Prevod

It is told that in ancient times, in ages long past, there lived a merchant named Masrur. He was among the finest men of his day, wealthy and comfortably situated, but much given to strolling through gardens and orchards and diverting himself with the love of beautiful women. One night, as he slept, he dreamed that he was in a garden more beautiful than any he had ever seen. There were four birds in it, among them a white dove like burnished silver. The dove delighted him, and a great longing for it took hold of his heart. Then he saw a mighty bird swoop down upon him and snatch the dove from his hand, which grieved him sorely. He awoke from sleep and found no dove beside him, and struggled with his longing until morning. “Today,” he said to himself, “I must go to someone who can interpret this dream for me.” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and forty-sixth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Masrur the merchant awoke, he struggled with his longing until morning. At daybreak he said, “Today I must go to someone who can interpret this dream for me.” So he rose and wandered this way and that until he was far from home, but found no one who could explain his dream. At last he turned homeward. As he walked, it occurred to him to turn aside toward one of the merchants’ houses, a mansion belonging to a wealthy man. When he reached it, he heard within the plaintive voice of a sorrowing heart, reciting these verses:

The east wind blew from the traces of her dwelling, fragrant with a breath that heals the ailing. I stood among its crumbling ruins, questioning them, but only their dust answered my tears. “O wandering breeze,” I said, “tell me, by God: will happiness ever return to this house? Shall I again possess that gazelle whose supple figure swayed my heart, whose languid, lovesick eyes have wasted me away?” When Masrur heard the voice, he looked inside the house and saw a most beautiful garden. At its heart hung a curtain of red brocade, crowned with pearls and jewels. Behind it were four maidens, and among them a young woman whose height was between four and five spans. She was like the radiant full moon, with kohl-darkened eyes, meeting eyebrows, a mouth like Solomon’s seal, and lips and teeth like coral and pearls. Her beauty, grace, and shapely figure stole the wits of all who saw her. At the sight of her, Masrur entered the house and went on until he reached the curtain. She raised her head and looked at him. He greeted her, and she returned his greeting in the sweetest of voices. As he gazed at her and studied her face, his reason fled and his heart was lost. Then he looked about the garden, which was filled with jasmine, stocks, violets, roses, bitter orange, and every kind of fragrant plant. All the trees were draped with fruit, and water flowed down from four iwans facing one another. Looking closely at the first iwan, he saw these two verses inscribed around it in red cinnabar:

O house, may sorrow never enter you, nor time betray your master. Blessed is the dwelling that shelters every guest when the wide world offers him no room. Then he examined the second iwan and saw these verses written around it in red gold:

May the robes of happiness shine upon you, O house, so long as birds sing among the garden boughs. May fragrant perfumes linger within you, and lovers find their wishes fulfilled. May your people live in honour and abundance so long as a wandering star shines in the heights. Then he examined the third iwan and saw these two verses written around it in blue lapis lazuli:

May you endure in honour and prosperity, O house, as long as night falls and daylight shines. At your door happiness shelters all who enter, and goodness pours from you upon all who come. Then he examined the fourth iwan and saw this verse written around it in yellow pigment:

Here is a garden, here a pool: a pleasant gathering place, and a forgiving Lord. In that garden were turtledoves, pigeons, nightingales, and doves, each singing in its own voice. The young woman swayed with such beauty and grace that everyone who saw her was enchanted. Then she said, “Sir, what has emboldened you to enter a house that is not yours, among maidens who do not belong to you, without their owners’ permission?” “My lady,” he replied, “I saw this garden and was delighted by its lovely greenery, its fragrant blossoms, and its singing birds. I entered to admire it for a little while, and then go on my way.” “You are most welcome,” she said. When Masrur the merchant heard her words and looked at her eyes and her graceful figure, he was bewildered by her beauty and by the charm of the garden and its birds. His reason flew away, and in his confusion he recited these verses:

A moon has appeared in wondrous beauty amid green hills, sweet air, and basil, amid myrtle, wild roses, and violets whose fragrance breathes from the branches. O garden, perfect in all your beauties, embracing every flower and bough! Beneath your branches’ shade the full moon shines, and birds sing their sweetest melodies. Your turtledoves, your nightingales, your doves and songbirds have stirred my sorrows. Love stands bewildered in my heart before her beauty, like a drunken man astray. When Zayn al-Mawasif heard Masrur’s verses, she gave him a glance that brought a thousand sighs in its wake and robbed him of his reason and understanding. She answered his poem with these verses:

Hope not for union with the one you love; abandon the desires you have cherished. Forsake your hopes, for you cannot endure the rejection of the beauty you adore. My glances wreak havoc among lovers, and I do not shrink from what I have declared. When Masrur heard her words, he summoned patience and self-command, concealing his feelings and giving no sign of them. “There is no remedy for affliction,” he told himself, “but patience.” They remained thus until night fell. Then she ordered food to be brought, and a table was set before them with every kind of dish: quails, young pigeons, and lamb. They ate their fill, and she ordered the tables removed. Washing vessels were brought, and they washed their hands. Then she called for candlesticks, which were set out and furnished with camphor candles. After this Zayn al-Mawasif said, “By God, my heart is oppressed tonight, for I am feverish.” Masrur replied, “May God ease your heart and dispel your sorrow.” “Masrur,” she said, “I am accustomed to playing chess. Do you know anything of the game?” “Yes,” he answered, “I know it well.” She had a chess set placed before them. It was made of ebony inlaid with ivory, its board adorned with gleaming gold, and its pieces fashioned from pearls and rubies. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and forty-seventh night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when she ordered the chess set brought, they placed it before them. Its beauty astonished Masrur. Zayn al-Mawasif turned to him and asked, “Would you like the red pieces or the white?” “O queen of beauties and ornament of the morning,” he replied, “take the red pieces, for they are lovely and become one as lovely as yourself. Leave the white pieces to me.” “Agreed,” she said. She took the red pieces and arranged them opposite the white, then stretched out her hands to make the opening moves. He looked at her fingers and saw that they were as soft as dough, and their beauty and the delicacy of her gestures left him dazed. Turning to him, she said, “Masrur, do not lose your wits. Be patient and steady.” He answered, “O you whose beauty puts the moons to shame, how can your lover look upon you and remain composed?” While he was still in this state, she declared, “Checkmate!” Having defeated him, Zayn al-Mawasif knew that love for her had driven him mad. “Masrur,” she said, “I will play with you only for a fixed and clearly stated stake.” “I hear and obey,” he answered. “Swear to me,” she said, “and I will swear to you, that neither of us will deceive the other.” They exchanged oaths, and she said, “Masrur, if I defeat you, I shall take ten dinars from you; but if you defeat me, I shall give you nothing.” Thinking he would beat her, he replied, “My lady, do not break your oath, for I see that you are the stronger player.” “I agree to that,” she said. They began to play, racing their pawns forward. She brought her knights up behind them, marshalled her forces, supported them with her rooks, and boldly advanced her knights. Zayn al-Mawasif was wearing a veil of blue brocade over her head. She took it off and bared a wrist like a column of light, passed her hand over the red pieces, and said, “Take care!” Masrur was dazzled; his reason fled and his wits deserted him. Gazing at her grace and delicacy, he was overcome with wonder. He reached toward the white pieces, but his hand strayed to the red. “Masrur,” she said, “where are your wits? The red pieces are mine, and the white are yours.” “No one who looks at you,” he answered, “can keep possession of his wits.” Seeing his condition, Zayn al-Mawasif took the white pieces from him and gave him the red. He played with them, and she defeated him.

He continued playing against her, and she continued to win, taking ten dinars from him each time. When Zayn al-Mawasif saw how wholly absorbed he was in love for her, she said, “Masrur, you will never attain your desire unless you defeat me, as you have stipulated; and from now on I will play only for a hundred dinars a game.” “With pleasure and all honour,” he replied. She played him and beat him, again and again, and each time he paid her a hundred dinars. They went on until morning, and he did not win once. At last he rose to his feet. “What do you intend, Masrur?” she asked. “I shall go home and bring more money,” he replied. “Perhaps I may yet fulfil my hopes.” “Do whatever you think best,” she said. He went home and brought her all his money. When he reached her, he recited these two verses:

In sleep I saw a bird nurtured in a garden of delight, whose blossoms smiled. When it appeared before me, I caught it: let your faithfulness fulfil the meaning of my dream. When Masrur had brought her all his money, he began playing against her again, and she defeated him. He could not win a single game. They continued thus for three days, until she had taken all his money. When it was gone, she asked, “Masrur, what do you wish to do?” “I will stake my perfumery shop,” he replied. “How much is that shop worth?” “Five hundred dinars.” He played five games upon that stake, and she won them all. Then he played for his slave girls, his properties, his gardens, and his buildings, and she took them all, together with everything else he possessed. At last she turned to him and asked, “Have you any wealth left to wager?” He answered, “By Him who ensnared me with you in the net of love, my hands possess nothing now, neither money nor anything else, little or much.” “Masrur,” she said, “what begins in consent should not end in regret. If you repent, take back your wealth and go your way. For my part, I release you from every obligation.” Masrur replied, “By Him who decreed these things for us, if you wished to take my life, it would be a small price for your pleasure. I love no one but you.” “Then, Masrur,” she said, “go and bring the judge and witnesses, and make over all your possessions and properties to me.” “With pleasure and all honour,” he replied. He rose at once and brought the judge and witnesses before her. When the judge saw her, his reason fled, his wits deserted him, and his thoughts were thrown into confusion by the beauty of her fingers. “My lady,” he said, “I will draw up the deed only on condition that you purchase the properties, slave girls, and possessions, so that they all pass into your ownership and keeping.” “We are agreed,” she answered. “Draw up a deed stating that Masrur’s property, his slave girls, and everything he possesses are transferred to Zayn al-Mawasif for a total price of such and such.” The judge wrote the deed, the witnesses signed it, and Zayn al-Mawasif took possession of it. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and forty-eighth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Zayn al-Mawasif received from the judge the deed declaring that everything Masrur had owned now belonged to her, she said, “Masrur, go your way.” Her maid Hubub turned to him and said, “Recite us some poetry.” So he recited these verses concerning the game of chess:

