cry aloud: “A rose for sale, a rose for sale, the like of which is
nowhere to be found.” Now it was not the season for roses, so when the
dame of the palace heard the man crying a rose for sale, she thought to
herself: “I’ll put it in my daughter’s hair, and thus the King’s son
will think that she is his true bride.” So she called the poor man to
her, and asked him what he would sell the rose for? “For nothing,”
replied the man, “for no money told down, but I’ll give it thee for a
human eye.” Then the dame of the palace brought forth one of fair Rosa’s
eyes and gave it for the rose. Then she took it to her daughter, plaited
it in her hair, and when the King’s son saw the rose, he thought of the
Peri of his dreams, but could not understand whither she had gone.
Nevertheless he now fancied he was about to find out, so he said not a
word to any one.
Meanwhile, the old man went home with the eye and gave it to the damsel,
fair Rosa. Then she fitted it in its right place, sighed from her heart
in prayer to Allah, who can do all things; and behold! she could see
right well again with her one eye. The poor girl was so pleased that
she could not help smiling, and immediately another rose sprang forth.
This also she gave to her father that he might walk in front of the
palace and give it for another human eye. The old man took the rose, and
scarcely had he begun crying it before the palace when the old dame
again heard him. “He has just come at the nick of time,” thought she;
“the King’s son has begun to love my rose-bedizened daughter; if I can
only get this rose also, he will love her still better, and this
serving-wench will go out of his mind altogether.” So she called the
mud-raker to her and asked for the rose, but again he would not take
money for it, though he was willing to let her have it in exchange for a
human eye. Then the old woman gave him the second eye, and the old man
hastened home with it and gave it to the damsel. Rosa immediately put it
in its proper place, prayed to Allah, and was so rejoiced when her two
bright eyes sparkled with living light that she smiled all the day, and
roses bloomed on every side of her. Henceforth she was lovelier than
ever. Now one day beautiful Rosa went for a walk, and as she smiled
continually as she walked along, roses bloomed around her and the ground
grew fresh and green beneath her feet. The palace dame saw her and was
terrified. What will become of me, she thought, if the affair of this
damsel comes to be known? She knew where the poor mud-scraper lived, so
she went all alone to his dwelling, and terrified him by telling him
that he had an evil witch in his house. The poor man had never seen a
witch, so he was terrified to death, and asked the palace dame what he
had better do. “Find out, first of all, what her talisman is,” advised
the palace dame, “and then I’ll come and do the rest.”
So the first thing the old man did when the damsel came home was to ask
her how she, a mere child of man, had come to have such magic power. The
damsel, suspecting no ill, said that she had got her talisman from the
three Peris, and that pearls, roses, and fresh sweet verdure would
accompany her so long as her talisman was alive.
“What then is thy talisman?” asked the old man.
“A little deer on the hill-top;
If it die, I also dead drop,”
answered she.
The next day the palace dame came thither in the utmost misery, heard
all about it from the mud-scraper, and hastened home with great joy. She
told her daughter that on the top of the neighbouring hill was a little
deer which she should ask her husband to get for her. That very same day
the Sultana told her husband of the little deer on the top of the hill,
and begged and implored him to get her its heart to eat. And after not
many days the Prince’s men caught the little deer and killed it, and
took out its heart and gave it to the Sultana. At the same instant when
they killed the little fawn fair Rosa died. The mud-raker sorrowed over
her till he could sorrow no more, and then took and buried her.
Now in the heart of the little fawn there was a little red coral eye
which nobody took any notice of. When the Sultana ate the heart, the
little red coral eye fell out and rolled down the steps as if it wanted
to hide itself.
Time went on, and in not more than nine months and ten days the Prince’s
consort was brought to bed of a little daughter, who wept pearls when
she cried, dropt roses when she smiled, and sweet green herbs sprang up
in her footsteps.
When the Prince saw it he mused and mused over it, the little girl was
the very image of fair Rosa, and not a bit like the mother who had borne
her. So his sleep was no repose to him, till one night fair Rosa
appeared to him in his dreams and spoke these words to him: “Oh, my
prince! oh, my betrothed! my soul is beneath thy palace steps, my body
is in the tomb, thy little girl is my little girl, my talisman is the
little coral eye.”
