THE STORY OF ’ALA-ED-DIN AND THE WONDERFUL LAMP_STORIES FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS

THE STORY OF ‘ALA-ED-DIN AND THE WONDERFUL LAMP

I HAVE heard, O King of the Age, that there dwelt in a city of China a poor tailor who had a son named ‘Ala-ed-Din. Now this boy had been a scatter-brained scapegrace from his birth. And when he had come to his tenth year his father wished to teach him a handicraft; and being too poor to afford to spend money on him for learning an art or craft or business, he took him into his own shop to learn his trade of tailoring. But ‘Ala-ed-Din, being a careless boy, and always given to playing with the urchins of the street, would not stay in the shop a single day, but used to watch till his father went out on business or to meet a customer, and then would run off to the gardens along with his fellow-ragamuffins. Such was his case. He would neither obey his parents nor learn a trade; till his father, for very sorrow and grief over his son’s misdoing, fell sick and died. But ‘Ala-ed-Din went on in the same way. And when his mother perceived that her husband was dead, and that her son was an idler of no use whatever, she sold the shop and all its contents, and took to spinning cotton to support herself and her good-for-nothing son. Meanwhile, ‘Ala-ed-Din, freed from the control of his father, grew more idle and disreputable, and would not stay at home except for meals, while his poor unfortunate mother subsisted by the spinning of her hands; and so it was, until he had come to his fifteenth year.

One day, as ‘Ala-ed-Din was sitting in the street playing with the gutter-boys, a Moorish Darwish came along, and stood looking at them, and began to scrutinise ‘Ala-ed-Din and closely examine his appearance, apart from his companions. Now this Darwish was from the interior of Barbary, and was a sorcerer who could heap mountain upon mountain by his spells, and who knew astrology. And when he had narrowly scrutinised ‘Ala-ed-Din, he said within himself: “Verily this is the youth I need, and in quest of whom I left my native land.” And he took one of the boys aside and asked him concerning ‘Ala-ed-Din, whose son he was, and wanted to know all about him. After which, he went up to ‘Ala-ed-Din, and took him aside, and said: “Boy, art thou not the son of such a one, the tailor?” And he answered: “Yes, O my master; but as to my father, he has long been dead.” When the Moorish sorcerer heard this, he fell upon ‘Ala-ed-Din, and embraced him and kissed him and wept till the tears ran down his cheeks. And when ‘Ala-ed-Din saw the state of the Moor, wonder seized upon him, and he asked him and said: “Why dost thou weep, O my master? and how knowest thou my father?” And the Moor replied in a low and broken voice: “My boy, how dost thou ask me this question after thou hast told me that thy father, my brother is dead? For thy father was my brother, and I have journeyed from my country, and I rejoiced greatly in the hope of seeing him again, after my long exile, and cheering him; and now thou hast told me he is dead. But our blood hideth not from me that thou art my brother’s son, and I recognized the amongst all the boys, although thy father was not yet married when I parted from him. And now, O my son, ‘Ala-ed-Din, I have missed the obsequies, and been deprived of the delight of meeting thy father, my brother, whom I had looked to see again, after my long absence, before I die. Separation caused me this grief, and created man hath no remedy or subterfuge against the decrees of God the most High.” And he took ‘Ala-ed-Din and said to him: “O my son, there remaineth no comfort to me but in thee; thou standest in thy father’s place, since thou art his successor, and ‘whoso leaveth issue doth not die, O my son.” And the sorcerer stretched forth his hand and took ten gold pieces, and gave them to ‘Ala-ed-Din, saying to him: “O my son, where is thy house, and where is thy mother, my brother’s widow?” So “Ala-ed-Din shewed him the way to their house, and the sorcerer said to him: “O my son, take this money, and give it to thy mother, and salute her from me, and tell her that thy uncle hath returned from his exile, and, God willing, will visit her to-morrow to greet here and to see the house where my brother lived and the place where he is buried.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din kissed the hand of the Moor, and went, running in his joy, to his mother’s, and entered, contrary to his custom, for he was not wont to come home save at meal times. And when he was come in he cried out in his joy: “O my mother, I bring thee good news of my uncle, who hath returned from his exile, and saluteth thee.” And she said: “O my son, dost thou mock me? Who is this uncle of thine, and how hast thou an uncle at all??± And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “O my mother, how canst thou say that I have no uncles or kinsmen living, when this man is my uncle on my father’s side, and he hath embraced and kissed me and wept over me, and told me to make this known to thee!” And she said; “O my son, I know indeed that thou didst have an uncle, but he is dead, and I know not any other that thou hast.”

On the morrow the Moorish sorcerer went out to seek ‘Ala-ed-Din, for his heart could not bear parting from him; and as he wandered in the streets of the city, he met him disporting himself as usual along with the other vagabonds, and, approaching, he took him by the hand and embraced and kissed him, and took from his purse ten gold pieces, and said “Haste thee to thy mother and give her these gold pieces, and tell her, ‘My uncle would fain sup with us; so take these pieces and make ready for us a good supper.’ But first of all, shew me again the way to your home.?± And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “On the head and eye, O my uncle.” And he went before him and shewed him the way home. So the Moor left him and went his way; while ‘Ala-ed-Din went home and told his mother, and gave her the gold pieces, and said his uncle would fain take supper with them. So she arose forthwith and went to the market and bought what she needed, and returning home she set about making ready for the supper. And she borrowed from her neighbours what she needed of dishes and the rest, and when the time came for supper she said to her son: “Supper is ready, but perhaps thy uncle doth not know the way to the house; go therefore, and meet him on the road.” And he answered, “I hear and obey.” And whilst they were talking, a knock came at the door, and when ‘Ala-ed-Din opened, behold, there was the Moorish wizard, with a eunuch carrying wine and fruit. And ‘Ala-ed-Din brought them in, and the eunuch departed; but the Moor entered and saluted the mother, and began weeping and asking her questions, as, “Where is the place where my brother sat?” And when she shewed him her husband’s seat, he went to it and prostrated himself and kissed the ground, and cried: “Ah, how small is my satisfaction and how cruel my fate, since I have lost thee, O my brother, O apple of my eye!” And he went on in this manner, weeping and wailing, until ‘Ala-ed-Din’s mother was assured that it was true, for verily he had swooned from the violence of his grief. And she raised him up from the ground and said: “What benefit is there in killing thyself?” And she comforted him, and seated him. And after he was seated and before the supper-tray was served, the Moor began talking with her, and said: “O wife of my brother, let it not amaze thee that in all thy life thou hast neither seen me nor heard of me in the days of my departed brother; for it is forty years since I left this city and banished myself from my birthplace and wandered throughout the countries of India and China and Arabia, and came to Egypt and abode in its glorious capital, which is one of the wonders of the world, until at length I journeyed to the interior of the West and abode there for the space of thirty years. One day, O wife of my brother, I was sitting thinking of my native land and my birthplace and my blessed brother, and my longing to see him grew stronger, and I wept and wailed over my separation and distance from him. And at last my yearning made me determine to journey to this country, which is the pillow of my head and my birthplace, for to see my brother. For I said to myself: “O man, how long wilt thou abandon thy country and thy native place, when thou hast but one brother and no more? So rise and journey and see him ere thou die; for who can tell the calamities of this world and the chances of life? And it would be a sore grief to die without seeing thy brother. Moreover, God (praised be his name!) hath given thee abundant wealth, and perchance thy brother may be in distress and poverty, and thou canst succour him as well as look upon him.’ Therefore I arose and made ready for the journey, and recited the Fatihah, and when the Friday prayers were over, I departed and came to this city, after many troubles and difficulties, which I endured by the help of God. So I arrived here, and the day before yesterday, as soon as I roamed about the streets, I perceived thy son ‘Ala-ed-Din playing with the boys, and by Almighty God, O wife of my brother, hardly had I seen him, when my heart went out to him (for blood is loving to its like), and my heart told me that the was my brother’s son. And I forgot my troubles and anxieties as I saw him, and could have flown for joy, until he told me of death of him who is gathered to the mercy of God most High; whereat I swooned for heaviness of grief and regret. But ‘Ala-ed-Din hath doubtless informed thee of my tribulation. Yet am I comforted in part by this child, who hath been bequeathed to us by the departed. Verily, ‘he who leaveth issue doth not die.’”

And when he saw that she wept at his words, he turned to ‘Ala-ed-Din, to divert her from the thought of her husband; and to console her and perfect his deception, he said. “O my son ‘Ala-ed-Din, what crafts has thou learned and what is thy trade? Hast thou learned a craft to support thee withal, thyself and thy mother?” And ‘Ala-ee-Din was ashamed and hung down his head in confusion, and bent it toward the ground. But his mother cried: “What then! By Allah, he knoweth nothing at all; I never saw so heedless a child as this. All the day he idleth about with the boys of the street, vagabonds like himself, and his father (O my grief!) died only of grieving over him. And I am now in woeful plight; I toil, and spin night and day to gain a couple of loaves of bread for us to eat together. This is his state, O brother-in-law; and by thy life he cometh not home save to meals, and never else. And as for me, I am minded to lock the door of my house and open not to him, but let him go and seek his own living. I am an old woman, and I have not strength to work and struggle for a livelihood like this. By Allah, I have to support him with food, when it is I who ought to be supported.” And the Moor turned to ‘Ala-ed-Din and said: “O son of my brother, why dost thou continue in such gracelessness? It is shame upon thee and befitteth not men like thee. Thou art a person of sense, my boy, and the son of decent folk. It is a reproach to thee that thy mother, an aged woman, should toil for thy maintenance. And now that thou hast reached manhood, it behooveth thee to devise some way whereby thou mayest be able to support thyself. Look about, for God be praised, in this our city there are plenty of teachers of handicrafts; nowhere more. So choose a craft that pleaseth thee, for me to set thee up therein, so that as thou waxest older, my son, thy trade shall bring thee maintenance. If so be thy father’s calling liketh thee not, choose another that thou preferrest. Tell me, and I will help thee as best I can, my son.” And when he saw that ‘Ala-ed-Din was silent and answered him never a word, he knew that he did not wish any calling at all, save idling, so he said: “O son of my brother, let not my advice be irksome to thee; for if, after all, thou like not to learn a trade, I will open for thee a merchant’s shop of the richest stuffs, and thou shalt be known among the people, and take and give and buy and sell and become a man of repute in the city.” And when ‘Ala-ed-Din heard his uncle’s words, that he would make him a merchant trader, he rejoiced greatly, for he knew that merchants are well dressed and well fed. So he looked smilingly at the Moor and inclined his head to signify his content.

And when the Moorish wizard saw ‘Ala-ed-Din smiling, he perceived that he was content to be made a merchant, and he said to him: “Since thou art satisfied that I make thee a merchant and open a shop for thee, O son of my brother, be a man, and, God willing, to-morrow I will take thee to the market to begin with, and get cut for thee an elegant dress such as merchants wear, and then find for thee a shop, and keep my promise to thee.” Now ‘Ala-ed-Din’s mother had been in doubt whether the Moor were indeed her brother-in-law; but when she heard his promise to her son to open a merchant’s shop for him and furnish him with goods and wares and the rest, the woman decided in her mind that this Moor was verily her brother-in-law, since no stranger would have acted thus to her son. And she began to direct her son and bade him banish ignorance from his head and become a man, and ever obey his uncle like a son, and retrieve the time he had squandered in idling with his mates. Then she arose, and spread the table and served the supper, and they all sat down, and began to eat and drink; and the Moor discoursed to ‘Ala-ed-Din on the affairs of business and the like, so that the boy did not sleep that night for joy. And when he perceived that the night had fallen, the Moor arose and went to his abode and promised them to return on the morrow to take ‘Ala-ed-Din to have his merchant’s clothes made.

The next day the Moor rapped at the door, and the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and opened to him, but he would not enter, but only desired to take her son with him to the market. So ‘Ala-ed-Din came forth to him and wished him good-day, and kissed his hand; and the Moor took him by the hand and went with him to the market, and entered a clothes-shop of all sorts of stuffs, and demanded a sumptuous suit of merchant’s style. So the dealer brought out what he required ready made. And the Moor said to ‘Ala-ed-Din: “Choose what pleaseth thee, my son.” The boy rejoiced greatly when he understood that his uncle had given him his choice, and he picked out the suit he preferred; and the Moor paid the dealer the price on the spot. Then he took ‘Ala-ed-Din to the Hammam, and they bathed, and came forth, and drank sherbet. And ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and put on his new dress, rejoicing and preening; and he approached his uncle and thanked him, and kissed his hand, and acknowledged his kindness.

After the Moor had come forth from the bath with ‘Ala-ed-Din and taken him to the market of the merchants, and delighted him with the buying and selling therein, he said to him: “O son of my brother, it behooveth thee to become acquainted with the people, above all with the merchants, in order to learn their business, since it is now thy profession.” And he took him and shewed him about the city and the mosques and all the sights of the place; and then led him to a cook-shop, where dinner was served to them on silver dishes; and they dined and ate and drank until they were satisfied’ and then they went their way. And the Moor pointed out the pleasure-grounds, and great buildings, and entered the Sultan’s palace, and shewed him all the beautiful large rooms. Then he took him to the Khan of the foreign merchants, where he had his lodging; and he invited some of the merchants in the Khan to supper; and when they sat down, he informed them that this was his brother’s son, whose name was ‘Ala-ed-Din. And when they had eaten and drunk and night had fallen, he arose and took ‘Ala-ed-Din back to his mother. And when she saw her son, that he was one of the merchants, her reason departed for very joy, and she began to thank her brother-in-law for his goodness, saying: “O my brother-in-law, I could not satisfy myself if I thanked thee all my life, and praised thee for the favour thou hast done to my son.” And the Moor replied: “O wife of my brother, it is no favour at all, for this is my son, and it is my duty to fill the place of my brother, his father. So let it suffice thee.” And she said: “I pray God, by his favoured ones, the saints of old and of latter days, to keep thee and prolong thy life to me, O my brother-in-law, so that thou mayest be a shield for this orphan youth, and he be ever obedient to thy command and do nothing save what thou orderest him to do.” And the Moor replied: “O wife of my brother, ‘Ala-ed-Din is of man’s estate and intelligent and of an honest stock, and please God he will follow his father’s way and refresh thine eye. I am sorry, however, that, to-morrow being Friday the day of worship, I shall not be able to open his shop for him, because on that day all the merchants after service repair to the gardens and walks. But on Saturday, God willing, we will accomplish our affair. And to-morrow I will come here and take ‘Ala-ed-Din, and shew him the gardens and walks outside the city, which he may not perhaps have seen before, and point out to him the merchant folk and people of note who walk about and amuse themselves there, so that he may become acquainted with them and they with him.”

So the Moor slept that night at his abode, and in the morning he came to the tailor?ˉs house and rapped at the door. Now ‘Ala-ed-Din, from excess of delight in his new dress, and what with the bathing and eating and drinking and sightseeing of the day before, and the expectation of his uncle’s coming on the morrow to take him to the gardens, had not slept that night, nor closed his eyes, nor scarcely believed the morning had come. So as soon as he heard the rap at the door he ran out like a flash of fire and opened the door and met his uncle, who embraced and kissed him, and took him by the hand. And as they went along he said: “O son of my brother, to-day I will shew thee such a sight as thou never didst see in all thy life.” And he made the boy laugh and entertained him with his talk. And they went out of the gate of the city and began meandering among the gardens: and the Moor pointed out the splendid pleasure-grounds and wondrous tall palaces. And so often as they looked upon a garden or mansion or palace. The Moor would pause and say: “Doth this astonish thee, O son of my brother? And ‘Ala-ed-Din well nigh flew with delight at seeing things he had never imagined in all his born days. And they ceased not to wander about and amuse themselves till they were weary. Then they entered a large garden hard by, whereat the heart became light and the eye bright, for its brooks trickled amid flowers, and fountains gushed form the jaws of brazen lions, which shone like gold. So they sat down by a lake and rested awhile; and ‘Ala-ed-Din was full of happiness and began to make merry and jest with his uncle as though he were of a truth his father’s brother. Then the Moor arose, and loosening his girdle, took forth a wallet of food and fruit and so forth, saying: “O son of my brother, thou art hungry; come then and eat thy fill.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din fell to eating and the Moor ate with him, and their souls were refreshed and made glad, and they reposed. And the Moor said: “O son of my brother, if thou art rested, let us walk a spell and finish our stroll.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din arose, and the Moor led him from garden to garden till they had quitted all the gardens and come to a lofty hill. But ‘Ala-ed-Din, who all his life had never gone beyond the city gates, or taken such a walk, said to the Moor: “O my uncle, whither do we go? We have left all the gardens behind us, and come to the mountain, and if the way be far, I have not strength to walk longer; nay, I am all but fainting from tiredness. There are no more gardens ahead, so let us turn and go back to the city.” But the Moor replied: “Nay, my son; this is the road, and it is not yet an end of the gardens; for we are just going to look at one such as is not to be seen among Kings’ gardens, and all those thou hast seen are naught compared with it. So pluck up thy courage, for, God be praised, thou art now a grown man.” And the Moor set to cheering ‘Ala-ed-Din with encouraging words, and related wonderful tales, both true and false, until they came to the place which this Moorish sorcerer had fixed upon, and the which to find he had journeyed from the lands of the West to the countries of China. And when they arrived, he said to ‘Ala-ed-Din: “O son of my brother, sit down and rest, for this is the place we are seeking, and if it please God I will shew thee wonders the like of which no one in the world ever saw before, nor hath any one rejoiced in looking upon what thou art to see. When thou art rested, arise and find some faggots of wood and thin dry sticks to make a fire. Then will I shew thee, O son of my brother, a thing beyond description.” And when ‘Ala-ed-Din heard this, he longed to see what his uncle would do, and forgot his weariness and straightway arose and began to collect small faggots and dry sticks and gathered them together till the Moor cried, “Enough, O son of my brother!” Then the Moor drew from his pocket a box, and opened it, and took from it what incense he required, and he burnt it and muttered adjurations and said mysterious words. And straightway, amid murk and quaking and thunder, the earth opened, and ‘Ala-ed-Din was alarmed and terrified at this, and would have fled. But when the sorcerer perceived his intention, he was wroth and furiously enraged thereat, for without ‘Ala-ed-Din his design would come to naught, and the treasure he sought to unearth could not be obtained save by means of the boy. And so when he saw him thinking of flight he made for him, and raising his hand, he smote him on the head, so that his teeth were almost knocked out, and he swooned and fell to the ground. And after a while he came to, by the spells of the Moor, and fell a-crying, and said: “O my uncle, what have I done to deserve such a blow from thee?” So the Moor began to mollify him, and said: “O my son, it is my intention to make a man of thee; so thwart me not, who am thine uncle, and, as it were, thy father. Obey me, rather, in all I tell thee, and shortly thou shalt forget all this toil and trouble when thou lookest upon marvellous things.” Thereupon, when the earth had opened in front of the wizard, there appeared a marble slab, wherein was a ring of brass. And drawing geometric figures, the Moor said to ‘Ala-ed-Din: “If thou dost what I tell thee, thou wilt become richer than all the Kings put together; and for this cause struck I thee, O my son, because there is buried here a treasure which is deposited in thy name, and yet thou wast about to abandon it and flee. And now pull thy wits together and behold how I have cloven the earth by my spells and incantations.

“Under that stone with the ring,” he continued, “is the Treasury whereof I told thee. Put forth thy hand to the ring and raise the stone, for no one in the world but thyself hath the power to open it, nor can any save thee set foot in this Treasury, which hath been reserved for thee alone. Wherefore thou must hearken to all that I bid thee, and not gainsay my words a jot. All this, O my son, is for thy good, since this treasure is immense. The Kings of the earth have never seen the like, and it is all for thee and for me.”

