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Title: Fairy tales

Author: Wilhelm Hauff

Illustrator: Arthur A. Dixon

Translator: L. L. Weedon

Release date: December 20, 2024 [eBook #74947]

Language: English

Credits: David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAIRY TALES ***





           FAIRY TALES

         BY WILHELM HAUFF


    Translated by L. L. Weedon

  Illustrated by Arthur A. Dixon


          [Illustration]


       London Ernest Nister
    New York E. P. Dutton & Co.




    [Illustration: _THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE._
      _“The tailor’s heart swelled with pride and joy.”_]




    [Illustration]




CONTENTS


                                                        PAGE
    THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK                              9

    FATIMA’S RESCUE                                       28

    THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK                              57

    THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE                         87

    THE DWARF LONG-NOSE                                  111

    ABNER, THE JEW WHO SAW NOTHING                       153

    THE STORY OF ALMANSOR                                160

    THE STORY OF THE FLORIN                              181

    THE COLD HEART                                       207

    THE ADVENTURES OF SAID                               276

    THE CAVERN OF STEENFOLL: A SCOTTISH LEGEND           327




    [Illustration]




LIST OF FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS


  COLOUR

                                                           FACING PAGE
    THE TAILOR’S HEART SWELLED WITH PRIDE AND JOY       _Frontispiece_

    HE DECIDED TO FOLLOW THEM                                       62

    AN OLD WOMAN CAME SLOWLY ACROSS THE MARKET-PLACE               112

    SHE STOOD LEANING UPON HER STAFF WAITING FOR CUNO              196

    CHARCOAL PETER AND THE GLASS-MAN                               232

    IT HAD TURNED INTO AN ENORMOUS DOLPHIN                         316


  BLACK AND WHITE ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                           FACING PAGE

    THE OWL WARNED THEM TO BE AS SILENT AS THE GRAVE                22

    HE MADE FOR THE DOOR SCREAMING LUSTILY FOR HELP                 40

    HE HAD UNEARTHED A POT FULL OF GOLDEN COINS                     72

    CHOOSING THE CASKETS                                           104

    THEY TOLD EACH OTHER THEIR SAD STORIES                         140

    THEY RAN HERE AND THERE IN WILD DISORDER                       154

    THE SLAVE HELD AN ENORMOUS DICTIONARY                          168

    FASTER AND FASTER THEY WENT                                    184

    “THIS,” THOUGHT HE, “MUST SURELY BE THE ABODE OF THE
      GLASS-MAN”                                                   214

    SHE SAW A LITTLE OLD MAN COMING ALONG                          258

    HE SAW A LITTLE MAN BENDING OVER HIM                           292

    “I CAME TO LOOK FOR THE CARMILHAN,” HE SAID                    332




    [Illustration]




THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK.


CHAPTER I.

Chasid, Caliph of Bagdad, was taking his ease one beautiful afternoon,
stretched out upon his couch. He had just awakened from a little nap
and was in a pleasant mood. From time to time he drank from the cup of
coffee one of his slaves handed to him, and took long whiffs from a
rosewood pipe, stroking his long beard the while, with an air of
extreme complacency. In short, it was evident that the Caliph was in a
very good humour.

    [Illustration: _The Pedlar._]

It was the best time in the day for any one to approach him on
business, for he was usually inclined to grant any request one might
ask, and for this reason, his grand vizier Mansor was wont to visit
him at that hour. On this particular afternoon he came as usual, but
seemed unaccountably quiet and thoughtful. The Caliph removed his
pipe from his mouth and said: “Why do you look so serious, Grand
Vizier?”

The grand vizier crossed his arms on his breast, bowed low before his
master, and answered:

“Sire, it is no wonder I look disturbed, for below the palace wall
stands a pedlar, who has such beautiful goods for sale that it angers
me to think I have no money to spare just now.”

The Caliph, who had long wished for an opportunity to confer some gift
upon his vizier, sent a black slave to fetch the pedlar.

Very soon the slave returned, ushering the pedlar into his master’s
presence. He was a fat little man, with a sunburnt face and dressed in
rags. He carried a pack in which all sorts of wares were huddled
together, pearls, rings, richly-chased pistols, goblets and combs.

The Caliph and his vizier took stock of everything, and finally the
Caliph purchased handsome pistols for himself and his vizier Mansor,
and a beautiful comb for Mansor’s wife.

As the pedlar was about to close his pack, the Caliph noticed a little
drawer and asked if there was anything in it for sale.

The man opened the drawer and took out a snuff-box containing a dark
coloured powder, and a paper covered with very curious characters,
which neither the Caliph nor his vizier were able to read. “I had
these from a merchant, who picked them up in the streets of Mecca,”
said the pedlar. “I do not know what they contain and they are at
your service for a very low price, as I do not know what to do with
them.”

The Caliph, who was always glad to purchase rare manuscripts for his
library, even if he could not read them himself, bought both snuff-box
and paper, and dismissed the pedlar.

But the Caliph was curious to know what the writing on the paper meant
and asked the vizier if he knew of any one who would possibly be able
to decipher it.

“Most gracious lord and master,” said the vizier, “near the great
Mosque dwells a man known as Selim the Learned, who understands all
languages; bid him come hither and maybe he will understand these
mysterious characters.”

The learned Selim was soon sent for and the Caliph addressed him thus:
“Selim, it is said of you that you are a very learned man; look well
at this writing, and see if you can read it. If you are able to do so,
I will give you a new robe for feast days, but if you are unable to do
so you will receive twelve strokes upon the back and five-and-twenty
upon the soles of your feet, because you have masqueraded under the
name of Selim the Learned.”

Selim glanced at the writing intently and suddenly cried out: “It is
Latin, my Lord, most certainly it is Latin.”

“Very well, then,” commanded the Caliph impatiently, “if you know that
it is Latin, tell me what it means.”

Selim began to translate: “Man, whoever you be, who shall find this,
praise Allah for his mercy. He who shall take a pinch of the powder
in this snuff-box and say the word ‘Mutabor’ shall be able to
transform himself into any kind of animal and understand the
creature’s language. When he wishes to return to his original form he
must bow three times towards the East and repeat the same word. But
let him beware, when in the transformed state, never to laugh,
otherwise he will forget the magic word and will be condemned to
remain an animal.”

When Selim had finished reading, the Caliph was beside himself with
joy. He made Selim take an oath that he would not reveal the secret,
gave him a handsome robe, and sent him away.

“I call that a first-rate purchase,” said he to Mansor. “How I long to
become an animal! Early to-morrow morning you shall come with me, we
will go out into the fields, take a pinch of snuff from my box, and
then listen to all that is being said in the air and in the water, in
the field and in the woodland.”


CHAPTER II.

The following morning the Caliph Chasid had scarcely finished his
breakfast, when the grand vizier appeared in order to accompany his
master upon his morning walk. The Caliph tucked the snuff-box
containing the magic powder into his sash, and having commanded his
attendants to remain behind, he and his vizier set out alone upon
their way.

First they passed through the royal gardens, but looked in vain for
some living creature so that they might test the power of the powder.
Then the vizier suggested they should visit a pond where he had
frequently seen a number of storks disporting themselves, their
dignified ways and hoarse cries having attracted his attention.

    [Illustration: _Immediately their legs began to shrink._
        (P. 14.)]

The Caliph approved of his suggestion and accordingly they went to the
pond. On their approach they noticed a stork walking gravely to and
fro, searching for frogs, and now and again uttering loud cries; at
the same time they saw, above them in the air, a second stork floating
gracefully towards them.

“I wager my beard, Sire,” said the vizier, “these two long-legs will
hold an amusing conversation together. What do you say to our
transforming ourselves into storks?”

“The very thing,” answered the Caliph, “but first let us be very
careful that we know the way to become men again. Let me see--we must
bow three times towards the East, and say ‘Mutabor,’ and immediately I
shall be the Caliph, and you my vizier. But for heaven’s sake do not
laugh, otherwise all will be lost.”

As the Caliph spoke he saw the second stork slowly drop to earth, so
he quickly drew his snuff-box from his girdle, took a pinch, offered
the box to his vizier, who likewise snuffed the powder, whilst the
pair of them cried simultaneously, ‘Mutabor!’

Immediately their legs began to shrink and to become thin and red,
their beautiful yellow slippers turned into unshapely storks’ feet,
their arms became wings, their necks shot up from between their
shoulders to the length of an ell at least, their beards disappeared,
and their bodies were covered with soft white feathers.

“You have a pretty beak, my lord vizier,” said the Caliph, as he
stared in astonishment at his companion. “By the beard of the prophet,
I have never seen such a sight in my life.”

“Many thanks,” replied the vizier bowing. “If I may be permitted to
say so, you are almost better looking as a stork than a Caliph. But
come, let us join our companions and find out if we really can
understand stork language.”

In the meantime the other stork, which had just alighted, was pluming
its feathers as it approached the first stork, so the two newly-made
birds hastened to come up to them, and to their astonishment
overheard the following extraordinary conversation.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Long-legs, how early you are up.”

“Ah, my dear Clapperbill! I just came out to get a snack; anything I
can offer you, my dear, in the shape of a bit of lizard or a tit-bit
of frog?”

“Thanks all the same, but I’ve really no appetite--I came here for
quite a different reason--I have to dance to-day before my father’s
guests, and I came here to practise a little by myself.”

With these words the young stork began to twist and turn about in the
most ridiculous attitudes imaginable. The Caliph and Mansor stared at
her in surprise, but when she stood on one foot, stretched out her
wings and struck an attitude of supposed grace, she looked so absurd
that they could no longer contain themselves, but burst out into
hearty and prolonged laughter. It was some time before they could
control themselves, but at length the Caliph stopped laughing, and
said: “Oh! what a joke that was--I would not have missed it for any
money. What a pity our laughter frightened the silly things away; they
might otherwise have sung to us also.”

But suddenly the vizier remembered that they had been forbidden to
laugh during the time of their transformation. He at once reminded the
Caliph of this. “Mecca and Medina,” cried he, “it would be a bad joke
indeed if we had to remain storks for the rest of our lives. See if
you can remember the magic word, for upon my soul, I seem to have
forgotten it.”

“We must bow three times towards the east and say ‘Mu-Mu-Mu--’”

No further could they get. They bowed and bowed until their beaks
touched the ground, but try as they would they could _not_ remember
the magic word, and the unfortunate Caliph and his vizier were doomed
to remain two storks.


CHAPTER III.

The enchanted pair wandered sadly from field to field, wondering what
they could do to end their misery. They could not rid themselves of
their birds forms, and it was equally impossible to return to the town
and declare themselves to be the Caliph and his vizier, for who would
have believed a couple of storks, and was it to be supposed the
inhabitants of Bagdad would consent to be ruled by a stork?

And so they crept about for days, sustaining themselves meagrely on
wild fruits, which they were scarcely able to eat on account of their
long beaks, but as yet they had no appetite for lizards and frogs, and
such-like delicacies. Their only relaxation was the pleasure they
found in the use of their wings, for they were able to fly into Bagdad
and watch, from the roofs of the houses, what went on in the city.

At first they noticed great sorrow and unrest, but within four days
all this was changed and, watching from the roof of the Caliph’s
palace, they noticed a magnificent procession winding along in the
street below--drums and fifes sounded, and a man clothed in a scarlet
robe, embroidered with gold, was seated upon a finely-caparisoned
horse, surrounded by a glittering escort. Half the inhabitants of
Bagdad came out to watch the procession, and cried as it passed--“Hail!
Mizra, ruler of Bagdad.”

The two storks looked at each other and the Caliph said--“Can you not
guess now why we have been thus bewitched? Mizra is the son of my
deadly enemy, the powerful magician Kaschnur, who once in an evil
moment swore revenge against me. But we will not despair; come, my
faithful comrade, we will seek the grave of our great prophet, and
perchance in that holy spot we shall be freed from the enchantment.”

    [Illustration: _They had no appetite for lizards and frogs._
        (P. 16.)]

So they left the palace roof and flew towards Medina.

But they had had so little practice in flying that they soon grew
weary. “Oh! sire!” groaned the vizier, after a couple of hours, “with
your permission I must rest for awhile, you fly too quickly for me.
It is already evening, and would it not be as well to seek shelter for
the night?”

Chasid agreed to his companion’s request, and as he saw a ruin in the
valley beneath, which promised to afford a roof to cover them, they
flew down to it. The place seemed to have been at one time a castle.
Beautiful pillars raised themselves in the dilapidated apartments,
which still retained evidences of their former splendour.

Chasid and Mansor wandered through the corridors, seeking for a dry
spot suitable for a resting place, when suddenly Mansor stood still.

“My lord and master,” he whispered softly, “ridiculous as it may
appear for a vizier, not to mention a stork, to be afraid of ghosts,
there is no doubt I feel an uncomfortable sensation of fright, for can
you not hear a weird groaning and sobbing noise close at hand?”

The Caliph listened and heard the unmistakable sound of human weeping.
Anxious to solve the mystery he hastened towards the spot from which
the sound proceeded.

The vizier seized him by the wing and begged him earnestly not to
place himself in the way of fresh danger, but the Caliph carried a
brave heart beneath his stork’s feathers and, disengaging himself from
his companion, though with the loss of some feathers, he hurried along
the dark corridor.

Presently he came to a door which was closed, but not fastened, and
from behind which he distinctly heard the sound of sighing and
weeping. He pushed the door open with his beak and stood astounded
upon the threshold. In a ruined chamber, lighted only by the rays of
the moon, which streamed through a little casement window, he saw a
large owl. Tears streamed from her great brown eyes, and with hoarse
screeching voice she bemoaned her sorrows, but no sooner did she
perceive the Caliph and his vizier than she uttered a cry of joy;
daintily wiping the tears from her eyes with her brown-tinted wings,
she spoke to them, to their utter astonishment, in excellent Arabic--

    [Illustration: _He bowed his long neck._ (P. 20.)]

“Welcome, O ye storks,” she cried, “you come to me as tokens of my
deliverance, for it was once prophesied to me that great good fortune
would befall me through the intervention of two storks.”

As soon as the Caliph had recovered from his astonishment, he brought
his thin feet together and bowed his long neck in an elegant attitude.

“Owl,” said he, “after what you have said, may I consider myself to be
in the presence of a companion in distress? But alas! your hopes that
we may be able to assist you are in vain. You will recognise our
helplessness when you have heard our story.”

The owl begged him to recount it, and the Caliph made her acquainted
with all that had befallen them.


CHAPTER IV.

When the Caliph had told his story the owl thanked him and said: “Now
you shall hear my story and you will then see that I am no less
unhappy than you and your vizier. My father is the King of the Indies,
and I am his only and unfortunate daughter, Lusa by name. The same
wicked magician Kaschnur, to whom you owe your misfortunes, bewitched
me also. One day he came to my father and demanded that I should be
given to his son Mizra for a wife, but my father, who is a hasty man,
ordered him to be thrown down the steps. The miserable wretch knew,
however, how to transform himself and approach me when I was walking
in my garden. Disguised as a slave, he offered me a refreshing drink,
but one which changed me into this horrible form. Fainting with
horror, I was seized by him and carried here, and before leaving me he
shrieked these words in a terrible voice--

“‘Here shall you remain, hideous and shunned even by the beasts
themselves, until your end comes, or until some person shall be
willing, in spite of your dreadful appearance, to make you his wife.
This is my revenge upon you and your proud father.’

“All this took place many months ago. Lonely and sad I have passed my
miserable days, shunned by all, even the beautiful face of Nature
turned from me, for by day I am blind, and it is only when the moon’s
faint rays pierce my prison window that the veil falls from my eyes.”

As the owl ceased speaking, she once more wiped her eyes with her
wings, for the recital of her woes had caused her tears to flow
afresh.

The princess’s story had made the Caliph very serious--“It seems to
me,” he said, “that there is a strong resemblance between your trouble
and ours, but where shall we find the key to unlock the mystery?”

The owl answered more hopefully, “My lord as I told you, it was
prophesied of me in my youth, by a wise woman, that good fortune would
come to me by the help of a stork. Now, the magician who was the cause
of all our misfortunes comes once a month to these ruins, and feasts
and makes merry with his companions in an apartment close by. Many a
time I have listened to their conversation and heard them recount
their wicked deeds; might it not happen that Kaschnur would perhaps
let fall the magic word that would release you, during one of these
revels?”

“Oh! dearest princess,” cried the excited Caliph, “tell me, I beseech
you, the date of Kaschnur’s next visit!”

The owl was silent for a short space of time, then said she--“Do not
be offended if I make a condition with you before granting your wish.”

“What is it,” cried the Caliph, “whatever it is, be sure I shall be
willing to grant it you.”

“Well, it is this,” said the owl; “I am as anxious as you are to
regain my natural form, and this can only happen if one of you will
offer me his hand.”

The storks appeared somewhat taken aback, and the Caliph beckoned his
vizier aside.

“Grand vizier,” said he, “it is a great nuisance, but you must just
take her.”

“Indeed,” replied the vizier, “and when I reach home my wife will
scratch my eyes out for my pains. Besides, I am an old man, whilst you
are young and unmarried, and are therefore a more suitable match for a
young and beautiful princess.”

“Well, that is the point,” the Caliph sighed sadly; “who told you she
was young and beautiful? I don’t care to buy a cat in a bag like
that.”

They argued together for some time, but when the Caliph found his
vizier would rather remain a stork than marry the owl, he made up his
mind to fulfil the condition himself.

    [Illustration: _THE CALIPH STORK_
      _“The owl warned them to be as silent as the grave”_
      (_p. 25_)]

The owl was overjoyed, and assured the two storks they could not have
arrived at a more opportune moment, for the magicians were to meet
there that very night.

So she and the storks left the little room and threaded their way
along a dark narrow corridor until they came to a broken-down wall,
through the crevices of which a bright light streamed. The owl warned
them to be as silent as the grave and pointed out a hole through which
they could peep into the great hall beyond.

This hall was magnificently decorated, and lighted up by many
different coloured lamps. In the middle of the apartment stood a round
table set with a variety of the choicest dishes. Round the table were
couches, upon which eight men reclined, and one of these men the
storks immediately recognised as the pedlar who had sold them the
magic powder. His neighbour invited him to recount his latest doings,
and amongst other stories he recounted that of the Caliph and his
vizier.

“What was the magic word you gave them?” asked one of the other
magicians.

“A good difficult Latin one--it was ‘Mutabor.’”


CHAPTER V.

As the storks heard this word they were fairly beside themselves with
joy. They ran so quickly to the door of the ruin that the owl could
scarcely follow them. But when they reached the open air the Caliph
turned to the owl and said in moved tones:--“Preserver of my life and
of the life of my friend, accept not only my eternal gratitude, but
myself as your husband!”

He and the vizier then turned towards the East, three times they bowed
their long necks towards the rising sun and cried “Mutabor,” and in a
moment they were restored to their former state, and Caliph and vizier
fell into each other’s arms and embraced, congratulating each other
upon the joy of their newly-found life.

But who shall describe their astonishment when they looked round and
saw a lovely lady, gorgeously attired, standing before them. Smilingly
she gave her hand to the Caliph. “Do you not recognise your wife, the
brown owl?” said she.

The Caliph was so enraptured at the sight of her beauty and grace that
he declared the most fortunate thing that had ever happened to him was
to be turned into a stork.

The three set out towards Bagdad together. As the Caliph found in his
pockets not only the magic snuff-box, but his purse also, he was able
to purchase in the next village all the necessaries required for their
journey, and so they were able to push forward, and soon reached the
gates of Bagdad.

Arrived there, the greatest astonishment prevailed at the sight of the
Caliph and his companions. He had been given up for dead, and the
populace was overjoyed to welcome back their beloved ruler, but their
hatred towards the usurper Mizra was as great in proportion.

The people crowded into the palace and seized upon the old magician
and his son. The Caliph ordered the old man to be taken to the
apartment of the ruin the owl had inhabited, and there to be hanged,
but the son, who was ignorant of his father’s magic arts, the Caliph
gave the choice of death or a pinch of snuff. He chose the latter, and
the vizier at once offered him the snuff-box. He took a mighty pinch,
and, the Caliph pronouncing the magic word, he at once became
transformed into a stork. The Caliph had a large cage made for him
which he ordered to be placed in his gardens, and in which Mizra was
confined for the rest of his life.

Long and happily the Caliph lived with his wife, the princess, the
pleasantest hours of the day being when the grand vizier paid his
afternoon call, and they talked together of their curious experiences
as storks, and when the Caliph was in a particularly good humour he
would condescend to imitate the vizier as he looked when a stork: he
would strut stiffly up and down the room, flap his arms as if they
were wings, and bow towards the East, vainly striving to recollect the
forgotten word. This performance gave the Calipha and her children the
greatest delight, but when the Caliph teased the vizier too sorely and
croaked “Mu-Mu-Mu-” for too great a length of time, the vizier would
threaten his master--“I will tell the _Calipha_ what took place
outside the door of the _owl princess’s_ chamber!”




FATIMA’S RESCUE.


The Cadi of Acara had two children named Mustapha and Fatima, who were
the joy and delight of their infirm and ailing father, and who loved
each other very dearly. Mustapha was just two years older than Fatima,
and it was his constant effort to provide pleasure and amusement for
his pretty little sister.

    [Illustration: _He knew a pirate ship had been seen in the
        neighbourhood._ (P. 29.)]

On her sixteenth birthday he gave a little feast for her, to which he
invited all her favourite playfellows. The feast was set out in the
garden, and consisted of the daintiest dishes that could be procured.
After they had partaken of the meal, and when it was nearly evening,
he suggested that he should take them out for a sail upon the water.

Fatima and her friends were delighted, for it was a beautiful evening,
and the view of the town from the water was a particularly fine one.
When Mustapha had sailed the ship for a short time he wished to return
to land; but the girls begged and entreated him to take them a little
further out. He was most unwilling to do this, as he knew a pirate
ship had been seen in the neighbourhood some few days earlier. The
girls, however, were set on sailing out to a point of land that
stretched far out into the sea, for they were anxious to land there in
order to watch the sun set and see the great ball of fire sink down
into the sea.

Just as they reached the point of land, they noticed a barque, manned
with armed men, and Mustapha fearing it might mean danger, ordered the
boat to be turned round and rowed towards land. But the barque pursued
the smaller boat, overtook it and got between it and the land. By this
time the girls began to realise their danger, and so terrified were
they that they shrieked aloud and would not keep their seats in the
boat. In vain Mustapha begged them to sit still, pointing out how
impossible it was to make any way whilst they impeded the movements of
the rowers. As the barque approached, with one accord they rushed to
the opposite side of the boat and their weight overturned it, and in a
moment they were all struggling in the water.

The people on shore had seen what was happening and several boats put
off to assist Mustapha. They were just in time to help rescue the
frightened girls, and at their approach the strange barque sailed
away. At first it was impossible to find out if everyone was safe;
but when the girls were brought ashore it was discovered, alas! that
Fatima and one of her companions were missing. In one of the boats was
a stranger, and on Mustapha questioning him as to how he got there he
owned that he had belonged to the pirate ship. That he had jumped
overboard to come to the assistance of the sinking girls, and that his
comrades had left him in the lurch when they fled from the approaching
boats; but he had had time to see that two of the girls had been
seized by the pirates and carried away in their ship.

The Cadi’s grief knew no bounds, and as for Mustapha, he was beside
himself with sorrow, for not only did he blame himself for the loss of
his beloved sister, but her friend, who had also been taken captive,
had been for a long time past his promised bride, and would have been
his wife already had it not been that her parents were poor and the
Cadi did not think her a suitable match for his son.

Mustapha’s father was a stern old man, and as soon as his grief had
sufficiently subsided he sent for his son and said:

“Owing to your folly, I have been robbed of the joy and consolation of
my old age. Go, I banish you from my sight for ever, and the curse of
your old father shall rest upon your head, unless by some chance you
should be able to rescue Fatima, when I will forgive you and receive
you once more as my son.”

Mustapha had already fully determined to endeavour to rescue his
sister and her friend, but he had intended to seek his father’s
blessing before setting out upon his travels. However, the unjust
treatment he received did but steel his heart and made him the more
determined not to cease from his quest until he had been successful.

He spoke to the man they had captured from the pirate ship, and from
him learned that the vessel was a slaver, and that the human wares
were generally carried to Balsora and there disposed of.

Mustapha decided to travel overland, as there happened to be no ship
sailing just then from his native town, and he wished to reach Balsora
soon after the pirates. He had a good horse and little baggage and so
he reckoned he could do the journey in six days’ time, but alas! upon
the evening of the fourth day, he was set upon quite suddenly by three
men. Seeing that resistance was useless, and supposing the attacking
party merely wanted his horse and money, he decided to surrender,
which he did. The men then dismounted and, taking him in their midst,
rode off with him at great speed.

It seemed to the poor youth that his father’s curse was already about
to light upon him, for he could not think how it would be possible for
him to rescue Fatima and Zoraida, deprived, as he shortly expected to
be, of all means. He and his companions rode silently along for about
an hour; they then turned into a valley, skirted by gigantic trees and
carpeted with soft green turf. A brook gurgled peacefully through the
valley, and beside it some fifteen to twenty tents were pitched,
whilst a number of camels and horses were tethered to the tent-pegs.
The sound of a zither, accompanying two fine manly voices, issued from
one of the tents.

It seemed very improbable that people who had selected such a charming
little spot for their camping place could have very evil intentions,
and so Mustapha took heart and followed his guides quite cheerfully
when, having unbound his feet and bidden him dismount, they led him
into a tent, larger and more richly decorated than any of the others.
The beautiful cushions, embroidered with gold, woven carpets, and
golden dishes, in which sweet perfumes burnt, would elsewhere merely
have betokened wealth and luxury; but in these lonely surroundings
seemed to point to robbery.

On one of the cushions sat a little old man. His face was ugly,
swarthy, and repulsive. A gleam of savage cunning in his eyes and a
cruel look about his mouth gave him a hateful appearance. Although he
seemed to be a person of some importance, Mustapha soon perceived that
the tent had not been so richly decorated on his account, and his
captors’ words confirmed this--“Where is the Chief?” they asked the
little man. “Away hunting,” he replied “but he told me to take his
place during his absence!”

“More the pity,” replied one of the brigands, “for we must soon decide
whether this dog is to die or whether we are to obtain a ransom for
him, and that is a question for the Chief to decide, and not for you
to meddle with.”

    [Illustration: _On one of the cushions sat a little old man._
        (P. 32.)]

The little man raised himself in wrath and attempted to box the ears
of the man who had annoyed him by this speech, but as he could not
reach to do this, he burst into a perfect volley of abuse, and as the
other brigands were not slow to reply, the tent soon resounded with
tones of angry voices.

But the curtains at the entrance to the tent were suddenly lifted and
in came a tall handsome young man, stately and dignified as a Persian
prince. His clothing and weapons were plain and unadorned, with the
exception of a dagger with a richly decorated hilt and a gleaming
sabre. His determined mien and his whole appearance were such as
commanded respect without inspiring terror.

“Who dares to quarrel in my tent?” he demanded of the startled men.

For a moment there was silence and then one of the brigands recounted
all that had happened. The Chief’s face reddened with anger--“When
have I ever set you in my place, Hassan?” he cried, and the little man
seemed to shrink with fear, until he looked smaller than ever. He got
up and began to slink out of the tent, when a good kick from the Chief
sent him flying out of the doorway.

As soon as the little man had disappeared, the three men placed
Mustapha before the master of the tent, who had seated himself upon
the cushions. “We have brought you the man you bade us bring,” they
said. The Chief gazed earnestly at the prisoner and said: “Pasha of
Sulieika, your own conscience will tell you why you are in the
presence of Orbasan.”

On hearing these words Mustapha flung himself at Orbasan’s feet.

“You are in error, my lord,” he said, “I am an unfortunate traveller,
but not the Pasha of Sulieika.”

The brigands appeared to be surprised, but the Chief said:
“Dissimulation will not help you, I can bring witnesses to prove your
identity.” And he thereupon commanded that one Zuleima should be
brought in.

An old woman appeared, and on being questioned as to whether or no the
man before her was the Pasha of Sulieika, she answered immediately
that he was.

“Wretched man,” cried the Chief angrily, “you see how impossible it is
to deceive me. You are not worthy that I should stain my good dagger
with your blood, but to-morrow morning I will have you bound to the
tail of my horse and will go a-hunting with you, till the sun sets
behind the hills of Sulieika.”

Mustapha’s heart sank. “It is my father’s curse that has driven me to
this shameful death,” he cried; “alas, sweet sister, and Zoraida, how
can I ever hope to rescue you now.”

“This pretence is useless,” said one of the brigands, “see, the Chief
bites his lips and feels for his dagger; if you wish to live another
night you had best come with me quickly.” And binding Mustapha’s hands
behind his back he was about to lead him from the tent, when three
other brigands entered, with a prisoner in their midst. “Here, as you
commanded us, we bring you the Pasha of Sulieika,” said one of them,
leading their prisoner before the Chief.

Mustapha glanced at the prisoner and could not but own that there was
a great resemblance between himself and the Pasha, only the other man
was darker in complexion and wore a dark beard.

The Chief was much surprised to see a second prisoner: “Which of you
really is the man I seek?” he asked.

“If you seek the Pasha of Sulieika,” the prisoner answered proudly, “I
am he.”

The Chief regarded him with a stern and terrible look and then made
signs that he was to be led away. This being done, he cut the cords
that bound Mustapha with his dagger and invited him to take a seat by
his side.

“I ask your pardon for the mistake that has occurred,” he said, “but
it was a strange interposition of Providence that placed you in the
hands of my companions at the moment they were lying in wait for that
vile wretch you have just seen.”

Mustapha asked for one favour only as compensation, namely, that he
might be allowed to proceed on his way without further delay, and on
the Chief questioning him as to the reason of his great haste he told
him all. The Chief then persuaded him to remain with him one night at
least, telling him that both he and his horse needed rest, and
promised to show him the next morning a short way by which he would be
able to reach Balsora in a day and a half. Mustapha agreed to this and
after being most hospitably entertained slept soundly all night long
in the robber’s tent.

When he awoke he found himself alone in the tent, but through the
hangings over the doorway he could hear voices, which seemed to
belong to the Robber Chief and the little dark dwarf. He listened
attentively, and to his horror heard the little man advising the Chief
to murder him, as if he were allowed to go free he might betray the
whole troop.

Mustapha could not but perceive that the little man owed him a grudge,
because he had been the cause of the sharp treatment he had received
the previous day. But the Robber Chief, after reflecting a few
moments, said: “No, he is my guest, and as such is sacred to me,
besides which he does not look like a man to betray one.”

He then thrust aside the tent curtains and entered--“Peace be with
thee, Mustapha,” he said, “we will drain a morning draught and then
you should prepare yourself to start.”

    [Illustration: _He listened attentively._ (P. 37.)]

He handed his guest a cup of sherbert, and when they had each drunk,
they saddled their horses and Mustapha mounted and left the camp with
a lighter heart than when he had entered it.

As they left the tents behind them the Chief told his new friend that
the Pasha they had captured the previous day, after having promised
him and his men the free range of his territory, had captured one of
the best and bravest of them and, after torturing him terribly, had
hanged him, and that now he should die himself.

Mustapha did not venture to remonstrate, being only too glad to escape
with a whole skin himself.

When they reached the limit of the forest the Chief drew rein and
offered his hand to Mustapha in farewell:

“Mustapha,” said he, “you have been in somewhat a strange fashion the
guest of the Robber Orbasan. I will not ask you not to betray me, but
trust to you that you will not do so. You have suffered, without
cause, all the pangs of the fear of death, and you deserve some
compensation. Take this dagger and if ever you are in need of help
send it to me and I will hasten to your aid. This purse of gold may
also be of assistance to you on your journey.”

Mustapha thanked him for his generosity, accepted the dagger, but
refused the purse. But Orbasan, having pressed his hand, let the purse
fall to the ground and then set spurs to his horse and rode off at
such speed that Mustapha, seeing it was useless to overtake him,
picked up the purse, and was astonished to find what a quantity of
money it contained. Having thanked Allah for his goodness and
recommended the robber to his protection, he continued his journey in
a much more cheerful mood towards Balsora.

He reached that city on the seventh day of his journey, and as soon as
he had put up at an inn he enquired when the next yearly slave market
was to be held. To his horror and distress he heard that he had
arrived just two days too late for it.

The people sympathised with him over his delay and told him how much
he had lost, for on the very last day of the market two young slaves
had been put up for sale who were so beautiful that there had been
great bidding amongst the people for them, and they fetched such a
high price that only their present master, who was a very rich man,
could afford to buy them.

On making further enquiries as to their appearance he could no longer
doubt they were the two unfortunate girls he was in search of. He also
heard that the man who had bought them was called Thiuli-Kos and lived
forty miles away from Balsora; he was an elderly man who had amassed a
large fortune, and had retired from public affairs and settled down to
enjoy his possessions in peace and quietness.

At first Mustapha thought he would re-mount and try and overtake
Thiuli-Kos, but then he reflected that he could do little, for he was
but a single man against the large retinue Thiuli-Kos would no doubt
have with him, and that it would be impossible to wrest his prey from
him; he therefore thought of another plan. His resemblance to the
Pasha of Sulieika, which well-nigh proved fatal to him, might stand
him in good stead now, and he determined to enter Thiuli-Kos’ house in
that name in order to attempt the rescue of the two girls. He
therefore engaged servants and horses and here Orbasan’s gift of money
assisted him. Having purchased magnificent clothing for himself and
his servants, he set out for Thiuli-Kos’ palace. He reached it in five
days and found it was built on a lovely plain and was so surrounded by
high walls that few of the buildings could be seen from without. He
took the precaution to dye his hair and beard a darker tint, and
coloured his face with the juice of a certain plant he knew of, so
that no one could have supposed he was any other than the real Pasha;
then he sent one of his servants to Thiuli’s palace to ask for a
night’s lodging. The servant returned accompanied by four beautifully
dressed slaves, who led Mustapha’s horse into the courtyard. They
assisted him to alight and led him up a flight of marble steps to
Thiuli.

Thiuli was a jolly old fellow and received Mustapha kindly, and
ordered the best dishes his cook could prepare to be set before him.
After dinner Mustapha turned the conversation to slaves, and the old
man told him of the two beauties he had just lately bought, praising
their appearance loudly, but regretting the fact that they appeared to
be so sad, so that Mustapha retired to bed in high hopes of being soon
able to effect a rescue.

He had been asleep about an hour when he was awakened by the light of
a lamp streaming down upon his eyes. Raising himself on his elbow he
at first believed himself to be still sleeping and dreaming, for
before him stood the same swarthy little dwarf he had seen in
Orbasan’s tent. He carried a lamp in his hand, and a horrid grin
distended his mouth from ear to ear. “What do you want?” asked
Mustapha angrily, as soon as he had convinced himself he was awake.

    [Illustration: _FATIMA’S RESCUE_
      _“He made for the door, screaming lustily for help”_
      (_p. 43_)]

“Don’t disturb yourself,” replied the little man. “I know quite well
why you are here, your noble countenance is not unknown to me, but,
had I not assisted at the hanging of the Pasha of Sulieika I might
have mistaken you for him. But I am here to make a suggestion.”

“First of all tell me why _you_ are here,” said Mustapha.

“Well,” replied the little man. “I did not get on very well with the
Chief, and so I left him. Our last particular quarrel was over you,
and so, Mustapha, it is but fair you should promise me your sister for
a wife, otherwise I will go straight to my new master and tell him who
the Pasha of Sulieika really is.”

Mustapha was beside himself with rage and fear; just as he had thought
himself about to accomplish his design, this wretched little creature
came to frustrate it. There was only one thing to be done, he must
kill the little horror, and he sprang out of bed, meaning to catch
him. But the dwarf had guessed what might happen and was prepared for
him. Dropping his lamp, he made for the door, screaming lustily for
help.

Mustapha was now in sad straits and all present hope of rescuing the
two girls was at an end; he had to think only of his own safety. He
looked out of the window and found it was some distance from the
ground and that there was a high wall he would have to scale as well.
However, as he stood considering, he heard voices approaching, and
just as the door was about to be burst open he jumped from the window,
ran across the courtyard and, climbing the wall nimbly, had soon left
his enemies behind. He never stopped running until he had reached the
shelter of a wood, and then he threw himself down quite exhausted, to
try and think what he should do next. Of course he had lost his horses
and his servants, having left them behind him at Thiuli’s house, but
he still had a good sum of Orbasan’s money in his girdle.

Very soon he had invented another plan to save his sister. He
continued his way through the wood until he reached a village, where
he purchased a horse at a low price which speedily carried him to a
town. Here he sought out a physician and offered him several pieces of
gold on consideration that he would concoct a draught which would give
all the semblance of death without harming the patient, and another
draught to counteract the effect of the first. Having made his
bargain, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all sorts of
phials which a physician would be likely to have. He strapped his
baggage on the back of an ass and retraced his steps to Thiuli’s
house.

He was so changed in appearance that he scarcely knew himself, and had
little fear of being recognised by Thiuli-Kos or anyone else. He
arrived at the palace and announced himself as the physician
Chakamankabudibaba. Everything happened as he wished it to do. The old
man was so taken by his high-sounding name that he at once asked him
to enter and take a seat at his table.

After some conversation, in which Mustapha managed to give the
impression that he was a very learned man, Thiuli said he would take
this opportunity of having all his slaves examined and ascertain the
state of their health. Mustapha was overjoyed to think that he was so
soon to see his beloved sister again, but in this he was mistaken.
Thiuli conducted him to his seraglio, it is true, but when they
reached a splendidly-furnished room there was no one in it. “Chambaba,
or whatever your name may be, dear doctor,” said Thiuli, “behold this
opening in the wall. Through this each of my slaves shall pass her arm
and you can feel her pulse, and ascertain the state of her health.”
Mustapha made some objection to this arrangement, but Thiuli would not
consent to alter it, only he did consent to give a few hints as to the
previous state of their healths.

    [Illustration: _The slave slipped her hand through the opening._
        (P. 46.)]

Drawing a strip of paper from his girdle Thiuli now began to call out
the names of his slaves, and as he called the slave who answered to
the name slipped her hand through the opening.

Six times had Mustapha felt the pulses and pronounced six slaves in
good health, and then came the name of Fatima.

Trembling with joy Mustapha grasped the little white hand and then,
with a grave air, pronounced the patient to be very ill.

Thiuli was very much concerned and asked the wise Chakamankabudibaba
to prepare a medicine for her which could not fail to cure her.
Mustapha left the room and wrote the following message: “Fatima, I
will save you if you will consent to the following plan. I will give
you a draught which will make you appear dead for two days; I have
another draught in my possession which will restore you. If you
consent, pretend that the simple draught I will send you has been of
no avail; I shall know this is a sign that you agree and will see that
the more potent draught is given you next.”

He soon returned to the room, where Thiuli awaited him, bringing with
him a harmless draught which he handed to Fatima. He felt her pulse
once more, and managed at the same time to slip the little note under
her bracelet; Thiuli was so distressed about Fatima’s illness that he
thought of no one else, and put off the medical examination of the
other slaves until a more convenient season.

When he and Mustapha had left the room he said to him sorrowfully:
“Chadibaba, tell me frankly what you think of Fatima’s state.”

“Alas!” answered the wise physician, heaving a deep sigh: “may the
prophet give you consolation for I cannot. Fatima is suffering from a
malignant fever from which I am afraid she will not recover.” Far from
appreciating the plain speaking he had begged for, Thiuli flew into a
great rage--“You wretched quack,” cried he, “do you mean to say that
the slave for whom I paid two thousand gold pieces is to die like an
old cow? Take note, if you do not manage to save her life I will have
you beheaded.”

Mustapha saw that he had made a mistake and tried to reassure Thiuli.

Just then a black slave came to tell the physician that the medicine
had done no good. “Exert your whole skill, Chakamdababelda or whatever
your name may be, I will make it worth your while to cure her,”
shrieked Thiuli, almost weeping to think of the possible loss of his
two thousand gold pieces.

“I will give her a draught that is almost certain to relieve her,”
answered Mustapha.

“Yes, yes,” sobbed the old man, “by all means give her another
draught.”

Well pleased, Mustapha slipped away to fetch the sleeping draught,
which he gave to the black slave to give to Fatima. Then, saying that
he needed to gather a few healing herbs which grew on the banks of the
lake, he hurried out of the palace.

As soon as he reached the bank he took off his disguise and cast it
into the water, where it floated gaily about, then he hid himself in
some bushes and waited for the approach of night, when he went and hid
himself in the burial place attached to Thiuli’s palace.

Mustapha had scarcely been gone an hour when the black slave came and
informed Thiuli that Fatima seemed at the point of death. The old man
at once sent his servants to fetch the doctor, but they returned
shortly, saying that he had undoubtedly fallen into the water and been
drowned, for his black robe was floating upon the surface, and every
now and again they had seen his grey beard bobbing up and down. Thiuli
raved like a madman, tore his beard and beat his head against the
wall, but all to no purpose, for shortly afterwards Fatima breathed
her last.

As soon as Thiuli heard that she was really dead he ordered her to be
taken away to the burial place, for he could not bear having a dead
person in the house. The servants who bore her there did but place her
on the ground and run away, for they heard such dismal sighs and
groans that they were afraid. Of course it was Mustapha who had
frightened the servants, and as soon as they were out of the way he
came out from his hiding place and examined the girl he supposed to be
his sister. What was his horror to find that the girl who lay in the
death-like trance bore no resemblance to Fatima whatever, but was a
complete stranger.

When he had a little recovered from his disappointment he reflected it
would be cruel to leave the poor girl in the state she was in, and so
he uncorked the phial he had brought containing the antidote and
poured the medicine down her throat. At once she opened her eyes and
began to breathe freely, but it was some little time before she could
remember where she was and what had happened; but when she did she
flung herself at Mustapha’s feet and thanked him for having rescued
her from her horrible captivity. Mustapha questioned her as to how it
chanced that he had saved her instead of his sister Fatima.

    [Illustration: _He poured the medicine down her throat._
        (P. 48.)]

She looked at him for some moments in surprise.

“Now I begin to understand to what chance I owe my deliverance,” she
said at length. “Since I have been in Thiuli’s house I have been
called Fatima, which I understand is your sister’s name.”

After some little conversation Mustapha discovered that Fatima and
Zoraida were in the palace, but that, according to Thiuli’s custom, he
had given them new names when they became his property, and they were
now called Mirza and Nurmahal.

Fatima, the rescued slave, could not but see how disappointed Mustapha
was that he had failed in his attempt to carry off his sister, and she
did all she could to encourage him to make a further effort, telling
him that she had a plan which might prove successful.

So Mustapha took heart and questioned her as to how he should set
about his task.

“I have been a slave in Thiuli’s house for the last five months,” she
said, “and from the first day thought out a means of escape, but it
was too difficult to carry out unaided. In the inner courtyard you may
have noticed a fine fountain, which casts its water on high from no
less than ten different jets. Now there was a similar fountain in my
father’s garden, which was fed by water conducted to it by an
underground passage, and I wished to find out if Thiuli’s fountain was
supplied in a similar manner. So one day I began to praise it to
Thiuli and to say what a clever builder he must have had to design it.
‘I designed it myself,’ said he, well pleased, ‘and what you see is
not the most wonderful part about it, for the water has to be brought
here from a distance of a thousand feet at least. I had a lofty arched
underground passage built from my courtyard to a brook and I had the
waters of the brook turned into this passage, through which it now
flows and supplies my fountain with water. I designed and
superintended the building of the whole thing myself.’

