Arabs -- Folklore; Fairy tales; Folklore -- Arab countries
Very well, replied Abon Hassan, shaking his head, you would have me
believe all this but I can tell you, you are all fools or mad; and that
is a great pity, for you are very handsome: for I can tell you, that
since I saw you, I have been at home, where I used my mother so ill, that
they sent me to a mad-house, and kept me three weeks, and beat me every
day with a bull’s pizzle; and yet you would make me believe all this to
be a dream. Commander of the Faithful answered the lady, we are all ready
to swear by what your majesty holds most dear, that all you tell is a
dream; for you never stirred out of this hall since yesterday, but slept
here all night long.
The confidence with which the lady assured Abon Hassan that all she said
was truth, and that he had never been out of the hall since that time,
made him not to know what to believe, but bewildered his senses. O
Heaven! said he to himself, am I Abon Hassan, or the commander of the
faithful? Almighty God, enlighten my understanding, and inform me of the
truth. Then he bared his shoulders, and showed the ladies the livid
weals. Look, and judge, said he, whether these strokes could come to me
in a dream, or when I was asleep. For my part, I can affirm that they
were real blows; for I feel the smart of them yet, and that is a
testimonial there is no room to doubt of. Now, if I received these
strokes in my sleep, it is the most surprising and extraordinary thing in
the world, and what I cannot understand.
In this uncertainty, Abon Hassan called to one of the officers that stood
round him: Come hither, said he, and bite the tip of my ear, that I may
know whether I am asleep or awake. The officer obeyed him, and bit so
hard that he made him cry out horridly: the music struck up at the same
time, and the officers and ladies all began to dance, and skip about Abon
Hassan, and made such a noise, that he was in a perfect enthusiasm, and
played a thousand merry tricks. He tore off his caliph’s habit, threw off
his turban, and jumped up in his shirt and drawers, and taking hold of
two of the ladies’ hands, fell a-dancing and singing, and jumping and
cutting capers, that the caliph could not contain himself, but burst into
so violent a laughter at this sudden pleasantry of Abon Hassan’s, that he
fell backwards, and made a greater noise than the musicians and all of
them together, and lay in that condition for some time. At last he got up
again, and putting out his head, cried out, Abon Hassan, Abon Hassan,
what! have you a mind to kill me with laughing?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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