The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, vol 1 by Sir Richard Francis Burton (reading the story of the txt) 📖

all patience in his desire to know why the two bitches were so beaten. He threw a wink at Ja’afar wishing him to ask, but; the Minister turning towards him said by signs, “Be silent!” Then quoth the portress to the mistress of the house, “O my lady, arise and go to thy place that I in turn may do my devoir.”[FN#176] She answered, “Even so”; and, taking her seat upon the couch of juniper wood, pargetted with gold and silver, said to the portress and cateress, “Now do ye what ye have to do.” Thereupon the portress sat upon a low seat by the couch side; but the procuretrix, entering a closet, brought out of it a bag of satin with green fringes and two tassels of gold. She stood up before the lady of the house and shaking the bag drew out from it a lute which she tuned by tightening its pegs; and when it was in perfect order, she began to sing these quatrains:—

 

“Ye are the wish, the aim of me *And when, O Love, thy sight I see[FN#177]

The heavenly mansion openeth;[FN#178] * But Hell I see when lost thy sight.

From thee comes madness; nor the less * Comes highest joy, comes ecstasy:

Nor in my love for thee I fear * Or shame and blame, or hate and spite.

When Love was throned within my heart * I rent the veil of modesty;

And stints not Love to rend that veil * Garring disgrace on grace to alight;

The robe of sickness then I donned * But rent to rags was secrecy:

Wherefore my love and longing heart * Proclaim your high supremest might;

The tear drop railing adown my cheek * Telleth my tale of ignomy:

And all the hid was seen by all * And all my riddle ree’d aright.

 

Heal then my malady, for thou * Art malady and remedy!

But she whose cure is in thy hand * Shall ne’er be free of bane and blight;

Burn me those eyne that radiance rain * Slay me the swords of phantasy;

How many hath the sword of Love * Laid low, their high degree despite?

Yet will I never cease to pine * Nor to oblivion will I flee.

Love is my health, my faith, my joy * Public and private, wrong or right.

O happy eyes that sight thy charms * That gaze upon thee at their gree!

Yea, of my purest wish and will * The slave of Love I’ll aye be highs.”

 

When the damsel heard this elegy in quatrains she cried out “Alas! Alas!” and rent her raiment, and fell to the ground fainting; and the Caliph saw scars of the palm rod[FN#179] on her back and welts of the whip; and marvelled with exceeding wonder.

Then the portress arose and sprinkled water on her and brought her a fresh and very fine dress and put it on her. But when the company beheld these doings their minds were troubled, for they had no inkling of the case nor knew the story thereof; so the Caliph said to Ja’afar, “Didst thou not see the scars upon the damsel’s body? I cannot keep silence or be at rest till I learn the truth of her condition and the story of this other maiden and the secret of the two black bitches.” But Ja’afar answered, “O

our lord, they made it a condition with us that we speak not of what concerneth us not, lest we come to hear what pleaseth us not.” Then said the portress “By Allah, O my sister, come to me and complete this service for me.” Replied the procuratrix, “With joy and goodly gree;” so she took the lute; and leaned it against her breasts and swept the strings with her finger tips, and began singing:—

 

“Give back mine eyes their sleep long ravished * And say me whither be my reason fled:

I learnt that lending to thy love a place * Sleep to mine eyelids mortal foe was made.

They said, “We held thee righteous, who waylaid * Thy soul?” “Go ask his glorious eyes,” I said.

I pardon all my blood he pleased to spill * Owning his troubles drove him blood to shed.

On my mind’s mirror sun like sheen he cast Whose keen reflection fire in vitals bred Waters of Life let Allah waste at will Suffice my wage those lips of dewy red:

An thou address my love thou’lt find a cause * For plaint and tears or ruth or lustihed.

In water pure his form shall greet your eyne * When fails the bowl nor need ye drink of wine.[FN#180]”

 

Then she quoted from the same ode:—

 

“I drank, but the draught of his glance, not wine, And his swaying gait swayed to sleep these eyne: ‘Twas not grape juice grips me but grasp of Past ‘Twas not bowl o’erbowled me but gifts divine: His coiling curl-lets my soul ennetted * And his cruel will all my wits outwitted.[FN#181]”

 

After a pause she resumed:—

 

“If we ‘plain of absence what shall we say? * Or if pain afflict us where wend our way?

An I hire a truchman[FN#182] to tell my tale * The lover’s plaint is not told for pay:

If I put on patience, a lover’s life * After loss of love will not last a day:

Naught is left me now but regret, repine * And tears flooding cheeks for ever and aye:

O thou who the babes of these eyes[FN#183] hast deaf * Thou art homed in heart that shall never stray Would heaven I wot hast thou kept our pact * Long as stream shall cow, to have firmest fey?