“After hearing this I longed for the strength of a man that I might be
able to raise one of the stones in the courtyard, reach the
underground passage, and be free. I can show you the direction in
which this passage lies and by it you can one night obtain entrance to
the palace; but you will need one or two men to assist you, for you
will have to overpower the black slaves who keep watch over the
quarters where the women slaves are kept.”

In spite of the fact that he had already had two failures Mustapha
once more took heart, trusting that Allah would allow him to carry out
successfully the plan of Fatima the slave girl. He promised her that
he would arrange for her to reach her own home when he had rescued the
others, as a reward for lending him her assistance in gaining an
entrance to the palace.

His principal anxiety was how he should obtain the assistance of two
or three men. Suddenly he remembered Orbasan’s dagger and the promise
the Robber Chief had made that he would come to his aid if ever he
were in need of help.

So he made haste to leave the burial place and, taking Fatima with
him, returned to the town in which he had purchased his physician’s
disguise, and placed the girl in the charge of a poor but respectable
woman.

Then, with the last of Orbasan’s money he bought a horse, and set out
once more for the robber’s dwelling place. He reached it in three
days’ time, and, although an unexpected guest, was none the less a
welcome one.

He told Orbasan of his unsuccessful attempts to rescue his sister, and
in spite of the gravity of the situation Orbasan could not refrain
from laughing as he pictured his friend decked out as the physician
Chakamankabudibaba. But he was enraged to hear of the treachery of the
dwarf, and vowed he would hang him with his own hands, as soon as he
could catch him. He promised Mustapha that as soon as he was rested
and refreshed he would return with him and help him to carry out his
designs.

Accordingly on the following morning, Mustapha and Orbasan,
accompanied by three of the latter’s bravest men, set out for the
little town where Mustapha had left the rescued Fatima. They rode so
fast that they reached it in two days’ time and, calling for Fatima,
who was to show them the way, rode on to a little wood not far from
Thiuli’s palace. Here they hid themselves until nightfall and then
Fatima led the way to the brook which supplied the fountain. Very soon
they found the entrance to the underground passage and prepared to
descend. One of the men was left in charge of Fatima and the horses,
and the rescued slave repeated her directions--They were to traverse
the passage until they came to the pipes which supplied the fountain;
having raised one of the flag-stones they would find themselves in the
inner courtyard. They would see two towers to right and left of them
and, passing through the sixth door from the right hand tower, they
would come into the room where the real Fatima and Zoraida were shut
up, watched by two black slaves.

    [Illustration: _Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through
        the opening._ (P. 55.)]

So, well-armed and carrying crowbars with them, Mustapha, Orbasan, and
two other men climbed down into the underground passage. The water in
the passage reached to their middles, but they were nevertheless able
to move briskly forward. In half an hour’s time they had reached the
end of the passage, immediately below the fountain, and then they
began to use their crowbars. The stone-work was thick and very strong,
but the efforts of the four men at length succeeded in forcing an
opening sufficiently large for a man to crawl through.

Orbasan crept through first and gave a hand to the others, and when
they all four stood in the courtyard they gazed around them in order
to determine which of the doors was the one described to them.

But they were somewhat perplexed, for on counting from the right hand
tower they found that one door had been walled up, and they were not
sure whether Fatima had meant them to count this door or not.

But Orbasan did not hesitate long. “My good sword can open any door
for me,” he said, and advanced towards the one he imagined to be the
right one.

On opening the door they discovered six black slaves lying fast
asleep. They would have retreated silently, as they saw they had come
to the wrong door, but a figure in the corner raised itself, and a
well-known voice began to shriek for help. It was the little dwarf
from Orbasan’s camp.

But before the black slaves knew what was happening Orbasan had seized
the little man; tearing his girdle into pieces he stuffed part of it
down his throat, and with the rest he tied his hands behind his back,
then he turned his attention to the slaves, several of whom had been
bound and gagged by Mustapha and the two robbers; in a few moments
they were completely overpowered, but were told their lives would be
spared on condition that they told where Mirza and Nurmahal were to be
found.

They confessed that they were in the adjoining room, and on Mustapha
hurrying in he found both Fatima and Zoraida, who had been awakened by
the noise.

Hurriedly snatching up their jewels and their clothing they followed
Mustapha out of the palace. The robbers wished to take some plunder
with them, but Orbasan forbade it, declaring that it should never be
said of Orbasan that he broke into houses by night like a common
thief.

Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through the opening in the
courtyard into the underground passage, Orbasan promising to follow
him immediately, but before doing so he and one of the robbers took
the little dwarf and, leading him into the courtyard, hanged him with
a silken rope, which they had brought expressly for the purpose, to
the topmost point of the fountain.

Having so punished the treachery of the wretched little creature, they
also got down into the watercourse and followed Mustapha and the
girls.

Fatima and Zoraida, with tears in their eyes, would have thanked their
noble rescuer for having saved them from a miserable existence, but he
bade them waste no time on words, for it was quite likely that
Thiuli-Kos would, before long, discover his loss and pursue them.

It was with a deep feeling of gratitude that, on the following day,
Mustapha and the girls bade Orbasan farewell, vowing that they would
never forget him. Fatima, the girl who had been first rescued, was
carefully disguised, and then sent to Balsora and put on board a boat
which would carry her to her own home.

After a short and most successful voyage Mustapha and the two girls
arrived home, and the joy of the old Cadi to see his dearly-loved
daughter once again was beyond all expression.

He gave a great feast to which he invited all his relations and
friends, to whom he made Mustapha relate all his adventures.

When he had finished speaking the Cadi solemnly revoked the curse he
had put upon his son’s head, and taking Zoraida’s hand he placed it in
that of Mustapha. “Take her,” he said, “as a reward for your unwearied
perseverance, and take also the blessing of your aged father, whose
earnest wish is that our city may never lack men who, like you,
combine tender brotherly affection with wisdom and perseverance.”




THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK.


In Nicea, which is my native place, there once lived a little man,
named Mouk. I remember him very well indeed, although I was but a
youngster at the time, for I once received a good sound thrashing from
my father on his account.

In spite of the fact that he was already an old man, he was but three
or four feet in height, and presented a most extraordinary appearance,
for although his body was small and delicate he carried a head upon
his shoulders that was larger than that of any full-grown man.

    [Illustration: _Little Mouk._]

He lived quite by himself and did all his own work. Had it not been
for the fact that every mid-day the smoke rose in thick volumes from
his chimney, folks would scarcely have known if he were alive or dead,
for he left his house but once in four weeks. It is true that he
walked up and down upon the flat roof of his house most evenings, but
he was so short that his body could not be seen, and so the story got
about that it was his head alone which promenaded upon the house-top.

I am afraid that I and my playmates were bad boys who loved to tease
and worry anyone we could, and we reckoned it rare fun when the time
came round for little Mouk to take his monthly walk abroad. We waited
outside his house for him, and as soon as his big head, surmounted by
an enormous turban, appeared, we threw our caps in the air and shouted
for joy. The head and turban always came out first, and the tiny
little body which followed was clad in a shabby little cloak, wide
trousers and a broad girdle; attached to the latter was a long dagger,
so much out of proportion to the size of his body that it was
difficult to tell at a first glance whether Mouk was fastened to the
dagger or the dagger to him.

In spite of the fact that we naughty boys danced round him like young
maniacs, Mouk always bowed to us with great gravity, and walked down
the street with a dignified air, dragging his poor little feet,
encased in huge loose slippers, laboriously after him.

We had made up a little rhyme which we sang as we danced around him.
It was as follows:

    “Little Mouk, we know you well,
    In a great big house you dwell,
    Only once a month you go
    For a walk with footsteps slow.
    Though you’re but a dwarf, ’tis said,
    You’ve a mountain for a head,
    Turn around and take a look,
    Run and catch us, little Mouk.”

I am ashamed to say I was one of the worst of the tormentors of the
poor little man. I would twitch his cloak, and once I went behind him
and trod on his huge slipper, thus causing him to fall. This seemed a
fine joke to me; but I ceased to laugh, when I saw him turn towards my
father’s house. He went in and remained there some time. I hid myself
behind the door and watched until he came out again.

He was accompanied by my father, who held his hand and bowed
repeatedly and most respectfully to him as he took his leave.

I must confess that I felt very uneasy upon seeing this and remained a
long time in my hiding place, but at length hunger, which I disliked
even worse than a thrashing, forced me to come out, and I stole into
my father’s presence, shame-faced and with bowed head.

“I hear you have been playing your pranks upon the good little Mouk,”
said my father in stern tones. “I am now about to tell you his story,
after which I am quite sure you will never wish to mock and annoy him
again; but first I must punish you for the offence you have committed,
in the usual way.”

The usual way meant five-and-twenty strokes with the stem of his long
pipe. Having unscrewed the amber mouth-piece, he used it to give me
the sound thrashing I so richly deserved.

He did not spare me a single stroke, but when he had finished he
ordered me to pay attention whilst he related the story of Little
Mouk.

“The father of little Mouk, whose real name is Mukrah, was a highly
respected, though poor man, who also lived here in Nicea.

“He was almost as much of a hermit as his son is. Unfortunately he
could not bring himself to love his son, for he was ashamed of his
dwarfish figure, and consequently he would not have him educated.

“Little Mouk was still but a merry child when he had reached the age
of sixteen years, and his father, who was a stern man, scolded him
frequently for being so foolish and full of tricks when he had passed
the age of childhood.

“But one day the old man had a bad fall and hurt himself so much that
he died, leaving poor ignorant little Mouk to fight his way in the
world as best he could.

“His unkind relations, who had lent the dead man money which he would
now never be able to repay them, turned the poor little fellow out of
doors, advising him to seek his fortune abroad.

“Little Mouk expressed himself as quite ready for his travels; but
begged that he might be allowed to take his father’s clothes with him,
and to this they consented.

“Now his father had been a fine tall man, so the clothes did not fit
little Mouk, but this did not worry him. He cut them down in length
and put them on, quite forgetting that they required taking in in the
width as well. This is the reason of his extraordinary appearance, for
the large turban, the broad girdle, the wide trousers and the blue
mantle are all heirlooms of his father, which he has always worn.

“The dagger, too, was his father’s; this he stuck in the girdle when
he set out upon his way, with his staff in hand.

“Happy and well content he wandered along. If he spied a piece of
broken glass glittering in the sunshine, he put it in his pocket
believing it was a diamond.

“If he saw the distant cupolas of a mosque shining like fire, or the
sea stretched before him as smooth as a mirror, he hurried along
thinking for sure he was coming to an enchanted country. But alas! the
magic pictures changed as he approached them, and all too soon his
weariness and empty stomach reminded him that he was still in the land
of mortals.

“Thus he wandered on for two whole days and nights, hungry, weary, and
dejected, in search of a fortune he began to fear he would never find.
The wild fruits were his only food and the hard earth was his bed. On
the third morning, from the top of a high hill, he saw a large town.

“He could see the glittering crescent and bright coloured flags upon
the roofs and it seemed to little Mouk that they beckoned him nearer.
He stood a few moments watching the town and its surroundings in
surprise. ‘There will little Mouk make his fortune if anywhere,’ he
said, and in spite of his fatigue he jumped for joy, then summoning
all his strength he began to walk towards the city. But although it
appeared so close he did not reach it until mid-day, for his poor
little legs almost refused their office, so that he was obliged to
rest frequently in the shade of a palm tree. But at length he reached
the city gate. He shook out his mantle, re-arranged his turban, spread
out his girdle and set his dagger jauntily in it, then, wiping the
dust from his shoes, he strode bravely into the city.

“He had wandered through several streets, but nowhere had a door been
opened to him, nowhere had the folks called out to him as he had
imagined they would: ‘Come in, little Mouk, come in, eat drink, and
rest your weary little legs.’

“But as he glanced longingly at a fine large house opposite him, a
window opened and an old woman popped her head out and began calling
out in sing-song tones:

    “‘Come everyone,
    The food is done,
    Decked is the cloth,
    Come taste the broth,
    Ye neighbours all
    Come to my call!’

The house-door opened and little Mouk saw many cats and dogs enter. He
stood a moment in doubt as to whether he should answer the invitation,
but at length he took courage and went in. A pair of young cats
trotted along before him and he decided to follow them, guessing they
knew the way to the kitchen better than he did.

    [Illustration: _THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK._
      _“He decided to follow them.”_]

“When Mouk reached the top of the staircase he saw the old woman who
had looked out of the window. She looked at him sulkily and asked
what he wanted--‘I heard you inviting everyone to partake of your
food,’ answered little Mouk, ‘and came in too, because I was so
hungry.’

“The old woman laughed: ‘Where do you come from, you queer little
fellow?’ she asked. ‘Why, everyone in the town knows that I only cook
for my beloved cats, and now and again I invite a few guests to feast
with them, as you saw just now.’ Little Mouk told what a hard lot his
had been since his father’s death and begged her to let him partake of
her cats’ food for once. The old woman seemed pleased with the
truthfulness of the little fellow and gave him a plentiful supply of
food and drink.

“When he had satisfied his hunger the old woman looked at him for some
time and then said: ‘Little Mouk, would you like to enter my service?
If you would you shall have little trouble and be well paid for your
work.’

“Little Mouk, who had enjoyed the cats’ broth, consented, and entered
the service of Madam Ahavzi. His work was light but very curious.

“Madam Ahavzi had in all six cats, and little Mouk was expected to
brush their fur and anoint them with sweet-smelling essences. When
their mistress was out he had to take charge of them. When they took
their meals it was his task to set the dishes before them, and at
night he was expected to put them to bed on silken cushions and cover
them with velvet coverlets.

“There were also several little dogs in the house for him to take
care of; but there was not so much fuss made over them as over the
cats, which Madam Ahavzi treated as her own children.

“On the whole Mouk’s life was as solitary as it had been in his
father’s house, for besides the old woman he saw no living creature
but the cats and dogs.

“For some time all went well and little Mouk had plenty to eat and
little to do, and the old woman was quite pleased and contented with
him, but by-and-by the cats were naughty. When the old woman went out
they jumped about the room, upset all manner of things and broke one
or two valuable ornaments which happened to be in their way. But the
moment they heard the old woman’s step on the stairs they crept back
to their cushions and waved their tails to and fro as though nothing
had happened.

“Madam Ahavzi flew into a violent rage when she saw what a state the
room was in and laid the blame on Mouk, and it was useless for him to
excuse himself; she believed her innocent-looking cats rather than her
servant.

“Little Mouk was very sad to think that his misfortunes had overtaken
him again and he determined to quit his mistress’ service.

“But as he had discovered on his first journey that it is very
unpleasant to be without money, he determined to try and help himself
to wages, which his mistress had always promised but never yet given
him. There was a room in the house which was always kept locked and
the interior of which he had never seen, but he had often heard the
old woman in it, and dearly wished to know what was hidden there. As
he now sat wondering where the money for his journey was to come from,
it occurred to him that the closed room might contain the old woman’s
treasures, but alas! the door was locked and he was unable to get in.

“One morning, when Madam Ahavzi had gone out, one of the little dogs,
which had never been treated very kindly by her, but which little Mouk
had petted and paid great attention to, came and pulled his wide
trousers and made signs to Mouk to follow him.

“Mouk, who had always been fond of playing with the little dog,
followed it, and it led him into the bedroom of his mistress and
showed him a little door he had never seen before. The door was ajar,
and Mouk entering found himself in the room he had so long wished to
enter. He peered about in every corner to see if he could find any
money, but all in vain. Nothing but old clothes and strangely-shaped
vases were lying about. One of these attracted his attention, for it
was of crystal and had a number of beautiful figures engraved upon it.
He took it up to examine it, but alas, to his horror, it had a cover
which he had not noticed and which slipped off and broke into a
thousand pieces.

    [Illustration: _Seeing an enormous pair of slippers, he made up
        his mind to take them._ (P. 66.)]

“For some moments he was rooted to the spot with terror. His fate was
now decided, for if he did not run away he was quite certain the old
woman would kill him. He took a glance around to see which of the old
woman’s possessions would be most useful to him upon his journey.
Seeing an enormous pair of slippers, he made up his mind to take them,
for his own shoes were worn out; moreover it was quite certain that
with the big slippers on, no one could accuse him of still standing in
his childhood’s shoes, so he quickly exchanged shoes, took a fine
walking stick, which had a handle carved in the form of a lion’s head,
and going to his own room donned the turban and cloak that had been
his father’s, and left the house and town as fast as his legs could
carry him. Once outside the town he still continued running, for he
was afraid the old woman would overtake and punish him; but at length
he grew very weary, for his little body had to support such a large
head that he was soon overcome with fatigue. But when he would have
stopped he could not, the big shoes kept urging him on, and he guessed
at length they must be magic shoes. He did not know how to prevent
them dragging him along, but, driven to despair, he cried out, as
though to a pair of restive horses, ‘Stop, stop, oh! stop,’ and the
slippers immediately stopped and Mouk threw himself upon the ground
quite worn out.

“He was delighted with the slippers, for, after all, he felt he had
gained something for his work which would probably assist him on in
the world and help him to make his fortune. But in spite of his
pleasure fatigue overcame him and he fell asleep and dreamt. In his
dream the little dog, which had assisted him in obtaining the
slippers, appeared to him and said, ‘Dear Mouk, you do not seem to
quite understand the use of the slippers. Turn round on the heel, when
you have them on, three times, and you will then be able to fly
wherever you please. With the little stick you will be able to find
treasure, for wherever gold is buried it will strike the earth three
times and where silver is buried twice.’ Such was little Mouk’s dream,
and when he awoke he determined to make a trial in order to discover
if the dream had any truth in it. He put on the slippers and, lifting
one foot in the air, turned round on the heel of the other. But it was
a difficult task and the poor little fellow’s enormous head dragged
him sometimes this way and sometimes the other, so that he fell over
two or three times before he finally succeeded. But succeed he did,
and then, wishing himself to be transported to the nearest town, he
found himself raised in the air and flying through the clouds like the
wind, and before he could grasp what was happening he was in a market
place, where many booths had been set up and where innumerable people
were running to and fro.

“He went in and out among them, but presently decided to seek a
quieter street, for in the crowded market folks constantly trod upon
his big slippers and nearly threw him down, or else his long dagger
stuck into the people and he then had some difficulty in avoiding the
blows rained upon him.

“Little Mouk now began to set his wits to work as to how he was to
earn a piece of money. It is true that he had a staff which could
discover hidden treasure, but where could he find a place all in a
moment where gold and silver lay hidden?

“He might have exhibited himself in a booth and received money for it,
but was too proud to do so. Then it struck him his swift running might
be the means of earning him a livelihood and decided to offer his
services as a courier.

“Thinking it likely that the king might pay the highest sum for such
service, he enquired the way to the palace.

“By the palace gateway stood a guard, who asked what he wanted. Upon
replying that he wished for work he was sent to the overseer of the
slaves. He repeated his request, adding that he wished for a post
amongst the royal messengers. The overseer looked him all over from
head to foot and said, ‘How is it possible that you with your tiny
little limbs, scarcely a span long, could become a courier? Away with
you, I am not here to waste my time with fools.’

“But little Mouk assured him he was not joking and offered to run a
race for a wager with their swiftest runner.

“The overseer was amused, and told him to hold himself in readiness
to run a race that very evening, then, taking him into the kitchen, he
ordered him to be supplied with plenty to eat and drink.

    [Illustration: _He found himself flying through the clouds._
        (P. 67.)]

“Then he went into the king’s presence and told him about the funny
little man and the request he had made.

“The king was a merry gentleman and was therefore well pleased that
little Mouk had been kept to make a joke for him.

“He ordered stands to be set up in a large meadow behind the palace,
so that the racing could be viewed in comfort by all the royal
household, and he also said that the greatest care was to be taken of
the dwarf.

“The king told the prince and princess of the spectacle that was to be
provided for their entertainment, they told their servants, and so, as
the evening approached, everyone was in a state of pleased expectancy
and everyone that had a leg to stand upon was hurrying to the meadow
to see the boastful dwarf run a race.

“When the king and his sons and daughters had taken their seats,
little Mouk appeared and made a deep obeisance to the distinguished
company.

“A shout of merriment greeted the uncouth little figure, for the
people had never seen such a sight before.

“The little body, surmounted by the huge head, and clothed in the
mantle, the wide trousers, the long dagger stuck in the broad girdle,
and the tiny feet in the big slippers, oh! altogether he looked too
funny for anything, and roar after roar of laughter went up.

“But Mouk was not in the least put out by the laughter. He stood
leaning proudly upon his little staff and waited for his adversary.
The overseer of the slaves, according to Monk’s request, had selected
the very best runner in the kingdom, and he now stepped forward and
placed himself beside the little man and both awaited the signal to
start. Then the Princess Amarza waved her veil, which was the signal
for the start agreed upon, and, like two arrows aimed at the same
target, the runners shot forward across the meadow.

“Mouk’s adversary had the advantage to begin with; but the little man,
arrayed in the magic slippers, soon overtook him, passed him, and
reached the winning post long before the other came in, gasping for
breath.

“The spectators were at first too much overcome with surprise and
admiration to give vent to applause, but no sooner did the king
commence to clap his hands than the whole multitude followed his
example and shouted--‘Bravo, little Mouk, long life to the winner of
the race.’

“When little Mouk was brought before the king he bowed to him and
said: ‘Sire, I have given you a small proof of what I am able to
accomplish, I pray you now grant me a position as courier to your
Majesty.’

“‘Your request is granted,’ replied the king. ‘Not only shall you be
one of my couriers, but I will grant you a place near my own person
and you shall receive a yearly wage of a hundred gold pieces.’

“Mouk now thought his fortune must surely be made. From that time he
was employed constantly by the king to undertake all messages of
importance and secrecy, and as he performed his duties with
conscientiousness and speed he continued to gain the king’s favour.
But the king’s courtiers were all jealous of him, for they could not
bear that their master should prefer a dwarf to them, and they made
many plans to oust him from the royal favour, none of which succeeded.

“It grieved little Mouk that he should be the object of their anger
and he made up his mind to perform some act of kindness to them which
would reconcile them to him. It was then he remembered his staff, and
he thought to himself that if he could discover a hidden treasure that
would probably benefit them all, he would surely endear himself to
them.

“So whenever he went out he took his staff in his hand, for he
remembered to have heard that the father of the present king had
buried a great deal of his treasure and had died before he could
manage to tell his son where it was hidden.

“One evening chance led him into a part of the palace gardens that was
but seldom used, and suddenly he felt his staff strike the ground
three times. He knew well what that betokened and so, drawing his
dagger from his girdle, he cut signs in the neighbouring trees, so
that he might recognise the spot again, returned to the castle, and,
as soon as night fell, went back to the spot carrying a spade with
him.

“The little dwarf had set himself a weary task, for his arms were weak
and the spade was heavy, and he dug for a couple of hours at least
before he felt the spade strike against some metal. Jumping into the
hole he had dug he found he had unearthed a pot full of golden coins.
He was not strong enough to lift the pot from the earth, but he
filled his pockets with as many coins as he could carry and the next
day, thinking to please his servants and companions, he distributed
the money liberally amongst them.

    [Illustration: _THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK_
      _“He had unearthed a pot full of golden coins”_
      (_p. 72_)]

“Alas! poor little Mouk, he had better have run off with it and left
the kingdom, for now he did but rouse their envy.

“One declared he must be a magician, another said he had helped
himself from the king’s treasures, for a sum of money had lately been
missing, and they one and all agreed that they would conspire together
and see if they could not deprive him of the king’s favour.

“So one day the cup-bearer, who was a particular enemy of Mouk’s
entered the king’s presence and begged to know how he had offended his
royal master.

“The king looked at him in astonishment. ‘You have not offended me,’
said he, ‘I don’t understand what you are talking about.’

“‘Oh pardon me, your Majesty,’ said the man, ‘but do you not load the
dwarf Mouk with treasures, whilst to me you have not given a single
gold piece?’

“The king was surprised, for he knew he had given Mouk no money; but
the treasurer who was present, and who had cause to know that certain
sums were missing from the treasury, added his story to that of the
cup-bearer.

“They told the king that Mouk always had more money than he knew how
to spend, and the treasurer suggested that Mouk had stolen it from
his royal master.

“So the king ordered spies to be set to watch the little man in order
that they might try and catch him in the act of stealing.

“The following night little Mouk, who had generously given away all
his money, stole out to the garden with his staff and spade to find
more treasure.

“It was not long before he discovered another pot of gold, and had
just uncovered it and begun to fill his mantle with coins, when his
enemies fell upon him, bound him hand and foot, and led him before the
king. They unearthed the pot of gold and carried that with them too.

“The king was not in a very good temper, for he had been awakened from
his sleep, and so his poor little courier got a very bad reception.

“The wicked men who had caught Mouk now began to accuse him of having
stolen the pot of money, declaring they caught him in the act of
burying it in the earth. The king asked the accused what he had to say
for himself, and bade him tell how he came by so much money.

“Little Mouk, knowing his own innocence, told the king boldly that he
had found the pot in the garden and that he had been digging it out,
not burying it.

“All present laughed loudly at the impudence of the little dwarf in
making such a foolish excuse. But the king was furious. ‘You wretched
little thief,’ he cried, ‘how dare you lie to me in this barefaced
manner, after having robbed me, too.’ Then he asked his treasurer if
it were true that a sum such as had been found with the dwarf really
were missing from the treasury.

“Of course the treasurer declared that not only that sum, but more
still had been missing, from time to time, and that he was absolutely
certain that it had been stolen.

“The king commanded that little Mouk should be heavily chained and
shut up in a prison in the tower, and the king bade the treasurer
carry the pot of gold away and count it carefully and put it back into
the treasury.

“The dishonest man carried the pot home and counted out the gold, and
when he came to the bottom of the pot he found a paper on which was
written:--

“‘An enemy has over-run my land and I am forced to bury my treasures.
Whoever finds this must carry it to my son or else the curse of a king
will rest upon him--Signed, King Said.’

“This paper the treasurer did _not_ show to his master.

“Poor little Mouk was in sad straits and wearied his brain trying to
think of a way out of his trouble.

“He knew that to rob the king was usually punished by death, and yet
he could not make up his mind to tell the secret of his magic slippers
and staff, guessing rightly that they would probably be taken from
him. His slippers were of no use to him now, for he was chained
closely to the wall, and think as he would he could hit upon no plan
by means of which he could escape.

“The following day, however, he was informed that sentence of death
had been passed upon him, and he made up his mind that as the magic
staff would certainly be of no benefit to him when he was dead, he
might as well sacrifice it to save his head. So he asked to be allowed
to speak in private to the king and then told him the secret.

“The king had little faith in the story, but he decided to put Mouk to
the proof and, unknown to the dwarf, a sum of money was buried in the
earth. Mouk was released and shortly afterwards had found the money,
for the staff struck the ground three times just over the spot where
it was buried. The king knew now that his treasurer had deceived him,
and sent him a silken rope, as a hint that if he did not hang himself,
he would promptly be seized and led to the gallows, for monarchs in
the Eastern countries show their erring servants scant mercy.

“Now the king had promised to spare Mouk’s life if he could prove his
innocence; but having discovered the secret of the staff, he began to
suspect that there was some magic connected with the marvellous
running powers the little man possessed, and so he declared that,
unless Mouk instantly disclosed the secret, though he would spare his
life, as he had promised, Mouk would be sent to perpetual
imprisonment.

“Little Mouk, who had had enough of prison life during the short time
he had been shut up in the tower, confessed that his speed had nothing
to do with himself, but was given him by the magic slippers. He did
not, however, tell him the secret of turning round on his heel three
times.

    [Illustration: _The king slipped into the shoes and commenced
        running round the garden._ (P. 79.)]

“The king slipped into the shoes and commenced running round the
garden like mad. He ran and ran until he was exhausted, for little
Mouk could not deny himself this small revenge and did not tell him
how to make the shoes cease running, and so the king went on and on
until he fell down in a faint.

“As soon as the king regained consciousness he commenced to abuse
little Mouk in no measured terms. ‘I promise you life and pardon,’
said he, ‘but unless you are out of my kingdom in less than twelve
hours, I will go back upon my word and have you hanged.’

“He then walked off, carrying little Mouk’s magic shoes and wand with
him, and these he shut up at once in his treasure chamber.

“As for the poor little fellow, he went out of the country just as
poor as he came into it, blaming his own folly in having supposed he
was suited to life at court.

“As the country he had been in was not of very vast dimensions he
found himself upon the borders of it within a week, but after having
been used to the magic shoes he found it very troublesome to be
obliged to walk.

“Once across the border little Mouk sought out the woods and took up
his abode in the most solitary and forsaken situation he could find,
for he was tired of the ways of men and wished to dwell alone.

“He threw himself down upon the soft green grass beside a clear
brooklet, in the waters of which were reflected the green fig trees
which grew in abundance upon the bank. He made up his mind that he
would never taste any food again, for he thought he was tired of life
and wished to die. However, he fell asleep, and when he awoke he felt
so terribly hungry that he decided that death by starvation would not
be a pleasant one and got up to search for something to eat.

“Delicious ripe figs hung upon the tree beneath which he had fallen
asleep and he climbed up it and plucked some fruit. It tasted so good
that he had a fine feast, and then climbed down in order to take a
drink of water from the stream, but what was his horror when he saw
his reflection in the water, for his head was adorned with two
enormous ears, and a huge, long, thick nose. He put up his hands to
his ears, they were a foot long at least.

“‘It is meet that I should wear asses’ ears,’ he cried, ‘for like an
ass have I trampled my good fortune beneath my feet.’

“He wandered to and fro beneath the trees for a long time, until he
again felt so hungry that he had no resource but to help himself to
some more figs, for there was no other kind of fruit to be had. He
plucked the fruit from a different tree, however.

“Having finished his meal, it occurred to him that he might try and
tuck his great unsightly ears beneath his turban, but when he put up
his hands to touch them they had dwindled down again to their ordinary
size.

“He ran to the brook and looked in, and to his great joy discovered
that both long ears and huge nose had disappeared.

“He now came to the conclusion that it was the fruit from the first
tree which had caused his affliction, and the fruit from the second
tree had cured him, and he recognised the fact with joy that he had
once more the means placed in his hands to bring him good fortune. He
therefore plucked from both trees as much fruit as he was able to
carry and began to retrace his steps towards the country he had so
shortly left.

“In the first town he came to he took care to obtain a disguise, which
he put on, and then made his way towards the city where the king’s
palace was. It happened to be just the time of year when fruit was
scarce, and Mouk seated himself by the palace gateway, where he knew
the steward of the royal kitchens came every day to buy delicacies
from the country people who went there to sell their wares.

“He had not sat long before he saw the steward coming across the
courtyard. He looked at the wares spread out for his inspection and
presently his eye chanced to light upon Mouk’s basket of figs. ‘Ah!’
said he, ‘fruit is scarce just now, and his Majesty is very fond of
it! What will you take for the basketful?’

“Little Mouk named a reasonable sum and the bargain was soon
completed. The steward gave the basket to one of the slaves who
accompanied him and went on his way, and little Mouk lost no time in
making off, for he knew as soon as the figs he had sold were eaten the
king would discover the misfortune that had overtaken him and would
search for and punish the dealer who had been the cause of it.

“The king was in great good humour that day, for his dinner had
pleased him particularly well and he praised the steward for his
excellent catering, but the steward, who had kept the figs back as a
surprise, smiled knowingly and quoted several wise saws--‘All’s well
that ends well,’ ‘A fine evening may sometimes follow a dull day,’ and
so on, until the princesses, becoming curious, questioned him eagerly
as to what he had still to set before them.

    [Illustration: _“Good gracious, Father,” cried the Princess,
        “whatever is the matter with you?”_ (P. 84.)]

“Then with a smile of triumph he set the figs upon the table.

“There was a general exclamation of ‘Oh!’ from everyone seated round.

“‘What delicious-looking fruit,’ cried the king. ‘How ripe, how
luscious! Steward, you have indeed proved yourself to be a first-rate
fellow.’

“As he spoke he drew the dish of fruit towards him and began dealing
out the dainty with a sparing hand, for he was inclined to be a little
greedy.

“To the princes and princesses he gave two each, but the ladies-in-waiting
and the courtiers received but one a-piece, and then the king set himself
to finish the fruit left over.

“‘Good gracious, father,’ cried the Princess Amarza suddenly,
‘whatever is the matter with you? You look most peculiar.’

“Everyone stared at the king in astonishment, for he had a couple of
enormous ears and a great big nose that stretched far beyond his chin.
Next they all began to look at one another in horror and surprise for,
more or less, according to the quantity of fruit they had eaten, were
they adorned with large nose and ears.

“Imagine the consternation that took possession of the whole court!

“From far and near doctors were sent for, and they ordered all sorts
of pills and draughts, but without avail--they could not reduce the
size of the noses and ears of the victims, and even an operation upon
one of the princes failed, for no sooner were his nose and ears cut
off than they grew again.

“Mouk heard from his hiding place the news of the great disaster that
had overtaken the court, and deemed that the time had come for him to
bargain. With the money he had obtained for the figs he had purchased
a fresh disguise, and now, clad in black robes and wearing a long
white beard of goat’s hairs, he approached the palace and introduced
himself as a foreign doctor of repute, and offered his services to
relieve the king and his court of their strange encumbrances.

“At first no one paid much heed to him, but one of the princes, having
eaten one of the figs he brought as an antidote, speedily felt his
nose and ears resume their original size, so then everyone came
thronging round him to be cured.

“Last of all came the king, and, taking him by the hand, led him into
his treasure-chamber and bade him choose whatever he would if he would
only free him from the shameful calamity that had overtaken him.

“These words fell like tones of sweetest music upon Mouk’s ears, for
he had already spied his slippers and little magic staff upon the
floor of the treasure-chamber. He walked about admiring the various
treasures until the king was off his guard, when Mouk slipped his feet
into the slippers and grasped the magic staff. Then, tearing the false
beard from his face, he allowed the king’s gaze to rest upon the
well-known features of his little courier.

“‘Faithless king,’ cried Mouk, ‘you who repay faithful service with
ingratitude, take as a well-deserved punishment the deformity that you
bear. Your long ears and nose will remind you daily of little Mouk.’

“As he spoke he wheeled round quickly upon his heel and at the third
turn he wished himself far away, and before the king had time to call
for help Mouk had disappeared.

“Since then the little man has lived here in our town, but he keeps
himself aloof from his fellow-men, because he has learnt to despise
mankind. Experience has made him a wise man, and his wisdom calls for
your respect and admiration, even though his appearance may happen to
be somewhat extraordinary.”

This is the story as my father told it to me. I expressed my sorrow
and repentance for having so plagued the good little man, and my
father gave me another thrashing to keep me from forgetting my manners
in future.

I told my playmates the wonderful story of little Mouk and they agreed
with me that we would never tease or annoy him any more. In time we
came to love and reverence him to such a degree that we vied with each
other in paying him every token of respect.




THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE.


There was once a worthy tailor’s apprentice named Labakan, who was
learning his trade from a clever master at Alexandria.

    [Illustration: _Labakan._]

No one could accuse the young man of being awkward in plying his
needle, on the contrary he worked very well indeed. Neither was he at
all lazy, and yet there was certainly something wrong with him, for
though at times he would sit and sew for hours at such a rate that his
needle became red-hot, yet another time, and this occurred pretty
frequently, too, he sat wrapped in thought, staring before him with
unseeing eyes, and having altogether such a very singular appearance,
that his master and his fellow apprentices would nudge each other and
say: “Labakan is putting on his grand airs again.”

On Friday, when other folk were returning quietly homewards to their
work after their prayers, Labakan strutted out from the mosque,
decked in fine clothes, which had cost him a good deal of trouble to
procure, and paraded himself through the streets and squares of the
city. When any of his companions met him and saluted him with: “Peace
be with thee,” or “How is it with thee to-day, friend Labakan?” he
would merely reply by a wave of the hand, or a dignified nod.
Sometimes his master would say to him in a joke: “What a fine prince
you would make, to be sure, Labakan.” Then, instead of seeing he was
being laughed at, he would be delighted and replied--“So you have
noticed that too, my master? I have long thought so myself.”

And so the foolish apprentice would go on, but his master put up with
his nonsense because he was not only a very clever workman, but a good
fellow too.

But one day the Sultan’s brother Selim, who happened to be travelling
through Alexandria, sent a robe to Labakan’s master to have some
slight alteration made. The work was given to Labakan, because his
work was finer than that of any of the other apprentices.

In the evening, when the master and the men had all gone home to enjoy
a little well-earned rest and amusement after the labours of the day,
an irresistible longing drew Labakan back to the workshop, for he
wished to feast his eyes upon the Prince Selim’s robe.

For some time he stood before it admiring the gold embroidery and the
brilliant colours of the silk and velvet, until at length he could
resist no longer and put it on. It fitted him exactly as though it
had been made for him. “Do I not make as fine a prince as Selim?” he
asked himself, strutting backwards and forwards across the room. “How
often has the master himself told me that I was born to be a prince!”

With the royal robe Labakan seemed also to have assumed a royal mood
and he began really to persuade himself that he must be a king’s son
in disguise, and he therefore decided to leave the place, where the
people all seemed too stupid to recognise his worth. It seemed to him
as though the splendid robe had been sent to him by some good fairy
and to be too precious a gift to be despised, and so, putting the
little money he possessed into his pockets, he slipped through the
gates of Alexandria, his flight being covered by the darkness of the
night. The new prince caused a good deal of surprise amongst the
people of the towns he passed through, for it was not usual to see a
man so handsomely arrayed walking on foot, but on being questioned he
would reply in dignified tones that he had his own reasons for so
travelling. This, however, did not satisfy the folks, and when he
found he was making a laughing-stock of himself, he spent part of his
money in purchasing a broken-down old horse, which he obtained for a
very small sum, and which suited him excellently, because its quiet
pace called for little display of horsemanship and therefore did not
betray the fact that he was an unskilful rider.

One day, as he rode carefully along upon old Murva, as he had named
his horse, he was joined by another rider, who requested permission to
travel in his company, as converse made the time pass more pleasantly
and quickly.

This rider was a cheery young fellow, and very good-looking. He
questioned Labakan as to whence he came and whither he was going, and
it appeared that he too was riding about at present merely for his own
pleasure. He told his new friend that his name was Omar and that he
was the nephew of Elfi Bey, the unfortunate Pasha of Cairo, and that
his uncle had made a communication to him shortly before his death
which would presently necessitate his taking a journey in a certain
direction. Labakan was not quite so communicative as his companion,
but he intimated that he came of very high parentage and was
travelling for his own pleasure.

The two young men seemed mutually pleased with each other and on the
second day Labakan had become sufficiently familiar with him to ask
him what was the communication Elfi Bey had made to him, and was much
surprised to hear the following: Elfi Bey had brought up Omar from his
earliest youth and he had never known his own parents. But the Pasha,
being defeated and mortally wounded by his enemies, thought the right
time had now come to tell his adopted nephew that, instead of being
his nephew, he was really the son of a mighty ruler, who had removed
the young prince from his court on account of a prophecy the
astrologers had made concerning him, and who had declared he would
not see his son again until his two-and-twentieth birthday.

Elfi Bey had not told him his father’s name, but had given him minute
instructions as to what he was to do. Upon the fourth day of the
coming month of Ramadan, which was his birthday, he was to go to the
celebrated Pillar of El-Serujah, four day’s journey east of
Alexandria. He would there find some men awaiting him, to whom he was
to present a dagger, with the words, “I am he whom ye seek.” The men
would answer, “Praised be the Prophet who has preserved thee,” and he
was to follow them, for they would then lead him to his father. The
tailor’s apprentice was very much astonished to hear his companion’s
story and regarded him with envious eyes, inwardly raging over the
fate which had first allowed Omar to pass for the nephew of a mighty
pasha, and yet heaped still further dignity upon him by proving him to
be a royal prince, whilst Labakan, though possessing all the
attributes of a prince, came from humble origin and belonged to a
common trade.

He was forced to confess that the young prince was of a pleasing
countenance and possessed gentle and engaging manners, and yet in
spite of that he tried to persuade himself that the young man’s father
would have preferred him, Labakan, for his son.

All day long he dwelt upon this and dreamt of its possibility at
night, and when morning dawned and he looked upon the face of the
unconscious youth, he determined to take by cunning what an unkind
fate had denied him. The dagger which was to establish the prince’s
identity was stuck in his girdle, and Labakan drew it out and placed
it in his own, then, mounting the prince’s fleeter steed, he rode off
and was many miles away before the prince awoke and discovered the
trick his perfidious companion had played him.

It was the first day of the month of Ramadan, and so Labakan had four
days in which to reach the Pillar of El-Serujah, which was well known
to him and which was only two days’ journey; but he hurried on as fast
as he could, because he feared the real prince would overtake him.

At the end of the second day he came in sight of the Pillar, which
stood upon a little hill in the midst of a wide plain, and could be
seen for some miles away.

Labakan’s heart beat wildly and his guilty conscience made him afraid
as to whether he might be able to carry out his intentions, but he
comforted himself with the thought that he had been born to be a
prince and rode on.

The neighbourhood of the Pillar of El-Serujah was uninhabited and
desolate, and the new prince would have been in sad straits had it not
been for his forethought in providing himself with food for several
days, so he encamped beneath a palm tree, with his horse tethered
beside him, and there awaited his fate.

Towards the middle of the following day he saw a great company of
horses and camels advancing across the plain towards him. The company
halted at the foot of the hill and pitched magnificent tents, the
whole giving the impression of being the escort of some powerful pasha
or sheik.

Labakan guessed these were the men who had come to meet him, and would
have liked to present their future ruler to them immediately, but
suppressed his eagerness to take upon himself the rôle of prince, as
the following day was to see the accomplishment of all his desires.

The morning sun awakened the overjoyed tailor to the most important
moment of his life, for he was to be raised from his lowly position to
the side of a royal father.

    [Illustration: _At the end of the second day he came in sight of
        the Pillar._ (P. 92.)]

It is true that, as he saddled his horse and prepared to ride towards
the Pillar, he could not but remember what a dishonest step he was
about to take, and also what pain and grief he was bringing to the
real prince in blighting all the hopes he had in life, but the die was
cast and he could not undo what he had already done, and his love of
self whispered to his heart that he was handsome and stately enough to
be the son of the mightiest of kings.

Encouraged by this thought he sprang upon his horse and, summoning all
the bravery he possessed, ventured to urge his steed to a gallop, and
in less than a quarter of an hour he was at the foot of the hill.

He dismounted and, drawing forth Prince Omar’s dagger, began to climb
the hill.

At the base of the Pillar stood six men, surrounding a grey-headed old
man of noble and majestic appearance, who was glad in a magnificent
caftan of pure gold wrapped around with a white cashmere shawl, a
white turban glistening with diamonds, all of which betokened him to
be a man of high estate and honour.

Labakan approached him, and, bowing before him, presented the dagger,
with these words: “I am he whom you seek.”

“Blessed be the Prophet who hath preserved thee,” answered the old
man, whilst tears of joy streamed down his face: “embrace thy father,
my dear, dear son!”

