sometimes with harsh words, often with kindly expressions. When he
could, he worked, doing anything for small coins, for a rabbi, who had
taken compassion on him, had said, "Do any honest work, however
repugnant it may at first seem, rather than say haughtily, 'I am the
son of a rich father.'"
For a moment he wondered whether the rabbi had guessed his secret, but
the learned man said to him he was but repeating a maxim from the
Talmud.
Exactly a year from the date of his sentence, as well as he could keep
count, the prince found himself in a strange land on the outskirts of
a great city. There he fell in with a beggar who hailed him as a
brother.
"Come with me," said the beggar. "I know the lore of our fraternity
as few do. I know where to obtain the best food and shelter for
naught. Here, in this city, a beautiful and noble princess has
established a place where all wayfarers may rest and refresh. None are
turned away. I will take you thither."
The beggar was as good as his word, and the prince enjoyed the best
meal and the most comfortable shelter since he had been an outcast.
Overcome with emotion at the thoughts which were conjured up, he
retired into a corner and wept. Suddenly he heard a voice of
entrancing sweetness say, "Why do you weep?"
He looked up and beheld the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever
seen. Instinctively, he rose and bowed low, but made no answer.
"The princess speaks. It is your duty to answer," said another voice,
that of an attendant.
A princess! Of course, none but a princess could be so fair. And what
a sympathetic voice she possessed. As a prince, he remembered, he had
spoken harshly as a rule, and had never visited any of the charitable
institutions.
"You must have a history," said the princess, kindly. "Tell it to me.
If it is to be kept a secret, you may place confidence in me. I shall
not betray you."
The prince was on the point of telling her everything but he hesitated
and said:
"Alas! I am an unhappy, wandering beggar, as you see, O most gracious
princess. But pity me not. I am not worthy of your kind thoughts. A
year ago I dwelt in a--a beautiful house. I was the only son of
a--rich merchant, and my father lavished all his love and wealth on
me. But I was wicked. I was unkind to people, and I was cast forth and
ordered not to return until I had learned to Count Five. I have not
yet learned. I am doomed to a wretched life. That is the whole of my
history."
"Strange," murmured the princess. "I will help thee if I can."
Next day she came again to the shelter, and with her was the rabbi who
had given the prince good counsel. The rabbi made no sign that he had
seen the stranger before.
"This sage of the Jews is a wise man and will teach thee," said the
princess, and, at her bidding, the prince repeated what he had said
the previous night.
"It is a simple lesson," said the rabbi, "so absurdly simple,
unfortunately, that proud people overlook it. Tell me, my son," he
added. "Hast thou experienced hunger?"
"That I have," returned the prince, sadly.
"Then canst thou count One. Dost thou know what it is to feel cold?"
"I do."
"Two canst thou count. Tell me, further, dost thou know what kindness
of heart is?"
"That have I received from the poorest and also from the gracious
princess."
"Thou hast proceeded far in thy lesson," said the rabbi. "Thou canst
now count Three. Hast thou ever felt gratitude?"
"Indeed I have, often during this past year, and now most
particularly."
"Four is now the toll of thy count," said the rabbi. "Tell me, my son,
hast thou learned the greatest lesson of all? Dost thou feel humble in
spirit?"
With tears in his eyes, the prince answered, "I do, most sincerely."
"Then hast thou truly learned to Count Five. Return to thy father. He
must be a wise and just man to impose on thee this lesson. He will
assuredly forgive thee. Go, with my blessing," and the rabbi raised
his hands above the young man's head and uttered a benediction.
"Take also my good wishes," said the princess, and she offered him her
hand to kiss.
"Gracious princess," he said, "it is not meet that a beggar in rags
should speak what is in his heart. But I shall return, and if thou
deemest me worthy, perchance thou wilt grant a request that I shall
make."
"Perchance," replied the princess, with a laugh.
The prince made haste to return to his father's palace and related all
his adventures. The old man listened quietly, then he clasped his son
in his arms, forgave him, and proudly proclaimed him prince before all
the people again. He was a changed man, and nevermore guilty of a
cruel action.
Before many months had passed, he returned to the city where he had
seen the princess, with a long retinue of attendants, all bearing
presents.
"Gracious princess," he said, when he had been granted an audience. "I
said I would return."
"Indeed! I know thee not."
The prince told her of their former meeting and she seemed highly
pleased.