So poor “Ala-ed-Din forgot his tiredness and the beating and the tears, and was dazzled at the words of the Moor, and rejoiced to think that he would become so rich that Kings would not be wealthier than he. And he said: “O my uncle, command me what thou wilt, and I will obey thy behest.” And the Moor said to him: “O son of my brother, thou art like my own child, and more, since thou art my brother’s son, and I have none of kin save thee; and thou art my heir and successor, O my son.” And he approached ‘Ala-ed-Din and kissed him, saying: “For whom should I design all these labours of mine, my child, except for thee, that I may leave thee a rich man, as rich as can be! Wherefore thwart me not in anything I tell thee, but go to that ring and lift it as I bade thee.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “O my uncle, this ring is too heavy for me; I cannot lift it alone; come and help me to raise it, for I am little in years.” But the Moor replied: “O my brother’s son, we can accomplish nothing if I aid thee, and our labours would be vain; put then thy hand to the ring and lift it, and the stone will come up immediately. Did I not tell thee that none can move it but thyself? Repeat thy name and the names of thy father and mother, whilst thou pullest, and it will come up at once, and thou wilt not feel its weight.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din summoned his strength and plucked up his courage, and set to work as his uncle had bidden him, and lifted the stone with perfect ease, after saying the names of himself and his father and mother as the Moor had counselled him. So he lifted the slab and cast it on one side.

And when he had lifted the slab from the door of the Treasury, before him lay a passage entered by a descent of twelve steps. And the Moor said to him: “Ala-ed-Din, pull thy wits together, and do exactly what I tell thee to the uttermost, and fail not a little from it. Descend carefully into yonder passage until thou reachest the end, and there shalt thou find a place divided into four chambers, and in each of these thou shalt see four golden jars and others of virgin gold and silver. Beware that thou touch them not nor take anything out of them, but leave them and go on to the fourth chamber, without even brushing them with thy clothes or loitering a single moment; for if thou do contrary to this thou wilt straightway be transformed and become a black stone. And when thou comest to the fourth chamber thou wilt find a door; then open the door, and repeating the names thou saidst over the slab, enter, and verily thou wilt pass thence into a garden full of fruit trees, whence thou wilt proceed by a path which thou wilt see in front of thee about fifty cubits long, and come upon an alcove〖Liwan.〗 in which is a ladder of about fifty steps, and thou shalt see, moreover, a Lamp suspended above the alcove. Take thou the Lamp, and pour out the oil therein, and put it in thy breast and be not afraid for thy clothes, since it is but common oil. And on thy return thou mayest pluck what thou pleasest from the trees, for all is thine so long as the Lamp continue in thy hand.” And when he had ended, the Moor took a signet ring from his finger and put it on ‘Ala-ed-Din’s finger, and said: “My son, this ring will guard thee from all peril and fear that may behest thee, so long as thou obeyest all that I have told thee. Arise, therefore, forthwith and descend and pluck up thy courage, and strengthen thy resolve and fear not, for thou art a man now, and no longer a child. And after this, my boy, thou shalt speedily become possessed of riches galore, till thou art the richest man in the world.”

So ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and went down into the cavern and found the four chambers and the four golden jars therein, and these he passed by with all care and precaution, as the Moor had told him, and he came to the garden and went through it till he found the alcove, and climbing the ladder, he took the Lamp and poured out the oil and put it in his bosom, and went down into the garden, where he began to marvel at the trees with the birds on their branches singing the praises of their glorious Creator. And though he had not noticed it when he entered, these trees were all covered with precious stones instead of fruit, and each tree was of a different kind and had different jewels, of all colours, green and white and yellow and red and other colours, and the brilliance of these jewels paled the sun’s rays at noontide. And the size of each stone surpassed description, so that none of the Kings of the world possessed any like the largest or half the size of the least of them. And ‘Ala-ed-Din walked among the trees and gazed upon them and on these things which dazzled the sight and bewildered the mind, and as he examined them he perceived that instead of ordinary fruit the yield was of big jewels, emeralds and diamonds, and rubies and pearls, and other precious stones, such as to bewilder the understanding. But as he had never seen such things in his life, and had not reached mature years so as to know the value of such jewels (for he was still a little boy), he imagined that these jewels were all of glass or crystal. And he gathered pockets full of them, and began to examine whether they are ordinary fruit, like figs or grapes and other like eatables; but when he saw that they were of glass (knowing nothing of precious stones), he put some of each kind that grew on the trees into his pockets, and finding them of no use for food, he said in his mind: “I will gather these glass fruits and play with them at home.” So he began plucking them and stuffing them into his pockets until they were full; and then, when he had picked more and put them in his girdle, and girded it on, he carried off all he could, intending to use them for ornaments at home, since he imagined, as has been said, that they were only glass. Then he hastened his steps, for fear of his uncle, the Moor, and passed through the four chambers, and came to the cavern, without as much as looking at the jars of gold, notwithstanding that on his way back he was permitted to take of them. And when he came to the steps, and ascended them till none remained but the last one, which was higher than the others, he was unable to climb it by himself, without help, seeing that he was weighted. And he called to the Moor: “O my uncle, give me thy hand and help me to get up.” And the sorcerer replied: “O my son, give me the Lamb, and lighten thyself; perhaps it is that which weigheth thee down.” But he answered: “O my uncle, the Lamp doth not weigh me down at all; give me only thy hand, and when I am up I will give thee the Lamp.” But since he wizard wanted only the Lamp, and nought beside, he began to urge ‘Ala-ed-Din to give it him, which, since it was at the bottom of his dress and the bags of precious stones bulged over it, he could not reach to give it him; so the Moor pressed him to give what he could not, and raged furiously, and persisted in demanding the Lamp, when ‘Ala-ed-Din could not get at it to give it him.

And when ‘Ala-ed-Din could not get at the Lamp to give it to his uncle, the Moor, the impostor, he became frantic at not gaining his desire, though ‘Ala-ed-Din had promised to give it him without guile or deceit as soon as he got out of the cave. But when the Moor saw that ‘Ala-ed-Din would not give him the Lamp, he was furiously enraged and gave up all hope of getting it. So he muttered incantations and threw incense into the fire, and immediately the slab shut of itself and by the power of magic became closed, the earth buried the stone as heretofore, and ‘Ala-ed-Din remained under the ground unable to come forth. For this sorcerer, as we have related, was a stranger and no uncle of ‘Ala-ed-Din’s; but he misrepresented himself and asserted a lie, in order to gain possession of this Lamp by means of the youth.

So the accursed Moor heaped the earth over him and left him, for whose sake this treasure had been preserved, to die of hunger. For this damnable Moorish sorcerer was from the land of Africa, from the inner Westland, and from his youth he had practised sorcery and all magic arts (the City of Africa ［in Barbary］ is well known for all these mysteries), and he ceased not to study and learn from his childhood in the City of Africa until he had mastered all the sciences. And one day, by his accomplished skill in sciences and knowledge, acquired in the course of forty years of sorcery and incantation, he discovered that in a remote city of China, called El Kal’as, there was buried a vast treasure the like of which not one of the Kings of this world had ever amassed, and among this treasure was a Wonderful Lamp, which whoso possessed, mortal man could not excel him in estate or in riches, nor could the mightiest King upon earth attain to the opulence of this Lamp and its power and its potency. And when he discovered by his science and perceived that this treasure could only be obtained by means of a boy of the name of ‘Ala-ed-Din, of poor family, and belonging to that city, and understood how it could thus be taken easily and without trouble, he straightway and without hesitation prepared to journey to China, as we have said, and did with ‘Ala-ed-Din what he did, and imagined that he would gain possession of the Lamp. But his design and his hopes were frustrated and his labour was in vain. So he resolved to do ‘Ala-ed-Din to death, and heaped the earth over him to the end that he might die, for “the living hath no murderer.” Moreover, he resolved upon this, in order that ‘Ala-ed-Din, as he could not get out, should not be able to bring up the Lamp from below ground. Then he went his way and returned to the regions of Africa, dejected in spirit and disappointed of his aim. Thus was it with the sorcerer.

But as for ‘Ala-ed-Din, when the earth was heaped over him, he began to call to his uncle, the Moor, whom he believed to be such, to stretch out his hand, that he might come forth from the vault to the face of the earth; and he shouted, and no one answered him. Then he understood the trick which the Moor had played upon him, and that he was no uncle at all, but a lying magician. So ‘Ala-ed-Din despaired of his life, and perceived to his grief that there remained to him no escape to the earth’s surface, and he began to weep and bewail that which had befallen him. But after awhile he arose and descended to see if God Most High would provide him a door of escape. And he went, turning to right and left, and found nothing but darkness, and four doors shut against him; for the sorcerer by his magic had closed all the doors, and had even shut that of the garden through which ‘Ala-ed-Din had passed, so that he might not find there a door by which to escape to the surface of the earth, and thus to hasten his death. And ‘Ala-ed-Din’s weeping increased and his wailing grew louder when he saw the doors all shut, and the garden also, where he had intended to console himself awhile; but he found everything closed, and he gave himself up to weeping and lamenting, like him who hath abandoned hope, and he returned and sat on the steps of the vault where he had first entered.

Thus he sat weeping and wailing and hopeless. But a small thing is it to God (extolled and exalted be he!) if he willeth a thing to say to it, “Be,” and it is. Thus doth he create joy in the midst of woe; and thus was it with ‘Ala-ed-Din. When the Moorish sorcerer sent him to the vault, he gave him a ring and put it on his finger, saying, “Verily this ring will guard thee from all danger if thou be in trouble and difficulties, and take away from thee all evils, and be thy helper wheresoever thou art.” And this was by the decree of God Most High, that it should be the means of ‘Ala-ed-Din’s escape. For whilst he sat weeping and lamenting his case and abandoning his hope of life, overwhelmed with his misfortune, in his exceeding tribulation he began wringing his hands as the sorrowful are wont to do. And he raised his hands supplicating God, and saying: “I testify that there is no God but thee alone, the mighty, the omnipotent, the all-conquering, the quickener of the dead, creator of needs and fulfiller thereof, who dispellest troubles and anxieties and turnest them into joy. Thou sufficest me, and thou art the best of protectors; and I testify that Mohammad is thy servant and apostle. O my God, by his favour with thee, release me from this calamity.” And whilst he was supplicating God and wringing his hands from heaviness of grief at the calamity which had overtaken him, his hand happened to rub the ring, and, behold, immediately the Slave of the Ring appeared before him and cried: “Here I am, thy slave, between thy hands. Ask what thou wilt, for I am the slave of him on whose hand is the ring, the ring of my master.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din looked up and saw a Marid like the Jinn of our Lord Suleyman, standing before him; and he was affrighted at the awful apparition, until he heard the Slave of the Ring say: “Ask what thou wilt, for verily am I thy servant, because the ring of my master is on thy hand.” So he recovered his spirit and called to mind the words of the Moor when he gave him the ring. And he rejoiced exceedingly and plucked up heart and said to him: “O Slave of the Ring, I wish thee to convey me to the surface of the earth.” And hardly had he spoken when, behold, the earth gaped open and he found himself at the door of the Treasury, outside, in face of the world. And when ‘Ala-ed-Din saw himself thus in face of the world, after being three days under ground sitting in the dark Treasury, and the light of day and the sunshine smote his face and he could not open his eyes for it, he began to open his eyelids little by little till his eyes were stronger and became accustomed to the light and recovered from the gloom.

Then he perceived that he was on the surface of the earth, whereat he rejoiced greatly, and it astonished him that he should be outside the door of the Treasury which he had entered when the Moorish sorcerer opened it, and yet that the door should be shut and the earth made level so that there was no trace of an entrance at all. And he wondered more and more, and could not believe he was in the same place, till he saw the spot where they had lighted the fire of sticks and faggots, and the place where the sorcerer had muttered his incantations. Then turning right and left, he saw the gardens at a distance, and perceived the road, and he knew it was the same by which he had come. So he gave thanks to God Most High, who had brought him back to the earth’s surface and saved him from death after the hope of life had abandoned him. So he arose and walked on the road which he recognized till he came to the city, and entered, and repaired to his home, and went to his mother. And when he saw her, he swooned on the ground before her from exceeding joy at his escape and the recollection of the terror and toil and hunger he had endured. And his mother had been sorrowful since his departure, and had sat sobbing and weeping for him; so when she saw him come in she rejoiced over him with great joy, though grief seized her when she saw him fall swooning to the ground. But she did not give way to her anxiety in the predicament, but poured water on his face and borrowed from her neighbours aromatics for him to sniff. And when he was somewhat restored, he begged her to give him something to eat, saying to her: “O my mother, it is now three days since I ate anything at all.” And his mother arose and prepared for him what she had ready by her, and set it before him, saying: “Come, my son, eat and refresh thyself, and when thou art restored, tell me what hath happened to thee and befallen thee, O my child; but I will not ask thee now, because thou art weary.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din ate and drank and became restored, and when he was better and had regained his spirits, he said to his mother: “Ah, my mother, I have a heavy reckoning against thee for abandoning me to that devilish man who sought my ruin and desired to kill me. Know that I looked death in the face on account of the accursed reprobate whom thou didst acknowledge as my uncle; and had not God Most High delivered me from him, both I and thou, my mother, would have been imposed upon by the plenitude of this villain’s promises of the good he would do me, and the zeal of the love he displayed for me. But know, O mother, that this man is a sorcerer, a Moor, a liar, accursed, impostor, cheat, hypocrite. I hold the devils beneath the earth are not his match. May God condemn every record of his deeds! Listen, then, my mother, to what this devil did—for all I tell thee is really true. See how this accursed one brake every promise he made me to work me good; and look at the love he shewed me and how he acted; and all to attain his own ambition! And he would have killed me—God be thanked for my deliverance. Consider and hearken, O my mother, how this Man of the curse acted.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din informed his mother all that had befallen him—weeping for excess of joy—telling her how, after he had left her, the Moor had led him to a mountain wherein was a treasure, and how he had muttered incantations and spells. And he added: “After that, O my mother, he beat me till I fainted from soreness, and a great horror gat hold of me, when the mountain split asunder and the earth opened before me by his sorcery, and I trembled and was afeared at the roaring of the thunder which I heard and the darkness which fell around as he muttered his spells. And I would fain have fled from fear when I saw these awful sights. So when he saw that I was bent upon flight, he reviled me and beat me. But, since the Treasure could not be unearthed save by me, as it was in my name, and not his, and because this ill-omened sorcerer knew that it could only be opened by my means, and this was what he wanted me for: therefore, after beating me, he thought it better to mollify me in order to send me to open the Treasure and obtain his desire. And when he sent me, he gave me a ring and put it on my finger, after it had been on his own. So I descended into the Treasury, and found four chambers all full of gold and silver and the like, and all this was as nought, for that Devil’s own hand commanded me to touch nothing of it. Then I entered a great garden full of lofty trees, whose fruits confounded the reason, for all were of glass of delightful colours; and I came to the hall in which was this Lamp, and I took it forthwith and emptied it.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din took out the Lamp from his bosom, and shewed it to his mother, and in like manner the precious stones which he had brought from the garden, of which there were two large pockets full, of such as not one was to be met with among the Kings of the world. But ‘Ala-ed-Din knew not their worth, but deemed them glass or crystal. And he continued: “After getting the Lamp, O my mother, and arriving at the door of the Treasury, I called to the accursed Moor, who passed himself off as my uncle, to give me his hand and help me up, as I was overburdened with things and could not get up alone. But he would not give me his hand, but said: ‘Hand up the Lamp that is with thee, and then I will give thee my hand and help thee out.’ But I had put the Lamp at the bottom of my pocket, and the bags stuck out above it, and I could not get it out to give it him, and I said: ‘O my uncle, I cannot give thee the Lamp, but when I am up I will give it thee.’ But he did not mean to help me out, for he only wanted the Lamp; and his intention was to take it from me and heap the earth over me and destroy me, as he did his best to do. And this is what happened, O my mother, from this ill-omened sorcerer.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din told her all the story to the end thereof, and fell to cursing the Moor with all his might from out of his raging soul, saying: “O my mother, woe to this damnable sorcerer, this ill-omened, vile, inhuman cheat and hypocrite, who contemneth all human kindness, and spurneth mercy and compassion!”

When his mother heard her son’s story and what the Moorish sorcerer had done to him, she said: “Yea, my son, of a truth he is a miscreant and a hypocrite, a hypocrite who slays folk by his magic; and it was only the grace of God Most High, my son, that delivered thee from the wiles and spells of this accursed, whom I believed to be in truth thine uncle.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din, since he had not slept a wink for three days, and found himself nodding, sought his repose and went to sleep, and his mother likewise slept afterwards; and he did not wake up till near noon on the second day. As soon as he was awake he wanted something to eat, for he was hungry. And she said to him: “O my son, I have nought to give thee, because thou didst eat yesterday all that there was in the house; but wait awhile; I have spun yarn which I will take to the market and sell and buy thee something to eat with the proceeds.” To which ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “Mother, keep thy yarn; sell it not, but give me the Lamp I brought, that I may go sell it, and buy therewith something to eat, for I think the lamp will fetch more than the yarn.” So she arose and brought the lamp to her son, and she found it very dirty, and said: “O my son, here is the Lamp, but verily it is dirty, and when we have cleaned and polished it it will sell for a greater price.” So she went and took a handful of sand, and fell to rubbing the lamp therewith; but she had hardly begun to rub when there appeared before her one of the Jann, of terrible aspect and vast stature, as it were of the giants. And he said to her: “Tell me what thou dost want of me; here am I, thy slave, and the slave of him who holdeth the Lamp; not I only, but all the slaves of the Wonderful Lamp which is in thy hand.” But she trembled, and fear gat hold of her, and her tongue clave as she gazed upon that terrible form; and she could not answer, because she was not accustomed to seeing apparitions like that. So in her terror she could not make any reply to the Marid, but fell down overcome with alarm. But ‘Ala-ed-Din her son was waiting hard by, and had seen the ‘Efrit of the Ring which he had rubbed when in the Treasury; and hearing the speech of the Jinni to his mother, he hastened forward and seized the Lamp from her hand, saying: “O Slave of the Lamp, I am hungry; and I wish thee to bring me something to eat, and let it be something good beyond imagination.” So the Jinni vanished for a moment and brought him a magnificent tray of great price, made of pure silver, on which were twelve dishes of various foods and delicious dainties, and two cups of silver and flagons of clear old wine, and bread whiter than snow; and he set them before ‘Ala-ed-Din and vanished. And ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and sprinkled water on his mother’s face and made her smell pungent perfumes, and she revived. Then he said: “O my mother, come and eat of this food which God Most High hath provided for us.” And when his mother saw the beautiful table, that it was of silver, she marvelled at this affair, and said: “O my son, who is this generous benefactor that hath satisfied our hunger and lightened our poverty? Verily we are in his debt, and I am thinking that the Sultan, seeing our case and our poverty, sent this tray of food to us himself.” “O my mother,” he answered, “this is not a time for speculation; come, let us eat, for we are an-hungered.” So they went and sat down to the tray and fell to eating, and ‘Ala-ed-Din’s mother tasted viands such as never in all her life had she eaten the like thereof. So they ate heartily with the utmost appetite from the violence of their hunger; moreover, the food was fit for Kings. But they knew not if the tray were precious or not, for they had never seen its like in their born days. And when they had done eating (but they left enough for supper and to last for the next day), they arose and washed their hands and sat down to talk, and ‘Ala-ed-Din’s mother turned to her son and said: “O my son, tell me what took place with the Slave, the Jinni, now that God be praised, we have eaten and satisfied ourselves from his good things, and thou hast no excuse for saying to me, ‘I am hungry.’” So, ‘Ala-ed-Din told her all that had taken place between him and the Slave, while she was fallen in a swoon from affright. And sore amazement took hold upon her, and she said to him: “It is true, for the Jinn do appear before the son of Adam, though I, O my child, in all my days have never seen them; and I am thinking that this is the same that appeared to thee in the Treasury.” But he replied: “It is not he, O my mother; this slave who appeared before thee is the Slave of the Lamp.” And when she heard these words she said: “How is that, my son?” And he answered her: “This slave is different in aspect from that; and that one was the Slave of the Ring, and this which thou sawest is the Slave of the Lamp which was in thy hand.”

