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Miscellaneous Chapters on Ancient
Egyptian History and Archæology

BY

ARTHUR E. P. B. WEIGALL

INSPECTOR-GENERAL OF UPPER EGYPT, DEPARTMENT OF ANTIQUITIES

AUTHOR OF 'TRAVELS IN THE UPPER EGYPTIAN DESERTS,' 'THE LIFE AND
TIMES OF AKHNATON, PHARAOH OF EGYPT,' 'A GUIDE TO THE
ANTIQUITIES OF UPPER EGYPT,' ETC., ETC.

RAND McNALLY & COMPANY
CHICAGO AND NEW YORK
1912

TO

ALAN H. GARDINER, ESQ.,

M.A., D.LITT.

LAYCOCK STUDENT OF EGYPTOLOGY AT WORCESTER
COLLEGE, OXFORD,

THIS BOOK,

WHICH WILL RECALL SOME SUMMER NIGHTS UPON
THE THEBAN HILLS,

IS DEDICATED.

PREFACE.

No person who has travelled in Egypt will require to be told that it is a country in which a considerable amount of waiting and waste of time has to be endured. One makes an excursion by train to see some ruins, and, upon returning to the station, the train is found to be late, and an hour or more has to be dawdled away. Crossing the Nile in a rowing-boat the sailors contrive in one way or another to prolong the journey to a length of half an hour or more. The excursion steamer will run upon a sandbank, and will there remain fast for a part of the day.

The resident official, travelling from place to place, spends a great deal of time seated in railway stations or on the banks of the Nile, waiting for his train or his boat to arrive; and he has, therefore, a great deal of time for thinking. I often try to fill in these dreary periods by jotting down a few notes on some matter which has recently been discussed, or registering and elaborating arguments which have chanced lately to come into the thoughts. These notes are shaped and 'written up' when next there is a spare hour, and a few books to refer to; and ultimately they take the form of articles or papers, some of which find their way into print.

This volume contains twelve chapters, written at various times and in various places, each dealing with some subject drawn from the great treasury of Ancient Egypt. Some of the chapters have appeared as articles in magazines. Chapters iv., v., and viii. were published in 'Blackwood's Magazine'; chapter vii. in 'Putnam's Magazine' and the 'Pall Mall Magazine'; and chapter ix. in the 'Century Magazine.' I have to thank the editors for allowing me to reprint them here. The remaining seven chapters have been written specially for this volume.

Luxor, Upper Egypt,
November 1910.

PART I

THE VALUE OF THE TREASURY.

CHAPTER I.

THE VALUE OF ARCHÆOLOGY.

The archæologist whose business it is to bring to light by pick and spade the relics of bygone ages, is often accused of devoting his energies to work which is of no material profit to mankind at the present day. Archæology is an unapplied science, and, apart from its connection with what is called culture, the critic is inclined to judge it as a pleasant and worthless amusement. There is nothing, the critic tells us, of pertinent value to be learned from the Past which will be of use to the ordinary person of the present time; and, though the archæologist can offer acceptable information to the painter, to the theologian, to the philologist, and indeed to most of the followers of the arts and sciences, he has nothing to give to the ordinary layman.

In some directions the imputation is unanswerable; and when the interests of modern times clash with those of the past, as, for example, in Egypt where a beneficial reservoir has destroyed the remains of early days, there can be no question that the recording of the threatened information [4]and the minimising of the destruction, is all that the value of the archæologist's work entitles him to ask for. The critic, however, usually overlooks some of the chief reasons that archæology can give for even this much consideration, reasons which constitute its modern usefulness; and I therefore propose to point out to him three or four of the many claims which it may make upon the attention of the layman.

In the first place it is necessary to define the meaning of the term 'Archæology.' Archæology is the study of the facts of ancient history and ancient lore. The word is applied to the study of all ancient documents and objects which may be classed as antiquities; and the archæologist is understood to be the man who deals with a period for which the evidence has to be excavated or otherwise discovered. The age at which an object becomes an antiquity, however, is quite undefined, though practically it may be reckoned at a hundred years; and ancient history is, after all, the tale of any period which is not modern. Thus an archæologist does not necessarily deal solely with the remote ages.

Every chronicler of the events of the less recent times who goes to the original documents for his facts, as true historians must do during at least a part of their studies, is an archæologist; and, conversely, every archæologist who in the course of his work states a series of historical facts, becomes an historian. Archæology and history are inseparable; [5]and nothing is more detrimental to a noble science than the attitude of certain so-called archæologists who devote their entire time to the study of a sequence of objects without proper consideration for the history which those objects reveal. Antiquities are the relics of human mental energy; and they can no more be classified without reference to the minds which produced them than geological specimens can be discussed without regard to the earth. There is only one thing worse than the attitude of the archæologist who does not study the story of the periods with which he is dealing, or construct, if only in his thoughts, living history out of the objects discovered by him; and that is the attitude of the historian who has not familiarised himself with the actual relics left by the people of whom he writes, or has not, when possible, visited their lands. There are many 'archæologists' who do not care a snap of the fingers for history, surprising as this may appear; and there are many historians who take no interest in manners and customs. The influence of either is pernicious.

It is to be understood, therefore, that in using the word Archæology I include History: I refer to history supplemented and aggrandised by the study of the arts, crafts, manners, and customs of the period under consideration.

As a first argument the value of archæology in providing a precedent for important occurrences may be considered. Archæology is the structure [6]of ancient history, and it is the voice of history which tells us that a Cretan is always a Cretan, and a Jew always a Jew. History, then, may well take her place as a definite asset of statecraft, and the law of Precedent may be regarded as a fundamental factor in international politics. What has happened before may happen again; and it is the hand of the archæologist that directs our attention to the affairs and circumstances of olden times, and warns us of the possibilities of their recurrence. It may be said that the statesman who has ranged in the front of his mind the proven characteristics of the people with whom he is dealing has a perquisite of the utmost importance.

Any archæologist who, previous to the rise of Japan during the latter half of the nineteenth century, had made a close study of the history of that country and the character of its people, might well have predicted unerringly its future advance to the position of a first-class power. The amazing faculty of imitation displayed by the Japanese in old times was patent to him. He had seen them borrow part of their arts, their sciences, their crafts, their literature, their religion, and many of their customs from the Chinese; and he might have been aware that they would likewise borrow from the West, as soon as they had intercourse with it, those essentials of civilisation which would raise them to their present position in the world. To him their fearlessness, [7]their tenacity, and their patriotism, were known; and he was so well aware of their powers of organisation, that he might have foreseen the rapid development which was to take place.

What historian who has read the ancient books of the Irish—the Book of the Dun Cow, the Book of Ballymote, the Book of Lismore, and the like—can show either surprise or dismay at the events which have occurred in Ireland in modern times? Of the hundreds of kings of Ireland whose histories are epitomised in such works as that of the old archæologist Keating, it would be possible to count upon the fingers those who have died in peace; and the archæologist, thus, knows better than to expect the descendants of these kings to live in harmony one with the other. National characteristics do not change unless, as in the case of the Greeks, the stock also changes.

In the Jews we have another example of the persistence of those national characteristics which history has made known to us. The Jews first appear in the dimness of the remote past as a group of nomad tribes, wandering over southern Palestine, Egypt, and the intervening deserts; and at the present day we see them still homeless, scattered over the face of the globe, the 'tribe of the wandering foot and weary breast.'

In no country has the archæologist been more active than in Egypt during the last half century, and the contributions which his spade and pick have offered to history are of first-rate importance [8]to that study as a whole. The eye may now travel down the history of the Nile Valley from prehistoric days to the present time almost without interruption; and now that the anthropologist has shown that the modern Egyptians, Mussulman and Copt, peasant and townsman, belong to one and the same race of ancient Egyptians, one may surely judge to-day's inhabitants of the country in the light of yesterday's records. In his report for the year 1906, Lord Cromer, questioning whether the modern inhabitants of the country were capable of governing their own land, tells us that we must go back to the precedent of Pharaonic days to discover if the Egyptians ever ruled themselves successfully.

In this pregnant remark Lord Cromer was using information which the archæologist and historian had made accessible to him. Looking back over the history of the country, he was enabled, by the study of this information, to range before him the succession of foreign occupations of the Nile Valley and to assess their significance. It may be worth while to repeat the process, in order to give an example of the bearing of history upon modern polemics, though I propose to discuss this matter more fully in another chapter.

Previous to the British occupation the country was ruled, as it is now, by a noble dynasty of Albanian princes, whose founder was set upon the throne by the aid of Turkish and Albanian troops. From the beginning of the sixteenth [9]century until that time Egypt had been ruled by the Ottoman Government, the Turk having replaced the Circassian and other foreign 'Mamlukes' who had held the country by the aid of foreign troops since the middle of the thirteenth century. For a hundred years previous to the Mamluke rule Egypt had been in the hands of the Syrian and Arabian dynasty founded by Saladdin. The Fatimides, a North African dynasty, governed the country before the advent of Saladdin, this family having entered Egypt under their general, Jauhar, who was of Greek origin. In the ninth century Ahmed ibn Tulun, a Turk, governed the land with the aid of a foreign garrison, his rule being succeeded by the Ikhshidi dynasty of foreigners. Ahmed had captured Egypt from the Byzantines who had held it since the days of the Roman occupation. Previous to the Romans the Ptolemies, a Greek family, had governed the Nile Valley with the help of foreign troops. The Ptolemies had followed close upon the Greek occupation, the Greeks having replaced the Persians as rulers of Egypt. The Persian occupation had been preceded by an Egyptian dynasty which had been kept on the throne by Greek and other foreign garrisons. Previous to this there had been a Persian occupation, which had followed a short period of native rule under foreign influence. We then come back to the Assyrian conquest which had followed the Ethiopian rule. [10]Libyan kings had held the country before the Ethiopian conquest. The XXIst and XXth Dynasties preceded the Libyans, and here, in a disgraceful period of corrupt government, a series of so-called native kings are met with. Foreigners, however, swarmed in the country at the time, foreign troops were constantly used, and the Pharaohs themselves were of semi-foreign origin. One now comes back to the early XIXth and XVIIIth Dynasties which, although largely tinged with foreign blood, may be said to have been Egyptian families. Before the rise of the XVIIIth Dynasty the country was in foreign hands for the long period which had followed the fall of the XIIth Dynasty, the classical period of Egyptian history (about the twentieth century B.C.), when there were no rivals to be feared. Thus the Egyptians may be said to have been subject to foreign occupation for nearly four thousand years, with the exception of the strong native rule of the XVIIIth Dynasty, the semi-native rule of the three succeeding dynasties, and a few brief periods of chaotic government in later times; and this is the information which the archæologist has to give to the statesman and politician. It is a story of continual conquest, of foreign occupations following one upon another, of revolts and massacres, of rapid retributions and punishments. It is the story of a nation which, however ably it may govern itself [11]in the future, has only once in four thousand years successfully done so in the past.

Such information is of far-reaching value to the politician, and to those interested, as every Englishman should be, in Imperial politics. A nation cannot alter by one jot or tittle its fundamental characteristics; and only those who have studied those characteristics in the pages of history are competent to foresee the future. A certain Englishman once asked the Khedive Ismail whether there was any news that day about Egyptian affairs. 'That is so like all you English,' replied his Highness. 'You are always expecting something new to happen in Egypt day by day. To-day is here the same as yesterday, and to-morrow will be the same as to-day; and so it has been, and so it will be, for thousands of years.'[1] Neither Egypt nor any other nation will ever change; and to this it is the archæologist who will bear witness with his stern law of Precedent.

[1] E. Dicey. 'The Story of the Khedivate,' p. 528.

I will reserve the enlarging of this subject for the next chapter: for the present we may consider, as a second argument, the efficacy of the past as a tonic to the present, and its ability to restore the vitality of any age that is weakened.

In ancient Egypt at the beginning of the XXVIth Dynasty (B.C. 663) the country was at [12]a very low ebb. Devastated by conquests, its people humiliated, its government impoverished, a general collapse of the nation was imminent. At this critical period the Egyptians turned their minds to the glorious days of old. They remodelled their arts and crafts upon those of the classical periods, introduced again the obsolete offices and titles of those early times, and organised the government upon the old lines. This movement saved the country, and averted its collapse for a few more centuries. It renewed the pride of workmanship in a decadent people; and on all sides we see a revival which was the direct result of an archæological experiment.

The importance of archæology as a reviver of artistic and industrial culture will be realised at once if the essential part it played in the great Italian Renaissance is called to mind. Previous to the age of Cimabue and Giotto in Florence, Italian refinement had passed steadily down the path of deterioration. Græco-Roman art, which still at a high level in the early centuries of the Christian era, entirely lost its originality during Byzantine times, and the dark ages settled down upon Italy in almost every walk of life. The Venetians, for example, were satisfied with comparatively the poorest works of art imported from Constantinople or Mount Athos: and in Florence so great was the poverty of genius that when Cimabue in the thirteenth century painted that famous Madonna which to our eyes [13]appears to be of the crudest workmanship, the little advance made by it in the direction of naturalness was received by the city with acclamations, the very street down which it was carried being called the 'Happy Street' in honour of the event. Giotto carried on his master's teachings, and a few years later the Florentines had advanced to the standard of Fra Angelico, who was immediately followed by the two Lippis and Botticelli. Leonardo da Vinci, artist, architect, and engineer, was almost contemporaneous with Botticelli, being born not much more than a hundred years after the death of Giotto. With him art reached a level which it has never surpassed, old traditions and old canons were revived, and in every direction culture proceeded again to those heights from which it had fallen.

The reader will not need to be reminded that this great renaissance was the direct result of the study of the remains of the ancient arts of Greece and Rome. Botticelli and his contemporaries were, in a sense, archæologists, for their work was inspired by the relics of ancient days.

Now, though at first sight it seems incredible that such an age of barbarism as that of the later Byzantine period should return, it is indeed quite possible that a relatively uncultured age should come upon us in the future; and there is every likelihood of certain communities passing over to the ranks of the absolute Philistines. [14]Socialism run mad would have no more time to give to the intellect than it had during the French Revolution. Any form of violent social upheaval means catalepsy of the arts and crafts, and a trampling under foot of old traditions. The invasions and revolts which are met with at the close of ancient Egyptian history brought the culture of that country to the lowest ebb of vitality. The fall of Greece put an absolute stop to the artistic life of that nation. The invasions of Italy by the inhabitants of less refined countries caused a set-back in civilisation for which almost the whole of Europe suffered. Certain of the French arts and crafts have never recovered from the effects of the Revolution.

A national convulsion of one kind or another is to be expected by every country; and history tells us that such a convulsion is generally followed by an age of industrial and artistic coma, which is brought to an end not so much by the introduction of foreign ideas as by a renascence of the early traditions of the nation. It thus behoves every man to interest himself in the continuity of these traditions, and to see that they are so impressed upon the mind that they shall survive all upheavals, or with ease be re-established.

There is no better tonic for a people who have weakened, and whose arts, crafts, and industries have deteriorated than a return to the conditions which obtained at a past age of national prosperity; [15]and there are few more repaying tasks in the long-run than that of reviving an interest in the best periods of artistic or industrial activity. This can only be effected by the study of the past, that is to say by archæology.

It is to be remembered, of course, that the sentimental interest in antique objects which, in recent years, has given a huge value to all ancient things, regardless of their intrinsic worth, is a dangerous attitude, unless it is backed by the most expert knowledge; for instead of directing the attention only to the best work of the best periods, it results in the diminishing of the output of modern original work and the setting of little of worth in its place. A person of a certain fashionable set will now boast that there is no object in his room less than two hundred years old: his only boast, however, should be that the room contains nothing which is not of intrinsic beauty, interest, or good workmanship. The old chairs from the kitchen are dragged into the drawing-room—because they are old; miniatures unmeritoriously painted by unknown artists for obscure clients are nailed in conspicuous places—because they are old; hideous plates and dishes, originally made by ignorant workmen for impoverished peasants, are enclosed in glass cases—because they are old; iron-bound chests, which had been cheaply made to suit the purses of farmers, are rescued from the cottages of their descendants and sold for fabulous sums—because they are old.

[16]A person who fills a drawing-room with chairs, tables, and ornaments, dating from the reign of Queen Anne, cannot say that he does so because he wishes it to look like a room of that date; for if this were his desire, he would have to furnish it with objects which appeared to be newly made, since in the days of Queen Anne the first quality noticeable in them would have been their newness. In fact, to produce the desired effect everything in the room, with very few exceptions, would have to be a replica. To sit in this room full of antiques in a frock-coat would be as bad a breach of good taste as the placing of a Victorian chandelier in an Elizabethan banqueting-hall. To furnish the room with genuine antiquities because they are old and therefore interesting would be to carry the museum spirit into daily life with its attending responsibilities, and would involve all manner of incongruities and inconsistencies; while to furnish in this manner because antiques were valuable would be merely vulgar. There are, thus, only three justifications that I can see for the action of the man who surrounds himself with antiquities: he must do so because they are examples of workmanship, because they are beautiful, or because they are endeared to him by family usage. These, of course, are full and complete justifications; and the value of his attitude should be felt in the impetus which it gives to conscientious modern work. There are periods in history at which certain arts, crafts, or industries reached [17]an extremely high level of excellence; and nothing can be more valuable to modern workmen than familiarity with these periods. Well-made replicas have a value that is overlooked only by the inartistic. Nor must it be forgotten that modern objects of modern design will one day become antiquities; and it should be our desire to assist in the making of the period of our lifetime an age to which future generations will look back for guidance and teaching. Every man can, in this manner, be of use to a nation, if only by learning to reject poor work wherever he comes upon it—work which he feels would not stand against the criticism of Time; and thus it may be said that archæology, which directs him to the best works of the ancients, and sets him a standard and criterion, should be an essential part of his education.

The third argument which I wish to employ here to demonstrate the value of the study of archæology and history to the layman is based upon the assumption that patriotism is a desirable ingredient in a man's character. This is a premise which assuredly will be admitted. True patriotism is essential to the maintenance of a nation. It has taken the place, among certain people, of loyalty to the sovereign; for the armies which used to go to war out of a blind loyalty to their king, now do so from a sense of patriotism which is shared by the monarch (if they happen to have the good fortune to possess one).

Patriotism is often believed to consist of a love [18]of one's country, in an affection for the familiar villages or cities, fields or streets, of one's own dwelling-place. This is a grievous error. Patriotism should be an unqualified desire for the welfare of the race as a whole. It is not really patriotic for the Englishman to say, 'I love England': it is only natural. It is not patriotic for him to say, 'I don't think much of foreigners': it is only a form of narrowness of mind which, in the case of England and certain other countries, happens sometimes to be rather a useful attitude, but in the case of several nations, of which a good example is Egypt, would be detrimental to their own interests. It was not unqualified patriotism that induced the Greeks to throw off the Ottoman yoke: it was largely dislike of the Turks. It is not patriotism, that is to say undiluted concern for the nation as a whole, which leads some of the modern Egyptians to prefer an entirely native government to the Anglo-Egyptian administration now obtaining in that country: it is restlessness; and I am fortunately able to define it thus without the necessity of entering the arena of polemics by an opinion as to whether that restlessness is justified or not justified.

If patriotism were but the love of one's tribe and one's dwelling-place, then such undeveloped or fallen races as, for example, the American Indians, could lay their downfall at the door of that sentiment; since the exclusive love of the tribe prevented the small bodies from amalgamating into [19]one great nation for the opposing of the invader. If patriotism were but the desire for government without interference, then the breaking up of the world's empires would be urged, and such federations as the United States of America would be intolerable.

Patriotism is, and must be, the desire for the progress and welfare of the whole nation, without any regard whatsoever to the conditions under which that progress takes place, and without any prejudice in favour either of self-government or of outside control. I have no hesitation in saying that the patriotic Pole is he who is in favour of Russian or German control of his country's affairs; for history has told him quite plainly that he cannot manage them himself. The Nationalist in any country runs the risk of being the poorest patriot in the land, for his continuous cry is for self-government, without any regard to the question as to whether such government will be beneficial to his nation in the long-run.

The value of history to patriotism, then, is to be assessed under two headings. In the first place, history defines the attitude which the patriot should assume. It tells him, in the clear light of experience, what is, and what is not, good for his nation, and indicates to him how much he may claim for his country. And in the second place, it gives to the patriots of those nations which have shown capacity and ability in the past a confidence in the present; it permits in them the indulgence of that [20]enthusiasm which will carry them, sure-footed, along the path of glory.

Archæology, as the discovery and classification of the facts of history, is the means by which we may obtain a true knowledge of what has happened in the past. It is the instrument with which we may dissect legend, and extract from myth its ingredients of fact. Cold history tells the Greek patriot, eager to enter the fray, that he must set little store by the precedent of the deeds of the Trojan war. It tells the English patriot that the 'one jolly Englishman' of the old rhyme is not the easy vanquisher of the 'two froggy Frenchmen and one Portugee' which tradition would have him believe. He is thus enabled to steer a middle course between arrant conceit and childish fright. History tells him the actual facts: history is to the patriot what 'form' is to the racing man.

In the case of the English (Heaven be praised!) history opens up a boundless vista for the patriotic. The Englishman seldom realises how much he has to be proud of in his history, or how loudly the past cries upon him to be of good cheer. One hears much nowadays of England's peril, and it is good that the red signals of danger should sometimes be displayed. But let every Englishman remember that history can tell him of greater perils faced successfully; of mighty armies commanded by the greatest generals the world has ever known, held in check year after year, and finally crushed by England; of vast fleets scattered [21]or destroyed by English sailors; of almost impregnable cities captured by British troops. 'There is something very characteristic,' writes Professor Seeley,[1] 'in the indifference which we show towards the mighty phenomenon of the diffusion of our race and the expansion of our state. We seem, as it were, to have conquered and peopled half the world in a fit of absence of mind.'

The history of England, and later of the British Empire, constitutes a tale so amazing that he who has the welfare of the nation as a whole at heart—that is to say, the true patriot—is justified in entertaining the most optimistic thoughts for the future. He should not be indifferent to the past: he should bear it in mind all the time. Patriotism may not often be otherwise than misguided if no study of history has been made. The patriot of one nation will wish to procure for his country a freedom which history would show him to have been its very curse; and the patriot of another nation will encourage a nervousness and restraint in his people which history would tell him was unnecessary. The English patriot has a history to read which, at the present time, it is especially needful for him to consider; and, since Egyptology is my particular province, I cannot better close this argument than by reminding the modern Egyptians that their own history of four thousand years and its teaching must be considered by them [22]when they speak of patriotism. A nation so talented as the descendants of the Pharaohs, so industrious, so smart and clever, should give a far larger part of its attention to the arts, crafts, and industries, of which Egyptian archæology has to tell so splendid a story.

As a final argument for the value of the study of history and archæology an aspect of the question may be placed before the reader which will perhaps be regarded as fanciful, but which, in all sincerity, I believe to be sober sense.

In this life of ours which, under modern conditions, is lived at so great a speed, there is a growing need for a periodical pause wherein the mind may adjust the relationship of the things that have been to those that are. So rapidly are our impressions received and assimilated, so individually are they shaped or classified, that, in whatever direction our brains lead us, we are speedily carried beyond that province of thought which is common to us all. A man who lives alone finds himself, in a few months, out of touch with the thought of his contemporaries; and, similarly, a man who lives in what is called an up-to-date manner soon finds himself grown unsympathetic to the sober movement of the world's slow round-about.

Now, the man who lives alone presently developes some of the recognised eccentricities of the recluse, which, on his return to society, cause him to be regarded as a maniac; and the man [23]who lives entirely in the present cannot argue that the characteristics which he has developed are less maniacal because they are shared by his associates. Rapidly he, too, has become eccentric; and just as the solitary man must needs come into the company of his fellows if he would retain a healthy mind, so the man who lives in the present must allow himself occasional intercourse with the past if he would keep his balance.

Heraclitus, in a quotation preserved by Sextus Empiricus,[1] writes: 'It behoves us to follow the common reason of the world; yet, though there is a common reason in the world, the majority live as though they possessed a wisdom peculiar each unto himself alone.' Every one of us who considers his mentality an important part of his constitution should endeavour to give himself ample opportunities of adjusting his mind to this 'common reason' which is the silver thread that runs unbroken throughout history. We should remember the yesterdays, that we may know what the pother of to-day is about; and we should foretell to-morrow not by to-day but by every day that has been.

Forgetfulness is so common a human failing. In our rapid transit through life we are so inclined to forget the past stages of the journey. All things pass by and are swallowed up in a moment of time. Experiences crowd upon us; the events of our life occur, are recorded by our busy brains, [24]are digested, and are forgotten before the substance of which they were made has resolved into its elements. We race through the years, and our progress is headlong through the days.

Everything, as it is done with, is swept up into the basket of the past, and the busy handmaids, unless we check them, toss the contents, good and bad, on to the great rubbish heap of the world's waste. Loves, hates, gains, losses, all things upon which we do not lay fierce and strong hands, are gathered into nothingness, and, with a few exceptions, are utterly forgotten.

And we, too, will soon have passed, and our little brains which have forgotten so much will be forgotten. We shall be throttled out of the world and pressed by the clumsy hands of Death into the mould of that same rubbish-hill of oblivion, unless there be a stronger hand to save us. We shall be cast aside, and left behind by the hurrying crowd, unless there be those who will see to it that our soul, like that of John Brown, goes marching along. There is only one human force stronger than death, and that force is History, By it the dead are made to live again: history is the salvation of the mortal man as religion is the salvation of his immortal life.

Sometimes, then, in our race from day to day it is necessary to stop the headlong progress of experience, and, for an hour, to look back upon the past. Often, before we remember to direct our mind to it, that past is already blurred, and dim. [25]The picture is out of focus, and turning from it in sorrow instantly the flight of our time begins again. This should not be. 'There is,' says Emerson, 'a relationship between the hours of our life and the centuries of time.' Let us give history and archæology its due attention; for thus not only shall we be rendering a service to all the dead, not only shall we be giving a reason and a usefulness to their lives, but we shall also lend to our own thought a balance which in no otherwise can be obtained, we shall adjust ourselves to the true movement of the world, and, above all, we shall learn how best to serve that nation to which it is our inestimable privilege to belong.

CHAPTER II.

THE EGYPTIAN EMPIRE.

'History,' says Sir J. Seeley, 'lies before science as a mass of materials out of which a political doctrine can be deduced.... Politics are vulgar when they are not liberalised by history, and history fades into mere literature when it loses sight of its relation to practical politics.... Politics and history are only different aspects of the same study.'[1]

[1] 'The Expansion of England.'

These words, spoken by a great historian, form the keynote of a book which has run into nearly twenty editions; and they may therefore be regarded as having some weight. Yet what historian of old Egyptian affairs concerns himself with the present welfare and future prospects of the country, or how many statesmen in Egypt give close attention to a study of the past? To the former the Egypt of modern times offers no scope for his erudition, and gives him no opportunity of making 'discoveries,' which is all he cares about. To the latter, Egyptology appears to be [27]but a pleasant amusement, the main value of which is the finding of pretty scarabs suitable for the necklaces of one's lady friends. Neither the one nor the other would for a moment admit that Egyptology and Egyptian politics 'are only different aspects of the same study.' And yet there can be no doubt that they are.

It will be argued that the historian of ancient Egypt deals with a period so extremely remote that it can have no bearing upon the conditions of modern times, when the inhabitants of Egypt have altered their language, religion, and customs, and the Mediterranean has ceased to be the active centre of the civilised world. But it is to be remembered that the study of Egyptology carries one down to the Muhammedan invasion without much straining of the term, and merges then into the study of the Arabic period at so many points that no real termination can be given to the science; while the fact of the remoteness of its beginnings but serves to give it a greater value, since the vista before the eyes is wider.

It is my object in this chapter to show that the ancient history of Egypt has a real bearing on certain aspects of the polemics of the country. I need not again touch upon the matters which were referred to on page 8 in order to demonstrate this fact. I will take but one subject—namely, that of Egypt's foreign relations and her wars in other lands. It will be best, for this purpose, to show first of all that the ancient and [28]modern Egyptians are one and the same people; and, secondly, that the political conditions, broadly speaking, are much the same now as they have been throughout history.

Professor Elliot Smith, F.R.S., has shown clearly enough, from the study of bones of all ages, that the ancient and modern inhabitants of the Nile Valley are precisely the same people anthropologically; and this fact at once sets the matter upon an unique footing: for, with the possible exception of China, there is no nation in the world which can be proved thus to have retained its type for so long a period. This one fact makes any parallel with Greece or Rome impossible. The modern Greeks have not much in common, anthropologically, with the ancient Greeks, for the blood has become very mixed; the Italians are not the same as the old Romans; the English are the result of a comparatively recent conglomeration of types. But in Egypt the subjects of archaic Pharaohs, it seems certain, were exactly similar to those of the modern Khedives, and new blood has never been introduced into the nation to an appreciable extent, not even by the Arabs. Thus, if there is any importance in the bearing of history upon politics, we have in Egypt a better chance of appreciating it than we have in the case of any other country.

It is true that the language has altered, but this is not a matter of first-rate importance. A Jew is not less typical because he speaks German, [29]French, or English; and the cracking of skulls in Ireland is introduced as easily in English as it was in Erse. The old language of the Egyptian hieroglyphs actually is not yet quite dead; for, in its Coptic form, it is still spoken by many Christian Egyptians, who will salute their friends in that tongue, or bid them good-morning or good-night. Ancient Egyptian in this form is read in the Coptic churches; and God is called upon by that same name which was given to Amon and his colleagues. Many old Egyptian words have crept into the Arabic language, and are now in common use in the country; while often the old words are confused with Arabic words of similar sound. Thus, at Abydos, the archaic fortress is now called the Shunet es Zebib, which in Arabic would have the inexplicable meaning 'the store-house of raisins'; but in the old Egyptian language its name, of similar sound, meant 'the fortress of the Ibis-jars,' several of these sacred birds having been buried there in jars, after the place had been disused as a military stronghold. A large number of Egyptian towns still bear their hieroglyphical names: Aswan, (Kom) Ombo, Edfu, Esneh, Keft, Kus, Keneh, Dendereh, for example. The real origin of these being now forgotten, some of them have been given false Arabic derivations, and stories have been invented to account for the peculiar significance of the words thus introduced. The word Silsileh in Arabic means 'a chain,' and a place in Upper Egypt which bears that name [30]is now said to be so called because a certain king here stretched a chain across the river to interrupt the shipping; but in reality the name is derived from a mispronounced hieroglyphical word meaning 'a boundary.' Similarly the town of Damanhur in Lower Egypt is said to be the place at which a great massacre took place, for in Arabic the name may be interpreted as meaning 'rivers of blood,' whereas actually the name in Ancient Egyptian means simply 'the Town of Horus.' The archæological traveller in Egypt meets with instances of the continued use of the language of the Pharaohs at every turn; and there are few things that make the science of Egyptology more alive, or remove it further from the dusty atmosphere of the museum, than this hearing of the old words actually spoken by the modern inhabitants of the land.

The religion of Ancient Egypt, like those of Greece and Rome, was killed by Christianity, which largely gave place, at a later date, to Muhammedanism; and yet, in the hearts of the people there are still an extraordinary number of the old pagan beliefs. I will mention a few instances, taking them at random from my memory.

In, ancient days the ithiphallic god Min was the patron of the crops, who watched over the growth of the grain. In modern times a degenerate figure of this god Min, made of whitewashed wood and mud, may be seen standing, like a scarecrow, in [31]the fields throughout Egypt. When the sailors cross the Nile they may often be heard singing Ya Amuni, Ya Amuni, 'O Amon, O Amon,' as though calling upon that forgotten god for assistance. At Aswan those who are about to travel far still go up to pray at the site of the travellers' shrine, which was dedicated to the gods of the cataracts. At Thebes the women climb a certain hill to make their supplications at the now lost sanctuary of Meretsegert, the serpent-goddess of olden times. A snake, the relic of the household goddess, is often kept as a kind of pet in the houses of the peasants. Barren women still go to the ruined temples of the forsaken gods in the hope that there is virtue in the stones; and I myself have given permission to disappointed husbands to take their childless wives to these places, where they have kissed the stones and embraced the figures of the gods. The hair of the jackal is burnt in the presence of dying people, even of the upper classes, unknowingly to avert the jackal-god Anubis, the Lord of Death. A scarab representing the god of creation is sometimes placed in the bath of a young married woman to give virtue to the water. A decoration in white paint over the doorways of certain houses in the south is a relic of the religious custom of placing a bucranium there to avert evil. Certain temple-watchmen still call upon the spirits resident in the sanctuaries to depart before they will enter the building. At Karnak a statue of the goddess [32]Sekhmet is regarded with holy awe; and the goddess who once was said to have massacred mankind is even now thought to delight in slaughter. The golden barque of Amon-Ra, which once floated upon the sacred lake of Karnak, is said to be seen sometimes by the natives at the present time, who have not yet forgotten its former existence. In the processional festival of Abu'l Haggag, the patron saint of Luxor, whose mosque and tomb stand upon the ruins of the Temple of Amon, a boat is dragged over the ground in unwitting remembrance of the dragging of the boat of Amon in the processions of that god. Similarly in the Mouled el Nebi procession at Luxor, boats placed upon carts are drawn through the streets, just as one may see them in the ancient paintings and reliefs. The patron gods of Kom Ombo, Horur and Sebek, yet remain in the memories of the peasants of the neighbourhood as the two brothers who lived in the temple in the days of old. A robber entering a tomb will smash the eyes of the figures of the gods and deceased persons represented therein, that they may not observe his actions, just as did his ancestors four thousand years ago. At Gurneh a farmer recently broke the arms of an ancient statue, which lay half-buried near his fields, because he believed that they had damaged his crops. In the south of Egypt a pot of water is placed upon the graves of the dead, that their ghost, or ka, as it would have been called in old [33]times, may not suffer from thirst; and the living will sometimes call upon the name of the dead, standing at night in the cemeteries.

The ancient magic of Egypt is still widely practised, and many of the formulæ used in modern times are familiar to the Egyptologist. The Egyptian, indeed, lives in a world much influenced by magic and thickly populated by spirits, demons, and djins. Educated men holding Government appointments, and dressing in the smartest European manner, will describe their miraculous adventures and their meetings with djins. An Egyptian gentleman holding an important administrative post, told me the other day how his cousin was wont to change himself into a cat at night time, and to prowl about the town. When a boy, his father noticed this peculiarity, and on one occasion chased and beat the cat, with the result that the boy's body next morning was found to be covered with stripes and bruises. The uncle of my informant once read such strong language (magically) in a certain book that it began to tremble violently, and finally made a dash for it out of the window. This same personage was once sitting beneath a palm-tree with a certain magician (who, I fear, was also a conjurer), when, happening to remark on the clusters of dates twenty feet or so above his head, his friend stretched his arms upwards and his hands were immediately filled with the fruit. At another time this magician left his [34]overcoat by mistake in a railway carriage, and only remembered it when the train was a mere speck upon the horizon; but, on the utterance of certain words, the coat immediately flew through the air back to him.

I mention these particular instances because they were told to me by educated persons; but amongst the peasants even more incredible stories are gravely accepted. The Omdeh, or headman, of the village of Chaghb, not far from Luxor, submitted an official complaint to the police a short time ago against an afrit or devil which was doing much mischief to him and his neighbours, snatching up oil-lamps and pouring the oil over the terrified villagers, throwing stones at passers-by, and so forth. Spirits of the dead in like manner haunt the living, and often do them mischief. At Luxor, lately, the ghost of a well-known robber persecuted his widow to such an extent that she finally went mad. A remarkable parallel to this case, dating from Pharaonic days, may be mentioned. It is the letter of a haunted widower to his dead wife, in which he asks her why she persecutes him, since he was always kind to her during her life, nursed her through illnesses, and never grieved her heart.[1]

These instances might be multiplied, but those which I have quoted will serve to show that the old gods are still alive, and that the famous magic of the Egyptians is not yet a thing of the [35]past. Let us now turn to the affairs of everyday life.

An archæological traveller in Egypt cannot fail to observe the similarity between old and modern customs as he rides through the villages and across the fields. The houses, when not built upon the European plan, are surprisingly like those of ancient days. The old cornice still survives, and the rows of dried palm stems, from which its form was originally derived, are still to be seen on the walls of gardens and courtyards. The huts or shelters of dried corn-stalks, so often erected in the fields, are precisely the same as those used in prehistoric days; and the archaic bunches of corn-stalks smeared with mud, which gave their form to later stone columns, are set up to this day, though their stone posterity are now in ruins. Looking through the doorway of one of these ancient houses, the traveller, perhaps, sees a woman grinding corn or kneading bread in exactly the same manner as her ancestress did in the days of the Pharaohs. Only the other day a native asked to be allowed to purchase from us some of the ancient millstones lying in one of the Theban temples, in order to re-use them on his farm. The traveller will notice, in some shady corner, the village barber shaving the heads and faces of his patrons, just as he is seen in the Theban tomb-paintings of thousands of years ago; and the small boys who scamper across the road will have just the same tufts of hair left for decoration on their [36]shaven heads as had the boys of ancient Thebes and Memphis. In another house, where a death has occurred, the mourning women, waving the same blue cloth which was the token of mourning in ancient days, will toss their arms about in gestures familiar to every student of ancient scenes. Presently the funeral will issue forth, and the men will sing that solemn yet cheery tune which never fails to call to mind the far-famed Maneros—that song which Herodotus describes as a plaintive funeral dirge, and which Plutarch asserts was suited at the same time to festive occasions. In some other house a marriage will be taking place, and the singers and pipers will, in like manner, recall the scenes upon the monuments. The former have a favourite gesture—the placing of the hand behind the ear as they sing—which is frequently shown in ancient representations of such festive scenes. The dancing girls, too, are here to be seen, their eyes and cheeks heavily painted, as were those of their ancestresses; and in their hands are the same tambourines as are carried by their class in Pharaonic paintings and reliefs. The same date-wine which intoxicated the worshippers of the Egyptian Bacchus goes the round of this village company, and the same food stuff, the same small, flat loaves of bread, are eaten.

Passing out into the fields the traveller observes the ground raked into the small squares for irrigation which the prehistoric farmer made; and the [37]plough is shaped as it always was. The shadoof, or water-hoist, is patiently worked as it has been for thousands of years; while the cylindrical hoist employed in Lower Egypt was invented and introduced in Ptolemaic times. Threshing and winnowing proceed in the manner represented on the monuments, and the methods of sowing and reaping have not changed. Along the embanked roads, men, cattle, and donkeys file past against the sky-line, recalling the straight rows of such figures depicted so often upon the monuments. Overhead there flies the vulture goddess Nekheb, and the hawk Horus hovers near by. Across the road ahead slinks the jackal, Anubis; under one's feet crawls Khepera, the scarab; and there, under the sacred tree, sleeps the horned ram of Amon. In all directions the hieroglyphs of the ancient Egyptians pass to and fro, as though some old temple-inscription had come to life. The letter m, the owl, goes hooting past. The letter a, the eagle, circles overhead; the sign ur, the wagtail, flits at the roadside, chirping at the sign rekh, the peewit. Along the road comes the sign ab, the frolicking calf; and near it is ka, the bull; while behind them walks the sign fa, a man carrying a basket on his head. In all directions are the figures from which the ancients made their hieroglyphical script; and thus that wonderful old writing at once ceases to be mysterious, a thing of long ago, and one realises how natural a product of the country it was.

[38]In a word, ancient and modern Egyptians are fundamentally similar. Nor is there any great difference to be observed between the country's relations with foreign powers in ancient days and those of the last hundred years. As has been seen in the last chapter, Egypt was usually occupied by a foreign power, or ruled by a foreign dynasty, just as at the present day; and a foreign army was retained in the country during most of the later periods of ancient history. There were always numerous foreigners settled in Egypt, and in Ptolemaic and Roman times Alexandria and Memphis swarmed with them. The great powers of the civilised world were always watching Egypt as they do now, not always in a friendly attitude to that one of themselves which occupied the country; and the chief power with which Egypt was concerned in the time of the Ramesside Pharaohs inhabited Asia Minor and perhaps Turkey, just as in the middle ages and the last century. Then, as in modern times, Egypt had much of her attention held by the Sudan, and constant expeditions had to be made into the regions above the cataracts. Thus it cannot be argued that ancient history offers no precedent for modern affairs because all things have now changed. Things have changed extremely little, broadly speaking; and general lines of conduct have the same significance at the present time as they had in the past.

I wish now to give an outline of Egypt's relationship [39]to her most important neighbour, Syria, in order that the bearing of history upon modern political matters may be demonstrated; for it would seem that the records of the past make clear a tendency which is now somewhat overlooked. I employ this subject simply as an example.

From the earliest historical times the Egyptians have endeavoured to hold Syria and Palestine as a vassal state. One of the first Pharaohs with whom we meet in Egyptian history, King Zeser of Dynasty III., is known to have sent a fleet to the Lebanon in order to procure cedar wood, and there is some evidence to show that he held sway over this country. For how many centuries previous to his reign the Pharaohs had overrun Syria we cannot now say, but there is no reason to suppose that Zeser initiated the aggressive policy of Egypt in Asia. Sahura, a Pharaoh of Dynasty V., attacked the Phoenician coast with his fleet, and returned to the Nile Valley with a number of Syrian captives. Pepi I. of the succeeding dynasty also attacked the coast-cities, and Pepi II. had considerable intercourse with Asia. Amenemhat I., of Dynasty XII., fought in Syria, and appears to have brought it once more under Egyptian sway. Senusert I. seems to have controlled the country to some extent, for Egyptians lived there in some numbers. Senusert III. won a great victory over the Asiatics in Syria; and a stela and statue belonging to Egyptian officials have been found at [40]Gezer, between Jerusalem and the sea. After each of the above-mentioned wars it is to be presumed that the Egyptians held Syria for some years, though little is now known of the events of these far-off times.

During the Hyksos dynasties in Egypt there lived a Pharaoh named Khyan who was of Semitic extraction; and there is some reason to suppose that he ruled from Baghdad to the Sudan, he and his fathers having created a great Egyptian Empire by the aid of foreign troops. Egypt's connection with Asia during the Hyksos rule is not clearly defined, but the very fact that these foreign kings were anxious to call themselves 'Pharaohs' shows that Egypt dominated in the east end of the Mediterranean. The Hyksos kings of Egypt very probably held Syria in fee, being possessed of both countries, but preferring to hold their court in Egypt.

We now come to the great Dynasty XVIII., and we learn more fully of the Egyptian invasions of Syria. Ahmosis I. drove the Hyksos out of the Delta and pursued them through Judah. His successor, Amenhotep I., appears to have seized all the country as far as the Euphrates; and Thutmosis I., his son, was able to boast that he ruled even unto that river. Thutmosis III., Egypt's greatest Pharaoh, led invasion after invasion into Syria, so that his name for generations was a terror to the inhabitants. From the Euphrates to the fourth cataract of the Nile the countries [41]acknowledged him king, and the mighty Egyptian fleet patrolled the seas. This Pharaoh fought no less than seventeen campaigns in Asia, and he left to his son the most powerful throne in the world. Amenhotep II. maintained this empire and quelled the revolts of the Asiatics with a strong hand. Thutmosis IV., his son, conducted two expeditions into Syria; and the next king, Amenhotep III., was acknowledged throughout that country.

That extraordinary dreamer, Akhnaton, the succeeding Pharaoh, allowed the empire to pass from him owing to his religious objections to war; but, after his death, Tutankhamen once more led the Egyptian armies into Asia. Horemheb also made a bid for Syria; and Seti I. recovered Palestine. Rameses II., his son, penetrated to North Syria; but, having come into contact with the new power of the Hittites, he was unable to hold the country. The new Pharaoh, Merenptah, seized Canaan and laid waste the land of Israel. A few years later, Rameses III. led his fleet and his army to the Syrian coast and defeated the Asiatics in a great sea-battle. He failed to hold the country, however, and after his death Egypt remained impotent for two centuries. Then, under Sheshonk I., of Dynasty XXII., a new attempt was made, and Jerusalem was captured. Takeloth II., of the same dynasty, sent thither an Egyptian army to help in the overthrow of Shalmaneser II.

From this time onwards the power of Egypt had so much declined that the invasions into Syria [42]of necessity became more rare. Shabaka of Dynasty XXV. concerned himself deeply with Asiatic politics, and attempted to bring about a state of affairs which would have given him the opportunity of seizing the country. Pharaoh Necho, of the succeeding dynasty, invaded Palestine and advanced towards the Euphrates. He recovered for Egypt her Syrian province, but it was speedily lost again. Apries, a few years later, captured the Phoenician coast and invaded Palestine; but the country did not remain for long under Egyptian rule. It is not necessary to record all the Syrian wars of the Dynasty of the Ptolemies. Egypt and Asia were now closely connected, and at several periods during this phase of Egyptian history the Asiatic province came under the control of the Pharaohs. The wars of Ptolemy I. in Syria were conducted on a large scale. In the reign of Ptolemy III. there were three campaigns, and I cannot refrain from quoting a contemporary record of the King's powers if only for the splendour of its wording:—

'The great King Ptolemy ... having inherited from his father the royalty of Egypt and Libya and Syria and Phoenicia and Cyprus and Lycia and Caria and the Cyclades, set out on a campaign into Asia with infantry and cavalry forces, a naval armament and elephants, both Troglodyte and Ethiopic.... But having become master of all the country within the Euphrates, and of Cilicia and Pamphylia and Ionia and the [43]Hellespont and Thrace, and of all the military forces and elephants in these countries, and having made the monarchs in all these places his subjects, he crossed the Euphrates, and having brought under him Mesopotamia and Babylonia and Susiana and Persis and Media, and all the rest as far as Bactriana ... he sent forces through the canals——' (Here the text breaks off.)

Later in this dynasty Ptolemy VII. was crowned King of Syria, but the kingdom did not remain long in his power. Then came the Romans, and for many years Syria and Egypt were sister provinces of one empire.

There is no necessity to record the close connection between the two countries in Arabic times. For a large part of that era Egypt and Syria formed part of the same empire; and we constantly find Egyptians fighting in Asia. Now, under Edh Dhahir Bebars of the Baharide Mameluke Dynasty, we see them helping to subject Syria and Armenia; now, under El-Mansur Kalaun, Damascus is captured; and now En Nasir Muhammed is found reigning from Tunis to Baghdad. In the Circassian Mameluke Dynasty we see El Muayyad crushing a revolt in Syria, and El Ashraf Bursbey capturing King John of Cyprus and keeping his hand on Syria. And so the tale continues, until, as a final picture, we see Ibrahim Pasha leading the Egyptians into Asia and crushing the Turks at Iconium.

Such is the long list of the wars waged by Egypt [44]in Syria. Are we to suppose that these continuous incursions into Asia have suddenly come to an end? Are we to imagine that because there has been a respite for a hundred years the precedent of six thousand years has now to be disregarded? By the recent reconquest of the Sudan it has been shown that the old political necessities still exist for Egypt in the south, impelling her to be mistress of the upper reaches of the Nile. Is there now no longer any chance of her expanding in other directions should her hands become free?

The reader may answer with the argument that in early days England made invasion after invasion into France, yet ceased after a while to do so. But this is no parallel. England was impelled to war with France because the English monarchs believed themselves to be, by inheritance, kings of a large part of France; and when they ceased to believe this they ceased to make war. The Pharaohs of Egypt never considered themselves to be kings of Syria, and never used any title suggesting an inherited sovereignty. They merely held Syria as a buffer state, and claimed no more than an overlordship there. Now Syria is still a buffer state, and the root of the trouble, therefore, still exists. Though I must disclaim all knowledge of modern politics, I am quite sure that it is no meaningless phrase to say that England will most carefully hold this tendency in check prevent an incursion into Syria; but, with a strong controlling hand relaxed, it would require more than human strength [45]to eradicate an Egyptian tendency—nay, a habit, of six thousand years' standing. Try as she might, Egypt, as far as an historian can see, would not be able to prevent herself passing ultimately into Syria again. How or when this would take place an Egyptologist cannot see, for he is accustomed to deal in long periods of time, and to consider the centuries as others might the decades. It might not come for a hundred years or more: it might come suddenly quite by accident.

In 1907 there was a brief moment when Egypt appeared to be, quite unknowingly, on the verge of an attempted reconquest of her lost province. There was a misunderstanding with Turkey regarding the delineation of the Syrio-Sinaitic frontier; and, immediately, the Egyptian Government took strong action and insisted that the question should be settled. Had there been bloodshed the seat of hostilities would have been Syria; and supposing that Egypt had been victorious, she would have pushed the opposing forces over the North Syrian frontier into Asia Minor, and when peace was declared she would have found herself dictating terms from a point of vantage three hundred miles north of Jerusalem. Can it be supposed that she would then have desired to abandon the reconquered territory?

However, matters were settled satisfactorily with the Porte, and the Egyptian Government, which had never realised this trend of events, and had absolutely no designs upon Syria, gave no further [46]consideration to Asiatic affairs. In the eyes of the modern onlookers the whole matter had developed from a series of chances; but in the view of the historian the moment of its occurrence was the only chance about it, the fact of its occurrence being inevitable according to the time-proven rules of history. The phrase 'England in Egypt' has been given such prominence of late that a far more important phrase, 'Egypt in Asia,' has been overlooked. Yet, whereas the former is a catch-word of barely thirty years' standing, the latter has been familiar at the east end of the Mediterranean for forty momentous centuries at the lowest computation, and rings in the ears of the Egyptologist all through the ages. I need thus no justification for recalling it in these pages.

Now let us glance at Egypt's north-western frontier. Behind the deserts which spread to the west of the Delta lies the oasis of Siwa; and from here there is a continuous line of communication with Tripoli and Tunis. Thus, during the present winter (1910-11), the outbreak of cholera at Tripoli has necessitated the despatch of quarantine officials to the oasis in order to prevent the spread of the disease into Egypt. Now, of late years we have heard much talk regarding the Senussi fraternity, a Muhammedan sect which is said to be prepared to declare a holy war and to descend upon Egypt. In 1909 the Egyptian Mamur of Siwa was murdered, and it was freely stated that this act of violence was the beginning [47]of the trouble. I have no idea as to the real extent of the danger, nor do I know whether this bogie of the west, which is beginning to cause such anxiety in Egypt in certain classes, is but a creation of the imagination; but it will be interesting to notice the frequent occurrence of hostilities in this direction, since the history of Egypt's gateways is surely a study meet for her guardians.

When the curtain first rises upon archaic times, we find those far-off Pharaohs struggling with the Libyans who had penetrated into the Delta from Tripoli and elsewhere. In early dynastic history they are the chief enemies of the Egyptians, and great armies have to be levied to drive them back through Siwa to their homes. Again in Dynasty XII., Amenemhat I. had to despatch his son to drive these people out of Egypt; and at the beginning of Dynasty XVIII., Amenhotep I. was obliged once more to give them battle. Seti I. of Dynasty XIX. made war upon them, and repulsed their invasion into Egypt. Rameses II. had to face an alliance of Libyans, Lycians, and others, in the western Delta. His son Merenptah waged a most desperate war with them in order to defend Egypt against their incursions, a war which has been described as the most perilous in Egyptian history; and it was only after a battle in which nine thousand of the enemy were slain that the war came to an end. Rameses III., however, was again confronted with these persistent [48]invaders, and only succeeded in checking them temporarily. Presently the tables were turned, and Dynasty XXII., which reigned so gloriously in Egypt, was Libyan in origin. No attempt was made thenceforth for many years to check the peaceful entrance of Libyans into Egypt, and soon that nation held a large part of the Delta. Occasional mention is made of troubles upon the north-west frontier, but little more is heard of any serious invasions. In Arabic times disturbances are not infrequent, and certain sovereigns, as for example, El Mansur Kalaun, were obliged to invade the enemy's country, thus extending Egypt's power as far as Tunis.

There is one lesson which may be learnt from the above facts—namely, that this frontier is somewhat exposed, and that incursions from North Africa by way of Siwa are historic possibilities. If the Senussi invasion of Egypt is ever attempted it will not, at any rate, be without precedent.

When England entered Egypt in 1882 she found a nation without external interests, a country too impoverished and weak to think of aught else but its own sad condition. The reviving of this much-bled, anæmic people, and the reorganisation of the Government, occupied the whole attention of the Anglo-Egyptian officials, and placed Egypt before their eyes in only this one aspect. Egypt appeared to be but the Nile Valley and the Delta; and, in truth, that was, [49]and still is, quite as much as the hard-worked officials could well administer. The one task of the regeneration of Egypt was all absorbing, and the country came to be regarded as a little land wherein a concise, clearly-defined, and compact problem could be worked out.

Now, while this was most certainly the correct manner in which to face the question, and while Egypt has benefited enormously by this singleness of purpose in her officials, it was, historically, a false attitude. Egypt is not a little country: Egypt is a crippled Empire. Throughout her history she has been the powerful rival of the people of Asia Minor. At one time she was mistress of the Sudan, Somaliland, Palestine, Syria, Libya, and Cyprus; and the Sicilians, Sardinians, Cretans, and even Greeks, stood in fear of the Pharaoh. In Arabic times she held Tunis and Tripoli, and even in the last century she was the foremost Power at the east end of the Mediterranean. Napoleon when he came to Egypt realised this very thoroughly, and openly aimed to make her once more a mighty empire. But in 1882 such fine dreams were not to be considered: there was too much work to be done in the Nile Valley itself. The Egyptian Empire was forgotten, and Egypt was regarded as permanently a little country. The conditions which we found here we took to be permanent conditions. They were not. We arrived when the country was in a most unnatural state as regards its foreign relations; and we were [50]obliged to regard that state as chronic. This, though wise, was absolutely incorrect. Egypt in the past never has been for more than a short period a single country; and all history goes to show that she will not always be single in the future.

With the temporary loss of the Syrian province Egypt's need for a navy ceased to exist; and the fact that she is really a naval power has now passed from men's memory. Yet it was not much more than a century ago that Muhammed Ali fought a great naval battle with the Turks, and utterly defeated them. In ancient history the Egyptian navy was the terror of the Mediterranean, and her ships policed the east coast of Africa. In prehistoric times the Nile boats were built, it would seem, upon a seafaring plan: a fact that has led some scholars to suppose that the land was entered and colonised from across the waters. We talk of Englishmen as being born to the sea, as having a natural and inherited tendency towards 'business upon great waters'; and yet the English navy dates from the days of Queen Elizabeth. It is true that the Plantagenet wars with France checked what was perhaps already a nautical bias, and that had it not been for the Norman conquest, England, perchance would have become a sea power at an earlier date. But at best the tendency is only a thousand years old. In Egypt it is seven or eight thousand years old at the lowest computation. It makes one smile to [51]think of Egypt as a naval power. It is the business of the historian to refrain from smiling, and to remark only that, absurd as it may sound, Egypt's future is largely upon the water as her past has been. It must be remembered that she was fighting great battles in huge warships three or four hundred feet in length at a time when Britons were paddling about in canoes.

One of the ships built by the Pharaoh Ptolemy Philopator was four hundred and twenty feet long, and had several banks of oars. It was rowed by four thousand sailors, while four hundred others managed the sails. Three thousand soldiers were also carried upon its decks. The royal dahabiyeh which this Pharaoh used upon the Nile was three hundred and thirty feet long, and was fitted with state rooms and private rooms of considerable size. Another vessel contained, besides the ordinary cabins, large bath-rooms, a library, and an astronomical observatory. It had eight towers, in which there were machines capable of hurling stones weighing three hundred pounds or more, and arrows eighteen feet in length. These huge vessels were built some two centuries before Cæsar landed in Britain.[1]

In conclusion, then, it must be repeated that the present Nile-centred policy in Egypt, though infinitely best for the country at this juncture, is an artificial one, unnatural to the nation except as a passing phase; and what may be called the [52]Imperial policy is absolutely certain to take its place in time, although the Anglo-Egyptian Government, so long as it exists, will do all in its power to check it. History tells us over and over again that Syria is the natural dependant of Egypt, fought for or bargained for with the neighbouring countries to the north; that the Sudan is likewise a natural vassal which from time to time revolts and has to be reconquered; and that Egypt's most exposed frontier lies on the north-west. In conquering the Sudan at the end of the nineteenth century the Egyptians were but fulfilling their destiny: it was a mere accident that their arms were directed against a Mahdi. In discussing seriously the situation in the western oases, they are working upon the precise rules laid down by history. And if their attention is not turned in the far future to Syria, they will be defying rules even more precise, and, in the opinion of those who have the whole course of Egyptian history spread before them, will but be kicking against the pricks. Here surely we have an example of the value of the study of a nation's history, which is not more nor less than a study of its political tendencies.

Speaking of the relationship of history to politics, Sir J. Seeley wrote: 'I tell you that when you study English history, you study not the past of England only but her future. It is the welfare of your country, it is your whole interest as citizens, that is in question when you study history.' [53]These words hold good when we deal with Egyptian history, and it is our business to learn the political lessons which the Egyptologist can teach us, rather than to listen to his dissertations upon scarabs and blue glaze. Like the astronomers of old, the Egyptologist studies, as it were, the stars, and reads the future in them; but it is not the fashion for kings to wait upon his pronouncements any more! Indeed he reckons in such very long periods of time, and makes startling statements about events which probably will not occur for very many years to come, that the statesman, intent upon his task, has some reason to declare that the study of past ages does not assist him to deal with urgent affairs. Nevertheless, in all seriousness, the Egyptologist's study is to be considered as but another aspect of statecraft, and he fails in his labours if he does not make this his point of view.

In his arrogant manner the Egyptologist will remark that modern politics are of too fleeting a nature to interest him. In answer, I would tell him that if he sits studying his papyri and his mummies without regard for the fact that he is dealing with a nation still alive, still contributing its strength to spin the wheel of the world around, then are his labours worthless and his brains misused. I would tell him that if his work is paid for, then is he a robber if he gives no return in information which will be of practical service to Egypt in some way or another. The Egyptian [54]Government spends enormous sums each year upon the preservation of the magnificent relics of bygone ages—relics for which, I regret to say, the Egyptians themselves care extremely little. Is this money spent, then, to amuse the tourist in the land, or simply to fulfil obligations to ethical susceptibilities? No; there is but one justification for this very necessary expenditure of public money—namely, that these relics are regarded, so to speak, as the school-books of the nation, which range over a series of subjects from pottery-making to politics, from stone-cutting to statecraft. The future of Egypt may be read upon the walls of her ancient temples and tombs. Let the Egyptologist never forget, in the interest and excitement of his discoveries, what is the real object of his work.

CHAPTER III.

THE NECESSITY OF ARCHÆOLOGY TO THE GAIETY OF THE WORLD.

When a great man puts a period to his existence upon earth by dying, he is carefully buried in a tomb, and a monument is set up to his glory in the neighbouring church. He may then be said to begin his second life, his life in the memory of the chronicler and historian. After the lapse of an æon or two the works of the historian, and perchance the tomb itself, are rediscovered; and the great man begins his third life, now as a subject of discussion and controversy amongst archæologists in the pages of a scientific journal. It may be supposed that the spirit of the great man, not a little pleased with its second life, has an extreme distaste for his third. There is a dead atmosphere about it which sets him yawning as only his grave yawned before. The charm has been taken from his deeds; there is no longer any spring in them. He must feel towards the archæologist much as a young man feels towards his cold-blooded parent by whom his love affair has just been found out. [56]The public, too, if by chance it comes upon this archæological journal, finds the discussion nothing more than a mental gymnastic, which, as the reader drops off to sleep, gives him the impression that the writer is a man of profound brain capacity, but, like the remains of the great man of olden times, as dry as dust.

There is one thing, however, which has been overlooked. This scientific journal does not contain the ultimate results of the archæologist's researches. It contains the researches themselves. The public, so to speak, has been listening to the pianist playing his morning scales, has been watching the artist mixing his colours, has been examining the unshaped block of marble and the chisels in the sculptor's studio. It must be confessed, of course, that the archæologist has so enjoyed his researches that often the ultimate result has been overlooked by him. In the case of Egyptian archæology, for example, there are only two Egyptologists who have ever set themselves to write a readable history,[1] whereas the number of books which record the facts of the science is legion.

[1] Professor J.H. Breasted and Sir Gaston Maspero.

The archæologist not infrequently lives, for a large part of his time, in a museum, a somewhat dismal place. He is surrounded by rotting tapestries, decaying bones, crumbling stones, and rusted or corroded objects. His indoor work has paled his cheek, and his muscles are not like iron bands. He stands, often, in the contiguity to an [57]ancient broadsword most fitted to demonstrate the fact that he could never use it. He would probably be dismissed his curatorship were he to tell of any dreams which might run in his head—dreams of the time when those tapestries hung upon the walls of barons' banquet-halls, or when those stones rose high above the streets of Camelot.

Moreover, those who make researches independently must needs contribute their results to scientific journals, written in the jargon of the learned. I came across a now forgotten journal, a short time ago, in which an English gentleman, believing that he had made a discovery in the province of Egyptian hieroglyphs, announced it in ancient Greek. There would be no supply of such pedantic swagger were there not a demand for it.

Small wonder, then, that the archæologist is often represented as partaking somewhat of the quality of the dust amidst which he works. It is not necessary here to discuss whether this estimate is just or not: I wish only to point out its paradoxical nature.

More than any other science, archæology might be expected to supply its exponents with stuff that, like old wine, would fire the blood and stimulate the senses. The stirring events of the Past must often be reconstructed by the archæologist with such precision that his prejudices are aroused, and his sympathies are so enlisted as to set him fighting with a will under this banner or under that. The noise of the hardy strife of young [58]nations is not yet silenced for him, nor have the flags and the pennants faded from sight. He has knowledge of the state secrets of kings, and, all along the line, is an intimate spectator of the crowded pageant of history. The caravan-masters of the elder days, the admirals of the 'great green sea' the captains of archers, have related their adventures to him; and he might repeat to you their stories. Indeed, he has such a tale to tell that, looking at it in this light, one might expect his listeners all to be good fighting men and noble women. It might be supposed that the archæologist would gather around him only men who have pleasure in the road that leads over the hills, and women who have known the delight of the open. One has heard so often of the 'brave days of old' that the archæologist might well be expected to have his head stuffed with brave tales and little else.

His range, however, may be wider than this. To him, perhaps, it has been given to listen to the voice of the ancient poet, heard as a far-off whisper; to breathe in forgotten gardens the perfume of long dead flowers; to contemplate the love of women whose beauty is all perished in the dust; to hearken to the sound of the harp and the sistra, to be the possessor of the riches of historical romance. Dim armies have battled around him for the love of Helen; shadowy captains of sea-going ships have sung to him through the storm the song of the sweethearts left behind them; he has feasted with [59]sultans, and kings' goblets have been held to his lips; he has watched Uriah the Hittite sent to the forefront of the battle.

Thus, were he to offer a story, one might now suppose that there would gather around him, not the men of muscle, but a throng of sallow listeners, as improperly expectant as were those who hearkened under the moon to the narrations of Boccaccio, or, in old Baghdad, gave ear to the tales of the thousand and one nights. One might suppose that his audience would be drawn from those classes most fondly addicted to pleasure, or most nearly representative, in their land and in their time, of the light-hearted and not unwanton races of whom he had to tell. For his story might be expected to be one wherein wine and women and song found countenance. Even were he to tell of ancient tragedies and old sorrows, he would still make his appeal, one might suppose, to gallants and their mistresses, to sporting men and women of fashion, just as, in the mournful song of Rosabelle, Sir Walter Scott is able to address himself to the 'ladies gay,' or Coleridge in his sad 'Ballad of the Dark Ladie' to 'fair maids.'

Who could better arrest the attention of the coxcomb than the archæologist who has knowledge of silks and scents now lost to the living world? To the gourmet who could more appeal than the archæologist who has made abundant acquaintance with the forgotten dishes of the East? Who could so surely thrill the senses of the courtesan than the [60]archæologist who can relate that which was whispered by Anthony in the ear of Cleopatra? To the gambler who could be more enticing than the archæologist who has seen kings play at dice for their kingdoms? The imaginative, truly, might well collect the most highly disreputable audience to listen to the tales of the archæologist.

But no, these are not the people who are anxious to catch the pearls which drop from his mouth. Do statesmen and diplomatists, then, listen to him who can unravel for them the policies of the Past? Do business men hasten from Threadneedle Street and Wall Street to sit at his feet, that they may have instilled into them a little of the romance of ancient money? I fear not.

Come with me to some provincial town, where this day Professor Blank is to deliver one of his archæological lectures at the Town Hall. We are met at the door by the secretary of the local archæological society: a melancholy lady in green plush, who suffers from St Vitus's dance. Gloomily we enter the hall and silently accept the seats which are indicated to us by an unfortunate gentleman with a club-foot. In front of us an elderly female with short hair is chatting to a very plain young woman draped like a lay figure. On the right an emaciated man with a very bad cough shuffles on his chair; on the left two old grey-beards grumble to one another about the weather, a subject which leads up to the familiar 'Mine catches me in the small of the back'; while [61]behind us the inevitable curate, of whose appearance it would be trite to speak, describes to an astonished old lady the recent discovery of the pelvis of a mastodon.

The professor and the aged chairman step on to the platform; and, amidst the profoundest gloom, the latter rises to pronounce the prefatory rigmarole. 'Archæology,' he says, in a voice of brass, 'is a science which bars its doors to all but the most erudite; for, to the layman who has not been vouchsafed the opportunity of studying the dusty volumes of the learned, the bones of the dead will not reveal their secrets, nor will the crumbling pediments of naos and cenotaph, the obliterated tombstones, or the worm-eaten parchments, tell us their story. To-night, however, we are privileged; for Professor Blank will open the doors for us that we may gaze for a moment upon that solemn charnel-house of the Past in which he has sat for so many long hours of inductive meditation.'

And the professor by his side, whose head, perhaps, was filled with the martial music of the long-lost hosts of the Lord, or before whose eyes there swayed the entrancing forms of the dancing-girls of Babylon, stares horrified from chairman to audience. He sees crabbed old men and barren old women before him, afflicted youths and fatuous maidens; and he realises at once that the golden keys which he possesses to the gates of the treasury of the jewelled Past will not open the doors of [62]that charnel-house which they desire to be shown. The scent of the king's roses fades from his nostrils, the Egyptian music which throbbed in his ears is hushed, the glorious illumination of the Palace of a Thousand Columns is extinguished; and in the gathering gloom we leave him fumbling with a rusty key at the mildewed door of the Place of Bones.

Why is it, one asks, that archæology is a thing so misunderstood? Can it be that both lecturer and audience have crushed down that which was in reality uppermost in their minds: that a shy search for romance has led these people to the Town Hall? Or perchance archæology has become to them something not unlike a vice, and to listen to an archæological lecture is their remaining chance of being naughty. It may be that, having one foot in the grave, they take pleasure in kicking the moss from the surrounding tombstones with the other; or that, being denied, for one reason or another, the jovial society of the living, like Robert Southey's 'Scholar' their hopes are with the dead.

Be the explanation what it may, the fact is indisputable that archæology is patronised by those who know not its real meaning. A man has no more right to think of the people of old as dust and dead bones than he has to think of his contemporaries as lumps of meat. The true archæologist does not take pleasure in skeletons as skeletons, for his whole effort is to cover them [63]decently with flesh and skin once more, and to put some thoughts back into the empty skulls. He sets himself to hide again the things which he would not intentionally lay bare. Nor does he delight in ruined buildings: rather he deplores that they are ruined. Coleridge wrote like the true archæologist when he composed that most magical poem 'Khubla Khan'—

And those who would have the pleasure-domes of the gorgeous Past reconstructed for them must turn to the archæologist; those who would see the damsel with the dulcimer in the gardens of Xanadu must ask of him the secret, and of none other. It is true that, before he can refashion the dome or the damsel, he will have to grub his way through old refuse heaps till he shall lay bare the ruins of the walls and expose the bones of the lady. But this is the 'dirty work'; and the mistake which is made lies here: that this preliminary dirty work is confused with the final clean result. An artist will sometimes build up his picture of Venus from a skeleton bought from an old Jew round the corner; and the smooth white paper which he uses will have been made from putrid rags and bones. Amongst painters themselves these facts are not hidden, but by [64]the public they are most carefully obscured. In the case of archæology, however, the tedious details of construction are so placed in the foreground that the final picture is hardly noticed at all. As well might one go to Rheims to see men fly, and be shown nothing else but screws and nuts, steel rods and cog-wheels. Originally the fault, perhaps, lay with the archæologist; now it lies both with him and with the public. The public has learnt to ask to be shown the works, and the archæologist is often so proud of them that he forgets to mention the purpose of the machine.

A Roman statue of bronze, let us suppose, is discovered in the Thames valley. It is so corroded and eaten away that only an expert could recognise that it represents a reclining goddess. In this condition it is placed in the museum, and a photograph of it is published in 'The Graphic.' Those who come to look at it in its glass case think it is a bunch of grapes, or possibly a monkey: those who see its photograph say that it is more probably an irregular catapult-stone or a fish in convulsions.

The archæologist alone holds its secret, and only he can see it as it was. He alone can know the mind of the artist who made it, or interpret the full meaning of the conception. It might have been expected, then, that the public would demand, and the archæologist delightedly furnish, a model of the figure as near to the [65]original as possible; or, failing that, a restoration in drawing, or even a worded description of its original beauty. But no: the public, if it wants anything, wants to see the shapeless object in all its corrosion; and the archæologist forgets that it is blind to aught else but that corrosion. One of the main duties of the archæologist is thus lost sight of: his duty as Interpreter and Remembrancer of the Past.

All the riches of olden times, all the majesty, all the power, are the inheritance of the present day; and the archæologist is the recorder of this fortune. He must deal in dead bones only so far as the keeper of a financial fortune must deal in dry documents. Behind those documents glitters the gold, and behind those bones shines the wonder of the things that were. And when an object once beautiful has by age become unsightly, one might suppose that he would wish to show it to none save his colleagues or the reasonably curious layman. When a man makes the statement that his grandmother, now in her ninety-ninth year, was once a beautiful woman, he does not go and find her to prove his words and bring her tottering into the room: he shows a picture of her as she was; or, if he cannot find one, he describes what good evidence tells him was her probable appearance. In allowing his controlled and sober imagination thus to perform its natural functions, though it would never do to tell his grandmother so, he becomes [66]an archæologist, a remembrancer of the Past.

In the case of archæology, however, the public does not permit itself so to be convinced. In the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford excellent facsimile electrotypes of early Greek weapons are exhibited; and these have far more value in bringing the Past before us than the actual weapons of that period, corroded and broken, would have. But the visitor says, 'These are shams,' and passes on.

It will be seen, then, that the business of archæology is often misunderstood both by archæologists and by the public; and that there is really no reason to believe, with Thomas Earle, that the real antiquarian loves a thing the better for that it is rotten and stinketh. That the impression has gone about is his own fault, for he has exposed too much to view the mechanism of his work; but it is also the fault of the public for not asking of him a picture of things as they were.

Man is by nature a creature of the present. It is only by an effort that he can consider the future, it is often quite impossible for him to give any heed at all to the Past. The days of old are so blurred and remote that it seems right to him that any relic from them should, by the maltreatment of Time, be unrecognisable. The finding of an old sword, half-eaten by rust, will only please him in so far as it shows him once more by its sad condition the great gap [67]between those days and these, and convinces him again of the sole importance of the present. The archæologist, he will tell you, is a fool if he expects him to be interested in a wretched old bit of scrap-iron. He is right. It would be as rash to suppose that he would find interest in an ancient sword in its rusted condition as it would be to expect the spectator at Rheims to find fascination in the nuts and screws. The true archæologist would hide that corroded weapon in his workshop, where his fellow-workers alone could see it. For he recognises that it is only the sword which is as good as new that impresses the public; it is only the Present that counts. That is the real reason why he is an archæologist. He has turned to the Past because he is in love with the Present. He, more than any man, worships at the altar of the goddess of To-day; and he is so desirous of extending her dominion that he has adventured, like a crusader, into the lands of the Past in order to subject them to her. Adoring the Now, he would resent the publicity of anything which so obviously suggested the Then as a rust-eaten old blade. His whole business is to hide the gap between Yesterday and To-day; and, unless a man is initiate, he would have him either see the perfect sword as it was when it sought the foeman's bowels, or see nothing. The Present is too small for him; and it is therefore that he calls so insistently to the Past to come forth from the [68]darkness to augment it. The ordinary man lives in the Present, and he will tell one that the archæologist lives in the Past. This is not so. The layman, in the manner of the Little Englander, lives in a small and confined Present; but the archæologist, like a true Imperialist, ranges through all time, and calls it not the Past but the Greater Present.

The archæologist is not, or ought not to be, lacking in vivacity. One might say that he is so sensible to the charms of society that, finding his companions too few in number, he has drawn the olden times to him to search them for jovial men and agreeable women. It might be added that he has so laughed at jest and joke that, fearing lest the funds of humour run dry, he has gathered the laughter of all the years to his enrichment. Certainly he has so delighted in noble adventure and stirring action that he finds his newspaper insufficient to his needs, and fetches to his aid the tales of old heroes. In fact, the archæologist is so enamoured of life that he would raise all the dead from their graves. He will not have it that the men of old are dust: he would bring them to him to share with him the sunlight which he finds so precious. He is so much an enemy of Death and Decay that he would rob them of their harvest; and, for every life the foe has claimed, he would raise up, if he could, a memory that would continue to live.

The meaning of the heading which has been [69]given to this chapter is now becoming clear, and the direction of the argument is already apparent. So far it has been my purpose to show that the archæologist is not a rag-and-bone man, though the public generally thinks he is, and he often thinks he is himself. The attempt has been made to suggest that archæology ought not to consist in sitting in a charnel-house amongst the dead, but rather in ignoring that place and taking the bones into the light of day, decently clad in flesh and finery. It has now to be shown in what manner this parading of the Past is needful to the gaiety of the Present.

Amongst cultured people whose social position makes it difficult for them to dance in circles on the grass in order to express or to stimulate their gaiety, and whose school of deportment will not permit them to sing a merry song of sixpence as they trip down the streets, there is some danger of the fire of merriment dying for want of fuel. Vivacity in printed books, therefore, has been encouraged, so that the mind at least, if not the body, may skip about and clap its hands. A portly gentleman with a solemn face, reading his 'Punch' in the club, is, after all, giving play to precisely those same humours which in ancient days might have led him, like Georgy Porgy, to kiss the girls or to perform any other merry joke. It is necessary, therefore, ever to enlarge the stock of things humorous, vivacious, or rousing, if thoughts are to be kept young and eyes [70]bright in this age of restraint. What would Yuletide be without the olden times to bolster it? What would the Christmas numbers do without the pictures of our great-grandparents' coaches snow-bound, of huntsmen of the eighteenth century, of jesters at the courts of the barons? What should we do without the 'Vicar of Wakefield,' the 'Compleat Angler,' 'Pepys' Diary,' and all the rest of the ancient books? And, going back a few centuries, what an amount we should miss had we not 'Æsop's Fables,' the 'Odyssey,' the tales of the Trojan War, and so on. It is from the archæologist that one must expect the augmentation of this supply; and just in that degree in which the existing supply is really a necessary part of our equipment, so archæology, which looks for more, is necessary to our gaiety.

In order to keep his intellect undulled by the routine of his dreary work, Matthew Arnold was wont to write a few lines of poetry each day. Poetry, like music and song, is an effective dispeller of care; and those who find Omar Khayyam or 'In Memoriam' incapable of removing the of burden of their woes, will no doubt appreciate the 'Owl and the Pussy-cat,' or the Bab Ballads. In some form or other verse and song are closely linked with happiness; and a ditty from any age has its interests and its charm.

[71]That is probably from the Greek of Plato, a writer who is not much read by the public at large, and whose works are the legitimate property of the antiquarian. It suffices to show that it is not only to the moderns that we have to look for dainty verse that is conducive to a light heart. The following lines are from the ancient Egyptian:—

Such examples might be multiplied indefinitely; and the reader will admit that there is as much of a lilt about those which are here quoted as there is about the majority of the ditties which he has hummed to himself in his hour of contentment. Here is Philodemus' description of his mistress's charms:—

And here is an ancient Egyptian's description of not very dissimilar phenomena:—

Does not the archæologist perform a service [72]to his contemporaries by searching out such rhymes and delving for more? They bring with them, moreover, so subtle a suggestion of bygone romance, they are backed by so fair a scene of Athenian luxury or Theban splendour, that they possess a charm not often felt in modern verse. If it is argued that there is no need to increase the present supply of such ditties, since they are really quite unessential to our gaiety, the answer may be given that no nation and no period has ever found them unessential; and a light heart has been expressed in this manner since man came down from the trees.

Let us turn now to another consideration. For a man to be light of heart he must have confidence in humanity. He cannot greet the morn with a smiling countenance if he believes that he and his fellows are slipping down the broad path which leads to destruction. The archæologist never despairs of mankind; for he has seen nations rise and fall till he is almost giddy, but he knows that there has never been a general deterioration. He realises that though a great nation may suffer defeat and annihilation, it is possible for it to go down in such a thunder that the talk of it stimulates other nations for all time. He sees, if any man can, that all things work together for happiness. He has observed the cycle of events, the good years and the bad; and in an evil time he is comforted by the knowledge that the good will presently roll round again. Thus the lesson [73]which he can teach is a very real necessity to that contentment of mind which lies at the root of all gaiety.

Again, a man cannot be permanently happy unless he has a just sense of proportion. He who is too big for his boots must needs limp; and he who has a swollen head is in perpetual discomfort. The history of the lives of men, the history of the nations, gives one a fairer sense of proportion than does almost any other study. In the great company of the men of old he cannot fail to assess his true value: if he has any conceit there is a greater than he to snub him; if he has a poor opinion of his powers there is many a fool with whom to contrast himself favourably. If he would risk his fortune on the spinning of a coin, being aware of the prevalence of his good-luck, archæology will tell him that the best luck will change; or if, when in sore straits, he asks whether ever a man was so unlucky, archæology will answer him that many millions of men have been more unfavoured than he. Archæology provides a precedent for almost every event or occurrence where modern inventions are not involved; and, in this manner, one may reckon their value and determine their trend. Thus many of the small worries which cause so leaden a weight to lie upon the heart and mind are by the archæologist ignored; and many of the larger calamities by him are met with serenity.

But not only does the archæologist learn to [74]estimate himself and his actions: he learns also to see the relationship in which his life stands to the course of Time. Without archæology a man may be disturbed lest the world be about to come to an end: after a study of history he knows that it has only just begun; and that gaiety which is said to have obtained 'when the world was young' is to him, therefore, a present condition. By studying the ages the archæologist learns to reckon in units of a thousand years; and it is only then that that little unit of threescore-and-ten falls into its proper proportion. 'A thousand ages in Thy sight are like an evening gone,' says the hymn, but it is only the archæologist who knows the meaning of the words; and it is only he who can explain that great discrepancy in the Christian faith between the statement 'Behold, I come quickly' and the actual fact. A man who knows where he is in regard to his fellows, and realises where he stands in regard to Time, has learnt a lesson of archæology which is as necessary to his peace of mind as his peace of mind is necessary to his gaiety.

It is not needful, however, to continue to point out the many ways in which archæology may be shown to be necessary to happiness. The reader will have comprehended the trend of the argument, and, if he be in sympathy with it, he will not be unwilling to develop the theme for himself. Only one point, therefore, need here be taken up. It has been reserved to the end of this [75]chapter, for, by its nature, it closes all arguments. I refer to Death.

Death, as we watch it around us, is the black menace of the heavens which darkens every man's day; Death, coming to our neighbour, puts a period to our merry-making; Death, seen close beside us, calls a halt in our march of pleasure. But let those who would wrest her victory from the grave turn to a study of the Past, where all is dead yet still lives, and they will find that the horror of life's cessation is materially lessened. To those who are familiar with the course of history, Death seems, to some extent, but the happy solution of the dilemma of life. So many men have welcomed its coming that one begins to feel that it cannot be so very terrible. Of the death of a certain Pharaoh an ancient Egyptian wrote: 'He goes to heaven like the hawks, and his feathers are like those of the geese; he rushes at heaven like a crane, he kisses heaven like the falcon, he leaps to heaven like the locust'; and we who read these words can feel that to rush eagerly at heaven like the crane would be a mighty fine ending of the pother. Archæology, and especially Egyptology, in this respect is a bulwark to those who find the faith of their fathers wavering; for, after much study, the triumphant assertion which is so often found in Egyptian tombs—'Thou dost not come dead to thy sepulchre, thou comest living'—begins to take hold of the imagination. Death has been [76]the parent of so much goodness, dying men have cut such a dash, that one looks at it with an awakening interest. Even if the sense of the misfortune of death is uppermost in an archæologist's mind, he may find not a little comfort in having before him the example of so many good, men, who, in their hour, have faced that great calamity with squared shoulders.

'When Death comes,' says a certain sage of ancient Egypt, 'it seizes the babe that is on the breast of its mother as well as he that has become an old man. When thy messenger comes to carry thee away, be thou found by him ready.' Why, here is our chance; here is the opportunity for that flourish which modesty, throughout our life, has forbidden to us! John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, when the time came for him to lay his head upon the block, bade the executioner smite it off with three strokes as a courtesy to the Holy Trinity. King Charles the Second, as he lay upon his death-bed, apologised to those who stood around him for 'being an unconscionable time adying.' The story is familiar of Napoleon's aide-de-camp, who, when he had been asked whether he were wounded, replied, 'Not wounded: killed,' and thereupon expired. The Past is full of such incidents; and so inspiring are they that Death comes to be regarded as a most stirring adventure. The archæologist, too, better than any other, knows the vastness of the dead men's majority; and if, like the ancients, [77]he believes in the Elysian fields, where no death is and decay is unknown, he alone will realise the excellent nature of the company into which he will there be introduced.

There is, however, far more living going on in the world than dying; and there is more happiness (thanks be!) than sorrow. Thus the archæologist has a great deal more of pleasure than of pain to give to us for our enrichment. The reader will here enter an objection. He will say: 'This may be true of archæology in general, but in the case of Egyptology, with which we are here mostly concerned, he surely has to deal with a sad and solemn people.' The answer will be found in the next chapter. No nation in the world's history has been so gay, so light-hearted as the ancient Egyptians; and Egyptology furnishes, perhaps, the most convincing proof that archæology is, or should be, a merry science, very necessary to the gaiety of the world. I defy a man suffering from his liver to understand the old Egyptians; I defy a man who does not appreciate the pleasure of life to make anything of them. Egyptian archæology presents a pageant of such brilliancy that the archæologist is often carried along by it as in a dream, down the valley and over the hills, till, Past blending with Present, and Present with Future, he finds himself led to a kind of Island of the Blest, where death is forgotten and only the joy of life, and life's good deeds, still remain; where pleasure-domes, and all the ancient [78]'miracles of rare device,' rise into the air from above the flowers; and where the damsel with the dulcimer beside the running stream sings to him of Mount Abora and of the old heroes of the elder days. If the Egyptologist or the archæologist could revive within him one-hundredth part of the elusive romance, the delicate gaiety, the subtle humour, the intangible tenderness, the unspeakable goodness, of much that is to be found in his province, one would have to cry, like Coleridge—

PART II.

STUDIES IN THE TREASURY.

CHAPTER IV.

THE TEMPERAMENT OF THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS.

A certain school geography book, now out of date, condenses its remarks upon the character of our Gallic cousins into the following pregnant sentence: 'The French are a gay and frivolous nation, fond of dancing and red wine.' The description would so nearly apply to the ancient inhabitants of Egypt, that its adoption here as a text to this chapter cannot be said to be extravagant. The unbiassed inquirer into the affairs of ancient Egypt must discover ultimately, and perhaps to his regret, that the dwellers on the Nile were a 'gay and frivolous people,' festive, light-hearted, and mirthful, 'fond of dancing and red wine,' and pledged to all that is brilliant in life. There are very many people, naturally, who hold to those views which their forefathers held before them, and picture the Egyptians as a sombre, gloomy people; replete with thoughts of Death and of the more melancholy aspect of religion; burdened with the menacing presence of a multitude of horrible gods and demons, whose priests demanded the erection of vast temples for their [82]appeasement; having little joy of this life, and much uneasy conjecture about the next; making entertainment in solemn gatherings and ponderous feasts; and holding merriment in holy contempt. Of the five startling classes into which the dictionary divides the human temperament, namely, the bilious or choleric, the phlegmatic, the sanguine, the melancholic, and the nervous, it is probable that the first, the second, and the fourth would be those assigned to the ancient Egyptians by these people. This view is so entirely false that one will be forgiven if, in the attempt to dissolve it, the gaiety of the race is thrust before the reader with too little extenuation. The sanguine, and perhaps the nervous, are the classes of temperament under which the Egyptians must be docketed. It cannot be denied that they were an industrious and even a strenuous people, that they indulged in the most serious thoughts, and attempted to study the most complex problems of life, and that the ceremonial side of their religion occupied a large part of their time. But there is abundant evidence to show that, like their descendents of the present day, they were one of the least gloomy people of the world, and that they took their duties in the most buoyant manner, allowing as much sunshine to radiate through their minds as shone from the cloudless Egyptian skies upon their dazzling country.

It is curiously interesting to notice how general is the present belief in the solemnity of this ancient [83]race's attitude towards existence, and how little their real character is appreciated. Already the reader will be protesting, perhaps, that the application of the geographer's summary of French characteristics to the ancient Egyptians lessens in no wise its ridiculousness, but rather increases it. Let the protest, however, be held back for a while. Even if the Egyptians were not always frivolous, they were always uncommonly gay, and any slight exaggeration will be pardoned in view of the fact that old prejudices have to be violently overturned, and the stigma of melancholy and ponderous sobriety torn from the national name. It would be a matter of little surprise to some good persons if the products of excavation in the Nile Valley consisted largely of antique black kid gloves.

Like many other nations the ancient Egyptians rendered mortuary service to their ancestors, and solid tomb-chapels had to be constructed in honour of the more important dead. Both for the purpose of preserving the mummy intact, and also in order to keep the ceremonies going for as long a period of time as possible, these chapels were constructed in a most substantial manner, and many of them have withstood successfully the siege of the years. The dwelling-houses, on the other hand, were seldom delivered from father to son; but, as in modern Egypt, each grandee built a palace for himself, designed to last for a lifetime only, and hardly one of these mansions still exists even as a ruin.

[84]Moreover the tombs were constructed in the dry desert or in the solid hillside, whereas the dwelling-houses were situated on the damp earth, where they had little chance of remaining undemolished. And so it is that the main part of our knowledge of the Egyptians is derived from a study of their tombs and mortuary temples. How false would be our estimate of the character of a modern nation were we to glean our information solely from its churchyard inscriptions! We should know absolutely nothing of the frivolous side of the life of those whose bare bones lie beneath the gloomy declaration of their Christian virtues. It will be realised how sincere was the light-heartedness of the Egyptians when it is remembered that almost everything in the following record of their gaieties is derived from a study of the tombs, and of objects found therein.

Light-heartedness is the key-note of the ancient philosophy of the country, and in this assertion the reader will, in most cases, find cause for surprise. The Greek travellers in Egypt, who returned to their native land impressed with the wonderful mysticism of the Egyptians, committed their amazement to paper, and so led off that feeling of awed reverence which is felt for the philosophy of Pharaoh's subjects. But in their case there was the presence of the priests and wise men eloquently to baffle them into the state of respect, and there were a thousand unwritten arguments, comments, articles of faith, and controverted [85]points of doctrine heard from the mouths of the believers, to surprise them into a reverential attitude. But we of the present day have left to us only the more outward and visible remains of the Egyptians. There are only the fundamental doctrines to work on, the more penetrating notes of the harmony to listen to. Thus the outline of the philosophy is able to be studied without any complication, and we have no whirligig of priestly talk to confuse it. Examined in this way, working only from cold stones and dry papyri, we are confronted with the old 'Eat, drink, and be merry,' which is at once the happiest and most dangerous philosophy conceived by man. It is to be noticed that this way of looking at life is to be found in Egypt from the earliest times down to the period of the Greek occupation of the country, and, in fact, until the present day. That is to say, it was a philosophy inborn in the Egyptian,—a part of his nature.

Imhotep, the famous philosopher of Dynasty III., about B.C. 3000, said to his disciples: 'Behold the dwellings of the dead. Their walls fall down, their place is no more; they are as though they had never existed'; and he drew from this the lesson that man is soon done with and forgotten, and that therefore his life should be as happy as possible. To Imhotep must be attributed the earliest known exhortation to man to resign himself to his candle-end of a life, and to the inevitable snuffing-out to come, and to be merry while yet he may. There [86]is a poem, dating from about B.C. 2000, from which the following is taken:—

'Walk after thy heart's desire so long as thou livest. Put myrrh on thy head, clothe thyself in fine linen, anoint thyself with the true marvels of God.... Let not thy heart concern itself, until there cometh to thee that great day of lamentation. Yet he who is at rest can hear not thy complaint, and he who lies in the tomb can understand not thy weeping. Therefore, with smiling face, let thy days be happy, and rest not therein. For no man carrieth his goods away with him; 'O, no man returneth again who is gone thither.'

Again, we have the same sentiments expressed in a tomb of about B.C. 1350, belonging to a certain Neferhotep, a priest of Amen. It is quoted on page 235, and here we need only note the ending:

'Come, songs and music are before thee. Set behind thee all cares; think only upon gladness, until that day cometh whereon thou shalt go down to the land which loveth silence.'

A Ptolemaic inscription quoted more fully towards the end of this chapter reads: 'Follow thy desire by night and by day. Put not care within thy heart.'

The ancient Egyptian peasants, like their modern descendants, were fatalists, and a happy carelessness seems to have softened the strenuousness of their daily tasks. The peasants of the present day in Egypt so lack the initiative to develop the scope of their industries that their life cannot be said to be strenuous. In whatever work they [87]undertake, however, they show a wonderful degree of cheerfulness, and a fine disregard for misfortune. Their forefathers, similarly, went through their labours with a song upon their lips. In the tombs at Sakkâra, dating from the Old Empire, there are scenes representing flocks of goats treading in the seed on the newly-sown ground, and the inscriptions give the song which the goat-herds sing:—

'The goat-herd is in the water with the fishes,—
He speaks with the nar-fish, he talks with the pike;
From the west is your goat-herd; your goat-herd is from the west.'

The meaning of the words is not known, of course, but the song seems to have been a popular one. A more comprehensible ditty is that sung to the oxen by their driver, which dates from the New Empire:—

'Thresh out for yourselves, ye oxen, thresh out for yourselves.
Thresh out the straw for your food, and the grain for your masters.
Do not rest yourselves, for it is cool to-day.'

Some of the love-songs have been preserved from destruction, and these throw much light upon the subject of the Egyptian temperament. A number of songs, supposed to have been sung by a girl to her lover, form themselves into a collection entitled 'The beautiful and gladsome songs of thy sister, whom thy heart loves, as she walks in the fields.' The girl is supposed to belong to the peasant class, and most of the verses are sung whilst she is at her daily occupation of snaring [88]wild duck in the marshes. One must imagine the songs warbled without any particular refrain, just as in the case of the modern Egyptians, who pour out their ancient tales of love and adventure in a series of bird-like cadences, full-throated, and often wonderfully melodious. A peculiar sweetness and tenderness will be noticed in the following examples, and though they suffer in translation, their airy lightness and refinement is to be distinguished. One characteristic song, addressed by the girl to her lover, runs—

Again, in a somewhat similar strain, she sings—

Another song must be given here in prose form. The girl who sings it is supposed to be making a wreath of flowers, and as she works she cries—

'I am thy first sister, and to me thou art as a garden which I have planted with flowers and all sweet-smelling[89] herbs. And I have directed a canal into it, that thou mightest dip thy hand into it when the north wind blows cool. The place is beautiful where we walk, because we walk together, thy hand resting within mine, our mind thoughtful and our heart joyful. It is intoxicating to me to hear thy voice, yet my life depends upon hearing it. Whenever I see thee it is better to me than food and drink.'

One more song must be quoted, for it is so artless and so full of human tenderness that I may risk the accusation of straying from the main argument in repeating it. It runs:—

It is really painful to think of these words as having fallen from the lips of what is now a resin-smelling lump of bones and hardened flesh, perhaps still unearthed, perhaps lying in some museum show-case, or perhaps kicked about in fragments over the hot sand of some tourist-crowded necropolis. Mummies are the most lifeless objects one could well imagine. It is impossible even for those whose imaginations are most powerful, to infuse life into a thing so utterly dead as an embalmed body; and this fact is partly responsible for that atmosphere of stark, melancholy, sobriety and aloofness which surrounds the affairs of ancient Egypt. In reading these verses, it is imperative for their right understanding that the mummies [90]and their resting-places should be banished from the thoughts. It is not always a simple matter for the student to rid himself of the atmosphere of the museum, where the beads which should be jangling on a brown neck are lying numbered and labelled on red velvet; where the bird-trap, once the centre of such feathered commotion, is propped up in a glass case as 'D, 18,432'; and where even the document in which the verses are written is the lawful booty of the grammarian and philologist in the library. But it is the first duty of an archæologist to do away with that atmosphere.

Let those who are untrammelled then, pass out into the sunshine of the Egyptian fields and marshes, where the wild duck cry to each other as they scuttle through the tall reeds. Here in the early morning comes our songstress, and one may see her as clearly as one can that Shulamite of King Solomon's day, who has had the good fortune to belong to a land where stones and bones, being few in number, do not endanger the atmosphere of the literature. One may see her, her hair moving in the breeze 'as a flock of goats that appear from Mount Gilead'; her teeth white 'as a flock of shorn sheep which came up from the washing,' and her lips 'like a thread of scarlet.' Through such imaginings alone can one appreciate the songs, or realise the lightness of the manner in which they were sung.

With such a happy view of life amongst the [91]upper classes as is indicated by their philosophy, and with that merry disposition amongst the peasants which shows itself in their love of song, it is not surprising to find that asceticism is practically unknown in ancient Egypt before the time of Christ. At first sight, in reflecting on the mysteries and religious ceremonies of the nation, we are apt to endow the priests and other participators with a degree of austerity wholly unjustified by facts. We picture the priest chanting his formulæ in the dim light of the temple, the atmosphere about him heavy with incense; and we imagine him as an anchorite who has put away the things of this world. But in reality there seems to have been not even such a thing as a celibate amongst the priests. Each man had his wife and his family, his house, and his comforts of food and fine linen. He indulged in the usual pastimes and was present at the merriest of feasts. The famous wise men and magicians, such as Uba-ana of the Westcar Papyrus, had their wives, their parks, their pleasure-pavilions, and their hosts of servants. Great dignitaries of the Amon Church, such as Amenhotepsase, the Second Prophet of Amen in the time of Thutmosis IV., are represented as feasting with their friends, or driving through Thebes in richly-decorated chariots drawn by prancing horses, and attended by an array of servants. A monastic life, or the life of an anchorite, was held by the Egyptians in scorn; and indeed the state of mind [92]which produces the monk and the hermit was almost entirely unknown to the nation in dynastic times. It was only in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods that asceticism came to be practised; and some have thought that its introduction into Egypt is to be attributed to the preaching of the Hindoo missionaries sent from India to the court of the Ptolemies. It is not really an Egyptian characteristic; and its practice did not last for more than a few centuries.

The religious teachings of the Egyptians before the Ptolemaic era do not suggest that the mortification of the flesh was a possible means of purifying the spirit. An appeal to the senses and to the emotions, however, was considered as a legitimate method of reaching the soul. The Egyptians were passionately fond of ceremonial display. Their huge temples, painted as they were with the most brilliant colours, formed the setting of processions and ceremonies in which music, rhythmic motion, and colour were brought to a point of excellence. In honour of some of the gods dances were conducted; while celebrations, such as the fantastic Feast of Lamps, were held on the anniversaries of religious events. In these gorgeously spectacular ceremonies there was no place for anything sombre or austere, nor could they have been conceived by any but the most life-loving temperaments.

As in his religious functions, so in his home, the Egyptian regarded brilliancy and festivity [93]as an edification. When in trouble or distress, he was wont to relieve his mind as readily by an appeal to the vanities of this world as by an invocation of the powers of Heaven. Thus, when King Sneferu, of Dynasty IV., was oppressed with the cares of state, his councillor Zazamankh constructed for him a pleasure boat which was rowed around a lake by the most beautiful damsels obtainable. And again, when Wenamon, the envoy of Herhor of Dynasty XXI., had fallen into trouble with the pirates of the Mediterranean, his depression was banished by a gift of a dancing-girl, two vessels of wine, a young goat of tender flesh, and a message which read—'Eat and drink, and let not thy heart feel apprehension.'

An intense craving for brightness and cheerfulness is to be observed on all sides, and the attempt to cover every action of life with a kind of lustre is perhaps the most apparent characteristic of the race. At all times the Egyptians decked themselves with flowers, and rich and poor alike breathed what they called 'the sweet north wind' through a screen of blossoms. At their feasts and festivals each guest was presented with necklaces and crowns of lotus-flowers, and a specially selected bouquet was carried in the hands. Constantly, as the hours passed, fresh flowers were brought to them, and the guests are shown in the tomb paintings in the act of burying their noses in the delicate petals with an air of luxury which even the conventionalities [94]of the draughtsman cannot hide. In the women's hair a flower was pinned which hung down before the forehead; and a cake of ointment, concocted of some sweet-smelling unguent, was so arranged upon the head that, as it slowly melted, it re-perfumed the flower. Complete wreaths of flowers were sometimes worn, and this was the custom as much in the dress of the home as in that of the feast. The common people also arrayed themselves with wreaths of lotuses at all galas and carnivals. The room in which a feast was held was decorated lavishly with flowers. Blossoms crept up the delicate pillars to the roof; garlands twined themselves around the tables and about the jars of wine; and single buds lay in every dish of food. Even the dead were decked in their tombs with a mass of flowers, as though the mourners would hide with the living delights of the earth the misery of the grave.

The Egyptian loved his garden, and filled it with all manner of beautiful flowers. Great parks were laid out by the Pharaohs, and it is recorded of Thutmosis III. that he brought back from his Asiatic campaigns vast quantities of rare plants with which to beautify Thebes. Festivals were held at the season when the flowers were in full bloom, and the light-hearted Egyptian did not fail to make the flowers talk to him, in the imagination, of the delights of life. In one case a fig-tree is made to call to a passing maiden to come into its shade.

[95] 'Come,' it says, 'and spend this festal day, and to-morrow, and the day after to-morrow, sitting in my shadow. Let thy lover sit at thy side, and let him drink.... Thy servants will come with the dinner-things—they will bring drink of every kind, with all manner of cakes, flowers of yesterday and of to-day, and all kinds of refreshing fruit.'

Than this one could hardly find a more convincing indication of the gaiety of the Egyptian temperament. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries A.D. the people were so oppressed that any display of luxury was discouraged, and a happy smile brought the tax-gatherer to the door to ascertain whether it was due to financial prosperity. But the carrying of flowers, and other indications of a kind of unworried contentment, are now again becoming apparent on all sides.

The affection displayed by the Egyptians for bright colours would alone indicate that their temperament was not melancholic. The houses of the rich were painted with colours which would be regarded as crude had they appeared in the Occident, but which are admissible in Egypt where the natural brilliancy of the sunshine and the scenery demands a more extreme colour-scheme in decoration. The pavilions in which the nobles 'made a happy day,' as they phrased it, were painted with the most brilliant wall-decorations, and the delicately-shaped lotus columns supporting the roof were striped with half a dozen colours, and were hung with streamers of linen. The ceilings and pavements [96]seem to have afforded the artists a happy field for a display of their originality and skill, and it is on these stretches of smooth-plastered surface that gems of Egyptian art are often found. A pavement from the palace of Akhnaton at Tell el Amârna shows a scene in which a cow is depicted frisking through the reeds, and birds are represented flying over the marshes. In the palace of Amenhotep III. at Gurneh there was a ceiling decoration representing a flight of doves, which, in its delicacy of execution and colouring, is not to be classed with the crude forms of Egyptian decoration, but indicates an equally light-hearted temperament in its creator. It is not probable that either bright colours or daintiness of design would emanate from the brains of a sombre-minded people.

Some of the feminine garments worn in ancient Egypt were exceedingly gaudy, and they made up in colour all that they lacked in variety of design. In the Middle and New Empires the robes of the men were as many-hued as their wall decorations, and as rich in composition. One may take as a typical example the costume of a certain priest who lived at the end of Dynasty XVIII. An elaborate wig covers his head; a richly ornamented necklace surrounds his neck; the upper part of his body is clothed in a tunic of gauze-like linen; as a skirt there is swathed around him the most delicately coloured fine linen, one end of which is brought up and thrown gracefully [97]over his arm; decorated sandals cover his feet and curl up over his toes; and in his hand he carries a jewelled wand surmounted by feathers. It would be an absurdity to state that these folds of fine linen hid a heart set on things higher than this world and its vanities. Nor do the objects of daily use found in the tombs suggest any austerity in the Egyptian character. There is no reflection of the Underworld to be looked for in the ornamental bronze mirrors, nor smell of death in the frail perfume pots. Religious abstraction is not to be sought in lotus-formed drinking-cups, and mortification of the body is certainly not practised on golden chairs and soft cushions. These were the objects buried in the tombs of the priests and religious teachers.

The puritanical tendency of a race can generally be discovered by a study of the personal names of the people. The names by which the Egyptians called their children are as gay as they are pretty, and lack entirely the Puritan character. 'Eyes-of-love,' 'My-lady-is-as-gold,' 'Cool-breeze,' 'Gold-and-lapis-lazuli,' 'Beautiful-morning,' are Egyptian names very far removed from 'Through-trials-and-tribulations-we-enter-into-the-Kingdom-of-Heaven Jones,' which is the actual name of a now living scion of a Roundhead family. And the well-known 'Praise-God Barebones' has little to do with the Egyptian 'Beautiful-Kitten,' 'Little-Wild-Lion,' 'I-have-wanted-you,' 'Sweetheart,' and so on.

[98]The nature of the folk-tales is equally indicative of the temperament of a nation. The stories which have come down to us from ancient Egypt are often as frivolous as they are quaint. Nothing delighted the Egyptians more than the listening to a tale told by an expert story-teller; and it is to be supposed that such persons were in as much demand in the old days as they are now. One may still read of the adventures of the Prince who was fated to die by a dog, a snake, or a crocodile; of the magician who made the waters of the lake heap themselves up that he might descend to the bottom dry-shod to recover a lady's jewel; of the fat old wizard who could cut a man's head off and join it again to his body; of the fairy godmothers who made presents to a new-born babe; of the shipwrecked sailor who was thrown up on an island inhabited by serpents with human natures; of the princess in the tower whose lovers spent their days in attempting to climb to her window,—and so on. The stories have no moral, they are not pompous: they are purely amusing, interesting, and romantic. As an example one may quote the story which is told of Prince Setna, the son of Rameses II. This Prince was one day sitting in the court of the temple of Ptah, when he saw a woman pass 'beautiful exceedingly, there being no woman of her beauty.' There were wonderful golden ornaments upon her, and she was attended by fifty-two persons, themselves of some rank and much beauty. 'The hour [99]that Setna saw her, he knew not the place on earth where he was'; and he called to his servants and told them to 'go quickly to the place where she is, and learn what comes under her command.' The beautiful lady proved finally to be named Tabubna, the daughter of a priest of Bast, the Cat. Setna's acquaintance with her was later of a most disgraceful character; and, from motives which are not clear, she made him murder his own children to please her. At the critical moment, however, when the climax is reached, the old, old joke is played upon the listener, who is told that Setna then woke up, and discovered that the whole affair had been an afternoon dream in the shade of the temple court.

The Egyptians often amused themselves by drawing comic pictures and caricatures, and there is an interesting series still preserved in which animals take the place of human beings, and are shown performing all manner of antics. One sees a cat walking on its hind legs driving a flock of geese, while a wolf carrying a staff and knapsack leads a herd of goats. There is a battle of the mice and cats, and the king of the mice, in his chariot drawn by two dogs, is seen attacking the fortress of the cats. A picture which is worthy of Edward Lear shows a ridiculous hippopotamus seated amidst the foliage of a tree, eating from a table, whilst a crow mounts a ladder to wait upon him. There are caricatures showing women of fashion rouging their faces, unshaven and really amusing [100]old tramps, and so forth. Even upon the walls of the tombs there are often comic pictures, in which one may see little girls fighting and tearing at each others' hair, men tumbling one over another as they play, and the like; and one must suppose that these were the scenes which the owner of the tomb wished to perpetuate throughout the eternity of Death.

The Egyptians took keen delight in music. In the sound of the trumpet and on the well-tuned cymbals they praised God in Egypt as merrily as the Psalmist could wish. The strings and the pipe, the lute and the harp, made music at every festival—religious, national, or private. Plato tells us that 'nothing but beautiful forms and fine music was permitted to enter into the assemblies of young people' in Egypt; and he states that music was considered as being of the greatest consequence for its beneficial effects upon youthful minds. Strabo records the fact that music was largely taught in Egypt, and the numbers of musical instruments buried in the tombs or represented in the decorations confirm his statement. The music was scientifically taught, and a knowledge of harmony is apparent in the complicated forms of the instruments. The harps sometimes had as many as twenty-two strings: the long-handled guitars, fitted with three strings, were capable of wide gradations; and the flutes were sufficiently complicated to be described by early writers as 'many-toned.' The Egyptian did not [101]merely bang a drum with his fist because it made a noise, nor blow blasts upon a trumpet as a means of expressing the inexpressible. He was an educated musician, and he employed the medium of music to encourage his lightness of heart and to render his gaiety more gay.

One sees representations of the women in a rich man's harem amusing themselves by dancing and singing. In the tomb of Ay there is a scene showing the interior of the women's quarters, and here the ladies are shown dancing, playing guitars, feasting, or adorning themselves with their jewellery; while the store-rooms are seen to be filled with all manner of musical instruments, as well as mirrors, boxes of clothes, and articles of feminine use. At feasts and banquets a string band played during the meal, and songs were sung to the accompaniment of the harp. At religious festivals choruses of male and female voices were introduced. Soldiers marched through the streets to the sound of trumpets and drums, and marriage processions and the like were led by a band. At the feasts it was customary for the dancing-girls, who were employed for the amusement of the guests, to perform their dances and to play a guitar or a flute at the same time. One sees representations of girls, their heads thrown back and their long hair flying, merrily twanging a guitar as they skip round the room. In the civil and religious processions many of the participators danced along as though from sheer lightness of [102]heart; and on some occasions even the band footed it down the high-road, circling, jumping, and skipping as they played.

The words for 'rejoice' and 'dance' were synonymous in the literature of the Egyptians. In early days dancing naturally implied rejoicing, and rejoicing was most easily expressed by dancing. But the Egyptians of the refined periods more often danced to amuse themselves, regarding it, just as we do at the present day, as an exhilaration. Persons of the upper classes, however, did not indulge very freely in it, but preferred to watch the performances of professional dancers. At all banquets dancing was as indispensable as wine, women, and song, and it rather depended on the nature of the wine and women as to whether the guests joined personally in the sport or sat still while the dancers swayed around the room. The professionals were generally women, but sometimes men were employed, and one sees representations of a man performing some difficult solo while a chorus of women sings and marks time by clapping the hands. Men and women danced together on occasions, but as a general rule the Egyptian preferred to watch the movements of the more graceful sex by themselves. The women sometimes danced naked, to show off the grace of their poses and the suppleness of their muscles; sometimes they were decked with ribbons only; and sometimes they wore transparent dresses made of linen of the finest texture. It was not [103]unusual for them to carry tambourines and castanets with which to beat time to their dances. On the other hand, there were delicate and sober performances, unaccompanied by music. The paintings show some of the poses to have been exceedingly graceful, and there were character dances enacted in which the figures must have been highly dramatic and artistic. For example, the tableau which occurs in one dance, and is called 'The Wind,' shows two of the dancing-girls bent back like reeds when the wind blows upon them, while a third figure stands over them in protection, as though symbolising the immovable rocks.

But more usually the merry mood of the Egyptians asserted itself, as it so often does at the present day, in a demand for something approaching nearer to buffoonery. The dancers whirled one another about in the wildest manner, often tumbling head over heels on the floor. A trick, attended generally with success, consisted in the attempt by the dancers to balance the body upon the head without the support of the arms. This buffoonery was highly appreciated by the audience which witnessed it; and the banqueting-room must have been full of the noise of riotous mirth. One cannot, indeed, regard a feast as pompous or solemn at which the banging of the tambourines and the click of castanets vied with the clatter of the dishes and the laughter of the guests in creating a general hullabaloo. Let those state who will that the Egyptian was a gloomy individual, but first [104]let them not fail to observe that same Egyptian standing upon his head amidst the roars of laughter of his friends.

Dancing as a religious ceremony is to be found in many primitive countries, and in Egypt it exists at the present day in more than one form. In the days of the Pharaohs it was customary to institute dances in honour of some of the gods, more especially those deities whose concerns were earthy—that is to say, those connected with love, joy, birth, death, fertility, reproduction, and so on. It will be remembered how David danced before the Ark of the Lord, and how his ancestors danced in honour of the golden calf. In Egypt the king was wont to dance before the great god Min of the crops, and at harvest-time the peasants performed their thanksgiving before the figures of Min in this manner. Hathor and Bast, the two great goddesses of pleasure, were worshipped in the dance. Hathor was mistress of sports and dancing, and patron of amusements and mirth, joy and pleasure, beauty and love; and in regard to the happy temperament of the Egyptians, it is significant that this goddess was held in the highest esteem throughout the history of the nation.

Bast was honoured by a festival which for merriment and frivolity could not well be equalled. The festival took place at Bubastis, and is described by Herodotus in the following words:—

'This is the nature of the ceremony on the way to Bubastis. They go by water, and numerous boats are crowded[105]with persons of both sexes. During the voyage several women strike the cymbals, some men play the flute, the rest singing and clapping their hands. As they pass near a town they bring the boat close to the bank. Some of the women continue to sing and play the cymbals; others cry out as long as they can, and utter mocking jests against the people of the town, who begin to dance, while the former pull up their clothes before them in a scoffing manner. The same is repeated at every town they pass upon the river. Arrived at Bubastis, they celebrate the festival of Bast, sacrificing a great number of victims, and on that occasion a greater consumption of wine takes place than during the whole of the year.'

At this festival of Bast half the persons taking part in the celebrations must have become intoxicated. The Egyptians were always given to wine-drinking, and Athenæus goes so far as to say that they were a nation addicted to systematic intemperance. The same writer, on the authority of Hellanicus, states that the vine was cultivated in the Nile valley at a date earlier than that at which it was first grown by any other people; and it is to this circumstance that Dion attributes the Egyptian's love of wine. Strabo and other writers speak of the wines of Egypt as being particularly good, and various kinds emanating from different localities are mentioned. The wines made from grapes were of the red and white varieties; but there were also fruit wines, made from pomegranates and other fruits. In the lists of offerings inscribed on the walls of temples and tombs one sees a large number of varieties recorded—wines [106]from the north, wines from the south, wines provincial, and wines foreign. Beer, made of barley, was also drunk very largely, and this beverage is heartily commended by the early writers. Indeed, the wine and beer-bibber was so common an offender against the dignity of the nation, that every moralist who arose had a word to say against him. Thus, for example, in the Maxims of Ani one finds the moralist writing—

'Do not put thyself in a beer-house. An evil thing are words reported as coming from thy mouth when thou dost not know that they have been said by thee. When thou fallest thy limbs are broken, and nobody giveth thee a hand. Thy comrades in drink stand up, saying, 'Away with this drunken man.'

The less thoughtful members of society, however, considered drunkenness as a very good joke, and even went so far as to portray it in their tomb decorations. One sees men carried home from a feast across the shoulders of three of their companions, or ignominiously hauled out of the house by their ankles and the scruff of their neck. In the tomb of Paheri at El Kab women are represented at a feast, and scraps of their conversation are recorded, such, for instance, as 'Give me eighteen cups of wine, for I should love to drink to drunkenness: my inside is as dry as straw.' There are actually representations of women overcome with nausea through immoderate drinking, and being attended by servants who have hastened with basins to their assistance. In another tomb-painting [107]a drunken man is seen to have fallen against one of the delicate pillars of the pavilion with such force that it has toppled over, to the dismay of the guests around.

In the light of such scenes as these one may picture the life of an Egyptian in the elder days as being not a little depraved. One sees the men in their gaudy raiment, and the women luxuriously clothed, staining their garments with the wine spilt from the drinking-bowls as their hands shake with their drunken laughter; and the vision of Egyptian solemnity is still further banished at the sight. It is only too obvious that a land of laughter and jest, feasting and carouse, must be situated too near a Pompeian volcano to be capable of endurance, and the inhabitants too purposeless in their movements to avoid at some time or other running into the paths of burning lava. The people of Egypt went merrily through the radiant valley in which they lived, employing all that the gods had given them,—not only the green palms, the thousand birds, the blue sky, the hearty wind, the river and its reflections, but also the luxuries of their civilisation,—to make for themselves a frail feast of happiness. And when the last flowers, the latest empty drinking-cup, fell to the ground, nothing remained to them but that sodden, drunken night of disgrace which shocks one so at the end of the dynastic history, and which inevitably led to the fall of the nation. Christian asceticism came as the natural reaction [108]and Muhammedan strictness followed in due course; and it required the force of both these movements to put strength and health into the people once more.

One need not dwell, however, on this aspect of the Egyptian temperament. It is more pleasing, and as pertinent to the argument, to follow the old lords of the Nile into the sunshine once more, and to glance for a moment at their sports. Hunting was a pleasure to them, in which they indulged at every opportunity. One sees representations of this with great frequency upon the walls of the tombs. A man will be shown standing in a reed boat which has been pushed in amongst the waving papyrus. A boomerang is in his hand, and his wife by his side helps him to locate the wild duck, so that he may penetrate within throwing-distance of the birds before they rise. Presently up they go with a whir, and the boomerang claims its victims; while all manner of smaller birds dart from amidst the reeds, and gaudy butterflies pass startled overhead. Again one sees the hunter galloping in his chariot over the hard sand of the desert, shooting his arrows at the gazelle as he goes. Or yet again with his dogs he is shown in pursuit of the long-eared Egyptian hare, or of some other creature of the desert. When not thus engaged he may be seen excitedly watching a bullfight, or eagerly judging the merits of rival wrestlers, boxers, and fencers. One may follow him later into the seclusion of his garden, where, surrounded [109]by a wealth of trees and flowers, he plays draughts with his friends, romps with his children, or fishes in his artificial ponds. There is much evidence of this nature to show that the Egyptian was as much given to these healthy amusements as he was to the mirth of the feast. Josephus states that the Egyptians were a people addicted to pleasure, and the evidence brought together in the foregoing pages shows that his statement is to be confirmed. In sincere joy of living they surpassed any other nation of the ancient world. Life was a thing of such delight to the Egyptian, that he shrank equally from losing it himself and from taking it from another. His prayer was that he might live to be a centenarian. In spite of the many wars of the Egyptians, there was less unnecessary bloodshed in the Nile valley than in any other country which called itself civilised. Death was as terrible to them as it was inevitable, and the constant advice of the thinker was that the living should make the most of their life. When a king died, it was said that 'he went forth to heaven having spent life in happiness,' or that 'he rested after life, having completed his years in happiness.' It is true that the Egyptians wished to picture the after-life as one of continuous joy. One sees representations of a man's soul seated in the shade of the fruit-trees of the Underworld, while birds sing in the branches above him, and a lake of cool water lies before him; but they seemed to know that this was too [110]pleasant a picture to be the real one. A woman, the wife of a high priest, left upon her tombstone the following inscription, addressed to her husband:—

'O, brother, husband, friend,' she says, 'thy desire to drink and to eat hath not ceased. Therefore be drunken, enjoy the love of women—make holiday. Follow thy desire by night and by day. Put not care within thy heart. Lo! are not these the years of thy life upon earth? For as for the Underworld, it is a land of slumber and heavy darkness, a resting-place for those who have passed within it. Each sleepeth there in his own form, they never awake to see their fellows, they behold not their fathers nor their mothers, their heart is careless of their wives and children.'

She knows that she will be too deeply steeped in the stupor of the Underworld to remember her husband, and unselfishly she urges him to continue to be happy after the manner of his nation. Then, in a passage which rings down the years in its terrible beauty, she tells of her utter despair, lying in the gloomy Underworld, suffocated with the mummy bandages, and craving for the light, the laughter, and the coolness of the day.

'The water of life,' she cries, 'with which every mouth is moistened, is corruption to me, the water that is by me corrupteth me. I know not what to do since I came into this valley. Give me running water, say to me, 'Water shall not cease to be brought to thee.' Turn my face to the north wind upon the edge of the water. Verily thus shall my heart be cooled and refreshed from its pain.'

It is, however, the glory of life, rather than the [111]horror of death, which is the dominant note in the inscriptions and reliefs. The scenes in the tomb decorations seem to cry out for very joy. The artist has imprisoned in his representations as much sheer happiness as was ever infused into cold stone. One sees there the gazelle leaping over the hills as the sun rises, the birds flapping their wings and singing, the wild duck rising from the marshes, and the butterflies flashing overhead. The fundamental joy of living—that gaiety of life which the human being may feel in common with the animals—is shown in these scenes as clearly as is the merriment in the representations of feasts and dancing. In these paintings and reliefs one finds an exact illustration to the joyful exhortation of the Psalmist as he cries, 'Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; ... let the fields be joyful, and all that is therein.' In a land where, to quote one of their own poems, 'the tanks are full of water and the earth overflows with love,' where 'the cool north wind' blows merrily over the fields, and the sun never ceases to shine, it would be a remarkable phenomenon if the ancient Egyptians had not developed the sanguine temperament. The foregoing pages have shown them at their feasts, in their daily occupations, and in their sports, and the reader will find that it is not difficult to describe them, in the borrowed words of the old geographer, as a people always gay and often frivolous, and never-ceasingly 'fond of dancing and red wine.'

CHAPTER V.

THE MISFORTUNES OF WENAMON.

In the third chapter of this book it has been shown that the archæologist is, to some extent, enamoured of the Past because it can add to the stock of things which are likely to tickle the fancy. So humorous a man is he, so fond of the good things of life, so stirred by its adventures, so touched by its sorrows, that he must needs go to the Past to replenish his supplies, as another might go to Paris or Timbuctoo.

Here, then, is the place to give an example of the entertainment which he is likely to find in this province of his; and if the reader can detect any smell of dust or hear any creak of dead bones in the story which follows, it will be a matter of surprise to me.

In the year 1891, at a small village in Upper Egypt named El Hibeh, some natives unearthed a much damaged roll of papyrus which appeared to them to be very ancient. Since they had heard that antiquities have a market value they did not burn it along with whatever other scraps of inflammable [113]material they had collected for their evening fire, but preserved it, and finally took it to a dealer, who gave them in exchange for it a small sum of money. From the dealer's hands it passed into the possession of Monsieur Golenischeff, a Russian Egyptologist, who happened at the time to be travelling in Egypt; and by him it was carried to St Petersburg, where it now rests. This savant presently published a translation of the document, which at once caused a sensation in the Egyptological world; and during the next few years four amended translations were made by different scholars. The interest shown in this tattered roll was due to the fact that it had been found to contain the actual report written by an official named Wenamon to his chief, the High Priest of Amon-Ra, relating his adventures in the Mediterranean while procuring cedar-wood from the forests of Lebanon. The story which Wenamon tells is of the greatest value to Egyptology, giving as it does a vivid account of the political conditions obtaining in Syria and Egypt during the reign of the Pharaoh Rameses XII.; but it also has a very human interest, and the misfortunes of the writer may excite one's sympathy and amusement, after this lapse of three thousand years, as though they had occurred at the present time.

In the time at which Wenamon wrote his report Egypt had fallen on evil days. A long line of incapable descendants of the great Rameses II. and Rameses III. had ruled the Nile valley; and [114]now a wretched ghost of a Pharaoh, Rameses XII., sat upon the throne, bereft of all power, a ruler in name only. The government of the country lay in the hands of two great nobles: in Upper Egypt, Herhor, High Priest of Amon-Ra, was undisputed master; and in Lower Egypt, Nesubanebded, a prince of the city of Tanis (the Zoan of the Bible), virtually ruled as king of the Delta. Both these persons ultimately ascended the throne of the Pharaohs; but at the time of Wenamon's adventures the High Priest was the more powerful of the two, and could command the obedience of the northern ruler, at any rate in all sacerdotal matters. The priesthood of Amon-Ra was the greatest political factor in Egyptian life. That god's name was respected even in the courts of Syria, and though his power was now on the wane, fifty years previously the great religious body which bowed the knee to him was feared throughout all the countries neighbouring to Egypt. The main cause of Wenamon's troubles was the lack of appreciation of this fact that the god's influence in Syria was not as great as it had been in the past; and this report would certainly not have been worth recording here if he had realised that prestige is, of all factors in international relations, the least reliable.

In the year 1113 B.C. the High Priest undertook the construction of a ceremonial barge in which the image of the god might be floated upon the sacred waters of the Nile during the great religious [115]festivals at Thebes; and for this purpose he found himself in need of a large amount of cedar-wood of the best quality. He therefore sent for Wenamon, who held the sacerdotal title of 'Eldest of the Hall of the Temple of Amon,' and instructed him to proceed to the Lebanon to procure the timber. It is evident that Wenamon was no traveller, and we may perhaps be permitted to picture him as a rather portly gentleman of middle age, not wanting either in energy or pluck, but given, like some of his countrymen, to a fluctuation of the emotions which would jump him from smiles to tears, from hope to despair, in a manner amazing to any but an Egyptian. To us he often appears as an overgrown baby, and his misfortunes have a farcical nature which makes its appeal as much through the medium of one's love of the ludicrous as through that of one's interest in the romance of adventure. Those who are acquainted with Egypt will see in him one of the types of naif, delightful children of the Nile, whose decorous introduction into the parlour of the nations of to-day is requiring such careful rehearsal.

For his journey the High Priest gave Wenamon a sum of money, and as credentials he handed him a number of letters addressed to Egyptian and Syrian princes, and intrusted to his care a particularly sacred little image of Amon-Ra, known as Amon-of-the-Road, which had probably accompanied other envoys to the Kingdoms of the Sea in times past, and would be recognised as a [116]token of the official nature of any embassy which carried it.

Thus armed Wenamon set out from El Hibeh—probably the ancient Hetbennu, the capital of the Eighteenth Province of Upper Egypt—on the sixteenth day of the eleventh month of the fifth year of the reign of Rameses XII. (1113 B.C.), and travelled down the Nile by boat to Tanis, a distance of some 200 miles. On his arrival at this fair city of the Delta, whose temples and palaces rose on the borders of the swamps at the edge of the sea, Wenamon made his way to the palace of Nesubanebded, and handed to him the letters which he had received from the High Priest. These were caused to be read aloud; and Nesubanebded, hearing that Wenamon was desirous of reaching the Lebanon as soon as possible, made the necessary arrangements for his immediate despatch upon a vessel which happened then to be lying at the quay under the command of a Syrian skipper named Mengebet, who was about to set out for the Asiatic coast. On the first day of the twelfth month, that is to say fourteen days after his departure from his native town, Wenamon set sail from Tanis, crossing the swamps and heading out into 'the Great Syrian Sea.'

The voyage over the blue rippling Mediterranean was calm and prosperous as the good ship sailed along the barren shores of the land of the Shasu, along the more mountainous coast of Edom, and thence northwards past the cities of Askalon [117]and Ashdod. To Wenamon, however, the journey was fraught with anxiety. He was full of fears as to his reception in Syria, for the first of his misfortunes had befallen him. Although he had with him both money and the image of Amon-of-the-Road, in the excitement and hurry of his departure he had entirely forgotten to obtain again the bundle of letters of introduction which he had given Nesubanebded to read; and thus there were grave reasons for supposing that his mission might prove a complete failure. Mengebet was evidently a stern old salt who cared not a snap of the fingers for Amon or his envoy, and whose one desire was to reach his destination as rapidly as wind and oars would permit; and it is probable that he refused bluntly to return to Tanis when Wenamon informed him of the oversight. This and the inherent distrust of an Egyptian for a foreigner led Wenamon to regard the captain and his men with suspicion; and one must imagine him seated in the rough deck-cabin gloomily guarding the divine image and his store of money. He had with him a secretary and probably two or three servants; and one may picture these unfortunates anxiously watching the Syrian crew as they slouched about the deck. It is further to be remembered that, as a general rule, the Egyptians are most extremely bad sailors.

After some days the ship arrived at the little city of Dor, which nestled at the foot of the Ridge of Carmel; and here they put in to replenish [118]their supplies. Wenamon states in his report that Dor was at this time a city of the Thekel or Sicilians, some wandering band of sea-rovers having left their native Sicily to settle here, at first under the protection of the Egyptians, but now independent of them. The King of Dor, by name Bedel, hearing that an envoy of the High Priest of Amon-Ra had arrived in his harbour, very politely sent down to him a joint of beef, some loaves of bread, and a jar of wine, upon which Wenamon must have set to with an appetite, after subsisting upon the scanty rations of the sea for so long a time.

It may be that the wine was more potent than that to which the Egyptian was accustomed; or perhaps the white buildings of the city, glistening in the sunlight, and the busy quays, engrossed his attention too completely: anyhow, the second of his misfortunes now befel him. One of the Syrian sailors seized the opportunity to slip into his cabin and to steal the money which was hidden there. Before Wenamon had detected the robbery the sailor had disappeared for ever amidst the houses of Dor. That evening the distracted envoy, seated upon the floor of his cabin, was obliged to chronicle the list of stolen money, which list was afterwards incorporated in his report in the following manner:—

[119]A deben weighed about 100 grammes, and thus the robber was richer by 500 grammes of gold, which in those days would have the purchasing value of about £600 in our money, and 3100 grammes of silver, equal to about £2200.[1]

[1] See Weigall: Catalogue of Weights and Balances in the Cairo Museum, p. xvi.

Wenamon must have slept little that night, and early on the following morning he hastened to the palace of King Bedel to lay his case before him. Fortunately Bedel did not ask him for his credentials, but with the utmost politeness he gave his consideration to the affair. Wenamon's words, however, were by no means polite, and one finds in them a blustering assurance which suggests that he considered himself a personage of extreme consequence, and regarded a King of Dor as nothing in comparison with an envoy of Amon-Ra.

'I have been robbed in your harbour,' he cried, so he tells us in the report, 'and, since you are the king of this land, you must be regarded as a party to the crime. You must search for my money. The money belongs to Nesubanebded, and it belongs to Herhor, my lord' (no mention, observe, of the wretched Rameses XII.), 'and to the other nobles of Egypt. It belongs also to Weret, and to Mekmel, and to Zakar-Baal the Prince of Byblos.'[2] These latter were the persons to whom it was to be paid.

[2] The translation is based on that of Prof. Breasted.

The King of Dor listened to this outburst with Sicilian politeness, and replied in the following [120]very correct terms: 'With all due respect to your honour and excellency,' he said, 'I know nothing of this complaint which you have lodged with me. If the thief belonged to my land and went on board your ship in order to steal your money, I would advance you the sum from my treasury while they were finding the culprit. But the thief who robbed you belonged to your ship. Tarry, however, a few days here with me and I will seek him.'

Wenamon, therefore, strode back to the vessel, and there remained, fuming and fretting, for nine long days. The skipper Mengebet, however, had no reason to remain at Dor, and seems to have told Wenamon that he could wait no longer. On the tenth day, therefore, Wenamon retraced his steps to the palace, and addressed himself once more to Bedel. 'Look,' he said to the king, when he was ushered into the royal presence, 'you have not found my money, and therefore you had better let me go with my ship's captain and with those....' The rest of the interview is lost in a lacuna, and practically the only words which the damaged condition of the papyrus permits one now to read are, 'He said, 'Be silent!' which indicates that even the patience of a King of Dor could be exhausted.

When the narrative is able to be resumed one finds that Wenamon has set sail from the city, and has travelled along the coast to the proud city of Tyre, where he arrived one afternoon [121]penniless and letterless, having now nothing left but the little Amon-of-the-Road and his own audacity. The charms of Tyre, then one of the great ports of the civilised world, were of no consequence to the destitute Egyptian, nor do they seem to have attracted the skipper of his ship, who, after his long delay at Dor, was in no mood to linger. At dawn the next morning, therefore, the journey was continued, and once more an unfortunate lacuna interrupts the passage of the report. From the tattered fragments of the writing, however, it seems that at the next port of call—perhaps the city of Sidon—a party of inoffensive Sicilian merchants was encountered, and immediately the desperate Wenamon hatched a daring plot. By this time he had come to place some trust in Mengebet, the skipper, who, for the sake of his own good standing in Egypt, had shown himself willing to help the envoy of Amon-Ra in his troubles, although he would not go so far as to delay his journey for him; and Wenamon therefore admitted him to his councils. On some pretext or other a party led by the Egyptian paid a visit to these merchants and entered into conversation with them. Then, suddenly overpowering them, a rush was made for their cash-box, which Wenamon at once burst open. To his disappointment he found it to contain only thirty-one debens of silver, which happened to be precisely the amount of silver, though not of gold, which he had lost. This sum he pocketed, saying to the [122]struggling merchants as he did so, 'I will take this money of yours, and will keep it until you find my money. Was it not a Sicilian who stole it, and no thief of ours? I will take it.'

With these words the party raced back to the ship, scrambled on board, and in a few moments had hoisted sail and were scudding northwards towards Byblos, where Wenamon proposed to throw himself on the mercy of Zakar-Baal, the prince of that city. Wenamon, it will be remembered, had always considered that he had been robbed by a Sicilian of Dor, notwithstanding the fact that only a sailor of his own ship could have known of the existence of the money, as King Bedel seems to have pointed out to him. The Egyptian, therefore, did not regard this forcible seizure of silver from these other Sicilians as a crime. It was a perfectly just appropriation of a portion of the funds which belonged to him by rights. Let us imagine ourselves robbed at our hotel by Hans the German waiter: it would surely give us the most profound satisfaction to take Herr Schnupfendorff, the piano-tuner, by the throat when next he visited us, and go through his pockets. He and Hans, being of the same nationality, must suffer for one another's sins, and if the magistrate thinks otherwise he must be regarded as prejudiced by too much study of the law.

Byblos stood at the foot of the hills of Lebanon, in the very shadow of the great cedars, and it was [123]therefore Wenamon's destination. Now, however, as the ship dropped anchor in the harbour, the Egyptian realised that his mission would probably be fruitless, and that he himself would perhaps be flung into prison for illegally having in his possession the famous image of the god to which he could show no written right. Moreover, the news of the robbery of the merchants might well have reached Byblos overland. His first action, therefore, was to conceal the idol and the money; and this having been accomplished he sat himself down in his cabin to await events.

The Prince of Byblos certainly had been advised of the robbery; and as soon as the news of the ship's arrival was reported to him he sent a curt message to the captain saying simply, 'Get out of my harbour.' At this Wenamon gave up all hope, and, hearing that there was then in port a vessel which was about to sail for Egypt, he sent a pathetic message to the prince asking whether he might be allowed to travel by it back to his own country.

No satisfactory answer was received, and for the best part of a month Wenamon's ship rode at anchor, while the distracted envoy paced the deck, vainly pondering upon a fitting course of action. Each morning the same brief order, 'Get out of my harbour,' was delivered to him by the harbour-master; but the indecision of the authorities as to how to treat this Egyptian official prevented the order being backed by force. Meanwhile [124]Wenamon and Mengebet judiciously spread through the city the report of the power of Amon-of-the-Road, and hinted darkly at the wrath which would ultimately fall upon the heads of those who suffered the image and its keeper to be turned away from the quays of Byblos. No doubt, also, a portion of the stolen debens of silver was expended in bribes to the priests of the city, for, as we shall presently see, one of them took up Wenamon's cause with the most unnatural vigour.

All, however, seemed to be of no avail, and Wenamon decided to get away as best he could. His worldly goods were quietly transferred to the ship which was bound for the Nile; and, when night had fallen, with Amon-of-the-Road tucked under his arm, he hurried along the deserted quay. Suddenly out of the darkness there appeared a group of figures, and Wenamon found himself confronted by the stalwart harbour-master and his police. Now, indeed, he gave himself up for lost. The image would be taken from him, and no longer would he have the alternative of leaving the harbour. He must have groaned aloud as he stood there in the black night, with the cold sea wind threatening to tear the covers from the treasure under his arm. His surprise, therefore, was unbounded when the harbour-master addressed him in the following words: 'Remain until morning here near the prince.'

The Egyptian turned upon him fiercely. 'Are you not the man who came to me every day [125]saying, 'Get out of my harbour?' he cried. 'And now are you not saying, 'Remain in Byblos?' your object being to let this ship which I have found depart for Egypt without me, so that you may come to me again and say, 'Go away.'

The harbour-master in reality had been ordered to detain Wenamon for quite another reason. On the previous day, while the prince was sacrificing to his gods, one of the noble youths in his train, who had probably seen the colour of Wenamon's debens, suddenly broke into a religious frenzy, and so continued all that day, and far into the night, calling incessantly upon those around him to go and fetch the envoy of Amon-Ra and the sacred image. Prince Zakar-Baal had considered it prudent to obey this apparently divine command, and had sent the harbour-master to prevent Wenamon's departure. Finding, however, that the Egyptian was determined to board the ship, the official sent a messenger to the prince, who replied with an order to the skipper of the vessel to remain that night in harbour.

Upon the following morning a deputation, evidently friendly, waited on Wenamon, and urged him to come to the palace, which he finally did, incidentally attending on his way the morning service which was being celebrated upon the sea-shore. 'I found the prince,' writes Wenamon in his report, 'sitting in his upper chamber, leaning his back against a window, while the waves of the [126]Great Syrian Sea beat against the wall below. I said to him, 'The mercy of Amon be with you!' He said to me, 'How long is it from now since you left the abode of Amon?' I replied, 'Five months and one day from now.'

The prince then said, 'Look now, if what you say is true, where is the writing of Amon which should be in your hand? Where is the letter of the High Priest of Amon which should be in your hand?'

'I gave them to Nesubanebded,' replied Wenamon.

'Then,' says Wenamon, 'he was very wroth, and he said to me, 'Look here, the writings and the letters are not in your hand. And where is the fine ship which Nesubanebded would have given you, and where is its picked Syrian crew? He would not put you and your affairs in the charge of this skipper of yours, who might have had you killed and thrown into the sea. Whom would they have sought the god from then?—and you, whom would they have sought you from then?' So said he to me, and I replied to him, 'There are indeed Egyptian ships and Egyptian crews that sail under Nesubanebded, but he had at the time no ship and no Syrian crew to give me.'

The prince did not accept this as a satisfactory answer, but pointed out that there were ten thousand ships sailing between Egypt and Syria, of which number there must have been one at Nesubanebded's disposal.

[127]'Then,' writes Wenamon, 'I was silent in this great hour. At length he said to me, 'On what business have you come here?' I replied, 'I have come to get wood for the great and august barge of Amon-Ra, king of the gods. Your father supplied it, your grandfather did so, and you too shall do it.' So spoke I to him.'

The prince admitted that his fathers had sent wood to Egypt, but he pointed out that they had received proper remuneration for it. He then told his servants to go and find the old ledger in which the transactions were recorded, and this being done, it was found that a thousand debens of silver had been paid for the wood. The prince now argued that he was in no way the servant of Amon, for if he had been he would have been obliged to supply the wood without remuneration. 'I am,' he proudly declared, 'neither your servant nor the servant of him who sent you here. If I cry out to the Lebanon the heavens open and the logs lie here on the shore of the sea.' He went on to say that if, of his condescension, he now procured the timber Wenamon would have to provide the ships and all the tackle. 'If I make the sails of the ships for you,' said the prince, 'they may be top-heavy and may break, and you will perish in the sea when Amon thunders in heaven; for skilled workmanship comes only from Egypt to reach my place of abode.' This seems to have upset the composure of Wenamon to some extent, and the prince took [128]advantage of his uneasiness to say, 'Anyway, what is this miserable expedition that they have had you make (without money or equipment)?'

At this Wenamon appears to have lost his temper. 'O guilty one!' he said to the prince, 'this is no miserable expedition on which I am engaged. There is no ship upon the Nile which Amon does not own, and his is the sea, and his this Lebanon of which you say, 'It is mine.' Its forests grow for the barge of Amon, the lord of every ship. Why Amon-Ra himself, the king of the gods, said to Herhor, my lord, 'Send me'; and Herhor made me go bearing the statue of this great god. Yet see, you have allowed this great god to wait twenty-nine days after he had arrived in your harbour, although you certainly knew he was there. He is indeed still what he once was: yes, now while you stand bargaining for the Lebanon with Amon its lord. As for Amon-Ra, the king of the gods, he is the lord of life and health, and he was the lord of your fathers, who spent their lifetime offering to him. You also, you are the servant of Amon. If you will say to Amon, 'I will do this,' and you execute his command, you shall live and be prosperous and be healthy, and you shall be popular with your whole country and people. Wish not for yourself a thing belonging to Amon-Ra, king of the gods. Truly the lion loves his own! Let my secretary be brought to me that I may send him to Nesubanebded, and he will send you all [129]that I shall ask him to send, after which, when I return to the south, I will send you all, all your trifles again.'

'So spake I to him,' says Wenamon in his report, as with a flourish of his pen he brings this fine speech to an end. No doubt it would have been more truthful in him to say, 'So would I have spoken to him had I not been so flustered'; but of all types of lie this is probably the most excusable. At all events, he said sufficient to induce the prince to send his secretary to Egypt; and as a token of good faith Zakar-Baal sent with him seven logs of cedar-wood. In forty-eight days' time the messenger returned, bringing with him five golden and five silver vases, twenty garments of fine linen, 500 rolls of papyrus, 500 ox-hides, 500 coils of rope, twenty measures of lentils, and five measures of dried fish. At this present the prince expressed himself most satisfied, and immediately sent 300 men and 300 oxen with proper overseers to start the work of felling the trees. Some eight months after leaving Tanis, Wenamon's delighted eyes gazed upon the complete number of logs lying at the edge of the sea, ready for shipment to Egypt.

The task being finished, the prince walked down to the beach to inspect the timber, and he called to Wenamon to come with him. When the Egyptian had approached, the prince pointed to the logs, remarking that the work had been carried through although the remuneration had not been [130]nearly so great as that which his fathers had received. Wenamon was about to reply when inadvertently the shadow of the prince's umbrella fell upon his head. What memories or anticipations this trivial incident aroused one cannot now tell with certainty. One of the gentlemen-in-waiting, however, found cause in it to whisper to Wenamon, 'The shadow of Pharaoh, your lord, falls upon you'—the remark, no doubt, being accompanied by a sly dig in the ribs. The prince angrily snapped, 'Let him alone'; and, with the picture of Wenamon gloomily staring out to sea, we are left to worry out the meaning of the occurrence. It may be that the prince intended to keep Wenamon at Byblos until the uttermost farthing had been extracted from Egypt in further payment for the wood, and that therefore he was to be regarded henceforth as Wenamon's king and master. This is perhaps indicated by the following remarks of the prince.

