Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace
by Wilhelm Hauff · English · Gutenberg #32109 · 711,251 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace
Author: Wilhelm Hauff
Translator: Edward L. Stowell
Release date: April 24, 2010 [eBook #32109]
Most recently updated: January 6, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32109
Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF THE CARAVAN, INN, AND PALACE ***
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
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TALES
OF THE
CARAVAN, INN, AND PALACE.
TALES
OF THE
CARAVAN, INN, AND PALACE.
BY
WILLIAM HAUFF.
WITH THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
BY
EDWARD L. STOWELL.
CHICAGO:
JANSEN, McCLURG, & COMPANY.
1882.
COPYRIGHT,
JANSEN, MCCLURG & COMPANY.
1881.
PRINTED BY DONNELLEY, GASSETTE & LOYD.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
In introducing to American readers these charming and unique Tales, a
few details may properly be given of their author's life and literary
work. The record, though brief, is one of unusual interest.
Wilhelm Hauff was born at Stuttgart, Germany, in 1802, and received his
education at Tuebingen. He graduated from the University, in 1824, with
the degree of Doctor of Philosophy; and for the following two years
filled the position of tutor in a nobleman's family. It was during the
leisure hours afforded by this occupation that he composed the greater
part of the works upon which his fame rests. In 1826 he published his
"_Maerchenalmanach auf das Jahr 1826, fuer Soehne und Toechter
gebildeter Staende_," a translation of which is herewith tendered the
American public, under the changed and abbreviated title of: "Tales of
the Caravan, Inn, and Palace." In the same year, and closely following
the "Fairy Tales," came "_Mittheilungen aus den Memoiren des Satan_,"
"_Der Mann im Monde_," a second volume of "Satan's Memoirs," and a
collection of short tales. These volumes appeared in such rapid
succession as to obscure for a time the brilliancy of the "Fairy
Tales;" but later editions of them acquired a widespread circulation,
while their popularity is so constantly on the increase as to suggest
the thought that in time they may prove a formidable rival of the
"Arabian Nights," in the regards of the young, the world over.
The publication of "The Man in the Moon" gave Hauff a national
reputation; but when his "_Lichtenstein, eine romantische Sage_"
appeared, shortly afterward, the Wuertembergers hailed him as the
coming Walter Scott of Germany. Whether he would have merited this fond
and proud prediction of his countrymen, can not now be told. We only
know that he seemed to recognize in the historical novel his true field
of labor, and that he had already begun a second work of this nature,
when he sickened and died, in the Fall of 1827, before he had reached
his twenty-fifth birthday.
Hauff stood on the threshold of his career as an author, in the dawning
glory of his brilliant talents, when he was stricken down; yet his
writings betray no sign of immaturity, and his collected works assure
him a niche, high in the temple of literature. The art of investing
localities with ideal characters who, in the reader's imagination,
haunt the spot forever after, was a gift Hauff shared alike with his
English brothers, Scott and Dickens. On crossing the Bridge of Arts,
in Paris, at night, one familiar with his works is apt to look about
for the tall and graceful form of the "Beggar Girl," with her lantern,
and the plate held out so reluctantly for coins. Or, if he wander
through the rugged Suabian Alps, Hauff's "_Lichtenstein_" will be the
guide-book he consults; and through the valleys and over the hills to
the _Nebelhoehle_ he will trace the flight of the stern Duke Ulerich,
pausing maybe at the little village of Hardt to pick out if possible
the piper's home, and to look sharply at every village maid, lest the
kind-hearted little "Baerbele" should pass him unawares.
Some of Hauff's poems became quite popular in Germany, and several of
his songs may be heard to-day rising on the evening air from out the
beautiful valleys he loved so well.
Because of his genius and his early death, Hauff becomes associated in
our mind with the English poets, Chatterton, Keats and Shelley; and in
thinking of him we recall his own sad words--
"Oh, how soon
Vanish grace and beauty's bloom;
Dost thou boast of cheeks ne'er paling,
Glowing red and white unfailing?
See! the roses wither all!"
Chicago, _October_, 1881. E. L. S.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
Tales of the Caravan.
THE CARAVAN, 11
THE CALIPH STORK, 15
THE AMPUTATED HAND, 30
THE RESCUE OF FATIMA, 49
LITTLE MUCK, 70
THE FALSE PRINCE, 91
PART II.
Tales of the Inn.
THE INN IN THE SPESSART, 119
THE HIRSCH-GULDEN, 126
THE MARBLE HEART (_First Part_), 151
SAID'S ADVENTURES, 182
THE CAVE OF STEENFOLL, 229
THE MARBLE HEART (_Second Part_), 260
PART III.
Tales of the Palace.
THE SHEIK'S PALACE AND HIS SLAVES, 295
THE DWARF NOSEY, 304
ABNER, THE JEW, 340
THE YOUNG ENGLISHMAN, 353
THE STORY OF ALMANSOR, 381
PART I.
TALES OF THE CARAVAN.
THE CARAVAN,
[Illustration]
Once upon a time, a large caravan moved slowly over the desert. On the
vast plain, where nothing was to be seen but sand and sky, might have
been heard in the far distance the tinkling bells of the camels and the
ringing hoof beats of horses. A thick cloud of dust that moved before
it indicated the approach of the caravan; and when a breeze parted this
cloud, gleaming weapons and brilliantly colored garments dazzled the
eye.
Thus was the caravan revealed to a man who galloped towards it from one
side. He rode a fine Arabian horse, covered with a tiger skin; from the
deep-red trappings depended little silver bells, while on the horse's
head waved a plume of heron feathers. The horseman was of stately
bearing, and his attire corresponded in richness with that of his
horse. A white turban, richly embroidered with gold, covered his head;
his coat and Turkish trousers were of scarlet; while a curved sword,
with a rich hilt, hung at his side. He had pulled the turban down well
over his face; and this, with the black eyes that flashed from beneath
the bushy brows, together with the long beard that hung straight down
from his Roman nose, gave him a fierce and uncouth appearance.
When the rider had approached to within about fifty paces of the
vanguard of the caravan, he spurred his horse forward, and in a few
moments reached the head of the procession. It was such an unusual
occurrence to see a single horseman riding over the desert that the
escort of the train, fearing an attack, thrust out their spears.
"What do you mean?" cried the horseman, as he saw this warlike
reception. "Do you, then, believe a single man would attack your
caravan?"
Ashamed of their momentary alarm, the escort dropped their lances;
while their leader rode up to the stranger and asked what he wanted.
"Who is the master of this caravan?" inquired the horseman.
"It does not belong to one man," replied the guide; "but to several
merchants who are returning from Mecca to their homes, and whom we
escort across the desert, as it often happens that travelers are
annoyed by robbers."
"Then lead me to these merchants," requested the stranger.
"That may not be done now," replied the guide, "as we must proceed
farther on before coming to a halt, and the merchants are at least a
quarter of an hour behind us; but if you will ride on with me until we
encamp for our mid-day rest, I will then comply with your wish."
The stranger made no reply, but produced a pipe that was fastened to
his saddle-bow, and began to smoke, meanwhile riding near the leader of
the vanguard. The guide knew not what to make of the stranger; he
hardly dared to question him directly as to his name, and no matter how
skillfully he sought to draw him into conversation, the stranger would
only reply to such attempts as: "You smoke a fine quality of tobacco,"
or, "Your horse has a splendid pace," with a short "Yes, certainly."
Finally they reached the spot where they were to camp for the noon. The
guide posted the guards, but remained himself with the stranger until
the caravan should come up. Thirty camels, heavily laden, and attended
by armed guards, passed by. After these came the four merchants to whom
the caravan belonged, mounted on fine horses. They were mostly men of
advanced age, of sober and staid appearance. Only one seemed much
younger than the others, and of more cheerful countenance and vivacious
spirits. A large number of camels and pack-horses completed the
caravan.
The tents were pitched, and the horses and camels ranged around them in
a circle. In the centre stood a tent of blue silk cloth. To this tent
the leader of the guard led the stranger. As they entered through the
curtain, they saw the four merchants sitting on gold embroidered
cushions, while black slaves handed them food and drink.
"Who is it you bring to us?" cried the young merchant to the guide.
Before the guide could reply, the stranger said--
"My name is Selim Baruch, of Bagdad. On my way to Mecca I was captured
by a robber band, and three days ago I succeeded in making my escape
from them. The great Prophet permitted me to hear the bells of your
camels in the distance, and thus directed me to you. Allow me to
journey in your company. Your protection would not be extended to one
unworthy of it; and when you reach Bagdad, I will richly reward your
kindness, as I am the nephew of the Grand Vizier."
The oldest merchant made reply: "Selim Baruch, you are welcome to our
shelter. It gives us pleasure to assist you. But first of all, sit down
and eat and drink with us."
Selim Baruch accepted this invitation. On the conclusion of the repast,
the slaves cleared away the dishes, and brought long pipes and Turkish
sherbet. The merchants sat silently watching the blue clouds of smoke
as they formed into rings and finally vanished in the air.
The young merchant at length broke the silence by saying--
"For three days we have sat thus on horseback and at table without
making any attempt to while away the time. To me this is very
wearisome, as I have always been accustomed after dinner to see a
dancer or to hear music and singing. Can you think of nothing, my
friends, to pass away the time?"
The three older merchants continued to smoke, seemingly lost in
meditation, but the stranger said--
"Permit me to make a proposition. It is that at every camping-place one
of us shall relate a story to the others. This might serve to make the
time pass pleasantly."
"You are right, Selim Baruch," said one of the merchants, "let us act
on the proposal."
"I am glad the suggestion meets with your approval," said Selim; "but
that you may see I ask nothing unfair, I will be the first to begin."
The merchants drew nearer together in pleased anticipation, and had the
stranger sit in the centre. The slaves replenished the cups and filled
the pipes of their masters, and brought glowing coals to light them.
Then Selim cleared his voice with a generous glass of sherbet, stroked
the long beard away from his mouth, and said--
"Listen, then, to the story of the Caliph Stork."
THE CALIPH STORK.
I.
One fine afternoon, Chasid, Caliph of Bagdad, reclined on his divan.
Owing to the heat of the day he had fallen asleep, and was now but
just awakened, feeling much refreshed by his nap. He puffed at a
long-stemmed rosewood pipe, pausing now and then to sip the coffee
handed him by an attentive slave, and testifying his approval of the
same by stroking his beard. In short, one could see at a glance that
the Caliph was in an excellent humor.
Of all others, this was the hour when he might be most easily
approached, as he was now quite indulgent and companionable; and
therefore it was the custom of his Grand Vizier, Mansor, to visit him
every day at this time.
As usual, he came to-day; but, as was unusual with him, his expression
was quite serious.
The Caliph, removing the pipe from his mouth for a moment, said--
"Why do you wear so sober a face, Grand Vizier?"
The Vizier crossed his arms on his breast, bowed low before his master,
and made answer--
"Sire, whether my face be sober or no, I know not. But beneath the
castle walls stands a trader, who has such beautiful wares that I
cannot help regretting that I have no spare money."
The Caliph, who had long wished for an opportunity to do his Vizier a
favor, sent his black slave below to bring up the trader. The slave
soon returned with the man, who was short and stout, of dark brown
complexion, and clothed in rags. He carried a box containing all manner
of wares: strings of pearls, rings, and richly-chased pistols, cups and
combs. The Caliph and Grand Vizier looked them all over, and finally
the Caliph selected a fine pair of pistols for Mansor and himself, as
well as a comb for the Vizier's wife.
Now just as the merchant was about to close his box, the Caliph espied
a small drawer therein, and desired to know if it contained still other
valuables. By way of reply, the trader opened the drawer, disclosing a
little box containing a blackish powder, and a paper covered with
singular writing, that neither the Caliph nor Mansor was able to read.
"These two articles," explained the trader, "came into my possession
through a merchant who found them on the street in Mecca. I do not know
what they contain, but, for a small consideration, you are welcome to
them, as I can make nothing of them."
The Caliph, who took pleasure in preserving old manuscripts in his
library, even though he might not be able to read them, bought both the
paper and the box, and dismissed the merchant. Then, curious to know
what the manuscript contained, he inquired of the Vizier if he knew of
any one who could decipher it.
"Most gracious master and benefactor," replied the Vizier, "near the
great mosque lives a man called Selim the Learned, who understands all
languages. Let him be summoned; perhaps he might know these secret
characters."
The learned Selim was soon brought.
"Selim," began the Caliph, "it is said that you are very learned. Look
for a moment at this writing, and see if you can make it out. If you
can read it, you shall receive a new holiday cloak from me; if you
cannot, you will get instead twelve lashes on the back and twenty-five
on the soles of your feet, for being misnamed Selim the Learned."
Selim made an obeisance, saying, "Thy will be done, O Sire!"
He then examined the writing long and attentively, suddenly exclaiming,
"If this be not Latin, Sire, then give me to the hangman!"
"Read what is written there, if it is Latin!" commanded the Caliph.
Selim thereupon began to translate as follows:
"_Man, whoever thou art, that findeth this, praise Allah for His
goodness. He who takes a pinch of this powder, at the same time
saying,_ MUTABOR, _will be able to transform himself into any animal,
and will also understand the language of animals. Whenever he wishes to
re-assume the human form, he shall bow three times towards the East and
pronounce the same word. But take care that thou dost not laugh while
thou art transformed, or the magic word would vanish utterly from thy
memory, and thou wouldst remain an animal._"
When Selim the Learned had read this, the Caliph was pleased beyond
measure. He made the scholar swear never to mention the secret to any
one; presented him with a beautiful cloak, and then dismissed him. Then
turning to his Vizier, he said--
"I call that a good investment, Mansor. I am impatient to become an
animal. Come to me to-morrow morning early. We will then go together to
the fields, take a little pinch of this magical snuff, and then listen
to what is said in the air and the water, in the forest and field."
II.
No sooner had the Caliph Chasid dressed and breakfasted on the
following morning, than the Grand Vizier arrived, as he had been
commanded to do, to accompany him on his walk. The Caliph put the box
containing the magic powder in his sash, and after bidding his
attendants remain in the castle, started off, attended only by Mansor.
They first took their way through the extensive gardens of the Caliph,
vainly searching for some living thing, in order to make their
experiment. The Vizier at last proposed that they go farther on, to a
pond, where he had frequently seen many creatures, more especially
storks.
The Caliph consented to the proposal of Mansor, and went with him
towards the pond. Arriving there, they saw a stork walking up and down,
looking for frogs, and occasionally striking out before him with his
bill. At the same time far up in the sky they discerned another stork
hovering over this spot.
"I will wager my beard, Most Worthy Master," said the Vizier, "that
these two storks will hold a charming conversation together. What say
you to our becoming storks?"
"Well thought of!" answered the Caliph. "But first let us carefully
examine again the directions for resuming our human form. All right! By
bowing three times towards the East and saying '_Mutabor_,' I shall be
once more Caliph, and you Grand Vizier. But, for heavens sake!
recollect! _No laughing, or we are lost!_"
While the Caliph spoke, he noticed that the stork above their heads was
gradually approaching the earth. Quickly drawing the box from his
girdle, he put a good pinch to his nose, held out the box to the
Vizier, who also took a pinch, and both then cried out: "_Mutabor!_"
Their legs at once shrank up and became thin and red; the beautiful
yellow slippers of the Caliph and his companion took on the shape of
stork's feet; their arms developed into wings; their necks were
stretched until they measured a yard in length; their beards vanished,
while white feathers covered their bodies.
"You have a beautiful bill, Mr. Grand Vizier," cried the Caliph, after
a long pause of astonishment. "By the beard of the Prophet! I never saw
any thing like it in my life."
[Illustration]
"Thank you most humbly," replied the Vizier, bowing low; "but, if I
dare venture the assertion, Your Highness presents a much handsomer
appearance as a stork than as Caliph. But come; if agreeable to you,
let us keep watch on our companions over there, and ascertain whether
we can really understand _Storkish_."
In the meantime the other stork had alighted on the ground, cleaned its
feet with its bill, smoothed its feathers nicely, and approached the
first stork. The two newly-made storks now made haste to get near them,
and, to their surprise, overheard the following conversation:
"Good morning, Mrs. Longlegs! So early in the meadow?"
"Thank you kindly, dear Clapperbill; I was just procuring a little
breakfast for myself. How would a portion of lizard suit you, or a leg
of a frog?"
"Much obliged; but, I have not the least appetite to-day. I come to the
meadow for quite another purpose. I am to dance to-day before my
father's guests, and therefore wish to practice a little in private."
So saying, the young stork stepped over the field in a series of
wonderful evolutions. The Caliph and Mansor looked on in wonder. But
when she struck an artistic attitude on one foot, and began to fan
herself gracefully with her wings, the two could no longer contain
themselves. An irrepressible fit of laughter burst forth from their
bills, from which it took them a long time to recover. The Caliph was
the first to compose himself.
"That was sport!" exclaimed he, "that money could not buy. It's too bad
that the stupid creatures were frightened away by our laughter, or they
would certainly have tried to sing."
Just here the Vizier remembered that laughing during the transformation
was forbidden them. He communicated his anxiety to the Caliph.
"Zounds! By the Cities of the Prophet, that would be a bad joke if I
were compelled to remain a stork! Try and think of that stupid word,
Mansor! For the life of me, I can't recall it!"
"We must bow three times towards the East, calling: _Mu_-- _Mu_--
_Mu_."
They turned towards the East, and bowed away so zealously that their
bills nearly ploughed up the ground. But, O Horror! the magic word had
escaped them; and no matter how often the Caliph bowed, or how
earnestly his Vizier called out--_Mu_-- _Mu_, their memory failed them;
and the poor Chasid and his Vizier remained storks.
III.
Sadly the enchanted ones wandered through the fields, without the
slightest idea of what course they had better pursue in their present
plight. They could neither get rid of their feathers, nor could they
return to the town with any hope of recognition; for who would believe
a stork, were he to proclaim himself Caliph? or, even believing the
story, would the citizens of Bagdad be willing to have a stork for
their Caliph? So they stole about for several days, supporting
themselves very poorly on fruits, which, on account of their long
bills, they could eat only with great difficulty. For lizards and frogs
they had no appetite, fearing lest such tit-bits might disagree with
their stomachs. The only consolation left them in their wretchedness
was the power of flight; and they often flew to the roofs of Bagdad,
that they might see what occurred there. For the first day or two,
they noticed great excitement in the streets, followed by sadness.
But about the fourth day after their enchantment, while they were
resting on the roof of the Caliph's palace, they observed down in the
street a brilliant procession. Trumpets and fifes sounded. A man in a
gold-embroidered scarlet coat sat upon a richly caparisoned steed,
surrounded by a gay retinue. Half Bagdad followed him, and all shouted:
[Illustration]
"Hail Mizra! Ruler of Bagdad!"
The two storks perched on the palace roof, exchanged a glance, and
Caliph Chasid said--
"Do you perceive now the meaning of my enchantment, Grand Vizier? This
Mizra is the son of my deadly enemy, who, in an evil hour, swore to
revenge himself on me. But still I will not give up all hope. Come with
me, thou faithful companion of my misfortune, we will make a pilgrimage
to the grave of the Prophet. Perhaps in that sacred place the spell
will be removed."
They rose from the palace roof and flew in the direction of Medina. But
so little practice had the two storks had in flying, that it fared hard
with them.
"Oh, Sire!" groaned the Grand Vizier, after a few hours' flight, "with
your permission I shall have to stop. You fly much too fast! And it is
now evening, and we should do well to look out for a place on which to
alight for the night."
Chasid harkened to the request of his follower, and, perceiving a ruin
that promised to afford a shelter, they flew down to it. The place they
had selected for the night bore the appearance of having once been a
castle. Beautiful columns rose out of the ruins, while several rooms
still in a fair state of preservation, testified to the former splendor
of the building. Chasid and his companion strolled through the
passages, seeking some dry sheltered spot, when suddenly the stork
Mansor stopped.