And when she heard this she said: “Aha! that accursed, who appeared to me and nearly killed me with fright, belonged to the Lamp!” “Yes,” he said, and she continued: “I adjure thee, O my son, by the milk which thou didst suck from me cast away this Lamp and Ring, since they will cause us great fear, and as for me, I cannot bide a second time to look at them. And it is forbidden us to deal with them, since the Prophet (God bless and save him!) hath warned us against them” And he said to her; “O my mother, thy behests be on my head and my eye! Yet as to this behest which thou hast spoken, it is not possible for me to abandon either the Lamp or the Ring. Thyself hast seen what good they did us when we were an-hungered; and know, O my mother, that the Moor the liar, the sorcerer, when I was sent down to the Treasury, wanted nought of the gold and silver of which the four chambers were full, but commanded me only to bring him the Lamp, and nought besides, because he knew its great value, and unless he had known that this was immense, he had not toiled and laboured and journeyed from his own country to ours in search of it, nor would he have imprisoned me in the Treasury when he despaired of the Lamp, when I would not give it to him. Therefore, O my mother, it behooveth us to hold fast by this Lamp and take care of it, for it is our sustenance, and shall make us rich, and we must not publish it abroad to anyone. And as touching the Ring, in like manner I may not take it off my finger, since but for this ring thou hadst not seen me again alive, but I should have lain dead within the Treasury under the ground. Then how can I take it off my hand? And who knoweth what may befall me in life of troubles and perils and sore calamities, from which this Ring may deliver me? Only in deference to thy wishes I will conceal the Lamp, and never again constrain thee to look upon it.” And when his mother had heard his words and had well weighed them, she perceived they were right, and said to him: “O my son, do as thou wilt; for myself, I wish never to see them again, nor would I willingly witness once more the terrible sight which I have seen.”

‘Ala-ed-Din and his mother continued eating of the viands which the Jinni had brought them, two days, and then they were done. So perceiving that nothing remained to them to eat, he arose, and took one of the plates which the slave had brought on the tray, which were of pure gold, though he knew it not; and he went with it to the market. And there met him a Jew, viler than the devils, and to him he offered the plate. And when the Jew saw it, he took ‘Ala-ed-Din aside so that none should see, and examined the plate carefully and assured himself that it was of fine gold; and not knowing whether ‘Ala-ed-Din was acquainted with its worth or was inexperienced in such things, he said to him: “How much, O my master, is this dish?” And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered, “Thou knowest its value.” And the Jew considered how much he should bid for it, since ‘Ala-ed-Din had answered him a business-like answer; so he thought to offer him a small price, and yet he feared that ‘Ala-ed-Din might know the value of it and expect to receive a high price. So he said within himself: “Perchance he is ignorant of it and knoweth not the value.” Then he took from his pocket a dinar of gold and gave it him. And when ‘Ala-ed-Din had looked at the piece of gold in his hand, he took it and quickly went away. So the Jew knew that the youth did not understand the value of the plate, so he repented with abject repentance that he had given him a dinar instead of a carat of a sixtieth. ‘Ala-ed-Din meanwhile did not tarry, but went to the baker’s and bought of him bread and changed the dinar and took and went to his mother and gave her the bread and the change of the gold, and said to her: “O my mother, go and buy for us what we need.” And she arose and went to the market and bought all they required, and they ate and were merry. And every time the price of a plate was exhausted, ‘Ala-ed-Din took another and went with it to the Jew, and the accursed Hebrew bought it of him for a pitiful price; and he would have reduced the price further, but he was afraid, as he had given him a dinar the first time, that if he reduced it the youth would go away and sell to some one else, and he would thus lose his usurious gains. And ‘Ala-ed-Din ceased not to sell plate after plate till all were sold, and there remained only the tray on which the plates were set; and as this was large and heavy, he went and brought the Jew to his house, and shewed him the tray, and when he saw its size he gave him ten dinars, which ‘Ala-ed-Din took, and the Jew departed. And ‘Ala-ed-Din and his mother subsisted on the ten dinars till they were done.

Then ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and fetched the Lamp, and rubbed it, and there appeared before him the Slave who had appeared to him before. And the Jinni said to him: “Command what thou wilt, O my master, for I am thy slave and the slave of him who possesseth the Lamp.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “My desire is that thou bring me a tray of food like unto that which thou didst bring me before, for I am starving.” Then, in the twinkling of an eye, the Slave brought him a tray, like the one he came with before; and on it were twelve plates of the richest, and on them the proper viands; and on the tray were also bottles of clear wine and white bread. Now ‘Ala-ed-Din’s mother had gone forth when she knew that her son intended to rub the Lamp, that she might not look a second time upon the Jinni; and presently she came home and perceived this tray, covered with dishes of silver, and the odour of rich viands permeating her house; and she wondered and rejoiced. And ‘Ala-ed-Din said to her: “See, O my mother, thou didst tell me to cast away the Lamp; behold now its advantages!” And she answered: “O my son, God multiply his weal! but I would not look upon him.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din and his mother sat down to the tray, and ate and drank till they were satisfied; and they put aside what was left for the morrow. And when the food they had was finished, ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and took a plate of the plates of the tray under his garment and sallied forth in quest of the Jew to sell it to him; but by the decrees of destiny he passed by the shop of a jeweller, who was a just man and feared God. And when the jeweller sheykh saw ‘Ala-ed-Din he questioned him, saying: “O my son, what dost thou want? for I have seen thee often passing by, and thou wast dealing with a Jewish man, and I have seen thee making over to him various things, and I am thinking that thou hast something with thee now, and thou seekest him to buy it. But thou dost not know, O my son, that the property of the Muslims, who profess the Unity of God Most High, is fair spoil to the Jews, who always defraud them, and worst of all this damned Jew with whom thou hast dealt and into whose hands thou hast fallen. So if thou hast with thee, O my son, anything thou wishest to sell, shew it me, and fear not at all, for I will give thee its value by the truth of the Most High God.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din produced the plate before the sheykh, who when he had looked upon it, took it and weighed it in his balance, and questioned ‘Ala-ed-Din and said: “Didst thou sell the like of this to the Jew?” And he answered, “Yes, its like and its brother.” And the other said: “How much did he give thee for its price?” And he answered, “He gave me a dinar.” And when the sheykh heard from ‘Ala-ed-Din that the Jew had given him only a single dinar for the price of the plate, he exclaimed: “Woe to this accursed who cheats the servants of the Most High God!” And looking at ‘Ala-ed-Din he said: “O my son, verily this rascally Jew hath cheated thee and mocked at thee; for thy plate is of fine virgin silver; and I have weighed it and found its value to be seventy dinars. So if thou wilt take its price, take it.” And the jeweller sheykh counted out to him seventy dinars, and ‘Ala-ed-Din took them, and thanked him for his kindness in shewing him the Jew’s fraud. And whenever the price of a plate was gone, he went and brought another, so that he and his mother became well to do, though they ceased not to live as of old, as middle-class people, without excess or waste.

‘Ala-ed-Din had cast aside his gracelessness and shunned vagabonds, and chose for his companions upright men, and went every day to the market of the merchants and sat with the great and the small of them, and asked them concerning matters of business and the price of investments and the rest. And he would visit the market of the goldsmiths and jewellers; and there he would sit and divert himself with looking at the jewels and how they were bought and sold there. And thus he learned that the pockets full of fruit which he had gathered in the Treasury were not of glass or crystal, but were precious stones. And he knew that he had become possessed of vast riches such as Kings could never amass. And he examined all the stones that were in the market of the jewellers and found that their very biggest was not equal to his smallest. And he ceased not each day to saunter to the Bazar of the Jewellers and make acquaintance with the people, and obtain their good-will, and inquire of them concerning buying and selling and taking and giving and the dear and the cheap; till one day, after rising betimes and putting on his dress, he went as was his wont to the Bazar of the Jewellers, and as he passed he heard the herald calling thus: “By command of the gracious patron, King of the Time, Lord of the Age and the Season: now let all the people close their stores and shops and enter in unto their houses, because Bedr-el-Budur, the daughter of the Sultan, intendeth to visit the bath; and whoso disobeyeth the order, death is his penalty, and his blood be on his own head.” And when ‘Ala-ed-Din heard this proclamation, he longed to look upon the Sultan’s daughter, and said within himself: “Verily all the folk talk of her beauty and loveliness, and the summit of my ambition is to behold her.”

So ‘Ala-ed-Din set himself to seek a way whereby he might attain to a sight of the daughter of the Sultan, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur; and it seemed best to him to stand behind the door of the Hammam, so as to see her face when she came in. Accordingly, without any delay, he went to the bath before she was expected and stood behind the door, a place where no one could see him; and when the daughter of the Sultan drew near, after going about the city and its quarters and diverting herself thereby, she came to the bath, and on entering, lifted her veil and displayed her face, as it were a radiant sun or a pearl of great price; for she was as the poet sang:

Borders of kohl enhance the witchery of her glance, Gardens of roses are her damask cheeks, Black are her tresses as the gloomy night, Illumined by the glory of her brow.

When the princess raised her veil from her face and ‘Ala-ed-Din looked upon her, he said: “Of a surety her make magnifieth the Mighty Maker, and extolled be he who made her and adorned her with such beauty and loveliness!” His vigour became weak at the sight of her, and his thoughts became distraught, and his sight bewildered, and love of her got hold of his whole soul; and he went home and returned to his mother like one in a dream. And his mother spake to him, but he replied not yea or nay; and she set before him breakfast, but he remained in the same state. So she said to him: “O my son, what hath befallen thee? Doth anything distress thee? Tell me what hath happened to thee, for thou, contrary to thy wont, repliest not when I speak to thee.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din,—who had believed that all women were like his mother, and though he had heard of the beauty of Bedr-el-Budur, the daughter of the Sultan, yet knew not what this beauty and loveliness might mean,—turned to his mother and said to her, “Let me alone.” But she urged him to come and eat; so he came and ate a little, and then lay on his bed pondering till morning dawned. And he ceased not from this state the next day, so that his mother was perplexed for her son’s condition and could not find out what had come over him. And she believed he was seriously sick, and came and asked him, saying: “O my son, if thou feel pain or anything of the kind, tell me, that I may go and bring thee a physician; and this very day there is in this city a doctor from the land of the Arabs whom the Sultan sent for, and the rumour goeth that he is very skillful. So if thou be sick, let me go and call him in.”

When ‘Ala-ed-Din heard that his mother wished to bring him a physician, he said to her: “O my mother, I am well, and not sick at all. But I always believed that all women resembled thee, until yesterday I saw the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, the daughter of the Sultan, going in to the bath.” And he told her all that had betided him, and said: ‘Perhaps thou didst also hear the herald calling: ‘Let no man open his shop or stay in the streets, that the Lady Bedr-el-Budur may go to the Bath.’ But I did look upon her, even as she is, because she lifted her veil at the entering of the bath. And when I gazed on her form and saw that noble shape, there seized me, O my mother, a violent ecstasy of love for her, and a fixed resolve to win her possesseth every part of me; nor can I possibly rest until I gain her. And I intend, therefore, to demand her of the Sultan, her father, in lawful wedlock.” And when his mother heard his words she feared for his reason, and said: “O my son, God’s name be on thee! for it is plain thou hast lost thy reason, my son. But be guided, and be not as the insane.” And he answered: “O my mother, I have not lost my reason, nor am I mad, nor can thy words alter what is in my mind, for peace is impossible to me till I win the beloved of my heart, the lovely Lady Bedr-el-Budur. And I am determined to demand her of her father, the Sultan.” And she said to him: “O my son, by my life, say not so, lest any one hear thee and say thou art mad. Put away from thee this folly; for who should do a thing like this, to ask it of the Sultan? And I know not how thou wilt set to work to ask this favour of the Sultan, even if thy speech be true, or through whom thou wilt ask it.” And he answered: “Through whom, O my mother, should I make this request, when I have thee? And whom have I more trusty than thee? It is my wish that thou thyself ask this request.” And she said: “O my son, God preserve me from this! Have I lost my reason like thee? Cast away this thought from thy soul, and think whose son thou art, my son, the child of a tailor, of the poorest and meanest of the tailors to be found in this city; and I, too, thy mother, come of very poor folk. So how dost thou presume to ask in marriage a daughter of the Sultan, who would not deign to marry her to any of the Kings and Sultans, unless they were his equals in grandeur and honour and majesty; and were they less than he but a single degree he would not give them his daughter.

‘Ala-ed-Din waited patiently till his mother had ended her speech, and then said: “O my mother, all that thou recallest I know, and it is familiar to me that I am the son of the poor; but all these thy words cannot change my purpose in the least, nor do I the less expect of thee, as I am thy son and thou lovest me, to do me this kindness; otherwise thou wilt undo me, and speedy death is upon me; unless I obtain my desire of the darling of my heart; and in any case, O my mother, I am thy child.” And when she heard his words she wept in her grief for him, and said: “O my son, yea verily I am thy mother, nor have I child or blood of my blood save thee; and the height of my desire is to rejoice in thee and wed thee to a wife; but if I seek to ask for thee a bride of our equals and peers, they will ask at once if thou hast trade or merchandise or land or garden, to live on. And what can I answer them? And if I cannot answer the poor people, our likes, how shall I venture upon this hazard and dare this impertinence, O my son, and by what means shall I ask for thee of the Sultan his daughter, and howsoever shall I compass access to the Sultan's presence? And if they question me, what shall I answer? And probably they will take me for a mad woman. And supposing I gain access to the presence, what shall I take him as an offering to his Majesty?”

And she went on: “O my child, the Sultan indeed is clement, and never rejecteth him who approacheth him to ask of him equity or mercy or protection. Ask him for a gift, for he is generous, and granteth grace far and near. But he granteth his favour to those who deserve it, either having done something before him in battle or otherwise served their country. Then as for thee, tell me what hast thou done before the Sultan's eyes or publicly, that thou shouldst merit this grace? And again, this grace which thou askest becometh not our rank, and it is not possible that the King should give thee the favour which thou wouldst ask. And whoso approacheth the Sultan to ask favours, it behooveth him to take with him something befitting his majesty, as I said to thee; and how canst thou possibly present thyself before the Sultan, and stand before him and ask his daughter of him when thou hast nothing with thee to offer him suitable to his rank? And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “O my mother, thou speakest aright and thinkest well, and it behooveth me to consider all that thou hast brought to mind. But, my mother, the love of the Sultan's daughter, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, hath penetrated into the core of my heart, and peace is impossible to me unless I win her. But thou hast reminded me of something I had forgotten, and this very thing doth embolden me to ask of him his daughter. Thou sayest, O my mother, that I have no offering to make to the Sultan, as is the custom of the folk, yet as a fact I have a gift to present the equal of which I think doth not exist among the Kings anywhere, nor anything approaching it; for verily what I thought to be glass or crystal is nothing but precious stones; and I believe that all the Kings of the world have never owned aught to equal the least of them. For by visiting the jewellers I learned that these are the costliest jewels which I brought in my pockets from the Treasury. Therefore be tranquil. In the house is a china bowl; arise, therefore, and fetch it, that I may fill it with these jewels, and we will see how they look in it.” And his mother arose and went for the china bowl, and said within herself: “Let me see if the words of my son concerning these jewels be true or not.” And she set the bowl before ‘Ala-ed-Din, and he drew from his pockets the bags of jewels, and began to arrange them in the bowl, and ceased not to set them in order until it was full; and when it was quite full his mother looked into it, and could not see into it without blinking, for her eyes were dazzled by the sheen of the jewels and their radiance and the excess of their flashing. And her reason was confounded, though she was not certain whether or not their value was so vastly great; but she considered that her son's speech might possibly be true—that their equals could not be found among the King's. Then ‘Ala-ed-Din turned to her and said: “Thou hast seen, O my mother, that this gift for the Sultan is splendid, and I am convinced that it will procure thee great favour from him, and he will receive thee with all honour. So now, O my mother, thou hast no excuse; collect, therefore, thy faculties and arise; take this bowl and go with it to the palace.” And his mother replied: “O my son, certainly the present is exceeding precious, and none, as thou sayest, possesseth its equal. But who would dare to approach and ask of the Sultan his daughter, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur? As for me, I dare not to say to him, ‘I want thy daughter’ when he asketh me ‘What is thy want?’ But I know, O my son, that my tongue will be tied. And suppose that, by God's help, I pluck up my courage and say to him: ‘It is my desire to become related to thee by thy daughter, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur and my son ‘Ala-ed-Din,’ they will conclude forthwith that I am possessed, and will cast me forth in shame and disgrace, till I tell thee not only that I shall run in danger of death, but thou wilt likewise. Yet, in spite of all this, O my son, in deference to thy wish, I needs must pluck up heart and go. But if the King welcome me and honour me on account of the gift, and I should ask of him what thou wishest, how shall I reply when he asketh me, as is usual, What is thy condition and thy income? Haply, O my son, he will ask me this before he asketh me who thou art.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “It is impossible that the Sultan should thus question thee after looking at the precious stones and their splendor; nor doth it boot to consider things which may not happen. Do thou only arise and ask him for his daughter for me, and offer him the jewels, and do not sit there inventing obstacles. Hast thou not already learned, O my mother, that this Lamp of mine is now a firm maintenance for us, and that all I demand of it is brought to me? And this is my hope, that by its means I shall know how to make answer to the Sultan if he ask me thus.”

And ‘Ala-ed-Din and his mother kept talking over the matter all that night. And when morning dawned his mother arose and plucked up courage, the more as her son had explained to her somewhat of the properties of the Lamp and its virtues—that it would supply them with all they wanted. ‘Ala-ed-Din, however, when he saw that his mother had plucked up courage on his explaining to her the effects of the Lamp, feared lest she should gossip about it to the people, and said to her: “O my mother, take heed how thou tellest any one about the Lamp and its virtues, for this is our own benefit. Restrain thy thought, lest thou babble to any one about it, for fear we lose it and lose the benefit which we possess from it.” And his mother answered, “Fear not for that, O my son.” And she arose and took the bowl of precious stones and passed forth early, that she might reach the audience before it was crowded. And she covered the bowl with a kerchief, and went to the palace, and when she arrived the audience was not full; and she saw the ministers and sundry of the magnates of the state entering to the presence of the Sultan. And presently the levee was completed by the wezirs and lords of the state and grandees and princes and nobles. Then the Sultan appeared, and the ministers bowed down before him, and in like manner the rest of the grandees and nobles. And the Sultan seated himself on the divan on the kingly throne, and all who attended the levee stood before him with crossed arms awaiting his command to be seated. And he ordered them to sit, and every one of them sat down in his order. Then the petitioners presented themselves before the Sultan, and he decided everything, as usual, until the audience was over; when the King arose and went in to the palace, and every soul departed his own way. And when ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother saw the Sultan had risen from his throne and gone into the Harim, she too took her departure and went her way to her house. And when ‘Ala-ed-Din perceived her, and saw the bowl in her hand, he thought that probably some accident had befallen her, but he did not wish to question her until she was come in and had set down the bowl. Then she related to him what had happened, and ended by saying: “Praise be to God, my son, that boldness came to me, and I found a place in the levee this day, although it did not fall to my lot to address the Sultan. Probably, if it please God Most High, to-morrow I will speak to him. Indeed, to-day many of the people could not address the Sultan, like me. But to-morrow, my son, be of good cheer, since I must speak to him for the sake of thy desire, and how shall what happened happen again?” And when ‘Ala-ed-Din heard his parent's words he rejoiced with exceeding joy; and though he expected the affair from hour to hour, from the violence of his love and yearning for the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, for all that he practised patience. So they slept that night, and in the morning his mother arose and went with the bowl to the audience of the Sultan; but she found it closed. So she asked the bystanders, and they told her that the Sultan did not hold an audience continually, but only thrice a week.

So she resolved to return home that day. And every day she went, and when she saw the audience begin she would stand before the Sultan till it was over, and then she would return; and next day she would go to see if the court were closed; and in this manner she went for a whole month. Now the Sultan had perceived her at every levee, and when she came on the last day and stood before the presence, as was her wont, until it was over, without having courage to come forward or address him a word, and the Sultan had risen and gone to his Harim, and his Grand Wezir with him, the Sultan turned to him and said: “O Wezir, six or seven days at each audience have I seen that old woman presenting herself here; and I see she always carries something under her cloak. Tell me, O Wezir, knowest thou aught of her and her business?” And the Wezir answered: “O our lord the Sultan, verily women are wanting in sense; probably this woman hath come to complain to thee of her husband or one of her people.” But the Sultan was not satisfied with the Wezirs reply, but commanded him, if the woman came again to the levée, to bring her before him. So the Wezir put his hand on his head and said: “I hear and obey, O our lord the Sultan.”

