Part 80

This discourse of Abon Hassan very much pleased his wife, and gave her some hopes. I was thinking so as well as you, said she, but durst not explain my thoughts, because I did not know how to help ourselves; and must confess, that what you tell me gives me a great deal of pleasure. But since you say you have found out a way, and my assistance is necessary, you need but to tell me, and I will do all that lies in my power.

I was sure, replied Abon Hassan, that you would not fail in this business, which concerns us both; and therefore I must tell you, this want of money has made me think of a plan which will supply us with some, at least for a time. It consists in a little trick we will put, I upon the caliph, and you upon Zobeide, and at which, I am sure, they will both be diverted, and it will answer very well to us. You and I will both die. Not I, indeed, interrupted Nouzhatoul-aouadat; you may die by yourself, if you will; I am not so weary of this life, and, whether you are pleased or not, will not die so soon. If you have nothing else to propose than that, you may do it by yourself; for I assure you I shall not join you.

You are a woman, I mean of such vivacity and wonderful quickness, replied Abon Hassan, that you scarce give me time to explain my design. Have but a little patience, and you shall find that you will be ready enough to die such a death as I mean; for surely you could not think I meant a real death? Well, said his wife, if it is but a sham death you design, I am at your service, and you may depend on my zeal to second you in this manner of dying; for I must tell you truly, I am very unwilling to die, as I apprehended you at first.

Be but easy a little, said Abon Hassan, and I will tell you what I propose. I will feign myself dead, and you shall lay me out in a white sheet, in the middle of my chamber, with my turban upon my face, my feet towards Mecca, and just ready to be carried out to burial. When you have done so, you must cry, and shed tears, as is usual in such cases, and tear your clothes and hair, or pretend to do it, and go all in tears, with your hair loose about your ears, to Zobeide. The princess will ask you the cause of your grief; and when you have told her, with words intermixed with sighs, she will pity you, and give you some money to defray the expense of my funeral, and a piece of good brocade to cover my body with, that my interment may be the more magnificent, and to make you a habit in the room of that she saw you had torn. As soon as you return with the money and the brocade, I will get up and lay you in my place, and go and act the same part with the caliph as you have done with Zobeide; and I dare say the caliph will be as generous to me as Zobeide has been to you.

When Abon Hassan had explained his plan, I think, replied Nouzhatoul-aouadat, it will be a pleasant trick, and I am much mistaken if the caliph and Zobeide will not like us for it. Let us put it in execution. Leave me to myself; I will play my part at least as well as I expect you will yours, and with as much zeal and attention, as the benefit we expect from it is great.

Nouzhatoul-aouadat liked this project very well, and said to Abon Hassan, Come, lose no time; strip to your shirt and breeches, while I prepare a sheet. I know how to bury as well as any body; for while I was in Zobeide’s service, and any of my fellow slaves died, I had the conducting of the funeral. Abon Hassan did as his wife bid him, and laid himself flat on his back on the sheet which his wife had spread on the carpet in the middle of the room. As soon as he had crossed his arms, his wife wrapped him up, turned his feet towards Mecca, and put a piece of fine muslin and his turban upon his face, so as to leave his breath free, so that nothing seemed wanting but to put him in a coffin, and carry him out to be buried. After this she pulled off her head-dress, and, with tears in her eyes, and her hair dishevelled, and seeming to tear it off, with a dismal cry and lamentation, beating her face and breast with all the marks of the most lively grief, ran across the court to Zobeide’s apartments; who, hearing the voice of a person crying very loud, commanded some of her women to see who it was; who returned and told her that it was Nouzhatoul-aouadat, who was coming in a deplorable condition.

The princess, impatient to know what had happened to her, rose up immediately, and went to meet her at the door of her ante-chamber. Nouzhatoul-aouadat played her part to perfection. As soon as she saw Zobeide, who held the door open, she redoubled her cries, tore her hair off by handfuls, beat her face and breast, and threw herself at her feet, bathing them with her tears.

Zobeide, amazed to see her slave in such extraordinary affliction, asked what had happened to her; but instead of answering, she continued her sighs and sobs, and, at last, feigning to strive to check them, said, with words interrupted with sighs, Alas! my most honoured lady and mistress, what greater misfortune could have befell me than this, which obliges me to throw myself at your highness’s feet? God prolong your days, my most respectable princess, in perfect health, and grant you many happy years! --Abon Hassan! poor Abon Hassan! whom you honoured with your esteem, and gave me for a husband, is no more!