"Sire," whispered he softly, "I wish it were not so unbecoming in a
Grand Vizier, and even more in a stork, to fear ghosts! My courage is
fast failing me, for near here there was a distinct sound of sighing
and groaning!"
The Caliph also stopped, and very plainly heard a low sobbing that
seemed to proceed from a human being, rather than from an animal. Full
of curiosity, he was about to approach the place whence the sounds
came, when the Vizier caught him by the wing with his bill, and begged
him most earnestly not to plunge into new and unknown dangers. All in
vain! for the Caliph, who even under a stork's wing, carried a stout
heart, tore himself away with the loss of a few feathers, and hastened
into a dark passage. He shortly came to a door, through which he
plainly heard sighs intermingled with low groans. He pushed open the
door with his bill, but remained standing on the threshold in surprise.
In the ruined room, lighted but dimly by a small lattice window, he saw
a large owl sitting on the floor. Large tears fell from its great round
eyes, while in passionate tones it poured forth its complaints from its
curved beak. But when the owl saw the Caliph and his Vizier, who by
this time had stolen up, it raised a loud cry of joy. Daintily brushing
the tears from its eyes with the brown spotted wings, it exclaimed in
pure human Arabic, to the wonder of the listeners:
"Welcome, storks! You are a good omen, as it was once prophecied that
storks would be the bearers of good fortune to me."
As soon as the Caliph had sufficiently recovered from his astonishment,
he made a bow with his long neck, brought his slender feet into a
graceful position, and said--
"O owl of the night! from your words I believe I see in you a companion
in misfortune. But, alas! Your hope that we can give you relief is
doomed to disappointment. You will yourself appreciate our helplessness
when you have heard our story."
The owl requested him to relate it; which the Caliph did, just as we
have heard it.
IV.
When the Caliph had concluded his story, the owl thanked him, and said:
"Listen also to my tale, and learn that I am not less unfortunate than
yourself. My father is king of India. I, his only and unhappy daughter,
am named Lusa. That same Sorcerer, Kaschnur, who transformed you,
plunged me also into misery. One day he came to my father and demanded
me in marriage for his son Mizra. But my father, who is a quick
tempered man, had him thrown down-stairs. The wretch found means, by
assuming other forms, of approaching me; and one day, as I was taking
the air in my garden, he appeared, dressed as a slave, and handed me a
drink that changed me into this horrible shape. He brought me here
senseless from fright, and shouted in my ears with a terrible voice:
'Here you shall remain, ugly, despised by every creature, until death;
or till some man voluntarily offers to marry you in your present form!
Thus do I revenge myself on you and your proud father!' Since then many
months have passed. Lonely and sad, I live as a hermit within these
walls, abhorred by the world, despised even by animals, shut out from
all enjoyment of the beauties of nature, as I am blind by day, and only
at night, when the moon sheds its pale light over these walls, does the
veil fall from my eyes."
The owl finished her story, and once more brushed away with her wing
the tears which the recital of her sufferings had caused.
The Caliph was sunk in deep thought over the story of the Princess.
"Unless I am greatly in error," said he, "there is a hidden connection
between our misfortunes; but where shall I find the key to this
riddle?"
"O, Sire," the owl replied, "I suspect that too, for when I was a
little child it was foretold me by a soothsayer that a stork would
sometime bring me great good fortune. And I think I know a way by which
we can accomplish our own rescue."
In great surprise the Caliph asked her in what way she meant.
"The sorcerer who has done this wrong to us both," she answered, "comes
once a month to these ruins. Not far from here there is a room in which
he is accustomed to hold a banquet with many of his fellows. Many times
have I heard them there. On these occasions they relate to each other
their shameful deeds. Perhaps then he will divulge the magic word you
have forgotten."
"O, dearest Princess," cried the Caliph, "tell us, when does he come,
and where is the banqueting hall?"
The owl remained silent for a moment, and then said:
"Do not take it unkindly; but only on one condition can I inform you."
"Speak out! speak out!" exclaimed Chasid. "Whatever your condition it
will be acceptable to me."
"Well then, I am also desirous of being set free; but this can only
happen by one of you offering me his hand."
The storks were somewhat disconcerted at this proposal; and the Caliph
beckoned his follower to leave the room with him.
"Grand Vizier," said the Caliph, closing the door behind them, "this is
a pretty piece of business! But you, now, might take her."
"Indeed?" answered he, "and thus give my wife cause to scratch my eyes
out, when I get home? Then, too, I am an old man; whereas you are young
and unmarried, and therefore in a better position to offer your hand to
a beautiful young princess."
"That's the very point," sighed the Caliph, as he sadly allowed his
wings to droop to the ground. "It would be buying a cat in the bag; for
what assurance have you that she is young and beautiful?"
They discussed the matter for a long time, until at last the Caliph,
convinced that the Vizier would rather remain a stork than marry the
Princess, concluded to fulfill the condition she had imposed on
himself.
The owl was greatly rejoiced, and confessed that they could not have
come at a better time, as it was probable that the sorcerers would
assemble there that very night. The owl then left the room with the
storks to show them to the banquet-room. For a long time they walked
through a dark passage, when finally there streamed out bright rays of
light through a broken wall. As they came up to the wall the owl
cautioned the storks to remain perfectly quiet. The gap in which they
stood overlooked a large room, adorned on all sides with marble
columns, and tastefully decorated; countless colored lamps made the
place light as day. In the centre of the room stood a round table
covered with various dainty dishes, and upon the divan that encircled
it, sat eight men. In one of these men the storks recognized the trader
who had sold them the magic powder. The person who sat next to him
called on him to relate his latest deeds. The trader then told the
story of the Caliph and his Vizier.
V.
"What kind of a word did you give them?" asked the other sorcerer.
"A very hard Latin word--_Mutator_."
When the storks from their place in the wall, heard this, they were
almost beside themselves with joy. They ran so fast toward the outlet
of the ruins that the owl could hardly keep up with their long legs.
Once clear of the building, the Caliph said to the owl with much
feeling:
"Savior of my life and the life of my friend! As a lasting reward for
what you have done, take me for your husband."
Then he turned to the East. Three times the storks bowed their long
necks to the sun just rising above the mountains, "_Mutabor!_" shouted
they, and in a trice they were men again. Then, in the joy of their
newly-returned life, master and follower were laughing and weeping by
turns in each other's arms.
But who could describe their astonishment when they turned around and
saw a beautiful lady, richly dressed, standing before them? With a
smile she gave the Caliph her hand.
"Do you no longer recognize the owl?" she asked.
It really was the Princess. The Caliph was so enraptured by her beauty
and grace, that he declared his transformation into a stork had been
the best piece of fortune that had ever happened to him.
The three now set out together on their journey to Bagdad. The Caliph
found in his clothes not only the box of magic powder, but his purse as
well. He therefore bought in the next village whatever was necessary
for their journey, and thus they soon reached the gates of Bagdad.
There the arrival of the Caliph caused the greatest surprise. He had
long since been given up for dead, and the joy of the people at getting
back their beloved ruler knew no bounds. All the more was their wrath
inflamed against the traitor Mizra. They rushed to the palace, and took
the old sorcerer and his son prisoners.
The Caliph sent the old man to the ruins, and had him hanged in the
very room that had been occupied by the Princess when an owl. But to
the son, who understood nothing of the art of his father, he gave the
choice of death or a pinch of the powder. As the prisoner chose the
latter, the Grand Vizier offered him the box. A generous pinch,
followed by the magic word of the Caliph, and he became a stork. The
Caliph secured him in an iron cage, which was placed in the garden.
Long and happily Caliph Chasid lived with his wife, the Princess. His
pleasantest hours were always those of the afternoon, when the Grand
Vizier visited him. Then they often spoke of their adventures as
storks, and whenever the Caliph felt unusually merry, he began to
imitate the Grand Vizier as he appeared when a stork. He stalked up and
down the room, set up a great clapping, waved his arms as though they
were wings, and showed how the Vizier had turned to the East and
called, "_Mu_-- _Mu_-- _Mu_--." All this was great sport for the
Caliph's wife and children. But sometimes, when the Caliph clapped too
long and cried, "_Mu_-- _Mu_-- _Mu_--" too often, the Vizier was wont
to silence him with the threat that if he did not stop he would tell
the Princess what their conversation had been before the door of her
room in the ruin.
As Selim Baruch finished his story, the merchants testified their
approval thereof most heartily.
"Of a truth, the afternoon has passed without our knowing it," said one
of them, lifting the curtain of the tent. "The evening wind blows
fresh; we could put behind us a good stretch of road."
As his companions were of the same opinion, the tents were folded, and
the caravan started on its way in the same order in which it had
entered camp.
They journeyed nearly all night, as the days were hot and sultry, while
the night was cool and starlit. They came at last to a convenient
camping place, pitched their tents and lay down to rest. But the
merchants did not neglect to provide for the stranger as bountifully as
if he had been their most honored guest. One gave him a cushion,
another blankets, a third gave him slaves; in short, he was as well
provided for as though he had been at home.
The heated hours of the day were already upon them when they arose from
their slumbers, and they therefore unanimously decided to remain where
they were until evening.
When night approached, the movement of the caravan was resumed, and its
progress was continued until the following noon without impediment.
After they had halted and refreshed themselves, Selim Baruch said to
Muley, the youngest of the merchants--
"Although you are the youngest of us all, you are always cheerful, and
could certainly give us a merry tale. Serve it up, so that we may
refresh ourselves after the heat of the day."
"I should be glad to relate something that would amuse you," answered
Muley. "Still, modesty in all things is becoming to youth; therefore,
my older traveling companions should take precedence. Zaleukos is
always so serious and silent, ought he not to tell us what it is that
clouds his life? Perhaps we should be able to lighten his sorrow, if
such he experiences; for we would willingly treat him as a brother,
even though he is not of our religion."
The person thus addressed was a Greek merchant--a man in middle age,
fine looking and of vigorous frame, but very grave. Although he was an
unbeliever (that is, not a Musselman), he was much beloved by his
fellow-travelers, as his whole conduct had won their esteem and
confidence. He had but one hand, and some of his companions supposed
that this loss was the cause of his grief.
Zaleukos replied to the confidential inquiries of Muley: "I am much
honored by the interest you take in me, but have no grief--at least
none that you, with even the best intentions, could dispel. Still, as
Muley seems to lay so much stress on my sadness, I will tell you
something that will perhaps account for my appearing sadder than other
people. As you see, I have lost my left hand. It was not missing at my
birth, but I was deprived of it in the darkest hours of my life.
Whether my punishment was just--whether, under the circumstances, my
features could be other than sad--you may judge for yourselves when you
have heard the story of the Amputated Hand."
THE AMPUTATED HAND.
I was born in Constantinople. My father was an interpreter at the
Sublime Porte, carrying on at the same time quite a lucrative trade in
ottar of roses and silk goods. He gave me a good education, devoting a
part of his own time to my instruction, and also employing one of our
priests to superintend my studies. At first he designed me to be
the successor of his business, but as I developed greater talents
than even he had expected, he changed his mind, and, by the advice
of his friends, concluded to make a physician of me; inasmuch as a
doctor, whose acquirements were greater than those of the quacks on the
market-place, was sure of making his way in Constantinople. Many Franks
came to our house, and one of them persuaded my father to allow me to
go to the city of Paris, in his country, where the best medical
education might be had gratuitously. He proposed to take me with him on
his return journey, and the trip should cost me nothing. My father, who
had traveled widely in his youth, assented to the arrangement, and the
Frenchman told me I should have three months in which to get ready.
I was beside myself with joy at the prospect of seeing foreign
countries, and waited for the day of our departure with great
impatience. At last the Frenchman finished his business, and prepared
for the journey. On the evening before we started, my father led me
into his bedchamber. There I saw fine apparel and weapons lying on the
table. But that which attracted my attention most was a large pile of
gold, larger than I had ever before seen. My father embraced me,
saying--
"See, my son, I have provided these clothes for your journey. These
weapons are also yours; they are the same that your grandfather buckled
on me when I went out into the world. I know that you can wield them;
but never use them except in self-defense, and then strike hard. My
fortune is not large; look, I have divided it into three parts: one is
yours, another is for my own support, but the third is a sacred trust,
to be well guarded, and meant to serve you in the hour of need."
Thus spake my good old father, while tears stood in his eyes, perhaps
from a presentiment that he would never see me again.
Every thing went well on the journey. We soon arrived in the land of
the Franks, and six days afterwards we entered the great city of Paris.
My friend rented a room for me there, and advised me as to the best
disposition to make of my money, which amounted in all to two thousand
thalers.
I lived for three years in this city, and learned what a qualified
physician should know; but I should be guilty of untruth were I to say
that I lived there contentedly, for the customs of this people did not
please me. I had but few good friends there, but these few were noble
young men. In all this time I had heard nothing from my father. The
desire to see my home finally prevailed over all other considerations.
I therefore seized a favorable opportunity to return. An embassy from
the Franks was bound to the Sublime Porte. I engaged as surgeon in the
retinue of the ambassadors, and arrived safely once more in Stamboul.
I found my father's house closed. The neighbors were astonished to see
me, and told me that my father had been dead for two months. The priest
who had instructed me in my youth, brought me the key, and alone and
bereft I entered the desolate house. I found every thing as my father
had left it, with the single exception of the gold that he had promised
to leave me--that was missing. I asked the priest about it. He made a
low bow, and replied:
"Your father died as a holy man, leaving his gold to the church."
This was incomprehensible to me, yet what should I do? I had no
witnesses against the priest, and must console myself with the
reflection that he had not also regarded the house and goods of my
father as a legacy to the church. This was the first misfortune that
happened to me, but from this time forth, stroke followed stroke. My
reputation as a physician did not spread, because I could not stoop to
advertise myself on the market-place; and, above all, I missed my
father, whose recommendation would have secured me admittance to the
wealthiest and most influential families, which now never gave a
thought to the poor Zaleukos. Then, too, my father's goods found no
sale, as the old customers disappeared after his death, and to gain new
ones would require time.
Once, as I was hopelessly thinking over my situation, it occurred to me
that I had often seen countrymen of mine wandering through the land of
the Franks, and displaying their wares in the squares of the cities. I
remembered that their goods found a ready sale, because they came from
a strange country, and that the profits on such merchandise were very
large. My resolution was taken at once. I sold the homestead, gave a
part of the sale money to a trustworthy friend to keep for me, and with
the remainder bought such goods as were not common among the Franks;
shawls, silk stuff's, ointments, oils, etc. I then took passage on a
ship, and so began my second journey to the land of the Franks.
It seemed as though fortune smiled on me again the moment we left the
Dardanelles behind. Our voyage was short and fortunate. I wandered
through the cities and towns of the Franks, and every-where found ready
purchasers for my wares. My friend in Stamboul kept forwarding me
consignments of fresh goods, and day by day my financial condition
improved. When I thought I had made money enough to venture on some
larger undertaking, I went to Italy with my goods. I have omitted
speaking on one thing that brought me in quite a little sum of money;
this was my knowledge of medicine. When I entered a town, I scattered
notices announcing the arrival of a Greek physician, whose skill had
restored many to health; and my balsams and medicines brought me in
many a sequin.
At last I reached the city of Florence. It was my intention to remain
some time in this place, partly because the city pleased me, and partly
for the reason that I wished to recover from the fatigue of my
wanderings. I rented a shop in the Santa Croce quarter, and not far
from it, in an inn, I found a suite of beautiful rooms that overlooked
a terrace. I then distributed notices that advertised me as a merchant
and physician. I had no sooner opened my shop than a stream of
customers poured in, and although my prices were rather high, I sold
more than others, because I was polite and affable with my customers.
I had passed four days pleasantly in Florence, when one evening, after
closing my shop, as I was counting over the profits of the day, I came
across a note, in a little box, that I could not remember having put
there. I opened the note, and found that it contained a request that I
would come to the Ponte Vecchio that night punctually at twelve
o'clock. I studied for a long time over the matter; but, as I did not
know a soul in Florence, I concluded that somebody wished to lead me
secretly to a sick person, as had happened more than once before. I
therefore resolved to go; but, by way of precaution, I took along the
sword that my father had given me.
Shortly before midnight I started, and soon came to the Ponte Vecchio.
I found the bridge deserted, and determined to wait until the person
who had invited me there should appear. The night was cold; the moon
shone bright, and I looked down at the waves of the Arno gleaming in
the moonlight. The church clocks struck twelve. I raised my head, and
before me stood a tall man, covered with a red mantle, a corner of
which he held before his face. I was somewhat startled at first by his
sudden appearance, but collecting myself immediately, said to him:
"If you are the person who ordered me here, tell me what it is you
desire?"
The man in the red mantle turned about and said slowly: "Follow me!"
I felt somewhat uneasy about accompanying this stranger, and replied:
"Not so, dear sir, until you first tell me where I am to follow you;
and you might also show me your face, so that I may assure myself that
you mean me no harm."
The stranger, however, assumed to be indifferent, and said, "If you
won't go, Zaleukos, then don't!"
This aroused my anger. "Do you think," exclaimed I, "that a man like me
will allow himself to be made sport of by every fool? and that I should
wait here in this cold night for nothing?"
In three leaps I reached him, seized him by the cloak, and shouted
still louder, at the same time laying my other hand on my sword; but
the stranger had already disappeared around the next corner, leaving
the cloak in my hand.
By and by my rage subsided; I still had the cloak, and this should
furnish the key to this singular adventure. I put it on and started to
go home. But before I had gone a hundred steps from the bridge,
somebody brushed by me, and whispered to me in French: "Take care,
Count; it can't be done to-night!" But before I could look around, this
person was far away, and I saw only a shadow flitting by the houses. I
saw at once that these whispered words were meant for the owner of the
cloak, and did not in any way concern me; but they shed no light on the
mystery.
The next morning I considered what would better be done in the matter.
My first thought was to have the mantle cried in the streets, as though
I had found it, but in that case the owner could have sent for it by
some third party, and I should be no wiser for my pains. While
I was thinking of this, I examined the mantle closely. It was of heavy
reddish-purple Genoese velvet, with a border of Astrachan fur, and
richly embroidered with gold. The splendid appearance of the cloak led
me to think of a plan that I resolved to put in execution. I took the
cloak to my store, and offered it for sale; but placed such a high
price on it that I was sure it would find no purchaser. My purpose in
this was to look everybody who asked about the furred cloak directly in
the eye. I thought that as I had had a momentary glimpse of the figure
of the unknown man after the loss of his cloak, I would know it among a
thousand. There were many admirers of the cloak, whose extraordinary
beauty attracted all eyes; but none of them resembled the stranger, and
not one of them would pay the exorbitant price of two hundred sequins.
It struck me as strange that when I asked one and another whether such
cloaks were common in Florence, they all answered, "no," and assured me
that they had never before seen such a rich and elegant piece of work.
As evening drew near, a young man, who had often been in my shop, and
who had already bid high for the cloak, came in, and threw down a purse
of sequins, exclaiming:
"Before God, Zaleukos, I must have your cloak, even if it beggars me."
He at once began to count out his gold pieces. I was in quite a
dilemma. I had only hung up the mantle in order that it might perhaps
catch the eye of its owner; and along came a young fool to pay the
monstrous price, but what could I do? I finally consented to the
bargain, as from one point of view I should be well compensated for my
night's adventure. The youth put on the mantle and left, but turned on
the threshold and detached a paper that was fastened to the mantle,
which he threw to me, saying: "Here, Zaleukos, is something that
evidently does not go with the cloak."
I took the paper unconcernedly, and found the following words were
written on it: "Bring the cloak to the Ponte Vecchio to-night, at the
appointed time, and you will receive four hundred sequins."
I was thunderstruck. I had forfeited this chance, and, had not even
attained my purpose. But not stopping to consider the matter, I
gathered up the two hundred sequins, and rushed out after the man who
had bought the cloak. "Take back your money my good friend," said I,
"and leave me the mantle, as it is impossible for me to part with it."
