Flowers from a Persian Garden and Other Papers Part 18

The woodcutter was satisfied when Musa told him the result of his pet.i.tion, and, the first duties of the morning being performed, he failed not in looking for the promised gift, and to his surprise found a heap of silver coins in the place indicated. Calling his wife, he told her what he had acquired of the Lord through his holy prophet Musa, and they both agreed that it was very good to enjoy a short life of happiness on earth and depart in peace; although they could not help again and again recurring to the number of years on earth they had thus sacrificed. "We will make as many hearts rejoice as this the Lord's gift will permit," they both agreed; "and thus we shall secure in our future state the blessed abode promised to those who fulfil the commands of G.o.d in this life, since to-morrow it must close for us."

The day was spent in procuring and preparing provisions for the feast.

The whole sum was expended on the best sorts of food, and the poor were made acquainted with the rich treat the woodcutter and his wife were cooking for their benefit. The food being cooked, allotments were made to each hungry applicant, and the couple reserved to themselves one good substantial meal, which was to be eaten only after the poor were all served and satisfied. It happened at the very moment they were seated to enjoy this their last meal, as they believed, a voice was heard, saying: "O friend! I have heard of your feast; I am late, yet it may be that you have still a little to spare, for I am hungry to my very heart. The blessing of G.o.d be on him who relieves my present sufferings from hunger!" The woodcutter and his wife agreed that it would be much better for them to go to Paradise with half a meal than to leave one fellow creature famis.h.i.+ng on earth. So they shared their own portion with him who had none, and he went away from them rejoicing. "Now," said the happy pair, "we shall eat of our half-share with unmixed delight, and with thankful hearts. By to-morrow evening we shall be transferred to Paradise."

They had scarcely raised the savoury food to their mouths when a bewailing voice arrested their attention, and stayed the hands already charged with food. A poor creature who had not tasted food for two days moaned his piteous tale, in accents which drew tears from the woodcutter and his wife; their eyes met and the sympathy was mutual: they were more willing to depart for Paradise without the promised benefit of one earthly enjoyment, than suffer the hungry man to die from want of that meal they had before them. The dish was promptly tendered to the unfortunate one, and the woodcutter and his wife consoled each other with reflecting that, as the time of their departure was now so near at hand, the temporary enjoyment of a meal was not worth one moment's consideration: "To-morrow we die; then of what consequence is it to us whether we depart with full or empty stomachs?"

And now their thoughts were set on the place of eternal rest. They slept, and arose to their morning orisons with hearts reposing humbly on their G.o.d, in the fullest expectation that this was their last day on earth. The prayer was concluded, and the woodcutter was in the act of rolling up his carpet, on which he had prostrated himself with grat.i.tude, reverence, and love to his Creator, when he perceived a fresh heap of silver on the floor. He could scarcely believe but it was a dream. "How wonderful art thou, O G.o.d!" cried he. "This is thy bounteous gift, that I may indeed enjoy one day before I quit this earth." And Musa, when he came to him, was satisfied with the goodness and the power of G.o.d. But he retired again to the Mount, to inquire of G.o.d the cause of the woodcutter's respite. The reply which Musa received was as follows: "That man has faithfully applied the wealth given in answer to his pet.i.tion. He is worthy to live out his numbered years on earth who, receiving my bounty, thought not of his own enjoyments whilst his fellow men had wants which he could supply." And to the end of the wood-cutter's long life G.o.d's bounty lessened not in substance; neither did the pious man relax in his charitable duties of sharing with the indigent all that he had, and with the same disregard of his own enjoyments.

PRECOCIOUS SAGACITY OF SOLOMON.

Commentators on the Kuran state that while Solomon was still a mere youth he frequently upset the decisions of the judges in open court, and they became displeased with his interference, though they could not but confess to themselves that his judgment was always superior to theirs.

Having prevailed upon King David to permit the sagacity of his son to be publicly tested, they plied him with what they deemed very difficult questions, which, however, were hardly uttered before he answered them correctly, and at length they became silent and shame-faced. Then Solomon rose and said (I take the paragraph which follows from the English translation of Dr. Weil's interesting work, _The Bible, the Koran, and the Talmud_, 1846, p. 165 f.):

