done in the case. At length they resolved to detain him as prisoner, and in the meantime despatch a messenger to learn the king’s pleasure regarding him, and act accordingly. One of the fairies was immediately sent to his Majesty, with instructions thus to address him: “Sire, we have just seized on the sea-shore one of the human race, who is now our captive; if such be your royal pleasure, we are ready to conduct him into your august presence.”

The messenger departed, and in the course of seven days arrived at the fairy court, and having received an audience, thus delivered his message: “Sire, your subjects, who guard the shores of the sea of Kulzum[11], have there taken captive one of the human race, and I have been despatched hither to know your pleasure respecting him.” Mahparí ordered the man to be carefully conveyed to his presence, in order that he might himself examine him with regard to his journey to fairy-land. The messenger immediately returned, and after an absence of two weeks arrived at his own residence, and stated that it was his Majesty’s pleasure to have Hatim brought into his presence. On hearing this, the fairies without delay made preparations for conveying their prisoner to court. Meanwhile the report was rapidly spread through the country, that one of the human race was being brought to the capital. One of his Majesty’s grandees, by name Masnapari, had a beautiful daughter called Husnapari, whose heart was restless and full of curiosity. This fairy damsel said to her companions: “I hear that a man has somehow entered our king’s dominions, and is now on his way to the capital; I wish it were possible for me to see what he is like: they tell me that mankind are beautiful in countenance and graceful in form.” The attendants of Husnapari expressed their readiness to aid her in gratifying her wish; and at the same time observed to her, “Fair lady, you must take your station by the wayside as this man passes, for after he is brought before the king it will be impossible to see him.”—“But,” said Husnapari, “how can I leave my father’s house? on what pretence shall I get out?” After consideration, her youthful companions suggested that she should ask leave of her parents to be allowed to walk in the gardens for some days. Husnapari, delighted with this stratagem, went to her mother, and said, “My dear mother, give me your permission to go out and enjoy for some days the fragrance of the fields and the delights of the garden.”—“Obtain your father’s permission, my child,” replied the mother, “and I am satisfied.”

In short, Husnapari received her father’s leave, and attended by her fair and youthful companions, went to the garden, where she was allowed to remain for forty days. On her way thither, she further consulted her friends as to the speediest means of seeing Hatim, the main object of her journey. They told her that those who guarded the sea of Kulzum were conducting the man from that quarter. On hearing this, Husnapari and her companions, instead of proceeding to the garden, swiftly transported themselves to the shores of Kulzum, where they arrived in the space of three days, just at the moment when the fairies were about to depart with Hatim.

Husnapari, observing the numerous assemblage on the sea-shore, halted with her train at some distance, and sent one of her attendants to inquire who they were. The messenger soon returned, and informed her that these were the guardians of the shores of Kulzum, and that they were about to convey the man to the king’s presence. “I myself,” continued the messenger, “saw this flower of Adam’s race, as he sat on the sea-shore; his face was beautiful, and his hair waved in graceful ringlets. His form was elegant as the moon in her fourteenth night.”

When Husnapari heard this description of Hatim’s beauty and perfection, her desire to see him was greatly increased. She said to her fairy train: “Alas! when am I to behold with my own eyes this lovely being?”—“Let us watch them in the meantime from a distance,” said her companions; “and when they shall have halted for the night, perhaps we shall be able to carry off the man when his guards fall asleep.” In short, the fairies of Kulzum set out with their prisoner, and in a few days approached the garden of Husnapari, within a furlong of which they halted for the night. When half the night had elapsed, a select few of Husnapari’s attendants, who were proficients in magic, approached the guards, and overpowering their eyelids with sleep, cast a charm over the eyes of Hatim so that he fell into a profound slumber, and then they carried him into the presence of their mistress.

The instant Husnapari beheld him, her heart was enamoured of his beauty. She lifted him in her arms, sleeping as he was, and carried him herself into her own garden. When Hatim awoke, and looked around him, he was surprised at finding himself surrounded by fairy damsels of surpassing beauty, in the midst of a garden green and fragrant as that of Iram. He addressed the fair assemblage, and said: “Tell me, who are you, and who has brought me hither?” The fairest of the troop replied, “This is the garden of Masnapari, a fairy of exalted rank, and I am his daughter. My name is Husnapari. When the news of your arrival in our dominions became divulged, my ardent desire to behold your form overcame my prudence; for which reason my attendants brought you hither when asleep.” Hatim rejoined: “Now that you have gained your wish, may I request that you will aid me in the accomplishing of my enterprise?”—“How can I serve you?” replied the beautiful fairy. “The object of my coming into your country,” said Hatim, “is to get possession of the Shahmuhra.”—“Your journey is to little purpose,” replied Husnapari, “for no living creature can get the Shahmuhra from the hands of the fairy king; stay with me, then, for my heart has been yours since the moment I first saw you.”—“I will comply with your request,” said Hatim, “if you procure for me the Shahmuhra.”—“I repeat to you,” rejoined the fairy, “that I cannot—no creature can, by force or stratagem, get possession of the Shahmuhra. But I know that you are destined to acquire this treasure, so you may rest satisfied.” In fine, Husnapari detained Hatim in her garden, where both of them experienced uninterrupted happiness.

When the guards awoke from their slumbers, and found no trace of Hatim, they began to search for him in all directions, but to no purpose. They then held a consultation on what was best to be done. Most of them believed that Hatim had made his escape, and could not as yet be far off, while others suggested that probably some youthful fairy, enamoured of his beauty, had stolen him during the night. “But what shall we do?” said they to one another; “if the king should hear of this affair, he will flay us alive.” They resolved to keep the affair in secrecy, and in the meantime to make the strictest search. If the man should be found, they were to conduct him before the king as if nothing had happened; and if not, they considered it safest to absent themselves.

After a considerable period had thus elapsed, Mahparí becoming impatient, said to his courtiers, “Can you tell me the reason why this man has not yet made his appearance? I must make further inquiries concerning him.” His Majesty immediately despatched to the guardians of the shores of Kulzum a messenger, who received as an answer from them, “It is now a considerable time since we sent our prisoner to the capital, escorted by a guard of soldiers; of these we have heard nothing since, nor can we conjecture what is the cause of their delay.” The messenger conveyed this information to the king, who being exceedingly wroth, ordered his troops to scour the country in search of the delinquents, and find out what they had done with the man.

Agreeably to his commands, emissaries were sent in all directions, and not long after one of Hatim’s escort was seized and carried to the capital. Mahparí threatened him with the severest punishment, unless he told truly what had become of the man whom they had in charge. The fairy guard with trembling voice replied, “Spare my life, O king, and I will tell truly all that I know respecting the man.”—“Speak the truth, then,” said the king, “otherwise you shall die.” The guard proceeded: “Sire, we received the man in charge, and for several days journeyed with him towards the foot of your throne. It happened, as we halted for the night in a certain spot near a garden, that we were all overpowered with sleep, and when we awoke the man was nowhere to be seen. It is certain that some one must have stolen him from us, for he would not have gone of his own accord, as he frequently expressed his most ardent desire to have an interview with your Majesty. It is most likely, then, that some of the fairy damsels on seeing him, became enamoured of his person, for verily he is of rare beauty and gracefulness, and contrived to carry him off while we were asleep. Next morning, when we awoke and missed our charge, we fled in all directions, from fear of your Majesty’s wrath; and this is the whole truth.”

On hearing this statement, Mahparí ordered the culprit’s life to be spared, and contented himself by detaining him prisoner, until such time as the man should be found. Meanwhile he sent forth his servants, with orders to search every corner within fairy-land until they discovered Hatim. It happened about three months after, that one of the escort from Kulzum entered unobserved the garden of Masnapari, and having concealed himself in a corner, saw the beautiful fairy and Hatim walking hand in hand amidst the flowers. He instantly recognized the object of his search, and leaving his hiding-place, he boldly presented himself amidst the fairy troop, saying, “Most foolish damsels, you are aware that the king has ordered this man to be brought into his presence, whither we were conducting him; and yet you had the boldness to carry him off by stratagem. If you value your lives, surrender him into my charge, otherwise death and degradation await you.”

On hearing this address, Husnapari, instigated by fear and resentment, said to her attendants, “How durst you, without my permission, admit a stranger into the garden? Seize the villain, let him be severely punished, and for the remainder of his life confined in fetters.” The spy with the utmost activity bounded off as they were about to lay hold of him, and fled beyond their reach. With all speed he made for the capital, and on his arrival blackened his face, and taking his station at the palace gate, stated that he had a complaint to lay before the king. His Majesty was pleased to admit him, and inquired, “Why hast thou blackened thy face? Tell me who has injured thee?”—“Sire,” replied the spy, “my complaint is against the beautiful daughter of Masnapari. I am one of those who formed the escort of the Arabian prince from Kulzum, and while we were conducting our charge hither agreeably to your Majesty’s order, this damsel, whose name is Husnapari, contrived to steal him from us by night, and since then she has detained him in her father’s garden. I happened to discover the circumstance, and demanded of her the man as my prisoner. Enraged, she threatened me with severe punishment and confinement for life. I fortunately made my escape, and hastened to lay my information before your Majesty.”

When the sovereign of the fairy realms heard this intelligence his anger was extreme. He instantly despatched his commander-in-chief, accompanied by thirty thousand troops, with orders to seize Masnapari, and make him responsible for his daughter’s conduct. When Masnapari beheld this formidable array drawn up around his mansion, he was perplexed, and addressing the commander, said, “For what purpose are these forces? In what respect have I incurred his Majesty’s displeasure?”—“Pray sir,” said the commander, “where is your daughter?”—“For some months past,” replied the other, “she has been enjoying the delights of our garden in the country.”—“Wretched being!” rejoined the commander, “I pity your case; be it known to you, that your daughter has privately conveyed into that garden the man whom the sentinels of Kulzum found upon their coast. This is the cause of the king’s resentment towards you.”

When the mother of Husnapari heard this statement, pale with fear she hastened to the garden, where she found her daughter seated on a bed of flowers and engaged in conversation with Hatim. The enraged mother struck Husnapari on the head, saying, “Abandoned one! you have caused the ruin of your family. The king’s troops have surrounded our dwelling in quest of this man, whom you have chosen for your lover.” Husnapari, surprised and terrified at these tidings, stood motionless, and her beautiful countenance assumed the hue of death. The mother immediately gave her daughter and Hatim in charge to the commander of the troops; and she herself, with the whole of her relations, was ordered to follow to the capital.

In the course of three days they arrived at the king’s palace, where the commander informed his Majesty that Masnapari was in attendance to plead his own cause, and that his daughter, and the prince of Yemen her lover, were now at hand to be disposed of as his Majesty might deem proper. Mahparí ordered, in the first place, that the father should be brought before him. Masnapari entered, and making a low obeisance, said, “Sire, I swear by your Majesty’s salt, which I have so often tasted, that I knew nothing of the transaction. I have come, however, obedient to your commands, accompanied by my family, and all of us are ready to undergo whatever be the decree of your Majesty.”—“Enough,” said the king, “you are innocent, and are accordingly forgiven; let us now examine the man who has caused this trouble.”

The attendants immediately introduced Hatim, and placed him before the king. When Mahparí beheld his noble form and fair countenance, all his resentment towards him vanished, and having seated Hatim beside him, he began to converse with him, and said, “You are a bold youth to enter our dominions; may I ask what is the cause of your journey hither?”—“Sire,” replied Hatim, “I had heard much of your Majesty, and of your heavenly realms, from Farokash the king of the demons, so that I felt an irresistible desire of visiting your country, and of tendering you my humble services, whatever might be the risk.”—“Who,” asked the king, “were your guides hither?”—“The subjects of Farokash,” said Hatim. “Know you,” continued the fairy king, “whether there be among the demons any learned and expert physician?”—“From what I have there observed,” replied Hatim, “I believe the subjects of Farokash have no skill in physic; but may I ask, what occasion has your Highness for a physician?”—“I shall tell you in good time,” said Mahparí, “for after all you may be able to serve me, as the human race are allowed to be the noblest and most skilful of the creation, and from their superior wisdom they are enabled to hold under their control the regions of the fairies and demons, as was the case with Solomon, on whom be peace.”—“Well,” said Hatim, “may I presume to ask, what would your Majesty with a physician?”

Mahparí, in a voice of sorrow, replied: “I have a son who is the admiration of the world, accomplished in every art and science that adorn the mind, matchless in the beauty and elegance of his form, and beside him I have no other child. He has been lately seized with a pain in his eyes, which constantly flow with water, so intense that he his now quite blind; nor does he experience a moment’s relief. If you can procure me a learned leech who may succeed in restoring him his sight, I shall ever remain grateful for your kindness.”—“May I ask,” said Hatim, “what reward will your Highness bestow on that physician who may be the means of curing the prince?”—“I will give him whatever he asks,” replied the king. “Agreed,” said Hatim; “I myself will undertake on these terms to restore the prince to perfect health.” The king then took Hatim by the hand, and solemnly swore to abide by his promise; and as it now waxed late, they agreed to retire to rest.

Hatim was ushered into a splendid apartment, while troops of fairies attended him to execute his commands. They presented him with every sort of food and a variety of delicious fruits, with cool water pure as crystal. When the morning dawned the fairy king conducted Hatim to the apartment of his son, who lay stretched upon the bed of restlessness. Hatim took out the talisman presented him by the bear’s daughter, and having dipped it in pure water, applied the liquid to the prince’s eyes. In the course of the day he obtained some relief, and the pain was greatly alleviated, but his sight was not yet in the least restored. Mahparí, with the anxiety of a parent, watched the progress of the cure, and addressing Hatim, said, “Most learned man, the eyes are indeed cured of the pain which they suffered; but alas! the vision I fear is forever lost.” After a little reflection, Hatim said, “Sire, there is a tree that grows amidst the shades of Zulmât[12], which is called the naudar: from this tree distils a liquid of rare qualities, of which if even a single drop could be procured, it would be the means of restoring the prince’s sight.” When Mahparí heard this, he addressed his fairy subjects, saying: “Is there one among you who has the courage to enter the regions of Zulmât, and bring me a vial full of the juice of the naudar?” The fairies with downcast looks listened to this proposal, and replied, “The vales of Zulmât abound with demons the very scent of whom we cannot endure; and besides, being our enemies, they would not leave one of us alive were we to venture thither.” The king, well aware of this fact, held down his head in grief, when Husnapari respectfully approached him, and said, “If my lord the king will forgive my past transgressions, and again restore to me the prince of Yemen, I will endeavor to find out the tree in question.”

Mahparí, delighted, said to her in return, “Fair lady, I heartily forgive your pranks; nay, on receiving an explanation from your father, I extended my full pardon to you all; but so far as regards the prince of Yemen, I have no control over him; he is entirely at his own disposal.” Hatim then addressed the beautiful fairy, saying, “Noble lady, if it is your wish that I should dwell with you during the whole of my life, it is more than I can by any means promise you; but if you will be satisfied with my remaining in your society only during my own pleasure, and having full liberty to depart when I think proper, then I sincerely promise not to deceive you.” The beautiful fairy replied, in the accents of love, “Alas! I can lay no claim to your affections, but say you will stay with me for at least a few days. My time shall be wholly spent in the enjoyment of your society; and when I shall have sufficiently admired you, then your departure will be in your own choice.”—“Enough,” said Hatim, “for the present; lose no time in the accomplishment of your dangerous enterprise.”

Husnapari, accompanied with seven thousand fairy troops, immediately set out upon her journey; and so swiftly did she wing her course, that all her convoy were left far in the rear. In the space of forty days she entered the regions of darkness and arrived at the tree of naudar, the top of which seemed to pierce the skies. From its trunk flowed a liquid white as milk and sweet as honey. She caught the drops in her vial as they fell, and when it was filled she carefully sealed it up, and began to retrace her steps from the dreary abode. Meanwhile a host of demons, many thousand in number, who acted as guards of the tree of naudar, observed the beautiful fairy as she was returning, and immediately pursued her. Husnapari increased her speed, and fled swiftly as the bird that flies for its life. The demons followed fast for the space of four farasangs, when finding that they were losing ground, they returned to their haunts.

Forty days later the beautiful fairy arrived at the court of her sovereign, and presenting to his Majesty the vial containing the precious elixir, she detailed the events of her journey. The king was boundless in his gratitude, and exalted her into the rank of the most select in his household. Hatim dipped his talisman into the elixir, and applied a few drops of it to the eyes of the prince, which still continued shut. At the end of eight days he repeated the process, and a complete cure ensued. When the prince again beheld the faces of his father and mother, his joy was unbounded. Grateful, he prostrated himself at the feet of Hatim, who speedily raised him to his bosom, saying, “Let thy thanks be rendered unto God.”

In the meantime the fairy king offered for Hatim’s acceptance treasures to such an extent as would defy calculation. Hatim, after expressing his sense of the king’s bounty, said, “Sire, this vast wealth is useless to me unless your subjects conduct me to the dominions of Farokash, and convey the treasures thither.” To this Mahparí readily assented; whereupon Hatim rejoined: “Sire, I value not gold and jewels; all I wish from your Majesty is the fulfilment of the agreement which you were pleased to make with me, that I should receive from you whatever I asked.”—“State your wish,” replied Mahparí, “and you shall not be disappointed.”—“Give me then,” said Hatim, “the Shahmuhra which adorns your hand.”

The fairy king, on hearing this request, silently held down his head, and after some time said, “I see how it is; the daughter of Harith the merchant has sent you hither in quest of the Shahmuhra.”—“True, sire,” replied Hatim, “and I on my part have undertaken to procure it for her.”—“Well,” continued the king, “I will strictly abide by my promise, but the daughter of Harith shall never possess this treasure.” Hatim suggested that as soon as he had acquitted himself of his task, the Shahmuhra might possibly be returned. At this suggestion the king unfixed the Shahmuhra from his arm and fastened it on that of Hatim, who immediately perceived its rare qualities; for he had no sooner placed it on his arm than all the treasures of gold and precious stones concealed within the bosom of the earth were clearly displayed to his eyes; nor was he at any loss to discover the reason why Harith’s daughter so eagerly desired the possession of this key of wealth.

Mahparí summoned into his presence three of his most cunning magicians, and gave them instructions to this effect: “When this man shall have delivered the Shahmuhra to Harith’s daughter, and she in consequence accepts her lover in marriage, you shall transport yourselves thither, and after she has had it ten days in her possession, bring it back to me.” Hatim then took leave of the fairy king, and proceeded to the residence of Husnapari, with whom he spent three months in the enjoyment of every happiness. At length he bade adieu to the beautiful lady, and accompanied by the fairies, of whom some carried his treasures and others conveyed himself in a litter, he left the capital, and in a few days reached the territories of Farokash. When arrived at the line of separation between the two regions, the fairies left him, and the demons, who had previously been his guides, and had remained there during his absence in fairy-land, took him up and conveyed him with his treasures to their own capital. Hatim had an interview with Farokash, who received him with the utmost kindness and hospitality. Next day he continued his homeward journey, and, by his former route through the cave, in the course of time arrived safe in the city of Suri.

Hatim immediately on his arrival sought out the lover Naim, on whom he bestowed all the wealth which he had brought from fairy-land. The youth accepted the costly treasures with a profusion of thanks, after which, Hatim waited on Harith’s daughter and presented her with the Shahmuhra. The lady, on receiving this treasure, was filled with delight, and said to Hatim, “Now, peerless hero, I am yours.”—“Pardon me,” replied Hatim, “if I reject your offer; you know what anguish the youthful Naim has been suffering for years on your account; him therefore you shall accept as your husband.” The lady said, “I am entirely at your disposal.” The father and the lover were immediately sent for, and Hatim made them join hands as father and son. The marriage contract was drawn up and agreed to, the love-sick Naim was blessed in the possession of his mistress, and Hatim was pleased with what he had himself done. In the course of ten days, the Shahmuhra mysteriously disappeared from the lady’s hand, whereupon her grief and lamentation were excessive. Hatim earnestly endeavored to console her, saying, “Lady, you have in your possession such treasures of gold and jewels as will be amply sufficient for your posterity, even unto the seventh generation; why then should you not be content?”

Hatim shortly after took leave of his friends in Suri, and betook himself seriously to the attainment of the object of his journey, viz., the solution of Husn Banu’s second question. He travelled through many a stage without success, till at length he arrived on the banks of a large river. There he beheld a lofty mansion built of stone, over the door of which was written, “Do good and cast it into the river.” On seeing this motto, Hatim devoutly thanked the Ruler of events, and said, “I have now reached the object of my desire.” While he was in this contemplation a crowd of attendants issued forth, and conducted him into the house. There he beheld seated upon a throne a venerable man, whose age amounted to a hundred years. On Hatim’s entrance, the aged sire rose up and courteously received him; after which, he presented him with food and drink of various descriptions.

When Hatim had appeased his hunger and allayed his thirst, he said to his entertainer, “Venerable sir, pray what is the meaning of the motto which is written above your door?”—“Young stranger,” replied the aged man, “listen to my tale, which will explain it. In the prime of my life I was a daring robber, and lived by plundering my fellow-creatures. But every day, when I rested from my sinful avocation, I used to bake two large loaves, the ingredients of which I mixed with sweet-oil and sugar. Two such loaves I daily threw into the river, saying, ‘This I give away to propitiate the favor of heaven.’ A considerable period had thus passed, when one day I was seized with sickness so violent that my soul seemed to quit my body. Methought a man seized me by the hand, and pointing out to me the way to the infernal regions, said, ‘There is the place destined for thee.’ While he was on the point of hurling me into the midst of the condemned, two youths divinely fair in countenance and angelic in form came to my rescue. These were my guardian angels. They laid hold of me, one by each arm, and said, ‘We will not permit this man to be utterly destroyed in his wickedness; sinful as he has been, his future station is in paradise, and thither we will convey him.’

“They swiftly wafted me to the regions of the blessed, where an angel of exalted rank stood up and asked them, ‘Why have you brought this man? A hundred years of his life are yet to pass; but there is another of the same name whom you were commissioned to bring.’ The two angels who had carried me to the gates of paradise, again brought me back to my own house, and said to me at parting, ‘We are the two loaves[13] which you used to cast into the river for fishes to feed on, as a service acceptable to the Almighty.’ When I recovered from my trance, I rose up and fled for refuge into the threshold of divine mercy, exclaiming in the voice of supplication, ‘Gracious God! thou art merciful, and I am a sinful creature. I repent of all my evil deeds, which I committed in the depravity of my heart. To thy gates I flee for protection. Spare me, merciful Creator, and from thy secret stores of grace bestow upon me that which is meet for me.’

“When my health was restored, I prepared the two loaves as formerly, and went with them to the side of the river, in order to cast them upon the waters. On the shore I found a hundred dinars, which I took up and carried with me to the village. I there caused it to be publicly proclaimed, that if any person had lost a sum of money, he should obtain the same from me. None came forward to claim the money; I therefore laid it aside, in hopes that the real owner of it might some day appear. Next day, when I went to the river-side, according to my usual mode, I threw my two loaves into the water; and another sum of a hundred dinars made its appearance on the shore. I took the money home with me. In the same way it happened to me for ten successive days. On the eve of the eleventh day, as I was asleep, a man appeared to me in the visions of the night, saying, ‘Servant of the Almighty, thy two loaves have pleaded thy cause in heaven, and the merciful Creator has forgiven thy sins. The dinars which thou receivest are for thy competency; what is not necessary for thine own support, bestow in charity upon the poor.’

“I awoke from my dream and betook myself to prayer, and rendered my thanks to the bountiful Giver. I have since built this mansion, on the door of which I have written the motto that has attracted your attention. Every day I receive the sum of a hundred dinars on the shore of the river; and I occupy myself in giving it away in charity, in feeding the hungry, the poor, and the helpless stranger. Nearly a hundred years of my life still remain, and this, young stranger, is my history.”

When Hatim heard this wonderful account of the aged man, he devoutly expressed his sense of the divine mercy. After having stayed a few days, he took leave of his venerable entertainer, and began to retrace his way to Shahabad. Having travelled a considerable distance he came to a desert, where he beheld underneath a tree two serpents in deadly contest: the one was black and loathsome, the other beautiful and graceful to view: but the black snake had the advantage in the struggle, and was on the point of killing the other. Hatim speedily approached, and raised a shout that terrified the black serpent, which let go its victim and fled. The serpent of beautiful color being quite powerless, remained beneath the tree, looking gratefully at Hatim. The latter observing this, addressed the white snake, saying, “Fear nothing from me, I will here watch over you till you are recovered.” In the course of a few hours the serpent began to move slowly round the tree, which being done it assumed the form of a beautiful young man.

Hatim stood wrapt in astonishment, when the youth addressing him, said, “My good friend, I am of the race of the genii, and the son of their king. The black snake which you saw is my father’s slave who bears deadly hatred towards me. To-day he happened to find the time fitting, and having transformed himself and me into serpents, he was about to slay me, when God the Supreme sent you to my relief.” On hearing this Hatim rejoined, “As you are now recovered, proceed to your abode without delay: as for me I have affairs of moment.” The genius replied, “My residence is not far hence; if you will deign to honor me with a visit, nothing could be more agreeable to me.” In short, the prince of the genii conducted Hatim to his troops, and under their convoy proceeded to his palace. There he rested for the night, reclined upon a throne, and was charmed with the most melodious music. Next day he was offered the richest treasures of gold and jewels, which he rejected, saying that such things had no value in his sight. As he was about to depart from this hospitable mansion, the genii caught the base slave who had attempted to kill the prince; and having dragged him to the place of execution, they put him to death in Hatim’s presence.

Hatim took his leave of the genii, and continued his journey till he arrived in Shahabad. He went straight to the caravanseraï, where he was joyfully received by Munir, the Syrian prince. Husn Banu’s people in the meantime conveyed to their mistress the news of Hatim’s arrival. She next day sent for him, and said, “Brave youth, this time you have been long absent; pray have you attained the object of your journey or not?”—“Praised be God,” said Hatim, “I have been quite successful.” He then detailed to Husn Banu all that he had witnessed since his departure, and particularly the history of the aged man on the banks of the river. When Husn Banu heard this wonderful adventure, she looked towards her nurse, who said, “The youth speaks truly: your second question is solved.”

Food and drink were then called for, of which Hatim and the prince of Syria partook; the former assuring the latter that through divine aid he would accomplish the solution of the remaining questions. Three days were spent in discharging the rites of hospitality, at the expiration of which Hatim waited upon Husn Banu, saying, “Now, fair lady, let me hear your third question, that I may endeavor to solve it.”—“There is a man,” replied Husn Banu, “who says from experience, ‘Injure no one; if you do, evil will befall you.’ Find out where that man lives, what injury he has done, and what evil has befallen him.”

BOOK III.

Hatim’s journey to the desert and city of Himyar—His interview with Hamīr, and his return to the city of Shahabad.

The historians have informed us, that when Hatim set out on his journey from Shahabad he had not the least idea in what direction he ought to proceed. All he knew of the man in question was, that he dwelt in the city of Himyar; he therefore placed his reliance upon divine Providence, and continued his route to the north. When a month had thus passed, the summit of a mountain appeared in the distant horizon. Thither Hatim directed his steps, and when he arrived at the foot of the mountain, he heard a voice loudly exclaiming: “Come, oh come, I can no longer endure thy absence.”

Hatim ascended the mountain till he saw a wide-spreading and shady tree, underneath which was placed a sofa formed of marble. On the sofa reclined a young man fair of countenance, holding in his hand a branch of the tree, and his eyes shut as it were in a state of abstraction, exclaiming, at short intervals, “Come, oh come, I can no longer endure thy absence.” When Hatim saw him, he wondered within himself how a human being could have taken up his residence in such a solitary spot: he therefore resolved to ask him the cause of his sorrow. He went close to the youth, and said, “Friend, tell me the nature of your grief.” The young man continued in a state of listlessness without taking the least notice of Hatim’s inquiry, but uttered again the words above given. Hatim once more addressed him, but received no reply; and then, he for the third time asked him, saying, “Strange youth, surely you are deaf; thrice have I requested to know the cause of your sorrow, and you have returned me no answer: am I not to be considered by you as a man, and a servant of the Almighty?” The youth opened his eyes, and seeing Hatim, said to him, “My friend, whence come you; what is your business with me, and what is the subject of your inquiries?”—“You and I,” replied Hatim, “are of the same species; perhaps I may be able to contribute to your relief.”—“Alas!” rejoined the other, “many a one like you has come here, and having teased me with questions respecting my condition, has abandoned me; but no one has hitherto made any effort to relieve me: may I then request that you will go your way?” Hatim still persevered, saying, “As you have told your tale to so many, I beg for heaven’s sake, that you will let me hear it.”—“Sit down then for a moment,” said the young man, “till I relate to you my history.”

Hatim reclined beneath the shade of the tree, and the youth proceeded with his tale: “I am a merchant. Once I was journeying with my caravan towards the empire of Rūm, and at a certain spot on the road near this mountain I desired my attendants to move onwards, while I remained admiring the surrounding scenery, after which I should soon overtake them. My caravan accordingly proceeded, and I began to climb the mountain; but the higher I went, the greater became my desire to reach its summit. At length I stopped to rest underneath this tree; when, lo! a damsel unparalleled in beauty of countenance and elegance of form, presented herself to my view. The moment I beheld this ravisher of hearts, reason abandoned my soul; and I fell senseless on the ground. The moon-faced damsel approached me, and raising my head upon her lap, besprinkled my face with rose-water of sweet fragrance. When I returned to my senses, and found my head reclining upon the lap of this Hourī, heavens! had I a thousand hearts, her beauty would have robbed me of them all. I stood up and asked her, ‘Fairest of damsels, who are you, and from what cause do you dwell in this solitude?’—‘I am a fairy,’ she replied, ‘and this mountain is my residence: I have long wished to see one of the human race such as you are, and this day the desire of my heart has been realized.’ I became so fascinated with the charms of this fairy angel, that I lost all thoughts of my caravan, my home, my merchandise, and myself. She smiled so irresistibly that she entangled my heart in the fetters of her ringlets.

“After I had lived three months in the enjoyment of her society, I one day said to her, ‘Why should we thus spend our lives in solitude? It would be better for us to remove to the city, and pass our time in the midst of new pleasure.’ To this the fairy replied, ‘If such is your wish, I am satisfied; and I will accompany you as soon as I can get permission to quit this place. Meanwhile I must leave you for a short time, and you must not stir hence till my return; remain underneath this same tree till I rejoin you, when we shall set out together for your city.’ I then said to her, ‘How long will you be absent?’—‘Within seven days,’ she answered, ‘I shall certainly return; and, I repeat, beware of moving hence till I come, otherwise you will have cause to repent.’

“It is now seven years since the fairy left me, and on account of her injunctions and my promise, I durst not, during that period, go away anywhere, lest in my absence my beloved should have returned, and not finding me here, she should have cause to be angry with me. But, in fact, my strength is now so reduced that I cannot proceed in search of her, having lived for so long a time on the leaves of trees and water from the fountain. I may verily say, that to me the earth is hard, and the heavens are far off; I cannot stay, and I dare not go. Many people like yourself have come to me, and on hearing my history have gone their way; and on that account I disregarded your inquiries.”

When the young man had finished his tale, Hatim said to him, “Pray, sir, what is your name?”—“I am called Tamim of Kharzim,” was the reply. “Did the fairy,” rejoined Hatim, “mention to you her name and place of abode?”—“Her name,” replied the other, “is Alkanpari, and her residence is the mountain Alka.”—“When she left you,” continued Hatim, “in what direction did she proceed?”—“She walked to the right,” answered the youth; “but very soon I lost sight of her, and I know not whither she went.”—“Well,” said Hatim, “if you really wish to see that fairy again, come with me, and we shall set off together to the mountain of Alka, and endeavor to find her out.”—“Your proposal is fair,” answered the youth; “but if I depart with you, and during my absence the mistress of my heart should happen to come here, she will return disappointed; my journey will then be of no avail, and I shall not obtain the object of my wish. If it be destined for me to meet with her, it must be in this spot; and if otherwise, I am willing to sacrifice my life for her beloved sake.”

When Hatim heard this, tears of pity flowed from his eyes, while he thus addressed the young man: “My good friend, I will myself go to the mountain of Alka, and should it please the Almighty Creator, I shall find out that beautiful fairy, and either cause her to return to you, or bring her hither in person: I will depart immediately while you remain here, and when I have discovered the dwelling-place of Alkanpari, I will return.”—“Noble sir,” said the youth, “I have never yet seen any one who would abandon his own affairs in order to serve others; why should you be an exception to this rule? Go then and follow your own business.”—“Mistake me not, young man,” said Hatim, “I have devoted my life and property to the service of my fellow-creatures, and so far as either of them may be of use, I am ready to assist the distressed. Be assured, sir, that I speak sincerely; I have made a vow to God always to speak the truth; trust me, then, and remain here till I return.”

The young man promised that he would not leave that spot; and Hatim bidding him farewell, recommended him to the care of God, and departed. He proceeded in the direction which the fairy had gone, and for the whole of that day had his eyes bent towards the top of the mountain; but he no sooner approached the summit, than another still higher appeared beyond it. He passed onwards to the higher mountain, which he began to ascend. Its sides abounded with evergreen trees and shady groves. At length he came to a spot overshadowed by four aged and wide-spreading trees, underneath which were placed seats neat and clean. Hatim reclined on one of these couches, and as the breezes were cool and refreshing, he soon fell asleep. In the midst of his slumbers four fairies came and sat down beside him, and when they discovered that the sleeper was one of Adam’s race, they said one to another, “How has this young man found his way hither? Let us question him as to the object of his journey.”

One of the four fairies having awaked Hatim, said to him, “Pray, tell us, young man, how have you arrived here, and on what account are you come?” Hatim opened his eyes, and on seeing the fairies, replied, “I have travelled hither, under the guidance of my Creator, in search of Alkanpari, who resides in the mountain of Alka. That beautiful fairy has captured the heart of a youth by name Tamim, whom she one day left underneath a tree, promising to return in the course of seven days; and, lo! the youth has waited there seven years in expectation of her. The miserable man is now in the agonies of death; and I am going to expostulate with the fairy for her cruelty and insincerity; for to make a promise and not to fulfil it, is a proceeding unbecoming the noble.”

To this the fairies replied, “Alkanpari is sovereign of the mountain Alka; how is it possible that she could have pledged herself to hold an interview with one of your race? In truth, you are mad to say so, and it is our duty to put you to instant death.”—“If such be my fate,” returned Hatim, “I am resigned.” The fairies relenting, said to him, “If you will pass some days in our society, and entertain us with your conversation, we shall conduct you to the mountain of Alka.”—“I agree,” said Hatim, “particularly as I have no other resource, and the success of my present journey must depend upon you.” The fairy damsels then presented him with food, and treated him most hospitably with every kind of eatable that he could desire. When the stipulated period had elapsed, Hatim requested to be conducted on his way by his fair entertainers, who readily accompanied him during the space of seven days, and then took leave, saying, “Beyond this spot we dare not advance: you must hold by the path towards the right hand till you come in sight of a mountain at the foot of which there are two roads; but there you must again take that which leads to the right, and you will thereby arrive at the mountain of Alka.”

Hatim bade adieu to his guides, and proceeded on his journey towards the mountain. In a month after he came to the place where the road branched into two, and as the shades of the night were falling, he there sat down, in order to rest till day. When a watch of the night had elapsed, his ear was struck with a voice of sorrow that issued from the surrounding desert. He raised his head and as he listened to the mournful sounds, he thought within himself, “Oh, Hatim! thou hast devoted thyself to the service of thy Creator; and now, when the voice of distress pierces thy ear, why dost thou hesitate to administer relief? What will be thy answer hereafter in the presence of the great Judge?” With these reflections he speedily arose and proceeded to the left, in the direction of the voice. The whole night he continued to advance, but no one could he find; and when it was day, he sat down and rested till darkness again overspread the earth, when the same lamenting voice reached his ears. He started up, and continued his pursuit till at the dawn of day he arrived at a solitary spot, where he beheld a comely youth with his feet bare and his head uncovered, bitterly weeping and lamenting.

Hatim addressed the young man, saying, “My friend, how came you to be alone in this wilderness, whose echoes resound to your cries; and who has sent you hither?” The youth in tears replied, “Generous sir, I am by profession a soldier, and lately quitted my home in quest of service. On my journey I happened to lose my way, and on coming to a certain city, I asked the inhabitants, ‘What is the name of this city, and who is its sovereign?’ One of them told me, ‘This is the capital of Musahhir, the magician’; on hearing which, I became terrified, and immediately fled. After I had ridden the distance of a farasang from the city, I came to a garden, whose beauty charmed my heart; and dismounting from my steed, I entered this terrestrial paradise. I had not advanced more than three steps within the garden, when I beheld troops of damsels fair as Houris and clothed in splendid apparel. I then discovered that I was in the garden of the residence of the women, and reflecting that it was highly improper for me to enter such sacred precincts, I began to retrace my steps the way I came.

“When the women saw me, one of them ran and told her mistress that a young man was about to walk in the garden, but on discovering his mistake, had retired. On hearing this, the lady, who was none other than the daughter of Musahhir the magician, instantly sent me a message requesting my attendance. I went, and the moment I beheld her fair countenance I became like one beside himself, and grew so faint that I had to lay hold of the garden gate for support. Her attendants seized me by the hands and conducted me to the midst of the garden, where I was seated upon a couch beside the magician’s daughter. This lady received me so kindly, and smiled so sweetly, that my heart was pierced with love. Bewildered, I contemplated her beautiful form as she sat by me.

“Meanwhile, who should arrive at the garden door but her father the magician; and when he saw my horse, he asked whose it was, and being informed of the whole affair by the attendants, he entered, foaming with rage. When he beheld his daughter engaged in conversation with me, he seized her by the neck, and was about to dash her against the ground, but the lady appealed to his sense of justice, as she was not guilty of any impropriety, and begged of him first to make the strictest inquiry, and then inflict punishment, if due. The father checked his anger and withdrew his hands, when in the meantime the nurse addressed him, saying, ‘Oh, king! your daughter is now of age, and amongst your subjects there is none worthy of being her husband. The stranger you see here is just arrived: he seems of noble rank, and an honorable man; it were better, then, that you give him your daughter in marriage, for you will thus secure a noble successor. If, however, you put to death these two, who are perfectly free from crime, you will, on the one hand, set a ruinous example to your people; and, on the other hand, you will stain yourself with the blood of the innocent.’

“On hearing this, Musahhir the magician said, ‘Daughter, what think you of this proposal?’ The damsel replied, ‘As yet I have not been seen by any stranger, and as this traveller has happened to see me unveiled, I am willing to accept him.’—‘Be it so,’ said her father; ‘but I have three conditions, and that man alone who can comply with them shall receive my daughter.’ I then ventured to address the magician, saying, ‘In that case I am ready to do whatever you command me.’ The magician then conducted me to his capital, and admitted me into his hall of audience. He then summoned the grandees of his dominions, in whose presence he thus stated to me the three conditions on which I was to receive his daughter:

“‘The first condition is, that you will procure me a pair of the animals called parīrū.’

“‘The second is, that you will bring me the muhra, the pearl which is in the mouth of the red dragon.’

“‘And the third is, that you will cast yourself into a large cauldron full of boiling oil, and see if you can come out unhurt.’

