more youths before Abdallah, as like the first as so many pictures
of the same person, and each youth bore in his hands a box like
the one that the monster had given Abdallah. “Will my lord have
anything further?” asked the Genie.
“Let me think,” said Abdallah. “Yes; I know the town well, and that
should one so rich as I ride into it without guards he would be
certain to be robbed before he had travelled a hundred paces. Let
me have an escort of a hundred armed men.”
“It shall be done,” said the Genie, and, waving his hand, the road
where they stood was instantly filled with armed men, with swords
and helmets gleaming and flashing in the sun, and all seated upon
magnificently caparisoned horses. “Can I serve my lord further?”
asked the Genie.
“No,” said Abdallah the fagot-maker, in admiration, “I have nothing
more to wish for in this world. Thou mayest go, Genie, and it will
be long ere I will have to call thee again,” and thereupon the
Genie was gone like a flash.
The captain of Abdallah’s troop--a bearded warrior clad in a superb
suit of armor--rode up to the fagot-maker, and, leaping from his
horse and bowing before him so that his forehead touched the dust,
said, “Whither shall we ride, my lord?”
Abdallah smote his forehead with vexation. “If I live a thousand
years,” said he, “I will never learn wisdom.” Thereupon,
dismounting again, he pressed the ring and summoned the Genie. “I
was mistaken,” said he, “as to not wanting thee so soon. I would
have thee build me in the city a magnificent palace, such as man
never looked upon before, and let it be full from top to bottom
with rich stuffs and treasures of all sorts. And let it have
gardens and fountains and terraces fitting for such a place, and
let it be meetly served with slaves, both men and women, the most
beautiful that are to be found in all of the world.”
“Is there aught else that thou wouldst have?” asked the Genie.
The fagot-maker meditated a long time. “I can bethink myself of
nothing more just now,” said he.
The Genie turned to the captain of the troop and said some words to
him in a strange tongue, and then in a moment was gone. The captain
gave the order to march, and away they all rode with Abdallah in
the midst. “Who would have thought,” said he, looking around him,
with the heart within him swelling with pride as though it would
burst--“who would have thought that only this morning I was a poor
fagot-maker, lost in the woods and half starved to death? Surely
there is nothing left for me to wish for in this world!”
Abdallah was talking of something he knew nothing of.
* * * * *
Never before was such a sight seen in that country, as Abdallah and
his troop rode through the gates and into the streets of the city.
But dazzling and beautiful as were those who rode attendant upon
him, Abdallah the fagot-maker surpassed them all as the moon dims
the lustre of the stars. The people crowded around shouting with
wonder, and Abdallah, in the fulness of his delight, gave orders to
the slaves who bore the caskets of money to open them and to throw
the gold to the people. So, with those in the streets scrambling
and fighting for the money and shouting and cheering, and others
gazing down at the spectacle from the windows and the house-tops,
the fagot-maker and his troop rode slowly along through the town.
Now it chanced that their way led along past the royal palace, and
the princess, hearing all the shouting and the hubbub, looked over
the edge of the balcony and down into the street. At the same
moment Abdallah chanced to look up, and their eyes met. Thereupon
the fagot-maker’s heart crumbled away within him, for she was the
most beautiful princess in all the world. Her eyes were as black as
night, her hair like threads of fine silk, her neck like alabaster,
and her lips and her cheeks as soft and as red as rose-leaves. When
she saw that Abdallah was looking at her she dropped the curtain of
the balcony and was gone, and the fagot-maker rode away, sighing
like a furnace.
[Illustration]
So, by-and-by, he came to his palace, which was built all of marble
as white as snow, and which was surrounded with gardens, shaded
by flowering trees, and cooled by the plashing of fountains. From
the gateway to the door of the palace a carpet of cloth-of-gold
had been spread for him to walk upon, and crowds of slaves stood
waiting to receive him. But for all these glories Abdallah cared
nothing; he hardly looked about him, but, going straight to his
room, pressed his ring and summoned the Genie.
“What is it that my lord would have?” asked the monster.
“Oh, Genie!” said poor Abdallah, “I would have the princess for my
wife, for without her I am like to die.”
“My lord’s commands,” said the Genie, “shall be executed if I
have to tear down the city to do so. But perhaps this behest is
not so hard to fulfil. First of all, my lord will have to have an
ambassador to send to the king.”