At these last words, Nouzhatoul-aouadat redoubled her tears and sighs, and threw herself again at the princess’s feet. Zobeide was extremely surprised at this news. Abon Hassan dead! cried she; that healthy, agreeable, pleasant man! Indeed I did not in the least expect his death so soon; he seemed to promise a long life, and well deserved to enjoy it. Then she also burst into tears, as did all her women, who had been often witnesses of Abon Hassan’s pleasantries, when the caliph brought him to see the princess Zobeide; and all together continued a long time bewailing the loss of him. At length the princess Zobeide broke silence: Wicked woman! cried she, addressing herself to the false widow, perhaps you have occasioned his death! Your ill temper has given him so much vexation, that you have at last brought him to his grave. Nouzhatoul-aoudat seemed much hurt at the reproaches of Zobeide: Ah, madam, cried she, I do not think I ever gave your majesty, all the time I was your slave, the least reason to entertain so disadvantageous an opinion of my conduct to a husband who was so dear to me. I should think myself the most wretched of women if you were persuaded of this. I behaved to Abon Hassan as a wife should do to a husband for whom she has a sincere affection; and I may say, without vanity, that I had for him the same regard he had for me, which proved he loved me with equal affection. I am persuaded he would, were he alive, justify me fully to your majesty; but, madam, added she, renewing her tears, his time was come, and that was the only cause of his death.

Zobeide had really observed in her slave an uniformly equal temper and mildness, great docility and zeal for her service, which showed she was rather actuated by inclination than duty. She hesitated not to believe her on her word, and ordered her treasurer to fetch a hundred pieces of gold, and a piece of rich brocade.

The slave soon returned with the purse and piece of brocade, which, by Zobeide’s order, she put into Nouzhatoul-aouadat’s hand, who threw herself again at the princess’s feet, and thanked her with great satisfaction, to think she had succeeded so well. Go, said Zobeide, make use of that brocade to cover the corpse of your husband, and with that money bury him handsomely, and as he deserves. Moderate the transports of your afflictions; I will take care of you.

As soon as Nouzhatoul-aouadat got out of the princess’s presence, she dried up her tears, and returned with joy to Abon Hassan, to give him an account of her good success. When she came home, she burst out a laughing to see her husband still stretched out in the middle of the floor; she ran to him, and bid him rise and see the fruits of his trick. He rose, and rejoiced with his wife at the sight of the purse and brocade. Unable to contain herself at the success of her artifice, Come, husband, said she, laughing, let me act the dead part, and see if you can manage the caliph as well as I have done Zobeide.

That is the temper of all women, replied Abon Hassan, who, we may well say, have always the vanity to believe they can do things better than men, though, at the same time, what good they do is by their advice. It would be odd indeed if I, who laid this plot myself, could not carry it on as well as you. But let us lose no time in idle discourse; lie down in my place, and see if I do not come off with as much applause.

Abon Hassan wrapped up his wife as she had done him, and with his turban unrolled, like a man in the greatest affliction, ran to the caliph, who was holding a private council with the grand vizier Giafar, and other confidential viziers. He presented himself at the door, and the officer knowing he had free access, opened it. He entered holding with one hand his handkerchief before his eyes, to hide the feigned tears, which trickled down his cheeks, and striking his breast with the other, with exclamations expressing extraordinary grief.

The caliph, who was used to see Abon Hassan with a merry countenance, was very much surprised to see him in that sorrowful state. He interrupted the business of the council to ask him the cause of his grief. Commander of the faithful, answered Abon Hassan, with repeated sighs and sobs, God preserve your majesty on the throne, which you fill so gloriously! a greater calamity could not have befallen me than what I now lament. Alas! Nouzhatoul-aouadat, whom you in your bounty gave me for a wife, to pass the rest of my days with, alas! --at this exclamation Abon Hassan pretended to have his heart so full, that he could not utter one syllable more, but poured forth a flood of tears.

The caliph, who presently understood that Abon Hassan came to tell him of the death of his wife, seemed very much concerned, and said to him with an air which showed how much he regretted her loss, God be merciful to her: she was a good slave, and we gave her to you with an intention to make you happy: she deserved a longer life. Then the tears ran down his face, so that he was obliged to pull out his handkerchief to wipe them off. The grief of Abon Hassan, and the tears of the caliph, excited those of Giafar and the other viziers. They bewailed the death of Nouzhatoul-aouadat, who, on her part, was impatient to hear how Abon Hassan succeeded.

The caliph had the same thought of the husband that Zobeide had of the wife, and imagined that he had occasioned her death. Wretch! said he, in a tone of indignation, have you not been the cause of your wife’s death by your ill-treatment of her? Can I doubt it? You ought at least to have had some regard for the princess my consort, who loved her more than the rest of her slaves, and consented to give her to you. What a return for her kindness!

