Mustapha returned to the room where Thiuli was awaiting him. He brought

with him a harmless drink, felt of Fatima's pulse once more, at the

same time tucking the note under her bracelet, and passed the drink

through the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be very anxious about

Fatima, and put off the examination of the rest until a more favorable

opportunity. As he left the room with Mustapha, he said, in a sad tone:

"Chidababa, tell me the exact truth; what is your opinion of Fatima's

sickness?" Chakamankabudibaba replied with a deep sigh: "Oh Master! may

the good Prophet send you consolation; she has a stealthy fever that

may end her life." At this reply Thiuli's anger flamed up. "What's that

you say, you cursed dog of a doctor! Do you mean to say that she, for

whom I paid two thousand pieces of gold, will die on my hands like a

cow? Know, then, that if you do not save her, I will take your head

off!"

My brother at once saw that he had made a stupid mistake, so he

hastened to assure Thiuli there was still hope for Fatima. While they

were speaking together, a black slave came from the seraglio to say to

the physician that _the drink did not help her any_. "Put forth all

your art, Chakamdababelda, or whatever you call yourself, and I will

pay you whatever you ask," exclaimed Thiuli-Kos, wild with anxiety at

the prospect of losing so much money. "I will give her a little

decoction that will save her from danger," answered the physician.

"Yes! by all means, give her the medicine," cried old Thiuli.

Mustapha, in high spirits, went to fetch the sleeping potion, and after

handing it to the slave, with instructions as to the quantity to be

taken, he returned to Thiuli, and told him that now he must go down to

the sea and gather some healing herbs. He then hurried away to the sea,

that was not far off, where he took off his various disguises and flung

them into the water, where the waves tossed them about. He then

concealed himself in the bushes until evening, when he stole quietly up

to the burial vault of Thiuli's castle.

Hardly an hour after Mustapha had departed from the castle, word was

brought Thiuli that his slave Fatima was dying. He at once sent down to

the shore to have the physician brought back, but his messengers soon

returned with the information that the poor doctor had fallen into the

water and been drowned; his black cloak was floating on the waves, and

occasionally his magnificent black beard might be seen bobbing up and

down in the water.

When Thiuli saw there was no hope of her recovery, he cursed himself

and the whole world, tore out his beard, and butted his head against

the wall. But all this availed nothing, for Fatima, under the care of

the other women, soon ceased to breathe. When Thiuli heard of her

death, he ordered a coffin to be hastily made, as he could not suffer a

dead person to remain in the house, and had the body carried to the

tomb. The bearers carried the coffin there, dropped it hastily, and

fled, as they heard groans and sighs proceeding from the other coffins.

Mustapha, who had hidden behind the coffins and frightened away the

bearers of Fatima's coffin, now came out from his hiding place, and

lighted a lamp that he had provided for this purpose. Next he produced

a phial containing the restorative, and raised the lid of Fatima's

coffin. But what was his amazement when the rays of the lamp disclosed

features entirely strange to him! It was neither my sister nor Zoraide,

but quite another person, that lay in the coffin. It took him a long

time to recover from this latest blow of fate, but finally pity

overcame his vexation. He opened the phial, and poured some of the

contents into the mouth of the sleeper. She breathed, opened her eyes,

and seemed for a long time to be trying to make out her situation. At

last she recalled all that had happened, and, stepping out of the

coffin, flung herself at Mustapha's feet. "How can I thank you,

gracious being?" cried she, "for freeing me from my terrible prison!"

Mustapha interrupted her expressions of gratitude with the question how

it happened that she and not his sister Fatima had been rescued. She

looked at him in an astonished way before replying: "Now for the first

time I understand what before was incomprehensible to me. You must know

that I was called Fatima in the castle, and it was to me you gave the

note and medicine." My brother requested her to give him news of his

sister and Zoraide, and learned that they were both in the castle, but,

in accordance with a custom of Thiuli's, had received other names, and

were now called Mirza and Nurmahal.

When the freed slave, Fatima, saw that my brother was so cast down by

this mistake, she consoled him with the assurance that she could point

out another way by which both of the young girls might be rescued.

Aroused by what she said, he begged her to tell him her plan, to which

she replied--

"For some five months I have been Thiuli's slave; yet from the first I

have planned to escape, but it was too much of a task for me to attempt

alone. In the inner court of the castle you must have noticed a

fountain that throws the water in a cascade from ten pipes. This

fountain impressed me strongly, because I remembered a similar one in

my father's house, the water of which was brought through a large

aqueduct. In order to learn whether this fountain was built in the same

way, I one day praised its beauty to Thiuli, and asked who had

constructed it. 'I built it myself,' answered he; 'and what you see

here is the least part of the work, as the water is brought from a

brook, a thousand paces away, through an arched viaduct at least high

enough for a man to walk in. And the construction of all this I

directed myself.'

"Since hearing this, I have often wished for the strength of a man to

pull out a stone in the side of the fountain, and thereby escape. I

will now show you the aqueduct, through which you can obtain entrance

to the castle at night, and set your sister free. But you ought to have

at least two men with you, in order to overpower the slaves who watch

the seraglio at night."

My brother Mustapha, although he had seen his plans twice frustrated,

plucked up courage once more at these words, and hoped, with Allah's

assistance, to carry out the scheme of the slave. He promised to see

that she arrived safely at her home if she would assist him to enter

the castle. But one point caused him some little perplexity: where

should he obtain two or three men upon whom he could depend? Just then

Orbasan's dagger occurred to him, and the promise he had received from

the bandit that, in case of need, he would hasten to his assistance;

and he therefore left the vault, in company with Fatima, to hunt up the

robber.

In the same village which had witnessed his transformation into a

physician, he bought a horse with what money remained to him, and

procured a lodging for Fatima with a poor woman who lived in the

suburb. He then hastened toward the hills where he had first met

Orbasan, and arrived there in three days. He soon found their tents, and

appeared unexpectedly to Orbasan, who greeted him with friendliness. He

gave an account of his failures, at which the grave Orbasan could not

refrain from laughing now and then, especially when he thought of the

physician Chakamankabudibaba. But he was terribly enraged over the

treachery of the ugly little monster, Hassan, and swore he would hang

him up wherever he found him. He also promised that when my brother had

refreshed himself after the fatigue of his journey, he would be ready to

assist him.

Mustapha therefore spent the night in Orbasan's tent. With the early

dawn they rode off, accompanied by three of Orbasan's bravest men well

mounted and armed. They rode very fast and in two days' time reached

the place where Mustapha had left Fatima. They took her with them, and

journeyed on until they came to the small wood from whence Thiuli's

castle could be seen, where they went into camp until night should

come.

As soon as it was dark, guided by Fatima, they stole up to the brook

where the aqueduct began, and soon discovered the entrance. There they

left Fatima and a servant with the horses, and prepared to descend into

the conduit; but before they went in, Fatima repeated once more her

instructions to them--they would emerge from the fountain into the

inner court, in the right and left corners of which were towers, and in

the sixth door counting from the right tower, they would find Fatima

and Zoraide, guarded by two black slaves. Well provided with weapons and

crowbars, Mustapha, Orbasan, and two other men, descended into the

aqueduct. They sank to their hips in the water, but none the less did

they advance valiantly forward. In half an hour they came to the

fountain, and at once began to use their crowbars. The wall was thick

and solid but could not long withstand the united strength of the four

men, and they had soon made an opening large enough to crawl through.

Orbasan passed through first, and helped the others after him.

When they all stood in the court, they looked closely at the side of

the castle facing them, to pick out the door that had been described.

But they did not all agree on this point, for on counting from the

right tower toward the left, they found one door that had been walled

up, and they could not decide whether Fatima had passed this door by,

or had counted it in with the others. But Orbasan did not hesitate

long. "My good sword will open every door to me," exclaimed he, and

went to one of the doors followed by his companions. They opened the

door and discovered six black slaves lying on the floor asleep. They

were about to withdraw quietly, as they saw they had missed the right

door, when a man's form arose in the corner, and in a well-known voice,

called for help. It was Hassan, the deserter from Orbasan's camp. But

before the black guards could find out what had happened, Orbasan

rushed at the little wretch, tore his girdle into two pieces, with one

of which he bound his mouth, and with the other tied his hands behind

his back; then he turned on the slaves, some of whom were already

partially secured by Mustapha and his companions, and assisted to

completely overpower them. At the point of the dagger, the slaves

confessed that Nurmahal and Mirza were in the adjoining room. Mustapha

rushed in, and found Fatima and Zoraide, who were already aroused by

the noise. They quickly collected their clothing and ornaments, and

followed Mustapha. The two robbers now begged permission of Orbasan to

plunder whatever they found; but he forbade them, saying: "It shall

never be said of Orbasan that he broke into a house at night to steal

gold."

Mustapha and the young girls slid quickly into the aqueduct, Orbasan

promising to follow immediately; but as soon as the others were out of

sight, Orbasan and one of the robbers took Hassan out into the court,

and tying a silk cord around his neck, hung him to the highest point of

the fountain. After having inflicted this penalty on the wretch, they

descended into the aqueduct and followed Mustapha.

[Illustration]

With tears the two young girls thanked their noble rescuer Orbasan, but

he hurried them on in their flight, as it was quite probable that

Thiuli-Kos would pursue them in all directions. With deep emotion,

Mustapha and the rescued ones parted from Orbasan on the following day.

Of a truth, they will never forget him. Fatima, the freed slave,

disguised herself and went to Balsora to take passage for her home, and

all reached there safely after a short and agreeable journey.

The joy of seeing them again almost killed my father; but the day after

their arrival, he ordered an immense banquet, to which the whole town

came. My brother had then to repeat his story before a large number of

relatives and friends, and with one voice they praised him and the

noble Orbasan.

When my brother had finished, my father rose and led Zoraide up to him.

"Thus," said he in joyful tones, "do I lift the curse from thy head;

take her as the reward, which thou hast won through thy tireless zeal;

take my fatherly blessing; and may our city never be wanting in men

who, in brotherly love, in wisdom and zeal, resemble thee."