The tailor had the grace to feel both touched and ashamed as the arms
of the aged prince enfolded him.

But not for long was he to be left in undisturbed possession of his
new position, for he soon perceived a rider hurrying across the plain
towards them. Horse and rider presented a somewhat peculiar
appearance, for whilst the animal appeared to be either unwilling or
unable through fatigue to proceed further, the rider urged him forward
with both hands and feet. Only too soon did Labakan recognise the pair
as his horse Murva and the rightful prince; but he was desperate and
determined to brazen it out.

The rider had been seen beckoning and making signs from a long way
back, and now that, in spite of the wretched pace of his horse, he had
reached the foot of the hill, he hastily dismounted and dashed up the
hill. “Wait,” he cried frantically, “wait, and do not let yourselves
be deceived by the basest of impostors. I am Omar, and I will allow no
one to misuse my name.”

The spectators of this extraordinary scene were astounded,
particularly the aged prince, who turned from one to the other of the
two claimants in uncertainty. But Labakan turned to him and said in a
voice of studied calmness--“Most gracious lord and father, do not
allow yourself to be deceived, this man is but a mad tailor’s
apprentice, who deserves our pity rather than our anger.”

These words well-nigh drove the prince crazy. Foaming with rage, he
would have rushed upon Labakan had not the bystanders prevented him.

“You have spoken truly, my dear son,” said the aged prince. “The poor
man must indeed be mad. He shall be bound and placed upon one of the
camels and perhaps later we may be able to do something for him.”

The young man’s rage had exhausted itself and he cried to the prince:
“My heart tells me that you are my father, and I pray you, by the
memory of my mother, to give me a hearing.”

But the prince only shook his head--“How the poor fellow raves,” he
said, then, leaning upon the false prince’s arm, he began to descend
the hill. They then mounted beautifully caparisoned horses and rode
at the head of the company across the plains.

The unfortunate prince had his hands firmly bound and was placed upon
a camel whilst a guard rode on either side of him to watch his every
movement.

The aged prince was named Saaud, and he was Sultan of the Wechabites.

For a long time he had been childless and then one son had been born
to him. But the astrologers whom he had consulted as to the boy’s
future told him that until he had passed the age of twenty-two he
would be in constant danger of being supplanted by an enemy, and
therefore he had entrusted the care of his child to his old and valued
friend Elfi Bey, and had passed two-and-twenty anxious years awaiting
his son’s coming.

The Sultan told his supposed son this story and added how pleased and
more than contented he was with his appearance and bearing.

On reaching the Sultan’s own country they were greeted with shouts of
joy by the whole populace, for the news of the prince’s coming had
spread like wildfire through all the villages and towns. Arches of
flowers and greenery spanned the roads, and tapestries of gorgeous
colours decked the houses, and all the people shouted praise to the
Prophet for sending them such a handsome prince. No wonder the
tailor’s heart swelled with pride and joy, whilst Prince Omar felt
more unhappy than ever at his sad state. The air resounded with cries
of “Omar,” but he who had the right to the name rode unnoticed
through the throng, except when now and then some one asked who it was
that was bound and guarded so securely. Then the answers his guards
made caused his heart to sink: “He is but a mad tailor,” they said.

The procession at length reached the Sultan’s capital, where
everything had been prepared for their reception with even greater
splendour than in the other towns. The Sultana, an elderly and
dignified lady, awaited them with her entire court in the most
magnificent room in the palace. The floor of the apartment was covered
with an enormous carpet and the walls were hung with pale blue cloth,
draped with golden cords and tassels which hung from silver hooks.

As it was already dark when the procession reached the palace, the
room was lighted with innumerable many-coloured lamps, the light from
which turned night into day. Beneath the brightest light the Sultana
sat upon her throne, which was raised upon four steps and was of pure
gold set with amethysts. The four most distinguished emirs held a
canopy of red silk over her head, and the Sheik of Medina fanned her
with a fan of peacock’s feathers.

Thus the Sultana awaited the coming of the son she had not seen since
his birth, although in her dreams he had been frequently present with
her, so that she felt certain she would know him again in the midst of
thousands.

Presently the noise of the approaching procession was heard, and
before long the curtains were drawn aside and the Sultan approached
his wife, leading his supposed son by the hand.

“Here I bring you the son you have yearned for so long,” he cried. But
the Sultana would not allow him to proceed--“That is not my son,” said
she. “Those are not the features the Prophet allowed me to gaze on in
my dreams.”

Just as the Sultan was about to reprove her for her superstition, the
door burst open and in dashed the rightful prince, who had managed to
escape from his guards. Breathlessly he flung himself before the
throne and cried: “Slay me here if you will, O cruel father, for this
shame will I bear no longer.”

All present were astounded at his words, and the guards would once
more have seized the unfortunate prince, but the Sultana stepped
forward and, gazing at him earnestly, cried: “Stay, this is my
rightful son, this is he whom my eyes have never rested on since his
birth, but whom my heart recognises nevertheless.”

The guards drew back involuntarily; but the Sultan cried to them in
wrath to seize the madman. “It is for me to decide,” he said angrily.
“Of what worth are the dreams of a woman beside the real token which
this, my son, brought me from my friend Elfi Bey. He who brought the
dagger is the rightful heir.”

“It was stolen,” cried Omar furiously. “He betrayed my confidence with
treachery and stole the dagger.”

But the Sultan would not listen to his son, for he was very obstinate
when once he had formed an opinion, and he ordered Omar to be taken
away by force, and he went to his own room violently enraged with the
Sultana, with whom he had lived in peace and happiness for the last
five-and-twenty years. Of course Labakan accompanied him; but the
Sultana remained behind in great grief, for she was absolutely certain
that an impostor had gained the affection of the Sultan and ousted
their own son.

When her grief had somewhat subsided she set herself to think of means
wherewith she could convince her husband of his error. This was a
difficult task, for the dagger had been the token decided upon as a
means of recognition, and moreover Omar had related so much of his
early life to Labakan that the tailor was able to play his part
without betraying himself.

She called to her presence the men who had been with the Sultan at the
Pillar of El-Serujah, in order to question them narrowly as to what
had taken place there, and then she took counsel with her most
confidential slaves.

Many suggestions were offered, but at length an old Circassian woman
asked: “Did not the bearer of the dagger say that he whom you regard
as your son was in reality Labakan, a tailor’s apprentice?”

“Yes, that is so,” replied the Sultana, “but I do not see what that
has to do with the case.”

“May it not be that he gave his own name and trade to your son?” said
the slave. “If this is so, then I know of a plan by which we can
detect the impostor, and which I will tell you of in secret.”

The slave whispered her plan in the Sultana’s ear, and the mistress
approved so well of it that she prepared herself at once to go into
the Sultan’s presence.

The Sultana was a wise woman, well knowing the Sultan’s weak points
and how to take advantage of them, and so she pretended to yield her
opinion and to be willing to accept the false son, merely making one
condition. The Sultan, who regretted the anger he had shown towards
his wife, readily agreed to let her make her own condition.

“Well,” said she, “we will set the two claimants a task. Anyone can
manage a horse or throw a spear; but I have hit upon something more
difficult. We will see which of them shall make the best caftan and a
pair of trousers.”

The Sultan laughed good-naturedly: “And so my son is to compete with
your crazy tailor,” he said. “Well, be it as you will, but if the
tailor makes ever so fine a caftan I will not own him as a son.”

The Sultan went to his son and begged him to gratify the whim of his
mother who wished for a caftan made by the hands of her son. Labakan
laughed for joy. If it only depended on that, he thought, then the
Sultana would very speedily be well pleased with him.

Two rooms had been prepared, one for the prince, the other for the
tailor, and there they were to give proof of their skill, and each
was given a piece of silk, scissors, needles and thread. The Sultan
was very curious as to what sort of a thing his son’s caftan would
look like.

The Sultana felt nervous and her heart beat anxiously lest her plan
should prove a failure.

Two days were allowed the young men in which to complete their task,
and on the third day the Sultan sent for his wife and as soon as she
had joined him he ordered the two young men to be brought in and to
bring their caftans with them.

    [Illustration: _The slave whispered her plan in the Sultana’s
        ear._ (P. 100.)]

Labakan strode triumphantly into the apartment and spread out his
garment proudly before the eyes of the astonished Sultan. “See,
father,” said he, “see, most honoured mother, is this not a
masterpiece? I would lay a wager that even the court tailor himself
could not make a better one.”

The Sultana smiled and turned to Omar: “And what have you
accomplished, my son?” said she.

For reply Omar flung the roll of silk and scissors upon the floor. “I
was taught to manage a horse, to handle a sword, and to hurl a
lance,” said he, “but the art of needlework is unknown to me, neither
is it a fitting art for the adopted son of Elfi Bey, the ruler of
Cairo.”

“O thou true son of thy father,” cried the Sultana, “oh! that I might
embrace thee and claim thee for my son. Pardon me, my lord and
master,” she said, turning to the Sultan, “that I have tricked you in
this way, in order to prove to you which is the prince and which the
tailor. Certainly the caftan your son has made is a magnificent one,
but I should like to ask him who taught him his trade?”

The Sultan bit his lip and glanced suspiciously first at his wife and
then at Labakan, who had turned crimson with embarrassment and
vexation at having betrayed himself.

“This test is not sufficient,” the Sultan decreed, “but Allah be
praised, I know of a way out of the difficulty.”

He ordered his swiftest horse to be saddled, mounted in haste, and
rode off towards a wood, which was not far from the city. In the midst
of this wood dwelt a fairy named Adolzaide, who was said to have
befriended previous Sultans of that country and given them good advice
when they were in any difficulty, and so the Sultan turned to her in
his present trouble.

He reached the spot where she was supposed to dwell, and having
dismounted and tethered his horse to a tree, he cried out in a loud
voice: “Adolzaide, if it be true that you have befriended my fathers
in former times, help me now in my dire need, I pray you.”

Scarcely had he spoken these words when the trunk of a cedar tree
parted and a veiled woman, clad in long white garments, appeared.

“I know your errand, Sultan Saaud,” she said, “and I am ready to help
you, because your desire is an honourable and just one. Take these two
caskets, show them to the two youths who claim to be your son, and let
them choose which casket they will have. The true Omar will not fail
to choose rightly, and you will then be no longer in doubt as to which
is your heir.”

The veiled woman then handed him two caskets of ivory, richly
ornamented with gold and pearls. Upon the lids of the caskets, which
the Sultan was unable to raise, were inscriptions in glittering
diamonds; one was “Honour and Glory” and the other “Happiness and
Riches.” The Sultan racked his brains to try and discover how the
caskets could possibly help him to discover his real son. He tried
again and again to open the lids, but in vain.

As soon as the Sultan reached his palace he sent for the Sultana and
told her the result of his visit to the fairy, and her heart leapt
with joy, for she was certain that now the truth would be arrived at.

A table was placed before the Sultan’s throne and upon it the Sultan
himself placed the two caskets, then he seated himself upon his throne
and made a sign to one of his slaves to open the doors of the
apartment. A brilliant train of pashas and emirs streamed in, for they
had been ordered to be in attendance when this further trial was made.
They seated themselves upon the cushions ranged along the walls, and
then the Sultan ordered Labakan to be summoned.

Proudly he stepped into the room and, bowing before the throne, asked:
“What does my lord and father command?”

“My son,” replied the Sultan, “as some doubt has been cast upon your
claim to bear the name you call yourself, this test will decide the
truth. Here are two caskets; choose one, I doubt not you will choose
rightly.”

Labakan approached the caskets and read the inscriptions; he pondered
awhile and then said--“Honoured father! what can be greater than the
happiness of being your son, and what more noble than the riches of
your favour? I choose the casket with the inscriptions ‘Happiness and
Riches.’”

“Later on we will see if you have chosen rightly,” said the Sultan,
and then he signed to his slaves to bring Omar in.

His downcast looks and dejected mien roused the pity of all who beheld
him. He threw himself down before the throne and enquired what the
will of the Sultan might be.

He was told he had to choose one of the caskets upon the table. He
read the inscriptions carefully and then said: “The last few day have
taught me how uncertain happiness is and how fleeting are riches;
but they have also taught me that honour dwells for ever in the
brave man’s heart, and the glory of a good name is better than
riches--therefore I choose ‘Honour and Glory.’”

    [Illustration: _THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE_
      _CHOOSING THE CASKETS_
      (_p. 104_)]

Before the Sultan allowed either of the young men to open their
caskets he sent for a ewer of water from the holy stream in Mecca,
and, having washed his hands, he turned his face towards the East and
prayed to the Prophet that he would allow this test to decide beyond
all doubt the identity of the rightful prince. Then he arose and bade
the young men open their caskets, but although before it had been
found impossible to raise the lids they now flew open of their own
accord.

Inside Omar’s casket, upon a tiny velvet cushion, lay a little golden
crown and sceptre, but within Labakan’s lay a needle and thread.

The Sultan commanded them to bring the caskets to him. He took the
little crown from its velvet bed and immediately it began to increase
in size until it was large enough to set upon his son’s head, which
the Sultan did, bidding Omar sit down at his right hand.

Then turning to Labakan, he said: “There is an old proverb, ‘The
shoemaker must stick to his last,’ and it seems that you must stick to
your needle. Had it not been that someone, to whom I can deny nothing,
has pleaded for you, it would have gone hardly with you, but as it is
I will spare your wretched life, but I warn you to hasten to leave my
country.”

Ashamed and repentant, Labakan cast himself at the feet of the
prince.

“Can you ever forgive me my treachery?” he cried, with tears in his
eyes.

“‘Faithful to a friend, generous to an enemy,’ is the motto of our
race,” answered the prince--“therefore I bid thee ‘go in peace.’”

“You are indeed my son,” cried the aged Sultan, embracing him, and all
the pashas and emirs rose and shouted: “Hail to the king’s son, hail
to our noble prince.”

During the noise occasioned by these general rejoicings, Labakan, his
casket beneath his arm, slipped unperceived from the room.

He hurried down to the stable, bridled his horse Murva, and rode out
of the gateway in the direction of Alexandria.

His life as prince appeared to him now like a brief but splendid
dream, only the beautiful casket set with pearls and diamonds remained
to remind him that he had not dreamt it all.

When at length he reached Alexandria, he rode to the shop of his
former master, dismounted, fastened his horse to the door-post and
went in.

His master, who did not recognise him at first, bowed and asked what
he might require, but when he looked at the supposed customer more
closely he saw who he was and, calling his apprentices and pupils to
come to his assistance, they all set upon Labakan and beat him soundly
with whatever they happened to have in their hands, flat irons,
measures, shears, and so on, until at last the poor fellow fell at
their feet as limp as a heap of old clothes.

As he lay there his master gave him a sound rating for having stolen
the caftan; in vain Labakan assured him he was there to restore it, no
one would believe him, and some of the apprentices picked him up and
threw him out of the door. He managed to get upon Murva’s back and
rode away to a little inn, where he was glad to lay his weary head
upon a pillow, whilst he mused upon the uncertainty of happiness and
the vanity of earthly riches, and before he fell asleep he had
determined to renounce his dreams of grandeur and set to work to earn
his living as an honest fellow.

The next day, being still of the same mind, he sold his casket to a
dealer in precious stones, bought himself a house and set up a
workshop. He hung out a sign with “Labakan, Tailor,” painted upon it,
and then began to await his customers.

As his clothing had been most grievously torn by the rough handling he
had received from his master and former companions, he took the needle
and thread he had found in the casket and began to repair his
clothing. He was called away and on his return, as he was about to
continue his work what was his surprise to find his needle sewing
busily away without any hand to guide it and making the finest and
neatest stitches, quite surpassing the best work Labakan had ever
done.

Truly, even the smallest of fairy gifts is bound to prove useful and
valuable. Not the least value of this gift was the fact that the
thread in the needle was never used up, but sewed on and on, no matter
how much the needle sewed.

It was no wonder Labakan soon became famous as a tailor. Orders
flocked in from far and near, and all he had to do was to start the
needle sewing, and it went straight on by itself until the garment was
finished.

Master Labakan worked so much better and cheaper than any other tailor
in Alexandria that everybody wished to have their clothes made by him;
only one thing puzzled them, he employed no assistants and he always
worked with his door shut.

So after all the motto on his casket came true, for happiness and
riches came to him, though in a different guise to what he had
expected them. From time to time he heard news of Prince Omar. It was
said that he was the bravest of the brave, the pride and glory of his
people, and the terror of his enemies. At such times as he heard of
him Labakan would say to himself: “I am better off as a tailor, for to
win honour and glory one must risk one’s life.”

And so he lived happy and contented all the days of his life, and as
for the magic needle, for all I know to the contrary, it may be sewing
busily away to this very day.




THE DWARF LONG-NOSE.


Many years ago, in a certain city in Germany, there lived an honest
cobbler and his wife. The good man sat all day and mended boots and
shoes; he made new ones too, if he could get a customer to trust him
with the job, but then he had first to buy the leather, for he was too
poor to keep a stock in hand. His wife sold fruit and vegetables,
which she grew in a little plot of ground outside the city gates. She
had many customers, for she was clean and tidy, and had a knack of
setting out her wares to the best advantage.

    [Illustration: _Jacob._]

The cobbler and his wife had a beautiful little boy, named Jacob.
Although he was but eight years of age he was tall and well grown,
and so he sat by his mother’s side in the market-place, and acted as
errand boy to the housewives and cooks who made large purchases from
his mother, carrying the fruit and vegetables home for them. Very
often he came back with a piece of money in his pocket, or at least
with a cake, or some sweetmeats, for he was so pretty and obliging
that people liked to see him in their homes.

One morning the cobbler’s wife was sitting in her accustomed place in
the market. She had a supply of cabbages and other vegetables, fresh
herbs and seeds, and a smaller basket of early pears and apricots.

Little Jacob sat beside her and called out in his shrill little voice:
“Come buy, come buy, fine cabbages, fresh herbs, early pears, fine
ripe apples and apricots. Come buy, buy, buy, my mother’s goods are
cheap to-day.”

An old woman came slowly across the market-place. She was dressed in
rags and tatters and had a little, pointed face, all wrinkled and
furrowed with age, red-rimmed eyes, and a sharp hooked nose that
nearly met the pointed chin. She helped herself along with a stick,
and it is difficult to say how she moved, for she stumbled and limped
and rolled along almost as though her legs were broken-down wheels
which would soon give way.

The cobbler’s wife stared hard at her, for although she had been
sitting in the market-place every day for the last sixteen years she
had never noticed the queer old creature before. But she shuddered
involuntarily when the old woman hobbled towards her and stood still
before the baskets.

    [Illustration: _THE DWARF LONG-NOSE._
      _“An old woman came slowly across the market-place.”_]

“Are you Hannah, the vegetable dealer?” she said in a cracked
unpleasant voice, her head shaking as though with palsy.

“Yes, that is my name,” replied the cobbler’s wife, “is there anything
I can serve you with?”

“I must see, I must see,” she replied. “Let me look at your herbs and
see if you have anything I require.”

She plunged her brown skinny fingers into the basket of herbs which
had been so neatly set out, and, grasping handful after handful, put
them to her long hooked nose and smelt them.

The cobbler’s wife was much put out to see her rare herbs handled in
this way, but she did not like to say anything, for it was the
customer’s right to examine the goods, and besides she was half afraid
of the old woman.

When the whole of the basket of herbs had been handled and turned over
the old woman muttered--“Rubbish, rubbish, the whole lot of it. Fifty
years ago I could have bought what I wanted; this is good for
nothing.”

These words angered little Jacob. “You are a rude old woman,” he said
angrily; “first you take up our beautiful fresh herbs in your nasty
brown fingers and crush them, then you put them to your long, hooked
nose, so that nobody else who had seen you, would want to buy them,
and then you miscall our wares, as bad stuff and rubbish, when even
the Duke’s cook does not disdain to buy from us.”

The old woman looked fixedly at the spirited lad and laughed in a
repulsive manner. Then said she, in a hoarse croaking voice, “Ah, my
little man, do you like my nose, my nice long nose? Then you shall
have a nice long nose too, one that shall reach from the middle of
your face right down below your chin.” As she talked she shuffled
along to the other basket in which the cabbages were placed. She took
the finest creamy crisp heads and crushed them in her hands until they
creaked and cracked, then threw them back into the basket anyhow. “Bad
goods, bad cabbages,” she said.

“Don’t shake your head to and fro like that,” cried the little boy,
beginning to feel frightened. “Your neck is as thin as a cabbage stalk
and looks as though it might snap in two, and if your head rolled off
into our cabbage basket, who would buy from us then?”

“So you don’t like thin necks, eh?” muttered the old woman. “Very
well, then, you shall have none at all. Your head shall stick close
down to your shoulders so that there will be no danger of its falling
off your little body.”

“Come, come, don’t talk such rubbish to the child,” said the cobbler’s
wife, vexed at length, “if you wish to buy anything make your choice
for you are frightening other customers away.”

“Very well,” answered the old woman grimly, “I will buy these six
cabbages. But you must let your little son carry them home for me,
for I have to support myself on my stick and can carry nothing myself.
I will reward him for his trouble.”

The little boy did not want to go and began to cry, for he was afraid
of the ugly old woman, but his mother bade him go quite sternly, she
would have been ashamed to let the weakly old creature carry such a
heavy burden, so he put the cabbages in a cloth and followed the old
woman from the market-place.

She walked so slowly that it was about three-quarters of an hour
before they reached her home, which was in a very out-of-the-way part
of the town, and which was a miserable-looking little house.

The old woman drew a rusty key from her pocket and slipped it into the
keyhole, and the door sprang open.

But what was little Jacob’s astonishment on entering the house to find
it most beautiful. The walls and ceiling were of marble, the furniture
of ebony, inlaid with gold and polished jewels, and the floor was of
glass and so slippery that the little boy fell down several times.

The old woman drew a little silver whistle from her pocket and blew it
so shrilly that the tones resounded all through the house.

A number of guinea-pigs at once came hurrying down the stairs, and
Jacob was astounded to see that they were walking erect on their hind
legs and had their feet thrust into nut-shells instead of shoes. They
wore men’s clothing and had hats on their heads made in the newest
fashion.

“Where have you put my slippers, you ragamuffins?” asked the old
woman, striking them with her staff, so that they began to whine and
jump about. “How much longer do you expect to keep me standing here?”

The guinea-pigs bounded up the stairs and soon returned with a pair of
cocoa-nut shells, lined and bound with leather. These they put on the
old woman’s feet and at once she ceased to hobble and limp, flung away
her staff, and began to glide about over the slippery floor with the
greatest rapidity, dragging Jacob after her.

She came at length to a room bearing some resemblance to a kitchen,
though the tables were of mahogany, and the couches and chairs covered
with exquisite tapestries. “Sit down,” said the old woman in friendly
tones, pushing him as she spoke into a corner of a sofa and then
rolling a table in front of him, so that he could not get out again.

“You must be tired, walking so far, and carrying such a heavy burden,”
she said, “now I am going to reward you for your trouble and make you
some soup such as you have never tasted before, and will remember all
your life long.” She again blew her whistle and again a number of
guinea-pigs appeared, dressed in human attire. They wore cook’s
aprons, and had cooking spoons and carving knives stuck in their
waistbands. After them came a crowd of squirrels, clad in wide
Turkish trousers, with little green velvet caps on their heads. They
appeared to be the kitchen servants, for they at once began to clamber
up and down the walls and brought pots and pans, eggs and butter,
herbs and flour, and carried them to the fireplace, where the old
woman seemed to be very busy with her cookery.

The fire burned merrily and the contents of the pans began to steam
and hiss and send forth a very pleasant smell.

At length the soup was cooked and the old woman poured some into a
silver dish and set it before little Jacob.

“Eat, my little man,” said she, “and you will have all that you have
coveted in me. You shall become a clever cook too, but you shall
never, never find the herb that was missing in your mother’s basket.”

The boy did not understand what she was talking about; but he went on
eating his soup, which was delicious. His mother often cooked tasty
dishes for him, but never anything like this. An odour of fine herbs
and vegetables arose from it, it was both sour and sweet and very
strong. As he finished the last of it the guinea-pigs set light to
some incense, which rose in a blue cloud and was wafted through the
room. Thicker and thicker the incense rose and the little boy began to
feel stupefied.

He tried to rise, telling himself that he must hasten back to his
mother, but he only fell back again, and at length, quite overcome,
he fell fast asleep on the old woman’s sofa.

Then he began to dream, such strange dreams! It seemed to him as
though the old woman took off all his clothes and dressed him up in a
squirrel’s skin and he was at once able to jump about like the other
squirrels in the house and began to take his place with them and the
guinea-pigs, and that, like they, he too became one of the old woman’s
servants.

At first he was the shoe-black and it was his duty to polish the
cocoa-nut shells the old woman wore instead of shoes. He had learnt to
polish shoes in his own home, and as his father was a cobbler he had
been particularly well taught, so that he was clever at his work. A
year seemed to pass and then he dreamt that he was given more
important duties. He and some other squirrels were set to work to
catch the sunbeam dust and sift it through fine sieves. This dust was
used instead of flour to make the bread the old woman ate, for she had
no teeth, and sunbeam dust makes the very softest and finest of bread.
Another dream year passed and then he was promoted to be one of the
water-carriers. You must not imagine the old woman kept a
water-cistern or a water-butt handy. Oh! dear no! Jacob and the
squirrels had to draw the dew from the roses into hazel-nut shells;
this was the old woman’s drinking water, and as she was always thirsty
it was hard work to keep her supplied with it. At the end of another
year he was appointed to do the indoor work. His particular duty was
to keep the glass floor in order. He had to sweep it over and then
wrap soft polishing cloths round his feet and slide up and down the
room until the glass shone brilliantly.

At the end of the year he was promoted to the kitchen; this was a
place of honour, only to be reached after long training. He began at
the beginning as a scullion and advanced rapidly until he was head
cook. Sometimes he could not but wonder at his own skill, for he could
cook the most difficult dishes and could make no less than two hundred
different kinds of pastries. Then he was a first-rate hand at soups,
and could make every kind that had ever been heard of, and knew the
use of every kind of vegetable that grew.

    [Illustration: _Jacob had to draw the dew from the roses._
        (P. 118.)]

Several years had now passed away in the service of the old woman and
one day she put on her cocoa-nut shoes, took her staff and basket in
her hand, and prepared to go out. Before leaving she told Jacob to
cook a chicken for her dinner on her return and be sure to stuff it
well with seasoning.

When he had prepared the chicken, he went to the room where the herbs
were kept to collect some to stuff it with, and to his surprise saw a
little cupboard that he had not noticed before. The door was ajar and
he peeped curiously in and saw a number of little baskets from which
issued a strong and pleasant odour. He opened one of them and saw that
it contained a very curious-looking plant. The leaves and stalks were
of a bluish-green colour and it bore a flower of a deep red hue,
flecked with yellow. He looked closely at the flower, then smelt it
and noticed it had the same scent as the soup which the old woman had
once cooked for him. It was a very strong scent, so strong indeed that
it made him sneeze, and he went on sneezing again and again until at
length--he awoke.

He lay on the old woman’s sofa and looked around him in surprise. “How
real dreams do seem sometimes,” he said to himself. “I could have been
certain that I was a squirrel just now, and had guinea-pigs and
squirrels for my companions, also that I had learnt to be a first-rate
cook. How Mother will laugh when I tell her all about it, but she will
scold me, too, for having fallen asleep in a stranger’s house instead
of helping her in the market-place.”

He jumped up in a hurry, but his limbs were stiff from sleeping so
long, especially his neck; he could not turn it about very easily, and
he seemed so sleepy still that he kept striking his nose against the
walls and cupboards.

As he stood upon the threshold the guinea-pigs and squirrels came
whimpering round him as though they would like to go with him and he
begged them to come, for they were dear little creatures, but they
went clattering back in their nut-shell shoes and he could hear them
squeaking away in the house.

The old woman had brought him a long distance from the market-place,
and he had some difficulty in finding his way back through the narrow
lanes, especially as there seemed to be a great crowd of people.
Somewhere near he thought there must be a dwarf to be seen, for the
people were pushing and craning their necks and calling out to one
another, “Just look, what a hideous dwarf! Where can he come from?
What a long nose he has, and how his head is sunk between his high
shoulders; he has no neck at all, and see what great brown hands he
has.”

Jacob would have liked to have seen the dwarf himself, for he always
liked to see anything extraordinary, but he could not wait, because he
knew he ought to hurry back to his mother.

He felt frightened and nervous when at length he reached the
market-place, for his mother looked so altered. He felt sure he could
not have slept very long, for she had still a quantity of fruit and
vegetables unsold, but she sat with her head leaning on her hand,
never calling out to the passers-by to buy her wares. She was paler
too, and looked very sad.

He hesitated as to what he should do, but at length he took heart and
crept up behind her and, laying his hand caressingly upon her arm,
said: “Mother dear, what ails you? Are you angry with me?”

She turned to look at him, but started back with a cry of horror.
“What do you want with me, you hideous dwarf,” she cried. “Such jokes
are out of place.”

“But, Mother,” said Jacob in alarm, “you cannot be well. Why do you
drive your son away?”

“Have I not told you to go away,” said Hannah angrily, “you will get
nothing from me by such jokes, you ugly creature.”

“She must be out of her mind,” said the little one, “however shall I
get her back home? Mother dear, look well at me, I am your own little
son Jacob.”

“Now you have gone too far with your impertinence,” cried the woman.
“Not content, you hideous dwarf, with standing there and frightening
my customers away, you must needs make game of my grief and sorrow.
Neighbours, listen to this fellow, who dares to say he is my son
Jacob.”

Her neighbours all came crowding round her and began to abuse poor
Jacob in no measured terms, telling him it was cruel to joke with a
poor bereaved mother who had had her lovely boy stolen away seven long
years ago, and they threatened to tear him limb from limb if he did
not go away at once.

    [Illustration: _“Good gracious me, what is that?”_ (P. 124.)]

Poor Jacob knew not what to make of it all. He had gone that morning
with his mother to the market-place, or so he believed, had helped
her set out her wares of fruit and vegetables, had carried home the
old woman’s cabbages, taken a little soup and fallen asleep for a
short time, and yet his mother and the neighbours declared he had been
absent seven years.

And they called him a horrible dwarf! What could have taken place?
When he saw that his mother would have nothing to do with him the
tears came into his eyes, and he turned sadly away and went up the
street towards the little shop where his father sat and mended shoes
during the daytime.

“I will see if he will recognise me,” he said to himself. “I will just
stand in the doorway and speak to him.”

When he reached the cobbler’s shop he stood in the doorway and looked
in. The old man was so busy that he did not notice him at first, but
presently, on looking up, he dropped the shoe he was mending and cried
out: “Good gracious me, what is that?”

“Good evening, master,” said the little man, as he entered the shop,
“how is trade just now?”

“Bad, very bad, little gentleman,” said the cobbler, “I cannot work as
well as I did, I am getting old and I have no one to help me, for I
cannot afford an assistant.”

Jacob was astounded that his father should not have recognised him
either, so he answered: “Have you no son whom you could train to help
you?”

“I had one, Jacob by name; he should be a tall, well-grown youth by
now, who would have been able to be my right hand, for even as a
little fellow he was handy and clever at my trade. He was so handsome
too, and had such pleasant manners, that he would no doubt have
brought me more customers; very likely by this time I might have given
up cobbling shoes and have made new ones instead. But alas! such is
life!”

“Where is your son then?” enquired Jacob with trembling voice.

“No one can tell,” replied the old man, “for seven years ago he was
stolen from us.”

“Seven years ago,” cried Jacob in horrorstricken tones.

“Yes, little gentleman, seven long years ago. I remember it as though
it were yesterday. My wife came home from the market weeping and
wringing her hands, the child had been absent all day, and though she
had searched for him everywhere she had not been able to find him. I
had warned her many a time to keep a careful eye upon our pretty boy,
telling her there were bad folks in the town who might steal him for
the sake of his good looks. But she was proud of him, and often, when
the gentry bought fruit and vegetables of her, she sent him to carry
home their purchases.

“But one day an ugly old woman came into the market and began to
bargain with her. In the end she bought more than she could carry, and
my wife, being a kind-hearted woman, let her take the boy with her,
and--from that hour to this he has never been seen again.”

“And that was seven years ago?” asked Jacob.

“Seven years, alas! We sought him high and low, and our neighbours,
who had all known and loved the dear little fellow, helped in the
search; but without avail. Neither could we hear any news of the old
woman who had taken him away. No one seemed to know anything about her
except one old woman who was over ninety years of age, and she said
she must be the wicked Fairy Herbina, who visited the town once every
fifty years to buy things she required.”

Thus spoke Jacob’s father, as he hammered away at his shoe and drew
the thread backwards and forwards busily, and the poor little fellow
began to understand at last what had happened to him. It had been no
dream, but, transformed into a squirrel, he had really served the
wicked fairy for seven years. His heart was well-nigh ready to burst
with rage and grief. Seven years of his youth had been stolen from him
and what had he received in return? He had learnt to polish cocoa-nut
shoes and glass floors. Also he had learnt all the secrets of the art
of cookery from the old woman’s guinea-pigs! He stood so long
considering what had been said, that his father asked him at length:
“Can I do anything for you, sir? Do you require a pair of shoes, or,”
he added with a smile, “perhaps a covering for your nose would be
useful to you.”

“What is the matter with my nose?” asked Jacob, “why should I require
a covering for it?”

“Well,” replied the cobbler, “everyone to his taste. But I must say
if I had a nose like yours I would make a case for it of bright red
leather. See, I have just such a piece by me. A good stout cover for
your nose would be most useful, for I am quite sure you must be
constantly knocking it against everything that comes in your way.”

The little fellow’s heart sank with fear. He felt his nose and found
it was very thick and quite two spans in length. And so the old woman
had altered his appearance too! That was why his mother had not known
him and why everyone called him “an ugly dwarf.”

“Master,” he said to his father, “have you a mirror you could lend
me?”

“Young sir,” said the father earnestly, “your figure is hardly such as
to give you cause for conceit, and you have no reason to look into a
glass constantly. Break yourself of the habit, in your case it is a
foolish one.”

“Believe me it is not out of conceit that I wish to see myself,” said
Jacob, “and I do beseech you to lend me a glass for a moment.”

“I do not possess such a thing,” said the cobbler. “My wife had one
somewhere, but I do not know where she has hidden it. If you really do
wish to see yourself, you had best go across the road and ask Urban,
the barber, to let you take a look in his. He has one about twice the
size of your head, so go and admire yourself by all means.”

With these words his father took him by the shoulders and pushed him
gently from the shop, locked the door upon him and went on with his
work.

Jacob, who had known the barber well in days gone by, crossed the road
and entered his shop.

“Good-morning, Urban,” he said, “I have come to ask a favour of you.
Will you be so good as to allow me a glance into your looking-glass?”

“With pleasure, there it stands,” he said laughing heartily, and the
customer who was being shaved laughed also. “You are a handsome little
fellow,” the barber went on, “tall and slim, a neck like a swan, hands
as dainty as a queen’s, and as pretty a little nose as one could see
anywhere. It is no wonder that you are conceited, and wish to take a
glance at yourself. Well, you are welcome to the use of my mirrors,
for it shall never be said of me that I was so jealous of your good
looks I would not lend you my mirror to admire them in.” Shrieks of
laughter greeted the barber’s words, but poor little Jacob, who had
seen himself reflected in the mirror, could not keep the tears from
his eyes. “No wonder you did not recognise your son, Mother dear,” he
said to himself, “in the happy days when you were wont to parade him
proudly before the neighbours’ eyes, he bore little resemblance to the
thing he has now become.”

Poor fellow, his eyes were small and set like a pig’s, his nose was
enormous and reached beyond his chin, his neck had disappeared
altogether, and his head had sunk down between his shoulders, so that
it was painful to attempt to move it either to the right or left. He
was no taller than he had been seven years before, but his back and
his chest were bowed out in such a manner that they resembled a
well-tilled sack supported upon two weak little legs. His arms,
however, had grown so long that they hung down almost to his feet, and
his coarse brown hands were the size of those of a full-grown man,
with ugly spider-like fingers. The handsome, lively little Jacob had
been changed into an ugly and repulsive-looking dwarf.

    [Illustration: _Jacob, who had seen himself reflected in the
        mirror, could not keep the tears from his eyes._ (P. 128.)]

He thought once more of the morning on which the old witch had
fingered his mother’s goods and when he had twitted her with her large
nose and ugly hands. Everything he had found fault with in her she had
given him now, with the exception of the thin neck, for he had no neck
at all.

“Surely you have admired yourself sufficiently,” said the barber
laughingly. “Never in my dreams have I seen such a comical fellow as
you, and I have a proposal to make to you. It is true I have a great
many customers, but not quite so many as I had at one time, for my
rival, Barber Lather, has come across a giant and has engaged him to
stand at his door and invite the people to enter. Now a giant is no
very great wonder, but you are, my little man. Enter into my service,
and I will give you board and lodging and clothing free, and all you
will have to do is to stand at my door and ask folks to come in and be
shaved, and hand the towels, soap and so on to the customers. I shall
get more customers and you may be sure you will receive a good many
coins for yourself.”

The little fellow was inwardly very much hurt that he should have been
invited to act as a barber’s decoy; but he answered quite politely
that he did not wish for such employment and walked out of the shop.

His one consolation was that, however much the old witch had altered
his body, she had had no control over his spirit. He felt that his
mind had become enlarged and improved, and he knew himself to be wiser
and more intelligent than he had been seven years previously. He
wasted no time in bewailing the loss of his good looks, but what did
grieve him was the thought that he had been driven like a dog from his
father’s door, and therefore he determined to make one more effort to
convince his mother of his identity.

He returned to the market-place and begged her to listen quietly to
him. He reminded her of the day on which the old woman had taken him
away and recalled to her many incidents of his childhood. Then he told
her how, transformed into a squirrel, he had served the wicked fairy
for seven years, and how his present hideous features had been given
him because he had found fault with the old woman’s features.

The cobbler’s wife knew not what to believe. Every detail he had told
her of his childhood was correct, and yet she could not believe it
possible that he could have been changed into a squirrel, besides
which she did not believe in fairies, good or evil. When she looked at
the ugly little dwarf she found it impossible to accept him as her
son. She thought the best thing that could be done was to talk the
matter over with her husband, and so she collected her baskets and she
and Jacob went back to the cobbler’s shop.

“See here,” she said, “this fellow declares he is our lost Jacob. He
has described to me exactly how he was stolen away seven years ago and
how he has been bewitched by a bad fairy.”

“Indeed,” cried the cobbler angrily, “he has told you exactly what I
told him an hour ago, and has tried to take you in with his story.
Bewitched was he, well, I will disenchant this little son of mine.”

So saying, the cobbler took a bundle of leather strappings and,
seizing poor Jacob, whipped him unmercifully, until the poor fellow,
screaming with pain, managed to make his escape.

It is strange how little sympathy is ever shown to an unfortunate
being who happens to have anything ridiculous about his appearance.
This was the reason that poor Jacob was obliged to pass all that day
and night without tasting food and that he had no better couch than
the cold steps of a church.

    [Illustration: _The cobbler whipped him unmercifully._
        (P. 131.)]

But, notwithstanding, he slept until the morning sun rose and wakened
him, and then he set himself earnestly to consider how he was to earn
a livelihood for himself, seeing that this father and mother had cast
him off.

He was too proud to serve as a barber’s signpost, or to exhibit
himself in a show for money. But, remembering how excellently he had
learnt to cook when he was in his squirrel form, he thought it
possible that he might make use of his art now; at any rate he
determined to try. He remembered to have heard that the Duke who owned
that country was said to be very fond of good living, and so, as soon
as the day was sufficiently advanced, he made his way to the palace.

The porter at the great gateway laughed at him in scorn when he said
he wished to see the chief cook, but on his persisting he led him
across the courtyard; all the servants who were about the place stared
at him, and then followed in his train, laughing and jeering at him.

They made such an uproar that the steward came out to see what all the
noise was about. He carried a whip in his hand and with it he laid
about him right and left. “You hounds,” said he, “how dare you
disturb your master’s slumbers? Don’t you know that he is not awake
yet?”

“But, sir,” cried the servants, “look what brings us here. Is that not
excuse enough? Look at the queer little dwarf we are bringing you?”

As the steward saw poor Jacob he had hard work to keep from laughing,
too, but as he considered it would be beneath his dignity to join in
the mirth with the other servants he managed to restrain himself, and
driving them off with his whip, led Jacob into his own apartments and
asked him what he wanted. Jacob begged to be conducted to the head
cook, but the steward could scarcely believe him.

“Surely, my little man, it is to me you wish to apply for a situation.
Do you not wish to become the Duke’s jester?”

“No, sir,” replied the dwarf. “I am a first-rate cook and understand
how to prepare all sorts of delicacies. I thought the head cook might
be willing to make use of my art.”

“Every man to his own liking, little man; but it seems to me you are
rather a foolish fellow. As the Duke’s jester you would have had no
work to do, fine clothes to wear, and plenty of good food to eat and
drink. Still, we will see what we can do for you, though I doubt if
your cookery is sufficiently good to suit the Duke’s table, and you
are too good to be made a mere scullion of.”

The steward then led him to the head cook, to whom Jacob hastened to
offer his services.

The head cook took a good look at him and burst out laughing. “You a
cook indeed!” he said scornfully. “Why, you could not reach the top of
the stove to stir a pan. Someone has been making game of you in
sending you here.”

But Jacob was not to be put off in this way. “Of what account are a
few eggs, syrup and wine, flour and spices in a house like this?” he
said; “order me to make any tasty dish you can think of and allow me
to have the ingredients I require and you shall soon judge whether or
no I am a good cook.”

“Well, so be it,” said the head cook, and, taking the steward’s arm,
he led the way to the kitchen. “Just for the joke of the thing we will
let the little man do as he wishes.”

The kitchen was a magnificent place. Fires burned in twenty huge
stoves, a stream of clear water, which served also for a fish-pond,
flowed through the apartment, the cupboards which contained the stores
mostly in use were of marble and costly wood, and there were ten large
pantries containing every kind of delicious foods from both Eastern
and Western countries.

Numbers of servants were running to and fro, carrying kettles and pans
and spoons and ladles. As the head cook entered they all stood still
and there was not a sound to be heard but the crackling of the fires
and the rippling of the stream. “What has the Duke ordered for his
breakfast to-day?” the great man asked of one of the inferior cooks.

“My lord has been pleased to order Danish soup and red Hamburg
patties,” replied the man.

“Very well,” said the head cook, turning to Jacob, “you hear what his
Highness has ordered. Will you undertake to prepare such difficult
dishes? As to the Hamburg patties, you will never be able to make
them, for the recipe is a secret.”

“There is nothing easier,” replied the dwarf, for as a squirrel cook
he had often been called upon to prepare these dishes. “For the soup I
shall require herbs, spices, wild boar’s head, certain roots,
vegetables, and eggs, and for the patties (here he lowered his voice
so that only the steward and the head cook could hear him) I require
four kinds of meat, ginger, and a sprig of a herb that is known by the
name of ‘trencher-man’s mint.’”

“By my honour as a cook, you must have learnt your trade from a
magician,” said the head cook. “You have hit upon the right
ingredients, and the mint is an addition I never thought of, but which
will certainly add to the flavour of the dish.”