Commander of the faithful, replied Abon Hassan, affecting to weep more bitterly than before, can your majesty for a moment suppose that Abon Hassan, whom you have loaded with your favours and kindness, and on whom you have conferred honours he could never have aspired to, can have been capable of such ingratitude? I loved Nouzhatoul-aouadat my wife as much on these accounts, as for the many good qualities she possessed, and which drew from me all the attachment, tenderness, and love she deserved. But, my lord, added he, she was to die, and God would no longer suffer me to enjoy a happiness for which I was indebted to your majesty and your beloved consort.

In short, Abon Hassan dissembled so well, that the caliph, who had never heard how extravagantly he and his wife had lived, not in the least doubting his sincerity, ordered his treasurer, who was present, to give Abon Hassan a purse of a hundred pieces of gold, and a piece of brocade. Abon Hassan immediately cast himself at the caliph’s feet, and thanked him for his present. Follow the treasurer, said that monarch; throw the brocade over the corpse, and with the money show the last testimony of thy love for thy wife.

Abon Hassan made no reply to these obliging words of the caliph, but retired with a low bow, and followed the treasurer; and as soon as he had got the purse, and piece of brocade, went home very well pleased with having found out so quick and easy a way of supplying his necessity, which had given him so much uneasiness.

Nouzhatoul-aouadat, weary with lying so long in the posture, never waited till Abon Hassan bid her rise; but as soon as she heard the door open, got up and ran to her husband, and asked him if he had imposed on the caliph as well as she did on Zobeide? You see, said he, showing her the stuff, and shaking the purse, that I can act a sorrowful husband for a living wife, as well as you can a weeping widow for a husband not dead. Abon Hassan, however, was not without his fears, that this double trick of theirs might be attended with some ill consequences. He thought it would not be amiss to put his wife on her guard as to what might happen, that they might act in concert. For, added he, the better we succeed in embarrassing the caliph and Zobeide, the more they will be pleased at last, and perhaps may show their satisfaction by a greater liberality. And this last consideration induced them to carry on this feint farther.

The caliph, though he had a great deal of business to transact in council, was nevertheless so impatient to go and condole with the princess upon the death of her slave, that he rose up as soon as Abon Hassan was gone, and put off the council to another day. Follow me, said he to Mesrour, who always attended him wherever he went and was in all his councils; let us go and share with the princess the grief which the death of her slave, Nouzhatoul-aouadat, causes her.

Accordingly they went to Zobeide’s apartment, whom the caliph found sitting on a sofa, very much afflicted, and still in tears. Madam, said the caliph, going up to her, it is unnecessary to tell you how much I partake with you in your affliction; since you are not insensible that what gives you pleasure or trouble has the same effect on me. But we are all mortal, and must surrender up to God that life which he has given us, when he requires it. Nouzhatoul-aouadat, your faithful slave, was endued with qualifications that deserved your esteem, and I cannot but approve your expressing it after her death; but consider, all your grief will not bring her to life again. Therefore, madam, if you love me, and will take my advice, be comforted for this loss, and take more care of a life which you know is precious to me, and constitutes all the happiness of mine.

If the princess was charmed with these tender sentiments which the caliph expressed in his compliments, she was amazed to hear of Nouzhatoul-aouadat’s death. This news threw her into so great surprise, that she was not able to return an answer for some time. At last recovering, she replied, with an air expressive of surprise, Commander of the faithful, I am very sensible of all your tender sentiments; but give me leave to say, I cannot comprehend the news you tell me of the death of my slave, who is in perfect health. My affliction is for the death of Abon Hassan, her husband, your favourite, whom I esteem, as much for the regard you have for him, as because you were so kind to bring me acquainted with him, who has so often diverted me very agreeably, and for whom I have as great a value as yourself. But, sir, the little concern you show for his death, and your so soon forgetting a man in whose company you have so often told me you took so much pleasure, amazes and surprises me: and this insensibility seems the greater, by the deception you put upon me in changing his death for that of my slave.

The caliph, who thought that he was perfectly well informed of the death of the slave, and had just reason to believe so, because he had both seen and heard Abon Hassan, fell a laughing, and shrugging up his shoulders, to hear Zobeide talk after this manner. Mesrour, said he, turning himself about to that eunuch, what do you think of the princess’s discourse? Do not women sometimes lose their senses? For, in short, you have heard and seen all as well as myself. Then turning about to Zobeide, Madam, said he, shed no more tears for Abon Hassan, for I can assure you he is well: but rather bewail the death of your dear slave. It is not many moments since her husband came all in tears, and the most inexpressible affliction, to tell me the death of his wife. I gave him a purse of a hundred pieces of gold, and a piece of brocade, to comfort him, and bury her with; and Mesrour here, who was by, can tell you the same.

