Chapter IV: Part 4

There was nothing unusual about the door. It was of plain, solid iron, and the key-hole was very small. She wondered if the little key would fit it. She tried, and found that it went in quite easily; yet, remembering her promise, she would not turn it, but pulled it out again and tore herself away. But, after all, she could not see what possible harm there could be in opening a small room like that and just having one look inside. Besides, if her husband had been really serious he would have kept the key himself and not given it to her with the others. To be sure, he was a kind, indulgent husband, and would not be so very angry; and then, again, he need never know that she _had_ opened the door.

With thoughts like these passing quickly in her mind she hesitated, paused, and finally turned again to the door. Her disobedient hands trembled as she selected the key a second time, detached it from the bunch, and inserted it in the lock. In another moment she had turned it and pushed the heavy door open.

At first, as the shutters were closed, she could see nothing; but gradually her eyes became accustomed to the dim light and she saw that the floor was of porphyry,--at all events, it was red. Then, as she shaded her eyes from the light creeping through the chinks of the shutters, and peered more closely, she discovered to her horror that what she had taken for porphyry was nothing of the kind--_it was blood!_--Here it had clotted in dark crimson pools, and there it had run in little streams along the irregular stone floor. Quickly she traced those streams to their source by the opposite wall, where, as she raised her eyes, she discerned seven dark forms hanging feet downwards from seven spikes driven through their necks into the masonry.

Her first impulse was to flee from the spot;--then there came a dreadful thought, and she stayed. Whose bodies were those hanging in the forbidden cupboard? She took a step forward and inspected them more closely. Yes, they were women, and they had been young and beautiful. O horror of horrors! Could it be true? Were those the bodies of _Blue Beard's_ wives, who had disappeared, one after another, so mysteriously? There they hung, spiked through the neck, their feet dangling above pools of their life's blood,--mute evidence of foul murder.

As _Fatima_ stood gazing at the scene before her, her eyes dilated with fear, and, her breath coming in gasps, the little key fell from her fingers and clinked upon the floor. The sound recalled her to her senses, and she picked the key up hastily. Then she turned and rushed out; and, having locked the door,--no easy feat with such trembling hands,--she ran upstairs, her face as pale as death. She thought to escape and regain her composure in her own room, but, when she arrived there, she found it full of her guests, who were so busy admiring its luxurious appointments that her pallor went unnoticed. One by one, however, perceiving that she was tired, they melted away, promising to come again on the morrow,--unless her husband was expected to return. It was evident they feared him; so did she, now.

At last they were all gone, and, as soon as she was left alone, she bethought her of the key and drew it from her pocket. What was her horror to observe the dull red stain of blood upon it, which she had not noticed when she picked it up from the blood-smeared floor of the dreadful chamber. Quickly she seized the nearest rag, thinking to wipe off the stain; but, rub as she might, it would not come off. As she scoured and polished without result, terror slowly grew on her face. 'Alas!' she cried, 'there is Blue Magic in this. Now I know my husband has consorted with fiends: his beard for one thing, this bewitched key for another. If I am not mistaken, nothing will remove the stain of foul murder from this key.'

Nevertheless, she bethought herself of many things: of sand, and pumice, and strong acid, and she tried them all upon the key; but though she wore the metal away by hard rubbing, the bloodstain still remained, for, being a magic key, it had absorbed the blood of _Blue Beard's_ victims, and was saturated through and through with it.

She was just beginning to realise that the task was hopeless when she heard the rumble of wheels, but she still went on polishing the key, for, whatever coach was approaching, she assured herself it could not be her husband's--thank Heaven, _he_ was not due to return yet for six weeks, and by that time she might contrive to have a new key made, exactly like the old one. But presently, when the coach drew up at the gate, and the horns sounded in her husband's style and manner, she started up with a cry of dismay, and her knees trembled with sudden fright.

Her first care was to hide the key in her bosom; then she ran out, but, for very fear, could get no farther than the head of the main stairway, where she stood clutching the stair-rail, and quaking in every limb. There, in the hall below, stood _Blue Beard_ giving some final orders to the coachman. With a quick movement he turned, and, looking up, perceived her standing irresolute.

'Yes, it is I, my darling,' he called up gaily as he advanced to the foot of the stairs. 'Some letters reached me on the road, showing me that my long journey was unnecessary. So, you see, I have returned to your arms.'

By this time _Fatima_ was tottering down the stairs, bent on giving him a fitting welcome; for, though she feared him more than aught else, she must try not to show it. 'Seven of them!' she kept saying to herself, as she gripped the balustrade, 'and seven and one are _eight_! And I have a throat as well as they, as sure as iron spikes have points.'

There was only a dim light in the hall, so that _Blue Beard_ could not see her trembling condition; and if, when she greeted him, he felt that her body was quaking, he was fond enough to put it down to joy at his unexpected return. And _Fatima_, taking cover in this, behaved in an excited manner, like one so delighted to see her husband back again that she did not know what she was doing. She ran hither and thither, ordering this and that to be done, and then countermanding the orders, doing this or that herself, and then immediately undoing it again,--behaving, in short, like one demented with excitement, until _Blue Beard_ smiled and stroked his beard, and thought she was a wonderful little bundle of delight.