    [Illustration: _The dwarf prepared the food._ (P. 136.)]

“Well,” said the steward, “I would not have believed it possible; but
by all means let him have the things he asks for, and see how he will
manage to prepare the breakfast.”

As it was found that the dwarf could not reach up to the table, a
slab of marble was laid across two chairs, and all the things he asked
for were set upon it. Steward, head cook and all the rest of the
servants stood around and watched in amazement the clever, cleanly and
brisk manner in which he prepared the food. When he had mixed
everything, he ordered the pots to be placed upon the fire and allowed
to boil until he said they were to be taken off. Then he began to
count “One, two, three,” and so on right up to five hundred, and then
he cried, “Stop! off with the pots!”

They were immediately taken off the fire, and the dwarf begged the
head cook to taste the contents.

A golden spoon was brought and the head cook approached the stove,
lifted the lid of one of the pots, helped himself to a spoonful of
soup, then, closing his eyes, smacked his lips with pleasure and
enjoyment.

“Delicious,” he murmured, “by the Duke’s head, it is delicious.
Steward, will you not taste it?”

The Steward tasted both soup and patties, and then stroked his
waistcoat gently with delight. “Head cook,” said he, “you are an
experienced and first-rate cook, but never have you made such soup or
such patties.”

The head cook tasted the food again, then he reverently shook the
dwarf by the hand. “Little one,” said he, “you are a master of your
craft. That pinch of trencher-man’s herb has given the patties an
extra flavour that renders them quite perfect.”

At this moment the Duke’s special attendant came to say that his
master was ready for his breakfast, so the food was served up in
silver dishes. The head cook, however, took the little man into his
room and was about to have a talk with him, when a message came from
the Duke desiring his attendance.

He dressed himself in his best clothes and hastened into his master’s
presence.

The Duke was looking extremely pleased. He had finished every morsel
of the food set before him and was wiping his beard as the head cook
entered.

“Cook,” said he, “I have always been well satisfied with your cooking
and with the work of those under you; but tell me, who prepared my
breakfast this morning? I declare it has never been so well served
since I sat upon the throne of my fathers. I wish to know the cook’s
name, so that I may reward him with a few ducats.”

“My lord, it is a most wonderful story,” answered the head cook, and
proceeded to tell his master about the dwarf who had arrived that
morning and who had insisted upon being engaged as a cook. The Duke
was much surprised, and sent for Jacob and questioned him closely as
to his name, where he came from, and so on.

Poor Jacob could not very well own that he had been bewitched and
changed into a squirrel, but he was not far from the truth when he
said he was now without parents and that he had learnt cooking from an
old woman. The Duke did not urge him to say more, being much taken up
with staring at the strange figure and features of his new cook. “If
you will serve me,” he said, “I will pay you fifty ducats a year, give
you a fine robe and two pairs of breeches. Your duties will be to cook
my breakfast every morning, order and superintend the preparation of
my dinner, and take over the entire management of the kitchen. As I
always prefer to name my servants myself, I shall give you the name of
Long-Nose, and your position will be that of second head cook.”

Long-Nose fell at the feet of his new master, kissed them, and vowed
to serve him faithfully.

The little fellow was thus provided for, and he certainly did honour
to his position, for the Duke was a different man from the time the
dwarf entered his service. Before that time he had been in the habit
of throwing the plates and dishes at the head of the cook who did not
manage to please him; indeed, on one occasion he had flung a calf’s
foot at his head cook because it was not sufficiently tender, and,
catching the poor man on the forehead had hurt him so much that for
three days he had to keep his bed. It is true the Duke always paid for
his acts of temper afterwards with a handful of ducats, but,
nevertheless, his cooks were wont to set the dishes before him in fear
and with trembling hands. But since the dwarf had been in the house
all had been changed. The master took five meals a day instead of
three, in order to thoroughly appreciate the skill of his little
servant, and never had he been dissatisfied yet, but had found
everything served to him both novel and excellent. He was always in a
good temper and grew fatter day by day.

Sometimes as he sat at table he would send for his head cook and Jacob
and bid them share the delicious food set before him, which was
considered a very great honour indeed.

The dwarf was the wonder of the whole city. The head cook constantly
received entreaties from various personages to be allowed to witness
the dwarf’s cooking, and some of the most distinguished men in the
State asked and received permission from the Duke to allow their cooks
to take lessons from the little man. They paid him well for the
instructions they received, but Long-Nose divided the money between
all the other cooks, for he did not wish them to become jealous of
him.

Two whole years the dwarf passed in the Duke’s service and was well
content with the treatment he received. It was only the thought of his
estrangement from his parents that gave him the least unhappiness.
Nothing out of the common had happened to him until the following
occurrence took place.

He was a better hand at a bargain than most, always seeing at a glance
which were the best goods on sale, and for this reason, whenever he
had the time, he used to go to market himself.

One morning he went to the goose fair to buy geese. He was no longer
greeted with scorn and laughter, for everyone knew him to be the
Duke’s favourite cook, and every good wife with geese to sell thought
herself lucky if his long nose turned in her direction.

He went up and down the market-place, and at length purchased three
live geese which were just the size he required. He lifted the basket
in which they were placed upon his broad shoulders and turned towards
home.

It struck him as somewhat strange that only two of the geese cackled
and gabbled as geese are wont to do; the third was silent, except when
she heaved a sigh that sounded almost human.

“The creature must be ill,” he said aloud. “I had better cook her
quickly before she gets worse.”

Then to his astonishment the goose answered quite plainly--

    “Long-Nose, look thee,
    If thou cook me,
    No good ’twill do,
    The deed thou’lt rue.”

Frightened out of his wits, Long-Nose set down the cage, and the goose
looked at him with her beautiful wise eyes and sighed.

“There, there,” said the dwarf, “have no fear, I would not harm such a
wonderful bird as yourself, for it is not once in a lifetime that one
meets a goose that can talk. I wager you have not always worn
feathers; I myself have been bewitched, and turned into a squirrel,
and I expect it is the same with you.”

“You are right,” said the goose. “Alas! I did not always bear this
humble form, and at my birth who would have dared prophecy that Mimi,
the daughter of the great magician Wetterbock, would end her days in a
Duke’s kitchen.”

    [Illustration: _THE DWARF LONG-NOSE_
      _“They told each other their sad stories”_
      (_p. 143_)]

“Set your mind at rest, dear Miss Mimi,” said the dwarf consolingly;
“so sure as I am an honest fellow and second cook to his Highness, no
one shall do you any harm. I will have a coop placed for you in my own
apartment and you shall have as much food as you require and I will
devote all my spare time to you. The rest of the kitchen servants will
be told that I am fattening you on some particular herbs to give you a
specially good flavour, and I will take the first opportunity of
setting you at liberty.”

The goose thanked him with tears in her eyes, and the dwarf took means
to provide for her as he had promised. She was placed in a wicker cage
and fed by Long-Nose alone, and he took care, instead of giving her
the ordinary food required by geese, to serve her with dainty cakes
and sweets. As often as he could he sat and talked to her and tried to
comfort her. They told each other their sad stories, and in this way
Long-Nose learned that Mimi was the daughter of the great magician
Wetterbock, who lived on the island of Gothland. He had quarrelled
with a very wicked fairy, who had managed to outwit him and, in
revenge, to change Mimi into a goose, and bring her far away from her
home.

The dwarf in return told her all his adventures, and she said: “I am
not altogether ignorant of magic myself, having learnt some things
from my father. What you tell me about the quarrel over the herb
basket and your sudden transformation on smelling a certain herb
proves to me that the old woman used some herb in her enchantment, and
if you are able to find that herb you will probably regain your
natural form.” This was small comfort for Long-Nose, for he had not
the least idea where he could find such a herb. Still, he thanked her,
and tried to be a little more hopeful too.

It was just at this time that the Duke had a visit from a neighbouring
Prince, a friend of his.

He sent for Long-Nose and said to him: “Now is the time to prove if
you serve me faithfully, and are a true master of your art. This
Prince, who is now my guest, lives better than anyone I know, except
myself. He prides himself upon the first-rate cooks he keeps and he is
a very knowing man. Now be careful that my table is served daily with
such dishes that may arouse his astonishment and envy. Never let the
same kind of food appear twice during his visit. You may ask my
treasurer for as much money as you require to purchase materials for
your cooking. If you wanted to baste your roasts with gold and
diamonds you should have them. I would sooner beggar myself than have
to blush for the quality of my viands.”

The dwarf bowed and promised the Duke that he would so manage that the
dainty palate of the Prince could not fail to approve of the dishes
set before him.

The little cook exerted all his skill and spared neither his master’s
treasures nor himself. All day long he was enveloped in a cloud of
steam, out of which issued his voice giving orders to the other cooks
and scullions. It would take too long to recount all the delicious
foods he cooked, suffice it to say that for a whole fortnight the
Duke and his guest were served as they had never been served before,
and a smile of enjoyment was constantly to be seen upon the face of
the royal visitor.

At the end of that time the Duke sent for the dwarf and presented him
to the Prince, asking him, at the same time, what he thought of him as
a cook.

“You are indeed a wonderful cook,” said the noble visitor to the
little man. “During the whole of my stay here I have not had the same
kind of dish twice. But I must own I have been surprised that you have
never tempted our appetites with the queen of all dainties, a
Souzeraine pasty.”

The dwarf was rather upset, for it chanced that he had never heard of
this before, but he managed to hide his discomposure.

“Sir,” said he, “I had hoped you were to honour this court with your
presence for a long time yet, and therefore did I delay setting this
dish before you, for with what better dish could a cook serve you, as
a parting greeting, than with that of a Souzeraine pasty?”

“Oh! indeed,” said the Duke smiling, “so I suppose you were waiting
for me to leave the world for ever before giving me the parting
greeting, for I have never so much as heard of this pasty, much less
tasted it. But we will wait for it no longer; to-morrow morning we
shall expect you to serve it up to us for breakfast.”

“As my lord wills,” answered the dwarf, and bowing low he left their
presence. He was terribly upset, for he had not the least idea how to
make the pasty. He went to his room and there wept and bemoaned his
sad fate.

But the goose Mimi came to him and, after enquiring the cause of his
sorrow, said: “Dry your tears, for I think I can help you in this
matter. This dish was frequently set upon my father’s table and I know
pretty well how it was concocted. Even if I cannot tell you every
single ingredient, you will no doubt flavour the pie so deliciously
that the Prince will not detect any omission.”

She then proceeded to name to the dwarf the various ingredients
required.

He was ready to jump for joy, and blessed the day upon which he had
purchased the goose, and then set to work to make the pasty.

He made a little trial one to begin with and it tasted delicious. He
gave the head cook a piece to taste and he could not say enough in
praise of it.

The following morning he made a large one and sent it to table
decorated with wreaths of flowers. He dressed himself in his state
robes and entered the dining hall just as the carver had served the
Duke and his guest with slices of the pasty.

The Duke took a large mouthful and then cast his eyes up towards the
ceiling. “Ah!” said he, as soon as he could speak, “this has been
truly called the queen of pasties, and as for my cook, he is the king
of cooks. What say you, dear friend?”

The guest took one or two mouthfuls before answering, and then, having
well tasted the flavour, he said rather scornfully as he pushed away
his plate: “It is as I thought! It is an excellent pasty no doubt,
but not the Souzeraine.”

The Duke frowned and reddened with anger--“Dog of a dwarf,” cried he,
“how dare you treat me so? I have a good mind to have your head
chopped off as a punishment for your bad cookery.”

“My lord, I assure you I have made the pasty according to all the
rules of the art of cookery,” replied the dwarf trembling.

“It is false, you rascal,” replied the Duke, kicking him away. “If it
were right my guest would not say it was wrong. I have a good mind to
have you made into mincemeat and baked in a pie yourself.”

“Have mercy,” cried the poor little man, prostrating himself before
the royal guest and clasping his feet in his arms. “I pray you tell me
what I have left out of the pasty that it fails to suit your palate?
Do not condemn me to death for a handful of meat and flour.”

“It will be of little assistance to you to know, my dear Long-Nose,”
answered the Prince with a smile, “I was quite certain yesterday that
you would not be able to make this pasty as well as my cook can,
because the chief requisite is a herb which does not grow in this
country. It is known as ‘The Cook’s Delight,’ and without this the
pasty is practically tasteless, and your master will never eat it with
the same pleasure that I can in my own country.”

Then the Duke flew into the most terrible rage--“I vow by my honour
that either you shall taste this pasty to-morrow morning, exactly as
you are accustomed to have it, or else the head of this fellow shall
pay for his blunder. Go, dog of a dwarf, I give you four-and-twenty
hours to accomplish it in.”

The poor dwarf went to his room and told this fresh trouble to the
goose.

“Come, take heart,” said she, “fortunately I know every herb that
grows and I am sure I can find this one for you. It is a happy thing
that it chances to be a new moon to-night, for only at the time of the
new moon does this plant grow. But tell me, are there any ancient
chestnut trees near the palace?”

“Oh! yes,” replied the dwarf, with a lighter heart. “Two hundred paces
from the palace, beside the lake, there is quite a large group of
chestnut trees; but why do you ask?”

“Because the herb is only found at the root of very old chestnut
trees,” answered Mimi. “Let us lose no time, but go and search for
what you require. Take me under your arm and put me down when we have
reached the spot, and I will help you search.”

He did as she bade him; but as he would have passed out of the gateway
of the palace, the sentry barred the way with his lance. “My good
Long-Nose,” said he, “I have the strictest orders not to let you out
of the house. Your end has come, I fear.”

“But surely I can go into the garden,” replied the dwarf. “Be so good
as to send one of your comrades to enquire if I may go into the garden
to search for herbs.”

The sentry did so and permission was given, for the garden had such
high walls surrounding it that it seemed impossible for him to escape.

    [Illustration: _The goose sought in vain for the herb._
        (P. 149.)]

As soon as he was in the open he placed Mimi carefully on the ground
and she at once began to run towards the lake on the banks of which
the chestnut trees grew. Long-Nose followed her with a sinking heart,
for he had already made up his mind that, if the herb could not be
found, he would drown himself in the lake rather than allow his head
to be cut off.

The goose sought in vain for the herb, she left not a blade of grass
unturned, and at length she began to cry from sympathy. She would not
give up the search until evening began to fall, and the darkness made
it difficult to distinguish any surrounding objects. Just as they were
about to abandon the search the dwarf looked across the lake and then
cried out: “Look, at the other side of the lake is a huge old chestnut
tree. Let us go and search there, perhaps good fortune blooms yonder.”

The goose waddled and flew and waddled and flew, the dwarf hurrying
after her as fast as his little legs would let him, until at length
they had reached the other side of the lake. The chestnut tree cast a
vast shade and it was so dark all around that it was difficult to
distinguish anything, but suddenly the goose gave a cry of joy and
flapped her wings with delight.

She thrust her head into the long grass and plucked something which
she deftly offered in her bill to Long-Nose. “This is the herb,” said
she, “and it grows here in such quantities you will always have a
plentiful supply.”

The dwarf looked at the herb thoughtfully. A sweet scent assailed his
nostrils and reminded him of the scene of his transformation; the
stalk, too, of the plant was of a bluish-green colour and it bore a
bright red flower, flecked with yellow.

“Mimi,” said he, “by great good fortune I do believe we have chanced
upon the very herb that changed me from a squirrel into the creature I
am now. Shall I make a trial of it?”

“Not yet,” replied the goose. “Take a handful of the herbs with you
and let us go back to your room. There you can collect your money and
all that you possess and then we will try the power of the herb.”

They returned to the dwarf’s room, he with a heart beating loudly with
excitement. He took between fifty and sixty ducats he had saved, and
tied them up in a bundle with some of his clothes, then saying: “May
good fortune aid me to be rid of my burden,” he thrust his nose into
the bunch of herbs and sniffed their fragrance. Then his limbs and
joints began to crack and stretch, he could feel his head rising from
between his shoulders, squinting down his nose he could see it growing
smaller and smaller, his back and chest straightened themselves out,
and his legs became longer.

The goose looked on in astonishment. “Oh! how tall and handsome you
are,” she cried, “there is not the faintest resemblance left to the
dwarf Long-Nose.”

As for Jacob, he was beside himself with joy; but he did not forget
the thanks he owed to Mimi. His first impulse was to go to his
parents, but gratitude urged him to suppress this wish.

“But for you,” he said to Mimi, “I might have retained my hideous form
all the days of my life, or I might even have lost my life. Now is the
time to repay my debt. I will take you straightway to your father,
whose magic powers will at once enable him to disenchant you.” The
goose wept tears of joy and accepted his offer gratefully.

Jacob passed the sentries safely, for they had only been ordered to
bar the way to the dwarf Long-Nose.

With Mimi beneath his arm he very soon reached the sea-shore, and
before long her home was in sight.

The great Wetterbock soon turned the goose into a charming young lady,
and, having loaded her rescuer with valuable gifts, bade him farewell.

Jacob hastened home, and his parents were only too delighted to accept
the handsome young man as their long-lost son.

With the presents he had received from Wetterbock he was able to
purchase a shop, and he became a very rich man and lived happily all
his days.

But his disappearance from the Duke’s palace caused a great hubbub.
When the morning came on which the Duke was to fulfil his vow and
behead the dwarf if he had not found the herb, lo! the dwarf himself
was missing.

The Prince declared the Duke had allowed him to escape to avoid losing
such a splendid cook, and said he had broken his word.

They quarrelled so violently that a war ensued, which is known in all
histories of those lands as “The Herb War,” and when at length peace
was declared it was called “The Pasty Peace,” and at the reconciliation
feast the Prince’s cook served up a Souzeraine pasty, to which the Duke
did full justice.




ABNER, THE JEW WHO SAW NOTHING.


This is the story of Abner, the Jew, who by reason of his great powers
of observation, instead of benefiting himself by his sagacity, brought
himself into dire straits and well-nigh lost his life.

    [Illustration: _Abner, the Jew._]

It is well known that all Jews are observant and crafty; Abner was no
exception to the rule.

He was strolling one evening beyond the gateway of Morocco, glancing
from right to left in case by chance he could see anything likely to
be used to his advantage. He was feeling particularly well pleased
with himself, for he had done a very good day’s business. He had
managed to sell a sick slave for a good sum of money, knowing he would
prove of little value to the purchaser, and he had bought a camel-load
of gum and spices for a very low price, and expected to make a large
profit, so he smiled and stroked his beard and paced up and down in a
very happy frame of mind.

Presently he heard the sound of people running and shouting and a
number of the Emperor’s grooms, with the Master of the Horse at their
head, came along. They ran here and there in wild disorder, evidently
searching eagerly for something or someone who was lost.

“Hullo, you dog of a Jew,” cried the Master of the Horse, “have you
seen anything of the Emperor’s horse, a fine creature ready saddled
and bridled? He has run away and is lost.”

“Ah,” answered Abner thoughtfully, “he was one of the swiftest horses
you could meet, with a small, delicately-shaped hoof, silver shoes,
his mane shone like gold, fifteen hands high, a tail three feet and a
half in length, and his bridle bit is of pure gold.”

“Yes, yes,” cried the Master of the Horse, “you have described him
exactly; tell me where we can find the Emperor’s horse.”

“But I have seen no horse,” replied Abner, smiling craftily, “how
therefore can I tell you where he is?”

The Master of the Horse was about to insist upon Abner explaining this
apparent contradiction, when by a strange coincidence another event
occurred which prevented him.

A troop of black slaves came running towards them, crying aloud, “Hath
any one seen the Empress’ lap-dog? Aline, Aline, where art thou?”

“Is it not a small spaniel with a long coat, a feathery tail, and lame
in the right foreleg?”

    [Illustration: _ABNER, THE JEW WHO SAW NOTHING_
      _“They ran here and there in wild disorder”_
      (_p. 154_)]

“Yes, yes,” cried the slaves, “of a certainty thou hast described the
dog. The Empress is in a swoon on account of the loss of her
favourite and will certainly not recover until Aline is restored to
her; tell us, therefore, where thou hast seen the dog!”

“I have seen no dog,” replied Abner, “neither was I so much as aware
that our Empress possessed one.”

Then both the stable men and the slaves of the harem fell to abusing
Abner, the shameless Jew, who did not scruple to make game of his
Emperor and Empress. They seized him and dragged him before the
Emperor and recounted all that had happened, suggesting that most
certainly the Jew had seen and stolen the animals in question.

The Jew continued to protest his innocence, but all in vain; by way of
a beginning he was ordered and received fifty strokes with the
bastinado upon the soles of his feet, and after that he was assured
that if the horse and the little dog were not recovered he would pay
for their loss with his life.

The palace was still in a high state of commotion, when a black slave
came running in, breathless and exhausted, but bearing the good news
that both horse and dog had been found.

The horse, fed on the best corn and oats in the Emperor’s stable, had
yet preferred his freedom and a bite of grass in a green meadow, where
he had been found quietly grazing.

As for the little dog, he had been found in the company of a number of
mongrels whose society was quite unfit for such an aristocratic little
animal as an Empress’ pet.

The Emperor now demanded an explanation from Abner as to how he had
been able to describe two animals he had never seen.

The Jew bowed low before the Emperor and made answer: “I was taking a
walk in the cool of the evening in a little wood, where the soil was
sandy and loose; presently I noticed the prints of small paws, the
right fore-paw print making a slighter impression in the sand than the
others, therefore I knew the little animal was lame. One each side of
the fore-paw prints there was a slight trail in the sand which proved
the animal’s ears had been long and sweeping the ground, and it was
impossible to avoid knowing that the tail was long and feathery, for,
in an access of joy, probably at the freedom he was enjoying, he had
wagged his tail to and fro, and brushed the sand aside. Therefore I
knew to a nicety the kind of dog that had passed that way.

“As far as the horse is concerned, as I was walking upon another path
in the wood I noticed the tracks of a horse’s hoofs. I examined them
and found them small and delicate, such as only a highly-bred horse’s
hoofs would be; from the distance apart I judged that the horse had
been galloping at a great rate, and I noticed a stone against which he
had evidently struck one hoof and left a small silver shaving,
therefore I knew he was shod with silver shoes. The path down which I
was walking was seven feet wide and the palms on each side had had the
dust brushed from their leaves. ‘Ah!’ said I, ‘the horse swished his
tail to and fro and swept the palms with it on each side of him,
therefore the tail must have been at least three and a half feet in
length.’ The branches of the trees beneath which I was walking were
some five feet from the ground and I saw that leaves had freshly
fallen from them, no doubt brushed off by the horse in his flight,
therefore I guessed him to be fifteen hands high. On the bushes I saw
traces of golden-brown horse hair, caught here and there, and I knew
then the colour of the horse that had passed that way.

“As I left the cover of the bushes I noticed a tiny mark of gold on a
rock, and guessed that the runaway had had a golden bit between its
teeth, which it had rubbed against the stone as it bounded past.”

“Now, by the beard of the Prophet,” cried the delighted Emperor, “that
is what I call good eyesight, and no mistake. I only wish my master of
the Hounds and the Chief of the Police had such eyes for a trail. Now,
Master Jew, it is but fair we should reward you on account of what you
have innocently suffered, and for the sake of the sagacity you have
shown. As you should have paid me a hundred sequins, you shall be
pardoned fifty on account of the fifty strokes you received. Now open
your purse and pay me the other fifty, but remember to beware in
future of how you make a laughing stock of your Emperor: if you wish
to ridicule anyone, the pain in your feet may serve to remind you it
would be best to make a butt of one of lesser degree!”




THE STORY OF ALMANSOR.


There was once a Sheik of Alexandria named Ali Banu. Although he was
good and generous, rich and clever, he was a very unhappy man, for he
had the misfortune to lose his only son when he was but ten years of
age, and the joy of his father’s heart.

    [Illustration: _Almansor in the camp of the Franks._ (P. 164.)]

It was at the time when the Franks overran the country like a pack of
hungry wolves. They had conquered Alexandria and had pushed their way
further and further, and attacked the Mamelukes.

The Sheik was a wise man and tried therefore to keep the peace with
them, but they grudged him his wealth and so made an excuse to
quarrel with him. They pretended that he had been supplying the
Mamelukes secretly with weapons, horses, and stores, and so they
seized his young son Kairam and carried him away to their camp as a
hostage.

The Sheik offered ransom money, but the Franks would not part with the
boy, because they believed that if they kept him long enough the
father would be glad to pay even the most extortionate price for his
release.

But suddenly they were recalled to their own land, and as they had not
time to bargain with the Sheik before embarking, they carried the boy
Kairam with them.

The boy’s mother died of a broken heart and the poor old man never
ceased to grieve for his son. Every year, upon the anniversary of the
day his son was captured, he made a rule of setting at liberty twelve
slaves. In order to divert his mind from his sorrow, the twelve who
were about to be liberated each had to recount to him a story, and
when this had been done they were released.

Upon one of these anniversaries some ten or eleven years after
Kairam’s abduction, the Sheik took his seat on the floor, for his
mourning for his son forbade him to sit upon the carpet of joy, his
friends and acquaintance, who had come to comfort him, sat near him,
and close beside him was Mustapha, the Dervish, who was his closest
friend and had been his son’s instructor.

The slaves who were about to be released were gathered before him;
some were old and some young, but the one who called for the most
attention was a tall and very handsome young man, whom the Sheik had
purchased for a large sum of money, only a few days previously, of a
slave trader from Tunis.

When several of the slaves had told their stories and it came to this
young man’s turn, he arose, bowed to the Sheik, and said in a clear
voice:

“My Lord, the stories that have already been told are so much more
interesting than any I could tell relating to myself, that with your
permission I will recount to you the adventures of one of my friends.

“Upon the slave ship which brought me from Algeria there was a young
man of about my own age who seemed to have been born to a better
position than that in which I found him.

“The rest of the unfortunate beings upon the ship were either of a low
class, so that I did not care to mix with them, or else spoke a
language I did not understand, and so, whenever I had any spare time,
I spent it with this young man. His name was Almansor, and, by the
manner in which he spoke, I judged him to be an Egyptian.

“We took great pleasure in each other’s society, and one day we told
each other our stories, and his seemed certainly more interesting than
mine.

“Almansor’s father held a distinguished position in an Egyptian town.
He spent the days of his childhood surrounded by every comfort,
although he was not spoilt or allowed to become effeminate, for his
father was a wise man and trained him to be good and virtuous, and
gave him for his instructor a very learned man who taught him all that
a youth should know. Almansor was about ten years of age when the
Franks came from over the sea and made war upon his nation.

“The boy’s father evidently incurred the displeasure of the Franks,
for one day they came and demanded his wife as a hostage and a
guarantee of his good intentions towards them, and upon his refusing
to give her up they tore his son from him by force, and carried him
away to their camp.”

As the young slave recounted this, the Sheik hid his face in his hands
and a murmur of displeasure arose in the apartment.

“How could this young man be so foolish as to tell such a story?” the
Sheik’s friends asked one another. “How can he be so cruel as to open
Ali Banu’s wounds afresh instead of attempting to heal them? How can
he renew his grief instead of trying to allay it?”

The overseer of the slaves was full of anger over the young man’s
effrontery, and bade him roughly hold his peace, but the slave only
showed surprise, and asked the Sheik in what way his story had
displeased him. So the Sheik raised his head from his hands and said:
“Calm yourselves, my friends. This young man has been but three days
beneath my roof and quite possibly does not know of my sorrowful
history. It is possible, considering the cruelties the Franks
perpetrate, there may be another story similar to mine, or even this
Almansor might be--” The Sheik did not finish his sentence, but bade
the slave continue his story.

“The young Almansor,” said he, “was, as I said, carried away to the
camp of the Franks, where he did not fare so badly, for one of the
generals took a fancy to him, and was amused at the boy’s answers to
his questions, which were interpreted to him by a dragoman. He saw
that he was well cared for and had all the food required, but that did
not compensate the boy for the loss of his father and mother.

“He wept bitterly, but his tears did not melt the hard hearts of his
captors. When the camp was broken up Almansor hoped he would be sent
home, but no, the army moved on and on in pursuit of the Mamelukes,
and young Almansor was carried in its train.

“In vain he begged and implored the officers to send him back to his
father; they told him he was the only security they had for his
father’s good faith.

“But all of a sudden a great commotion took place, all the soldiers
began packing in great haste, and Almansor heard that the army had
been recalled. He felt certain that if the Franks returned to their
own country he would be restored to his home, and was happy in the
thought of so soon seeing his parents again. The retreat towards the
sea-shore was a hurried one, and Almansor very soon saw the great
ships lying at anchor. The soldiers began to embark at once, but by
nightfall only a small number were on board. Almansor tried hard to
remain awake, for he believed he was to be set free immediately, but
in spite of his efforts he fell into a deep sleep. Afterwards he felt
sure that the Franks must have drugged him, for he slept so soundly
that when he awoke it was broad daylight, and he found himself in
quite a different room to the one in which he had gone to sleep.

“He sprang from his couch, but no sooner touched the floor than he
fell down, for the floor seemed to sway up and down, and everything in
the room went round and round. He rose and steadied himself by the
wall, so that he might be able to get out of the room.

“A most extraordinary splashing and roaring noise was all around him,
and he scarcely knew whether he was awake or dreaming, for he had
never heard anything like it before. He managed to reach a little
staircase and climbed it. What was his horror to see around him
nothing but sea and sky, and he discovered that he was on a ship. He
wept bitterly and begged to be taken back. He tried to fling himself
into the sea in order that he might swim ashore. But the Franks held
him fast, and one of the officers ordered him to be brought to him and
promised him that, if he were good and obedient, he should be sent
home, but told him it had not been possible for them to spare time to
take him to his father, and had they left him behind by himself he
would have perished miserably.

“But the Franks did not keep their promise, for after many days, when
the ship at length reached the shore, it was not in Egypt they landed,
but on the coast of France, which was the name of the country they
came from. During the voyage and whilst he had been in the camp,
Almansor had learnt a good deal of the Frankish language, and he found
this very useful, now that he was in a country where no one
understood a word of his language.

“For many days he marched with the army into the interior of the
country, and crowds came flocking to see him, for his companions gave
out that he was the King of Egypt’s son, who had been sent to France
to be educated. This they said in order that the people might believe
that they had conquered Egypt and made peace with that country.

“At length they reached a very large town, which was the end of the
journey. He was handed over to a doctor, who took him into his house
and instructed him in the manners and customs of the country.

“First of all he was made to put on different clothing, which felt
tight and uncomfortable, and was not nearly so nice to look at as his
Egyptian clothes. He was no longer allowed to bow, with his arms
crossed upon his breast, when he wished to show his respect to any
one. Instead he was taught to raise his large black felt hat with one
hand, and make a slight obeisance. He was not allowed to sit
cross-legged upon a cushion, as is the pleasant custom in the East,
but was made to sit upon a high-legged chair and let his legs hang
down. The mode of eating, too, was most trying, for everything he put
into his mouth had to be conveyed there by means of a steel fork.

“The doctor was a stern and cruel man who gave the boy no peace. If he
forgot and said to a visitor: ‘Salem aleicum,’ he had a good beating,
for he had been taught to say: ‘Votre serviteur.’ He was not allowed
to speak or write in his own language, and he might even have
forgotten his native tongue had it not been for a man who lived in
that town, and who was very kind to him.

“This man was very learned and understood a great many Eastern
languages, Arabic, Persian, Coptic, and even Chinese, and made a great
deal of money by teaching them to other people. He invited Almansor to
visit him several times a week, gave him fruit and cakes, and made him
feel very much at home. He was a most extraordinary old man, for he
ordered clothes for Almansor such as high-class people in Egypt wear,
and kept them in a certain room in his house. When Almansor came to
visit him he was sent to this room, with a servant, who helped him to
dress himself in these garments, and then he was taken into what was
called ‘The Arabian Hall.’

“This hall was decorated with palms, cedars and all sorts of flowers
that grow in Eastern countries. Persian carpets were laid on the
floors, and cushions were placed against the walls, but there was no
sign of a chair or table. The old professor was seated upon one of the
cushions, but he was dressed quite differently to his usual attire. He
wore a Turkish turban on his head, a false grey beard that reached to
his waist. On his legs he had wide Turkish trousers, and besides this
he had a robe made from a brocaded dressing gown, and yellow slippers.

“Although he was of a very peaceable nature, he wore a Turkish sabre,
and had a dagger, set with imitation jewels, thrust into his girdle.
He smoked a pipe with a stem at least four feet in length, and was
waited upon by servants clad in Eastern attire, with hands and faces
coloured dark brown.

“At first Almansor only thought how very curious it all was, but after
a while he began to think of what great advantage to him the hours
spent with the old man might be. At the doctor’s he was forced to
converse in the French tongue, but at the old man’s house he was
encouraged to speak the Egyptian language. On entering he was expected
to give the Eastern greeting, to which the old man solemnly responded;
then he was told to sit down, and the host conversed with his guest in
a mixture of Persian, Arabic and Coptic. He had a servant beside him,
who on these occasions was called a slave, and this slave held an
enormous dictionary, and whenever the old man was at a loss for a
word, he beckoned to the slave to turn over the leaves of the book
until he came to the word he wanted, and then he went on talking
again.

“The pretended slaves served sherbet and such-like drinks in Turkish
drinking-vessels, and if Almansor wanted to please the old man very
much he used to tell him that everything looked as it did in his own
home in the East. Almansor could read Persian very well, and this was
of great use to the old man, for he made the boy read aloud from
Persian manuscripts, and repeated the words carefully after him, and
so learnt the correct pronunciation.

    [Illustration: _THE STORY OF ALMANSOR_
      _The slave held an enormous dictionary_
      (_p. 168._)]

“These were happy days for poor Almansor, for the professor never sent
him away empty-handed, but gave him sometimes money, and sometimes
underwear, and other useful things with which the doctor would not
provide him. And so he lived for some years in the capital of France,
without his longing for home ever growing less. When he was about
fifteen years of age something happened which had a great influence
upon his fortunes. The Franks, or the French as he was taught to call
them, chose for their Emperor the general who had once made a pet of
Almansor in Egypt.

“Although Almansor knew that one of the generals had been proclaimed
Emperor, he did not know it was the one he had so frequently spoken to
before he left his native land.

“One day, when he was crossing one of the bridges which span the wide
river flowing through the city, he saw a man, dressed in simple
uniform, leaning against the parapet, gazing down into the water.

“The man’s features seemed familiar to him and, quickly reviewing the
past, he remembered where he had last seen him. He was the French
general who had been so kind to him in Egypt. He did not know his
right name, only the nickname by which the soldiers spoke of him, but,
taking courage, he advanced towards him, crossed his arms upon his
breast, and said ‘Salem aleicum, Little Corporal.’

“The man turned in astonishment, stared hard at the youth for a few
moments, and then said: ‘Is it possible, _you_ here, Almansor? How is
your father, and how are things going on in Egypt? How do you come to
be in France?’

“Almansor could not restrain his tears. Weeping bitterly, he made
answer: ‘Then you did not know that your dogs of countrymen had
brought me here? Alas! Little Corporal, it is many a long year since I
saw my native land.’

“‘I trust,’ said the man, with an angry frown, ‘that they did not
bring you away from Egypt.’

“‘Indeed they did,’ replied Almansor; ‘an officer, moved by compassion
for me, paid for my board and keep at the house of a doctor, who beats
and ill-treats me, and almost starves me to death. But oh! how glad I
am I have met you, for now I know that you will help me.’

“‘How can I help you?’ asked the man smiling.

“‘Well,’ replied Almansor, ‘you may be sure that I am not going to ask
you for money, for I am sure you have little to spare. I remember
that, although you were a general, when you were so kind to me, you
were poor, and were never able to afford such fine clothes as the
others, and I can see by your shabby hat and coat that you are not
much better off now, but, as you know, your people have lately chosen
a new Emperor, and as he was one of your generals it may chance that
at least you know someone who is acquainted with him.’

“‘And if I do, what then?’ replied the man.

“‘I want you to say a good word for me, Little Corporal, and get the
Emperor to grant me my liberty. It would not cost very much money to
send me home across the sea; but whatever you do, you must promise to
keep this a secret from the doctor and the Arabian professor.’

“‘Who may the Arabian professor be?’ the soldier asked.

“‘A most extraordinary man, but I will tell you of him some other
time.’ replied Almansor. ‘But if these two were to hear of it they
would most certainly prevent my leaving France. And will you promise
then to find some one to speak for me to the Emperor?’

    [Illustration: _“Is it possible, you here, Almansor?”_
        (P. 171.)]

“‘Come with me and I may perhaps be able to help you now,’ said his
friend.

“‘Now?’ cried the youth, ‘that I cannot do, for I shall get a good
beating from the doctor if I do not hurry home.’

“‘What have you in that basket?’ asked the man, laying his hand upon
Almansor’s shoulder.

“The boy blushed with shame and hesitated, but said finally: ‘Little
Corporal, it is not here with me as it was in my own home. I am forced
now to perform the duties assigned to the lowest of my father’s
slaves. The doctor is a miserly man, and every day he sends me to a
market which is at some distance from our house, because I can get
things cheaper there than they are in our part of the town. Look at
these few herrings, this handful of salad, and this little pat of
butter: every day I have to tramp miles in order to buy such things.
Oh! if only my father knew it.’

“The soldier appeared moved by the boy’s distress--‘Come with me,’ he
said, ‘and I promise you the doctor shall not punish you, even if he
has to go without herrings or salad. So take courage and come.’

“He took Almansor by the hand and led him along with him, and although
the boy’s heart beat loudly when he thought of the doctor, yet he
could not but feel great confidence in the man beside him and so he
decided to do as he advised. So he trotted along, his basket on his
arm, sorely perplexed, however to notice how everyone raised their
hats to them, and stood staring after them. He asked his companion
what it meant, but he only laughed and gave no answer.

“At length they reached a splendid palace, which the man entered: ‘Do
you live here, Little Corporal?’ asked Almansor.

“‘This is my dwelling-place, certainly,’ replied the soldier, ‘and I
am going to introduce you to my wife.’

“‘Ah! but you have a splendid home,’ replied Almansor. ‘I suppose the
Emperor gives you your quarters free?’

“‘It is true I owe these quarters to the Emperor,’ answered his
companion. They mounted a wide staircase and reached a magnificent
anteroom, where he was told to put down his basket, and then they went
into a most beautiful apartment, where a lady was sitting upon a sofa.
The soldier spoke to her in a language the boy did not understand, and
they both laughed a good deal, and then the lady asked him, in the
French tongue, a number of questions about Egypt, and then the Little
Corporal said: ‘I have come to the conclusion that the best thing we
can do is to take you straight to the Emperor, and for you to tell him
your story.’

“Almansor was frightened to face such a great man; but he thought of
his home and the misery he now endured and took courage. ‘I will go,’
he said bravely, ‘but tell me, Little Corporal, must I prostrate
myself before him, shall I place my forehead to the ground? Tell me
how I ought to behave.’

“The soldier and his wife laughed heartily and assured him this was
not necessary.

“‘Has he a very fierce and majestic appearance?’ he asked again, ‘has
he a long beard? Will his eyes flash fire? Tell me how I shall
recognise him.’

“‘I would rather not describe him to you, Almansor,’ answered his
companion, ‘but I will tell you how you may recognise the Emperor. All
who are in the room will take off their hats respectfully, the Emperor
alone will remain covered.’

“He led Almansor towards the Emperor’s reception room and the boy
began to tremble all over as they approached the door.

“A servant opened it and they were in the presence of some thirty men,
all of whom had ranged themselves in a semi-circle. They wore
magnificent uniforms, and gold lace and glittering orders sparkled
upon their breasts. Almansor thought his plainly-dressed companion
must be lower in rank than anyone present. They all stood bare-headed
and Almansor began to search for one who wore a hat. In vain, it
seemed to him that the Emperor could not be present, for all carried
their hats in their hands. Then his glance fell upon his companion,
and lo! he was wearing his hat.

“The boy was astounded and put up his hand to his own head to remove
the hat he had forgotten until then: ‘Salem aleicum, Little Corporal,’
he said. ‘I know that I am not Emperor of France, so it is not
becoming for me to remain covered. But now you are the only person
wearing a hat, can it be that _you_ are the Emperor?’

“‘You have guessed it at length,’ he replied, ‘and besides being the
Emperor, I am your friend. You must not blame me for your misfortunes,
but rather put them down to a succession of unfortunate circumstances,
and rest assured I will send you home in the first ship that is sailing
to your country. Now run away to my wife and tell her about the Arabian
professor or anything else you like. I will send the herrings and the
salad to the doctor, but you will remain in the palace as my guest.’

“Thus spoke the man who was the Emperor. Almansor fell upon his knees
and kissed his hand, begging his forgiveness for not having recognised
him, but assuring him that he did not in the least resemble an
Emperor.

“‘You are right,’ replied the Emperor laughingly, ‘but you see I have
only been an Emperor for a few days, so that I have not had time for
imperial majesty to stamp itself upon my features.’ Then he nodded for
the boy to go.

“From that time Almansor lived very happily. He was allowed to visit
the Arabian professor, but he did not see the doctor again.

“After the lapse of a few weeks the Emperor sent for him and told him
that a ship was about to sail for Egypt. He loaded him with presents
and money, and sent him to the coast; but not before the boy had
expressed his deep gratitude and affection to the one who had shown
him so much kindness.

“But alas! Almansor’s troubles were not yet over, Allah would not yet
permit him to see his native shore. The French nation was then at war
with another Frankish people, the English. These English captured
every French ship they could, and so it happened that on the sixth day
the ship on which Almansor sailed was surrounded by a number of
English ships, and was obliged to surrender. All the crew were
transferred to another smaller vessel and, as ill luck would have it,
this small vessel became detached from the rest of the fleet during a
storm. Now there are robbers upon the high seas just as there are in
the desert, and the small ship was seized by a pirate ship from Tunis,
and all the crew were sent to Algiers and sold as slaves. Almansor was
not so badly off as the Christians, because he was a Mussulman and a
true Believer, but notwithstanding he began to abandon all hope of
ever seeing his father’s house again. He had been purchased by a rich
man, and for five years he lived with him, cultivating his garden and
rearing his flowers. But suddenly the rich man died and left no near
heirs, so that his property was divided up, his slaves were shared
out, and Almansor fell into the hands of a slave-dealer who was just
fitting out a ship to carry his slaves to another port, in order to
sell them for a better price. I chanced to be one of this dealers
slaves and was taken upon the same ship with Almansor. We soon made
friends and he told me his wonderful adventures. But, when we landed,
I was a witness of Allah’s goodness and merciful guidance, for it was
upon Almansor’s native shore that we disembarked, and it was in the
market place of his native town that we were publicly sold, and oh! my
Lord, it was his own dear father who bought him.”

The Sheik Ali Banu had listened thoughtfully to the slave’s story,
but the conclusion did not quite seem to satisfy him.

“The young man would be about one-and-twenty, you say?” he enquired.

“Yes, my Lord, my own age,” answered the slave.

“And what do you say is the name of his native town?”

“If I was not mistaken it was Alexandria,” was the reply.

“Alexandria!” cried the Sheik. “Then it was my son. Did he ever call
himself Kairam? Had he dark eyes and brown hair?”

“Yes, my lord,” said the slave, “and sometimes he called himself
Kairam and _not_ Almansor.”

“But tell me,” said the old man, “are you sure his own father bought
him, did he assure you it was so? Because if this is the case he
cannot be my son.”

