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There was once upon a time a Padishah who had an only son. His father
guarded him as the apple of his eye, and there was not a desire of his
heart that was not instantly gratified.

One night a dervish appeared to the King’s son in a dream, and showed
him the World’s most beauteous Damsel, and there he drained with her the
cup of love. After that the prince became another man. He could neither
eat nor drink. Sleep brought him neither pleasure nor refreshment, and
he all at once grew sallow and withered. They sent for doctor after
doctor, they sent for wizard after wizard, but they could not tell the
nature of the malady or find a cure for it.

Then the sick prince said to his father: “My lord Padishah and father,
no leech, no wise man can help me, wherefore weary them in vain? The
World’s most beauteous Damsel is the cause of my complaint, and she will
be either the life or the death of me.”

The Padishah was frightened at the words of his son, and his chief care
was to drive the damsel out of the lad’s head. “‘Tis dangerous to even
think of such a thing,” said he, “for her love will be thy death.” But
his son continued to pine away daily, and life had no joy for him. Again
and again the father begged his son to tell him his heart’s desire and
it should be instantly fulfilled, and the eternal reply of the son was:
“Let me seek the World’s most beauteous Damsel.” Then the Padishah
thought to himself: “If I do not let him go he will only perish, and he
cannot therefore be worse off if he goes.” Then said he: “Go, my son,
after thy love, and may the righteous Allah be merciful to thee.”

So the next day the prince set out on his journey. He went up hill and
down dale, he crossed vast deserts, he traversed rugged wildernesses in
search of his beloved, the World’s most beauteous Damsel. On and on he
went, till he came at last to the sea-shore, and there he saw a poor
little fish writhing in the sand, and the fish besought him to throw it
back into the sea again. The youth had compassion upon the fish, and
threw it back into the sea again. Then the little fish gave him three
scales, and said to him: “If ever thou dost get into any trouble, burn
these scales.”

Again the youth went on his way till he came to a vast desert, and
there on the ground in front of him he saw a lame ant. The little
creature told him that he was going to a wedding, but could not overtake
his comrades because they hastened so quickly. Then the youth took up
the ant and carried him to his comrades. As they parted the ant gave him
a little piece of its wing and said: “If ever thou shouldst get into any
trouble, burn this bit of wing.”

Again the youth followed his road, full of weary woefulness, and
reaching the borders of a large forest he there saw a little bird
struggling with a large serpent. The little bird asked help of the
youth, and with one blow he cut the serpent in two. The bird then gave
him three feathers. “If ever thou shouldst get into trouble,” it said,
“burn these little feathers.”

Again he took up his pilgrim’s staff and went beyond the mountains,
beyond the sea, till he came to a large city. It was the realm of the
father of the World’s most beauteous Damsel. He went straight into the
palace to the Padishah, and begged the hand of his daughter in the name
of Allah. “Nay,” said the Padishah, “thou must first of all accomplish
three tasks for me. Only after that canst thou make known thy wishes to
my daughter.”

With that he took a ring, cast it into the sea, and said to the King’s
son: “If thou canst not find it for me in three days, thou art a dead
man.” Then the King’s son fell a-thinking till he bethought him of the
three scales, and he had no sooner burnt them than the little fish stood
before him and said: “What dost thou command, O my Sultan?”--“The ring
of the World’s most beauteous Damsel hath been cast into the sea, and I
want it back again,” said the prince. Then the fish sought for the ring
but couldn’t find it; it dived down a second time and still it couldn’t
find it; a third time it descended right down into the seventh ocean,
drew up a fish, cut it open, and there was the ring. So the youth gave
the ring to the Padishah, and the Padishah gave it to his daughter.

Now there was a cave near the palace full of gravel and grain. “My
second task,” said the Padishah, “is that thou dost separate the grain
from the gravel.” Then the youth entered the cave, took out the ant’s
wing and burned it, whereupon the whole cave was swarming with ants, and
they set to work upon the grain in hot haste. The day was now nearly
over, and the same evening the youth sent word to the Padishah that the
second task also was accomplished.