'Do not thus contemplate the terrors of the sea,' he said to Wenamon. 'For if you do that you should also contemplate my own. Come, I have not done to you what they did to certain former envoys. They spent seventeen years in this land, and they died where they were.' Then, turning to an attendant, 'Take him,' he said, 'and let him see the tomb in which they lie.'

'Oh, don't let me see it,' Wenamon tells us that he cried in anguish; but, recovering his composure, he continued in a more valiant strain. 'Mere [131]human beings,' he said, 'were the envoys who were then sent. There was no god among them (as there now is).'

The prince had recently ordered an engraver to write a commemorative inscription upon a stone tablet recording the fact that the king of the gods had sent Amon-of-the-Road to Byblos as his divine messenger and Wenamon as his human messenger, that timber had been asked for and supplied, and that in return Amon had promised him ten thousand years of celestial life over and above that of ordinary persons. Wenamon now reminded him of this, asking him why he should talk so slightingly of the Egyptian envoys when the making of this tablet showed that in reality he considered their presence an honour. Moreover, he pointed out that when in future years an envoy from Egypt should read this tablet, he would of course pronounce at once the magical prayers which would procure for the prince, who would probably then be in hell after all, a draught of water. This remark seems to have tickled the prince's fancy, for he gravely acknowledged its value, and spoke no more in his former strain. Wenamon closed the interview by promising that the High Priest of Amon-Ra would fully reward him for his various kindnesses.

Shortly after this the Egyptian paid another visit to the sea-shore to feast his eyes upon the logs. He must have been almost unable to contain himself in the delight and excitement of the ending [132]of his task and his approaching return, in triumph to Egypt; and we may see him jauntily walking over the sand, perhaps humming a tune to himself. Suddenly he observed a fleet of eleven ships sailing towards the town, and the song must have died upon his lips. As they drew nearer he saw to his horror that they belonged to the Sicilians of Dor, and we must picture him biting his nails in his anxiety as he stood amongst the logs. Presently they were within hailing distance, and some one called to them asking their business. The reply rang across the water, brief and terrible; 'Arrest Wenamon! Let not a ship of his pass to Egypt.' Hearing these words the envoy of Amon-Ra, king of the gods, just now so proudly boasting, threw himself upon the sand and burst into tears.

The sobs of the wretched man penetrated to a chamber in which the prince's secretary sat writing at the open window, and he hurried over to the prostrate figure. 'Whatever is the matter with you?' he said, tapping the man on the shoulder.

Wenamon raised his head, 'Surely you see these birds which descend on Egypt,' he groaned. 'Look at them! They have come into the harbour, and how long shall I be left forsaken here? Truly you see those who have come to arrest me.'

With these words one must suppose that Wenamon returned to his weeping, for he says in his report that the sympathetic secretary went off to [133]find the prince in order that some plan of action might be formulated. When the news was reported to Zakar-Baal, he too began to lament; for the whole affair was menacing and ugly. Looking out of the window he saw the Sicilian ships anchored as a barrier across the mouth of the harbour, he saw the logs of cedar-wood strewn over the beach, he saw the writhing figure of Wenamon pouring sand and dust upon his head and drumming feebly with his toes; and his royal heart was moved with pity for the misfortunes of the Egyptian.

Hastily speaking to his secretary, he told him to procure two large jars of wine and a ram, and to give them to Wenamon on the chance that they might stop the noise of his lamentations. The secretary and his servants procured these things from the kitchen, and, tottering down with them to the envoy, placed them by his side. Wenamon, however, merely glanced at them in a sickly manner, and then buried his head once more. The failure must have been observed from the window of the palace, for the prince sent another servant flying off for a popular Egyptian lady of no reputation, who happened to be living just then at Byblos in the capacity of a dancing-girl. Presently she minced into the room, very much elated, no doubt, at this indication of the royal favour. The prince at once ordered her to hasten down on to the beach to comfort her countryman. 'Sing to him,' he said. 'Don't let his heart feel apprehension.'

Wenamon seemed to have waved the girl aside, [134]and we may picture the prince making urgent signs to the lady from his window to renew her efforts. The moans of the miserable man, however, did not cease, and the prince had recourse to a third device. This time he sent a servant to Wenamon with a message of calm assurance. 'Eat and drink,' he said, 'and let not your heart feel apprehension. You shall hear all that I have to say in the morning.' At this Wenamon roused himself, and, wiping his eyes, consented to be led back to his rooms, ever turning, no doubt, to cast nervous glances in the direction of the silent ships of Dor.

On the following morning the prince sent for the leaders of the Sicilians and asked them for what reason they had come to Byblos. They replied that they had come in search of Wenamon, who had robbed some of their countrymen of thirty-one debens of silver. The prince was placed in a difficult position, for he was desirous to avoid giving offence either to Dor or to Egypt from whence he now expected further payment; but he managed to pass out on to clearer ground by means of a simple stratagem.

'I cannot arrest the envoy of Amon in my territory,' he said to the men of Dor. 'But I will send him away, and you shall pursue him and arrest him.'

The plan seems to have appealed to the sporting instincts of the Sicilians, for it appears that they drew off from the harbour to await their quarry. Wenamon was then informed of the scheme, and [135]one may suppose that he showed no relish for it. To be chased across a bilious sea by sporting men of hardened stomach was surely a torture for the damned; but it is to be presumed that Zakar-Baal left the Egyptian some chance of escape. Hastily he was conveyed on board a ship, and his misery must have been complete when he observed that outside the harbour it was blowing a gale. Hardly had he set out into the 'Great Syrian Sea' before a terrific storm burst, and in the confusion which ensued we lose sight of the waiting fleet. No doubt the Sicilians put in to Byblos once more for shelter, and deemed Wenamon at the bottom of the ocean as the wind whistled through their own bare rigging.

The Egyptian had planned to avoid his enemies by beating northwards when he left the harbour, instead of southwards towards Egypt; but the tempest took the ship's course into its own hands and drove the frail craft north-westwards towards Cyprus, the wooded shores of which were, in course of time, sighted. Wenamon was now indeed 'twixt the devil and the deep sea, for behind him the waves raged furiously, and before him he perceived a threatening group of Cypriots awaiting him upon the wind-swept shore. Presently the vessel grounded upon the beach, and immediately the ill-starred Egyptian and the entire crew were prisoners in the hands of a hostile mob. Roughly they were dragged to the capital of the island, which happened to be but a few miles distant, and with ignominy they were hustled, wet and [136]bedraggled, through the streets towards the palace of Hetebe, the Queen of Cyprus.

As they neared the building the queen herself passed by, surrounded by a brave company of nobles and soldiers. Wenamon burst away from his captors, and bowed himself before the royal lady, crying as he did so, 'Surely there is somebody amongst this company who understands Egyptian.' One of the nobles, to Wenamon's joy, replied, 'Yes, I understand it.'

'Say to my mistress,' cried the tattered envoy, 'that I have heard even in far-off Thebes, the abode of Amon, that in every city injustice is done, but that justice obtains in the land of Cyprus. Yet see, injustice is done here also this day.'

This was repeated to the queen, who replied, 'Indeed!—what is this that you say?'

Through the interpreter Wenamon then addressed himself to Hetebe. 'If the sea raged,' he said, 'and the wind drove me to the land where I now am, will you let these people take advantage of it to murder me, I who am an envoy of Amon? I am one for whom they will seek unceasingly. And as for these sailors of the prince of Byblos, whom they also wish to kill, their lord will undoubtedly capture ten crews of yours, and will slay every man of them in revenge.'

This seems to have impressed the queen, for she ordered the mob to stand on one side, and to Wenamon she said, 'Pass the night ...'

[137]Here the torn writing comes to an abrupt end, and the remainder of Wenamon's adventures are for ever lost amidst the dust of El Hibeh. One may suppose that Hetebe took the Egyptian under her protection, and that ultimately he arrived once more in Egypt, whither Zakar-Baal had perhaps already sent the timber. Returning to his native town, it seems that Wenamon wrote his report, which for some reason or other was never despatched to the High Priest. Perhaps the envoy was himself sent for, and thus his report was rendered useless; or perhaps our text is one of several copies.

There can be no question that he was a writer of great power, and this tale of his adventures must be regarded as one of the jewels of the ancient Egyptian language. The brief description of the Prince of Byblos, seated with his back to the window, while the waves beat against the wall below, brings vividly before one that far-off scene, and reveals a lightness of touch most unusual in writers of that time. There is surely, too, an appreciation of a delicate form of humour observable in his account of some of his dealings with the prince. It is appalling to think that the peasants who found this roll of papyrus might have used it as fuel for their evening fire; and that, had not a drifting rumour of the value of such articles reached their village, this little tale of old Egypt and the long-lost Kingdoms of the Sea would have gone up to empty heaven in a puff of smoke.

CHAPTER VI.

THE STORY OF THE SHIPWRECKED SAILOR.

When the early Spanish explorers led their expeditions to Florida, it was their intention to find the Fountain of Perpetual Youth, tales of its potent waters having reached Peter Martyr as early as 1511. This desire to discover the things pertaining to Fairyland has been, throughout history, one of the most fertile sources of adventure. From the days when the archaic Egyptians penetrated into the regions south of the Cataracts, where they believed that the inhabitants were other than human, and into Pount, the 'Land of the Ghosts,' the hope of Fairyland has led men to search the face of the earth and to penetrate into its unknown places. It has been the theme of countless stories: it has supplied material for innumerable songs.

And in spite of the circumambulations of science about us, in spite of the hardening of all the tissues of our imagination, in spite of the phenomenal development of the commonplace, this desire for a glimpse of the miraculous is still set deeply [139]in our hearts. The old quest of Fairyland is as active now as ever it was. We still presume, in our unworthiness, to pass the barriers, and to walk upon those paths which lead to the enchanted forests and through them to the city of the Moon. At any moment we are ready to set forth, like Arthur's knights, in search of the Holy Grail.

The explorer who penetrates into Central Africa in quest of King Solomon's mines is impelled by a hope closely akin to that of the Spaniards. The excavator who digs for the buried treasures of the Incas or of the Egyptians is often led by a desire for the fabulous. Search is now being made in the western desert of Egypt for a lost city of burnished copper; and the Anglo-Egyptian official is constantly urged by credulous natives to take camels across the wilderness in quest of a town whose houses and temples are of pure gold. What archæologist has not at some time given ear to the whispers that tell of long-lost treasures, of forgotten cities, of Atlantis swallowed by the sea? It not only children who love the tales of Fairyland. How happily we have read Kipling's 'Puck of Pook's Hill,' De la Motte Fouqué's 'Undine,' Kenneth Grahame's 'Wind in the Willows,' or F.W. Bain's Indian stories. The recent fairy plays—Barry's 'Peter Pan,' Maeterlinck's 'Blue Bird,' and the like—have been enormously successful. Say what we will, fairy tales still hold their old power over us, and still we turn to them as a relief from the commonplace.

[140]Some of us, failing to find Fairyland upon earth, have transferred it to the kingdom of Death; and it has become the hope for the future. Each Sunday in church the congregation of business men and hard-worked women set aside the things of their monotonous life, and sing the songs of the endless search. To the rolling notes of the organ they tell the tale of the Elysian Fields: they take their unfilled desire for Fairyland and adjust it to their deathless hope of Heaven. They sing of crystal fountains, of streets paved with gold, of meadows dressed with living green where they shall dwell as children who now as exiles mourn. There everlasting spring abides and never-withering flowers; there ten thousand times ten thousand clad in sparkling raiment throng up the steeps of light. Here in the church the most unimaginative people cry aloud upon their God for Fairyland.

They know no way of picturing the incomprehensible state of the future, and they interpret it, therefore, in terms of the fairy tale.

I am inclined to think that this sovereignty of the fairies is beneficial. Fairy tales fill the minds of the young with knowledge of the kindly people who will reward with many gifts those that are [141]charitable to the old; they teach a code of chivalry that brings as its reward the love of the beautiful princess in the tower; they tell of dangers overcome by courage and perseverance; they suggest a contact with nature which otherwise might never be developed. Where angels and archangels overawe by their omnipotence, the microscopic fairies who can sit singing upon a mushroom and dangle from the swaying stem of a bluebell, carry the thoughts down the scale of life to the little and really important things. A sleepy child will rather believe that the Queen of the Fairies is acting sentry upon the knob of the bedpost than that an angel stands at the head of the cot with great wings spread in protection—wings which suggest the probability of claws and a beak to match.

The dragons which can only be slain by the noble knight, the enchantments which can only be broken by the outwitting of the evil witch, the lady who can only be won by perils bravely endured, form the material of moral lessons which no other method of teaching could so impress upon the youthful mind.

And when mature years are attained the atmosphere of Fairyland remains with us. The lost songs of the little people drift through the brain, recalling the infinite possibilities of beauty and goodness which are so slightly out of reach; the forgotten wonder of elfs and brownies suggests itself to us from the heart of flowers and amidst the leaves of trees. The clear depths of the sea [142]take half their charm from the memory of the mermaid's palace; the silence of forests is rich with the expectancy of the Knight of the Golden Plume; the large spaces of kitchens and corridors are hushed for the concealment of Robin Goodfellow.

It is the elusiveness, the enchantment, of Fairyland which, for the mature mind, constitutes its greatest value and charm; it is a man's desire for the realms of Midsummer-night that makes the building of those realms in our childhood so valuable. We are constantly endeavouring to recapture the grace of that intangible kingdom, and the hope of ultimate success retains the elasticity of the mind. Held fast by the stiffened joints of reason and closeted with the gout of science, we are fettered prisoners in the world unless there be the knowledge that something eludes us to lead us on. We know quite well that the fairies do not exist, but at the same time we cannot deny that the elusive atmosphere of Fairyland is one with that of our fondest dreams.

Who has not, upon a grey morning, awakened from sleep with the knowledge that he has passed out from a kingdom of dream more dear than all the realms of real life? Vainly we endeavour to recall the lost details, but only the impression remains. That impression, however, warms the tone of our whole day, and frames our thoughts as it were with precious stones. Thus also it is with the memory of our childhood's idea of Fairyland: [143]the impression is recalled, the brain peers forward, the thoughts go on tiptoe, and we feel that we have caught a glimpse of Beauty. Indeed, the recollection of the atmosphere created in our youthful minds by means of fairy tales is perhaps the most abundant of the sources of our knowledge of Beauty in mature years.

I do not suppose that I am alone in declaring that some of the most tender feelings of childhood are inspired by the misfortunes of the Beast in the story of 'Beauty and the Beast'; and the Sleeping Beauty is the first love of many a small boy. Man, from his youth up, craves enchantment; and though the business of life gives him no opportunity for the indulging in day-dreams, there are few of us indeed who have not at some time sought the phantom isles, and sought in vain. There is no stormy night, when the wind moans through the trees, and the moon-rack flies overhead, but takes something of its mystery from the recollection of the enchantments of the dark ages. The sun does not sink into the sea amidst the low-lying clouds but some vague thought is brought to mind of the uncharted island whereon that maiden lies sleeping whose hair is dark as heaven's wrath, and whose breast is white like alabaster in the pathway of the moon. There she lies in the charmed circle under the trees, where none may enter until that hour when some pale, lost mariner shall surprise the secret of the pathway, and, coming suddenly upon her, shall kiss her shadowed lips. Vague, [144]elusive, undefined, as such fancies must be, they yet tinge the thoughts of almost every man at certain moments of his life, and set him searching for the enchantment of bygone days. Eagerly he looks for those

and it is the fact of their unreality that gives them their haunting value.

The following story, preserved in a papyrus now at St Petersburg, describes a mysterious island whereon there dwelt a monster most lovable and most forlorn: a creature so tenderly drawn, indeed, that the reader will not fail to enthrone him in the little company of the nobility of the kingdom of the fairy tale. Translations of the story by two or three savants have appeared; but the present version, which I give in its literal form, has been prepared especially for this volume by Mr Alan Gardiner; and, coming from him, it may be said to be the last word of the science upon the subject of this difficult text.

The scene with which the story opens is clearly indicated by the introductory sentences, though actually it is not described. A large war-galley had come swinging down the Nile from the land of Wawat in the south, the oars flashing in the Nubian sunlight. On the left the granite rocks of the island of Bigeh towered above the vessel; on the right the island of Philæ, as yet devoid of [145]buildings, rested placidly on the blue waters. Ahead were the docks of Shallal, where the clustered boats lay darkly against the yellow of the desert, and busy groups of figures, loading and unloading cargoes, moved to and fro over the sand. Away to the left, behind Bigeh, the distant roar of the First Cataract could be heard as the waters went rushing down from Nubia across the frontier into Egypt.

The great vessel had just returned from the little-known country of Ethiopia, which bordered the Land of the Ghosts, having its frontiers upon the shores of the sea that encircled the world; and the sailors were all straining their eyes towards these docks which formed the southernmost outpost of Egypt, their home. The greatest excitement prevailed on deck; but in the cabin, erected of vari-coloured cloth in the stern of the vessel, the noble leader of the expedition which was now at its conclusion lay in a troubled sleep, tossing nervously upon his bed. His dreams were all of the terrible ordeal which was before him. He could take no pleasure in his home-coming, for he was driven nigh crazy by the thought of entering the presence of the great Pharaoh himself in order to make his report.

It is almost impossible to realise nowadays the agonies of mind that a man had to suffer who was obliged to approach the incarnation of the sun upon earth, and to crave the indulgence of this god in regard to any shortcomings in the conduct [146]of the affairs intrusted to him. Of all the kings of the earth the Pharaoh was the most terrible, the most thoroughly frightening. Not only did he hold the lives of his subjects in his hand to do with them as he chose, but he also controlled the welfare of their immortal souls; for, being a god, he had dominion over the realms of the dead. To be censured by the Pharaoh was to be excommunicated from the pleasures of this earth and outlawed from the fair estate of heaven. A well-known Egyptian noble named Sinuhe, the hero of a fine tale of adventure, describes himself as petrified with terror when he entered the audience-chamber. 'I stretched myself on my stomach,' he writes, 'and became unconscious before him (the Pharaoh). This god addressed me kindly, but I was as a man overtaken by the twilight: my soul departed, my flesh trembled; my heart was no more in my body that I should know life from death.'[1] Similarly another personage writes: 'Remember the day of bringing the tribute, when thou passest into the Presence under the window, the nobles on each side before his Majesty, the nobles and ambassadors (?) of all countries. They stand and gaze at the tribute, while thou fearest and shrinkest back, and thy hand is weak, and thou knowest not whether it is death or life that is before thee; and thou art brave (only) in praying to thy gods: 'Save me, prosper me this one time.'[2]

[2] Papyrus Koller, 5, 1-4.

[147]Of the Pharaoh it is written—

Or again—

[2] Kubban stela.

To meet face to face this all-knowing, all-seeing, celestial creature, from whom there could be no secrets hid nor any guilt concealed, was an ordeal to which a man might well look forward with utter horror. It was this terrible dread that, in the tale with which we are now concerned, held the captain of this Nubian vessel in agony upon his couch.

As he lay there, biting his finger-nails, one of the ship's officers, himself a former leader of expeditions, entered the cabin to announce their arrival at the Shallal docks.

'Good news, prince,' said he cheerfully to his writhing master. 'Look, we have reached home. They have taken the mallet and driven in the mooring-post; the ship's cable has been put on land. There is merrymaking and thanksgiving, and every man is embracing his fellow. Our crew has returned unscathed, without loss to our soldiers. We have reached the end of [148]Wawat, we have passed Bigeh. Yes, indeed, we have returned safely; we have reached our own land.'

At this the prince seems to have groaned anew, much to the distress of his friend, who could but urge him to pull himself together and to play the man.

'Listen to me, prince,' he begged, 'for I am one void of exaggeration. Wash yourself, pour water on your fingers.'

The wretched, man replied, it would seem, with a repetition of his fears; whereupon the old sailor seems to have sat down by his side and to have given him a word of advice as to how he should behave in the king's presence. 'Make answer when you are addressed,' he said; 'speak to the king with a heart in you; answer without restraint. For it is a man's mouth that saves him.... But do as you will: to talk to you is wearisome (to you).'

Presently the old sailor was seized with an idea. He would tell a story, no matter whether it were strictly true or not, in which his own adventures should be set forth. He would describe how he was wrecked upon an unknown island, how he was saved from death, and how, on his return, he conducted into the Pharaoh's presence. A narration of his own experiences before his sovereign might give heart to his captain, and might effectually lift the intolerable burden of dread from the princely shoulders.

[149]'I will relate to you,' he began, 'a similar thing which befell me my very self. I was making a journey to the mines of the sovereign ...'

The prince may here be supposed to have sat up and given gloomy attention to his friend's words, for Egyptians of all ages have loved a good story, and tales of adventures in the south were, in early times, most acceptable. The royal gold mines referred to were probably situated at the southern-most end of the eastern Egyptian desert. To reach them one would take ship from Kossair or some other Red Sea port, sail down the coast to the frontiers of Pount, the modern Somaliland, and then travel inland by caravan. It was a perilous undertaking, and, at the time when this story was written, the journey must have furnished material for amazing yarns.

'I went down on the Great Green Sea,' continued the speaker, 'in a ship one hundred and fifty cubits[1] in length and forty cubits in breadth, and in it were a hundred and fifty sailors, picked men of Egypt. They scanned the heavens and they scanned the earth, and their hearts were stouter than lions. They foretold the storm or ever it came, and the tempest when as yet it was not.'

A storm arose while they were out of sight of land, and rapidly increased in violence, until the waves, according to the very restrained estimate [150]of the narrator, were eight cubits high—that is to say, about thirteen or fourteen feet. To one who was accustomed to the waves of the Nile this would be a great height; and the passage thus suggests that the scribe was an untravelled man. A vessel of 150 cubits, or about 250 feet, in length might have been expected to ride out a storm of this magnitude; but, according to the story, she went to pieces, and the whole ship's company, with the single exception of the teller of the tale, were drowned. The survivor managed to cling to a plank of wood, which was driven by the wind towards the shores of an uncharted island, and here at length he was cast up by the waves.

Not far from the beach there was a small thicket, and to this the castaway hastened, sheltering therein from the fury of the storm. For three days in deep despair he lay hidden, 'without a companion,' as he said, 'save my heart;' but at last the tempest subsided, the sun shone in the heavens once again, and the famished mariner was able to go in search of food, which, to his delight, he found in abundance.

The scene upon which he gazed as he plucked the fruit of the laden trees was most mysterious, and all that he saw around him must have had an appearance not altogether consistent with reality, for, indeed, the island was not real. It had been called into existence, perhaps, at the bidding of some god to relieve the tedium of an eternal afternoon, [151]and suddenly it had appeared, floating upon the blue waters of the ocean. How long it had remained there, how long it would still remain, none could tell, for at any moment the mind of the god might be diverted, and instantly it would dissolve and vanish as would a dream. Beneath the isle the seas moved, and there in the darkness the fishes of the deep, with luminous, round eyes, passed to and fro, nibbling the roots of the trees above them. Overhead the heavens stretched, and around about spread the expanse of the sea upon which no living thing might be seen, save only the dolphins as they leapt into the sunshine and sank again amidst the gleaming spray.

There was abundant vegetation upon the island, but it does not appear to have looked quite real. The fig-trees were heavy with fruit, the vines were festooned from bough to bough, hung with clusters of grapes, and pomegranates were ripe for the plucking. But there seems to have been an unearthliness about them, as though a deep enchantment were upon them. In the tangled undergrowth through which the bewildered sailor walked there lay great melons and pumpkins. The breeze wafted to his nostrils the smell of the incense-trees; and the scent of the flowers, after the storm, must have made every breath he breathed a pleasure of Paradise to him. Moving over the luxuriant ground, he put up flights of wonderful birds which sped towards the interior, red, green, and golden, against the sky. Monkeys [152]chattered at him from the trees, and sprang from branch to branch amidst the dancing flowers. In shadowed pools of clear water fishes were to be seen, gliding amidst the reeds; and amongst the rocks beside the sea the castaway could look down upon the creatures of the deep imprisoned between the tides.

Food in all forms was to hand, and he had but to fill his arms with the good things which Fate had provided. 'I found there,' he said, 'figs, grapes, and all manner of goodly onions; melons and pomegranates were there, and pumpkins of every kind. Fishes were there and fowls: there was nought that was lacking in it. I satisfied myself, and set upon the ground the abundance of that with which my arms were filled. I took the fire-borer and kindled a fire, and made a burnt-offering to the gods.'

Seated in the warm sunshine amidst the trees, eating a roast fowl seasoned with onions or some equally palatable concoction, he seems to have found the life of a shipwrecked mariner by no means as distressing as he had anticipated; and the wording of the narrative appears to be so arranged that an impression of comfortable ease and security may surround his sunlit figure. Suddenly, however, all was changed. 'I heard,' said he, 'a sound as of thunder, and I thought it was the waves of the sea.' Then 'the trees creaked and the earth trembled'; and, like the Egyptian that he was, he went down on his shaking [153]hands and knees, and buried his face in the ground.

At length 'I uncovered my face,' he declared, 'and I found it was a serpent that came, of the length of thirty cubits'—about fifty feet—'and his tail was more than two cubits' in diameter. 'His skin was overlaid with gold, and his eyebrows were of real lapis lazuli, and he was exceeding perfect.'

'He opened his mouth to me,' he continued, 'as I lay on my stomach before him, and said to me: 'Who brought thee, who brought thee, little one?—who brought thee? If thou delayest to tell me who brought thee to this island I will cause thee to know thyself (again only) when thou art ashes, and art become that which is not seen'—that is to say, a ghost.

'Thus you spoke to me,' whispered the old sailor, as though again addressing the serpent, who, in the narration of these adventures, had become once more a very present reality to him, 'but I heard it not. I lay before thee, and was unconscious.'

Continuing his story, he told how the great serpent lifted him tenderly in his golden mouth, and carried him to his dwelling-place, setting him down there without hurt, amongst the fruit-trees and the flowers. The Egyptian at once flung himself upon his stomach before him, and lay there in a stupor of terror. The serpent, however, meant him no harm, and indeed looked down [154]on him with tender pity as he questioned him once more.

'Who brought thee, who brought thee, little one?' he asked again, 'Who brought thee to this island of the Great Green Sea, whereof the (under) half is waves?'

On his hands and knees before the kindly monster the shipwrecked Egyptian managed to regain possession of his faculties sufficiently to give an account of himself.

'I was going down to the mines,' he faltered, 'on a mission of the sovereign, in a ship one hundred and fifty cubits in length and forty in breadth, and in it were one hundred and fifty sailors, picked men of Egypt. They scanned the heavens and they scanned the earth, and their hearts were stouter than lions. They foretold the storm or ever it came, and the tempest when as yet it was not. Every one of them, his heart was stout and his arm strong beyond his fellow. There was none unproven amongst them. The storm arose while that we were on the Great Green Sea, before we touched land; and as we sailed it redoubled (its strength), and the waves thereof were eight cubits. There was a plank of wood to which I clung. The ship perished, and of them that were in her not one was left saving me alone, who now am at your side. And I was brought to this island by the waves of the Great Green Sea.'

At this point the man seems to have been overcome [155]once more with terror, and the serpent, therefore, hastened to reassure him.

'Fear not, little one,' he said in his gentle voice; 'fear not. Let not thy face be dismayed. If thou hast come to me it is God who has let thee live, who has brought thee to this phantom isle in which there is naught that is lacking, but it is full of all good things. Behold, thou shalt pass month for month until thou accomplish four months upon this island. And a ship shall come from home, and sailors in it whom thou knowest, and thou shalt go home with them, and shalt die in thine own city.'

'How glad is he,' exclaimed the old mariner as he related his adventures to the prince, 'how glad is he that recounts what he has experienced when the calamity is passed!' The prince, no doubt, replied with a melancholy grunt, and the thread of the story was once more taken up.

There was a particular reason why the serpent should be touched and interested to hear how Providence had saved the Egyptian from death, for he himself had survived a great calamity, and had been saved from an equally terrible fate, as he now proceeded to relate.

'I will tell to thee the like thereof,' he said, 'which happened in this island. I dwelt herein with my brothers, and my children were among them. Seventy-two serpents we were, all told, with my offspring and my brothers; nor have I yet mentioned to thee a little girl brought to me [156]by fortune. A star came down, and all these went up in the flames. And it happened so that I was not together with them when they were consumed; I was not in their midst. I could have died (of grief) for them when I found them as a single pile of corpses.'

It is clear from the story that this great serpent was intended to be pictured as a sad and lonely, but most lovable, character. All alone upon this ghostly isle, the last of his race, one is to imagine him dreaming of the little girl who was taken from him, together with all his family. Although fabulous himself, and half divine, he was yet the victim of the gods, and was made to suffer real sorrows in his unreal existence. Day by day he wandered over his limited domain, twisting his golden body amidst the pumpkins, and rearing himself above the fig-trees; thundering down to the beach to salute the passing dolphins, or sunning himself, a golden blaze, upon the rocks. There remained naught for him to do but to await the cessation of the phantasy of his life; and yet, though his lot was hard, he was ready at once to subordinate his sorrows to those of the shipwrecked sailor before him. No more is said of his distress, but with his next words he seems to have dismissed his own misfortunes, and to have attempted to comfort the Egyptian.

'If thou art brave,' he said, 'and restrainest thy longing, thou shalt press thy children to thy [157]bosom and kiss thy wife, and behold thy house—that is the best of all things. Thou shalt reach home, and shalt dwell there amongst thy brothers.'

'Thereat,' said the mariner, 'I cast me upon my stomach and touched the ground before him, and I said to him: 'I will tell of thy might to the Sovereign, I will cause him to be acquainted with thy greatness. I will let bring to thee perfume and spices, myrrh and sweet-scented woods, and incense of the sanctuaries wherewithal every god is propitiated. I will recount all that has befallen me, and that which I have seen by his might; and they shall praise thee in that city before the magistrates of the entire land. I will slaughter to thee oxen as a burnt-offering, geese will I pluck for thee, and I will let bring to thee vessels laden with all the goodly things of Egypt, as may be (fitly) done to a god who loves men in a distant land, a land unknown to men.'

At these words the serpent opened his golden mouth and fell to laughing. The thought that this little mortal, grovelling before him, could believe himself able to repay the kindnesses received tickled him immensely.

'Hast thou not much incense (here, then)?' he laughed. 'Art not become a lord of frankincense? And I, behold I am prince of Pount,' the land of perfumes, 'and the incense, that is my very own. As for the spices which thou sayest shall be brought, they are the wealth of this [158]island. But it shall happen when thou hast left this place, never shalt thou see this island more, for it shall be changed to waves.'

The teller of the story does not relate in what manner he received this well-merited reproof. The gentle monster, no doubt, was tolerant of his presumptuousness, and soon put him at his ease again. During the whole period of the Egyptian's residence on the island, in fact, the golden serpent seems to have been invariably kind to him. The days passed by like a happy dream, and the spell of the island's enchantment possessed him so that, in after times, the details of the events of every day were lost in the single illusion of the whole adventure.

At last the ship arrived, as it had been foretold, and the sailor watched her passing over the hazy sea towards the mysterious shore. 'I went and got me up into a tall tree,' he said, 'and I recognised those that were in it. And I went to report the matter (to the serpent), and I found that he knew it.'

Very tenderly the great monster addressed him. 'Fare thee well, little one,' he said 'Fare thee well to thy house. Mayest thou see thy children and raise up a good name in thy city. Behold, such are my wishes for thee.'

'Then,' continued the sailor, 'I laid me on my stomach, my arms were bended before him. And he gave me a freight of frankincense, perfume and myrrh, sweet-scented woods and antimony, [159]giraffes' tails, great heaps of incense, elephant tusks, dogs, apes and baboons, and all manner of valuable things. And I loaded them in that ship, and I laid myself on my stomach to make thanksgiving to him. Then he said to me: 'Behold, thou shalt come home in two months, and shalt press thy children to thy bosom, and shalt flourish in their midst; and there thou shalt be buried.'

To appreciate the significance of these last words it is necessary to remember what an important matter it was to an Egyptian that he should be buried in his native city. In our own case the position upon the map of the place where we lay down our discarded bones is generally not of first-rate importance, and the thought of being buried in foreign lands does not frighten us. Whether our body is to be packed away in the necropolis of our city, or shovelled into a hole on the outskirts of Timbuctoo, is not a matter of vital interest. There is a certain sentiment that leads us to desire interment amidst familiar scenes, but it is subordinated with ease to other considerations. To the Egyptian, however, it was a matter of paramount importance. 'What is a greater thing,' says Sinuhe in the tale of his adventures in Asia, 'than that I should be buried in the land in which I was born?' 'Thou shalt not die in a foreign land; Asiatics shall not conduct thee to the tomb,' says the Pharaoh to him; and again, 'It is no [160]little thing that thou shalt be buried without Asiatics conducting thee.'[1] There is a stela now preserved in Stuttgart, in which the deceased man asks those who pass his tomb to say a prayer for his soul; and he adjures them in these words: 'So truly as ye wish that your native gods should praise you, and that ye should be established in your seats, and that ye should hand down your offices to your children: that ye should reach your homes in safety, and recount your travels to your wives;—then say a prayer,' &c.[2]

[2] Zeit. Aeg. Spr., 39 (1901), p. 118.

The serpent was thus giving the castaway a promise which meant more to him than all the other blessings, and it was with a light heart indeed that he ran down to the beach to greet his countrymen. 'I went down to the shore where the ship was,' he continued, 'and I called to the soldiers which were in that ship, and I gave praises upon the shore to the lord of this island, and likewise did they which were in the ship.'

Then he stepped on board, the gangway was drawn up, and, with a great sweep of the oars, the ship passed out on to the open sea. Standing on deck amongst the new cargo, the officers and their rescued friend bowed low to the great serpent who towered above the trees at the water's edge, gleaming in the sunshine. 'Fare thee well, [161]little one,' his deep voice rolled across the water; and again they bowed in obeisance to him. The main-sail was unfurled to the wind, and the vessel scudded bravely across the Great Green Sea; but for some time yet they must have kept their eyes upon the fair shape of the phantom island, as the trees blended into the hills and the hills at last into the haze; and their vision must have been focussed upon that one gleaming point where the golden serpent, alone once more with his memories, watched the ship moving over the fairy seas.

'So sailed we northwards,' said the sailor, 'to the place of the Sovereign, and we reached home in two months, in accordance with all that he had said. And I entered in before the Sovereign, and I brought to him this tribute which I had taken away from within this island. Then gave he thanksgivings for me before the magistrates of the entire land. And I was made a 'Follower,' and was rewarded with the serfs of such an one.'

The old sailor turned to the gloomy prince as he brought his story to an end. 'Look at me,' he exclaimed, 'now that I have reached land, now that I have seen (again in memory) what I have experienced. Hearken thou to me, for behold, to hearken is good for men.'

But the prince only sighed the more deeply, and, with a despairing gesture, replied: 'Be not (so) superior, my friend! Doth one give water to a bird on the eve, when it is to be slain on the [162]morrow?' With these words the manuscript abruptly ends, and we are supposed to leave the prince still disconsolate in his cabin, while his friend, unable to cheer him, returns to his duties on deck.

PART III.

RESEARCHES IN THE TREASURY.

CHAPTER VII.

RECENT EXCAVATIONS IN EGYPT.

There came to the camp of a certain professor, who was engaged in excavating the ruins of an ancient Egyptian city, a young and faultlessly-attired Englishman, whose thirst for dramatic adventure had led him to offer his services as an unpaid assistant digger. This immaculate personage had read in novels and tales many an account of the wonders which the spade of the excavator could reveal, and he firmly believed that it was only necessary to set a 'nigger' to dig a little hole in the ground to open the way to the treasuries of the Pharaohs. Gold, silver, and precious stones gleamed before him, in his imagination, as he hurried along subterranean passages to the vaults of long-dead kings. He expected to slide upon the seat of his very well-made breeches down the staircase of the ruined palace which he had entered by way of the skylight, and to find himself, at the bottom, in the presence of the bejewelled dead. In the intervals between such experiences he was of opinion that a little quiet gazelle shooting would agreeably fill [166]in the swiftly passing hours; and at the end of the season's work he pictured himself returning to the bosom of his family with such a tale to tell that every ear would be opened to him.

On his arrival at the camp he was conducted to the site of his future labours; and his horrified gaze was directed over a large area of mud-pie, knee-deep in which a few bedraggled natives slushed their way downwards. After three weeks' work on this distressing site, the professor announced that he had managed to trace through the mud the outline of the palace walls, once the feature of the city, and that the work here might now be regarded as finished. He was then conducted to a desolate spot in the desert, and until the day on which he fled back to England he was kept to the monotonous task of superintending a gang of natives whose sole business it was to dig a very large hole in the sand, day after day and week after week.

It is, however, sometimes the fortune of the excavator to make a discovery which almost rivals in dramatic interest the tales of his youth. Such as experience fell to the lot of Emil Brugsch Pasha when he was lowered into an ancient tomb and found himself face to face with a score of the Pharaohs of Egypt, each lying in his coffin; or again, when Monsieur de Morgan discovered the great mass of royal jewels in one of the pyramids at Dachour. But such 'finds' can be counted on the fingers, and more often an excavation is [167]a fruitless drudgery. Moreover, the life of the digger is not often a pleasant one.

It will perhaps be of interest to the reader of romances to illustrate the above remarks by the narration of some of my own experiences; but there are only a few interesting and unusual episodes in which I have had the peculiarly good fortune to be an actor. There will probably be some drama to be felt in the account of the more important discoveries (for there certainly is to the antiquarian himself); but it should be pointed out that the interest of these rare finds pales before the description, which many of us have heard, of how the archæologists of a past century discovered the body of Charlemagne clad in his royal robes and seated upon his throne,—which, by the way, is quite untrue. In spite of all that is said to the contrary, truth is seldom stranger than fiction; and the reader who desires to be told of the discovery of buried cities whose streets are paved with gold should take warning in time and return at once to his novels.

If the dawning interest of the reader has now been thoroughly cooled by these words, it may be presumed that it will be utterly annihilated by the following narration of my first fruitless excavation; and thus one will be able to continue the story with the relieved consciousness that nobody is attending.

In the capacity of assistant to Professor Flinders Petrie, I was set, many years ago, to the task of [168]excavating a supposed royal cemetery in the desert behind the ancient city of Abydos, in Upper Egypt. Two mounds were first attacked; and after many weeks of work in digging through the sand, the superstructure of two great tombs was bared. In the case of the first of these several fine passages of good masonry were cleared, and at last the burial-chamber was reached. In the huge sarcophagus which was there found great hopes were entertained that the body and funeral-offerings of the dead prince would be discovered; but when at last the interior was laid bare the solitary article found was a copy of a French newspaper left behind by the last, and equally disgusted, excavator. The second tomb defied the most ardent exploration, and failed to show any traces of a burial. The mystery was at last solved by Professor Petrie, who, with his usual keen perception, soon came to the conclusion that the whole tomb was a dummy, built solely to hide an enormous mass of rock chippings the presence of which had been a puzzle for some time. These masons' chippings were evidently the output from some large cutting in the rock, and it became apparent that there must be a great rock tomb in the neighbourhood. Trial trenches in the vicinity presently revealed the existence of a long wall, which, being followed in either direction, proved to be the boundary of a vast court or enclosure built upon the desert at the foot of a conspicuous cliff. A ramp led up to the [169]entrance; but as it was slightly askew and pointed to the southern end of the enclosure, it was supposed that the rock tomb, which presumably ran into the cliff from somewhere inside this area, was situated at that end. The next few weeks were occupied in the tedious task of probing the sand hereabouts, and at length in clearing it away altogether down to the surface of the underlying rock. Nothing was found, however; and sadly we turned to the exact middle of the court, and began to work slowly to the foot of the cliff. Here, in the very middle of the back wall, a pillared chamber was found, and it seemed certain that the entrance to the tomb would now be discovered.

The best men were placed to dig out this chamber, and the excavator—it was many years ago—went about his work with the weight of fame upon his shoulders and an expression of intense mystery upon his sorely sun-scorched face. How clearly memory recalls the letter home that week, 'We are on the eve of a great discovery'; and how vividly rises the picture of the baking desert sand into which the sweating workmen were slowly digging their way! But our hopes were short-lived, for it very soon became apparent that there was no tomb entrance in this part of the enclosure. There remained the north end of the area, and on to this all the available men were turned. Deeper and deeper they dug their way, until the mounds of sand thrown out formed, [170]as it were, the lip of a great crater. At last, some forty or fifty feet down, the underlying rock was struck, and presently the mouth of a great shaft was exposed leading down into the bowels of the earth. The royal tomb had at last been discovered, and it only remained to effect an entrance. The days were now filled with excitement, and, the thoughts being concentrated on the question of the identity of the royal occupant of the tomb, it was soon fixed in our minds that we were about to enter the burial-place of no less a personage than the great Pharaoh Senusert III. (Sesostris), the same king whose jewels were found at Dachour.

One evening, just after I had left the work, the men came down to the distant camp to say that the last barrier was now reached and that an entrance could be effected at once. In the pale light of the moon, therefore, I hastened back to the desert with a few trusted men. As we walked along, one of these natives very cheerfully remarked that we should all probably get our throats cut, as the brigands of the neighbourhood got wind of the discovery, and were sure to attempt to enter the tomb that night. With this pleasing prospect before us we walked with caution over the silent desert. Reaching the mound of sand which surrounded our excavation, we crept to the top and peeped over into the crater. At once we observed a dim light below us, and almost immediately an agitated but polite [171]voice from the opposite mound called out in Arabic, 'Go away, mister. We have all got guns.' This remark was followed by a shot which whistled past me; and therewith I slid down the hill once more, and heartily wished myself safe in my bed. Our party then spread round the crater, and at a given word we proposed to rush the place. But the enemy was too quick for us, and after the briefest scrimmage, and the of a harmless shot or two, we found ourselves in possession of the tomb, and were able to pretend that we were not a bit frightened.

Then into the dark depths of the shaft we descended, and ascertained that the robbers had not effected an entrance. A long night watch followed, and the next day we had the satisfaction of arresting some of the criminals. The tomb was found to penetrate several hundred feet into the cliff, and at the end of the long and beautifully worked passage the great royal sarcophagus was found—empty! So ended a very strenuous season's work.

If the experiences of a digger in Professor Petrie's camp are to be regarded as typical, they will probably serve to damp the ardour of eager young gentlemen in search of ancient Egyptian treasure. One lives in a bare little hut constructed of mud, and roofed with cornstalks or corrugated iron; and if by chance there happened to be a rain storm, as there was when I was a member of the community, one may watch the [172]frail building gently subside in a liquid stream on to one's bed and books. For seven days in the week one's work continues, and it is only to the real enthusiast that that work is not monotonous and tiresome.

A few years later it fell to my lot to excavate for the Government the funeral temple of Thutmosis III. at Thebes, and a fairly large sum was spent upon the undertaking. Although the site was most promising in appearances, a couple of months' work brought to light hardly a single object of importance, whereas exactly similar sites in the same neighbourhood had produced inscriptions of the greatest value. Two years ago I assisted at an excavation upon a site of my own selection, the net result of which, after six weeks' work, was one mummified cat! To sit over the work day after day, as did the unfortunate promoter of this particular enterprise, with the flies buzzing around his face and the sun blazing down upon him from a relentless sky, was hardly a pleasurable task; and to watch the clouds of dust go up from the tip-heap, where tons of unprofitable rubbish rolled down the hillside all day long, was an occupation for the damned. Yet that is excavating as it is usually found to be.

Now let us consider the other side of the story. In the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings at Thebes excavations have been conducted for some years by Mr Theodore M. Davis, of Newport, [173]Rhode Island, by special arrangement with the Department of Antiquities of the Egyptian Government; and as an official of that Department I have had the privilege of being present at all the recent discoveries. The finding of the tomb of Yuaa and Tuau a few years ago was one of the most interesting archæological events of recent times, and one which came somewhere near to the standard of romance set by the novelists. Yuaa and Tuau were the parents of Queen Tiy, the discovery of whose tomb is recorded in the next chapter. When the entrance of their tomb was cleared, a flight of steps was exposed, leading down to a passage blocked by a wall of loose stones. In the top right-hand corner a small hole, large enough to admit a man, had been made in ancient times, and through this we could look down into a dark passage. As it was too late in the day to enter at once, we postponed that exciting experience until the morrow, and some police were sent for to guard the entrance during the night. I had slept the previous night over the mouth, and there was now no possibility of leaving the place for several more nights, so a rough camp was formed on the spot.

Here I settled myself down for the long watch, and speculated on the events of the next morning, when Mr Davis and one or two well-known Egyptologists were to come to the valley to open the sepulchre. Presently, in the silent darkness, a slight noise was heard on the hillside, and immediately [174]the challenge of the sentry rang out. This was answered by a distant call, and after some moments of alertness on our part we observed two figures approaching us. These, to my surprise, proved to be a well-known American artist and his wife,[1] who had obviously come on the expectation that trouble was ahead; but though in this they were certainly destined to suffer disappointment, still, out of respect for the absolute unconcern of both visitors, it may be mentioned that the mouth of a lonely tomb already said by native rumour to contain incalculable wealth is not perhaps the safest place in the world. Here, then, on a level patch of rock we three lay down and slept fitfully until the dawn. Soon after breakfast the wall at the mouth of the tomb was pulled down, and the party passed into the low passage which sloped down to the burial chamber. At the bottom of this passage there was a second wall blocking the way; but when a few layers had been taken off the top we were able to climb, one by one, into the chamber.

Imagine entering a town house which had been closed for the summer: imagine the stuffy room, the stiff, silent appearance of the furniture, the feeling that some ghostly occupants of the vacant chairs have just been disturbed, the desire to throw open the windows to let life into room once more. That was perhaps the first sensation as we stood, really dumfounded, and [175]stared around at the relics of the life of over three thousand years ago, all of which were as new almost as when they graced the palace of Prince Yuaa. Three arm-chairs were perhaps the first objects to attract the attention: beautiful carved wooden chairs, decorated with gold. Belonging to one of these was a pillow made of down and covered with linen. It was so perfectly preserved that one might have sat upon it or tossed it from this chair to that without doing it injury. Here were fine alabaster vases, and in one of these we were startled to find a liquid, like honey or syrup, still unsolidified by time. Boxes of exquisite workmanship stood in various parts of the room, some resting on delicately wrought legs. Now the eye was directed to a wicker trunk fitted with trays and partitions, and ventilated with little apertures, since the scents were doubtless strong. Two most comfortable beds were to be observed, fitted with springy string mattresses and decorated with charming designs in gold. There in the far corner, placed upon the top of a number of large white jars, stood the light chariot which Yuaa had owned in his lifetime. In all directions stood objects gleaming with gold undulled by a speck of dust, and one looked from one article to another with the feeling that the entire human conception of Time was wrong. These were the things of yesterday, of a year or so ago. Why, here were meats prepared for the feasts in the Underworld; [176]here were Yuaa's favourite joints, each neatly placed in a wooden box as though for a journey. Here was his staff, and here were his sandals,—a new pair and an old. In another corner there stood the magical figures by the power of which the prince was to make his way through Hades. The words of the mystical 'Chapter of the Flame' and of the 'Chapter of the Magical Figure of the North Wall' were inscribed upon them; and upon a great roll of papyrus twenty-two yards in length other efficacious prayers were written.

But though the eyes passed from object to object, they ever returned to the two lidless gilded coffins in which the owners of this room of the dead lay as though peacefully sleeping. First above Yuaa and then above his wife the electric lamps were held, and as one looked down into their quiet faces there was almost the feeling that they would presently open their eyes and blink at the light. The stern features of the old man commanded one's attention, again and again our gaze was turned from this mass of wealth to this sleeping figure in whose honour it had been placed here.

At last we returned to the surface to allow the thoughts opportunity to collect themselves and the pulses time to quiet down, for, even to the most unemotional, a discovery of this kind, bringing one into the very presence of the past, has really an unsteadying effect. Then once more we descended, and made the preliminary arrangements [177]for the cataloguing of the antiquities. It was now that the real work began, and, once the excitement was past, there was a monotony of labour to be faced which put a very considerable strain on the powers of all concerned. The hot days when one sweated over the heavy packing-cases, and the bitterly cold nights when one lay at the mouth of the tomb under the stars, dragged on for many a week; and when at last the long train of boxes was carried down to the Nile en route for the Cairo Museum, it was with a sigh of relief that the official returned to his regular work.

This, of course, was a very exceptional discovery. Mr Davis has made other great finds, but to me they have not equalled in dramatic interest the discovery just recorded. Even in this royal valley, however, there is much drudgery to be faced, and for a large part of the season's work it is the excavator's business to turn over endless masses of rock chippings, and to dig huge holes which have no interest for the patient digger. Sometimes the mouth of a tomb is bared, and is entered with the profoundest hopes, which are at once dashed by the sudden abrupt ending of the cutting a few yards from the surface. At other times a tomb-chamber is reached and is found to be absolutely empty.

At another part of Thebes the well-known Egyptologist, Professor Schiaparelli, had excavated for a number of years without finding anything of much importance, when suddenly one fine [178]day he struck the mouth of a large tomb which was evidently intact. I was at once informed of the discovery, and proceeded to the spot as quickly as possible. The mouth of the tomb was approached down a flight of steep, rough steps, still half-choked with débris. At the bottom of this the entrance of a passage running into the hillside was blocked by a wall of rough stones. After photographing and removing this, we found ourselves in a long, low tunnel, blocked by a second wall a few yards ahead. Both these walls were intact, and we realised that we were about to see what probably no living man had ever seen before: the absolutely intact remains of a rich Theban of the Imperial Age—i.e., about 1200 or 1300 B.C. When this second wall was taken down we passed into a carefully-cut passage high enough to permit of one standing upright.

At the end of this passage a plain wooden door barred our progress. The wood retained the light colour of fresh deal, and looked for all the world as though it had been set up but yesterday. A heavy wooden lock, such as is used at the present day, held the door fast. A neat bronze handle on the side of the door was connected by a spring to a wooden knob set in the masonry door-post; and this spring was carefully sealed with a small dab of stamped clay. The whole contrivance seemed so modern that Professor Schiaparelli called to his servant for the key, who quite seriously replied, 'I don't know where it is, sir.' [179]He then thumped the door with his hand to see whether it would be likely to give; and, as the echoes reverberated through the tomb, one felt that the mummy, in the darkness beyond, might well think that his resurrection call had come. One almost expected him to rise, like the dead knights of Kildare in the Irish legend, and to ask, 'Is it time?' for the three thousand years which his religion had told him was the duration of his life in the tomb was already long past.

Meanwhile we turned our attention to the objects which stood in the passage, having been placed there at the time of the funeral, owing to the lack of room in the burial-chamber. Here a vase, rising upon a delicately shaped stand, attracted the eye by its beauty of form; and here a bedstead caused us to exclaim at its modern appearance. A palm-leaf fan, used by the ancient Egyptians to keep the flies off their wines and unguents, stood near a now empty jar; and near by a basket of dried-up fruit was to be seen. This dried fruit gave the impression that the tomb was perhaps a few months old, but there was nothing else to be seen which suggested that the objects were even as much as a year old. It was almost impossible to believe, and quite impossible to realise, that we were standing where no man had stood for well over three thousand years; and that we were actually breathing the air which had remained sealed in the passage since the ancient priests had closed the entrance thirteen hundred years before Christ.

[180]Before we could proceed farther, many flashlight photographs had to be taken, and drawings made of the doorway; and after this a panel of the woodwork had to be removed with a fret-saw in order that the lock and seal might not be damaged. At last, however, this was accomplished, and the way into the tomb-chamber was open. Stepping through the frame of the door, we found ourselves in an unencumbered portion of the floor, while around us in all directions stood the funeral furniture, and on our left the coffins of the deceased noble and his wife loomed large. Everything looked new and undecayed, and even the order in which the objects were arranged suggested a tidying-up done that very morning. The gravel on the floor was neatly smoothed, and not a speck of dust was anywhere to be observed. Over the large outer coffin a pall of fine linen was laid, not rotting and falling to pieces like the cloth of mediæval times we see in our museums, but soft and strong like the sheets of our beds. In the clear space before the coffin stood a wooden pedestal in the form of a miniature lotus column. On the top of this, resting on three wooden prongs, was a small copper dish, in which were the ashes of incense, and the little stick used for stirring them. One asked oneself in bewilderment whether the ashes here, seemingly not cold, had truly ceased to glow at a time when Rome and Greece were undreamt of, when Assyria did not exist, [181]and when the Exodus of the Children of Israel was yet unaccomplished.

On low tables round cakes of bread were laid out, not cracked and shrivelled, but smooth and brown, with a kind of white-of-egg glaze upon them. Onions and fruit were also spread out; and the fruit of the dôm palm was to be seen in plenty. In various parts of the chamber there were numerous bronze vessels of different shapes, intended for the holding of milk and other drinkables.

Well supplied with food and drink, the senses of the dead man were soothed by a profusion of flowers, which lay withered but not decayed beside the coffin, and which at the time of the funeral must have filled the chamber with their sweetness. Near the doorway stood an upright wooden chest closed with a lid. Opening this, we found it to contain the great ceremonial wig of the deceased man, which was suspended from a rail passing across the top of the chest, and hung free of the sides and bottom. The black hair was plaited into hundreds of little tails, but in size the wig was not unlike those of the early eighteenth century in Europe. Chairs, beds, and other pieces of furniture were arranged around the room, and at one side there were a number of small chests and boxes piled up against the wall. We opened one or two of these, and found them to contain delicate little vases of glass, stone, and metal, wrapped round with rags to prevent them breaking. These, [182]like everything else in the tomb, were new and fresh, and showed no trace of the passing of the years.

The coffins, of course, were hidden by the great casing in which each rested, and which itself was partly hidden by the linen pall. Nothing could be touched for many days, until photographs had been taken and records made; and we therefore returned through the long passage to the light of the day.

There must have been a large number of intact tombs to be found when first the modern interest in Egyptian antiquities developed; but the market thus created had to be supplied, and gangs of illicit diggers made short work of the most accessible tombs. This illegal excavation, of course, continues to some extent at the present day, in spite of all precautions, but the results are becoming less and less proportionate to the labour expended and risk taken. A native likes best to do a little quiet digging in his own back yard and to admit nobody else into the business. To illustrate this, I may mention a tragedy which was brought to my notice a few years ago. A certain native discovered the entrance of a tomb in the floor of his stable, and at once proceeded to worm his way down the tunnel. That was the end of the native. His wife, finding that he had not returned two hours or so later, went down the newly found tunnel after him. That was the end of her also. In turn, three other members of the [183]family went down into the darkness; and that was the end of them. A native official was then called, and, lighting his way with a candle, penetrated down the winding passage. The air was so foul that he was soon obliged to retreat, but he stated that he was just able to see in the distance ahead the bodies of the unfortunate peasants, all of whom had been overcome by what he quaintly described as 'the evil lighting and bad climate.' Various attempts at the rescue of the bodies having failed, we gave orders that this tomb should be regarded as their sepulchre, and that its mouth should be sealed up. According to the natives, there was evidently a vast hoard of wealth stored at the bottom of this tomb, and the would-be robbers had met their death at the hands of the demon in charge of it, who had seized each man by the throat as he came down the tunnel and had strangled him.

The Egyptian peasants have a very strong belief in the power of such creatures of the spirit world. A native who was attempting recently to discover hidden treasure in a certain part of the desert, sacrificed a lamb each night above the spot where he believed the treasure to lie, in order to propitiate the djin who guarded it. On the other hand, however, they have no superstition as regards the sanctity of the ancient dead, and they do not hesitate on that ground to rifle the tombs. Thousands of graves have been desecrated by these seekers after treasure, and it is very largely [184]the result of this that scientific excavation is often so fruitless nowadays. When an excavator states that he has discovered a tomb, one takes it for granted that he means a plundered tomb, unless he definitely says that it was intact, in which case one calls him a lucky fellow and regards him with green envy.

And thus we come back to my remarks at the beginning of this chapter, that there is a painful disillusionment awaiting the man who comes to dig in Egypt in the hope of finding the golden cities of the Pharaohs or the bejewelled bodies of their dead. Of the latter there are but a few left to be found. The discovery of one of them forms the subject of the next chapter.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE TOMB OF TIY AND AKHNATON.[1]

[1] A few paragraphs in this chapter also appear in my 'Life and Times of Akhnaton, Pharaoh of Egypt.' (Wm. Blackwood & Sons, 1910.)

In January 1907 the excavations in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings at Thebes, which are being conducted each year by Mr Davis, brought to light the entrance of a tomb which, by its style, appeared to be that of a royal personage of the XVIIIth Dynasty. The Valley lies behind the cliffs which form the western boundary of Thebes, and is approached by a long winding road running between the rocks and rugged hills of the Lybian desert. Here the Pharaohs of the XVIIIth to the XXth Dynasties were buried in large sepulchres cut into the sides of the hills; and the present excavations have for their object the removal of the débris which has collected at the foot of these hills, in order that the tombs hidden beneath may be revealed. About sixty tombs are now open, some of which were already known to Greek and [186]Roman travellers; and there are probably not more than two or three still to be discovered.

When this new tomb-entrance was uncovered I was at once notified, and proceeded with all despatch to the Valley. It was not long before we were able to enter the tomb. A rough stairway led down into the hillside, bringing us to the mouth of a passage which was entirely blocked by a wall of built stones. On removing this wall we found ourselves in a small passage, descending at a sharp incline to a chamber which could be seen a few yards farther on. Instead of this passage being free from débris, however, as we had expected on finding the entrance-wall intact, it was partly filled with fallen stones which seemed to be the ruins of an earlier entrance-wall. On top of this heap of stones lay one of the sides of a large funeral shrine, almost entirely blocking the passage. This shrine, as we later saw, was in the form of a great box-like sarcophagus, made of cedar-wood covered with gold, and it had been intended as an outer covering for the coffin of the deceased person. It was, however, not put together: three sides of it were leaning against the walls of the burial-chamber, and the fourth was here in the passage. Either it was never built up, or else it was in process of being taken out of the tomb again when the work was abandoned.

To pass this portion of the shrine which lay in the passage without doing it damage was no easy matter. We could not venture to move it, as the [187]wood was rotten; and indeed, for over a year it remained in its original position. We therefore made a bridge of planks within a few inches of the low roof, and on this we wriggled ourselves across into the unencumbered passage beyond. In the funeral-chamber, besides the other portions of the shrine, we found at one corner a splendid coffin, in the usual form of a recumbent figure, inlaid in a dazzling manner with rare stones and coloured glass. The coffin had originally lain upon a wooden bier, in the form of a lion-legged couch; but this had collapsed and the mummy had fallen to the ground, the lid of the coffin being partly thrown off by the fall, thus exposing the head and feet of the body, from which the bandages had decayed and fallen off. In the powerful glare of the electric light which we carried, the bare skull, with a golden vulture upon it, could be seen protruding from the remains of the linen bandages and from the sheets of flexible gold-foil in which, as we afterwards found, the whole body was wrapped. The inscription on the coffin, the letters of which were made of rare stones, gave the titles of Akhnaton, 'the beautiful child of the Sun'; but turning to the shrine we found other inscriptions stating that King Akhnaton had made it for his mother, Queen Tiy, and thus no immediate reply could be given to those at the mouth of the tomb who called to us to know which of the Pharaoh's of Egypt had been found.

In a recess in the wall above the body there [188]stood four alabaster 'canopy' jars, each with a lid exquisitely sculptured in the form of a human head. In another corner there was a box containing many little toilet vases and utensils of porcelain. A few alabaster vases and other objects were lying in various parts of the chamber, arranged in some sort of rough order.

Nothing, of course, could yet be touched, and for several days, during the lengthy process of photographing and recording the contents of the tomb in situ, no further information could be obtained as to the identity of the owner of the tomb. The shrine was certainly made for Queen Tiy, and so too were the toilet utensils, judging by an inscription upon one of them which gave the names of Tiy and her husband, King Amenhotep III., the parents of Akhnaton. It was, therefore, not a surprise when a passing doctor declared the much broken bones to be those of a woman—that is to say, those of Queen Tiy. For reasons which will presently become apparent, it had been difficult to believe that Akhnaton could have been buried in this Valley, and one was very ready to suppose that the coffin bearing his name had but been given by him to his mother.

The important discovery was now announced, and considerable interest and excitement. At the end of the winter the various archæologists departed to their several countries, and it fell to me to despatch the antiquities to the Cairo Museum, and to send the bones, soaked in wax to [189]prevent their breakage, to Dr Elliot Smith, to be examined by that eminent authority. It may be imagined that my surprise was considerable when I received a letter from him reading—'Are you sure that the bones you sent me are those which were found in the tomb? Instead of the bones of an old woman, you have sent me those of a young man. Surely there is some mistake.'

There was, however, no mistake. Dr Elliot Smith later informed me that the bones were those of a young man of about twenty-eight years of age, and at first this description did not seem to tally with that of Akhnaton, who was always thought to have been a man of middle age. But there is now no possibility of doubt that the coffin and mummy were those of this extraordinary Pharaoh, although the tomb and funeral furniture belonged to Queen Tiy. Dr Elliot Smith's decision was, of course, somewhat disconcerting to those who had written of the mortal remains of the great Queen; but it is difficult to speak of Tiy without also referring to her famous son Akhnaton, and in these articles he had received full mention.

About the year B.C. 1500 the throne of Egypt fell to the young brother of Queen Hatshepsut, Thutmosis III., and under his vigorous rule the country rose to a height of power never again equalled. Amenhotep II. succeeded to an empire which extended from the Sudan to the Euphrates and to the Greek Islands; and when he died he [190]left these great possessions almost intact to his son, Thutmosis IV., the grandfather of Akhnaton. It is important to notice the chronology of this period. The mummy of Thutmosis IV. has been shown by Dr Elliot Smith to be that of a man of not more than twenty-six years of age; but we know that his son Amenhotep III. was old enough to hunt lions at about the time of his father's death, and that he was already married to Queen Tiy a year later. Thus one must suppose that Thutmosis IV. was a father at the age of thirteen or fourteen, and that Amenhotep III. was married to Tiy at about the same age. The wife of Thutmosis IV. was probably a Syrian princess, and it must have been during her regency that Amenhotep III. married Tiy, who was not of royal blood. Amenhotep and Tiy introduced into Egypt the luxuries of Asia; and during their brilliant reign the Nile Valley was more open to Syrian influence than it had ever been before. The language of Babylon was perhaps the Court tongue, and the correspondence was written in cuneiform instead of in the hieratic script of Egypt. Amenhotep III., as has been said, was probably partly Asiatic; and there is, perhaps, some reason to suppose that Yuaa, the father of Queen Tiy, was also a Syrian. One has, therefore, to picture the Egyptian Court at this time as being saturated with foreign ideas, which clashed with those of the orthodox Egyptians.

Queen Tiy bore several children to the King; [191]but it was not until they had reigned over twenty years that a son and heir was born, whom they named Amenhotep, that being changed later to Akhnaton. It is probable that he first saw the light in the royal palace at Thebes, which was situated on the edge of the desert at the foot of the western hills. It was an extensive and roomy structure, lightly built and gaily decorated. The ceiling and pavements of its halls were fantastically painted with scenes of animal life: wild cattle ran through reedy swamps beneath one's feet, and many-coloured fish swam in the water; while overhead flights of pigeons, white against a blue sky, passed across the hall, and the wild duck hastened towards the open casements. Through curtained doorways one might obtain glimpses of a garden planted with flowers foreign to Egypt; and on the east of the palace the King had made a great pleasure-lake for the Queen, surrounded by the trees of Asia. Here, floating in her golden barge, which was named Aton-gleams, the Queen might look westwards over the tree-tops to the splendid Theban hills towering above the palace, and eastwards to the green valley of the Nile and the three great limestone hills beyond. Amenhotep III. has been rightly called the 'Magnificent,' and one may well believe that his son Akhnaton was born to the sound of music and to the clink of golden wine-cups. Fragments of countless thousands of wine-jars and blue fayence drinking-vessels have been found in the ruins of [192]the palace; and contemporary objects and paintings show us some of the exquisitely wrought bowls of gold and silver which must have graced the royal tables, and the charming toilet utensils which were to be found in the sleeping apartments.

While the luxurious Court rejoiced at the birth of this Egypto-Asiatic prince, one feels that the ancient priesthood of Amon-Ra must have stood aloof, and must have looked askance at the baby who was destined one day to be their master. This priesthood was perhaps the proudest and most conservative community which conservative Egypt ever produced. It demanded implicit obedience to its stiff and ancient conventions, and it refused to recognise the growing tendency towards religious speculation. One of the great gods of Syria was Aton, the god of the sun; and his recognition at the Theban Court was a source of constant irritation to the ministers of Amon-Ra.

Probably they would have taken stronger measures to resist this foreign god had it not been for the fact that Atum of Heliopolis, an ancient god of Egypt, was on the one hand closely akin to Ra, the associated deity with Amon, and on the other hand to Aton of Syria. Thus Aton might be regarded merely as another name for Ra or Amon-Ra; but the danger to the old régime lay in the fact that with the worship of Aton there went a certain amount of freethought. The sun and its warm rays were the heritage of all mankind; [193]and the speculative mind of the Asiatic, always in advance of the less imaginative Egyptian, had not failed to collect to the Aton-worship a number of semi-philosophical teachings far broader than the strict doctrines of Amon-Ra could tolerate.

There is much reason to suppose that Queen Tiy was the prime factor in the new movement. It may, perhaps, be worth noting that her father was a priest of the Egyptian god Min, who corresponded to the North Syrian Aton in his capacity as a god of vegetation; and she may have imbibed something of the broader doctrines from him. It is the barge upon her pleasure-lake which is called Aton-gleams, and it is her private artist who is responsible for one of the first examples of the new style of art which begins to appear at this period. Egyptian art was bound down by conventions jealously guarded by the priesthood, and the slight tendency to break away from these, which now becomes apparent, is another sign of the broadening of thought under the reign of Amenhotep III. and Tiy.

King Amenhotep III. does not seem to have been a man of strong character, and in the changes which took place at this time he does not appear to have taken so very large a part. He always showed the most profound respect for, and devotion to, his Queen; and one is inclined to regard him as a tool in her hands. According to some accounts he reigned only thirty years, but there are contemporary monuments dated in his thirty-sixth [194]year, and it seems probable that for the last few years he was reigning only in name, and that in reality his ministers, under the regency of Queen Tiy, governed the land. Amenhotep III. was perhaps during his last years insane or stricken with some paralytic disease, for we read of an Asiatic monarch sending a miracle-working image to Egypt, apparently for the purpose of attempting to cure him. It must have been during these six years of absolute power, while Akhnaton was a boy, that the Queen pushed forward her reforms and encouraged the breaking down of the old traditions, especially those relating to the worship of Amon-Ra.

Amenhotep III. died in about the forty-ninth year of his age, after a total reign of thirty-six years; and Akhnaton, who still bore the name of Amenhotep, ascended the throne. One must picture him now as an enthusiastic boy, filled with the new thought of the age, and burning to assert the broad doctrines which he had learned from his mother and her friends, in defiance of the priests of Amon-Ra. He was already married to a Syrian named Nefertiti, and certainly before he was fifteen years of age he was the father of two daughters.

The new Pharaoh's first move, under the guidance of Tiy, was to proclaim Aton the only true god, and to name himself high priest of that deity. He then began to build a temple dedicated to Aton at Karnak; but it must have been distasteful [195]to observe how overshadowed and dwarfed was this new temple by the mighty buildings in honour of the older gods which stood there. Moreover, there must have been very serious opposition to the new religion in Thebes, where Amon had ruled for so many centuries unchallenged. In whatever direction he looked he was confronted with some evidence of the worship of Amon-Ra: he might proclaim Aton to be the only god, but Amon and a hundred other deities stared down at him from every temple wall. He and his advisers, therefore, decided to abandon Thebes altogether and to found a new capital elsewhere.

Akhnaton selected a site for the new city on the west bank of the river, at a point now named El Amarna, about 160 miles above Cairo. Here the hills recede from the river, forming a bay about three miles deep and five long; and in this bay the young Pharaoh decided to build his capital, which was named 'Horizon of Aton.' With feverish speed the new buildings were erected. A palace even more beautiful than that of his parents at Thebes was prepared for him; a splendid temple dedicated to Aton was set up amidst a garden of rare trees and brilliant flowers; villas for his nobles were erected, and streets were laid out. Queen Tiy, who seems to have continued to live at Thebes, often came down to El Amarna to visit her son; but it seems to have been at his own wish rather than at her advice that he now took the important step [196]which set the seal of his religion upon his life.

Around the bay of El Amarna, on the cliffs which shut it off so securely, the King caused landmarks to be made at intervals, and on these he inscribed an oath which some have interpreted to mean that he would never again leave his new city. He would remain, like the Pope in the Vatican, for the rest of his days within the limits of this bay; and, rather than be distracted by the cares of state and the worries of empire, he would shut himself up with his god and would devote his life to his religion. He was but a youth still, and, to his inexperienced mind, this oath seemed nothing; nor in his brief life does it seem that he broke it, though at times he must have longed to visit his domains.

The religion which this boy, who now called himself Akhnaton, 'The Glory of Aton,' taught was by no means the simple worship of the sun. It was, without question, the most enlightened religion which the world at that time had ever known. The young priest-king called upon mankind to worship the unknown power which is behind the sun, that power of which the brilliant sun was the visible symbol, and which might be discerned in the fertilising warmth of the sun's rays. Aton was originally the actual sun's disk; but Akhnaton called his god 'Heat which is in Aton,' and thus drew the eyes of his followers towards a Force far more intangible and distant [197]than the dazzling orb to which they bowed down. Akhnaton's god was the force which created the sun, the something which penetrated to this earth in the sun's heat and caused the vegetation to grow.

Amon-Ra and the gods of Egypt were for the most part but deified mortals, endued with monstrous, though limited, power, and still having around them traditions of exaggerated human deeds. Others had their origin in natural phenomena—the wind, the Nile, the sky, and so on. All were terrific, revengeful, and able to be moved by human emotions. But Akhnaton's god was the intangible and yet ever-present Father of mankind, made manifest in sunshine. The youthful High Priest called upon his followers to search for their god not in the confusion of battle or behind the smoke of human sacrifices, but amidst the flowers and trees, amidst the wild duck and the fishes. He preached an enlightened nature-study; he was perhaps the first apostle of the Simple Life. He strove to break down conventional religion, and ceaselessly urged his people to worship in Truth, simply, without an excess of ceremonial. While the elder gods had been manifest in natural convulsions and in the more awful incidents of life, Akhnaton's kindly god could be seen in the chick which broke out of its egg, in the wind which filled the sails of the ships, in the fish which leapt from the water. Aton was the joy which [198]caused the young sheep 'to dance upon their feet,' and the birds to 'flutter in their marshes.' He was the god of the simple pleasures of life, and Truth was the watchword of his followers.

It may be understood how the boy longed for truth in all things when one remembers the thousand exaggerated conventions of Egyptian life at this time. Court etiquette had developed to a degree which rendered life to the Pharaoh an endless round of unnatural poses of mind and body. In the preaching of his doctrine of truth and simplicity, Akhnaton did not fail to call upon his subjects to regard their Pharaoh not as a god but as a man. It was usual for the Pharaoh to keep aloof from his people: Akhnaton was to be found in their midst. The Court demanded that their lord should drive in solitary state through the city: Akhnaton sat in his chariot with his wife and children, and allowed the artist to represent him joking with his little daughter, who has mischievously poked the horses with a stick. In representing the Pharaoh, the artist was expected to draw him in some conventional attitude of dignity: Akhnaton insisted upon being shown in all manner of natural attitudes—now leaning languidly upon a staff, now nursing his children, now caressing his wife.

As has been said, one of the first artists to break away from the ancient conventions was in the service of Queen Tiy, and was probably under her influence. But in the radical change in the art [199]which took place, Akhnaton is definitely stated to have been the leader, and the new school acknowledge that they were taught by the King. The new art is extraordinary, and it must be owned that its merit lies rather in its originality than in its beauty. An attempt is made to do away with the prescribed attitudes and the strict proportions, and to portray any one individual with his natural defects. Some of the sculptured heads, however, which have come down to us, and notably the four 'canopic' heads found in this tomb, are of wonderful beauty, and have no trace of traditional mannerisms, though they are highly idealised. The King's desire for light-heartedness led him to encourage the use of bright colours and gay decorations in the palace. Some of the ceiling and pavement paintings are of great beauty, while the walls and pillars inlaid with coloured stones must have given a brilliancy to the halls unequalled in Egypt at any previous time.

The group of nobles who formed the King's Court had all sacrificed much in coming to the new capital. Their estates around Thebes had been left, their houses abandoned, and the tombs which were in process of being made for them in the Theban hills had been rendered useless. The King, therefore, showered favours upon them, and at his expense built their houses and constructed sepulchres for them. It is on the walls of these tombs that one obtains the main portion of one's information regarding the teachings of this wonderful youth, who was now [200]growing into manhood. Here are inscribed those beautiful hymns to Aton which rank so high in ancient literature. It is unfortunate that space does not allow more than a few extracts from the hymns to be quoted here; but something of their beauty may be realised from these. (Professor Breasted's translation.)

'Thy dawning is beautiful in the horizon of heaven,
O living Aton, Beginning of life!
When thou risest in the eastern horizon of heaven
Thou fillest every land with thy beauty.'
'Though thou art afar, thy rays are on earth;
Though thou art on high, thy footprints are the day.'
'When thou settest in the western horizon of heaven
The world is in darkness like the dead.
Men sleep in their chambers, their heads are wrapt up.
Every lion cometh forth from his den.
The serpents, they sting.
Darkness reigns, the world is in silence:
He that made them has gone to rest in his horizon.'
'Bright is the earth when thou risest in the horizon ...
When thou sendest forth thy rays
The two lands of Egypt are in daily festivity,
Awake and standing upon their feet,
For thou hast raised them up.
Their limbs bathed, they take their clothing,
Their arms uplifted in adoration to thy dawning.
Then in all the world they do their work.'
'All cattle rest upon their herbage, all trees and plants flourish.
The birds flutter in their marshes, their wings uplifted in adoration to thee.
All the sheep dance upon their feet,
All winged things fly; they live when thou hast shone upon them.'
[201]
'The barques sail up-stream and down-stream alike,...
The fish in the river leap up before thee,
And thy rays are in the midst of the great sea.'
'Thou art he who createst the man-child in woman ...
Who giveth life to the son in the body of his mother;
Who soothest him that he may not weep,
A nurse even in the womb.'
'When the chick crieth in the egg-shell,
Thou givest him breath therein to preserve him alive ...
He cometh forth from the egg, to chirp with all his might.
He runneth about upon his two feet.'
'How manifold are all thy works!
They are hidden from before us.'

There are several verses of this hymn which are almost identical with Psalm civ., and those who study it closely will be forced to one of two conclusions: either that Psalm civ. is derived from this hymn of the young Pharaoh, or that both are derived from some early Syrian hymn to the sun. Akhnaton may have only adapted this early psalm to local conditions; though, on the other hand, a man capable of bringing to pass so great a religious revolution in Egypt may well be credited with the authorship of this splendid song. There is no evidence to show that it was written before the King had reached manhood.

Queen Tiy probably did not now take any further part in a movement which had got so far out of her hands. She was now nearly sixty years old, and this, to one who had been a mother so early in life, was a considerable age. It seems that she sometimes paid visits to her son at El [202]Amarna, but her interest lay in Thebes, where she had once held so brilliant a Court. When at last she died, therefore, it is not surprising to find that she was buried in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings. The tomb which has been described above is most probably her original sepulchre, and here her body was placed in the golden shrine made for her by Akhnaton, surrounded by the usual funeral furniture. She thus lay no more than a stone's throw from her parents, whose tomb was discovered two years ago, and which was of very similar size and shape.

After her death, although preaching this gentle creed of love and simple truth, Akhnaton waged a bitter and stern war against the priesthoods of the old gods. It may be that the priesthoods of Amon had again attempted to overthrow the new doctrines, or had in some manner called down the particular wrath of the Pharaoh. He issued an order that the name of Amon was to be erased and obliterated wherever it was found, and his agents proceeded to hack it out on all the temple walls. The names also of other gods were erased; and it is noticeable in this tomb that the word mut, meaning 'mother,' was carefully spelt in hieroglyphs which would have no similarity to those used in the word Mut, the goddess-consort of Amon. The name of Amenhotep III., his own father, did not escape the King's wrath, and the first syllables were everywhere erased.

As the years went by Akhnaton seems to have [203]given himself more and more completely to his new religion. He had now so trained one of his nobles, named Merira, in the teachings of Aton that he was able to hand over to him the high priesthood of that god, and to turn his attention to the many other duties which he had imposed upon himself. In rewarding Merira, the King is related to have said, 'Hang gold at his neck before and behind, and gold on his legs, because of his hearing the teaching of Pharaoh concerning every saying in these beautiful places.' Another official whom Akhnaton greatly advanced says: 'My lord advanced me because I have carried out his teaching, and I hear his word without ceasing.' The King's doctrines were thus beginning to take hold; but one feels, nevertheless, that the nobles followed their King rather for the sake of their material gains than for the spiritual comforts of the Aton-worship. There is reason to suppose that at least one of these nobles was degraded and banished from the city.

But while Akhnaton was preaching peace and goodwill amidst the flowers of the temple of Aton, his generals in Asia Minor were vainly struggling to hold together the great empire created by Thutmosis III. Akhnaton had caused a temple of Aton to be erected at one point in Syria at least, but in other respects he took little or no interest in the welfare of his foreign dominions. War was not tolerated in his doctrine: it was a sin to take away life which the good Father had [204]given. One pictures the hardened soldiers of the empire striving desperately to hold the nations of Asia faithful to the Pharaoh whom they never saw. The small garrisons were scattered far and wide over Syria, and constantly they sent messengers to the Pharaoh asking at least for some sign that he held them in mind.

There is no more pathetic page of ancient history than that which tells of the fall of the Egyptian Empire. The Amorites, advancing along the sea-coast, took city after city from the Egyptians almost without a struggle. The chiefs of Tunip wrote an appeal for help to the King: 'To the King of Egypt, my lord,—The inhabitants of Tunip, thy servant.' The plight of the city is described and reinforcements are asked for, 'And now,' it continues, 'Tunip thy city weeps, and her tears are flowing, and there is no help for us. For twenty years we have been sending to our lord the King, the King of Egypt, but there has not come a word to us, no, not one.' The messengers of the beleaguered city must have found the King absorbed in his religion, and must have seen only priests of the sun where they had hoped to find the soldiers of former days. The Egyptian governor of Jerusalem, attacked by Aramæans, writes to the Pharaoh, saying: 'Let the King take care of his land, and ... let send troops.... For if no troops come in this year, the whole territory of my lord the King will perish.' To this letter is added a note to the [205]King's secretary, which reads, 'Bring these words plainly before my lord the King: the whole land of my lord the King is going to ruin.'

So city after city fell, and the empire, won at such cost, was gradually lost to the Egyptians. It is probable that Akhnaton had not realised how serious was the situation in Asia Minor. A few of the chieftains who were not actually in arms against him had written to him every now and then assuring him that all was well in his dominions; and, strange to relate, the tribute of many of the cities had been regularly paid. The Asiatic princes, in fact, had completely fooled the Pharaoh, and had led him to believe that the nations were loyal while they themselves prepared for rebellion. Akhnaton, hating violence, had been only too ready to believe that the despatches from Tunip and elsewhere were unjustifiably pessimistic. He had hoped to bind together the many countries under his rule, by giving them a single religion. He had hoped that when Aton should be worshipped in all parts of his empire, and when his simple doctrines of love, truth, and peace should be preached from every temple throughout the length and breadth of his dominions, then war would cease and a unity of faith would hold the lands in harmony one with the other.

When, therefore, the tribute suddenly ceased, and the few refugees came staggering home to tell of the perfidy of the Asiatic princes and the [206]fall of the empire, Akhnaton seems to have received his deathblow. He was now not more than twenty-eight years of age; and though his portraits show that his face was already lined with care, and that his body was thinner than it should have been, he seems to have had plenty of reserve strength. He was the father of several daughters, but his queen had borne him no son to succeed him; and thus he must have felt that his religion could not outlive him. With his empire lost, with Thebes his enemy, and with his treasury wellnigh empty, one feels that Akhnaton must have sunk to the very depths of despondency. His religious revolution had ruined Egypt, and had failed: did he, one wonders, find consolation in the sunshine and amidst the flowers?

His death followed speedily; and, resting in the splendid coffin in which we found him, he was laid in the tomb prepared for him in the hills behind his new capital. The throne fell to the husband of one of his daughters, Smenkhkara, who, after an ephemeral reign, gave place to another of the sons-in-law of Akhnaton, Tutankhaton. This king was speedily persuaded to change his name to Tutankhamon, to abandon the worship of Aton, and to return to Thebes. Akhnaton's city fell into ruins, and soon the temples and palaces became the haunt of jackals and the home of owls. The nobles returned with their new king to Thebes, and [207]not one remained faithful to those 'teachings' to which they had once pretended to be such earnest listeners.

The fact that the body in the new tomb was that of Akhnaton, and not of Queen Tiy, gives a new reading to the history of the burial. When Tutankhamon returned to Thebes, Akhnaton's memory was still, it appears, regarded with reverence, and it seems that there was no question of leaving his body in the neighbourhood of his deserted palace, where, until the discovery of this tomb, Egyptologists had expected to find it. It was carried to Thebes, together with some of the funeral furniture, and was placed in the tomb of Queen Tiy, which had been reopened for the purpose. But after some years had passed and the priesthood of Amon-Ra had again asserted itself, Akhnaton began to be regarded as a heretic and as the cause of the loss of Egypt's Asiatic dominions. These sentiments were vigorously encouraged by the priesthood, and soon Akhnaton came to be spoken of as 'that criminal,' and his name was obliterated from his monuments. It was now felt that his body could no longer lie in state together with that of Queen Tiy in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings. The sepulchre was therefore opened once more, and the name Akhnaton was everywhere erased from the inscriptions. The tomb, polluted by the presence of the heretic, was no longer fit for Tiy, and the body of the Queen [208]was therefore carried elsewhere, perhaps to the tomb of her husband Amenhotep III. The shrine in which her mummy had lain was pulled to pieces and an attempt was made to carry it out of the tomb; but this arduous task was presently abandoned, and one portion of the shrine was left in the passage, where we found it. The body of Akhnaton, his name erased, was now the sole occupant of the tomb. The entrance was blocked with stones, and sealed with the seal of Tutankhamon, a fragment of which was found; and it was in this condition that it was discovered in 1907.

The bones of this extraordinary Pharaoh are in the Cairo Museum; but, in deference to the sentiments of many worthy persons, they are not exhibited. The visitor to that museum, however, may now see the 'canopic' jars, the alabaster vases, the gold vulture, the gold necklace, the sheets of gold in which the body was wrapped, the toilet utensils, and parts of the shrine, all of which we found in the burial-chamber.

CHAPTER IX.

THE TOMB OF HOREMHEB.

In the last chapter a discovery was recorded which, as experience has shown, is of considerable interest to the general reader. The romance and the tragedy of the life of Akhnaton form a really valuable addition to the store of good things which is our possession, and which the archæologist so diligently labours to increase. Curiously enough, another discovery, that of the tomb of Horemheb, was made by the same explorer (Mr Davis) in 1908; and as it forms the natural sequel to the previous chapter, I may be permitted to record it here.

Akhnaton was succeeded by Smenkhkara, his son-in-law, who, after a brief reign, gave place to Tutankhamon, during whose short life the court returned to Thebes. A certain noble named Ay came next to the throne, but held it for only three years. The country was now in a chaotic condition, and was utterly upset and disorganised by the revolution of Akhnaton, and by the vacillating policy of the three weak kings who succeeded [210]him, each reigning for so short a time. One cannot say to what depths of degradation Egypt might have sunk had it not been for the timely appearance of Horemheb, a wise and good ruler, who, though but a soldier of not particularly exalted birth, managed to raise himself to the vacant throne, and succeeded in so organising the country once more that his successors, Rameses I., Sety I., and Rameses II., were able to regain most of the lost dominions, and to place Egypt at the head of the nations of the world.

Horemheb, 'The Hawk in Festival,' was born at Alabastronpolis, a city of the 18th Province of Upper Egypt, during the reign of Amenhotep III., who has rightly been named 'The Magnificent,' and in whose reign Egypt was at once the most powerful, the most wealthy, and the most luxurious country in the world. There is reason to suppose that Horemheb's family were of noble birth, and it is thought by some that an inscription which calls King Thutmosis III. 'the father of his fathers' is to be taken literally to mean that that old warrior was his great-or great-great-grandfather. The young noble was probably educated at the splendid court of Amenhotep III., where the wit and intellect of the world was congregated, and where, under the presidency of the beautiful Queen Tiy, life slipped by in a round of revels.

As an impressionable young man, Horemheb must have watched the gradual development of [211]freethought in the palace, and the ever-increasing irritation and chafing against the bonds of religious convention which bound all Thebans to the worship of the god Amon. Judging by his future actions, Horemheb did not himself feel any real repulsion to Amon, though the religious rut into which the country had fallen was sufficiently objectionable to a man of his intellect to cause him to cast in his lot with the movement towards emancipation. In later life he would certainly have been against the movement, for his mature judgment led him always to be on the side of ordered habit and custom as being less dangerous to the national welfare than a social upheaval or change.

Horemheb seems now to have held the appointment of captain or commander in the army, and at the same time, as a 'Royal Scribe,' he cultivated the art of letters, and perhaps made himself acquainted with those legal matters which in later years he was destined to reform.

When Amenhotep III. died, the new king, Akhnaton, carried out the revolution which had been pending for many years, and absolutely banned the worship of Amon, with all that it involved. He built himself a new capital at El Amârna, and there he instituted the worship of the sun, or rather of the heat or power of the sun, under the name of Aton. In so far as the revolution constituted a breaking away from tiresome convention, the young Horemheb seems to [212]have been with the King. No one of intelligence could deny that the new religion and new philosophy which was preached at El Amârna was more worthy of consideration on general lines than was the narrow doctrine of the Amon priesthood; and all thinkers must have rejoiced at the freedom from bonds which had become intolerable. But the world was not ready, and indeed is still not ready, for the schemes which Akhnaton propounded; and the unpractical model-kingdom which was uncertainly developing under the hills of El Amârna must have already been seen to contain the elements of grave danger to the State.

Nevertheless the revolution offered many attractions. The frivolous members of the court, always ready for change and excitement, welcomed with enthusiasm the doctrine of the moral and simple life which the King and his advisers preached, just as in the decadent days before the French Revolution the court, bored with licentiousness, gaily welcomed the morality-painting of the young Greuze. And to the more serious-minded, such as Horemheb seems to have been, the movement must have appealed in its imperial aspect. The new god Aton was largely worshipped in Syria, and it seems evident that Akhnaton had hoped to bind together the heterogeneous nations of the empire by a bond of common worship. The Asiatics were not disposed to worship Amon, but Aton appealed to them as much as [213]any god, and Horemheb must have seen great possibilities in a common religion.

It is thought that Horemheb may be identified amongst the nobles who followed Akhnaton to El Amârna, and though this is not certain, there is little doubt that he was in high favour with the King at the time. To one whose tendency is neither towards frivolity nor towards fanaticism, there can be nothing more broadening than the influence of religious changes. More than one point of view is appreciated: a man learns that there are other ruts than that in which he runs, and so he seeks the smooth midway. Thus Horemheb, while acting loyally towards his King, and while appreciating the value of the new movement, did not exclude from his thoughts those teachings which he deemed good in the old order of things. He seems to have seen life broadly; and when the new religion of Akhnaton became narrowed and fanatical, as it did towards the close of the tragic chapter of that king's short life, Horemheb was one of the few men who kept an open mind.

Like many other nobles of the period, he had constructed for himself a tomb at Sakkâra, in the shadow of the pyramids of the old kings of Egypt; and fragments of this tomb, which of course was abandoned when he became Pharaoh, are now to be seen in various museums. In one of the scenes there sculptured Horemheb is shown in the presence of a king who is almost certainly Akhnaton; and yet in a speech to him inscribed [214]above the reliefs, Horemheb makes reference to the god Amon whose very name was anathema to the King. The royal figure is drawn according to the canons of art prescribed by Akhnaton, and upon which, as a protest against the conventional art of the old order, he laid the greatest stress in his revolution; and thus, at all events, Horemheb was in sympathy with this aspect of the movement. But the inscriptions which refer to Amon, and yet are impregnated with the Aton style of expression, show that Horemheb was not to be held down to any one mode of thought. Akhnaton was, perhaps, already dead when these inscriptions were added, and thus Horemheb may have had no further reason to hide his views; or it may be that they constituted a protest against that narrowness which marred the last years of a pious king.

Those who read the history of the period in the last chapter will remember how Akhnaton came to persecute the worshippers of Amon, and how he erased that god's name wherever it was written throughout the length and breadth of Egypt. Evidently with this action Horemheb did not agree; nor was this his only cause for complaint. As an officer, and now a highly placed general of the army, he must have seen with feelings of the utmost bitterness the neglected condition of the Syrian provinces. Revolt after revolt occurred in these states; but Akhnaton, dreaming and praying in the sunshine of El Amârna, would [215]send no expedition to punish the rebels. Good-fellowship with all men was the King's watchword, and a policy more or less democratic did not permit him to make war on his fellow-creatures. Horemheb could smell battle in the distance, but could not taste of it. The battalions which he had trained were kept useless in Egypt; and even when, during the last years of Akhnaton's reign, or under his successor Smenkhkara, he was made commander-in-chief of all the forces, there was no means of using his power to check the loss of the cities of Asia. Horemheb must have watched these cities fall one by one into the hands of those who preached the doctrine of the sword, and there can be little wonder that he turned in disgust from the doings at El Amârna.

During the times which followed, when Smenkhkara held the throne for a year or so, and afterwards, when Tutankhamon became Pharaoh, Horemheb seems to have been the leader of the reactionary movement. He did not concern himself so much with the religious aspect of the questions: there was as much to be said on behalf of Aton as there was on behalf of Amon. But it was he who knocked at the doors of the heart of Egypt, and urged the nation to awake to the danger in the East. An expedition against the rebels was organised, and one reads that Horemheb was the 'companion of his Lord upon the battlefield on that day of the slaying of the Asiatics.' Akhnaton had been opposed to warfare, and had [216]dreamed that dream of universal peace which still is a far-off light to mankind. Horemheb was a practical man in whom such a dream would have been but weakness; and, though one knows nothing more of these early campaigns, the fact that he attempted to chastise the enemies of the empire at this juncture stands to his credit for all time.

Under Tutankhamon the court returned to Thebes, though not yet exclusively to the worship of Amon; and the political phase of the revolution came to an end. The country once more settled into the old order of life, and Horemheb, having experienced the full dangers of philosophic speculation, was glad enough to abandon thought for action. He was now the most powerful man in the kingdom, and inscriptions call him 'the greatest of the great, the mightiest of the mighty, presider over the Two Lands of Egypt, general of generals,' and so on. The King 'appointed him to be Chief of the Land, to administer the laws of the land as Hereditary Prince of all this land'; and 'all that was done was done by his command.' From chaos Horemheb was producing order, and all men turned to him in gratitude as he reorganised the various government departments.

The offices which he held, such as Privy Councillor, King's Secretary, Great Lord of the People, and so on, are very numerous; and in all of these he dealt justly though sternly, so that 'when he came the fear of him was great [217]in the sight of the people, prosperity and health were craved for him, and he was greeted as 'Father of the Two Lands of Egypt.' He was indeed the saviour and father of his country, for he had found her corrupt and disordered, and he was leading her back to greatness and dignity.

At this time he was probably a man of about forty years of age. In appearance he seems to have been noble and good to look upon. 'When he was born,' says the inscription, 'he was clothed with strength: the hue of a god was upon him'; and in later life, 'the form of a god was in his colour,' whatever that may mean. He was a man of considerable eloquence and great learning. 'He astonished the people by that which came out of his mouth,' we are told; and 'when he was summoned before the King the palace began to fear.' One may picture the weak Pharaoh and his corrupt court, as they watched with apprehension the movements of this stern soldier, of whom it was said that his every thought was 'in the footsteps of the Ibis,'—the ibis being the god of wisdom.

On the death of Tutankhamon, the question of inviting Horemheb to fill the vacant throne must have been seriously considered; but there was another candidate, a certain Ay, who had been one of the most important nobles in the group of Akhnaton's favourites at El Amârna, and who had been the loudest in the praises of Aton. Religious feeling was at the time running high, for the partizans of Amon and those of Aton seem to have [218]been waging war on one another; and Ay appears to have been regarded as the man most likely to bridge the gulf between the two parties. A favourite of Akhnaton, and once a devout worshipper of Aton, he was not averse to the cults of other gods; and by conciliating both factions he managed to obtain the throne for himself. His power, however, did not last for long; and as the priests of Amon regained the confidence of the nation at the expense of those of Aton, so the power of Ay declined. His past connections with Akhnaton told against him, and after a year or so he disappeared, leaving the throne vacant once more.

There was now no question as to who should succeed. A princess named Mutnezem, the sister of Akhnaton's queen, and probably an old friend of Horemheb, was the sole heiress to the throne, the last surviving member of the greatest Egyptian dynasty. All men turned to Horemheb in the hope that he would marry this lady, and thus reign as Pharaoh over them, perhaps leaving a son by her to succeed him when he was gathered to his fathers. He was now some forty-five years of age, full of energy and vigour, and passionately anxious to have a free hand in the carrying out of his schemes for the reorganisation of the government. It was therefore with joy that, in about the year 1350 B.C., he sailed up to Thebes in order to claim the crown.

He arrived at Luxor at a time when the annual festival of Amon was being celebrated, and all the [219]city was en fête. The statue of the god had been taken from its shrine at Karnak, and had been towed up the river to Luxor in a gorgeous barge, attended by a fleet of gaily-decorated vessels. With songs and dancing it had been conveyed into the Luxor temple, where the priests had received it standing amidst piled-up masses of flowers, fruit, and other offerings. It seems to have been at this moment that Horemheb appeared, while the clouds of incense streamed up to heaven, and the morning air was full of the sound of the harps and the lutes. Surrounded by a crowd of his admirers, he was conveyed into the presence of the divine figure, and was there and then hailed as Pharaoh.

From the temple he was carried amidst cheering throngs to the palace which stood near by; and there he was greeted by the Princess Mutnezem, who fell on her knees before him and embraced him. That very day, it would seem, he was married to her, and in the evening the royal heralds published the style and titles by which he would be known in the future: 'Mighty Bull, Ready in Plans; Favourite of the Two Goddesses, Great in Marvels; Golden Hawk, Satisfied with Truth; Creator of the Two Lands,' and so forth. Then, crowned with the royal helmet, he was led once more before the statue of Amon, while the priests pronounced the blessing of the gods upon him. Passing down to the quay before the temple the figure of the god was placed once more upon the [220]state-barge, and was floated down to Karnak; while Horemheb was led through the rejoicing crowds back to the palace to begin his reign as Pharaoh.

In religious matters Horemheb at once adopted a strong attitude of friendship towards the Amon party which represented the old order of things. There is evidence to show that Aton was in no way persecuted; yet one by one his shrines were abandoned, and the neglected temples of Amon and the elder gods once more rang with the hymns of praise. Inscriptions tell us that the King 'restored the temples from the marshes of the Delta to Nubia. He fashioned a hundred images with all their bodies correct, and with all splendid costly stones. He established for them daily offerings every day. All the vessels of their temples were wrought of silver and gold. He equipped them with priests and with ritual-priests, and with the choicest of the army. He transferred to them lands and cattle, supplied with all equipment.' By these gifts to the neglected gods, Horemheb was striving to bring Egypt back to its normal condition, and in no way was he prejudiced by any particular devotion to Amon.

A certain Patonemheb, who had been one of Akhnaton's favourites in the days of the revolution, was appointed High Priest of Ra—the older Egyptian form of Aton who was at this time identified with that god—at the temple of Heliopolis; and this can only be regarded as an act of friendship to the Aton-worshippers. The echoing [221]and deserted temples of Aton in Thebes, and El Amârna, however, were now pulled down, and the blocks were used for the enlarging of the temple of Amon,—a fact which indicates that their original dedication to Aton had not caused them to be accursed.

The process of restoration was so gradual that it could not have much disturbed the country. Horemheb's hand was firm but soothing in these matters, and the revolution seems to have been killed as much by kindness as by force. It was probably not till quite the end of his reign that he showed any tendency to revile the memory of Akhnaton; and the high feeling which at length brought the revolutionary king the name of 'that criminal of El Amârna' did not rise till half a century later. The difficulties experienced by Horemheb in steering his course between Amon and Aton, in quietly restoring the old equilibrium without in any way persecuting those who by religious convictions were Aton-worshippers, must have been immense; and one cannot but feel that the King must have been a diplomatist of the highest standing. His unaffected simplicity won all hearts to him; his toleration and broadness of mind brought all thoughtful men to his train; and his strong will led them and guided them from chaos to order, from fantastic Utopia to the solid old Egypt of the past. Horemheb was the preacher of Sanity, the apostle of the Normal, and Order was his watchword.

[222]The inscriptions tell us that it was his custom to give public audiences to his subjects, and there was not a man amongst those persons whom he interviewed whose name he did not know, nor one who did not leave his presence rejoicing. Up and down the Nile he sailed a hundred times, until he was able truly to say, 'I have improved this entire land; I have learned its whole interior; I have travelled it entirely in its midst.' We are told that 'his Majesty took counsel with his heart how he might expel evil and suppress lying. The plans of his Majesty were an excellent refuge, repelling violence and delivering the Egyptians from the oppressions which were around them. Behold, his Majesty spent the whole time seeking the welfare of Egypt, and searching out instances of oppression in the land.'

It is interesting, by the way, to note that in his eighth year the King restored the tomb of Thutmosis IV., which had been robbed during the revolution; and the inscription which the inspectors left behind them was found on the wall when Mr Theodore Davis discovered the tomb a few years ago. The plundering of the royal tombs is a typical instance of the lawlessness of the times. The corruption, too, which followed on the disorder was appalling; and wherever the King went he was confronted by deceit, embezzlement, bribery, extortion, and official tyranny. Every Government officer was attempting to obtain money from his subordinates by illegal means; and bakshish—[223]that bogie of the Nile Valley—cast its shadow upon all men.

Horemheb stood this as long as he could; but at last, regarding justice as more necessary than tact, we are told that 'his Majesty seized a writing-palette and scroll, and put into writing all that his Majesty the King had said to himself.' It is not possible to record here more than a few of the good laws which he then made, but the following examples will serve to show how near to his heart were the interests of his people.

It was the custom for the tax-collectors to place that portion of a farmer's harvest, which they had taken, upon the farmer's own boat, in order to convey it to the public granary. These boats often failed to be returned to their owners when finished with, and were ultimately sold by the officials for their own profit. Horemheb, therefore, made the following law:—

'If the poor man has made for himself a boat with its sail, and, in order to serve the State, has loaded it with the Government dues, and has been robbed of the boat, the poor man stands bereft of his property and stripped of his many labours. This is wrong, and the Pharaoh will suppress it by his excellent measures. If there be a poor man who pays the taxes to the two deputies, and he be robbed of his property and his boat, my majesty commands: that every officer who collects the taxes and takes the boat of any citizen, this law shall be executed against him, and his nose shall be cut off, and he shall be sent in exile to Tharu. Furthermore, concerning the tax of timber, my[224] majesty commands that if any officer find a poor man without a boat, then he shall bring him a craft belonging to another man in which to carry the timber; and in return for this let the former man do the loading of the timber for the latter.'

The tax-collectors were wont to commandeer the services of all the slaves in the town, and to detain them for six or seven days, 'so that it was an excessive detention indeed.' Often, too, they used to appropriate a portion of the tax for themselves. The new law, therefore, was as follows:—

'If there be any place where the officials are tax-collecting, and any one shall hear the report saying that they are tax-collecting to take the produce for themselves, and another shall come to report saying, 'My man slave or my female slave has been taken away and detained many days at work by the officials,' the offender's nose shall be cut off, and he shall be sent to Tharu.'

One more law may here be quoted. The police used often to steal the hides which the peasants had collected to hand over to the Government as their tax. Horemheb, having satisfied himself that a tale of this kind was not merely an excuse for not paying the tax, made this law:—

'As for any policeman concerning whom one shall hear it said that he goes about stealing hides, beginning with this day the law shall be executed against him, by beating him a hundred blows, opening five wounds, and taking from him by force the hides which he took.'

To carry out these laws he appointed two chief [225]judges of very high standing, who are said to have been 'perfect in speech, excellent in good qualities, knowing how to judge the heart.' Of these men the King writes: 'I have directed them to the way of life, I have led them to the truth, I have taught them, saying, 'Do not receive the reward of another. How, then, shall those like you judge others, while there is one among you committing a crime against justice?' Under these two officials Horemheb appointed many judges, who went on circuit around the country; and the King took the wise step of arranging, on the one hand, that their pay should be so good that they would not be tempted to take bribes, and, on the other hand, that the penalty for this crime should be most severe.

So many were the King's reforms that one is inclined to forget that he was primarily a soldier. He appears to have made some successful expeditions against the Syrians, but the fighting was probably near his own frontiers, for the empire lost by Akhnaton was not recovered for many years, and Horemheb seems to have felt that Egypt needed to learn to rule herself before she attempted to rule other nations. An expedition against some tribes in the Sudan was successfully carried through, and it is said that 'his name was mighty in the land of Kush, his battle-cry was in their dwelling-places.' Except for a semi-military expedition which was dispatched to the land of Punt, these are the only recorded foreign [226]activities of the King; but that he had spent much time in the organisation and improvement of the army is shown by the fact that three years after his death the Egyptian soldiers were swarming over the Lebanon and hammering at the doors of the cities of Jezreel.

Had he lived for another few years he might have been famous as a conqueror as well as an administrator, though old age might retard and tired bones refuse their office. As it is, however, his name is written sufficiently large in the book of the world's great men; and when he died, about B.C. 1315, after a reign of some thirty-five years, he had done more for Egypt than had almost any other Pharaoh. He found the country in the wildest disorder, and he left it the master of itself, and ready to become once more the master of the empire which Akhnaton's doctrine of Peace and Goodwill had lost. Under his direction the purged worship of the old gods, which for him meant but the maintenance of some time-proved customs, had gained the mastery over the chimerical worship of Aton; without force or violence he had substituted the practical for the visionary; and to Amon and Order his grateful subjects were able to cry, 'The sun of him who knew thee not has set, but he who knows thee shines; the sanctuary of him who assailed thee is overwhelmed in darkness, but the whole earth is now in light.'

The tomb of this great Pharaoh was cut in the [227]rocks on the west side of the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings, not far from the resting-place of Amenhotep II. In the days of the later Ramesside kings the tomb-plunderers entered the sepulchre, pulled the embalmed body of the king to pieces in the search for hidden jewels, scattered the bones of the three members of his family who were buried with him, and stole almost everything of value which they found. There must have been other robberies after this, and finally the Government inspectors of about B.C. 1100 entered the tomb, and, seeing its condition, closed its mouth with a compact mass of stones. The torrents of rain which sometimes fall in winter in Egypt percolated through this filling, and left it congealed and difficult to cut through; and on the top of this hard mass tons of rubbish were tossed from other excavations, thus completely hiding the entrance.

In this condition the tomb was found by Mr Davis in February 1908. Mr Davis had been working on the side of the valley opposite to the tomb of Rameses III., where the accumulations of débris had entirely hidden the face of the rocks, and, as this was a central and likely spot for a 'find,' it was hoped that when the skin of rubbish had been cleared away the entrance of at least one royal tomb would be exposed. Of all the XVIIIth-Dynasty kings, the burial-places of only Thutmosis II., Tutankhamon, and Horemheb remained undiscovered, and the hopes of the excavators concentrated on these three Pharaohs.

[228]After a few weeks of digging, the mouth of a large shaft cut into the limestone was cleared. This proved to lead into a small chamber half-filled with rubbish, amongst which some fine jewellery, evidently hidden here, was found. This is now well published by Mr Davis in facsimile, and further mention of it here is unnecessary. Continuing the work, it was not long before traces of another tomb became apparent, and in a few days' time we were able to look down from the surrounding mounds of rubbish upon the commencement of a rectangular cutting in the rock. The size and style of the entrance left no doubt that the work was to be dated to the end of the XVIIIth Dynasty, and the excavators were confident that the tomb of either Tutankhamon or Horemheb lay before them. Steps leading down to the entrance were presently uncovered, and finally the doorway itself was freed from débris.

On one of the door-posts an inscription was now seen, written in black ink by one of the Government inspectors of B.C. 1100. This stated, that in the fourth year of an unknown king the tomb had been inspected, and had been found to be that of Horemheb.

We had hoped now to pass into the tomb without further difficulty, but in this we were disappointed, for the first corridor was quite choked with the rubbish placed there by the inspectors. This corridor led down at a steep [229]angle through the limestone hillside, and, like all other parts of the tomb, it was carefully worked. It was not until two days later that enough clearing had been done to allow us to crawl in over the rubbish, which was still piled up so nearly to the roof that there was only just room to wriggle downwards over it with our backs pressing against the stone above. At the lower end of the corridor there was a flight of steps towards which the rubbish shelved, and, sliding down the slope, we were here able to stand once more. It was obvious that the tomb did not stop here, and work, therefore, had to be begun on the rubbish which choked the stairway in order to expose the entrance to further passages. A doorway soon became visible, and at last this was sufficiently cleared to permit of our crawling into the next corridor, though now we were even more closely squeezed between the roof and the débris than before.

The party which made the entrance consisted of Mr Davis; his assistant, Mr Ayrton; Mr Harold Jones; Mr Max Dalison, formerly of the Egypt Exploration Fund; and myself. Wriggling and crawling, we pushed and pulled ourselves down the sloping rubbish, until, with a rattling avalanche of small stones, we arrived at the bottom of the passage, where we scrambled to our feet at the brink of a large rectangular well, or shaft. Holding the lamps aloft, the surrounding walls were seen to be covered with wonderfully preserved [230]paintings executed on slightly raised plaster. Here Horemheb was seen standing before Isis, Osiris, Horus, and other gods; and his cartouches stood out boldly from amidst the elaborate inscriptions. The colours were extremely rich, and, though there was so much to be seen ahead, we stood there for some minutes, looking at them with a feeling much akin to awe.

The shaft was partly filled with rubbish, and not being very deep, we were able to climb down it by means of a ladder, and up the other side to an entrance which formed a kind of window in the sheer wall. In entering a large tomb for the first time, there are one or two scenes which fix themselves upon the memory more forcefully than others, and one feels as though one might carry these impressions intact to the grave. In this tomb there was nothing so impressive as this view across the well and through the entrance in the opposite wall. At one's feet lay the dark pit; around one the gaudy paintings gleamed; and through the window-like aperture before one, a dim suggestion could be obtained of a white-pillared hall. The intense eagerness to know what was beyond, and, at the same time, the feeling that it was almost desecration to climb into those halls which had stood silent for thousands of years, cast a spell over the scene and made it unforgetable.

This aperture had once been blocked up with stones, and the paintings had passed across it, [231]thus hiding it from view, so that a robber entering the tomb might think that it ended here. But the trick was an old one, and the plunderers had easily detected the entrance, had pulled away the blocks, and had climbed through. Following in their footsteps, we went up the ladder and passed through the entrance into the pillared hall. Parts of the roof had fallen in, and other parts appeared to be likely to do so at any moment. Clambering over the débris we descended another sloping corridor, which was entered through a cutting in the floor of the hall, originally blocked up and hidden. This brought us into a chamber covered with paintings, like those around the well; and again we were brought to a standstill by the amazingly fresh colours which arrested and held the attention.

We then passed on into the large burial-hall, the roof of which was supported by crumbling pillars. Slabs of limestone had broken off here and there and had crashed down on to the floor, bringing with them portions of the ceiling painted with a design of yellow stars on a black ground. On the walls were unfinished paintings, and it was interesting to notice that the north, south, east, and west were clearly marked upon the four walls for ceremonial purposes.

The main feature towards which our eyes were turned was the great pink-granite sarcophagus which stood in the middle of the hall. Its sides were covered with well-cut inscriptions of a religious nature; and at the four corners there were [232]figures of Isis and Nephthys, in relief, with their wings spread out as though in protection around the body. Looking into the sarcophagus, the lid having been thrown off by the plunderers, we found it empty except for a skull and a few bones of more than one person. The sarcophagus stood upon the limestone floor, and under it small holes had been cut, in each of which a little wooden statue of a god had been placed. Thus the king's body was, so to speak, carried on the heads of the gods, and held aloft by their arms. This is a unique arrangement, and has never before been found in any burial.

In all directions broken figures of the gods were lying, and two defaced wooden statues of the king were overthrown beside the sarcophagus. Beautiful pieces of furniture, such as were found by Mr Davis in the tomb of Yuaa and Thuau, were not to be expected in the sepulchre of a Pharaoh; for whereas those two persons were only mortals and required mortal comforts in the Underworld, the king was a god and needed only the comfort of the presence of other gods. Dead flowers were found here and there amidst the débris, these being the remnant of the masses of garlands which were always heaped around and over the coffin.

Peering into a little chamber on the right, we saw two skulls and some broken bones lying in the corner. These appeared to be female, and one [233]of the skulls may have been that of Mutnezem, the queen. In another small chamber on the left there was a fine painting of Osiris on the back wall; and, crouching at the foot of this, a statuette of a god with upraised hands had been placed. As we turned the corner and came upon it in the full glare of the lamps, one felt that the arms were raised in horror at sight of us, and that the god was gasping with surprise and indignation at our arrival. In the floor of another ante-chamber a square hole was cut, leading down to a small room. A block of stone had neatly fitted over the opening, thus hiding it from view; but the robbers had detected the crack, and had found the hiding-place. Here there were a skull and a few bones, again of more than one person. Altogether there must have been four bodies buried in the tomb; and it seems that the inspectors, finding them strewn in all directions, had replaced one skull in the sarcophagus, two in the side room, and one in this hiding-place, dividing up the bones between these three places as they thought fit. It may be that the king himself was buried in the underground chamber, and that the sarcophagus was a sort of blind; for he had seen the destruction caused by robbers in the tomb of Thutmosis IV., which he had restored, and he may have made this attempt to secure the safety of his own body. Whether this be so or not, however, Fate has not permitted the body of the great king to escape the [234]hands of the destroyer, and it will now never be known with certainty whether one of these four heads wore the crown of the Pharaohs.

The temperature was very great in the tomb, and the perspiration streamed down our faces as we stood contemplating the devastation. Now the electric lamps would flash upon the gods supporting the ransacked sarcophagus, lighting for a moment their grotesque forms; now the attention would concentrate upon some wooden figure of a hippopotamus-god or cow-headed deity; and now the light would bring into prominence the great overthrown statue of the king. There is something peculiarly sensational in the examining of a tomb which has not been entered for such thousands of years, but it must be left to the imaginative reader to infuse a touch of that feeling of the dramatic into these words. It would be hopeless to attempt to put into writing those impressions which go to make the entering of a great Egyptian sepulchre so thrilling an experience: one cannot describe the silence, the echoing steps, the dark shadows, the hot, breathless air; nor tell of the sense of vast Time the penetrating of it which stirs one so deeply.

The air was too bad to permit of our remaining long so deep in the bowels of the earth; and we presently made our way through halls and corridors back to the upper world, scrambling and crashing over the débris, and squeezing ourselves through the rabbit-hole by which we had entered. [235]As we passed out of this hot, dark tomb into the brilliant sunlight and the bracing north wind, the gloomy wreck of the place was brought before the imagination with renewed force. The scattered bones, the broken statues, the dead flowers, grouped themselves in the mind into a picture of utter decay. In some of the tombs which have been opened the freshness of the objects has caused one to exclaim at the inaction of the years; but here, where vivid and well-preserved wall-paintings looked down on a jumbled collection of smashed fragments of wood and bones, one felt how hardly the Powers deal with the dead. How far away seemed the great fight between Amon and Aton; how futile the task which Horemheb accomplished so gloriously! It was all over and forgotten, and one asked oneself what it mattered whether the way was difficult or the battle slow to win. In the fourth year of the reign of Horemheb a certain harper named Neferhotep partly composed a song which was peculiarly appropriate to the tune which ran in one's head at the opening of the tomb of this Pharaoh whom the harper served—

'(1.) Behold the dwellings of the dead. Their walls fall down; their place is no more: they are as though they had never existed. (2.) That which hath come into being must pass away again. The young men and maidens go to their places; the sun riseth at dawn, and setteth again in the hills of the west. Men beget and women conceive. The children, too, go to the places which are appointed for them.[236] O, then, be happy! Come, scents and perfumes are set before thee: mahu-flowers and lilies for the arms and neck of thy beloved. Come, songs and music are before thee. Set behind thee all cares; think only upon gladness, until that day cometh whereon thou shalt go down to the land which loveth silence.'

Horemheb must often have heard this song sung in his palace at Thebes by its composer; but did he think, one wonders, that it would be the walls of his own tomb which would fall down, and his own bones which would be almost as though they had never existed?

PART IV.

THE PRESERVATION OF THE TREASURY.

CHAPTER X.

THEBAN THIEVES.

Thebes was the ancient capital of Egypt, and its ruins are the most extensive in the Nile Valley. On the east bank of the river, at the modern towns of Luxor and Karnak, there are the remains of mighty temples; and on the west bank, in the neighbourhood of the village of Gurneh, tombs, mortuary chapels, and temples, literally cover the ground. The inhabitants of these three places have for generations augmented their incomes by a traffic in antiquities, and the peasants of Gurneh have, more especially, become famous as the most hardy pilferers of the tombs of their ancestors in all Egypt. In conducting this lucrative business they have lately had the misfortune to be recognised as thieves and robbers by the Government, and it is one of my duties to point this out to them. As a matter of fact they are no more thieves than you or I. It is as natural for them to scratch in the sand for antiquities as it is for us to pick flowers by the roadside: antiquities, like flowers, are the product of the soil, and it is largely because [240]the one is more rare than the other that its promiscuous appropriation has been constituted an offence. The native who is sometimes child enough to put his eyes out rather than serve in the army, who will often suffer all manner of wrongs rather than carry his case to the local courts, and who will hide his money under his bed rather than trust it to the safest bank, is not likely to be intelligent enough to realise that, on scientific grounds, he is committing a crime in digging for scarabs. He is beginning to understand that in the eyes of the law he is a criminal, but he has not yet learnt so to regard himself. I here name him thief, for officially that is his designation; but there is no sting in the word, nor is any insult intended. By all cultured persons the robbery of antiquities must be regarded as a grave offence, and one which has to be checked. But the point is ethical; and what has the Theban to do with ethics? The robbery of antiquities is carried out in many different ways and from many different motives. Sometimes it is romantic treasure hunting that the official has to deal with; sometimes it is adventurous robbery with violence; sometimes it is the taking advantage of chance discoveries; sometimes it is the pilfering of objects found in authorised excavations; and sometimes it is the stealing of fragments smashed from the walls of the ancient monuments. All these forms of robbery, except the last, may call for the sympathy of every [241]reader of these lines who happens not to have cultivated that vaguely defined 'archæological sense' which is, practically, the product of this present generation alone; and in the instances which are here to be given the point of view of the 'Theban thief' will be readily appreciated.

Treasure hunting is a relic of childhood that remains, like all other forms of romance and adventure, a permanently youthful feature in our worn old hearts. It has been drilled into us by the tales of our boyhood, and, in later life, it has become part of that universal desire to get something for nothing which lies behind our most honest efforts to obtain the goods of this world. Who has not desired the hidden wealth of the late Captain Kidd, or coveted the lost treasure of the Incas? I recently wrote an article which was entitled 'Excavations in Egypt,' but the editor of the magazine in which it appeared hastily altered these words to 'Treasure Hunting in Egypt,' and thereby commanded the attention of twice the number of readers. Can we wonder, then, that this form of adventure is so often met with in Egypt, the land of hidden treasure? The Department of Antiquities has lately published a collection of mediæval traditions with regard to this subject, which is known as the Book of the Pearl. In it one is told the exact places where excavations should be made to lay bare the wealth of the ancients. 'Go to such and such a spot,' says this curious book, 'and dig [242]to the depth of so many cubits, and you will find a trap-door; descend through this and you will find a chamber wherein are forty jars filled with gold. Take what you want, and give thanks to God.' Many of the sites referred to have been literally hacked out of all recognition by the picks and spades of thousands of gold-seekers; and it may be that sometimes their efforts have been rewarded, since a certain amount of genuine information is embodied in the traditions. Sir Gaston Maspero, the Director-General of the Department of Antiquities, tells a story of how a native came to him asking permission to excavate at a certain spot where he believed treasure to be hidden. Sir Gaston accompanied him to the place, and a tunnel was bored into what appeared to be virgin sand and rock. At the end of the first day's work the futility of his labours was pointed out to the man, but he was not to be daunted. For two more days he stood watching the work from morn to nightfall with hope burning in his eyes, and on the following morning his reward came. Suddenly the ground gave way before the picks of the workmen, and a hole was seen leading into a forgotten cave. In this cave the implements of mediæval coiners were discovered, and an amount of metal, false and true, was found which had been used by them in the process of their business.

A short time ago a man applied for permission to perform a similar kind of excavation at a place [243]called Nag Hamadi, and in my absence permission was given him. On my return the following report was submitted: '... Having reached the spot indicated the man started to blow the stones by means of the Denamits. Also he slaught a lamb, thinking that there is a treasure, and that when the lamb being slaught he will discover it at once.' In plainer English, the man had blown up the rocks with dynamite, and had attempted to further his efforts by sacrificing a lamb to the djin who guarded the treasure. The djin, however, was not thus to be propitiated, and the gold of the Pharaohs was never found. More recently the watchmen of the famous temple of Dêr el Bahri found themselves in trouble owing to the discovery that part of the ancient pavement showed signs of having been raised, stone by stone, in order that the ground below might be searched for the treasure which a tradition, such as those in the Book of the Pearl, had reported as lying hid there.

Almost as romantic as treasure hunting is robbery with violence. We all remember our boyhood's fascination for piracy, smuggling, and the profession of Dick Turpin; and to the Theban peasant, who is essentially youthful in his ideas, this form of fortune hunting has irresistible attractions. When a new tomb is discovered by authorised archæologists, especially when it is situated in some remote spot such as the Valley of the Kings, there is always some fear of an [244]armed raid; and police guard the spot night and day until the antiquities have been removed to Cairo. The workmen who have been employed in the excavation return to their homes with wonderful tales of the wealth which the tomb contains, and in the evening the discovery is discussed by the women at the well where the water is drawn for the village, with the result that it very soon assumes prodigious proportions, inflaming the minds of all men with the greed of gold. Visitors often ask why it is that the mummies of the Pharaohs are not left to lie each in its own tomb; and it is argued that they look neither congruous nor dignified in the glass cases of the museum. The answer is obvious to all who know the country: put them back in their tombs, and, without continuous police protection, they will be broken into fragments by robbers, bolts and bars notwithstanding. The experiment of leaving the mummy and some of the antiquities in situ has only once been tried, and it has not been a complete success. It was done in the case of the tomb of Amenhotep II. at Thebes, the mummy being laid in its original sarcophagus; and a model boat, used in one of the funeral ceremonies, was left in the tomb. One night the six watchmen who were in charge of the royal tombs stated that they had been attacked by an armed force; the tomb in question was seen to have been entered, the iron doors having been forced. The mummy of the Pharaoh was found lying upon [245]the floor of the burial-hall, its chest smashed in; and the boat had disappeared, nor has it since been recovered. The watchmen showed signs of having put up something of a fight, their clothes being riddled with bullet-holes; but here and there the cloth looked much as though it had been singed, which suggested, as did other evidence, that they themselves had fired the guns and had acted the struggle. The truth of the matter will never be known, but its lesson is obvious. The mummy was put back into its sarcophagus, and there it has remained secure ever since; but one never knows how soon it will be dragged forth once more to be searched for the gold with which every native thinks it is stuffed.

Some years ago an armed gang walked off with a complete series of mortuary reliefs belonging to a tomb at Sakkârah. They came by night, overpowered the watchmen, loaded the blocks of stone on to camels, and disappeared into the darkness. Sometimes it is an entire cemetery that is attacked; and, if it happens to be situated some miles from the nearest police-station, a good deal of work can be done before the authorities get wind of the affair. Last winter six hundred men set to work upon a patch of desert ground where a tomb had been accidently found, and, ere I received the news, they had robbed a score of little graves, many of which must have contained objects purchasable by the dealers in [246]antiquities for quite large sums of money. At Abydos a tomb which we had just discovered was raided by the villagers, and we only regained possession of it after a rapid exchange of shots, one of which came near ending a career whose continuance had been, since birth, a matter of great importance to myself. But how amusing the adventure must have been for the raiders!

The appropriation of treasure-trove come upon by chance, or the digging out of graves accidentally discovered, is a very natural form of robbery for the natives to indulge in, and one which commends itself to the sympathies of all those not actively concerned in its suppression. There are very few persons even in western countries who would be willing to hand over to the Government a hoard of gold discovered in their own back garden. In Egypt the law is that the treasure-trove thus discovered belongs to the owner of the property; and thus there is always a certain amount of excavation going on behind the walls of the houses. It is also the law that the peasants may carry away the accumulated rubbish on the upper layers of ancient town sites, in order to use it as a fertiliser for their crops, since it contains valuable phosphates. This work is supervised by watchmen, but this does not prevent the stealing of almost all the antiquities which are found. As illegal excavators these sebakhîn, or manure-diggers, are the worst offenders, for they search for the phosphates in [247]all manner of places, and are constantly coming upon tombs or ruins which they promptly clear of their contents. One sees them driving their donkeys along the roads, each laden with a sack of manure, and it is certain that some of these sacks contain antiquities. In Thebes many of the natives live inside the tombs of the ancient nobles, these generally consisting of two or three rock-hewn halls from which a tunnel leads down to the burial-chamber. Generally this tunnel is choked with débris, and the owner of the house will perhaps come upon it by chance, and will dig it out, in the vain hope that earlier plunderers have left some of the antiquities undisturbed. It recently happened that an entire family was asphyxiated while attempting to penetrate into a newly discovered tunnel, each member entering to ascertain the fate of the previous explorer, and each being overcome by the gases. On one occasion I was asked by a native to accompany him down a tunnel, the entrance of which was in his stable, in order to view a sarcophagus which lay at the bottom. We each took a candle, and, crouching down to avoid the low roof, we descended the narrow, winding passage, the loose stones sliding beneath our feet. The air was very foul; and below us there was the thunderous roar of thousands of wings beating through the echoing passage—the wings of evil-smelling bats. Presently we reached this uncomfortable zone. So thickly did [248]the bats hang from the ceiling that the rock itself seemed to be black; but as we advanced, and the creatures took to their wings, this black covering appeared to peel off the rock. During the entire descent this curious spectacle of regularly receding blackness and advancing grey was to be seen a yard or so in front of us. The roar of wings was now deafening, for the space into which we were driving the bats was very confined. My guide shouted to me that we must let them pass out of the tomb over our heads. We therefore crouched down, and a few stones were flung into the darkness ahead. Then, with a roar and a rush of air, they came, bumping into us, entangling themselves in our clothes, slapping our faces and hands with their unwholesome wings, and clinging to our fingers. At last the thunder died away in the passage behind us, and we were able to advance more easily, though the ground was alive with the bats maimed in the frantic flight which had taken place, floundering out of our way and squeaking shrilly. The sarcophagus proved to be of no interest, so the encounter with the bats was to no purpose.

The pilfering of antiquities found during the course of authorised excavations is one of the most common forms of robbery. The overseer cannot always watch the workmen sufficiently closely to prevent them pocketing the small objects which they find, and it is an easy matter to carry off the stolen goods, even though the men [249]are searched at the end of the day. A little girl minding her father's sheep and goats in the neighbourhood of the excavations, and apparently occupying her hands with the spinning of flax, is perhaps the receiver of the objects. Thus it is more profitable to dig for antiquities even in authorised excavations than to work the water-hoist, which is one of the usual occupations of the peasant. Pulling the hoisting-pole down, and swinging it up again with its load of water many thousands of times in the day, is monotonous work; whereas digging in the ground, with the eyes keenly watching for the appearance of antiquities, is always interesting and exciting. And why should the digger refrain from appropriating the objects which his pick reveals? If he does not make use of his opportunities and carry off the antiquities, the western director of the works will take them to his own country and sell them for his own profit. All natives believe that the archæologists work for the purpose of making money. Speaking of Professor Flinders Petrie, a peasant said to me the other day: 'He has worked five-and-twenty years now; he must be very rich.' He would never believe that the antiquities were given to museums without any payment being made to the finder.

The stealing of fragments broken out of the walls of 'show' monuments is almost the only form of robbery which will receive general condemnation. That this vandalism is also distasteful [250]to the natives themselves is shown by the fact that several better-class Egyptians living in the neighbourhood of Thebes subscribed, at my invitation, the sum of £50 for the protection of certain beautiful tombs. When they were shown the works undertaken with their money, they expressed themselves as being 'pleased with the delicate inscriptions in the tombs, but very awfully angry at the damage which the devils of ignorant people had made.' A native of moderate intelligence can quite appreciate the argument that whereas the continuous warfare between the agents of the Department of Antiquities and the illegal excavators of small graves is what might be called an honourable game, the smashing of public monuments cannot be called fair-play from whatever point of view the matter is approached. Often revenge or spite is the cause of this damage. It is sometimes necessary to act with severity to the peasants who infringe the rules of the Department, but a serious danger lies in such action, for it is the nature of the Thebans to revenge themselves not on the official directly but on the monuments which he is known to love. Two years ago a native illegally built himself a house on Government ground, and I was obliged to go through the formality of pulling it down, which I did by obliging him to remove a few layers of brickwork around the walls. A short time afterwards a famous tomb was broken into and a part of the paintings [251]destroyed; and there was enough evidence to show that the owner of this house was the culprit, though unfortunately he could not be convicted. One man actually had the audacity to warn me that any severity on my part would be met by destruction of monuments. Under these circumstances an official finds himself in a dilemma. If he maintains the dignity and prestige of his Department by punishing any offences against it, he endangers the very objects for the care of which he is responsible; and it is hard to say whether under a lax or a severe administration the more damage would be done.

The produce of these various forms of robbery is easily disposed of. When once the antiquities have passed into the hands of the dealers there is little chance of further trouble. The dealer can always say that he came into possession of an object years ago, before the antiquity laws were made, and it is almost impossible to prove that he did not. You may have the body of a statue and he the head: he can always damage the line of the breakage, and say that the head does not belong to that statue, or, if the connection is too obvious, he can say that he found the head while excavating twenty years ago on the site where now you have found the body. Nor is it desirable to bring an action against the man in a case of this kind, for it might go against the official. Dealing in antiquities is regarded as a perfectly honourable business. The official, crawling [252]about the desert on his stomach in the bitter cold of a winter's night in order to hold up a convoy of stolen antiquities, may use hard language in regard to the trade, but he cannot say that it is pernicious as long as it is confined to minor objects. How many objects of value to science would be destroyed by their finders if there was no market to take them to! One of the Theban dealers leads so holy a life that he will assuredly be regarded as a saint by future generations.

The sale of small antiquities to tourists on the public roads is prohibited, except at certain places, but of course it can be done with impunity by the exercise of a little care. Men and boys and even little girls as they pass will stare at you with studying eyes, and if you seem to be a likely purchaser, they will draw from the folds of their garments some little object which they will offer for sale. Along the road in the glory of the setting sun there will come as fine a young man as you will see on a day's march. Surely he is bent on some noble mission: what lofty thoughts are occupying his mind, you wonder. But as you pass, out comes the scarab from his pocket, and he shouts, 'Wanty scarab, mister?—two shillin',' while you ride on your way a greater cynic than before.

Some years ago a large inscribed stone was stolen from a certain temple, and was promptly sold to a man who sometimes traded in such objects. [253]This man carried the stone, hidden in a sack of grain, to the house of a friend, and having deposited it in a place of hiding, he tramped home, with his stick across his shoulders, in an attitude of deep unconcern. An enemy of his, however, had watched him, and promptly gave information. Acting on this the police set out to search the house. When we reached the entrance we were met by the owner, and a warrant was shown to him. A heated argument followed, at the end of which the infuriated man waved us in with a magnificent and most dramatic gesture. There were some twenty rooms in the house, and the stifling heat of a July noon made the task none too enjoyable. The police inspector was extremely thorough in his work, and an hour had passed before three rooms had been searched. He looked into the cupboards, went down on his knees to peer into the ovens, stood on tiptoe to search the fragile wooden shelves (it was a heavy stone which we were looking for), hunted under the mats, and even peeped into a little tobacco-tin. In one of the rooms there were three or four beds arranged along the middle of the floor. The inspector pulled off the mattresses, and out from under each there leapt a dozen rats, which, if I may be believed, made for the walls and ran straight up them, disappearing in the rafter-holes at the top. The sight of countless rats hurrying up perpendicular walls may be familiar to some people, but I venture to call it an amazing spectacle, [254]worthy of record. Then came the opening of one or two travelling-trunks. The inspector ran his hand through the clothes which lay therein, and out jumped a few more rats, which likewise went up the walls. The searching of the remaining rooms carried us well through the afternoon; and at last, hot and weary, we decided to abandon the hunt. Two nights later a man was seen walking away from the house with a heavy sack on his back; and the stone is now, no doubt, in the Western hemisphere.

The attempt to regain a lost antiquity is seldom crowned with success. It is so extremely difficult to obtain reliable information; and as soon as a man is suspected his enemies will rush in with accusations. Thirty-eight separate accusations were sent in against a certain head-watchman during the first days after the fact had leaked out that he was under suspicion. Not one of them could be shown to be true. Sometimes one man will bring a charge against another for the betterment of his own interests. Here is a letter from a watchman who had resigned, but wished to rejoin, 'To his Exec. Chief Dircoter of the tembels. I have honner to inform that I am your servant X, watchman on the tembels before this time. Sir from one year ago I work in the Santruple (?) as a watchman about four years ago. And I not make anything wrong and your Exec. know me. Now I want to work in my place in the tembel, because the man which in it he not [255]attintive to His, but alway he in the coffee.... He also steal the scribed stones. Please give your order to point me again. Your servant, X.' 'The coffee' is, of course, the café which adjoins the temple.

A short time ago a young man came to me with an accusation against his own father, who, he said, had stolen a statuette. The tale which he told was circumstantial, but it was hotly denied by his infuriated parent. He looked, however, a trifle more honest than his father, and when a younger brother was brought in as witness, one felt that the guilt of the old man would be the probable finding. The boy stared steadfastly at the ground for some moments, however, and then launched out into an elaborate explanation of the whole affair. He said that he asked his father to lend him four pounds, but the father had refused. The son insisted that that sum was due to him as his share in some transaction, and pointed out that though he only asked for it as a loan, he had in reality a claim to it. The old man refused to hand it over, and the son, therefore, waited his opportunity and stole it from his house, carrying it off triumphantly to his own establishment. Here he gave it into the charge of his young wife, and went about his business. The father, however, guessed where the money had gone; and while his son was out, invaded his house, beat his daughter-in-law on the soles of her feet until she confessed where the money was hidden, [256]and then, having obtained it, returned to his home. When the son came back to his house he learnt what had happened, and, out of spite, at once invented the accusation which he had brought to me. This story appeared to be true in so far as the quarrel over the money was concerned, but that the accusation was invented proved to be untrue.

Sometimes the peasants have such honest faces that it is difficult to believe that they are guilty of deceit. A lady came to the camp of a certain party of excavators at Thebes, holding in her hand a scarab. 'Do tell me,' she said to one of the archæologists, 'whether this scarab is genuine. I am sure it must be, for I bought it from a boy who assured me that he had stolen it from your excavations, and he looked such an honest and truthful little fellow.'

In order to check pilfering in a certain excavation in which I was assisting we made a rule that the selected workmen should not be allowed to put unselected substitutes in their place. One day I came upon a man whose appearance did not seem familiar, although his back was turned to me. I asked him who he was, whereupon he turned upon me a countenance which might have served for the model of a painting of St John, and in a low, sweet-voice he told me of the illness of the real workman, and of how he had taken over the work in order to obtain money for the purchase of medicine for him, they being friends from their youth up. I sent him away and told him [257]to call for any medicine he might want that evening. I did not see him again until about a week later, when I happened to meet him in the village with a policeman on either side of him, from one of whom I learned that he was a well-known thief. Thus is one deceived even in the case of real criminals: how then can one expect to get at the truth when the crime committed is so light an affair as the stealing of an antiquity?

The following is a letter received from one of the greatest thieves in Thebes, who is now serving a term of imprisonment in the provincial gaol:—

'SIR GENERAL INSPECTOR,—I offer this application stating that I am from the natives of Gurneh, saying the following:—

'On Saturday last I came to your office and have been told that my family using the sate to strengthen against the Department. The result of this talking that all these things which somebody pretends are not the fact. In fact I am taking great care of the antiquities for the purpose of my living matter. Accordingly, I wish to be appointed in the vacant of watching to the antiquities in my village and promise myself that if anything happens I do hold myself resposible.'

I have no idea what 'using the sate to strengthen' means.

It is sometimes said that European excavators are committing an offence against the sensibilities of the peasants by digging up the bodies [258]of their ancestors. Nobody will repeat this remark who has walked over a cemetery plundered by the natives themselves. Here bodies may be seen lying in all directions, torn limb from limb by the gold-seekers; here beautiful vases may be seen smashed to atoms in order to make more rare the specimens preserved. The peasant has no regard whatsoever for the sanctity of the ancient dead, nor does any superstition in this regard deter him in his work of destruction. Fortunately superstition sometimes checks other forms of robbery. Djins are believed to guard the hoards of ancient wealth which some of the tombs are thought to contain, as, for example, in the case of the tomb in which the family was asphyxiated, where a fiend of this kind was thought to have throttled the unfortunate explorers. Twin brothers are thought to have the power of changing themselves into cats at will; and a certain Huseyn Osman, a harmless individual enough, and a most expert digger, would turn himself into a cat at night-time, not only for the purpose of stealing his brother Muhammed Osman's dinner, but also in order to protect the tombs which his patron was occupied in excavating. One of the overseers in some recent excavations was said to have power of detecting all robberies on his works. The archæologist, however, is unfortunately unable to rely upon this form of protection, and many are the schemes for the prevention of pilfering which are tried.

[259]In some excavations a sum of money is given to the workman for every antiquity found by him, and these sums are sufficiently high to prevent any outbidding by the dealers. Work thus becomes very expensive for the archæologist, who is sometimes called upon to pay £10 or £20 in a day. The system has also another disadvantage, namely, that the workmen are apt to bring antiquities from far and near to 'discover' in their diggings in order to obtain a good price for them. Nevertheless, it would seem to be the most successful of the systems. In the Government excavations it is usual to employ a number of overseers to watch for the small finds, while for only the really valuable discoveries is a reward given.

For finding the famous gold hawk's head at Hieraconpolis a workman received £14, and with this princely sum in his pocket he went to a certain Englishman to ask advice as to the spending of it. He was troubled, he said, to decide whether to buy a wife or a cow. He admitted that he had already one wife, and that two of them would be sure to introduce some friction into what was now a peaceful household; and he quite realised that a cow would be less apt to quarrel with his first wife. The Englishman, very properly, voted for the cow, and the peasant returned home deep in thought. While pondering over the matter during the next few weeks, he entertained his friends with some freedom, and soon he found to his dismay that he had not enough money left to buy either a [260]wife or a cow. Thereupon he set to with a will, and soon spent the remaining guineas in riotous living. When he was next seen by the Englishman he was a beggar, and, what was worse, his taste for evil living had had several weeks of cultivation.

The case of the fortunate finder of a certain great cache of mummies was different. He received a reward of £400, and this he buried in a very secret place. When he died his possessions descended to his sons. After the funeral they sat round the grave of the old man, and very rightly discussed his virtues until the sun set. Then they returned to the house and began to dig for the hidden money. For some days they turned the sand of the floor over; but failing to find what they sought, they commenced operations on a patch of desert under the shade of some tamarisks where their father was wont to sit of an afternoon. It is said that for twelve hours they worked like persons possessed, the men hacking at the ground, and the boys carrying away the sand in baskets to a convenient distance. But the money was never found.

It is not often that the finders of antiquities inform the authorities of their good fortune, but when they do so an attempt is made to give them a good reward. A letter from the finder of an inscribed statue, who wished to claim his reward, read as follows: 'With all delight I please inform you that on 8th Jan. was found a headless temple of granite sitting on a chair and printed on it.'

[261]I will end this chapter as I began it, in the defence of the Theban thieves. In a place where every yard of ground contains antiquities, and where these antiquities may be so readily converted into golden guineas, can one wonder that every man, woman, and child makes use of his opportunities in this respect to better his fortune? The peasant does not take any interest in the history of mankind, and he cannot be expected to know that in digging out a grave and scattering its contents, through the agency of dealers, over the face of the globe, he loses for ever the facts which the archæologist is striving so hard to obtain. The scientific excavator does not think the antiquities themselves so valuable as the record of the exact arrangement in which they were found. From such data alone can he obtain his knowledge of the manners and customs of this wonderful people. When two objects are found together, the date of one being known and that of the other unknown, the archæological value of the find lies in the fact that the former will place the latter in its correct chronological position. But if these two objects are sold separately, the find may perhaps lose its entire significance. The trained archæologist records every atom of information with which he meets; the native records nothing. And hence, if there is any value at all in the study of the history of mankind, illegal excavation must be stopped.

CHAPTER XI.

THE FLOODING OF LOWER NUBIA.

The country of Lower Nubia lies between the First and Second Cataracts of the Nile. The town of Aswan, once famous as the frontier outpost of Egypt and now renowned as a winter resort for Europeans and Americans, stands some two or three miles below the First Cataract; and two hundred miles southwards, at the foot of the Second Cataract, stands Wady Halfa. About half-way between these two points the little town of Derr nestles amidst its palms; and here the single police-station of the province is situated. Agriculturally the land is extremely barren, for the merest strip of cultivation borders the river, and in many reaches the desert comes down to the water's edge. The scenery is rugged and often magnificent. As one sails up the Nile the rocky hills on either side group themselves into bold compositions, rising darkly above the palms and acacias reflected in the water. The villages, clustered on the hillsides as though grown like mushrooms [263]in the night, are not different in colour to the ground upon which they are built; but here and there neatly whitewashed houses of considerable size are to be observed. Now we come upon a tract of desert sand which rolls down to the river in a golden slope; now the hills recede, leaving an open bay wherein there are patches of cultivated ground reclaimed from the wilderness; and now a dense but narrow palm-grove follows the line of the bank for a mile or more, backed by the villages at the foot of the hills.

