the cellar with the news, and the people wept tears of joy and pity
when the old vizier was led through the streets. He presented a most
extraordinary spectacle.
For twelve months he had been immured in the cellar and his beard had
grown down to the ground, his hair descended below his shoulders and
his finger nails were several inches long. The king wept, too, when he
saw his old vizier.
"Ikkor," he said, "for months have I felt that thou wert innocent, and
I have missed thy wise counsels. Help me in my difficulty and thou
shalt be pardoned."
"Your majesty," said Ikkor, "I desire nothing more than to serve thee.
I am innocent. Time will prove me guiltless."
When he saw Pharaoh's demand, he smiled.
"'Tis easy," he said. "I will go to Egypt and outwit Pharaoh."
He gave orders that four of the tame eagles in the gardens of the
palace should be brought to him with cords five hundred ells long
attached to their claws. Then he selected four youths, lithe of
figure, and trained them to sit on the backs of the eagles and soar
aloft. This done, he set out for Egypt with a big caravan and a long
retinue of slaves.
"What is thy name?" asked Pharaoh, when he presented himself.
"My name is Akbam, and I am but the lowest of my king's advisers."
"Does thy master then think my demand so simple?" asked Pharaoh.
Ikkor bowed to indicate that this was so, and Pharaoh was much annoyed
and puzzled.
"Perform thy task and at once," he commanded.
At a sign from Ikkor, the four youths mounted the eagles which flew
aloft to the extremity of their cords. The birds remained in the air
two hundred ells apart, as they had been trained, and the lads held
cords in the form of a square.
"That is the plan of the palace in the clouds," said Ikkor, pointing
aloft. "Bid your men carry up bricks and mortar. The task is so simple
that the boys will build."
Pharaoh frowned. He had not expected to be thus outwitted, but he
would not immediately acknowledge this.
"In this land," he said, sarcastically, "we use no mortar. We sew the
stones together. Canst thou do this?"
"Easily," replied Ikkor, "if your wise men can make me a thread of
sand."
"And canst thou weave a thread of sand?" asked Pharaoh.
"I can," responded Ikkor.
Noting the direction of the sun, he bored a tiny hole in the wall, and
a thin sunbeam gleamed through. Then, taking a few grains of sand he
blew them through the hole and in the sunbeam they seemed like a
thread.
"Take it, quickly," he cried, but of course nobody could do this.
Pharaoh looked long and earnestly at Ikkor.
"Truly, thou art a man of wisdom," he said. "If he were not dead I
should say thou wert Ikkor, the wise."
"I am Ikkor," answered the vizier, and he told the story of his
escape.
"I will prove thy innocence," exclaimed Pharaoh. "I will write a
letter to your royal master."
Not only did he do so, but he gave Ikkor many valuable presents and
the vizier returned to Assyria, resumed his place by the king's side,
and became a greater favorite than before. Nadan was banished and was
never heard of again.
The Pope's Game of Chess
Nearly a thousand years ago in the town of Mayence, on the bank of the
Rhine, there dwelt a pious Jew of the name of Simon ben Isaac. Of a
most charitable disposition, learned and ever ready to assist the poor
with money and wise counsel, he was reverenced by all, and it was
believed he was a direct descendant of King David. Everybody was proud
to do him honor.
Simon ben Isaac had one little son, a bright boy of the name of
Elkanan, who he intended should be trained as a rabbi. Little Elkanan
was very diligent in his studies and gave early promise of developing
into an exceptionally clever student. Even the servants in the
household loved him for his keen intelligence. One of them, indeed,
was unduly interested in him.
She was the Sabbath-fire woman who only came into the house on the
Sabbath day to attend to the fires, because, as you know, the Jewish
servants could not perform this duty. The Sabbath-fire woman was a
devoted Catholic and she spoke of Elkanan to a priest. The latter was
considerably impressed.
[Illustration: "Thou canst only be my long lost son Elkanan!"
(_Page 224_).]
"What a pity," he remarked, "that so talented a boy should be a Jew.
If he were a Christian, now," he added, winningly, "he could enter the
Holy Church and become famous."
The Sabbath-fire woman knew exactly what the priest meant.
"Do you think he could rise to be a bishop?" she asked.
"He might rise even higher--to be the Pope himself," replied the
priest.
"It would be a great thing to give a bishop to the Church, would it
not?" said the woman.