The caravan had reached the end of the desert, and the travelers

joyfully greeted the green meadows and the thick foliage of the trees;

a delightful view, of which they had been deprived for many days. In a

beautiful valley was situated a caravansary, which they chose for a

night's lodging; and although it offered poor accommodation and

refreshment, yet the whole company were in better spirits and more

confidential than ever, as the feeling that they had escaped all the

dangers and discomforts which a journey through the desert brings,

opened all hearts and disposed all minds to jests and sports. Muley,

the active young merchant, danced a comic dance, accompanying himself

with songs, until even the sad features of Zaleukos, the Greek, relaxed

into a smile. But not satisfied with having entertained his fellow

travelers with dances and games, he related, as soon as he had somewhat

recovered from his violent exercise, the story which he had promised

them.

LITTLE MUCK.

IN Nicaeea, my dearly-loved native city, lived a man who was called

Little Muck, I can recall him distinctly, although I was quite young at

the time, chiefly because of a severe chastisement I received from my

father on his account. This Little Muck was already an old man when I

knew him, and yet he was not more than four feet in height. His figure

presented a singular appearance, as his body, small and childlike,

seemed but a slender support for a head much larger than the heads of

ordinary people. He lived all alone in a large house, and cooked his

own meals, and had it not been for the smoke that rose from his kitchen

chimney at midday, the townspeople would have remained in doubt as to

whether he still lived; for he went out but once a month. He was,

however, occasionally seen walking on the house-top, and to one looking

up from the street there was presented the singular sight of a head

moving to and fro. My companions and myself were rather bad boys, who

took delight in teasing and making sport of everybody; so it was always

a great holiday for us whenever Little Muck went out. We gathered

before his house on the appointed day, and waited; and when now the

door opened, and the large head, wrapped in a still larger turban,

peeped out, followed by the rest of his little body, done up in a

threadbare cloak, baggy breeches, and a wide sash, from which hung a

dagger so long that it could not be told whether Muck stuck on the

dagger or the dagger on Muck--when he thus made his appearance, the air

echoed with our shouts; we threw up our caps, and danced around him

like mad. Little Muck, however, returned our salute with a grave nod of

the head, and shuffled slowly down the street in such great, wide

slippers as I had never seen before. We boys ran behind him, shouting:

"Little Muck! Little Muck!" We also had a jolly little verse that we

now and then sang in his honor, which ran as follows:

[Illustration]

Little Muck, little Muck,

Living in a house so fair,

Once a month you take the air,

You, brave little dwarf, 'tis said,

Have a mountain for a head;

Turn around just once and look;

Run and catch us, little Muck!

Thus had we often entertained ourselves, and, to my shame be it

confessed, I behaved the worst--often catching him by the cloak, and

once I trod on the heel of his slipper so that he fell down. This

struck me as a very funny thing, but the laugh stuck in my throat as I

saw him go to my father's house. He went right in and remained there

for some time. I hid myself near the front door, and saw Little Muck

come out again, accompanied by my father, who held his hand and parted

from him on the door-step with many bows. Not feeling very easy in my

mind, I remained for a long time in my hiding place; but I was at last

driven out by hunger, which I feared worse than a whipping, and,

spiritless and with bowed head, I went home to my father. "I hear that

you have been insulting the good Little Muck," said he, in a grave

tone. "I will tell you the story of Little Muck, and you will certainly

not want to laugh at him again; but before I begin, and after I am

through, you will receive '_the customary_.'" Now "the customary"

consisted of twenty-five blows, which he was accustomed to lay on

without making any mistake in the count. He took for this purpose the

long stem of a cherry pipe, unscrewing the amber mouth-piece, and

belaboring me harder than ever before. When the five-and-twenty strokes

were completed, he commanded me to pay attention, and told me the story

of Little Muck.

The father of Little Muck--whose proper name was Mukrah--was a poor but

respectable man, living here in Nicaea. He lived nearly as solitary a

life as his son now does. This son he could not endure, as he was

ashamed of his dwarfish shape, and he therefore allowed him to grow up

in ignorance. Little Muck, though in his sixteenth year, was only a

child; and his father continually scolded him, because he who should

have long since "put away childish things," still remained so stupid

and silly.

However, the old gentleman got a bad fall one day, from the effects of

which he shortly died, and left Little Muck poor and ignorant. The

unfeeling relatives, to whom the deceased had owed more than he could

pay, drove the poor little fellow out of the house, and advised him to

go out into the world and seek his fortune. Little Muck replied that he

was ready for the journey, but begged that he might be allowed to have his

father's clothes; and these were given him. His father had been a tall,

stout man, so that the clothes did not fit the little son very well; but

Muck knew just what to do in this emergency: he cut off every thing that

was too long, and then put the clothes on. He seemed, however, to have

forgotten that he should have cut away from the width as well; hence his

singular appearance just as he may be seen to-day--dressed in the large

turban, the broad sash, the baggy trousers, the blue cloak, all heirlooms

from his father, which he has ever since worn. The long Damascus poniard,

that had also belonged to his father, he stuck proudly in his sash, and,

supported by a little cane, wandered out of the city gate.

He tramped along merrily the whole day; for had he not been sent out to

seek his fortune? If he came across a broken bit of pottery glistening

in the sun, he straightway put it into his pocket, in the full belief

that it would prove to be the most brilliant diamond. When he saw in

the distance the dome of a mosque all ablaze with the sun's rays, or a

lake gleaming like a mirror, he made all haste to reach it, believing

he had arrived in an enchanted land. But alas, the illusions vanished

as he neared them, while weariness and an empty stomach forcibly

reminded him that he was still in the land of mortals. Thus hungry and

sorrowful, and despairing of ever finding his fortune, he wandered on

for two long days, with the fruits of the field for his only

nourishment, and the hard earth for his couch.

On the morning of the third day he discovered, from a hill, a large

city. The crescent shone brightly on its battlements, while gay banners

waving from the roofs seemed to beckon him on. In great surprise, he

stopped to look at the city and its surroundings. "Yes, there shall Little

Muck find his fortune," said he to himself; and summoning all his strength,

he started on towards the city. But, although the town seemed near by, it

was nearly noon when he reached it, as his little legs almost refused to

carry out his will, and he was forced to sit down in the shade of a palm

tree to rest. At last he reached the gate. There he arranged his cloak with

great care, gave a new fold to his turban, stretched out his sash to twice

its usual width, stuck the long poniard in a little straighter, and wiping

the dust from his shoes, grasped his stick more firmly and marched bravely

in.

He had wandered through several streets, but not a door opened to him;

nor did any one call out--as he had fancied would be done--:

Little Muck! Come in and eat,

And rest your weary little feet.

Once more he looked up very longingly at a large, fine house before

him, when suddenly a window was opened, and an old woman looked down,

calling out in a sing-song tone:

O come, O come!

The porridge is done,

The table is spread,

May you all be well-fed;

O good neighbors, come,

The porridge is done!

The door of the house opened, and Muck saw many dogs and cats enter. He

remained for some time in doubt whether he should accept the

invitation, but at last he mustered up courage and walked in. Before

him went two little kittens, and he concluded to follow them, as they

might know the way to the kitchen better than he did.

As Muck ascended the stairs, he met the same old woman who had looked

out from the window. She looked at him crossly, and asked him what he

wanted. "Why, you invited everybody in to partake of your porridge,"

answered Little Muck; "and as I was very hungry, I came in too." The

old woman laughed and said: "Where in the world do you come from, you

odd little fellow? The whole city knows that I cook for nobody but my

dear cats, and now and then I invite company for them out of the

neighborhood, as you see." Little Muck told the old woman how hardly it

had fared with him since his father's death, and begged that she would

permit him to eat with her cats to-day. The woman, who was pleased with

the simple-hearted manner in which the dwarf told his story, allowed

him to be her guest, and provided food and drink for him bountifully.

When he had eaten his fill, and felt much stronger, the old woman

looked at him for some time before saying: "Little Muck, remain in my

service; you will have little to do, and will be well provided for."

Little Muck, who had found the cats' soup very nice, consented, and

became the servant of Ahavzi. His duties were light, but quite

peculiar. Ahavzi had, for instance, six cats, and every morning Little

Muck had to comb their fur and rub in costly ointments; when the old

woman went out he had also to look after the cats; when they were to be

fed, he had to set the dishes before them; and at night it was his duty

to lay them on silken cushions and cover them with velvet blankets.

There were also a few small dogs in the house, which he had to wait

upon; still, these received but little attention as compared with the

cats, which Ahavzi considered as her own children. As for the rest,

Muck led as lonely a life as he had suffered in his father's house;

for, with the exception of the old woman, he saw only dogs and cats the

livelong day.

For a little while, however, all went well with him. He always had

enough to eat and but little to do, and the old woman found no fault

with him. But after a while the cats became unruly; when the old woman

had gone out, they would fly around the room as if possessed, throwing

things about, and breaking many a fine dish that stood in their way.

But whenever they heard the old woman coming up the stairs, they

crouched down on their cushions, and wagged their tails, as if nothing

had occurred. Ahavzi got very angry when she found her rooms in such

disorder, and laid it all to Muck's charge; and though he might protest

his innocence as much as he pleased, she believed her cats, which

looked so harmless, more than she did her servant.

Little Muck felt very sad that he had failed to find his fortune, and

secretly resolved to leave the service of Ahavzi. But, as he had

discovered on his first journey how poorly one lives without money, he

resolved to help himself to the wages which his mistress had often

promised but never given him. There was one room in Ahavzi's house that

was always kept locked, and whose interior Muck had never seen. But he

had often heard the old woman bustling about in there, and as often he

would have given his life to know what she had hidden there. When he

came to think about the money for his journey, it occurred to him that

the treasures of Ahavzi might be concealed in that room. But the door

was always locked, and therefore he was unable to get at the treasures.

