with blood-dripping
scimitars; princesses of blinding beauty and pensive tenderness,
who playfully knock out the "jaw-teeth" of their eunuchs while "the
thousand-voiced bird in the coppice sings clear;" [457] hideous genii,
whether of the amiable or the vindictive sort, making their appearance
in unexpected moments; pious beasts--nay, the very hills--praising Allah
and glorifying his vice-gerent; gullible saints, gifted scoundrels;
learned men with camel loads of dictionaries and classics, thieves with
camel loads of plunder; warriors, zanies, necromancers, masculine women,
feminine men, ghouls, lutists, negroes, court poets, wags--the central
figure being the gorgeous, but truculent, Haroun Al Rashid, who is
generally accompanied by Ja'afer and Masrur, and sometimes by the
abandoned but irresistible Abu Nowas. What magnificent trencher-folk
they all are! Even the love-lorn damsels. If you ask for a snack
between meals they send in a trifle of 1,500 dishes. [458] Diamonds and
amethysts are plentiful as blackberries. If you are a poet, and you make
good verses, it is likely enough that some queen will stuff your mouth
with balass rubies. How poorly our modern means of locomotion compare
with those of the Nights. If you take a jinni or a swan-maiden you can
go from Cairo to Bokhara in less time than our best expresses could
cover a mile. The recent battles between the Russians and the Japanese
are mere skirmishes compared with the fight described in "The City of
Brass"--where 700 million are engaged. The people who fare worst in The
Arabian Nights are those who pry into what does not concern them or what
is forbidden, as, for example, that foolish, fatuous Third Kalendar, and
the equally foolish and fatuous Man who Never Laughed Again; [459] and
perhaps The Edinburgh Review was right in giving as the moral of the
tales: "Nothing is impossible to him who loves, provided"--and the
proviso is of crucial importance--"he is not cursed with a spirit of
curiosity." Few persons care, however, whether there is any moral or
not--most of us would as soon look for one in the outstretched pride of
a peacock's tale.

Where the dust of Shahrazad is kept tradition does not tell us. If
we knew we would hasten to her tomb, and in imitation of the lover of
Azizeh [460] lay thereon seven blood-red anemones.

Chapter XXVIII. The Two Translations Compared

134. The Blacksmith Who, etc.

Having glanced through the Nights, let