Or hast forgotten the weeping slave * Whom groans afflict and whom griefs waylay?

Ah, when severance ends and we side by side * Couch, I’ll blame thy rigours and chide thy pride!”

 

Now when the portress heard her second ode she shrieked aloud and said, “By Allah! ‘tis right good!”; and laying hands on her garments tore them, as she did the first time, and fell to the ground fainting. Thereupon the procuratrix rose end brought her a second change of clothes after she had sprinkled water on her.

She recovered and sat upright and said to her sister the cateress, “Onwards, and help me in my duty, for there remains but this one song.” So the provisioneress again brought out the lute and began to sing these verses:—

 

“How long shall last, how long this rigour rife of woe * May not suffice thee all these tears thou seest flow?

Our parting thus with purpose fell thou cost prolong * Is’t not enough to glad the heart of envious foe?

Were but this Iying world once true to lover heart * He had not watched the weary night in tears of woe: Oh pity me whom overwhelmed thy cruel will My lord, my king, ‘tis time some ruth to me thou show: To whom reveal my wrongs, O thou who murdered me? Sad, who of broken troth the pangs must undergo!

Increase wild love for thee and phrenzy hour by hour And days of exile minute by so long, so slow; O Moslems, claim vendetta[FN#184] for this slave of Love

Whose sleep Love ever wastes, whose patience Love lays low: Doth law of Love allow thee, O my wish! to lie * Lapt in another’s arms and unto me cry Go!?

Yet in thy presence, say, what joys shall I enjoy * When he I love but works my love to overthrow?”

 

When the portress heard the third song she cried aloud; and, laying hands on her garments, rent them down to the very skirt and fell to the ground fainting a third time, again showing the scars of the scourge. Then said the three Kalandars, “Would Heaven we had never entered this house, but had rather righted on the mounds and heaps outside the city! for verily our visit hath been troubled by sights which cut to the heart.” The Caliph turned to them and asked, “Why so?” and they made answer, “Our minds are sore troubled by this matter.” Quoth the Caliph, “Are ye not of the household?” and quoth they, “No; nor indeed did we ever set eyes on the place till within this hour.” Hereat the Caliph marvelled and rejoined, “This man who sitteth by you, would he not know the secret of the matter?” and so saying he winked and made signs at the Porter. So they questioned the man but he replied, “By the All might of Allah, in love all are alike![FN#185] I am the growth of Baghdad, yet never in my born days did I darken these doors till to day and my companying with them was a curious matter.” “By Allah,” they rejoined, “we took thee for one of them and now we see thou art one like ourselves.”

Then said the Caliph, “We be seven men, and they only three women without even a fourth to help them; so let us question them of their case; and, if they answer us not, fain we will be answered by force.” All of them agreed to this except Ja’afar who said,[FN#186] “This is not my recking; let them be; for we are their guests and, as ye know, they made a compact and condition with us which we accepted and promised to keep: wherefore it is better that we be silent concerning this matter; and, as but little of the night remaineth, let each and every of us gang his own gait.” Then he winked at the Caliph and whispered to him, “There is but one hour of darkness left and I can bring them before thee to morrow, when thou canst freely question them all concerning their story.” But the Caliph raised his head haughtily and cried out at him in wrath, saying, “I have no patience left for my longing to hear of them: let the Kalandars question them forthright.” Quoth Ja’afar, “This is not my rede.” Then words ran high and talk answered talk, and they disputed as to who should first put the question, but at last all fixed upon the Porter.

And as the jingle increased the house mistress could not but notice it and asked them, “O ye folk! on what matter are ye talking so loudly?” Then the Porter stood up respectfully before her and said, “O my lady, this company earnestly desire that thou acquaint them with the story of the two bitches and what maketh thee punish them so cruelly; and then thou fallest to weeping over them and kissing them; and lastly they want to hear the tale of thy sister and why she hath been bastinado’d with palm sticks like a man. These are the questions they charge me to put, and peace be with thee.”[FN#187] Thereupon quoth she who was the lady of the house to the guests, “Is this true that he saith on your part?” and all replied, “Yes!” save Ja’afar who kept silence.

When she heard these words she cried, “By Allah, ye have wronged us, O our guests. with grievous wronging; for when you came before us we made compact and condition with you, that whoso should speak of what concerneth him not should hear what pleaseth him not. Sufficeth ye not that we took you into our house and fed you with our best food? But the fault is not so much yours as hers who let you in.” Then she tucked up her sleeves from her wrists and struck the floor thrice with her hand crying, “Come ye quickly;” and lo! a closet door opened and out of it came seven negro slaves with drawn swords in hand to