As, according to the canons of government and the administration of affairs, vazírs are called the keys of the treasury of the regulations of business, and the bankers of the good and evil transactions of the governments of honoured potentates, I venture to trouble your majesty about a matter which has taken place in opposition to the customs of obedience.” The king said: “Speak,” and the Vazír thus proceeded: “Two things injure the edifice and the dignity of government: one is to lightly esteem honoured and respected persons, and the other is to exalt those who are mean and nameless. Every one who seeks the shadow of the humaí of prosperity and of royalty must for several reasons keep in mind these two things. Khoja Bashír, the merchant, who is placed on the upper seat of your majesty’s proximity and regard, is a man of low extraction, a criminal, and notorious for his immorality. His wife is an adulteress, who has stepped quite beyond the pale of modesty, and scruples not to be present and to roam in all assemblies and crowds and associate with all sorts of vagabonds and profligate persons. And it is a matter of astonishment that, with all your perfections and wisdom, your majesty should have fallen into this heedlessness.” As the king had many times tried the character of Khoja Bashír on the touchstone of examination and experience, and had never discovered a flaw in the gem of his essence and qualities, he was amazed, and, refusing to assent to the accusations of the Vazír, he said to him: “It is scarcely possible that I should associate with a man of that description. I have found him perfect, and the pure gold of his morals void of the dross and alloy of vices. What you say about his character is far from probable, and you must establish your asseveration by witnesses and proofs, that I may believe it, else I shall punish you with the utmost severity.” The Vazír now regretted and repented of what he had said, but asked the king for a week’s respite; and during that time his mind was day and night wandering like a pen over the plain of composition, and meditating by what ruse he might strike the lightning of defamation into the granary of the modesty of Khoja Bashír’s wife.
In that city lived a deceitful old hag, who was well skilled in all sorts of cunning tricks. The Vazír sent for her, and, after anointing all the limbs of her expectations with the oil of promises, he said to her: “There is an engagement between me and the king, and for my purpose I require you to bring me, in any way you possibly can, some token from Khoja Bashír’s wife.” The old crone answered: “By my soul! I shall endeavour my utmost to do you this piece of service.” Next day she put on an old tattered dress, and assumed the appearance of a poor and destitute creature; and going to the house of Khoja Bashír, as if to beg, wished to enter, but the porter repulsed her, upon which she exclaimed: “O accursed one! hast thou not heard that
‘Whoever impedes the begging of the poor
Is a mean wretch, who will go to hell’?
What loss wilt thou suffer if I go into the prosperous house of the Khoja and the ant of my hope obtain one grain of profit from the storehouse of his succour?” She again put forth the foot of effort to gain admittance, but the porter held his staff before her, and said: “The Khoja is at present with the king, and I cannot allow any person to enter in his absence.” Hereupon the old woman threw herself upon the ground, and screamed: “The doorkeeper has killed me!” She bit and wounded her limbs, besmeared them with blood, and cried: “Alas, my little ones will be orphans!” When the wife of the Khoja heard the clamour of the hag she sent the eunuchs out, and when they saw an old woman lying on the ground, apparently in the agony of death, they asked her: “Who art thou, and what has happened to thee?” She replied: “I am a poor, weak, old woman, and have come to the prosperous mansion of the Khoja in the hope of obtaining assistance, but in consequence of my unfounded expectations my life has fallen a prey to the winds of annihilation from the beating inflicted on me by the doorkeeper.” The eunuchs blamed the porter, saying: “Unfortunate man! The removal of misfortunes and the attainment of high degrees are connected with the advent [and relief] of mendicants. Art thou not ashamed of having so unmercifully stricken this old beggar-woman?” The porter swore to the untruthfulness of her assertions, and related the whole matter, after which the eunuchs communicated the facts to the wife of the Khoja, who was very kind-hearted, and said to them: “Bring the poor creature in, by all means, that I may investigate her case; for destitute persons and darveshes are the caravan of God’s mercy and pity, and to injure them kindles the flame of his anger.”
The eunuchs wrapped the old hag in a carpet and carried her before the Khoja’s wife, who at once applied to her nostrils different perfumes, such as castor, sandal, and aloe. After a while the old crone opened her eyes and let loose the general of the caravan of deceit, namely, her tongue, in praises and good wishes for the lady, saying: “Noble lady, may you obtain the approbation of God, and may your future circumstances be still more prosperous! Had my weak limbs not been strengthened by the balsam of your kindness, the stamina of my life would have been disturbed by the grasp of death in consequence of the ill-treatment which I received from the doorkeeper, and my little children would have been afflicted by the bitter poison of becoming orphans.” Then she began freely to weep and lament, saying: “O treacherous Destiny! thou hast thrown me into the heart-burning flames of the death of Khoja Távus, my husband. Was it not enough to deprive me of so great a blessing, and to subject me to the trials of poverty, and to compel me to seek for a precarious maintenance for my children, and to induce me to do things of which my slaves would have been ashamed? O noble lady, I was a woman of honour and reputation, and of a very high family, but the reverses of Fortune have deprived me of my husband and property, and driven me away from the mansion of tranquility and comfort. Every day a thousand destitute and worthy persons were supplied from the table of my bounty. But one day I sent a mendicant away empty-handed, and on that account the torrent of diminution has overthrown the castle of my affluence, and reduced me to this needy condition. The poor are the spies of the palace of monotheism: to give them alms, and to treat them well, is an occasion of the increase of the vernal garden of God’s favour; but to disappoint them brings on the destruction of the mansion of comfort and life.
If thou debar a beggar of aid
Thou wilt enjoy no pleasure.
The prayer of the mendicant
Will preserve thee from ill luck.