"Now," he said, "put the crown on thy work which restored to me the
manhood I had foolishly cast away by my conduct. I would make thee my
bride, and with thee ever my guide and counselor, I shall be the most
faithful of kings, and thou a queen of goodness and beauty and wisdom
such as the world has not yet seen."
The princess did not give her answer immediately, but in due course
she did; and once again, the prince returned home, this time happier
than ever. Sitting by his side in the chariot of state, was the
princess, radiant in smiles, for the people welcomed her heartily,
strewing flowers in her path. And ever afterward there was happiness
throughout the land.
[Illustration: As the Shah raised his sword an old man stepped
from behind the tree. (_Page 166_).]
The Story of Bostanai
In the days of long ago, when Persia was a famous and beautiful land,
with innumerable rose gardens that perfumed the whole country and
gorgeous palaces, there lived a king, named Hormuz. He was a cruel
monarch, this Shah of Persia. He tyrannized over his people and never
allowed them to live in peace. Above all, he hated the Jews.
"These descendants of Abraham," he said to his grand vizier, "never
know when they are beaten. How many times it has been reported to me
that they have been wiped out of existence, or driven from the land, I
know not. Yet nothing, it seems, can crush their spirit. Tell me, why
is this?"
"It is because they have a firm faith in their future," answered the
vizier.
"What mean you by those words?" demanded the king, angrily.
"I speak only of what I have heard from their wise men," the vizier
replied, hastily. "They hold the belief that they will be restored as
a united people to their own land."
"Under their own king?" interrupted Hormuz.
"Under a descendant of the royal House of David," the vizier answered,
solemnly.
The king stamped his foot with rage.
"How dare they think of any other Shah but me," he exclaimed, for his
one idea of ruling over people was that he had every right to be cruel
to them. Then he said suddenly, "Think you that if there were no more
people who could trace their ancestry to this--this David, their faith
would be shattered?"
"Peradventure, it may be so."
"It shall be so," cried the king. "There shall be no remnants of this
House of David."
He summoned his executioners, and when they were lined up before him,
he surveyed the evil-looking band with a cunning gleam in his eye.
"Unto you," he said, in a rasping voice, "I hand over all the
descendants of the House of David to be found among the Jews in the
whole of the realm of Persia. Slay them instantly. See to it that not
a single one--man, woman, or child--is left alive. Woe betide you, and
you my counselors"--this with a meaning glance at the grand
vizier--"if my commands are not carried out to the letter. To your
duties. Ye are dismissed from the presence."
Waving them away, he indulged his fancy in thoughts of the coming
executions, chuckling the while.
From day to day he received reports that his commands were being
carried out. The land was filled with weeping, for the cruel butchery
was worse than war. None could defend themselves. Mere suspicion was
enough for the executioners. They wasted no time with doubts, but slew
all who were said to belong to the House of David. The Shah looked
over the list each night and chuckled. At last he was informed that
all had been slaughtered.
"'Tis well, 'tis well," he said, rubbing his hands, gleefully, "I
shall sleep in peace tonight."
He slept in a bower in a rose garden, and nowhere in the world are the
roses so magnificent and so sweet-scented as in Persia.
"I shall have pleasant dreams," he muttered, but instead he had a
nightmare that frightened him terribly.
He dreamed that he was walking in his rose garden, but instead of
deriving pleasure from the beautiful trees, he was only angered.
"Are there no white, or yellow, or pink roses?" he asked, but received
no answer. "All red, deep, deep red," he muttered, in his troubled
manner.
"Tell me," he demanded fiercely, stopping before a tree heavily laden
with flowers, "why are you so red today?"
And the roses spoke and replied, "Because of the innocent blood that
has been shed. It is royal blood that has drenched the ground, and
none but crimson roses shall bloom this year in Persia."
"Bah!" screamed the enraged Shah and, drawing his scimitar, he began
hacking right and left among the flowers. The beautiful blooms fell to
the ground in great showers until the garden was so littered with the
red petals that it seemed flooded with a pool of blood. At last only
one tree remained, and as the Shah raised his sword to cut it down, an
old man stepped from behind it and confronted the king.
"Who art thou, and whence camest thou?" the monarch asked fiercely.
No answer did the old man make. Gazing sternly into the eyes of the
Shah, he raised his hand suddenly and unexpectedly, and struck the
king such a violent blow that he fell sprawling to the ground. He lay
half-stunned among the red petals, looking up at the old man.
