The Arabian Nights, Volume I of IV

by Unknown

The porter carried the one that had been beaten back to the closet; and in returning took the other from the hands of Aminè, and presented it to Zobeidè, who was waiting for it. “Hold it as you did the first,” said she; then taking the whip, she served this in the same manner. She then wept with it, dried its tears, kissed it, and returned it to the porter, who was saved the trouble of carrying it back to the closet by the agreeable Aminè, who took it herself.

The three calenders, as well as the caliph and his party, were much astonished at this ceremony. They could not comprehend why Zobeidè, after having whipped, with so much violence, the two dogs, which, according to the tenets of the Mussulman religion, are impure animals, should afterwards weep with them, kiss them, and dry their tears. They conversed together about it, and the caliph in particular was very desirous of knowing the reason of an action which appeared to him so singular. He made signs to the vizier to inquire, but he turned his head another way, till at last, importuned by repeated signs, he answered in the same manner, that it was not yet time to satisfy his curiosity.

Zobeidè remained for some time in the middle of the room, as if to rest from her fatigue in beating the two dogs. “My dear sister,” said the beautiful Safiè, “will you not return to your place, that I also may perform my part?”—“Yes,” replied Zobeidè, and seated herself on the sofa with the caliph, Giafar, and Mesrour, on her right hand, and the three calenders and the porter on her left.

The company continued for some time silent: at length Safiè, who had placed herself on the seat in the middle of the room, said to Aminè, “Sister get up, you understand what I mean.” Aminè rose and went into a different closet from that whence the dogs were brought; she returned with a case covered with yellow satin, and richly ornamented with an embroidery of green and gold. She opened it, and took out a lute, which she presented to her sister. Safiè took it, and after having tuned it, began to accompany it with her voice: she sung an air on the torments of absence, in so agreeable a style, that the caliph and the rest of the company were enchanted. When she had finished, as she had sung with a great deal of action as well as passion, she offered the lute to Aminè, saying, “Sister, my voice fails me; do you take it, and oblige the company by playing and singing instead of me.”

Aminè having played a little prelude, to hear if the instrument was in tune, sung for some time on the same subject, but she became so affected by the words she uttered, that she had not power to finish the air. Zobeidè began to praise her sister: “You have done wonders,” said she, “it is easy to perceive that you feel the griefs you express.” Aminè had not time to reply to this speech; she felt herself so oppressed at that moment, that she could think of nothing but giving herself air, and opening her robe, she exposed a bosom, not white as the beautiful Aminè ought to have had, but so covered with scars, as to create a species of horror in the spectators. This, however, was of no service to her, and she fainted away.

Whilst Zobeidè and Safiè ran to assist their sister, one of the calenders exclaimed, “We had better have slept in the open air than come here to witness such a spectacle.”

The caliph, who heard him, drew near, and enquired what all this meant: “We know no more than you,” replied the calender. “What,” resumed the caliph, “do not you belong to the house? cannot you inform me about these two black dogs, and this lady, who appears to have been so ill treated?”—“Sir,” said the calender, “we never were in this house before now, and entered it only a few minutes sooner than you did.” This increased the astonishment of the caliph, “Perhaps,” said he, “the man who is with you can give us some information.” The calender made signs to the porter to draw near, and asked him if he knew why the black dogs had been beaten, and why the bosom of Aminè was so scarred. “Sir,” replied the porter, “I swear by the great living God, that if you know nothing of the matter, we are all equally ignorant. It is true that I live in the city, but before to-day I never entered this house; and if you are surprised to see me here, I am not less so at being in such company. What increases my surprise,” added he, “is not to see any man with these ladies.”

The caliph and his party, as well as the calenders, thought that the porter belonged to the family, and that he would have been able to have informed them of what they wished so much to know. The caliph, whatever might be the consequence, resolved to satisfy his curiosity. “Attend to me,” he said to the rest, “we are seven men and there are only three women, let us then compel them to give us the information we request; and if they refuse to comply with a good grace, we can force them to it. The grand vizier, Giafar, opposed this plan; and explained the consequences of it to the caliph, without discovering to the calenders who he was, as he always addressed him like a merchant. “Consider, sir, I beg,” said he, “that we have our reputation to preserve. You know on what condition these ladies suffered us to become their guests; and we accepted the terms. What will they say to us if we infringe the compact? And we should be still more to blame if any misfortune should happen to us in consequence of it. It is not to be supposed that they would require such a promise from us unless they should be able to make us repent if we broke it.”

The vizier now drew the caliph a little aside, and spoke to him in a low voice. “The night, my lord, will not last long, if your majesty will have but a little patience, I will then come and bring these women before you when on your throne, and you may learn from them whatever you wish.” Although this advice was very judicious, the caliph rejected it, and desired the vizier to be silent, and said he would not wait so long, but would that instant have the information he wished. The next question was, who should first make the enquiry. The caliph endeavoured to persuade the calenders to speak first, but they excused themselves. At last they all agreed, that it should be the porter. He was preparing to utter the fatal question, when Zobeidè, after having assisted Aminè, who had recovered from her fainting, approached them. As she had heard them speak in rather a loud and warm manner, she said to them, “What are you talking of? what is your contest about?”

The porter then addressed her as follows: “These gentlemen, madam, entreat you to have the goodness to explain to them why you wept with those dogs after having treated them so ill; and how it has happened that the lady who fainted has her bosom covered with scars. This, madam, is what I have been required by them to ask of you.”