{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_24593/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_24593","id":"gutenberg_24593","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24593","summary":null,"tags":["Caravans -- Juvenile fiction","Category: German Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Children's stories, German -- Translations into English","Fairy tales","Folklore"],"text":"Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading\nTeam at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n             THE\n           ORIENTAL\n         STORY BOOK.\n\n    A COLLECTION OF TALES.\n\n\n TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF\n        WILHELM HAUFF,\n\n\n     BY G. P. QUACKENBOS.\n\n\n  ILLUSTRATED BY J. W. ORR.\n\n\n          NEW YORK:\n   D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,\n     346 & 348 BROADWAY.\n            1855.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n    OF NEW ORLEANS\n\n    IN REMEMBRANCE OF A LONG FRIENDSHIP,\n\n    AND MANY HAPPY HOURS SPENT WITH HIM OVER THE\n\n    GERMAN CLASSICS,\n\n    THIS LITTLE VOLUME\n\n    IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CARAVAN.\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nIn a beautiful distant kingdom, of which there is a saying, that the\nsun on its everlasting green gardens never goes down, ruled, from the\nbeginning of time even to the present day, Queen Phantasie. With full\nhands, she used to distribute for many hundred years, the abundance of\nher blessings among her subjects, and was beloved and respected by all\nwho knew her. The heart of the Queen, however, was too great to allow\nher to stop at her own land with her charities; she herself, in the\nroyal attire of her everlasting youth and beauty, descended upon the\nearth; for she had heard that there men lived, who passed their lives\nin sorrowful seriousness, in the midst of care and toil. Unto these\nshe had sent the finest gifts out of her kingdom, and ever since the\nbeauteous Queen came through the fields of earth, men were merry at\ntheir labor, and happy in their seriousness.\n\nHer children, moreover, not less fair and lovely than their royal\nmother, she had sent forth to bring happiness to men. One day\nMaerchen[A], the eldest daughter of the Queen, came back in haste from\nthe earth. The mother observed that Maerchen was sorrowful; yes, at\ntimes it would seem to her as if her eyes would be consumed by\nweeping.\n\n\"What is the matter with thee, beloved Maerchen?\" said the Queen to\nher. \"Ever since thy journey, thou art so sorrowful and dejected; wilt\nthou not confide to thy mother what ails thee?\"\n\n\"Ah! dear mother,\" answered Maerchen, \"I would have kept silence, had I\nnot known that my sorrow is thine also.\"\n\n\"Speak, my daughter!\" entreated the fair Queen. \"Grief is a stone,\nwhich presses down him who bears it alone, but two draw it lightly out\nof the way.\"\n\n\"Thou wishest it,\" rejoined Maerchen, \"so listen. Thou knowest how\ngladly I associate with men, how cheerfully I sit down before the huts\nof the poor, to while away a little hour for them after their labor;\nformerly, when I came, they used to ask me kindly for my hand to\nsalute, and looked upon me afterwards, when I went away, smiling and\ncontented; but in these days, it is so no longer!\"\n\n\"Poor Maerchen!\" said the Queen as she caressed her cheek, which was\nwet with a tear. \"But, perhaps, thou only fanciest all this.\"\n\n\"Believe me, I feel it but too well,\" rejoined Maerchen; \"they love me\nno more. Wherever I go, cold looks meet me; nowhere am I any more\ngladly seen; even the children, who ever loved me so well, laugh at\nme, and slyly turn their backs upon me.\"\n\nThe Queen leaned her forehead on her hand, and was silent in\nreflection. \"And how, then, Maerchen,\" she asked, \"should it happen\nthat the people there below have become so changed?\"\n\n\"See, O Queen Phantasie! men have stationed vigilant watchmen, who\ninspect and examine all that comes from thy kingdom, with sharp eyes.\nIf one should arrive who is not according to their mind, they raise a\nloud cry, and put him to death, or else so slander him to men, who\nbelieve their every word, that one finds no longer any love, any\nlittle ray of confidence. Ah! how fortunate are my brothers, the\nDreams! they leap merrily and lightly down upon the earth, care\nnothing for those artful men, seek the slumbering, and weave and paint\nfor them, what makes happy the heart, and brightens the eye with joy.\"\n\n\"Thy brothers are light-footed,\" said the Queen, \"and thou, my\ndarling, hast no reason for envying them. Besides, I know these\nborder-watchmen well; men are not so wrong in sending them out; there\ncame so many boastful fellows, who acted as if they had come straight\nfrom my kingdom, and yet they had, at best, only looked down upon us\nfrom some mountain.\"\n\n\"But why did they make me, thine own daughter, suffer for this?\" wept\nforth Maerchen. \"Ah, if thou knewest how they have acted towards me!\nThey called me an old maid, and threatened the next time not to admit\nme!\"\n\n\"How, my daughter?--not to admit thee more?\" asked the Queen, as\nanger heightened the color on her cheeks. \"But already I see whence\nthis comes; that wicked cousin has slandered us!\"\n\n\"Fashion? Impossible!\" exclaimed Maerchen; \"she always used to act so\nfriendly towards us.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know her, the false one!\" answered the Queen. \"But try it again\nin spite of her, my daughter: whoever wishes to do good, must not\nrest.\"\n\n\"Ah, mother! suppose, then, they send me back again, or slander me so\nthat men let me stay in a corner, disregarded, or alone and slighted!\"\n\n\"If the old, deluded by Fashion, value thee at nothing, then turn thee\nto the young; truly they are my little favorites. I send to them my\nloveliest pictures through thy brothers, the Dreams; yes, already I\nhave often hovered over them in person, caressed and kissed them, and\nplayed fine games with them. They, also, know me well, though not by\nname; for I have often observed how in the night they laugh at my\nstars, and in the morning, when my shining fleeces play over the\nheavens, how they clap their hands for joy. Moreover, when they grow\nlarger, they love me still; then I help the charming maids to weave\nvariegated garlands, and the wild boys to become still, while I seat\nmyself near them, on the lofty summit of a cliff, steep lofty cities\nand brilliant palaces in the mist-world of the blue mountains in the\ndistance, and, on the red-tinged clouds of evening, paint brave troops\nof horsemen, and strange pilgrim processions.\"\n\n\"Oh, the dear children!\" exclaimed Maerchen, deeply affected. \"Yes--be\nit so! with them I will make one more trial.\"\n\n\"Yes, my good child,\" answered the Queen; \"go unto them; but I will\nattire thee in fine style, that thou mayest please the little ones,\nand that the old may not drive thee away. See! the dress of an\nAlmanach[B] will I give thee.\"\n\n\"An Almanach, mother? Ah!--I will be ashamed to parade, in such a way,\nbefore the people.\"\n\nThe Queen gave the signal, and the attendants brought in the rich\ndress of an Almanach. It was inwrought with brilliant colors, and\nbeautiful figures. The waiting-maids plaited the long hair of the fair\ngirl, bound golden sandals on her feet, and arrayed her in the robe.\n\nThe modest Maerchen dared not look up; her mother, however, beheld her\nwith satisfaction, and clasped her in her arms. \"Go forth!\" said she\nunto the little one; \"my blessing be with thee. If they despise and\nscorn thee, turn quickly unto me; perhaps later generations, more true\nto nature, may again incline to thee their hearts.\"\n\nThus spoke Queen Phantasie, while Maerchen went down upon the earth.\nWith beating heart she approached the city, in which the cunning\nwatchmen dwelt: she dropped her head towards the earth, wrapped her\nfine robe closely around her, and with trembling step drew near unto\nthe gate.\n\n\"Hold!\" exclaimed a deep, rough voice. \"Look out, there! Here comes a\nnew Almanach!\"\n\nMaerchen trembled as she heard this; many old men, with gloomy\ncountenances, rushed forth; they had sharp quills in their fists, and\nheld them towards Maerchen. One of the multitude strode up to her, and\nseized her with rough hand by the chin. \"Just lift up your head, Mr.\nAlmanach,\" he cried, \"that one may see in your eyes whether you be\nright or not.\"\n\nBlushing, Maerchen lifted her little head quite up, and raised her dark\neye.\n\n\"Maerchen!\" exclaimed the watchmen, laughing boisterously. \"Maerchen!\nThat we should have had any doubt as to who was here! How come you,\nnow, by this dress?\"\n\n\"Mother put it on me,\" answered Maerchen.\n\n\"So! she wishes to smuggle you past us! Not this time! Out of the way;\nsee that you be gone!\" exclaimed the watchmen among themselves,\nlifting up their sharp quills.\n\n\"But, indeed, I will go only to the children,\" entreated Maerchen;\n\"this, surely, you will grant to me.\"\n\n\"Stay there not, already, enough of these menials in the land around?\"\nexclaimed one of the watchmen. \"They only prattle nonsense to our\nchildren.\"\n\n\"Let us see what she knows this time,\" said another.\n\n\"Well then,\" cried they, \"tell us what you know; but make haste, for\nwe have not much time for you.\"\n\nMaerchen stretched forth her hand, and described with the forefinger,\nvarious figures in the air. Thereupon they saw confused images move\nslowly across it;--caravans, fine horses, riders gayly attired,\nnumerous tents upon the sand of the desert; birds, and ships upon the\nstormy seas; silent forests, and populous places, and highways;\nbattles, and peaceful wandering tribes--all hovered, a motley crowd,\nin animated pictures, over before them.