One morning, when the old woman had gone out, one of the dogs--to whom

Ahavzi accorded little more than a step-mother's care, but whose favor

Muck had acquired by a series of kindly services--seized Muck by his

baggy trousers, and acted as if he wished the dwarf to follow him.

Muck, always ready for a game with the dog, followed him, and behold,

he was escorted to the bed-room of Ahavzi, and up to a small door that

he had never noticed before. The door was soon opened, and the dog

went in followed by Muck, who was greatly rejoiced to find that he was

in the very room that he had so long sought to enter. He searched

every-where for money, but found none. Only old clothes and strangely

shaped dishes were to be seen. One of these dishes attracted his

attention. It was crystal and in it were cut beautiful figures. He

picked it up and turned it about to examine all its sides. But,

horrors! he had not noticed that it had a lid which was insecurely

fastened. The cover fell off, and was broken into a thousand pieces!

For a long time Little Muck stood there, motionless from terror. Now

was his fate decided. Now he must flee, or the old woman would surely

strike him dead. His journey was decided on at once; and as he took one

more look around to see if there were nothing among the effects of

Ahavzi that he could make use of on his march, his eye was caught by a

pair of large slippers. They were certainly not beautiful; but those he

had on would not stand another journey, and he was also attracted by

this pair on account of their size, for when he once had these on his

feet, everybody, he hoped, would see that he had "put away childish

things." He therefore quickly kicked off his own shoes and stepped into

the large slippers. A walking stick ornamented with a finely cut lion's

head, seemed to him to be standing too idly in the corner; so he took

that along also, and hastened to his own bed-room, where he threw on

his cloak, placed his father's turban on his head, stuck the poniard in

his sash, and left the house and city as speedily as his feet would

carry him.

Once free of the town, he ran on, from fear of the old woman, until he

was ready to drop with exhaustion. Never before had he run so fast;

indeed it seemed to him that some unseen force was hurrying him on so

that he could not stop. Finally he observed that his power must have

connection with the slippers, as these kept sliding along, and carried

him with them. He attempted all kinds of experiments to come to a

stand-still, but was unsuccessful; when as a last resort, he shouted at

himself, as one calls to horses: "Whoa! whoa! stop! whoa!" Thereupon

the slippers halted, and Muck threw himself down on the ground utterly

exhausted.

The slippers pleased him very much. He had, after all, acquired

something by his service, that would help him along in the world, on

his way to find his fortune. In spite of his joy, he fell asleep from

exhaustion--as the small body of little Muck had so heavy a head to

carry that it could not endure much fatigue. The little dog, that had

helped him to Ahavzi's slippers, appeared to him in a dream, and said

to him: "Dear Muck, you don't quite understand how to use those

slippers; you must know that by turning around three times on the heel

of your slipper, you can fly to any point you choose; and with this

walking-stick you can discover treasures, as wherever gold is buried it

will strike three times on the earth, and if silver, twice!" Such was

the dream of Little Muck.

When he waked up, he recalled the wonderful dream, and resolved to test

its truth. He put on the slippers, raised one foot and attempted to

turn on his heel. But any one who will try the feat of turning three

times in succession on the heel of such a large slipper, will not

wonder that Little Muck did not at first succeed, especially if one

takes into account his heavy head, that was constantly causing him to

lose his balance. The poor little fellow got several hard falls on his

nose, but he would not be frightened off from repeating his efforts,

and at last he succeeded.

He whirled around like a wheel on his heel; wished himself in the

next large city, and the slippers steered him up into the air, rushed

him with the speed of the wind through the clouds, and before Little

Muck could think how it had all happened, he found himself in a

market-place, where many stalls had been put up, and a countless number

of people were busily running to and fro. He mixed somewhat with the

people but considered it wiser to take himself to a quieter street, as

on the market-place every now-and-then somebody stepped on his

slippers, so as to nearly throw him down, and then again, one and

another, in hurrying by, would get a stab from his projecting poniard,

so that he was continually in trouble.

Little Muck now began to think seriously of what he should do to earn

some money. To be sure, he had a stick that would point out hidden

treasures, but where might he hope to find a place where gold or silver

was buried? He might have exhibited himself for money; but for that he

was too proud. Finally his speed of foot occurred to him. Perhaps,

thought he, my slippers may procure me a livelihood; and he resolved to

hire himself out as a runner. Concluding that the king, who lived in

this city, would pay the best wages, he inquired for the palace. At the

door of the palace stood a guard, who asked him what business he had

there? On answering that he was seeking service, he was referred to the

head steward. To him he preferred his request, and begged him to give

him a place among the king's messengers. The steward measured him with

a glance from head to foot, and said: "How will you, with your little

feet, scarcely a hand's breadth in length, become a royal messenger?

Get away with you! I am not here to crack jokes with every fool."

Little Muck assured him that he meant every word he had said, and that

he would run a race with the fastest, on a wager. The steward took all

this as a bit of pleasantry, and in that spirit ordered him to hold

himself ready for a race that evening. He then took him into the

kitchen, and saw that he was given food and drink, and afterwards,

betook himself to the king, and told him about the little fellow, and

his offer to run a race.

The king was a merry gentleman, and well pleased with the steward for

affording him an opportunity of having some sport with Muck, and

ordered him to make such preparations for a race on the meadow, back of

the castle, that his whole court could view the scene in comfort; and

commanded him once more to pay every attention to the wants of the

dwarf. The king told the princes and princesses of the entertainment

that would be furnished in the evening, and they, in turn, informed

their servants, so that when evening set in, all was expectancy, and

every body who had feet to carry them, went streaming out to the

meadow, where staging had been erected in order that they might see the

vainglorious Muck run a race.

When the king with his sons and daughters had taken their seats on the

platform, Little Muck entered the meadow, and saluted the lords and

ladies with an extremely elegant bow; universal acclamation greeted the

appearance of the little fellow. Surely such a figure had never been

seen there before. The small body and the big head, the cloak and baggy

breeches, the long dagger stuck through the broad sash, the little feet

enclosed in such huge slippers--it was impossible to look at such a

droll figure and refrain from shouts of laughter. But Little Muck did

not permit himself to be disturbed by the merriment his appearance

caused. He stood, leaning proudly on his cane, awaiting his opponent.

The steward, in accordance with Muck's wish, had selected the king's

fastest runner, who now stepped up and placed himself beside the dwarf,

and both awaited the signal to start. Thereupon, Princess Amarza waved

her veil, as had been agreed on, and, like two arrows shot at the same

mark, the two runners flew over the meadow.

Muck's opponent took the lead at the start, but the dwarf chased after

him in his slipper-chariot and soon overtook him, passed him, and

reached the goal long before the other came up, panting for breath.

Wonder and astonishment for some moments held the spectators still; but

when the king clapped his hands, the crowd cheered and shouted: "Long

live Little Muck, the victor in the race!"

Meanwhile, Little Muck had been brought up before the king. He

prostrated himself and said: "Most High and Mighty King, I have given

you here only a small test of my art. Will you now permit my

appointment as one of your runners?" But the king replied: "No; you

shall be my body-messenger, dear Muck, and be retained about my person.

Your wages will be one hundred gold pieces a year, and you shall eat at

the head servants' table."

So Little Muck came to believe that at last he had found the fortune he

had so long been looking for, and in his heart he was cheerful and

content. He also rejoiced in the special favor of the king, who

employed him on his quickest and most secret messages, which the dwarf

executed with accuracy and the most inconceivable speed.

But the other servants of the king did not feel very cordial towards

him, because they found themselves superseded in the favor of

their master by a dwarf, who knew nothing except how to run fast.

They laid many plots to ruin him, but all these came to naught,

because of the implicit confidence that the king placed in his chief

body-messenger--for to this position had Little Muck been advanced.

Muck, who was quite sensible of this feeling against him, never once

thought of revenge, such was his goodness of heart, but tried to hit

upon some plan by which he might become useful to his enemies, and win

their love. He thought of his little stick, which he had neglected

since he had found his fortune, and he reflected that if he were to

find treasures, his companions would be more favorably disposed towards

him. He had often heard that the father of the present king had buried

a great deal of treasure, when his country had been overrun by the

enemy: and it was also said that the old king had died without being

able to reveal the secret to his son. From this time forward Muck

always carried his stick with him, in the hope of sometime passing over

the place where the old king had hidden his money.

One evening he went, by chance, into an outlying part of the palace

gardens, which he seldom visited; when suddenly he felt the stick

twitch in his hand, and it bent three times to the ground. Well did he

know what this betokened. He therefore drew out his poniard, made

some marks on the neighboring trees, and stole back into the castle,

where he provided himself with a spade, and waited until it was dark

enough for his undertaking.

The digging made Little Muck much more trouble than he had

anticipated. His arms were very weak, while his spade was large and

heavy; and he had worked a full two hours before he had dug as many

feet. Finally, he struck something hard, that sounded like iron. He

now dug very fast, and soon brought to light a large iron lid. This

caused him to get down in the hole to find out what the lid might

cover, and he discovered, as he had expected, a large pot filled with

gold pieces. But he had not sufficient strength to raise the pot,

therefore he put into his pockets, his cloak, and his sash, as much as

he wished to carry, covered up the remainder carefully, and took his

load on his back. But if he had not had his slippers on, he would never

have been able to move from the spot, so great was the weight of the

gold. However, he reached his room unnoticed, and secured the gold under

the cushions of his couch.

When Little Muck found himself in possession of such wealth, he

believed that a new leaf would be turned, and he should win many

friends and followers among his enemies: from which reasoning one may

readily perceive that the good Little Muck could not have received a

very good bringing up, or he would never have dreamed of securing true

friends through the medium of money. Alas, that he did not then step

into his slippers, and scamper off with his cloak full of gold!

The gold, which Little Muck from this time forth distributed so

generously, awakened the envy of the other court servants. The chief

cook, Ahuli, said: "He is a counterfeiter!" The steward, Achmet,

declared: "He coaxes it out of the king!" But Archaz, the treasurer,

and Muck's bitterest enemy, who occasionally dipped into the king's

cash box himself, exclaimed decidedly: "He has stolen it!"