“The third task still remains,” said the Padishah, “and then thou mayest
have my daughter.” With that he sent for a maid-servant, had her head
cut off straightway, and then said to the youth: “Thus shall be done to
thy head also if thou restore not this damsel to life again.” The youth
quitted the palace in deep thought, and at last he bethought him that
the bird’s feathers might help him. So he took them out and burned them,
and lo! the bird stood before him ere yet his lips had commanded it to
appear. And the youth complained bitterly to the bird of the task that
was set him.

Now the bird had friends among the Peris, and, flying up into the air,
in no very long time was back again with a cruse of water in its beak.
“I have brought thee heavenly water which can give life even to the
dead,” said the bird. So the prince entered the palace, and no sooner
had he sprinkled the damsel with the water than she sprang up as if she
had never been dead at all.

Now the rumour of all these things reached the ears of the World’s most
beauteous Damsel, and she ordered the prince to be brought before her.
The damsel dwelt in a little marble palace, and before the palace was a
golden basin which was fed by the water of four streams. The courtyard
of this palace also was a vast garden wherein were many great trees and
fragrant flowers and singing-birds, and to the youth it seemed like the
gate of Paradise.

Suddenly the door of the palace was opened, and the garden was so
flooded with light that the eyes of

the youth were dazzled even to blindness. It was the World’s most
beauteous Damsel who had appeared in the door of the palace, and the
great light was the rosiness of her two radiant cheeks. She approached
the prince and spoke to him, but scarcely did the youth perceive her
than he fainted away before her eyes. When he came to himself again they
brought him into the damsel’s palace, and there he rejoiced exceedingly
in the World’s most beauteous Damsel, for her face was as the face of a
Houri, and her presence was as a vision of Peris.

“Oh, prince!” began the damsel, “thou that art the son of Shah Suleiman,
canst aid me in my deep distress. In the vast garden of the Demon of
Autumn there is a bunch of singing-pomegranates: if thou canst get them
for me I will be thine for ever and ever.”

Then the youth gave her his hand upon it, the hand of loyal friendship,
and departed far far away. He went on and on without stopping, he went
on, and for months and months he crossed deserts where man had never
trod, and mountains over which there was no path. “Oh, my Creator,” he
sighed, “wilt thou not show me the right way?” and he rose up again each
morning from the place where he had sunk down exhausted the night
before, and so he went on and on from day to day till the path led him
right down to the roots of the mountains. There it seemed to him as if
it were the Day of Judgment. Such a noise, such a hubbub, such a
hurly-burly of sounds arose that all the hills and rocks around him
trembled. The youth knew not whether it was friend or foe, man or
spirit, and as he went on further, trembling with fear, the noise grew
louder and the dust rose up round about him like smoke. He knew not
where he was going, but he might have known from what he heard that the
smaller garden of the Demon of Autumn was now but a six-months’ journey
off, and all this great hubbub and clamour was the talisman of the gate
of the garden.

And now he drew still nearer and could see the gate of the smaller
garden, and could hear the roaring of the talismans in the gate, and
could perceive the guardian of the gate also. Then he went up to him and
told him of his trouble. “But art thou not afraid of this great
commotion?” asked the guardian of the gate. “Is it not because of thee
that all the talismans are so impatient? even I am afraid thereat!”

But the youth did nothing but inquire continually about the cluster of
singing-pomegranates.

“‘Tis a hard task to reach that,” said the guardian, “yet if thou art
not afraid, perhaps thou mayest get it after all. Three-months’ journey
from hence thou wilt come to such another place of talismans, there
also there is a garden, and the guardian of that garden is my own
mother. But whatever thou dost, take care not to draw nigh to her, nor
let her draw nigh to thee. Give her my salaams, but tell her nothing of
thy trouble unless she ask thee.”