"You have exhausted yourselves in subtleties, in the hope of manifesting your superiority over me before this great a.s.sembly. Permit me now also to put to you a very few simple questions, the solution of which needs no manner of study, but only a little intellect and understanding. Tell me: What is Everything, and what is Nothing? Who is Something, and who is less than Nothing?" Solomon waited long, and when the judge whom he had addressed was not able to answer, he said: "Allah, the Creator, is Everything, and the world, the creature, is Nothing. The believer is Something, but the hypocrite is less than Nothing." Turning to another, Solomon inquired: "Which are the most in number, and which are the fewest? What is the sweetest, and what is the most bitter?" But as the second judge also was unable to find proper answers to these questions, Solomon said: "The most numerous are the doubters, and they who possess a perfect a.s.surance of faith are fewest in number. The sweetest is the possession of a virtuous wife, excellent children, and a respectable competency; but a wicked wife, undutiful children, and poverty are the most bitter." Finally Solomon put this question to a third judge: "Which is the vilest, and which is the most beautiful? What is the most certain, and what is the least so?" But these questions also remained unanswered until Solomon said: "The vilest thing is when a believer apostasises, and the most beautiful is when a sinner repents. The most certain thing is death and the last judgment, and the most uncertain, life and the fate of the soul after the resurrection. You perceive," he continued, "it is not the oldest and most learned that are always the wisest. True wisdom is neither of years nor of learned books, but only of Allah, the All-wise."

The judges were full of admiration, and unanimously lauded the unparalleled sagacity of the future ruler of Israel.--The Queen of Sheba's "hard questions" (already referred to, p. 218) were probably of a somewhat similar nature. Such "wit combats" seem to have been formerly common at the courts and palaces of Asiatic monarchs and n.o.bles; and a curious, but rather tedious, example is furnished in the _Thousand and One Nights_, in the story of Abu al-Husn and his slave Tawaddad, which will be found in vol. iv of Mr. John Payne's and vol. v of Sir R. F.

Burton's complete translations.

SOLOMON AND THE SERPENT'S PREY.

A curious popular tradition of Solomon, in French verse, is given by M.

Emile Blemont in _La Tradition_ (an excellent journal of folklore, etc., published at Paris) for March 1889, p. 73: Solomon, we are informed, in very ancient times ruled over all beings [on the earth], and, if we may believe our ancestors, was the King of magicians. One day Man appeared before him, praying to be delivered from the Serpent, who ever lay in wait to devour him. "That I cannot do," said Solomon; "for he is my preceptor, and I have given him the privilege to eat whatsoever he likes best." Man responded: "Is that so? Well, let him gorge himself without stint; but he has no right to devour me." "So you say," quoth Solomon; "but are you sure of it?" Said Man: "I call the light to witness it; for I have the high honour of being in this world superior to all other creatures." At these words the whole of the a.s.sembly [of animals]

protested. "And I!" said the Eagle, with a loud voice, as he alighted on a rock. "Corcorico!" chanted the c.o.c.k. The Monkey was scratching himself and admiring his grinning phiz in the water, which served him for a looking-gla.s.s. Then the Buzzard was beside himself [with rage]. And the Cuckoo was wailing. The a.s.s rolled over and over, crying: "Heehaw! how ugly Man is!" The Elephant stamped about with his heavy feet, his trumpet raised towards the heavens. The Bear a.s.sumed dignified airs, while the Peac.o.c.k was showing off his wheel-like tail. And in the distance the Lion was majestically exhaling his disdain in a long sigh.

Then said Solomon: "Silence! Man is right: is he not the only beast who gets drunk at all seasons? But, to accede to his request, as an honest prince, I ought to be able to give the Serpent something preferable, or at least equal, to his favourite prey. Therefore hear my decision: Let the Gnat--the smallest of animals--find out in what creature circulates the most exquisite blood in the world; and that creature shall belong to you, O Serpent. And I summon you all to appear here, without fail, on this day twelvemonths hence, that the Gnat may tell us the result of his experiments."

The year past, the Gnat--subtle taster--was slowly winging his way back when he met the Swallow. "Good day, friend Swallow," says he. "Good day, friend Gnat," replies the Swallow. "Have you accomplished your mission?"

"Yes, my dear," responded the Gnat. "Well, what is then the most delicious blood under the heavens?" "My dear, it is that of Man."

"What!--of him? I haven't heard. Speak louder." The Gnat was beginning to raise his voice, and opened his mouth to speak louder, when the Swallow quickly fell upon him and nipped off his tongue in the middle of a word. Spite of this, the Gnat continued his way, and arrived next day at the general a.s.sembly, where Solomon was already seated. But when the king questioned him, he had no means of proving his zeal. Said the king: "Give us thy report." "Bizz! bizz! bizz!" said the poor fellow. "Speak out, and let thy talk be clear," quoth the king. "Bizz! bizz! bizz!"

cried the other again. "What's the matter with the little stupid?"

exclaimed the king, in a rage. Here the Swallow intervened in a sweet and shrill tone: "Sire, it is not his fault. Yesterday we were flying side by side, when suddenly he became mute. But, by good luck, down there about the sacred springs, before he met with this misfortune, he told me the result of his investigations. May I depone in his name?"

