ordinary retinue of servants. Each one comes from a different part of
the known world. Rosh, the big man there, head of them all, is the
only native of Bagdad. He has an interesting history. He has been in
my service since his birth. His father was likewise in the service of
my sainted father, and his grandfather.... But let that suffice. I
would not imprison thy appetite longer. Sheni--that is the second
servant, the big black Nubian there--bring hither the first dish."
Sheni took up one of the dishes from the table and placed himself by
the side of his master.
"Stands he not well?" asked Ben Maslia, in admiring tones. "He is a
descendant of kings. In ancient days his ancestors sat on a throne and
ruled over a huge territory beyond the deserts of Africa. I obtained
him during my journey in that country. And on that occasion I
discovered this beautiful rug in a shop in Cairo."
Saying which, Ben Maslia rose from his seat and fingered lovingly one
of the hangings of the room. Abi Fressah did not rise. He was trying
to keep his temper. The dish which Sheni held so tantalizingly under
his very nose made him mad with hunger and desire.
But Ben Maslia took no heed. He began to dilate upon the virtues of
another piece of tapestry.
"This," he said, "I bought in the famous bazaar of Damascus. It is
hundreds of years old. And in that city, too, I became possessed of my
third servant, Shelishi there, a true-born son of the Holy Land and
the keeper of my camels. Our meeting was an adventure...."
Abi Fressah was not listening. This was beyond endurance. He felt that
soon he would collapse in a faint on the floor. And still Ben Maslia
droned on. There was a servant from China and also a cunningly wrought
vase from that land; a brown page boy in a red turban from India from
which land his host had also brought the lamp standing in the center
of the table and some of the flowers which adorned the room.
"You would not guess," he was saying, "that many of these blooms are
not natural. They are artificial but mixed so skilfully with the real
that even experts would be deluded."
By this time Abi Fressah was beyond the power of speech. Two or three
times, he tried to speak but could not. He was really too weak. Never
in his life before had he been so hungry, so tortured. It was some
time, however, before Ben Maslia noticed his plight.
"Art thou ill?" he exclaimed. "That grieves me. But, fortunately, I
have in the house an experienced apothecary who can apply leeches and
relieve thee of foul blood."
"No, no," pleaded the unhappy Abi Fressah, finding his tongue at this
dismal prospect.
"Perchance a glass of rare cordial will revive thee," said Ben Maslia,
taking one of the bottles from the table.
Abi Fressah managed to gasp the word "Yes," and Rosh held a goblet
into which Ben Maslia poured a rich, red fluid.
"Drink this," he said kindly, holding the cup to his guest's lip.
"At last," thought Abi Fressah, as he opened his mouth.
The next moment he sprang from his stool with astonishing agility,
spluttering and cursing. The liquid was bitter in the extreme, the
taste it left in his mouth most horrid.
"Now I know I have been hoodwinked," he screamed in rage, and he
dashed toward the outer door.
"Stay, stay--what ails thee?" cried Ben Maslia.
"Stop, stop," echoed the servants, as Abi Fressah commenced to run.
The cry was taken up in the street by those who saw a fat man panting
along in the darkness, pursued by a number of servants.
"Stop thief!" was the cry of one man in his excitement. The town
guards heard, and without any ado they seized Abi Fressah and hauled
him off to the jail. In vain he begged for mercy and struggled for
freedom.
"If thou wilt not behave, we shall use force," the guards said, and
they beat him with staves.
At the jail, Abi Fressah was flung into a cell, and there, on a bed of
straw on the ground, he spent a horrible, sleepless night. He ached in
every bone in his body, he was bruised all over, and his hunger was
such that he felt he had never eaten in his life. His reflections were
sad, as you may well imagine, and they led him to a vow that never
again would he seek the hospitality of his friends. He realized at
last that he had made himself obnoxious and had been cleverly and
deservedly well punished.
Even yet his sufferings were not at an end, for next morning, when he
was released and sent for his physician, the latter prescribed a diet
of gruel and barley water for a whole week!
[Illustration: He found a beautiful youth, clad in a deer skin,
lying on the ground. (_Page 115_).]
The Beggar King
Proud King Hagag sat on his throne in state, and the high priest,
standing by his side, read from the Holy Book, as was his daily
custom. He read these words: "For riches are not for ever: and doth
the crown endure to every generation?"
"Cease!" cried the king. "Who wrote those words?"