\n\nMaerchen, in the eagerness with which she had caused the figures to\nrise forth, had not observed that the watchmen of the gate had one by\none fallen asleep. Just as she was about to describe new lines, a\nfriendly man came up to her, and seized her hand. \"Look here, good\nMaerchen,\" said he, as he pointed to the sleepers; \"for these thy\nvaried creations are as nothing; slip nimbly through the door; they\nwill not suspect that thou art in the land, and thou canst quietly and\nunobserved pursue thy way. I will lead thee unto my children; in my\nhouse will give thee a peaceful, friendly home; there thou mayest\nremain and live by thyself; whenever my sons and daughters shall have\nlearned their lessons well, they shall be permitted to run to thee\nwith their plays, and attend to thee. Dost thou agree?\"\n\n\"Oh! how gladly will I follow thee unto thy dear children! how\ndiligently will I endeavor to make, at times, for them, a happy little\nhour!\"\n\nThe good man nodded to her cordially, and assisted her to step over\nthe feet of the sleeping men. Maerchen, when she had got safely across,\nlooked around smilingly, and then slipped quickly through the gate.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[A] Maerchen represents the fairy or legendary tales, of which the\nGermans were at one time so fond.\n\n[B] The German \"Almanach\" corresponds in a measure with the English\n\"Annual.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE CARAVAN.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, there marched through the wilderness a large\nCaravan. Upon the vast plain, where one sees nothing but sand and\nheaven, were heard already, in the far distance, the little bells of\nthe camels, and the silver-toned ones of the horses; a thick cloud of\ndust, which preceded them, announced their approach, and when a gale\nof wind separated the clouds, glittering weapons and brilliant dresses\ndazzled the eye. Such was the appearance of the Caravan to a man who\nwas riding up towards it in an oblique direction. He was mounted on a\nfine Arabian courser, covered with a tiger-skin; silver bells were\nsuspended from the deep-red stripe work, and on the head of the horse\nwaved a plume of heron feathers. The rider was of majestic mien, and\nhis attire corresponded with the splendor of his horse: a white\nturban, richly inwrought with gold, adorned his head, his habit and\nwide pantaloons were of bright red, and a curved sword with a\nmagnificent handle hung by his side. He had arranged the turban far\ndown upon his forehead; this, together with the dark eyes which\ngleamed forth from under his bushy brows, and the long beard which\nhung down under his arched nose, gave him a wild, daring expression.\nWhen the horseman had advanced fifty paces farther, the foremost line\nof the Caravan was near, and putting spurs to his steed, in the\ntwinkling of an eye he was at the head of the procession. It was so\nunusual a thing to see a solitary rider travelling through the desert,\nthat the guard, apprehending an attack, put their lances in rest.\n\n\"What mean you?\" exclaimed the horseman, as he saw himself received in\nso hostile a manner. \"Do you imagine that a single man would attack\nyour Caravan?\"\n\nAshamed of their precipitation, the guards lowered their lances, and\ntheir leader rode forth to the stranger, and asked to know his\npleasure.\n\n\"Who is the lord of this Caravan?\" inquired the cavalier.\n\n\"It belongs to no single lord,\" answered the interrogated one; \"but\nto several merchants, who march from Mecca to their native country,\nand whom we escort through the desert; for oftentimes scoundrels of\nevery kind alarm those who travel here.\"\n\n\"Then lead me to the merchants,\" responded the stranger.\n\n\"That cannot be now,\" rejoined the other, \"for we must proceed without\ndelay, and the merchants are at least a quarter of a mile behind; if,\nhowever, you would like to ride along with me until we halt to take\nour siesta, I will execute your desire.\"\n\nThe stranger said nothing further; he drew forth a long pipe which he\nhad attached to his saddle, and began to smoke with slow puffs, as he\nrode along by the leader of the van. The latter knew not what to make\nof the stranger, and ventured not to ask his name in so many words;\nbut when he artfully endeavored to weave up a conversation, the\ncavalier, to his remarks, \"You smoke there a good tobacco,\" or, \"Your\nhorse has a brave gait,\" constantly replied with only a brief \"Yes,\nyes!\" At last they arrived at the place where they were to halt for\nthe siesta: the chief sent his people forward to keep a look-out,\nwhile he remained with the stranger to receive the Caravan. First,\nthirty camels passed by, heavily laden, guided by armed drivers. After\nthese, on fine horses, came the five merchants to whom the Caravan\nbelonged. They were, for the most part, men of advanced age, of grave\nand serious aspect; one, however, seemed much younger, as well as more\ngay and lively than the rest. A large number of camels and pack-horses\nclosed the procession.\n\nTents were pitched, and the camels and horses fastened around. In the\nmidst was a large pavilion of blue silk, to which the chief of the\nescort conducted the stranger. When they reached the entrance, they\nsaw the five merchants seated on gold-embroidered cushions; black\nslaves were carrying around to them food and drink. \"Whom bringest\nthou hither to us?\" exclaimed the young merchant unto the leader:\nbefore, however, the latter could reply, the stranger spoke.\n\n\"I am called Selim Baruch, and am from Bagdad; I was taken captive by\na robber-horde on a ride to Mecca, but three days ago managed to free\nmyself from confinement. The mighty Prophet permitted me to hear, in\nthe far distance, the little bells of your Caravan, and so I came to\nyou. Allow me to ride in your company; you will grant your protection\nto no unworthy person; and when we reach Bagdad, I will reward your\nkindness richly, for I am the nephew of the Grand Vizier.\"\n\nThe oldest of the merchants took up the discourse: \"Selim Baruch,\"\nsaid he, \"welcome to our protection! It affords us joy to be of\nassistance to thee. But first of all, sit down, and eat and drink with\nus.\"\n\nSelim Baruch seated himself among the merchants, and ate and drank\nwith them. After the meal, the slaves removed the table, and brought\nlong pipes and Turkish sherbet. The merchants sat for some time in\nsilence, while they puffed out before them the bluish, smoke-clouds,\nwatching how they formed circle after circle, and at last were\ndissipated in the ambient air. The young merchant finally broke the\nsilence. \"Here sit we for three days,\" said he, \"on horseback, and at\ntable, without doing any thing to while away the time. I feel this\ntediousness much, for I am accustomed after dinner to see dancers, or\nto hear singing and music. Know you nothing, my friends, that will\npass away the time for us?\"\n\nThe four elder merchants smoked away, and seemed to be seriously\nreflecting, but the stranger spoke: \"If it be allowed me, I will make\na proposition to you. I think one of us, at this resting-place, could\nrelate something for the amusement of the rest: this, certainly, would\nserve to pass the time.\"\n\n\"Selim Baruch, thou hast well spoken,\" said Achmet, the oldest of the\nmerchants; \"let us accept the proposal.\"\n\n\"I am rejoiced that it pleases you,\" answered Selim; \"and, in order\nthat you may see that I desire nothing unreasonable, I will myself\nbegin.\" The five merchants, overjoyed, drew nearer together, and\nplaced the stranger in their midst. The slaves replenished their cups,\nfilled the pipes of their masters afresh, and brought glowing coals\nfor a light. Selim cleared his voice with a hearty draught of sherbet,\nsmoothed back the long beard from his mouth, and said, \"Listen then to\nTHE HISTORY OF CALIPH STORK.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTHE HISTORY OF CALIPH STORK.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, on a fine afternoon, the Caliph Chasid was seated on\nhis sofa in Bagdad: he had slept a little, (for it was a hot day,) and\nnow, after his nap, looked quite happy. He smoked a long pipe of\nrosewood, sipped, now and then, a little coffee which a slave poured\nout for him, and stroked his beard, well-satisfied, for the flavor\npleased him. In a word, it was evident that the Caliph was in a good\nhumor. At this season one could easily speak with him, for he was\nalways very mild and affable; on which account did his Grand-Vizier,\nMansor, seek him at this hour, every day.\n\nOn the afternoon in question he also came, but looked very serious,\nquite contrary to his usual custom. The Caliph removed the pipe, a\nmoment, from his mouth, and said, \"Wherefore, Grand-Vizier, wearest\nthou so thoughtful a visage?\"\n\nThe Grand-Vizier folded his arms crosswise over his breast, made\nreverence to his lord, and answered: \"Sir, whether I wear a thoughtful\nlook, I know not, but there, below the palace, stands a trader who has\nsuch fine goods, that it vexes me not to have abundant money.\"\n\nThe Caliph, who had often before this gladly indulged his Vizier, sent\ndown his black slave to bring up the merchant, and in a moment they\nentered together. He was a short, fat man, of swarthy countenance and\ntattered dress. He carried a chest in which were all kinds of\nwares--pearls and rings, richly-wrought pistols, goblets, and combs.