At first the young man looked on this as a joke; but when he saw that I
was really in earnest, he angrily refused to comply with my demand,
treated me as a fool, and thus we speedily came to blows. I was so
fortunate as to snatch the cloak away from him in the scuffle, and was
hastening away with it, when the young man summoned the police, and we
were taken to court. The judge was surprised at the accusation against
me, and awarded the cloak to my opponent. But I offered the young man
twenty, fifty, eighty, yes, one hundred sequins, over and above his two
hundred, if he would leave me in possession of the mantle. My gold
accomplished what my entreaties could not. He took my sequins, while I
carried away the mantle in triumph, contenting myself with the thought
that even if all Florence considered me insane, I knew, better than
they, that I should clear something by this transaction.
Impatiently I awaited the night. At the same hour as on the previous
night, I went to the Ponte Vecchio with the mantle on my arm. At the
last stroke of the clock, a form approached out of the darkness. It was
undoubtedly the man I had met the night before.
"Have you the mantle?" I was asked.
"Yes," replied I; "but it cost me a hundred sequins cash."
"I know it," was the reply, "look here, there are four hundred."
He walked with me up to the broad balustrade of the bridge, and counted
out the gold pieces. They glistened brightly in the moonlight; their
gleam rejoiced my heart. Oh, I dreamed not that it was the last joy it
would ever experience. I put the money in my pocket, and attempted to
get a good look at the stranger; but he wore a mask, through which dark
eyes darted a formidable look on me.
"I thank you, sir, for your kindness," said I. "What now do you require
from me? But I say to you beforehand that it must not be any thing
wrong."
"Your anxiety is needless," replied he, as he placed the mantle on his
shoulders. "I need your services as a doctor; still, not for a living
patient, but for a dead one."
"How can that be?" cried I, in astonishment.
"I came with my sister from a distant country," began the stranger,
beckoning me at the same time to follow him. "I lived with her here at
the house of a friend. My sister had been ill, and yesterday she died
suddenly. Her relatives will bury her to-morrow. But in accordance with
an old custom in our family, all of its members must be buried in the
tomb of their ancestors. Many who died in foreign lands were embalmed
and brought home. I will permit our relatives here to keep my sister's
body, but I must at least take to my father the head of his daughter,
that he may see her once more."
This custom of cutting off the heads of beloved relatives seemed
horrible to me; still I thought best not to offer any objections, lest
the stranger should feel insulted. I therefore told him that I was
acquainted with the method of embalming the dead, and requested him to
conduct me to the deceased. Still I could not refrain from inquiring
why all this was to be conducted so secretly and at night? He answered
that his relatives, holding his views on this subject to be wicked,
would prevent him from carrying them out by day; but when the head was
once removed, they could say little more on the subject. Of course he
might have brought me the head himself but a natural feeling held him
back from removing it.
In the meantime we had reached a large and magnificent house, which my
companion pointed out to me as the end of our night's pilgrimage. We
passed by the principal gate, entering by a smaller one, which the
stranger closed carefully after him, and ascended a spiral staircase in
the darkness. It led into a dimly lighted corridor, from which he
gained a room which was lighted by a lamp suspended from the ceiling.
In this room was a bed, on which the body lay. The stranger turned his
head away, apparently making an attempt to hide his tears. He pointed
to the bed; ordered me to do my work well and quickly, and walked out
of the door.
I took out my instruments, which as a physician I always carried with
me, and approached the bed. Only the head of the dead girl was visible,
but this was so beautiful that I was seized with the deepest pity. The
dark hair hung down in long braids; the face was pale; the eyes were
closed.
I first made a slight incision in the skin, as is the practice with
surgeons when they are about to remove a limb. Then I selected my
sharpest knife, and with one stroke cut through the windpipe. But what
a tragedy! The girl opened her eyes, closing them again instantly, and
with a deep sigh, now, for the first time, breathed out her life, while
at the same time a warm stream of blood gushed from the wound. I was
sure that I had taken the life of this poor creature; for that she was
now dead was beyond question, as there could be no recovery from this
wound.
[Illustration]
I stood some moments almost stupefied at what had taken place. Had the
man in the red mantle betrayed me, or had his sister been lying in a
trance? The latter conjecture seemed the most plausible. But I dared
not say this to the brother of the girl; therefore I resolved to take
the head completely off. But one more groan came from the dying girl, a
spasm shook her form, and all was over. Overcome with horror, I rushed
out of the room. But the lamp in the corridor had gone out, and there
was no trace of my companion. In the darkness, I was compelled to feel
my way along the wall to reach the stairway. I finally found it, and
descended, slipping and stumbling. Nor was there any one below. I found
the door unlocked, and breathed freer when I once more stood upon the
street. Urged on by terror, I ran to my rooms, and buried myself in the
cushions of my couch.
But sleep fled from me, and the approach of morning warned me to
compose myself. It seemed altogether likely to me that the man who had
betrayed me into doing this atrocious deed would not inform on me. I
resolved to go on as usual with my business, and if possible to assume
a cheerful manner. But a new circumstance, that I now noticed for the
first time, increased my terror. My cap and girdle, as well as my
instruments, were missing, and I was uncertain whether I had left them
in the chamber of the murdered girl, or had lost them in my flight.
Unfortunately the first supposition seemed the more probable, and thus
the murder would be traced to me.
I opened my shop at the usual time. My neighbor, who was a talkative
man, came in to see me as usual in the morning.
"What do you say to the horrible tragedy that happened last night?" was
his greeting. I acted as if I knew nothing about it. "What, is it
possible that you don't know what the whole city is talking about? Not
know that the most beautiful flower of Florence, Bianca, the Governor's
daughter, was murdered during the night? I saw her yesterday, looking
so happy as she rode through the streets with her lover; and to-day was
to have been her wedding day."
Every word was a stab in my heart. And how often did I suffer these
pangs, as one by one my customers repeated the story, each making it
more horrible than the other! And yet none of them could make it as
terrible as it had been when presented to my own eyes.
About noon an officer from the court stepped into my shop, and
requested me to send the people away.
"Signor Zaleukos," said he, producing the articles I had missed, "are
these things yours?"
I hesitated for a moment whether I should deny all knowledge of them;
but as I saw through the half open door my landlord and several
acquaintances who could have borne witness against me, I determined not
to make the matter worse by a lie, and acknowledged the ownership of
the articles. The officer bade me follow him, and led me to a large
building, which I soon recognized as the prison. There he showed me to
a room, telling me that I should occupy it for the present.
My situation seemed desperate when I came to think it over in the
solitude of the prison. The thought that I had committed murder, even
though it was done accidentally, kept returning to my mind. Neither
could I hide from myself the fact that the glitter of the gold had
captivated my senses, or I should never have rushed so blindly into
this affair.
Two hours after my arrest I was led out of my chamber. Passing down
several steps, we entered a large hall. Twelve men, most of them of
advanced age, sat at a long table, covered with a black cloth. On the
side of the hall were ranged rows of benches, filled with the
aristocracy of Florence. High up, in the galleries the spectators were
crowded close together. When I was brought before the black-covered
table, a man of dark and sad aspect arose. It was the Governor. He told
those assembled that he, being the father of the murdered girl, could
not preside over this case, and that he would vacate his seat, for the
present, in favor of the oldest senator. The oldest senator was a man
of at least ninety years. He was bent with age, and his temples were
fringed with thin white hairs; but his eyes were still brilliant, and
his voice was clear and strong.
He began by asking me if I confessed to the murder. I besought him to
give me his attention, and related fearlessly and in distinct tones
what I had done. I noticed that as I proceeded, the Governor first
turned pale and then red; and when I had finished, he sprang up in a
rage. "What, wretch!" he exclaimed to me, "it is your intention, then,
to impute this crime, that you committed in a spirit of avarice, to
another?"
The presiding senator reproved him for this outburst, and reminded him
that he had of his own accord renounced his right to direct the trial;
nor did it appear, he said, that I contemplated robbery, as, by his own
admission, nothing was stolen from his daughter. The senator declared
to the Governor that he must give an account of his daughter's past
life, as this was the only means of judging whether I had spoken the
truth or not. At the same time he would close the court for that day,
in order, as he said, to get some further information from the papers
of the deceased, which the Governor should turn over to him. I was led
back to my prison, where I passed a miserable day, occupied with the
eager wish that some connection might be established between the man in
the red mantle and the deceased.
Full of expectation, I entered the hall of justice on the following
day. There were several letters on the table. The aged senator asked me
whether they were in my hand-writing. I looked at them, and found that
they must have been written by the same hand that wrote me the two
notes I had received. I expressed this belief to the senators, but they
paid no attention to my opinion, and answered that I both could and did
write those notes myself, as the signature at the end of the letters
was certainly a Z, the initial letter of my name. And then the letters
contained threats against the deceased, and warnings against the
wedding which was about to take place.
The Governor seemed to have made some strange disclosures about me, as
I was on this day treated more sternly and suspiciously. To justify
myself, I called for all the papers that were to be found in my room.
But I was told that search had already been made there, and nothing
found. When the court broke up, my hope had entirely vanished; and when
I was led back to the hall on the third day, the verdict was
communicated to me. I had been convicted of willful murder, and
sentenced to death. To this, then, I had come at last! Deprived of
every thing that was still dear to me on earth, far from my home, I
should die innocent of crime, and, in the bloom of my youth, under an
ax!
I was sitting in my lonely prison on the evening of the day that had
decided my fate, with my hopes all dissipated, and my thoughts
earnestly turned on death, when my prison door opened, and a man
entered, who regarded me long and silently. "And thus I find you once
more, Zaleukos?" said he. I had not recognized him by the dull gleam of
my lamp, but the tone of his voice awoke old memories in me. It was
Valetty, one of the few friends I had made during my studies in Paris.
He said that happening to come to Florence, where his father, who was a
man of prominence, lived, he heard of my story; he had come to see me,
to learn from my own lips how I had come to commit so terrible a crime.
I told him the whole story. He seemed very much astonished, and
implored me to tell him, my only friend, the whole truth, and not die
with a lie on my lips, I swore to him by every thing that was sacred
that I had spoken the truth, and that the only burden on my conscience
was that, dazed by the glitter of the gold, I had not perceived the
improbabilities in the stranger's story. "Then you did not know
Bianca?" asked he. I assured him that I had never seen her before.
Valetty then told me that a deep secret hung over the deed, that the
Governor had passed sentence on me very hastily, and there was a rumor
among the people that I had known Bianca for a long time, and had
murdered her out of revenge for her approaching marriage with another.
I remarked to him that all this might apply to the man in the red
mantle, but that I was unable to prove his participation in the deed.
Valetty embraced me, weeping, and promised to make every effort to save
my life. I had but little hope, yet I knew that Valetty was a wise man
and experienced in the laws, and that he would do his best to save me.
For two long days I remained in uncertainty. At last Valetty appeared.
"I bring you consolation, even though it be painful," said he. "You
will live and be set at liberty; but with the loss of a hand."
Joyfully I thanked my friend for my life. He told me that the Governor
was inexorably opposed to opening the case again, but that finally, in
order not to appear unjust, he agreed that if a similar case could be
found in any books of Florentine history, then my punishment should be
regulated by the punishment there recorded. Valetty and his father had
thereupon looked through the old books by day and night, and finally
found a case the exact counterpart of mine. The punishment there
awarded was stated thus: "His left hand shall be amputated, his goods
confiscated, and he himself banished forever." This was now to be my
punishment; and I had to prepare myself for the painful ordeal that
awaited me. But I will not dwell on that terrible hour when I stood on
the public square, laid my hand on the block, and felt my own blood
stream over me.
Valetty took me to his own house until I had recovered; then he
generously provided me with money for my journey; as all that I had
acquired in my years of labor was forfeited to the State. I traveled
from Florence to Sicily, and there embarked on the first ship for
Constantinople. My hopes were turned upon the money I had given into
the keeping of my friend; I also asked permission to live with him, but
he astounded me with the question, why I did not occupy my own house?
He informed me that a strange man had bought a house in my name in the
Greek quarter, and had told the neighbors that I would soon be there to
take possession of it. I immediately went there with my friend, and was
warmly welcomed by all my old acquaintances. An old merchant gave me a
letter, left by the man who had bought the house for me.
The letter was as follows: "Zaleukos, two hands will be always ready to
provide so tirelessly for you that you will not feel the loss of one.
The house that you see, and all it contains, is yours; and every year
you will be given enough to place you in the ranks of your
wealthiest countrymen. May you forgive him who is more unfortunate than
yourself."
I suspected who had written this; and the merchant replied to my
question that he had taken the man to be a Frank, and that he wore a
red mantle. I knew enough to own to myself that the stranger was not
entirely destitute of noble sentiments. I found my new house fitted up
in the very best manner, and there was also a shop stocked with wares
finer than I had ever owned before.
Ten years have passed since then; yet, more from habit than necessity,
I continue to make these commercial journeys. I have never since
visited that country where I met with my misfortune. Every year I
receive a thousand gold pieces. But though it rejoices me to know that
the unfortunate stranger has some noble traits of character, it is
impossible for him to cure the sorrow of my soul, which is perpetually
haunted by the terrible vision of the murdered Bianca.
While the Greek merchant had told his story, the others had listened to
him with the deepest interest. Selim Baruch, particularly, had shown
much emotion, having sighed deeply several times, while Muley was sure
that at one time he had seen tears in his eyes. The merchants commented
for some time on the story.
"And do you not hate the stranger who so basely endangered your life
and caused the loss of so important a member of your body?" asked Selim
Baruch.
"There was a time at first," answered the Greek, "when my heart accused
him before God that he had brought this sorrow on me and poisoned my
life. But I found consolation in the religion of my fathers, which
commands me to love my enemies. And then he must be more unhappy than
I."
"You are a noble man!" exclaimed Selim Baruch, as he pressed the Greek's
hand warmly.
The leader of the guard here interrupted the conversation. He entered
the tent with an anxious air, and reported that it would not do for
them to retire to their couches, as this was the place where the
caravans were usually attacked; and, besides, his sentinels believed
they saw several horsemen in the distance.
The merchants were greatly disturbed at this news; but Selim Baruch,
the stranger, expressed surprise at their consternation, and thought
that they were so strongly guarded that they need not fear a troop of
Arab robbers.
"True, Master!" answered the leader of the escort; "if it were only
such fellows, one could lie down to sleep without anxiety. But for
sometime past the terrible Orbasan has appeared occasionally; and
therefore it behooves one to be on his guard."
Selim desired to know who this Orbasan might be, and one of the
merchants answered him: "There are all sorts of reports current among
the people about this wonderful man. Some believe him to be a
supernatural being, because he has often overcome five or six men in a
fight. Others hold that he is a brave Frank, whom misfortune has driven
into these parts. But from all accounts this much is certain: that he
is an infamous robber and thief!"
"But still you will hardly be able to maintain that," retorted Lezah,
another of the merchants. "Even though a robber, he is a magnanimous
man, and has shown himself such to my brother, as I could relate to
you. He has made orderly men of his whole band, and while he roams over
the desert, no other band dare show itself. Neither is he a common
robber, but simply levies a tax on the caravans, and whoever pays this
willingly may travel on without further molestation, for Orbasan is the
Ruler of the Desert."
Thus the merchants discoursed in the tent; but the guard, who was
stationed around the camp, began to be uneasy. A considerable troop of
armed horsemen was seen at a distance of half an hour's ride, and
seemed to be making directly for the camp. One of the guard therefore
went into the tent to announce that they would probably be attacked.
The merchants conferred with one another as to what was to be done:
whether they had better ride out and meet the attack, or await it in
camp. The two eldest merchants were in favor of the latter course; but
the fiery Muley and Zaleukos chose the first, and called on Selim to
follow their example. But Selim quietly drew a small blue cloth,
covered with red stars, from his girdle, tied it to a spear, and
ordered one of the slaves to fasten it to the top of the tent, saying
he would pledge his life that when the horsemen saw this signal they
would draw off quietly. Muley placed no faith in the result, but the
slave fixed the lance on top of the tent. In the meantime all those in
camp had seized their weapons, and looked for the horsemen in intense
expectancy. But they had apparently caught sight of the signal on the
tent, as they suddenly changed their course, and moved off from the
camp in an opposite direction.
The merchants gazed in wonder, now at the vanishing horsemen, and then
on Selim. But he stood before the tent, looking out unconcernedly over
the plain, as if nothing unusual had happened. At length Muley broke
the silence.
"Who are you, O mighty stranger?" cried he. "You that tame the wild
hordes of the desert by a signal."
"You rate my power much higher than it is," answered Selim Baruch. "I
provided myself with this token when I fled from captivity. What it
signifies, I do not know myself; only this much I do know: that whoever
travels with this sign stands under powerful protection."
The merchants thanked Selim and called him their deliverer; and really
the number of the horsemen was so great that the caravan could not have
resisted them very long.
With lighter hearts the merchants laid down to rest; and when the sun
began to set, and the evening breeze blew over the plains of sand, they
broke camp, and resumed their journey.
The next day they camped within a day's march of the end of the desert.
When the travelers had gathered once more in the large tent, Lezah the
merchant began to speak:
"I told you yesterday that the dreaded Orbasan was a magnanimous man;
permit me to prove it to you to-day, by the recital of my brother's
fate. My father was Cadi at Acara. He had three children, of whom I was
the eldest. My brother and sister were considerably younger. When I was
twenty years old, my father's brother sent for me. He made me heir to
his property, with the condition that I should remain with him while he
lived. But he reached a good old age, so that I could not return home
until two years ago, having learned nothing in the meantime of the dark
cloud that had overshadowed our family, and how graciously Allah had
dispersed it."
THE RESCUE OF FATIMA.
My brother Mustapha and my sister Fatima were of nearly the same age.
He was at the most, but two years older. They were devotedly attached
to one another, and together strove, by every means in their power, to
lighten the burden of our sick father's years.
On Fatima's sixteenth birthday, my brother arranged a celebration in
her honor. He invited all her companions; served them with choice
viands in the garden; and towards evening invited them to a ride on the
sea, in a barge which he had hired, and decorated especially for the
occasion. Fatima and her companions joyfully accepted the invitation,
as the evening was fine, and the city viewed from the sea, especially
by night, presented a magnificent appearance.
So highly did the young girls enjoy their ride, that they kept urging
my brother to take them still further out to sea. Mustapha consented
very unwillingly, as some days before a corsair had been seen standing
off the coast. Not far from the city a point of land extended out into
the sea. The young girls now expressed a desire to go there, that they
might see the sun set in the sea. As they rounded the cape, they saw,
at a little distance, a barge filled with armed men. With many
misgivings, my brother ordered the oarsmen to turn the boat around and
pull for shore. And in truth his fears did not seem to be groundless,
for the other barge gave chase to them, and, having more rowers, soon
overtook them--keeping in a line between my brother's barge and the
shore. When the young girls perceived their danger, they jumped up with
cries and lamentations. It was in vain that Mustapha tried to quiet
them; in vain did he urge them to be quiet, as, by their running about,
the boat was in danger of upsetting. His entreaties were not listened
to; and when finally the other boat came near, they all rushed to the
further side of Mustapha's boat and capsized it.
But in the meantime the movements of the strange boat had been watched
from land, and as for some time past fears had been entertained of
corsairs, several barges pushed out from shore to render assistance to
my brother. They arrived just in time to pick up the drowning ones. In
the excitement, the hostile boat escaped; and in the two barges on
which the rescued had been placed, there was some uncertainty as to
whether all had been saved. These two boats were brought side by side,
and alas! it was found that my sister and one of her companions were
missing. At the same moment a man whom no one knew was discovered on
one of the barges. Mustapha's threats extorted from him the admission
that he belonged to the hostile ship that lay at anchor two miles to
the eastward, and that his companions, in their hasty flight, had left
him while he was in the very act of assisting the young girls out of
the water. He further said that he had seen two of them drawn into the
boat to which he belonged.
The anguish of my aged father was intense. Mustapha, too, was nearly
wild with grief--not alone because his beloved sister was lost, and he
must blame himself as the author of her misfortune, but the companion
of Fatima's sad fate was his betrothed, though he had never dared to
mention that circumstance to our father, as the young lady's parents
were poor and low-born.
