TALES FROM THE GERMAN. (continued 11)

My greatest curiosity now was to know where the door could be to pass through the railing, and where the bridge could be to cross the canal, for I had been able to discern nothing of the sort hitherto. I therefore looked at the golden rails very closely, as we hastened close up to them,—when all of a sudden my sight failed me; for the spears, pikes, halberds, and partisans, began quite unexpectedly to rattle and to shake, and this curious movement ended with the points of all being inclined towards each other, just as if two ancient armies, armed with pikes, were preparing for the attack. The confusion before my eyes, the clatter in my ears, was almost insupportable; but the sight became infinitely astonishing, when the spears, laying themselves quite down, covered the whole circle of the canal, and formed the noblest bridge that one can imagine, while the most variegated garden was revealed to my view. It was divided into beds, which wound about one another, and, seen at once, formed a labyrinth of an ornament. All of these were encompassed by a green border, formed of a short woolly-looking plant, which I had never seen; all were adorned with flowers, every division being of a different colour, and as these likewise grew short, the ground plan was easily traced. This beautiful sight, which I enjoyed in the full sunshine, completely riveted my eyes; but I scarcely knew where I could set my foot, for the winding paths were neatly covered with a blue sand, which seemed to form upon earth a darker sky, or a sky in the water. Therefore, with my eyes fixed upon the ground, I went on for some time by the side of my conductor, until I at length perceived, that in the midst of the circle of beds and flowers, stood another large circle of cypresses, or trees of the poplar kind, through which it was impossible to see, as the lowest boughs seemed to be shooting up from the earth. My conductor, without forcing me straight into the nearest way, nevertheless led me immediately towards that centre; and how was I surprised, when entering the circle of the tall trees, I saw before me the portico of a magnificent summer-house, which seemed to have similar openings and entrances on every side! A heavenly music, which issued from the building, charmed me even more than this perfect specimen of architecture. Now I thought I heard a lute, now a harp, now a guitar, and now a tinkling sound, which was not like that of any of the three instruments. The door which we approached opened at a light touch from the old man, and my amazement was great, when the female porter, who came out, appeared exactly like the little maiden who had danced upon my fingers in my dream. She greeted me as if we were old acquaintances, and asked me to walk in. The old man remained behind, and I went with her along a short passage, which was arched over and beautifully ornamented, till I came to the central hall; the majestic and cathedral-seeming height of which arrested my sight and surprised me, immediately on my entrance. However, my eye could not long remain fixed upwards, as it was soon lured down by a most charming spectacle. On the carpet, immediately beneath the centre of the cupola, sat three ladies, each one forming the corner of a triangle, and each dressed in a different colour. One was in red, another in yellow, the third in green. Their seats were gilded, and the carpet was a perfect bed of flowers. In their arms lay the three instruments, the sounds of which I had distinguished from without, for they had left off playing, being disturbed by my entrance. “Welcome!” said the middle one, who sat with her face towards the door, was dressed in red, and had the harp. “Sit down by Alerte, and listen, if you are fond of music.” I now saw, for the first time, that a tolerably long bench, placed across, with a mandoline upon it, lay before me. The pretty little girl took up the mandoline, seated herself, and drew me to her side. Now I looked at the second lady, who was on my right. She wore the yellow dress, and had a guitar in her hand; and if the harp-player was imposing in her form, grand in her features, and majestic in her deportment, the guitar-player was distinguished by every grace and cheerfulness. She was a slender blonde, while the other was adorned with hair of a dark brown. The variety and accordance of their music did not prevent me from observing the third beauty in the green dress, the tones of whose lute were to me somewhat touching, and at the same time remarkably striking. She it was who seemed to take the greatest notice of me, and to direct her playing towards me. At the same time, I could not tell what to make of her, for she was now tender, now odd, now frank, now capricious, as she altered her gestures and the style of her playing. Sometimes she seemed anxious to move me, and sometimes anxious to tease me. No matter, however, what she did, she gained no advantage over me, for I was quite taken up by my little neighbour, to whom I sat close; and when I perceived plainly enough that the three ladies were the sylphides of my dream, and recognised the colours of the apples, I well understood that I had no reason to secure them. The pretty little creature I would much sooner have seized, had not the box on the ear which she gave me in my dream remained still fresh in my memory. Hitherto she had kept quiet with her mandoline; but when her mistresses had ceased, they ordered her to treat us with a few lively airs. Scarcely had she struck off some dancing melodies in a very exciting style, than she jumped up, and I did the same. She played and danced; I was forced to follow her steps, and we went through a kind of little ballet, at which the ladies seemed to be well pleased, for no sooner had we finished it, than they ordered the little girl to refresh me with something nice before supper. In truth, I had forgotten that there was any thing else in the world beyond this Paradise. Alerte led me back into the passage by which I had entered. On one side, she had two well-furnished apartments, in one of which—the one in which she lived—she served before me oranges, figs, peaches, and grapes, and I tasted the fruits both of foreign lands and of early months, with great appetite. Confectionary was in abundance, and she filled a goblet of polished crystal with sparkling wine; but I had no need of drinking, as I sufficiently refreshed myself with the fruits. “Now we will play,” said she, and took me into the other room. This had the appearance of a Christmas fair, except that such fine, precious things are never to be seen in a booth. There were all sorts of dolls, and dolls’ clothes, and utensils; little kitchens, parlours, and shops; besides single toys in abundance. She led me all round to the glass cases, in which these precious articles were preserved. The first case she soon closed again, saying: “There is nothing for you, I am sure, there,” added she, “we can find building materials, walls, and towers, houses, palaces, and churches to put together a large town. That, however, would be no amusement for me, so we will take something else, that may be equally amusing for both of us.” She then brought out some boxes, in which I saw some little soldiers placed in layers one over the other, and with respect to which I was forced to confess that I had never seen any thing so pretty in my life. She did not leave me time to look closer into particulars, but took one of the boxes under her arm, while I caught up the other. “We will go to the golden bridge,” said she, “for that’s the best place to play at soldiers. The spears point out the direction in which the armies should be placed.” We had now reached the shaking, golden bridge, and I could hear the water ripple, and the fish splash beneath me, as I knelt down to set up my rows of soldiers, which, as I now saw, were all on horseback. She gloried in being the queen of the Amazons, as the leader of her host; while I, on the other hand, found Achilles, and a very fine set of Greek cavalry. The armies stood face to face, and nothing prettier can be conceived. They were not flat leaden horsemen like ours, but man and horse were round and full-bodied, and very finely worked. It was difficult to see how they were able to balance themselves, for they kept up without having a stand.

We had both surveyed our armies with great complacency, when she announced the attack. Besides the soldiers, we had found artillery in our chests—namely, boxes filled with little balls of polished agate. With these we were to shoot at each other’s forces from a certain distance, on the express condition, however, that we were not to throw with greater force than was required to upset the figures, as they were on no account to be injured. The cannonading began from each side, and, at first, to the great delight of both of us. But when my adversary remarked that I took a better aim than she, and that I might end by winning the game, which depended on having the greatest number of men upright, she stepped closer, and her girlish manner of throwing proved successful. A number of my best troops were laid low, and the more I protested, with the greater zeal did she go on throwing. At last I became vexed, and told her that I would do the same. Accordingly, I not only came closer, but in my passion, I threw much harder, so that, in a short time, a couple of her little female centaurs were broken to pieces. Her zeal prevented her from noticing this at once, but I stood petrified with astonishment when the broken figures joined themselves together again, and the Amazon and her horse again became entire; nay, became perfectly alive at the same time, for they galloped from the bridge up to the linden-trees, and after running backwards and forwards, were lost—how I cannot tell—in the direction of the wall. My fair adversary had scarcely perceived this, than she sobbed aloud, and exclaimed that I had caused her an irreparable loss, which was far greater than words could express. I, who had grown enraged, was pleased at doing her an injury, and with blind fury, threw the few agate-balls I still had, among her forces. Unfortunately, I struck the queen, who had been excepted, as long as our game had proceeded in the regular way. She flew to pieces, and her nearest adjutants were shattered at the same time. Soon, however, they joined themselves together again, took their flight like the first, galloped merrily under the lindens, and were lost near the wall.

