The stories in the Fairy Books have generally been such as old women in country
places tell to their grandchildren. Nobody knows how old they are, or who told
them first. The children of Ham, Shem and Japhet may have listened to them in
the Ark, on wet days. Hector's little boy may have heard them in Troy Town, for it
is certain that Homer knew them, and that some of them were written down in
Egypt about the time of Moses.
People in different countries tell them differently, but they are always the same
stories, really, whether among little Zulus, at the Cape, or little Eskimo, near the
North Pole. The changes are only in matters of manners and customs; such as
wearing clothes or not, meeting lions who talk in the warm countries, or talking
bears in the cold countries. There are plenty of kings and queens in the fairy
tales, just because long ago there were plenty of kings in the country. A
gentleman who would be a squire now was a kind of king in Scotland in very old
times, and the same in other places. These old stories, never forgotten, were
taken down in writing in different ages, but mostly in this century, in all sorts of
languages. These ancient stories are the contents of the Fairy books.
Now "The Arabian Nights," some of which, but not nearly all, are given in this
volume, are only fairy tales of the East. The people of Asia, Arabia, and Persia
told them in their own way, not for children, but for grown-up people. There were
no novels then, nor any printed books, of course; but there were people whose
profession it was to amuse men and women by telling tales. They dressed the
fairy stories up, and made the characters good Mahommedans, living in Bagdad
or India. The events were often supposed to happen in the reign of the great
Caliph, or ruler of the Faithful, Haroun al Raschid, who lived in Bagdad in 786-808 A.D. The vizir who accompanies the Caliph was also a real person of the
great family of the Barmecides. He was put to death by the Caliph in a very cruel
way, nobody ever knew why. The stories must have been told in their present
shape a good long while after the Caliph died, when nobody knew very exactly
what had really happened. At last some storyteller thought of writing down the
tales, and fixing them into a kind of framework, as if they had all been narrated to
a cruel Sultan by his wife. Probably the tales were written down about the time
when Edward I. was fighting Robert Bruce. But changes were made in them at
different times, and a great deal that is very dull and stupid was put in, and plenty
of verses. Neither the verses nor the dull pieces are given in this book.
People in France and England knew almost nothing about "The Arabian Nights"
till the reigns of Queen Anne and George I., when they were translated into
French by Monsieur Galland. Grown-up people were then very fond of fairy tales,
and they thought these Arab stories the best that they had ever read. They were
delighted with Ghouls (who lived among the tombs) and Geni, who seemed to be
a kind of ogres, and with Princesses who work magic spells, and with Peris, who
are Arab fairies. Sindbad had adventures which perhaps came out of the
Odyssey of Homer; in fact, all the East had contributed its wonders, and sent
them to Europe in one parcel. Young men once made a noise at Monsieur
Galland's windows in the dead of night, and asked him to tell them one of his
marvellous tales. Nobody talked of anything but dervishes and vizirs, rocs and
peris. The stories were translated from French into all languages, and only
Bishop Atterbury complained that the tales were not likely to be true, and had no
moral. The bishops was presently banished for being on the side of Prince
Charlie's father, and had leisure to repent of being so solemn.
In this book "The Arabian Nights" are translated from the French version of
Monsieur Galland, who dropped out the poetry and a great deal of what the
Arabian authors thought funny, though it seems wearisome to us. In this book the
stories are shortened here and there, and omissions are made of pieces only
suitable for Arabs and old gentlemen. The translations are by the writers of the
tales in the Fairy Books, and the pictures are by Mr. Ford.
I can remember reading "The Arabian Nights" when I was six years old, in dirty
yellow old volumes of small type with no pictures, and I hope children who read
them with Mr. Ford's pictures will be as happy as I was then in the company of
Aladdin and Sindbad the Sailor.
The Arabian Nights
In the chronicles of the ancient dynasty of the Sassanidae, who reigned for about
four hundred years, from Persia to the borders of China, beyond the great river
Ganges itself, we read the praises of one of the kings of this race, who was said
to be the best monarch of his time. His subjects loved him, and his neighbors
feared him, and when he died he left his kingdom in a more prosperous and
powerful condition than any king had done before him.
The two sons who survived him loved each other tenderly, and it was a real grief
to the elder, Schahriar, that the laws of the empire forbade him to share his
dominions with his brother Schahzeman. Indeed, after ten years, during which
this state of things had not ceased to trouble him, Schahriar cut off the country of
Great Tartary from the Persian Empire and made his brother king.