"Certainly," replied Solomon. "What is the best blood, according to thy companion?" "Sire, it is the blood of the Frog."

Everybody was astonished: the Gnat was mad with rage. "I hold," said Solomon, "to all that I promised. Friend Serpent, renounce Man henceforth--that food is bad. The Frog is the best meat; so eat as much Frog as you please." So the Serpent had to submit to his deplorable lot, and I leave you to think how the bile was stirred up within the rascally reptile. As the Swallow was pa.s.sing him--mocking and sneering--the Serpent darted at her, but the bird swiftly pa.s.sed beyond reach, and with little effort cleft the vast blue sky and ascended more than a league. The Serpent snapped only the end of the bird's tail, and that is how the Swallow's tail is cloven to this day; but, so far from finding it an inconvenience, she is thereby the more lively and beautiful. And Man, knowing what he owes to her, is full of grat.i.tude. She has her abode under the eaves of our houses, and good luck comes wherever she nestles. Her gay cries, sweet and shrill, rouse the springtide. Is she not a bird-fairy--a good angel? On the other hand, the crafty Serpent hardly knows how to get out of the mud, and drags himself along, climbing and climbing; while the Swallow, free and light, flies in the gold of the day. For she is faithful Friends.h.i.+p--the little sister of Love.

M. Blemont does not say in what part of France this legend is current, but it is doubtless of Asiatic extraction--whether Jewish or Muhammedan.

THE CAPON-CARVER, p. 231.

A variant of the same incident occurs in No. IV of M. Emile Legrand's _Receuil de Contes Populaires Grecs_ (Paris, 1881), where a prince sets out in quest of some maiden acquainted with "figurative language," whom he would marry. He comes upon an old man and his daughter, and overhears the latter address her father in metaphorical terms, which she has to explain to the old man, at which the prince is highly pleased, and following them to their hut desires and obtains shelter for the night.

"As there was not much to eat, the old man bade them kill a c.o.c.k, and when it was roasted it was placed on the table. Then the young girl got up and carved the fowl. She gave the head to her father; the body to her mother; the wings to the prince; and the flesh to the children. The old man, seeing his daughter divide the fowl in this manner, turned and looked at his wife, for he was ashamed to speak of it before the stranger. But when they were going to bed he said to his daughter: 'Why, my child, did you cut up the fowl so badly? The stranger has gone starving to bed.' 'Ah, my father,' she replied, 'you have not understood it; wait till I explain: I gave the head to you, because you are the head of this house; to my mother I gave the body, because, like the body of a s.h.i.+p, she has borne us in her sides; I gave the wings to the stranger, because to-morrow he will take his flight and go away; and lastly, to us the children I gave the bits of flesh, because we are the true flesh of the house. Do you understand it now, my good father?'"--The remainder of the story is so droll that, though but remotely related to the Capon-carver, I think it worth while to give a translation of it:

"As the room wherein the girl spoke with her father was adjacent to that in which the stranger lay, the latter heard all that she said. Great was his joy, and he said to himself that he would well like for wife one who could thus speak figurative language. And when it was day he rose, took his leave, and went away. On his return to the palace he called a servant and gave him in a sack containing 31 loaves, a whole cheese, a c.o.c.k stuffed and roasted, and a skin of wine; and indicating to him the position of the cabin where he had put up, told him to go there and deliver these presents to a young girl of 18 years.

"The servant took the sack and set out to execute the orders of his master.--But, pardon me, ladies [quoth the story-teller], if I have forgotten to tell you this: Before setting out, the servant was ordered by the prince to say these words to the young girl: 'Many, many compliments from my master. Here is what he sends you: the month has 31 days; the moon is full; the chorister of the dawn is stuffed and roasted; the he-goat's skin is stretched and full.'--The servant then went towards the cabin, but on the way he met some friends. 'Good day, Michael. Where are you going with this load, and what do you carry?'

'I'm going over the mountain to a cabin where my master sends me.' 'And what have you got in there? The smell of it makes our mouths water.'

'Look, here are loaves, cheese, wine, and a roasted c.o.c.k. It's a present which my master has given me to take to a poor girl.' 'O indeed, simpleton! Sit down, that we may eat a little. How should thy master ever know of it?' Down they sat on the green mountain sward and fell-to.