My adversary reproached and scolded me, but I, having once begun the work of destruction, stooped down to pick up some of the agate balls, which were rolling about the golden spears. My savage wish was to destroy her whole army; while she did not remain inactive, but darting at me gave me a box on the ear, that set my very head ringing. I, who had always heard that a hearty kiss is the proper return for a blow given by a girl, caught her by her ears and kissed her several times. At this she uttered such a piercing cry that I was absolutely terrified. I let her go, and it was fortunate that I did so, for at that moment I did not know what befel me. The ground beneath me began to shake and rattle, the rails, as I now observed, put themselves in motion, but I had no time for consideration, nor was I sufficient master of my feet to fly. Every moment I was afraid of being impaled, for the lances and partisans which began to stand upright, tore my clothes. Suffice it to say,—I do not know how it was,—that my sight and hearing failed me, and that I recovered from my terror and the stupor into which I had been thrown, at the foot of a linden tree, against which the railing, while raising itself, had thrown me. My malice returned with my senses, and increased still more, when from the other side I heard the jeers and laughter of my adversary, who had probably come to the ground somewhat more softly than myself. I therefore got up, and as saw scattered around me, my own little army with its leaden Achilles, which the rising rails had thrown off together with myself, I began by catching hold of the hero, and dashing him against a tree. His resuscitation and flight gave me double pleasure, for the prettiest sight in the world was associated with all the delight of gratified malice, and I was on the point of sending the rest of the Greeks after him, when all of a sudden water came hissing from every side, from the stones and walls, from the ground and branches; and wherever I turned it pelted me furiously. My light dress was soon completely wet through, and as it had been already torn, I lost no time in flinging it off altogether. My slippers I threw aside, and then one covering after the other, finding it very pleasant in the sultry day to take such a shower-bath. Stark naked, I walked gravely along between the welcome waters, and I thought I might thus go on pleasantly for some time. My rage had cooled, and I now desired nothing more than a reconciliation with my little adversary. All of a sudden the water stopped, and I now stood completely wet on ground that was soaked through. The presence of the old man, who unexpectedly came before me, was any thing but welcome. I should have wished, if not to hide myself, at any rate to put on some covering. Shame, cold, and an endeavour to cover myself in some measure, made me cut a very miserable figure, and the old man lost no time in loading me with the bitterest reproaches. “What hinders me,” he cried, “from taking one of the green cords, and fitting it to your back at any rate, if not to your neck!” This threat I took very ill. “Hark ye,” said I, “you had better take care of such words, or even such thoughts, or you and your mistresses will be lost!” “Who are you?” said he, in a tone of defiance, “that dare to talk in this way?” “A favourite of the gods,” I replied, “on whom it depends whether those ladies will find good husbands and live happily, or pine and grow old in their magic cloister.” The old man retreated some steps. “Who revealed that to you?” he asked with doubt and astonishment. “Three apples,” said I, “three jewels.” “And what reward do you desire?” he exclaimed. “Above all things,” I replied, “the little creature who brought me into this cursed condition.” The old man threw himself at my feet, without heeding the dampness and muddiness of the ground. He then arose, not in the least wetted, took me kindly by the hand, led me into the room, where I had been before, dressed me again quickly, and I soon found myself with my hair curled and my Sunday clothes on, as at first. The porter did not utter another word, but before he allowed me to cross the threshold, he detained me, and showed to me certain objects that were near the wall, and on the other side of the way, while at the same time he pointed to the door backwards. I understood him well. He wished me to impress the objects on my mind, that I might more readily find the door again, which unexpectedly closed behind me. I observed already what was opposite to me. The boughs of seven old nut-trees projected over a high wall, and partly covered the moulding with which it terminated. The branches reached to a stone tablet, the decorated border of which I could easily recognise, but the inscription on which I could not read. It rested on the jutting stone of a niche, in which a fountain artificially constructed, was throwing water from cup to cup into a large basin, which formed a kind of little pond, and was lost in the ground. Fountain, inscription, nut-trees, all stood, one directly over the other, and I could have painted it as I saw it.

It may be easily conceived how I passed the evening, and many a day afterwards, and how often I repeated these adventures, which I could hardly believe myself. As soon as I could, I went again to the “evil wall,” that I might at least refresh my memory by the sight of the objects, and look at the beautiful door. To my great astonishment all was changed. Nut-trees were, indeed, hanging over the wall, but they were not close together. A tablet was inserted, but it stood at some distance to the right of the trees, was without carving, and had a legible inscription. A niche with a fountain stood far to the left, and was not to be compared to the one I had before seen. Of the door not a trace was to be found, and I was, therefore, almost compelled to believe that my second adventure was a dream, as well as my first. My only consolation is, that the three objects always seem to change their situation, for, after repeated visits to the spot, I think I have observed, that the nut-trees are running towards each other, and that the tablet and fountain are approaching. Probably, when all has come together again, the door will once more be visible, and I will do all I can to fit on a sequel to the adventure. Whether I shall be able to tell what befalls me in future, or whether it will be expressly forbidden me, I cannot say.

J. O.

ALI AND GULHYNDI.

BY ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER.

There once lived in Bagdad a wealthy merchant named Ibrahim. His only son, Ali, a young man of eminent talent, though but little resembling his father, was his pride and delight. The father’s notion of happiness consisted in the enjoyment of life and in the industry requisite to procure the key to all earthly enjoyments—wealth; the son’s mind, on the contrary, was devoted to contemplation and the pursuit of knowledge. He but rarely quitted his room, and was only wont to walk in the cool of the evening along the banks of the Tigris outside the city, to the tomb of Iman Izaser, a Mahommedan saint, which stood in a circular temple surrounded by date trees, about a league distant. Here he usually seated himself in the shade, and his delight consisted in observing those who passed by on their way to the temple to perform their devotions. He had, above all, observed, as well as the close veil would permit, the slight and charming form of a female who went almost daily to the mosque, accompanied by an attendant, who appeared somewhat older than herself. His eyes followed with delight the muffled form as she gracefully moved along; he had often witnessed her kneeling in the temple, and praying fervently, and he imagined that he in his turn was not unnoticed by the stranger. Thus without having ever spoken to each other they had formed a kind of acquaintance, which, however, did not disturb Ali in his contemplations. As soon as the shadows of evening appeared, he rose and walked silently homewards, while his eyes gazed on the moonlit waves of the Tigris, or the fresh verdure of its banks.

“How is it possible, my son,” once said his father, on his return from a long journey, after his camels were unladen, “that you, so young in years, can totally renounce the world? I esteem your application; but you should not forget that next to our holy Koran, nature herself is the wisest book, and contains the most sublime doctrines on every page. What is knowledge without experience? Has not one of our wise men himself said, that a journey is a fire, around which the raw meat must be turned in order to become eatable and savoury.”

“Dear father,” answered Ali, “leave me but a few years longer to myself, and then on entering the world I shall work with much more energy. You were right in saying that nature is the wisest book; yet it is often written in so indistinct a style that it requires strong eyes to see and read it correctly. What we cannot do for ourselves we must leave to others to do for us; and thus I travel perhaps as much in my own room as you do upon your camel through the desert. All cannot travel. If I in conformity to the duty of a good Mussulman make a single journey in my life to Mecca, I shall perhaps have travelled enough.”

Though Ibrahim was not satisfied altogether by this contradiction of his favourite opinions, he could not help commending the singular industry of his son; moreover, it was not displeasing to his paternal vanity to hear all who knew Ali call him the pattern of a young man.

The words of the father were not, however, uttered without making some impression upon the son. He began to perceive the difference between mere ideas and actual enjoyments, and when he read of any thing grand, beautiful, or wonderful, he was no longer in such raptures at the mere reading. He now wished to experience the things themselves. When in this mood, he often ascended the balcony of the house, where he had a clear view of the Tigris and the sandy desert, and of the distant mountains, and where, in serene weather, he could descry the ruins of ancient Babylon on the banks of the Euphrates. For whole hours he would stand and dream himself into the most wonderful and adventurous situations. When, as usual, he went in the evening to Izaser’s temple under the date trees, it seemed to him monotonous and insignificant. He fancied he felt contempt for himself in contemplating the rapidly flowing waves of the Tigris, which had made such enormous journeys from the highland of Asia through caverns and rocks never yet seen. When thus sitting in the dusk of evening, it appeared as if the foaming waves which rushed over the pebbles, told him tales of events of which it had been an eye-witness on distant shores.

Now he resolved again to wander to the ruins of Babylon, where he had once been in his childhood. His father, who was delighted with his plan, hoped that he discerned in it the beginning of a new career of life, and readily gave Ali permission to spend several days on the pilgrimage.

“My son,” said he, “here in miniature you will find a picture of the Great, for short as the way is, it is not without variety. In the immediate neighbourhood it is as much cultivated as the broad valley, further on it is barren and waste, indeed it is like a desert till the green carpet of the mountains again meets the sandy plains, and invites you to the most beautiful woody regions. I should consider it superfluous to give you any admonitions for the way, did I not know that young people like yourself, often load their imaginations with old and remote things, without thinking of what takes place immediately around them. Take care, then, that you do not pass the desert between Babylon and Bagdad at night time; and rather arrange your journey so as to start in the morning or evening. There is a general report that Zelulu, an evil spirit, has selected that desert for his abode; and that he hovers over the desert at night, and delights in destroying those men who disturb his nocturnal flights by their presence.”