\nThe Caliph and his Vizier examined them all, and the former at length\npurchased fine pistols for himself and Mansor, and a comb for the\nVizier's wife. When the pedler was about to close his chest, the\nCaliph espied a little drawer, and inquired whether there were wares\nin that also. The trader drew forth the drawer, and pointed out\ntherein a box of black powder, and a paper with strange characters,\nwhich neither the Caliph nor Mansor could read.\n\n\"I obtained these two articles, some time ago, from a merchant, who\nfound them in the street at Mecca,\" said the trader. \"I know not what\nthey contain. They are at your service for a moderate price; I can do\nnothing with them.\" The Caliph, who gladly kept old manuscripts in his\nlibrary, though he could not read them, purchased writing and box, and\ndischarged the merchant. The Caliph, however, thought he would like to\nknow what the writing contained, and asked the Vizier if he knew any\none who could decipher it.\n\n\"Most worthy lord and master,\" answered he, \"near the great Mosque\nlives a man called 'Selim the Learned,' who understands all languages:\nlet him come, perhaps he is acquainted with these mysterious\ncharacters.\"\n\nThe learned Selim was soon brought in. \"Selim,\" said the Caliph to\nhim, \"Selim, they say thou art very wise; look a moment at this\nmanuscript, and see if thou canst read it. If thou canst, thou shalt\nreceive from me a new festival-garment; if not, thou shalt have twelve\nblows on the cheek, and five and twenty on the soles of the feet,\nsince, in that case, thou art unjustly called Selim the Learned.\"\n\nSelim bowed himself and said, \"Sire, thy will be done!\" For a long\ntime he pored over the manuscript, but suddenly exclaimed, \"This is\nLatin, sire, or I will suffer myself to be hung.\"\n\n\"If it is Latin, tell us what is therein,\" commanded the Caliph. Selim\nbegan to translate:--\n\n\"Man, whosoever thou mayest be that findest this, praise Allah for his\ngoodness! Whoever snuffs of the dust of this powder, and at the same\ntime says, MUTABOR, can change himself into any animal, and shall also\nunderstand its language. If he wishes to return to the form of a man,\nthen let him bow three times to the East, and repeat the same word.\nBut take thou care, if thou be transformed, that thou laugh not;\notherwise shall the magic word fade altogether from thy remembrance,\nand thou shalt remain a beast!\"\n\nWhen Selim the Learned had thus read, the Caliph was overjoyed. He\nmade the translator swear to tell no one of their secret, presented\nhim a beautiful garment, and discharged him. To his Grand-Vizier,\nhowever, he said: \"That I call a good purchase, Mansor! How can I\ncontain myself until I become an animal! Early in the morning, do thou\ncome to me. Then will we go together into the country, take a little\nsnuff out of my box, and hear what is said in the air and in the\nwater, in the forest and in the field.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nScarcely, on the next morning, had the Caliph Chasid breakfasted and\ndressed himself, when the Grand-Vizier appeared, to accompany him, as\nhe had commanded, on his walk. The Caliph placed the box with the\nmagic powder in his girdle, and having commanded his train to remain\nbehind, set out, all alone with Mansor, upon their expedition. They\nwent at first through the extensive gardens of the Caliph, but looked\naround in vain for some living thing, in order to make their strange\nexperiment. The Vizier finally proposed to go farther on, to a pond,\nwhere he had often before seen many storks, which, by their grave\nbehavior and clattering, had always excited his attention. The Caliph\napproved of the proposition of his Vizier, and went with him to the\npond. When they reached it they saw a stork walking gravely to and\nfro, seeking for frogs, and now and then clattering at something\nbefore her. Presently they saw, too, another stork hovering far up in\nthe air.\n\n\"I will wager my beard, most worthy sire,\" exclaimed the Grand-Vizier,\n\"that these two long-feet are even now carrying on a fine conversation\nwith one another. How would it be, if we should become storks?\"\n\n\"Well spoken!\" answered the Caliph. \"But first, we will consider how\nwe may become men again.--Right! Three times bow to the East, and\nexclaim 'MUTABOR!' then will I be Caliph once more, and thou Vizier.\nOnly, for the sake of Heaven, laugh not, or we are lost!\"\n\nWhile the Caliph was thus speaking, he saw the other stork hovering\nover their heads, and sinking slowly to the ground. He drew the box\nquickly out of his girdle, and took a good pinch; then he presented it\nto the Grand-Vizier, who also snuffed some of the powder, and both\nexclaimed \"MUTABOR!\" Immediately their legs shrivelled away and became\nslender and red; the handsome yellow slippers of the Caliph and his\ncompanion became misshapen stork's feet; their arms turned to wings;\nthe neck extended up from the shoulders, and was an ell long; their\nbeards had vanished, and their whole bodies were covered with soft\nfeathers.\n\n\"You have a beautiful beak, my lord Grand-Vizier,\" exclaimed the\nCaliph after long astonishment. \"By the beard of the Prophet, in my\nwhole life I have not seen any thing like it!\"\n\n\"Most humble thanks!\" responded the Vizier, as he bowed. \"But if I\ndared venture it, I might assert that your Highness looks almost as\nhandsome when a stork, as when a Caliph. But suppose, if it be\npleasing to you, that we observe and listen to our comrades, to see,\nif we actually understand Storkish.\"\n\nMeanwhile the other stork reached the earth. He cleaned his feet with\nhis bill, smoothed his feathers, and moved towards the first. Both the\nnew birds, thereupon, made haste to draw near, and to their\nastonishment, heard the following conversation.\n\n\"Good-morning, Madam Long-legs; already, so early, upon the pond?\"\n\n\"Fine thanks, beloved Clatter-beak. I have brought me a little\nbreakfast. Would you like, perhaps, the quarter of an eider-duck, or a\nlittle frog's thigh?\"\n\n\"My best thanks, but this morning I have little appetite. I come to\nthe pond for a very different reason. I have to dance to-day before\nthe guests of my father, and I wish to practise a little in private.\"\n\nImmediately, thereupon, the young lady-stork stepped, in great\nexcitement, over the plain. The Caliph and Mansor looked on her in\namazement. When, however, she stood in a picturesque attitude upon one\nfoot, and, at the same time, gracefully moved her wings like a fan,\nthe two could contain themselves no longer; a loud laugh broke forth\nfrom their bills. The Caliph was the first to recover himself. \"That\nwere once a joke,\" said he, \"which gold could not have purchased.\nPity! that the stupid birds should have been driven away by our\nlaughter; otherwise they would certainly even yet have been singing.\"\n\nBut already it occurred to the Grand-Vizier that, during their\nmetamorphosis, laughter was prohibited; he shared his anxiety on this\nhead with the Caliph. \"By Mecca and Medina! that were a sorry jest, if\nI am to remain a stork. Bethink thyself, then, of the foolish word,\nfor I can recall it not.\"\n\n\"Three times must we bow ourselves to the East, and at the same time\nsay, Mu--mu--mu--\"\n\nThey turned to the East, and bowed so low that their beaks almost\ntouched the earth. But, O misery! that magic word had escaped them;\nand though the Caliph prostrated himself again and again, though at\nthe same time the Vizier earnestly cried \"Mu--mu--,\" all recollection\nthereof had vanished, and poor Chasid and his Vizier were to remain\nstorks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nThe enchanted ones wandered sorrowfully through the fields, not\nknowing, in their calamity, what they should first set about. To the\ncity they could not return, for the purpose of discovering themselves,\nfor who would have believed a stork that he was the Caliph? or, if he\nshould find credit, would the inhabitants of Bagdad have been willing\nto have such a bird for their master? Thus, for several days, did they\nwander around, supporting themselves on the produce of the fields,\nwhich, however, on account of their long bills, they could not readily\npick up. For eider-ducks and frogs they had no appetite, for they\nfeared with such dainty morsels to ruin their stomachs. In this\npitiable situation their only consolation was that they could fly, and\naccordingly they often winged their way to the roofs of Bagdad, to see\nwhat was going on therein.\n\nOn the first day they observed great commotion and mourning in the\nstreets; but on the fourth after their transformation, they lighted by\nchance upon the royal palace, from which they saw, in the street\nbeneath, a splendid procession. Drums and fifes sounded; on a\nrichly-caparisoned steed was seated a man, in a scarlet mantle\nembroidered with gold, surrounded by gorgeously-attired attendants.\nHalf Bagdad was running after him, crying, \"Hail, Mizra! Lord of\nBagdad!\" All this the two storks beheld from the roof of the palace,\nand the Caliph Chasid exclaimed,--\n\n\"Perceivest thou now why I am enchanted, Grand-Vizier? This Mizra is\nthe son of my deadly enemy, the mighty sorcerer Kaschnur, who, in an\nevil hour, vowed revenge against me. Still I do not abandon all hope.\nCome with me, thou faithful companion of my misery; we will go to the\ngrave of the Prophet; perhaps in that holy spot the charm may be\ndissolved.\" They raised themselves from the roof of the palace, and\nflew in the direction of Medina.\n\nIn the use of their wings, however, they experienced some difficulty,\nfor the two storks had, as yet, but little practice. \"O Sire!\"\ngroaned out the Vizier, after a couple of hours; \"with your\npermission, I can hold out no longer; you fly so rapidly! Besides, it\nis already evening, and we would do well to seek a shelter for the\nnight.