The Pacha of Many Tales

“What, again?” roared Yussuf. “Well, now, you must take the consequence. Fly, or you are dead men. I have sworn by Allah, not only that you should not come into my door, but that I would cudgel you whenever we met again.”

“Nay, thou pearl among men, thou ocean of good temper, rise and receive us. It is our destiny, and who can prevent it?”

“Well, then,” replied Yussuf, coming out to the verandah with his great cudgel, “if it is your destiny, it will not be my fault.”

“But, good Yussuf,” replied the caliph, “hear us. This is the last time that we request admittance. We swear it by the three. You rail at us as if we harmed you; whereas, you must acknowledge, that every thing, however unfortunate at first appearance, has turned only to thy advantage.”

“That is true,” replied Yussuf; “but still it is through your pernicious omens that I am made to change my trade every day. What am I to be next?”

“Is not your trust in God?” replied Giaffar. “Besides, we promise thee faithfully that we will not say one word on the subject, and that this shall be the last time that we demand your hospitality.”

“Well,” replied Yussuf, who was very drunk, “I will open the door for the last time, as I must not war with destiny.” So saying, he reeled down the stairs, and let them in.

The caliph found every thing in extraordinary profusion. Yussuf sang for some time without noticing them; at last he said, “You Moussul rascals, why do you not ask me to narrate how I have had such good fortune? You are dying with envy, I presume; but now you shall hear it, and if you dare to go away till I have told you all, I will shower down such a quantity of blows upon your carcasses, as shall leave you worse than a bastinado of five hundred.”

“We are all obedience and humility, O prince of men?” replied the caliph.

Yussuf then narrated the events of the day, concluding with, “I am Yussuf, my trust is in God! A beeldar will I live, a beeldar will I die, in spite of the caliph and his grand vizier to boot. Here’s confusion to them both!” He then drank off a cup of rakee, and rolling over in a state of stupid intoxication, fell fast asleep.

The caliph and Giaffar blew out the lights, and then let themselves out of the door, and, much amused with the adventures of Yussuf, they regained the private gate of the seraglio.

The next morning Yussuf awoke, and finding it late, hastened to dress himself in his best clothes, saying to himself, “I am a beeldar, and I will die a beeldar.” He took care to comb out his beard, and twist it in a fiercer manner; and then putting on his sham sword, lost no time in going to the palace, where he took his station among the beeldars who were on duty, hoping that he would be dispatched by the chief on a similar message as that of the day before. The caliph soon afterwards made his appearance at the divan, and immediately recognised Yussuf in his partial disguise. He observed to Giaffar, “Do you see there our friend Yussuf? I have him at last, and now I will perplex him not a little before he escapes me.” The chief of the beeldars being called, stepped forward and made his obeisance. “What is the number of your corps?” inquired the caliph.

“Thirty in all, Most High, of which ten are every day on duty.”

“I will review those who are present,” replied the caliph, “and examine each man particularly.”

The chief of the beeldars bowing low, retired, and turning to his men, with a loud voice, said, “Beeldars, it is the pleasure of the Commander of the Faithful, that you appear before him.”

This order was instantly obeyed, and Yussuf was compelled to walk with the rest into the immediate presence of the caliph; not, however, without alarm, and saying to himself, “What can all this be for? My usual luck. Yesterday I cast up my reckoning with the cadi, and paid the balance with my heels. If I have to account with the caliph, I am lucky if I come off clear with my head.”

In the mean time the caliph asked a few questions of each beeldar, until he came to Yussuf, who had taken care to stand last. His manoeuvres and embarrassment afforded much pleasure to the caliph and Giaffar, so much, that they scarce could refrain from laughing outright. The last of the beeldars had now been examined, and had passed over to the right after the others, and Yussuf remained standing by himself. He shuffled from side to side, casting an eye now at the door, and then at the caliph, considering whether he should take to his heels, but he felt that it was useless. The caliph asked him who he was three times before Yussuf’s confusion would allow him to answer; and the chief of the beeldars gave him a push in the ribs, and looking in his face, did not recognise him; he however supposed that he had been lately substituted by one of the other chiefs. “Answer the caliph, you great brute,” said he to Yussuf, giving him another dig in the ribs with the handle of his poniard; but Yussuf’s tongue was glued to his mouth with fear, and he stood trembling without giving any answer. The caliph again repeated, “What is your name, your father’s name, and the amount of your salary as a beeldar? and how did you get your appointment?”