The slave answered: “I heard him thank Allah for having brought him
back to his own city, and when an aged and distinguished-looking man
approached him and bought him he whispered to me: ‘My misfortunes are
at an end, for it is my own father who has bought me.’”

“Alas! it was _not_ my son,” cried the Sheik in tones of deep grief.

Then the young man could contain himself no longer. Tears of joy
rushed to his eyes and he threw himself at the Sheik’s feet and cried:
“But it was your son, Kairam, or Almansor, for it was you who
purchased him.”

The Sheik stood speechless, staring at the youth’s handsome face.
“Mustapha,” said he to the old Dervish, “my eyes are dimmed with a
veil of tears so that I can see nothing. Tell me, does this youth
indeed resemble my son Kairam?”

The aged Dervish approached and, laying his hand upon the young man’s
forehead, said: “Kairam, what was the text I taught you the very day
you were taken away to the Frankish camp?”

“My dear master,” said the youth, pressing his lips to the Dervish’s
hand, “it was this: ‘He who loves Allah and has a good conscience,
though he were in the desert of misery, is never alone, for he has two
companions who walk beside him and comfort him.’”

Then the Dervish placed the young man in the Sheik’s arms. “Take him,”
he said, “for so surely as you have mourned your son as lost, so
surely is he found again.”

The Sheik was beside himself with joy, and all present joined in his
delight for they loved him dearly and shared in his happiness as they
had shared his grief.

Once more the house resounded with songs of joy and mirth, as it had
been wont to do. Again the youth was pressed to tell his story with
still more minute details, and all united to praise the Arabian
professor and the Emperor and everyone who had shown kindness towards
the young man.

The gathering did not break up until quite late at night, and before
they left the Sheik presented each of his friends with some rich gift,
that he might always have cause to remember the joyful day.




THE STORY OF THE FLORIN.


In Upper Suabia stands to this very day the ruins of a castle that was
once the most stately in the whole neighbourhood, namely, that of
Hohenzollern. It is built upon the summit of a steep hill, from the
rugged heights of which the surrounding country can be viewed far and
wide. But, further than the eye can travel, throughout the most remote
parts of Germany, the race of Hohenzollern was ever known, feared and
respected.

    [Illustration: _Stormy Weather Zollern._ (P. 182.)]

Hundreds of years ago there lived in this solitary stronghold one of
the race who, it is true, was feared, but also distrusted by all,
although it could not be actually said of him that he oppressed his
subjects or lived at open enmity with his neighbours.

Few besides the inhabitants of the castle had ever heard him speak a
civil word, for if he rode through the valley and chanced to meet
anyone who raised his cap and said: “Good evening, Count, what fine
weather we are having,” he would reply in surly tones, “Rubbish!” or
“I know that already.”

But if anyone neglected his work, or if perchance the Count met a
peasant driving his cart on a narrow road so that he could not pass
quickly, then a perfect storm of fury burst from his lips. He did not
ill-treat the object of his wrath, but he would rage and storm so
wildly that folks had given him the nickname of “Stormy Weather
Zollern.”

Stormy Weather had a wife who was the direct opposite of himself; for
she was as mild and gentle as a May day, and her kind words and
pleasant smile often went a good way towards healing the breach
between her husband and the neighbours he offended. She was good to
the poor and would climb down the steep hill-side, summer and winter
alike, to go to the aid of anyone in distress. Sometimes she met the
Count when she was thus employed, and he would glance at her and say:
“Nonsense, nonsense, why don’t you mind your own business?”

Many a less loving wife would have ceased to love such a disagreeable,
cross-grained fellow, but not so the Lady Hedwig. She would try to
coax the Count into a better temper, or make excuses for him when
there were really none to be made.

They had one son, a sweet little baby whom the Count professed to care
very little about. He never saw him but once a week, and that was on a
Sunday afternoon, when the nurse carried the baby in her arms. When he
said “Father” for the first time, the Count gave the Nurse a florin;
but he took no further notice of the child.

On the little one’s third birthday the Count ordered him to wear his
first pair of breeches, and had him clothed in velvet and silk, and
very pretty he looked. Then he ordered his own and a second very fine
spirited horse to be brought to the gateway and, taking the child on
his arm, began to descend the steep staircase, his spurs rattling and
clanging as he went. The Lady Hedwig made it a rule never to enquire
where he was going or when he was returning when he rode out, but now
her anxiety for her child urged her to.

“Are you going riding?” The Count did not answer, so she said: “Why
are you taking the little one with you? Cuno is going for a walk with
me.”

“Rubbish,” said the Count, and went on down the steps until he reached
the courtyard. Then he put the child upon the horse’s back and tied
him firmly on with a broad scarf, flung himself upon his own steed and
trotted out of the castle gates, taking the reins of the little boy’s
horse in his own hands. At first the little one seemed to enjoy riding
down the hill with his father. He clapped his hands and laughed and
shook his horse’s mane to make it go faster, and the Count was pleased
and said once or twice: “You will be a brave fellow some of these fine
days.”

But when the plain was reached and, instead of a trot, the Count
changed the horse’s pace to a gallop, the child was nervous. First he
begged his father to go slower, but instead of that the pace was
increased. The strong wind took poor Cuno’s breath away and he began
to cry softly. Faster and faster they went, and then the boy screamed
at the top of his voice.

“Nonsense, nonsense, stop that screaming,” began Stormy Weather
Zollern; but at that moment his own horse shied, and the reins of the
child’s steed slipped from his grasp. It took some moments to regain
the mastery of his horse, and when he had done this he saw to his
consternation that the boy’s horse was riderless and was galloping
back towards the castle.

Although such a hard surly man, his heart failed him at this sight,
for he believed nothing less than that his child lay crushed upon the
roadside. He tore his beard and made great lament.

He rode back, but could see no trace of the boy, and was beginning to
think that the restive animal had flung him into a ditch, when
suddenly he heard a child’s voice calling him. He turned quickly, and
there, not far from the roadside, an old woman sat beneath a tree and
rocked the little one upon her knees.

“How do you come to have the boy, you old witch?” cried Stormy Weather
angrily. “Bring him here to me immediately!”

“Not so fast, not so fast, my lord Count,” said the old woman, “or
you, too, may come to grief on your fine horse. You ask me how I come
to hold the child in my arms! Well, his horse threw him and he was
hanging, bound by one little foot, his hair sweeping the dust, when
I caught him in my apron.”

    [Illustration: _THE STORY OF THE FLORIN_
      _“Faster and faster they went”_
      (_p. 184._)]

“Oh! Rubbish,” said the Count ill-humouredly. “Give him to me, for I
cannot dismount, the horse is restive and might kick him.”

“Give me a florin then?” begged the old woman.

“Rubbish!” cried the Count and threw her a few coppers.

“No, no,” said the old woman, “give me a florin.”

“A florin indeed, you’re not worth one,” answered the Count. “Give me
the child quickly, or I will set my dog on you.”

“Ah! so I’m not worth a florin?” she said with a scornful smile.
“Well, we shall see some day if your inheritance will be worth so much
as a florin. Here, take your coppers, you can keep them.” As she spoke
she threw the coppers towards the Count, and so straight was her aim
that they fell, one by one, into the leathern purse the Count still
held in his hand.

The Count was unable to speak for some minutes, so astounded was he at
the old woman’s dexterity. Then his surprise changed to anger. He
raised his gun and levelled it at her, but she kissed and caressed the
little Count, holding him before her, so that the bullet would have
struck him first.

“You are a good honest little lad,” she said. “Remain so all your life
and you will have all you wish for.” Then she released him and,
shaking her finger threateningly at the Count, cried--“Zollern,
Zollern, you still owe me the florin.” Then she turned away heedless
of the Count’s angry words, and, leaning on her staff, disappeared in
the wood.

Conrad, the Count’s groom, dismounted, and, taking the little boy in
his arms, set him on his saddle and then mounted behind him and rode
after his master up the steep hill to the castle.

This was the first and last time that Stormy Weather Zollern took his
little son riding, for he considered him effeminate and faint-hearted
because he had cried when the horse galloped, and decided that he
would never be worth anything. He looked at him with displeasure and
whenever the little one came to him and wished to sit upon his knee
and be caressed he would push him away and say harshly: “Rubbish--get
away!”

The Lady Hedwig had borne her husband’s ill-temper without a murmur,
but his harsh treatment of his innocent child wounded her deeply. She
fretted and fretted, for whenever the boy committed some trifling
offence he was punished so severely that she was afraid for him, and
at length it preyed upon her mind so much that she fell ill and died.
She was mourned by the whole household and by everyone in the
neighbourhood, though most deeply by her son.

From this time the Count took no further notice of his son, but left
him entirely to the care of his nurse and the old chaplain. Shortly
afterwards he married again, a young and rich lady, and as she had
twin sons the Count consoled himself with them.

Cuno’s favourite walk was to visit the old woman who had once saved
his life. She told him all about his dead mother, and how much good
she had done in her lifetime. The maids and men-servants warned him
repeatedly not to go so often to see her, assuring him that she was
nothing more nor less than a witch. But the boy was not afraid, for
the chaplain had taught him that there were no such people as witches
and that the stories about them riding on broomsticks through the air
were all nonsense.

It is true he saw at the old woman’s hut all sorts of strange things
which he could not understand, and he still remembered the trick with
the copper coins which she had played on his father. Then she knew how
to mix all sorts of ointments and draughts with which to heal both man
and beast; but it was certainly not true, as some folks declared, that
she had a weather-glass, and when she hung it over the fire there was
a fearful thunderstorm. She taught the young Count a good deal that
was useful to him, for instance, all sorts of remedies for sick horses
and cattle, how to mix a bait to lure the fishes, and many other
useful things. The old woman was almost his sole companion, for his
nurse died and his stepmother never troubled about him at all.

By-and-by, as his brothers grew up, his life was even sadder than
before, for the twins were so fortunate as to keep their seats at
their first ride, and Stormy Weather Zollern thought them clever manly
fellows and loved them accordingly, and rode out with them every day
and taught them everything he knew himself. But they did not learn
much good; the Count could neither read nor write and he would not
allow his sons to waste time over such things.

By the time they were ten years old they were as wild and quarrelsome
as their father and led a cat-and-dog life between themselves.

It was only when they wanted to play some unkind trick on Cuno that
they were united.

Their mother did not interfere, she thought it manly for them to fight
one another. One day an old servant spoke to the Count about the way
the two boys fought and quarrelled, and although he only said:
“Rubbish!” he bore it in remembrance, and thought out a means to
prevent their killing one another as they grew older and fiercer, for
the witch’s warning still rang in his ears: “We shall see if your
inheritance will be worth a florin.”

One day when he was out hunting he noticed two hills which seemed to
him to have been specially formed as the site of two castles, and made
up his mind to build one on each. And so he did, and named the castles
one Schalksberg, and the other Hirschberg. Stormy Weather Zollern
intended leaving the castle of Hohenzollern to his eldest son and the
other two castles to the two younger ones, but his wife never rested
until she made him alter his mind.

“Stupid Cuno,” this was what she always called the poor boy, “stupid
Cuno is rich enough as it is with what he inherited from his mother,
and yet you would give him the beautiful castle of Hohenzollern, and
my sons are only to have a castle with nothing but woods attached.”

    [Illustration: _The old woman taught the Count a good deal that
        was useful to him._ (P. 189.)]

In vain the Count pointed out to her that Cuno could not be so easily
deprived of his birthright; she wept and scolded until even Stormy
Weather, who was generally so stubborn, gave in for the sake of peace,
and made a will leaving Schalksberg to Schalk, the younger of the
twins, and Hohenzollern to Wolf, the elder, whilst Hirschberg,
together with the little town of Balingen, were given to Cuno.

Soon afterwards he fell very ill. The doctor warned him of his
approaching end and so did the chaplain, the latter bidding him
prepare to face death, but he only growled out:--“Rubbish!” and so
died as he had lived, a wild, fierce-tempered man.

Scarcely had he been laid in his grave than the Countess brought the
will to Cuno and told him mockingly that, since he was so learned, he
might read it and see for himself that he had no longer any interest
in Hohenzollern, and she rejoiced with her two sons over the fact that
they had deprived Cuno of his inheritance.

Cuno did not attempt to dispute the will, but took leave of the castle
with tears in his eyes, for not only had he been born there, but his
dear mother lay buried there, and his good old friend the chaplain
lived there, whilst his only other friend lived close by. The Castle
of Hirschberg was a fine stately castle, but very lonesome and
desolate, and he suffered terribly from home-sickness and for longing
after his beautiful birthplace.

The Countess and the twin brothers, who were now eighteen years of
age, were sitting one evening, gazing down upon the road that led to
the castle of Hirschberg, when they saw a stately knight approaching
on horseback. He was followed by a litter, borne by two mules and
accompanied by many attendants. For a long time they could not think
who was coming to visit them, but at length Schalk cried: “It is only
our brother from Hirschberg.”

“What! Stupid Cuno?” asked the Countess in surprise. “He is evidently
going to honour us with an invitation to pay him a visit. The litter
he has no doubt brought for me, to carry me up to the Castle of
Hirschberg. Well, I would not have credited him with so much good
feeling. One act of politeness deserves another, so we will go down to
the castle gates and meet him. Now be sure you look pleasant and
receive him kindly; probably when we reach Hirschberg he will make us
a present each. He will give you a horse possibly, you a suit of
armour, and as for me I have long wanted his mother’s jewels.”

“I will accept nothing from Stupid Cuno,” said Wolf, “and I shall
certainly not make him welcome: as far as I am concerned, the sooner
he follows my father the better pleased I shall be; we shall then
inherit the Castle of Hirschberg, and Schalk and I will sell you the
jewels at a cheap rate.”

“Indeed, you rascal,” scolded his mother, “and so I am to buy the
jewels of you, eh? Is that your thanks to me for having procured the
Castle of Zollern for you? Schalk, my son, you would give me the
jewels without payment, would you not?”

“Death is the only thing to be had without payment,” joked her son,
laughing, “and if it is true the jewels are worth a king’s ransom we
should be foolish indeed to hang them round your neck for nothing. As
soon as Cuno dies we shall ride over to Hirschberg and divide his
property. The jewels we shall sell, and if you give a higher price
than anyone else you can have them.”

As they talked they had approached the castle gate, and the Countess
was forced to suppress her anger, for Cuno was now riding over the
drawbridge.

When he became aware of his stepmother and his brothers he reined in
his horse, dismounted, and greeted them politely, for although they
had done him so much harm he would not allow himself to forget that
they were his brothers and she his father’s widow.

“We are indeed pleased that you should visit us, my son,” said the
Countess in honied tones, and with a caressing smile. “And how is
everything at Hirschberg? Do you grow more accustomed to the place? I
see you have brought a litter. What a splendid one! An empress need
not blush to ride in it. I expect it will not be long before there is
a Mistress to ride about in it.”

“I have not yet thought of marriage, my gracious lady mother,” replied
Cuno, “and therefore I am here to fetch someone to keep me company at
home, and I have brought the litter on that account.”

“You are very thoughtful and kind,” the lady interrupted him.

“He cannot very well mount a horse now,” Cuno continued quietly. “It
is Father Joseph, the chaplain, that I have come for. I am going to
take him with me, for he was my tutor, and we settled it should be so
before I left Hohenzollern. Then I intend taking with me the old woman
who lives at the foot of the hill. She is very old now and it was she
who saved my life the first time I went out to ride with my father.
There are rooms to spare in Hirschberg, and there she shall spend her
last days.”

So saying, he passed through the courtyard and entered the castle to
fetch the old chaplain. Wolf bit his lips with anger, the Countess was
white with rage, but Schalk laughed out loud: “What will you give me
for the horse he was to present to me?” he cried. “Brother Wolf, shall
I exchange it for your suit of armour? Ha! ha! ha! so he is going to
take the old chaplain and the witch to keep him company. What a fine
pair to be sure! In the morning he can amuse himself by taking lessons
in Greek, and in the afternoon he can study witchcraft. Stupid Cuno is
without doubt a comical fellow.”

“He is a very low fellow,” said the Countess, “and you should be
ashamed to laugh at him. It is a disgrace to the family, and we shall
be shamed in the eyes of the whole neighbourhood when it becomes known
that the Count has taken the old witch to live with him, and carried
her off in a magnificent litter drawn by mules. He has inherited his
tastes from his mother, she was always mixing herself up with sick
folks and common people. What would his father say?”

“His father would just say ‘Rubbish,’” said Schalk, laughing.

“Here he comes,” said the Countess, “he is not ashamed to give the old
man his arm, just as though he were his equal. I will not meet him
again.”

So the mother and her two sons did not wait to bid Cuno good-bye, but
he just led his old friend gently across the bridge and placed him in
the litter. When he came to the foot of the hill he stopped in front
of the old woman’s hut, and found her quite ready to accompany him.
She had a large bundle of little glass pots, and little bottles with
medicine in them, and she stood leaning upon her staff waiting for
Cuno.

Things did not turn out as the Countess had supposed they would, for
instead of laughing at him everyone praised Cuno for his kindness in
caring for the last days of the poor old woman, and his pious
affection for the old priest, Father Joseph.

The only persons who found fault with him were the Countess and his
two brothers, and, as everyone knew how disagreeable and quarrelsome
they were, no one paid any heed to the unkind things they said.

They passed Cuno by as though he were a stranger, and this treatment
hurt the young man very much, for he thought it wrong that three
brothers should be at enmity with one another, and so he hit upon a
plan which he thought might help to make them all better friends.

Between the three estates of the three brothers there was a fish-pond,
plentifully stocked with fish. This pond belonged to the estate of
Hirschberg, and Cuno, knowing how fond his brothers were of fishing,
invited them to meet him there for a day’s sport.

It was a beautiful spring morning, and the three brothers arrived at
the pond almost at the same moment. “Now it is strange,” cried Schalk,
“that we should all arrive at the pond together. It was just striking
seven o’clock as I rode out from Schalksberg.”

    [Illustration: _THE STORY OF THE FLORIN._
      _“She stood leaning upon her staff waiting for Cuno.”_]

“I left Hohenzollern exactly at seven o’clock, also,” said Wolf.

“And I started at seven from Hirschberg,” said Cuno.

“Then,” said Schalk, “it is quite clear that the pond must be exactly
in the centre of the three estates. It is a fine piece of water, too.”

“Yes,” replied Cuno, “and that is the reason why I have invited you
here this morning. I know you are both fond of fishing, and although I
also like to cast a line now and again, there is fish enough in the
pond for all three of us, and room on the bank, too, even if we all
wished to fish here together. And so, my brothers, I propose to make
the pond common property and give both of you the same right to fish
here as myself.”

“Indeed, our brother is mighty condescending,” said Schalk, mockingly.
“And what shall we be expected to give in return, for, as everyone
knows--death is the only thing to be had without payment.”

“And yet I give you this without any wish for payment,” replied Cuno.
“All I want is to meet you here from time to time and have a little
speech with you. Are we not all sons of the same father?”

“Well,” said Schalk, ungraciously, “I think there is nothing so stupid
as to fish in company. One just drives the fish away from the other.
But let us take it in turns; you, Cuno, fish Monday and Thursday, Wolf
on Tuesday and Friday, and I on Wednesday and Saturday.”

“I will not agree to it,” said the gloomy Wolf. “I will accept
nothing, neither will I share with any one. It was only fair, Cuno, to
offer to divide the pond with us, for it really belongs to all three
equally; but let us cast the dice and see who shall possess it in the
future. If I am more fortunate than you, you can always ask leave of
me to fish here.”

“I never gamble with dice,” replied Cuno, saddened by his brother’s
ingratitude.

“Our brother is much too pious for that,” said Schalk, sneeringly.
“But I have another plan which even the most pious hermit could not
object to. Let us cast our lines and fish here until the clock strikes
twelve, and whoever has caught the most fish by that time shall have
the pond for his own.”

“Well,” said Cuno, “I am a foolish fellow to try for a prize that
really belongs to myself, but just to show you I was in earnest in
offering to share the pond I will accept the challenge.”

Cuno allowed his brothers to choose their own positions and the three
began to fish. Then it seemed as though the fish knew who was the
rightful owner, for they swarmed to take Cuno’s bait. No sooner did
the line touch the water than twenty or thirty fish swam up, pushing
each other out of the way in their anxiety to be caught. Before two
hours had passed the ground all around Cuno was strewn with beautiful
fish.

Then he ceased fishing and went to see what luck his brothers had had.
Schalk had but three little fish and Wolf five, and both of them were
looking very grim, for they could see from where they stood the
enormous quantity Cuno had caught.

As Cuno approached, Wolf broke up his rod in a rage and flung the
pieces into the pond--“It is absurd,” said he, “to suppose that you,
stupid Cuno, can have beaten us fairly. How is it possible for you to
catch more fish in a couple of hours than I could catch in a year? It
is only by means of witchcraft that you have succeeded.”

“You have hit the mark, brother,” said Schalk, “the old witch he keeps
at Hirschberg has taught him how to enchant the creatures. We were
foolish to fish with him. Before long he will turn wizard himself.”

“You wicked men,” answered Cuno angrily. “I have had an opportunity
this morning to judge of your greed, your shamelessness, and your
rude, rough manners. Go your ways and never come here again. It would
be better for you if you were only half so good and pious as the poor
old woman you have called a witch.”

“No, a real witch she is not,” said Schalk, mockingly, “for if she
were she would prophesy more correctly than she has done. Did she not
tell my father that a great part of his inheritance would be sold for
a florin? Now at his death he owned all the land within sight of
Hohenzollern, and it is not likely that it will ever dwindle away so
that it will be worth no more than a florin. She is a foolish old
woman and you are just stupid Cuno.”

Schalk made off as fast as he could when he had finished speaking,
for he was afraid of his brother’s strong arm, and Wolf followed him,
in a worse temper than his surly father had ever been.

Cuno took his brothers’ cruel behaviour so much to heart that he fell
ill, and had it not been for the ministrations of Father Joseph and
the healing drinks the old woman prepared he must have died.

When his brothers heard that he lay at the point of death they gave a
banquet, and when they were flushed with wine they made a compact that
whoever first heard of Cuno’s death should fire the cannons from his
castle to tell his brother the good news. And the one who fired first
was to have the best cask of wine in Cuno’s cellar.

From this time Wolf kept a servant constantly in the neighbourhood of
Hirschberg, and Schalk bribed one of Cuno’s servants to let him know
the moment his master was dead.

But this servant had more affection for his good, kind master than for
the wicked Schalk, and one day he asked the old woman if there were
indeed no chance of his master’s recovery, and on her telling him that
Cuno was very much better he expressed his joy and told her of the
plan the brothers had made.

The old woman was very angry, and told Cuno, who, however, would not
believe such unnatural conduct, and so the old woman urged him to make
a trial and pretend he was dead, and then if the cannons were fired
they would, of course, hear them.

So Count Cuno sent for the servant his brother had bribed, and bade
him ride in haste and tell Schalk that he, Cuno, was at the point of
death.

As the servant rode out of the gateway, Wolf’s spy stopped him and
enquired whither he rode in such hot haste.

“Alas!” said the man, “my poor master is at the point of death. It is
said he cannot live through the night.”

“Indeed!” cried the man and ran to saddle his horse and in a very
short space of time he was riding furiously towards Hohenzollern. Such
was his speed that, on reaching the gates, his horse fell and he had
only time to say--“Count Cuno is dying,” before he became unconscious.

    [Illustration: _He told her of the plan the brothers had made._
        (P. 200.)]

Immediately afterwards the cannons of Hohenzollern thundered forth and
Wolf and his mother made merry, and congratulated one another on the
big cask of wine they would win from Cuno’s cellar. They reckoned on
the inheritance of the fine castle, the fish pond, and the beautiful
jewels. And all the time the cannons sounded, each shot being followed
by a wonderful echo, or what at first they took to be one, for they
speedily discovered it was the sound of shot being fired from
Schalksberg.

“Schalk must have had a spy at Hirschberg too,” Wolf said to his
mother with a laugh. “Well, well, we shall have to share the wine as
well as the rest of the inheritance.”

With that he mounted his horse, for he guessed that Schalk would try
to be before him and pocket some of Cuno’s valuables before he
arrived. But when he reached the fish-pond the two brothers met, and
each blushed with shame, for each knew he had tried to be before his
brother, and cheat him of part of the inheritance.

They rode along together and never mentioned Cuno, but discussed how
they should settle affairs in the future, and how they should decide
which of them should own Hirschberg.

But when they had crossed the drawbridge and entered the courtyard
they saw their brother looking out of the window, quite hale and
hearty. But his eyes flashed with wrath as he glanced at his two
brothers.

They were very much afraid at first, for they thought it must be
Cuno’s ghost; but as soon as they discovered he was alive and well,
Wolf said sheepishly, “Why, I thought you were dead, brother!”

Schalk said very little, but if looks could have killed, Cuno would
have had but a short time to live.

Then Cuno cried in a voice of thunder: “From this time I renounce all
relationship between us. I heard the firing of cannons from your two
castles and understood very well how you were making merry over my
death. I have five field-pieces here at Hirschberg and I have had them
loaded, and unless you make haste to get beyond range of the bullets
you shall judge what sort of marksmen we have here at Hirschberg.”

They did not need a second warning, for they saw he meant what he
said, and so they set spurs to their horses and raced down the hill.
Cuno fired a cannon ball over their heads, not meaning to harm them,
but merely to give them a good fright.

On their way down they began to quarrel as to who was to blame, both
declaring he had fired his cannon solely because he had heard his
brother firing. So bitter were they that when at length they parted
company each vowed he hated and detested his brother worse even than
Cuno.

Soon afterwards Cuno made his will, but he told no one what was in it.
The old woman plagued her favourite sorely to tell her if he had left
anything to his brothers, but he would not, and in the end she never
knew, for she died the following year. All her pills and potions could
not help her then, for she was ninety-eight years old, and the disease
she died of was “old age,” which the cleverest doctor in the world
cannot cure.

Count Cuno laid her to rest with every mark of respect and sorrow. It
was not long before the old chaplain also left him, and then he became
a very lonely man. But his loneliness was not for long, for Cuno, the
good, died in his twenty-eighth year. Some said he was poisoned by his
brothers, but whether it were so or no, no one ever really knew.

Again the country resounded with the roar of cannons, twenty-five
rounds being fired from the castles of Zollern and Schalksberg.

“Well, there is no mistake this time,” said Schalk, as he met his
brother Wolf on the road.

“No, indeed,” answered Wolf, “and if he were to rise and glare at us
from the window as he did before, I have a pistol with me, ready
charged, that will soon teach him to hold his peace.”

As they rode up the castle hill a rider and his retinue joined them.
Neither of the brothers knew him, but supposed he must be a friend of
Cuno’s who had come to his funeral, so they began to praise the dead
man, lamented his early death, and Schalk even shed a few crocodile
tears. But the knight answered never a word, only rode silently up the
hill-side.

When the brothers dismounted, Wolf called for wine--“and of the best,
Master Cellarman,” he added--“for now we are going to enjoy
ourselves.”

He went up the stairs and entered the great hall, followed closely by
the silent knight, who, when the twins had seated themselves at the
table, drew a silver coin from his vest pocket, and, flinging it on
the table between them, cried: “There is your inheritance, you will
find it correct, the exact amount being a florin.”

The brothers looked surprised, laughed uneasily, and asked him what he
meant.

The knight drew forth a parchment, with numerous seals attached, and
began to read out what Cuno had set down there. Every act of enmity
they had shown him during his lifetime was chronicled there, and then
came an order that his estates and all that he possessed, with the
exception of his mother’s jewels, were to be sold to the State of
Würtemberg for the sum of one florin. The jewels, however, were to be
sold, and the money be used to endow a house for the poor in the
little town of Balingen.

The brothers laughed no longer; but gnashed their teeth with rage, for
they knew they could not wrest their inheritance from Würtemberg; they
had lost for ever the beautiful castle and all the estates belonging
to it, all they were to inherit was a paltry florin.

Wolf slipped it into his pocket and he and Schalk stalked from the
castle without so much as a word to the Commissioner of Würtemberg.
They rode home, each to his own castle, but on the following morning
Wolf rode over to Schalksberg and suggested they should go to the
little town of Balingen which had gone to Würtemberg with the rest of
the estates, and, just to show the folks they did not care, spend
their inheritance on a quart of wine in which to drink each other’s
healths. So they rode together to the inn at Balingen, called for a
quart of red wine, and drank to each other.

When it was finished they called for the landlord, and Wolf flung the
florin upon the table, but the landlord shook his head and told them
that early that morning a messenger had come from Würtemberg and had
paraded the town, with beat of drum, and proclaimed that the State had
ordered all florin pieces to be called in and the use of them
discontinued--“and therefore,” said the landlord, “I must ask you to
pay me in a different coin.”

The brothers looked at each other and turned pale. Neither of them had
any other money with him and so they were obliged to owe the landlord
for the quart of wine.

They went on their way silently, for they did not feel in the mood for
conversation, but when they came to the cross roads, where the way to
the right led to Hohenzollern and that to the left to Schalksberg,
Schalk said: “Well, our inheritance, it seems, was not worth a florin,
moreover, the wine we thought to purchase with it was bad!”

“Yes,” replied Wolf thoughtfully, “and the old woman’s prediction has
come true, for did she not say ‘We shall see some day if your
inheritance be worth so much as a florin’? We have not been able to
pay for a quart of wine with ours.”

Then they parted company and rode back to their castles, angry with
themselves and the whole world.




THE COLD HEART.


If ever you should travel through the country of Suabia you should
take a peep at the Black Forest, not only that you may admire the
magnificent pine-trees, but that you may study the people living
there, for they are quite unlike any of their neighbours. The
inhabitants of the Black Forest near the town of Baden are tall and
broad and it would almost seem as though the invigorating scent of the
pine-trees had strengthened their bodies and their characters too, for
they are fearless, frank and honest. Their principal industries are
glass-making and clock-making. The costume they wear, too, is
different from the ordinary run of peasants, and gives them a strange
and somewhat dignified appearance.

    [Illustration: _The Little Glass-man._]

On the other side of the Forest, although of the same race, the
inhabitants are, on account of the different occupations they pursue,
somewhat different in their manners and customs. These people work
chiefly in the Forest as wood-cutters and timber-merchants. They fell
their pine-trees and then float them down the Nagold to the Neckar,
down the Neckar to the Rhine, even travelling as far as Holland, the
rafts of the Black Forest being known upon the sea-coast. They stop
their rafts at every town they come to, so that folks may buy their
timber if they have a mind to; but the broadest and tallest beams and
masts are sold to the Dutch ship-builders for a good round sum of
money. These men, accustomed to a rough, wandering life, are as
different in character from the people living in the other part of the
Forest as their costumes differ.

The men living in the neighbourhood of Baden wear black jackets,
closely pleated trousers, red stockings, and peaked hats; the woodmen,
however, wear jackets of dark coloured linen, broad green braces,
black leather breeches, from one of the pockets of which a brass foot
rule protrudes, but their chief pride is in their boots, which reach
nearly to their middle, so that the raftsmen can wade through fairly
deep water without wetting their feet.

At one time it was believed that two spirits inhabited the Black
Forest; the one, known as “The Little Glass-man,” was a good little
spirit, and but three feet and a half in height, and was always to be
seen dressed in the same costume as the glass-makers or clock-makers
wore; but Dutch Michael, who haunted the further side of the Forest,
was a broad-shouldered giant and was dressed like a raftsman. Some of
the wood-cutters who had seen him declared his boots were so big that
an ordinary full-grown man could have stood upright in one of them and
yet not have reached to the top of it.

A young Black Forester, named Peter Munk, is said to have had a very
extraordinary adventure with these two wood-spirits. Peter lived with
his mother, who was a widow, in the very heart of the Forest. His
father had been a charcoal burner and after his death the mother
trained her son to the same employment.

At first Peter was content to follow his father’s occupation and to
sit by his sooty kiln, as black as soot himself, and now and again to
drive into the towns and villages to sell his charcoal. But he had
plenty of time for reflection and it gradually began to occur to him
that his lot was not a very happy one. He thought how smart the
glass-makers and clock-makers looked, decked out in their best clothes
on Sunday. “But,” said he to himself, “if I were to put on my father’s
jacket with its silver buttons, and encase my legs in bright red
stockings and swagger down the street, folks would say, ‘’Tis only
Peter Munk, the charcoal burner, after all.’”

The wood-cutters, raftsmen and timber-merchants were also objects of
his envy. Whenever these forest giants came into the village in their
splendid costumes, decked out with silver buttons and buckles and
chains, and stood with their great legs wide apart, watching the dance
perhaps, using strange Dutch oaths, and smoking long pipes from
Cologne, he would say to himself--“Ah! what happiness to be a man like
that!” Sometimes one of these fortunate beings would lunge a hand into
his pocket and bring out a handful of florins and commence to gamble
with them; six batzen at a time they would risk at dice, and Peter had
seen one of the richest timber-merchants lose in a night more money
than he or his father had ever earned in a year, and yet not seem
greatly upset over the loss of the money.

At these times Peter would feel half beside himself and would steal
away to his lonely hut consumed with rage and jealousy.

There were three men in particular who excited his admiration and
envy. One was a tall stout man, with a very red face, who was said to
be the richest man in the country. He was called “Fat Ezekiel.”

Twice a year he journeyed to Amsterdam and was always lucky in getting
a better price for his timber than anyone else, so that he could
travel back in state, whilst his neighbours had to get back as best
they could.

The second man was the tallest and thinnest man in the whole Forest
and was nicknamed the Long-legged Lounger, and Peter Munk envied him
his extraordinary impudence, for he would flatly contradict the most
important personages, and no matter how crowded the inn might be he
would take up four times as much room as the fattest men; he would
plant his elbows on the table, or stretch his long legs upon a bench,
and no one ventured to expostulate, because he was so immensely rich.

The third man, however, was young and handsome, and was the best
dancer in the district, so that he was known far and wide as the King
of the Dancers. He had at one time been very poor and acted as servant
to one of the timber merchants, but suddenly he had become enormously
rich. Some said he had found a pot of gold, others affirmed he had
fished up a parcel of gold pieces from the bottom of the river, which
had been part of the lost Nibelungen treasure; but, no matter how he
had attained it, the fact remained that he had suddenly become very
rich indeed and was looked upon as little short of a prince by his
less lucky friends and companions.

Peter Munk’s mind was often occupied by the good fortune of these
three men, as he sat alone in the forest or by his fire!

It is true that all three of them were hated by their neighbours on
account of their unnatural avarice and their want of feeling for those
who owed them money, or for the poor, but though they were hated they
were treated with respect on account of their money, for they could
afford to scatter it about as the pine-trees scattered their needles.

“Alas!” sighed Peter one day, “I can stand my poverty no longer;
would that I were as rich and respected as Fat Ezekiel, or as impudent
and powerful as the Long-legged Lounger, or as fine a dancer as the
Dance King and be able to throw florins to the fiddlers instead of
pence. Where _do_ these fellows get their money from?”

In thinking of ways and means by which he might amass money, he at
length remembered the stories the people used to tell of the little
Glass-man and Dutch Michael. In his father’s lifetime they had
frequently been visited by folks as poor as themselves, and the
conversation would turn to rich folks and how they had acquired their
money, and the little Glass-man had not infrequently played a
prominent part in the conversation. He even thought he could remember
the little verse it was necessary to recite in the Forest if one
wished to summon the little man; it began:

    Owner of all in the pine woods green,
    Many a hundred years thou hast seen,
    Thine all the land where the pine-trees grow--

But there he stopped short, and strive as he would he could not
remember the rest of the verse.

He thought about asking some of the old men who had been his father’s
friends, but a certain shyness prevented his mentioning the little
Glass-man and so betraying perhaps what was in his mind. There were
very few rich people in the Forest and he wondered why some of them
had not tried their luck with the wood-spirits. At last he persuaded
his mother to talk about the little man; but she could tell him
little more than he knew already. Moreover, she could only remember
the first line of the verse; but finally she said the spirit only
showed himself to folks born on a Sunday between the hours of eleven
and two.

“Had you but known the charm,” said she, “you might have summoned the
Little Man yourself, for you were born at mid-day on a Sunday.”

On hearing this Peter Munk was nearly beside himself with impatience
to set out upon this adventure. Surely the portion of the verse he
knew would prove sufficient to summon the little Glass-man to a
Sunday’s child like himself.

    [Illustration: _Peter Munk sat alone in the forest._ (P. 211.)]

So one day when he had managed to sell all his charcoal, instead of
kindling a new fire he dressed himself in his father’s best jacket and
red stockings, put the pointed hat upon his head and, taking his five
foot blackthorn staff in his hand, bade good-bye to his mother. “It
will soon be time to draw lots and decide who is to go for a soldier,
and I am going to the magistrate to remind him that as you are a
widow and I your only son I am exempt from serving in the army,” said
he.

His mother praised him for his thoughtfulness and he set out towards a
particular clump of black pines.

This spot was the highest point in the Black Forest and there was not
a village nor a hut for some miles around it, for the superstitious
people thought it was haunted. Although the trees there grew thick and
tall they were never felled, for it was said that when anyone had
attempted to do so terrible accidents occurred. Sometimes the axe had
sprung from the haft and buried itself in the man’s foot, or a
stubborn tree trunk that seemed to defy the stroke of the axe fell
suddenly and crushed the wood-cutter, injuring him severely and even
killing him. Even the finest tree could but be used for fuel, for the
raftsmen would not take a single log from this particular clump, for
it was said that it would bring them bad luck and that raft and
raftsmen would sink.

And so it chanced that the trees grew thicker and taller, excluding
every ray of sunshine, so that even in the daytime it was dark as
night there, and Peter Munk’s courage began to fail him as he reached
the spot, for there was not a sound to be heard, no voice, no footstep
except his own, the stroke of no axe resounded, and even the birds
seemed to have deserted the place.

    [Illustration: _THE COLD HEART_
      _“This” thought he “must surely be the abode of the Glass-man”_
      (_p. 217_)]

Peter reached the highest point of the mountain and stood before a
pine-tree of tremendous girth, for which a Dutch ship-builder would
have given many a hundred florins. “This,” thought he, “must surely be
the abode of the Glass-man,” and so he drew his hat from his head,
bowed low, and said with a trembling voice:--

“Good-evening, Master Glass-man,” but there was not a sound in reply.
“Perhaps I had better try the little verse,” he thought, and began in
flattering tones:

    “Owner of all in the pine woods green,
    Many a hundred years thou hast seen,
    Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow--”

As he spoke he saw to his terror a strange little figure peeping out
from behind the big tree trunk. It seemed to be dressed exactly as he
had heard in the black vest, red stockings, and pointed hat. Even the
pale, clever little face he seemed to see for a moment; but it
disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Master Glass-man,” cried Peter in trembling tones, “I pray you do not
make sport of me. If you think I did not see you you are mistaken.”
But there was no reply, beyond a faint chuckle from behind the tree.

At length his impatience overcame his fear--“Wait awhile, my fine
fellow,” he cried angrily, “I will soon catch you.” He made a bound
towards the tree and darted round to the other side. But there was no
Glass-man there, only a dainty little squirrel that scampered up the
trunk of the tree.

Peter Munk shook his head. He perceived clearly that his failure was
on account of his not knowing the concluding line of the verse, but
ponder as he might he could not call it to memory. The squirrel showed
itself upon the lower branches of the pine-tree and appeared to mock
and make sport of him. It dressed its fur, waved its bushy tail, gazed
at him with its bright clever eyes, but at length he was half afraid
of it, for one moment it seemed to have a man’s head and to wear a
pointed hat, the next moment it was like any ordinary squirrel, then
suddenly its hind legs became clothed with red stockings and black
shoes. In short it was quite the strangest little creature Peter Munk
had ever seen and he was afraid of it, and so he turned and left the
spot quicker than he had gone there.

It seemed to him that the woods grew darker and thicker as he ran,
until he became possessed of an absolute terror, and it was not until
he heard the barking of dogs in the distance that he slackened his
pace, then, as a peasant’s hut burst on his astonished gaze, he found
that in his fright he had been running in the opposite direction to
that which he had intended, and instead of arriving at the dwellings
of the glass-makers he had come out amongst the wood-cutters and
raftsmen.

The people who lived in this particular cottage were wood-cutters, and
the family consisted of an old man, his son, the master of the house,
and his family.

Peter Munk approached them and asked if they could give him a night’s
lodging, and they received him kindly and hospitably, never so much as
asking for his name or where he came from. They gave him cider to
drink and in the evening they roasted a large woodcock for his supper,
one of the daintiest morsels to be had in the Black Forest.

When they had made a good meal the housewife and her daughters seated
themselves round a big blaze of light, which the youths kindled from
the resinous pine-wood, and commenced plying their distaffs, the old
grandfather, the guest, and the master sat smoking and watching the
women at their work, but the young men of the family busied themselves
fashioning wooden spoons and forks.

Out in the woods a storm raged and howled amongst the pine-trees. Now
and again there was the sound of a falling tree or the cracking of
branches as they were torn from the parent stem. The fearless youths
would have run out into the wood in order to watch the fearful but
grand spectacle, but their grandfather forbade them.

“No one wandering in the wood to-night would ever return,” said he.
“Without doubt Dutch Michael is abroad and seeks a new raft-load in
the forest.”

The boys had heard many a time of Dutch Michael; but nevertheless they
begged their grandfather to tell them a story about him. Peter Munk,
too, who had only heard vague reports about him in his own part of the
country, joined his requests to that of the boys and asked him to tell
him who he really was and where he lived.

“Why, to think you don’t know that now,” said the old man. “You must
have come from the other side of the forest then, if not further
away. I will tell you all I know of Dutch Michael.

“Some hundreds of years ago, so the story goes, there were no more
honest and respectable folks to be found far and wide than the Black
Foresters. It is only since so much money came into the country that
folks have become dishonest and wicked. Nowadays on a Sunday young men
dance and smoke, and swear, enough to make one’s hair stand on end,
but in those days it was different, and even though he stands at the
window and hears me say it, I maintain that Dutch Michael is at the
root of all the evil.

“More than a hundred years ago there lived a rich timber merchant, who
had many work-people and whose business was carried on from here to
far down the Rhine. He was a good pious man and a blessing rested on
all his ventures.

“One evening there came to his door a man the like of whom he had
never seen before. He wore the dress of a Black Forester, but he was a
great deal taller than the tallest man and one could scarcely believe
it possible for there to be such a giant.

“He asked for work and the merchant, seeing that he looked so strong
and likely to be able to carry heavy burdens, asked what wages he
required and soon came to terms with him.

“Michael was the man’s name, and such a workman his master had never
had before. When it came to hewing trees, he was worth three other
men, and when the timber had to be carried away, though there were six
men at the end of a trunk he would take the other end by himself and
make no labour of it at all.

“At the end of half a year he came to his master and said he was tired
of felling timber and would like to go with the rafts and see the
places the timber went to.”

“‘Well,’ said his master, ‘I will not stand in your way. It is true
that you are more useful to me as a wood-cutter, for strong men are
needed for such hard work, whereas one has need of skill and dexterity
rather than strength upon a raft. However, this once you shall go.’

