Then Aladdin went forth upon the road that led to the city, and he had not journeyed far before he met a poor peasant proceeding to his daily toil. Stopping him he offered to exchange his own costly garments for those the peasant was wearing. But the man demurred, whereat Aladdin set upon him and effected the exchange by force. Then, leaving the peasant battered and bruised but dressed like a prince, he went on into the city, and, coming to the market, purchased some powder of benj, which is called “the son of an instant,” for it stupefies in a moment. With this he returned to the palace, and, when he came to the side door where the maid was waiting, she recognised him and opened immediately. Very soon he was exposing his plan to Bedr-el-Budur.
“O my beloved,” he said, “I wish thee to attire thyself gaily, and adorn thyself with jewels in the sparkle of which no grief can live; and, when the accursed cometh, greet him with a smile and a look from thy lovely eyes; for so he will know thou hast turned his wooing over in thy mind and heart, and hast forgotten thy father and thine Aladdin. Then invite him to sup with thee, and, when thou hast aroused a blinding passion in his bosom, he will forget the Lamp which lieth there. See,” he drew forth the powder, “this is benj, the ‘son of an instant.’ It cannot be detected in red wine. Thou knowest the rest: pledge him in a cup and see to it that the benj is in his and not in thine. Thou knowest how to ply him till he is careless, how to resist him till he is blinded by thy loveliness, how at last to wish him joy and happiness for ever by thy side so that he will drain the cup. Then, O my beloved, ere he can set it down, he will fall at thy feet like one in death. Thou canst do this?”
“Yea,” replied Bedr-el-Budur. “It is difficult, but I will dare all for thee; and well I know that this accursed wretch deserves not to live. Yet will I add something to thy plan from a woman’s wit. Lest he should suspect a trick he shall find me weeping when he cometh; then will I take up some speech of his and dry my tears; and then, in a space—having all things ready—will I appear before him in a manner to dazzle his senses, and then—then—Oh! my Aladdin; fear not, for all will be well.” And on this assurance Aladdin withdrew to a private chamber and sat him down to wait. He realised his extreme danger, for he knew that if the Dervish so much as suspected his existence in the flesh a rub of the Lamp and a word to the Slave would bring him instant death; but he did not know that Bedr-el-Budur, having learnt the virtues of the Lamp, had exacted a pledge from the Dervish that he would make no further use of it until she had given him her final decision as to whether she would come to him of her own free will and accord, which she maintained was a better thing than subsequently to be compelled by the abominable power of sorcery. Bedr-el-Budur, who in this was merely temporising, had not thought, in the joy and stress of their conversation, to tell Aladdin of it; while, as for the wizard, he had kept his pledge, deeming that a woman’s love freely given was a better thing to have than any that could be acquired by magic spells.
The Porter and the Ladies. [Page 154]
According to the plan set forth for the Dervish’s undoing Bedr-el-Budur ordered her slave girls to prepare everything of jewels and bright attire, ready for a rapid toilet. Then, when the Dervish appeared, she sat weeping as usual, and it was not until, in his protestations of love, he said words that were suitable to her purpose that she paused and half dried her tears as if it needed little more to make her weigh his petition with care. Observing this he drew near and sat by her side, and now, though no longer weeping, she had not yet found words for him. He took her hand, but she snatched it away crying, “No, it cannot be! Never can I forget Aladdin!” He pleaded with her, and his passion made him eloquent. He showed her the uselessness of longing for a dead man when a living one was by her side. He told her too—and with the Lamp in his bosom she could not doubt the truth of it—that he and she could command the earth and look down on kings. Why had he not already won this as well as her love by means of the Lamp? Because he had pledged himself to wait and win her as a man wins woman. At this she turned her face to him on a sudden. A faint smile seemed to live in the corners of her bewitching mouth, and a look in her eyes convinced him that he was a much better man than he had thought since he could keep his pledge on so great a matter. On this, he drew still nearer to the lovely Bedr-el-Budur, and this time she did not snatch her hand away, but left it in his, pondering dreamily the while. Presently, on a sudden, she pushed him away petulantly. “Nay, nay,” she cried, “I cannot rein my heart to thee at will. Give me, I pray thee, a little space of time—two days; and when my eyes are dim with weeping for Aladdin—” “Two days? Alas!” broke in the Dervish, “two days is a lifetime.” “One day—I may decide in one, if weeping do not kill me.” The Dervish smote his breast, “One day! one hour is the limit of my life. Think, O Lovely One, how I have waited to win thee as man wins woman, when in a moment I could call thee mine by other means.” And his hand moved to his bosom where lay the Lamp. “Stay!” she cried, rising and standing before him. “Thy pledge! My decision is not yet. Having waited so long, surely thou canst wait another—” “Day? say not that.” “Well then, at least, another hour.” And, flashing a look upon him that might hold his wits in thrall for that space of time, she turned to leave the apartment. “I go to weep,” she said, throwing him a backward glance, “and my tears perchance will be for Aladdin, perchance for thee if I cannot bend my heart from him. Abide thou in patience. I will come to thee in one hour.”
