The adventures of Hatim Taï, a romance

by Unknown

BOOK V.

Hatim’s journey to the mountain of Nida.

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.