The Barber’s Story of His Fifth Brother

As long as their father lived, Alnaschar was very idle. Instead of working for his bread he was not ashamed to ask for it every evening and live next day on what he had received. When their father died of age he left only seven hundred silver drachmas to divide among his sons—a hundred each. Alnaschar, who had never owned so much, puzzled over what to do, then decided to lay it out on glasses, bottles, and such ware from a wholesale merchant. He found a small shop in a good place, sat at the open door with his wares piled in an uncovered basket, and waited for customers.

There he sat, eyes on the basket, thoughts far away. Unaware, he began to talk aloud, and the tailor next door heard every word. This basket, said Alnaschar to himself, cost me a hundred drachmas—all I possess. Selling piece by piece I shall turn two hundred, lay that out in glass again for four hundred, and in time make four thousand, which will easily double. When I have ten thousand I will leave glass for jewels—pearls, diamonds, precious stones. At last, with all the wealth heart can desire, I will buy a beautiful country house with horses and slaves, lead a merry life, and entertain friends with musicians and dancers. Yet I shall not give up trade till I have amassed a hundred thousand drachmas; then, a man of much consideration, I shall ask the grand-vizir for his daughter’s hand, saying I have heard of her beauty and wit, and will pay three thousand gold pieces on the wedding day. If the vizir should refuse—unlikely—I will grab his beard and haul him to my door.

When I have married his daughter I will give her ten of the best eunuchs for her service. In my most gorgeous robes, mounted on a horse with a saddle of fine gold and trappings blazing with diamonds, followed by a train of slaves, I shall present myself at the vizir’s house while people cast down their eyes and bow. At the foot of his staircase I shall dismount; my servants will stand in a row while I ascend; the vizir will wait to receive me, embrace me as his son-in-law, and give me his seat, placing himself below me. Two servants will bring purses of a thousand gold pieces each—one the promised bride-price, the other to show I am better than my word. The world will talk of nothing else.

I shall return with the same pomp. My wife will send an officer to compliment me; I shall honour him with a rich dress and a handsome gift. If she sends one to me I shall refuse it and dismiss the bearer. She shall never leave her rooms without my leave. In the evening, in our apartments, I shall sit in the place of honour, speak little, gaze straight before me; and when my wife, lovely as the full moon, stands humbly before my chair I shall act as if she is invisible. Her attendants will plead for a glance—she is hurt, weary of standing. I shall not answer. They will throw themselves at my feet; at length I will raise my head, throw a careless glance, then look away again. They will lead her off for a finer dress; I shall change into something yet more splendid. Again they will plead, and it will take much longer before I even look at her. It is as well to begin on my wedding day as I mean to go on for the rest of our lives.

Next day she will complain to her mother, which will fill my heart with joy. Her mother will come, kiss my hands, call me “my lord,” and implore me to look upon her daughter, who lives only to please me. I shall pay no more heed than I did to the women. Again she will beseech me, throwing herself at my feet—all to no purpose. Then, putting a glass of wine into my wife’s hand, she will tell her to offer it herself; my wife will hold it out trembling with tears, and I shall look the other way. She will weep still more and cry that she will not cease praying till I drink. Sick of her importunities, those words will goad me to fury. I shall dart an angry look, strike her cheek, and give her a kick so violent she will stagger across the room and fall on the sofa.

So absorbed was Alnaschar in this dream that he actually kicked—and unluckily hit the basket of glass. It fell into the street and smashed into a thousand pieces. The tailor next door, who had been listening, broke into loud laughter. Wretched man! he cried—you ought to die of shame for treating a young wife so who has done nothing to you. If I were the grand-vizir I would order you a hundred blows of a bullock whip and have you led round the town while a herald proclaimed your crimes.

The accident restored Alnaschar to his senses. Seeing that his own pride had ruined his profits, he rent his clothes, tore his hair, and lamented so loudly that passers-by stopped—it was Friday, so they were many. Some pitied him; others laughed. Vanity gone with the glass, he was bewailing his folly when a lady of evident consideration rode by on a mule, stopped, and asked why the man wept. Told he was a poor man who had laid out all his money on glass now broken, she told her attendant to give him whatever he had. The man placed in Alnaschar’s hands a purse of five hundred gold pieces. Almost dying of joy, Alnaschar blessed her a thousand times, shut the empty shop, and went home.

Still absorbed in his good fortune, he heard a knock. An old woman stood outside. “My son,” she said, “I have a favour to ask. It is the hour of prayer and I have not yet washed—let me enter and give me water.” Though a stranger, he did not hesitate. He gave her a vessel of water and went back to his thoughts, packing his gold into a long narrow purse for his belt. When she had prayed she prostrated herself twice before him and called down endless blessings. Seeing her shabby clothes, he took her gratitude for a hint and held out two gold pieces. She started back as if insulted. Was it possible he took her for a miserable beggar forcing her way in for alms? Take back your money—I need none; I belong to a beautiful rich lady who gives me everything I want. Not realizing that she refused two pieces in the hope of getting more, he asked if she could procure him a sight of this lady. Willingly, she said—and she will be charmed to marry you and make you master of all her wealth. Pick up your money and follow me.

