"Then King and the Hakim declared he had spoken remarkably well; nevertheless I am by no means sure that King Schelim knew what he meant. Whereupon the Dervish offered to go at once to the four incomparable princes, and cure them of their madness in supposing they had nothing to do, and King Schelim in great delight, and thoroughly glad to be rid of the trouble, told him that he placed his sons entirely in his hands; then taking him aside, he addressed to him a parting word in confidence.
"'Thou knowest, oh wise Dervish, that I have had no education myself, and therefore, as the proverb hath it, "To say I DON'T KNOW, is the comfort of my life," yet what better is a learned man than a fool, if he comes but to this conclusion at last? See thou restore wisdom and something to do to the souls of my sons.'
"Which the Dervish promised to accomplish, accordingly in company with the Hakim, he betook himself to the palace of the four princes, his Majesty's incomparable sons.
"Well, in spite of all they had heard, both the Dervish and Hakim were surprised at what they really found at the palace of the four princes.
"It was as if everything that human ingenuity could devise for the gratification, amusement, and occupation both of body and mind had been here brought together. Horses, elephants, chariots, creatures of every description, for hunting, riding, driving, and all sorts of sport were there, countless in numbers, and perfect in kind.
Gardens, pleasure-grounds, woods, flowers, birds, and fountains, to delight the eye and ear; while within the palace were sources of still deeper enjoyment. The songs of the poets and the wisdom of the ancients reposed there upon golden shelves. Musicians held themselves in readiness to pour exquisite melodies upon the air; games, exercises, in-door sports in every variety could be commanded in a moment, and attendants waited in all directions to fulfil their young masters' will.
"The poor old Dervish and Hakim looked at each other in fresh amazement at every step they took, and neither of them could find a proverb to fit so extraordinary a case.
"At last, after a long walk through chambers and anti-chambers without end, hung round with mirrors and ornaments, they reached the apartment of the young princes, where they found the four incomparable creatures lounging on four ottomans, sighing their hearts out, because they had 'nothing to do.'
"As the door opened, the eldest prince glanced languidly round, and inquired if the messenger had returned from their father, and being answered that the Dervish and Hakim, who now stood before him, were messengers from their father, he called out to know if the old gentleman had sent them anything to do!
"'The king, your father's spirit is disturbed with anxiety,' answered the Dervish, 'lest some sudden calamity should have deprived his sons of the use of their limbs or their senses, or lest their attendants should have failed to provide them with everything the earth affords delightful to the soul of man.'
"'The king, our father's spirit is disturbed with smoke,' replied the eldest prince, 'or he never would have sent such an old fellow as you with such an answer as that. What's the use of the use of one's limbs, or one's senses, or all the earth affords delightful to the soul of man, if we're sick of it all? Just go back and tell him we've got everything, and are sick of everything, and can do everything, and don't care to do anything, because everything is so 'slow;' so we will trouble him to find us something fresh to do.
There! is that clear enough, old gentleman?'
"'The king, your father,' answered the Dervish, 'has provided against even that emergency; I am come to tell you of something fresh to see and to do.'
"No sooner had the Dervish uttered these words, than the four princes jumped up from the ottoman in the most lively and vigorous manner, and clamoured to know what it was, expressing their hope that it was a 'jolly lark.'
"In answer to which the Dervish, lifting himself up in a commanding manner, stretched out his arm, and exclaimed, in a solemn voice:-
"'Young men, you have exhausted happiness. Nothing new remains in the world for you, but misery and want. Follow me!'
"There was something so unusual about the tone of this address, and it was uttered in so imposing a manner, that the young princes were, as it were, taken by storm, and they followed the Dervish and Hakim, without a word of inquiry or objection.
"And he led them away from the palace on the beautiful hill--away from all the sights and sounds that were collected together there to delight the soul of man with both bodily and intellectual enjoyment-- down into the city in the valley, among the close-packed habitations of common men, congregated there to labour, and just exist, and then die.
"And presently the Dervish and the Hakim spoke together, and then the Hakim led the way through a gloomy by-street, till he came to a habitation into which he entered, and the rest followed without a word. And there, stretched upon a pallet, wasted and worn with pain, lay a youth scarcely older than the young princes themselves, the lower part of whose body was wrapped round with bandages, and who was unable to move.
"The Hakim proceeded at once to unloosen the fastenings, and to examine the limbs of the sufferer. They had been crushed by a frightful accident, while working for his daily bread, in the quarries of marble near the palace on the hill.
"'Is there no hope, my father?' he ejaculated in agony as the bruised thighs were exposed to the light, revealing a spectacle from which the princes turned horrified away.
"But the Dervish stood between them and the door, and motioned them back.
"'Is there no hope?' repeated the youth. 'Shall I never again tread the earth in the freedom of health and strength? never again climb the mountain-side to taste the sweet breath of heaven? never again even step across this narrow room, to look forth into the narrow street?'
"Sobs of distress here broke from the speaker; and, covering his face with his hands, he awaited the Hakim's reply. But while the latter bent down to whisper his answer, the Dervish addressed himself to the trembling princes:-
"'Learn here, at last,' said he, 'the value of those limbs, the power of using which you look upon with such thankless indifference.
As it is with this youth to-day, so may it be with you to-morrow, if the decree goes forth from on high. Bid me not again return to your father to tell him you are weary of a blessing, the loss of which would overwhelm you with despair.'
"The young princes," continued Aunt Judy, were, as their father had said, but children yet; that is to say, although they were fourteen or fifteen years old, they were childish, in not having reflected or learnt to reason. But they were not hard-hearted at bottom. Their tenderness for others had never been called out during their life of self-indulgence, but the sight of this young man's condition, whom they personally knew as one who had at times been permitted to come up and join in their games, over-powered them with dismay.