“To each of these I agreed, and immediately quitting the city, I wandered hither, where I am now exhausted with hunger and thirst, and pierced through the heart with the darts of the glances of a Houri. I am not able to return to my own country, and no friend has yet visited me by whose aid I might fulfil the conditions of the magician, and thus become entitled to the hand of his daughter; in this desert I have constantly strayed, weeping and lamenting, since the time I left the city, which is now a period of two years.”

On hearing this statement, Hatim said to the young man, in condoling language, “Be of good cheer, for God willing, I will perform these three conditions for you, and put you in possession of your mistress.” He then remembered the circumstance of the jackals that had procured him the head of the pariru from the desert of Mazanderán, and resolved to set out thither immediately. In short, Hatim took leave of the youth, and set out on his journey to Mazanderán. In the course of a few days he came to a certain city, around which, along the walls and ditches, the inhabitants had laid piles of dried wood, which they kept burning.

Hatim, surprised, asked them what was the cause of this conflagration. “If,” said one of them, “we do not keep this fire constantly burning all around our outward walls, a monstrous demon will enter our city and devour us.”—“Pray,” said Hatim, “what like is this evil being that so annoys you?”—“He is a large animal,” replied they, “frightful beyond description, and when he comes he devours three or four of our people at a time.” Hatim, on hearing this, began to consider how it would be practicable to free them from this calamity, and in the meantime he went to take some repose in the caravanseraï.

He then caused a pit to be dug outside the city in the open plain, which he fenced round with bushes of thorn and piles of wood, and furnishing himself with a bow and quiver full of arrows he took up his post in that ambush about sunset. When about a watch of the night had passed, the approach of the monster was indicated with a noise like that of a tempest. When this formidable beast came nearer, he saw that it had eight feet and seven heads, of which six were like those of lions, and the remaining head resembled that of an elephant. The elephant head was situated in the middle, and had three eyes.

When Hatim was leaving the city, the inhabitants had given him a description of the monster, which he now found to be quite correct. They further told him that this terrific beast was vulnerable only on the middle eye of the elephant head, and if it were possible to hit that eye with an arrow, it would be the means of removing this calamity, for then the monster would run off, and never approach a human abode. Meanwhile the inhabitants hearing him advance, kindled their fires all around the city, which became completely covered with a thick cloud of smoke. The monster moved round the walls, and continued to roar with all his mouths so loud that the city shook to its foundation. At length he approached the spot where Hatim lay concealed, and when the latter observed him, he placed his trust in Providence, and seizing his bow he took a deliberate aim at the central eye on the elephant head, and pierced it with an arrow.

The monster reeled and fell with a crash upon the earth, and raised such a roar that the city and the desert shook far and wide. He shortly after started up, and fled so swiftly towards the wilderness that he never looked behind him. Hatim spent the whole night without the walls, and when the dawn of morning appeared he reëntered the gates. The people crowded round him, and asked whether he had seen the demon. He answered, “I have expelled him from your territories.”—“How,” said they, “can we be certain of that?”—“You may soon satisfy yourselves on that score,” replied Hatim; “this night you can watch on the walls and battlements of the city, and if you hear his sound, then shall you consider me a teller of falsehood; if, on the other hand, the sound shall not be heard, you will be convinced of my veracity.” To this they agreed and acted accordingly, and when the night was over and all well, they returned to Hatim and prostrated themselves at his feet, and conveyed him in triumph to the residence of their governor, who received him with the utmost courtesy and respect, seating him by his side, and treating him with boundless hospitality. The people of the city, and particularly the governor, speedily brought all their wealth in cash and valuable effects, and offered it to Hatim, who said to them, “I am a poor traveller, and I am not the least desirous of such wealth as you offer me.” They requested him to accept of their bounty, and do with it what he thought proper.

Hatim accepted the gold and property which they thus pressed upon him, and bestowed the whole of it on the fakirs, and poor people of the city. He then took leave of the inhabitants, and set out on his journey to Mazanderán. As he was journeying onwards, he saw a black snake in deadly contest with a weasel. He stood for some time looking on, while neither of the animals seemed to have the advantage. At length he shouted, “Vile reptiles! what is the cause of this deadly contest between you?” The snake replied, “My opponent here has slain my father.” The weasel added, “Snakes are the natural food of my species, and therefore I killed his father, and will kill him also, that I may eat him.” Hatim addressed the weasel, saying, “If flesh be thy desire, say the word, and I shall give it thee from off my own body”; and to the snake he said, “If revenge be thy object, slay me instead of the weasel.” Both of them, on hearing this, ceased from their struggle. The weasel said to Hatim, “As you have offered me your flesh, give it me.”—“What part of me,” asked Hatim, “do you desire?”—“Your cheek,” replied the weasel.

Hatim seized a knife, and was about to cut off the flesh from his cheek, when the weasel cried, “Desist, young man, I merely did this to try your firmness, and now I am convinced of your generosity.” Immediately both of them assumed the appearance of men. When Hatim saw this, he asked, “My friends, what wonderful occurrence is this?” The weasel replied, “We are both of us of the race of the genii, and I confess I have slain his father; but the reason is, that I fell desperately in love with the old man’s daughter, and he refused his assent to our marriage. The brother, as you see, bears deadly hatred towards me, and I must kill him in self-defence.” Hatim, addressing the genii, recommended to them peace and amity on both sides, and proffered that each should marry the other’s sister. The genius that had been in the form of a weasel replied, “My father, who is king of the genii, will never agree to such a proposal.”—“Let me be shown to his presence,” requested Hatim, “and I may induce him to be satisfied.”—“Follow me, then,” said the genius, “and you shall soon be in my father’s court.” After they had thus walked together for some distance, they arrived at a spacious city, where the prince told Hatim, “This is my father’s capital. I must part with you here, in order to proceed to my own residence; but my attendants will take you by the hand, and conduct you to my father’s presence.”

Troops of genii approached Hatim accordingly, and ushered him before their sovereign, whose name was Mahyūr. When his Majesty saw Hatim, he said to him, “Stranger of the race of Adam, what important affair has brought you into my capital?”—“I have come,” said he, “for promoting peace and friendship.”—“How,” rejoined the king, “can any of the human race act so friendly a part towards the genii, and what is the nature of this service with which you are to favor us?”—“You have a son,” continued Hatim; “may I ask whether you wish his life to be spared, or are resolved on his death?”—“Truly,” replied Mahyur, “I have a son, but what then?”—“If you love him,” said Hatim in return, “follow my advice, and his life may be saved; otherwise death will soon overtake him.”—“May the divine favor be upon you,” rejoined the king of the genii; “tell me what is the matter, that my son is in danger of his life.”—“He has slain the father of a certain youth named Bahram,” said Hatim, “and the latter bears hatred towards him on that account, and will certainly slay him: to-day I saw them in deadly contest, and your son’s life would have been short indeed had I not parted them. Another day they will again meet, and the result will be fatal; but if you obey my directions, I may be the means of establishing peace between them. The case is this: your son is enamoured of Bahram’s sister, and has slain her father because he refused his consent to their union; on the other hand, Bahram is in love with your daughter. It is requisite then, in order to do away all grounds of hatred, that you bestow your daughter on Bahram, and induce his sister to marry your son.”

Mahyur expressed satisfaction with Hatim’s proposal; and accordingly summoned his son and Bahram into his presence, where Hatim succeeded in making them friends. When each of the lovers was in possession of his mistress, Hatim went to take leave of Mahyur, who said to him at parting, “Brave sir! accept of something from us as a reward for your kindness.”—“I have never yet taken a reward,” replied Hatim, “for discharging the duties of humanity.”—“Generous Hatim!” rejoined the king of the genii, “accept from me this staff as a token of esteem; it may be of use to you. When you hold it erect in your hand, it becomes possessed of some rare qualities; for instance, if a serpent or scorpion sting you, the venom shall have no effect, and the fire shall have no power over you. If any one assail you with magic, turn round the staff, and the enchantment will be of no avail. In particular, the poison of the red dragon can have no power over you. Accept at the same time this talisman, and whenever you behold a serpent, whether red, or black, or green, or white, place the talisman in your mouth, and you will be safe. Again, when you come to a river, throw the staff into the water, and it will instantly become a boat.”

Hatim having taken the talisman and the staff, bade adieu to the king of the genii, and proceeded on his journey to Mazanderán. Advancing day and night, he arrived at the banks of a large river. While standing upon the shore he beheld the waves rising to the clouds, and by their buffeting lashing the stars of heaven. He looked in all directions for a place where he might cross; and when he was in this consideration, he recollected the staff presented to him by Mahyur the king of the genii. He immediately seized it in his right hand, and threw it amidst the billows, whereupon the staff was changed into a boat, in which he embarked and began to make his way across. After he had sailed about half way, a huge nihang espied him, and ran off with himself and his boat. Hatim resigned his soul to the will of fate, and was waiting the result with patience, till at length after they had traversed the deep for the space of seven farasangs, his feet rested on firm ground. There he opened his eyes, and was surprised on hearing the nihang address him in eloquent language, thus: “Oh, Hatim! I have brought thee into this place that thou mightest render me justice.” Hatim said, “What justice do you require?” To this the nihang replied, “The crab has unlawfully deprived me of my place of residence: my wish is that you will put me in possession of what is my right.” Hatim rejoined, “Is it possible that the crab is more powerful than you?” To this the nihang replied, “Sluggish as he may appear, he is able to crush me into pieces between his claws; at present he is abroad somewhere in quest of food, and I have in the meantime brought you hither.”

Hatim humbly placed his reliance on his Creator, well aware that of himself he could do nothing; when, lo! the crab, which was of immense size, made his appearance, whereupon the nihang immediately fled. The crab slowly approached; and when he saw the flight of the nihang, he raised such a noise as shook the earth, so that Hatim himself was terrified, and devoutly prayed that Providence might deliver him from the evil that threatened him. He speedily took in his hand the charmed staff presented to him by Mahyur, on beholding which, the crab remained still where he was. Hatim then addressed the monstrous animal, saying, “Know you not that the oppressor shall fall by his own deceit? Why then do you injure the nihang? Is there not room sufficient for both of you in this river, that you should forcibly take possession of another’s residence?” To this the crab replied, “The nihang and I are of the same genus, what then has one of the human race to say in any contention that may take place between us?”—“There is some truth in your statement,” said Hatim, “but all creatures have their being from God, who delighteth in justice and punisheth the oppressor: if you fear him then, injure not a fellow-creature.”—“Well,” replied the crab, “at present I shall quit this place, rather than argue the point with you; but I shall meet the nihang on some future day, when you are not at hand to lend your aid.”—“Assuredly you are a mischievous animal,” rejoined Hatim; “but if you value your own life, abandon this place forever.” The crab, on hearing this, rushed upon Hatim, and was about to seize him in his claws; but he struck him such a blow with the charmed staff of the genius that his attack was rendered fruitless. The monstrous animal turned and fled; and the nihang, taking courage, began to pursue him, whereupon Hatim called out, “Desist, for to pursue him now is cowardly, as his weapons are powerless; he will never hereafter annoy you, and if you oppress him I shall put an end to your days.”

Hatim having settled the plea between the two inhabitants of the deep, threw down his staff, which turned into a boat wherein he embarked, and reaching the opposite shore of the water, he continued his journey to Mazanderán. At length he arrived in that extensive wilderness, and reclining in the shade of a tree he began to consider what would be the best way of procuring the pariru. When the darkness of night had fallen around him, several of these birds, that had been abroad in search of food, came and perched upon the tree, and began to converse among themselves: “Our solitary abode is visited by a man, Hatim ben Taï; the object of his journey is to relieve the distressed: what then are we to do?” All of them concurred in saying, “Hatim is a man of the noblest disposition, and he must not leave us in disappointment.” Having formed this resolution, the birds assembled around Hatim, and in humble posture began to embrace his feet. When he saw their wonderful form, he was highly astonished; for each of them resembles an angel in beauty of countenance. Fascinated with the charms of their fairy faces, he could not avoid exclaiming, “Gracious heaven! how inscrutable are thy decrees, who hast formed such creatures with bodies like those of birds, and countenances fair as the Houris of paradise.”

Meanwhile the strange creatures, addressing Hatim in sweet flowing language, said to him, “Oh, Hatim! may the fame of your generosity be eternal; you have subjected yourself to toils and perils for the sake of others. We know the cause of your journey hither: a certain youth has become enamoured of the magician’s daughter; the father gives his consent on certain conditions, one of which is, that he may have a pair of our species, and you, regardless of danger, have come hither on that account.”—“You say truly,” replied Hatim, “and if you will allow me to take a pair of your young, it will be doing me the highest favor; and it will also promote the suit of the despairing lover.” They deliberated among themselves, saying, “Those of us that are fully grown cannot be expected to go with this man: who is it, then, among us that will present him with a pair of young ones? It will be a service acceptable to God.”

Here one of the pariru birds said to Hatim: “Lo, I myself will give you a pair of my own young, for the sake of that Being who bestoweth all things; accept them, and take them with you wherever you please.” Hatim joyfully received the young birds; and having passed the night in that desert, he early next morning took leave of these wonderful creatures, and began to retrace his way to the capital of the magician. In the course of time, after he had traversed mountains and deserts innumerable, he arrived at the spot where the young soldier still lingered; and having presented to him the pariru birds, he said, “Rejoice, my friend, for here you see what will fulfil one of the magician’s conditions.” When the youth beheld the birds, he prostrated himself in ecstasy at Hatim’s feet, saying, “My generous benefactor! let us now proceed with these beautiful birds, and present them to the magician.” Both of them set out accordingly, and by the way Hatim related to his friend the occurrences of his journey, and the situation of the desert of Mazanderán; and having handed to him the pariru birds, he desired him to go himself and deliver them to Musahhir, and mention nothing of having been assisted in procuring them.

When they entered the city, Hatim stopped at a caravanseraï, and the youth proceeded with the birds, and delivered them to the magician, who was much surprised in seeing them, and questioned him, saying, “Young man, is this your own doing? If so, tell me truly in what part of the world are such birds to be found?” The youth, without hesitation, replied, “In the desert of Mazanderán.” The magician then asked him various particulars about the road thither, all of which he was enabled to answer satisfactorily from what Hatim had told him. “You are right,” said the magician: “so much for the first condition. Now procure me the muhra which is in the mouth of the red dragon.” The youth said, in reply, “Let me for one moment view the face of her whom I adore, for otherwise I shall not have even the power of moving.” To this the magician agreed, and sent a message to his daughter, desiring her to hold her head out at the window, and favor her lover with one look. The young man, in transports, presented himself under her window, and the lady leaning out her head as permitted, cheered him with her smiles. After they had viewed each other with the looks of affection, the youth said, “Now I am about to depart in quest of the muhra which is in the mouth of the red dragon; can you inform me where it is to be found?”—“I have heard,” replied the lady, “that it is in the Red Desert, which is in the regions of the mountain Kaf.”

The youth, on hearing this, took leave of his beloved, and hastened to Hatim, to whom he communicated all that had passed. Hatim comforted him, and said, “Cease your weeping and lamentation, for I will use every exertion for your relief: may God preserve you till my return.” Having thus spoken, Hatim parted with his friend and began his journey to the mountain Kaf. After he had passed many a stage he arrived in a wilderness, where he one day at dawn espied a dragon streaked with the seven colors of the rainbow, and having wings like those of an eagle, with which he hovered over the desert.

On beholding this terrific sight, Hatim stood aghast, while he said in his heart, “I have ere now traversed deserts and mountains like those around me; but such a creature as this I never saw before: I must keep a strict watch on his movements, in order to discover his haunt.” Hatim followed the dragon for the whole of that day, and at eve the winged monster took refuge in the cleft of a rock near which Hatim also rested, resolved to observe the proceedings of so wonderful a creature. In that same neighborhood there was a village, the inhabitants of which were then coming out for water to a fountain close by the rock. When they saw Hatim, they discovered that he was a stranger, and hospitably offered him bread and water, on which he fared; and on their inviting him to their village, he said he preferred resting for the night beneath a tree close by.

Meanwhile the people returned to their dwellings, leaving their cows and flocks at pasture on the verdant plain that lay at the foot of the rock, where the shepherds also remained to tend them for the night. At the end of the first watch, however, the winged serpent issued from his haunt, and rushing upon the cattle, speedily killed them all, one after another, with his venomous sting. Nor did his devastation there stop, for on the same night he destroyed two troops of horses belonging to a caravan that had halted at the fountain. When Hatim saw this dreadful ravage he wrung his hands in agony, but lo! the dragon, still thirsting for blood, approached the tree where he stood and in an instant stung to death those who watched the caravan, and the shepherds that were in attendance; after which, he again vanished into the hole in the rock.

Hatim spent the remainder of the night in a state of sorrow and amazement; and when the dawn of day appeared, the villagers came out to look after their flocks, but to their astonishment they beheld the plain strewed with the dead bodies of the shepherds and the carcases of their cows and horses. So deadly was the venom of this monster, that by the dawn of day the flesh was completely dissolved from off the bones and converted into a liquid of green color. One of the people conveyed the mournful tidings to the village, whereupon all the inhabitants came out crying and weeping. On seeing Hatim they addressed him, saying, “Tell us, stranger, how come you to be here alive, and how has this terrible catastrophe taken place?”—“Alas! my friends,” replied Hatim, “here I have witnessed most horrible deeds, such as I never beheld or heard of in my whole life. A seven-colored dragon, shaped as an eagle, has committed this slaughter, and retired into a hole in the rock, where you may still see him.”

The people gathered round the mouth of the cavern, and on seeing the dragon they were terrified, and said to one another, “Truly such a formidable animal as this we never yet beheld.” Meanwhile the dragon rushed from his hole in the rock, and seizing the chief of the village pierced him with his envenomed sting till he rolled in the dust and bade adieu to life, amidst the shrieks and tears of his friends and attendants. The dragon then winged his way slowly towards the desert, and Hatim followed close after him, in order to see what might happen next. For the whole of that day he continued his pursuit, and when evening was nigh the dragon halted near a large city while Hatim watched him from a short distance. But the dragon had no sooner touched the ground than he was transformed into a black snake, while Hatim stood wrapt in astonishment, anxious to know what would be the result of this change. The black serpent coiled himself into a hole till the end of the first watch of the night, when he issued out and made direct for the city, whither Hatim continued to follow. At length the serpent arrived at the walls of the king’s palace, which he entered by a certain staircase, and ere Hatim could follow, returned by the same passage, and made for another house. In a very short time the serpent came out of the latter house also, and quitting the city retired to his hole. Hatim wondered in his mind who could have been the victims of the scourge for that night. With the morning certainty came, for the cries and lamentations of the people soon informed him that the prince and vizier’s son were in the course of the night stung to death by a serpent, and now lay stretched on the bier, and were being conveyed to their graves.

In the course of the morning the black snake quit his hole, and made off in another direction, Hatim following; nor for the whole day did he cease his pursuit, till towards night the serpent came to the bank of a river, where he assumed the form of a lion. It happened that close by there was a village, the inhabitants of which, to the number of ten or twelve, were proceeding, one after the other, to the river to draw water, among them a most comely youth of the age of sixteen. This youth, the flower of the village, the lion seized as his victim, and having torn him to pieces, he again made for the desert, where, to Hatim’s utter amazement, he was transformed into a beautiful damsel of fourteen years of age. When Hatim beheld the damsel, he said in his heart, “May heaven protect me! I wonder what is to happen next.”

The damsel in an instant arrayed herself in splendid apparel and costly jewels, and, resembling the full moon in beauty, sat down underneath a tree by the wayside. It happened that shortly after, two brother soldiers, natives of China, who having completed their stipulated period of service were returning loaded with wealth to their own country, passed that way, and on seeing them the damsel began a most piteous lamentation. When this voice of sorrow reached their ears, the elder of the two brothers approached the tree, and to his astonishment there beheld the most beautiful of women deeply affected with grief. The soldier thus addressed the damsel: “Fairest of women, what calamity has befallen thee that thou art thus forsaken to weep and lament in the solitary desert?”—“I am,” replied the damsel, “the wife of a villager: a few days ago I had gone on a visit to my mother’s house, and in returning home along with my husband we lost our way in this wilderness, where I have since wandered. I have not been able to find the way back to my mother’s house, nor do I know in what direction to proceed in quest of my husband or of my own home. Whither my husband is gone heaven only knows; and now what is to become of me, and how am I to live?” The brave soldier, on hearing this sad detail, said to the young woman, “If I were to offer myself as your husband, would you accept me?”—“If you will agree to my three conditions,” answered the damsel, “I will give you my hand. The first condition is, that you shall have no other wife than myself[1]; the second, that I will be exempt from all household services; and the third is, that you are not to reprimand me for anything I may choose to do.” To this the soldier agreed, saying, “I am as yet unmarried, and I promise to comply with all your conditions. While I live I shall have no other wife but you; and in my house there are slaves male and female in abundance, so that you will have no trouble with the household affairs, except to give orders for whatever you wish. Your last condition I believe is superfluous; is it possible that any man can speak harshly to her whom he loves?” The damsel, on hearing this, replied, “Enough, I will accept you as my husband,” and accordingly they joined hands; after which the soldier mounted his steed, and taking up his new wife behind him, departed. Hatim followed, in order to see the end of these strange occurrences; and when they had gone some distance, the woman said to her husband, “I am quite exhausted with hunger and thirst, having tasted no food for the last three days; if you have nothing eatable with you, at least let me have a drink of water.” The soldier dismounted, and having caused his wife to alight, he seated her under the shade of a tree, and he took a pitcher, and went in search of water.

When the woman arrived at the village, she assumed the form of a buffalo; and the people attempting to seize her, she slew several of them with her hoofs and horns, and again fled towards the desert.

Filled with wonder, Hatim closely followed this mysterious being, and when arrived in the midst of the desert, lo! the buffalo was transformed into a venerable old man with a white beard. On seeing this last change, Hatim resolved to accost the old man, and ask him the hidden cause of his evil deeds, and why he delighted in working such havoc among God’s creatures. He accordingly made up to him at a rapid pace, and stood by his side. The aged man turned and said, “Speak, Hatim, whatever you wish to say.”—“Venerable sir,” replied Hatim, “how came you to know my name?”—“If that be all,” replied the old man, “I know the name of every individual in your tribe; but at present, if you have any question to ask me make haste, for I have much business in hand, and my time is precious.”

Hatim, without more delay, said to him, “Mysterious being! I first beheld you in the shape of a dragon, when you filled with sorrow a whole village; you afterwards assumed the form of a black snake, when you laid in the dust the son of the king and that of his minister; again, you transformed yourself into a lion, and tore to pieces a youth the most elegant of form; you then became a beautiful damsel of the age of fourteen, and by your perfidy caused the death of two brothers; your next step was to adopt the shape of a buffalo, and you slew the people of the village; you now appear an aged man: tell me, for heaven’s sake, what are you, and whither are you going?” The old man, with a haughty smile, replied, “What does all this concern you? Follow your own business: you also I shall yet visit in some shape or other, and your death will be the consequence.”

Hatim persisted, saying, “I will never quit my hold of your skirt till you clear up to me this mystery.”—“Know, then,” said the old man, “that I am the angel of death; the first day you saw me in the shape of a dragon, it was the decree of the Almighty that those men and beasts that were my victims should meet their death by that means. Providence had foreordained that the young prince and the son of the minister should die by the sting of a serpent, and I accordingly assumed the form of a serpent. I became a lion, and slew the beautiful youth; such was his fate. As to the two brothers, they were destined to leave their homes and serve abroad, and after a certain period, when they had earned and amassed some money, it was ordained that they should proceed on their return to their own country, and in the course of their journey that they should kill one another on account of a woman; I therefore assumed the form of a woman to fulfil the divine decree. In the village where you last saw me, it was the lot of the people whom I slew to fall by a buffalo; I therefore became a buffalo on that occasion. Be you assured, oh, Hatim! that it is not in the power of one man to slay another; but in whatever way a man’s fate is decreed, by that means only he loses his life.” Hatim, on hearing this, asked the angel of death, “Tell me truly what fate is ordained for me?” The aged man replied, “Suffice it to say that more than half your life-time is yet to pass.”—“But,” rejoined Hatim, “may I not learn from you the whole truth?”—“Know, then,” replied the king of terrors, “that when you have attained the age of two hundred years, you shall fall by the hand of Omnipotence. A stream of blood shall flow from your nostrils, by which you will experience some slight pain, and afterwards for a short time recover. In that period your hand shall be stretched out as usual in deeds of charity to your fellow-creatures; and shortly after, the flux of blood shall again issue from your nostrils, and thus you shall die. Meanwhile a long life is before you; go on, then, and shrink not from your noble task of relieving the sorrows and promoting the happiness of mankind.”

When Hatim heard all this, he bent his head to the dust in prayer to God, and when he arose, he looked around him, but the old man had vanished from his sight. He then betook himself to the prosecution of his journey towards the Red Desert, and in the course of a few months he found himself far beyond the habitations of men, in the midst of a wilderness where no water was to be found. Hungry and thirsty as he was, he still continued his route, his whole subsistence consisting of the wild fruits and weeds of the desert. In this way he journeyed for some time, when lo! one day, to his utter astonishment, he came to a place where the heavens and the earth wore a dark hue, and every object he saw was black. This place was the abode of the black serpents, which, when they scented Hatim, rushed upon him from all quarters in order to devour him. He threw upon the ground the talismanic staff of Mahyur the genius, and sat down upon it, safe by its magic power. The serpents continued to rear their crests and with a hissing noise to move round him in endless contortions the whole night. When daylight appeared, he took his staff in his hand, and continued his march secure from the venom of the snakes, and thus he journeyed on till he reached the boundaries of the land of darkness. Contiguous to this lay the white regions, which Hatim began to explore. Here every object was possessed of the most brilliant whiteness, so that the whole place seemed made of alabaster. At the same time white serpents of prodigious size endeavored from a distance to inhale him with their poisonous breath; but on account of his charmed staff their efforts were of no avail, nor had they the power of approaching him. In the course of a few days, Hatim succeeded in making his way through these dangerous realms, and next arrived in a region where every object he beheld was green as emerald. There, too, abounded serpents of a green color, and when they saw Hatim they quickly surrounded him, and were it not for the virtue of his talisman, his days would have been short. Hatim, however, unhurt, surmounted a thousand perils and difficulties as he travelled through the evergreen regions; and at length he arrived in an extensive tract of land, which to him seemed to be wrapt in flames, and this he knew to be the Red Desert.

There every object was red as vermilion, and ere Hatim had advanced many steps the heat became so intolerable that he almost lost the power of walking. He thought within his heart that it would be impossible to proceed any further; but, again, he said to himself: “Oh, Hatim! in doing a good action, whatever happens, let it come, even were the difficulties a thousand times more severe than the present.” By the time he had advanced a farasang his feet were full of blisters, and his thirst was so excessive that he was compelled to rest at every step.

“Now,” thought Hatim, “my dying hour is come; if I wished to return, I have not even the power; and if I advance, I shall assuredly perish. But at the same time I cannot live here.” Having made this resolution, he continued to move slowly onwards, till by the time he had advanced another farasang, he became exhausted, and his thirst was so extreme that he sunk upon the ground and lay like one dead, his whole body covered with blisters.

While he lay senseless in this state, an aged man came up to him, and seizing his hand, raised him from the earth, and said to him, “Oh, Hatim! here you have no cause for despair; why do you not avail yourself of the talisman given you by the bear’s daughter?” Hatim collected his scattered senses, and speedily producing the talisman put it in his mouth, which was no sooner done than the heat of the Red Desert ceased to oppress him, and his blisters were healed. Hatim then prostrated himself at the feet of his aged monitor, and said, “Most venerable sir, tell me what is the cause of this excessive heat?” The old man replied, “This heat is caused by the red serpents that haunt the desert. They are of immense size, and from their mouths they breathe volumes of flame and clouds of smoke, hence the fiery hue of every object you behold.” Hatim, however, secure under the effects of the talisman which he carried in his mouth, went fearlessly on, and felt not the least inconvenience from the scorching heat.

When he had penetrated as far as the centre of the Red Desert, the fire-breathing serpents espied him, and began to rear their heads and crests aloft like tall trees. From their nostrils issued streams of flame as it were from a furnace, and with tremendous hissing they assailed him on all sides, intending to scorch him to death and reduce his bones to ashes. But owing to the charmed muhra of the bear’s daughter, the attack of the snakes fell upon Hatim like a current of cool water. Meanwhile the serpents increased in number, and were about to overpower him with their pestiferous and scorching breath. He at last threw upon the ground the magic staff of Mahyur, the king of the genii, and such was its wonderful effect, that when he stood upon it no snake could come within reach of him. The serpents overawed, remained at a distance; and notwithstanding their utmost efforts for the whole of that night, they were not able to do him the least harm. When daylight appeared, Hatim observed that the largest of the red serpents had in its mouth the muhra which he wished to procure, but never allowed it to drop upon the ground. He took his magic staff, and aiming it at the head of the serpent, struck it such a blow as made it recoil upon itself and roll amidst the dust. There the snake lay stunned till the sun arose, when it revived, and dropping the muhra, slowly dragged itself to its den. Hatim quickly ran to take up his treasure, but from its brilliant appearance he hesitated to lay hold of it, thinking that it was as hot as fire. He stood for some time viewing the muhra, and at length he tore a piece of cloth from his turban, and by way of experiment placed it upon the shining jewel. When he observed that the cloth was not burnt, he ventured to take the muhra in his hand and carefully wrapped it in a fold of his turban.

The moment Hatim had the muhra in his possession, he was surprised in finding that the heat of the desert no longer remained, and the objects around him assumed a verdant hue. Now this muhra was possessed of the rarest qualities, to the number of a thousand and one, of which we may mention the following:—The first was, that the possessor of it should never be drowned; the second, that he should be secured from any bad effects of fire; the third quality that was inherent in this pearl was, that it restored sight to the blind; the fourth, that it cured the bite of a snake or any other venomous creature; the fifth, he who had it with him in war was sure of obtaining victory; the sixth, he should be endeared alike to friend and foe; the seventh, all four-footed and winged animals should be obedient to his commands; the eighth was, that he should excel in wisdom; the ninth, that his wealth should be boundless; but it would be tedious to detail the whole.

In fine, Hatim returned with the muhra, and in the course of time he came to the place where he left the young soldier. He saluted him, and resigning the precious treasure into his hands, he said to him, “Go now and present this to the magician.” The young man prostrated himself at the feet of Hatim, and the latter having raised him up, related to him all the occurrences of his journey, and described to him the regions of the serpents. The two friends then proceeded together to the capital of the magician, and the youthful soldier having obtained an interview of his Majesty, presented him with the muhra, in the procuring of which, he stated, that he had undergone a thousand toils, and encountered perils innumerable. “That,” replied the magician, “I shall soon put to the proof.”—“With all my heart,” said the youth; and accordingly the magician commenced a strict inquiry respecting the Red Desert, the serpents, and the other particulars, all of which the soldier answered to his satisfaction.

The magician, highly delighted with the treasure he thus possessed, said to the young man, “There now remains only one task to be accomplished, which is, that you will plunge bare of your clothing into a cauldron full of boiling oil; are you prepared to comply with the same?” The youth replying in the affirmative, the magician issued orders to his people to place the iron cauldron on the furnace, fill it with oil, and with a strong fire heat the same till it boiled. The attendants of the magician immediately executed this order, and so heated the oil that if a stone were cast into it, it would have instantly dissolved. Meanwhile the soldier returned to Hatim, and said to him, “Alas, my benefactor! I have yet to fulfil the severest of his Majesty’s conditions. He expects me to cast myself into a cauldron full of boiling oil, and if I come out unhurt, I am to be honored with the hand of his daughter. But, I would ask you, is it in the power of mortal man to undergo such an ordeal, and escape with life?”

“Be not disheartened,” said Hatim; “even in this conjuncture I can ensure your success.” He then produced the talisman of the bear, and presenting it to the young soldier, he said to him, “Take this muhra in your mouth, and you may without the least hesitation cast yourself into the boiling liquid.” The youth, still incredulous, shuddered at the idea; and Hatim swore to him by all that was sacred that he should come by no harm. The soldier at length took the talisman as advised, and having ascended the steps that led to the mouth of the boiler, he looked at the burning liquid foaming furiously like a troubled sea, and all firmness left his heart. Hatim then exclaimed to him, “Are you a man? Is such fear consistent with your love?” When the young soldier heard this from Hatim, he hesitated no longer, but shutting his eyes threw himself into the midst of the boiler. To his surprise, the oil that had been heated to the utmost had no more effect upon him than cool water. He walked slowly from one side of the boiler to the other, and in presence of the magician began to lift in his hands the fiery liquid and sprinkle it on his body. When some time had elapsed, the soldier thus addressed the magician, “Most mighty king, what is your decision now? Shall I come out or remain here longer?” When the king saw that the soldier still lived, he held down his head in thoughtfulness, and a trembling seized his soul, as he said, “Young man, I am satisfied; come out at once.” But no sooner had the soldier accomplished this third task, than the magician, unwilling to fulfil his promise, began to assail him with enchantment. Hatim, however, came to his assistance, and warned the king of the magicians, saying, “Your arts are of no effect upon this youth, for he has a talisman more potent than the muhra of the red serpent; you must therefore fulfil what you have promised him.” The magician, thus surpassed in his art, embraced the young soldier as a sign of friendship, and having made the necessary preparations, gave him his daughter in marriage, and with the utmost suavity said to him, “Now, my son, you are to consider all my wealth as your own, for I have no other male heir on whom to bestow it.”

When Hatim saw the two lovers united in wedlock, he took leave of the happy bridegroom, and departed in prosecution of his journey. In the course of time he arrived at the foot of the mountain Alka, which was so high that none of the feathered tribes had wings sufficient to reach its summit. There he halted for a moment, in order to consider what course to take, and said in his heart, “Of whom can I receive information respecting this strange place, and who shall direct me on my way?” While these reflections occupied his mind, he espied a troop of beautiful fairies tripping along the brow of the mountain, and without further delay he followed them. After he had traced the fairies to some distance up the hill, they suddenly disappeared and left him in solitude. Hatim, astonished, looked around him, and saw in the side of the mountain a cave, which seemed to be formed from a solid rock of marble. The entrance into it was a steep descent into the bowels of the earth along the marble rock, which was as smooth as glass. Hatim hesitated whether he should enter, as egress seemed to be impossible; for no human foot could rest upon this steep and slippery path.

On further consideration, however, Hatim resolved to enter; and having laid himself upon the smooth stone, he let go his hold and commenced his rapid descent. For the whole of that day he continued to slide downwards, and at evening he found himself landed on level ground. There he opened his eyes, and beheld around him an extensive field delightful to the sight. He rose up and sought a place wherein to repose till day, when he resolved to go in quest of the fairies, as he had reason to suppose that they too had descended into the cave. When the darkness of night had withdrawn, Hatim began to traverse those strange regions, and had not gone far when an edifice of splendid appearance met his view. This was nothing less than the palace of the fairies, and thither he directed his steps. When he approached the mansion, the fairies observed him, and cried out, “Are you aware, son of Adam, that these are our regions, not yours? how came you here, and who has been your conductor?”—“He who has ever been my guide,” replied Hatim, “conducted me hither.”—“And how,” rejoined the fairies, “did you discover the descent into this subterraneous abode?”—“I saw you,” he replied; “as you passed along the mountain, and followed you till you vanished from my sight; on searching around me, however, I observed the entrance into the cave, and laying myself on the smooth inclined stone, my descent was rapid. Now that I have found you, tell me what is the name of this region, and who is its sovereign?”

“This,” replied the fairies, “is the mountain of Alka, and the sovereign of these realms is Alkanpari. We are the guardians of this paradise, where our fairy queen resides during the season of spring, and to-morrow we expect her arrival here to enjoy the delights of the garden. Our permitting you to remain then is impossible, for it would be death both to ourselves and you; but now that you are here you must be ruled by us, and we will save your life, for we bear you no enmity.” To this Hatim answered, “Whither can I flee for refuge, for verily there is no escape; and besides, I have undergone all the toils and perils of my journey in order to obtain an interview with your queen, who is now so opportunely about to visit this garden; I will therefore remain here, happen what will.”—“And what,” said the fairies, “may be your business with our gracious queen? You are a poor man, and she is sovereign of the fairy realms.”—“Have you never heard,” replied Hatim, “of a fairy’s being in love with one of the human race, or of a man’s being enamoured of a fairy?”—“In truth,” rejoined the fairies, “you seem to be weary of your own life, to utter such language in our presence.”—“You may judge,” said Hatim, “how little I care for my life by my venturing hither.”

On hearing this reply, all the fairies rushed upon Hatim and began to assail him; but he stood firm, and neither warded off nor returned their blows. His assailants ceased from their attacks, and wondered in their own minds what sort of a man he was that would neither fight nor run away: they therefore, relenting, said to him, “Strange youth, we warn you, out of compassion, to remain no longer here; this place is not fitted for your residence, and if you disregard our advice, it will be at the risk of your life.” To this Hatim replied, “I am not afraid of death, for I had freed myself from the love of life, and placed my reliance upon the supreme Creator, ere I entered your territories.” The fairies, pleased with his courage, addressed Hatim in a tone of reconciliation, and said, “O youth, eloquent of speech, come with us, and we shall conceal you in a secret avenue; and if you are anxious to behold our queen Alkanpari, we shall point her out to you from a distance.”

Hatim expressed his consent; and the fairies conveying him to an unfrequented part of the garden gave him food and fruits wherewith to appease his hunger, and brought him water to drink. Charmed with his society, they crowded around him, and after various conversation, they said to him, “Tell us truly, brave youth, what has been the object of your journey hither?” Hatim replied, “My business with your queen is this: she once had an interview with a young friend of mine; and left him at a certain tree, with a promise that she would return to him in the space of seven days. The youth has now waited there upwards of seven years in expectation of the fulfilment of her promise; his soul is on the eve of quitting his body. At short intervals, he exclaims, ‘Come, oh come! for I can no longer endure thy absence.’ I happened to observe his miserable plight, and twice to no purpose I asked him the cause of his sorrow: at length, finding that I persisted in my inquiries, he told me the whole occurrence. On hearing his tale, my heart glowed with pity; and for the sake of affording him relief, I have journeyed hither. My object is to remind your queen of her promise, as it is most likely that she has ere now forgotten it.”

When the fairies heard this statement, they said to Hatim, “Generous man, we dare not take upon ourselves to represent your case to our queen, but we can carry you bound as captive before her, and then you can exert all your eloquence in behalf of your friend. Were we to introduce you designedly to her Majesty, we should incur her displeasure.”—“Let me be presented to your queen,” rejoined Hatim, “in whatever way is most convenient to you; when once in her presence, I shall know how to proceed. I shall consider myself happy if I can promote the suit of my helpless and despairing friend.”

In the course of three days, the queen, accompanied by troops of fairies, issued from her palace, and proceeded towards the garden where Hatim lay concealed. At length, she arrived in that paradise, and after she had rested a little, and received the homage of her subjects there, one of the fairies who were friendly to Hatim went to him privately, and said, “Come with me, and I will point out to you our queen, where you may behold her unobserved.” Hatim followed the fairy, who led him by a private path to the entrance of a grotto close to the spot where the queen was seated on her throne of gold. When Hatim beheld her angelic form, he lost hold of the reins of reason. For some time he lay senseless; and when consciousness returned into his frame, in vain did he betake himself to prayer, and endeavor to flee unto the Lord for protection. In fact, he became more frantic and more enamoured of the beautiful fairy than the youth whose cause he had undertaken. Hatim thus spent three days and nights, forgetful of his friend, and regardless of food and drink. On the fourth night a feverish sleep overpowered his eyelids, and in his confused slumbers he heard a voice exclaiming, “Oh, Hatim! arise and know thyself; hast thou not devoted thy life to the service of thy Creator, and wilt thou now permit thyself to be guilty of a breach of trust?”