The inhabitants are few in number. Most of the males have taken service as cooks, butlers, waiters, and bottle-washers in European houses or hotels throughout Egypt; and consequently one sees more women than men pottering about the villages or working in the fields. They are a fine race, clean in their habits and cheery in character. They can be distinguished with ease from the Egyptian fellahîn; for their skin has more the appearance of bronze, and their features are often more aquiline. The women do not wear the veil, and their dresses are draped over one shoulder in a manner unknown to Egypt. The method of dressing the hair, moreover, is quite distinctive: the women plait it in innumerable little strands, those along the forehead terminating in bead-like lumps of bee's-wax. The little children go nude for the first six or eight years of their life, though the girls sometimes wear around their waists a fringe made of thin strips of hide. The men still [264]carry spears in some parts of the country, and a light battle-axe is not an uncommon weapon.

There is no railway between Aswan and Halfa, all traffic being conducted on the river. Almost continuously a stream of native troops and English officers passes up and down the Nile bound for Khartoum or Cairo; and in the winter the tourists on steamers and dahabiyehs travel through the country in considerable numbers to visit the many temples which were here erected in the days when the land was richer than it is now. The three most famous ruins of Lower Nubia are those of Philae, just above Aswan; Kalabsheh, some forty miles to the south; and Abu Simbel, about thirty miles below Halfa: but besides these there are many buildings of importance and interest. The ancient remains date from all periods of Egyptian history; for Lower Nubia played an important part in Pharaonic affairs, both by reason of its position as the buffer state between Egypt and the Sudan, and also because of its gold-mining industries. In old days it was divided into several tribal states, these being governed by the Egyptian Viceroy of Ethiopia; but the country seldom revolted or gave trouble, and to the present day it retains its reputation for peacefulness and orderly behaviour.

Owing to the building, and now the heightening, of the great Nile dam at Aswan, erected for the purpose of regulating the flow of water by holding back in the plenteous autumn and winter the [265]amount necessary to keep up the level in the dry summer months, the whole of the valley from the First Cataract to the neighbourhood of Derr will be turned into a vast reservoir, and a large number of temples and other ruins will be flooded. Before the dam was finished the temples on the island of Philae were strengthened and repaired so as to be safe from damage by the water; and now every other ruin whose foundations are below the future high-water level has been repaired and safeguarded.

In 1906 and 1907 the present writer was dispatched to the threatened territory to make a full report on the condition of the monuments there;[1] and a very large sum of money was then voted for the work. Sir Gaston Maspero took the matter up in the spirit which is associated with his name; Monsieur Barsanti was sent to repair and underpin the temples; French, German, and English scholars were engaged to make copies of the endangered inscriptions and reliefs; and Dr Reisner, Mr C. Firth, and others, under the direction of Captain Lyons, were entrusted with the complete and exhaustive excavation of all the cemeteries and remains between the dam and the southern extremity of the reservoir. As a result of this work, not one scrap of information of any kind will be lost by the flooding of the country.

[1] Weigall: 'A Report on the Antiquities of Lower Nubia.' (Department of Antiquities, Cairo, 1907.)

As was to be expected, the building and raising [266]of the dam caused consternation amongst the archæologically interested visitors to Egypt, and very considerably troubled the Egyptologists. Philae, one of the most picturesque ruins on the Nile, was to be destroyed, said the more hysterical, and numerous other buildings were to meet with the same fate. A very great deal of nonsense was written as to the vandalism of the English; and the minds of certain people were so much inflamed by the controversy that many regrettable words were spoken. The Department of Antiquities was much criticised for having approved the scheme, though it was more generally declared that the wishes of that Department had not been consulted, which was wholly untrue. These strictures are pronounced on all sides at the present day, in spite of the very significant silence and imperturbation (not to say supination) of Egyptologists, and it may therefore be as well to put the matter plainly before the reader, since the opinion of the person who is in charge of the ruins in question, has, whether right or wrong, a sort of interest attached to it.

In dealing with a question of this kind one has to clear from the brain the fumes of unbalanced thought and to behold all things with a level head. Strong wine is one of the lesser causes of insobriety, and there is often more damage done by intemperance of thought in matters of criticism than there is by actions committed under the influence of other forms of immoderation. [267]We are agreed that it is a sad spectacle which is to be observed in the Old Kent Road on a Saturday night, when the legs of half the pedestrians appear to have lost their cunning. We say in disgust that these people are intoxicated. What, then, have we to say regarding those persons whose brains are unbalanced by immoderate habits of thought, who are suffering from that primary kind of intoxication which the dictionary tells us is simply a condition of the mind wherein clear judgment is obscured? There is sometimes a debauchery in the reasoning faculties of the polite which sends their opinions rollicking on their way just as drink will send a man staggering up the highroad. Temperance and sobriety are virtues which in their relation to thought have a greater value than they possess in any other regard; and we stand in more urgent need of missionaries to preach to us sobriety of opinion, a sort of critical teetotalism, than ever a drunkard stood in want of a pledge.

This case of Philae and the Lower Nubian temples illustrates my meaning. On the one hand there are those who tell us that the island temple, far from being damaged by its flooding, is benefited thereby; and on the other hand there are persons who urge that the engineers concerned in the making of the reservoir should be tarred and feathered to a man. Both these views are distorted and intemperate. Let us endeavour to straighten up our opinions, to walk them soberly [268]and decorously before us in an atmosphere of propriety.

It will be agreed by all those who know Egypt that a great dam was necessary, and it will be admitted that no reach of the Nile below Wady Halfa could be converted into a reservoir with so little detriment to modern interests as that of Lower Nubia. Here there were very few cultivated fields to be inundated and a very small number of people to be dislodged. There were, however, these important ruins which would be flooded by such a reservoir, and the engineers therefore made a most serious attempt to find some other site for the building. A careful study of the Nile valley showed that the present site of the dam was the only spot at which a building of this kind could be set up without immensely increasing the cost of erection and greatly adding to the general difficulties and the possible dangers of the undertaking. The engineers had, therefore, to ask themselves whether the damage to the temples weighed against these considerations, whether it was right or not to expend the extra sum from the taxes. The answer was plain enough. They were of opinion that the temples would not be appreciably damaged by their flooding. They argued, very justly, that the buildings would be under water for only five months in each year, and for seven months the ruins would appear to be precisely as they always had been. It was not necessary, then, to state the loss of money and the added [269]inconveniences on the one hand against the total loss of the temples on the other. It was simply needful to ask whether the temporary and apparently harmless inundation of the ruins each year was worth avoiding at the cost of several millions of precious Government money; and, looking at it purely from an administrative point of view, remembering that public money had to be economised and inextravagantly dealt with, I do not see that the answer given was in any way outrageous. Philae and the other temples were not to be harmed: they were but to be closed to the public, so to speak, for the winter months.

This view of the question is not based upon any error. In regard to the possible destruction of Philae by the force of the water, Mr Somers Clarke, F.S.A., whose name is known all over the world in connection with his work at St Paul's Cathedral and elsewhere, states definitely[1] that he is convinced that the temples will not be overthrown by the flood, and his opinion is shared by all those who have studied the matter carefully. Of course it is possible that, in spite of all the works of consolidation which have been effected, some cracks may appear; but during the months when the temple is out of water each year, these may be repaired. I cannot see that there is the least danger of an extensive collapse of the buildings; but should this occur, the entire temple will have to be removed and set up elsewhere. [270]Each summer and autumn when the water goes down and the buildings once more stand as they did in the days of the Ptolemies and Romans, we shall have ample time and opportunity to discuss the situation and to take all proper steps for the safeguarding of the temples against further damage; and even were we to be confronted by a mass of fallen ruins, scattered pell-mell over the island by the power of the water, I am convinced that every block could be replaced before the flood rose again. The temple of Maharraka was entirely rebuilt in three or four weeks.

Now, as to the effect of the water upon the reliefs and inscriptions with which the walls of the temples at Philae are covered. In June 1905 I reported[1] that a slight disintegration of the surface of the stone was noticeable, and that the sharp lines of the hieroglyphs had become somewhat blurred. This is due to the action of the salts in the sandstone; but these salts have now disappeared, and the disintegration will not continue. The Report on the Temples of Philae, issued by the Ministry of Public Works in 1908, makes this quite clear; and I may add that the proof of the statement is to be found at the many points on the Nile where there are the remains of quay walls dating from Pharaonic times. Many of these quays are constructed of inscribed blocks of a stone precisely similar in quality to that used at Philae; and although they have been submerged [271]for many hundreds of years, the lines of the hieroglyphs are almost as sharp now as they ever were. The action of the water appears to have little effect upon sandstone, and it may thus be safely predicted that the reliefs and inscriptions at Philae will not suffer.

[1] Les Annales du Service des Antiquites d'Egypte, vii. 1, p. 74.

There still remain some traces of colour upon certain reliefs, and these will disappear. But archæologically the loss will be insignificant, and artistically it will not be much felt. With regard to the colour upon the capitals of the columns in the Hall of Isis, however, one must admit that its destruction would be a grave loss to us, and it is to be hoped that the capitals will be removed and replaced by dummies, or else most carefully copied in facsimile.

Such is the case of Philae when looked at from a practical point of view. Artistically and sentimentally, of course, one deeply regrets the flooding of the temple. Philae with its palms was a very charming sight, and although the island still looks very picturesque each year when the flood has receded and the ground is covered with grasses and vegetation, it will not again possess quite the magic that once caused it to be known as the 'pearl of Egypt.' But these are considerations which are to be taken into account with very great caution as standing against the interest of modern Egypt. If Philae were to be destroyed, one might, very properly, desire that modern interests should not receive sole consideration; [272]but it is not to be destroyed, or even much damaged, and consequently the lover of Philae has but two objections to offer to the operations now proceeding: firstly, that the temples will be hidden from sight during a part of each year; and secondly, that water is an incongruous and unharmonious element to introduce into the sanctuaries of the gods.

Let us consider these two objections. As to the hiding of the temple under the water, we have to consider to what class of people the examination of the ruins is necessary. Archæologists, officials, residents, students, and all natives, are able to visit the place in the autumn, when the island stands high and dry, and the weather is not uncomfortably hot. Every person who desires to see Philae in its original condition can arrange to make his journey to Lower Nubia in the autumn or early winter. It is only the ordinary winter tourist who will find the ruins lost to view beneath the brown waters; and while his wishes are certainly to be consulted to some extent, there can be no question that the fortunes of the Egyptian farmers must receive the prior attention. And as to the incongruity of the introduction of the water into these sacred precincts, one may first remark that water stands each year in the temples of Karnak, Luxor, the Ramesseum, Shenhur, Esneh, and many another, introduced by the natural rise of the Nile, thus giving us a quieting familiarity with such a condition; [273]and one may further point out that the presence of water in the buildings is not (speaking archæologically) more discordant than that of the palms and acacias which clustered around the ruins previous to the building of the dam, and gave Philae its peculiar charm. Both water and trees are out of place in a temple once swept and garnished, and it is only a habit of thought that makes the trees which grow in such ruins more congruous to the eye than water lapping around the pillars and taking the fair reflections of the stonework.

What remains, then, of the objections? Nothing, except an undefined sense of dismay that persists in spite of all arguments. There are few persons who will not feel this sorrow at the flooding of Philae, who will not groan inwardly as the water rises; and yet I cannot too emphatically repeat that there is no real cause for this apprehension and distress.

A great deal of damage has been done to the prestige of the archæologist by the ill-considered outbursts of those persons who have allowed this natural perturbation to have full sway in their minds. The man or woman who has protested the loudest has seldom been in a position even to offer an opinion. Thus every temperate thinker has come to feel a greater distaste for the propaganda of those persons who would have hindered the erection of the dam than for the actual effects of its erection. Vegetarians, Anti-Vivisectionists, [274]Militant Suffragists, Little Englanders, and the like, have taught us to beware of the signs and tokens of the unbalanced mind; and it becomes the duty of every healthy person to fly from the contamination of their hysteria, even though the principles which lie at the base of their doctrines may not be entirely without reason. We must avoid hasty and violent judgment as we would the plague. No honest man will deny that the closing of Philae for half the year is anything but a very regrettable necessity; but it has come to this pass, that a self-respecting person will be very chary in admitting that he is not mightily well satisfied with the issue of the whole business.

Recently a poetic effusion has been published bewailing the 'death' of Philae, and because the author is famous the world over for the charm of his writing, it has been read, and its lament has been echoed by a large number of persons. It is necessary to remind the reader, however, that because a man is a great artist it does not follow that he has a sober judgment. The outward appearance, and a disordered opinion on matters of everyday life, are often sufficient indication of this intemperance of mind which is so grave a human failing. A man and his art, of course, are not to be confused; and perhaps it is unfair to assess the art by the artist, but there are many persons who will understand my meaning when I suggest that it is extremely difficult to give serious attention to writers or speakers [275]of a certain class. Philae is not dead. It may safely be said that the temples will last as long as the dam itself. Let us never forget that Past and Present walk hand in hand, and, as between friends, there must always be much 'give and take.' How many millions of pounds, I wonder, has been spent by the Government, from the revenues derived from the living Egyptians, for the excavation and preservation of the records of the past? Will the dead not make, in return, this sacrifice for the benefit of the striving farmers whose money has been used for the resuscitation of their history?

A great deal has been said regarding the destruction of the ancient inscriptions which are cut in such numbers upon the granite rocks in the region of the First Cataract, many of which are of great historical importance. Vast quantities of granite have been quarried for the building of the dam, and fears have been expressed that in the course of this work these graffiti may have been blasted into powder. It is necessary to say, therefore, that with the exception of one inscription which was damaged when the first quarrymen set to work upon the preliminary tests for suitable stone, not a single hieroglyph has been harmed. The present writer numbered all the inscriptions in white paint and marked out quarrying concessions, while several watchmen were set to guard these important relics. In this work, as in all else, the Department of Antiquities received the [276]most generous assistance from the Department concerned with the building of the dam; and I should like to take this opportunity of saying that archæologists owe a far greater debt to the officials in charge of the various works at Aswan than they do to the bulk of their own fellow-workers. The desire to save every scrap of archæological information has been dominant in the minds of all concerned in the work throughout the whole undertaking.

Besides the temples of Philae there are several other ruins which will be flooded in part by the water when the heightening of the reservoir is completed. On the island of Bigeh, over against Philae, there is a little temple of no great historical value which will pass under water. The cemeteries on this island, and also on the mainland in this neighbourhood, have been completely excavated, and have yielded most important information. Farther up stream there stands the little temple of Dabôd. This has been repaired and strengthened, and will not come to any harm; while all the cemeteries in the vicinity, of course, have been cleared out. We next come to the fortress and quarries of Kertassi, which will be partly flooded. These have been put into good order, and there need be no fear of their being damaged. The temple of Tafeh, a few miles farther to the south, has also been safeguarded, and all the ancient graves have been excavated.

Next comes the great temple of Kalabsheh [277]which, in 1907, when my report was made, was in a sorry state. The great hall was filled with the ruins of the fallen colonnade and its roof; the hypostyle hall was a mass of tumbled blocks over which the visitor was obliged to climb; and all the courts and chambers were heaped up with débris. Now, however, all this has been set to rights, and the temple stands once more in its glory. The water will flood the lower levels of the building each year for a few months, but there is no chance of a collapse taking place, and the only damage which is to be anticipated is the loss of the colour upon the reliefs in the inner chambers, and the washing away of some later Coptic paintings, already hardly distinguishable, in the first hall.

The temple is not very frequently visited, and it cannot be said that its closing for each winter will be keenly felt; and since it will certainly come to no harm under the gentle Nile, I do not see that its fate need cause any consternation. Let those who are able visit this fine ruin in the early months of winter, and they will be rewarded for their trouble by a view of a magnificent temple in what can only be described as apple-pie order. I venture to think that a building of this kind washed by the water is a more inspiring sight than a tumbled mass of ruins rising from amidst an encroaching jumble of native hovels.

Farther up the river stands the temple of [278]Dendur. This will be partly inundated, though the main portion of the building stands above the highest level of the reservoir. Extensive repairs have been carried out here, and every grave in the vicinity has been examined. The fortress of Koshtamneh, which is made of mud-bricks, will be for the most part destroyed; but now that a complete record of this construction has been made, the loss is insignificant. Somewhat farther to the south stands the imposing temple of Dakkeh, the lower levels of which will be flooded. This temple has been most extensively patched up and strengthened, and no damage of any kind will be caused by its inundation. The vast cemeteries in the neighbourhood have all been excavated, and the remains of the town have been thoroughly examined. Still farther to the south stands the mud-brick fortress of Kubban, which, like Koshtamneh, will be partly destroyed; but the detailed excavations and records which have here been made will prevent any loss being felt by archæologists. Finally, the temple of Maharraka requires to be mentioned. This building in 1907 was a complete ruin, but it was carefully rebuilt, and now it is quite capable of withstanding the pressure of the water. From this point to the southern end of the new reservoir there are no temples below the new flood-level; and by the time that the water is raised every grave and other relic along the entire banks of the river will have been examined.

[279]To complete these works it is proposed to erect a museum at Aswan wherein the antiquities discovered in Lower Nubia should be exhibited; and a permanent collection of objects illustrating the arts, crafts, and industries of Lower Nubia at all periods of its history, should be displayed. It is a question whether money will be found for the executing of this scheme; but there can be no doubt that a museum of this kind, situated at the virtual capital of Lower Nubia, would be a most valuable institution.

In 1907 the condition of the monuments of Lower Nubia was very bad. The temples already mentioned were in a most deplorable state; the cemeteries were being robbed, and there was no proper organisation for the protection of the ancient sites. There are, moreover, several temples above the level of high water, and these were also in a sad condition. Gerf Husen was both dirty and dilapidated; Wady Sabua was deeply buried in sand; Amada was falling to pieces; Derr was the receptacle for the refuse of the town; and even Abu Simbel itself was in a dangerous state. In my report I gave a gloomy picture indeed of the plight of the monuments. But now all this is changed. Sir Gaston Maspero made several personal visits to the country; every temple was set in order; many new watchmen were appointed; and to-day this territory may be said to be the 'show' portion of this inspectorate. Now, it must be admitted [280]that the happy change is due solely to the attention to which the country was subjected by reason of its flooding; and it is not the less true because it is paradoxical that the proposed submersion of certain temples has saved all the Lower Nubian monuments from rapid destruction at the hands of robbers, ignorant natives, and barbarous European visitors. What has been lost in Philae has been gained a thousand-fold in the repairing and safeguarding of the temples, and in the scientific excavation of the cemeteries farther to the south.

Here, then, is the sober fact of the matter. Are the English and Egyptian officials such vandals who have voted over a hundred thousand pounds for the safeguarding of the monuments of Lower Nubia? What country in the whole world has spent such vast sums of money upon the preservation of the relics of the Past as has Egypt during the last five-and-twenty years? The Government has treated the question throughout in a fair and generous manner; and those who rail at the officials will do well to consider seriously the remarks which I have dared to make upon the subject of temperate criticism.

CHAPTER XII.

ARCHÆOLOGY IN THE OPEN.

In this chapter I propose to state the case in favour of the archæologist who works abroad in the field, in contrast to him who studies at home in the museum, in the hope that others will follow the example of that scholar to whom this volume is dedicated, who does both.

I have said in a previous chapter that the archæologist is generally considered to be a kind of rag-and-bone man: one who, sitting all his life in a dusty room, shuns the touch of the wind and takes no pleasure in the vanities under the sun. Actually, this is not so very often a true description of him. The ease with which long journeys are now undertaken, the immunity from insult or peril which the traveller now enjoys, have made it possible for the archæologist to seek his information at its source in almost all the countries of the world; and he is not obliged, as was his grandfather, to take it at second-hand from the volumes of mediæval scholars. Moreover, the necessary collections of [282]books of reference are now to be found in very diverse places; and thus it comes about that there are plenty of archæologists who are able to leave their own museums and studies for limited periods.

And as regards his supposed untidy habits, the phase of cleanliness which, like a purifying wind, descended suddenly upon the world in the second half of the nineteenth century, has penetrated even to libraries and museums, removing every speck of dust therefrom. The archæologist, when engaged in the sedentary side of his profession, lives nowadays in an atmosphere charged with the odours of furniture-polish and monkey-brand. A place less dusty than the Victoria and Albert Museum in South Kensington, or than the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, could not easily be imagined. The disgusting antiquarian of a past generation, with his matted locks and stained clothing, could but be ill at ease in such surroundings, and could claim no brotherhood with the majority of the present-day archæologists. Cobwebs are now taboo; and the misguided old man who dwelt amongst them is seldom to be found outside of caricature, save in the more remote corners of the land.

The archæologist in these days, then, is not often confined permanently to his museum, though in many cases he remains there as much as possible; [283]and still less often is he a person of objectionable appearance. The science is generally represented by two classes of scholar: the man who sits in the museum or library for the greater part of his life, and lives as though he would be worthy of the furniture-polish, and the man who works in the field for a part of the year and then lives as though he regarded the clean airs of heaven in even higher estimation. Thus, in arguing the case for the field-worker, as I propose here to do, there is no longer the easy target of the dusty antiquarian at which to hurl the javelin. One cannot merely urge a musty individual to come out into the open air: that would make an easy argument. One has to take aim at the less vulnerable person of the scholar who chooses to spend the greater part of his time in a smart gallery of exhibits or in a well-ordered and spotless library, and whose only fault is that he is too fond of those places. One may no longer tease him about his dusty surroundings; but I think it is possible to accuse him of setting a very bad example by his affection for 'home comforts,' and of causing indirectly no end of mischief. It is a fact that there are many Greek scholars who are so accustomed to read their texts in printed books that they could not make head nor tail of an original document written in a cursive Greek hand; and there are not a few students of Egyptian archæology who do not know the [284]conditions and phenomena of the country sufficiently to prevent the occurrence of occasional 'howlers' in the exposition of their theories.

There are three main arguments which may be set forward to induce Egyptologists to come as often as possible to Egypt, and to urge their students to do so, instead of educating the mind to the habit of working at home.

Firstly, the study of archæology in the open helps to train the young men in the path of health in which they should go. Work in the Egyptian desert, for example, is one of the most healthy and inspiring pursuits that could be imagined; and study in the shrines overlooking the Nile, where, as at Gebel Silsileh, one has to dive into the cool river and swim to the sun-scorched scene of one's work, is surely more invigorating than study in the atmosphere of the British Museum. A gallop up to the Tombs of the Kings puts a man in a readier mood for a morning's work than does a drive in an omnibus along Tottenham Court Road; and he will feel a keenness as he pulls out his note-book that he can never have experienced in his western city. There is, moreover, a certain amount of what is called 'roughing it' to be endured by the archæologist in Egypt; and thus the body becomes toughened and prepared for any necessary spurt of work. To rough it in the open is the best medicine for tired heads, as it is the finest tonic for brains in a normal condition.

[285]In parenthesis an explanation must be given of what is meant here by that much misunderstood condition of life which is generally known as 'roughing it.' A man who is accustomed to the services of two valets will believe that he is roughing it when he is left to put the diamond studs in his evening shirts with his own fingers; and a man who has tramped the roads all his life will hardly consider that he is roughing it when he is outlawed upon the unsheltered moors in late autumn. The degree of hardship to which I refer lies between these two extremes. The science of Egyptology does not demand from its devotees a performance of many extreme acts of discomfort; but, during the progress of active work, it does not afford many opportunities for luxurious self-indulgence, or for any slackness in the taking of exercise.

As a protest against the dilettante antiquarian (who is often as objectionable a character as the unwashed scholar) there are certain archæologists who wear the modern equivalent of a hair shirt, who walk abroad with pebbles in their shoes, and who speak of the sitting upon an easy-chair as a moral set-back. The strained and posed life which such savants lead is not to be regarded as a rough one; for there is constant luxury in the thought of their own toughness, and infinite comfort in the sense of superiority which they permit themselves to feel. It is not roughing it to feed from a bare board when a tablecloth adds insignificantly to the [286]impedimenta of the camp: it is pretending to rough it. It is not roughing it to eat tinned food out of the tin when a plate costs a penny or two: it is either hypocrisy or slovenliness.

To rough it is to lead an exposed life under conditions which preclude the possibility of indulging in certain comforts which, in their place and at the right time, are enjoyed and appreciated. A man may well be said to rough it when he camps in the open, and dispenses with the luxuries of civilisation; when he pours a jug of water over himself instead of lying in ecstasy in an enamelled bath; eats a meal of two undefined courses instead of one of five or six; twangs a banjo to the moon instead of ravishing his ear with a sonata upon the grand piano; rolls himself in a blanket instead of sitting over the library fire; turns in at 9 P.M. and rises ere the sun has topped the hills instead of keeping late hours and lying abed; sleeps on the ground or upon a narrow camp-bed (which occasionally collapses) instead of sprawling at his ease in a four-poster.

A life of this kind cannot fail to be of benefit to the health; and, after all, the work of a healthy man is likely to be of greater value than that of one who is anæmic or out of condition. It is the first duty of a scholar to give attention to his muscles, for he, more than other men, has the opportunity to become enfeebled by indoor work. Few students can give sufficient time to physical exercise; but in Egypt the exercise is taken [287]during the course of the work, and not an hour is wasted. The muscles harden and the health is ensured without the expending of a moment's thought upon the subject.

Archæology is too often considered to be the pursuit of weak-chested youths and eccentric old men: it is seldom regarded as a possible vocation for normal persons of sound health and balanced mind. An athletic and robust young man, clothed in the ordinary costume of a gentleman, will tell a new acquaintance that he is an Egyptologist, whereupon the latter will exclaim in surprise: 'Not really?—you don't look like one.' A kind of mystery surrounds the science. The layman supposes the antiquarian to be a very profound and erudite person, who has pored over his books since a baby, and has shunned those games and sports which generally make for a healthy constitution. The study of Egyptology is thought to require a depth of knowledge that places its students outside the limits of normal learning, and presupposes in them an unhealthy amount of schooling. This, of course, is absurd.

Nobody would expect an engineer who built bridges and dams, or a great military commander, to be a seedy individual with longish hair, pale face, and weak eyesight; and yet probably he has twice the brain capacity of the average archæologist. It is because the life of the antiquarian is, or is generally thought to be, unhealthy and sluggish that he is so universally regarded as a worm.

[288]Some attempt should be made to rid the science of this forbidding aspect; and for this end students ought to do their best to make it possible for them to be regarded as ordinary, normal, healthy men. Let them discourage the popular belief that they are prodigies, freaks of mental expansion. Let their first desire be to show themselves good, useful, hardy, serviceable citizens or subjects, and they will do much to remove the stigma from their profession. Let them be acquainted with the feeling of a bat or racket in the hands, or a saddle between the knees; let them know the rough path over the mountains, or the diving-pool amongst the rocks, and their mentality will not be found to suffer. A winter's 'roughing it' in the Theban necropolis or elsewhere would do much to banish the desire for perpetual residence at home in the west; and a season in Egypt would alter the point of view of the student more considerably than he could imagine. Moreover, the appearance of the scholar prancing about upon his fiery steed (even though it be but an Egyptian donkey) will help to dispel the current belief that he is incapable of physical exertion; and his reddened face rising, like the morning sun, above the rocks on some steep pathway over the Theban hills will give the passer-by cause to alter his opinion of those who profess and call themselves Egyptologists.

As a second argument a subject must be introduced which will be distasteful to a large number of archæologists. I refer to the narrow-minded [289]policy of the curators of certain European and American museums, whose desire it is at all costs to place Egyptian and other eastern antiquities actually before the eyes of western students, in order that they and the public may have the entertainment of examining at home the wonders of lands which they make no effort to visit. I have no hesitation in saying that the craze for recklessly bringing away unique antiquities from Egypt to be exhibited in western museums for the satisfaction of the untravelled man, is the most pernicious bit of folly to be found in the whole broad realm of archæological misbehaviour.

A museum has three main justifications for its existence. In the first place, like a home for lost dogs, it is a repository for stray objects. No curator should endeavour to procure for his museum any antiquity which could be safely exhibited on its original and in its original position. He should receive only those stray objects which otherwise would be lost to sight, or those which would be in danger of destruction. The curator of a picture gallery is perfectly justified in purchasing any old master which is legitimately on sale; but he is not justified in obtaining a painting direct from the walls of a church where it has hung for centuries, and where it should still hang. In the same way a curator of a museum of antiquities should make it his first endeavour not so much to obtain objects direct from Egypt as to gather in those antiquities which are in the possession [290]of private persons who cannot be expected to look after them with due care.

In the second place, a museum is a store-house for historical documents such as papyri and ostraca, and in this respect it is simply to be regarded as a kind of public library, capable of unlimited and perfectly legitimate expansion. Such objects are not often found by robbers in the tombs which they have violated, nor are they snatched from temples to which they belong. They are almost always found accidentally, and in a manner which precludes any possibility of their actual position having much significance. The immediate purchase, for example, by museum agents of the Tell el Amarna tablets—the correspondence of a great Pharaoh—which had been discovered by accident, and would perhaps have been destroyed, was most wise.

In the third place, a museum is a permanent exhibition for the instruction of the public, and for the enlightenment of students desirous of obtaining comparative knowledge in any one branch of their work, and for this purpose it should be well supplied not so much with original antiquities as with casts, facsimiles, models, and reproductions of all sorts.

To be a serviceable exhibition both for the student and the public a museum does not need to possess only original antiquities. On the contrary, as a repository for stray objects, a museum is not to be expected to have a complete series of [291]original antiquities in any class, nor is it the business of the curator to attempt to fill up the gaps by purchase, except in special cases. To do so is to encourage the straying of other objects. The curator so often labours under the delusion that it is his first business to collect together as large a number as possible of valuable masterpieces. In reality that is a very secondary matter. His first business, if he is an Egyptologist, is to see that Egyptian masterpieces remain in Egypt so far as is practicable; and his next is to save what has irrevocably strayed from straying further. If the result of this policy is a poor collection, then he must devote so much the more time and money to obtaining facsimiles and reproductions. The keeper of a home for lost dogs does not search the city for a collie with red spots to complete his series of collies, or for a peculiarly elongated dachshund to head his procession of those animals. The fewer dogs he has got the better he is pleased, since this is an indication that a larger number are in safe keeping in their homes. The home of Egyptian antiquities is Egypt, a fact which will become more and more realised as travelling is facilitated.

But the curator generally has the insatiable appetite of the collector. The authorities of one museum bid vigorously against those of another at the auction which constantly goes on in the shops of the dealers in antiquities. They pay huge prices for original statues, vases, or sarcophagi: [292]prices which would procure for them the finest series of casts or facsimiles, or would give them valuable additions to their legitimate collection of papyri. And what is it all for? It is not for the benefit of the general public, who could not tell the difference between a genuine antiquity and a forgery or reproduction, and who would be perfectly satisfied with the ordinary, miscellaneous collection of minor antiquities. It is not for that class of Egyptologist which endeavours to study Egyptian antiquities in Egypt. It is almost solely for the benefit of the student and scholar who cannot, or will not, go to Egypt. Soon it comes to be the curator's pride to observe that savants are hastening to his museum to make their studies. His civic conceit is tickled by the spectacle of Egyptologists travelling long distances to take notes in his metropolitan museum. He delights to be able to say that the student can study Egyptology in his well-ordered galleries as easily as he can in Egypt itself.

All this is as wrong-headed as it can be. While he is filling his museum he does not seem to understand that he is denuding every necropolis in Egypt. I will give one or two instances of the destruction wrought by western museums. I them at random from my memory.

In the year 1900 the then Inspector-General of Antiquities in Upper Egypt discovered a tomb at Thebes in which there was a beautiful relief sculptured on one of the walls, representing Queen [293]Tiy. This he photographed (Plate XXVI.), and the tomb was once more buried. In 1908 I chanced upon this monument, and proposed to open it up as a 'show place' for visitors; but alas!—the relief of the queen had disappeared, and only a gaping hole in the wall remained. It appears that robbers had entered the tomb at about the time of the change of inspectors; and, realising that this relief would make a valuable exhibit for some western museum, they had cut out of the wall as much as they could conveniently carry away—namely, the head and upper part of the figure of Tiy. The hieroglyphic inscription which was sculptured near the head was carefully erased, in case it should contain some reference to the name of the tomb from which they were taking the fragment; and over the face some false inscriptions were scribbled in Greek characters, so as to give the stone an unrecognisable appearance. In this condition it was conveyed to a dealer's shop, and it now forms one of the exhibits in the Royal Museum at Brussels. The photograph on Plate XXVII. shows the fragment as it appears after being cleaned.

In the same museum, and in others also, there are fragments of beautiful sculpture hacked out of the walls of the famous tomb of Khaemhat at Thebes. In the British Museum there are large pieces of wall-paintings broken out of Theban tombs. The famous inscription in the tomb of Anena at Thebes, which was one of the most [294]important texts of the early XVIIIth Dynasty, was smashed to pieces several years ago to be sold in small sections to museums; and the scholar to whom this volume is dedicated was instrumental in purchasing back for us eleven of the fragments, which have now been replaced in the tomb, and, with certain fragments in Europe, form the sole remnant of the once imposing stela. One of the most important scenes out of the famous reliefs of the Expedition to Pount, at Dêr el Bahri, found its way into the hands of the dealers, and was ultimately purchased by our museum in Cairo. The beautiful and important reliefs which decorated the tomb of Horemheb at Sakkâra, hacked out of the walls by robbers, are now exhibited in six different museums: London, Leyden, Vienna, Bologna, Alexandria, and Cairo. Of the two hundred tombs of the nobles now to be seen at Thebes, I cannot, at the moment, recall a single one which has not suffered in this manner at some time previous to the organisation of the present strict supervision.

The curators of western museums will argue that had they not purchased these fragments they would have fallen into the hands of less desirable owners. This is quite true, and, indeed, it forms the nearest approach to justification that can be discovered. Nevertheless, it has to be remembered that this purchasing of antiquities is the best stimulus to the robber, who is well aware that a market is always to be found for his stolen [295]goods. It may seem difficult to censure the purchaser, for certainly the fragments were 'stray' when the bargain was struck, and it is the business of the curator to collect stray antiquities. But why were they stray? Why were they ever cut from the walls of the Egyptian monuments? Assuredly because the robbers knew that museums would purchase them. If there had been no demand there would have been no supply.

To ask the curators to change their policy, and to purchase only those objects which are legitimately on sale, would, of course, be as futile as to ask the nations to disarm. The rivalry between museum and museum would alone prevent a cessation of this indiscriminate traffic. I can see only one way in which a more sane and moral attitude can be introduced, and that is by the development of the habit of visiting Egypt and of working upon archæological subjects in the shadow of the actual monuments. Only the person who is familiar with Egypt can know the cost of supplying the stay-at-home scholar with exhibits for his museums. Only one who has resided in Egypt can understand the fact that Egypt itself is the true museum for Egyptian antiquities. He alone can appreciate the work of the Egyptian Government in preserving the remains of ancient days.

The resident in Egypt, interested in archæology, comes to look with a kind of horror upon museums, and to feel extraordinary hostility to what may [296]be called the museum spirit. He sees with his own eyes the half-destroyed tombs, which to the museum curator are things far off and not visualised. While the curator is blandly saying to his visitor: 'See, I will now show you a beautiful fragment of sculpture from a distant and little-known Theban tomb,' the white resident in Egypt, with black murder in his heart, is saying: 'See, I will show you a beautiful tomb of which the best part of one wall is utterly destroyed that a fragment might be hacked out for a distant and little-known European museum.'

To a resident in Europe, Egypt seems to be a strange and barbaric land, far, far away beyond the hills and seas; and her monuments are thought to be at the mercy of wild Bedwin Arabs. In the less recent travel books there is not a published drawing of a temple in the Nile valley but has its complement of Arab figures grouped in picturesque attitudes. Here a fire is being lit at the base of a column, and the black smoke curls upwards to destroy the paintings thereon; here a group of children sport upon the lap of a colossal statue; and here an Arab tethers his camel at the steps of the high altar. It is felt, thus, that the objects exhibited in European museums have been rescued from Egypt and recovered from a distant land. This is not so. They have been snatched from Egypt and lost to the country of their origin.

He who is well acquainted with Egypt knows [297]that hundreds of watchmen, and a small army of inspectors, engineers, draughtsmen, surveyors, and other officials now guard these monuments, that strong iron gates bar the doorways against unauthorised visitors, that hourly patrols pass from monument to monument, and that any damage done is punished by long terms of imprisonment; he knows that the Egyptian Government spends hundreds of thousands of pounds upon safeguarding the ancient remains; he is aware that the organisation of the Department of Antiquities is an extremely important branch of the Ministry of Public Works. He has seen the temples swept and garnished, the tombs lit with electric light, and the sanctuaries carefully rebuilt. He has spun out to the Pyramids in the electric tram or in a taxi-cab; has strolled in evening dress and opera hat through the halls of Karnak, after dinner at the hotel; and has rung up the Theban Necropolis on the telephone.

A few seasons' residence in Egypt shifts the point of view in a startling manner. No longer is the country either distant or insecure; and, realising this, the student becomes more balanced, and he sees both sides of the question with equal clearness. The archæologist may complain that it is too expensive a matter to come to Egypt. But why, then, are not the expenses of such a journey met by the various museums? A hundred pounds will pay for a student's winter in Egypt and his journey to and from that country. Such a sum [298]is given readily enough for the purchase of an antiquity; but surely rightly-minded students are a better investment than wrongly-acquired antiquities.

It must now be pointed out, as a third argument, that an Egyptologist cannot study his subject properly unless he be thoroughly familiar with Egypt and the modern Egyptians.

A student who is accustomed to sit at home, working in his library or museum, and who has never resided in Egypt, or has but travelled for a short time in that country, may do extremely useful work in one way and another, but that work will not be faultless. It will be, as it were, lop-sided; it will be coloured with hues of the west, unknown to the land of the Pharaohs and antithetical thereto. A London architect may design an apparently charming villa for a client in Jerusalem, but unless he knows by actual and prolonged experience the exigencies of the climate of Palestine, he will be liable to make a sad mess of his job. By bitter experience the military commanders learnt in South Africa that a plan of campaign prepared in England was of little use to them. The cricketer may play a very good game upon the home ground, but upon a foreign pitch the first straight ball will send his bails flying into the clear blue sky.

An archæologist who attempts to record the material relating to the manners and customs of the ancient Egyptians cannot complete his task, [299]or even assure himself of the accuracy of his statements, unless he has studied the modern customs and has made himself acquainted with the permanent conditions of the country. The modern Egyptians, as has been pointed out in chapter ii. (page 28), are the same people as those who bowed the knee to Pharaoh, and many of their customs still survive. A student can no more hope to understand the story of Pharaonic times without an acquaintance with Egypt as she now is than a modern statesman can hope to understand his own times solely from a study of the past.

Nothing is more paralysing to a student of archæology than continuous book-work. A collection of hard facts is an extremely beneficial mental exercise, but the deductions drawn from such a collection should be regarded as an integral part of the work. The road-maker must also walk upon his road to the land whither it leads him; the shipbuilder must ride the seas in his vessel, though they be uncharted and unfathomed. Too often the professor will set his students to a compilation which leads them no farther than the final fair copy. They will be asked to make for him, with infinite labour, a list of the High Priests of Amon; but unless he has encouraged them to put such life into those figures that each one seems to step from the page to confront his recorder, unless the name of each calls to mind the very scenes amidst which he worshipped, then is the work uninspired and as deadening to the student as it is [300]useful to the professor. A catalogue of ancient scarabs is required, let us suppose, and students are set to work upon it. They examine hundreds of specimens, they record the variations in design, they note the differences in the glaze or material. But can they picture the man who wore the scarab?—can they reconstruct in their minds the scene in the workshop wherein the scarab was made?—can they hear the song of the workmen or their laughter when the overseer was not nigh? In a word, does the scarab mean history to them, the history of a period, of a dynasty, of a craft? Assuredly not, unless the students know Egypt and the Egyptians, have heard their songs and their laughter, have watched their modern arts and crafts. Only then are they in a position to reconstruct the picture.

Theodore Roosevelt, in his Romanes lecture at Oxford, gave it as his opinion that the industrious collector of facts occupied an honourable but not an exalted position; and he added that the merely scientific historian must rest content with the honour, substantial, but not of the highest type, that belongs to him who gathers material which some time some master shall arise to use. Now every student should aim to be a master, to use the material which he has so laboriously collected; and though at the beginning of his career, and indeed throughout his life, the gathering of material is a most important part of his work, he [301]should never compile solely for the sake of compilation, unless he be content to serve simply as a clerk of archæology.

An archæologist must be an historian. He must conjure up the past; he must play the Witch of Endor. His lists and indices, his catalogues and note-books, must be but the spells which he uses to invoke the dead. The spells have no potency until they are pronounced: the lists of the kings of Egypt have no more than an accidental value until they call before the curtain of the mind those monarchs themselves. It is the business of the archæologist to awake the dreaming dead: not to send the living to sleep. It is his business to make the stones tell their tale: not to petrify the listener. It is his business to put motion and commotion into the past that the present may see and hear: not to pin it down, spatchcocked, like a dead thing. In a word, the archæologist must be in command of that faculty which is known as the historic imagination, without which Dean Stanley was of opinion that the story of the past could not be told.

But how can that imagination be at once exerted and controlled, as it must needs be, unless the archæologist is so well acquainted with the conditions of the country about which he writes that his pictures of it can be said to be accurate? The student must allow himself to be saturated by the very waters of the Nile before he can permit himself [302]to write of Egypt. He must know the modern Egyptians before he can construct his model of Pharaoh and his court.

In a recent London play dealing with ancient Egypt, the actor-manager exerted his historic imagination, in one scene, in so far as to introduce a shadoof or water-hoist, which was worked as a naturalistic side-action to the main incident. But, unfortunately, it was displayed upon a hillside where no water could ever have reached it; and thus the audience, all unconsciously, was confronted with the remarkable spectacle of a husbandman applying himself diligently to the task of ladelling thin air on to crops that grew upon barren sand. If only his imagination had been controlled by a knowledge of Egypt, the picture might have been both true and effective.

When the mummy of Akhnaton was discovered and was proved to be that of a man of twenty-eight years of age, many persons doubted the identification on the grounds that the king was known to have been married at the time when he came to the throne, seventeen years before his death,[1] and it was freely stated that a marriage at the age of ten or eleven was impossible and out of the question. Thus it actually remained for the writer to point out that the fact of the king's death occurring seventeen years after his marriage practically fixed his age at his decease [303]at not much above twenty-eight years, so unlikely was it that his marriage would have been delayed beyond his eleventh year. Those who doubted the identification on such grounds were showing all too clearly that the manners and customs of the Egyptians of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, so many of which have come down intact from olden times, were unknown to them.

Here we come to the root of the trouble. The Egyptologist who has not resided for some time in Egypt is inclined to allow his ideas regarding the ancient customs of the land to be influenced by his unconsciously-acquired knowledge of the habits of the west. Men do not marry before the age of eighteen or twenty in Europe: therefore they did not do so in Egypt. There are streams of water upon the mountains in Europe: therefore water may be hoisted upon the hillsides in Egypt. But is he blind that he sees not the great gulf fixed between the ways of the east and those of his accustomed west? It is of no value to science to record the life of Thutmosis III. with Napoleon as our model for it, nor to describe the daily life of the Pharaoh with the person of an English king before our mind's eye. Our European experience will not give us material for the imagination to work upon in dealing with Egypt. The setting for our Pharaonic pictures must be derived from Egypt alone; and no Egyptologist's work that is more than a simple compilation is of value unless the [304]sunlight and the sandy glare of Egypt have burnt into his eyes, and have been reflected on to the pages under his pen.

The archæologist must possess the historic imagination, but it must be confined to its proper channels. It is impossible to exert this imagination without, as a consequence, a figure rising up before the mind partially furnished with the details of a personality and fully endowed with the broad character of an individual. The first lesson, thus, which we must learn is that of allowing no incongruity to appear in our figures. A king whose name has survived to us upon some monument becomes at once such a reality that the legends concerning him are apt to be accepted as so much fact. Like John Donne says—

'Thou art so true, that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truth, and fables histories.'

But only he who has resided in Egypt can judge how far the fables are to be regarded as having a nucleus of truth. In ancient history there can seldom be sufficient data at the Egyptologist's disposal with which to build up a complete figure; and his puppets must come upon the stage sadly deficient, as it were, in arms, legs, and apparel suitable to them, unless he knows from an experience of modern Egyptians how to restore them and to clothe them in good taste. The substance upon which the imagination works must be no less than a collective knowledge of the people of the nation [305]in question. Rameses must be constructed from an acquaintance with many a Pasha of modern Egypt, and his Chief Butler must reflect the known characteristics of a hundred Beys and Effendis. Without such 'padding' the figures will remain but names, and with names Egyptology is already overstocked.

It is remarkable to notice how little is known regarding the great personalities in history. Taking three characters at random: we know extremely little that is authentic regarding King Arthur; our knowledge of the actual history of Robin Hood is extremely meagre; and the precise historian would have to dismiss Cleopatra in a few paragraphs. But let the archæologist know so well the manners and customs of the period with which he is dealing that he will not, like the author of the stories of the Holy Grail, dress Arthur in the armour of the thirteenth century, nor fill the mind of Cleopatra with the thoughts of the Elizabethan poet; let him be so well trained in scientific cautiousness that he will not give unquestioned credence to the legends of the past; let him have sufficient knowledge of the nation to which his hero or heroine belonged to be able to fill up the lacunæ with a kind of collective appreciation and estimate of the national characteristics,—and I do not doubt that his interpretations will hold good till the end of all history.

The student to whom Egypt is not a living reality is handicapped in his labours more unfairly [306]than is realised by him. Avoid Egypt, and though your brains be of vast capacity, though your eyes be never raised from your books, you will yet remain in many ways an ignoramus, liable to be corrected by the merest tourist in the Nile valley. But come with me to a Theban garden that I know, where, on some still evening, the dark palms are reflected in the placid Nile, and the acacias are mellowed by the last light of the sunset; where, in leafy bowers, the grapes cluster overhead, and the fig-tree is burdened with fruit. Beyond the broad sheet of the river rise those unchangeable hills which encompass the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings; and at their foot, dimly seen in the evening haze, sit the twin colossi, as they have sat since the days of Amenhotep the Magnificent. The stars begin to be seen through the leaves now that the daylight dies, and presently the Milky Way becomes apparent, stretching across the vault of the night, as when it was believed to be the Nile of the Heavens.

The owls hoot to one another through the garden; and at the edge of the alabaster tank wherein the dusk is mirrored, a frog croaks unseen amidst the lilies. Even so croaked he on this very ground in those days when, typifying eternity, he seemed to utter the endless refrain, 'I am the resurrection, I am the resurrection,' into the ears of men and maidens beneath these self-same stars.

And now a boat floats past, on its way to Karnak, silhouetted against the last-left light of [307]the sky. There is music and song on board. The sound of the pipes is carried over the water and pulses to the ears, inflaming the imagination with the sorcery of its cadences and stirring the blood by its bold rhythm. The gentle breeze brings the scent of many flowers to the nostrils, and with these come drifting thoughts and undefined fancies, so that presently the busy considerations of the day are lulled and forgotten. The twilight seems to cloak the extent of the years, and in the gathering darkness the procession of the centuries is hidden. Yesterday and to-day are mingled together, and there is nothing to distinguish to the eye the one age from the other. An immortal, brought suddenly to the garden at this hour, could not say from direct observation whether he had descended from the clouds into the twentieth century before or the twentieth century after Christ; and the sound of the festal pipes in the passing boat would but serve to confuse him the more.

In such a garden as this the student will learn more Egyptology than he could assimilate in many an hour's study at home; for here his five senses play the student and Egypt herself is his teacher. While he may read in his books how this Pharaoh or that feasted o' nights in his palace beside the river, here, not in fallible imagination but in actual fact, he may see Nilus and the Libyan desert to which the royal eyes were turned, may smell the very perfume of the palace garden, and may hearken [308]to the self-same sounds that lulled a king to sleep in Hundred-gated Thebes.

Not in the west, but only by the waters of the Nile will he learn how best to be an historian of ancient Egypt, and in what manner to make his studies of interest, as well as of technical value, to his readers, for he will here discover the great secret of his profession. Suddenly the veil will be lifted from his understanding, and he will become aware that Past and Present are so indissoluble as to be incapable of separate interpretation or single study. He will learn that there is no such thing as a distinct Past or a defined Present. 'Yesterday this day's madness did prepare,' and the affairs of bygone times must be interpreted in the light of recent events. The Past is alive to-day, and all the deeds of man in all the ages are living at this hour in offspring. There is no real death. The earthly grave will not hide, nor the mountain tomb imprison, the actions of the men of old Egypt, so consequent and fruitful are all human affairs. This is the knowledge which will make his work of lasting value; and nowhere save in Egypt can he acquire it. This, indeed, is the secret of the Sphinx; and only at the lips of the Sphinx itself can he learn it.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.

The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night — Volume 10 by Richard Francis Burton

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Terminal Essay

Preliminary

The reader who has reached this terminal stage willhardly require my assurance that he has seen the mediaevalArab at his best and, perhaps, at his worst. In glancing over the myriad pictures of this panorama,those who can discern the soul of goodness in thingsevil will note the true nobility of the Moslem’smind in the Moyen Age, and the cleanliness of hislife from cradle to grave. As a child he is devotedto his parents, fond of his comrades and respectfulto his “pastors and masters,” even schoolmasters. As a lad he prepares for manhood with a will and thistraining occupies him throughout youthtide: heis a gentleman in manners without awkwardness, vulgarastonishment or mauvaise-honte. As a man he ishigh-spirited and energetic, always ready to fightfor his Sultan, his country and, especially, his Faith: courteous and affable, rarely failing in temperanceof mind and self-respect, self-control and self-command: hospitable to the stranger, attached to his fellowcitizens, submissive to superiors and kindly to inferiors—­ifsuch classes exist: Eastern despotisms have arrivednearer the idea of equality and fraternity than anyrepublic yet invented. As a friend he provesa model to the Damons and Pythiases: as a loveran exemplar to Don Quijote without the noble old Caballero’stouch of eccentricity. As a knight he is themirror of chivalry, doing battle for the weak anddebelling the strong, while ever “defendingthe honour of women.” As a husband his patriarchalposition causes him to be loved and fondly loved bymore than one wife: as a father affection forhis children rules his life: he is domestic inthe highest degree and he finds few pleasures beyondthe bosom of his family. Lastly, his death issimple, pathetic end edifying as the life which ledto it.

Considered in a higher phase, the mediaeval Moslemmind displays, like the ancient Egyptian, a most exaltedmoral idea, the deepest reverence for all things connectedwith his religion and a sublime conception of theUnity and Omnipotence of the Deity. Noteworthytoo is a proud resignation to the decrees of Fate andFortune (Kaza wa Kadar), of Destiny and Predestination—­afeature which ennobles the low aspect of Al-Islameven in these her days of comparative degenerationand local decay. Hence his moderation in prosperity,his fortitude in adversity, his dignity, his perfectself-dominance and, lastly, his lofty quietism whichsounds the true heroic ring. This again is softenedand tempered by a simple faith in the supremacy ofLove over Fear, an unbounded humanity and charity forthe poor and helpless: an unconditional forgivenessof the direst injuries ('which is the note of thenoble'); a generosity and liberality which at timesseem impossible and an enthusiasm for universal benevolenceand beneficence which, exalting kindly deeds doneto man above every form of holiness, constitute theroot and base of Oriental, nay, of all, courtesy. And the whole is crowned by pure trust and naturalconfidence in the progress and perfectability of humannature, which he exalts instead of degrading; thishe holds to be the foundation stone of society andindeed the very purpose of its existence. HisPessimism resembles far more the optimism which theso-called Books of Moses borrowed from the AncientCopt than the mournful and melancholy creed of thetrue Pessimist, as Solomon the Hebrew, the Indian Buddhistand the esoteric European imitators of Buddhism. He cannot but sigh when contemplating the sin andsorrow, the pathos and bathos of the world; and feelthe pity of it, with its shifts and changes endingin nothingness, its scanty happiness and its copiousmisery. But his melancholy is expressed in—­

“A voice divinely sweet,a voice no less
Divinely sad.”

Nor does he mourn as they mourn who have no hope: he has an absolute conviction in future compensation;and, meanwhile, his lively poetic impulse, the poetryof ideas, not of formal verse, and his radiant innateidealism breathe a soul into the merest matter ofsqualid work-a-day life and awaken the sweetest harmoniesof Nature epitomised in Humanity.

Such was the Moslem at a time when “the darkclouds of ignorance and superstition hung so thickon the intellectual horizon of Europe as to excludeevery ray of learning that darted from the East andwhen all that was polite or elegant in literature wasclassed among the Studia Arabum'[FN#126] Nor is theshady side of the picture less notable. Our Arabat his worst is a mere barbarian who has not forgottenthe savage. He is a model mixture of childishnessand astuteness, of simplicity and cunning, concealinglevity of mind under solemnity of aspect. Hisstolid instinctive conservatism grovels before thetyrant rule of routine, despite that turbulent andlicentious independence which ever suggests revoltagainst the ruler: his mental torpidity, foundedupon physical indolence, renders immediate action andall manner of exertion distasteful: his consciousweakness shows itself in overweening arrogance andintolerance. His crass and self-satisfied ignorancemakes him glorify the most ignoble superstitions,while acts of revolting savagery are the natural resultsof a malignant fanaticism and a furious hatred of everycreed beyond the pale of Al-Islam.

It must be confessed that these contrasts make a curiousand interesting tout ensemble.

SectionI
theoriginofthenights.

A.—­TheBirth place.

Here occur the questions, Where and When was writtenand to Whom do we owe a prose-poem which, like thedramatic epos of Herodotus, has no equal?

I proceed to lay before the reader a proces-verbalof the sundry pleadings already in court as conciselyas is compatible with intelligibility, furnishinghim with references to original authorities and warninghim that a fully-detailed account would fill a volume. Even my own reasons for decidedly taking one sideand rejecting the other must be stated briefly. And before entering upon this subject I would distributethe prose-matter of our Recueil of Folk-lore underthree heads

1. The Apologue or Beast-fable proper, a themewhich may be of any age, as it is found in the hieroglyphsand in the cuneiforms.

2. The Fairy-tale, as for brevity we may termthe stories based upon supernatural agency: thiswas a favourite with olden Persia; and Mohammed, mostaustere and puritanical of the “Prophets,”strongly objected to it because preferred by the moresensible of his converts to the dry legends of theTalmud and the Koran, quite as fabulous without thehalo and glamour of fancy.

3. The Histories and historical anecdotes, analects,and acroamata, in which the names, when not used achronisticallyby the editor or copier, give unerring data for theearliest date a quo and which, by the mode of treatment,suggest the latest.

Each of these constituents will require further noticewhen the subject-matter of the book is discussed. The metrical portion of The Nights may also be dividedinto three categories, viz.:—­

1. The oldest and classical poetry of the Arabs,e.g. the various quotations from the “SuspendedPoems.”

2. The mediaeval, beginning with the laureatesof Al-Rashid’s court, such as Al-Asma’iand Abu Nowas, and ending with Al-Hariri A.H. 446-516= 1030-1100.

3. The modern quotations and the pieces de circonstanceby the editors or copyists of the Compilation.[FN#127]

Upon the metrical portion also further notices mustbe offered at the end of this Essay.

In considering the uncle derivatur of The Nights wemust carefully separate subject-matter from language-manner. The neglect of such essential difference has causedthe remark, “It is not a little curious thatthe origin of a work which has been known to Europeand has been studied by many during nearly two centuries,should still be so mysterious, and that students havefailed in all attempts to detect the secret.” Hence also the chief authorities at once branchedoff into two directions. One held the work tobe practically Persian: the other as persistentlydeclared it to be purely Arab.

Professor Galland, in his Epistle Dedicatory to theMarquise d’O, daughter of his patron M. de Guillerague,showed his literary acumen and unfailing sagacityby deriving The Nights from India via Persia; andheld that they had been reduced to their present shapeby an Auteur Arabe inconnu. This reference toIndia, also learnedly advocated by M. Langles, wasinevitable in those days: it had not then beenproved that India owed all her literature to far oldercivilisations and even that her alphabet the Nagari,erroneously called Devanagari, was derived throughPhoenicia and Himyar-land from Ancient Egypt. So Europe was contented to compare The Nights withthe Fables of Pilpay for upwards of a century. At last the Pehlevi or old Iranian origin of the workfound an able and strenuous advocate in Baron vonHammer-Purgstall [FN#128] who worthily continued whatGalland had begun: although a most inexact writer,he was extensively read in Oriental history and poetry. His contention was that the book is an Arabisationof the Persian Hazar Afsanah or Thousand Tales andhe proved his point.

Von Hammer began by summoning into Court the “Herodotusof the Arabs, (Ali Abu al-Hasan) Al-Mas’udiwho, in A.H. 333 (=944) about one generation beforethe founding of Cairo, published at Bassorah the firstedition of his far-famed Muruj al-Dahab wa Ma’adinal-Jauhar, Meads of Gold and Mines of Gems. The Styrian Orientalist[FN#129] quotes with sundrymisprints[FN#130] an ampler version of a passage inChapter lxviii., which is abbreviated in the Frenchtranslation of M. C. Barbier de Meynard.[FN#131]

“And, indeed, many men well acquainted withtheir (Arab) histories[FN#132] opine that the storiesabove mentioned and other trifles were strung togetherby men who commended themselves to the Kings by relatingthem, and who found favour with their contemporariesby committing them to memory and by reciting them. Of such fashion[FN#133] is the fashion of the bookswhich have come down to us translated from the Persian(Farasiyah), the Indian (Hindiyah),[FN#134] and theGraeco-Roman (Rumiyah)[FN#135]: we have notedthe judgment which should be passed upon compositionsof this nature. Such is the book entituled HazarAfsanah or The Thousand Tales, which word in Arabicsignifies Khurafah (Facetioe): it is known tothe public under the name of ’[he Boot of a ThousandNights and a Night, (Kitab Alf Laylah wa Laylah).[FN#136]This is an history of a King and his Wazir, the minister’sdaughter and a slave-girl (jariyah) who are namedShirzad (lion-born) and Dinar-zad (ducat-born).[FN#137]Such also is the Tale of Farzah,[FN#138] (alii Firza),and Simas, containing details concerning the Kingsand Wazirs of Hind: the Book of Al-Sindibad[FN#139]and others of a similar stamp.”

Von Hammer adds, quoting chaps. cxvi. of Al-Mas’udithat Al-Mansur (second Abbaside A.H. 136-158 = 754-775,and grandfather of Al-Rashid) caused many translationsof Greek and Latin, Syriac and Persian (Pehlevi) worksto be made into Arabic, specifying the “Kalilahwa Damnah,'[FN#140] the Fables of Bidpai (Pilpay),the Logic of Aristotle, the Geography of Ptolemy andthe Elements of Euclid. Hence he concludes “L’originaldes Mille et une Nuits * * * selon toute vraisemblance,a ete traduit au temps du Khalife Mansur, c’est-a-diretrente ans avant le regne du Khalife Haroun al-Raschid,qui, par la suite, devait lui-meme jouer un si grandrole dans ces histoires.” He also notesthat, about a century after Al-Mas’udi had mentionedthe Hazar Afsanah, it was versified and probably remodelledby one “Rasti,” the Takhallus or nom deplume of a bard at the Court of Mahmud, the GhazneviteSultan who, after a reign of thirty-three years, ob. A.D. 1030.[FN#141]

Von Hammer some twelve years afterwards (Journ. Asiat August, 1839) brought forward, in his “Notesur l’origine Persane des Mille et une Nuits,”a second and an even more important witness: thiswas the famous Kitab al-Fihrist,[FN#142] or IndexList of (Arabic) works, written (in A.H. 387 = 987)by Mohammed bin Is’hak al-Nadim (cup-companionor equerry), “popularly known as Ebou Yacoubel-Werrek.'[FN#143] The following is an extract (p.304) from the Eighth Discourse which consists of threearts (funun).[FN#144] “The first section onthe history of the confabulatores nocturni (tellersof night tales) and the relaters of fanciful adventures,together with the names of books treating upon suchsubjects. Mohammed ibn Is’hak saith: The first who indited themes of imagination and madebooks of them, consigning these works to the libraries,and who ordered some of them as though related by thetongues of brute beasts, were the palaeo-Persians (andthe Kings of the First Dynasty). The AshkanianKings of the Third Dynasty appended others to themand they were augmented and amplified in the daysof the Sassanides (the fourth and last royal house). The Arabs also translated them into Arabic, and theloquent and eloquent polished and embellished themand wrote others resembling them. The first workof such kind was entituled ’The Book of HazarAfsan,’ signifying Alf Khurafah, the argumentwhereof was as follows. A King of their Kingswas wont, when he wedded a woman and had lain onenight with her, to slay her on the next morning. Presently he espoused a damsel of the daughters ofthe Kings, Shahrazad[FN#145] hight, one endowed withintellect and erudition and, whenas she lay with him,she fell to telling him tales of fancy; moreover sheused to connect the story at the end of the nightwith that which might induce the King to preserve heralive and to ask her of its ending on the next nightuntil a thousand nights had passed over her. Meanwhile he cohabited with her till she was blestby boon of child of him, when she acquainted him withthe device she had wrought upon him; wherefore he admiredher intelligence and inclined to her and preservedher life. That King had also a Kahramanah (nurseand duenna, not entremetteuse), hight Dinarzad (Dunyazad?),who aided the wife in this (artifice). It isalso said that this book was composed for (or, by)Humai daughter of Bahman[FN#146] and in it were includedother matters. Mohammed bin Is’hak adds: —­And the truth is, Inshallah,[FN#147] thatthe first who solaced himself with hearing night-taleswas Al-Iskandar (he of Macedon) and he had a numberof men who used to relate to him imaginary storiesand provoke him to laughter: he, however, designednot therein merely to please himself, but that he mightthereby become the more cautious and alert. Afterhim the Kings in like fashion made use of the bookentitled ‘Hazar Afsan.’ It containetha thousand nights, but less than two hundred night-stories,for a single history often occupied several nights. I have seen it complete sundry times; and it is, intruth, a corrupted book of cold tales.'[FN#148]

A writer in The Athenoeum,[FN#149] objecting to Lane’smodern date for The Nights, adduces evidence to provethe greater antiquity of the work. (Abu al-Hasan)Ibn Sa’id (bin Musa al-Gharnati = of Granada)born in A.H. 615 = 1218 and ob. Tunis A.H. 685= 1286, left his native city and arrived at Cairoin A.H. 639 = 1241. This Spanish poet and historianwrote Al-Muhalla bi al-Ash’ar (The Adorned withVerses), a Topography of Egypt and Africa, which isapparently now lost. In this he quotes from Al-Kurtubi,the Cordovan;[FN#150] and he in his turn is quotedby the Arab historian of Spain, Abu al-Abbas Ahmadbin Mohammed al Makkari, in the “Windwafts ofPerfume from the Branches of Andalusia the Blooming'[FN#151](A.D. 1628-29). Mr. Payne (x. 301) thus translatesfrom Dr. Dozy’s published text.

“Ibn Said (may God have mercy upon him!) setsforth in his book, El Muhella bi-s-Shaar, quotingfrom El Curtubi the story of the building of the Houdejin the Garden of Cairo, the which was of the magnificentpleasaunces of the Fatimite Khalifs, the rare of ordinanceand surpassing, to wit that the Khalif El Aamir bi-ahkam-illah[FN#152]let build it for a Bedouin woman, the love of whomhad gotten the mastery of him, in the neighbourhoodof the ’Chosen Garden’[FN#153] and usedto resort often thereto and was slain as he went thither;and it ceased not to be a pleasuring-place for theKhalifs after him. The folk abound in storiesof the Bedouin girl and Ibn Meyyah[FN#154] of thesons of her uncle (cousin?) and what hangs therebyof the mention of El-Aamir, so that the tales toldof them on this account became like unto the storyof El Bettal[FN#155] and the Thousand Nights and aNight and what resembleth them.”

The same passage from Ibn Sa’id, correspondingin three MSS., occurs in the famous Khitat[FN#156]attributed to Al-Makrizi (ob. A.D. 1444) andwas thus translated from a Ms. in the BritishMuseum by Mr. John Payne (ix. 303)

“The Khalif El-Aamir bi-ahkam-illah set apart,in the neighbourhood of the Chosen Garden, a placefor his beloved the Bedouin maid (Aaliyah)[FN#157]which he named El Houdej. Quoth Ibn Said, in thebook El-Muhella bi-l-ashar, from the History of ElCurtubi, concerning the traditions of the folk ofthe story of the Bedouin maid and Ibn Menah (Meyyah)of the sons of her uncle and what hangs thereby ofthe mention of the Khalif El Aamir bi-ahkam-illah,so that their traditions (or tales) upon the gardenbecame like unto El Bettal[FN#158] and the ThousandNights and what resembleth them.”

This evidently means either that The Nights existedin the days of Al-’Amir (xiith cent.) or thatthe author compared them with a work popular in hisown age. Mr. Payne attaches much importance tothe discrepancy of titles, which appears to me a minordetail. The change of names is easily explained. Amongst the Arabs, as amongst the wild Irish, thereis divinity (the proverb says luck) in odd numbersand consequently the others are inauspicious. Hence as Sir Wm. Ouseley says (Travels ii. 21), thenumber Thousand and One is a favourite in the East(Olivier, Voyages vi. 385, Paris 1807), and quotesthe Cistern of the “Thousand and One Columns”at Constantinople. Kaempfer (Amoen, Exot. p.38) notes of the Takiyahs or Dervishes’ conventsand the Mazars or Santons’ tombs near Koniah(Iconium), “Multa seges sepulchralium quae virorumex omni aevo doctissimorum exuvias condunt, milleet unum recenset auctor Libri qui inscribitur Hassaaerwe jek mesaar (Hazar ve yek Mezar), i.e., milleet unum mausolea.” A book, The Hazar o yekRuz ( = 1001 Days), was composed in the mid-xviithcentury by the famous Dervaysh Mukhlis, Chief Sofiof Isfahan: it was translated into French byPetis de la Croix, with a preface by Cazotte, and wasenglished by Ambrose Phillips. Lastly, in Indiaand throughout Asia where Indian influence extends,the number of cyphers not followed by a significantnumber is indefinite: for instance, to determinehundreds the Hindus affix the required figure to theend and for 100 write 101; for 1000, 1001. Butthe grand fact of the Hazar Afsanah is its being thearchetype of The Nights, unquestionably proving thatthe Arab work borrows from the Persian bodily itscadre or frame-work, the principal characteristic;its exordium and its denouement, whilst the two heroinesstill bear the old Persic names.

Baron Silvestre de Sacy[FN#159]—­clarumet venerabile nomen—­is the chief authorityfor the Arab provenance of The Nights. Apparentlyfounding his observations upon Galland,[FN#160] heis of opinion that the work, as now known, was originallycomposed in Syria[FN#161] and written in the vulgardialect; that it was never completed by the author,whether he was prevented by death or by other cause;and that imitators endeavoured to finish the work byinserting romances which were already known but whichformed no part of the original recueil, such as theTravels of Sindbad the Seaman, the Book of the SevenWazirs and others. He accepts the Persian schemeand cadre of the work, but no more. He contendsthat no considerable body of prae-Mohammedan or non-Arabicfiction appears in the actual texts[FN#162]; and thatall the tales, even those dealing with events localisedin Persia, India, China and other infidel lands anddated from ante-islamitic ages mostly with the naivestanachronism, confine themselves to depicting the people,manners and customs of Baghdad and Mosul, Damascusand Cairo, during the Abbaside epoch, and he makesa point of the whole being impregnated with the strongestand most zealous spirit of Mohammedanism. Hepoints out that the language is the popular or vulgardialect, differing widely from the classical and literary;that it contains many words in common modern use andthat generally it suggests the decadence of Arabianliterature. Of one tale he remarks:—­TheHistory of the loves of Camaralzaman and Budour, Princessof China, is no more Indian or Persian than the others. The prince’s father has Moslems for subjects,his mother is named Fatimah and when imprisoned hesolaces himself with reading the Koran. The Geniiwho interpose in these adventures are, again, thosewho had dealings with Solomon. In fine, all thatwe here find of the City of the Magians, as well asof the fire-worshippers, suffices to show that oneshould not expect to discover in it anything savethe production of a Moslem writer.

All this, with due deference to so high an authority,is very superficial. Granted, which nobody denies,that the archetypal Hazar Afsanah was translated fromPersic into Arabic nearly a thousand years ago, ithad ample time and verge enough to assume anotherand a foreign dress, the corpus however remaininguntouched. Under the hands of a host of editors,scribes and copyists, who have no scruples anent changingwords, names and dates, abridging descriptions andattaching their own decorations, the florid and rhetoricalPersian would readily be converted into the straight-forward,business-like, matter of fact Arabic. And whateasier than to islamise the old Zoroasterism, to transformAhriman into Iblis the Shaytan, Jan bin Jan into FatherAdam, and the Divs and Peris of Kayomars and the oldenGuebre Kings into the Jinns and Jinniyahs of Sulayman? Volumes are spoken by the fact that the Arab adapterdid not venture to change the Persic names of thetwo heroines and of the royal brothers or to transferthe mise-en-scene any whither from Khorasan or outerPersia. Where the story has not been too muchworked by the literato’s pen, for instance the“Ten Wazirs” (in the Bresl. Edit.vi. I9I-343) which is the Guebre Bakhtiyar-namah,the names and incidents are old Iranian and with fewexceptions distinctly Persian. And at times wecan detect the process of transition, e.g. whenthe Mazin of Khorasan[FN#163] of the Wortley MontaguMs. becomes the Hasan of Bassorah of the TurnerMacan Ms. (Mac. Edit.).

Evidently the learned Baron had not studied such worksas the Tota-kahani or Parrot-chat which, notablytranslated by Nakhshabi from the Sanskrit Suka-Saptati,[FN#164]has now become as orthodoxically Moslem as The Nights. The old Hindu Rajah becomes Ahmad Sultan of Balkh,the Prince is Maymun and his wife Khujisteh. Anotherinstance of such radical change is the later Syriacversion of Kaliliah wa Dimnah,[FN#165] old “Pilpay”converted to Christianity. We find preciselythe same process in European folk-lore; for instancethe Gesta Romanorum in which, after five hundred years,the life, manners and customs of the Romans lapse intothe knightly and chivalrous, the Christian and ecclesiasticaldevelopments of mediaeval Europe. Here, therefore,I hold that the Austrian Arabist has proved his pointwhilst the Frenchman has failed.

Mr. Lane, during his three years’ labour oftranslation, first accepted Von Hammer’s viewand then came round to that of De Sacy; differing,however, in minor details, especially in the nativecountry of The Nights. Syria had been chosen becausethen the most familiar to Europeans: the “Wifeof Bath” had made three pilgrimages to Jerusalem;but few cared to visit the barbarous and dangerousNile-Valley. Mr. Lane, however, was an enthusiastfor Egypt or rather for Cairo, the only part of ithe knew; and, when he pronounces The Nights to beof purely “Arab,” that is, of Niloticorigin, his opinion is entitled to no more deferencethan his deriving the sub-African and negroid Fellahfrom Arabia, the land per excellentiam of pure andnoble blood. Other authors have wandered stillfurther afield. Some finding Mosul idioms in theRecueil, propose “Middlegates” for itsbirth-place and Mr. W. G. P. Palgrave boldly says“The original of this entertaining work appearsto have been composed in Baghdad about the eleventhcentury; another less popular but very spirited versionis probably of Tunisian authorship and somewhat later.'[FN#166]

B.—­TheDate.

The next point to consider is the date of The Nightsin its present form; and here opinions range betweenthe tenth and the sixteenth centuries. ProfessorGalland began by placing it arbitrarily in the middleof the thirteenth. De Sacy, who abstained fromdetailing reasons and who, forgetting the number ofeditors and scribes through whose hands it must havepassed, argued only from the nature of the languageand the peculiarities of style, proposed le milieudu neuvieme siecle de l’hegire ( = A.D. 1445-6)as its latest date. Mr. Hole, who knew The Nightsonly through Galland’s version, had alreadyadvocated in his “Remarks” the close ofthe fifteenth century; and M. Caussin (de Perceval),upon the authority of a supposed note in Galland’sMs.[FN#167] (vol. iii. fol. 20, verso), declaresthe compiler to have been living in A.D. 1548 and1565. Mr. Lane says “Not begun earlier thanthe last fourth of the fifteenth century nor endedbefore the first fourth of the sixteenth,” i.e.soon after Egypt was conquered by Selim, Sultan ofthe Osmanli Turks in A.D. 1517. Lastly the learnedDr. Weil says in his far too scanty Vorwort (p. ix.2nd Edit.):-'Das wahrscheinlichste duerfte also sein,das im 15. Jahrhundert ein Egyptier nach alternVorbilde Erzaehlungen fuer 1001 Naechte theils erdichtete,theils nach muendlichen Sagen, oder fruehern schriftlichenAufzeichnungen, bearbeitete, dass er aber entwedersein Werk nicht vollendete, oder dass ein Theil desselbenverloren ging, so dass das Fehlende von Andern bisins 16. Jahrhundert hinein durch neue Erzaehlungenergaenzt wurde.”

But, as justly observed by Mr. Payne, the first stepwhen enquiring into the original date of The Nightsis to determine the nucleus of the Repertory by acomparison of the four printed texts and the dozenMSS. which have been collated by scholars.[FN#168]This process makes it evident that the tales commonto all are the following thirteen:—­

1. The Introduction (with a single incidentalstory “The Bull and
the Ass').
2. The Trader and the Jinni (with three incidentals).3. The Fisherman and the Jinni (with four).4. The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad(with six). 5. The Tale of the Three Apples.6. The Tale of Nur-al-Din Ali and his son Badral-Din Hasan. 7. The Hunchback’s Tale(with eleven incidentals). 8. Nur al-Din andAnis al-Jalis. 9. Tale of Ghanim bin ’Ayyub(with two incidentals). 10. Ali bin Bakkar andShams al-Nahar (with two). 11. Tale of Kamaral-Zaman. 12. The Ebony Horse; and 13. Julnar the Seaborn.

These forty-two tales, occupying one hundred and twentyNights, form less than a fifth part of the whole collectionwhich in the Mac. Edit.[FN#169] contains a totalof two hundred and sixty-four Hence Dr. Patrick Russell,[FN#170]the Natural Historian of Aleppo,[FN#171] whose valuablemonograph amply deserves study even in this our day,believed that the original Nights did not outnumbertwo hundred, to which subsequent writers added tillthe total of a thousand and one was made up. Dr. Jonathan Scott,[FN#172] who quotes Russell, “heldit highly probable that the tales of the originalArabian Nights did not run through more than two hundredand eighty Nights, if so many.” So thissuggestion I may subjoin, “habent sue fate libelli.” Galland, who preserves in his Mille et une Nuits onlyabout one fourth of The Nights, ends them in No. cclxiv[FN#173]with the seventh voyage of Sindbad: after thathe intentionally omits the dialogue between the sistersand the reckoning of time, to proceed uninterruptedlywith the tales. And so his imitator, Petis dela Croix,[FN#174] in his Mille et un Jours, reducesthe thousand to two hundred and thirty-two.

The internal chronological evidence offered by theCollection is useful only in enabling us to determinethat the tales were not written after a certain epoch: the actual dates and, consequently, all deductionsfrom them, are vitiated by the habits of the scribes. For instance we find the Tale of the Fisherman andthe Jinni (vol. i. 41) placed in A.H. I69 = A.D.785,[FN#175] which is hardly possible. The immortalBarber in the “Tailor’s Tale” (vol.i. 304) places his adventure with the unfortunate loveron Safar 10, A.H. 653 ( = March 25th, 1255) and 7,320years of the era of Alexander.[FN#176] This is supportedin his Tale of Himself (vol. i. pp. 317-348), wherehe dates his banishment from Baghdad during the reignof the penultimate Abbaside, Al-Mustansir bi ’llah[FN#177](A.H. 623-640 = 1225-1242), and his return to Baghdadafter the accession of another Caliph who can be noother but Al-Muntasim bi ’llah (A.H. 640-656= A.D. 1242-1258). Again at the end of the tale(vol. i. 350) he is described as “an ancientman, past his ninetieth year” and “a veryold man” in the days of Al-Mustansir (vol.i. 318); So that the Hunchback’s adventurecan hardly be placed earlier than A.D. 1265 or sevenyears after the storming of Baghdad by Hulaku Khan,successor of Janghiz Khan, a terrible catastrophewhich resounded throughout the civilised world. Yet there is no allusion to this crucial epoch andthe total silence suffices to invalidate the date.[FN#178]Could we assume it as true, by adding to A.D. 1265half a century for the composition of the Hunchback’sstory and its incidentals, we should place the earliestdate in A.D. 1315.

As little can we learn from inferences which havebeen drawn from the body of the book: at mostthey point to its several editions or redactions. In the Tale of the “Ensorcelled Prince”(vol. i. 77) Mr. Lane (i. 135) conjectured that thefour colours of the fishes were suggested by the sumptuarylaws of the Mameluke Soldan, Mohammed ibn Kala’un,“subsequently to the commencement of the eighthcentury of the Flight, or fourteenth of our era.” But he forgets that the same distinction of dresswas enforced by the Caliph Omar after the captureof Jerusalem in A.D. 636; that it was revived by Harunal-Rashid, a contemporary of Carolus Magnus and thatit was noticed as a long standing grievance by theso-called Mandeville in A.D. 1322. In the Taleof the Porter and the Ladies of Baghdad the “Sultanioranges” (vol. i. 83) have been connected withSultaniyah city in Persian Irak, which was foundedabout the middle of the thirteenth century: but“Sultani” may simply mean “royal,”a superior growth. The same story makes mention(vol. i. 94) of Kalandars or religious mendicants,a term popularly corrupted, even in writing, to Karandal.[FN#179]Here again “Kalandar” may be due onlyto the scribes as the Bresl. Edit. reads Sa’aluk= asker, beggar. The Khan al-Masrur in the NazareneBroker’s story (i. 265) was a ruin during theearly ninth century A.H. = A.D. 1420; but the BabZuwaylah (i. 269) dates from A.D. 1087. In thesame tale occurs the Darb al-Munkari (or Munakkari)which is probably the Darb al-Munkadi of Al-Makrizi’scareful topography, the Khitat (ii. 40). Herewe learn that in his time (about A.D. 1430) the namehad become obsolete, and the highway was known asDarb al-Amir Baktamir al-Ustaddar from one of two highofficials who both died in the fourteenth century (circ. A.D. 1350). And lastly we have the Khan al-Jawalibuilt about A.D. 1320. In Badr al-Din Hasan (vol.i. 237) “Sahib” is given as a Wazirialtitle and it dates only from the end of the fourteenthcentury.[FN#180] In Sindbad the Seaman, there is anallusion (vol. vi. 67) to the great Hindu Kingdom,Vijayanagar of the Narasimha,[FN#181] the great powerof the Deccan; but this may be due to editors or scribesas the despotism was founded only in the fourteenthcentury(A.D. 1320). The Ebony Horse (vol. v. 1)apparently dates before Chaucer; and “The Sleeperand The Waker” (Bresl. Edit. iv. 134-189)may precede Shakespeare’s “Taming of theShrew”: no stress, however, can be laidupon such resemblances, the nouvelles being world-wide. But when we come to the last stories, especially toKamar al-Zaman ii. and the tale of Ma’aruf,we are apparently in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The first contains (Night cmlxxvii.) the word Lawandiyah= Levantine, the mention of a watch = Sa’ahin the next Night[FN#182]; and, further on (cmlxxvi.),the “Shaykh Al-Islam,” an officer inventedby Mohammed ii. after the capture of Stambulin A.D. 1453. In Ma’aruf the ’Adiliyahis named; the mosque founded outside the Bab al-Nasrby Al-Malik al-’Adil, Tuman Bey in A.H. 906 =A.D. 1501. But, I repeat, all these names maybe mere interpolations.

On the other hand, a study of the vie intime in Al-Islamand of the manners and customs of the people provesthat the body of the work, as it now stands, musthave been written before A.D. 1400. The Arabsuse wines, ciders and barley-beer, not distilled spirits;they have no coffee or tobacco and, while familiarwith small-pox (judri), they ignore syphilis. The battles in The Nights are fought with bows andjavelins, swords, spears (for infantry) and lances(for cavalry); and, whenever fire-arms are mentioned,we must suspect the scribe. Such is the casewith the Madfa’ or cannon by means of whichBadr Al-Din Hasan breaches the bulwarks of the Ladyof Beauty’s virginity (i. 223). This considerationwould determine the work to have been written beforethe fourteenth century. We ignore the invention-dateand the inventor of gunpowder, as of all old discoverieswhich have affected mankind at large: all we knowis that the popular ideas betray great ignorance andwe are led to suspect that an explosive compound,having been discovered in the earliest ages of humansociety, was utilised by steps so gradual that historyhas neglected to trace the series. According toDemmin[FN#183], bullets for stuffing with some incendiarycomposition, in fact bombs, were discovered by Dr.Keller in the Palafites or Crannogs of Switzerland;and the Hindu’s Agni-Astar ('fire-weapon'),Agni-ban ('fire-arrow”) and Shatagni ('hundred-killer'),like the Roman Phalarica, and the Greek fire of Byzantium,suggest explosives. Indeed, Dr. Oppert[FN#184]accepts the statement of Flavius Philostratus thatwhen Appolonius of Tyana, that grand semi-mythicalfigure, was travelling in India, he learned the reasonwhy Alexander of Macedon desisted from attacking theOxydracae who live between the Ganges and the Hyphasis(Satadru or Sutledge):- “These holy men, belovedby the gods, overthrow their enemies with tempestsand thunderbolts shot from their walls.” Passing over the Arab sieges of Constantinople (A.D.668) and Meccah (A.D. 690) and the disputed passagein Firishtah touching the Tufang or musket duringthe reign of Mahmud the Ghaznevite[FN#185] (ob. A.D. 1030), we come to the days of Alphonso the Valiant,whose long and short guns, used at the Siege of Madridin A.D. 1084, are preserved in the Armeria Real. Viardot has noted that the African Arabs first employedcannon in A.D. 1200, and that the Maghribis defendedAlgeciras near Gibraltar with great guns in A. D.1247, and utilised them to besiege Seville in A.D.1342. This last feat of arms introduced the cannoninto barbarous Northern Europe, and it must have beenknown to civilised Asia for many a decade before thatdate.

The mention of wine in The Nights, especially theNabiz or fermented infusion of raisins well knownto the prae-Mohammeden Badawis, perpetually recurs. As a rule, except only in the case of holy personagesand mostly of the Caliph Al-Rashid, the “serviceof wine” appears immediately after the handsare washed; and women, as well as men, drink, liketrue Orientals, for the honest purpose of gettingdrunk-la recherche de l’ideal, as the processhas been called. Yet distillation became wellknown in the fourteenth century. Amongst theGreeks and Romans it was confined to manufacturingaromatic waters, and Nicander the poet (B.C. 140)used for a still the term , like the Irish “pot”and its produce “poteen.” The simpleart of converting salt water into fresh, by boilingthe former and passing the steam through a cooledpipe into a recipient, would not have escaped the studentsof the Philosopher’s “stone;” andthus we find throughout Europe the Arabic modificationsof Greek terms Alchemy, Alembic (Al- ), Chemistryand Elixir; while “Alcohol” (Al-Kohl),originally meaning “extreme tenuity or impalpablestate of pulverulent substances,” clearly showsthe origin of the article. Avicenna, who diedin A.H. 428 = 1036, nearly two hundred years beforewe read of distillation in Europe, compared the humanbody with an alembic, the belly being the cucurbitand the head the capital:-he forgot one importantdifference but n’importe. Spirits of winewere first noticed in the xiiith century, when theArabs had overrun the Western Mediterranean, by Arnaldusde Villa Nova, who dubs the new invention a universalpanacea; and his pupil, Raymond Lully (nat. MajorcaA.D. 1236), declared this essence of wine to be a boonfrom the Deity. Now The Nights, even in the latestadjuncts, never allude to the “white coffee”of the “respectable” Moslem, the Raki(raisin-brandy) or Ma-hayat (aqua-vitae) of the modernMohametan: the drinkers confine themselves towine like our contemporary Dalmatians, one of thehealthiest and the most vigorous of seafaring racesin Europe.

Syphilis also, which at the end of the xvth centurybegan to infect Europe, is ignored by The Nights. I do not say it actually began: diseases do notbegin except with the dawn of humanity; and theirhistory, as far as we know, is simple enough. They are at first sporadic and comparatively non-lethal: at certain epochs which we can determine, and forreasons which as yet we cannot, they break out intoepidemics raging with frightful violence: theythen subside into the endemic state and lastly theyreturn to the milder sporadic form. For instance,“English cholera” was known of old: in 1831 (Oct. 26) the Asiatic type took its placeand now, after sundry violent epidemics, the diseaseis becoming endemic on the Northern seaboard of theMediterranean, notably in Spain and Italy. Sosmall-pox (Al-judri, vol. i. 256) passed over fromCentral Africa to Arabia in the year of Mohammed’sbirth (A.D. 570) and thence overspread the civilisedworld, as an epidemic, an endemic and a sporadic successively. The “Greater Pox” has appeared in humanbones of pre historic graves and Moses seems to mentiongonorrhoea (Levit. xv. 12). Passing over allusionsin Juvenal and Martial,[FN#186] we find Eusebius relatingthat Galerius died (A.D. 302) of ulcers on the genitalsand other parts of his body; and, about a centuryafterwards, Bishop Palladius records that one Hero,after conversation with a prostitute, fell a victimto an abscess on the penis (phagedaenic shanker?). In 1347 the famous Joanna of Naples founded (aet.23), in her town of Avignon, a bordel whose in-mateswere to be medically inspected a measure to which England(proh pudor!) still objects. In her Statuts duLieu-publiqued’Avignon, No. iv. she expresslymentions the Malvengut de paillardise. Such houses,says Ricord who studied the subject since 1832, werecommon in France after A.D. 1200; and sporadic venerealswere known there. But in A.D. 1493-94 an epidemicbroke out with alarming intensity at Barcelona, aswe learn from the “Tractado llamado fructo detodos los Sanctos contra el mal serpentino, venidode la Isla espanola,” of Rodrigo Ruiz Dias, thespecialist. In Santo Domingo the disease wascommon under the names Hipas, Guaynaras and Taynastizas: hence the opinion in Europe that it arose from themixture of European and “Indian” blood.[FN#187]Some attributed it to the Gypsies who migrated toWestern Europe in the xvth century:[FN#188] othersto the Moriscos expelled from Spain. But thepest got its popular name after the violent outbreakat Naples in A.D. 1493-4, when Charles viii.of Anjou with a large army of mercenaries, Frenchmen,Spaniards, and Germans, attacked Ferdinand ii. Thence it became known as the Mal de Naples and MorbusGallicus-una gallica being still the popular term inneo Latin lands-and the “French disease”in England. As early as July 1496 Marin Sanuto(Journal i. 171) describes with details the “MalFranzoso.” The scientific “syphilis”dates from Fracastori’s poem (A.D. 1521) inwhich Syphilus the Shepherd is struck like Job, forabusing the sun. After crippling a Pope (Sixtusiv.[FN#189]) and killing a King (Francis I.)the Grosse Verole began to abate its violence, underthe effects of mercury it is said; and became endemic,a stage still shown at Scherlievo near Fiume, wherelegend says it was implanted by the Napoleonic soldiery. The Aleppo and other “buttons” also belongapparently to the same grade. Elsewhere it settledas a sporadic and now it appears to be dying out whilegonorrhoea is on the increase.[FN#190]

The Nights, I have said, belongs to the days beforecoffee (A.D. 1550) and tobacco (A.D. 1650) had overspreadthe East. The former, which derives its namefrom the Kafa or Kaffa province, lying south of Abyssiniaproper and peopled by the Sidama Gallas, was introducedto Mokha of Al-Yaman in A.D. 1429-30 by the Shaykhal-Shazili who lies buried there, and found a congenialname in the Arabic Kahwah=old wine.[FN#191] In TheNights (Mac. Edit.) it is mentioned twelve times[FN#192];but never in the earlier tales: except in thecase of Kamar al-Zaman ii. it evidently does notbelong to the epoch and we may fairly suspect the scribe. In the xvith century coffee began to take the placeof wine in the nearer East; and it gradually oustedthe classical drink from daily life and from folk-tales.

It is the same with tobacco, which is mentioned onlyonce by The Nights (cmxxxi.), in conjunction withmeat, vegetables and fruit and where it is called“Tabah.” Lane (iii. 615) holds itto be the work of a copyist; but in the same taleof Abu Kir and Abu Sir, sherbet and coffee appearto have become en vogue, in fact to have gained theground they now hold. The result of Lord Macartney’sMission to China was a suggestion that smoking mighthave originated spontaneously in the Old World.[FN#193]This is un-doubtedly true. The Bushmen and otherwild tribes of Southern Africa threw their Dakha (cannabisindica) on the fire and sat round it inhaling theintoxicating fumes. Smoking without tobacco waseasy enough. The North American Indians of theGreat Red Pipe Stone Quarry and those who lived abovethe line where nicotiana grew, used the kinni-kinikor bark of the red willow and some seven other succedanea.[FN#194]But tobacco proper, which soon superseded all materialsexcept hemp and opium, was first adopted by the Spaniardsof Santo Domingo in A.D. 1496 and reached England in1565. Hence the word, which, amongst the so-calledRed Men, denoted the pipe, the container, not thecontained, spread over the Old World as a genericterm with additions, like ’’Tutun,’’[FN#195]for special varieties. The change in Englishmanners brought about by the cigar after dinner hasalready been noticed; and much of the modified sobrietyof the present day may be attributed to the influenceof the Holy Herb en cigarette. Such, we know fromhistory was its effect amongst Moslems; and the normalwine-parties of The Nights suggest that the pipe wasunknown even when the latest tales were written.

C.

We know absolutely nothing of the author or authorswho produced our marvellous Recueil. Gallandjustly observes (Epist. Dedic.), “probablythis great work is not by a single hand; for how canwe suppose that one man alone could own a fancy fertileenough to invent so many ingenious fictions?”Mr. Lane, and Mr. Lane alone, opined that the workwas written in Egypt by one person or at most by two,one ending what the other had begun, and that he orthey had re-written the tales and completed the collectionby new matter composed or arranged for the purpose. It is hard to see how the distinguished Arabist cameto such a conclusion: at most it can be trueonly of the editors and scribes of MSS. evidently copiedfrom each other, such as the Mac. and the Bul. texts. As the Reviewer (Forbes Falconer?) in the “AsiaticJournal” (vol. xxx., 1839) says, “Everystep we have taken in the collation of these agreeablefictions has confirmed us in the belief that the workcalled the Arabian Nights is rather a vehicle forstories, partly fixed and partly arbitrary, than acollection fairly deserving, from its constant identitywith itself, the name of a distinct work, and thereputation of having wholly emanated from the sameinventive mind. To say nothing of the improbabilityof supposing that one individual, with every licenseto build upon the foundation of popular stories, awork which had once received a definite form froma single writer, would have been multiplied by thecopyist with some regard at least to his arrangementof words as well as matter. But the various copieswe have seen bear about as much mutual resemblanceas if they had passed through the famous process recommendedfor disguising a plagiarism: ’Translateyour English author into French and again into English’.”

Moreover, the style of the several Tales, which willbe considered in a future page (Section iii.), sofar from being homogeneous is heterogeneous in theextreme. Different nationalities show them selves;West Africa, Egypt and Syria are all represented and,while some authors are intimately familiar with Baghdad,Damascus and Cairo, others are equally ignorant. All copies, written and printed, absolutely differin the last tales and a measure of the divergencecan be obtained by comparing the Bresl. Edit.with the Mac. text: indeed it is my convictionthat the MSS. preserved in Europe would add sundryvolumes full of tales to those hitherto translated;and here the Wortley Montagu copy can be taken as atest. We may, I believe, safely compare the historyof The Nights with the so-called Homeric poems, theIliad and the Odyssey, a collection of immortal balladsand old Epic formulae and verses traditionally handeddown from rhapsode to rhapsode, incorporated in aslowly-increasing body of poetry and finally weldedtogether about the age of Pericles.

To conclude. From the data above given I holdmyself justified in drawing the following deductions:—­

1. The framework of the book is purelyPersian perfunctorily arabised; the archetype beingthe Hazar Afsanah.[FN#196]

2. The oldest tales, such as Sindibad (theSeven Wazirs) and King Jili’ad, may date fromthe reign of Al-Mansur, eighth century A.D.

3. The thirteen tales mentioned above (p.78) as the nucleus of the Repertory, together with“Dalilah the Crafty,'[FN#197] may be placedin our tenth century.

4. The latest tales, notably Kamar al-Zamanthe Second and Ma’aruf the Cobbler, are as lateas the sixteenth century.

5. The work assumed its present form inthe thirteenth century.

6. The author is unknown for the best reason;there never was one: for information touchingthe editors and copyists we must await the fortunatediscovery of some MSS.

Sectionii.
ThenightsinEurope.

The history of The Nights in Europe is one of slowand gradual development. The process was begun(1704-17) by Galland, a Frenchman, continued (1823)by Von Hammer an Austro-German, and finished by Mr.John Payne (1882-84) an Englishman. But we mustnot forget that it is wholly and solely to the geniusof the Gaul that Europe owes “The Arabian Nights’Entertainments” over which Western childhoodand youth have spent so many spelling hours. Antoine Galland was the first to discover the marvellousfund of material for the story-teller buried in theOriental mine; and he had in a high degree that artof telling a tale which is far more captivating thanculture or scholarship. Hence his delightfulversion (or perversion) became one of the world’sclassics and at once made Sheherazade and Dinarzarde,Haroun Alraschid, the Calendars and a host of otherpersonages as familiar to the home reader as Prospero,Robinson Crusoe, Lemuel Gulliver and Dr. Primrose. Without the name and fame won for the work by thebrilliant paraphrase of the learned and single-mindedFrenchman, Lane’s curious hash and latinizedEnglish, at once turgid and emasculated, would havefound few readers. Mr. Payne’s admirableversion appeals to the Orientalist and the “stylist,”not to the many-headed; and mine to the anthropologistand student of Eastern manners and customs. Galland did it and alone he did it: his fineliterary flaire, his pleasing style, his polished tasteand perfect tact at once made his work take high rankin the republic of letters nor will the immortal fragmentever be superseded in the infallible judgment of childhood. As the Encyclopaedia Britannica has been pleasedto ignore this excellent man and admirable Orientalist,numismatologist and litterateur, the reader may notbe unwilling to see a short sketch of his biography.[FN#198]

Antoine Galland was born in A.D. 1646 of peasant parents“poor and honest” at Rollot, a littlebourg in Picardy some two leagues from Montdidier. He was a seventh child and his mother, left a widowin early life and compelled to earn her livelihood,saw scant chance of educating him when the kindlyassistance of a Canon of the Cathedral and Presidentof the College de Noyon relieved her difficulties. In this establishment Galland studied Greek and Hebrewfor ten years, after which the “strait thingat home” apprenticed him to a trade. Buthe was made for letters; he hated manual labour andhe presently removed en cachette to Paris, where heknew only an ancient kinswoman. She introducedhim to a priestly relative of the Canon of Noyon, whoin turn recommended him to the “Sous-principal”of the College Du Plessis. Here he made suchnotable progress in Oriental studies, that M. Petitpied,a Doctor of the Sorbonne, struck by his abilities,enabled him to study at the College Royal and eventuallyto catalogue the Eastern MSS. in the great ecclesiasticalSociety. Thence he passed to the College Mazarin,where a Professor, M. Godouin, was making an experimentwhich might be revived to advantage in our presentschools. He collected a class of boys, agedabout four, and proposed to teach them Latin speedilyand easily by making them converse in the classicallanguage as well as read and write it.[FN#199] Galland,his assistant, had not time to register success orfailure before he was appointed attache-secretaryto M. de Nointel named in 1660 Ambassadeur de Francefor Constantinople. His special province wasto study the dogmas and doctrines and to obtain officialattestations concerning the articles of the Orthodox(or Greek) Christianity which had then been a subjectof lively discussion amongst certain Catholics, especiallyArnauld (Antoine) and Claude the Minister, and whicheven in our day occasionally crops up amongst “Protestants.'[FN#200]Galland, by frequenting the cafes and listening tothe tale-teller, soon mastered Romaic and grappledwith the religious question, under the tuition of adeposed Patriarch and of sundry Matrans or Metropolitans,whom the persecutions of the Pashas had driven forrefuge to the Palais de France. M. de Nointel,after settling certain knotty points in the Capitulations,visited the harbour-towns of the Levant and the “HolyPlaces,” including Jerusalem, where Gallandcopied epigraphs, sketched monuments and collectedantiques, such as the marbles in the Baudelot Galleryof which Pere Dom Bernard de Montfaucon presentlypublished specimens in his ’’PalaeographiaGraeca,” etc. (Parisiis, 1708).

In Syria Galland was unable to buy a copy of The Nights: as he expressly states in his Epistle Dedicatory,il a fallu le faire venir de Syrie. But he preparedhimself for translating it by studying the mannersand customs, the religion and superstitions of thepeople; and in 1675, leaving his chief, who was orderedback to Stambul, he returned to France. In Parishis numismatic fame recommended him to mm. Vaillant, Carcary and Giraud who strongly urged asecond visit to the Levant, for the purpose of collecting,and he set out without delay. In 1691 he madea third journey, travelling at the expense of theCompagnie des Indes-Orientales, with the main objectof making purchases for the Library and Museum ofColbert the magnificent. The commission endedeighteen months afterwards with the changes of theCompany, when Colbert and the Marquis de Louvois causedhim to be created “Antiquary to the King,”Louis le Grand, and charged him with collecting coinsand medals for the royal cabinet. As he wasabout to leave Smyrna, he had a narrow escape fromthe earthquake and subsequent fire which destroyedsome fifteen thousand of the inhabitants: hewas buried in the ruins; but, his kitchen being coldas becomes a philosopher’s, he was dug out unburnt.[FN#201]

Galland again returned to Paris where his familiaritywith Arabic and Hebrew, Persian and Turkish recommendedhim to mm. Thevenot and Bignon: thisfirst President of the Grand Council acknowledgedhis services by a pension. He also became afavourite with D’Herbelot whose BibliothequeOrientale, left unfinished at his death, he had thehonour of completing and prefacing.[FN#202] PresidentBignon died within the twelvemonth, which made Gallandattach himself in 1697 to M. Foucault, Councillorof State and Intendant (governor) of Caen in LowerNormandy, then famous for its academy: in hisnew patron’s fine library and numismatic collectionhe found materials for a long succession of works,including a translation of the Koran.[FN#203] Theyrecommended him strongly to the literary world andin 1701 he was made a member of the Academie des Inscriptionset Belles Lettres.

At Caen Galland issued in 1704,[FN#204] the firstpart of his Mille et une Nuits, Contes Arabes traduitsen Francois which at once became famous as “TheArabian Nights’ Entertainments.” Mutilated, fragmentary and paraphrastic though thetales were, the glamour of imagination, the marvelof the miracles and the gorgeousness and magnificenceof the scenery at once secured an exceptional success;it was a revelation in romance, and the public recognisedthat it stood in presence of a monumental literarywork. France was a-fire with delight at a somethingso new, so unconventional, so entirely without purpose,religious, moral or philosophical: the Orientalwanderer in his stately robes was a startling surpriseto the easy-going and utterly corrupt Europe of theancien regime with its indecently tight garments andperfectly loose morals. “Ils produisirent,”said Charles Nodier, a genius in his way, “desle moment de leur publication, cet effet qui assureaux productions de l’esprit une vogue populaire,quoiqu’ils appartinssent a une litterature peuconnue en France; et que ce genre de composition admitou plutot exigeat des details de moeurs, de caractere,de costume et de localites absolument etrangers atoutes les idees etablies dans nos contes et nos romans. On fut etonne du charme que resultait du leur lecture. C’est que la verite des sentimens, la nouveautedes tableaux, une imagination feconde en prodiges,un coloris plein de chaleur, l’attrait d’unesensibilite sans pretention, et le sel d’uncomique sans caricature, c’est que l’espritet le naturel enfin plaisent partout, et plaisenta tout le monde.'[FN#205]

The Contes Arabes at once made Galland’s nameand a popular tale is told of them and him known toall reviewers who, however, mostly mangle it. In the Biographie Universelle of Michaud[FN#206]we find:—­Dans les deux premiers volumesde ces contes l’exorde etait toujours, “Machere soeur, si vous ne dormez pas, faites-nous unde ces contes que vous savez.” Quelquesjeunes gens, ennuyes de cette plate uniformite, allerentune nuit qu’il faisait tres-grand froid, frappera la porte de l’auteur, qui courut en chemisea sa fenetre. Apres l’avoir fait morfondrequelque temps par diverses questions insignificantes,ils terminerent en lui disant, “Ah, MonsieurGalland, si vous ne dormez pas, faites-nous un deces beaux contes que vous savez si bien.” Galland profita de la lecon, et supprima dans lesvolumes suivants le preambule qui lui avait attirela plaisanterie. This legend has the merit ofexplaining why the Professor so soon gave up the Arabframework which he had deliberately adopted.

The Nights was at once translated from the French[FN#207]though when, where and by whom no authority seemsto know. In Lowndes’ “Bibliographer’sManual” the English Editio Princeps is thusnoticed, “Arabian Nights’ Entertainmentstranslated from the French, London, 1724, 12mo, 6vols.” and a footnote states that this translation,very inaccurate and vulgar in its diction, was oftenreprinted. In 1712 Addison introduced into theSpectator (No. 535, Nov. 13) the Story of Alnaschar( = Al-Nashshar, the Sawyer) and says that his remarkson Hope “may serve as a moral to an Arabiantale which I find translated into French by MonsieurGalland.” His version appears, from thetone and style, to have been made by himself, andyet in that year a second English edition had appeared. The nearest approach to the Edit. Princeps inthe British Museum[FN#208] is a set of six volumesbound in three and corresponding with Galland’sfirst half dozen. Tomes i. and ii. are from thefourth edition of 1713, Nos. iii. and iv. are fromthe second of 1712 and v. and vi. are from the thirdof 1715. It is conjectured that the two firstvolumes were reprinted several times apart from theirsubsequents, as was the fashion of the day; but allis mystery. We (my friends and I) have turnedover scores of books in the British Museum, the UniversityLibrary and the Advocates’ Libraries of Edinburghand Glasgow: I have been permitted to put thequestion in “Notes and Queries” and inthe “Antiquary”; but all our researcheshitherto have been in vain.

The popularity of The Nights in England must haverivalled their vogue in France, judging from the factthat in 1713, or nine years after Galland’sEdit. Prin. appeared, they had already reacheda fourth issue. Even the ignoble national jealousywhich prompted Sir William Jones grossly to abusethat valiant scholar, Auquetil du Perron, could notmar their popularity. But as there are men whocannot read Pickwick, so they were not wanting whospoke of “Dreams of the distempered fancy ofthe East.'[FN#209] “When the work was firstpublished in England,” says Henry Webber,[FN#210]“it seems to have made a considerable impressionupon the public.” Pope in 1720 sent twovolumes (French? or English?) to Bishop Atterbury,without making any remark on the work; but, from hisvery silence, it may be presumed that he was not displeasedwith the perusal. The bishop, who does not appearto have joined a relish for the flights of imaginationto his other estimable qualities, expressed his dislikeof these tales pretty strongly and stated it to behis opinion, formed on the frequent descriptions offemale dress, that they were the work of some Frenchman(Petis de la Croix, a mistake afterwards correctedby Warburton). The Arabian Nights, however, quicklymade their way to public favour. “We havebeen informed of a singular instance of the effectthey produced soon after their first appearance. Sir James Stewart, Lord Advocate for Scotland, havingone Saturday evening found his daughters employed inreading these volumes, seized them with a rebuke forspending the evening before the ‘Sawbbath’in such worldly amusement; but the grave advocatehimself became a prey to the fascination of the tales,being found on the morning of the Sabbath itself employedin their perusal, from which he had not risen the wholenight.” As late as 1780 Dr. Beattie professedhimself uncertain whether they were translated orfabricated by M. Galland; and, while Dr. Pusey wroteof them “Noctes Mille et Una dictae, quae inomnium firme populorum cultiorum linguas conversae,in deliciis omnium habentur, manibusque omnium terentur,'[FN#211]the amiable Carlyle, in the gospel according to SaintFroude, characteristically termed them “downrightlies” and forbade the house to such “unwholesomeliterature.” What a sketch of characterin two words!

The only fault found in France with the Contes Arabeswas that their style is peu correcte; in fact theywant classicism. Yet all Gallic imitators, Trebutienincluded, have carefully copied their leader and CharlesNodier remarks:—­“Il me semble quel’on n’a pas rendu assez de justice austyle de Galland. Abondant sans etre prolixe,naturel et familier sans etre lache ni trivial, ilne manque jamais de cette elegance qui resulte de lafacilite, et qui presente je ne sais quel melangede la naivete de Perrault et de la bonhomie de LaFontaine.”

Our Professor, with a name now thoroughly established,returned in 1706 to Paris, where he was an assiduousand efficient member of the Societe Numismatique andcorresponded largely with foreign Orientalists. Three years afterwards he was made Professor of Arabicat the College de France, succeeding Pierre Dippy;and, during the next half decade, he devoted himselfto publishing his valuable studies. Then theend came. In his last illness, an attack ofasthma complicated with pectoral mischief, he sentto Noyon for his nephew Julien Galland[FN#212] toassist him in ordering his MSS. and in making hiswill after the simplest military fashion: hebequeathed his writings to the Bibliotheque du Roi,his Numismatic Dictionary to the Academy and his Alcoranto the Abbe Bignon. He died, aged sixty-nineon February 17, 1715, leaving his second part of TheNights unpublished.[FN#213]

Professor Galland was a French litterateur of thegood old school which is rapidly becoming extinct. Homme vrai dans les moindres choses (as his Elogestated); simple in life and manners and single-heartedin his devotion to letters, he was almost childishin worldly matters, while notable for penetration andacumen in his studies. He would have been ashappy, one of his biographers remarks, in teachingchildren the elements of education as he was in acquiringhis immense erudition. Briefly, truth and honesty,exactitude and indefatigable industry characterisedhis most honourable career.

Galland informs us (Epist. Ded.) that his Ms.consisted of four volumes, only three of which areextant,[FN#214] bringing the work down to Night cclxxxii.,or about the beginning of “Camaralzaman.” The missing portion, if it contained like the othervolumes 140 pages, would end that tale together withthe Stories of Ghanim and the Enchanted (Ebony) Horse;and such is the disposition in the Bresl. Edit.which mostly favours in its ordinance the text usedby the first translator. But this would hardlyhave filled more than two-thirds of his volumes; forthe other third he interpolated, or is supposed tohave interpolated, the ten[FN#215] following tales.

1. Histoire du prince Zeyn Al-asnam et du Roides Genies.[FN#216] 2. Histoire de Codadadet de ses freres. 3. Histoire de la Lampe merveilleuse(Aladdin). 4. Histoire de l’aveugle BabaAbdalla. 5. Histoire de Sidi Nouman. 6. Histoire de Cogia Hassan Alhabbal. 7. Histoired’Ali Baba, et de Quarante Voleurs exterminespar une Esclave. 8. Histoire d’Ali Cogia,marchand de Bagdad. 9. Histoire du prince Ahmedet de la fee Peri-Banou. 10. Histoire de deuxSoeurs jalouses de leur Cadette.[FN#217]

Concerning these interpolations which contain twoof the best and most widely known stories in the work,Aladdin and the Forty Thieves, conjectures have beenmanifold but they mostly run upon three lines. De Sacy held that they were found by Galland in thepublic libraries of Paris. Mr. Chenery, whoseacquaintance with Arabic grammar was ample, suggestedthat the Professor had borrowed them from the recitationsof the Rawis, rhapsodists or professional story-tellersin the bazars of Smyrna and other ports of the Levant. The late Mr. Henry Charles Coote (in the “Folk-LoreRecord,” vol. iii. Part ii. p. 178 et seq.),“On the source of some of M. Galland’sTales,” quotes from popular Italian, Sicilianand Romaic stories incidents identical with thosein Prince Ahmad, Aladdin, Ali Baba and the EnviousSisters, suggesting that the Frenchman had heard theseparamythia in Levantine coffee-houses and had insertedthem into his unequalled corpus fabularum. Mr.Payne (ix. 268) conjectures the probability “oftheir having been composed at a comparatively recentperiod by an inhabitant of Baghdad, in imitation ofthe legends of Haroun er Rashid and other well-knowntales of the original work;” and adds, “Itis possible that an exhaustive examination of thevarious Ms. copies of the Thousand and One Nightsknown to exist in the public libraries of Europe mightyet cast some light upon the question of the originof the interpolated Tales.” I quite agreewith him, taking “The Sleeper and the Waker’’and “Zeyn Al-asnam” as cases in point;but I should expect, for reasons before given, tofind the stories in a Persic rather than an ArabicMs. And I feel convinced that all will be recovered: Galland was not the man to commit a literary forgery.

As regards Aladdin, the most popular tale of the wholework, I am convinced that it is genuine, althoughmy unfortunate friend, the late Professor Palmer,doubted its being an Eastern story. It is laiddown upon all the lines of Oriental fiction. The mise-en-scene is China, “where they drinka certain warm liquor” (tea); the hero’sfather is a poor tailor; and, as in “Judar andhis Brethren,” the Maghribi Magician presentlymakes his appearance, introducing the Wonderful Lampand the Magical Ring. Even the Sorcerer’scry, “New lamps for old lamps !”—­aprime point—­is paralleled in the Tale ofthe Fisherman’s Son,[FN#218] where the Jew asksin exchange only old rings and the Princess, recollectingthat her husband kept a shabby, well-worn ring inhis writing-stand, and he being asleep, took it outand sent it to the man. In either tale the palaceis transported to a distance and both end with thedeath of the wicked magician and the hero and heroineliving happily together ever after.

All Arabists have remarked the sins of omission andcommission, of abridgment, amplification and substitution,and the audacious distortion of fact and phrase inwhich Galland freely indulged, whilst his knowledgeof Eastern languages proves that he knew better. But literary license was the order of his day andat that time French, always the most begueule of Europeanlanguages, was bound by a rigorisme of the narrowestand the straightest of lines from which the leastecart condemned a man as a barbarian and a tudesque. If we consider Galland fairly we shall find thathe errs mostly for a purpose, that of popularisinghis work; and his success indeed justified his means. He has been derided (by scholars) for “He Monsieur!”and “Ah Madame!”; but he could not write“O mon sieur” and “O ma dame;”although we can borrow from biblical and ShakespeareanEnglish, “O my lord!” and “O my lady!”“Bon Dieu! ma soeur” (which our translatorsEnglish by “O heavens,” Night xx.) isgood French for Wa’llahi—­by Allah;and “cinquante cavaliers bien faits” ('fiftyhandsome gentlemen on horseback”) is a morefamiliar picture than fifty knights. “L’officieuseDinarzade” (Night lxi.), and “Cette plaisantequerelle des deux freres” (Night 1xxii.) becomeridiculous only in translation—­“theofficious Dinarzade” and “this pleasantquarrel;” while “ce qu’il y de remarquable”(Night 1xxiii.) would relieve the Gallic mind fromthe mortification of “Destiny decreed.” “Plusieurs sortes de fruits et de bouteillesde vin” (Night ccxxxi. etc.) Europeanisesflasks and flaggons; and the violent convulsions inwhich the girl dies (Night cliv., her head havingbeen cut off by her sister) is mere Gallic squeamishness: France laughs at “le shoking” in Englandbut she has only to look at home especially duringthe reign of Galland’s contemporary—­Roi Soleil. The terrible “Old man”(Shaykh) “of the Sea” (- board) is badlydescribed by “l’incommode vieillard”('the ill-natured old fellow'): “BraveMaimune” and “Agreable Maimune” arehardly what a Jinni would say to a Jinniyah (ccxiii.);but they are good Gallic. The same may be notedof “Plier les voiles pour marque qu’ilse rendait” (Night ccxxxv.), a European practice;and of the false note struck in two passages. “Je m’estimais heureuse d’avoirfait une si belle conquete” (Night 1xvii.) givesa Parisian turn; and, “Je ne puis voir sans horreurcet abominable barbier que voila: quoiqu’ilsoit ne dans un pays ou tout le monde est blanc, ilne laisse pas a resembler a un Ethiopien; mais ila l’ame encore plus noire et horrible que levisage” (Night clvii.), is a mere affectationof Orientalism. Lastly, “Une vieille damede leur connaissance” (Night clviii.) puts Frenchpolish upon the matter of fact Arab’s “anold woman.”

The list of absolute mistakes, not including violentliberties, can hardly be held excessive. ProfessorWeil and Mr. Payne (ix. 271) justly charge Gallandwith making the Trader (Night i.) throw away the shells(ecorces) of the date which has only a pellicle, asGalland certainly knew; but dates were not seen everyday in France, while almonds and walnuts were of thequatre mendiants. He preserves the ecorces,which later issues have changed to noyaux, probablyin allusion to the jerking practice called Inwa. Again in the “First Shaykh’s Story”(vol. i. 27) the “maillet” is mentionedas the means of slaughtering cattle, because familiarto European readers: at the end of the tale itbecomes “le couteaufuneste.” In BadralDin a “tarte a la creme,” so well knownto the West, displaces, naturally enough, the outlandish“mess of pomegranate-seeds.” Thoughthe text especially tells us the hero removed hisbag-trousers (not only “son habit”) andplaced them under the pillow, a crucial fact in thehistory, our Professor sends him to bed fully dressed,apparently for the purpose of informing his readersin a foot-note that Easterns “se couchent encalecon” (Night lxxx.). It was mere ignoranceto confound the arbalete or cross-bow with the stone-bow(Night xxxviii.), but this has universally been done,even by Lane who ought to have known better; and itwas an unpardonable carelessness or something worseto turn Nar (fire) and Dun (in lieu of) into “lefaux dieu Nardoun” (Night lxv.): as thishas been untouched by De Sacy, I cannot but concludethat he never read the text with the translation. Nearly as bad also to make the Jewish physician remark,when the youth gave him the left wrist (Night cl.),“voila une grande ignorance de ne savoir pasque l’on presente la main droite a un medecinet non pas la gauche”—­whose exclusiveuse all travellers in the East must know. Ihave noticed the incuriousness which translates “alongthe Nile-shore” by “up towards Ethiopia”(Night cli.), and the “Islands of the Childrenof Khaledan” (Night ccxi.) instead of the Khalidatanior Khalidat, the Fortunate Islands. It was byno means “des petite soufflets” ('sometaps from time to time with her fingers”) whichthe sprightly dame administered to the Barber’ssecond brother (Night clxxi.), but sound and heavy“cuffs” on the nape; and the sixth brother(Night clxxx.) was not “aux levres fendues”('he of the hair-lips'), for they had been cut offby the Badawi jealous of his fair wife. Abu al-Hasanwould not greet his beloved by saluting “le tapisa ses pieds:” he would kiss her hands andfeet. Haiatalnefous (Hayat al-Nufus, Night ccxxvi.)would not “throw cold water in the Princess’sface:” she would sprinkle it with eau-de-rose. “Camaralzaman” I. addresses his two abominablewives in language purely European (ccxxx.), “etde la vie il ne s’approcha d’elles,”missing one of the fine touches of the tale whichshows its hero a weak and violent man, hasty and lackingthe pundonor. “La belle Persienne,”in the Tale of Nur al-Din, was no Persian; nor wouldher master address her, “Venez ca, impertinente!”('come hither, impertinence'). In the storyof Badr, one of the Comoro Islands becomes “L’ilede la Lune.” “Dog” and “dog-son”are not “injures atroces et indignes d’ungrand roi:” the greatest Eastern kingsallow themselves far more energetic and significantlanguage.

Fitnah[FN#219] is by no means “Force de coeurs.” Lastly the denouement of The Nights is widely differentin French and in Arabic; but that is probably notGalland’s fault, as he never saw the original,and indeed he deserves high praise for having inventedso pleasant and sympathetic a close, inferior onlyto the Oriental device.[FN#220]

Galland’s fragment has a strange effect uponthe Orientalist and those who take the scholasticview, be it wide or narrow. De Sacy does nothesitate to say that the work owes much to his fellow-countryman’shand; but I judge otherwise: it is necessaryto dissociate the two works and to regard Galland’sparaphrase, which contains only a quarter of The ThousandNights and a Night, as a wholly different book. Its attempts to amplify beauties and to correct orconceal the defects and the grotesqueness of the original,absolutely suppress much of the local colour, clothingthe bare body in the best of Parisian suits. It ignores the rhymed prose and excludes the verse,rarely and very rarely rendering a few lines in abalanced style. It generally rejects the proverbs,epigrams and moral reflections which form the pithand marrow of the book; and, worse still, it disdainsthose finer touches of character which are often Shakespeareanin their depth and delicacy, and which, applied toa race of familiar ways and thoughts, manners andcustoms, would have been the wonder and delight ofEurope. It shows only a single side of the gemthat has so many facets. By deference to publictaste it was compelled to expunge the often repulsivesimplicity, the childish indecencies and the wildorgies of the original, contrasting with the gorgeoustints, the elevated morality and the religious toneof passages which crowd upon them. We miss theodeur du sang which taints the parfums du harem; alsothe humouristic tale and the Rabelaisian outbreakwhich relieve and throw out into strong relief thesplendour of Empire and the havoc of Time. Consideredin this light it is a caput mortuum, a magnificenttexture seen on the wrong side; and it speaks volumesfor the genius of the man who could recommend it insuch blurred and caricatured condition to readersthroughout the civilised world. But those wholook only at Galland’s picture, his effort to“transplant into European gardens the magicflowers of Eastern fancy,” still compare histales with the sudden prospect of magnificent mountainsseen after a long desert-march: they arouse strangelongings and indescribable desires; their marvellousimaginativeness produces an insensible brighteningof mind and an increase of fancy-power, making onedream that behind them lies the new and unseen, thestrange and unexpected—­in fact, all theglamour of the unknown.

The Nights has been translated into every far-extendingEastern tongue, Persian, Turkish and Hindostani. The latter entitles them Hikayat al-Jalilah or NobleTales, and the translation was made by Munshi Shamsal-Din Ahmad for the use of the College of Fort Georgein A.H. 1252 = 1836.[FN#221] All these versions aredirect from the Arabic: my search for a translationof Galland into any Eastern tongue has hitherto beenfruitless.

I was assured by the late Bertholdy Seemann that the“language of Hoffmann and Heine” containeda literal and complete translation of The Nights;but personal enquiries at Leipzig and elsewhere convincedme that the work still remains to be done. Thefirst attempt to improve upon Galland and to showthe world what the work really is was made by Dr.Max Habicht and was printed at Breslau (1824-25),in fifteen small square volumes.[FN#222] Thus it appearedbefore the “Tunis Manuscript'[FN#223] of whichit purports to be a translation. The Germanversion is, if possible, more condemnable than theArabic original. It lacks every charm of style;it conscientiously shirks every difficulty; it aboundsin the most extraordinary blunders and it is utterlyuseless as a picture of manners or a book of reference. We can explain its laches only by the theory thatthe eminent Professor left the labour to his collaborateursand did not take the trouble to revise their carelesswork.

The next German translation was by Aulic CouncillorJ. von Hammer-Purgstallt who, during his short stayat Cairo and Constantinople, turned into French thetales neglected by Galland. After some differencewith M. Caussin (de Perceval) in 1810, the StyrianOrientalist entrusted his Ms. to Herr Cotta thepublisher of Tubingen. Thus a German versionappeared, the translation of a translation, at thehand of Professor Zinserling,[FN#224] while the Frenchversion was unaccountably lost en route to London. Finally the “Contes inedits,” etc.,appeared in a French translation by G. S. Trebutien(Paris, mdcccxxviii.). Von Hammer took libertieswith the text which can compare only with those ofLane: he abridged and retrenched till the likenessin places entirely disappeared; he shirked some difficultpassages and he misexplained others. In factthe work did no honour to the amiable and laborioushistorian of the Turks.

The only good German translation of The Nights isdue to Dr. Gustav Weil who, born on April 24, 1808,is still (1886) professing at Heidelburg.[FN#225]His originals (he tells us) were the Breslau Edition,the Bulak text of Abd al-Rahman al-Safati and a Ms.in the library of Saxe Gotha. The venerablesavant, who has rendered such service to Arabism, informsme that Aug. Lewald’s “Vorhalle”(pp. i.-xv.)[FN#226] was written without his knowledge. Dr. Weil neglects the division of days which enableshim to introduce any number of tales: for instance,Galland’s eleven occupy a large part of vol.iii. The Vorwort wants development, the notes,confined to a few words, are inadequate and verseis everywhere rendered by prose, the Saj’a orassonance being wholly ignored. On the otherhand the scholar shows himself by a correct translation,contrasting strongly with those which preceded him,and by a strictly literal version, save where thetreatment required to be modified in a book intendedfor the public. Under such circumstances it cannotwell be other than longsome and monotonous reading.

Although Spain and Italy have produced many and remarkableOrientalists, I cannot find that they have taken thetrouble to translate The Nights for themselves: cheap and gaudy versions of Galland seem to have satisfiedthe public.[FN#227] Notes on the Romaic, Icelandic,Russian (?) and other versions, will be found in afuture page.

Professor Galland has never been forgotten in Francewhere, amongst a host of editions, four have claimsto distinction;[FN#228] and his success did not failto create a host of imitators and to attract whatDe Sacy justly terms “une prodigieuse importationde marchandise de contrabande.” As earlyas 1823 Von Hammer numbered seven in France (Trebutien,Preface xviii.) and during later years they have grownprodigiously. Mr. William F. Kirby, who hasmade a special study of the subject, has favouredme with detailed bibliographical notes on Galland’simitators which are printed in Appendix No. II.

Sectioniii.
Thematterandthemannerofthenights.

A.—­TheMatter.

Returning to my threefold distribution of this ProsePoem (Section Section I) into Fable, Fairy Tale andhistorical Anecdote[FN#229], let me proceed to considerthese sections more carefully.

The Apologue or Beast-fable, which apparently antedatesall other subjects in The Nights, has been called“One of the earliest creations of the awakeningconsciousness of mankind.” I should regardit, despite a monumental antiquity, as the offspringof a comparatively civilised age, when a jealousdespotism or a powerful oligarchy threw difficultiesand dangers in the way of speaking “plain truths.” A hint can be given and a friend or foe can be laudedor abused as Belins the sheep or Isengrim the wolfwhen the Author is debarred the higher enjoyment ofpraising them or dispraising them by name. And,as the purposes of fables are twofold—­

Duplexlibelli dos est: quod risum movet,
Etquod prudenti vitam consilio monet—­

The speaking of brute beasts would give a piquancyand a pleasantry to moral design as well as to socialand political satire.

The literary origin of the fable is not Buddhistic: we must especially shun that “Indo-Germanic”school which goes to India for its origins, when Pythagoras,Solon, Herodotus, Plato, Aristotle and possibly Homersat for instruction at the feet of the Hir-seshtha,the learned grammarians of the pharaohnic court. Nor was it AEsopic, evidently AEsop inherited the hoardedwealth of ages. As Professor Lepsius taughtus, “In the olden times within the memory ofman, we know only of one advanced culture; of onlyone mode of writing, and of only one literary development,viz. those of Egypt.” The inventionof an alphabet, as opposed to a syllabary, unknownto Babylonia, to Assyria and to that extreme bourneof their civilising influence, China, would for everfix their literature—­poetry, history andcriticism,[FN#230] the apologue and the anecdote. To mention no others The Lion and the Mouse appearsin a Leyden papyrus dating from B.C 1200-1166 thedays of Rameses iii. (Rhampsinitus) or Hak On,not as a rude and early attempt, but in a finishedform, postulating an ancient origin and illustriousancestry. The dialogue also is brought to perfectionin the discourse between the Jackal Koufi and theEthiopian Cat (Revue Egyptologique ivme. annee Parti.). Africa therefore was the home of the Beast-fablenot as Professor Mahaffy thinks, because it was thechosen land of animal worship, where

Oppida tote canem venerantur nemo Dianam;[FN#231]

but simply because the Nile-land originated everyform of literature between Fabliau and Epos.

From Kemi the Black-land it was but a step to Phoenicia,Judaea,[FN#232] Phrygia and Asia Minor, whence a ferryled over to Greece. Here the Apologue foundits populariser in {Greek}, AEsop, whose name, involvedin myth, possibly connects with
:—­“AEsopus et Aithiops idem sonant” saysthe sage. This
would show that the Hellenes preserved a legend ofthe land whence the Beast-fable arose, and we mayaccept the fabulist’s aera as contemporary withCroesus and Solon (B.C. 570,) about a century afterPsammeticus (Psamethik 1st) threw Egypt open to therestless Greek.[FN#233] From Africa too the Fable wouldin early ages migrate eastwards and make for itselfa new home in the second great focus of civilisationformed by the Tigris-Euphrates Valley. The lateMr. George Smith found amongst the cuneiforms fragmentaryBeast-fables, such as dialogues between the Ox andthe Horse, the Eagle and the Sun. In after centuries,when the conquests of Macedonian Alexander completedwhat Sesostris and Semiramis had begun, and mingledthe manifold families of mankind by joining the easternto the western world, the Orient became formally hellenised. Under the Seleucidae and during the life of the independentBactrian Kingdom (B.C. 255-125), Grecian art and science,literature and even language overran the old Iranicreign and extended eastwards throughout northern India. Porus sent two embassies to Augustus in B.C. 19 andin one of them the herald Zarmanochagas (Shramanacharya)of Bargosa, the modern Baroch in Guzerat, bore anepistle upon vellum written in Greek (Strabo xv. I section 78). “Videtis gentes populosquemutasse sedes” says Seneca (De Cons. ad Helv.c. vi.). Quid sibi volunt in mediis barbarorumregionibus Graecae artes? Quid inter Indos PersasqueMacedonicus sermo? Atheniensis in Asia turba est.” Upper India, in the Macedonian days would have beenmainly Buddhistic, possessing a rude alphabet borrowedfrom Egypt through Arabia and Phoenicia, but stillin a low and barbarous condition: her buildingswere wooden and she lacked, as far as we know, stone-architecture—­themain test of social development. But the BactrianKingdom gave an impulse to her civilisation and theresult was classical opposed to vedic Sanskrit. From Persia Greek letters, extending southwards toArabia, would find indigenous imitators and thereAEsop would be represented by the sundry sages whoshare the name Lokman.[FN#234] One of these was ofservile condition, tailor, carpenter or shepherd; anda “Habashi” (AEthiopian) meaning a negroslave with blubber lips and splay feet, so far showinga superficial likeness to the AEsop of history.

The AEsopic fable, carried by the Hellenes to India,might have fallen in with some rude and fantasticbarbarian of Buddhistic “persuasion” andindigenous origin: so Reynard the Fox has itsanalogue amongst the Kafirs and the Vai tribe of Mandengannegroes in Liberia[FN#235] amongst whom one Doalu inventedor rather borrowed a syllabarium. The modernGypsies are said also to have beast-fables which havenever been traced to a foreign source (Leland). But I cannot accept the refinement of differencewhich Professor Benfey, followed by Mr. Keith-Falconer,discovers between the AEsopic and the Hindu apologue:—­“In the former animals are allowed to act asanimals: the latter makes them act as men inthe form of animals.” The essence of thebeast-fable is a reminiscence of Homo primigenius witherected ears and hairy hide, and its expression isto make the brother brute behave, think and talk likehim with the superadded experience of ages. To early man the “lower animals,” whichare born, live and die like himself, showing all thesame affects and disaffects, loves and hates, passions,prepossessions and prejudices, must have seemed quitehuman enough and on an equal level to become his substitutes. The savage, when he began to reflect, would regardthe carnivor and the serpent with awe, wonder anddread; and would soon suspect the same mysteriouspotency in the brute as in himself: so the Malaysstill look upon the Uran-utan, or Wood-man, as thepossessor of superhuman wisdom. The hunter andthe herdsman, who had few other companions, wouldpresently explain the peculiar relations of animalsto themselves by material metamorphosis, the bodilytransformation of man to brute giving increased powersof working him weal and woe. A more advancedstage would find the step easy to metempsychosis,the beast containing the Ego (alias soul) of the human: such instinctive belief explains much in Hindu literature,but it was not wanted at first by the Apologue.

This blending of blood, this racial baptism wouldproduce a fine robust progeny; and, after our secondcentury, AEgypto-Graeco-Indian stories overran thecivilised globe between Rome and China. Taleshave wings and fly farther than the jade hatchetsof proto-historic days. And the result was abook which has had more readers than any other exceptthe Bible. Its original is unknown.[FN#236]The volume, which in Pehlevi became the Javidan Khirad('Wisdom of Ages”) or the Testament of Hoshang,that ancient guebre King, and in Sanskrit the Panchatantra('Five Chapters'), is a recueil of apologues and anecdotesrelated by the learned Brahman, Vishnu Sharma for thebenefit of his pupils the sons of an Indian Rajah. The Hindu original has been adapted and translatedinto a number of languages; Arabic, Hebrew and Syriac,Greek and Latin, Persian and Turkish, under a hostof names.[FN#237] Voltaire[FN#238] wisely remarksof this venerable production:—­Quand on faitreflexion que presque toute la terre a ete enfatueede pareils contes, et qu’ils ont fait l’educationdu genre humain, on trouve les fables de Pilpay, deLokman,[FN#239] d’Esope, bien raisonables. But methinks the sage of Ferney might have said farmore. These fables speak with the large utteranceof early man; they have also their own especial beauty—­thecharms of well-preserved and time-honoured old age. There is in their wisdom a perfume of the past, homelyand ancient-fashioned like a whiff of pot pourri,wondrous soothing withal to olfactories agitated bythe patchoulis and jockey clubs of modern pretendersand petit-maitres, with their grey young heads andpert intelligence, the motto of whose ignorance is“Connu!” Were a dose of its antique, matureexperience adhibited to the Western before he visitsthe East, those few who could digest it might escapethe normal lot of being twisted round the fingersof every rogue they meet from Dragoman to Rajah. And a quotation from them tells at once: itshows the quoter to be man of education, not a “Jangali,”a sylvan or savage, as the Anglo-Indian official ishabitually termed by his more civilised “fellow-subject.”

The main difference between the classical apologueand the fable in The Nights is that while AEsop andGabrias write laconic tales with a single event anda simple moral, the Arabian fables are often “long-continuednovelle involving a variety of events, each characterisedby some social or political aspect, forming a narrativehighly interesting in itself, often exhibiting themost exquisite moral, and yet preserving, with rareingenuity, the peculiar characteristics of the actors.'[FN#240]And the distinction between the ancient and the mediaevalapologue, including the modern which, since “ReinekeFuchs,” is mainly German, appears equally pronounced. The latter is humorous enough and rich in the witwhich results from superficial incongruity: butit ignores the deep underlying bond which connectsman with beast. Again, the main secret of itssuccess is the strain of pungent satire, especiallyin the Renardine Cycle, which the people could applyto all unpopular “lordes and prelates, gostlyand worldly.”

Our Recueil contains two distinct sets of apologues.[FN#241] The first (vol. iii.) consists of eleven,alternating with five anecdotes (Nights cxlvi.—­cliii.),following the lengthy and knightly romance of KingOmar bin al Nu’man and followed by the melancholylove tale of Ali bin Bakkar. The second seriesin vol. ix., consisting of eight fables, not includingten anecdotes (Nights cmi.—­cmxxiv.), isinjected into the romance of King Jali’ad andShimas mentioned by Al-Mas’udi as independentof The Nights. In both places the Beast-fablesare introduced with some art and add variety to thesubject-matter, obviating monotony—­ thedeadly sin of such works—­and giving reposeto the hearer or reader after a climax of excitementsuch as the murder of the Wazirs. And even theseare not allowed to pall upon the mental palate, beingmingled with anecdotes and short tales, such as theHermits (iii. 125), with biographical or literary episodes,acroamata, table-talk and analects where humorous Rabelaisiananecdote finds a place; in fact the fabliau or novella. This style of composition may be as ancient as theapologues. We know that it dates as far backas Rameses iii., from the history of the TwoBrothers in the Orbigny papyrus,[FN#242] the prototypeof Yusuf and Zulaykha, the Koranic Joseph and Potiphar’swife. It is told with a charming naivete andsuch sharp touches of local colour as, “Come,let us make merry an hour and lie together! Letdown thy hair!”

Some of the apologues in The Nights are pointlessenough, rien moins qu’amusants; but in the bestspecimens, such as the Wolf and the Fox[FN#243] (thewicked man and the wily man), both characters arecarefully kept distinct and neither action nor dialogueever flags. Again The Flea and the Mouse (iii.151), of a type familiar to students of the Pilpaycycle, must strike the home-reader as peculiarly quaint.

Next in date to the Apologue comes the Fairy Taleproper, where the natural universe is supplementedby one of purely imaginative existence. “Asthe active world is inferior to the rational soul,”says Bacon with his normal sound sense, “so Fictiongives to Mankind what History denies and in some measuresatisfies the Mind with Shadows when it cannot enjoythe Substance. And as real History gives usnot the success of things according to the desertsof vice and virtue, Fiction corrects it and presentsus with the fates and fortunes of persons rewardedand punished according to merit.” ButI would say still more. History paints or attemptsto paint life as it is, a mighty maze with or withouta plan: Fiction shows or would show us life asit should be, wisely ordered and laid down on fixedlines. Thus Fiction is not the mere handmaidof History: she has a household of her own andshe claims to be the triumph of Art which, as Goeetheremarked, is “Art because it is not Nature.” Fancy, la folle du logis, is “that kind andgentle portress who holds the gate of Hope wide open,in opposition to Reason, the surly and scrupulousguard.'[FN#244] As Palmerin of England says and sayswell, “For that the report of noble deeds dothurge the courageous mind to equal those who bear mostcommendation of their approved valiancy; this is thefair fruit of Imagination and of ancient histories.” And, last but not least, the faculty of Fancy takescount of the cravings of man’s nature for themarvellous, the impossible, and of his higher aspirationsfor the Ideal, the Perfect: she realises thewild dreams and visions of his generous youth andportrays for him a portion of that “other andbetter world,” with whose expectation he wouldconsole his age.

The imaginative varnish of The Nights serves admirablyas a foil to the absolute realism of the picture ingeneral. We enjoy being carried away from trivialand commonplace characters, scenes and incidents;from the matter of fact surroundings of a work-a-dayworld, a life of eating and drinking, sleeping andwaking, fighting and loving, into a society and a mise-en-scenewhich we suspect can exist and which we know does not. Every man at some turn or term of his life has longedfor supernatural powers and a glimpse of Wonderland. Here he is in the midst of it. Here he seesmighty spirits summoned to work the human mite’swill, however whimsical, who can transport him in aneye-twinkling whithersoever he wishes; who can ruincities and build palaces of gold and silver, gemsand jacinths; who can serve up delicate viands anddelicious drinks in priceless chargers and impossiblecups and bring the choicest fruits from farthest Orient: here he finds magas and magicians who can make kingsof his friends, slay armies of his foes and bringany number of beloveds to his arms. And fromthis outraging probability and out-stripping possibilityarises not a little of that strange fascination exercisedfor nearly two centuries upon the life and literatureof Europe by The Nights, even in their mutilated andgarbled form. The reader surrenders himself tothe spell, feeling almost inclined to enquire “Andwhy may it not be true?’’[FN#245] Hisbrain is dazed and dazzled by the splendours whichflash before it, by the sudden procession of Jinnsand Jinniyahs, demons and fairies, some hideous, otherspreternaturally beautiful; by good wizards and evilsorcerers, whose powers are unlimited for weal andfor woe; by mermen and mermaids, flying horses, talkinganimals, and reasoning elephants; by magic rings andtheir slaves and by talismanic couches which rivalthe carpet of Solomon. Hence, as one remarks,these Fairy Tales have pleased and still continue toplease almost all ages, all ranks and all differentcapacities.

Dr. Hawkesworth[FN#246] observes that these FairyTales find favour “because even their machinery,wild and wonderful as it is, has its laws; and themagicians and enchanters perform nothing but whatwas naturally to be expected from such beings, afterwe had once granted them existence.” Mr.Heron “rather supposes the very contrary isthe truth of the fact. It is surely the strangeness,the unknown nature, the anomalous character of thesupernatural agents here employed, that makes themto operate so powerfully on our hopes, fears, curiosities,sympathies, and, in short, on all the feelings of ourhearts. We see men and women, who possess qualitiesto recommend them to our favour, subjected to theinfluence of beings, whose good or ill will, poweror weakness, attention or neglect, are regulated bymotives and circumstances which we cannot comprehend: and hence, we naturally tremble for their fate, withthe same anxious concern, as we should for a friendwandering, in a dark night, amidst torrents and precipices;or preparing to land on a strange island, while heknew not whether he should be received, on the shore,by cannibals waiting to tear him piecemeal, and devourhim, or by gentle beings, disposed to cherish him withfond hospitality.” Both writers have expressedthemselves well, but meseems each has secured, asoften happens, a fragment of the truth and holds itto be the whole Truth. Granted that such spiritualcreatures as Jinns walk the earth, we are pleased tofind them so very human, as wise and as foolish inword and deed as ourselves: similarly we admirein a landscape natural forms like those of Staffaor the Palisades which favour the works of architecture. Again, supposing such preternaturalisms to be aroundand amongst us, the wilder and more capricious theyprove, the more our attention is excited and our forecastsare baffled to be set right in the end. Butthis is not all. The grand source of pleasurein Fairy Tales is the natural desire to learn moreof the Wonderland which is known to many as a wordand nothing more, like Central Africa before the lasthalf century: thus the interest is that of the“Personal Narrative” of a grand explorationto one who delights in travels. The pleasuremust be greatest where faith is strongest; for instanceamongst imaginative races like the Kelts and especiallyOrientals, who imbibe supernaturalism with their mother’smilk. “I am persuaded,” writes Mr.Bayle St. John,[FN#247] “that the great schemeof preternatural energy, so fully developed in TheThousand and One Nights, is believed in by the majorityof the inhabitants of all the religious professionsboth in Syria and Egypt.” He might haveadded “by every reasoning being from princeto peasant, from Mullah to Badawi, between Maroccoand Outer Ind.”

