The girl did as she was told, and when the hag came home in the evening she asked the girl whether she had accomplished her task. “Yes, little mother,” replied the bride, “I have swept and I have not swept.”—“Thou daughter of a dog,” cried the old witch, “not thine own wit but my son’s mouth hath told thee this thing.”
The next morning when the hag got up she gave the damsel vases, and told her to fill them with tears. The moment the hag had gone the damsel placed the three vases before her, and wept and wept, but what could her few teardrops do to fill them? Then she took out and burned the third hair.
Again her lord appeared before her, and explained to her that she must fill the three vases with water, and then put a pinch of salt in each vase. The girl did so, and when the hag came home in the evening and demanded an account of her work, the girl showed her the three vases full of tears. “Thou daughter of a dog!” chided the old woman again, “that is not thy work; but I’ll do for thee yet, and for my son too.”
The next day she devised some other task for her to do; but her son guessed that his mother would vex the wench, so he hastened home to his bride. There the poor thing was worrying herself about it all alone, for the third hair was now burnt, and she did not know how to set about doing the task laid upon her. “Well, there is now nothing for it but to run away,” said her lord, “for she won’t rest now till she hath done thee a mischief.” And with that he took his wife, and out into the wide world they went.
In the evening the hag came home, and saw neither her son nor his bride. “They have flown, the dogs!” cried the hag, with a threatening voice, and she called to her sister, who was also a witch, to make ready and go in pursuit of her son and his bride. So the witch jumped into a pitcher, snatched up a serpent for a whip, and went after them.
The demon-lover saw his aunt coming, and in an instant changed the girl into a bathing-house, and himself into a bath-man sitting down at the gate. The witch leaped from the pitcher, went to the bath-keeper, and asked him if he had not seen a young boy and girl pass by that way.
“I have only just warmed up my bath,” said the youth, “there’s nobody inside it; if thou dost not believe me, thou canst go and look for thyself.” The witch thought: “’Tis impossible to get a sensible word out of a fellow of this sort,” so she jumped into her pitcher, flew back, and told her sister that she couldn’t find them. The other hag asked her whether she had exchanged words with any one on the road. “Yes,” replied the younger sister, “there was a bath-house by the roadside, and I asked the owner of it about them; but he was either a fool or deaf, so I took no notice of him.”
“’Tis thou who wert the fool,” snarled her elder sister. “Didst thou not recognize in him my son, and in the bath-house my daughter-in-law?” Then she called her second sister, and sent her after the fugitives.
The devil’s son saw his second aunt flying along in her pitcher. Then he gave his wife a tap and turned her into a spring, but he himself sat down beside it, and began to draw water out of it with a pitcher. The witch went up to him, and asked him whether he had seen a girl and a boy pass by that way.
“There’s drinkable water in this spring,” replied he, with a vacant stare, “I am always drawing it.” The witch thought she had to do with a fool, turned back, and told her sister that she had not met with them. Her sister asked her if she had not come across any one by the way. “Yes, indeed,” replied she, “a half-witted fellow was drawing water from a spring, but I couldn’t get a single sensible word out of him.”
“That half-witted fellow was my son, the spring was his wife, and a pretty wiseacre thou art,” screeched her sister. “I shall have to go myself, I see,” and with that she jumped into her pitcher, snatched up a serpent to serve her as a whip, and off she went.
Meanwhile the youth looked back again, and saw his mother coming after them. He gave the girl a tap and changed her into a tree, but he himself turned into a serpent, and coiled himself round the tree. The witch recognized them, and drew near to the tree to break it to pieces; but when she saw the serpent coiled round it, she was afraid to kill her own son along with it, so she said to her son: “Son, son! show me, at least, the girl’s little finger, and then I’ll leave you both in peace.” The son saw that he could not free himself from her any other way, and that she must have at least a little morsel of the damsel to nibble at. So he showed her one of the girl’s little fingers, and the old hag wrenched it off, and returned to her domains with it. Then the youth gave the girl a tap and himself another tap, put on human shape again, and away they went to the girl’s father, the Padishah. The youth, since his talisman had been destroyed, remained a mortal man, but the diabolical part of him stayed at home with his witch-mother and her kindred. The Padishah rejoiced greatly in his children, gave them a wedding-banquet with a wave of his finger, and they inherited the realm after his death.
Once upon a time that was no time, in the days when the servants of Allah were many and the misery of man was great, there lived a poor woman who had three sons and one daughter. The youngest son was half-witted, and used to roll about all day in the warm ashes.
One day the two elder brothers went out to plough, and said to their mother: “Boil us something, and send our sister out with it into the field.”—Now the three-faced devil had pitched his tent close to this field, and in order that the girl might not come near them he determined to persuade her to go all round about instead of straight to them.
The mother cooked the dinner and the girl went into the field with it, but the devil contrived to make her lose her road, so that she wandered further and further away from the place where she wanted to go. At last, when her poor head was quite confused, the devil’s wife appeared before her and asked the terrified girl what she meant by trespassing there. Then she talked her over and persuaded her to come home with her, that she might hide her from the vengeance of the devil, her husband.