I complain of time and all that has befallen me; I complain of loss, of chess, and of a glance, for love of a slender, tender maiden whose equal, man or woman, cannot be found. She aimed the arrows of her eyes at me and advanced armies that conquer humankind: red and white, with charging horsemen. She challenged me and said, “Beware!” She left me helpless as her fingers moved beneath a night as dark as her hair. I could not move the white pieces to safety, and longing set my tears flowing. Pawns and rooks, with their counsellors, charged, and the white army fled defeated. She shot an arrow from her eyes and cleft my heart with that same shaft. She offered me my choice of armies, and I chose the white to wager on. “These white troops will suit me,” I said. “Be patient,” she answered, “while I consider my move.” She played me for a stake to which I had agreed, yet I could not win the fulfilment of my wish through her favour. Alas for my heart, my longing, and my grief, yearning for union with a girl like the moon! No, my heart does not burn or grieve for my estates; it longs only to gaze upon her. Bewildered, astonished, and afraid, I reproach time for all that has befallen me. “Why are you so dazed?” she asked. I answered, “Does a drinker grow sober while still drunk?” A mortal woman robbed me of my reason with her graceful form—if only her stony heart would soften! I fed my hopes and said, “Today I shall win her by this wager, without fear or caution.” My heart kept hoping for her favour until I was left poor in both wealth and love. Can a lover turn from a passion that destroys him, though he sink into the seas of longing? Now your servant has no wealth to employ, a prisoner of yearning, his desire unfulfilled. When Zayn al-Mawasif heard these verses, she marvelled at his eloquence. “Masrur,” she said, “give up this madness, return to your senses, and go your way. You have squandered your money and property at chess without attaining your desire, and there is no path left by which you may reach it.” Masrur turned to her and said, “My lady, ask for anything you wish. Whatever you demand, I shall bring and lay before you.” “Masrur,” she replied, “you have no money left!” “O utmost of my hopes,” he answered, “if I have no money, there are men who will help me.” “Does the giver become a beggar?” she asked. “I have relatives and friends,” he replied. “Whatever I ask, they will give me.” She said, “I want four pods of the most fragrant musk, four vessels of ghaliya perfume, four ratls of ambergris, four thousand dinars, and four hundred robes of embroidered royal brocade. If you bring me these things, Masrur, I shall consider granting you my favour.” “That is easy for me,” he answered, “O you who put the moons to shame.” Masrur left her to fetch what she had requested, and she sent her maid Hubub after him to discover his standing among the people he had spoken of. As he walked through the city streets, he happened to glance around and saw Hubub some way behind him. He stopped until she caught up and asked, “Hubub, where are you going?” “My mistress sent me after you for such and such a reason,” she replied, and told him everything Zayn al-Mawasif had said, from beginning to end. “By God, Hubub,” he said, “I do not possess a single coin.” “Then why did you promise her?” she asked. “How many promises go unfulfilled!” he replied. “In love, there must always be a little delay.” When Hubub heard this, she said, “Masrur, take heart and be at ease. By God, I shall bring you together with her.”

Then she left him and walked on until she reached her mistress. Weeping bitterly, she said, “My lady, by God, he is a man of great standing, much respected by everyone.” Her mistress replied, “There is no remedy against the decree of God Most High. This man has found no merciful heart in us: we have taken his wealth and shown him neither affection nor compassion in granting him our company. Yet if I yield to his wishes, I fear the matter will become known.” Hubub said, “My lady, his condition and the loss of his wealth have not been easy for us to bear. But there is no one with you except me and your maid Sukub. Which of us would dare speak against you, when we are your own servants?” At this she lowered her head toward the ground. The maids said, “My lady, we think you should send for him and show him kindness. Do not leave him to beg from the mean-spirited. How bitter it is to beg!” She accepted their advice, called for ink and paper, and wrote him these verses:

Our meeting draws near, Masrur: rejoice, there shall be no delay. When night grows dark, be sure to come. Ask no money of the base, young man: I was intoxicated, but my senses have returned. All your wealth is restored to you, and with it, Masrur, I grant you my company. For you have patience and a sweetness that endured the injustice of a beloved who shunned you without cause. Hasten to enjoy our meeting, and may happiness be yours. Do not delay, lest my household discover us. Come swiftly, without lingering, and taste the fruits of reunion while my husband is away. Then she folded the letter and gave it to her maid Hubub, who carried it to Masrur. She found him weeping and reciting the poet’s words:

A breeze of passion blew upon my heart and shattered it with the violence of my anguish. My longing has grown since my beloved went away, and my eyes overflow with ever-mounting tears. Such fancies haunt me that, if I confided them to unyielding pebbles and rock, they would quickly soften. Would that I knew whether I shall see what gladdens me and win the fulfilment of my hopes; whether the nights of rejection will pass after her estrangement, and I shall be healed of the wound within my heart. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and forty-ninth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that as Masrur’s passion increased, he began reciting poetry in the extremity of his longing. While he chanted those verses over and over, Hubub heard him and knocked at his door. He rose and opened it. She entered and handed him the letter, which he took and read. “Hubub,” he asked, “what news do you bring of your mistress?” “My lord,” she answered, “this letter contains all the answer you need, and you are a man of understanding.” Masrur was overjoyed and recited these two verses:

The letter came, and its contents delighted me; gladly I preserve it in my heart. My longing grew when I kissed it, as though the hidden pearls of love lay folded within. Then he wrote a reply and gave it to Hubub, who took it back to Zayn al-Mawasif. On reaching her, she began praising his merits, describing his fine qualities and generosity, and doing all she could to bring them together. Zayn al-Mawasif said, “Hubub, he is slow in coming to us.” “He will be here soon,” Hubub answered. She had scarcely finished speaking when he arrived and knocked at the door. She opened it, led him inside, and seated him beside her mistress. Zayn al-Mawasif greeted him warmly, welcomed him, and gave him a place at her side. Then she said to Hubub, “Bring him one of the finest suits of clothes.” Hubub rose and brought a gold-embroidered suit, which her mistress took and put on him. She herself dressed in one of her most magnificent outfits and set upon her head a band of lustrous pearls. Around it she bound a brocade headband crowned with pearls, jewels, and rubies. Beneath the headband she let two side-locks hang, each adorned with a red ruby mounted in gleaming gold, and she loosened her hair, dark as the deepest night. She perfumed herself with aloeswood smoke and anointed herself with musk and ambergris. “May God protect you from the evil eye,” said Hubub. Then she began walking with a swaying, graceful step, and the maid recited these lovely verses of her own:

The willow boughs are shamed by her gait, and with her glances she assails lovers. A moon appears amid the darkness of her hair, like sunlight breaking through her abundant tresses. Blessed is the one beside whom she spends the night in all her beauty, who dies for love of her, swearing by her life. Zayn al-Mawasif thanked her, then approached Masrur, radiant as the full moon. At the sight of her he rose to his feet and said, “If my judgment is true, she is no mortal woman, but one of the brides of Paradise.” Then she called for the table, and it was brought. Around its edges were written these verses:

Turn with your spoons toward the realm of little bowls, and seek refuge among fried dishes and grouse. Upon it … I have always loved them, with young birds … and chickens. God bless the kebab, splendid in its ruddy colour, and the greens dipped in the vinegar of the bowls! Excellent is rice with fresh milk, into which hands plunge as far as their bracelets. How my heart yearns for two kinds of fish beside two loaves of patterned bread! Then they ate and drank, delighted themselves, and made merry. The food was cleared away and the wine set out. Cups and goblets passed among them, and their spirits grew light. Masrur filled a cup and said, “O you whose servant I am, and who are my mistress!” Then he began chanting these verses:

I marvel that my eyes could ever tire of gazing at a maiden radiant in her beauty. None in her age resembles her in delicacy of manner and excellence of character. The willow branch envies her supple form when she walks, gracefully arrayed in her robe. Her shining face puts the full moon to shame in the darkness, and the parting of her hair gleams like the crescent’s light. When she walks upon the earth, her fragrance spreads like a breeze over its plains and hills. When Masrur had finished his poem, she said, “Masrur, whoever holds fast to his faith and has eaten our bread and salt has a claim upon us. Put these matters aside, and I shall restore your properties and everything we have taken from you.” He replied, “My lady, I freely release you from everything you mention. If I have broken the oath between us, I shall go and become a Muslim.” Her maid Hubub said, “My lady, you are young, yet you know a great deal. I plead with you in the name of Almighty God: unless you listen to me and grant my wish, I will not sleep in your house tonight.” “Hubub,” she answered, “it shall be as you wish. Rise and prepare another gathering for us.” Hubub rose and prepared a fresh room, decorating it and scenting it with the finest perfumes, just as her mistress liked. She made ready the food and brought the wine. Cups and goblets passed among them, and their spirits grew light. And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fiftieth night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Zayn al-Mawasif ordered her maid Hubub to prepare a fresh gathering, she rose and replenished the food and wine. Cups and goblets passed among them, and their spirits grew light. Then Zayn al-Mawasif said, “Masrur, the time has come for us to meet and draw near. If you suffer for love of us, recite some poetry of exquisite meaning.” So Masrur recited this poem:

I was taken captive, with a fire blazing in my heart, when the cord of union was severed by separation. I love a maiden whose graceful figure has pierced my heart, whose tender cheek has stolen my reason. Her brows meet, her eyes are dark and bright, and her smile flashes like lightning. She is fourteen years of age, and for love of her my tears have flowed as red as dragon’s blood. I saw her between a river and a garden, her face outshining the full moon in the heavens. I stood before her like an awestruck captive and said, “God’s peace upon you, dweller in this sanctuary.” She willingly returned my greeting, with gentle words like strung pearls. When she heard what I said, she understood my purpose, and my heart was firmly set upon her. “Is not such talk mere folly?” she asked. I answered, “Cease reproaching one who loves you. If you accept me today, the matter is simple: one such as you is beloved, and one such as I is love’s captive.” When she understood my intention, she smiled and said, “By the Lord who created earth and heaven, I am a Jewess, most steadfast in my faith, while you belong to the Christians. How can you hope to join me when you are not of my religion? Whoever attempts this will come to regret it. Would you trifle with two faiths? Is such a thing permitted in love, that you should become, like me, wounded by reproach, pursuing this affair in every direction and remaining guilty against both my faith and yours? If you love me, become a Jew for love, and forbid yourself every union but mine. Swear truly upon the Gospel to preserve my secret in your love and conceal it; and I shall swear sincerely upon the Torah to keep the pledge already made.” I swore by my religion, my law, and my belief, and made her swear a solemn oath like mine. “What is your name,” I asked, “O utmost of my hopes?” She answered, “Here I am called Zayn al-Mawasif.” I cried, “Zayn al-Mawasif, I am consumed with love for you: help your captive lover!” I glimpsed her beauty beneath her veil and grew sorrowful, wretched, and enamoured. Beneath the curtain I remained, humbly lamenting the mighty passion that ruled my heart. When she saw my condition and the depth of my bewilderment, she showed me a smiling, laughing face. … What adornment has the world except the one you love, close beside you to make you happy? When morning shone, she rose and bade farewell, her lovely face surpassing the moon in heaven. As we parted she recited, while her tears and mine lay like strings of pearls upon our cheeks: “Whatever I forget, I shall never forget the promises I made, the beauty of those nights, and the solemn oath.” Zayn al-Mawasif was delighted. “Masrur,” she said, “how lovely are your thoughts! May no enemy of yours prosper.” Then she entered the inner chamber and called for Masrur, who went in to join her. … Zayn al-Mawasif said to him, “Masrur, your wealth is forbidden to us and lawful to you, for we have become dear to one another.” She returned everything she had taken from him and asked, “Masrur, have you a garden where we might go and enjoy ourselves?” “Yes, my lady,” he replied. “I have a garden without equal.” He went home and ordered his maids to prepare a splendid meal, a beautiful gathering place, and a grand entertainment. Then he invited her to his house. She came with her maids, and they ate and drank, delighted themselves, and made merry. Cups and goblets passed among them, and their spirits grew light. Each companion sat with the one they loved. She said, “Masrur, some delicate verses have come to mind, and I should like to sing them to the lute.” “Sing them,” he replied. She took the lute in her hands, tuned it, plucked its strings, and fashioned a lovely melody, singing these verses:

The music of the strings has swayed me with delight, and our morning cup is clear before the dawn. Love lays bare an enamoured heart, and passion appears as the veils are torn away. Beside us is wine, exquisite in all its qualities, like sunlight displayed in the hands of moons, on a night that has brought us its gladness, washing every cloud of sorrow away. When she had finished, she said, “Masrur, recite some of your poetry, and delight us with the fruits of your invention.” He recited these two verses:

We rejoiced in a moon passing the wine, and in the music of a lute within our garden retreat. Its turtledoves sang and its branches swayed at dawn, while among its bowers our dearest hopes were fulfilled. When he finished, Zayn al-Mawasif said, “Recite us some verses about what has happened to us, if you are truly absorbed in loving us.” And morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-first night

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that Zayn al-Mawasif said to Masrur, “If you are truly absorbed in loving us, recite some verses about what has happened to us.” “With pleasure and all honour,” he replied, and recited this poem:

Stop and hear what befell me through love of this gazelle: a white doe who shot her arrows at me and conquered me with her glance. I was bewitched with passion, and love left me no resource. I loved a coy beauty, guarded by blades. I saw her amid a garden, her figure straight and graceful. I greeted her; she listened to my words and returned my greeting. I asked her name, and she said, “My name befits my beauty: I am called Zayn al-Mawasif.” I said, “Have pity on my plight, for such passion possesses me that nowhere will you find a lover like me.” She said, “If you love me and hope to enjoy my embrace, I want abundant riches, beyond all ordinary gifts. I want costly silken robes from you, and a quarter-quintal of musk for the night of our union; pearls and agates of the finest, dearest kind; silver and pure gold fashioned into lovely ornaments.” I showed seemly patience, though my heart was sorely troubled, and she granted me her embrace on a night of the crescent moon. If others blame me for loving her, I cry, “Men, come to my aid!” Her hair is long, its hue the hue of night; roses bloom upon her cheeks like flames ablaze. A sword lies in her eyelid, and her glances fly like arrows. Her mouth holds wine, her saliva is pure spring water, and her teeth are like a necklace of pearls strung in perfect order. Her neck is a gazelle’s neck; her loveliness is complete. Her breast is marble, her breasts like rounded jars; her belly has folds scented with precious perfumes. Beneath it lies that thing in which all my hopes find their end: well tended, plump, and rounded, my masters, like a royal throne before which I plead my case. Between the two pillars you find raised terraces. Yet it has a feature that confounds the minds of men: great lips and a hollow like a mule’s, showing the red of an eye and a lip like a camel’s. When you approach it, eager for the deed, you find it hot in its welcome, strong and vigorous. It sends every brave warrior back with his fighting resolve undone. Sometimes you encounter it with a long beard. A lovely creature, radiant and beautiful, could tell you of it—one like Zayn al-Mawasif, perfect in her loveliness. I came to her by night and took my lawful pleasure. The night I passed with her surpassed all other nights. When morning came she rose, her face like the crescent moon, swaying her figure as tall spears sway. She bade me farewell and said, “When will those nights return?” I said, “O light of my eyes, come whenever you wish.” This poem delighted Zayn al-Mawasif beyond measure and filled her with joy. “Masrur,” she said, “morning is near, and we must leave now, lest we be exposed.” “Gladly and with pleasure,” he replied. He rose to his feet and escorted her home, then went back to his own lodging and spent the night pondering her charms. When morning dawned and its light shone forth, he prepared a magnificent gift for her, brought it to her, and sat with her. They continued thus for several days, living in the greatest ease and happiness. Then one day a letter came to her from her husband, saying that he would soon return. “May God neither bring him safely home nor spare his life,” she said to herself. “If he comes back, our happiness will be spoiled. Would that I had given up all hope of him!” When Masrur came and sat talking with her as usual, she said, “Masrur, a letter has come from my husband, saying that he will soon return from his travels. What are we to do, when neither of us can bear to be without the other?” He replied, “I do not know what is to be done. You know your husband’s character better than I do. Besides, you are among the cleverest of women, a mistress of stratagems, able to devise things that men could never contrive.” “He is a difficult man,” she said, “and jealous of the women of his household. But when he returns from his travels and you hear that he has arrived, go to him, greet him, sit beside him, and say, ‘Brother, I am a dealer in perfumes and spices.’ Buy some of his wares, visit him often, and talk with him at length. Whatever he asks you to do, do not oppose him. Perhaps the scheme I devise will succeed.” “I hear and obey,” he answered. Masrur left her with the fire of love blazing in his heart. When her husband reached the house, she showed delight at his arrival, welcomed him, and greeted him. He looked into her face and saw that it was yellow: she had washed it with saffron and employed certain women’s tricks. He asked how she was, and she told him that she and the slave girls had been ill ever since he went away. “Our hearts have been anxious for you,” she said, “because you have been gone so long.” She began to complain of the hardship of separation, weeping floods of tears. “Had you a companion with you,” she said, “my heart would not have borne all this anxiety. For God’s sake, my lord, never travel again without a companion, and do not leave me without news of you, so that my heart and mind may be at ease.” But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she ceased her permitted tale.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-second night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Zayn al-Mawasif said to her husband, “Do not travel without a companion, and do not leave me without news of you, so that my heart and mind may be at ease,” he replied, “Gladly and with pleasure! By God, your counsel is wise and your judgment sound. By your life, so dear to my heart, it shall be just as you wish.” Then he took some of his merchandise to his shop, opened it, and sat selling in the market. As he sat there, Masrur approached, greeted him, and sat beside him, exchanging courtesies. After talking with him for a while, Masrur took out a purse, untied it, drew out some gold, and handed it to Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband. “Give me some perfumes and spices for these dinars,” he said, “so that I may sell them in my shop.” “I hear and obey,” the man replied, and gave him what he asked for. Masrur continued to visit him for several days, until Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband turned to him and said, “I am looking for a man to take as a partner in trade.” Masrur replied, “I too am looking for a partner in trade, for my father was a merchant in Yemen and left me a great fortune, which I fear I may lose.” Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband turned to him and said, “Would you become my companion, while I become your companion, comrade, and friend, both on journeys and at home, and teach you buying and selling, taking and giving?” “Gladly and with pleasure,” Masrur answered.

He took Masrur home, seated him in the entrance hall, and went in to his wife, Zayn al-Mawasif. “I have made a friend,” he told her, “and invited him to be my guest, so prepare a fine meal for us.” Zayn al-Mawasif rejoiced, knowing that it was Masrur. She prepared a splendid feast and made delicious dishes in her delight that Masrur had come and her scheme had succeeded. When Masrur was in the house, her husband said to her, “Come out with me to welcome him, and tell him how pleased we are to have him.” Zayn al-Mawasif flew into a rage. “Would you bring me before a strange man?” she said. “God forbid! Even if you cut me to pieces, I would not appear before him.” Her husband said, “Why should you feel shy before him? He is a Christian, we are Jews, and we are to be friends.” “I have no wish to appear before a stranger whom I have never set eyes on and do not know,” she replied. Her husband believed she spoke sincerely, and kept coaxing her until she rose, wrapped herself up, took the food, and went out to welcome Masrur. He lowered his head to the ground as though overcome with modesty. Seeing his downcast gaze, the man said to himself, “This is surely a pious man.” They ate their fill, then the food was removed and wine brought in. Zayn al-Mawasif sat opposite Masrur, and they gazed at one another until the day had passed. Masrur then went home with fire blazing in his heart, while Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband reflected on his friend’s graciousness and good looks. When night fell, his wife brought him supper as usual. He kept a nightingale in the house, and whenever he sat down to eat, the bird would come and eat with him and flutter about his head. Now the bird had grown familiar with Masrur and would flutter around him whenever he sat at table. When Masrur was gone and its master returned, it did not recognize him and would not come near him. He began to ponder the bird’s conduct and why it kept away. As for Zayn al-Mawasif, she could not sleep, for her heart was occupied with Masrur. This continued through the second and third nights. The Jew perceived her condition and watched her as she sat distracted, and he grew suspicious. On the fourth night he awoke at midnight and heard his wife murmuring Masrur’s name in her sleep as she lay in his arms. His suspicions deepened, but he kept them to himself.