So she went, leaving the Dervish in an ecstasy of doubt. Time, times passed over his head as he sat weighing the issue, and yet he smiled to himself, for he knew that the Lady Bedr-el-Budur would sooner compel herself than be compelled by the Slave of the Lamp. And he was right. At the expiration of the hour the door opened and she stood before him a vision of loveliness in resplendent attire bedecked with priceless jewels. A smile was on her face and her answer to him was in her eyes. Yet, as he darted forward, her manner of approach showed him that, although he had won her, she was a surrendering princess demanding in her condescension a fitting control—even homage—from him. Having convinced him of this, she seated herself by his side and said boldly, “Thou seest how it is with me. My tears for Aladdin—who is dead—flowed till the hour was half spent; then, I know not why, they changed to tears of joy for thee, who art alive. Then I arose and arrayed myself gladly and came to thee. Yet even now I am not wholly thine, for tears—now grief now joy, I know not which—contend in mine eyes for him or thee. Wherefore come not too near me lest what thou hast won be forfeited. Perchance if we sup together with a jar of the red wine of thine own country—in which it may be that my soul will taste thine—then, who knows—” “O my life’s delight,” broke in the Dervish. “A jar of red wine and thee! I have many jars in my house, and, not forgetting that tears contend in thine eyes as thou saidst, I will go and return in all haste with the reddest wine.” “Nay, go not thyself,” said Bedr-el-Budur, bethinking her of the Lamp. “Do not leave me. One of my slave girls will go. My tears have dried in my heart, leaving it thirsty for love.” And the Dervish was cajoled, and he remained while a slave girl went forth for the wine.
While she was gone Bedr-el-Budur pretended to busy herself issuing orders to the household about the preparation of supper. And under cover of this she sought and found Aladdin. “It is well,” she said as he held her to his heart and pressed his lips to hers. “But, O my beloved,” he replied, “art thou sure that the Lamp is in his bosom?” “I will go and see,” she answered. And she returned to the Dervish and, approaching him shyly, began to doubt the truth of this great thing—his love for her. As she did this she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes; whereat the Dervish drew her close to him and she felt the Lamp in his bosom. Immediately she wrenched herself free and left him with a glance in which disdain and love were kindly mixed. “It is so,” she said on returning to Aladdin, “the Lamp is in his bosom, and, since he embraced me—I could not help it nor could I endure it, beloved—it is a wonder the Slave of the Lamp did not appear to see how I tore myself away, I was pressed so close.”
Meanwhile the slave girl returned with the wine, and, supper being ready, Bedr-el-Budur invited the Dervish to sit by her at the table. And when they had eaten somewhat, she paused and questioned him with a glance. It was for him to call for wine, and he did so. Immediately a slave girl filled their goblets, and they drank; and another and another until the distance between them was melted, and they became, so to speak, the best of boon companions. And he drank to her and she to him, and her tongue was loosed and she bewitched him with her charming eloquence of speech. But with it all was the dignity of the Princess, which repelled while it attracted. In this subtle manner she fanned his passion to a flame until his heart rocked and his head swam, and all else but her was as nothing in his eyes.
At length, when the supper was drawing to an end, and the wits of the Dervish were well mastered by wine, Bedr-el-Budur leaned towards him in an unbending mood. “This wine of thine has set me on fire, beloved!” she said. “But one more cup and then, if I say thee nay, do not believe me, for thou hast kept thy pledge and hast won me as man wins woman. And this shall be a loving cup, for it is the fashion in my country for the lover to take the loved one’s cup and drink it.” “O lovely one of my eye,” he replied, “I will honour thy custom, since thou hast so greatly honoured me.”