"Art thou not satisfied with the destruction thou hast wrought?" the
old man asked. "Must thou take the life of the last rose tree?"
The old man stooped to pick up the scimitar which had fallen from the
king's grasp.
"No, no," screamed Hormuz, fearing that he was to be slain. He
scrambled to his knees and with clasped hands pleaded to the old man.
"Take not my life," he begged. "Spare me, and I shall spare the last
tree and cherish it tenderly."
"So be it," said the old man, holding the sword above his head. It
dropped to the ground, and looking up, Hormuz saw that the stranger
had vanished.
The Shah awoke. His body trembled with fear, his head was wracked by a
burning pain. He looked round shudderingly to see if the angry old man
still stood above him with the threatening sword. Then he sent for his
wizards.
"Expound to me my horrid dream," he said.
Their interpretations, however, did not please him.
"Ye are fools," he cried. "Make search and find me a man of wisdom who
understands these mysteries. Seek a sage among the Jews."
The royal servants hastened to do the king's bidding. Full well they
knew that when Hormuz was in a rage, lives were quickly forfeit.
They seized the aged rabbi of the city and brought him before the
Shah.
"Canst thou interpret dreams?" asked the king, abruptly, dispensing
with the usual ceremonies.
"I can explain the meaning of certain things," returned the rabbi.
"Then fail not to unravel the mystery of my dream," said Hormuz, and
he related it. "The secret I must know," he concluded, "or----." But
he stopped. He was afraid to add the usual threat of death that
morning.
"'Tis a simple dream," said the rabbi, slowly. "The things of which
men--and even kings are but men--dream in their sleep are connected
with the deeds performed by day. Thy garden represents the House of
David which thou hast sought to destroy. The old man was King David
himself, and thou hast promised to cherish and nurture his one
remaining descendant."
The Shah listened in silence. Then, with a flash in his eye he said,
"But all the descendants of this King David were slain."
"All but one," said the rabbi. "There is a boy babe, born on the day
the executions ceased."
"Where is he?" asked Hormuz.
"Your vow...." the rabbi began, nervously, for he did not wish to hand
over this child to death.
"My promise shall be faithfully carried out," interrupted the monarch.
"The boy is in my house," said the rabbi. "His mother, who escaped the
massacre, died when he was born."
"Bring him hither," commanded Hormuz. "Fear not."
From his finger he drew a ring and handed it to the learned man.
"This is my bond," he said. "The possession of this ensures thy
safety."
The child was brought to the palace, and the Shah looked at him with
intent gaze.
"He shall be brought up as a prince," said the king. "Servants,
attendants and slaves shall he have in great number to minister unto
all his needs. He shall be treated with the utmost kindness. And
because of my dream in the garden, I name him Bostanai."
The Shah did this because "bostan" is the Persian word for rose
garden.
He touched the child with his jeweled scepter and all present bowed
low before the babe and showed him the respect and devotion due to a
prince.
Hormuz, however, was too cruel to be quite satisfied. He feared to
harm the boy, but he wanted some proof that Bostanai was really a
descendant of King David. The child grew up into a handsome, clever
youth, and Hormuz, partly out of fear, but partly because he had
really grown to love the boy, kept him constantly by his side.
One day, while sitting in the bower in the garden, he watched the boy
among the roses. The day was hot and a drowsiness came over the king.
He had not slept in that bower since the night of his fateful dream,
and he was not happy about doing so now. But he did not lack courage,
and he called the boy to him.
"Bostanai," he said, "stand guard by the door, and move not while I
sleep."
Hormuz slept soundly and peacefully for some time, and when he awoke
he saw the lad standing motionless where he had placed himself.
"Bostanai," he called, and when the boy turned, he was startled to see
blood trickling from a wound on his face.
"What is that?" he asked, anxiously.
"The sting of a wasp," Bostanai replied.
"Is it not painful?"
For answer, the boy only smiled.
"How did it happen?" asked the king.
"The wasp stung me while I stood guard."
"But couldst thou not brush it away?"
"No," replied the boy, proudly. "King David was my ancestor, and in
the presence of a king I must stand motionless until bidden to make
any movement."
Then, before the king could catch him, he swooned from loss of blood,
and fell to the ground. He soon recovered, however, and the Shah's
doubts were set at rest.