When morning came, he went to his shop and sat there. Presently Masrur approached and greeted him. He returned the greeting and said, “Welcome, brother! I have missed you.” They sat talking for a while, then he said, “Come home with me, brother, so that we may seal our bond of brotherhood.” “Gladly and with pleasure,” Masrur replied. When they reached the house, the Jew went ahead and told his wife that Masrur had come, and that he wished to enter into trade with him and make him his sworn brother. “Prepare a pleasant room for us,” he said. “You must be present and witness our bond of brotherhood.” She replied, “For God’s sake, do not bring me before this stranger. I have no wish to appear before him.” He said no more to her, but ordered the slave girls to serve food and drink. Then he called the nightingale, which flew down into Masrur’s lap and did not recognize its master. At this he asked, “Sir, what is your name?” “My name is Masrur,” he replied—the very name his wife had been murmuring all night in her sleep. Then the husband raised his head and saw her signaling to Masrur and winking at him. He knew that he had been duped. “Sir,” he said, “allow me to fetch my cousins to witness our bond of brotherhood.” “Do as you please,” Masrur replied. Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband rose, went out of the house, and came round behind the room. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she ceased her permitted tale.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-third night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband said to Masrur, “Allow me to fetch my cousins to witness the bond of brotherhood between us.” Then he went round behind the room and stood there. There was a little window overlooking them, and he approached it and began watching them without their seeing him. Presently Zayn al-Mawasif said to her slave girl Sukub, “Where has your master gone?” “Outside the house,” she replied. “Shut the door,” her mistress said, “and secure it with the iron bar. Do not open it when he knocks until you have told me.” “It shall be done,” the girl replied. Her husband watched all this. Then Zayn al-Mawasif took a cup, scented it with rosewater and powdered musk, and came to Masrur. He rose to meet her and said, “By God, your saliva is sweeter than this wine.” She gave him to drink, and he gave her to drink. Then she sprinkled him with rosewater from head to foot, until its fragrance filled the room. All the while her husband watched them, marveling at the strength of their love. His heart filled with fury at what he saw, and anger and fierce jealousy seized him. He went to the door and found it locked, and pounded on it violently in his rage. “My lady,” said the slave girl, “my master has come.” “Open the door for him,” she replied. “May God not bring him safely back!” Sukub went and opened it. “Why have you locked the door?” he asked her. “This is how we kept it while you were away,” she replied. “It was always locked and never opened, night or day.” “Well done,” he said. “That pleases me.” Then he went in to Masrur, smiling and concealing what he knew. “Masrur,” he said, “let us leave this bond of brotherhood for today and seal it another day.” “I hear and obey,” he answered. “Do as you wish.” Masrur went home, while Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband pondered his plight, not knowing what to do, his mind deeply troubled. “Even the nightingale has disowned me,” he said to himself, “and the slave girls shut the doors in my face and side with another.” In his anguish he kept reciting these verses:

Masrur has long lived in delight, enjoying days of pleasure and a life now past. Time opposes me in the one I love, while the fires in my heart blaze ever higher. A season of happiness with that beauty has passed for you, yet you remain enthralled by her charms. My own eyes have beheld her loveliness, and my heart has become the slave of her love. How often, willingly, she let me sip the nectar of her sweet mouth to quench my thirst! Why, nightingale, have you forsaken me and gone at dawn to greet my foes? My eyes have seen strange things that would wake my eyelids were they sleeping. I have seen my beloved cast my affection aside, and my nightingale no longer circles about me. By the God of all worlds, who makes firm whatever decree He wills for His creatures, I shall give that wrongdoer his deserts, who in his folly approached her and sought her embrace. When Zayn al-Mawasif heard his verses, she trembled and turned pale. “Did you hear that poem?” she asked her slave girl. “Never in my life have I heard him recite such verses,” the girl replied. “But let him say what he will.” Once her husband was certain of the truth, he began selling everything he possessed. “Unless I take them far from their homeland,” he said to himself, “they will never abandon their ways.” When he had sold all his property, he forged a letter and read it to her, claiming that it had come from his cousins and contained an invitation for him and his wife to visit them. “How long shall we stay with them?” she asked. “Twelve days,” he replied. She agreed and asked, “May I take some of my slave girls?” “Take Hubub and Sukub,” he said, “and leave Khutub here.” Then he prepared a fine howdah for them and made ready to depart. Zayn al-Mawasif sent word to Masrur: “If the time appointed between us passes and we have not returned, know that he has tricked us, plotted against us, and carried us far from one another. Do not forget our pledges and vows, for I fear his cunning and deceit.” Her husband prepared for the journey, while Zayn al-Mawasif wept and sobbed, unable to find rest by night or day. Seeing this, her husband made no objection. When she realized that he was determined to travel, she gathered up her clothes and possessions and entrusted them all to her sister. She told her what had happened, bade her farewell, and left her weeping. Then she returned home and found that her husband had brought the camels and was loading them. He had chosen the finest camel for Zayn al-Mawasif. When she saw that she must indeed be parted from Masrur, she was distraught. Her husband happened to go out on some business, and she went to the first door and wrote these verses upon it. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she ceased her permitted tale.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-fourth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Zayn al-Mawasif saw that her husband had brought the camels and knew that they were to depart, she was distraught. Her husband happened to go out on some business, and she went to the first door and wrote these verses upon it:

O dove of the house, carry our greetings from the lover to her beloved at our parting. Tell him that I remain sorrowful, grieving for the happy times we knew, just as my beloved remains enthralled, mourning the joy that is past. We spent a season in gladness and bliss, enjoying union by night and by day. We did not awaken until the raven of separation cried above us, announcing our parting. We have departed and left our dwellings desolate. Would that we had never left those homes! Then she went to the second door and wrote these verses upon it:

O you who come to the door, for God’s sake look for your beloved’s camels in the darkness, and tell him that I weep whenever I remember his embrace; the tears I shed will never end. If you cannot bear what has befallen me, take up the dust beside my camels and strew it upon yourself. Journey east and west through the lands, and live in patience, for God has ordained what must be. Then she went to the third door, wept bitterly, and wrote these verses upon it:

Pause, Masrur, if you visit her home; go to the doors and read the lines upon them. Do not forget the pledge of love, if you are true: how often she has tasted the sweetness and bitterness of nights! For God’s sake, Masrur, do not forget her closeness, for she has left her happiness and joy with you. Weep for the days of union and their sweetness, when, whenever you came, she lowered her curtains. Journey to the farthest lands for our sake; cross their seas and search their shores for us. The nights of our union have passed away, and the deep darkness of separation has quenched their light. May God cherish those days gone by—how happy they were, when we plucked flowers in the garden of desire! Why did they not endure as I had hoped? God willed that they should come and go. Will the days return and bring us together again, so that I may fulfill my vows to my Lord? Know that all things lie in the hand of Him who writes their lines upon the tablet of the brow. Then she wept bitterly and returned indoors, sobbing and lamenting. She began to recall the past and said, “Glory be to God, who has decreed this for us.” Her grief at parting from her beloved and leaving her home grew greater, and she recited these verses:

God’s peace be upon you, O house left empty, where the days have spent their store of joy. O dove of the house, may you ever mourn for her who has left her moons and full moons behind! Pause, Masrur, and weep at losing us, for in losing you my eyes have lost their light. Had your eyes seen the day of our departure, when my tears fed the flames within my heart! Do not forget that pledge beneath the shade of a garden that gathered us together and drew its curtains about us. Then she appeared before her husband, who helped her into the howdah he had made for her. When she was seated on the camel’s back, she recited these verses:

God’s peace be upon you, O house left empty, where for so long we grew in happiness and grace. Would that the nights of my life had run their course beneath your shelter, until love itself had slain me! I am distraught at my exile and my longing for a home I loved with all my heart, not knowing what was to come. Would that I knew whether I shall return there and find the same delight we knew at first! Her husband said, “Zayn al-Mawasif, do not grieve at leaving your home. You will soon return to it.” He soothed her and spoke tenderly to her. Then they set off, passed beyond the town, and took the road. She knew that their parting had truly come, and it weighed heavily upon her. All this time Masrur sat at home, pondering his own plight and that of his beloved. His heart sensed their separation, and he sprang to his feet at once and went to her house. He found the door locked and saw the verses Zayn al-Mawasif had written. He read those on the first door and fell unconscious to the ground. When he recovered, he opened the first door and went in to the second, where he saw what she had written, and then to the third. After reading all these words, his passion, yearning, and bewilderment grew greater. He hurried after her until he caught up with the caravan. He saw her at the rear, while her husband was at the front, attending to his affairs. At the sight of her he clung to the howdah, weeping in grief at the pain of parting, and recited these verses:

Would that I knew for what sin we have been struck by the arrows of estrangement through the long years! O heart’s desire, one day I came to the house when my grief for love of you had grown. I found the dwellings empty and deserted, and lamented our separation with ever deeper groans. I asked the wall about my heart’s sole desire: “Where have they gone?” And my heart became a captive. It said, “They have left their dwellings, lodging anguish deep within the heart. I have written lines upon the wall, as the faithful among mankind will do.” When Zayn al-Mawasif heard these verses, she knew that it was Masrur. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she ceased her permitted tale.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-fifth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Zayn al-Mawasif heard these verses, she knew that it was Masrur. She and her slave girls wept, and she said to him, “Masrur, I beg you by God to go back, lest my husband see us together.” At these words Masrur fainted. When he recovered, they bade one another farewell, and he recited these verses:

The guide called for departure before dawn, in the quiet darkness, as the dew-laden breeze arose. They saddled their mounts and hastened to leave; the caravan sped on when the camel-driver chanted. They filled the earth about them with fragrance and hurried on through that valley. They took possession of my heart through love, then departed, leaving me to follow in their tracks. O neighbors whom I wished never to leave, I have soaked the earth with my streaming tears! Alas for my heart, alas for me, after what the hand of separation has done, against my will, to my very soul! Masrur stayed beside the caravan, weeping and sobbing, while she pleaded with him to return before morning for fear of exposure. He approached the howdah, bade her farewell a second time, and fainted for a while. When he recovered, he found them traveling on. He turned toward the way they had gone, breathed in the east wind, and began to chant these verses:

Never does a breeze from the beloved’s country reach the yearning lover without his lamenting the anguish of desire. A breath of dawn blew over him; when he awoke, he was already far away, cast upon a bed of sickness, wasted, weeping blood with his streaming tears for neighbors who departed, taking my heart among the mounts driven on by their drivers. By God, no breeze ever blew from near them but I rose to greet it with my eyes! Then Masrur returned to the house, consumed with longing. He found it stripped of its supports, desolate without its loved ones. He wept until his clothes were drenched and fell unconscious, his soul almost leaving his body. When he recovered, he recited these two verses:

O dwelling, pity my abasement and submission, my wasted body and my flowing tears. Send us a fragrant breath of their sweet breeze, to heal my wounded heart. When Masrur returned to his own home, he was bewildered by all that had happened, his eyes filled with tears. He remained in this state for ten days.

Such was Masrur’s case. As for Zayn al-Mawasif, she knew that she had been tricked, for her husband continued traveling with her for ten days before lodging her in a certain town. Zayn al-Mawasif wrote a letter to Masrur, handed it to her slave girl Hubub, and said, “Send this letter to Masrur, so that he may know how we have been deceived and how the Jew has betrayed us.” The girl took the letter and sent it to Masrur. When it reached him, its news distressed him greatly, and he wept until he soaked the dust. He wrote a letter and sent it to Zayn al-Mawasif, ending it with these two verses:

Where is the road to the gates of consolation? How can one forget who burns amid the fire? How sweet were the hours they once enjoyed! Would that some of them were ours again! When the letter reached Zayn al-Mawasif, she took it, read it, and gave it to her slave girl Hubub. “Keep this secret,” she told her. But her husband learned that they were exchanging letters, so he took Zayn al-Mawasif and her slave girls and traveled with them for twenty days before settling them in another town. Such was Zayn al-Mawasif’s case. As for Masrur, he could neither sleep peacefully nor find rest, and he had no patience left. He continued thus until one night his eyes closed in sleep, and he dreamed that Zayn al-Mawasif had come to him in the garden and was embracing him. He woke and did not find her. His reason fled, his senses reeled, and tears streamed from his eyes, while his heart burned with longing. He recited these verses:

Peace be upon her whose phantom visited me in sleep, stirring my longing and increasing my love. I rose from that dream enthralled by the vision that had visited my slumber. Will dreams prove true concerning the one I love, and quench love’s thirst and heal my sickness? Now she offered me drink, now she embraced me, now she comforted me with gentle words. When our reproaches in the dream were ended and my eyes were bleeding tears, I sipped the sweetness of her dark lips, like nectar whose final fragrance seemed to me pure musk. I marveled at what passed between us in sleep, when I attained my desire and all I sought from her. Yet I rose from that dream and found nothing of the vision but my anguish and my love. I became like a madman when I saw her, and by evening I was drunk without wine. O wandering breeze, for God’s sake carry them the greeting of my longing and my peace. Tell them that the man they once knew has been made by the turns of time to drink the cup of death. Then he set off for her house, weeping all the way. He looked at the place and found it empty, yet saw her image glimmering before him, as though she stood there in person. His fires blazed higher, his sorrows deepened, and he fell unconscious. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she ceased her permitted tale.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-sixth night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate King, that when Masrur saw Zayn al-Mawasif embracing him in his dream, he rejoiced beyond measure. Then he awoke and went to her house, but found it empty. His sorrows deepened and he fell unconscious. When he recovered, he began to recite these verses:

I breathed their wafting scent of perfume and ben oil, and went away with a heart ever more distraught with longing. I struggle with desire, sorrowful and enslaved by love, in a dwelling emptied of my dear companions and friends. It has sickened me with separation, passion, and grief; the old pledge has reminded me of those I love. When he had finished his poem, he heard a raven cawing beside the house. He wept and said, “Glory be to God! A raven caws only over a ruined dwelling.” Then he gathered his courage, sighed, and recited these verses:

Why does the raven mourn over the house of love, while fire burns and sears my inward parts? For a season spent in loving them, my heart has wandered, lost in its abysses. I die of longing, with the fire of desire within me; I write letters, but have no one to deliver them. Alas for my wasting body, now that my beloved has departed! Will the nights with her ever return? O east wind, if you visit her before dawn, greet her, pause at her house, and give her my salutation. Now Zayn al-Mawasif had a sister named Nasim, who was watching him from a high place. When she saw him in this state, she wept, sighed, and recited these verses:

How often will you return to these dwellings, weeping over them, while the house mourns its builder in sorrow? Joy lived here before its people departed, and suns shone within it. Where are the full moons that once rose here? The turns of misfortune have erased their brightest charms. Leave the beauties of the past, whose company you knew, and watch: perhaps the days will bring them back. But for you, its people would never have departed, nor would you have seen a raven upon its heights. When Masrur heard these words and understood the verses, he wept bitterly. Her sister knew of their love and passion, their longing and bewilderment. “For God’s sake, Masrur,” she said, “keep away from this house, lest someone notice you and suppose that you come here for my sake. You have driven my sister away, and now you wish to drive me away too. You know that but for you these houses would not have lost their people. Forget her and leave her be. What is past is past.” At these words from her sister, Masrur wept bitterly. “Nasim,” he said, “if I could fly, I would fly to her in my longing. How can I forget her?” “You have no remedy but patience,” she replied. “I beg you by God,” he said, “write her a letter on your own behalf and bring us an answer, so that my heart may be comforted and the fire within me quenched.” “Gladly and with pleasure,” she answered. She took an inkwell and paper, and Masrur began to describe the intensity of his longing and the pain of separation he endured, saying, “This letter speaks for a sorrowful, bewildered lover, a poor soul parted from his beloved, who finds no rest by night or day, but weeps abundant tears. Those tears have ulcerated his eyelids, and grief has kindled flames within his heart. Long has he mourned, and great is his yearning, like a bird that has lost its mate and hastens toward death. Alas for my parting from you! How I yearn for your company! My body is wasted away, my tears stream down, and mountains and plains alike have grown too narrow for me. In the excess of my passion I have come to say:

My yearning for those dwellings still endures, and ever greater grows my longing for their people. I have sent you the tale of my passion, and the cupbearer has given me to drink from the cup of your love. At your departure, and the distance of your home, my eyes poured forth their streaming tears. O driver of the laden camels, turn aside toward the beloved’s grounds, for the fire within my heart burns ever fiercer. Bear my greeting to my beloved, and say: “No healer can cure him save the sweetness of your dusky lips. Time has undone him, scattered all he held together, and pierced his last remnant of life with the arrow of parting.” Tell them of my yearning and my bitter anguish since they left, and all that I endure. By your love I swear a solemn oath: I shall remain faithful to our covenant and pledge. Never have I turned aside, nor forgotten my love for you; how can a yearning lover find forgetfulness? From me, then, peace be upon you—a greeting mingled with musk upon these pages. Her sister Nasim marveled at his eloquence, the beauty of his thoughts, and the tenderness of his verses. Her heart softened toward him, and she sealed the letter with pungent musk, perfumed it with fragrant incense and ambergris, and entrusted it to a merchant, saying, “Deliver this to no one but my sister or her maid Hubub.” “With pleasure and all honor,” he replied. When the letter reached Zayn al-Mawasif, she knew that Masrur had dictated it, and recognized his spirit in its delicate sentiments. She kissed it and laid it upon her eyes, and tears flowed from her eyelids. She went on weeping until she fainted. When she recovered, she called for an inkwell and paper and wrote him a reply, describing her longing, her passion, her anguish, and her yearning for those she loved. She lamented her plight to him and the suffering she endured for his sake. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-seventh night,

She said: I have heard, O fortunate king, that when Zayn al-Mawasif wrote her reply to Masrur’s letter, she said: “This letter is for my lord, my master, the possessor of my bondage, the keeper of my secrets and my whispered confidences. To proceed: sleeplessness has troubled me, and my anxious thoughts have multiplied. I have no strength to bear your absence, O you whose beauty surpasses the sun and moon. Longing has robbed me of rest, and passion has destroyed me. How could it be otherwise, when I am among the perishing? O joy of the world and adornment of life, can the cup taste sweet to one whose breath has ceased? For such a one belongs neither to the living nor the dead.” Then she recited these verses:

Your letter, Masrur, has stirred my grief anew; by God, I have neither patience in your absence nor consolation. When I read your writing, every limb yearned for you, and I drank unceasingly of tears and burning sorrow. Were I a bird, I would fly to you beneath the wing of night, for since you left I have tasted neither manna nor quails. Life’s pleasures are forbidden me now that you are far away: I cannot bear the scorching fire of separation. Then she dusted the letter with powdered musk and ambergris, sealed it, and sent it with a merchant, saying, “Deliver it to no one but my sister Nasim.” When it reached her sister Nasim, she took it to Masrur, who kissed it, laid it upon his eyes, and wept until he fainted.

