Part 45

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is your name?” continued Ali.

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

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

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

“Then you worship the sun?”

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

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

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

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

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

“The power hath work’d from all eternity: Two angels are its subjects--Virtue, Vice, Of light and darkness mingled;--aye at war. When Virtue conquers, doubled is the light; When Vice prevails the black abyss is glad. To the last day the struggle shall endure. Then Virtue shall have joy, and Vice have pain, And never more these enemies shall meet.”

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

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

“Lovely spring returns again, And his merry glance is warm, And he sings a lively strain, But the youth he cannot charm.

“Rosebuds all their fragrance shed, But his heart they cannot move, Seeking joys for ever fled, Through the ruins he must rove.

“Does he dwell amid the flowers, By some kindly beauty blest? No; amid the ruin’d towers, Where the screech owl builds her nest.

“No fair arms around him cling, Ne’er he tastes a honied kiss; Songs that ancient dreamers sing, Those alone afford him bliss.

“Wake him from this sullen sleep, Lovely spring thy pow’r display, Or the youth too late will weep, For the joys he flings away.”[1]

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

“Do you sing too?” asked Ali.

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

“Your guitar has a pleasant sound.”

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

“What were you singing?”

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

He sung again.

“Sure some madness it must be, Thus the present hour to slight, And to take thy sole delight In the tales of memory. Why shouldst thou thy time despise? Why the past thus fondly prize? Seek’st thou only what is gone? Nay, what is’t thou wouldst recall? Dreamy pleasures--that is all; Fit for puling babes alone.

“Nay, suppose this honor’d Past Should return to thee at last, Friend, thou soon wouldst say: ‘The star Shines more brightly when afar.’ When the Future’s sunbeams glow, Fancy paints a glittering bow; O’er the cloudy Past ’tis spread, Venture near, and it has fled. In the centre thou shouldst be, If thou wouldst the magic see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you looking after, young gentleman?”

Ali was embarrassed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I play the guitar,” replied Ali.

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

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

Gulhyndi blushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My tuneful strings your music swell, And sweetly tell The feelings words can never tell aright. Resound! In you my joys should be expressed. Soften that breast, And breathe to spring my transports of delight.

“Sing, as the nightingale from some dark tree Pours melody; And bear along my feelings on your wings; And let my thoughts like some fair streamlet flow, In evening’s glow, When to far lands its gentle sound it brings.

“The thoughts for which all language is too weak, The lyre can speak; Although love’s fetters have the tongue confined. When love has come, repose gives place to pain, And words are vain. Notes have no words--yet is their sense divined.”

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

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

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

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

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