Now the Sultan Schahriar had a wife whom he loved more than all the world, and
his greatest happiness was to surround her with splendour, and to give her the
finest dresses and the most beautiful jewels. It was therefore with the deepest
shame and sorrow that he accidentally discovered, after several years, that she
had deceived him completely, and her whole conduct turned out to have been so
bad, that he felt himself obliged to carry out the law of the land, and order the
grand-vizir to put her to death. The blow was so heavy that his mind almost gave
way, and he declared that he was quite sure that at bottom all women were as
wicked as the sultana, if you could only find them out, and that the fewer the
world contained the better. So every evening he married a fresh wife and had her
strangled the following morning before the grand-vizir, whose duty it was to
provide these unhappy brides for the Sultan. The poor man fulfilled his task with
reluctance, but there was no escape, and every day saw a girl married and a wife
dead.
This behaviour caused the greatest horror in the town, where nothing was heard
but cries and lamentations. In one house was a father weeping for the loss of his
daughter, in another perhaps a mother trembling for the fate of her child; and
instead of the blessings that had formerly been heaped on the Sultan's head, the
air was now full of curses.
The grand-vizir himself was the father of two daughters, of whom the elder was
called Scheherazade, and the younger Dinarzade. Dinarzade had no particular
gifts to distinguish her from other girls, but her sister was clever and courageous
in the highest degree. Her father had given her the best masters in philosophy,
medicine, history and the fine arts, and besides all this, her beauty excelled that
of any girl in the kingdom of Persia.
One day, when the grand-vizir was talking to his eldest daughter, who was his
delight and pride, Scheherazade said to him, "Father, I have a favour to ask of
you. Will you grant it to me?"
"I can refuse you nothing," replied he, "that is just and reasonable."
"Then listen," said Scheherazade. "I am determined to stop this barbarous
practice of the Sultan's, and to deliver the girls and mothers from the awful fate
that hangs over them."
"It would be an excellent thing to do," returned the grand-vizir, "but how do you
propose to accomplish it?"
"My father," answered Scheherazade, "it is you who have to provide the Sultan
daily with a fresh wife, and I implore you, by all the affection you bear me, to
allow the honour to fall upon me."
"Have you lost your senses?" cried the grand-vizir, starting back in horror. "What
has put such a thing into your head? You ought to know by this time what it
means to be the sultan's bride!"
"Yes, my father, I know it well," replied she, "and I am not afraid to think of it. If I
fail, my death will be a glorious one, and if I succeed I shall have done a great
service to my country."
"It is of no use," said the grand-vizir, "I shall never consent. If the Sultan was to
order me to plunge a dagger in your heart, I should have to obey. What a task for
a father! Ah, if you do not fear death, fear at any rate the anguish you would
cause me."
"Once again, my father," said Scheherazade, "will you grant me what I ask?"
"What, are you still so obstinate?" exclaimed the grand-vizir. "Why are you so
resolved upon your own ruin?"
But the maiden absolutely refused to attend to her father's words, and at length,
in despair, the grand-vizir was obliged to give way, and went sadly to the palace
to tell the Sultan that the following evening he would bring him Scheherazade.
The Sultan received this news with the greatest astonishment.
"How have you made up your mind," he asked, "to sacrifice your own daughter to
me?"
"Sire," answered the grand-vizir, "it is her own wish. Even the sad fate that awaits
her could not hold her back."
"Let there be no mistake, vizir," said the Sultan. "Remember you will have to take
her life yourself. If you refuse, I swear that your head shall pay forfeit."
"Sire," returned the vizir. "Whatever the cost, I will obey you. Though a father, I
am also your subject." So the Sultan told the grand-vizir he might bring his
daughter as soon as he liked.
The vizir took back this news to Scheherazade, who received it as if it had been
the most pleasant thing in the world. She thanked her father warmly for yielding
to her wishes, and, seeing him still bowed down with grief, told him that she
hoped he would never repent having allowed her to marry the Sultan. Then she
went to prepare herself for the marriage, and begged that her sister Dinarzade
should be sent for to speak to her.
When they were alone, Scheherazade addressed her thus:
"My dear sister; I want your help in a very important affair. My father is going to
take me to the palace to celebrate my marriage with the Sultan. When his
Highness receives me, I shall beg him, as a last favour, to let you sleep in our
chamber, so that I may have your company during the last night I am alive. If, as
I hope, he grants me my wish, be sure that you wake me an hour before the
dawn, and speak to me in these words: "My sister, if you are not asleep, I beg
you, before the sun rises, to tell me one of your charming stories." Then I shall
begin, and I hope by this means to deliver the people from the terror that reigns
over them." Dinarzade replied that she would do with pleasure what her sister
wished.
When the usual hour arrived the grand-vizir conducted Scheherazade to the
palace, and left her alone with the Sultan, who bade her raise her veil and was
amazed at her beauty. But seeing her eyes full of tears, he asked what was the
matter. "Sire," replied Scheherazade, "I have a sister who loves me as tenderly
as I love her. Grant me the favour of allowing her to sleep this night in the same
room, as it is the last we shall be together." Schahriar consented to
Scheherazade's petition and Dinarzade was sent for.
