Tales from the German, Comprising specimens from the most celebrated authors

by Unknown

Towards the evening Ali set out on his way back to Bagdad, and wandered thoughtfully over the plain. The evening was cool and bright, and after he had proceeded a few hundred paces, his eyes already discerned Bagdad. He did not think it necessary to hasten, feeling sure that he must soon reach the city, but loitered long on the charming verdant spots in the sandy plain. The moon arose and shone so brightly, that the night appeared almost as light as day. Hence Ali did not take any account of the time; he felt weary, and seeing a large stone at some distance from him in which seats were cut out, he could not resist sitting down and, with his head resting on his hand, gazing over the calm, clear, and cool, desert before him. The wind was rustling through the palms over his head. Conceive his astonishment when the wind was suddenly hushed, and when he again heard the spring ripple a few yards off, and smelt the noxious vapours which the breezes had before wafted to the opposite side.

Terrified, he jumped up and ran back more than a hundred yards. He saw that a thunder-storm was suddenly approaching. By the dim moonlight, which every moment threatened to be obscured by the black clouds, he could scarcely distinguish the path that would lead him home. However, he hastened onwards, and cursed the habit which, on the slightest occasion, always misled him to shut himself up from surrounding objects, like flowers which close in the evening, so that he did not think where he was, or what took place near him. It grew darker and darker, thick clouds obscured the moon, loud thunder rolled over his head, but not a drop of rain descended. A burning wind rushed through the desert and stirred up the sand, so that he was obliged every minute to shut his eyes.

“Are there really evil spirits living,” he said to himself, “that can hurt man? No; innocence is the real great seal of Solomon, which not even the terrible Eblis dares to break.” He had scarcely uttered these words than a frightful darkness forced him to stand still. Suddenly the sky and earth were burning with a pale flame, a forked flash of lightning shot over his head, and struck a hollow tree close by his side. At the same time a pelting shower of rain streamed from the clouds, and Ali fell to the ground, stunned by the tremendous thunder-claps. Thus he lay for some time. At length all became calm, and he arose; but what was his horror when he saw against the deep blue moonlit sky, a monstrous black giant standing on the plain! The huge head reached high in the air, and looked upon Ali with a large sparkling eye. Ali was about to flee, but fear paralysed his feet. Trembling, he again turned his face towards the formidable figure which he fancied would crush him. How surprised and delighted was he on discovering that the formidable monster was nothing but a large black cloud, the last remnant of the thunderstorm, with an opening in the centre, through which the moon was beaming! This discovery restored his courage as quickly as he had before lost it. He now perceived that the whole was nothing more than a natural phenomenon, such, doubtless, as had often occurred in this narrow valley, and had given rise to the superstition of the people. He now proceeded onwards with fresh vigour, and it was not long before he crossed the bridge of the Tigris with a light heart, delighted at having so fortunately completed his adventure. But the black, Zelulu (for he it really was who amused himself with deceiving the conceited youth), stared smiling after him with his glowing eye, and then burst out into such loud laughter, that the palms of the desert trembled. Then, shaking the mane of his monstrous head, he folded up the large airy bulk of his body and floated over the spring, where, forming himself into a pillar, he suddenly rushed down with a tremendous howl. From this time he determined to persecute the youth.

Ali, on his return, found his father’s house in the greatest state of confusion and distress. His father was not there, and when he asked after him, an old slave said to him, “Unhappy son, at this moment the executioner is perhaps inflicting the fatal wound on him.” Ali stood speechless and pale. The cause of the unhappy event was as follows:

Ibrahim bore an implacable hatred against Hussain, Cadi of Bagdad, and the latter entertained a similar feeling in return; nay, people in the city were wont to name Ibrahim and Hussain if they wished to cite an instance of two irreconcileable enemies. Both had been educated, after the death of their parents, in the house of a mutual relative. Nothing can be worse than men of an entirely opposite disposition being compelled to hold daily intercourse; repugnance and hatred increase more and more, and their conversation becomes a constant feud. Hussain was proud and gloomy; Ibrahim vehement and animated. Daily did they reproach each other; the former considering the latter a frivolous sensualist, the latter considering the former a cold, selfish egotist. As they advanced in years their hatred increased. Their guardian had a beautiful daughter, whom both, as members of the family, had opportunities of seeing. Ibrahim fell in love with her, and hoped that his affections would be returned, and the father’s consent obtained. But as Hussain, by his natural talent, industry, and perseverance, soon raised himself to an important station, he obtained, contrary to Ibrahim’s expectation, the consent of the beautiful Mirza and her parent. Ibrahim was so enraged at this, that out of revenge he shortly after took two wives. One presented him with Ali at the cost of her own life. Mirza lived with Hussain for some years before she bore him a daughter. Some time had now past, Mirza had died, and separation, which usually weakens enmity as well as friendship, had almost extinguished the hatred of the cheerful Ibrahim. An occurrence, however, showed that it still burned fiercely in the heart of the haughty Hussain; and this poured fresh oil into Ibrahim’s fire, which, as it appeared, death alone could now extinguish.