“Is it to me you speak, O hadji caliph?” at last stammered out Yussuf.

“Yes,” replied the caliph gravely.

Giaffar, who stood near his master, then cried out, “Yes, you cowardly shred of a beeldar; and reply quickly, or a sword will be applied to your neck.”

Yussuf, as if talking to himself, replied, “I hope it will be my own then.” He then replied to the question, “Yes, yes, it’s all right—my father was a beeldar, and my mother also before him.” At this extravagant answer the caliph and whole court could no longer restrain their mirth, which gave Yussuf a little more courage.

“So,” replied Haroun, “it appears that you are a beeldar, and that your allowance is ten dinars yearly, and five pounds of mutton daily.”

“Yes, my Umeer,” replied Yussuf, “I believe that is correct. My trust is in God!”

“It is well. Now, Yussuf, take with you three other beeldars to the dungeon of blood, and bring to me the four robbers who were condemned to death for their manifold crimes and enormities.”

Here Giaffar interfered, and submitted to the caliph, whether it would not be better that the head-jailer should produce them, which being ordered, that officer presently made his appearance with the four criminals pinioned and bareheaded. The caliph ordered three of the beeldars each to seize and blindfold a prisoner, to open their upper garments ready, to unsheath their swords, and wait for the word of command. The three beeldars made their obeisance, obeyed the command, placing the criminals in a kneeling position, resting on their hams, with their necks bare, and their eyes covered. While the three heeldars stood thus in readiness, Yussuf was in a dreadful state of confusion. “To escape now is impossible,” said he to himself. “Confound these Moussul merchants. They did well to say they would come no more, for in a few minutes I shall be no more myself.”

“You fellow there! you are one of the appointed beeldars, and do not know your duty,” cried Giaffar. “Why do you not lead out the criminal as your companions have done?”

Yussuf, obliged to obey, now seized the fourth prisoner, covered his eyes, laid bare his neck, and took his stand behind him, but without drawing his sword. “I never shall be able to get over this,” thought Yussuf. “In a few seconds it will prove to be but a piece of palm wood, and I shall lose my head among the jeers of the people. However, my trust is in God; and to Shitan with all Moussul merchants.” He took, however, his sheath and sham sword from his belt, and raised it in the scabbard over his shoulder.

The caliph who watched him narrowly, was highly diverted with this manoeuvre. “You beeldar!” cried he, “why do you not unsheath your sword?”

“My sword,” replied Yussuf, “is of that temper that it must not too long glance in the eyes of the Commander of the Faithful.”

The caliph appeared satisfied, and turning to the first beeldar, commanded him to strike. In a moment, the head of the robber was lying on the ground. “Neatly and bravely done,” said the caliph; “let him be rewarded.” He then gave command to the second to execute his criminal. The sword whirled in the air, and at one stroke the head of the robber flew some distance from the shoulders. The third criminal was despatched with equal dexterity. “Now,” said the caliph to Yussuf, “you, my beeldar, cut off the criminal’s head, and receive the like reward for your dexterity.”

Yussuf had by this time, to a certain degree, recovered his presence of mind; he had not exactly arranged his ideas, but they floated indistinctly in his brain. “Will, your highness, allow me to say a few words to the criminal,” demanded Yussuf, to gain time.

“Be it so,” replied the caliph, stuffing his robe in his mouth to prevent laughter.

“The caliph has commanded that your head be struck off. If you would pronounce the profession of the true faith now is your time, robber, for you have but one short minute to live.”

The criminal immediately cried out, “There is but one God, and Mahomet is his Prophet!”

Yussuf then bared his muscular arm, and fiercely rolling his eyes, walked three times round his prisoner. “Declare now the justice of your fate,” cried he aloud (but at the same time saying to the man in a low tone, ‘Swear you are innocent.’) “Say, is not your sentence just?”

“No—no,” replied the man, in a loud voice, “I am innocent.”

The caliph, who was very attentive to all that passed, was much diverted by Yussuf’s proceedings, and wondered what he would do next. Yussuf then walked up to the caliph, and prostrated himself. “O caliph, vicegerent of the Prophet! deign to listen to your faithful beeldar, while he narrates a strange adventure which hath befallen him within these few days.”

