The Pacha of Many Tales

The business of the day was transacted with admirable precision and despatch by the two quondam barbers, who proved how easy it is to govern, where there are not “three estates” to confuse people. They sat in the divan as highwaymen loiter on the road, and it was “Your money or your life” to all who made their appearance.

At the usual hour the court broke up, the guards retired, the money was carried to the treasury, the executioner wiped his sword, and the lives of the pacha’s subjects were considered to be in a state of comparative security, until the affairs of the country were again brought under their cognisance on the ensuing day.

In obedience to the wish expressed by the pacha, Mustapha made his appearance in the afternoon with the young Greek slave. The new vizier having taken a seat upon a cushion at the feet of the pacha, the pipes were lighted, and the slave was directed to proceed.

The Greek had arrived to the end of the First Night, in which Schezehezerade commences her story, and the Sultan, who was anxious to hear the termination of it, defers her execution to the following day.

“Stop,” cried the pacha, taking the pipe from his lips; “how long before the break of day did that girl call her sister?”

“About half an hour, your sublime highness.”

“Wallah! Is that all she could tell of her story in half an hour?—There’s not a woman in my harem who would not say as much in five minutes.”

The pacha was so amused with the stories, that he never once felt inclined to sleep; on the contrary, the Greek slave was compelled to read every afternoon, until his legs were so tired that he could hardly stand, and his tongue almost refused its office; consequently, they were soon finished; and Mustapha not being able to procure any more, they were read a second time. After which the pacha, who felt the loss of his evening’s amusement, became first puzzled how to pass away his time; then he changed to hypochondriacism, and finally became so irritable, that even Mustapha himself, at times, approached him with some degree of awe.

“I have been thinking,” observed the pacha, one morning, when under the hands of Mustapha, in his original capacity, “that it would be as easy for me to have stories told me, as the caliph in the Arabian Nights.”

“I wonder not that your highness should desire it. Those stories are as the opium to Theriarkis, filling the soul with visions of delight at the moment, but leaving it palsied from over-excitement, when their effect has passed away. How does your sublime highness propose to obtain your end; and in what manner can your slave assist to produce your wishes?”

“I shall manage it without assistance; come this evening and you shall see, Mustapha.”

Mustapha made his appearance in the afternoon, and the pacha smoked his pipe for some time, and appeared as if communing with himself; he then laid it down, and clapping his hands, desired one of the slaves to inform his favourite lady, Zeinab, that he desired her presence.

Zeinab entered with her veil down. “Your slave attends the pleasure of her lord.”

“Zeinab,” said the pacha, “do you love me?”

“Do not I worship the dust that my lord treads on?”

“Very true—then I have a favour to request: observe, Zeinab—it is my wish that,”—(here the pacha took a few whiffs from his pipe)—“The fact is—I wish you to dishonour my harem as soon as possible.”

“Wallah sel Nebi!!—By Allah and the Prophet your highness is in a merry humour this evening,” replied Zeinab, turning round to quit the apartment.

“On the contrary, I am in a serious humour; I mean what I have said; and I expect that you will comply with my wishes.”

“Is my lord mad? or has he indulged too freely in the juice of the grape forbidden by our Prophet? Allah kebur! God is most powerful—The hakim must be sent for.”

“Will you do as I order you?” said the pacha angrily.

“Does my lord send for his slave to insult her! My blood is as water, at the dreadful thought!—Dishonour the harem!—Min Allah! God forbid!—Would not the eunuch be ready and the sack?”

“Yes, they would, I acknowledge; but still it must be done.”

“It shall not be done,” replied the lady:– “Has my lord been visited by Heaven? or is he possessed by the Shitan?”—And the lady burst into tears of rage and vexation as she quitted the apartment.

“There’s obstinacy for you—women are nothing but opposition. If you wish them to be faithful, they try day and night to deceive you; give them their desires and tell them to be false, they will refuse. All was arranged so well, I should have cut off all their heads, and had a fresh wife every night until I found one who could tell stories; then I should have rose up and deferred her execution to the following day.”