And so, through such artfulness long sustained, it transpired that the question of the keys did not arise all that night, nor, indeed, until late the following day, when, as ominous as a thunder-clap, came a summons from _Blue Beard_ that _Fatima_ should attend him immediately on the terrace. With a wildly beating heart she hastened to answer the summons.

'I want my keys,' he said in the usual manner of a man. 'Where are they?'

'The keys?--Oh yes; the keys. I--I will go and fetch them immediately.'

_Fatima_ ran off, and you can imagine her thoughts and feelings as she went. _Blue Beard_ remained--he was always a grim figure--standing as she had left him,--just waiting: his thoughts and feelings were in his beard.

Presently _Fatima_ returned, purposely out of breath in order to hide whatever confusion she might feel, and handed the bunch of keys to her husband. He took them without a word, looked at them carefully, and then slowly turned his eyes upon her.

'The key of the room at the end of the corridor,' he said grimly, 'it is not here: where is it?'

'The key of the---- Oh; you mean the key of the----'

'I mean the key of the----; yes, that's what I mean. Where is it?'

'Oh! I remember now. You said I was not to use it; so, to make sure, I took it off the bunch and put it away in a drawer of my dressing-table. I will run and fetch it.'

'Do,' said _Blue Beard_, and, while she ran off, he stood there looking for all the world like a blue thunder-cloud before the lightning comes.

Once out of sight _Fatima_ paused to collect her wits. Then, having made up her mind, she ran twice up and down stairs, and finally rejoined her husband, panting heavily.

'It is not there,' she cried in dismay. 'I put it in my jewel case,--of that I'm sure,--but now it's gone. Who can have taken it?'

'Go look again,' replied _Blue Beard_, dangerously calm.

She ran away again, and again came running back. 'No,' she said, 'it is not there. Who can have----?'

'Silence, madam!' broke in _Blue Beard_. 'That was no ordinary key; and something tells me it is in your bosom now.' And, with this, he gathered her shrinking form in his rough arm, and with a rougher hand searched for, and found--the key!

'So!' he said. 'You lied to me. And--what is this? How came this blood upon the key?'

Fatima was very pale, and trembling like an aspen leaf. 'I do not know,' she replied. 'Perhaps----'

'Perhaps nothing!' roared _Blue Beard_ in a terrible voice. 'Madam! your face tells me you are guilty. You have presumed to disobey me; to enter that room at the end of the corridor. Yes, madam; and, since you would sooner indulge your fancy for that room than obey my commands, you shall go there and stay as long as you like. Seven and one are _eight_, madam!'

'Mercy! Mercy!' cried _Fatima_, flinging herself at _Blue Beard's_ feet. 'Do what you will with me, but do not put me in that room.'

She looked up sobbing, imploring his forgiveness; and, if a woman's beauty in despair could have melted a heart of stone, the sight of her would have melted his. But it will not astonish you to know that his heart was as flinty as his beard was blue, and _Fatima_ realised this as she looked again at his terrible face.

'I have said it, madam,' he replied to her pleadings. 'None can disobey me and live. Prepare, then, for death.'

'Then,' said she, her imploring eyes brimming with tears, 'you will give me a little time to prepare? If I must die, I must say my prayers.'

'Ten minutes will suffice for that. Not a second more.'

_Fatima_ hurried away towards her own room, but on the way she met her sister _Anne_, who was looking for her.

'Oh! dear _Anne_,' sobbed _Fatima_, as she embraced her sister; 'ask me no questions; there is no time. My husband has returned, and, because I disobeyed him, he has threatened to kill me. Oh! where are my brothers? If they were only here!'

'They are on the way hither,' said _Anne_ quickly. 'They were delayed, but promised to follow me very soon.'

'Then run, dear sister, if you love me; run to the top of the tower, and, if you can see them coming, make a sign to them to hasten; for in ten minutes I must die.'

Quickly _Anne_ ran up and up until she reached the roof of the tower; and _Fatima_, standing at the foot, called up to her:

'Sister _Anne_! Dear sister _Anne_! Do you see any one coming?'

And _Anne_ answered her:

'_I see naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass growing._'

Presently _Fatima_ called up again:

'Sister _Anne_, can you see no one coming?'

'_Nay, I see naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass growing._'

_Fatima_, in despair, continued to call again and again, but always the same answer came down from the roof of the tower. And so the ten minutes ran out, and _Fatima_ wrung her hands and groaned.

Meanwhile _Blue Beard_, having sharpened his sword, was trying its edge on the greensward of the terrace below. Fully satisfied with it, he strode into the house, and, standing at the foot of the stairs, shouted, 'Madam, your time is up. Come down at once!'

'One moment,--just one moment,' she replied, then called softly to her sister: '_Anne, sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'

'_Nay, naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass growing._'

'Madam,' roared _Blue Beard_, 'if you do not come down quickly, I will come up and drag you down.'

'I am coming,' she replied; and again she called softly to _Anne_: '_Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'

'Sister, I see a great cloud of dust.'

'Raised by galloping horses?'

'Alas! Nay, it is but a flock of sheep.'

'_Will_ you come down?' bellowed _Blue Beard_, 'or by----'

'I am coming in another moment.' Then to _Anne_: 'Sister _Anne_, can you see anybody coming?'