The son promised to do so, and strapping his knapsack on his back, commenced his journey early the next morning with staff in hand.

He crossed the long bridge of boats, fastened by iron chains across the rapid Tigris, which takes its name Thir (an arrow), from its rapidity. All hastened through the almost dilapidated suburb and came to a beautiful mosque, near which the caravan, with which his father had lately arrived, was still halting. They were taking rest in order to continue their journey. How strange it appeared to him to wander through this moveable commercial city, where houses were camels, and elephants were palaces! Ali passed one of these elephants, on the back of which was constructed a house of tolerable size. It was noon, and the children who were playing about on the grass were called to their dinner. Their father, who stood among them, took one after the other and handed them over to the elephant, who, raising them with his trunk, lifted them slowly and carefully through the air, and then bent his trunk over his head, and gave the child to its mother, who stood above in the door and received them from him without the least sign of fear, and without any of the children crying from terror. The open mosque was crowded with people, some of whom were offering thanks to Allah for their happy return, while others were imploring a blessing on the progress of their journey. Ali was so pleased with this singular and motley assembly, that he loitered the whole day among them. Towards the evening some merchants invited him into their tents, where Indian youths and girls danced to the sound of the triangle and flute. These hospitable Arabs were delighted at being able to offer him a good supper and a comfortable resting-place for the night.

Early in the cool of the next morning he started on his way, and wandered over a barren uninhabited plain. He found pleasure in working his way through the sand to reach some fertile spots which lie, like islands, in the yellow dust, with their verdant ground and their isolated palm trees, which pleasantly spread their leaves like parasols, while there is something divine in their refreshing coolness.

Ali felt himself inspired: the Arab in his desert feels like the mountaineer on his rocky mountains, and like the islander at the sight of the ocean. When he sees it for the first time, he finds himself like a bird in its own element, and confidently abandons himself to the impulse of his feelings. The over-excited youth exhausted all his strength. Noon approached, and the heat was oppressive. Ali hastened with quick pace towards the distant mountains, and, like his ancestress Hagar, in former days, wished for a fountain to quench his thirst.

Having once heard of a fountain near the spot where he now was, his delight was great on approaching a large tract where many palms of an indifferent growth arched themselves over a spring. The rippling water excited and increased his thirst as he stood near it.

Think of his sorrow when he saw, rising from the water, clouds of smoke which smelt of sulphur! In despair at this disappointment he threw himself on the ground under the palm trees, and, being exhausted from heat, and wearied with his exertions, fell asleep immediately.

He had not been sleeping long, when he was suddenly aroused by a powerful voice. On opening his eyes he perceived a man in a loose linen gown, sitting on a camel which was laden with pitchers and leather water-pipes.

“Unhappy man!” he cried, “are you weary of your life that you lie here so wantonly to end it?”

Ali jumped up, and the man on his camel started, as he had not expected thus to arouse the sleeper, although, urged by compassion, he had called to him.

“What do you mean?” asked Ali, “what harm can I suffer in sleeping, during the heat of noon, under these palm trees?”

“Do you not know this spring?” asked the stranger.

“No!” said Ali; and he began to tell whence he came and whither he intended to go.

The man replied, “It seems as if the evil spirit is busy here, not merely at midnight, but also in the clear noon day. Follow me to the palm tree farthest from the spring there, and I will refresh you with a cooling draught. I live in the next village, where the water is still so bad that we are obliged to fetch our daily supply from the Tigris. All the pitchers and pipes which you see, are filled from the river of your native city. I cannot but laugh to think that you come to us from the Tigris to drink; indeed that you choose the most noxious spring, of one of which it may be said that it is supplied by hell itself.”

These words would have excited Ali’s curiosity immediately, had not his thirst proved the stronger. He went with the man, who reached him a pitcher, and said: “There, quench your thirst, and then mount my camel with me. We shall soon be in my village, where you can take rest, and towards the evening you may proceed quietly to Babylon.”

Ali thanked him, and mounted the camel, and they rode in silence across the plain for the rest of the way, until they came to a yet larger oasis covered with trees and huts. Only a broad sandy road separated them from the verdant ground which sloped down from the mountains towards the desert in all its freshness. The water-carrier made Ali enter his hut, where they mutually invited each other as guests, the former asking the latter to partake of his cooling sherbet, the latter inviting the former to partake of the good things which he had in his knapsack.

They had scarcely satisfied their hunger and thirst, than the water-carrier, at Ali’s request, began to say “I am astonished that you have never heard of Ali Haymmamy’s spring. Know then that this spring, as I before said, was formerly a pure one, indeed it was a mineral spring whither innumerable paralytics resorted. It takes its name from Ali, son-in-law of our holy prophet, who is said to have knelt once on this spot to perform his devotions. Wishing as a sincere Mussulman to wash his face and hands before prayer, and finding no water near, it is reported that he rubbed his hands, in full confidence in the Almighty, in the hot sands, and that this immediately ran from his fingers like limpid water—from this it is said the spring takes its origin. But the evil spirits, that mar every thing as far as they are able, have, by Allah’s long suffering and hidden intention, since taken possession of this spring, particularly the abominable Zelulu, who fixes his nocturnal abode in the desert. It is believed that he dwells in the spring; and that he has not only corrupted the water, so that it has entirely lost its healing virtue, but that it has, moreover, become poisonous and mortal. The sulphureous vapours arising from it infect the air with pestilence. You will now readily understand my astonishment at finding you asleep there, and you may thank your sound constitution and my assistance for your deliverance.”

Great was Ali’s astonishment on hearing this. He pressed the carrier’s hand with gratitude, and some pieces of gold accompanied the pressure. The poor man was so delighted at this, that Ali quite forgot the danger he had escaped in the joy of his companion. The latter accompanied him some distance on his way, and now Ali soon came to pleasant groves of cypress, maple, and cedar, through which he went down to the ruins of Babylon which lay on the mighty river.

There he now stood surrounded by widely scattered ruins overgrown with grass and moss. Some pillars and fragments of walls rose near the banks and were reflected in the waves of the slowly flowing Euphrates. A herdsman sat on an architrave playing his reed-pipe, while his goats wandered about browsing on the grass between the stones.

“Do you know this place?” asked Ali.

“I have a hut in the neighbourhood,” said the shepherd.

“And what mean these heaps of stones?”

“It is said that in ancient time a city stood upon this spot.”

“Cannot you tell me something about it?”

“No; it has been desolate from time immemorial; neither my father nor my grandfather ever saw it different.”

Ali stood lost in thought. He was moved by seeing the young shepherd sitting on the stone like the unconcerned Present on the grave of the Past,—on the shore of the stream of time which rushes by like the paradisaical Euphrates, the river that saw the fall of Adam as well as that of Babylon, and still rolls onwards its fresh and youthful waves. Every uncommon mark in the mouldering stones delighted him, and his thoughts were as much engaged with surrounding objects as the young shepherd seemed indifferent to them. Like Ali he plucked the grass from the ruins, though not like him in order to read the inscriptions, but to give to his goats what they were unable to reach for themselves.

Towards the evening Ali set out on his way back to Bagdad, and wandered thoughtfully over the plain. The evening was cool and bright, and after he had proceeded a few hundred paces, his eyes already discerned Bagdad. He did not think it necessary to hasten, feeling sure that he must soon reach the city, but loitered long on the charming verdant spots in the sandy plain. The moon arose and shone so brightly, that the night appeared almost as light as day. Hence Ali did not take any account of the time; he felt weary, and seeing a large stone at some distance from him in which seats were cut out, he could not resist sitting down and, with his head resting on his hand, gazing over the calm, clear, and cool, desert before him. The wind was rustling through the palms over his head. Conceive his astonishment when the wind was suddenly hushed, and when he again heard the spring ripple a few yards off, and smelt the noxious vapours which the breezes had before wafted to the opposite side.

Terrified, he jumped up and ran back more than a hundred yards. He saw that a thunder-storm was suddenly approaching. By the dim moonlight, which every moment threatened to be obscured by the black clouds, he could scarcely distinguish the path that would lead him home. However, he hastened onwards, and cursed the habit which, on the slightest occasion, always misled him to shut himself up from surrounding objects, like flowers which close in the evening, so that he did not think where he was, or what took place near him. It grew darker and darker, thick clouds obscured the moon, loud thunder rolled over his head, but not a drop of rain descended. A burning wind rushed through the desert and stirred up the sand, so that he was obliged every minute to shut his eyes.