In order to make sure of their case, they all acted in concert; and the

head cup-bearer placed himself in the way of the king, one day, looking

very sad and cast-down. So remarkably sad was his countenance, that the

king inquired the cause of his sorrow. "Alas!" replied he, "I am sad

because I have lost the favor of my master." "What fancy is that,

friend Korchuz? Since when have I kept the sun of my favor from

lighting on you?" asked the king. The head cup-bearer replied that the

king had loaded the confidential body-messenger with gold, but had

given nothing to his poor, faithful servants.

The king was very much surprised at this news, and listened to an

account of the liberal gifts of Little Muck, while the conspirators

easily created the suspicion in the royal mind that Muck had by some

means stolen the gold from the treasury. This turn of affairs was very

welcome to the treasurer, who, without it, would not have cared to

render an account of the cash in his keeping. The king, therefore, gave

an order that a secret watch should be kept on every step of Little

Muck, to catch him, if possible, in the act.

On the night following this unlucky day, as Little Muck took his spade

and stole out into the garden, with the intention of replenishing the

heap of gold in his chamber, which his liberality had so wasted, he was

followed at a distance by a guard, led by Ahuli, the cook, and Archaz,

the treasurer, who fell upon him at the very moment when he was

removing the gold from the pot, bound him, and took him straight before

the king. The king, who felt cross enough at having his slumber

disturbed, received his confidential chief body-messenger very

ungraciously, and at once began an examination of the case. The pot had

been dug from the earth, and, together with the spade and the cloak

full of gold, was placed at the king's feet. The treasurer stated that,

with his watchman, he had surprised Muck in the very act of burying

this pot full of gold in the ground.

The king asked the accused if this were true, and where he had got the

gold. Little Muck, conscious of his innocence, replied that he had

discovered it in the garden, and that he was attempting to dig it up,

and not to bury it. All present laughed loudly at his defense, but the

king, extremely enraged at what he believed to be the cool effrontery

of the dwarf, cried: "What, wretch! Do you persist in lying so

shamelessly to your king, after stealing from him? Treasurer Archaz, I

call upon you to say whether you recognize this as the amount of money

that is missing from my treasury?" The treasurer answered that, for his

part, he was sure that this much, and still more, had been missing from

the royal treasury for some time, and he would take his oath that this

was part of the stolen money. The king thereupon commanded that Little

Muck should be put in chains, and thrown into the tower; and handed the

money over to his treasurer to put back into the treasury.

Rejoiced at the fortunate outcome of the affair, the treasurer

withdrew, and counted over the gold pieces at home; but this wicked man

never once noticed, that in the bottom of the pot lay a scrap of paper,

on which was written: "The enemy has over-run my country, and therefore

I bury here a part of my treasure; whoever finds it will receive the

curse of a king if he does not at once deliver it to my son.--_King

Sadi_."

Little Muck, in his prison, was a prey to the most melancholy

reflections. He knew that the penalty for robbery of royal property was

death; and yet he hesitated to reveal to the king the magical powers of

his stick, because he rightly feared that it, and his slippers, would

then be taken away from him. But neither could his slippers give him

any aid in his present condition, for he was chained so closely to the

wall that, try as he might, he could not turn on his heel. But when

notice of death was served on him the following day, he thought better

of the matter, concluding it was wiser to live without the stick, than

to die with it. He, therefore, sent to the king, begging to make a

private communication, and disclosed the secret to him. The king would

not credit his confession; but Little Muck promised a test of the

stick's power, if the king would grant him his life. The king gave him

his word on it, and, unseen by Muck, had some gold buried in the

garden, and then ordered Muck to find it. After a few moments hunt,

Muck's stick struck three times on the ground. This assured the king

that his treasurer had deceived him, and he therefore sent him--as is

customary in the Levant--a silken cord, with which to strangle himself.

But to Little Muck he said: "It is true that I promised to spare your

life, but as I believe that you possess more than one secret in

connection with this stick, you will be imprisoned for life, unless you

confess what connection there is between this stick and your fast

running."

Little Muck, whose experience for a single night in the tower had given

him no desire for a longer imprisonment, acknowledged that his whole

art lay in the slippers; still he did not inform the king about the

three turns on the heel. The king tried on the slippers himself, in

order to test them, and run about the garden like a madman, making many

attempts to stop, but he did not know how to bring the slippers to a

stand-still, and Little Muck, who could not forego this bit of revenge,

let him run around till he fell senseless.

When the king recovered consciousness, he was fearfully enraged at

Little Muck, who had run him out of breath. "I have pledged my word to

give you life and liberty, but if you are within my territory in twelve

hours, I will have you imprisoned!" As for the stick and slippers, he

had them locked up in his treasury.

Poor as at first, Little Muck wandered out into the country, cursing

the folly that had led him to think he could play an important part at

court. The country from which he was driven was fortunately not a large

one, so that in the course of eight hours he had reached the boundary

line; although walking, after having been accustomed to his beloved

slippers, was no pleasant task to him.

As soon as he had crossed the border, he turned off from the highways

in order to reach the most desolate part of the wilderness, where he

might live alone by himself, as he was at enmity with all mankind. In

the dense forest he came across a place that seemed well suited to his

purpose. A clear brook, overgrown by large, shady fig trees, and with

banks of soft velvety turf, looked very inviting. Here he threw himself

down, with the firm resolve not to eat again, but to calmly await

death. While indulging in gloomy reveries, he fell asleep; but when he

waked up, and began to experience the pangs of hunger, he reflected

that starvation was rather an unpleasant thing, and therefore looked

about him to see whether any thing was to be had to eat.

Delicious ripe figs hung on the tree under which he had slept. He

climbed up to pick some, and found them just to his taste; and

afterwards he went down to the brook to slake his thirst. But how great

was his horror, when the brook reflected back his head, adorned with

two prodigious ears, and a long, thick nose! In great perplexity, he

seized the ears in his hands, and truly they were more than half a yard

long.

"I deserve an ass's ears!" cried he, "for like an ass I have trodden my

fortune underfoot." He strolled about under the trees, and when he once

more felt hungry, he again had recourse to the figs, as they were the

only eatable things to be found on the trees. After eating his second

meal of figs, while thinking whether he might not find a place for his

ears under his large turban, so that he would not appear too comical,

he became sensible of the fact that his enormous ears had disappeared.

He rushed down to the brook, and found it actually true; his ears had

resumed their former shape; his long, unshapely nose had vanished. He

now saw how all this had come about; the fruit of the first tree had

presented him with the long nose and ears, while that of the second had

healed him. Joyfully he perceived that his good luck had once more

suggested to him the means of getting satisfaction. He picked from each

tree as much as he could carry, and went back to the country he had so

lately left.

[Illustration]

In the first town he came to, he disguised himself with other clothes,

and went on to the city where the king lived. It was just at the season

when ripe fruits were not very plentiful, and Little Muck placed

himself under the palace gate, knowing from experience that the chief

cook was in the habit of purchasing delicacies here for the king's

table. Muck had not sat there long before he saw the cook coming

through the court, and examining the viands of the marketmen who were

ranged about the gate. Finally his glance fell on Muck's basket. "Ah! a

rare morsel," exclaimed he, "that will please His Majesty mightily;

what will you take for the whole basket?" Little Muck named a moderate

price, and the bargain was quickly made. The cook turned the basket

over to a slave and went on. Little Muck scampered off quickly, as he

was afraid that when the figs had done their work on the heads of the

court people, he might be hunted up and punished as the seller.

The king was in excellent spirits at table, and praised the cook

repeatedly for his successes, and for the solicitude with which he

always sought out the rarest dainties for him; but the cook, knowing

well what delicacy he was holding back, smirked in a satisfied way,

dropping now and then mysterious phrases, such as: "Don't crow till you

are out of the woods;" or "All's well that ends well," so that the

princesses were very curious to know what it was he was about to

produce. But when the beautiful, inviting figs were placed on the

table, an exclamation broke from the lips of all present "How ripe; how

appetizing!" cried the king. "Cook, you are a clever fellow, and

deserve our especial favor!" Thus speaking, the king, who was

accustomed to be rather economical with such delicacies, distributed

the figs around his table with his own hand; each prince and princess

received two, the court ladies and viziers one, while he placed the

rest before himself, and began to devour them with great delight.

"But, mercy on us, father! what makes you look so strange?" exclaimed

Princess Amarza, soon after. Everybody looked at the king in

astonishment. Monstrous ears were attached to his head, and a long nose

hung down over his chin. Then, too, they began to look at one another,

with horror and astonishment. All were more or less decorated with this

singular head-gear.

Fancy the horror experienced by the court! All the physicians in the

city were sent for, and came in great numbers, prescribed pills and

mixtures; but without effect on the ears and noses. An operation was

performed on one of the princes, but the ears grew right out again.

Muck heard the whole story in his hiding-place, and saw that now his

opportunity had come. With the money received from the sale of his

figs, he bought a costume suitable for a professional man, while a long

beard of goat's hair completed his disguise. With a small bag of figs,

he entered the king's palace, and offered his services as a foreign

physician. At first, his representations were scouted; but when Little

Muck restored the ears and nose of one of the princes to their natural

size, by giving him a fig to eat, all were anxious to be cured by this

strange physician. But the king took him by the hand, without speaking,

and conducted him into his own apartment, where he opened a door that

led into his treasury, and beckoned Muck to follow him. "Here is my

treasure," said the king; "choose for yourself, and let it be what it

will, it shall be preserved for you, if you will free me of this

disgraceful evil."

[Illustration]

This was sweet music in Little Muck's ears. No sooner had he entered

than he espied his slippers on the floor, and near them, his stick.