Now the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din was wont to set forth every day to the audience and stand in the presence before the Sultan, although she was sad and very weary; yet for the sake of her son's desire she made light of her trouble. And one day she came to the levee, as usual, and stood before the Sultan, who when he saw her ordered his Wezir, saying: “This is the woman I spake of to thee yesterday; bring her instantly before me that I may inquire into her suit and decide her business.” And straightway the Wezir arose and brought ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother to the Sultan. And when she found herself in the presence, she performed the obeisance and invoked glory upon him, and long life and perpetual prosperity; and she kissed the ground before him. And the Sultan said to her: “O woman, for some days have I seen thee at the levee, and thou hast not addressed a word to me; tell me if thou hast a want, that I may grant it.” So she kissed the ground again and invoked blessings upon him, and said: “Yea, by the life of thy head, O King of the Age, verily have I a suit. But, first of all grant me immunity, if I can present my suit to the hearing of our lord the Sultan, for perhaps thy Felicity may find my petition strange.” So the Sultan, wishing to know what was her petition, and being endowed with much mildness, promised her immunity, and at once ordered all who were there to depart, and remained alone, he and the Wezir.

Then the Sultan, turning to her, said: “Explain thy suit, and the protection of God Most High be on thee.” But she answered: “O King of the Age, I shall need thy pardon also.” And he replied, “God pardon thee.” Then she said: “O our lord the Sultan, verily I have a son whose name is ‘Ala-ed’-Din. One day of the days he heard the herald proclaiming that none should open his shop or appear in the streets of the city, because the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, the daughter of our lord the Sultan, was going to the bath. And when my son heard that, he longed to see her, and hid himself in a place where he would be able to look upon her closely, and that was behind the gate of the Hammam. So when she drew near, he looked upon her and gazed full upon her as much as he liked; and from the moment he saw her, O King of the Age, to this instant, life hath been intolerable to him; and he hath desired me to ask her of thy Felicity that he may wed her. I have not been able to banish this fancy from his mind, for the love of her hath taken possession of his heart, so that he told me: “Be assured, O my mother, that if I do not obtain my desire, without doubt I shall die.’ So I trust for clemency and pardon from thy Felicity for this hardihood of mine and my son's, and punish us not for it.”

When the King had heard her story, looking kindly at her, he fell a-laughing, and asked her: “What is it thou hast with thee, and what is this bundle?” Then the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din, perceiving that the Sultan was not wroth at her speech, but rather laughing, forthwith opened the cloth and set before him the bowl of jewels. And when the Sultan saw the stones, after the cloth was taken off, and how the hall was lighted up, as it were, by chandeliers and lustres, he was dazed and amazed at their sparkling, and wondered at their size and splendour and beauty, saying:—“To this day have I never seen the like of these jewels for beauty and size and loveliness, nor do I believe that there is in my treasury a single one equal to them.” The turning to his Wezir, he said: “What sayest thou, O Wezir, hast thou seen, thou in thy time, the like of these splendid jewels?”

And the Wezir answered: “Never have I seen such, O our lord the Sultan, and I do not think that the smallest of them is to be found in the treasuries of my lord the King.” And the King said to him: “Verily he who hath presented me with these jewels is worthy to be the bridegroom of my daughter Bedr-el-Budur, for, methinks, as far as I can see, none is worthier of her than he.” When the Wezir heard this speech of the Sultan, his tongue became tied with vexation, and he grieved with sore grieving, because the King had promised to marry the Princess to his son. So after a little he said to him: “O King of the Age, thy Felicity was graciously pleased to promise the Lady Bedr-el-Budur to my son: it is therefore incumbent on thy Highness to graciously allow three months, when, please God, there shall be a present from my son more splendid even than this.” So the King, though he knew that this thing could not be accomplished either by the Wezir or by any of the grandees, yet of his kindness and generosity granted a delay of three months, as he had asked. And turning to the old woman, ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother, he said: “Go back to thy son, and tell him I have given my royal word that my daughter shall bear his name, but it is necessary to prepare her wardrobe and requisites, and so he will have to wait three months.”

‘Ala-ed-Din's mother accepted this answer, and thanked the Sultan and blessed him, and hastened forth, and almost flew with delight till she came home and entered. And ‘Ala-ed-Din her son saw how her face was smiling; so he was cheered by the hope of good news; moreover, she had come back without loitering as heretofore, and had returned without the bowl. So he asked her, saying: “If it please God, my mother, thou bringest me good news, and perhaps the jewels and their rarity have had their effect, and the Sultan hath welcomed thee and been gracious to thee and hearkened to thy request?” And she related it all to him—how the Sultan had received her and marvelled at the multitude of the jewels and their size; and the Wezir also; and how he had promised that “his daughter shall bear thy name; only, O my son, the Wezir spake to him a private word before he promised me, and after the Wezir had spoken he covenanted for a delay of three months; and I am afraid the Wezir will be hostile to thee and try to change the mind of the King.”

When ‘Ala-ed-Din heard the words of his mother and how the Sultan had promised him after three months, his soul was relieved and he rejoiced exceedingly, and said: “Since the Sultan hath promised for three months, though it is indeed a long time, on all accounts my joy is immense.” Then he thanked his parent and magnified her success above her toil, and said: “By Allah, O my mother, just now I was, as it were, in the grave, and thou hast pulled me out; and I praise God Most High that I am now sure that there liveth none richer or happier than I.” Then he waited in patience till two months of the three were gone.

One day of the days the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din went forth about sunset to the market to buy oil and beheld all the bazars closed, and the whole city deserted, and the people were putting candles and flowers in their windows; and she saw troops and guards and cavalcades of aghas, and lamps and lustres flaming. And wonder gat hold of her at this marvel and gala, and she went to an oilman's shop which was still open, and having bought the oil, said to the dealer: “O Uncle, inform me what is the occasion to-day in the city, that the people make such adornment, and the markets and houses are all closed and the troops paraded?” And the oilman answered: “O woman, I suppose thou art a stranger, not of this city.” But she said, “Nay, I am of this city.” So he cried: “Art thou of this city, and hast not heard that the son of the chief Wezir this night is to unite himself to the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, the daughter of the Sultan, and he is now at the bath; and these officers and soldiers are drawn up waiting to see him come forth from the bath and accompany him to the palace into the presence of the daughter of the Sultan!”

When the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din heard his words she was sad and perplexed in her mind how she should contrive to break this dismal news to her son, for her unhappy boy was counting hour by hour till the three months should be over. So she returned home after a little, and when she had come and entered to her son she said: “O my son, I would fain tell thee certain tidings, though thy grief thereat will cost me dear.” And he answered, “Tell me, what is this news.” And she said: “Verily the Sultan hath violated his covenant to thee in the matter of his daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, and this night the Wezir's son goeth in to her. And O my child, I have long suspected that the Wezir would change the Sultan's mind, as I told thee how he spake privily to him before me.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din asked her: “How knowest thou that the Wezir's son is going in this night to the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, the daughter of the Sultan?” So she told him about all the decorations she had noticed in the town when she went to buy oil, and how the aghas and grandees of the state were drawn up waiting for the Wezir's son to come forth from the bath, and how this was his nuptial night. When he learnt this, ‘Ala-ed-Din was seized with a fever of grief, till after a while he bethought him of the Lamp. Then he cheered up, and said: “By thy life, O my mother, suppose the Wezir's son should not enjoy her, as thou thinkest. But now let us cease this talk, and arise; bring our supper, that we may eat, and after I have retired awhile within my chamber all will be well.”

So after supper ‘Ala-ed-Din withdrew to his chamber and fastened the door and took out the Lamp and rubbed it, and immediately the Slave came and said: “Ask what thou wilt, for I am thy slave, the slave of him who hath the Lamp, I and all the servants of the Lamp.”And ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “Listen. I asked the Sultan that I might marry his daughter, and he promised me, in three months; but he hath not kept his word, but hath given her to the son of the Wezir, and this very night it is his intention to go in to her. But I command thee, if thou be a true servant of the Lamp, that when thou seest the bride and bridegroom together this night thou bring them in the bed to this place. This is what I require of thee.” And the Marid answered: “I hear and obey; and if thou hast any other behest, besides this, command me in all thou desirest.” But ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “I have no other command save that which I have told thee.” So the Slave vanished, and ‘Ala-ed-Din returned to finish the evening with his mother. But when the time came when he expected the Slave's return, he arose and entered his chamber, and soon after beheld the Slave with the bridal pair on their bed. And when ‘Ala-ed-Din saw them he rejoiced with great joy. Then said he to the Slave: “Take away yonder gallows-bird and lay him in a closet.” And immediately the Slave bore the Wezir's son and stretched him in a closet, and before leaving him he blew a cold blast on him, and the state of the Wezir's son became miserable. Then the Slave returned to ‘Ala-ed-Din and said: “If thou needest aught else, tell me.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered, “Return in the morning to restore them to their place.” So he said, “I hear and obey,” and vanished.

Then ‘Ala-ed-Din arose, and could hardly believe that this affair had prospered with him. But when he looked at the Lady Bedr-el-Budur in his own house, although he had long been consumed with love of her, yet he maintained an honourable respect towards her, and said: “O Lady of Loveliness, think not that I brought thee here to harm thine honour; nay, but only that none other should be privileged to enjoy thee, since thy father the Sultan gave me his word that I should have thee. So rest in peace.” But when Bedr-el-Budur found herself in this poor and dark house, and heard the words of ‘Ala-ed-Din, fear and shuddering took hold of her, and she was dazed, and could not make him any reply. Then ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and stripped off his robe, and laying a sword between himself and her, slept beside her in the bed, without doing her wrong, for he wished only to prevent the nuptials of the Wezir's son with her. But the Lady Bedr-el-Budur passed the worst of nights; she had not passed a worse in all her life; and the Wezir's son, who slept in the closet, dared not move from his fear of the Slave which possessed him.

When it was morning, without any rubbing of the Lamp, the Slave appeared to ‘Ala-ed-Din, and said: “O my master, if thou desirest anything, command me, that I may perform it on the head and the eye.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “Go bear the bride and bridegroom to their place.” And in the twinkling of an eye the Slave did as ‘Ala-ed-Din bade him, and took the Wezir's son and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur and carried them and restored them to their place in the palace, as they had been, without seeing any one, though they almost died of fear when they found themselves being carried from place to place. Hardly had the Slave put them back again and departed, when the Sultan came to visit his daughter. And when the Wezir's son heard the door open, he forthwith leaped from the bed, for he knew that none but the Sultan could come in at that time; but it was exceedingly disagreeable to him, for he wished to warm himself a little, since he had not long left the ［cold］ closet; however, he arose and put on his clothes.

The Sultan came in unto his daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, and kissed her between the eyes and wished her good-morning, and asked her concerning her bridegroom, and whether she was content with him. But she made him never an answer, but looked at him with an eye of anger; and he asked her again, and she remained silent and said not a word to him. So the Sultan went his way and departed from her house, and went to the Queen, and told her what had befallen him with the Lady Bedr-el-Budur. Then the Queen, loth to have him vexed with the Princess, said to him: “O King of the Age, this is the way with most brides in their honeymoon; they are shy, and a trifle whimsical. So chide her not, and soon she will return to herself and converse with people; for now it is her modesty, O King of the Age, that preventeth her speaking. However, it is my intention to go and visit her.”

So the Queen arose and put on her robes and went to her daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, and approached her and gave her good-day, and kissed her betwixt the eyes. And the Princess answered her never a word. So the Queen said to herself: “Some strange thing must have happened to her to disquiet her thus.” So she asked her: “O my daughter, what is the cause of the state thou art in? Tell me what hath come to thee, that when I visit thee and bid thee good-day, thou answerest me not.” Then Bedr-el-Budur turned her head and said to her: “Chide me not, O my mother; it was indeed my duty to meet thee with all regard and reverence, since thou hast honoured me by this visit. However, I beg thee to hear the reason of this my behaviour, and see how this night which I have passed hath been the worst of nights for me. Hardly had we gone to bed, O mother, when one whose shape I know not lifted up the bed and bore us to a dark, loathly, vile place.” And she related to her mother the Queen all that had happened to her that night, and how they had taken away her bridegroom and she had been left alone, till presently another youth came and slept, instead of her husband, and placed a sword betwixt them. “And in the morning he who took us returned to carry us back, and came with us to this our abode. Hardly had he restored us to it and left us, when my father the Sultan entered at the very hour of our return, and I had not heart or tongue to speak to him from the greatness of the fear and trembling which had come over me. And perhaps it may have vexed my father; so I pray thee, O my mother, tell him the reason for my condition, that he may not blame me for my lack of reply to him, but instead of censure, excuse me.”

When the Queen heard the words of her daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, she said to her: “O my child, calm thyself. If thou wert to tell this story to any one, it might be said that the daughter of the Sultan had lost her wits, and thou hast well done in not telling thy father this tale; and beware, my daughter, beware of telling him thereof.” But the Princess answered her: “Mother, I have spoken to thee sensibly, and I have not lost my wits, but this is what hath happened to me; and if thou dost not believe it when I say it, ask my bridegroom.” Then the Queen said to her: “Arise, now, my daughter, and away with such fancies from thy mind; put on thy robes and view the bridal fete which is going on in the city in thy honour and the rejoicings that are taking place all over the realm for thy marriage; and listen to the drums and songs, and look at these decorations, all done for the sake of pleasing thee, my daughter.” Thereupon the Queen summoned the tirewomen, and they robed the Lady Bedr-el-Budur and straightened her up. And the Queen arose and went to the Sultan and told him that the Princess had been troubled that night with dreams and nightmare, and added: “Chide her not for her lack of answer to thee.” Then she summoned the Wezir's son secretly, and asked him concerning the matter, and whether the story of the Princess were true or not; but he, in his fear of losing his bride from out his hand, answered: “O my sovereign lady, I know nothing of what thou sayest.” So the Queen was sure that her daughter had been distraught by nightmare and dreams. The festivities lasted all day, with ‘Almehs and singers and the beating of all sorts of instruments, and the Queen and the Wezir and the Wezir's son did their utmost to keep up the rejoicing, so that the Lady Bedr-el-Budur might be happy and forget her trouble; and all day they left nothing that incited to enjoyment undone before her, that she might forget what was in her mind and be content. But all this had no influence upon her; she remained silent and sad and bewildered at what had befallen her that night. Worse indeed had happened to the Wezir's son than to her, since he passed the night in a closet; but he had denied the fact and banished this calamity from his mind, because of his fear of losing his bride and his distinction, especially as all men envied him the connection and the exceeding honour thereof; and, moreover, because of the splendour of the bride's loveliness and her excessive beauty.

‘Ala-ed-Din too went out that day to see the festivities which were going on in the city and the palace, and he began to laugh, above all when he heard people talking of the honour which had fallen to the Wezir's son and his good-fortune in becoming the son-in-law of the Sultan, and the great distinction shewn in his rejoicings and wedding festivities. And ‘Ala-ed-Din said to himself: “Ye know not, ye rabble, what happened to him last night, that ye envy him!” And when night fell and it was bedtime, ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and went to his chamber and rubbed the Lamp, and immediately the Slave presented himself. And he ordered him to bring the Sultan's daughter and her bridegroom as on the past night, before the Wezir's son had taken her to him. And the Slave waited not an instant, but vanished awhile, till he reappeared, bringing the bed in which was the Lady Bedr-el-Budur and the son of the Wezir. And he did with the latter as on the preceding night,—took and put him to sleep in a closet, and there left him bleached with excessive trembling and fear. And ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and placed the sword betwixt himself and the Princess, and went to sleep. And when it was morning the Slave appeared and restored the pair to their own place; and ‘Ala-ed-Din was filled with delight at the misadventure of the Wezir's son.

Now when the Sultan arose in the morning he desired to go to his daughter, Bedr-el-Budur, to see whether she would behave to him as on the preceding day. So, after he had shaken off his drowsiness, he arose and dressed himself and went to his daughter's palace and opened the door. Then the Wezir's son hastily got up and rose from the bed and began to put on his clothes, though his ribs almost split with cold; for when the Sultan came in the Slave had only just brought them back. So the Sultan entered, and approached his daughter Bedr-el-Budur, who was in bed; and drawing aside the curtain, he wished her good-morning, and kissed her betwixt the eyes, and inquired after her state. But he saw she was sad, and she answered him never a word, but looked at him angrily; and her state was wretched. Then the Sultan was wroth with her, since she replied not, and he fancied that something was wrong with her. So he drew his sword and said to her: “What hath come to thee? Tell me what hath happened to thee, or I will take thy life this very hour. Is this the honour and reverence thou shewest me, that I speak and thou repliest not a word? And when the Lady Bedr-el-Budur saw how angry her father the Sultan was, and that his sword was drawn in his hand, she was released from her stupor of fear, and turned her head and said to him: “O my honoured father, be not wroth with me, nor be hasty in thy passion, for I am excusable, as thou shalt see. Listen to what hath befallen me, and I am persuaded that when thou hast heard my account of what happened to me these two nights, thou wilt excuse me, and thy Felicity will become pitiful toward me, even as I claim thy love.” Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur related to her father the Sultan all that had happened to her, adding: “O my father, if thou dost not believe me, ask the bridegroom, and he will tell thy Felicity the whole matter; though I knew not what they did with him when they took him away from me, nor did I imagine where they had put him.”

When the Sultan heard the speech of his daughter, grief took hold of him and his eyes ran over with tears. And he sheathed the sword, and came and kissed her, saying: “O my daughter, why didst thou not tell me last night, that I might have averted this torment and fear which have fallen upon thee this night? However, it signifieth nothing. Arise and drive away from thee this fancy, and next night I will set a watch to guard thee, and no such unhappiness shall again make thee sad.” And the Sultan returned to his palace, and straightway ordered the presence of the Wezir. And when he came and stood before him, he asked him: “O Wezir, what thinkest thou of this affair? Perchance thy son hath informed thee of what occurred to him and my daughter?” But the Wezir made answer: “O King of the Age, I have not seen my son, neither yesterday nor to-day.” Then the Sultan told him all that his daughter the Princess Bedr-el-Budur had related, adding: “It is my desire now that thou find out from thy son the truth of the matter; for it may be that my daughter, from terror, did not understand what befell her, though I believe her story to be all true.”

So the Wezir arose and sent for his son and asked him concerning all that the Sultan had told him, whether it were true or not. And the youth replied: “O my father the Wezir, God forbid that the Lady Bedr-el-Budur should tell lies! Nay, all she said is true, and these two nights that have passed were the worst of nights, instead of being nights of pleasure and joy to us both. But what befell me was the greater evil, for, instead of sleeping with my bride in the bed, I was put to sleep in a closet, a cursed, dark, and loathsome place smelling horribly, and my ribs almost split with the cold.” And the young man told his father all that had happened to him, and added. “O honoured parent, I entreat thee, speak to the Sultan that he release me from this marriage. Truly it is a great honour to me to be the son-in-law of the Sultan, and most of all since the love of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur hath taken possession of my being; but I have not strength to endure another night like the two which are over.”

When the Wezir heard his son's words he was exceeding sad and sorry, for he hoped to exalt and magnify his son by making him son-in-law to the Sultan; therefore he considered and pondered over this case, how to remedy it. It was a great hardship to him to break off the marriage, for he had been much congratulated on his success in so high a matter. So he said to his son: “Take patience, my child, till we see what may betide this night, when we set warders to watch over you; and do not reject this great honour, which hath been granted to none save thee alone.”

Then the Wezir left him and returned to the Sultan and told him that what the Lady Bedr-el-Budur had said was true. Therefore the Sultan said: “If it be so, we must not delay.” And he straightway ordered the rejoicings to cease and the marriage to be annulled. And the people and folk of the city wondered at this strange affair, and the more so when they saw the Wezir and his son coming forth from the palace in a state of grief and excess of rage; and men began asking what had happened and what the cause might be for annulling the marriage and terminating the espousals. And none knew how it was save ‘Ala-ed-Din, the lord of the invocation, who laughed in secret. So the marriage was dissolved, and still the Sultan forgot and recalled not the promise he had made to the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din, nor the Wezir either, and they knew not whence came that which had come.