“Are there really evil spirits living,” he said to himself, “that can hurt man? No; innocence is the real great seal of Solomon, which not even the terrible Eblis dares to break.” He had scarcely uttered these words than a frightful darkness forced him to stand still. Suddenly the sky and earth were burning with a pale flame, a forked flash of lightning shot over his head, and struck a hollow tree close by his side. At the same time a pelting shower of rain streamed from the clouds, and Ali fell to the ground, stunned by the tremendous thunder-claps. Thus he lay for some time. At length all became calm, and he arose; but what was his horror when he saw against the deep blue moonlit sky, a monstrous black giant standing on the plain! The huge head reached high in the air, and looked upon Ali with a large sparkling eye. Ali was about to flee, but fear paralysed his feet. Trembling, he again turned his face towards the formidable figure which he fancied would crush him. How surprised and delighted was he on discovering that the formidable monster was nothing but a large black cloud, the last remnant of the thunderstorm, with an opening in the centre, through which the moon was beaming! This discovery restored his courage as quickly as he had before lost it. He now perceived that the whole was nothing more than a natural phenomenon, such, doubtless, as had often occurred in this narrow valley, and had given rise to the superstition of the people. He now proceeded onwards with fresh vigour, and it was not long before he crossed the bridge of the Tigris with a light heart, delighted at having so fortunately completed his adventure. But the black, Zelulu (for he it really was who amused himself with deceiving the conceited youth), stared smiling after him with his glowing eye, and then burst out into such loud laughter, that the palms of the desert trembled. Then, shaking the mane of his monstrous head, he folded up the large airy bulk of his body and floated over the spring, where, forming himself into a pillar, he suddenly rushed down with a tremendous howl. From this time he determined to persecute the youth.

Ali, on his return, found his father’s house in the greatest state of confusion and distress. His father was not there, and when he asked after him, an old slave said to him, “Unhappy son, at this moment the executioner is perhaps inflicting the fatal wound on him.” Ali stood speechless and pale. The cause of the unhappy event was as follows:

Ibrahim bore an implacable hatred against Hussain, Cadi of Bagdad, and the latter entertained a similar feeling in return; nay, people in the city were wont to name Ibrahim and Hussain if they wished to cite an instance of two irreconcileable enemies. Both had been educated, after the death of their parents, in the house of a mutual relative. Nothing can be worse than men of an entirely opposite disposition being compelled to hold daily intercourse; repugnance and hatred increase more and more, and their conversation becomes a constant feud. Hussain was proud and gloomy; Ibrahim vehement and animated. Daily did they reproach each other; the former considering the latter a frivolous sensualist, the latter considering the former a cold, selfish egotist. As they advanced in years their hatred increased. Their guardian had a beautiful daughter, whom both, as members of the family, had opportunities of seeing. Ibrahim fell in love with her, and hoped that his affections would be returned, and the father’s consent obtained. But as Hussain, by his natural talent, industry, and perseverance, soon raised himself to an important station, he obtained, contrary to Ibrahim’s expectation, the consent of the beautiful Mirza and her parent. Ibrahim was so enraged at this, that out of revenge he shortly after took two wives. One presented him with Ali at the cost of her own life. Mirza lived with Hussain for some years before she bore him a daughter. Some time had now past, Mirza had died, and separation, which usually weakens enmity as well as friendship, had almost extinguished the hatred of the cheerful Ibrahim. An occurrence, however, showed that it still burned fiercely in the heart of the haughty Hussain; and this poured fresh oil into Ibrahim’s fire, which, as it appeared, death alone could now extinguish.

Two years ago, Ibrahim had returned from a journey, and among other precious articles, had brought with him some Indian gold cloth, such as had never been seen before. Hussain heard of this, and as his daughter had grown up to be one of the most beautiful maidens in Bagdad, his paternal pride was set upon adorning his lovely child by all the means of art and of wealth. He had seen the cloth in passing Ibrahim’s shop, but not wishing to purchase it himself, had sent a slave to Ibrahim, and commissioned him to settle the bargain. Ibrahim looked upon this as the first step towards a reconciliation on the part of Hussain; and being of a more forgiving disposition than he, and, moreover, being in a cheerful humour, in anticipation of a happy future, he gave the cloth to the slave, telling him to say to Hussain, that he wished him to accept of it as a token of former friendship. A short time after this, the slave returned with the cloth, and said that his master had looked upon it as a great insult, that a merchant presumed to offer presents to the cadi, as these must always look, more or less, like bribes; and that Ibrahim ought to name a price for it, as the cadi was quite able to pay for it, although he did not every year bring home riches on his mules. This haughty answer was so revolting to Ibrahim, that he took the cloth from the slave’s hands, and tearing it to pieces, exclaimed: “Tell your master, that thus I tear the last bonds of our former friendship,—that I tear up by the roots the flowers which childhood had woven into the golden ground of our life.”

Late in the evening of the day on which this had happened, and after Ibrahim had for some time shut up his shop, he heard a knock at the door. He went and opened it, but did not see any body. He had scarcely gone away, when the knocking was repeated. He opened again, and again saw no one. Vexed at this, he was returning to his room, when suddenly a louder knocking than before was heard. He now ran quickly to the door, and burst it open, in hopes of meeting the insolent person who was thus tantalising him. As soon as he had opened it, there stood outside a pretty, middle-aged woman in black, holding a staff in her hand. “What do you want?” cried Ibrahim.

“I have a request to make, friend,” said she. “My beautiful daughter is soon to be married; I am poor, and cannot afford a handsome bridal dress, such as she deserves. Give me the gold cloth which you have torn to-day; it will be good enough for us, and has lost its greatest value for you. If old friends forsake us, we must look for new ones.”

Ibrahim, who was liberal, gave her the cloth, which she contemplated attentively, and then said: “It has suffered great injury; it will cost pains to stick it together again; still it can be remedied.” Upon this she saluted Ibrahim kindly, and went away, and he never again saw her.

Ibrahim now gave daily vent to his anger in vehement words against Hussain; and whatever he said was reported to the latter, with additions, so that the enraged cadi only watched for an opportunity to take revenge. This occurred sooner than he expected. The kind, mild government of Haroun al Raschid, however beneficent in some respects, produced in a certain degree disagreeable consequences for himself. The populace had scarcely perceived that they were not forced to tremble slavishly before the noble caliph, than they began to censure his conduct and calumniate him, with the greatest audacity. For some time he allowed this to pass unnoticed. But the insolence increased; and he now all at once issued orders, that any one presuming to revile the actions of the caliph should be executed without mercy. This order had been made public a few days after Ibrahim’s return, indeed on the very morning when his son had gone to Babylon. Being much engaged, he remained at home during that morning, and it was not till nearly evening that he went to a khan, where he was in the habit of spending a few hours every day. He had not spoken to any person, and knew nothing of the proclamation. He had scarcely entered the khan, when a crier came through the street, exclaiming that every one should step aside to make way, as Zobeide, the favourite wife of the caliph was about to pass with her slaves. Ibrahim, who was in a merry mood, and did not often weigh his words nicely, said: “They call Haroun al Raschid the wisest man. It may be that he possesses singular qualities; but as regards women, he is the weakest creature that I never knew. My son, who is twenty years old, is ten times wiser on that score than he is.”

Ibrahim had no sooner said these words, than he was seized by the officers of the cadi, and brought before Hussain. His grief can easily be conceived, when he heard the sentence of death. He entreated Hussain, in the name of their youthful friendship, to save his life.

“You yourself have violated our friendship,” replied the latter, coldly; “there are here witnesses of your words, and I cannot save you. All I can do is, to bring you to the Commander of the Faithful, who wishes to see the first violator of his proclamation, and to witness his execution.”

So far the old slave related. Ali was paralysed with horror; a messenger from the caliph first recalled him to consciousness. “Do you bring me his gray head?” asked Ali; “has the axe already dyed his thin silvery hair with blood?”

“I will bring you to your father,” replied the messenger. “The caliph has granted him permission to take leave of his son before he dies.”

“Is he still living?” cried Ali, and he hastened to the palace. On entering it, he saw the caliph sitting on his throne; while before him his father, with his hands tied behind him, was kneeling on a carpet. A silver basin stood near, and the executioner had already drawn his bright, sharp sword. Ali embraced his father.

“I cannot clasp you in my arms, my son,” said the old man, “but I die for your sake; parental fondness made my lips utter those words.”

“Untie his hands!” cried the caliph; “let him embrace his son before he dies.”

Ali threw himself at the caliph’s feet, and said, imploringly: “Restore me my father.”

“I pity your fate,” said Haroun al Raschid, with emotion, “but I have sworn that the blood of him who should revile my majesty and benevolence shall flow.”

“Oh! then there is hope of delivery,” cried Ali. “Am I not blood of my father’s blood? Let, then, my blood flow for his, that I may fall a sacrifice to your revenge, and that my death may release you from your oath.”

“What is it that you dare to offer me, young man?” said the caliph, sternly. “Do not think to soften my heart by a trick so common! What I have determined is unalterable, and in the name of Almighty God I tell you your tears cannot move me.”