"They are the words of the Holy Book," answered the high priest.
"Give me the book," commanded the king.
With trembling hands the high priest placed it before his majesty.
King Hagag gazed earnestly at the words that had been read, and he
frowned. Raising his hand, he tore the page from the book and threw it
to the ground.
"I, Hagag, am king," he said, "and all such passages that offend me
shall be torn out."
He flung the volume angrily from him while the high priest and all his
courtiers looked on in astonishment.
"I have heard enough for today," he said. "Too long have I delayed my
hunting expedition. Let the horses be got ready."
He descended from the throne, stalked haughtily past the trembling
figure of the high priest, and went forth to the hunt. Soon he was
riding furiously across an open plain toward a forest where a wild
stag had been seen. A trumpet sounded the signal that the deer had
been driven from its hiding place, and the king urged his horse
forward to be the first in the chase. His majesty's steed was the
swiftest in the land. Quickly it carried him out of sight of his
nobles and attendants. But the deer was surprisingly fleet and the
king could not catch up with it. Coming to a river, the animal plunged
in and swam across. Scrambling up the opposite bank its antlers caught
in the branch of a tree, and the king, arriving at the river, gave a
cry of joy.
"Now I have thee," he said. Springing from his horse and divesting
himself of his clothing he swam across with naught but a sword.
As he reached the opposite bank, however, the deer freed itself from
the tree and plunged into a thicket. The king, with his sword in his
hand, followed quickly, but no deer could he see. Instead, he found,
lying on the ground beyond the thicket, a beautiful youth clad in a
deer-skin. He was panting as if after a long run. The king stood still
in surprise and the youth sprang to his feet.
"I am the deer," he said. "I am a genii and I have lured thee to this
spot, proud king, to teach thee a lesson for thy words this morning."
Before King Hagag could recover from his surprise the youth ran back
to the river and swam across. Quickly he dressed himself in the king's
clothes and mounted the horse just as the other hunters came up. They
thought the genii was King Hagag and they halted before him.
"Let us return," said the genii. "The deer has crossed the river and
has escaped."
King Hagag from the thicket on the opposite side watched them ride
away and then flung himself on the ground and wept bitterly. There he
lay until a wood-cutter found him.
"What do you here?" asked the man.
"I am King Hagag," returned the monarch.
"Thou art a fool," said the wood-cutter. "Thou art a lazy
good-for-naught to talk so. Come, carry my bundle of sticks and I will
give thee food and an old garment."
In vain the king protested. The wood-cutter only laughed the more,
and at last, losing patience, he beat him and drove him away. Tired
and hungry, and clad only in the rags which the wood-cutter had given
him, King Hagag reached the palace late at night.
"I am King Hagag," he said to the guards, but roughly they bade him
begone, and after spending a wretched night in the streets of the
city, his majesty, next morning, was glad to accept some bread and
milk offered to him by a poor old woman who took pity on him. He stood
at a street corner not knowing what to do. Little children teased him;
others took him for a beggar and offered him money. Later in the day
he saw the genii ride through the streets on his horse. All the people
bowed down before him and cried, "Long live the king!"
"Woe is me," cried Hagag, in his wretchedness. "I am punished for my
sin in scoffing at the words of the Holy Book."
He saw that it would be useless for him to go to the palace again, and
he went into the fields and tried to earn his bread as a laborer. He
was not used to work, however, and but for the kindness of the very
poorest he would have died of starvation. He wandered miserably from
place to place until he fell in with some blind beggars who had been
deserted by their guide. Joyfully he accepted their offer to take the
guide's place.
Months rolled by, and one morning the royal heralds went forth and
announced that "Good King Hagag" would give a feast a week from that
day to all the beggars in the land.
From far and near came beggars in hundreds, to partake of the king's
bounty, and Hagag stood among them, with his blind companions, in the
courtyard of the palace waiting for his majesty to appear. He knew the
place well, and he hung his head and wept.
"His majesty will speak to each one of you who are his guests today,"
cried a herald, and one by one they passed into the palace and stood
before the throne. When it came to Hagag's turn, he trembled so much
that he had to be supported by the guards.
The genii on the throne and Hagag looked long at each other.
"Art thou, too, a beggar?" said the genii.
"Nay, gracious majesty," answered Hagag with bent head. "I have sinned
grievously and have been punished. I am but the servant of a troop of
blind beggars to whom I act as guide."