‘Ala-ed-Din waited in patience until the three months were over, after which the Sultan had covenanted to wed him to his daughter, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur. Then he instantly despatched his mother to the Sultan to demand of him the fulfilment of his promise. So the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din went to the palace; and when the Sultan came to the hall of audience and saw her standing before him, he remembered his promise—that after three months he would marry his daughter to her son. And turning to the Wezir, he said: “O Wezir, this is the woman who gave us the jewels, and to whom we did pledge our word for three months. Bring her to me before anything else.” So the Wezir went and brought ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother before the Sultan; and when she came up to him she saluted him and prayed for his glory and lasting prosperity. Then the Sultan asked her if she had any suit. Whereto she answered: “O King of the Age, verily the three months are over, for which thou didst covenant with me, after which to marry my son ‘Ala-ed-Din to thy daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur.”

The King was perplexed at this demand, the more when he observed her poor condition and that she was of the meanest of the people. Yet the present she had given him was exceedingly splendid, beyond his power to purchase. Then turning to the Wezir, he said: “What stratagem hast thou? Of a truth I pledged my word; yet it is evident to me that they are poor people, and not of high degree.” And the Wezir, since envy was devouring him, and he was beyond everything grieved at what had befallen his son, said within himself: “How shall one like this wed the daughter of the Sultan and my son lose this honour?” So he answered the Sultan: “O my lord, it is an easy thing to be rid of this stranger, for it is not fit that thy Felicity should give thy daughter to a man like this,—one knoweth not who he is.” The Sultan replied: “In what way shall we ward off this man from us, when I have pledged my word, and the word of Kings is sacred?” The Wezir answered: “O my lord, my advice is that thou demand of him forty bowls of pure gold full of jewels, such as this woman brought thee that day, and forty maids to carry the bowls, and forty black slaves.” And the Sultan said: “By Allah, O Wezir, thou hast said well, for he cannot compass this thing, and thus we shall be freed from him.” Then he said to the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din: “Go, tell thy son that I hold to the promise which I made to him, provided he be able to furnish my daughter's dowry, for which I require of him forty bowls of pure gold, each full of jewels, such as thou didst bring me, and forty maids to carry them, and forty black slaves to attend and escort them. If thy son can do this I will marry him to my daughter.”

So the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din returned to her house shaking her head and saying: “Whence shall my poor son procure these bowls of jewels? Suppose he return to the Treasury and gather these jewels and bowls from the trees, yet with all this,—and I do not think he can, but say that he acquire them,—whence will he get the maids and slaves?” And she ceased not to commune with herself until she arrived at her house, where “Ala-ed-Din was expecting her. And when she came in, she said: “O my son, did I not tell thee not to think that thou couldst attain to the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, and that such a thing was not possible for people like us?” And he said to her: “Explain to me what tidings there be.” And she said: “O my son, verily the Sultan received me with all honour, as is his wont, and it is evident to me that his intentions towards us are benevolent. But thy enemy is the accursed Wezir; for after I had spoken to the Sultan, according to thy tongue (as thou saidst, ‘Verily the time is come for which thou didst covenant’), and after I had said to him, ‘Verily it behoves thy Felicity to order the wedding of thy daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur to my son ‘Ala-ed-Din,’ he turned to the Wezir and spake to him; and he answered him secretly; and afterward the Sultan gave me his answer.” Then she told ‘Ala-ed-Din what the Sultan required, and said to him: “O my son, verily he requireth of thee an immediate reply, and methinks we have no answer for him.”

When ‘Ala-ed-Din heard the words of his mother, he laughed and said: “O my mother, thou sayest that we have no answer for him, and considerest the affair exceeding hard; but compose thy mind, and arise, bring me something to eat, and after we have eaten, if the Compassionate please, thou shalt see my answer. And the Sultan like thee, thinketh he hath required an enormous thing, in order to keep me from the Lady Bedr-el-Budur; though really he hath asked a smaller thing than I expected. But do thou arise, and fetch me somewhat to eat, and trust me to provide the answer for thee.” So his mother arose and went forth to fetch what was needed from the market to prepare dinner. And ‘Ala-ed-Din went into his chamber, and took the Lamp and rubbed it, and immediately there appeared to him the Slave, who said: “O my master, ask what thou desirest.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “I have demanded the daughter of the Sultan in marriage, and the Sultan hath required of me forty bowls of pure gold, each weighing ten pounds, and they must be full of the jewels which are in the garden of the Treasury; and to carry them there must be forty maids, and to each maid a slave, forty slaves in all. So I desire of thee that thou bring me all these.” And the Jinni said: “I hear and obey, O my master,” and vanished for the space of an hour, when he brought forty maids, and with each maid a eunuch, and on each maid's head a bowl of fine gold full of precious stones. And he set them before ‘Ala-ed-Din, saying: “Here is thy wish: tell me then if thou hast need of any affair or service beside this.” But ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “I need nothing else; but if I require anything I will summon thee and inform thee thereof.” So the Slave vanished. And presently ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother appeared and entered the house, and perceived the slaves and maids. And she marvelled, saying: “All this is from the Lamp. God preserve it for my son!” And as she was about to raise her veil, ‘Ala-ed-Din said to her: “O my mother, this is the moment for thee, before the Sultan goes in to his seraglio, to his family. Take thou to him that which he demanded, and go to him forthwith, that he may know that I am able to do what he required, and more also. Verily he is deceived by the Wezir, and they both think to foil me.” Thereupon ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and opened the door of the house, and the maids and the slaves came forth side by side, each maid with a eunuch beside her, till they filled the street. And ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother went before them. And the people flocked to the street when they saw this mighty, wonderful sight, and stood diverting themselves and marvelling and observing the forms of the damsels and their beauty and loveliness; for they all wore dresses embroidered with gold and trimmed with jewels, none worth less than a thousand dinars. And the folks gazed upon the bowls, and saw that the lustre transcended the light of the sun. Over each was a piece of brocade embroidered with gold and studded with precious stones. And the people of the quarter stood wondering at this strange spectacle. But ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother walked on, and the damsels and slaves marched behind her, in all order and precision, and the people stopped to examine the beauty of the damsels, and glorified God the great Creator; and so they arrived and entered with ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother, the palace of the Sultan. And when the aghas and chamberlains and officers of the army saw them, wonder gat hold of them and they were amazed at this sight, the like of which they had never witnessed in all their born days, above all, such damsels, every one of whom would turn the head of an anchorite. And although the chamberlain and officers of the Sultan's troops were all sons of grandees and nobles, yet they were astonished beyond measure at the costly dresses which the damsels wore, and the bowls upon their heads, which they could not gaze full upon by reason of their excessive flashing and dazzle.

Then the guard went in and informed the Sultan, and he at once ordered that they should be brought before him in the Hall of Audience. So ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother came in with them; and when they appeared before the Sultan, they all saluted him with due reverence and worship, and they invoked blessings on his glory and good-fortune. Then they took the bowls from their heads and set them before him, and removed their coverings, and then stood respectfully. The Sultan marvelled with great admiration, and was bewildered at the splendour of the jewels and their loveliness, which transcended praise; and his wits were turned when he looked at the golden bowls full of precious stones, which captivated the sight; and he was confounded at this marvel till he became as the dumb, and could not say a word from excess of wonder. And his mind was the more perplexed how all this could have come about in the space of hour. Then he gave commandment that the damsels with the bowls should enter the palace of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur; so they took up their loads and went in.

After that, the mother of ‘Ala-ed-Din came and said to the Sultan: “O my lord, this is not a great thing wherewith to do honour to the Lady Bedr-El-Budur, for she merits the double of this ［dower］.” Then the Sultan turned to the Wezir and said: “What sayest thou, O Wezir? He who can procure such riches as these in so short a time, is he not worthy to be the Sultan's son-in-law and the daughter of the Sultan his bride?” But the Wezir, although he marvelled at the vastness of these riches, more even than the Sultan, yet, being devoured by envy, which grew stronger and stronger when he saw how content the Sultan was with the dower and riches, and though he could not disguise the truth, answered: “It is not worthy of her.” And he was devising a plan for the Sultan, that he might not give his daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur to ‘Ala-ed-Din, and accordingly he went on: “O my lord, all the treasures of the universe are not equal to the little finger of thy daughter. Thy Highness hath overvalued these presents as against her.” When the Sultan heard these words of the Wezir, he perceived that they arose from excess of envy. So turning to “Ala-ed-Din's mother, he said: “O woman, go to thy son, and tell him that I have accepted the dowry and I stand by my promise. My daughter is his bride and he my son-in-law; and bid him come hither, in order that I may know him. He shall have naught but honour and esteem from me. And this night shall begin the wedding; only, as I said, let him come to me without delay.”

Then Ala-ed-Din's mother returned home with the speed of the wind, and abated not the quickness of her pace, in order to congratulate her son. She flew with joy at thinking that her child was going to become the son-in-law of the Sultan. After she had gone, the Sultan dismissed the audience and entered the apartments of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, and bade them bring the damsels and the bowls before her that she might look at them. And when they brought them and the Princess examined the jewels, she was amazed and said: “Methinks there is not found in the treasuries of the universe a single gem like these!” Then she gazed upon the damsels and marvelled at their beauty and grace. And she knew that all this was from her new bridegroom, who had sent it in her service. So she rejoiced, though she had been sorrowful and sad on account of her bridegroom the son of the Wezir. Yet she rejoiced with great joy when she looked upon the jewels and the beauty of the damsels; and she made merry, and her father was greatly delighted at her cheerfulness, because he saw that her sadness and grief had departed from her. Then he asked her, saying: “O my daughter, Lady Bedr-el-Budur, does this astonish thee? Methinks this bridegroom of thine is goodlier than the Wezir's son; and presently, please God, O my daughter, thou shalt enjoy supreme delight with him.” Thus was it with the Sultan.

As for ‘Ala-ed-Din, when his mother returned and entered the house, laughing in the excess of her joy, and he saw her so, he scented good news, and said: “To God be praise everlasting! My desire is now accomplished.” And his mother said: “Good news for thee, O my child! Cheer thy heart, and refresh thine eye for the fulfilment of thy wish. The Sultan hath accepted thy present, the riches and portion and dowry of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur; and she is thy bride, and this night, O my son, is the wedding and thy union with the Princess. To assure me of his promise the Sultan hath proclaimed thee before the world as his son-in-law, and saith that to-night is the consummation. Moreover, he said to me: ‘Let thy son come to me, that I may become acquainted with him and welcome him with all honour and regard.’ And here am I, my son; my task is over; happen what may, it is now thy own affair.”

Then ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and kissed his mother's hand and thanked her, and magnified her goodness to him, and went and entered his chamber and took the Lamp and rubbed it, and behold, the Slave appeared, saying, “At thy service! Ask what thou desirest.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “I desire thee to take me to a bath the equal of which existeth not in the universe; and bring me there a dress so royal and exceeding costly that Kings possess not its match.” And the Marid replied, “I hear and obey.” And he lifted him and took him into a bath such as Kings and Emperors never saw, all of marble and carnelian, with wonderful pictures which captivated the eye; and not a soul was there. In it was a hall studded over with splendid jewels, which when ‘Ala-ed-Din entered, there came to him one of the Jann in human shape, who washed and kneaded him to the top of his bent. After which ‘Ala-ed-Din went from the bath into the spacious hall, and found his old clothes gone and in their place a suit of royal robes. Then there was brought to him sherbet and coffee flavoured with ambergris. And he drank and arose, and a number of slaves appeared before him, and clad him in resplendent clothes, and he was dressed and perfumed and scented. Though ‘Ala-ed-Din was, in fact, a poor tailor's son, none would have supposed it, but rather would say: “This is the greatest of the sons of the Kings. Extolled be he who changeth others but himself changeth not!” Then the Jinni came and lifted him and returned him to his house, and said: “O my master, hast thou further need?” And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “Yes, I want thee to bring me forty-eight memluks, twenty-four to go before me and twenty-four to follow me, with their chargers and habiliments and arms; and everything on them and their horses must be of the very costliest, such as is not in the treasuries of Kings. Then bring me a stallion fit for the Cæsars, and let his housings be of gold studded over with magnificent jewels; and bring me forty-eight thousand dinars, to each memluk a thousand. For I wish to go to the Sultan's presence. So delay not, since without all these things of which I have told thee I cannot visit him. Bring me also twelve damsels; they must be of peerless beauty, and clad in the most sumptuous raiment, that they may accompany my mother to the palace of the Sultan. And let each damsel be attired like the King's ladies.” And the Slave answered, “I hear and obey.” And vanishing awhile, he brought him in the twinkling of an eye, all that he had commanded; and he led a steed the fellow of which did not exist among the horses of the Arabs, and his housings were of gorgeous cloth of gold.

‘Ala-ed-Din sent for his mother at once, and delivered to her the twelve maidens, and gave her robes that she might be robed, when the damsels would escort her to the palace of the Sultan. And he sent one of the memluks which the Jinni had brought him to the Sultan, to ascertain whether he had come forth from his harem or not. So the memluk went quicker than lightning, and returned to him speedily, saying: “O my master, the Sultan expecteth thee.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and mounted and the memluks rode before him and behind him. And they were such as to make all men cry: “Extolled be the Lord who created them in such perfection of beauty and grace!” And they scattered gold among the people before their master ‘Ala-ed-Din, who excelled them in beauty and comeliness,—and make no mention of the sons of Kings! Extolled be the Bountiful, the Eternal! And all this came by virtue of the Wonderful Lamp, which whoso possessed, it brought him beauty and loveliness and wealth and wisdom. And the people were astonished at the generosity of Ala-ed-Din and his excessive bounty, and were distraught as they gazed upon his beauty and comeliness and grace and courtliness. And they extolled the Compassionate for this his noble creation; and all blessed him, though they knew he was the son of Such-an-one the tailor; and none was envious of him, but all pronounced him worthy of his luck.

Thus was the crowd dazzled by ‘Ala-ed-Din and his bounty and generosity, as he was going to the palace, scattering gold. And they blessed him, great and small, till he reached the palace, with the memluks before and behind him distributing largesse to the people. Now the Sultan had assembled the grandees of the state, and informed them that he had given his word for the marriage of his daughter to ‘Ala-ed-Din. And he bade them await his coming, and then go forth, one and all, and receive him. And he sent for the emirs and the wezirs and chamberlains and gentlemen of the guard and officers of the army, and they were all in waiting for ‘Ala-ed-Din at the gate of the palace. Now when ‘Ala-ed-Din arrived he would have dismounted at the gate, but one of the emirs whom the Sultan had appointed for the office approached and said: “O my master, the order is that thou enter and remain mounted on thy charger till thou comest to the gate of the Hall of Audience.” And they all marched before him and escorted him to the gate of the Divan, when some of them approached and held his stirrup, and others supported him on each side or took him by the hand, and the emirs and officers of state went before him and led him into the Hall of Audience close to the royal throne. Then the Sultan descended at once from his throne, and clasped him to his breast, and forbidding him to kiss the ground, kissed him and seated him beside him on his right. And ‘Ala-ed-Din did as was proper towards Kings, in giving salutations and benedictions, saying: “O our lord the Sultan, verily the generosity of thy Felicity caused thee to vouchsafe me the Lady Bedr-el-Budur thy daughter, although I am not worthy of so great an honour, since I am of the meanest of thy slaves. And I beg God to prolong thy life perpetually. But in truth, O King, my tongue is powerless to thank thee for the greatness of the surpassing favours with which thou hast overwhelmed me. And I beg of thy Felicity that thou give me a piece of land where I may build a palace suitable for the Lady Bedr-el-Budur.” And the Sultan was bewildered as he gazed upon ‘Ala-ed-Din in his princely robes, and looked upon him and considered his beauty and comeliness, and saw the memluks arrayed for his service and their handsome apparel. And his wonder increased when ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother approached in her costly attire, sumptuous as though she had been a Queen; and when he perceived the twelve damsels attending her standing before her in all respect and worship. Further, the Sultan considered the eloquence of ‘Ala-ed-Din, and the refinement of his language, and was astounded at it, he and all those who were with him at the levee. And fire was kindled in the heart of the Wezir for envy of ‘Ala-ed-Din, till he almost died. Then the Sultan, after hearing ‘Ala-ed-Din's benedictions, and perceiving the loftiness of his bearing and his deference and eloquence, pressed him to his bosom and kissed him, saying: “Alas for me, my son, that I have not enjoyed thy company till this day!”

When the Sultan saw ‘Ala-ed-Din in this respect he rejoiced with great joy, and immediately ordered the music and band to play. And he arose and took ‘Ala-ed-Din and led him into the palace, where supper was made ready and the servants had laid the tables. So the Sultan sat down and seated ‘Ala-ed-Din on his right; and the wezirs also sat, and the grandees of the state and lords of the realm, all of them in their degree; and the band played, and they made very merry in the palace. And the Sultan waxed friendly with ‘Ala-ed-Din and conversed with him, and he answered with all courtliness and eloquence, as though he had been brought up in the palaces of Kings and had been their familiar. And the longer the conversation lasted between them the greater became the Sultan's joy and satisfaction, as he listened to his graceful replies and the charm of his eloquence.

After they had eaten and drunk and removed the tables, the Sultan commanded to bring the Kadis and witnesses, and they came and tied the knot and wrote the contract of marriage between ‘Ala-ed-Din and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur. After this ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and would have gone out, but the Sultan stopped him, saying: “Whither, O my son? The festivities are beginning and the wedding is ready, and the knot is tied and the contract written.” But he answered: “O my lord the King, it is my intention to build a palace for the Lady Bedr-el-Budur befitting her rank and station; and it is impossible that I should enter in to her before this is done. But, please God, the building shall be finished in the briefest space by the energy of thy servant and the countenance of thy Felicity. And for me, much as I long for union now with the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, yet it behoveth me to serve her and to do so first.” So the Sultan said to him: “O my son, choose the land which thou deemest fit for thy project; take it altogether into thy hands; but the best place would be here in front of my palace on the open plain; then if thou so fanciest build the palace there.” “This,” said ‘Ala-ed-Din, “is the height of my desire, to be near thy Felicity.”

Therefore ‘Ala-ed-Din took leave of the Sultan and went forth riding with his memluks before and behind him. And all the world blessed him and said, “By Allah, he is worthy!” till he reached his house. There he alighted from his horse and entered his chamber and rubbed the Lamp, and, behold, the Slave appeared before him and said: “Ask what thou wilt, O my master.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “I require thee to do me an important service, which is to build me with all speed a palace in front of the Sultan's Serai; and let it be marvellous in its construction, such as Kings have not seen, and perfect in its fittings of stately furniture fit for princes; and so forth.” And the Slave replied, “I hear and obey,” and vanished. But before the break of dawn he came to ‘Ala-ed-Din and said: “O my master, the palace is finished to the utmost of thy desire, and if thou wish to see it, arise at once and look at it.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din arose, and the Slave bore him in the twinkling of an eye to the palace. And when he saw it, he was astounded at its construction, for all its stones were of jasper and alabaster and porphyry and mosaics. Then the Slave took him into a treasury full of all sorts of gold and silver and precious stones, not to be numbered or estimated or appraised or valued. And again, he took him into another room, where he saw all the table equipments, plates and dishes, ewers and basins, of gold and silver, and likewise flagons and goblets; and he led him to the kitchen, where he saw the scullions with all their requisites and cooking utensils, all of gold and silver; and next to a chamber full of chests packed with royal raiment, such as captivated the reason, brocades from India and China, and embroideries. Again he led him to numerous rooms all full of what defieth description; and then to the stables, where he found horses the like of which were not found among the Kings in all the world; and from there he took him to the saddle-room, which was full of costly harness and saddles, studded with pearls and fine stones and the like. And all this was done in a single night. ‘Ala-ed-Din was astounded and distraught at the vastness of these riches, which the mightiest sovereign on earth could not compass. And the palace was full of servants and maidens whose loveliness would tempt a saint. But the most wonderful of all the things to be seen in the palace was a pavilion or kiosk with twenty-four bays, all of emeralds and diamonds and other jewels; and one bay was not finished by ‘Ala-ed-Din's wish, in order that the Sultan might be unequal to completing it.

When ‘Ala-ed-Din had surveyed the palace in every part, he rejoiced and was greatly delighted. Then turning to the Slave, he said: “I desire one thing of thee, which is still lacking, and of which I forgot to tell thee.” And the Slave said: “Ask on, O my master, whatsoever thou wishest.” So he said: “I desire of thee a carpet of splendid brocade, and let it be all worked with gold, and such that when spread it shall reach from my palace to that of the Sultan, so that the Lady Bedr-el-Budur when she cometh hither may walk upon it and not tread upon the bare ground.” So the Slave went away for a while, and on his return said: “O my master, what thou didst ask of me is done.” And he took and shewed him a carpet which captivated the reason, and it stretched from palace to palace. Then the Slave carried ‘Ala-ed-Din back to his house.