Ali knelt down. “Strike!” he cried to the slave, as he stretched out his neck.

“What are you doing, my son?” cried the old man.

“I imitate my father,” said Ali. “From love to me you have exposed yourself to death, from love to you I will suffer it for you.”

“And your mistress—how will she wring her white hands!” said the caliph.

“Commander of the Faithful, I have none,” said Ali.

“How? Have you no passion? has not all-powerful love struck root in your heart?”

“I love God,” said Ali, “my father, and you, my liege, even in death; for I know that you are otherwise good and just; I love nature, men, and every thing beautiful that flourishes and lives; but no woman has yet awakened a passion!”

“Then Ibrahim was right,” cried Haroun al Raschid, laughing; “then you are really wiser than the caliph. Rise, my friends,” he continued, “neither of you shall die. Ibrahim has not violated my law; he knew it not. He has not praised his son at the expense of the caliph; my oath does not require his blood. Forgive me the terrors of death which I have caused you. A prince has seldom an opportunity of looking into the secrets of the heart with his own eyes. Only on the boundary which separates death from life, all considerations disappear, and only thus could I discover in you a virtue which I now admire. Go home, honest Ibrahim, you are healthy and cheerful, by nature, so that this shock will not be attended with any dangerous consequences. And you, wise Ali,” he continued, smiling, “I will see you again a year hence, and learn whether you are then as wise as you are now.” As soon as he had concluded, he dismissed them, and sent them home laden with splendid presents.

Hussain was an eye-witness of the scene. It may easily be conceived how this sudden act of grace inflamed his hatred, and with what triumph the father and son returned home again.

Ibrahim lived happily with his son, who applied himself anew, with great industry, to the acquisition of knowledge. Once a slave came to Ali’s room and begged him to come down, as his father had purchased something for him in the market. He went down accordingly, and was much surprised at seeing a little, deformed creature, dressed as a slave, standing before him. The little man wore a high hat, with a cock’s feather, on his head; his chest, as well as his back, formed a hump; his squinting eyes were of a pale gray, like those of a cat; and his nose hung over his mouth like a bunch of grapes, and was of a violet colour. For the rest, he was cheerful, brisk, and healthy, notwithstanding all his excrescences; and with his right eye, which was triangular, he looked attentively at Ali, whilst the left was concealed in the angle between the nose and forehead.

Whilst Ali stood wondering at this paragon of human ugliness, his father could not suppress his laughter, and said: “Have I not been to the market at a lucky moment? An hour afterwards it would have been too late, so numerous were those who wished to purchase him. I owe it to my prompt decision that I got him for two hundred pieces of gold. Only think, my wise son, you lock yourself up within four walls, to suck, like a bee, sweetness from old manuscripts; and yet this hunchback slave, who never has had time to sit at home and pore over books, is declared by the opinion of all connoisseurs, to be unequalled in learning throughout Arabia and Persia. You may easily see it in him; wisdom breaks forth in every part of him, and, therefore, great must be the superfluity within! Take him with you; I present him to you to assist you in your studies, and divert you in your hours of leisure.”

When Ali had returned to his room attended by his deformed slave, and the latter saw the great quantity of books and parchments which laid about in every direction, he raised his hands in amazement, and cried with warmth, “The wise Confucius might well say, ‘Blessed is he who recognises the end of his destiny! The way that he must go to reach his goal stands marked before his eyes. Uncertainty and doubt leave him as soon as he enters on that way. Peace and tranquillity strew roses on his path.’ But he also truly said, ‘Unhappy is he who mistakes the branches of the tree for its roots, the leaves for fruit, the shadow for the substance, and who knoweth not how to distinguish the means from the end.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Ali.

“Sadi has said,” replied the little slave, “that the most unprofitable of human beings, is a learned man who does not benefit his fellow-creatures by his learning; we hear the mill clapping but see no flour; a word without a deed is a cloud without rain, and a bow without a string.”

Ali now wished to try whether the knowledge of the slave went beyond these and similar maxims. He examined him and was astonished at his proficiency in the Arabian, Persian, Hindoo, and Chinese philosophy.

“What is your name?” continued Ali.

“When I was born,” replied the hunchback, “my mother was of opinion that I was so easily distinguishable as to require no name, thinking that people would soon enough separate the ram from the goats without tying a red ribbon round his neck.”

“Are you a Mohammedan?” asked Ali, again.

“Mahomet could neither read nor write; I worship Mithra; to him I bow the knee, not to the rising in the east but to the setting in the west.”

“Then you worship the sun?”

“The sun itself is cold, and produces warmth only when combined with the atmosphere of our earth. The fire has beautiful yellow locks and sparkling eyes, it vivifies every thing with its love, and burns most beautifully at night.”

“Still I must call you by a name,” said Ali.

“I am as diminutive, deformed, and ugly, as the renowned Lockman,” said the slave, “and he was as shrewd and knew as much as I do. It was the same with Æsop. Many are of opinion that they are one and the same person; if this may be said of two it may also be applied to three. Call me Lockman, and believe in the metempsychosis. It is the cheapest belief, as it costs the creator least.”

Ali knew not whether to smile or be angry at this frivolous joke. Indeed, he did not know whether he was joking; for every thing that Lockman (as we shall call the slave,) said, was mixed with a certain serious grimace which again frequently changed into sarcastic ridicule.

On the same evening Ali read aloud the following passage from Zoroaster’s “Wisdom:”

When Ali had read thus far, Lockman, who was still in the room, had so violent a bleeding at the nose that he was obliged to leave it, and Ali saw him no more that evening.

Early in the morning he was awakened by a singing which ascended from the garden. He opened the window and heard a hoarse, though well practised voice, sing the following words:

Ali went into the garden, and found Lockman sitting under a tree with a guitar in his hand.

“Do you sing too?” asked Ali.

“If the screeching of an owl can be called singing,” replied he, “I sing like the feathered songster of the grove.”

“Your guitar has a pleasant sound.”

“That it learned from a sheep when a wolf struck its claws into its entrails.”

“What were you singing?”

“A poor song on a great subject composed by one of those poets who always entreat us to take the will for the deed. Do you wish to hear another?”

He sung again.

From this time Ali, as usual, went frequently to Izaser’s temple, attended by Lockman.

“Why do you always go this way?” he once asked Ali. “Are not the other suburbs also beautiful?”

“I do not know them as well as these,” replied Ali. “This neighbourhood has been familiar to me from childhood; every step recalls to my memory some moment of my past life, and cannot, therefore, but be most dear to me.”

When they were on the point of going out on the following day, Lockman had put off the handsome dress which Ali had given to him, and appeared again in his former tattered slave’s coat.

“What is that?” asked Ali. “Why have you again put on those rags? Have I not given you a good, decent suit?”

“Forgive me, master,” said he, “I am not so familiar with my new suit as with this: this has been familiar to me in my early life, every hole and every rent recalls to my memory some past moment, and therefore cannot but be extremely dear to me.”

Ali understood him, and found that he was not altogether wrong. “Go back,” said he, “and put on your new suit, and then I will go another way with you.”

They went out at the opposite gate which brought them to another winding of the Tigris. Here they found many gardens surrounded by high walls, between which were beautiful avenues of trees, and stone benches for the repose of travellers. Ali sat down on one of these benches, and, having looked round for some time, sank as usual into a deep reverie. When he had awakened from it he was going to ask Lockman for something, but not seeing him, was obliged to call him several times. Upon which his slave appeared from a thick copse adjoining the wall.

“Come, Lockman,” cried Ali, “I want you to tell me something.”

“Such things cannot be told at all,” replied the latter, with a sigh. “Do you wish to hear trite similes of rosy cheeks, ruby lips, pearly teeth, lily hands, bosoms like pomegranates covered with snow, eyebrows like rainbows? Come and see for yourself, for you will behold an incomparable beauty, who being a female is probably not always the same.”

Ali approached the copse, where, through a hole in a wall, he could see into a beautiful garden, with splendid jets d’eau which fell into basins of marble. A lovely female form was sitting on the turf, and many other beautiful girls surrounded her as the paler lights of heaven surround the evening star. Her youth was in its highest splendour, and was adorned with those beautiful colours which are otherwise found only in the most dissimilar objects in nature, and which Lockman had named. But Ali perceived besides, a grace playing on her lips, and a spirit in her eyes such as we see neither in the lustre of rubies nor in that of diamonds. Innocence and infantine serenity animated her countenance; her movements were natural and easy, like those of a Zephyr; and from the affability which she showed to her attendants, Ali inferred the gentleness of her disposition. He stood enraptured in the contemplation of this beauty, believing that he beheld an angelic being. A deep red was suddenly suffused over his face, while, beckoning to his slave, he retired from the wall. He looked in again, and perceived that her slaves were undressing her. Her long hair already fell over her bare shoulders, and her white garment floated loosely round her beautiful bosom. Officious hands loosened the tight bodice, and from all the preparations it was evident that she was about to take a refreshing bath in the hour of evening.