\"\n\nChasid gave ear to the request of his attendant, and thereupon saw, in\nthe vale beneath, a ruin which appeared to promise safe lodgings; and\nthither, accordingly, they flew. The place where they had alighted for\nthe night, seemed formerly to have been a castle. Gorgeous columns\nprojected from under the rubbish, and several chambers, which were\nstill in a state of tolerable preservation, testified to the former\nmagnificence of the mansion. Chasid and his companion went around\nthrough the corridor, to seek for themselves a dry resting-place;\nsuddenly the stork Mansor paused. \"Lord and master,\" he whispered\nsoftly, \"were it not foolish for a Grand-Vizier, still more for a\nstork, to be alarmed at spectres, my mind is very uncomfortable; for\nhere, close at hand, sighs and groans are very plainly perceptible.\"\nThe Caliph now in turn stood still, and quite distinctly heard a low\nmoaning, which seemed to belong rather to a human being than a beast.\nFull of expectation, he essayed to proceed to the place whence the\nplaintive sounds issued: but the Vizier, seizing him by the wing with\nhis beak, entreated him fervently not to plunge them in new and\nunknown dangers. In vain! the Caliph, to whom a valiant heart beat\nbeneath his stork-wing, burst away with the loss of a feather, and\nhastened into a gloomy gallery. In a moment he reached a door, which\nseemed only on the latch, and out of which he heard distinct sighs,\naccompanied by a low moaning. He pushed the door open with his bill,\nbut stood, chained by amazement, upon the threshold. In the ruinous\napartment, which was now but dimly lighted through a grated window, he\nsaw a huge screech-owl sitting on the floor. Big tears rolled down\nfrom her large round eyes, and with ardent voice she sent her cries\nforth from her crooked bill. As soon, however, as she espied the\nCaliph and his Vizier, who meanwhile had crept softly up behind, she\nraised a loud cry of joy. She neatly wiped away the tears with her\nbrown-striped wing, and to the great astonishment of both, exclaimed,\nin good human Arabic,--\n\n\"Welcome to you, storks! you are to me a good omen of deliverance,\nfor it was once prophesied to me that, through storks, a great piece\nof good fortune is to fall to my lot.\"\n\nWhen the Caliph recovered from his amazement, he bowed his long neck,\nbrought his slender feet into an elegant position, and said:\n\"Screech-owl, after your words, I venture to believe that I see in you\na companion in misfortune. But, alas! this hope that through us thy\ndeliverance will take place, is groundless. Thou wilt, thyself,\nrealize our helplessness, when thou hearest our history.\"\n\nThe Screech-owl entreated him to impart it to her, and the Caliph,\nraising himself up, related what we already know.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nWhen the Caliph had told his history to the owl, she thanked him, and\nsaid: \"Listen to my story, also, and hear how I am no less unfortunate\nthan thyself. My father is the king of India; I, his only, unfortunate\ndaughter, am called Lusa. That same sorcerer Kaschnur, who transformed\nyou, has plunged me also in this affliction. He came, one day, to my\nfather, and asked me in marriage for his son Mizra. My father,\nhowever, who is a passionate man, cast him down the steps. The wretch\nmanaged to creep up to me again under another form, and as I was on\none occasion taking the fresh air in my garden, clad as a slave, he\npresented me a potion which changed me into this detestable figure. He\nbrought me hither, swooning through fear, and exclaimed in my ear with\nawful voice, 'There shalt thou remain, frightful one, despised even by\nbeasts, until thy death, or till one, of his own free will, even\nunder this execrable form, take thee to wife. Thus revenge I myself\nupon thee, and thy haughty father!'\n\n\"Since then, many months have elapsed; alone and mournfully I live,\nlike a hermit, in these walls, abhorred by the world, an abomination\neven to brutes. Beautiful nature is shut out from me; for I am blind\nby day, and only when the moon sheds her wan light upon this ruin,\nfalls the shrouding veil from mine eye.\"\n\nThe owl ended, and again wiped her eyes with her wing, for the\nnarration of her wo had called forth tears. The Caliph was plunged in\ndeep meditation by the story of the Princess. \"If I am not altogether\ndeceived,\" said he, \"you will find that between our misfortunes a\nsecret connection exists; but where can I find the key to this\nenigma?\"\n\nThe owl answered him, \"My lord! this also is plain to me; for once, in\nearly youth, it was foretold to me by a wise woman, that a stork would\nbring me great happiness, and perhaps I might know how we may save\nourselves.\"\n\nThe Caliph was much astonished, and inquired in what way she meant.\n\n\"The enchanter who has made us both miserable,\" said she, \"comes once\nevery month to these ruins. Not far from this chamber is a hall;\nthere, with many confederates, he is wont to banquet. Already I have\noften watched them: they relate to one another their shameful\ndeeds--perhaps he might then mention the magic word which you have\nforgotten.\"\n\n\"Oh, dearest Princess!\" exclaimed the Caliph: \"tell us--when will he\ncome, and where is the hall?\"\n\nThe owl was silent a moment, and then said: \"Take it not unkindly, but\nonly on one condition can I grant your wish.\"\n\n\"Speak out! speak out!\" cried Chasid. \"Command; whatever it may be, I\nam ready to obey.\"\n\n\"It is this: I would fain at the same time be free; this, however, can\nonly take place, if one of you offer me his hand.\" At this proposition\nthe storks seemed somewhat surprised, and the Caliph beckoned to his\nattendant to step aside with him a moment. \"Grand-Vizier,\" said the\nCaliph before the door, \"this is a stupid affair, but you can set it\nall right.\"\n\n\"Thus?\" rejoined he; \"that my wife, when I go home, may scratch my\neyes out? Besides, I am an old man, while you are still young and\nunmarried, and can better give your hand to a young and beautiful\nprincess.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is the point,\" sighed the Caliph, as he mournfully drooped\nhis wings: \"who told you she is young and fair? That is equivalent to\nbuying a cat in a sack!\" They continued to converse together for a\nlong time, but finally, when the Caliph saw that Mansor would rather\nremain a stork than marry the owl, he determined sooner, himself, to\naccept the condition. The owl was overjoyed; she avowed to them that\nthey could have come at no better time, since, probably, that very\nnight, the sorcerers would assemble together.\n\nShe left the apartment with the storks, in order to lead them to the\nsaloon; they went a long way through a gloomy passage, until at last a\nvery bright light streamed upon them through a half-decayed wall. When\nthey reached this place, the owl advised them to halt very quietly.\nFrom the breach, near which they were standing, they could look down\nupon a large saloon, adorned all around with pillars, and splendidly\ndecorated, in which many colored lamps restored the light of day. In\nthe midst of the saloon stood a round table, laden with various choice\nmeats. Around the table extended a sofa, on which eight men were\nseated. In one of these men the storks recognised the very merchant,\nwho had sold them the magic powder. His neighbor desired him to tell\nthem his latest exploits; whereupon he related, among others, the\nstory of the Caliph and his Vizier.\n\n\"What did you give them for a word?\" inquired of him one of the other\nmagicians.\n\n\"A right ponderous Latin one--MUTABOR.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nWhen the storks heard this through their chasm in the wall, they\nbecame almost beside themselves with joy. They ran so quickly with\ntheir long feet to the door of the ruin, that the owl could scarcely\nkeep up with them. Thereupon spoke the Caliph to her: \"Preserver of my\nlife and that of my friend, in token of our eternal thanks for what\nthou hast done for us, take me as thy husband.\" Then he turned to the\nEast: three times they bowed their long necks towards the sun, which\nwas even now rising above the mountains, and at the same moment\nexclaimed \"MUTABOR!\" In a twinkling they were restored, and in the\nexcessive joy of their newly-bestowed life, alternately laughing and\nweeping, were folded in each other's arms. But who can describe their\nastonishment when they looked around? A beautiful woman, attired as a\nqueen, stood before them. Smiling, she gave the Caliph her hand, and\nsaid, \"Know you your screech-owl no longer?\" It was she; the Caliph\nwas in such transports at her beauty and pleasantness, as to cry out,\nthat it was the most fortunate moment in his life, when he became a\nstork.\n\nThe three now proceeded together to Bagdad. The Caliph found in his\ndress, not only the box of magic powder, but also his money-bag. By\nmeans thereof, he purchased at the nearest village what was necessary\nfor their journey, and accordingly they soon appeared before the gates\nof the city. Here, however, the arrival of the Caliph excited great\nastonishment. They had given out that he was dead, and the people were\ntherefore highly rejoiced to have again their beloved lord.\n\nSo much the more, however, burned their hatred against the impostor\nMizra. They proceeded to the palace, and caught the old magician and\nhis son. The old man the Caliph sent to the same chamber in the ruin,\nwhich the princess, as a screech-owl, had inhabited, and there had\nhim hung; unto the son, however, who understood nothing of his\nfather's arts, he gave his choice,--to die, or snuff some of the\npowder. Having chosen the latter, the Grand-Vizier presented him the\nbox. A hearty pinch, and the magic word of the Caliph converted him\ninto a stork. Chasid had him locked up in an iron cage, and hung in\nhis garden.