But the three-faced devil had got home before them, and when they arrived the old woman told the girl to make haste and get something ready to eat while her maid-servant stirred up the fire. But scarcely had she begun to get the dish ready than the devil crept stealthily up behind her, opened his mouth wide, and swallowed the girl whole, clothes and all.
Meanwhile her brothers were waiting in the field for their dinner, but neither the damsel nor the victuals appeared. Afternoon came and went and evening too, and then the lads went home, and when they heard from their mother that their sister had gone to seek them early in the morning they suspected what had happened—their little sister must have fallen into the hands of the devil. The two elder brothers did not think twice about it, but the elder of them set off at once to seek his sister.
He went on and on, puffing at his chibook, sniffing the perfume of flowers and drinking coffee, till he came to an oven by the wayside. By the oven sat an old man, who asked the youth on what errand he was bent. The youth told him of his sister’s case, and said he was going in search of the three-faced devil, and would not be content till he had killed him.—“Thou wilt never be able to slay the devil,” said the man, “till thou hast eaten of bread that has been baked in this oven.”—The youth thought this no very difficult matter, took the loaves out of the oven, but scarcely had he bitten a piece out of one of them than the oven, the man, and the loaves all disappeared before his eyes, and the bit he had taken swelled within him so that he nearly burst.
The youth hadn’t gone two steps further on when he saw on the highway a large cauldron, and the cauldron was full of wine. A man was sitting in front of the cauldron, and he asked him the way, and told him the tale of the devil. “Thou wilt never be able to cope with the devil,” said the man, “if thou dost not drink of this wine.” The youth drank, but: “Woe betide my stomach, woe betide my bowels!” for so plagued was he that he could not have stood upright if he had not seen two bridges before him. One of these bridges was of wood and the other was of iron, and beyond the two bridges were two apple-trees, and one bore unripe bitter apples and the other sweet ripe ones.
The three-faced devil was waiting on the road to see which bridge he would choose, the wooden or the iron one, and which apples he would eat, the sour or the sweet ones. The youth went along the iron bridge, lest the wooden one might break down, and plucked the sweet apples, because the green ones were bitter. That was just what the devil wanted him to do, and he at once sent his mother to meet the youth and entice him into his house as he had done his sister, and it was not long before he also found his way into the devil’s belly.
And next in order, the middling brother, not wishing to be behind-hand, also went in search of his kinsmen. He also could not eat of the bread his inside also was plagued by the wine, he went across the iron bridge and ate of the sweet apples, and so he also found his way into the devil’s belly. Only the youngest brother who lay among the ashes remained. His mother besought him not to forsake her in her old age. If the others had gone he at least could remain and comfort her, she said. But the youth would not listen. “I will not rest,” said Cinderer, “till I have found the three lost ones, my two brothers and my sister, and slain the devil.” Then he rose from his chimney corner, and no sooner had he shaken the ashes from off him than such a tempest arose that all the labourers at work in the fields left their ploughs where they stood, and ran off as far as their eyes could see. Then the youngest son gathered together the ploughshares and bade a blacksmith make a lance of them, but a lance of such a kind as would fly into the air and come back again to the hand that hurled it without breaking its iron point. The smith made the lance, and the youth hurled it. Up into the air flew the lance, but when it came down again on to the tip of his little finger it broke to pieces. Then the youth shook himself still more violently in the ashes, and again the labourers in the field fled away before the terrible tempest which immediately arose, and the youth gathered together a still greater multitude of ploughshares and took them to the smith. The smith made a second lance, and that also flew up into the air and broke to pieces when it came down again. Then the youth shook himself in the ashes a third time, and such a hurricane arose that there was scarce a ploughshare in the whole country-side that was not carried away. It was only with great difficulty that the smith could make the third lance, but when that came down on the youth’s finger it did not break in pieces like the others. “This will do pretty well,” said the youth, and catching up the lance he went forth into the wide world.
He went on and on and on till he also came to the oven and the cauldron. The men who guarded the oven and the cauldron stopped him and asked him his business, and on finding out that he was going to kill the devil, they told the youth that he must first eat the bread of the oven and then drink the wine in the cauldron if he could. The son of the cinders wished for nothing better. He ate the loaves that were baked in the oven, drank all the wine, and further on he saw the wooden bridge and the iron bridge, and beyond the bridges the apple-trees.
The devil had observed the youth from afar, and his courage began to ooze out of him when he saw the deeds of the son of the ashes. “Any fool can go across the iron bridge,” thought the youth, “I’ll go across the wooden one,” and as it was no very great feat to eat the sweet apples he ate the sour ones.—“There will be no joking with this one,” said the devil, “I see I must get ready my lance and measure my strength with him.”
The son of the ashes saw the devil from afar, and full of the knowledge of his own valour went straight up to him.
“If thou doest not homage to me, I’ll swallow thee straight off,” cried the devil.
“And if thou doest not homage to me, I’ll knock thee to pieces with my lance,” replied the youth.
“Oh ho! if we’re so brave as all that,” cried the three-faced monster, “let us out with our lances without losing any more time.”
