Who in Bagdad does not know the great Giaffar, the sun of the universe?
One day, many years ago, when he was still a young man, Giaffar was
strolling in the suburbs of Bagdad.
Suddenly there fell upon his ear a hoarse cry: some one was calling
desperately for help.
Giaffar was distinguished among the young men of his own age for his
good sense and prudence; but he had a compassionate heart, and he
trusted to his strength.
He ran in the direction of the cry, and beheld a decrepit old man pinned
against the wall of the city by two brigands who were robbing him.
Giaffar drew his sword and fell upon the malefactors. One he slew, the
other he chased away.
The old man whom he had liberated fell at his rescuer's feet, and
kissing the hem of his garment, exclaimed: "Brave youth, thy magnanimity
shall not remain unrewarded. In appearance I am a beggar; but only in
appearance. I am not a common man.--Come to-morrow morning early to the
chief bazaar; I will await thee there at the fountain--and thou shalt
convince thyself as to the justice of my words."
Giaffar reflected: "In appearance this man is a beggar, it is true; but
all sorts of things happen. Why should not I try the experiment?"--and
he answered: "Good, my father, I will go."
The old man looked him in the eye and went away.
On the following morning, just as day was breaking, Giaffar set out for
the bazaar. The old man was already waiting for him, with his elbows
leaning on the marble basin of the fountain.
Silently he took Giaffar by the hand and led him to a small garden,
surrounded on all sides by high walls.
In the very centre of this garden, on a green lawn, grew a tree of
extraordinary aspect.
It resembled a cypress; only its foliage was of azure hue.
Three fruits--three apples--hung on the slender up-curving branches. One
of medium size was oblong in shape, of a milky-white hue; another was
large, round, and bright red; the third was small, wrinkled and
yellowish.
The whole tree was rustling faintly, although there was no wind. It
tinkled delicately and plaintively, as though it were made of glass; it
seemed to feel the approach of Giaffar.
"Youth!"--said the old man, "pluck whichever of these fruits thou wilt,
and know that if thou shalt pluck and eat the white one, thou shalt
become more wise than all men; if thou shalt pluck and eat the red one,
thou shalt become as rich as the Hebrew Rothschild; if thou shalt pluck
and eat the yellow one, thou shalt please old women. Decide! ... and
delay not. In an hour the fruits will fade, and the tree itself will
sink into the dumb depths of the earth!"
Giaffar bowed his head and thought.--"What am I to do?" he articulated
in a low tone, as though arguing with himself.--"If one becomes too
wise, he will not wish to live, probably; if he becomes richer than all
men, all will hate him; I would do better to pluck and eat the third,
the shrivelled apple!"
And so he did; and the old man laughed a toothless laugh and said: "Oh,
most wise youth! Thou hast chosen the good part!--What use hast thou for
the white apple? Thou art wiser than Solomon as thou art.--And neither
dost thou need the red apple.... Even without it thou shalt be rich.
Only no one will be envious of thy wealth."
"Inform me, old man," said Giaffar, with a start, "where the respected
mother of our God-saved Caliph dwelleth?"
The old man bowed to the earth, and pointed out the road to the youth.
Who in Bagdad doth not know the sun of the universe, the great, the
celebrated Giaffar?
April, 1878.