He walked up and down the room, as if wondering at the riches of the

king; but on coming to his slippers he slid into them, seized his

stick, and tore off his false beard, revealing to the astonished king

the well-known features of his exiled Muck. "Faithless King!" said he;

"you, who reward fidelity with ingratitude, may keep as a well-merited

punishment the deformity that you bear. I leave you those ears, that

you may think daily on Little Muck." Thus speaking, the dwarf turned

quickly on his heel, wished himself far away, and before the king could

call for help, Little Muck had flown away.

Since then, Little Muck has lived here in comfort, but without society,

as he disdains mankind. Through experience he has become a wiser man,

who, notwithstanding his external appearance may be unusual, is more

worthy of your admiration than your sport.

Such was the story my father told me. I assured him that I repented of

my rude behavior towards the good little man, and my father

administered the other half of the punishment he had designed for me. I

related to my playmates the wonderful events of the dwarf's life, and

we became so much attached to him that not one of us ever abused him

again. On the contrary, we honored him as long as he lived, and always

bowed as low to him as before the Cadi or Mufti.

The travellers decided to rest for a day at this caravansary, in order

to strengthen themselves and their beasts for the journey still before

them. The gaiety of the day before continued, and they amused

themselves with all kinds of games. After dinner, they called on the

fourth merchant, Ali Sizah, to perform his duty, as the others had

done, by giving them a story. He replied that his own life had been so

barren of incidents, that he could not interest them with any personal

anecdote, but, instead, he would relate to them the legend of "The

False Prince."

THE FALSE PRINCE.

There was once a respectable journeyman-tailor, named Labakan, who had

learned his trade of a clever master in Alexandria. It could not be

said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he was

able to do very fine work. Neither would one be justified in calling

him lazy; but still every thing was not just as it should be with the

workman, as he often sewed away by the hour at such a rate that the

needle became red-hot in his hands, and the thread fairly smoked, and

would then show a better piece of work than any one else. But, at

another time--and, sad to relate, this occurred more frequently--he

would sit plunged in deep thought, looking before him with a fixed

gaze, and with something so peculiar in his expression and conduct that

his master and the other journeymen were wont to say at such times:

"Labakan is putting on airs again."

But on Fridays, when other people were returning from prayers to their

work, Labakan came out of the mosque in a beautiful costume, which he

had taken great pains to prepare for himself. He walked slowly and with

proud steps through the squares and streets of the city, and whenever

he was greeted by any of his comrades with, "Peace be with you," or,

"How are you, friend Labakan?" he condescendingly waved his hand in

reply, or gave his superior a princely nod. If his master said to him,

"Ah, Labakan, what a prince was lost in you!" he, much flattered, would

respond, "Have you, too, remarked that?" or, "That has been my opinion

for a long time."

[Illustration]

After this manner had the journeyman conducted himself for a long time;

but his master indulged his folly, as otherwise he was a good fellow

and a clever workman. But one day, Selim, the brother of the sultan,

who was then traveling through Alexandria, sent a court costume to the

master, to have certain changes made in it; and the master gave it to

Labakan to make the alterations, as he did the best work. At night,

after the master and his journeymen had gone out to refresh themselves

after their day's work, an irresistible desire impelled Labakan to go

back into the shop where the costume of the sultan's brother hung. He

stood before it, lost in admiration over the splendor of the embroidery

and the various shades of velvet and silk. He could not refrain from

trying it on; and behold, it fitted him as perfectly as though it had

been made for him. "Am I not as good a prince as anybody?" said he to

himself, while striding up and down the room. "Has not the master said

that I was born to be a prince?" With the clothes, the journeyman

seemed to have adopted some quite royal sentiments; he could not banish

from his mind the fancy that he was the unacknowledged son of a king;

and as such, he resolved to travel about the world, leaving a place

where the people had been so foolish as not to recognize his true rank

under the cover of his present low position. The splendid costume

seemed to him sent by a good fairy. He therefore took care not to

slight so welcome a present, pocketed what little ready money he

possessed, and, favored by the darkness of the night, strolled out of

Alexandria's gate.

Wherever he appeared, the new prince created quite a sensation; as the

splendor of his dress and his grave and majestic air were hardly in

keeping with his mode of traveling. When he was questioned on this

subject, he was accustomed to reply, in a mysterious way, that there

were some very good reasons for his traveling afoot. But when he

noticed that he was making himself ridiculous by his foot wanderings,

he invested a small sum in an old horse, which was very well adapted to

his wants, as, by its lack of speed and spirit, he was never forced

into the embarrassing position of showing his skill as a rider--a thing

quite out of his line.

One day, as he walked Murva (such was the name he had given his horse)

along the road, he was overtaken by a horseman who requested permission

to travel with him, as the road would seem much shorter if he could

enjoy Labakan's company. The horseman was a merry young man, of

pleasing appearance and conversation. He began talking with Labakan,

asking where he had come from and where he was going; and it soon

appeared that he, too, like the journeyman-tailor, was traveling about

the world without any definite plan. He said that his name was Omar;

that he was the nephew of Elsi Bey, the unfortunate Pasha of Cairo, and

was traveling in order to execute a charge that his uncle had confided

to him on his death-bed. Labakan was not so communicative about his own

affairs, but gave Omar to understand that he was of high descent, and

was traveling for pleasure.

The two young gentlemen were well pleased with each other, and

continued their journey together. On the second day of their

acquaintance, Labakan inquired of his companion Omar about the trust he

had to execute, and learned to his astonishment that Elsi Bey. Pasha of

Cairo, had brought up Omar from his earliest childhood, and the boy had

never known his parents. Now, when Elsi Bey was attacked by his

enemies, and after three unfortunate battles, was forced to fly from

the field, mortally wounded, he disclosed to his pupil that he was not

his nephew, but the son of a mighty ruler, who, frightened by the

prophecies of his astrologist, had had the young prince removed from

the palace, with the oath not to see him again until the prince should

have reached his twenty-second birthday. Elsi Bey did not give him the

name of his father, but had most particularly charged him that he must

be present at the famous pillar El Serujah, a four days' journey east

of Alexandria, on the fourth day of the coming month of Ramadan, on

which day he would be twenty-two years old. Arriving there, he should

hold out a dagger to the men who would be standing on the column, with

the words: "Here am I whom you seek;" and if they answered, "Praised be

the Prophet, who preserved you," he should follow them, and they would

lead him to his father.

The journeyman-tailor, Labakan, was astonished at this communication.

He looked on Prince Omar, from this time forth, with envious eyes;

exasperated that fate should have selected his companion, who already

passed for the nephew of a powerful pasha, to shower on him the still

higher dignity of a prince's son, while he, Labakan, endowed with all

the qualities of a prince, was degraded by a low birth and a common

occupation. He made comparisons between himself and the prince, and was

forced to confess that the prince was a youth of prepossessing

appearance, with fine sparkling eyes, aquiline nose, a gentle and

obliging manner--in short, all the external marks of a gentleman. But

numerous as were the good traits he noticed in his companion, still, he

whispered to himself, a Labakan would be far more welcome to a princely

father than the real prince.

These reflections occupied Labakan's mind the whole day; and they were

present in his sleep, at their next lodging-place. And when he woke,

and his eye fell on the sleeping Omar at his side--sleeping so quietly,

and dreaming, perhaps, of his happy fortune--the idea came into

Labakan's brain to obtain, through stratagem or force, that which

unwilling fate had denied him. The dagger, the token by which the

home-returning prince was to be recognized, stuck in the sash of the

sleeper. He drew it forth lightly, to plunge it into the sleeping

breast of its owner. But the pacific soul of the tailor shrunk at the

thought of murder. He contented himself with taking possession of the

dagger, ordered Omar's fast horse to be saddled, and before the prince

had awaked, his faithless companion had gained a start of several

miles.

It was the first day of the sacred month of Ramadan when Labakan robbed

the prince; and he had, therefore, four days in which to reach the

pillar of El Serujah, the location of which he well knew. Although the

distance could be easily covered in two days, yet Labakan fearing to be

overtaken by the true prince, made all haste.

At the close of the second day, Labakan saw the column before him. It

stood upon a small hill, in a broad plain, and could be observed at a

distance of eight miles. Labakan's heart beat wildly at the sight.

Although he had had time enough, in the last two days, to think over

the part he was about to play, still his accusing conscience made him

uneasy; but the thought that he had been born to be a prince hardened

him once more, so that he went forward.

The region about the column El Serujah was uninhabited and desolate,

and the new prince would have found himself in sad straights for

sustenance, had he not made provision for a journey of several days. He

went into camp, with his horse, under some palm trees, and awaited

there his fate.

Near the middle of the following day, he saw a large procession of

horses and camels coming over the plain, to the column of El Serujah.

The train stopped at the foot of the hill on which the column stood;

splendid tents were pitched, and the whole had the appearance of a rich

pasha's or sheik's caravan. Labakan suspected that the many people whom

he saw were there on the Prince Omar's account, and he would willingly

have shown them their future ruler then and there; but he controlled

his desire to step forth as a prince, as the following morning would

certainly see his dearest hopes realized.

The morning sun woke the overjoyed tailor to the most important moment

of his life--the moment that should see him lifted from an ignoble

position to the side of a royal father. To be sure, the unlawfulness of

the steps he was taking, occurred to him, as he saddled his horse to

ride to the column; to be sure, he thought of the anguish Prince Omar

would suffer, betrayed in his fair hopes; but the die was cast, and he

could not undo what had already been done, and his vanity whispered to

him that he looked stately enough to be presented to the most powerful

king as a son. Encouraged by such thoughts, he swung himself into his

saddle, mustered all his courage to stand the ordeal of a gallop, and

in less than fifteen minutes he reached the foot of the hill. He

dismounted from his horse and tied it to a bush, and then drew out

Prince Omar's dagger and ascended the hill.

At the foot of the column stood six men around an aged man of kingly

appearance. A splendid kaftan of cloth of gold, with a white cashmere

shawl wound about it, and a white turban ornamented with sparkling

jewels, denoted him to be a man of wealth and rank.