So the devil out with his lance, whirled it round his head, and aimed it with all his might at the youth, who gave but one little twist with his finger, and crick-crack! the devil’s lance broke all to bits. “Now it’s my turn,” cried the son of the cinders; and he hurled his lance at the devil with such force that the devil’s first soul flew out of his nose.—“At it again once more, if thou art a man,” yelled the devil, with a great effort. “Not I,” cried the youth, “for my mother only bore me once,” whereupon the devil breathed forth his last soul also. Then the youth went on to seek the devil’s wife. Her also he chased down the road after her husband, and when he had cut them both in two, lo and behold! all three of his kinsfolk stood before him, so he turned back home and took them with him. Now his brothers and sister had grown very thirsty in the devil’s belly, and when they saw a large well by the wayside, they asked their brother Cinder-son to draw them a little water. Then the youths took off their girdles, tied them together, and let down the biggest brother, but he had scarcely descended more than half-way down when he began to shriek unmercifully: “Oh, oh, draw me up, I have had enough,” so that they had to pull him up and let the second brother try. And with him it fared the same way. “Now ’tis my turn,” cried Cinder-son, “but mind you do not pull me
up, however loudly I holloa.” So they let down the youngest brother, and he too began to holloa and bawl, but they paid no heed to it, and let him down till he stood on the dry bottom of the well. A door stood before him, he opened it, and there were three lovely damsels sitting in a room together, and each of them shone like the moon when she is only fourteen days old. The three damsels were amazed at the sight of the youth. How durst he come into the devil’s cavern? they asked—and they begged and besought him to escape as he valued dear life. But the youth would not budge at any price, till he had got the better of this devil also. The end of the matter was that he slew the devil and released the three damsels, who were Sultan’s daughters, and had been stolen from their fathers and kept here for the last seven years. The two elder princesses he intended for his two brothers, but the youngest, who was also the loveliest, he chose for himself, and filling the pitcher with water he brought the damsels to the bottom of the well, right below the mouth of it.
First of all he let them draw up the eldest princess for his eldest brother, then he made them pull up the middling princess for his middling brother, and then it came to the youngest damsel’s turn. But she desired that the youth should be drawn up at all hazards and herself afterwards. “Thy brethren,” she explained, “will be wroth with thee for keeping the loveliest damsel for thyself, and will not draw thee out of the well for sheer jealousy.”
“I’ll find my way out even then,” answered the youth, and though she begged and besought him till there was no more soul in her, he would not listen to her. Then the damsel drew from her breast a casket and said to the youth: “If any mischief befall thee, open this casket. Inside it is a piece of flint, and if thou strike it once a negro efrit will appear before thee and fulfil all thy desires. If thy brethren leave thee in the well, go to the palace of the devil and stand by the well. Two rams come there every day, a black one and a white one; if thou cling fast to the white one, thou wilt come to the surface of the earth, but if thou cling on to the black one thou wilt sink down into the seventh world.”
Then he let them draw up the youngest damsel, and no sooner did his brethren see their brother’s bride and perceive that she was the loveliest of all, than jealousy overtook them, and in their wrath they left him in the well and went home with the damsels.
So what else could the poor youth at the bottom of the well do than go back to the devil’s palace, stand by the well, and wait for the two rams? Not very long afterwards a white ram came bounding along before him, and after that a black ram, and the youth, instead of catching hold of the white ram, seized the black one and immediately perceived that he was at the bottom of the seventh world.... He went on and on, he went for a long time and he went for a short time, he went by day and he went by night, he went up hill and down dale till he could do no more, and stopped short by a large tree to take a little rest. But what was that he saw before him? A large serpent was gliding up the trunk of the tree and would have devoured all the young birds on the tree if Cinder-son had let him. But the youth quickly drew forth his lance and cut the serpent in two with a single blow. Then, like one who has done his work well, he lay down at the foot of the tree, and inasmuch as he was tired and it was warm he fell asleep at once.
Now while he slept the emerald Anka, who is the mother of the birds and the Padishah of the Peris, passed by that way, and when she saw the sleeping youth she fancied him to be her enemy, who was wont to destroy her children year by year. She was about to cut him to pieces, when the birds whispered to her not to hurt the youth, because he had killed their enemy the serpent. It was only then that the Anka perceived the two halves of the serpent. And now, lest anything should harm the sleeping youth, she hopped round and round him, and touched him softly and sheltered him with both her wings lest the sun should scorch him, and when he awoke from his sleep the wing of the bird was spread over him like a tent. And now the Anka approached him and said she would fain reward him for his good deed, and he might make a request of her. Then replied the youth: “I would fain get to the surface of the earth again.”
“Be it so,” said the emerald bird, “but first thou must get forty tons of ox-flesh and forty pitchers of water and sit on my back with them, so that when I say ‘Gik!’ thou mayest give me to eat, and when I say ‘Gak!’ thou mayest give me to drink.”