On hearing this warning voice, Hatim awoke from his dream, but saw no one near him. He rose up, and with fear and trembling prayed to God to forgive his transgressions, and support him in this hour of trial. On seeing some of the fairies, he entreated them to conduct him before the queen. They told him, as formerly, “We dare not openly comply with your request, but we can carry you into the royal presence with your hands bound as a prisoner.”—“In whatever way you choose,” said Hatim, “present me to her Majesty, that I may describe to her the condition of my despairing friend.” The fairies made their arrangements, and having found a favorable moment when the queen was in a joyous mood, they approached her Highness by the garden gate; and one of them advancing, after due obeisance said, “O queen, one of the race of Adam has somehow found his way to the gate of our paradise; we have bound him fast, and are waiting your Majesty’s pleasure as to his future disposal.”

On hearing this, the fairy queen thought of her lover, whom she had left under the tree, and considered it as likely that the youth had thus traced her to her abode; she therefore ordered her attendants to conduct their prisoner into her presence. The fairies accordingly laid hold of Hatim, and were bringing him forward to the foot of the throne. When the queen beheld his majestic mien, all thoughts of her former lover vanished. She desired him to approach, and having ordered for him a chair of burnished gold, she took him by the hand, and made him sit near her. The fairy queen then addressing Hatim, said, “Tell us, noble youth, whence came you, and what is your name; what has been your object in coming hither, and how have you been able to accomplish the journey?” Hatim, now seated before the beautiful fairy, became speechless, and was unable to give any reply. The queen observed his confusion, and secretly rejoiced to find that the arrow of her enchanting glances had pierced his heart. In accents of extreme affection, she again said to him, “Brave youth, what is the cause of your silence; have you nothing to say in reply?” Hatim, at length, rallied his thoughts, and said, “O queen, my answer is brief; I came from the country of Yemen, and my name is Hatim.”

The moment the queen heard this, she gracefully arose, and taking Hatim by the hand, seated him on her own throne, saying, “I have ere now heard of Hatim, prince of Yemen; numerous indeed, brave prince, are the acts of kindness and generosity which you have done to your fellow-creatures; but tell me now the cause of your coming hither, and why you have undergone such toils and perils. Be assured that I am one of your admirers, so you may freely speak your thoughts without fear of giving offence.”

Hatim, thus encouraged, spoke: “O queen of the fairy realms, your kindness is beyond measure: had I a thousand tongues I should still be unable to celebrate your noble qualities. Be it known, then, that I have come before your Majesty in the fulfilment of a promise which I made to a certain enamoured swain. It happened, as I was journeying to the desert of Himyar, that I passed by a young man, from whose eyes flowed tears like a shower from the clouds in spring. Owing to his intense sorrow and lamentation, his soul was almost driven from his body; indeed, I question if he now lives. There he lay with his eyes shut, exclaiming in the intervals of his sighs, ‘Come, oh come! for I can no longer endure thy absence.’ I asked him the cause of his sorrow, and how he had been reduced into so miserable a state. After some hesitation he told me all: how your Majesty had met with him, and shewed him affection and kindness. ‘Alkanpari,’ said the wailing youth, ‘promised me at her departure to return in seven days; and now for seven long years I have waited in misery and woe, expecting her return. Here I cannot remain, and hence I dare not depart; for when my angel left me, she laid upon me strict injunctions to move not hence; I cannot, then, disobey her command, and proceed in search of her. If fate has decreed that we should again meet, it must be on this spot.’ When I saw the woful condition of this wretched man, and found that his love was sincere, I deferred the prosecution of my own journey, and hastened hither. I hope, then, your Majesty will treat with kindness and compassion the despairing lover. This will lay the highest obligation on me, the humblest of your slaves.”

To this Alkanpari said, in reply, “Generous prince of Arabia! I had entirely forgotten the circumstance you mention, till my people informed me of your arrival here; and then I thought it probable that you might be my former lover. However, the moment I saw you, I found that you were not the man; and now I confess to you that he is unworthy of my regard. His love for me must be very cool indeed, since, out of pure timidity, he has lingered seven years in one spot, and has not had the courage to venture hither in quest of me. I pointed out to him the road, and told him my own name and that of the mountain which I inhabit, and had he been a true lover, he would have followed me, were it at the peril of his life.”

Hatim, in favor of the young man, rejoined, “Had his passion been otherwise than sincere, he could not have so drunk of the cup of affection nor have undergone such misery from the remembrance of you. You exacted from him a solemn promise at parting, and how could the poor lover act contrary to your commands? The enamoured youth is conscious of his own integrity, for when you departed you strictly enjoined him to remain underneath the tree till your arrival, and accordingly he has not stirred thence till now, lest in his absence you should return and not find him; in which case he would stand convicted of having disobeyed your orders, and thus incur your displeasure.”

The fairy queen lent a deaf ear to all that he could urge, and utterly disowned her former lover. Hatim however, persevered, saying, “For heaven’s sake let my labor not be in vain; consider through what toils and hardships I have accomplished my journey hither.”—“Well,” replied the queen relenting, “I cannot refuse what you request; this youth I will permit to come near me, but I will neither associate with him nor consider him as a companion.”—“And why not,” said Hatim, “accept him as your lover? What is the cause of such a change of mind?”—“Such is my pleasure,” replied the queen, “and it shall not be otherwise.”—“If such be your resolution,” rejoined Hatim, “I will stand fasting at your gates; and, till the hand of death seize me, I will night and day complain to heaven of your cruelty.”

Having thus spoken, he quitted the presence of the fairy queen, and having removed underneath the shade of a tree, there he remained for seven days without tasting food or drinking water. On the eighth night, as he fell asleep, an old man appeared to him in a dream, and said, “Brave Hatim, be of good cheer; this beautiful fairy has more than one lover that laments her treachery: but you must first bring your friend hither, and then cause him to take the talisman given you by the bear’s daughter, and steep it in a goblet full of pure water. This draught will then ferment into a sherbet, and you must contrive that the queen shall drink of it, which, God willing, will be the means of restoring her affection.”

Hatim awoke from his dream, and as he was meditating on what had occurred, the dawn appeared. Meanwhile, approached the fairy queen: she stood before him, and said, “O Hatim, why do you thus persist in rejecting my hospitality? If you perish from want at my gates, shall I not on the day of judgment be arraigned as the cause of your death, and what will be my answer before the Supreme Judge?”—“O queen,” said Hatim in reply, “let me prevail on you to send for my love-sick friend, that he may be blessed even with the sight of your countenance.”—“Assuredly,” replied the queen, “I have no objection whatever to his being near me.”

When Hatim heard this, he made preparations to return for his friend; but the fairy queen said to him, “You need not, Hatim, expose yourself to the perils of such a journey a second time; my fairies will do the work much more speedily.” Her Majesty then summoned a few of her subjects, and despatched them in quest of her lover, saying, “On the brow of a certain mountain, reclining underneath a tree, you will find a young man bewailing the cruelty of his mistress. Tell him that Alkanpari requests his immediate attendance; that she has been reminded of her promise to him by Hatim, prince of Yemen.”

The fairies, with the speed of the wind, transported themselves to the spot where the youth lay, and delivered to him the orders of their mistress. Joyfully he heard the message, and expressed his obligations to the generous Hatim. The fairies then carried him along with them, and in the course of that same day presented him to Alkanpari their sovereign, which rendered his happiness complete. For some minutes his eyes were fixed on the beautiful fairy, till at length his senses forsook him and he fell lifeless upon the ground. The queen sprinkled some fragrant attar of roses on his face; and as soon as he recovered, she addressed him in the accents of kindness, saying, “Enamoured youth! I permit you to remain near me, and you may feast your eyes by beholding me as long as you please.” For the whole of that day the lover looked at nothing but the beautiful fairy, the fire of whose eyes consumed his heart. When the mantle of night was spread over them, the queen gave a signal, and troops of fairies entered, some with lights and music, to whose harmonious sounds the others danced. Amidst this scene of joy, Hatim saw that the fairy queen paid not the least regard to the sufferings of his friend. He went near the latter and said, “Despair not; take this muhra and immerse it for a few minutes in a cup full of pure water, which you shall pour into the goblet from which the queen is wont to drink: this done, return and take up your station here.” The young man did as Hatim directed him; and after he had mixed the elixir, and poured the same into the queen’s goblet, one of the fairies happened to observe him, and said, “Base mortal! how dare you touch the goblet of her Highness?”

The youth assured the fairy that he merely wished for some water to drink, as he felt very thirsty. The fairy immediately gave him a drink of water from another cup, and sent him back to his former station. Hatim was an anxious spectator of the occurrence; and when he saw that his friend had succeeded according to his wish, he approached the queen’s throne, and said to her, “Will your Majesty be pleased to drink some sherbet, as the weather is warm?” The queen expressed her assent, and ordered her attendants to bring some. Hatim, however, undertook to be cup-bearer himself on the occasion; and having with his own hands prepared the sherbet, he brought the goblet to the queen. Her Majesty was about to hand the draught to some of her intimate friends who were then with her, but Hatim observed that the laws of courtesy required that the queen should drink first, and then such of her friends as she might deem proper to honor with the goblet.

The fairy queen drank copiously of the sherbet. In an instant the reins of her heart fell from her hands, and she became deeply enamoured of the dying swain. Pierced with the darts of love, she rose up in order to fly to his arms, while Hatim secretly rejoiced to see her affection thus restored. He also stood up, and said to her, “O queen of the fairy realms, how comes it that you are now so kindly disposed towards your lover, who had almost become a martyr to your cruelty during the long period of your absence?”—“O Hatim!” replied the queen, “all this mischief is of your doing; however, I forgive you, and this youth I will accept as my husband, agreeably to your desire: at the same time I dare not take so important a step without the consent of my parents.”

Having thus spoken, the fairy queen, accompanied by her select guards, flew with the swiftness of thought to her principal residence in the mountain of Alka. There she first waited on her mother, who said to her in surprise, “My dear daughter, six months are yet to pass of the period you proposed to reside in the gardens; why return you then at this unseasonable hour of midnight?” The beautiful Alkanpari stood speechless, and motioned to her attendants to explain the cause of her visit. They stated that the fairy queen had fallen in love with a youth of the race of Adam, and that the flame was mutual; that the lovers had met upwards of seven years past, but that the queen had for a long period abandoned her swain to the pangs of absence and despair, till lately he found means of discovering her residence; and that she is now willing to accept him as her husband, provided she obtain the consent of her parents.

The mother, immediately on hearing this, went and represented the affair to the father, who said in reply, “If such be the wish of our daughter, I am satisfied; why should we prevent her?” The queen having received the consent of her parents, immediately sent messengers for her lover and Hatim, who were soon in attendance. When they arrived at the palace, the beautiful queen presented the young man to her mother. The mother commended him to the father, who without more delay made preparations for the marriage, and according to the usages of the fairy race, gave the hand of his daughter to Hatim’s friend.

When the enamoured pair were thus joined in the bands of wedlock, the young man in grateful terms expressed his obligations to Hatim, who remained with him seven days, and then took leave, in order to prosecute his journey. When about to depart, the queen inquired of Hatim to what part of the world he intended to travel; and when he told her, “To the mountains of Himyar,” she said to him, “Noble Hatim, give yourself no concern about your journey; Himyar is indeed a long way off, but my fairies shall convey you thither with the utmost speed.”

The queen summoned a few of her subjects, and gave them her instructions respecting the mountain of Himyar. They then placed Hatim on a howdah, and carried him through the air with such speed that in the course of twenty-four hours they laid him down at the wished-for stage. Hatim had no sooner arrived than he heard the voice of the man who exclaimed, “Do evil to no one; if you do, evil will overtake you.”

When Hatim heard this welcome sound, he requested the fairies to leave him, as he now considered himself at the end of his journey, and had occasion to stay for some time in these parts. The fairies accordingly took their leave and departed, while Hatim proceeded in the direction of the voice which had struck his ear. He had not far advanced when he observed an old man confined in a cage which was suspended to the branch of a tree. Hatim stood silent for a short time viewing with wonder the inmate of the cage, who once more exclaimed, “Do evil to none; if you do, evil will overtake you.”

Hatim went close to the prisoner, and said to him, “Tell me, unfortunate man, what mean these words which you utter; and why are you confined in this cage, and suspended to the branch of the tree?”—“Ask me no questions,” replied the old man, “unless you wish to mend my condition and afford me relief. If you desire to hear my secrets, you must give me a sacred promise that you will not communicate the same to any one else.” To this Hatim assented, saying, “I give you my promise, and I am ready to confirm it by oath.” The old man then proceeded with his history: “I am by occupation a merchant, and my name is Hamir. When I became of age, my father had finished the building of this city, and he called the same after my name. Shortly after, my father departed on a sea voyage, and left me in charge of the city. I was a free-hearted youth, and in a short time expended all the property left under my care by my father. Thus I became surrounded with poverty and want; and as I knew that my father had hidden treasures somewhere in his house, I resolved to discover them if possible. I searched everywhere, but found nothing; and to complete my woe, I received the news of my father’s death, the ship in which he sailed being wrecked.

“One day as I was sauntering, mournful and dejected, through the bazar, I espied a learned man who cried out, ‘If any one has lost his money by theft or otherwise, my knowledge of the occult sciences enables me to recover the same, but on condition that I receive one-fourth of the amount.’ When I heard this proclamation, I immediately approached the man of science, and stated to him my condition, and how I had been reduced from affluence to poverty. The sage undertook to restore my wealth, and above all to discover the treasures concealed in my father’s house. I conducted him to my house and showed him every apartment, which he carefully examined one after another. At length by his art he discovered the stores we were in search of; and when I saw the gold and silver and other valuables, which exceeded calculation, the demon of fraud entered my heart, and I refused to fulfil my promise of giving a fourth of the property to the man of wisdom. I offered him only a few small pieces of silver; instead of accepting which, he stood for a few moments in silent meditation, and with a look of scorn, said, ‘Do I thus receive the fourth part of your treasure, which you agreed to give me? Base man, of what perjury are you guilty!’

“On hearing this I became enraged; and having struck him several blows on the face, I expelled him from my house. In a few days, however, he returned, and so far ingratiated himself into my confidence that we became intimate friends; and night and day he displayed before my sight the various hidden treasures contained within the bowels of the earth. One day I asked him to instruct me in this wonderful science, to which he answered, that no instruction was requisite. ‘Here,’ said he, ‘is a composition of collyrium, and whoever applies the same to his eyes, to him all the wealth of this world will become visible.’—‘Most learned sir,’ I replied, ‘if you will anoint my eyes with this substance, I promise to share with you the half of all such treasures as I may discover.’—‘I agree,’ said my friend, ‘meanwhile let us retire to the desert, where we shall be free from interruption.’

“We immediately set out, and when we arrived here, I was surprised at seeing this cage, and asked my companion whose it was. I received for answer, that it belonged to no one. Then we both sat down at the foot of this tree, and the sage having produced the collyrium from his pocket, began to apply it to my eyes. But, alas! no sooner had he applied this composition than I became totally deprived of sight. In a voice of sorrow I asked him why he had thus treated me, and he replied, ‘Such is the reward of treachery; and if you wish to recover your sight, you must for some time undergo penance in this cage. You must utter no complaint, and you shall exclaim from time to time, “Do no evil to any one; if you do, evil will befall you.”’

“I entreated the sage to relieve me, saying, ‘You are a mere mortal like myself, and dare you thus torment a fellow-creature? How will you account for your deeds to the Supreme Judge?’ He answered, ‘This is the reward of your treachery.’ Seeing him inexorable, I begged of him to inform me when and how my sight was to be restored; and he told me that a noble youth should one day visit me, and to him I was to make known my condition, and further state, that in the desert of Himyar there is a certain herb called the flower of light, which the youth was to procure and apply to my eyes, by means of which my sight should be restored.

“It is now nearly three years since he left me in this prison, which, though wide open, I cannot quit. Whenever I attempt to leave my confinement, I feel the most excruciating pain in my limbs, so that I have not the power of moving, and thus I am compelled to remain. One day, shortly after my companion left me, I reflected in my own mind that I could do nothing for myself while I continued like a bird in this cage, and accordingly I resolved to quit it at all hazards; but the moment I was outside of it, the pain that seized my whole body almost killed me. I immediately returned into my prison, and have since that time resigned myself to my fate, exclaiming at stated times the words which have already attracted your attention. Many people have in the meantime passed by me; but on hearing my condition, they left me as they found me, without administering to my relief. To-day you have added one more to the number of my visitors: may I ask whether you intend to assist me?”

When Hatim heard this account from the man in the cage, he said to him, in reply, “My friend, be of good cheer, I will instantly endeavor to effect your release”; and without further delay, he proceeded to the desert in search of the flower of light. We have already stated, that the fairies that had conveyed him thither, returned, at his own request, to fairy-land; but when they came before Alkanpari, her Highness immediately ordered them back to attend upon Hatim while in the desert of Himyar, and afterwards to conduct him in safety to Shahabad. Accordingly when Hatim entered the desert he was surprised at again meeting the fairies. They also recognized Hatim, and having stated the whole occurrence, offered him their services, and requested to know whither he was going. “I am going,” replied Hatim, “in search of the flower of light, which grows somewhere in this desert.”—“We shall soon carry you to the spot,” replied the fairies; “at least we can show you from a distance the field where that plant is found; if you return thence with life, we are in attendance in order to convey you to your own country; and should aught evil befall you in your present enterprise, we shall carry the intelligence of it to our mistress.”—“And why,” said Hatim, “will you not accompany me all the way?”—“Our approaching the spot,” replied the fairies, “is useless, and maybe fatal. When this flower is in bloom, the field where it grows is illumined as it were with brilliant lamps; the beautiful light which it emits is such that you will easily see the object of your search; but, on the other hand, around those flowers are stationed thousands of horrible snakes, poisonous scorpions, and other formidable creatures without number, so that even the fowls of heaven cannot approach the deadly spot.”—“Conduct me thither,” rejoined Hatim, “and leave me to manage the rest.”

The fairies lifted Hatim from the ground, and having swiftly traversed the air for the space of seven days, they alighted with him about the time of midnight in an extensive plain. He then asked them to point out to him the flower which he was so eager to pluck, but they told him that the season when it should be in bloom had not yet arrived. He therefore resolved to remain there till the appointed time, and meanwhile the fairies plentifully supplied him from all quarters with food to eat, and fruit and water wherewith to quench his thirst. In a short time the flowers of light began to blossom in the field, each of them brilliant as a lamp, so that the whole plain became a blaze of light. The breezes that blew over the desert were loaded with the sweetest perfume.

Meanwhile serpents, scorpions, and beasts of prey without number, issued from the bosom of the earth, and completely surrounded the illumined flowers. The fairies stood aghast, and Hatim observing their terror, said to them, “Do you keep aloof here so as to be out of danger; I have placed my reliance upon God, and whatever may happen, I will not shrink from my enterprise.” Hatim having made this resolution, took in his hand the talisman of the bear’s daughter, and fearlessly advancing into the midst of the field, he plucked three of the largest and most brilliant flowers, and returned unhurt to his guides. The fairies were astonished at this daring feat, and looked on Hatim as a being far beyond their comprehension. Obedient to his sign, they raised him upon their shoulders, and swiftly winged their way through the air to that part of the desert where Hamir was imprisoned.

Hatim approached him, and said, “Be not sad, my friend, behold the flower which you say will restore your sight.” The blind man expressed his thanks to heaven, and said to Hatim, “Brave youth, be pleased to compress the stalk with your own hands, so that the juice of it may drop into my eyes.” Hatim untied the cage from the branch of the tree, and having released the inmate, he applied the liquid to his eyes as directed. Having repeated this process three times, the blind Hamir at length opened his eyes, and seeing Hatim, fell at his feet and offered him a profusion of thanks. Hatim kindly raising him up, said, “My good friend, why make so many acknowledgments? I have devoted myself to the service of my Creator, and I consider the performance of charitable deeds as the most lasting felicity.”

The man addressing Hatim in return, said, “Generous prince! my house abounds with gold and silver and all worldly wealth; accept, then, such portion of it as you may deem proper.”—“Truly, sir,” replied Hatim, “worldly wealth is of no use to me, for already I possess far more than is sufficient for me; I may advise you, however, to expend your treasures in such manner as may be acceptable to God, in the bestowing of food upon the hungry, and in clothing those who are naked.”

Here Hatim took his leave of the old man of the desert, and having mounted his howdah, the fairies carried him through the air with such swiftness that in a few days he arrived in Shahabad. He dismounted at the gates of the city, and the fairies, when about to return, requested of him to favor them with a letter to their queen, certifying his safe arrival. To this, Hatim readily agreed, whereupon his aerial guides took their leave and departed. He no sooner entered the city than Husn Banu’s people recognized him, and with the utmost promptness conducted him before their sovereign lady. Husn Banu received Hatim with the highest kindness, and asked him numerous questions respecting his adventure. Hatim detailed at length all that he had seen and performed in the course of his journey. Husn Banu then presented him with food and drink; but ere Hatim tasted of either, he requested that his friend the prince of Assyria should be invited to partake of his fare. Munir was immediately sent for, and after paying his warmest regard to Hatim, they both sat down and ate together. After they had finished their meal, Hatim, addressing Husn Banu, said, “Noble lady, tell me what is your next question?”—“There is a man,” replied Husn Banu, “who exclaims, ‘He who speaks the truth is always tranquil.’ Go, then, and find out that man; inform me wherein he has spoken the truth, and what degree of tranquillity he enjoys in consequence.”—“May I ask,” said Hatim, “in what quarter of the world this man dwells?”—“That,” said Husn Banu, “is unknown to me, but I have heard from my nurse that the city is called Karam.”—“Enough,” said Hatim, “I trust that God will direct me in this also”; and taking his leave of Husn Banu, he proceeded with his friend Munir to the caravanseraï.

BOOK IV.

Hatim’s perilous journey to the city of Karam—His attainment of the object of his desire, and safe return to Shahabad.

We are informed by the learned, that when Hatim left Shahabad, he prosecuted his journey for several stages, till at length he came to the foot of a lofty mountain. There he observed at some distance what he conceived to be a spring of water; but to his intense surprise, on a nearer approach, he found it streaming with blood. He stood bewildered, unable to account for a phenomenon such as he had never witnessed. Wearied and disappointed, he at length resumed his journey, and in the course of two days his attention was drawn to a tree of uncommon size, which towered far above the surrounding objects. He quickly bent his steps towards this stately tree; but when he reached it, met an appalling sight! To every branch of it was suspended a human head; and at the foot of it was a lake of a crimson hue from which a stream of blood issued in the direction of the desert.

Hatim sat down underneath the tree, and viewed with wonder and awe the spectacle before him; when all at once the deadly silence of the place was broken by a peal of laughter from the suspended heads. He started up in tenfold astonishment, for to him it seemed utterly unaccountable that human heads severed from the body should still preserve their risible faculties. With no less wonder he saw that the blood constantly flowed into the lake from the opened veins of those heads. In deep reflection, he was considering how to unfold this fearful mystery, when his eye was attracted by the head which stood highest on the tree. The moment he beheld the enchanting smile of that angelic countenance, he felt as if his soul would quit its frame, and he fell senseless upon the earth. After some time his recollection was restored, and he sat up wondering within himself what could have been the cause of so strange an occurrence, and why so many beautiful damsels had been doomed to so cruel a fate.

Hatim considered it unworthy of himself to pass on and take no further notice of what he had just seen, for in that case he would still remain in ignorance. He resolved, therefore, to stop for a few days in that place, in order, if possible, to discover the nature of the mystery. When the shades of night were about to fall, he withdrew into a sheltered spot on the banks of the lake, and betook himself to rest. But ere he closed his eyelids in sleep a change came over the scene before him, which still further increased his astonishment. When the last ray of twilight had vanished, he observed that on a sudden all the heads dropped from the tree into the lake, which in an instant was transformed into a palace splendidly adorned with gorgeous couches, and in the midst a throne of burnished gold. Shortly after entered a train of damsels of fairy form, and amongst them one of surpassing beauty, who occupied the throne while the rest sat down on the surrounding couches.

When this brilliant assembly was seated, Hatim took a thorough view of the queen upon the throne, and was convinced that her head was the same that he had seen highest upon the tree, and the countenance was that of which the beauty had ravished his heart. Amongst those who sat on the couches or stood in attendance on the queen, he could also perceive many faces already familiar to him. A select number of these heart-ravishing damsels had musical instruments, the melodious sounds of which charmed the ear, while the eye was delighted with the graceful movements of others who danced. Thus passed the first half of the night, while Hatim looked on with a feeling of wonder and delight, uncertain whether he was in a dream or enjoying a scene of reality.

About the hour of midnight, tables were spread, and the choicest viands of every description were brought in. Meanwhile she who occupied the throne issued orders to those in waiting to place a table and food before the stranger who sat retired on the border of the lake. The servants speedily obeyed; and having brought the table and food to Hatim, requested him to eat, as such was the will of their queen. “And what,” asked Hatim, “is the name of your fair and hospitable sovereign?”—“Ask no questions,” replied the attendant damsels, “as we are not at liberty to satisfy your curiosity. Accept the bounty thus offered you, and trouble not yourself with the name of the giver, it being a matter of no moment to you.”—“What you state,” rejoined Hatim, “is very reasonable; but unless you inform me of your sovereign’s name, be assured that I will not taste of her food.”

The fairy attendants returned to their queen, and informed her of the stranger’s refusal of her bounty, whereupon she again sent one of them to Hatim, requesting him in the meantime to eat of her food, and that to-morrow he should know all. Hatim still persisted in his previous request, and endeavored to lay hold of the fair messenger: but she flew beyond his reach, and took up her station at the foot of the throne in the humble posture of the other attendants. Again the song and dance were resumed, and thus the fair assembly passed the remainder of the night.

When the first rays of dawn began to emerge from the east, the whole scene vanished as it were into the bottom of the lake. Instantly the severed heads again rose from the water, and took their station on the branches of the tree, each in the place it had occupied the preceding day. Hatim now quitted the spot where he had spent the night, and once more sat down underneath the tree with his eyes fixed upon the heads, but chiefly upon that of the queen. Various were the plans he suggested to himself, though none of them seemed to promise success. He resolved, however, to use every exertion in the unfolding of this mystery, and, if possible, break the spell of the enchantment, whereupon he should claim the queen as his bride.

Thus another day passed by, and again the veil of darkness overshadowed the earth, when all the heads dropped from the tree into the lake, and the same scene which he had witnessed the preceding night was again presented to his view. He sat on the banks of the lake as before, and waited in anxious expectation the fulfilment of the queen’s promise. When midnight came he was presented with a table and food by the damsel whom he had addressed the preceding night. He reminded her of the queen’s promise, but was requested to eat of the food and ask no idle questions. “Never,” replied Hatim, “will I taste of the bounty of your mistress till you have informed me of her name.” The messenger returned to the queen, and told her of the result. Her Majesty requested Hatim first to taste of her bounty and then to come before her, when he should receive the information he desired.

Hatim then partook of the food offered him, and rose up to accompany the fairy attendant to the queen’s presence. The fairy plunged into the midst of the lake, and Hatim without hesitation followed her example. When his feet reached the bottom he opened his eyes, and beheld, not the lake, nor the stately tree, nor the fairy court, but a dreary waste which seemed to be the haunt of demons. His love for the fairy queen, however, was so powerful that he could think of nothing else. Forgetful of himself, he sorrowfully strayed through this wilderness for the space of seven days, when all at once he espied a man of venerable appearance dressed in green apparel, advancing towards him from the right-hand side.

When Hatim saw this aged man, he stood waiting his approach. The latter courteously saluted him, and expressed his surprise in finding him in that desert, which he said was called Jaras. “And how,” said Hatim, “have I chanced to come hither?”—“Did you not of your own accord,” replied the man in green, “plunge into the lake, though you must have known that all you beheld was enchantment? But at present you are a hundred farasangs distant from it!” Hatim on receiving this information, threw himself upon the earth in the deepest distress, saying, “Alas! how shall I be able to retrace my way? I must bid adieu to life, and yet attain not the object of my desire.”

The aged man, pitying Hatim, said to him, “What is your desire at present?”—“To return,” replied Hatim, “to the place whence I came.” The old man holding up a staff, desired him to shut his eyes and seize it in his hand. This Hatim had no sooner done than he found himself in his old quarters on the banks of the lake, where he beheld the tree with the heads suspended to its branches as formerly; but no trace of his venerable benefactor was to be found. He now sat down, thoughtfully contriving what course to adopt next, when all at once he resolved to climb the tree, and bring down the head of the queen. Thus determined he began to climb, but lo! the tree shook so violently that Hatim fell to the ground. Again he grasped the trunk of the tree, and finding that it ceased from shaking, he with great exertion climbed up about half way to its branches. But here a tremendous sound issued from the trunk of the tree, which was rent asunder, and Hatim was swallowed into the fissure, so that only half his body appeared without.

He deeply repented his temerity, and said to himself, “Now indeed my misery is complete! I have escaped from the enchanted desert, but this difficulty I see no possibility of overcoming.” In the agonies of despair, he exerted all his strength to release himself, but he found that his body every moment sunk deeper into the tree, till at length only his head and hands remained visible. In this state his breathing almost ceased, and he was about to close his eyes forever on this world, when, behold! the aged man in green stood before him, and said, “Heedless youth, why have you involved yourself in this calamity? Are you in good truth tired of your life, that you thus so freely peril it?”

Hatim was in no condition to reply, so he remained silent. Meanwhile the aged man struck the tree with his staff, and instantly the parts of it where Hatim was encased became smooth as oil. The aged man took him by the hands and drew him from his fetters, but his strength was so exhausted that he fell at the foot of the tree. When he recovered his senses, the venerable sage said to him, “Tell me, young man, what have you to do with trunkless heads, that you should thus involve yourself in such calamities?”—“I should like,” replied Hatim, “to know the mysterious cause of their being suspended here.”—“Listen to me,” said the aged man, “and I will satisfy your curiosity.

“There is a magician whose name is Sam Ahmar, and the head which you see highest on the tree is that of his daughter. This lady, who was exceedingly beautiful, fell in love with a youth about her own age, and wished to marry him. She requested her father’s consent, stating that she was now of age, and expected that her father would sanction the choice she had made. On hearing her declaration, the father became enraged, and inflicted this punishment upon his daughter. This tree, the lake, and all that you see before you are the effects of his enchantment. The magician’s residence is in a mountain about a hundred farasangs distant, and the name of this daughter is Zarīnpōsh. So powerful is he in his art, that when he pleases he transports himself hither in less than a day. The place of his abode is called the Red Mountain, and during his life no mortal can approach his daughter.”

On receiving this information from his aged deliverer, Hatim said, “Father, I will instantly climb the tree, and rescue the daughter; even the fear of death shall not detain me.”—“If such is your resolution,” replied his sage monitor, “you are, indeed, exposing your life to perils: I warn you of the danger, and I advise you as a friend to abandon such thoughts.”—“You say well,” rejoined Hatim, “but in this proceeding I am prepared for the worst.”—“And may I ask,” continued the old man, “what occasion have you to attempt a task which you are convinced to be fatal?”—“I am enamoured of the magician’s daughter,” replied Hatim, “and I will either rescue her, or share her fate.”

The aged man still persisted in his salutary advice, and Hatim remained equally firm. At length the former said, “Young man, if you mind not my counsel, be assured that you will have cause for sorrow.”—“Alas!” said Hatim, “what is life to me without the object of my desire? As for sorrow, it is to me familiar, for the word was written on my forehead the day I first drew breath.” The old man, without further speech, struck the tree with his staff, and said to Hatim, “Come and ascend”; after which, he vanished from the place.

Hatim in the meanwhile succeeded in climbing the tree till he reached the branch where the head of his beloved was suspended. This he had no sooner touched than his own head was severed from his body and fastened to the next branch, while his body fell into the lake. When the hour of darkness arrived, the heads as usual were united to their respective bodies, and assembled in the enchanted palace in the midst of the water. There the same scene took place that Hatim had formerly witnessed: the queen was seated upon the throne, part of which he himself was allowed to occupy. Unconscious of his own state, he sat down admiring the beauty of the magician’s daughter. He had not the least recollection of his former self; he knew not how he came there; and the idea of escape from thence never entered his mind.

The queen perceived that Hatim was a captive in the fetters of love and enchantment; but she remained silent, and occupied her attention with the song and the dance. At the hour of midnight she took his hand, and having seated him beside her at table, she offered him food of the most delicious flavor. Hatim ate of her bounty, and spent the night in mirth and pleasure, forgetful of all that he had ever been. At break of day his head, along with those of the rest, were suspended on the tree; and thus he passed several days and nights, when again the aged man came to his assistance.

The sage touched the head of Hatim with his staff, when instantly his body ascended from the lake, and once more he was himself. He stood at the foot of the tree as a man awakened from a dream; his senses returned, and the moment he beheld his aged deliverer, he prostrated himself at his feet, and said, “Most wonderful man, you have seen my dangerous state, and partly relieved me, but much more remains to be done.” The old man, pointing to the tree, said in return, “Deluded youth! thou knowest the horrors of the situation from which I have saved thee, and yet thou wilt not fly the cause of thy misery; thy affection for this damsel, then, is still unaltered?”—“Incapable of change,” replied Hatim, “and if, for the sake of God, you lend me your aid, I may succeed; otherwise, with my eyes open to the dangers which await me, I am resolved to brave them all for her whom I love.”—“Since such is your resolution,” resumed the old man, “the first thing you must do is to slay the magician her father, for till then the enchantment cannot be broken.”—“That,” replied Hatim, “I will accomplish, or perish in the attempt.”—“Your efforts will prove fruitless,” rejoined his mentor, “unless you follow my directions.”

Hatim embraced the knees of his aged friend, saying, “Speak, then, and I swear never to deviate from your advice.”—“Learn from me,” said the old man, “the following charm, which consists in repeating certain attributes of the Deity.”[1] Hatim listened attentively, and having acquired the charm, was about to depart, when the aged man gave him his parting advice: “Brave youth, the power of this charm depends on your own conduct. You must keep yourself pure, and never utter a falsehood; every day you must devoutly purify yourself with water, and never break your fast till set of sun; nor must you repeat the charm at an improper time. These are conditions which you must strictly attend to; then, should any evil befall you, repeat this sacred charm, and you will succeed; even the arts of the magician will have no power over you.”

“But how,” said Hatim, “can I find my way to the mountain of Ahmar?”—“Seize my staff in your right hand,” replied the other, “then shut your eyes, and put your trust in heaven.” Hatim did as he was ordered, and for a few minutes felt that he was moving swiftly through the air, after which his feet rested upon firm ground. He opened his eyes, but saw no one near him. Before him stood a lofty mountain, covered with the blossoms of the tulip, a circumstance which surprised him much, as it was not then the season for this flower.

Hatim began to climb the mountain, but had not proceeded many steps when his feet stuck fast to the stones that paved his way. He at first exerted himself to the utmost, but found all his efforts of no avail; his feet were immovable as the rock on which he stood. When his despair was extreme, his mind recurred to the charm which the old man had taught him. The moment he uttered the divine words of the spell, he found his feet at liberty, and with elastic steps continued his ascent along the Red Mountain. Arrived at the summit, he beheld a wide-spreading plain, in the midst of which was a fountain of cool and delicious water, surrounded with trees bearing loads of fruit such as he had never seen. Hatim sat down by the fountain; and having performed his ablutions, he repeated the words of the sacred charm, whereby all the beasts of prey, and the poisonous reptiles that infested the plain, fled from his sight.

When the magician observed the disturbance which took place among his favorite animals, he had recourse to his books of enchantment. There he beheld the following sentence: “Know that on a certain day this mountain shall be visited by Hatim, prince of Yemen, who will render of no effect all the arts which you possess.” The magician, on ascertaining that Hatim had actually arrived at the fountain, began to dive further into the depths of his mystic science, in order to discover the cause of this visit. To his utter dismay, he found that Hatim had fallen in love with his daughter, and had come with intent to slay him, secure under a sacred spell, over which the whole circle of magic art had no power.

Now the magician saw that his only safety consisted in making Hatim forget the words of the sacred charm which the old man had taught to him. Having, therefore, uttered some incantations, and blown with his breath towards the four quarters of the horizon, in an instant appeared as it were from the thin air numbers of sprites and fairies, which drew up in circles around him. He summoned one of these which bore the resemblance of his daughter, and having placed in her hand a goblet full of wine, he said to her, “Go and use all thy art to make Hatim drink of this cup.” The sprite, accompanied with others similar to those who attended the queen, proceeded to the fountain. When Hatim observed them, he thought within himself, “These are the same that I saw at the enchanted tree; can it be possible that they, too, could have arrived here already?” But he further reflected, that the place where he was belonged to the father of the fairy queen, therefore it was most likely that what he saw was no deception.

The sprite which resembled his beloved, gracefully accosted Hatim, saying, “Brave sir, many are the dangers you have encountered in coming hither on my account. My father has been pleased to release me from confinement, and here I walk unrestrained in his gardens. The moment I saw you my heart rejoiced, and I hasten to assure you of my sincere affection.” Having thus spoken, the false sprite sat down by the side of Hatim, and having filled the goblet, gave it him to drink. Hatim joyfully accepted the fatal pledge, and congratulating himself on his good fortune in this interview, raised the cup to his lips, and drained it to the bottom.

The instant Hatim tasted of the hellish draught, the sprite that had assumed the form of his mistress was changed into a black demon. The whole of them rushed upon him, and carried him bound in chains before their great master. The magician, on viewing the noble form and undaunted brow of Hatim, became thoughtful, and almost relented in his cruel intention of putting him to death. “Pity it were,” he said to himself, “that so brave a man should perish; but since he is my mortal foe, I must have him exterminated.” Having made this resolution, the magician commanded his obedient imps to seize Hatim bound as he was, and cast him into the midst of a fiery pit, which blazed night and day on the top of the mountain.

The sprites laid hold of Hatim, and having cast him into the burning cauldron which contained a thousand measures of melted lead, they returned to their master, and informed him that his enemy was annihilated. The magician, by means of his mystic books, discovered that Hatim was alive in the midst of the flame. He was utterly confounded, for he knew that there were very few talismans sufficiently potent to withstand his art. Again he had recourse to his books, and at last he found out that Hatim had in his mouth the muhra of the bear’s daughter. This discovery sadly perplexed the magician, as it was impossible forcibly to deprive Hatim of the muhra, and he was invulnerable while he possessed it. The magician ordered his sprites to release Hatim from the flames, and place him beside the fountain where he originally sat. The order was speedily obeyed, and Hatim, thus left to himself, threw off his clothes and bathed in the cool spring, after which he offered up his prayers to God, and betook himself to rest. The magician, however, did not yet feel secure; he assailed Hatim by the same imps as before, and that one among them which resembled the queen again approached him from the grottoes of the field, and said to him, “Noble Hatim! I must converse with you only from a distance, for I dare not sit beside you. To-day I was enjoying your society, when, lo! my father transformed me into a black demon, and the rest of my train into furies. We seized you and cast you into the fire, for we durst not disobey his command. God has delivered you from destruction; but you must for your own safety shun my society, for if my father see us together, he will slay us both.”