'Yonder I see--God be praised--I see two knights in armour, riding fast.... Yes, they are my brothers.... I am waving my kerchief to them.... They see me.... They spur and hasten.... Sister, they will soon be here.'

Then _Blue Beard_ stamped his foot and roared out so terribly that he made the whole house tremble. At this his poor wife, wholly fascinated by terror, crept down to her doom. Her face was stained with tears, her long hair was dishevelled; she flung herself at his feet and besought him to take pity on her.

'Pity!' he thundered; 'I have no pity. You must die!' He seized her by the hair and twisted her head back to expose her beautiful throat; then, flourishing his sword, he went on: 'This is my last word on the abominable crime of curiosity as practised by women. By that detestable vice misfortune and grief came into the world, and we owe our present state of evil to the first woman, whose daughters greatly resemble her in that peculiar gift of prying into matters forbidden....' And so he continued to harangue his poor wife, grasping her hair with one hand while he flourished his great sword with the other.

When at length he paused for want of words to describe the horrible crime he was about to meet with punishment, _Fatima_ wailed, 'O sir! wilt thou punish me before I have recommended myself to Heaven? One moment, I implore thee, while I turn my soul to God.'

'Nay, thy prayers are said.' And he raised his sword to strike. But the sword remained in air, as _Blue Beard_, startled by a loud battering at the gate, turned his head. Then, as the gate was burst in, and two knights came running with drawn swords, he loosed his hold upon _Fatima_, who sank in a huddled heap like one already dead. Turning quickly, _Blue Beard_ fled, but the two brothers were hot upon his heels; and, after a rapid chase through the house and garden, they came up with him just as he reached the steps of the main porch. There they ran their swords through and through his body, and left him dead in a pool of blood.

When _Fatima_ opened her eyes and saw her two brothers and her sister _Anne_ bending over her, she thanked Heaven for her deliverance. With a sword all dripping red one brother pointed towards the porch, and _Fatima_ gave a deep sigh of relief. She knew, and was satisfied to know, she was a widow.

Now, as _Blue Beard_ had no children by any of his wives, his sole surviving wife became mistress of all that had been his. All his vast estates and treasures came into her possession, and she was young and beautiful into the bargain. The first thing she did was to purchase commissions for her two brothers in the army; next, she bestowed a splendid estate and a large sum of money upon her sister _Anne_ as a wedding present on the occasion of her marrying the young man of her choice. Then _Fatima_ fell in love with, and married, a worthy gentleman who adored her, and these two lived out their lives in one continuous hour of happiness.

_His_ beard was black, and, when at length it grew grey, and then silvery white, she only loved him all the more. Even in the first year of her marriage she had quite forgotten the dark cloud cast upon her early life by that terrible man, _Blue Beard_; and ever afterwards she never had the slightest cause or reason to remember him.

CERBERUS

CERBERUS, the triple-headed, snake-haired, black dog guarding the gates of Hades, was a mythological monster of fierce and terrible aspect. When the shades of the departed from the upper world were ferried across the River Styx by old Charon the boatman, _Cerberus_ lay quiet and let them pass unchallenged. He knew them: they were shades brought in regular order, by Charon, and, as such, they were allowed to enter Hades. But, if they wished to retrace their steps, and gain the upper world again--this was a labour, this was a task not so easily accomplished, for _Cerberus_ would bar their way; his mane would rise and his jaws would gape, and there was no passing this terrible gatekeeper.

Yet, in the stories of antiquity, there are at least three instances of mortals, or gods in the form of mortals, passing the grim tiler on entering Hades, and repassing him on coming out again. These three were Persephone, Orpheus, and Æneas.

Persephone was the daughter of Ceres (Demeter), and was carried off by Pluto, the ruler of Hades. It was into Hades he carried her and made her his queen. _Cerberus_ knew his master, so, although Pluto bore in his arms a woman in mortal form, they passed in unchallenged by the janitor. But, when Persephone's mother, Ceres, having searched with lighted torches through all the world for her daughter, came at last to the gates of Hades, she evaded _Cerberus_ in some way that is not clearly recorded. And, when she found her daughter, and discovered that Zeus and Pluto had conspired over her abduction, she was angry and said that she would deprive the earth of cereals (a word derived from her name _Ceres_, the goddess of corn) until a satisfactory agreement was arrived at. Zeus and Pluto again conspired, and it was arranged that Persephone should spend four months of the year in Hades and the other eight with the gods. This meant that she had to pass and repass _Cerberus_ constantly.

The second case is that of Orpheus. His wife Eurydice died of a serpent's bite, and her shade was ferried across the Styx by Charon and passed into Hades without challenge from _Cerberus_. But Orpheus bewailed her loss, saying, as in Glück's wonderful opera, 'Eurydice':

'She is gone, and gone for ever';

and finally resolved to journey to Hades and bring his wife back. With the lute to which he had sung the praises of the gods, and so passed the Sirens in safety,--whereas Ulysses had to order his sailors to bind him to the mast,--he charmed the fierce dog into a deep slumber, and so entered Hades.

He found Eurydice, and Pluto agreed to let her go, provided that Orpheus did not look back before he passed _Cerberus_. But, when he came to the monster, Eurydice following, he looked back to reassure her, when lo, she vanished again to her place among the shades. Orpheus, in despair, sang again to his lute:

'She is gone, and gone for ever!'

and so, having charmed _Cerberus_ to sleep, passed to the middle world where, like Bacchus, he was torn to pieces by his fellow-mortals.