"It is a great thing to give anyone to the Church of Rome," the priest
assured her.
Then they spoke in whispers. The woman appeared a little troubled, but
the priest promised her that all would be well, that she would be
rewarded, and that nobody would dare to accuse her of doing anything
wrong.
Convinced that she was performing a righteous action, she agreed to do
what the priest suggested.
Accordingly, the following Friday night when the household of Simon
ben Isaac was wrapped in slumber, she crept stealthily and silently
into the boy's bedroom. Taking him gently in her arms, she stole
silently out of the house and carried him to the priest who was
waiting. Elkanan was well wrapped up in blankets, and so cautiously
did the woman move that he did not waken.
The priest said not a word. He just nodded to the woman, and then
placed Elkanan in a carriage which he had in waiting.
Elkanan slept peacefully, totally unaware of his adventure, and when
he opened his eyes he thought he must be dreaming. He was not in his
own room, but a much smaller one which seemed to be jolting and
moving, like a carriage, and opposite to him was a priest.
"Where am I?" he asked in alarm.
"Lie still, Andreas," was the reply.
"But my name is not Andreas," he answered. "That is not a Jewish name.
I am Elkanan, the son of Simon."
To his amazement, however, the priest looked at him pityingly and
shook his head.
"You have had a nasty accident," he said, "and it has affected your
head. You must not speak."
Not another word would he say in response to all the boy's eager
queries. He simply ignored Elkanan who puzzled his head over the
matter until he really began to feel ill and to wonder whether he was
Elkanan after all. Tired out, he fell asleep again, and next time he
awoke he was lying on a bed in a bare room. A bell was tolling, and he
heard a chanting chorus. By his side stood a priest.
Elkanan looked at the priest like one dazed. Before he could utter a
word, the priest said: "Rise, Andreas, and follow me."
The boy had no alternative but to obey. To his horror he was taken
into a chapel and made to kneel. The priests sprinkled water on him.
He did not understand what the service meant, and when it was over he
began to cry for his father and mother. For days nobody took the
slightest notice of his continual questionings until a priest, with a
harsh, cruel face, spoke to him severely one day.
"I perceive, Andreas," he said, "thou hast a stubborn spirit. It shall
be curbed. Thy father and mother are dead--all the world is dead to
thee. Thou hast strange notions in thy head. We shall rid thee of
them."
Elkanan cried so much on hearing these terrible words that he made
himself seriously ill. How long he was kept in bed he knew not, but
when he recovered, he found himself a prisoner in a monastery. All the
priests called him Andreas, they were kind to him, and in time he
began to doubt himself whether he was Elkanan, the son of Simon, the
pious Jew of Mayence.
To put an end to the unrest in his mind, he devoted himself earnestly
to his lessons. His tutors never had so brilliant a pupil, nor so
intelligent a companion. He was a remarkable chess player.
"Where did you learn?" they asked him.
"My father, Simon ben Isaac, of Mayence, taught me," he replied, with
a sob in his voice.
"It is well," they replied, having received their instructions what to
say in answer to such remarks, "thou art blessed from Heaven, Andreas.
Not only dost thou absorb learning in the hours of daylight, but
angels and dead sages visit thee in they sleep and impart knowledge
unto thee."
He could obtain no more satisfactory words from his tutors, and in
time he made no mention whatever of the past, and his tutors and
companions refrained from touching upon the subject either. Once or
twice he formed the idea of endeavoring to escape, but he soon
discovered the project impossible. He was never allowed to be alone
for a moment; he was virtually a prisoner, although all men began to
do him honor because of his amazing knowledge and learning.
In due time, he became a priest and a tutor and was even called to
Rome and was created a cardinal. He wore a red cap and cloak, people
kneeled to him and sought his blessing, and all spoke of him as the
wisest, kindliest and most scholarly man in the Church.
He had not spoken of his boyhood for years, but he never ceased to
think of those happy days. And although he tried hard, he could not
believe that it was all a dream. Whenever he played a game of chess,
which was his one pastime, he seemed to see himself in his old room at
Mayence, and he sighed. His fellow priests wondered why he did this,
and he laughingly told them it was because he had no idea how to lose
a game.