But my father was a stern man. As soon as he was able to control his
grief, he sent for Mustapha, and said to him: "Your folly has robbed me
of the comfort of my old age, and the light of my eyes. Go! I banish
you forever from my sight; I curse you and all your descendants; and
only when you bring Fatima back to me, shall your father's curse be
lifted."
My brother had not expected this. He had already formed the resolution
of going in search of his sister and her friend, and had come to his
father intending to ask his blessing on the undertaking; and now he was
sent out into the world with the weight of his father's curse on his
head. But if before sorrow had bent him to the ground, this blow, so
undeservedly given, steeled his soul.
He went to the imprisoned pirate, to ask him where his ship was bound,
and learned that she was employed in the slave trade, and usually made
Balsora her market.
When he returned home to prepare for his journey, his father's wrath
seemed to have cooled somewhat, as he sent him a purse of gold for his
support on the journey. Mustapha then took leave of the parents of
Zoraide--his secretly betrothed bride, and started on his way to
Balsora.
As there was no ship from our small town bound directly for Balsora, my
brother made the journey by land; and in order that he might not arrive
too long after the pirates had reached there, he was forced to make
very long day's journeys. Still, as he had a fine horse, and no
luggage, he counted on reaching Balsora at the close of the sixth day.
But on the evening of the fourth day, as he was riding along quite
alone, he was suddenly attacked by three robbers. Observing that they
were powerful men and well armed, and believing that their purpose was
to take his money and horse, rather than his life, he called out that
he would surrender. Thereupon they dismounted from their horses, and
bound his feet together under his horse's belly. One of the men then
seized the bridle of Mustapha's steed, and, with my brother in their
midst, they galloped off in great haste without having once spoken a
word. Mustapha resigned himself to a gloomy despondency. His father's
curse seemed in process of fulfillment; and how could he hope to rescue
his sister and Zoraide, when, stripped of all he possessed, he could
employ only a miserable life towards securing their freedom?
Mustapha and his silent escort had ridden on for about an hour, when
they turned into a side valley, which was shut in by high trees. A
soft, dark-green sod, and a brook rushing swiftly through the middle of
the valley, invited them to rest. Scattered over the green were from
fifteen to twenty tents. Camels and fine horses were tied to the tent
stakes, while from one of the tents sounded the pleasing melody of a
guitar, accompanied by two fine male voices.
To my brother it seemed that people who had displayed such good taste
in the selection of their camping ground could entertain no sinister
designs on him, and he, therefore, cheerfully obeyed the command of
his guides to dismount as soon as they had unloosed his bonds. He was
led into a tent much larger than the others, the interior of which was
fitted up neatly, even elegantly. Gold embroidered cushions, woven
carpets and gold plated censors would have indicated elsewhere the wealth
and respectability of their owner; but here they were plainly the fruits
of robbery. On one of the cushions sat a little old man of repulsive
appearance. His skin was tanned and shiny, and a disagreeable
expression of Turkish slyness lurked about his eyes and mouth. Although
this man attempted to appear dignified, it did not take Mustapha long
to decide that this tent had not been furnished so richly for him,
while the conversation of his guards seemed to confirm his observation.
"Where is the Strong One?" they inquired of the little old man.
"On the chase," answered he. "But he bade me fill his place while he
was gone."
"He didn't display much sense, then," replied one of the robbers, "as
it ought to be decided at once whether this dog shall die or be held
for ransom, and the Strong One could decide that much better than you."
The old man arose with an assumption of dignity, and reached out as if
to grasp his opponent's ear, or to revenge himself by a blow; but when
he saw that his effort was fruitless, he began to curse and swear. Nor
did the others remain long in his debt, but replied in kind, until the
tent resounded with their quarrel.
All at once the door of the tent was opened, and a tall, stately man,
young and handsome as a Persian prince, entered. His clothes and
weapons were plain and simple, with the exception of a richly jeweled
dagger and a gleaming sword; but his steady eye and whole appearance
commanded attention, without inspiring distrust.
"Who is it that dares to make such a disturbance in my tent?" demanded
he of the frightened participants.
For a little time there was deep silence; until finally,
one of the men who had brought Mustapha in told him how the quarrel had
originated. The face of the Strong One, as they called him, flushed
with anger at this recital.
"When did I ever put you in my place, Hassan?" cried he, in a fearful
voice, to the little old man, who, shrinking with fear, stole towards
the door, looking smaller than ever. The Strong One lifted his foot,
and Hassan went flying through the doorway with some remarkable leaps.
When Hassan had disappeared, the three men led Mustapha up to the
master of the tent, who was now reclining on the cushions, saying: "We
have brought you the man whom you ordered us to capture." The Strong
One looked for some time at the prisoner, and then said: "Pasha of
Sulieika, your own conscience will tell you why your are the prisoner
of Orbasan."
When my brother heard this, he threw himself down before Orbasan, and
answered "Oh, Master, you have made a mistake. I am only a poor
unfortunate man, and not the Pasha whom you seek."
All in the tent were surprised at these words. But the master of the
tent replied--
"It will not help you much to deny your identity, as I will produce
people who know you well." He then commanded Zuleima to be brought. An
old woman was led in, who, in response to the question whether she did
not recognize in my brother the Pasha of Sulieika, said--
"Certainly! I swear by the graves of the prophets that he is the Pasha
and no other."
"Do you see, poor fool, how your stratagem is frustrated?" sneered
Orbasan. "You are so miserable a creature that I will not soil my
dagger with your blood; but when to-morrow's sun rises, I will tie you
to my horse's tail and chase through the forests with you until the sun
sets behind the hills of Sulieika."
At this announcement my brother's courage entirely deserted him. "This
is the result of my cruel father's curse that is driving me to an
ignominious death!" exclaimed he, in tears. "And thou, too, sweet
sister, and thou, Zoraide, art lost!"
"Your dissimulation will avail you nothing," said one of the robbers,
who was engaged in tying Mustapha's hands behind his back. "Get out of
the tent quickly, for the Strong One is biting his lips and glancing at
his dagger. If you would live another night, come quickly!"
As the robbers were leading my brother out of the tent, they
encountered three others, who were pushing in a prisoner before them.
"We have brought you the Pasha as you commanded us," said they, and led
the prisoner up to the cushions where Orbasan reclined. While the
prisoner was being led forward, my brother had an opportunity to
observe him closely, and he was forced to acknowledge the striking
resemblance which this man bore to him, only the stranger's complexion
was darker and he wore a black beard.
Orbasan seemed much astonished over the appearance of the second
prisoner. "Which of you, then, is the right one?" asked he, looking
from one to the other.
"If you mean the Pasha of Sulieika," answered the prisoner, in a proud
tone, "I am he."
Orbasan gazed at him some time with a stern, hard expression, and then
silently beckoned the men to lead him away. When they had done so,
Orbasan went up to my brother, cut his bonds with his dagger, and
motioned to him to sit down with him on the cushions. "I am sorry,
young stranger," said he, "that I mistook you for that monster. It was,
indeed, a singular dispensation of fate which led you into the hands of
my comrades at the same hour that was destined to see the fall of that
traitor." My brother begged of him but one favor: that he might be
allowed to continue on his journey at once, as the least delay would
prove fatal to his purpose. Orbasan inquired what the nature of the
affair was that required such haste, and when Mustapha had told him
every thing, Orbasan persuaded him to remain in his tent over night, as
he and his horse were in need of rest, and promised that in the morning
he would show him a way by which he could reach Balsora in a day and a
half.
My brother remained, was hospitably entertained, and slept soundly
until morning in the tent of the robber chief. When he awakened he
found himself all alone, but before the curtain of the tent he heard
several voices, one of which belonged to Orbasan and another to Hassan.
He listened, and heard, to his horror, that the little old man was
urging upon Orbasan the necessity of killing him, lest he should betray
them when he had regained his liberty. Mustapha felt sure that Hassan
hated him, because he had been the cause of the little fellow's being
handled so roughly the night before. Orbasan remained silent for some
moments, and then replied: "No, he is my guest, and the laws of
hospitality are sacred with me; neither does he look like an informer."
Thus saying, Orbasan flung aside the curtain and entered. "Peace be
with you, Mustapha," said he. "Let us take our morning draught, and
then prepare yourself to start." He handed my brother a glass of
sherbet, and when they had drunk, they saddled their horses, and with a
lighter heart than he had entered the camp, Mustapha swung himself into
his seat.
They had soon left the tents far behind, and followed a broad path that
led into the forest. Orbasan told my brother that the Pasha who had
been captured had promised that he would permit them to remain
undisturbed in his territory; yet but a few weeks after he took one of
their bravest men prisoner, and hanged him with the most horrible
torture. Orbasan had had spies on his track for a long time, and now he
must die. Mustapha did not venture to oppose his purpose, as he was
thankful to get away with a whole skin himself.
At the end of the forest Orbasan stopped his horse, described the way
to my brother, offered him his hand at parting, and said: "Mustapha,
you became the guest of the robber Orbasan under singular
circumstances. I will not require you to promise that you will not
betray what you have seen and heard. You were unjustly forced to suffer
the fear of death, and I am, therefore, in your debt. Take this dagger
as a keepsake, and if you are ever in need of help, send it to me, and
I will hasten to your assistance. This purse you may be able to use on
your journey."
My brother thanked him for his generosity, and took the dagger, but
refused the purse. Orbasan pressed his hand once more, letting the
purse fall to the ground, and sprang with the speed of the wind into
the forest. When Mustapha saw that Orbasan did not intend to return for
the purse, he dismounted and picked it up, starting at the generosity
of his host, as he found it contained a large sum of gold. He thanked
Allah for his rescue, recommended the generous robber to His mercy, and
continued on his way to Balsora with a lighter heart.
Lezah, the story-teller, paused, and looked inquiringly at the merchant
who had spoken so bitterly of Orbasan. The latter said--
"Well, if all that be so, I will cheerfully reverse my judgment of
Orbasan, for he really treated your brother handsomely."
"He behaved like a true Musselman," exclaimed Muley. "But I hope your
story was not ended there, for we are all curious to hear more; how
things went with your brother, and whether he rescued your sister
Fatima and the beautiful Zoraide."
"If I do not weary you, I will willingly continue," replied Lezah; "for
this story of my brother is certainly adventurous and wonderful."
With this, he continued his story.
At noon on the seventh day of his departure from home, Mustapha entered
the gate of Balsora. As soon as he had reached a caravansary, he made
inquiries as to when the slave auction, held there every year, opened.
He received in reply the dreadful news that he had arrived two days too
late. They deplored his delay, and told him that he had missed a fine
sight, for on the last day of the auction two female slaves had been
put up, of such extraordinary beauty as to attract the attention of all
bidders. There was sharp competition for their possession, and the
bidding ran up so high as to frighten off everybody but their present
owner. Mustapha made more particular inquiries, until he had satisfied
himself beyond a doubt that these slaves were the unfortunate objects
of his search. He learned further that the name of the man who had
bought them was Thiuli-Kos; that he lived a good forty-hours' journey
from Balsora, and was a rich and elderly man of rank, who had formerly
been senior Pasha of the Shah, but had now retired from official life
to live upon his means.
At first thought, Mustapha was about to mount his horse and hasten
after Thiuli-Kos, who had only a day the start of him; but, after
reflecting that, alone and unattended, he could hardly approach so
powerful and rich a man, and still less hope to rob him of his
possessions, he tried to devise some other plan, and soon hit upon one
that appeared feasible. The singular mistake of confounding him with
the Pasha of Sulieika, which had been so nearly fatal to him, suggested
the idea of visiting the house of Thiuli-Kos, under this name, and then
attempting the rescue of the unfortunate maidens. Accordingly he hired
horses and servants--for which purpose Orbasan's money proved very
useful--provided fine clothes for himself and servants, and set out for
Thiuli's castle.
In five days he reached the vicinity of the castle, which was situated
in a beautiful plain, enclosed within high walls, above which but
little could be seen of the buildings. Arriving there, Mustapha dyed
his hair and beard black, and painted his face with the juice of a
plant, that gave him quite as brown a complexion as the real Pasha had
possessed. Thereupon he sent one of his servants to the castle to
request a night's lodging, in the name of the Pasha of Sulieika. The
servant soon returned, and with him came four finely costumed slaves,
who took hold of the bridle of Mustapha's horse, and led him into the
court of the castle. There they assisted him to dismount, when four
others conducted him up the broad marble steps to the presence of
Thiuli. The latter proved to be a jovial old fellow, and he received my
brother with due honor, and set before him the best that his cook could
prepare.
After the table was cleared, Mustapha turned the conversation to the
new slaves, and Thiuli boasted of their beauty, while complaining of
their sadness; this, however, he believed would soon disappear. My
brother was well pleased with his reception, and betook himself to
rest, feeling very hopeful. He had slept perhaps an hour, when he was
awakened by the gleam of a lamp that dazzled his eyes. As he raised
himself in bed, he believed that he must still be dreaming, for before
him stood that little dark-skinned man whom he had seen in Orbasan's
tent. He held a lamp in his hand, and his broad mouth was distorted by
a horrible grimace. Mustapha pinched his own arm and pulled his nose,
in order to convince himself that he was awake; but the apparition
remained as before.
"What will you at my bed-side?" cried Mustapha, as soon as he had
recovered from his astonishment.
"Don't trouble yourself, Master," replied Hassan, "I have found out
your purpose in coming here; nor was your worthy face forgotten by me.
But really, if I had not helped to hang the Pasha with my own hands, I
might perhaps have been deceived. Now I have come to put a question."
"First of all, tell me how you came here," returned Mustapha, furious
at being betrayed.
"I will tell you," replied Hassan, "I could not get along with Orbasan
any longer; therefore I ran away. But you, Mustapha, was the cause of
our quarrel, and therefore you must give me your sister to wed, and I
will assist you in your flight. If you do not agree to this, I will go
to my new master and tell him something about the new Pasha."
Mustapha was beside himself with rage and terror. Now, just as he
believed himself about to attain his object, why must this wretch come
and thwart his designs? There was only one way left in which he could
carry out his plan: he must kill the ugly monster. With one spring he
leaped from the bed and tried to seize the ugly wretch; but he,
doubtless having expected such an attack, let the lamp fall and escaped
in the darkness, shrieking murderously for help.
He was now compelled to give up the young girls, and turn his attention
to his own safety. He went to the window to see whether he could jump
out, and found it was quite a distance to the ground, while opposite
stood a high wall. Suddenly he heard voices approaching his room. As
they reached his door, he grasped his clothes and dagger in
desperation, and swung himself out of the window. The fall was a hard
one, but he felt that no bones were broken, and sprang up to run to the
wall, which he climbed, to the astonishment of the pursuers, and was
soon at liberty. He ran until he reached a small wood, where he flung
himself down exhausted. Here he considered what was to be done.
His servants and horses he had been forced to leave, but the money
which he carried in his girdle was safe, and his ingenuity shortly
discovered another mode of rescue. He went on through the forest until
he came to a village, where for a little money he bought a horse that
quickly carried him to a city. Once there he inquired for a physician,
and an old and experienced man was recommended to him. By the aid of
some gold pieces, he induced this physician to furnish him with a
medicine that would produce a death-like sleep, that might, however, be
instantly dispelled by some other remedy. When he had procured these
medicines, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all manner of
little boxes and alembics, so that he properly represented a traveling
physician--loaded his traps on an ass and journeyed back to the castle
of Thiuli-Kos. He was certain this time of not being known, as the
beard made such a complete change in his appearance that he felt
doubtful of his own identity.
On arriving at Thiuli's, he announced himself as the physician
Chakamankabudibaba. The result was as he had foreseen: the
high-sounding name recommended him so highly to the weak old Pasha that
he was at once invited to dinner. After an hour's conversation, the old
man resolved to submit all his female slaves to the treatment of the
wise physician. Mustapha could now hardly conceal his joy at the
prospect of seeing his beloved sister again, and followed Thiuli with a
beating heart, as he led the way to the seraglio. They came to a room
beautifully decorated but unoccupied.
"Chambaba, or whatever you call yourself, dear doctor," said
Thiuli-Kos, "look for a moment at yonder hole in the wall; each one of
my slaves will put her arm through it in succession, and you can
ascertain by the pulse who the sick are and who the well."
[Illustration]
Mustapha's objections to this arrangement were of no avail; he was not
permitted to see the slaves; still Thiuli consented to inform him of
each one's general state of health. Thiuli then drew out a long sheet
of paper from his sash, and began to call the roll of his female slaves
in a loud voice; and at each name a hand was thrust through the wall,
and the physician felt the pulse. Six were called off, and pronounced
in good health, when Thiuli called out the name "Fatima," as the
seventh, and a small white hand slipped through the wall. Trembling
with joy, Mustapha seized this hand and declared with an important air,
that Fatima was seriously sick. Thiuli became very anxious, and ordered
his wise Chakamankabudibaba to prepare at once some medicine for her.
The physician went out of the room, and wrote on a small piece of
paper:
"Fatima! I will save you, if you have the strength of will to take a
medicine that will deprive you of life for two days; still I possess a
remedy that will restore you to life again. If you are willing to do
this, speak these words: 'The medicine did not help me any,' and I
shall take it as a sign of your assent."
Mustapha returned to the room where Thiuli was awaiting him. He brought
with him a harmless drink, felt of Fatima's pulse once more, at the
same time tucking the note under her bracelet, and passed the drink
through the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be very anxious about
Fatima, and put off the examination of the rest until a more favorable
opportunity. As he left the room with Mustapha, he said, in a sad tone:
"Chidababa, tell me the exact truth; what is your opinion of Fatima's
sickness?" Chakamankabudibaba replied with a deep sigh: "Oh Master! may
the good Prophet send you consolation; she has a stealthy fever that
may end her life." At this reply Thiuli's anger flamed up. "What's that
you say, you cursed dog of a doctor! Do you mean to say that she, for
whom I paid two thousand pieces of gold, will die on my hands like a
cow? Know, then, that if you do not save her, I will take your head
off!"
My brother at once saw that he had made a stupid mistake, so he
hastened to assure Thiuli there was still hope for Fatima. While they
were speaking together, a black slave came from the seraglio to say to
the physician that _the drink did not help her any_. "Put forth all
your art, Chakamdababelda, or whatever you call yourself, and I will
pay you whatever you ask," exclaimed Thiuli-Kos, wild with anxiety at
the prospect of losing so much money. "I will give her a little
decoction that will save her from danger," answered the physician.
"Yes! by all means, give her the medicine," cried old Thiuli.
Mustapha, in high spirits, went to fetch the sleeping potion, and after
handing it to the slave, with instructions as to the quantity to be
taken, he returned to Thiuli, and told him that now he must go down to
the sea and gather some healing herbs. He then hurried away to the sea,
that was not far off, where he took off his various disguises and flung
them into the water, where the waves tossed them about. He then
concealed himself in the bushes until evening, when he stole quietly up
to the burial vault of Thiuli's castle.
Hardly an hour after Mustapha had departed from the castle, word was
brought Thiuli that his slave Fatima was dying. He at once sent down to
the shore to have the physician brought back, but his messengers soon
returned with the information that the poor doctor had fallen into the
water and been drowned; his black cloak was floating on the waves, and
occasionally his magnificent black beard might be seen bobbing up and
down in the water.
When Thiuli saw there was no hope of her recovery, he cursed himself
and the whole world, tore out his beard, and butted his head against
the wall. But all this availed nothing, for Fatima, under the care of
the other women, soon ceased to breathe. When Thiuli heard of her
death, he ordered a coffin to be hastily made, as he could not suffer a
dead person to remain in the house, and had the body carried to the
tomb. The bearers carried the coffin there, dropped it hastily, and
fled, as they heard groans and sighs proceeding from the other coffins.