An hour before daybreak Dinarzade awoke, and exclaimed, as she had
promised, "My dear sister, if you are not asleep, tell me I pray you, before the sun
rises, one of your charming stories. It is the last time that I shall have the
pleasure of hearing you."
Scheherazade did not answer her sister, but turned to the Sultan. "Will your
highness permit me to do as my sister asks?" said she.
"Willingly," he answered. So Scheherazade began.
The Story of the Merchant and the
Genius
Sire, there was once upon a time a merchant who possessed great wealth, in
land and merchandise, as well as in ready money. He was obliged from time to
time to take journeys to arrange his affairs. One day, having to go a long way
from home, he mounted his horse, taking with him a small wallet in which he had
put a few biscuits and dates, because he had to pass through the desert where
no food was to be got. He arrived without any mishap, and, having finished his
business, set out on his return. On the fourth day of his journey, the heat of the
sun being very great, he turned out of his road to rest under some trees. He
found at the foot of a large walnut-tree a fountain of clear and running water. He
dismounted, fastened his horse to a branch of the tree, and sat by the fountain,
after having taken from his wallet some of his dates and biscuits. When he had
finished this frugal meal he washed his face and hands in the fountain.
When he was thus employed he saw an enormous genius, white with rage,
coming towards him, with a scimitar in his hand.
"Arise," he cried in a terrible voice, "and let me kill you as you have killed my
son!"
As he uttered these words he gave a frightful yell. The merchant, quite as much
terrified at the hideous face of the monster as at his words, answered him
tremblingly, "Alas, good sir, what can I have done to you to deserve death?"
"I shall kill you," repeated the genius, "as you have killed my son."
"But," said the merchant, "How can I have killed your son? I do not know him,
and I have never even seen him."
"When you arrived here did you not sit down on the ground?" asked the genius,
"and did you not take some dates from your wallet, and whilst eating them did not
you throw the stones about?"
"Yes," said the merchant, "I certainly did so."
"Then," said the genius, "I tell you you have killed my son, for whilst you were
throwing about the stones, my son passed by, and one of them struck him in the
eye and killed him. So I shall kill you."
"Ah, sir, forgive me!" cried the merchant.
"I will have no mercy on you," answered the genius.
"But I killed your son quite unintentionally, so I implore you to spare my life."
"No," said the genius, "I shall kill you as you killed my son," and so saying, he
seized the merchant by the arm, threw him on the ground, and lifted his sabre to
cut off his head.
The merchant, protesting his innocence, bewailed his wife and children, and tried
pitifully to avert his fate. The genius, with his raised scimitar, waited till he had
finished, but was not in the least touched.
Scheherazade, at this point, seeing that it was day, and knowing that the Sultan
always rose very early to attend the council, stopped speaking.
"Indeed, sister," said Dinarzade, "this is a wonderful story."
"The rest is still more wonderful," replied Scheherazade, "and you would say so,
if the sultan would allow me to live another day, and would give me leave to tell it
to you the next night."
Schahriar, who had been listening to Scheherazade with pleasure, said to
himself, "I will wait till to-morrow; I can always have her killed when I have heard
the end of her story."
All this time the grand-vizir was in a terrible state of anxiety. But he was much
delighted when he saw the Sultan enter the council-chamber without giving the
terrible command that he was expecting.
The next morning, before the day broke, Dinarzade said to her sister, "Dear
sister, if you are awake I pray you to go on with your story."
The Sultan did not wait for Scheherazade to ask his leave. "Finish," said he, "the
story of the genius and the merchant. I am curious to hear the end."
So Scheherazade went on with the story. This happened every morning. The
Sultana told a story, and the Sultan let her live to finish it.
When the merchant saw that the genius was determined to cut off his head, he
said: "One word more, I entreat you. Grant me a little delay; just a short time to
go home and bid my wife and children farewell, and to make my will. When I
have done this I will come back here, and you shall kill me."
"But," said the genius, "if I grant you the delay you ask, I am afraid that you will
not come back."
"I give you my word of honour," answered the merchant, "that I will come back
without fail."
"How long do you require?" asked the genius.
"I ask you for a year's grace," replied the merchant. "I promise you that to-morrow
twelvemonth, I shall be waiting under these trees to give myself up to you."
On this the genius left him near the fountain and disappeared.
The merchant, having recovered from his fright, mounted his horse and went on
his road.
When he arrived home his wife and children received him with the greatest joy.
But instead of embracing them he began to weep so bitterly that they soon
guessed that something terrible was the matter.
"Tell us, I pray you," said his wife, "what has happened."
"Alas!" answered her husband, "I have only a year to live."