“Very well,” said Abdallah with a sigh; “let me have an ambassador
or whatever may be necessary. Only make haste, Genie, in thy
doings.”
“I shall lose no time,” said the Genie; and in a moment was gone.
* * * * *
The king was sitting in council with all of the greatest lords of
the land gathered about him, for the Emperor of India had declared
war against him, and he and they were in debate, discussing how the
country was to be saved. Just then Abdallah’s ambassador arrived,
and when he and his train entered the council-chamber all stood up
to receive him, for the least of those attendant upon him was more
magnificently attired than the king himself, and was bedecked with
such jewels as the royal treasury could not match.
Kneeling before the king, the ambassador touched the ground with
his forehead. Then, still kneeling, he unrolled a scroll, written
in letters of gold, and from it read the message asking for the
princess to wife for the Lord Abdallah.
[Illustration]
When he had ended, the king sat for a while stroking his beard and
meditating. But before he spoke the oldest lord of the council
arose and said: “O sire! if this Lord Abdallah who asks for the
princess for his wife can send such a magnificent company in the
train of his ambassador, may it not be that he may be able also to
help you in your war against the Emperor of India?”
“True!” said the king. Then turning to the ambassador: “Tell your
master,” said he, “that if he will furnish me with an army of one
hundred thousand men, to aid me in the war against the Emperor of
India, he shall have my daughter for his wife.”
“Sire,” said the ambassador, “I will answer now for my master, and
the answer shall be this: That he will help you with an army, not
of _one_ hundred thousand, but of _two_ hundred thousand men. And
if to-morrow you will be pleased to ride forth to the plain that
lieth to the south of the city, my Lord Abdallah will meet you
there with his army.” Then, once more bowing, he withdrew from the
council-chamber, leaving all them that were there amazed at what
had passed.
So the next day the king and all his court rode out to the place
appointed. As they drew near they saw that the whole face of the
plain was covered with a mighty host, drawn up in troops and
squadrons. As the king rode towards this vast army, Abdallah met
him, surrounded by his generals. He dismounted and would have
kneeled, but the king would not permit him, but, raising him,
kissed him upon the cheek, calling him son. Then the king and
Abdallah rode down before the ranks and the whole army waved their
swords, and the flashing of the sunlight on the blades was like
lightning, and they shouted, and the noise was like the pealing of
thunder.
* * * * *
Before Abdallah marched off to the wars he and the princess were
married, and for a whole fortnight nothing was heard but the sound
of rejoicing. The city was illuminated from end to end, and all
of the fountains ran with wine instead of water. And of all those
who rejoiced, none was so happy as the princess, for never had she
seen one whom she thought so grand and noble and handsome as her
husband. After the fortnight had passed and gone, the army marched
away to the wars with Abdallah at its head.
Victory after victory followed, for in every engagement the Emperor
of India’s troops were driven from the field. In two months’ time
the war was over and Abdallah marched back again--the greatest
general in the world. But it was no longer as Abdallah that he was
known, but as the Emperor of India, for the former emperor had been
killed in the war, and Abdallah had set the crown upon his own head.
The little taste that he had had of conquest had given him an
appetite for more, so that with the armies the Genie provided
him he conquered all the neighboring countries and brought them
under his rule. So he became the greatest emperor in all of the
world; kings and princes kneeled before him, and he, Abdallah, the
fagot-maker, looking about him, could say: “No one in all the world
is so great as I!”
Could he desire anything more?
* * * * *
Yes; he did! He desired to be rid of the Genie!
When he thought of how all that he was in power and might--he, the
Emperor of the World--how all his riches and all his glory had come
as gifts from a hideous black monster with only one eye, his heart
was filled with bitterness. “I cannot forget,” said he to himself,
“that as he has given me all these things, he may take them all
away again. Suppose that I should lose my ring and that some one
else should find it; who knows but that they might become as great
as I, and strip me of everything, as I have stripped others. Yes; I
wish he was out of the way!”
Once, when such thoughts as these were passing through his mind, he
was paying a visit to his father-in-law, the king. He was walking
up and down the terrace of the garden meditating on these matters,
when, leaning over a wall and looking down into the street, he saw
a fagot-maker--just such a fagot-maker as he himself had one time
been--driving an ass--just such an ass as he had one time driven.