The Fairy Tale in The Nights is wholly and purelyPersian. The gifted Iranian race, physicallythe noblest and the most beautiful of all known tome, has exercised upon the world-history an amountof influence which has not yet been fully recognised. It repeated for Babylonian art and literature whatGreece had done for Egyptian, whose dominant idea wasthat of working for eternity a . Hellas and Iran instinctively chose as their characteristicthe idea of Beauty, rejecting all that was exaggeratedand grotesque; and they made the sphere of Art andFancy as real as the world of Nature and Fact. The innovation was hailed by the Hebrews. Theso-called Books of Moses deliberately and ostentatiouslyignored the future state of rewards and punishments,the other world which ruled the life of the Egyptianin this world: the lawgiver, whoever he may havebeen, Osarsiph or Moshe, apparently held the tenetunworthy of a race whose career he was directing toconquest and isolation in dominion. But theJews, removed to Mesopotamia, the second cradle ofthe creeds, presently caught the infection of theirAsiatic media; superadded Babylonian legend to Egyptianmyth; stultified The Law by supplementing it withthe “absurdities of foreign fable” andended, as the Talmud proves, with becoming the mostwildly superstitious and “other worldly’’of mankind.

The same change befel Al-Islam. The whole ofits supernaturalism is borrowed bodily from Persia,which had “imparadised Earth by making it theabode of angels.” Mohammed, a great andcommanding genius, blighted and narrowed by surroundingsand circumstances to something little higher thana Covenanter or a Puritan, declared to his followers,

“I am sent to ’stablish the manners andcustoms;”

and his deficiency of imagination made him dislikeeverything but “women, perfumes, and prayers,”with an especial aversion to music and poetry, plasticart and fiction. Yet his system, unlike thatof Moses, demanded thaumaturgy and metaphysical entities,and these he perforce borrowed from the Jews who hadborrowed them from the Babylonians: his soul andspirit, his angels and devils, his cosmogony, hisheavens and hells, even the Bridge over the GreatDepth are all either Talmudic or Iranian. Butthere he stopped and would have stopped others. His enemies among the Koraysh were in the habit ofreciting certain Persian fabliaux and of extollingthem as superior to the silly and equally fictitiousstories of the “Glorious Koran.” The leader of these scoffers was one Nazr ibn Hariswho, taken prisoner after the Battle of Bedr, wasincontinently decapitated, by apostolic command, forwhat appears to be a natural and sensible preference. It was the same furious fanaticism and one-idea’dintolerance which made Caliph Omar destroy all he couldfind of the Alexandrian Library and prescribe burningfor the Holy Books of the Persian Guebres. Andthe taint still lingers in Al-Islam: it willbe said of a pious man, “He always studies theKoran, the Traditions and other books of Law and Religion;and he never reads poems nor listens to music or tostories.”

Mohammed left a dispensation or rather a reformationso arid, jejune and material that it promised littlemore than the “Law of Moses,” before thiswas vivified and racially baptised by Mesopotamianand Persic influences. But human nature wasstronger than the Prophet and, thus outraged, tookspeedy and absolute revenge. Before the firstcentury had elapsed, orthodox Al-Islam was startledby the rise of Tasawwuf or Sufyism[FN#248] a revivalof classic Platonism and Christian Gnosticism, witha mingling of modern Hylozoism; which, quickened bythe glowing imagination of the East, speedily formeditself into a creed the most poetical and impractical,the most spiritual and the most transcendental everinvented; satisfying all man’s hunger for “belief”which, if placed upon a solid basis of fact and proof,would forthright cease to be belief.

I will take from The Nights, as a specimen of thetrue Persian romance, “The Queen of the Serpents”(vol. v. 298), the subject of Lane’s Carlyleandenunciation. The first gorgeous picture isthe Session of the Snakes which, like their Indiancongeners the Naga kings and queens, have human headsand reptile bodies, an Egyptian myth that engenderedthe “old serpent” of Genesis. TheSultanah welcomes Hasib Karim al-Din, the hapless ladwho had been left in a cavern to die by the greedywoodcutters; and, in order to tell him her tale, introducesthe “Adventures of Bulukiya”: thelatter is an Israelite converted by editor and scribeto Mohammedanism; but we can detect under his assumedfaith the older creed. Solomon is not buriedby authentic history “beyond the Seven (mystic)Seas,” but at Jerusalem or Tiberias; and hisseal-ring suggests the Jam-i-Jam, the crystal cupof the great King Jamshid. The descent of theArchangel Gabriel, so familiar to Al-Islam, is themanifestation of Bahman, the First Intelligence, themightiest of the Angels who enabled Zarathustra-Zoroasterto walk like Bulukiya over the Dalati or Caspian Sea.[FN#249] Amongst the sights shown to Bulukiya, as hetraverses the Seven Oceans, is a battle royal betweenthe believing and the unbelieving Jinns, true Magiandualism, the eternal duello of the Two Roots or antagonisticPrinciples, Good and Evil, Hormuzd and Ahriman, whichMilton has debased into a common-place modern combatfought also with cannon. Sakhr the Jinni isEshem chief of the Divs, and Kaf, the encircling mountain,is a later edition of Persian Alborz. So in theMantak al-Tayr (Colloquy of the Flyers) the Birds,emblems of souls, seeking the presence of the giganticfeathered biped Simurgh, their god, traverse sevenSeas (according to others seven Wadys) of Search,of Love, of Knowledge, of Competence, of Unity, ofStupefaction, and of Altruism (i.e. annihilation ofself), the several stages of contemplative life. At last, standing upon the mysterious island of theSimurgh and “casting a clandestine glance athim they saw thirty birds[FN#250] in him; and whenthey turned their eyes to themselves the thirty birdsseemed one Simurgh: they saw in themselves theentire Simurgh; they saw in the Simurgh the thirtybirds entirely.” Therefore they arrivedat the solution of the problem “We and Thou;”that is, the identity of God and Man; they were forever annihilated in the Simurgh and the shade vanishedin the sun (Ibid. iii. 250). The wild ideasconcerning Khalit and Malit (vol. v. 319) are againGuebre. “From the seed of Kayomars (theandrogyne, like pre-Adamite man) sprang a tree shapedlike two human beings and thence proceeded Meshiaand Meshianah, first man and woman, progenitors ofmankind;” who, though created for “Shidistan,Light-land,” were seduced by Ahriman. This“two-man-tree” is evidently the dualityof Physis and Anti-physis, Nature and her counterpart,the battle between Mihr, Izad or Mithra with his Surushand Feristeh (Seraphs and Angels) against the Divswho are the children of Time led by the arch demon-Eshem. Thus when Hormuzd created the planets, the dog, andall useful animals and plants, Ahriman produced thecomets, the wolf, noxious beasts and poisonous growths. The Hindus represent the same metaphysical idea byBramha the Creator and Visva- karma, the Anti-creator,[FN#251]miscalled by Europeans Vulcan: the former fashionsa horse and a bull and the latter caricatures themwith an ass and a buffalo,—­evolution turnedtopsy turvy. After seeing nine angels and obtainingan explanation of the Seven Stages of Earth whichis supported by the Gav-i-Zamin, the energy, symbolisedby a bull, implanted by the Creator in the mundanesphere, Bulukiya meets the four Archangels, to witGabriel who is the Persian Rawanbakhsh or Life-giver;Michael or Beshter, Raphael or Israfil alias Ardibihisht,and Azazel or Azrail who is Duma or Mordad, the Death-giver;and the four are about to attack the Dragon, thatis, the demons hostile to mankind who were drivenbehind Alborz-Kaf by Tahmuras the ancient Persianking. Bulukiya then recites an episode withinan episode, the “Story of Janshah,” itselfa Persian name and accompanied by two others (vol.v. 329), the mise-en-scene being Kabul and the Kingof Khorasan appearing in the proem. Janshah,the young Prince, no sooner comes to man’s estatethan he loses himself out hunting and falls in withcannibals whose bodies divide longitudinally, eachmoiety going its own way: these are the Shikk(split ones) which the Arabs borrowed from the PersianNim- chihrah or Half-faces. They escape to theApe-island whose denizens are human in intelligenceand speak articulately, as the universal East believesthey can: these Simiads are at chronic war withthe Ants, alluding to some obscure myth which gaverise to the gold-diggers of Herodotus and other classics,“emmets in size somewhat less than dogs butbigger than foxes.'[FN#252] The episode then fallsinto the banalities of Oriental folk-lore. Janshah,passing the Sabbation river and reaching the Jews’city, is persuaded to be sewn up in a skin and iscarried in the normal way to the top of the Mountainof Gems where he makes acquaintance with Shaykh Nasr,Lord of the Birds: he enters the usual forbiddenroom; falls in love with the pattern Swan-maiden;wins her by the popular process; loses her and recoversher through the Monk Yaghmus, whose name, like thatof King Teghmus, is a burlesque of the Greek; and,finally, when she is killed by a shark, determinesto mourn her loss till the end of his days. Havingheard this story Bulukiya quits him; and, resolvingto regain his natal land, falls in with Khizr; andthe Green Prophet, who was Wazir to Kay Kobad (vithcentury B. C.) and was connected with Macedonian Alexander(!) enables him to win his wish. The rest ofthe tale calls for no comment.

Thirdly and lastly we have the histories, historicalstories and the “Ana” of great men inwhich Easterns as well as Westerns delight: thegravest writers do not disdain to relieve the dullnessof chronicles and annals by means of such discussions,humorous or pathetic, moral or grossly indecent. The dates must greatly vary: some of the anecdotesrelating to the early Caliphs appear almost contemporary;others, like Ali of Cairo and Abu al-Shamat, maybe as late as the Ottoman Conquest of Egypt (sixteenthcentury). All are distinctly Sunnite and showfierce animus against the Shi’ah heretics, suggestingthat they were written after the destruction of theFatimite dynasty (twelfth century) by Salah al-Din(Saladin the Kurd) one of the latest historical personagesand the last king named in The Nights. [FN#253] Theseanecdotes are so often connected with what a learnedFrenchman terms the “regne feerique de Harouner-Reschid,'[FN#254] that the Great Caliph becomesthe hero of this portion of The Nights. Aaronthe Orthodox was the central figure of the most splendidempire the world had seen, the Viceregent of Allahcombining the powers of Caesar and Pope, and wieldingthem right worthily according to the general voiceof historians. To quote a few: Ali binTalib al-Khorasani described him, in A.D. 934, a centuryand-a-half after his death when flattery would betongue-tied, as, “one devoted to war and pilgrimage,whose bounty embraced the folk at large.” Sa’adi (ob. A.D. 1291) tells a tale highlyfavourable to him in the “Gulistan” (lib.i. 36). Fakhr al-Din[FN#255] (xivth century)lauds his merits, eloquence, science and generosity;and Al-Siyuti (nat. A.D. 1445) asserts “Hewas one of the most distinguished of Caliphs and themost illustrious of the Princes of the Earth”(p. 290). The Shaykh al-Nafzawi[FN#256] (sixteenthcentury) in his Rauz al-Atir fi Nazah al-Khatir =Scented Garden-site for Heart-delight, calls Harun(chapt. vii.) the “Master of munificence andbounty, the best of the generous.” Andeven the latest writers have not ceased to praisehim. Says Ali Aziz Efendi the Cretan, in theStory of Jewad[FN#257] (p. 81), “Harun was themost bounteous, illustrious and upright of the AbbasideCaliphs.”

The fifth Abbaside was fair and handsome, of nobleand majestic presence, a sportsman and an athletewho delighted in polo and archery. He showedsound sense and true wisdom in his speech to the grammarian-poetAl-Asma’i, who had undertaken to teach him:—­“Ne m’enseignez jamais en public, et nevous empressez pas trop de me donner des avis en particulier. Attendez ordinairement que je vous interroge, etcontentez vous de me donner une response precise ace que je vous demanderai, sans y rien ajouter desuperflu. Gardez vous surtout de vouloir me preoccuperpour vous attirer ma creance, et pour vous donnerde l’autorite. Ne vous etendez jamaistrop en long sur les histoires et les traditions quevous me raconterez, si je ne vous en donne la permission. Lorsque vous verrai que je m’eloignerai de l’equitedans mes jugements, ramenez-moi avec douceur, sansuser de paroles facheuses ni de reprimandes. Enseignez-moi principalement les choses qui sontles plus necessaires pour les dis cours que je doisfaire en public, dans les mosquees et ailleurs; etne parlez point en termes obscurs, ou mysterieux,ni avec des paroles trop recherchees.’’[FN#258]

He became well read in science and letters, especiallyhistory and tradition, for “his understandingwas as the understanding of the learned;” and,like all educated Arabs of his day, he was a connoisseurof poetry which at times he improvised with success.[FN#259] He made the pilgrimage every alternate yearand sometimes on foot, while “his military expeditionsalmost equalled his pilgrimages.” Dayafter day during his Caliphate he prayed a hundred“bows,” never neglecting them, save forsome especial reason, till his death; and he usedto give from his privy purse alms to the extent ofa hundred dirhams per diem. He delighted inpanegyry and liberally rewarded its experts, one ofwhom, Abd al-Sammak the Preacher, fairly said of him,“Thy humility in thy greatness is nobler thanthy greatness.'No Caliph,” says Al-Niftawayh,“had been so profusely liberal to poets, lawyersand divines, although as the years advanced he weptover his extravagance amongst other sins.” There was vigorous manliness in his answer to theGrecian Emperor who had sent him an insulting missive:—­“Inthe name of Allah! From the Commander of theFaithful Harun al-Rashid, to Nicephorus the Romandog. I have read thy writ, O son of a miscreantmother! Thou shalt not hear, thou shalt see myreply.” Nor did he cease to make the Byzantinefeel the weight of his arm till he “nakh’d'[FN#260]his camel in the imperial Court-yard; and this wasonly one instance of his indomitable energy and hatredof the Infidel. Yet, if the West is to be believed,he forgot his fanaticism in his diplomatic dealingsand courteous intercourse with Carolus Magnus.[FN#261]Finally, his civilised and well regulated rule contrastedas strongly with the barbarity and turbulence of occidentalChristendom, as the splendid Court and the luxuriouslife of Baghdad and its carpets and hangings devancedthe quasi-savagery of London and Paris whose palatialhalls were spread with rushes.

The great Caliph ruled twenty-three years and a fewmonths (A.H. 170-193 = A.D. 786-808); and, as hisyouth was chequered and his reign was glorious, sowas his end obscure.[FN#262] After a vision foreshadowinghis death,[FN#263] which happened, as becomes a goodMoslem, during a military expedition to Khorasan,he ordered his grave to be dug and himself to be carriedto it in a covered litter: when sighting thefosse he exclaimed, “O son of man thou art cometo this!” Then he commanded himself to be setdown and a perfection of the Koran to be made overhim in the litter on the edge of the grave. He was buried (aet. forty-five) at Sanabad, a villagenear Tus.

Aaron the Orthodox appears in The Nights as a headstrongand violent autocrat, a right royal figure accordingto the Moslem ideas of his day. But his careershows that he was not more tyrannical or more sanguinarythan the normal despot of the East, or the contemporaryKings of the West: in most points, indeed, hewas far superior to the historic misrulers who haveafflicted the world from Spain to furthest China. But a single great crime, a tragedy whose detailsare almost incredibly horrible, marks his reign withthe stain of infamy, with a blot of blood never tobe washed away. This tale, “full of thewaters of the eye,” as Firdausi sings, is themassacre of the Barmecides; a story which has oftenbeen told and which cannot here be passed over insilence. The ancient and noble Iranian house,belonging to the “Ebna” or Arabised Persians,had long served the Ommiades till, early in our eighthcentury, Khalid bin Bermek,[FN#264] the chief, enteredthe service of the first Abbaside and became Wazirand Intendant of Finance to Al-Saffah. The mostremarkable and distinguished of the family, he wasin office when Al-Mansur transferred the capital fromDamascus, the headquarters of the hated Ommiades,to Baghdad, built ad hoc. After securing thehighest character in history by his personal giftsand public services, he was succeeded by his son andheir Yahya (John), a statesman famed from early youthfor prudence and profound intelligence, liberalityand nobility of soul.[FN#265] He was charged by theCaliph Al-Mahdi with the education of his son Harun,hence the latter was accustomed to call him father;and, until the assassination of the fantastic tyrantAl-Hadi, who proposed to make his own child Caliph,he had no little difficulty in preserving the youthfrom death in prison. The Orthodox, once seatedfirmly on the throne, appointed Yahya his Grand Wazir. This great administrator had four sons, Al-Fazl,Ja’afar, Mohammed, and Musa,[FN#266] in whosetime the house of Bermek rose to that height fromwhich decline and fall are, in the East, well nighcertain and immediate. Al-Fazl was a foster-brotherof Harun, an exchange of suckling infants having takenplace between the two mothers for the usual object,a tightening of the ties of intimacy: he wasa man of exceptional mind, but he lacked the charmof temper and manner which characterised Ja’afar.

The poets and rhetoricians have been profuse in theirpraises of the cadet who appears in The Nights asan adviser of calm sound sense, an intercessor anda peace-maker, and even more remarkable than the restof his family for an almost incredible magnanimityand generosity—­une generosite effrayante. Mohammed was famed for exalted views and nobilityof sentiment and Musa for bravery and energy: of both it was justly said, “They did good andharmed not.'[FN#267]

For ten years (not including an interval of seven)from the time of Al-Rashid’s accession (A.D.786) to the date of their fall, (A.D. 803), Yahyaand his sons, Al-Fazl and Ja’afar, were virtuallyrulers of the great heterogeneous empire, which extendedfrom Mauritania to Tartary, and they did notable servicein arresting its disruption. Their downfall camesudden and terrible like “a thunderbolt fromthe blue.” As the Caliph and Ja’afarwere halting in Al-’Umr (the convent) near Anbar-townon the Euphrates, after a convivial evening spentin different pavilions, Harun during the dead of thenight called up his page Yasir al-Rikhlah[FN#268]and bade him bring Ja’afar’s head. The messenger found Ja’afar still carousingwith the blind poet Abu Zakkar and the Christian physicianGabriel ibn Bakhtiashu, and was persuaded to returnto the Caliph and report his death; the Wazir adding,“An he express regret I shall owe thee my life;and, if not, whatso Allah will be done.” Ja’afar followed to listen and heard only theCaliph exclaim “O sucker of thy mother’sclitoris, if thou answer me another word, I will sendthee before him!” whereupon he at once bandagedhis own eyes and received the fatal blow. Al-Asma’i,who was summoned to the presence shortly after, recountsthat when the head was brought to Harun he gazed atit, and summoning two witnesses commanded them todecapitate Yasir, crying, “I cannot bear to lookupon the slayer of Ja’afar!” His vengeancedid not cease with the death: he ordered thehead to be gibbetted at one end and the trunk at theother abutment of the Tigris bridge where the corpsesof the vilest malefactors used to be exposed; and,some months afterwards, he insulted the remains byhaving them burned—­the last and worst indignitywhich can be offered to a Moslem. There areindeed pity and terror in the difference between twosuch items in the Treasury-accounts as these: “Four hundred thousand dinars (L200,000) toa robe of honour for the Wazir Ja’afar bin Yahya;”and, “Ten kirat, (5 shill.) to naphtha and reedsfor burning the body of Ja’afar the Barmecide.”

Meanwhile Yahya and Al-Fazl, seized by the CaliphHarun’s command at Baghdad, were significantlycast into the prison “Habs al-Zanadikah”—­ofthe Guebres—­and their immense wealth which,some opine, hastened their downfall, was confiscated. According to the historian, Al-Tabari, who, however,is not supported by all the annalists, the whole Barmecidefamily, men, women, and children, numbering over athousand, were slaughtered with only three exceptions;Yahya, his brother Mohammed, and his son Al-Fazl. The Caliph’s foster-father, who lived to theage of seventy-four, was allowed to die in jail (A.H.805) after two years’ imprisonment at Rukkah. Al-Fazl, after having been tortured with two hundredblows in order to make him produce concealed property,survived his father three years and died in Nov. A.H. 808, some four months before his terrible foster-brother. A pathetic tale is told of the son warming water forthe old man’s use by pressing the copper ewerto his stomach.

The motives of this terrible massacre are variouslyrecounted, but no sufficient explanation has yet been,or possibly ever will be, given. The popularidea is embodied in The Nights. [FN#269] Harun, wishingJa’afar to be his companion even in the Harem,had wedded him, pro forma, to his eldest sister Abbasah,“the loveliest woman of her day,” andbrilliant in mind as in body; but he had expresslysaid “I will marry thee to her, that it maybe lawful for thee to look upon her but thou shaltnot touch her.” Ja’afar bound himselfby a solemn oath; but his mother Attabah was mad enoughto deceive him in his cups and the result was a boy(Ibn Khallikan) or, according to others, twins. The issue was sent under the charge of a confidentialeunuch and a slave-girl to Meccah for concealment;but the secret was divulged to Zubaydah who had herown reasons for hating husband and wife and cherishedan especial grievance against Yahya.[FN#270] Thenceit soon found its way to head-quarters. Harun’streatment of Abbasah supports the general conviction: according to the most credible accounts she and herchild were buried alive in a pit under the floor ofher apartment.

But, possibly, Ja’afar’s perjury was only“the last straw.” Already Al-Fazlbin Rabi’a, the deadliest enemy of the Barmecides,had been entrusted (A.D. 786) with the Wazirate whichhe kept seven years. Ja’afar had also actedgenerously but imprudently in abetting the escapeof Yahya bin Abdillah, Sayyid and Alide, for whomthe Caliph had commanded confinement in a close darkdungeon: when charged with disobedience the Wazirhad made full confession and Harun had (they say)exclaimed, “Thou hast done well!” butwas heard to mutter, “Allah slay me an I slaythee not.'[FN#271] The great house seems at times tohave abused its powers by being too peremptory withHarun and Zubaydah, especially in money matters;[FN#272]and its very greatness would have created for it manyand powerful enemies and detractors who plied theCaliph with anonymous verse and prose. Nor wasit forgotten that, before the spread of Al-Islam, theyhad presided over the Naubehar or Pyraethrum of Balkh;and Harun is said to have remarked anent Yahya, “Thezeal for magianism, rooted in his heart, induces himto save all the monuments connected with his faith.'[FN#273]Hence the charge that they were “Zanadakah,”a term properly applied to those who study the Zendscripture, but popularly meaning Mundanists, Positivists,Reprobates, Atheists; and it may be noted that, immediatelyafter al-Rashid’s death, violent religious troublesbroke out in Baghdad. Ibn Khallikan[FN#274]quotes Sa’id ibn Salim, a well-known grammarianand traditionist who philosophically remarked, “Ofa truth the Barmecides did nothing to deserve Al-Rashid’sseverity, but the day (of their power and prosperity)had been long and whatso endureth long waxeth longsome.” Fakhr al-Din says (p. 27), “On attribue encoreleur ruine aux manieres fieres et orgueilleuses deDjafar (Ja’afar) et de Fadhl (Al-Fazl), manieresque les rois ne sauroient supporter.” Accordingto Ibn Badrun, the poet, when the Caliph’s sister’Olayyah[FN#275] asked him, “O my lord,I have not seen thee enjoy one happy day since puttingJa’afar to death: wherefore didst thouslay him?” he answered, “My dear life,an I thought that my shirt knew the reason I wouldrend it in pieces!” I therefore hold with AlMas’udi,

“As regards the intimate cause (of the catastrophe)it is unknown and Allah is Omniscient.”

Aaron the Orthodox appears sincerely to have repentedhis enormous crime. From that date he neverenjoyed refreshing sleep: he would have givenhis whole realm to recall Ja’afar to life; and,if any spoke slightingly of the Barmecides in hispresence, he would exclaim, “God damn your fathers! Cease to blame them or fill the void they have left.” And he had ample reason to mourn the loss. After the extermination of the wise and enlightenedfamily, the affairs of the Caliphate never prospered: Fazl bin Rabi’a, though a man of intelligenceand devoted to letters, proved a poor substitute forYahya and Ja’afar; and the Caliph is reportedto have applied to him the couplet:—­

No sire to your sire,[FN#276] I bid you spare * Yourcalumnies or
their place replace.

His unwise elevation of his two rival sons filledhim with fear of poison, and, lastly, the violenceand recklessness of the popular mourning for the Barmecides,[FN#277]whose echo has not yet died away, must have addedpoignancy to his tardy penitence. The crime still“sticks fiery off” from the rest of Harun’scareer: it stands out in ghastly prominence asone of the most terrible tragedies recorded by history,and its horrible details make men write passionatelyon the subject to this our day.[FN#278]

As of Harun so of Zubaydah it may be said that shewas far superior in most things to contemporary royalties,and she was not worse at her worst than the normaldespot-queen of the Morning-land. We must nottake seriously the tales of her jealousy in The Nights,which mostly end in her selling off or burying aliveher rivals; but, even were all true, she acted afterthe recognised fashion of her exalted sisterhood. The secret history of Cairo, during the last generation,tells of many a viceregal dame who committed all thecrimes, without any of the virtues which characterisedHarun’s cousin-spouse. And the differencebetween the manners of the Caliphate and the “respectability”of the nineteenth century may be measured by the Talecalled “Al-Maamun and Zubaydah.'[FN#279] Thelady, having won a game of forfeits from her husband,and being vexed with him for imposing unseemly conditionswhen he had been the winner, condemned him to liewith the foulest and filthiest kitchen-wench in thepalace; and thus was begotten the Caliph who succeededand destroyed her son.

Zubaydah was the grand-daughter of the second AbbasideAl-Mansur, by his son Ja’afar whom The Nightspersistently term Al-Kasim: her name was Amatal-Aziz or Handmaid of the Almighty; her cognomenwas Umm Ja’afar as her husband’s was AbuJa’afar; and her popular name “Creamkin”derives from Zubdah,[FN#280] cream or fresh butter,on account of her plumpness and freshness. Shewas as majestic and munificent as her husband; andthe hum of prayer was never hushed in her palace. Al-Mas’udi[FN#281] makes a historian say tothe dangerous Caliph Al-Kahir, “The noblenessand generosity of this Princess, in serious mattersas in her diversions, place her in the highest rank”;and he proceeds to give ample proof. Al-Siyutirelates how she once filled a poet’s mouth withjewels which he sold for twenty thousand dinars. Ibn Khallikan (i. 523) affirms of her, “Hercharity was ample, her conduct virtuous, and the historyof her pilgrimage to Meccah and of what she undertookto execute on the way is so well-known that it wereuseless to repeat it.” I have noted (Pilgrimageiii. 2) how the Darb al-Sharki or Eastern road fromMeccah to Al-Medinah was due to the piety of Zubaydahwho dug wells from Baghdad to the Prophet’sburial place and built not only cisterns and caravanserais,but even a wall to direct pilgrims over the shiftingsands. She also supplied Meccah, which sufferedseverely from want of water, with the chief requisitefor public hygiene by connecting it, through levelledhills and hewn rocks, with the Ayn al-Mushash in theArafat subrange; and the fine aqueduct, some ten mileslong, was erected at a cost of 1,700,000 to 2,000,000of gold pieces. [FN#282] We cannot wonder that hername is still famous among the Badawin and the “Sonsof the Holy Cities.” She died at Baghdad,after a protracted widowhood, in A.H. 216 and hertomb, which still exists, was long visited by thefriends and dependents who mourned the loss of a devoutand most liberal woman.

The reader will bear with me while I run through thetales and add a few remarks to the notices given inthe notes: the glance must necessarily be brief,however extensive be the theme. The admirableintroduction follows, in all the texts and MSS. knownto me, the same main lines but differs greatly in minordetails as will be seen by comparing Mr. Payne’stranslation with Lane’s and mine. In theTale of the Sage Duban appears the speaking head whichis found in the Kamil, in Mirkhond and in the Kitabal-Uyun: M. C. Barbier de Meynard (v. 503) tracesit back to an abbreviated text of Al-Mas’udi. I would especially recommend to students The Porterand the Three Ladies of Baghdad (i. 82), whose mightyorgie ends so innocently in general marriage. Lane (iii. 746) blames it “because it representsArab ladies as acting like Arab courtesans”;but he must have known that during his day the indecentfrolic was quite possible in some of the highest circlesof his beloved Cairo. To judge by the style andchanges of person, some of the most “archaic”expressions suggest the hand of the Rawi or professionaltale-teller; yet as they are in all the texts theycannot be omitted in a loyal translation. Thefollowing story of The Three Apples perfectly justifiesmy notes concerning which certain carpers complain. What Englishman would be jealous enough to kill hiscousin-wife because a blackamoor in the streets boastedof her favours? But after reading what is annotatedin vol. i. 6, and purposely placed there to give thekey-note of the book, he will understand the reasonablenature of the suspicion; and I may add that the samecause has commended these “skunks of the humanrace” to debauched women in England.

The next tale, sometimes called “The Two Wazirs,”is notable for its regular and genuine drama-intriguewhich, however, appears still more elaborate and perfectedin other pieces. The richness of this Orientalplot-invention contrasts strongly with all Europeanliteratures except the Spaniard’s, whose tastefor the theatre determined his direction, and theItalian, which in Boccaccio’s day had borrowedfreely through Sicily from the East. And theremarkable deficiency lasted till the romantic movementdawned in France, when Victor Hugo and Alexander Dumasshowed their marvellous powers of faultless fancy,boundless imagination and scenic luxuriance, “raisingFrench Poetry from the dead and not mortally woundingFrench prose.’’[FN#283] The Two Wazirsis followed by the gem of the volume, The Adventureof the Hunchback-jester (i. 225), also containingan admirable surprise and a fine development of character,while its “wild but natural simplicity”and its humour are so abounding that it has echoedthrough the world to the farthest West. It gaveto Addison the Story of Alnaschar[FN#284] and to Europethe term “Barmecide Feast,” from the “Taleof Shacabac” (vol. i. 343). The adventuresof the corpse were known in Europe long before Gallandas shown by three fabliaux in Barbazan. I havenoticed that the Barber’s Tale of himself (i.317) is historical and I may add that it is told indetail by Al-Mas’udi (chapt. cxiv).

Follows the tale of Nur al-Din Ali, and what Gallandmiscalls “The Fair Persian,” a brightlywritten historiette with not a few touches of truehumour. Noteworthy are the Slaver’s address(vol. ii. 15), the fine description of the Baghdadgarden (vol. ii. 21-24), the drinking-party (vol.ii. 25), the Caliph’s frolic (vol. ii. 31-37)and the happy end of the hero’s misfortunes(vol. ii. 44) Its brightness is tempered by the gloomytone of the tale which succeeds, and which has variantsin the Bagh o Bahar, a Hindustani versionof the Persian“Tale of the Four Darwayshes;” and inthe Turkish Kirk Vezir or “Book of the FortyVezirs.” Its dismal peripeties are relievedonly by the witty indecency of Eunuch Bukhayt andthe admirable humour of Eunuch Kafur, whose “halflie” is known throughout the East. Herealso the lover’s agonies are piled upon himfor the purpose of unpiling at last: the Orientaltale-teller knows by experience that, as a rule, dolefulendings “don’t pay.”

The next is the long romance of chivalry, “KingOmar bin al-Nu’man” etc., whichoccupies an eighth of the whole repertory and thebest part of two volumes. Mr. Lane omits it because“obscene and tedious,” showing the licensewith which he translated; and he was set right bya learned reviewer,[FN#285] who truly declared that“the omission of half-a-dozen passages out offour hundred pages would fit it for printing in anylanguage[FN#286] and the charge of tediousness couldhardly have been applied more unhappily.” The tale is interesting as a picture of mediaevalArab chivalry and has many other notable points; forinstance, the lines (iii. 86) beginning “Allahholds the kingship!” are a lesson to the manichaeanismof Christian Europe. It relates the doings ofthree royal generations and has all the characteristicsof Eastern art: it is a phantasmagoria of HolyPlaces, palaces and Harems; convents, castles andcaverns, here restful with gentle landscapes (ii.240) and there bristling with furious battle-pictures(ii. 117, 221-8, 249) and tales of princely prowessand knightly derring-do. The characters standout well. King Nu’man is an old lecherwho deserves his death; the ancient Dame Zat al-Dawahimerits her title Lady of Calamities (to her foes);Princess Abrizah appears as a charming Amazon, doomedto a miserable and pathetic end; Zau al-Makan is awise and pious royalty; Nuzhat al-Zaman, though alongsome talker, is a model sister; the Wazir Dandan,a sage and sagacious counsellor, contrasts with theChamberlain, an ambitious miscreant; Kanmakan is thetypical Arab knight, gentle and brave:—­

Now managing the mouthes of stubborne steedes
Now practising the proof of warlike deedes;

And the kind-hearted, simple-minded Stoker servesas a foil to the villains, the kidnapping Badawi andGhazban the detestable negro. The fortunes ofthe family are interrupted by two episodes, both equallyremarkable. Taj al-Muluk[FN#287] is the modellover whom no difficulties or dangers can daunt. In Aziz and Azizah (ii. 291) we have the beau idealof a loving woman: the writer’s objectwas to represent a “softy” who had theluck to win the love of a beautiful and clever cousinand the mad folly to break her heart. The poeticaljustice which he receives at the hands of women ofquite another stamp leaves nothing to be desired. Finally the plot of “King Omar” is wellworked out; and the gathering of all the actors uponthe stage before the curtain drops may be improbablebut it is highly artistic.

The long Crusading Romance is relieved by a sequenceof sixteen fabliaux, partly historiettes of men andbeasts and partly apologues proper—­a subjectalready noticed. We have then (iii. 162) thesaddening and dreary love-tale of Ali bin Bakkar, aPersian youth and the Caliph’s concubine Shamsal-Nahar. Here the end is made doleful enoughby the deaths of the “two martyrs,” whoare killed off, like Romeo and Juliet,[FN#288] a lessonthat the course of true Love is sometimes troubledand that men as well as women can die of the so-called“tender passion.” It is followed(iii. 212) by the long tale of Kamar al-Zaman, orMoon of the Age, the first of that name, the “Camaralzaman”whom Galland introduced into the best European society. Like “The Ebony Horse” it seems to havebeen derived from a common source with “Peterof Provence” and “Cleomades and Claremond”;and we can hardly wonder at its wide diffusion: the tale is brimful of life, change, movement, containingas much character and incident as would fill a modernthree-volumer and the Supernatural pleasantly jostlesthe Natural; Dahnash the Jinn and Maymunah daughterof Al-Dimiryat,[FN#289] a renowned King of the Jann,being as human in their jealousy about the virtue oftheir lovers as any children of Adam, and so theirmetamorphosis to fleas has all the effect of a surprise. The troupe is again drawn with a broad firm touch. Prince Charming, the hero, is weak and wilful, shiftyand immoral, hasty and violent: his two spousesare rivals in abominations as his sons, Amjad and As’ad,are examples of a fraternal affection rarely foundin half-brothers by sister-wives. There isat least one fine melodramatic situation (iii. 228);and marvellous feats of indecency, a practical jokewhich would occur only to the canopic mind (iii. 300-305),emphasise the recovery of her husband by that remarkable“blackguard,” the Lady Budur. Theinterpolated tale of Ni’amah and Naomi (iv. I), a simple and pleasing narrative of youthful amours,contrasts well with the boiling passions of the incestuousand murderous Queens and serves as a pause beforethe grand denouement when the parted meet, the lostare found, the unwedded are wedded and all ends merrilyas a xixth century novel.

The long tale of Ala al-Din, our old friend “Aladdin,”is wholly out of place in its present position (iv.29): it is a counterpart of Ali Nur al-Din andMiriam the Girdle-girl (vol. ix. i); and the mentionof the Shahbandar or Harbour-master (iv. 29), theKunsul or Consul (p. 84), the Kaptan (Capitano), theuse of cannon at sea and the choice of Genoa city(p. 85) prove that it belongs to the xvth or xvithcentury and should accompanyKamar al-Zaman ii.and Ma’aruf at the end of The Nights. Despite the lutist Zubaydah being carried off by theJinn, the Magic Couch, a modification of Solomon’scarpet, and the murder of the King who refused toislamize, it is evidently a European tale and I believewith Dr. Bacher that it is founded upon the legendof “Charlemagne’s” daughter Emmaand his secretary Eginhardt, as has been noted inthe counterpart (vol. ix. 1).

This quasi-historical fiction is followed hy a successionof fabliaux, novelle and historiettes which fill therest of the vol. iv. and the whole of vol. v. tillwe reach the terminal story, The Queen of the Serpents(vol. v. pp. 304-329). It appears to me thatmost of them are historical and could easily be traced. Not a few are in Al-Mas’udi; for instance thegrim Tale of Hatim of Tayy (vol. iv. 94) is givenbodily in “Meads of Gold” (iii. 327);and the two adventures of Ibrahim al-Mahdi with thebarber-surgeon (vol. iv. 103) and the Merchant’ssister (vol. iv. 176) are in his pages (vol. vii.68 and 18). The City of Lubtayt (vol. iv. 99)embodies the legend of Don Rodrigo, last of the Goths,and may have reached the ears of Washington Irving;Many-columned Iram (vol. iv. 113) is held by all Moslemsto be factual and sundry writers have recorded thetricks played by Al-Maamun with the Pyramids of Jizahwhich still show his handiwork.[FN#290] The germ ofIsaac of Mosul (vol. iv. 119) is found in Al-Mas’udiwho (vii. 65) names “Buran” the poetess(Ibn Khall. i. 268); and Harun al-Rashid and the Slave-girl(vol. iv. 153) is told by a host of writers. Ali the Persian is a rollicking tale of fun fromsome Iranian jest-book: Abu Mohammed hight Lazybonesbelongs to the cycle of “Sindbad the Seaman,”with a touch of Whittington and his Cat; and Zumurrud('Smaragdine”) in Ali Shar (vol. iv. 187) showsat her sale the impudence of Miriam the Girdle-girland in bed the fescennine device of the Lady Budur. The “Ruined Man who became Rich,” etc.(vol. iv. 289) is historical and Al-Mas’udi (vii.281) relates the coquetry of Mahbubah the concubine(vol. iv. 291): the historian also quotes fourcouplets, two identical with Nos. 1 and 2 in The Nights(vol. iv. 292) and adding:—­

Then see the slave who lords it o’er her lord* In lover privacy
and public site:
Behold these eyes that one like Ja’afar saw: * Allah on Ja’afar
reign boons infinite!

Uns al-Wujud (vol. v. 32) is a love-tale which hasbeen translated into a host of Eastern languages;and The Lovers of the Banu Ozrah belong to Al-Mas’udi’s“Martyrs of Love” (vii. 355), with theozrite “Ozrite love” of Ibn Khallikan (iv.537). “Harun and the Three Poets”(vol. v. 77) has given to Cairo a proverb which Burckhardt(No. 561) renders “The day obliterates the wordor promise of the Night,” for

The promise of night is effaced by day.

It suggests Congreve’s Doris:—­

For who o’er night obtain’d her grace,
She can next day disown, etc.

“Harun and the three Slave-girls” (vol.v. 81) smacks of Gargantua (lib. i. c. 11): “Itbelongs to me, said one: ’Tis mine, saidanother”; and so forth. The Simpleton andthe Sharper (vol. v. 83) like the Foolish Dominie(vol. v. 118) is an old Joe Miller in Hindu as wellas Moslem folk-lore. “Kisra Anushirwan”(vol. v. 87) is “The King, the Owl and the Villagesof Al-Mas’udi” (iii. 171), who also noticesthe Persian monarch’s four seals of office (ii.204); and “Masrur the Eunuch and Ibn Al-Karibi”(vol. v. 109) is from the same source as Ibn al-Maghazilithe Reciter and a Eunuch belonging to the Caliph Al-Mu’tazad(vol. viii. 161). In the Tale of Tawaddud (vol.v. 139) we have the fullest development of the disputationsand displays of learning then so common in Europe,teste the “Admirable Crichton”; and thesewere affected not only by Eastern tale-tellers buteven by sober historians. To us it is much like“padding” when Nuzhat al-Zaman (vol. ii.156 etc.) fags her hapless hearers with a discoursecovering sixteen mortal pages; when the Wazir Dandan(vol. ii. 195, etc.) reports at length the coldspeeches of the five high-bosomed maids and the Ladyof Calamities and when Wird Khan, in presence of hispapa (Nights cmxiv-xvi.) discharges his patristicexercitations and heterogeneous knowledge. YetAl-Mas’udi also relates, at dreary extension(vol. vi. 369) the disputation of the twelve sagesin presence of Barmecide Yahya upon the origin, theessence, the accidents and the omnes res of Love;and in another place (vii. 181) shows Honayn, authorof the Book of Natural Questions, undergoing a longexamination before the Caliph Al-Wasik (Vathek) anddescribing, amongst other things, the human teeth. See also the dialogue or catechism of Al-Hajjaj andIbn Al-Kirriya in Ibn Khallikan (vol. i. 238-240).

These disjecta membra of tales and annals are pleasantlyrelieved by the seven voyages of Sindbad the Seaman(vol. vi. 1-83). The “Arabian Odyssey”may, like its Greek brother, descend from a noblefamily, the “Shipwrecked Mariner” a Coptictravel-tale of the twelfth dynasty (B. C. 3500)preserved on a papyrus at St. Petersburg. Inits actual condition “Sindbad,” is a fancifulcompilation, like De Foe’s “Captain Singleton,”borrowed from travellers’ tales of an immensevariety and extracts from Al-Idrisi, Al-Kazwini andIbn al-Wardi. Here we find the Polyphemus, thePygmies and the cranes of Homer and Herodotus; theescape of Aristomenes; the Plinian monsters well knownin Persia; the magnetic mountain of Saint Brennan(Brandanus); the aeronautics of “Duke Ernestof Bavaria’’[FN#291] and sundry cuttingsfrom Moslem writers dating between our ninth and fourteenthcenturies.[FN#292] The “Shayhk of the Seaboard”appears in the Persian romance of Kamaraupa translatedby Francklin, all the particulars absolutely corresponding. The “Odyssey” is valuable because itshows how far Eastward the mediaeval Arab had extended: already in The Ignorance he had reached China andhad formed a centre of trade at Canton. Butthe higher merit of the cento is to produce one ofthe most charming books of travel ever written, likeRobinson Crusoe the delight of children and the admirationof all ages.

The hearty life and realism of Sindbad are made tostand out in strong relief by the deep melancholywhich pervades “The City of Brass” (vol.vi. 83), a dreadful book for a dreary day. Itis curious to compare the doleful verses (pp. 103,105) with those spoken to Caliph Al-Mutawakkil byAbu al-Hasan Ali (A1-Mas’udi, vii. 246). We then enter upon the venerable Sindibad-nameh, theMalice of Women (vol. vi. 122), of which, accordingto the Kitab al-Fihrist (vol. i. 305), there weretwo editions, a Sinzibad al-Kabir and a Sinzibadal-Saghir, the latter being probably an epitome ofthe former. This bundle of legends, I have shown,was incorporated with the Nights as an editor’saddition; and as an independent work it has made theround of the world.

Space forbids any detailed notice of this choice collectionof anecdotes for which a volume would be required. I may, however, note that the “Wife’sdevice” (vol. vi. 152) has its analogues inthe Katha (chapt. xiii.) in the Gesta Romanorum (No.xxviii.) and in Boccaccio (Day iii. 6 and Day vi.8), modified by La Fontaine to Richard Minutolo (Conteslib. i. tale 2): it is quoted almost in the wordsof The Nights by the Shaykh al-Nafzawi (p. 207). That most witty and indecent tale The Three Wishes(vol. vi. 180) has forced its way disguised as a babeinto our nurseries. Another form of it is foundin the Arab proverb “More luckless than Basus”(Kamus), a fair Israelite who persuaded her husband,also a Jew, to wish that she might become the loveliestof women. Jehovah granted it, spitefully as Jupiter;the consequence was that her contumacious treatmentof her mate made him pray that the beauty might beturned into a bitch; and the third wish restored herto her original state.

The Story of Judar (vol. vi. 207) is Egyptian, tojudge from its local knowledge (pp. 217 and 254) togetherwith its ignorance of Marocco (p. 223). It showsa contrast, in which Arabs delight, of an almost angelicalgoodness and forgiveness with a well-nigh diabolicalmalignity, and we find the same extremes in Abu Sirthe noble-minded Barber and the hideously inhuman AbuKir. The excursion to Mauritania is artfullymanaged and gives a novelty to the mise-en-scene. Gharib and Ajib (vi. 207, vii. 91) belongs to thecycle of Antar and King Omar bin Nu’man: its exaggerations make it a fine type of OrientalChauvinism, pitting the superhuman virtues, valour,nobility and success of all that is Moslem, againstthe scum of the earth which is non-Moslem. Likethe exploits of Friar John of the Chopping-knives (Rabelaisi. c. 27) it suggests ridicule cast on impossiblebattles and tales of giants, paynims and paladins. The long romance is followed by thirteen historiettesall apparently historical: compare “Hind,daughter of Al-Nu’man” (vol. viii. 7-145)and “Isaac of Mosul and the Devil” (vol.vii. 136-139) with Al Mas’udi v. 365 and vi.340. They end in two long detective-tales likethose which M. Gaboriau has popularised, the Rogueriesof Dalilah and the Adventures of Mercury Ali, basedupon the principle, “One thief wots another.” The former, who has appeared before (vol. ii. 329),seems to have been a noted character: Al-Mas’udisays (viii. 175) “in a word this Shaykh (Al-’Ukab)outrivalled in his rogueries and the ingenuities ofhis wiles Dallah (Dalilah?) the Crafty and other trickstersand coney-catchers, ancient and modern.”

The Tale of Ardashir (vol. vii. 209-264) lacks originality: we are now entering upon a series of pictures whichare replicas of those preceding. This is notthe case with that charming Undine, Julnar the Sea-born(vol. vii. 264-308) which, like Abdullah of the Landand Abdullah of the Sea (vol. ix. Night cmxl.),describes the vie intime of mermen and merwomen. Somewhat resembling Swift’s inimitable creations,the Houyhnhnms for instance, they prove, amongst otherthings, that those who dwell in a denser element canjustly blame and severely criticise the contradictoryand unreasonable prejudices and predilections of mankind. Sayf al-Muluk (vol. viii. Night dcclviii.), theromantic tale of two lovers, shows by its introductionthat it was originally an independent work and itis known to have existed in Persia during the eleventhcentury: this novella has found its way intoevery Moslem language of the East even into Sindi,which calls the hero “Sayfal.” Herewe again meet the Old Man of the Sea or rather theShaykh of the Seaboard and make acquaintance witha Jinn whose soul is outside his body: thus heresembles Hermotimos of Klazamunae in Apollonius, whosespirit left his mortal frame a discretion. Theauthor, philanthropically remarking (vol. viii. 4)“Knowest thou not that a single mortal is better,in Allah’s sight than a thousand Jinn?”brings the wooing to a happy end which leaves a pleasantsavour upon the mental palate.

Hasan of Bassorah (vol. viii. 7-145) is a Master Shoetieon a large scale like Sindbad, but his voyages andtravels extend into the supernatural and fantasticrather than the natural world. Though long thetale is by no means wearisome and the characters aredrawn with a fine firm hand. The hero with hishen-like persistency of purpose, his weeping, faintingand versifying is interesting enough and proves that“Love can find out the way.” Thecharming adopted sister, the model of what the femininefriend should be; the silly little wife who never knowsthat she is happy till she loses happiness; the violentand hard-hearted queen with all the cruelty of a goodwoman, and the manners and customs of Amazon landare outlined with a life-like vivacity. Khalifahthe next tale (vol. viii. 147-184) is valuable as astudy of Eastern life, showing how the fisherman emergesfrom the squalor of his surroundings and becomes oneof the Caliph’s favourite cup-companions. Ali Nur al-Din (vol. viii. 264) and King Jali’ad(vol. ix., Night dcccxciv) have been noticed elsewhereand there is little to say of the concluding storieswhich bear the evident impress of a more modern date.

Dr. Johnson thus sums up his notice of The Tempest. “Whatever might have been the intention oftheir author, these tales are made instrumental tothe production of many characters, diversified withboundless invention, and preserved with profound skillin nature; extensive knowledge of opinions, and accurateobservation of life. Here are exhibited princes,courtiers and sailors, all speaking in their realcharacters. There is the agency of airy spiritsand of earthy goblin, the operations of magic, thetumults of a storm, the adventures of a desert island,the native effusion of untaught affection, the punishmentof guilt, and the final happiness of those for whomour passions and reason are equally interested.”

We can fairly say this much and far more for our Tales. Viewed as a tout ensemble in full and complete form,they are a drama of Eastern life, and a Dance of Deathmade sublime by faith and the highest emotions, bythe certainty of expiation and the fulness of atoningequity, where virtue is victorious, vice is vanquishedand the ways of Allah are justified to man. Theyare a panorama which remains ken-speckle upon themental retina. They form a phantasmagoria inwhich archangels and angels, devils and goblins, menof air, of fire, of water, naturally mingle with menof earth; where flying horses and talking fishes areutterly realistic: where King and Prince meetfisherman and pauper, lamia and cannibal; where citizenjostles Badawi, eunuch meets knight; the Kazi hob-nobswith the thief; the pure and pious sit down to thesame tray with the bawd and the pimp; where the professionalreligionist, the learned Koranist and the strictestmoralist consort with the wicked magician, the scofferand the debauchee-poet like Abu Nowas; where thecourtier jests with the boor and where the sweep isbedded with the noble lady. And the charactersare “finished and quickened by a few touchesswift and sure as the glance of sunbeams.” The work is a kaleidoscope where everything fallsinto picture; gorgeous palaces and pavilions; grislyunderground caves and deadlywolds; gardens fairerthan those of the Hesperid; seas dashing with clashingbillows upon enchanted mountains; valleys of the Shadowof Death; air-voyages and promenades in the abyssesof ocean; the duello, the battle and the siege; thewooing of maidens and the marriage-rite. Allthe splendour and squalor, the beauty and baseness,the glamour and grotesqueness, the magic and the mournfulness,the bravery and the baseness of Oriental life are here: its pictures of the three great Arab passions, love,war and fancy, entitle it to be called “Blood,Musk and Hashish.'[FN#293] And still more, the geniusof the story-teller quickens the dry bones of history,and by adding Fiction to Pact revives the dead past: the Caliphs and the Caliphate return to Baghdad andCairo, whilst Asmodeus kindly removes the terrace-roofof every tenement and allows our curious glances totake in the whole interior. This is perhapsthe best proof of their power. Finally, the picture-galleryopens with a series of weird and striking adventuresand shows as a tail-piece, an idyllic scene of loveand wedlock in halls before reeking with lust andblood.

I have noticed in my Foreword that the two main characteristicsof The Nights are Pathos and Humour, alternating withhighly artistic contrast, and carefully calculatedto provoke tears and smiles in the coffee-house audiencewhich paid for them. The sentimental portionmostly breathes a tender passion and a simple sadness: such are the Badawi’s dying farewell (vol i.75); the lady’s broken heart on account of herlover’s hand being cut off (vol. i. 277); theWazir’s death, the mourner’s song and the“tongue of the case” (vol. ii. 10); themurder of Princess Abrizah with the babe sucking itsdead mother’s breast (vol. ii. 128); and, generally,the last moments of good Moslems (e. g. vol. 167),which are described with inimitable terseness andnaivete. The sad and the gay mingle in the characterof the good Hammam-stoker who becomes Roi Crotte andthe melancholy deepens in the Tale of the Mad Lover(vol. v. 138); the Blacksmith who could handle firewithout hurt (vol. v. 271); the Devotee Prince (vol.v. iii) and the whole Tale of Azizah (vol. ii. 298),whose angelic love is set off by the sensuality andselfishness of her more fortunate rivals. Anew note of absolutely tragic dignity seems to bestruck in the Sweep and the Noble Lady (vol. iv. 125),showing the piquancy of sentiment which can be evolvedfrom the common and the unclean. The prettyconceit of the Lute (vol. v. 244) is afterwards carriedout in the Song (vol. viii. 281), which is a masterpieceof originality[FN#294] and (in the Arabic) of exquisitetenderness and poetic melancholy, the wail over thepast and the vain longing for reunion. And thevery depths of melancholy, of majestic pathos andof true sublimity are reached in Many-columned Iram(vol. iv. 113) and the City of Brass (vol. vi. 83): the metrical part of the latter shows a luxury of woe;it is one long wail of despair which echoes long andloud in the hearer’s heart.

In my Foreword I have compared the humorous vein ofthe comic tales with our northern “wut,”chiefly for the dryness and slyness which pervadeit. But it differs in degree as much as thepathos varies. The staple article is Cairene“chaff,” a peculiar banter possibly inheritedfrom their pagan forefathers: instances of thisare found in the Cock and Dog (vol. i. 22), the Eunuch’saddress to the Cook (vol. i. 244), the Wazir’sexclamation, “Too little pepper!” (vol.i. 246), the self-communing of Judar (vol. vi. 219),the Hashish-eater in Ali Shar (vol. iv. 213), thescene between the brother-Wazirs (vol. i. 197), thetreatment of the Gobbo (vol. i. 221, 228), the Waterof Zemzem (vol. i. 284), and the Eunuchs Bukhayt andKafur[FN#295] (vol. ii. 49, 51). At times itbecomes a masterpiece of fun, of rollicking Rabelaisianhumour underlaid by the caustic mother-wit of SanchoPanza, as in the orgie of the Ladies of Baghdad (vol.i. 92, 93); the Holy Ointment applied to the beardof Luka the Knight—­ “unxerunt regemSalomonem” (vol. ii. 222); and Ja’afarand the Old Badawi (vol. v. 98), with its reminiscenceof “chaffy” King Amasis. This reachesits acme in the description of ugly old age (vol.v. 3); in The Three Wishes, the wickedest of satireson the alter sexus (vi. 180); in Ali the Persian (vol.iv. 139); in the Lady and her Five Suitors (vol. vi.172), which corresponds and contrasts with the dullytold Story of Upakosa and her Four Lovers of the Katha(p. 17); and in The Man of Al-Yaman (vol. iv. 245)where we find the true Falstaffian touch. Butthere is sterling wit, sweet and bright, expressedwithout any artifice of words, in the immortal Barber’stales of his brothers, especially the second, thefifth and the sixth (vol. i. 324, 325 and 343). Finally, wherever the honest and independent olddebauchee Abu Nowas makes his appearance the fun becomesfescennine and milesian.

B.—­TheManner of the Nights.

And now, after considering the matter, I will glanceat the language and style of The Nights. Thefirst point to remark is the peculiarly happy frameworkof the Recueil, which I cannot but suspect set anexample to the Decamerone and its host of successors.[FN#296]The admirable Introduction, a perfect mise-en-scene,gives the amplest raison d’etre of the work,which thus has all the unity required for a greatromantic recueil. We perceive this when readingthe contemporary Hindu work the Katha Sarit Sagara,[FN#297]which is at once so like and so unlike The Nights: here the preamble is insufficient; the whole is clumsyfor want of a thread upon which the many independenttales and fables should be strung[FN#298]; and theconsequent disorder and confusion tell upon the reader,who cannot remember the sequence without taking notes.

As was said in my Foreword “without The Nightsno Arabian Nights!” and now, so far from holdingthe pauses “an intolerable interruption to thenarrative,” I attach additional importance tothese pleasant and restful breaks introduced into longand intricate stories. Indeed beginning againI should adopt the plan of the Cal. Edit. openingand ending every division with a dialogue betweenthe sisters. Upon this point, however, opinionswill differ and the critic will remind me that theconsensus of the MSS. would be wanting: The Bresl. Edit. in many places merely interjects the numberof the night without interrupting the tale; the Ms.in the Bibliotheque Nationale used by Galland containsonly cclxxxii and the Frenchman ceases to use the divisionafter the ccxxxvith Night and in some editions afterthe cxcviith.[FN#299] A fragmentary Ms. accordingto Scott whose friend J. Anderson found it in Bengal,breaks away after Night xxix; and in the Wortley Montagu,the Sultan relents at an early opportunity, the stories,as in Galland, continuing only as an amusement. I have been careful to preserve the balanced sentenceswith which the tales open; the tautology and the prose-rhymeserving to attract attention, e. g., “In daysof yore and in times long gone before there was aKing,” etc.; in England where we strivenot to waste words this becomes “Once upon atime.” The closings also are artfully calculated,by striking a minor chord after the rush and hurryof the incidents, to suggest repose: “Andthey led the most pleasurable of lives and the mostdelectable, till there came to them the Destroyer ofdelights and the Severer of societies and they becameas though they had never been.” Placethis by the side of Boccaccio’s favourite formulae:—­Egliconquisto poi la Scozia, e funne re coronato (ii,3); Et onorevolmente visse infino alla fine (ii, 4);Molte volte goderono del loro amore: Iddio faccianoi goder del nostro (iii, 6): E cosi nella suegrossezza si rimase e ancor vi si sta (vi, 8). We have further docked this tail into: “Andthey lived happily ever after.”

I cannot take up the Nights in their present condition,without feeling that the work has been written downfrom the Rawi or Nakkal,[FN#300] the conteur or professionalstory-teller, also called Kassas and Maddah, correspondingwith the Hindu Bhat or Bard. To these men mylearned friend Baron A. von Kremer would attributethe Mu’allakat vulgarly called the SuspendedPoems, as being “indited from the relation ofthe Rawi.” Hence in our text the frequentinterruption of the formula Kal’ al-Rawi = quotesthe reciter; dice Turpino. Moreover, The Nightsread in many places like a hand-book or guide forthe professional, who would learn them by heart; hereand there introducing his “gag” and “patter”. To this “business” possibly we may attributemuch of the ribaldry which starts up in unexpectedplaces: it was meant simply to provoke a laugh. How old the custom is and how unchangeable is Easternlife is shown, a correspondent suggests, by the Bookof Esther which might form part of The Alf Laylah. “On that night (we read in Chap. vi. 1) couldnot the King sleep, and he commanded to bring thebook of records of the chronicles; and they were readbefore the King.” The Rawi would declaimthe recitative somewhat in conversational style; hewould intone the Saj’a or prose-rhyme and hewould chant to the twanging of the Rabab, a one-stringedviol, the poetical parts. Dr. Scott[FN#301]borrows from the historian of Aleppo a life-like pictureof the Story-teller. “He recites walkingto and fro in the middle of the coffee-room, stoppingonly now and then, when the expression requires someemphatical attitude. He is commonly heard withgreat attention; and not unfrequently in the midstof some interesting adventure, when the expectationof his audience is raised to the highest pitch, hebreaks off abruptly and makes his escape, leavingboth his hero or heroine and his audience in the utmostembarrassment. Those who happen to be near thedoor endeavour to detain him, insisting upon the storybeing finished before he departs; but he always makeshis retreat good[FN#302]; and the auditors suspendingtheir curiosity are induced to return at the sametime next day to hear the sequel. He has no soonermade his exit than the company in separate partiesfall to disputing about the characters of the dramaor the event of an unfinished adventure. Thecontroversy by degrees becomes serious and oppositeopinions are maintained with no less warmth than ifthe fall of the city depended upon the decision.”

At Tangier, where a murder in a “coffee-house”had closed these hovels, pending a sufficient paymentto the Pasha; and where, during the hard winter of1885-86, the poorer classes were compelled to pufftheir Kayf (Bhang, cannabis indica) and sip theirblack coffee in the muddy streets under a rainy sky,I found the Rawi active on Sundays and Thursdays,the market days. The favourite place was the“Soko de barra,” or large bazar, outsidethe town whose condition is that of Suez and Bayruthalf a century ago. It is a foul slope; nowslippery with viscous mud, then powdery with fetiddust, dotted with graves and decaying tombs, uncleanbooths, gargottes and tattered tents, and frequentedby women, mere bundles of unclean rags, and by menwearing the haik or burnus, a Franciscan frock, tendingtheir squatting camels and chaffering over cattlefor Gibraltar beef-eaters. Here the market-peopleform a ring about the reciter, a stalwart man affectinglittle raiment besides a broad waist-belt into whichhis lower chiffons are tucked, and noticeable onlyfor his shock hair, wild eyes, broad grin and generallydisreputable aspect. He usually handles a shortstick; and, when drummer and piper are absent, hecarries a tiny tom-tom shaped like an hour-glass,upon which he taps the periods. This Scealuidhe,as the Irish call him, opens the drama with extemporeprayer, proving that he and the audience are goodMoslems: he speaks slowly and with emphasis,varying the diction with breaks of animation, abundantaction and the most comical grimace: he advances,retires and wheels about, illustrating every pointwith pantomime; and his features, voice and gesturesare so expressive that even Europeans who cannot understanda word of Arabic divine the meaning of his tale. The audience stands breathless and motionless surprisingstrangers[FN#303] by the ingenuousness and freshnessof feeling hidden under their hard and savage exterior. The performance usually ends with the embryo actorgoing round for alms and flourishing in air everysilver bit, the usual honorarium being a few “f’lus,”that marvellous money of Barbary, big coppers worthone-twelfth of a penny. All the tales I heardwere purely local, but Fakhri Bey, a young Osmanlidomiciled for some time in Fez and Mequinez, assuredme that The Nights are still recited there.

Many travellers, including Dr. Russell, have complainedthat they failed to find a complete Ms. copyof The Nights. Evidently they never heard ofthe popular superstition which declares that no onecan read through them without dying—­it isonly fair that my patrons should know this. Yacoub Artin Pasha declares that the superstitiondates from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuriesand he explains it in two ways. Firstly, it isa facetious exaggeration, meaning that no one hasleisure or patience to wade through the long repertory. Secondly, the work is condemned as futile. When Egypt produced savants and legists like Ibn al-Hajar,Al-’Ayni, and Al-Kastallani, to mention no others,the taste of the country inclined to dry factual studiesand positive science; nor, indeed, has this tastewholly died out: there are not a few who, likeKhayri Pasha, contend that the mathematic is moreuseful even for legal studies than history and geography,and at Cairo the chief of the Educational Departmenthas always been an engineer, i. e., a mathematician. The Olema declared war against all “futilities,”in which they included not only stories but also whatis politely entitled Authentic History. Fromthis to the fatal effect of such lecture is only astep. Society, however, cannot rest withoutlight literature; so the novel-reading class wasthrown back upon writings which had all the indelicacyand few of the merits of The Nights.

Turkey is the only Moslem country which has daredto produce a regular drama[FN#304] and to arouse theenergies of such brilliant writers as Munif Pasha,statesman and scholar; Ekrem Bey, literato and professor;Kemal Bey, held by some to be the greatest writerin modern Osmanli-land and Abd al-Hakk Hamid Bey,first Secretary of the London Embassy. The theatrebegan in its ruder form by taking subjects bodilyfrom The Nights; then it annexed its plays as we do—­theNovel having ousted the Drama—­ from theFrench; and lastly it took courage to be original. Many years ago I saw Harun al-Rashid and the ThreeKalandars, with deer-skins and all their propertiesde rigueur in the court-yard of Government House,Damascus, declaiming to the extreme astonishment anddelight of the audience. It requires only toglance at The Nights for seeing how much histrionicmatter they contain.

In considering the style of The Nights we must bearin mind that the work has never been edited accordingto our ideas of the process. Consequently thereis no just reason for translating the whole verbatimet literatim, as has been done by Torrens, Lane andPayne in his “Tales from the Arabic.'[FN#305]This conscientious treatment is required for versionsof an author like Camoens, whose works were carefullycorrected and arranged by a competent litterateur,but it is not merited by The Nights as they now are. The Macnaghten, the Bulak and the Bayrut texts, thoughprinted from MSS. identical in order, often differin minor matters. Many friends have asked meto undertake the work: but, even if lightenedby the aid of Shaykhs, Munshis and copyists, the labourwould be severe, tedious and thankless: betterleave the holes open than patch them with fancy workor with heterogeneous matter. The learned, indeed,as Lane tells us (i. 74; iii. 740), being thoroughlydissatisfied with the plain and popular, the ordinaryand “vulgar” note of the language, haveattempted to refine and improve it and have more thanonce threatened to remodel it, that is, to make itodious. This would be to dress up Robert Burnsin plumes borrowed from Dryden and Pope.

The first defect of the texts is in the distributionand arrangement of the matter, as I have noticed inthe case of Sindbad the Seaman (vol. vi. 77). Moreover, many of the earlier Nights are overlongand not a few of the others are overshort: this,however, has the prime recommendation of variety. Even the vagaries of editor and scribe will not accountfor all the incoherences, disorder and inconsequence,and for the vain iterations which suggest that theauthor has forgotten what he said. In placesthere are dead allusions to persons and tales whichare left dark, e. g. vol. i. pp. 43, 57, 61, etc. The digressions are abrupt and useless, leading nowhere,while sundry pages are wearisome for excess of prolixityor hardly intelligible for extreme conciseness. The perpetual recurrence of mean colloquialisms andof words and idioms peculiar to Egypt and Syria[FN#306]also takes from the pleasure of the perusal. Yet we cannot deny that it has its use: this unadornedlanguage of familiar conversation, in its day adaptedfor the understanding of the people, is best fittedfor the Rawi’s craft in the camp and caravan,the Harem, the bazar and the coffee-house. Moreover, as has been well said, The Nights is theonly written half-way house between the literary andcolloquial Arabic which is accessible to all, andthus it becomes necessary to the students who wouldqualify themselves for service in Moslem lands fromMauritania to Mesopotamia. It freely uses Turkishwords like “Khatun” and Persian termsas “Shahbandar,” thus requiring for translationnot only a somewhat archaic touch, but also a vocabularyborrowed from various sources: otherwise the effectwould not be reproduced. In places, however,the style rises to the highly ornate approaching thepompous; e. g. the Wazirial addresses in the taleof King Jali’ad. The battle-scenes, mostlyadmirable (vol. v. 365), are told with the concisenessof a despatch and the vividness of an artist; thetwo combining to form perfect “word-pictures.” Of the Badi’a or euphuistic style, “Parleyingeuphuism,” and of Ai Saj’a, the proserhyme, I shall speak in a future page.

The characteristics of the whole are naivete and simplicity,clearness and a singular concision. The gorgeousnessis in the imagery not in the language; the words areweak while the sense, as in the classical Scandinavianbooks, is strong; and here the Arabic differs diametricallyfrom the florid exuberance and turgid amplificationsof the Persian story-teller, which sound so hollowand unreal by the side of a chaster model. Itabounds in formulae such as repetitions of religiousphrases which are unchangeable. There are certainstock comparisons, as Lokman’s wisdom, Joseph’sbeauty, Jacob’s grief, Job’s patience,David’s music, and Maryam the Virgin’schastity. The eyebrow is a Nun; the eye a Sad,the mouth a Mim. A hero is more prudent thanthe crow, a better guide than the Kata grouse, moregenerous than the cock, warier than the crane, braverthan the lion, more aggressive than the panther, finer-sightedthan the horse, craftier than the fox, greedier thanthe gazelle, more vigilant than the dog, and thriftierthan the ant. The cup-boy is a sun rising fromthe dark underworld symbolised by his collar; hischeek-mole is a crumb of ambergris, his nose is a scymitargrided at the curve; his lower lip is a jujube; histeeth are the Pleiades or hailstones; his browlocksare scorpions; his young hair on the upper lip isan emerald; his side beard is a swarm of ants or aLam ( -letter) enclosing the roses or anemones of hischeek. The cup-girl is a moon who rivals thesheen of the sun; her forehead is a pearl set offby the jet of her “idiot-fringe;” hereyelashes scorn the sharp sword; and her glances arearrows shot from the bow of the eyebrows. Amistress necessarily belongs, though living in thenext street, to the Wady Liwa and to a hostile clanof Badawin whose blades are ever thirsting for thelover’s blood and whose malignant tongues aimonly at the “defilement of separation.” Youth is upright as an Alif, or slender and bendingas a branch of the Ban-tree which we should call awillow-wand,[FN#307] while Age, crabbed and crooked,bends groundwards vainly seeking in the dust his lostjuvenility. As Baron de Slane says of thesestock comparisons (Ibn Khall. i. xxxvi.), “Thefigurative language of Moslem poets is often difficultto be understood. The narcissus is the eye; thefeeble stem of that plant bends languidly under itsdower, and thus recalls to mind the languor of theeyes. Pearls signify both tears and teeth; thelatter are sometimes called hailstones, from theirwhiteness and moisture; the lips are cornelians orrubies; the gums, a pomegranate flower; the dark foliageof the myrtle is synonymous with the black hair ofthe beloved, or with the first down on the cheeksof puberty. The down itself is called the izar,or head-stall of the bridle, and the curve of the izaris compared to the letters lam ( ) and nun ( ).[FN#308]Ringlets trace on the cheek or neck the letter Waw( ); they are called Scorpions (as the Greek ), either from their dark colour or their agitatedmovements; the eye is a sword; the eyelids scabbards;the whiteness of the complexion, camphor; and a moleor beauty-spot, musk, which term denotes also darkhair. A mole is sometimes compared also to anant creeping on the cheek towards the honey of themouth; a handsome face is both a full moon and day;black hair is night; the waist is a willow-branchor a lance; the water of the face is self-respect: a poet sells the water of his face[FN#309] when hebestows mercenary praises on a rich patron.”

This does not sound promising: yet, as has beensaid of Arab music, the persistent repetition of thesame notes in the minor key is by no means monotonousand ends with haunting the ear, occupying the thoughtand touching the soul. Like the distant frog-concertand chirp of the cicada, the creak of the water-wheeland the stroke of hammers upon the anvil from afar,the murmur of the fountain, the sough of the windand the plash of the wavelet, they occupy the sensoriumwith a soothing effect, forming a barbaric music fullof sweetness and peaceful pleasure.

Sectioniv.
Socialcondition.

I here propose to treat of the Social Condition whichThe Nights discloses, of Al-Islam at the earlier periodof its development, concerning the position of womenand about the pornology of the great Saga-book.

A.—­Al-Islam.

A splendid and glorious life was that of Baghdad inthe days of the mighty Caliph,[FN#310] when the Capitalhad towered to the zenith of grandeur and was alreadytrembling and tottering to the fall. The centreof human civilisation, which was then confined toGreece and Arabia, and the metropolis of an Empireexceeding in extent the widest limits of Rome, itwas essentially a city of pleasure, a Paris of theixth century. The “Palace of Peace”(Dar al-Salam), worthy successor of Babylon and Nineveh,which had outrivalled Damascus, the “Smile ofthe Prophet,” and Kufah, the successor of Hiraand the magnificent creation of Caliph Omar, possessedunrivalled advantages of site and climate. TheTigris-Euphrates Valley, where the fabled Gardenof Eden has been placed, in early ages succeeded theNile- Valley as a great centre of human development;and the prerogative of a central and commanding positionstill promises it, even in the present state of decayand desolation under the unspeakable Turk, a magnificentfuture,[FN#311] when railways and canals shall connectit with Europe. The city of palaces and governmentoffices, hotels and pavilions, mosques and colleges,kiosks and squares, bazars and markets, pleasure groundsand orchards, adorned with all the graceful charmswhich Saracenic architecture had borrowed from theByzantines, lay couched upon the banks of the Dijlah-Hiddekelunder a sky of marvellous purity and in a climate whichmakes mere life a “Kayf”—­theluxury of tranquil enjoyment. It was surroundedby far extending suburbs, like Rusafah on the Easternside and villages like Baturanjah, dear to the votariesof pleasure; and with the roar of a gigantic capitalmingled the hum of prayer, the trilling of birds,the thrilling of harp and lute, the shrilling of pipes,the witching strains of the professional Almah, andthe minstrel’s lay.

The population of Baghdad must have been enormouswhen the smallest number of her sons who fell victimsto Hulaku Khan in 1258 was estimated at eight hundredthousand, while other authorities more than doublethe terrible “butcher’s bill.” Her policy and polity were unique. A well regulatedroutine of tribute and taxation, personally inspectedby the Caliph; a network of waterways, canaux d’arrosage;a noble system of highways, provided with viaducts,bridges and caravanserais, and a postal service ofmounted couriers enabled it to collect as in a reservoirthe wealth of the outer world. The facilitiesfor education were upon the most extended scale; largesums, from private as well as public sources, wereallotted to Mosques, each of which, by the admirablerule of Al-Islam, was expected to contain a school: these establishments were richly endowed and stockedwith professors collected from every land betweenKhorasan and Marocco;[FN#312] and immense libraries[FN#313]attracted the learned of all nations. It was agolden age for poets and panegyrists, koranists andliterati, preachers and rhetoricians, physicians andscientists who, besides receiving high salaries andfabulous presents, were treated with all the honoursof Chinese Mandarins; and, like these, the humblestMoslem—­fisherman or artizan—­couldaspire through knowledge or savoir faire to the highestoffices of the Empire. The effect was a graftingof Egyptian, and old Mesopotamian, of Persian andGraeco-Latin fruits, by long Time deteriorated, uponthe strong young stock of Arab genius; and the result,as usual after such imping, was a shoot of exceptionalluxuriance and vitality. The educational establishmentsdevoted themselves to the three main objects recognisedby the Moslem world, Theology, Civil Law and BellesLettres; and a multitude of trained Councillors enabledthe ruling powers to establish and enlarge that complicatedmachinery of government, at once concentrated and decentralized,a despotism often fatal to the wealthy great but neverneglecting the interests of the humbler lieges, whichforms the beau ideal of Oriental administration. Under the Chancellors of the Empire the Kazis administeredlaw and order, justice and equity; and from theirdecisions the poorest subject, Moslem or miscreant,could claim with the general approval of the lieges,access and appeal to the Caliph who, as Imam or Antistesof the Faith was High President of a Court of Cassation.

Under wise administration Agriculture and Commerce,the twin pillars of national prosperity, necessarilyflourished. A scientific canalisation, with irrigationworks inherited from the ancients, made the MesopotamianValley a rival of Kemi the Black Land, and renderedcultivation a certainty of profit, not a mere speculation,as it must ever be to those who perforce rely uponthe fickle rains of Heaven. The remains of extensivemines prove that this source of public wealth wasnot neglected; navigation laws encouraged transitand traffic; and ordinances for the fisheries aimedat developing a branch of industry which is stillbackward even during the xixth century. Most substantialencouragement was given to trade and commerce, to manufacturesand handicrafts, by the flood of gold which pouredin from all parts of earth; by the presence of a splendidand luxurious court, and by the call for new artsand industries which such a civilisation would necessitate. The crafts were distributed into guilds and syndicatesunder their respective chiefs, whom the governmentdid not “govern too much”: these Shahbandars,Mukaddams and Nakibs regulated the several trades,rewarded the industrious, punished the fraudulentand were personally answerable, as we still see atCairo, for the conduct of their constituents. Public order, the sine qua non of stability and progress,was preserved, first, by the satisfaction of the liegeswho, despite their characteristic turbulence, had fewif any grievances; and, secondly, by a well directedand efficient police, an engine of statecraft whichin the West seems most difficult to perfect. In the East, however, the Wali or Chief Commissionercan reckon more or less upon the unsalaried assistanceof society: the cities are divided into quartersshut off one from other by night, and every Moslemis expected, by his law and religion, to keep watchupon his neighbours, to report their delinquenciesand, if necessary, himself to carry out the penalcode. But in difficult cases the guardians ofthe peace were assisted by a body of private detectives,women as well as men: these were called Tawwabun= the Penitents, because like our Bow-street runners,they had given up an even less respectable calling. Their adventures still delight the vulgar, as did theNewgate Calendar of past generations; and to this classwe owe the Tales of Calamity Ahmad, Dalilah the WilyOne, Saladin with the Three Chiefs of Police (vol.iv. 271), and Al-Malik al-Zahir with the Sixteen Constables(Bresl. Edit. xi. pp. 321- 99). Here andin many other places we also see the origin of that“picaresque” literature which arose inSpain and overran Europe; and which begat Le Moyende Parvenir. [FN#314]

I need say no more on this heading, the civilisationof Baghdad contrasting with the barbarism of Europethen Germanic, The Nights itself being the best expositor. On the other hand the action of the state-religionupon the state, the condition of Al-Islam duringthe reign of Al-Rashid, its declension from the primitivecreed and its relation to Christianity and Christendom,require a somewhat extended notice. In offeringthe following observations it is only fair to declaremy standpoints.

1. All forms of “faith,” that is,belief in things unseen, not subject to the senses,and therefore unknown and (in our present stage ofdevelopment) unknowable, are temporary and transitory: no religion hitherto promulgated amongst men showsany prospect of being final or otherwise than finite.

2. Religious ideas, which are necessarily limited,may all be traced home to the old seat of scienceand art, creeds and polity in the Nile-Valley andto this day they retain the clearest signs of theirorigin.

3. All so-called “revealed” religionsconsist mainly of three portions, a cosmogony moreor less mythical, a history more or less falsifiedand a moral code more or less pure.

Al-Islam, it has been said, is essentially a fightingfaith and never shows to full advantage save in thefield. The faith and luxury of a wealthy capital,the debauchery and variety of vices which would springup therein, naturally as weeds in a rich fallow, andthe cosmopolitan views which suggest themselves ina meeting-place of nations, were sore trials to theprimitive simplicity of the “Religion of Resignation”—­thesaving faith. Harun and his cousin-wife, as hasbeen shown, were orthodox and even fanatical; butthe Barmecides were strongly suspected of hereticalleanings; and while the many- headed showed itself,as usual, violent, and ready to do battle about anAzan-call, the learned, who sooner or later leaventhe masses, were profoundly dissatisfied with thedryness and barrenness of Mohammed’s creed,so acceptable to the vulgar, and were devising a seriesof schisms and innovations.

In the Tale of Tawaddud (vol. v. 189) the reader hasseen a fairly extended catechism of the Creed (Din),the ceremonial observances (Mazhab) and the apostolicpractices (Sunnat) of the Shafi’i school which,with minor modifications, applies to the other threeorthodox. Europe has by this time clean forgottensome tricks of her former bigotry, such as “Mawmet”(an idol!) and “Mahommerie” (mummery[FN#315]),a place of Moslem worship: educated men no longerspeak with Ockley of the “great impostor Mahomet,”nor believe with the learned and violent Dr. Prideauxthat he was foolish and wicked enough to dispossess“certain poor orphans, the sons of an inferiorartificer” (the Banu Najjar!). A host ofbooks has attempted, though hardly with success, toenlighten popular ignorance upon a crucial point; namely,that the Founder of Al-Islam, like the Founder ofChristianity, never pretended to establish a new religion. His claims, indeed, were limited to purging the “Schoolof Nazareth” of the dross of ages and of themanifold abuses with which long use had infected itsearly constitution: hence to the unprejudicedobserver his reformation seems to have brought itnearer the primitive and original doctrine than anysubsequent attempts, especially the Judaizing tendenciesof the so-called “Protestant” churches. The Meccan Apostle preached that the Hanafiyyah ororthodox belief, which he subsequently named Al-Islam,was first taught by Allah, in all its purity and perfection,to Adam and consigned to certain inspired volumesnow lost; and that this primal Holy Writ receivedadditions in the days of his descendants Shis (Seth)and Idris (Enoch?), the founder of the Sabian (not“Sabaean”) faith. Here, therefore,Al-Islam at once avoided the deplorable assumptionof the Hebrews and the Christians,—­an errorwhich has been so injurious to their science and theirprogress,—­of placing their “firstman”in circa B. C. 4000 or somewhat subsequent to thebuilding of the Pyramids: the Pre-Adamite[FN#316]races and dynasties of the Moslems remove a greatstumbling-block and square with the anthropologicalviews of the present day. In process of time,when the Adamite religion demanded a restoration anda supplement, its pristine virtue was revived, restoredand further developed by the books communicated toAbraham, whose dispensation thus takes the place ofthe Hebrew Noah and his Noachidae. In due timethe Torah, or Pentateuch, superseded and abrogatedthe Abrahamic dispensation; the “Zabur”of David (a book not confined to the Psalms) reformedthe Torah; the Injil or Evangel reformed the Zaburand was itself purified, quickened and perfected bythe Koran which means the Reading or theRecital. Hence Locke, with many others, heldMoslems to be unorthodox, that is, anti-TrinitarianChristians who believe in the Immaculate Conception,in the Ascension and in the divine mission of Jesus;and when Priestley affirmed that “Jesus wassent from God,” all Moslems do the same. Thus they are, in the main point of doctrine connectedwith the Deity, simply Arians as opposed to Athanasians. History proves that the former was the earlier faithwhich, though formally condemned in A. D. 325 by Constantine’sCouncil of Nice, [FN#317] overspread the Orient beginningwith Eastern Europe, where Ulphilas converted theGoths; which extended into Africa with the Vandals,claimed a victim or martyr as late as in the sixteenthcentury [FN#318] and has by no means died out in thisour day.

The Talmud had been completed a full century beforeMohammed’s time and the Evangel had been translatedinto Arabic; moreover travel and converse with hisJewish and Christian friends and companions must haveconvinced the Meccan Apostle that Christianity wascalling as loudly for reform as Judaism had done.[FN#319] An exaggerated Trinitarianism or rather Tritheism,a “Fourth Person” and Saint-worship hadvirtually dethroned the Deity; whilst Mariolatry hadmade the faith a religio muliebris, and superstitionhad drawn from its horrid fecundity an incrediblenumber of heresies and monstrous absurdities. Even ecclesiastic writers draw the gloomiest picturesof the Christian Church in the fourth and seventhcenturies, and one declares that the “Kingdomof Heaven had become a Hell.” Egypt, distractedby the blood- thirsty religious wars of Copt and Greek,had been covered with hermitages by a yens aeternaof semi-maniacal superstition. Syria, ever “feraciousof heresies,” had allowed many of her finesttracts to be monopolised by monkeries and nunneries.[FN#320]After many a tentative measure Mohammed seems to havebuilt his edifice upon two bases, the unity of theGodhead and the priesthood of the pater-familias. He abolished for ever the “sacerdos alter Christus”whose existence, as some one acutely said, is thebest proof of Christianity, and whom all know to beits weakest point. The Moslem family, howeverhumble, was to be the model in miniature of the State,and every father in Al-Islam was made priest and pontiffin his own house, able unaided to marry himself, tocircumcise (to baptise as it were) his children, toinstruct them in the law and canonically to bury himself(vol. viii. 22). Ritual, properly so called, therewas none; congregational prayers were merely thoseof the individual en masse, and the only admittedapproach to a sacerdotal order were the Olema or scholarslearned in the legistic and the Mullah or schoolmaster. By thus abolishing the priesthood Mohammed reconciledancient with modern wisdom. “Scito dominum,”said Cato, “pro tota familia rem divinam facere”: “No priest at a birth, no priest at a marriage,no priest at a death,” is the aspiration ofthe present Rationalistic School.

The Meccan Apostle wisely retained the compulsorysacrament of circumcision and the ceremonial ablutionsof the Mosaic law; and the five daily prayers notonly diverted man’s thoughts from the worldbut tended to keep his body pure. These two institutionshad been practiced throughout life by the Founder ofChristianity; but the followers who had never seenhim, abolished them for purposes evidently politicaland propagandist. By ignoring the truth thatcleanliness is next to godliness they paved the wayfor such saints as Simon Stylites and Sabba who, likethe lowest Hindu orders of ascetics, made filth aconcominant and an evidence of piety: even nowEnglish Catholic girls are at times forbidden by Italianpriests a frequent use of the bath as a sign postto the sin of “luxury.” Mohammed wouldhave accepted the morals contained in the Sermon onthe Mount much more readily than did the Jews fromwhom its matter was borrowed.[FN#321] He did somethingto abolish the use of wine, which in the East meansonly its abuse; and he denounced games of chance,well knowing that the excitable races of sub-tropicalclimates cannot play with patience, fairness or moderation. He set aside certain sums for charity to be paid byevery Believer and he was the first to establish apoor-rate (Zakat): thus he avoided the shameand scandal of mendicancy which, beginning in theCatholic countries of Southern Europe, extends to Syriaand as far East as Christianity is found. Bythese and other measures of the same import he madethe ideal Moslem’s life physically clean, moderateand temperace.

But Mohammed, the “master mind of the age,”had, we must own, a “genuine prophetic power,a sinking of self in the Divine not distinguishablein kind from the inspiration of the Hebrew prophets,”especially in that puritanical and pharisaic narrownesswhich, with characteristic simplicity, can see no goodoutside its own petty pale. He had insight aswell as outsight, and the two taught him that personaland external reformation were mean matters comparedwith elevating the inner man. In the “purerFaith,” which he was commissioned to abrogateand to quicken, he found two vital defects equallyfatal to its energy and to its longevity. Thesewere (and are) its egoism and its degradation of humanity. Thus it cannot be a “pleroma”: itneeds a Higher Law.[FN#322] As Judaism promised thegood Jew all manner of temporal blessings, issue,riches, wealth, honour, power, length of days, soChristianity offered the good Christian, as a bribeto lead a godly life, personal salvation and a futurestate of happiness, in fact the Kingdom of Heaven,with an alternative threat of Hell. It neverrose to the height of the Hindu Brahmans and Lao-Tse(the “Ancient Teacher'); of Zeno the Stoic andhis disciples the noble Pharisees[FN#323] who believedand preached that Virtue is its own reward. Itnever dared to say, “Do good for Good’ssake;'[FN#324] even now it does not declare with Cicero,“The sum of all is that what is right shouldbe sought for its own sake, because it is right, andnot because it is enacted.” It does noteven now venture to say with Philo Judaeus, “Thegood man seeks the day for the sake of the day, andthe light for the light’s sake; and he laboursto acquire what is good for the sake of the good itself,and not of anything else.” So far for theegotism, naive and unconscious, of Christianity, whoseburden is, “Do good to escape Hell and gain Heaven.”

A no less defect in the “School of Galilee”is its low view of human nature. Adopting assober and authentic history an Osirian-Hebrew mythwhich Philo and a host of Rabbis explain away, eachafter his own fashion, Christianity dwells, lovinglyas it were, upon the “Fall” of man[FN#325]and seems to revel in the contemptible condition towhich “original sin” condemned him; thusgrovelling before God ad majorem Dei gloriam. To such a point was and is this carried that the Synodof Dort declared, Infantes infidelium morientes ininfantia reprobatos esse statui mus; nay, many ofthe orthodox still hold a Christian babe dying unbaptisedto be unfit for a higher existence, and some have evencreated a “limbo” expressly to domicilethe innocents “of whom is the kingdom of Heaven.” Here, if any where, the cloven foot shows itself andteaches us that the only solid stratum underlyingpriestcraft is one composed of L s. d.

And I never can now believe it, my Lord! (Bishop)we come to this earth Ready damned, with the seedsof evil sown quite so thick at our birth, sings EdwinArnold.[FN#326] We ask, can infatuation or hypocrisy—­forit must be the one or the other—­go farther? But the Adamical myth is opposed to all our modernstudies. The deeper we dig into the Earth’s“crust,” the lower are the specimens ofhuman remains which occur; and hitherto not a single“find” has come to revive the faded gloriesof

Adamthe goodliest man of men since born (!)
Hissons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.

Thus Christianity, admitting, like Judaism, its ownsaints and santons, utterly ignores the progress ofhumanity, perhaps the only belief in which the wiseman can take unmingled satisfaction. Both haveproposed an originally perfect being with hyacinthinelocks, from whose type all the subsequent humans aredegradations physical and moral. We on the otherhand hold, from the evidence of our senses, that earlyman was a savage very little superior to the brute;that during man’s millions of years upon earththere has been a gradual advance towards perfection,at times irregular and even retrograde, but in themain progressive; and that a comparison of man inthe xixth century with the caveman[FN#327] affordsus the means of measuring past progress and of calculatingthe future of humanity.

Mahommed was far from rising to the moral heightsof the ancient sages: he did nothing to abatethe egotism of Christianity; he even exaggerated thepleasures of its Heaven and the horrors of its Hell. On the other hand he did much to exalt human nature. He passed over the “Fall” with a lighthand; he made man superior to the angels; he encouragedhis fellow creatures to be great and good by dwellingupon their nobler not their meaner side; he acknowledged,even in this world, the perfectability of mankind,including womankind, and in proposing the loftiestideal he acted unconsciously upon the grand dictumof chivalry—­Honneur oblige.[FN#328] Hisprophets were mostly faultless men; and, if the “Pureof Allah” sinned, he “sinned against himself.” Lastly, he made Allah predetermine the career andfortunes, not only of empires, but of every createdbeing; thus inculcating sympathy and tolerance ofothers, which is true humanity, and a proud resignationto evil as to good fortune. This is the doctrinewhich teaches the vulgar Moslem a dignity observedeven by the “blind traveller,” and whichenables him to display a moderation, a fortitude,and a self-command rare enough amongst the followersof the “purer creed.”

Christian historians explain variously the portentousrise of Al-Islam and its marvellous spread over vastregions, not only of pagans and idolators but of Christians. Prideaux disingenuously suggests that it “seemsto have been purposely raised up by God, to be a scourgeto the Christian Church for not living in accordancewith their most holy religion.” The popularexcuse is by the free use of the sword; this, however,is mere ignorance: in Mohammed’s day andearly Al-Islam only actual fighters were slain:[FN#329]the rest were allowed to pay the Jizyah, or capitation-tax,and to become tributaries, enjoying almost all theprivileges of Moslems. But even had forcible conversionbeen most systematically practiced, it would haveafforded an insufficient explanation of the phenomenalrise of an empire which covered more ground in eightyyears than Rome had gained in eight hundred. During so short a time the grand revival of Monotheismhad consolidated into a mighty nation, despite theireternal blood-feuds, the scattered Arab tribes; a six-years’campaign had conquered Syria, and a lustre or two utterlyoverthrew Persia, humbled the Graeco-Roman, subduedEgypt and extended the Faith along northern Africaas far as the Atlantic. Within three generationsthe Copts of Nile-land had formally cast out Christianity,and the same was the case with Syria, the cradle ofthe Nazarene, and Mesopotamia, one of his strongholds,although both were backed by all the remaining powerof the Byzantine empire. Northwestern Africa,which had rejected the idolatro-philosophic systemof pagan and imperial Rome, and had accepted, afterlukewarm fashion, the Arian Christianity importedby the Vandals, and the “Nicene mystery of theTrinity,” hailed with enthusiasm the doctrinesof the Koran and has never ceased to be most zealousin its Islam. And while Mohammedanism speedilyreduced the limits of Christendom by one-third, whilethrough-out the Arabian, Saracenic and Turkish invasionswhole Christian peoples embraced the monotheisticfaith, there are hardly any instances of defectionfrom the new creed and, with the exception of Spainand Sicily, it has never been suppressed in any landwhere once it took root. Even now, when Mohammedanismno longer wields the sword, it is spreading over wideregions in China, in the Indian Archipelago, and especiallyin Western and Central Africa, propagated only byself-educated individuals, trading travellers, whileChristianity makes no progress and cannot exist onthe Dark Continent without strong support from Government. Nor can we explain this honourable reception by the“licentiousness” ignorantly attributedto Al-Islam, one of the most severely moral of institutions;or by the allurements of polygamy and concubinage,slavery,[FN#330] and a “wholly sensual Paradise”devoted to eating, drinking[FN#331] and the pleasuresof the sixth sense. The true and simple explanationis that this grand Reformation of Christianity wasurgently wanted when it appeared, that it suited thepeople better than the creed which it superseded andthat it has not ceased to be sufficient for theirrequirements, social, sexual and vital. As thepractical Orientalist, Dr. Leitner, well observesfrom his own experience, “The Mohammedan religioncan adapt itself better than any other and has adapteditself to circumstances and to the needs of the variousraces which profess it, in accordance with the spiritof the age.'[FN#332] Hence, I add, its wide diffusionand its impregnable position. “The deadhand, stiff and motionless,” is a forcible similefor the present condition of Al-Islam; but it resultsfrom limited and imperfect observation and it failsin the sine qua non of similes and metaphors, a foundationof fact.

I cannot quit this subject without a passing referenceto an admirably written passage in Mr. Palgrave’stravels[FN#333] which is essentially unfair to Al-Islam. The author has had ample opportunities of comparingcreeds: of Jewish blood and born a Protestant,he became a Catholic and a Jesuit (Pere Michel Cohen)[FN#334]in a Syrian convent; he crossed Arabia as a good Moslemand he finally returned to his premier amour, Anglicanism. But his picturesque depreciation of Mohammedanism,which has found due appreciation in more than onepopular volume, [FN#335] is a notable specimen ofspecial pleading, of the ad captandum in its modernand least honest form. The writer begins by assumingthe arid and barren Wahhabi-ism, which he had personallystudied, as a fair expression of the Saving Faith. What should we say to a Moslem traveller who wouldmake the Calvinism of the sourest Covenanter, model,genuine and ancient Christianity? What wouldsensible Moslems say to these propositions of ProfessorMaccovius and the Synod of Dort:—­Good worksare an obstacle to salvation. God does by nomeans will the salvation of all men: he does willsin and he destines men to sin, as sin? What wouldthey think of the Inadmissible Grace, the Perseveranceof the Elect, the Supralapsarian and the Sublapsarianand, finally, of a Deity the author of man’sexistence, temptation and fall, who deliberately pre-ordainssin and ruin? “Father Cohen” carriesout into the regions of the extreme his strictureson the one grand vitalising idea of Al-Islam, “Thereis no god but God;'[FN#336] and his deduction concerningthe Pantheism of Force sounds unreal and unsound,compared with the sensible remarks upon the same subjectby Dr. Badgers[FN#337] who sees the abstruseness ofthe doctrine and does not care to include it in hardand fast lines or to subject it to mere logical analysis. Upon the subject of “predestination” Mr.Palgrave quotes, not from the Koran, but from theAhadis or Traditional Sayings of the Apostle; but whatimportance attaches to a legend in the Mischnah, orOral Law, of the Hebrews utterly ignored by the WrittenLaw? He joins the many in complaining that eventhe mention of “the love of God” is absentfrom Mohammed’s theology, burking the fact thatit never occurs in the Jewish scriptures and thatthe genius of Arabic, like Hebrew, does not admitthe expression: worse still, he keeps from hisreader such Koranic passages as, to quote no other,“Allah loveth you and will forgive your sins”(iii. 29). He pities Allah for having “noson, companion or counsellor” and, of course,he must equally commiserate Jehovah. Finally hisviews of the lifelessness of Al-Islam are directlyopposed to the opinions of Dr. Leitner and the experienceof all who have lived in Moslem lands. Such arethe ingenious but not ingenuous distortions of fact,the fine instances of the pathetic fallacy, and thenoteworthy illustrations of the falsehood of extremes,which have engendered “Mohammedanism a Relapse: the worst form of Monotheism,'[FN#338] and which havebeen eagerly seized upon and further deformed by theauthors of popular books, that is, volumes writtenby those who know little for those who know less.

In Al-Rashid’s day a mighty change had passedover the primitive simplicity of Al-Islam, the changeto which faiths and creeds, like races and empiresand all things sublunary, are subject. The proximityof Persia and the close intercourse with the Graeco-Romanshad polished and greatly modified the physiognomy ofthe rugged old belief: all manner of metaphysicalsubtleties had cropped up, with the usual disintegratingeffect, and some of these threatened even the unityof the Godhead. Musaylimah and Karmat had lefttraces of their handiwork: the Mutazilites (separatistsor secessors) actively propagated their doctrine ofa created and temporal Koran. The Khariji or Ibazi,who rejects and reviles Abu Turab (Caliph Ali), contendedpassionately with the Shi’ah who reviles andrejects the other three “Successors;”and these sectarians, favoured by the learned, andby the Abbasides in their jealous hatred of the Ommiades,went to the extreme length of the Ali-Ilahi—­theGod-makers of Ali—­whilst the Dahri andthe Zindik, the Mundanist and the Agnoetic, proposedto sweep away the whole edifice. The neo-Platonismand Gnosticism which had not essentially affectedChristendom,[FN#339] found in Al-Islam a rich fallowand gained strength and luxuriance by the solid materialismand conservatism of its basis. Such were a fewof the distracting and resolving influences whichTime had brought to bear upon the True Believer andwhich, after some half a dozen generations, had separatedthe several schisms by a wider breach than that whichyawns between Orthodox, Romanist and Lutheran. Nor was this scandal in Al-Islam abated until theTartar sword applied to it the sharpest remedy.

B.—­Woman.

The next point I propose to consider is the positionof womanhood in The Nights, so curiously at variancewith the stock ideas concerning the Moslem home anddomestic policy still prevalent, not only in England,but throughout Europe. Many readers of thesevolumes have remarked to me with much astonishmentthat they find the female characters more remarkablefor decision, action and manliness than the male;and are wonderstruck by their masterful attitude andby the supreme influence they exercise upon publicand private life.

I have glanced at the subject of the sex in Al-Islamto such an extent throughout my notes that littleremains here to be added. Women, all the worldover are what men make them; and the main charm ofAmazonian fiction is to see how they live and moveand have their being without any masculine guidance. But it is the old ever-new fable

“Whodrew the Lion vanquished? ‘Twas a man!’’

The books of the Ancients, written in that stage ofcivilisation when the sexes are at civil war, makewomen even more than in real life the creatures oftheir masters: hence from the dawn of literatureto the present day the sex has been the subject ofdisappointed abuse and eulogy almost as unmerited. Ecclesiastes, perhaps the strangest specimen of an“inspired volume” the world has yet produced,boldly declares “One (upright) man among a thousandI have found; but a woman among all have I not found”(vol. vii. 28), thus confirming the pessimism of Petronius:—­

Feminanulla bona est, et si bona contigit ulla
Nescioquo fato res male facta bona est.

In the Psalms again (xxx. 15) we have the old sneerat the three insatiables, Hell, Earth and the Partsfeminine (os vulvae); and Rabbinical learning hasembroidered these and other texts, producing a trulyhideous caricature. A Hadis attributed to Mohammedruns, “They (women) lack wits and faith. When Eve was created Satan rejoiced saying:—­Thouart half of my host, the trustee of my secret andmy shaft wherewith I shoot and miss not!” Anothertells us, “I stood at the gate of Heaven, andlo! most of its inmates were poor, and I stood atthe gate of Hell, and lo! most of its inmates werewomen.’’[FN#340] “Take care of theglass-phials!” cried the Prophet to a camel-guidesinging with a sweet voice. Yet the Meccan Apostlemade, as has been seen, his own household producetwo perfections. The blatant popular voice followswith such “dictes” as, “Women aremade of nectar and poison”; “Women havelong hair and short wits” and so forth. Nor are the Hindus behindhand. Woman has ficklenessimplanted in her by Nature like the flashings of lightning(Katha s.s. i. 147); she is valueless as a straw tothe heroic mind (169); she is hard as adamant in sinand soft as flour in fear (170) and, like the fly,she quits camphor to settle on compost (ii. I7). “What dependence is there in the crowing of ahen?” (women’s opinions) says the Hindiproverb; also “A virgin with grey hairs!”(i.e. a monster) and, “Wherever wendeth a fairyface a devil wendeth with her.” The samesuperficial view of holding woman to be lesser (andvery inferior) man is taken generally by the classics;and Euripides distinguished himself by misogyny, althoughhe drew the beautiful character of Alcestis. Simonides,more merciful than Ecclesiastes, after naming his swine-women,dog-women, cat-women, etc., ends the decade withthe admirable bee-woman, thus making ten per cent.honest. In mediaeval or Germanic Europe the doctrineof the Virgin mother gave the sex a status unknownto the Ancients except in Egypt, where Isis was thehelp-mate and completion of Osiris, in modern parlance“The Woman clothed with the Sun.” The kindly and courtly Palmerin of England, in whosepages “gentlemen may find their choice of sweetinventions and gentlewomen be satisfied with courtlyexpectations,” suddenly blurts out, “Butin truth women are never satisfied by reason, beinggoverned by accident or appetite” (chaps. xlix).

The Nights, as might be expected from the emotionalEast, exaggerate these views. Women are mostly“Sectaries of the god Wuensch”; beingsof impulse, blown about by every gust of passion;stable only in instability; constant only in inconstancy. The false ascetic, the perfidious and murderous croneand the old hag-procuress who pimps like Umm Kulsum,[FN#341]for mere pleasure, in the luxury of sin, are drawnwith an experienced and loving hand. Yet notthe less do we meet with examples of the dutiful daughter,the model lover matronly in her affection, the devotedwife, the perfect mother, the saintly devotee, thelearned preacher, Univira the chaste widow and theself-sacrificing heroic woman. If we find (vol.iii. 216) the sex described as:—­

Anoffal cast by kites where’er they list,

and the studied insults of vol. iii. 318, we alsocome upon an admirable sketch of conjugal happiness(vol. vii. ? 43); and, to mention no other, Shahryar’sattestation to Shahrazad’s excellence in thelast charming pages of The Nights.[FN#342] It is thesame with the Katha whose praise and dispraise areequally enthusiastic; e.g., “Women of goodfamily are guarded by their virtue, the sole efficientchamberlain; but the Lord himself can hardly guardthe unchaste. Who can stem a furious stream anda frantic woman?” (i. 328). “Excessivelove in woman is your only hero for daring”(i. 339). “Thus fair ones, naturally feeble,bring about a series of evil actions which engenderdiscernment and aversion to the world; but here andthere you will find a virtuous woman who adornetha glorious house as the streak of the moon arrayeththe breadth of the Heavens” (i. 346). “Soyou see, King, honourable matrons are devoted to theirhusbands and ’tis not the case that women arealways bad” (ii. 624). And there is truewisdom in that even balance of feminine qualities advocatedby our Hindu-Hindi class-book the Toti-nameh or Parrotvolume. The perfect woman has seven requisites. She must not always be merry (1) nor sad (2); shemust not always be talking (3) nor silently musing(4); she must not always be adorning herself (5) norneglecting her person (6); and, (7) at all times shemust be moderate and self possessed.

The legal status of womankind in Al-Islam is exceptionallyhigh, a fact of which Europe has often been assured,although the truth has not even yet penetrated intothe popular brain. Nearly a century ago one MirzaAbu Talib Khan, an Amildar or revenue collector, afterliving two years in London, wrote an “apology”for, or rather a vindication of, his countrywomen whichis still worth reading and quoting.[FN#343] Nationsare but superficial judges of one another: wherecustoms differ they often remark only the salientdistinctive points which, when examined, prove tobe of minor importance. Europeans seeing and hearingthat women in the East are “cloistered”as the Grecian matron was wont
and ; that wives may not walk out with
their husbands and cannot accompany them to “ballsand parties”; moreover, that they are alwaysliable, like the ancient Hebrew, to the mortificationof the “sister-wife,” have most ignorantlydetermined that they are mere serviles and that theirlives are not worth living. Indeed, a learnedlady, Miss Martineau, once visiting a Harem went intoecstasies of pity and sorrow because the poor thingsknew nothing of—­say trigonometry and theuse of the globes. Sonnini thought otherwise,and my experience, like that of all old dwellers inthe East, is directly opposed to this conclusion.

I have noted (Night cmlxii.) that Mohammed, in thefifth year of his reign,[FN#344] after his ill-advisedand scandalous marriage[FN#345] with his foster-daughterZaynab, established the Hijab or veiling of women. It was probably an exaggeration of local usage: a modified separation of the sexes, which extendedand still extends even to the Badawi, must long havebeen customary in Arabian cities, and its object wasto deliver the sexes from temptation, as the Koransays (xxxii. 32), “purer will this (practice)be for your hearts and their hearts.'[FN#346] Thewomen, who delight in restrictions which tend to theirhonour, accepted it willingly and still affect it,they do not desire a liberty or rather a licence whichthey have learned to regard as inconsistent with theirtime-honoured notions of feminine decorum and delicacy,and they would think very meanly of a husband whopermitted them to be exposed, like hetairae, to thepublic gaze.[FN#347] As Zubayr Pasha, exiled to Gibraltarfor another’s treason, said to my friend, ColonelBuckle, after visiting quarters evidently laid outby a jealous husband, “We Arabs think that whena man has a precious jewel, ’tis wiser to lockit up in a box than to leave it about for anyone totake.” The Eastern adopts the instinctive,the Western prefers the rational method. Theformer jealously guards his treasure, surrounds itwith all precautions, fends off from it all risksand if the treasure go astray, kills it. Thelatter, after placing it en evidence upon an eminencein ball dress with back and bosom bared to the gazeof society, a bundle of charms exposed to every possibleseduction, allows it to take its own way, and if itbe misled, he kills or tries to kill the misleader. It is a fiery trial and the few who safely pass throughit may claim a higher standpoint in the moral worldthan those who have never been sorely tried. Butthe crucial question is whether Christian Europe hasdone wisely in offering such temptations.

The second and main objection to Moslem custom isthe marriage-system which begins with a girl beingwedded to a man whom she knows only by hearsay. This was the habit of our forbears not many generationsago, and it still prevails amongst noble houses inSouthern Europe, where a lengthened study of it leavesme doubtful whether the “love-marriage,”as it is called, or wedlock with an utter stranger,evidently the two extremes, is likely to prove thehappier. The “sister-wife” is or wouldbe a sore trial to monogamic races like those of NorthernEurope where Caia, all but the equal of Caius in mostpoints mental and physical and superior in some, notunfrequently proves herself the “man of thefamily,” the “only man in the boat.” But in the East, where the sex is far more delicate,where a girl is brought up in polygamy, where religiousreasons separate her from her husband, during pregnancyand lactation, for three successive years; and whereoften enough like the Mormon damsel she would hesitateto “nigger it with a one-wife-man,” thecase assumes a very different aspect and the load,if burden it be, falls comparatively light. Lastly,the “patriarchal household” is mostlyconfined to the grandee and the richard, whilst HolyLaw and public opinion, neither of which can openlybe disregarded, assign command of the household tothe equal or first wife and jealously guard the rightsand privileges of the others.

Mirza Abu Talib “the Persian Prince'[FN#348]offers six reasons why “the liberty of the Asiaticwomen appears less than that of the Europeans,”ending with,

I’llfondly place on either eye
Theman that can to this reply.

He then lays down eight points in which the Moslemwife has greatly the advantage over her Christiansisterhood; and we may take his first as a specimen. Custom, not contrary to law, invests the Mohammedanmother with despotic government of the homestead,slaves, servants and children, especially the latter: she alone directs their early education, their choiceof faith, their marriage and their establishment inlife; and in case of divorce she takes the daughters,the sons going to the sire. She has also libertyto leave her home, not only for one or two nights,but for a week or a fortnight, without consulting herhusband; and whilst she visits a strange household,the master and all males above fifteen are forbiddenthe Harem. But the main point in favour of theMoslem wife is her being a “legal sharer”: inheritance is secured to her by Koranic law; she mustbe dowered by the bridegroom to legalise marriageand all she gains is secured to her; whereas in Englanda “Married Woman’s Property Act”was completed only in 1882 after many centuries ofthe grossest abuses.

Lastly, Moslems and Easterns in general study andintelligently study the art and mystery of satisfyingthe physical woman. In my Foreword I have noticedamong barbarians the system of “making men,'[FN#349]that is, of teaching lads first arrived at pubertythe nice conduct of the instrumentum paratum plantandisavibus: a branch of the knowledge-tree whichour modern education grossly neglects, thereby entailinguntold miseries upon individuals, families and generations. The mock virtue, the most immodest modesty of Englandand of the United States in the xixth century, pronouncesthe subject foul and fulsome:'Society” sickensat all details; and hence it is said abroad that theEnglish have the finest women in Europe and leastknow how to use them. Throughout the East suchstudies are aided by a long series of volumes, manyof them written by learned physiologists, by men ofsocial standing and by religious dignitaries highin office. The Egyptians especially delight inaphrodisiac literature treating, as the Turks say,de la partie au-dessous de la taille; and from fifteenhundred to two thousand copies of a new work, usuallylithographed in cheap form, readily sell off. The pudibund Lane makes allusion to and quotes (A. N. i. 216) one of the most out spoken, a 4to of 464pages, called the Halbat al-Kumayt or “Race-Courseof the Bay Horse,” a poetical and horsey termfor grape-wine. Attributed by D’Herbelotto the Kazi Shams al-Din Mohammed, it is wholly uponthe subject of wassail and women till the last fewpages, when his reverence exclaims:—­“Thismuch, O reader, I have recounted, the better thoumayst know what to avoid;” and so forth, endingwith condemning all he had praised.[FN#350] Even thedivine and historian Jalal al-Din al-Siyuti is creditedwith having written, though the authorship is muchdisputed, a work entitled, “Kitab al-Izah fi’ilm al-Nikah” =The Book of Expositionin the Science of Coition: my copy, a lithographof 33 pages, undated, but evidently Cairene, beginswith exclaiming “Alhamdolillah—­Laudto the Lord who adorned the virginal bosom with breastsand who made the thighs of women anvils for the spearhandles of men!” To the same amiable theologianare also ascribed the “Kitab Nawazir al-Aykfi al-Nayk” = Green Splendours of the Copsein Copulation, an abstract of the “Kitab al-Wishahfi fawaid al-Nikah” = Book of the Zone on Coition-boon. Of the abundance of pornographic literature we mayjudge from a list of the following seven works givenin the second page of the “Kitab Ruju’aal-Shaykh ila Sabah fi ’l-Kuwwat al-Bah[FN#351]”= Book of Age-rejuvenescence in the power of Concupiscence: it is the work of Ahmad bin Sulayman, surnamed IbnKamal Pasha.

1. Kitab al-Bah by Al-Nahli.

2. Kitab al’-Ars wa al’-Arais (Bookof the Bridal and the Brides) by Al-Jahiz.

3. Kitab al-Kiyan (Maiden’s Book) byIbn Hajib al-Nu’man.

4. Kitab al-Izah fi asrar al-Nikah (Book ofthe Exposition on the Mysteries of married Fruition).

5. Kitab Jami’ al-Lizzah (The Compendiumof Pleasure) by Ibn Samsamani.

6. Kitab Barjan (Yarjan?) wa Janahib (? ?)[FN#352]

7. Kitab al-Munakahah wa al-Mufatahah fi Asnafal-Jima’ wa Alatih (Book of Carnal Copulationand the Initiation into the modes of Coition and itsInstrumentation) by Aziz al-Din al-Masihi.[FN#353]

To these I may add the Lizzat al-Nisa (Pleasures ofWomen), a text-book in Arabic, Persian and Hindostani: it is a translation and a very poor attempt, omittingmuch from, and adding naught to, the famous Sanskritwork Ananga-Ranga (Stage of the Bodiless One i.e. Cupido) or Hindu Art of Love (Ars Amoris Indica).[FN#354]I have copies of it in Sanskrit and Marathi,Guzratiand Hindostani: the latter is an unpaged 8vo ofpp. 66, including eight pages of most grotesque illustrationsshowing the various san (the Figurae Veneris or positionsof copulation), which seem to be the triumphs of contortionists. These pamphlets lithographed in Bombay are broad castover the land.[FN#355]

It must not be supposed that such literature is purelyand simply aphrodisiacal. The learned Sprenger,a physician as well as an Arabist, says (Al-Mas’udip. 384) of a tractate by the celebrated Rhazes inthe Leyden Library, “The number of curious observations,the correct and practical ideas and the novelty ofthe notions of Eastern nations on these subjects, whichare contained in this book, render it one of the mostimportant productions of the medical literature ofthe Arabs.” I can conscientiously recommendto the Anthropologist a study of the “Kutubal-Bah.”

C.—­Pornography.

Here it will be advisable to supplement what was saidin my Foreword (p. xiii.) concerning the turpiloquiumof The Nights. Readers who have perused the tenvolumes will probably agree with me that the naiveindecencies of the text are rather gaudis-serie thanprurience; and, when delivered with mirth and humour,they are rather the “excrements of wit”than designed for debauching the mind. Crudeand indelicate with infantile plainness; even grossand, at times, “nasty” in their terriblefrankness, they cannot be accused of corrupting suggestivenessor subtle insinuation of vicious sentiment. Theirsis a coarseness of language, not of idea; they areindecent, not depraved; and the pure and perfect naturalnessof their nudity seems almost to purify it, showingthat the matter is rather of manners than of morals. Such throughout the East is the language of every man,woman and child, from prince to peasant, from matronto prostitute: all are as the naive French travellersaid of the Japanese: “si grossiers qu’ilsne scavent nommer les choses que par leur nom.” This primitive stage of language sufficed to drawfrom Lane and Burckhardt strictures upon the “mostimmodest freedom of conversation in Egypt,”where, as all the world over, there are three severalstages for names of things and acts sensual. First we have the mot cru, the popular term, soonfollowed by the technical and scientific, and, lastly,the literary or figurative nomenclature, which isoften much more immoral because more attractive, suggestiveand seductive than the “raw word.” And let me observe that the highest civilisation isnow returning to the language of nature. In LaGlu of M. J. Richepin, a triumph of the realisticschool, we find such “archaic” expressionsas la petee, putain, foutue a la six-quatre-dix;un facetieuse petarade; tu t’es foutue de, etc. Eh vilain bougre! and so forth.[FN#356] To those criticswho complain of these raw vulgarisms and puerile indecenciesin The Nights I can reply only by quoting the wordssaid to have been said by Dr. Johnson to the ladywho complained of the naughty words in his dictionary—­“Youmust have been looking for them, Madam!”

But I repeat (p. xiv.) there is another element inThe Nights and that is one of absolute obscenity utterlyrepugnant to English readers, even the least prudish. It is chiefly connected with what our neighbours callle vice contre nature—­as if anything canbe contrary to nature which includes all things.[FN#357]Upon this subject I must offer details, as it doesnot enter into my plan to ignore any theme which isinteresting to the Orientalist and the Anthropologist. And they, methinks, do abundant harm who, for shameor disgust, would suppress the very mention of suchmatters: in order to combat a great and growingevil deadly to the birth-rate—­the mainstayof national prosperity—­the first requisiteis careful study. As Albert Bollstoedt, Bishopof Ratisbon, rightly says.—­Quia malum nonevitatum nisi cognitum, ideo necesse est cognoscereimmundiciem coitus et multa alla quae docentur inisto libro. Equally true are Professor Mantegazza’swords:[FN#358] Cacher les plates du coeur humain aunom de la pudeur, ce n’est au contraire qu’hypocrisieou peur. The late Mr. Grote had reason to lamentthat when describing such institutions as the far-famed of Thebes, the Sacred Band annihilatedat Chaeroneia, he was compelled to a reticence whichpermitted him to touch only the surface of the subject. This was inevitable under the present rule of Cant[FN#359]in a book intended for the public: but the samedoes not apply to my version of The Nights, and nowI proceed to discuss the matter serieusement, honnetement,historiquement; to show it in decent nudity not insuggestive fig-leaf or feuille de vigne.

D.—­Pederasty.

The “execrabilis familia pathicorum” firstcame before me by a chance of earlier life. In1845, when Sir Charles Napier had conquered and annexedSind, despite a fraction (mostly venal) which soughtfavour with the now defunct “Court of Directorsto the Honourable East India Company,” the veteranbegan to consider his conquest with a curious eye. It was reported to him that Karachi, a townlet ofsome two thousand souls and distant not more thana mile from camp, supported no less than three lupanarsor borders, in which not women but boys and eunuchs,the former demanding nearly a double price,[FN#360]lay for hire. Being then the only British officerwho could speak Sindi, I was asked indirectly to makeenquiries and to report upon the subject; and I undertookthe task on express condition that my report shouldnot be forwarded to the Bombay Government, from whomsupporters of the Conqueror’s policy could expectscant favour, mercy or justice. Accompanied bya Munshi, Mirza Mohammed Hosayn of Shiraz, and habitedas a merchant, Mirza Abdullah the Bushiri[FN#361]passed many an evening in the townlet, visited allthe porneia and obtained the fullest details, whichwere duly despatched to Government House. Butthe “Devil’s Brother” presentlyquitted Sind leaving in his office my unfortunateofficial: this found its way with sundry otherreports[FN#362] to Bombay and produced the expectedresult. A friend in the Secretariat informedme that my summary dismissal from the service hadbeen formally proposed by one of Sir Charles Napier’ssuccessors, whose decease compels me parcere sepulto. But this excess of outraged modesty was not allowed.

Subsequent enquiries in many and distant countriesenabled me to arrive at the following conclusions:—­

1. There exists what I shall call a “SotadicZone,” bounded westwards by the northern shoresof the Mediterranean (N. Lat. 43 ) and by thesouthern (N. Lat. 30 ). Thus the depth wouldbe 780 to 800 miles including meridional France, theIberian Peninsula, Italy and Greece, with the coast-regionsof Africa from Marocco to Egypt.

2. Running eastward the Sotadic Zone narrows,embracing Asia Minor, Mesopotamia and Chaldaea, Afghanistan,Sind, the Punjab and Kashmir.

3. In Indo-China the belt begins to broaden,enfolding China, Japan and Turkistan.

4. It then embraces the South Sea Islands andthe New World where, at the time of its discovery,Sotadic love was, with some exceptions, an establishedracial institution.

5. Within the Sotadic Zone the Vice is popularand endemic, held at the worst to be a mere peccadillo,whilst the races to the North and South of the limitshere defined practice it only sporadically amid theopprobrium of their fellows who, as a rule, are physicallyincapable of performing the operation and look uponit with the liveliest disgust.

Before entering into topographical details concerningpederasty, which I hold to be geographical and climatic,not racial, I must offer a few considerations of itscause and origin. We must not forget that thelove of boys has its noble, sentimental side. The Platonists and pupils of the Academy, followedby the Sufis or Moslem Gnostics, held such affection,pure as ardent, to be the beau ideal which unitedin man’s soul the creature with the Creator. Professing to regard youths as the most cleanly andbeautiful objects in this phenomenal world, they declaredthat by loving and extolling the chef-d’oeuvre,corporeal and intellectual, of the Demiurgus, disinterestedlyand without any admixture of carnal sensuality, theyare paying the most fervent adoration to the Causacausans. They add that such affection, passingas it does the love of women, is far less selfish thanfondness for and admiration of the other sex which,however innocent, always suggest sexuality;[FN#363]and Easterns add that the devotion of the moth tothe taper is purer and more fervent than the Bulbul’slove for the Rose. Amongst the Greeks of thebest ages the system of boy-favourites was advocatedon considerations of morals and politics. Thelover undertook the education of the beloved throughprecept and example, while the two were conjoinedby a tie stricter than the fraternal. Hieronymusthe Peripatetic strongly advocated it because thevigorous disposition of youths and the confidence engenderedby their association often led to the overthrow oftyrannies. Socrates declared that “a mostvaliant army might be composed of boys and their lovers;for that of all men they would be most ashamed todesert one another.” And even Virgil, despitethe foul flavour of Formosum pastor Corydon, couldwrite:—­

Nisusamore pio pueri.

The only physical cause for the practice which suggestsitself to me and that must be owned to be purely conjectural,is that within the Sotadic Zone there is a blendingof the masculine and feminine temperaments, a crasiswhich elsewhere occurs only sporadically. Hencethe male feminisme whereby the man becomes patiensas well as agens, and the woman a tribade, a votaryof mascula Sappho,[FN#364] Queen of Frictrices orRubbers.[FN#365] Prof. Mantegazza claims to havediscovered the cause of this pathological love, thisperversion of the erotic sense, one of the marvellouslist of amorous vagaries which deserve, not prosecutionbut the pitiful care of the physician and the studyof the psychologist. According to him the nervesof the rectum and the genitalia, in all cases closelyconnected, are abnormally so in the pathic, who obtains,by intromission, the venereal orgasm which is usuallysought through the sexual organs. So amongstwomen there are tribads who can procure no pleasureexcept by foreign objects introduced a posteriori. Hence his threefold distribution of sodomy; (1) Periphericor anatomical, caused by an unusual distribution ofthe nerves and their hyperaesthesia; (2) Luxurious,when love a tergo is preferred on account of the narrownessof the passage; and (3) the Psychical. But thisis evidently superficial: the question is whatcauses this neuropathy, this abnormal distributionand condition of the nerves.[FN#366]

As Prince Bismarck finds a moral difference betweenthe male and female races of history, so I suspecta mixed physical temperament effected by the manifoldsubtle influences massed together in the word climate. Something of the kind is necessary to explain thefact of this pathological love extending over thegreater portion of the habitable world, without anyapparent connection of race or media, from the polishedGreek to the cannibal Tupi of the Brazil. WaltWhitman speaks of the ashen grey faces of onanists: the faded colours, the puffy features and the unwholesomecomplexion of the professed pederast with his peculiarcachetic expression, indescribable but once seen neverforgotten, stamp the breed, and Dr. G. Adolph is justifiedin declaring “Alle Gewohnneits-paederasten erkennensich einander schnell, oft met einen Thick.” This has nothing in common with the feminisme whichbetrays itself in the pathic by womanly gait, regardand gesture: it is a something sui generic; andthe same may be said of the colour and look of theyoung priest who honestly refrains from women andtheir substitutes. Dr. Tardieu, in his well-knownwork, “Etude Medico-regale sur les Attentatsaux Moeurs,” and Dr. Adolph note a peculiar infundibuliformdisposition of the “After” and a smoothnessand want of folds even before any abuse has takenplace, together with special forms of the male organsin confirmed pederasts. But these observationshave been rejected by Caspar, Hoffman, Brouardel andDr. J. H. Henry Coutagne (Notes sur la Sodomie, Lyon,1880), and it is a medical question whose discussionwould here be out of place.

The origin of pederasty is lost in the night of ages;but its historique has been carefully traced by manywriters, especially Virey,[FN#367] Rosenbaum[FN#368]and M. H. E. Meier.[FN#369] The ancient Greeks who,like the modern Germans, invented nothing but weregreat improvers of what other races invented, attributedthe formal apostolate of Sotadism to Orpheus, whosestigmata were worn by the Thracian women;

—­Omnemquerefugerat Orpheus
Foemineamvenerem;—­
Illeetiam Thracum populis fuit auctor, amorem
Inteneres transferre mares: citraque juventam
AEtatisbreve ver, et primos carpere flores.
OvidMet. x. 79-85.

Euripides proposed Laius father of Oedipus as theinaugurator, whereas Timaeus declared that the fashionof making favourites of boys was introduced into Greecefrom Crete, for Malthusian reasons said Aristotle(Pol. ii. 10), attributing it to Minos. Herodotus,however, knew far better, having discovered (ii. c.80) that the Orphic and Bacchic rites were originallyEgyptian. But the Father of History was a travellerand an annalist rather than an archaeologist and hetripped in the following passage (i. c. 135), “Assoon as they (the Persians) hear of any luxury, theyinstantly make it their own, and hence, among othermatters, they have learned from the Hellenes a passionfor boys” ('unnatural lust,” says modestRawlinson). Plutarch (De Malig, Herod. xiii.)[FN#370]asserts with much more probability that the Persiansused eunuch boys according to the Mos Graeciae, longbefore they had seen the Grecian main.

In the Holy Books of the Hellenes, Homer and Hesiod,dealing with the heroic ages, there is no trace ofpederasty, although, in a long subsequent generation,Lucian suspected Achilles and Patroclus as he didOrestes and Pylades, Theseus and Pirithous. Homer’spraises of beauty are reserved for the feminines,especially his favourite Helen. But the Doriansof Crete seem to have commended the abuse to Athensand Sparta and subsequently imported it into Tarentum,Agrigentum and other colonies. Ephorus in Strabo(x. 4 Section 21) gives a curious account of the violentabduction of beloved boys ({Greek}) by the lover ({Greek});of the obligations of the ravisher ({Greek}) to thefavourite ({Greek})[FN#371] and of the “marriage-ceremonies”which lasted two months. See also Plato, Lawsi. c. 8. Servius (Ad AEneid. x. 325) informsus “De Cretensibus accepimus, quod in amore puerorumintemperantes fuerunt, quod postea in Lacones et intotam Graeciam translatum est.” The Cretansand afterwards their apt pupils the Chalcidians heldit disreputable for a beautiful boy to lack a lover. Hence Zeus, the national Doric god of Crete, lovedGanymede;[FN#372] Apollo, another Dorian deity, lovedHyacinth, and Hercules, a Doric hero who grew to bea sun-god, loved Hylas and a host of others: thus Crete sanctified the practice by the examplesof the gods and demigods. But when legislationcame, the subject had qualified itself for legal limitationand as such was undertaken by Lycurgus and Solon,according to Xenophon (Lac. ii. 13), who draws a broaddistinction between the honest love of boys and dishonest({Greek}) lust. They both approved of pure pederastia,like that of Harmodius and Aristogiton; but forbadeit with serviles because degrading to a free man. Hence the love of boys was spoken of like that ofwomen (Plato: Phaedrus; Repub. vi. c. I9and Xenophon, Synop. iv. 10), e.g., “Therewas once a boy, or rather a youth, of exceeding beautyand he had very many lovers”—­thisis the language of Hafiz and Sa’adi. AEschylus,Sophocles and Euripides were allowed to introduce itupon the stage, for “many men were as fond ofhaving boys for their favourites as women for theirmistresses; and this was a frequent fashion in manywell-regulated cities of Greece.” Poetslike Alcaeus, Anacreon, Agathon and Pindar affectedit and Theognis sang of a “beautiful boy inthe flower of his youth.” The statesmenAristides and Themistocles quarrelled over Stesileusof Teos; and Pisistratus loved Charmus who first builtan altar to Puerile Eros, while Charmus loved Hippiasson of Pisistratus. Demosthenes the Orator tookinto keeping a youth called Cnosion greatly to theindignation of his wife. Xenophon loved Cliniasand Autolycus; Aristotle, Hermeas, Theodectes[FN#373]and others; Empedocles, Pausanias; Epicurus, Pytocles;Aristippus, Eutichydes and Zeno with his Stoics hada philosophic disregard for women, affecting onlypederastia. A man in Athenaeus (iv. c. 40) leftin his will that certain youths he had loved shouldfight like gladiators at his funeral; and Chariclesin Lucian abuses Callicratidas for his love of “sterilepleasures.” Lastly there was the notableaffair of Alcibiades and Socrates, the “sanctuspaederasta'[FN#374] being violemment soupconne whenunder the mantle:—­non semper sine plagaab eo surrexit. Athenaeus (v. c. I3) declaresthat Plato represents Socrates as absolutely intoxicatedwith his passion for Alcibiades.[FN#375] The Ancientsseem to have held the connection impure, or Juvenalwould not have written:—­

InterSocraticos notissima fossa cinaedos,

followed by Firmicus (vii. 14) who speaks of “Socraticipaedicones.” It is the modern fashion todoubt the pederasty of the master of Hellenic Sophrosyne,the “Christian before Christianity;” butsuch a world-wide term as Socratic love can hardlybe explained by the lucus-a-non-lucendo theory. We are overapt to apply our nineteenth century prejudicesand prepossessions to the morality of the ancientGreeks who would have specimen’d such squeamishnessin Attic salt.

The Spartans, according to Agnon the Academic (confirmedby Plato, Plutarch and Cicero), treated boys and girlsin the same way before marriage: hence Juvenal(xi. 173) uses ’’Lacedaemonius”for a pathic and other writers apply it to a tribade. After the Peloponnesian War, which ended in B.C. 404,the use became merged in the abuse. Yet somepurity must have survived, even amongst the Boeotianswho produced the famous Narcissus,[FN#376] describedby Ovid (Met. iii. 339);—­

Multiilium juvenes, multae cupiere puellae;
Nulliilium juvenes, nullae tetigere puellae:[FN#377]

for Epaminondas, whose name is mentioned with threebeloveds, established the Holy Regiment composed ofmutual lovers, testifying the majesty of Eros andpreferring to a discreditable life a glorious death. Philip’s redactions on the fatal field of Chaeroneiaform their fittest epitaph. At last the Athenians,according to AEschines, officially punished Sodomywith death; but the threat did not abolish bordelsof boys, like those of Karachi; the Porneia and Pornoboskeia,where slaves and pueri venales “stood,”as the term was, near the Pnyx, the city walls anda certain tower, also about Lycabettus (AEsch. contraTim.); and paid a fixed tax to the state. Thepleasures of society in civilised Greece seem to havebeen sought chiefly in the heresies of love—­Hetairesis[FN#378]and Sotadism.

It is calculated that the French of the sixteenthcentury had four hundred names for the parts genitaland three hundred for their use in coition. TheGreek vocabulary is not less copious, and some ofits pederastic terms, of which Meier gives nearly ahundred, and its nomenclature of pathologic love arecurious and picturesque enough to merit quotation.

To live the life of Abron (the Argive), i.e.that of a , pathic or passive lover.

The Agathonian song.

Aischrourgia = dishonest love, also called Akolasia,Akrasia,
Arrenokoitia, etc.

Alcinoan youths, or “non conformists,”

Incute curanda plus aequo operate Juventus.

Alegomenos, the “unspeakable,” as thepederast was termed by the
Council of Ancyra: also the Agrios, Apolaustusand Akolastos.

Androgyne, of whom Ansonius wrote (Epig. lxviii. 15):—­

Ecceego sum factus femina de puero.

Badas and badizein = clunes torquens: also Batalos=a catamite.

Catapygos, Katapygosyne = puerarius and catadactyliumfrom Dactylion, the ring, used in the sense of Nerissa’s,but applied to the corollarium puerile.

Cinaedus (Kinaidos), the active lover ({Greek}) derivedeither from his kinetics or quasi {Greek} = dog modest. Also Spatalocinaedus (lascivia fluens) = a fair Ganymede.

Chalcidissare (Khalkidizein), from Chalcis in Euboea,a city famed for love a posteriori; mostly appliedto le lechement des testicules by children.

Clazomenae = the buttocks, also a sotadic disease,so called from the Ionian city devoted to Aversa Venus;also used of a pathic,

—­ettergo femina pube vir est.

Embasicoetas, prop. a link-boy at marriages, alsoa “night-cap” drunk before bed and lastlyan effeminate; one who perambulavit omnium cubilia(Catullus). See Encolpius’ pun upon theEmbasicete in Satyricon, cap. iv.

Epipedesis, the carnal assault.

Geiton lit. “neighbour” the beloved ofEncolpius, which has produced the Fr. Giton = Bardache,Ital. bardascia from the Arab. Baradaj, a captive,a slave; the augm. form is Polygeiton.

Hippias (tyranny of) when the patient (woman or boy)mounts the agent. Aristoph. Vesp. 502. So also Kelitizein = peccare superne or equum agitaresupernum of Horace.

Mokhtheria, depravity with boys.

Paidika, whence paedicare (act.) and paedicari (pass.): so in the
Latin poet:—­

PEnelopesprimam DIdonis prima sequatur,
Etprimam CAni, syllaba prima REmi.

Pathikos, Pathicus, a passive, like Malakos (malacus,mollis, facilis), Malchio, Trimalchio (Petronius),Malta, Maltha and in Hor. (Sat. ii. 25)

Malthinustunicis demissis ambulat.

Praxis = the malpractice.

Pygisma = buttockry, because most actives end withinthe nates, being too much excited for further intromission.

Phoenicissare ({Greek})= cunnilingere in tempore menstruum,quia hoc vitium in Phoenicia generate solebat (Thes. Erot. Ling. Latinae); also irrumer en miel.

Phicidissare, denotat actum per canes commissum quandolambunt cunnos vel testiculos (Suetonius): alsoapplied to pollution of childhood.

Samorium flores (Erasmus, Prov. xxiii ) alluding tothe androgynic prostitutions of Samos.

Siphniassare ({Greek}, from Siphnos, hod. SifantoIsland) = digito podicem fodere ad pruriginem restinguendam,says Erasmus (see Mirabeau’s Erotika Biblion,Anoscopie).

Thrypsis = the rubbing.

Pederastia had in Greece, I have shown, its nobleand ideal side: Rome, however, borrowed her malpractices,like her religion and polity, from those ultra-materialEtruscans and debauched with a brazen face. Evenunder the Republic Plautus (Casin. ii. 21) makes oneof his characters exclaim, in the utmost sang-froid,“Ultro te, amator, apage te a dorso meo!”With increased luxury the evil grew and Livy notices(xxxix. 13), at the Bacchanalia, plura virorum intersese quam foeminarum stupra. There were individualprotests; for instance, S. Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus(Consul U.C. 612) punished his son for dubia castitas;and a private soldier, C. Plotius, killed his militaryTribune, Q. Luscius, for unchaste proposals. TheLex Scantinia (Scatinia?), popularly derived fromScantinius the Tribune and of doubtful date (B.C.226?), attempted to abate the scandal by fine andthe Lex Julia by death; but they were trifling obstaclesto the flood of infamy which surged in with the Empire. No class seems then to have disdained these “sterilepleasures:” l’on n’attachoitpoint alors a cette espece d’amour une noted’infamie, comme en pais de chretiente, saysBayle under “Anacreon.” The greatCaesar, the Cinaedus calvus of Catullus, was the husbandof all the wives and the wife of all the husbands inRome (Suetonius, cap. Iii.); and his soldierssang in his praise, Gallias Caesar, subegit, NicomedesCaesarem (Suet. cies. xlix.); whence his sobriquet“Fornix Birthynicus.” Of Augustusthe people chaunted

Videsneut Cinaedus orbem digito temperet?

Tiberius, with his pisciculi and greges exoletorum,invented the Symplegma or nexus of Sellarii, agenteset patientes, in which the spinthriae (lit. women’sbracelets) were connected in a chain by the bond offlesh[FN#379] (Seneca Quaest. Nat.). Of thisrefinement which in the earlier part of the nineteenthcentury was renewed by sundry Englishmen at Naples,Ausonius wrote (Epig. cxix. I),

Tresuno in lecto: stuprum duo perpetiuntur;

And Martial had said (xii. 43)

Quosymplegmate quinque copulentur;
Quaplures teneantur a catena; etc.

Ausonius recounts of Caligula he so lost patiencethat he forcibly entered the priest M. Lepidus, beforethe sacrifice was completed. The beautiful Nerowas formally married to Pythagoras (or Doryphoros)and afterwards took to wife Sporus who was first subjectedto castration of a peculiar fashion; he was then namedSabina after the deceased spouse and claimed queenlyhonours. The “Othonis et Trajani pathici”were famed; the great Hadrian openly loved Antinous,andthe wild debaucheries of Heliogabalus seem only tohave amused, instead of disgusting, the Romans.

Uranopolis allowed public lupanaria where adults andmeritorii pueri, who began their career as early asseven years, stood for hire: the inmates of thesecauponae wore sleeved tunics and dalmatics like women. As in modern Egypt pathic boys, we learn from Catullus,haunted the public baths. Debauchees had signalslike freemasons whereby they recognised one another. The Greek Skematizein was made by closing the handto represent the scrotum and raising the middle fingeras if to feel whether a hen had eggs, tater si lespoulettes ont l’oeuf: hence the Athenianscalled it Catapygon or sodomite and the Romans digitusimpudicus or infamis, the “medical finger'[FN#380]of Rabelais and the Chiromantists. Another signwas to scratch the head with the minimus—­digitulocaput scabere Juv. ix. 133).[FN#381] The prostitutionof boys was first forbidden by Domitian; but SaintPaul, a Greek, had formally expressed his abominationof Le Vice (Rom. i. 26; i. Cor. vi. 8); and wemay agree with Grotius (de Verit. ii. c. 13) thatearly Christianity did much to suppress it. Atlast the Emperor Theodosius punished it with fire asa profanation, because sacro-sanctum esse debeturhospitium virilis animae.

In the pagan days of imperial Rome her literaturemakes no difference between boy and girl. Horacenaively says (Sat. ii. 118):—­

Ancillaaut verna est praesto puer;

and with Hamlet, but in a dishonest sense:—­

—­Mandelights me not
Norwoman neither.

Similarly the Spaniard Martial, who is a mine of suchpederastic allusions (xi. 46):—­

Sivepuer arrisit, sive puella tibi.

That marvellous Satyricon which unites the wit ofMoliere[FN#382] with the debaucheries of Piron, whilstthe writer has been described, like Rabelais, as purissimusin impuritate, is a kind of Triumph of Pederasty. Geiton the hero, a handsome, curly-pated hobbledehoyof seventeen, with his calinerie and wheedling tongue,is courted like one of the sequor sexus: his loversare inordinately jealous of him and his desertionleaves deep scars upon the heart. But no dialoguebetween man and wife in extremis could be more patheticthan that in the scene where shipwreck is imminent. Elsewhere every one seems to attempt his neighbour: a man alte succinctus assails Ascyltos; Lycus, theTarentine skipper, would force Encolpius and so forth: yet we have the neat and finished touch (cap. vii.):—­“Thelamentation was very fine (the dying man having manumittedhis slaves) albeit his wife wept not as though sheloved him. How were it had he not behaved toher so well?”

Erotic Latin glossaries[FN#383] give some ninety wordsconnected with pederasty and some, which “speakwith Roman simplicity,” are peculiarly expressive. “Averse Venus” alludes to women beingtreated as boys: hence Martial, translated byPiron, addresses Mistress Martial (x. 44):—­

Tequeputa, cunnos, uxor, habere duos.

The capillatus or comatus is also called calamistratus,the darling curled with crisping-irons; and he isan Effeminatus, i.e., qui muliebria patitur;or a Delicatus, slave or eunuch for the use of theDraucus, Puerarius (boy-lover) or Dominus (Mart. xi.7I). The Divisor is so called from his practiceHillas dividere or caedere, something like Martial’scacare mentulam or Juvenal’s Hesternae occurrerecaenae. Facere vicibus (Juv. vii. 238), incestarese invicem or mutuum facere (Plaut. Trin. ii.437), is described as “a puerile vice,”in which the two take turns to be active and passive: they are also called Gemelli and Fratres = comparesin paedicatione. Illicita libido is = praeposteraseu postica Venus, and is expressed by the picturesquephrase indicare (seu incurvare) aliquem. Depilatus,divellere pilos, glaber, laevis and nates pervellereare allusions to the Sotadic toilette. The finedistinction between demittere and dejicere caput areworthy of a glossary, while Pathica puella, puera,putus, pullipremo pusio, pygiaca sacra, quadrupes,scarabaeus and smerdalius explain themselves.

From Rome the practice extended far and wide to hercolonies, especially the Provincia now called Provence. Athenaeus (xii. 26) charges the people of Massiliawith “acting like women out of luxury”;and he cites the saying “May you sail to Massilia!”as if it were another Corinth. Indeed the wholeKeltic race is charged with Le Vice by Aristotle (Pol.ii. 66), Strabo (iv. 199) and Diodorus Siculus (v.32). Roman civilisation carried pederasty alsoto Northern Africa, where it took firm root, whilethe negro and negroid races to the South ignore theerotic perversion, except where imported by foreignersinto such kingdoms as Bornu and Haussa. In oldMauritania, now Marocco,[FN#384] the Moors properare notable sodomites; Moslems, even of saintly houses,are permitted openly to keep catamites, nor do theirdisciples think worse of their sanctity for such licence: in one case the English wife failed to banish fromthe home “that horrid boy.”