The princess took this discourse of the caliph’s to be all a jest, and thought he had a mind to impose upon her. Commander of the faithful, replied she, though you are used to banter, I must tell you, this is not a proper time for it. What I tell you is very serious; I do not talk of my slave’s death, but of Abon Hassan, her husband, whose fate I bewail, and so ought you too. I, madam, said the caliph, putting on a grave countenance, I tell you, without raillery, that you are deceived: Nouzhatoul-aouadat is dead, and Abon Hassan is alive and in perfect health.

Zobeide was very much piqued at this dry answer of the caliph. Commander of the faithful, replied she smartly, God preserve you from continuing longer in this mistake: surely you would make me think your mind is not as usual. Give me leave to repeat to you once more, that it is Abon Hassan who is dead, and that my slave Nouzhatoul-aouadat, his widow, is living. It is not an hour ago since she went from hence. She came here in so disconsolate a state, that the sight of her was enough to have drawn tears from my eyes, if she had not told me her affliction, accompanied with innumerable sighs. All my women, who wept with me, can bear me witness, and tell you also that I made her a present of a hundred pieces of gold, and a piece of brocade; and the grief which you found me in was upon the death of her husband; and just that instant that you came in, I was going to send you a compliment of condolence.

At these words of Zobeide, the caliph cried out in a fit of laughter, This, madam, is a strange piece of obstinacy; but, continued he seriously, you may depend upon Nouzhatoul-aouadat’s being dead. I tell you, no, sir, replied Zobeide instantly; it is Abon Hassan that is dead, and you shall never make me believe otherwise.

Upon this, the caliph’s anger rose in his countenance. He sat himself upon the sofa, at some distance from the princess, and speaking to Mesrour, said, Go immediately, and see which it is, and bring me word; for though I am certain that it is Nouzhatoul-aouadat, I would rather take this way than be any longer obstinately positive about a matter which I am perfectly satisfied of. No sooner had the caliph commanded than Mesrour was gone. You will see, continued he, addressing himself to Zobeide, in a moment, which of us is right. For my part, replied Zobeide, I know very well that I am in the right, and you will find it to be Abon Hassan. And for myself, replied the caliph, I am so sure that it is Nouzhatoul-aouadat, that I will lay you what wager you will, that Abon Hassan is well.

Do not think to come off so, said Zobeide; I accept your wager, and I am so well persuaded of his death, that I would willingly lay the dearest thing in the world against what you will, though it were of less value. You know what I have at my disposal, and what I value most; propose the bet, and I will stand to it.

Since it is come to that, said the caliph, I will lay my garden of pleasures against your palace of paintings, though the one is worth much more than the other. Is the question at present, replied Zobeide, if your garden is more valuable than my palace? That is not the point. You have made choice of what you thought fit belonging to me as an equivalent against what you lay; I accept the wager, and will not go back; I take God to witness. The caliph took the same oath, and both waited till Mesrour returned.

While the caliph and Zobeide were disputing so earnestly, and with so much warmth, Abon Hassan, who foresaw their difference, was very attentive to whatever might happen. As soon as he perceived Mesrour through a window, against which he sat talking with his wife, and observed that he was coming directly to their apartment, he presently guessed what he was coming about, and bid his wife make haste to act the dead part once more, as they had agreed on, without loss of time; in short, they were so pressed, that Abon Hassan had much ado to wrap up the wife and lay the piece of brocade which the caliph had given him upon her, before Mesrour came. As soon as he had done that, he opened the door of his apartment, and with a melancholy, dejected countenance, and his handkerchief before his eyes, went and sat down at the head of the pretended deceased.

By that time he was seated, Mesrour came into the room. The dismal sight which met his eyes gave him a secret joy, on account of the errand the caliph sent him on. As soon as Abon Hassan perceived him, he rose up to meet him, and kissing his hand out of respect, said, sighing and groaning, You see me, sir, in the greatest affliction that ever could befall me; the death of my dear wife, Nouzhatoul-aouadat, whom you honoured with your favours.

Mesrour, affected by this discourse, could not refuse some tears to the memory of the deceased. He lifted up the cloth a little at the head, which was uncovered, and peeping under it, let it down again, and said, with a deep sigh, There is no other God but God; we must all submit to his will, and every creature must return to him. --Nouzhatoul-aouadat, my good sister, added he, sighing, thy days have been very few: God have mercy on thee. Then turning to Abon Hassan, who was all the time in tears, We may well say, said he, that women sometimes have whims, and lose their senses in a most unpardonable manner; for Zobeide, good mistress as she is, is in that situation at present: she will maintain to the caliph that you are dead, and not your wife; and whatever the caliph can say to the contrary, he cannot persuade her otherwise. He called me to witness and confirm this truth; for you know I was by when you came and told him the sorrowful news: but all signifies nothing. They are both positive; and the caliph, to convince Zobeide, has sent me to know the truth, but I fear I shall not be believed; for when women once take up a thing, they are not to be beat out of it.