Mustapha, who had hidden behind the coffins and frightened away the
bearers of Fatima's coffin, now came out from his hiding place, and
lighted a lamp that he had provided for this purpose. Next he produced
a phial containing the restorative, and raised the lid of Fatima's
coffin. But what was his amazement when the rays of the lamp disclosed
features entirely strange to him! It was neither my sister nor Zoraide,
but quite another person, that lay in the coffin. It took him a long
time to recover from this latest blow of fate, but finally pity
overcame his vexation. He opened the phial, and poured some of the
contents into the mouth of the sleeper. She breathed, opened her eyes,
and seemed for a long time to be trying to make out her situation. At
last she recalled all that had happened, and, stepping out of the
coffin, flung herself at Mustapha's feet. "How can I thank you,
gracious being?" cried she, "for freeing me from my terrible prison!"
Mustapha interrupted her expressions of gratitude with the question how
it happened that she and not his sister Fatima had been rescued. She
looked at him in an astonished way before replying: "Now for the first
time I understand what before was incomprehensible to me. You must know
that I was called Fatima in the castle, and it was to me you gave the
note and medicine." My brother requested her to give him news of his
sister and Zoraide, and learned that they were both in the castle, but,
in accordance with a custom of Thiuli's, had received other names, and
were now called Mirza and Nurmahal.
When the freed slave, Fatima, saw that my brother was so cast down by
this mistake, she consoled him with the assurance that she could point
out another way by which both of the young girls might be rescued.
Aroused by what she said, he begged her to tell him her plan, to which
she replied--
"For some five months I have been Thiuli's slave; yet from the first I
have planned to escape, but it was too much of a task for me to attempt
alone. In the inner court of the castle you must have noticed a
fountain that throws the water in a cascade from ten pipes. This
fountain impressed me strongly, because I remembered a similar one in
my father's house, the water of which was brought through a large
aqueduct. In order to learn whether this fountain was built in the same
way, I one day praised its beauty to Thiuli, and asked who had
constructed it. 'I built it myself,' answered he; 'and what you see
here is the least part of the work, as the water is brought from a
brook, a thousand paces away, through an arched viaduct at least high
enough for a man to walk in. And the construction of all this I
directed myself.'
"Since hearing this, I have often wished for the strength of a man to
pull out a stone in the side of the fountain, and thereby escape. I
will now show you the aqueduct, through which you can obtain entrance
to the castle at night, and set your sister free. But you ought to have
at least two men with you, in order to overpower the slaves who watch
the seraglio at night."
My brother Mustapha, although he had seen his plans twice frustrated,
plucked up courage once more at these words, and hoped, with Allah's
assistance, to carry out the scheme of the slave. He promised to see
that she arrived safely at her home if she would assist him to enter
the castle. But one point caused him some little perplexity: where
should he obtain two or three men upon whom he could depend? Just then
Orbasan's dagger occurred to him, and the promise he had received from
the bandit that, in case of need, he would hasten to his assistance;
and he therefore left the vault, in company with Fatima, to hunt up the
robber.
In the same village which had witnessed his transformation into a
physician, he bought a horse with what money remained to him, and
procured a lodging for Fatima with a poor woman who lived in the
suburb. He then hastened toward the hills where he had first met
Orbasan, and arrived there in three days. He soon found their tents, and
appeared unexpectedly to Orbasan, who greeted him with friendliness. He
gave an account of his failures, at which the grave Orbasan could not
refrain from laughing now and then, especially when he thought of the
physician Chakamankabudibaba. But he was terribly enraged over the
treachery of the ugly little monster, Hassan, and swore he would hang
him up wherever he found him. He also promised that when my brother had
refreshed himself after the fatigue of his journey, he would be ready to
assist him.
Mustapha therefore spent the night in Orbasan's tent. With the early
dawn they rode off, accompanied by three of Orbasan's bravest men well
mounted and armed. They rode very fast and in two days' time reached
the place where Mustapha had left Fatima. They took her with them, and
journeyed on until they came to the small wood from whence Thiuli's
castle could be seen, where they went into camp until night should
come.
As soon as it was dark, guided by Fatima, they stole up to the brook
where the aqueduct began, and soon discovered the entrance. There they
left Fatima and a servant with the horses, and prepared to descend into
the conduit; but before they went in, Fatima repeated once more her
instructions to them--they would emerge from the fountain into the
inner court, in the right and left corners of which were towers, and in
the sixth door counting from the right tower, they would find Fatima
and Zoraide, guarded by two black slaves. Well provided with weapons and
crowbars, Mustapha, Orbasan, and two other men, descended into the
aqueduct. They sank to their hips in the water, but none the less did
they advance valiantly forward. In half an hour they came to the
fountain, and at once began to use their crowbars. The wall was thick
and solid but could not long withstand the united strength of the four
men, and they had soon made an opening large enough to crawl through.
Orbasan passed through first, and helped the others after him.
When they all stood in the court, they looked closely at the side of
the castle facing them, to pick out the door that had been described.
But they did not all agree on this point, for on counting from the
right tower toward the left, they found one door that had been walled
up, and they could not decide whether Fatima had passed this door by,
or had counted it in with the others. But Orbasan did not hesitate
long. "My good sword will open every door to me," exclaimed he, and
went to one of the doors followed by his companions. They opened the
door and discovered six black slaves lying on the floor asleep. They
were about to withdraw quietly, as they saw they had missed the right
door, when a man's form arose in the corner, and in a well-known voice,
called for help. It was Hassan, the deserter from Orbasan's camp. But
before the black guards could find out what had happened, Orbasan
rushed at the little wretch, tore his girdle into two pieces, with one
of which he bound his mouth, and with the other tied his hands behind
his back; then he turned on the slaves, some of whom were already
partially secured by Mustapha and his companions, and assisted to
completely overpower them. At the point of the dagger, the slaves
confessed that Nurmahal and Mirza were in the adjoining room. Mustapha
rushed in, and found Fatima and Zoraide, who were already aroused by
the noise. They quickly collected their clothing and ornaments, and
followed Mustapha. The two robbers now begged permission of Orbasan to
plunder whatever they found; but he forbade them, saying: "It shall
never be said of Orbasan that he broke into a house at night to steal
gold."
Mustapha and the young girls slid quickly into the aqueduct, Orbasan
promising to follow immediately; but as soon as the others were out of
sight, Orbasan and one of the robbers took Hassan out into the court,
and tying a silk cord around his neck, hung him to the highest point of
the fountain. After having inflicted this penalty on the wretch, they
descended into the aqueduct and followed Mustapha.
[Illustration]
With tears the two young girls thanked their noble rescuer Orbasan, but
he hurried them on in their flight, as it was quite probable that
Thiuli-Kos would pursue them in all directions. With deep emotion,
Mustapha and the rescued ones parted from Orbasan on the following day.
Of a truth, they will never forget him. Fatima, the freed slave,
disguised herself and went to Balsora to take passage for her home, and
all reached there safely after a short and agreeable journey.
The joy of seeing them again almost killed my father; but the day after
their arrival, he ordered an immense banquet, to which the whole town
came. My brother had then to repeat his story before a large number of
relatives and friends, and with one voice they praised him and the
noble Orbasan.
When my brother had finished, my father rose and led Zoraide up to him.
"Thus," said he in joyful tones, "do I lift the curse from thy head;
take her as the reward, which thou hast won through thy tireless zeal;
take my fatherly blessing; and may our city never be wanting in men
who, in brotherly love, in wisdom and zeal, resemble thee."
The caravan had reached the end of the desert, and the travelers
joyfully greeted the green meadows and the thick foliage of the trees;
a delightful view, of which they had been deprived for many days. In a
beautiful valley was situated a caravansary, which they chose for a
night's lodging; and although it offered poor accommodation and
refreshment, yet the whole company were in better spirits and more
confidential than ever, as the feeling that they had escaped all the
dangers and discomforts which a journey through the desert brings,
opened all hearts and disposed all minds to jests and sports. Muley,
the active young merchant, danced a comic dance, accompanying himself
with songs, until even the sad features of Zaleukos, the Greek, relaxed
into a smile. But not satisfied with having entertained his fellow
travelers with dances and games, he related, as soon as he had somewhat
recovered from his violent exercise, the story which he had promised
them.
LITTLE MUCK.
IN Nicæea, my dearly-loved native city, lived a man who was called
Little Muck, I can recall him distinctly, although I was quite young at
the time, chiefly because of a severe chastisement I received from my
father on his account. This Little Muck was already an old man when I
knew him, and yet he was not more than four feet in height. His figure
presented a singular appearance, as his body, small and childlike,
seemed but a slender support for a head much larger than the heads of
ordinary people. He lived all alone in a large house, and cooked his
own meals, and had it not been for the smoke that rose from his kitchen
chimney at midday, the townspeople would have remained in doubt as to
whether he still lived; for he went out but once a month. He was,
however, occasionally seen walking on the house-top, and to one looking
up from the street there was presented the singular sight of a head
moving to and fro. My companions and myself were rather bad boys, who
took delight in teasing and making sport of everybody; so it was always
a great holiday for us whenever Little Muck went out. We gathered
before his house on the appointed day, and waited; and when now the
door opened, and the large head, wrapped in a still larger turban,
peeped out, followed by the rest of his little body, done up in a
threadbare cloak, baggy breeches, and a wide sash, from which hung a
dagger so long that it could not be told whether Muck stuck on the
dagger or the dagger on Muck--when he thus made his appearance, the air
echoed with our shouts; we threw up our caps, and danced around him
like mad. Little Muck, however, returned our salute with a grave nod of
the head, and shuffled slowly down the street in such great, wide
slippers as I had never seen before. We boys ran behind him, shouting:
"Little Muck! Little Muck!" We also had a jolly little verse that we
now and then sang in his honor, which ran as follows:
[Illustration]
Little Muck, little Muck,
Living in a house so fair,
Once a month you take the air,
You, brave little dwarf, 'tis said,
Have a mountain for a head;
Turn around just once and look;
Run and catch us, little Muck!
Thus had we often entertained ourselves, and, to my shame be it
confessed, I behaved the worst--often catching him by the cloak, and
once I trod on the heel of his slipper so that he fell down. This
struck me as a very funny thing, but the laugh stuck in my throat as I
saw him go to my father's house. He went right in and remained there
for some time. I hid myself near the front door, and saw Little Muck
come out again, accompanied by my father, who held his hand and parted
from him on the door-step with many bows. Not feeling very easy in my
mind, I remained for a long time in my hiding place; but I was at last
driven out by hunger, which I feared worse than a whipping, and,
spiritless and with bowed head, I went home to my father. "I hear that
you have been insulting the good Little Muck," said he, in a grave
tone. "I will tell you the story of Little Muck, and you will certainly
not want to laugh at him again; but before I begin, and after I am
through, you will receive '_the customary_.'" Now "the customary"
consisted of twenty-five blows, which he was accustomed to lay on
without making any mistake in the count. He took for this purpose the
long stem of a cherry pipe, unscrewing the amber mouth-piece, and
belaboring me harder than ever before. When the five-and-twenty strokes
were completed, he commanded me to pay attention, and told me the story
of Little Muck.
The father of Little Muck--whose proper name was Mukrah--was a poor but
respectable man, living here in Nicæa. He lived nearly as solitary a
life as his son now does. This son he could not endure, as he was
ashamed of his dwarfish shape, and he therefore allowed him to grow up
in ignorance. Little Muck, though in his sixteenth year, was only a
child; and his father continually scolded him, because he who should
have long since "put away childish things," still remained so stupid
and silly.
However, the old gentleman got a bad fall one day, from the effects of
which he shortly died, and left Little Muck poor and ignorant. The
unfeeling relatives, to whom the deceased had owed more than he could
pay, drove the poor little fellow out of the house, and advised him to
go out into the world and seek his fortune. Little Muck replied that he
was ready for the journey, but begged that he might be allowed to have his
father's clothes; and these were given him. His father had been a tall,
stout man, so that the clothes did not fit the little son very well; but
Muck knew just what to do in this emergency: he cut off every thing that
was too long, and then put the clothes on. He seemed, however, to have
forgotten that he should have cut away from the width as well; hence his
singular appearance just as he may be seen to-day--dressed in the large
turban, the broad sash, the baggy trousers, the blue cloak, all heirlooms
from his father, which he has ever since worn. The long Damascus poniard,
that had also belonged to his father, he stuck proudly in his sash, and,
supported by a little cane, wandered out of the city gate.
He tramped along merrily the whole day; for had he not been sent out to
seek his fortune? If he came across a broken bit of pottery glistening
in the sun, he straightway put it into his pocket, in the full belief
that it would prove to be the most brilliant diamond. When he saw in
the distance the dome of a mosque all ablaze with the sun's rays, or a
lake gleaming like a mirror, he made all haste to reach it, believing
he had arrived in an enchanted land. But alas, the illusions vanished
as he neared them, while weariness and an empty stomach forcibly
reminded him that he was still in the land of mortals. Thus hungry and
sorrowful, and despairing of ever finding his fortune, he wandered on
for two long days, with the fruits of the field for his only
nourishment, and the hard earth for his couch.
On the morning of the third day he discovered, from a hill, a large
city. The crescent shone brightly on its battlements, while gay banners
waving from the roofs seemed to beckon him on. In great surprise, he
stopped to look at the city and its surroundings. "Yes, there shall Little
Muck find his fortune," said he to himself; and summoning all his strength,
he started on towards the city. But, although the town seemed near by, it
was nearly noon when he reached it, as his little legs almost refused to
carry out his will, and he was forced to sit down in the shade of a palm
tree to rest. At last he reached the gate. There he arranged his cloak with
great care, gave a new fold to his turban, stretched out his sash to twice
its usual width, stuck the long poniard in a little straighter, and wiping
the dust from his shoes, grasped his stick more firmly and marched bravely
in.
He had wandered through several streets, but not a door opened to him;
nor did any one call out--as he had fancied would be done--:
Little Muck! Come in and eat,
And rest your weary little feet.
Once more he looked up very longingly at a large, fine house before
him, when suddenly a window was opened, and an old woman looked down,
calling out in a sing-song tone:
O come, O come!
The porridge is done,
The table is spread,
May you all be well-fed;
O good neighbors, come,
The porridge is done!
The door of the house opened, and Muck saw many dogs and cats enter. He
remained for some time in doubt whether he should accept the
invitation, but at last he mustered up courage and walked in. Before
him went two little kittens, and he concluded to follow them, as they
might know the way to the kitchen better than he did.
As Muck ascended the stairs, he met the same old woman who had looked
out from the window. She looked at him crossly, and asked him what he
wanted. "Why, you invited everybody in to partake of your porridge,"
answered Little Muck; "and as I was very hungry, I came in too." The
old woman laughed and said: "Where in the world do you come from, you
odd little fellow? The whole city knows that I cook for nobody but my
dear cats, and now and then I invite company for them out of the
neighborhood, as you see." Little Muck told the old woman how hardly it
had fared with him since his father's death, and begged that she would
permit him to eat with her cats to-day. The woman, who was pleased with
the simple-hearted manner in which the dwarf told his story, allowed
him to be her guest, and provided food and drink for him bountifully.
When he had eaten his fill, and felt much stronger, the old woman
looked at him for some time before saying: "Little Muck, remain in my
service; you will have little to do, and will be well provided for."
Little Muck, who had found the cats' soup very nice, consented, and
became the servant of Ahavzi. His duties were light, but quite
peculiar. Ahavzi had, for instance, six cats, and every morning Little
Muck had to comb their fur and rub in costly ointments; when the old
woman went out he had also to look after the cats; when they were to be
fed, he had to set the dishes before them; and at night it was his duty
to lay them on silken cushions and cover them with velvet blankets.
There were also a few small dogs in the house, which he had to wait
upon; still, these received but little attention as compared with the
cats, which Ahavzi considered as her own children. As for the rest,
Muck led as lonely a life as he had suffered in his father's house;
for, with the exception of the old woman, he saw only dogs and cats the
livelong day.
For a little while, however, all went well with him. He always had
enough to eat and but little to do, and the old woman found no fault
with him. But after a while the cats became unruly; when the old woman
had gone out, they would fly around the room as if possessed, throwing
things about, and breaking many a fine dish that stood in their way.
But whenever they heard the old woman coming up the stairs, they
crouched down on their cushions, and wagged their tails, as if nothing
had occurred. Ahavzi got very angry when she found her rooms in such
disorder, and laid it all to Muck's charge; and though he might protest
his innocence as much as he pleased, she believed her cats, which
looked so harmless, more than she did her servant.
Little Muck felt very sad that he had failed to find his fortune, and
secretly resolved to leave the service of Ahavzi. But, as he had
discovered on his first journey how poorly one lives without money, he
resolved to help himself to the wages which his mistress had often
promised but never given him. There was one room in Ahavzi's house that
was always kept locked, and whose interior Muck had never seen. But he
had often heard the old woman bustling about in there, and as often he
would have given his life to know what she had hidden there. When he
came to think about the money for his journey, it occurred to him that
the treasures of Ahavzi might be concealed in that room. But the door
was always locked, and therefore he was unable to get at the treasures.
One morning, when the old woman had gone out, one of the dogs--to whom
Ahavzi accorded little more than a step-mother's care, but whose favor
Muck had acquired by a series of kindly services--seized Muck by his
baggy trousers, and acted as if he wished the dwarf to follow him.
Muck, always ready for a game with the dog, followed him, and behold,
he was escorted to the bed-room of Ahavzi, and up to a small door that
he had never noticed before. The door was soon opened, and the dog
went in followed by Muck, who was greatly rejoiced to find that he was
in the very room that he had so long sought to enter. He searched
every-where for money, but found none. Only old clothes and strangely
shaped dishes were to be seen. One of these dishes attracted his
attention. It was crystal and in it were cut beautiful figures. He
picked it up and turned it about to examine all its sides. But,
horrors! he had not noticed that it had a lid which was insecurely
fastened. The cover fell off, and was broken into a thousand pieces!
For a long time Little Muck stood there, motionless from terror. Now
was his fate decided. Now he must flee, or the old woman would surely
strike him dead. His journey was decided on at once; and as he took one
more look around to see if there were nothing among the effects of
Ahavzi that he could make use of on his march, his eye was caught by a
pair of large slippers. They were certainly not beautiful; but those he
had on would not stand another journey, and he was also attracted by
this pair on account of their size, for when he once had these on his
feet, everybody, he hoped, would see that he had "put away childish
things." He therefore quickly kicked off his own shoes and stepped into
the large slippers. A walking stick ornamented with a finely cut lion's
head, seemed to him to be standing too idly in the corner; so he took
that along also, and hastened to his own bed-room, where he threw on
his cloak, placed his father's turban on his head, stuck the poniard in
his sash, and left the house and city as speedily as his feet would
carry him.
Once free of the town, he ran on, from fear of the old woman, until he
was ready to drop with exhaustion. Never before had he run so fast;
indeed it seemed to him that some unseen force was hurrying him on so
that he could not stop. Finally he observed that his power must have
connection with the slippers, as these kept sliding along, and carried
him with them. He attempted all kinds of experiments to come to a
stand-still, but was unsuccessful; when as a last resort, he shouted at
himself, as one calls to horses: "Whoa! whoa! stop! whoa!" Thereupon
the slippers halted, and Muck threw himself down on the ground utterly
exhausted.
The slippers pleased him very much. He had, after all, acquired
something by his service, that would help him along in the world, on
his way to find his fortune. In spite of his joy, he fell asleep from
exhaustion--as the small body of little Muck had so heavy a head to
carry that it could not endure much fatigue. The little dog, that had
helped him to Ahavzi's slippers, appeared to him in a dream, and said
to him: "Dear Muck, you don't quite understand how to use those
slippers; you must know that by turning around three times on the heel
of your slipper, you can fly to any point you choose; and with this
walking-stick you can discover treasures, as wherever gold is buried it
will strike three times on the earth, and if silver, twice!" Such was
the dream of Little Muck.
When he waked up, he recalled the wonderful dream, and resolved to test
its truth. He put on the slippers, raised one foot and attempted to
turn on his heel. But any one who will try the feat of turning three
times in succession on the heel of such a large slipper, will not
wonder that Little Muck did not at first succeed, especially if one
takes into account his heavy head, that was constantly causing him to
lose his balance. The poor little fellow got several hard falls on his
nose, but he would not be frightened off from repeating his efforts,
and at last he succeeded.