\n\nLong and happily lived Caliph Chasid with his spouse, the Princess;\nhis pleasantest hours were always those, when in the afternoon the\nVizier sought him; and whenever the Caliph was in a very good humor,\nhe would let himself down so far, as to show Mansor how he looked,\nwhen a stork. He would gravely march along, with rigid feet, up and\ndown the chamber, make a clattering noise, wave his arms like wings,\nand show how, in vain, he had prostrated himself to the East, and\ncried out, MU--MU. To the Princess and her children, this imitation\nalways afforded great amusement: when, however, the Caliph clattered,\nand bowed, and cried out, too long, then the Vizier would threaten him\nthat he would disclose to his spouse what had been proposed outside\nthe door of the Princess Screech-owl!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Selim Baruch had finished his story, the merchants declared\nthemselves delighted therewith. \"Verily, the afternoon has passed away\nfrom us without our having observed it!\" exclaimed one of them,\nthrowing back the covering of the tent: \"the evening wind blows cool,\nwe can still make a good distance on our journey.\" To this his\ncompanions agreed; the tents were struck, and the Caravan proceeded on\nits way in the same order in which it had come up.\n\nThey rode almost all the night long, for it was refreshing and\nstarry, whereas the day was sultry. At last they arrived at a\nconvenient stopping-place; here they pitched their tents, and composed\nthemselves to rest. To the stranger the merchants attended, as a most\nvalued guest. One gave him cushions, a second covering, a third\nslaves; in a word, he was as well provided for as if he had been at\nhome. The hottest hours of the day had already arrived, when they\nawoke again, and they unanimously determined to wait for evening in\nthis place. After they had eaten together, they moved more closely to\neach other, and the young merchant, turning to the oldest, addressed\nhim: \"Selim Baruch yesterday made a pleasant afternoon for us; suppose\nAchmet, that you also tell us something, be it either from your long\nlife, which has known so many adventures, or even a pretty Maerchen.\"\n\nUpon these words Achmet was silent some time, as if he were in doubt\nwhether to tell this or that; at last he began to speak: \"Dear\nfriends, on this our journey you have proved yourselves faithful\ncompanions, and Selim also deserves my confidence; I will therefore\nimpart to you something of my life, of which, under other\ncircumstances, I would speak reluctantly, and, indeed, not to any one:\nTHE HISTORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nMy father had a little shop in Balsora; he was neither rich, nor poor,\nbut one of those who do not like to risk any thing, through fear of\nlosing the little that they have. He brought me up plainly, but\nvirtuously, and soon I advanced so far, that I was able to make\nvaluable suggestions to him in his business. When I reached my\neighteenth year, in the midst of his first speculation of any\nimportance, he died; probably through anxiety at having intrusted a\nthousand gold pieces to the sea. I was obliged, soon after, to deem\nhim happy in his fortunate death, for in a few weeks the intelligence\nreached us, that the vessel, to which my father had committed his\ngoods, had been wrecked. This misfortune, however, could not depress\nmy youthful spirits. I converted all that my father had left into\nmoney, and set out to try my fortune in foreign lands, accompanied\nonly by an old servant of the family, who, on account of ancient\nattachment, would not part from me and my destiny.\n\nIn the harbor of Balsora we embarked, with a favorable wind. The ship,\nin which I had taken passage, was bound to India. We had now for\nfifteen days sailed in the usual track, when the Captain predicted to\nus a storm. He wore a thoughtful look, for it seemed he knew that, in\nthis place, there was not sufficient depth of water to encounter a\nstorm with safety. He ordered them to take in all sail, and we moved\nalong quite slowly. The night set in clear and cold, and the Captain\nbegan to think that he had been mistaken in his forebodings. All at\nonce there floated close by ours, a ship which none of us had\nobserved before. A wild shout and cry ascended from the deck, at\nwhich, occurring at this anxious season, before a storm, I wondered\nnot a little. But the Captain by my side was deadly pale: \"My ship is\nlost,\" cried he; \"there sails Death!\" Before I could demand an\nexplanation of these singular words, the sailors rushed in, weeping\nand wailing. \"Have you seen it?\" they exclaimed: \"all is now over with\nus!\"\n\nBut the Captain had words of consolation read to them out of the\nKoran, and seated himself at the helm. But in vain! The tempest began\nvisibly to rise with a roaring noise, and, before an hour passed by,\nthe ship struck and remained aground. The boats were lowered, and\nscarcely had the last sailors saved themselves, when the vessel went\ndown before our eyes, and I was launched, a beggar, upon the sea. But\nour misfortune had still no end. Frightfully roared the tempest, the\nboat could no longer be governed. I fastened myself firmly to my old\nservant, and we mutually promised not to be separated from each other.\nAt last the day broke, but, with the first glance of the morning-red,\nthe wind struck and upset the boat in which we were seated. After that\nI saw my shipmates no more. The shock deprived me of consciousness,\nand when I returned to my senses, I found myself in the arms of my old\nfaithful attendant, who had saved himself on the boat which had been\nupturned, and had come in search of me. The storm had abated; of our\nvessel there was nothing any more to be seen, but we plainly descried,\nat no great distance from us, another ship, towards which the waves\nwere driving us. As we approached, I recognised the vessel as the same\nwhich had passed by us in the night, and which had thrown the Captain\ninto such consternation. I felt a strange horror of this ship; the\nintimation of the Captain, which had been so fearfully corroborated,\nthe desolate appearance of the ship, on which, although as we drew\nnear we uttered loud cries, no one was visible, alarmed me.\nNevertheless this was our only expedient; accordingly, we praised the\nProphet, who had so miraculously preserved us.\n\nFrom the fore-part of the ship hung down a long cable; for the purpose\nof laying hold of this, we paddled with our hands and feet. At last\nwe were successful. Loudly I raised my voice, but all remained quiet\nas ever, on board the vessel. Then we climbed up by the rope, I, as\nthe youngest, taking the lead. But horror! what a spectacle was there\npresented to my eye, as I stepped upon the deck! The floor was red\nwith blood; upon it lay twenty or thirty corpses in Turkish costume;\nby the middle-mast stood a man richly attired, with sabre in hand--but\nhis face was wan and distorted; through his forehead passed a large\nspike which fastened him to the mast--he was dead! Terror chained my\nfeet; I dared hardly to breathe. At last my companion stood by my\nside; he, too, was overpowered at sight of the deck which exhibited no\nliving thing, but only so many frightful corpses. After having, in the\nanguish of our souls, supplicated the Prophet, we ventured to move\nforward. At every step we looked around to see if something new,\nsomething still more horrible, would not present itself. But all\nremained as it was--far and wide, no living thing but ourselves, and\nthe ocean-world. Not once did we dare to speak aloud, through fear\nthat the dead Captain there nailed to the mast would bend his rigid\neyes upon us, or lest one of the corpses should turn his head. At last\nwe arrived at a staircase, which led into the hold. There\ninvoluntarily we came to a halt, and looked at each other, for neither\nof us exactly ventured to express his thoughts.\n\n\"Master,\" said my faithful servant, \"something awful has happened\nhere. Nevertheless, even if the ship down there below is full of\nmurderers, still would I rather submit myself to their mercy or\ncruelty, than spend a longer time among these dead bodies.\" I agreed\nwith him, and so we took heart, and descended, full of apprehension.\nBut the stillness of death prevailed here also, and there was no sound\nsave that of our steps upon the stairs. We stood before the door of\nthe cabin; I applied my ear, and listened--there was nothing to be\nheard. I opened it. The room presented a confused appearance; clothes,\nweapons, and other articles, lay disordered together. The crew, or at\nleast the Captain, must shortly before have been carousing, for the\nremains of a banquet lay scattered around. We went on from room to\nroom, from chamber to chamber finding, in all, royal stores of silk,\npearls, and other costly articles. I was beside myself with joy at the\nsight, for as there was no one on the ship, I thought I could\nappropriate all to myself; but Ibrahim thereupon called to my notice\nthat we were still far from land, at which we could not arrive, alone\nand without human help.