Labakan went up to him, made a low obeisance, and offered him the

dagger, saying: "Here am I whom you seek."

[Illustration]

"Praised be the Prophet, who preserved you!" replied the old man with

tears of joy. "Embrace your old father, my beloved son Omar!" The good

tailor was much moved by these solemn words, and with a mixture of joy

and shame sank into the arms of the aged prince.

But only for an instant was he permitted to enjoy undisturbed the

delight of his new surroundings; for as he arose from the embrace of

the elderly prince, he saw a horseman hastening across the plain

towards the hill. The rider and his horse presented a singular

appearance. The horse, either from stubbornness or exhaustion, could

hardly be urged forward, but moved with a stumbling gait that could be

called neither a walk nor a trot, while his rider was using both hands

and feet to force him to a faster pace. Only too soon Labakan

recognized his horse, Murva, and the genuine Prince Omar; but the

wicked Father of Lies once more took possession of him, and he

determined that, whatever the result might be, he would maintain his

pretended rights with a bold face.

The rider's gestures had been seen while he was still at a distance;

but now, in spite of the feeble trot of his horse, he had arrived at

the foot of the hill, thrown himself from his horse, and rushed up the

hill.

"Stay, there!" cried he, "Stop, whoever you may be, and do not let

yourselves be misled by the shameful impostor! My name is Omar, and no

mortal may dare to assume my name!"

Deep astonishment was expressed in the faces of the bystanders, at the

turn affairs had taken, and the old prince was especially perplexed, as

he looked inquiringly from one to the other. But Labakan said, with

forced composure: "Most gracious Sire and Father, do not allow this

person to mislead you. He is, to my certain knowledge, a crazy tailor

from Alexandria, called Labakan, and more deserving of our pity than

our anger."

These words brought the prince to the verge of madness. Foaming with

rage he attempted to spring on Labakan, but the bystanders interposed,

and held him fast, while the old prince said: "Of a truth, my dear son,

the poor fellow is mad; let him be bound and placed on one of our

dromedaries; perhaps we may be able to render the unfortunate youth

some assistance."

The anger of the prince was past. He threw himself, weeping, at the

feet of his father: "My heart tells me that you are my father; by the

memory of my mother, I charge you to listen to me!"

"Eh, God preserve us!" answered the old man. "He is beginning to talk

strangely again; how does the fellow come by such stupid notions!"

Thereupon he took Labakan's arm, and was conducted down the hill by

him. They both mounted beautiful, richly-caparisoned horses, and rode

at the head of the caravan, over the plain. The hands of the prince

were bound, and he was tied fast on one of the dromedaries, while two

horsemen rode on each side, and kept a careful watch on all his

movements.

The elderly prince was Saaud, Sultan of Wechabiten. He had lived for

years without children, until finally a son, whom he had so ardently

desired, was born to him. But the astrologer of whom he inquired the

destiny of the boy, gave the opinion that "until his twenty-second

year the child would be in danger of being supplanted by an enemy,"

therefore to be on the safe side, the sultan had given the prince

to his tried and true friend, Elsi Bey, to be brought up, and for

twenty-two painful years had waited for his home-coming.

All this the sultan told his pretended son, and expressed himself as

well pleased with his figure and demeanor.

On arriving in the sultan's country they were everywhere received by

the inhabitants with acclamations, as the report of the prince's

arrival had spread like wildfire to all the cities and villages. Arches

covered with flowers and boughs were constructed in all the streets

through which they passed, brilliant carpets of all colors adorned the

houses, and the people praised God and His Prophets for sending them so

beautiful a prince. All this filled the heart of the tailor with

delight; but all the more unhappy did the real Omar feel, who, still

bound, followed the caravan in silent despair. In the universal joy

nobody troubled themselves about him who should have been the recipient

of their welcome. Thousands upon thousands shouted the name of Omar,

but he who rightly bore this name was noticed not at all. At the most,

one and another would ask who it was that was bound so securely; and

the reply of his escort, that it was a crazy tailor, echoed horribly in

his ears.

The caravan at last reached the capital of the sultan, where a still

more brilliant reception was awaiting them. The sultana, an elderly,

venerable lady, awaited them with the entire court, in the splendid

hall of the palace. The floor of this salon was covered with an immense

carpet, the walls were tastefully adorned with a light-blue cloth, hung

from great silver hooks with golden tassels and cords.

It was already night when the caravan arrived; therefore numerous round

colored lamps were lighted in the salon, making it light as day. But

the most lights were placed at the farther end of the salon, where the

sultana sat upon a throne. The throne stood upon a dais, and was inlaid

with pure gold, and set with large amethysts. Four of the most

distinguished emirs held a canopy over the sultana's head, while the

Sheik of Medina fanned her with a fan of peacock's feathers.

Under these surroundings, the sultana awaited her husband and her son.

She had not seen her son since his birth, but the longed-for son had

appeared in her dreams, so that she felt sure of knowing him amongst a

thousand. Now the noise of the approaching caravan was heard, trumpets

and drums mingled with the cheers of the crowd; the hoofs of the horses

beat in the court of the palace; nearer and nearer sounded the steps of

the expected ones; the doors of the salon flew open, and through the

rows of prostrate servants, the sultan hastened to the throne of the

sultana, leading his son by the hand.

"Here," said he, "I bring you the one for whom you have so long

yearned."

But the sultana interrupted him with: "That is not my son! Those are

not the features that the Prophet showed me in my dreams!"

Just as the sultan was about to upbraid her for her unbelief, the door

of the salon opened, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his guards,

from whom he had escaped by the exercise of all his strength. He threw

himself breathless before the throne with the words:

"Here will I die! Let me be killed, inhuman father, for I can no longer

endure this disgrace."

Everyone was amazed at this speech; they crowded about the unfortunate

youth, and the guards, from whom he had escaped, were about to lay hold

of him and bind him again, when the sultana, who had looked on all this

in speechless surprise, sprang up from the throne.

"Stay, there!" cried she; "this and no other is the real prince; this

is he whom my eyes have never beheld, and yet my heart has known!"

The guard had involuntarily released Omar, but the sultan, burning with

anger, called to them to bind the crazy fellow. "It is my business to

decide here," said he, in a commanding tone, "and here one does not

judge by the dreams of old women, but by certain reliable signs. This

youth (pointing to Labakan) is my son, for he brought me the dagger,

the true token of my friend Elsi."

"He stole the dagger!" exclaimed Omar. "He abused my unsuspecting

confidence with treachery!" But the sultan, accustomed to have his own

way in every thing, would not listen to the voice of his son, and had

the unhappy Omar forcibly dragged from the room. Then, accompanied by

Labakan, he went to his own room, very angry with the sultana, with

whom he had lived in peace for twenty-five years.

The sultana was very unhappy over these events. She was perfectly well

satisfied that an impostor had taken possession of the sultan's heart,

as the unfortunate youth who had been dragged away, had often appeared

in her dreams as her son.

When she had in a measure quieted her sorrow, she tried to hit upon

some method of convincing the sultan of his error. This was no easy

task, as he who had usurped their son's place, had brought the token of

recognition, the dagger, and had also, as she discovered, learned so

much about Omar's early life from the prince himself, that he played

his _role_ without betraying himself.

She summoned the men who had accompanied the sultan to the pillar of El

Serujah, in order to learn all the particulars, and then held a

consultation with her most trustworthy slave-women. They chose and then

rejected this and that expedient. At last Melechsalah, a wise old

woman, said: "If I have heard rightly, honored mistress, the one who

brought the dagger, called him whom you recognize as your son, Labakan,

a crazy tailor."

"Yes, that is true," answered the sultana; "but what can you make out

of that?"

"Suppose," continued the slave, "that this impostor had fastened his

own name on your son? And if this supposition is correct, there is a

fine way of catching the impostor, that I will tell to you as a

secret."

The sultana bent her head, and the slave whispered in her ear some

expedient that seemed to please the sultana, as she prepared to go at

once to the sultan.

The sultana was a prudent woman, who knew the weak sides of the sultan

and how to make use of them. She therefore appeared willing to submit

to his judgment, and to recognize the son he had chosen; asking in

return but one condition. The sultan, who was sorry for the anger he

had shown his wife, granted her request, and she said: "I should dearly

like to receive from both of these claimants a test of their

cleverness. Another person might very likely have them ride, fight, or

throw spears; but these are things that everybody can do, and I will

give them something that will require ingenuity to accomplish. Each one

shall make a kaftan, and a pair of trousers, and then we shall see who

will make the finest."

The sultan laughed, and said: "Well, you have devised something

extremely wise! The idea that my son should compete with your crazy

tailor at coat-making? No, it won't do."

The sultana, however, insisted that he was bound by the promise he had

made her in advance; and the sultan, who was a man of his word, finally

consented, although he swore that let the crazy tailor make his coat

ever so fine, he would never admit him to be his son.

The sultan went in person to his son, and requested him to humor the

caprice of his mother, who very much wished for a kaftan made by his

hands. Labakan was greatly pleased. If that is all that is wanted,

thought he to himself, then madame the sultana will soon have cause to

be proud of me.

Two rooms were prepared, one for the prince, the other for the tailor,

where they were to try their skill; and they were liberally provided

with silk cloth, scissors, needles and thread.

The sultan was very curious to see what sort of a thing his son would

bring to light for a kaftan; while the sultana was very nervous lest

her stratagem should fail. Two days had been given to them in which to

accomplish their task. On the morning of the third day, the sultan sent

for his wife, and when she had come, he sent into the two rooms for the

two kaftans and their makers.

Labakan entered triumphantly, and spread his kaftan before the

astonished eyes of the sultan. "Look here, father!" said he, "see,

honored mother, whether this is not a master-piece of a kaftan? I would

be willing to lay a wager with the cleverest court tailor that he could

not produce such an one as that."