The genii king signed to his courtiers that he desired to be left
alone with Hagag. Then he said:
"Hagag, I know thee. I see that thou hast repented. It is well. Now
canst thou resume thy rightful place."
"Gracious majesty," said Hagag, "I have learned humility and wisdom.
The throne is not for me. The blind beggars need me. Let me remain in
their service."
"It cannot be," said the genii. "I see that thou art truly penitent.
Thy lesson is learned and my task is done. I will see that the blind
beggars lack not."
With his own hands he placed the royal robes on Hagag and himself
donned those of the beggar. When the courtiers returned they saw no
difference. King Hagag sat on the throne again, and nowhere in the
whole world was there a monarch who ruled more wisely or showed more
kindness and sympathy to all his subjects.
The Quarrel of the Cat and Dog
In the childhood of the world, when Adam named all the animals and
ruled over them, the dog and the cat were the greatest good friends.
They were inseparable chums in their recreations, faithful partners in
their transactions, and devoted comrades in all their adventures,
their pleasures and their sorrows. They lived together, shared each
other's food and confided their secrets to none but themselves. It
seemed that no possible difference would ever arise to cause trouble
between them.
Then winter came. It was a new experience to them to feel the cold
wind cutting through their skins and making them shiver. The dismal
prospect of the leafless trees and the hard cold ground weighed
heavily upon their hearts, and, worse still, there was less food. The
scarcity grew serious, and hunger plunged them into unhappiness and
despair. Doggie became melancholy, while Pussie grew peevish, then
petulant, and finally developed a horrid temper.
"We can't go on like this," moaned the cat. "I think we had better
dissolve partnership. We can't find enough to share when we are
together, but separately we ought each to discover sufficient forage
in our hunting."
"I think I can help you, because I am the stronger," said the dog.
Pussie did not contradict, but she thought the dog a bit of a fool and
too good-natured. She knew herself to be sly and intended to rely on
that quality for her future sustenance. Doggie was deeply hurt at
Pussie's desire to end their happy compact, but he said quietly, "Of
course, if you insist on parting, I will agree."
"It is agreed then," purred Pussie.
"Where will you go?" asked Doggie.
"To the house of Adam," promptly replied the cat, who had evidently
made up her mind. "There are mice there. Adam will be grateful if I
clear them away. I shall have food to eat."
"Very well," assented the dog. "I will wander further afield."
Then the cat said solemnly: "We must each take an oath never to cross
the other's path. That is the proper way to terminate a business
agreement. The serpent says so, and he is the wisest of all animals."
They put their right fore-paws together and gravely repeated an oath
never to interfere with each other by going to the same place. Then
they parted. Doggie trotted off sorrowfully with his head hanging
down. Once he looked back, but Puss did not do so. She scampered off
as fast as she could to the house of Adam.
"Father Adam," she cried, "I have come to be your slave. You are
troubled with mice in the house. I can rid you of them, and I want
nothing else for my services."
"Thou art welcome," said Father Adam, stroking Pussie's warm fur.
Puss rubbed her head against his feet, purred contentedly, and ran off
to look for mice. She found plenty and soon grew fat and comfortable.
Adam treated her kindly, and she soon forgot all about her former
comrade.
Poor Doggie did not fare so well. Indeed, he had a rough time. He
wandered aimlessly about over the frozen ground and could not find the
slightest scrap of food. After three days, weary, paw-sore and
dispirited, he came to a wolf's lair and begged for shelter. The wolf
took pity on him, gave him some scraps of food, and permitted him to
sleep in the lair. Doggie was most thankful, and sleeping with his
ears on the alert, he heard stealthy footsteps in the night. He told
the wolf.
"Drive the intruders away," said his host in a surly tone.
Doggie went out obediently to do so. But the marauders were wild
animals and they nearly killed him. He was lucky to escape with his
life. After bathing his wounds at a pool in the early morning he
wandered all day long, but again could find nothing. Toward night,
when he could scarcely drag his famished and wounded body along, he
saw a monkey in a tree.
"Kind monkey," he pleaded, "give me shelter for the night. I am
exhausted and starving."
"Go away, go away, go away," chattered the monkey, jumping and
swinging swiftly from branch to branch, moving his lips quickly and
opening and shutting his eyes comically. Doggie hesitated, and, to
frighten him away, the monkey pulled cocoanuts from the tree and
pelted him.