The fagot-maker carried something under his arm, and what should it
be but the very casket in which the Genie had once been imprisoned,
and which he--the one-time fagot-maker--had seen the Genie kick
over the tree-tops.
The sight of the casket put a sudden thought into his mind. He
shouted to his attendants, and bade them haste and bring the
fagot-maker to him. Off they ran, and in a little while came
dragging the poor wretch, trembling and as white as death; for
he thought nothing less than that his end had certainly come. As
soon as those who had seized him had loosened their hold, he flung
himself prostrate at the feet of the Emperor Abdallah, and there
lay like one dead.
“Where didst thou get yonder casket?” asked the emperor.
“Oh, my lord!” croaked the poor fagot-maker, “I found it out yonder
in the woods.”
“Give it to me,” said the emperor, “and my treasurer shall count
thee out a thousand pieces of gold in exchange.”
So soon as he had the casket safe in his hands he hurried away to
his privy chamber, and there pressed the red stone in his ring.
“In the name of the red Aldebaran, I command thee to appear!” said
he, and in a moment the Genie stood before him.
“What are my lord’s commands?” said he.
“I would have thee enter this casket again,” said the Emperor
Abdallah.
“Enter the casket!” cried the Genie, aghast.
“Enter the casket.”
“In what have I done anything to offend my lord?” said the Genie.
“In nothing,” said the emperor; “only I would have thee enter the
casket again as thou wert when I first found thee.”
It was in vain that the Genie begged and implored for mercy, it
was in vain that he reminded Abdallah of all that he had done to
benefit him; the great emperor stood as hard as a rock--into the
casket the Genie must and should go. So at last into the casket the
monster went, bellowing most lamentably.
The Emperor Abdallah shut the lid of the casket, and locked it and
sealed it with his seal. Then, hiding it under his cloak, he bore
it out into the garden and to a deep well, and, first making sure
that nobody was by to see, dropped casket and Genie and all into
the water.
* * * * *
Now had that wise man been by--the wise man who had laughed so
when the poor young fagot-maker wept and wailed at the ingratitude
of his friend--the wise man who had laughed still louder when the
young fagot-maker vowed that in another case he would not have been
so ungrateful to one who had benefited him--how that wise man would
have roared when he heard the casket plump into the waters of the
well! For, upon my word of honor, betwixt Ali the fagot-maker and
Abdallah the Emperor of the World there was not a pin to choose,
except in degree.
* * * * *
_Old Ali Baba’s pipe had nearly gone out, and he fell a puffing at
it until the spark grew to life again, and until great clouds of
smoke rolled out around his head and up through the rafters above._
_“I liked thy story, friend!” said old Bidpai--“I liked it mightily
much. I liked more especially the way in which thy emperor got rid
of his demon, or Genie!”_
_Fortunatus took a long pull at his mug of ale. “I know not,” said
he, “about the demon, but there was one part that I liked much, and
that was about the treasures of silver and gold and the palace that
the Genie built and all the fine things that the poor fagot-maker
enjoyed!” Then he who had once carried the magic purse in his
pocket fell a clattering with the bottom of his quart cup upon the
table. “Hey! my pretty lass,” cried he, “come hither and fetch me
another stoup of ale!”_
_Little Brown Betty came at his call, stumbling and tumbling into
the room, just as she had stumbled and tumbled in the Mother Goose
book, only this time she did not crack her crown, but gathered
herself up laughing._
_“You may fill my canican while you are about it,” said St. George,
“for, by my faith, ’tis dry work telling a story.”_
_“And mine, too,” piped the little Tailor who killed seven flies at
a blow._
_“And whose turn is it now to tell a story?” said Doctor Faustus._
_“’Tis his,” said the Lad who fiddled for the Jew, and he pointed
to Hans who traded and traded until he had traded his lump of gold
for an empty churn._
_Hans grinned sheepishly. “Well,” said he, “I never did have luck at
anything, and why, then, d’ye think I should have luck at telling a
story?”_
_“Nay, never mind that,” said Aladdin, “tell thy story, friend, as
best thou mayst.”_
_“Very well,” said Hans, “if ye will have it, I will tell it to
you; but, after all, it is no better than my own story, and the
poor man in the end gets no more than I did in my bargains.”_
_“And what is your story about, my friend?” said Cinderella._
_“’Tis,” said Hans, “about how--”_
[Illustration]
Much shall have more and little shall have less.