At this moment it was already dawn, and the Sultan arose from sleep and opened the window of his chamber and looked out, and in front of his palace he perceived a building; so he began to rub his eyes, and opened them wide to observe it. And he saw a great palace, bewildering the wits; and he gazed upon the carpet laid down from his own palace to that other. And in like manner the doorkeepers and all the royal household were perplexed in their minds at this thing. Just then the Wezir came in, and as he came he perceived the new palace and the carpet, and he too marvelled. And when the Sultan entered, the two began talking of this strange spectacle, and wondering at the sight of this thing, which dazzled the sight and delighted the heart, saying: “Of a truth, the like of this palace could not, we imagine, be built by Kings.” And the Sultan turned to the Wezir and said: “Dost thou see now that ‘Ala-ed-Din is worthy to mate my daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, after seeing and considering this royal edifice and these riches which the mind of man could not conceive?” But the Wezir, on account of his envy of ‘Ala-ed-Din, answered: “O King of the Age, verily this building and this edifice and these riches could not exist save by means of magic, for no man alive, be he the chiefest in authority or the greatest in wealth, could complete this edifice in a single night.” Then answered the Sultan: “It is a wonder to me how thou art always imputing evil to ‘Ala-ed-Din; meseems, however, that it proceedeth from thy envy of him; for thou wast present thyself when I gave him this land, when he asked me for a site to build a palace on for my daughter, and I granted him this piece of land for his palace before thine eyes. But shall he who bringeth such a dowry of jewels for my daughter as Kings possess not even a few thereof, shall he be unequal to building a palace like this?”

When the Wezir heard the Sultan's words, and perceived that he loved ‘Ala-ed-Din greatly, his jealousy increased; only, as he could not do anything to avert it, he watched and could not answer the Sultan a word. But as to ‘Ala-ed-Din, when he saw that it was morning, and the time had come for him to go to the palace, because his wedding fête was going on, and the emirs and wezirs and grandees of state had collected about the Sultan in order to be present at the wedding, he arose and rubbed the Lamp and the Slave appeared to him and said: “O my master, ask what thou desirest, for I am here at thy service.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “I intend to go now to the Sultan's palace, as this is my wedding-day, and I need ten thousand dinars which I wish thee to bring me.” Then the Slave vanished for the twinkling of an eye and returned with the ten thousand dinars. Then ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and mounted, and there rode with him his memluks, before and behind. And he proceeded to the palace, scattering gold to the crowd as he went, so that they were filled with affection for him, and his dignity was enhanced thereby. And when he arrived at the palace, and the emirs and aghas and guards who were drawn up in waiting saw him, they hastened immediately to the Sultan and apprised him. Then the Sultan arose and met him and embraced and kissed him, and holding him by the hand led him into the palace and sat down and seated him at his side on the right; while the whole town was decorated, and the musical instruments resounded in the palace, and the singers sang. Then the Sultan commanded that the banquet should be served, and the eunuchs and memluks hastened to lay the tables, which were such as befit Kings. And ‘Ala-ed-Din and the Sultan and the grandees of the realm and the chief officers of state sat down and ate and drank till they were satisfied. And there were great rejoicings in the palace and the city; and all the nobles were delighted, and the people in all the kingdom rejoiced; and the rulers of provinces and chiefs of departments from distant regions came to see the wedding of ‘Ala-ed-Din and the festivities. And the Sultan wondered in his mind at ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother—how she used to come to him in shabby clothes when her son possessed such vast wealth. And the people who came to the Sultan's palace to witness the fêtes of ‘Ala-ed-Din, when they saw his new palace and the beauty of the building, marvelled greatly how a splendid palace like that could be finished in a single night. And they fell to blessing ‘Ala-ed-Din, and saying: “God give him enjoyment! By Allah, verily he deserveth it! God bless his days!”

When ‘Ala-ed-Din had finished the banquet he arose and took leave of the Sultan, and mounting, he and his memluks proceeded to his palace, to prepare for the reception of his bride the Lady Bedr-el-Budur. And all the people cheered him with one shout as he went: “God give thee enjoyment! God increase thy glory! God prolong thy life!” And a vast concourse accompanied him as far as his home, while he scattered gold amongst them. When he was come to his palace, he dismounted and entered it and seated himself on the divan, and the memluks stood attentive before him; and presently they brought him sherbets. After which he gave command to his memluks and maidens, eunuchs and all his household, to prepare for the reception of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur his bride. Now when it was afternoon and the air had become cool and the heat of the sun had abated, the Sultan ordered the troops and emirs of the state and wezirs to descend into the Meydan or riding-ground; so they all went down, and the Sultan with them. And ‘Ala-ed-Din arose, and mounted with his memluks, and went down also to the Meydan. And he displayed his horsemanship, playing with the Jerid〖Javelin of palm.〗 in the Meydan, so that none could stand against him. He was riding a stallion the like of which did not exist among the horses of the purest Arabs. And his bride the Lady Bedr-el-Budur watched him from a window of her apartments, and seeing his grace and horsemanship, she fell violently in love with him, and almost flew with joy. When they had jousted round the Meydan and had each shewn what horsemanship he possessed, and ‘Ala-ed-Din the best of them all, the Sultan proceeded to his palace, and ‘Ala-ed-Din returned to his own.

And when it was evening, the nobles and wezirs came and took ‘Ala-ed-Din and conducted him in procession to the bath called Imperial, which he entered, and was bathed and perfumed, and coming forth put on a dress more gorgeous than before. Then he mounted, and the guards and emirs rode before him, and escorted him in stately progress, while four of the wezirs surrounded him with drawn swords. And all the people, natives and strangers alike, and all the troops, marched before him in procession, bearing candles and drums and pipes and instruments of joy and revel, till they arrived at his palace, where he dismounted, and entering, seated himself. And the wezirs and emirs who were with him sat also; and the memluks brought sherbets and sweet drinks, and served all the crowd who had come with him in procession—a multitude past numbering. And ‘Ala-ed-Din ordered his memluks to go forth from the palace gate and scatter gold among the crowd. When the Sultan returned from the Meydan and entered his palace, he forthwith ordered them to form a procession for his daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, to escort her to her bridegroom's palace. Thereupon the guards and officers of state who had taken part in ‘Ala-ed-Din's progress, mounted, and the handmaids and eunuchs brought forth tapers and escorted the Lady Bedr-el-Budur in a stately procession till they brought her to her bridegroom's palace. ‘Ala-ed-Din's mother walked beside her; and in front were the wives of the wezirs and the emirs and grandees and chief officers; and along with her were the eight-and-forty damsels which ‘Ala-ed-Din had given her, each carrying in her hand a tall taper of camphor and ambergris set in a candlestick of gold inlaid with jewels. And they all went forth with her from the seraglio, men and women, and marched before her till they came to her groom's palace, when they took her to her apartments, and changed her dress and displayed her. And when the displaying was over they led her to the chamber of her bridegroom ‘Ala-ed-Din, and he went in to her.

Now his mother was with the bride, and when he came to unveil her, his mother began to observe the beauty of the bride and her loveliness. And she looked at the chamber she was in, all sparkling with gold and jewels; and there were lustres of gold all set with emeralds and rubies. And she said within herself: “I used to think the Sultan's palace magnificent, but this chamber is unique. Methinks not one of the greatest of Emperors and Kings ever attained to its like, and I do not believe that all the world could make a chamber like this.” And the Lady Bedr-el-Budur also began to look and wonder at this palace and its splendour. Then the tables were laid, and they all ate and drank and made merry; after which eighty handmaidens came before them, each with an instrument of joy and revel in her hand; and they stretched their fingers and touched the strings and evolved harmonious modulations till they rent the hearts of the hearers.And the Lady Bedr-el Budur wondered the more, and said within herself:“Never in my life have I heard songs like these,”till she left off eating and gave herself up to listening. And‘Ala-ed-Din poured out wine for her and gave it her with his own hand. And content and great rejoicing fell upon them,and it was a glorious night, such as Alexander, Lord of the two Horns, never spent in his time. And when they had done eating and dinking and the tables were taken away,‘Ala-ed-Din arose and went in to his bride.

And when it was morning ‘Ala-ed-Din arose, and the treasurer brought him a splendid costly suit of the richest of the robes of Kings. And he dressed, and they brought him coffee with ambergris, and he drank; and then ordered the horses to be saddled, and mounted, and his memluks rode before and behind him. And he proceeded to the palace of the Sultan, and as soon as he had arrived and entered, the servants went and informed the Sultan of his arrival; who, when he heard of it, arose straightway to meet him, and embraced and kissed him as though he were his son, and seated him on his right. And the wezirs and emirs and officers of state and nobles of the realm blessed him, and the Sultan blessed and congratulated him. And he ordered breakfast to be brought and they all breakfasted. And when they had eaten and drunk their fill, and the servants had removed the tables from before them, ‘Ala-ed-Din turned to the Sultan and said: “O my lord, will thy Felicity deign to honour me this day to dinner with the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, thy well-beloved daughter, accompanied by all the wezirs and nobles of thy realm?” And the Sultan, being charmed with him, answered: “Thou art too hospitable, O my son.” And forthwith he ordered the wezirs and officers of state and grandees of the realm, and arose and took horses, and they likewise, and ‘Ala-ed-Din rode with them till they came to the new palace. And when the Sultan had entered and considered the building and its construction and masonry, which was of jasper and carnelian, his reason was confounded and distraught at this splendour and wealth and magnificence. And turning to the Wezir, he asked: “What sayest thou, O Wezir? Hast thou seen in all thy time a thing like this, or is there to be found among the Kings of the world such wealth and gold and jewels as we see here in this palace?” And the Wezir replied: “O my lord the King, this is a thing that is not within the reach of any King of the sons of Adam, and all the people of the world could not have built a palace like this, nor could masons construct such a work, except, as I said to thy Felicity, by the power of magic.” But the Sultan knew that the Wezir could never speak without envy of ‘Ala-ed-Din, and wished to prove to the Sultan that all this was not done by strength of man, but wholly by force of magic. So the Sultan answered him: “Enough, O Wezir; thou hast no more to say; and I know the reason of thy speaking thus.”

Then ‘Ala-ed-Din walked before the Sultan till they came to the upper kiosk, where he looked at the ceiling and windows and lattices all set with emeralds and rubies and other precious stones, and he was astonished and astounded and his wits were confounded, and he was distraught in his mind. Then the Sultan began to wander about the kiosk and look at things which captivated the reason. And he perceived the bay which ‘Ala-ed-Din had purposely left unfinished. And when the Sultan had examined it and saw that it was not complete, he cried: “Woe to thee, O bay, that thou art not perfect!” And turning to the Wezir, he said: “Knowest thou the cause of the unfinished state of this bay and its lattices?” And he replied: “O my lord, I think this window is left unfinished on account of thy Felicity hastening the wedding of ‘Ala-ed-Din, so that he had not time to finish it.” At that moment ‘Ala-ed-Din had gone to his bride, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, to apprise her of the visit of her father the Sultan. But when he returned, the latter asked him: “O my son ‘Ala-ed-Din, what is the reason that this bay of the kiosk is not complete?” And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “O King of the Age, in consequence of the hurry of the wedding I could not get workmen to finish it.” Then said the Sultan: “It is a fancy of mine to complete it myself.” “God continue thy glory, O King,” answered ‘Ala-ed-Din. “So shall thy memory be perpetuated in thy daughter’s palace.” Then the Sultan ordered them to bring the jewellers and goldsmiths, and commanded that they should be furnished from the treasury with all they wanted of gold and jewels and minerals; and when they were assembled he bade them complete what was lacking in the lattice of the kiosk.

Meanwhile the Lady Bedr-el-Budur came to meet her father the Sultan, and as she drew near he noticed her face was smiling; so he embraced and kissed her, and led her into the kiosk, where all entered together. It was the time of the noon meal, and one table was prepared for the Sultan and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur and ‘Ala-ed-Din, and a second for the Wezirs and lords of state and grandees of the realm and officers of the army and chamberlains and gentlemen of the guard.

Then the Sultan seated himself between his daughter and his son-in-law. And when he stretched forth his hand to the food and tasted it, he was filled with surprise at the viands and the admirable and savoury cookery. And before him stood eighty damsels, each of whom might say to the full moon: “Get up, that I may seat myself in thy stead!” And they all held instruments of joy and revel in their hands, and tuned them, and stretched out their fingers and touched the strings, and drew forth melodious strains, which would expand the heart of the sorrowful. And the Sultan was delighted. The moment was agreeable, and he was happy, and said: “Verily this thing transcendeth the power of Emperors and Kings.” So they fell to eating and drinking, and the cup went round among them till they were satisfied; then fruits and sweetmeats and the like were brought and served in another apartment, whither they repaired and took their fill of these delights. Then the Sultan arose to look at the work of the jewellers and goldsmiths, and see if it resembled that of the palace. So he ascended to them and inspected their work and how they had progressed; but he perceived a strong contrast, and that they were unable to produce such work as the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din. They told him that they had brought all the jewels they could find in the ［ordinary］ treasury, but it was not enough. Upon this he ordered the Great Treasury to be opened, and gave them what they wanted; and ［said that］ if that were still insufficient, they might take the present which ‘Ala-ed-Din had given him. So the jewellers took all the precious stones which the Sultan allowed, and they worked with them and again found that they had not enough, and were unable to complete half what remained unfinished of the lattices of the kiosk. Thereupon the Sultan commanded them to seize all the jewels which they might find among the wezirs and grandees of the state. So the jewellers took them all and continued their task, and even so there was not enough.

When morning came, ‘Ala-ed-Din ascended to see how the jewellers had worked, and perceived that they had not completed half the deficient bay. So he immediately ordered them to take down all that they had done and return the jewels to their owners. So they undid it all, and sent to the Sultan what was his, and to the wezirs what was theirs. Then the jewellers went to the Sultan and told him that ‘Ala-ed-Din had ordered them thus. And he asked them: “What did he say? What was his reason, and why was he not pleased that the bay should be finished, and why did he demolish what ye had done?” They answered: “O our lord, we have no knowledge at all, but he bade us demolish all we had done.” Thereupon the Sultan called for his horses and mounted and went to ‘Ala-ed-Din's palace.

Now ‘Ala-ed-Din, after dismissing the goldsmiths and jewellers retired into his closet, and rubbed the Lamp, when the Slave instantly appeared, saying: “Ask whatsoever thou desirest, for thy Slave is in thy hands.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “I wish thee to finish the bay that was left incomplete.” “On the head and also the eye,” answered the Slave, and vanished, but shortly returned saying: “O my lord, that which thou didst command me to do is finished.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din mounted to the kiosk and saw all the bays were perfect. And whilst he was inspecting them, lo, a eunuch came and said. “O my master, the Sultan cometh to thee, and entereth the palace gate.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din went down at once to meet him. When the Sultan saw him he cried: “O my son, wherefore hast thou done thus, and wouldest not let the jewellers finish the lattice of the kiosk, so that an unfinished spot remaineth in thy palace?” And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “O King of the Age, I left it imperfect only for a purpose; for I was not unequal to finishing it, nor could I wish thy Felicity to honour me at a palace wherein anything was imperfect. But that thou myself know that I am not incapable of perfecting it, I beg of thy Felicity to inspect the bays of the kiosk, and see if there be aught unfinished there.” So the King ascended to the apartments and entered the kiosk and began to look over it to the right and the left, but he found nothing whatever incomplete, but found all the bays perfect. And seeing this he was astonished, and embraced ‘Ala-ed-Din and fell to kissing him, saying: “O my son, what strange doing is this! In a single night thou canst accomplish a work which the jewellers would fail to do in months! By Allah, I do not think thou hast a fellow or peer in the world.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “God prolong thy life and continue thy length of days forever! Thy servant is not worthy of such praise.” But the King said, “O my son, verily thou art worthy of all praise, since thou hast accomplished a thing which all the workmen in the universe could not do.” Then the Sultan descended and went to the apartments of his daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur to rest with her; and he saw that she was very happy at the state and magnificence that surrounded her, and after resting awhile he returned to his palace.

Every day ‘Ala-ed-Din used to ride through the city with his memluks before and behind, scattering gold right and left among the people, and all the world, foreigners and neighbours, the far and the near, were alike drawn with love to him by reason of his excessive generosity and bounty. And he increased the provision for the poor and indigent, and himself gave them alms with his own hand; for which deeds he acquired great renown throughout the realm; and many of the grandees of the state and the emirs ate at his table, and men swore only “by his precious life!” And he went frequently to the chase and the Meydan and horse exercises and javelin jousts in the presence of the Sultan. And whenever the Lady Bedr-el-Budur saw him performing on the backs of horses, her love for him waxed stronger, and she thought within herself that God had been very gracious to her in causing to happen that which happened with the son of the Wezir, so that she was reserved to be the virgin bride of ‘Ala-ed-Din.

Thus ‘Ala-ed-Din daily increased in fair fame and renown, and the love of him grew stronger in the hearts of all the subjects, and he was magnified in the eyes of the people. At this time, moreover, certain of the Sultan's enemies rode down against him, and the Sultan equipped the troops to resist them, and made ‘Ala-ed-Din leader of the army. So ‘Ala-ed-Din went with the troops, till he drew near to the enemy, whose armies were very strong. And he drew his sword, and rushed upon the enemy, and the battle and slaughter began, and the conflict was sturdy. But ‘Ala-ed-Din broke them and dispersed them, killing the greater part, and looting their goods and provisions and cattle beyond number. Then he returned triumphant after a glorious victory, and made his entry into his city, who had adorned herself for him in her rejoicing over him. And the Sultan went forth to meet him and congratulated him and embraced and kissed him, and there was a magnificent fête and great rejoicings. And the Sultan and ‘Ala-ed-Din entered the palace, where there met him his bride, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, who was rejoicing over him, and kissed him between the eyes. And they went into her palace, and presently the Sultan and all sat down, and the damsels brought sherbets. So they drank; and the Sultan ordered throughout the kingdom that they should illuminate for the victory of ‘Ala-ed-Din over the enemy. And the chiefs and the soldiers and the crowd turned ［their prayers］ only to God in Heaven and ‘Ala-ed-Din on earth, for they loved him exceedingly, because of the excess of his bounty and generosity and his fighting for his country, and his charge, and his rout of the foe. And thus was it with ‘Ala-ed-Din.

But as to the Moorish sorcerer, when he had returned to his country, he spent all this time in lamenting the labour and trouble he had taken in his quest of the Lamp, and the more because his labour was fruitless; and the morsel had fallen from his hand just as it was touching his lips. And he fell to thinking over all this, and lamented, and cursed ‘Ala-ed-Din in his exceeding rage, and at times he would mutter: “That this misbegotten boy is dead below ground I am satisfied, and I hope yet to get the amp, since it is still safe.”

One day of the days he drew a table in sand and put the figures down and examined them carefully and verified them, that he might perceive and be certified of the death of ‘Ala-ed-Din and the preservation of the Lamp, beneath the ground; and he looked into the figures, both “mothers” and “daughters,” intently, but he saw not the Lamp. At this, anger overcame him, and he drew the figure again, to be certain of ‘Ala-ed-Din's death; but he saw him not in the Treasury. So his rage increased and the more so when he ascertained that the boy was alive on the surface of the earth. And when he knew that he had come forth from underground and was possessed of the Lamp for which he himself had endured privations and labour such as man can hardly bear, then he said within himself: “I have borne many pains and suffered torments which no one else would have endured for the sake of the Lamp, and this cursed boy has taken it without an effort; and if this accursed knoweth the virtues of the Lamp, no one in the world should be richer than he.” And he added: “There is nothing for it but that I compass his destruction.” So he drew a second table, and inspecting the figures, discovered that ‘Ala-ed-Din had acquired immense wealth and had married the daughter of the Sultan. So he was consumed with the flame of anger begotten of envy.