The sultana smiled, and turned to Omar: "And what have you produced, my

son?" Impatiently he threw down the silk, cloth and scissors on the

floor. "I was brought up to break horses, and to the use of a sword,

and my spear will hit the mark at sixty paces; but the science of the

needle is strange to me, and would have been an unworthy study for a

pupil of Elsi Bey, the ruler of Cairo!"

"O thou true son of my heart!" exclaimed the sultana. "Now, I can

embrace thee, and call thee son! Pardon me, my Husband and Lord,"

continued she, turning to the sultan, "that I have plotted this

stratagem against you. Do you not now see which is the prince, and

which the tailor? Truly, the kaftan that your son has made is superb,

and I should like to ask him of what master he learned his trade."

The sultan sat in deep thought, glancing suspiciously now at his wife

and now at Labakan, who vainly tried to control his blushes and his

discomfiture at having so stupidly betrayed himself.

"Even this proof will not suffice," said the sultan. "But praised be

Allah, I know of a means of finding out whether I have been deceived or

not."

He ordered his fastest horse to be led out, swung himself into the

saddle, and rode into a forest near by, where lived, according to an

old legend, a kind fairy named Adolzaide, who had often stood by the

kings of his race with her counsel in the hour of need.

In the middle of the forest was an open place surrounded by tall

cedars. There lived--so the story ran--the fairy, and it was seldom

that a mortal ventured there, as a certain aversion to the spot had for

ages descended from father to son.

Arriving there, the sultan dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, placed

himself in the centre of the opening, and called out in a loud voice:

"If it be true that you have given my ancestors good advice in the hour

of need, then do not spurn the prayer of their grandson, and give me

advice on a point for which human understanding is too frail."

He had hardly spoken the last word, when one of the cedars opened, and

a veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth. "I know why you

come to me, Sultan Saaud. Your purpose is just; therefore, you shall

have my assistance. Take these two little boxes. Let each of the young

men who claim to be your son choose between these. I know that the true

prince will not fail to pick out the right one." Thus spake the fairy,

at the same time handing him two little ivory boxes richly set with

gold and pearls. On the lid, which the sultan vainly tried to open,

were inscriptions in diamond letters.

The sultan tried to think as he rode home what these little boxes might

contain; but all his efforts to open them failed. Nor did the

inscriptions throw any light on the matter, for one read--_Honor and

Fame_; the other--_Fortune and Riches_. The sultan thought to himself

that he would have great difficulty in making a choice between these

two things, that were alike desirable, alike alluring.

On arriving at his palace, he sent for the sultana, and told her of the

verdict of the fairy. A strange hope assured the sultana that he to

whom her heart drew her would choose the box that should make plain his

royal descent.

Two tables were placed before the throne of the sultan, upon which the

king placed the boxes with his own hand. He then ascended the throne,

and beckoned one of his slaves to open the doors of the salon. A

brilliant assembly of pashas and emirs of the realm, whom the sultan

had summoned, streamed through the opened doors. They took their places

on splendid cushions that were ranged lengthwise along the wall.

When they were all seated, the sultan beckoned a second time, and

Labakan was brought forward. With a proud step he walked up the hall,

prostrated himself before the throne, and said: "What are the commands

of my Lord and Father?"

The sultan rose from his throne, and said: "My son, doubts have been

raised as to the justness of your claim to this name; one of those

little boxes contains the proof of your real parentage. Choose; I do

not doubt that you will select the right one."

Labakan arose and stepped up to the tables, hesitated for some time as

to which he should choose, but finally said: "Honored Father! What can

be higher than the fortune to be your son? what nobler than the riches

of thy grace? I choose the box with the inscription--_Fortune and

Riches_."

"We shall presently know whether you have chosen the right one; in the

meantime sit down on the cushion by the side of the Pasha of Medina,"

said the sultan, and motioned to a slave.

Omar was brought forward. His look was gloomy, his air sad, and his

appearance created universal interest among those present. He

prostrated himself before the throne, and inquired after the commands

of the sultan. The sultan signified to him that he was to choose one of

the little boxes. Omar arose and approached the tables.

He read attentively both inscriptions, and then said: "The last few

days have taught me how fickle is fortune, how unstable are riches; but

they have also learned me that an indestructible gift dwells in the

breast of Honor, and that the shining star of Fame does not vanish with

fortune. And though I should renounce a crown, the die is cast: _Honor

and Fame_, I choose you!"

He placed his hand on the box he had chosen; but the sultan ordered him

to wait a moment, and beckoned Labakan to come forward, and lay his

hand on his box also. Then the sultan had a basin of water, of the holy

fountain of Zemzem in Mecca, brought, washed his hands for prayer,

turned his face to the East, prostrated himself and prayed: "God of my

fathers! Thou who for centuries hast preserved our race pure and

uncontaminated, do not permit that an unworthy one should bring to

shame the name of the Abasside; be near my true son with Thy

protection, in this hour of trial!"

The sultan arose, and once more ascended his throne. Universal

expectancy held those present in breathless attention; one could have

heard a mouse run over the floor, so still were they all. Those

farthest away stretched their necks to look over the heads of those in

front, that they might see the little boxes. Then the sultan spoke:

"Open the boxes!" and although no force could have opened them before,

they now flew open of themselves.

In the box chosen by Omar lay, on a velvet cushion, a small golden

crown, and a sceptre; in Labakan's box--a large needle and a little

package of thread! The sultan ordered them to bring their boxes to him.

He took the miniature crown in his hand, and wonderful was it to see

how, as he took it, it began to grow larger and larger until it had

attained the size of a genuine crown. He placed the crown on the head

of Omar, who knelt before him, kissed him on the forehead, and bade him

sit at his right hand. Then turning to Labakan, he said: "There is an

old proverb that the shoemaker should stick to his last. It looks as if

you should stick to the needle. To be sure, you do not deserve my

pardon; but some one has interceded for you, to whom I can refuse

nothing to-day; therefore I spare you your miserable life. But, to give

you some good advice--you had better make haste to get out of my

kingdom."

Ashamed, ruined as were all his pretensions, the poor journeyman-tailor

could not reply. He threw himself at the feet of the prince, in tears.

"Can you forgive me, Prince?" said he.

"Loyalty to a friend, magnanimity to a foe, is the boast of the

Abasside," replied the prince, as he raised him up. "Go in peace!"

"Oh, my true son!" cried the aged sultan, with deep emotion, and sank

on the breast of Omar. The emirs and pashas, and all the nobility of

the kingdom, rose from their seats, and cried: "Hail to the new son of

the king!" and amidst the universal joy, Labakan stole out of the room

with the little box under his arm.

He went below to the stables of the sultan, saddled his horse, Murva,

and rode out of the gate of the city towards Alexandria. His life as a

prince appeared to him as a dream, and the splendid little box, set

with pearls and diamonds, was the only thing left to remind him that he

had not dreamed.

[Illustration]

When he at length reached Alexandria, he rode up to the house of his

old master, dismounted, tied his horse near the door, and entered the

workshop. The master, not knowing him at first, made an obeisance, and

asked him what might be his pleasure But on taking a closer look, and

recognizing Labakan, he called to his journeymen and apprentices, and

they all rushed angrily at the poor Labakan, who was not expecting such

a reception, kicked and beat him with their irons and yard sticks,

pricked him with needles, and nipped him with sharp shears, until,

utterly exhausted, he sank down on a heap of old clothes.

While he lay there, the master gave him a lecture on the clothes he had

stolen. In vain did Labakan assure him that he had come back in order

to make restitution; all in vain did he offer him three-fold indemnity;

the master and his men fell upon him again, beat him black and blue,

and threw him out of the door. Torn and bruised, Labakan crawled on his

horse and rode to a caravansary. Then he laid his tired and aching head

on a pillow, and reflected on the sorrows of earth, on unappreciated

merit, and on the vanity and fickleness of riches. He fell asleep with

the resolution to forswear all greatness, and become a respectable

citizen.

The succeeding day found him still steadfast in his purpose, as the

heavy hands of the master and his men seemed to have beaten all his

grand notions out of him. He sold his little box to a jeweler for a

high price, bought a house with the proceeds, and fitted up a workshop

for his trade. When he had every thing arranged, and had also hung out

a sign before his window with the inscription, "_Labakan_, _Tailor_,"

he sat down, and with the needle and thread he had found in the little

box, began to mend his coat that had been so badly torn by his old

master. He was called away from his work, and when he returned to take

it up again, what a singular sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing

busily away without any one to guide it, making such fine, delicate

stitches, as even Labakan in his most artistic moments could not have

equaled!

Surely even the commonest gift of a kind fairy is useful and of great

value. Still another value was possessed by this present, namely: the

ball of the thread was never exhausted, let the needle sew as fast as

it would.

Labakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailor in

all that region. He would cut out the clothes, and make the first

stitch with the needle, and the needle would then instantly go on with

the work, never pausing until the garment was done. Master Labakan soon

had the whole town for customers, as his work was first-class, and his

prices low; and only over one thing did the people of Alexandria shake

their heads, namely: that he worked without journeymen, and with locked

doors.

Thus did the saying of the little box, promising _Fortune and Riches_,

come to pass. Fortune and riches, even though in moderate measure,

attended the steps of the good tailor; and when he heard of the fame of

the young sultan, Omar, that was on all lips; when he heard that this

brave man was the pride and love of his people, and the terror of his

enemies--then the false prince thought to himself: "It is after all

better that I remained a tailor, for the quest of honor and fame is

rather a dangerous business."

Thus lived Labakan, contented with his lot, respected by his

fellow-citizens; and if the needle in the meanwhile has not lost its

virtue, it still sews on with the endless thread of the kind fairy,

Adolzaide.

At sunset the caravan started on, and soon reached Birket-el-Had, or

Pilgrim's Fountain; from which it was only a three hours' journey to

Cairo. The caravan was expected about this time, and therefore the

merchants soon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming

from Cairo to meet them. They entered the city through the gate

Bab-el-Falch, as it is considered a happy omen for those who come from

Mecca to pass through this gate, as the Prophet went out of it.