The Prince had no sooner awakened than he went to the staircase and
searched about, and lo! there was the little coral eye. He picked it up,
took it into his chamber, and laid it on the table. Meanwhile, the
little girl entered the room, saw the red coral, and scarcely had she
laid hold of it than she vanished as if she had never been. The three
Peris had carried off the child and taken her to her mother’s tomb, and
scarcely had she placed the coral eye in the dead woman’s mouth than she
awoke up to a new life.
But the King’s son was not easy in his mind. He went to the cemetery,
had the tomb opened, and there in her coffin lay the Rose-beauty of his
dreams, with her little girl in her arms and the coral talisman in her
mouth. They arose from the tomb and embraced him, and pearls fell from
the eyes of both of them as they wept, and roses from their mouths as
they smiled, and sweet green herbs grew up in their footsteps.
The palace dame and her daughter paid for their crimes, but beautiful
Rosa and her father and her mother, the Sultan’s daughter, were all
re-united, and for forty days and forty nights they held high revel
amidst the beating of drums and the tinkling of cymbals.
MAD MEHMED
Once upon a time in the old old days when the camel was only a spy, when
toads rose in the air on wings, and I myself rode in the air while I
walked on the ground, and went up hill and down dale at the same time,
in those days, I say, there were two brothers who dwelt together.
All that they had inherited from their father were some oxen and other
beasts, and a sick mother. One day the spirit of division seized upon
the younger brother (he was half-witted besides, Allah help him!), and
he went to his brother and said: “Look now, brother! at these two
stables! One of them is as new as new can be, while the other is old and
rotten. Let us drive our cattle hither, and whatever goes into the new
stable shall be mine, and all the rest shall be thine.”
“Not so, Mehmed,” said the elder brother; “let whatever goes into the
old stable be thine!” To this also the half-crazy Mehmed agreed. That
same day they went and drove up their cattle, and all the cattle went
into the new stable except a helpless old ox that was so blind that it
mistook its way and went into the old stable instead. Mehmed said never
a word, but took the blind old ox into the fields to graze; every
morning early he drove it thither, and late every evening he drove it
back again. One day when he was on the road, the wind began to shake a
big wayside tree so violently that its vast branches whined and
whimpered again. “Hi! whimpering old dad!” said the fool to the tree,
“hast thou seen my elder brother?” But the tree, as if it didn’t hear,
only went on whining. The fool flew into such a rage at this that he
caught up his chopper and struck at the tree, when out of it gushed a
whole stream of golden sequins. At this the fool rallied what little
wits he had, hastened home, and asked his brother to lend him another
ox, as he wanted to plough with a pair. He found a cart also, and some
empty sacks. These he filled with earth, and set out forthwith for his
tree. There he emptied his sacks of their earth, filled them with
sequins instead, and when he returned home in the evening, his brother
well-nigh dropped down for amazement at the sight of the monstrous
treasure.
They could think of nothing now but dividing it, so the younger brother
went to their neighbour for a three-peck measure to measure it with.
Now the neighbour was curious to know what such clodpoles could have to
measure. So he took and smeared the bottom of the measure with tar, and,
sure enough, when the fool brought the measure back a short time
afterwards, a sequin was sticking to the bottom of it. The neighbour
immediately went and told it to another, who went and told it to a
third, and so it was not long before everybody knew all about it.
Now the wiser brother knew not what might happen to them now that they
had all this money, and he began to feel frightened. So he snatched up
his pick and shovel, dug a trench, buried the treasure, and made off as
fast as his heels could carry him. On the way it occurred to the wise
brother that he had done foolishly in not shutting the door of the hut
behind him, so he sent off his younger brother to do it for him. So the
fool went back to the house, and he thought to himself: “Well, since I
am here, I ought not to forget my old mother either.” So he filled a
huge cauldron with water, boiled it, and soused his old mother in it so
thoroughly that her poor old head was never likely to speak again. After
that he propped the old woman against the wall with the broom, tore the
door off its hinges, threw it over his shoulders, and went and rejoined
his brother in the wood.