“Speak, beeldar, we are all attention; remember that thy words be those of truth.”

“It was on the evening before your highness issued the decree that no water should be supplied to the bazaar from the Tigris, that as I was sitting in my house, performing my sacred duties, and studying the Koran, which I read in a loud voice, three merchants of Moussul claimed and intreated my hospitality. The Koran has pointed out hospitality as a virtue necessary to every true believer, and I hastened to open my door and receive them.”

“Indeed,” replied the caliph, looking at Giaffar. “Tell me, beeldar, what sort of looking personages might these Moussul merchants be?”

“Ill favoured to a degree. One was a pot-bellied, rascally-looking fellow, with a great beard, who looked as if he had just come out of a jail. (The caliph winked at his vizier, as much as to say, There is your portrait.) Another was a black-bearded, beetle-browed, hang-dog looking rascal. (Giaffar bowed to the caliph.) And the third was a blubber-lipped, weazen-faced skeleton of a negro. (Mesrour clapped his hand to his dagger with impatience.) In short, your highness, I may safely say, that the three criminals whose heads have just been forfeited to justice, were, as far as appearances went, honest-looking men, compared to the three Moussul merchants. Nevertheless, as in duty bound, I received these three men, gave them shelter, and spread a table of the best before them. They indulged in kabobs, and asking for wine and rakee, which, as forbidden by the law, I never taste, I went out and purchased it for them. They did eat and drink till the dawn broke, and then they departed.”

“Indeed,” said the caliph.

“The next night, to my great annoyance, they aroused me from my devotions as before. Again did my substance disappear in providing for their demands; and, after having eaten and drunk until they were intoxicated, they went away, and I hoped to see them no more, as they were not sparing in their observations upon the new decree of your highness, relative to the shutting up of the baths.”

“Proceed, good Yussuf.”

“The third night they again came, and having no more money to spare, and finding them still making my house a tavern, I hoped that they would come no more; but they came again, a fourth night, and then behaved most indecorously, singing lewd songs, and calling out for wine and rakee until I could bear it no more, and I then told them that I could no longer receive them. The fat-stomached one, whom I have before mentioned, then rose, and said, ‘Yussuf, we have proved your hospitality, and we thank you. No one would have received three such ill-favoured persons, and have regaled them for the love of God, as you have done. We will now reward thee. Thou art a beeldar of the palace, and we will now present thee with the sword of justice, which has been lost since the days of the great Solomon; take this, and judge not by its outward appearance. When commanded to take off the head of a criminal, if he is guilty, the sword will flash like fire, and never fail: but should he be innocent, it will become a harmless lath of wood.’ I took the present, and was about to return thanks, when the three ill-favoured Moussul merchants gradually took the form of celestial beings, and vanished.”

“Indeed, this is a strange story—what, did the big-bellied fellow look like an angel?”

“As an angel of light, O caliph.”

“What, and the weazen-faced negro?”

“Like a houri, O caliph.”

“Well, then,” replied the caliph, “you shall now, Yussuf, try the power of this wonderful sword. Strike off that criminal’s head.”

Yussuf returned to the robber, who remained kneeling, and walked round him, crying out with a loud voice, “O sword, if this man be guilty, do thy duty; but if he be, as he has declared in his dying moments, innocent, then become thou harmless.” With these words Yussuf drew his sword, and exhibited a lath of palm-wood. “He is innocent, O caliph; this man, being unjustly condemned, ought to be set free.”

“Most certainly,” replied the caliph, delighted with the manoeuvre of Yussuf, “let him he liberated. Chief of the beeldars, we cannot part with a man, who, like Yussuf; possesses so famous a weapon. Let there be ten more beeldars appointed, and let Yussuf have the command of them as chief, with the same perquisites and salary as the other chiefs.”

Yussuf prostrated himself before the caliph, delighted with his good fortune, and as he retired, he exclaimed, “I am Yussuf, my trust is in God. Allah preserve the three Moussul merchants.”