Then the youth bethought him of his casket, took the flint-stone out of it, and struck it once, and immediately a black efrit with a mouth as big as the world stood before him and said: “What dost thou command, my Sultan?”—“Forty tons of ox-flesh, and forty pitchers of water,” said the youth. In a short time the efrit brought the flesh and the water, and the youth packed it all up together and mounted on the wing of the bird. Off they went, and whenever the Anka cried “Gik!” he gave her flesh, and whenever she cried “Gak!” he gave her water. They flew from one layer of worlds to the next, till in a short time they got above the surface of the earth again, and he dismounted from the bird’s back and said to her: “Wait here a while, and in a short time I shall be back.”
Then the youth took out his coffer, struck the flint-stone, and bade the black bounding efrit get him tidings of the three sisters. In a short time the efrit re-appeared with the three damsels, who were preparing a banquet for the brothers. He made them all sit on the bird’s back, took with him again forty tons of ox-flesh and forty pitchers of water, and away they all went to the land of the three damsels. Every time the Anka said “Gik!” he gave her flesh to eat, and every time she said “Gak!” he gave her water to drink. But as the youth now had three with him besides himself, it came to pass that the flesh ran short, so that when the Anka said “Gik!” once more he had nothing to give her. Then the youth drew his knife, cut a piece of flesh out of his thigh, and stuffed it into the bird’s mouth.[10] The Anka perceived that it was human flesh and did not eat it, but kept it in her mouth, and when they had reached the realm of the three damsels, the bird told him that he might now go in peace.
But the poor youth could not move a step because of the smart in his leg. “Thou go on first,” he said to the bird, “but I will first rest me here a while.”
“Nay, but thou art a droll rogue,” quoth the bird, and with that it spit out of its mouth the piece of human flesh and put it back in its proper place just as if it had never been cut out.
The whole city was amazed at the sight of the return of the Sultan’s daughters. The old Padishah could scarce believe his own eyes. He looked and looked and then he embraced the first princess; he looked and looked and then he kissed the second princess, and when they had told him the story he gave his whole kingdom and his three daughters to Cinder-son. Then the youth sent for his mother and his sister, and they all sat down to the banquet together. Moreover he found his sister a husband who was the son of the Vizier, and for forty days and forty nights they were full of joyfulness.
Once upon a time there was an old woman who felt she would very much like to have a piece of liver, so she gave a girl two or three pence, and bade her buy the liver in the market-place, wash it clean in the pond, and then bring it home. So the girl went to the market-place, bought the liver, and took it to the pond to wash it; and while she was washing it a stork popped down, snatched the liver out of her hand, and flew away with it. Then the girl cried: “Stork, stork! give me back my liver, that I may take it to my mammy, lest my mammy beat me!”—“If thou wilt fetch me a barley-ear instead of it, I’ll give thee back thy liver,” said the stork. So the girl went to the straw-stalk, and said: “Straw-stalk, straw-stalk! give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back my liver, that I may give the liver to my mammy.”—“If thou wilt pray Allah for rain, thou shalt have a little barley-ear,” said the straw-stalk. But while she was beginning her prayer, saying: “Oh, Allah, give me rain, that I may give the rain to the straw-stalk, that the straw-stalk may give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back my liver, that I may give the liver to my mammy,” while she was praying thus, up came a man to her and said that without a censer no prayers could ever get to heaven, so she must go to the bazaar-keeper for a censer.
So she went to the bazaar-keeper, and cried: “Bazaar-keeper, bazaar-keeper! give me a censer, that I may burn incense before Allah, that Allah may give me rain, that I may give rain to the straw-stalk, that the straw-stalk may give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back my liver, that I may give my liver to my mammy!”
“I’ll give it thee,” said the bazaar-keeper, “if thou wilt bring me a boot from the cobbler.”
So the girl went to the cobbler, and said to him: “Cobbler, cobbler! give me a boot, that I may give the boot to the bazaar-keeper, that the bazaar-keeper may give me a censer, that I may burn incense before Allah, that Allah may give me rain, that I may give rain to the straw-stalk, that the straw-stalk may give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back the liver, that I may give the liver to my mammy.”
But the cobbler said: “If thou fetch me a hide thou shalt have a boot for it.”
So the girl went to the tanner, and said: “Tanner, tanner! give me a hide, that I may give the hide to the cobbler, that the cobbler may give me a boot, that I may give the boot to the bazaar-keeper, that the bazaar-keeper may give me a censer, that I may burn incense before Allah, that Allah may give me rain, that I may give the rain to the straw-stalk, that the straw-stalk may give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back my liver, that I may give the liver to my mammy.”
“If thou gettest a hide from the ox, thou wilt get a hide fit for making a boot,” said the tanner.
So the girl went to the ox, and said to it: “Ox, ox! give me a hide, that I may give the hide to the tanner, that the tanner may give me boot-leather, that I may give the boot-leather to the cobbler, that the cobbler may give me a boot, that I may give the boot to the bazaar-keeper, that the bazaar-keeper may give me a censer, that I may burn incense before Allah, that Allah may give me rain, that I may give the rain to the straw-stalk, that the straw-stalk may give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back my liver, that I may give the liver to my mammy.”
The ox said: “If thou get me straw I’ll give thee a hide for it!”