“And so it came to pass, and he was to set out with a raft consisting
of eight portions, all being connected. But on the evening before they
were to start Michael brought down to the river’s edge eight more huge
trees, the biggest and longest that had ever been seen, and each one
he carried upon his shoulder as easily as though it had been his
raft-pole. To this day no one knows where they had been felled.

“The timber merchant’s heart rejoiced, for he reckoned this timber
would fetch a vast sum; but Michael only said--‘They are for a raft
for myself. I could not very well manage on the other little rafts.’

“His master offered him a pair of raftsmen’s boots, in return for the
service he had done him, but Michael thrust them aside and produced a
pair such as never were seen before. My grandfather assured me they
must have weighed a hundred pounds at least and were five or six feet
high.

“The raft set out and, just as he had astonished the wood-cutters,
now he made the raftsmen open their eyes.

“They had believed, when they saw the huge additional portion Michael
had attached to the raft, that it would travel much slower on that
account. But not so, as soon as it reached the Neckar it darted ahead
like an arrow. When they came to a sharp bend in the river, whereas
the raftsmen would formerly have had some trouble to keep the raft in
the middle of the stream, and not to run it aground, now, Michael just
sprang into the water and with one mighty push turned the raft either
to left or right until the danger was past.

“When they came to a straight stretch he would run along the different
portions of the raft until he came to the front one, and then, bidding
all the men put by their poles he would stick his own enormous pole
into the gravelly river-bed and send the raft rushing forward at such
a pace that trees, country, villages, all seemed flying past. And so
it came about that they reached Cologne in less than half the time it
usually took. Here the raftsmen had been wont to sell all their
timber; but Michael now dissuaded them from doing this.

“‘You are fine merchants,’ said he, ‘you don’t know how to protect
your own interests. Do you suppose the people of Cologne need all the
wood they purchase from the Black Forest for themselves? Not they!
They give you about half what it is really worth and sell it again at
a dearer rate in Holland. Let us sell the smaller timber here and take
the larger trees to Holland, and whatever we make over and above the
usual price will be our profit.’

    [Illustration: _Michael made the raftsmen open their eyes._
        (P. 222.)]

“So spoke the crafty Michael, and his companions were only too ready
to follow his advice, some because they wanted to go to Holland to see
the country and some because they liked the idea of the extra money.
Only one man amongst them remained honest, and he begged the rest not
to endanger his master’s property risking the troublesome journey to
Holland, or at least if they went there not to cheat the merchant out
of the better price that they sold the wood for. But they would not
listen to him and soon forgot his words, that is to say, with the
exception of Michael. So they floated down the Rhine, Michael steering
the raft, and very soon they reached Rotterdam.

“Here they obtained four times the usual price for the wood, the huge
trunks Michael had added fetching in particular a very high price. The
Black Foresters were delighted at the sight of so much gold. Michael
divided it, one portion for the master and three portions to be
divided between the raftsmen.

“The men at once began to waste their money in the inns, drinking and
gambling with sailors and all sorts of rabble and dishonest folks. The
one honest man amongst them Dutch Michael sold to a press-gang man and
he was carried off and never heard of again. From that time Holland
became the Black Foresters’ Paradise and Dutch Michael was their king.
It was some time before the timber merchants discovered the truth of
the matter, and so it gradually came about that riches, oaths, bad
habits, drinking and gambling were introduced from Holland into the
Black Forest.

“When the whole story did come out, however, Dutch Michael was
nowhere to be found. But he is not dead, and for over a hundred years
he has haunted our forest, and it is said he has helped many a one to
become rich, but at the cost of his poor soul. I will say no more
about that, still it is very certain that on stormy nights such as the
present, he seeks out the finest trees from the portion of the forest
where it is forbidden to fell timber; my own father saw him break one
that was full four feet thick as though it had been a reed. This
timber he gives to those who have left the straight path of honesty
and gone to him for help. At midnight he helps them to carry the wood
to the river, and steers the rafts down the streams for them until
they reach Holland.

“But if I were King in Holland, I would have them sunk with shot to
the bottom of the stream, for every ship that carries but a single
board or beam sold by Dutch Michael is bound to sink. That is why one
hears of so many shipwrecks. How else could it be that a fine ship, as
large as a church should go to the bottom of the sea? Every time Dutch
Michael fells a tree in the forest, a plank in some ship bursts, the
water penetrates and the good ship is lost with all hands.

“That is the story of Dutch Michael, and it is quite true that it was
he who introduced everything that is bad in the Black Forest. He can
make one as rich as a dream,” he added mysteriously, “but I would
rather be without his wealth, and not for the whole world would I
stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the Long-legged Lounger, and it
is said that the Dance King had given up his soul to him also.”

The storm had blown over during the old man’s recital and now the
maidens timidly lit their lamps and crept away to bed, and the men
placed a sack of leaves for a pillow for Peter Munk upon the bench in
the chimney corner, and wishing him good-night, left him to himself.

Charcoal Peter, as he was usually called, had terrible dreams that
night. He thought that the grim gigantic form of Dutch Michael came to
the window and, forcing it open, stretched a long arm through the
space and shook a purse of gold pieces at Peter. The money clinked
musically in his ears. The next moment however, who should appear but
the little Glass-man. He rode here and there in the air upon a huge
green glass bottle and Peter thought he could hear the low chuckling
he had heard in the clump of black pines; then suddenly he caught the
sound of a hoarse voice booming in his left ear these words:

    “In Holland there’s gold to be had
    For the asking, so wherefore be sad?
    Dutch Michael has gold, glitt’ring gold,
    Come to him, then, for riches untold.”

Then in his right ear he heard the three lines of the little
Glass-man’s verse recited and a soft voice whispered, “Foolish
Charcoal Peter, foolish Peter Munk, can’t you think of a word to rhyme
with ‘grow’ and you born at mid-day on a Sunday, too? For shame,
Peter, come try for a rhyme, try for a rhyme.” Peter groaned and
sighed in his sleep and tried his hardest to make a rhyme, but as he
had never made a single one when awake he did not succeed any better
in his dreams.

    [Illustration: _Peter tapped his forehead with his fingers._
        (P. 227.)]

He awoke as the first streaks of dawn appeared and sat up, placed his
elbows on the table and rested his head upon his hands. As he
remembered the whispering in his ears he said to himself: “Rhyme
foolish Charcoal Peter, for goodness sake make a rhyme.” He tapped his
forehead with his fingers, but no rhyme would come, and as he sat
there sad and disturbed in his mind, trying hard to find a rhyme to
“grow,” the young fellows passed the cottage and one of them was
singing at the top of his voice:

    “I stood beside a little hut,
      Just where the pine-trees grow,
    Peeped in for my beloved,
      But her face she would not show.”

The words rushed through Peter’s ears like lightning; but like
lightning they were gone again. He jumped up, ran from the cottage,
pursued the three men, and seized the singer roughly by the arm.
“Stop, friend,” he cried, “what did you rhyme with ‘grow’? Be good
enough, please, to tell me what you were singing.”

“What’s that to you, fellow?” replied the Black Forester. “I can sing
what I like, I suppose? Let go my arm, or----”

“No, no,” screamed Peter, clinging all the tighter to him, “I will not
let you go until you have told me what you were singing.” But the
singer’s two companions fell upon Peter and gave him such a drubbing
he was forced to let go the singer’s clothing, and fell fainting to
his knees.

“Now you have your deserts,” they said, laughing, “and perhaps you
will know better another time than to molest honest folk on an open
road.”

“I will certainly remember not to do so any more,” replied Charcoal
Peter with a sigh, “but now that you have given me a good beating be
so good as to tell me slowly and clearly the words of the song.”

They laughed at him and mocked him, but the singer repeated the words
to him and then, laughing and singing, the three young men went on
their way.

Peter raised himself painfully to his feet. “Ah,” he said, “so ‘show’
rhymes with ‘grow.’ Very well, Master Glass-man, we will have a word
to say to each other by-and-by.” He went back to the cottage, took
leave of his host, and with his staff in his hand set out once more
for the clump of black pine-trees.

He walked slowly, for he had to compose a last line to the verse, and
although he now had a word to rhyme he found it a difficult matter to
make up the whole line. But by the time he was close to the place and
the pines began to grow taller and thicker, he had his line quite
complete, and so overjoyed was he that he made a bound forward and
nearly bounded up against a huge giant of a man, dressed as a
raftsman, and carrying a pole in his hand the size of a ship’s mast,
who stepped suddenly from out of the clump of pine-trees.

Peter Munk’s knees shook with fright as he saw the giant taking slow
steps alongside of him, in order to accommodate himself to Peter’s
pace. “Without doubt it is Dutch Michael,” thought he, but the huge
figure paced silently on.

Peter glanced sideways at him from time to time. He was certainly
taller than the tallest man he had ever seen, his face was neither
young nor old, but was covered with lines and creases innumerable. He
wore a linen vest and the enormous boots which were drawn up over his
leather breeches Peter recognised at once from the old man’s story.

“Peter Munk, what are you doing in this clump of black pines?” he
asked at length in deep threatening tones.

“Good morning, sir,” answered Peter, trying to appear unconcerned,
although he was trembling violently. “I am only on my way home.”

“Peter Munk,” replied the Forest King, glaring at the unfortunate
young man, “your way does not lie through this clump of trees.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Peter, “but it is so hot to-day that I
thought it would be cooler here beneath the pine-trees.”

    [Illustration: _Peter nearly bounded up against a huge giant._
        (P. 229.)]

“Don’t lie to me, Charcoal Peter,” thundered the giant, “or I will
strike you to the earth with my pole. Do you suppose I did not see you
begging from the little Glass-man?” Then in milder tones Dutch Michael
went on. “It was a foolish thing to do, Peter, and it was lucky for
you you could not remember the lines of the verse, for the little
fellow is a terrible miser, and only gives grudgingly; moreover,
whoever accepts money from him is never happy again his whole life
long. You are a simpleton, Peter, and I am sorry for you from the
bottom of my heart. To think that a fine handsome fellow like you
should be nothing better than a charcoal burner! When other folks
jingle fat ducats in their pockets you have only a few copper coins to
show. It is a wretched life to lead.”

“You are right there, it is a wretched life,” said Peter.

“Well, well,” proceeded Dutch Michael, “I have helped many a poor
fellow in distress and you would not be the first. Just say how many
hundred florins you would like to have to begin with?”

As he spoke he jingled the money in his enormous pockets and it
sounded just as it had done in Peter’s dream.

Peter’s heart beat fast with fear and he was hot and cold by turns,
for Dutch Michael had not the appearance of one who gave money out of
charity alone. He remembered the mysterious words of the old man
regarding the men who had enriched themselves at the Forest King’s
expense, and overcome with terror he cried out: “Many thanks, sir, for
your kind offer, but I would rather have nothing to do with you,” and
with that he took to his heels and ran for his life.

But the terrible Michael was not to be shaken off. By taking huge
strides he kept pace with Peter--“You will regret this,” he said,
“mark my words you will regret it. Do not run so fast, yonder is the
boundary of my domains and I can go no further.”

On hearing these words Peter hastened on more than ever and as he
reached the boundary he made a spring for safety. Dutch Michael hurled
his huge pole after him. It missed him, but the force with which it
had been thrown caused it to break into splinters. One splinter fell
at his feet and Peter stopped to pick it up to throw it back at
Michael; but before he could do so he felt the wood turn and twist in
his hand, and to his horror he saw that it had turned into a huge
snake, which was about to spring at him. He tried to shake it off, but
it had fastened itself round his arm and darted its horrible head
towards his face, when suddenly a woodcock flew down and seized the
snake’s head in its beak and flew off with it. Dutch Michael raged and
bellowed in vain, and Peter, trembling in every limb, once more set
out upon his way. The path grew steeper and steeper until at length he
found himself before the big pine-tree in the centre of the clump of
black pines. As on the previous day, he bowed to the invisible
Glass-man and began reciting the verse:

    “Owner of all in the pine-woods green,
    Many a hundred years thou hast seen,
    Thine all the lands where the pine trees grow--
    To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

“Well, it’s not quite right yet, but as it is you Charcoal Peter, I
will let it pass,” said a fine soft voice near him.

Peter turned in surprise and saw, seated beneath a beautiful
pine-tree, a little old man. He was wearing a black vest, red
stockings, and a large pointed hat. He had a refined, delicate little
face and a long white beard as soft as a cobweb; but the most
extraordinary thing about him that Peter at first sight noticed was
that he was smoking a long pipe of blue glass; but on approaching
nearer Peter discovered that everything the little man wore, coat,
shoes, stockings, all were made of coloured glass; but it was as
flexible as though it were still hot, and went into folds, as cloth
would have done, with every movement of the little man’s body.

    [Illustration: _THE COLD HEART._
      _Charcoal Peter and the Glass-man._]

“And so you met that rascal Dutch Michael,” said the little man. “He
would have done you an injury had I not taken his magic wand from him.
Moreover, he will not easily get it again.”

“Yes, Master Glass-man,” replied Peter, bowing low. “I had a terrible
fright. And so you were the woodcock that pecked the snake to death?
Very many thanks. But I have come to you for advice. Things are not
very flourishing with me. A charcoal-burner does not get on in the
world, and, as I am young and strong, I should like to be in a better
position, especially when I see others like Fat Ezekiel and the Dance
King with as much money as they can spend.”

“Peter,” said the little man sternly, as he blew a cloud of smoke from
his pipe, “Peter, don’t let me hear you speak of these men. Just for a
few years’ happiness, or perhaps only the appearance of happiness they
will pay by an eternity of misery. You should not be-little your
trade. Your father and grandfather before you pursued it. I trust
it is not the love of idleness that has led you to me.”

Peter was alarmed by the little man’s earnestness and blushed. “No,
no,” he faltered, “I know full well that idleness is the root of all
trouble; but you cannot wonder that I should wish to better myself. A
charcoal-burner is thought so little of, the glass-makers,
clock-makers and raftsmen are all of higher standing.”

“Pride goes before a fall,” said the little man in more friendly
tones. “You men are a strange race! It is seldom that any one of you
is content with his position. If you were a glass-worker you would no
doubt wish to be a timber merchant, and if you were a timber merchant
you would want to be the Keeper of the Forest, or even a magistrate. I
am accustomed to grant three wishes to every Sunday-child that knows
how to find his way to me. The first two are free to be granted; but I
can refuse to grant the third if I think it is a foolish one. So wish
something for yourself, Peter, but take care that it is something good
and useful.”

“Hurrah! you are without doubt a first-rate little fellow, Master
Glass-man. And so as I may wish what I will, I wish that I may dance
as well as the Dance King, and when I am with Fat Ezekiel I may always
have as much money in my pockets as he has.”

“Fool!” cried the little man angrily, “what an idiotic wish to make,
to be able to dance and to have a supply of money with which to
gamble. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Peter, to cheat yourself
of your good fortune in such a manner. Of what use will it be to your
poor mother that you can dance well? And of what use your money if you
only spend it in the ale house? When you are with Fat Ezekiel and the
Dance King your pockets will be as full as theirs, but you will leave
your money behind you, and be as poor and hungry the rest of the week
as you were before. I will grant you one other wish, but see that you
make better use of it.”

Peter scratched his head and spoke after some deliberation. “Very
well, I wish for the finest glass factory in the Black Forest and
sufficient money to carry on my business.”

“Nothing else?” asked the little man earnestly. “Nothing else, Peter?”

“Well,” said Peter, “whilst I am about it you might as well add a
horse and a little carriage.”

“Oh! you stupid, you stupid!” cried the little man, and in his wrath
he flung his glass pipe at the nearest pine-tree and smashed it into a
hundred pieces. “A horse and carriage indeed! Why couldn’t you wish
for knowledge and common sense. But there, there, no need to look so
sad, the second wish was not altogether so foolish as the first. A
glass factory is not a bad thing to possess and will certainly provide
its owner with a living, but had you wished for knowledge and common
sense with it, the horse and carriage would have followed as a natural
consequence.”

“But, Master Glass-man,” replied Peter, “I have still one wish left
and I will wish for knowledge and common sense if you think it so
necessary for me to possess it.”

“No, no, mark my words you will find yourself in such a dilemma one of
these fine days that you will be thankful to have a remaining wish to
help you out, and now go home. Here are two thousand golden crowns,
see that you use them to the best advantage, and don’t come here
asking for more money or I will hang you from the top of the tallest
tree. Three days ago old Winkfritz died. He owned the largest glass
factory in the forest. Go first thing to-morrow morning and make a bid
for the business. See that you are industrious and behave yourself
well, and I will visit you from time to time and give you good advice
to make up for your not having wished for common sense, but I must
tell you seriously that your first wish was an evil wish. Be careful
how you take to frequenting ale-houses, for never yet did they do
anyone anything but harm.”

Whilst speaking the little man had taken out another pipe made of the
very finest glass, filled it with dried fir cones, and stuck it in his
little toothless mouth. He now drew forth an enormous burning glass
and, stepping out into the sunlight, lighted his pipe by means of the
glass.

When he had succeeded he offered his hand to Peter in friendly
fashion, gave him a little more good advice, smoked faster and faster,
and at length disappeared in a cloud of smoke, which circled higher
and higher until it reached the tree tops, leaving a scent of genuine
Dutch tobacco behind it.

When Peter reached home he found his mother in great trouble about
him, for the good woman quite supposed he had been made to enlist for
a soldier.

He told her he had met a good friend in the Forest who had given him
enough money to start a different business. Although his mother had
lived for thirty years in the charcoal-burner’s hut and had become as
accustomed to the sooty faces of her men-folk as a miller’s wife to
her husband’s floury face, she had still sufficient vanity at once to
despise their former position as soon as she saw a chance of
bettering it.

    [Illustration: _The little man disappeared in a cloud of smoke._
        (P. 236.)]

“As the mother of a man who owns a glass factory,” said she, “I shall
be a degree above my neighbours, and in future I shall take a foremost
seat in church amongst the well-to-do people.”

Peter soon made a bargain with Winkfritz’s heirs for possession of the
glass factory. He retained all the workmen employed there and worked
hard, making glass night and day. At first he liked his new trade. He
walked about the factory with his hands stuck in his pockets, looking
at this and that and making his workmen laugh at his queer questions.
His greatest pleasure was to watch the glass-blowing; he liked to take
the soft material and fashion it into all sorts of queer figures. But
he soon tired of the work and by degrees he came less often to the
factory; first it fell to passing only an hour a day there, then he
would come in every other day, finally only once a week, and all this
came of frequenting the ale-house. The Sunday after he had met the
little Glass-man, he went to the inn and there he found the Dance
King, already dancing, and Fat Ezekiel, with a can of beer beside him,
playing pitch and toss for crown pieces. He put his hand in his pocket
to be sure the little Glass-man kept good faith, and found his pockets
bulging with gold and silver. In his limbs he felt a strange and
unaccustomed twitching, as though he wanted to dance, and as soon as
the first dance was over he took his partner out and placed himself
close to the Dance King. For every skip the Dance King made Peter made
two. If the Dance King bounded a foot into the air Peter bounded twice
as high, and no matter what complicated steps the Dance King made,
Peter’s dancing was twice as complicated. He bounded, he pranced, he
twisted until all who beheld him were in a whirl of wonder.

As soon as it became known that Peter had purchased a glass factory,
and when folks saw the careless way in which he flung a handful of
coppers at a time to the musicians, their astonishment knew no
bounds. Some said he must have found buried treasure in the forest,
others said he had inherited a big sum of money, and everyone paid him
great respect and attention because it was apparent he was a monied
man. The same evening he lost twenty crowns, but in spite of that his
money still chinked in his pockets as though he had plenty left.

When Peter saw how much he was looked up to he scarcely knew how to
contain himself for pride and joy. He threw his money about with a
free hand and gave a goodly portion to the poor, remembering the times
when he had suffered for want of money.

The Dance King’s art having been quite supplanted by that of Peter,
the latter was nicknamed “Dance Emperor,” but this nickname soon gave
place to another and a worse one. On Sundays in the inn there was no
worse gambler than he, for no one could afford to lose as much as he
could, but as he always played with Fat Ezekiel, who won his money
easily, he had still, just as the little Glass-man had promised, as
much money in his pockets as his opponent.

If he lost twenty or thirty crowns one minute, no sooner had Fat
Ezekiel slipped them into his pocket than the same sum appeared in
Peter’s. He took to gambling every day in the week, and what with
drinking and playing he soon became one of the worst characters in the
Black Forest, and so he came to be called “Gambling Peter” instead of
“Dance Emperor.”

It was on account of this that his glass factory soon began to show
signs of decay. He ordered glass to be made as before; but as he had
no business capacity he did not know how to dispose of it to the best
advantage, and soon had such an accumulation of glass goods that he
was obliged to sell to pedlars or anyone who would buy it at half
price, so that he might have the money to pay his workmen.

One evening as he was going home from the inn he could not help
thinking of the terrible muddle he had made of his affairs and
worrying himself over the loss of his fortune, when suddenly he became
aware that someone was walking beside him, and behold it was the
little Glass-man.

Peter flew into a terrible rage and accused the little man of being
the cause of all his misfortunes. “Of what use to me is a horse and a
carriage?” he cried. “Of what use my factory and all my glass? I was
happier as a poverty-stricken charcoal-burner than I am now, for I
never know when the bailiffs may come and seize my goods to pay my
debts.”

“Oh!” replied the little Glass-man, “so it is my fault, is it, that
you are unhappy? Is this the thanks you offer me for my generosity?
Why did you wish so foolishly? You wished to be a glass manufacturer
and yet knew nothing about the business. Did I not warn you to be
careful what you wished for? It was knowledge and common sense you
wanted.”

    [Illustration: _Peter grabbed the Glass-man by the collar._
        (P. 241.)]

“Knowledge and common sense,” screamed Peter. “I will show you that I
have as much common sense as you have,” and with these words he
grabbed the Glass-man by the collar and cried--“Now I have you,
Master Glass-man, and I will not let you go until you have granted me
a third wish. Give me now at this very moment, on this very spot, two
hundred thousand crown pieces, a house and--oh! oh!!” he shrieked
aloud, for the Glass-man had turned into a mass of hot molten glass
and burnt his hand. Of the little man himself there was nothing to be
seen.

For several days he was reminded of his ingratitude and foolishness by
his burnt and swollen hand, but he managed to stifle his conscience
and said to himself--“Well, well, even if my factory and everything in
it is sold, I have still got Fat Ezekiel to provide me with as much
money as I shall require. As long as his pockets are full on a Sunday,
I cannot have mine empty.”

Just so, Peter, but how if a time should come when they are empty?
This was exactly what happened. One Sunday he came driving up to the
inn in his carriage and the people looking out of the window remarked:
“Here comes Gambling Peter,” or “Here comes the Dance Emperor,” or
“Here comes the rich glass manufacturer.”

“I’m not so sure about his riches,” said another, “there are grave
reports about him in the town and it is said that the bailiffs are to
seize his goods for debt.”

Peter nodded to the men at the window and called pompously--“Master
Innkeeper, is Fat Ezekiel here yet?” “Yes, yes, here I am,” said Fat
Ezekiel, “we have kept your place, Peter, and we are at the cards
already.”

So Peter Munk went in and slipped his hand into his pocket and found
that Fat Ezekiel must have plenty of money, for his own pockets were
quite full.

He sat down to the table and began to play, losing and winning much
as the others did. But as the night began to fall most of the players
rose and went home, but not so Peter Munk. He challenged Fat Ezekiel
to remain and play on.

At first he was not willing, but presently he consented. “Very well,”
he said at length, “I will just count my money and then we will throw
the dice for five crowns a point, for less than that it is mere
child’s play.” Ezekiel drew out his purse and counted five hundred
crowns, so Peter knew exactly how much he had.

But though Ezekiel had won before, he now began to lose his money and
his temper too. So sure as he threw double fives Peter threw double
sixes; whatever Ezekiel threw, Peter threw higher, until at length he
had won all Ezekiel’s money with the exception of five crown pieces.

“If I lose this,” cried Ezekiel, “I will still go on playing, and try
to retrieve my luck; you shall lend me some of your winnings, Peter,
for one good comrade always helps another.”

“As much as you please,” replied Peter, “a hundred crowns if
possible,” for he was merry over his winnings and in a very good
temper.

But again Ezekiel lost and Peter started as he heard a harsh voice
behind him say--“Oh! ho! there goes the last coin!”

Peter looked round and saw Dutch Michael standing behind him. In his
terror he let fall his money, but Fat Ezekiel saw nothing, but only
asked Peter to lend him some money that they might go on playing.
Half in a dream Peter thrust his hand into his pocket. It was empty,
he tried the other--empty too. He turned them inside out, but not the
smallest copper coin was to be seen, and now he remembered for the
first time what his wish had been--that he might always have as much
money as Fat Ezekiel--well, Ezekiel had none and so Peter’s had all
disappeared like smoke.

At first the innkeeper and Fat Ezekiel would not believe that he had
no money, but when they saw that his pockets really were empty they
were very angry, for they declared he must be a sorcerer and that he
had wished his money and his winnings away at home so that he might
not have to lend any.

Peter attempted to defend himself, but appearances were against him.
Ezekiel declared that the following day he would publish the news all
over the Black Forest, and the innkeeper said he should go and
denounce Peter as a sorcerer to the magistrate and that he would most
assuredly be burnt. Then they flew at him, beat him soundly, tore his
jacket off his back, and threw him out of the door of the inn.

No star shone in the sky as Peter crept miserably home, but in spite
of that he recognised a dark figure that walked beside him and kept
pace with him. At length the figure spoke--“Well, Peter Munk, there is
an end to you and your splendour. I could have told you exactly what
would happen when you would not listen to me but hurried off to that
stupid Glass Dwarf. Now see what you have come to through despising my
advice. But try me once, for I am really sorry for your pitiful fate.
No one has ever repented of coming to me for assistance, and if you
are not afraid come to me to-morrow to the clump of pine-trees; I will
be there if you call me.”

But Peter shuddered and ran home as fast as his legs could carry him.


PART II.

When Peter entered his glass factory on the Monday morning he found
the bailiffs already in possession. He was asked if he had any money
with which he could settle his debts, and on his replying that he had
not, his factory, house, stables, horse, carriage and the stock in
hand were all seized.

“Well,” said he, “since the little man has done nothing for me I will
see what the big one will do.” And he set off running as fast as
though the police were at his heels.

He reached the clump of black pines, and as he passed the spot where
he had seen the little Glass-man it seemed as though an invisible hand
caught him and held him back. But he tore himself loose and dashed
across the boundary line into Dutch Michael’s domain. Breathlessly he
called: “Dutch Michael, Dutch Michael,” and immediately the gigantic
figure of the raftsman stood before him.

“So you have come,” he said, laughing. “And did they wish to sell up
you and your possessions? Well, well, it was the fault of the little
man, miser that he is. If one makes a present it may as well be one
worth having. But follow me to my house and I will see if we cannot
drive a bargain.”

“Make a bargain?” thought Peter, “what have I to exchange with him?
Have I got to serve him, I wonder?”

Dutch Michael led him up a steep woodland pathway until at length they
came to a steep ravine, with rugged rocky sides. Michael sprang down
the rugged rocks as though they had been a polished marble staircase,
but Peter almost fainted when he saw that the giant grew taller and
taller until he was the height of a church tower. He stretched up an
arm as long as a weaver’s beam, with a hand the size of a parlour
table, and bade Peter seat himself upon it and hold tight.

Peter trembled with fright but obeyed, took his seat upon the giant’s
hand, and held tight to his thumb.

They went down and down, ever deeper, but to Peter’s surprise it was
not at all dark, indeed it was quite the contrary, for the sun shone
so brightly in his eyes that it dazzled him. The further Peter went
down, the smaller Michael became, until when they reached the bottom
of the ravine he was the same size as he had been when Peter first saw
him.

They were standing outside a house, such as a well-to-do peasant might
have inhabited, and the room Peter was shown into was much the same as
any other room except that it seemed very dreary. A tall clock in a
wooden case stood by the wall, an enormous china stove and the usual
furniture were all there. Michael invited him to take a seat at the
table and, going out, returned speedily with glasses and a flask of
wine. He poured it out and they began to talk, Dutch Michael telling
Peter of all the joys there were to be met with in foreign lands. He
described the beautiful towns and rivers until Peter conceived a great
longing to go and see them.

    [Illustration: _Michael stretched up an arm, with a hand the
        size of a parlour table._ (P. 246.)]

“Ah!” said Michael craftily, “even if your whole body and mind wanted
to undertake some great piece of business your poor silly heart would
quake with fear. I can’t think what a fine fellow like you wants with
a heart. When you were called a cheat and a rogue where did you feel
it most? Not in your head, I’ll be bound! When the officers of the law
came and took possession of all your belongings did you have a
stomach-ache? Tell me, where did it hurt you most?”

“My heart,” replied Peter, placing his hand upon his heaving breast.

“Now forgive me,” said Michael, “if I remind you that you have given
away many hundred crown pieces to beggars and other rabble. What good
has it done you? They blessed you and wished you good health. Did that
do you any good? What was it prompted you to put your hand in your
pocket every time a beggar held out his ragged hat to you? Your
_heart_, I tell you. Neither your eyes, nor your tongue, nor your arm,
nor your leg, but your heart. You took things to _heart_ as the saying
is.”

“But how can I help it? I try my best to suppress it; but my heart
beats until it hurts me.”

“You poor fellow,” laughed Michael, “give me that little palpitating
thing and see how much better you will feel without it!”

“Give you my heart!” screamed Peter in horror, “why, I should die on
the spot. No, that I will not!”

“Of course, you would die if an ordinary physician were to cut out
your heart. But with me it is quite a different matter. Come with me,
and I will convince you.”

He rose and beckoned to Peter to follow him into another room. Peter’s
heart contracted painfully as he crossed the threshold of this room;
but he paid no heed to it, such astonishing sights claimed his
attention. There were rows of shelves, and upon these stood glass
bottles filled with transparent fluid, and in each of these bottles
there was a heart. Every bottle was labelled and Peter read the names
with the greatest curiosity. There was the name of the Chief
Magistrate, Fat Ezekiel’s, the Dance King, in fact all the principal
people in the neighbourhood.

“Observe,” said Michael, “all these people have rid themselves of fear
and sorrow for life. Not one of these hearts beats with fear or sorrow
any more, and their former possessors are very well off without such
unquiet guests to disturb them.”

“But what do they carry in their breasts in place of them?” enquired
Peter, who felt faint and giddy.

“This,” replied Michael, and he showed him a heart of stone he had
taken from a drawer.

“Oh!” said Peter with a shudder, “a heart of stone? But that must be
very cold in one’s breast.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Michael, “quite pleasantly cool. What do you want
with a warm heart? Even in winter a glass of good cherry brandy will
warm your body better than your heart could, and in summer when it is
hot and sultry it is nice and cooling. Then, as I have said, neither
grief, nor foolish pity, nor sorrow of any sort can affect such a
heart.”

“And is that all you have to offer me?” asked Peter ungraciously, “I
had hoped for money and you offer me a stone.”

“Come, I think a hundred thousand crown pieces would be sufficient for
you at first. If you deal advantageously with it you will soon be a
millionaire.”

“A hundred thousand!” exclaimed the poor charcoal-burner, joyfully.
“Come, come, my heart, don’t beat so wildly, for we are about to part
company. Here, Michael, give me the money and the stone and you may
have this disturber of my peace.”

“I thought you would prove a sensible fellow,” said Michael, “come, we
will have another glass of wine and then I will count out the money.”

They seated themselves in the next room and drank so much wine that
Peter fell asleep.

When he awoke it was to the friendly sound of a post horn, and see,
there he was, seated in a beautiful carriage. He put his head out of
the window and saw the Black Forest in the distance behind him. At
first he could not believe it was himself that sat in the carriage,
for his clothes were not the same as those he had worn the day before;
but he remembered everything so clearly that he could no longer doubt.
“Charcoal Peter am I, and no mistake,” he said.

He was surprised he felt no sadness at leaving his home and the Forest
where he had lived for so long. Even the thought of his mother whom he
was leaving alone, helpless and in dire poverty, provoked no feeling
of remorse in him, and he could not call up a tear nor even a sigh. He
felt perfectly indifferent.

“Of course,” said he, “tears and sighs, home-sickness, and grief, come
from the heart and, thanks to Dutch Michael, mine is now of stone.”

He put his hand to his breast, but nothing moved there. “If he has
kept his word as well regarding the hundred thousand dollars as he has
kept it respecting my heart, I shall have nothing to complain of;”
with that he began to search the carriage. He found everything he
could possibly require in the shape of clothing, but no money. But at
length he came across a pocket in the lining of the carriage which was
stuffed with gold and notes, and letters of credit to all the
principal cities.

“Now I have everything I can possibly want,” he said, and settling
himself comfortably in the corner of his carriage drove away out into
the world.

For two years he drove about the country, peering right and left from
the windows of his carriage at the houses and villages he passed. When
he came into a town he put up at an inn, then went round with a
courier, who showed him all the beautiful and interesting sights, not
one of which afforded him the least delight, for his heart of stone
prevented him taking pleasure in anything. Nothing, however beautiful,
appealed to his senses any longer. Nothing was left to him but to eat
and drink and sleep--and so he lived without interest or aim in life;
to amuse himself he ate and drank, and to prevent his being bored he
slept.

Now and again he thought of the days when he had been happy and gay,
although he had been obliged to work hard for a livelihood. In those
days every beautiful view had delighted him, music and singing had
enchanted him, and the simple food his mother cooked for him and
brought to him as he sat beside his kiln had been more appetising
than all the dainty dishes he partook of now. As he thought of the
past it struck him as very singular that he no longer desired to smile
even, whereas formerly the smallest joke had served as an excuse for
laughter. When other folks laughed he drew his lips into the form of a
grin out of politeness; but his heart no longer laughed. It is true he
was never upset over anything, but then he was not really satisfied.

It was not home-sickness or grief; but a sense of blankness, weariness
and friendlessness that at length drove him back home.

As he drove out of Strassburg and saw again the beautiful dark
pine-trees of his native forest, and looked upon the honest faces of
his countrymen, and heard the homely, well-remembered tones of their
speech, he placed his hand quickly to his heart, for his blood was
coursing wildly through his veins and he felt as though he must both
weep and laugh together. But--how foolish! His heart was of stone, and
stones are dead and can neither laugh nor weep.

His first visit was to Dutch Michael, who received him with
friendliness as he had formerly done. “Michael,” said Peter, “I have
travelled all over the world and taken pleasure in nothing; I was only
bored. It is true that the stone thing I carry in my breast shielded
me from a great deal of unpleasantness, I am never angry or sad, but
then I am never glad either and I feel only half alive. Could you not
put a little life into the stone heart, or even give me back my old
heart? I had it for five-and-twenty years and had become accustomed to
it, and even if it makes me commit some foolishness occasionally,
still it was a merry, happy heart.”

    [Illustration: _For two years Peter drove about the country._
        (P. 251.)]

The giant laughed a grim and bitter laugh. “When you are dead, Peter
Munk,” he replied, “you shall have your soft, feeling heart back
again, and experience all the sensations you knew before. But as long
as you are alive you cannot have it. It would have been of little
service to you either, in the life of idleness you have been living
lately. Why don’t you settle down now, marry, build a house, make
money? All you require is work; because you were idle you were bored
and then you blame your innocent stone heart.”

Peter saw that there was sense in what Michael said and made up his
mind to devote his time to money-making. Michael gave him another
hundred thousand dollars and they parted good friends.

Very soon the news was spread abroad in the Black Forest that Charcoal
Peter, or Gambling Peter, had returned, and that he was richer than
formerly. As usual, now that he had returned a rich man he was
received with open arms by those who had turned their backs on him in
his misfortunes. He now pretended that he was a timber merchant, but
this was only a blind, his real business was that of a money-lender
and corn-dealer.

Very soon half the folks in the Black Forest owed him money, and he
charged ten per cent for all he lent. Or again he sold corn to the
poor, who had not the money to pay immediately, for three times its
worth.

He was first-rate friends with the magistrate now, and when it
happened that Peter’s debtors did not pay up to the very day the
magistrate would come with his officers and sell up their homes and
drive father, mother and children out into the forest. At first it
caused rich Peter some inconvenience, for the poor creatures besieged
his house, the men begged for some consideration, the women tried to
soften his heart of stone, and the children cried for bread. But he
bought a pair of fierce dogs to stop the “caterwauling,” as he called
it, and so soon as a beggar appeared he set his dogs on to him.

But what caused him the most trouble was his poor old mother. She had
fallen into extreme poverty, and though her son had returned a rich
man he did not attempt to provide for her. She came sometimes to his
door, weak and ill, her tottering steps supported by a stick, but she
did not venture into the house, for once she had been driven out of
it. It was a sore grief to her that she should be dependent on the
charity of others when her own son could so well have afforded to care
for her in her old age. But his heart of stone was never moved by the
sight of the pale worn face and the withered outstretched hand.

When she knocked at his door he drew some coppers from his pocket and
gave them to a servant to hand to her. He could hear her trembling
voice as she thanked him and wished him well, he heard her coughing
pitifully as she crept away, and then he thought no more about the
matter, except that he had spent some money with no hope of its being
returned.

At last Peter made up his mind to get married. He knew quite well that
every father in the Black Forest would be only too glad to let him
marry his daughter, but he was very difficult to please, for he
wanted everyone to praise the good sense he had shown in making his
choice and to be envious of his good fortune.

So he went to every dance-room in the countryside, but not one of the
beautiful maidens he met there did he think sufficiently beautiful. At
length he heard that a poor wood-cutter’s daughter was the most
beautiful and most virtuous maiden in the whole of the Black Forest.
She lived quietly, keeping her father’s house in beautiful order, and
never so much as showed herself at the dance-rooms, not even at
holiday times. No sooner did Peter hear of this marvel than he made up
his mind to wed her, and rode out to the cottage where she dwelt. The
beautiful Lisbeth’s father received this fine-looking gentleman with
surprise, and was still more astonished when he heard that Peter
wished to be his son-in-law. He did not take long to make up his mind,
for he supposed that all his poverty and anxious striving would now be
at an end, and so he agreed to his request without so much as asking
Lisbeth’s consent, but she was such an obedient child that she did not
venture to object, and so became Mrs. Peter Munk.

But the poor girl was not as happy as she expected to be. She had
thought herself an accomplished housekeeper, but she could do nothing
to please Master Peter. She was pitiful towards the poor, and, knowing
her husband to be a man of means, she thought it no wrong to give them
a little money or food. But when Peter happened to see her one day he
told her with an angry glance and in harsh tones that she was wasting
his goods. “What did you bring with you,” he cried, “that you think
you can spend so lavishly? Why, your beggar father’s staff would
scarcely serve to heat the soup, and yet you throw money about as
though you were a princess. If I catch you doing it again you shall
feel the weight of my hand.”

The beautiful Lisbeth wept bitterly when she was alone, and wished
herself back again in her father’s poor little cottage instead of
living in the grand house of the rich but miserly and hard-hearted
Peter Munk. Had she known that he had a heart of stone in his breast
and could love neither her nor anyone else she would not have been so
surprised.

Sometimes, as she sat in her doorway, a beggar would pass by and hold
out his hand in entreaty. Then Lisbeth closed her eyes tightly that
she might not see his misery, and clenched her hands so that they
should not involuntarily stray to her pocket for a coin. And so it
happened that Lisbeth came to be ill-thought of throughout the whole
of the Black Forest, and it was said that she was even more miserly
than Peter himself.

But one day Lisbeth sat by the door of her house and sang a little
song as she twirled her distaff, for she was merry because the weather
was fine and Peter had ridden out into the country. She saw a little
old man coming along, bent beneath the weight of an enormous sack and
panting painfully. She looked at him pityingly, thinking to herself
that it was not right that such an old man should be so heavily laden.

Just as the old man reached Lisbeth he stumbled and almost fell
beneath the weight of his sack. “Have pity, dear lady, and give me a
drink of water,” he gasped, “I can go no further, I am completely
exhausted.”

“You are too old to carry such a heavy weight,” said Lisbeth.

“True,” replied the old man, “but it is on account of my poverty that
I am forced to go round as a carrier, otherwise I should not be able
to earn a livelihood. But a rich lady like yourself knows nothing of
the pinch of poverty or how good a cool draught of fresh water seems
on such a hot day.”

On hearing this Lisbeth hurried into the house, took a pitcher from
the shelf and filled it with water, and when she turned to hand it to
the old man and saw how wretched and tired out he looked as he sat
upon his sack, she felt so much pity for him, that she could not
resist giving him more substantial help. So she set the water aside
and filled a cup with red wine and gave it to him with a large slice
of rye bread.

“This will do you more good than water, seeing that you are so old,”
she said, “but be careful, do not drink so hastily, take a morsel of
bread with the wine.”

    [Illustration: _THE COLD HEART_
      _“She saw a little old man coming along.”_
      (_p. 258_)]

The old man looked at her with tears in his eyes--“I am very old,”
he said, “but in all my life I have seen few so pitiful as you or
whose gifts were given with such gracious kindness. But such a kind
heart will not go unrewarded.”

“No, indeed, and the reward she shall have at once,” cried a terrible
voice, and when they turned, there stood Peter with a face purple with
rage.

“And so you give my best wine to beggars, and serve it in my own cup,
too. Now you shall have your reward.”

Lisbeth threw herself at his feet and begged for forgiveness, but his
heart of stone knew no pity; he turned the whip he was carrying round
and struck her forehead with the ebony handle with so much force that
she sank back lifeless into the arms of the old man. Immediately he
began to regret what he had done and stooped to see if she were yet
alive. But the little old man spoke in well-known tones: “Do not
trouble, Charcoal Peter, she was the sweetest and loveliest flower in
the whole of the Black Forest; now that you have trodden it under foot
it will never bloom again.”

Every drop of blood forsook Peter’s cheeks--“So it is you,” he said.
“Well, what is done, is done. I trust you will not give me up to the
hand of the law for this murder.”

“Miserable wretch!” replied the little Glass-man. “What satisfaction
should I have in giving your mortal body to the hangman? It is no
earthly court of justice you have to fear, but another and a more
awful one, for you have sold your soul to the evil one.”

“And if I have sold my heart,” screamed Peter, “who, but you, is to
blame for it, you and the deceitful tricks you played on me with the
treasures I was to gain through you? You drove me to seek other help,
that has been my undoing, and so the responsibility lies with you.”

But scarcely had he spoken before the little Glass-man began to grow
bigger. He grew and he swelled until he became a huge giant, his eyes
were as big as saucers and his mouth was the size of a baker’s oven out
of which flames began to dart. Peter threw himself on his knees, for
his stone heart did not prevent his limbs from shaking like an aspen
tree.

With hands like vulture’s claws the wood spirit seized him by his
neck, twisted him about as the whirlwind does the dry leaves, and then
dashed him to the ground so that his ribs cracked.

“Earth-worm!” he cried, in a voice that rolled like thunder, “I could
shatter you to pieces if I would, for you have offended the Lord of
the Forest. But for the sake of this dead woman, who fed me and gave
me drink, I will give you eight days’ grace. If during that time you
do not repent, I will come and grind your bones to powder and you will
depart in the midst of your sins.”

It was evening when some passing men found Peter Munk lying
unconscious on the ground; they turned him over and sought for some
sign of life, but for some time in vain. At length one of them went
into the house and fetched some water and sprinkled it on his face.
Then he drew a deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes, looked around
him anxiously, and asked for his wife, but no one had seen her.