It was not long before the caliph, Giaffar, and Mesrour, appeared again as the merchants to Yussuf, and heartily enjoyed his discomfiture and confusion, when they discovered themselves. Still Yussuf enjoyed the favour of Haroun to the end of his life, and was more fortunate than Giaffar and others, who only once fell under the wrath and suspicion of the all-powerful caliph.

“Such, O pacha, is the history of Yussuf, the water-carrier.”

“Yes, and a very good story too. Have you not another, Menouni?”

“Your highness,” replied Mustapha, “the caravan will depart at break of day, and Menouni has but three hours to prepare. It can no longer be detained without the chief making a report to the authorities, which would not be well received.”

“Be it so,” replied the pacha; “let Menouni be rewarded, and we will try to find some other story-teller, until his return from his pilgrimage.”

Volume Three–Chapter Four

“Mustapha,” observed the pacha, taking his pipe out of his mouth, “what makes the poets talk so much about the Book of Fate?”

“The Book of Fate, your highness, is where is written our Talleh, or destiny. Can I say more?”

“Allah acbar! God is great! and it is well said. But why a book, when nobody can read it?”

“These are great words, and spiced with wisdom. O pacha! doth not Hafiz say, ‘Every moment you enjoy, count it gain?’ Who can say what will be the event of any thing?”

“Wallab thaib! well said, by Allah! Then why a book, if the book is sealed?”

“Yet there are wise men who can read our kismet, and foretell.”

“Yes, very true; but I have observed that it is not until after an event has happened, that they tell you of it. What are these astrologers? Bosh—nothing—I have said.” And the pacha remained some time smoking his pipe in silence.

“May it please your highness,” observed Mustapha, “I have outside a wretch who is anxious to crawl into your presence. He comes from the far-distant land of Kathay—an unbeliever, with two tails.”

“Two tails! was he a pacha in his own country?”

“A pacha! Staffir Allah!—God forgive me! A dog—a most miserable dog—on my eyes be it; but still he hath two tails.”

“Let the dog with two tails be admitted,” replied the pacha. “We have said it.”

A yellow-skinned, meagre, and wrinkled old Chinaman was brought in between two of the guards. His eyes were very small and bleared, his cheek-bones prominent; all that could be discovered of his nose were two expanded nostrils at its base; his mouth of an enormous width, with teeth as black as ink. As soon as the guards stopped, he slipped down from between them on his knees, and throwing forward his body, kow-tow-ed with his head in the dust nine times, and then remained with his face down on the floor.

“Let the dog with two tails rise,” said the pacha.

This order not being immediately obeyed by the servile Chinaman, each of the two guards who stood by him seized one of the plaited tails of hair, which was nearly an ell in length, and pulled up his head from the floor. The Chinaman then remained cross-legged, with his eyes humbly fixed upon the ground.

“Who art thou, dog?” said the pacha, pleased with the man’s humility.

“I am of Kathay, and your vilest slave,” replied the man, in good Turkish. “In my own country I was a poet. Destiny hath brought me here, and I now work in the gardens of the palace.”

“If you are a poet you can tell me many a story.”

“Your slave has told thousands in his lifetime, such hath been my fate.”

“Talking about fate,” said Mustapha, “can you tell his highness a story, in which destiny has been foretold and hath been accomplished? if so, begin.”

“There is a story of my own country, O vizier! in which destiny was foretold, and was most unhappily accomplished.”

“You may proceed,” said Mustapha, at a sign from the pacha.

The Chinaman thrust his hand into the breast of his blue cotton shirt, and pulled out a sort of instrument made from the shell of a tortoise, with three or four strings stretched across, and in a low monotonous tone, something between a chant and a whine, not altogether unmusical, he commenced his story. But first he struck his instrument and ran over a short prelude, which may be imagined by a series of false notes, running as follows:—

Ti-tum, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

As he proceeded in his story, whenever he was out of breath, he stopped, and struck a few notes of his barbarous music.

