OF THE LADY WHO WAS MURDERED, AND OF THE YOUNG MAN, HER HUSBAND.
“Sovereign of the Believers, I must acquaint your majesty, that the lady who was massacred was my wife, and daughter to this old man whom you see, and who is my uncle, on my father’s side. She was only twelve years of age when he bestowed her on me in marriage, and eleven years are passed since that period. I have three sons by her, who are still alive; and must do her the justice to say, that she never gave me the least subject for displeasure. She was prudent and virtuous; and her greatest pleasure consisted in making me happy. On my part I loved her with the truest affection, and anticipated all her wishes, instead of opposing them.
About two months since she was taken ill; I treated her with all possible care, and spared no pains to complete her cure: at the expiration of a month she grew better, and wished to go to the bath. Before she went out of the house she said to me, “Cousin,” for that was my familiar appellation, “I wish to eat some apples; you will oblige me very much, if you could procure me some; it is a long time that I have had this desire, and I must confess, that it is now increased to such a degree, that if I am not gratified I fear some misfortune will be the consequence.”—“Very willingly,” I replied, “I will do all in my power to content you.”
I immediately went in search of some apples, into all the markets and shops I could think of, but I could not obtain one, although I had offered to pay a sequin for it. I returned home much vexed at having taken so much trouble to no purpose. As for my wife, when she came back from the bath, and did not see any apples, she was so chagrined, that she could not sleep all night. I arose early the next morning, and went into all the gardens, but with no better success than on the preceding day. I only met with an old gardener, who told me, that whatever pains I might take I should not meet with any excepting in your majesty’s gardens at Balsora.
As I was passionately fond of my wife, and I would not have to reproach myself with having neglected any means of satisfying her longing, I put on the dress of a traveller, and having informed her of my intention, I set out for Balsora. I went with such dispatch, that I returned to her at the end of a fortnight. I brought with me three apples, which had cost me a sequin a piece. There were no more in the garden, and the gardener would not sell them at a lower price. When I arrived I presented them to my wife, but her longing was then over, so she received them, and only placed them by her side. She nevertheless continued in ill health, and I did not know what remedy to apply for her disorder.
A few days after my return, being in my shop, at the public place where all sorts of fine stuffs are sold, I saw a tall black slave enter, holding an apple in his hand, which I knew to be one of those I had brought from Balsora. I could have no doubts on the subject, for I knew that there were none in Bagdad, nor in any of the gardens in the environs. I called the slave, “My good slave,” said I, “pray tell me where you got that apple.”—“It is a present,” replied he, smiling, “that my mistress made me. I have been to see her to-day, and found her unwell. I saw three apples by her side, and asked her where she had got them; and she told me, that her good man of a husband had been a journey of fifteen days on purpose to get them for her. We breakfasted together, and when I came away I brought this with me.”
This intelligence enraged me beyond measure. I got up, and having shut up my shop, I ran home eagerly, and went into the chamber of my wife. I looked for the apples, and seeing but two, I inquired what was become of the third. My wife then turning her head towards the side where the apples were, and perceiving that there were only two, replied coldly, “I do not know what is become of it, cousin.” This answer convinced me of the truth of what the slave had spoken. I suffered myself to be transported by a fit of jealousy, and drawing a knife, which hung from my girdle, I plunged it in the breast of this unhappy woman. I then cut off her head, and divided her body into quarters; I made a packet of it, which I concealed in a folding basket, and after having sewed the opening of the basket with some red worsted, I inclosed it in a chest, and as soon as it was night, carried it on my shoulders to the Tigris, where I threw it in.
My two youngest children were in bed, and asleep; and the third was from home. On my return I found him sitting at the door, and weeping bitterly. I asked him the reason of his tears.—“Father,” said he, “this morning I took away from my mother, without her perceiving me, one of the three apples you brought her. I kept it some time, but as I was playing with it in the street, with my little brothers, a great black slave, who was passing, snatched it out of my hand, and took it away with him. I ran after him, asking him for it; I told him, that it belonged to my mother, who was ill, and that you had been a journey of fifteen days to procure it for her. All was useless, for he would not return it; and as I went on crying after him, he turned back and beat me, and then ran off as fast as he could through so many winding streets, that I lost sight of him. Since then I have been walking out of the city waiting for your return. I was staying here for you, father, to beg that you will not tell my mother, lest it should make her worse.” On finishing these words he redoubled his tears.