\n\nWe refreshed ourselves with the meats and drink, which we found in\nrich profusion, and at last ascended upon deck. But here again we\nshivered at the awful sight of the bodies. We determined to free\nourselves therefrom, by throwing them overboard; but how were we\nstartled to find, that no one could move them from their places! So\nfirmly were they fastened to the floor, that to remove them one would\nhave had to take up the planks of the deck, for which tools were\nwanting to us. The Captain, moreover, could not be loosened from the\nmast, nor could we even wrest the sabre from his rigid hand. We passed\nthe day in sorrowful reflection on our condition; and, when night\nbegan to draw near, I gave permission to the old Ibrahim to lie down\nto sleep, while I would watch upon the deck, to look out for means of\ndeliverance. When, however, the moon shone forth, and by the stars I\ncalculated that it was about the eleventh hour, sleep so irresistibly\noverpowered me that I fell back, involuntarily, behind a cask which\nstood upon the deck. It was rather lethargy than sleep, for I plainly\nheard the sea beat against the side of the vessel, and the sails creak\nand whistle in the wind. All at once I thought I heard voices, and the\nsteps of men upon the deck. I wished to arise and see what it was, but\na strange power fettered my limbs, and I could not once open my eyes.\nBut still more distinct became the voices; it appeared to me as if a\nmerry crew were moving around upon the deck. In the midst of this I\nthought I distinguished the powerful voice of a commander, followed by\nthe noise of ropes and sails. Gradually my senses left me; I fell into\na deep slumber, in which I still seemed to hear the din of weapons,\nand awoke only when the sun was high in the heavens, and sent down his\nburning rays upon my face. Full of wonder, I gazed about me; storm,\nship, the bodies, and all that I had heard in the night, recurred to\nme as a dream; but when I looked around, I found all as it had been\nthe day before. Immoveable lay the bodies, immoveably was the Captain\nfastened to the mast; I laughed at my dream, and proceeded in search\nof my old companion.\n\nThe latter was seated in sorrowful meditation in the cabin. \"O\nmaster,\" he exclaimed as I entered, \"rather would I lie in the deepest\nbottom of the sea, than pass another night in this enchanted ship.\" I\nasked him the reason of his grief, and thus he answered me:--\n\n\"When I had slept an hour, I awoke, and heard the noise of walking to\nand fro over my head. I thought at first that it was you, but there\nwere at least twenty running around; I also heard conversation and\ncries. At length came heavy steps upon the stairs. After this I was no\nlonger conscious; but at times my recollection returned for a moment,\nand then I saw the same man who is nailed to the mast, sit down at\nthat table, singing and drinking; and he who lies not far from him on\nthe floor, in a scarlet cloak, sat near him, and helped him to drink.\"\nThus spoke my old servant to me.\n\nYou may believe me, my friends, that all was not right to my mind;\nfor there was no delusion--I too had plainly heard the dead. To sail\nin such company was to me horrible; my Ibrahim, however, was again\nabsorbed in deep reflection. \"I have it now!\" he exclaimed at length;\nthere occurred to him, namely, a little verse, which his grandfather,\na man of experience and travel, had taught him, and which could give\nassistance against every ghost and spectre. He also maintained that we\ncould, the next night, prevent the unnatural sleep which had come upon\nus, by repeating right fervently sentences out of the Koran.\n\nThe proposition of the old man pleased me well. In anxious expectation\nwe saw the night set in. Near the cabin was a little room, to which we\ndetermined to retire. We bored several holes in the door, large enough\nto give us a view of the whole cabin; then we shut it as firmly as we\ncould from within, and Ibrahim wrote the name of the Prophet in all\nfour corners of the room. Thus we awaited the terrors of the night.\n\nIt might again have been about the eleventh hour, when a strong\ninclination for sleep began to overpower me. My companion, thereupon,\nadvised me to repeat some sentences from the Koran, which assisted me\nto retain my consciousness. All at once it seemed to become lively\noverhead; the ropes creaked, there were steps upon the deck, and\nseveral voices were plainly distinguishable. We remained, a few\nmoments, in intense anxiety; then we heard something descending the\ncabin stairs. When the old man became aware of this, he began to\nrepeat the words which his grandfather had taught him to use against\nspirits and witchcraft:\n\n    \"Come you, from the air descending,\n      Rise you from the deep sea-cave,\n    Spring you forth where flames are blending,\n      Glide you in the dismal grave:\n    Allah reigns, let all adore him!\n    Own him, spirits--bow before him!\"\n\nI must confess I did not put much faith in this verse, and my hair\nstood on end when the door flew open. The same large, stately man\nentered, whom I had seen nailed to the mast. The spike still passed\nthrough the middle of his brain, but he had sheathed his sword. Behind\nhim entered another, attired with less magnificence, whom also I had\nseen lying on the deck. The Captain, for he was unquestionably of this\nrank, had a pale countenance, a large black beard, and wildly-rolling\neyes, with which he surveyed the whole apartment. I could see him\ndistinctly, for he moved over opposite to us; but he appeared not to\nobserve the door which concealed us. The two seated themselves at the\ntable, which stood in the centre of the cabin, and spoke loud and\nfast, shouting together in an unknown tongue. They continually became\nmore noisy and earnest, until at length, with doubled fist, the\nCaptain brought the table a blow which shook the whole apartment. With\nwild laughter the other sprang up, and beckoned to the Captain to\nfollow him. The latter rose, drew his sabre, and then both left the\napartment. We breathed more freely when they were away; but our\nanxiety had still for a long time no end. Louder and louder became the\nnoise upon deck; we heard hasty running to and fro, shouting,\nlaughing, and howling. At length there came an actually hellish sound,\nso that we thought the deck and all the sails would fall down upon us,\nthe clash of arms, and shrieks--of a sudden all was deep silence.\nWhen, after many hours, we ventured to go forth, we found every thing\nas before; not one lay differently--all were as stiff as wooden\nfigures.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThus passed we several days on the vessel; it moved continually\ntowards the East, in which direction, according to my calculation, lay\nthe land; but if by day it made many miles, by night it appeared to go\nback again, for we always found ourselves in the same spot when the\nsun went down. We could explain this in no other way, than that the\ndead men every night sailed back again with a full breeze. In order to\nprevent this, we took in all the sail before it became night, and\nemployed the same means as at the door in the cabin; we wrote on\nparchment the name of the Prophet, and also, in addition, the little\nstanza of the grandfather, and bound them upon the furled sail.\nAnxiously we awaited the result in our chamber. The ghosts appeared\nthis time not to rage so wickedly; and, mark, the next morning the\nsails were still rolled up as we had left them. During the day we\nextended only as much as was necessary to bear the ship gently along,\nand so in five days we made considerable headway.\n\nAt last, on the morning of the sixth day, we espied land at a short\ndistance, and thanked Allah and his Prophet for our wonderful\ndeliverance. This day and the following night we sailed along the\ncoast, and on the seventh morning thought we discovered a city at no\ngreat distance: with a good deal of trouble we cast an anchor into the\nsea, which soon reached the bottom; then launching a boat which stood\nupon the deck, we rowed with all our might towards the city. After\nhalf an hour we ran into a river that emptied into the sea, and\nstepped ashore. At the gate we inquired what the place was called, and\nlearned that it was an Indian city, not far from the region to which\nat first I had intended to sail. We repaired to a Caravansery, and\nrefreshed ourselves after our adventurous sail. I there inquired for a\nwise and intelligent man, at the same time giving the landlord to\nunderstand that I would like to have one tolerably conversant with\nmagic. He conducted me to an unsightly house in a remote street,\nknocked thereat, and one let me in with the injunction that I should\nask only for Muley.\n\nIn the house, came to me a little old man with grizzled beard and a\nlong nose, to demand my business. I told him I was in search of the\nwise Muley; he answered me that he was the man. I then asked his\nadvice as to what I should do to the dead bodies, and how I must\nhandle them in order to remove them from the ship.\n\nHe answered me that the people of the ship were probably enchanted on\naccount of a crime somewhere upon the sea: he thought the spell would\nbe dissolved by bringing them to land, but this could be done only by\ntaking up the planks on which they lay. In the sight of God and\njustice, he said that the ship, together with all the goods, belonged\nto me, since I had, as it were, found it; and, if I would keep it very\nsecret, and make him a small present out of my abundance, he would\nassist me with his slaves to remove the bodies. I promised to reward\nhim richly, and we set out on our expedition with five slaves, who\nwere supplied with saws and hatchets. On the way, the magician Muley\ncould not sufficiently praise our happy expedient of binding the\nsails around with the sentences from the Koran. He said this was the\nonly means, by which we could have saved ourselves.\n\nIt was still pretty early in the day when we reached the ship. We\nimmediately set to work, and in an hour placed four in the boat. Some\nof the slaves were then obliged to row to land to bury them there.