Yet pederasty is forbidden by the Koran. In chapteriv. 20 we read: “And if two (men) amongyou commit the crime, then punish them both,”the penalty being some hurt or damage by public reproach,insult or scourging. There are four distinct referencesto Lot and the Sodomites in chapters vii. 78; xi. 77-84;xxvi. I60-I74 and xxix. 28-35. In the firstthe prophet commissioned to the people says, “Proceedye to a fulsome act wherein no creature hath foregoneye? Verily ye come to men in lieu of women lustfully.” We have then an account of the rain which made an endof the wicked and this judgment on the Cities of thePlain is repeated with more detail in the second reference. Here the angels, generally supposed to be three, Gabriel,Michael and Raphael, appeared to Lot as beautifulyouths, a sore temptation to the sinners and the godlyman’s arm was straitened concerning his visitorsbecause he felt unable to protect them from the eroticvagaries of his fellow townsmen. He thereforeshut his doors and from behind them argued the matter: presently the riotous assembly attempted to climbthe wall when Gabriel, seeing the distress of hishost, smote them on the face with one of his wingsand blinded them so that all moved off crying for aidand saying that Lot had magicians in his house. Hereupon the “Cities” which, if they everexisted, must have been Fellah villages, were uplifted: Gabriel thrust his wing under them and raised themso high that the inhabitants of the lower heaven (thelunar sphere) could hear the dogs barking and thecocks crowing. Then came the rain of stones: these were clay pellets baked in hell-fire, streakedwhite and red, or having some mark to distinguish themfrom the ordinary and each bearing the name of itsdestination like the missiles which destroyed thehost of Abrahat al-Ashram.[FN#385] Lastly the “Cities”were turned upside down and cast upon earth. These circumstantial unfacts are repeated at fulllength in the other two chapters; but rather as aninstance of Allah’s power than as a warningagainst pederasty, which Mohammed seems to have regardedwith philosophic indifference. The general opinionof his followers is that it should be punished likefornication unless the offenders made a public actof penitence. But here, as in adultery, the lawis somewhat too clement and will not convict unlessfour credible witnesses swear to have seen rem inre. I have noticed (vol. i. 211) the viciousopinion that the Ghilman or Wuldan, the beautiful boysof Paradise, the counter parts of the Houris, willbe lawful catamites to the True Believers in a futurestate of happiness: the idea is nowhere countenancedin Al-Islam; and, although I have often heard debaucheesrefer to it, the learned look upon the assertion asscandalous.

As in Marocco so the Vice prevails throughout theold regencies of Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli and allthe cities of the South Mediterranean seaboard, whilstit is unknown to the Nubians, the Berbers and thewilder tribes dwelling inland. Proceeding Eastwardwe reach Egypt, that classical region of all abominationswhich, marvellous to relate, flourished in closestcontact with men leading the purest of lives, modelsof moderation and morality, of religion and virtue. Amongst the ancient Copts Le Vice was part and portionof the Ritual and was represented by two male partridgesalternately copulating (Interp. in Priapi Carm. xvii). The evil would have gained strength by the invasionof Cambyses (B.C. 524), whose armies, after the victoryover Psammenitus. settled in the Nile-Valley and heldit, despite sundry revolts, for some hundred and ninetyyears. During these six generations the Iraniansleft their mark upon Lower Egypt and especially, asthe late Rogers Bey proved, upon the Fayyum, the mostancient Delta of the Nile.[FN#386] Nor would the evilbe diminished by the Hellenes who, under Alexanderthe Great, “liberator and saviour of Egypt”(B.C. 332), extinguished the native dynasties: the love of the Macedonian for Bagoas the Eunuch beinga matter of history. From that time and underthe rule of the Ptolemies the morality gradually decayed;the Canopic orgies extended into private life and thedebauchery of the men was equalled only by the depravityof the women. Neither Christianity nor Al-Islamcould effect a change for the better; and social moralityseems to have been at its worst during the past centurywhen Sonnini travelled (A.D. 1717). The Frenchofficer, who is thoroughly trustworthy, draws the darkestpicture of the widely spread criminality, especiallyof the bestiality and the sodomy (chaps. xv.), whichformed the “delight of the Egyptians.” During the Napoleonic conquest Jaubert in his letterto General Bruix (p. I9) says, “Les Arabeset les Mamelouks ont traite quelques-uns de nos prisonnierscomme Socrate traitait, dit-on, Alcibiade. Ilfallait perir ou y passer.” Old Anglo-Egyptiansstill chuckle over the tale of Sa’id Pasha andM. de Ruyssenaer, the high-dried and highly respectableConsul-General for the Netherlands, who was solemnlyadvised to make the experiment, active and passive,before offering his opinion upon the subject. In the present age extensive intercourse with Europeanshas produced not a reformation but a certain reticenceamongst the upper classes: they are as viciousas ever, but they do not care for displaying theirvices to the eyes of mocking strangers.

Syria and Palestine, another ancient focus of abominations,borrowed from Egypt and exaggerated the worship ofandrogynic and hermaphroditic deities. Plutarch(De Iside) notes that the old Nilotes held the moonto be of “male-female sex,” the men sacrificingto Luna and the women to Lunus.[FN#387] Isis also wasa hermaphrodite, the idea being that Aether or Air(the lower heavens) was the menstruum of generativenature; and Damascius explained the tenet by the all-fruitfuland prolific powers of the atmosphere. Hencethe fragment attributed to Orpheus, the song of Jupiter(Air):—­

Allthings from Jove descend
Jovewas a male, Jove was a deathless bride;
Formen call Air, of two fold sex, the Jove.

Julius Pirmicus relates that “The Assyriansand part of the Africians” (along the Mediterraneanseaboard?) “hold Air to be the chief elementand adore its fanciful figure (imaginata figura),consecrated under the name of Juno or the Virgin Venus.* * * Their companies of priests cannot duly serveher unless they effeminate their faces, smooth theirskins and disgrace their masculine sex by feminineornaments. You may see men in their very templesamid general groans enduring miserable dalliance andbecoming passives like women (viros muliebria pati),and they expose, with boasting and ostentation, thepollution of the impure and immodest body.” Here we find the religious significance of eunuchry. It was practiced as a religious rite by the Tympanotribasor Gallus,[FN#388] the castrated votary of Rhea orBona Mater, in Phrygia called Cybele, self mutilatedbut not in memory of Atys; and by a host of othercreeds: even Christianity, as sundry texts show,[FN#389]could not altogether cast out the old possession. Here too we have an explanation of Sotadic love inits second stage, when it became, like cannibalism,a matter of superstition. Assuming a nature-implantedtendency, we see that like human sacrifice it was heldto be the most acceptable offering to the God-goddessin the Orgia or sacred ceremonies, a something setapart for peculiar worship. Hence in Rome asin Egypt the temples of Isis (Inachidos limina, Isiacaesacraria Lunae) were centres of sodomy, and the religiouspractice was adopted by the grand priestly castes fromMesopotamia to Mexico and Peru.

We find the earliest written notices of the Vice inthe mythical destruction of the Pentapolis (Gen. xix.),Sodom, Gomorrah (= ’Amirah, the cultivated country),Adama, Zeboim and Zoar or Bela. The legend hasbeen amply embroidered by the Rabbis who make theSodomites do everything a l’envers: e.g.,if a man were wounded he was fined for bloodshed andwas compelled to fee the offender; and if one cutoff the ear of a neighbour’s ass he was condemnedto keep the animal till the ear grew again. TheJewish doctors declare the people to have been a raceof sharpers with rogues for magistrates, and thusthey justify the judgment which they read literally. But the traveller cannot accept it. I have carefullyexamined the lands at the North and at the South ofthat most beautiful lake, the so-called Dead Sea, whosetranquil loveliness, backed by the grand plateau ofMoab, is an object of admiration to all save patientssuffering from the strange disease “Holy Landon the Brain.'[FN#390] But I found no traces of cratersin the neighbourhood, no signs of vulcanism, no remainsof “meteoric stones”: the asphaltwhich named the water is a mineralised vegetable washedout of the limestones, and the sulphur and salt arebrought down by the Jordan into a lake without issue. I must therefore look upon the history as a myth whichmay have served a double purpose. The first wouldbe to deter the Jew from the Malthusian practicesof his pagan predecessors, upon whom obloquy was thuscast, so far resembring the scandalous and absurdlegend which explained the names of the children ofLot by Pheine and Thamma as “Moab” .(Mu-ab)the water or semen of the father, and “Ammon”as mother’s son, that is, bastard. Thefable would also account for the abnormal fissurecontaining the lower Jordan and the Dead Sea, whichthe late Sir R. I. Murchison used wrong-headedly tocall a “Volcano of Depression”: thisgeological feature, that cuts off the river-basinfrom its natural outlet, the Gulf of Eloth (Akabah),must date from myriads of years before there were “Citiesof the Plains.” But the main object ofthe ancient lawgiver, Osarsiph, Moses or the Moseidae,was doubtless to discountenance a perversion prejudicialto the increase of population. And he speakswith no uncertain voice, Whoso lieth with a beast shallsurely be put to death (Exod. xxii. I9): If a man lie with mankind as he lieth with a woman,both of them have committed an abomination: theyshall surely be put to death; their blood shall beupon them (Levit. xx. 13; where v.v. 15-16 threatenwith death man and woman who lie with beasts). Again, There shall be no whore of the daughters ofIsrael nor a sodomite of the sons of Israel (Deut.xxii. 5).

The old commentators on the Sodom-myth are most unsatisfactory,e.g. Parkhurst, s.v. Kadesh. “Fromhence we may observe the peculiar propriety of thispunishment of Sodom and of the neighbouring cities. By their sodomitical impurities they meant to acknowledgethe Heavens as the cause of fruitfulness independentlyupon, and in opposition to, Jehovah;[FN#391] thereforeJehovah, by raining upon them not genial showers butbrimstone from heaven, not only destroyed the inhabitants,but also changed all that country, which was beforeas the garden of God, into brimstone and salt thatis not sown nor beareth, neither any grass groweththerein.” It must be owned that to thisPentapolis was dealt very hard measure for religiouslyand diligently practicing a popular rite which a hostof cities even in the present day, as Naples and Shiraz,to mention no others, affect for simple luxury andaffect with impunity. The myth may probably reduceitself to very small proportions, a few Fellah villagesdestroyed by a storm, like that which drove Brennusfrom Delphi.

The Hebrews entering Syria found it religionised byAssyria and Babylonia, whence Accadian Ishtar hadpassed west and had become Ashtoreth, Ashtaroth orAshirah,[FN#392] the Anaitis of Armenia, the PhoenicianAstarte and the Greek Aphrodite, the great Moon-goddess,[FN#393]who is queen of Heaven and Love. In another phaseshe was Venus Mylitta = the Procreatrix, in ChaldaicMauludata and in Arabic Moawallidah, she who bringethforth. She was worshipped by men habited as womenand vice-versa; for which reason in the Torah (Deut.xx. 5) the sexes are forbidden to change dress. The male prostitutes were called Kadesh the holy,the women being Kadeshah, and doubtless gave themselvesup to great excesses. Eusebius (De bit. Const. iii. c. 55) describes a school of impurityat Aphac, where women and “men who were notmen” practiced all manner of abominations inhonour of the Demon (Venus). Here the Phrygiansymbolism of Kybele and Attis (Atys) had become theSyrian Ba’al Tammuz and Astarte, and the GrecianDionaea and Adonis, the anthropomorphic forms of thetwo greater lights. The site, Apheca, now Wadyal-Afik on the route from Bayrut to the Cedars, isa glen of wild and wondrous beauty, fitting frame-workfor the loves of goddess and demigod: and theruins of the temple destroyed by Constantine contrastwith Nature’s work, the glorious fountain, splendidiorvitro, which feeds the River Ibrahim and still attimes Adonis runs purple to the sea.[FN#394]

The Phoenicians spread this androgynic worship overGreece. We find the consecrated servants andvotaries of Corinthian Aphrodite called Hierodouli(Strabo viii. 6), who aided the ten thousand courtesansin gracing the Venus-temple: from this excessiveluxury arose the proverb popularised by Horace. One of the headquarters of the cult was Cyprus where,as Servius relates (Ad AEn. ii. 632), stood the simulacreof a bearded Aphrodite with feminine body and costume,sceptered and mitred like a man. The sexes whenworshipping it exchanged habits and here the virginitywas offered in sacrifice: Herodotus (i. c. 199)describes this defloration at Babylon but sees onlythe shameful part of the custom which was a mere consecrationof a tribal rite. Everywhere girls before marriagebelong either to the father or to the clan and thusthe maiden paid the debt due to the public beforebecoming private property as a wife. The sameusage prevailed in ancient Armenia and in parts ofEthiopia; and Herodotus tells us that a practice verymuch like the Babylonian “is found also in certainparts of the Island of Cyprus:” it is noticedby Justin (xviii. c. 5) and probably it explains the“Succoth Benoth” or Damsels’ boothswhich the Babylonians bans planted to the cities ofSamaria.[FN#395] The Jews seem very successfully tohave copied the abominations of their pagan neighbours,even in the matter of the “dog.'[FN#396] Inthe reign of wicked Rehoboam (B.C. 975) “Therewere also sodomites in the land and they did accordingto all the abominations of the nations which the Lordcast out before the children of Israel” (I Kingsxiv. 20). The scandal was abated by zealous KingAsa (B.C. 958) whose grandmother[FN#397] was high-priestessof Priapus (princeps in sacris Priapi): he tookaway the sodomites out of the land” (I Kingsxv. I2). Yet the prophets were loudin their complaints, especially the so-called Isaiah(B.C. 760), “except the Lord of Hosts had leftto us a very small remnant, we should have been asSodom (i. 9); and strong measures were required fromgood King Josiah (B.C. 641) who amongst other things,“brake down the houses of the sodomites thatwere by the house of the Lord, where the women wovehangings for the grove” (2 Kings xxiii. 7). The bordels of boys (pueris alienis adhaeseverunt)appear to have been near the Temple.

Syria has not forgotten her old “praxis.” At Damascus I found some noteworthy cases amongstthe religious of the great Amawi Mosque. As forthe Druses we have Burckhardt’s authority (Travelsin Syria, etc., p. 202), “unnatural propensitiesare very common amongst them.”

The Sotadic Zone covers the whole of Asia Minor andMesopotamia now occupied by the “unspeakableTurk,” a race of born pederasts; and in theformer region we first notice a peculiarity of thefeminine figure, the mammae inclinatae, jacentes etpannosae, which prevails over all this part of thebelt. Whilst the women to the North and Southhave, with local exceptions, the mammae stantes ofthe European virgin,[FN#398] those of Turkey, Persia,Afghanistan and Kashmir lose all the fine curves ofthe bosom, sometimes even before the first child;and after it the hemispheres take the form of bags. This cannot result from climate only; the women ofMaratha-land, inhabiting a damper and hotter regionthan Kashmir, are noted for fine firm breasts evenafter parturition. Le Vice of course prevailsmore in the cities and towns of Asiatic Turkey thanin the villages; yet even these are infected; whilethe nomad Turcomans contrast badly in this point withthe Gypsies, those Badawin of India. The Kurdpopulation is of Iranian origin, which means thatthe evil is deeply rooted: I have noted in TheNights that the great and glorious Saladin was a habitualpederast. The Armenians, as their national characteris, will prostitute themselves for gain but preferwomen to boys: Georgia supplied Turkey with catamiteswhilst Circassia sent concubines. In Mesopotamiathe barbarous invader has almost obliterated the ancientcivilisation which is ante-dated only by the Nilotic: the mysteries of old Babylon nowhere survive savein certain obscure tribes like the Mandaeans, theDevil-worshippers and the Ali-ilahi. EnteringPersia we find the reverse of Armenia; and, despiteHerodotus, I believe that Iran borrowed her pathologiclove from the peoples of the Tigris-Euphrates Valleyand not from the then insignificant Greeks. Butwhatever may be its origin, the corruption is nowbred in the bone. It begins in boyhood and manyPersians account for it by paternal severity. Youths arrived at puberty find none of the facilitieswith which Europe supplies fornication. Onanism[FN#399]is to a certain extent discouraged by circumcision,and meddling with the father’s slave-girls andconcubines would be risking cruel punishment if notdeath. Hence they use each other by turns, a“puerile practice” known as Alish-Takish,the Lat. facere vicibus or mutuum facere. Temperament,media, and atavism recommend the custom to the general;and after marrying and begetting heirs, Paterfamiliasreturns to the Ganymede. Hence all the odes ofHafiz are addressed to youths, as proved by such Arabicexclamations as ’Afaka ’llah = Allah assainthee (masculine)[FN#400]: the object is oftenfanciful but it would be held coarse and immodest toaddress an imaginary girl.[FN#401] An illustrationof the penchant is told at Shiraz concerning a certainMujtahid, the head of the Shi’ah creed, correspondingwith a prince-archbishop in Europe. A friendonce said to him, “There is a question I wouldfain address to your Eminence but I lack the daringto do so.” “Ask and fear not,”replied the Divine. “It is this, O Mujtahid! Figure thee in a garden of roses and hyacinths withthe evening breeze waving the cypress-heads, a fairyouth of twenty sitting by thy side and the assuranceof perfect privacy. What, prithee, would be theresult?” The holy man bowed the chin of doubtupon the collar of meditation; and, too honest to lie,presently whispered, “Allah defend me from suchtemptation of Satan!” Yet even in Persia menhave not been wanting who have done their utmost touproot the Vice: in the same Shiraz they speakof a father who, finding his son in flagrant delict,put him to death like Brutus or Lynch of Galway. Such isolated cases, however, can effect nothing. Chardin tells us that houses of male prostitutionwere common in Persia whilst those of women were unknown: the same is the case in the present day and the boysare prepared with extreme care by diet, baths, depilation,unguents and a host of artists in cosmetics.[FN#402]Le Vice is looked upon at most as a peccadillo andits mention crops up in every jest-book. Whenthe Isfahan man mocked Shaykh Sa’adi by comparingthe bald pates of Shirazian elders to the bottom ofa lota, a brass cup with a wide-necked opening usedin the Hammam, the witty poet turned its apertureupwards and thereto likened the well-abused podexof an Isfahani youth. Another favourite pieceof Shirazian “chaff” is to declare thatwhen an Isfahan father would set up his son in businesshe provides him with a pound of rice, meaning thathe can sell the result as compost for the kitchen-garden,and with the price buy another meal: hence thesaying Khakh-i-pai kahu = the soil at the lettuce-root. The Isfahanis retort with the name of a station orhalting-place between the two cities where, underpresence of making travellers stow away their riding-gear,many a Shirazi had been raped: hence “Zino takaltu tu bi-bar” = carry within saddle andsaddle-cloth! A favourite Persian punishmentfor strangers caught in the Harem or Gynaeceum isto strip and throw them and expose them to the embracesof the grooms and negro-slaves. I once asked aShirazi how penetration was possible if the patientresisted with all the force of the sphincter muscle: he smiled and said, “Ah, we Persians know atrick to get over that; we apply a sharpened tentpeg to the crupper bone (os coccygis) and knock tillhe opens.” A well known missionary to theEast during the last generation was subjected to thisgross insult by one of the Persian Prince-governors,whom he had infuriated by his conversion-mania: in his memoirs he alludes to it by mentioning his“dishonoured person;” but English readerscannot comprehend the full significance of the confession. About the same time Shaykh Nasr, Governor of Bushire,a man famed for facetious blackguardism, used to inviteEuropean youngsters serving in the Bombay Marine andply them with liquor till they were insensible. Next morning the middies mostly complained that thechampagne had caused a curious irritation and sorenessin la parse-posse. The same Eastern “Scrogin”would ask his guests if they had ever seen a man-cannon(Adami-top); and, on their replying in the negative,a grey-beard slave was dragged in blaspheming andstruggling with all his strength. He was presentlyplaced on all fours and firmly held by the extremities;his bag-trousers were let down and a dozen peppercornswere inserted ano suo: the target was a sheetof paper held at a reasonable distance; the matchwas applied by a pinch of cayenne in the nostrils;the sneeze started the grapeshot and the number ofhits on the butt decided the bets. We can hardlywonder at the loose conduct of Persian women perpetuallymortified by marital pederasty. During the unhappycampaign of 1856-57 in which, with the exception ofa few brilliant skirmishes, we gained no glory, SirJames Outram and the Bombay army showing how badlythey could work, there was a formal outburst of theHarems; and even women of princely birth could notbe kept out of the officers’ quarters.

The cities of Afghanistan and Sind are thoroughlysaturated with Persian vice, and the people sing

Kadr-i-kusAughan danad, kadr-i-kunra Kabuli:
Theworth of coynte the Afghan knows: Cabul prefersthe
other chose![FN#403]

The Afghans are commercial travellers on a large scaleand each caravan is accompanied by a number of boysand lads almost in woman’s attire with kohl’deyes and rouged cheeks, long tresses and henna’dfingers and toes, riding luxuriously in Kajawas orcamel-panniers: they are called Kuch-i safari,or travelling wives, and the husbands trudge patientlyby their sides. In Afghanistan also a franticdebauchery broke out amongst the women when they foundincubi who were not pederasts; and the scandal wasnot the most insignificant cause of the general risingat Cabul (Nov. 1841), and the slaughter of Macnaghten,Burnes and other British officers.

Resuming our way Eastward we find the Sikhs and theMoslems of the Panjab much addicted to Le Vice, althoughthe Himalayan tribes to the north and those lyingsouth, the Rajputs and Marathas, ignore it. Thesame may be said of the Kash mirians who add anotherKappa to the tria Kakista, Kappado clans, Kretans,and Kilicians: the proverb says,

Agarkaht-i-mardum uftad, az in sih jins kam giri;
EkiAfghan, dovvum Sindi[FN#404] siyyum
badjins-i-Kashmiri:

Thoughof men there be famine yet shun these three-
Afghan,Sindi and rascally Kashmiri.

M. Louis Daville describes the infamies of Lahoreand Lakhnau where he found men dressed as women, withflowing locks under crowns of flowers, imitating thefeminine walk and gestures, voice and fashion of speech,and ogling their admirers with all the coquetry ofbayaderes. Victor Jacquemont’s Journal deVoyage describes the pederasty of Ranjit Singh, the“Lion of the Panjab,” and his pathic GulabSingh whom the English inflicted upon Cashmir as rulerby way of paying for his treason. Yet the Hindus,I repeat, hold pederasty in abhorrence and are as muchscandalised by being called Gand-mara (anus-beater)or Gandu (anuser) as Englishmen would be. Duringthe years 1843-44 my regiment, almost all Hindu Sepoysof the Bombay Presidency, was stationed at a purgatorycalled Bandar Gharra,[FN#405] a sandy flat with ascatter of verdigris-green milk-bush some forty milesnorth of Karachi the headquarters. The dirty heapof mud-and-mat hovels, which represented the adjacentnative village, could not supply a single woman; yetonly one case of pederasty came to light and thatafter a tragical fashion some years afterwards. A young Brahman had connection with a soldier comradeof low caste and this had continued till, in an unhappyhour, the Pariah patient ventured to become the agent. The latter, in Arab. Al-Fa’il =the “doer,”is not an object of contempt like Al-Maful = the “done”;and the high caste sepoy, stung by remorse and revenge,loaded his musket and deliberately shot his paramour. He was hanged by court martial at Hyderabad and, whenhis last wishes were asked, he begged in vain to besuspended by the feet; the idea being that his soul,polluted by exiting “below the waist,”would be doomed to endless trans-migrations throughthe lowest forms of life.

Beyond India, I have stated, the Sotadic Zone beginsto broaden out, embracing all China, Turkistan andJapan. The Chinese, as far as we know them inthe great cities, are omnivorous and omnifutuentes: they are the chosen people of debauchery, and theirsystematic bestiality with ducks, goats, and otheranimals is equalled only by their pederasty. Kaempfer and Orlof Toree (Voyage en Chine) noticethe public houses for boys and youths in China andJapan. Mirabeau (L’Anandryne) describesthe tribadism of their women in hammocks. WhenPekin was plundered the Harems contained a numberof balls a little larger than the old musket-bullet,made of thin silver with a loose pellet of brass insidesomewhat like a grelot;[FN#406] these articles wereplaced by the women between the labia and an up-and-downmovement on the bed gave a pleasant titillation whennothing better was to be procured. They haveevery artifice of luxury, aphrodisiacs, erotic perfumesand singular applications. Such are the pillswhich, dissolved in water and applied to the glanspenis, cause it to throb and swell: so accordingto Amerigo Vespucci American women could artificiallyincrease the size of their husbands’ parts.[FN#407]The Chinese bracelet of caoutchouc studded with pointsnow takes the place of the Herisson, or Annulus hirsutus,[FN#408]which was bound between the glans and prepuce. Of the penis succedaneus, that imitation of the Arborvitae or Soter Kosmou, which the Latins called phallusand fascinum,[FN#409] the French godemiche and theItalians passatempo and diletto (whence our “dildo'),every kind abounds, varying from a stuffed “Frenchletter” to a cone of ribbed horn which lookslike an instrument of torture. For the use ofmen they have the “merkin,'[FN#410] a heart-shapedarticle of thin skin stuffed with cotton and slitwith an artificial vagina: two tapes at the topand one below lash it to the back of a chair. The erotic literature of the Chinese and Japanese ishighly developed and their illustrations are oftenfacetious as well as obscene. All are familiarwith that of the strong man who by a blow with hisenormous phallus shivers a copper pot; and the ludicrouscontrast of the huge-membered wights who land in theIsle of Women and presently escape from it, wrinkledand shrivelled, true Domine Dolittles. Of Turkistanwe know little, but what we know confirms my statement. Mr. Schuyler in his Turkistan (i. 132) offers an illustrationof a “Batchah” (Pers. bachcheh = catamite),“or singing-boy surrounded by his admirers.” Of the Tartars Master Purchas laconically says (v.419), “They are addicted to Sodomie or Buggerie.” The learned casuist Dr. Thomas Sanchez the Spaniardhad (says Mirabeau in Kadhesch) to decide a difficultquestion concerning the sinfulness of a peculiar eroticperversion. The Jesuits brought home from Manillaa tailed man whose moveable prolongation of the oscoccygis measured from 7 to 10 inches: he hadplaced himself between two women, enjoying one naturallywhile the other used his tail as a penis succedaneus. The verdict was incomplete sodomy and simple fornication. For the islands north of Japan, the “SodomiticalSea,” and the “nayle of tynne” thrustthrough the prepuce to prevent sodomy, see Lib. ii.chap. 4 of Master Thomas Caudish’s Circumnavigation,and vol. vi. of Pinkerton’s Geography translatedby Walckenaer.

Passing over to America we find that the Sotadic Zonecontains the whole hemisphere from Behring’sStraits to Magellan’s. This prevalenceof “mollities” astonishes the anthropologist,who is apt to consider pederasty the growth of luxuryand the especial product of great and civilised cities,unnecessary and therefore unknown to simple savagery,where the births of both sexes are about equal andfemale infanticide is not practiced. In manyparts of the New World this perversion was accompaniedby another depravity of taste—­confirmedcannibalism.[FN#411] The forests and campos aboundedin game from the deer to the pheasant-like penelope,and the seas and rivers produced an unfailing supplyof excellent fish and shell-fish;[FN#412] yet theBrazilian Tupis preferred the meat of man to everyother food.

A glance at Mr. Bancroft[FN#413] proves the abnormaldevelopment of sodomy amongst the savages and barbariansof the New World. Even his half-frozen Hyperboreans“possess all the passions which are supposedto develop most freely under a milder temperature”(i. 58). “The voluptuousness and polygamyof the North American Indians, under a temperatureof almost perpetual winter, is far greater than thatof the most sensual tropical nations” (Martin’sBrit. Colonies iii. 524). I can quote onlya few of the most remarkable instances. Of theKoniagas of Kadiak Island and the Thinkleets we read(i. 81-82), “The most repugnant of all theirpractices is that of male concubinage. A Kadiakmother will select her handsomest and most promisingboy, and dress and rear him as a girl, teaching himonly domestic duties, keeping him at women s work,associating him with women and girls, in order torender his effeminacy complete. Arriving at theage of ten or fifteen years, he is married to somewealthy man who regards such a companion as a greatacquisition. These male concubines are calledAchnutschik or Schopans” (the authorities quotedbeing Holmberg, Langsdorff, Billing, Choris, Lisianskyand Marchand). The same is the case in NutkaSound and the Aleutian Islands, where “maleconcubinage obtains throughout, but not to the sameextent as amongst the Koniagas.” The objectsof “unnatural” affection have their beardscarefully plucked out as soon as the face-hair beginsto grow, and their chins are tattooed like those ofthe women. In California the first missionariesfound the same practice, the youths being called Joya(Bancroft, i. 415 and authorities Palon, Crespi, Boscana,Mofras, Torquemada, Duflot and Fages). The Comanchesunite incest with sodomy (i. 515). “InNew Mexico, according to Arlegui, Ribas, and otherauthors, male concubinage prevails to a great extent;these loathsome semblances of humanity, whom to callbeastly were a slander upon beasts, dress themselvesin the clothes and perform the functions of women,the use of weapons being denied them” (i. 585). Pederasty was systematically practiced by the peoplesof Cueba, Careta, and other parts of Central America. The Caciques and some of the headmen kept harems ofyouths who, as soon as destined for the unclean office,were dressed as women. They went by the nameof Camayoas, and were hated and detested by the goodwives (i. 733-74). Of the Nahua nations FatherPierre de Gand (alias de Musa) writes, “Un certainnombre de pratres n’avaient point de femmes,sed eorum loco pueros quibus abutebantur. Ce pecheetait si commun dans ce pays que, jeunes ou vieux,tous etaient infectes; ils y etaient si adonnes quememes les enfants de six ens s’y livraient”(Ternaux,Campans, Voyages, Serie i. Tom. x. p.197). Among the Mayas of Yucatan Las Casas declaresthat the great prevalence of “unnatural”lust made parents anxious to see their progeny weddedas soon as possible (Kingsborough’s Mex. Ant. viii. 135). In Vera Paz a god, called bysome Chin and by others Cavial and Maran, taught itby committing the act with another god. Somefathers gave their sons a boy to use as a woman, andif any other approached this pathic he was treatedas an adulterer. In Yucatan images were foundby Bernal Diaz proving the sodomitical propensitiesof the people (Bancroft v. 198). De Pauw (RecherchesPhilosophiques sur les Americains, London, I77I) hasmuch to say about the subject in Mexico generally: in the northern provinces men married youths who,dressed like women, were forbidden to carry arms. According to Gomara there were at Tamalpais housesof male prostitution; and from Diaz and others wegather that the pecado nefando was the rule. Bothin Mexico and in Peru it might have caused, if itdid not justify, the cruelties of the Conquistadores. Pederasty was also general throughout Nicaragua, andthe early explorers found it amongst the indigenesof Panama.

We have authentic details concerning Le Vice in Peruand its adjacent lands, beginning with Cieza de Leon,who must be read in the original or in the translatedextracts of Purchas (vol. v. 942, etc.), notin the cruelly castrated form preferred by the Councilof the Hakluyt Society. Speaking of the New GranadaIndians he tells us that “at Old Port (PortoViejo) and Puna, the Deuill so farre prevayled intheir beastly Deuotions that there were Boyes consecratedto serue in the Temple; and at the times of theirSacrifices and Solemne Feasts, the Lords and principallmen abused them to that detestable filthinesse;”i.e. performed their peculiar worship. Generallyin the hill-countries the Devil, under the show ofholiness, had introduced the practice; for every templeor chief house of adoration kept one or two men ormore which were attired like women, even from the timeof their childhood, and spake like them, imitatingthem in everything; with these, under pretext of holinessand religion, principal men on principal days hadcommerce. Speaking of the arrival of the Giants[FN#414]at Point Santa Elena, Cieza says (chap. lii.), theywere detested by the natives, because in using theirwomen they killed them, and their men also in anotherway. All the natives declare that God broughtupon them a punishment proportioned to the enormityof their offence. When they were engaged togetherin their accursed intercourse, a fearful and terriblefire came down from Heaven with a great noise, outof the midst of which there issued a shining Angelwith a glittering sword, wherewith at one blow theywere all killed and the fire consumed them.[FN#415]There remained a few bones and skulls which God allowedto bide unconsumed by the fire, as a memorial of thispunishment. In the Hakluyt Society’s bowdlerisationwe read of the Tumbez Islanders being “veryvicious, many of them committing the abominable offence”(p. 24); also, “If by the advice of the Devilany Indian commit the abominable crime, it is thoughtlittle of and they call him a woman.” Inchapters lii. and lviii. we find exceptions. The Indians of Huancabamba, “although so nearthe peoples of Puerto Viejo and Guayaquil, do notcommit the abominable sin;” and the Serranos,or island mountaineers, as sorcerers and magiclansinferior to the coast peoples, were not so much addictedto sodomy.

The Royal Commentaries of the Yncas shows that theevil was of a comparatively modern growth. Inthe early period of Peruvian history the people consideredthe crime “unspeakable:” if a CuzcoIndian, not of Yncarial blood, angrily addressed theterm pederast to another, he was held infamous formany days. One of the generals having reportedto the Ynca Ccapacc Yupanqui that there were somesodomites, not in all the valleys, but one here andone there, “nor was it a habit of all the inhabitantsbut only of certain persons who practised it privately,”the ruler ordered that the criminals should be publiclyburnt alive and their houses, crops and trees destroyed: moreover, to show his abomination, he commanded thatthe whole village should so be treated if one manfell into this habit (Lib. iii. cap. 13). Elsewherewe learn, “There were sodomites in some provinces,though not openly nor universally, but some particularmen and in secret. In some parts they had themin their temples, because the Devil persuaded themthat the Gods took great delight in such people, andthus the Devil acted as a traitor to remove the veilof shame that the Gentiles felt for this crime andto accustom them to commit it in public and in common.”

During the times of the Conquistadores male concubinagehad become the rule throughout Peru. At Cuzco,we are told by Nuno de Guzman in 1530 “The lastwhich was taken, and which fought most couragiously,was a man in the habite of a woman, which confessedthat from a childe he had gotten his liuing by thatfilthinesse, for which I caused him to be burned.” V. F. Lopez[FN#416] draws a frightful picture of pathologiclove in Peru. Under the reigns which followedthat of Inti-Kapak (Ccapacc) Amauri, the country wasattacked by invaders of a giant race coming from thesea: they practiced pederasty after a fashionso shameless that the conquered tribes were compelledto fly(p. 271). Under the pre-Yncarial Amauta,or priestly dynasty, Peru had lapsed into savageryand the kings of Cuzco preserved only the name. “Toutes ces hontes et toutes ces miseres provenaientde deux vices infames, la bestialite et la sodomie. Les femmes surtout etaient offensees de voir la naturefrustree de tous ses droits. Wiles pleuraientensemble en leurs reunions sur le miserable etat dansloquel elles etaient tombees, sur le mepris avec lequelelles etaient traitees. * * * * Le monde etait renverse,les hommes s’aimaient et etaient jaloux lesuns des autres. * * * Elles cherchaient, mais en vain,les moyens de remedier au mal; elles employaient desherbes et des recettes diaboliques qui leur ramenaientbien quelques individus, mais ne pouvaient arreterles progres incessants du vice. Cet etat de chosesconstitua un veritable moyen age, qui aura jusqu’al’etablissement du gouvernement des Incas”(p. 277).

When Sinchi Roko (the xcvth of Montesinos and thexcist of Garcilazo) became Ynca, he found morals atthe lowest ebb. “Ni la prudence de l’Inca,ni les lois severes qu’il avait promulgueesn’avaient pu extirper entierement le peche contrenature. I1 reprit avec une nouvelle violence,et les femmes en furent si jalouses qu’un grandnombre d’elles tuerent leurs maris. Lesdevins et les sorciers passaient leurs journees a fabriquer,avec certaines herbes, des compositions magiques quirendaient fous ceux qui en mangaient, et les femmesen faisaient prendre, soit dans les aliments, soitdans la chicha, a ceux dont elles etaient jalouses’’(p. 291).

I have remarked that the Tupi races of the Brazilwere infamous for cannibalism and sodomy; nor couldthe latter be only racial as proved by the fact thatcolonists of pure Lusitanian blood followed in thepath of the savages. Sr. Antonio Augustoda Costa Aguiar[FN#417] is outspoken upon this point. “A crime which in England leads to the gallows,and which is the very measure of abject depravity,passes with impunity amongst us by the participatingin it of almost all or of many (de quasi todos, oude muitos) Ah! if the wrath of Heaven were to fallby way of punishing such crimes (delictos), more thanone city of this Empire, more than a dozen, wouldpass into the category of the Sodoms and Gomorrains”(p. 30). Till late years pederasty in the Brazilwas looked upon as a peccadillo; the European immigrantsfollowing the practice of the wild men who were nakedbut not, as Columbus said, “clothed in innocence.” One of Her Majesty’s Consuls used to tell atale of the hilarity provoked in a “fashionable”assembly by the open declaration of a young gentlemanthat his mulatto “patient” had suddenlyturned upon him, insisting upon becoming agent. Now, however, under the influences of improved educationand respect for the public opinion of Europe, pathologiclove amongst the Luso-Brazilians has been reducedto the normal limits.

Outside the Sotadic Zone, I have said, Le Vice issporadic, not endemic: yet the physical and moraleffect of great cities where puberty, they say, isinduced earlier than in country sites, has been thesame in most lands, causing modesty to decay and pederastyto flourish. The Badawi Arab is wholly pure ofLe Vice; yet San’a the capital of Al-Yaman andother centres of population have long been and stillare thoroughly infected. History tells us ofZu Shanatir, tyrant of “Arabia Felix,”in A.D. 478, who used to entice young men into hispalace and cause them after use to be cast out ofthe windows: this unkindly ruler was at lastponiarded by the youth Zerash, known from his longringlets as “Zu Nowas.” The negrorace is mostly untainted by sodomy and tribadism. Yet Joan dos Sanctos[FN#418] found in Cacongo of WestAfrica certain “Chibudi, which are men attyredlike women and behaue themselves womanly, ashamedto be called men; are also married to men, and esteemthat vnnaturale damnation an honor.” Madagascaralso delighted in dancing and singing boys dressedas girls. In the Empire of Dahomey I noted acorps of prostitutes kept for the use of the Amazon-soldieresses.

North of the Sotadic Zone we find local but notableinstances. Master Christopher Burrough[FN#419]describes on the western side of the Volga “avery fine stone castle, called by the name Oueak,and adioyning to the same a Towne called by the Russes,Sodom, * * * which was swallowed into the earth bythe justice of God, for the wickednesse of the people.” Again: although as a rule Christianity has steadilyopposed pathologic love both in writing and preaching,there have been remarkable exceptions. Perhapsthe most curious idea was that of certain medicalwriters in the middle ages: “Usus et amplexuspueri, bene temperatus, salutaris medicine”(Tardieu). Bayle notices (under “Vayer”)the infamous book of Giovanni della Casa, Archbishopof Benevento, “De laudibus Sodomiae,'[FN#420]vulgarly known as “Capitolo del Forno.” The same writer refers (under “Sixte iv.”)to the report that the Dominican Order, which systematicallydecried Le Vice, had presented a request to the Cardinaldi Santa Lucia that sodomy might be lawful duringthree months per annum, June to August; and that theCardinal had underwritten the petition “Be itdone as they demand.” Hence the Faeda Venusof Battista Mantovano. Bayle rejects the historyfor a curious reason, venery being colder in summerthan in winter, and quotes the proverb “Auxmods qui n’ont pas d’ R, peu embrasseret bien boire.” But in the case of a celibatepriesthood such scandals are inevitable: witnessthe famous Jesuit epitaph Ci-git un Jesuite, etc.

In our modern capitals, London, Berlin and Paris forinstance, the Vice seems subject to periodical outbreaks. For many years, also, England sent her pederasts toItaly, and especially to Naples, whence originatedthe term “Il vizio Inglese.” It wouldbe invicious to detail the scandals which of late yearshave startled the public in London and Dublin: for these the curious will consult the police reports. Berlin, despite her strong devour of Phariseeism,Puritanism and Chauvinism in religion, manners andmorals, is not a whit better than her neighbours. Dr. Gaspar,[FN#421] a well-known authority on thesubject, adduces many interesting cases, especiallyan old Count Cajus and his six accomplices. Amongsthis many correspondents one suggested to him thatnot only Plato and Julius Caesar but also Winckelmannand Platen(?) belonged to the Society; and he hadfound it flourishing in Palermo, the Louvre, the ScottishHighlands and St. Petersburg to name only a few places. Frederick the Great is said to have addressed thesewords to his nephew, “Je puis vous assurer,par mon experience personelle, que ce plaisir est peuagreable a cultiver.” This suggests thepopular anecdote of Voltaire and the Englishman whoagreed upon an “experience” and foundit far from satisfactory. A few days afterwardsthe latter informed the Sage of Ferney that he hadtried it again and provoked the exclamation, “Oncea philosopher: twice a sodomite!” The lastrevival of the kind in Germany is a society at Frankfortand its neighbourhood, self-styled Les Cravates Noires,in opposition, I suppose, to Les Cravates Blanchesof A. Belot.

Paris is by no means more depraved than Berlin andLondon; but, whilst the latter hushes up the scandal,Frenchmen do not: hence we see a more copiousaccount of it submitted to the public. For Franceof the xviith century consult the “Histoire dela Prostitution chez tous les Peuples du Monde,”and “La Prance devenue Italienne,” a treatisewhich generally follows'L’Histoire Amoureusedes Gaules” by Bussy, Comte de Rabutin.[FN#422]The headquarters of male prostitution were then inthe Champ Flory, i.e., Champ de Flore, the privilegedrendezvous of low courtesans. In the xviiithcentury, “quand le Francais a tete folle,”as Voltaire sings, invented the term “Pechephilosophique,” there was a temporary recrudescence;and, after the death of Pidauzet de Mairobert (March,1779), his “Apologie de la Secte Anandryne”was published in L’Espion Anglais. In thosedays the Allee des Veuves in the Champs Elysees hada “fief reserve des Ebugors'[FN#423]—­“veuve”in the language of Sodom being the maitresse en titre,the favourite youth.

At the decisive moment of monarchical decompositionMirabeau[FN#424] declares that pederasty was reglementeeand adds, Le gout des pederastes, quoique moins envogue que du temps de Henri iii. (the FrenchHeliogabalus), sous le regne desquel les hommes seprovoquaient mutuellement[FN#425] sous les portiquesdu Louvre, fait des progres considerables. Onsalt que cette ville (Paris) est un chef-d’oeuvrede police; en consequence, il y a des lieux publicsautorises a cet effet. Les jeunes yens qui sedestinent a la professign, vent soigneusement enclasses;car les systemes reglementaires s’etendent jusques-la. On les examine; ceux qui peuvent etre agents et patients,qui vent beaux, vermeils, bien faits, poteles, sontreserves pour les grands seigneurs, ou se font payertres-cher par les eveques et les financiers. Ceux qui vent prives de leurs testicules, ou en termesde l’art (car notre langue est plus chaste quinos moeurs), qui n’ont pas le poids du tisserand,mais qui donnent et recoivent, forment la secondeclasse; ils vent encore chers, parceque les femmesen usent tandis qu’ils servent aux hommes. Ceux qui ne sont plus susceptibles d’erectiontant ils sont uses, quoiqu’ils aient tous cesorganes necessaires au plaisir, s’inscriventcomme patiens purs, et composent la troisieme classe: mais celle qui preside a ces plaisirs, verifie leurimpuissance. Pour cet effet, on les place toutnus sur un matelas ouvert par la moitie inferieure;deux filles les caressent de leur mieux, pendant qu’unetroisieme frappe doucement avec desorties naissantesle siege des desire veneriens. Apres un quartd’heure de cet essai, on leur introduit dansl’anus un poivre long rouge qui cause une irritationconsiderable; on pose sur les echauboulures produitespar les orties, de la moutarde fine de Caudebec, etl’on passe le gland au camphre. Ceux quiresistent a ces epreuves et ne donnent aucun signed’erection, servent comme patiens a un tiersde paie seulement.[FN#426]

The Restoration and the Empire made the police morevigilant in matters of politics than of morals. The favourite club, which had its mot de passe, wasin the Rue Doyenne, old quarter St Thomas de Louvre;and the house was a hotel of the xviith century. Two street-doors, on the right for the male gynaeceumand the left for the female, opened at 4 p.m. in winterand 8 p.m. in summer. A decoy-lad, charminglydressed in women’s clothes, with big haunchesand small waist, promenaded outside; and this continuedtill 1826 when the police put down the house.

Under Louis Philippe, the conquest of Algiers hadevil results, according to the Marquis de Boissy. He complained without ambages of moeurs Arabes inFrench regiments, and declared that the result ofthe African wars was an effrayable debordement pederastique,even as the verole resulted from the Italian campaignsof that age of passion, the xvith century. Fromthe military the fleau spread to civilian societyand the Vice took such expansion and intensity thatit may be said to have been democratised in citiesand large towns; at least so we gather from the Dossierdes Agissements des Pederastes. A general gatheringof “La Sainte Congregation des glorieux Padarastes”was held in the old Petite Rue des Marais where, afterthe theatre, many resorted under pretext of makingwater. They ranged themselves along the wallsof a vast garden and exposed their podices: bourgeois,richards and nobles came with full purses, touchedthe part which most attracted them and were duly followedby it. At the Allee des Veuves the crowd wasdangerous from 7 to 8 p.m.: no policeman or rondede nun’ dared venture in it; cords were stretchedfrom tree to tree and armed guards drove away strangersamongst whom, they say, was once Victor Hugo. This nuisance was at length suppressed by the municipaladministration.

The Empire did not improve morals. Balls of sodomiteswere held at No. 8 Place de la Madeleine where, onJan. 2, ’64, some one hundred and fifty menmet, all so well dressed as women that even the landlorddid not recognise them. There was also a clubfor sotadic debauchery called the Cent Gardes andthe Dragons de l’Imperatrice.[FN#427] They copiedthe imperial toilette and kept it in the general wardrobe: hence “faire l’Imperatrice” meantto be used carnally. The site, a splendid hotelin the Allee des Veuves, was discovered by the Procureur-General,who registered all the names; but, as these belongedto not a few senators and dignitaries, the Emperorwisely quashed proceedings. The club was brokenup on July 16, ’64. During the same yearLa Petite Revue, edited by M. Loredan Larchy, sonof the General, printed an article, “Les echappesde Sodome”: it discusses the letter of M.Castagnary to the Progres de Lyons and declares thatthe Vice had been adopted by plusieurs corps de troupes. For its latest developments as regards the chantageof the tantes (pathics), the reader will consult thelast issues of Dr. Tardieu’s well-known Etudes.[FN#428]He declares that the servant-class is most infected;and that the Vice is commonest between the ages offifteen and twenty five.

The pederasty of The Nights may briefly be distributedinto three categories. The first is the funnyform, as the unseemly practical joke of masterfulQueen Budur (vol. iii. 300-306) and the not less hardijest of the slave-princess Zumurrud (vol. iv. 226). The second is in the grimmest and most earnest phaseof the perversion, for instance where Abu Nowas[FN#429]debauches the three youths (vol. v. 64 69); whilstin the third form it is wisely and learnedly discussed,to be severely blamed, by the Shaykhah or ReverendWoman (vol v. 154).

To conclude this part of my subject, the eclaircissementdes obscanites. Many readers will regret theabsence from The Nights of that modesty which distinguishes“Amadis de Gaul,” whose author, when leavinga man and a maid together says, “And nothingshall be here related; for these and suchlike thingswhich are conformable neither to good conscience nornature, man ought in reason lightly to pass over,holding them in slight esteem as they deserve.” Nor have we less respect for Palmerin of England whoafter a risque scene declares, “Herein is nooffence offered to the wise by wanton speeches, orencouragement to the loose by lascivious matter.” But these are not oriental ideas, and we must e’entake the Eastern as we find him. He still holds“Naturalla non sunt turpia,” togetherwith “Mundis omnia munda”; and, as Baconassures us the mixture of a lie cloth add to pleasure,so the Arab enjoys the startling and lively contrastof extreme virtue and horrible vice placed in juxtaposition.

Those who have read through these ten volumes willagree with me that the proportion of offensive matterbears a very small ratio to the mass of the work. In an age saturated with cant and hypocrisy, hereand there a venal pen will mourn over the “Pornography”of The Nights, dwell upon the “Ethics of Dirt”and the “Garbage of the Brothel”; andwill lament the “wanton dissemination (!) ofancient and filthy fiction.” This self-constitutedCensor morum reads Aristophanes and Plato, Horace andVirgil, perhaps even Martial and Petronius, because“veiled in the decent obscurity of a learnedlanguage”; he allows men Latine loqui; but heis scandalised at stumbling-blocks much less importantin plain English. To be consistent he must beginby bowdlerising not only the classics, with whichboys’ and youths’ minds and memories aresoaked and saturated at schools and colleges, butalso Boccaccio and Chaucer, Shakespeare and Rabelais;Burton, Sterne, Swift, and a long list of works whichare yearly reprinted and republished without a wordof protest. Lastly, why does not this inconsistentpuritan purge the Old Testament of its allusions tohuman ordure and the pudenda; to carnal copulationand impudent whoredom, to adultery and fornication,to onanism, sodomy and bestiality? But this hewill not do, the whited sepulchre! To the interestedcritic of the Edinburgh Review (No. 335 of July, 1886),I return my warmest thanks for his direct and deliberatefalsehoods:—­lies are one-legged and short-lived,and venom evaporates.[FN#430] It appears to me thatwhen I show to such men, so “respectable”and so impure, a landscape of magnificent prospectswhose vistas are adorned with every charm of natureand art, they point their unclean noses at a littleheap of muck here and there lying in a field-corner.

SectionV
ontheprose-rhymeandthepoetryofthenights

A.—­TheSaj’a.

According to promise in my Foreword (p. xiii.), Ihere proceed to offer a few observations concerningthe Saj’a or rhymed prose and the Shi’r,or measured sentence, that is, the verse of The Nights. The former has in composition, metrical or unmetricalthree distinct forms. Saj’a mutawazi (parallel),the most common is when the ending words of sentencesagree in measure, assonance and final letter, in factour full rhyme; next is Saj’a mutarraf (theaffluent), when the periods, hemistichs or coupletsend in words whose terminal letters correspond, althoughdiffering in measure and number; and thirdly, Saj’amuwazanah (equilibrium) is applied to the balancewhich affects words corresponding in measure but differingin final letters.[FN#431]

Al-Saj’a, the fine style or style fleuri, alsotermed Al-Badi’a, or euphuism, is the basisof all Arabic euphony. The whole of the Koranis written in it; and the same is the case with theMakamat of Al-Hariri and the prime masterpieces ofrhetorical composition: without it no translationof the Holy Book can be satisfactory or final, andwhere it is not the Assemblies become the prose ofprose. Thus universally used the assonance hasnecessarily been abused, and its excess has given riseto the saying “Al-Saj’s faj’a”—­proserhyme’s a pest. English translators have,unwisely I think, agreed in rejecting it, while Germanshave not. Mr Preston assures us that “rhymingprose is extremely ungraceful in English and introducesan air of flippancy”: this was certainlynot the case with Friedrich Rueckert’s versionof the great original and I see no reason why it shouldbe so or become so in our tongue. Torrens (Pref.p. vii.) declares that “the effect of the irregularsentence with the iteration of a jingling rhyme isnot pleasant in our language:” he thereforesystematically neglects it and gives his style thesemblance of being “scamped” with the objectof saving study and trouble. Mr. Payne (ix. 379)deems it an “excrescence born of the excessivefacilities for rhyme afforded by the language,”and of Eastern delight in antithesis of all kindswhether of sound or of thought; and, aiming elaboratelyat grace of style, he omits it wholly, even in theproverbs.

The weight of authority was against me but my plancompelled me to disregard it. The dilemma wassimply either to use the Saj’a or to followMr. Payne’s method and “arrange the disjectamembra of the original in their natural order”;that is, to remodel the text. Intending to producea faithful copy of the Arabic, I was compelled toadopt the former, and still hold it to be the betteralternative. Moreover I question Mr. Payne’sdictum (ix. 383) that “the Seja-form is utterlyforeign to the genius of English prose and that itspreservation would be fatal to all vigour and harmonyof style.” The English translator of Palmerinof England, Anthony Munday, attempted it in placeswith great success as I have before noted (vol. viii.60); and my late friend Edward Eastwick made artisticuse of it in his Gulistan. Had I rejected the“Cadence of the cooing dove” because un-English,I should have adopted the balanced periods of theAnglican marriage service[FN#432] or the essentiallyEnglish system of alliteration, requiring some suchartful aid to distinguish from the vulgar recitativestyle the elevated and classical tirades in The Nights. My attempt has found with reviewers more favour thanI expected; and a kindly critic writes of it, “Thesemelodious fray meets, these little eddies of songset like gems in the prose, have a charming effecton the ear. They come as dulcet surprises andmostly recur in highly-wrought situations, or theyare used to convey a vivid sense of something exquisitein nature or art. Their introduction seems dueto whim or caprice, but really it arises from a profoundstudy of the situation, as if the Tale-teller feltsuddenly compelled to break into the rhythmic strain.”

B.—­TheVerse.

The Shi’r or metrical part of The Nights isconsiderable amounting to not less than ten thousandlines, and these I could not but render in rhyme orrather in monorhyme. This portion has been abugbear to translators. De Sacy noticed the difficultyof the task (p. 283). Lane held the poetry untranslatablebecause abounding in the figure Tajnis, our paronomasiaor paragram, of which there are seven distinct varieties,[FN#433]not to speak of other rhetorical flourishes. He therefore omitted the greater part of the verseas tedious and, through the loss of measure and rhyme,“generally intolerable to the reader.” He proved his position by the bald literalism of thepassages which he rendered in truly prosaic proseand succeeded in changing the facies and presentmentof the work. For the Shi’r, like the Saj’a,is not introduced arbitrarily; and its unequal distributionthroughout The Nights may be accounted for by ruleof art. Some tales, like Omar bin al-Nu’manand Tawaddud, contain very little because the themeis historical or realistic; whilst in stories of loveand courtship as that of Rose-in-hood, the proportionmay rise to one-fifth of the whole. And thisis true to nature. Love, as Addison said, makeseven the mechanic (the British mechanic!) poetical,and Joe Hume of material memory once fought a duelabout a fair object of dispute.

Before discussing the verse of The Nights it may beadvisable to enlarge a little upon the prosody ofthe Arabs. We know nothing of the origin of theirpoetry, which is lost in the depths of antiquity,and the oldest bards of whom we have any remains belongto the famous epoch of the war Al-Basus, which wouldplace them about A.D. 500. Moreover, when theMuse of Arabia first shows she is not only fully developedand mature, she has lost all her first youth, herbeaute du diable, and she is assuming the characteristicsof an age beyond “middle age.” Noone can study the earliest poetry without perceivingthat it results from the cultivation of centuriesand that it has already assumed that artificial typeand conventional process of treatment which presagesinevitable decay. Its noblest period is includedin the century preceding the Apostolate of Mohammed,and the oldest of that epoch is the prince of Arabsongsters, Imr al-Kays, “The Wandering King.” The Christian Fathers characteristically termed poetryVinum Daemonorum. The stricter Moslems calledtheir bards “enemies of Allah”; and whenthe Prophet, who hated verse and could not even quoteit correctly, was asked who was the best poet of thePeninsula he answered that the “Man of Al-Kays,”i.e. the worshipper of the Priapus-idol, wouldusher them all into Hell. Here he only echoedthe general verdict of his countrymen who loved poetryand, as a rule, despised poets. The earliestcomplete pieces of any volume and substance saved fromthe wreck of old Arabic literature and familiar inour day are the seven Kasidahs (purpose-odes or tendence-elegies)which are popularly known as the Gilded or the SuspendedPoems; and in all of these we find, with an elaborationof material and formal art which can go no further,a subject-matter of trite imagery and stock ideaswhich suggest a long ascending line of model ancestorsand predecessors.

Scholars are agreed upon the fact that many of theearliest and best Arab poets were, as Mohammed boastedhimself, unalphabetic[FN#434] or rather could neitherread nor write. They addressed the ear and themind, not the eye. They “spoke verse,”learning it by rote and dictating it to the Rawi, andthis reciter again transmitted it to the musicianwhose pipe or zither accompanied the minstrel’ssong. In fact the general practice of writingbegan only at the end of the first century after TheFlight.

The rude and primitive measure of Arab song, uponwhich the most complicated system of metres subsequentlyarose, was called Al-Rajaz, literally “the trembling,”because it reminded the highly imaginative hearerof a pregnant she-camel’s weak and totteringsteps. This was the carol of the camel-driver,the lover’s lay and the warrior’s chauntof the heroic ages; and its simple, unconstrainedflow adapted it well for extempore effusions. Its merits and demerits have been extensively discussedamongst Arab grammarians, and many, noticing that itwas not originally divided into hemistichs, make anessential difference between the Sha’ir whospeaks poetry and the Rajiz who speaks Rajaz. It consisted, to describe it technically, of iambicdipodia (U-U-), the first three syllables being optionallylong or short It can generally be read like our iambsand, being familiar, is pleasant to the English ear. The dipodia are repeated either twice or thrice; inthe former case Rajaz is held by some authorities,as Al-Akhfash (Sa’id ibn Masadah), to be mereprose. Although Labid and Antar composed in iambics,the first Kasidah or regular poem in Rajaz was byAl-Aghlab al-Ajibi temp. Mohammed: the Alfiyah-grammarof Ibn Malik is in Rajaz Muzdawij, the hemistichsrhyming and the assonance being confined to the couplet. Al-Hariri also affects Rajaz in the third and fifthAssemblies. So far Arabic metre is true to Nature: in impassioned speech the movement of language isiambic: we say “I will, I will,”not “I will.”

For many generations the Sons of the Desert were satisfiedwith Nature’s teaching; the fine perceptionsand the nicely trained ear of the bard needing noaid from art. But in time came the inevitableprosodist under the formidable name of Abu Abd al-Rahmanal-Khalil, i. Ahmad, i. Amru, i. Tamimal-Farahidi (of the Farahid sept), al-Azdi (of theAzd clan), al Yahmadi (of the Yahmad tribe), popularlyknown as Al-Khalil ibn Ahmad al-Basri, of Bassorah,where he died aet. 68, scanning verses they say, inA.H. 170 (= 786-87). Ibn Khallikan relates (i.493) on the authority of Hamzah al-Isfahani how this“father of Arabic grammar and discoverer ofthe rules of prosody” invented the science ashe walked past a coppersmith’s shop on hearingthe strokes of a hammer upon a metal basin: “twoobjects devoid of any quality which could serve asa proof and an illustration of anything else thantheir own form and shape and incapable of leadingto any other knowledge than that of their own nature.'[FN#435]According to others he was passing through the Fullers’Bazar at Basrah when his ear was struck by the Dakdak (Arabic letters) and the Dakak-dakak (Arabic letters)of the workmen. In these two onomapoetics wetrace the expression which characterises the Arabtongue: all syllables are composed of consonantand vowel, the latter long or short as B and B ; orof a vowelled consonant followed by a consonant asBal, Bau (Arabic) .

The grammarian, true to the traditions of his craftwhich looks for all poetry to the Badawi,[FN#436]adopted for metrical details the language of the Desert. The distich, which amongst Arabs is looked upon asone line, he named “Bayt,” nighting-place,tent or house; and the hemistich Misra’ah, theone leaf of a folding door. To this “scenic”simile all the parts of the verse were more or lessadapted. The metres, our feet, were called “Arkan,”the stakes and stays of the tent; the syllables were“Usul” or roots divided into three kinds: the first or “Sabab” (the tent-rope) iscomposed of two letters, a vowelled and a quiescentconsonant as “Lam.'[FN#437] The “Watad”or tent peg of three letters is of two varieties;the Majmu’, or united, a foot in which the twofirst consonants are moved by vowels and the lastis jazmated or made quiescent by apocope as “Lakad”;and the Mafruk, or disunited, when the two moved consonantsare separated by one jazmated, as “Kabla.” And lastly the “Fasilah” or interveningspace, applied to the main pole of the tent, consistsof four letters.

The metres were called Buhur or “seas”(plur. of Bahr), also meaning the space within thetent-walls, the equivoque alluding to pearls and othertreasures of the deep. Al-Khalil, the systematiser,found in general use only five Dairah (circles, classesor groups of metre); and he characterised the harmoniousand stately measures, all built upon the original Rajaz,as Al-Tawil (the long),[FN#438] Al-Kamil (the complete),Al-Wafir (the copious), Al-Basit (the extended) andAl-Khafif (the light).[FN#439] These embrace all theMu’allakat and the Hamasah, the great Anthologyof Abu Tammam; but the crave for variety and the extensionof foreign intercourse had multiplied wants and Al-Khalildeduced from the original five Dairah, fifteen, towhich Al-Akhfash (ob. A.D. 830) added a sixteenth,Al-Khabab. The Persians extended the number tonineteen: the first four were peculiarly Arab;the fourteenth, the fifteenth and seventeenth peculiarlyPersian and all the rest were Arab and Persian.[FN#440]

Arabic metre so far resembles that of Greece and Romethat the value of syllables depends upon the “quantity”or position of their consonants, not upon accent asin English and the Neo-Latin tongues. Al-Khalilwas doubtless familiar with the classic prosody ofEurope, but he rejected it as unsuited to the geniusof Arabic and like a true Eastern Gelehrte he adopteda process devised by himself. Instead of scansionby pyrrhics and spondees, iambs and trochees, anapaestsand similar simplifications he invented a system ofweights ('wuzun'). Of these there are nine[FN#441]memorial words used as quantitive signs, all builtupon the root “fa’l” which has renderedsuch notable service to Arabic and Hebrew[FN#442]grammar and varying from the simple “fa’al,”in Persian “fa’ul” (U _), to thecomplicated “Mutafa’ilun'(UU — U-) , anapaest + iamb. Thus the prosodist wouldscan the Shahnameh of Firdausi as

Fa’ulun,fa’ulun, fa’ulun, fa’al.
U— — U — — U — — —

These weights also show another peculiarity of Arabicverse. In English we have few if any spondees: the Arabic contains about three longs to one short;hence its gravity, stateliness and dignity. Butthese longs again are peculiar, and sometimes strikethe European ear as shorts, thus adding a difficultyfor those who would represent Oriental metres by westernfeet, ictus and accent. German Arabists can registeran occasional success in such attempts: Englishmennone. My late friend Professor Palmer of Cambridgetried the tour de force of dancing on one leg insteadof two and notably failed: Mr. Lyall also stroveto imitate Arabic metre and produced only prose bewitched.[FN#443]Mr. Payne appears to me to have wasted trouble in “observingthe exterior form of the stanza, the movement of therhyme and (as far as possible) the identity in numberof the syllables composing the beits.” There is only one part of his admirable version concerningwhich I have heard competent readers complain; andthat is the metrical, because here and there it soundsstrange to their ears.

I have already stated my conviction that there aretwo and only two ways of translating Arabic poetryinto English. One is to represent it by goodheroic or lyric verse as did Sir William Jones; theother is to render it after French fashion, by measuredand balanced Prose, the little sister of Poetry. It is thus and thus only that we can preserve thepeculiar cachet of the original. This old worldOriental song is spirit-stirring as a “blastof that dread horn,” albeit the words be thin. It is heady as the “Golden Wine” of Libanus,to the tongue water and brandy to the brain—­theclean contrary of our nineteenth century effusions. Technically speaking, it can be vehicled only by theverse of the old English ballad or by the prose ofthe Book of Job. And Badawi poetry is a perfectexpositor of Badawi life, especially in the good andgladsome old Pagan days ere Al-Islam, like the creedwhich it abolished, overcast the minds of men withits dull grey pall of realistic superstition. They combined to form a marvellous picture—­thosecontrasts of splendour and squalor amongst the sonsof the sand. Under airs pure as aether, goldenand ultramarine above and melting over the horizoninto a diaphanous green which suggested a resectionof Kaf, that unseen mountain-wall of emerald, theso-called Desert, changed face twice a year; now brownand dry as summer-dust; then green as Hope, beautifiedwith infinite verdure and broad sheetings of rain-water. The vernal and autumnal shiftings of camp, disruptionsof homesteads and partings of kith and kin, friendsand lovers, made the life many-sided as it was vigorousand noble, the outcome of hardy frames, strong mindsand spirits breathing the very essence of libertyand independence. The day began with the dawn-drink,“generous wine bought with shining ore,”poured into the crystal goblet from the leather bottleswinging before the cooling breeze. The rest wasspent in the practice of weapons, in the favouritearrow game known as Al-Maysar, gambling which atleast had the merit of feeding the poor; in racingfor which the Badawin had a mania, and in the chase,the foray and the fray which formed the serious businessof his life. And how picturesque the hunting scenes;the greyhound, like the mare, of purest blood; thefalcon cast at francolin and coney; the gazelle standingat gaze; the desert ass scudding over the ground-waves;the wild cows or bovine antelopes browsing with theircalves and the ostrich-chickens flocking round theparent bird! The Musamarah or night-talk roundthe camp-fire was enlivened by the lute-girl and theglee-man, whom the austere Prophet described as “rovingdistraught in every vale” and whose motto inHoratian vein was, “To day we shall drink, to-morrowbe sober, wine this day, that day work.” Regularly once a year, during the three peaceful monthswhen war and even blood revenge were held sacrilegious,the tribes met at Ukadh (Ocaz) and other fairsteads,where they held high festival and the bards stravein song and prided themselves upon doing honour towomen and to the successful warriors of their tribe. Brief, the object of Arab life was to be—­tobe free, to be brave, to be wise; while the endeavoursof other peoples was and is to have—­tohave wealth, to have knowledge, to have a name; andwhile moderns make their “epitome of life”to be, to do and to suffer. Lastly the Arab’send was honourable as his life was stirring: few Badawin had the crowning misfortune of dying “thestraw-death.”

The poetical forms in The Nights are as follows:—­TheMisra’ah or hemistich is half the “Bayt”which, for want of a better word, I have renderedcouplet: this, however, though formally separatedin MSS., is looked upon as one line, one verse; hencea word can be divided, the former part pertainingto the first and the latter to the second moiety ofthe distich. As the Arabs ignore blank verse,when we come upon a rhymeless couplet we know thatit is an extract from a longer composition in monorhyme. The Kit’ah is a fragment, either an occasionalpiece or more frequently a portion of a Ghazal (ode)or Kasidah (elegy), other than the Matla, the initialBayt with rhyming distichs. The Ghazal and Kasidahdiffer mainly in length: the former is popularlylimited to eighteen couplets: the latter beginsat fifteen and is of indefinite number. Bothare built upon monorhyme, which appears twice in thefirst couplet and ends all the others, e g., aa +ba + ca, etc.; nor may the same assonance berepeated, unless at least seven couplets intervene. In the best poets, as in the old classic verse ofFrance, the sense must be completed in one coupletand not run on to a second; and, as the parts coherevery loosely, separate quotation can generally bemade without injuring their proper effect. A favouriteform is the Ruba’i or quatrain, made familiarto English ears by Mr. Fitzgerald’s masterlyadaptation of Omar-i-Khayyam: the movement isgenerally aa + ba, but it also appears as ab + cb,in which case it is a Kit’ah or fragment. The Murabba, tetrastichs or four fold-song, occursonce only in The Nights (vol.i. 98); it is a successionof double Bayts or of four lined stanzas rhyming aa+ bc + dc + ec: in strict form the first threehemistichs rhyme with one another only, independentlyof the rest of the poem, and the fourth with thatof every other stanza, e.g., aa + ab + cb + db. The Mukhammas, cinquains or pentastichs (Night cmlxiv.),represents a stanza of two distichs and a hemistichin monorhyme, the fifth line being the “bob”or burden: each succeeding stanza affects a newrhyme, except in the fifth line, e.g., aaaab +ccccb + ddddb and so forth. The Muwwal is a simplepopular song in four to six lines; specimens of itare given in the Egyptian grammar of my friend thelate Dr. Wilhelm Spitta.[FN#444] The Muwashshah, orornamented verse, has two main divisions: oneapplies to our acrostics in which the initials forma word or words; the other is a kind of Musaddas,or sextines, which occurs once only in The Nights(cmlxxxvii.). It consists of three couplets orsix-line strophes: all the hemistichs of the firstare in monorhyme; in the second and following stanzasthe three first hemistichs take a new rhyme, but thefourth resumes the assonance of the first set andis followed by the third couplet of No. 1, servingas bob or refrain, e.g., aaaaaa + bbbaaa + cccaaaand so forth. It is the most complicated of allthe measures and is held to be of Morisco or Hispano-Moorishorigin.

Mr. Lane (Lex.) lays down, on the lines of Ibn Khallikan(i. 476, etc.) and other representative literati,as our sole authortties for pure Arabic, the precedencein following order. First of all ranks the Jahili(Ignoramus) of The Ignorance, the
: these pagansleft hemistichs, couplets, pieces and elegies
which once composed a large corpus and which is nowmostly forgotten. Hammad al-Rawiyah, the Reciter,a man of Persian descent (ob. A.H. 160=777) whofirst collected the Mu’allakat, once recitedby rote in a seance before Caliph Al-Walid two thousandpoems of prae-Mohammedan bards.[FN#445] After the Jahilistands the Mukhadram or Muhadrim, the “Spurious,”because half Pagan half Moslem, who flourished eitherimmediately before or soon after the preaching ofMohammed. The Islami or full-blooded Moslem atthe end of the first century A.H ( = 720) began theprocess of corruption in language; and, lastly he wasfollowed by the Muwallad of the second century whofused Arabic with non-Arabic and in whom purity ofdiction disappeared.

I have noticed (I Section A.) that the versical portionof The Nights may be distributed into three categories. First are the olden poems which are held classicalby all modern Arabs; then comes the mediaeval poetry,the effusions of that brilliant throng which adornedthe splendid Court of Harun al-Rashid and which endedwith Al-Hariri (ob. A.H. 516); and, lastly, arethe various pieces de circonstance suggested to editorsor scribes by the occasion. It is not my objectto enter upon the historical part of the subject: a mere sketch would have neither value not interestwhilst a finished picture would lead too far: I must be contented to notice a few of the most famousnames.

Of the prae-Islamites we have Adi bin Zayd al-Ibadithe “celebrated poet” of Ibn Khallikan(i. 188); Nabighat (the full-grown) al-Zubyani whoflourished at the Court of Al-Nu’man in ad.580-602, and whose poem is compared with the “Suspendeds,’’[FN#446]and Al-Mutalammis the “pertinacious” satirist,friend and intimate with Tarafah of the “PrizePoem.” About Mohammed’s day we findImr al-Kays “with whom poetry began,”to end with Zu al-Rummah; Amru bin Madi Karab al-Zubaydi,Labid; Ka’b ibn Zuhayr, the father one of theMu’al-lakah-poets, and the son author of theBurdah or Mantle-poem (see vol. iv. 115), and Abbasbin Mirdas who lampooned the Prophet and had “histongue cut out” i.e. received a double shareof booty from Ali. In the days of Caliph Omarwe have Alkamah bin Olatha followed by Jamil bin Ma’marof the Banu Ozrah (ob. A.H. 82), who loved Azza. Then came Al-Kuthayyir (the dwarf, ironice), the loverof Buthaynah, “who was so lean that birds mightbe cut to bits with her bones :” the latterwas also a poetess (Ibn Khall. i. 87), like Hind bintal-Nu’man who made herself so disagreeable toAl-Hajjaj (ob. A.H. 95) Jarir al-Khatafah, thenoblest of the Islami poets in the first century,is noticed at full length by Ibn Khallikan (i. 294)together with his rival in poetry and debauchery,Abu Firas Hammam or Homaym bin Ghalib al-Farazdak,the Tamimi, the Ommiade poet “without whose versehalf Arabic would be lost:'[FN#447] he exchanged satireswith Jarir and died forty days before him (A.H. 110). Another contemporary, forming the poetical triumvirateof the period, was the debauched Christian poet Al-Akhtalal-Taghlibi. They were followed by Al-Ahwasal-Ansari whose witty lampoons banished him to DahlakIsland in the Red Sea (ob. A.H. 179 = 795); byBashshar ibn Burd and by Yunus ibn Habib (ob. A.H. 182).

The well known names of the Harun-cycle are Al-Asma’i,rhetorician and poet, whose epic with Antar for herois not forgotten (ob. A.H. 2I6); Isaac of Mosul(Ishak bin Ibrahim of Persian origin); Al-’Utbi“the Poet” (ob. A.H. 228); Abu al-Abbasal-Rakashi; Abu al-Atahiyah, the lover of Otbah; Muslimbin al-Walid al-Ansari; Abu Tammam of Tay, compilerof the Hamasah (ob. A.H. 230), “a Muwalladof the first class” (says Ibn Khallikan i. 392);the famous or infamous Abu Nowas, Abu Mus’ab(Ahmad ibn Ali) who died in A.H. 242; the satiristDibil al-Khuzai (ob. A.H. 246) and a host ofothers quos nunc perscribere longum est. Theywere followed by Al-Bohtori “the Poet”(ob. A.H. 286); the royal author Abdullah ibnal-Mu’tazz (ob. A.H. 315); Ibn Abbad theSahib (ob. A.H. 334); Mansur al-Hallaj the martyredSufi; the Sahib ibn Abbad, Abu Faras al-Hamdani (ob. A.H. 357); Al-Nami (ob. A.H. 399) who had manyencounters with that model Chauvinist Al-Mutanabbi,nicknamed Al-Mutanabbih (the “wide awake'), killedA.H. 354; Al-Manazi of Manazjird (ob. 427); Al-Tughraiauthor of the Lamiyat al-’Ajam (ob. A.H.375); Al-Hariri the model rhetorician (ob. A.H.516); Al-Hajiri al-Irbili, of Arbela (ob. A.H.632); Baha al-Din al-Sinjari (ob. A.H. 622); Al-Katibor the Scribe (ob. A.H. 656); Abdun al-Andalusithe Spaniard (our xiith century) and about the sametime Al-Nawaji, author of the Halbat al-Kumayt or'Racecourse of the Bay horse”—­poeticalslang for wine.[FN#448]

Of the third category, the pieces d’occasion,little need be said: I may refer readers to mynotes on the doggrels in vol. ii. 34, 35, 56, 179,182, 186 and 261; in vol. v. 55 and in vol. viii.50.

Having a mortal aversion to the details of Arabicprosody, I have persuaded my friend Dr. Steingassto undertake in the following pages the subject asfar as concerns the poetry of The Nights. Hehas been kind enough to collaborate with me from thebeginning, and to his minute lexicographical knowledgeI am deeply indebted for discovering not a few blemisheswhich would have been “nuts to the critic.” The learned Arabist’s notes will be highly interestingto students: mine ( SectionV.) are intended togive a superficial and popular idea of the Arab’sverse mechanism.

“The principle of Arabic Prosody (called ’Aruz,pattern standard, or ’Ilm al-’Aruz, scienceof the ’Aruz), in so far resembles that of classicalpoetry, as it chiefly rests on metrical weight, noton accent, or in other words a verse is measured byshort and long quantities, while the accent only regulatesits rhythm. In Greek and Latin, however, thequantity of the syllables depends on their vowels,which may be either naturally short or long, or becomelong by position, i.e. if followed by two or moreconsonants. We all remember from our school-dayswhat a fine string of rules had to be committed toand kept in memory, before we were able to scan aLatin or Greek verse without breaking its neck bytripping over false quantities. In Arabic, onthe other hand, the answer to the question, what ismetrically long or short, is exceedingly simple, andflows with stringent cogency from the nature of theArabic Alphabet. This, strictly speaking, knowsonly consonants (Harf, pl. Huruf). The vowelswhich are required, in order to articulate the consonants,were at first not represented in writing at all. They had to be supplied by the reader, and are notimproperly called “motions” (Harakat),because they move or lead on, as it were, one letterto another. They are three in number, a (Fathah),i (Kasrah), u (Zammah), originally sounded as thecorresponding English vowels in bat, bit and buttrespectively, but in certain cases modifying theirpronunciation under the influence of a neighbouringconsonant. When the necessity made itself feltto represent them in writing, especially for the sakeof fixing the correct reading of the Koran, they wererendered by additional signs, placed above or beneaththe consonant, after which they are pronounced, ina similar way as it is done in some systems of Englishshorthand. A consonant followed by a short vowelis called a “moved letter” (Muharrakah);a consonant without such vowel is called “resting”or “quiescent” (Sakinah), and can standonly at the end of a syllable or word.

And now we are able to formulate the one simple rule,which determines the prosodical quantity in Arabic: any moved letter, as ta, li, mu, is counted short;any moved letter followed by a quiescent one, as taf,fun, mus, i.e. any closed syllable beginningand terminating with a consonant and having a shortvowel between, forms a long quantity. This iscertainly a relief in comparison with the numerousrules of classical Prosody, proved by not a few exceptions,which for instance in Dr. Smith’s elementaryLatin Grammar fill eight closely printed pages.

Before I proceed to show how from the prosodical unities,the moved and the quiescent letter, first the metricalelements, then the feet and lastly the metres arebuilt up, it will be necessary to obviate a few misunderstandings,to which our mode of transliterating Arabic into theRoman character might give rise.

The line::

“Love in my heart they litand went their ways,” (vol. i. 232)

runs in Arabic:

“Akamu al-wajda fi kalbi wasaru” (Mac. Ed. i. 179).

Here, according to our ideas, the word akamu wouldbegin with a short vowel a, and contain two long vowelsa and u; according to Arabic views neither is thecase. The word begins with “Alif,”and its second syllable ka closes in Alif after Fathah(a), in the same way, as the third syllable mu closesin the letter Waw (w) after Zammah (u).

The question, therefore, arises, what is “Alif.” It is the first of the twenty-eight Arabic letters,and has through the medium of the Greek Alpha nominallyentered into our alphabet, where it now plays rathera misleading part. Curiously enough, however,Greek itself has preserved for us the key to the realnature of the letter. In ’ the initiala is preceded by the so called spiritus lends (’),a sign which must be placed in front or at the topof any vowel beginning a Greek word, and which representsthat slight aspiration or soft breathing almost involuntarilyuttered, when we try to pronounce a vowel by itself. We need not go far to find how deeply rooted thistendency is and to what exaggerations it will sometimeslead. Witness the gentleman who, after mentioningthat he had been visiting his “favourite haunts”on the scenes of his early life, was sympatheticallyasked, how the dear old ladies were. This spirituslends is the silent h of the French “homme”and the English “honour,” correspondingexactly to the Arabic Hamzah, whose mere prop the Alifis, when it stands at the beginning of a word: a native Arabic Dictionary does not begin with Babal-Alif (Gate or Chapter of the Alif), but with Babal-Hamzah. What the Greeks call Alpha and havetransmitted to us as a name for the vowel a, is infact nothing else but the Arabic Hamzah-Alif,(~)movedby Fathah, i.e. bearing the sign(~) for a atthe top (~), just as it might have the sign Zammah(~) superscribed to express u (~), or the sign Kasrah(~) subjoined to represent i(~). In each casethe Hamzah-Alif, although scarcely audible to ourear, is the real letter and might fitly be renderedin transliteration by the above mentioned silent h,wherever we make an Arabic word begin with a vowelnot preceded by any other sign. This latter restrictionrefers to the sign ’, which in Sir Richard Burton’stranslation of The Nights, as frequently in bookspublished in this country, is used to represent theArabic letter ~ in whose very name ’Ayn it occurs. The ’Ayn is “described as produced by asmart compression of the upper part of the windpipeand forcible emission of breath,” impartinga guttural tinge to a following or preceding vowel-sound;but it is by no means a mere guttural vowel, as ProfessorPalmer styles it. For Europeans, who do not belongto the Israelitic dispensation, as well as for Turksand Persians, its exact pronunciation is most difficult,if not impossible to acquire.

In reading Arabic from transliteration for the purposeof scanning poetry, we have therefore in the firstinstance to keep in mind that no Arabic word or syllablecan begin with a vowel. Where our mode of renderingArabic in the Roman character would make this appearto be the case, either Hamzah (silent h), or ‘Ayn(represented by the sign’) is the real initial,and the only element to be taken in account as a letter. It follows as a self-evident corollary that wherevera single consonant stands between two vowels, it nevercloses the previous syllable, but always opens thenext one. Our word “Akamu,” for instance,can only be divided into the syllables: A (properlyHa)-ka-mu, never into Ak-a-mu or Ak-am-u.

It has been stated above that the syllable ka is closedby the letter Alif after Fathah, in the same way asthe syllable mu is closed by the letter Waw, and Imay add now, as the word fi is closed by the letterYa (y). To make this perfectly clear, I mustrepeat that the Arabic Alphabet, as it was originallywritten, deals only with consonants. The signsfor the short vowel-sounds were added later for aspecial purpose, and are generally not representedeven in printed books, e.g. in the various editionsof The Nights, where only quotations from the Koranor poetical passages are provided with the vowel-points. But among those consonants there are three, calledweak letters (Huruf al-’illah), which have aparticular organic affinity to these vowel sounds: the guttural Hamzah, which is akin to a, the palatalYa, which is related to i, and the labial Waw, whichis homogeneous with u. Where any of the weakletters follows a vowel of its own class, either atthe end of a word or being itself followed by anotherconsonant, it draws out or lengthens the precedingvowel and is in this sense called a letter of prolongation(Harf al-Madd). Thus, bearing in mind that theHamzah is in reality a silent h, the syllable ka mightbe written kah, similarly to the German word “sah,”where the h is not pronounced either, but impartsa lengthened sound to the a. In like manner muand fi are written in Arabic muw and fiy respectively,and form long quantities not because they contain avowel long by nature, but because their initial “Muharrakah”is followed by a “Sakinah,” exactly asin the previously mentioned syllables taf, fun, mus.[FN#449]In the Roman transliteration, Akamu forms a word offive letters, two of which are consonants, and threevowels; in Arabic it represents the combination H(a)k(a)hm(u)w,consisting also of five letters but all consonants,the intervening vowels being expressed in writingeither merely by superadded external signs, or morefrequently not at all. Metrically it representsone short and two long quantities (U — -), formingin Latin a trisyllable foot, called Bacchius, andin Arabic a quinqueliteral “Rukn” (pillar)or “Juz” (part, portion), the technicaldesignation for which we shall introduce presently.

There is one important remark more to be made withregard to the Hamzah: at the beginning of a wordit is either conjunctive, Hamzat al-Wasl, or disjunctive,Hamzat al-Kat’. The difference is bestillustrated by reference to the French so-called aspiratedh, as compared with the above-mentioned silent h. If the latter, as initial of a noun, is preceded bythe article, the article loses its vowel, and, ignoringthe silent h altogether, is read with the followingnoun almost as one word: le homme becomes l’homme(pronounced lomme) as le ami becomes l’ami. This resembles very closely the Arabic Hamzah Wasl. If, on the other hand, a French word begins with anaspirated h, as for instance heros, the article doesnot drop its vowel before the noun, nor is the h soundedas in the English word “hero,” but theeffect of the aspirate is simply to keep the two vowelsounds apart, so as to pronounce le eros with a slighthiatus between, and this is exactly what happens inthe case of the Arabic Hamzah Kat’.

With regard to the Wasl, however, Arabic goes a stepfurther than French. In the French example, quotedabove, we have seen it is the silent h and the precedingvowel which are eliminated; in Arabic both the Hamzahand its own Harakah, i.e. the short vowel followingit, are supplanted by their antecedent. Anotherexample will make this clear. The most commoninstance of the Hamzah Wasl is the article al (forh(a)l=the Hebrew hal), where it is moved by Fathah. But it has this sound only at the beginning of a sentenceor speech, as in “Al-Hamdu” at the headof the Fatihah, or in “Allahu” at thebeginning of the third Surah. If the two wordsstand in grammatical connection, as in the sentence“Praise be to God,” we cannot say “Al-Hamduli-Allahi,” but the junction (Wasl) betweenthe dative particle li and the noun which it governsmust take place. According to the French principle,this junction would be effected at the cost of thepreceding element and li Allahi would become l’Allahi;in Arabic, on the contrary, the kasrated l of theparticle takes the place of the following fathatedHamzah and we read li ’llahi instead. Proceedingin the Fatihah we meet with the verse “Iyyakana’budu wa iyyaka nasta’inu,” Theedo we worship and of Thee do we ask aid. Herethe Hamzah of iyyaka (properly hiyyaka with silenth) is disjunctive, and therefore its pronunciationremains the same at the beginning and in the middleof the sentence, or, to put it differently, insteadof coalescing with the preceding wa into wa’yyaka,the two words are kept separate by the Hamzah, readingwa iyyaka, just as it was the case with the FrenchLe heros.

If the conjunctive Hamzah is preceded by a quiescentletter, this takes generally Kasrah: “Talatal-Laylah,” the night was longsome, would becomeTalati ’l-Laylah. If, however, the quiescentletter is one of prolongation, it mostly drops outaltogether, and the Harakah of the next preceding letterbecomes {he connecting vowel between the two words,which in our parlance would mean that the end vowelof the first word is shortened before the elided initialof the second. Thus “fi al-bayti,”in the house, which in Arabic is written f(i)y h(a)l-b(a)yt(i)and which we transliterate fi ’l-bayti, is inpoetry read fil-bayti, where we must remember thatthe syllable fil, in spite of its short vowel, representsa long quantity, because it consists of a moved letterfollowed by a quiescent one. Fil would be overlongand could, according to Arabic prosody, stand onlyin certain cases at the end of a verse, i.e.in pause, where a natural tendency prevails to prolonga sound.

The attentive reader will now be able to fix the prosodicalvalue of the line quoted above with unerring security. For metrical purposes it syllabifies into: A-ka-mul-vaj-dafi kal-bi wa sa-ru, containing three short and eightlong quantities. The initial unaccented a isshort, for the same reason why the syllables da andwa are so, that is, because it corresponds to an Arabicletter, the Hamzah or silent h, moved by Fathah. The syllables ka, fi, bi, sa, ru are long for thesame reason why the syllables mul, waj, kal are so,that is, because the accent in the transliterationcorresponds to a quiescent Arabic letter, followinga moved one. The same simple criterion appliesto the whole list, in which I give in alphabeticalorder the first lines and the metre of all the poeticalpieces contained in the Mac. edition, and which willbe found at the end of this volume. {This appendixis not included in the electronic text}

The prosodical unities, then, in Arabic are the movedand the quiescent letter, and we are now going toshow how they combine into metrical elements, feet,and metres.

i. The metrical elements (Usul) are:

1. The Sabab,[FN#450] which consists oftwo letters and is either khafif (light) or sakil(heavy). A moved letter followed by a quiescent,i.e. a closed syllable, like the afore-mentionedtaf, fun, mus, to which we may now add fa=fah, ’i=’iy,’u=’uw, form a Sabab khafif, correspondingto the classical long quantity (-). Two movedletters in succession, like mute, ’ala, constitutea Sabab sakil, for which the classical name would bePyrrhic (U U). As in Latin and Greek, they areequal in weight and can frequently interchange, thatis to say, the Sabab khafif can be evolved into asakil by moving its second Harf, or the latter contractedinto the former, by making its second letter quiescent.

2. The Watad, consisting of three letters,one of which is quiescent. If the quiescent followsthe two moved ones, the Watad is called majmu’(collected or joined), as fa’u (=fa’uw),mafa (=mafah), ’ilun, and it corresponds tothe classical Iambus (U — ). If, on thecontrary, the quiescent intervenes or separates betweenthe two moved letters, as in fa’i ( = fah’i),latu (=lahtu), taf’i, the Watad is called mafruk(separated), and has its classical equivalent in theTrochee (- U)

3. The Fasilah,[FN#451] containing fourletters, i.e. three moved ones followed by aquiescent, and which, in fact, is only a shorter namefor a Sabab sakil followed by a Sabab khafif, as mute+ fa, or ’ala + tun, both of the measure of theclassical Anapaest (U U -)

ii. These three elements, the Sabab, Watad andFasilah, combine further into feet Arkaan, pl. ofRukn, or Ajzaa, pl. of Juz, two words explained suprap. 236. The technical terms by which the feetare named are derivatives of the root fa’l, todo, which, as the student will remember, serves inArabic Grammar to form the Auzan or weights, in accordancewith which words are derived from roots. It consistsof the three letters Fa (f), ’Ayn (’),Lam (l), and, like any other Arabic root, cannot strictlyspeaking be pronounced, for the introduction of anyvowel-sound would make it cease to be a root and changeit into an individual word. The above fa’l,for instance, where the initial Fa is moved by Fathah(a), is the Infinitive or verbal noun, “to do,”“doing.” If the ’Ayn also ismoved by Fathah, we obtain fa’al, meaning incolloquial Arabic “he did” (the classicalor literary form would be fa’ala). Pronouncingthe first letter with Zammah (u), the second withKasrah (i), i.e., fu’il, we say “itwas done” (classically fu’ila). Manymore forms are derived by prefixing, inserting orsubjoining certain additional letters called Hurufal-Ziyadah (letters of increase) to the original radicals: fa’il, for instance, with an Alif of prolongationin the first syllable, means “doer”; maf’ul(=maf’uwl), where the quiescent Fa is precededby a fathated Mim (m), and the zammated ’Aynfollowed by a lengthening Waw, means “done”;Mufa’alah, where, in addition to a prefixedand inserted letter, the feminine termination ah issubjoined after the Lam, means “to do a thingreciprocally.” Since these and similarchanges are with unvarying regularity applicable toall roots, the grammarians use the derivatives ofFa’l as model-forms for the corresponding derivationsof any other root, whose letters are in this casecalled its Fa, ’Ayn and Lam. From a root,e.g., which has Kaf (k) for its first letteror Fa, Ta (t) for its second letter or ’Aye,and Ba (b) for its third letter or Lam

fa’lwould be katb =to write, writing;
fa’alwould be katab =he wrote;
fu’ilwould be kutib =it was written;
fa’ilwould be katib =writer, scribe;
maf’ulwould be maktub=written, letter;
mufa’alahwould be mukatabah = to write reciprocally,
correspondence.

The advantage of this system is evident. It enablesthe student, who has once grasped the original meaningof a root, to form scores of words himself, and inhis readings, to understand hundreds, nay thousands,of words, without recourse to the Dictionary, as soonas he has learned to distinguish their radical lettersfrom the letters of increase, and recognises in thema familiar root. We cannot wonder, therefore,that the inventor of Arabic Prosody readily availedhimself of the same plan for his own ends. TheTaf’il, as it is here called, that is, the representationof the metrical feet by current derivatives of fa’l,has in this case, of course, nothing to do with theetymological meaning of those typical forms. Butit proves none the less useful in another direction: in simply naming a particular foot it shows at thesame time its prosodical measure and character, aswill now be explained in detail.

We have seen supra p. 236 that the word Akamu consistsof a short syllable followed by two long ones (U —-), and consequently forms a foot, which the classicswould call Bacchius. In Latin there is no connectionbetween this name and the metrical value of the foot: we must learn both by heart. But if we are toldthat its Taf’il in Arabic is Fa’ulun,we understand at once that it is composed of the Watadmajmu’ fa’u (U -) and the Sabab khafiflun (-), and as the Watad contains three, the Sababtwo letters, it forms a quinqueliteral foot or Juzkhamasi.

In combining into feet, the Watad has the precedenceover the Sabab and the Fasilah, and again the Watadmajmu’ over the Watad mafruk. Hence theProsodists distinguish between Ajza asliyah or primaryfeet (from Asl, root), in which this precedence isobserved, and Ajza far’iyah or secondary feet(from Far’= branch), in which it is reversed. The former are four in number:- -

1. Fa’u.lun, consisting,as we have justseen, of a Watad majmu’ followed by a Sababkhafif = the Latin Bacchius (U — -).

2. Mafa.’i.lun, i.e. Watadmajmu’ followed by two Sabab khafif = the LatinEpitritus primus (U — — -).

3. Mufa.’alatun, i.e. Watadmajmu’ followed by Fasilah = the Latin Iambusfollowed by Anapaest (U — UU -).

4. Fa’i.la.tun, i.e. Watadmafruk followed by two Sabab khafif = the Latin Epitritussecundus (-U- -).

The number of the secondary feet increases to six,for as Nos. 2 and 4 contain two Sabab, they “branchout” into two derived feet each, according toboth Sabab or only one changing place with regardto the Watad. They are:

5. Fa.’ilun, i.e. Sabab khafiffollowed by Watad majmu’= the Latin Creticus(-U-). The primary Fa’u.lun becomes bytransposition Lun.fa’u. To bring this intoconformity with a current derivative of fa’l,the initial Sabab must be made to contain the firstletter of the root, and the Watad the two remainingones in their proper order. Fa is therefore substitutedfor lun, and ’ilun for fa’u, forming togetherthe above Fa.’ilun. By similar substitutions,which it would be tedious to specify in each separatecase, Mafa.’i.lun becomes:

6. Mus.taf.’ilun, for ’I.lun.mafa,i.e. two Sabab khafif, followed by Watad majmu’= the Latin Epitritus tertius (- -U-), or:

7. Fa.’ila.tun, for Lun.mafa.’i,i.e. Watad majmu’ between two Sababkhafif = the Latin Epitritus secundus (-U- -).

8. Mutafa.’ilun (for ’Alatun.mufa,the reversed Mufa.’alatun), i.e. Fasilahfollowed by Watad majmu’=the Latin Anapaestsucceeded by Iambus (UU-U-). The last two secondaryfeet are transpositions of No. 4, Fa’i.la.tun,namely:

9. Maf.’u.latu, for La.tun.fa’i,i.e. two Sabab khafif, followed by Watad mafruk= the Latin Epitritus quartus (- — -U).

10. Mus.taf’i.lun, for Tun.fa’i.la,i.e. Watad mafruk between two Sabab khafif=theLatin Epitritus tertius (- -U-).[FN#452]

The “branch'-foot Fa.’ilun (No. 5), likeits “root” Fa’u.lun (No. 1), isquinqueliteral. All other feet, primary or secondary,consist necessarily of seven letters, as they containa triliteral Watad (see supra i. 2) with either twobiliteral Sabab khafif (i. 1) or a quadriliteral Fasilah(i. 3). They are, therefore, called Saba’i= seven lettered.

iii. The same principle of the Watad takingprecedence over Sabab and Fasilah, rules the arrangementof the Arabic metres, which are divided into fivecircles (Dawair, pl. of Dairah), so called for reasonspresently to be explained. The first is named:

A. Dairat al-Mukhtalif, circle of “the varied”metre, because it is composed of feet of various length,the five-lettered Fa’ulun (supra ii. 1) andthe seven-lettered Mafa’ilun (ii. 2) with theirsecondaries Fa’ilun, Mustaf.’ilun and Fa.’ilatun(ii. 5-7), and it comprises three Buhur or metres(pi. of Bahr, sea), the Tawil, Madid and Basit.

1. Al-Tawil, consistingof twice

Fa’u.lun Mafa.’ilunFa’u.lun Mafa.’ilun,

the classical scheme for which would be

If we transfer the Watad Fa’u from the beginningof the line to the end, it would read:

Lun.mafa’i Lun.fa’u Lun.mafa’iLun.fa’u which, after the substitutions indicatedabove (ii. 7 and 5), becomes:

2. Al-Madid, consistingof twice

Fa.’ilatun Fa.’ilunFa.’ilatun Fa.’ilun.

which may be represented by the classical scheme

If again, returning to the Tawil, we make the breakafter the Watad of the second foot we obtain the line:

’Ilun.fa’u. Lum.mafa ’Ilun.fa’u Lun.mafa, and as metrically

’Ilun.fa’u (two Sabab followed byWatad) and Lun.mafa (one Sabab followed by Watad)are=’Ilun.mafa and Lun.fa’u respectively,their Taf’il is effected by the same substitutionsas in ii. 5 and 6, and they become:

3. Basit, consisting oftwice

Mustaf.’ilun Fa.’ilunMustaf.’ilun Fa.’ilun,

in conformity with the classical scheme:

Thus one metre evolves from another by a kind of rotation,which suggested to the Prosodists an ingenious deviceof representing them by circles (hence the name Dairah),round the circumference of which on the outside thecomplete Taf’il of the original metre is written,while each moved letter is faced by a small loop,each quiescent by a small vertical stroke[FN#453] inside the circle. Then, in the case of thispresent Dairat al-Mukhtalif for instance, the loopcorresponding to the initial f of the first Fa’ulunis marked as the beginning of the Tawil, that correspondingto its l (of the Sabab fun) as the beginning of theMadid, and that corresponding to the ’Ayn ofthe next Mafa’ilun as the beginning of the Basit. The same process applies to all the following circles,but our limited space compels us simply to enumeratethem, together with their Buhur, without further referenceto the mode of their evolution.

B. Dairat al-Mutalif, circle of “the agreeing”metre, so called because all its feet agree in length,consisting of seven letters each. It contains:

1. Al-Wafir, composed of twice

Mufa.’alatunMufa.’alatun Mufa.’alatun (ii. 3)

where the Iambus in each foot precedes the Anapaest,and its reversal:

2. Al-Kamil, consisting of twice

Mutafa.’ilunMutafa.’ilun Mutafa.’ilun (ii. 8)

where the Anapaest takes the first place in everyfoot.

C. Dairat al-Mujtalab, circle of “the broughton” metre, so called because its seven-letteredfeet are brought on from the first circle.

1. Al-Hazaj, consisting of twice

Mafa.’ilunMafa.’ilun Mafa.’ilun (ii. 2)

2. Al-Rajaz, consisting of twice

Mustaf.’ilunMustaf.’ilun Mustaf.’ilun,

and, in this full form, almost identical with theIambic Trimeter of the Greek Drama:

3. Al-Ramal, consisting of twice

Fa.’ilatunFa.’ilatun Fa.’ilatun,

the trochaic counterpart of the preceding metre

D. Dairat al-Mushtabih, circle of “the intricate”metre, so called from its intricate nature, primarymingling with secondary feet, and one foot of thesame verse containing a Watad majmu’, anothera Watad mafruk, i.e. the iambic rhythm alternatingwith the trochaic and vice versa. Its Buhur are:

1. Al-Sari’, twice

2. Al-Munsarih, twice

3. Al-Khafif, twice

4. Al-Muzari’, twice

5. Al-Muktazib, twice

6. Al-Mujtass, twice

E. Dairat al-Muttafik, circle of “the concordant”metre, so called for the same reason why circle Bis called “the agreeing,” i.e. becausethe feet all harmonise in length, being here, however,quinqueliteral, not seven-lettered as in the Matalif. Al-Khalil the inventor of the ’’Ilm al-’Aruz,assigns to it only one metre:

1. Al-Mutakarib, twice

Later Prosodists added:

2. Al-Mutadarak, twice

The feet and metres as given above are, however, toa certain extent merely theoretical; in practice theformer admit of numerous licenses and the latter ofvariations brought about by modification or partialsuppression of the feet final in a verse. AnArabic poem (Kasidah, or if numbering less than tencouplets, Kat’ah) consists of Bayts or couplets,bound together by a continuous rhyme, which connectsthe first two lines and is repeated at the end ofevery second line throughout the poem. The lastfoot of every odd line is called ’Aruz (fem.in contradistinction of Aruz in the sense of Prosodywhich is masc.), pl. A’airiz, that of everyeven line is called Zarb, pl. Azrub, and theremaining feet may be termed Hashw (stuffing), althoughin stricter parlance a further distinction is madebetween the first foot of every odd and even line aswell.

Now with regard to the Hashw on the one hand, andthe ’Aruz and Zarb on the other, the changeswhich the normal feet undergo are of two kinds: Zuhaf (deviation) and ’Illah (defect). Zuhafapplies, as a rule, occasionally and optionally tothe second letter of a Sabab in those feet which composethe Hashw or body-part of a verse, making a longsyllable short by suppressing its quiescent final,or contracting two short quantities in a long one,by rendering quiescent a moved letter which standssecond in a Sabab sakil. In Mustaf’ilun(ii. 6. = — — U -), for instance, thes of the first syllable, or the f of the second, orboth may be dropped and it will become accordinglyMutaf’ilun, by substitution Mafa’ilun(U — U -), or Musta’ilun, by substitution,Mufta’ilun (- U U -), or Muta’ilun, bysubstitution Fa’ilatun (U U U -).[FN#454] Thismeans that wherever the foot Mustaf.’ilun occursin the Hashw of a poem, we can represent it by thescheme U U U — i.e. the Epitritus tertiuscan, by poetical licence, change into Diiambus, Choriambusor Paeon quartus. In Mufa’alatun (ii. 3.= U — U U -) and Mutafa’ilun (ii. 8. =U U — U -), again, the Sabab ’ala andmute may become khafif by suppression of their finalHarakah and thus turn into Mufa’altun, by substitutionMafa’ilun (ii. 2. = U — — -), andMutfa’ilun, by substitution Mustaf’ilun(ii 6.= — — U U as above). In otherwords the two feet correspond to the schemes U_U-U_and U-U-U-, where a Spondee can take the place ofthe Anapaest after or before the Iambus respectively.

’Illah, the second way of modifying the primitiveor normal feet, applies to both Sabab and Watad, butonly in the ’Aruz and Zarb of a couplet, beingat the same time constant and obligatory. Besidesthe changes already mentioned, it consists in addingone or two letters to a Sabab or Watad, or curtailingthem more or less, even to cutting them off altogether. We cannot here exhaust this matter any more than thosetouched upon until now, but must be satisfied withan example or two, to show the proceeding in generaland indicate its object.

We have seen that the metre Basit consists of thetwo lines:

Mustaf.’ilunFa.’ilun Mustaf’ilun Fa’ilun
Mustaf’ilunFa’ilun Mustaf’ilun Fa’ilun.

This complete form, however, is not in use amongstArab poets. If by the Zuhaf Khabn, here actingas ’Illah, the Alif in the final Fa’ilunis suppressed, changing it into Fa’ilun (U U-), it becomes the first ’Aruz, called makhbunah,of the Basit, the first Zarb of which is obtainedby submitting the final Fa’ilun of the secondline to the same process. A second Zarb results,if in Fa’ilun the final n of the ’Watad’ilun is cut off and the preceding l made quiescentby the ‘Illah Kat’ thus giving Fa’iland by substitution Fa’lun (- -). Thus theformula becomes:—­

Mustaf’ilun Fa’ilunMustaf’ilun Fa’ilun
Mustaf’ilun Fa’ilun Mustaf’ilun{Fa’ilun
{Fa’lun

As in the Hashw, i.e. the first three feet ofeach line, the Khabn can likewise be applied to themedial Fa’ilun, and for Mustaf’ilun thepoetical licences, explained above, may be introduced,this first ’Aruz or Class of the Basit with itstwo Zarb or subdivisions will be represented by thescheme

U U | U { U U —
— — U — | —U — { — —

that is to say in the first subdivision of this formof the Basit both lines of each couplet end with anAnapaest and every second line of the other subdivisionterminates in a Spondee.

The Basit has four more A’ariz, three calledmajzuah, because each line is shortened by a Juz orfoot, one called mashturah (halved), because the numberof feet is reduced from four to two, and we may herenotice that the former kind of lessening the numberof feet is frequent with the hexametrical circles (B. C. D.), while the latter kind can naturally only occurin those circles whose couplet forms an octameter(A. E.). Besides being majzuah, the second’Aruz is sahihah (perfect) consisting of thenormal foot Mustaf’ilun. It has three Azrub: 1. Mustaf’ilan (- — U -’, with an overlong final syllable, see supra p. 238),produced by the ’Illah Tazyil, i.e. additionof a quiescent letter at the end (Mustaf’ilunn,by substitution Mustaf’ilan); 2. Mustaf’ilun,like the ’Aruz; 3. Maf’ulun (- —-), produced by the ‘Illah Kat’ (see thepreceding page; Mustaf’ilun, by dropping thefinal n and making the l quiescent becomes Mustaf’iland by substitution Maf’ulun). Hence theformula is:

Mustaf’ilun Fa’ilunMustaf’ilun
{ Mustaf’il n
Mustaf’ilun Fa’ilun{ Mustaf’ilun
{ Maf’uulun,

which, with its allowable licenses, may be representedby the scheme:

{U U
U U | U { — —U —
— — U — | —U — { — — U —
{ U
{ — ——

The above will suffice to illustrate the general methodof the Prosodists, and we must refer the reader forthe remaining classes and subdivisions of the Basitas well as the other metres to more special treatiseson the subject, to which this Essay is intended merelyas an introduction, with a view to facilitate thefirst steps of the student in an important, but I fearsomewhat neglected, field of Arabic learning.

If we now turn to the poetical pieces contained inThe Nights, we find that out of the fifteen metres,known to al-Khalil, or the sixteen of later Prosodists,instances of thirteen occur in the Mac. N. edition,but in vastly different proportions. The totalnumber amounts to 1,385 pieces (some, however, repeatedseveral times), out of which 1,128 belong to the firsttwo circles, leaving only 257 for the remaining three. The same disproportionality obtains with regard tothe metres of each circle. The Mukhtalif is representedby 331 instances of Tawil and 330 of Basit against3 of Madid; the Mutalif by 321 instances of Kamilagainst 143 of Wafir; the Mujtalab by 32 instancesof Ramal and 30 of Rajaz against 1 of Hazaj; the Mushtabihby 72 instances of Khafif and 52 of Sari’ against18 of Munsarih and 15 of Mujtass; and lastly the Muttafikby 37 instances of Mutakarib. Neither the Mutadarak(E. 2), nor the Muzari’ and Muktazib (D. 4.5)are met with.

Finally it remains for me to quote a couplet of eachmetre, showing how to scan them, and what relationthey bear to the theoretical formulas exhibited onp. 242 to p. 247.

It is characteristic for the preponderance of theTawil over all the other metres, that the first fourlines, with which my alphabetical list begins, arewritten in it. One of these belongs to a poemwhich has for its author Baha al-Din Zuhayr (born A.D.1186 at Mekkah or in its vicinity, ob. 1249 at Cairo),and is to be found in full in Professor Palmer’sedition of his works, p. 164. Sir Richard Burtontranslates the first Bayt (vol. i. 290):

An I quit Cairo and her pleasances * Wherecan I hope to find so gladsome ways?

Professor Palmer renders it:

MustI leave Egypt where such joys abound?
Whatplace can ever charm me so again ?

In Arabic it scans:

In referring to iii. A. I. p. 242, it will beseen that in the Hashw Fa’ulun (U — -)has become Fa’ulu (U — U) by a Zuhaf calledKabz (suppression of the fifth letter of a foot ifit is quiescent) and that in the ’Aruz and ZarbMafa’ilun (U — — -) has changedinto Mafa’ilun (U — U -) by the same Zuhafacting as ’Illah. The latter alterationshows the couplet to be of the second Zarb of thefirst ’Aruz of the Tawil. If the secondline did terminate in Mafa’ilun, as in the originalscheme, it would be the first Zarb of the same ’Aruz;if it did end in Fa’ulun (U - -) or Mafa’il(U — -) it would represent the third or fourthsubdivision of this first class respectively. The Tawil has one other ’Aruz, Fa’ulun,with a twofold Zarb, either Fa’ulun also, orMafa’ilun.

The first instance of the Basit occurring in The Nightsare the lines translated vol. i. p. 25:

Containeth Time a twain of days, this of blessing,that of bane *
And holdeth Life a twainof halves, this of pleasure, that
of pain.

In Arabic (Mac. N. i. II):

Turning back to p. 243, where the A’ariz andAzrub of the Basit are shown, the student will haveno difficulty to recognise the Bayt as one belongingto the first Zarb of the first ’Aruz.

As an example of the Madid we quote the original ofthe lines (vol. v. 131):—­

I had a heart, and with it lived my life * ’Twasseared with fire
and burnt with loving-lowe.

They read in Arabic:—­

If we compare this with the formula (iii. A.2. p. 242), we find that either line of the coupletis shortened by a foot; it is, therefore, majzu. The first ’Aruz of this abbreviated metre isFa’ilatun (- U — -), and is called sahihah(perfect) because it consists of the normal thirdfoot. In the second ’Aruz, Fa’ilatunloses its end syllable tun by the ’Illah Hafz(suppression of a final Sabab khafif), and becomesFa’ila (- U -), for which Fa’ilun is substituted. Shortening the first syllable of Fa’ilun, i.e.eliminating the Alif by Khabn, we obtain the third’Aruz Fa’ilun (U U -) as that of the presentlines, which has two Azrub: Fa’ilun, likethe ’Aruz, and Fa’lun (- -), here, againby Khabn, further reduced to Fa’al (U -).

Ishak of Mosul, who improvises the piece, calls it“so difficult and so rare, that it went nighto deaden the quick and to quicken the dead”;indeed, the native poets consider the metre Madid asthe most difficult of all, and it is scarcely everattempted by later writers. This accounts forits rare occurrence in The Nights, where only twomore instances are to be found, Mac. N. ii. 244and iii. 404.

The second and third circle will best be spoken oftogether, as the Wafir and Kamil have a natural affinityto the Hazaj and Rajaz. Let us revert to theline:—­

Translated, as it were, into the language of the Prosodistsit will be:—­

Mafa’ilun[FN#456]’Mafa’ilun Fa’ulun,

and this, standing by itself, might prima facie betaken for a line of the Hazaj (iii. C. I), withthe third Mafa’ilun shortened by Hafz (see above)into Mafa’i for which Fa’ulun would besubstituted. We have seen (p. 247) that and howthe foot Mufa’alatun can change into Mafa’ilun,and if in any poem which otherwise would belong tothe metre Hazaj, the former measure appears even inone foot only along with the latter, it is consideredto be the original measure, and the poem counts nolonger as Hazaj but as Wafir. In the piece nowunder consideration, it is the second Bayt where thecharacteristic foot of the Wafir first appears:—­

Anglice (vol. iii. 296):—­

Far lies the camp and those who camp therein; * Faris her tent
shrine where I ne’ershall tent.

It must, however, be remarked that the Hazaj is notin use as a hexameter, but only with an ’Aruzmajzuah or shortened by one foot. Hence it isonly in the second ’Aruz of the Wafir, whichis likewise majzuah, that the ambiguity as to thereal nature of the metre can arise;[FN#457] and theisolated couplet:—­

Man wills his wish to him accorded be, * But Allahnaught accords
save what he wills (vol.iv. 157),

being hexametrical, forms undoubtedly part of a poemin Wafir although it does not contain the foot Mufa’alatunat all. Thus the solitary instance of Hazaj inThe Nights is Abu Nuwas’ abomination, beginningwith:—­

Fa-latas’au ila ghayri

Steer ye your steps to none but me * Who have a mineof luxury
(vol. v. 65).

If in the second ’Aruz of the Wafir, Maf’ailun(U — — -) is further shortened to Mafa’ilun(U — U -), the metre resembles the second ’Aruzof Rajaz, where, as we have seen, the latter footcan, by licence, take the place of the normal Mustaf’ilun(- — U -).

The Kamil bears a similar relation to the Rajaz, asthe Wafir bears to the Hazaj. By way of illustrationwe quote from Mac. N. ii. 8 the first two Baytsof a little poem taken from the 23rd Assembly of AlHariri:—­

In Sir Richard Burton’s translation (vol. iii.319):—­

O thou who woo’st a World unworthy, learn *’Tis house of evils,
’tis Perdition’snet:
A house where whoso laughs this day shall weep * Thenext; then
perish house of fumeand fret.

The ’Aruz of the first couplet is Mutafa’ilun,assigning the piece to the first or perfect (sahihah)class of the Kamil. In the Hashw of the openingline and in that of the whole second Bayt this normalMutafa’ilun has, by licence, become Mustaf’ilun,and the same change has taken place in the ’Aruzof the second couplet; for it is a peculiarity whichthis metre shares with a few others, to allow certainalterations of the kind Zuhaf in the ’Aruz andZarb as well as in the Hashw. This class has threesubdivisions: the Zarb of the first is Mutafa’ilun,like the ’Aruz the Zarb of the second is Fa’alatun(U U — -), a substitution for Mutafa’ilwhich latter is obtained from Mutafa’ilun bysuppressing the final n and rendering the l quiescent;the Zarb of the third is Fa’lun (- — -)for Mutfa, derived from Mutafa’ilun by cuttingoff the Watad ’ilun and dropping the mediala of the remaining Mutafa.

If we make the ’Ayn of the second Zarb Fa’alatunalso quiescent by the permitted Zuhaf Izmar, it changesinto Fa’latun, by substitution Maf ’ulun(- — -) which terminates the rhyming lines ofthe foregoing quotation. Consequently the twocouplets taken together, belong to the second Zarbof the first ’Aruz of the Kamil, and the metreof the poem with its licences may be represensed bythe scheme:

Taken isolated, on the other hand, the second Baytmight be of the metre Rajaz, whose first ’AruzMustaf’ilun has two Azrub: one equal tothe Aruz, the other Maf’ulun as above, but heresubstituted for Mustaf’il after applying the‘Illah Kat’ (see p 247) to Mustaf’ilun. If this were the metre of the poem throughout thescheme with the licences peculiar to the Rajaz wouldbe:

The pith of Al-Hariri’s Assembly is that theknight errant not to say the arrant wight of the Romance,Abu Sayd of Saruj accuses before the Wali of Baghdadhis pretended pupil, in reality his son, to have appropriateda poem of his by lopping off two feet of every Bayt. If this is done in the quoted lines, they read:

with a different rhyme and of a different variationof metre. The amputated piece belongs to thefourth Zarb of the third ’Aruz of Kamil, andits second couplet tallies with the second subdivisionof the second class of Rajaz.

The Rajaz, an iambic metre pure and simple, is themost popular, because the easiest, in which even theProphet was caught napping sometimes, at the dangerousrisk of following the perilous leadership of Imru’l-Kays. It is the metre of improvisation,of ditties, and of numerous didactic poems. Inthe latter case, when the composition is called Urjuzah,the two lines of every Bayt rhyme, and each Bayt hasa rhyme of its own. This is the form in which,for instance, Ibn Malik’s Alfiyah is written,as well as the remarkable grammatical work of themodern native scholar, Nasif al-Yaziji, of which anotice will be found in Chenery’s Introductionto his Translation of Al-Hariri.

While the Hazaj and Rajaz connect the third circlewith the first and second, the Ramal forms the linkbetween the third and fourth Dairah. Its measureFa’ilatun (- U — -) and the reversal ofit, Maf’ulatu (- — — U), affectthe trochaic rhythm, as opposed to the iambic of thetwo first-named metres. The iambic movement hasa ring of gladness about it, the trochaic a wail ofsadness: the former resembles a nimble pedestrian,striding apace with an elastic step and a cheerfulheart; the latter is like a man toiling along on thedesert path, where his foot is ever and anon slidingback in the burning sand (Raml, whence probably thename of the metre). Both combined in regularalternation, impart an agitated character to the verse,admirably fit to express the conflicting emotionsof a passion stirred mind.

Examples of these more or less plaintive and patheticmetres are numerous in the Tale of Uns al-Wujud andthe Wazir’s Daughter, which, being throughouta story of love, as has been noted, vol. v. 33, aboundsin verse, and, in particular, contains ten out ofthe thirty two instances of Ramal occurring in TheNights. We quote:

Ramal, first Zarb of the first ’Aruz (Mac. N. ii. 361):

The Bulbul’s note, whenas dawn is nigh * Tellsthe lover from strains of strings to fly (vol. v.48).

Sari’, second Zarb of the first ’Aruz(Mac. N. ii. 359):

I heard a ringdove chanting soft and plaintively,* “I thank
Thee, O Eternal forthis misery” (vol. v. 47).

Khafif, full or perfect form (sahih), both in Zarband ’Aruz
(Mac. N. ii. 356):

O to whom now of my desire complaining sore shallI * Bewail my
parting from my ferecompelled thus to fly (vol. v. 44).

Mujtass, the only ’Aruz (majzuah sahihah, i.e.shortened by one foot and perfect) with equal Zarb(Mac. N. ii. 367):

To me restore my dear * I want not wealth untold (vol.v. 55).

As an instance of the Munsarih, I give the secondoccurring in The Nights, because it affords me anopportunity to show the student how useful a knowledgeof the laws of Prosody frequently proves for ascertainingthe correct reading of a text. Mac. N. i.33 we find the line:

This would be Rajaz with the licence Mufta’ilunfor Mustaf’ilun. But the following linesof the fragment evince, that the metre is Munsarih;hence, a clerical error must lurk somewhere in thesecond foot. In fact, on page 833 of the samevolume, we find the piece repeated, and here the firstcouplet reads

Four things which ne’er conjoin unless it be* To storm my vitals
and to shed my blood(vol. iii. 237).

The Mutakarib, the last of the metres employed inThe Nights, has gained a truly historical importanceby the part which it plays in Persian literature. In the form of trimetrical double-lines, with a severalrhyme for each couplet, it has become the “Nibelungen'-stanzaof the Persian epos: Firdausi’s immortal“Book of Kings” and Nizami’s Iskander-namahare written in it, not to mention a host of Masnawisin which Sufic mysticism combats Mohammedan orthodoxy. On account of its warlike and heroical character,therefore, I choose for an example the knightly Jamrakan’schallenge to the single fight in which he conquershis scarcely less valiant adversary Kaurajan, Mac. N. iii. 296:

Here the third syllable of the second foot in eachline is shortened by licence, and the final Kasrahof the first line, standing in pause, is long, themetre being the full form of the Mutakarib as exhibitedp. 246, iii. E. 1. If we suppress the Kasrahof al-Janani, which is also allowable in pause, andmake the second line to rhyme with the first, saying,for instance:

U — — | U— U | U — — | U —
Ana ’l-Jamrakanu kawiyyu ’l-janan

U — — | U— — | U — — | U —
La-yaksha kitali shija’u ’l-zaman,

we obtain the powerful and melodious metre in whichthe Shahnamah sings of Rustam’s lofty deeds,of the tender love of Rudabah and the tragic downfallof Siyawush

Shall I confess that in writing the foregoing pagesit has been my ambition to become a conqueror, ina modest way, myself: to conquer, I mean, theprejudice frequently entertained, and shared evenby my accomplished countryman, Rueckert, that ArabicProsody is a clumsy and repulsive doctrine. Ihave tried to show that it springs naturally fromthe character of the language, and, intimately connected,as it is, with the grammatical system of the Arabs,it appears to me quite worthy of the acumen of a people,to whom, amongst other things, we owe the inventionof Algebra, the stepping-stone of our whole modernsystem of Mathematics I cannot refrain, therefore,from concluding with a little anecdote anent al-Khalil,which Ibn Khallikan tells in the following words. His son went one day into the room where his fatherwas, and on finding him scanning a piece of poetryby the rules of Prosody he ran out and told the peoplethat his father had lost his wits. They wentin immediately and related to al-Khalil what theyhad heard, on which he addressed his son in theseterms:

“Had you known what I was saying, you wouldhave excused me, and had you known what you said,I should have blamed you But you did not understandme, so you blamed me, and I knew that you were ignorant,so I pardoned you.”

L’Envoi.

Here end, to my sorrow, the labours of a quarter-century,and here I must perforce say with the “poets’Poet,”

“Behold! I see thehaven nigh at hand,
To which I mean my wearie course to bend;
Vere the main shete, and bear up with theland
The which afore is fairly to be ken’d.”

Nothing of importance now indeed remains for me butbriefly to estimate the character of my work and totake cordial leave of my readers, thanking them forthe interest they have accorded to these volumes andfor enabling me thus successfully to complete thedecade.

Without pudor malus or over-diffidence I would claimto have fulfilled the promise contained in my Foreword. The anthropological notes and notelets, which notonly illustrate and read between the lines of thetext, but assist the student of Moslem life and ofArabo-Egyptian manners, customs and language in amultitude of matters shunned by books, form a repertoryof Eastern knowledge in its esoteric phase, sexualas well as social.

To assert that such lore is unnecessary is to state,as every traveller knows, an “absurdum.” Few phenomena are more startling than the vision ofa venerable infant, who has lived half his long lifein the midst of the wildest anthropological vagariesand monstrosities, and yet who absolutely ignores allthat India or Burmah enacts under his very eyes. This is crass ignorance, not the naive innocence ofSaint Francis who, seeing a man and a maid in a darkcorner, raised his hands to Heaven and thanked theLord that there was still in the world so much of ChristianCharity.

Against such lack of knowledge my notes are a protest;and I may claim success despite the difficulty ofthe task. A traveller familiar with Syria andPalestine, Herr Landberg, writes, “La plumerefuserait son service, la langue serait insuffisante,si celui qui connait la vie de tous les jours desOrientaux, surtout des classes elevees, voulait ladevoiler. L’Europe est bien loin d’enavoir la moindre idee.”

In this matter I have done my best, at a time toowhen the hapless English traveller is expected towrite like a young lady for young ladies, and neverto notice what underlies the most superficial stratum. And I also maintain that the free treatment of topicsusually taboo’d and held to be “alekta”—­unknownand unfitted for publicity—­will be a nationalbenefit to an “Empire of Opinion,” whosevery basis and buttresses are a thorough knowledgeby the rulers of the ruled. Men have been crownedwith gold in the Capitol for lesser services renderedto the Respublica.

That the work contains errors, shortcomings and manya lapsus, I am the first and foremost to declare. Yet in justice to myself I must also notice that themaculae are few and far between; even the most unfriendlyand interested critics have failed to point out anabnormal number of slips. And before pronouncingthe “Vos plaudite!” or, as Easterns morepolitely say, “I implore that my poor name maybe raised aloft on the tongue of praise,” letme invoke the fair field and courteous favour whichthe Persian poet expected from his readers.

(Veilit, an fault thou find, nor jibe nor jeer:—­
Nonemay be found of faults and failings clear!)

Richard F. Burton.

Athenaeum Club, September 30, ’86.

Appendix

Memorandum

I make no apology for the number and extent of bibliographicaland other lists given in this Appendix: they maycumber the book but they are necessary to completemy design. This has been to supply throughoutthe ten volumes the young Arabist and student of Orientalismand Anthropology with such assistance as I can renderhim; and it is my conviction that if with the aid ofthis version he will master the original text of the“Thousand Nights and a Night,” he willfind himself at home amongst educated men in Egyptand Syria, Najd and Mesopotamia, and be able to conversewith them like a gentleman; not, as too often happensin Anglo-India, like a “Ghorawala” (groom). With this object he will learn by heart what instinctand inclination suggest of the proverbs and instances,the verses, the jeux d’esprit and especiallythe Koranic citations scattered about the text; andmy indices will enable him to hunt up the tale orthe verses which he may require for quotation wvenwhen writing an ordinary letter to a “native”correspondent. Thus he will be spared the wastedlabour of wading through volumes in order to pick upa line.

The following is the list of indices:—­

Appendix I.

I. Index to the Tales in the ten Volumes.
II. Alphabetical Table of the Notes (Anthropological,etc.)
prepared by F. Steingass,Ph.D.
Iii. Alphabetical Table of First Lines (metricalportion) in
English and Arabic,prepared by Dr. Steingass.
IV. Tables of Contents of the various Arabictexts.
A. The UnfinishedCalcutta Edition (1814-18).
B. The Breslau Text(1825-43) from Mr. Payne’s Version.
C. The MacNaghtenor Turner-Macan Text (A.D. 1839-42) and
theBulak Edition (A.H. 1251 = A.D. 1835-36), from Mr.
Payne’sVersion.
D. The same with Mr.Lane’s and my Version.

Appendix ii.

Contributions to the Bibliography of the Thousandand One Nights, and their Imitations, with a Tableshewing the contents of the principal editions andtranslations of The Nights. By W. F. Kirby,Author of “Ed-Dimiryaht, and Oriental Romance”;“The New Arabian Nights,” $c.

Appendix I

Index I

Index to the Tales andProper Names.

N.B.—­The Roman numerals denote the volume{page numbers have been omitted}

Abdullah the Fisherman and Abdullah the Merman, ix.
Abdullah bin Fazl and his brothers, ix.
Abdullah bin Ma’amar with the Man of Bassorahand his slave-girl,
v.
Abd al-Rahman the Moor’s story of the Rukh,v.
Abu Hasan al-Ziyadi and the Khorasan Man, iv.
Abu Hasan, how he brake Wind, v.
Abu Isa and Kurrat al-Aye, The Loves of, v.
Abu Ja’afar the Leper, Abu al-Hasan al-Durrajand, v.
Abu Kir the Dyer and Abu Sir the Barber, ix.
Abu al-Aswad and his squinting slave-girl, v.
Abu al Husn and his slave-girl Tawaddud, v.
Abu al Hasan al-Durraj and Abu Ja’afar the Leper,v.
Abu al Hasan of Khorasan, ix.
Abu Mohammed highs Lazybones, iv.
Abu Nowas, Harun al-Rashid with the damsel and, iv.
Abu Nowas and the Three Boys, v.
Abu Sir the Barber, Abu Kir the Dyer and, ix.
Abu Suwayd and the handsome old woman, v.
Abu Yusuf with Harun al-Rashid and his Wazir Ja’afar,The Imam,
iv.
Abu Yusuf with Al-Rashid and Zubaydah, The Imam, iv.
Adam, The Birds and Beasts and the Son of, iii.
Adi bin Zayd and the Princess Hind, v.
Ajib, The History of Gharib and his brother, vi.
Ala al-Din Abu al-Shamat, iv.
Alexandria (The Sharper of) and the Master of Police,iv.
Ali bin Bakkar and Shams al-Nahar, iii.
Ali of Cairo, The Adventures of Mercury, vii.
Ali Nur al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-Girl, viii.
Ali the Persian and the Kurd Sharper, iv.
Ali Shar and Zumurrud, iv.
Ali bin Tahir and the girl Muunis, v.
Al Malik al-Nasir (Saladin) and the Three Chiefs ofPolice, iv.
Almsgiving, The Woman whose hands were cut off for,iv.
Amin (Al-) and his uncle Ibrahim bin al-Mahdi, v.
Anushirwan, Kisra, and the village damsel, v.
Anushirwan, The Righteousness of King, v.
Angel of Death and the King of the Children of Israel,The, v
Angel of Death with the Proud King and the DevoutMan, The, v.
Angel of Death and the Rich King, The, v.
Anis al-Jalis, Nur al-Din Ali and the damsel, ii.
Ape, The King’s daughter and the, iv.
Apples, The Three, i.
Arab Girl, Harun al-Rashid and the, vii.
Arab Youth, The Caliph Hisham and the, iv.
Ardashir and Hayat al-Nufus, vii.
Asma’i (Al-) and the three girls of Bassorah,vii.
Ass, The Ox and the, i.
Ass, The Wild, The Fox and, ix.
Ayishah, Musab bin al-Zubayr and his wife, v.
Aziz and Azizah, Tale of, ii.
Azizah, Aziz and. ii.
Badawi, Ja’afar the Barmecide and the old, v.
Badawi, Omar bin al-Khattab and the young, v.
Badawi, and his Wife, The, vii.
Badi’a al-Jamal, Sayf al-Muluk and, vii.
Badr Basim of Persia, Julnar the Sea-born, and herSon King, vii.
Badr al-Din Hasan, Nur al-Din Ali of Cairo and hisson, i.
Baghdad, The Haunted House in, v.
Baghdad, Khalifah the Fisherman of, viii.
Baghdad, The Porter and the Three Ladies of, i.
Baghdad, (The ruined man of) and his slave-girl, ix.
Baghdad, The Sweep and the noble Lady of, iv.
Bakun’s Story of the Hashish-Eater, ii.
Banu Tayy, The Lovers of the, v.
Banu Ozrah, The Lovers of the, v.
Barber’s Tale of himself, The, i.
Barber’s First Brother, Story of the, i.
Barber’s Second Brother, Story of the, i
Barber’s Third Brother, Story of the, i.
Barber’s Fourth Brother, Story of the, i.
Barber’s Fifth Brother, Story of the, i.
Barber’s Sixth Brother, Story of the, i.
Barber, Abu Kir the Dyer and Abu Sir the, ix.
Barber-Surgeon, Ibrahim bin al-Mahdi and the, iv.
Barmecide. Ja’afar the, and the old Badawi,v
Bassorah (the man of ) and his slave-girl, Abdullahbin Ma’amar
with, v.
Bassorah, Al-Asma’i and the three girls of,vii.
Bassorah, (Hasan of) and the King’s daughterof the Jinn, viii.
Bassorah, The Lovers of, vii.
Bath, Harun al-Rashid and Zubaydah in the, v.
Bathkeeper’s Wife, The Wazir’s Son andthe, vi.
Beanselller, Ja’afar the Barmecide and the,iv.
Bear, Wardan the Butcher’s adventure with theLady and the, iv.
Beasts and the Son of Adam, The Birds and, iii.
Behram, Prince of Persia, and the Princess Al-Datma,vi.
Belvedere, The House with the, vi.
Birds and Beasts and the Carpenter, The, iii.
Birds, The Falcon and the, iii.
Birds (the Speech of), The page who feigned to know,vi.
Black Slave, The pious, v.
Blacksmith who could handle fire without hurt, The,v.
Blind Man and the Cripple, The, ix.
Boys, Abu Nowas and the Three, v.
Boy and Girl at School, The Loves of the, v.
Boy and the Thieves, The, ix.
Boy (The woman who had to lover a) and the other whohad to lover
a man, v.
Brass, The City of, vi.
Broker’s Story, The Christian, i.
Budur and Jubayr bin Umayr, The Loves of, iv.
Budur, Kamar al-Zaman and, iii.
Bukhayt, Story of the Eunuch, ii.
Bulak Police, Story of the Chief of the, iv.
Bull and the Ass (Story of), i.
Bulukiya, Adventures of, v.
Butcher’s adventure with the Lady and the Bear,Wardan the, iv.
Butter, The Fakir and his pot of, ix.
Cairo (New) Police, Story of the Chief of the, iv.
Cairo (Old) Police, Story of the Chief of the, iv.
Cairo, The Adventures of Mercury Ali of, vii.
Caliph Al-Maamun and the Strange Doctor, iv.
Caliph, The mock, iv.
Cashmere Singing-girl, The Goldsmith and the, vi.
Cat and the Crow, The, iii.
Cat and the Mouse, The, ix.
Champion (The Moslem) and the Christian Lady, v.
Chaste Wife, The Rake’s Trick against the, vi.
Christian Broker’s Story, The, i.
City of Labtayt, The, vi.
Cloud (The saint to whom Allah gave a) to serve him,v.
Cobbler (Ma’aruf the) and his wife Fatimah,x.
Confectioner, his Wife and the Parrot, The, vi.
Crab, The Fishes and the, ix.
Craft and Malice of Women, The, vi.
Cripple, The Blind Man and the, ix.
Crow, The Fox and the, iii.
Crow and the Serpent, The, ix.
Crow, The Cat and the, iii.
Crows and the Hawk, The, ix.
Dalilah the Crafty and her daughter Zaynab the Coney-catcher,The
Rogueries of, vii.
Datma (The Princess Al-), Prince Behram of Persiaand, vi.
Death (The Angel of) and the King of the Childrenof Israel, v.
Death (The Angel of) with the Proud King and the DevoutMan, v.
Death (The Angel of) and the Rich King, v.
Debauchee and the Three-year-old Child, The, vi.
Desert (The old woman who dwelt in the) and the pilgrim,v.
Device (The Wife’s) to cheat her husband, vi.
Devil, Ibrahim of Mosul and the, vii.
Devil, Isaac of Mosul and his mistress and the, vii.
Devout Israelite, The, iv.
Devout Tray-maker and his wife, The, v.
Devout Prince, The, v.
Devout woman and the two wicked elders, The, v.
Dibil al-Khazai and Muslim bin al-Walid, v.
Dish of Gold, The man who stole the Dog’s, iv.
Doctor (The strange) and the Caliph Al-Maamun, iv
Dog’s Dish of Gold, The man who stole the, iv.
Dream, The ruined man who became rich through a, iv.
Drop of Honey, The, vi.
Duban, The Physician, i.
Dunya, Taj al-Muluk and the Princess, ii.
Durraj (Abu al-Hasan al-) and Abu Ja’afar theLeper, v.
Dust, The woman who made her husband sift, vi.
Dyer, Abu Sir the Barber and Abu Kir the, ix
Eagle, The Sparrow and the, iii.
Ebony Horse, The, v.
Egypt (The man of Upper) and his Frankish wife, ix.
Elders, The Devout woman and the two wicked, v.
Eldest Lady’s Story, The, i.
Enchanted Spring, The, vi.
Enchanted Youth, The, i.
Envied, The Envier and the, i.
Envier and the Envied, The, i.
Eunuch Bukhayt, Tale of the, ii.
Eunuch Kafur, Tale of the, ii.
Fakir and his jar of butter, The, ix.
Falcon and the Partridge, The, iii.
Falcon, King Sindibad and his, i.
Fatimah, Ma’aruf the Cobbler and his wife, x.
Fath bin Khakan (Al-) and Al-Mutawakkil, v.
Ferryman of the Nile and the Hermit, The, v.
First Old Man’s Story, i.
Fisherman, Abdullah the Merman and Abdullah the, ix.
Fisherman of Baghdad, Khalifah the, viii.
Fisherman, The Foolish, ix.
Fisherman and the Jinni, The, i.
Fisherman, Khusrau and Shirin and the, v.
Fishes and the Crab, The, ix.
Five Suitors, The Lady and her, vi.
Flea and the Mouse, The, iii.
Folk, The Fox and the, vi.
Forger, Yahya bin Khalid and the, iv.
Fox and the Crow, The, iii.
Fox and the Folk, The, vi.
Fox, The Wolf and the, iii.
Francolin and the Tortoises, The, ix.
Frank King’s Daughter, Ali Nur al-Din and the,viii.
Frank wife, The man of Upper Egypt and his, ix.
Fuller and his son, The, vi.
Generous friend, The poor man and his, iv.
Ghanim bin Ayyub the Thrall o’ Love, ii.
Gharib and his brother Ajib, The History of, vi.
Girl, Harun al-Rashid and the Arab, vii.
Girl at School, The Loves of the Boy and, v.
Girls of Bassorah, Al-Asma’i and the three,vii.
Girls, Harun al-Rashid and the three, v.
Girls, Harun al-Rashid, and the two, v.
Goldsmith and the Cashmere Singing Girl, The, vi.
Goldsmith’s wife, The water-carrier and the,v.
Hajjaj (Al-) Hind daughter of Al Nu’uman and,vii.
Hajjaj (Al-) and the pious man, v.
Hakim (The Caliph Al-) and the Merchant, v.
Hammad the Badawi, Tale of, ii.
Hariri (Al ) Abu Zayd’s lament for his impotency. Final Note to
vol. viii
Harun al-Rashid and the Arab girl, vii.
Harun al-Rashid and the Slave-Girl and the Imam AbuYusuf, iv.
Harun al-Rashid with the Damsel and Abu Nowas, iv.
Harun al-Rashid and Abu Hasan the Merchant of Oman,ix.
Harun al-Rashid and the three girls, v.
Harun al-Rashid and the two girls, v.
Harun al-Rashid and the three poets, v.
Harun al-Rashid and Zubaydah in the Bath, v.
Hashish-Eater, Bakun’s tale of the, ii.
Hasan of Bassorah and the King’s daughter ofthe Jinn, vii.
Hasan, King Mohammed bin Sabaik and the Merchant,vii.
Hatim al-Tayyi: his generosity after death, iv.
Haunted House in Baghdad, The, v.
Hawk, The Crows and the, ix.
Hayat al-Nufus, Ardashir and, vii.
Hedgehog and the wood Pigeons, The, iii.
Hermit, The Ferryman of the Nile and the, v.
Hermits, The, iii.
Hind, Adi bin Zayd and the Princess, v.
Hind daughter of Al-Nu’uman and Al-Hajjaj, vii.
Hind (King Jali’ad of ) and his Wazir Shimas,ix.
Hisham and the Arab Youth, The Caliph, iv.
Honey, The Drop of, vi.
Horse, The Ebony, v.
House with the Belvedere, The, vi.
Hunchback’s Tale, The, i.
Husband and the Parrot, The, i.
Ibn al-Karibi, Masrur and, v.
Ibrahim al-Khawwas and the Christian King’sDaughter, v.
Ibrahim.bin al-Khasib and Jamilah, ix.
Ibrahim.of Mosul and the Devil, vii.
Ibrahim.bin al-Mahdi and Al-Amin, v.
Ibrahim.bin al-Mahdi and the Barber Surgeon, iv.
Ibrahim.bin al-Mahdi and the Merchant’s Sister,iv.
Ifrit’s mistress and the King’s Son, The,vi.
Ignorant man who set up for a Schoolmaster, The, v.
Ikrimah al-Fayyaz, Khuzaymah bin Bishr and, vii.
Imam Abu Yusuf with Al-Rashid and Zubaydah, The, iv.
Introduction. Story of King Shahryar and hisbrother, i.
Iram, The City of, iv.
Isaac of Mosul’s Story of Khadijah and the CaliphMaamun, iv.
Isaac of Mosul and the Merchant, v.
Isaac of Mosul and his Mistress and the Devil, vii.
Island, The King of the, v.
Iskandar Zu Al-Karnayn and a certain Tribe of poorfolk, v.
Israelite, The Devout, iv.
Jackals and the Wolf, The, ix.
Ja’afar the Barmecide and the Beanseller, iv.
Ja’afar the Barmecide and the old Badawi, v.
Ja’afar bin al-Had), Mohammed al-Amin, and,v.
Jamilah, Ibrahim bin al-Khasib, and, ix.
Janshah, The Story of, v.
Jali’ad of Hind and his Wazir Shimas, King,ix.
Jeweller’s Wife, Kamar al-Zaman and the, ix.
Jewish Kazi and his pious Wife, The, v.
Jewish Doctor’s Tale, The, i.
Jinni, The Fisherman and the, i.
Jinni, The Trader and the, i.
Jubayr bin Umayr and Budur, The Loves of, iv.
Judar and his brethren, vi.
Julnar the Sea-born and her son King Badr Basim ofPersia, vii.
Justice of Providence, The, v.
Kafur, Story of the Eunuch, ii.
Kalandar’s Tale, The first, i.
Kalandar’s Tale The second, i.
Kalandar’s Tale The third, i.
Kamar al-Zaman and Budur, iii.
Kamar al-Zaman and the Jeweller’s Wife, ix.
Kazi, the Jewish, and his pious wife, v.
Khadijah and the Caliph Maamun, Isaac of Mosul’sStory of, iv.
Khalif the Fisherman of Baghdad (note from Bresl. Edit.), viii.
Khalifah the Fisherman of Baghdad, viii.
Khawwas (Ibrahim al-) and the Christian King’sdaughter,v.
Khorasan, Abu Hasan al-Ziyadi and the man from, iv.
Khorasan, Abu al-Hasan of, ix.
Khusrau and Shirin and the Fisherman, v.
Khuzaymah bin Bishr and Ikrimah al-Fayyaz, vii.
King Jali’ad, Shimas his Wazir and his son WirdKhan, ix.
King of the Island, The, v.
King and the Pilgrim Prince, The Unjust, ix.
King and the virtuous wife, The, v.
King and his Wazir’s wife, The, vi.
King’s Daughter and the Ape, The, iv.
King’s son and the Ifrit’s Mistress, The,vi.
King’s son and the Merchant’s Wife, The,vi.
King’s son and the Ghulah, The, vi.
Kings, The Two, ix.
Kisra Anushirwan and the Village Damsel,v.
Kurd Sharper, Ali the Persian and the, iv.
Kurrat al-Aye and Abu Isa, v.
Kus Police and the Sharper, Chief of the, iv
Labtayt, The City of, iv.
Lady of Baghdad, The Sweep and the noble, iv.
Lady’s Story, The Eldest, i.
Lady and her five suitors, The, vi.
Do. and her two Lovers, The, vi.
Ladies of Baghdad, The Porter and the Three, i.
Laughed again, The man who never, vi.
Lazybones, Abu Mohammed highs, iv.
Leper, Abu al-Hasan al-Durraj and Abu Ja’afarthe, v.
Lover, The mad, v.
Lover who feigned himself a thief (to save his mistress’honour),
The, iv.
Lover’s trick against the chaste Wife, The,vi.
Lovers of Bassorah, The, vii.
Lovers of the Banu Tayy, The, v.
Lovers of the Banu Ozrah, The, v.
Lovers The Lady and her two, vi.
Lovers of Al-Medinah, The, vii.
Lovers The Three unfortunate, v.
Loves of the Boy and Girl at School, The, v.
Loves of Abu Isa and Kurrat al-Ayn, The, v.
Maamun, Isaac of Mosul’s Story of Khadijah andthe Caliph, iv.
Maamun (Al-) and the Pyramids of Egypt, v.
Maamun and the strange Scholar, The Caliph, iv.
Ma’an bin Zaidah and the Badawi, iv.
Ma’an the son of Zaidah and the Three Girls,iv.
Mad Lover, The, vii.
Magic Horse, The, v.
Mahbubah, Al-Mutawakkil and his favourite, iv.
Malik al-Nasir (Al-) and the three Masters of Police,iv.
Malik al-Nasir and his Wazir, vii.
Man and his Wife, The, ix.
Man who never laughed during the rest of his days,The, vi.
Man (The Woman who had to lover a ) and the otherwho had to
lover a boy, v.
Man of Upper Egypt and his Frankish Wife, ix.
Man of Al-Yaman and his six Slave-girls, iv.
Man who stole the dog’s dish of gold, iv.
Man who saw the Night of Power (Three Wishes), vi.
Man’s dispute with the learned Woman about boysand girls, v.
Ma’aruf the Cobb]er and his wife Fatimah, x.
Mansur, Yahya bin Khalid and, iv.
Masrur and Ibn al-Karibi, v.
Masrur and Zayn al-Mawasif, viii.
Medinah (Al-), The Lovers of, vii.
Merchant of Oman, The, ix.
Merchant and the Robbers, The, ix.
Merchant and the two Sharpers, The, iii.
Merchant’s Sister, Ibrahim bin al-Mahdi andthe, iv.
Merchant’s Wife, The King’s son and the,vi.
Merchant’s Wife and the Parrot, The, i.
Mercury Ali of Cairo, The Adventures of, vii.
Merman, and Abdullah the Fisherman, Abdullah the,ix.
Miller and his wife, The, v.
Miriam, Ali Nur alDin and, viii.
Miser and Loaves of Bread, The, vi.
Mock Caliph, The, iv.
Mohammed al-Amin and Ja’afar bin al-Had), v.
Mohammed bin Sabaik and the Merchant Hasan, King,vii.
Money changer, The Thief and the, iv.
Monkey, The Thief and his, iii.
Moslem Champion and the Christian Lady, The, v.
Mouse, The, and the Cat, ix.
Mouse and the Flea, The, iii.
Mouse and the Ichneumon, The, iii.
Munnis, Ali bin Tahir and the girl, v.
Musab bin al-Zubayr and Ayishah his wife, v.
Muslim bin al-Walid and Dibil al-Khuzai, v.
Mutawakkil (Al-) and Al-Fath bin Khakan, v.
Mutawakkil and his favourite Mahbubah, iv.
Mutalammis (Al-) and his wife Umaymah, v.
Naomi, Ni’amah bin al-Rabi’a and his Slave-girl;iv.
Nazarene Broker’s Story, The, i.
Necklace, The Stolen, vi.
Niggard and the Loaves of Bread, The, vi.
Night of Power, The man who saw the, vi.
Nile (The Ferryman of the ) and the Hermit, v.
Ni’amah bin al-Rabi’a and Naomi his Slave-girl,iv.
Nur al-Din Ali and the damsel Anis al-Jalis, ii.
Nur al-Din of Cairo and his son Badr al-Din Hasan,i.
Ogress, The King’s Son and the, vi.
Old Man’s Story, The First, i.
Old Man’s Story The Second, i.
Old Man’s Story The Third, i.
Old Woman, Abu Suwayd and the handsome, v.
Omar bin al-Nu’uman and his Sons Sharrkan andZau al-Makan, The
Tale of King, ii.
Omar bin al-Khattab and the young Badawi, v.
Oman, The Merchant of, ix.
Otbah and Rayya, vii.
Page who feigned to know the speech of birds, The,vi.
Paradise, The Apples of, v.
Parrot, The Merchant’s wife and the, i.
Partridge, The Hawk and the, iii.
Peacock, The Sparrow and the, iii.
Persian and the Kurd Sharper, Ali the, iv.
Physician Duban, The, i.
Physician’s Story, The Jewish, i.
Pilgrim and the old woman who dwelt in the desert,The, v.
Pilgrim Prince, The Unjust King and the, ix.
Pious black slave, The, v.
Pigeons, The Hedgehog and the, iii.
Pigeons, The Two, vi.
Platter-maker and his wife, The devout, v.
Poets, Harun al-Rashid and the three, v.
Police of Bulak, Story of the Chief of the, iv.
Police of Kus and the Sharper, the Chief of the, iv.
Police of New Cairo, Story of the Chief of the, iv.
Police of Old Cairo, Story of the Chief of the, iv.
Police (The Three Masters of ), Al-Malik, al-Nasirand, iv.
Poor man and his &friend in need, The, iv.
Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad, The, i.
Portress, The Tale of the, i.
Prince Behram and the Princess al-Datma, vi.
Prince the Ensorcelled, i.
Prince and the Ghulah, The, i.
Prince, The Devout, v.
Prince (the Pilgrim), The Unjust King and, ix.
Prior who became a Moslem, The, v.
Providence, The justice of, v.
Purse, The Stolen, vi.
Pyramids of Egypt, Al-Maamun and the, v.
Queen of the Serpents, The, v.
Rake’s trick against the chaste Wife, The, vi.
Rayya, Otbah and, vii.
Reeve’s Tale, The, i.
Rogueries of Dalilah the Crafty and her daughter Zaynabthe Coney
catcher, The, vii.
Rose-in-Hood, Uns al-Wujud and the Wazir’s Daughter,v.
Ruined Man of Baghdad and his Slave-girl, The, ix.
Ruined Man who became rich again through a dream,The, iv.
Rukh, Abd al-Rahman the Moor’s Story of the,v.
Sa’id bin Salim and the Barmecides, v.
Saint to whom Allah gave a cloud to serve him, The,v.
Saker and the Birds, The, iii.
Sandalwood Merchant and the Sharpers, The, vi.
Sayf al-Muluk and Badi’a al-Jamal, vii.
School, The Loves of the Boy and the Girl at, v.
Schoolmaster who fell in love by report, The, v.
Schoolmaster The Foolish, v.
Schoolmaster The ignorant man who set up for a, v.
Serpent, The Crow and the, ix.
Serpent-charmer and his Wife, ix.
Serpents, The Queen of the, v.
Sexes, Relative excellence of the, v.
Shahryar and his brother, King (Introduction), i.
Shahryar (King) and his brother, i.
Shams al-Nahar, Ali bin Bakkar and, iii.
Sharper of Alexandria and the Chief of Police, The,iv.
Sharper, Ali the Persian and the Kurd, iv.
Sharper, The Chief of the Kus Police and the, iv.
Sharper, The Simpleton and the, v.
Sharpers, The Merchant and the Two, iii.
Do. The Sandalwood Merchant and the, vi.
Sharrkan and Zau al-Makan, The History of King Omarbin
Al-Nu’uman and his Sons, ii.
Shaykh’s Story (The First), i.
Shaykh’s Story (The Second), i.
Shaykh’s Story (The Third), i.
Shepherd and the Thief, The, ix.
Shimas, King Jali’ad of Hind and his Wazir,ix.
Shipwrecked Woman and her child, The, v.
Shirin and the Fisherman, Khusrau and, v.
Simpleton and the Sharper, The, v.
Sindibad and his Falcon, King, i.
Sindbad the Seaman and Sindbad the Porter, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman First Voyage of, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman Second Voyage of, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman Third Voyage of, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman Fourth Voyage of, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman, Fifth Voyage of, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman Sixth Voyage of, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman Seventh Voyage of, vi.
Sindbad the Seaman (note from Cal. Edit.) vi.
Singing girl, The Goldsmith and the Cashmere, vi.
Six Slave-girls, The Man of Al-Yaman and his, iv.
Slave, The pious black, v.
Slave-girl, The ruined man of Baghdad and his, ix.
Slave-girls, The Man of Al-Yaman and his six, iv.
Sparrow and the Eagle, The, iii.
Sparrow and the Peacock, The, iii.
Spider and the Wind, The, ix.
Spring, The Enchanted, vi.
Squinting slave-girl, Abu al-Aswad and his, v.
Sparrow Necklace, The, vi.
Sparrow Purse, The, vi.
Suitors, The Lady and her five, vi.
Sweep and Noble Lady of Baghdad, The, iv.
Tailor’s Tale, The, i.
Taj al-Muluk and the Princess Dunya, The Tale of,ii.
Tawaddud, Abu al-Hasan and his slave-girl, v.
Thief, The Lover who feigned himself a, iv.
Thief and the Shroff, The, iv.
Thief and his Monkey, The, iii.
Thief The Shepherd and the, ix.
Thief turned Merchant and the other Thief, The, v.
Thieves, The Boy and the, ix.
Thieves, The Merchant and the, ix.
Thieves, The Two, v.
Three-year old-child, The Debauchee and the, vi.
Three Apples, The, i.
Three unfortunate Lovers, v.
Three Wishes, or the Man who longed to see the Nightof Power,
The, vi.
Tortoise, The Waterfowl and the, iii.
Tortoises, The Heathcock and the, ix.
Trader (The) and the Jinni, i.
Trick (The Lover’s ) against the chaste wife,vi.
Trick (The Wife’s ) against her husband, vi.
Two Kings, The, ix.
Two Pigeons, The, vi.
Umaymah, Al-Mutalammis and his wife, v.
Unfortunate Lovers, The Three, v.
Unjust King and the Pilgrim Prince, The, ix.
Uns al-Wujud and the Wazir’s Daughter Rose-in-Hood,v.
Upper Egypt (The man of) and his Frank wife, ix.
Walid bin Sahl, Yunus the Scribe and the Caliph, vii.
Wardan, the Butcher, Adventure with the Lady and theBear, iv.
Water-carrier and the Goldsmith’s Wife, The,v.
Waterfowl and the Tortoise, The, iii.
Wazir and the Sage Duban, The, i.
Wazir, Al-Malik al-Nasir and his, vii.
Wazir of al-Yaman and his young brother, The, v.
Wazir’s Son and the Hammam-Keeper’s Wife,The, vi.
Wazir’s Wife, The King and his, vi.
Weasel, The Mouse and the, iii.
Weaver, The Foolish, iii.
Wife, The Badawi and his, vii.
Wife, (the Chaste) The Lover’s Trick against,vi.
Wife, The King and his Wazir’s, vi.
Wife, The Man and his Wilful, ix.
Wife, (The Merchant’s) and the Parrot, i.
Wife, (The Virtuous) and the King, v.
Wife’s device to cheat her husband, The, vi.
Wife’s trick against her husband, The, v.
Wild Ass, The Jackal and the, ix.
Wilful Wife, The Man and his, ix.
Wind, The Spider and the, ix.
Wird Khan (King) and his Women and Wazirs, ix.
Wolf and the Fox, The, iii.
Wolf, The Foxes and the, ix.
Woman (The shipwrecked) and her child, v.
Woman’s trick against her husband, v.
Woman who made her husband sift dust, The, iv.
Woman whose hands were cut off for Almsgiving, The,iv.
Women, The Malice of, vi.
Women, The Two, v.
Yahya bin Khalid and the Forger, iv.
Yahya bin Khalid and Mansur, iv.
Yahya bin Khalid and the Poor Man, v.
Yaman (The Man of Al-) and his six slave-girls, iv.
Yaman (The Wazir of Al-) and his young brother, v.
Yunus the Scribe and the Caliph Walid bin Sahl, vii.
Zau al-Makan, The History of King Omar bin al-Nu’umanand his
Sons Sharrkan and, ii.
Zayn al-Mawasif, Masrur and, viii.
Zaynab the Coney-catcher, The Rogueries of Dalilahthe Wily, and
her Daughter, vii..
Zubaydah in the Bath, Harun al-Rashid and, v.
Zumurrud, Ali Shar and, iv.