This relation from my son plunged me in the deepest affliction. I then saw the enormity of my crime, and repented, though too late, of having given credit to the imposture of the wicked slave, who, from what he had collected from my son, had composed the diabolical fable, which I received as a truth. My uncle, who is now present, arrived at that moment; he came to see his daughter, but instead of finding her alive, he learnt from my lips that she was no more, for I disguised nothing from him, and without waiting for his condemnation, I accused myself as the most criminal of men. Nevertheless, instead of pouring forth the reproaches I so justly deserved, this good man mingled his tears with mine, and we wept together three whole days; he for the loss of a daughter he had always tenderly loved, I for that of a wife, who was dear to me; and of whom I had deprived myself in so cruel a manner, by giving credit to the false testimony of a lying slave.
This, Sovereign of the Faithful, is the sincere confession which your majesty required of me; you know the extent of my crime, and I humbly supplicate you to give orders for my punishment; however rigorous it may be, I shall not murmur at it, but esteem it too light.”
At this the caliph was in great astonishment; but this equitable prince, finding that the youth was more to be pitied than blamed, began to take his part. “The action of this young man,” said he, “is excusable in the sight of God, and may be pardoned by man. The wicked slave is the sole cause of this murder; he is the only one who ought to be punished; therefore,” continued he, addressing the vizier, “I give you three days to find him: if you do not produce him by that time, your life shall be the forfeit instead of his.”
The unhappy Giafar, who had congratulated himself on his safety, was again overwhelmed with despair on hearing this new decree of the caliph; but as he did not dare to reply to his sovereign, whose disposition he was well acquainted with, he went out of his presence, and returned to his house with his eyes bathed in tears; and persuaded, that he had only three days to live. He was so convinced that it was impossible to find the slave, that he did not even seek him. “It is not possible,” cried he, “that in such a city as Bagdad, where there is such an infinity of black slaves, I should ever be able to discover him in question. If God does not reveal him to me, as he did the assassin, nothing can possibly save me.”
He passed the two first days in affliction with his family, who could not help murmuring at the rigour of the caliph. On the third day he prepared for death with firmness, and like a minister, who had ever acted with integrity, and had done nothing with which to reproach himself. He sent for the cadi and other witnesses, who signed the will he made in their presence. After that, he embraced his wife and children, and bid them a last farewell. All his family melted into tears, and never was there a more affecting spectacle. At length an officer of the palace arrived, who told him, that the caliph was much displeased at not having heard from him about the black slave, whom he had commanded him to search for. “I am ordered,” continued he, “to bring you to the foot of the throne.” The afflicted vizier prepared to follow the officer, but as he was going, his youngest daughter was brought to him. She was five or six years old, and the women, who had the care of her, came with her to take leave of her father.
As he was particularly fond of this daughter, he entreated the officer to allow him a few minutes to speak to her. He approached the child, and taking her in his arms, kissed her several times. In kissing her he perceived she had something large in her bosom, which had a strong smell. “My dear little girl,” said he, “what have you in your bosom?”—“My dear father,” replied she, “it is an apple, on which is written the name of the caliph, our lord and master. Rihan [9] our slave sold it me for two sequins.”
At the words “apple” and “slave,” the grand vizier Giafar made an exclamation through surprise and joy; and immediately took the apple from the child’s bosom. He ordered the slave to be called, and when he came into his presence, “Rascal,” said he, “where didst thou get this apple?”—“My lord,” replied the slave, “I swear to you, that I have not stolen it either from your garden, or from that of the Commander of the Faithful.
“The other day, as I was passing through a street, where there were three or four children at play, one of them had this apple in his hand, and I took it away from him. The child ran after me, saying that it did not belong to him, but to his mother, who was ill; that his father, to gratify her longing, had gone to a great distance to procure it, and had brought her three; that this was one, which he had taken without his mother’s knowing it. He entreated me to return it, but I would not attend to him, and brought the apple home; after which I sold it to the little lady, your daughter, for two sequins. This is all I have to say.”
Giafar could not help wondering that the roguery of a slave should have caused the death of an innocent woman, and nearly deprived himself of life. He took the slave with him, and when he had reached the palace, he related to the caliph what the slave had confessed, and the chance by which he discovered the crime.
The astonishment of the caliph cannot be equalled; he could not contain himself, and burst into violent fits of laughter. At last, having resumed a serious air, he said to the vizier, that since his slave had occasioned so much confusion, he merited an exemplary punishment. “Sire,” replied the vizier, “I cannot deny it; yet his crime is not inexcusable. I know a history, far more surprising, of a vizier of Cairo, called Noureddin [10] Ali, and Bedreddin Hassan, [11] of Balsora. As your majesty takes pleasure in hearing such stories, I am ready to relate it to you; provided, that if you find it more wonderful than the circumstance which occasions me to tell it, you will remit the punishment of my slave.”—“With all my heart,” returned the caliph, “but you have undertaken a great enterprize, and I do not think you can save your slave, for the story of the apples is a very singular one.” Giafar then began his story in these words.