The third case is that of Æneas, the Trojan prince, who made the journey to Hades to find his lost love, Dido, and to consult his father, Anchises. He repaired to a sibyl dwelling among the mountains, and she conducted him to the gates of the lower regions.

There, over a crag that marked his den, rose the monstrous three-headed dog, his crested snakes bristling, his eyes shooting fire, his jaws greedy for prey. But the sibyl had provided herself with a cake steeped in honey and tinctured with an opiate drug derived from India and now called _Cerbera_. This she flung to the monster, who greedily devoured it and immediately sank into a deep sleep, leaving the way to Hades unguarded. And, ever since, the phrase 'a sop to _Cerberus_' has been used to signify a sweet morsel flung to pave the way to some concession.

This dog of Hades was not immortal. It remained for Hercules--the type of the perfect man--to vanquish him in the last of his twelve labours. And by this act Hercules was said to have abolished the tyranny of evil in the realm of Pluto, which extended from the utmost star of the galaxy to the lowest depth of Hades.

THE LADY BADOURA

A TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS

_The Lady Badoura_, Princess of China, the daughter of King Gaiour, Lord of all the Seas and of the Seven Palaces! O King! There was none like her in all the world! Her hair was as dark as the night of separation and exile; her face was like the dawn when lovers meet to embrace; her cheeks were like petals of the anemone filled with wine. When she spoke music was born again on earth; when she moved her feet seemed to faint with delight under the burden of grace and loveliness laid upon them. The seven palaces of the king, with gardens like the inmost courts of Paradise, were splendid and wonderful beyond the poet's art to describe, but, without the dazzling beauty of _Badoura's_ presence, they were as a houri's eyes without their lovelight--an empty and lifeless shade. And this all who beheld her in that sphere were destined to discover.

For, O King of the Age, it was as it were but yesterday that the _Lady Badoura_ reclined in a palace of gold, jewel-encrusted; her couch was of ivory, gold-inwrought; and on the air, fragrant with a thousand perfumes, floated the silvery voice of the slave-girl, singing of love. But to-day, O King, the _Lady Badoura_ was a prisoner in a lonely tower, attended by ten old women long deaf to songs of love. And the cause of this I will relate to you.

For several years the king, through his tender regard for her slightest wish, had left her to bestow her heart and hand of her own free accord upon some worthy suitor; but she had clung tenaciously to her freedom, rejecting all suitors--even the most powerful princes in the land. The king was sorely troubled at this, for _Badoura_ was his first and only child, and it was his greatest wish that she should marry, and raise up children for the continuance of his line. But greater trouble was yet in store. Came one day a monarch mightier than all others who had sought her hand in marriage. So powerful and dreaded was this potentate that the king dared not refuse him. He came with a splendid cortège bearing costly gifts such as are seldom found in the treasuries of kings, and he demanded of Gaiour his one and peerless daughter.

As soon as the ceremony of welcome was over, and the king had heard his guest's petition, he sought the _Lady Badoura_ and made the matter known to her. But she, knowing what was toward, rose not to greet him, as was her wont, but remained reclining, answering every stronger and stronger persuasion of her parent with shakes of her head and 'Nay, nay; I will not marry him.' At length, finding her will obdurate, the king gave way to anger, and, finally taking refuge in the opinion that she had gone from her mind, lapsed into grief, wringing his hands and crying, 'Alas! alas! that thou, my only child, shouldst be in this plight. I see now by thy look and manner that thy mind is affected.' With this he ordered his eunuchs and slaves to take her and place her, carefully guarded, where she could do no injury either to herself or others.

'Since none can rouse her heart to love,' said he, 'she must needs be insane.' And, had the first part of his words been true, thou wouldst know, O King, that the second would be true also. But she was not in this case; and now, having shown how and why she, who but yesterday was sitting free in a golden palace, was to-day imprisoned in a lonely tower, I will relate the causes of that love for an unknown one, which now afflicted her.

_Badoura_ had treasured to her heart a talisman,--a gem of wondrous beauty given to her by Dahnash the Efreet. Now, as you know, the Efreets are a powerful order of spirits, sometimes benign and friendly to mortals, sometimes malign and inimical. Dahnash, and another, of whom I shall presently speak, were of evil origin, but possessed enough of good in their nature to make them long for an immortal soul, and this they sought to obtain by labours of love for mankind. The talisman given to _Badoura_ had the peculiar virtue of uniting lovers destined for each other. She had, by this virtue, dreamed of one far away; and all her heart longed for him unutterably, while she still knew that a golden hour of the future would bring him to her side.

Know, O King, that the potency in a talisman is linked with its origin in the world of Efreets. Now in the far country of Khaledan, ruled by King Shazaman, dwelt Meymooneh, a female Efreet of great wisdom. It was she who had endowed this talisman with its virtues and sent it by Dahnash, an Efreet of lower degree, to the _Lady Badoura_. After this she had, by magic spells, led Prince Camaralzaman, the king's only son, to defy his father's command to marry; and, by her subtle arts, his heart and mind were so entranced by dreams of one as lovely as she was far away, that his ever-growing resistance to his father's will was at last met by the sternest anger. So it happened that just as _Badoura_ was imprisoned in the tower,--and for the same reason,--so was Camaralzaman cast into the dungeon beneath his father's palace. There in that self-same spot, in the depth of a well in a recess of the dungeon, dwelt Meymooneh the Efreet.