Index II

Alphabetical Tableof the Notes
(Anthropological, &c.)

Prepared by F. Steingass,Ph.D.

[Index ii is not included]

Index III.-A

Alphabetical Table ofFirst Lines
(Metrical Portion) in English.

Prepared by Dr.Steingass.

A beloved familiar o’erreigns my heart viii.70. A boy of twice ten is fit for a king! iii.303. A breeze of love on my soul did blow viii.222. A damsel ’twas the firer’s arthad decked with snares and sleight, i. 219, x. 59. A dancer whose figure is like a willow branch, ix.222. A dancer whose form is like branch of Ban!ix. 221. A dog, dog-fathered, by dog-grandsirebred, viii. 15. A fan whose breath is fraughtwith fragrant scent, viii. 273. A fair one, toidolaters if she her face should show, ix. 197. A friend in need is he who, ever true iii. 149. A guest hath stolen on my head and honour may he lack,viii. 295. A hag to whom th’ unlawful lawfullest,i. 174. A heart bore thee off in chase of thefair ix. 282. A heart, by Allah!- never softto lover wight, vii. 222. A Houri, by whose charmsmy heart is moved to sore distress, vii. 105. A house where flowers from stones of granite grow,iii. 19. A Jinniyah this, with her Jinn, to show,v. 149. A King who when hosts of the foe invade,ii.l. A lutanist to us inclined, viii. 283. A maiden ’twas, the dresser’s art had deckedwith cunning sleight, viii. 32. A merchant Ispied whose lovers, viii. 264. A messenger fromthee came bringing union-hope, iii. 188. A moonshe rises, willow-wand she waves iii. 237, viii. 303. A moon, when he bends him those eyes lay bare, viii.284. A moon which blights you if you dare behold,ii. 4. A night whose stars refused to run theircourse, iii. 299 A palace whereon be blessings andpraise, iv. 134. A place secure from every thoughtof fear i. 114. A sage, I feel a fool beforethy charms iii. 272. , A slave of slaves there standethat thy door, i. 89.
A sun on wand in knoll of sand she showed, i. 217;x. 58.
A thin-waist maid who shames the willow-wand, ii.285.
A term decreed my lot I ’spy, viii. 83.
A trifle this an his eyes be sore, v. 127.
A tree whilere was I the Bulbul’s home, viii.281.
A wand uprising from a sandy knoll, ix. A warriorshowing such open hand, iv. 97. A wasted body,heart empierced to core, ii. 314. A youth slimwaisted from whose locks and brow, i. 68. A zephyrbloweth from the lover’s site, viii. 90. Above the rose of cheek is thorn of lance, iii. 331. Act on sure grounds, nor hurry fast, iv. 189. Add other wit to thy wit, counsel craving, iv. 189. Affright me funerals at every time, v. 111. Afterthy faring never chanced I ’spy, viii. 142. Ah, fare thee not; for I’ve no force thy faringto endure, viii. 63. Ah! for lowe of love andlonging suffer ye as suffer we? viii. 68. AhKhalid! this one is a slave of love distraught, iv.158. Ah, often have I sought the fair! how oftenfief and fain, vii. 138. Alack and alas! Patience taketh flight, viii. 263. Alas, alackand wellaway for blamer’s calumny! viii. 285. Albe by me I had through day and night, iii. 267. Albe to lover adverse be his love, iii. 266. Albeit my vitals quiver ’neath this ban, iii.62. Alexandria’s a frontier, viii. 289. All crafts are like necklaces strung on a string, i.308. All drinks wherein is blood the Law uncleanDoth hold, i. 89. All sons of woman albe longpreserved, iv. 63. “Allah assain thoseeyne! What streams of blood they shed!”ii. 100. Allah be good to him that gives gladtidings of thy steps, i. 239. Allah holds Kingship! Whoso seeks without Him victory, iii. 86. Allah,my patience fails: I have no word, iii.344. Allah save the rose which yellows amorn, viii. 276. Allah, where’er thou be, His aid impart, ii.148. Allah’s peace on thee, House of Vacancy!viii. 237. Although the Merciful be doubtlesswith me, ix. 278. Al-Yaman’s leven-gleamI see, ii. 179. An but the house could know whocometh ’twould rejoice, i. 176. An, bythy life, pass thee my funeral train, v. 70. An fail I of my thanks to thee, i. 56. An Fateafflict thee, with grief manifest, viii. 146. An Fate some person ’stablish o’er thyhead, iii. 89. An faulty of one fault the beautyprove, ii.96. An I be healed of disease in frame,viii. 70. An I quit Cairo and her pleasaunces,i. 290. An we behold a lover love-foredone, v.73. An my palm be full of wealth and my wealthI ne’er bestow, ii. 11. An say I:—­PatientI can bear his faring, iii. 187. An tears ofblood for me, friend, thou hast shed, i. 89. An there be one who shares with me her love, i. 180. An thou but deign consent, A wish to heart affied,iv. 247. An thou of pious works a store neglect,ii. 202. An thou wouldst know my name, whoseday is done, vi. 94. An through the whole oflife, iv. 190. An Time my lover restore me I’llblame him fain, ix. 192. An were it asked mewhen by hell-fire burnt, iii. 279. An what thouclaimest were the real truth, v. 151. An wouldstbe life-long safe, vaunt not delight, viii. 94. And Almond apricot suggesting swain, viii. 268. And dweller in the tomb whose food is at his head,v. 238. And eater lacking mouth and even maw,v. 240. And fairest Fawn, we said to him Portray,viii. 272. And haply whenas strait descends onlot of generous youth, iii. 131. And in brunettesis mystery, couldst thou but read it right, iv. 258. And in my liver higher flames the fire, vii. 366. And loveling weareth on his cheek a mole, v. 65. And pity one who erst in honour throve, ii. 149. And shaddock mid the garden paths, on bough, viii.272. And Solomon, when Allah to him said, vi.86. And the lips girls, that are perfume sweet,v. 79. And the old man crept o’er the worldlyways, iv. 41. And trees of orange fruiting ferryfair, viii. 271. And wand-like Houri who canpassion heal, v. 149. And ’ware her scorpionswhen pressing them, viii. 209.
And when birdies o’er-warble its lakelet itgars, ix. 6.
And, when she announceth the will to sing, viii. 166.
Albeit this thy case lack all resource, v. 69.
Allah watered a land, and upsprang a tree, v. 244.
Answer, by Allah! Sepulchre, are all his beautiesgone? i. 239.
Appeared not my excuse till hair had clothed his cheek,iii. 57.
Apple which joins hues twain and brings to mind, viii.268.
Apple whose hue combines in union mellow, i. 158.
As a crescent-moon in the garth her form, viii. 207.
As for me, of him I feel naught affright,vi. 98.
As long as palms shall shift the flower, v. 136.
As love waxt longer less met we sway, v. 78.
As one of you who mounted mule, viii. 297.
As she willed she was made, and in such a way thatwhen, iv. 191.
As the Sage watched the stars, the semblance clear,i. 206.
As though ptisane of wine on her lips honey dew, iii.57.
Ask (if needs thou ask) the compassionate, ix. 29.
Ask of my writ, what wrote my pen in dole, iii. 274.
Ass and Umm Amr’ went their way, v. 118.

Bare hills and camp-ground desolate, v. 130.
Baulks me my Fate as tho’ she were my foe, viii.130.
Be as thou wilt, for Allah is bountiful, viii. 277.
Be as thou wilt, for Allah still is bounteous Lord,ii. 202.
Be mild to brother mingling, iv. 110.
Be mild what time thou’rt ta’en with angerand despite, iv. 221.
Be mild when rage shall come to afflict thy soul,iv. 54.
Be praises mine to all-praiseworthy Thee, ii. 261.
Be proud; I’ll crouch! Bully; I’llbear! Despise; I’ll pray! iii.
188.
Be sure all are villains and so bide safe iii. 142.
Bear our salams, O Dove, from this our stead, viii.236.
Beareth for love a burden sore this soul of me, viii.66.
Beauty they brought with him to make compare, i. 144.
Beguiled as Fortune who her guile displays, iv. 22.
Behind the veil a damsel sits with gracious beautydight, viii.
210.
Behold a house that’s like the Dwelling of Delight,viii. 183.
Behold this lovely garden! ’tis as though ii.240.
Belike my Fortune may her bridle turn,i. 52.
Belike Who Yusuf to his kin restored, iv. 103.
Beloved, why this strangeness, why this hate? iv.234.
Bethink thee not of worldly state, iii. 328
Bid thou thy phantom distance keep, vii 108.
Better ye ’bide and I take my leave, i. 154.
Beware her glance I rede thee ’tis like wizardwight, ii. 295.
Beware of losing hearts of men by shine injuriousdeed, x. 50.
Beware that eye glance which hath magic might, iii.252.
Black girls in acts are white, and ’tis as though,iv. 251.
Black girls not white are they, iv. 251.
Blame not! said I to all who blamed me viii. 95.
Blest be his beauty; blest the Lord’s decree,i. 177.
Blighted by her yet am I not to blame, viii. 255.
Blows from my lover’s land a zephyr coolly sweet,ii. 311.
Boon fortune sought him in humblest way, viii. 301.
Boy-like of back side, in the deed of kind, v. 157.
Breeze of East who bringest me gentle air, vii. 122.
Brighter than moon at full with kohl’d eyesshe came, viii. 279.
Bring gold and gear an a lover thou, viii. 214.
By Allah, by th’ Almighty, by his right, vii.366.
By Allah, couldst thou but feel my pain, v. 77.
By Allah, glance of mine, thou hast oppress, vii.140.
By Allah, heal, O my lords, the unwhole, viii. 144.
By Allah, O thou house, if my beloved amorn go by,v. 38.
By Allah, O tomb, have her beauties ceased, viii.168.
By Allah, set thy foot upon my soul, i. 222.
By Allah, this is th’ only alchemy, x. 40.
By Allah! while the days endure ne’er shallforget her I, iv.
146.
By Allah, wine shall not disturb me, while this soulof mine, iv.
190.
By craft and sleight I snared him when he came, ii.44.
By his cheeks’ unfading damask and his smilingteeth I swear,
viii. 282.
By his eyelash! tendril curled, by his slender waistI swear,
iii. 217.
By his eyelids shedding perfume and his fine slimwaist I swear,
i. 168.
By His life who holds my guiding rein, I swear, iv.2.
By Love’s right! naught of farness thy slavecan estrange, viii.
76.
By means of toil man shall scale the height, vi. 5.
By rights of you, this heart of mine could ne’eraby, viii. 110.
By stress of parting, O beloved one, iii. 166.
By th’ Abyssinian Pond, O day divine! i. 291.
By the Compassionate, I’m dazed about my case,for lo! vii. 337.
By the Five Shayks, O Lord, I pray deliver me, iii.30.
By the life o’ thy face, O thou life o’my sprite! viii. 284.
By what shine eyelids show of kohl and coquetry! ii.296.

Came a merchant to pay us a visit, viii. 265.
Came Rayya’s phantom to grieve thy sight, vii.91.
Came the writ whose contents a new joy revealed, viii.222.
Came to match him in beauty and loveliness rare, viii.298.
Came to me care when came the love of thee, vii. 366.
Came your writ to me in the dead of the night, ix.2.
Captured me six all bright with youthful blee, iv.260.
Carry the trust of him whom death awaits, v. 114.
Cease then to blame me, for thy blame cloth angerbring, x. 39.
Cease ye this farness; ’bate this pride of you,iv. 136.
Chide not the mourner for bemourning woe, iii. 291.
Choice rose that gladdens heart to see her sight,viii. 275.
Clear’s the wine, the cup’s fine, i. 349.
Cleave fast to her thou lovest and let the enviousrail amain,
iv. 198.
Close press appear to him who views th’ inside,viii. 267.
Clove through the shades and came to me in night sodark and
sore, vii. 138.
Come back and so will I! i. 63.
Come with us, friend, and enter thou, viii. 267.
Confide thy case to Him, the Lord who made mankind,i. 68.
Consider but thy Lord, His work shall bring, viii.20.
Consider thou, O man, what these places to thee showed,vi. 112.
Console thy lover, fear no consequence, v. 74.
Consort not with the Cyclops e’en a day, iv.194.
Containeth time a twain of days, i. 25.
Converse with men hath scanty weal except, iv. 188.
Count not that I your promises forgot, iii. 238.
Cut short this strangeness, leave unruth of you, v.245.
Culvers of Liwa! to your nests return vii. 115.

Dark falls the night: my tears unaided rail,iii. 11. Dark falls the night and passion comessore pains to gar me dree, ii. 140. Daughterof nobles, who shine aim shalt gain, v. 54. Dawnheralds daylight: so wine passround viii. 276. Dear friend! ah leave thy loud reproach and blame,iii. 110. Dear friend, ask not what burneth inmy breast, i. 265. Dear friend, my tears ayeflow these cheeks adown, iii. 14. Deep in mineeyeballs ever dwells the phantom form of thee, viii.61. Deign grant thy favours; since ’tistime I were engraced, v. 148. Describe me! afair one said, viii. 265. Did Azzah deal behestto sun o’ noon, ii. 102. Did not in love-plightjoys and sorrows meet, iii. 182. Dip thou withspoons in saucers four and gladden heart and eye,viii. 223. Displaying that fair face, iv. 195. Divinely were inspired his words who brought me newsof you, iv. 207. Do you threaten me wi’death for my loving you so well? vii. 221. Drainnot the bowl, save from dear hand like shine, i. 88. Drain not the bowl but with lovely wight viii. 209. Drain not the bowl save with a trusty friend, i. 88. Drawn in thy shoulders are and spine thrust out, viii: 297. Drink not pure wine except from hand ofslender youth, ix. 198. Drink not strong winesave at the slender dearling’s hand, v. 66. Drink not upon thy food in haste but wait awhile, v.222. Drink the clear draught, drink free andfain, i. 88. Drive off the ghost that ever shows,vii. 109. Dumb is my tongue and scant my speechfor thee, viii. 258.

Each portion of her charms we see, vii.131. Each thing of things hath his appointed tide, v. 294. Easy, O Fate! how long this wrong, this injury, iii.329. Eight glories meet, all, all conjoined inthee, iii. 271. Enough for lovers in this worldtheir ban and bane, iv. 205. Enough of tearshath shed the lover wight, iii. 206. Enrobeswith honour sands of camp her foot-step wandering lone,iv. 204. Escape with thy life if oppression betidethee, i. 209. Even not beardless one with girl,nor heed, iii. 303. Ever thy pomp and pride,O House! display, viii. 207.

Face that with Sol in Heaven ramping vies, iii. 167. Fain had I hid thy handwork, but it showed, iii. 280. Fain leaving life that fleets thou hast th’ eternalwon, ii. 281. Fair youth shall die by stumblingof the tongue, iii. 221. Familiar with my heartare woes and with them I, vii. 340. Far is thefane and patience faileth me, v. 41. Fare safely,Masrur! an her sanctuary viii. 237. Farewellthy love, for see, the Cafilah’s on the move,iv. 254. Farewelling thee indeed is like to biddinglife farewell, viii. 62. Fate the wolf’ssoul snatched up from wordly stead, iii. 146. Fate frights us when the thing is past and gone, iii.318. Fate hath commanded I become thy fere, iii. 312. Fie on this wretched world an so itbe, i. 40. Fight for my mother (an I live) I’lltake, ii. 239. Fire is cooler than fires in mybreast, iv. 245. Fly, fly with life whenas evilsthreat, vi. 62. Fly, fly with thy life if byill overtaken, ii. 19. Folk have made moan ofpassion before me, of past years, viii. 65. For cup friends cup succeeding cup assign, v. 66. For eaters a table they brought and set, viii. 208. For her sins is a pleader that brow, ii. 97. For joys that are no more I want to weep, iii. 185. For Layla’s favour dost thou greed? iii. 135. For loss of lover mine and stress of love I dree, viii.75. For not a deed the hand can try, v. 188. For others these hardships and labours I bear, i. 17. For your love my patience fails, i. 74. Forbear,O troubles of the world, i. 39.
Forgive me, thee-ward sinned I, but the wise, ii.9.
Forgive the sin ’neath which my limbs are trembling,iii. 249.
Fortune had mercy on the soul of me, iii. 135.
Fortune had ruth upon my plight, viii. 50.
Four things that meet not, save they here unite, i.116.
Four things which ne’er conjoin, unless it be,iii. 237.
Freest am I of all mankind fro’ meddling wight,ii. 200.
Fro’ them inhale I scent of Attar of Ban, viii.242.
From her hair is night, from her forehead noon, viii.303.
From Love stupor awake, O Masrur, ’twere best,viii. 214.
From that liberal hand on his foes he rains, iv. 97.
From the plain of his face springs a minaret, viii.296. From wine I turn and whoso wine-cups swill,i. 208. Full many a reverend Shaykh feels stingof flesh, v. 64. Full many laugh at tears theysee me shed, iii. 193. Full moon if unfreckledwould favour thee, iv. 19. Full moon with sunin single mansion, i. 264.

Gainsay women; he obeyeth Allah best who saith themnay, ix. 282. Garb of Fakir, renouncement, lowliness,v. 297. Garth Heaven-watered wherein clusterswaved, viii. 266. Get thee provaunt in this worldere thou wend upon thy way, ii. 139. Give backmine eyes their sleep long ravished, i. 99. Giveme brunettes, so limber, lissom, lithe of sway, iv.258. Give me brunettes; the Syrian spears solimber and so straight, viii. 158. Give me theFig sweet-flavoured, beauty clad, viii. 269. Give thou my message twice, iii. 166. Gladsomeand gay forget shine every grief, i. 57. Gloryto Him who guides the skies, vii. 78. Gnostic’sheart-homed in the heavenly Garth, v. 264. Go,gossip! re-wed thee, for Prime draweth near, v. 135. Go, visit her thou lovest, and regard not, iii. 235,viii. 305. God make thy glory last in joy oflife, viii. 99. Gone is my strength, told ismy tale of days, iii. 55. Goodly of gifts isshe, and charm those perfect eyes, iii. 57.
Granados of finest skin, like the breasts, viii. 267.
Grant me the kiss of that left hand ten times, iv.129.
Grape bunches likest as they sway, viii. 266.
Grapes tasting with the taste of wine, viii. 266.
Grief, cark and care in my heart reside, iv. 19.
Grow thy weal and thy welfare day by day, i. 204.

Had I known of love in what fashion he, vii. 330.
Had I wept before she did in my passion for Su’ada,vii. 275.
Had she shown her shape to idolator’s sight,viii. 279.
Hadst thou been leaf in love’s loyalty, iii.77.
Had we known of thy coming we fain had dispread, i.117.
Had we wist of thy coming, thy way had been strown,i. 271.
Haply and happily may Fortune bend her rein, viii.67.
Haply shall Allah deign us twain unite, viii. 141.
Haply shall Fortune draw her rein, iii. 251.
Happy is Eloquence when thou art named, i. 47.
Hast quit the love of Moons or dost persist? iv. 240.
Hast seen a Citron-copse so weighed adown, viii. 272.
Haste to do kindness thou dost intend, iv. 181.
Haste to do kindness while thou hast the power, iii.136.
Have the doves that moan in the lotus tree, vii. 91.
He blames me for casting on him my sight, viii. 283.
He came and cried they, Now be Allah blest! iii. 215.
He came in sable hued sacque, iv. 263.
He came to see me, hiding ’neath the shirt ofnight, iv. 252.
He comes; and fawn and branch and moon delight theseeyne, iv.
142.
He cometh robed and bending gracefully, ii. 287.
He heads his arrows with piles of gold, iv. 97.
He is Caliph of Beauty in Yusuf’s lieu, ii.292.
He is gone who when to this gate thou go’st,ii. 14.
He is to thee that daily bread thou canst nor loosenor bind, i.
39.
He’ll offer sweetmeats with his edged tongue,iii. 115.
He made me drain his wine of honeyed lips, v. 72.
He missed not who dubbed thee, “World’sdelight,” v. 33.
He plucks fruits of her necklace in rivalry, ii. 103.
He prayeth and he fasteth for an end he cloth espy,ii. 264.
He seized my heart and freed my tears to flow, viii.259.
He showed in garb anemone-red, iv. 263.
He thou trustedst most is thy worst un friend, iii.143.
He whom the randy motts entrap, iii. 216
Hearkening, obeying, with my dying mouth, ii. 321.
Heavy and swollen like an urine-bladder blown, iv.236.
Her fair shape ravisheth if face to face she did appear,v. 192
Her fore-arms, dight with their bangles, show, v.89.
Her golden yellow is the sheeny sun’s, iv. 257.
Her lip-dews rival honey-sweets, that sweet virginity,viii. 33.
Her smiles twin rows of pearls display, i. 86.
Here! Here! by Allah, here! Cups of thesweet, the dear! i. 89.
Here the heart reads a chapter of devotion pure, iii.18.
Hind is an Arab filly purest bred, vii. 97.
His cheek-down writeth (O fair fall the goodly scribe!)ii. 301.
His cheekdown writeth on his cheek with ambergrison pearl, ii.
301.
His eyelids sore and bleared, viii. 297.
His face as the face of the young moon shines, i.177.
His honeydew of lips is wine; his breath, iv. 195.
His looks have made me drunken, not his wine, iii.166.
His lovers said, Unless he deign to give us all adrink, viii.
285.
His lovers’ souls have drawn upon his cheek,iii. 58.
His mole upon plain of cheek is like, viii. 265.
His scent was musk and his cheek was rose, i. 203.
Ho, lovers all! by Allah say me fair and sooth, ii.309.
Ho, lovers all! by Allah say me sooth, ii. 320.
Ho say to men of wisdom, wit and lere, v. 239.
Ho thou, Abrizah, mercy! leave me not for I, ii. 127.
Ho, those heedless of Time and his sore despight!vii. 221.
Ho thou hound who art rotten with foulness in grain,iii. 108.
Ho thou lion who broughtest thyself to woe, vii. 123.
Ho thou my letter! when my friend shall see thee,iv. 57.
Ho thou o’ the tabret, my heart takes flight,viii. 166.
Ho thou the House! Grief never home in thee’viii. 206.
Ho thou, the house, whose birds were singing gay,v. 57.
Ho thou who grovellest low before the great, ii. 235.
Ho thou, who past and bygone risks regardest withuncare! iii.
28.
Ho thou whose heart is melted down by force of Amor’sfire, v.
132.
Ho ye mine eyes let prodigal tears go free, iv. 248.
Ho ye my friends draw near, for I forthright, viii.258.
Hola, thou mansion! woe ne’er enter thee, iv.140.
Hold fast thy secret and to none unfold, i.87.
Hold to nobles, sons of nobles, ii. 2.
Honour and glory wait on thee each morn, iv. 60.
Hope not of our favours to make thy prey, viii. 208.
Houris and high-born Dames who feel no fear of men,v. 148.
How bitter to friends is a parting, iv. 222.
How comes it that I fulfilled my vow the while thatvow brake
you? iv. 241.
How dear is our day and how lucky our lot, i. 293.
How fair is ruth the strong man deigns not smother,i. 103.
How good is Almond green I view, viii. 270.
How is this? Why should the blamer abuse theein his pride, iii.
232.
How joyously sweet are the nights that unite, v. 61.
How long, rare beauty! wilt do wrong to me, ii. 63.
How long shall I thy coyness and thy great aversionsee, iv. 242.
How long shall last, how long this rigour rife ofwoe, i. 101.
How long this harshness, this unlove shall bide? i.78.
How manifold nights have I passed with my wife, x.1.
How many a blooming bough in glee girl’s handis fain, viii. 166.
How many a joy by Allah’s will hath fled, i.150.
How many a lover with his eyebrows speaketh, i. 122.
How many a night have I spent in woes ix. 316.
How many a night I’ve passed with the belovedof me, iv. 252.
How many boons conceals the Deity, v. 261.
How many by my labours, that evermore endure, vi.2.
How. oft bewailing the place shall be this comingand going,
viii. 242.
How oft have I fought and how many have slain! vi.91.
How oft in the mellay I’ve cleft the array,ii. 109.
How patient bide, with love in sprite of me, iv. 136.
How shall he taste of sleep who lacks repose, viii.49.
How shall youth cure the care his life undo’th,ii. 320.
Hunger is sated with a bone-dry scone, iv. 201.
Hurry not, Prince of Faithful Men! with best of gracethy vow,
vii. 128.

I am he who is known on the day of fight, vi. 262.
I am distraught, yet verily, i. 138.
I am going, O mammy, to fill up my pot, i.311.
I am not lost to prudence, but indeed, ii. 98.
I am taken: my heart burns with living flame,viii. 225.
I am the wone where mirth shall ever smile, i. 175.
I am when friend would raise a rage that mote, iv.109.
I and my love in union were unite, viii. 247.
I ask of you from every rising sun, i. 238.
I asked of Bounty, “Art thou free?” v.93.
I asked the author of mine ills, ii. 60.
I bade adieu, my right hand wiped my tears away, ii.113.
I attained by my wits, x. 44.
I bear a hurt heart, who will sell me for this, vii.115.
I call to mind the parting day that rent our lovesin twain,
viii. 125.
I can’t forget him, since he rose and showedwith fair design,
ix. 253.
I ceased not to kiss that cheek with budding rosesdight,viii.
329.
I clips his form and wax’d drunk with his scent,ii. 292.
I came to my dear friend’s door, of my hopesthe goal, v. 58.
I craved of her a kiss one day, but soon as she beheld,iv. 192.
I cried, as the camels went off with them viii. 63.
I’d win good will of everyone, but whoso enviesme, ix. 342.
I deemed my brethren mail of strongest steel, i. 108.
I deemed you coat-o’-mail that should withstand,i. 108.
I die my death, but He alone is great who dieth not,ii. 9.
I drank the sin till my reason fled, v. 224
I drink, but the draught of his glance, not wine,i. 100.
I drooped my glance when seen thee on the way, iii.331.
I dyed what years have dyed, but this my staining,v. 164.
I embrace him, yet after him yearns my soul, ix. 242.
I ever ask for news of you from whatso breezes pass,viii. 53.
I feed eyes on their stead by the valley’s side,iii. 234
I fix my glance on her, whene’er she wends,viii. 158.
I fly the carper’s injury, ii. 183.
I gave her brave old wine that like her cheeks blushedred, i.
89.
I had a heart and with it lived my life, v. 131.
I have a friend with a beard, viii. 298.
I have a friend who hath a beard, iv. 194.
I have a friend, whose form is fixed within mine eyes,iv. 246.
I have a froward yard of temper ill, viii. 293.
I have a lover and when drawing him, iv. 247.
I have a sorrel steed, whose pride is fain to bearthe rein, ii.
225.
I have borne for thy love what never bore iii. 183.
I have fared content in my solitude, iii. 152.
I have no words though folk would have me talk, ix.276
I have won my wish and my need have scored, vii. 59.
I have wronged mankind, and have ranged like wind,iii. 74.
I have a yard that sleeps in base and shameful way,viii. 293.
I have sorrowed on account of our disunion, viii.128.
I heard a ring-dove chanting plaintively v.47.
I hid what I endured of him and yet it came to light,i. 67.
I hope for union with my love which I may ne’erobtain, viii.
347.
I kissed him: darker grew those pupils which,iii. 224.
I lay in her arms all night, leaving him, v. 128.
I’ll ransom that beauty-spot with my soul, v.65.
I long once more the love that was between us to regain,viii.
181
I longed for him I love; but, when we met, viii. 347.
I longed for my beloved, but when I saw his face,i. 240.
I look to my money and keep it with care, ii. 11.
I looked at her one look and that dazed me, ix. 197.
I looked on her with longing eyne, v. 76
I love a fawn with gentle white-black eyes; iv. 50.
I love a moon of comely shapely form, I love her madlyfor she is
perfect fair, vii.259.
I love not black girls but because they show, iv.251.
I love not white girls blown with fat who puff andpant, iv. 252
I love Su’ad and unto all but her my love isdead, vii. 129.
I love the nights of parting though I joy not in thesame, ix.
198.
I loved him, soon as his praise I heard, vii. 280.
I’m Al-Kurajan, and my name is known, vii. 20.
I’m estranged fro’ my folk and estrangement’slong, iii. 71.
I’m Kurajan, of this age the Knight, vii. 23.
I’m the noted Knight in the field of fight,vii. 18.
I made my wrist her pillow and I lay with her in litter,vii.
243.
I marvel at its pressers, how they died, x.
I marvel hearing people questioning, ii. 293
I marvel in Iblis such pride to see, vii. 139.
I marvel seeing yon mole, ii. 292.
I mind our union days when ye were nigh, vi. 278.
I number nights; indeed I count night after night,ii. 308.
I offered this weak hand as last farewell,. iii. 173
I passed a beardless pair without compare, v. 64.
I past by a broken tomb amid a garth right sheen,ii. 325.
I plunge with my braves in the seething sea, vii.18.
I pray in Allah’s name, O Princess mine, belight on me, iv. 241.
I pray some day that we reunion gain, iii. 124.
I roam; and roaming hope I to return, iii. 64.
I saw him strike the gong and asked of him straightway,viii.
329.
I saw thee weep before the gates and ’plain,v. 283.
I saw two charmers treading humble earth, iii. 18.
I say to him, that while he slings his sword, ii.230.
I see all power of sleep from eyes of me hath flown,ii. 151.
I see not happiness lies in gathering gold, ii. 166.
I see the woes of the world abound, i. 298.
I see thee and close not mine eyes for fear, ix. 221.
I see thee full of song and plaint and love’sown ecstasy, iii.
263.
I see their traces and with pain I melt, i. 230.
I see you with my heart from far countrie, vii. 93.
I sent to him a scroll that bore my plaint of love,ii. 300.
I show my heart and thoughts to Thee, and Thou, v.266.
I sight their track and pine for longing love, viii.103.
I soothe my heart and my love repel, v. 35.
I sought of a fair maid to kiss her lips, viii. 294.
I speak and longing love upties me and unties me,ii. 104.
I still had hoped to see thee and enjoy thy sight,i. 242.
I stood and bewailed who their loads had bound, ix.27.
I swear by Allah’s name, fair Sir! no thiefwas I, i. 274.
I swear by swayings of that form so fair, iv. 143.
I swear by that fair face’s life I’lllove but thee, iv. 246.
I thought of estrangement in her embrace, ix. 198.
I’ve been shot by Fortune, and shaft of eye,iii. 175.
I’ve lost patience by despite of you, i. 280.
I’ve sent the ring from off thy finger ta’en,iii. 274.
I’ve sinned enormous sin, iv. 109.
I view their traces and with pain I pine, viii.320.
I visit them and night black lendeth aid to me, iv.252.
I vow to Allah if at home I sight, ii. 186.
I walk for fear of interview the weakling’swalk, v. 147.
I wander ’mid these walls, my Layla’swalls, i. 238.
I wander through the palace but I sight there nota soul, iv.
291.
I was in bestest luck, but now my love goes contrary,v.75.
I was kind and ’scaped not, they were crueland escaped, i. 58.
I waved to and fro and he leaned to and fro, v. 239.
I weep for one to whom a lonely death befel, v. 115.
I weep for longing love’s own ardency, vii.369.
I weet not, whenas to a land I fare, ix. 328.
I went to my patron some blood to let him, i. 306.
I went to the house of the keeper-man, iii. 20.
I will bear in patience estrangement of friend, viii.345.
I wot not, whenas to a land I fare, x. 53.
I write thee, love, the while my tears pour down,iii. 24.
I write to thee, O fondest hope, a writ, iii. 24.
I write with heart devoted to thy thought, iii. 273.
Ibn Sina in his canon cloth opine, iii. 34
If a fool oppress thee bear patiently, vi. 214
If a man from destruction can save his head, ix.314.
If a man’s breast with bane he hides be straitened,ix. 292.
If a sharp-witted wight mankind e’er tried iv.188.
If another share in the thing I love, iv. 234.
If any sin I sinned, or did I aught, iii. 132.
If aught I’ve sinned in sinful way, viii. 119.
If generous youth be blessed with luck and wealth,ix. 291.
If he of patience fail the truth to hide, ii. 320.
If I liken thy shape to the bough when green, i. 92.
If I to aught save you, O lords of me, incline, vii.369.
If ill betide thee through thy slave, i. 194.
If Kings would see their high emprize preserved, v.106.
If Naomi bless me with a single glance, iv. 12.
If not master of manners or aught but discreet, i.235.
If thereby man can save his head from death, iv. 46.
If thou crave our love, know that love’s a loan,v. 127.
If thou should please a friend who pleaseth thee,v. 150.
If Time unite us after absent while, i. 157.
If your promise of personal call prove untrue, iii.252.
If we ’plain of absence what shall we say? i.100.
If we saw a lover who pains as he ought, v. 164.
Ill-omened hag! unshriven be her sins nor mercy visither on
dying bed, i. 174.
In dream I saw a bird o’erspeed (meseem’d),viii. 218.
In her cheek cornered nine calamities, viii. 86.
In his face-sky shineth the fullest moon, i. 205.
In love they bore me further than my force would go,ii. 137.
In patience, O my God, I endure my lot and fate, i.77.
In patience, O my God, Thy doom forecast, nut 17.
In ruth and mildness surety lies, ii. 160.
In sleep came Su’ada’s shade and wakenedme, iv. 267.
In sooth the Nights and Days are charactered, iii.319
In spite of enviers’ jealousy, at end, v. 62.
In the morn I am richest of men, x. 40.
In the towering forts Allah throned him, ii. 291.
In this world there is none thou mayst count upon,i. 207
In thought I see thy form when farthest far or nearestnear, ii.
42
In thy whole world there is not one, iv. 187.
In vest of saffron pale and safflower red, i. 219.
Incline not to parting, I pray, viii. 314.
Indeed afflicted sore are we and all distraught, viii.48.
Indeed I am consoled now and sleep without a tear,iv. 242.
Indeed I deem thy favours might be bought, iii. 34.
Indeed I hourly need thy choicest aid, v. 281.
Indeed I’ll bear my love for thee with firmestsoul, iv. 241.
Indeed I longed to share unweal with thee, iii. 323.
Indeed I’m heart-broken to see thee start, viii.63.
Indeed I’m strong to bear whatever befal, iii.46.
Indeed my heart loves all the lovely boys, ix. 253.
Indeed, ran my tears on the severance day, vii. 64.
Indeed, to watch the darkness moon he blighted me,iii. 277.
Irks me my fate and clean unknows that I, viii. 130.
“Is Abu’s Sakr of Shayban” theyasked v. 100.
Is it not strange one house us two contain iv. 279.
Is not her love a pledge by all mankind confess? ii.186.
It behoveth folk who rule in our time, viii. 294.
It happed one day a hawk pounced on a bird, iv. 103
It runs through every joint of them as runs, x. 39.
It seems as though of Lot’s tribe were our days,iii. 301.
It was as though the sable dye upon her palms, iii.105.

Jamil, in Holy War go fight! to me they say: ii. 102.
Jahannam, next Laza, and third Hatim, v. 240.
Jamrkan am I! and a man of might, vii. 23.
Joy from stroke of string cloth to me incline, viii.227.
Joy is nigh, O Masrur, so rejoice in true rede, viii.221.
“Joy needs shall come,” a prattler ’ganto prattle: in. 7.
Joy of boughs, bright branch of Myrobalan! viii. 213.
Joy so o’ercometh me, for stress of joy, v.355.
Joyance is come, dispelling cark and care, v. 61.

Kingdom with none endures: if thou deny thistruth, where be the
Kings of earlier earth? i. 129.
Kinsmen of mine were those three men who came to thee,iv. 289.
Kisras and Caesars in a bygone day, ii. 41.
Kiss then his fingers which no fingers are, iv. 147.

Lack of good is exile to man at home, ix. 199. Lack gold abaseth man and cloth his worth away, ix.290. Lady of beauty, say, who taught thee hardand harsh design, iii. 5. Laud not long hair,except it be dispread, ii. 230. Laud to my Lordwho gave thee all of loveliness, iv. 143. Leavethis blame, I will list to no enemy’s blame!iii. 61. Leave this thy design and depart, Oman! viii. 212. Leave thou the days to breedtheir ban and bate, ii. 41. Leave thy home forabroad an wouldest rise on high, ix. 138. Letdays their folds and plies deploy, ii. 309. Letdestiny with slackened rein its course appointed fare!viii. 70. Let Fate with slackened bridle fareher pace, iv. 173. Let Fortune have her wantonway, i. 107. Let thy thought be ill and noneelse but ill, iii. 142. Leyla’s phantomcame by night, viii. 14. Life has no sweet forme since forth ye fared, iii. 177. Like are theorange hills when zephyr breathes, viii. 272. Like a tree is he who in wealth cloth wone, ii. 14. Like fullest moon she shines on happiest night, v.347. Like moon she shines amid the starry sky,v.32. Like peach in vergier growing, viii. 270. Like the full moon she shineth in garments all of green,viii. 327. Lion of the wold wilt thou murderme, v. 40. Long as earth is earth, long as skyis sky, ix.317. Long have I chid thee, but mychiding hindereth thee not, vii. 225. Long haveI wept o’er severance ban and bane, i. 249. Long I lamented that we fell apart, ii. 187. Long, long have I bewailed the sev’rance of ourloves, iii. 275. Long was my night for sleeplessmisery, iv. 263. Longsome is absence; Care andFear are sore, ii. 295. Longsome is absence,restlessness increaseth, vii. 212. Look at theI.ote-tree, note on boughs arrayed, viii. 271. Look at the apricot whose bloom contains, viii. 268. Look on the Pyramids and hear the twain, v. 106. Love, at first sight, is a spurt of spray, vii. 280. Love, at the first, is a spurt of spray, vii. 330. Love for my fair they chide in angry way. iii. 233. Love in my breast they lit and fared away, iii. 296. Love in my heart they lit and went their ways, i. 232. Love-longing urged me not except to trip in speecho’er free, ix. 322. Love smote my frameso sore on parting day, ii. 152. Love’stongue within my heart speaks plain to thee, iv. 135. Love’s votaries I ceased not to oppose, iii.290. Lover with his beloved loseth will and aim, v. 289. Lover, when parted from the thinghe loves, viii. 36. Luck to the Rubber whosedeft hand o’er-plies, iii. 17.

Make me not (Allah save the Caliph!) one of the betrayedvii.
129.
Make thy game by guile for thou’rt born in atime, iii. 141.
Man is known among men as his deeds attest, ix. 164.
Man wills his wish to him accorded be, iv.
Many whose ankle rings are dumb have tinkling belts,iii. 302.
Masrur joys life made fair by all delight of days,nil. 234.
May Allah never make you parting dree,
May coins thou makest joy in heart instil, ix. 69.
May God deny me boon of troth if I, viii. 34.
May that Monarch’s life span a mighty span,ii.75.
Mazed with thy love no more I can feign patience,viii. 321.
Melted pure gold in silvern bowl to drain, v. 66.
Men and dogs together are all gone by, iv. 268.
Men are a hidden malady iv. 188.
Men craving pardon will uplift their hands, iii. 304.
Men have ’plained of pining before my time,iii. 183.
Men in their purposes are much alike, vii. 169.
Men’s turning unto bums of boys is bumptious,v. 162.
Methought she was the forenoon sun until she donnedthe veil,
viii. 284.
Mine ear forewent mine eye in loving him, ix. 222.
Mine eyes I admire that can feed their fill, viii.224
Mine eyes ne’er looked on aught the Almond like,viii. 270.
Mine eyes were dragomans for my tongue betied, i 121.
Mine is a Chief who reached most haught estate, i.253.
’Minish this blame I ever bear from you, iii.60.
Morn saith to Night, “withdraw and let me shine,”i. 132
Most beautiful is earth in budding bloom, ii. 86.
Mu’awiyah, thou gen’rous lord, and bestof men that be, vii. 125.
My best salam to what that robe enrobes of symmetry,ix. 321
My blamers instant chid that I for her become consoled,viii.
171.
My blamers say of me, He is consoled And lie! v. 158.
My body bides the sad abode of grief and malady, iv.230.
My censors say, What means this pine for him? v. 158.
My charmer who spellest my piety, ix. 243.
My coolth of eyes, the darling child of me, v. 260.
My day of bliss is that when thou appearest, iii.291.
My friend I prithee tell me, ’neath the sky,v. 107.
My friend who went hath returned once more, Vi. 196.
My friends, despite this distance and this cruelty,viii. 115.
My friends, I yearn in heart distraught for him, vii.212.
My friends! if ye are banisht from mine eyes, fin340.
My friends, Rayya hath mounted soon as morning shone,vii. 93.
My fondness, O my moon, for thee my foeman is, iii.256.
My heart disheartened is, my breast is strait, ii.238.
My heart is a thrall: my tears ne’er abate,viii. 346.
My life for the scavenger! right well I love him,i. 312.
My life is gone but love longings remain, viii. 345.
My longing bred of love with mine unease for evergrows, vii.
211.
My Lord hath servants fain of piety, v. 277.
My lord, this be the Sun, the Moon thou hadst before,vii. 143.
My lord, this full moon takes in Heaven of thee newbirth, vii.
143.
My love a meeting promised me and kept it faithfully,iii. 195.
My loved one’s name in cheerless solitude ayecheereth me, v. 59.
My lover came in at the close of night, iv. 124.
My lover came to me one night, iv. 252.
My mind’s withdrawn from Zaynab and Nawar, iii.239.
My patience failed me when my lover went, viii. 259.
My patience fails me and grows anxiety, viii. 14.
My prickle is big and the little one said, iii. 302.
My Salam to the Fawn in the garments concealed, iv.50.
My sin to thee is great, iv. 109.
My sister said, as saw she how I stood, iii. 109.
My sleeplessness would show I love to bide on wake,iii. 195.
My soul and my folk I engage for the youth, vii. 111.
My soul for loss of lover sped I sight, viii. 67.
My soul be sacrifice for one, whose going, iii. 292.
My soul thy sacrifice! I chose thee out, iii.303.
My soul to him who smiled back my salute, iii. 168.
My tale, indeed, is tale unlief, iv. 265.
My tears thus flowing rival with my wine, iii. 169.
My tribe have slain that brother mine, Umaym, iv.110.
My wish, mine illness, mine unease! by Allah, own,viii. 68.
My wrongs hide I, withal they show to sight, viii.260.
My yearning for thee though long is fresh, iv. 211.

Naught came to salute me in sleep save his shade,vii. 111.
Naught garred me weep save where and when of severancespake he,
viii. 63.
Nears my parting fro, my love, nigher draws the severance-day,
viii. 308.
Need drives a man into devious roads, ii. 14.
Needs must I bear the term by Fate decreed, ii. 41.
Ne’er cease thy gate be Ka’abah to mankind,iv. 148.
Ne’er dawn the severance-day on any wise, viii.49.
Ne’er incline thee to part, ii. 105.
Ne’er was a man with beard grown over. long,viii. 298.
News my wife wots is not locked in a box! i. 311.
News of my love fill all the land, I swear, iii. 287.
No breeze of Union to the lover blows, viii. 239.
No! I declare by Him to whom all bow, v. 152.
No longer beguile me, iii. 137.
“No ring-dove moans from home on branch in morninglight, ii.
152.
None but the good a secret keep, And good men keepit unrevealed,
i. 87.
None but the men of worth a secret keep, iii. 289.
None keepeth a secret but a faithful person, iv. 233.
None other charms but shine shall greet mine eyes,i. 156.
None wotteth best joyance but generous youth v. 67.
Not with his must I’m drunk, but verily, v.158.
Now an, by Allah, unto man were fully known, iii.128.
Now, an of woman ask ye, I reply, iii. 214.
Now blame him not; for blame brings only vice andpain, ii. 297.
Now, by my life, brown hue hath point of comeliness,iv. 258.
Now, by thy life, and wert thou just my life thouhadst not
ta’en, i. 182.
Now, by your love! your love I’ll ne’erforget, viii, 315.
Now I indeed will hide desire and all repine, v. 267.
Now is my dread to incur reproaches which. 59.
Now love hast banished all that bred delight, iii.259.
Now with their says and said no more vex me the chidingrace, iv.
207.

O adornment of beauties to thee write I vii. 176.
O beauty’s Union! love for thee’s my creed,iii. 303.
O best of race to whom gave Hawwa boon of birth, v.139.
O bibber of liquor, art not ashamed v. 224.
O breeze that blowest from the land Irak viii. 103.
O child of Adam let not hope make mock and flyte atthee vi. 116
O culver of the copse, with salams I greet, v. 49.
O day of joys to either lover fain! v. 63.
O dwelling of my friends, say is there no return,viii. 319.
O fair ones forth ye cast my faithful love, ix. 300.
O fertile root and noble growth of trunk, ii. 43.
O fisherman no care hast thou to fear, v. 51.
O flier from thy home when foes affright! v. 290.
O friends of me one favour more I pray v. 125.
O glad news bearer well come! ii. 326.
O hail to him whose locks his cheeks o’er shade,x. 58.
O Hayat al-Nufuis be gen’rous and incline vii.217.
O heart, an lover false thee, shun the parting bane,viii.94.
O heart! be not thy love confined to one, iii. 232.
O hope of me! pursue me not with rigour and disdain,iii. 28.
O joy of Hell and Heaven! whose tormentry, iii. 19.
O Keener, O sweetheart, thou fallest not short, i.311.
O Kings of beauty, grace to prisoner ta’en,viii. 96.
O Lord, by the Five Shaykhs, I pray deIiver me, vii.226.
O Lord, how many a grief from me hast driven, v. 270.
O Lord, my foes are fain to slay me in despight, viii.117.
O Lords of me, who fared but whom my heart e’erfolloweth, iv 239
O Love, thou’rt instant in thy cruellest guise,iv. 204.
O lover thou bringest to thought a tide, v. 50.
O Maryam of beauty return for these eyne, viii. 321.
O Miriam thy chiding I pray, forego, ix. 8.
O moon for ever set this earth below, iii. 323.
O Moslem! thou whose guide is Alcoran iv. 173.
O most noble of men in this time and stound, iv. 20.
O my censor who wakest amorn to see viii. 343.
O my friend, an I rendered my life, my sprite, ix.214.
O my friend! reft of rest no repose I command, ii.35.
O my friends, have ye seen or have ye heard vi. 174.
O my heart’s desire, grows my misery, vii. 248.
O my Lord, well I weet thy puissant hand, vi. 97.
O Night of Union, Time’s virginal prize viii.328.
O my lords, shall he to your minds occur ix. 299.
O Night here I stay! I want no morning light,iv. 144.
O passing Fair I have none else but thee, vii. 365.
O pearl-set mouth of friend, iv. 231.
O pearly mouth of friend, who set those pretty pearlsin line,
iv. 231.
O Rose, thou rare of charms that dost contain, viii.275.
O sire, be not deceived by worldly joys, v. 114.
O son of mine uncle! same sorrow I bear, iii. 61.
O spare me, thou Ghazban, indeed enow for me, ii.126.
O Spring-camp have ruth on mine overthrowing, viii.240.
O thou Badi’a ’l-Jamal, show thou someclemency, vii. 368.
O thou of generous seed and true nobility, vi. 252.
O thou sheeniest Sun who m night dost shine, viii.215.
O Thou the One, whose grace cloth all the world embrace,v. 272.
O thou tomb! O thou tomb! be his horrors setin blight? i. 76.
O thou to whom sad trembling wights in fear complain!iii. 317.
O thou who barest leg-calf better to suggest, ii.327.
O thou who claimest to be prey of love and ecstasy,vii. 220.
O thou who deignest come at sorest sync, iii.78.
O thou who dost comprise all Beauty’s boons!vii. 107.
O thou who dyest hoariness with black, viii. 295.
O thou who fearest Fate, i. 56.
O thou who for thy wakeful nights wouldst claim mylove to boon,
iii. 26.
O thou who givest to royal state sweet savour, ii.3.
O thou who gladdenest man by speech and rarest quality,ix. 322.
O thou who seekest innocence to ’guile, iii.137.
O thou who seekest parting, safely fare! ii. 319.
O thou who seekest separation, act leisurely, iv.200.
O thou who seekest severance, i. 118.
O thou who shamest sun in morning sheen, viii. 35.
O thou who shunnest him thy love misled! viii. 259.
O thou who wooest Severance, easy fare! iii. 278.
O thou who woo’st a world unworthy learn, iii.319.
O thou whose boons to me are more than one, iii. 317.
O thou whose favours have been out of compt, iii.137.
O thou whose forehead, like the radiant East, i. 210.
O to whom I gave soul which thou torturest, iv. 19.
O to whom now of my desire complaining sore shallI, v. 44.
O toiler through the glooms of night in peril andin pain, i. 38.
O turtle dove, like me art thou distraught? v. 47.
O waftings of musk from the Babel-land! ix. 195.
O who didst win my love in other date, v. 63.
O who hast quitted these abodes and faredst fief andlight, viii.
59.
O who passest this doorway, by Allah, see, viii. 236.
O who praisest Time with the fairest appraise ix.296.
O who shamest the Moon and the sunny glow, vii. 248.
O who quest Union, ne’er hope such delight,viii. 257.
O whose heart by our beauty is captive ta’en,v. 36.
O Wish of wistful men, for Thee I yearn, v. 269.
O ye that can aid me, a wretched lover, ii. 30.
O ye who fled and left my heart in pain low li’en,iii. 285.
O ye who with my vitals fled, have rush, viii. 258.
O you whose mole on cheek enthroned recalls, i. 251.
O Zephyr of Morn, an thou pass where the dear onesdwell, viii.
120.
O Zephyr of Najd, when from Najd thou blow, vii. 115.
Of dust was I created, and man did I become, v. 237.
Of evil thing the folk suspect us twain, iii.305.
Of my sight I am jealous for thee, of me, ix. 248.
Of Time and what befel me I complain, viii. 219.
Of wit and wisdom is Maymunah bare, i. 57.
Oft hath a tender bough made lute for maid, v. 244.
Oft hunchback added to his bunchy back, viii. 297.
Oft times mischance shall straiten noble breast, viii.117.
Oft when thy case shows knotty and tangled skein,vi. 71.
Oh a valiant race are the sons of Nu’uman, iii.80.
Oh soul of me, an thou accept my rede, ii. 210.
Oh ye gone from the gaze of these ridded eyne, ii.139.
Old hag, of high degree in filthy life, v. 96.
On earth’s surface we lived in rare ease andjoy, vii. 123.
On her fair bosom caskets twain I scanned, i. 156.
On me and with me bides thy volunty, viii. 129.
On Sun and Moon of palace cast thy sight, i. 85.
On the brow of the World is a writ, an thereon thoulook, ix. 297
On the fifth day at even-tide they went away fromme, ii. 10
On the fifth day I quitted all my friends for evermore,ii. 10
On the glancing racer outracing glance, ii. 273.
On the shaded woody island His showers Allah deign,x. 40.
On these which once were chicks, iv. 235.
One, I wish him in belt a thousand horns, v. 129.
One craved my love and I gave all he craved of me,iii. 210.
One wrote upon her cheek with musk, his name was Ja’afarhighs,
iv. 292.
Open the door! the leach now draweth near, v. 284.
Oppression ambusheth in sprite of man, ix. 343.
Our aim is only converse to enjoy, iv. 54.
Our Fort is Tor, and flames the fire of fight, ii.242.
Our life to thee, O cup-boy Beauty-dight! iii. 169.
Our trysting-time is all too short, iii. 167.

Pardon my fault, for tis the wont, i. 126.
Pardon the sinful ways I did pursue, ii. 38.
Part not from one whose wont is not to part from you,iii. 295
Parting ran up to part from lover twain iii. 209.
Pass round the cup to the old and the young man, too,viii. 278.
Pass o’er my fault, for ’tis the wiseman’s wont, viii. 327.
Patience hath fled, but passion fareth not v. 358.
Patience with sweet and with bitter Fate! viii. 146.
Patient I seemed, yet Patience shown by me, vii.96.
Patient, O Allah! to Thy destiny I bow iii.328.
Pause ye and see his sorry state since when ye fainwithdrew,
viii. 66.
Peace be to her who visits me in sleeping phantasy,viii. 241.
Peace be to you from lover’s wasted love vii.368.
Peace be with you, sans you naught compensateth me,viii. 320.
Perfect were lover’s qualities in him was broughtamorn, viii.
255.
Pink cheeks and eyes enpupil’d black have dealtme sore despight,
viii. 69.
Pleaseth me more the fig than every fruit viii. 269.
Pleaseth me yon Hazar of mocking strain v.48.
Pleasure and health, good cheer, good appetite, ii.102.
Ply me and also my mate be plied, viii. 203.
Poverty dims the sheen of man whate’er his wealthhas been, i.
272
Pray’ee grant me some words from your lips,belike, iii. 274.
Pray, tell me what hath Fate to do betwixt us twain?v. 128.
Preserve thy hoary hairs from soil and stain, iv.43.
Prove how love can degrade, v. 134.

Quince every taste conjoins, in her are found, i.158.
Quoth I to a comrade one day, viii. 289.
Quoth our Imam Abu Nowas, who was, v. 157.
Quoth she (for I to lie with her forbare), iii. 303.
Quoth she, “I see thee dye thy hoariness,”iv. 194.
Quoth she to me,—­and sore enraged, viii.293.
Quoth she to me—­I see thou dy’stthy hoariness, viii. 295.
Quoth they and I had trained my taste thereto, viii.269.
Quoth they, Black letters on his cheek are writ! iv.196.
Quoth they, Maybe that Patience lend thee ease! iii.178.
Quoth they, Thou rav’st on him thou lov’st,iii. 258.
Quoth they, “Thou’rt surely raving madfor her thou lov’st, viii.
326.

Racked is my heart by parting fro my friends, i. 150. Rain showers of torrent tears, O Eyne, and see, viii.250. Rebel against women and so shalt thou serveAllah the more, iii. 214. Red fruits that fillthe hand, and shine with sheen, viii. 271. Relynot on women: Trust not to their hearts, i. 13. Reserve is a jewel, Silence safety is, i. 208. Restore my heart as ’twas within my breast, viii.37. Right near at hand, Umaymah mine! v. 75. Robe thee, O House, in richest raiment Time, viii.206. Roll up thy days and they shall easy roll,iv. 220. Rosy red Wady hot with summer glow,ix.6. Round with big and little, the bowl andcup, ii. 29.

Said I to slim-waist who the wine engraced, viii.307.
Salam from graces treasured by my Lord, iii. 273.
Salams fro’ me to friends in every stead, iii.256.
Say, canst not come to us one momentling, iv. 43.
Say, cloth heart of my fair incline to him, v. 127.
Say him who careless sleeps what while the shaft ofFortune
flies, i. 68.
Say me, on Allah’s path has death not dealtto me, iv. 247.
Say me, will Union after parting e’er returnto be, viii. 320.
Say then to skin “Be soft,” to face “Befair,” i. 252.
Say thou to the she-gazelle, who’s no gazelle,v. 130.
Say to angry lover who turns away, v. 131
Say to the charmer in the dove-hued veil, i. 280.
Say to the fair in the wroughten veil, viii. 291
Say to the pretty one in veil of blue, iv. 264.
Say what shall solace one who hath nor home nor stablestead,
ii.124.
Say, will to me and you the Ruthful union show, viii.323.
Scented with sandal and musk, right proudly clothshe go, v. 192.
Seeing thy looks wots she what thou desir’st,v. 226.
Seest not how the hosts of the Rose display, viii.276.
Seest not that Almond plucked by hand, viii. 270.
Seest not that musk, the nut-brown musk, e’erclaims the highest
price, iv. 253.
Seest not that pearls are prized for milky hue, iv.250.
Seest not that rosery where Rose a flowering displays,viii. 275.
Seest not the bazar with its fruit in rows, iii. 302.
Seest not the Lemon when it taketh form, viii. 272.
Seest not we want for joy four things all told, i.86.
Semblance of full-moon Heaven bore, v. 192.
Severance-grief nighmost, Union done to death, iv.223.
Shall I be consoled when Love hath mastered the secretof me,
viii. 261.
Shall man experience-lectured ever care, vii. 144.
Shall the beautiful hue of the Basil fail, i.19.
Shall the world oppress me when thou art in’s,ii. 18.
Shall we e’er be united after severance tide,viii. 322.
Shamed is the bough of Ban by pace of her, viii. 223.
She bade me farewell on our parting day, ii. 35.
She beamed on my sight with a wondrous glance, ii.87.
She came apparelled in an azure vest, i. 218.
She came apparelled in a vest of blue, viii. 280.
She came out to gaze on the bridal at ease, v. 149.
She came thick veiled, and cried I, O display, viii.280.
She comes apparelled in an azure vest x.58.
She comes like fullest moon on happy night, i. 218;x. 59.
She cried while played in her side Desire ix. 197.
She dispread the locks from her head one night, iii.226.
She drew near whenas death was departing us, v. 71.
She gives her woman’s hand a force that failsthe hand of me,
iii. 176
She hath eyes whose babes wi’ their fingerssign, viii. 166.
She hath those hips conjoined by thread of waist,iii. 226.
She hath wrists which, did her bangles not contain,iii. 226.
She is a sun which towereth high asky iii. 163.
She joineth charms were never seen conjoined in mortaldress,
vii. 104.
She lords it o’er our hearts in grass-greengown, ii. 318.
She prayeth; the Lord of grace her prayer obeyed,v. 273.
She proffered me a tender coynte, iii. 304.
She rose like the morn as she shone through the night,i. 11.
She saith sore hurt in sense the most acute, iii.303.
She shineth forth a moon, and bends a willow-wand,iv. 50.
She shone out in the garden in garments all of green,v. 346.
She shot my heart with shaft, then turned on heel,vii. 141.
She sits it in lap like a mother fond, ix. 191.
She ’spied the moon of Heaven reminding me,iv. 51.
She split my casque of courage with eye- swords thatsorely
smite, iii. 179.
She spread three tresses of unplaited hair iv.51.
She wears a pair of ringlets long let down, v. 240.
She who my all of love by love of her hath won, viii.254.
Shoulder thy tray and go straight to thy goal, i.278.
Showed me Sir Such-an-one a sight, and what a sight!iv. 193.
Silent I woned and never owned my love v. 151.
Silky her skin and silk that zoned waist iii. 163.
Since my loper-friend in my hand hath given, iv. 20.
Since none will lend my love a helping hand, vii.225.
Since our Imam came forth from medicine, v. 154.
Sleep fled me, by my side wake ever shows, viii. 68.
Slept in mine arms full moon of brightest blee, x.39.
Slim-waist and boyish wits delight, v. 161.
Slim-waisted craved wine from her companeer, viii.307.
Slim-waisted loveling, from his hair and brow, viii.299.
Slim-waisted loveling, jetty hair encrowned, i. 116.
Slim-waisted one whose looks with down of cheek, v.158.
Slim-waisted one, whose taste is sweetest sweet, v.241.
Sojourn of stranger, in whatever land, vii. 175.
Sought me this heart’s dear love at gloom ofnight, vii. 253.
Source of mine evils, truly, she alone’s, iii.165.
Sow kindness seed in the unfittest stead iii. 136.
Stand by and see the derring-do which I to-day willshow, iii.
107
Stand by the ruined home and ask of us, iii. 328.
Stand thou and hear what fell to me, viii. 228.
Stand thou by the homes and hail the lords of theruined stead,
ii. 181.
Stay! grant one parting look before we part, ii. 15.
Steer ye your steps to none but me, v. 65.
Still cleaves to this homestead mine ecstasy, viii.243.
Stint ye this blame viii. 254.
Straitened bosom; reveries dispread, iii. 182.
Strange is my story, passing prodigy, iv. 139
Strange is the charm which dights her brows like Luna’sdisk that
shine, ii. 3.
Strive he to cure his case, to hide the truth, ii.320.
Such is the world, so bear a patient heart, i. 183.
Suffer mine eye-babes weep lost of love and tearsexpress, viii.
112.
Suffice thee death such marvels can enhance, iii.56.
Sun riseth sheen from her brilliant brow, vii. 246.
Sweetest of nights the world can show to me, ii. 318.
Sweetheart! How long must I await by so longsuffering tried? ii.
178.
Sweetly discourses she on Persian string, viii. 166.

Take all things easy; for all worldly things, iv.220. Take thy life and fly whenas evils threat;let the ruined house tell its owner’s fate,i. 109. Take, O my lord to thee the Rose, viii.275. Take patience which breeds good if patiencethou can learn, iv. 221. Take warning, O proud,iv. 118. Tear-drops have chafed mine eyelidsand rail down in wondrous wise, v. 53. Tellher who turneth from our love to work it injury sore,i. 181. Tell whoso hath sorrow grief never shalllast, i. 15. That cheek-mole’s spot theyevened with a grain, i. 251. That jetty hair,that glossy brow, i. 203. That night th’astrologer a scheme of planets drew, i. 167. That pair in image quits me not one single hour, ii.173. That rarest beauty ever bides my foe, vii.366. That sprouting hair upon his face took wreak,v. 161. The birds took flight at eve and wingedtheir way, viii. 34. The blear-eyed scapes thepits, i. 265. The boy like his father shall surelyshow, i.310. The breeze o’ morn blows uswardsfrom her trace, viii. 206. The bushes of goldenhued rose excite, viii. 276. The Bulbul’snote, whenas dawn is nigh, v.48. The caravan-chiefcalleth loud o’ night, viii. 239. The chamberswere like a bee-hive well stocked, ix. 292. Thecoming unto thee is blest, viii. 167. The companyleft with my love by night, ix. 27. The Compassionateshow no ruth to the tomb where his bones shall lie,x. 47. The courser chargeth on battling foe,iii. 83. The day of my delight is the day whenyou draw near, i. 75. The day of parting cutmy heart in twain, iii. 124. The fawn-Glee onea meeting promised me, iv. 195. The fawn of amaid hent her lute in hand, ii. 34. The feetof sturdy miscreants went trampling heavy tread, x.38. The first in rank to kiss the ground shall deign, i.250. The fragrance of musk from the breasts ofthe fair, viii. 209. The full moon groweth perfectonce a month, vii. 271. The glasses are heavywhen empty brought, x. 40.
The hapless lover’s heart is of his wooing wearygrown, iv. 144. The hearts of lovers have eyesI ken, iv. 238. The hue of dusty motes is hers,iv. 257. The house, sweetheart, is now no hometo me, v. 381. The jujube tree each day, viii.271. The Kings who fared before us showed, iii.318. The land of ramping moon is bare and drear,viii. 126. The least of him is the being free,v. 156. The life of the bath is the joy of man’slife, iii. 19. The like of whatso feelest thouwe feel, vii. 141. The longing of a Bedouin maid,whose folks are far away, iii. 172. The longingof an Arab lass forlorn of kith and kin, ii. 306. The Lord, empty House! to thee peace decree, viii.238. The loved ones left thee in middle night,v. 150. The lover is drunken with love of friend,v.39. The lover’s heart for his belovedmust meet, ii. 62. The lover’s heart islike to break in twain ii. 63. The mead is brightwith what is on’t ii. 86. , The messenger whokept our commerce hid, iii. 189. The Moon o’the Time shows unveiled light, ix. 287. The Naddis my wine scented powder, my bread, viii. 209. The name of what crave me distraught, viii. 93. The Nile-flood this day is the gain you own, i. 290. The penis smooth and round was made with anus bestto match it, iii. 303. The phantom of Soadacame by night to wake me, viii. 337. The poorman fares by everything opposed, ix. 291. TheProphet saw whatever eyes could see v. 287. Thereturn of the friend is the best of all boons, ix.287. The Rose in highest stead I rate, viii.274 The signs that here their mighty works portray,vi. 90. The slanderers said There is hair uponhis cheeks, v. 157. The slippers that carry thesefair young feet, viii. 320. The smack of parting’s myrrh to me, ii. 101. The solace oflovers is naught but far, viii. The spring ofthe down on cheeks right clearly shows, v. 190. The stream ’s a cheek by sunlight rosy dyed,ii. 240. The streamlet swings by branchy woodand aye, viii. 267. The sun of beauty she toall appears, x. 59. The sun of beauty she tosight appears, i. 218. The sun yellowed not inthe murk gloom lien, viii. 285. The sword, thesworder and the bloodskin waiting me I sight, ii.42. The tears of these eyes find easy releasev.127. The tears run down his cheeks in doublerow, iii. 169. “The time of parting”quoth they “draweth nigh,” v. 280. The tongue of love from heart bespeaks my sprite, iv.261. The tongue of Love within my vitals speaketh,viii. 319. The toothstick love I not; for whenI say, The road is lonesome; grow my grief and need,m. 13. The weaver-wight wrote with gold-ore bright,viii. 210. The whiskers write upon his cheekwith ambergris on pearl, vii. 277 The wide plainis narrowed before these eyes, viii. 28. Thewise have said that the white of hair, viii. 294. The world hath shot me with its sorrow till, vii. 340. The world sware that for ever ’twould gar megrieve, viii. 243. The world tears man to shreds,so be thou not, ix. 295. The world tricks I admirebetwixt me and her, ix. 242. The world’sbest joys long be thy lot, my lord, i. 203. Thezephyr breatheth o’er its branches, like, viii.267. Their image bides with me, ne’er quitsme, ne’er shall fly, viii. 66. Their tractsI see, and pine with pain and pang, i. 151. Therebe no writer who from death shall fleet, i. 128. There be rulers who have ruled with a foul tyrannicsway, i. 60. There remaineth not aught save afluttering breath, viii. 124. There remains tohim naught save a flitting breath, vii. 119. They blamed me for causing my tears to well, ix. 29. They bore him bier’d and all who followed wept,ii. 281. They find me fault with her where Idefault ne’er find, v. 80. They have cruellyta’en me from him my beloved, v. 51. They’regone who when thou stoodest at their door, iv. 200. They ruled awhile and theirs was harsh tyrannic rule,iv. 220. They said, Thou revest upon the personthou lovest, iv. 205. They say me, “Thoushinest a light to mankind,” i. 187. Theyshine fullest moons, unveil crescent bright, viii.304. They talked of three beauties whose conversewas quite, vii. 112. Thine image ever companiesmy sprite, iii. 259. Thine image in these eyne,a-lip thy name, iii. 179. Think not from her,of whom thou art enamoured, viii. 216. Thinkestthou thyself all prosperous, in days which prosp’rousbe, viii. 309. This be his recompense who will,ix. 17. This day oppressor and oppressed meet,v. 258. This garden and this lake in truth, viii.207. This house, my lady, since you left is nowa home no more, i. 211. This messenger shallgive my news to thee, iii. 181. This is a thingwherein destruction lies, i. 118. This is sheI will never forget till I die, viii. 304. Thisis thy friend perplexed for pain and pine, iv. 279. This one, whom hunger plagues, and rags enfold, vii.129. Tho’ ’tis thy wont to hide thylove perforce, iii. 65. Thou art the cause thatcastest men in ban and bane, viii. 149. Thoucamest and green grew the hills anew, iii. 18. Thou deemedst well of Time when days went well, ii.12; iii. 253. Thou hast a reed of rede to everyland, i. 128.
Thou hast failed who would sink me in ruin-sea, iii.108.
Thou hast granted more favours than ever I crave,ii. 32.
Thou hast restored my wealth, sans greed and ere,iv. 111.
Thou hast some art the hearts of men to clip, i. 241.
Thou hast won my heart by cheek and eye of thee, viii.256. Thou liest, O foulest of Satans, thou art,iii. 108. Thou liest when speaking of “benefits,”while, iii. 108. Thou madest Beauty to spoilman’s sprite, ix. 249. Thou madest fairthy thought of Fate, viii. 130. Thou pacest thepalace a marvel-sight, i. 176. Thou present,in the Heaven of Heavens I dwell, iii. 268. Thouseekest my death; naught else thy will can satisfy?ii. 103. Thou west all taken up with love ofother man, not me, i. 182. Thou west create ofdust and cam’st to life, iv. 190. Thouwest invested (woe to thee!) with rule for thee unfit,vii. 127. Though amorn I may awake with allhappiness in hand, i. 75. Though now thou jeer,O Hind, how many a night, vii. 98. Three coatsyon freshest form endue, viii. 270. Three lovelygirls hold my bridle-rein, ix. 243. Three mattershinder her from visiting us in fear, iii. 231. Three things for ever hinder her to visit us, viii.279. Throne you on highmost stead, heart, earsand sight, viii. 258. Thy breast thou baredstsending back the gift, v. 153. Thy case committo a Heavenly Lord and thou shalt safety see, viii.151. Thy folly drives thee on though long I chid,iii. 29. Thy note came: long lost fingerswrote that note, iv. 14. Thy phantom bid thoufleet and fly, vii. 108. Thy presence bringethus a grace, i. 175. Thy shape with willow branchI dare compare, iv. 255. Thy shape’s temptation,eyes as Houri’s fain, viii. 47. Thy sighthath never seen a fairer sight, ii. 292. Thywrit, O Masrur, stirred my sprite to pine, viii. 245. Time falsed our union and divided who were one in sway,x. 26. Time gives me tremble, Ah, how sore thebaulk! i. 144. Time has recorded gifts she gavethe great, i. 128. Time hath for his wont toupraise and debase, ii. 143 Time hath shattered allmy frame, ii. 4. Time sware my life should farein woeful waste, ii. 186. ’Tis as if wineand he who bears the bowl, x.38. ’Tis asthe Figs with clear white skins outthrown, viii. 268. ’Tis dark: my transport and unease now gathermight and main, v. 45. ’Tis I am the stranger,visited by none, v. 116. ’Tis naught butthis! When a-sudden I see her, ix. 235. ’Tis not at every time and tide unstable, iv.188. ’Tis thou hast trodden coyness-pathnot I, iii. 332. To all who unknow my love forthe May, viii.332. To Allah will I make my moanof travail and of woe, iii. 106. To Allah’scharge I leave that moon-like beauty in your tents,iv. 145. To even her with greeny bough were vain,i. 156. To grief leave a heart that to love ne’erceased, viii. 215. To him I spake of couplingbut he said to me, iii. 301. To him when thewine cup is near I declare, ix. 189. To Karim,the cream of men thou gayest me, ii. 35. To kithand kin bear thou sad tidings of our plight, iii. 111. To me restore my dear, v. 55. To our belovedswe moaned our length of night, iv. 106. To Rosequoth I, What gars thy thorns to be put forth, viii.276. To severance you doom my love and all unmovedremain, i. 181. To slay my foes is chiefest blissI wist, ii. 239. To th’ AII-wise SubtleOne trust worldly things, i. 56. To Thee be praise,O Thou who showest unremitting grace, viii. 183.o thee come I forth with my heart aflame, iii. 108. To win our favours still thy hopes are bent, vii. 224. Told us, ascribing to his Shaykhs, our Shaykh, iv.47. Travel! and thou shalt find new friends forold ones left behind, i. 197 Troubles familiar withmy heart are grown and I with them, viii. 117. Trust not to man when thou hast raised his spleen,iii. 145. Truth best befits thee albeit truth,i. 298. Turn thee from grief nor care a jot!i. 56 ’Twas as I feared the coming ills discerning,ii. 189. ’Twas by will of her she was create,viii. 291. ’Twas not of love that faredmy feet to them, iv. 180. ’Twas not satietybade me leave the dearling of my soul, i. 181. ’Twixt the close-tied and open-wide no mediumFortune knoweth, ii. 105. ’Twixt me andriding many a noble dame v. 266. Two contrariesand both concur in opposite charms, iv. 20. Twohosts fare fighting thee the livelong day, i. 132. Two lovers barred from every joy and bliss, v. 240. Two things there are, for which if eyes wept tear ontear, viii. 263. Two things there be, an blood-tearsthereover, viii. 106. Two nests in one, bloodflowing easiest wise, v. 239. Tyrannise not,if thou hast the power to do so, iv. 189.

Umm Amr’, thy boons Allah repay! v. 118.
Under my raiment a waste body lies, v. 151.
Under these domes how many a company, vi.91.
Union, this severance ended, shall I see some day?iii. 12.
Unjust it were to bid the world be just i. 237. ,
Uns al-Wujud dost deem me fancy free, v. 43.
Unto thee, As’ad! I of passion pangs complain,iii. 312.
Unto thy phantom deal behest, vii. 109.
Upsprings from table of his lovely cheek vii. 277.

Veiling her cheeks with hair a-morn she comes, i.218.
Verily women are devils created for us, iii. 322.
Vied the full moon for folly with her face, viii.291.
Virtue in hand of thee hath built a house, iv. 138.
Visit thy lover, spurn what envy told, i. 223.
Void are the private rooms of treasury, iv. 267.

Wail for the little partridges on porringer and plate,i. 131.
Wands of green chrysolite bare issue which, viii.275.
’Ware how thou hurtest man with hurt of hearts,ii. 197.
’Ware that truth thou speak, albe sooth whensaid, x. 23.
Was’t archer shot me, or was’t shine eyes,v. 33.
Watch some tall ship she’ll joy the sight ofthee, ii. 20.
Watered steel-blade, the world perfection calls, vii.173.
Waters of beauty e’er his cheeks flow bright,viii. 299.
We joy in full Moon who the wine bears round, viii.227.
We left not taking leave of thee (when bound to othergoal),
viii. 63.
We lived on earth a life of fair content, v. 71.
We lived till saw we all the marvels Love can bear,v. 54.
We’ll drink and Allah pardon sinners all, viii.277.
We never heard of wight nor yet espied, viii. 296.
We reck not, an our life escape from bane, vii. 99.
We tread the path where Fate hath led, i. 107.
We trod the steps appointed for us, x. 53.
We trod the steps that for us were writ, ix. 226.
We were and were the days enthralled to all our wills,ii. 182.
We were like willow-boughs in garden shining, vii.132.
We wrought them weal, they met our weal with ill,i. 43.
Welcome the Fig! To us it comes, viii. 269.
Well Allah weets that since our severance-day, iii.8.
Well Allah wots that since my severance from thee,iii. 292.
Well Allah wotteth I am sorely plagued, v. 139.
Well learnt we, since you left, our grief and sorrowto sustain,
iii. 63.
Wend to that pious prayerful Emir, v. 274.
Were I to dwell on heart-consuming heat, iii.310.
Were it said to me while the flame is burning withinme, vii.
282.
Were not the Murk of gender male, x. 60.
What ails the Beauty, she returneth not? v. 137.
What ails the Raven that he croaks my lover’shouse hard by,
viii. 242.
What can the slave do when pursued by Fate, iii.341.
What fair excuse is this my pining plight, v. 52.
What I left, I left it not for nobility of soul, vi.92.
What pathway find I my desire to obtain, v. 42.
What sayest of one by a sickness caught, v. 164.
What sayest thou of him by sickness waste, v. 73.
What secret kept I these my tears have told, iii.285.
What’s life to me, unless I see the pearly sheen,iii. 65.
What’s this? I pass by tombs, and fondlygreet, iii. 46.
What time Fate’s tyranny shall oppress thee,i. 119.
Whate’er they say of grief to lovers came, iii.33.
Whatever needful thing thou undertake, i. 307.
Whatso is not to be no sleight shall bring to pass,ii. 279.
Whatso is not to be shall ne’er become, iii.162.
When a nickname or little name men design, i. 350.
When Allah willeth aught befal a man, i. 275.
When comes she slays she; and when back she turns,iv. 232.
When drew she near to bid adieu with heart unstrung,i. 158.
Whene’er the Lord ’gainst any man, viii.314.
When fails my wealth no friend will deign befriend,i. 208, iv.
189.
When fortune weighs heavy on some of us iii. 141.
When forwards Allah’s aid a man’s intent,x. 53.
When God upon a man possessed of reasoning, viii.21.
When he who is asked a favour saith “To-morrow,”i. 196.
When his softly bending shape bid him close to myembrace, iii.
306.
When I drew up her shift from the roof of her coynte,ii. 331.
When I far-parted patience call and tears vi. 279.
When I righted and dayed in Damascus town, i, 233.
When I think of my love and our parting smart, i.250.
When I took up her shift and discovered the terrace-roofof her
kaze, viii. 32.
When in thy mother’s womb thou west
When its birds in the lake make melody vi. 277.
When Khalid menaced off to strike my hand, iv. 156.
When love and longing and regret are mine, ii. 34.
When man keeps honour bright without a stem, iv. 106.
When my blamer saw me beside my love, ix. 1.
When oped the inkhorn of thy wealth and fame, i. 129.
When saw I Pleiad stars his glance escape, iii. 221.
When shall be healed of thee this heart that everbides in woe?
ii. 296.
When shall disunion and estrangement end? iv. 137.
When shall the disappointed heart be healed of severance,iii.
58.
When shall the severance-fire be quenched by union,love, with
you, viii. 62.
When she’s incensed thou seest folk lie slain,viii. 165.
When straitened is my breast I will of my Creatorpray, viii.
149.
When the Kings’ King giveth, in reverence pause,x. 35.
When the slanderers only to part us cared, iv. 19.
When the tyrant enters the lieges land, iii. 120.
When the World heaps favours on thee pass on, ii.13.
When they made their camels yellow-white kneel downat dawning
grey, v. 140.
When they to me had brought the leach and surely showed,v. 286.
When thou art seized of Evil Fate assume, i. 38.
When thou seest parting be patient still, viii. 63.
When to sore parting Fate our love shall doom, todistant life by
Destiny decreed, i. 129.
When we drank the wine, and it crept its way, x. 37.
When we met we complained, i. 249.
When will time grant we meet, when shall we be, viii.86.
When wilt thou be wise and love-heat allay, v. 78.
Whenas mine eyes behold her loveliness vii. 244.
Whenas on any land the oppressor cloth alight, iii. 130.
Where are the Kings earth-peopling where are they?vi. 103.
Where be the Earth kings who from where they ’bode,vi. 105
Where be the Kings who ruled the Franks of old? vi.106.
Where be the men who built and fortified vi. 104.
Where gone is Bounty since thy hand is turned to clay?ii. 282.
Where is the man who built the Pyramids? v. 107
Where is the man who did those labours ply, vi. 105.
Where is the way to Consolation’s door, viii.240.
Where is the wight who peopled in the past, vi. 104.
While girl with softly rounded polished cheeks, iv.249.
While slanderers slumber, longsome is my night, iii.221.
While that fair-faced boy abode in the place, ix.250.
While thou’rt my lord whose bounty’s myestate, iv. 2.
Who cloth kindness to men shall be paid again, v.104.
Who loves not swan-neck and gazelle-like eyes, iii.34.
Who made all graces all collected He, iv. 111.
Who saith that love at first of free will came, ii.302.
Who seeketh for pearl in the Deep dives deep, ii.208.
Who shall save me from love of a lovely gazelle, vii.282.
Who shall support me in calamities, ii. 40.
Who trusteth secret to another’s hand, i. 87.
Whom I irk let him fly fro’ me fast and faster,viii. 315.
Whoso ne’er tasted of Love’s sweets andbitter-draught, iv. 237.
Whoso shall see the death-day of his foe, ii. 41.
Whoso two dirhams hath, his lips have learnt, iv.171.
Why dost thou weep when I depart and thou didst partingclaim, v.
295.
Why not incline me to that show of silky down, iv.258.
Why then waste I my time in grief, until, i. 256.
Will Fate with joy of union ever bless our sight,v. 128.
Wilt thou be just to others in thy love and do, iv.264.
Wilt turn thy face from heart that’s all shineown, v. 278.
Wilt tyrant play with truest friend who thinks ofthee each hour,
iii. 269.
Wine cup and ruby wine high worship claim, x. 41.
With all my soul I’ll ransom him who came tome in gloom, vii.
253.
With Allah take I refuge from whatever driveth me,iv. 254.
With fire they boiled me to loose my tongue, i. 132.
With heavy back parts, high breasts delicate, ii.98.
With thee that pear agree, whose hue amorn, viii.270.
With you is my heart-cure a heart that goes, viii.78.
Wither thy right, O smith, which made her bear, viii.246.
Within my heart is fire, vii. 127.
Witnesses unto love of thee I’ve four viii.106.
Woe’s me! why should the blamer gar thee blamingbow? ii. 305.
Women are Satans made for woe o’ man iii. 318.
Women for all the chastity they claim, iii. 216.
Women Satans are, made for woe of man, ix. 282.
Would he come to my bed during sleep ’tweredelight, vii. 111.
Would Heaven I knew (but many are the shifts of joyand woe), v.
75.
Would Heaven I saw at this hour, iii. 134.
Would Heaven I wot, will ever Time bring our belovedsback again?
viii. 320.
Would Heaven the phantom spared the friend at night,v. 348.
Would I wot for what crime shot and pierced are we,viii. 238.
Would they the lover seek without ado, viii. 281.
Wrong not thy neighbour even if thou have power, iii.136.
Ye are the wish, the aim of me, i. 98.
Ye promised us and will ye not keep plight? iii. 282.
Yea, Allah hath joined the parted twain, ix. 205.
Yea, I will laud thee while the ringdove moans, viii.100.
Yellowness, tincturing her tho’ nowise sickor sorry, iv. 259.
Yestre’en my love with slaughter menaced me,iii. 27.
You are my wish, of creatures brightest light, viii.76.
You have honoured us visiting this our land, ii. 34.
You’ve roused my desire and remain at rest,viii. 101.
You’re far, yet to my heart you’re nearestnear, viii. 111.
Your faring on the parting day drew many a tear fro’me, viii.
61.

Index III.-B

Alphabetical Table ofFirst Lines
(Metrical Portion) in Arabic.

Prepared by Dr.Steingass.

[Index iii-B is not included]

INDEX IV.—­A.

Table of contents of the unfinished Calcutta (1814-18)edition
(firsttwohundrednightsonly) oftheArabictextofthe
bookofthethousandnightsandonenight.

Night
introduction—­
a. The Bull and the Ass
1. The Trader and the Jinni i [1]
a. The First Old Man’s Story ii [2]
b. The Second Old Man’s Story iv [4]
(The Third Old Man’s Story iswanting.)
2. The Fisherman and the Jinni viii [8]
a. The Physician Duban xi [11]
aa. The Merchant and the Parrot xiv [14]
ab. The Prince and the Ogress xv [15]
b. The Ensorcelled Youth xxi [21]
3. The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad xxviii [28]
a. The First Kalandar’s Tale xxxix [39]
b. The Second Kalandar’s Tale xlii [42]
ba. The Envier and the Envied xlvi [46]
c. The Third Kalandar’s Tale liii [53]
d. The Eldest Lady’s Tale lxiv [64]
(The Story of the Portress is wanting.)
4. The Three Apples lxviii [68]
5. Nur al-Din Ali and his Son Badr al-DinHassan lxxii [72]
6. Isaac of Mosul’s Story of Khadijahand the Caliph Al-Maamun xciv [94]
7. The Hunchback’s Tale ci [101]
a. The Nazarene Broker’s Story cix [109]
b. The Cook’s Story cxxi [121]
(The Reeve or Comptroller’s Tale inthe Bresl., Mac.
and Bull Edits.)
c. The Jewish Physician’s Story cxxix [124]
d. Tale of the Tailor cxxxvi [136]
e. The Barber’s Tale of Himself cxliii [143]
ea. The Barber’s Tale of hisFirst Brother cxlv [145]
eb. The Barber’s Tale of hisSecond Brother cxlviii [148]
ec. The Barber’s Tale of hisThird Brother cli [151]
ed. The Barber’s Tale of hisFourth Brother clii [152]
ee. The Barber’s Tale of hisFifth Brother cliv [154]
ef. Story of the Barber’s SixthBrother clviii [158]
8. Ali bin Bakkar and Shams Al-Nahar clxiii [163]
9. Nur al-Din Ali and the Damsel Anis al-Jalis clxxxi [181]
10. Women’s Craft cxcv-cc [195-200]
11. Sindbad the Seaman and Hindbad the Hammal
(In Mac. and Bresl. Edit.; “Sindbadthe Sailor and Sindbad
the Hammal,”)
a. The First Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman.
b. The Second Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman.
c. The Third Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman.
d. The Fourth Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman.
e. The Fifth Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman.
f. The Sixth Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman.
g. The Seventh Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman.

INDEX IV.—­B.

Table of contents of the Breslau (Tunis) edition ofthe Arabic
textofthebookofthethousandnightsandonenight,
fromMr.Payne’sversion.

INDEX IV.—­C.

Table of contents of the Mcnaughten or Turner Macantext (1839-42) and
Bulakedition(A.H. 1251 = A.D. 1835-36) OftheArabictextof
thebookofthethousandnightsandA night; astranslatedby
Mr. JohnPayne.

INDEX IV.—­D.

Comparison of thesame with Mr. Lane’s
and my version.

Introduction and

Nos. 1 to 6 of the precedinglist from Volume I. of my Edition.

Nos. 7 to 9aaof the preceding list from Volume ii. of my Edition.
(contd.)

Nos. 9aa to 21of the preceding list from Volume iii. of my Edition.
(contd.)

Nos. 21 to 58of the preceding list from Volume iv. of my Edition.
(contd.)

Nos. 59 to 131of the preceding list from Volume V. of my Edition.
(contd.)

Nos. 132 to 136of the preceding list from Volume vi. of my Edition.
(contd.)

Nos. 136 to 154aof the preceding list from Volume vii. of my Edition.
(contd.)

Nos. 154a to 158of the preceding list from Volume viii. of myEdition.
(contd.)

Nos. 158 to 168of the preceding list from Volume ix. of my Edition.
(contd.)

Nos. 169 and conclusion of thepreceding list from Volume X. of my Edition.

For full details, see contents pages of each of therespective Volumes.

Appendix II

CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE THOUSAND ANDONE NIGHTS, AND THEIR IMITATIONS, WITH A TABLESHOWING THE CONTENTS OF THE PRINCIPAL EDITIONS INDTRANSLATIONS OF THE NIGHTS.

By W. F. Kirby
Author of “Ed-Dimiryaht: an Oriental Romance,”“The New Arabian
Nights,” &c.

The European editions of the Thousand and One Nights,even excluding the hundreds of popular editions whichhave nothing specially noticeable about them, arevery numerous; and the following Notes must, I amfully aware, be incomplete, though they will, perhaps,be found useful to persons interested in the subject. Although I believe that editions of most of the English,French, and German versions of any importance havepassed through my hands, I have not had an opportunityof comparing many in other languages, some of whichat least may be independent editions, not derivedfrom Galland. The imitations and adaptationsof The Nights are, perhaps, more numerous than theeditions of The Nights themselves, if we exclude merereprints of Galland; and many of them are even moredifficult of access.

In the following Notes, I have sometimes referredto tales by their numbers in the Table.

Galland’s Ms.and Translation.

The first Ms. of The Nights known in Europe wasbrought to Paris by Galland at the close of the 17thcentury; and his translation was published in Paris,in twelve small volumes, under the title of “LesMille et une Nuit: Contes Arabes, traduits enFrancois par M. Galland.” These volumesappeared at intervals between 1704 and 1717. Galland himself died in 1715, and it is uncertain howfar he was responsible for the latter part of the work. Only the first six of the twelve vols. are dividedinto Nights, vol. 6 completing the story of Camaralzaman,and ending with Night 234. The Voyages of Sindbadare not found in Galland’s Ms., though hehas intercalated them as Nights 69-90 between Nos.3 and 4. It should be mentioned, however, thatin some texts (Bresl., for instance) No. 133 is placedmuch earlier in the series than in others.

The stories in Galland’s last six vols. maybe divided into two classes, viz., those knownto occur in genuine texts of The Nights, and thosewhich do not. To the first category belong Nos.7, 8, 59, 153 and 170; and some even of these are notfound in Galland’s own Ms., but were derivedby him from other sources. The remaining tales(Nos. 191-198) do not really belong to The Nights;and, strange to say, although they are certainly genuineOriental tales, the actual originals have never beenfound. I am inclined to think that Galland may,perhaps, have written and adapted them from his recollectionof stories which he himself heard related during hisown residence in the East, especially as most of thesetales appear to be derived rather from Persian orTurkish than from Arabian sources.

The following Preface appeared in vol. 9 which I translatefrom Talander’s German edition, as the originalis not before me:

“The two stories with which the eighth volumeconcludes do not properly belong to the Thousand andOne Nights. They were added and printed withoutthe previous knowledge of the translator, who hadnot the slightest idea of the trick that had been playedupon him until the eighth volume was actually on sale. The reader must not, therefore, be surprised thatthe story of the Sleeper Awakened, which commencesvol. 9, is written as if Scheherazade had relatedit immediately after the story of Ganem, which formsthe greater part of vol. 8. Care will be takento omit these two stories in a new edition, as notbelonging to the work.”

It is, perhaps, not to be wondered at that when thenew edition was actually published, subsequently toGalland’s death, the condemned stories wereretained, and the preface withdrawn; though No. 170still reads as if it followed No. 8.

The information I have been able to collect respectingthe disputed tales is very slight. I once sawa Ms. advertised in an auction catalogue (I thinkthat of the library of the late Prof. H. H. Wilson)as containing two of Galland’s doubtful tales,but which they were was not stated. The fourthand last volume of the Ms. used by Galland islost; but it is almost certain that it did not containany of these tales (compare Payne, ix. 265 note).

The story of Zeyn Alasnam (No. 191) is derived fromthe same source as that of the Fourth Durwesh, inthe well-known Hindustani reading-book, the Bagh oBahar. If it is based upon this, Galland hasgreatly altered and improved it, and has given itthe whole colouring of a European moral fairy tale.

The story of Ali Baba (No. 195) is, I have been told,a Chinese tale. It occurs under the title ofthe Two Brothers and the Forty-nine Dragons in Geldart’sModern Greek Tales. It has also been stated thatthe late Prof. Palmer met with a very similarstory among the Arabs of Sinai (Payne, ix. 266).

The story of Sidi Nouman (No 194b) may have been basedpartly upon the Third Shaykh’s Story (No. 1c),which Galland omits. The feast of the Ghoolsis, I believe, Greek or Turkish, rather than Arabic,in character, as vampires, personified plague, andsimilar horrors are much commoner in the folk-loreof the former peoples.

Many incidents of the doubtful, as well as of thegenuine tales, are common in European folk-lore (versionsof Nos. 2 and 198, for instance, occur in Grimm’sKinder und Hausmaerchen), and some of the doubtfultales have their analogues in Scott’s Ms.,as will be noticed in due course.

I have not seen Galland’s original edition in12 vols.; but the Stadt-Bibliothek of Frankfort-on-Maincontains a copy, published at La Haye, in 12 vols.(with frontispieces), made up of two or more editions,as follows:—­

Vol. i. (ed. 6) 1729; vols. ii. iii. iv. (ed. 5) 1729;vols. v. vi. viii. (ed. 5) 1728; vol. vii. (ed. 6)1731; vols. ix. to xi, (ed. not noted) 1730; and vol.xii. (ed. not noted) 1731.

The discrepancies in the dates of the various volumeslook (as Mr. Clouston has suggested) as if separatevolumes were reprinted as required, independentlyof the others. This might account for vols. v.vi. and viii. of the fifth edition having been apparentlyreprinted before vols. ii. iii. and iv.

The oldest French version in the British Museum consistsof the first eight vols., published at La Haye, andlikewise made up of different editions, as follows:—­

i. (ed. 5) 1714; ii. iii. iv. (ed. 4) 1714; v. vi.(ed. 5) 1728; vii. (ed. 5) 1719; viii. ('suivant lacopie imprimee a Paris”) 1714.

Most French editions (old and new) contain Galland’sDedication, “A Madame la Marquise d’O.,Dame du Palais de Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne,”followed by an “Avertissement.” Inaddition to these, the La Haye copies have Fontenelle’sApprobation prefixed to several volumes, but in slightlydifferent words, and bearing different dates. December 27th, 1703 (vol. i.); April 14th, 1704 (vol.vi.); and October 4th, 1705 (vol. vii.). Thisis according to the British Museum copy; I did notexamine the Frankfort copy with reference to the Approbation. The Approbation is translated in full in the old Englishversion as follows: “I have read, by Orderof my Lord Chancellor, this Manuscript, wherein I findnothing that ought to hinder its being Printed. And I am of opinion that the Publick will be verywell pleased with the Perusal of these Oriental Stories. Paris, 27th December, 1705 [apparently a misprintfor 1703] (Signed) Fontenelle.”

In the Paris edition of 1726 (vide infra), Gallandsays in his Dedication, “Il a fallu le fairevenir de Syrie, et mettre en Francois, le premiervolume que voici, de quatre seulement qui m’ontete envoyez.” So, also, in a Paris edition(in eight vols. 12mo) of 1832; but in the La Hayeissue of 1714, we read not “quatre” but“six” volumes. The old German editionof Talander (vide infra) does not contain Galland’sDedication (Epitre) or Avertissement.

The earliest French editions were generally in 12vols., or six; I possess a copy of a six-volume edition,published at Paris in 1726. It may be the second,as the title-page designates it as “nouvelleedition, corrigee.”

Galland’s work was speedily translated intovarious European languages, and even now forms theoriginal of all the numerous popular editions. The earliest English editions were in six volumes,corresponding to the first six of Galland, and endingwith the story of Camaralzaman; nor was it till nearlythe end of the 18th century that the remaining halfof the work was translated into English. Thedate of appearance of the first edition is unknownto bibliographers; Lowndes quotes an edition of 1724as the oldest; but the British Museum contains a setof six vols., made up of portions of the second, thirdand fourth editions, as follows:—­

Vols. i. ii. (ed. 4) 1713; vols. iii. iv. (ed. 2)1712; and vols. v. vi. (ed. 3) 1715.

Here likewise the separate volumes seem to have beenreprinted independently of each other; and it is notunlikely that the English translation may have closelyfollowed the French publication, being issued volumeby volume, as the French appeared, as far as vol.vi. The title-page of this old edition is veryquaint:

“Arabian Nights Entertainments, consisting ofOne thousand and one Stories, told by the Sultanessof the Indies to divert the Sultan from the Executionof a Bloody Vow he had made, to marry a Lady everyday, and have her head cut off next Morning, to avengehimself for the Disloyalty of the first Sultaness,also containing a better account of the Customs, Mannersand Religion of the Eastern Nations, viz., Tartars,Persians and Indians, than is to be met with in anyAuthor hitherto published. Translated into Frenchfrom the Arabian MSS. by Mr. Galland of the RoyalAcademy, and now done into English. Printed forAndrew Bell at the Cross Keys and Bible, in Cornhill.”

The British Museum has an edition in 4to publishedin 1772, in farthing numbers, every Monday, Wednesdayand Friday. It extends to 79 numbers, formingfive volumes.

The various editions of the Old English version appearto be rare, and the set in the British Museum is verypoor. The oldest edition which I have seen containingthe latter half of Galland’s version is calledthe 14th edition, and was published in London in fourvolumes, in 1778. Curiously enough, the “13thedition,” also containing the conclusion, waspublished at Edinburgh in three volumes in 1780. Perhaps it is a reprint of a London edition publishedbefore that of 1778. The Scotch appear to havebeen fond of The Nights, as there are many Scotch editionsboth of The Nights and the imitations.

Revised or annotated editions by Piguenit (4 vols.,London, 1792) and Gough (4 vols., Edinburgh, 1798)may deserve a passing notice.

A new translation of Galland, by Rev. E. Forster,in five vols. 4to, with engravings from pictures byRobert Smirke, R.A., appeared in 1802, and now commandsa higher price than any other edition of Galland. A new edition in 8vo appeared in 1810. Most ofthe recent popular English versions are based eitherupon Forster’s or Scott’s.

Another translation from Galland, by G. S. Beaumont(four vols. 8vo), appeared in 1811. (Lowndes writesWiliam Beaumont.)

Among the various popular editions of later date wemay mention an edition in two vols., 8vo, publishedat Liverpool (1813), and containing Cazotte’sContinuation; an edition published by Griffin andCo., in 1866, to which Beckford’s “Vathek”is appended; an edition “arranged for the perusalof youthful readers,” by the Hon. Mrs. Sugden(Whittaker & Co., 1863); and “Five FavouriteTales from The Arabian Nights in words of one syllable,by A. & E. Warner” (Lewis, 1871).

Some of the English editions of Galland aim at originalityby arranging the tales in a different order. The cheap edition published by Dicks in 1868 is oneinstance.

An English version of Galland was published at Lucknow,in four vols., 8vo, in 1880.

I should, perhaps, mention that I have not noticedDe Sacy’s “Mille et une Nuit,” becauseit is simply a new edition of Galland; and I havenot seen either Destain’s French edition (mentionedby Sir R. F. Burton), nor Cardonne’s Continuation(mentioned in Cabinet des Fees, xxxvii. p. 83). As Cardonne died in 1784, his Continuation, if genuine,would be the earliest of all.

The oldest German version, by Talander, seems to haveappeared in volumes, as the French was issued; andthese volumes were certainly reprinted when required,without indication of separate editions, but in slightlyvaried style, and with alteration of date. Theold German version is said to be rarer than the French. It is in twelve parts—­some, however, beingdouble. The set before me is clearly made upof different reprints, and the first title-page isas follows: “Die Tausend und eine Nacht,worinnen seltzame Arabische Historien und wunderbareBegebenheiten, benebst artigen Liebes-Intriguen, auchSitten und Gewohnheiten der Morgenlaender, auf sehranmuthige Weise, erzehlet werden; Erstlich vom Hru. Galland, der Koenigl. Academie Mitgliede aus derArabischen Sprache in die Franzoesische und aus selbigeranitzo ins Deutsche uebersetzt: Erster und AndererTheil. Mit der Vorrede Herru Talanders. Leipzig Verlegts Moritz Georg Weidmann Sr. Konigl. Maj. in Hohlen und Churfuerstl. Durchl. zu SachsenBuchhaendler, Anno 1730.” Talander’sPreface relates chiefly to the importance of the workas illustrative of Arabian manners and customs, &c. It is dated from “Liegnitz, den 7 Sept., Anno1710,” which fixes the approximate date of publicationof the first part of this translation. Vols.i. and ii. of my set (double vol. with frontispiece)are dated 1730, and have Talander’s preface;vols. iii. and iv. (divided, but consecutively paged,and with only one title-page and frontispiece andreprint of Talander’s preface) are dated 1719;vols. v. and vi. (same remarks, except that Talander’spreface is here dated 1717) are dated 1737; vol. vii.(no frontispiece; preface dated 1710) is dated 1721;vol. viii (no frontispiece nor preface, nor does Talander’sname appear on the title-page) is dated 1729; vols.ix. and x. (divided, but consecutively paged, andwith only one title-page and frontispiece; Talander’sname and preface do not appear, but Galland’spreface to vol. ix., already mentioned, is prefixed)are dated 1731; and vols. xi. and xii. (same remarks,but no preface) are dated 1732.

Galland’s notes are translated, but not hispreface and dedication.

There is a later German translation (6 vols. 8vo,Bremen, 1781- 1785) by J. H. Voss, the author of thestandard German translation of Homer.

The British Museum has just acquired a Portuguesetranslation of Galland, in 4 volumes: “AsMil e uma Noites, Contos Arabes,” publishedby Ernesto Chardron, Editor, Porto e Braga, 1881.

There are two editions of a modern Greek work in theBritish Museum (1792 and 1804), published at Venicein three small volumes. The first volume containsGalland (Nos. 1-6 of the table) and vols. ii. andiii. chiefly contain the Thousand and One Days. It is, apparently, translated from some Italian work.

Several editions in Italian (Mille ed una Notte) haveappeared at Naples and Milan; they are said by SirR. F. Burton to be mere reprints of Galland.

There are, also, several in Dutch, one of which, byC. Van der Post, in 3 vols. 8vo, published at Utrechtin 1848, purports, I believe, to be a translationfrom the Arabic, and has been reprinted several times. The Dutch editions are usually entitled, “ArabischeVertellinge.” A Danish edition appearedat Copenhagen in 1818, under the title of “PrindsessesSchehezerade. Fortaellinger eller de saakatleTusende og een Nat. Udgivna paa Dansk vid Heelegaan.” Another, by Rasmassen, was commenced in 1824; anda third Danish work, probably founded on the Thousandand One Nights, and published in 1816, bears the title,“Digt og Eventyr fra Osterland, af arabiskaog persischen utrykta kilder.”

I have seen none of these Italian, Dutch or Danisheditions; but there is little doubt that most, ifnot all, are derived from Galland’s work.

The following is the title of a Javanese version,derived from one of the Dutch editions, and publishedat Leyden in 1865, “Eenige Vertellingen uitde Arabisch duizend en een Nacht. Naar de Nederduitschevertaling in het Javaansch vertaald, door Winter-Roorda.”

Mr. A. G. Ellis has shown me an edition of Galland’sAladdin (No. 193) in Malay, by M. Van der Lawan (?)printed in Batavia, A.D. 1869.

CAZZOTTE’S continuation,andthecompositeeditionsof
theArabiannights.

We shall speak elsewhere of the Cabinet des Fees;but the last four volumes of this great collection(38 to 41), published at Geneva from 1788 to 1793,contain a work entitled, “Les Veillees du SultanSchahriar avec la Sultane Scheherazade; histoiresincroyables, amusantes et morales, traduites de l’arabepar M. Cazotte et D. Chavis. Faisant suite auxMille et une Nuits.” Some copies bear theabridged title of “La suite des Mille et uneNuits. Contes Arabes, traduits par Dom Chaviset M. Cazotte.”

This collection of tales was pronounced to be spuriousby many critics, and even has been styled “abare-faced forgery” by a writer in the EdinburghReview of July, 1886. It is, however, certainthat the greater part, if not all, of these tales arefounded on genuine Eastern sources, though very fewhave any real claim to be regarded as actually partof the Thousand and One Nights.

Translations of the originals of most of these taleshave been published by Caussin de Perceval and Gauttier;and a comparison clearly shows the great extent towhich Chavis and Cazotte have altered, amplified and(in a literary sense) improved their materials.

It is rather surprising that no recent edition ofthis work seems to have been issued, perhaps owingto the persistent doubts cast upon its authenticity,only a few of the tales, and those not the best, havingappeared in different collections. My friend,Mr. A. G. Ellis, himself an Oriental scholar, hasremarked to me that he considers these tales as goodas the old “Arabian Nights”; and I quiteagree with him that Chavis and Cazotte’s Continuationis well worthy of re-publication in its entirety.

The following are the principal tales comprised inthis collection, those included in our Table fromlater authors being indicated.

1. The Robber Caliph, or the Adventures of HarounAlraschid with the Princess of Persia, and the beautifulZutulbe. (No. 246.)

2. The Power of Destiny, being the History ofthe Journey of Giafar to Damas, containing the Adventuresof Chelih and his Family. (No. 280.)

3. History of Halechalbe and the Unknown Lady.(No. 204c.)

4. Story of Xailoun the Idiot.

5. The Adventures of Simoustapha and the PrincessIlsetilsone. (No. 247.)

6. History of Alibengiad, Sultan of Herak, andof the False Birds of Paradise.

7. History of Sinkarib and his Two Viziers. (No.249.)

8. History of the Family of the Schebandad ofSurat.

9. Story of Bohetzad and his Ten Viziers. (No.174.)

10. Story of Habib and Dorathil-Goase. (No. 251.)

11. History of the Maugraby, or the Magician.

Of these, Nos. 4, 6, 8 and 11 only are not positivelyknown in the original. No. 11 is interesting,as it is the seed from which Southey’s “Thalabathe Destroyer” was derived.

On the word Maugraby, which means simply Moor, Cazottehas the following curious note: “Ce motsignifie barbare, barbaresque plus proprement. On jure encore par lui en Provence, en Languedoc,et en Gascogne Maugraby; ou ailleurs en France Meugrebleu.”

The Domdaniel, where Zatanai held his court with Maugrabyand his pupilmagicians, is described as being underthe sea near Tunis. In Weil’s story ofJoodar and Mahmood (No. 201) the Magician Mahmoodis always called the Moor of Tunis.

No. 3 (=our No. 204c) contains the additional incidentof the door opened only once a year which occurs inour No. 9a, aa.

Moore probably took the name Namouna from Cazotte’sNo. 5, in which it occurs. In the same storywe find a curious name of a Jinniyah, Setelpedour. Can it be a corruption of Sitt El Budoor?

For further remarks on Cazotte’s Continuation,compare Russell’s History of Aleppo, i. p. 385;and Russell and Scott, Ouseley’s Oriental Collections,i. pp. 246, 247; ii. p. 25; and the “Gentleman’sMagazine” for February, 1779.

An English version under the title “ArabianTales, or a Continuation of the Arabian Nights’Entertainments,” translated by Robert Heron,was published in Edinburgh in 1792 in 4 vols., andin London in 1794 in 3 vols. It was reprintedin Weber’s “Tales of the East” (Edinburgh,1812); and, as already mentioned, is included in anedition of the Arabian Nights published in Liverpoolin 1813.

A German translation forms vols. 5 to 8 of the “BlaueBibliothek,” published in Gotha in 1790 and 1791;and the British Museum possesses vols. 3 and 4 ofa Russian edition, published at Moscow in 1794 and1795, which is erroneously entered in the catalogueas the Arabian Nights in Russian.

Respecting the work of Chavis and Cazotte, Sir R.F. Burton remarks, “Dom Dennis Chavis was aSyrian priest of the order of Saint Bazil, who wasinvited to Paris by the learned minister, Baron Arteuil,and he was assisted by M. Cazotte, a French author,then well known, but wholly ignorant of Arabic. These tales are evidently derived from native sources;the story of Bohetzad (King Bakhtiyar) and his TenWazirs is taken bodily from the Bres. Edit. [notso; but the original Arabic had long been known inthe French libraries]. As regards the style andtreatment, it is sufficient to say that the authorsout-Gallanded Galland, while Heron exaggerates everyfault of his original.”

The first enlarged edition of Galland in French waspublished by Caussin de Perceval, at Paris, in 9 vols.,8vo (1806). In addition to Galland’s version,he added four tales (Nos. 21a, 22, 32 and 37), withwhich he had been furnished by Von Hammer. Healso added a series of tales, derived from MSS. inthe Parisian libraries, most of which correspond tothose of Cazotte.

The most important of the later French editions waspublished by E. Gauttier in 7 vols. in 1822; it containsmuch new matter. At the end, the editor givesa list of all the tales which he includes, with arguments. He has rather oddly distributed his material so asto make only 568 nights. The full contents aregiven in our Table; the following points require morespecial notice. Vol. i. Gauttier omits theThird Shaykh’s story (No. 1c) on account ofits indecency, although it is really no worse thanany other story in The Nights. In the story ofthe Fisherman, he has fallen into a very curious seriesof errors. He has misunderstood King Yunan’sreference to King Sindbad (Burton i. p. 50) to referto the Book of Sindibad (No. 135); and has confoundedit with the story of the Forty Vazirs, which he saysexists in Arabic as well as in Turkish. Of thislatter, therefore, he gives an imperfect version,embedded in the story of King Yunan (No. 2a). Here it may be observed that another imperfect Frenchversion of the Forty Vazirs had previously been publishedby Petis de la Croix under the title of Turkish Tales. A complete German version by Dr. Walter F. A. Behrnauerwas published at Leipzig in 1851, and an English versionby Mr. E. J. W. Gibb has appeared while these sheetsare passing through the press.

Vol. ii. After No. 6 Gauttier places versionsof Nos. 32 and 184 by Langles. The Mock Caliphis here called Aly-Chah. The other three talesgiven by Caussin de Perceval from Von Hammer’sMSS. are omitted by Gauttier. Vol. v. (afterNo. 198) concludes with two additional tales (Nos.207h and 218) from Scott’s version. Butthe titles are changed, No. 207h being called the Storyof the Young Prince and the Green Bird, and No. 218the Story of Mahmood, although there is another storyof Mahmood in vol. 1. (No. 135m) included as partof the Forty Vazirs.

Vol. vi. includes the Ten Vazirs (No. 174), derived,however, not from the Arabic, but from the PersianBakhtyar Nameh. Three of the subordinate talesin the Arabic version are wanting in Gauttier’s,and another is transferred to his vol. vii., but heincludes one, the King and Queen of Abyssinia (No.252), which appears to be wanting in the Arabic. The remainder of the volume contains tales from Scott’sversion, the title of Mazin of Khorassaun (No. 215)being altered to the Story of Azem and the Queen ofthe Genii.

Vol. vii. contains a series of tales of which differentversions of six only (Nos. 30, 174, 246, 248, 249and 250) were previously published. Though thesehave no claim to be considered part of The Nights,they are of sufficient interest to receive a passingmention, especially as Gauttier’s edition seemsnot to have been consulted by any later writer onThe Nights, except Habicht, who based his own editionmainly upon it. Those peculiar to Gauttier’sedition are therefore briefly noticed.

Princess Ameny (No. 253)—­A princess wholeaves home disguised as a man, and delivers anotherprincess from a black slave. The episode (253b)is a story of enchantment similar to Nos. 1a-c.

Aly Djohary (No. 254)—­Story of a youngman’s expedition in search of a magical remedy.

The Princes of Cochin China (No. 255)—­Theprinces travel in search of their sister who is marriedto a Jinni, who is under the curse of Solomon. The second succeeds in breaking the spell, and thusrescues both his brother, his sister, and the Jinniby killing a bird to which the destiny of the lastis attached. (This incident is common in fiction;we find it in the genuine Nights in Nos. 154a and201.)

The Wife with Two Husbands (No. 256)—­Awell-known Eastern story; it may be found in Wells’“Mehemet the Kurd,” pp. 121-127, takenfrom the Forty Vazirs. Compare Gibbs, the 24thVazir’s Story, pp. 257-266.

The Favourite (No. 257)—­One of the ordinarytales of a man smuggled into a royal harem in a chest(compare Nos. 6b and 166).

Zoussouf and the Indian Merchant (No. 258)—­Storyof a ruined man travelling to regain his fortune.

Prince Benazir (No. 258)—­Story of a Princepromised at his birth, and afterwards given up byhis parents to an evil Jinni, whom he ultimately destroys.(Such promises, especially, as here, in cases of difficultlabour, are extremely common in folk-tales; the ideaprobably originated in the dedication of a child tothe Gods.) Gauttier thinks that this story may havesuggested that of Maugraby to Cazotte; but it appearsto me rather doubtful whether it is quite elaborateenough for Cazotte to have used it in this manner.

Selim, Sultan of Egypt (No. 261)—­This andits subordinate tales chiefly relate to unfaithfulwives; that of Adileh (No. 261b) is curious; she isrestored to life by Jesus (whom Gauttier, from motivesof religious delicacy, turns into a Jinni!) to consoleher disconsolate husband, and immediately betrays thelatter. These tales are apparently from the FortyVazirs; cf. Gibbs, the 10th Vazir’s Story,pp. 122-129 (= our No. 261) and the Sixth Vazir’sStory, pp. 32-84 (= No. 261b.)

The bulk of the tales in Gauttier’s vol. vii.are derived from posthumous MSS. of M. Langles, andseveral have never been published in English. Gauttier’s version of Heycar (No. 248) was contributedby M. Agoub.

The best-known modern German version (Tausend undEine Nacht, Arabische Erzahlungen, Deutsch von Max. Habicht, Fr. H. von der Hagen und Carl Schall. Breslau, 15 vols. 12mo) is mainly based upon Gauttier’sedition, but with extensive additions, chiefly derivedfrom the Breslau text. An important feature ofthis version is that it includes translations of theprefaces of the various editions used by the editors,and therefore supplies a good deal of informationnot always easily accessible elsewhere. Thereare often brief notes at the end of the volumes.

The fifth edition of Habicht’s version is beforeme, dated 1840; but the preface to vol. i. is dated1824, which may be taken to represent the approximatedate of its first publication. The followingpoints in the various vols. may be specially noticed:—­

Vol. i. commences with the preface of the German editor,setting forth the object and scope of his edition;and the prefaces of Gauttier and Galland follow. No. 1c, omitted by Gauttier, is inserted in its place. Vols. ii. and iii. (No. 133), notes, chiefly fromLangles, are appended to the Voyages of Sindbad; andthe destinations of the first six are given as follows:—­

Vol. v. contains an unimportant notice from Galland,with additional remarks by the German editors, respectingthe division of the work into Nights.

Vol. vi. contains another unimportant preface respectingNos. 191 and 192.

Vol. x. Here the preface is of more importance,relating to the contents of the volume, and especiallyto the Ten Vazirs (No. 174).

Vol. xi. contains tales from Scott. The prefacecontains a full account of his MSS., and the talespublished in his vol. vi. This preface is takenpartly from Ouseley’s Oriental Collections, andpartly from Scott’s own preface.

Vol. xii. contains tales from Gauttier, vol. vii. The preface gives the full contents of Clarke’sand Von Hammer’s MSS.

Vol. xiii. includes Caussin de Perceval’s Preface,the remaining tales from Gauttier’s vol. vii.(ending with Night 568), and four tales from Caussinwhich Gauttier omits (Nos. 21a, 22, 37 and 202).

Vols. xiv. and xv. (extending from Night 884 to Night1001) consist of tales from the Breslau edition, towhich a short preface, signed by Dr. Max. Habicht,is prefixed. The first of these tales is a fragmentof the important Romance of Seyf Zul Yesn (so oftenreferred to by Lane), which seems to have been mixedwith Habicht’s Ms. of The Nights by mistake.(Compare Payne, Tales, iii. 243.)

In this fragment we have several incidents resemblingThe Nights; there is a statue which sounds an alarmwhen an enemy enters a city (cf. Nos. 59 and137); Seyf himself is converted to the faith of Abraham,and enters a city where a book written by Japhet ispreserved. The text of this story has lately beenpublished; and Sir R. F. Burton informs me that hethinks he has seen a complete version in some Europeanlanguage; but I have not succeeded in obtaining anyparticulars concerning it.

On account of the interest and importance of the work,I append to this section an English version of thefragment translated into German by Habicht. (Fromthe extreme simplicity of the style, which I havepreserved, I suspect that the translation is considerablyabridged.)

There is an Icelandic version of The Nights (pusundog ein Nott. Arabiskar Soegur. Kaupmannahoefn,1857, 4 vols. roy. 8vo), which contains Galland’stales, and a selection of others, distributed into1001 Nights, and apparently taken chiefly from Gauttier,but with the addition of two or three which seem tobe borrowed from Lane (Nos. 9a, 163, 165, &c.). It is possibly derived immediately from some Danishedition.

There is one popular English version which may fairlybe called a composite edition; but it is not basedupon Gauttier. This is the “Select LibraryEdition. Arabian Nights’ Entertainments,selected and revised for general use. To whichare added other specimens of Eastern Romance. London: James Burns, 1847. 2 vols.”

It contains the following tales from The Nights: Nos. 134, 3, 133, 162, 1, 2, 155, 191, 193, 192, 194,194a, 194c, 21, 198, 170, 6.

No. 134 is called the City of Silence, instead ofthe City of Brass, and is certainly based partly uponLane. In No. 155, Manar Al Sana is called NurAl Nissa. One story, “The Wicked Dervise,”is taken from Dow’s “Persian Tales of Inatulla;”another “The Enchanters, or the Story of Misnar,”is taken from the “Tales of the Genii.” Four other tales, “Jalaladdeen of Bagdad,”“The two Talismans,” “The Storyof Haschem,” and “Jussof, the Merchantof Balsora,” clearly German imitations, aresaid to be translated from the German of Grimm, andthere are two others, “Abdullah and Balsora,”and “The King and his Servant,” the originof which I do not recognise, although I think I haveread the last before.

Grimm’s story of Haschem concludes with thehero’s promotion to the post of Grand Vizierto Haroun Al-Rashid, in consequence of the desireof the aged “Giafar” to end his days inpeaceful retirement! The principal incident inJalaladdeen, is that of the Old Woman in the Chest,borrowed from the wellknown story of the MerchantAbudah in the “Tales of the Genii,” andit is thus an imitation of an imitation,

ThecommencementofthestoryofSaifZulYezn(ZU’L
YAZAN) accordingtoHabicht’sgermanversion.

In very ancient times, long before the age of Mohammed,there lived a King of Yemen, named Zul Yezn. He was a Himyarite of the race of Fubbaa (Tabba’)and had large armies and a great capital. HisMinister was named Yottreb (Yathrab Medinat), andwas well skilled in the knowledge of the ancients. He once had a vision in which the name of the Prophetwas revealed to him, with the announcement of hismission in later times; and he was also informed thathe would be the last of the Prophets. In consequenceof this vision he believed in the Prophet before hisadvent; but he concealed his faith. One day theKing held a review of his troops, and was delightedwith their number and handsome appearance. Hesaid to the Wazir, “Is there any person on earthwhose power can compare with mine?” “Oyes,” answered the Wazir, “there is KingBaal-Beg, whose troops fill the deserts and the cultivatedlands, the plains and the valleys.” “Imust make war upon him, then,” exclaimed theKing, “and destroy his power.” Heimmediately ordered the army to prepare to march, andafter a few days the drums and trumpets were heard. The King and his Wazir set forth in magnificent array,and after a rapid march, they arrived before the holycity Medina, which may God keep in high renown! The Wazir then said to the King, “Here is theholy house of God, and the place of great ceremonies. No one should enter here who is not perfectly pure,and with head and feet bare. Pass around it withyour companions, according to the custom of the Arabs.” The King was so pleased with the place that he determinedto destroy it, to carry the stones to his own country,and to rebuild it there, that the Arabs might cometo him on pilgrimage, a nd that he might thus exalthimself above all Kings. He pondered over thisplan all night, but next morning he found his bodyfearfully swollen. He immediately sent for hisWazir, and lamented over his misfortune. “Thisis a judgment sent upon you,” replied the Wazir,“by the Lord of this house. If you alteryour intention of destroying the temple, you will behealed at once.” The King gave up his project,and soon found himself cured. Soon afterwardshe said to himself, “This misfortune happenedto me at night, and left me next day of its own accord;but I will certainly destroy the house.” But next morning his face was so covered with openulcers that he could no longer be recognised. The Wazir then approached him and said, “O King,renounce your intention, for it would be rebellionagainst the Lord of Heaven and Earth, who can destroyevery one who opposes him.” When the Kingheard this, he reflected awhile and said, “Whatwould you wish me to do?” The Wazir replied,“Cover the house with carpets from Yemen.” The King resolved to do this, and when night camehe retired to rest. He then saw an apparitionwhich ordered him not to march further into the countryof King Baal-Beg, but to turn towards Abyssinia andNigritia, adding, “Remain there, and chooseit as thy residence, and assuredly one of thy racewill arise through whom the threat of Noah shall befulfilled.” When the King awoke next morninghe related this to the Wazir, who advised him to usehis own judgment about it. The King immediatelygave orders to march. The army set forth, andafter ten days they arrived at a country the soil ofwhich seemed to consist of chalk, for it appearedquite white. The Wazir Yottreb then went to theKing and requested his permission to found a cityhere for his people. “Why so?” askedthe King. “Because,” replied theWazir, “this will one day be the place of Refugeof the Prophet Mohammed, who will be sent at the endof time.” The King then gave his consent,and Yottreb immediately summoned architects and surveyors,who dug out the ground, and reared the walls, anderected beautiful palaces. They did not desistfrom the work until the Wazir ordered a number of hispeople to remove to this city with their families. This was done, and their posterity inhabit the cityto this day. He then gave them a scroll, andsaid, “He who comes to you as a fugitive tothis house will be the ruler of this city.” He then called the city Yottreb after his own name,and the scroll descended from father to son till theApostle of God arrived as a fugitive from Mecca, whenthe inhabitants went out to meet him, and presentedhim with it. They afterwards became his auxiliariesand were known as the Ansar. But we must nowreturn to King Zul Yezn. He marched several daystoward Abyssinia, and at last arrived in a beautifuland fertile country where he informed his Wazir thathe would like to build a city for his subjects. He gave the necessary orders, which were diligentlyexecuted; canals were dug and the surrounding countrycultivated; and the city was named Medinat El-Hamra,the Red. At last the news reached the King ofAbyssinia, whose name was Saif Ar-Raad (Thunder-sword),and whose capital was called Medinat ad-Durr (theRich in Houses). Part of this city was builton solid land and the other was built in the sea. This prince could bring an army of 600,000 men intothe field, and his authority extended to the extremityof the then known world. When he was informedof the invasion of Zul Yezn, he summoned his two Wazirs,who were named Sikra Divas and Ar-Ryf. The latterwas well versed in ancient books, in which he haddiscovered that God would one day send a Prophet whowould be the last of the series. He believedthis himself, but concealed it from the Abyssinians,who were still worshippers of Saturn. When theWazirs came before the King, he said to them,'See howthe Arabs are advancing against us; I must fight them.” Sikra Divas opposed this design, fearing lest thethreat of Noah should be fulfilled. “Iwould rather advise you,” said he, “tomake the King a present and to send with it the mostbeautiful maiden in your palace. But give herpoison secretly, and instruct her to poison the Kingwhen she is alone with him. If he is once dead,his army will retire without a battle.” The King adopted this advice, and prepared rich presents,and summoned a beautiful girl, whose artfulness andmalice were well known. Her name was Kamrya (Moonlight). The King said to her, “I have resolved to sendyou as a present, for a secret object. I willgive you poison, and when you are alone with the Princeto whom I will send you, drop it into his cup, andlet him take it. As soon as he is dead, his armywill leave us in peace.” “Very well,my master,” replied the girl, “I willaccomplish your wish.” He then sent herwith the other presents and a letter to the city ofZul Yezn. But the Wazir Ar-Ryf had scarcely leftthe King’s presence when he wrote a letter,and commanded a slave to carry it to Zul Yezn. “If you can give it to him before the arrivalof the slave-girl,” added he, “I willgive you your freedom.” The slave madeall possible haste to the Arab King, but yet the presentsarrived before him. A chamberlain went to theKing and informed him that a messenger had arrivedat the gate with presents from the King of Abyssinia,and requested permission to enter. Zul Yezn immediatelyordered that he should be admitted, and the presentsand the maiden were at once delivered to him. When he saw her, he was astonished at her beauty,and was greatly delighted. He immediately orderedher to be conveyed to his palace, and was very soonovercome with love for her. He was just aboutto dissolve the assembly to visit Kamrya, when theWazir Yottreb detained him, saying, “Delay awhile, O King, for I fear there is some treacheryhidden behind this present. The Abyssinians hatethe Arabs exceedingly, but are unwilling to make warwith them, lest the threat of Noah should be fulfilled. It happened one day that Noah was sleeping when intoxicatedwith wine, and the wind uncovered him. His sonHam laughed, and did not cover him; but his otherson Seth (sic) came forward, and covered him up. When Noah awoke, he exclaimed to Ham, ‘May Godblacken thy face!’ But to Seth he said, ’MayGod make the posterity of thy brother the servantsof thine until the day of Resurrection!’ Thisis the threat which they dread as the posterity ofHam.” While the King was still conversingwith his Wazir, the Chamberlain announced the arrivalof a messenger with a letter. He was immediatelyadmitted, and delivered the letter, which was readby the Wazir Yottreb. Ar-Ryf had written, “Beon your guard against Kamrya, O King, for she hathpoison with her, and is ordered to kill you when sheis alone with you.” The King now began loudlyto praise the acuteness of his Wazir, and went immediatelyto Kamrya with his drawn sword. When he entered,she rose and kissed the ground, but he exclaimed,“You have come here to poison me!” Shewas confounded, and took out the poison, and handedit to the King, full of artifice, and thinking, “IfI tell him the truth, he will have a better opinionof me, and if he confides in me, I can kill him insome other manner than with this poison.” It fell out as she expected, for the King loved her,gave her authority over his palace and his femaleslaves, and found himself very happy in her possession. But she herself found her life so pleasant that, althoughKing Ar-Raad frequently sent to ask her why she hadnot fulfilled her commission, she always answered,“Wait a little; I am seeking an opportunity,for the King is very suspicious.” Sometime passed over, and at length she became pregnant. Six months afterwards Zul Yezn fell ill; and as hissickness increased, he assembled the chief men ofhis Court, informed them of the condition of Kamrya,and after commending her to their protection, he orderedthat if she bore a son, he should succeed him. They promised to fulfil his commands, and a few daysafterwards Zul Yezn died. Kamrya now governedthe country, till she brought forth a son. Hewas a child of uncommon beauty, and had a small moleon his cheek. When she saw the child she enviedhim, and said to herself, “What, shall he takeaway the kingdom from me? No, it shall neverbe;” and from this time forward she determinedto put him to death. After forty days, the peoplerequested to see their King. She showed him tothem, and seated him on the throne of the kingdom,whereupon they did homage to him, and then dispersed. His mother took him back into the Palace, but herenvy increased so much that she had already graspeda sword to kill him, when her nurse entered and askedwhat she was going to do. “I am about tokill him,” answered she. “Have younot reflected,” said the nurse, “that ifyou kill him the people will revolt, and may killyou also?” “Let me kill him,” persistedshe, “for even should they kill me, too, I shouldat least be released from my envy.” “Donot act thus,” warned the nurse, “or youmay repent it, when repentance cannot help you.” “It must be done,” said Kamrya. “Nay,then,” said the nurse, “if it cannot beavoided, let him at least be cast into the desert,and if he lives, so much the better for him; but ifhe dies, you are rid of him for ever.” She followed this advice and set out on the way atnight time with the child, and halted at a distanceof four days’ journey, when she sat down undera tree in the desert. She took him on her lap,and suckled him once more, and then laid him on abed, putting a purse under his head, containing athousand gold pieces and many jewels. “Whoeverfinds him,” said she, “may use the moneyto bring him up;” and thus she left him.