Mustapha, who had been laughing in his sleeve at the strange idea of the pacha, was nevertheless not a little alarmed. He perceived that the mania had such complete possession, that, unless appeased, the results might prove unpleasant even to himself. It occurred to him, that a course might be pursued to gratify the pacha’s wishes, without proceeding to such violent measures. Waiting a little while until the colour, which had suffused the pacha’s face from anger and disappointment, had subsided, he addressed him:—

“The plan of your sublime highness was such as was to be expected from the immensity of your wisdom; but hath not the Prophet warned us, that the wisest of men are too often thwarted by the folly and obstinacy of the other sex? May your slave venture to observe, that many very fine stories were obtained by the caliph Haroun, and his vizier Mesrour, as they walked through the city in disguise. In all probability a similar result might be produced, if your highness were to take the same step, accompanied by the lowest of your slaves, Mustapha.”

“Very true,” replied the pacha, delighted at the prospect, “prepare two disguises, and we will set off in less than an hour—Inshallah, please the Lord, we have at last hit upon the right path.”

Mustapha, who was glad to direct the ideas of the pacha into a more harmless channel, procured the dresses of two merchants (for such, he observed, were the usual habiliments put on by the caliph and his vizier in the Arabian Nights), and he was aware that his master’s vanity would be gratified at the idea of imitating so celebrated a personage.

It was dusk when they set off upon their adventures. Mustapha directed some slaves well armed to follow at a distance, in case their assistance might be required. The strict orders which had been issued on the accession of the new pacha (to prevent any riot or popular commotion), which were enforced by constant rounds of the soldiers on guard, occasioned the streets to be quite deserted.

For some time the pacha and Mustapha walked up one street and down another, without meeting with any thing or any body that could administer to their wishes. The former, who had not lately been accustomed to pedestrian exercise, began to puff and show symptoms of weariness and disappointment, when at the corner of a street they fell in with two men, who were seated in conversation; and as they approached softly, one of them said to the other, “I tell you, Coja, that happy is the man who can always command a hard crust like this, which is now wearing away my teeth.”

“I must know the reason of that remark,” said the pacha; “Mesrour (Mustapha, I mean), you will bring that man to me to-morrow, after the divan is closed.”

Mustapha bowed in acquiescence, and directing the slaves who were in attendance to take the man into custody, followed the pacha, who, fatigued with his unusual excursion, and satisfied with the prospect of success, now directed his steps to the palace and retired to bed. Zeinab, who had laid awake until her eyes could remain open no longer, with the intention of reading him a lecture upon decency and sobriety, had at last fallen asleep, and the tired pacha was therefore permitted to do the same.

When Mustapha arrived at his own abode, he desired that the person who had been detained should be brought to him.

“My good man,” said the vizier, “you made an observation this evening which was overheard by his highness the pacha, who wishes to be acquainted with your reasons for stating ‘that happy was the man who could at all times command a hard crust, like that which was wearing away your teeth.’”

The man fell down on his knees in trepidation. “I do declare to your highness, by the camel of the Holy Prophet,” said he, in a faltering voice, “that I neither meant treason, nor disaffection to the government.”

“Slave! I am not quite sure of that,” replied Mustapha, with a stern look, in hopes of frightening the man into a compliance with his wishes—“there was something very enigmatical in those words. Your ‘hard crust’ may mean his sublime highness the pacha; ‘wearing away your teeth’ may imply exactions from the government and as you affirmed that he was happy who could command the hard crust—why it is as much as to say that you would be very glad to create a rebellion.”

“Holy Prophet! May the soul of your slave never enter the first heaven,” replied the man, “if he meant any thing more than what he said; and if your highness had been as often without a mouthful of bread as your slave has been, you would agree with him in the justice of the remark.”

“It is of little consequence whether I agree with you or not,” replied the vizier; “I have only to tell you that his sublime highness the pacha will not be satisfied, unless you explain away the remark, by relating to him some story connected with the observation.”