    [Illustration: _Some passing men found Peter Munk lying
        unconscious on the ground._ (P. 263.)]

He thanked the men for their assistance, crept into his house and
searched from cellar to attic, but in vain; what he had hoped might
prove a bad dream was bitter reality.

Now that he was left quite alone, strange thoughts came to him; he
had no fear, for was not his heart cold? But when he thought of the
death of his wife, it reminded him that his own death would come one
day. And how heavily laden with sin he would be! His soul would be
weighed down by the tears of the needy, the curses of those he had
ruined, the groans of the wretched ones that had been dragged down by
his dogs, the quiet despair of his own mother, and the innocent blood
of Lisbeth. How would he be able to answer her old father when he came
and demanded: “Where is my daughter, your wife?”

He was tormented in his dreams, and repeatedly awoke, hearing a sweet
voice calling to him: “Peter, Peter, see that you get a warmer heart.”
Even when he was awake it was the same, and he knew the voice to be
Lisbeth’s. He went down to the inn to divert his thoughts, and there
he met Fat Ezekiel. He sat down opposite to him and they began to talk
of all sorts of things, the weather, the war, the stars, and at last
of death and how quickly some had died off.

Then Peter asked the fat one what he thought of death and the
hereafter.

Ezekiel answered that the body died and was buried, but the soul
soared up to heaven or down to the evil one.

“Is the heart buried with the body?” asked Peter.

“Certainly that is buried too!”

“But if one had no heart?” queried Peter.

Ezekiel looked at him in horror. “What do you say? Are you trying to
make game of me? Do you mean to say that I have no heart?”

“Oh! yes, you have a heart right enough,” said Peter, “but it is made
of stone.”

Ezekiel stared at him in astonishment, looked round to see that no one
was listening, and then said: “How do you know that? Has your own
ceased to beat also?”

“It beats no longer, at least not in my breast,” answered Peter Munk.
“But tell me, now you understand how it is with me, what will happen
to our _hearts_?”

“Why worry about that, my friend,” laughed Ezekiel. “You are alive at
present and that is the best of having a heart of stone, one is never
afraid of such thoughts.”

“Quite true, but one thinks about them all the same,” said Peter, “and
I can remember still how they would have frightened me once upon a
time.”

“Of course, we can’t expect things to go very well with us,” said
Ezekiel. “Once upon a time I asked a schoolmaster about it and he told
me that our hearts would be weighed; the light ones went up on the
scale and those heavy with sin went down, so I expect our stone hearts
will be pretty heavy.”

“Sometimes I am a little uncomfortable to think that my heart _should_
be so indifferent to such things,” said Peter.

So they talked together. That night Peter heard the voice whispering
five or six times in his ear: “Peter, Peter, see that you get a warmer
heart!” He felt no remorse for what he had done, but when he told his
servants that his wife had gone on a journey he wondered to himself
whither she had journeyed.

Six whole days and nights passed and ever it seemed to him there was a
voice whispering in his ear, and he could think of nothing but the
little Glass-man and his warning. And so, on the seventh day, he
sprang out of bed and said: “Well, I will see if I cannot get a warm
heart again, instead of this unfeeling stone in my bosom, for it makes
my life both tedious and lonely.” So he dressed himself in his best
and rode off to the clump of black pines. When he reached the
outskirts he dismounted, tied up his horse, and hurried to the summit
of the hill, and as he came to the big pine-tree he repeated his
verse:

    “Owner of all in the pine-woods green,
    Many a hundred years thou hast seen,
    Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow--
    To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

At once the little Glass-man appeared, but he did not seem at all
friendly; but looked gloomy and sad. He wore a coat of black glass,
and a long crape veil floated from his hat, and Peter knew very well
for whom he wore mourning.

“What do you want with me, Peter Munk?” he asked in deep tones.

“There is still a wish due to me, Mr. Glass-man,” answered Peter with
downcast eyes.

“Is it possible for a heart of stone to wish for anything?” said the
little man. “You have everything a man of your bad disposition
requires, and I shall not readily grant your request.”

    [Illustration: _That night Peter heard the voice whispering in
        his ear._ (P. 266.)]

“But you promised me three wishes,” said Peter “and one I have not yet
made use of.”

“I have the right to withhold it if it is a foolish wish,” said the
little man, “but say on, what do you want?”

“Take this cold stone out of my breast and give me back my warm
living heart in place of it,” Peter asked.

“Had I aught to do with the exchange?” demanded the little man. “Am I
Dutch Michael, who gives fortunes and stone hearts away? You must
recover your heart from him.”

“But he will never give it back to me,” answered Peter.

“Bad as you are, I am sorry for you,” said the little man after a few
moments’ consideration, “and as your wish is not a foolish one I will
promise to assist you. Listen, you will never obtain your heart by
force and so you must employ cunning, and it may not be a difficult
task, for stupid Michael always was and stupid he will remain,
although he prides himself upon being extremely clever. So go straight
to him and do exactly as I tell you.” The Glass-man then gave Peter a
little cross of pure transparent glass, and proceeded to give him
minute instructions as to how he should act. “He cannot take your
life,” said the little man, “and he will let you go free if you hold
this out to him and whisper a prayer. As soon as you have obtained
what you want come back here to me.”

Peter Munk took the little cross, made sure he remembered every word
the little man had told him, and went straight off to the spot where
Michael was wont to be found. He called him three times by name and at
once the giant appeared. “And so you have killed your wife,” he said
with a horrible laugh. “Well, I should have done the same. Did she not
waste your fortune on beggars? But it would be best for you to leave
the country for a time, for there will be a fine fuss when it is found
out; and so I suppose you want money and have come to fetch it from
me?”

“You have guessed it exactly,” replied Peter, “but I shall require a
good big sum this time. It is a long way to America.”

Michael went in advance and led the way to his home. As soon as he
reached it he went to a chest and took out several packets of gold.
Whilst he was counting it Peter said: “You are a rascal, Michael, for
you deceived me, telling me that I had a stone in my breast, and that
you had my heart.”

“And is it not so?” asked the astonished Michael, “can you feel your
heart beat? Do you know what fear or remorse is?”

“Ah! you have just made my heart stand still, but I have it still in
my breast and so has Ezekiel. It was he who told me you had lied to
us; you are not the one to take one’s heart out without his feeling
it, that would be magic.”

“But I assure you I did,” said Michael angrily. “You, and Ezekiel, and
all the other rich people who have had dealings with me have hearts of
stone, and your own original hearts I have here, shut up in a room.”

“Now how easily the lies trip from your tongue!” laughed Peter. “You
must make some one else believe that. I have seen dozens of similar
tricks on my travels. The hearts you have in your room there are
merely waxen ones. You are a rich fellow, I allow, but you do not
understand magic.”

The giant became furious and tore open the door of the room. “Come in
and read all these labels; look at this, look at that, do you see it
is labelled ‘Peter Munk’s Heart!’ do you see how it throbs? Could you
make a waxen one do that?”

“All the same, it is wax,” said Peter. “A real heart does not beat
like that, I have mine still in my breast. No, it is evident you do
not understand magic.”

“But I will prove it to you!” cried the angry Michael; “you shall feel
for yourself that it is your own heart.”

He tore Peter’s vest open, took a stone from his breast and showed it
to him. Then he took the real heart, breathed on it, and put it
carefully in its place, and immediately to his delight Peter felt it
begin to beat.

“Now what have you to say?” laughed Michael.

“Truly you were in the right,” answered Peter, carefully drawing the
little cross from his pocket. “I would not have believed it possible
for a man to do such a thing.”

“Well, it was as I said,” answered Michael; “you see I do understand
magic, but come, now, I must put the stone back in your breast.”

“Softly, softly, Michael!” cried Peter, and he took a step backwards
and held out the cross towards him. “With a morsel of cheese the
mouse is caught, and this time it is you who have been caught.” And
he at once began to murmur the first prayer that came to his lips.

At once Michael began to dwindle away, fell down on the ground and
writhed like a worm, and groaned and sighed, and all the hearts in the
glass bottles began to throb and beat until it sounded like the
clock-maker’s workshop. But Peter was afraid, and his courage began to
fail him, and he turned and ran out of the house and, driven by fear,
he climbed the steep face of the rocky ravine, for he could hear
Michael raging and stamping and uttering fearful oaths.

    [Illustration: _“Come in and read all these labels,” said the
        giant._ (P. 270.)]

As soon as he reached the top he ran quickly to the clump of black
pines. A fearful thunderstorm broke out suddenly, lightning flashed
from left to right of him, striking the trees about him, but he
reached the domain of the little Glass-man in safety.

His heart was beating with joy, simply because it _did_ beat. But
suddenly he saw with horror that his past life had been even as the
terrible thunderstorm that had dealt destruction right and left in the
beautiful forest. He thought of Lisbeth, his good and beautiful wife,
whom he had murdered on account of his avarice, and he saw himself as
an outcast of humanity. When he reached the little hill where the
Glass-man dwelt he was weeping bitterly.

The Glass man sat beneath the pine-tree and smoked a pipe, and he
looked more cheerful than previously. “Why do you weep, Charcoal
Peter?” he asked. “Did you not get your heart? Have you still a stone
in your breast?”

“Ah! sir!” sighed Peter, “when I had a heart of stone I never wept, my
eyes were as dry as the land in July; but now my heart is breaking as
I think of all I have done. My debtors I drove out to misery and want,
and set my dogs upon the poor and sick, and you know alas! how my whip
fell upon that snow-white brow!”

“Peter, you have been a great sinner!” said the little man. “Money and
idleness spoilt you; when your heart became as a stone you could feel
neither joy, nor sorrow, neither remorse nor pity. But repentance can
make amends and if I knew for certain that you were sorry for your
past life I would still do something for you.”

“I ask for nothing more,” answered Peter, and let his head sink
mournfully upon his breast. “All is over for me, never again can I
rejoice, and what can I do alone in the world? My mother will never
forgive me for what I have done; even now, maybe, I have brought her
to her grave, monster that I am. And Lisbeth, my wife! It were a
kindness to strike me dead, Master Glass-man, so that my miserable
life were at an end.”

“Good,” replied the little man, “if you insist, well, I have my axe
near at hand.”

He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, tapped it and put it back
again. Then he rose slowly and stepped behind the pine-tree. But Peter
sat down upon the grass weeping, his life had become worthless to him,
and patiently he awaited the stroke of death. Shortly afterwards he
heard light footsteps behind him and thought, “He is coming now!”

“Look round, Peter Munk!” cried the little man. Peter wiped the tears
from his eyes and, looking round, saw--his mother, and Lisbeth, his
wife, smiling at him. He sprang up joyfully, “Then you are not dead,
Lisbeth? And you are here also, Mother, and have forgiven me?”

“They pardon you,” said the little Glass-man, “because you are truly
penitent, and everything shall be forgotten. Go home now to your
father’s cottage and be a charcoal-burner as before; if you are honest
and industrious you will learn to respect your work, and your
neighbours will love and esteem you more than if you had ten tons of
gold.”

Thus spoke the little Glass-man, and then bade him farewell.

The three happy people praised and blessed him and turned towards
home.

Peter’s splendid house was no longer standing. It had been struck by
lightning and burnt to the ground, together with all his money and
treasures, but it was no great distance to the old hut, and so they
turned their steps towards it and were not in the least troubled about
the great loss.

But what was their surprise on reaching the little hut to find it had
become a fine farm-house, furnished throughout with simplicity, but
with everything that was necessary and good.

“That is the work of the little Glass-man,” cried Peter.

“How beautiful everything is,” said Lisbeth; “I shall be far happier
and more at home here than in the great big house with its many
servants.”

From that time Peter became an industrious and honest fellow. He was
contented with what he had and plied his trade without grumbling; and
so it came to pass that through his own exertions he became well off
and respected and loved by everyone in the Forest.

He never quarrelled with his wife, honoured his mother, and gave to
the poor who came knocking at his door.

After a time a beautiful boy came to them, to add to their happiness,
and then Peter went to the clump of pine-trees and again recited his
little rhyme, but the Glass-man did not show himself.

“Master Glass-man,” cried Peter loudly, “do listen to me, for I only
meant to ask you to be godfather to my little son!”

But there was no reply, only a little breath of wind sighed through
the pine-trees and blew a few cones to the ground.

“Well, I will take these as a remembrance, as you will not show
yourself to me,” said Peter, and popped the cones into his pocket, and
went home. But when he took off his best coat and his mother shook out
the pockets before laying it away in the chest, out tumbled four fine
big rolls of gold pieces. That was the good Glass-man’s christening
present to _little_ Peter.

And so they lived happily ever after, and when Peter Munk was an old
man with grey hair he was wont to say: “It is better to be content
with little, than to have money and possessions and a cold heart.”




THE ADVENTURES OF SAID.


At the time when Harun Al-Raschid was ruler of Bagdad there lived in
Balsora a man named Benezar. He had a sufficiently large fortune to be
able to live comfortably and at ease without working for a livelihood.

Even when his son was born he did not change his mode of living, for
he said: “Wherefore should I wear myself out working at a trade, just
so that I may be able to leave Said, my son, another thousand gold
pieces if I am lucky, or a thousand less if I am unlucky? What is
enough for two is enough for three, as the saying is, and if he turns
out well he shall want for nothing.”

    [Illustration: _Benezar and the baby Said._ (P. 276.)]

And so he announced his intention of not allowing his son to become a
merchant, but took care to study learned books with him, and as,
according to his ideas, besides learning and reverence for age,
nothing became a young man more than a knowledge of arms and a
courageous disposition, he had him carefully instructed in the skilful
handling of weapons and all modes of defence.

And so Said was able to compare favourably not only with youths of his
own age, but with his elders, as an excellent fighter, and as for
riding and swimming none could compete with him.

When he was eighteen years of age his father sent him to Mecca to
worship at the grave of the Prophet, as was customary.

Before he set out his father sent for him, praised his good conduct,
gave him some good advice, and provided him with money for the
journey. Then he told him the following story. “I am,” said he, “a man
who is above sharing the superstitions of the lower classes. It is
true that I like to amuse myself by listening to stories of fairies
and enchanters, but I certainly do not believe, as many of the
uneducated do, that there is any truth in the suggestion that they are
able to have an influence on the lives and actions of men. Your
mother, however, who died twelve years ago, believed in them as firmly
as she believed in the Koran; indeed, she confided to me once, after
making me promise never to divulge her words to anyone but her child,
that she had been in communication with a fairy from the day of her
birth. I tried to laugh her out of the idea, but I must confess, Said,
that at your birth such strange things occurred that even I was taken
by surprise. All day long there had been a thunderstorm and the sky
was so dark that it was impossible to read without a light. About four
o’clock in the afternoon I was told a little son had been born to me.
I hurried to your mother’s apartments to see you and bless you, but I
found her door closed and all her attendants standing outside it, and
on my questioning them they told me your mother had turned them all
out because she wished to be alone. I knocked at the door, but in
vain, it remained closed.

“As I stood unwillingly amongst the attendants outside your mother’s
door the thunderstorm suddenly ceased, as though it had never been,
and the most surprising thing about it was that although the sky was a
beautiful deep blue above our dear city of Balsora, all around it lay
clouds as black as night and lightning flashed and darted around the
circle of blue.

“Whilst I was observing this spectacle with great curiosity, the door
of my wife’s room flew open, but I would not allow the maids to enter
and went in alone. As I entered my nostrils were assailed with an
overpowering scent of roses, carnations and hyacinths. Your mother
laid you in my arms and pointed out a little silver whistle which hung
suspended from your neck by a gold chain, as fine as silk.

“‘The beneficent fairy of whom I told you once has been here,’ said
she, ‘and has given your son this present.’

    [Illustration: _“There is your gift.”_ (P. 280.)]

“‘Perhaps she was the witch who made the weather fine and left behind
her this scent of roses and carnations?’ I asked jokingly. ‘She might
have given him something better than a silver whistle, a purse of gold
or a fine horse would have been more acceptable.’ Your mother begged
me not to make fun, as fairies are easily offended and their blessings
then turn to curses.

“So to please her I said no more; but six years later she mentioned
it to me again, for in spite of her youth she felt that she was at the
point of death. She gave me the whistle and told me to give it to you
when you were twenty years of age, and on no account to let you out of
my sight before you were that age. There is your gift,” proceeded
Benezar, taking a silver whistle attached to a long gold chain from a
casket, “I give it to you in your eighteenth year, instead of your
twentieth, as you are starting on your travels, and before you return
I may be gathered to my fathers.”

“I do not see any reason for your remaining another two years with me
as your mother wished, for you are a good, sensible young fellow, and
understand how to handle weapons as well as though you were
four-and-twenty years old at least, and therefore there is no reason
why you should not be declared of age to-day as though you really were
twenty. And now depart in peace, and in happiness or misfortune, from
which Heaven defend you, remember your father.”

Said took an affectionate and touching farewell of his father, hung
the chain around his neck, stuck the whistle in his girdle, swung
himself upon his horse, and rode to the place from which the caravan
for Mecca started. In a short time eighty camels and a large number of
riders had assembled; the caravan was in motion, and Said rode out of
the gates of Balsora, his native town, which he was not to see again
for a long time.

The novelty of the journey and the different circumstances in which
he found himself distracted his thoughts at first, but when they
approached the desert and the surroundings became more desolate and
barren, he had time to think of many things, especially his father’s
last words to him.

He took out his whistle, looked at it and placed it between his lips,
to judge if it had a good tone. But it gave forth no tones at all,
although he blew until he nearly cracked his cheeks. Annoyed at the
useless gift he had received, he tucked the whistle carelessly away
again. But presently his thoughts turned to his mother’s mysterious
words. He had often heard of fairies, but he had never been able to
ascertain that any of their neighbours in Balsora had any connection
whatever with supernatural beings; the stories he had heard had always
had their foundation in foreign lands and in olden times, and so he
thought that fairies and such-like apparitions had ceased to visit
mankind or to take an interest in their destinies. But in spite of
this he could not help thinking that something very strange had
happened to his mother and he racked his brains to think what it could
all mean, and thus it happened that he was so wrapped in his own
thoughts that he rode all day long without taking notice of the other
travellers, who sang and laughed as they journeyed on.

Said was a handsome young man with bright, fearless eyes, a sweet,
good-natured mouth, and, although so young, he had a very dignified
bearing. The stately manner in which he rode his horse, fully
equipped as he was in warlike attire, drew the attention of many of
the travellers upon him. One old man who rode beside him was so well
pleased with him that he endeavoured by drawing him into conversation
to find out if his character fitted his appearance, and Said, who had
been brought up to reverence age, answered politely and modestly, but
withal so cleverly and prudently, that the old man was delighted with
him. But as Said’s whole mind was concentrated on one subject it was
not long before he led up to it in conversation, and he asked the old
man if he believed in fairies and such-like spirits and whether he
considered they were able to have any influence over the lives of men.

The old man stroked his beard and shook his head slowly. “I have
frequently heard of such visions,” he said, “but I cannot say that I
have personally encountered any supernatural creature whatever; at the
same time I have heard of numberless cases of fairies and genii
appearing to others.” He then began to recount to Said a number of
such extraordinary stories that at last the young man’s head was in a
whirl, and he could not but believe that the strange circumstances
that were supposed to have taken place at his birth were actually
true, and that he was under the protection of some powerful fairy who
would assist him if ever, finding himself in danger, he blew the
little silver whistle. He dreamt that night of fairies, genii, castles
in the air, and magic horses.

But unfortunately the next day he was disillusioned. The caravan had
travelled all day at a leisurely pace, when towards evening some dark
objects were observed at the most distant point in the desert; some
thought it was only another caravan approaching, but Said’s old friend
cried out to all to be prepared for an attack, for without doubt a
horde of wild Arabs was approaching.

The men seized their weapons, the women and merchandise were placed in
the centre, and all was prepared for an attack.

The dark mass moved slowly across the plain, looking at the distance
like a number of storks about to wing their flight to foreign lands.
But as they approached nearer they increased their pace, and very soon
it was seen they were a body of men armed with lances who dashed
forward with incredible swiftness upon the caravan. The men defended
themselves bravely; but the robber force consisted of four hundred
men, and they surrounded the caravan on every side, attacking
skilfully with their lances. At this terrible moment Said, who had
fought with the bravest, remembered his whistle and, placing it to his
lips, blew with all his might. Alas! he let it fall again quickly, for
it emitted not a sound. Enraged over this bitter disappointment he
took aim at an Arab, who, by reason of his magnificent apparel, was
distinguished from the rest. He shot him through the heart and the man
fell from his horse--dead.

“Allah! what have you done, young man,” cried the old man. “Now we are
lost indeed.”

And so it appeared, for when the robbers saw this man fall they
uttered horrible yells and renewed the attack so fiercely that the
few men who were still unwounded were soon dispersed. Said was
surrounded in a few moments by five or six, but he wielded his lance
so dexterously that no one could approach him. At length one of them
was about to despatch him with an arrow when a comrade made a sign to
him to desist, and before Said could determine what the new mode of
attack was to be he felt a lassoo flung over his head; he made frantic
efforts to free himself from it, but in vain, the cord only drew
tighter and tighter--he was a prisoner. The caravan was now completely
overcome, some of the men killed, the rest captured and, as the Arabs
did not all belong to one company, they divided the prisoners and
booty between them, some of them journeying to the South, others
towards the East.

Four armed men rode beside Said and regarded him with angry looks, and
he felt sure that the man he had killed must have been a person of
importance, probably a prince or chieftain. He felt thankful that he
had incurred their special wrath, for he quite expected they were
taking him to their camp to kill him, and death was preferable to
slavery, which was the only other alternative. The armed men watched
his every movement and threatened him with their spears if he
attempted to turn round. However, he managed to turn his head for a
moment and was delighted to see that the old man who had been his
companion, and whom he had believed to be dead, was accompanying his
party.

At length he saw trees and tents in the distance, and as they came
nearer a number of women and children came to meet them, and scarcely
had these exchanged a few words with the robbers than they broke into
fearful weeping and screaming and, raising their arms towards Said,
cursed him loudly.

    [Illustration: _Said made frantic efforts to free himself._
        (P. 284.)]

“This is he,” they shrieked, “who has killed the great and noble
Almansor, the bravest of all men, this is he, and he shall die and we
will give his flesh to the jackals to devour.”

They pelted him with pieces of wood, clods of earth, and anything
they could lay hands on, so fiercely, that one of Said’s guards was
obliged to intervene. “Back, unruly ones,” he cried, “give place, you
women; the man who slew the noble Almansor must die, it is true, but
by the hand of a brave man, not by the hand of a woman.”

When they reached an open space amongst the tents they stopped, the
prisoners were fastened together in couples, and the booty carried
into the tents. Said, however, was bound alone and was led into a
large tent where an old man sat. He was magnificently clothed and his
stately mien showed that he was the chief of the robber band. The men
who led Said in approached him with sorrowful looks and bent heads.

“The shrieks of the women have broken to me the news of what has
occurred,” he said majestically, “and your attitudes confirm it;
Almansor has fallen.”

“Almansor has fallen, indeed,” answered the men, “but we bring here to
you his murderer in order that you may determine what manner of death
he shall die. Shall we shoot at him from a distance with our arrows,
or shall we chase him down a pathway of spears, or shall we hang him,
or have him torn to pieces by horses?”

“Who are you?” asked Selim, the chief, glancing gloomily at the
captive, who stood before him waiting courageously to meet his death.

Said answered briefly and with truth.

“Did you murder my son treacherously, attacking him with arrow or
spear from the rear?”

“Not so,” replied Said, “I killed him in fair fight, and because he
had slain eight of my companions before my eyes.”

“Is it as he says?” demanded Selim of Said’s guard.

“Yes, it is true enough,” one of them made reply, “Almansor was killed
in fair fight.”

“Then he only did the same as we would have done,” replied Selim; “he
killed his enemy who would have robbed him of life and liberty,
therefore unbind him at once.”

The men stared at him in surprise and began to obey him most
unwillingly--“Is the murderer of your brave son to go unpunished?” one
of them asked, “I would we had killed him at once instead of bringing
him here.”

“He shall not die!” cried Selim: “I claim him as my share of the
booty; he shall be my servant and I will have him in my own tent.”

Said could find no words with which to thank the old man--the men left
the tent grumbling. As soon as they had communicated Selim’s decision
to the women and children who were waiting outside to witness Said’s
execution, there was a terrible outcry, some of them vowing to avenge
Almansor’s death, as his own father would not.

The rest of the prisoners were divided amongst their capturers, some
were released in order that they might go and treat for a ransom for
some of their wealthy prisoners, and some were kept as slaves and sent
to tend the herds of cattle; many who had formerly ten or twelve
slaves to wait upon them were now set to perform the most menial
duties. But not so Said. Was it his brave, heroic, appearance which
prepossessed Selim in his favour or was it the intervention of some
good fairy? There was no knowing which, but Said was certainly treated
more like a son than a servant. But the strange affection of Selim for
Said caused jealousy amongst the others. Everywhere he encountered
hostile glances, and when he passed through the camp he heard
murmurings and angry words, and sometimes an arrow would whizz past
his breast, and at such times he could not help thinking that the
little whistle he carried must in some way protect him.

If he complained to Selim it was useless, for the whole camp seemed
banded together to shield the would-be murderer and to take part
against Said.

And so one day Selim said: “I had hoped that you might have stood to
me in place of my son whom you slew, but the fault lies neither with
you nor me. They are all embittered against you, and I find I am
unable to protect you. Of what good would it be to me after your death
to punish your murderer?

“As soon as the men return from their present expedition I shall say I
have received the ransom money from your father and send you away in
charge of several trustworthy men.”

“But there is no one I can trust beside yourself,” said Said. “They
will murder me as soon as we are well on the way.”

“I will make them take an oath to protect you that no one has ever
yet broken.”

A few days later the men returned to camp and Selim kept his promise.
He gave the youth weapons, a handsome robe, and a horse, summoned the
fighting men and chose five from them to serve as Said’s escort,
forced them to take a solemn oath that they would not kill him, and
bade him farewell with tears.

    [Illustration: _Sometimes an arrow would whizz past his breast._
        (P. 288.)]

The five men rode in gloomy silence through the desert with Said. The
young man could not fail to see how unwillingly they executed their
commission, and what troubled him also was that two of his escort had
been present at the fight in which he had killed Almansor. They had
ridden for about eight hours when Said noticed they were whispering
together and that they looked at him more evilly than previously even.
He strained every effort to overhear what they said and became aware
that they were speaking in a mysterious language that they only used
amongst themselves when it was necessary to keep the matters in hand
perfectly secret. Selim had, however, taken care to instruct Said in
this language, so that he was now able to understand what they were
talking about, which was not a very reassuring subject!

“Here is the spot where we attacked the caravan,” said one, “and where
one of the bravest of men fell by the hand of a mere boy.”

“The wind has obliterated the tracks of his horses’ feet,” replied
another, “but I have not forgotten where they were.”

“And to our shame the one by whose hand he fell still lives,” said a
third. “Has ever such a thing been heard of, that a father would not
revenge the death of his only son? Selim, without doubt, is becoming
old and childish.”

“But if the father neglects his duty,” spoke a fourth, “then it is
left to a friend to revenge his fallen friend. Here on this spot ought
we to strike him down. That is as it should be according to ancient
custom.”

“But we swore to protect him,” cried the fifth. “We may not kill him,
for we must not break our oath.”

“That is true,” said another, “and therefore the assassin must not die
by the hands of his enemies.”

“Wait!” cried the most forbidding-looking of them all, “old Selim has
a wise head, but not so wise as he would have us believe. It is true
we swore that we would spare the man’s life, but if we leave him
alive, but bound hand and foot, the burning sun and the sharp teeth of
the jackals will soon make an end of him.”

Said had made up his mind to the worst, but was determined to make an
effort to regain his liberty. Suddenly he turned his horse aside, and,
setting spurs to it, rode like the wind across the desert. But the
five robbers understood the desert better than he did. In a moment
they separated, urged their horses forward at a furious pace, and
speedily succeeded in surrounding the unhappy youth. They would not
use their weapons on account of the oath they had taken, but once more
using a lassoo they threw it over his head and brought him to the
ground; then they beat him unmercifully, bound his hands and feet with
ropes, and left him lying upon the burning sand.

Said begged for mercy, promising them a handsome sum as ransom: but
they laughed mockingly and rode away. He listened to the sound of
their horses’ hoofs for a few moments and then gave himself up for
lost. He thought of the grief of his father when his only son did not
return to him, and he thought of his own misery, in being left to die
such a terrible death in the flower of his youth. The sun rose higher
and higher and scorched his head and face. With great difficulty he
succeeded in rising to his feet. But this gave him little relief. The
little whistle had fallen from his girdle and hung loosely from his
neck. He succeeded at length, after great trouble, in taking it
between his lips; but again it failed him. Overcome with despair he
sank down upon the sand once more and speedily became unconscious.

Several hours later he awoke, hearing a voice close to him and feeling
himself seized by the shoulder. He uttered a cry of horror, for he
thought it was a jackal that was about to devour him. Next he felt a
touch upon his legs, and became aware that it was not the claws of a
wild beast that were mauling him--but the hands of a human being
tending him carefully, and then he heard a voice say, “He is alive,
but evidently takes us for enemies.”

At length Said opened his eyes and saw a little man bending over him.
He was very fat and had small eyes and a very long beard. He spoke to
the young man in friendly tones, helped him to rise, gave him food and
drink, and told him as he refreshed himself that he was a merchant
from Bagdad, named Kalum-Bek, and that he dealt in shawls and veils
for women. He had been on a business journey and was on his way home
when he found Said lying half dead upon the sand. The young man’s
brilliant apparel and the glittering jewels in his dagger had
attracted his attention, and he had used every effort to revive him,
and at length he had succeeded.

The young man thanked him for saving his life, for he saw that without
this man’s intervention he must have perished miserably, and as he had
no means of helping himself and did not take kindly to the idea of
trudging afoot through the desert, he thankfully accepted a seat on
one of the heavily-laden camels and determined to go to Bagdad
first, and then see if he could join himself to a party travelling
to Balsora.

    [Illustration: _THE ADVENTURES OF SAID_
      _“He saw a little man bending over him”_
      _p. 292_]

On the way the merchant discoursed on the excellent qualities of the
Ruler of the Faithful, Harun Al-Raschid. He told him of his love of
justice and his shrewdness, and how he could unravel the deepest
mysteries of the law in the most remarkable manner. “But he takes good
care to keep himself informed as to what is taking place among his
subjects,” said Kalum-Bek. “His chief Chamberlain Messour is my
cousin, and he tells me that he never goes to bed as other folks do,
but just contents himself with a few hours’ sleep in the morning, but
every night he disguises himself as a merchant or sailor, or in some
everyday costume, and wanders about Bagdad to see that everything is
right and in order, as it should be. That is the reason that folks are
so polite to everyone who speaks to them, for it may just as well be
the Caliph as some dirty Arab, and there is sufficient timber around
Bagdad to provide rods to whip the whole populace.”

Listening to his stories Said could not help being glad that he was to
visit Bagdad and probably see the celebrated Harun Al-Raschid in spite
of the fact that he was so anxious to see his father.

They reached Bagdad in ten days’ time and Said was astounded at the
magnificence of the city, which was then at the height of its glory.
The merchant invited him to come to his house and Said accepted
willingly, for he had no money to pay for a lodging. The day after his
arrival he dressed himself carefully in the splendid clothing
bestowed on him by the robber chieftain and thought to himself that he
need not be ashamed to go out into the streets and show himself. But
at that moment the merchant entered and looked at him with a cunning
smile.

“It is all very well, young sir,” said he, “to have a fine appearance;
but have you money in your pockets to suit your attire? What do you
intend to do with yourself? It seems to me you are a bit of a dreamer,
and do not consider the future at all.”

“Dear Kalum-Bek,” said the youth, blushing, for he was much confused,
“it is true I have no money, but perhaps you will be kind enough to
advance me a little, so that I may journey home, and my father will
not fail to refund it to you.”

“Your father, fellow?” cried the merchant, laughing loudly, “I verily
believe the sun has injured your brain. Do you suppose I believe a
single word of the fairy tales you told me in the desert, about your
father being a rich man in Balsora, you his only son, and about the
robbers attacking you and so on? I know that all rich people in
Balsora are merchants and I have had dealings with most of them. But I
never heard of one named Benezar. Therefore, it is quite certain that
either you never came from Balsora or else you are the son of a poor
man, and to a young vagabond like you I will certainly advance no
money.”

Said turned pale with rage; but nothing that he could say would
apparently convince the merchant that he was speaking the truth. Said
reminded him how he had been found lying bound in the desert, but the
merchant replied that it was quite likely he was a robber himself and
that the persons he had attacked had overcome and bound him.

At length, as the merchant would advance him no money, Said decided
that there was nothing left for him to do but to apply to the Caliph
for assistance; but Kalum-Bek reminded him that in order to approach
the Caliph he would have to apply to Messour the Chamberlain, and that
he would give his cousin a hint of the sort of liar Said was.
Presently the artful fellow pretended to relent.

“I pity you on account of your youth,” he said, “there is still hope
that you may improve, and I am willing to employ you in my shop in the
Bazaar. You shall serve me for a year and at the end of that time if
you are not satisfied to remain with me I will give you your wages and
let you go where you will. I give you until mid-day to decide. If you
consent, well and good; if not I shall seize your robe and dagger and
all you have that is worth anything to repay myself for the cost of
your journey here, and the price of the seat on the camel. After that
I shall have you turned out of my house and you may go and beg in the
bazaars or at the doors of the mosques.”

With these words the wicked little creature left the poor young man,
who gazed after him with contemptuous eyes. He was disgusted to think
of the cunning way in which he had been entrapped. He thought he would
escape, but found the windows were barred and the door locked and so,
after some consideration, he came to the conclusion that for the
present he had better agree to the terms offered him and serve in the
shop. There seemed nothing else to be done, for without money he could
not hope to reach Balsora; but he made up his mind to appeal to the
Caliph on the first opportunity.

The following day Kalum-Bek took his new servant to his shop. He
showed him the shawls and veils and stuffs in which he dealt and
instructed him in his duties.

Dressed as a merchant’s assistant he was to stand at the door of the
shop and show off the wares. And now Said understood why the bad
little man wanted him.

Kalum-Bek, being short and very ugly, excited the derision of the
passers-by as he stood inviting custom. The boys teased him, the women
called him a scarecrow, and everyone made fun of him, but everyone
looked with admiration at the tall, handsome youth who handled the
goods so cleverly and showed them off to the best advantage.

When Kalum-Bek saw that his plan answered and that Said attracted many
more customers than he had been able to, he treated the young man much
better, fed him well and saw that he had good clothes to show off his
fine face and figure; but these attentions did not soften Said in the
least and he made up his mind to escape on the first opportunity.

One day they had done an unusually good trade in the shop, so many
things had been bought that the porters were all away carrying home
the goods the customers had bought, but a lady entered the shop,
bought some goods and asked for a man to carry them home at once.

“In half an hour, I will send them with pleasure,” said Kalum-Bek,
“but just now all my men are out; if you cannot wait so long, perhaps
you would prefer to engage an outside porter.”

“A fine merchant you are,” said the lady angrily, “to advise me to
engage a strange man to carry home my purchases. He would doubtless
make off with my goods and who would repay me then? No, according to
the custom of the market, it is your duty to provide a man to carry
home goods purchased, and I insist upon having one.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said Kalum-Bek, “if you will only wait half an
hour I can oblige you.”

    [Illustration: _Said was to stand at the door of the shop and
        show off the wares._ (P. 298.)]

“This is a common shop indeed,” replied the enraged lady, “not to
provide sufficient porters. But there stands a great idle fellow, he
shall carry home my parcel and I will give him a coin for his pains.”

“Oh! no!” screamed Kalum-Bek, “I cannot spare my assistant, he is my
signboard to attract folks in. He is not allowed to leave the door.”

“Nonsense,” replied the old woman, and without further parlance pushed
her parcel into Said’s arms. “You cannot sell very good wares if you
need to lay traps to catch your customers.”

“For goodness sake go, but be quick to return,” said the merchant,
“the old wretch will make her complaints heard all over the Bazaar.”

Said followed the old lady, who walked a great deal quicker than one
would have thought possible at her age. They reached a beautiful
house, knocked, and the wide doors flew open and they ascended a
flight of marble steps. As the old lady beckoned Said to follow her,
he went into a magnificent apartment decorated in a superb style. The
old lady seated herself in an exhausted condition upon a sofa and
signed to the young man to put down his parcel, handed him a small
silver coin and bade him depart.

He had reached the door when a silvery voice called him by name. He
turned, astonished that anyone in that place should know his name, and
to his surprise saw a beautiful lady, surrounded by numerous slaves
and women servants, sitting upon the sofa where the old woman had
been. Dumb with surprise he folded his arms and made a deep obeisance.

“Said, dear youth,” said the lady, “although I am sorry for the
misfortunes that have befallen you, still Bagdad is the place
appointed by fate for your fortunes to change, should it happen that
you left your father’s house before the time appointed. Said, have
you still your little whistle?”

“Indeed I have,” he cried joyfully as he drew forth the golden chain,
“and are you the good fairy who gave it to me at my birth?”

“I was your dear mother’s friend,” answered the fairy, “and I will be
yours as long as you remain worthy. Oh! how foolish was your father to
disregard my instructions. You would have been saved much suffering.”

“Well, it cannot be helped,” said Said. “But dearest lady, could you
not harness the North-East wind to your cloud carriage and carry me
away in a few moments to my father’s house in Balsora? I will promise
to patiently await the remaining six months before I am twenty years
of age.”

The fairy smiled. “That is easier said than done,” she said.
“Unfortunately I am unable to do anything for you at present, not even
rescue you from Kalum-Bek, who happens to be under the protection of
your most powerful enemy.”

“Then I have a bad fairy as well as a good one, eh?” said Said; “but
if you can do nothing else you can surely help me with good advice.
Shall I go to the Caliph and complain to him? He is a wise man and he
will know how to protect me against Kalum-Bek.”

“Yes, Harun is very wise, but unfortunately he is but human and trusts
his Chamberlain implicitly, and with justice, too, for he has tried
him and proved him to be trusted. But honest Messour in his turn
trusts Kalum-Bek, and there he is wrong, for Kalum is a bad man,
although he is Messour’s cousin. He has told Messour a number of lies
about you and these lies have been repeated to the Caliph, so that if
you went to them with your true story they would not believe you; you
must wait for a fitting opportunity to go to Harun, for it is written
in the stars that you are to become the object of his especial
favour.”

“Alas!” answered Said, “I suppose then I must submit for the present
to be the servant of Kalum-Bek. But one favour you might be able to
grant me. I have been brought up to the use of arms, and my greatest
pleasure is to take part in tournaments where there is fighting with
lance and sword. Every week the youths of this town meet together and
engage in such a tournament, but only the best-born are allowed to
compete, a shopman’s assistant would certainly not be allowed to enter
the lists. Could you manage to let me have a horse, a suit of clothes
and weapons, and to alter my face so that I should not be recognised?”

“That is a wish such as does credit to a noble youth,” replied the
fairy. “Your mother’s father was the bravest man in Syria and his
spirit seems to have descended on you. Take note of this house. Every
week you may come here and you will find awaiting you a horse, two
armed servants, robes and weapons, also a wash for your face that will
transform you completely. And now, Said, farewell! Persevere in your
wise and virtuous conduct and you will find that in six months’ time
your whistle will sound when you blow it, and Zuleima’s ear will not
be deaf to it.”

The young man parted from his protectress with thanks, carefully
noted the position of the house, and went back to the Bazaar.

He arrived at the right moment to rescue his master, Kalum-Bek. The
shop was crowded with people, the boys were dancing round Kalum and
taunting him, and the older people stood by and laughed. The merchant
was in a furious rage. He stood with a shawl in one hand and a veil in
the other. The uproar was caused by Said’s absence, for scarcely had
he left than Kalum took his stand at the door and began to cry his
wares, but nobody would buy from the ugly old man.

Kalum had noticed two men walking up and down the Bazaar, evidently
looking out for something. In reality they had come to buy presents
for their wives and had been commanded by them to purchase only from
the handsome young shopman.

At length Kalum called to them: “Here, my masters, you will find
everything you require by me. Shawls and veils of the finest quality.”

“That may be, my good man,” they replied, “but it has become the
fashion amongst the women to buy their goods from a certain handsome
young man named Said, and we are looking out for him. If you can
direct us to him we will come and buy from you another time.”

“Allah is good,” said Kalum, grinning in friendly fashion, “the
prophet has led you to the right door. You wish to buy veils from the
handsome young shopman, then step inside, this is his shop.”

One of the men laughed at his assertion that he the ugly little
creature, was the tall handsome shopman but the other man, who
believed he was being made fun of, lost his temper and rated him in no
measured terms. Kalum was beside himself and called his neighbours to
testify that his shop was the one known as the shop of the handsome
young assistant. But the neighbours, who were jealous of the trade he
drove, pretended to know nothing about the matter and the two men
struck the “old liar,” as they called him. Kalum protected himself
more by shrieking and yelling than by using his fists and so he
attracted a crowd to his shop. Everyone in the town knew him to be an
avaricious old cheat and so no one interfered, for they thought he
deserved all he was getting. One of the men had seized him by the
beard and was about to further ill-treat him when he was seized and
flung violently to the ground, so that his turban and both his shoes
flew off.

The crowd, who would have enjoyed seeing Kalum ill-used, began to
murmur, the companion of the man who had been knocked down advanced to
his assistance, but when he saw himself confronted by a tall, handsome
young fellow he thought it better not to strike him. Kalum no sooner
spied his assistant than he began calling out, “There he is, there is
the handsome young shopman called Said.” The man who had been knocked
down got up again and limped away rather ashamed of himself, without
having bought either shawl or veil.

“Oh! prince of shop-assistants,” cried Kalum-Bek, “you did indeed
arrive at the very moment you were wanted. How can I reward you for
the service you have done me?”

Said had merely acted on the spur of the moment, and now that the
affair was over he half regretted having interfered on the old man’s
behalf, for he well knew he deserved a good punishment. However, he
thought he might make use of the old fellow’s offer of a reward. So he
asked to be given one evening a week for his own amusement, either to
take a walk or to spend it as he wished, and Kalum-Bek, who knew his
assistant had too much good sense to attempt to escape without money,
readily granted him the favour.

    [Illustration: _The man was seized and flung violently to the
        ground._ (P. 304.)]

The following Wednesday was the day upon which the young men of high
rank met to hold their tournament, and so Said asked if he could have
this evening for himself. Kalum being willing, the young man went
straight off to the street in which the fairy lived and knocked at the
door, which immediately flew open. The servants appeared to be
prepared to receive him, for, without asking his business, they took
him upstairs to a fine apartment where they first gave him magic
water to wash in. Having laved his face he looked at himself in a
mirror and found that his face was tanned as by the sun and that he
had a fine black beard, so that he looked at least ten years older
than he had done previously.

After that they led him into another room where a superb suit of
clothes awaited him which might not have disgraced the Caliph himself.
In addition to a turban of the finest materials, having a heron’s
plume fastened with a diamond clasp, there was a dress of shimmering
red silk embroidered with silver flowers, a corselet of silver
chain-work, so finely made that it accommodated itself to every
movement of his body, and was yet so strong that neither lance nor
sword could pierce it. A Damascus sword with richly-jewelled scabbard
and hilt completed his warlike attire.