He whirled around like a wheel on his heel; wished himself in the
next large city, and the slippers steered him up into the air, rushed
him with the speed of the wind through the clouds, and before Little
Muck could think how it had all happened, he found himself in a
market-place, where many stalls had been put up, and a countless number
of people were busily running to and fro. He mixed somewhat with the
people but considered it wiser to take himself to a quieter street, as
on the market-place every now-and-then somebody stepped on his
slippers, so as to nearly throw him down, and then again, one and
another, in hurrying by, would get a stab from his projecting poniard,
so that he was continually in trouble.
Little Muck now began to think seriously of what he should do to earn
some money. To be sure, he had a stick that would point out hidden
treasures, but where might he hope to find a place where gold or silver
was buried? He might have exhibited himself for money; but for that he
was too proud. Finally his speed of foot occurred to him. Perhaps,
thought he, my slippers may procure me a livelihood; and he resolved to
hire himself out as a runner. Concluding that the king, who lived in
this city, would pay the best wages, he inquired for the palace. At the
door of the palace stood a guard, who asked him what business he had
there? On answering that he was seeking service, he was referred to the
head steward. To him he preferred his request, and begged him to give
him a place among the king's messengers. The steward measured him with
a glance from head to foot, and said: "How will you, with your little
feet, scarcely a hand's breadth in length, become a royal messenger?
Get away with you! I am not here to crack jokes with every fool."
Little Muck assured him that he meant every word he had said, and that
he would run a race with the fastest, on a wager. The steward took all
this as a bit of pleasantry, and in that spirit ordered him to hold
himself ready for a race that evening. He then took him into the
kitchen, and saw that he was given food and drink, and afterwards,
betook himself to the king, and told him about the little fellow, and
his offer to run a race.
The king was a merry gentleman, and well pleased with the steward for
affording him an opportunity of having some sport with Muck, and
ordered him to make such preparations for a race on the meadow, back of
the castle, that his whole court could view the scene in comfort; and
commanded him once more to pay every attention to the wants of the
dwarf. The king told the princes and princesses of the entertainment
that would be furnished in the evening, and they, in turn, informed
their servants, so that when evening set in, all was expectancy, and
every body who had feet to carry them, went streaming out to the
meadow, where staging had been erected in order that they might see the
vainglorious Muck run a race.
When the king with his sons and daughters had taken their seats on the
platform, Little Muck entered the meadow, and saluted the lords and
ladies with an extremely elegant bow; universal acclamation greeted the
appearance of the little fellow. Surely such a figure had never been
seen there before. The small body and the big head, the cloak and baggy
breeches, the long dagger stuck through the broad sash, the little feet
enclosed in such huge slippers--it was impossible to look at such a
droll figure and refrain from shouts of laughter. But Little Muck did
not permit himself to be disturbed by the merriment his appearance
caused. He stood, leaning proudly on his cane, awaiting his opponent.
The steward, in accordance with Muck's wish, had selected the king's
fastest runner, who now stepped up and placed himself beside the dwarf,
and both awaited the signal to start. Thereupon, Princess Amarza waved
her veil, as had been agreed on, and, like two arrows shot at the same
mark, the two runners flew over the meadow.
Muck's opponent took the lead at the start, but the dwarf chased after
him in his slipper-chariot and soon overtook him, passed him, and
reached the goal long before the other came up, panting for breath.
Wonder and astonishment for some moments held the spectators still; but
when the king clapped his hands, the crowd cheered and shouted: "Long
live Little Muck, the victor in the race!"
Meanwhile, Little Muck had been brought up before the king. He
prostrated himself and said: "Most High and Mighty King, I have given
you here only a small test of my art. Will you now permit my
appointment as one of your runners?" But the king replied: "No; you
shall be my body-messenger, dear Muck, and be retained about my person.
Your wages will be one hundred gold pieces a year, and you shall eat at
the head servants' table."
So Little Muck came to believe that at last he had found the fortune he
had so long been looking for, and in his heart he was cheerful and
content. He also rejoiced in the special favor of the king, who
employed him on his quickest and most secret messages, which the dwarf
executed with accuracy and the most inconceivable speed.
But the other servants of the king did not feel very cordial towards
him, because they found themselves superseded in the favor of
their master by a dwarf, who knew nothing except how to run fast.
They laid many plots to ruin him, but all these came to naught,
because of the implicit confidence that the king placed in his chief
body-messenger--for to this position had Little Muck been advanced.
Muck, who was quite sensible of this feeling against him, never once
thought of revenge, such was his goodness of heart, but tried to hit
upon some plan by which he might become useful to his enemies, and win
their love. He thought of his little stick, which he had neglected
since he had found his fortune, and he reflected that if he were to
find treasures, his companions would be more favorably disposed towards
him. He had often heard that the father of the present king had buried
a great deal of treasure, when his country had been overrun by the
enemy: and it was also said that the old king had died without being
able to reveal the secret to his son. From this time forward Muck
always carried his stick with him, in the hope of sometime passing over
the place where the old king had hidden his money.
One evening he went, by chance, into an outlying part of the palace
gardens, which he seldom visited; when suddenly he felt the stick
twitch in his hand, and it bent three times to the ground. Well did he
know what this betokened. He therefore drew out his poniard, made
some marks on the neighboring trees, and stole back into the castle,
where he provided himself with a spade, and waited until it was dark
enough for his undertaking.
The digging made Little Muck much more trouble than he had
anticipated. His arms were very weak, while his spade was large and
heavy; and he had worked a full two hours before he had dug as many
feet. Finally, he struck something hard, that sounded like iron. He
now dug very fast, and soon brought to light a large iron lid. This
caused him to get down in the hole to find out what the lid might
cover, and he discovered, as he had expected, a large pot filled with
gold pieces. But he had not sufficient strength to raise the pot,
therefore he put into his pockets, his cloak, and his sash, as much as
he wished to carry, covered up the remainder carefully, and took his
load on his back. But if he had not had his slippers on, he would never
have been able to move from the spot, so great was the weight of the
gold. However, he reached his room unnoticed, and secured the gold under
the cushions of his couch.
When Little Muck found himself in possession of such wealth, he
believed that a new leaf would be turned, and he should win many
friends and followers among his enemies: from which reasoning one may
readily perceive that the good Little Muck could not have received a
very good bringing up, or he would never have dreamed of securing true
friends through the medium of money. Alas, that he did not then step
into his slippers, and scamper off with his cloak full of gold!
The gold, which Little Muck from this time forth distributed so
generously, awakened the envy of the other court servants. The chief
cook, Ahuli, said: "He is a counterfeiter!" The steward, Achmet,
declared: "He coaxes it out of the king!" But Archaz, the treasurer,
and Muck's bitterest enemy, who occasionally dipped into the king's
cash box himself, exclaimed decidedly: "He has stolen it!"
In order to make sure of their case, they all acted in concert; and the
head cup-bearer placed himself in the way of the king, one day, looking
very sad and cast-down. So remarkably sad was his countenance, that the
king inquired the cause of his sorrow. "Alas!" replied he, "I am sad
because I have lost the favor of my master." "What fancy is that,
friend Korchuz? Since when have I kept the sun of my favor from
lighting on you?" asked the king. The head cup-bearer replied that the
king had loaded the confidential body-messenger with gold, but had
given nothing to his poor, faithful servants.
The king was very much surprised at this news, and listened to an
account of the liberal gifts of Little Muck, while the conspirators
easily created the suspicion in the royal mind that Muck had by some
means stolen the gold from the treasury. This turn of affairs was very
welcome to the treasurer, who, without it, would not have cared to
render an account of the cash in his keeping. The king, therefore, gave
an order that a secret watch should be kept on every step of Little
Muck, to catch him, if possible, in the act.
On the night following this unlucky day, as Little Muck took his spade
and stole out into the garden, with the intention of replenishing the
heap of gold in his chamber, which his liberality had so wasted, he was
followed at a distance by a guard, led by Ahuli, the cook, and Archaz,
the treasurer, who fell upon him at the very moment when he was
removing the gold from the pot, bound him, and took him straight before
the king. The king, who felt cross enough at having his slumber
disturbed, received his confidential chief body-messenger very
ungraciously, and at once began an examination of the case. The pot had
been dug from the earth, and, together with the spade and the cloak
full of gold, was placed at the king's feet. The treasurer stated that,
with his watchman, he had surprised Muck in the very act of burying
this pot full of gold in the ground.
The king asked the accused if this were true, and where he had got the
gold. Little Muck, conscious of his innocence, replied that he had
discovered it in the garden, and that he was attempting to dig it up,
and not to bury it. All present laughed loudly at his defense, but the
king, extremely enraged at what he believed to be the cool effrontery
of the dwarf, cried: "What, wretch! Do you persist in lying so
shamelessly to your king, after stealing from him? Treasurer Archaz, I
call upon you to say whether you recognize this as the amount of money
that is missing from my treasury?" The treasurer answered that, for his
part, he was sure that this much, and still more, had been missing from
the royal treasury for some time, and he would take his oath that this
was part of the stolen money. The king thereupon commanded that Little
Muck should be put in chains, and thrown into the tower; and handed the
money over to his treasurer to put back into the treasury.
Rejoiced at the fortunate outcome of the affair, the treasurer
withdrew, and counted over the gold pieces at home; but this wicked man
never once noticed, that in the bottom of the pot lay a scrap of paper,
on which was written: "The enemy has over-run my country, and therefore
I bury here a part of my treasure; whoever finds it will receive the
curse of a king if he does not at once deliver it to my son.--_King
Sadi_."
Little Muck, in his prison, was a prey to the most melancholy
reflections. He knew that the penalty for robbery of royal property was
death; and yet he hesitated to reveal to the king the magical powers of
his stick, because he rightly feared that it, and his slippers, would
then be taken away from him. But neither could his slippers give him
any aid in his present condition, for he was chained so closely to the
wall that, try as he might, he could not turn on his heel. But when
notice of death was served on him the following day, he thought better
of the matter, concluding it was wiser to live without the stick, than
to die with it. He, therefore, sent to the king, begging to make a
private communication, and disclosed the secret to him. The king would
not credit his confession; but Little Muck promised a test of the
stick's power, if the king would grant him his life. The king gave him
his word on it, and, unseen by Muck, had some gold buried in the
garden, and then ordered Muck to find it. After a few moments hunt,
Muck's stick struck three times on the ground. This assured the king
that his treasurer had deceived him, and he therefore sent him--as is
customary in the Levant--a silken cord, with which to strangle himself.
But to Little Muck he said: "It is true that I promised to spare your
life, but as I believe that you possess more than one secret in
connection with this stick, you will be imprisoned for life, unless you
confess what connection there is between this stick and your fast
running."
Little Muck, whose experience for a single night in the tower had given
him no desire for a longer imprisonment, acknowledged that his whole
art lay in the slippers; still he did not inform the king about the
three turns on the heel. The king tried on the slippers himself, in
order to test them, and run about the garden like a madman, making many
attempts to stop, but he did not know how to bring the slippers to a
stand-still, and Little Muck, who could not forego this bit of revenge,
let him run around till he fell senseless.
When the king recovered consciousness, he was fearfully enraged at
Little Muck, who had run him out of breath. "I have pledged my word to
give you life and liberty, but if you are within my territory in twelve
hours, I will have you imprisoned!" As for the stick and slippers, he
had them locked up in his treasury.
Poor as at first, Little Muck wandered out into the country, cursing
the folly that had led him to think he could play an important part at
court. The country from which he was driven was fortunately not a large
one, so that in the course of eight hours he had reached the boundary
line; although walking, after having been accustomed to his beloved
slippers, was no pleasant task to him.
As soon as he had crossed the border, he turned off from the highways
in order to reach the most desolate part of the wilderness, where he
might live alone by himself, as he was at enmity with all mankind. In
the dense forest he came across a place that seemed well suited to his
purpose. A clear brook, overgrown by large, shady fig trees, and with
banks of soft velvety turf, looked very inviting. Here he threw himself
down, with the firm resolve not to eat again, but to calmly await
death. While indulging in gloomy reveries, he fell asleep; but when he
waked up, and began to experience the pangs of hunger, he reflected
that starvation was rather an unpleasant thing, and therefore looked
about him to see whether any thing was to be had to eat.
Delicious ripe figs hung on the tree under which he had slept. He
climbed up to pick some, and found them just to his taste; and
afterwards he went down to the brook to slake his thirst. But how great
was his horror, when the brook reflected back his head, adorned with
two prodigious ears, and a long, thick nose! In great perplexity, he
seized the ears in his hands, and truly they were more than half a yard
long.
"I deserve an ass's ears!" cried he, "for like an ass I have trodden my
fortune underfoot." He strolled about under the trees, and when he once
more felt hungry, he again had recourse to the figs, as they were the
only eatable things to be found on the trees. After eating his second
meal of figs, while thinking whether he might not find a place for his
ears under his large turban, so that he would not appear too comical,
he became sensible of the fact that his enormous ears had disappeared.
He rushed down to the brook, and found it actually true; his ears had
resumed their former shape; his long, unshapely nose had vanished. He
now saw how all this had come about; the fruit of the first tree had
presented him with the long nose and ears, while that of the second had
healed him. Joyfully he perceived that his good luck had once more
suggested to him the means of getting satisfaction. He picked from each
tree as much as he could carry, and went back to the country he had so
lately left.
[Illustration]
In the first town he came to, he disguised himself with other clothes,
and went on to the city where the king lived. It was just at the season
when ripe fruits were not very plentiful, and Little Muck placed
himself under the palace gate, knowing from experience that the chief
cook was in the habit of purchasing delicacies here for the king's
table. Muck had not sat there long before he saw the cook coming
through the court, and examining the viands of the marketmen who were
ranged about the gate. Finally his glance fell on Muck's basket. "Ah! a
rare morsel," exclaimed he, "that will please His Majesty mightily;
what will you take for the whole basket?" Little Muck named a moderate
price, and the bargain was quickly made. The cook turned the basket
over to a slave and went on. Little Muck scampered off quickly, as he
was afraid that when the figs had done their work on the heads of the
court people, he might be hunted up and punished as the seller.
The king was in excellent spirits at table, and praised the cook
repeatedly for his successes, and for the solicitude with which he
always sought out the rarest dainties for him; but the cook, knowing
well what delicacy he was holding back, smirked in a satisfied way,
dropping now and then mysterious phrases, such as: "Don't crow till you
are out of the woods;" or "All's well that ends well," so that the
princesses were very curious to know what it was he was about to
produce. But when the beautiful, inviting figs were placed on the
table, an exclamation broke from the lips of all present "How ripe; how
appetizing!" cried the king. "Cook, you are a clever fellow, and
deserve our especial favor!" Thus speaking, the king, who was
accustomed to be rather economical with such delicacies, distributed
the figs around his table with his own hand; each prince and princess
received two, the court ladies and viziers one, while he placed the
rest before himself, and began to devour them with great delight.
"But, mercy on us, father! what makes you look so strange?" exclaimed
Princess Amarza, soon after. Everybody looked at the king in
astonishment. Monstrous ears were attached to his head, and a long nose
hung down over his chin. Then, too, they began to look at one another,
with horror and astonishment. All were more or less decorated with this
singular head-gear.
Fancy the horror experienced by the court! All the physicians in the
city were sent for, and came in great numbers, prescribed pills and
mixtures; but without effect on the ears and noses. An operation was
performed on one of the princes, but the ears grew right out again.
Muck heard the whole story in his hiding-place, and saw that now his
opportunity had come. With the money received from the sale of his
figs, he bought a costume suitable for a professional man, while a long
beard of goat's hair completed his disguise. With a small bag of figs,
he entered the king's palace, and offered his services as a foreign
physician. At first, his representations were scouted; but when Little
Muck restored the ears and nose of one of the princes to their natural
size, by giving him a fig to eat, all were anxious to be cured by this
strange physician. But the king took him by the hand, without speaking,
and conducted him into his own apartment, where he opened a door that
led into his treasury, and beckoned Muck to follow him. "Here is my
treasure," said the king; "choose for yourself, and let it be what it
will, it shall be preserved for you, if you will free me of this
disgraceful evil."
[Illustration]
This was sweet music in Little Muck's ears. No sooner had he entered
than he espied his slippers on the floor, and near them, his stick.
He walked up and down the room, as if wondering at the riches of the
king; but on coming to his slippers he slid into them, seized his
stick, and tore off his false beard, revealing to the astonished king
the well-known features of his exiled Muck. "Faithless King!" said he;
"you, who reward fidelity with ingratitude, may keep as a well-merited
punishment the deformity that you bear. I leave you those ears, that
you may think daily on Little Muck." Thus speaking, the dwarf turned
quickly on his heel, wished himself far away, and before the king could
call for help, Little Muck had flown away.
Since then, Little Muck has lived here in comfort, but without society,
as he disdains mankind. Through experience he has become a wiser man,
who, notwithstanding his external appearance may be unusual, is more
worthy of your admiration than your sport.
Such was the story my father told me. I assured him that I repented of
my rude behavior towards the good little man, and my father
administered the other half of the punishment he had designed for me. I
related to my playmates the wonderful events of the dwarf's life, and
we became so much attached to him that not one of us ever abused him
again. On the contrary, we honored him as long as he lived, and always
bowed as low to him as before the Cadi or Mufti.
The travellers decided to rest for a day at this caravansary, in order
to strengthen themselves and their beasts for the journey still before
them. The gaiety of the day before continued, and they amused
themselves with all kinds of games. After dinner, they called on the
fourth merchant, Ali Sizah, to perform his duty, as the others had
done, by giving them a story. He replied that his own life had been so
barren of incidents, that he could not interest them with any personal
anecdote, but, instead, he would relate to them the legend of "The
False Prince."
THE FALSE PRINCE.
There was once a respectable journeyman-tailor, named Labakan, who had
learned his trade of a clever master in Alexandria. It could not be
said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he was
able to do very fine work. Neither would one be justified in calling
him lazy; but still every thing was not just as it should be with the
workman, as he often sewed away by the hour at such a rate that the
needle became red-hot in his hands, and the thread fairly smoked, and
would then show a better piece of work than any one else. But, at
another time--and, sad to relate, this occurred more frequently--he
would sit plunged in deep thought, looking before him with a fixed
gaze, and with something so peculiar in his expression and conduct that
his master and the other journeymen were wont to say at such times:
"Labakan is putting on airs again."
But on Fridays, when other people were returning from prayers to their
work, Labakan came out of the mosque in a beautiful costume, which he
had taken great pains to prepare for himself. He walked slowly and with
proud steps through the squares and streets of the city, and whenever
he was greeted by any of his comrades with, "Peace be with you," or,
"How are you, friend Labakan?" he condescendingly waved his hand in
reply, or gave his superior a princely nod. If his master said to him,
"Ah, Labakan, what a prince was lost in you!" he, much flattered, would
respond, "Have you, too, remarked that?" or, "That has been my opinion
for a long time."
[Illustration]
After this manner had the journeyman conducted himself for a long time;
but his master indulged his folly, as otherwise he was a good fellow
and a clever workman. But one day, Selim, the brother of the sultan,
who was then traveling through Alexandria, sent a court costume to the
master, to have certain changes made in it; and the master gave it to
Labakan to make the alterations, as he did the best work. At night,
after the master and his journeymen had gone out to refresh themselves
after their day's work, an irresistible desire impelled Labakan to go
back into the shop where the costume of the sultan's brother hung. He
stood before it, lost in admiration over the splendor of the embroidery
and the various shades of velvet and silk. He could not refrain from
trying it on; and behold, it fitted him as perfectly as though it had
been made for him. "Am I not as good a prince as anybody?" said he to
himself, while striding up and down the room. "Has not the master said
that I was born to be a prince?" With the clothes, the journeyman
seemed to have adopted some quite royal sentiments; he could not banish
from his mind the fancy that he was the unacknowledged son of a king;
and as such, he resolved to travel about the world, leaving a place
where the people had been so foolish as not to recognize his true rank
under the cover of his present low position. The splendid costume
seemed to him sent by a good fairy. He therefore took care not to
slight so welcome a present, pocketed what little ready money he
possessed, and, favored by the darkness of the night, strolled out of
Alexandria's gate.