“Master,” cried Lockman, “in the name of Allah and the prophet, pray wait and continue watching.”

Ali, incensed, took him by the collar and threw him backwards.

“Oh, you are not in your senses,” cried the slave, vexed, as he followed him; “you shut your mouth close that you may not enjoy the manna in the wilderness which falls from heaven; you will not take a refreshing draught in the desert when it is offered. You are no Mussulman. A Mussulman loves sensual pleasure, the prophet has permitted it to us in this life, and promised it in the next.”

“The prophet did not enjoin what he permitted,” said Ali. “As the angel took out of his heart the black drops in which were concealed the seeds of evil, in the same manner also can the angel purify the heart of every man.”

“You are no true Mussulman,” said Lockman, “neither war nor sensual pleasure delight you.”

“No,” replied Ali, “they do not; but courage and love do.”

“Go to the foggy Europe,” cried Lockman; “you are no Asiatic; the prophet of Nazareth has misled you. Your virtue is not an active one, it is only abstinence; your life is but a continued preparation for death.”

Ali broke off the conversation, and went away vexed, but soon forgot Lockman. The lovely maiden on the turf was still present to his imagination in all her beauty.

In anxious expectation he waited for the next evening, and went unattended by Lockman.

On first arriving he sat down, and meditated to whom this garden could possibly belong. He then walked several times up and down the avenue between the walls, and not seeing any one near, could not resist stopping by the hedge and looking through the hole into the garden. However he saw no one, for the garden was forsaken. On the turf, opposite the jet d’eau, lay a rose which he wished to possess. As he still stood gazing some one tapped him softly on the shoulder, upon which he looked around, and saw standing before him a middle-aged and affable woman, who asked him smiling,

“What are you looking after, young gentleman?”

Ali was embarrassed.

“You need not answer,” said she. “Your little dwarf has been here this morning, and has settled every thing with me. My mistress is very anxious to see you.”

And without waiting for an answer, she took Ali by the hand, and led him through an open garden door into a thick arbour where she left him.

The beautiful Gulhyndi came to meet him dressed in a fine black suit of satin with short sleeves, which enhanced the natural whiteness of her arms, hands, and neck. Her hair flowed in long tresses down her back; and a deep bodice set with precious stones encircled her slender waist.

“You will be surprised, sir,” she said with natural freedom from embarrassment, “at being brought so suddenly before a young girl whom you do not know. I will at once free you from the state of uncertainty in which you might easily remain to my disadvantage. Know then that I have hazarded this step as the only means of becoming acquainted with a man of such excellent qualities, whose intellectual conversation I have long wished to enjoy. It is not for the first time that we see each other; indeed, we have known each other for a long time.”

The fair one now took a long veil which concealed her face, leaving a small opening only for the eyes, walked a few paces up and down, and then asked him, “Do you know me thus?”

Ali started; it was his unknown friend of Izaser’s temple.

“I am certain you now know me. My name is Gulhyndi. I have long known you, and better than you imagine. A pious dervish with whom I often conversed in the temple on holy things, frequently spoke of you; and I will not deny,” she continued, blushing, “that your appearance seems to confirm me in what I have heard of you. My nurse, who is a Christian, has exerted a great influence upon my education. We poor Arab women are condemned to sit like prisoners in a cage without receiving instruction or any cultivation for our minds. But I can bear it no longer, and beseech you, noble young Mussulman, who surpass in sense and judgment so many of your age, not to make me repent a step which reason sanctions, although as a timid girl I must blush at it.”

“Lovely stranger,” said Ali, “I swear to you by Allah that I will strive to merit your confidence, and never to make myself unworthy of it.”

“All depends upon our devising a disguise under which I may see you daily. Do you play an instrument?”

“I play the guitar,” replied Ali.

“That is fortunate. My father has promised that I shall learn this instrument, and has given me permission to receive daily instruction from a Frank slave in the presence of my nurse. You must be this slave: will you not?”

“Lovely Gulhyndi,” said Ali, “I am your slave already.”

Gulhyndi blushed.

“You already act in character, you say sweet things to me, a fault with all Franks; in this respect we Orientals have the advantage over them, we tell the true feeling of our hearts plainly.”

“So do I; I have not disguised my nature.”

“This is a repetition,” cried she, laughing; “I see you are more cunning than I thought; perhaps I have done wrong in reposing such confidence in you.”

It was now agreed that Ali should procure a Frank dress, such as liberated slaves wore, and should come the next day with his guitar. Maria, the nurse, accompanied him to the door, entreating him to pardon Lockman, who, from zeal for his master, and without his orders, had that morning arranged the whole plan. The enraptured Ali promised it, and inquired of her who her mistress was.

“As you value your own happiness and hers,” answered Maria, “ask me no questions. Be it sufficient for you to know that her name is Gulhyndi. She knows no more of you than that your name is Ali. The moment you know more than this of each other, all your joy will be turned to sadness.”

Ali was forced to promise that he would not inquire further. He hastened to buy a beautiful guitar, and impatiently awaited the hour which should again reveal to him his earthly Paradise. It arrived. He entered the garden, and was led to the arbour as he had been the day before, though Maria did not go away, but remained at the entrance. Gulhyndi met him much more splendidly attired than on the previous day. According to the fashion of Persia, she appeared in a light gay velvet garment, which hung loosely around her body, and was not confined by a bodice. Her beautiful face was encircled with strings of genuine pearls and precious stones; on her fingers she wore diamonds set in silver, the Orientals not being permitted to wear gold rings. She had green stockings, which showed the symmetry of her ancles, and on her small feet were shoes embroidered with gold. Smiling, she said: “Do not think, dear Ali, that I have chosen this dress from vanity. My father, who loves pomp, has been with me, and I have not had time to change it as I expected. I will leave you for a moment, and will be with you immediately, for this attire is not sociable. I can scarcely turn my head with the weight of these jewels, nor move my fingers with these rings.”

Having said these words, she went away, attended by Maria. Ali followed her with his eyes; and though he wished he might see her in a plain attire, which would rather display than conceal her graceful form, yet he could not refrain, as she went away, from exclaiming, with the poet; “How lovely is thy gait in shoes, thou daughter of princes! Thy cheeks are lovely with gems, and thy neck with chains. Thine eyes are as the eyes of doves, between thy tresses. Thy slender form is as that of the palm-tree, and thy bosom is like doves. Oh! my dove in the rock, show thy form again, and let me hear thy voice, for thy voice is sweet, and thy form is lovely!”

It was not long before she returned in her black dress. How much more beautiful did she look! On her partly veiled, swelling bosom, which dazzled the eyes of Ali by its whiteness, hung a ruby, which was blood-red with anger, at being surpassed by the redness of her lips. A lily of silver was entwined in her hair. She took the guitar, saying: “We must lose no time; you shall not bring it in vain; therefore, now teach me.”

Ali obeyed, and taught her the touch of the strings. How did he tremble, when he had to touch her white hands and delicate fingers! She was as delighted as a child when she could play the first chord. “How much sometimes there is in the combination of the elementary sounds,” she cried.

“Lovely Gulhyndi,” said Ali, “the holy seven tones have the same heavenly relation, by nature, as the holy seven colours that beam to us from the rainbow. All we see and hear is nothing but a repetition, and the variation of these.”

“Why, then, has the prophet forbidden music in the churches?” asked Gulhyndi.

“The human voice,” replied he, “is the noblest instrument, and the most worthy of Omnipotence; the prophet considered it a duty that man should offer the best to God. We, fair Gulhyndi, will not despise the music of these chords in this earthly life, since it supports and elevates our human voice, and connects man with nature.”

The sun was now setting, and cast its last gleam over the wall into the arbour. “Play and sing another song, as a farewell,” said she. Ali sang as follows:

After this Ali had frequent opportunities of seeing Gulhyndi. Once finding her pale, and with her eyes red from weeping, he asked her with sympathy: “Lovely Gulhyndi, what ails you?”

“I will and must tell you, Ali,” said she; “when you have heard me you will be convinced of the necessity I felt to seek your advice and confidence. I have told you already that my nurse is a Christian. She has endeavoured to convert me to the Christian faith; but the lessons which my mother gave me in my childhood have always closed my heart against her persuasions and proofs. Still she has often rendered me most uneasy; and though unsuccessful in these endeavours to convert me to her religion, has shaken my faith in ours. ‘The prophet,’ she says, ‘excludes the female half of mankind from heaven; therefore, what are you striving for? In this life you need no supernatural assistance, and in the next it is denied you. But to go no farther than this life; what have you become through the cruel institution of Mahomet? Before your marriage you are a bird shut up in a cage, and when married, an unhappy wife, who shares the favours of a tyrant with a hundred others. Follow my advice, take your jewels and flee to Europe. My family is large and happy, my native country is extensive and beautiful; its women are much respected. Many youths will strive to please you; every one will esteem himself happy to obtain your hand. The Christian church will receive you in her bosom, and in the next life infinite mercy awaits you.”

