The Amorous Goldsmith

Once there was a goldsmith who had but two passions in life: women, and good wine. One day he entered the house of a friend and observed on one of the walls the picture of a young woman; fairer or lovelier or prettier wench eye never beheld. The goldsmith studied the portrait with interest, and was astounded by its beauty; straight way his heart was invaded by a fond love for the image, so that he fell sick and was presently on the verge of destruction. One of his friends came to visit him in this grievous state, and inquired of him how he felt and where the pain was.

"Brother," the invalid replied, "my sickness, and all that has afflicted me, springs from love. I've fallen in love with a picture painted on What's-his name's wall."

"Why, that proves what little sense you have, brother," his friend scolded him. "How could you be in love with a picture on a wall, that doesn't hurt or help anyone? It doesn't see, it doesn't hear, it can't take, it can't deny. . ."

"But the painter must have had some pretty woman for his model when he painted it," the goldsmith broke in.

"Maybe he invented it out of his head," the visitor objected.

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Amorous Goldsmith

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"Well, whatever the case may be, I'm in love with her, and at death's door," groaned the goldsmith. "If the original of the picture exists anywhere in the world, I hope and pray that Allah may give me length of days sufficient for me to see her."

When those who had attended the sickbed left, they at once went about inquiring after the painter of the portrait, to discover that he had gone on a journey to another town. So they wrote him a letter in which they represented to him their friend's deplorable condition, and asked whether he had invented the likeness out of his own brain, or actually seen the original in the flesh.

"I painted the picture after the likeness of an actual singing-girl," came his reply. "She belongs to a vizier, and lives in the city of Kashmir in the clime of India."

When the goldsmith, who resided in Persia, heard this news he at once packed his bags and set off for India. After severe exertions he reached Kashmir, and took up lodgings in the city. Some days later he went to see a certain druggist, a local citizen who was a shrewd, intelligent, sagacious fellow, and interrogated him about their ruler and his character.

"Oh, our king's a very just man," the druggist told him. "Quite an admirable character. He's a real benefactor to his subjects, equitable in his dealings with all who live under his sway. There's only one class of people he detests – sorcerers. Let a sorcerer, male or female, fall into his hands and he flings them down a pit outside the city and leaves them to die of starvation."

"And what about his ministers?"

The druggist gave him a quick sketch of each in turn. Finally the conversation came around to the singing-girl of the picture.

"She's in the household of Vizier So-and-so," he told him.

The goldsmith held himself in a few days while he thought out some stratagem. Then one rainy night, when it was thundering and blowing a gale, he set off for the vizier's house armed with some thieves' tackle. Fastening a ladder by hooks to the wall, he climbed to the top of the mansion and slipped down into the courtyard. There he saw all the vizier's slave-girls fast asleep, each in her own bed. One of the beds was marble, and lying in it was a girl radiant as the moon rising on its fourteenth night. Going up to her, he sat down by her head and pulled off the coverlet, that was of gold cloth. At her head and feet stood a pair of candlesticks of shining gold, each holding a candle of pure ambergris. Under her pillow he found a silver box, neatly concealed by her head, containing all her ornaments. Drawing out a knife, he stuck it into the girl's buttocks, inflicting a visible wound. She woke up in a terriffic fright, but seeing him close by her she was too afraid to scream. So she kept quiet, supposing that what he was after was her money.

"Here," she whispered, "take the box and everything in it. You won't gain anything by killing me. I throw myself on your mercy. I appeal to your honor."

The goldsmith took the box with its contents and went away. Next morning he got dressed early and went off with the box of ornaments to seek audience of the king.

"Your majesty," he cried after duly kissing the ground, "I'm your sincere well wisher. I'm from Khorasan, and I've come seeking your majesty's protection. I wish to place myself under your banner. I reached the city late last night," he went on, "but I found the gate was locked, so I slept outside it. While I was lying there, half asleep and half awake, I saw four women approaching; one was riding on a broom, another on a fan ... I knew at once they must be witches, coming into our city. As one of them approached me she gave me a kick with her foot, then she hit me with a fox's tail she had in her hand. That hurt a lot, and I was so infuriated by the blow that I pulled out a knife I had on me and stuck her in the buttocks, just as she turned her back on me and was making off. Feeling the (concluded on next page) wound, she fairly took to her heels, dropping as she ran this box and everything in it. I picked it up and opened it, to find these valuable ornaments inside. Take it; I don't need it, as I'm a man that wanders among the mountains. I've cast worldly things out of my mind and foresworn all earthly goods, seeking the favor of Allah, the Most High."

He left the box with the king and departed. As soon as he was gone the king opened the box; he took out all the ornaments, and began turning them over in his hands, to discover among them a necklace which he remembered having given to the vizier who owned the slave-girl. He therefore summoned the vizier immediately.

"Look," he said when the minister came in, "isn't that the necklace I gave you?"

The vizier recognized the necklace at once.

"Yes," he agreed. "And I gave it to a singing-girl of mine."

"Bring me the girl forthwith," the king ordered.

The vizier produced her in a trice.

"Now uncover her buttocks, and look and see if there's a wound there or not."

The vizier uncovered the girl's buttocks, and saw the knife-wound clearly.

"Yes, Sire," he reported. "The girl is wounded."

"Then she's a witch," the king announced. "Exactly as the holy fellow told me. There's not the least shadow of a doubt."

So the king ordered them to put the girl in the Sorcerers' Pit, and they despatched her there that her day. When night fell, the goldsmith, knowing that his stratagem had succeeded, came to the guardian of the pit carrying a bag of a thousand golden dinars, and sat chatting with him till a third of the night passed. Then he turned the conversation in an interesting direction.

"You know, brother, that girl in the pit is quite innocent of the mischief they alleged against her. It was myself that brought her to her present pass."

And he told the watchman the whole story from first to last.

"Brother, take this purse," he continued. "There's a thousand dinars in it. Give me the girl, and I'll take her off to my country. These thousand dinars will be much more useful to you than keeping the girl in jail. And profit into the bargain of the reward Allah will give you on our account. We'll both of us pray for your welfare and safety."

When the warder heard this story he marvelled exceedingly at the goldsmith's stratagem and how it had succeeded. He took the bag with its precious contents and let the girl go, on the strict condition that the goldsmith should not tarry with her in the city a single hour. The goldsmith took her and set forth at once, journeying with all speed until he came to his homeland, his purpose fully attained.

"I will give you a thousand dinars for her," said the goldsmith.