By these words the heart of Hatim was ensnared; and having stretched forth his hands, he embraced the deceitful sprite, who said to him, “Oh, Hatim, dost thou sincerely love me?”—“I love thee,” replied he, “from my soul.”—“Then,” said the form of his mistress, “let me ask of thee one gift, and I hope it will not be refused.”—“Name the boon,” replied he, “and I swear it shall be granted if in my power. Know, however, that I am poor; if thy wish be gold or jewels, I have none to bestow: but let me hear the favor thou wouldst ask of me.”

The sprite replied, “I have heard that you possess the muhra of the bear’s daughter.”—“And how,” replied Hatim, “have you learned this much?”—“My father,” replied the phantom, “by means of his skill in books of magic, has made the discovery, and told me that you possessed the above-mentioned talisman, and I long to have it for myself.”—“The gift you ask is precious,” replied Hatim, “but you shall have it”; and he accordingly was about to part with that to which he owed his safety, and consign it to a demon under the form of his mistress.

Suddenly the aged man in green apparel stood by his side, and seizing his right hand, said to him, “Deluded man, part not with this treasure, otherwise you will have deep cause for regret, nay, the period of your existence will be but short.” Hatim having recovered from his surprise, addressed his aged monitor, saying, “Venerable sir, who are you, and why do you thus prevent me from doing what is right?”

The aged man addressing him, said, “Oh, Hatim! hast thou not yet recognized me? I am Khwaja Khizr[2], who lately taught thee to utter the attributes of the Most High.” Hatim quickly advanced, and prostrate himself at the feet of the saint, saying, “Thou heavenly being, to thee I owe my success in thus attaining the object of my affection.”—“Deluded man,” replied the prophet, “knowest thou not that this is all enchantment? Already hast thou been deceived by this false form. The first time thou didst sit by this fountain, the magician sent thee this sprite with a cup of hellish drugs, on the tasting of which thou wert deprived of sensation. Did they not in consequence cast thee into the fiery gulf, and dost thou not owe thy safety to this muhra, which thou art about to give away? Hatim, if thy life be dear to thee, part not with this treasure. To convince thee of my sincerity, utter the charm which I have taught thee, and if this form be really the fair daughter of the enchanter, she will still sit by thee; if, on the other hand, it is an evil spirit, it will vanish from thy sight in a flame of fire.”

Hatim kissed the foot of the saint in token of grateful submission; and having performed his devotions and purified himself in the fountain, he pronounced the sacred charm. The moment he opened his mouth, the light of truth began to shine upon him. The magic sprites trembled before him, and a flame of fire issued from their heads as from a furnace. In a few minutes their whole bodies burnt like dried wood, and they were reduced to ashes. So infatuated was Hatim, however, that he regretted the change: for while he had not the power of seeing his beloved, he at least consoled himself in contemplating her image, of which he was now deprived.

In this state of sorrow Hatim spent the night with weeping and lamentation, nor did sleep once close his eyelids. Meanwhile the magician, by the potency of his lore, conjured up the great Iblis[3] (on whom be curses), and held a consultation with him on the state of his affairs. The spirit of evil said to him, “Foolish magician; of Hatim’s life a long period has yet to pass; such is the divine decree, and no power in earth or hell can slay him. ’Tis vain for thee to combat with fate; why, then, dost thou not submit, and let Hatim have thy daughter in marriage?”—“To no living creature will I give my daughter,” replied the magician, “as long as I have the breath of life.”—“Tell me, then,” said Iblis, “what wouldst thou with me?”—“Briefly,” answered the other, “this Hatim hath twice defied my power, and rendered my art of no avail; he knoweth the most sacred of charms, and I hope that thou canst poison his memory so as to make him forget it.”—“Thy request is vain,” rejoined Iblis, “for over the unerring decrees of the Almighty I have no power or control. The Eternal hath willed that Hatim’s fame should be perpetual, and he hath commissioned the prophet Khwaja Khizr (on whom be peace) to assist him in his bold undertakings. To me, therefore, there is no possibility of entering his heart while he possesses the sacred charm. But this much I can do, I can cause sleep to overpower his eyelids, and fill his imagination with such tempting dreams as are common to mortals.”

The magician, on hearing this, bowed down and worshipped his great master, who assured him of his assistance, and winged his course back to the infernal regions. In the meantime Hatim forgot his sorrows in sleep, and reason having for a time abandoned the guidance of his imagination, he revelled in the most tempting dreams of worldly vanity.

When Hatim awoke from his dream he felt his senses confounded, and got up with the intention of purifying himself in the fountain and repeating his sacred charm; but the magician having conjured up a monstrous demon, was ready to assail him with his diabolic arts. When Hatim found himself thus beset, his heart trembled within him: for, polluted as he was, he durst not utter the sacred charm, and otherwise how could he resist his enemy! The demon seized him thus irresolute, and carried him before the magician, who ordered him to be bound in chains and cast into a pit, over the mouth of which a large stone should be placed. The order was speedily executed; and when Hatim found himself thus incarcerated, he composed his thoughts, and poured out his soul in prayer before the Almighty Creator.

After he had passed seven days and nights in this dungeon, without tasting food or drinking water, the magician, expecting that he must ere now be subdued with hunger and thirst, sent some of his imps to examine his condition. But to these Hatim paid no regard, nor would he answer any of their inquiries. The magician, informed of this, said to them, “Return to Hatim, and tell him that if he will give me the muhra of the bear’s daughter, I shall set him at liberty.” On hearing this proposal, Hatim said to them, in reply, “Go and say to your master, that he shall have the muhra, provided he give me his daughter in marriage.” When this was communicated to the magician, his rage was beyond bounds; he assembled all his imps, and having led them to Hatim’s place of confinement, be ordered them to collect large stones, and dash them on Hatim’s head till he should die. The attendants accordingly procured as many stones as they could carry; and having bound Hatim in a conspicuous place, they began to execute the orders of their master, saying, “Now prepare for instant death, for your muhra shall no longer avail you; the magician has empowered us to crush your head to pieces.”—“Tell him,” said Hatim, “that I defy all his power, and by the aid of heaven, I will yet slay him.” Scarce had he done speaking, when a shower of stones was aimed at his head; but to the utter astonishment of the magician and his imps, when the stones came within a few yards of their mark, they diverged in all directions without taking the least effect. Thus the whole of the stones passed by Hatim, and lay in a heap on either side of him. The magician soon understood the cause of this, but his attendants could not believe what they had seen. “To convince yourselves,” said their master, “go and examine whether this man be alive or dead.” The imps, laying aside their missiles, went up to Hatim, and to their surprise found him untouched. When their astonishment had a little abated, they renewed their assault, but with no better success. After the heap of stones around Hatim had increased tenfold, they once more went up to him, in order to be assured that their senses did not deceive them; and on finding him still unhurt, they again resumed their attack, which they continued uninterruptedly for seven days. Hatim all along remained unhurt by their blows, but his frame was quite exhausted with hunger and thirst. At length he addressed them, saying, “Your efforts are in vain; you must ere now be convinced of the potency of my talisman, as the fire has not burnt me, nor do the stones which you now throw in the least hurt me. But my thirst is past enduring, and I am willing to give even the muhra to him who will carry me to the side of the fountain, and prove that he is worthy of so great a power. The muhra has many virtues; for instance, should the possessor of it desire to kill the magician and occupy his throne, he will be enabled to do so.” The imps, however, refused to listen to him, saying, “We have no will but that of our master, and your muhra can be of no use to us.”

One of the demons that stood nearest to Hatim intimated to him by signs that when the darkness of night should set in, he would take him to the fountain as he desired, with which arrangement Hatim expressed his satisfaction. When night arrived, the guards sunk in sleep, while the demon aforesaid, instigated with the desire of possessing the muhra, remained awake. At the hour of midnight, he softly stole from amidst his companions, and said to Hatim, “Now is your time, let me conduct you to the fountain.”—“Willingly,” replied Hatim; “but how is it possible for me to be released from my fetters?”—“Leave that to me,” said his guide, who on uttering some unearthly charm conjured up two monstrous demons, as it were, from the empty air. These speedily removed the stone which confined Hatim, and allowed him to come forth, when his guide conducted him to the wished-for spring.

As soon as Hatim arrived at the fountain, he devoutly began to perform his ablutions. Meanwhile the demon interrupted him, saying, “Now, young man, remember your promise, and give me the muhra, for on this condition I brought you hither.”—“Assuredly,” replied Hatim, “since you have done me so great a favor, I will make a proper requital.”—“And what return can you make,” said the demon, “except the fulfilment of your promise?”—“What will be of more value to you,” replied Hatim; “when I shall have slain this magician, Sam Ahmar, I will establish you as king in his stead.”—“I covet not royalty,” rejoined the demon, “I demand, and must have the muhra.”—“For whom do you ask it?” said Hatim. “For myself alone,” replied the demon. “Fiend,” said Hatim, “had you asked it of me in order to promote the service of the Almighty Creator, I should have given it to you. But your words now prove you to be unworthy of it.”—“The only God we acknowledge,” rejoined the demon, “is Iblis, the great preceptor of our sovereign Sam Ahmar.”—“Silence, blasphemer!” cried Hatim; “the God whom I adore is the creator of the universe; and were it not that you have lately served me in my need, I should at once treat you as you deserve.”—“Let us cease wrangling,” said the demon, “it is easy for me to deprive you of the muhra by main force; but if you give it of your own accord, I shall spare your life; otherwise, I shall drown you in this fountain.”—“Slave of Iblis,” rejoined Hatim, “begone and leave me; you are not fit to receive the muhra.”

Hereupon the demon began to assail Hatim with enchantment; but the latter pronounced the sacred charm, whose potency made his adversary tremble through every joint. He instantly fled from Hatim’s presence, and took shelter in the midst of his friends, where he lay down and feigned sleep, that no one might know what he had done, as he dreaded the vengeance of his master should the truth be known.

Hatim, now freed from the power of his enemies, passed the night in meditation and prayer beside the fountain. When the morning dawned, and the sentinels opened their drowsy eyes, they one after another went to visit their charge, but no trace of Hatim could they find.

Their terror was beyond description, for what answer could they return to their formidable master when he should call them to account? “Assuredly,” said they, one to another, “he will not this day leave one of us alive.” At length they put ashes on their heads, and with trembling steps presented themselves before the magician, saying, “Alas! mighty sir, the young man under our charge has made his escape.”

Their master calmly consulted his books, and soon discovered the real state of affairs; viz., that one of the sentinels, whose name was Sarmak, had in the course of the night released Hatim from prison, and conveyed him to the brink of the fountain. The magician was highly enraged, and said to the guilty sentinel, “Faithless wretch! how durst thou thus release thy prisoner? Thy life shall answer for it; prepare for instant death.” Sarmak considered that now, as he had no hope of mercy from his master, his best plan would be to fly to Hatim and implore his protection.

With the speed of lightning Sarmak fled from the presence of the magician, and having reached the fountain where Hatim sat, he prostrated himself at his feet, and said, “Noble sir, my life is about to be sacrificed on your account; save me, as I never harmed you. I have been truly unfortunate; on the one hand, you gave me not the muhra, and for serving you my life is in danger.”—“Make yourself easy on that score, Sarmak,” replied Hatim; “you will find that I have both the will and the power to return your kindness.” When the magician discovered that his servant had fled to Hatim, he instantly began to assail them both with his deadliest art. The effect was soon perceptible on Sarmak, who exclaimed, “Help me, brave Hatim, I burn”; and a flame issued from the crown of his head. Hatim pronounced the words of his awful spell, and instantly the flame that burnt his companion became cool as the breath of a zephyr. Sarmak, respectfully approaching his deliverer, said, “Valiant sir, henceforth I am entirely yours.” Hatim tendered him his hand, and both of them proceeded towards the magician’s capital. Meanwhile Sam Ahmar discovered their intentions; and having assembled all his subjects who were fit for battle, he led them forth into the plain without the city, and began to put in practice all his spells. As Hatim and his companion were approaching this formidable array, on a sudden the sky was overcast with black clouds, the lightning flashed forth in streams, and the thunder began to bellow. “Brave Hatim,” said Sarmak, “have a care of yourself; this is caused by the art of your enemy.” Hatim uttered the sacred charm, and having blown with his breath towards the clouds, the storm withdrew, and all was serene.

The magician, thus foiled, again resumed his task. Stones of vast dimensions were seen to rise from the earth; and having ascended to an immense height in the sky, they began a swift descent towards the spot where Hatim stood. This shower of rocks must have crushed Hatim to pieces, as he had not observed its approach; but Sarmak exclaimed, “Hatim, beware! here is another specimen of the enchanter’s power.” Again he repeated the divine spell, and breathed towards the stones as they descended, when, lo! their course was altered; and having passed directly through the thickest of the magician’s army, they swept to the ground four thousand of his bravest men. One of the stones almost struck the head of the king; but seeing its course, he pronounced a spell and blew it aside with his breath. Amidst this consternation, Hatim and his companion advanced, whilst their enemies, terrified, said to one another, “Let us save ourselves. This man is too powerful for us to oppose.” When the magician beheld the near approach of his adversary, he once more exerted his skill. In the twinkling of an eye, dragons of the most terrible aspect were seen to rush from all quarters towards the devoted Hatim. He again uttered the sacred charm of the immortal Khizr, when all the dragons bore their furious onset against the magician’s host; and so terrible was the slaughter, that of his whole army scarce three thousand now survived, while full twenty thousand lay dead on the plain.

The few that survived became convinced that Hatim was more powerful in the magic art than even their great sovereign, whom they now resolved to abandon. Addressing the magician, they said to him, “Sire, is it your purpose thus to expose us to wanton slaughter? It is too evident that we have no power to cope with this formidable adversary; we must therefore save ourselves by flight.” The magician, enraged, shouted to them in a voice like thunder, “Base cowards, whither do ye fly? A few minutes more and Hatim is my prisoner.”

His words were unheeded by his shattered host; and seeing them thus quit the field, he uttered one of his spells and blew his breath after them, when every man was changed into a green tree. Thus left alone, Sam Ahmar, by means of some incantation, was furnished with a pair of wings, and soared aloft into the air. Hatim was not prepared for this stratagem of the enemy: he stood in astonishment as he beheld the magician darting through the clouds, anxiously expecting another display of his powerful art. But his adversary seemed to resign the struggle, and at length was lost to sight among the clouds.

Hatim, then addressing Sarmak, said, “I shall not consider my labor at an end till this magician is my prisoner.”—“At present,” replied Sarmak, “he is gone to his great preceptor, Kamlak, the mighty magician. This last exacts from his disciples the homage due to the Great Creator.”—“Know you aught of his abode?” inquired Hatim. “Full well,” answered Sarmak, “for once every year we used to visit him and do him homage, and if you will accept of my guidance, I am ready to conduct you thither.”

Ere Hatim would trust his guide, he had him solemnly initiated in the mysteries of his own faith; and when about to set out on their journey, Sarmak drew his attention to a forest close by, saying, “Those trees you behold are the remains of the magician’s army, and here they must rest till the last trumpet shall sound, unless your superior skill restore them to their original form.” Hatim took a cup full of water, and breathing over it pronounced the divine name, and handing the cup to Sarmak, said to him, “Go and sprinkle a few drops of this liquid among the trees.”

Sarmak received the liquid as ordered; and as soon as he had sprinkled the same upon the trees, these were restored to their original shape of human creatures. They asked Sarmak, “What is become of our great master the magician?”—“Know ye not,” replied Sarmak, “that the slave of Iblis, by means of his enchantment, transformed you all into trees, and that you owe your deliverance to the more potent art of Hatim, the true servant of the Almighty? He it was who blew with his breath on a cup of water, and pronounced a charm which the powers of hell cannot withstand. He then gave me the water; and the moment I sprinkled it over you, by the blessing of Allah, you resumed your primitive form. As to your late master, Sam Ahmar, he has made his escape from before the brave Hatim, and now he holds communion with Kamlak, chief of enchanters. But tell me,” continued Sarmak, “what were your thoughts when thus transformed, and what did you feel when you stood under the appearance of trees?”—“In the first place,” said they, “as we were about to fly, we felt all at once our feet cleave to the earth, so that we had not the power of moving; then a most painful sensation seized our whole bodies; but now, blessings upon Hatim, we are again ourselves. Truly he is most powerful to have obtained such a victory over our sovereign, and henceforth Hatim only shall receive our services.”

Having come to this resolution, they marched and presented themselves to Hatim, and making their most profound obeisance, said, “Brave Hatim! we have hitherto served Sam Ahmar; but now we tender our services to you, who have so kindly rescued us, though we lately sought your life.” Hatim received them graciously; and having pronounced the sacred charm, he breathed on all of them, so that they became perfectly free from the enchantments of their late master. This done, they said to him, “Noble sir, whither will you now lead us?”—“I have not yet done with Sam Ahmar,” replied Hatim, “for till I have made him my prisoner, I can attend to nothing else. If he should of his own free will give me his daughter in marriage, I shall let him escape with life, otherwise I am resolved to slay him.”—“And may we ask,” said his companions, “how you became acquainted with the magician’s daughter?”—“As I lately happened to journey through a certain desert,” replied Hatim, “my attention was drawn to a large tree on the border of a lake; there, to my astonishment, I beheld the head of the magician’s daughter suspended to the highest branch, while the heads of her attendants hung lower down on the tree.”

Hatim detailed to his hearers the whole affair up to that moment, and in conclusion said, “On her account have I journeyed hither; what reception I met with from her father, you have witnessed. I hope, however, that in the end the Almighty will render me victorious; and should it be agreeable to his divine will, I will slay the magician on the very threshold of his grand preceptor to whom he is just gone, nay, the master himself shall not escape me.”—“Have a care, noble Hatim,” said his attendants, “the enchantment of Kamlak is the most potent in existence.”—“Fear not for that,” rejoined Hatim; “but if you wish to see what will happen, come with me, if your hearts fail you not.”—“You have already restored us from death to life,” said they; “it shall never be said, then, that we lacked either honor or courage so far as to desert you. Lead wheresoever you will, and thither we follow you.”

On hearing this declaration, Hatim expressed his satisfaction; and having invited them to follow, he set out for the mountain where dwelt Kamlak, the grand magician. His attendants, however, not liking the length of the journey, said to him, “Brave sir, our late sovereign, Sam Ahmar, was wont to carry us to this mountain in less than the space of a day.”—“But,” replied Hatim, “you know well that he did so by means of his enchantment.”—“And can you not do the same?” rejoined his followers; “assuredly you are more cunning in the magic art than our master, otherwise you could not have conquered him. The power of Sam Ahmar was such that he could reduce a mountain to an atom, and magnify a particle of dust to the size of a mountain; yet this mighty enchanter fled from before you, and unless you were thoroughly skilled in the magic art, you could not think of pursuing him.”

Here Sarmak checked their speech, saying, “Fools that you are, Hatim uses no enchantment; but well I know, from what I have already witnessed of him, that he will soon conquer Sam Ahmar, even if aided by Kamlak.”—“My friends,” said Hatim, “a heavenly man hath taught me a divine charm, and wherever I utter the same, no enchantment can be of any avail against me. With this sacred charm, the magician has no power to cope.”

They marched onwards with Hatim at their head, and soon found themselves on a road of which they were utterly ignorant. All at once they arrived on the bank of a lake of the purest water; and as their thirst was great, they began to drink copiously. But the moment they had done drinking, the water began to gush out at the soles of their feet.

Hatim, astonished at this strange occurrence, refrained from tasting the water, thirsty as he was. He at length asked his companions how they felt, but no answer did he receive. They stood like statues with their eyes fixed upon him. Thus passed the whole of that night, Hatim suffering the pangs of hunger and thirst. When morning dawned, he looked at the faces of his attendants, which were all swelled up like so many leathern bottles, so that their eyes even could not be seen. His sorrow was beyond control; but at length he reflected that what he saw might be the effect of enchantment. He therefore pronounced the sacred charm, and in an instant the swelling abated; he repeated it, and from every part of their bodies a green-colored liquid was seen to issue. A third time he uttered the divine words, and his companions received the full enjoyment of all their faculties.

Hatim’s joy was now equal to his previous sorrow, while he listened to the grateful prayers of his rescued followers. At length he asked them, “Can you explain the cause of your late calamity?”—“The cause is evident,” they replied; “this is the road by which the magician travelled, and he enchanted the water of the lake.” Hatim pronounced his charm, and breathed on the water. It first became agitated like the boiling ocean, and its color was red: then it changed to green, and gradually settling, became pure as crystal. Hatim, now assured that no traces of the enchantment remained about the water, drank of it freely, and invited his companions to do the same without fear. He also enjoined them to bathe therein.

All of them accordingly allayed their thirst, and bathed their bodies in the now pure and wholesome lake, whereby every trace of their late calamity left them, and their confidence in the power of Hatim became complete. They tendered him their sincere gratitude, and said, “Forward, brave Hatim! we will follow you even until death in your contest with the magician Sam Ahmar and his master Kamlak, for you are far greater and better than they.” Hatim resumed his journey, and his companions joyfully followed.

Meanwhile Sam Ahmar, defeated and downcast, fled to the presence of Kamlak. The latter observing his dejected state, asked him, “What misfortune hath befallen thee, that thou comest in such woful plight?”—“Great master,” replied the magician, “I come to implore thine aid. Hatim, my superior in the magic art, hath expelled me from my residence, and hither have I fled to escape his vengeance.” Kamlak, enraged at this intelligence, said, “Rest thee content, my son, I shall soon vanquish this Hatim, and having made him my captive, resign him to thy disposal.”

Immediately Kamlak began his enchantment, and took measures to fortify the mountain which he inhabited. In an instant the whole mountain was wrapt in flames so bright as to leave no distinction between night and day. Four days after, Hatim arrived, and his companions addressing him, said, “This is, indeed, the mountain where Kamlak dwells; but why does it thus burn? Assuredly this is caused by his enchantment.”

Hatim devoutly recommended himself to heaven and pronounced the sacred words of Khizr; and the flames ceased to issue from the mountain. Kamlak was soon informed of his foe’s approach, and how he had quenched the flames by the mere breath of his mouth. He now tried the power of his art in a different manner. On all sides of Hatim and his companions floods of water were seen to rush, as if the ocean had burst from its channels. “Help us, Hatim,” exclaimed his friends, “or we shall be drowned; these waters are the creation of Kamlak.” Hatim repeated his spell; blew with his breath on the waters, which instantly stood still, and in a short time no trace of them was left. Kamlak was highly mortified in seeing his power a second time defied, and once more he and his disciple renewed their attack. The clouds began to shower stones of five to ten tons in weight, but Hatim was prepared for this also. He and his friends sat secure under the power of the sacred spell, while the storm for three days and nights fell harmless around them. At length, when the heap of stones beside them reached the height of a mountain, so that nothing else was visible, Hatim pronounced his charm, and all was annihilated; after which, he boldly marched towards the mountain. The arch-magician then uttered an incantation, whereby the mountain entirely disappeared from Hatim’s sight: he, however, nothing daunted, sat down with his companions, who were astonished at this last feat; and having uttered his powerful spell he awaited the result. After three days the mountain again appeared, and Hatim and his friends began to ascend.

Meanwhile the attendants of Kamlak informed him that Hatim and his followers were at hand. On hearing this, the magician formed a canopy of clouds three thousand cubits above the summit of the mountain. Thither Kamlak and Sam Ahmar with their attendants transported themselves, and made every entrance fast. Hatim at length reached the summit of the mountain, where he beheld a spacious city. On entering, he found it full of food and fruits, also the most delicious wines, with everything that could excite the palate. His companions immediately began to eat; but the moment they tasted the infernal fare, they became inflated like bottles, as had previously happened at the enchanted lake. Hatim at once discovered that the arch-magician had laid this snare for him. He took a cup full of water as previously, and having pronounced the charm over it, gave it to them. As soon as they tasted of this precious draught, the effects of the enchantment ceased. Hatim then breathed over the whole of the victuals, and said to his friends, “Now you may eat your full.” Their hunger appeased, he asked them whether they knew into what part of the clouds above them the magicians had betaken themselves. They replied, that Kamlak and his disciple were in a cloud of the shape of an immense dome that towered above the rest. Hatim pronounced the sacred name, and seven times blew his breath towards the heaven, when all at once the mass of clouds with the magicians in it fell with a crash on the top of the mountain. Hatim’s enemies were so astounded by the fall, that they became an easy prey. Their limbs were disjointed, and many of them were crushed to atoms, and their polluted souls plunged to perdition. Sam Ahmar and Kamlak soon recovered their senses, and fled along the mountain. On a sudden they plunged headlong over a precipice, and resigned their souls to Iblis, the prince of darkness.

It may be easily conceived that Hatim’s joy was great at this defeat of his enemies. He devoutly bowed his head and poured out his thanks to God. This done, he addressed Sarmak, saying, “To thee, my friend, I owe a boon. I promised thee that on defeating these magicians I should bestow their kingdom on thee. This promise I am ready to fulfil, but on condition that thou wilt acknowledge no other God, save the true and Almighty Creator, and that thou wilt protect his worshippers from injury and oppression.” Having thus addressed his friend, he summoned to his presence the rest of his attendants, and said, “I here in the presence of you all appoint Sarmak your future sovereign, whom you shall obey; and you must acknowledge the true and living God, to whom you shall consider yourselves as servants, and you shall worship him night and day, for of a surety, if you act uprightly, he will reward you accordingly. Meanwhile, farewell! I must hasten to the presence of the queen of beauty, Zarinposh.”—“God be with you, brave man,” they all exclaimed, “rest assured that we shall strictly abide by your orders and never disobey the ruler whom you have appointed over us.”

Thus parted Hatim with the subjects of the late magician. Night and day he hurried onwards till he reached the enchanted lake. There he found several of the damsels whom he had formerly seen, stationed as sentinels near the place. “Whence and what are you?” cried the first of them he met. “I am,” replied he, “the same who passed several days in your society as I lately travelled this way; I even shared your penance, for my head was for some days suspended to the branches of the tree that overhangs yonder lake; I pray you, convey my most courteous greeting to the beautiful queen, your mistress.” The fair sentinel ran to her sovereign with this intelligence, saying, “Noble mistress, a young man, whose name is Hatim, stands at your gate; he once passed some days with us when under the influence of the enchantment, and now he craves admission into your royal presence.”

The queen, after some consideration, said, “Where can Hatim have been since that time? I believe, however, he has since then journeyed to the mountain of Ahmar, and most likely he will be able to furnish us with some tidings of my father; go and ask if this be the case; and if so, admit him.” The damsel made the necessary inquiry, and was thus answered by Hatim, “The magician was one who feared not God, and now his soul is consigned to perdition, and he will get the reward due to his iniquities, for he has been cut off in the midst of his crimes; but all this must be detailed in the presence of the queen.” The sentinel returned and stated to her mistress what Hatim had told her. On hearing this news, the queen was exceedingly grieved, and tears fell copiously from her eyes. Her damsels endeavored to console her, saying, “Royal mistress, to weep for the death of such a father as yours is a crime. It is certain that had not your father died, we should have still remained in the bonds of his cruel enchantment; but now let us introduce Hatim, and ask of him the circumstance.” The queen assented, and Hatim, by her request, approached the royal presence. Zarinposh, arrayed in splendid apparel, sat upon an emerald throne studded with jewels.

Hatim cast a single look at the queen; his senses abandoned him, and he fell lifeless before her. Alarmed at his apparent illness, she hastily rose, and seizing a phial of rose-water, sprinkled part of it on his face. When his senses were restored, the queen ordered for him a splendid couch set with gold and jewels, and made him sit beside her. Then in the sweetest tones he ever heard she began to converse with him on the subject of his journey and the death of her father.

Hatim detailed all that he had seen, and suffered and acted, without the least reservation; and added, “For thee, fair queen, I have undergone all these perils and toils. May I hope that my afflictions will bring forth the fruit of joy, and that you will reward my pains with the pleasure of your society, for without you I would sooner die than live.” The damsels in attendance all supported Hatim’s suit, and said, “Our gracious sovereign, this is the renowned prince of Arabia; happy for you was the day when he came here. He loves you sincerely; leave him not to despair. Think not of your father’s death, for he was a magician who delighted in cruelty and oppression. Well has it been for mankind that this brave youth has rid the world of such a monster.”

At last the queen consented, and after the usual ceremonies, she was wedded to Hatim. He, however, when on the point of giving himself up to the pleasure of her society, all at once became dejected and thoughtful. He remembered his friend Munir, the Assyrian prince; and the thoughts of the pangs he must endure so affected Hatim, that a trembling seized his whole body. His bride observed his emotion, and stood in the utmost perplexity, thinking that she was herself the occasion of it. “Alas!” said she, “what have I done in his sight that he should view me with such aversion, or what can I do to arrive at the cause of his uneasiness?” The queen, resourceless as she was, remained silent, when at length Hatim observed that she was affected by his strange conduct; he therefore resolved to explain to her the whole affair, in order to clear himself of disrespect towards her: “My soul and life,” said he, “why are you cast down? why should the sun and moon be obscured? Know, my beloved, that I have left my home for the sake of the Assyrian prince Munir, who is deeply enamoured of Husn Banu. This lady has proposed seven questions, and her hand shall be the reward of him who may solve them. The Assyrian prince in vain made the attempt, and on his failure, was wandering he knew not whither. I found him in the deserts of Arabia; and having returned with him to Shahabad, I undertook to solve the questions, and at present my friend resides in one of the caravanseraïs of that city. I have already travelled and found out the solutions of three of these enigmas, and now I am in quest of the fourth. When I saw you, however, I forgot myself and the rest of the world, and now when it has pleased God the Supreme to unite us in the bonds of love, the thoughts of my despairing friend have disturbed my soul. Yea, I have made a vow that I should perform my utmost to serve the Assyrian prince; and to me all worldly pleasures are forbidden, till he has obtained the object of his desire. It would then be highly improper that I should give myself up to enjoyment while he lives in the pangs of expectation; I must, therefore, proceed instantly to the city of Karam.”—“And what is to become of me in the meantime?” asked the bride. “I intend,” replied Hatim, “to convey you to Yemen, my native country, where my father is king.”

And so Hatim sent his bride with her attendants to his father’s dominions in Arabia, while he himself proceeded to Karam, which he reached in the course of a few days. On meeting some of the people there, he asked, “Pray, friends, can you tell me if there is a man in this place who exclaims, ‘He who speaks the truth is always tranquil’?”—“Truly, stranger,” said they, “there is no man here such as you inquire for; but we know of a man of extreme old age who has written above his door these very words.”—“Can you tell me,” asked Hatim, “where he lives?”—“His residence,” replied they, “is about three farasangs from this city, in a village called Old Karam, for there the city Karam once stood.”

Hatim immediately set out, and in the course of that afternoon arrived at the village of Old Karam. There he beheld a splendid mansion, on the door of which were written the words of the enigma. He went up to the gate and knocked with his hand; whereupon a voice from within reached his ear, saying, “Stranger, whence art thou, and what is thy business here?”—“I am from Shahabad,” replied Hatim, “and my business is with the owner of this mansion.” The janitor hastened to his master with this intelligence, and was ordered to admit Hatim without delay.

The master of the house, an elderly man, received Hatim with due courtesy, and hospitably entertained him with food and drink. After he had refreshed himself, his host said, “Pray tell me, stranger, what is the cause of your journey hither, and from what country are you? It has never been known that more than two foreigners have visited this place, and of these two you are one.”—“Venerable sir,” replied Hatim, “I am a native of Yemen; and I came hither from the city of Shahabad, where dwells an Assyrian prince, named Munir. This noble youth is in love with Husn Banu, the queen of that city; and he cannot acquire the object of his wish, except he procure the solution of seven questions which she has proposed. Three of these I have already answered, and now I am in quest of the fourth, which is no other than the words written above your door.”

The aged man replied, “Brave Arab! thou art truly noble; and long will thy fame survive thee in the world. Assuredly there lives not another man who would, for the sake of a friend, encounter such toils and perils as thine. But to-day thou hast come from afar, and it is fit that thou shouldst repose for the night; to-morrow I shall explain to thee the circumstances connected with the words written on my door.”—“I am willing to comply with your hospitable injunctions,” rejoined Hatim, “but there is one thing which I wish to ask of you. The people of Karam told me that your age was far beyond the ordinary limits; yet you seem to me little past the prime of life, not a hair of your head yet gray. Is it true, then, as they say, that you have lived since the time when the city of Karam stood on this spot?”—“Brave Hatim!” replied the aged man, “retire to rest for this night, and to-morrow you shall be informed of all you ask.”

Hatim accordingly betook himself to repose, and passed the night in pleasant slumbers. When morning came he arose, and after enjoying the banquet of his host, he renewed the subject of the previous evening. The aged man replied, saying, “Listen, then, Hatim: it is now seven hundred years since Karam stood here; but my age is really eight hundred years, however I may appear to you. In my youth I was a gamester, and night and day my whole business was gambling. One day it happened that my fortune forsook me, and I lost everything I possessed. Thus destitute, I sallied out as soon as it was dark, in order to rob or steal, as might be most convenient. I considered at the same time, that in attacking the poor and humble I should likely have nothing for my trouble; I resolved, therefore, to attempt the palace of our king. I softly approached the walls of the royal residence, and fastened my scaling-ladder, made of ropes, to a window. When all was quiet, I entered one of the apartments, which happened to be that in which the king’s daughter slept. The attendants of the youthful princess lay senseless outside the apartment. I seized her gold and jewels, as likewise the golden lamp that burned beside her, and unobserved made my escape from the palace. In my flight I came to a desert, where I met a gang of thieves busily occupied in the division of their spoil. The moment these saw me, they shouted, ‘Stand, traveller, tell us who thou art, and whence thou comest.’ I told the thieves the occurrences of my life, and how I had broken in upon the king’s palace, and carried off his daughter’s jewels. I then displayed to their astonished sight a very large ruby, which they no sooner saw than their avarice was whetted, and they were about to wrest it from me by force, when a tremendous sound issued from the desert, so loud that the earth trembled under us. The thieves, terrified, betook themselves to flight, while I stood riveted to the spot.

“The person from whom this voice issued approached me, and sternly said, ‘Tell me truly who thou art, and whence thou camest here.’ I told him every circumstance of my wicked life, and showed him the treasure I had so unlawfully obtained, not concealing the high-prized ruby. ‘’Tis well for thee,’ said he, ‘that thou hast told me the truth. I forgive thee thy crimes, and leave thy treasure to thine enjoyment; but swear to me solemnly that thou wilt henceforth avoid gambling.’ I then made a vow in the presence of heaven and that formidable being, that I would never gamble. ‘Well,’ said my strange monitor, ‘keep thine oath sacred, and the years of thy life shall reach nine hundred.’

“Thus we parted, and I returned to this spot, which was then a populous city, and with part of my wealth built this mansion. Some of my old acquaintances envied my prosperity, and informed the superintendent of the city that I had lately been a poor man, and now that I was possessed of immense wealth, so as to build a mansion like that of a prince: ‘assuredly,’ added they, ‘he cannot have come by such treasures honestly.’ The magistrate summoned me to his presence: to him also I detailed all that I had done, without the least reserve. When he heard my statement, he conducted me, as in duty bound, before the king, whom I had so greatly offended.

“To his Majesty, also, I told the whole truth. When the king heard me to an end, he freely forgave me my crime, and gave strict orders that none should thenceforth upbraid me on that subject. ‘This man,’ added his Highness, ‘has all along adhered to the truth, and therefore he deserves my forgiveness. I have never yet seen or heard of so daring a thief as he is, that would have the manliness to confess his guilt as he has done.’ The king not only left me in possession of what I had stolen, but also gave me gold to such amount that it is not even yet expended. On that day, as soon as I returned from the royal presence, I wrote on my door, ‘He who speaks the truth is always at ease,’ as an admonition to every one who might see it.”

When the man of truth had finished his history, he said to Hatim, “Now, generous Arab, you have heard my tale; and I am truly happy in having had the power thus far to serve you. Besides yourself, noble Hatim, there lives not on earth the man who would encounter the dangers and fatigues of the journey from here to Arabia.” A few days after, Hatim took leave of his aged host, and began to retrace his way to Shahabad. In the course of his journey, the thoughts of Zarinposh, his lovely bride, constantly occupied his mind. In vain did he try to think of his friend Munir, and of Husn Banu’s seven questions; he therefore resolved, ere he returned to Shahabad, to visit his bride in his paternal halls.

One day, as he arrived at the borders of Yemen, to his great joy he came to a fountain of pure water. On his nearer approach to the spring, he observed a brace of the fowls called būtīmar[4]; and as he knew the languages of all creatures, he attentively listened to the following conversation of the birds: “My dear mate,” said the female butimar, “you shall not thus depart; I pray you abandon all thoughts of this undertaking.”—“Cease thy foolish prating,” returned the male; “what I am about to do is a service acceptable to the Creator, to whom all beings are responsible; and seekest thou to prevent me, merely to suit thine own whim? When did a wise man ever regard the advice of a woman? Are you not all false; and why, then, should I be guided by you? Have you not heard the story of the king, who was heartily ashamed of his folly in being misled by a woman?”

The female butimar having expressed great curiosity to hear the story of the king, the male thus began: “Once upon a time a certain king went out on a hunting excursion, and after toiling the whole day caught nothing. As it drew towards evening he lost his way, and wandering through the desert apart from his attendants, he came to a beautiful garden. He entered, and after walking about for some time he came to a palace, close to which was an artificial pond of water. The king, greatly fatigued, sat down on the brink of the pond, and as he was performing his ablutions, his hand caught hold of an iron chain. This he began to pull towards him, but found strong resistance, as if some great weight were attached to it.

“The king took hold with both his hands, and pulling with his whole force at last succeeded in bringing to land a chest to which the chain was fastened. His curiosity made him open the chest, for the key was tied to it. To his immense astonishment, on opening it, he beheld inside a woman of surpassing beauty. He stood for some minutes completely lost in admiration of her charms, without the power of moving a muscle.

“Soon the woman broke silence, saying, ‘Noble sir, be not thus bewildered, I am made of flesh and blood as you are.’ Hereupon she came out of the chest, and having taken out with her a bottle and goblet, she offered the prince a draught, which he drained to the bottom. They both sat down on the green bank, and conversed together. At length the king remembered his situation, and the anxiety which his attendants must feel on his account. He rose to take his departure. Pulling a valuable ring from his finger, he offered it to the lady, saying, ‘Accept this as a remembrance of me, for I must now take my leave of you. I hope, however, we may meet again, and on your showing me this ring I shall know her with whom I have passed the most pleasant moments of my life.’

“The lady, on hearing this declaration of the prince, laughed aloud, and drew from her bosom a whole string of rings, saying, ‘Noble sir, you must know that my husband is extremely jealous of me, and cannot even endure my residing in a place inhabited by mankind. He has, therefore, conveyed me to this solitary garden in the midst of the desert. Every night he comes and lives with me in this palace. When he departs in the morning, he shuts me up in this heavy chest, with a sufficient allowance of food and drink, and then casts chest and all into the lake where you found me. Many princes and nobles have lost their way when hunting in the neighborhood, as you have done, and on coming hither, discovered my prison. These also released me for a time from my durance, enjoyed my society, and gave me rings at their departure, of which here is ample proof. I keep the rings, indeed, by me, but their number is so great, that I really cannot recollect which is which; therefore, brave sir, I shall willingly accept and preserve your ring, but I cannot take upon me to remember the giver.’ The prince, on hearing this impudent confession, shut the woman in the chest as she requested, and having consigned her to her watery dungeon, he made the best of his way home. On his arrival at the royal residence, his attendants observed that his brow was clouded and his heart ill at ease. At length, the ministers of state ventured to approach him, and humbly represented their sorrow for his sadness, hoping that they themselves were not the cause.