"I know now thou art truly of the House of David," he said, "for none
other could have shown such fortitude."
Bostanai became the Shah's favorite, and when he grew up he was made
the ruler of a province. He lived happily, and through him the Jews of
the land also lived in prosperity and peace.
[Illustration: Behind him a fierce roar indicated that the lion
was in pursuit. (_Page 176_).]
From Shepherd-Boy to King
On a desolate plain, a little shepherd-boy stood alone. His day's work
was over and he had wandered through field and forest listening to the
twittering of the birds and the soft sound of the summer breezes as
they gently swayed the branches of the trees. He seemed to understand
what the birds were saying, and the murmuring of the brook that wound
its way through the forest was like a message of Nature to him. Sweet
sounds were always in his ears, his heart was ever singing, for the
shepherd-boy was a poet. At times he would turn around sharply,
thinking he had heard some one calling. One day he was quite startled.
"David, David," he thought he heard a voice calling, "thou shalt be
King of Israel."
But he could see nothing, except the trees and the flowers, and so he
left the forest and stood in the desolate plain. In the distance he
saw a very high hill and as he approached nearer he noticed on the
summit a tall tree, without branches or leaves. With great difficulty
he climbed the hill. It was quite smooth, bare of vegetation and
without rocks, and little David noticed that it gave forth none of
those sweet sounds like music that came from other hills.
The summit gained, he looked at the tree in wonderment. It was not of
wood, but of horn.
"'Tis strange," said the boy. "This must be a magic mountain. No tree,
or flower, or shrub, can grow in this barren earth."
He tried to dig a clod of earth out of the ground, but could not do
so, even with his knife, for the ground was as hard as if covered with
tough hide.
David was greatly puzzled, but, being a boy of courage, he did not
begin to run down the mountain.
"I wonder what will happen if I stay here," he said, and he seated
himself at the foot of the mysterious horn that grew at the summit and
looked about him.
Then he noticed a most peculiar thing. The ground was rising and
falling in places as if moved by some power beneath. Listening
intently, he also heard a curious rumbling noise, and then a
loud-sounding swish. At the same time he saw something rising from
the other end of the mountain and whirl through the air.
"That is just like a tail," exclaimed David in surprise.
The next minute he had to cling with all his might to the horn, for
the whole mountain was moving. It was rising, and soon David was quite
near the clouds. The earth was a great distance away, and, judging by
a tremendous shadow cast by the sun, David could see that he was
clinging to the horn of a gigantic animal.
"I know what it is now," he said. "This is not a mountain, but a
unicorn. The monster must have been lying asleep when I mistook it for
a hill."
David began to puzzle his brain as to a means of getting down from his
perilous perch.
"I must wait," he said, "until the animal feeds. He will surely lower
his head to the ground then and I will slip off."
But a new terror awaited him. The roar of a lion was heard in the
distance, and David found that he could understand it.
"Bow to me, for I am king of the beasts," the lion roared.
The lion, however, was so small compared with the unicorn that David
could scarcely see it. The unicorn, as soon as it heard the command,
began to lower its head, and soon David was enabled to slip to the
ground. To his alarm he found himself just in front of the lion. The
king of the beasts stood before him with blazing eyes, lashing its
sides with his tail. David lost not a moment. Drawing his knife from
his belt, the brave boy advanced boldly toward the lion.
Just then a sound attracted the attention of both the boy and the
beast. It was a deer.
"I will save thee, boy," it cried. "Mount my back and trust to my
speed."
Before the lion could recover from its surprise, David had sprung on
to the back of the deer which started to run at lightning speed. David
clung tightly to its back. Behind him a fierce roar indicated that the
lion was in pursuit. Across the desolate plain and through the forest
the chase continued, and when David came within sight of human
habitations again, the deer stopped.
"Thou art safe now," the deer said to him. "Thou art to become king,
and my command was to save thee. Fear not, I will lead the lion
astray."
David thanked the deer that had so gallantly saved his life, and as
soon as he had slid from its back it dashed off again, faster than
ever with the lion still in pursuit. Soon both were out of sight.
David sang light-heartedly as he returned to his humble home and years
afterward, when he was king of Israel and remembered his escape, he
put the words of his song into one of his Psalms.
[Illustration: The gates opened from within and the Arab stood
before them. (_P. 185_).]
