Part 22

"You have, indeed, real cause for grief," answered the caliph, "and I comprehend that the uncertainty of your son's fate must be as terrible to bear, as would be the mournful certainty of his death. You did wrong in not applying to me before; my power extends not only over believers, but also into foreign lands: other kings and rulers I have as my servants, whose eyes see for me, whose ears hear for me, and whose hands perform what is necessary in order to do my pleasure. That which was not possible to yourself, your friends, and your servants to accomplish, may perhaps prove easy for me. Now go home, and believe that you shall obtain news of your son, if he live on the earth, in any land where my power can reach."

With these words he dismissed him, after he had first inquired the marks by which his lost son might be recognised.

When El Kattab was sitting again with his friend Salek in the evening, he related to him the gracious and comforting words of the caliph. Salek perceived that hope was revived in his friend's heart, and that he confidently trusted to find his son. He thought it his duty, therefore, to damp somewhat this hope, and said, "Beloved friend, I have once heard a speech, which sunk deeply in my memory: it is, 'Trust not in princes; they are but men.' In truth, the mightiest on earth are subject to destiny. If the caliph have influence in distant lands, it must still be within a comparatively confined and narrow limit; whilst what is in the farthest regions of the earth, as well as what is but a span distant, are all equally under the control of all-governing fate, even from the meanest slave to the ruler of the faithful."

Haroun al Raschid meanwhile resolved to do all he could to fulfil the hope he had raised in El Kattab's heart. He gave a commission to all his servants in the kingdom, high and low, and to his ambassadors in the neighbouring kingdoms, and even sent into distant lands, with the princes of which he was on terms of friendship, at the same time despatching messengers with the charge to search for Medjeddin with all diligence, giving them a description by which they might recognise him if they found him. But week after week, and month after month passed away; even a whole year elapsed, without any intelligence being received either of the life or death of the lost one. So that all hope of finding him deserted the father for ever.

Medjeddin, meantime, had not perished--none of the accidents suggested by his father's advisers had befallen him; he still lived, but in such complete concealment that it was impossible for any one to discover him. He had followed the snow-white bird till evening, without clearly knowing why: he was induced to think he could catch the curious creature, particularly as it flew at such a moderate height from the ground, and at the same time so slowly. The tardiness of its flight made him conjecture that it must have hurt one of its wings; several times he succeeded in getting quite close to it, but just as he stretched out his hand to seize it, the bird again raised its wings, and flew a little in advance. Medjeddin now felt himself tired, and would have given up the pursuit, but the bird also seemed fatigued; he approached it, but again the bird flew a little farther off. In this chase he climbed a hill, and soon after found himself in a narrow meadow-valley, down which he ran; twilight came, but the snow-white colour of the bird still lighted him on. At last the pursued bird perched in a thicket; he hastened to it, but when he closed his hand to seize his prisoner, it flew away, leaving only one of its tail-feathers tightly grasped in his hand: still he saw it through the twilight flying before him, and still he hastened after it. The bird seemed now to quicken its pace; but as he had so nearly caught it once, he continued the pursuit with more eagerness; he ran through the high grass, with his strained sight fixed on this glimmering white object, he saw nothing else. Thus he came unexpectedly on a small but deep pool of water, which lay across his path; he jumped in, swam across, and tried to climb the other side, but it was so steep that he fell in with some of the crumbling earth: the water closed over his head, and he lost all consciousness. When he came to himself, he found himself lying on the turf, and a tall, grey-headed man of strange appearance by him, clothed in a long black robe reaching to his ancles, and fastened by a glittering girdle of a fiery colour. Instead of a turban, he wore a high pointed cap on his head, with a tassel of the same hue as the girdle.

"Has your life returned to you?" he asked: "you deserved to be suffocated in the mud. Come, we must go farther before daylight quite leaves us."

With these words the stranger raised him from the ground, passed his left arm round his body, and flew with him through the air with the speed of an arrow. Medjeddin again soon lost recollection, and did not know how long he remained in this condition. He awoke at last as from a deep sleep; and looking around, the first thing he observed was a cage of gold wire, hanging from the ceiling by a long golden chain, and within was the snow-white bird he had so long followed. He found himself alone with this bird in a hall, the roof of which was supported on pillars of white marble, and the walls were built of smooth pale-green stones. The openings which served as windows were protected by lattices so skilfully contrived with winding tracery, that even the white bird could have found no space to pass through, even if it had escaped from the cage. Beside one wall stood a crystal urn; and from this fell a stream of clear water, which passing over the curved brim of the urn, was received in a white basin beneath, from which it disappeared unseen. Whilst he was observing this, and wondering what had happened to him, and how he came there, suddenly the old man in the black robe entered from behind a curtain. He carried a small golden box in his hand, and approached him with these words: "You have now caught the white bird, and have it safe in a cage; in this box is food for it, and there is water; take diligent care of it, and mind that it does not escape."