The elder brother looked at the door, and listened to the sad case of
his poor old mother, but scold and chide his younger brother as he might
the latter grew more cock-a-hoop than ever--he fancied he had done such
a clever thing. He had brought the door away with him, he said, in order
that no one might get into the house. The wise brother would have given
anything to have got rid of the fool, and began turning over in his mind
how he might best manage it. He looked before him and behind him, he
looked down the high-road, and there were three horsemen galloping
along. The thought instantly occurred to the pair of them that these
horsemen were on their track, so they scrambled up a tree forthwith,
door and all. They were scarcely comfortably settled when the three
horsemen drove up beneath the tree and encamped there. The dusk of
evening had come on at the very nick of time, so that they could not see
the two brothers.
Now the two brothers would have done very well indeed up in the tree had
not one of them been a fool. Mehmed the fool began to practise
pleasantries which disturbed the repose of the horsemen beneath the
tree. Presently, however, came a crash--bang!--and down on the heads of
the three sleepers fell the great heavy door from the top of the tree.
“The end of the world has come, the end of the world has come!” cried
they, and they rushed off in such a fright that no doubt they haven’t
ceased running to this very day. This finished the business so far as
the elder brother was concerned. In the morning he arose and went on his
way, and left the foolish younger brother by himself.
Thus poor silly Mehmed had to go forth into the wide world alone. He
went on and on till he came to a village, by which time he was very
hungry. There he stood in the gate of a mosque, and got one or two
paras[6] from those who went in and out till he had enough to buy
himself something to eat. At that moment a fat little man came out of
the mosque, and casting his eyes on Mehmed, asked him if he would like
to enter his service.
“I don’t mind if I do,” replied Mehmed, “but only on condition that
neither of us is to get angry with the other for any cause whatever. If
thou art wroth with me I’ll kill thee, and if I get wroth with thee thou
mayest kill me also.” The fat man agreed to these terms, for there was a
great lack of servants in that village.
In order to make short work of the fat little man the fool began by at
once chasing all the hens and sheep off his master’s premises. “Art
angry, master?” he then inquired of his lord. His master was amazed, but
he only answered: “Angry? Not I! Why should I be?” At the same time he
entrusted nothing more to him, but let him sit in the house without
anything to do.
His master had a wife and child, and Mehmed had to look after them. He
liked to dandle the child up and down, but he knocked it about and hurt
it, so clumsy was he; so he soon had to leave that off. But the wife
began to be afraid that her turn would come next, sooner or later, so
she persuaded her husband to run away from the fool one night. Mehmed
overheard what they said, hid himself in their storebox, and when they
opened it in the next village out he popped.
After a while his master and his wife agreed together that they would go
and sleep at night on the shores of a lake. They took Mehmed with them,
and put his bed right on the water’s edge, that he might tumble in when
he went to sleep. However, the fool was not such a fool but that he made
his master’s wife jump into the lake instead of himself. “Art angry,
master?” cried he.--“Angry indeed! How can I help being angry when I see
my property wasted, and my wife and child killed, and myself a
beggar--and all through thee!” Then the fool seized his master, put him
in mind of their compact, and pitched him into the water.
Mehmed now found himself all alone, so he went forth into the wide world
once more. He went on and on, did nothing but drink sweet coffee, smoke
chibooks, look about over his shoulder, and walk leisurely along at his
ease. As he was thus knocking about, he chanced to light upon a
five-para piece, which he speedily changed for some lebleb,[7] which he
immediately fell to chewing, and, as he chewed, part of it fell into a
wayside spring, whereupon the fool began roaring loud enough to split
his throat: “Give me back my lebleb, give me back my lebleb!” At this
frightful bawling a Jinn popped up his head, and he was so big that his
upper lip swept the sky, while his lower lip hid the earth. “What dost
thou require?” asked the Jinn.--“I want my lebleb, I want my lebleb!”
cried Mehmed.
The Jinn ducked down into the spring, and when he came up again, he held
a little table in his hand. This little table he gave to the fool and
said: “Whenever thou art hungry thou hast only to say: ‘Little table,
give me to eat;’ and when thou hast eaten thy fill, say: ‘Little table,
I have now had enough.’”
