Faristan and Fatima. An Oriental Legend. Done Into His Mother-Tongue By E. A. Bowring . Part I. Once in a famous Eastern city, There lived a tailor with a pretty, In fact a very pretty wife, Whom he loved better than his life. Her eyes were of the blackest sort, No lily’s stem was half so slender, Of finest silk her hair seem’d wrought, Her rosy cheeks were smooth and tender, Her age scarce twenty,—and, in short, It was impossible to mend her. One day quoth he : “ You darling little wife, you ! Whatever would become of hapless me, If I should happen to survive you, And your fair body I should see Lying a corpse, all cold and void of motion, Within my arms ? The very notion Gives me a chill as if I now were dying ! I swear that if I, wretched man, Only survive the shock, you’ll find me lying Upon your tomb for nine long days, and crying, Crying the very best I can !”— “ And if, dear husband,” she began, I’m the survivor when we’re parted, I’ll buried be, my Faristan, Inside your coffin, broken-hearted.”— “ A noble woman !” he with rapture thought, As in his arms his wife he caught. He felt no doubt about it, for, you know, She said it,—so it must be so ! About a year had pass’d away Since the agreement made that day, When it so chanced that, as they sat. Over their evening meal of curry, Spending the time in pleasant chat, Poor Fatima, in too great hurry To eat some tit-bit, while her eyes Ogled, in manner far from wise, Her husband, not her plate, by ill-luck swallow’d A little bone—of course you guess what follow’d. What could be done ? Poor Faristan Skips here and there, does all he can, Upon the back he thumps her, He shakes her, bumps her, jumps her, He tries to push it down, heupwards tries to pull it,— In vain ! She’s choked by that small bone insideher little gullet ! Only imagine his despair ! Soon in her winding-sheet they fold her, Black in the face, it may be, yet so fair ! He could not summon courage to behold her. Now Fatima is in her grave, And Faristan begins to rave, And rolls upon it, sighing with such ardour, That he is heard a mile away and more, Fully resolved (so much did he regard her) Nine days to stop there, as we know he swore. The Prophet chanced to pass that way, Found it impossible to pray In such a noise, she asked politely :— “ What mean these groans and writhings so un-sightly ? ” “ O, sir !”’ said he, “ within this tomb “a lies The best of wives,—I never knew a chaster Or nobler woman, loving, young, and wise,— And in the grave this very day I’ve placed her.” The Prophet answer’d : “ Since you for her sake Are grieving so, and merit to be lucky, I’ll grant your wish,” and as he spake, The staff his hand was grasping struck he Upon the tomb, and, lo ! it open’d wide, And Fatima appear’d outside In health and beauty, and with rapturous passion Rush’d to her husband’s arms in loving fashion. How they embraced and hugg’d each other ! Any spectator must have thought Such kisses were enough to smother Both man and wife.—And next they sought To thank the Prophet for this miracle portentous, But couldn’t—he was non inventus ! Part II. Good Faristan bethought him then That Fatima’s loose funeral linen raiment (Although ’twas dusk) for walking home again Was scarcely, in the usual way, meant. “ Light of my eyes ! behind these stones stoop down, While I run home and fetch your shoes and gown ; The moon is up, there’s little danger in it, Fear not, and I’ll be back in half a minute.” He spoke, and vanish’d like a shot.— Meanwhile there happen’d to approach the spot The Sultan’s son, escorted by the light Of many torches through the night. His servants, by the flickering glare, Perceived a woman with dishevell’d hair, And scanty clothing, seeking to conceal Her somewhat striking dishabille, Which in the darkness, by the torchlight aided, Seem’d greater than it in the day did. The Sultan’s son his march suspended, And then approach’d her unattended, While she with arms and hands was trying Her want of clothing to replace, And left exposed, in beauty vying, Two legs and feet of matchless grace. The Prince, instead of putting (as his duty Clearly enjoin’d) his hands before his face, With might and main stood staring at the beauty— “ What loveliness is this I trace ! And yet the time, spot, dress, are rather funny— ” “ My lord !” she said in accents sweet as honey, “ I feel so awkward in this negligée, I really know not what to say !” The Prince at once confess’d the force Of her remark, and then of course Gave her his own great coat at this suggestion, And said, “ Fair lady, just one question !

A man and a woman sitting cross-legged and looking at one another on a short platform. There is a cat and a hookah on the floor. 1/2 page.