He arose that very hour, and equipped himself, and journeyed to the land of China, and when he arrived at the metropolis wherein dwelt ‘Ala-ed-Din, he entered and alighted at one of the Khans. And he heard the people talking of nothing but the splendour of ‘Ala-ed-Din's palace. After he had rested from his journey, he dressed himself and went down to perambulate the streets of the city. And he never met any people but they were admiring this palace and its splendour, and talking together of the beauty of ‘Ala-ed-Din and his grace and dignity and generosity and the charm of his manners. And the Moor approached one of those who were depicting ‘Ala-ed-Din with these encomiums, and said to him: “O gentle youth, who may this be whom ye praise and commend?” And the other replied: “It is evident that thou, O man, art a stranger and comest from distant parts; but be thou from ever so distant a land, how hast thou not heard of the Emir ‘Ala-ed-Din whose fame, methinks, hath filled the world and whose palace one of the Wonders of the World hath been heard of far and near? And how hast thou not heard anything of this or of the name of ‘Ala-ed-Din, our Lord increase his glory and give him joy?” But the Moor answered: “Verily it is the height of my desire to see the palace, and if thou wilt do me the favour, direct me to it, since I am a stranger.” Then the man said, “I hear and obey,” and proceeded before him and guided him to the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din. And the Moor began to examine it, and knew that it was all the doing of the Lamp, and cried: “Ah! There is nothing for it but that I dig a pit for this cursed son of a tailor, who could not even earn a supper. And if the fates aid me I will undoubtedly send his mother back to her spinning, as she was before; and as for him, I will take his life.”

He returned to the Khan in this state of grief and regret and sadness for envy of ‘Ala-ed-Din. When he arrived at the Khan he took his instruments, of divination and drew a table to discover where the Lamp was; and he found it was in the palace, and not on ‘Ala-ed-Din himself. Whereat he rejoiced mightily, and said: “The task remaineth easy, to destroy the life of this accursed; and I have a way to obtain the Lamp.” Then he went to a coppersmith and said: “Make me a number of lamps, and take their price, and more; only I wish thee to hasten to finish them.” And the coppersmith answered. “I hear and obey.” And he set to work at them and completed them; and when they were done the Moor paid him the price he asked for them, and took them and departed and went to the Khan, where he put them in a basket. Then he went about the streets and bazars of the city, crying: “O who will exchange old lamps for new?” And when the people heard him crying thus, they laughed at him, saying: “No doubt this man is mad, since he goeth about to exchange old lamps for new.” And all the world followed him, and the street boys pursued him from place to place and mocked at him; but he gainsaid them not nor cared for that, but did not cease perambulating the city till he came under ‘Ala-ed-Din's palace, when he began to cry in a louder voice, while the boys shouted at him, “Madman! Madman!”

Now by the decrees of destiny the Lady Bedr-el-Budur was in the kiosk, and hearing some one crying and the boys shouting at him, and not understanding what it was all about, she ordered one of her handmaids, saying: “Go and find out who it is that crieth and what he is crying.” So the damsel went to look, and perceived a man crying: “O who will exchange old lamps for new?” and the boys around him making sport of him. And she returned and told her mistress Bedr-el-Budur, saying: “O my lady, this man is crying: ‘O who will exchange old lamps for new? and the urchins are following him and laughing at him.” So the Lady Bedr-el-Budur laughed too at this oddity. Now ‘Ala-ed-Din had left the Lamp in his apartment, instead of replacing it in the Treasury and locking it up, and one of the maids had seen it. So she said: “O my mistress, methinks I have seen in my master's room an old lamp; let us exchange it with this man for a new one, to find out if his cry be true or false.” And the Lady Bedr-el-Budur said to her: “Bring the Lamp which thou sayest thou didst see in thy master's room.” For the Lady Bedr-el-Budur had no knowledge of the Lamp and its qualities, and that it was this which had brought ‘Ala-ed-Din her husband to his present high station; and her chief desire was to try and discover the object of this man who exchanged new lamps for old. So the damsel went and ascended to the apartment of ‘Ala-ed-Din and brought the Lamp to her mistress, and none of them suspected the guile of the Moorish wizard and his cunning. Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur ordered an agha of the eunuchs to go down and exchange the Lamp for a new one. So he took the Lamp and gave it to the Moor and received from him a new lamp, and returned to the Princess and gave her the exchange; and she, after examining it, saw it was really new, and feel a-laughing at the folly of the Moor.

But he, when he got the Lamp and knew it was the Lamp of the Treasure, instantly put it in his bosom and abandoned the rest of the lamps to the people who were chaffering with him, and went running till he came to the outskirts of the city, when he walked on over the plains and waited patiently till night had fallen, and he saw that he was alone in the desert, and none there but he. Then he took forth the Lamp from his bosom and rubbed it, and immediately the Marid appeared to him, and said: “At thy service, I am thy slave in thy hands; ask of me what thou desirest.” So the Moor replied: “I require thee to remove the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din from its site, with its inmates and all that is in it, and myself also, and set it in my country, the land of Africa. Thou knowest my town, and I wish this palace to be in my town, among the gardens.” And the Marid slave replied, “I hear and obey. Shut thine eye and open it, and thou wilt find thyself in thy country along with the palace.” And in a moment this was done, and the Moor and the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din and all in it were removed to the land of Africa. Thus it was with the Moorish sorcerer.

To return to the Sultan and ‘Ala-ed-Din. When the Sultan arose in the morning from his sleep, in his affection and love for his daughter the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, he was wont every day when he was aroused from sleep to open the window and look out towards her. So he arose that day, as usual, and opened the window to look upon his daughter. But when he approached the window and looked towards the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din, he beheld nothing-nay, the place was as bare as it was of yore, and he saw neither palace nor any other building. And he was wrapped in amazement and distraught in mind; and he rubbed his eyes, in case they were dimmed or darkened, and returned to his observation, till at last he was sure that no trace or vestige of the palace remained; and he knew not how or why it had disappeared. So his wonder increased, and he smote his hands together, and the tears trickled down over his beard, because he knew not what had become of his daughter.

Then he sent at once and had the Wezir fetched. And he stood before him, and as soon as he came in he noticed the sorrowful state of his sovereign, and said to him: “Pardon, O King of the Age. God defend thee from calamity. Wherefore dost thou grieve?” The Sultan replied: “Perhaps thou dost not know my trouble?” And the Wezir said: “Not a whit, O my lord. By Allah, I have no knowledge of it whatever.” Then said the Sultan: “It is evident thou hast not looked towards the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din.” “True, O my master,” replied the Wezir, “it must now be still closed.” Then said the King: “Since thou hast no knowledge of anything, arise and look out of the window and see where ‘Ala-ed-Din's palace is which thou sayest is shut up.” So the Wezir arose and looked out of the window towards the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din, and could espy nothing, neither palace nor anything else. So his reason was amazed and he was astounded, and returned to the Sultan, who said: “Dost thou know now the reason of my grief, and hast thou observed the palace of ‘Ala-ed-Din which thou saidst was shut?” The Wezir answered: “O King of the Age, I informed thy Felicity before that this palace and all these doings were magic.” Then the Sultan was inflamed with wrath, and cried out: “Where is ‘Ala-ed-Din?” He answered: “Gone to the chase.” Thereupon the Sultan instantly ordered some of his aghas and soldiers to go and fetch ‘Ala-ed-Din, pinioned and shackled. So the aghas and soldiers proceeded till they came upon ‘Ala-ed-Din, whom they thus addressed: “Chastise us not, O our master ‘Ala-ed-Din, for the Sultan hath commanded us to take thee chained and pinioned. So we beg thy pardon, for we are acting under the royal mandate, which we cannot oppose.” When ‘Ala-ed-Din heard the words of the aghas and soldiers, wonder took hold of him, and his tongue became tied, for he understood not the cause of this. Then turning to them, he said: “O company, have ye no knowledge of the cause of this order of the Sultan? I know myself to be innocent, and to have committed no sin against the Sultan or against the kingdom.” They answered: “O our master, we know no cause at all.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din dismounted and said to them: “Do with me what the Sultan ordered, for the command of the Sultan must be on the head and the eye.” Then the aghas chained ‘Ala-ed-Din and manacled him and bound him with irons and led him to the city. And when the citizens saw him bound and chained with iron, they knew that the Sultan would cut off his head; and since he was exceedingly beloved of them all, the lieges assembled together and brought their weapons and went forth from their houses and followed the soldiers to see what would be the event.

When the troops with ‘Ala-ed-Din reached the palace, they entered and told the Sultan; whereupon he straightway commanded the executioner to come and cut off his head. But when the citizens knew this, they barred the gates and shut the doors of the palace, and sent a message to the Sultan, saying: “We will instantly pull down thy house over thy head and all others in it, if any mischief or harm come to ‘Ala-ed-Din.” So the Wezir went in and informed the Sultan, saying: “O King of the Age, thy command is about to seal the book of our lives. It were better to pardon ‘Ala-ed-Din lest there come upon us the calamity of calamities; for the lieges love him more than us.” Now the executioner had already spread the carpet of death, and seated ‘Ala-ed-Din thereon, and bandaged his eyes, and had walked round him thrice, waiting for the King's command, when the Sultan looking out of the window, beheld his subjects attacking him and scaling the walls with intent to pull them down. So he immediately ordered the executioner to stay his hand, and bade the herald go out to the crowd and proclaim that he had pardoned ‘Ala-ed-Din and granted him grace. When ‘Ala-ed-Din saw he was free, and espied the Sultan seated on his throne, he drew near and said to him: “O my lord, since thy Felicity hath been gracious to me all my life, vouchsafe to tell me what is my offence.” Then the Sultan said: “O traitor, hitherto I knew of no offence in thee.” And turning to the Wezir, he said: “Take him and shew him from the windows where his palace is.” And when the Wezir had led him and he had looked out of the window in the direction of his palace, he found the site bare as it was before he built his palace thereon; and he saw never a vestige of the palace at all. So he was amazed and bewildered and knew not what had happened. And when he returned, the King asked him: “What hast thou seen? Where is thy palace, and where is my daughter, the kernel of my heart, my only child, than whom I have none other?” And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “O King of the Age, I know not at all, nor what this is that hath occurred.” Then said the Sultan: “Know, O ‘Ala-ed-Din, that I have pardoned thee in order that thou mayest go and look into this matter and search for my daughter for me; and do not present thyself without her; for if thou bringest her not, by my life I will cut off thy head.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “I hear and obey, O King of the Age. Only grant me a delay of forty days, and then if I do not bring her, cut off my head and do what thou wilt.” And the Sultan answered: “I grant thee a delay of forty days, as thou askest, but think not to escape from my hand, for I would bring thee back even if thou wert up in the clouds instead of on the face of the earth.” “O my lord the Sultan,” said ‘Ala-ed-Din, “as I told thy Felicity, if I fail to bring her at the appointed time, I will come and have my head cut off.”

Now when all the people and citizens saw that ‘Ala-ed-Din was released, they rejoiced with exceeding joy and were glad at his escape; but the shame of what had befallen him, and bashfulness, and the jealous satisfaction (of his enemies) caused ‘Ala-ed-Din's head to droop. So he went wandering about the city, and was bewildered at the case and knew not what had happened to him. For two days he remained in the city, in a sorrowful state, knowing not how to find his wife and palace, while some of the people brought him food and drink. After the two days he left the city, and wandered about the desert in an aimless manner, and walked on without stopping till the road led him beside a river, where, in the heaviness of the grief that oppressed him he gave up hope, and longed to throw himself into the river. But being a Muslim, and professing the Unity of God, he feared God in his soul, and he stood at the river's bank to perform the religious ablutions. Now as he was taking the water in his hands, he began to rub his fingers together, and, so doing, he chanced to rub the Ring. Thereupon the Marid ［of the Ring］ appeared and said: “At thy service! Thy slave is in thy hands. Ask of me what thou desirest.” And when he saw the Marid, ‘Ala-ed-Din rejoiced with great joy, and said: “O Slave, I desire thee to bring me my palace and my wife, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, in it, and all else that it containeth.” But the Marid answered: “O my master thou askest a hard matter which I cannot do. This thing pertaineth to the Slave of the Lamp, and I am not able to attempt it.” So ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “Since this thing is beyond thy power, take me only and place me beside my palace wherever it may be on the earth.” And the Slave answered: “I hear and obey, O my master.” So the Marid bore him away, and in the twinkling of an eye set him down beside his palace in the land of Africa, in front of the apartment of his wife. It was then nightfall, yet he espied the palace and knew it to be his. And his grief vanished, and he hoped in God, after hope had been cut off, that he should see his wife once more. And he began to consider the mysterious workings of God (glory to his omnipotence!), and how the Ring had cheered him, when all hope would have died had not God aided him with the Slave of the Ring. So he rejoiced, and all his tribulation left him. And as he had gone four days without sleep, from the heaviness of his grief and anxiety and excess of pondering, he went beside the palace and slept under a tree; for, as hath been said, the palace was amid the gardens of Africa outside the city.

That night he slept beside the palace under a tree in perfect repose, though he whose head belongeth to the headsman sleepeth not of nights save when drowsiness compelleth him. But for the space of four days sleep had deserted him. So he slept till broad day, when he was awakened by the warbling of birds, and arose and went to the river there, which flowed to the city, and washed his hands and face, and performed the ablutions, and said the morning-prayer. And when he had done praying he returned and sat under the window of the apartment of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur. Now she, in the excess of her grief at her separation from her husband and from the Sultan, her father, and the horror of what had befallen her from the accursed Moorish wizard, was wont to arise every day at the streak of dawn, and to sit weeping; for she slept not at all of nights, and avoided food and drink. And her handmaiden would come to her at prayer-time to dress her, and as fate had decreed, the girl had opened the window at that instant in order for her to look upon the trees and the streams and console herself. And the maid looked out of the window and discovered ‘Ala-ed-Din, her master, sitting beneath the apartment, and she said to the Lady Bedr-el-Budur: “O my mistress, O my mistress! Here is my master ‘Ala-ed-Din sitting under the window.” So the Lady Bedr-el-Budur arose in haste and looked out of the window and saw him, and ‘Ala-ed-Din turned his head and saw her, and she greeted him and he greeted her, and they were both like to fly with joy. And she said to him: “Arise and come in to me by the secret door, now that the accursed is away.” And she bade the girl descend and open the secret door for him. And ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and entered thereby, and his wife, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, met him at the door, and they embraced and kissed one another in perfect bliss till they began to weep from excess of happiness. And when they were seated ‘Ala-ed-Din said to her: “O Lady Bedr-el-Budur, before anything it is my wish to ask thee somewhat. It was my habit to put an old copper lamp in my apartment in a certain place….” When the Lady Bedr-el-Budur heard this, she sighed and said: “Alas, my beloved, it was that Lamp that was the cause of our falling into this misfortune.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din asked her, “How did this affair happen?” And she told him the whole story from first to last, and how they had exchanged the old lamp for a new one. And she added: “The next day we hardly saw one another in the morning before we found ourselves in this country; and he who cozened us and exchanged the Lamp told me that he had done this by force of magic by the aid of the Lamp, and that he is a Moor of Africa, and we are in his town.”

When the Lady Bedr-el-Budur had done speaking, ‘Ala-ed-Din said to her: “Tell me what this accursed is going to do with thee, and what and how he speaketh to thee, and what is his will of thee.” She answered: “He cometh to see me every day only once, and he would win me to love him, and marry him instead of thee, and forget thee and be consoled for thee. And he saith that the Sultan, my father, hath cut off thy head, and telleth me that thou art of poor people, and that he is the cause of thy wealth. And he blandisheth me with his words, but he never seeth in me anything but tears and weeping, and he hath not heard a kind word from me.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “Tell me, if thou knowest, where he keepeth the Lamp.” But she replied: “He carryeth it always with him, and it is not possible to part him from it for a single instant. But once, when he told me what I had related to thee, he took it from his bosom and shewed it to me.” So when ‘Ala-ed-Din heard these words he rejoiced greatly, and said: “O Lady Bedr-el-Budur, listen. I propose to go out now and return after changing my dress. So be not surprised at it; but instruct one of thy maidens to stand by the private door till she see me, and then open it at once. And now I will plot how to slay this Accursed.”

Therefore ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and went forth from the palace gate, and proceeded till he met by the way a peasant, to whom he said: “O man, take my clothes and give me thine.” But the peasant would not do so. So ‘Ala-ed-Din compelled him and took his clothes from him and put them on, and gave him his own costly robes. Then he went along the road till he reached the city. And he went to the bazar of the perfumers and bought of them some potent benj, the son of an instant,〖I.e., which took effect in a moment.〗 buying two drachms of it for two dinars. Then he returned along the road till he came to the palace; and when the slave-girl saw him she opened the private door. And he entered to the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, and said to her: “Listen! I wish thee to dress and adorn thyself and dismiss grief; and when this damned Moor cometh, do thou receive him with a pleasant welcome, and meet him with a smiling face, and bid him come and sup with thee; and shew him that thou hast forgotten thy beloved ‘Ala-ed-Din and thy father, and that thou lovest him with vehement love. Then ask him for a drink, and let it be red wine; and, shewing all the tokens of joy and happiness, drink to his secret; and when thou hast served him with three cups of wine, so as to make him careless, put this powder in the cup and crown it with wine; and as soon as he drinketh this cup wherein thou hast put this powder, he shall instantly fall, like a dead man, on his back.” And when the Lady Bedr-ed-Budur heard these words of ‘Ala-ed-Din she said: “This is an exceedingly difficult thing for me to do; but to escape from the profanation of this accursed, who hath afflicted me with separation from thee and from my father, it is lawful to kill the wretch.” Then, after ‘Ala-ed-Din had eaten and drunk with his wife and appeased his hunger, he arose without delay or hindrance and went forth from the palace.

Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur sent for her tirewoman, who attired her and adorned her and put on her handsomest dress and perfumed her. And whilst she was doing so, behold, the cursed Moor appeared. And when he looked at her in this array, he rejoiced greatly, and all the more when she received him with a smiling face, contrary to her habit; and his love for her increased, and he desired her passionately. Then she took him by her side and seated him, saying: “O my beloved, if thou wilt, come to me this night and let us sup together. Enough of sorrow have I had, and were I to sit mourning for a thousand years or two, ‘Ala-ed-Din would not come back to me from the grave. And I rely upon what thou saidst yesterday, that my father slew him in his sorrow at my absence. Do not wonder that I am changed since yesterday; it is because I have resolved to take thee as my lover and intimate instead of ‘Ala-ed-Din, for I have no other man than thee. So I look for thy coming to me to-night, that we may sup together and drink a little wine with one another. And it is my desire that thou give me to taste of the wine of thy native Africa; perhaps it is better than ours. I have with me some wine of our country, but I desire greatly to taste the wine of thine.”

When the Moor saw the love which the Lady Bedr-el-Budur displayed towards him, and how she was changed from her former melancholy, he believed she had given up hope of ‘Ala-ed-Din, and he rejoiced greatly, and said, “O my soul, I hear and obey whatever thou desirest and biddest me. I have in my house a jar of wine of my country, which I have kept laid up underground for eight years; and now I am going to draw sufficient for us, and will return to thee speedily.” But the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, in order to coax him more and more, said: “O my dearest, do not go thyself, and leave me; but send one of the servants to fill for us from it, and remain here sitting by me that I may console myself with thee.” But he said: “O my mistress, none knoweth but I where the jar is, and I will not tarry long away from thee.” So the Moor went out, and after a little time returned with as much wine as they needed. Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur said to him: “Thou hast taken pains for me, and I have suffered for thy sake, O beloved.” And he answered: “Not so, O my eye; I am honoured in serving thee.” Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur sat with him at the table, and they ate, and presently the lady asked him for drink; and immediately the handmaid filled for her a goblet, and then filled another for the Moor. So she drank to his long life and his secret, and he to her life; and she made a boon-fellow of him. Now the Lady Bedr-el-Budur was accomplished in eloquence and refinement of speech, and she bewitched him by addressing him in a delicious way, so that he might become more in love with her. But the Moor thought this was sincere, and did not imagine that her love was feigned, a snare to kill him. And his infatuation for her increased, and he almost died of love when he saw her shew him such sweetness of word and thought; and his head swam, and the world seemed nothing in his eye.