"They entreated the Hakim to say if nothing could be done, and when he told them that a nurse, and better food, and the discourse of a wise companion, were all essential for the recovery of the patient, there was not, to say the truth, one among them who was not ready with promises of assistance, and even offers of personal help.
"And now, bidding adieu to this youthful sufferer, whose distress seemed to receive a sudden calm from the sympathy the young princes betrayed, the Hakim led the way to another part of the town, where he entered a house of rather better description, in a small room of which they found a pale, middle-aged man, who was engaged in making a coarse sort of netting for trees. Hearing the noise of the entrance, he looked up, and asked who it was, but with no change of countenance, or apparent recognition of anyone there. But as soon as the Hakim had uttered the words 'It is I,' a gleam of delight stole over the pale face, and the man, rising from his chair, stretched out his arms to the Hakim, entreating him to approach.
"And then the young princes saw that the pale man was blind.
"'Is there any change, oh Cassian?' inquired the Hakim, kindly.
"'None, my father,' answered the blind man, in a subdued tone. 'But shall I murmur at what is appointed? Surely not in vain was the privilege granted me, of transcribing the manuscripts which repose on the golden shelves in the palace of the royal princes. Surely not in vain did I gather, from the treasures of ancient wisdom, and the divine songs of the poets, sources of consolation for the suffering children of men.'
"'And has anyone been of late to read to you?' asked the Hakim.
"But this inquiry the blind man seemed scarcely able to answer. Big tears gathered into the sightless eyes, and folding his hands across his bosom, he murmured out:-
"'None, oh my father. Not to everyone is it permitted to trace the characters of light in which the wise have recorded their wisdom. I alone of my family knew the secret. I alone suffer now. But shall I not submit to this also with a cheerful spirit? It is written, and it behoves me to submit.'
"And, with tears streaming over his cheeks, the blind man took up the netting which he had laid aside, and forced himself to the work.
"'Seest thou!' exclaimed the Dervish, turning to the prince who stood next him, apparently absorbed in contemplating the scene. 'Seest thou how precious are the powers thou hast wearied of in the spring- time of life? How dear are the opportunities thou hast not cared to delight in? Bid me not again return to the king, your father, to tell him his sons can find no pleasure in blessings, the deprivation of which they themselves would feel to be the shutting out of the sun from the soul.'
"Then the young prince to whom the Dervish addressed himself, wept bitterly, and begged to be allowed to visit the blind man from time to time, and read to him out of the manuscripts that reposed on the golden shelves in the palace on the hill; and which, he now learnt for the first time, had been transcribed for his use, and that of his brothers, by the skill of the sufferer before him.
"And when the blind man clasped his hands over his head, and would have prostrated himself on the ground, in gratitude to him who spoke, asking who the charitable pitier of the afflicted could be, the prince embraced him as if he had been his brother, forced him back gently into his seat, and bidding him await him at that hour on the morrow, followed the Hakim from the house.
"And now the Dervish and Hakim spoke together once again, and the place they visited next was of a very different description.
"Enclosed within walls, and limited in extent, because in the outskirts of a populous town, the garden into which they presently entered, was--though but as a drop in comparison with the ocean--no unworthy rival of the gorgeous pleasure-grounds of the palace.
There, too, the roses unfolded themselves in their glory to the sun, tiny fountains scattered their cooling spray around, and singing- birds, suspended on overshadowing trees, of this scene of miniature beauty a venerable was perceived, seated under the shadow of an arbour, in front of a table on which were scattered manuscripts, papers, parchments, and dried plants, and in one corner of which were laid a set of tablets and writing materials.
"Although the door by which they entered had fallen to, with a noise as they passed through, the old man did not seem to be aware of it, nor did he notice their presence until they came so near, that their shadows fell on some of the papers on the table. Then, indeed, he looked suddenly up, and with a smile and gesture of delight, bade them welcome.
"It was not difficult to divine that the old man had lost the sense of hearing, and the Dervish, taking up the tablets from the table, wrote upon them the following words, which he showed to the young princes, before presenting them to him for whom they were intended:-
"'Hast thou not wearied yet, oh brother, of thy narrow garden, and the ever-recurring succession of flowers, and thy study of the secrets of Nature?'
"Whereat the deaf man smiled again, and wrote upon the tablets:-
"'Can anyone weary of tracing out the skilful providence of the Divine Mind? Is it not a world within a world, oh my brother, and inexhaustible in itself?'
"The youngest prince pressed forward to read the answer, and having read it, turned to the Dervish, and said, 'Ask him why the singing- birds are suspended in the garden, whose voices he cannot hear.'
"'Write on the tablet, my son,' said the Dervish; and when he had written it, the old man answered, in the same manner as before:-
"'I would remember my infirmity, my son, lest my soul should be tied to the beauties of the visible world, but now when I see the twittering bills of the feathered songsters, I remember that one sense has departed, and that the others must follow; and I prepare myself for death, trusting that those who have rejoiced in the Divine Mind--however imperfectly--here, may rejoice yet more hereafter, when no sense or power shall be wanting!'
"After this, the venerable old man led them to a secluded corner of the garden, where his young son was instructing one portion of a class of children from the secrets of his father's manuscripts, while another set of youngsters were engaged in cultivating flowers, by regular instruction and rule. Many a bright, cheerful face looked up at the old man and his visitors as they passed, but no one seemed to wish to leave his work, or his lesson, or the kind young tutor who ruled among them.
"'We have wasted our lives, oh my father!' exclaimed the young princes, as they passed from this sight. 'Tell us, may we not come back again here, to learn true wisdom from this man and his son?'