Poor Doggie crawled miserably away.
"What shall I do?" he moaned.
Hearing the bleating of some sheep, he made his way to them and asked
them to take compassion on him.
"We will," they replied, "if you will keep watch over us and tell us
when the wolf comes."
Doggie agreed willingly, and, after he had devoured some food, he
stretched himself to sleep like a faithful watch-dog, with one eye
open.
In the middle of the night he heard the wolves approaching, and,
anxious to serve the sheep who had treated him kindly, he sprang to
his feet and began to bark loudly. This aroused the sheep, who awoke
and started to run in all directions. Some of them ran right into the
pack of wolves and were killed and eaten. Poor Doggie was nearly
heart-broken.
"It is my fault, my fault," he wailed. "I barked too soon. Oh, what an
unhappy creature I am. I shall keep away from all animals now."
Once again he set off on his travels. Whenever he met an animal he ran
off in the opposite direction. He had to make his journey by the
loneliest paths and the most unfrequented routes, and the difficulty
of finding food grew steadily greater. At last he grew so weak and
thin that he hardly had strength to crawl and he had several narrow
escapes from falling a prey to ferocious beasts.
One night he came to a house and begged a morsel of food. It was
given, and during the night he woke the man and warned him that wild
animals were making a raid. The man jumped up, seized his bow and
arrow and drove the thieves away. Then he patted Doggie.
"Good dog," he said. "You are a wise animal. Stay with me always. You
will find Father Adam kind."
"Father Adam!" cried Doggie, in alarm. "I must not stay here."
"Nonsense. I say you must," answered Adam, and Doggie was compelled to
obey.
In the morning, Pussie learned that the dog had joined the household
and she complained to Adam.
"The dog has violated the oath he swore not to come to the place where
I am," she said.
"He did not know you were here," said Adam, desirous of maintaining
peace. "He is very useful. I want him to remain. He won't hurt you.
There is ample room for both."
"No, there isn't," said Puss spitefully, arching up her back and
getting cross. "He broke his oath. He is a wicked creature. You dare
not overlook his offense."
Poor Doggie stood dejectedly apart, with his tail between his legs.
"I didn't know it was Adam's house, and I was so hungry and miserable
and tired," he said.
But Pussie would not be pacified. She thrust out her ugly claws and
tried to scratch her former partner. The dog kept out of her way as
much as possible, but she quarrelled with him at every opportunity,
and at last he determined to tolerate her conduct no longer.
"I must leave you, Father Adam," he said. "Pussie is making my life
unbearable."
"But I want you," said Adam.
"I'm sorry," said Doggie, firmly, "but it is really impossible for me
to continue in your service. I've got another situation at the house
of Seth. He wants me, too."
"Won't you make friends with Pussie?" asked Adam.
"With pleasure, if she will let me, but she won't."
"You blame each other," said Adam, losing patience. "I can't make you
out. You look like quarrelling for ever."
Adam's words have proved true. Ever since that time the cat and dog
have failed to agree, and Pussie will never consent to be friendly
again with Doggie.
[Illustration: With a cry, he put his fingers in his mouth to
ease the pain and burned his tongue. (_Page 131_).]
The Water-Babe
Floating in a basket on the River Nile, Princess Bathia, the daughter
of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, found a tiny little water-babe. Princess
Bathia was a widow and had no children, and she was so delighted that
she took the child home to the palace and brought it up as her own.
She called the babe Moses.
He was a pretty little boy, full of fun and frolic as he grew up, and
he became a favorite with everybody in the palace. Even the cruel King
Pharaoh, who had ordered that all the Hebrew boy babes should be
drowned, loved to play with him. His ministers of state and magicians,
however, frowned when they saw Moses, as soon as he could toddle and
talk, making a play-mate of the king. They warned Pharaoh that it was
dangerous to give a strange child such privileges, but Princess Bathia
only laughed at them. So did her mother, the queen, and King Pharaoh
took no notice.
When Moses was three years old, Princess Bathia gave a birthday party
in his honor. It was really a big banquet and was attended by the king
and queen and all the courtiers. Moses was seated at the head of the
table and his eyes opened very wide with wonderment at everything he
saw. It seemed such a ridiculous lot of solemn fuss to him. He would
rather have played on the floor, or climbed on to the table, but of
course they would not allow him.