[“His Majesty related the whole adventure as it had happened, and expressed the most thorough contempt for womankind in general. The prime minister, on hearing the king’s adventure, assured him that the fact was notorious throughout every city in his dominions, and that it was in vain to be disheartened for the inconstancy of women. The king at length banished the subject from his thoughts, and resumed his wonted cheerfulness and affability towards his faithful servants.”[5]

Thus ended the story of the butimar; after which he said to his mate, “In like manner, I doubt not, you are as faithless to me, and why should I be guided by your advice, and prevented thereby from doing what I consider right? Do you think I am to be like Hatim Taï here, who undertook to serve Munir the Assyrian prince, and has now withdrawn his hand from his noble task, owing to the charms of a woman, such is the power of the female sex over the wisest of men?”

When Hatim heard the edifying discourse of the butimar, he felt ashamed of himself, and thanked his Creator that had thus warned him of his backsliding in due time. Instead therefore of continuing his course to Yemen as he intended, he turned aside, and took the road to Shahabad. On his arrival there, the people of Husn Banu joyfully received him; and having conducted him to the caravanseraï, they gave intelligence to their mistress of his safe return. Husn Banu invited him to her palace, and after hospitably entertaining him, she received a full account of his adventure. Hatim then returned to the caravanseraï, where he passed the night in the society of his friend the prince of Assyria. Next day he revisited Husn Banu, in order to be informed of the nature of the fifth question. The lady most courteously received him in her palace, and said to him, “Brave Hatim! the fifth task which I have to impose on you is, ‘To bring me an account of the mountain called Nida.’” Hatim then took his leave of Husn Banu; and ere his departure, he once more had an interview with the Assyrian prince, and said to him at parting, “My dear friend, be of good cheer. I am now about to proceed on my fifth expedition, which, I trust, God will render propitious; meanwhile, farewell!”]

BOOK V.

The historians inform us, that as Hatim was journeying toward the desert of Nida he continued to ask his way in every city and town through which he passed. In the course of six months, as he was approaching a large city, he saw all the inhabitants assembled in a spacious plain outside the walls. Hatim thought, “What can be the cause of this concourse? I must go and inquire.” With this view, he was hastening towards them; and as soon as the people saw him, they exclaimed, “Welcome, stranger; may your arrival be happy; we are waiting for you.”

When Hatim found himself amidst the crowd, he looked around him, and saw, to his surprise, large tables furnished with food and drink of every variety. He also observed a coffin laid out in state, and surrounded by the relatives of the deceased. The chief of the assembly, addressing Hatim, said, “Such are our customs, stranger, that when any of our people die, whether rich or poor, we thus assemble in the plain without the city, and prepare a banquet of the most delicious viands. At the same time, it is one of our rules that we taste not of the food, nor bury our dead, till the arrival of a stranger among us. When a stranger arrives, we make him first eat of our fare, after which we ourselves feast. This is now the seventh day that we have been here without attaining the object of our expectation. Every day we had the feast ready; and when evening came, and the stranger arrived not, we sent the food back to the city for our wives and children, for they are not prohibited from eating. As for ourselves, we have neither eaten bread nor drunk water for the last seven days. You may guess, then, noble stranger, with what joy we this day hail your arrival. We shall now bury our dead and break our long fast.”

Hatim observed to them, “What becomes of your dead, and how do you contrive to live should it so happen that no stranger visits you for the space of a month?”—“That,” replied they, “is a rare, nay, an improbable case, for we are never above a week without seeing a stranger; and if it should happen that none comes, we are allowed to break our fast on the fifteenth day, and thus we do every fifteenth day till the stranger arrives: such is our law. With regard to our dead, no decay takes place till the end of at least a month.”—“And may I ask,” rejoined Hatim, “what would you do with your dead, if you should not be visited by a stranger even in the course of a month?”—“If, by the expiration of that period,” replied they, “the dead body should become offensive, we bury it, and in such a case all the inhabitants of the city, both men and women, are made to fast by day for six months after, and we are allowed only to take a little food after sunset. This penance we undergo for the good of the soul of the deceased; for when the body thus putrifies, we look upon it as a proof that the deceased had led a sinful life, and we accordingly offer up our prayers in his behalf before the throne of the Most High.”

Hatim still continued his inquiries, saying, “But if in these six months of fasting another should die, what would you do?”—“We should keep him in the same way,” they replied, “till the arrival of a stranger among us, or failing this at the end of a month, we should bury him if necessary, and betake ourselves to fasting and prayer on his behalf till the expiration of six months, after which we should hold a feast, and bestow alms in abundance on the poor of our city, and give gifts to all that are in need, and do acts of kindness towards one another. We then walk in procession to the tomb of the deceased, where we again distribute money among the poor and helpless, after which we resume our usual occupations.”

While Hatim stood wrapt in wonder at this singular custom, the people bore the dead body into the interior of the house, and having stretched it on an elegant couch, they embalmed it with costly perfumes, and burnt frankincense around it; after which they brought in the food that they were to eat, and carried the same seven times around the couch. This done, the food was brought out and placed on tables, when the chief of the assembly, addressing Hatim, said, “Worthy stranger, stretch forth thine hand and taste of our food. Thy compliance will greatly oblige us, as we shall then be at liberty to appease our hunger.” Hatim ate of the food as requested, and after him all the people sat down and ate. The remains of the feast they sent back to the city for their women and children to feed on. They then changed their raiment, each clothing himself in clean apparel; and having sent the clothes they had cast off to the fullers, they took up the dead body and proceeded towards the desert.

As they were about to depart, the chief said to Hatim, “Brave stranger, I hope you are not to leave us immediately; if, then, you choose to rest a few days in our city, every attention shall be paid to you.” Hatim willingly accepted the invitation; and having entered the city, a splendid mansion was appointed for his residence, and the choicest food and drink placed before him. Nor was this all; damsels of surpassing beauty were sent to entertain him with their enchanting society.

Hatim could not help wondering in his own mind at the strange customs of the city where he happened to arrive; however, he ate temperately of the food presented to him, and paid not the least regard to the beautiful damsels. In the course of a week the governor of the city, informed of Hatim’s affable disposition and temperate habits, sent for him; and after the usual salutations, said to him, “Noble stranger, I am so delighted with the accounts I hear of you, that I beg of you to take up your residence among us, and my own daughter shall be your wife.” Hatim, having thanked the governor for his kind offer, said that he had business on hand which admitted of no delay. “At least,” resumed the governor, “let me know the object of your journey, and I will do my utmost to aid you, or even accompany you in person, if it will in any way serve you.”—“Truly, sir,” said Hatim, “I am indebted to you for your goodness, but I should be sorry to let any one accompany me through the fatigues and perils which await me.”—“At all events,” said the governor, “let me know your business.”—“Willingly,” replied Hatim; “and if you can direct me on my way, it will serve me as much as if you accompanied me.”

Hatim then related every circumstance connected with Husn Banu, and her lover Munir; and how he had himself solved four of the lady’s questions, and was then in quest of the solution of the fifth, which was, to bring an account of the mountain of Nida. “It is now,” concluded Hatim, “six months since I left Shahabad; I have wandered through many cities, and made inquiries of every person I met, but no one has been able to give the necessary information. If you, noble sir, can tell me where the mountain of Nida is situated, it will serve me as effectually as if you accompanied me thither.”

The governor was a man of years, and possessed of much information; he remembered, then, of having heard from the learned that a mountain of this name, of immense altitude, was situated towards the south in the regions of Zulmat. He informed Hatim of the same, and further, that there was close to the mountain a city of the same name, where the people were immortal; “in these regions,” concluded he, “diseases and death are unknown, nor is there a tomb to be seen in all the place.” On hearing this statement, Hatim was highly delighted, and said, “Thither I must go as soon as possible.”—“But how,” rejoined his aged friend, “can you go there unattended?”—“God will be my guide,” replied Hatim.

The governor then offered Hatim gold and costly jewels, of which he accepted a small portion for defraying his expense by the way; and having caused the rest to be distributed among the poor, he resumed his journey. In the course of three months he arrived at a large city, around which he saw no tombs or receptacles for the dead, whereby he was satisfied that it was the city alluded to by his informant and benefactor. When Hatim entered the city, the people crowded around him, and began to question him, saying, “Tell us, stranger, whence are you, and where are you going?”—“I am,” replied Hatim, “from Shahabad, and I am on my way to the mountain of Nida.”

“Stranger,” resumed the people, “abandon such thoughts: the mountain of Nida is far distant, and the road full of danger.”—“I fear no danger,” replied Hatim, “for my trust is in God, who is my conductor.”—“At least,” said they, “rest here for the night, as you are much fatigued.” Hatim accepted their hospitable invitation, and there reposed for the night.

It happened on that day that one of the inhabitants of the city fell sick; whereupon his relations assembled and instantly killed him, after which they divided his flesh into equal portions among themselves in order to be eaten. One of the people whom Hatim had conversed with on entering the city, being a relation to the slaughtered, received his portion of the flesh, and had it roasted for his evening meal in the house where Hatim resided. He then brought in a jug of water and two loaves, along with the flesh of his relation, and with eager hospitality addressed Hatim, saying, “Stranger, I invite you to partake of my repast, for never in your life have you tasted of similar fare.”—“I believe,” replied Hatim, “I have eaten of the flesh of every granivorous animal on the face of the earth; may I ask what animal has furnished this dish, since you imagine that I have not yet seen the like?” The man triumphantly replied, “What you say may be very true, but have you ever eaten of the flesh of man, for such is the dish now before you!”

On hearing this, Hatim remained horror-struck, and thought within himself that this must be the city of the cannibals of whom he had before heard accounts, and that most probably they killed and ate every stranger that came near them. His host seemed to read his thoughts, and accordingly broke silence, saying, “Yes, this is the city of the cannibals, and the time is coming, stranger, when some of us shall feast upon you.” Hatim, thus aroused, said to the man, “Is it possible, sir, that you kill the helpless stranger, and then devour him? Have you not the fear of God before your eyes?”—“Brave Arab!” resumed the cannibal, “we are not quite so bad as you suppose, for we do not slay the traveller who comes among us knowing nothing of our customs.”—“You told me just now,” replied Hatim, “that this is man’s flesh before me; I concluded that it must have been that of a stranger, and not of one of your own tribe.”—“Quite the contrary,” rejoined the man of hospitality; “it is the custom of our city that when any one falls sick, his relations assemble and kill him, in order to put him beyond suffering.”—“Accursed be such inhuman practices,” replied Hatim; “know you not that the Creator of the universe at one time visits his creatures with sickness; and again, when it pleases his divine will, bestows health? What, then, can be more heinous than to slay the sick with your own hands? The shedding of the innocent blood of so many thousands is a deed most revolting to humanity; nay, it is a sin for human eyes to look upon you.”

Hatim having thus spoken, rose up and fled into the desert. He halted not for the whole of that night, nor next day till sunset, when he thought himself far enough removed from the accursed city. Having slackened his pace a little, he continued to proceed leisurely till the following day, when the pangs of hunger quite overpowered him. Necessity forced him to commit what at another time he would have considered highly cruel—he killed a young fawn; and having kindled a fire with a flint, he sat down to dress some food. Meanwhile a lion stalked up to him; and Hatim, nothing daunted, said to the lion, “If thou art hungry, here is all the food that I possess: eat and be satisfied.”

The lion accordingly devoured the whole of the fawn, except the small portion that Hatim had on the fire; after which, he drank water from a fountain hard by and departed. Hatim having appeased his hunger, and allayed his thirst with water from the spring and such fruit as the jungle produced, resumed his journey. After he had traversed the parched desert for a great part of the day, his thirst became excessive. At length he perceived at a distance the appearance of mountains rising above the plain. The sight cheered him, as he expected soon to quench his thirst in the cool streams wherewith the hills are generally blessed. His disappointment, however, was grievous when he found nothing but heaps of moving sand raised by the blast of the simoom. Exhausted, he sat down underneath a solitary tree; and shortly after he observed a shekshar (a sort of water-fowl) close by him, its wings quite wet. He rose with renewed strength, and made towards the shekshar, which flew away at his approach. In that spot, however, he found a treasure—a spring of the purest water. He prostrated himself on the ground, and offered up thanks to the Bestower of Mercies; after which he allayed his thirst at the spring, and resumed his journey.

After a long march through the desert, he at length saw symptoms of human habitation. Towards evening, as he was entering a highly cultivated country, he beheld a large fire kindled in a field, around which a crowd of people had assembled. Hatim, supposing it to be some display of public rejoicing, approached the people, and said to them, “Tell me, my friends, what country is this? what is the cause of your cutting the hair of your heads and faces in that fanciful manner? what are you doing, thus assembled round the fire? and why this immense pile of dried wood?”—“This,” replied the people, “is the funeral pile of one of our male relations, whose body is now consuming in the sacred flame; and along with him, his widowed wife has burnt herself alive.”—“And do you not, then, bury your dead under the earth?” inquired Hatim, “and why did you cast the helpless widow into the flames? Assuredly the blood of the innocent is on your hands.”

“I perceive you are a stranger in this country,” replied the man whom Hatim had addressed: “this is the empire of India, and it is the custom of the Hindoos that the widowed wife should burn herself alive on the funeral pile of her husband. We have not cast her by force into the fire; she has burnt herself of her own free will.”—“Truly,” resumed Hatim, “it is a most dreadful custom to burn the living with the dead!” and having thus spoken, he betook himself to the road, for he looked on the Hindoos as little better than the cannibals from whom he had lately parted.

All night Hatim continued his journey, and ere noon the following day he came to a large village. Fatigued, and exhausted with hunger and thirst, he entered the house of one of the villagers to procure rest and refreshment. He asked a drink of water from the man of the house, who immediately brought him a pitcher full of churned milk, and another of sweet milk. The man of the house having placed the milk before Hatim, hospitably addressed him, saying, “Stranger, here are two sorts of drink, both cool and refreshing; take either you choose and allay your thirst, for your lips are parched with heat and fatigue.” Hatim took first the churned milk; and having drained it to the bottom, he was about to drink the sweet milk, when his host observed to him, “Stranger, you lack food as much as drink; the rice is ready boiled for my morning meal, let me bring you a part of it, which you may eat along with the milk.”

Hatim most courteously thanked his benevolent entertainer, and inwardly admired the unassuming kindness and hospitality which he experienced in the Hindoo cottage. Meanwhile his host returned with the boiled rice, and laid it before Hatim, who ate heartily of it, and afterwards betook himself to repose. So exhausted was he by his late toils, that he awaked not till next morning, when his Indian friend addressed him, saying, “Noble stranger, the morning meal is ready, and I wait for your company ere I break my fast. You are, however, too much exhausted yet to resume your journey; I hope, therefore, you will rest here for two or three days longer, till your strength is completely restored.”

Hatim arose, and after partaking of his host’s simple fare, he said to him, “Generous Hindoo, the blessing of God will assuredly reward your benevolent actions, and your kindness to the stranger.”—“Brave Arab,” said the Hindoo, “as yet I have done you very small service, and I shall not consider it in the light of hospitality unless you pass three days and nights under my roof.”—“If,” replied Hatim, “such is your pleasure, I willingly accept your invitation.”

The Hindoo then entertained Hatim with accounts of his country, and at the next meal presented to him a variety of the most delicious food. Hatim was highly charmed with the manners of his host, his disinterested kindness, and the plain but healthy fare which was presented to him, so that in his rapture he exclaimed, “Surely Hindoostan is the paradise of the world!” After various conversation, Hatim remarked to his host what he considered as a stain upon the Hindoo character, otherwise so very amiable. “Excuse me, my kind host,” said he, “if I say that one custom peculiar to your country is horrible; I mean the immolation of the living widow with the dead husband. I have been accustomed to see the dead consigned to the dust from which they came, and the sacrificing of the living is revolting to my ideas of humanity.”—“Noble Arab,” said the Hindoo, “such is the opinion of strangers; but when you consider the affection that exists between the wife and husband, a tie by far the strongest in nature, you can easily conceive that when the one dies the other should find life insupportable: nay, it would be wonderful indeed if a tie so strong should admit of separation. Imagine not that we force the widow to burn herself on the pile. She follows her husband, of her own free will, with a joyful heart, as the only consolation left her upon earth. Of this, stranger, you may be fully satisfied, if you abide with us some days.”

It happened on that morning that the chief of the village, who had been for some time dangerously sick, died, leaving behind him four wives. One of these had two sons, another three daughters, and the other two no children. Towards evening preparations were made for the funeral, and the dead body borne out.[1] The four widows followed, dressed in their most costly raiments, adorned with all their jewels, with chaplets of fragrant flowers encircling their necks, and bunches of the sweetest fruits suspended around them. In their hands they held the sacred leaf of the betel-tree, which they from time to time chewed.

The relatives of the widows crowded round them, and supplicated them with tears not to cast away their lives; but they were inconsolable, and deaf to all entreaty. All this Hatim witnessed; and, resolved to be convinced by experience, he approached the widows, and said to them, “Fairest of women, what madness is this! Can it be possible that you sacrifice your lives, and abandon your children, in compliance with a custom so void of reason, so revolting to humanity?”

One of the ladies, with an angelic smile, replied, “Stranger Arab, I forgive you, as you know not the custom of our country, otherwise your rudeness is unpardonable, in daring thus to address us who are dead to the world. We follow our husband to heaven. In our lives we were happy together, and why should death part us? Where would be the humanity of making us linger in this world, when the Supreme decree hath called him hence? May God forbid that the deceit of Satan (on whom be curses) should so far mislead us as to forget our only beloved lord, and attach ourselves to another. Without him, our life would henceforth be an intolerable burden. Why then should we not accompany our best beloved? Why not burn on the same pile, that our ashes may mingle with his, while our souls wing their flight to the regions of the blessed?”

Thus spoke the widow of the chief, regardless of Hatim’s earnest entreaties. The pile was now ready, and the four victims, with frenzied enthusiasm, pulled off their ornaments, and distributed them among their relations on all sides. They then ascended the pile, and placed themselves around the dead body of their husband. Two of them clasped each an arm in her bosom, and the other two his feet. Thus situated, they for the last time looked round, and gave a parting smile to their weeping relatives; after which, a vast quantity of dried wood was heaped over them, and the fire was applied all around.

Hatim, scarcely believing what he saw, waited the result in anxious silence, for he expected to see them every moment rush from the flames. In this, however, he was disappointed; not a shriek was heard from the pile, nor the least appearance of any attempt to escape. At length the whole pile was reduced into a heap of ashes, over which Hatim shed tears as he contemplated the fate of the victims, while his generous heart admired their affection, misplaced as it was.

At length the crowd dispersed to their homes; and as Hatim was quitting the scene with his Hindoo entertainer, the latter observed to him, “Noble Arab, I hope you are now convinced that our women are not compelled to sacrifice themselves. It is purely an action of their own free will, and constitutes one of the noblest displays of conjugal affection.”—“You speak truly, generous Hindoo,” replied Hatim, “yet, in my opinion, the best proof of constancy in the wife to the deceased, would be, to live singly after his death; and by rejecting the addresses of other lovers, convince the world of her sincerity. This would be an ordeal, perhaps, more trying than even the flames of the funeral pile.”

In a few days Hatim, being completely recovered from his late fatigue, said to his host, “My dear friend, I must now part with you, for I am on a journey to explore the mountain of Nida.”—“Let me prevail upon you to go no farther,” said the Hindoo, “for the route is long and dangerous, and it is not in man to reach your destined stage.”—“My trust is in God,” replied Hatim, “who can conduct me thither, and bring me back in safety.” Having thus spoken, Hatim resumed his journey, and night and day he advanced from city to city, and from town to town, till he reached the northern frontiers of India. After crossing an extensive desert, he saw a large city at a distance before him, and thanked his Creator who had guided him once more to human habitations.

Within a short distance of the city gates, Hatim beheld a large concourse of people; and as he approached nearer, he could hear the sound of many voices, as if they were engaged in debate. On his arrival among them, he asked one of them, “Tell me, my friend, what is the cause of this uproar which I hear?”—“The daughter of our chief is dead,” replied the man, “and they are insisting that her husband shall consent to be buried alive with her, a measure which he does not seem to relish: this, stranger, is the cause of the tumult which you now witness.”—“Worthy sir,” resumed Hatim, “is it your custom too, to bury the living with the dead? I see this unfortunate man is anything but compliant; surely you will not cast him alive into the tomb. Have you not in your hearts the fear of God, in whose hands are life and death?”

The chief himself having heard Hatim’s expostulation, said, “Hear me, stranger, before you condemn us. This young man, who was my daughter’s husband, once came into our city a traveller like yourself. He took up his residence among us, and in the course of time fell desperately in love with my daughter. The flame was mutual, so that I had no objections to their union, provided he should conform with our custom, which is, that if the wife dies first, the husband shall be buried alive with her. To this he agreed, and now he will not perform his promise.”

Hatim, on hearing the merits of the case, addressed the young man, and said, “Shame upon you, why do you not perform your promise? Life is at best but short and uncertain; and for this you are willing to stain your reputation!” The young man with tears in his eyes, said, “Generous stranger, have you too ranked yourself among my enemies? Let me ask you if such a custom would be tolerated in your own country?”

“That,” said Hatim, “is not the question at present, but whether you ought to fulfil your agreement.”—“It is madness,” replied the young man; “and while I live I will not submit to it.” When Hatim saw that, on the one hand, the people would not inter the dead body; and, on the other, the husband would not consent to be buried alive, he took the latter aside, and whispered to him, “Do you consent to be buried, and at a proper opportunity, I pledge you my faith that I will release you.”—“But how am I to live in the tomb,” said the man, “till you aid in my resurrection?”—“Leave that to me,” said Hatim, “I will provide for you.”

Hatim then addressed the people aloud, and said, “The young man consents to be buried alive; but the tomb must be made like a cell as it is in his own country, with an aperture left to let in air and the light of day. If, therefore, you form the tomb like a cell, with a small window, the young man is willing to comply with your custom.”—“So much indulgence,” replied the chief, “it is not in my power to grant; but I am ready to refer the case to the magistrate, and abide by his decision.” The parties concerned, along with Hatim, went forthwith to the judge of the village, who after a great deal of deliberation, decided that the young man should have a tomb made for him after the fashion of his own country; “for it would not become us,” said his Worship, “to deal rigorously with a foreigner, although the law is in our favor.”

The people immediately set to work; and having finished the cell, they there incarcerated the surviving husband with the dead wife, and planted a guard over him to prevent his escape. As he was about to be shut up, Hatim gave him every assurance that he would release him at midnight, and therefore he might without fear comply with the custom of the place. The people having shut the tomb, which they secured with a large stone, strewed various flowers over and around it, so that the grave was covered with them. They then, except the sentinel, returned to the city, whither they conducted Hatim. They entertained him in the most hospitable manner, and provided him with an elegant mansion for his residence. Hatim having appeased his hunger and thirst, and enjoyed some hours of repose, began to watch for an opportunity of rescuing his friend from the tomb.

When midnight had arrived, and all the people were asleep, Hatim stole out quietly, and made his way to the burial-ground. But there he had to cope with a difficulty on which he had not calculated. It was one of the customs of that city, that when a person was buried, all the male relations of the deceased should fast, and watch and pray on the tomb for three days and nights, without ever going near their wives and families; Hatim, therefore, was forced to keep aloof during the whole of that period. On the fourth night, however, when the guards had retired to their houses, Hatim lost no time in visiting the tomb; meanwhile the unhappy inmate had full time to feel the horrors of his situation. Often did he weep and exclaim, “Fool that I was, to believe the promise of a false stranger! By his treachery, he prevailed upon me to shut myself up to perish in this dungeon, and now he has gone and left me to my fate! Alas, how dearly must I pay for my folly!”

Thus did the despairing young man fret and lament till the fourth evening, when hunger had so weakened him that he lay as senseless as the dead around him. When Hatim reached the cell, he applied his mouth to the aperture, and in a soft voice said, “My dear friend, I am at last come to release you; if you are still alive, answer me.” But, ere then the young man was so exhausted with hunger and despair, that the voice of aid reached not his ear. Hatim’s generous heart was grieved, for he thought the man must have died. He hesitated whether he should clear away the earth and remove the stone. “It is in vain,” said he to himself, “the inmate is now no more; and heaven knows, I would willingly give my own life to save his.”

Again, Hatim thought it best not to desist while the least hope remained: he therefore repeated his former words, in a voice more loud and distinct: but still no answer returned from the mansion of the dead. He gave way to grief and despair, for he now became convinced that his friend was dead, otherwise he would have heard the voice and returned an answer. A third time, however, in a still louder tone, Hatim exclaimed, “O my friend, if your life still remains, and is dear to you, answer me: otherwise, here shall you rest till the day of judgment. I have exerted all my power to save you, but God’s will be done.”

The young man was at length awakened from his trance. Exhausted as he was, he recognized the voice of Hatim; he therefore with great effort drew near the window of his cell, and said, “Stranger, are you the man who engaged to relieve me, and are you come at last to fulfil your promise?” When Hatim heard this his joy was excessive; he devoutly thanked the Ruler of events, and said to the young man, “I am indeed the very person you allude to; rest still a little, till I make way for your escape.”

Hatim then cleared away the earth and masses of stone which composed the tomb; and having effected a passage sufficiently large, he took the hand of the almost lifeless young man, and brought him out into the open air. In a very short time the young man’s strength and spirits were restored; which when Hatim observed, he said to him, “My good friend, you must lose no time in effecting your escape; fly, then, wherever you think proper.”—“My noble benefactor,” replied he, “my journey is long, and I have nothing wherewith to support myself.” Hatim immediately gave him a handful of gold pieces from his scrip, and urged his instant flight. The young man having thanked his benefactor, betook himself to the road, and escaped safe under the shades of night, while Hatim rebuilt the tomb as it was previously, and returned to his residence. He entered unobserved by any one; and having shut the doors, laid himself down to rest in that happy state of mind which the virtuous alone can enjoy. He awaked not till the next morning was considerably advanced, and all the people astir and ready for their morning meal. Hatim then arose; and after partaking of their food, thanked them for their hospitality, and took leave of them, saying, “I must now leave you, my friends, for I am bound for the mountain of Nida; my journey admits of no delay, as it is now a long period since I left Shahabad.”—“Noble stranger,” said the people, “your adventure is daring; but if you must go, the mountain of Nida is nearly a month’s journey from this place. You will first reach a city of the same name close to the mountain, and the natives will give you every requisite information for your future proceedings.”

Hatim resumed his journey; and at parting the people told him, that after he should have marched some nine or ten days, the road separated into two branches, of which he was to take that towards the right, which would lead him to the city of Nida. Hatim advanced without any interruption till the tenth day, when he came to the two roads; by a strange forgetfulness, he took the left-hand path instead of the right. Thither he marched; but at times he had some misgivings in his own mind that he had taken the wrong road. After he had toiled for four days in this direction, he found himself in the midst of a jungle abounding with wild beasts and birds of prey. Hatim stood still for some time at the foot of a tree, expecting every moment to be torn to pieces.

As he stood listening, he heard all at once a tremendous roaring of monsters at no great distance from him. As a last resource, he climbed up to the top of a tree, and almost instantly he saw wild elephants, lions, tigers, and other wild beasts rush by him in full flight. Close at their heels followed an animal of ordinary size, but of most terrible aspect, such as Hatim had never seen or heard of before. His eyes were like two balls of fire, and his tail was on the crown of his head. The very sight of him was enough to terrify the bravest of men.

Hatim trembled from the centre of his heart. “Alas, Hatim,” said he to himself, “thy life is surely at an end, for how canst thou escape?” But again, Hatim thought better of his condition; he put his trust in God, who never forsakes his servants; and knowing that in His hands only are life and death, he drew his scimitar from the scabbard, and with a steady hand and firm heart awaited the result. Meanwhile the monstrous animal with eyes of fire came close to the tree where Hatim had taken refuge, and being of quick scent, he soon discovered what was among the branches. He made a spring at the tree with such force that he broke it through the middle, when both it and Hatim fell with a crash upon the ground. Another leap brought him close to Hatim, who must have been within his claws had not the branches of the tree protected him. Hatim soon recovered his presence of mind; and seizing his scimitar, he plunged it into the side of the monster, which laid him prostrate upon the ground. As the wound, however, was not mortal, the enraged beast jumped to his feet and made a plunge at the devoted Hatim, who dexterously eluded his grasp, and with his sword gave him another thrust in the body, so that he fell to rise no more. But though the dragon lay mortally wounded, his power of mischief had not yet ceased. He raised a howling noise that made the earth tremble, and lashed the trees around him with his tail. From his mouth and nostrils issued streams of fire, which set the surrounding forest in a blaze. Hatim in the meantime had climbed up the nearest tree as soon as he saw his enemy fallen, and there waited till he saw that no spark of life remained in the monster. At last the tree which he occupied took fire; he was forced, therefore, to leap down with all speed, and such was the violence of his fall, that he lay stunned for some time. When he recovered, the first thing he did was to break the four fangs of the dead monster, which in sharpness resembled so many daggers. These, with the tail and two ears, he carried off with him, in order to keep them as a trophy; and he then resumed his journey.

Hatim at length gained the open plain, and was delighted at seeing a town strongly fortified with lofty walls. On a nearer approach, he discovered towering above the rest a royal mansion, whose glittering turrets reared their pinnacles to the clouds; but no appearance of any living creature did he see. He entered the gates, within which he found every sign of the city being lately inhabited. He saw numerous warehouses, and bazars full of every commodity, but the most deathly silence prevailed throughout.

Hatim looked around on this scene of lifelessness, and wondered in his own mind what could have caused such desolation. He approached the royal residence, which formed the citadel of the town, and in which the king and his family had shut themselves up. On seeing Hatim at a distance, the king said to those around him, “Praised be the Lord, a human being has at length entered our city.” The king then ordered a domestic to call out to the stranger, and invite him to the palace gate. The man accordingly shouted, and Hatim hastened his pace till he stood at the portal. The king opened a window, and said to Hatim, “Welcome, noble stranger, may peace be upon you.” Hatim courteously returned the royal salutation, whereupon his Majesty asked him, “Who are you, brave sir, and whence came you?”—“I am an Arab,” replied Hatim, “and I come from Shahabad; and, moreover, I am going to the mountain of Nida.”—“Truly, brave Arab,” said the king, “you have taken the wrong road to Nida; you ought to have held by the right-hand road, and you have chosen the left. But what is decreed must happen; perhaps the hour of your death is at hand, fate has therefore led you hither.”

Hatim devoutly replied, “If such be the will of God, I am content; for what power is there in mortal man to help himself? Meanwhile, royal sir, for such you seem to be, have the goodness to tell me who you are, and what is the cause of your being thus shut up in your citadel?”—“I am,” replied the other, “king of this country; but of late, my city was visited by a scourge in the shape of a fiery dragon, which forced all my subjects to fly for their lives. They took with them their wives and children, and abandoned the city, while I, with my family and friends, having placed our reliance upon God, sought refuge here, it being too late for us to make our escape, and we have not the power to cope with the monster.”

Hatim requested the king to give him a more minute description of the dragon that had created such dismay in his dominions; to which his Majesty replied, “A terrible creature, which we call the Siyah-dil[2], came down from the mountain Kaf, and made his haunt within our boundaries. Every day he used to come into the city and devour multitudes of the inhabitants, till no one is left living. The citadel he has not as yet been able to enter, for it is surrounded by a deep and wide ditch. Once a day, however, the monster makes the attempt of springing from the further side to the top of the wall; but fortunately it is more than he can accomplish; he always falls short of the top, and rolls headlong into the water.”

When Hatim heard the king’s account, he said, “Sire, let your mind be at peace; for, by the aid of heaven, I have slain your enemy, which I am convinced is the same that attacked me in the forest.” Hatim then detailed the whole circumstance, as already mentioned; whereupon, the king immediately admitted him into the citadel, and, treating him with the highest respect and offering him food and drink becoming a prince, he said, “Brave stranger, I doubt not your honor; but, in order to satisfy my friends and subjects, you will forgive me if I request of you some proof of what you have stated.” Hatim immediately produced the teeth and ears of the Siyah-dil; on seeing which, the king was so delighted that he prostrated himself at his feet and loaded him with encomiums.

His Majesty thereafter despatched those who were near him in all directions with letters certifying the death of the Siyah-dil, and inviting his subjects to return to their homes. In the course of a few days the city was restored to its former life and bustle; and Hatim, taking leave of the king, requested to have a guide to conduct him to the mountain of Nida. The king tried to induce Hatim to stay with him, and said, “Bravest of men, why will you leave me? This city and these realms are yours. I am now old, and have an only daughter; accept her for your wife, and you shall reign in my stead.”—“Generous sire,” returned Hatim, “at present my vow forbids me to accept aught earthly that may benefit myself, till I have discharged a sacred duty which I owe to a friend.”

The king, with tears in his eyes, admired Hatim’s noble and generous conduct, and immediately ordered one of his subjects to conduct him safe to the road that led to the mountain of Nida. Hatim with his guide retraced their way back to the spot where the road separated, which they reached in a few days. The guide then pointed out to him the right-hand path, and said, “Brave prince of Yemen, follow this road and it will take you to the city of Nida.” Ten days after, Hatim came to a large and populous city. The moment he entered within the walls the people conducted him before the governor. His Highness received Hatim with due courtesy; and having requested him to be seated, said, “Tell me, sir, of what country are you, and how came you hither? It is certain that no stranger has visited this city since the time of Alexander the Great, who traversed the whole of the inhabitable globe. May I ask, then, what has been the cause of your visit?”

Hatim gave a full account of Husn Banu and the prince Munir, also what he had himself done up to that moment. When the ruler of the city heard this, he said to Hatim, “Noble stranger, rest yourself here for some days and you will learn enough of the mountain of Nida; for were I now to describe to you its mysteries, you could not comprehend them.” Hatim accordingly accepted the governor’s invitation, and had a house appointed for him to live in, and food, drink, and every requisite plentifully supplied. The principal men of the city visited him and were delighted with his society.

One day, while they were in conversation, Hatim asked one of them which was the mountain of Nida. The man pointed it out to him, and said, “That peak, whose summit penetrates the clouds, is the mountain of Nida.” Meanwhile a loud voice issued from the mountain, and at that moment one of the men in the company all of a sudden became silent and thoughtful. Soon after he rose up; and, regardless of the numerous entreaties of his friends, bent his course towards the mountain. His companions ran after him, but in vain; he spoke not a word, and with a pale countenance quickened his pace to the mountain. Hatim followed among the rest, and said to them, “My good friends, what has befallen the young man, that he thus runs like a maniac he knows not whither?”—“His hour is arrived,” they replied, “for the voice from the mountain exclaimed, ‘Come quickly.’”—“And whose voice is it,” said Hatim, “that he should thus blindly obey it?”—“That,” replied they, “is more than we know, you must ask himself.”

Hatim ran till he overtook the devoted young man, whom he seized by the hand, and thus addressed, “My dear friend, it is unkind to refuse the information I ask. Tell me, I beseech you, who is he that has called you to yonder mountain, and I will myself accompany you thither.” Hatim’s entreaties were of no avail; the young man gave no answer, but drew away his hand from him, and ran swift as the wind towards the mountain. Hatim followed close after; but, when he was about half way, the mountain before him vanished from his sight. He stood in the utmost amazement, and cast his eyes in every direction, but no trace of Nida nor of the young man could he discover; he only saw a large stone possessing all the hues of the rainbow.

In the utmost despair he returned towards the city, till he met the people who had come out with him. These were assembled on the road; and when he reached them, they were performing some ceremony known only to themselves. They thrice repeated a form of prayer with their faces turned towards the spot where the mountain had been; and this done, they returned to the city, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. On their return, the young man’s friends and relatives, far from giving way to sorrow, prepared a feast, and entertained all the poor of the city; and after some time spent in mirth and joy, resumed their usual occupations.

Hatim, however, could not conceal his grief for the unfortunate young man who had disappeared so mysteriously. The people laughed at his sorrow, and said to him, “Stranger, it is not our custom to give way to weeping and lamentation; we forgive you, however, this time; but if you are to reside among us, you must conform with our manners, otherwise we shall expel you.” Hatim accordingly restrained his grief, and resided among them for the space of six months, in which period ten or twelve people disappeared in a similar manner. In vain did he ask the inhabitants for an explanation of the mystery; either they could not, or would not, satisfy his curiosity.

Among the inhabitants of the city there was an intelligent man, named Jam, with whom Hatim formed the most sincere friendship and affection, so that they became inseparable companions. One day, as they were conversing together, the awful voice sounded loud from the summit of the mountain. When Hatim’s friend heard the sound, he became silent, and it was easy to see that his hour was come. He quickly rose up, and began to make for the mountain. When his relations received intelligence of this, they all prepared to follow him. Hatim with a heavy heart accompanied his beloved friend, for he knew that he was called thence no more to return. He resolved, however, not to part with him till death, and made up his mind to enter with him into the mysterious mountain, whatever might be the consequence. Hatim then girded up his loins; and placing his trust in God, he laid hold of his friend Jam by the hand, and marched along with him towards the foot of Nida. “My dearest friend,” said Hatim, “why this silence? Speak to me; for I am resolved to share your fate.” But Jam uttered not a word in reply; cold and senseless, he hurried onwards, endeavoring from time to time to free himself from the friendly grasp. At last he exerted his utmost strength, and so sudden was the movement, that ere Hatim was aware of his intention, he found himself stretched upon the ground, while his companion ran off at full speed. Hatim lost no time in pursuing, and having again overtaken Jam, he seized him by the skirt, and clung to him with all his might.

Thus they proceeded up the side of the mountain, Jam endeavoring in vain to cast off his companion. At length they arrived at a spot where the rock rent asunder, and both of them entered the chasm, which immediately closed behind them. Meanwhile, those who had followed them from a distance, seeing that Hatim and Jam had both entered the mountain, returned to their houses, regretting the loss of the noble stranger. They went to the ruler of the city, and informed him how the Arabian prince had accompanied Jam, and disappeared with him in the mountain. The governor was much grieved, and threatened the people with severe punishment for not detaining the generous stranger who had thus rashly incurred his own destruction.

To return to Hatim. After they had entered the fissure of the mountain, an extensive plain appeared before them, the verdure and beauty of which exceeded description. As far as the eye could reach, the same endless green presented itself. As Hatim and his friend advanced, they reached a black spot on the plain, the shape of a grave, on which no plant whatever grew, and there Jam fell lengthways while his soul left his body. Hatim felt the earth shake beneath and straightway the body of his companion sunk into the ground; and the spot that had been previously bare and barren became verdant as the rest of the plain.

Hatim, having witnessed this wonderful scene, raised his voice in prayer to the all-wise Creator, whose decrees are beyond our comprehension. He now knew the mysteries of Nida, that the people of the city thus closed their earthly career. He looked around him for a path to lead him to the city, but no trace could he find either of the mountain or the way by which he came there; the same verdant plain extended in every direction as far as he could see. For seven days and nights he wandered, without a morsel of food or a drop of water, nor did the sight of any living creature greet his eye. Hatim was about to sink upon the ground, and resign his soul to God; for seeing no way of escape, he concluded that his death was decreed in those silent realms.

