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!”]