PART I.

Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive

Transcriber's Note:

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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."