The more they ate the keener their appet.i.tes grew, so that our fine fellows cleared away 13 loaves, half the cheese, the whole c.o.c.k, and nearly half the wine. When they had eaten and drank their fill, the servant took up the remainder and resumed his way to the cabin. Arrived, he found the young girl, gave her the presents, and repeated the words which his master had ordered him to say.

"The girl took what he brought and said to him: 'You shall say to your master: "Many, many compliments. I thank him for all that he has sent me; but the month has only 18 days, the moon is only half full, the chorister of dawn was not there, and the he-goat's skin is lank and loose. But, to please the partridge, let him not beat the sow."' (That is to say, there were only 18 loaves, half a cheese, no roasted c.o.c.k, and the wine-skin was scarcely half full; but that, to please the young girl, he was not to beat the servant, who had not brought the gift entire.)

"The servant left and returned to the palace. He repeated to the prince what the young girl had said to him, except the last clause, which he forgot. Then the prince understood all, and caused another servant to give the rogue a good beating. When the culprit had received such a caning that his skin and bones were sore, he cried out: 'Enough, prince, my master! Wait until I tell you another thing that the young girl said to me, and I have forgotten to tell you.' 'Come, what have you to say?--be quick.' 'Master, the young girl added, "But, to please the partridge, let him not beat the sow."' 'Ah, blockhead!' said the prince to him. 'Why did you not tell me this before? Then you would not have tasted the cane. But so be it.' A few days later the prince married the young girl, and fetes and great rejoicings were held."

THE FOX AND THE BEAR, p. 240.

In no other version of this fable does the Fox take a stone with him when he enters one of the buckets and then throw it away--nor indeed does he go into the bucket at all; he simply induces the other animal to descend into the well, in order to procure the "fine cheese." La Fontaine gives a variant of the fable, in which a fox goes down into a well with the same purpose, and gets out by asking a wolf to come down and feast on the "cheese": as the wolf descends in one bucket he draws up the fox in the other one, and so the wolf, like Lord Ullin, is "left lamenting."[114] M. Berenger-Feraud thinks this version somewhat a.n.a.logous to a fable in his French collection of popular Senegambian Tales,[115] of the Clever Monkey and the Silly Wolf, of which, as it is short, I may offer a free translation, as follows:

A proud lion was pacing about a few steps forward, then a side movement, then a grand stride backward. A monkey on a tree above imitates the movements, and his antics enrage the lion, who warns him to desist. The monkey however goes on with the caricature, and at last falls off the tree, and is caught by the lion, who puts him into a hole in the ground, and having covered it with a large stone goes off to seek his mate, that they should eat the monkey together. While he is absent a wolf comes to the spot, and is pleased to hear the monkey cry, for he had a grudge against him. The wolf asks why the monkey cries. "I am singing," says the monkey, "to aid my digestion. This is a hare's retreat, and we two ate so heartily this morning that I cannot move, and the hare is gone out for some medicine. We have lots of more food." "Let me in," says the wolf; "I am a friend." The monkey, of course, readily consents, and just as the wolf enters he slips out, and, replacing the stone, imprisons the wolf. By-and-by the lion and his mate come up. "We shall have monkey to-day," says the lion, lifting the stone--"faith! we shall only have wolf after all!" So the poor wolf is instantly torn into pieces, while the clever monkey once more overhead re-enacts his lion-pantomime.[116]

[114] _Fables de La Fontaine_, Livre xi^e, fable v^e: "Le Loup et le Renard."

[115] _Recueil de Contes Populaires de la Senegambie_, recueillis par L.-J.-B.-Berenger-Feraud. Paris, 1885.

Page 51.

[116] I have to thank my friend Dr. David Ross, Princ.i.p.al, E. C. Training College, Glasgow, for kindly drawing my attention to this diverting tale.

Strange as it may appear, there is a variant of the fable of the Fox and the Bear current among the negroes in the United States, according to _Uncle Remus_, that most diverting collection. In No. XVI, "Brer Rabbit"

goes down in a bucket into a well, and "Brer Fox" asks him what he is doing there. "O I'm des a fis.h.i.+ng, Brer Fox," says he; and Brer Fox goes into the bucket while Brer Rabbit escapes and chaffs his comrade.

THE DESOLATE ISLAND, p. 243.