As he said this he disappeared. Medjeddin now arose and walked round the hall: he looked through the windows, and ascertained that he must be in a foreign land, as the forms of the mountains and trees were quite different from any he had before seen. The hall seemed to be high in the air, as if it were the upper story of a lofty tower. No other edifice was to be seen, and from the windows he could not distinguish what shrubs and plants bloomed beneath. He drew the curtain aside, and discovered a doorway; but there was a thick metal door which he could not open. He was now very much embarrassed, for he began to feel hungry, and could find nothing that would serve him for food. He examined the walls to see if he could discover any concealed outlet; he tried to open the lattices, that he might put his head out, and see if there were any body beneath, to whom he might cry out. There was no door; he could not open the lattices; and as far as he could strain his sight in every direction, he could see nobody: he threw himself in despair on the pillow, wrung his hands, and wept, and cried: "I am then imprisoned--imprisoned in a dungeon where splendour and riches are lavished around! Of what avail is it that these walls are built of precious stones? that this lattice is of fine gold, that this cage is of gold, and hangs on a golden chain? I am as much a prisoner behind golden lattices as I should be behind a grating of iron." Then he rose and shouted through the lattices, in hopes that his voice might be heard, and aid brought; but nobody appeared, and no one answered him. When he again threw himself weeping on his couch, after these useless efforts, he observed that the white bird fluttered restlessly in its prison, and pecked at the golden dish for its food, without finding any.

"Poor brother in misfortune," said Medjeddin, "you shall not suffer want; I will take care of you; come, I will bring you what you want."

He took the pans from the cage, filling one with water from the urn, and the other with grain from the gold box which the old man had given him. Scarcely had he hung the last on the cage, when, on turning round, he saw a table behind him covered with costly viands. He was astonished, and could not understand how this had happened; still it was not long before he attacked the meats with the zest of a young man who had fasted nearly all day. Although these viands were altogether different from those he had been accustomed to taste in his father's house, they all appeared excellent. He ate till he was fully satisfied, and then took from the table a golden cup, and quenched his thirst with pure water from the urn. After this he threw himself on a couch and fell asleep. When he awoke he felt strong and well. He arose and began to make another tour of the hall, and he then observed that the table with the meats had disappeared. This was a disappointment, as he had thought to make a good supper of the remainder. He did not allow this, however, to trouble him much, as he now felt pretty sure that he was not to die of hunger. He next proceeded to scrutinise his prison more closely: he examined all anew, pillars, walls, and floor; but could no where find a crevice or a fissure: all was fast and whole. His view from the windows did not allow him to make any further discovery; he only saw that he was very far above the earth, and in a spacious valley; mountains were to be seen in the distance, with curiously-pointed summits. As soon as he had completed this examination, and found there was nothing to occupy him, he turned his attention to the white bird in the cage. Here was still life; and if the cage was narrow, yet the prisoner could hop about on the different perches. Soon it remained still and gazed at him with its bright eyes, which seemed as if sense and speech lay in them, the interpretation only was wanting.

Night put an end to these reflections. Next morning he observed that the bird again wanted food. He filled its seed-pan with grain from his golden box, and gave it fresh water from the urn. Scarcely had he done this, when the table covered with meats again stood in the same place as the day before. This day passed like the former, and the following in the same manner; Medjeddin wept and mourned, took care of the little bird, fed it, and was every time rewarded in the same manner with the table covered with dishes as soon as he had filled the bird's seed-pan. He could not perceive who brought the table, nor how it disappeared. It always came whilst he stood beside the cage with his back turned, and without any noise. On the ninth day the old man suddenly appeared to him, and said, "To-day is a day of rest for you; you have performed your duty during the preceding days in giving the bird its food, you may now amuse yourself in the garden till evening." He led him through a door into a narrow passage, at the end of which they descended twenty steps; he then opened a small metal trap-door, and then Medjeddin descended twenty steps more: they next came to a similar door, and descended twenty more steps to a third, and so on, till, after passing the ninth door, they found themselves in the open air.

