“Hold your tongue, son,” answered the mother “one would think you are a fool, to hear you talk thus.”  “You are an old fool yourself,” replied Abou Hassan; “I tell you once more I am the commander of the faithful, and God’s vicar on earth!” “Ah! child,” cried the mother, “is it possible that I should hear you utter such words that shew you are distracted!  What evil genius possesses you, to make you talk at this rate?  God bless you, and preserve you from the power of Satan.  You are my son Abou Hassan, and I am your mother.”

After she had used all the arguments she could think of to bring him to himself, and to shew how great an error he was in, she said, “Do not you see that the room you are now in is your own, and is not like a chamber in a palace fit for the commander of the believers? and that you have never left it since you were born, but lived quietly at home with me.  Think seriously of what I say, and do not fancy things that are not, nor ever can be.  Once more, my son, think seriously of it.”

Abou Hassan heard all these remonstrances of his mother very patiently, holding down his eyes, and clapping his hands under his chin, like a man recollecting himself, to examine the truth of what he saw and heard.  At last, he said to his mother, just as if he was awaking out of a deep sleep, and with his hand in the same posture, “I believe you are right, methinks I am Abou Hassan, you are my mother, and I am in my own room.”  Then looking at her again, and at every object before him, he added, “I am Abou Hassan, there is no doubt of it, and I cannot comprehend how this fancy came into my head.”

The mother really believed that her son was cured of the disorder of his mind, which she ascribed to a dream, began to laugh with him, and ask him questions about it; when suddenly he started up, and looking crossly at his mother, said, “Old sorceress, you know not what you say.  I am not your son, nor you my mother.  You deceive yourself and would deceive me.  I tell you I am the commander of the faithful, and you shall never persuade me to the contrary!” “For heaven’s sake, son,” said the mother, “let us leave off this discourse; recommend yourself to God, for fear some misfortune should happen to us; let us talk of something else.  I will tell you what happened yesterday in our quarter to the imaum of the mosque, and the four scheiks our neighbours:  the judge of the police came and seized them, and gave each of them I know not how many strokes with a bastinado, while a crier proclaimed, ‘That such was the punishment of all those who troubled themselves about other people’s business, and employed themselves in setting their neighbours at variance:’  he afterwards led them through all the streets, and ordered them never to come into our quarter again.”  Abou Hassan’s mother little thought her son had any share in this adventure, and therefore had turned the discourse on purpose to put him out of the conceit of being the commander of the faithful; but instead of effacing that idea, she recalled it, and impressed the more deeply in his mind, that it was not imaginary but real.