While occupied with such forebodings, Hatim thought he heard a hollow roar, like the rushing waves in the distant ocean. He advanced in that direction, and at last arrived at the shore of a turbulent and foaming sea, whose farther extremity his eye could not discern. Hatim stood thoughtful upon the beach, and said to himself, “At last my earthly pilgrimage is at an end, for here is a sea, beyond which I cannot pass. Still He who ruleth all things can even here assist me.”

As Hatim was straining his sight across the watery expanse, he saw at a distance a small vessel struggling with the billows, and making for the shore; and great was his joy when he considered that his deliverance was at hand. When the vessel reached the sand at no great distance from where he stood, he quickly ran and stepped into it; but what was his surprise to find no living creature within. On a small table he saw two loaves and a fried fish; and as his hunger was excessive, he praised the Lord, and was about to eat. But, on further reflection, he considered that the victuals must belong to the pilot of the vessel, who could not be far off, perhaps had gone on shore unobserved; and “in such a case,” said Hatim, “it would be highly improper in me to eat what has been prepared for another: I will wait till his return, and share his hospitality, if such be his pleasure.”

While Hatim was thus waiting, a large dolphin raised his head above the water, and thus spoke: “O Hatim, these two loaves and the fried fish have been dressed for thee only; eat, then, and appease thy hunger.” When the dolphin had done speaking, he dived into his native element; and Hatim, without further delay, ate the loaves and the fish, after which he allayed his thirst from a jar of fresh water that stood in a corner of the vessel. Shortly after a favorable breeze sprung up, and Hatim having trimmed the sails, launched into the wide ocean. His greatest wish was to return to the city of Nida, and inform the inhabitants of the fate of his friend Jam; but then he knew not which way to steer, so he placed his reliance upon Providence, and allowed his bark to sail smoothly before the wind.

For the following seven days Hatim’s vessel continued to dart through the ocean; nor during that space did he taste any food, nor see aught but the heavens above and the roaring billows around. On the eighth day he beheld rising above the waters a mountain whose cliffs seemed to pierce the moon. In three days more he landed at the foot of the mountain; and in his ascent, was astonished on beholding streams of blood gushing from its rocks. He stood still to view this strange phenomenon, and said in his heart, “How wonderful the works of the Creator! Each rock and stone of this mountain discharges drops of blood; but who can explain to me the cause of it?”

In these reflections Hatim at length reached the summit, and there saw before him an extensive plain of blood-red hue, while the color of all the animals that frequented it was green. So intent was Hatim in the contemplation of those wonderful regions, that he completely forgot the pangs of hunger, and advanced several farasangs into the plain. At last he came to the brink of a sea, whose waters were blood, and whose billows, chasing each other to land, moistened the stars with their purple spray. On the red beach were numbers of birds, the brilliancy of whose azure plumage was dazzling to the sight. Here Hatim wandered along the shores of the blood-red sea for the space of a month, and having caught some of the birds, he struck fire from a flint, and dressed food for himself. At length he came to a narrow point of land, beyond which nothing was visible but the purple waves and across whose expanse none of the birds attempted it flight. Hatim began to despair of ever returning from these crimson shores. “Thou hast wandered here for a whole month,” said he to himself, “but all of no avail; and wert thou to advance for years along this blood-stained coast, thou wouldst see no termination. Here art thou destined to linger out thy life-time, for to return hence is beyond thy power. And, alas! thy friend Munir is left to perish in expectation of thee.”

But again, Hatim devoutly considered, “If God, the Great and Glorious, hath willed that I should return and that my friend should by my means attain the object of his wish, assuredly He will rescue me from this misery.” While occupied with these pious reflections, he saw at a great distance a black speck, which occasionally showed itself on the top of the billows. In a short time it approached nearer, and great was his delight when the object proved to be a boat. It touched the shore at his feet; and Hatim having offered up his gratitude to the Supreme, leaped into the vessel and put out to sea.

In this boat he found, as previously, two barley loaves and a fried fish, which he ate without scruple, while the vessel flew swift as an arrow through the waves of the crimson sea. On the seventh day after, he saw land; and in going ashore he found every object dyed with the same crimson hue as on the other side; while every rock and stone poured forth torrents of blood. Hatim trusted in God, and fearlessly began to penetrate into this new region. At a great distance he observed a brilliant spot in the horizon, to which he directed his course. The nearer he approached the more dazzling grew the light, till at length he could perceive that it was a lofty mountain of the purest silver. Forward he went, fatigued as he was; but by the time he thought himself within a few leagues of the silver mountain, he found that there intervened a wide ocean, whose waves were of the same brilliant hue. He stood upon the beach admiring the beauty of the prospect; and as his thirst was excessive, he dipped his right hand into the silver liquid, in order to taste of its contents, and instantly his hand was turned into silver.

Hatim with horror beheld his right hand converted into a mass of silver, and mourning over his hapless fate, he sat down upon the shore. Suddenly he saw a boat making towards him from the direction of the mountain. He raised his hands towards heaven, and gave praise to that Almighty Providence which had so frequently aided him in his distress. When the boat reached the shore, Hatim joyfully stepped into it, and found it supplied with a variety of the most delicious viands, also pure water wherewith to quench his thirst. Having refreshed his exhausted frame, he trimmed his sails, and steered his course towards the silver mountain. The vessel swiftly ploughed the waves without any aid from a pilot, while Hatim laid himself down and enjoyed a refreshing sleep.

When Hatim had first seen the silver mountain, he imagined that it was at no great distance from him; but this was owing to its extreme brilliancy and immense height, for it required several days and nights of swift sailing to reach its nearer shore. At length Hatim came to land, and began to explore the silver regions; but ever and anon he looked with sorrow at his right hand, now a useless burden to him. Onwards he journeyed for four days more, when he reached the foot of what he conceived to be the silver mountain. He then commenced his ascent; but he no sooner reached the summit of one mountain than another still higher presented itself to his view. For three days he thus toiled upwards: his food consisted of wild fowls, which he caught in the rocks, and sometimes fish of the hue of silver from the mountain streams, together with such fruit as those airy regions produced. On the fourth day, he observed that the rocks and stones which lined his path emitted brilliant rays of light, and were tinged with the colors of the rainbow. He stood admiring this beautiful sight, devoutly acknowledging the transcendent power and wisdom of Him who made the universe. On a more minute examination of these beautiful stones, he found that they were real jewels, such as diamonds, emeralds, and rubies.

Hatim could not resist the temptation of carrying off some of the jewels; he, therefore, filled his skirt with such of them as were most valuable, and thus laden, resumed his ascent. The higher he climbed the larger and more brilliant became the jewels scattered around him, so that he was constantly occupied in throwing away what he had previously gathered, and supplying their place with others more precious. At last he satisfied himself by filling his skirt with the largest jewels he had ever seen, and resolved to carry these back with him to his own country. “The greatest princes on earth,” said he, “possess not such jewels, nor could they buy them with all the wealth of their kingdoms; nay, they cannot have any idea even of their existence.”

For several days longer he persevered in his ascent from peak to peak, without the least appearance of reaching the highest point. Meanwhile, the weight of his load of jewels was so heavy that he was compelled to throw away more than the half, keeping only such as he judged most rare. One day, as he was passing from one mountain to another, he came to a spring of cool water, beside which he sat down to quench his thirst. The moment he dipped his hands in this precious fountain, his right hand became whole and sound as the rest of his body. Hatim thus providentially cured, bowed his head to the dust in gratitude to the Bestower of Benefits; and, having allayed his thirst, he laid himself down to sleep on the cool margin of the fountain.

When he awoke from his sleep, he beheld standing by the spring two beings of formidable appearance. Their color was black as the raven, their heads resembled that of man, and their hands and feet were like the paws of the lion. In an instant, Hatim started to his feet: he seized his bow and let fly his well-aimed arrow at one of these strange monsters. The shot took no effect, for the creature seized the arrow in its paw, and in a tone of reproach cried out, “O Hatim, does it become you to slay the innocent, from fear of your own life? Know that we also are servants of the Almighty, and have come hither with no intention of doing you harm.”

On hearing this, Hatim dropped the bow and arrow from his hands, and sat down in deep regret, for his own heart convinced him of having acted wrong. Some time thus passed while he waited their nearer approach, and much he wondered in his own mind what would be the result of an interview with such wonderful beings. At length they stood before him, and said, “To you, Hatim, of all mankind, it is least becoming to set your heart on jewels and worldly wealth. Your name is already famous in the world for everything noble and generous; and your history shall serve as an example to future ages. But if the love of gold and jewels take possession of your heart, farewell your present success and future fame!”—“May I ask,” said Hatim, “whose gold and jewels have I ever coveted?”—“O Hatim,” returned the demons, “see you those jewels which you have carried away from the lower mountain; can you say that they are your own?”—“If they be not mine,” replied Hatim, “they belong to no one else. The gifts of the Creator are without number, and his dominions boundless; if I have taken a few jewels from the mountain, I cannot have thereby wronged you or any living creature.”—“Those jewels,” said the demons, “belong to the race that inhabit these realms.”—“And is not man,” rejoined Hatim, “the noblest of created beings? Is he not sole master of the terrestrial globe and all that it contains? Tell me, then, the name of that race that can have a better right to these precious stones than I have. Besides, I have only carried with me a small number to present to my friends, which can no more be missed from the treasures of these mountains than a drop of water from the ocean.”—“It is not for the value of these baubles,” resumed the demons, “that we so strongly urge you to throw them away, it is solely on your own account; for if it is your wish to return in safety to your own country, you must covet nothing that you see here.” Hatim at length, with great reluctance, threw down the precious stones, saying, “What you advise me, my friends, may be right; yet it is hard that I should have toiled so many days in carrying these treasures, which I must now resign; truly your advice is to me very unacceptable.”

When the demons perceived Hatim’s reluctance, they selected from the stones the largest ruby, the most brilliant diamond, and the finest emerald, and presented the same to him, saying, “Accept, brave Hatim, these three precious stones; they will suffice as a specimen to be shown to your friends: to take more, or to use them in any other manner, would be unworthy of yourself.” Hatim joyfully received the three jewels, and said, “I am a stranger here; you will, therefore, do me the greatest favor by pointing out to me the way to my own country.”

“Generous Hatim,” replied the demons, “you are aware of the immense distance you have travelled since you left Shahabad. God has preserved you in all your perils and hardships; yet, since the creation of the world, only three of your race have been enabled to visit these regions and return with life, whereas, great numbers have perished in the attempt. Your days shall yet be many, for such is the will of God. Proceed, then, till you reach the ocean of gold, which you shall cross, as you have hitherto done. Next, you will come to the sea of fire; and should you be able to find your way to its farther side, you will soon arrive in Yemen. But, above all, beware lest you covet aught of what you see.”

Having thus spoken, the demons vanished from Hatim’s sight, while he sat down to repose for the night by the cool fountain. When the dawn appeared, he rose up, and, after ablutions, proceeded on his journey, trusting to Providence alone as his guide. After three days of fasting and toil, he arrived, hungry and thirsty, at the banks of a river, the channel of which was formed of the largest and most valuable pearls he had ever seen. His heart longed to possess the pearls, notwithstanding the injunctions he had received to the contrary; but, on reflection, he controlled his fatal desire, and satisfied himself by quenching his thirst in the running stream, which was extremely pure and refreshing.

Hatim thence set out, and shortly after, saw before him clouds rising from the horizon with uncommon brilliancy, resembling a canopy of burnished gold. For a whole month he continued to advance in this direction; and at length he saw the summit of the golden mountain, rising with dazzling grandeur among the clouds. Having reached the base of the mountain, he found it covered with trees and shrubs, of which the foliage and fruit were all of golden hue. For three days he ascended towards the summit; and on the fourth day he entered a garden whose beauty equalled that of paradise. The trees were loaded with golden apples, every leaf and every plant in the garden was tinged with the hue of gold.

After Hatim had enjoyed the charms of this beautiful scene, and appeased his thirst from fountains of pure water which issued from rocks of gold studded with the most precious gems, he sat down to repose for the night. Meanwhile a troop of fairies surrounded him; and when Hatim saw them, his heart rejoiced, for the fairest of the band greatly resembled Zarinposh. He said to them, “Heavenly creatures, tell me who are you?”—“We are,” replied one of them, “the devoted subjects of the fairy queen, who now walks in this garden, and who will very soon pass this way.”

Shortly after the queen approached, and the moment Hatim beheld her lovely countenance, his senses entirely forsook him, and he fell lifeless upon the ground. The queen quickly ordered her attendants to bring rose-water, which she sprinkled over his face and body. After this, Hatim recovered, when the queen raised him from the ground and seated him on a golden chair close by a throne, which she herself occupied. She then addressed him in the sweetest tones, and said, “Tell me, noble stranger, who are you, and how came you hither?” Hatim related his eventful history; and in return, asked the fairy, “To whom belong these celestial abodes?”—“These regions,” she replied, “are called Achīn, which signifies pleasant, and the sovereignty thereof belongs to the king, Shahyal, to whom I owe allegiance. It is part of my duty to keep watch in this paradise for a fixed period. My time expires in the course of a week; after which, I return to the royal presence. This mountain, too, is part of Kaf, which forms the boundaries of the earth.”

The fairies hospitably entertained Hatim for four days. On the fifth day, the queen advised him to depart, on which he took leave, and once more resumed his journey. In two days after, he found himself in a boundless plain beyond the confines of the golden mountain. Forward he marched, night and day; and on the evening of the sixteenth day, he reached the yellow shore of the golden sea. The sand on which he trod was of the finest gold; the waves, too, which rose like mountains towards the skies, were deeply tinged with the same color. While Hatim sat musing on the beach, he saw, as formerly, a vessel steering towards land; and at length it came close to where he stood. Hatim stepped into the boat, where he found a basket filled with delicious food; and as he was very hungry, he ate and refreshed his exhausted frame. At the same time his thirst was excessive, and he felt a strong inclination for dipping his hand into the sea in order to drink. He recollected, however, the disaster that had previously befallen him, when his hand was changed into silver; and lest it might this time be converted into gold, he took a goblet, and having filled the same, drank, and steered his bark from land.

For forty days and nights he sailed onwards without seeing any object but the golden waves and the illumined clouds. At length he reached the shore, and began to traverse the newly discovered regions. Seven days after, he came to a desert of burning sand, hot as the ashes of a newly quenched furnace. He made an effort to advance, but soon found himself unable to stand. He sunk exhausted to the earth; his lips were parched of their moisture, and the whole of his body scorched beyond endurance. In vain did he apply the muhra of the bear’s daughter; it produced no effect.

In this condition, Hatim, unable either to remain or return, tossing from side to side on the fiery sand, was about to bid adieu to life, when the two mysterious beings that had presented him with the precious stones, stood beside him, and having administered to him a draught of cool and refreshing water, recalled his departing soul. When Hatim recovered his senses, and saw the two demons before him, he said, “To you my debt of gratitude is indeed heavy, for verily your aid has been opportune.”—“Brave Hatim,” they rejoined, “it is part of our duty to direct the stranger on his way. You must, therefore, advance through this desert till you reach the fiery ocean, which you must cross, as you have lately crossed the other seas; and should it please the Great Creator, you will, thereafter, soon arrive in your own country. Meanwhile, accept this talisman, and when you feel the heat oppressive, take the talisman in your mouth, and the fire shall have no power over you. When arrived on the farther side, cast the talisman into the fiery ocean, and proceed on your journey.”

Hatim took the talisman in his mouth, and advanced for three days amidst the burning sand, when at last the flames so increased that it appeared as if the heavens and the earth were mingled in one blaze. He stood still for some minutes on the brink of the fiery ocean. Here his courage failed, for he saw not the possibility of surmounting this last barrier. At length a boat was seen to emerge from the flaming billows, but even then Hatim hesitated whether to enter; for, said he, “How can I, with my eyes open, entrust myself to a frail bark on a sea of liquid fire?” Again he reflected, “After all, this is my only way of escape; and if I wish to succeed in my enterprise, I must brave this danger; if it is the will of the Creator to spare my life, he is able to protect me in the midst of the flames.”

Hatim entered the vessel, which began forthwith to cleave its way through the flaming waves. Dreadful was his situation; and though the fire hurt him not, still he durst not open his eyes from fear of the glare of light that surrounded him. Three weeks after the commencement of this perilous voyage, he felt his bark tossed round with amazing rapidity in the midst of a whirlpool. Hatim now felt assured that his last hour was arrived. He still sat with his eyes closed, recommending his soul to the protection of heaven, when the vessel sunk from beneath him, and he found himself floating swiftly along the current. Hatim in this helpless state resigned himself to fate. Over his eyes were drawn the curtains of despair, and his head touched the knee of anguish. For three days and nights he was thus tossed along the billows of the fiery ocean, till at length the waves cast him almost lifeless on solid ground.

Hatim ventured to open his eyes, thinking that he was still on the sea-shore, but no trace could he see of the flaming billows, nor of the dazzling light that lately enveloped him. He stood up, and threw away the talisman given him by the two genii, after which he began to explore the surrounding country. He soon discovered, to his great joy, that he was in his native land of Yemen; and seeing a peasant standing beside a field of corn, he went up to him and said, “Tell me, my good man, what is the name of this country, and who is its sovereign?” The peasant, instead of replying, stood motionless with his eyes fixed on the countenance of him who bore such resemblance to his beloved prince. “Are you deaf, my friend?” resumed Hatim, “or are you unwilling to answer a plain question?”—“Forgive me, noble sir,” said the peasant, “but you look so like the brave and generous Hatim, that the joy of once more beholding my prince has deprived my tongue of utterance.”

Hatim, without discovering himself, continued his conversation with the peasant, and said, “Who is this Hatim you speak of, and what do you know of him?”—“He is,” replied the peasant, “my true and beloved prince; for you must know, stranger, that this is the kingdom of Yemen, of which Taï is sovereign. The heir-apparent to the throne is the noble Hatim, who seven years ago left his paternal domains to travel through strange countries. Once only in that long period hath he gladdened our hearts with tidings of his welfare, by letters brought to his father by the youthful queen Zarinposh.”

Having thus spoken the peasant was about to depart, when Hatim addressed him, saying, “Stay, my good subject, I am indeed Hatim, the son of Taï; and if you wish to do me a favor, go to my father’s hall and assure himself and my mother of my welfare, and my unimpaired affection towards them. But first of all, tell me where I may quench my thirst, for I am wearied with travelling.” The peasant quickly ran to his cottage, and having brought the best food and drink he could procure, presented them to his prince. After Hatim had refreshed himself, he stood for some minutes intently looking towards his father’s capital, which was situated close by. At length he turned, and addressing the peasant, who stood at a respectful distance awaiting his further commands, said, “Good friend, accept my thanks for your hospitality. Remember my request, and say to my father that my time is pressing, for I am journeying to Shahabad. I trust I shall soon be able to return to my native country, no more to wander.”

Shortly after, Hatim arrived safely in the city of Shahabad. When the people of Husn Banu saw him, they conveyed him with the highest respect to the gate of their fair sovereign. Husn Banu, informed of Hatim’s arrival, hastily threw on her veil, and gave orders for his admission into the palace. After mutual salutations, Husn Banu asked of Hatim the account of his long journey, the events of which he minutely detailed from beginning to end. After he had finished his narrative, the fair queen said to him, “Brave prince of Yemen, I am satisfied that what you have stated is strictly true; but have you nothing to show in confirmation?” Hatim produced the ruby, the diamond, and the emerald which the two genii had permitted him to bring from Nida, and presented the same to Husn Banu, saying, “These are ample proofs of what I have related; and I may add, that when my right hand was transformed into a mass of silver, and when, on washing in the fountain, it was again restored to its original form, my nails still retained the hue of silver, as you now behold. On drinking from the golden sea, four of my teeth were transformed into pure gold, and, as you see, still continue so.”

Husn Banu expressed her admiration of Hatim’s bravery and constancy, and with her own hands gave him food and drink. Hatim tasted slightly of her bounty, and said that he longed to see his friend the Assyrian prince. He therefore hastened to the Mihmanseraï[3], where he found Munir. He gave his friend every consolation in his power, saying, “Be of good cheer, for now there are only two questions to solve, and God will grant success.” Three days thus passed, after which Hatim presented himself before Husn Banu, and said, “Tell me, fair lady, what is your sixth question?”—“I have a pearl here,” replied Husn Banu, “as large as a duck’s egg: bring another equal to it.” Hatim requested to see the pearl; and having got an exact model of it made of silver, he deposited the same in his turban. Taking leave of Husn Banu and the Assyrian prince Munir, he then set out on his sixth journey.

BOOK VI.

The narrators of past events have informed us that Hatim, after leaving Shahabad on his sixth adventure, came to a certain desert, across which he bent his course. After he had walked two farasangs, he came to a solitary tree, at the foot of which was a rude seat formed of stone. As the evening was approaching, he there sat down; and having passed some time in reflection with his head stooping towards his knee, the mantle of night began to overspread the world. In the meantime a brace of fowls, dazzling in all the splendor of the seven colors, came and perched upon the tree above him. Those birds were of the species called Natika (having the power of speech), which frequent the shores of the sea of Kahrmān; and by special providence they rested on that tree for the night.

The female bird said to the male, “I like not the air of these regions in which we have halted, and I wish we were safe in our own country.”—“I agree with you,” said the male; “and though it was my intention to stay here for some days, yet, as you dislike the place, we will depart early in the morning.”—“Well,” said the female, “I only hope you will abide by your resolution, and that to-morrow’s sun will shine upon us far hence.”—“Why all this anxiety?” rejoined the male; “you know well that I speak nothing but the truth.”

A short time after, the female natika again broke silence, saying, “Tell me, my dear mate, who is this wanderer from the haunts of men who is seated on the stones below, with his head sunk in the lap of reflection, and his brow stamped with the seal of sorrow?”—“He is the best of men,” replied the male, “and his anxiety is occasioned because he knows not whither to direct his course in quest of a pearl of the size of a Murghab’s[1] egg. Now Murghab is also the name of the place where these pearls are to be found. But to proceed: this man is Hatim Taï, the noble and generous prince of Yemen. He is now wandering in search of this pearl, not for his own sake, but in order to serve another person. He has left his princely home, and his fond parents, in order to promote the happiness of his fellow-creatures.”

“But,” rejoined the female, “inexperienced as Hatim is, how can he ever find the pearl in question?”—“I shall direct him,” replied the male, “if it is your wish, though it may not be altogether for our welfare.”—“Nothing is more noble,” said the female, “than to do good to others, and assuredly we shall ourselves reap the benefit thereof in the end.”—“Listen to me then, my dear consort,” said the male natika, “and you shall hear how this rare pearl of the Murghab is to be procured. You are aware that our species have lived since the creation of the world on the shores of the sea of Kahrman, and only once in thirty years our females laid an egg of this kind. But for some time past our race has been deprived of the virtue of producing these pearls, and those that have been formerly produced are sunk to an unfathomable depth in the sea. Of these pearls two only are above ground, and these originally fell into the hands of Chamchan, the king of Kahrman. He again gave one of them as a rare present to Shamshân, a neighboring prince of great wealth and splendor in his time. Shamshân died without issue; and his splendid capital was soon after reduced to a lifeless desert, while his wealth passed into the hands of strangers, and the pearl, after many changes of owner, is now in the possession of Husn Banu, the daughter of Burzakh the merchant.

“As to the other pearl, it happened that Chamchan, the king of Kahrman, died in early life, and another took possession of his crown. Without any warning the widowed queen was forced to fly for her life, and the pearl of the Murghab was the only part of her property which she had time to secure. With this rare treasure she left her palace, and fled through the desert till she reached the sea of Kahrman. There she sat down exhausted, not knowing whither to proceed, till a merchant with his ship approached in order to take in fresh water. When the queen saw the vessel she cried aloud for assistance, and the merchant himself came to her in a boat, and conveyed her on board.

“The merchant, whose name was Simbar, was a benevolent man, who had seen much of the world. He treated the queen with the utmost kindness; and on hearing the cause of her distress, he adopted her as his daughter, and conveyed her to his own country. A beautiful son was born to the happy couple during the next year. As Simbar had no children of his own, he appointed this child sole heir of his wealth. Meanwhile, the child grew up endowed with princely virtues, and by the time he came to manhood his generous patron Simbar died.

“Shortly after, the young prince was appointed chief of that province; and as he was a youth of superior discernment, and had abundance of wealth at command, he soon raised himself to be king of that country and the adjacent islands. After his death, his descendants reigned there for many a generation, till the auspicious era of Sulaiman of Iram (on whom be peace), who reduced into their possession the whole extent of the Koh-i-Kāf and the coast of the sea of Kulzum. Since the reign of the prophet Sulaiman, the race has reigned in those regions, but then their intercourse ceased with the inhabitants of the earth. They no longer form a part of the human race, nor dareth a son of Adam visit their dominions.

“In the course of time the pearl came into the hands of a fairy, in the possession of whose son it now is. His name is Mahyār Sulaimani, and his father was of the race of Adam, so that he partakes of the twofold nature of man and fairy. He reigns in the island of Barzakh[2], and is on friendly terms with the demons, whose territories are contiguous to his kingdom; for he knows the powerful spell of Sulaiman, and no demon dares injure him.

“Mahyar Sulaimani has an only daughter, now seven years old, and whosoever shall be able to tell the history of the pearl, is to have the daughter in marriage, with the pearl for her dowry. He is a man of profound knowledge, having in his possession the books of his progenitor the great Sulaiman. In these books are many rare secrets; among others, the method of procuring the pearl of the Murghab, should the one which he has be lost. Since the reign of Sulaiman (on whom be peace), our race has not produced a single pearl, nor is it lawful for us to tell what I have now stated to you, a secret known to Mahyar alone. But to this generous youth, who has been for years exerting himself in the cause of his fellow-creatures, it is proper that I should disclose this much of the subject that now occupies his thought.”

On hearing this the female said, “How is Hatim to find his way to the sea of Kahrman? For the coast is infested by the demons who inhabit those regions, and the perils which await him are insuperable.”—“His safety,” replied the male, “depends on heaven alone; for if his days are not yet at an end, he may encounter every danger, and return in safety. Meanwhile he must proceed to the south, and it will be necessary that he take with him several of our feathers. When he arrives at the confines of the mountain Kaf, he will see before him a wide desert, and ere he enter that wilderness, he must use the following precaution: let him burn the green feathers and strew the ashes in water, with which he must wash his whole body. This will have so strong a scent that no wild beast of the desert can come near him. Moreover, his appearance will be altogether that of a demon; his color will be black as night, and his hands and feet will assume an unnatural size, and he will be able to speak the language of the demons.

“After he shall have passed through the wilderness, and arrived at the island of Barzakh, he must burn the white feathers, and having mingled the ashes with water as before, wash his body with the same. He will then resume his original shape. When he enters the dominions of Mahyar Sulaimani, the fairies of those realms will seize him, and take him before their monarch. Then let Hatim boldly state the object of his journey; when the king, as a matter of course, will ask of him to give an account of the pearl, whereupon he shall have both the pearl and the daughter. Then let Hatim tell all that I have stated, and Mahyar being of most honorable conduct and of strict integrity, will assuredly give him his daughter and the pearl.”

Having thus spoken, the male natika flapped his wings, when a shower of feathers fell around Hatim, who immediately arose and carefully collected them. When the female bird saw this, she said to her partner, “He gathers the feathers as if he had understood what you said; how do you know that Hatim is destined for such important services, and how have you recollected all the circumstances of the pearls?”—“The whole history of the two pearls,” replied the male, “has been preserved by our race from one generation to another; but you females attend not to such grave subjects, nor are you good for anything but talking. The time will come, too, when our race shall be extinct, with the exception of a solitary bird, which is destined to perish only with the world. But these days are still remote; and at present let us enjoy the bounty of Providence, of which we have a greater share than any animal except man. We, like him, are endowed with the faculty of speech, and the ordinary term of our life is longer than his; even we two are destined to live together in this world for the next hundred years.”

By this time the portals of the dawn flew open in the east, and the two birds took their flight from the tree. Hatim at the same time arose, and began his journey towards the south. One night, as he lay down to repose underneath a tree, he heard the cry of some animal in pain, exclaiming, “Alas! is there no creature at hand who will, for the sake of God, assist me?” Hatim, ever ready to aid the distressed, arose and ran towards the spot whence the sound issued. There he saw a female fox stretched on the ground, beating her head upon the stones. “Tell me,” said Hatim, “who has caused thy sorrow?”—“A huntsman,” replied the fox, “has caught in his snares both my husband and children, and has carried them off to be murdered. This heartrending separation is the cause of my grief.”—“Knowest thou where the huntsman resides?” asked Hatim. “His house,” she replied, “is distant from hence two farasangs.”—“Show me the way thither,” said Hatim, “and I will endeavor to save thy kindred.”

The fox hesitated, and said, “O man, how can I trust thee? Art thou not one of the bloodthirsty race of him that has torn my heart asunder, and will it not be thy delight to lead me also into the snare? Truly my fate would be like that of the monkey, whose mishap has become a proverb.”—“Tell me,” said Hatim, “what happened to the monkey?” The fox began as follows: “Once upon a time a monkey with his mate took up their abode in a sequestered spot in the desert of Dāmaghan, where they soon had a family. A huntsman happened to pass that way, and succeeded in catching all the monkeys except the mother, who effected her escape. Meanwhile the huntsman conveyed the male with the young ones to a nobleman’s house, where he disposed of them for a high price, while the poor mother wandered through the desert in the agonies of despair. Regardless of her life, she at last ventured among the haunts of men, and going to the chief of the province, stated the cause of her woe and implored redress, saying, ‘Noble sir, as you hope for mercy from God, have pity on my sorrows. A huntsman belonging to this place has cruelly deprived me of my husband and family.’

“Now it happened that the chief was the very man to whom the huntsman had sold the monkeys, though he was not then aware of it. He, therefore, said to the monkey, ‘Go, conduct my attendants to that huntsman’s house, and bring the parties concerned to my presence.’ The female monkey accordingly led the way to the house of the huntsman, who instantly obeyed the order of the chief. When they returned, the chief said, ‘Is it true, huntsman, that you have deprived this poor monkey of her partner and young ones; and if so, what have you done with them?’

“‘It is most true, noble sir,’ replied he, ‘and the very day I caught them I sold them all to your Highness. If, however, you are disposed to pity her distress, and restore to her those that are so dear to her, I am most willing to return to your Highness the price that was paid for them.’ On hearing this the chief said, in reply to the huntsman, ‘What you propose seems very fair; yet I do not conceive it to be the best plan. Now that I have considered the matter seriously, I think the best thing we can do is to detain the female in the same cage with her kindred, for I would not give away for any money the monkeys you sold to me.’

“But the miseries of the monkey did not cease here. After being for some time confined in the same cage with her young, the prince of Damaghan having heard that the chief had some young monkeys, expressed his wish to have them in his palace. Thus the hapless monkey was doomed to suffer another separation from her young, while her own liberty was lost at the same time. The male had previously died, and now being left solitary, she rejected food and drink, and in a few days escaped from sorrow by death.”

When the fox had finished the story of the monkey, she said to Hatim, “In like manner, it is natural for me to suppose that you will involve me in greater misery.”—“Fear not,” said Hatim; “all men are not so treacherous as those you have mentioned.” At length the fox led the way in the dark, while Hatim followed to the huntsman’s house, where they arrived about the third watch[3] of the night. He there reposed beneath a tree till the approach of day, while the fox concealed herself in the adjacent forest. When the sun arose, Hatim went to the huntsman’s door, knocked, and requested to be admitted. The huntsman opened the door, and was surprised on seeing a handsome stranger of noble and ingenuous countenance standing before him. “Tell me,” said he, “sir, who and whence are you? I see you are a stranger; pray what is your business with me?”—“Worthy sir,” replied Hatim, “I am by birth an Arab; and the cause of my troubling you so early is this: I am afflicted with a pain through all my joints; and the physician has advised me to wash my body all over with the warm blood of a fox, whereby my recovery will be complete. Now I have been informed that you have some live foxes, which you lately caught when hunting. I pray you, then, let me have them all, and I will pay you any price you may name for them.”—“Truly, sir,” replied the huntsman, “I am glad that I can supply you with foxes; for here have I not fewer than seven of them, the old one and six cubs, all alive; take them, then, at your own price, and I wish you joy of your purchase.”

The huntsman produced the foxes, the male tied by the four feet, and the cubs enclosed in a basket; and Hatim having paid him a price beyond his expectation, returned to the desert. There he opened the basket, and let out the cubs; but when he loosened the strings that tied the old fox, he found that the wretched animal had not the power of moving. In fact, it had been strongly fettered by the huntsman, and confined all the time without food or drink, so that the spark of life had almost become extinct. Hatim was about to leave the fox to his fate, saying, “Thy life is at an end, God’s will be done,” when the female approached him, and said, “Generous Hatim, there is yet one remedy that will restore him to life.”—“Name it,” replied Hatim, “and, if possible, I will procure it.”—“A cupful of human blood,” rejoined the fox, “warm and newly drawn, will be the means of his complete recovery.” On hearing this, Hatim instantly opened a vein in his left arm; and having drawn a cupful of his own blood, he administered the same to the perishing fox, whereby a perfect cure ensued. He then tied up his wound, while the animals prostrated themselves at his feet in gratitude for his beneficence.

Hatim then resumed his southward journey, and a few days after arrived in a barren desert of burning sand. As he wandered in quest of water beneath the scorching rays of a vertical sun, his eye was refreshed with the sight of a verdant spot which indicated the presence of a fountain. Thither he dragged his weary steps, till his eye could see the gushing spring, when a huge serpent began to uncoil itself from the brink. Hatim stood aghast, for he expected to be swallowed alive; but the serpent, far from assailing him, said in a soft voice, “Brave prince of Yemen, advance and drink; why do you hesitate?” Hatim was the more astonished on hearing the words of the serpent, and for some time stood still. Again the serpent said to him, “Fear nothing; the water of this fountain is free for your use; drink, and follow me.”

Hatim at length ventured to quench his thirst in the fountain, and resigning himself to his fate, followed the path of the serpent across the desert. In a short time they came to a beautiful garden, in the centre of which was a shady grove lined with splendid couches and cushions. The serpent conducted Hatim to this cool and pleasant retreat, and said to him, “Noble Arab, sit down on this couch, and secure from danger rest awhile from your fatigue.” Having thus spoken, the serpent plunged into a pond of water that ornamented the garden.

Hatim, fatigued with his late journey, sat down on one of the couches, marvelling much at what had happened. After he had remained here a short time, admiring the beauty of the scene, a troop of fairies, beautiful as angels, each bearing a golden tray filled with emeralds, issued from the lake, made their obeisance, and stood waiting his commands. “Who are you,” said Hatim, “and what is your business with me?”—“We are,” replied they, “the faithful subjects of him who conducted you hither. He sends you these jewels as a present, and requests that you will do him the favor to accept them.”—“Convey my thanks to him who sent these jewels,” replied Hatim, “and say that I desire them not; and even if I did, I am alone, and cannot carry them away with me.”

Hatim had scarcely done speaking, when another troop of fairies, bearing trays filled with still more costly jewels, ascended from the water. “Who are you,” said Hatim, “and what do you bring in these trays?”—“They are jewels,” replied they, “the most precious that can be procured, which our sovereign hath sent for your acceptance.”—“I am beholden to your sovereign,” said Hatim, “but gold and jewels are at present of no use to me.” Meanwhile another troop emerged from the lake, carrying trays of gold and silver filled with all sorts of food and fruits. As Hatim had fasted long, the sight of food made his heart rejoice; but he would not eat of it till he asked for the hospitable sovereign of the place, that he might have the pleasure of breaking his fast with him, and thanking him in person. Ere he had done speaking, a young man of beautiful countenance, attended by a troop of fairies, ascended from the crystal lake. When Hatim saw his noble form, he wondered within himself who this could be, and by what mystery they issued from the water. The fairy king approached Hatim; and after mutual salutation, they both sat down on the same couch. His Majesty then addressed Hatim, saying, “Tell me, noble Hatim, do you recognize me, for this is not our first meeting?”—“Truly,” replied Hatim, “I cannot now recollect of having ever seen you before.”—“I am,” resumed the king, “the serpent that conducted you hither from the fountain in the desert.”—“How,” said Hatim, “have you so suddenly passed from a shape so horrible to a form so beautiful?”—“The tale is long,” replied the king, “and therefore I shall waive the telling of it till we have broken our fast.”

After they had taken food together, they washed their hands from ewers of gold, and the attendants presented them with fragrant perfumes which they applied to their hands. Hatim then addressing his royal host, said, “I long to hear, sir, by what strange mystery I have lately seen you in the form of a serpent and behold you now in human shape.” The fairy king, smiling, replied, “Noble Hatim, know that I am of the fairy race; and that my name was Shams Shah previous to my transformation into a serpent. In the reign of Sulaiman the prophet (on whom be peace), I was one day seated in my garden in the fairy regions, when thoughts the most diabolical entered my mind. I viewed with impatience the submission of our race to the powerful Sulaiman; I therefore resolved to collect my troops from all parts of my dominions, and next day descend upon earth and slay the whole race of Adam. This done, it was my intention to occupy for myself and subjects the terrestrial globe, of which I should become sole monarch.

“Having formed this resolution, I despatched winged couriers to the utmost bounds of my realms, summoning the choicest of my warriors to prepare for a dangerous expedition, and to be at the palace gate completely armed before the dawn of the morrow. When evening came, I went to sleep as usual; and next morning, when I awoke, I went out to view my troops. They had repaired to the place of rendezvous, armed as I had ordered; but, to my astonishment, I beheld that their wings had been taken from them. Instantly I myself was transformed into a serpent, and from that period I was doomed to creep the earth, the terror of every creature that beheld me. Days and nights I spent in prayer and supplication, but all of no avail; the voice of some invisible being used to sound in my ears, ‘Such shall ever be the fate of him who violates his promise.’ This awful voice made me tremble in the consciousness of my guilt; and I made vows and prayers to the Most High that I should never more let such thoughts enter my mind. The voice at length answered, ‘Thy doom is fixed; wait with patience in the desert till the arrival there of Hatim, prince of Yemen. When he comes, remember that thou administer to his wants, and serve him with thy whole heart and soul; then shalt thou be restored to thy original form, and whatsoever prayers he may offer up in thy behalf before the throne of the Supreme Creator, they shall be answered.’

“Since the time of Sulaiman I have been doomed to pass my life under the loathsome form of a serpent; and it is now thirty years since I removed to this desert, watching night and day for your arrival. To-day, the moment I saw you, I knew you to be the far-famed prince of Yemen; and now may I request your prayers in my behalf?”—“Most willingly,” replied Hatim, “but first tell me, what was the nature of the promise which you have violated?”—“In the reign of Sulaiman,” replied the fairy king, “my grandfather entered into a solemn compact with that mighty monarch, that none of our race should ever injure any of the race of Adam, or on any pretext invade the dominions of the latter, on pain of having our forms changed to that of the brute species. From that day till my reign, when, as I have said, the evil spirit entered my heart, this agreement was strictly observed on our part. Now, brave Hatim, I am ready to do what penance you as the representative of your race may ordain; and I humbly supplicate your prayers in my behalf.”

On hearing this, Hatim devoutly rose up, and having performed his ablutions and changed his garments, bowed down his head upon the prayer-carpet, with his face turned to the sacred Kibla[4], and prayed for the divine mercy upon him whom heaven had deemed proper to chastise.