Then a great event happened. The Pope died and Andreas was elected his
successor. He was placed on a throne, a crown was put upon his head,
and he was called Holy Father. The power of life and death over
millions of people in many countries was vested in him; kings,
princes and nobles visited him in his great palace to do him homage,
and his fame spread far and wide. But he himself grew more thoughtful
and silent and sought only to exercise his great powers for the
people's good.
This, however, did not altogether please some of his counselors.
"The Church needs money," they told him. "We must squeeze it out of
the Jews."
But Andreas steadfastly refused to countenance any persecutions. Many
edicts were placed before him for his signature, giving permission to
bishops in certain districts to threaten the Jews unless they paid
huge sums of money in tribute, but Andreas declined to assent to any
one of them.
One day a document was submitted to him from the archbishop of the
Rhine district, craving permission to drive the Jews from the city of
Mayence. The Pope's face hardened when he read the iniquitous letter.
He gave instant orders that the archbishop should be summoned to Rome,
and to the utter amazement of his cardinals he also commanded them to
bring before him three leading Jews from Mayence, to state their
case.
"It shall not be said," he declared, "that the Pope issued a decree of
punishment without giving the people condemned an opportunity of
defending themselves."
When the news reached Mayence there was great wailing and sorrow among
the Jews, for, alas! bitter experience had taught them to expect no
mercy from Rome. Delegates were selected, and when they arrived at the
Vatican they were asked for their names. These were given and
communicated to the Pope.
"The delegates of the Jews of the city of Mayence," announced a
secretary, "humbly crave audience of Your Holiness."
"Their names?" demanded the Pope.
"Simon ben Isaac, Abraham ben Moses, and Issachar, the priest."
"Let them enter," said the Pope, in a quiet, firm voice. He had heard
but one name; his plan had proved successful, for he had counted upon
Simon being one of the chosen delegates.
The three men entered the audience chamber and stood expectant before
the Pope. His Holiness appeared to be lost in deep thought. Suddenly
he aroused himself from his reverie and looked keenly at the aged
leader of the party.
"Simon of Mayence, stand forth," he said, "and give voice to thy plea.
We give thee attention."
The old man approached a few paces nearer, and in simple, but eloquent
language, pleaded that the Jews should be permitted to remain
unmolested in Mayence in which city their community had been long
established.
"Thy prayer" said the Pope, when he had finished, "shall have full
consideration, and my answer shall be made known to thee without
delay. Now tell me, Simon of Mayence, something of thyself and thy
co-delegates. Who are ye in the city?"
Simon gave the information.
"Have ye come hither alone?" asked the Pope. "Or have ye been escorted
by members of your families--your sons?"
The Pope's voice was scarcely steady, but none noticed.
"I have no son," said Simon, with a weary sigh.
"Hast thou never been blessed with offspring?"
Simon looked sharply at the Pope before answering. Then, with bowed
head and broken voice, he said: "God blessed me with one son, but he
was stolen from me in childhood. That has been the sorrow of my life."
The old man's voice was choked with sobs.
"I have heard," said the Pope, after a while, "that thou art famed as
a chess-player. I, too, am credited with some skill in the game. I
would fain pit it against thine. Hearken! If thou prove the victor in
the game, then shall thy appeal prevail."
"I consent," said the old man, proudly. "It is many years since I have
sustained defeat."
It was arranged that the game should be played that evening.
Naturally, the strange contest aroused the keenest interest. The game
was followed closely by the papal secretaries and the Jewish
delegates. It was a wonderful trial of subtle play. The two players
seemed about evenly matched. First one and then the other made a
daring move which appeared to place his opponent in difficulties, but
each time disaster was ingeniously evaded. A draw seemed the likeliest
result until, suddenly, the Pope made a brilliant move which startled
the onlookers. It was considered impossible now for Simon to avoid
defeat.
No one was more astounded at the Pope's move than the old Jew. He rose
tremblingly from his chair, gazed with piercing eyes into the face of
the Pope and said huskily, "Where didst thou learn that move? I taught
it to but one other."
"Who?" demanded the Pope, eagerly.
"I will tell thee alone," said Simon.
The Pope made a sign, and the others left the room in great surprise.
Then Simon exclaimed excitedly, "Unless thou art the devil himself,
thou canst only be my long lost son, Elkanan."
"Father!" cried the Pope, and the old man clasped him in his arms.