\nThey told us, when they returned, that the bodies had spared them the\ntrouble of burying, since, the moment they laid them on the earth,\nthey had fallen to dust. We diligently set to work to saw off the\nbodies, and before evening all were brought to land. There were, at\nlast, no more on board than the one that was nailed to the mast.\nVainly sought we to draw the nail out of the wood, no strength was\nable to start it even a hair's-breadth. I knew not what next to do,\nfor we could not hew down the mast in order to bring him to land; but\nin this dilemma Muley came to my assistance. He quickly ordered a\nslave to row to land and bring a pot of earth. When he had arrived\nwith it, the magician pronounced over it some mysterious words, and\ncast it on the dead man's head. Immediately the latter opened his\neyes, drew a deep breath, and the wound of the nail in his forehead\nbegan to bleed. We now drew it lightly forth, and the wounded man fell\ninto the arms of one of the slaves.\n\n\"Who bore me hither?\" he exclaimed, after he seemed to have recovered\nhimself a little. Muley made signs to me, and I stepped up to him.\n\n\"Thank thee, unknown stranger; thou hast freed me from long torment.\nFor fifty years has my body been sailing through these waves, and my\nspirit was condemned to return to it every night. But now my head has\ncome in contact with the earth, and, my crime expiated, I can go to my\nfathers!\"\n\nI entreated him, thereupon, to tell how he had been brought to this\nhorrible state, and he began--\n\n\"Fifty years ago, I was an influential, distinguished man, and resided\nin Algiers: a passion for gain urged me on to fit out a ship, and turn\npirate. I had already followed this business some time, when once, at\nZante, I took on board a Dervise, who wished to travel for nothing. I\nand my companions were impious men, and paid no respect to the\nholiness of the man; I, in particular, made sport of him. When,\nhowever, on one occasion he upbraided me with holy zeal for my wicked\ncourse of life, that same evening, after I had been drinking to excess\nwith my pilot in the cabin, anger overpowered me. Reflecting on what\nthe Dervise had said to me, which I would not have borne from a\nSultan, I rushed upon deck, and plunged my dagger into his breast.\nDying, he cursed me and my crew, and doomed us not to die and not to\nlive, until we should lay our heads upon the earth.\n\n\"The Dervise expired, and we cast him overboard, laughing at his\nmenaces; that same night, however, were his words fulfilled. One\nportion of my crew rose against me; with terrible courage the struggle\ncontinued, until my supporters fell, and I myself was nailed to the\nmast. The mutineers, however, also sank under their wounds, and soon\nmy ship was but one vast grave. My eyes also closed, my breath\nstopped--I thought I was dying. But it was only a torpor which held me\nchained: the following night, at the same hour in which we had cast\nthe Dervise into the sea, I awoke, together with all my comrades;\nlife returned, but we could do and say nothing but what had been done\nand said on that fatal night. Thus we sailed for fifty years, neither\nliving nor dying, for how could we reach the land? With mad joy we\never dashed along, with full sails, before the storm, for we hoped at\nlast to be wrecked upon some cliff, and to compose our weary heads to\nrest upon the bottom of the sea; but in this we never succeeded. Now I\nshall die! Once again, unknown preserver, accept my thanks, and if\ntreasures can reward thee, then take my ship in token of my\ngratitude.\"\n\nWith these words the Captain let his head drop, and expired. Like his\ncompanions, he immediately fell to dust. We collected this in a little\nvessel, and buried it on the shore: and I took workmen from the city\nto put the ship in good condition. After I had exchanged, with great\nadvantage, the wares I had on board for others, I hired a crew, richly\nrewarded my friend Muley, and set sail for my fatherland. I took a\ncircuitous route, in the course of which I landed at several islands\nand countries, to bring my goods to market. The Prophet blessed my\nundertaking. After several years I ran into Balsora, twice as rich as\nthe dying Captain had made me. My fellow-citizens were amazed at my\nwealth and good fortune, and would believe nothing else but that I had\nfound the diamond-valley of the far-famed traveller Sinbad. I left\nthem to their belief; henceforth must the young folks of Balsora, when\nthey have scarcely arrived at their eighteenth year, go forth into the\nworld, like me, to seek their fortunes. I, however, live in peace and\ntranquillity, and every five years make a journey to Mecca, to thank\nthe Lord for his protection, in that holy place, and to entreat for\nthe Captain and his crew, that He will admit them into Paradise.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe march of the Caravan proceeded the next day without hinderance,\nand when they halted, Selim the Stranger began thus to speak to Muley,\nthe youngest of the merchants:\n\n\"You are, indeed, the youngest of us, nevertheless you are always in\nfine spirits, and, to a certainty, know for us, some right merry\nstory. Out with it then, that it may refresh us after the heat of the\nday.\"\n\n\"I might easily tell you something,\" answered Muley, \"which would\namuse you, nevertheless modesty becomes youth in all things; therefore\nmust my older companions have the precedence. Zaleukos is ever so\ngrave and reserved; should not he tell us what has made his life so\nserious? Perhaps we could assuage his grief, if such he have; for\ngladly would we serve a brother, even if he belong to another creed.\"\n\nThe person alluded to was a Grecian merchant of middle age, handsome\nand strongly built, but very serious. Although he was an unbeliever,\n(that is, no Mussulman,) still his companions were much attached to\nhim, for his whole conduct had inspired them with respect and\nconfidence. He had only one hand, and some of his companions\nconjectured that, perhaps, this loss gave so grave a tone to his\ncharacter. Zaleukos thus answered Muley's friendly request:\n\n\"I am much honored by your confidence: grief have I none, at least\nnone from which, even with your best wishes, you can relieve me.\nNevertheless, since Muley appears to blame me for my seriousness, I\nwill relate to you something which will justify me when I am more\ngrave than others. You see that I have lost my left hand; this came\nnot to me at my birth, but I lost it in the most unhappy days of my\nlife. Whether I bear the fault thereof, whether I am wrong to be more\nserious than my condition in life would seem to make me, you must\ndecide, when I have told you the STORY OF THE HEWN-OFF HAND.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTHE STORY OF THE HEWN OFF HAND.\n\n\nI was born in Constantinople; my father was a Dragoman of the Ottoman\nPorte, and carried on, besides, a tolerably lucrative trade in\nessences and silk goods. He gave me a good education, since he partly\nsuperintended it himself, and partly had me instructed by one of our\npriests. At first, he intended that I should one day take charge of\nhis business: but since I displayed greater capacity than he expected,\nwith the advice of his friends, he resolved that I should study\nmedicine; for a physician, if he only knows more than a common quack,\ncan make his fortune in Constantinople.\n\nMany Frenchmen were in the habit of coming to our house, and one of\nthem prevailed upon my father to let me go to the city of Paris, in\nhis fatherland, where one could learn the profession gratuitously, and\nwith the best advantages: he himself would take me with him, at his\nown expense, when he returned. My father, who in his youth had also\nbeen a traveller, consented, and the Frenchman told me to hold myself\nin readiness in three months. I was beside myself with delight to see\nforeign lands, and could not wait for the moment in which we should\nembark. At last the stranger had finished his business, and was ready\nto start.\n\nOn the evening preceding our voyage, my father conducted me into his\nsleeping apartment; there I saw fine garments and weapons lying on the\ntable; but what most attracted my eye was a large pile of gold, for I\nhad never before seen so much together. My father embraced me, and\nsaid,\n\n\"See, my son, I have provided thee with garments for thy journey.\nThese weapons are thine; they are those which thy grandfather hung\nupon me, when I went forth into foreign lands. I know thou canst wield\nthem; but use them not, unless thou art attacked; then, however, lay\non with right good-will. My wealth is not great; see! I have divided\nit into three parts: one is thine; one shall be for my support, and\nspare money in case of necessity; the third shall be sacred and\nuntouched by me, it may serve thee in the hour of need.\" Thus spoke my\nold father, while tears hung in his eyes, perhaps from a presentiment,\nfor I have never seen him since.\n\nOur voyage was favorable; we soon reached the land of the Franks, and\nsix days' journey brought us to the large city, Paris. Here my French\nfriend hired me a room, and advised me to be prudent in spending my\nmoney, which amounted to two thousand thalers. In this city I lived\nthree years, and learned all that a well-educated physician should\nknow. I would be speaking falsely, however, if I said that I was very\nhappy, for the customs of the people pleased me not; moreover, I had\nbut few good friends among them, but these were young men of\nnobility.