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.