So the girl went to the farmer, and said to him: “Farmer, farmer! give me straw, that I may give the straw to the ox, that the ox may give me a hide, that I may give the hide to the tanner, that the tanner may give me shoe-leather, that I may give the shoe-leather to the cobbler, that the cobbler may give me a shoe, that I may give the shoe to the bazaar-keeper, that the bazaar-keeper may give me a censer, that I may burn incense before Allah, that Allah may give me rain, that I may give rain to the straw-stalk, that the straw-stalk may give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back my liver, that I may give the liver to my mammy.”
The farmer said to the girl: “I’ll give thee the straw if thou give me a kiss.”
“Well,” thought the girl to herself, “a kiss is but a little matter if it free me from all this bother.” So she went up to the farmer and kissed him, and the farmer gave her straw for the kiss. She took the straw to the ox, and the ox gave her a hide for the straw. She took the hide to the tanner, and the tanner gave her shoe-leather. She took the shoe-leather to the cobbler, and the cobbler gave her a shoe for it. She took the shoe to the bazaar-keeper, and the bazaar-keeper gave her a censer. She lit the censer and cried: “Oh, Allah! give me rain, that I may give the rain to the straw-stalk, that the straw-stalk may give me a barley-ear, that I may give the barley-ear to the stork, that the stork may give me back my liver, that I may give the liver to my mammy.” Then Allah gave her rain, and she gave the rain to the straw-stalk, and the straw-stalk gave her a barley-ear, and she gave the barley-ear to the stork, and the stork gave her back her liver, and she gave the liver to her mammy, and her mammy cooked the liver and ate it.
Once upon a time that was no time there were two brothers. Their father and mother had died and divided all their property between them. The elder brother opened a shop, but the younger brother, who was but a feather-brain, idled about and did nothing; so that at last, what with eating and drinking and gadding abroad, the day came when he had no more money left. Then he went to his elder brother and begged a copper or two of him, and when that all was spent he came to him again, and so he continued to live upon him.
At last the elder brother began to grow tired of this waste, but seeing that he could not be quit of his younger brother, he turned all his possessions into sequins, and embarked on a ship in order to go into another kingdom. The younger brother, however, had got wind of it, and before the ship started he managed to creep on board and conceal himself without any one observing him. The elder brother suspected that if the younger one heard of his departure he would be sure to follow after, so he took good care not to show himself on deck. But scarcely had they unfurled the sails when the two brothers came face to face, and the elder brother found himself saddled with his younger brother again.
The elder brother was not a little angry, but what was the use of that!—for the ship did not stop till it came to Egypt. There the elder brother said to the younger brother: “Thou stay here, and I will go and get two mules that we may go on further.” The youth sat down on the shore and waited for his brother, and waited, but waited in vain. “I think I had better look for him,” thought he, and up he got and went after his elder brother.
He went on and on and on, he went a short distance and he went a long distance, six months was he crossing a field; but once as he looked over his shoulder, he saw that for all his walking he walked no further than a barley-stalk reaches. Then he strode still more, he strode still further, he strode for half a year continuously; he kept plucking violets as he went along, and as he went striding, striding, his feet struck upon a hill, and there he saw three youths quarrelling with one another about something. He soon made a fourth, and asked them what they were tussling about.
“We are the children of one father,” said the youngest of them, “and our father has just died and left us, by way of inheritance, a turban, a whip, and a carpet. Whoever puts the turban on his head is hidden from mortal eyes. Whoever extends himself on the carpet and strikes it once with the whip can fly far away, after the manner of birds; and we are eternally quarrelling among ourselves as to whose shall be the turban, whose the whip, and whose the carpet.”
“All three of them must belong to one of us,” cried they all. “They are mine, because I am the biggest,” said one.—“They are mine by right, because I am the middling-sized brother,” cried the second.—“They are mine, because I am the smallest,” cried the third. From words they speedily came to blows, so that it was as much as the youth could do to keep them apart.
“You can’t settle it like that,” said he; “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll make an arrow from this little piece of wood, and shoot it off. You run after it, and he who brings it to me here soonest shall have all three things.” Away flew the dart, and after it pelted the three brothers, helter-skelter; but the wise youth knew a trick worth two of that, for he stuck the turban on his head, sat down on the carpet, tapped it once with the whip, and cried: “Hipp—hopp! let me be where my elder brother is!” and when he awoke a large city lay before him.
He had scarce taken more than a couple of steps through the street, when the Padishah’s herald came along, and proclaimed to the inhabitants of the town that the Sultan’s daughter disappeared every night from the palace. Whoever could find out what became of her should receive the damsel and half the kingdom. “Here am I!” cried the youth, “lead me to the Padishah, and if I don’t find out, let them take my head!”
So they brought the fool into the palace, and in the evening there lay the Sultan’s daughter watching, with her eyes half-closed, all that was going on. The damsel was only waiting for him to go to sleep, and presently she stuck a needle into her heel, took the candle with her, lest the youth should awake, and went out by a side door.