When the others re-entered the room, the Pope said quietly, "We have
decided to call the game a draw, and in thankfulness for the rare
pleasure of a game of chess with so skilled a player as Simon of
Mayence, I grant the prayer of the delegates of that city. It is my
will that the Jews shall live in peace."
Shortly afterward, a new Pope was elected. Various rumors gained
currency. One was that Andreas had thrown himself into the flames;
another that he had mysteriously disappeared. And at the same time a
stranger arrived in Mayence and was welcomed by Simon joyfully as his
son, Elkanan.
The Slave's Fortune
Ahmed was the only child of the wealthiest merchant in Damascus. His
father devoted his days to doing everything possible to anticipate his
wishes. The boy returned his father's love with interest, and the two
lived together in the utmost happiness. They were seldom apart, the
father curtailing his business journeys so that he could hastily
return to Damascus, and finally restricting his affairs to those which
he could perform in his own home.
For safety's sake, Ahmed, whenever he was out of his father's sight,
was attended, by a big negro slave, Pedro, an imposing looking person,
richly attired as befitted his station and duties. Pedro was a
faithful servant, and he and Ahmed were the firmest friends.
When Ahmed grew up to be a youth, his father decided to send him to
Jerusalem to be educated. He did so reluctantly, knowing, however,
that it was the wisest course to adopt. Gently he broke the news to
Ahmed, for he knew the latter would dislike to leave home. Ahmed was
truly sorry to have to be parted from his father, but he kept back his
tears and said bravely:
"It is thy wish, father, therefore I question it not. I know that thou
desirest only my welfare."
"Well spoken, my son," said his father.
"May I take Pedro with me?" asked Ahmed.
"Nay, that would not be seemly," answered his father, gently. "It
would make thee appear anxious to display thy wealth. Such ostentation
will induce people to regard thee and thy father as foolish persons,
possessed of more wealth than is good for the exercise of wisdom.
Also, my son, thy future teaching must be not confined to the learning
that wise men can impart unto thee. Thou art going to the great city
to learn the ways of the world, to train thyself in self-reliance, and
to prepare thyself for all the duties of manhood."
The youth was somewhat disappointed to hear this. It was the first
occasion, as far as his memory served him, that his father had failed
to grant his wish; but he was nevertheless flattered by the prospect
of quickly becoming a man, and he answered, "I bow to thy wisdom, my
father."
He left for Jerusalem, after bidding the merchant an affectionate
farewell, and in the Holy City he applied himself diligently to his
studies. He delighted his teachers with his cheerful attention to his
lessons, and discovered a new source of happiness in learning things
for himself from observation. Also, it was a pleasant sensation to
conduct his own affairs, and in the great city, with its busy narrow
thoroughfares and its wonderful buildings, he daily grew less
homesick. Regularly he received letters by messengers from his father,
and dutifully he returned, by the same means, long epistles, setting
out all the big and little things that made up his life.
A year passed, and one day the usual message that Ahmed expected came
to him in a strange hand-writing.
He opened it hastily, with a foreboding of evil and alarm. The writer
of the letter was one of the merchant's closest friends. He said:
"O worthy son of a most worthy father, greeting to thee, and may God
give thee strength to hear the terrible and sad tidings which it is my
sorrowful duty to convey unto thee. Know then that it hath pleased
God in his wisdom to call from this earth thy saintly father, to sit
with the righteous ones in Heaven. Here in the city of Damascus there
is great weeping, for thy honored father was the most upright of men,
a friend to all in distress, a man whose bounteous charity to the poor
and unfortunate was unsurpassed. But our grief, deep and heartfelt as
it is, cannot be compared to thine. We have all lost a wise counselor,
a trusty friend, a guide in all things. But thou hast lost more. Thou
hast lost a father. Thou art his only son, and on thee his duties will
now devolve. Know then thy profound grief we share with thee. We
tender to thee our sincere sympathy, and eagerly do we await thy
coming. Thou hast a noble position to occupy and a tradition to
continue. We, thy father's friends and thine, O Ahmed, will assist
thee."
The young man was dumbfounded when he gathered the purport of the
letter. For some moments he spoke not, but sat on the ground, weeping
silently. Then, remembering his father's admonitions, he promptly took
up the task of settling his affairs in Jerusalem prior to his
departure for Damascus.
"I will take with me," he said, "the good rabbi who has been my
religious instructor, for I am not fully prepared to undertake all the
duties that will fall to my lot and need some strengthening counsel."