The Magic Palace
Ibrahim, the most learned and pious man of the city, whom everybody
held in esteem, fell on troubled days. To none did he speak of his
sufferings, for he was proud and would have been compelled to refuse
the help which he knew would have been offered to him. His noble wife
and five faithful sons suffered in silence, but Ibrahim was sorely
troubled when he saw their clothes wearing away to rags and their
bodies wasting with hunger.
One day Ibrahim was seated in front of the Holy Book, but he saw not
the words on its pages. His eyes were dimmed with tears and his
thoughts were far away. He was day-dreaming of a region where hunger
and thirst and lack of clothes and shelter were unknown. He sighed
heavily and his wife heard.
"My dear husband," she said to him gently, "we are starving. You must
go forth to seek work for the sake of our five little sons."
"Yes, yes," he replied, sadly, "and for you, too, my devoted wife,
but"--and he pointed to his tattered garments--"how can I go out in
these? Who will employ a man so miserably clad?"
"I will ask our kind neighbors to lend you some raiment," said his
wife, and although he made some demur at first, she did so and was
successful in obtaining the loan of a cloak which completely covered
Ibrahim and restored to him his dignified appearance.
His good wife cheered him with brave words. He took his staff and set
out with head erect and his heart filled with a great hope. All people
saluted the learned Ibrahim, for it was not often he was seen abroad
in the busy streets of the city. He returned their greetings with
kindly smiles, but halted not in his walk. He had no wish to make any
claims upon his fellow citizens, who would no doubt have gladly
assisted him. He desired to go among strangers and work so that he
should not be beholden to anyone.
Beyond the city gates, where the palm trees grew and the camels
trudged lazily toward the distant desert, he was suddenly accosted by
a stranger dressed as an Arab.
"O learned and holy man of the city," he said, "command me, for I am
thy slave." At the same time he made a low bow before Ibrahim.
"My slave!" returned Ibrahim, in surprise. "You mock me, stranger. I
am wretchedly poor. I seek but the opportunity to sell myself, even as
a slave, to any man who will provide food and clothing for my wife and
children."
"Sell not thyself," said the Arab. "Offer me for sale instead. I am a
marvelous builder. Behold these plans and models, specimens of my
skill and handiwork."
From beneath the folds of his ample robes, the Arab produced a scroll
and a box and held them out to Ibrahim. The latter took them,
wonderingly. On the scroll were traced designs of stately buildings.
Within the box was an exquisite model of a palace, a marvelous piece
of work, perfect in detail and workmanship. Ibrahim examined it with
great care.
"I have never seen anything so beautiful," he admitted. "It is wrought
and fashioned with exceeding good taste. It is in itself a work of
art. You must indeed be a wondrous craftsman. Whence come you?"
"What matters that?" replied the Arab. "I am thy slave. Is there not
in this city some rich merchant or nobleman who needs the services of
such talents as I possess? Seek him out and dispose of me to him. To
thee he will give ear; to me he will not listen."
Ibrahim pondered over this strange request for a while.
"Agreed!" he said, at length.
Together they returned to the city. There Ibrahim made inquiries in
the bazaar where the wealthy traders met to discuss their affairs, and
soon learned of a rich dealer in precious stones, a man of a multitude
of charitable deeds, who was anxious to erect an imposing residence.
He called upon the jeweler.
"Noble sir," he said, "I hear that it is thy intention to erect a
palace the like of which this city has not yet seen, an edifice that
will be an everlasting joy to its possessor, a delight to all who gaze
upon it, and which will bring renown to this city."
"That is so," said the merchant. "You have interpreted the desire of
my heart as if you had read its secret. I would fain dedicate to the
uses of the ruler of this city a palace that will shed luster on his
name."
"It is well," returned Ibrahim. "I have brought thee an architect and
builder of genius. Examine his plans and designs. If they please thee,
as assuredly they will, purchase the man from me, for he is my slave."
The jeweler could not understand the plans on the scroll, but on the
model in the box he feasted his eyes for several minutes in speechless
amazement.
"It is indeed remarkable," he said at last. "I will give thee eighty
thousand gold pieces for thy slave, who must build for me just such a
palace."
Ibrahim immediately informed the Arab, who at once consented to
perform the task, and then the pious man hastened home to his wife and
children with the good news and the money, which made him rich for the
rest of his days.