The youth had his turban on his head in a trice, and no sooner had he popped out of the same door than he saw a black efrit standing there with a golden buckler on his head, and on the buckler sat the Sultan’s daughter, and they were just on the point of starting off. The lad was not such a fool as to fancy that he could keep up with them by himself, so he also leaped on to the buckler, and very nearly upset the pair of them in consequence. The efrit was alarmed, and asked the damsel in Allah’s name what she was about, as they were within a hair’s-breadth of falling. “I never moved,” said the damsel; “I am sitting on the buckler just as you put me there.”
The black efrit had scarcely taken a couple of steps, when he felt that the buckler was unusually heavy. The youth’s turban naturally made him invisible, so the efrit turned to the damsel and said: “My Sultana, thou art so heavy to-day that I all but break down beneath thee!”—“Darling Lala!” replied the girl, “thou art very odd to-night, for I am neither bigger nor smaller than I was yesterday.”
Shaking his head the black efrit pursued his way, and they went on and on till they came to a wondrously beautiful garden, where the trees were made of nothing but silver and diamonds. The youth broke off a twig and put it in his pocket, when straightway the trees began to sigh and weep and say: “There’s a child of man here who tortures us! there’s a child of man here who tortures us!”
The efrit and the damsel looked at each other. “They sent a youth in to me to-day,” said the damsel, “maybe his soul is pursuing us.”
Then they went on still further, till they came to another garden, where every tree was sparkling with gold and precious stones. Here too the youth broke off a twig and shoved it into his pocket, and immediately the earth and the sky shook, and the rustling of the trees said: “There’s a child of man here torturing us, there’s a child of man here torturing us,” so that both he and the damsel very nearly fell from the buckler in their fright. Not even the efrit knew what to make of it.
After that they came to a bridge, and beyond the bridge was a fairy palace, and there an army of slaves awaited the damsel, and with their hands straight down by their sides they bowed down before her till their foreheads touched the ground. The Sultan’s daughter dismounted from the efrit’s head, the youth also leaped down; and when they brought the princess a pair of slippers covered with diamonds and precious stones, the youth snatched one of them away, and put it in his pocket. The girl put on one of the slippers, but being unable to find the other, sent for another pair, when, presto! one of these also disappeared. At this the damsel was so annoyed that she walked on without slippers; but the youth, with the turban on his head and the whip and the carpet in his hand, followed her everywhere like her shadow. So the damsel went on before, and he followed her into a room, and there he saw the black Peri, one of whose lips touched the sky, while the other lip swept the ground. He angrily asked the damsel where she had been all the time, and why she hadn’t come sooner. The damsel told him about the youth who had arrived the evening before, and about what had happened on the way, but the Peri comforted her by saying that the whole thing was fancy, and she was not to trouble herself about it any more. After that he sat down with the damsel, and ordered a slave to bring them sherbet. A black slave brought the noble drink in a lovely diamond cup, but just as he was handing it to the Sultan’s daughter the invisible youth gave the hand of the slave such a wrench that he dropped and broke the cup to pieces. A piece of this also the youth concealed in his pocket.
“Now didn’t I say that something was wrong?” cried the Sultan’s daughter. “I want no sherbet nor anything else, and I think I had better get back again as soon as possible.”—“Tush! tush!” said the efrit, and he ordered other slaves to bring them something to eat. So they brought a little table covered with many dishes, and they began to eat together; whereupon the hungry youth also set to work, and the viands disappeared as if three were eating instead of two.
And the black Peri himself began to be a little impatient, when not only the food but also the forks and spoons began to disappear, and he said to his sweetheart, the Sultan’s daughter, that perhaps it would be as well if she did make haste home again. First of all the black efrit wanted to kiss the girl, but the youth slipped in between them, pulled them asunder, and one of them fell to the right and the other to the left. They both turned pale, called the Lala with his buckler, the damsel sat upon it, and away they went. But the youth took down a sword from the wall, bared his arm, and with one blow he chopped off the head of the black Peri. No sooner had his head rolled from his shoulders than the heavens roared so terribly, and the earth groaned so horribly, and a voice cried so mightily: “Woe to us, a child of man hath slain our king!” that the terrified youth knew not whether he stood on his head or his heels.
He seized his carpet, sat upon it, gave it one blow with his whip, and when the Sultan’s daughter returned to the palace, there she found the youth snoring in his room. “Oh, thou wretched bald-pate,” cried the damsel viciously, “what a night I’ve had of it. So much the worse for thee!” Then she took out a needle and pricked the youth in the heel, and because he never stirred she fancied he was asleep, and lay down to sleep herself also.
Next morning when she awoke she bade the youth prepare for death, as his last hour had come. “Nay,” replied he, “not to thee do I owe an account of myself; let us both come before the Padishah.”
Then they led him before the father of the damsel, but he said he would only tell them what had happened in the night if they called all the people of the town together. “In that way I shall find my brother, perhaps,” thought he. So the town-crier called all the people together, and the youth stood on a high daïs beside the Padishah and the Sultana, and began to tell them the whole story, from the efrit’s buckler to the Peri king. “Believe him not, my lord Padishah and father; he lies, my lord father and Padishah!” stammered the damsel; whereupon the youth drew from his pocket the diamond twig, the twig of gems, the golden slipper, the precious spoons and forks. Then he went on to tell them of the death of the black Peri, when all at once he caught sight of his elder brother, whom he had been searching for so long. He had now neither eyes nor ears for anything else, but leaping off the daïs, he forced his way on and on through the crowd to his brother, till they both came together.