Two years ago, Ibrahim had returned from a journey, and among other precious articles, had brought with him some Indian gold cloth, such as had never been seen before. Hussain heard of this, and as his daughter had grown up to be one of the most beautiful maidens in Bagdad, his paternal pride was set upon adorning his lovely child by all the means of art and of wealth. He had seen the cloth in passing Ibrahim’s shop, but not wishing to purchase it himself, had sent a slave to Ibrahim, and commissioned him to settle the bargain. Ibrahim looked upon this as the first step towards a reconciliation on the part of Hussain; and being of a more forgiving disposition than he, and, moreover, being in a cheerful humour, in anticipation of a happy future, he gave the cloth to the slave, telling him to say to Hussain, that he wished him to accept of it as a token of former friendship. A short time after this, the slave returned with the cloth, and said that his master had looked upon it as a great insult, that a merchant presumed to offer presents to the cadi, as these must always look, more or less, like bribes; and that Ibrahim ought to name a price for it, as the cadi was quite able to pay for it, although he did not every year bring home riches on his mules. This haughty answer was so revolting to Ibrahim, that he took the cloth from the slave’s hands, and tearing it to pieces, exclaimed: “Tell your master, that thus I tear the last bonds of our former friendship,—that I tear up by the roots the flowers which childhood had woven into the golden ground of our life.”

Late in the evening of the day on which this had happened, and after Ibrahim had for some time shut up his shop, he heard a knock at the door. He went and opened it, but did not see any body. He had scarcely gone away, when the knocking was repeated. He opened again, and again saw no one. Vexed at this, he was returning to his room, when suddenly a louder knocking than before was heard. He now ran quickly to the door, and burst it open, in hopes of meeting the insolent person who was thus tantalising him. As soon as he had opened it, there stood outside a pretty, middle-aged woman in black, holding a staff in her hand. “What do you want?” cried Ibrahim.

“I have a request to make, friend,” said she. “My beautiful daughter is soon to be married; I am poor, and cannot afford a handsome bridal dress, such as she deserves. Give me the gold cloth which you have torn to-day; it will be good enough for us, and has lost its greatest value for you. If old friends forsake us, we must look for new ones.”

Ibrahim, who was liberal, gave her the cloth, which she contemplated attentively, and then said: “It has suffered great injury; it will cost pains to stick it together again; still it can be remedied.” Upon this she saluted Ibrahim kindly, and went away, and he never again saw her.

Ibrahim now gave daily vent to his anger in vehement words against Hussain; and whatever he said was reported to the latter, with additions, so that the enraged cadi only watched for an opportunity to take revenge. This occurred sooner than he expected. The kind, mild government of Haroun al Raschid, however beneficent in some respects, produced in a certain degree disagreeable consequences for himself. The populace had scarcely perceived that they were not forced to tremble slavishly before the noble caliph, than they began to censure his conduct and calumniate him, with the greatest audacity. For some time he allowed this to pass unnoticed. But the insolence increased; and he now all at once issued orders, that any one presuming to revile the actions of the caliph should be executed without mercy. This order had been made public a few days after Ibrahim’s return, indeed on the very morning when his son had gone to Babylon. Being much engaged, he remained at home during that morning, and it was not till nearly evening that he went to a khan, where he was in the habit of spending a few hours every day. He had not spoken to any person, and knew nothing of the proclamation. He had scarcely entered the khan, when a crier came through the street, exclaiming that every one should step aside to make way, as Zobeide, the favourite wife of the caliph was about to pass with her slaves. Ibrahim, who was in a merry mood, and did not often weigh his words nicely, said: “They call Haroun al Raschid the wisest man. It may be that he possesses singular qualities; but as regards women, he is the weakest creature that I never knew. My son, who is twenty years old, is ten times wiser on that score than he is.”