Gulhyndi was silent for a moment, to hear whether Ali would say any thing in reply. As he continued silent, contemplating her attentively with an affectionate look, she continued:

“I should not perhaps have been strong enough to withstand her persuasions had not a singular occurrence taken place to confirm me. During a sleepless night, when tormented with grief and anguish of conscience, I lay on my couch with my hands folded, and all at once fell into a sweet sleep, during which I dreamt I saw the ceiling of the room opening, and a charming fairy coming down to me on a rosy cloud, which filled the room with perfume. She appeared in an azure silk garment, over which hung a transparent crape, on which were wrought silver stars; on her head was a crown of diamonds, and her hands held a sceptre of emerald. She bent over my pillow, touched my temples with her sceptre, and said, ‘Be of good cheer daughter, flee not, and deny not your faith. Virtue is a flower that blooms in every clime. Be firm without despairing. I promise you a youth who will love you alone and be faithful to you. He shall, like yourself, spring from the tribe of Ishmael, and dwell in your tents.’ When she had said this she disappeared. I have often seen her after this, when I have been in trouble; but she has only floated down to me and contemplated me smiling for a moment, which, however, has always inspired me with fortitude for many days. For two months, however, I have not seen her, and Maria urges me daily. Thus I met you in this state of excitement. Oh, Ali! forsake not the timid roe which seeks shelter in your protection.”

How was it possible for Ali to conceal his sentiments any longer?

“Gulhyndi,” he cried, “the youth which the good fairy promised you, you have already found, if you will be satisfied with my love and fidelity.”

“Ali,” said she, trembling, “let not compassion for an unhappy being make you think you love her.”

“I have not known before this day what love is,” said he; “but if it be a feeling that supplants every other, and makes the beloved object its sole desire on earth, then I love you.”

She could find no words in answer; her arms embraced the happy Ali, and in the first kiss he enjoyed the highest happiness.

“But,” continued she, when she had in a measure recovered from the first transport, “you still must flee, Ali, you must leave your country if you love me. Oh, Allah, how could I expect this from thee,” she exclaimed, with a sigh; “no, no, I shall act against the warning of my good fairy. She promised me a lover with whom I should not be compelled to flee, who should dwell with me in my tents. Alas, Ali, this is impossible with you, and without you the world has no joys for me.”

“Be of good cheer, beloved Gulhyndi, my father is a wealthy and respected man; I do not know yours, but he cannot have any objection to our union if the wealthy Ibrahim solicits you for his son, and grants him the dowry.”

He had scarcely uttered these words, when the terrified Maria came running to them, and crying: “For Heaven’s sake, children, compose yourselves as you value your life. Your father is coming,” she said to Gulhyndi; “play, play,” she said, to Ali.

He took the guitar and had scarcely played a few notes, when Hussain Cadi entered the arbour. Ali’s terror may easily be conceived. His hand almost dropped the guitar so greatly was he embarrassed.

Hussain looked at him attentively. “Is this the Greek slave, daughter,” he asked, “whom your nurse procured to instruct you in music?”

“Yes, father,” replied Gulhyndi, trembling.

“You are agitated, you have been weeping, what is the meaning of all this?”

“Father, he has sung to me an air which has affected me deeply.”

“Ah! does he so well understand the art of moving your feelings?” asked Hussain. “Play, you Christian dog,” said he, turning to Ali, “move me, also, for once.”

“Pardon your slave, sir,” said Ali, “feelings cannot be forced; if this sweet art is to produce its effect, the mind must be favourably attuned before hand.”

“Then I suppose you understand how to effect this?” asked Hussain, looking at Ali with a searching glance.

Ali was silent.

“Are you a freed slave? Who was your master in Bagdad before?”

In answer to this Ali mentioned a name.

“You seem to me to be rather an Arab than a Frank,” said Hussain, very emphatically.

As Ali was going to reply, Hussain suddenly exclaimed, “Yes, it is he, I know the hateful countenance, I know the detestable features.” Pale with fury he put his hands to his side, but did not find his sword. “Wait a moment,” he said, with affected indifference, “I shall be here again instantly.”

Leaving the arbour hastily, he clapped his hands to summon a slave; but none appearing, he hurried to the house. Ali and Gulhyndi were now in the utmost despair.

“Come, my beloved,” she said, as she embraced Ali, “only through the heart of his daughter shall his sword find its way to yours.”

“That would not be a very strong shield,” cried a hoarse voice, from the wall; “come, master, save your life, and own the fidelity of your servant.”

Ali cast his eyes upwards and saw Lockman sitting astride on the wall, with a rope ladder which he quickly lowered. He embraced his beloved, and availed himself of this mode of rescue, which came as if sent by Heaven. He was soon on the other side of the wall with Lockman, who, with singular speed, took him round the corner and concealed him in a thick hedge. As soon as night came on he hastened home, attended by Lockman, and thanked him for his marked fidelity and his intrepid courage.

The first thing he now did was to speak to his father and confide his secret to him. He said, at length, “As you love your son, conquer your hatred against Hussain, go with me to him, solicit the hand of his daughter for me, and offer your hand to him in reconciliation.”

“Is this possible, my son?” said Ibrahim. “Can love so far carry you away that it makes you forget what you owe to your father? You ask of me to degrade myself for the sake of your passion?”

“Is it degrading to reconcile oneself with one’s enemy?” asked Ali.

“I did once make a step towards a reconciliation,” replied Ibrahim, “which was contemptuously spurned, and I have sworn by the Omnipotent Allah that as sure as the gold cloth was torn, so surely shall Hussain be for ever torn from my heart. Compose yourself, my son, conquer your passion; there are pretty girls enough in Bagdad besides her. I am rich and can buy the most beautiful slaves for you; but never think of an alliance with the blood of Hussain; it would be an union against nature, and the day of your union would be the day of your father’s death.”

All the entreaties and persuasions of Ali were of no avail with his father; the otherwise mild Ibrahim was incensed against his son to a degree that had never been known before, and, turning his back upon him, he said, “Be silent and forget your folly if you do not wish, me to curse the moment in which your mother brought you into the world. He who loves Hussain’s daughter cannot love me, and I must look upon him as an enemy who intends evil against me.”

Ali was now left alone in despair. Soon, however, Lockman made his appearance, and asked him, “Why are you so dejected?”

“Fate will deprive me of my earthly bliss,” replied Ali.

“When did fate ever do so?” rejoined Lockman, “that must have happened in a moment when I was not present.”

“Begone,” cried Ali, “am I not unhappy enough without your mockery aggravating my grief?”

“I come not only with mockery,” said Lockman, “but sometimes with rope ladders.”

“Pardon me,” said Ali, “grief made me forget your kindness.”

“Well,” replied Lockman, “I forgive every thing but awkwardness.”

“And what remedy is there for me?”

“Nothing easier than to find the remedy for you, provided you will make use of it.”

Ali looked at him amazed.

“Have you then forgotten the caliph entirely? His favour, and what he told you at the time?” asked Lockman.

A ray of hope now darted through Ali’s desponding mind.

“Go to the caliph,” continued Lockman, “confess all to him; he will be amused, nay, rejoiced, for it will flatter him to find that you have been at last caught in the net of love. You have before now found favour in his sight; he will laugh at your love intrigue and give his orders; one word from him will be the foundation of your happiness.”

Ali was delighted, but his joy shortly left him after a closer examination of Lockman’s advice. He thought of the wrath of Hussain, his vindictive disposition, and said to himself: “If I am to go I must go at once, to-morrow it will be too late; he is spiteful, he is cadi, and has the power to put his evil designs into execution.”

“Then go this very evening,” said Lockman.

Ali wrapt himself in his cloak and went. The evening was already advanced, but the weather was fine and the moon shone. When he arrived at the palace he saw that it was splendidly lighted up, and he heard music. “Ah,” he said, with anxious heart, “the caliph is celebrating a festival to-night; there is no hope of my being admitted, and to-morrow it will be too late.”

His fears were confirmed by the words of the porters, who told him that the caliph would speak to no one so late, and that he must return the next day. One of them, however, said: “What can this stranger have to say to the caliph? Why is he wrapt up in a large cloak, and why does he come at this hour of the night? Confusion is in his face. Might he not be a traitor who intends to murder the caliph in a private interview? I think it will be most advisable to bring him to the cadi that he may guard him for the night in his house. To-morrow he can be released again if found innocent.”