Then the elder brother told their story, while the younger brother begged the Padishah to give his daughter and half the kingdom to his elder brother. He was quite content, he said, with the magic turban and the magic whip and carpet to the day of his death, if only he might live close to his elder brother.
But the Sultan’s daughter rejoiced most of all when she heard of the death of the Peri king. He had carried her off by force from her room one day, and so enchanted her with his power that she had been unable to set herself free. In her joy she agreed that the youth’s elder brother should be her lord; and they made a great banquet, at which they feasted forty days and forty nights with one another. I also was there, and I begged so much pilaw[11] from the cook, and I got so much in the palm of my hand, that I limp to this day.
There was once upon a time an old Padishah who had three sons and three daughters. One day the old man fell ill, and though they called all the leeches together to help him, his disease would not take a turn for the better. “I already belong to Death,” he thought, and calling to him his sons and daughters, he thus addressed them: “If I die, he among you shall be Padishah who watches three nights at my tomb. As for my daughters, I give them to him who first comes to woo them.” And with that he died, and was buried as became a Padishah.
Now as the realm could have a Padishah in no other way, the eldest son went to his father’s tomb and sat there for half the night, said his prayers upon his carpet, and awaited the dawn. But all at once a horrible din arose in the midst of the darkness, and so frightened was he that he snatched up his slippers and never stopped till he got home. The next night the middling son also went out to the tomb, and he also sat there for half the night, but no sooner did he hear the great din than he too caught up his slippers and hurried off homewards. So it now came to the turn of the third and youngest son.
The third son took his sword, stuck it in his girdle, and went off to the tomb. Sure enough, when he had sat there till midnight, he heard the horrible din, and so horrible was it that the very earth trembled. The youth pulled himself together, went straight towards the spot from whence the noise came loudest, and behold! right in front of him stood a huge dragon. Drawing his sword, the youth fell upon the dragon so furiously that at last the monster had scarcely strength enough left to say: “If thou art a man, put thy heel upon me and strike me with thy sword but once more!”
“Not I,” cried the King’s son, “my mother only bore me into the world once,” whereupon the dragon yielded up its filthy soul. The King’s son would have cut off the beast’s ears and nose, but he could not see very well in the dark, and began groping about for them, when all at once he saw afar off a little shining light. He went straight towards it, and there in the midst of the brightness he saw an old man. Two globes were in his hand, one black and the other white; the black globe he was turning round and round, and from the white globe proceeded the light.
“What art thou doing, old father?” asked the King’s son.
“Alas! my son,” replied the old man, “my business is my bane, I hold fast the nights and let go the days.”—“Alas! my father,” replied the King’s son, “my task is even greater than thine.” With that he tied together the old man’s arms, so that he might not let go the days, and went on still further to seek the light. He went on and on till he came to the foot of a castle wall, and forty men were taking counsel together beneath it.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the King’s son.—“We should like to go into the castle to steal the treasure,” said the forty men, “but we don’t know how.”
“I would very soon help you if you only gave me a little light,” said the King’s son. This the robbers readily promised to do, and after that he took a packet of nails, knocked them into the castle wall, row after row, right up to the top, clambered up himself, and then shouted down to them: “Now you come up one by one, just as I have done.”
So the robbers caught hold of the nails and began to clamber up, one after another, the whole forty of them. But the youth was not idle. He drew his sword, and the moment each one of them reached the top, he chopped off his head and pitched his body into the courtyard, and so he did to the whole forty. Then he leaped down into the courtyard himself, and there right before him was a beautiful palace; and no sooner had he opened the door than a serpent glided past him, and crawled up a column close by the staircase. The youth drew his sword to strike the serpent; he struck and cut the serpent in two, but his sword remained in the stone wall, and he forgot to draw it out again. Then he mounted the staircase and went into a room, and there lay a lovely damsel asleep. So he went out again, closed the door very softly behind him, and ascended to the second flight, and went into a room there, and before him lay a still lovelier damsel on a bed. This door he also closed, and went up to the third and topmost flight, and opened a door there also, and lo! the whole room was piled up with nothing but steel, and such a splendid damsel lay asleep there that if the King’s son had had a thousand hearts, he would have loved her with them all. This door he also closed, remounted the castle wall, re-descended on the other side by means of the nails, which he took out as he descended, and so reached the ground again. Then he went straight up to the old man whose arms he had tied together. “Oh, my son!” cried he from afar, “thou hast remained a long time away. Everybody’s side will be aching from so much lying down.” Then the youth untied his arms, the old man let the white globes of day move round again, and the youth went up to the dragon, cut off its ears and nose, and put them in his knapsack. Then he went back to the palace, and when he drew nigh to it he found that they had made his eldest brother Padishah. However, he let it be and said nothing.