When Hatim had offered up his prayers, the king and his subjects were restored to their original form. After the fairies had expressed their gratitude to Hatim, the king said to him, “Providence had long foreordained that you should visit our distressed race; but may I ask what has been the object of your toilsome journey hither, and to what place you are bound?”—“The object of my journey,” replied he, “is to visit the island of Barzakh, where I expect to procure a pearl similar to this model”; whereupon he showed the fairy king the model he had in silver of Husn Banu’s pearl. Shams Shah viewed it for some time, and said to Hatim, “The prince of Barzakh has indeed a pearl exactly of this size, but it is to be got from him only on one condition: he who can tell the history of the pearl, shall have both the pearl and the daughter. But how will you be able to reach that island? The distance is great, and the route dangerous.”—“I am prepared for the worst,” replied Hatim; “therefore let fate take its course.”—“You cannot escape with life,” said Shams Shah, “for the road is infested with men-devouring demons.”—“God,” rejoined Hatim, “will be my protector.”—“True,” said the fairy king, “but to ensure your safety, some of the boldest of my subjects shall go with you as guides.” The king having thus spoken, addressed those around him, and said, “Good friends, you are aware that to this generous man we owe our release from the bondage in which we have lately been. Now he has an arduous journey to perform; his business is important, and the road full of danger. I call upon the bravest of you, as you love your king, to accompany this noble prince and be his protectors on the way.” The fairies volunteered their services, saying, “Sire, tell us the nature of the difficulties which this prince has to encounter, and we will endeavor with our whole heart and soul to enable him to overcome them.”

The fairy king minutely detailed the object of Hatim’s journey; on the hearing of which, the fairies were staggered in their resolution, and said, “The journey to the island of Barzakh is truly dangerous; but if your Majesty in person deign to accompany us thither, so that we may have an experienced leader in case of a war with the demons, we are ready to go this moment; otherwise, we pray to be excused.”—“Well,” said the king, “it is but right that I should do all that is in my power to serve the prince of Yemen. Therefore, I will follow you at a distance, so that he may come by no harm on the road.” The king made instant preparation, girded on his armor, and ordered four of his people to place Hatim on a golden litter and carry him on their shoulders. The order was speedily executed, and four fairies swift of wing seizing each a foot of the couch, soared aloft with their burden into the aerial regions. Three days and nights they traversed the air, when they found it necessary to alight in order to procure for their charge food and drink. The place where they halted was within the territory of the demons, a circumstance of which they were not aware. Two of the fairies went in quest of food while the other two remained to guard Hatim. It happened that a troop of demons on a hunting excursion passed the spot, and on seeing the golden couch on which one of Adam’s race reclined, with two fairies standing by, they without ceremony took possession of the prize. The demons were so numerous, and their arrival so sudden, that the two fairies stood panic-struck, without offering the least resistance. Their first effort was to fly away; but despair supplied them with courage, and the next moment they made a desperate assault upon their enemies, of whom they slew numbers. At last, however, the demons won the battle, and the two fairies along with Hatim were made prisoners, and conveyed to the dwelling of the demon chief. There the fairies were first questioned, “Who is this man, and whence have you brought him?”—“This is Hatim, prince of Yemen,” they replied, “to whom we and our gracious monarch Shams Shah owe our restoration to life. Oh, chief of the demons, spare our lives for the sake of this brave man; and woe be to you should aught evil befall him.”

On hearing this, the demon said to them, “What is this I hear? Shams Shah has not been heard of for many centuries: how dare you say, then, that he is now alive?” The fairies detailed all the facts connected with their king; on the hearing of which the demon maintained a long silence, meditating what course to adopt. At last he formed his resolution, and said to those near him, “Take the man and the two fairies to the deepest of our dungeons; there secure them till to-morrow, when we shall devour them.” The sentence was speedily executed, and Hatim with his two companions were cast into a dark and loathsome pit.

Meanwhile the two fairies who had gone in search of food, on returning to the spot where they had left Hatim, were astonished at seeing the ground covered with blood, and strewed with the carcases of demons. They looked everywhere for their charge and their friends, but no trace of either could they find. They said the one to the other, “Of what race are these demons, and how came they to be slain here? But above all, what is become of Hatim and our companions? I fear they have been attacked and overpowered by the demons that infest these regions. Let us ascertain the fact and give intelligence of it to our king.” Having formed this resolution, the two fairies approached the spot, expecting to find the dead bodies of their companions. In the course of their search, they found one of the demons grievously wounded, but not dead. They gave him water to drink, and bound up his wounds, so that in a short time he recovered.

The fairies questioned him, saying, “Who are you, and to what tribe do you belong?” He replied, “I am of that race of demons whose chief is Mukarnas; a party of us were hunting to-day in this neighborhood, when we chanced to surprise two fairies and a man, with whom we had a battle in which I received these wounds. The demons conquered, and by this time they are feasting on the blood of their foes.” The fairies, on hearing this, bore off the demon to their own country and presented themselves breathless before Shams Shah. The king said to them, “How is this? Did I not send you to Barzakh in charge of the prince of Yemen? How dare you, then, show your faces here?”

The fairies trembling, replied, “Gracious sire, three days and nights we sped towards Barzakh; but at length hunger and thirst assailed both us and the prince. We then placed the litter in the shade of a tree, and two of us went in quest of food, while the other two remained to protect Hatim. When we returned, we found the spot covered with the carcases of demons, and from one of the wounded we learned the news of the capture of the prince and our two companions. Had we known the dangers of the place, we should not have halted there; but God had decreed otherwise. On questioning the wounded demon, he informed us that the country belonged to Mukarnas, to whose presence the prince of Yemen and the two fairies were conveyed.”

Shams Shah being highly grieved, ordered them to produce the wounded demon, whom he thus addressed, “How dares your chief Mukarnas lay violent hands on my subjects? Truly he has forgotten himself; but he shall feel my resentment.”—“Sire,” said the demon, “my chief had heard for certain that you had been dead for many centuries; and though both the two fairies and the man informed him of the contrary, the tale was so extravagant that he could not believe it.” Shams Shah turned to his officers, and said, “Prepare the whole of my army for an instant expedition.”

The order was at once obeyed, and thirty thousand of the choicest troops stood armed and ready at his gate. The king put himself at their head, and swift as the lightning they winged their way through the air. In three days they reached the territories of Mukarnas. There they halted, and the king despatched scouts to procure intelligence of the enemy’s quarters. “Be wary,” he said, “and quickly bring me word where the demon chief holds his court, and in what he is engaged.”

The scouts soon returned, and reported that Mukarnas, accompanied by his demons, was out hunting; and that they knew the very spot where he was. Shams Shah then addressed his troops, and made them swear by the seal of Sulaiman that they would fiercely assail the demons and that they would slay them without mercy. The fairies one and all took the solemn oath. So, receiving the signal from their king, they started, surprised the demons, slew the greater part of them, and made prisoners of Mukarnas and such of his subjects as survived. Shams Shah gave orders for their immediate execution; but he first sent for Mukarnas into his presence, and said to him, “Accursed fiend, hast thou forgotten me? Hast thou not been well informed that I was alive? Thou hast treated with violence and oppression both my own subjects and a man who is under my protection; dost thou not tremble at the thoughts of my revenge? Tell me this instant, what hast thou done with the prince of Yemen and his guides?”—“I, along with my friends, feasted on their carcases,” replied he, “the moment they were brought before me.”—“False demon,” rejoined the king; “did not your ancestors swear before the mighty Sulaiman, that neither they nor their posterity would ever injure one of the human race?”—“Well,” said the demon, “where is the powerful Sulaiman now, and when did I bow to him in servitude?”

Shams Shah said no more, but ordered them to pile together a quantity of dried wood, and when kindled to its height, hurl the demon into the flames. When the fiend saw that there was no escape, he said to the fairy king, “Will you give me my life, if I produce the man you mentioned?”—“If you bring me the man safe,” replied he, “there shall be no enmity between us.” The demon made the fairy king swear to this by the soul of Sulaiman, and then said, “Send some of your attendants to my dungeon, where they will find both the man and his companions still alive.” The fairies accordingly went and broke open the dungeon, released Hatim and his guides, and conveyed them before the king.

Shams Shah was overjoyed in once more meeting with Hatim. They sat down together and ate food; after which, the fairy king said to his attendants, “It would be a crime to spare the life of such a monster as this demon, therefore cast him instantly into the fire.”—“How,” said the demon, darest thou violate thy most sacred oath?”—“What hast thou to do with oaths?” returned Shams Shah. “Thy whole life has been a lie; and who can blame me, if for the welfare of my fellow-creatures, I disregard my promise to you?” In short, the fairy king destroyed the whole race of demons in that region, and appointed one of his own officers ruler of the conquered territory. He then addressed himself to Hatim, and said, “My dearest friend, what do you now intend to do?”—“I hold the same resolution,” replied Hatim, “as when I formerly left you.” The king hearing this, selected from among his troops four fairies of long experience, endowed with superior skill and bravery, and commanded them to convey Hatim to the end of his journey. These seized each a foot of the golden couch whereupon Hatim was seated, and soared aloft towards the sky. Night and day they continued their course; and when hunger or thirst assailed them, they took care to select a safe place where to halt. One day they were resting upon the summit of a mountain, where a fairy prince most beautiful of countenance had taken up his abode. This was the prince of the island of Tūmān, who had fallen desperately in love with the daughter of the king of Barzakh. He had sought for that solitary spot to give way to his sorrow and anguish. The voice of his lamentation reached the ear of Hatim, who said to his guides, “My dear friends, there is some one near us who feels the pangs of sorrow; let us see what is the cause of his grief.” He started from his couch, and following the direction of the sound came to the enamoured prince. He said to him, “Tell me, my friend, who are you; and why do you make the rocks echo the sound of your lamentation?

The fairy prince raised his eyes, and saw beside him a man of noble form and pleasant aspect. He said to him, “Tell me first, son of Adam, who are you, and what is your business here?”—“It has been the will of God the Supreme,” said Hatim, “that I should visit this spot.”—“But tell me,” said the fairy, “what is the object of your journey hither?”—“I have travelled thus far,” replied Hatim, “in quest of the pearl of the murghab, which I am informed is in the possession of the prince of Barzakh. He puts a question to every candidate for the pearl, which no one has yet answered.”—“You say right,” said the fairy prince, “and even we who are of the fairy race are unable to tell the history of the pearl; how then do you, a mere mortal, imagine that you will succeed?”—“For my own part,” replied Hatim, “my trust is in God; but tell me in the meantime what is the cause of your sorrow, and why have you chosen for your dwelling this solitary mountain?” The fairy prince replied, “Alas! I am enamoured of the beautiful daughter of Mahyar, the prince of the island of Barzakh. One day in my father’s court I heard my friends speak in the highest terms of the beauty and excellence of this peerless damsel, whereby I lost the reins of my heart. I straightway went to the palace of Mahyar, and informed him by message of my wish to marry his daughter. He admitted me to an audience; and having produced the pearl of the murghab, he asked me if I could tell the history of it. As I was quite unprepared for such a question, and utterly ignorant of the nature of the pearl, I could of course give no reply. I was then ordered to quit the court; and as I was coming out at the door, I happened to see the lady standing in the balcony of her window. The moment I beheld her my heart was pierced, and I became like one mad. In the agonies of despair I fled to this mountain, where I spend my nights and days in lamentation and sighs. I long for death to relieve me of my sorrow, since the idol of my heart can never be mine.”

When Hatim heard the prince’s history, he said to him, “Despair not, my friend, for I expect to succeed; and if I gain the prize, the daughter shall be yours and the pearl mine.”—“Your proposal is generous,” replied the fairy prince, “but excuse me if I say, that I doubt your success.”—“Listen,” said Hatim, “and I will tell you the nature of this pearl, which not only resembles, but is the egg of a murghab. The island of Barzakh was originally inhabited by the human species—but the tale is long, and it would be better that you once more approach the court of Mahyar along with me.” The fairy prince accordingly rose up; and having thanked Hatim for his good intentions, accompanied him to the litter. There they both sat; and Hatim said to his guides, “Will you be able to carry us two to the island of Barzakh?”—“Yea,” replied they, “we could carry four of you with the utmost ease.” Without further delay, the fairies lifted the chair and soared towards the clouds.

It happened that they had to pass over the territory of a demon prince, whose name was Muhaikal, who, having scented them from afar, said to his satellites, “I know that some of the fairy race are within my dominions; seize them instantly and bring them to my presence.” The demons immediately were on the wing; and after four days of close pursuit, they overtook the fairies with the golden litter on which were Hatim and his friend, and brought them all to the presence of their prince. “Tell me,” said he to the fairies, “who are you, and whence have you brought this man?”—“We are the subjects of Shams Shah,” replied the fairies. “Impossible,” rejoined the demon, “it is more than a thousand years since Shams Shah has been heard of, and the very place of his abode is overrun with serpents.”—“True,” replied the fairies, “we had been transformed into serpents; but by the prayers of this worthy man we have been restored to our original shape.”—“Well,” resumed the demon, “tell me where you intend to carry this man.”—“To the island of Barzakh,” they replied. “And who is the other companion?” asked the demon. The fairy prince himself replied, “I hope I am not unknown to Muhaikal, to whom my family is distantly related.”—“Truly, I am much surprised, young prince,” said the demon, “to find you associate with any of the race of Adam; but fear nothing from me, my business is with your companion.” The demon then seized Hatim, and lifted him from the couch; when the fairy prince interposed, and said, “Beware, Muhaikal: are you not bound by oath to Sulaiman himself, never to injure any of Adam’s race?” The demon, with a fiendish smile, said in return, “Where is Sulaiman now, that I should regard my oath to him? In truth, I mean to devour this son of Adam; therefore waste not your breath.” The fairy prince well knew the treacherous nature of the demon; he therefore resolved to meet him on his own ground, and said to him, “Mighty prince, it is beneath your dignity to stoop to the devouring of one man; leave him to me then, as the success of my present undertaking depends upon him, and I promise to send you ten men in his stead.”

To this proposal the demon readily agreed, and said, “Noble fairy, I am most willing to accommodate you, as we are in some degree related to each other. Let this man in the meantime be secured in my castle, while you go for the ten men you promise, and when you return with these, I will make him over to you.”—“Agreed,” said the fairy prince, “I ask only four days for my arrangement; but I will not suffer you to shut up this man in one of your dungeons.”—“Place him where you choose,” said the demon, “only let him be strictly guarded by my subjects.”

Near that spot there happened to be a pleasant garden; it was therefore agreed that Hatim should remain there under the guard of the demons, during the absence of the fairy prince. Meanwhile the prince, with the four fairies that had conducted Hatim thither, withdrew to a sequestered spot, and held a consultation as to further proceedings. “If,” said the prince, “we return to your king, and solicit his aid with that of his forces, the stipulated time will have expired long before we can return, and the demon will assuredly devour our friend. Let us, then, remain here in concealment, and watch a favorable moment when the demons are off their guard; then let us enter the garden, and having carried off the prince of Yemen, let us trust to the swiftness of our wings.”

The four fairies applauded the proposal; and at the hour of midnight, when the demons had fastened the door of the garden and betaken themselves to repose, the fairies took up the golden litter and flew softly over the wall. They looked warily around them, and found the demons all buried in sleep. Hatim, exhausted with sorrow and despair, had also sought refuge in slumber under the shade of a tree. They lifted him gently from the ground, laid him on the litter along with the fairy prince, and, swift as the wind, resumed their aerial voyage. For the remainder of the night they winged their way with the utmost speed, and at the dawn of day came to a place of safety where they halted for refreshment and repose.

To return to the demons. When daylight shone, and when they saw the gates firmly fixed, as on the preceding evening, they concluded that their prisoner was secure within, and thus they continued their watch for the appointed period of four days, while the fairies, on the other hand, were making the best use of their time. On the last day of the stipulated time, Muhaikal was anxiously waiting the return of the fairy prince; and when the hour of noon expired, he said to his satellites, “I see these fairies have not thought proper to keep their promise; they have gone and left the man to his fate. Let him be brought forth then immediately, that we may feast upon him.” The demons opened the strong gates, and on entering the garden, what was their disappointment on finding their charge carried off! They returned to their chief, and informed him of the fact. Muhaikal was highly enraged, and ordered the sentinels to be punished with stripes, and flung into a dungeon. In vain did they swear by Sulaiman, that they were not in the least privy to Hatim’s escape; the chief believed them not, and they were dragged to torture.

By the time the fairies had reached the boundaries of the desert of Kahrman, one of Muhaikal’s demons, who had left the court of his chief on the day when Hatim had been taken, happened to meet them. The demon at once recognized the fairies, and understood the case. He knew that his master had sharpened his teeth in order to feast on the man; he, therefore, endeavored to seize Hatim and carry him off by force; but the fairy prince quickly drew his sword, and severed the intruder’s right hand from his body. The demon, furious with pain and disappointment, said to the prince, “Well, you shall pay dearly for this; you have cut off my hand when doing my duty towards my chief. I will inform the whole of my race of your treachery and violence, and the fiercest revenge will be the consequence.”

Meanwhile the fairies addressed Hatim, saying, “Brave prince of Yemen, we are now arrived at the line of separation between the fairies and the demons, beyond which we dare not advance.”—“Farewell, then, good friends,” replied Hatim, “I have myself the means of succeeding in the remainder of my journey.” The fairies here left him, except the prince of Tuman, who had an equal share of interest in the adventure. As they were about to enter the great desert which limited the region of the demons, Hatim asked his companion if he thought it safe to advance. “Truly, prince of Yemen,” replied the other, “no creature except a demon can with safety approach these regions.”—“Cannot any of the fairy race visit them?” resumed Hatim. “The fairies,” replied the prince, “though not safe, have least to fear, as there is at present a truce between themselves and the demons, which was ratified after a bloody battle fought on these plains. The kings of both races took the field with the whole of their forces, and vast was the number of the slain, while victory inclined to neither side. At length peace was concluded, and the demons swore by Sulaiman of Iram never more to injure any of the fairy race; but they scruple not to violate their solemn oath to us, and to mankind they are inveterate foes.”—“Enough,” said Hatim; “suppose I had the power of transforming myself into the likeness of a demon, and thus pass in safety through their territory; would you venture to accompany me?”—“Not publicly,” replied the fairy, “but I could easily succeed; during the day I should soar among the clouds, and at night I should descend to your place of rest.”

Hatim immediately took a vessel full of water, and having burnt the colored feathers of the natika, he made the mixture as he had been directed. He then cast off his garment, and washed his whole body from head to foot, when, lo! his color was black, and his shape became that of a hideous demon. When the fairy prince saw this frightful transformation, he was greatly astonished, and said to Hatim, “Wonderful man, tell me to what bird belong these feathers, which possess such potent qualities?”—“I procured them,” replied Hatim, “from a talking bird called the natika, the eggs of which are pearls such as that in the possession of Mahyar of Barzakh.” Hatim then detailed the occurrence of the tree where he listened to the conversation of the birds; but the information respecting the history of the pearl in question he prudently withheld till they should arrive at the court of Mahyar.

The fairy prince had full reliance on Hatim’s skill and wisdom, and his heart rejoiced within him as the prospect of success brightened. The two friends commenced their journey; and when Hatim entered the land of the demons, he met with no interruption; for they all took him for one of their own race. After some days had thus passed, it happened that as Hatim and his fairy friend met to repose for the night, they were observed by one of the demon race. He went and informed his neighbors, that in a certain spot a demon had taken up his night’s rest, and that a fairy had descended from the sky at the same time, as if the meeting had been preconcerted. The demons very soon assembled round the two travellers; and said one to another, “These are strangers, and one of them is a fairy: we had better carry them before our king, that they may give an account of themselves.” To this proposal one of the demons would not assent; and said, “My dear friends, why should we on mere suspicion oppress these innocent strangers? One of them is of our own race, and with the fairies we have no enmity.”

The prince of Tuman happened to be awake, and was listening to this conference, which ended in favor of those who were for making the strangers prisoners. He awakened Hatim, who addressed the demons in their own language, saying, “Friends, we have travelled far, and being fatigued, we here sought repose. Why have you disturbed our slumbers, and what is your business with us?”—“We wish to know,” they replied, “who you are.”—“For me,” said Hatim, “I am a helpless stranger wandering I know not whither. Shams Shah, the king of the fairies, has exterminated the tribe of Mukarnas, and burnt their dwellings, which is the cause of my being here. This he has done for the sake of one of the race of Adam, who is now journeying to the island of Barzakh. Now if you wish to serve your prince effectually, go and search for the man on whose account such a havoc has been committed, and leave peaceful travellers like myself and my companion to go their own way.”—“If your tribe,” resumed the demons, “has thus suffered, how can you associate with a fairy? Tell us of what tribe is your friend.”—“He is prince of Tuman,” replied Hatim, “and one of your allies.”—“Enough,” returned the demons, “you may sleep secure, none of us shall disturb you, as we may find better occupation in capturing the man whom you mention.”

The demons departed; and Hatim, addressing the fairy prince, said, “Let us arise, and speed hence; the demon race is not to be trusted.” They accordingly set off, and Journeyed without intermission till the evening of the third day, when they arrived on the sea-shore. “This,” said the fairy prince, “is the sea of Kahrman, in which is situated the island of Barzakh.”—“How are we to cross?” said Hatim, “for so far as my eye can reach, I see not any vessel on that wide ocean.”—“I shall find means for crossing the sea,” replied the fairy, “for at a distance of nine farasangs, there is a province where winged horses are bred. These animals can fly to any distance across the ocean, nor can any storm interrupt their course. Do you, then, remain here during my absence, and I will go forthwith and procure two winged horses, by whose means success will crown our adventure.”

The prince of Tuman left Hatim on the sea-shore, and swiftly cleft the air with his pinions till he reached the country of the winged horses. As he was intimate with the prince of that province, he was speedily admitted to an interview, and stated the object of his visit, saying, “I require two of your swiftest steeds, in order to cross the sea to Barzakh: if you do me this favor, you will have a claim to my services for life.” On hearing his request, the prince gave him his choice of all his winged horses; and the prince of Tuman having selected the two he considered best, returned to his companion.

The friends immediately mounted; and when Hatim saw the horses spread their wings and soar aloft like eagles among the clouds, his astonishment was beyond description; and so swift was their flight, that he could scarcely keep his seat. In a few days half the distance was run down; but Hatim was so overcome with hunger, thirst, and drowsiness, that he found it impossible to proceed further. He mentioned his distress to the fairy prince, who handed him a small apple, saying, “Eat even a few grains of this rare fruit, and all your weariness will be dispelled.” Hatim tasted of the apple, and the effect was miraculous; he felt his strength and vigor restored, nor did he during the rest of the passage feel the least fatigued.

A few days afterwards the horses descended upon the further shore of the sea of Kahrman. Hatim rejoiced to find himself safe on land; and said to his companion, “My dear friend, surely we have passed the island of Barzakh, which, as I am informed, is in the midst of the sea.”—“Noble Arab,” replied the fairy, “this is part of the island where we have landed, but it will take ten days more to reach the capital; and now that I think of it, I shall by your leave go and assemble my own troops, that they may accompany us thither.”—“Think better of it,” said Hatim; “are we forsooth going to wage war with Mahyar Sulaimani?”—“No,” said the fairy prince, “but I know that we shall meet with many interruptions, and that soon, unless we use this precaution.”—“What time will be requisite for you,” asked Hatim, “to assemble your troops and return hither?”—“You may for certain expect me,” answered the fairy, “by the end of seven days.”

The fairy prince took leave of Hatim, who, when left thus solitary, began to explore the surrounding country. He soon came to a fragrant garden, the doors of which were all wide open. He entered; and his eyes were delighted with the sight of trees, which bore loads of fruit of every size and color, and of finer quality than he had ever met with. Thus Hatim enjoyed himself for the week, walking undisturbed in the wide garden. The horses, too, were so tame and so attached to him, that during the day they grazed on the sea-shore, and at night they returned to the door of the garden.

Meanwhile the fairy prince reached his paternal dominions. When his subjects saw him, they quickly conveyed the tidings to his father and mother, who came out to meet their beloved son. After mutual greeting, the father thus spoke: “My dear son, it is long since you left us at the head of your troops on an expedition to the island of Barzakh. How did it happen that you absconded from your army? Thought you not of the distress and sorrow which we must have endured by your absence? But I will not upbraid you, my beloved son; tell me at once, have you attained the object of your wish?”

The prince, with tears in his eyes, replied, “Forgive me, father, how could I expect success when I have acted so regardless of you? Since my departure, I have met with nothing but pain and disappointment, till lately when my destinies have proved favorable. I have found a sincere friend in the noblest of the human race. Hatim Taï, the prince of Arabia, is now journeying from Shahabad for the pearl of the murghab, which is in the possession of Mahyar. He found me sad and solitary in the cavern of a mountain; he learned from me the cause of my sorrow, and said to me in the voice of benevolence, ‘Despair not, my friend, I am confident that I shall succeed; and as I desire only the pearl, I will bestow the lady upon you.’ This, my father, is not a vain promise, for Hatim is pure in heart and sincere in speech.”

When the father and mother heard this statement, they laughed at the prince’s credulity, while the former said to him in reply, “Truly, my son, you are more simple and inexperienced than I thought you. The most skilful of our own race have in vain endeavored to procure that pearl; how then can a mere mortal of the race of Adam, who knows nothing of our secret arts, be expected to succeed in such an undertaking? Are you really so foolish as to build your hope on such a slender foundation?”—“Father,” replied the prince, “Hatim is a man of surpassing wisdom. He has travelled much, and has made himself acquainted with all the mystic sciences of the sublunary creation. With this intent he has accompanied me across the sea of Kahrman, and is now waiting my return on the coast of Barzakh.”—“Well, my son,” said the king, “tell me your present purpose in parting with him, and in coming hither.”—“To obtain from you a convoy of your best troops,” replied the prince, “that we may proceed in safety to the court of Mahyar.”

The king, after brief consideration, summoned twelve thousand of his chosen troops, which he appointed as guards for his son. The prince took an affectionate leave of his parents, and at the head of his select army, departed for the island of Barzakh, while the king raised recruits to supply their place. In a little more than the appointed time, the prince arrived in the island of Barzakh, and surrounded by his troops, passed the night in the garden where Hatim had resided, and next morning they began their march towards the capital. Meanwhile Mahyar Sulaimani received intelligence that a host of fairies numerous as the sand had landed in a remote corner of the island; whereupon he quickly led forth his own forces, so as to be ready to receive them, should their intention prove hostile.

When Hatim and the fairy prince with their chosen band approached the capital of Barzakh, they were surprised at seeing an army vastly superior to their own, prepared to dispute their passage. They soon discovered that these were the troops of the watchful Mahyar, and that no time was to be lost in coming to a proper explanation. The fairy prince despatched a messenger to state that his object was peace and amity, not strife and bloodshed; and that he came solely to visit the prince of Barzakh. The noble Mahyar instantly commissioned in return the commander of his army with orders to state to the prince of Zuman, that if he came in peace, no one should molest him, and that his visit was every way welcome.

In short, Hatim and his friend along with their convoy were allowed to enter the capital; and after they had been hospitably entertained, Mahyar sent them a message requesting to know the object of their visit. “Say to Mahyar,” replied the fairy prince to the messenger, “that the last time I visited him I was doomed to experience a painful disappointment; that at present I have accompanied hither the noblest of mankind, who has come from afar on a similar purpose.” Mahyar gave orders for their immediate admission to his presence, and addressing Hatim, said, “Tell me, prince of Yemen, what has been your object in visiting my dominions?” Hatim produced the silver model of the pearl of the murghab, and related his past history so far as it concerned Husn Banu and Munir. “The lady,” concluded Hatim, “has imposed upon me as her sixth task, to procure her a match to this pearl.”—“And where,” said Mahyar, “can you find a pearl similar to hers?”—“I have been informed,” replied Hatim, “that the only one equal to it in the world is in your possession; and my journey hither has been on that account.”—“Well,” resumed Mahyar, “I have such a pearl in my palace; and if you fulfil my conditions, you shall have both the pearl and my daughter.”

Hatim remained some time silent, and after mature reflection, said, “The pearl alone can be of service to me; but I have no intention to accept the daughter.”—“If you gain the pearl,” said the king of Barzakh, “you shall be free to accept my daughter or not, only she shall be entirely at your disposal, and you may bestow her on whom you please.” Hatim then, at the request of Mahyar, related the whole history of the pearl as he had heard from the natika in the desert. Mahyar listened attentively to his detail; and when Hatim concluded, he entered his secret apartment and brought forth the pearl, saying, “Brave Hatim, accept what you have fairly gained; and tell me, how do you wish my daughter to be disposed of?”

Hatim instantly ordered the youthful queen to be married to the fairy prince of Zuman, a measure to which her father assented.

After a month Hatim took leave of Mahyar, and accompanied by the fairy prince and his bride came to the sea of Kahrman. He then requested the prince to return to his own country, while he himself should make his way to Shahabad. “At least,” said the prince, “let me send with you a guard of my own subjects as far as the kingdom of Shams Shah.” To this Hatim agreed, and having mounted his winged steed, accompanied by a select guard, he recrossed the sea, and landed in the territory of the demons. Here they had not far advanced when the demons observed them, and prepared to dispute their passage. The fairies, so few in number, could offer little resistance: they therefore addressed their opponents, saying, “Good friends, we are both descended of one family; and we pass through your country bearing no enmity towards you. We have been delegated by our prince to convey his congratulations to Shams Shah, who, after a long period of misery, is now restored to happiness.”

The demons, on hearing this, gave them no further interruption; and in the course of time they arrived safe in the dominions of Shams Shah. This king having received intelligence that strangers were approaching, mounted his steed and came out to meet them in person, and great was his joy when he saw Hatim among them. He affectionately embraced him, and said to his guides, “May heaven reward your goodness, for you have done me the greatest service possible in restoring to me safe the generous prince of Yemen.” Having thus addressed them, he invited them to a splendid feast, which lasted forty days.

Hatim then took leave of the fairy king, who supplied him with everything requisite for his journey, and appointed four of his subjects to carry him on a golden litter to the city of Shahabad. Thither they swiftly conveyed him in the course of a few days. Outside the gates they descended from their aerial flight; and Hatim, at their request, gave them letters to their sovereign, with which they returned. He then entered the city, where the people immediately recognized him, and conveyed the tidings of his return to their lovely queen. Husn Banu threw her veil over her face, and gave orders for Hatim’s admission to her palace, where the counsellors of the city were then assembled. Hatim entered; and, after mutual salutation, produced the pearl of the murghab in presence of the assembly and stated the details of his marvellous adventure.

When Husn Banu saw the pearl she was highly delighted, and the court resounded with the praises of the noble Hatim, who withdrew to the Mihmanseraï. There he met the Assyrian prince Munir, and said to him, “Your happiness, my friend, is now almost at hand: only one question remains unanswered.” After a repose of a few days, he presented himself before Husn Banu, and said, “Fair lady, let me hear your seventh question, that I may lose no time in the completion of my task.”—“The seventh and last is,” replied she, “to bring me an account of the bath of Badgard.” Hatim took leave of Husn Banu and the prince Munir, and prepared for his departure.

BOOK VII.

The journey of Hatim to explore the Bath of Badgard—His arrival in that place—His safe return to Shahabad, and the marriage of Husn Banu with the Assyrian prince Munir.

After Hatim left Shahabad he traversed a wide desert till he arrived in a populous city, where he saw the inhabitants assembled round the mouth of a well. He approached; and asking one of them what was the matter, was told that the son of the chief magistrate had gone mad, and was in the habit of frequenting the well, when at length he had thrown himself in headlong. “Three days,” said the man, “we have looked for him here, but no trace can we find of his body, nor is any of our people bold enough to venture into the well, lest he should lose his own life.”

While they were in this conversation, the parents of the youth came weeping to the mouth of the well. Hatim’s heart melted when he witnessed their sorrow, and he said to them, “Despair not, my friends, I will dive into the well, and search for the body of your son; remain here till my return.”—“Generous stranger,” said the chief, “rest assured that we will with patience wait your return, should the period be even a month.” Hatim plunged into the water; and after he had been sinking some minutes felt his feet on firm ground. He opened his eyes, and saw not the well but an extensive plain illumined with the rays of the sun. Advancing some distance he came to a garden, and as the doors were open, he entered. There he saw flowers of every hue, and in the midst of the garden a palace of elegant structure. He entered a spacious hall, which he found to be furnished with splendid couches, on which reclined fairies of beautiful form. In the centre of the hall were two thrones of burnished gold, on one of which sat the fairy queen, of transcendent beauty and angelic countenance; and on the other, a young man of noble form and graceful mien.

When the fairies that acted as sentinels observed Hatim’s approach, they gave information to their sovereign that another of the race of Adam had arrived in the garden. The queen, addressing the youth upon the throne, said to him, “The stranger is of your race; is it your pleasure that we hold conference with him?” The young man assented, and the attendants conducted Hatim to the foot of the throne. The queen rose and graciously received him; and having seated him on a couch beside her, ordered him to be presented with food and drink. Hatim willingly accepted her hospitality; after which, the young man asked him whence he came, and whither he was bound. “I am a native of Yemen,” said Hatim in reply, “and I lately left the city of Shahabad on a journey to the bath of Badgard. When I arrived in a certain city, I saw all the inhabitants assembled round the mouth of a well; and on inquiring the cause of their anxiety, the chief told me with tears in his eyes, that his son had three days ago cast himself headlong into the water. I was moved by his grief, and dived into the well, resolved to procure the dead body of the youth. But now I am bewildered, and know not whither to direct my search. You, I see, are of the human race; may I ask whether you are the young man whom I seek?”

The youth replied, “I am indeed that devoted person. I was one day seated at the mouth of the well, when this heart-ravishing fairy appeared to my enchanted sight. I lost hold of the reins of reason, and for some days lingered like a maniac round the mouth of the well. My passion was completely beyond my control: I plunged into the water, and opened my eyes, I know not by what means, in this paradise. When the fairy queen beheld me, she gladdened my heart with the charms of her society, and now my happiness is complete.”—“Deluded youth,” said Hatim, “can you be happy when your parents and relations are enduring the pangs of despair on your account?”—“I have no choice left,” rejoined the young man; “but should the queen give me leave, I will accompany you to my relations, and having assured them of my safety, instantly return.”—“Have patience, then,” said Hatim, “till I plead your cause.”

Hatim turned his discourse to the queen, and said, “Thy conduct, fair queen, is far from being generous and noble, in detaining this youth from his distressed parents. Allow him to accompany me for a few days, that he may console his father and mother; after which, he will return to you.”—“Stranger,” replied the queen, “I do not in the least restrain this youth in his movements. He saw me, and became enamoured of my person. In his despair he cast himself into the well, for which I am not to blame. At present he has his free will to go whenever he chooses.” Here the youth stood up, and said to the fairy, “By your leave, fair queen, I have one request to make ere I depart, should it be agreeable to you to grant it. Say that I am not to despair; that you will speedily come to my father’s house, and make me happy in once more beholding you.”

Hatim for some time held down his head in silence, awaiting the queen’s reply; at length he spoke: “Generous queen, if you have any compassion, assent to the youth’s request.”—“He asks of me,” she replied, “more than ever any of our race have granted to yours.” In return, Hatim related to the queen numerous instances of kindness and compassion experienced by himself from the hands of the fairy race. To this the queen replied, “Brave Hatim, what you have stated is true; but this youth does not so sincerely love me as to deserve my regard.”—“Had I not loved you from my heart and soul,” said the young man, “should I, regardless of life, of every human tie, cast myself headlong into the well?”—“To put your affection to the proof,” rejoined the queen, “are you prepared to do whatever I request of you?”—“Command me,” said he, “and I will perform.”

The fairy queen summoned her attendants, and said to them, “Go fill the large cauldron with oil, place it on the fire, and make it boil to the utmost heat.” When the cauldron was heated, the queen took the young man by the hand, and said to him, “Now, if you love me, prove it by casting yourself this instant into the cauldron of boiling oil.” The youth instantly rose up, and was about to plunge into the burning liquid, when the queen exclaimed, “Hold, I spoke to try your affection. Now I am satisfied, and I agree to your request.” Hatim remained for about a month with the fairy queen and her lover. At the end of this period, the queen confirmed her promise, having sworn by the seal of Sulaiman to visit the youth soon. Having then bid adieu to Hatim and her lover, she ordered some of her fairies to conduct them to the mouth of the well. The fairies seized the mortals by the hand, and in the twinkling of an eye they found themselves at the mouth of the well. The guides then vanished into the deep, and Hatim presented the young man to his fond parents. The chief of the city and all the inhabitants were highly delighted at the sight, and prostrated themselves at Hatim’s feet in token of their gratitude. They then returned to the city, and for many days vied with one another in treating the generous stranger with every mark of affection.

At length the fairy, agreeably to her promise, visited the enamoured youth. Two weeks after Hatim once more betook himself to the road, and in the course of a few days arrived at a large and populous city. As he was about to enter the gates, he met an old man standing upon the road. When the old man observed him, he approached and said, “My blessings be upon you, noble stranger; welcome, thrice welcome to our city.” Hatim returned this courteous salutation, whereupon the old man said to him, “If you will for this night reside in my house, and taste of my salt, it will be doing me the highest favor.” Hatim thanked the old man, and accepted his hospitable invitation. Arrived in the house, the old man presented him with food; and after they had eaten together, the aged host said, “Tell me, noble sir, if such be your pleasure, what is your name, whence are you, and whither do you travel?”—“I am an Arab,” replied Hatim, “and am on my way from Shahabad to the bath of Badgard, which it is my intention to explore.” The old man hearing this, long held down his head in deep reflection, after which he said to Hatim, “Devoted man, what enemy has sent you on so perilous an errand? I have been assured that no man has hitherto visited Badgard and come back to tell the news. The place is in the vicinity of a city called Katan, the name of whose king is Harith. Around his dominions are stationed numerous sentinels, whose duty it is to bring before their king whatsoever stranger attempts to visit Badgard. When carried to the presence of Harith no one knows how they are treated, for they never return.” Hatim, nothing daunted, related to the old man the cause of his journey, and detailed his former adventures in behalf of Munir the Assyrian prince. “This,” concluded Hatim, “is the seventh and last question, from which I will not shrink.”—“May heaven reward your generosity and bravery,” replied the venerable host. “Be advised by me, and turn back: the bath of Badgard is all enchantment; of its inner mysteries no one can give the least account.”—“Venerable sir,” resumed Hatim, “how can I possibly return? Would you have me act as a coward?”—“Listen to my counsel,” replied the host, “and cast not away your life like the frog that disregarded the advice of his friends, and at last had cause for repentance.”—“Tell me,” said Hatim, “what happened to the frog?”

The old man thus spoke: “In the region of Sham it happened once upon a time that a number of frogs were living happily together in a pond, when one of them took it into his head to remove to another pond in the vicinity. ‘Travelling,’ said the frog to himself, ‘is the means of rendering the poor man rich.’ His friends remonstrated, saying, ‘Fool that you are, what absurd idea is this which has found its way into your head? Abandon such vain thoughts, otherwise you will have cause to repent when too late. Know you not that he who disregards the admonition of the wise will end in misery and shame?’ The brain of the frog was filled with the wind of self-conceit; he therefore would not listen to the advice of his friends, and forthwith quitted the pond along with his wife and young ones. On their way to the next pond, they rejoiced in the anticipation of the happiness and ease and independence which awaited them. At length they arrived on the brink, and were about to enter their new residence, when all at once a water-snake thrust out its head to welcome them. This snake had for some time occupied the pond, and had devoured all the frogs that were in it. Having had no food for some days previous, the serpent no sooner saw the frogs than he began to devour them one after another.