Then he told them what had passed between him and the genius, and how he
had given his word to return at the end of a year to be killed. When they heard
this sad news they were in despair, and wept much.
The next day the merchant began to settle his affairs, and first of all to pay his
debts. He gave presents to his friends, and large alms to the poor. He set his
slaves at liberty, and provided for his wife and children. The year soon passed
away, and he was obliged to depart. When he tried to say good-bye he was quite
overcome with grief, and with difficulty tore himself away. At length he reached
the place where he had first seen the genius, on the very day that he had
appointed. He dismounted, and sat down at the edge of the fountain, where he
awaited the genius in terrible suspense.
Whilst he was thus waiting an old man leading a hind came towards him. They
greeted one another, and then the old man said to him, "May I ask, brother, what
brought you to this desert place, where there are so many evil genii about? To
see these beautiful trees one would imagine it was inhabited, but it is a
dangerous place to stop long in."
The merchant told the old man why he was obliged to come there. He listened in
astonishment.
"This is a most marvellous affair. I should like to be a witness of your interview
with the genius." So saying he sat down by the merchant.
While they were talking another old man came up, followed by two black dogs.
He greeted them, and asked what they were doing in this place. The old man
who was leading the hind told him the adventure of the merchant and the genius.
The second old man had not sooner heard the story than he, too, decided to stay
there to see what would happen. He sat down by the others, and was talking,
when a third old man arrived. He asked why the merchant who was with them
looked so sad. They told him the story, and he also resolved to see what would
pass between the genius and the merchant, so waited with the rest.
They soon saw in the distance a thick smoke, like a cloud of dust. This smoke
came nearer and nearer, and then, all at once, it vanished, and they saw the
genius, who, without speaking to them, approached the merchant, sword in hand,
and, taking him by the arm, said, "Get up and let me kill you as you killed my
son."
The merchant and the three old men began to weep and groan.
Then the old man leading the hind threw himself at the monster's feet and said,
"O Prince of the Genii, I beg of you to stay your fury and to listen to me. I am
going to tell you my story and that of the hind I have with me, and if you find it
more marvellous than that of the merchant whom you are about to kill, I hope that
you will do away with a third part of his punishment?"
The genius considered some time, and then he said, "Very well, I agree to this."
The Story of the First Old Man and of
the Hind
I am now going to begin my story (said the old man), so please attend.
This hind that you see with me is my wife. We have no children of our own,
therefore I adopted the son of a favorite slave, and determined to make him my
heir.
My wife, however, took a great dislike to both mother and child, which she
concealed from me till too late. When my adopted son was about ten years old I
was obliged to go on a journey. Before I went I entrusted to my wife's keeping
both the mother and child, and begged her to take care of them during my
absence, which lasted a whole year. During this time she studied magic in order
to carry out her wicked scheme. When she had learnt enough she took my son
into a distant place and changed him into a calf. Then she gave him to my
steward, and told him to look after a calf she had bought. She also changed the
slave into a cow, which she sent to my steward.
When I returned I inquired after my slave and the child. "Your slave is dead," she
said, "and as for your son, I have not seen him for two months, and I do not know
where he is."
I was grieved to hear of my slave's death, but as my son had only disappeared, I
thought I should soon find him. Eight months, however, passed, and still no
tidings of him; then the feast of Bairam came.
To celebrate it I ordered my steward to bring me a very fat cow to sacrifice. He
did so. The cow that he brought was my unfortunate slave. I bound her, but just
as I was about to kill her she began to low most piteously, and I saw that her
eyes were streaming with tears. It seemed to me most extraordinary, and, feeling
a movement of pity, I ordered the steward to lead her away and bring another.
My wife, who was present, scoffed at my compassion, which made her malice of
no avail. "What are you doing?" she cried. "Kill this cow. It is the best we have to
sacrifice."
To please her, I tried again, but again the animal's lows and tears disarmed me.
"Take her away," I said to the steward, "and kill her; I cannot."
The steward killed her, but on skinning her found that she was nothing but bones,
although she appeared so fat. I was vexed.
"Keep her for yourself," I said to the steward, "and if you have a fat calf, bring that
in her stead."
In a short time he brought a very fat calf, which, although I did not know it, was
my son. It tried hard to break its cord and come to me. It threw itself at my feet,
with its head on the ground, as if it wished to excite my pity, and to beg me not to
take away its life.
I was even more surprised and touched at this action than I had been at the tears
of the cow.
"Go," I said to the steward, "take back this calf, take great care of it, and bring me
another in its place instantly."
As soon as my wife heard me speak this she at once cried out, "What are you
doing, husband? Do not sacrifice any calf but this."
"Wife," I answered, "I will not sacrifice this calf," and in spite of all her
remonstrances, I remained firm.
I had another calf killed; this one was led away. The next day the steward asked
to speak to me in private.