Not very long afterwards a lion came to the palace, and went straight up to the Padishah. “What dost thou want?” asked the Padishah. “I want thy eldest sister to wife,” replied the lion. “I give not my sister to a brute beast,” said the Padishah, and forthwith they began chasing the lion away; but now the King’s son appeared and said: “Such was not our father’s will, but he said we were to give her to whomsoever asked for her.” With that they brought the damsel and gave her to the lion, and he took her and was gone.
The next day came a tiger, and demanded the middling daughter from the Padishah. The two elder brethren would by no means give her up, but again the youngest brother insisted that they should do so, as it was their father’s wish. So they sent for the damsel and gave her to the tiger.
On the third day a bird alighted in the palace, and said that he must have the youngest of the Sultan’s daughters. The Padishah and the second brother were again unwilling to agree to it, but the youngest brother stood them out that the bird ought to be allowed to fly back with his sister. Now this bird was the Padishah of the Peris, the emerald Anka. But now let us see what happened in that castle of which we have before spoken.
In this castle there dwelt just about this time a Padishah and his three daughters. Rising one morning and going out, he saw a man walking in the palace. He went out into the courtyard, and saw a serpent cut in two on the staircase, and a sword sticking in the stone column, and going on still further, and searching in all directions, he perceived the bodies of the forty robbers in his castle moat. “Not an enemy, but only the hand of a friend could have done this,” thought he; “and he has saved me from the robbers and the serpent. The sword is my good friend’s, but where is the sword’s master?” And he took counsel with his Vizier.
“Oh, we’ll soon get to the bottom of that,” said the Vizier. “Let us make a great bath, and invite every one to come and bathe in it for nothing. We will watch carefully each single man, and whosoever has a sheath without a sword will be the man who has saved us.” And the Padishah did so. He made ready a big bath, and the whole realm came and bathed in it.
Next day the Vizier said to him: “Every one has been here to bathe save only the King’s three sons, they still remain behind.” Then the Padishah sent word to the King’s three sons to come and bathe, and looking closely at their garments, he perceived that the youngest of the three wore a sheath without a sword.
Then the Padishah called the King’s son to him and said: “Great is the good thou hast done to me, ask me what thou wilt for it!”—“I ask nought from thee,” replied the King’s son, “but thy youngest daughter.”
“Alas! my son, ask me anything but that,” sighed the Padishah. “Ask my crown, my kingdom, and I’ll give them to thee, but my daughter I cannot give thee.”
“If thou givest me thy daughter I will take her,” replied the King’s son, “but nought else will I take from thy hand.”
“My son,” groaned the Padishah, “I will give thee my eldest daughter, I’ll give thee my second daughter, nay, I’ll give thee the pair of them if thou wilt. But my youngest daughter has a deadly enemy, the Wind-Demon. Because I would not give her to him, I must needs fence her room about with walls of steel, lest any of the devil race draw near to her. For the Wind-Demon is such a terrible monster that eye cannot see nor dart overtake him; like the tempest he flies, and his coming is like the coming of a whirlwind.”
But whatever the Padishah might say to turn him from seeking after the damsel fell on deaf ears. He begged and pleaded so hard for the damsel that the Padishah was wearied by his much speaking, and promised him the damsel, nay they held the bridal banquet. The two elder brothers received the two elder damsels, and returned to their kingdom, but the youngest brother remained behind to guard his wife against the Wind-Demon.
Time came and went, and the King’s son avoided the light of day for the sake of his lovely Sultana. One day, however, the King’s son said to his wife: “Behold now, my Sultana, all this time I have never moved from thy side, methinks I will go a-hunting, though it only be for a little hour or so.”
“Alas! my King,” replied his wife, “if thou dost depart from me, I know that thou wilt never see me more.” But as he begged her for leave again and again, and promised to be back again immediately, his wife consented. Then he took his weapons and went forth into the forest.
Now the Wind-Demon had been awaiting this chance all along. He feared the famous prince, and durst not snatch his wife from his arms; but as soon as ever the King’s son had put his foot out of doors, the Wind-Demon came in and vanished with the wife of the King’s son.
Not very long afterwards the King’s son came back, and could find his wife nowhere. He went to the Padishah to seek her, and came back again, for it was certain that the Demon must have taken her, no other living soul could have got near her. Bitterly did he weep, fiercely did he dash himself against the floor, but then he quickly rose up again, took horse, and galloped away into the wide world, determined to find either death or his consort.
He went on for days, he went on for weeks, in his trouble and anguish he gave himself no rest. All at once a palace sprang up before him, but it seemed to him like a mirage, which baffles the eye that looks upon it. It was the palace of his eldest sister. The damsel was just then looking out of the window, and lo! she caught sight of a man wandering there where never a bird had flown and never a caravan had travelled. Then she recognized him as her brother, and so great was their mutual joy that they could not come to words for hugging and kissing.
Towards evening the damsel said to the King’s son: “The lion will be here shortly, and although he is very good to me, he is only a brute beast for all that, and may do thee a mischief.” And she took her brother and hid him.