Such was their case. As for Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband, when he learned of the letters passing between them, he began moving her and her two maids from place to place. Zayn al-Mawasif said to him, “Glory be to God! Where are you taking us, carrying us so far from our homeland?” He replied, “I shall keep traveling with you for a year, so that no letters from Masrur can reach you. And I shall find out how you took all my money and gave it to him! Everything I have lost I shall recover from you. We shall see whether Masrur can help you and rescue you from my hands!” Then he went to a blacksmith and had three sets of iron fetters made for them. He brought them back, stripped the women of their silken clothes, dressed them in haircloth, and began fumigating them with sulfur. Then he brought the blacksmith to them and said, “Put these fetters on the feet of these slave girls.” The first he brought forward was Zayn al-Mawasif. At the sight of her, the blacksmith lost his senses, bit his fingertips, and felt his reason fly from his head as passion rose within him. He said to the Jew, “What have these girls done?” “They are my slaves,” he answered. “They stole my money and ran away from me.” The blacksmith said, “May God confound your suspicions! By God, if this girl belonged to the chief judge, and committed a thousand offenses every day, he would never punish her. Besides, there is no sign of thieving about her, and no man could bring himself to put irons on her feet.” He begged him not to fetter her and pleaded on her behalf. When she saw the blacksmith interceding for her, she said to the Jew, “I beseech you by God, do not expose me before this stranger.” He answered, “Then how did you show yourself before Masrur?” She made no reply. He accepted the blacksmith’s intercession, though he still put a small fetter on her feet, while shackling the maids with heavy irons. Zayn al-Mawasif’s body was delicate and could not bear rough treatment, yet she and her maids continued to wear haircloth night and day until their bodies wasted and their complexions changed. As for the blacksmith, a great love for Zayn al-Mawasif had taken possession of his heart. He returned home in the deepest distress and began reciting these verses:

May your right hand be withered, blacksmith, for the chains it fastened about those feet and sinews! You have fettered the feet of a pampered lady, a sweet companion fashioned as the wonder of all wonders. Had you been just, her anklets would not be iron, when once they were of gold. Had the chief judge seen her beauty, he would have pitied her and proudly seated her upon his knees. Now the chief judge happened to be passing the blacksmith’s house while he was chanting these verses. He sent for him, and when he appeared, said, “Blacksmith, who is this woman whose name is ever on your tongue, and whose love occupies your heart?” The blacksmith rose before the judge, kissed his hand, and said, “May God prolong our lord the judge’s days and grant him a long life! She is a girl of such and such a description.” He began describing her beauty and loveliness, her graceful, well-proportioned figure, her charm and perfection, her lovely face, slender waist, and ample hips. Then he told him of her humiliation, her confinement, her fetters, and her scant allowance of food. The judge said, “Blacksmith, direct her to us and bring her here, so that we may secure her rights. This girl has become your responsibility, and if you do not direct her to us, God will call you to account on the Day of Resurrection.” “I hear and obey,” said the blacksmith. He went at once to Zayn al-Mawasif’s house, where he found the door locked. From within he heard a melodious voice rising from a sorrowful heart, for Zayn al-Mawasif was reciting these verses:

I lived in my homeland with all my dear ones gathered close, and love filled my cups with pure delight. Those cups passed among us with all the joys we desired, familiar to us morning and evening. We spent our days refreshed by wine, the lute, the qanun, and merriment. Then time and changing fortune sundered our union; love turned away, and the days of happiness were gone. Would that the raven of separation might be driven from us! Would that the dawn of reunion in love might shine! When the blacksmith heard this poetry, tears rained from his eyes like water from the clouds. Then he knocked at the door. “Who is there?” the women asked. “It is I, the blacksmith,” he replied. He told them what the judge had said: that he wished them to appear before him and bring their complaint to his court, so that he might secure their rights. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-eighth night,

She said: I have heard, O fortunate king, that when the blacksmith told Zayn al-Mawasif what the judge had said, and that he wished them to appear before him and lodge their complaint, so that he might exact redress from their adversary and secure their rights, she said, “How can we go to him when the door is locked upon us, our feet are in fetters, and the keys are with the Jew?” The blacksmith answered, “I shall make keys for the locks and use them to open the door and the fetters.” “And who will show us the judge’s house?” she asked. “I shall tell you how to find it,” he replied. Zayn al-Mawasif said, “How can we go before the judge wearing haircloth reeking of sulfur?” The blacksmith answered, “The judge will not reproach you for being in such a state.” He rose at once and made keys for the locks, opened the door, unlocked the fetters and removed them from their feet, then brought the women out and directed them to the judge’s house.

Her maid Hubub stripped her mistress of the haircloth, took her to the bathhouse, washed her, and dressed her in silk, until her color returned. To complete their good fortune, her husband was attending a feast at a merchant’s house. Zayn al-Mawasif adorned herself in her finest attire and went to the judge’s house. When he saw her, he rose to his feet. She greeted him with sweet words and gracious speech, shooting arrows from her eyes all the while, and said, “May God preserve our lord the judge and through him uphold all those who seek justice.” Then she told him about the blacksmith and the generous kindness he had shown her, and of the Jew’s treatment of her and his tortures, which appalled the mind. She told him that they had been brought to the brink of destruction and could find no way to escape. The judge asked, “Girl, what is your name?” She answered, “My name is Zayn al-Mawasif, and this maid of mine is called Hubub.” The judge said, “Your name, ‘Adornment of All Qualities,’ truly suits its bearer; its wording matches its meaning.” She smiled and turned her face aside. Then he asked, “Zayn al-Mawasif, have you a husband or not?” “I have no husband,” she answered. “And what is your religion?” “My religion is Islam, the faith of the best of mankind.” He said, “Swear by the sacred law, with its signs and admonitions, that you follow the faith of the best of men.” She swore to him and pronounced the testimony of faith. Then the judge asked, “How did you come to spend your youth with this Jew?” She replied, “Know, O judge—may God prolong your days in contentment, grant your hopes, and crown your deeds with righteousness—that when my father died, he left me fifteen thousand dinars. He had entrusted them to this Jew to trade with, the profits to be shared between us, while the principal was secured by lawful testimony. When my father died, the Jew coveted me and asked my mother for my hand in marriage. My mother said to him, ‘How could I take her out of her religion and make her a Jew? By God, I shall report you to the authorities!’ Frightened by her words, the Jew took the money and fled to the city of Aden. When we heard that he was in Aden, we came in search of him. Upon finding him there, he told us that he was trading in merchandise, buying one consignment after another. We believed him, and he went on deceiving us until he imprisoned us, put us in fetters, and tortured us most cruelly. We are strangers here, with no one to help us but Almighty God and our lord the judge.”

When the judge heard this story, he said to her maid Hubub, “Is this your mistress, and are you strangers here, and has she no husband?” “Yes,” she replied. He said, “Arrange for me to marry her. I bind myself to free slaves, fast, make the pilgrimage, and give alms if I fail to recover your rights from this dog after punishing him for what he has done.” Hubub answered, “We hear and obey.” The judge said, “Go and set your own heart and your mistress’s at ease. Tomorrow, if Almighty God wills, I shall send for this unbeliever and recover what is yours. You will see wonders in the punishment I inflict on him.” The maid prayed for him and departed, leaving him in distress and infatuation, longing and passion. When she and her mistress had left him, they asked for the house of the second judge and were directed there. They appeared before him and told him the same story, and did likewise with the third and fourth, until she had laid her case before all four judges. Each asked her to marry him, and to each she replied, “Yes.” None knew what the others had been told, and each began to cherish hopes of possessing her. The Jew knew nothing of any of this, for he was still at the house where the feast was being held.

When morning came, her maid rose and dressed her in a suit of the finest clothes, then took her before the four judges in the court of justice. Seeing them assembled, she uncovered her face, raised her veil, and greeted them. They returned her greeting, and each recognized her. One had been writing, and his pen fell from his hand; another had been speaking, and his tongue faltered; a third had been reckoning, and he lost count. Then they said to her, “O lady of gracious qualities, let your heart be at ease. We shall assuredly recover your rights and grant your desire.” She prayed for them, then took her leave and departed. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and fifty-ninth night,

She said: I have heard, O fortunate king, that the judges said to Zayn al-Mawasif, “O lady of gracious qualities and wondrous beauty, let your heart rest assured that your wish will be fulfilled and your desire attained.” She prayed for them, then took her leave and departed. All this while, the Jew remained at the feast with his friends, knowing nothing of what was happening. Zayn al-Mawasif appealed to the magistrates and officers of the court to support her against this faithless unbeliever and deliver her from her painful torment. Then she wept and recited these verses:

O eyes, pour forth your tears in floods; perhaps my tears will quench my sorrows. Once I wore embroidered silk; now I am clothed in the garb of monks. Sulfur has become the incense of my garments—how far removed from fragrant aloes and sweet herbs! If you, Masrur, knew our plight, you would never consent to my abasement and disgrace, or to my Hubub’s lying captive in iron chains with one who denies the One, the Judge of all. I have renounced the ways of the Jews and their religion; today my faith is the noblest of faiths. I have bowed before the All-Merciful as a Muslim bows, and followed the clear law of Muhammad. Masrur, do not forget the love between us; keep our binding covenant and solemn oaths. For love of you I changed my faith, yet in the excess of my love I have kept my secret hidden. Hasten to us, if you preserve our affection as the noble do, and do not delay. Then she wrote a letter setting out everything the Jew had done to her from beginning to end, and included the verses in it. She folded the letter, handed it to her maid Hubub, and said, “Keep this letter in your bosom until we can send it to Masrur.” While they were thus occupied, the Jew came in upon them and saw them looking happy. “Why do I see you both so cheerful?” he asked. “Has a letter come from your friend Masrur?” Zayn al-Mawasif replied, “We have no helper against you but God, glorified and exalted be He. He will deliver us from your oppression. If you do not return us to our own country and homeland, tomorrow we shall take our case against you before the governor and judge of this city.” The Jew said, “Who removed the fetters from your feet? I shall certainly have a shackle weighing ten ratls made for each of you, and parade you about the city.” Hubub answered, “God willing, everything you intend for us will fall upon you, just as you have driven us far from our homeland. Tomorrow we shall stand with you before the governor of the city.” They continued thus until morning. Then the Jew rose and went to the blacksmith to have fetters made for them. At that, Zayn al-Mawasif and her maids rose and went to the courthouse. Upon entering, she saw the judges and greeted them, and all returned her greeting. The chief judge said to those around him, “This girl is born under Venus: whoever sees her loves her and submits to her beauty and loveliness.” Then he sent four officers with her, all men of high standing, and told them, “Bring her adversary here in the most wretched state.”