So the youth went on towards the second garden, and after a
three-months’ journey such a monstrous din and racket arose around him
as to make the former noise seem nothing. This was the greater garden of
the Demon of Autumn, and the great din proceeded from the talismans of
the garden. The youth lay down beside a rock, and when he had waited a
little he saw something like a man approaching him, but as it came
nearer he perceived that it was an old woman, a little beldame of thrice
thirty winters. The hairs of her head were as white as snow, red circles
were round her eyes, her eyebrows were like pointed darts, the fire of
hell was in her eyes, her nails were two ells long, her teeth were like
faggots, her two lips had only one jaw, she shuffled along leaning on a
stick, drew in her breath through her nose, and coughed and sneezed at
every step she took. “Oh-oh! oh-oh!” she groaned, shuffling painfully
along in her large slippers, till it seemed as if she would never be
able to reach the new-comer. This was the mother of the guardian of the
lesser garden, and she herself was the guardian of the larger one.

At last she got up to the youth, and asked him what he was doing in
those parts? The prince gave her the compliments of her son. “Ah, the
vagabond!” said the old woman, “where didst thou meet with him? That
wicked lad of mine knew that I would have compassion on thee, so he sent
thee hither. Very well, let us make an end of thee.” And with that she
seized hold of him, and cried: “Hi, Earless!” and something came running
up to him, and before he knew where he was, the youth found himself
seated on its back. He looked down upon it and saw beneath him a
creature like a shrunken huddled toad, that had neither eyes nor ears.
This was Earless, and away it went with him. When he first saw it, it
was as small as a worm, but the moment he was on its back it took such
leaps that every three of them covered as much space as a vast ocean.
Suddenly Earless stopped short and said to him: “Whatever thou mayest
see, whatever thou mayest hear, take care not to speak, or it will be
all up with thee,” and with that it vanished.

There in the rippling water in front of the prince, like a dream-shape,
lay a large garden. This garden had neither beginning nor end, and
within it were such trees and flowers and sweet fruit as the eye of man
hath never seen. Whithersoever one turned nothing was to be heard but
the rustling of soft wings and the songs of nightingales, so that the
whole atmosphere of that garden seemed to be an eternal song. The youth
looked all about him, his reason died away within him, he entered the
garden. But then he heard quite near to him such a woeful wailing that
his heart was like to break, and the thought of the cluster of
pomegranates occurred to his mind. His eyes sought for them in every
direction but in vain, till he came to the centre of the garden, where
was a fountain and a little palace made of flowers, and the pomegranates
hung down from the flowery palace like so many shining lamps. The youth
plucked a branch, but no sooner had he done so than there was a horrible
cry, and a warning voice exclaimed--

“A son of man of us hath ta’en,
     We by a son of man are slain!”

The youth scarce had time to escape from the garden. “Hasten! fly!”
cried Earless, who was waiting again at the gate. The youth jumped on
its back, and in a couple of leaps they were beyond the ocean. Then only
did the youth think of looking at the cluster of pomegranates. There
were fifty pomegranates on it, and each one had a different voice, and
each voice had a different song--it was just as if all the music in the
wide world was gathered together in one place. By this time they had
reached the old grandmother, the old old beldame of thrice thirty
winters.

“Guard well thy pomegranate cluster,” said the old woman, “never leave
it out of thy sight. If on the first night of thy wedding thou and thy
bride are able to listen to their music all night without going to sleep
once, these pomegranates will love thee, and after that thou wilt have
nothing more to fear, for they will deliver thee from every ill.” Then
they went from the old mother to the son; he also bade them take to
heart his mother’s words, and then the youth went on his way to his
sole-beloved, the World’s most beauteous Damsel.

The girl was awaiting him with the greatest impatience, for she also
dearly loved the prince, and her days were passed in anxiety lest some
mischief should befall the youth. All at once she heard the sound of
music, the fifty pomegranates were singing fifty different songs with
fifty different voices, and she opened her heart to the beautiful music.
The damsel rushed forth to meet the youth, and at their joyous embrace
the pomegranates rang out with a melody so sweet that the like of it is
not to be found in this world, but only in Allah’s world beyond the
grave. Forty days and forty nights did the wedding-feast last, and on
the fortieth day the King’s son went in unto his bride, and they lay
down and listened to the pomegranates. Then when the day was born again
they arose, and the pomegranate cluster rejoiced again in their love,
and so they went on their way to the prince’s own kingdom. There all the
feasting began again, and in his joy the old Padishah resigned his
kingdom to his son, the Padishah of the cluster of Pomegranates.