Delighted at fortune and a beautiful wife found so easily, he asked no more questions, hid his purse, and set out joyfully. They walked until she stopped at a large house. A young enslaved woman opened; the old woman led him across a well-paved court into a well-furnished hall, then left him to inform her mistress. The day was hot; he flung himself on cushions and took off his heavy turban. In a few minutes a lady entered—even more beautiful and richly dressed than he expected. He rose; she signed him to sit and placed herself beside him. After compliments she said they were not comfortable there and led him into a smaller chamber that seemed to communicate with no other. She talked for a time, then rose hastily: stay where you are; I will come back in a moment.

He waited—but instead of the lady a large enslaved man entered with a sword. Approaching with an angry face he demanded what business Alnaschar had there. Voice and manner were so terrific that Alnaschar had no strength to reply; he let his gold be taken and sabre cuts inflicted without resistance. When let go he sank powerless, though still conscious. Thinking him dead, the man ordered the enslaved woman to bring salt; between them they rubbed it into his wounds, giving acute agony, though he had the presence of mind to give no sign of life. They left him; the old woman dragged him to a trapdoor and threw him into a vault filled with the bodies of murdered men.

The fall knocked him senseless at first, but he survived and little by little regained strength. After two days he lifted the trapdoor at night, hid in the courtyard till daybreak, and saw the old woman leave in search of more prey. Unobserved, he stole from that nest of assassins and took refuge with his brother the barber, who dressed his wounds and tended him a month until he was as well as ever.

His one thought was vengeance on the old woman. He stitched a purse sized for five hundred gold coins, stuffed it with glass shards, strapped it under his sash, dressed as an elderly woman, and hid a sabre in the folds. Hobbling through the streets one morning he met her hunting fresh prey. In a thin female voice he asked for a pair of scales—he had brought five hundred gold pieces from Persia and wished to prove their weight. She said her son the money-changer would weigh them gladly and took him to the familiar house. Left in the hall as before, he was approached by the armed man, who pretended to be the old woman’s son. Alnaschar drew his hidden sword and killed him. When the enslaved woman arrived carrying salt, he killed her too. The noise brought the old woman running. He seized her and demanded whether she recognized him. “Who are you? I do not know you,” she trembled. “I am the man you tricked with sham prayers,” he answered. She begged for mercy, but he killed her as well.

Only the lady was left, still ignorant of the killing. He found her. She said she was an honest merchant’s wife; the old woman had lured her there with a wedding invitation, and the armed man had held her captive for three years. Alnaschar remarked that the armed man must have piled up a fortune. “Wealth enough to enrich you for life if you haul it off,” she said—come look. She showed a room stacked with coffers of gold. Fetch porters, she told him. He ran out and gathered ten men. When they came back the door stood open and the coffers were gone—she had used the interval better than he. He settled for stripping the fine furniture, which seemed worth more than the five hundred pieces he had lost.

Carelessly he left the door unlocked. Neighbours saw the empty house and called the police, who seized him next morning as a thief. Bribes failed; bound, he was marched to the judge and asked how the furniture had reached his home. He offered a full account if assured of safety. The judge agreed. Alnaschar narrated every adventure and his vengeance on the betrayers, then begged to keep some of the goods to offset the stolen gold. The judge ignored that plea, emptied Alnaschar’s house into his own, and banished him from the town on pain of death—afraid a return might mean an appeal to the Caliph. Alnaschar left, but on the road to the next city robbers stripped him bare. Word reached the barber, who followed with a fine robe, smuggled him home by night in disguise, and has tended him since as carefully as his other brothers.

Where this story comes from

“The Story of the Barber’s Fifth Brother” (Alnaschar) is in Andrew Lang’s The Arabian Nights Entertainments (Gutenberg 128)—a daydream that kicks over a basket of glass, a charitable purse, and a violent trap and a revenge that brings no lasting security.

Read the original: Andrew Lang, The Arabian Nights Entertainments (Project Gutenberg)

For older readers: fantasies of controlling and assaulting a wife, enslavement, torture, murder, violent revenge and a corrupt judge. This is a dark tale, not an all-ages lesson about daydreaming.

Reading the story closely

Alnaschar imagines wealth chiefly as power over other people: servants bow, the vizir gives up his seat, and a wife must endure humiliation. The kick destroys his stock at the very moment he imagines assaulting her. The tailor objects to that cruelty, so the opening criticism reaches beyond impractical dreams or bad business planning.

The glass changes roles from merchandise to proof of folly to the material in a deceptive purse. Trace those three uses alongside the real gifts and thefts of money. Alnaschar becomes a deceiver himself, but revenge still leaves him vulnerable to the captive woman’s escape, the judge’s confiscation and the highway robbers. His brother’s continuing care, rather than a fortune, is the final source of security. Even the daydream’s arithmetic is unreliable: he promises three thousand gold pieces, then imagines two purses of one thousand as a greater payment, a discrepancy also present in the cited edition.

Talk about it

• What does Alnaschar dream while staring at his basket—and how does the dream destroy it?
• How does the old woman make the promised marriage sound like the fulfillment of his daydream?
• Why does revenge still leave him empty-handed before the judge?

Related stories

• The Barber’s Tale of His Sixth Brother — another of the barber’s unfortunate kin
• Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves — household wit and sudden wealth
• Hans in Luck — comic bargains that empty the hands