The Story of the Barber’s Sixth Brother.

I have now only to relate the story of my sixth brother, called Schacabac, with the hare lips.  At first he was industrious enough to improve the hundred dirhems of silver which fell to his share, and went on very well; but a reverse of fortune brought him to beg his bread, which he did with a great deal of dexterity.  He studied chiefly to get into great men’s houses by means of their servants and officers, that he might have access to their masters, and obtain their charity.  One day as he passed by a magnificent house, whose high gate shewed a very spacious court, where there was a multitude of servants, he went to one of them, and asked him to whom that house belonged?  “Good man,” replied the servant, “whence do you come that you ask me such a question?  Does not all that you behold point out to you that it is the palace of a Barmecide?” “My brother, who very well knew the liberality and generosity of the Barmecides, addressed himself to one of his porters (for he had more than one), and prayed him to give him alms.  “Go in,” said he, “nobody hinders you, and address yourself to the master of the house; he will send you back satisfied.”

My brother, who expected no such civility, thanked the porters, and with their permission entered the palace, which was so large, that it took him a considerable time to reach the Barmecide’s. apartment; at last he came to an arcade square building of an excellent architecture, and entered by parterres of flowers intersected by walks of several colours, extremely pleasant to the eye:  the lower apartments round this square were most of them open, and were shut only with great curtains to keep out the sun, which were opened again when the heat was over to let in the fresh air.

Such an agreeable place would have struck my brother with admiration, even if his mind had been more at ease than it was.  He went on till he came into a hall richly furnished and adorned with painting of gold and azure foliage, where he saw a venerable man with a long white beard, sitting at the upper end on a sofa, whence he concluded him to be the master of the house; and in fact it was the Barmecide himself, who said to my brother in a very civil manner, that he was welcome; and asked him what he wanted?  “My lord,” answered my brother, in a begging tone, “I am a poor man who stands in need of the help of such rich and generous persons as yourself.”  He could not have addressed himself to a fitter person than this lord, who had a thousand good qualities.

The Barmecide seemed to be astonished at my brother’s answer, and putting both his hands to his stomach, as if he would rend his clothes for grief, “Is it possible,” cried he, “that I am at Bagdad, and that such a man as you is so poor as you say? this is what must never be.”  My brother, fancying that he was going to give him some singular mark of his bounty, blessed him a thousand times, and wished him all happiness.  “It shall