The Wondrous Tale of Han

Who was more impassioned in his nature, who was more formed for love, than the great Han Koong Shew, known in the celestial archives as the sublime Youantée, brother of the sun and moon?—whose court was so superb—whose armies were so innumerable—whose territories were so vast—bounded as they were by the four seas, which bounded the whole universe; yet was he bound by destiny to be unhappy, and thus do I commence the wondrous tale of Han—the sorrows of the magnificent Youantée.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly—

Yes, he felt that some one thing was wanting. All his power, his wealth, his dignity, filled not his soul with pleasure. He turned from the writings of the great Fo—he closed the book. Alas! he sighed for a second self to whom he might point out—“All this is mine.” His heart yearned for a fair damsel—a maid of beauty—to whose beauty he might bow. He, to whom the world was prostrate, the universe were slaves, longed for an amorous captivity and sighed for chains. But where was the maiden to be found worthy to place fetters upon the brother of the sun and moon—the magnificent master of the universe? Where was she to be found?

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

Yes, there was one, and but one, worthy to be his mate, worthy to be the queen of a land of eternal spring, filled with trees whose stems were of gold, branches of silver, leaves of emerald, and whose fruits were the fragrant apples of immortality. And where was this moon, fit bride unto the sun? Was she not plunged in grief—hidden in a well of her own tears—even in the gardens of joy? Those eyes which should have sunned a court of princes, were dimmed with eternal sorrow. And who was the cause of this eclipse, but the miscreant gold-loving minister, Suchong Pollyhong Ka-te-tow.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly.

The mandarins were summoned by the great Youantée, the court in its splendour bowed down their heads into the dust of delight as they listened to the miracle of his eloquence. “Hear me, ye first chop mandarins, peers, lords, and princes of the empire. Listen to the words of Youantée. Hath not each bird that skims the air its partner in the nest? Hath not each beast its mate? Have not you all eyes which beam but upon you alone? Am I then so unfortunately great, or so greatly unfortunate, that I may not be permitted to descend to love? Even the brother of the sun and moon cannot, during his career on earth, exist alone. Seek, then, through the universe a maiden for thy lord, that like my brother, the sun, who sinks each night into the bosom of the ocean, I too may repose upon the bosom of my mate. Seek, I say, search each corner of the world, that its treasures may be poured forth at our golden feet, and one gem be selected for our especial wear. But first, O wise men and astrologers, summon ye the planets and stars of destiny, that they may ascertain whether, by this conjunction, aught of evil be threatened to our celestial person, or to our boundless empire.”

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

Where is the star which leaps not in his course with delight to obey the wishes of the brother of the sun and moon? Where was the planet that rejoiced not to assist so near a relative? Yes, they all hearkened, bowing down to the astrolabes of the astrologers, like generous steeds, who knelt to receive their riders; yet when they all did meet to throw light upon the required page of destiny, was not their brightness dimmed when they perceived as they read it that it was full of tears, and that joy floated but as a bubble? The wise men sighed as the decree of fate was handed down to them, and with their faces to the earth, thus did they impart the contents of the revealed page to the magnificent Youantée.

“The brother of the sun and moon would wed. Beauty shall be laid at the golden feet, but the pearl beyond price will be found and lost. There will be joy and there will be sorrow. Joy in life, sorrow both in life and death; for a black dragon, foe to the celestial empire, threatens like an overhanging cloud. More the stars dare not reveal.”

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

Here the pacha looked at Mustapha and nodded his head in approbation, as much as to say, “Now we are coming to the point.” Mustapha bowed, and the Chinese poet continued.

The golden eyes of the great Youantée were filled with silver tears when the page of destiny was made known; but the sun of hope rose and bore away the sacred dew to heaven. Then called he the minister, ever to be disgraced in story, Suchong Pollyhong Ka-te-tow, and the emperor desired him to make a progress through the universe, his dominions, to find out the most beautiful maidens to be brought to the celestial feet at the coming feast of Lanterns. But before they could be permitted to shoot up the rays of love through the mist of glory which surrounded the imperial throne—before their charms were to make the attempt upon the heart of magnanimity, it was necessary that all their portraits should be submitted to the great Youantée, in the hail of delight. That is to say, out of the twenty thousand virgins whose images were to be impressed upon the ivory, one hundred only, selected by a committee of taste, composed of the first class mandarins and princes, were to be honoured with the beam of the celestial eye.

The avaricious, gold-seeking, Suchong Pollyhong Kate-tow, had performed his task—wealth poured into his coffers from the ambitious parents, who longed to boast of an alliance with the brother of the sun and moon, and many were the ill-favoured whose portraits were dismissed by the committee of taste, with surprise at the minister’s ideas of beauty.