It happened by the gracious decree of God, that hunterswho were chasing gazelles surprised a female witha fawn; the former took to flight, and the hunterscarried off the little one. When the mother returnedfrom the pasture, and found her fawn gone, she traversedthe desert in all directions in search of it, and atlength the crying of the deserted child attracted her. She lay down by the child, and the child sucked her. The gazelle left him again to go to graze, but alwaysreturned to the little one when she was satisfied. This went on till it pleased God that she should fallinto the net of a hunter. But she became enraged,tore the net, and fled. The hunter pursued her,and overtook her when she reached the child, and wasabout to give him suck. But the arrival of thehunter compelled the gazelle to take to flight, andthe child began to cry, because he was not yet satisfied. The hunter was astonished at the sight, and when helifted the child up, he saw the purse under his head,and a string of jewels round his neck. He immediatelytook the child with him, and went to a town belongingto an Abyssinian king named Afrakh, who was a dependentof King Saif Ar-Raad. He handed over the childto him, saying that he had found it in the lair ofa gazelle. When the King took the child into hiscare, it smiled at him, and God awakened a feelingof love towards him in the King’s heart; andhe then noticed the mole on his cheek. But whenhis Wazir Sikar Diun, the brother of Sikar Divas, whowas Wazir to King Saif Ar-Raad, entered and saw thechild, God filled his heart with hate towards him. “Do not believe what this man told you,”he said, when the King told him the wonderful storyof the discovery, “it can only be the childof a mother who has come by it wrongly, and has abandonedit in the desert, and it would be better to kill it.” “I cannot easily consent to this,” saidthe King. But he had hardly spoken, when thepalace was filled with sounds of rejoicing, and hewas informed that his wife had just been safely deliveredof a child. On this news he took the boy on hisarm, and went to his wife, and found that the new-bornchild was a girl, and that she had a red mole on hercheek. He wondered when he saw this, and saidto Sikar Diun, “See how beautiful they are!”But when the Wazir saw it, he slapped his face, andcast his cap on the ground, exclaiming, “Shouldthese two moles unite, I prophesy the downfall ofAbyssinia, for they presage a great calamity. It would be better to kill either the boy or yourdaughter.” “I will kill neither ofthem,” replied the King, “for they havebeen guilty of no crime.” He immediatelyprovided nurses for the two children, naming his daughterShama (Mole) and the boy Wakhs[FN#471] El Fellat (Lonelyone, or Desert); and he reared them in separate apartments,that they might not see each other. When theywere ten years old, Wakhs El Fellat grew very strong,and soon became a practised horseman, and surpassedall his companions in this accomplishment, and infeats of arms. But when he was fifteen, he wasso superior to all others, that Sikar Diun threatenedthe King that he would warn King Saif Ar-Raad thathe was nurturing his enemy in his house, if he didnot immediately banish him from the country; and thisthreat caused King Afrakh great alarm. It happenedthat he had a general, who was called Gharag El Shaker(Tree-splitter), because he was accustomed to hurlhis javelin at trees, and thus to cleave them asunder. He had a fortress three days’ journey from thetown; and the King said to him, “Take WakhsEl Fellat to your castle, and never let him returnto this neighbourhood.” He added privately,“Look well after him and preserve him from allinjury, and have him instructed in all accomplishments.” The general withdrew, and took the boy with him tohis castle, and instructed him thoroughly in all accomplishmentsand sciences. One day he said to him, “Onewarlike exercise is still unknown to you.” “What is that?” said Wakhs El Fellat. “Come and see for yourself,” replied he. The general then took him to a place where severaltrees were growing, which were so thick that a mancould not embrace the trunk. He then took hisjavelin, hurled it at one of them, and split the trunk. Wakhs El Fellat then asked for the javelin, and performedthe same feat, to the astonishment of his instructor. “Woe to thee!” exclaimed he, “forI perceive that you are the man through whom the threatof Noah will be fulfilled against us. Fly, andnever let yourself be seen again in our country, orI will kill you.” Wakhs El Fellat thenleft the town, not knowing where to go. He subsistedfor three days on the plants of the earth, and atlast he arrived at a town encircled by high walls,the gates of which were closed. The inhabitantswere clothed in black, and uttered cries of lamentation. In the foreground he saw a bridal tent, and a tentof mourning. This was the city of King Afrakhwho had reared him, and the cause of the mourning ofthe inhabitants was as follows. Sikar Diun wasvery angry that the King had refused to follow hisadvice, and put the boy to death, and had left thetown to visit one of his friends, who was a magician,to whom he related the whole story. “Whatdo you propose to do now?” asked the magician. “I will attempt to bring about a separationbetween him and his daughter,” said the Wazir. “I will assist you,” was the answer ofthe magician. He immediately made the necessarypreparations, and summoned an evil Jinni named Mukhtatif(Ravisher) who inquired, “What do you requireof me?” “Go quickly to the city of KingAfrakh, and contrive that the inhabitants shall leaveit.” In that age men had intercourse withthe more powerful Jinn, and each attained their endsby means of the other. The Jinn did not withdrawthemselves till after the advent of the Prophet. The magician continued, “When the inhabitantshave left the city, they will ask you what you want. Then say, ’Bring me out Shama, the daughterof your King, adorned with all her jewels, and I willcome to-morrow and carry her away. But if yourefuse, I will destroy your city, and destroy youall together.’” When Mukhtatif heard thewords of this priest of magic, he did as he was commanded,and rushed to the city. When Sikar Diun saw this,he returned to King Afrakh to see what would happen;but he had scarcely arrived when the voice of Mukhtatifresounded above the city. The inhabitants wentto the King, and said, “You have heard whatis commanded, and if you do not yield willingly, youwill be obliged to do so by force.” TheKing then went weeping to the mother of the Princess,and informed her of the calamity. She could scarcelycontain herself for despair, and all in the palacewept at parting from the Princess. Meantime Shamawas richly attired, torn from her parents, and hurriedto the bridal tent before the town, to he carriedaway by the evil Jinni. The inhabitants wereall assembled on the walls of the city, weeping. It was just at this moment that Wakhs El Fellat arrivedfrom the desert, and entered the tent to see whatwas going on. When King Afrakh, who was alsoon the wall, saw him, he cried out to him, but hedid not listen, and dismounted, fastened his horseto a tent-stake, and entered. Here he behelda maiden of extraordinary beauty and perfection, butshe was weeping. While he was completely bewilderedby her beauty, she was no less struck by his appearance. “Who art thou?” said the maiden to him. “Tell me rather who art thou?” returnedhe. “I am Shama, the daughter of King Afrakh.” “Thou art Shama?” he exclaimed, “andI am Wakhs El Fellat, who was reared by thy father.” When they were thus acquainted, they sat down togetherto talk over their affairs, and she took this opportunityof telling him what had passed with the Jinni, andhow he was coming to carry her away. “O,you shall see how I will deal with him,” answeredhe, but at this moment the evil Jinni approached,and his wings darkened the sun. The inhabitantsuttered a terrible cry, and the Jinni darted upon thetent, and was about to raise it when he saw a man there,talking to the daughter of the King. “Woeto thee, O son of earth,” he exclaimed, “whatauthority have you to sit by my betrothed?” WhenWakhs El Fellat saw the terrible form of the Jinni,a shudder came over him, and he cried to God for aid. He immediately drew his sword, and struck at the Jinni,who had just extended his right hand to seize him,and the blow was so violent that it struck off thehand. “What, you would kill me?” exclaimedMukhtatif, and he took up his hand, put it under hisarm, and flew away. Upon this there was a loudcry of joy from the walls of the city. The gateswere thrown open, and King Afrakh approached, companiedby a crowd of people with musical instruments, playingjoyful music; and Wakhs El Fellat was invested withrobes of honour; but when Sikar Diun saw it it wasgall to him. The King prepared an apartment expresslyfor Wakhs El Fellat, and while Shama returned to herpalace, he gave a great feast in honour of her deliverancefrom the fiend. After seven days had passed,Shama went to Wakhs El Fellat, and said to him, “Askme of my father tomorrow, for you have rescued me,and he will not be able to refuse you.” He consented very willingly, and went to the Kingearly next morning. The King gave him a veryfavourable reception, and seated him with him on thethrone; but Wakhs El Fellat had not courage to preferhis suit, and left him after a short interview. He had not long returned to his own room, when Shamaentered, saluted him, and asked, “Why did younot demand me?” “I was too bashful,”he replied. “Lay this feeling aside,”returned she, “and demand me.” “Well,I will certainly do so to-morrow,” answeredhe. Thereupon she left him, and returned to herown apartment. Early next morning Wakhs El Fellatwent again to the King, who gave him a friendly reception,and made him sit with him. But he was still unableto prefer his suit, and returned to his own room. Soon after Shama came to him and said, “Howlong is this bashfulness to last? Take courage,and if not, request some one else to speak for you.” She then left him, and next morning he repeated hisvisit to the King. “What is your request?”asked the latter. “I am come as a suitor,”said Wakhs El Fellat, “and ask the hand of yournoble daughter Shama.” When Sikar Diunheard this, he slapped his face. “Whatis the matter with you?” asked the King. “This is what I have foreseen,” answeredhe, “for if these two moles unite, the destructionof Abyssinia is accomplished.” “Howcan I refuse him?” replied the King, “whenhe has just delivered her from the fiend.” “Tell him,” answered Sikar Diun, “thatyou must consult with your Wazir.” TheKing then turned to Wakhs El Fellat, and said, “Myson, your request is granted as far as I am concerned,but I leave my Wazir to arrange it with you, so youmust consult him about it.” Wakhs El Fellatimmediately turned to the Wazir, and repeated hisrequest to him. Sikar Diun answered him in afriendly manner. “The affair is as goodas arranged, no one else is suited for the King’sdaughter, but you know that the daughters of the Kingsrequire a dowry.” “Ask what you please,”returned Wakhs El Fellat. “We do not askyou for money or money’s worth,” saidthe Wazir, “but for the head of a man named Sudun,the Ethiopian.” “Where can I findhim?” said the prince. The Wazir replied,“He is said to dwell in the fortress of Reg,three days’ journey from here.” “Butwhat if I fail to bring the head of Sudun?”asked he. “But you will have it,”returned the Wazir; and after this understanding theaudience ceased, and each returned to his dwelling.

Now this Sudun had built his fortress on the summitof a high hill. It was very secure, and he defendedit with the edge of the sword. It was his usualresort, from whence he sallied forth on plunderingexpeditions, and rendered the roads unsafe. Atlength the news of him reached King Saif Ar-Raad,who sent against him three thousand men, but he routedand destroyed them all. Upon this, the King senta larger number against him, who experienced the samefate. He then despatched a third army, upon whichSudun fortified himself afresh, and reared the wallsof his fortress so high that an eagle could scarcelypass them. We will now return to Shama, who wentto Wakhs El Fellat, and reproached him with the conditionshe had agreed to, and added, “It would be betterfor you to leave this place, and take me with you,and we will put ourselves under the protection ofsome powerful king.” “God forbid,”replied he, “that I should take you with me inso dishonourable a manner.” As he stillpositively refused to consent, she grew angry, andleft him. Wakhs El Fellat lay down to rest, buthe could not sleep. So he rose up, mounted hishorse, and rode away at midnight; and in the morninghe met a horseman who stationed himself in his path,but who was so completely armed that his face wasconcealed. When Wakhs El Fellat saw him, he criedto him, “Who are you, and where are you going?”But instead of replying, he pressed upon him, and aimeda blow which Wakhs El Fellat successfully parried. A fight then commenced between them, which lastedtill nearly evening. At last the difference intheir strength became perceptible, and Wakhs El Fellatstruck his adversary so violent a blow with his javelinthat his horse fell to the ground. He then dismounted,and was about to slay him, when the horseman criedto him, “Do not kill me, O brave warrior, oryou will repent when repentance will no more availyou.” “Tell me who you are?”returned Wakhs El Fellat. “I am Shama,the daughter of King Afrakh,” replied the horseman. “Why have you acted thus?” asked he. “I wished to try whether you would be able tohold your own against Sudun’s people,”she replied. “I have tried you now, andfound you so valiant that I fear no longer on youraccount. Take me with you, O hero.” “God forbid that I should do so,” he returned;“what would Sikar Diun and the others say? They would say that if Shama had not been with him,he would never have been able to prevail against Sudun.” She then raised her eyes to heaven, and said, “OGod, permit him to fall into some danger from whichI alone may deliver him!” Upon this Wakhs ElFellat pursued his journey, without giving any attentionto her words. On the third day he arrived atthe valley where the fortress of Sudun was situated,when he began to work his way along behind the trees;and towards evening he arrived at the fortress itself,which he found to be surrounded with a moat; and thegates were closed. He was still undecided whatcourse to take, when he heard the sound of an approachingcaravan; and he hid himself in the fosse of the fortressto watch it. He then saw that it was driven forwardby a large body of men, and that the merchants werebound on their mules. When they arrived at thecastle, they knocked at the gate; and when the troopentered, Wakhs El Fellat entered with them; and theyunloaded the goods and bound the prisoners withoutnoticing him. When the armed men had finishedtheir work, they ascended to the castle, but he remainedbelow. After a time, he wished to follow them,but when he trod on the first step, it gave way underhim, and a dagger flew out, which struck him in thegroin. Upon this his eyes filled with tears, andhe already looked upon his destruction as certain,when a form came towards him from the entrance ofthe castle, to deliver him; and as it drew nearer,he perceived that it was Shama. He was filledwith astonishment, and cried out, “God has heardyour prayer! How did you come here?” “Ifollowed your traces,” she replied, “tillyou entered the castle, when I imitated your example,and mingled with the troops. I have now savedyour life, although you have refused to take me withyou; but if you wish to advance further, do not neglectto try whether each step is fixed, with the pointof your sword.” He now again began to ascend,feeling the way before him, and Shama followed, tillthey arrived at the last stair, when they saw thatthe staircase ended in a revolving wheel. “Springhigher,” advised Shama, “for I see a javelinwhich magic art has placed here.” Theysprang over it, and pursued their way till they reacheda large anteroom, lighted by a high cupola. Theystopped here awhile, and examined everything carefully. At last they approached the door of a room, and onlooking through the crevices, they saw about a hundredarmed negroes, among whom was a black slave who lookedas savage as a lion. The room was lighted bywax candles, placed on gold and silver candlesticks. At this moment, the black said, “Slaves, whathave you done with the prisoners belonging to the caravan?”“We have chained them in the prison below, andleft them in the safest place,” was the reply. But he continued, “If one of them was carelesslybound, he might be able to release himself and theothers, and to gain possession of the stairs. Let one of you therefore go down, examine them carefully,and tighten their bonds.” One of them thereforecame out, and the two strangers hid themselves inthe anteroom. When he had passed them, Wakhs ElFellat stepped forward and pierced him through withhis sword; Shama dragged his body aside, and theyboth remained quiet for a time. But as the slaveremained away from his companions too long, Sudunexclaimed, “Go and see why he does not return,for I have been in great alarm ever since we enteredthe castle to-day.” A second then roseand took his sword, and as he came into the anteroom,Wakhs El Fellat clove him in twain at one blow andShama dragged his body also on one side. Theyagain waited quietly for a time, when Sudun said,“It seems as if hunters are watching our slaves,and are killing them one after another.” A third then hastened out, and Wakhs El Fellat struckhim such a blow that he fell dead to the ground, andShama dragged him also away. But as he likewiseremained absent so long, Sudun himself stood up andall the others with him, and he said, “Did Inot warn and caution you? There is a singingin my ears, and my heart trembles, for there mustbe people here who are watching our men.” He himself now came out, and the others followed himwith lights and holding their hands on their swords,when one of the foremost suddenly stopped. “Whydo you not advance!” cried the others. “How shall I go forward,” said he, “whenhe who has slain our friends stands before us.” This answer was repeated to Sudun when he called onthem in a voice of thunder to advance. When heheard this, he forced his way through them till heperceived Wakhs El Fellat. “Who are you,Satan?” cried he, “and who brought youhere?” “I came here,” replied he,“to cut off your head, and destroy your memory.” “Have you any blood-feud against me?” askedSudun, “or any offence to revenge upon me?”“I have no enmity against you in my heart,”said Wakhs El Fellat, “and you have never injuredme; but I have asked Shama in marriage of her father,and he has demanded of me your head as a condition. Be on your guard, that you may not say I acted foullytowards you.” “Madman,” criedSudun, “I challenge you to a duel. Willyou fight inside or outside the fortress?” “Ileave that to you,” returned Wakhs El Fellat. “Well, then, await me here,” was the reply. Sudun then went in, clothed himself in gilded armour,girt on a saw-like sword, and came out holding a shiningclub in his hand. He was so enraged that he knewnot what to say, and at once attacked Wakhs El Fellat,who threw himself on his adversary like a raging lion,and they fought together like hungry wolves; but bothdespaired of victory. The swords spake a hardlanguage on the shields, and each of the combatantswished that he had never been born. When thisdesperate fight had lasted a long time, Shama wasgreatly troubled lest Sudun should prove victorious. So she seized a dagger and struck at Sudun, woundingthe nerves of his hand, so that he dropped his sword,while she exclaimed to Wakhs El Fellat, “Makean end of him.” “No,” repliedWakhs El Fellat, “I will make him my prisoner,for he is a brave and valiant man.” “Withwhom are you speaking?” asked Sudun. “WithShama,” answered he. “What,”said Sudun, “did she come with you?” “Yes,”replied he. “Then let her come before me.” She came forward, and Sudun said, “Is the worldtoo narrow for your father that he could demand nothingas your dowry but my head?” “This washis desire,” answered she. Wakhs El Fellatthen said, “Take your sword and defend yourself,for I will not fight with you, now that it has fallenout of your hand.” But Sudun replied , “Iwill not fight with you, for I am wounded, so takemy head, and go in peace with your bride.” He then sat down and bowed his head. “Ifyou speak truly,” said Wakhs El Fellat, “separateyourself from your people.” “Why so?”“Because I fear lest they may surround me, andcompel me to fight with them, and there is no needfor me to shed their blood.” Sudun thenleft the castle, bowed his head, and said, “Finishyour work.” But Wakhs El Fellat said, “Ifyou speak truth, come with me across the fosse of thecastle into the open ground.” He did so,carefully barring the castle behind him, and said,“Now take my head.”

When the slaves saw this, they mounted the walls,and wept and lamented. But Shama cried out, “Takehis head, and let us hasten our return before morningdawns.” “What,” said Wakhs ElFellat, “should I kill so brave a man in sotreacherous a manner, when he is so noble and magnanimous?”He then went up to Sudun, kissed his head, and said,“Rise up, O warrior of the age, for you andyour companions are safe from me.” Theynow all embraced each other, and made an offensiveand defensive compact. “Take me with youalive, O brave man,” said Sudun, “and handme over to the King as his daughter’s dowry. If he consents, well; but if not, take my head, andwoo your wife.” “God forbid,”said Wakhs El Fellat, “that I should act thusafter your magnanimity. Rather return to thecastle, and assure your companions of your safety.” All this passed under the eyes of the other armed men. They rejoiced at the knightly conduct of both , andnow came down, fell at the feet of Sudun and embracedhim. They then did the same to Wakhs El Fellat,whose hands they kissed and loaded him with praises. After this, they all returned to the castle, and agreedto set out presently. They took with them whatevertreasures there were, and Wakhs El Fellat commandedthem to release the prisoners and restore them theirgoods. They now all mounted their horses andjourneyed to the country of King Afrakh, greatly rejoicedat the mutual love of the warriors. When theyapproached the town, Shama parted from them, that nothingshould be known of her absence in the company. During this time, King Afrakh and Sikar Diun had amusedthemselves with hunting, jesting, and sporting, andsent out scouts daily to look for Wakhs El Fellat. “What can have become of him?” said theKing once to Sikar Diun. “Sudun has certainlykilled him,” replied the latter, “andyou will never see him again.” While theywere thus talking, they observed a great cloud ofdust, and as it drew nearer, they could see the armedmen more distinctly. The company was led by ablack knight, by whose side rode a younger white horseman. When the King saw this, he exclaimed, “WakhsEl Fellat has returned, in company with Sudun andhis host.” “Wait a little,”replied Sikar Dian, “till we are certain of it.” But when they drew nearer, and they could doubt nolonger, Sikar Diun mounted his horse and fled, accompaniedby the King and his followers, till they reached thetown, and barred the gates. They then watchedfrom the walls, to see what would happen. Whenthey saw that the strangers dismounted and pitchedtents, the King thought it was a good sign. Hetherefore ordered the town to be decorated, and thegates to be opened, and rode out, attended by a considerableescort, and approached the tents. The other partynow mounted their horses to go to meet them. Whenthey approached each other, King Afrakh was aboutto dismount, but Wakhs El Fellat would not allow it,and the King embraced him, and congratulated him onhis safety. He then saluted Sudun also, but thelatter did not return his salutation. He invitedhim to enter the town, but he declined, as did WakhsEl Fellat likewise, who did not wish to part fromhis companions. The King returned accompaniedonly by his own people, and prepared the best receptionfor the new-comers. On the following morning theKing held a general council, at which Sikar Diun appearedgreatly depressed. “Did I not warn youbeforehand,” said he to the King, “whatyou now see for yourself of this evil-doer? Didwe not send him to bring the head of Sudun, and hereturns with him safe and sound, and on the best ofterms, while our hearts are oppressed with anxiety?”“You may be right,” replied the King, “butwhat are we to do now?”

This conversation was interrupted by a tumult causedby the arrival of Wakhs El Fellat and Sudun, who cameto pay their respects to the King. The King invitedthem to sit down, but Sudun remained standing, andwhen he asked him again, he replied, “You craven,was the world too narrow for you that you desired myhead as your daughter’s dowry?” “Sitdown,” said the King, “for I know thatyou are angry.” “How can I sit down,”returned Sudun, “when you have ordered my death?”“God forbid that I should act so unjustly,”said the King; “it was Sikar Diun.” “What,” said he, “do you accuseme of such an action in my presence?” “Didyou not make this condition with Wakhs El Fellat,”said the King, “and send him on his errand?”Sikar Diun then turned to Sudun, and said, “Sitdown, brave warrior, for we only did so from loveto you, that we might be able to make a treaty withyou, and that you might join our company.” After this answer, Sudun concealed his anger, andsat down. Refreshments were now brought in, andafter partaking of them, Wakhs El Fellat and Sudunreturned to their tents. Several days passedin this manner, and at length Sudun said to WakhsEl Fellat, “O my master, it is time for youto demand Shama in marriage, now you have won her withthe edge of the sword. You have fulfilled theirconditions long since by bringing them my head, butyou have made no further progress at present. Ask for her once more, and if they will not give herup, I will fall upon them with the sword, and we willcarry Shama off, and then lay waste the city.” “I will demand her as my wife again to-morrow,”replied the other. When he went to the palacenext day, he found the King and all the court assembled. When they saw him, they all rose from their seats,and when they sat down again, he alone remained standing. “Why do you not sit down,” said the King,“for all your wishes are now fulfilled?”“I have still to ask for Shama,” he replied. “You know,” returned the King, “thatever since her birth I have allowed Sikar Diun tomake all arrangements for her.” He now turnedto Sikar Diun, who replied in a friendly tone, “Sheis yours, for you have fulfilled the conditions, andyou have only now to give her ornaments.” “What kind of ornaments?” asked he. “Instead of ornaments,” replied the traitor,“we desire to receive a book containing thehistory of the Nile. If you bring it us, she iswholly yours, but if not, there is no marriage tobe thought of.” “Where is it to befound?” “I cannot tell you myself.” “Well, then,” returned Wakhs El Fellat,“if I do not bring you the book, Shama is lostto me; all present are witnesses to this.” He went out with these words, pushing his way throughthe crowded assembly, and Sudun behind him, till theyreached their tents. “Why did you promisethat,” said Sudun, “let us rather overcomethem with the sword, and take Shama from them.” “Not so,” replied Wakhs El Fellat, “Iwill only possess her honourably.” “Andyet you do not even know how to find the book,”said Sudun; “rather listen to my advice, retireto my fortress, and leave me in their power.” “I would never act thus,” said Wakhs ElFellat, “though I should suffer death.” After these and similar speeches, supper was broughtin, and each retired to his sleeping apartment. But Wakhs El Fellat had scarcely entered his roomwhen Shama came in. “What have you done,”said she, “and what engagement have you undertaken? How can you fulfil this condition? Do you notsee that their only object is to destroy you, or atleast to get rid of you? I have come to warnyou again, and I say to you once more, take me withyou to Sudun’s castle, where we can live at peace,and do not act as they tell you.” “Iwill carry out my engagement,” he replied; “Iwill not possess you like a coward, even though I shouldbe cut to pieces with swords.” Upon this,Shama was angry and left him, while he lay down torest, but could not sleep. He therefore roseup, saddled and mounted his horse and rode away, withoutknowing where, abandoning himself wholly to the willof God. He wandered about thus for several days,until he reached a lonely tower. He knocked atthe door, and a voice answered, “Welcome, Othou who hast separated thyself from thy companions;enter without fear, O brave Saif, son of Zul Yezn.” When he pushed the door it opened, and his eyes behelda noble and venerable old man, from whose appearanceit was at once obvious that he busied himself withthe strictest life and fear of God. “Welcome,”cried he again; “if you had travelled from eastto West you would have found no one who could showyou how to obtain the book you seek as well as I can,for I have dwelt here awaiting your arrival for sixtyyears.” “But that was before I wasborn,” said Wakhs El Fellat to himself. He then asked aloud, “By what name did you addressme just now?” “O Saif,” answeredthe old man, “that is your true name, for youare a sword (Saif) to the Abyssinians; but whom doyou worship?” “O my master,” wasthe reply, “the Abyssinians worship Saturn (Sukhal)but I am in perplexity, and know not whom to worship.” “My son,” replied the old man, “worshipHim who has reared the heavens over us without pillars,and who has rested the earth on water; the only andeternal God, the Lord who is only and alone to bereverenced. I worship Him and none other besidehim, for I follow the religion of Abraham.” “What is your name?” asked Wakhs El Fellat. “I am called Shaikh Gyat.” “Whatdeclaration must I make,” he asked the old man,“to embrace your religion?” “Say’There is no God but God, and Abraham is theFriend of God.’ If you make this profession,you will be numbered among the believers.” He at once repeated the formula, and Shaikh Gyat wasmuch pleased, and devoted the night to teaching himthe history of Abraham and his religion, and the formsof worship. Towards morning he said, “Omy son, whenever you advance to battle, say, ’Godis great, grant me victory, O God, and destroy theinfidels,’ and help will be near you. Nowpursue your journey, but leave your horse here untilyour return. Enter the valley before you, underthe protection of God, and after three days you willmeet some one who will aid you.” WakhsEl Fellat set out on that road, and after three dayshe met a horseman who saluted him, and exclaimed,“Welcome, Saif Zul Yezn, for you bring happinessto this neighbourhood.” Saif returned hissalutation, and asked, “How do you know me, andhow do you know my name?” “I am not abrave or renowned warrior,” was the answer,“but one of the maidens of this country and mymother taught me your name.” “Whatis your name and that of your mother?” “Mymother’s name is Alka,” answered she, “andI am called Taka.” When he heard this hewas greatly rejoiced, for he remembered that ShaikhGyat had said to him, “O thou, whose destinywill be decided by Alka and Taka.” “Onoble virgin,” said he, “where is yourmother, Alka?” “Look round,” shereplied; and he saw a very large and lofty city atsome distance. “Know,” said she, “that360 experienced philosophers dwell in that city. My mother Alka is their superior, and directs alltheir affairs and actions. She knew that youwould come to this neighbourhood in search of a bookconcerning the Nile, which was written by Japhet, theson of Noah, and she wishes you to attain your endby her means. She also informed me of your coming,and promised me to you, saying, ‘You shall haveno other husband but him.’ We expected youto-day, and she sent me to meet you, adding, ’Warnhim not to enter the town by daylight, or it willbe his destruction.’ Wait here, therefore,till nightfall, and only approach the city after dark. Turn to the right along the wall, and stand still whenyou reach the third tower, where we will await you. As soon as we see you we will throw you a rope; bindit round your waist, and we will draw you up. The rest will be easy.” “But why needyou give yourselves all this trouble?” saidSaif Zul Yezn. “Know,” replied she,“that the inhabitants of this city have beeninformed of your approaching arrival by their books,and are aware that you are about to carry away theirbook, which they hold in superstitious reverence. On the first day of each month they repair to thebuilding where it is preserved; and they adore itand seek counsel from it respecting their affairs. They have also a king whose name is Kamrun. Whenthey knew that you were coming for the book they constructeda talisman against you. They have made a copperstatue, and fixed a brazen horn in its hand, and havestationed it at the gate of the city. If you enter,the statue will sound the horn, and it will only doso upon your arrival. They would then seize youand put you to death. On this account we desireto baffle their wisdom by drawing you up to the wallsof the city at another place.” “MayGod reward you a thousandfold,” replied he;“but go now, and announce my arrival to yourmother.” She went away, and he approachedthe city in the darkness of night, and turned towardsthe third tower on the right, where he found Alkaand Taka. When they recognised him, they immediatelythrew him the rope, which he fastened about him. When he was drawn up, they descended from the wall,and were about to proceed to Alka’s house, whenthe talisman suddenly acted, and the statue blew thehorn loudly. “Hasten to our house,”cried Alka; and they succeeded in reaching it safelyand barred the doors, when the noise increased. The whole population of the city rose up, and thestreets were filled. “What is this disturbanceabout?” asked Saif. “This is all due,”replied Alka, “to the alarm sounded by the statue,because you have entered the town. There willbe a great meeting held to-morrow, where all the wisemen will assemble, to attempt to discover the whereaboutsof the intruder; but by God’s help, I will guidethem wrong, and confuse their counsels. Go toour neighbour the fisherman,” added she to herdaughter, “and see what he has caught.” She went, and brought news that he had taken a largefish, of the size of a man. “Take thispiece of gold,” said her mother, “and bringus the fish;” and when she did so, she toldher to clean it, which was done. Food was thenbrought in, and they ate and talked. The nightpassed quietly, but on the following morning Alka orderedSaif Zul Yezn to undress, and to hide in the skin ofthe fish. She put her mouth to the mouth of thefish, and took a long rope, which she fastened underSaif’s armpits. She then let him down intoa deep well, and fastened him there, saying, “Remainhere, till I come back.” She then lefthim, and went to the great hall of the King, wherethe divan was already assembled, and the King hadtaken his seat on the throne. All rose up whenshe entered, and when she had seated herself, theKing said to her, “O mother, did you not hearthe blast of the horn yesterday, and why did you notcome out with us?” “I did hear it,”she replied, “but I did not heed it.” “But you know,” said he, “that thesound can only be heard upon the arrival of the strangerwho desires to take the book.” “Iknow it, O King; but permit me to choose forty menfrom among those assembled here.” She didso, and selected ten from among the forty again. She then said to them, “Take a Trakhtramml (sandboardon which the Arabs practise geomancy and notation)and look and search.” They did so, buthad scarcely finished when they looked at each otherin amazement. They destroyed their calculation,and began a second, and confused this, too, and begana third, upon which they became quite confounded. “What are you doing there?” asked theKing at last. “You go on working and obliteratingyour work; what have you discovered?” “OKing,” replied they, “we find that thestranger has entered the town, but not by any gate. He appears to have passed in between Heaven and earth,like a bird. After this, a fish swallowed him,and carried him down into some dark water.” “Are you fools?” asked the King angrily;and turning to Alka, continued, “Have you everseen a man flying between Heaven and earth, and afterwardsswallowed by a fish, which descends with him into darkwater?” “O King,” replied she, “Ialways forbid the wise men to eat heavy food, forit disturbs their understanding and weakens theirpenetration; but they will not heed me.” At this the King was angry, and immediately drovethem from the hall. But Alka said, “Itwill be plain to-morrow what has happened.” She left the hall, and when she reached home, shedrew Saif Zul Yezn out of the well, and he dressedhimself again. They sat down, and Alka said,“I have succeeded in confounding their deliberationsto-day! and there will be a great assembly to-morrow,when I must hide you in a still more out-of-the-wayplace.” After this they supped, and wentto rest. Next morning Alka called her daughter,and said, “Bring me the gazelle.” When it was brought her, she said, “Bring methe wings of an eagle.” Taka gave them toher, and she bound them on the back of the gazelle. She then took a pair of compasses, which she fixedin the ceiling of the room. She next took twoother pairs of compasses, which she fixed in the ceilingof the room. She next took two other pairs ofcompasses, and tied one between the fore feet, andthe other between the hind feet of the gazelle. She then tied a rope to the compasses in the roof,and the two ends to the other pairs. But shemade Saif Zul Yezn lie down in such a position thathis head was between the feet of the gazelle. She then said to him, “Remain here till I comeback”; and went to the King, with whom she founda very numerous assemblage of the wise men. Assoon as she entered, the King made her sit besidehim on the throne. “O my mother Alka,”he said, “I could not close an eye last nightfrom anxiety concerning yesterday’s events.” “Have you no wise men,” returned she,“who eat the bread of the divan?” She thenturned to them, saying, “Select the wisest amongyou!” and they chose the wisest among them. She ordered them to take the sandboard again, butthey became so confused that they were obliged tobegin again three times from the beginning. “Whatdo you discover?” said the King angrily. “O our master,” replied they, “hewhom we seek has been carried away by a beast of thedesert, which is flying with him between Heaven andearth.” “How is this?” saidthe King to Alka; “have you ever seen anythinglike it?” He seized his sword in a rage, andthree fled, and he killed four of the others. When Alka went home, she released Saif, and told himwhat had happened. Next morning Alka took thegazelle, and slaughtered it in a copper kettle. She then took a golden mortar, and reversed it overit, and said to Saif Zul Yezn, “Sit on thismortar till I come back.” She then wentto the divan, and chose out six wise men, who againtook the sandboard, and began again three times overin confusion. “Alas,” said the King,in anger, “What misfortune do you perceive?”“O our master,” they exclaimed in consternation,“our understanding is confused, for we see himsitting on a golden mountain, which is in the midstof a sea of blood, surrounded by a copper wall.” The King was enraged, and broke up the assembly, saying,“O Alka, I will now depend on you alone.” “To-morrow I will attempt to show you the stranger,”she replied. When she came home, she relatedto Saif what had happened, and said, “I shallknow by to-morrow what to tell the King to engagehis attention, and prevent him from pursuing you.” Next morning she found Taka speaking to Saif Zul Yeznalone; and she asked her, “What does he wish?”“Mother,” replied Taka, “he wishesto go to the King’s palace, to see him and thedivan.” “What you wish shall be done,”said she to Saif, “but you must not speak.” He assented to the condition, and she dressed himas her attendant, gave him a sandboard, and went withhim to the King, who said to her, “I could notsleep at all last night, for thinking of the strangerfor whom we are seeking.” “Now thatthe affair is in my hands,” returned she, “youwill find me a sufficient protection against him.” She immediately ordered Saif to give her the sandboard. She took it, and when she had made her calculations,she said joyfully to the King, “O my lord, Ican give you the welcome news of the flight of thestranger, owing to his dread of you and your revenge.” When the King heard this, he rent his clothes, slappedhis face, and said, “He would not have departed,without having taken the book.” “Icannot see if he has taken anything,” repliedshe. “This is the first of the month,”said the King, “come and let us see if it ismissing.” He then went with a large companyto the building where the book was kept. Alkaturned away from the King for a moment to say to Saif,“Do not enter with us, for if you enter, thecase will open of itself, and the book will fall intoyour hands. This would at once betray you, andyou would be seized and put to death, and all my labourwould have been in vain.” She then lefthim, and rejoined the King. When they reachedthe building, the doors were opened, and when theKing entered, they found the book. They immediatelypaid it the customary honours, and protracted thisspecies of worship, while Saif stood at the door,debating with himself whether to enter or not. At last his impatience overcame him, and he entered,and at the same instant the casket was broken to pieces,and the book fell out. The King then orderedall to stand up, and the book rolled to Saif Zul Yezn. Upon this all drew their swords, and rushed upon him. Saif drew his sword also, and cried “God isgreat!” as Shaikh Gyat had taught him. He continued to fight and defend himself, and struggledto reach the door. The entire town arose in tumultto pursue him, when he stumbled over a dead body,and was seized. “Let me not see his face,”cried the King, “but throw him into the mine.” This mine was eighty yards deep, and had not beenopened for sixty years. It was closed by a heavyleaden cover, which they replaced, after they hadloaded him with chains, and thrown him in. Saifsat there in the darkness, greatly troubled, and lamentinghis condition to Him who never sleeps. Suddenly,a side wall of the mine opened, and a figure cameforth which approached and called him by his name. “Who are you?” asked Saif. “Iam a woman named Akissa, and inhabit the mountain wherethe Nile rises. We are a nation who hold thefaith of Abraham. A very pious man lives belowus in a beautiful palace. But an evil Jinni namedMukhtatif lived near us also, who loved me, and demandedme in marriage of my father. He consented fromfear, but I was unwilling to marry an evil being whowas a worshipper of fire. ‘How can youpromise me in marriage to an infidel?’ said Ito my father. ‘I shall thereby escape hismalice myself,’ replied he. I went outand wept, and complained to the pious man about theaffair. ‘Do you know who will kill him?’said he to me, and I answered, ‘No.’ ’I will direct you to him who has cut off hishand,’ said he. ’His name is SaifZul Yezn, and he is now in the city of King Kamrun,in the mine.’ Thereupon he brought me toyou, and I come as you see me, to guide you to my country,that you may kill Mukhtatif, and free the earth fromhis wickedness.” She then moved him, andshook him, and all his chains fell off. She liftedhim on her shoulders, and carried him to the palaceof the Shaikh, who was named Abbas Salam. Herehe heard a voice crying, “Enter, Saif Zul Yezn.” He did so, and found a grave and venerable old man,who gave him a very friendly reception, saying, “Waittill to-morrow, when Akissa will come to guide youto the castle of Mukhtatif.” He remainedwith him for the night, and when Akissa arrived nextmorning, the old man told her to hasten, that theworld might be soon rid of the monster. Theythen left this venerable man, and when they had walkedawhile, Akissa said to Saif, “Look before you.” He did so, and perceived a black mass at some distance. “This is the castle of the evil-doer,”said she, “but I cannot advance a step furtherthan this.” Saif therefore pursued hisway alone, and when he came near the castle, he walkedround it to look for the entrance. As he wasnoticing the extraordinary height of the castle, whichwas founded on the earth, but appeared to overtopthe clouds, he saw a window open, and several peoplelooked out, who pointed at him with their fingers,exclaiming, “That is he, that is he!” Theythrew him a rope, which they directed him to bind roundhim. They drew him up by it, when he found himselfin the presence of three hundred and sixty damsels,who saluted him by his name.

* * * * *

(Here Habicht’s fragment ends.)

Scott’sMSS. Andtranslations.

In 1800, Jonathan Scott, ll.D., published a volumeof “Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters, translatedfrom the Arabic and Persian,” based upon a fragmentaryMs., procured by J. Anderson in Bengal, whichincluded the commencement of the work (Nos. 1-3) in29 Nights; two tales not divided into Nights (Nos.264 and 135) and No. 21.

Scott’s work includes these two new tales (sincerepublished by Kirby and Clouston), with the additionof various anecedotes, &c., derived from other sources. The “Story of the Labourer and the Chair”has points of resemblance to that of “Malek andthe Princess Chirine” (Shirin?) in the Thousandand One Days; and also to that of “Tuhfet ElCuloub” (No. 183a) in the Breslau Edition. The additional tales in this Ms. and vol. oftranslations are marked “A” under Scottin our Tables. Scott published the followingspecimens (text and translation) in Ouseley’sOriental Collections (1797 and following years) No.135m (i. pp. 245-257) and Introduction (ii. pp. 160-172;228- 257). The contents are fully given in Ouseley,vol. ii. pp. 34, 35.

Scott afterwards acquired an approximately completeMs. in 7 vols., written in 1764 which was broughtfrom Turkey by E. Wortley Montague. Scott publisheda table of contents (Ouseley, ii. pp. 25-34), in which,however, the titles of some few of the shorter tales,which he afterwards translated from it, are omitted,while the titles of others are differently translated. Thus “Greece” of the Table becomes “Yemen”in the translation; and “labourer” becomes“sharper.” As a specimen, he subsequentlyprinted the text and translation of No. 145 (Ouseley,ii. pp. 349-367).

This Ms., which differs very much from all othersknown, is now in the Bodleian Library at Oxford.

In 1811, Scott published an edition of the ArabianNights’ Entertainments, in 6 vols., vol. 1 containinga long introduction, and vol. 6, including a seriesof new tales from the Oxford Ms. (There is asmall paper edition; and also a large paper edition,the latter with frontispieces, and an Appendix includinga table of the tales contained in the Ms.) Ithad originally been Scott’s intention to retranslatethe Ms.; but he appears to have found it beyondhis powers. He therefore contented himself withre-editing Galland, altering little except the spellingof the names, and saying that Galland’s versionis in the main so correct that it would be uselessrepetition to go over the work afresh. Althoughhe says that he found many of the tales both immoraland puerile, he translated most of those near thebeginning, and omitted much more (including severalharmless and interesting tales, such as No. 152) towardsthe end of his Ms. than near the beginning. The greater part of Scott’s additional tales,published in vol. 6, are included in the compositeFrench and German editions of Gauttier and Habicht;but, except Nos. 208, 209, and 215, republished inmy “New Arabian Nights,” they have notbeen reprinted in England, being omitted in all themany popular versions which are professedly basedupon Scott, even in the edition in 4 vols., publishedin 1882, which reprints Scott’s Preface.

The edition of 1882 was published about the same timeas one of the latest reissues of Lane’s Thousandand One Nights; and the Saturday Review of Nov. 4,1882 (p. 609), published an article on the ArabianNights, containing the following amusing passage: “Then Jonathan Scott, ll.D. Oxon, assuresthe world that he intended to retranslate the talesgiven by Galland; but he found Galland so adequateon the whole that he gave up the idea, and now reprintsGalland, with etchings by M. Lalauze, giving a Frenchview of Arab life. Why Jonathan Scott, ll.D.,should have thought to better Galland, while Mr. Lane’sversion is in existence, and has just been reprinted,it is impossible to say.”

The most interesting of Scott’s additional tales,with reference to ordinary editions of The Nights,are as follows:—­

No. 204b is a variant of No. 37.

No. 204c is a variant of 3e, in which the wife, insteadof the husband, acts the part of a jealous tyrant.(Compare Cazotte’s story of Halechalbe.)

No. 204e. Here we have a reference to the Nesnas,which only appears once in the ordinary versions ofThe Nights (No. 132b; Burton, v., p. 333).

No. 206b. is a variant of No. 156.

No. 207c. This relates to a bird similar to thatin the Jealous
Sisters (No. 198), and includes a variant of 3ba.

No. 207h. Another story of enchanted birds. The prince who seeks them encounters an “Oone”under similar circumstances to those under which PrincessParizade (No. 198) encounters the old durwesh. The description is hardly that of a Marid, with whichI imagine the Ons are wrongly identified.

No. 208 contains the nucleus of the famous story ofAladdin (No. 193).

No. 209 is similar to No. 162; but we have again thewell incident of No. 3ba, and the exposure of thechildren as in No. 198.

No. 215. Very similar to Hasan of Bassorah (No.155). As Sir R. F. Burton (vol. viii., p. 60,note) has called in question my identification ofthe Islands of WakWak with the Aru Islands near NewGuinea, I will quote here the passages from Mr. A.R. Wallace’s Malay Archipelago (chap. 31) onwhich I based it:—­“The trees frequentedby the birds are very lofty. . . . . One day Igot under a tree where a number of the Great Paradisebirds were assembled, but they were high up in thethickest of the foliage, and flying and jumping aboutso continually that I could get no good view of them.. . . . Their voice is most extraordinary. At early morn, before the sun has risen, we hear aloud cry of ‘Wawk—­wawk—­wawk,w k—­w k—­w k,’ which resoundsthrough the forest, changing its direction continually. This is the Great Bird of Paradise going to seek hisbreakfast. . . . . The birds had now commencedwhat the people here call ‘sacaleli,’ ordancing-parties, in certain trees in the forest, whichare not fruit-trees as I at first imagined, but whichhave an immense head of spreading branches and largebut scattered leaves, giving a clear space for thebirds to play and exhibit their plumes. On oneof these trees a dozen or twenty full-plumaged malebirds assemble together, raise up their wings, stretchout their necks, and elevate their exquisite plumes,keeping them in a continual vibration. Betweenwhiles they fly across from branch to branch in greatexcitement, so that the whole tree is filled with wavingplumes in every variety of attitude and motion.”

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No. 216bc appears to be nearly the same as No. 42.

No. 225 is a variant of No. 135q.

Weil’stranslation.

The only approximately complete original German translationis “Tausend und eine Nacht. Arabische Erzaehlungen. Zum Erstenmale aus dem Urtexte vollstaendig und treuuebersetzt von Dr. Gustav Weil,” four vols.,Stuttgart. The first edition was in roy. 8vo,and was published at Stuttgart and Pforzheim in 1839-1842;the last volume I have not seen; it is wanting inthe copy in the British Museum. This editionis divided into Nights, and includes No. 25b. In the later editions, which are in small square 8vo,but profusely illustrated, like the larger one, thisstory is omitted (except No. 135m, which the Frencheditors include with it), though Galland’s doubtfulstories are retained; and there is no division intoNights. The work has been reprinted several times,and the edition quoted in our Table is described as“Zweiter Abdruck der dritten vollstandig umgearbeiteten,mit Anmerkungen und mit einer Einleitung versehenenAuflage” (1872).

Weil has not stated from what sources he drew hiswork, except that No. 201 is taken from a Ms.in the Ducal Library at Gotha. This is unfortunate,as his version of the great transformation scene inNo. 3b (Burton, vol. i., pp. 134, 135), agrees moreclosely with Galland than with any other original version. In other passages, as when speaking of the punishmentof Aziz (No. 9a, aa), Weil seems to have borrowedan expression from Lane, who writes “a cruelwound;” Weil saying “a severe (schwere)wound.”

Whereas Weil gives the only German version known tome of No. 9 (though considerably abridged) he omitsmany tales contained in Zinserling and Habicht, butwhether because his own work was already too bulky,or because his original MSS. did not contain them,I do not know; probably the first supposition is correct,for in any case it was open to him to have translatedthem from the printed texts, to which he refers inhis Preface.

Two important stories (Nos. 200 and 201) are not foundin any other version; but as they are translated inmy “New Arabian Nights,” I need not discussthem here. I will, however, quote a passage fromthe story of Judar and Mahmood, which I omitted becauseit is not required by the context, and because I thoughtit a little out of place in a book published in a juvenileseries. It is interesting from its analogy tothe story of Semele.

When King Kashuk (a Jinni) is about to marry the daughterof King Shamkoor, we read (New Arabian Nights, p.182), “Shamkoor immediately summoned my father,and said, ’Take my daughter, for you have wonher heart.’ He immediately provided an outfitfor his daughter, and when it was completed, my fatherand his bride rode away on horseback, while the trousseauof the Princess followed on three hundred camels.” The passage proceeds (the narrator being Daruma, theoffspring of the marriage), “When my fatherhad returned home, and was desirous of celebratinghis marriage Kandarin (his Wazir) said to him, ’Yourwife will be destroyed if you touch her, for you arecreated of fire, and she is created of earth, whichthe fire devours. You will then bewail her deathwhen it is too late. To-morrow,’ continuedhe, ’I will bring you an ointment with whichyou must rub both her and yourself; and you may thenlive long and happily together.’ On thefollowing day he brought him a white ointment, andmy father anointed himself and his bride with it,and consummated his marriage without danger.”

I may add that this is the only omission of the smallestconsequence in my rendering of either story.

I have heard from more than one source that a completeGerman translation of The Nights was published, andsuppressed; but I have not been able to discover thename of the author, the date, or any other particularsrelating to the subject.

VonHammer’sMs., Andthetranslationsderivedfromit.

Several complete copies of The Nights were obtainedby Europeans about the close of the last or the beginningof the present century; and one of these (in 4 vols.)fell into the bands of the great German Orientalist,Joseph von Hammer. This Ms. agrees closelywith the printed Bul. and Mac. texts, as well as withDr. Clarke’s Ms., though the names of thetales sometimes vary a little. One story, “Thetwo Wazirs,” given in Von Hammer’s listas inedited, no doubt by an oversight, is evidentlyNo. 7, which bears a similar title in Torrens. One title, “Al Kavi,” a story which VonHammer says was published in “Mag. Encycl.,”and in English (probably by Scott in Ouseley’sOriental Collections, vide antea p. 491) puzzled mefor some time; but from its position, and the titleI think I have identified it as No. 145, and haveentered it as such. No. 9a in this as well asin several other MSS., bears the title of the TwoLovers, or of the Lover and the Beloved.

Von Hammer made a French translation of the unpublishedtales, which he lent to Caussin de Perceval, who extractedfrom it four tales only (Nos. 21a, 22, 32 and 37),and only acknowledged his obligations in a generalway to a distinguished Orientalist, whose name hepointedly suppressed. Von Hammer, naturally indignant,reclaimed his Ms., and had it translated intoGerman by Zinserling. He then sent the FrenchMs. to De Sacy, in whose hands it remained forsome time, although he does not appear to have madeany use of it, when it was despatched to England forpublication; but the courier lost it on the journey,and it was never recovered.

Zinserling’s translation was published underthe title, “Der Tausend und einen Nacht nochnicht uebersetzte Maehrchen, Erzaehlungen und Anekdoten,zum erstenmale aus dem Arabischen in’s Franzoesischeuebersetzt von Joseph von Hammer, und aus dem Franzoesischenin’s Deutsche von Aug. E. Zinserling, Professor.”(3 vols., Stuttgart and Tuebingen, 1823.) The introductorymatter is of considerable importance, and includesnotices of 12 different MSS., and a list of contentsof Von Hammer’s Ms. The tales begin withNo. 23, Nos. 9-19 being omitted, because Von Hammerwas informed that they were about to be published inFrance. (This possibly refers to Asselan Riche’s“Scharkan,” published in 1829.) The talesand anecdotes in this edition follow the order ofThe Nights. No. 163 is incomplete, Zinserlinggiving only the commencement; and two other tales (Nos.132b and 168) are related in such a confused manneras to be unintelligible, the former from transposition(perhaps in the sheets of the original Ms.) andthe latter from errors and omissions. On theother hand, some of the tales (No. 137 for instance)are comparatively full and accurate.

A selection from the longer tales was published inEnglish in 3 vols. in 1826, under the title of “NewArabian Nights Entertainments, selected from the originalOriental Ms. by Jos. von Hammer, and now firsttranslated into English by the Rev. George Lamb.” I have only to remark that No. 132b is here detachedfrom its connection with No. 132, and is given anindependent existence.

A complete French re-translation of Zinserling’swork, also in 3 vols., by G. S. Trebutien (Contesinedits des Mille et une Nuits), was published inParis in 1828; but in this edition the long talesare placed first, and all the anecdotes are placedtogether last.

The various MSS. mentioned by Von Hammer are as follows:—­

I. Galland’s Ms.in Paris.

II. Another Paris Ms., containing 870Nights. (No. 9 is specially noticed as occurring init.) This seems to be the same as a Ms. subsequentlymentioned by Von Hammer as consulted by Habicht.

Iii. Scott’sMs. (Wortley Montague).

IV. Scott’sMs. (Anderson).

V. Dr. Russell’sMs. from Aleppo (224 Nights).

Vi. Sir W. Jones’ Ms., fromwhich Richardson extracted No. 6ee for his grammar.

VII. A. Ms.at Vienna (200 Nights).

VIII. Ms.in Italinski’s collection.

Ix. Clarke’sMs.

X. An Egyptian Ms.at Marseilles.

XI. Von Hammer’sMs.

XII. Habicht’sMs. (Bres. text).

XIII. Caussin’sMs.

XIV. De Sacy’sMs.

XV. One or moreMSS. in the Vatican.

Translationsoftheprintedtexts.

These are noticed by Sir R. F. Burton in his “Foreword”(vol. i., pp. x-xii.) and consequently can be passedover with a brief mention here.

Torrens’ edition (vol. 1) extends to the endof Night 50 (Burton, ii., p. 118).

Lane’s translation originally appeared in monthlyhalf-crown parts, from 1839 to 1841. It is obviousthat he felt himself terribly restricted in space;for the third volume, although much thicker than theothers, is not only almost destitute of notes towardsthe end, but the author is compelled to grasp at everyexcuse to omit tales, even excluding No. 168, whichhe himself considered “one of the most entertainingtales in the work” (chap. xxix., note 12), onaccount of its resemblance to Nos. 1b and 3d. Part of the matter in Lane’s own earlier notesis apparently derived from No. 132a, which he probablydid not at first intend to omit. Sir R. F. Burtonhas taken 5 vols. to cover the same ground which Lanehas squeezed into his vol. 3. But it is onlyfair to Lane to remark that in such cases the publisheris usually far more to blame than the author.

In 1847 appeared a popular edition of Lane, entitled,“The Thousand and One Nights, or the ArabianNights Entertainments, translated and arranged forfamily reading, with explanatory notes. Secondedition.” Here Galland’s old spellingis restored, and the “explanatory notes,”ostentatiously mentioned on the title page, are entirelyomitted. This edition was in 3 vols. I haveseen a copy dated 1850; and think I have heard of anissue in 1 vol.; and there is an American reprintin 2 vols. The English issue was ultimately withdrawnfrom circulation in consequence of Lane’s protests.(Mr. S. L. Poole’s Life of E. W. Lane, p. 95.)It contains the woodcut of the Flying Couch, whichis wanting in the later editions of the genuine work;but not Galland’s doubtful tales, as Poole asserts.

Several editions of the original work, edited by Messrs.E. S. and S. L. Poole, have appeared at intervalsfrom 1859 to 1882. They differ little from theoriginal edition except in their slightly smallersize.

The short tales included in Lane’s notes werepublished separately as one of Knight’s WeeklyVolumes, in 1845, under the title of “ArabianTales and Anecdotes, being a selection from the notesto the new translation of the Thousand and One Nights,by E. W. Lane, Esq.”

Finally, in 1883, Mr. Stanley Lane Poole publisheda classified and arranged edition of Lane’snotes under the title of “Arabian Society inthe Middle Ages.”

Mr. John Payne’s version of the Mac. editionwas issued in 9 vols. by the Villon Society to subscribersonly. It appeared from 1882 to 1884, and only500 copies were printed. Judging from the originalprospectus, it seems to have been the author’sintention to have completed the work in 8 vols., andto have devoted vol. 9 to Galland’s doubtfultales; but as they are omitted, he must have foundthat the work ran to a greater length than he hadanticipated, and that space failed him. He publishedsome preliminary papers on the Nights in the New QuarterlyMagazine for January and April, 1879.

Mr. Payne subsequently issued “Tales from theArabic of the Breslau and Calcutta (1814-18) editionsof the Thousand Nights and One Night, not occurringin the other printed texts of the work.” (Threevols., London, 1884.) Of this work, issued, like theother, by the Villon Society, to subscribers only,750 copies were printed, besides 50 on large paper. The third volume includes indices of all the talesin the four principal printed texts.

Finally we have Sir R. F. Burton’s translationnow in its entirety before his subscribers. Itis restricted to 1,000 copies. (Why not 1,001?) Thefive supplementary vols. are to include tales wantingin the Mac. edition, but found in other texts (printedand Ms.), while Lady Burton’s popular editionwill allow of the free circulation of Sir R. F. Burton’swork among all classes of the reading public.

Collectionsofselectedtales.

There are many volumes of selections derived fromGalland, but these hardly require mention; the followingmay be noticed as derived from other sources:

1. Caliphs and Sultans, being tales omitted inthe usual editions of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. Re-written and re-arranged by Sylvanus Hanley, F.L. S., etc., London, 1868; 2nd edition 1870.

Consists of portions of tales chiefly selected fromScott, Lamb, Chavis and Cazotte, Trebutien and Lane;much abridged, and frequently strung together, asfollows:—­

Nos. 246, 41, 32 (including Nos. 111, 21a, and 89);9a (including 9aa [which Hanley seems, by the way,to have borrowed from some version which I do notrecognise], 22 and 248); 155, 156, 136, 162; Xailounthe Silly (from Cazotte); 132 and 132a; and 169 (including134 and 135x).

2. Ilam-en-Nas. Historical tales and anecdotesof the time of the early Kalifahs. Translatedfrom the Arabic and annotated by Mrs. Godfrey Clerk,author of “The Antipodes, and Round the World.” London, 1873.

Many of these anecdotes, as is candidly admitted bythe authoress in her Preface, are found with variationsin the Nights, though not translated by her from thissource.

3. The New Arabian Nights. Select talesnot included by Galland or Lane. By W. F. Kirby,London, 1882.

Includes the following tales, slightly abridged, fromWeil and Scott: Nos. 200, 201, 264, 215, 209,and 208.

Two editions have appeared in England, besides reprintsin America and Australia.

Separateeditionsofsingleorcompositetales.

6e (ee).—­TheBarber’s Fifth Brother.

Mr. W. A. Clouston (in litt.) calls attention to theversion of this story by Addison in the “Spectator,”No. 535, Nov. 13, 1712, after Galland. Thereis good reason to suppose that this is subsequentto the first English edition, which, however, Addisondoes not mention. There is also an English versionin Faris’ little Arabic Grammar (London, 1856),and likewise in Richardson’s Arabic Grammar. The latter author extracted it from a Ms. belongingto Sir W. Jones.

5.—­Nur Al-dinand Badr Al-din Hasan.

There are two Paris editions of the “Histoirede Chems-Eddine et de NourEddine,” edited byProf. Cherbonneau. The first (1852) containstext and notes, and the second (1869) includes text,vocabulary and translations.

7.—­Nur Al-dinand Anis Al-jalis.

An edition by Kasimiraki of “Enis’ el-Djelis,ou histoire de la belle Persane,” appeared inParis in 1867. It includes text, translationand notes.

9.—­KingOmar Bin Al-nu’aman.

There is a French abridgment of this story entitled,“Scharkan, Conte Arabe, suivi de quelques anecdotesorientales; traduit par M. Asselan Riche, Membre dela Societe Asiatique de Paris” (Paris and Marseilles,12mo, 1829, pp. 240). The seven anecdotes appendedare as follows: (1) the well-known story of Omar’sprisoner and the glass of water; (2) Elhedjadj anda young Arab; (3)=our No. 140; (4) Anecdote of Elhedjadjand a story-teller; (5)=our No. 86; (6) King Bahmanand the Moubed’s parable of the Owls; (7)=ourNo. 145.

133.—­Sindbadthe Seaman.

This is the proper place to call attention to a workspecially relating to this story, “Remarks onthe Arabian Nights Entertainments; in which the originof Sindbad’s Voyages and other Oriental Fictionsis particularly described. By Richard Hole, ll.D.”(London, 1797, pp. iv. 259.)

It is an old book, but may still be consulted withadvantage.

There are two important critical editions of No. 133,one in French and one in German.

1. Les Voyages de Sind-bad le marin et la rusedes Femmes. Contes arabes. Traduction litterale,accompagnee du Texte et des Notes. Par L. Langles(Paris, 1814).

The second story is our No. 184.

2. Die beiden Sindbad oder Reiseabenteuer Sindbadsdes Seefabrers. Nach einer zum ersten Male inEuropa bedruckten Aegyptischen Handschrift unmittelbarund wortlich treu aus den Arabischen uebersetzt undmit erklaerenden Anmerkungen, nebst zwei sprachlichenBeilagen zum Gebrauch fuer abgehende Orientalistenherausgegeben von J. G. H. Reinsch (Breslau, 1826).

135.—­The Craftand Malice of Women.

The literature of this cluster of tales would requirea volume in itself, and I cannot do better than referto Mr. W. A. Clouston’s “Book of Sindibad”(8vo, Glasgow, 1884) for further information. This book, though privately printed and limited to300 copies, is not uncommon.

136.—­Judarand His Brethren.

An edition of this story, entitled “Histoirede Djouder le Pecheur,” edited by Prof. Houdas, was published in the Bibliotheque Algerienne,at Algiers, in 1865. It includes text and vocabulary.

174.—­TheTen Wazirs.

This collection of tales has also been frequentlyreprinted separately. It is the Arabic versionof the Persian Bakhtyar Nameh, of which Mr. Cloustonissued a privately-printed edition in 1883.

The following versions have come under my notice:—­

1. Nouveaux Contes Arabes, ou Supplement auxMille et une Nuits suivies de Melanges de Litteratureorientale et de lettres, par l’Abbe * * * (Paris,1788, pp. 425).

This work consists chiefly of a series of tales selectedand adapted from the Ten Vazirs. “Writtenin Europe by a European, and its interest is foundin the Terminal Essay, on the Mythologia Aesopica”(Burton in litt.).

2. Historien om de ti Vezirer og hoorledes detgik dem med Kong Azad Bachts Soen, oversat af Arabiskved R. Rask (8vo, Kobenhavn, 1829).

3. Habicht, x. p. vi., refers to the following:—­Historiadecem Vezirorum et filii regis Azad-Bacht insertisxiii. aliis narrationibus, in usum tironum Cahirensem,edid. G. Knoes, Goettingen, 1807, 8vo.

He also states that Knoes published the commencementin 1805, in his “Disquisitio de fide Herodoti,quo perhibet Phoenices Africam navibus circumvectosesse cum recentiorum super hac re sententiis excussis.—­Adnexurnest specimen sermonis Arabici vulgaris s. initiumhistoriae filii regis Azad-Bacht e Codice inedito.”

4. Contes Arabes. Histoire des dix Vizirs(Bakhtyar Nameh) Traduite et annotee par Rene Basset,Professeur A l’ecole superieure des lettresd’Algerie. Paris, 1883.

Chavis and Cazotte (antea pp. 471, 472) included aversion of the Ten Vazirs in their work; and othersare referred to in our Table of Tales.

248.—­TheWise Heycar.

Subsequently to the publication of Gauttier’sedition of The Nights, Agoub republished his translationunder the title of “Le sage Heycar, conte Arabe”(Paris, 1824).

A few tales published by Scott in Ouseley’sOriental Collections have already been noticed (antea,pp. 434, 435).

Translationsofcognateorientalromancesillustrative
ofthenights.

1. Les Mille et Un Jours. Contes Persanes.

“In imitation of the Arabian Nights, was composeda Persian collection entitled ‘Hazar Yek Ruzor the Thousand and One Days,’ of which Petisde la Croix published a French rendering [in 1710],which was done into English [by Dr. King, and publishedin 2 vols. (with the Turkish Tales=Forty Vezirs) asearly as 1714; and subsequently] by Ambrose Phillips”(in 1738) (Clouston, in litt). Here, and occasionallyelsewhere, I have quoted from some MSS. notes on TheNights by Mr. W. A. Clouston, which Sir R. F. Burtonkindly permitted me to inspect. Mr. Clouston thenquotes Cazotte’s Preface (not in my editionof the Thousand and One Days), according to whichthe book was written by the celebrated Dervis Mocles(Mukhlis), chief of the Sofis (Sufis?) of lspahan,founded upon certain Indian comedies. Petis dela Croix was on friendly terms with Mukhlis, who allowedhim to take a copy of his work in 1675, during hisresidence in Ispahan. (I find these statements confirmedin the Cabinet des Fees, xxxvii. pp. 266, 274, 278,and in Weber’s “Tales of the East,”i. pp. xxxvi., xxxxii.)

The framework of the story is the same as Nos. 9aand 152: a Princess, who conceives an aversionto men from dreaming of the self-devotion of a doe,and the indifference and selfishness of a stag. Mr. Clouston refers to Nakhshabi’s Tuti Nama(No. 33 of Kaderi’s abridgment, and 39 of IndiaOffice Ms. 2,573 whence he thinks it probablethat Mukhlis may have taken the tale.) But the taleitself is repeated over and over again in many Arabic,Persian, and Turkish collections; in fact, there arefew of commoner occurrence.

The tales are told by the nurse in order to overcomethe aversion of the Princess to men. They areas follows:

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Introduction and Conclusion: Story of the Princessof Cashmir.
1. Story of Aboulcassem Bafry.
2. Story of King Ruzvanchad and the PrincessCheheristani.
a. Story of theyoung King of Thibet and the Princess of
theNaimans.
b. Story of theVazir Cavercha.
3. Story of Couloufe and the Beautiful Dilara.
4. Story of Prince Calaf and the Princess ofChina.
a. Story of PrinceFadlallah, son of Bei-Ortoc, King of
Moussel=Nos.184 and 251.
5. Story of King Bedreddin-Lolo, and his VazirAtalmulk,
surnamed the Sad Vazir.
a. Story of Atalmulkand the Princess Zelica Beghume.
b. Story of PrinceSeyf-el-Molouk.
c. Story of Malekand the Princess Chirine.
d. Story of KingHormuz, surnamed the King without
trouble.
da. Story of Avicenna.
e. Story of thefair Arouya. Cf. Nos. 135q and 225.
f. Singular Adventuresof Aboulfawaris, surnamed the Great
Traveller(2 Voyages).
6. Story of the Two Brother Genii, Adis andDahy.
7. Story of Nasiraddole, King of Moussel, ofAbderrahman,
Merchant of Bagdad,and the Beautiful Zeineb.
8. Story of Repsima=No. 181r.

This work has many times been reprinted in France,where it holds a place only second to The Nights.

Sir R. F. Burton remarks, concerning the Persian andTurkish Tales of Petis de la Crois (the latter ofwhich form part of the Forty Vazirs, No. 251), “Bothare weak and servile imitations of Galland by an Orientalistwho knew nothing of the East. In one passagein the story of Fadlallah, we read of ’Le Sacrificedu Mont Arafate,’ which seems to have becomea fixture in the European brain. I found thework easy writing and exceedingly hard reading.”

The following tales require a passing notice:—­

1. Story of Aboulcassem Bafry.—­A storyof concealed treasure; it has also some resemblanceto No. 31.

2. Ruzvanchad and Cheheristani.—­Cheheristaniis a jinniyah, who is pursued by the King, under theform of a white doe; marries him, and becomes themother of Balkis, the Queen of Sheba. She exactsa promise from him never to rebuke her for any of heractions: he breaks it, and she leaves him fora time.

2a. The Young King of Thibet.—­Twoimposters obtain magic rings by which they can assumethe shapes of other persons.

2a, b. The Vazir Cavercha.—­This isone of Scott’s stories (No. 223 of our Table). It goes back at least as far as the Ring of Polycrates. It is the 8th Vezir’s Story in Mr. Gibbs’Forty Vezirs (pp. 200-205).

4. Prince Calaf.—­This story is wellknown, and is sometimes played as a comedy. ThePrincess Turandot puts riddles to her suitors, andbeheads them if they fail to answer.

5b. Story of Prince Seyj-el-Molouk.—­Thisstory is perhaps an older version than that whichappears in The Nights (No. 154a). It is placedlong after the time of Solomon; Saad is devoured byants (Weber (ii. p. 426) has substituted wild beasts!);and when Seyf enters the palace of Malika (=DauletKhatoon), the jinni surprises them, and is overpoweredby Seyf’s ring. He then informs him ofthe death of Saad; and that Bedy al-Jernal was oneof the mistresses of Solomon; and has also long beendead.

5b. Malek and Chirine.—­Resembles No.264; Malek passes himself off as the Prophet Mohammed;burns his box (not chair) with fireworks on his weddingday,and is thus prevented from ever returning to the Princess.

5f. Adventures of Aboulfawaris.—­Romantictravels, resembling Nos. 132a and 133.

2. Antar.—­This is the most famousof the Badawi romances. It resembles No. 137in several particulars, but is destitute of supernaturalism. An English abridgment in 4 vols. was published in1820; and the substance of vol. 1 had appeared, asa fragment, in the previous year, under the titleof “Antar, a Bedoueen Romance translated fromthe Arabic by Terrick Hamilton, Esq., Oriental Secretaryto the British Embassy at Constantinople.” I have also seen vol. 1 of a French translation, publishedabout 1862, and extending to the death of Shas.

Lane (Modern Egyptians, ch. 21-23) describes severalother Arab romances, which have not yet been translated;viz. Aboo-Zeyd; Ez-Zahir, and Delhemeh.

3. Glaive-des-COURONNES (Seif el-Tidjan)Roman traduit de l’Arabe. Par M. le Dr.Perron (Paris, 1862).

A romantic story of Arab chivalry, less overloadedwith supernaturalism than No. 137; but more supernaturalthan Antar. The hero marries (among other wives)two jinniyahs of the posterity of Iblis. In ch.21 we have an account of a magical city much resemblingthe City of Brass (No. 134) and defended by similartalismans.

4. MehemettheKurd, and othertales, from Eastern sources, by Charles Wells, TurkishPrizeman of King’s College, London, and Memberof the Royal Asiatic Society (London, 1865).

The first story, taken from an Arabic Ms., isa narrative of a handsome simpleminded man, with whomPrincesses fall in love, and who is raised to a mightythrone by their enchantments. Some of the earlyincidents are not unlike those in the well-known Germanstory of Lucky Hans (Hans im Glueck). In one placethere is an enchanted garden, where Princesses disportthemselves in feather-dresses (as in No. 155, &c.),and where magic apples grow. (Note that apples arealways held in extraordinary estimation in The Nights,cf. Nos. 4 and 264.) Among the shorter storieswe find No. 251h; a version of Nos. 9a and 152 (probablythat referred to by Mr. Clouston as in the Tuti Nama);a story “The Prince Tailor,” resemblingNo. 251; No. 256, and one or two other tales not connectedwith The Nights. (Most of Wells’ shorter talesare evidently taken from the Forty Vezirs.)

5. Recueildescontespopulairesde la Kabylie du Djardjara, recueillis et traduitspar J. Riviere (Paris, 1882). I have not seenthis book; but it can hardly fail to illustrate TheNights.

6. ThestoryofJewad, Romanceby ’Ali ’Aziz Efendi the Cretan. Translated from the Turkish by E. J. W. Gibb, M.R.A.S.,&c. (Glasgow, 1884).

A modern Turkish work, written in A. H. 1211 (1796-97). It contains the following tales:—­

The Story ofJew d.

1. The Story of Eb -’Ali-Sin ;. 2. The Story of Monia Em n. 3. The Story ofFerah-N z, the daughter of the King of China.
a. The Storyof Khoja ’Abdu-llah.
4. The Story told by Jew d to Iklilu’lMulk.
a. The Storyof Sh b r and Hum .
c. The Storyof Ghazanfer and R hila.
5. The Story of Qara Khan.

The following deserve notice from our present pointof view:—­

The Story of Jewad.—­Here we have magicalillusions, as in Nos. 247 and 251a. Such narrativesare common in the East; Lane (Nights, ch. i., note15) is inclined to attribute such illusions to theinfluence of drugs; but the narratives seem ratherto point to so-called electro-biology, or the ScotchGlamour (such influences, as is notorious, actingfar more strongly upon Orientals than upon Europeans).

2. The Story of Monia Em n corresponds to theStory of Naerdan and Guzulbec, in Caylus’ OrientalTales. A story of magical illusions.

3. The Story of Ferah N z.—­Hereagain we have a variant of Nos. 9a and 152.

3a. Khoja ’Abdu-ltab.—­Thisis a version of the Story of Aboulcassem in the Thousandand One Days.

4a. Sh b r and Hum .—­The commencementof this story might have suggested to Southey theadventures of Thalaba and Oneida in the Gardens ofAloadin; the remainder appears to be taken from theStory of the young King of Thibet, in the Thousandand One Days.

5. Qara Khan.—­The principal partof this story is borrowed from the First Voyage ofAboulfawaris in the Thousand and One Days; it hassome resemblance to the story of the Mountain of Loadstonein No. 3c.

7. FRUeCHTE des ASIATISCHEN Geist,von A. T. Hartmann. 2 vols., 12mo (Muenster) 1803. A collection of anecdotes, &c., from various Easternsources, Arabic, Indian, &c. I think it not impossiblethat this may be the work referred to by Von Hammerin the preface to Zinserling’s “1001 Nacht”(p. xxvii. note) as “Asiatische Perleuschnurvon Hartmann.” At least I have not yetmet with any work to which the scanty indication wouldapply better.

8. Tuti-Nama. I could hardlypass over the famous Persian and Turkish “Parrot-Book”quite without notice; but its tales have rarely anydirect connection with those in The Nights, and I havenot attempted to go into its very extensive bibliography.

DR. CLARKE’S M.S.

Dr. Edward Daniel Clarke has given an account of animportant Ms. nearly agreeing with Bul. and Mac.,which he purchased in Egypt, in his “Travelsin various countries of Europe, Asia and Africa.” Part ii. Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land. Section i. (1812) App. iii., pp. 701-704. Unfortunately,this Ms. was afterwards so damaged by water duringa shipwreck that it was rendered totally illegible. The list of tales (as will be seen by the numbers inbrackets, which correspond to our Table, as far asthe identifications are safe) will show the approximatecontents of the Ms., but the list (which is translatedinto German by Habicht in the preface to his vol.12) was evidently compiled carelessly by a personnearly ignorant of Arabic, perhaps with the aid ofan interpreter, Maltese, or other, and seems to aboundwith the most absurd mistakes. The full textof Clarke’s App. iii. is as follows: “Listof One Hundred and Seventy-two Tales, contained ina manuscript copy of the ‘Alif Lila va Lilin,’or ’Arabian Nights,’ as it was procuredby the Author in Egypt.”

N.B.—­The Arabic words mentioned in thislist are given as they appeared to be pronounced inEnglish characters, and of course, therefore, adaptedto English pronunciation.

The number of tales amounts to 172, but one tale issupposed to occupy many nights in the recital, sothat the whole number is divided into “One Thousandand One Nights.” It rarely happens thatany two copies of the Alif Lila va Lilin resemble eachother. This title is bestowed upon any collectionof Eastern tales divided into the same number of parts. The compilation depends upon the taste, the caprice,and the opportunities of the scribe, or the commandsof his employer. Certain popular stories arecommon to almost all copies of the Arabian Nights,but almost every collection contains some tales whichare not found in every other. Much depends uponthe locality of the scribe. The popular storiesof Egypt will be found to differ materially from thoseof Constantinople. A nephew of the late WortleyMontague, living in Rosetta, had a copy of the ArabianNights, and upon comparing the two manuscripts itappeared that out of the 172 tales here enumeratedonly 37 were found in his manuscript. In orderto mark, therefore, the stories which were commonto the two manuscripts, an asterisk has been prefixedto the thirty-seven tales which appeared in both copies.

1. The Bull and theAss (a).
2. The Merchant andthe Hobgoblin (1; Habicht translates Kobold!).
3. The Man and the Antelope(1a).
4. The Merchant andTwo Dogs (1b).
5. The Old Man and theMule (1c).
6. The History of the Hunters(2).
7&8. The History of King Unam andthe Philosopher Reinan (2a).
9. History of King Sinbadand Elbase (2a, ab).
10. History of the Porter (3).
11. History of Karanduli.
12. Story of the Mirror.
13. Story of the Three Apples(4).
14. Of Shensheddin Mohammed,and his Brother Noureddin (5).
15. Of the Taylor, Little Hunchback,the Jew and the Christian (6).
16. The History of NoureddinAli (7).
17. Ditto of Gaumayub, &c.(8).
18. The History of King Omarand Oman and his Children. (This tale
isextremely long, and occupies much of the manuscript)(9).
19. Of the Lover and the Beloved(9a).
20. Story of the Peacock,the Goose, the Ass, the Horse, &c. (10).
21. Of the Pious Man (11).
22. Of the Pious Shepherd.
23. Of the Bird and the Turtle(12).
24. Of the Fox, the Hawk,&c. (13).
25. Of the Lord of the Beasts.
26. Of the Mouse and the Partridge(14).
27. Of the Raven and the Cat(15).
28. Of the Raven, the Fox,the Mouse, the Flea, &c., &c. (16).
29. Story of the Thief (18).
30. Of Aul Hassan and the SlaveShemsney Har (20).
31. Of Kamrasaman, &c. (21).
32. Of Naam and Nameto la(21a).
33. Of Aladin Abuskelmat (22).
34. Of Hallina Die (23).
35. Story of Maan Jaamnazida(24).
36. History of the Town Litta(26).
37. Story of Hassan Abdulmelac(27).
38. Of Ibrahim Elmachde, Brotherof Haroun al Raschid (28).
39. History of the FamousGarden Ezem (Paradise) (29).
40. Of Isaac of Mossul (30).
41. Of Hasli Hasli.
42. Of Mohammed Eli Ali (32).
43. Of Ali the Persian (33).
44. History of the Raschidand his Judge (34).
45. Of Haled Immi Abdullah.
46. Of Jafaard the Bamasside(36).
47. Of Abokohammed Kurlan(37).
48. Of Haroun al-Raschid andSala.
49. History of Mamoan (40).
50. Of Shar and the SlaveZemroud (41).
51. Of the Lady Bedoor (literallyMrs. Moon-face) and Mr.
Victorious(42).
52. Of Mammon and Mohammedof Bassorah.
53. Of Haroun al-Raschid andhis Slave (44).
54. Of the Merchant in Debt(45).
55. Of Hassoun Medin, theGovernor (46).
56. Of King Nassir and hisThree Children—­the Governor of Cairo,
theGovernor of Bulac, and the Governor of Old Cairo (47).
57. History of the Bankerand the Thief (48).
58. Of Aladin, Governor ofConstantinople.
59. Of Mamoon and Ibrahim(50).
60. Of a certain King (51).
61. Of a Pious Man (52).
62. Of Abul Hassan Ezeada(53).
63. Of a Merchant (54).
64. Of a Man of Bagdad (55).
65. Of Modavikil (56).
66. Of Virdan in the time ofHakim Veemrelack (N.B.—­He built
theMosque in going from Cairo to Heliopolis) (57).
67. Of a Slave and an Ape(58).
68. Story of the Horse of Ebony(59).
69. Of Insilvujud (60).
70. Of Eban Vas (61).
71. Of an Inhabitant of Bassora(62).
72. History of a Man of thetribe of Arabs of Beucadda (63).
73. History of Benriddin,Vizir of Yemen (64).
74. Of a Boy and a Girl (65).
75. Of Mutelmis (66).
76. Of Haroun al Rashid andthe Lady Zebeda (67).
77. Of Mussa ab imni Zibir(69).
78. Of the Black Father.
79. Of Haroun al Raschid.
80. Story of an Ass Keeper(74?).
81. Of Haroun al Rashid andEboo Yussuf (75).
82. Of Hakim, Builder of theMosque (76).
83. Of Melikel Horrais.
84. Of a Gilder and his Wife(78).
85. Of Hashron, &c. (79).
86. Of Yackyar, &c., the Barmadride(80).
87. Of Mussa, &c.
88. Of Said, &c.
89. Of the Whore and the GoodWoman.
90. Of Raschid and Jacob hisFavourite.
91. Of Sherif Hussein.
92. Of Mamoon, son of Harounal Raschid (87).
93. Of the repenting Thief(88)
94. Of Haroun al Raschid (89).
95. Of a Divine, &c. (90).
96. Another story of a Divine.
97. The Story of the Neighbours.
98. Of Kings (94).
99. Of Abdo Rackman (95).
100. Of Hind, daughter of Nackinan(96).
101. Of Tabal (97).
102. Of Isaac son of Abraham (98).
103. Of a Boy and a Girl.
104. Story of Chassim Imni Addi.
105. Of Abul Abass.
106. Of Ebubecker Ben Mohammed.
107. Of Ebi Evar.
108. Of Emmin, brother of Mamon(105).
109. Of six Scheiks of Bagdad.
110. Of an Old Woman.
111. Of a Wild Girl.
112. Of Hasan Elgevire of Bagdad.
113. Of certain Kings.
114. Of a king of Israel (116).
115. Of Alexander (117).
116. Of King Nusharvian (118).
117. Of a Judge and his Wife (119).
118. Of an Emir.
119. Of Malek Imnidinar.
120. Of a devout man of the childrenof Israel (122).
121. Of Hedjage Himni Yussuf (123).
122. Of a Blacksmith (124).
123. Of a devout man (125).
124. Of Omar Imnilchatab.
125. Of Ibrahim Elchaber.
126. Of a Prophet (128).
127. Of a Pious Man (129).
128. Of a Man of the Children ofIsrael (130).
129. Of Abul Hassan Duradge (131).
130. Of Sultana Hayaat.
131. Of the Philosopher Daniel (132).
132. Of Belukia (132A).
133. The Travels of Sinbad—­certainseven voyages, &c. (133).
134. Of the Town of Copper (134).
135. Of the Seven Virgins and theSlave (135).
136. Story of Judais (136).
137. The Wonderful History.
138. Of Abdullah lmni Mohammi.
139. Of Hind Imni Haman (139).
140. Of Chazmime Imni Bashes (140).
141. Of Jonas the Secretary (141).
142. Of Haroun al-Rashid (142).
143. Of ditto.
144. Of Ebon Isaac Ibrahim (144).
145. Of Haroun al Raschid, Misroorand the Poet.
146. Of the Caliph Moavia.
147. Of Haroun al Raschid.
148. Of Isaac Imni Ibrahim (148),
149. Of Ebwi Amer.
150. Of Achmet Ezenth and the oldFemale Pimp.
151. Of the three Brothers.
152. Of Erdeshir and Hiaker, ofJulmar El Bacharia (152).
153. Of Mahomet, &c.
154. Ditto (154?).
155. Story of Safil Moluki (154A).
156. Of Hassan, &c. (155).
157. Of Caliph the Hunter (156).
158. Of Mersir and his Mistress (157).
159. Of Noureddin and Mary (158).
160. Of a Bedouin and a Frank (159).
161. Of a Man of Baghdad and hisFemale Slave (160).
162. Of a King, his Son, and theVizir Shemar (161).
163. Of a Merchant and the Thieves.
164. Of Abousir and Aboukir (162).
165. Abdulak El Beri and Abdulak ElBackari (163).
166. Of Haroun al Raschid.
167. Of the Merchant Abul Hassanal-Omani (164).
168. Of Imnil Echarib (168).
169. Of Moted Bila.
170. Of Kamasi Zemuan (167).
171. Of Abdulah Imni Fasil (168).
172. The Story of Maroof (169).

IMITATIONS AND MISCELLANEOUS WORKSHAVING MORE OR LESS
CONNECTION WITH THE NIGHTS.

The success of Galland’s work led to the appearanceof numerous works more or less resembling it, chieflyin England and France. Similar imitations, thoughnow less numerous, have continued to appear down tothe present day.

The most important of the older works of this classwere published in French in the “Cabinet desFees” (Amsterdam and Geneva, 1785-1793; 41 vols.);in English in “Tales of the East: comprisingthe most popular Romances of Oriental origin, and thebest imitations by European authors, with new translationsand additional tales never before published, to whichis prefixed an introductory dissertation, containingan account of each work and of its author or translator. By Henry Weber, Esq.” (Edinburgh, 1812, 3 vols.);and in German in “Tausand und ein Tag. Morgenlaendische Erzaehlungen aus dem Persisch, Turkischund Arabisch, nach Petis de la Croix, Galland, Cardonne,Chavis und Cazotte, dem Grafen Caylus, und Anderer. Uebersetzt von F. H. von der Hagen” (Prenzlau,1827-1837, 11 vols.). In the “Cabinet desFees” I find a reference to an older collectionof tales (partly Oriental) called the “Bibliothequedes Fees et des Genies,” by the Abbe de la Porte,which I have not seen, but which is, in part, incorporatedin the “Cabinet.” It formed only 2vols. 12mo, and was published in 1765.

The examination of these tales is difficult, for theycomprise several classes, not always clearly defined:—­

1. Satires on The Nights themselves (e.g. theTales of the
Count of Hamilton).
2. Satires in an Oriental garb (e.g. Beckford’sVathek). 3. Moral tales in an Oriental garb(e.g. Mrs. Sheridan’s
Nourjahad).
4. Fantastic tales with nothing Oriental aboutthem but the
name (e.g. Stevenson’sNew Arabian Nights).
5. Imitations pure and simple (e.g. G.Meredith’s Shaving of
Shagpat).
6. Imitations more or less founded on genuineOriental sources
(e.g. the Tales of theComte de Caylus).
7. Genuine Oriental Tales (e.g. Milleet une Jours, translated
by Petis de la Croix).

Most of the tales belonging to Class 7 and some ofthose belonging to Class 6 have been treated of inprevious sections. The remaining tales and imitationswill generally need only a very brief notice; sometimesonly the title and the indication of the class towhich they belong. We will begin with an enumerationof the Oriental contents of the Cabinet des Fees, addingW. i., ii. and iii. to show which are included inWeber’s “Tales of the East':—­

7-11. 1001 Nuits (W. 1). 12, 13. Les Aventuresd’Abdalla (W. iii). 14, 15. 1001 Jours (Persiantales, W. ii.). 16. Histoire de la
Sultanede Perse et des Visirs. Contes Turcs (Turkish
tales,W. 3our 251).
16. Les Voyages de Zulma dans le pays des Fees.17, 18. Contes de Bidpai. 19. Contes Chinois,on les Aventures merveilleuses du Mandarin
Fum-Hoam (W. iii.).21, 22. Les Mille et un Quart d’Heures.
Contes Tartares (W.iii.).
22, 23. Les Sultanes de Guzerath, ou les Songesdes hommes eveilles. Contes Moguls (W. iii.).25. Nouveaux Contes Orientaux, par le Comte deCaylus (W. ii.). 29, 30. Les Contes des Genies(W. iii.). 30. Les Aventures de Zelouide etd’Amanzarifdine. 30. Contes Indiens parM. de Moncrif. 33. Nourjahad (W. ii.). 34. Contes de M. Pajon. 38-41. Les Veillees du SultanSchahriar, &c. (Chavis and Cazotte; cf. antea, p.419; W. i. ii.).

(Weber also includes, in his vol. ii. Nos. 21a,22, 32 and 37, after Caussin de Perceval.)

12, 13. The Adventures of Abdallah, the Son ofHanif (Class 5 or 6).

Originally published in 1713; attributed to M. deBignon, a young Abbe. A series of romantic travels,in which Eastern and Western fiction is mixed; forinstance, we have the story of the Nose-tree, whichso far as I know has nothing Oriental about it.

16. The Voyages of Zulma in Fairy Land (Class4).

European fairy tales, with nothing Oriental aboutthem but the names of persons and places. Thework is unfinished.

17, 18. The Tales of Bidpai (translated byGalland) are Indian,
andtherefore need no further notice here.

19-23. Chinese, Tartarian and Mogul Tales (Class6).

Published in 1723, and later by Thomas Simon Gueulette.

Concerning these tales, Mr. Clouston remarks (in litt.): “Much of the groundwork of these clever imitationsof the Arabian Nights has been, directly or indirectly,derived from Eastern sources; for instance, in theso-called Tartar tales, the adventures of the YoungCalender find parallels, (1) in the well-known Bidpaitale of the Brahman, the Sharpers and the Goat (Kalilaand Dimna, Panchatantra, Hitopadesa, &c.) and (2)in the worldwide story of the Farmer who outwittedthe Six Men (Indian Antiquary, vol. 3) of which thereare many versions current in Europe, such as the Norsetale of Big Peter and Little Peter, the Danish taleof Great Claus and Little Claus; the German tale (Grimm)of the Little Farmer; the Irish tale of Little Fairly(Samuel Lover’s collection of Irish Fairy Legendsand Stories); four Gaelic versions in Campbell’sPopular Tales of the West Highlands; a Kaba’ilversion in Riviere’s French collection (Contespopulaires Kabylies); Uncle Capriano in Crane’srecently published Italian Popular Tales; and a Latinmediaeval version (written probably in the I **1thcentury) in which the hero is called ‘Unibos,’because he had only one cow.”

25. Oriental Tales (Class 6).

Mr. Clouston observes, “Appeared in 1749,[FN#472]and on the title page are said to have been translatedfrom MSS. in the Royal French Library. The storiesare, however, largely the composition of De Caylushimself, and those elements of them which are traceableto Asiatic sources have been considerably Frenchified.”

Nevertheless they are not without interest, and arenearly all of obviously Oriental origin. Oneof the stories is a fantastic account of the Birthof Mahomet, including romantic travels largely borrowedfrom No. 132a. Another story is a version ofthat of the Seven Sleepers. Other noteworthy talesare the story of the Dervish Abounader, which resemblesNos. 193 and 216d; and the story of Naerdan and Guzulbec,which is a tale of magical illusions similar to thatof Monia Emin, in the Turkish story of Jewad.

The Count de Caylus was the author of various Europeanas well as Oriental fairy tales. Of his Orientalcollection, Sir R. F. Burton remarks:—­“Thestories are not Eastern but Western fairy tales proper,with kings and queens, giants and dwarfs, and fairies,good and bad. ‘Barbets’ act as bodyguard and army. Written in good old style, andfree language, such as, for instance, son petenlaire,with here and there a touch of salt humour, as inRosanie ’Charmante reine (car on n’a jamaisparle autrement a une reine, quel que laide qu’elleait ete).’”

29, 30. Tales of the Genii (Class 3).

Written in the middle of the last century by Rev.James Ridley, but purporting to be translated fromthe Persian of Horam, the son of Asmar, by Sir CharlesMorell.

These tales have been reprinted many times; but itis very doubtful if they are based on any genuineOriental sources. The amount of Oriental colouringmay be guessed from the story of Urad, who havingconsented to become the bride of a Sultan on conditionthat he should dismiss all his concubines, and makeher his sole queen (like Harald Harfagr on his marriagewith Ragnhilda), is presented to his loving subjectsas their Sultana!

32. Adventures of Zeloide and Amanzarifdine. Indian Tales, by M.
de Moncrif (Class 4). Ordinary European Fairy Tales, with
the scene laid in theEast.

33. Nourjahad, by Mrs. Sheridan (Class 3).

An unworthy favourite is reformed by a course of practicalmoral lessons conveyed by the Sultan through supposedsupernatural agencies. Mr. Clouston regards itas “one of the very best of the imitations ofEastern fiction. The plot is ingeniously conceivedand well wrought out, and the interest never flagsthroughout.”

34. Pajon’s Oriental Tales (Class 5). These demand no special
notice.

In addition to the above, the following Oriental worksare mentioned in the Cabinet des Fees, but not reprinted:

1. Apologues orientaux, parl’abbe Blanchet.
2. Melanges de litteratureorientale, par Cardonne. (Paris, 2
vols. 1770.)
3. Nerair et Meloe, roman oriental,par H. B. Deblanes (1759).
4. Contes orientaux, par M.de la Dixmerie.
5. Les Cinq Cent Matinees etune demie, contes Syriens, par le
chevalier de Duclos.
6. Abassai, conte oriental,par Mademoiselle Fault (ou
Fauques) 1752.
7. Les Contes du Serail, parMdlle. Fault (1753.)
8. Kara Mustapha, conte oriental,par Fromaget (1745).
9. Zilia et Cenie, par Francoised’Isembourg d’Hippincourt de
Graffigny.
10. Salned et Garalde, conte oriental,par A. H. De la Motte.
11. Anecdotes orientales, par G. Mailhol(2 vols. 1752).
12. Alzahel, traduit d’un manuscritarabe, par Mdlle. Raigne de
Malfontaine (Mercure, 1773).
13. Mahmoud le Gasnevide, conte oriental,par J. F. Melon.
14. Contes Orientaux, ou les recits duSage Caleb, voyageur
persan, par Mme. Mouet.
15. Nadir, par A. G. de Montdorge.
16. Lettres Persanes, de Montesquieu.
17. Les Amusements de Jour, ou recueilde petits contes, par
Mme. de Mortemar.
18. Mirloh, conte oriental, par Martinede Morville (1769).
19. Ladila, anecdote turque (par la meme)1769.
20. Daira, histoire orientale, par A. J.J. de la Riche de la
Poupeliniere (1761).
21. Cara Mustapha, par de Preschat.
22. Des trois Nations, conte oriental,par Marianne Robert
(1760).
23. Contes Orientaux, tires des manuscritsde la Bibliotheque du
Roi, 2 vols. 12mo (1749).

This is the same as the Count de Caylus’ OrientalTales. Sir R. F. Burton has received the followingmemorandum, respecting a copy of an earlier editionof the same work: “Contes Orientaux, tiresdes manuscrits de la Bibliotheque du Roy de France,ornes de figures en taille douce. A la Haye,1743, 2 vols. 12mo, polished calf gilt, gilt edges,arms in gilt on the sides.

“The Preface says, ’M. Petit et M.Galland n’ont en aucune connaissance des manuscritsdont cet ouvrage est tire.’

“The Tales are from the MSS. and translationssent by those despatched by the French Ministers toConstantinople to learn Arabic, &c., and so becomefit to act as Dragomans and Interpreters to the FrenchEmbassy.”

There is a copy of this work in the British Museum;it proves, as I expected, to be the series of talessubsequently attributed to the Count de Caylus.

In addition to the above, the following, of whichI can only give the names, are mentioned in the Cabinetdes Fees, but not reprinted:—­

1. Alma-Moulin, conte oriental, 1779.
2. Gengiskan, histoire orientale, parM. de St. M.
3. Almanzor et Zelira, conte arabe, parM. Bret. (1772). {From
“les mercures.”}
4. Almerine et Zelima, ou les Dangersde la Beaute, conte
orientale, 1773. {From“les mercures.”}
5. Les Ames, conte arabe, par M. B--------.{From “les
mercures.”}
6. Balky, conte oriental, 1768. {From“les mercures.”}
7. Mirza, ou Is necessite d’etreutile (1774). {From “les
mercures.”}
8. Zaman, histoire orientale, par M. B.{From “les mercures.”}
9. Anecdotes Orientales, par Mayol, 1752.12mo.
10. Contes tres moguls.
11. Foka ou les Metamorphoses, contechinois. Derobe a M.
deV. 1777. 12mo.
12. Mahulem, histoire orientale. 12mo,1776.
13. Mille et une heure, contes Peruviens.4 vols. 12mo,
1733.
14. Histoire de Khedy, Hermite deMont Ararat. Conte
orientale,traduit de l’Anglais, 12mo, 1777.
15. Zambeddin, histoire orientale.12mo, 1768.
16. Zelmoille et Zulmis et Turlableu. Par M. l’Abbe de
Voisem,12mo, 1747.
17. Roman Oriental, Paris, 1753.

The remaining imitations, &c., known to me I shallplace roughly in chronological order, premising thatI fear the list must be very incomplete, and thatI have met with very few except in English and French.

A.—­French

1. Zadig, ou la Destinee, par Voltaire[FN#473]probably partakes of classes 2 and 6; said to be partlybased on Gueulette’s “Soirees Bretonnes,”published in 1712. The latter is included inCabinet des Fees, Vol. 32.

2. Vathek, an Arabian Tale, by William Beckford. I include this book here because it was written andfirst published in French. Its popularity wasonce very great, and it contains some effective passages,though it belongs to Class 2, and is rather a parodythan an imitation of Oriental fiction. The CaliphVathek, after committing many crimes at the instanceof his mother, the witch Carathis, in order to propitiateEblis, finally starts on an expedition to Istakar. On the way, he seduces Nouronihar, the beautiful daughterof the Emir Fakreddin, and carries her with him tothe Palace of Eblis, where they am condemned to wandereternally, with their hearts surrounded with flames.

This idea (which is certainly not Oriental, so faras I know) took the fancy of Byron, who was a greatadmirer of Vathek, and he has mixed it with genuineOriental features in a powerful passage in the Giaour,beginning:

“Butthou, false infidel! shalt writhe
Beneathavenging Monkir’s scythe;
Andfrom its torment ’scape alone
Towander round lost Eblis’ throne;
Andfire unquenched, unquenchable,
Around,within thy heart shall dwell;
Norear can hear, nor tongue can tell
Thetortures of that inward hell!” &c.

How errors relative to Eastern matters are perpetuatedis illustrated by the fact that I have seen theselines quoted in some modern philosophical work asdescriptive of the hell in which the Mohammedans believe!

Southey, in Thalaba, b. 1., speaks of the Sarsar,“the Icy Wind of Death,” an expressionwhich he probably borrowed from Vathek.

3. The Count of Hamilton’s Fairy Tales. Written shortly after
the first publicationof Galland’s work. There is an English
Translation among Bohn’sExtra Volumes.

4. Les Mille et un Fadaises, par Cazotte. Class 1. I have not
seen them.

5. La Mille et deuxieme Nuit, par TheophilusGautier (Paris,
1880). ProbablyClass 1 or 2; I have not seen it.

B.—­English.

1. The Vision of Mirza (Addison in the “Spectator'). Class 3.

2. The Story of Amurath. Class 3. I do not know the author. I read it in a juvenilebook published about the end of last century, entitledthe Pleasing Instructor.

3. The Persian Tales of Inatulla of Delhi. Published in 1768, by Colonel Alexander Dow at Edinburgh. A French translation appeared at Amsterdam in twovols. and in Paris in one vol. (1769). Class6. Chiefly founded on a wellknown Persian work,of which a more correct, though still incomplete,version was published in 3 vols. by Jonathan Scottin 1799, under the title of Bahar Danush, or Gardenof Knowledge.

5. Rasselas, by Samuel Johnson. Class3. Too well known to need
comment.

6. Almoran and Hamet, by Dr. Hawksworth. Class 3. Very popular at the beginning of thepresent century, but now forgotten.

7. Oriental Fairy Tales (London, 1853). Class 4. A series of very pretty fairy tales,by an anonymous author, in which the scene is laidin the East (especially Egypt).

8. The Shaving of Shagpat, by George Meredith(London, 1855). Class 5. I prefer this tomost other imitations of an Oriental tale.

9. The Thousand and One Humbugs. Classes1 and 2. Published in “Household Words,”vol. xi. (1855) pp. 265-267, 289-292, 313-316. Parodies on Nos. 1, 195, 6d, and 6e,f.

10. Eastern Tales, by many story-tellers. Compiled and edited from ancient and modern authorsby Mrs. Valentine, author of “Sea Fights andLand Battles,” &c. (Chandos Classics.)

In her preface, the authoress states that the tales“are gathered from both ancient and modern French,Italian and English sources.”

Contains 14 tales, some genuine, others imitations,One, “Alischar and Smaragdine,” is a genuinestory of The Nights (No. 41 of our Table), and isprobably taken from Trebutien. Three tales, “Jalaladeen,”“Haschem,” and “Jussuf,” areGrimm’s imitations, taken probably from thecomposite English edition of 1847, and with the sameillustrations. “The Seven Sleepers”and the “Four Talismans” are from theCount de Caylus’ tales; “Halechalbe”and “Bohetzad” (our No. 174) are from Chavisand Cazotte; “The Enchanters” and “Urad”are from the “Tales of the Genii”; and“The Pantofles” is the well-known storyof the miser Casem and his slippers, but I know notwhere it first appeared. The remaining threetales are unknown to me, and as I have seen no volumeof Italian Oriental tales, some, no doubt, are derivedfrom the Italian sources of which the authoress spoke. They are the following: “The Prince andthe Lions,” “The City of the Demons”(a Jewish story purporting to have been written inEngland) and “Sadik Beg.”

11. New Arabian Nights, by R. L. Stevenson (London,1882).

12. More New Arabian Nights. The Dynamiter. By R. L. Stevenson
and Vander Grift (London,1882). Class 4.

Of these tales, Sir R. F. Burton observes, “Theonly visible connection with the old Nights is inthe habit of seeking adventures under a disguise. The method is to make the main idea possible and thedetails extravagant. In another ’New ArabianNights,’ the joint production of MM. Brookfield,Besant and Pollock, the reverse treatment is affected,the leading idea being grotesque and impossible, andthe details accurate and lifelike.”

C.—­German.

It is quite possible that there are many imitationsin German, but I have not met with them. I canonly mention one or two tales by Hauff (the Caliphturned Stork, and the Adventures of Said); a storycalled “Ali and Gulhindi,” by what authorI do not now remember; and some imitations said tobe by Grimm, already mentioned in reference to theEnglish composite edition of 1847. They are allEuropean fairy tales, in an Eastern dress.

CONCLUSION.

Among books specially interesting to the student ofThe Nights, I may mention Weil’s “BiblischeLegenden der Muselmaenner, aus arabischen Quellenzusammengetragen, und mit juedischen Sagen verglichen”(Frankfort-on-Main, 1845). An anonymous Englishtranslation appeared in 1846 under the title of “TheBible, the Koran, and the Talmud,” and it alsoformed one of the sources from which the Rev. S. Baring-Gouldcompiled his “Legends of Old Testament Characters”(2 vols., 1871). The late Prof. Palmer’s“Life of Haroun Al-Raschid” (London, 1881),is not much more than a brief popular sketch. The references to The Nights in English and otherEuropean literatures are innumerable; but I cannotrefrain from quoting Mark Twain’s identificationof Henry the Eighth with Shahryar (Huckleberry Finn,chap. xxiii).

“My, you ought to have seen old Henry the Eighthwhen he was in bloom. He was a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop offher head next morning. And he would do it justas indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. “Fetch up Nell Gwynn,” he says. Theyfetch her up. Next morning, “Chop off herhead.” And they chop it off. “Fetchup Jane Shore,” he says; and up she comes. Next morning, “Chop off her head.” And they chop it off. “Ring up Fair Rosamun.” Fair Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning,“Chop off her head.” And he made everyone of them tell him a tale every night, and he keptthat up till he had hogged a thousand and one talesthat way, and then he put them all in a book, andcalled it Domesday Book—­which was a goodname, and stated the case. You don’t knowkings, Jim, but I know them, and this old rip of ournis one of the cleanest I’ve struck in history. Well, Henry, he takes a notion he wants to get up sometrouble with this country. How does he do it—­givenotice?—­give the country a show? No. All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbouroverboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence,and dares them to come on. That was his style—­henever give anybody a chance. He had suspicionsof his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well,what did he do?—­ask him to show up? No—­drownded him in a butt of mamsey, likea cat. Spose people left money laying aroundwhere he was—­what did he do? He collaredit. Spose he contracted to do a thing, and youpaid him, and didnt set down there and see that hedone it—­what did he do? He alwaysdone the other thing. Spose he opened his mouth—­whatthen? If he didnt shut it up powerful quick, he’dlose a lie, every time. That’s the kindof a bug Henry was.”

COMPARATIVE TABLE OF THE TALES IN THE PRINCIPAL
EDITIONS OF THE THOUSANDAND ONE NIGHTS, viz.:—­

1. Galland.
2. Caussin de Perceval.
3. Gauttier.
4. Scott’s MS. (Wortley Montague).
5. Ditto (Anderson; marked A).
6. Scott’s Arabian Nights.
7. Scott’s Tales and Anecdotes (markedA).
8. Von Hammer’s MS.
9. Zinserling.
10. Lamb.
11. Trebutien.
12. Bul. text.
13. Lane.
14. Bres. text.
15. Habicht.
16. Weil.
17. Mac. text.
18. Torrens.
19. Payne.
20. Payne’s Tales from the Arabic (markedI. II. III.) 21. Calc. 22. Burton.

As nearly all editions of The Nights are in severalvolumes, the volumes are indicated throughout, exceptin the case of some of the texts. Only thosetales in No. 5, not included in No. 4, are here indicatedin the same column. All tales which there is goodreason to believe do not belong to the genuine Nightsare marked with an asterisk.

The blank column may be used to enter the contentsof some other
edition.
|Galland. |'Bul.” Text. Burton.
| |Caussin de Perceval. | |Lane. |
| | |Gauttier. | | |'Bres.” Text. |
| | | |Scott’s MS. | | | |Habicht. |
| | | | |Scott. | | | | |Weil. |
| | | | | |Von Hammer’s MS. | | | | |'Mac.” Text |
| | | | | | |Zinserling.| | | | | | |Torrens. |
| | | | | | | |Lamb. | | | | | | | |Payne. |
| | | | | | | | |Trebutien | | | | | | |Calc. |
[|1.| 2.| 3.|4,5|6,7| 8.| 9.|10.|11.|12.|13.|14.|15.|16.|17.|18.|19.|20.| |22.]

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . | — |...|...| 1 | —|VHa|...|...|...| + | 1 | + |...| 1 | + | 1 | 1 | +|...| 1
Story of King Shahryar and his brother . . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| + | 1 |+ | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
a. Tale of the Bull and the Ass . . . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | A | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
1. Tale of the Trader and the Jinni . . . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
a. The First Shaykh’s Story . . . . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
b. The Second Shaykh’s Story . . . . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
c. The Third Shaykh’s Story . . . . . | — | — |...| 1 | —|VHa|...|...|...| + | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | —|...| 1
2. The Fisherman and the Jinni . . . . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
a. Tale of the Wazir and the Sage Duban . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| + |1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
ab. Story of King Sindibad and his Falcon . | — | — |...| ? | — |VHa|...|...|...|+ | — | — | — | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | —|...| 1
ac. Tale of the Husband and the Parrot . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | ? | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| —| 1 | + | 1 | 1 | — | — | — | + |...| 1
ad. Tale of the Prince and the Ogress . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | ? | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| + |1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
b. Tale of the Ensorcelled Prince . . . . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
3. The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad. . | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| + | 1| + | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
a. The First Kalandar’s Tale . . . . . | 2 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
b. The Second Kalandar’s Tale . . . . . | 2 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
ba. Tale of the Envier and the Envied . . | 2 | 1 | 1 | ? | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| —| 1 | + | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
c. The Third Kalandar’s Tale . . . . . | 2 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
d. The Eldest Lady’s Tale . . . . . . | 2 | 2 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
e. Tale of the Portress . . . . . . | 2 | 2 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | — |...| 1
Conclusion of the Story of the Porter and
three Ladies . . . . . . . . | 2 | 2 | 1 | 1 | 1 |VHa|...|...|...| + | 1 |+ | 2 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
4. Tale of the Three Apples . . . . . . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 |VHa|...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 3 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
5. Tale of Nur Al-Din and his Son Badr Al-DinHasan |3,4| 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 1 |...|...|...| + | 1| + | 3 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
6. The Hunchback’s Tale . . . . . . . | 4 | 2 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 3 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
a. The Nazarene Broker’s Story . . . . . | 4 | 2 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 3 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
b. The Reeve’s Tale . . . . . . . | 4 | 2 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 3 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
c. Tale of the Jewish Doctor . . . . . | 4 | 3 | 2 | ? | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 3 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
d. Tale of the Tailor . . . . . . . |4,5| 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 3 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
e. The Barber’s Tale of Himself . . . . | 5 | 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...|+ | 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
ea. The Barber’s Tale of his FirstBrother . | 5 | 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
eb. The Barber’s Tale of his SecondBrother . | 5 | 3 | 2 | ? | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
ec. The Barber’s Tale of his ThirdBrother . | 5 | 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
ed. The Barber’s Tale of his FourthBrother . | 5 | 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
ee. The Barber’s Tale of his FifthBrother . | 5 | 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
ef. The Barber’s Tale of his SixthBrother . | 5 | 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
The End of the Tailor’s Tale. . . . . | 5 | 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 4 | 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 1
7. Nur Al-Din Ali and the Damsel Anis Al-Jalis . | 7 | 4 | 3 | 1 | 3 | 1 |...|...|...| + | 1 |+ |5,6| 1 | + | 1 | 1 | + |...| 2
8. Tale of Ghanim Bin Ayyub, the Distraught,the
Thrall o’ Love . . . . . . . . | 8 |4,5| 4 |...| 4 | 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 | + | 8 | 2 | + | 1 | 1 |...|...| 2
a. Tale of the First Eunuch, Bukhayt . . . |...|...|...|...|...| ? |...|...|...| +| | + |...| 2 | + | 1 | 1 |...|...| 2
b. Tale of the Second Eunuch, Kafur. . . . |...|...|...|...|...| ? |...|...|...| +| 1 | + |...| 2 | + | 1 | 1 |...|...| 2
9. Tale of King Omar Bin Al-Nu’uman,and his
sons Sharrkan and Zan Al-Makan . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 1 |...|...|...| + | —|...|...| 3 | + |1(p)|2 |...|...|2,3
a. Tale of Taj Al-Muluk and the PrincessDunya . |...|...|...|...|...| 1 |...|...|...| + |1 |...|...| 3 | + |...| 2 |...|...|2,3
aa. Tale of Aziz and Azizah . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 1 |...|...|...| +| 1 |...|...| 3 | + |...| 2 |...|...|2,3
b. Tale of the Hashish-Eater . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| ? |...|...|...| +| — |...|...| — | + |...| 2 |...|...| 3
c. Tale of Hammad the Badawi . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 1 |...|...|...| +| — |...|...| — | + |...| 2 |...|...| 3
10. The Birds and Beasts and the Carpenter. . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| 2 |...|...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
11. The Hermits . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
12. The Water-fowl and the Tortoise . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
13. The Wolf and the Fox . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| 2 |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
a. Tale of the Falcon and the Partridge . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| + |2 |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
14. The Mouse and the Ichneumon . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
15. The Cat and the Crow . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
16. The Fox and the Crow . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
a. The Flea and the Mouse . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
b. The Saker and the Birds . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
c. The Sparrow and the Eagle . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
17. The Hedgehog and the Wood Pigeons . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
a. The Merchant and the Two Sharpers . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
18. The Thief and his Monkey . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
a. The Foolish Weaver . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
19. The Sparrow and the Peacock . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHb|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 3 |...|...| 3
20. Ali Bin Bakkar and Shams Al-Nahar . . . . |5,6| 3 | 3 |...|2,3| 1 |...|...|...| +| 2 | + | 4 | 1 | + |...| 3 | + |...| 3
21. Tale of Kamar Al-Zaman . . . . . . . | 6 |3,4| 3 | 2 | 3 |1,2|...|...|...| +| 2 | + | 5 | 1 | + |...| 3 |...|...|3,4
a. Ni’amah bin Al-Rabia and Naomihis Slave-girl |...| 9 |...|...|...| ? |...|...|...|+ | 2 | + | 13| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
22. Ala Al-Din Abu Al-Shamat . . . . . . |...| 9 |...|...|...| 2 |...|...|...| +| 2 | + | 13| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
23. Hatim of the Tribe of Tayy . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
24. Ma’an the son of Zaidah and the threeGirls . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 |...|2 | + |...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
25. Ma’an son of Zaidah and the Badawi. . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3| + | — | + |...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
26. The City of Labtayt . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
27. The Caliph Hisham and the Arab Youth . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
28. Ibrahim bin Al-Mahdi and the Barber-Surgeon . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |+ |...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
29. The City of Many-columned Iram and Abdullah
son of Abi Kalabah . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |+ |...| 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
30. Isaac of Mosul . . . . . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + | 13| 2 | + |...| 3 | + |...| 4
31. The Sweep and the Noble Lady . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
32. The Mock Caliph . . . . . . . . |...| 9 | 2 |...|...| 2 | — |...|— | + | 2 | + | 4 | 2 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
33. Ali the Persian . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 3 |...|...| 4
34. Harun Al-Rashid and the Slave-Girl andthe
Imam Abu Yusuf . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | — |...|— | + | — | + |...| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
35. The Lover who feigned himself a Thief . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
36. Ja’afar the Barmecide and the Bean-Seller . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | — |...| —| + | 2 |...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
37. Abu Mohammed hight Lazybones . . . . . |...| 9 |...|...|...| 2 | — |...|— | + | 2 | + | 13| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
38. Generous dealing of Yahya bin Khalid the
Barmecide with Mansur . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| ? | — |...| —| + | 2 |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
39. Generous Dealing of Yahya son of Khalidwith
a man who forged a letter in his name . . |...|...|...|...|...| ? | — |...| —| + | 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
40. Caliph Al-Maamun and the Strange Scholar . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + |2 |...|...|...|...|...| 4 |...|...| 4
41. Ali Shar and Zumurrud . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 1 | +| 2 | + |...| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
42. The Loves of Jubayr Bin Umayr and the LadyBudur |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 1 | + | 2| + |...| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
43. The Man of Al-Yaman and his six Slave-Girls . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
44. Harun Al-Rashid and the Damsel and AbuNowas . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
45. The Man who stole the dish of gold whereon
the dog ate . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |+ |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
46. The Sharper of Alexandria and the Chiefof Police |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + |2 |...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
47. Al-Malik Al-Nasir and the three Chiefsof Police |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
a. Story of the Chief of the new CairoPolice . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
b. Story of the Chief of the Bulak Police . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2| + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
c. Story of the Chief of the Old CairoPolice . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
48. The Thief and the Shroff . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | + | 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
49. The Chief of the Kus Police and the Sharper . |...|...|...|...|...| — | — |...|— | + | — |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
50. Ibrahim bin al-Mahdi and the Merchant’sSister . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + |2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
51. The Woman whose hands were cut off foralms-
giving . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |+ |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
52. The devout Israelite . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 |...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
53. Abu Hassan Al-Ziyadi and the Khorasan Man . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2|...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
54. The Poor Man and his Friend in Need . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | + | 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
55. The Ruined Man who became rich again through
a dream . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |+ |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
56. Caliph Al-Mutawakkil and his ConcubineMahbubah |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 |...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
57. Wardan the Butcher’s Adventure withthe Lady
and the Bear . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
58. The King’s Daughter and the Ape . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...|3 | + | — |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 4
59. The Ebony Horse . . . . . . . . | 11| 7 | 5 |...| 5 | 2 | — |...|— | + | 2 | + | 9 | 1 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
60. Uns Al-Wujud and the Wazir’s DaughterRose-
in-Hood . . . . . . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 4 | 6 | 2 | 1 |...| 1 | + | 2 |+ | 11| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
61. Abu Nowas with the Three Boys and the Caliph
Harun Al-Rashid . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| — | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
62. Abdullah bin Ma’amar with the Manof Bassorah
and his Slave-Girl . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |...|...|...|+ |...| 4 |...|...| 5
63. The Lovers of the Banu Ozrah . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | + | 2 | + | 11| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
64. The Wazir of Al-Yaman and his young Brother . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
65. The Loves of the Boy and Girl at School . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + |2 |...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
66. Al-Mutalammis and his Wife Umaymah . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | + | — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4|...|...| 5
67. Harun Al-Rashid and Zubaydah in the Bath . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + |— | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
68. Harim Al-Rashid and the Three Poets . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...| 2 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
69. Mus ’ab bin Al-Zubayr and Ayishahhis Wife . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3| + | — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
70. Abu Al-Aswad and his Slave-Girl . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...|...| + | — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
71. Harun Al-Rashid and the two Slave-Girls . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + |— | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
72. Harun Al-Rashid and the Three Slave-Girls . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | — |...|...|+ | — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
73. The Miller and his Wife . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
74. The Simpleton and the Sharper . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | + | 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
75. The Kazi Abu Yusuf with Harun Al-Rashidand
Queen Zubaydah . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A | — | — |...|— | + | — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
76. The Caliph Al-Hakim and the Merchant . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
77. King Kisra Anushirwan and the Village Damsel . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |+ |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
78. The Water-carrier and the Goldsmith’sWife . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
79. Khusrau and Shirin and the Fisherman . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
80. Yahya bin Khalid and the Poor Man . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | + | 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
81. Mohammed al-Amin and the Slave-Girl . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | + | 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
82. The Sons of Yahya bin Khalid and Said binSalim |...|...|...|...|...| — | — |...|— | + | 2 |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
83. The Woman’s Trick against her Husband . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
84. The Devout Woman and the Two Wicked Elders. . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
85. Ja’afar the Barmecide and the oldBadawi . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3| + | — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
86. Omar bin Al-Khattab and the Young Badawi . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 | 1 | 3 | + |2 |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
87. Al-Maamun and the Pyramids of Eygpt . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
88. The Thief and the Merchant . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
89. Masrur the Eunuch and Ibn Al-Karibi . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
90. The Devotee Prince . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 | 3 | 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
91. The Schoolmaster who fell in Love by Report . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
92. The Foolish Dominie . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...|...| + | — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
93. The Illiterate who set up for a Schoolmaster . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |+ |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
94. The King and the Virtuous Wife . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
95. Abd Al-Rahman the Maghribi’s storyof the Rukh . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3| + | 2 |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
96. Adi bin Zayd and the Princess Hind . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
97. Di’ibil Al-Khuza’i with theLady and Muslim bin
Al-Walid . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
98. Isaac of Mosul and the Merchant . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
99. The Three Unfortunate Lovers . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
100. How Abu Hasan brake Wind . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| — | —|...| — | ? | — |...|...|...| ? |...| —|...|...| 5
101. The Lovers of the Banu Tayy . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
102. The Mad Lover . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
103. The Prior who became a Moslem . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 | 2 | 3 | +| 2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
104. The Loves of Abu Isa and Kurrat Al-Ayn. . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
105. Al-Amin and his Uncle Ibrahim bin Al-Mahdi. . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
106. Al-Fath bin Khakan and Al-Mutawakkil . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
107. The Man’s dispute with Learned Womanconcerning
the relative excellence of male and female . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
108. Abu Suwayd and the pretty Old Woman . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
109. Ali bin Tahir and the girl Muunis . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
110. The Woman who had a Boy, and the otherwho had
a Man to lover . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
111. Ali the Cairene and the Haunted House inBaghdad |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 1 | + |2 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
112. The Pilgrim Man and the Old Woman . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
113. Abu Al-Husn and his Slave-girl Tawaddud . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 1 | + |— |...|...|...| + |...| 4 |...|...| 5
114. The Angel of Death with the Proud Kingand the
Devout Man . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
115. The Angel of Death and the Rich King . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
116. The Angel of Death and the King of theChildren
of Israel . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 | 3 | 3 | + | 2 |...|...|...|+ |...| 5 |...|...| 5
117. Iskandar zu Al-Karnayn and a certain Tribeof
Poor Folk . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
118. The Righteousness of King Anushirwan . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
119. The Jewish Kazi and his Pious Wife . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
120. The Shipwrecked Woman and her Child . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
121. The Pious Black Slave . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
122. The Devout Tray-maker and his Wife .. . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| 2 |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
123. Al-Hajjaj bin Yusuf and the Pious Man . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
124. The Blacksmith who could Handle Fire WithoutHurt |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
125. The Devotee to whom Allah gave a Cloudfor
Service and the Devout King . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
126. The Moslem Champion and the Christian Damsel . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2 |...|...|4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
127. The Christian King’s Daughter andthe Moslem . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3| + | — |...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
128. The Prophet and the Justice of Providence . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + | 2|...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
129. The Ferryman of the Nile and the Hermit . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...| —| + | — |...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
130. The Island King and the Pious Israelite . . |...|...| 6 |...|...| 2 | 1 |...| 3 | + |— |...| 10| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
131. Abu Al-Hasan and Abu Ja’afar theLeper . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 |...|3 | + | — |...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
132. The Queen of the Serpents . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 | 3 | 1 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
a. The Adventure of Bulukiya . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 | 3 | 1 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
b. The Story of Janshah . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 2 | 1 | 3 | 1 | +| — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 5
133. Sindbad the Seaman and Sindbad the Landsman . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 2 | 1 | + |...| 5 | + |...| 6
a. The First Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman . . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 2 | 1 | + |...| 5 | + |...| 6
b. The Second Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman. . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 2 | 1 | + |...| 5 | + |...| 6
c. The Third Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman . . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 2 | 1 | + |...| 5 | + |...| 6
d. The Fourth Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman. . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 2 | 1 | + |...| 5 | + |...| 6
e. The Fifth Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman . . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 3 | 1 | + |...| 5 | + |...| 6
f. The Sixth Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman . . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 3 | 1 | + |...| 5 | — |...| 6
ff. The Sixth Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman. . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| —| 3 | — |...|...| — |...|III| + |...| —
g. The Seventh Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman . | 3 | 2 | 2 |...| 2 | 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 | + | 3 | 1 | + |...| 5 | + |...| 6
gg. The Seventh Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman . | — |...|...|...| — | — | —|...| — | — | 3 | — |...| —| — |...|III| + |...| 6
134. The City of Brass . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 | 1 | 1 | +| 3 | + |...| 2 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
135. The Craft and Malice of Women: . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A | 3 | — |...|— | + | 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
a. The King and his Wazir’s Wife . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |...| —|...| — | + | 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
b. The Confectioner, his Wife and the Parrot . |...|...|...| A | A |VHc| — |...| —| + | — | + |...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
c. The Fuller and his Son . . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |VHc|...|...|...| +| — | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
d. The Rake’s Trick against the ChasteWife . |...|...|...|...|...|VHc|...|...|...| +| — | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
e. The Miser and the Loaves of Bread . . . |...|...|...|...|...|VHc|...|...|...| +| — | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
f. The Lady and her two Lovers . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |VHc|...|...|...| +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
g. The King’s Son and the Ogress . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |VHc|...|...|...|+ | — | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
h. The Drop of Honey . . . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |VHc|...|...|...| +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
i. The Woman who made her husband siftdust . |...|...|...| A |...|VHc|...|...|...| +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
j. The Enchanted Spring . . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |VHc|...|...|...| +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
k. The Wazir’s Son and the Hammam-keeper’sWife |...|...|...| A |...|...|...|...|...| + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
l. The Wife’s device to cheat herHusband . . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...|+ | 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
m. The Goldsmith and the Cashmere Singing-girl. |...|...| 1 | A | A |...|...|...|...| + | 3 | +| 1 | 1 | + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
n. The Man who never laughed during therest
of his days . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...| + | 3 |+ |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
o. The King’s Son and the Merchant’sWife . . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...|+ | — | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
p. The Page who feigned to know the Speechof
Birds . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| + | —|...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
q. The Lady and her five Suitors . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...| +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
r. The Three Wishes, or the Man who longedto
see the Night of Power . . . . . |...|...|...| A |...|...|...|...|...| + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
s. The Stolen Necklace . . . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...| +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
t. The Two Pigeons . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| +| 3 |...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
u. Prince Behram and the Princess Al-Datma. . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...| + | 3| + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
v. The House with the Belvedere . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...| +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
w. The King’s Son and the Ifrit’sMistress . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | — |...|...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
x. The Sandal-wood Merchant and the Sharpers . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| + | 3 |+ |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
y. The Debauchee and the Three-year-oldChild . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| + |— | + |...|...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
z. The Stolen Purse . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...| 5 |...|...| 6
aa. The Fox and the Folk . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| —| — | + |15 |...| — |...| 5 |...|...| 6
136. Judar and his Brethren . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 | 1 | 1 | +| 3 | + |...| 2 | + |...| 6 |...|...| 6
137. The History of Gharib and his Brother Ajib. . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 1 | + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...|6,7
138. Otbah and Rayya . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | +| 3 |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
139. Hind, daughter of Al-Nu’man and Al-Hajjaj . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
140. Khuzaymah bin Bishr and Ekrimah al-Fayyaz . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | + | 3|...|...| 4 | + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
141. Yunus the Scribe and the Caliph Walid binSahl . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | + | —|...|...| 4 | + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
142. Harun Al-Rashid and the Arab Girl . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
143. Al-Asma’i and the three girls ofBassorah . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | —|...| — | + | — |...|...|...| + |...| 6|...|...| 7
144. Ibrahim of Mosul and the Devil . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | — |...|...|+ | — |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
145. The Lovers of the Banu Uzrah . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 4 | 6 | 3 | — |...|...|+ | 3 |...|11 |...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
146. The Badawi and his Wife . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
147. The Lovers of Bassorah . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
148. Ishak of Mosul and his Mistress and theDevil . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | + |— |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
149. The Lovers of Al-Medinah . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | +| 3 |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
150. Al-Malik Al-Nasir and his Wazir . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
151. The Rogueries of Dalilah the Crafty andher
Daughter Zaynab the Coney-Catcher . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 2 | + | —| + |...| 4 | + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
a. The Adventures of Mercury Ali of Cairo . . |...|...|...|...|...| 3 | 2 |...| 2 | + | —| + |...| 4 | + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
152. Ardashir and Hayat Al-Nufus . . . . . |...|...|...| 7 |...| 3 | 2 | 1 | 2 | +| — | + |...| 2 | + |...| 6 |...|...| 7
153. Julnar the Sea-born and her son King BadrBasim
of Persia . . . . . . . . . | 7 | 4 | 3 |...|3,4| 3 | — |...| —| + | 3 |...| 6 | 3 | + |...| 7 |...|...| 7
154. King Mohammed bin Sabaik and the MerchantHasan |...|...|...| 1 |...| 3 | 2 |...| 2 | + | 3| + |...| — | + |...| 7 |...|...| 7
a. Story of Prince Sayf Al-Muluk and the
Princess Badi’a Al-Jamal . . . . . |...|...|...| 1 |...|3,4| 2 |...| 2 | +| 3 | + |...| 2 | + |...| 7 |...|...|7,8
155. Hasan of Bassorah . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 3 |...| 4 | 3 | 2 | 2 | +| | + |...| 2 | + |...| 7 |...|...| 8
156. Khalifah the Fisherman of Baghdad . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 |...| 2 | +| 3 | — |...| 2 | + |...| 7 |...|...| 8
a. The same from the Breslau Edition . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|— | + |...|...|...|...| 7 |...|...| 8
157. Masrur and Zayn Al-Mawassif . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 2 | 2 | +| — | + |...|...| + |...| 8 |...|...| 8
158. Ali Nur Al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-Girl . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 2 | 2 | + | —| + |...|...| + |...| 8 |...|...|8,9
159. The Man of Upper Egypt and his FrankishWife . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | — | 3| + | — | + |...|...| + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
160. The Ruined Man of Baghdad and his Slave-Girl . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | — | 3 | +| 3 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
161. King Jali’ad of Hind and his WazirShimas,
followed by the history of King Wird Khan,
son of King Jali’ad, with his Womenand
Wazirs . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | + | —| + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
a. The Mouse and the Cat . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
b. The Fakir and his Jar of Butter . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
c. The Fishes and the Crab . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
d. The Crow and the Serpent . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
e. The Wild Ass and the jackal . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
f. The Unjust King and the Pilgrim Prince . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | + | —| + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
g. The Crows and the Hawk . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
h. The Serpent-Charmer and his Wife . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
i. The Spider and the Wind . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
j. The Two Kings . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
k. The Blind Man and the Cripple . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
l. The Foolish Fisherman . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
m. The Boy and the Thieves . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
n. The Man and his Wife . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
o. The Merchant and the Robbers . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
p. The Jackals and the Wolf . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
q. The Shepherd and the Rogue . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
r. The Francolin and the Tortoises . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 | 3 | +| — | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
162. Abu Kir the Dyer and Abu Sir the Barber. . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 1 | 3 | + |3 | + |...| 4 | + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
163. Abdullah the Fisherman and Abdullah theMerman . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 1 | 3 | + |3 | + |...|...| + |...| 8 |...|...| 9
164. Harun Al-Rashid and Abu Hasan, the Merchantof
Oman . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 |...| 3 | + | —| + |...| 2 | + |...| 9 |...|...| 9
165. Ibrahim and Jamilah . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 1 | 3 | +| 3 |...|...|...| + |...| 9 |...|...| 9
166. Abu Al-Hasan of Khorasan . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 1 | 3 | +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 9 |...|...| 9
167. Kamar Al-Zaman and the Jeweller’sWife . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 1 | 3| + | — |...|...| 4 | + |...| 9 |...|...| 9
168. Abdullah bin Fazil and his Brothers . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 |...| 3 | +| — |...|...|...| + |...| 9 |...|...| 9
169. Ma’aruf the Cobbler and his wifeFatimah . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 | 3 |3 | + | 3 |...|...| 4 | + |...| 9 |...|...| 10
170. Asleep and Awake . . . . . . . . | 9 | 5 | 4 |...| 4 |...|...|...|...|...|2 | + | 7 | 1 |...|...| I |...|...|...
a. Story of the Lackpenny and the Cook. . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|— | + |...|...|...|...| I |...|...|...
171. The Caliph Omar ben Abdulaziz and the Poets . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| —| + |...| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
172. El Hejjaj and the Three Young Men . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|— | + |...|...|...|...| I |...|...|...
173. Haroun Er Reshid and the Woman of the Barmecides |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| —| + |...|...|...|...| I |...|...|...
174. The Ten Viziers, or the History of King
Azadbekht and his Son . . . . . . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...| —| + | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
a. Of the uselessness of endeavor against
persistent ill-fortune . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...
aa. Story of the Unlucky Merchant . . . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|— | + | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
b. Of looking to the issues of affairs. . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
bb. Story of the Merchant and his Sons . . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
c. Of the advantages of Patience . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
cc. Story of Abou Sabir . . . . . . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
d. Of the ill effects of Precipitation. . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
dd. Story of Prince Bihzad . . . . . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
e. Of the issues of good and evil actions . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
ee. Story of King Dabdin and his Viziers . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
f. Of Trust in God . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
ff. Story of King Bekhtzeman . . . . |...| 8 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
g. Of Clemency . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
gg. Story of King Bihkerd . . . . . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
h. Of Envy and Malice . . . .. . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
hh. Story of Ilan Shah and Abou Temam . . |...| 8 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | 10| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
i. Of Destiny, or that which is writtenon the
Forehead . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...
ii. Story of King Ibrahim and his Son . . |...| 8 | 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ | 13| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
k. Of the appointed Term, which if it be
advanced, may not be deferred, and ifit
be deferred, may not be advanced . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...
jj. Story of King Suleiman Shah andhis Sons |...| 8 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
k. Of the speedy Relief of God . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
kk. Story of the Prisoner, and how Godgave
him relief . . . . . . . |...| 8 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
175. Jaafer Ben Zehya and Abdulmelik Ben Salihthe
Abbaside . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
176. Er Reshid and the Barmecides . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...| 2 |...|...| I |...|...|...
177. Ibn Es-Semmak and Er-Reshid . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...|...|...|...| I |...|...|...
178. El Mamoun and Zubeideh . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...|...|...|...| I |...|...|...
179. En Numan and the Arab of the Benou Tai. . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...|...|...|...| I |...|...|...
180. Firouz and his Wife . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...|...|...|...| I |...|...|...
181. King Shah Bekht and his Vizier Er Rehwan . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
a. Story of the Man of Khorassan his sonand
his governor . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
b. Story of the Singer and the Druggist . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
c. Story of the King who knew the quintessence
of things . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
d. Story of the Rich Man who gave his fair
Daughter in Marriage to the Poor Old Man. |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| +|14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
e. Story of the Rich Man and his WastefulSon . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
f. The King’s Son who fell in lovewith the
Picture . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
g. Story of the Fuller and his Wife . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
h. Story of the Old Woman, the Merchant,and
the King . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
i. Story of the credulous Husband . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
j. Story of the Unjust King and the Tither. . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
jj. Story of David and Solomon . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
k. Story of the Thief and the Woman . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
l. Story of the Three Men and our LordJesus . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
ll. The Disciple’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
m. Story of the Dethroned King whose kingdom
and good were restored to him . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
n. Story of the Man whose caution was thecause
of his Death . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
o. Story of the Man who was lavish of hishouse
and his victual to one whom he knew not . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
p. Story of the Idiot and the Sharper . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
q. Story of Khelbes and his Wife and the
Learned Man . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...| I |...|...|...
r. Story of the Pious Woman accused oflewdness |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...|...|...|...|II |...|...|...
s. Story of the Journeyman and the Girl . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
t. Story of the Weaver who became a Physician
by his Wife’s commandment . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
u. Story of the Two Sharpers who cheatedeach
his fellow . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
v. Story of the Sharpers with the Moneychanger
and the Ass . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
w. Story of the Sharper and the Merchants . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
wa. Story of the Hawk and the Locust . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
x. Story of the King and his Chamberlain’sWife |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
xa. Story of the Old Woman and the Draper’s
Wife . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
y. Story of the Foul-favoured Man and hisFair
Wife . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
z. Story of the King who lost Kingdom andWife
and Wealth, and God restored them to him. |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| +|14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
aa. Story of Selim and Selma . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
bb. Story of the King of Hind and his Vizier . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...| |...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
182. El Melik Ez Zahir Rukneddin Bibers El
Bunducdari, and the Sixteen Officers of
Police . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
a. The First Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
b. The Second Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
c. The Third Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
d. The Fourth Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...|...|...|...|II |...|...|...
e. The Fifth Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
f. The Sixth Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |...|...|...|...|II |...|...|...
g. The Seventh Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
h. The Eighth Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
ha. The Thief’s Story . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
i. The Ninth Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
j. The Tenth Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
k. The Eleventh Officer’s Story . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
l. The Twelfth Officer’s Story . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
m. The Thirteenth Officer’s Story . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
n. The Fourteenth Officer’s Story . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
na. A Merry Jest of a Thief . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
nb. Story of the Old Sharper . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
o. The Fifteenth Officer’s Story . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
p. The Sixteenth Officer’s Story . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
183. Abdallah Ben Nafi, and the King’sSon of
Cashgbar . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
a. Story of the Damsel Tuhfet El Culouband
Khalif Haroun Er Reshid . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |14 |...|...|...|II |...|...|...
184. Women’s Craft . . . . . . . . . |...|...| 2 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|4 |...|...|...|II | + |...|...
185. Noureddin Ali of Damascus and the DamselSitt
El Milah . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |15 |...|...|...|III|...|...|...
186. El Abbas and the King’s Daughterof Baghdad . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |15 |...|...|...|III|...|...|...
187. The Two Kings and the Vizier’s Daughters . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |15 |...|...|...|III|...|...|...
188. The Favourite and her Lover . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |15 |...|...|...|III|...|...|...
189. The Merchant of Cairo and the Favouriteof the
Khalif El Mamoun El Hakim bi Amrillah . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|+ |15 |...|...|...|III|...|...|...
190. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...| 4 | 3 |...| 3 | +| 3 | + |15 |...| + |...|{9&|...|...| 10
III}
191. History of Prince Zeyn Alasnam . . . . . | 8 | 5 | 4 |...| 4 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|6 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|... 192. Historyof Codadad and his Brothers . . . | 8 | 5 |4 |...| 4 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...| 6 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...
a. History of the Princess of Deryabar . . | 8 | 5 | 4 |...| 4 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|6 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...
193. Story of Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp . . |9,10|5,6| 4 |...|4,5|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|7,8|3 |...|...|...|...|...|... “194. Adventuresof the Caliph Harun Al-Rashid . . | 10| 6 | 5|...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...| 8 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of the Blind Man, Baba Abdallah . . | 10| 6 | 5 |...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|8 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Story of Sidi Numan . . . . . . | 10| 6 | 5 |...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|8 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...
c. Story of Cogia Hassan Alhabbal . . . .|10,11| 6 | 5 |...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|8 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...
195. Story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves . . | 11| 6 | 5 |...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|9 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|... 196. Storyof Ali Cogia, a Merchant of Baghdad . . | 11| 7| 5 |...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...| 9 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...197. Story of Prince Ahmed and the Fairy PeriBanou . | 12| 7 | 5 |...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|9 | 3 |...|...|...|...|...|... 198. Storyof the Sisters who envied their younger
sister . . . . . . . . . . | 12| 7 | 5 |...| 5 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|10| 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...
199. (Anecdote of Jaafar the Barmecide = No.39) . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|2 |...|...|...|...|...|...
200. The Adventures of Ali and Zaher of Damascus. . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|4 |...|...|...|...|...|...
201. The Adventures of the Fisherman, Judarof Cairo,
and his meeting with the Moor Mahmood andthe
Sultan Beibars . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|4 |...|...|...|...|...|...
202. The Physician and the young man of Mosul . . |...|...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
203. Story of the Sultan of Yemen and his threesons |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
204. Story of the Three Sharpers and the Sultan. . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Adventures of the Abdicated Sultan . . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. History of Mahummud, Sultan of Cairo . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
c. Story of the First Lunatic . . . . . |...| 8 | 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
d. (Story of the Second Lunatic = No.184) . . |...|...| 2 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
e. Story of the Sage and his Pupil . . . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
f. Night adventure of the Sultan . . . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
g, Story of the first foolish man . . . . |...|...|...| 3 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...
h. Story of the broken-backed Schoolmaster. . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
i. Story of the wry-mouthed Schoolmaster . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
j. The Sultan’s second visit to theSisters . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
k. Story of the Sisters and the Sultana,their
mother . . . . . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
205. Story of the Avaricious Cauzee and hiswife . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
206. Story of the Bang-Eater and the Cauzee. . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of the Bang-Eater and his wife . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Continuation of the Fisherman, or
Bang-Eater’s Adventures . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
207. The Sultan and the Traveller Mhamood AlHyjemmee |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. The Koord Robber (= No.33) . . . . . |...|...|...| 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Story of the Husbandman . . . . . . |...|...|...| 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
c. Story of the Three Princes and Enchanting
Bird . . . . . . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 3 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
d. Story of a Sultan of Yemen and his threeSons |...|...| 6 | 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
e. Story of the first Sharper in the Cave . . |...|...|...| 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
f. Story of the second Sharper . . . . . |...|...|...| 4 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
g. Story of the third Sharper . . . . . |...|...|...| 4 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
h. History of the Sultan of Hind . . . . |...|...| 5 | 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|10|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
208. Story of the Fisherman’s Son . . . . . |...|...|...| 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
209. Story of Abou Neeut and Abou Neeuteen . . . |...|...| 6 | 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
210. Story of the Prince of Sind, and Fatima,daughter
of Amir Bin Naomaun . . . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
211. Story of the Lovers of Syria, or the Heroine . |...|...| 6 | 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
212. Story of Hyjauje, the tyrannical Governorof
Confeh, and the young Syed . . . . . |...|...|...| 4 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...
213. Story of the Sultan Haieshe . . . . . |...|...|...| 4 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
214. Story told by a Fisherman . . . . . . |...|...|...| 4 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
215. The Adventures of Mazin of Khorassaun . . . |...|...| 6 |4,5| 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|10|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
216. Adventure of Haroon Al Rusheed . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of the Sultan of Bussorah . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Nocturnal adventures of Haroon Al Rusheed . |...|...|...| 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...
e. Story related by Munjaub . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
d. Story of the Sultan, the Dirveshe andthe
Barber’s Son . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
e. Story of the Bedouin’s Wife . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
f. Story of the Wife and her two Gallants . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|.
..|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
217. Adventures of Aleefa, daughter of Mherejaun,
Sultan of Hind, and Eusuff, son of Sohul,
Sultan of Sind . . . . . . . . |...|...| 6 | 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
218. Adventures of the three Princes, sons ofthe
Sultan of China . . . . . . . . |...|...| 5 | 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|10|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
219. Story of the Gallant Officer . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
220. Story of another officer . . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
221. Story of the Idiot and his Asses . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
222. Story of the Lady of Cairo and the Three
Debauchees . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
223. Story of the Good Vizier unjustly imprisoned . |...|...| 6 | 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
224. Story of the Prying Barber and the youngman of
Cairo . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
225. Story of the Lady of Cairo and her fourGallants |...|...| 6 | 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. The Cauzee’s Story . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 5 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. The Syrian . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...|5,6| — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
c. The Caim-makaum’s Wife . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
d. Story told by the Fourth Gallant . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
226. Story of a Hump-backed Porter . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
227. The Aged Porter of Cairo and the ArtfulFemale
Thief . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
228. Mhassun and his tried friend Mouseh . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
229. Mahummud Julbee, son to an Ameer of Cairo . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|.
..|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
230. The Farmer’s Wife . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
231. The Artful Wife . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
232. The Cauzee’s Wife . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
233. Story of the Merchant, his Daughter, andthe
Prince of Eerauk . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...
234. The Two Orphans . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
235. Story of another Farmer’s Wife . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
236. Story of the Son who attempted his Father’s
Wives . . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
237. The Two Wits of Cairo and Syria . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
238. Ibrahim and Mouseh . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 6 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
239. The Viziers Ahmed and Mahummud . . . . . |...|...|...|6,7| — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
240. The Son addicted to Theft . . . . . . |...|...|...| 7 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
241. Adventures of the Cauzee, his Wife, &c. . . |...|...| 6 | 7 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. The Sultan’s Story of Himself . . . . |...|...| 6 | 7 | 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|11|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
242. Story of Shaykh Nukheet the Fisherman,who
became favourite to a Sultan . . . . |...|...|...| 7 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of the King of Andalusia . . . . |...|...|...| 7 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
243. Story of Teilone, Sultan of Egypt . . . . |...|...|...| 7 | — |...|...|...|...|...|..
.|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
244. Story of the Retired Man and his Servant . . |...|...|...| 7 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
245. The Merchant’s Daughter who marriedthe Emperor
of China . . . . . . . . . |...|...|...| 7 | — |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
246. New Adventures of the Caliph Harun Al-Rashid . |...| 8 | 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|... 247. The Physicianand the young Purveyor of Bagdad . |...| 8 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13|...|...|...|...|...|...|... 248. The WiseHeycar . . . . . . . . |...| 8 |7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...249. Attaf the Generous . . . . . . . . |...| 9 | 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13|...|...|...|...|...|...|... 250. PrinceHabib and Dorrat-al-Gawas . . . . |...| 9| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...251. The Forty Wazirs . . . . . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of Shaykh Shahabeddin . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Story of the Gardener, his Son, andthe Ass |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
c. The Sultan Mahmoud and his Wazir . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
d. Story of the Brahman Padmanaba andthe young
Fyquai . . . . . . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
e. Story of Sultan Akshid . . . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
f. Story of the Husband, the Lover andthe
Thief . . . . . . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
g. Story of the Prince of Carisme andthe
Princess of Georgia . . . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
h. The Cobbler and the King’sDaughter . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
i. The Woodcutter and the Genius . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
j. The Royal Parrot . . . . . . . |...|...| 1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|1 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
252. Story of the King and Queen of Abyssinia . . |...|...| 6 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|10|...|...|...|...|...|...|... 253. Story ofPrinces Amina . . . . . . . |...|...|7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of the Princess of Tartary . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Story told by the Old Man’sWife . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
254. Story of Ali Johari . . . . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|... 255. Story ofthe two Princes of Cochin China . . |...|...|7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...256. Story of the two Husbands . . . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of Abdallah . . . . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Story of the Favourite . . . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
257. Story of Yusuf and the Indian Merchant. . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12|...|...|...|...|...|...|... 258. Story ofPrince Benazir . . . . . . |...|...|7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|12 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...259. Story of Selim, Sultan of Egypt . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
a. Story of the Cobbler’s Wife . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
b. Story of Adileh . . . . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
c. Story of the scarred Kalender . . . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
d. Continuation of the story of Selim. . . |...|...| 7 |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|13|...|...|...|...|...|...|...
260. Story of Seif Sul Yesn . . . . . . . |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|14|...|...|...|...|...|...|... 261. Story of theLabourer and the Chair . . . |...|...|...|A | A |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...|.
..|...
262. Story of Ahmed the Orphan . . . . . . |...|...|...| A | A |...|...|...|...|...|...|...|
...|...|...|...|...|...|...|...