Several of the others agreed to this proposal, saying: “It is not the first time that such an attempt has been made against the caliph’s life. The caliph is too noble-minded to have any suspicion; but it is the duty of his servants to watch over his safety.”

The terror of Ali may easily be conceived when one of the guard laid hands on him to conduct him to Hussain. In his alarm he threw back his cloak, and cried: “I am Ali the son of Ibrahim! the caliph knows me and has shown me distinguished favour. I have to communicate things of importance, and you will incur his highest displeasure if you treat a peaceful citizen like a base vagabond.”

Fortunately for Ali one of the guard knew him; and persuaded the others to release him, assuring him that it was impossible to speak to the caliph that night, and that he must return the following day.

Ali, in this state of uncertainty, walked a long time up and down the street. He had been denied an appeal to his only deliverer; he was unwilling to return to the house of his incensed father without having effected his purpose; and from the enraged cadi he had to fear the worst. Deeply distressed, he sat down on a bench on the banks of the Tigris.

He had not been there long before he perceived three old dervishes coming slowly up the street. They saluted him, but he scarcely noticed it. One of them came up to him and sat down next to him, whilst the others pursued their way.

“Let it not displease you, sir,” said the old man, “that I address you without knowing you,—but if one has no acquaintance one must try to make some. We are dervishes, and are coming from Basra in order to speak to the caliph on matters of consequence. Unfortunately we arrived here too late. He celebrates a festival for a new slave whom he has received into his harem: and we were obliged to quit the palace without succeeding in our object. We had hoped to be allowed to sleep quietly in the outer court of the palace until to-morrow; but this hospitality is no longer permitted, as they fear the safety of the caliph might be endangered. We have already been walking about for more than an hour to find accommodation in an inn. I am the oldest, and am most weary,—permit me, therefore, to rest myself at your side; my companions will perhaps be more successful in their search.”

“I regret,” said Ali, “that this evening I am disposed to any thing rather than to entertaining people by my conversation. But if you will go to my father’s house (telling him at the same time where he resided) he will receive you hospitably, and will feel pleasure in entertaining you during your stay in Bagdad. Come with me and I will show you the way. It is, moreover, not safe for us to loiter any longer about the streets, for the constables of the cadi have orders to arrest every one whom they meet after a certain hour.”

“Why, we have nothing to fear from them to night,” replied the dervish, “as they are making merry at the cadi’s expense, in consequence of the great fortune which his daughter has met.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Ali.

“Why,” replied he, “have you not heard that she has been given to the caliph, and that the festival is celebrated on her account? If the love she has kindled in the caliph, when he saw her for the first time, is of lasting duration, she may entertain the hope of becoming one of his most favourite wives.”

“Impossible!” cried Ali.

“It is quite true,” said the dervish.

“Then,” exclaimed Ali, “I must speak to the caliph. He must restore her to me! I will strike down the guards if they offer to prevent my entrance. I will murder the caliph, and then her and myself——”

“Young man, you are mad! Would you murder the Commander of the Faithful? The mere utterance of such a design is high treason.”

“I go,” cried Ali, half frantic, “I can die with Gulhyndi, but not survive her dishonour and my own.”

“What dishonour?” asked the dervish. “Can it be any thing but the highest honour for her to rest in the arms of Haroun al Raschid?”

“Heaven and earth!” said Ali, as he attempted to go.

“Wait an instant,” said the old man, “and compose yourself. Is it possible,” he continued, “that the same city can contain two men of such opposite temperaments? Love has changed you to a blood-thirsty tiger, and a youth named Ali is said to live here who is a pattern of such a cool nature, that his fame has reached us even at Basra.”

“I am this very Ali!” cried the unfortunate youth.

“You Ali? Impossible! Ali is wise.”

“The highest wisdom is love,” said Ali; “but why do I tarry here, and waste my time upon you, while—ah?——”

He was going to tear himself away from the old man and hasten to the palace, but the dervish said, “As you are in such great haste, I will detain you only long enough to listen to one word of reason, if your agitated feelings will allow you. You have offered us a night’s lodging without knowing us, and thereby laid us under some obligation, and as it is, moreover, the duty of men of our pious order to assist believers as far as we can, follow my advice and come with us, and we will bring you before the caliph. My companions are approaching and will go with us. Your purpose of striking down the guards is sheer madness, and you will repent it if you reflect a moment. In order to be admitted, we must say we come on important business from the governor of Basra. Once in the caliph’s presence, we will, as ministers of religion and virtue, throw ourselves at his feet and solicit your betrothed from him. Perhaps we may move him,—perhaps he will be touched by your situation, and if he is not, then there is still time enough for you to act as despair prompts you.” Ali thanked the good dervish for his offer. The other two were soon informed of the plan, and immediately assented to it as the best arrangement, though they had some difficulty in persuading Ali, who, notwithstanding the distracted state of his mind, perceived to what danger they exposed themselves on his account.

Arrived at the palace, they found but little difficulty in obtaining admittance; a few words to the guards procured them a ready entrance, and much respect was shown to the eldest. They were led through several apartments into a magnificent saloon, which was lighted with innumerable wax tapers. In the back ground stood the caliph’s throne, and a great number of young girls afforded amusement by music and dancing. Ali, however, could discern neither the caliph nor Gulhyndi; and turning to the old dervish, with his face quite pale, he asked, “Where are they?”

“The caliph has probably retired to his own apartment with his young bride,” replied he. “Alas! poor Ali, we have come too late.”

Ali shuddered, when the dervish began to break out into loud laughter, and throwing off his cap and cloak, stood before him in princely splendour as Haroun al Raschid. “Wise Ali,” he cried, “must I see you again in a situation where you are not a hair’s breadth wiser than the caliph?” So saying, he took him by the hand and led him to an adjoining apartment, where he was received by Gulhyndi. “Accept your bride from my hands,” said the caliph; “she is yours, and I renounce all my claims to her. But I will not proceed in an arbitrary manner in this affair; I have sent for your parents, and trust to obtain their consent.” He had scarcely uttered these words, when Hussain and Ibrahim were brought in. “Hussain!” said the caliph, sternly, “I have reason to be very angry with you. You have not offered me your daughter on my own account, you have employed me as an instrument to wreak your revenge. You have sacrificed this poor girl to prevent Ali’s union with her; she would be unhappy, had not despair inspired her with courage to disclose all to me. Give your consent, as that is the only way by which you can be restored to my favour.”

“Commander of the Faithful!” replied Hussain, “yours is the power, but you are good and just, and you will not abuse it. From the moment when I discovered that my daughter would be beautiful, I formed the resolution that she should belong to you or none. I was obliged thus suddenly to put this resolution into effect by this youth, the son of my deadly enemy, who has not solicited my daughter from me, but has cunningly crept into my house in order to seduce her. That I give to you what I thought too good for every one else cannot surely displease you. You are the father of your people, and you will not punish with your displeasure your slave, who in his trouble, flies to you for refuge.”

“I know all,” said the caliph; “use no shifts. You and Ibrahim shall become friends again, and render your children happy;—such is my will.”

“This alliance,” replied Hussain, “would be my greatest misfortune, and death more welcome. I entreat you, sire, if I have shown any fidelity and zeal towards you during my long service; reward them by allowing me the authority of a father; do not deprive me of the power over the fate of my child.”

“She cannot be mine,” cried Al Raschid.

“Then,” said Hussain, “my misfortune is great; permit me and my daughter to go home, and mourn the loss of your favour in sackcloth and ashes.”

“And you, Ibrahim,” said the caliph, turning to him, “will you not advance a step towards the happiness of your child?”

“Commander of the Faithful,” said Ibrahim, “I do not think that a man is made more unhappy by not obtaining a woman upon whom he has set his heart, perhaps only for a moment. If it were so, I ought to be very unhappy, for Hussain is the very man who once robbed me of my betrothed, and with her the hope of my youth. I trust my son will be contented to share the fate of his father, and to suffer what I have suffered—a grief which I know, from experience, does not endure long, and for which the world affords us sufficient compensation.”

The blood came into Al Raschid’s face, and a fire flashed from his eyes, which usually was the forerunner of sudden wrath; still he restrained himself. “Is it your unalterable resolution,” he asked, “to conspire against the happiness of this young man, and against my will?”

Both parents perceived the emotion of the caliph’s mind. Hussain continued calm, but Ibrahim turned pale, and threw himself at the caliph’s feet, exclaiming: “I am your slave, your pleasure be done! You are wise, and you act as the successor of the Prophet, as the guardian angel of religion and the people. I give my consent.” “My son,” he thought within himself, “may take several wives; he may repudiate her whom he took first; I shall not lose so much as Hussain, and be no nearer to him than formerly.”