Wherever he appeared, the new prince created quite a sensation; as the
splendor of his dress and his grave and majestic air were hardly in
keeping with his mode of traveling. When he was questioned on this
subject, he was accustomed to reply, in a mysterious way, that there
were some very good reasons for his traveling afoot. But when he
noticed that he was making himself ridiculous by his foot wanderings,
he invested a small sum in an old horse, which was very well adapted to
his wants, as, by its lack of speed and spirit, he was never forced
into the embarrassing position of showing his skill as a rider--a thing
quite out of his line.
One day, as he walked Murva (such was the name he had given his horse)
along the road, he was overtaken by a horseman who requested permission
to travel with him, as the road would seem much shorter if he could
enjoy Labakan's company. The horseman was a merry young man, of
pleasing appearance and conversation. He began talking with Labakan,
asking where he had come from and where he was going; and it soon
appeared that he, too, like the journeyman-tailor, was traveling about
the world without any definite plan. He said that his name was Omar;
that he was the nephew of Elsi Bey, the unfortunate Pasha of Cairo, and
was traveling in order to execute a charge that his uncle had confided
to him on his death-bed. Labakan was not so communicative about his own
affairs, but gave Omar to understand that he was of high descent, and
was traveling for pleasure.
The two young gentlemen were well pleased with each other, and
continued their journey together. On the second day of their
acquaintance, Labakan inquired of his companion Omar about the trust he
had to execute, and learned to his astonishment that Elsi Bey. Pasha of
Cairo, had brought up Omar from his earliest childhood, and the boy had
never known his parents. Now, when Elsi Bey was attacked by his
enemies, and after three unfortunate battles, was forced to fly from
the field, mortally wounded, he disclosed to his pupil that he was not
his nephew, but the son of a mighty ruler, who, frightened by the
prophecies of his astrologist, had had the young prince removed from
the palace, with the oath not to see him again until the prince should
have reached his twenty-second birthday. Elsi Bey did not give him the
name of his father, but had most particularly charged him that he must
be present at the famous pillar El Serujah, a four days' journey east
of Alexandria, on the fourth day of the coming month of Ramadan, on
which day he would be twenty-two years old. Arriving there, he should
hold out a dagger to the men who would be standing on the column, with
the words: "Here am I whom you seek;" and if they answered, "Praised be
the Prophet, who preserved you," he should follow them, and they would
lead him to his father.
The journeyman-tailor, Labakan, was astonished at this communication.
He looked on Prince Omar, from this time forth, with envious eyes;
exasperated that fate should have selected his companion, who already
passed for the nephew of a powerful pasha, to shower on him the still
higher dignity of a prince's son, while he, Labakan, endowed with all
the qualities of a prince, was degraded by a low birth and a common
occupation. He made comparisons between himself and the prince, and was
forced to confess that the prince was a youth of prepossessing
appearance, with fine sparkling eyes, aquiline nose, a gentle and
obliging manner--in short, all the external marks of a gentleman. But
numerous as were the good traits he noticed in his companion, still, he
whispered to himself, a Labakan would be far more welcome to a princely
father than the real prince.
These reflections occupied Labakan's mind the whole day; and they were
present in his sleep, at their next lodging-place. And when he woke,
and his eye fell on the sleeping Omar at his side--sleeping so quietly,
and dreaming, perhaps, of his happy fortune--the idea came into
Labakan's brain to obtain, through stratagem or force, that which
unwilling fate had denied him. The dagger, the token by which the
home-returning prince was to be recognized, stuck in the sash of the
sleeper. He drew it forth lightly, to plunge it into the sleeping
breast of its owner. But the pacific soul of the tailor shrunk at the
thought of murder. He contented himself with taking possession of the
dagger, ordered Omar's fast horse to be saddled, and before the prince
had awaked, his faithless companion had gained a start of several
miles.
It was the first day of the sacred month of Ramadan when Labakan robbed
the prince; and he had, therefore, four days in which to reach the
pillar of El Serujah, the location of which he well knew. Although the
distance could be easily covered in two days, yet Labakan fearing to be
overtaken by the true prince, made all haste.
At the close of the second day, Labakan saw the column before him. It
stood upon a small hill, in a broad plain, and could be observed at a
distance of eight miles. Labakan's heart beat wildly at the sight.
Although he had had time enough, in the last two days, to think over
the part he was about to play, still his accusing conscience made him
uneasy; but the thought that he had been born to be a prince hardened
him once more, so that he went forward.
The region about the column El Serujah was uninhabited and desolate,
and the new prince would have found himself in sad straights for
sustenance, had he not made provision for a journey of several days. He
went into camp, with his horse, under some palm trees, and awaited
there his fate.
Near the middle of the following day, he saw a large procession of
horses and camels coming over the plain, to the column of El Serujah.
The train stopped at the foot of the hill on which the column stood;
splendid tents were pitched, and the whole had the appearance of a rich
pasha's or sheik's caravan. Labakan suspected that the many people whom
he saw were there on the Prince Omar's account, and he would willingly
have shown them their future ruler then and there; but he controlled
his desire to step forth as a prince, as the following morning would
certainly see his dearest hopes realized.
The morning sun woke the overjoyed tailor to the most important moment
of his life--the moment that should see him lifted from an ignoble
position to the side of a royal father. To be sure, the unlawfulness of
the steps he was taking, occurred to him, as he saddled his horse to
ride to the column; to be sure, he thought of the anguish Prince Omar
would suffer, betrayed in his fair hopes; but the die was cast, and he
could not undo what had already been done, and his vanity whispered to
him that he looked stately enough to be presented to the most powerful
king as a son. Encouraged by such thoughts, he swung himself into his
saddle, mustered all his courage to stand the ordeal of a gallop, and
in less than fifteen minutes he reached the foot of the hill. He
dismounted from his horse and tied it to a bush, and then drew out
Prince Omar's dagger and ascended the hill.
At the foot of the column stood six men around an aged man of kingly
appearance. A splendid kaftan of cloth of gold, with a white cashmere
shawl wound about it, and a white turban ornamented with sparkling
jewels, denoted him to be a man of wealth and rank.
Labakan went up to him, made a low obeisance, and offered him the
dagger, saying: "Here am I whom you seek."
[Illustration]
"Praised be the Prophet, who preserved you!" replied the old man with
tears of joy. "Embrace your old father, my beloved son Omar!" The good
tailor was much moved by these solemn words, and with a mixture of joy
and shame sank into the arms of the aged prince.
But only for an instant was he permitted to enjoy undisturbed the
delight of his new surroundings; for as he arose from the embrace of
the elderly prince, he saw a horseman hastening across the plain
towards the hill. The rider and his horse presented a singular
appearance. The horse, either from stubbornness or exhaustion, could
hardly be urged forward, but moved with a stumbling gait that could be
called neither a walk nor a trot, while his rider was using both hands
and feet to force him to a faster pace. Only too soon Labakan
recognized his horse, Murva, and the genuine Prince Omar; but the
wicked Father of Lies once more took possession of him, and he
determined that, whatever the result might be, he would maintain his
pretended rights with a bold face.
The rider's gestures had been seen while he was still at a distance;
but now, in spite of the feeble trot of his horse, he had arrived at
the foot of the hill, thrown himself from his horse, and rushed up the
hill.
"Stay, there!" cried he, "Stop, whoever you may be, and do not let
yourselves be misled by the shameful impostor! My name is Omar, and no
mortal may dare to assume my name!"
Deep astonishment was expressed in the faces of the bystanders, at the
turn affairs had taken, and the old prince was especially perplexed, as
he looked inquiringly from one to the other. But Labakan said, with
forced composure: "Most gracious Sire and Father, do not allow this
person to mislead you. He is, to my certain knowledge, a crazy tailor
from Alexandria, called Labakan, and more deserving of our pity than
our anger."
These words brought the prince to the verge of madness. Foaming with
rage he attempted to spring on Labakan, but the bystanders interposed,
and held him fast, while the old prince said: "Of a truth, my dear son,
the poor fellow is mad; let him be bound and placed on one of our
dromedaries; perhaps we may be able to render the unfortunate youth
some assistance."
The anger of the prince was past. He threw himself, weeping, at the
feet of his father: "My heart tells me that you are my father; by the
memory of my mother, I charge you to listen to me!"
"Eh, God preserve us!" answered the old man. "He is beginning to talk
strangely again; how does the fellow come by such stupid notions!"
Thereupon he took Labakan's arm, and was conducted down the hill by
him. They both mounted beautiful, richly-caparisoned horses, and rode
at the head of the caravan, over the plain. The hands of the prince
were bound, and he was tied fast on one of the dromedaries, while two
horsemen rode on each side, and kept a careful watch on all his
movements.
The elderly prince was Saaud, Sultan of Wechabiten. He had lived for
years without children, until finally a son, whom he had so ardently
desired, was born to him. But the astrologer of whom he inquired the
destiny of the boy, gave the opinion that "until his twenty-second
year the child would be in danger of being supplanted by an enemy,"
therefore to be on the safe side, the sultan had given the prince
to his tried and true friend, Elsi Bey, to be brought up, and for
twenty-two painful years had waited for his home-coming.
All this the sultan told his pretended son, and expressed himself as
well pleased with his figure and demeanor.
On arriving in the sultan's country they were everywhere received by
the inhabitants with acclamations, as the report of the prince's
arrival had spread like wildfire to all the cities and villages. Arches
covered with flowers and boughs were constructed in all the streets
through which they passed, brilliant carpets of all colors adorned the
houses, and the people praised God and His Prophets for sending them so
beautiful a prince. All this filled the heart of the tailor with
delight; but all the more unhappy did the real Omar feel, who, still
bound, followed the caravan in silent despair. In the universal joy
nobody troubled themselves about him who should have been the recipient
of their welcome. Thousands upon thousands shouted the name of Omar,
but he who rightly bore this name was noticed not at all. At the most,
one and another would ask who it was that was bound so securely; and
the reply of his escort, that it was a crazy tailor, echoed horribly in
his ears.
The caravan at last reached the capital of the sultan, where a still
more brilliant reception was awaiting them. The sultana, an elderly,
venerable lady, awaited them with the entire court, in the splendid
hall of the palace. The floor of this salon was covered with an immense
carpet, the walls were tastefully adorned with a light-blue cloth, hung
from great silver hooks with golden tassels and cords.
It was already night when the caravan arrived; therefore numerous round
colored lamps were lighted in the salon, making it light as day. But
the most lights were placed at the farther end of the salon, where the
sultana sat upon a throne. The throne stood upon a dais, and was inlaid
with pure gold, and set with large amethysts. Four of the most
distinguished emirs held a canopy over the sultana's head, while the
Sheik of Medina fanned her with a fan of peacock's feathers.
Under these surroundings, the sultana awaited her husband and her son.
She had not seen her son since his birth, but the longed-for son had
appeared in her dreams, so that she felt sure of knowing him amongst a
thousand. Now the noise of the approaching caravan was heard, trumpets
and drums mingled with the cheers of the crowd; the hoofs of the horses
beat in the court of the palace; nearer and nearer sounded the steps of
the expected ones; the doors of the salon flew open, and through the
rows of prostrate servants, the sultan hastened to the throne of the
sultana, leading his son by the hand.
"Here," said he, "I bring you the one for whom you have so long
yearned."
But the sultana interrupted him with: "That is not my son! Those are
not the features that the Prophet showed me in my dreams!"
Just as the sultan was about to upbraid her for her unbelief, the door
of the salon opened, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his guards,
from whom he had escaped by the exercise of all his strength. He threw
himself breathless before the throne with the words:
"Here will I die! Let me be killed, inhuman father, for I can no longer
endure this disgrace."
Everyone was amazed at this speech; they crowded about the unfortunate
youth, and the guards, from whom he had escaped, were about to lay hold
of him and bind him again, when the sultana, who had looked on all this
in speechless surprise, sprang up from the throne.
"Stay, there!" cried she; "this and no other is the real prince; this
is he whom my eyes have never beheld, and yet my heart has known!"
The guard had involuntarily released Omar, but the sultan, burning with
anger, called to them to bind the crazy fellow. "It is my business to
decide here," said he, in a commanding tone, "and here one does not
judge by the dreams of old women, but by certain reliable signs. This
youth (pointing to Labakan) is my son, for he brought me the dagger,
the true token of my friend Elsi."
"He stole the dagger!" exclaimed Omar. "He abused my unsuspecting
confidence with treachery!" But the sultan, accustomed to have his own
way in every thing, would not listen to the voice of his son, and had
the unhappy Omar forcibly dragged from the room. Then, accompanied by
Labakan, he went to his own room, very angry with the sultana, with
whom he had lived in peace for twenty-five years.
The sultana was very unhappy over these events. She was perfectly well
satisfied that an impostor had taken possession of the sultan's heart,
as the unfortunate youth who had been dragged away, had often appeared
in her dreams as her son.
When she had in a measure quieted her sorrow, she tried to hit upon
some method of convincing the sultan of his error. This was no easy
task, as he who had usurped their son's place, had brought the token of
recognition, the dagger, and had also, as she discovered, learned so
much about Omar's early life from the prince himself, that he played
his _role_ without betraying himself.
She summoned the men who had accompanied the sultan to the pillar of El
Serujah, in order to learn all the particulars, and then held a
consultation with her most trustworthy slave-women. They chose and then
rejected this and that expedient. At last Melechsalah, a wise old
woman, said: "If I have heard rightly, honored mistress, the one who
brought the dagger, called him whom you recognize as your son, Labakan,
a crazy tailor."
"Yes, that is true," answered the sultana; "but what can you make out
of that?"
"Suppose," continued the slave, "that this impostor had fastened his
own name on your son? And if this supposition is correct, there is a
fine way of catching the impostor, that I will tell to you as a
secret."
The sultana bent her head, and the slave whispered in her ear some
expedient that seemed to please the sultana, as she prepared to go at
once to the sultan.
The sultana was a prudent woman, who knew the weak sides of the sultan
and how to make use of them. She therefore appeared willing to submit
to his judgment, and to recognize the son he had chosen; asking in
return but one condition. The sultan, who was sorry for the anger he
had shown his wife, granted her request, and she said: "I should dearly
like to receive from both of these claimants a test of their
cleverness. Another person might very likely have them ride, fight, or
throw spears; but these are things that everybody can do, and I will
give them something that will require ingenuity to accomplish. Each one
shall make a kaftan, and a pair of trousers, and then we shall see who
will make the finest."
The sultan laughed, and said: "Well, you have devised something
extremely wise! The idea that my son should compete with your crazy
tailor at coat-making? No, it won't do."
The sultana, however, insisted that he was bound by the promise he had
made her in advance; and the sultan, who was a man of his word, finally
consented, although he swore that let the crazy tailor make his coat
ever so fine, he would never admit him to be his son.
The sultan went in person to his son, and requested him to humor the
caprice of his mother, who very much wished for a kaftan made by his
hands. Labakan was greatly pleased. If that is all that is wanted,
thought he to himself, then madame the sultana will soon have cause to
be proud of me.
Two rooms were prepared, one for the prince, the other for the tailor,
where they were to try their skill; and they were liberally provided
with silk cloth, scissors, needles and thread.
The sultan was very curious to see what sort of a thing his son would
bring to light for a kaftan; while the sultana was very nervous lest
her stratagem should fail. Two days had been given to them in which to
accomplish their task. On the morning of the third day, the sultan sent
for his wife, and when she had come, he sent into the two rooms for the
two kaftans and their makers.
Labakan entered triumphantly, and spread his kaftan before the
astonished eyes of the sultan. "Look here, father!" said he, "see,
honored mother, whether this is not a master-piece of a kaftan? I would
be willing to lay a wager with the cleverest court tailor that he could
not produce such an one as that."
The sultana smiled, and turned to Omar: "And what have you produced, my
son?" Impatiently he threw down the silk, cloth and scissors on the
floor. "I was brought up to break horses, and to the use of a sword,
and my spear will hit the mark at sixty paces; but the science of the
needle is strange to me, and would have been an unworthy study for a
pupil of Elsi Bey, the ruler of Cairo!"
"O thou true son of my heart!" exclaimed the sultana. "Now, I can
embrace thee, and call thee son! Pardon me, my Husband and Lord,"
continued she, turning to the sultan, "that I have plotted this
stratagem against you. Do you not now see which is the prince, and
which the tailor? Truly, the kaftan that your son has made is superb,
and I should like to ask him of what master he learned his trade."
The sultan sat in deep thought, glancing suspiciously now at his wife
and now at Labakan, who vainly tried to control his blushes and his
discomfiture at having so stupidly betrayed himself.
"Even this proof will not suffice," said the sultan. "But praised be
Allah, I know of a means of finding out whether I have been deceived or
not."
He ordered his fastest horse to be led out, swung himself into the
saddle, and rode into a forest near by, where lived, according to an
old legend, a kind fairy named Adolzaide, who had often stood by the
kings of his race with her counsel in the hour of need.
In the middle of the forest was an open place surrounded by tall
cedars. There lived--so the story ran--the fairy, and it was seldom
that a mortal ventured there, as a certain aversion to the spot had for
ages descended from father to son.
Arriving there, the sultan dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, placed
himself in the centre of the opening, and called out in a loud voice:
"If it be true that you have given my ancestors good advice in the hour
of need, then do not spurn the prayer of their grandson, and give me
advice on a point for which human understanding is too frail."
He had hardly spoken the last word, when one of the cedars opened, and
a veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth. "I know why you
come to me, Sultan Saaud. Your purpose is just; therefore, you shall
have my assistance. Take these two little boxes. Let each of the young
men who claim to be your son choose between these. I know that the true
prince will not fail to pick out the right one." Thus spake the fairy,
at the same time handing him two little ivory boxes richly set with
gold and pearls. On the lid, which the sultan vainly tried to open,
were inscriptions in diamond letters.
The sultan tried to think as he rode home what these little boxes might
contain; but all his efforts to open them failed. Nor did the
inscriptions throw any light on the matter, for one read--_Honor and
Fame_; the other--_Fortune and Riches_. The sultan thought to himself
that he would have great difficulty in making a choice between these
two things, that were alike desirable, alike alluring.
On arriving at his palace, he sent for the sultana, and told her of the
verdict of the fairy. A strange hope assured the sultana that he to
whom her heart drew her would choose the box that should make plain his
royal descent.
Two tables were placed before the throne of the sultan, upon which the
king placed the boxes with his own hand. He then ascended the throne,
and beckoned one of his slaves to open the doors of the salon. A
brilliant assembly of pashas and emirs of the realm, whom the sultan
had summoned, streamed through the opened doors. They took their places
on splendid cushions that were ranged lengthwise along the wall.
When they were all seated, the sultan beckoned a second time, and
Labakan was brought forward. With a proud step he walked up the hall,
prostrated himself before the throne, and said: "What are the commands
of my Lord and Father?"
The sultan rose from his throne, and said: "My son, doubts have been
raised as to the justness of your claim to this name; one of those
little boxes contains the proof of your real parentage. Choose; I do
not doubt that you will select the right one."
Labakan arose and stepped up to the tables, hesitated for some time as
to which he should choose, but finally said: "Honored Father! What can
be higher than the fortune to be your son? what nobler than the riches
of thy grace? I choose the box with the inscription--_Fortune and
Riches_."
"We shall presently know whether you have chosen the right one; in the
meantime sit down on the cushion by the side of the Pasha of Medina,"
said the sultan, and motioned to a slave.
Omar was brought forward. His look was gloomy, his air sad, and his
appearance created universal interest among those present. He
prostrated himself before the throne, and inquired after the commands
of the sultan. The sultan signified to him that he was to choose one of
the little boxes. Omar arose and approached the tables.