On the market-place the three Turkish merchants took leave of the

stranger Selim Baruch, and the Greek merchant Zaleukos, and went home

with their friends. But Zaleukos showed the stranger a good

caravansary, and invited him to take dinner with him. The stranger

accepted the invitation, and promised to come as soon as he had made

some changes in his dress.

The Greek made every preparation to entertain his guest, for whom he

had acquired a strong liking on the journey; and when the dishes were

all arranged in order, he sat down to await the coming of his guest.

At last he heard slow and heavy steps in the hall that led to his room.

He arose to go and meet him and welcome him on the threshold; but no

sooner had he opened the door, than he stepped back horrified, for that

terrible man with the red mantle stepped towards him! He looked at him

again; there was no illusion; the same tall, commanding figure, the

mask through which the dark eyes shone, the red mantle with the gold

embroidery, were only too closely associated with the most terrible

hours of his life.

Conflicting emotions surged in Zaleukos's breast. He had long since

become reconciled to this picture of memory, and had forgiven him who

had injured him; yet the appearance of the man himself opened all his

wounds afresh; all those painful hours when he had suffered almost the

pangs of death,--the remorse that had poisoned his young life,--all

this swept over his soul in the flight of a moment.

"What do you want, monster?" exclaimed the Greek, as the apparition

stood motionless on the threshold. "Vanish quickly, before I curse

you!"

"Zaleukos!" spoke a well-known voice, from beneath the mask, "Zaleukos!

is it thus you receive your guest?" The speaker removed the mask, and

threw the mantle back; it was Selim Baruch, the stranger.

But Zaleukos was not yet quieted. He shuddered at the stranger, for

only too plainly had he recognized the unknown man of the Ponte

Vecchio. But the old habit of hospitality prevailed; he silently

beckoned to the stranger to take a seat at the table.

"I perceive your thoughts," said the stranger, after they were seated.

"Your eyes look inquiringly at me. I could have remained silent, and

never more appeared to your vision; but I owe you an explanation, and

therefore I ventured to appear to you in my old form, knowing that I

run the risk of your cursing me. But you once told me: _The religion of

my fathers commands me to love him, and then he must be more unhappy

than I._ Believe that, my friend, and listen to my vindication.

"I must begin far back, in order to make my story quite clear. I was

born in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father was the French

consul there, and was the younger son of a famous old French family.

From my tenth year up, I was under the care of my uncle, in France, and

left my fatherland some years after the breaking out of the Revolution,

with my uncle, who no longer felt safe in the land of his ancestors, in

order to find a refuge with my parents across the sea. We landed in

Alexandria, hopeful of finding in my parents' home that quiet and peace

that no longer obtained in France. The outside storms of this excitable

period had not, it is true, extended to this point, but from an

unexpected quarter came the blow that crushed our family to the ground.

My brother, a young man full of promise, and private secretary to my

father, had but recently married the daughter of a Florentine nobleman

who lived in my father's neighborhood. Two days before our arrival, my

brother's bride disappeared; and neither our family, nor yet her

father, could discover the slightest trace of her. We finally came to

the conclusion that she had ventured too far away for a walk, and had

fallen into the hands of brigands. This belief would have been a

consolation to my brother, in comparison with the truth that was only

too soon made known to us. The faithless woman had eloped with a young

Neapolitan, whom she had been in the habit of meeting at her father's

house. My brother, terribly excited by this act, used his utmost

endeavors to bring the guilty one to account; but in vain. His attempts

in this direction, which had aroused attention in Florence and Naples,

only served to bring down misfortune on us all. The Florentine nobleman

returned to his country under the pretext of assisting my brother, but

with the real design of destroying us all. He put an end to all the

investigations instituted by my brother in Florence, and used his

influence so effectually that my father and brother fell under the

suspicion of their government, were imprisoned in the most outrageous

manner, and taken to France, where they were guillotined. My mother

went crazy, and only after ten long months did death release her from

her terrible condition. But she recovered her sanity a few days before

her death. I was thus left all alone in the world, but only one thought

occupied my soul, only one thought overshadowed my grief: it was the

powerful flame of revenge that my mother kindled in my breast during

the last hours of her life.

"As I have said, she recovered her senses towards the last. She called

me to her side and spoke quietly of our fate and of her approaching

death. Then she sent everybody out of the room, raised herself with a

spirited air from her poor couch, and said that I could win her

blessing if I would swear to carry out what she should confide to me.

Influenced by the dying words of my mother, I bound myself with an oath

to do her bidding. She broke out in imprecations against the Florentine

and his daughter, and required me, under the penalty of incurring her

curse, to revenge our unfortunate family on him. She died in my arms.

The thought of revenge had long slumbered in my soul; now it was

aroused to action. I collected the balance of my patrimony, and

resolved to risk every thing on my revenge.

"I was soon in Florence, where I kept as quiet as possible. The

difficulty of executing my plan was much increased by the situation in

which I found my enemy. The old Florentine had become Governor, and had

the power, should he have the least suspicion of my presence, to

destroy me. An incident occurred just then that was of great assistance

to me. One evening I saw a man passing along the street, in a familiar

livery. His unsteady gait, sullen look, and manner of muttering _Santo

Sacramento_ and _Maledetto diavolo_, assured me that it was Pietro, a

servant of the Florentine's, whom I had known in Alexandria. I had no

doubt that it was his master whom he was cursing, and I therefore

determined to make use of his present frame of mind for my own benefit.

He seemed very much surprised to see me in Florence, and complained to

me that since his master had become Governor he could do nothing to

suit him; so that my gold, together with his anger, brought him over to

my side. The most difficult part of my plan had now been provided for.

I had in my pay a man who could open the door of my enemy to me at any

hour, and now my revenge seemed near its accomplishment. The life of

the old Florentine seemed to me of too little account to offset the

destruction of our family: he must lose the idol of his heart, his

daughter Bianca. Was it not she who treated my brother so shamefully?

Was it not she who was the chief cause of our misfortunes? The news

that she was about to be married a second time was very welcome to my

revengeful heart. This would but heighten the vengeance of my blow. It

was settled in my mind that she _must_ die. But I myself shrank from

the deed, and I did not credit Pietro with nerve enough; so we looked

about for a man who could accomplish the work. I did not dare approach

any of the Florentines, as none of them would have dared to undertake

such a thing against the Governor. It was then that the scheme I

afterward carried out, occurred to Pietro, who at the same time pitched

upon you, a stranger and physician, as being the most suitable person

to do the deed. The rest of the story you know. The only danger to the

success of my scheme lay in your sagacity and honesty; hence the affair

with the mantle.

"Pietro opened the side gate of the Governor's palace for us, and would

have shown us out as secretly, had not he and I fled, horrified by the

terrible sight we saw through a crack in the door. Pursued by terror

and remorse, I ran some two hundred paces, and sank down on the steps

of a church. There I collected my thoughts, and my first one was of you

and your fate, should you be found in the house. I stole to the palace,

but could find no trace of either you or Pietro. The side gate was

open, so I could at least hope that you had taken advantage of the

opportunity to flee. But when the day broke, fear of discovery and a

sensation of remorse drove me from Florence. I hastened to Rome. But

imagine my consternation when, in the course of a few days, this story

reached Rome, with the additional report that the murderer, a Greek

physician, had been captured! I returned to Florence with sad

apprehensions, for, if my revenge had before seemed too strong, I

cursed it now, as it would have been purchased too dearly with your

life. I arrived in Florence on the day you lost your hand. I will be

silent over what I felt as I saw you ascend the scaffold and suffer so

heroically. But as your blood streamed out, I made the resolve to see

that the rest of your life should be passed in comfort. What happened

afterwards, you know. It only remains for me to tell why I made this

journey across the desert with you. Like a heavy burden the thought

pressed on me that you had not yet forgiven me; therefore I resolved to

pass some days, with you, and at last give you an account of the

motives that had influenced my action."

The Greek had listened silently to his guest, and when he had finished,

with a gentle expression he offered him his hand. "I knew well that you

must be more unhappy than I, for that cruel deed, like a black cloud,

will forever darken your life. As for myself, I forgive you from my

heart. But permit me one more question: How did you happen to be in the

desert in your present character? What did you do after buying me the

house in Constantinople?"

"I went back to Alexandria. Hatred of all human kind raged in my

breast, but especially hatred of those nations which are called

civilized. Believe me, I was better pleased with my Moslems. I had been

in Alexandria only a few months, when it was invaded by my countrymen.

I saw in them only the executioners of my father and brother; therefore

I gathered some young people of my acquaintance, who entertained

similar views, and joined the brave Mameluke, who became the terror of

the French army. When the campaign was ended, I could not bring myself

to return to the arts of peace. With a few friends of similar

tendencies, I lived an unsettled fugitive life, devoted to battle and

the chase. I live contentedly with these people, who honor me as their

prince; for if my Asiatics are not so civilized as your Europeans, yet

envy and slander, selfishness and ambition are not their

characteristics."

Zaleukos thanked the stranger for his communication, but he did not

hide from him his opinion that it would be far better for one of his

rank and culture, were he to live and work in Christian and European

countries. He took the stranger's hand, and invited him to go with him,

and to live and die with him.

Zaleukos's guest was deeply moved. "From this I know," said he, "that

you have entirely forgiven me, that you even love me. Receive my

heartfelt thanks."

He sprang up, and stood in all his majesty before the Greek, who shrank

back at the warlike appearance, the dark glistening eyes, the deep

mysterious voice of his guest. "Your proposal is good," continued he;

"any other person might be persuaded; I can not accept it! My horse is

saddled, my followers await me: farewell, Zaleukos!"

The friends whom destiny had so strangely united, embraced each other

before parting.

"And what shall I call you? What is the name of my guest and friend who

will live forever in my memory?" asked the Greek.

The stranger gave him a parting look, pressed his hand once more, and

replied: "They call me the ruler of the desert; I am _the Robber

Orbasan_."