Towards midnight, when the Efreet goes forth, Meymooneh rose like a bubble from the bottom of the well and found the prince, beautiful in sleep, lying on a rough couch against the wall of his prison. Lost in wonder at his perfect loveliness, she gazed down upon him. For a while she stood thrilled with the thrill of the Efreet's love for a mortal, her outspread wings quivering above him; then at the call of her lifelong purpose she slowly folded her wings and drew back with a sigh. 'By Allah!' she murmured, 'I know now that He is good, or He could not have created a mortal so perfectly beautiful. I will fulfil my task and win my soul.' So saying she bent down and pressed a kiss between his eyes. He turned, dreaming that a rose-petal had fallen on his brow, but did not wake.

With glad heart and heel Meymooneh spurned the earth and soared aloft through the dungeon's roof, crying 'Dahnash! Dahnash!' Her summons was answered by a peal of thunder and a whirr of wings, as Dahnash appeared through a murky cloud. Torn from his demon abode he must needs come, for Meymooneh had power over him. By muttered spells she held him in mid-air, his eyes blazing, his tail lashing, and his wings vibrating feather against feather.

'Dahnash! sayest thou that she to whom I sent thee with the talisman is more perfect than any among mortals?'

'O Meymooneh!' replied he, fearing her glance, 'torture me as thou wilt if I have not told thee truly that there is none her equal: the _Lady Badoura_ is fair above all beauty among mortals.'

'Thou liest! He for whose sake I wrought the talisman is fairer.'

Word gave word in heated dissension, and Dahnash only escaped Meymooneh's wrath by pleading for a fair comparison of the two seen side by side.

'Go, then!' cried Meymooneh, buffeting him with her wing. 'Off with you to China and bring hither your bird of beauty. We will compare them side by side, as thou sayest; and then we will further prove the matter by waking first one and then the other to see which accords the other the more fervent protestations of love. Go! Bring her to my abode!'

On this Dahnash sped with incredible swiftness to China, while Meymooneh repaired to the dungeon where the prince was still in slumber.

In a brief space Dahnash reappeared at her side bearing the _Lady Badoura_ sleeping in his arms. He laid his lovely burden on the couch beside Camaralzaman, and the two Efreets, dumbfounded by the incomparable beauty of the pair, gazed upon them in speechless wonder.

'It is well we agreed that they themselves should decide,' said Meymooneh at length, 'for where both are perfect the decision is beyond our power.'

Then, transforming herself into a flea, she sprang forthwith upon the neck of the prince and bit him. Camaralzaman awoke, and, raising himself on one elbow, beheld the face and form of _Badoura_ by his side. Giving himself up to a sudden ecstasy of love, and crying that all his life had been a dream of which this was the waking fulfilment, he strove to arouse her; but in vain: she was bound by the spell of the Efreets, who, having rendered themselves invisible, were watching intently. At last, his words of love falling exhausted on her unconscious spirit, he placed his arm beneath her raven tresses, and, raising her head, kissed her on the brow with the purest love of youth. Then, by a sudden inspiration, on seeing a ring upon her finger, he exchanged it for his own; and, having done this, sank to sleep in obedience to the Efreets' spell.

Meymooneh, now anxious to show the other aspect of the case, again assumed the form of a flea, and, springing upon _Badoura_, soon found a way to bite her hard in a soft place. _Badoura_ sprang up wide awake and immediately beheld Camaralzaman sleeping by her side.

'Oh me!' she cried, 'what shame has come upon me? Yet, by Allah! he is so beautiful that I love him to distraction.' Then, after crying out the utmost words of love to his unheeding spirit, she fell to kissing his hands, whereupon she found to her amazement that her ring was upon his finger and a strange one upon her own. 'I know not,' cried she at last, 'but it seemeth we are married.' And with that she sighed with content, and, nestling to his side, fell under the Efreets' spell of sleep.

At a loss, even now, to decide which was the more beautiful, the Efreets agreed to waive their difference, and Dahnash, at the bidding of Meymooneh, raised _Badoura_ in his arms and sped through space to China.

When waking came with morning light the case with _Badoura_ was like that with Camaralzaman, save that the former, having quitted her couch, forgot it, whereas the latter was clearly certain he had not quitted his. Each discovered the other's ring bestowed in exchange. Each thrilled at the meaning of this pledge, which proved their meeting to have been no baseless dream. Each swore by Allah that a fiendish trick had been played at dead of night,--not in the wedding of them in their sleep, but in the snatching of them asunder before waking. _Badoura_ wailed for her husband; Camaralzaman rose in wrath and demanded his stolen wife. There was trouble in China and in Khaledan that day, and in each kingdom a sorrowful king wept for the madness of his first-born.