When he was completely equipped and about to leave the house, one of
the servants gave him a silk handkerchief and told him that the
mistress of the house had sent it to him, so that when he wished to
become his usual self again he had but to wipe his face with it and
the tan colour and beard would disappear.

In the courtyard of the house three beautiful horses were standing.
Said mounted the finest and his servants the other two, and he then
rode joyously forth to the tournament.

All eyes were attracted by the splendour of his dress and weapons and
a murmur of surprise went round the ring as he entered it.

It was indeed a glittering assembly of all the noblest and bravest
young men in Bagdad, even the brothers of the Caliph taking part in
the fray. As Said entered, the son of the Grand Vizier and some of his
friends approached him and asked his name and birthplace.

Said replied that his name was Almansor and that he came from Cairo,
and was travelling about. Having heard rumours of the valour and skill
of the young nobles of Bagdad, he had wished to witness their feats
and perhaps take part in them.

A young man, approving of Said’s bold appearance, ordered a lance to
be given to him and bade him choose his parties, for the whole Company
had divided itself into two parties, so that they might encounter each
other in a mass and then singly.

But if Said’s appearance had attracted the general attention his feats
of arms did so still more. His horse was faster than a bird, and his
sword flashed like lightning.

He threw his lance at the target as though it had been an arrow from
the bow of an expert archer. At the conclusion of the tournament he
had beaten all his opponents, and the Caliph’s brother and the Grand
Vizier’s son, who had been on his side, begged him to try a bout with
them. He succeeded in vanquishing the Caliph’s brother, but the
contest with the Grand Vizier’s son remained undecided, and it was
thought better to settle it at the next meeting.

The day after the tournament everyone in Bagdad was speaking of the
handsome and brave stranger. Even those who had been beaten by him
were loud in their praise of him, and Said heard folks discussing him
as he stood at the door of the shop and regretting that no one knew
where he lived.

When the time for the next tournament came he found in the fairy’s
house a still more beautiful suit of clothes and more costly weapons.
Half Bagdad had assembled to witness the fray and the Caliph himself
looked down upon it from a balcony. He too was astounded at Almansor’s
dexterity, and at the end of the day he hung a gold medal and chain
around his neck as a mark of his admiration.

But this second and still more brilliant victory aroused the jealousy
of some of the young people: they did not like to feel that a stranger
should come and triumph over the flower of their young nobility, and
they determined amongst themselves that five or six of them would
attack him at once, as if by chance.

Said did not fail to notice the angry glances of the young men, and
speedily noted that with the exception of the Caliph’s brother and the
Grand Vizier’s son not one of them had any friendly inclination
towards him. Strange to say, the young man who seemed to be the most
set against him was the young man he had knocked down in Kalum’s shop,
and he looked at him so suspiciously that Said was half afraid he had
recognised him by his height or his voice. Even the friendship of the
Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son was somewhat embarrassing,
for they questioned him closely as to where he was to be found.

But the plan the envious young men made against him was frustrated,
for in addition to his own foresight and bravery the Caliph’s brother
and the Grand Vizier’s son came to his assistance as soon as they saw
him surrounded by half a dozen opponents, all of whom were trying to
unhorse him. Together they scattered the whole troop and the Caliph’s
brother threatened to expel the treacherous young men from the lists.

For over four months Said continued thus to prove his bravery to the
astonishment of all Bagdad, when one night as he was on his way home
from the place of combat he heard some voices which sounded familiar.
Four men were in front of him, walking slowly and apparently
discussing something of great moment.

    [Illustration: _Said approached them quietly._ (P. 309.)]

Said approached them quietly and then discovered that they were
speaking in the dialect spoken by Selim’s robber horde, and he
suspected that they were probably planning a robbery.

His first impulse was to make off as fast as he could, but on
consideration he decided to listen to what they were saying in the
hope of preventing some mischief.

“The porter distinctly said the street on the right-hand side of the
Bazaar,” said one; “he will pass down it to-night with the Grand
Vizier.”

“Good,” replied the other, “I am not afraid of the Grand Vizier, he is
old and no particular hero; but the Caliph will show fight, besides I
do not trust him. There will be a dozen or so bodyguards following
him, I’ll be bound.”

“Not one soul,” answered a third. “Whenever he has been seen at night
it was always either with the Vizier or the Chamberlain alone.
To-night he must be ours; but he is not to be harmed.”

“I think the best we can do is to throw a lassoo over his head. He
must not be killed, for we should not get much of a ransom for his
corpse, if we had anything at all.”

“Then one hour before midnight!” they all said together, and parted,
each in a different direction.

Said was not a little alarmed and at first started off to warn the
Caliph, but remembering what the fairy had said about Kalum-Bek having
poisoned his mind against him he determined to rely upon his own good
sword to assist him.

So instead of returning to Kalum-Bek’s house he sat down upon the
steps of a mosque to await the hour before midnight. Shortly before
the time he went and hid himself in the porch of a house in the street
the robbers had mentioned.

Presently two men came strolling down the street whom he took at first
to be the Caliph and his Vizier; but when they came opposite to him
they clapped their hands softly and two others came hurrying to join
them. They whispered awhile and parted, three hiding themselves in
another porch, not far from Said, and one walking up and down the
road. The night was very dark, but quiet, and so Said had to trust to
his sharp ears alone.

    [Illustration: _The fourth, seeing what had happened, fled._
        (P. 312.)]

Half an hour passed before he heard steps coming from the direction of
the Bazaar. The robber must have heard them also, for he slunk past
Said towards the Bazaar. The steps came nearer and Said could just
recognise some dark forms, when the robber clapped his hands softly
and the same moment the three in the background darted forward. Those
attacked must have been armed, for he could hear the clash of swords,
so, unsheathing his own Damascus steel, he threw himself into the
thick of the fray, shouting: “Down with the enemies of the noble
Harun.” He felled one robber at the first stroke and then attacked two
others who were about to disarm a man whom they had caught in a
noose. He hewed at the cord blindly, to sever it, but in so doing
struck one of the robbers so furiously across the arm that he cut his
hand off. But now the fourth robber, who had been fighting another
man, turned towards Said, who was still engaged with the third, but
the man whose cords had been cut no sooner felt himself free than he
drew his dagger and struck one of the robbers in the side. The fourth,
seeing what had happened, threw away his sword and fled.

Said was not left long in doubt as to whom he had saved, for the
taller of the two men approached him and said: “I do not know which is
the more incomprehensible, the attack on my life or my freedom, or the
surprising manner in which you came to my assistance. How did you know
who I was, and did you know of these men’s intentions?” “Ruler of the
Faithful,” answered Said, “for I do not doubt that you are he, this
evening I chanced to walk behind four men, who were speaking a strange
dialect that I once learnt. They spoke of taking you prisoner and of
killing your Vizier. As it was too late to come and warn you, I
determined to hide myself near the spot they had mentioned for the
attack to take place, and to come to your assistance.”

“I thank you heartily,” said Harun, “but I am not anxious to remain
here any longer than necessary and so I give you this ring; bring it
to the palace to-morrow and I will think how best I can reward you.
Come, Vizier, we had best be going.”

As he spoke he placed a ring on the young man’s finger, and then
attempted to draw the Vizier away, but the latter begged him to excuse
him a moment and, turning to the astonished youth, he handed him a
heavy purse. “Young man,” said he, “my master, the Caliph, can raise
you to any height he pleases, even to be my successor; I myself can do
little, but the little I can do is better done to-day. Therefore take
this purse and remember that I still count myself your debtor.”

Quite intoxicated with happiness Said hurried away home. Here,
however, he met with a very bad reception, for Kalum-Bek was very
angry with him for being so late. He had been afraid lest he had lost
his handsome sign post, and so he raged and scolded like a madman. But
Said, who had given a glance into his purse and seen that it was full
of pieces of gold, thought to himself that now he had sufficient money
to take him home, even without the assistance of the Caliph, which he
guessed would take no mean form, and so he gave back Kalum-Bek word
for word and told him plainly that he would remain with him no longer.

“You rascally vagabond,” said Kalum-Bek, “where will you obtain a
dinner or a night’s lodging if I withdraw my protection from you?”
“That is no concern of yours,” answered Said defiantly. “Good-bye to
you, for you will see me no more.”

So saying, he ran off, whilst Kalum-Bek stared after him, dumb with
surprise. The next morning, when he had had time to consider matters,
he sent his porters out to spy out news of his assistant, and after
some time one of them returned with the news that he had seen Said
come out of a mosque and enter a caravanserai. He was wearing a
handsome dress, a dagger and sword and a magnificent turban.

When Kalum-Bek heard this he said: “He must have robbed me and dressed
himself up on my money. Oh! what an unfortunate man I am.”

He hastened to the chief of the police, and as it was known that he
was a relative of Messour, the Chamberlain, he had no difficulty in
getting an order for Said’s arrest.

Said was calmly sitting outside a caravanserai conversing with a
merchant whom he had met there, about the journey to Balsora, his
native town, when suddenly several men fell upon him and bound his
hands behind him, in spite of his resistance.

He asked by what right they used such violence and they replied that
it was in the name of the law and by the instigation of his master,
Kalum-Bek. And Kalum-Bek himself, appearing at that moment, mocked and
reviled Said and, plunging his hand into the young man’s pocket, drew
forth, to the surprise of the surrounding people, a large purse full
of gold.

“Do you see what he has stolen from me?” he yelled in triumph. And the
bystanders looked at Said in disgust. “So young, so handsome, and yet
so wicked,” they said. “To prison with him that he may be flogged.”

So they dragged him away to prison, followed by a crowd of people
calling out, “Do you see the handsome shop-assistant from the Bazaar?
He robbed his master of two hundred gold pieces and then ran away.”

Brought before the chief of the police, Said would have defended
himself; but the officer would not allow him to speak and only
listened to Kalum-Bek, who declared that the money and purse found
upon Said belonged to him. The judge therefore ordered the money to be
given to Kalum-Bek, but it did not gain him possession of the handsome
young assistant, who was worth at least a thousand gold pieces to him.

“In accordance with the law passed by my illustrious master, the
Caliph, a few days ago,” said the judge, “every thief who steals over
a hundred gold pieces is to be sent to perpetual banishment on a
desert island. This thief has fallen into my hands exactly at the
right time, for he completes the number of twenty such fellows.
To-morrow they will be packed on board a ship and sent to sea.”

Said was in despair; he begged the officer to listen to him and to
allow him to speak one word to the Caliph, but he found no mercy.
Kalum-Bek, who now regretted the false accusation, also spoke in his
favour, but the judge answered: “You have your money and you can be
content, go home and keep quiet, otherwise I shall fine you ten gold
pieces for every word you utter in argument.” Kalum was silent then,
the judge motioned with his hand, and the unhappy Said was led away.

He was taken to a dark, damp prison, where nineteen other unfortunate
creatures were lying about on some mouldy straw. They received their
new companion with rude laughter and horrible expressions of anger
against the judge and the Caliph.

Terrible as it seemed to him to be doomed to be cast upon a desert
island, yet he comforted himself with the thought of leaving his
loathsome prison, thinking it could not be so bad when once they had
put to sea. But he was deceived, for the twenty criminals were cast
down into the hold, which was pitch dark, very close, and so low that
it was impossible to stand upright.

The anchor was weighed and Said wept bitter tears as the ship receded
from his native land. Once a day the prisoners received a little bread
and fruit and a drink of water. The atmosphere was so close and
unhealthy that almost every other day one of the prisoners was found
dead, but Said’s youth and splendid health saved him.

They had been at sea about a fortnight when there was an unaccustomed
running to and fro upon deck, and the roaring of the waves and
pitching of the vessel having increased, Said guessed that there was a
storm raging. As the rocking of the vessel grew worse and worse,
shrieks and lamentations resounded from below, and when the prisoners
found that the hold was filling with water they knocked at the
trap-door, and as no one answered they threw themselves against it and
their united strength burst it open. As they came upon deck they found
that the crew had deserted them and taken to the boats. Most of the
prisoners were in despair, for the violence of the storm seemed, if
anything, to increase. They took a last meal of the provisions they
found on the ship, when suddenly the ship, which had been stuck fast
upon a rock, was washed off by an enormous wave and sank.

    [Illustration: _THE ADVENTURES OF SAID._
      _“It had turned into an enormous dolphin.”_]

Said had managed to secure a floating spar, and by using his feet
as oars he had kept himself afloat for some time, when suddenly the
little magic whistle on the golden chain slipped from his vest and he
thought he would try it once more. This time it gave forth a clear
silvery tone, and in a moment the storm had subsided as though oil had
been poured upon the waves. He was about to gaze around him to see if
land were in sight, when he noticed a peculiar movement in the spar
upon which he sat astride, and in some alarm he saw that it had turned
into an enormous dolphin and was carrying him along as swiftly as an
arrow. He guessed he had his good fairy to thank for this and called
out his thanks to her.

His extraordinary steed went at such speed that before evening fell he
sighted land and became aware that he was in a wide river. As they
were going against the stream the pace slowed down a little. By this
time Said was very hungry, so he blew his whistle and wished for a
meal. Immediately the huge fish stopped, a table rose up from the
water, as dry as though it had been a week in the broad sunshine; it
was set out with the most delicious food and drink imaginable, and
Said set to and made a hearty meal, for since his imprisonment his
food had been scanty and unappetising. When he had at length satisfied
his hunger he uttered his thanks and the table disappeared, he dug his
heels into the dolphin’s sides and it began to swim on again.

As the sun began to sink Said saw a town in the distance, the towers
of which seemed to him to resemble those of Bagdad. He had no great
wish to land in Bagdad, but his faith in the good fairy was so strong
that he was sure she would not allow him to fall into the hands of the
wicked Kalum-Bek.

About a mile distant from the town Said noticed a fine country
mansion, and to his surprise the dolphin began to steer towards it.

Upon the roof of the house were several well-dressed men, and on the
shore were a number of servants, all of whom were staring at him in
astonishment. A flight of marble steps led from the water to the
mansion, and here the dolphin stopped, and Said had scarcely set foot
upon the steps when the fish disappeared.

At once some servants hurried towards him and begged him, in their
master’s name, to go up to him after he had changed his wet clothing.

They brought a suit of clothes to him and, having dressed hastily, he
followed the servants to the roof, where he found three men, the
tallest and handsomest of whom came towards him with a friendly smile.

“Who are you, wonderful stranger,” he asked, “who can tame the fishes
of the sea so that you can guide them to the right or left as a good
horseman guides his charger? Are you a magician or a man like
ourselves?”

“Sir,” replied Said, “I have been a most unfortunate man for some time
past, but if you will give me permission I will tell you all about
it.” And he commenced to tell his story from the moment he left his
father’s house until the time of his wonderful escape.

He was interrupted frequently by exclamations of astonishment, but as
he concluded the master of the house said: “I believe you implicitly,
Said, but you tell us that you won a gold chain at the tournament and
that the Caliph gave you his ring; can you produce these?”

“I carry them next my heart,” said the youth, “and would only part
with them with my life, for I consider the saving of the Caliph’s life
to have been the noblest action I could have performed.” With that he
handed the chain and ring to the men.

“By the beard of the prophet, it is my ring,” cried the tall handsome
man. “Grand Vizier, come and let us embrace our deliverer.”

It seemed to Said that he must be dreaming when the two embraced him,
and immediately he flung himself upon his face and said, “Pardon me,
Ruler of the Faithful, for having spoken as I did before you, for I
perceive now that you are none other than Harun Al-Raschid, the Great
Caliph of Bagdad.”

“I am your friend,” answered Harun, “and from this time your troubles
are all over. Come with me to Bagdad and you shall be one of my most
trusted officials, for you proved your metal the night you saved my
life.”

Said thanked him and said how gladly he would remain with him always
if only he would allow him first to go and visit his father, who must
be in great sorrow and trouble on his account. The Caliph assented
readily to this and so they mounted their horses and rode into Bagdad,
which they reached just as the sun was setting.

The Caliph ordered a magnificent suite of apartments to be prepared
for Said, and besides this promised to build him a house of his own.

The Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son, Said’s old companions
in arms, hastened to come to him as soon as they heard what had
occurred. They embraced the gallant defender of their ruler and begged
him to be their friend. But they were speechless with astonishment
when he handed the gold chain to them and said: “I have been your
friend for a long time, do you not remember this chain?”

They had only known him with a beard and a dark brown complexion, and
when he told them why he had disguised himself, and when he had proved
to them by a bout of fencing that he really was Almansor, they
embraced him joyfully and said they reckoned themselves fortunate in
having such a friend.

The following day, as Said was sitting with the Caliph and the Grand
Vizier, the Chamberlain Messour entered and said, “Ruler of the
Faithful, I wish to ask a favour.”

“Tell me first what it is!” answered the Caliph.

“Without stands my cousin, Kalum-Bek, a well-known merchant of the
Bazaar. He has a curious affair with a man from Balsora, whose son was
Kalum’s servant, but who robbed him and ran off, no one knows whither.
And now the father demands his son from Kalum, who cannot produce him.
And Kalum begs that you should, in virtue of your wisdom and great
learning, decide between him and the man from Balsora.”

“I will judge between them,” replied Harun. “Let your cousin and his
adversary appear in the Hall of Justice in half an hour’s time.”

    [Illustration: _A crier was going through the Bazaar._
        (P. 322.)]

When Messour had thanked the Caliph and withdrawn, Harun said: “It is
your father, Said, and as I fortunately know the whole truth of the
case I will give judgment like Solomon. You shall conceal yourself
behind the curtains of my throne until I call you, and you, Grand
Vizier, send at once for the wicked and all too hasty police officer.
I shall need him as a witness.” Both did as they were requested.
Said’s heart beat quickly when he saw his father’s pale and careworn
face and noticed the tottering steps with which he entered the Justice
Hall but Kalum-Bek’s confident smile, as he whispered to his cousin
the Chamberlain, enraged him so that he could scarcely restrain
himself from rushing out and giving him a good beating, for he owed
the greater number of his sufferings to this wicked man. The Hall was
crowded with people who wished to hear the Caliph pronounce justice,
and as soon as the ruler of Bagdad had taken his seat on the throne
the Grand Vizier commanded silence and then asked who it was that
appeared as complainant.

Kalum-Bek stepped forward with a bold look on his face and said: “Some
days ago a crier was going through the Bazaar offering a purse of gold
for news of Said of Balsora. As this Said had been in my employ I
said, ‘Here, friend, I can earn your purse of gold.’ Then this man,
who is so hostile towards me now, came to me in a friendly fashion and
asked what I knew. I replied, ‘You are Benezar his father?’ and as he
joyfully agreed, I went on to tell him how I had found Said in the
desert, and saved him and taken care of him and brought him to Bagdad.
In the joy of his heart he gave me the purse of gold, but the foolish
man, when I went on to tell him how his son had served me and how he
had run off with my money, would not believe me and demanded both his
money and his son; neither could I give him, for the money belonged to
me in payment of the news I had given him, and his worthless son I
cannot give him back.”

Next Benezar spoke, defending his son and saying that he was incapable
of stealing, being of a noble and virtuous mind, and he begged the
Caliph to enquire deeply into the matter. “I hope you did your duty
and gave information of the theft, Kalum-Bek?” said the Caliph.
“Certainly!” he replied, smiling, “I took him before the magistrate.”

“Let the magistrate be called,” said the Caliph, and to everyone’s
surprise he appeared immediately. The Caliph asked him if he
remembered the affair, and he assured him he did. “Did you examine the
young man and did he acknowledge the theft?” asked Harun.

“No, he was most obstinate and would confess to none but you!” replied
the magistrate.

“But I do not remember having seen him,” said the Caliph.

“No, indeed,” answered the magistrate. “I might take up too much of
your time if I sent you every vagabond who wishes to speak with you.”

“You know that my ear is open to all,” answered Harun. “But perhaps
the proofs of the theft were so clear that you did not think it
necessary to bring him to me. You had doubtless witnesses, Kalum, to
prove that the money really was yours?”

“Witnesses?” he asked, turning pale, “no I had no witness, for you
know, Ruler of the Faithful, that one piece of gold is exactly like
another, so how could I bring witnesses to prove that these actual
pieces were missing from my money chest?”

“Then how did you know that that particular sum of money belonged to
you?” asked the Caliph.

“On account of the purse they were in,” said Kalum.

“Have you got the purse here?” he enquired further.

“Here it is,” said the merchant, and taking out a purse he handed it
to the Grand Vizier that he might give it to the Caliph.

But the Vizier cried out in feigned astonishment, “By the beard of
the Prophet! The purse is yours? You dog! The purse belonged to me and
I gave it filled with a hundred gold pieces to a brave young man who
rescued me from a great danger.”

“Can you swear to that?” asked the Caliph.

“I am perfectly certain,” replied the Vizier, “my daughter worked it
for me.”

“Ah, you have received false information, magistrate,” said the
Caliph. “Why did you believe the purse belonged to Kalum?”

“He swore it was his,” said the magistrate anxiously. “And so you
swore falsely?” thundered the Caliph to the merchant, who stood pale
and trembling before him.

“Allah! Allah!” cried he. “Of course I do not wish to say anything
against the Grand Vizier, but the purse is really mine and the
good-for-nothing Said stole it. I would give a thousand gold pieces if
he were here on the spot.”

“What did you do with this Said then?” asked the Caliph. “Where must
we send to bring him here?”

“I sent him to a desert island,” said the magistrate.

“Oh! Said, my son, my son!” cried the unhappy father.

“Then he confessed his crime?” asked the Caliph.

The magistrate turned pale, and said unsteadily, “If I remember
rightly he did in the end.”

“Then you are not quite certain?” the Caliph went on in severe tones.
“Very well, then we will ask him himself. Said, stand forth, and you,
Kalum-Bek, pay me at once a thousand gold pieces because he is here
on the spot.”

Kalum and the magistrate thought it must be a ghost. They fell to
their knees crying, “Mercy, mercy.” Benezar was half fainting with joy
and fell into the arms of his lost son.

Then in firm, hard tones the Caliph asked: “Magistrate, here is Said,
now will you affirm that he confessed his crime?”

“No, no,” howled the magistrate, “I only listened to Kalum’s evidence,
because he is looked upon as a respectable man.”

    [Illustration: _Benezar fell into the arms of his lost son._
        (P. 325.)]

“Did I appoint you judge that you should only listen to rich people?”
cried Harun with contempt and anger. “I will banish you to a desert
island for ten years, so that you may have time to think on justice.
And you, miserable man, who restored the dying, not for the sake of
saving him, but to make him your slave, you shall pay the thousand
gold pieces.”

Kalum rejoiced to be let off so cheaply and was about to thank the
Caliph, when he went on: “For swearing falsely about the money you
will receive a hundred strokes on the soles of your feet. Further, it
is for Said to decide whether he shall take the whole of your shop and
possessions with you as his slave, or whether he will be satisfied
with ten pieces of gold for every day he served you.”

“Let the miserable old wretch go,” cried the youth, “I wish for
nothing that was his.”

“No,” replied Harun. “I intend you to be compensated. I will choose
for you the ten pieces of gold for every day, and you must reckon how
many days you were in his clutches. And now away with the miserable
creatures!”

When they had been taken away the Caliph led Benezar and Said into
another room; there he told the father of the brave manner in which
his son had saved his life, his recital being interrupted by the yells
of Kalum, whose hundred gold pieces were being counted out on the
soles of his feet.

The Caliph invited Benezar, together with Said, to live with him in
Bagdad. He agreed, but made one journey home in order that he might
fetch his large fortune. Said took up his residence at once in the
palace built for him by the grateful Caliph, and lived there like a
prince. The Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son were his
constant companions, and it became a password in Bagdad: “I wish I
were as good and happy as Said, the son of Benezar.”




THE CAVERN OF STEENFOLL.

A SCOTTISH LEGEND.


Many years ago two fishermen lived happily together upon one of the
rocky islands off the Scottish coast. They were both unmarried and had
no near relations, and their united efforts, although they were of
very different dispositions, sufficed to provide them with all they
needed. They were much of an age, but in appearance and character they
resembled each other about as much as an eagle resembles a calf.

    [Illustration: _One big wave washed up a ball of pure gold._
        (P. 329.)]

Caspar Stump was a short fat man with a broad fat face like a full
moon, and good-tempered twinkling eyes, which seemed as though they
were strangers to trouble and care.

Not only was he very fat, he was also rather lazy, and so the
household duties fell to his share; he had to cook and bake, make the
nets to catch fish and to sell in the market, and help to cultivate
their little field.

His companion was the direct opposite, tall and thin, with bold
features, a hooked nose like a hawk’s, and sharp eyes; he was the
hardest-working and most intrepid of fishermen, the most venturesome
climber after bird’s eggs, which were found in the rocky crevices of
the cliffs, and the most industrious field labourer on the island, as
well as being one of the keenest to drive a bargain in the market of
Kirkwall. But as his wares were good and he always traded honestly,
everyone liked to deal with him, and Will Hawk, as his neighbours
nicknamed him, in spite of his fondness for money, always shared his
profits willingly with Caspar Stump, so that the two of them not only
made a very good living, but were able to put by something for a rainy
day.

But Will Hawk was not content with that, he wanted to be _rich_, _very
rich_, and as he knew that sheer hard work, such as his, rarely
brought in extraordinary wealth, he began to think that he must try
and find out some other means of making money, and taking it for
granted that he would succeed, he discussed the matter freely with
Caspar Stump. Caspar, who accepted everything that Will said as Gospel
truth, told his neighbours of the fortune his companion was about to
make, and so a rumour went abroad that Will Hawk had sold his soul to
the evil one.

At first Will laughed at these reports, but gradually he began to
wish that some spirit would appear and tell him where he might
discover buried treasure, and he ceased to contradict the neighbours
when they joked him about it. It is true he still continued to carry
on his ordinary occupation, but with less zeal, and often wasted the
time when he should have been fishing in idle wanderings after
adventures which he hoped would make him rich. Unfortunately for him
as he was one day standing on the sea-shore gazing out to sea, as
though he expected the waves rolling in to bring a fortune to his
feet, one big wave washed up a quantity of shingle and lose sea-weed,
and amongst the sea-weed a yellow ball, a ball of pure gold.

Will stood as though enchanted; his hopes of untold wealth had not
been empty dreams, the sea had given him gold, pure shining gold,
which the action of the sea had worn down, probably from a large bar,
to a ball the size of a bullet.

It seemed quite clear to him now that at some time a richly-laden
vessel must have gone to pieces on the rocks, and that it was for him
to find and raise the buried treasures, hidden beneath the waves. From
this time he devoted all his energies to the task, carefully hiding
his find from all, even from his friend. He neglected everything else
and spent days and nights on the sea-shore, not casting out fishing
nets, but using a drag which he had made on purpose to haul in
treasure.

His only reward was poverty, for he had ceased to make money himself
and Caspar’s sleepy efforts did not bring in enough to feed the two of
them. In searching for riches all the little fortune they possessed
was lost. But just as easy-going Caspar had once allowed Will Hawk to
provide the money for his maintenance, so he now accepted poverty
without complaint, and it was this silent endurance on the part of his
friend that spurred Will on to further efforts to amass wealth.

But what made him still more intent on continuing the search was that,
whenever he lay down to sleep, it seemed to him that someone whispered
a word in his ear. It was always the same, but he never could remember
it when he was awake. It is true that there seemed no connection
between this circumstance and his present quest, but on a mind like
Will’s everything seemed to make an impression, and even this
mysterious whispering strengthened him in the belief that he was
destined for a great piece of good fortune and that he would one day
find a large heap of gold.

One day he was surprised by a storm whilst on the shore where he had
found the ball of gold, and the violence of it caused him to take
shelter in a neighbouring cave. This cave, which the people called the
Cavern of Steenfoll, consisted of a long subterranean passage with two
openings to the sea, which afforded the waves free passage to and fro,
and there they roared and foamed as they rushed along it.

The cave was only accessible in one spot from the land, and that
through a crevice in the roof, but it was seldom that any but reckless
boys ventured there, for, in addition to the dangers of the place it
was supposed to be haunted.

With great difficulty Will succeeded in letting himself down and took
his seat upon a jutting rock about twelve feet from the surface. Here,
with the waves roaring beneath his feet and the storm raging above his
head, he fell into his usual way of thinking about the sunken ship and
what sort of a vessel it could have been, for, in spite of having
questioned all the oldest inhabitants on the island, he had been
unable to obtain any news of a wreck in that place.

How long he had sat there he did not know himself, but when he at
length awoke from his dreams he found that the storm had passed over,
and he was just about to climb out of the cave when he heard a voice
from the depths which pronounced the word “Carmil-han” quite
distinctly.

    [Illustration: _Will heard a voice from the depths._ (P. 331.)]

“Why,” cried he, “that is the word I have heard so often in my dreams.
What can it mean?”

Terrified, he began to climb quickly upwards when, just as he was
creeping out of the crevice, he heard once more, “Carmilhan,” softly
whispered from the depths. Then he fled like a frightened deer to his
home.

Will was, however, no coward, he had merely been taken unawares;
besides that, his craze for gold was too strong in him for the
appearance of danger to frighten him from the path he had entered
upon. One moonlight night as he was using his drag in his search for
treasures near the Cavern of Steenfoll, it caught fast in something.
He pulled with all his strength, but could not move it. In the
meantime the wind had risen, dark clouds drifted across the sky, the
boat rocked violently and threatened to overturn, but Will would not
give in, he tugged and pulled until at length the resistance ceased,
and as he felt no weight he thought the cords of the net must have
broken. But just as the clouds were about to cover the moon a round
black mass rose to the surface and once more he heard the word
“Carmilhan” whispered. He would have seized it, but as he was about to
stretch out his arm it disappeared in the darkness of the night and
the storm broke, forcing him to seek shelter beneath the rocks. Here
he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, but only to endure the same
restless misery that he endured by day, owing to his everlasting
longing for wealth.

The first rays of the rising sun illumined the surface of the water
when Will awoke. He was about to set out upon his accustomed work when
he saw something approaching him from a distance; he recognised it to
be a boat with a man in it, but what aroused his curiosity was that
the boat was moving along without the assistance of either sails or
rudder and the bows were turned to the shore.

    [Illustration: _THE CAVERN OF STEENFOLL._
      _“I came to look for the Carmilhan,” he said_
      _p. 335._]

The boat came nearer and nearer and stopped at length beside Will’s
boat, and Will could see that the person in it was a little wizened
old man, dressed in yellow linen with a red pointed night-cap on
his head, his eyes were closed and he looked as though he were dead.
Will called to him several times without obtaining an answer, and was
about to fasten a cord to the boat in order to tow it along when the
man opened his eyes and writhed about in a fashion that filled even
the hardy fisherman with horror.

“Where am I?” he asked with a deep sigh, speaking in Dutch, and Will,
who had learnt a few words of that language from the Dutch herring
fishers, told him the name of the island, and asked him who he was and
what had brought him there.

“I came to look for the Carmilhan,” he said.

“What _is_ the Carmilhan?” cried the fisherman eagerly.

“The Carmilhan does not exist any longer,” the man said, “but it was
once a fine ship, heavily laden with gold.”

“When was it wrecked, and where?”

“It happened more than a hundred years ago, I am not quite certain
where. I have come to find the place and to fish up the lost gold; if
you will help me we will divide whatever we find.”

“I agree with all my heart, but what must I do?” asked Will.

“What you have to do requires courage; you must go to the wildest and
most deserted portion of the island at midnight, take a cow with you,
kill it, and get some one to wind you up in its skin. Your companion
must then lay you down on the ground and leave you, and before the
clock strikes one o’clock you will know where the treasures of the
Carmilhan lie.”

“But that was how old Engrol was lost, soul and body,” cried Will in
terror; “you are without doubt the evil one and I will have nothing to
do with you,” and he rowed hastily away.

The little man ground his teeth with rage and abused him roundly, but
the fisherman bent to his oars and was soon out of hearing, and after
he had turned and rounded a rock he was out of sight also. But the
knowledge that the evil spirit had endeavoured to make use of his
avarice in order to lure him into his toils with gold did not cure the
infatuated fisherman; on the contrary he intended to make use of the
information he had obtained from the little man, without getting into
his clutches, and so he continued to fish all around that barren coast
for gold, neglecting the wealth of fish he might have obtained in
other parts of the sea, in the same way that he neglected all his
other work, so that day by day he and his companion sank into deeper
poverty, until at length they wanted for the necessities of life.

But although this state of things was entirely owing to Will Hawk’s
obstinacy and greed and that the support of both of them fell to
Caspar Stump alone, the latter never made him the slightest reproach,
but showed him the same deference, the same confidence in his better
judgment as in the days when all his undertakings were successful.
This increased Will’s troubles considerably, but drove him still more
to seek for money, because he hoped to repay his friend for his
present deprivations.

The whispered word “Carmilhan” resounded ever in his slumbers. In
short, want, disappointed expectations and avarice at length drove him
mad, so that he decided to do what the little man had advised,
although he knew from hearsay that he was selling himself to the
powers of darkness.

All Caspar’s representations were in vain. Will became more violent
the more he was besought to give up his intentions. The good-natured,
weak-minded fellow at last gave in and consented to assist him in
carrying out his plans.

Both their hearts were filled with grief as they led out a beautiful
cow, the last of their possessions. They had brought her up from a
calf and had forborne to sell her because they could not bear to trust
her in strange hands. But the evil spirit that had taken possession of
William’s mind stifled all better feeling in him, and Caspar could
resist him in nothing.

It was September and the long nights of the Scottish winter had began
and the dark clouds were racing along before the rough wind and seemed
to lose themselves in the waters of the Clyde, deep shadows filled the
mountain clefts, and the damp turfy marshes and the sullen streams
looked dark and forbidding. Will Hawk went in advance and Caspar
followed, shuddering at his own audacity. Tears filled his dim eyes as
often as he looked at the poor cow which went so trustfully to meet
its death at the hand that had hitherto tended it. They reached at
length the boggy pass, overgrown with moss and heather and strewn with
large stones, and surrounded by a wild chain of mountains that lost
themselves in mist and were seldom crossed by the foot of man. Over
the boggy ground they went until they reached a great stone in the
centre, from which a frightened eagle soared screaming.

The poor cow lowed mournfully as though she recognised the horror of
the place and the fate that awaited her. Caspar turned away to hide
his fast-flowing tears. He looked down the rocky way they had come up
and from whence one could hear the moaning of the sea, and then looked
up towards the mountain tops, hidden by a black cloud from which a
dull murmuring came. When he again looked at Will he had already bound
the poor cow to the stone and stood with axe raised ready to strike.

This was too much for poor Caspar. Wringing his hands, he fell upon
his knees and entreated Will to desist from tempting Providence and to
spare the life of the poor animal.

“Be it as you will,” replied the infatuated man; “but if you have your
way you may as well kill me instead of the cow, for otherwise I shall
surely die of hunger.”

It was in vain for Caspar to reason with him and to protest that in
future he would work hard in order to provide a living for both of
them, Will would not listen; he threw away the axe, but seizing a
knife declared that as Caspar preferred the cow to him he would put an
end to his wretched life.

Poor Caspar seized his hand and, snatching the knife, threw it away,
then taking the axe he struck the cow such a tremendous blow that it
fell dead at its master’s feet.

Caspar, assisted by Will, then hurriedly removed the hide, and Will
allowed his friend to envelope him in it, although he seemed suddenly
to have been stricken with terror at what he was doing.

The thunderstorm had increased in violence, and by the time Will was
firmly fastened into the cow’s hide it was so dark that the two
friends could no longer see each other and bade each other farewell in
total darkness.

Left to himself Will endured an agony of fear and suspense; at length
he would gladly have disentangled himself from the hide and rushed
after Caspar, but he had been too firmly tied up to be able to free
himself.

    [Illustration: _Over the boggy ground they went._ (P. 338.)]

The storm continued to increase in fury until at length the waters
rose and almost covered him and he began to think that he would be
drowned, when a sort of waterspout arose and, catching him up, dashed
him to the foot of the rocks with so much force that he became
unconscious.

When he regained his senses he felt bruised and weak. He could hear a
faint sound of singing, which at first he took to be merely the
sighing and moaning of the waves, but as it grew louder he began to
recognise the tune as a hymn which he had heard the fishermen singing
on board a Dutch herring smack.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of the music, and presently to his
surprise he saw a procession of human figures approaching him. Grief
and fear were depicted on their countenances, and their clothes were
all dripping with water.

As they came close up to him the singing ceased; the procession was
led by several musicians, then came a number of sailors, and behind
them walked a big fat man dressed in quaint, old-fashioned garments,
which were richly embroidered with gold threads. He had a sword by his
side and in his hand he carried a long thick Spanish cane with a gold
knob.

A negro boy walked beside him carrying the long pipe from which his
master drew a whiff from time to time. A number of other richly-dressed
men accompanied him, all of them carrying pipes, though not such
handsome ones as that of the stout man. Behind these came a
number of women, all handsomely attired in old-fashioned garments,
some of them carried little children in their arms, and some led
children by the hand.

A crowd of Dutch sailors closed the procession, each of them having a
quid of tobacco in his mouth and a pipe between his teeth, which he
smoked in gloomy silence. As the whole assembly began to close round
Will, the smoke from their pipes grew denser and denser and he felt as
though he were about to be smothered.

He was by nature a courageous man, but a nameless terror now seemed
to seize him, which was increased by the sight of the little yellow
man, who had suddenly appeared and was seated close beside him.

    [Illustration: _A negro boy walked beside him, carrying the long
        pipe._ (P. 340.)]

He looked exactly as he had done before, except that now, as though to
mock the assembled company, he, too, had a pipe in his mouth.

In an agony of terror Will now turned to the big stout man and cried,
“In the name of him you serve, who are you and what do you want with
me?”

The big man took three whiffs from his pipe in solemn silence, then he
handed his pipe to his servant and replied coldly:

“I am Alfred Franz van der Swelder, captain of the ship Carmilhan
from Amsterdam, which was lost with all hands on this rocky coast on
the return journey from Batavia. These are my officers and passengers,
and those are my brave sailors, all of whom were drowned with me. Why
have you called us from out the depths of the sea? Why do you disturb
our rest?”

“I wish to know where the treasures of the Carmilhan lie hidden.”

“At the bottom of the sea.”

“Where?”

“In the Cavern of Steenfoll.”

“How can I reach them?”

“A goose will dive after a herring, are not the treasures of the
Carmilhan worth much more?”

“How much shall I succeed in obtaining?”

“More than you will ever be able to spend.”

The little yellow man grinned and the whole assembly burst out
laughing.

“Have you finished your questioning?” asked the captain.

“I have, farewell!” replied Will.

“Farewell, until we meet again,” answered the Dutchman, and turned to
go.

The musicians again led the procession, and they turned to depart in
the same order in which they had come, singing the same solemn chant,
which faded away in the distance until at length it became lost in the
sound of the waves beating upon the shore.

Will now exerted all his strength to free himself from the hide that
wrapped him round so tightly. He succeeded at last in freeing one arm
and then commenced to loosen the cords that fastened him into the
hide, until he had untied all the knots and rolled out of the hide.
Without losing a moment he hastened home, where he found poor Caspar
lying unconscious upon the floor of the hut. Having restored him to
his senses with some trouble the good fellow wept tears of joy to see
once again the friend of his youth, whom he believed to have lost for
ever. But his joy was soon quenched when Will told him of the
desperate undertaking he had now on hand.

“I could no longer endure the misery of this wretched place,” he said,
“now that it is within my power to attain riches for us both. Follow
me or not, as you will.”

    [Illustration: _He brought to the surface an iron chest full of
        gold pieces._ (P. 344.)]

With these words Will took up a torch, a flint and steel, and a rope
and hastened away. Caspar followed as quickly as he could and found
his friend standing by the crevice in the rock leading to the Cavern
of Steenfoll. He was making ready to lower himself by the rope into
the black depths below.

Finding that all his entreaties to desist availed nothing, Caspar
prepared to descend with his friend, but Will bade him remain where
he was and hold the rope. With fearful exertions, which only the
blindest avarice could have driven him to make, he succeeded in
climbing down into the cavern until he reached a portion of projecting
rock beneath which the black waves dashed to and fro, crested with
white foam. He gazed eagerly into the water and saw something gleaming
in the depths. Laying aside his torch, he dived beneath the waves and
seized a heavy object, which he brought up to the surface. It was an
iron chest full of gold pieces. He told his companion what he had
found, but paid no attention to his entreaties to be content with what
he had and to re-ascend. Will thought he had but obtained the first
fruits of his labours and dived again. A mocking laugh arose from the
depths of the sea, and the diver rose no more.

Such was the end of Will Hawk. Caspar went home a changed man. The
terrible experiences he had undergone were too much for his weak head
and sensitive heart and unsettled his mind. He allowed everything
belonging to him to go to rack and ruin, and wandered about day and
night, staring before him with unseeing eyes, and pitied but avoided
by all.

A fisherman is said to have seen and recognised Will Hawk, one stormy
night, amongst the crew of the Carmilhan, close to the shore, and on
the same night Caspar Stump disappeared and was never seen again,
although he was sought for in every direction.

Folks aver, however, that from that time forward the crew of the
Carmilhan appear at certain times in the Cavern of Steenfoll and that
both Will Hawk and Caspar Stump are seen with them.


_Printed in Bavaria._




Transcriber’s Note

The presence or absence of page numbers in illustration captions are
all as printed.

Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.

Hyphenation has been made consistent.

Typographic errors have been corrected as follows:

    Page 16--repeated ‘and’ deleted--... towards the east and say ...

    Page 63--Madame amended to Madam (for consistency with other
    occurrences)--... and entered the service of Madam Ahavzi.

    Page 84--end amended to and--... they could not reduce the size
    of the noses and ears ...

    Page 108--call amended to all--... they all set upon Labakan and
    beat him soundly ...

    Page 111--be amended to the--... and had a knack of setting out
    her wares to the best advantage.

    Page 128--und amended to and--... his nose was enormous and
    reached beyond his chin, ...

    Page 151--whith amended to with--... a heart beating loudly with
    excitement.

    Page 171--see amended to seen--... he remembered where he had
    last seen him.

    Page 220--belieuve amended to believe--... and one could
    scarcely believe it possible for there to be such a giant.

    Page 225--bream amended to beam--... but a single board or
    beam ...

    Page 233--repeated ‘and’ deleted--Your father and grandfather
    before you ...

    Page 256--proverty amended to poverty--... for he supposed that
    all his poverty and anxious striving ...

    Page 257--be amended to he--“What did you bring with you,” he
    cried, ...

    Page 261--low amended to law--I trust you will not give me up to
    the hand of the law ...

    Page 272--repeated ‘the’ deleted--... his past life had been
    even as the terrible thunderstorm ...

    Page 280--or amended to for--... as your mother wished, for you
    are a good, sensible young fellow, ...

    Page 283--gashed amended to dashed--... they were a body of men
    armed with lances who dashed forward with incredible swiftness
    ...

    Page 307--expect amended to expert--... had been an arrow from
    the bow of an expert archer.

    Page 329--wich amended to which--... but using a drag which he
    had made on purpose ...

The frontispiece has been moved to follow the title page. Other
illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in
the middle of a paragraph.





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