"Remain here till you are called," said the old man, who went back into the building through the same doors, which he shut after him. Medjeddin was very curious to examine more closely the building in which he had been imprisoned: he therefore went round it, and narrowly observed it. It was a tower of nine stories, each about fifteen feet in height. The tower was nine-sided, with a window in the third side of each story, so arranged that no window was directly over another, and that consequently only three altogether appeared in each side of the tower from bottom to top. This distribution of regularity and order reigned throughout the whole building. The walls were made of large pieces of gold, quite as smooth as glass; and these were so skilfully put together that, even when closely looked at, the joints could not be discovered. The lattices of the windows were all of gold, like those in the upper hall, and the lower doors through which he had passed were of a yellow metal, inclining to green. All these considerations were not calculated to lessen his conviction that no man could possibly find him out in such a prison. Suddenly a new hope awoke in him: "I am no longer shut up in the tower," said he to himself; "here I am in the open air, in a garden: I can clamber and jump like a monkey; I may possibly find some outlet from this garden, by which I can escape." He immediately turned from the tower, and hastened through the gardens, seeking freedom; but he soon discovered that this hope was vain. He found the gardens surrounded on all sides by a lofty wall, constructed of the same materials, and quite as glassy, as the tower. After making the whole circuit of the garden, he at length found a gate, consisting of a grating of strong iron bars, polished to the highest degree of smoothness, and so close together, that he could scarcely pass his arm through. He tried to climb it by holding by the upper bars with his hands; but his feet slipped on the smooth iron, and he hurt his knee so much, that he lost his hold and fell backwards on the earth. He next examined the grating closely to see if there were no means of escape; but all was in vain: every where the bars were high, thick, and like polished glass. Sorrowfully he wandered round the garden; the sun's rays darting down scorched up the grass, and he sought some shade where he might screen himself from their influence. He lay down on a mossy bank, and meditated anew on his fate. Besides his own grief at his imprisonment, the thought of his father's sorrow at his loss pained him. The exhaustion consequent on tears and loud lamentations, joined with the noontide heat, at last caused him to fall into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the table covered with meats was again before him; he ate, and wandered again mournfully through the garden, meditating whether he could not make a ladder from the trees around him, to aid him in his escape over the grating. But there was something wanting for this work; he had not even a dagger or a knife. As he thus thought, the old man appeared, and said, "Evening is drawing on; follow me in." He led him again to the upper room of the tower, and locked the metal door upon him.

There was no change observable in his prison, only the bird seemed harassed and mournful; it sat quiet and still on the lowest perch, its plumage was rough, and its eyes dull. "Poor creature," said Medjeddin, "what is the matter? are you ill?" It seemed as if the bird was affected by these sympathising questions, but it soon sank again into its former dejection. He mused long upon this. The next day and the following ones passed like the former; but on the ninth the old man again appeared, led him into the garden, and at night conducted him back into the hall. He took care of the bird; and as soon as he had given it food and water, he always found the table covered with meats behind him. In the intervals he stood at the lattice of one of the three windows looking on the plain below, earnestly hoping to catch sight of some person to free him from his captivity. In such monotonous employment many months passed away: every ninth day the old man appeared, and gave him leave to walk in the garden; but he did not derive much amusement from his strolls in this narrow enclosure. In the mean time he asked the old man many times the reason of his imprisonment, and how long it was to last. No answer was vouchsafed but these words: "Every man has his own fate; this is thine."

One day the old man appeared and led him into the garden as usual; but he had not been there more than a quarter of an hour, when he returned, called him in, and then quickly retired with marks of disquietude. Medjeddin also remarked that the white bird, which he had learnt to love more every day, sat at the bottom of its cage, more mournful than it usually was after the old man's visit. He drew near, and observed a little door in the cage which he had never before seen. He examined it closely, and found a fine bolt which passed into a ring of gold wire. These were made so skilfully, and worked into the ornamental parts of the cage so cunningly, that nobody could have discovered them if his attention had not been drawn to them by design or accident. Medjeddin pushed back the bolt and opened the door; the bird started up as if some sudden joy had seized it, hopped out, and as soon as it touched the floor was transformed, and in its stead a young maiden stood before Medjeddin, clothed in a white silk robe; beautiful dark locks streamed over her neck and shoulders, and a thin fragrant veil fell over them, confined by a fillet set with precious stones; her finely-formed countenance was as white as ivory, relieved by the softest shade of the rose. Surprised and astonished, Medjeddin started back and said, "By the beard of the prophet, I conjure you to tell me whether you are of human race, or whether you belong to the genii?"

"I am a helpless maiden," said she, "and implore you to deliver me from the hands of this cruel magician; I will reward you handsomely for it: know, I am the only daughter of Omar, king of Zanguebar; and this wicked enchanter has cunningly carried me off from my father's palace, and shut me up in this cage. He has one son, as ugly as night, whom he wishes me to take for my husband. Every ninth day he comes, brings his son with him, and praises his excellent qualities. This he has done regularly for many months past, tormenting me at every visit for my consent to this odious union; and he now threatens me with cruel tortures if I give it not by the next new moon. On that day he will have kept me a year in imprisonment, and longer than a year he says he will not continue to entreat: then will the time of my punishment begin; I conjure you therefore to help me." At these words she burst into a flood of tears.