VHa (Full contentsfrom Introd. to No. 4 not given: 3e and 4 areapparently wanting.)
VHb (Nos. 10-19represented by 7 Fables.)
VHc (Would includesubordinate tales.)

N.B.—­In using this Table, some allowancemust be made for differences in the titles of manyof the tales in different editions. For thecontents of the printed text, I have followed the listsin Mr. Payne’s “Tales from the Arabic,”vol. iii.

And here I end this long volume with repeating inother words and other tongue what was said in “L’Envoi':—­

Hide thou whatever here isfound of fault;
And laud The Faultless and His might exalt!

After which I have only to make my bow and to say

“Salam.”

Arabian Nights,Volume 10
Footnotes

[FN#1] Arab. “Zarabin” (pl. of zarbun),lit. slaves’ shoes or sandals (see vol. iii.p. 336) the chaussure worn by Mamelukes. Herethe word is used in its modern sense of stout shoesor walking boots.

[FN#2] The popular word means goodness, etc.

[FN#3] Dozy translates “’Urrah'=Une Megere: Lane terms it a “vulgar word signifying a wicked,mischievous shrew.” But it is the fem.form of ’Urr=dung; not a bad name for a daughterof Billingsgate.

[FN#4] i.e. black like the book of her actionswhich would be shown to her on Doomsday.

[FN#5] The “Kunafah” (vermicelli-cake)is a favourite dish of wheaten flour, worked somewhatfiner than our vermicelli, fried with samn (buttermelted and clarified) and sweetened with honey orsugar. See vol. v. 300.

[FN#6] i.e. Will send us aid. The Shrew’srejoinder is highly impious in Moslem opinion.

[FN#7] Arab. Asal Katr; “a fine kind ofblack honey, treacle” says Lane; but it is afterwardscalled cane-honey (’Asal Kasab). I havenever heard it applied to “the syrup which exudesfrom ripe dates, when hung up.”

[FN#8] Arab. “’Aysh,” lit.=thaton which man lives: “Khubz” beingthe more popular term. “Hubz and Joobn”is well known at Malta.

[FN#9] Insinuating that he had better make peace withhis wife by knowing her carnally. It suggeststhe story of the Irishman who brought over to theholy Catholic Church three several Protestant wives,but failed with the fourth on account of the declineof his “Convarter.”

[FN#10] Arab. “Asal Kasab,” i.e. Sugar, possibly made from sorgho-stalks Holcus sorghumof which I made syrup in Central Africa.

[FN#11] For this unpleasant euphemy see vol. iv. 215.

[FN#12] This is a true picture of the leniency withwhich women were treated in the Kazi’s courtat Cairo; and the effect was simply deplorable. I have noted that matters have grown even worse sincethe English occupation, for history repeats herself;and the same was the case in Afghanistan and in Sind. We govern too much in these matters, which shouldbe directed not changed, and too little in other things,especially in exacting respect for the conquerorsfrom the conquered.

[FN#13] Arab. “Bab al-’Ali'=the highgate or Sublime Porte; here used of the Chief Kazi’scourt: the phrase is a descendant of the Coptic“Per-ao” whence “Pharaoh.”

[FN#14] “Abu Tabak,” in Cairene slang,is an officer who arrests by order of the Kazi andmeans “Father of whipping” (=tabaka, alow word for beating, thrashing, whopping) becausehe does his duty with all possible violence in terrorem.

[FN#15] Bab al-Nasr the Eastern or Desert Gate: see vol. vi. 234.

[FN#16] This is a mosque outside the great gate builtby Al-Malik al-’Adil Tuman Bey in A.H. 906 (=1501). The date is not worthy of much remark for these namesare often inserted by the scribe—­for whichsee Terminal Essay.

[FN#17] Arab. “’Amir” lit.=one whoinhabiteth, a peopler; here used in technical sense. As has been seen, ruins and impure places such asprivies and Hammam-baths are the favourite homes ofthe Jinn. The fire-drake in the text was summonedby the Cobbler’s exclamation and even Maridsat times do a kindly action.

[FN#18] The style is modern Cairene jargon.

[FN#19] Purses or gold pieces see vol. ix. 313.

[FN#20] i.e. I am a Cairene.

[FN#21] Arab. “Darb al-Ahmar,” astreet still existing near to and outside the nobleBab Zuwaylah, for which see vol. i. 269.

[FN#22] Arab. “’Attar,” perfume-sellerand druggist; the word is connected with our “Ottar”(’Atr).

[FN#23] Arab. “Mudarris” lit.=onewho gives lessons or lectures (dars) and pop. appliedto a professor in a collegiate mosque like Al-Azharof Cairo.

[FN#24] This thoroughly dramatic scene is told witha charming naivete. No wonder that The Nightshas been made the basis of a national theatre amongstthe Turks.

[FN#25] Arab. “Taysh” lit.=vertigo,swimming of head.

[FN#26] Here Trebutien (iii. 265) reads “laville de Khaitan (so the Mac. Edit. iv. 708)capital du royaume de Sohatan.” IkhtiyanLane suggests to be fictitious: Khatan is a districtof Tartary east of Kashgar, so called by Sadik al-Isfahanip. 24.

[FN#27] This is a true picture of the tact and savoirfaire of the Cairenes. It was a study to seehow, under the late Khedive they managed to take precedenceof Europeans who found themselves in the backgroundbefore they knew it. For instance, every Bey,whose degree is that of a Colonel was made an “Excellency”and ranked accordingly at Court whilst his father,some poor Fellah, was ploughing the ground. TanfikPasha began his ill-omened rule by always placingnatives close to him in the place of honour, addressingthem first and otherwise snubbing Europeans who, whenEnglish, were often too obtuse to notice the pettyinsults lavished upon them.

[FN#28] Arab. “Kathir” (pron. Katir)=much: here used in its slang sense, “noend.”

[FN#29] i.e. “May the Lord soon makethee able to repay me; but meanwhile I give it tothee for thy own free use.”

[FN#30] Punning upon his name. Much might bewritten upon the significance of names as ominousof good and evil; but the subject is far too extensivefor a footnote.

[FN#31] Lane translates “Anisa-kum” by“he hath delighted you by his arrival”;Mr. Payne “I commend him to you.”

[FN#32] Arab. “Faturat,'=light food forthe early breakfast of which the “Fatirah'-cakewas a favourite item. See vol. i. 300.

[FN#33] A dark red dye (Lane).

[FN#34] Arab. “Jadid,” see vol. viii.121.

[FN#35] Both the texts read thus, but the readinghas little sense. Ma’aruf probably wouldsay, “I fear that my loads will be long coming.”

[FN#36] One of the many formulas of polite refusal.

[FN#37] Each bazar, in a large city like Damascus,has its tall and heavy wooden doors which are lockedevery evening and opened in the morning by the Ghafiror guard. The “silver key,” however,always lets one in.

[FN#38] Arab. “Wa la Kabbata hamiyah,”a Cairene vulgarism meaning, “There came nothingto profit him nor to rid the people of him.”

[FN#39] Arab. “Kammir,” i.e.brown it before the fire, toast it.

[FN#40] It is insinuated that he had lied till hehimself believed the lie to be truth—­notan uncommon process, I may remark.

[FN#41] Arab. “Rijal'=the Men, equivalentto the Walis, Saints or Santons; with perhaps an allusionto the Rijal al-Ghayb, the Invisible Controls concerningwhom I have quoted Herklots in vol. ii. 211.

[FN#42] A saying attributed to Al-Hariri (Lane). It is good enough to be his: the Persians say,“Cut not down the tree thou plantedst,”and the idea is universal throughout the East.

[FN#43] A quotation from Al-Hariri (Ass. of the Badawin). Ash’ab (ob. A.H. 54), a Medinite servantof Caliph Osman, was proverbial for greed and sanguine,Micawber-like expectation of “windfalls.” The Scholiast Al-Sharishi (of Xeres) describes himin Theophrastic style. He never saw a man puthand to pocket without expecting a present, or a funeralgo by without hoping for a legacy, or a bridal processionwithout preparing his own house, hoping they mightbring the bride to him by mistake. * * * When askedif he knew aught greedier than himself he said “Yes;a sheep I once kept upon my terrace-roof seeing arainbow mistook it for a rope of hay and jumping toseize it broke its neck!” Hence “Ash’ab’ssheep” became a by-word (Preston tells the talein full, p. 288).

[FN#44] i.e. “Show a miser money andhold him back, if you can.”

[FN#45] He wants L40,000 to begin with.

[FN#46] i.e. Arab. “Sabihat al-’urs”the morning after the wedding. See vol. i. 269.

[FN#47] Another sign of modern composition as in Kamaral-Zaman II.

[FN#48] Arab. “Al-Jink” (from Turk.)are boys and youths mostly Jews, Armenians, Greeksand Turks, who dress in woman’s dress with longhair braided. Lane (M. E. chapts. xix. andxxv.) gives same account of the customs of the “Gink”(as the Egyptians call them) but cannot enter intodetails concerning these catamites. RespectableMoslems often employ them to dance at festivals inpreference to the Ghawazi-women, a freak of Mohammedandecorum. When they grow old they often preservetheir costume, and a glance at them makes a European’sblood run cold.

[FN#49] Lane translates this, “May Allah andthe Rijal retaliate upon thy temple!”

[FN#50] Arab. “Ya aba ’l-lithamayn,”addressed to his member. Lathm the root meanskissing or breaking; so he would say, “O thouwho canst take her maidenhead whilst my tongue doesaway with the virginity of her mouth.” “He breached the citadel” (which is usuallysquare) “in its four corners” signifyingthat he utterly broke it down.

[FN#51] A mystery to the Author of Proverbs (xxx.18-19),

There be three things which are too wondrous for me,
The way of an eagle in the air;
The way of a snake upon a rock;
And the way of a man with a maid.

[FN#52] Several women have described the pain to meas much resembling the drawing of a tooth.

[FN#53] As we should say, “play fast and loose.”

[FN#54] Arab. “Nahi-ka” lit.=thyprohibition but idiomatically used=let it sufficethee!

[FN#55] A character-sketch like that of Princess Dunyamakes ample amends for a book full of abuse of women. And yet the superficial say that none of the charactershave much personal individuality.

[FN#56] This is indeed one of the touches of naturewhich makes all the world kin.

[FN#57] As we are in Tartary “Arabs” heremeans plundering nomades, like the Persian “Iliyat”and other shepherd races.

[FN#58] The very cruelty of love which hates nothingso much as a rejected lover. The Princess, beit noted, is not supposed to be merely romancing,but speaking with the second sight, the clairvoyance,of perfect affection. Men seem to know very littleupon this subject, though every one has at times beenmore or less startled by the abnormal introvisionand divination of things hidden which are the propertyand prerogative of perfect love.

[FN#59] The name of the Princess meaning “TheWorld,” not unusual amongst Moslem women.

[FN#60] Another pun upon his name, “Ma’aruf.”

[FN#61] Arab. “Naka,” the mound ofpure sand which delights the eye of the Badawi leavinga town. See vol. i. 217, for the lines and explanationin Night cmlxiv. vol. ix. p. 250.

[FN#62] Euphemistic: “I will soon fetchthee food.” To say this bluntly might havebrought misfortune.

[FN#63] Arab. “Kafr'=a village in Egyptand Syria e.g. Capernaum (Kafr Nahum).

[FN#64] He has all the bonhomie of the Cairene andwill do a kindness whenever he can.

[FN#65] i.e. the Father of Prosperities: pron. Aboosa’adat; as in the Tale of Hasanof Bassorah.

[FN#66] Koran lxxxix. “The Daybreak”which also mentions Thamud and Pharaoh.

[FN#67] In Egypt the cheapest and poorest of food,never seen at a hotel table d’hote.

[FN#68] The beautiful girls who guard ensorcelledhoards: See vol. vi. 109.

[FN#69] Arab. “Asakir,” the ornamentsof litters, which are either plain balls of metalor tapering cones based on crescents or on balls andcrescents. See in Lane (M. E. chapt. xxiv.)the sketch of the Mahmal.

[FN#70] Arab. “Amm'=father’s brother,courteously used for “father-in-law,”which suggests having slept with his daughter, andwhich is indecent in writing. Thus by a pleasantfiction the husband represents himself as having marriedhis first cousin.

[FN#71] i.e. a calamity to the enemy: seevol. ii. 87 and passim.

[FN#72] Both texts read “Asad” (lion)and Lane accepts it: there is no reason to changeit for “Hasid” (Envier), the Lion beingthe Sultan of the Beasts and the most majestic.

[FN#73] The Cairene knew his fellow Cairene and wasnot to be taken in by him.

[FN#74] Arab. “Hizam”: Lanereads “Khizam'=a nose-ring for which see appendixto Lane’s M. E. The untrained European eye dislikesthese decorations and there is certainly no beautyin the hoops which Hindu women insert through thenostrils, camel-fashion, as if to receive the cord-actingbridle. But a drop-pearl hanging to the septumis at least as pretty as the heavy pendants by whichsome European women lengthen their ears.

[FN#75] Arab. “Shamta,” one of themany names of wine, the “speckled” alludingto the bubbles which dance upon the freshly filledcup.

[FN#76] i.e. in the cask. These “merryquips” strongly suggest the dismal toasts ofour not remote ancestors.

[FN#77] Arab. “A’laj” plur.of “’Ilj” and rendered by Lane “thestout foreign infidels.” The next line alludesto the cupbearer who was generally a slave and a non-Moslem.

[FN#78] As if it were a bride. See vol. vii.198. The stars of Jauza (Gemini) are the cupbearer’seyes.

[FN#79] i.e. light-coloured wine.

[FN#80] The usual homage to youth and beauty.

[FN#81] Alluding to the cup.

[FN#82] Here Abu Nowas whose name always ushers insome abomination alluded to the “Ghulamiyah”or girl dressed like boy to act cupbearer. Civilisationhas everywhere the same devices and the Bordels ofLondon and Paris do not ignore the “she-boy,”who often opens the door.

[FN#83] Abdallah ibn al-Mu’tazz, son of Al-Mu’tazzbi ’llah, the 13th Abbaside, and great-great-grandsonof Harun al-Rashid. He was one of the most renownedpoets of the third century (A.H.) and died A.D. 908,strangled by the partisans of his nephew Al-Muktadirbi ’llah, 18th Abbaside.

[FN#84] Jazirat ibn Omar, an island and town on theTigris north of Mosul. “Some versions ofthe poem, from which these verses are quoted, substituteEl-Mutireh, a village near Samara (a town on the Tigris,60 miles north of Baghdad), for El-Jezireh, i.e. Jeziret ibn Omar.” (Payne.)

[FN#85] The Convent of Abdun on the east bank of theTigris opposite the Jezirah was so called from a statesmanwho caused it to be built. For a variant of theselines see Ibn Khallikan, vol. ii. 42; here we miss“the shady groves of Al-Matirah.”

[FN#86] Arab. “Ghurrah” the whiteblaze on a horse’s brow. In Ibn Khallikanthe bird is the lark.

[FN#87] Arab. “Tay’i'=thirsty usedwith Jay’i=hungry.

[FN#88] Lit. “Kohl’d with Ghunj”for which we have no better word than “coquetry.” But see vol. v. 80. It corresponds with the Latincrissare for women and cevere for men.

[FN#89] i.e. gold-coloured wine, as the Vinod’Oro.

[FN#90] Compare the charming song of Abu Mijan translatedfrom the German of Dr. Weil in Bohn’s Edit.of Ockley (p. 149),

When the Death-angel cometh mine eyes to close,
Dig my grave ’mid the vines on the hill’sfair side;
For though deep in earth may my bones repose,
The juice of the grape shall their food provide.
Ah, bury me not in a barren land,
Or Death will appear to me dread and drear!
While fearless I’ll wait what he hath in handI
An the scent of the vineyard my spirit cheer.

The glorious old drinker!

[FN#91] Arab. “Rub’a al-Kharab”in Ibn al-Wardi Central Africa south of the Nile-sources,one of the richest regions in the world. Hereit prob. alludes to the Rub’a al-Khali or GreatArabian Desert: for which see Night dclxxvi. In rhetoric it is opposed to the “Rub’aMaskun,” or populated fourth of the world, therest being held to be ocean.

[FN#92] This is the noble resignation of the Moslem. What a dialogue there would have been in a Europeanbook between man and devil!

[FN#93] Arab. “Al-’iddah” theperiod of four months and ten days which must elapsebefore she could legally marry again. But thiswas a palpable wile: she was not sure of her husband’sdeath and he had not divorced her; so that althougha “grass widow,” a “Strohwitwe”as the Germans say, she could not wed again eitherwith or without interval.

[FN#94] Here the silence is of cowardice and the passageis a fling at the “timeserving” of theOlema, a favourite theme, like “banging thebishops” amongst certain Westerns.

[FN#95] Arab. “Umm al-raas,” thepoll, crown of the head, here the place where a calamitycoming down from heaven would first alight.

[FN#96] From Al-Hariri (Lane): the lines areexcellent.

[FN#97] When the charming Princess is so ready atthe voie de faits, the reader will understand howcommon is such energetic action among women of lowerdegree. The “fair sex” in Egypt hasa horrible way of murdering men, especially husbands,by tying them down and tearing out the testicles. See Lane M. E. chapt. xiii.

[FN#98] Arab. “Sijn al-Ghazab,” thedungeons appropriated to the worst of criminals wherethey suffer penalties far worse than hanging or guillotining.

[FN#99] According to some modern Moslems Munkar andNakir visit the graves of Infidels (non-Moslems) andBashshir and Mubashshir ('Givers of glad tidings”)those of Mohammedans. Petis de la Croix (LesMille et un Jours vol. iii. 258) speaks of the “Zoubanya,”black angels who torture the damned under their chiefDabilah.

[FN#100] Very simple and pathetic is this short sketchof the noble-minded Princess’s death.

[FN#101] In sign of dismissal (vol. iv. 62) I havenoted that “throwing the kerchief” isnot an Eastern practice: the idea probably arosefrom the Oriental practice of sending presents inrichly embroidered napkins and kerchiefs.

[FN#102] Curious to say both Lane and Payne omit thispassage which appears in both texts (Mac. and Bul.). The object is evidently to prepare the reader forthe ending by reverting to the beginning of the tale;and its prolixity has its effect as in the old Romancesof Chivalry from Amadis of Ghaul to the Seven Championsof Christendom. If it provoke impatience, it alsoheightens expectation; “it is like the long elm-avenuesof our forefathers; we wish ourselves at the end;but we know that at the end there is something great.”

[FN#103] Arab. “ala malakay bayti ’l-rahah;”on the two slabs at whose union are the round holeand longitudinal slit. See vol. i. 221.

[FN#104] Here the exclamation wards off the Evil Eyefrom the Sword and the wearer: Mr. Payne notes,“The old English exclamation ’Cock’s‘ill!’ (i.e., God’s will, thus corruptedfor the purpose of evading the statute of 3 Jac. i.against profane swearing) exactly corresponds to theArabic”—­with a difference, I add.

[FN#105] Arab. “Mustahakk'=deserving (Lane)or worth (Payne) the cutting.

[FN#106] Arab. “Mashhad” the sameas “Shahid'=the upright stones at the head andfoot of the grave. Lane mistranslates, “Madefor her a funeral procession.”

[FN#107] These lines have occurred before. Iquote Lane.

[FN#108] There is nothing strange in such sudden elevationsamongst Moslems and even in Europe we still see themoccasionally. The family in the East, howeverhumble, is a model and miniature of the state, andlearning is not always necessary to wisdom.

[FN#109] Arab. “Farid” which mayalso mean “union-pearl.”

[FN#110] Trebutien (iii. 497) cannot deny himselfthe pleasure of a French touch making the King reply,“C’est assez; qu’on lui coupe latete, car ces dernieres histoires surtout m’ontcause un ennui mortel.” This reading isfound in some of the MSS.

[FN#111] After this I borrow from the Bresl. Edit. inserting passages from the Mac. Edit.

[FN#112] i.e. whom he intended to marry withregal ceremony.

[FN#113] The use of coloured powders in sign of holiday-makingis not obsolete in India. See Herklots for theuse of “Huldee” (Haldi) or turmeric-powder,pp. 64-65.

[FN#114] Many Moslem families insist upon this beforegiving their girls in marriage, and the practice isstill popular amongst many Mediterranean peoples.

[FN#115] i.e. Sumatran.

[FN#116] i.e. Alexander, according to theArabs; see vol. v. 252.

[FN#117] These lines are in vol. i. 217.

[FN#118] I repeat the lines from vol. i. 218.

[FN#119] All these coquetries require as much inventivenessas a cotillon; the text alludes to fastening the bride’stresses across her mouth giving her the semblanceof beard and mustachios.

[FN#120] Repeated from vol. i. 218.

[FN#121] Repeated from vol. i. 218.

[FN#122] See vol. i. 219.

[FN#123] Arab. Sawad=the blackness of the hair.

[FN#124] Because Easterns build, but never repair.

[FN#125]i.e. God only knows if it be true ornot.

[FN#126] Ouseley’s Orient. Collect. I, vii.

[FN#127] This three-fold distribution occurred tome many years ago and when far beyond reach of literaryauthorities, I was, therefore, much pleased to findthe subjoined three-fold classification with minordetails made by Baron von Hammer-Purgstall (Prefaceto Contes Inedits etc. of G. S. Trebutien, Paris,mdcccxxviii.) (1) The older stories which serve asa base to the collection, such as the Ten Wazirs ('Maliceof Women”) and Voyages of Sindbad (?) whichmay date from the days of Mahommed. These aredistributed into two sub-classes; (a) the marvellousand purely imaginative (e.g. Jamasp and the SerpentQueen) and (b) the realistic mixed with instructivefables and moral instances. (2) The stories and anecdotespeculiarly Arab, relating to the Caliphs and especiallyto Al- Rashid; and (3) The tales of Egyptian provenance,which mostly date from the times of the puissant “Aaronthe Orthodox.” Mr. John Payne (Villon Translationvol. ix. pp. 367-73) distributes the stories roughlyunder five chief heads as follows: (1) Historiesor long Romances, as King Omar bin Al-Nu’man(2) Anecdotes or short stories dealing with historicalpersonages and with incidents and adventures belongingto the every-day life of the period to which theyrefer: e.g. those concerning Al-Rashid andHatim of Tayy. (3) Romances and romantic fictionscomprising three different kinds of tales; (a) purelyromantic and supernatural; (b) fictions and nouvelleswith or without a basis and background of historicalfact and (c) Contes fantastiques. (4) Fables and Apologues;and (5) Tales proper, as that of Tawaddud.

[FN#128] Journal Asiatique (Paris, Dondoy-Dupre, 1826)“Sur l’origine des Mille et une Nuits.”

[FN#129] Baron von Hammer-Purgstall’s chateauis near Styrian Graz, and, when I last saw his library,it had been left as it was at his death.

[FN#130] At least, in Trebutien’s Preface, pp.xxx.-xxxi., reprinted from the Journ. Asiat. August, 1839: for corrections see De Sacy’s“Memoire.” p. 39.

[FN#131] Vol. iv. pp. 89-90, Paris mdccclxv. Trebutien quotes, chapt. lii. (for lxviii.), one ofVon Hammer’s manifold inaccuracies.

[FN#132] Alluding to Iram the Many-columned, etc.

[FN#133] In Trebutien “Siha,” for whichthe Editor of the Journ. Asiat. and De Sacy rightlyread “Sabil-ha.”

[FN#134] For this some MSS. have “Fahlawiyah”= Pehlevi

[FN#135] i.e. Lower Roman, Grecian, of AsiaMinor, etc., the word is still applied throughoutMarocco, Algiers and Northern Africa to Europeans ingeneral.

[FN#136] De Sacy (Dissertation prefixed to the BourdinEdition) notices the “thousand and one,”and in his Memoire “a thousand:” Von Hammer’s MS. reads a thousand, and the Frenchtranslation a thousand and one. Evidently nostress can be laid upon the numerals.

[FN#137] These names are noticed in my vol. i. 14,and vol. ii. 3. According to De Sacy some MSS.read “History of the Wazir and his Daughters.”

[FN#138] Lane (iii. 735) has Wizreh or Wardeh whichguide us to Wird Khan, the hero of the tale. Von Hammer’s MS. prefers Djilkand (Jilkand),whence probably the Isegil or Isegild of Langles (1814),and the Tseqyl of De Sacy (1833). The mentionof “Simas” (Lane’s Shemmas) identifiesit with “King Jali’ad of Hind,”etc. (Night dcccxcix.) Writing in A.D. 961 HamzahIsfahani couples with the libri Sindbad and Schimas,the libri Baruc and Barsinas, four nouvelles out ofnearly seventy. See also Al-Makri’zi’sKhitat or Topography (ii. 485) for a notice of theThousand or Thousand and one Nights.

[FN#139] alluding to the “Seven Wazirs”alias “The Malice of Women” (Night dlxxviii.),which Von Hammer and many others have carelessly confoundedwith Sindbad the Seaman We find that two tales onceseparate have now been incorporated with The Nights,and this suggests the manner of its composition byaccretion.

[FN#140] Arabised by a most “elegant”stylist, Abdullah ibn al-Mukaffa (the shrivelled),a Persian Guebre named Roz-bih (Day good), who islamisedand was barbarously put to death in A.H. 158 (= 775)by command of the Caliph al-Mansur (Al-Siyuti p. 277). “He also translated from Pehlevi the book entitledSekiseran, containing the annals of Isfandiyar, thedeath of Rustam, and other episodes of old Persichistory,” says Al-Mas’udi chapt. xxi. See also Ibn Khallikan (1, 43) who dates the murderin A.H. 142 (= 759-60).

[FN#141] “Notice sur Le Schah-namah de Firdoussi,”a posthumous publication of M. de Wallenbourg, Vienna,1810, by M. A. de Bianchi. In sect. iii. I shall quote another passage of Al-Mas’udi(viii. 175) in which I find a distinct allusion tothe “Gaboriaudetective tales” of The Nights.

[FN#142] Here Von Hammer shows his customary inexactitude. As we learn from Ibn Khallikan (Fr. Tr. I. 630),the author’s name was Abu al-Faraj Mohammedibn Is’hak pop. known as Ibn Ali Ya’kubal-Warrak, the bibliographe, librarian, copyist. It was published (vol. i Leipzig, 1871) under theeditorship of G. Fluegel, J. Roediger, and A. Mueller.

[FN#143] See also the Journ. Asiat., August,1839, and Lane iii. 736-37

[FN#144] Called “Afsanah” by Al-Mas’udi,both words having the same sense = tale story, parable,“facetiae.” Moslem fanaticism rendersit by the Arab “Khurafah” = silly fables,and in Hindostan it = a jest: “Bat-ki bat,khurafat-ki khurafat” (a word for a word, ajoke for a joke).

[FN#145] Al-Mas’udi (chapt. xxi.) makes thisa name of the Mother of Queen Humai or Humayah, forwhom see below.

[FN#146] The preface of a copy of the Shah-nameh (byFirdausi, ob. A.D. 1021), collated in A.H. 829by command of Bayisunghur Bahadur Khan (Atkinson p.x.), informs us that the Hazar Afsanah was composedfor or by Queen Humai whose name is Arabised to HumayahThis Persian Marguerite de Navarre was daughter andwife to (Ardashir) Bahman, sixth Kayanian and surnamedDiraz-dast (Artaxerxes Longimanus), Abu Sasan fromhis son, the Eponymus of the Sassanides who followedthe Kayanians when these were extinguished by Alexanderof Macedon. Humai succeeded her husband as seventhQueen, reigned thirty-two years and left the crownto her son Dara or Darab 1st = Darius Codomanus. She is better known to Europe (through Herodotus)as Parysatis = Peri-zadeh or the Fairy-born.

[FN#147] i.e. If Allah allow me to say sooth.

[FN#148] i.e. of silly anecdotes: here speaksthe good Moslem!

[FN#149] No. 622 Sept. 29, ’39, a review ofTorrens which appeared shortly after Lane’svol. i. The author quotes from a MS. in the BritishMuseum, No. 7334 fol. 136.

[FN#150] There are many Spaniards of this name: Mr. Payne (ix. 302) proposes Abu Ja’afar ibnAbd al-Hakk al-Khazraji, author of a History of theCaliphs about the middle of the twelfth century.

[FN#151] The well-known Rauzah or Garden-island, ofold Al-Sana’ah (Al-Mas’udi chapt. xxxi.)which is more than once noticed in The Nights. The name of the pavilion Al-Haudaj = a camel-litter,was probably intended to flatter the Badawi girl.

[FN#152] He was the Seventh Fatimite Caliph of Egypt: regn. A.H. 495-524 (= 1101 1129).

[FN#153] Suggesting a private pleasaunce in Al-Rauzahwhich has ever been and is still a succession of gardens.

[FN#154] The writer in The Athenaeum calls him IbnMiyvah, and adds that the Badawiyah wrote to her cousincertain verses complaining of her thraldom, whichthe youth answered abusing the Caliph. Al-Amirfound the correspondence and ordered Ibn Miyah’stongue to be cut out, but he saved himself by a timelyflight.

[FN#155] In Night dccclxxxv. we have the passage “Hewas a wily thief: none could avail against hiscraft as he were Abu Mohammed Al-Battal”: the word etymologically means The Bad; but see infra.

[FN#156] Amongst other losses which Orientals havesustained by the death of Rogers Bey, I may mentionhis proposed translation of Al-Makrizi’s greattopographical work.

[FN#157] The name appears only in a later passage.

[FN#158] Mr. Payne notes (viii. 137) “apparentlysome famous brigand of the time” (of Charlemagne). But the title may signify The Brave, and the talemay be much older.

[FN#159] In his “Memoire sur l’originedu Recueil des Contes intitule Les Mille et une Nuits”(Mem. d’Hist. et de Litter. Orientale,extrait des tomes ix., et x. des Memoires de l’Inst. Royal Acad. des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, Paris,Imprimerie Royale, 1833). He read the Memoirbefore the Royal Academy on July 31, 1829. Alsoin his Dissertation “Sur les Mille et une Nuits”(pp. i. viii.) prefixed to the Bourdin Edit. Whenfirst the Arabist in Europe landed at Alexandria hecould not exchange a word with the people the sameis told of Golius the lexicographer at Tunis.

[FN#160] Lane, Nights ii. 218.

[FN#161] This origin had been advocated a decade ofyears before by Shaykh Ahmad al-Shirawani; Editorof the Calc. text (1814-18): his Persian prefaceopines that the author was an Arabic speaking Syrianwho designedly wrote in a modern and conversationalstyle, none of the purest withal, in order to instructnon-Arabists. Here we find the genus “Professor”pure and simple.

[FN#162] Such an assertion makes us enquire, Did DeSacy ever read through The Nights in Arabic?

[FN#163] Dr. Jonathan Scott’s “translation”vi. 283.

[FN#164] For a note on this world-wide Tale see vol.i. 52.

[FN#165] In the annotated translation by Mr. I. G.N. Keith-Falconer, Cambridge University Press. I regret to see the wretched production called the“Fables of Pilpay” in the “ChandosClassics” (London, F. Warne). The wordsare so mutilated that few will recognize them, e.g. Carchenas for Kar-shinas, Chaschmanah for Chashmey-e-Mah(Fountain of the Moon), etc.

[FN#166] Article Arabia in Encyclop. Brit., 9thEdit., p. 263, colt 2. I do not quite understandMr. Palgrave, but presume that his “other version”is the Bresl. Edit., the MS. of which was broughtfrom Tunis; see its Vorwort (vol. i. p. 3).

[FN#167] There are three distinct notes accordingto De Sacy (Mem., p. 50). The first (in MS. 1508)says “This blessed book was read by the weakslave, etc. Wahabah son of Rizkallah theKatib (secretary, scribe) of Tarabulus al-Sham (SyrianTripoli), who prayeth long life for its owner (limaliki-h). This tenth day of the month FirstRabi’a A.H. 955 (= 1548).” A similarnote by the same Wahabah occurs at the end of vol.ii. (MS. 1507) dated A.H. 973 (= 1565) and a third(MS. 1506) is undated. Evidcntly M. Caussin hasgiven undue weight to such evidence. For furtherinformation see “Tales of the East” towhich is prefixed an Introductory Dissertation (vol.i. pp. 24-26, note) by Henry Webber, Esq., Edinburgh,1812, in 3 vols.

[FN#168] “Notice sur les douze manuscrits connusdes Milles et une Nuits, qui existent en Europe.” Von Hammer in Trebutien, Notice, vol. i.

[FN#169] Printed from the MS. of Major Turner Macan,Editor of the Shahnamah: he bought it from theheirs of Mr. Salt, the historic Consul-General ofEngland in Egypt and after Macan’s death itbecame the property of the now extinct Allens, thenof Leadenhall Street (Torrens, Preface, i.). I have vainly enquired about what became of it.

[FN#170] The short paper by “P. R.”in the Gentleman’s Magazine (Feb. 19th, 1799,vol. lxix. p. 61) tells us that MSS. of The Nightswere scarce at Aleppo and that he found only two vols.(280 Nights) which he had great difficulty in obtainingleave to copy. He also noticed (in 1771) a MS.,said to be complete, in the Vatican and another inthe “King’s Library” (BibliothequeNationale), Paris.

[FN#171] Aleppo has been happy in finding such monographersas Russell and Maundrell while poor Damascus fellinto the hands of Mr. Missionary Porter, and sufferedaccordingly.

[FN#172] Vol. vi. Appendix, p.452.

[FN#173] The numbers, however, vary with the Editionsof Galland: some end the formula with Night cxcvii;others with the ccxxxvi. : I adopt that of the DeSacy Edition.

[FN#174] Contes Persans, suivis des Contes Turcs. Paris; Bechet Aine, 1826.

[FN#175] In the old translation we have “eighteenhundred years since the prophet Solomon died,”(B.C. 975) = A.D. 825.

[FN#176] Meaning the era of the Seleucides. Dr.Jonathan Scott shows (vol. ii. 324) that A.H. 653and A.D. 1255 would correspond with 1557 of that epoch;so that the scribe has here made a little mistakeof 5,763 years. Ex uno disce.

[FN#177] The Saturday Review (Jan. 2nd ’86)writes, “Captain Burton has fallen into a mistakeby not distinguishing between the names of the byno means identical Caliphs Al-Muntasir and Al-Mustansir.” Quite true: it was an ugly confusion of the melancholymadman and parricide with one of the best and wisestof the Caliphs. I can explain (not extenuate)my mistake only by a misprint in Al-Siyuti (p. 554).

[FN#178] In the Galland MS. and the Bresl. Edit.(ii. 253), we find the Barber saying that the Caliph(Al-Mustansir) was at that time (yaumaizin) in Baghdad,and this has been held to imply that the Caliphatehad fallen. But such conjecture is evidently basedupon insufficient grounds.

[FN#179] De Sacy makes the “Kalandar”order originate in A.D. 1150, but the Shaykh Sharifbu Ali Kalandar died in A.D. 1323-24. In Sindthe first Kalandar, Osman-i-Marwandi surnamed LalShahbaz, the Red Goshawk, from one of his miracles,died and was buried at Sehwan in A D. 1274: seemy “History of Sindh” chapt. viii. fordetails. The dates therefore run wild.

[FN#180] In this same tale H. H. Wilson observes thatthe title of Sultan of Egypt was not assumed beforethe middle of the xiith century.

[FN#181] Popularly called Vidyanagar of the Narsingha.

[FN#182] Time-measurers are of very ancient date. The Greeks had clepsydrae and the Romans gnomons,portable and ring-shaped, besides large standing town-dialsas at Aquileja and San Sabba near Trieste. The“Saracens” were the perfecters of theclepsydra: Bosseret (p. 16) and the ChroniconTurense (Beckmann ii. 340 et seq.) describe the water-clocksent by Al-Rashid to Karl the Great as a kind of “cockoo-clock.” Twelve doors in the dial opened successively and littleballs dropping on brazen bells told the hour: at noon a dozen mounted knights paraded the face andclosed the portals. Trithonius mentions an horologiumpresented in A.D. 1232 by Al-Malik al-Kamil the AyyubiteSoldan to the Emperor Frederick II: like theStrasbourg and Padua clocks it struck the hours, toldthe day, month and year, showed the phases of themoon, and registered the position of the sun and theplanets. Towards the end of the fifteenth centuryGaspar Visconti mentions in a sonnet the watch proper(certi orologii piccioli e portativi); and the “animatedeggs” of Nurembourg became famous. Theearliest English watch (Sir Ashton Lever’s)dates from 1541: and in 1544 the portable chronometerbecame common in France.

[FN#183] An illustrated History of Arms and Armouretc. (p. 59); London: Bell and Sons, 1877. The best edition is the Guide des Amateurs d’Armes,Paris: Renouard, 1879.

[FN#184] Chapt. iv. Dr. Gustav Oppert “Onthe Weapons etc. of the Ancient Hindus;”London: Truebner and Co., 1880. :

[FN#185] I have given other details on this subjectin pp. 631- 637 of “Camoens, his Life and hisLusiads.”

[FN#186] The morbi venerei amongst the Romans areobscure because “whilst the satirists deridethem the physicians are silent.” Celsus,however, names (De obscenarum partium vitiis, lib.xviii.) inflammatio coleorum (swelled testicle), tuberculaglandem (warts on the glans penis), cancri carbunculi(chancre or shanker) and a few others. The rubigois noticed as a lues venerea by Servius in Virg. Georg.

[FN#187] According to David Forbes, the Peruviansbelieved that syphilis arose from connection of manand alpaca; and an old law forbade bachelors to keepthese animals in the house. Francks explainsby the introduction of syphilis wooden figures foundin the Chinchas guano; these represented men witha cord round the neck or a serpent devouring the genitals.

[FN#188] They appeared before the gates of Paris inthe summer of 1427, not “about July, 1422”: in Eastern Europe, however, they date from a muchearlier epoch. Sir J. Gilbert’s famous picturehas one grand fault, the men walk and the women ride: in real life the reverse would be the case.

[FN#189] Rabelais ii. c. 30.

[FN#190] I may be allowed to note that syphilis doesnot confine itself to man: a charger infectedwith it was pointed out to me at Baroda by my latefriend, Dr. Arnott (18th Regiment, Bombay N.I.) andTangier showed me some noticeable cases of this hippicsyphilis, which has been studied in Hungary. Easternpeoples have a practice of “passing on”venereal and other diseases, and transmission is supposedto cure the patient; for instance a virgin heals (andcatches) gonorrhoea. Syphilis varies greatlywith climate. In Persia it is said to be propagatedwithout contact: in Abyssinia it is often fataland in Egypt it is readily cured by sand baths andsulphur-unguents. Lastly in lands like Unyamwezi,where mercurials are wholly unknown, I never saw cariesof the nasal or facial bones.

[FN#191] For another account of the transplanter andthe casuistical questions to which coffee gave rise,see my “First Footsteps in East Africa”(p. 76).

[FN#192] The first mention of coffee proper (not ofKahwah or old wine in vol. ii. 260) is in Night cdxxvi.vol. v. 169, where the coffee-maker is called Kahwahjiyyah,a mongrel term showing the modern date of the passagein Ali the Cairene. As the work advances noticesbecome thicker, e.g. in Night dccclxvi. whereAli Nur al-Din and the Frank King’s daughterseems to be a modernisation of the story “Alaal-Din Abu al-Shamat” (vol. iv. 29); and in AbuKir and Abu Sir (Nights cmxxx. and cmxxxvi.) wherecoffee is drunk with sherbet after present fashion. The use culminates in Kamar al-Zaman II. where itis mentioned six times (Nights cmlxvi. cmlxx. cmlxxi.twice; cmlxxiv. and cmlxxvii.), as being drunk afterthe dawn-breakfast and following the meal as a matterof course. The last notices are in Abdullah binFazil, Nights cmlxxviii. and cmlxxix.

[FN#193] It has been suggested that Japanese tobaccois an indigenous growth and sundry modern travellersin China contend that the potato and the maize, bothwhite and yellow, have there been cultivated fromtime immemorial.

[FN#194] For these see my “City of the Saints,”p. 136.

[FN#195] Lit. meaning smoke: hence the Arabic“Dukhan,” with the same signification.

Dayanisma Afrit Temple Download Torrent Download

[FN#196] Unhappily the book is known only by name: for years I have vainly troubled friends and correspondentsto hunt for a copy. Yet I am sanguine enough tothink that some day we shall succeed: Mr. SidneyChurchill, of Teheran, is ever on the look-out.

[FN#197] In Section 3 I shall suggest that this talealso is mentioned by Al-Mas’udi.

[FN#198] I have extracted it from many books, especiallyfrom Hoeffer’s Biographie Generale, Paris, FirminDidot, mdccclvii.; Biographie Universelle, Paris,Didot, 1816, etc. etc. All are takenfrom the work of M. de Boze, his “Bozzy.”

[FN#199] As learning a language is an affair of purememory, almost without other exercise of the mentalfaculties, it should be assisted by the ear and thetongue as well as the eyes. I would invariablymake pupils talk, during lessons, Latin and Greek,no matter how badly at first; but unfortunately I shouldhave to begin with teaching the pedants who, as a class,are far more unwilling and unready to learn than arethose they teach.

[FN#200] The late Dean Stanley was notably trappedby the wily Greek who had only political purposesin view. In religions as a rule the minimumof difference breeds the maximum of disputation, dislikeand disgust.

[FN#201] See in Trebutien (Avertissement iii.) howBaron von Hammer escaped drowning by the blessingof The Nights.

[FN#202] He signs his name to the Discours pour servirde Preface.

[FN#203] I need not trouble the reader with theirtitles, which fill up nearly a column and a half inM. Hoeffer. His collection of maxims from Arabic,Persian and Turkish authors appeared in English in1695.

[FN#204] Galland’s version was published in1704-1717 in 12 vols. 12mo., (Hoeffer’s Biographie;Grasse’s Tresor de Livres rares and Encyclop. Britannica, ixth Edit.)

[FN#205] See also Leigh Hunt “The Book of theThousand Nights and one Night,” etc., etc. London and Westminster Review Art. iii., No. 1xiv.mentioned in Lane, iii., 746.

[FN#206] Edition of 1856 vol. xv.

[FN#207] To France England also owes her first translationof the Koran, a poor and mean version by Andrew Rossof that made from the Arabic (No. iv.) by Andre duReyer, Consul de France for Egypt. It kept thefield till ousted in 1734 by the learned lawyer GeorgeSale whose conscientious work, including PreliminaryDiscourse and Notes (4to London), brought him theill-fame of having “turned Turk.”

[FN#208] Catalogue of Printed Books, 1884, p. 159,col. i. I am ashamed to state this default inthe British Museum, concerning which Englishmen areapt to boast and which so carefully mulcts modernauthors in unpaid copies. But it is only a slightspecimen of the sad state of art and literature inEngland, neglected equally by Conservatives, Liberalsand Radicals. What has been done for the endowmentof research? What is our equivalent for thePrix de Rome? Since the death of Dr. Birch, whocan fairly deal with a Demotic papyrus? Contrastthe Societe Anthropologique and its palace and professorsin Paris with our “Institute” au secondin a corner of Hanover Square and its skulls in thecellar!

[FN#209] Art. vii. pp. 139-168, “On the ArabianNights and translators, Weil, Torrens and Lane (vol.i.) with the Essai of A. Loisseleur Deslongchamps.” The Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. xxiv., Oct. 1839-Jan.1840. London, Black and Armstrong, 1840.

[FN#210] Introduction to his Collection “Talesof the East,” 3 vols. Edinburgh, 1812. He was the first to point out the resemblance betweenthe introductory adventures of Shahryar and Shah Zamanand those of Astolfo and Giacondo in the Orlando Furioso(Canto xxviii.). M. E. Leveque in Les Mytheset les Legendes de l’Inde et la Perse (Paris,1880) gives French versions of the Arabian and Italiannarratives, side by side in p. 543 ff. (Clouston).

[FN#211] Notitiae Codicis MI. Noctium. Dr. Pusey studied Arabic to familiarise himself withHebrew, and was very different from his predecessorat Oxford in my day, who, when applied to for instructionin Arabic, refused to lecture except to a class.

[FN#212] This nephew was the author of “Recueildes Rits et Ceremonies des Pilgrimages de La Mecque,”etc. etc. Paris and Amsterdam, 1754,in 12mo.

[FN#213] The concluding part did not appear, I havesaid, till 1717: his “Comes et Fables Indiennesde Bidpai et de Lokman,” were first printedin 1724, 2 vols. in 12mo. Hence, I presume,Lowndes’ mistake.

[FN#214] M. Caussin (de Perceval), Professeur of Arabicat the Imperial Library, who edited Galland in 1806,tells us that he found there only two MSS., both imperfect. The first (Galland’s) is in three small vols.4to. each of about pp. 140. The stories aremore detailed and the style, more correct than thatof other MS., is hardly intelligible to many Arabs,whence he presumes that it contains the original (anearly?) text which has been altered and vitiated. The date is supposed to be circa A.D. 1600. The second Parisian copy is a single folio of some800 pages, and is divided into 29 sections and cmv. Nights, the last two sections being reversed. The MS. is very imperfect, the 12th, 15th, 16th,18th, 20th, 21st-23rd, 25th and 27th parts are wanting;the sections which follow the 17th contain sundrystories repeated, there are anecdotes from Bidpai,the Ten Wazirs and other popular works, and lacunaeeverywhere abound.

[FN#215] Mr. Payne (ix. 264) makes eleven, includingthe Histoire du Dormeur eveille = The Sleeper andthe Waker, which he afterwards translated from theBresl. Edit. in his “Tales from the Arabic”(vol. i. 5, etc.)

[FN#216] Mr. E. J. W. Gibb informs me that he hascome upon this tale in a Turkish storybook, the samefrom which he drew his “Jewad.”

[FN#217] A litterateur lately assured me that Nos.ix. and x. have been found in the Bibliotheque Nationale(du Roi) Paris; but two friends were kind enough toenquire and ascertained that it was a mistake. Such Persianisms as Codadad (Khudadad), Baba Cogia(Khwajah) and Peri (fairy) suggest a Persic MS.

[FN#218] Vol. vi. 212. “The Arabian Nights’Entertainments (London: Longmans, 1811) by JonathanScott, with the Collection of New Tales from the WortleyMontagu MS. in the Bodleian.” I regretto see that Messieurs Nimmo in reprinting Scott haveomitted his sixth Volume.

[FN#219] Dr. Scott who uses Fitnah (iv. 42) makesit worse by adding “Alcolom (Al-Kulub?) signifyingRavisher of Hearts” and his names for the sixslave-girls (vol. iv. 37) such as “Zohorob Bostan”(Zahr al-Bustan), which Galland rightly renders by“Fleur du Jardin,” serve only to heapblunder upon blunder. Indeed the Anglo-Frenchtranslations are below criticism: it would bewaste of time to notice them. The characteristicis a servile suit paid to the original e.g. renderinghair “accomode en boucles” by “hairfestooned in buckles” (Night ccxiv.), and Iled’Ebene (Jazirat al-Abnus, Night xliii.) by“the Isle of Ebene.” A certain surlyold litterateur tells me that he prefers these wretchedversions to Mr. Payne’s. Padrone! as theItalians say: I cannot envy his taste or histemper.

[FN#220] De Sacy (Memoire p. 52) notes that in someMSS., the Sultan, ennuye by the last tales of Shahrazad,proposes to put her to death, when she produces herthree children and all ends merrily without marriage-bells. Von Hammer prefers this version as the more dramatic,the Frenchman rejects it on account of the difficultiesof the accouchements. Here he strains at thegnat—­ a common process.

[FN#221] See Journ. Asiatique, iii. serie, vol.viii., Paris, 1839.

[FN#222] “Tausend und Eine Nacht: ArabischeErzaehlungen. Zum ersten mal aus einer TunisischenHandschrift ergaenzt und vollstandig uebersetzt,”Von Max Habicht, F. H. von der Hagen und Karl Schatte(the offenders?).

[FN#223] Dr. Habicht informs us (Vorwort iii., vol.ix. 7) that he obtained his MS. with other valuableworks from Tunis, through a personal acquaintance,a learned Arab, Herr M. Annagar (Mohammed Al-Najjar?)and was aided by Baron de Sacy, Langles and othersavants in filling up the lacunae by means of sundryMSS. The editing was a prodigy of negligence: the corrigenda (of which brief lists are given) wouldfill a volume; and, as before noticed, the indicesof the first four tomes were printed in the fifth,as if the necessity of a list of tales had just struckthe dense editor. After Habicht’s deathin 1839 his work was completed in four vols. (ix.-xii.)by the well-known Prof. H. J. Fleischer who hadshown some tartness in his “Dissertatio Criticade Glossis Habichtianis.” He carefullyimitated all the shortcomings of his predecessor andeven omitted the Verzeichniss etc., the Variantenand the Glossary of Arabic words not found in Golius,which formed the only useful part of the first eightvolumes.

[FN#224] Die in Tausend und Eine Nacht noch nichtuebersetzten Naechte, Erzaehlungen und Anekdoten,zum erstenmal aus dem Arabischen in das Franzoesischeuebersetzt von J. von Hammer, und aus dem Franzoesischenin das Deutsche von A. E. Zinserling, Professor, Stuttgartund Tubingen, 1823. Drei Bde. 80 . Trebutien’s,therefore, is the translation of a translation of atranslation.

[FN#225] Tausend und Eine Nacht Arabische Erzaehlungen. Zum erstenmale aus dem Urtexte vollstaendig und treuuebersetze von Dr. Gustav Weil. He began hiswork on return from Egypt in 1836 and completed hisfirst version of the Arabische Meisterwerk in 1838-42(3 vols. roy. oct.). I have the Zweiter Abdruckder dritten (2d reprint of 3d) in 4 vols. 8vo., Stuttgart,1872. It has more than a hundred woodcuts.

[FN#226] My learned friend Dr. Wilhelm Storck, towhose admirable translations of Camoens I have oftenborne witness, notes that this Vorhalle, or Porchto the first edition, a rhetorical introduction addressedto the general public, is held in Germany to be valuelessand that it was noticed only for the Bemerkung concerningthe offensive passages which Professor Weil had toneddown in his translation. In the Vorwort of thesucceeding editions (Stuttgart) it is wholly omitted.

[FN#227] The most popular are now “Mille eduna notte. Novelle Arabe.” Napoli,1867, 8vo illustrated, 4 francs; and “Mille edune notte. Novelle Arabe, versione italiana nuovamenteemendata e corredata di note”; 4 vols. in 32(dateless) Milano, 8vo, 4 francs.

[FN#228] These are; (l) by M. Caussin (de Perceval),Paris, 1806, 9 vols. 8vo. (2) Edouard Gauttier, Paris,1822-24: 7 vols. 12mo; (3) M. Destain, Paris,1823-25, 6 vols. 8vo, and (4) Baron de Sacy, Paris.1838 (?) 3 vols. large 8vo, illustrated (and vilelyillustrated).

[FN#229] The number of fables and anecdotes variesin the different texts, but may be assumed to be upwardsof four hundred, about half of which were translatedby Lane.

[FN#230] I have noticed these points more fully inthe beginning of chapt. iii. “The Bookof the Sword.”

[FN#231] A notable instance of Roman superficiality,incuriousness and ignorance. Every old Egyptiancity had its idols (images of metal, stone or wood),in which the Deity became incarnate as in the Catholichost; besides its own symbolic animal used as a Kiblahor prayer-direction (Jerusalem or Meccah), the visiblemeans of fixing and concentrating the thoughts ofthe vulgar, like the crystal of the hypnotist or thedisk of the electro-biologist. And goddess Dianawas in no way better than goddess Pasht. Forthe true view of idolatry see Koran xxxix. 4. I am deeply grateful to Mr. P. le Page Renouf (Soc.of Biblic. Archaeology, April 6, 1886) for identifyingthe Manibogh, Michabo or Great Hare of the Americanindigenes with Osiris Unnefer ('Hare God'). These are the lines upon which investigation shouldrun. And of late years there is a notable improvementof tone in treating of symbolism or idolatry: the Lingam and the Yoni are now described as “mysticalrepresentations, and perhaps the best possible impersonalrepresentatives of the abstract expressions paternityand maternity” (Prof. Monier Williams in“Folk-lore Record” vol. iii. part i. p.118).

[FN#232] See Jotham’s fable of the Trees andKing Bramble (Judges lxi. 8) and Nathan’s parableof the Poor Man and his little ewe Lamb (2 Sam. ix.1).

[FN#233] Herodotus (ii. c. 134) notes that “AEsopthe fable-writer ( ) was one of her (Rhodopis)fellow slaves”. Aristophanes (Vespae, 1446)refers to his murder by the Delphians and his fablebeginning, “Once upon a time there was a fight;”while the Scholiast finds an allusion to The Serpentand the Crab in Pax 1084; and others in Vespae 1401,and Aves 651.

[FN#234] There are three distinct Lokmans who arecarefully confounded in Sale (Koran chapt. xxxi.)and in Smith’s Dict. of Biography etc.art. AEsopus. The first or eldest Lokman,entitled Al-Hakim (the Sage) and the hero of the Koranicchapter which bears his name, was son of Ba’uraof the Children of Azar, sister’s son of Jobor son of Job’s maternal aunt; he witnessedDavid’s miracles of mail-making and when thetribe of ’Ad was destroyed, he became King ofthe country. The second, also called the Sage,was a slave, an Abyssinian negro, sold to the Israelitesduring the reign of David or Solomon, synchronous withthe Persian Kay Kaus and Kay Khusrau, also Pythagorasthe Greek (!) His physique is alluded to in the saying,“Thou resemblest Lokman (in black ugliness)but not in wisdom” (Ibn Khallikan i. 145). This negro or negroid, after a godly and edifying life,left a volume of “Amsal,” proverbs andexempla (not fables or apologues); and Easterns stillsay, “One should not pretend to teach Lokman”—­inPersian, “Hikmat ba Lokman amokhtan.” Three of his apothegms dwell in the public memory: “The heart and the tongue are the best and worstparts of the human body.” “I learnedwisdom from the blind who make sure of things by touchingthem” (as did St. Thomas); and when he ate thecolocynth offered by his owner, “I have receivedfrom thee so many a sweet that ’twould be surprisingif I refused this one bitter.” He was buried(says the Tarikh Muntakhab) at Ramlah in Judaea, withthe seventy Prophets stoned in one day by the Jews. The youngest Lokman “of the vultures”was a prince of the tribe of Ad who lived 3,500 years,the age of seven vultures (Tabari). He coulddig a well with his nails; hence the saying, “Strongerthan Lokman” (A. P. i. 701); and he lovedthe arrow-game, hence, “More gambling than Lokman”(ibid. ii. 938). “More voracious than Lokman”(ibid i. 134) alludes to his eating one camel forbreakfast and another for supper. His wife Barakishalso appears in proverb, e.g. “Camelus and camel thyself” (ibid. i. 295) i.e.give us camel flesh to eat, said when her son by aformer husband brought her a fine joint which sheand her husband relished. Also, “Barakishhath sinned against her kin” (ibid. ii. 89). More of this in Chenery’s Al-Hariri p. 422;but the three Lokmans are there reduced to two.

[FN#235] I have noticed them in vol. ii. 47-49. “To the Gold Coast for Gold.”

[FN#236] I can hardly accept the dictum that the KathaSarit Sagara, of which more presently, is the “earliestrepresentation of the first collection.”

[FN#237] The Pehlevi version of the days of King Anushirwan(A.D. 531-72) became the Humayun-nameh ('August Book”)turned into Persian for Bahram Shah the Ghaznavite: the Hitopadesa ('Friendship-boon”) of Prakrit,avowedly compiled from the “Panchatantra,”became the Hindu Panchopakhyan, the Hindostani Akhlak-i-Hindi('Moralities of Ind”) and in Persia and Turkeythe Anvar-i-Suhayli ('Lights of Canopus'). Arabic,Hebrew and Syriac writers entitle their version Kalilahwa Damnah, or Kalilaj wa Damnaj, from the name ofthe two jackal-heroes, and Europe knows the recueilas the Fables of Pilpay or Bidpay (Bidya-pati, Lordof learning?) a learned Brahman reported to have beenPremier at the Court of the Indian King Dabishlim.

[FN#238] Diet. Philosoph. S. V. Apocrypha.

[FN#239] The older Arab writers, I repeat, do notascribe fables or beast-apologues to Lokman; theyrecord only “dictes” and proverbial sayings.

[FN#240] Professor Taylor Lewis: Preface to Pilpay.

[FN#241] In the Katha Sarit Sagara the beast-apologuesare more numerous, but they can be reduced to twogreat nuclei; the first in chapter lx. (Lib. x.) andthe second in the same book chapters lxii-lxv. Here too they are mixed up with anecdotes and acroamataafter the fashion of The Nights, suggesting great antiquityfor this style of composition.

[FN#242] Brugsch, History of Egypt, vol. i. 266 etseq. The fabliau is interesting in more waysthan one. Anepu the elder (Potiphar) understandsthe language of cattle, an idea ever cropping up inFolk-lore; and Bata (Joseph), his “little brother,”who becomes a “panther of the South (Nubia) forrage” at the wife’s impudique proposal,takes the form of a bull—­ metamorphosisfull blown. It is not, as some have called it,the “oldest book in the world;” that namewas given by M. Chabas to a MS. of Proverbs, datingfrom B.C. 2200. See also the “Story ofSaneha,” a novel earlier than the popular dateof Moses, in the Contes Populaires of Egypt.

[FN#243] The fox and the jackal are confounded bythe Arabic dialects not by the Persian, whose “Rubah”can never be mistaken for “Shaghal.” “Sa’lab” among the Semites is locallyapplied to either beast and we can distinguish thetwo only by the fox being solitary and rapacious,and the jackal gregarious and a carrion-eater. In all Hindu tales the jackal seems to be an awkwardsubstitute for the Grecian and classical fox, the Giddaror Kola (Cants aureus) being by no means sly and wilyas the Lomri (Vulpes vulgaris). This is remarkedby Weber (Indische Studien) and Prof. Benfey’sretort about “King Nobel” the lion isby no means to the point. See Katha Sarit Sagara,ii. 28.

I may add that in Northern Africa jackal’s gall,like jackal’s grape (Solanum nigrum = blacknightshade), ass’s milk and melted camel-hump,is used aphrodisiacally as an unguent by both sexes. See. p. 239, etc., of Le Jardin parfume du CheikhNefzaoui, of whom more presently.

[FN#244] Rambler, No. lxvii.

[FN#245] Some years ago I was asked by my old landladyif ever in the course of my travels I had come acrossCaptain Gulliver.

[FN#246] In “The Adventurer” quoted byMr. Heron, “Translator’s Preface to theArabian Tales of Chaves and Cazotte.”

[FN#247] “Life in a Levantine Family”chapt. xi. Since the able author found his “family”firmly believing in The Nights, much has been changedin Alexandria; but the faith in Jinn and Ifrit, ghostand vampire is lively as ever.

[FN#248] The name dates from the second century A.H. or before A. D. 815.

[FN#249] Dabistan i. 231 etc.

[FN#250] Because Si = thirty and Murgh = bird. In McClenachan’s Addendum to Mackay’sEncyclopaeedia of Freemasonry we find the followingdefinition: “Simorgh. A monstrous griffin,guardian of the Persian mysteries.”

[FN#251] For a poor and inadequate description ofthe festivals commemorating this “Architectof the Gods” see vol. iii. 177, “Viewof the History etc. of the Hindus” by thelearned Dr. Ward, who could see in them only the “lowand sordid nature of idolatry.” But wecan hardly expect better things from a missionaryin 1822, when no one took the trouble to understandwhat “idolatry” means.

[FN#252] Rawlinson (ii. 491) on Herod. iii. c. 102. Nearchus saw the skins of these formicae Indicae,by some rationalists explained as “jackals,”whose stature corresponds with the text, and by othersas “pengolens” or ant-eaters (manis pentedactyla). The learned Sanskritist, H. H. Wilson, quotes thename Pippilika = ant-gold, given by the people ofLittle Thibet to the precious dust thrown up in theemmet heaps.

[FN#253] A writer in the Edinburgh Review (July, ’86),of whom more presently, suggests that The Nights assumedessentially their present shape during the generalrevival of letters, arts and requirements which accompaniedthe Kurdish and Tartar irruptions into the Nile Valley,a golden age which embraced the whole of the thirteenth,fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and ended withthe Ottoman Conquest in A. D. 1527.

[FN#254] Let us humbly hope not again to hear of thegolden prime of

“Thegood (fellow?) Haroun Alrasch’id,”

a mispronunciation which suggests only a rasher ofbacon. Why will not poets mind their quantities,in lieu of stultifying their lines by childish ignorance? What can be more painful than Byron’s

“They laid his dust in Ar’qua(for Arqua) where he died?”

[FN#255] See De Sacy’s Chrestomathie Arabe (Paris,1826), vol. i.

[FN#256] See Le Jardin Parfume du Cheikh NefzaouiManuel d’Erotologie Arabe Traduction revue etcorrigee Edition privee, imprime a deux cent.-vingtexemplaires, par Isidore Liseux et ses Amis, Paris,1866. The editor has forgotten to note that thecelebrated Sidi Mohammed copied some of the tales fromThe Nights and borrowed others (I am assured by afriend) from Tunisian MSS. of the same work. The book has not been fairly edited: the notesabound in mistakes, the volume lacks an index, &c.,&c. Since this was written the Jardin Parfumehas been twice translated into English as “ThePerfumed Garden of the Cheikh Nefzaoui, a Manual ofArabian Erotology (sixteenth century). Revisedand corrected translation, Cosmopoli: mdccclxxxvi.: for the Kama Shastra Society of London and Benaresand for private circulation only.” A rivalversion will be brought out by a bookseller whoseCommittee, as he calls it, appears to be the modelof literary pirates, robbing the author as boldlyand as openly as if they picked his pocket beforehis face.

[FN#257] Translated by a well-known Turkish scholar,Mr. E. J. W. Gibb (Glasgow, Wilson and McCormick,1884).

[FN#258] D’Herbelot (s. v. “Asmai'): I am reproached by a dabbler in Orientalism for usingthis admirable writer who shows more knowledge inone page than my critic does in a whole volume.

[FN#259] For specimens see Al-Siyuti, pp. 301 and304, and the Shaykh al Nafzawi, pp. 134-35

[FN#260] The word “nakh” (to make a camelkneel) is explained in vol. ii. 139.

[FN#261] The present of the famous horologium-clepsydra-cuckooclock, the dog Becerillo and the elephant Abu Lubabahsent by Harun to Charlemagne is not mentioned by Easternauthorities and consequently no reference to it willbe found in my late friend Professor Palmer’slittle volume “Haroun Alraschid,” London,Marcus Ward, 1881. We have allusions to many presents,the clock and elephant, tent and linen hangings, silkendresses, perfumes, and candelabra of auricalch broughtby the Legati (Abdalla Georgius Abba et Felix) ofAaron Amiralmumminim Regis Persarum who entered thePort of Pisa (A. D. 801) in (vol. v. 178) Recueildes Histor. des Gaules et de la France, etc.,par Dom Martin Bouquet, Paris, mdccxliv. Theauthor also quotes the lines:—­

PersarumPrinceps illi devinctus amore
Praecipuofuerat, nomen habens Aaron.
Gratiacui Caroli prae cunctis Regibus atque
IllisPrincipibus tempora cara funit.

[FN#262] Many have remarked that the actual date ofthe decease is unknown.

[FN#263] See Al-Siyuti (p. 305) and Dr. Jonathan Scott’s“Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters,” (p. 296).

[FN#264] I have given (vol. i. 188) the vulgar derivationof the name; and D’Herbelot (s. v. Barmakian)quotes some Persian lines alluding to the “suppingup.” Al-Mas’udi’s account ofthe family’s early history is unfortunatelylost. This Khalid succeeded Abu Salamah, firstentitled Wazir under Al-Saffah (Ibn Khallikan i. 468).

[FN#265] For his poetry see Ibn Khallikan iv. 103.

[FN#266] Their flatterers compared them with the fourelements.

[FN#267] Al-Mas’udi, chapt. cxii.

[FN#268] Ibn Khallikan (i. 310) says the eunuch AbuHashim Masrur, the Sworder of Vengeance, who is sopleasantly associated with Ja’afar in many nightlydisguises; but the Eunuch survived the Caliph. Fakhr al-Din (p. 27) adds that Masrur was an enemyof Ja’afar; and gives further details concerningthe execution.

[FN#269] Bresl. Edit., Night dlxvii. vol. vii.pp. 258-260; translated in the Mr. Payne’s “Talesfrom the Arabic,” vol. i. 189 and headed “Al-Rashidand the Barmecides.” It is far less livelyand dramatic than the account of the same event givenby Al-Mas’udi, chapt. cxii., by Ibn Khallikanand by Fakhr al-Din.

[FN#270] Al-Mas’udi, chapt. cxi.

[FN#271] See Dr. Jonathan Scott’s extracts fromMajor Ouseley’s “Tarikh-i-Barmaki.”

[FN#272] Al-Mas’udi, chapt. cxii. For theliberties Ja’afar took see Ibn Khallikan, i.303.

[FN#273] Ibid. chapt. xxiv. In vol. ii. 29 ofThe Nights, I find signs of Ja’afar’ssuspected heresy. For Al-Rashid’s hatredof the Zindiks see Al-Siyuti, pp. 292, 301; and asregards the religious troubles ibid. p. 362 and passim.

[FN#274] Biogr. Dict. i. 309.

[FN#275] This accomplished princess had a practicethat suggests the Dame aux Camelias.

[FN#276] i. e. Perdition to your fathers, Allah’scurse on your ancestors.

[FN#277] See vol. iv. 159, “Ja’afar andthe Bean-seller;” where the great Wazir is saidto have been “crucified;” and vol. iv.pp. 179, 181. Also Roebuck’s Persian Proverbs,i. 2, 346, “This also is through the munificenceof the Barmecides.”

[FN#278] I especially allude to my friend Mr. Payne’sadmirably written account of it in his concludingEssay (vol. ix.). From his views of the GreatCaliph and the Lady Zubaydah I must differ in everypoint except the destruction of the Barmecides.

[FN#279] Bresl. Edit., vol. vii. 261-62.

[FN#280] Mr. Grattan Geary, in a work previously noticed,informs us (i. 212) “The Sitt al-Zobeide, orthe Lady Zobeide, was so named from the great Zobeidetribe of Arabs occupying the country East and Westof the Euphrates near the Hindi’ah Canal; shewas the daughter of a powerful Sheik of that Tribe.” Can this explain the “Kasim”?

[FN#281] Vol. viii. 296.

[FN#282] Burckhardt, “Travels in Arabia”vol. i. 185.

[FN#283] The reverse has been remarked by more thanone writer; and contemporary French opinion seemsto be that Victor Hugo’s influence on Frenchprose, was on the whole, not beneficial.

[FN#284] Mr. W. S. Clouston, the “Storiologist,”who is preparing a work to be entitled “PopularTales and Fictions; their Migrations and Transformations,”informs me the first to adapt this witty anecdotewas Jacques de Vitry, the crusading bishop of Accon(Acre) who died at Rome in 1240, after setting theexample of “Exempla” or instances in hissermons. He had probably heard it in Syria, andhe changed the day-dreamers into a Milkmaid and herMilk-pail to suit his “flock.” Itthen appears as an “Exemplum” in the Liberde Donis or de Septem Donis (or De Dono Timoris fromFear the first gift) of Stephanus de Borbone, theDominican, ob. Lyons, 1261: it treated ofthe gifts of the Holy Spirit (Isaiah xi. 2 and 3),Timor, Pietas, Scientia, Fortitudo, Consilium, Intellectuset Sapientia; and was plentifully garnished with narrativesfor the use of preachers.

[FN#285] The Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register(new series, vol. xxx. Sept.-Dec. 1830, London,Allens, 1839); p. 69 Review of the Arabian Nights,the Mac. Edit. vol. i., and H. Torrens.

[FN#286] As a household edition of the “ArabianNights” is now being prepared, the curious readerwill have an opportunity of verifying this statement.

[FN#287] It has been pointed out to me that in vol.ii. p. 285, line 18 “Zahr Shah” is a mistakefor Sulayman Shah.

[FN#288] I have lately found these lovers at SchlossSternstein near Cilli in Styria, the property of myexcellent colleague, Mr. Consul Faber, dating fromA. D. 1300 when Jobst of Reichenegg and Agnes of Sternsteinwere aided and abetted by a Capuchin of Seikkloster.

[FN#289] In page 226 Dr. Steingass sensibly proposesaltering the last hemistich (lines 11-12) to

At one time showing the Moonand Sun.

[FN#290] Omitted by Lane for some reason unaccountableas usual. A correspondent sends me his versionof the lines which occur in The Nights (vol. v. 106and 107):—­

Behold the Pyramids and hearthem teach
What they can tell of Future and of Past:
They would declare, had they the gift of speech,
The deeds that Time hath wrought fromfirst to last
* * * *
My friends, and is there aught beneath thesky
Can with th’ Egyptian Pyramids compare?
In fear of them strong Time hath passed by
And everything dreads Time in earth andair.

[FN#291] A rhyming Romance by Henry of Waldeck (flor. A. D. 1160) with a Latin poem on the same subjectby Odo and a prose version still popular in Germany.(Lane’s Nights iii. 81; and Weber’s “NorthernRomances.”)

[FN#292] e. g. ’Ajaib al-Hind (= Marvelsof Ind) ninth century, translated by J. Marcel Devic,Paris, 1878; and about the same date the Two MohammedanTravellers, translated by Renaudot. In the eleventhcentury we have the famous Sayyid al-ldrisi, in thethirteenth the ’Ajaib al-Makhlukat of Al-Kazwiniand in the fourteenth the Kharidat al-Ajaib of IbnAl-Wardi. Lane (in loco) traces most of Sindbadto the two latter sources.

[FN#293] So Hector France proposed to name his admirablyrealistic volume “Sous le Burnous” (Paris,Charpentier, 1886).

[FN#294] I mean in European literature, not in Arabicwhere it is a lieu commun. See three severalforms of it in one page (505) of Ibn Kallikan, vol.iii.

[FN#295] My attention has been called to the resemblancebetween the half-lie and Job (i. 13- 19).

[FN#296] Boccaccio (ob. Dec. 2, 1375), may easilyhave heard of The Thousand Nights and a Night or ofits archetype the Hazar Afsanah. He was followedby the Piacevoli Notti of Giovan Francisco Straparola(A. D. 1550), translated into almost all Europeanlanguages but English: the original Italian isnow rare. Then came the Heptameron ou Histoiredes amans fortunez of Marguerite d’Angouleme,Reyne de Navarre and only sister of Francis I. Shedied in 1549 before the days were finished: in1558 Pierre Boaistuan published the Histoire des amansfortunez and in 1559 Claude Guiget the “Heptameron.” Next is the Hexameron of A. de Torquemada, Rouen,1610; and, lastly, the Pentamerone or El Cunto deli Cunte of Giambattista Basile (Naples 1637), knownby the meagre abstract of J. E. Taylor and the caricaturesof George Cruikshank (London 1847-50). I proposeto translate this Pentamerone direct from the Neapolitanand have already finished half the work.

[FN#297] Translated and well annotated by Prof. Tawney, who, however, affects asterisks and has considerablybowdlerised sundry of the tales, e. g. the Monkeywho picked out the Wedge (vol. ii. 28). Thistale, by the by, is found in the Khirad Afroz (i.128) and in the Anwar-i-Suhayli (chapt. i.) and gaverise to the Persian proverb, “What has a monkeyto do with carpentering?” It is curious to comparethe Hindu with the Arabic work whose resemblancesare as remarkable as their differences, while evenmore notable is their correspondence in impressioningthe reader. The Thaumaturgy of both is the same: the Indian is profuse in demonology and witchcraft;in transformation and restoration; in monsters aswind-men, fire-men and water-men, in air-going elephantsand flying horses (i. 541-43); in the wishing cow,divine goats and laughing fishes (i. 24); and in thespeciosa miracula of magic weapons. He delightsin fearful battles (i. 400) fought with the same weaponsas the Moslem and rewards his heroes with a “turbandof honour” (i. 266) in lieu of a robe. There is a quaint family likeness arising from similarstages and states of society: the city is adornedfor gladness, men carry money in a robe-corner andexclaim “Ha! good!” (for “Good, byAllah!'), lovers die with exemplary facility, the “soft-sided”ladies drink spirits (i. 61) and princesses get drunk(i. 476); whilst the Eunuch, the Hetaira and the bawd(Kuttini) play the same preponderating parts as inThe Nights. Our Brahman is strong in love-making;he complains of the pains of separation in this phenomenaluniverse; he revels in youth, “twin-brother tomirth,” and beauty which has illuminating powers;he foully reviles old age and he alternately praisesand abuses the sex, concerning which more presently. He delights in truisms, the fashion of contemporaryEurope (see Palmerin of England chapt. vii), such as“It is the fashion of the heart to receive pleasurefrom those things which ought to give it,” etc.etc. What is there the wise cannot understand?and so forth. He is liberal in trite reflectionsand frigid conceits (i. 19, 55, 97, 103, 107, in facteverywhere); and his puns run through whole lines;this in fine Sanskrit style is inevitable. Yetsome of his expressions are admirably terse and telling,e. g. Ascending the swing of Doubt: Boundtogether (lovers) by the leash of gazing: Twobabes looking like Misery and Poverty: Old Ageseized me by the chin: (A lake) first assay ofthe Creator’s skill: (A vow) difficult asstanding on a sword-edge: My vital spirits boiledwith the fire of woe: Transparent as a good man’sheart: There was a certain convent full of fools: Dazed with scripture-reading: The stones couldnot help laughing at him: The Moon kissed thelaughing forehead of the East: She was like awave of the Sea of Love’s insolence (ii. 127),a wave of the Sea of Beauty tossed up by the breezeof Youth: The King played dice, he loved slave-girls,he told lies, he sat up o’ nights, he waxedwroth without reason, he took wealth wrongously, hedespised the good and honoured the bad (i. 562); withmany choice bits of the same kind. Like the Arabthe Indian is profuse in personification; but thedoctrine of pre-existence, of incarnation and emanationand an excessive spiritualism ever aiming at the infinite,makes his imagery run mad. Thus we have ImmoralConduct embodied; the God of Death; Science; the Svarga-heaven;Evening; Untimeliness, and the Earth-bride, whilethe Ace and Deuce of dice are turned into a braceof Demons. There is also that grotesqueness whichthe French detect even in Shakespeare, e. g. She drank in his ambrosial form with thirsty eyeslike partridges (i. 476) and it often results fromthe comparison of incompatibles, e. g. a row of birdslikened to a garden of nymphs; and from forced allegories,the favourite figure of contemporary Europe. Again,the rhetorical Hindu style differs greatly from thesobriety, directness and simplicity of the Arab, whosemotto is Brevity combined with precision, except wherethe latter falls into “fine writing.” And, finally, there is a something in the atmosphereof these Tales which is unfamiliar to the West andwhich makes them, as more than one has remarked tome, very hard reading.

[FN#298] The Introduction (i. 1-5) leads to the Curseof Pushpadanta and Malyavan who live on Earth as Vararuchiand Gunadhya and this runs through lib. i. Lib.ii. begins with the Story of Udayana to whom we mustbe truly grateful as our only guide: he and hisson Naravahanadatta fill up the rest and end withlib. xviii. Thus the want of the clew or plotcompels a division into books, which begin for instancewith “We worship the elephantine proboscis ofGanesha” (lib. x. i.) a reverend and awful objectto a Hindu but to Englishmen mainly suggesting the“Zoo.” The “Bismillah”of The Nights is much more satisfactory.

[FN#299] See pp. 5-6 Avertissement des Editeurs, LeCabinet des Fees, vol. xxxviii: Geneva 1788. Galland’s Edit. of mdccxxvi ends with Nightccxxxiv and the English translations with ccxxxvi andcxcvii. See retro p. 82.

[FN#300] There is a shade of difference in the words;the former is also used for Reciters of Traditions—­aserious subject. But in the case of Hammad surnamedAl-Rawiyah (the Rhapsode) attached to the Court ofAl-Walid, it means simply a conteur. So the Greekshad Homeristae = reciters of Homer, as opposed to theHomeridae or School of Homer.

[FN#302] Vol. i, Preface p. v. He notes thatMr. Dallaway describes the same scene at Constantinoplewhere the Story-teller was used, like the modern “Organsof Government” in newspaper shape, for “reconcilingthe people to any recent measure of the Sultan andVizier.” There are women Rawiyahs for theHarems and some have become famous like the Motherof Hasan al-Basri (Ibn Khall. i, 370).

[FN#302] Hence the Persian proverb, “Baki-e-dastanfarda = the rest of the tale to-morrow,” saidto askers of silly questions.

[FN#303] The scene is excellently described in, “Morocco: Its People and Places,” by Edmondo de Amicis(London: Cassell, 1882), a most refreshing volumeafter the enforced platitudes and commonplaces ofEnglish travellers.

[FN#304] It began, however, in Persia, where the celebratedDarwaysh Mukhlis, Chief Sofi of Isfahan in the xviithcentury, translated into Persian tales certain Hinduplays of which a MS. entitled Alfaraga Badal-Schidda(Al-faraj ba’d al-shiddah = Joy after annoy)exists in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris. Butto give an original air to his work, he entitled it“Hazar o yek Ruz” = Thousand and One Days,and in 1675 he allowed his friend Petis de la Croix,who happened to be at Isfahan, to copy it. LeSage (of Gil Blas) is said to have converted many ofthe tales of Mukhlis into comic operas, which wereperformed at the Theatre Italien. I still hopeto see The Nights at the Lyceum.

[FN#305] This author, however, when hazarding a changeof style which is, I think, regretable, has shownabundant art by filling up the frequent deficienciesof the text after the fashion of Baron McGuckin deSlane in Ibn Khallikan. As regards the tout ensembleof his work, a noble piece of English, my opinion willever be that expressed in my Foreword. A carpingcritic has remarked that the translator, “asmay be seen in every page, is no Arabic scholar.” If I be a judge, the reverse is the case: thebrilliant and beautiful version thus traduced is almostentirely free from the blemishes and carelessnesswhich disfigure Lane’s, and thus it is far morefaithful to the original. But it is no secretthat on the staff of that journal the translator ofVillon has sundry enemies, vrais diables enjuppones,who take every opportunity of girding at him becausehe does not belong to the clique and because he doesgood work when theirs is mostly sham. The solefault I find with Mr. Payne is that his severe graceof style treats an unclassical work as a classic,when the romantic and irregular would have been amore appropriate garb. But this is a mere matterof private judgment.

[FN#306] Here I offer a few, but very few, instancesfrom the Breslau text, which is the greatest sinnerin this respect. Mas. for fem., vol. i. p. 9,and three times in seven pages, Ahna and nahna fornahnu (iv. 370, 372); Ana ba-ashtari = I will buy (iii.109): and Ana ’Amil = I will do (v. 367). Alayki for Alayki (i. 18), Anti for Anti (iii. 66)and generally long i for short . ’Ammal(from ’amala = he did) tahlam = certainly thoudreamest, and ’Ammalin yaakulu = they were aboutto eat (ix. 315): Aywa for Ay wa’llahi= yes, by Allah (passim). Bita’ = belongingto, e.g. Sara bita’k = it is becomethine (ix. 352) and Mata’ with the same sense(iii. 80). Da ’l-khurj = this saddle-bag(ix. 336) and Di (for hazah) = this woman (iii. 79)or this time (ii. 162). Fayn as raha fayn = whitheris he gone? (iv. 323). Kama badri = he rose early(ix. 318): Kaman = also, a word known to everyEuropean (ii. 43): Katt = never (ii. 172): Kawam (pronounced ’awam) = fast, at once (iv.385) and Rih asif kawi (pron. ’awi) = a wind,strong very. Laysh, e.g. bi tasalni laysh(ix. 324) = why do you ask me? a favourite form forli ayya shayyin: so Mafish = ma fihi shayyun(there is no thing) in which Herr Landberg (p. 425)makes “Sha, le present de pouvoir.” Min ajali = for my sake; and Li ajal al-taudi’a= for the sake of taking leave (Mac. Edit. i.384). Rijal nautiyah = men sailors when the latterword would suffice: Shuwayh (dim. of shayy) =a small thing, a little (iv. 309) like Moyyah (dim.of Ma) a little water: Wadduni = they carriedme (ii. 172) and lastly the abominable Wahid gharib= one (for a) stranger. These few must suffice: the tale of Judar and his brethren, which in styleis mostly Egyptian, will supply a number of others. It must not, however, be supposed, as many have done,that vulgar and colloquial Arabic is of modern date: we find it in the first century of Al-Islam, as isproved by the tale of Al-Hajjaj and Al-Shabi (IbnKhallikan, ii. 6). The former asked “Kamataa-k?’ (= how much is thy pay?) to which thelatter answered, “Alfayn!” (= two thousand!). “Tut,” cried the Governor, “Kamatau-ka?” to which the poet replied as correctlyand classically, “Alfani.”

[FN#307] In Russian folk-songs a young girl is oftencompared with this tree e.g.—­

Ivooshka,ivooshka zelonaia moia!
(OWillow, O green Willow mine!)

[FN#308] So in Hector France ('La vache enragee”)“Le sourcil en accent circonflexe et l’oeilen point d’interrogation.”

[FN#309] In Persian “Ab-i-ru” in Indiapronounced Abru.

FN#310] For further praises of his poetry and eloquencesee the extracts from Fakhr al-Din of Rayy (an annalistof the xivth century A.D.) in De Sacy’s ChrestomathieArabe, vol. i.

[FN#311] After this had been written I received “Babylonian,das reichste Land in der Vorzeit und das lohnendsteKolonisationsfeld fuer die Gegenwart,” by mylearned friend Dr. Aloys Sprenger, Heidelberg, 1886.

[FN#312] The first school for Arabic literature wasopened by Ibn Abbas, who lectured to multitudes ina valley near Meccah; this rude beginning was followedby public teaching in the great Mosque of Damascus. For the rise of the “Madrasah,” Academyor College’ see Introduct. to Ibn Khallikanpp. xxvii-xxxii.

[FN#313] When Ibn Abbad the Sahib (Wazir) was invitedto visit one of the Samanides, he refused, one reasonbeing that he would require 400 camels to carry onlyhis books.

[FN#314] This “Salmagondis” by FrancoisBeroalde de Verville was afterwards worked by Tabarin, the pseudo-Bruscambille d’Aubigne and Sorel.

[FN#315] I prefer this derivation to Strutt’sadopted by the popular, “mumm is said to bederived from the Danish word mumme, or momme in Dutch(Germ. = larva), and signifies disguise in a mask,hence a mummer.” In the Promptorium Parvulorumwe have “Mummynge, mussacio, vel mussatus”: it was a pantomime in dumb show, e.g. “Imumme in a mummynge;” “Let us go mumme(mummer) to nyghte in women’s apparayle.” “Mask” and “Mascarade,” forpersona, larva or vizard, also derive, I have noticed,from an Arabic word—­Maskharah.

[FN#316] The Pre-Adamite doctrine has been preachedwith but scant success in Christendom. Peyrere,a French Calvinist, published (A.D. 1655) his “Praadamitae,sive exercitatio supra versibus 12, 13, 14, cap. v. Epist. Paul. ad Romanos,” contending thatAdam was called the first man because with him thelaw began. It brewed a storm of wrath and theauthor was fortunate to escape with only imprisonment.

[FN#317] According to Socrates the verdict was followedby a free fight of the Bishop-voters over the word“consubstantiality.”

[FN#318] Servetus burnt (in A.D. 1553 for publishinghis Arian tractate) by Calvin, whom half-educatedRoman Catholics in England firmly believe to havebeen a pederast. This arose I suppose, from hismeddling with Rabelais who, in return for the goodjoke Rabie laesus, presented a better anagram, “Jan(a pimp or cuckold) Cul” (Calvinus).

[FN#319] There is no more immoral work than the “OldTestament.” Its deity is an ancient Hebrewof the worst type, who condones, permits or commandsevery sin in the Decalogue to a Jewish patriarch,qua patriarch. He orders Abraham to murder hisson and allows Jacob to swindle his brother; Mosesto slaughter an Egyptian and the Jews to plunder andspoil a whole people, after inflicting upon them aseries of plagues which would be the height of atrocityif the tale were true. The nations of Canaanare then extirpated. Ehud, for treacherously disembowellingKing Eglon, is made judge over Israel. Jael isblessed above women (Joshua v. 24) for vilely murderinga sleeping guest; the horrid deeds of Judith and Estherare made examples to mankind; and David, after anadultery and a homicide which deserved ignominiousdeath, is suffered to massacre a host of his enemies,cutting some in two with saws and axes and puttingothers into brick-kilns. For obscenity and impuritywe have the tales of Onan and Tamar, Lot and his daughters,Amnon and his fair sister (2 Sam. xiii.), Absalomand his father’s concubines, the “wifeof whoredoms” of Hosea and, capping all, theSong of Solomon. For the horrors forbidden tothe Jews who, therefore, must have practiced them,see Levit. viii. 24, xi. 5, xvii. 7, xviii. 7, 9,10, 12, 15, 17, 21, 23, and xx. 3. For mere filthwhat can be fouler than 1st Kings xviii. 27; Tobiasii. 11; Esther xiv. 2, Eccl. xxii. 2; Isaiah xxxvi.12, Jeremiah iv. 5, and (Ezekiel iv. 12-15), wherethe Lord changes human ordure into “Cow-chips!”Ce qui excuse Dieu, said Henri Beyle, c’estqu’il n’existe pas,—­I add,as man has made him.

[FN#320] It was the same in England before the “Reformation,”and in France where, during our days, a returned priesthoodcollected in a few years “Peter-pence”to the tune of five hundred millions of francs. And these men wonder at being turned out!

[FN#321] Deutsch on the Talmud: Quarterly Review,1867.

[FN#322] Evidently. Its cosmogony is a myth readliterally: its history is, for the most part,a highly immoral distortion, and its ethics are thoseof the Talmudic Hebrews. It has done good workin its time; but now it shows only decay and decrepitudein the place of vigour and progress. It is dyinghard, but it is dying of the slow poison of science.

[FN#323] These Hebrew Stoics would justly charge theFounder of Christianity with preaching a more popularand practical doctrine, but a degradation from theirown far higher and more ideal standard.

[FN#324] Dr. Theodore Christlieb ('Modern Doubt andChristian Belief,” Edinburgh: Clark 1874)can even now write:—­“So then the‘full age’ to which humanity is at presentsupposed to have attained, consists in man’sdoing good purely for goodness sake! Who seesnot the hollowness of this bombastic talk. Thatman has yet to be born whose practice will be regulatedby this insipid theory (dieser grauen theorie). What is the idea of goodness per se? * * * The abstractidea of goodness is not an effectual motive for well-doing”(p. 104). My only comment is c’est ignolile! His Reverence acts the part of Satan in Holy Writ,“Does Job serve God for naught?” Comparethis selfish, irreligious, and immoral view with PhiloJudaeus (On the Allegory of the Sacred Laws, cap.1viii.), to measure the extent of the fall from Pharisaismto Christianity. And the latter is still infectedwith the “bribe-and-threat doctrine:” I once immensely scandalised a Consular Chaplain byquoting the noble belief of the ancients, and it wassome days before he could recover mental equanimity. The degradation is now inbred.

[FN#325] Of the doctrine of the Fall the heretic Marcionwrote: “The Deity must either be deficientin goodness if he willed, in prescience if he didnot foresee, or in power if he did not prevent it.”

[FN#326] In his charming book, “India Revisited.”

[FN#327] This is the answer to those who contend withmuch truth that the moderns are by no means superiorto the ancients of Europe: they look at the resultsof only 3000 years instead of 30,000 or 300,000.

[FN#328] As a maxim the saying is attributed to theDuc de Levis, but it is much older.

[FN#329] There are a few, but only a few, frightfulexceptions to this rule, especially in the case ofKhalid bin Walid, the Sword of Allah, and his ferociousfriend, Darar ibn al-Azwar. But their cruel excesseswere loudly blamed by the Moslems, and Caliph Omaronly obeyed the popular voice in superseding the fierceand furious Khalid by the mild and merciful Abu Obaydah.

[FN#330] This too when St. Paul sends the Christianslave Onesimus back to his unbelieving (?) master,Philemon; which in Al-Islam would have created a scandal.

[FN#331] This too when the Founder of Christianitytalks of “Eating and drinking at his table!”(Luke xxn. 29.) My notes have often touched upon thisinveterate prejudice the result, like the soul-lesswoman of Al-Islam, of ad captandum, pious fraud. “No soul knoweth what joy of the eyes is reservedfor the good in recompense for their works”(Koran xxxn. 17) is surely as “spiritual”as St. Paul (I Cor. ii., 9). Some lies, howeverare very long-lived, especially those begotten byself interest.

[FN#332] I have elsewhere noted its strict conservatismwhich, however, it shares with all Eastern faithsin the East. But progress, not quietism, is theprinciple which governs humanity and it is favouredby events of most different nature. In Egyptthe rule of Mohammed Ali the Great and in Syria theMassacre of Damascus (1860) have greatly modifiedthe constitution of Al-Islam throughout the nearerEast.

[FN#333] Chapt. viii. “Narrative of a Year’sJourney through Central and Eastern Arabia;”London, Macmillan, 1865.

[FN#334] The Soc. Jesu has, I believe, a traditionalconviction that converts of Israelitic blood bringonly misfortune to the Order.

[FN#335] I especially allude to an able but most superficialbook, the “Ten Great Religions” by JamesF. Clarke (Boston, Osgood, 1876), which caricaturesand exaggerates the false portraiture of Mr. Palgrave. The writer’s admission that, “Somethingis always gained by learning what the believers ina system have to say in its behalf,” clearlyshows us the man we have to deal with and the “depthsof his self-consciousness.”

[FN#336] But how could the Arabist write such hideousgrammar as “La Il h illa All h” for “Lailaha (accus.) ill’ Allah”?

[FN#337] p. 996 “Muhammad” in vol. iii. Dictionary of Christian Biography. See also theIllustration of the Mohammedan Creed, etc., fromAl-Ghazali introduced (pp. 72-77) into Bell and Sons’“History of the Saracens” by Simon Ockley,B.D. (London, 1878). I regret some Orientalistdid not correct the proofs: everybody will notdetect “Al-Lauh al-Mahfuz” (the GuardedTablet) in “Allauh ho’hnehphoud”(p. 171); and this but a pinch out of a camel-load.

[FN#338] The word should have been Arianism. This “heresy” of the early Christianswas much aided by the “Discipline of the Secret,”supposed to be of apostolic origin, which concealedfrom neophytes, catechumens and penitents all thehigher mysteries, like the Trinity, the Incarnation,the Metastoicheiosis (transubstantiation), the RealPresence, the Eucharist and the Seven Sacraments;when Arnobius could ask, Quid Deo cum vino est? andwhen Justin, fearing the charge of Polytheism, couldexpressly declare the inferior nature of the Son tothe Father. Hence the creed was appropriatelycalled Symbol i.e., Sign of the Secret. This “mental reservation” lasted till theEdict of Toleration, issued by Constantine in thefourth century, held Christianity secure when divulgingher “mysteries”; and it allowed Arianismto become the popular creed.

[FN#339] The Gnostics played rather a fantastic rolein Christianity with their Demiurge, their AEonogony,their AEons by syzygies or couples, their Maio andSabscho and their beatified bride of Jesus, SophiaAchamoth, and some of them descended to absolute absurdities,e.g., the Tascodrugitae and the Pattalorhinchitaewho during prayers placed their fingers upon theirnoses or in their mouths, &c., reading Psalm cxli.3.

[FN#340] “Kitab al-’Unwan fi Makaid al-Niswan”= The Book of the Beginnings on the Wiles of Womankind(Lane i. 38).

[FN#341] This person was one of the Amsal or Examplaof the Arabs. For her first thirty years shewhored; during the next three decades she pimped forfriend and foe, and, during the last third of herlife, when bed-ridden by age and infirmities, shehad a buckgoat and a nanny tied up in her room andsolaced herself by contemplating their amorous conflicts.

[FN#342] And modern Moslem feeling upon the subjecthas apparently undergone a change. Ashraf Khan,the Afghan poet, sings,

Since I, the parted one, have come the secrets ofthe world to
ken,
Women in hosts therein I find, but few (and very few)of men.

And the Osmanli proverb is, “Of ten men nineare women!”

[FN#343] His Persian paper “On the Vindicationof the Liberties of the Asiatic Women” was translatedand printed in the Asiatic Annual Register for 1801(pp. 100-107); it is quoted by Dr. Jon. Scott(Introd. vol. i. p. xxxiv. et seq.) and by a host ofwriters. He also wrote a book of Travels translatedby Prof. Charles Stewart in 1810 and re-issued(3 vols. 8vo.) in 1814.

[FN#344] The beginning of which I date from the Hijrah,lit.= the separation, popularly “The Flight.” Stating the case broadly, it has become the practiceof modern writers to look upon Mohammed as an honestenthusiast at Meccah and an unscrupulous despot atAl- Medinah, a view which appears to me eminently unsoundand unfair. In a private station the Meccan Prophetwas famed as a good citizen, teste his title Al-Amin=The Trusty. But when driven from his home bythe pagan faction, he became de facto as de jure aking: nay, a royal pontiff; and the preacher wasmerged in the Conqueror of his foes and the Commanderof the Faithful. His rule, like that of all Easternrulers, was stained with blood; but, assuming as trueall the crimes and cruelties with which Christianscharge him and which Moslems confess, they were mereblots upon a glorious and enthusiastic life, endingin a most exemplary death, compared with the tissueof horrors and havock which the Law and the Prophetsattribute to Moses, to Joshua, to Samuel and to thepatriarchs and prophets by express command of Jehovah.

[FN#345] It was not, however, incestuous: thescandal came from its ignoring the Arab “pundonor.”

[FN#346] The “opportunism” of Mohammedhas been made a matter of obloquy by many who havenot reflected and discovered that time-serving isthe very essence of “Revelation.” Says the Rev. W. Smith ('Pentateuch,” chaps.xiii.), “As the journey (Exodus) proceeds, solaws originate from the accidents of the way,”and he applies this to successive decrees (Numbersxxvi. 32-36; xxvii. 8-11 and xxxvi. 1-9), holdingit indirect internal evidence of Mosaic authorship(?). Another tone, however, is used in the caseof Al-Islam. “And now, that he might notstand in awe of his wives any longer, down comes arevelation,” says Ockley in his bluff and homelystyle, which admits such phrases as, “the imposterhas the impudence to say.” But why, in commonhonesty, refuse to the Koran the concessions freelymade to the Torah? It is a mere petitio principiito argue that the latter is “inspired”while the former is not, moreover, although we maybe called upon to believe things beyond Reason, itis hardly fair to require our belief in things contraryto Reason.

[FN#347] This is noticed in my wife’s volumeon The Inner Life of Syria, chaps. xii. vol. i. 155.

[FN#348] Mirza preceding the name means Mister andfollowing it Prince. Addison’s “Visionof Mirza” (Spectator, No. 159) is therefore“The Vision of Mister.”

[FN#349] And women. The course of instructionlasts from a few days to a year and the period ofpuberty is feted by magical rites and often by someform of mutilation. It is described by Waitz,Reclus and Schoolcraft, Pachue-Loecksa, Collins, Dawson,Thomas, Brough Smyth, Reverends Bulmer and Taplin,Carlo Wilhelmi, Wood, A. W. Howitt, C. Z. Muhas (Mem.de la Soc. Anthrop. Allemande, 1882, p.265) and by Professor Mantegazza (chaps. i.) for whomsee infra.

[FN#350] Similarly certain Australian tribes act scenesof rape and pederasty saying to the young, If youdo this you will be killed.

[FN#351] “Bah,” is the popular term forthe amatory appetite: hence such works are calledKutub al-Bah, lit. = Books of Lust.

[FN#352] I can make nothing of this title nor canthose whom I have consulted: my only explanationis that they may be fanciful names proper.

[FN#353] Amongst the Greeks we find erotic specialists(1) Aristides of the Libri Milesii; (2) Astyanassa,the follower of Helen who wrote on androgvnisation;(3) Cyrene, the artist of amatory Tabellae or ex-votosoffered to Priapus; (4) Elephantis, the poetess whowrote on Varia concubitus genera; (5) Evemerus, whoseSacra Historia, preserved in a fragment of Q. Eunius,was collected by Hieronymus Columnar (6) Hemitheonof the Sybaritic books, (7) Musaeus, the Iyrist; (8)Niko, the Samian girl; (9) Philaenis, the poetessof Amatory Pleasures, in Athen. viii. 13, attributedto Polycrates the Sophist; (10) Protagorides, AmatoryConversations; (11) Sotades, the Mantinaean who, saysSuidas, wrote the poem “Cinaedica”; (12)Sphodrias the Cynic, his Art of Love; and (13) Trepsicles,Amatory Pleasures. Amongst the Romans we haveAedituus, Annianus (in Ausonius), Anser, Bassus Eubius,Helvius Cinna, Laevius (of Io and the Erotopaegnion),Memmius, Cicero (to Cerellia), Pliny the Younger,Sabellus (de modo coeundi); Sisenna, the pathic Poetand translator of Milesian Fables and Sulpitia, themodest erotist. For these see the DictionnaireErotique of Blondeau pp. ix. and x. (Paris, Liseux,1885).

[FN#354] It has been translated from the Sanskritand annotated by A.F.F. and B.F.R. Reprint Cosmopoli: mdccclxxxv.: for the Kama Shastra Society, Londonand Benares, and for private circulation only. The first print has been exhausted and a reprint willpresently appear.

[FN#355] The local press has often proposed to abatethis nuisance of erotic publication which is mostdebasing to public morals already perverted enough. But the “Empire of Opinion” cares verylittle for such matters and, in the matter of the“native press,” generally seems to seekonly a quiet life. In England if erotic literaturewere not forbidden by law, few would care to sellor to buy it, and only the legal pains and penaltieskeep up the phenomenally high prices.

[FN#356] The Spectator (No. 119) complains of an “infamouspiece of good breeding,” because “menof the town, and particularly those who have beenpolished in France, make use of the most coarse anduncivilised words in our language and utter themselvesoften in such a manner as a clown would blush to hear.”

[FN#357] See the Novelle of Bandello the Bishop (Tome1, Paris, Liseux, 1879, small in 18) where the dyingfisherman replies to his confessor, “Oh! Oh! your reverence, to amuse myself with boys wasnatural to me as for a man to eat and drink; yet youasked me if I sinned against nature!” Amongstthe wiser ancients sinning contra naturam was notmarrying and begetting children.

[FN#358] Avis au Lecteur “L’Amour dansl’Humanite,” par P. Mantegazza, traduitpar Emilien Chesneau, Paris, Fetscherin et Chuit,1886.

[FN#359] See “H. B.” (Henry Beyle,French Consul at Civita Vecchia) par un des QuaranteH. B.” (Prosper Merimee), Elutheropolis, Anmdccclxiv. De l’Imposture du Nazareen.

[FN#360] This detail especially excited the veteran’scuriosity. The reason proved to be that the scrotumof the unmutilated boy could be used as a kind ofbridle for directing the movements of the animal. I find nothing of the kind mentioned in the Sotadicalliterature of Greece and Rome; although the same causemight be expected everywhere to the same effect. But in Mirabeau (Kadhesch) a grand seigneur moderne,when his valet-de-chambre de confiance proposes toprovide him with women instead of boys, exclaims,“Des femmes! eh! c’est comme si tu me servaisun gigot sans manche.” See also infra for“Le poids du tisserand.”

[FN#361] See Falconry in the Valley of the Indus,London, John Van Voorst, 1852.

[FN#362] Submitted to Government on Dec. 3’,’47, and March 2, ’48, they were printedin “Selections from the Records of the Governmentof India.” Bombay. New Series. No. xvii. Part 2, 1855. These are (1) Noteson the Population of Sind, etc., and (2) BriefNotes on the Modes of Intoxication, etc., writtenin collaboration with my late friend Assistant-SurgeonJohn E. Stocks, whose early death was a sore lossto scientific botany.

[FN#363] Glycon the Courtesan in Athen. xiii. 84 declaresthat “boys are handsome only when they resemblewomen,” and so the Learned Lady in The Nights(vol. v. 160) declares “Boys are likened togirls because folks say, Yonder boy is like a girl.” For the superior physical beauty of the human malecompared with the female, see The Nights, vol. iv.15; and the boy’s voice before it breaks excelsthat of any diva.

[FN#364] “Mascula,” from the priapiscus,the over-development of clitoris (the veretrum muliebre,in Arabic Abu Tartur, habens cristam), which enabledher to play the man. Sappho (nat. B.C. 612)has been retoillee like Mary Stuart, La Brinvilliers,Marie Antoinette and a host of feminine names whichhave a savour not of sanctity. Maximus of Tyre(Dissert. xxiv.) declares that the Eros of Sapphowas Socratic and that Gyrinna and Atthis were as Alcibiadesand Chermides to Socrates: Ovid who could consultdocuments now lost, takes the same view in the Letterof Sappho to Phaon and in Tristia ii. 265.

Lesbia quid docuit Sapphonisi amare puellas?

Suidas supports Ovid. Longinus eulogises the (a term applied only to carnal love)of the far-famed Ode to Atthis:—­

Ille mi par esse Deovidetur * * *
(Heureux! qui pres detoi pour toi seule soupire * * *
Blest as th’ immortalgods is he, etc.)

By its love symptoms, suggesting that possession isthe sole cure for passion, Erasistratus discoveredthe love of Antiochus for Stratonice. Mure (Hist.of Greek Literature, 1850) speaks of the Ode to Aphrodite(Frag. 1) as “one in which the whole volume ofGreek literature offers the most powerful concentrationinto one brilliant focus of the modes in which amatoryconcupiscence can display itself.” ButBernhardy, Bode, Richter, K. O. Mueller and esp. Welcker have made Sappho a model of purity, much likesome of our dull wits who have converted Shakespeare,that most debauched genius, into a good British bourgeois.

[FN#365] The Arabic Sabhakah, the Tractatrix or Subigitatrixwho has been noticed in vol. iv. 134. Hence toLesbianise ( ) and tribassare ( );the former applied to the love of woman for womanand the latter to its mecanique: this is eithernatural, as friction of the labia and insertion ofthe clitoris when unusually developed, or artificialby means of the fascinum, the artificial penis (thePersian “Mayajang'); the patte de chat, thebanana-fruit and a multitude of other succedanea. As this feminine perversion is only glanced at inThe Nights I need hardly enlarge upon the subject.

[FN#366] Plato (Symp.) is probably mystical when heaccounts for such passions by there being in the beginningthree species of humanity, men, women and men-womenor androgynes. When the latter were destroyedby Zeus for rebellion, the two others were individuallydivided into equal parts. Hence each divisionseeks its other half in the same sex, the primitiveman prefers men and the primitive woman women. C’est beau, but—­is it true? Theidea was probably derived from Egypt which suppliedthe Hebrews with androgynic humanity, and thence itpassed to extreme India, where Shiva as Ardhanariwas male on one side and female on the other sideof the body, combining paternal and maternal qualitiesand functions. The first creation of humans (Gen.i. 27) was hermaphrodite (=Hermes and Venus), masculumet foeminam creavit eos—­male and femalecreated He them—­on the sixth day, with thecommand to increase and multiply (ibid. v. 28), whileEve the woman was created subsequently. Meanwhile,say certain Talmudists, Adam carnally copulated withall races of animals. See L’Anandryne inMirabeau’s Erotika Biblion, where AntoinetteBourgnon laments the undoubling which disfigured thework of God, producing monsters incapable of independentself-reproduction like the vegetable kingdom.

[FN#367] De la Femme, Paris, 1827.

[FN#368] Die Lustseuche des Alterthum’s, Halle,1839.

[FN#369] See his exhaustive article on (Grecian) “Paederastie”in the Allgemeine Encyclopaedie of Ersch and Gruber,Leipzig, Brockhaus, 1837. He carefully tracesit through the several states, Dorians, AEolians,Ionians, the Attic cities and those of Asia Minor. For these details I must refer my readers to M. Meier;a full account of these would fill a volume not thesection of an essay.

[FN#370] Against which see Henri Estienne, Apologiepour Herodote, a society satire of xvith century,lately reprinted by Liseux.

[FN#372] The more I study religions the more I amconvinced that man never worshipped anything but himself. Zeus, who became Jupiter, was an ancient king, accordingto the Cretans, who were entitled liars because theyshowed his burial-place. From a deified ancestorhe would become a local god, like the Hebrew Jehovahas opposed to Chemosh of Moab; the name would gainamplitude by long time and distant travel, and theold island chieftain would end in becoming the Demiurgus. Ganymede (who possibly gave rise to the old Lat. “Catamitus”) was probably some fair Phrygianboy ('son of Tros”) who in process of time becamea symbol of the wise man seized by the eagle (perspicacity)to be raised amongst the Immortals; and the chastemyth simply signified that only the prudent are lovedby the gods. But it rotted with age as do allthings human. For the Pederastia of the Godssee Bayle under Chrysippe.

[FN#373] See Dissertation sur les idees morales desGrecs et sur les dangers de lire Platon. ParM. Aude, Bibliophile, Rouen, Lemonnyer, 1879. This is the pseudonym of the late Octave Delepierre,who published with Gay, but not the Editio Princeps—­which,if I remember rightly, contains much more matter.

[FN#374] The phrase of J. Matthias Gesner, Comm. Reg. Soc. Gottingen i. 1-32. It wasfounded upon Erasmus’ “Sancte Socrate,ore pro nobis,” and the article was translatedby M. Alcide Bonmaire, Paris, Liseux, 1877.

[FN#375] The subject has employed many a pen, e.g.,AlcibiadeFanciullo a Scola, D. P. A. (supposed to be PietroAretino—­ad captandum?), Oranges, par JuannWart, 1652: small square 8vo of pp. 102, including3 preliminary pp. and at end an unpaged leaf with4 sonnets, almost Venetian, by V. M. There is a re-impressionof the same date, a small 12mo of longer format, pp.124 with pp. 2 for sonnets: in 1862 the ImprimerieRacon printed 102 copies in 8vo of pp. iv.-108, andin 1863 it was condemned by the police as a liberspurcissimus atque execrandus de criminis sodomicilaude et arte. This work produced “AlcibiadeEnfant a l’ecole,” traduit pour la premierefois de l’Italien de Ferrante Pallavicini, Amsterdam,chez l’Ancien Pierre Marteau, mdccclxvi. Pallavicini (nat. 1618), who wrote against Rome, wasbeheaded, aet. 26 (March 5, 1644), at Avignon in 1644by the vengeance of the Barberini: he was a belesprit deregle, nourri d’etudes antiques anda Memb. of the Acad. Degl’ Incogniti. His peculiarities are shown by his “Opere Scelte,”2 vols. 12mo, Villafranca, mdclxiii.; these do notinclude Alcibiade Fanciullo, a dialogue between Philotimusand Alcibiades which seems to be a mere skit at theJesuits and their Peche philosophique. Then camethe “Dissertation sur l’Alcibiade fanciulloa scola,” traduit de l’Italien de GiambattistaBaseggio et accompagnee de notes et d’une post-facepar un bibliophile francais (M. Gustave Brunet,Librarian of Bordeaux), Paris. J. Gay, 1861—­anoctavo of pp. 78 (paged), 254 copies. The. sameBaseggio printed in 1850 his Disquisizioni (23 copies)and claims for F. Pallavicini the authorship of Alcibiadeswhich the Manuel du Libraire wrongly attributes toM. Girol. Adda in 1859. I have heard of butnot seen the “Amator fornaceus, amator ineptus”(Palladii, 1633) supposed by some to be the originof Alcibiade Fanciullo; but most critics considerit a poor and insipid production.

[FN#376] The word is from numbness, torpor,narcotism: the flowers, being loved by the infernalgods, were offered to the Furies. Narcissus andHippolytus are often assumed as types of morose voluptas,masturbation and clitorisation for nymphomania: certain mediaeval writers found in the former a typeof the Saviour, and ’Mirabeau a representationof the androgynous or first Adam: to me Narcissussuggests the Hindu Vishnu absorbed in the contemplationof his own perfections.

[FN#377] The verse of Ovid is parallel’d bythe song of Al-Zahir al-Jazari (Ibn Khall. iii. 720).

Illumimpuberem amaverunt mares; puberem feminae.
GloriaDeo! nunquam amatoribus carebit.

[FN#378] The venerable society of prostitutes containedthree chief classes. The first and lowest werethe Dicteriads, so called from Diete (Crete), whoimitated Pasiphae, wife of Minos, in preferring abull to a husband; above them was the middle class,the Aleutridae, who were the Almahs or professionalmusicians, and the aristocracy was represented by theHetairai, whose wit and learning enabled them to adornmore than one page of Grecian history. The graveSolon, who had studied in Egypt, established a vastDicterion (Philemon in his Delphica), or bordel whoseproceeds swelled the revenue of the Republic.

[FN#379] This and Saint Paul (Romans i. 27) suggestedto Caravaggio his picture of St. Rosario (in the museumof the Grand Duke of Tuscany), showing a circle ofthirty men turpiter ligati.

[FN#380] Properly speaking, “Medicus”is the third or ring finger, as shown by the old Chiromantistverses,

Estpollex Veneris; sed Jupiter indice gaudet,
Saturnusmedium; Sol medicumque tenet.

[FN#381] So Seneca uses digito scalpit caput. The modern Italian does the same by inserting thethumb-tip between the index and medius to suggestthe clitoris.

[FN#382] What can be wittier than the now trite Taleof the Ephesian Matron, whose dry humour is worthyof The Nights? No wonder that it has made thegrand tour of the world. It is found in the neo-Phaedrus,the tales of Musaeus and in the Septem Sapientes asthe “Widow which was comforted.” Asthe “Fabliau de la Femme qui se fist putainsur la fosse de son Mari,” it tempted Brantomeand La Fontaine; and Abel Remusat shows in his ContesChinois that it is well known to the Middle Kingdom. Mr. Walter K. Kelly remarks, that the most singularplace for such a tale is the “Rule and Exerciseof Holy Dying” by Jeremy Taylor, who introducesit into his chapt. v.—­“Of the Contingenciesof Death and Treating our Dead.” But inthose days divines were not mealy-mouthed.

[FN#383] Glossarium eroticum linguae Latinae, sivetheogoniae, legum et morum nuptialium apud Romanosexplanatio nova, auctore P. P. (Parisiis, Dondey-Dupre,1826, in 8vo). P. P. is supposed to be ChevalierPierre Pierrugues, an engineer who made a plan ofBordeaux and who annotated the Erotica Biblion. Gay writes, “On s’est servi pour cet ouvragedes travaux inedits de M. Ie Baron de Schonen, etc. Quant au Chevalier Pierre Pierrugues qu’on designaitcomme l’auteur de ce savant volume, son existencen’est pas bien averee, et quelques bibliographespersistent a penser que ce nom cache la collaborationdu Baron de Schonen et d’Eloi Johanneau.” Other glossicists as Blondeau and Forberg have beenprinted by Liseux, Paris.

[FN#384] This magnificent country, which the pettyjealousies of Europe condemn, like the glorious regionsabout Constantinople, to mere barbarism, is tenantedby three Moslem races. The Berbers, who callthemselves Tamazight (plur. of Amazigh), are the Gaetulianindigenes speaking an Africo-Semitic tongue (see Essaide Grammaire Kabyle, etc., par A. Hanoteau, Paris,Benjamin Duprat). The Arabs, descended from theconquerors in our eighth century, are mostly nomadsand camel-breeders. Third and last are the Moorsproper, the race dwelling in towns, a mixed breedoriginally Arabian but modified by six centuries ofSpanish residence and showing by thickness of featureand a parchment-coloured skin, resembling the AmericanOctaroon’s, a negro innervation of old date. The latter are well described in “Morocco andthe Moors,” etc. (Sampson Low and Co., 1876),by my late friend Dr. Arthur Leared, whose work Ishould like to see reprinted.

[FN#385] Thus somewhat agreeing with one of the multitudinousmodern theories that the Pentapolis was destroyed bydischarges of meteoric stones during a tremendousthunderstorm. Possible, but where are the stones?

[FN#386] To this Iranian domination I attribute theuse of many Persic words which are not yet obsoletein Egypt. “Bakhshish,” for instance,is not intelligible in the Moslem regions west ofthe Nile-Valley, and for a present the Moors say Hadiyah,regalo or favor.

[FN#387] Arnobius and Tertullian, with the arroganceof their caste and its miserable ignorance of thatsymbolism which often concealed from vulgar eyes themost precious mysteries, used to taunt the heathenfor praying to deities whose sex they ignored “Consuistisin precibus ‘Seu tu Deus seu tu Dea,’ dicere!”These men would know everything; they made God themerest work of man’s brains and armed him witha despotism of omnipotence which rendered their creationtruly dreadful.

[FN#388] Gallus lit. = a cock, in pornologic parlanceis a capon, a castrato.

[FN#389] The texts justifying or enjoining castrationare Matt. xviii. 8-9; Mark ix. 43-47; Luke xxiii.29 and Col. iii. 5. St. Paul preached (1 Corin.vii. 29) that a man should live with his wife as ifhe had none. The Abelian heretics of Africa abstainedfrom women because Abel died virginal. Origenmutilated himself after interpreting too rigorouslyMatt. xix. 12, and was duly excommunicated. Buthis disciple, the Arab Valerius founded (A.D. 250)the castrated sect called Valerians who, persecutedand dispersed by the Emperors Constantine and Justinian,became the spiritual fathers of the modern Skopzis. These eunuchs first appeared in Russia at the endof the xith century, when two Greeks, John and Jephrem,were metropolitans of Kiew: the former was broughtthither in A.D. 1089 by Princess Anna Wassewolodownaand is called by the chronicles Nawje or the Corpse. But in the early part of the last century (1715-1733)a sect arose in the circle of Uglitseh and in Moscow,at first called Clisti or flagellants, which developedinto the modern Skopzi. For this extensive subjectsee De Stein (Zeitschrift fuer Ethn. Berlin,1875) and Mantegazza, chaps. vi.

[FN#390] See the marvellously absurd description ofthe glorious “Dead Sea” in the Purchasv. 84.

[FN#391] Jehovah here is made to play an evil partby destroying men instead of teaching them better. But, “Nous faisons les Dieux a notre image etnous portons dans le ciel ce que nous voyons sur laterre.” The idea of Yahweh, or Yah, is palpablyEgyptian, the Ankh or ever-living One: the etymon,however, was learned at Babylon and is still foundamongst the cuneiforms.

[FN#392] The name still survives in the Shajarat al-Ashara,a clump of trees near the village Al-Ghajar (of theGypsies?) at the foot of Hermon.

[FN#393] I am not quite sure that Astarte is not primarilythe planet Venus; but I can hardly doubt that Prof. Max Mueller and Sir G. Cox are mistaken in bringingfrom India Aphrodite the Dawn and her attendants,the Charites identified with the Vedic Harits. Of Ishtar in Accadia, however, Roscher seems to haveproved that she is distinctly the Moon sinking intoAmenti (the west, the Underworld) in search of herlost spouse Izdubar, the Sun-god. This againis pure Egyptianism.

[FN#394] In this classical land of Venus the worshipof Ishtar-Ashtaroth is by no means obsolete. The Metawali heretics, a people of Persian descentand Shiite tenets, and the peasantry of “BiladB’sharrah,” which I would derive from BaytAshirah, still pilgrimage to the ruins and addresstheir vows to the Sayyidat al-Kabirah, the Great Lady. Orthodox Moslems accuse them of abominable orgiesand point to the lamps and rags which they suspendto a tree entitled Shajarat al-Sitt—­theLady’s tree—­an Acacia Albida which,according to some travellers, is found only here andat Sayda (Sidon) where an avenue exists. The peopleof Kasrawan, a Christian province in the Libanus,inhabited by a peculiarly prurient race, also holdhigh festival under the far-famed Cedars, and theirwomen sacrifice to Venus like the Kadashah of thePhoenicians. This survival of old superstitionis unknown to missionary “Handbooks,”but amply deserves the study of the anthropologist.

[FN#395] Some commentators understand “the tabernaclessacred to the reproductive powers of women;”and the Rabbis declare that the emblem was the figureof a setting hen.

[FN#396] Dog” is applied by the older Jews tothe Sodomite and the Catamite, and thus they understandthe “price of a dog” which could not bebrought into the Temple (Deut. xxiii. 18). I havenoticed it in one of the derivations of cinaedus andcan only remark that it is a vile libel upon the caninetribe.

[FN#397] Her name was Maachah and her title, accordingto some, “King’s mother”: shefounded the sect of Communists who rejected marriageand made adultery and incest part of worship in theirsplendid temple. Such were the Basilians and theCarpocratians followed in the xith century by Tranchelin,whose sectarians, the Turlupins, long infested Savoy.

[FN#398] A noted exception is Vienna, remarkable forthe enormous development of the virginal bosoni, whichsoon becomes pendulent.

[FN#399] Gen. xxxviii. 2-11. Amongst the classicsMercury taught the “Art of le Thalaba”to his son Pan who wandered about the mountains distraughtwith love for the Nymph Echo and Pan passed it onto the pastors. See Thalaba in Mirabeau.

[FN#400] The reader of The Nights has remarked howoften the “he” in Arabic poetry denotesa “she”; but the Arab, when uncontaminatedby travel, ignores pederasty, and the Arab poet isa Badawi.

[FN#401] So Mohammed addressed his girl-wife Ayishahin the masculine.

[FN#402] So amongst the Romans we have the Iatroliptae,youths or girls who wiped the gymnast’s perspiringbody with swan-down, a practice renewed by the professorsof “Massage”; Unctores who applied perfumesand essences; Fricatrices and Tractatrices or shampooers;Dropacistae, corn-cutters; Alipilarii who plucked thehair, etc., etc., etc.

[FN#403] It is a parody on the well-known song (Roebucki. sect. 2, No. 1602):

The goldsmith knows the worth of gold, jewellers worthof
jewelry;
The worth of rose Bulbul can tell and Kambar’sworth his lord,
Ali.

[FN#404] For “Sindi” Roebuck (OrientalProverbs Part i. p. 99) has Kunbu (Kumboh) a Panjabipeasant, and others vary the saying ad libitum. See vol. vi. 156.

[FN#405] See “Sind Revisited” i. 133-35.

[FN#406] They must not be confounded with the grelotslascifs, the little bells of gold or silver set bythe people of Pegu in the prepuce-skin, and describedby Nicolo de Conti who however refused to undergothe operation.

[FN#407] Relation des decouvertes faites par Colomb,etc., p. 137: Bologna 1875; also Vespucci’sletter in Ramusio (i. 131) and Paro’s Recherchesphilosophiques sur les Americains.

[FN#408] See Mantegazza loc. cit. who borrows fromthe These de Paris of Dr. Abel Hureau de Villeneuve,“Frictiones per coitum productae magnum mucosaemembranae vaginalis turgorem, ac simul hujus cuniculicoarctationem tam maritis salacibus quaeritatam afferunt.”

[FN#409] Fascinus is the Priapus-god to whom the VestalVirgins of Rome, professed tribades, sacrificed, alsothe neck-charm in phallus-shape. Fascinum isthe male member.

[FN#410] Captain Grose (Lexicon Balatronicum) explainsmerkin as “counterfeit hair for women’sprivy parts. See Bailey’s Dict.” The Bailey of 1764, an “improved edition,”does not contain the word which is now generally appliedto a cunnus succedaneus.

[FN#411] I have noticed this phenomenal cannibalismin my notes to Mr. Albert Tootle’s excellenttranslation of “The Captivity of Hans Stadeof Hesse:” London, Hakluyt Society, mdccclxxiv.

[FN#412] The Ostreiras or shell mounds of the Brazil,sometimes 200 feet high, are described by me in AnthropologiaNo. i. Oct. 1873.

[FN#413] The Native Races of the Pacific States ofSouth America, by Herbert Howe Bancroft, London, Longmans,1875.

[FN#414] All Peruvian historians mention these giants,who were probably the large-limbed Gribs (Caraibes)of the Brazil: they will be noticed in page 211.

[FN#415] This sounds much like a pious fraud of themissionaries, a Europeo-American version of the Sodomlegend.

[FN#416] Les Races Aryennes du Perou, Paris, Franck,1871.

[FN#417] O Brazil e os Brazileiros, Santos, 1862.

[FN#418] Aethiopia Orientalis, Purchas ii. 1558.

[FN#419] Purchas iii. 243.

[FN#420] For a literal translation see 1re Serie dela Curiosite Litteraire et Bibliographique, Paris,Liseux, 1880.

[FN#421] His best-known works are (1) PraktischesHandbuch der Gerechtlichen Medecin, Berlin, 1860;and (2) Klinische Novellen zur Gerechtlichen Medecin,Berlin, 1863.

[FN#422] The same author printed another imitationof Petronius Arbiter, the “Larissa” storyof Theophile Viand. His cousin, the Sevigne,highly approved of it. See Bayle’s objectionsto Rabutin’s delicacy and excuses for Petronius’grossness in his “Eclaircissement sur les obscenites”(Appendice au Dictionnaire Antique).

[FN#423] The Boulgrin of Rabelais, which Urquhartrenders Ingle for Boulgre, an “indorser,”derived from the Bulgarus or Bulgarian, who gave toItaly the term bugiardo—­liar. Bougreand Bougrerie date (Littre) from the xiiith century. I cannot, however, but think that the trivial termgained strength in the xvith, when the manners ofthe Bugres or indigenous Brazilians were studied byHuguenot refugees in La France Antartique and severalof these savages found their way to Europe. Agrand Fete in Rouen on the entrance of Henri II. andDame Katherine de Medicis (June 16, 1564) showed,as part of the pageant, three hundred men (includingfifty “Bugres” or Tupis) with parroquetsand other birds and beasts of the newly explored regions. The procession is given in the four-folding woodcut“Figure des Bresiliens” in Jean de Prest’sEdition of 1551.

[FN#424] Erotika Biblion, chaps. Kadesch (pp.93 et seq.), Edition de Bruxelles, with notes by theChevalier P. Pierrugues of Bordeaux, before noticed.

[FN#425] Called Chevaliers de Paille because the signwas a straw in the mouth, a la Palmerston.

[FN#426] I have noticed that the eunuch in Sind wasas meanly paid and have given the reason.

[FN#427] Centuria Librorum Absconditorum (by PisanusFraxi) 4to, p. Ix. and 593. London. Privately printed, mdccclxxix.

[FN#428] A friend learned in these matters suppliesme with the following list of famous pederasts. Those who marvel at the wide diffusion of such eroticperversion, and its being affected by so many celebrities,will bear in mind that the greatest men have beensome of the worst: Alexander of Macedon, JuliusCaesar and Napoleon Buonaparte held themselves highabove the moral law which obliges common-place humanity. All three are charged with the Vice. Of Kingswe have Henri iii., Louis xiii. and xviii., Frederickii. Of Prussia Peter the Great, William ii. ofHolland and Charles ii. and iii. of Parma. Wefind also Shakespeare (i., xv., Edit. FrancoisHugo) and Moliere, Theodorus Beza, Lully (the Composer),D’Assoucy, Count Zintzendorff, the Grand Conde,Marquis de Villette, Pierre Louis Farnese, Duc de laValliere, De Soleinne, Count D’Avaray, Saint Megrin, D’Epernon, Admiral de la Susse La Roche-PouchinRochfort S. Louis, Henne (the Spiritualist), ComteHorace de Viel Castel, Lerminin, Fievee, TheodoreLeclerc, Archi-Chancellier Cambaceres, Marquis deCustine, Sainte-Beuve and Count D’Orsay. For others refer to the three volumes of Pisanus Fraxi,Index Librorum Prohibitorum (London, 1877), CenturiaLibrorum Absconditorum (before alluded to) and CatenaLibrorum Tacendorum, London, 1885. The indiceswill supply the names.

[FN#429] 0f this peculiar character Ibn Khallikanremarks (ii. 43), “There were four poets whoseworks clearly contraried their character. Abual-Atahiyah wrote pious poems himself being an atheist;Abu Hukayma’s verses proved his impotence, yethe was more salacious than a he-goat, Mohammed ibnHazim praised contentment, yet he was greedier thana dog, and Abu Nowas hymned the joys of sodomy, yethe was more passionate for women than a baboon.”

[FN#430] A virulently and unjustly abusive critiquenever yet injured its object: in fact it is generallythe greatest favour an author’s unfriends canbestow upon him. But to notice a popular Reviewbooks which have been printed and not published ishardly in accordance with the established courtesiesof literature. At the end of my work I proposeto write a paper “The Reviewer Reviewed”which will, amongst other things, explain the motifof the writer of the critique and the editor of theEdinburgh.

[FN#431] 1 For detailed examples and specimens seep. 10 of Gladwin’s “Dissertations on Rhetoric,”etd., Calcutta, 1801.

[FN#433] See Gladwin loc. cit. p. 8: it alsois = alliteration (Ibn Khall. ii., 316).

[FN#434] He called himself “Nabiyun ummi”= illiterate prophet; but only his most ignorant followersbelieve that he was unable to read and write. His last words, accepted by all traditionists, were“Aatini dawata wa kalam” (bring me ink-caseand pen); upon which the Shi’ah or Persian sectariesbase, not without probability, a theory that Mohammedintended to write down the name of Ali as his Caliphor successor when Omar, suspecting the intention,exclaimed, “The Prophet is delirious; have wenot the Koran?” thus impiously preventing theprecaution. However that may be, the legend provesthat Mohammed could read and write even when not “underinspiration.” The vulgar idea would arisefrom a pious intent to add miracle to the miraculousstyle of the Koran.

[FN#435] I cannot but vehemently suspect that thislegend was taken from much older traditions. We have Jubal the semi-mythical who, “by thedifferent falls of his hammer on the anvil, discoveredby the ear the first rude music that pleased the antediluvianfathers.” Then came Pythagoras, of whomMacrobius (lib. ii ) relates how this Graeco-Egyptianphilosopher, passing by a smithy, observed that thesounds were grave or acute according to the weightsof the hammers; and he ascertained by experiment thatsuch was the case when different weights were hungby strings of the same size. The next discoverywas that two strings of the same substance and tension,the one being double the length of the other, gavethe diapason-interval, or an eighth; and the samewas effected from two strings of similar length andsize, the one having four times the tension of theother. Belonging to the same cycle of invention-anecdotesare Galileo’s discovery of the pendulum by thelustre of the Pisan Duomo; and the kettle-lid, thefalling apple and the copper hook which inspired Watt,Newton and Galvani.

[FN#436] To what an absurd point this has been carriedwe may learn from Ibn Khallikan (i. 114). A poetaddressing a single individual does not say “Myfriend!” or “My friends!” but “Mytwo friends!” (in the dual) because a Badawirequired a pair of companions, one to tend the sheepand the other to pasture the camels.

[FN#437] For further details concerning the Sabab,Watad and Fasilah, see at the end of this Essay thelearned remarks of Dr. Steingass.

[FN#438] e.g., the Mu’allakats of “Amriolkais,”Tarafah and Zuhayr compared by Mr. Lyall (Introductionto Translations) with the metre of Abt Vogler, e.g.,

Ye know why the formsare fair, ye hear how the tale is told

[FN#439] e.g., the Poem of Hareth which oftenechoes the hexameter

[FN#440] Gladwin, p. 80.

[FN#441] Gladwin (p. 77) gives only eight, omittingF ’ l which he or his author probably considersthe Muzahaf, imperfect or apocoped form of F ’l n, as M f ’ l of M f ’ l n. Forthe infinite complications of Arabic prosody the Khafif(soft breathing) and Sahih (hard breathing); the Sadrand Aruz (first and last feet), the Ibtida and Zarb(last foot of every line); the Hashw (cushion-stuffing)or body part of verse, the ’Amud al-Kasidahor Al-Musammat (the strong) and other details I mustrefer readers to such specialists as Freytag and Sam. Clarke (Prosodia Arabica), and to Dr. Steingass’snotes infra.

[FN#442] The Hebrew grammarians of the Middle Ageswisely copied their Arab cousins by turning Fa’lainto Pael and so forth.

[FN#443] Mr. Lyall, whose “Ancient Arabic Poetry”(Williams and Norgate, 1885) I reviewed in The Academyof Oct. 3, ’85, did the absolute reverse ofwhat is required: he preserved the metre andsacrificed the rhyme even when it naturally suggesteditself. For instance in the last four lines ofNo. xii. what would be easier than to write,

Ah sweet and soft wi’ thee her ways: bethinkthee well! The day
shall be
When some one favoured as thyself shall find her fairand fain
and free;
And if she swear that parting ne’er shall breakher word of
constancy,
When did rose-tinted finger-tip with pacts and pledgese’er
agree?

[FN#444] See p. 439 Grammatik des Arabischen VulgaerDialekts von AEgyptian, by Dr. Wilhelm Spitta Bey,Leipzig, 1880. In pp. 489-493 he gives specimensof eleven Mawawil varying in length from four to fifteenlines. The assonance mostly attempts monorhyme: in two tetrastichs it is aa + ba, and it does notdisdain alternates, ab + ab + ab.

[FN#445] Al-Siyuti, p. 235, from Ibn Khallikan. Our knowledge of oldest Arab verse is drawn chieflyfrom the Katab al-Aghani (Song-book) of Abu al-Farajthe Isfahani who flourished A.H. 284-356 (= 897- 967): it was printed at the Bulak Press in 1868.

[FN#446] See Lyall loc. cit. p. 97.

[FN#447] His Diwan has been published with a Frenchtranslation, par R. Boucher, Paris, Labitte, 1870.

[FN#448] I find also minor quotations from the ImamAbu al-Hasan al-Askari (of Sarra man raa) ob. A.D. 868; Ibn Makula (murdered in A.D. 862?), IbnDurayd (ob. A.D. 933) Al-Zahr the Poet (ob. A.D. 963); Abu Bakr al-Zubaydi (ob. A.D. 989),Kabus ibn Wushmaghir (murdered in A.D. 1012-13); IbnNabatah the Poet (ob. A.D. 1015), Ibn al-Sa’ati(ob. A.D. 1028); Ibn Zaydun al-Andalusi who diedat Hums (Emessa, the Arab name for Seville) in A.D.1071; Al-Mu’tasim ibn Sumadih (ob. A.D.1091), Al-Murtaza ibn al-Shahrozuri the Sufi (ob. A.D. 1117); Ibn Sara al-Shantarani (of Santarem) whosang of Hind and died A.D. 1123; Ibn al-Khazin (ob. A.D. 1124), Ibn Kalakis (ob. A D. 1172) Ibn al-Ta’wizi(ob. A.D. 1188); Ibn Zabadah (ob. A.D. 1198),Baha al-Din Zuhayr (ob A.D. 1249); Muwaffak al-DinMuzaffar (ob. A.D. 1266) and sundry others. Notices of Al-Utayyah (vol. i. 11), of Ibn al-Sumam(vol. i. 87) and of Ibn Sahib al-Ishbili, of Seville(vol. i. 100), are deficient. The most notablepoint in Arabic verse is its savage satire, the languageof excited “destructiveness” which characterisesthe Badawi: he is “keen for satire as athirsty man for water:” and half his poetryseems to consist of foul innuendo, of lampoons, andof gross personal abuse.

[FN#449] If the letter preceding Waw or Ya is movedby Fathah, they produce the diphthongs au (aw), pronouncedlike ou in “bout’” and se, pronouncedas i in “bite.”

[FN#450] For the explanation of this name and thoseof the following terms, see Terminal Essay, p. 225.

[FN#451] This Fasilah is more accurately called sughra,the smaller one, there is another Fasilah kubra, thegreater, consisting of four moved letters followedby a quiescent, or of a Sabab sakil followed by aWatad majmu’. But it occurs only as a variationof a normal foot, not as an integral element in itscomposition, and consequently no mention of it wasneeded in the text.

[FN#452] It is important to keep in mind that theseemingly identical feet 10 and 6, 7 and 3, are distinguishedby the relative positions of the constituting elementsin either pair. For as it will be seen that Sababand Watad are subject to different kinds of alterationsit is evident that the effect of such alterationsupon a foot will vary, if Sabab and Watad occupy differentplaces with regard to each other.

[FN#453] i.e. vertical to the circumference.

[FN#454] This would be a Fasilah kubra spoken of inthe note p. 239.

[FN#455] In pause that is at the end of a line, ashort vowel counts either as long or is dropped accordingto the exigencies of the metre. In the Hashwthe u or i of the pronominal affix for the third personsing., masc., and the final u of the enlarged pronominalplural forms, humu and kumu, may be either short orlong, according to the same exigencies. The end-vowelof the pronoun of the first person ana, I, is generallyread short, although it is written with Alif.

[FN#456] On p. 236 the word akamu, as read by itself,was identified with the foot Fa’ulun. Hereit must be read together with the following syllableas “akamulwaj,” which is Mafa’ilun.

[FN#457] Prof. Palmer, p. 328 of his Grammar,identifies this form of the Wafir, when every Mufa’alatum of the Hashw has become Mafa’ilun, withthe second form of the Rajaz It should be Hazaj. Professor Palmer was misled, it seems, by an evidentmisprint in one of his authorities, the Muhit al-Dairahby Dr. Van Dayk, p. 52.

[FN#458] Calcutta (1839-42) and Boulac 134b “TheMerchant’s Wife and the Parrot.”

[FN#459] This will be found translated in my “Bookof the Thousand Nights and One Night,” vol.vii. p. 307, as an Appendix to the Calcutta (1839-42)and Boulac version of the story, from which it differsin detail.

[FN#460] Called “Bekhit” in Calcutta (1839-42)and Boulac Editions.

[FN#461] Yehya ben Khalid (Calcutta (1839-42) andBoulac),

[FN#462] “Shar” (Calcutta (1839-42) andBoulac).

[FN#463] “Jelyaad” (Calcutta (1839-42)and Boulac.)

[FN#464] Calcutta (1839-42) and Boulac, No. 63. See my “Book of the Thousand Nights and OneNight,” vol. iv., p. 211.

[FN#465] Calcutta (1839-42) and Boulac, “Jaafarthe Barmecide.”

[FN#466] Calcutta (1839-42) and Boulac, “TheThief turned Merchant and the other Thief,”No. 88.

[FN#467] This story will be found translated in my“Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night,”vol. v., p. 345.

[FN#468] After this I introduce the Tale of the Husbandand the Parrot.

[FN#469] The Bulak Edition omits this story altogether.

[FN#470] After this I introduce How Abu Hasan brakewind.

[FN#471] Probably Wakksh al-Falak=Feral of the Wild.

[FN#472] This is the date of the Paris edition. There was an earlier edition published at La Hayein 1743.

[FN#473] There are two other Oriental romances byVoltaire; viz., Babouc, and the Princess of Babylon.