“Min Allah! God forbid that your slave should tell a story to deceive his highness.”

“The Lord have mercy upon you if you do not,” replied the vizier; “but, to be brief; if you can invent a good and interesting story, you will remove the suspicions of the pacha, and probably be rewarded with a few pieces of gold; if you cannot, you must prepare for the bastinado, if not for death. You will not be required to appear in the sublime presence before to-morrow afternoon, and will therefore have plenty of time to invent one.”

“Will your highness permit your slave to go home and consult his wife? Women have a great talent for story telling. With her assistance he may be able to comply with your injunctions.”

“No,” replied Mustapha, “you must remain in custody; but, as on this occasion she may be of the greatest assistance to you, you may send for her. They have indeed a talent! As the young crocodile, from instinct, runs into the Nile as soon as it bursts its shell, so does woman, from her nature, plunge into deceit, before even her tongue can give utterance to the lies which her fertile imagination has already conceived.”

And with this handsome compliment to the sex, Mustapha gave his final orders, and retired.

Whether the unfortunate man, thus accused of treason, derived any benefit from being permitted to “retain counsel,” will be shown by the following story, which he told to the pacha when summoned on the ensuing day:—

Story of the Camel-Driver

That your highness should wish for an explanation of the very doubtful language which you overheard last night, I am not surprised; but I trust you will acknowledge, when I have finished my narrative, that I was fully justified in the expressions which I made use of. I am by birth (as my dress denotes) a fellah of this country, but I was not always so poor as I am now. My father was the possessor of many camels, which he let out for hire to the merchants of the different caravans which annually leave this city. When he died, I came into possession of his property, and the good-will of those whom he had most faithfully served. The consequence was, that I had full employ, my camels were always engaged; and, as I invariably accompanied them that they might not be ill-treated, I have several times been to Mecca, as this ragged green turban will testify. My life was one of alternate difficulty and enjoyment. I returned to my wife and children with delight after my journeys of suffering and privation, and fully appreciated the value of my home from the short time that my occupation would permit me to remain there. I worked hard, and became rich.

It was during a painful march through the desert with one of the caravans, that a favourite she-camel foaled. At first it was my intention to leave the young one to its fate, as my camels had already suffered much; but, on examination, the creature showed such strength and symmetry that I resolved to bring it up. I therefore divided half of one of the loads between the other camels, and tied the foal upon the one which I had partly relieved for the purpose. We arrived safely at Cairo; and, as the little animal grew up, I had more than ever reason to be satisfied that I had saved its life. All good judges considered it a prodigy of beauty and strength; and prophesied that it would some day be selected as the holy camel to carry the Koran in the pilgrimage to Mecca. And so it did happen about five years afterwards, during which interval I accompanied the caravans as before; and each year added to my wealth.

My camel had by this time arrived to his full perfection; he stood nearly three feet higher than any other; and, when the caravan was preparing, I led him to the sheiks, and offered him as a candidate for the honour. They would have accepted him immediately, had it not been for a maribout, who, for some reason or another, desired them not to employ him, asserting that the caravan would be unlucky if my camel was the bearer of the holy Koran.

As this man was considered to be a prophet, the sheiks were afraid, and would not give a decided answer. Irritated at the maribout’s interference, I reviled him; he raised a hue and cry against me; and, being joined by the populace, I was nearly killed. As I hastened away, the wretch threw some sand after me, crying out, “Thus shall the caravan perish from the judgment of heaven, if that cursed camel is permitted to carry the holy word of the Prophet.” The consequence was, that an inferior camel was selected, and I was disappointed. But on the ensuing year the maribout was not at Cairo; and, as there was no animal equal to mine in beauty, it was chosen by the sheiks without a dissentient voice.

I hastened home to my wife, overjoyed with my good fortune, which I hoped would bring a blessing upon my house. She was equally delighted, and my beautiful camel seemed also to be aware of the honour to which he was destined, as he repaid our caresses, curving and twisting his long neck, and laying his head upon our shoulders.