“The old frog that had caused the removal, quickly dived into the bottom of the pond, and having escaped the mouth of the snake, watched his opportunity, and returned to his former abode. His old acquaintances seeing him return alone, without his young, opened upon him the tongue of reproach, and said, ‘Rash fool that you are, how dare you come among us without your wife and young ones? Tell us quickly, what has happened to them and you when absent; can it be possible that you have left them to destruction?’—The frog, full of shame and remorse, listened, but replied not, while the others were the more urgent in their inquiries. At last they all attacked the unfortunate frog, and having almost killed him, they said, ‘Such is the reward of vanity and folly’; and he who disregards the admonitions of the wise will become involved in similar calamities.”

When the old man had finished the story of the frog, he said, “Brave Hatim, apply your ear to my advice, and turn back in time ere your calamity be past remedy.”—“I am confident,” replied Hatim, “that all you have stated is kindly meant; but remember that I am acting for others, not for myself, and I will never disgrace myself by abandoning a task which I have promised to accomplish: for the sake of God, then, shew me the way, and let me depart.” When the old man saw that Hatim’s resolution was not to be shaken, he yielded to necessity and conducted him out of the city till they came to two roads, when he stopped short and said, “Noble Hatim, proceed on the right-hand road, which will take you through many a city and town. At length you will come to a high mountain, where there are dangers innumerable. Should it please God that you surmount these, you will then come to a spot where the road branches into two. There I would advise you to take the left-hand path, for though that to the right be the nearer, it is highly dangerous; whereas the other, though circuitous, is safe and free from peril.”

Hatim thanked his aged friend, and said, in reply to the latter part of his instructions, “My venerable benefactor, if our life be not decreed, we cannot live; and till the hour appointed by fate, we cannot die. Do you really advise me to shun the path that is short, and hold to that which is circuitous?” The old man smiled, and said, “O Hatim, have you not heard what the poet saith?

“Farewell, my brave and generous friend, and let me warn you of your danger, if you follow not my directions.” Hatim having taken his leave, proceeded on his way; and in the course of a few days, as he was approaching a large city, the sound of drums and trumpets reached his ear. It seemed as if the inhabitants were in the celebration of some grand festival; and when he drew nearer he found them assembled without the walls in a spacious plain, which was everywhere adorned with finely embroidered sofas and couches. In the midst of the assembly was a constellation of beautiful damsels, some enchanting the heart with their melodious song, and others occupied in the graceful movements of the dance. In another part of the plain were fires, and all the utensils of cookery employed in dressing food.

At length Hatim mingled with the joyful throng, and began to ask one of them what was the cause of such pleasure and mirth. “Stranger,” said they, “our city is every year visited by a formidable dragon, which on the occasion transforms himself into a human shape. We are compelled, on pain of death and destruction, to allow this dragon to carry off his choice of the fairest of our daughters, whether rich or poor. Those that are most beautiful are led forth to these tents, arrayed in fine apparel, adorned with costly jewels, and having their hands perfumed with fragrant scents. The monster in human shape enters the tent where the damsels are assembled, and carries off her on whom his choice rests. We are forced to make this shew of joy, though our hearts are sad, for the appointed day is arrived, and no one knows who is to be the victim. We thus celebrate the nuptials ere we know who is the bride, but for the next seven days our joy is converted into grief and lamentation.”

On hearing this strange circumstance, Hatim concluded that the dragon must be one of the genii. He said to them, “Is it not madness in you to mimic joy at your own destruction?”—“How can we act otherwise?” they replied; “who is the man that can deliver us from our calamity?”—“Be of good cheer,” returned Hatim, “this night I will endeavor, by the aid of heaven, to rid you forever of your evil.” When the people heard this promise, hopeless as it was, they informed their king and grandees of the stranger’s presence. Hatim was quickly introduced, and after the usual salutation, the king asked him, “Are you aware, brave stranger, of the nature of this calamity with which we are afflicted? You say you can avert the impending evil; if you will do so, it will be to me and my subjects the greatest of blessings.”

In reply, Hatim gave the following instructions to the king: “When this dragon has come, and made his choice of your daughters, say to him, that a neighboring prince has just arrived in your city; that he has enjoined upon you not to give away your daughters on any account without his permission. Say further, if the dragon threatens destruction to you and your city, that you will rather bear the consequences of his anger than offend the stranger prince.” The king and his ministers assented to this proposal, and for the whole of that day detained Hatim in their society. Towards evening the dragon approached as usual; and when Hatim was informed of the fact, he asked permission of the king to go and see the monster. The whole assembly came out to see the arrival of the dragon, the size of which was immense. Hatim stood astonished when he saw its head reared aloft like a tall tree, and the stones crushed into powder beneath its weight.

At length the dragon reached the tents, and in presence of the terrified assembly, lashed the ground with his tail; and having performed some fearful contortions, he assumed a human shape. The people then crowded round him to proffer their salutations, and the king invited him to his palace, and placed him upon his own throne. After they had partaken of food and drink, the genius rose up and commanded them to produce their daughters. “Let us proceed to the tent which they at present occupy,” said the king. The genius entered the tent, and after due examination, his choice rested upon the king’s only daughter, who was by far the fairest in the city. He came out and made known his choice to the king, who immediately stated his objections, saying, “A prince of great power has for some time resided at my court, and if I do aught without his consent, he will assuredly destroy both myself and my subjects from off the face of the earth. I must therefore, in the first place, consult him ere I allow one of our daughters to be carried off: if I receive his permission, good; if not, I shall refuse your claim.”

The genius, enraged at such opposition, commanded the king forthwith to produce this daring stranger. Hatim was accordingly conducted before the king of the genii, who thus addressed him: “Brave prince of Yemen, I rejoice to meet you; it is now some time since I have seen you, or even heard of your name. Tell me whence come you at present, and what is your object in exciting the people of this city to rebel against me? Do you really wish that I should destroy them in my wrath?”—“I am far from desiring what you state,” replied Hatim, “but the people of this country are now my subjects, and therefore they are right in withholding their allegiance from other powers. I am most willing, however, to bestow on you the late king’s daughter, provided you comply with the ancient customs of my country.”—“Your request is fair,” replied the prince of the genii; “let me hear, then, what these customs are.”—“The first,” said Hatim, “is this: I have a talisman which once belonged to a wise and illustrious ancestor. It is necessary, then, as a pledge of friendship, that you drink water from a cup touched by that talisman.”

To this proposal the prince of the genii expressed his assent, and Hatim took a cupful of water, and dipped into it the potent muhra of the bear’s daughter, after which he gave the draught to the genius to drink. The charm took effect, for no sooner had the genius drained the cup, than, by the decree of the Most High, he was deprived of all his enchantment, his power reduced to that of an ordinary mortal. Hatim again said to him, “The next ordeal you must undergo, is to enter this large jar and remain for some time shut within it. If you do this, you shall have the king’s daughter; otherwise, you must pay, instead, a thousand rubies, a thousand diamonds, and a pearl of the murghab.”

The genius prided himself on his skill in magic, and his supernatural power; he therefore accepted the proposal without hesitation. Hatim brought a large jar, and told him to enter. The genius entered the jar, and Hatim immediately shut the mouth of it; and having pronounced the sacred charm of the blessed Khizr, the lid of the jar became firm as a rock of adamant. He then called to the prince of the genii to come out, but it was no longer in his power to do so. Hatim ordered the people to collect a large quantity of dried wood; and having piled up the same around the jar, he set fire to it. The genius now found himself undone; for as soon as he felt the heat, he made every effort in his power to break the jar and effect his escape. His attempts were fruitless, for in a very short time his life was consumed, and the jar was cast into a deep pit, and covered over with earth and stones.

Hatim then addressed the people, saying, “Rejoice, my friends, for your enemy shall no more harass your country.” The king and all the people proffered their gratitude to Hatim, and presented to him gold and jewels, and whatever was rare and valuable. “I covet not such gifts as you offer me,” said Hatim, “they are of no service to me at present, but I will accept them of your hands, and distribute them among the poor and destitute of the city.” Every house in the city resounded with the praises of Hatim’s wisdom, beneficence, and generosity. For three days they detained him, and vied with each other in doing him service; and the whole country was one scene of joy and festivity.

On the fourth day Hatim took his leave, and turned his face to the road. In the course of time he arrived at the foot of the mountain which the old man had described. He passed on without any interruption, and came to the desert, where he found abundance of sweet water, and witnessed many of the wonders of the creation. After he had passed through the desert, he came to the spot where the road separated in two directions. Here he unfortunately forgot the old man’s advice, for he really intended to take the safe road, though circuitous. “I must never,” said he to himself, “disregard the advice of the wise, and the old man earnestly advised me to take the right-hand path.” Hatim accordingly proceeded rapidly on his way; but he soon changed his mind, and turned aside in order to find the left-hand road. He soon found himself involved in a forest abounding with underwood of thorns and brambles, so that every step he took was attended with difficulty. He had not long advanced, when the clothes were torn from his body; and he bitterly regretted his disregard of the old man’s directions.

Hatim at length, after vast labor, got clear of the forest; but no sooner did he appear in the open plain than thousands of griffins rushed upon him from all quarters. Hatim stood terrified at the sight, for those animals had a most frightful appearance, in some measure resembling a tiger, a dog, and a fox, as if these three animals had been formed into one. When the griffins were about to devour Hatim, on a sudden an old man stood by him, and said, “They who disregard the admonitions of the wise, end in distress and misery.”—“Forgive me, venerable man,” said Hatim, “I have grievously erred.”—“Lose no time,” said the old man, “in using the talisman of the bear’s daughter: cast it on the ground before you.”

Hatim immediately produced the precious muhra; and the moment he threw it upon the plain the old man vanished from his sight. The effect of the muhra was wonderful: the ground assumed a yellow hue, it then became black as night; after that, it changed into green; and lastly, it became red as fire. Meanwhile the griffins were diverted from their attack upon Hatim, and ran furiously at one another. The fight was terrible, and in the course of a few minutes they all perished by mutual slaughter. Hatim looked with astonishment at the carnage, and praised the great Creator for his deliverance. He then took up his talisman and prepared for his journey.

As he advanced, he came to a desert of solid brass, the vegetation of which consisted of sharp pins of brass and iron. He had no sooner entered the desert than these pins pierced his feet. Onward he limped, however; and in the agony of pain, said to himself, “O Hatim, it becomes thee to suffer calamity without murmur, for what avails regret at present?” He proceeded thus for some time, while the soles of his feet were pierced like a sieve. At length he thought he could see the extremity of the desert, when on a sudden dragons of immense size and terrible aspect rushed from all quarters to devour him. The dragons bore a mixed resemblance to the eagle, the tiger, and the fox: their tails resembled that of the jackal, and their feet resembled those of the eagle. Hatim cast a look of despair around him, and was about to bid adieu to life, when the old man stood by him, took him by the hand, and said, “Be brave; does it become Hatim to fear?”—“Wonderful man!” replied Hatim, “it is not in any mortal to behold these monsters and refrain from trembling.”—“Have recourse to your talisman,” said the old man. Hatim drew out the sacred muhra, and cast it upon the ground. The effect was such as he had lately witnessed; for the dragons stood abashed, and the color of the ground was changed, and when it became red the monsters furiously encountered one another till not one of them was left alive.

Hatim took up his muhra and having resumed his journey, devoutly thanked his Great Preserver for deliverance from such dangers. In the course of a few days he arrived at a very large city. When the people saw him they were astonished, and said, “Tell us, wonderful man, how you were able to pass in safety through the brazen desert.”—“I am indebted for my safety,” replied Hatim, “to the goodness of God alone. He has watched over me in the hour of danger, for none of the monsters that infest the desert has done me the least harm.” Now the forest of brambles and the brazen desert had been long considered in that city as impenetrable, and all travellers and caravans had been previously compelled to take a long and circuitous route in approaching the city. When the people, therefore, saw Hatim approach their city by these dangerous quarters, they became highly interested in the subject, as they saw a prospect of opening an easy communication with the rest of the world. When the king got intelligence that a stranger had arrived safe by the short and dangerous route, he could scarcely believe the information, and immediately despatched some of his people to ascertain the fact and in the meantime to detain the stranger. The messengers went and made the necessary investigation. They returned, and informed the king that if a path were cut through the forest, it would be quite safe in every respect.

At this intelligence his Majesty was highly pleased and having sent for Hatim, said to him, “Noble stranger, I have done you wrong in suspecting the truth of your statement, and I pray for your forgiveness. I confess I did not at first believe you. I, therefore, placed a watch over you till I should be assured of the fact by my own people: had I found that you had deceived me, I should have punished you accordingly.”—“Your Majesty,” replied Hatim, “has acted as a king ought, that is, according to strict justice; for it is expedient that the liar should suffer punishment. But why should I deceive you, in stating what was untrue?”

The king then brought forth loads of gold, and said to Hatim, “Accept this as a reward for the services you have done me.”—“I am alone,” said Hatim, “I cannot carry this gold with me, and I have no one to carry it for me.”—“My own people,” replied the king, “shall convey it to your country.”—“I have a dangerous journey to perform,” returned Hatim, “and an important task to accomplish: till that is done, I cannot visit my native country.”—“Tell me,” resumed the king, “whither are you bound, and I will accompany you in person.”—“In a neighboring country,” said Hatim, “is the bath of Badgard: I am going to explore it, but I have heard that no one has hitherto returned thence with life.”—“You have heard the truth, noble stranger,” said the king; “I, therefore, advise you as a friend to banish such thoughts from your mind.”—“What is decreed must happen,” replied Hatim; “my resolution is fixed.”

When the king found Hatim resolute, he appointed two of his people to accompany him, and ordered them to shew him the way to Katan. They, therefore, set out; and after some days’ travelling, his guides told him that their orders permitted them to go no further. They then gave him directions as to his route, and took leave. When Hatim arrived within the territories of Katan, the people asked him whence he had come. He told them the object of his journey and the dangers he had experienced. When they heard from him that the griffins of the forest of brambles, with the dragons of the brazen desert, were extirpated, they rejoiced exceedingly.

At length Hatim reached the city of Katan, and took up his residence for some days in a caravanseraï. After he had reposed for a few days he wished to present himself before the king. Selecting two pearls, two rubies, and two diamonds of immense value, he went to the palace gate. The janitors informed his Majesty that a stranger wished to be admitted, and at the same time presented the jewels. The king ordered them to procure his name, and ask of him the nature of his business. They returned to Hatim, and examined him according to the king’s command. “I am a native of Yemen,” replied Hatim, “and have journeyed hither from the city of Shahabad; if further explanation be necessary, I will detail my whole history to his Majesty, should he honor me with an interview.”

The janitors returned to the royal presence, and stated, “Sire, the stranger is a merchant of Yemen, lately come from the city of Shahabad, and anxious to have an interview with your Majesty.” Hatim was immediately admitted, and the king said to him, “Tell me, stranger merchant, where is your caravan, and what merchandise have you to dispose of?”—“Sire,” said Hatim, “it is now some time since I have left off traffic, and adopted the profession of a soldier. I happened to pass this way, and longed to pay my respects to your Majesty.”

The king greatly admired Hatim’s courtesy, and treated him with the highest respect. After various conversation, Hatim took his leave, and the king said to him at withdrawing, “Brave stranger, I trust you will gladden my heart by residing some time at my court.” Hatim remained six months in the capital, and every day went to pay his respects to the king, with whom he became a great favorite. He one day, observing the king in good humor, took the opportunity of presenting to him a casket of most valuable jewels. The king received the jewels with great satisfaction, and having made Hatim sit by him, said, “Noble stranger, you have now resided with us for months, but never have I had the pleasure of doing you the least service. I am ashamed when I look upon the numerous gifts you have bestowed upon me, and when I consider that you have never asked of me any favor in return.”—“May your Highness live long,” rejoined Hatim; “there are few things earthly which I desire; but, if I may be allowed to express my wish, there is one boon I will venture to ask of you.”—“It is already granted,” replied the king; “therefore, speak your wish and it shall be satisfied.”

Hatim availed himself of this favorable opportunity, and said to the king, “I have an ardent desire to explore the bath of Badgard; I humbly crave your Majesty’s permission, therefore, that I may satisfy my curiosity.” The king for a long time held down his head in silent meditation, while Hatim stood by anxiously waiting the result. At length his Highness broke silence, saying, “Stranger, your request has caused me much concern, for various reasons: in the first place, I have made a vow never to let mortal man visit the bath of Badgard; secondly, if you go, you must inevitably perish in the prime of youth; thirdly, I esteem you so highly, that I should forever regret having permitted you to throw away your life; and, fourthly, I cannot endure the idea of parting with you, on any account. Consider, then, my dear friend, how painful it is for me to grant the fatal boon you ask.”

To this Hatim replied, “Sire, I have experienced many dangers, and I have every hope of returning safe from the bath of Badgard.” He then related the whole of his past adventures in behalf of the Assyrian prince Munir, the lover of Husn Banu, and stated in conclusion, that his seventh and last labor was to explore the bath of Badgard. The king listened to Hatim’s narrative, and after he had finished, said to him, “Generous man! heaven will assuredly protect you in what remains of your task; for there lives not, as I conceive, a more worthy object of the care of Providence than you. Let me, however, once more remind you, that multitudes of people have hitherto entered that mysterious bath, and none has returned; but I hope you will be more fortunate. Meanwhile tell me truly your name and rank, for you are not what you seem.”—“My name is Hatim, and my father is king of Yemen,” was the reply.

When the king heard this, he arose from his seat, clasped Hatim in his arms, and said, “You speak the truth, brave prince of Yemen; your brow is stamped with the seal of royalty; and your name is destined to be proverbial in the world for everything that is noble and generous.” Having thus spoken, the king commanded a passport to be written for Hatim, to be presented to the keeper and guardian of the bath of Badgard. When the order for admittance to the bath was ready and impressed by the royal seal, the king delivered it to Hatim, and appointed a few of his people to accompany him.

Hatim took an affectionate leave of the king, and attended by his guides, betook himself to the road. Fifteen days after, the top of a mountain became visible. Hatim asked his guides, “What mountain is this before us, whose lofty peak pierces the vault of heaven?”—“It is the mountain of Badgard,” they replied, “and the entrance into the bath is on the side of it; but near as it may seem, it is still seven days’ journey hence.” When they arrived at the base of the mountain, Hatim was surprised to see it begirt with legions of armed men. He asked his guides whose were the troops, and was told in reply that they were under the command of the keeper of the bath, which no one could approach without an order from the king of Katan. At length they reached the outposts of the sentinels, who asked Hatim who he was, and what was his business. The guides replied, “This is the prince of Yemen, who has received the royal permission for admittance within the bath.”

The sentinels immediately conducted Hatim before the keeper, to whom he presented his passport. The keeper opened and inspected the royal firman, which ran thus: “Know that it is our will that you admit the prince of Yemen into the bath of Badgard. Let him not meet with the least interruption on account of our late vow; and if it is in your power to prevail upon him to return ere it be too late, fail not to do so, and your reward shall be great.” The keeper folded up the passport, conducted Hatim to his house, and entertained him for three days in the most hospitable manner. He then began to advise him earnestly not to proceed further; but on no account would Hatim listen to his friendly counsel.

The keeper of Badgard, finding all his entreaties of no avail, at length wrote to the king that the prince of Yemen was resolute in his design. The king reluctantly answered, “If it must be so, grant him admittance into the bath.” Once more the keeper endeavored to dissuade him from his rash design, but Hatim’s resolution was fixed as a rock. “Follow me, then, desperate man,” said the keeper, “and the blame be yours.” Hatim followed the keeper till they came to the door of the bath. Its size was immense, such as he had never seen during his whole life. High on the wall was written the following words, “These are the enchantments of King Kaiumarath, which are destined to last for a time; whosoever enters shall not return. Here he shall remain without hunger or thirst.”

When Hatim had read the inscription, he began to meditate within himself whether that information was not sufficient, and if it would not be needless to go further; but on mature reflection, he resolved to enter and examine the place with his own eyes. He took leave of the keeper, and boldly entered the door of the bath. He had advanced but three steps, when, on looking around him, he saw neither the keeper nor the gate of the bath, but a wide and dreary desert. He stood still in astonishment and said to himself, “O Hatim, here is certainly the end of thine earthly pilgrimage.” At length he aroused himself from despairing thoughts and began to wander about the desert. After some time he espied at a distance a human form, and great was his joy at the sight; for he concluded that the place was inhabited at no great distance.

He bent his steps toward the figure, and was delighted to find that it was approaching him. When they came near each other, the strange figure saluted Hatim, and having produced a mirror, presented it to him. Hatim looked at the mirror, and said to the giver, “What is this I see in the mirror? Is it not the bath of Badgard, and are you not the keeper?”—“I am,” was the reply. “Tell me,” said Hatim, “how am I to find the bath?”—“Proceed forward,” said the strange figure, “and you will soon reach it.”

Hatim, rejoiced at this information, asked the man who he was. “I am,” said he, “a hireling connected with the bath: I wander about here waiting the arrival of strangers; when any one comes, it is my office to conduct him into the bath, and attend him while bathing. For my services I expect a handsome reward; so if you be liberal, it will be better for you.”—“Are you the only attendant,” inquired Hatim, “or are there others along with you?”—“There are others also who attend,” replied the man, “but it is my turn to-day.”—“Well,” said Hatim, “I have travelled from afar to enjoy this bath, therefore shew me the nearest way.”

The man of the bath proceeded onwards, and Hatim followed till they had gone nearly a farasang, when a splendid structure surmounted by a lofty dome appeared before them. Arrived at the door the guide entered the building, and motioned to Hatim to follow. Hatim entered, and the attendant conducted him to a marble cistern brimful of pure water, and said to him, “Stand in the water while I pour some of it over your head.”—“Let me first,” said Hatim, “put off my clothes; for I cannot enter the bath dressed as I am.” The man assisted Hatim in undressing; after which he led him into the water, and poured three jars of the liquid over his head. On the application of the third jar of water, Hatim heard a tremendous sound, while thick darkness enveloped the bath. As soon as objects became visible, he looked around him, and to his dismay beheld the large dome converted into a solid mass of rock transparent as crystal and hard as adamant. The floor was covered with water, which gushed from the earth, and had by that time reached the middle of his legs. The bath was every moment filling; and when the water became knee deep, Hatim, in the utmost consternation, searched round and round for an outlet from his prison. His efforts were fruitless; no trace of the door remained; all around him was the same solid, smooth, and transparent rock. Now the water rose to his breast, and like a maniac he rushed backwards and forwards in search of some way of escape. At length the depth of the water was such that his feet no longer reached the bottom. He then kept himself afloat by swimming. While in this state, he could not refrain from saying to himself, “O Hatim, thy friends have uniformly dissuaded thee from this rash undertaking; but thou hast disregarded their admonitions, and hast cast thyself into calamity in spite of every warning. Well, what will be, will be; if in the service of thy Creator thou shouldst lose a thousand lives, it would be nothing.”

Finally Hatim was borne up by the water to the very pinnacle of the dome. As his strength had become exhausted, he eagerly grasped the top of the dome that he might rest a little from his toil. The moment he touched the top a deafening noise like the loudest thunder burst upon his ears, and in an instant he found himself standing in the midst of a desert. He looked around, but nothing met his sight except the bare earth and the silent skies. He advanced, it seemed a matter of no moment which way, congratulating himself on his escape and considering himself clear of the enchantment. For three days and nights he thus proceeded, when he beheld at a distance a palace of lofty structure. He advanced towards it, expecting to find it inhabited, and, on his nearer approach, saw that the palace was surrounded by a beautiful garden. As the door was opened he entered; but he had not ventured far ere he thought it safer to remain without. He therefore made for the gate by which he had entered, but no trace of it could he find. He was now convinced that he had not yet got clear of the enchantment of Badgard.

Hatim, thus helpless, wandered in every direction through the garden, which abounded with flowers of every hue and trees bearing fruit of every sort. As his hunger was extreme, he began to eat of the fruit; but his appetite was not in the least diminished. At last he ventured within the precincts of the palace, which was completely surrounded by statues of marble. The statues stood in straight lines; and the lower half of them seemed fixed in the solid rock which supported them.

Wrapt in wonder at what he saw, Hatim much desired to know the secrets of that mysterious mansion. Meanwhile a bird like a parrot cried to him from within the palace, “O Hatim, why stand you there? Why have you washed your hands of life by journeying hither?” Hatim listened to the voice of the parrot, and was about to enter the house, when he happened to cast his eyes on the inscription over the door, which ran thus: “Know, O mortal, that thou canst not escape hence with life. This is the enchanted palace of the renowned Kaiumarath, who, when hunting in these regions, found a diamond weighing fifty ounces. He showed this superb diamond to his courtiers and attendants, and asked them if they could produce another to match it. They declared that the world did not contain its fellow. Kaiumarath then resolved to preserve it in a place of such safety that no one could rob him of it. For this purpose he built the bath of Badgard. The diamond is preserved in the body of the parrot; and whosoever enters this garden shall never return unless he get possession of the diamond. On the chair within the hall is laid a bow with arrows; let the visitor take it up and shoot three arrows at the parrot, and if he hit it directly through the head he will be able to break the enchantment; if he miss, he at once becomes a statue of marble.”

Hatim read the inscription, cast a look of despair upon the lifeless statues, and exclaimed, “Alas, Hatim! thou too art likely to remain here till the last day. Thou hast too rashly risked thy life and shalt soon add another to the number of these victims. Well, in that case thy troubles will cease, and the silence of death is preferable to the misery of life. But if the Almighty has decreed thy success, then thou wilt yet escape and thy friend be made happy.”

After this soliloquy Hatim entered the hall and lifted the bow and arrows from the chair. He then took his station, applied one of the arrows to the string, and carefully examined his distance. He drew the arrow to his shoulder and shot; but the parrot leaped from the spot where he stood, and clung to the roof of his cage. The arrow had missed; and straightway Hatim’s feet became a mass of marble up to the knees.

The parrot resumed his former station, and said to Hatim, “Desist, rash man, ere worse befall thee.” In the utmost despair Hatim began to consider his dismal situation, and while the tears filled his eyes, he said, “Now indeed is my life ended; but is it not better to die than to live in disgrace? My arrow has missed its aim and I am partly transformed into a block of marble. Let me try another: if I succeed, good; if not, I shall be at rest from the pangs of disappointment.” He seized a second arrow, shot and missed; for the parrot had changed its place as before. Again the parrot called, “Desist rash man, the enterprise is beyond thy might.” Hatim had now become a lifeless statue up to the waist; but he resolved to persevere to the last. “Now,” he said, “my hope of life is indeed small; may God preserve all others from a similar fate. My death is near, but happen what may, I will discharge the third arrow. Whatever the Creator has decreed, must come to pass.”

He now placed his whole reliance upon God, looked in the direction of the parrot, took his aim, then shut his eyes, and let fly the third arrow. In the hour of his despair the hand of heaven saved him. The arrow pierced the brain of the parrot, which fell lifeless from the cage. A fearful storm of whirlwinds, thunders, and lightnings burst around him, while heaven and earth were involved in impenetrable darkness. Hatim was terrified, and knew not whether he was still in this world or had entered eternity. When the noise and disorder had ceased, he no longer beheld the garden nor the palace nor the parrot. At his feet lay the bow and arrows, and beside them a vast diamond of brilliancy like the sun.

He rose up and seized the diamond. Instantly all the marble statues started into life. When they saw Hatim, they asked, “Who are you, and how have you been able to break the enchantment in which we were held?” He told them the whole occurrence; and they prostrated themselves at his feet and vowed to serve him while they lived. Hatim took them with him and returned to the capital of Katan. On his way he met some of the attendants of the bath who, on hearing the result of his adventure, hastened to give the intelligence to their king. At length Hatim reached the city, and had an interview with the ruler, to whom he shewed the diamond, saying, “Sire, this jewel I present to you; but it will be necessary for me first to shew it to Husn Banu, after which it shall be returned to you. The people who accompany me are poor and destitute; be pleased, then, to furnish them with the means of subsistence till they reach their own country.” The request was complied with and the people joyfully departed. Shortly after, Hatim took leave of the king, who appointed a splendid retinue to accompany him home furnished with everything requisite for the journey. Hatim accordingly set off, and without any interruption arrived safe in Shahabad. The people rejoiced when they saw him, and forthwith conducted him to the gate of the palace of Husn Banu. The lady gave orders for his immediate admission, and asked him to relate the occurrences of his journey.

Hatim narrated in detail what he had seen and suffered, and produced the diamond as proof. He then addressed Husn Banu, saying, “Now that I have accomplished your tasks, may I request that you will perform your promise to me?” She replied, “I am entirely yours. Dispose of me as you think proper.” Hatim gave orders for a princely feast, and Husn Banu was married to the Assyrian prince Munir, and so the two lovers reached the summit of happiness.

The celebration of the marriage completed, Hatim took leave of Munir and Husn Banu; and having, agreeably to his promise, sent the diamond to the prince of Katan, he started for Yemen. When he entered the boundaries of his native land, the whole country was one scene of joy. “Hatim,” said the people, “after so long an absence, has returned to his own country.” At length Hatim reached the capital of Yemen, and was affectionately received by his father and mother. His arrival was hailed with universal joy and every house resounded with music and mirth.

His father shortly afterwards resigned the reins of government into the hands of Hatim, and lived in retirement for the twelve remaining years of his life. Hatim reigned long over Yemen; and blessed with the affection of the beautiful Zarinposh, passed his life in uninterrupted happiness.

Thus ended the seven adventures of Hatim Taï. May this narrative in some degree perpetuate his memory, and cause his virtues to be imitated by future generations.

NOTES.

INTRODUCTION NOTES.

[1] he said to the lion Hatim (be it known) knew the languages of all animals, and conversed with them most freely wherever he went.

BOOK I NOTES.

[1] Do good, and cast it upon the waters This is a common proverb in the Persian language.

[2] Mahrū Shah Moon-faced, an epithet expressive of great beauty of countenance.

[3] presented him with water to wash his hands A well-known Mahomedan custom previous to eating.

[4] a painter... from behind a curtain In Mahommedan countries, painters draw ladies’ portraits from behind a curtain or thin veil, as it would be considered a breach of delicacy in a female to show her face to a stranger.

[6] delineated every line and mole Moles are considered as a rare beauty, and where the face has them not naturally, they are often supplied by art.

[7] Munīr Shamī Shamī, the Syrian. The name Sham is applied to the country around Damascus.

[8] a thing laid by, will be found useful... “Keep a thing by you seven years and you will find use for it.”—English or Scotch proverb.

BOOK II NOTES.

[1] Mountain of Kaf The Mahommedans of the olden times, like the Christians before Copernicus, considered the earth as a plane of a circular form. On the confines or circumference of this circle it was, of course, necessary to have a substantial balustrade, to prevent such stragglers as might approach the remotest bounds from falling into another world: accordingly a mountain of immense altitude, which the Arabs called Kaf, probably from its supposed resemblance to a letter of their alphabet of the same name, was made to extend all around the earth. Hence the expression “from Kaf to Kaf,” signifying from one extremity of the earth to the opposite. The mountain Kaf was further supposed to be the abode of spirits, fairies, and giants.

The Arabian lexicographers describe this mountain as being formed of emerald. In the Borhani-Kati, a valuable Persian Dictionary, we have the following description of it: “Kaf, the name of a famous mountain which surrounds the four quarters of the earth. They say that its altitude is five hundred farasangs (nearly two thousand English miles!) and for the most part the sea washes the base of it,” &c.

[2] four farasangs The farasang is nearly equivalent to four English miles in length. The Borhani-Kati describes it as consisting of twelve thousand guz, each guz being equal to twenty-four finger breadths.

[3] Jumat Jumat or Juma is that day of the week which the Mahommedans have appointed for devotion, and answers to our Friday.

[4] Shahmuhra Shah-muhra, a fabulous precious stone, supposed to be found only in the mouth of the dragon or serpent.

[5] the arrow of love still pierces my heart Oriental writers place the seat of affection not in the heart but the liver; at least the latter is the part at which Cupid generally aims his arrows. We find the same idea frequently expressed by the Greek poets: thus Anacreon iii. 27,

[6] the natives were demons The word [Persian] according to D’Herbelot, is the name of a race of spirits which resemble neither angels, devils, nor men; being what are called Genii or Demons, and nearly the same as the giants in Greek mythology.

[7] Solomon Solomon (Suleiman) is a name, than which none is more famous in eastern tales. He is renowned not only on account of his wisdom, but also for his magnificence and supernatural power. His dominion extended over every living creature that inhabited the earth. The Creator placed under his obedience the whole race of fairies, spirits, demons and genii, good and bad, among all of which the oath by Suleiman is inviolable.

[8] zakkūm The zakkūm is a tree which grows in hell: its branches and leaves are of flaming fire, and the fruits which it bears are heads of devils and loathsome serpents. Thus in the sacred text (Koran. sur. xxxvii, 65, etc.): “This tree is planted in the bottom of hell; and its fruits are heads of devils, and verily the damned shall eat thereof.”

[9] Where is our king, and where are we? Meaning, “the king is far hence, and shall know nothing of the matter.”

[10] we have eaten salt together Among the Arabs, this formed the strongest pledge of amity.

[11] Kulzum According to Muntakhib-ul-Loghat, Kulzum is a name given to part of the Red Sea.

[12] Zulmât The regions of darkness, which are said to contain also the water of immortality.

[13] the two loaves which you used to cast into the river... “Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days.”—Eccl. xi. 1.

BOOK III NOTES.

[1] you shall have no other wife than myself As this injunction may appear a little unreasonable in a country where polygamy is lawful, the translator avails himself of the following remark on the subject by a very eminent Orientalist, M. Garcin de Tassy. In that learned author’s work, entitled, “Exposition de la Foi Musulmane” (Paris 1822), he states, in a note to the preface, page 3: “La polygamie n’est pas chez les Musulmans aussi commune qu’on pourrait la croire. D’abord il faut avoir une certaine aisance pour entretenir plus d’une femme; et quand on a cette aisance, il faut encore vaincre la repugnance qu’ont en général les parens de donner une fille à un homme déjà marié; ou qui ne leur promet pas de n’avoir qu’elle seule pour épouse.”

BOOK IV NOTES.

[1] repeating certain attributes of the Deity The great names, or attributes of the deity, are one hundred, and the repetition of them constitutes part of a Mussulman’s devotion. The formula commences thus: “There is no God but God. He is most merciful, most gracious, the ruler of all, most holy,” &c.—Vide Tychsen Elementale Arab, p. 22.

[2] Khwaja Khizr Khizr is the name of a character famous among the Mahommedans. They say that he was vizier to Iskander Dhu’lkornain, that he discovered the fountain of immortality and drank thereof, in consequence of which he still lives on the earth, where he will be allowed to remain till the day of judgment. The word Khizr signifies verdant or green, which is their favourite colour, having been worn by Muhammed himself, so that the Khwaja’s habit is quite in character.

[3] Iblis Iblis is one of the names of Shaitan, or the devil, and signifies (according to the Farhang-i-Mathnavi), desperate, or hopeless of mercy from the Divine Creator. The Mahommedans believe that God created the devil of the purest fire, admitted him into heaven, and appointed him to the high office of Lord Lieutenant of the Moon; but owing to his inordinate pride and ambition, he was deprived of his situation, and utterly expelled from the higher regions.

[4] būtīmar As I know not the English name for this bird, I shall add the description given of him in the Persian Lexicons, Borhani Kati, and Farhangi Mathnavi: “The [Persian] būtīmār (called also, ghamkhar, or the sorrowful), is a bird that frequents the banks of rivers. He constantly mourns from fear that the water should become exhausted; and under that impression, however great his thirst, he never drinks. In Arabic he is called [Persian] yamām.” I may add, that, in Richardson’s Dictionary, būtīmar is translated a heron, and yamām a turtle-dove.

[5] The reader may remember a tale similar to the above in the introduction to the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. There is another of the same kind in Nakhshebi’s Tales of a Parrot, near the commencement of the work. In fact, Oriental authors of romance frequently indulge in episodes which tend to place the conduct of their ladies in no very favourable light. In the Bahar-i-Danish, a work written by Einayatullah, in the most flowery style of which the Persian is capable, there is a series of tales whose object is to dissuade a young prince from marrying a beautiful lady, of whom he is enamoured. One of these thus concludes: “O my prince, to be allured with the outward beauty of women, and to become a wanderer in the waste of madness, is to act contrary to the institutes of wisdom; for a life of sorrow follows such short-lived pleasures. The adorners of the assembly of learning and wisdom have by no means approved of such conduct, because the roses on the cheeks of women are unblest by the tinge and perfume of constancy.

It may be observed that some of Boccacio’s tales in the Decameron, bear great resemblance to those in the Bahar-i-Danish, but which is the imitation, and which the original, it is difficult to say.

BOOK V NOTES.

[1] This is no fictitious description, as similar scenes may be witnessed in Hindoostan to this very day. We may observe, however, that the satti is here placed in its most favourable light; and that if the grounds on which the Hindoo defends the practice were necessarily true, little could be said in opposition to him; but, situated as the world now is, it is to be feared that the widow’s affection is not always so very powerful as to carry her through the fiery ordeal. It is to be hoped that the time will speedily come when the rays of a purer faith will dispel from the fair regions of India a foul custom, that has originated from the demon of superstition, and has been maintained through the influence of a corrupt and interested priesthood.

BOOK VI NOTES.

[1] Murghab Murghab signifies properly an aquatic fowl, but is generally applied to a duck. There is also a river so called in the province of Khorasan.—Vide Borhani-Kati.

[2] island of Barzakh Barzakh, according to the Furhang-i-Mathravi, is the intermediate stage between this world and the next—like the purgatory of the Roman Catholics.

[3] third watch In the east, the most ordinary division of time is into watches, or rather was so formerly. In the astronomical day of twenty-four hours (or from sunrise to sunrise), there are eight watches, or [Persian] consequently every watch is at an average three hours. The day is divided into four watches, of which the second terminates always at noon, hence do-pahr ([Persian]), i.e. two watches, is synonymous with mid-day; also si-pahr, or three watches, signifies the afternoon. The night is, in like manner, divided into four watches, the second of which expires at midnight. In Hindustan, the pahr is divided into eight equal parts, called [Persian] ghărī, each equal to twenty-two minutes and a-half. We may add, that in Hindustani, the phrase ath-pahr, or eight watches, signifies perpetual.

[4] Kibla The Kibla is that spot to which the Musselmans direct their face in prayer, which is now the temple of Mecca. Jerusalem was the Kibla of the Mahommedans in the early part of Mahomet’s life, as it had been of the Jews and Christians previously; but in the second year of the Hijra, the Caaba of Mecca was fixed upon as the Kibla of the Musselmans, and in that direction (as nearly as they can discover) they turn their faces at prayer, in whatever quarter of the world they may be situated.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.

The last two pages of Book IV (pp. 216-217) were missing from the source text. Until a complete copy can be found, the missing text has been supplied by the 1830 edition published for the Oriental Translation Fund. If you can provide the missing pages please contact Project Gutenberg Support.

The translator’s use of both accented (e.g. Munīr Shamī) and unaccented (Munir Shami) names has been preserved.

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THE ADVENTURES OF HATIM TAÏ A Romance