Once upon a time there was a king who did the best he could to rule
wisely and well, and to deal justly by those under him whom he had
to take care of; and as he could not trust hearsay, he used every
now and then to slip away out of his palace and go among his people
to hear what they had to say for themselves about him and the way
he ruled the land.
Well, one such day as this, when he was taking a walk, he strolled
out past the walls of the town and into the green fields until he
came at last to a fine big house that stood by the banks of a
river, wherein lived a man and his wife who were very well to do in
the world. There the king stopped for a bite of bread and a drink
of fresh milk.
“I would like to ask you a question,” said the king to the rich
man; “and the question is this: Why are some folk rich and some
folk poor?”
“That I cannot tell you,” said the good man; “only I remember my
father used to say that much shall have more and little shall have
less.”
“Very well,” said the king; “the saying has a good sound, but let
us find whether or not it is really true. See; here is a purse with
three hundred pieces of golden money in it. Take it and give it to
the poorest man you know; in a week’s time I will come again, and
then you shall tell me whether it has made you or him the richer.”
Now in the town there lived two beggars who were as poor as poverty
itself, and the poorer of the twain was one who used to sit in rags
and tatters on the church step to beg charity of the good folk who
came and went. To him went the rich man, and, without so much as a
good-morning, quoth he: “Here is something for you,” and so saying
dropped the purse of gold into the beggar’s hat. Then away he went
without waiting for a word of thanks.
[Illustration]
As for the beggar, he just sat there for a while goggling and
staring like one moon-struck. But at last his wits came back to
him, and then away he scampered home as fast as his legs could
carry him. Then he spread his money out on the table and counted
it--three hundred pieces of gold money! He had never seen such
great riches in his life before. There he sat feasting his eyes
upon the treasure as though they would never get their fill. And
now what was he to do with all of it? Should he share his fortune
with his brother? Not a bit of it. To be sure, until now they had
always shared and shared alike, but here was the first great lump
of good-luck that had ever fallen in his way, and he was not for
spoiling it by cutting it in two to give half to a poor beggar-man
such as his brother. Not he; he would hide it and keep it all for
his very own.
Now, not far from where he lived, and beside the river, stood a
willow-tree, and thither the lucky beggar took his purse of money
and stuffed it into a knot-hole of a withered branch, then went
his way, certain that nobody would think of looking for money in
such a hiding-place. Then all the rest of the day he sat thinking
and thinking of the ways he would spend what had been given him,
and what he would do to get the most good out of it. At last came
evening, and his brother, who had been begging in another part of
the town, came home again.
“I nearly lost my hat to-day,” said the second beggar so soon as he
had come into the house.
“Did you?” said the first beggar. “How was that?”
“Oh! the wind blew it off into the water, but I got it again.”
“How did you get it?” said the first beggar.
“I just broke a dead branch off of the willow-tree and drew my hat
ashore,” said the second beggar.
“A dead branch!!”
“A dead branch.”
“Off of the willow tree!!”
“Off of the willow tree.”
The first beggar could hardly breathe.
“And what did you do with the dead branch after that?”
“I threw it away into the water, and it floated down the river.”
The beggar to whom the money had been given ran out of the house
howling, and down to the river-side, thumping his head with his
knuckles like one possessed. For he knew that the branch that his
brother had broken off of the tree and had thrown into the water,
was the very one in which he had hidden the bag of money.
Yes; and so it was.
The next morning, as the rich man took a walk down by the river, he
saw a dead branch that had been washed up by the tide. “Halloo!”
says he, “this will do to kindle the fire with.”
So he brought it to the house, and, taking down his axe, began to
split it up for kindling. The very first blow he gave, out tumbled
the bag of money.
* * * * *
But the beggar--well, by-and-by his grieving got better of its
first smart, and then he started off down the river to see if he
could not find his money again. He hunted up and he hunted down,
but never a whit of it did he see, and at last he stopped at the
rich man’s house and begged for a bite to eat and lodgings for
the night. There he told all his story--how he had hidden the
money that had been given him from his brother, how his brother
had broken off the branch and had thrown it away, and how he had
spent the whole live-long day searching for it. And to all the rich
man listened and said never a word. But though he said nothing,
he thought to himself, “Maybe, after all, it is not the will of
Heaven that this man shall have the money. Nevertheless, I will
give him another trial.”