Such was her case. As for the Jew, when he had had the fetters made, he returned to the house and found the women gone. He stood bewildered, and while he was in this state, the officers seized him, beat him severely, and dragged him on his face until they brought him before the judge. At the sight of him, the judge shouted, “Woe to you, enemy of God! Have you gone so far as to do all this, carrying these women away from their homeland, stealing their money, and seeking to make them Jews? How dare you seek to turn Muslims into unbelievers?” The Jew answered, “My lord, this woman is my wife.” When the judges heard these words, they all cried out, “Throw this dog on the ground! Strike his face with your shoes and beat him soundly, for his offense is unforgivable!” They stripped him of his silken clothes, dressed him in haircloth, threw him to the ground, plucked out his beard, and beat his face mercilessly with their shoes. Then they mounted him backward on a donkey, facing its rump, put the donkey’s tail in his hand, and paraded him through the city, making a public spectacle of him throughout the town. They brought him back to the judge in utter humiliation, and the four judges sentenced him to have his hands and feet cut off and then to be crucified. The accursed man was stunned by this sentence and lost his wits. “My lords the judges,” he said, “what do you want of me?” They replied, “Say: ‘This girl is not my wife, the money is hers, and I wronged her and drove her far from her homeland.’” He confessed to this, and they drew up a legal deed recording his admission. They took the money from him, gave it to Zayn al-Mawasif, and handed her the deed. She went out, and everyone who beheld her beauty and loveliness was bewildered, while each of the judges believed that she would finally be his. When she reached her house, she prepared everything she needed and waited until nightfall. Then she took what was light to carry and precious in value, and set out with her maids under cover of darkness. She continued traveling for three days and nights. Such was the case of Zayn al-Mawasif. As for the judges, after her departure they ordered her Jewish husband to be imprisoned. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and sixtieth night,

She said: I have heard, O fortunate king, that the judges ordered Zayn al-Mawasif’s Jewish husband to be imprisoned. When morning came, the judges and court witnesses waited for Zayn al-Mawasif to appear, but she came to none of them. Then the judge whom she had first visited said, “Today I wish to take an outing beyond the city, for I have some business there.” He mounted his mule, took his servant, and began roaming the city’s lanes in every direction, searching for Zayn al-Mawasif, but could discover no news of her. While he was thus engaged, he came upon the other judges making their rounds, each believing that she had made an appointment with no one but himself. He asked why they were riding through the streets, and they told him their business. He found their plight the same as his, their quest the same as his own. They all began searching for her, but could learn nothing, and each returned home sick and took to his bed in wasting misery. Then the chief judge remembered the blacksmith and sent for him. When he appeared before him, he said, “Blacksmith, do you know anything of the girl whom you directed to us? By God, unless you show me where she is, I shall have you flogged!” On hearing the judge’s words, the blacksmith recited these two verses:

She who has enslaved me in love possesses every beauty, leaving none for any other. She gazes like a gazelle, breathes fragrance like ambergris, appears like the sun, sways like a pool, and bends like a bough. Then the blacksmith said, “By God, my lord, since I left your noble presence, my eyes have never beheld her again. She has taken possession of my heart and mind; she is all my talk and all my concern. I went to her house but did not find her, nor did I see anyone who could tell me what had become of her. It is as though she had sunk to the bottom of the sea or been carried up to heaven.” When the judge heard this, he gave a gasp so great that his soul nearly left his body. Then he said, “By God, we had no need to see her!” The blacksmith departed, and the judge fell upon his bed and began wasting away for her sake. So too did the witnesses and the remaining judges. Physicians came and went, though theirs was no illness that needed a doctor. Then the leading men of the city visited the first judge, greeted him, and asked about his condition. He sighed, revealed what was in his heart, and recited these verses:

Cease your reproaches: the pain of sickness is enough for me. Find an excuse for a judge who passes judgment upon nations. Let those who blame my love forgive me and refrain from censure, for one whom love has slain is not to blame. I was a judge, and fortune favored me in rank, in worldly portion, and in the power of my pen, until I was struck by an arrow no physician could remove, shot from the eye of a girl who came to shed my blood. Never was there such a Muslim woman pleading against her wrongs, her teeth a string of matchless pearls. When she unveiled, I saw beneath her veil a full moon rising in the darkness under night’s wing: a radiant face, a wondrous smiling mouth, beauty enfolding her from the parting of her hair to her feet. By God, my eyes have never seen her like among all humankind, Arab or non-Arab. How sweet was the promise she made me when she said, “When I promise, I fulfill it, O judge of nations!” Such is my state, and such the trial that has befallen me. Ask no more about my sorrows, O men of noble purpose. When the judge had finished these verses, he wept bitterly. Then he gave a gasp, and his soul departed from his body. Seeing this, they washed him, shrouded him, prayed over him, and buried him. Upon his grave they inscribed these verses:

All the qualities of lovers were perfected in him who lies in this grave, slain by his beloved and her rejection. He was a judge among mankind, whose reed pen kept the sword imprisoned in its sheath. Then love passed judgment upon him. Never before had we seen a master abase himself before his slave. They prayed for mercy upon him and went on to the second judge, taking the physician with them. They found no injury or ailment in him that required a physician, and asked him about his condition and what troubled his mind. He told them his story, and they reproached him and rebuked him for being in such a state. He answered by chanting these verses:

I have been afflicted through her, and one such as I is not to blame: an archer’s hand has struck me with an arrow. A woman named Hubub came to me, counting the passage of time year after year. With her was a young maiden who revealed a face surpassing the full moon beneath the wing of darkness. She displayed her charms as she told her grievance, while tears streamed from her eyes. I heard her words and gazed upon her, and with her smiling mouth she brought me to this wasting sickness. When she departed, she carried off my heart, leaving me captive to my passion. This is my story: pity my condition, and appoint another judge in my place, my boy. Then he gave a gasp, and his soul departed from his body. They prepared him for burial, buried him, and prayed for mercy upon him. Next they went to the third judge and found him ill, and what had befallen the second befell him also. The same was true of the fourth. They found them all sick with love for her, and the court witnesses likewise. Everyone who saw her died of love for her, and those who did not die lived on, enduring the burning anguish of passion. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and sixty-first night,

She said: I have heard, O fortunate king, that the townspeople found all the judges and witnesses sick with love for her. Everyone who saw her died of passion for her, and those who did not die lived on, enduring the burning anguish of their mighty love. May God have mercy upon them all! Such was their case. As for Zayn al-Mawasif, she pressed on for several days until she had covered a great distance. As she and her maids traveled, they happened to pass a monastery beside the road. There lived an elder monk named Danis, who had forty monks under him. When he beheld Zayn al-Mawasif’s beauty, he came down to her and pressed his hospitality upon her, saying, “Rest with us for ten days, then continue your journey.” She and her maids lodged with him in the monastery. Once she had settled there and he beheld her beauty and loveliness, she unsettled his faith, and he became infatuated with her. He began sending the monks to her one after another to win her favor for him. But every man he sent fell in love with her himself and sought to seduce her on his own behalf, while she made excuses and refused. Danis continued sending them one by one until he had sent all forty. Each, on seeing her, became enamored of her, lavished attentions upon her, and tried to win her for himself, without once mentioning Danis’s name. She refused them all and answered them in the harshest terms. At last Danis’s patience was exhausted and his passion grew unbearable. He said to himself, “As the proverb says, ‘No one scratches my body like my own fingernail, and no feet pursue my purpose like my own.’” Then he rose, prepared a sumptuous meal, carried it to her, and set it before her. This was on the ninth of the ten days they had agreed she would remain there to rest. As he placed it before her, he said, “Pray, eat in God’s name. The best provision is what is at hand.” She stretched out her hand, saying, “In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful,” and she and her maids ate. When she had finished, he said, “My lady, I should like to recite some verses to you.” “Recite them,” she said. So he recited:

You have possessed my heart with your glances and your cheeks, and all my prose and verse have come to speak of love for you. Will you abandon a lover, passionate and wasting, who struggles with desire even in his dreams? Do not leave me stricken and distraught: I have forsaken my pleasures and the duties of my monastery. O graceful maiden, who has deemed it lawful to shed my blood in love, have mercy on my state and compassion for my pleas! When Zayn al-Mawasif heard his poem, she answered with these two verses:

O seeker of union, let no hope of me deceive you. Cease your entreaties, man. Do not let your soul covet what you cannot possess, for covetous hopes go hand in hand with fear. When he heard her verses, he returned to his cell, lost in thought and not knowing what to do about her. He spent that night in the most wretched state. When darkness had fallen, Zayn al-Mawasif rose and said to her maids, “Come, let us go. We cannot contend with forty monks, each of whom seeks to seduce me.” “With pleasure and all honor,” the maids replied. They mounted their beasts and rode out through the monastery gate by night. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving her tale untold.