When they came to the end of the supper and the wine had already mastered his brain, and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur observed it, she said: “We have a custom in our country, but I know not if ye have it here. Tell me if ye have or not.” And the Moor asked, “What is this custom?” “At the end of supper,” she replied, “for every one to take the cup of his beloved and drink it.” And she forthwith took his cup and filled it with wine for herself, and bade the handmaid give him her cup, wherein was wine mixed with the benj. Now the maid knew what to do, for all the maids and eunuchs in the palace wished for his death, and sympathised with the Lady Bedr-el-Budur. So the girl gave him the cup, and he, when he heard her words and saw her drinking out of his cup and giving him hers to drink, thought himself Alexander the Great, Lord of the two Horns, as he gazed upon all these tokens of love. Then she said to him, undulating her sides, and putting her hand in his: “O my soul, here is thy cup in my hand, and my cup in thine, thus do lovers drink from one another's cups.” Then she kissed his cup and drank it and put it down and came to him and kissed him on the lips. And he flew with delight, and resolved to do as she did, and raised the cup to his mouth and drank it off, without thinking if there were anything in it or not. And instantly, in a moment, he fell on his back, like a corpse, and the cup fell from his hand.

Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur rejoiced, and the maidens ran and opened the door to ‘Ala-ed-Din, their master, who came in, and went up to his wife's room, and found her sitting at the table, with the Moor lying in front of her like a dead man. And he drew near and kissed her and thanked her. Then rejoicing with excessive joy, he turned to her and said: “Do thou and thy slave-girls retire to thy apartment and leave me alone now, that I may arrange my plan.” And the Lady Bedr-el-Budur delayed not, but went, she and her maidens. Then ‘Ala-ed-Din arose, and locking the door after them, went up to the Moor and put his hand into his bosom and took forth the Lamp; after which he drew his sword and cut off his head. Then he rubbed the Lamp, and there appeared the Marid slave, who said: “At thy service, O my master. What wilt thou?” And ‘Ala-ed-Din answered: “I desire thee to lift this palace from this country and bear it to the land of China, and set it down in the place where it was, opposite the Sultan's palace.” And the Marid replied, “I hear and obey, O my master.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din went and sat with the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, his wife, and embraced and kissed her, and she him. And they sat in company while the Marid carried the palace and set it in its place opposite the palace of the Sultan.

And ‘Ala-ed-Din ordered the maids to bring a table before him, and seated himself, he and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, his wife; and they fell to eating and drinking in all joy and happiness till they were satisfied. Then withdrawing to the hall of carousal, they sat and drank and caroused and kissed each other in perfect bliss. For the time had been long since they had enjoyed themselves together. So they ceased not till the sun of wine shone in their heads, and drowsiness overcame them. Then they arose and went to bed in all contentment. Next morning ‘Ala-ed-Din arose and awoke his wife, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur; and the slave-girls came and dressed and arrayed and adorned her, while ‘Ala-ed-Din put on his handsomest dress, and both were like to fly for joy at their re-union after separation. And the Lady Bedr-el-Budur was the more happy that day, because she was going to see her father. Thus was it with ‘Ala-ed-Din and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur.

But as for the Sultan, after he had banished ‘Ala-ed-Din, he never ceased grieving for his daughter; and every hour of every day he would sit and weep for her like a woman, for she was his only child and he had none other. And as he shook off his slumber, morning after morning, he would go in haste to the window and open it and look where ‘Ala-ed-Din's palace once stood, and his tears would flow till his eyes were dry and his eyelids sore. Now that day he arose at daybreak and looked out as usual, when, lo, he espied before him a building; so he rubbed his eyes and considered it attentively till he was sure it was ‘Ala-ed-Din's palace. So he ordered his horse instantly on the spot, and when it was saddled he went down and mounted and went to ‘Ala-ed-Din's palace. And when his son-in-law saw him coming, he went down to meet him half-way, and took him by the hand and led him to the apartments of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, his daughter. And she, being very anxious to see her father, came down and met him at the door of the staircase in front of the hall on the ground floor. So her father embraced her and kissed her, and wept, and she likewise. Then ‘Ala-ed-Din led him to the upper rooms, and they sat; and the Sultan asked her of her state and what had befallen her. And the Lady Bedr-el-Budur told him all that had happened to her, and said: “O my father, I did not arrive till yesterday, when I saw my husband. And it was he who delivered me from the power of that man, the Moor, the wizard, the accursed. Methinks on the earth's face there is none viler than he. And but for ‘Ala-ed-Din, my beloved, I had not escaped from him, nor hadst thou seen me again all my days. But heavy grief and sorrow took possession of me, O my father, not only for my separation from thee, but also for the parting from my husband, in whose debt I shall be all the days of my life, seeing he delivered me from that accursed wizard.” Then she began to relate to her father all that had befallen her, and how the Moor had cheated her in the shape of a seller of lamps, exchanging new for old, and how she had thought this his folly and laughed at him, and being deceived, had taken the old lamp that was in her husband's room and sent it by a eunuch and exchanged it for a new lamp. “And the next day, O my father, we found ourselves, with the palace and all besides, in the land of Africa. And I knew not the virtue of the Lamp which I exchanged till my husband came and plotted a stratagem by which we escaped. And had he not helped us, the accursed would have possessed himself of me by force. But ‘Ala-ed-Din, my husband, gave me a potion and I put it into his wine-cup, and I gave it him, and he drank and fell down like a corpse. Thereupon my husband, ‘Ala-ed-Din, came in, and I know not how it was done, but we were carried from Africa to our place here.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “O my lord, when I ascended and saw him like the dead, drunk and drowsy with benj, I told the Lady Bedr-el-Budur to go, she and her maids, to the inner apartments, and she arose and went, she and her maids, from that polluted place. Then I drew near to that accursed Moor and put my hand into his bosom, and drew out the Lamp (for the Lady Bedr-el-Budur had informed me that he always kept it there), and when I had taken it, I bared my sword and cut off his damnable head. Then I worked the Lamp and ordered its Slave to bear the palace and all therein and set it down in this spot. And if thy Felicity doubt my words, arise with me and look upon this cursed Moor.” So the King arose and went with ‘Ala-ed-Din to the apartment and saw the Moor, and immediately commanded that they should take the carcase away and burn it and scatter the ashes to the winds.

Then the Sultan embraced ‘Ala-ed-Din and fell a-kissing him, saying: “Forgive me, O my son, that I was going to take thy life, through the wickedness of this cursed sorcerer, who threw thee into this calamity; but I may be excused, my son, for what I did to thee, since I saw myself deprived of my daughter, the only child I have, dearer to me than my kingdom. Thou knowest how the hearts of parents yearn over their children, and the more when they are like me, who have only the Lady Bedr-el-Budur.” Thus the Sultan began excusing himself to ‘Ala-ed-Din and kissing him. But ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “O King of the Age, thou didst nothing to me contrary to law, nor did I sin against thee; but all this arose from the Moor, that filthy wizard.” Then the Sultan ordered that the city should be decorated, and they adorned it, and the rejoicings and festivities were held. And he ordered the herald to proclaim through the streets: “This day is a high festival, and let rejoicings be held throughout the kingdom for a whole month of thirty days, for the return of the Lady Bedr-el-Budur and her husband.” Thus was it with ‘Ala-ed-Din and the Moor.

Yet ‘Ala-ed-Din was not wholly quit of that accursed Moor, although his body had been burnt and its ashes scattered to the winds. For this miscreant had a brother viler than himself, and even more skilled in necromancy and geomancy and astrology,—“two beans split,” as the proverb saith. Each dwelt in his own region of the world, to fill it with his spells, his deceit, and his wickedness. Now it chanced one day that this brother wished to know how it was with the Moor; and he brought out his table and marked the figures, and carefully inspecting them, discovered that his brother was in the abode of the tomb. So he mourned, being assured of his death. Then he tried a second time, to see how he died and the place of his death; and he found that he died in China and had perished by the vilest of slaughter, and that his destroyer was a youth named ‘Ala-ed-Din. So he forthwith arose and prepared for a journey, and travelled over plains and wastes and mountains a number of months, till he came to the land of China and the metropolis wherein ‘Ala-ed-Din dwelt. And he went to the foreigners’ Khan and hired a room and rested there awhile. Then he arose to wander about the streets of the city to find a way for the accomplishment of his fell design, of wreaking vengeance upon ‘Ala-ed-Din for his brother.

Presently he entered a coffee-house in the bazaar. It was a large place, and many people had gathered together there to play, some at Mankala, and others at backgammon, or at chess, and so forth. And he sat down there and listened to the people who sat beside him talking about a pious woman called Fatimeh, who was always at her devotions in a cell outside the town, and never came into the city except twice a month, and how she had worked a number of miracles. And when the Moorish sorcerer heard this, he said within himself: “Now I have found what I wanted. If it please God, by means of this woman I shall accomplish my purpose.” Then he drew near to the people who were talking of the miracles of this old ascetic, and he said to one of them: “O Uncle, I heard you discussing the miracles of some saint named Fatimeh. Who is she, and where doth she dwell?” And the man answered” “Wonderful! how art thou in our town and hast not heard of the miracles of our Lady Fatimeh? It is plain that thou, my poor friend, art a stranger, since thou hast not heard of the fasts of this holy woman and her abstraction from the world and the perfection of her piety.” And the Moor rejoined: “Yes, O my master, I am a foreigner, and only yesternight came I to your city; and I hope thou wilt inform me concerning the miracles of this good woman and where she hath her dwelling, for I have fallen into trouble, and my intention is to go to her, and ask for her prayers. So that perhaps God (honour and glory to him!) may deliver me from my trouble by means of her prayers.” So the man told him about the miracles of holy Fatimeh, and her piety and the excellence of her devotions. And he took him by the hand and led him forth outside the city, and shewed him the way to her dwelling in a cave on the top of a little hill. So the Moor magnified his favour and thanked him for his goodness and returned to his place in the Khan.

As destiny had decreed, the next day Fatimeh descended to the town, and the Moorish wizard went forth in the morning from the Khan and watched the people thronging, and he drew nigh to see what was the news. So he saw Fatimeh standing, and all who had any sickness came to her, and were blessed by her, and asked for her prayers; those whom she touched recovered from whatever disease they had. The Moorish wizard followed her about till she returned to her cave. Then he waited till the evening had fallen, when he went to the shop of a wine-seller and drank a cup of wine. Then he went forth in search of the cave of Fatimeh the ascetic, and, arriving there, entered and saw her lying on her back upon a piece of matting. So he approached and sat upon her, and drew his hanger and shouted at her; whereupon she awoke and opened her eyes, and saw a man of Morocco with a drawn dagger sitting upon her breast as though with intent to kill her. So she was afraid and startled. Then he said to her: “Listen! if thou utter a syllable or scream, I will kill thee outright that very minute. Get up, now, and do all that I tell thee.” And he swore to her an oath that if she did what he told her, he would not slay her. Then he got up from her, and Fatimeh arose, and he said to her: “Give my thy clothes and take mine.” So she gave him her clothes and headbands and veil and cloak; and he said: “Thou must also anoint me with what shall stain the colour of my face like thy colour.” So Fatimeh went inside the cave and brought a pot of ointment, and took some of it in her palm, and rubbed it on his face, till it became of the same colour as hers. And he gave him her staff, and taught him how to walk and what to do when he went down into the city; and she put her rosary round his neck. Finally she gave him a mirror, saying: “Look, now, thou art not different from me a whit.” And she saw himself as it were Fatimeh in very deed, there as she was. But when he had attained his wish, he broke his oath, and asking for a rope, which she brought him, he seized her and strangled her with it in the cave; and when she was dead he dragged her out and cast her into a pit which was there outside the cave. After which he returned to her cave and went to sleep till day broke.

Then he arose and went down to the city and stationed himself beneath the apartment of ‘Ala-ed-Din, while the people gathered around him, for they were sure he was Fatimeh the ascetic. And he began to do as she did, and laid his hands on the suffering, and recited for these the opening chapter of the Kur'an, and for those another chapter, and prayed for others. And the crowding of the people upon him and their clamour reached the ears of the Lady Bedr-El-Budur, and she said to her maidens: “See what is the news and what is the cause of the uproar.” So an agha of the eunuchs went to see what was the matter, and returned, saying: “O my mistress, this noise is on account of the Seyyideh Fatimeh, and if thou wilt so order. I will bring her before thee that thou mayest be blessed by her.” And the Lady Bedr-el-Budur replied: “Go and bring her to me, for I have long heard continually of her miracles and her merits, and I yearn to see her and be blessed by her; for people in trouble profit greatly by her virtues.” So the agha went and fetched the Moorish sorcerer, disguised in Fatimeh's clothes. And when he came before the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, and looked upon her, he began saying his beads, and none there doubted that he was the saint herself. Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur arose and saluted him and seated him beside her, and said: “O my mistress Fatimeh, I will thee to stay with me always, that I be blessed by thee and learn of thee the paths of piety and devotion, and be thy disciple.” Now this was a trick of this accursed magician, and he resolved to complete his treachery further. So he said: “O my lady, I am a poor woman, dwelling in the desert, and the like of me is not worthy to stay in the palaces of Kings.” But the Lady Bedr-el-Budur answered: “Have no anxiety at all, O mistress Fatimeh. I will give thee a place in my house, where thou shalt worship and none ever disturb thee, and thou shalt serve God here better than thou couldst in thy cave.” So the Moor replied: “I hear and obey, O my lady. I will not gainsay thy words, for the word of the children of Kings cannot be contradicted or disobeyed. Only I beg that my eating and drinking and sitting may be in my own room alone, where none may enter; and I do not require dainties, but each day vouchsafe to send me by thy handmaid to my chamber a piece of bread and a drink of water; and when I desire to eat let me eat in my room alone.” The wretch resolved thus for fear lest he should lift his veil, when his affair might be foiled and he be proved a man by his beard and mustache. “O my mistress Fatimeh,” replied the Princess, “be of good cheer; nothing shall be but as thou desirest. Arise now with me that I may shew thee the chamber which I mean to make ready for thy stay with us.” So the Lady Bedr-El-Budur arose and took the wizard, who was disguised as Fatimeh the ascetic, and led him to the place which she had promised him to stay in, saying: “O my mistress Fatimeh, here shalt thou live and this chamber is for thyself, where thou shalt dwell in all ease and comfort and privacy.” So the Moor thanked her for her goodness and blessed her. Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur took him and shewed him the lattices and the kiosk of jewels with its twenty-four windows, and said: “What thinkest thou, O my mistress Fatimeh, of this wonderful kiosk?” The Moor answered: “By Allah, my daughter it is wonderful and splendid, and me thinks there is none like it in the world. But alas! for one thing which is wanting to its beauty and adornment.” “What is that, O my mistress Fatimeh,” Lady Bedr-el-Budur asked, “which is lacking, and what is this thing which would adorn it?” And the sorcerer replied: “O my lady, all it lacketh is that there should hang from the dome an egg of the bird called the rukh; and were this hung, the kiosk would not be equalled in the world.” Then the Lady Bedr-el-Budur said: “What is this bird, and where is its egg to be found?” And the Moor said: “O my lady, the rukh is a huge bird that lifteth camels and elephants in its claws and flieth off with them, so vast is its strength. And this bird is found chiefly in the mountains of Kaf; and he who built this kiosk can bring thee one of its eggs.” Then they ceased talking, as it was the dinner hour; and when the maidens had laid the table the Lady Bedr-el-Budur seated herself and invited the accursed Moor to eat with her. But he refused and retired to his own room, and there the slave-girls brought him his food.

When it was evening ‘Ala-ed-Din returned from hunting, and his wife met him and saluted him, and he embraced and kissed her. Then looking in her face he perceived a trace of melancholy, and, unlike her habit, she was not smiling. So he asked her: “What hath come over thee, O my beloved? Tell me hath anything disturbed thy mind?” And she said: “Nothing at all; but, O my beloved, I fancied that there was nothing wanting to our kiosk; yet, O my eyes, if an egg of the rukh were hung from the dome there would not be its equal in the universe.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “And for this thou art sad! when it is as easy as possible to me. So be of good cheer, and whatsoever thou dost want, only inform me of it, and I will bring it from the bowels of the earth in an instant.” Then, after cheering her, he retired to his chamber and took the Lamp and rubbed it, and immediately the Marid appeared and said: “Ask what thou desirest.” And ‘Ala-ed-Din replied: “I wish thee to bring me an egg of the rukh to hang from the dome of the kiosk.” But when the Marid heard these words his face become terrible, and he was wroth, and shouted with a tremendous voice: “O hinderer of good deeds, it is not enough for thee that I and all the slaves of the Lamp are at thy service, but thou wishest, moreover, that I bring thee our Lady for thy amusement, to hang her up in the dome of thy kiosk to please thee and thy wife? By God, ye both deserve to be burnt to ashes this instant and scattered to the winds; but as ye were ignorant of this, not knowing its meaning, I pardon you, since ye are innocent. The insult cometh from the accursed magician, brother of the Moorish sorcerer, who pretendeth to be Fatimeh the ascetic, after putting on her dress and slaying her in her cave. And he is come to kill thee in revenge for his brother; and he it was who made thy wife demand this thing of me.” Then the Marid vanished. But when ‘Ala-ed-Din heard this words his faculties departed and his limbs shook at the Marid's fearful shout. But he plucked up resolution, and went forth from his chamber to his wife's apartments, where he pretended that his head ached, for he knew that Fatimeh was renowned for the mystery of curing all aches. When the Lady Bedr-el-Budur saw him putting his hand to his head and complaining of pain, she asked him the cause, and he answered: “I know not, except that my head aches badly.” So she instantly sent for Fatimeh, that she might lay her hand upon his head. And ‘Ala-ed-din said, “Who is Fatimeh?” And she told him how she had established Fatimeh the ascetic in the palace. So the slave-girls went and brought the accursed Moor. And ‘Ala-ed-Din rose to him; and, shewing that he knew nothing of the trick, saluted him as though he were saluting Fatimeh the ascetic, and kissed the hem of his gown, and welcomed him, and said, “O my mistress Fatimeh, I hope thou wilt do me a favour, since I have heard of thy success in curing sickness; and I have a violent pain in my head.” Then the accursed Moor hardly believed these words, for it was just what he wanted; but he approached ‘Ala-ed-Din to lay his hand on his head and cure his pain. And he laid one hand on him, and putting the other under his dress drew forth a dagger to kill him. But ‘Ala-ed-Din was watching him, and waited till he had bared the dagger, when he seized him and took the dagger and plunged it into his heart.

When the Lady Bedr-el-Budur saw him, she screamed and said: “What hath Fatimeh the ascetic done that thou shouldst place this awful burden of her blood upon thy soul? Dost thou not fear God, that thou slayest Fatimeh, a holy woman, whose miracles are famous?” And ‘Ala-ed-Din said: “I have not killed Fatimeh, but he whom I killed first killed Fatimeh, and this is the brother of the cursed Moorish sorcerer who seized thee and removed thy palace to Africa by his spells. And this accursed brother of his came to this country, and contrived this trick, and slew Fatimeh and assumed her dress, only to wreak vengeance upon me for his brother's blood, And he it was who made thee ask for the rukh's egg, that it might cause my destruction. And if thou doubtedst me, come and look at him I slew.” Then ‘Ala-ed-Din lifted the veil of the Moor, and the Lady Bedr-el-Budur looked and saw a man with a beard all over his face. Then she understood the truth, and said to “Ala-ed-Din: “O my beloved, twice have I brought thee in peril of death!” But he replied: “No harm is done, O Lady Bedr-el-Budur. Blessing on thine eyes! I accept all that cometh from thee with perfect delight.” And the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, when she heard these words, hastened and embraced and kissed him, saying: “O my beloved, all this is my love for thee, and I knew nothing; and I treasure thy love.” And he kissed her and pressed her to his bosom, and their love grew stronger.

Now at that moment the Sultan appeared, and they told him all that had befallen from the brother of the Moorish sorcerer. And they looked at him, and he was dead. So the Sultan ordered that he should be burnt and his ashes scattered to the winds, like his brother's. But ‘Ala-ed-Din abode with his wife, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, in all content and happiness and escaped all danger. And after a time the Sultan died, and ‘Ala-ed-Din sat on the royal throne and ruled and administered justice to the subjects, and all the people loved him, and he lived with his wife, the Lady Bedr-el-Budur, in perfect peace and happiness, till they were visited by the terminator of delights and the separator of companions.