There is a tale in the _Gesta Romanorum_ (ch. 74 of the text translated by Swan) which seems to have been suggested by the Hebrew parable of the Desolate Island, and which has pa.s.sed into general currency throughout Europe: A dying king bequeaths to his son a golden apple, which he is to give to the greatest fool he can find. The young prince sets out on his travels, and after meeting with many fools, none of whom, however, he deemed worthy of the "prize," he comes to a country the king of which reigns only one year, and finds him indulging in all kinds of pleasure.

He offers the king the apple, explaining the terms of his father's bequest, and saying that he considers him the greatest of all fools, in not having made a proper use of his year of sovereignty.--A common oral form of this story is to the effect that a court jester came to the bedside of his dying master, who told him that he was going on a very long journey, and the jester inquiring whether he had made due preparation was answered in the negative. "Then," said the fool, "prithee take my bauble, for thou art truly the greatest of all fools."

OTHER RABBINICAL LEGENDS AND TALES.

As a.n.a.logues, or variants, of incidents in several wide-spread European popular tales, other Hebrew legends are cited in some of my former books; e.g.: The True Son, in _Popular Tales and Fictions_, vol. i, p.

14; Moses and the Angel (the ways of Providence: the original of Parnell's "Hermit"), vol. i, p. 25; a mystical hymn, "A kid, a kid, my Father bought," the possible original of our nursery c.u.mulative rhyme of "The House that Jack built," vol. i, p. 291; the Reward of Sabbath observance, vol. i, p. 399; the Intended Divorce, vol. ii, p. 328, of which, besides the European variants there cited, other versions will be found in Prof. Crane's _Italian Popular Tales_: "The Clever Girl" and Notes; the Lost Camel, in _A Group of Eastern Romances and Stories_, p.

512. In _Originals and a.n.a.logues of some of Chaucer's 'Canterbury Tales'_ (for the Chaucer Society) I have cited two curious Jewish versions of the Franklin's Tale, in the paper ent.i.tled "The Damsel's Rash Promise," pp. 315, 317. A selection of Hebrew Facetiae is given at the end of the papers on Oriental Wit and Humour in the present volume (p. 117); and an amusing story, also from the Talmud, is reproduced in my _Book of Sindibad_, p. 103, _note_, of the Athenian and the witty Tailor; and in the same work, p. 340, _note_, reference is made to a Jewish version of the famous tale of the Matron of Ephesus. There may be more in these books which I cannot call to mind.

AN ARABIAN TALE OF LOVE.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.

_Midsummer Night's Dream_.

Every land has its favourite tale of love: in France, that of Abelard and Eloisa, in Italy, of Petrarch and Laura; all Europe has the touching tale of Romeo and Juliet in common; and Muslims have the ever fresh tale of the loves and sorrows of Majnun and Layla. Of the ten or twelve Persian poems extant on this old tale those by Nizami, who died A.D.

1211, and Jami, of the 15th century, are considered as by far the best; though Hatifi's version (ob. 1520) is highly praised by Sir William Jones. The Turkish poet Fazuli (ob. 1562) also made this tale the basis of a fine mystical poem, of which Mr. Gibb has given some translated specimens--reproducing the original rhythm and rhyme-movement very cleverly--in his _Ottoman Poems_. The following is an epitome of the tale of Majnun and Layla:

Kays (properly, Qays), the handsome son of Syd Omri, an Arab chief of Yemen, becomes enamoured of a beauteous maiden of another tribe: a damsel bright as the moon,[117] graceful as the cypress;[118] with locks dark as night, and hence she was called Layla;[119] who captivated all hearts, but chiefly that of Kays. His pa.s.sion is reciprocated, but soon the fond lovers are separated. The family of Layla remove to the distant mountains of Nejd, and Kays, distracted, with matted locks and bosom bare to the scorching sun, wanders forth into the desert in quest of her abode, causing the rocks to echo his voice, constantly calling upon her name. His friends, having found him in woeful plight, bring him home, and henceforth he is called Majnun--that is, one who is mad, or frantic, from love. Syd Omri, his father, finding that Majnun is deaf to good counsel--that nothing but the possession of Layla can restore him to his senses--a.s.sembles his followers and departs for the abode of Layla's family, and presenting himself before the maiden's father, proposes in haughty terms the union of his son with Layla; but the offer is declined, on the ground that Syd Omri's son is a maniac, and he will not give his daughter to a man bereft of his senses; but should he be restored to his right mind he will consent to their union. Indignant at this answer, Syd Omri returns home, and after his friends had in vain tried the effect of love-philtres to make Layla's father relent, as a last resource they propose that Majnun should wed another damsel, upon which the demented lover once more seeks the desert, where they again find him almost at the point of death, and bring him back to his tribe.