So Mehmed took the table and went with it into a village, and when he
felt hungry he said: “Little table, give me to eat!” and immediately
there stood before him so many beautiful, nice dishes that he couldn’t
make up his mind which to begin with. “Well,” thought he, “I must let
the poor people of the village see this wonder also,” so he went and
invited them all to a great banquet.
The villagers came one after another, they looked to the right, they
looked to the left, but there was no sign of a fire, or any preparations
for a meal. “Nay, but he would needs make fools of us!” thought they.
But the young man brought out his table, set it in the midst, and cried:
“Little table, give me to eat!” and there before them stood all manner
of delicious meats and drinks, and so much thereof that when the guests
had stuffed themselves to the very throat, there was enough left over to
fill the servants. Then the villagers laid their heads together as to
how they might manage to have a meal like this every day. “Come now!”
said some of them, “let us steal a march upon Mehmed one day and lay
hands upon his table, and then there will be an end to the fool’s
glory.” And they did so.
What could the poor, empty-bellied fool do then? Why he went to the
wayside spring and asked again: “I want my lebleb, I want my lebleb!”
And he asked and asked so long that at last the Jinn popped up his head
again out of the spring and inquired what was the matter. “I want my
lebleb, I want my lebleb!” cried the fool.--“But where’s thy little
table?”--“They stole it.”
The big-lipped Jinn again popped down, and when he rose out of the
spring again he had a little mill in his hand. This he gave to the fool
and said to him: “Grind it to the right and gold will flow out of it,
grind it to the left and it will give thee silver.” So the youth took
the mill home and ground it first to the right and then to the left, and
huge treasures of gold and silver lay heaped about him on the floor. So
he grew such a rich man that his equal was not to be found in the
village, nay, nor in the town either.
But no sooner had the people of the village got to know all about the
little mill than they laid their heads together and schemed and schemed
till the mill also disappeared[8] one fine morning from Mehmed’s
cottage. Then Mehmed ran off to the spring once more and cried: “I want
my lebleb, I want my lebleb!”
“But where is thy little table? Where is thy little mill?” asked the
big-lipped Jinn.
“They have stolen them both from me,” lamented the witless one, and he
wept bitterly.
Again the Jinn bobbed down, and this time he brought up two sticks with
him. He gave them to the fool, and impressed upon him very strongly on
no account to say: “Strike, strike, my little sticks!”
Mehmed took the sticks, and first he turned them to the right and then
to the left, but could make nothing of them. Then he thought he would
just try the effect of saying: “Strike, strike, my little sticks!” and
no sooner were the words out of his mouth than the sticks fell upon him
unmercifully, and belaboured him on every part of the body that can
feel--the head, the foot, the arm, the back--till he was nothing but one
big ache. “Stop, stop, my little sticks!” cried he, and lo! the two
sticks were still. Then, for all his aches and pains, Mehmed rejoiced
greatly that he had found out the mystery.
He had no sooner got home with the two sticks than he called together
all the villagers, but said not a word about what he meant to do. In
less than a couple of hours everybody had assembled there, and awaited
the new show with great curiosity. Then Mehmed came with his two sticks
and cried: “Strike, strike, my little sticks, strike, strike!” whereupon
the two sticks gave the whole lot of them such a rub-a-dub-dubbing that
it was as much as they could do to howl for mercy. “Now,” said Mehmed,
who was getting his wits back again, “I’ll have no mercy till you have
given back to me my little table and my little mill.”
The people of the village, all bruised and bleeding as they were,
consented to everything, and hurried off for the little table and the
little mill. Then Mehmed cried: “Stand still, my little sticks!” and
there was peace and quiet as before.
Then the man took away the three gifts to his own village, and as he now
had money he grew more sensible, and there also he found his brother. He
gave all the buried treasure to his brother, and each of them sought out
a damsel meet to be a wife, and married, and lived each in a world of
his own. And there was not a wiser man in that village than Mad Mehmed
now that he had grown rich.