For three long years the pair nursed their love in separation and confinement. Camaralzaman was sent in splendid exile to a palace by the sea, but the wide expanse of waters only afforded him the greater space for the longing which consumed him. He could not know that, far across the ocean, the one he longed for was sitting, chained by the neck with a golden chain, there at the window of her palace tower--chained and guarded lest in her supposed madness she should hurl her body in the wake of her soul which rushed to meet him from afar. He could not know that her father, the king, had invited the astrologers and wise men to cure his daughter of her malady, the reward of success being her hand and half his kingdom, the punishment of failure the forfeiture of life; nay, he might even have rejoiced to know that already forty heads, relieved of wisdom, decked the walls of Gaiour's palace. Yet, O King of the Age, through the virtues of the talisman he was led thither to see and know.

One day _Badoura's_ old nurse arose from sleep bewildered, and, summoning her son Marzavan, she dispatched him on the track of the footprints of a dream. One in the wide world afar seemed to have come and gone, leaving nothing but a trail of the perfume of Paradise--a trail which Marzavan must follow. He set forth, and over land and sea he travelled on his quest. Now upon some fragrant gale he fancied he heard the voice of the one he sought; now in the sunset glow of the western hills he caught the echo of his horse's hoofs. Many he met who had heard of a prince afar who was mad for the love of one unknown, but none could pilot him to that prince's dwelling-place. At last it was the wing of chance--the certainty of talismans--that brought him to the feet of Camaralzaman. Through perilous adventure, ending in shipwreck, he found him and told him all. How they contrived their sudden flight and passage across land and sea I leave to your own thoughts, O King of the Age, for thou knowest in thy wisdom that, where none can find a way, Love will find a way.

So it transpired one day that the forty heads relieved of wisdom looked down approvingly upon a youthful astrologer beating with his staff upon the palace gates.

'By Allah!' cried the janitor on opening to him. 'Thou art in a mighty hurry to quit this life so soon.'

'Nay, I come to heal the _Lady Badoura_ of her malady. Let me in, and that quickly!'

He had his will. Then, step by step, each step an age, he followed up and up to the lonely tower. His hair seemed turning grey before he was admitted; but no sooner had he crossed the threshold than _Badoura_, with a cry of joy, rose and broke her golden chain, and sped to his arms, where she lay in bliss, pouring out her soul in sobs and kisses.

The cure was immediate. The king came in haste and saw in a moment that she was healed beyond the wildest hope of the forty bleached heads.

'Allah be praised!' he cried on seeing her face aglow and her eyes a-dancing with delight. 'There is indeed no god but Allah! For I perceive that He hath restored my daughter's reason.'

'Nay, my father,' returned she, 'Allah hath restored thy daughter's husband: her reason was never lacking.' And when, in proof of her words, she had shown the astonished king her own ring upon the finger of Camaralzaman, and his upon hers, she clung to her husband in an ecstasy of joy, returning his ardent kisses again and again and again.

When the whole story of Camaralzaman's perils and adventures by land and sea was told, the king marvelled greatly at the power of love that had drawn two sundered hearts together in so wonderful a fashion.

'Of a surety,' he said, 'the souls of these two have stood together in the Magic Isle of Love, where the woven moonbeams trap the hearts of lovers in one net. And, by Allah! though those silvery threads may stretch to the brink of the earth and the opposite sides of heaven, they must, at Allah's will, tighten again, drawing heart close to heart. Great is the will of Allah!'

* * * * *

The _Lady Badoura_, with her husband, Prince Camaralzaman, dwelt in the land of China in a state of the utmost delight and happiness for many, many days, beloved of the king and all the people. And _Badoura_ treasured the talisman that had brought such great joy: she wore it always,--sewn in her robe against the beating of her heart.

THE SLEEPER AWAKENED

A TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS

ABU HASAN THE WAG!

O my Lord the King, strange as was the story of Sindbad the Sailor, that of Abu Hasan the Wag is even stranger--indeed, there is no true story so strange in all the world. Abu Hasan--a mere merchant--awoke one morning to find himself caliph of Baghdad; and, as thou bidst me recall a tale of past telling, I will relate exactly how it happened.

Know, then, O King, that Abu Hasan the Wag, living in the reign of Harun-er-Rashid, inherited a large fortune from his father. As his wealth was no longer his father's but his own, he took thought as to how he might save at least some of it. Accordingly, without telling any one, he divided it into two equal parts, setting one part aside in a safe place and keeping the other at his disposal to lavish among his boon companions. 'In this way,' said he, 'I shall at once be risking only half my fortune and learning the way of the world; for I doubt not that when I have spent the one-half on my friends they will in their turn treat me in like fashion.' By which you will perceive, O King, that Abu Hasan, whose exact age I have not stated, was at least young.

A great man then was Abu Hasan. He had gold, and he summoned his boon companions to every delight his heart could devise. Long and loud was the revelry by night. Equally long were the bills by day. But Abu Hasan knew his friends: they were good fellows all, and he felt quite sure that when the half of his fortune was spent and they thought him penniless, they would turn to him and say, 'Thou didst treat us right royally while thou wast rich: now that thou art poor, come and partake, in your turn, of our _largesse_.' By which you will perceive, O King, that he was not growing any older.

A whole year passed in riotous living and extravagant generosity. Then, finding the money exhausted, he called his boon companions and laid his case before them, expecting what he did not receive. Every one of them turned his back and left him with the utmost unconcern. Some called him a fool; others could not imagine what he had done with all his money: all took their leave and went their ways.