When it was the eight hundred and sixty-second night,

She said: I have heard, O fortunate king, that when Zayn al-Mawasif and her maids left the monastery by night, they continued on their way until they came upon a traveling caravan and mingled with it. The caravan was from Aden, the city where Zayn al-Mawasif had been living. She heard its people talking about her, saying that the judges and witnesses had died of love for her, that the townspeople had appointed other judges and witnesses in their place, and that Zayn al-Mawasif’s husband had been released from prison. When she heard this, she turned to her maids and said to Hubub, “Do you hear what they are saying?” Her maid replied, “If the monks, who believe that abstaining from women is an act of worship, were bewitched by love for you, what could be expected of judges whose belief is that there is no monasticism in Islam? But let us press on to our homeland while our secret is still concealed.” So they traveled on, making all possible haste.

Such was the case of Zayn al-Mawasif and her maids. As for the monks, when morning came, they went to greet Zayn al-Mawasif and found her quarters empty. Sickness seized them in their very entrails. The first monk tore his clothes and began reciting these verses:

Come to me, my companions, for soon I shall leave you and depart. Within my breast are the pangs of burning anguish; love’s sighs have dealt my heart a mortal wound, all for a maiden who came into our country, a rival to the full moon in the heavens. She went away and left me slain by her beauty, struck down by arrows that found my vital parts. Then the second monk recited these verses:

O you who depart bearing my very soul, have mercy on your wretched captive and kindly return. They departed, and with them all my ease departed; they went far away, while their sweet speech still lingered in my ears. They traveled far, and far beyond reach became their dwelling. Would that they might grant us a return, if only in a dream! When they set out, they took my heart and left all that remained of me amid my streaming tears. Then the third monk recited these verses:

My heart, my eyes, my ears all conjure up your image; my heart is your dwelling, and so is all my being. Your memory is sweeter than honey in my mouth, and flows like life itself through every rib. With wasting sorrow you have made me slender as a toothpick, and drowned me in the tears of passion. Let me behold you in a dream, that you may ease my cheeks of the torment of my tears. Then the fourth monk recited these two verses:

My tongue is dumb, and few are the words I speak of you; love is the source of all my pain and sickness. O full moon whose dwelling is in heaven, my bewilderment and passion for you have only grown! Then the fifth monk recited these verses:

I love a moon, graceful and straight of stature, with a slender waist that seems to complain of pain. Her saliva is like the purest, choicest wine; her hips are full, her countenance carefree. My heart is scorched by passion, and the lover lies slain amid the dark spear shafts. Tears, crimson as carnelian, flow down my cheeks like rain. Then the sixth monk recited these verses:

O you whose cruel rejection destroys me in love, O willow bough whose lucky star has risen! To you I complain of my grief and longing, O you who burn me in the fire of your rosy cheeks. Was ever a lover like the one who, for your sake, abandoned his devotions and no longer bows or prostrates himself in prayer? Then the seventh monk recited these verses:

She imprisoned my heart and set the tears of my eyes free, renewed my anguish and tore my patience apart. Sweet are her ways, but how bitter her rejection! At every meeting she shoots her arrow into my heart. O you who blame me, desist and repent of all you have said: in matters of passion, your account is not to be believed. Thus all the remaining monks wept and recited poetry. As for their elder, Danis, his tears and lamentations grew ever greater, and he could find no means of attaining union with her. Then he began chanting these verses:

I lost all patience on the day my loved ones journeyed forth, and she who was my heart’s desire departed from me. O driver of their camel litters, gently urge their mounts: perhaps they will be gracious and return to my abode. Since they departed, sleep has shunned my eyes; my sorrows are renewed, and all delight has left me. To God I bring my plaint of what I suffer for her love: she has wasted my body and robbed me of my strength. Then, when they had given up all hope of her, they agreed to paint her likeness and keep it with them, and in this resolve they remained until the Destroyer of Delights came to them. Such was the fate of the monks of the monastery. As for Zayn al-Mawasif, she set out in search of her beloved Masrur and journeyed on until she reached her house. She opened the doors and went inside, then sent for her sister Nasim. When her sister heard the news, she rejoiced exceedingly and brought her bedding and fine garments. She spread the bedding for her, dressed her, and let down the curtains over the doorways. Then she burned aloeswood, fragrant incense, ambergris, and pungent musk, until the whole house was steeped in their fragrance and became a place of surpassing delight. Zayn al-Mawasif put on her finest clothes and adorned herself most beautifully. All this took place while Masrur knew nothing of her return, but remained sunk in grievous distress and sorrow beyond measure. And dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent, leaving off her permitted tale.

Then, when it was the eight hundred and sixty-third night,

She said: It has reached me, O fortunate king, that when Zayn al-Mawasif entered her house, her sister brought her bedding and garments, spread the bedding for her, and dressed her in the finest clothes. All this took place while Masrur knew nothing of her return, but remained sunk in grievous distress and sorrow beyond measure. Then Zayn al-Mawasif sat talking with the slave girls who had stayed behind instead of travelling with her, and told them everything that had befallen her from beginning to end. Turning to Habub, she gave her some dirhams and told her to go and fetch food for herself and her slave girls. Habub went and brought the food and drink she had asked for. When they had finished eating and drinking, she ordered Habub to go to Masrur, find out where he was, and see how he fared. Now Masrur could find neither rest nor patience. As longing and passion, love and distraction overwhelmed him, he sought solace in reciting verses, and would go to her house and kiss its walls. It so happened that he went to the place where they had parted and began to recite these lovely verses:

I hid the pain I suffered, yet it showed; sleep fled my eyes, and wakefulness took its place. When thoughts had taken my heart captive, I cried, “O Time, spare nothing of me, leave me nothing!” Had Love’s sovereign dealt justly with me, sleep would not have been banished from my eyes. O my lords, have mercy on a lover wasted by longing; pity a chieftain of his people brought low. Those who reproached me persisted over you, but I would not heed them; I stopped my ears against them all and hid my secret from them. I kept faith with those I love. They said, “You love one who has gone away,” and I answered them. Then he returned to his house and sat weeping until sleep overcame him. In his dream he saw Zayn al-Mawasif come home. He awoke in tears, then set out for her house, reciting these verses:

Shall I forget her who holds me captive in love, while my heart burns in a fire hotter than glowing coals? I love her whose absence I lament to God, together with the turns of night and the calamities of my days. When shall we meet, O my heart’s utmost hope and desire? When shall I rejoice in our reunion, O face like the full moon? He was finishing these verses as he walked along the lane where Zayn al-Mawasif lived. There he caught the sweet fragrances, and his senses reeled, his heart seemed to leap from his breast, his passion flamed, and his longing grew more wild. Just then Habub appeared, on her way to carry out her errand. He saw her coming from the far end of the lane and rejoiced exceedingly. When Habub caught sight of him, she came up, greeted him, and gave him the glad news that her mistress Zayn al-Mawasif had returned. “She sent me to bring you to her,” she said. His joy at this knew no bounds. Habub took him with her and brought him back to her mistress. When Zayn al-Mawasif saw him, she came down from her couch and kissed him, and he kissed her; she embraced him, and he embraced her. They went on kissing and embracing until, overcome by love and the anguish of their separation, they both swooned and lay unconscious for a long while. When they recovered, she ordered her slave girl Habub to bring a jar filled with sugar sherbet and another filled with lemon sherbet. The girl brought everything she asked for, and they ate and drank, remaining thus until nightfall, when they began recounting all that had happened to them from beginning to end. Then she told him that she had embraced Islam. He rejoiced and became a Muslim too, as did her slave girls, and they all repented before Almighty God. When morning came, she sent for the judge and the witnesses and told them that she was free to marry, that her waiting period was over, and that she wished to wed Masrur. They drew up her marriage contract, and the pair lived in the sweetest contentment.

Such was the story of Zayn al-Mawasif. As for her Jewish husband, when the people of the city released him from prison, he set out for his own country and travelled on until he was three days’ journey from the city where Zayn al-Mawasif lived. She was told of this, and summoned her slave girl Habub. “Go to the Jewish cemetery,” she said, “and dig a grave. Lay fragrant herbs upon it and sprinkle water around it. If the Jew comes and asks you about me, tell him, ‘My mistress died of grief over you, and she has been dead these twenty days.’ If he says, ‘Show me her grave,’ take him to it and contrive to bury him alive there.” “I hear and obey,” she replied. Then they took up the bedding and put it away in an inner chamber, and Zayn al-Mawasif went to Masrur’s house. There she sat with him, eating and drinking, and so they continued until the three days had passed.

Such was their case. As for her husband, when he returned from his journey, he knocked at the door. “Who is there?” asked Habub. “Your master,” he answered. She opened the door, and he saw tears running down her cheeks. “Why are you weeping?” he asked. “And where is your mistress?” “My mistress died of grief over you,” she replied. When he heard these words, he was bewildered and wept bitterly. Then he said, “Habub, where is her grave?” She took him to the cemetery and showed him the grave she had dug. At this he wept bitterly and recited these two verses:

There are two things for which, though my eyes wept blood until they threatened to fail, they could not pay a tenth of the mourning due: the bloom of youth and parting from those we love. Then he wept bitterly and recited these verses:

Alas, my sorrow! My endurance has betrayed me; parted from my beloved, I have died of grief. What woes have struck me since my love was lost! How my heart is torn by what my own hands have wrought! Would that I had kept my secret all my days and never spoken of the passion raging in my breast. Once I lived in ease and sweet contentment; now I have fallen into humiliation and misery. O Habub, what grief you have stirred in me with news of the death of her who was my support above all others! Zayn al-Mawasif, would that there had been no parting, nor that which has torn my soul from my body! I rue the vows I broke, and have reproached myself for wilfully neglecting what sustained me. When he had finished his verses, he wept, groaned, and lamented, then fell unconscious. Habub hastened to drag him into the grave, still alive but insensible. She closed it over him and returned to her mistress to tell her what had happened. Zayn al-Mawasif rejoiced exceedingly and recited these two verses:

Time swore that it would never cease to trouble me. Your oath is broken, Time: make your atonement! The reproacher is dead, and my beloved is united with me; rise, then, and hasten to the call of joy! Thereafter they lived together in eating and drinking, amusement, play, and delight, until there came to them the Destroyer of Delights, the Sunderer of Companies, the Slayer of Sons and Daughters.