So he told the poor beggar to come in and stay for the night; and,
whilst the beggar was snoring away in his bed in the garret, the
rich man had his wife make two great pies, each with a fine brown
crust. In the first pie he put the little bag of money; the second
he filled full of rusty nails and scraps of iron.
The next morning he called the beggar to him. “My friend,” said he,
“I grieve sadly for the story you told me last night. But maybe,
after all, your luck is not all gone. And now, if you will choose
as you should choose, you shall not go away from here comfortless.
In the pantry yonder are two great pies--one is for you, and one
for me. Go in and take whichever one you please.”
“A pie!” thought the beggar to himself; “does the man think that
a big pie will comfort me for the loss of three hundred pieces of
money?” Nevertheless, as it was the best thing to be had, into the
pantry the beggar went and there began to feel and weigh the pies,
and the one filled with the rusty nails and scraps of iron was ever
so much the fatter and the heavier.
“This is the one that I shall take,” said he to the rich man, “and
you may have the other.” And, tucking it under his arm, off he
tramped.
Well, before he got back to the town he grew hungry, and sat down
by the roadside to eat his pie; and if there was ever an angry man
in the world before, he was one that day--for there was his pie
full of nothing but rusty nails and bits of iron. “This is the way
the rich always treat the poor,” said he.
So back he went in a fume. “What did you give me a pie full of old
nails for?” said he.
“You took the pie of your own choice,” said the rich man;
“nevertheless, I meant you no harm. Lodge with me here one night,
and in the morning I will give you something better worth while,
maybe.”
So that night the rich man had his wife bake two loaves of bread,
in one of which she hid the bag with the three hundred pieces of
gold money.
“Go to the pantry,” said the rich man to the beggar in the morning,
“and there you will find two loaves of bread--one is for you and
one for me; take whichever one you choose.”
So in went the beggar, and the first loaf of bread he laid his hand
upon was the one in which the money was hidden, and off he marched
with it under his arm, without so much as saying thank you.
“I wonder,” said he to himself, after he had jogged along
awhile--“I wonder whether the rich man is up to another trick such
as he played upon me yesterday?” He put the loaf of bread to his
ear and shook it and shook it, and what should he hear but the
chink of the money within. “Ah ha!” said he, “he has filled it with
rusty nails and bits of iron again, but I will get the better of
him this time.”
[Illustration]
By-and-by he met a poor woman coming home from market. “Would you
like to buy a fine fresh loaf of bread?” said the beggar.
“Yes, I would,” said the woman.
“Well, here is one you may have for two pennies,” said the beggar.
That was cheap enough, so the woman paid him his price and off she
went with the loaf of bread under her arm, and never stopped until
she had come to her home.
Now it happened that the day before this very woman had borrowed
just such a loaf of bread from the rich man’s wife; and so, as
there was plenty in the house without it, she wrapped this loaf
up in a napkin, and sent her husband back with it to where it had
started from first of all.
“Well,” said the rich man to his wife, “the way of Heaven is not
to be changed.” And so he laid the money on the shelf until he who
had given it to him should come again, and thought no more of
giving it to the beggar.
[Illustration]
At the end of seven days the king called upon the rich man again,
and this time he came in his own guise as a real king. “Well,” said
he, “is the poor man the richer for his money?”
“No,” said the rich man, “he is not;” and then he told the whole
story from beginning to end just as I have told it.
“Your father was right,” said the king; “and what he said was very
true--‘Much shall have more and little shall have less.’ Keep the
bag of money for yourself, for there Heaven means it to stay.”
And maybe there is as much truth as poetry in this story.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
_And now it was the turn of the Blacksmith who had made Death sit
in his pear-tree until the cold wind whistled through the ribs of
man’s enemy. He was a big, burly man, with a bullet head, and a
great thick neck, and a voice like a bull’s._
_“Do you mind,” said he, “about how I clapped a man in the fire and
cooked him to a crisp that day that St. Peter came travelling my
way?”_
_There was a little space of silence, and then the Soldier who had
cheated the Devil spoke up. “Why yes, friend,” said he, “I know
your story very well.”_
_“I am not so fortunate,” said old Bidpai. “I do not know your
story. Tell me, friend, did you really bake a man to a crisp? And
how was it then?”_