"What does all this mean?" he asked of the king who was seated next to
him. "Tell me," and he playfully pulled King Pharaoh's beard.
The courtiers looked on horrified, and Bilam, the chief magician,
cried out, "Beware, O king, this is not play."
"Heed not these words, my father," said the princess. "Bilam is ever
warning thee. If thou wert to take notice of all that he says, thou
wouldst not have a moment's peace. Take our little babe on thy knee
and play with him."
To please the princess, King Pharaoh did so, and Moses amused himself
by playing with the glittering jewels on his majesty's robes. Then he
looked up and stared hard at the king's head.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing.
"That is the royal crown," answered Pharaoh.
"No it is not; it is only a funny hat," replied Moses.
"Beware," chimed in Bilam, solemnly.
"Let me put the hat on," said Moses, reaching up his little hands, and
before they could stop him, he had taken the crown from the king's
head and had put it on his own.
Princess Bathia and the queen laughed merrily, but Bilam looked very
grave.
"Your majesty," he said, in a voice trembling with passion, "this is
not the foolish play of a babe. This child, remember, is not as other
children. Came he not from the river? There is meaning in his action.
Already does he seek to rob thee of thy royal crown. 'Tis a portent of
evil."
Pharaoh thoughtfully stroked his beard.
"What sayeth Reuel?" he asked, turning to his second chief magician.
"I say the child is but a babe and that this action means nothing,"
answered Reuel.
The queen and the princess agreed with Reuel, who was their favorite,
but Bilam would not allow the matter to pass lightly.
"I, Bilam, am chief of thy counselors," he said, "and deeply learned
in the mysteries of signs and portents. There is a meaning in all
things. Remember, O King, this child is of the Hebrews, and escaped
thy decree. This play of his hath a meaning. Should he be permitted to
grow up, he will rebel against thee and seek to destroy thy rule. Let
him be judged, O king."
"Thy words are wise," said Pharaoh, who was himself annoyed with
Moses, and he ordered three judges to try the child for his offence.
Moses thought it was a new game and he clapped his hands gleefully
when they took him to the court of justice and stood him in front of
the judges. He heard Reuel plead on his behalf, but he did not
understand it.
"I say he is but a babe and does things without meaning," Reuel
exclaimed. "Put him to the test, and see if he knows the difference
between fire and gold. Place before him a dish of fire and a dish of
jewels and gold. If he grasps the jewels, it will prove that he is no
ordinary child; if he places his hand to the fire, then shall we be
assured he is merely a foolish babe."
"So be it," said Bilam, "and if he grasps the jewels let his
punishment be instant death."
Pharaoh and the judges agreed, and two dishes, one containing burning
coals and the other gold and precious stones were brought in and
placed before Moses. Everybody looked on keenly as Moses stared at
the dishes. Princess Bathia made signs to him, but Bilam ordered her
to cease and it was Reuel who comforted her and dried her tears.
"Take my magic staff," he said, handing to her a stick that seemed to
be made of one large precious stone. "This was given to Adam when he
left the Garden of Eden and has been handed down to me through Enoch
and Noah, through Abraham and Jacob unto Joseph who left it in my
keeping. Take the staff and Moses will obey whatsoever be thy wish."
The princess took the staff and pressed it to her lips.
"I wish," she said, "that my little water-babe shall seize the burning
coals."
Moses thrust his fingers into the fire and pulled out a glowing coal.
With a cry, he put his fingers in his mouth to ease the pain and
burned his tongue with the coal. Ever afterward he lisped.
The princess snatched Moses and pressed him tightly to her bosom.
"Give me the magic stick," she said to Reuel, "so that I may guard and
protect the child."
"Canst thou read this word?" asked Reuel, pointing to a word engraved
on the staff.
"No," said the princess.
"Then it cannot be thine," answered Reuel. "Whosoever reads this name
can understand all things, even the thoughts of animals and birds.
Fear not for Moses. In years to come this staff shall be his."
And so it came to pass. Years afterward, when Moses was a man and fled
from Egypt, he married a daughter of Reuel who became a Hebrew and
took the name of Jethro. Reuel planted the staff in his garden and
Moses saw it. He read the magic word, and touching the staff it came
out of the ground into his hands. With this staff Moses performed the
wonderful things in Egypt when he delivered the children of Israel
from bondage, as is related in the Bible.
Sinbad of the Talmud