A sad man then was Abu Hasan and, like all sad men, he sought his mother.

'O my son,' said she, stroking his hair, 'was it not always so? Thou wast rich: they were thy friends. Thou art poor: where is their friendship? My son, thou hast sold it and paid for it thyself. Alas! learn from this never to put thy trust in the friends of thy purse.' And, with his head upon her lap, she wept over him bitterly.

A changed man then was Abu Hasan. He arose and went forth, no longer young, and withdrew from its safe keeping the remaining half of his fortune. With a part of this--being still a man of wealth--he purchased a mansion and filled it with all manner of delights till it was fit to charm the heart of the caliph himself; and there he dwelt in luxury, as befitted a man of his station. But, having purchased a fragment of wisdom at the price of half his original fortune, he resolved to make use of it. He would have done with friends and have to do only with strangers, and these, moreover, should remain strangers, for his associationship with any one of them should be for one night only;--at dawn 'Farewell! Henceforth I know you not; for I have been sorely bit by friends; by strangers never.'

In the evenings, when the purple twilight fell upon Baghdad, Abu Hasan would take up a position at the end of the great bridge, and there, sooner or later, he would accost a stranger, pressing upon him a warm invitation to spend the night under his roof, and promising him the best of entertainment. Indeed, being of a gay and merry disposition, he sought even to choose one of a melancholy cast, so that he might exercise his wit upon him and cause his face to shine with mirth. In the morning he would send his guest away with his blessing, having explained to him the nature of his oath and exacted his promise to regard him henceforth as a perfect stranger. 'And so, farewell! May God conduct you in safe and pleasant ways!'

For a long time he behaved in this manner, providing the best of entertainment and adhering closely to his oath. At length there came an evening when he was waiting as usual on the bridge, and it chanced that the caliph of Baghdad himself came by, disguised as a merchant--a favourite amusement of his when he wished to traverse the ways of the city and see how his people fared. Abu Hasan looked at him as he passed, and taking him, by his dress and the stout slave following him, for a merchant from Moussul, and therefore a stranger in the city, he accosted him.

'Sir,' he said, saluting gracefully, 'permit me to compliment you on your happy arrival in Baghdad. Not, indeed, to show you that this is a hospitable city, but rather that I may have the honour of your company at my house, I beg that you will accept my invitation to come and sup with me and rest yourself after the fatigue of your journey.'

The caliph, always in the mood for an adventure, accepted gladly, and together they repaired to Hasan's abode, the slave following after. When they arrived they found supper laid for two, and in the most sumptuous style. Hasan, treating his guest with every courtesy, seated him in the place of honour.

The apartment was most luxurious. On one side trickled streams of water through silver channels half hidden among rare ferns. On another side golden fountains played in cool grottoes, and, over all, a soft light falling from a wonderful lamp overhead wrapped the richness of the place in a dreamy glamour.

Towards the end of the repast a beautiful slave-girl floated in with her lute and sang a song of love, inspired by the soft languor of the night. And the caliph wondered concerning his host: what manner of man was he to entertain so royally?

When supper was over, and everything cleared away, Hasan arose, and, having lighted a number of candles to throw a brighter light on the scene, spread a rich wine-cloth and brought out his rarest wines. He did these things himself, because it was always his whim after supper to play the servant to his guest as if he were a royal personage.

'My master,' he said, filling a golden goblet with wine and raising it to the caliph, 'I make you free of all ceremony. I am thy faithful servitor, and may I never have to grieve thy loss.' With this he drank the wine and then filled another goblet for his guest. 'I warrant you will find it good,' he said, handing it to him on bended knee.

'I am satisfied of that,' replied the caliph; 'I can see you have nothing but the best of everything.' And he drank to Abu Hasan.

Far into the night they sat and talked of many things. The caliph was pleased at his host's waggish whim of playing the rôle of servant to a royal master, and Hasan, for his part, was delighted at his guest's refined manners and his great knowledge on many subjects. 'I am, indeed, a proud man to be honoured by the company of so accomplished and polite a personage,' he said, and, even if he had known that he was entertaining the caliph of Baghdad, he could not have treated his guest in better fashion.

At length, when they had pledged each other in many glasses of wine, and the hours were growing small, the caliph remarked, 'Mine host, thou hast seen for thyself how greatly I have enjoyed this pleasant intercourse; and, as I would not seem ungrateful, pray tell me in what way I may serve thee. I am but a merchant of Moussul, but if there be any request dear to thy heart, I beg thee to mention it, for, though a stranger in this city, I have some friends who sit in high places.'

'Nay, my master,' replied Abu Hasan; 'my entertainment has been more than rewarded by the gracious presence of a charming guest. Any other recompense would spoil my memory of this night and thee.'

'As you will. But let us suppose now--both of us being greatly tickled by this most fragrant wine--if I had the power to grant the dearest wish of thy heart, what would that wish be?'