He read attentively both inscriptions, and then said: "The last few
days have taught me how fickle is fortune, how unstable are riches; but
they have also learned me that an indestructible gift dwells in the
breast of Honor, and that the shining star of Fame does not vanish with
fortune. And though I should renounce a crown, the die is cast: _Honor
and Fame_, I choose you!"
He placed his hand on the box he had chosen; but the sultan ordered him
to wait a moment, and beckoned Labakan to come forward, and lay his
hand on his box also. Then the sultan had a basin of water, of the holy
fountain of Zemzem in Mecca, brought, washed his hands for prayer,
turned his face to the East, prostrated himself and prayed: "God of my
fathers! Thou who for centuries hast preserved our race pure and
uncontaminated, do not permit that an unworthy one should bring to
shame the name of the Abasside; be near my true son with Thy
protection, in this hour of trial!"
The sultan arose, and once more ascended his throne. Universal
expectancy held those present in breathless attention; one could have
heard a mouse run over the floor, so still were they all. Those
farthest away stretched their necks to look over the heads of those in
front, that they might see the little boxes. Then the sultan spoke:
"Open the boxes!" and although no force could have opened them before,
they now flew open of themselves.
In the box chosen by Omar lay, on a velvet cushion, a small golden
crown, and a sceptre; in Labakan's box--a large needle and a little
package of thread! The sultan ordered them to bring their boxes to him.
He took the miniature crown in his hand, and wonderful was it to see
how, as he took it, it began to grow larger and larger until it had
attained the size of a genuine crown. He placed the crown on the head
of Omar, who knelt before him, kissed him on the forehead, and bade him
sit at his right hand. Then turning to Labakan, he said: "There is an
old proverb that the shoemaker should stick to his last. It looks as if
you should stick to the needle. To be sure, you do not deserve my
pardon; but some one has interceded for you, to whom I can refuse
nothing to-day; therefore I spare you your miserable life. But, to give
you some good advice--you had better make haste to get out of my
kingdom."
Ashamed, ruined as were all his pretensions, the poor journeyman-tailor
could not reply. He threw himself at the feet of the prince, in tears.
"Can you forgive me, Prince?" said he.
"Loyalty to a friend, magnanimity to a foe, is the boast of the
Abasside," replied the prince, as he raised him up. "Go in peace!"
"Oh, my true son!" cried the aged sultan, with deep emotion, and sank
on the breast of Omar. The emirs and pashas, and all the nobility of
the kingdom, rose from their seats, and cried: "Hail to the new son of
the king!" and amidst the universal joy, Labakan stole out of the room
with the little box under his arm.
He went below to the stables of the sultan, saddled his horse, Murva,
and rode out of the gate of the city towards Alexandria. His life as a
prince appeared to him as a dream, and the splendid little box, set
with pearls and diamonds, was the only thing left to remind him that he
had not dreamed.
[Illustration]
When he at length reached Alexandria, he rode up to the house of his
old master, dismounted, tied his horse near the door, and entered the
workshop. The master, not knowing him at first, made an obeisance, and
asked him what might be his pleasure But on taking a closer look, and
recognizing Labakan, he called to his journeymen and apprentices, and
they all rushed angrily at the poor Labakan, who was not expecting such
a reception, kicked and beat him with their irons and yard sticks,
pricked him with needles, and nipped him with sharp shears, until,
utterly exhausted, he sank down on a heap of old clothes.
While he lay there, the master gave him a lecture on the clothes he had
stolen. In vain did Labakan assure him that he had come back in order
to make restitution; all in vain did he offer him three-fold indemnity;
the master and his men fell upon him again, beat him black and blue,
and threw him out of the door. Torn and bruised, Labakan crawled on his
horse and rode to a caravansary. Then he laid his tired and aching head
on a pillow, and reflected on the sorrows of earth, on unappreciated
merit, and on the vanity and fickleness of riches. He fell asleep with
the resolution to forswear all greatness, and become a respectable
citizen.
The succeeding day found him still steadfast in his purpose, as the
heavy hands of the master and his men seemed to have beaten all his
grand notions out of him. He sold his little box to a jeweler for a
high price, bought a house with the proceeds, and fitted up a workshop
for his trade. When he had every thing arranged, and had also hung out
a sign before his window with the inscription, "_Labakan_, _Tailor_,"
he sat down, and with the needle and thread he had found in the little
box, began to mend his coat that had been so badly torn by his old
master. He was called away from his work, and when he returned to take
it up again, what a singular sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing
busily away without any one to guide it, making such fine, delicate
stitches, as even Labakan in his most artistic moments could not have
equaled!
Surely even the commonest gift of a kind fairy is useful and of great
value. Still another value was possessed by this present, namely: the
ball of the thread was never exhausted, let the needle sew as fast as
it would.
Labakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailor in
all that region. He would cut out the clothes, and make the first
stitch with the needle, and the needle would then instantly go on with
the work, never pausing until the garment was done. Master Labakan soon
had the whole town for customers, as his work was first-class, and his
prices low; and only over one thing did the people of Alexandria shake
their heads, namely: that he worked without journeymen, and with locked
doors.
Thus did the saying of the little box, promising _Fortune and Riches_,
come to pass. Fortune and riches, even though in moderate measure,
attended the steps of the good tailor; and when he heard of the fame of
the young sultan, Omar, that was on all lips; when he heard that this
brave man was the pride and love of his people, and the terror of his
enemies--then the false prince thought to himself: "It is after all
better that I remained a tailor, for the quest of honor and fame is
rather a dangerous business."
Thus lived Labakan, contented with his lot, respected by his
fellow-citizens; and if the needle in the meanwhile has not lost its
virtue, it still sews on with the endless thread of the kind fairy,
Adolzaide.
At sunset the caravan started on, and soon reached Birket-el-Had, or
Pilgrim's Fountain; from which it was only a three hours' journey to
Cairo. The caravan was expected about this time, and therefore the
merchants soon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming
from Cairo to meet them. They entered the city through the gate
Bab-el-Falch, as it is considered a happy omen for those who come from
Mecca to pass through this gate, as the Prophet went out of it.
On the market-place the three Turkish merchants took leave of the
stranger Selim Baruch, and the Greek merchant Zaleukos, and went home
with their friends. But Zaleukos showed the stranger a good
caravansary, and invited him to take dinner with him. The stranger
accepted the invitation, and promised to come as soon as he had made
some changes in his dress.
The Greek made every preparation to entertain his guest, for whom he
had acquired a strong liking on the journey; and when the dishes were
all arranged in order, he sat down to await the coming of his guest.
At last he heard slow and heavy steps in the hall that led to his room.
He arose to go and meet him and welcome him on the threshold; but no
sooner had he opened the door, than he stepped back horrified, for that
terrible man with the red mantle stepped towards him! He looked at him
again; there was no illusion; the same tall, commanding figure, the
mask through which the dark eyes shone, the red mantle with the gold
embroidery, were only too closely associated with the most terrible
hours of his life.
Conflicting emotions surged in Zaleukos's breast. He had long since
become reconciled to this picture of memory, and had forgiven him who
had injured him; yet the appearance of the man himself opened all his
wounds afresh; all those painful hours when he had suffered almost the
pangs of death,--the remorse that had poisoned his young life,--all
this swept over his soul in the flight of a moment.
"What do you want, monster?" exclaimed the Greek, as the apparition
stood motionless on the threshold. "Vanish quickly, before I curse
you!"
"Zaleukos!" spoke a well-known voice, from beneath the mask, "Zaleukos!
is it thus you receive your guest?" The speaker removed the mask, and
threw the mantle back; it was Selim Baruch, the stranger.
But Zaleukos was not yet quieted. He shuddered at the stranger, for
only too plainly had he recognized the unknown man of the Ponte
Vecchio. But the old habit of hospitality prevailed; he silently
beckoned to the stranger to take a seat at the table.
"I perceive your thoughts," said the stranger, after they were seated.
"Your eyes look inquiringly at me. I could have remained silent, and
never more appeared to your vision; but I owe you an explanation, and
therefore I ventured to appear to you in my old form, knowing that I
run the risk of your cursing me. But you once told me: _The religion of
my fathers commands me to love him, and then he must be more unhappy
than I._ Believe that, my friend, and listen to my vindication.
"I must begin far back, in order to make my story quite clear. I was
born in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father was the French
consul there, and was the younger son of a famous old French family.
From my tenth year up, I was under the care of my uncle, in France, and
left my fatherland some years after the breaking out of the Revolution,
with my uncle, who no longer felt safe in the land of his ancestors, in
order to find a refuge with my parents across the sea. We landed in
Alexandria, hopeful of finding in my parents' home that quiet and peace
that no longer obtained in France. The outside storms of this excitable
period had not, it is true, extended to this point, but from an
unexpected quarter came the blow that crushed our family to the ground.
My brother, a young man full of promise, and private secretary to my
father, had but recently married the daughter of a Florentine nobleman
who lived in my father's neighborhood. Two days before our arrival, my
brother's bride disappeared; and neither our family, nor yet her
father, could discover the slightest trace of her. We finally came to
the conclusion that she had ventured too far away for a walk, and had
fallen into the hands of brigands. This belief would have been a
consolation to my brother, in comparison with the truth that was only
too soon made known to us. The faithless woman had eloped with a young
Neapolitan, whom she had been in the habit of meeting at her father's
house. My brother, terribly excited by this act, used his utmost
endeavors to bring the guilty one to account; but in vain. His attempts
in this direction, which had aroused attention in Florence and Naples,
only served to bring down misfortune on us all. The Florentine nobleman
returned to his country under the pretext of assisting my brother, but
with the real design of destroying us all. He put an end to all the
investigations instituted by my brother in Florence, and used his
influence so effectually that my father and brother fell under the
suspicion of their government, were imprisoned in the most outrageous
manner, and taken to France, where they were guillotined. My mother
went crazy, and only after ten long months did death release her from
her terrible condition. But she recovered her sanity a few days before
her death. I was thus left all alone in the world, but only one thought
occupied my soul, only one thought overshadowed my grief: it was the
powerful flame of revenge that my mother kindled in my breast during
the last hours of her life.
"As I have said, she recovered her senses towards the last. She called
me to her side and spoke quietly of our fate and of her approaching
death. Then she sent everybody out of the room, raised herself with a
spirited air from her poor couch, and said that I could win her
blessing if I would swear to carry out what she should confide to me.
Influenced by the dying words of my mother, I bound myself with an oath
to do her bidding. She broke out in imprecations against the Florentine
and his daughter, and required me, under the penalty of incurring her
curse, to revenge our unfortunate family on him. She died in my arms.
The thought of revenge had long slumbered in my soul; now it was
aroused to action. I collected the balance of my patrimony, and
resolved to risk every thing on my revenge.
"I was soon in Florence, where I kept as quiet as possible. The
difficulty of executing my plan was much increased by the situation in
which I found my enemy. The old Florentine had become Governor, and had
the power, should he have the least suspicion of my presence, to
destroy me. An incident occurred just then that was of great assistance
to me. One evening I saw a man passing along the street, in a familiar
livery. His unsteady gait, sullen look, and manner of muttering _Santo
Sacramento_ and _Maledetto diavolo_, assured me that it was Pietro, a
servant of the Florentine's, whom I had known in Alexandria. I had no
doubt that it was his master whom he was cursing, and I therefore
determined to make use of his present frame of mind for my own benefit.
He seemed very much surprised to see me in Florence, and complained to
me that since his master had become Governor he could do nothing to
suit him; so that my gold, together with his anger, brought him over to
my side. The most difficult part of my plan had now been provided for.
I had in my pay a man who could open the door of my enemy to me at any
hour, and now my revenge seemed near its accomplishment. The life of
the old Florentine seemed to me of too little account to offset the
destruction of our family: he must lose the idol of his heart, his
daughter Bianca. Was it not she who treated my brother so shamefully?
Was it not she who was the chief cause of our misfortunes? The news
that she was about to be married a second time was very welcome to my
revengeful heart. This would but heighten the vengeance of my blow. It
was settled in my mind that she _must_ die. But I myself shrank from
the deed, and I did not credit Pietro with nerve enough; so we looked
about for a man who could accomplish the work. I did not dare approach
any of the Florentines, as none of them would have dared to undertake
such a thing against the Governor. It was then that the scheme I
afterward carried out, occurred to Pietro, who at the same time pitched
upon you, a stranger and physician, as being the most suitable person
to do the deed. The rest of the story you know. The only danger to the
success of my scheme lay in your sagacity and honesty; hence the affair
with the mantle.
"Pietro opened the side gate of the Governor's palace for us, and would
have shown us out as secretly, had not he and I fled, horrified by the
terrible sight we saw through a crack in the door. Pursued by terror
and remorse, I ran some two hundred paces, and sank down on the steps
of a church. There I collected my thoughts, and my first one was of you
and your fate, should you be found in the house. I stole to the palace,
but could find no trace of either you or Pietro. The side gate was
open, so I could at least hope that you had taken advantage of the
opportunity to flee. But when the day broke, fear of discovery and a
sensation of remorse drove me from Florence. I hastened to Rome. But
imagine my consternation when, in the course of a few days, this story
reached Rome, with the additional report that the murderer, a Greek
physician, had been captured! I returned to Florence with sad
apprehensions, for, if my revenge had before seemed too strong, I
cursed it now, as it would have been purchased too dearly with your
life. I arrived in Florence on the day you lost your hand. I will be
silent over what I felt as I saw you ascend the scaffold and suffer so
heroically. But as your blood streamed out, I made the resolve to see
that the rest of your life should be passed in comfort. What happened
afterwards, you know. It only remains for me to tell why I made this
journey across the desert with you. Like a heavy burden the thought
pressed on me that you had not yet forgiven me; therefore I resolved to
pass some days, with you, and at last give you an account of the
motives that had influenced my action."
The Greek had listened silently to his guest, and when he had finished,
with a gentle expression he offered him his hand. "I knew well that you
must be more unhappy than I, for that cruel deed, like a black cloud,
will forever darken your life. As for myself, I forgive you from my
heart. But permit me one more question: How did you happen to be in the
desert in your present character? What did you do after buying me the
house in Constantinople?"
"I went back to Alexandria. Hatred of all human kind raged in my
breast, but especially hatred of those nations which are called
civilized. Believe me, I was better pleased with my Moslems. I had been
in Alexandria only a few months, when it was invaded by my countrymen.
I saw in them only the executioners of my father and brother; therefore
I gathered some young people of my acquaintance, who entertained
similar views, and joined the brave Mameluke, who became the terror of
the French army. When the campaign was ended, I could not bring myself
to return to the arts of peace. With a few friends of similar
tendencies, I lived an unsettled fugitive life, devoted to battle and
the chase. I live contentedly with these people, who honor me as their
prince; for if my Asiatics are not so civilized as your Europeans, yet
envy and slander, selfishness and ambition are not their
characteristics."
Zaleukos thanked the stranger for his communication, but he did not
hide from him his opinion that it would be far better for one of his
rank and culture, were he to live and work in Christian and European
countries. He took the stranger's hand, and invited him to go with him,
and to live and die with him.
Zaleukos's guest was deeply moved. "From this I know," said he, "that
you have entirely forgiven me, that you even love me. Receive my
heartfelt thanks."
He sprang up, and stood in all his majesty before the Greek, who shrank
back at the warlike appearance, the dark glistening eyes, the deep
mysterious voice of his guest. "Your proposal is good," continued he;
"any other person might be persuaded; I can not accept it! My horse is
saddled, my followers await me: farewell, Zaleukos!"
The friends whom destiny had so strangely united, embraced each other
before parting.
"And what shall I call you? What is the name of my guest and friend who
will live forever in my memory?" asked the Greek.
The stranger gave him a parting look, pressed his hand once more, and
replied: "They call me the ruler of the desert; I am _the Robber
Orbasan_."
PART II
* * * * *
TALES OF THE INN.
THE INN IN THE SPESSART.
Many years ago, while yet the roads in the Spessart were in poor
condition and but little traveled, two young journeymen were making
their way through this wooded region. The one might have been about
eighteen years old, and was by trade a compass-maker; the other was a
goldsmith, and, judging from his appearance, could not have been more
than sixteen, and was most likely making his first journey out into the
world.
Evening was coming on, and the shadows of the giant pines and
beeches darkened the narrow road on which the two were walking. The
compass-maker stepped bravely forward, whistling a tune, playing
occasionally with Munter, his dog, and not seeming to feel much concern
that the night was near, while the next inn for journeymen was still
far ahead of them. But Felix, the goldsmith, began to look about him
anxiously. When the wind rustled through the trees, it sounded to him
as if there were steps behind him; when the bushes on either side of
the road were stirred, he was sure he caught glimpses of lurking faces.
The young goldsmith was, moreover, neither superstitious nor lacking in
courage. In Wuerzburg, where he had learned his trade, he passed among
his fellows for a fearless youth, whose heart was in the right spot;
but on this day his courage was at a singularly low ebb. He had been
told so many things about the Spessart. A large band of robbers were
reported as committing depredations there; many travellers had been
robbed within a few weeks, and a horrible murder was spoken of as
having occurred here not long before. Therefore he felt no little
alarm, as they were but two in number and could not successfully
resist armed robbers. How often he regretted that he had not stopped
over-night at the edge of the forest, instead of agreeing to accompany
the compass-maker to the next station!
"And if I am killed to-night, and lose all I have with me, you will be
to blame, compass-maker, for you persuaded me to come into this
terrible forest," said he.
"Don't be a coward," retorted the other. "A real journeyman should
never be afraid. And what is it you are afraid of? Do you think that
the lordly robbers of the Spessart would do us the honor to attack and
kill us? Why should they give themselves that trouble? To gain
possession of the Sunday-coat in my knapsack, or the spare pennies
given us by the people on our route? One would have to travel in a
coach-and-four, dressed in gold and silks, before the robbers would
think it worth their while to kill one."
"Stop! Didn't you hear somebody whistle in the woods?" exclaimed Felix,
nervously.
"That was the wind whistling through the trees. Walk faster, and we
shall soon be out of the wood."
"Yes, it's all well enough for you to talk that way about not being
killed," continued the goldsmith; "they would simply ask you what you
had, search you, and take away your Sunday-coat and your change. But
they would kill me because I carry gold and jewelry with me."
"Why should they kill you on that account? If four or five were to
spring out of the bush there now with loaded rifles pointed at us, and
politely inquire, 'Gentlemen, what have you with you?' or 'If
agreeable, we will help you carry it,' or some such elegant mode of
address, then you wouldn't make a fool of yourself, but would open your
knapsack and lay the yellow waist-coat, the blue coat, two shirts, and
all your necklaces, bracelets, combs, and whatever you had besides,
politely on the ground, and be thankful for the life they spared you."
"You think so, do you?" responded Felix warmly. "You think I would give
up the ornament I have here for my godmother, the dear lady countess?
Sooner would I part with my life! Sooner would I be hacked into small
pieces. Did she not take a mother's interest in me, and since my tenth
year bind me out as apprentice? Has she not paid for my clothes and
every thing? And now, when I am about to go to her, to carry her
something of my own handiwork that she had ordered of the master; now,
that I am able to give her this ornament as a sample of what I have
learned; now you think I would give that up, and my yellow waistcoat as
well, that she gave me? No, better death than to give to these base men
the ornament intended for my godmother!"
"Don't be a fool!" exclaimed the compass-maker. "If they were to kill
you, the countess would still lose the ornament; so it would be much
better for you to deliver it up and keep your life."
Felix did not answer. Night had settled down, and by the uncertain
gleam of the new moon he could not see more than five feet before him.
He became more and more nervous, kept close by the side of his
companion, and was uncertain whether he ought to approve of the
arguments of his friend or not. Thus they continued on, side by side
for another hour, when they saw a light in the distance. The young
goldsmith was of opinion that they should not prematurely rejoice, as
the light might come from a den of thieves; but the compass-maker
informed him the robbers had their houses or caves under ground, and
that this must be the inn that a man had told them of, as they entered
the forest.
It was a long, low house, before which a wagon stood; and adjoining
the house wa
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