"Noble maiden," answered Medjeddin, "how willingly would I free you! but, alas, I am as helpless as yourself, and cannot even free myself. But tell me how is it? you say the enchanter brings his hateful son with him--why, then, have I never seen him?"

"He always sends you away when he comes," answered the princess.

"But even then," pursued Medjeddin, "the son could not conceal himself from me on the stairs, or in the narrow passage."

"Quite true," she answered, "but he carries him in his pocket."

"What," exclaimed Medjeddin in astonishment, "in his pocket!--how can that be?"

The princess informed him that the young man became on the occasion of each visit a white bird, like herself: that the enchanter put him into the cage with her, and that she felt such a dislike to him that she always fluttered about the cage to avoid getting near him; but that he, with the pertinacious obstinacy of a brutal affection, would follow her and settle confidingly near her. "You must," she continued, "have remarked how tired and mournful I always was on the ninth day when you returned."

Medjeddin, astonished at this explanation, assured her of his willingness to free her, but bewailed his helplessness. The princess, however, would not give up hopes of their success. "It seems to me," said she, "a good omen that the enchanter has to-day received a message which caused him to leave so early, and in such haste that he did not securely close the cage, and that you returned so early to-day from the garden; this day is my birthday, the only day I can be delivered from the magician's power; on any other day I should still have remained a dumb bird, even if you had freed me from my cage; only on this day has my touching the floor had power to restore me to my natural form; the enchantment lies in the cage."

Medjeddin instantly seized the cage, exclaiming, "If it be so, we will break the enchantment." He threw the cage to the ground, stamped on it with his feet till it was quite flat, and its shape no longer distinguishable, then he rolled it together, and threw it into a corner of the hall.

At this moment a frightful noise like thunder resounded through the air. The whole building shook as with a furious tempest, the doors flew open with a crash, the curtains were drawn aside, and the magician stood before them with a countenance full of anger. "Ah," cried he, "weak worms, what have you presumed to do? how did you learn to break my charm in this manner? who bid you destroy the cage?"

Medjeddin was so terrified he could answer nothing. The enchanter then turned to the maiden and cried, "And you, you thought this miserable worm could defend you against my power: I will show you how useless it is to oppose me."

He felt in the pocket of his black robe, and pulled out thence a small box; this he opened, and a white bird flew out and perched on the table. He then took a smaller box from his girdle and opened it,--it was filled with grains of millet; from these he took one, and laid it before the bird, who had scarcely eaten it before such a distorted man stood in its place, that both Medjeddin and the princess screamed aloud. His head was large and thick, his eyes red and dark, his nose small and quite flat, his lips thick and blueish red, his chin broad and projecting, and on his head grew a few stiff white hairs; a hump grew out in front, and a similar one behind; his shoulders were quite drawn up, and his head so jammed between them that his ears could not be seen. The upper part of his body was so unwieldy, and his legs so weak and thin that it was wonderful how they supported him; he tottered about incessantly, balancing himself first on one leg, then on the other.

"Come forward, my son," said the enchanter to this deformed creature; "behold, there is your bride; she does not wish to wait till the new moon which I fixed upon for your betrothal: to-day she has effected her own change by the help of this friend. Go, my son, give your bride a kiss, and then thank this young man."

The deformed creature approached the princess with a horrible fiendish laugh; she averted her face with disgust, and stretched out her arms to motion him away. But by this time Medjeddin's courage had returned: resolving to venture all, he stepped before the princess and gave the deformity such a blow that he reeled and fell backwards. His head struck in the fall on the corner of the pedestal of one of the marble pillars with such violence, that his skull was broken: a stream of blood flowed from the wound, and the monster gave a hollow groan. Medjeddin thought of nothing but the father's rage and revenge, and gave up his life for lost. But the enchanter stood quite confounded as he observed his son's mortal wound, and appeared stupified with horror and amazement. Presently he threw himself down beside him, examined the injury, and wrung his hands, forgetting his revenge in his sorrow. Medjeddin quickly seized the hand of the princess, and led her through the door and down the stairs: all the doors were open, and they found their way without any obstacle into the garden. Soon they stood before the grating of the iron gate, which was closed.

"Of what use is our flight?" said Medjeddin despondingly; "we are still as much as ever in the power of the enchanter; and even if we were on the other side of the gate, and concealed in the deepest cavern, he would discover us by his knowledge, and wreak his vengeance on us."

"I am of a different opinion," said the princess; "I know many of the things on which the superior power of this magician depends, and I believe that if we could only get out of this place, we should be safe."