On arrival at Damascus he was greeted by a large concourse of people
who expressed their sympathy with him and spoke in terms of highest
praise of his father's benevolence.
After the funeral, Ahmed called the leading townspeople together to
hear his father's will read, for he was certain that many gifts to
charities would be announced. Such was the case, and there were
subdued murmurs of applause when the amounts were read forth.
Then suddenly the friend who had written to the young man and was
reading the will, paused.
"I fear there must be a mistake," he said, in a whisper to Ahmed.
"Go on," urged the assembled people, and the man read in a strange
voice:
"And now, having as I hope, faithfully performed my duty to the poor,
I bequeath the rest of my possessions unto my devoted negro slave,
Pedro."
"Pedro!" cried the astonished crowd.
They looked at the massive figure of the black attendant, but he stood
motionless and impassive, betraying no sign whatsoever of joy or
surprise.
Ahmed could not conceal his bewilderment.
"Is naught left unto me?" he managed to ask.
"Yes," returned his friend, and amid a sudden silence, he continued to
read: "This bequest is subject to the following proviso: that one
thing be given to my son before the division of my property, the same
to be selected by him within twenty-four hours of the reading of this
will unto him."
The crowd melted away with mutterings of sympathy mingled with
astonishment, but out of earshot of Ahmed, all said the merchant must
have been mad to draw up so absurd a testament. Ahmed himself could
hardly realize the great blow that had befallen him. He consulted with
his father's friend and the rabbi, but, although they re-read the
document many times, they could find no fault or flaw in it.
"Legally, this is correct and in perfect order and cannot be altered,"
said the friend.
"My father must have made a foolish mistake and must have misplaced
the two words 'son' and 'slave,'" said Ahmed, bitterly.
"That does not so appear," said the rabbi; "thy father was a scholar
and wise man. Speak not hastily, and above all act not rashly without
thought. I would counsel thee to sleep over this matter, and in the
morning we shall solve this puzzle."
Ahmed, who was exhausted with grief and rage and surprise, soon fell
into a deep sleep, and when he awoke the rabbi was reciting his
morning prayers.
"It is a beautiful day," he said, when he had finished. "The sun
shines on thy happiness, Ahmed."
Ahmed was too depressed to make any comment, nor was he completely
satisfied when the rabbi assured him all would be well.
"I have pondered deeply and long over thy father's words," he said. "I
sat up through the night until the dawn, and I have been impelled to
the conclusion that thy father was truly a wise man."
Ahmed interrupted with a gesture of disapproval. The rabbi took no
notice but proceeded quietly: "Thy father must have feared that in thy
absence after his death and pending thy possible delay in returning
hither, slaves and others might rob thee of thy inheritance. Pedro, I
have discovered, knew of the terms of the will. By informing him and
making his strange will, thy father, O fortunate Ahmed, made sure of
thy inheritance unto thee."
"I understand not," muttered Ahmed.
"It is perfectly clear," said the rabbi. "As soon as thou art ready,
thou shalt make thy choice of one thing. Do as I bid thee, and thou
shalt see thy father's wisdom."
Ahmed had no option but to agree. He could find no solution himself,
and wretched though he felt, reason told him that his father loved him
and that the rabbi was renowned for shrewdness.
The townspeople gathered early to hear Ahmed make his choice of one
thing--and one only--from his father's possessions. Ahmed looked less
troubled than they expected, the rabbi wore his most benign
expression, and Pedro stationed himself in his usual place at the
door, statuesque, obedient, and expressionless as ever.
Ahmed held up his hand to obtain silence.
"Acting under the terms of my father's will," he said, solemnly, "at
this moment when all, before division, belongs to his estate, I choose
but one of my father's possessions--Pedro, the black slave."
Then everybody saw the wisdom of the strange will, for with Pedro,
Ahmed became possessed of his father's vast wealth.
To Pedro, who still stood motionless, Ahmed said, "And thou, my good
friend, shalt have thy freedom and possessions sufficient to keep thee
in comfort for the rest of thy days."
"I desire naught but to serve thee," Pedro answered, "I wish to remain
the faithful attendant of one who will follow nobly in the footsteps
of thy father."
So everybody was satisfied.
[Illustration: He crouched on his throne and imagined he saw
angels and demons and fairies. (_Page 241_).]
The Paradise in the Sea