THE GOLDEN-HAIRED CHILDREN
Once upon a time, in days long gone by, when my father was my father,
and I was my fathers son, when my father was my son, and I was my
father’s mother, once upon a time, I say, at the uttermost ends of the
world, hard by the realm of demons, stood a great city.
In this same city there dwelt three poor damsels, the daughters of a
poor wood-cutter. From morn to eve, from evening to morning, they did
nothing but sew and stitch, and when the embroideries were finished, one
of them would go to the market-place and sell them, and so purchase
wherewithal to live upon.
Now it fell out, one day, that the Padishah of that city was wroth with
the people, and in his rage he commanded that for three days and three
nights nobody should light a candle in that city. What were these three
poor sisters to do? They could not work in the dark. So they covered
their window with a large thick curtain, lit a tiny rushlight, and sat
them down to earn their daily bread.
On the third night of the prohibition, the Padishah took it into his
head to go round the city himself to see whether every one was keeping
his commandment. He chanced to step in front of the house of the three
poor damsels, and as the folds of the curtain did not quite cover the
bottom of the window he caught sight of the light within. The damsels,
however, little suspecting their danger, went on sewing and stitching
and talking amongst themselves about their poor affairs.
“Oh,” said the eldest, “if only the Padishah would wed me to his chief
cook, what delicious dishes I should have every day. Yes, and I would
embroider him for it a carpet so long that all his horses and all his
men could find room upon it.”
“As for me,” said the middling damsel, “I should like to be wedded to
the keeper of his wardrobe. What lovely splendid raiment I should then
have to put on. And then I would make the Padishah a tent so large, that
all his horses and all his men should find shelter beneath it.”
“Well,” cried the youngest damsel, “I’ll look at nobody but the Padishah
himself, and if he would only take me to wife I would bear him two
little children with golden hair. One should be a boy and the other a
girl, and a half-moon should shine on the forehead of the boy, and a
bright star should sparkle on the temples of the girl.”
The Padishah heard the discourse of the three damsels, and no sooner did
the red dawn shine in the morning sky than he sent for all three to the
palace. The eldest he gave to his head pantler, the second to his head
chamberlain, but the youngest he took for himself.
And in truth it fared excellently well with the three damsels. The
eldest got so many rich dishes to eat, that when it came to sewing the
promised carpet she could scarce move her needle for the sleep of
surfeit. So they sent her back again to the wood-cutters hut. The second
damsel, too, when they dressed her up in gold and silver raiment, would
not deign to dirty her fingers by making tents, so they sent her back
too, to keep her elder sister company.
And how about the youngest? Well, after nine months and ten days the two
elder sisters came sidling up to the palace to see if the poor thing
would really be as good as her word, and bring forth the two wondrous
children. In the gates of the palace they met an old woman, and they
persuaded her with gifts and promises to meddle in the matter. Now this
old woman was the devil’s own daughter, so that mischief and malice
were her meat and drink. She now went and picked up two pups and took
them with her to the sick woman’s bed.
And oh, my soul! the wife of the Padishah brought forth two little
children like shining stars. One was a boy, the other a girl; on the
boys forehead was a half-moon and on the girl’s a star, so that darkness
was turned to light when they were by. Then the wicked old woman
exchanged the children for the pups, and told it in the ears of the
Padishah that his wife had brought forth two pups. The Padishah was like
to have had a fit in the furiousness of his rage. He took his poor wife,
buried her up to the waist in the ground, and commanded throughout the
city that every passer-by should strike her on the head with a stone.
But no sooner had the evil witch got hold of the two children, than she
took them a long way outside the town, exposed them on the bank of a
flowing stream, and returned to the palace right glad that she had done
her work so well.
Now close to the water where the two children lay stood a hut where
lived an aged couple. The old man had a she-goat which used to go out in
the morning to graze, and come back in the evening to be milked, and
that was how the poor people kept body and soul together. One day,
however, the old woman was
[Illustration: The Golden-Haired Children.--p. 57.]
surprised to find that the goat did not give one drop of milk. She
complained about it to the old man her husband, and told him to follow
the goat to see if perchance there was any one who stole the milk.