Pray, are you married ? If you single are, Come home with me, and be the brighteststar Within my harem ! Be a prince’s bride, I love you more than all the world beside !”’ Fair Fatima soon comprehended Th’ advantage of this offer splendid, And found her knowledge as a tailor In measuring its extent avail her. Alas ! when this proposal made he, I grieve to say the naughty lady Forgot her duty and her plighted troth, Forgot her husband and her oath. “ My lord ! I’m single, and quite ready To offer you allegiance steady, And live but for Your Royal Highness !” “ A bargain !” he exclaim’d with slyness ;— A horse is brought, and, lighted by thetorches, Soon Fatima’s inside his harem’s porches. Scarce had she gone, when Faristan comes back, Bringing the clothes she seem’d to lack. She is not there ! His wonderment immense is ; He shouted, search’d, and well-nigh lost his senses. “ She is some robber’s prize,” then thought he,— In this we scarce can contradict him ; He little dreamt that she could be so naughty, As to have been a willing victim ! “ Why didn’t I escort her home at once, Dress’d as she was ? Alas, poor silly dunce ! In what distress my darling little wife ; Will be ! She said that she should find her life So sad without me, that she needs must be Buried alive in the same grave with me. You phoenix of a woman ! if a stranger Has dared to pester you with his advances, I’m sure that you’ll have saved yourself from danger, As any noble matron would,—the chance is That you have scratch’d your face, or torn your hair, Or even stabb’d yourself in your despair !” Alas, poor Faristan deluded, She felt more happy far than you did ! She liked her quarters in the harem so, That she had not the slightest wish to go, And took so kindly to her new position, She quite forgot you and your sad condition. Part III. Poor Faristan begins to seek her Early and late, through all the country round, But all in vain; his hopes grow weaker, No trace of her can anywhere be found. He also searches for his friend the Prophet, Hoping that he could tell him something of it.— At length a person who was present At the adventure, brought the news un-pleasant That Fatima, the good and tender, Instead of swearing “ No surrender!” Had shown the Prince a preference decided, And in his harem happily resided. Our hero now no longer waits, But hastens to the palace gates, Past all the servants, heralds,pushes, Into the Prince’s very presence rushes, And there begins he to implore him His faithful lost one to restore him.

A group of men and one woman. One man is holding a hookah in the background. The hose and mouthpiece of the hookah are looped through the buttonhole of a man in the foreground’s jacket. The woman points to the mouthpiece. 1/2 page.

The Prince, kind man (who maybe had enough Of Fatima ere this), gave no rebuff, But told him what had pass’d, without conceal-ment, On learning what this strong appeal meant. “ She doubtless was beside herself with terror,” Said Faristan, “ and thought that you wereme ; O let her come, and I’ll explain her error,— My own dear wife ! You presently shall see, My gracious lord, with how much fervour She’ll rush to kiss me—heaven preserve her !” “ ’Tis well !” the Prince replied, “ so be it ! I’ll at a distance stand to see it.” The lady came—good Faristan Was so much dazzled by the splendour Of her gold clothes and jewels, that, poor man, He knew her scarce, and felt like some pretender. But Fatima in half a second Knew him too well, stepp’d back, turn’d deadlywhite, Then fiery red ; but soon she reckon’d With woman’s wit the way to win the fight. Now, when the Prince observed her start, he Rush’d up and said, “ You know this party ?” “ O yes !” replied the gentlest of all creatures, I recognise too well his features. This is the robber who attack’d me, Beat me, and dragg’d me to the spot from whence Your Highness had the goodness to extract me, Half-naked, thanks to his impertinence !” On hearing his dear wife thus speak, Poor Faristan turns pale as death, Stares wildly round, feels faint and weak, His senses swim, he gasps for breath. The Court in chorus all asserted Such conduct proved a mind perverted ; His guilt was clear, the Prince commanded That they should take him to the Cadi. Into the judgment-room he’s handed, The case is tried, the gentle lady Duly deposes, our poor friend Makes no defence, what cares he for his life, Seeing this conduct of his faithless wife ? He’d rather have it at an end. The verdict’s “ Guilty !”’ so they take him straight-way Off to the gallows near the city’s gateway. What could have saved his neck and reputation, As he stood trembling at the gallows’ base, Had not the Prophet (who in our narration Has play’d a part) approach’d the place ? His figure glisten’d with an angel’s splendour. “ This man is innocent, and no offender, And I’m his witness too !” he cried aloud. The hangman dropp’d the rope, the crowd Stared when they heard this speech of one Who never spoke in ignorance or malice, And all together hasten’d to the palace ; The Sultan came, attended by his son. The Prophet, highly honour’d at the Court, First says his say ; then Fatima is brought. Around them both, the others form a ring ; Too conscious of her guilt, the naughty thing Lifts up her eyes, the Prophet recognises, Falls down a corpse, while great the crowd’s sur-prise is. Good Faristan gets ample compensation, While Fatima’s consign’d to her old tomb ; There she may stop until the day of doom. He hasn’t now the slightest inclination To throw himself, and weep, and rave E’en for nine seconds on her grave.