17- Sinbad the Voyager

In the reign of the same caliph Haroun al Rusheed, whom I have
already mentioned, there lived at Bagdad a poor porter called
Hindbad. One day, when the weather was excessively hot, he was
employed to carry a heavy burden from one end of the town to the
other. Being much fatigued, and having still a great way to go,
he came into a street where a refreshing breeze blew on his face,
and the pavement was sprinkled with rose-water. As he could not
desire a better place to rest and recruit himself, he took off
his load and sat upon it, near a large mansion.

He was much pleased that he stopped in this place; for the
agreeable smell of wood of aloes, and of pastils that came from
the house, mixing with the scent of the rose-water, completely
perfumed and embalmed the air. Besides, he heard from within a
concert of instrumental music, accompanied with the harmonious
notes of nightingales, and other birds, peculiar to the climate.
This charming melody, and the smell of several sorts of savoury
dishes, made the porter conclude there was a feast, with great
rejoicings within. His business seldom leading him that way, he
knew not to whom the mansion belonged; but to satisfy his
curiosity, he went to some of the servants, whom he saw standing
at the gate in magnificent apparel, and asked the name of the
proprietor. "How," replied one of them, "do you live in Bagdad,
and know not that this is the house of Sinbad, the sailor, that
famous voyager, who has sailed round the world?" The porter, who
had heard of this Sinbad's riches, could not but envy a man whose
condition he thought to be as happy as his own was deplorable:
and his mind being fretted with these reflections, he lifted up
his eyes to heaven, and said loud enough to be heard, "Almighty
creator of all things, consider the difference between Sinbad and
me! I am every day exposed to fatigues and calamities, and can
scarcely get coarse barley-bread for myself and my family, whilst
happy Sinbad profusely expends immense riches, and leads a life
of continual pleasure. What has he done to obtain from thee a lot
so agreeable? And what have I done to deserve one so wretched?"
Having finished his expostulation, he struck his foot against the
ground, like a man absorbed in grief and despair.

Whilst the porter was thus indulging his melancholy, a servant
came out of the house, and taking him by the arm, bade him follow
him, for Sinbad, his master, wanted to speak to him.

Sir, your majesty may easily imagine, that the repining Hindbad
was not a little surprised at this compliment. For, considering
what he had said, he was afraid Sinbad had sent for him to punish
him: therefore he would have excused himself, alleging, that