Abu Hasan laughed and took up the quaint conceit. 'The dearest wish of my heart?' said he; 'I will tell it thee in a trice. Yonder, at the cast of a stone, stands a mosque, and the imam of that mosque is a hypocrite of an exalted degree. Indeed, among hypocrites he stands at the head of his profession. He lords it over the whole neighbourhood, and especially over me, for, when he hears music and revelry during the hours that every self-respecting imam should be asleep, he ceases not to persecute me on the matter until I have no stomach for anything that is his. Ah! if I were caliph, even for a single day, then would I punish this wicked man in a fitting fashion. A hundred strokes on the soles of his feet--not less! Then a parade through the city--a triumphal procession headed by that sycophant impaled on a camel, with his face to the tail to signify that he is on his way to Paradise in the wrong direction. And, not to pay too poor a tribute to his skilled hypocrisy, I would give him a cortège: four of his sheiks who aid and abet him in his kill-joy persecutions should follow him at an admiring and respectful distance, each impaled upon a camel, and each bound for Paradise with his face pointing the other way. Then, by Allah! the people would follow this great procession, crying, "Behold, such is the reward of fools and interferers!" This would I do if I were caliph for a single day, but----' And Hasan the Wag broke off, laughing. His guest laughed with him, for he was mightily amused. Suddenly his face became as the face of one who hath a purpose; then, to conceal that purpose, he laughed again, louder than before.

'Mine host,' he cried, as soon as he could contain himself, 'verily thou art a wag!' Then he took a bottle and filled a goblet with sparkling wine. 'May thy wish be granted,' he said, and drained the goblet. 'Pray, friend,' he went on, 'while I fill a cup for thee, wilt thou be so good as to ascertain the condition of my slave beneath thy roof. I doubt not that he is comfortably situated, but he is a faithful servant, and well deserveth the solicitude of his master.'

Abu Hasan admired his guest the more for his thought for his slave. He arose quickly and went to see into the matter himself, for by this time his whole household had retired to rest. While he was gone the caliph drew a lozenge of benj--a powerful opiate--from the inner recesses of his dress and dropped it into the goblet, which he quickly filled with wine. When Hasan returned, saying that the slave had been well cared for, the caliph handed him the wine. 'You have filled for me many times,' he said; 'now I have filled for you. Drink, I pray thee, for my sake.'

Abu Hasan took the goblet, and, eager to fulfil the slightest wish of his guest, drank deep. Then, scarcely had he set down the goblet, when his senses reeled. He threw up his arms and was falling prone when the caliph sprang to his aid and gently laid him down upon the soft cushions. The benj had done its work: Abu Hasan was in a deep sleep.

The caliph now summoned his slave, and directed him to take up the unconscious body of his host and carry it to the palace. So they set out, unobserved at that late hour; and, when they reached their destination, the caliph gave orders that Abu Hasan be undressed, clothed in the royal robes, and put to bed upon the royal couch. This was soon done.

Then the caliph summoned his grand vizier.

'Giafer,' said he, 'you see this man upon my state bed: now mark my words. In the morning, when he awakes, see to it that you treat him in every respect as you would myself. Accost him with the same reverence, and observe and do whatever he bids you, for I have put him in my place. Convince him by thy subtlety, Giafer, that he is indeed the caliph of Baghdad, and that his lightest word must be obeyed. His generosity is such that he may wish to empty the coffers of my treasury on the heads of the poor: even so, carry out his commands. And see to it, Giafer, that all, from the emirs to the lowest slaves, pay him the same honour and obedience as they would myself, always exercising the greatest care lest he discover that he is not what he seems. Moreover, as this is a rare diversion after my own heart, be sure to wake me before the drug releases him; and, as thou knowest, the power of the benj lasts little more than three hours, and, after that, natural sleep, from which he can be awakened. But, Giafer, wake me first, for I would see what I would see.'

The vizier failed not to understand. He quickly conducted the caliph to a couch behind some heavy velvet hangings, whence, by parting the folds, he would be able to see all he desired. Then the vizier went to prepare the whole Court for the part they were to play.

In the morning, as the three hours' thrall of the benj drew to a close, the royal apartment was as it had always been at the hour of sunrise. The officers and the ladies of the Court were there, placed according to their rank. The other attendants--the eunuchs and the slave-girls--took their positions as usual, for the caliph was due to arise and prepare for morning prayer.

A slave-girl struck some joyous chords upon her lute, and Abu Hasan awoke with a start. He sat up and looked about him. The royal couch, the resplendent apartment lit by the morning sun, the courtiers bowing before him--surely this was all a dream! With a sigh at the seeming reality of it all he sank back and went to sleep again.

Presently, however, he awoke a second time to the continued music of the lute. Again he sat up and stared in blank astonishment at the richly apparelled attendants of the Court making obeisance to him. Then a lovely slave-girl ran forward and bowed low. 'O Prince of the Faithful,' she said, 'it is the hour of morning prayer. It is thy daily wish that I remind thee of this.'

Abu Hasan remained speechless. He knew not what to make of it. He looked again at the sumptuous magnificence of the apartment and rubbed his eyes. 'Am I awake?' he cried. 'Is this real? Nay, nay; it cannot be: I dream.'

'O Prince of the Faithful,' said the slave-girl, 'hast thou indeed dreamed that thou wert other than the Lord of all Creatures? It was an evil dream, my lord! and now that thou art awake, I pray thee remember thy usual custom.'

'Alas!' exclaimed Abu Hasan, beating his breast, 'what affair is this? Am I Abu Hasan dreaming I am the caliph, or am I in truth the caliph who heretofore dreamed he was Abu Hasan?'