\n\nThe longing after my native land at length became irresistible; during\nthe whole time I had heard nothing from my father, and I therefore\nseized a favorable opportunity to return home. There was going an\nembassy from France to the Supreme Porte: I agreed to join the train\nof the ambassador as surgeon, and soon arrived once more at Stamboul.\n\nMy father's dwelling, however, I found closed, and the neighbors,\nastonished at seeing me, said that my father had been dead for two\nmonths. The priest, who had instructed me in youth, brought me the\nkey. Alone and forsaken, I entered the desolate house. I found all as\nmy father had left it; but the gold which he promised to leave to me,\nwas missing. I inquired of the priest respecting it, and he bowed and\nsaid:\n\n\"Your father died like a holy man, for he left his gold to the\nChurch!\"\n\nThis was incomprehensible to me; nevertheless, what could I do? I had\nno proofs against the priest, and could only congratulate myself that\nhe had not also looked upon the house, and wares of my father, in the\nlight of a legacy. This was the first misfortune that met me; but after\nthis came one upon another. My reputation as a physician would not\nextend itself, because I was ashamed to play the quack; above all, I\nmissed the recommendation of my father, who had introduced me to the\nrichest and most respectable families; but now they thought no more of\nthe poor Zaleukos. Moreover, the wares of my father found no sale, for\nhis customers had been scattered at his death, and new ones came only\nafter a long time. One day, as I was reflecting sorrowfully upon my\nsituation, it occurred to me that in France I had often seen countrymen\nof mine, who travelled through the land, and exposed their goods at the\nmarket-places of the cities: I recollected that people gladly purchased\nof them, because they came from foreign lands; and that by such a\ntrade, one could make a hundred-fold. My resolution was forthwith\ntaken; I sold my paternal dwelling, gave a portion of the money\nobtained thereby to a tried friend to preserve for me, and with the\nremainder purchased such articles as were rare in France,--shawls,\nsilken goods, ointments, and oils; for these I hired a place upon a\nvessel, and thus began my second voyage to France. It appeared as if\nfortune became favorable to me, the moment I had the Straits of the\nDardanelles upon my back. Our voyage was short and prosperous. I\ntravelled through the cities of France, large and small, and found, in\nall, ready purchasers for my goods. My friend in Stamboul continually\nsent me fresh supplies, and I became richer from day to day. At last\nwhen I had husbanded so well, that I believed myself able to venture on\nsome more extensive undertaking, I went with my wares into Italy. I\nmust, however, mention something that brought me in no little money; I\ncalled my profession also to my assistance. As soon as I arrived in a\ncity I announced, by means of bills, that a Grecian physician was\nthere, who had already cured many; and, truly, my balsam, and my\nmedicines, had brought me in many a zechin.\n\nThus at last I reached the city of Florence, in Italy. I proposed to\nmyself to remain longer than usual in this place, partly because it\npleased me so well, partly, moreover, that I might recover from the\nfatigues of my journey. I hired myself a shop in the quarter of the\ncity called St. Croce, and in a tavern not far therefrom, took a\ncouple of fine rooms which led out upon a balcony. Immediately I had\nmy bills carried around, which announced me as a physician and\nmerchant. I had no sooner opened my shop than buyers streamed in upon\nme, and although I asked a tolerably high price, still I sold more\nthan others, because I was attentive and friendly to my customers.\n\nWell satisfied, I had spent four days in Florence, when one evening,\nafter I had shut my shop, and according to custom was examining my\nstock of ointment-boxes, I found, in one of the smaller ones, a letter\nwhich I did not remember to have put in. I opened it and found therein\nan invitation to repair that night, punctually at twelve, to the\nbridge called the Ponte Vecchio. For some time I reflected upon this,\nas to who it could be that had thus invited me; as, however, I knew\nnot a soul in Florence, I thought, as had often happened already, that\none wished to lead me privately to some sick person. Accordingly I\nresolved to go; nevertheless, as a precautionary measure, I put on\nthe sabre which my father had given me. As it was fast approaching\nmidnight, I set out upon my way, and soon arrived at the Ponte\nVecchio; I found the bridge forsaken and desolate, and resolved to\nwait until it should appear who had addressed me.\n\nIt was a cold night; the moon shone clear as I looked down upon the\nwaters of the Arno, which sparkled in her light. On the church of the\ncity the twelfth hour was sounding, when I looked up, and before me\nstood a tall man, entirely covered with a red cloak, a corner of which\nhe held before his face. At this sudden apparition I was at first\nsomewhat startled, but I soon recovered myself and said--\n\n\"If you have summoned me hither, tell me, what is your pleasure?\"\n\nThe Red-mantle turned, and solemnly ejaculated, \"Follow!\"\n\nMy mind was nevertheless somewhat uneasy at the idea of going alone\nwith this Unknown; I stood still and said, \"Not so, dear sir; you will\nfirst tell me whither; moreover, you may show me your face a little,\nthat I may see whether you have good intentions towards me.\"\n\nThe Stranger, however, appeared not to be concerned thereat. \"If thou\nwishest it not, Zaleukos, then remain!\" answered he, moving away. At\nthis my anger burned.\n\n\"Think you,\" I cried, \"that I will suffer a man to play the fool with\nme, and wait here this cold night for nothing?\" In three bounds I\nreached him; crying still louder, I seized him by the cloak, laying\nthe other hand upon my sabre; but the mantle remained in my hand, and\nthe Unknown vanished around the nearest corner. My anger gradually\ncooled; I still had the cloak, and this should furnish the key to this\nstrange adventure. I put it on, and moved towards home. Before I had\ntaken a hundred steps, somebody passed very near, and whispered in the\nFrench tongue, \"Observe, Count, to-night, we can do nothing.\" Before I\ncould look around, this somebody had passed, and I saw only a shadow\nhovering near the houses. That this exclamation was addressed to the\nmantle, and not to me, I plainly perceived; nevertheless, this threw\nno light upon the matter. Next morning I considered what was best to\nbe done. At first I thought of having proclamation made respecting\nthe cloak, that I had found it; but in that case the Unknown could\nsend for it by a third person, and I would have no explanation of the\nmatter. While thus meditating I took a nearer view of the garment. It\nwas of heavy Genoese velvet, of dark red color, bordered with fur from\nAstrachan, and richly embroidered with gold. The gorgeousness of the\ncloak suggested to me a plan, which I resolved to put in execution. I\ncarried it to my shop and offered it for sale, taking care, however,\nto set so high a price upon it, that I would be certain to find no\npurchaser. My object in this was to fix my eye keenly upon every one\nwho should come to inquire after it; for the figure of the Unknown,\nwhich, after the loss of the mantle, had been exposed to me distinctly\nthough transiently, I could recognise out of thousands. Many merchants\ncame after the cloak, the extraordinary beauty of which drew all eyes\nupon it; but none bore the slightest resemblance to the Unknown, none\nwould give for it the high price of two hundred zechins. It was\nsurprising to me, that when I asked one and another whether there was\na similar mantle in Florence, all answered in the negative, and\nprotested that they had never seen such costly and elegant\nworkmanship.\n\nIt was just becoming evening, when at last there came a young man who\nhad often been in there, and had also that very day bid high for the\nmantle; he threw upon the table a bag of zechins, exclaiming--\n\n\"By Heaven! Zaleukos, I must have your mantle, should I be made a\nbeggar by it.\" Immediately he began to count out his gold pieces. I\nwas in a great dilemma; I had exposed the mantle, in order thereby to\nget a sight of my unknown friend, and now came a young simpleton to\ngive the unheard-of price. Nevertheless, what remained for me? I\ncomplied, for on the other hand the reflection consoled me, that my\nnight adventure would be so well rewarded. The young man put on the\ncloak and departed; he turned, however, upon the threshold, while he\nloosened a paper which was attached to the collar, and threw it\ntowards me, saying, \"Here, Zaleukos, hangs something, that does not\nproperly belong to my purchase.\" Indifferently, I received the note;\nbut lo! these were the contents:--\n\n\"This night, at the hour thou knowest, bring the mantle to the Ponte\nVecchio; four hundred zechins await thee!\"\n\nI stood as one thunder-struck: thus had I trifled with fortune, and\nentirely missed my aim. Nevertheless, I reflected not long; catching\nup the two hundred zechins, I bounded to the side of the young man and\nsaid, \"Take your zechins again, my good friend, and leave me the\ncloak; I cannot possibly part with it.\"\n\nAt first he treated the thing as a jest, but when he saw it was\nearnest, he fell in a passion at my presumption, and called me a fool;\nand thus at last we came to blows. I was fortunate enough to seize the\nmantle in the scuffle, and was already making off with it, when the\nyoung man called the police to his assistance, and had both of us\ncarried before a court of justice. The magistrate was much astonished\nat the accusation, and adjudged the cloak to my opponent. I however,\noffered the young man twenty, fifty, eighty, at last a hundred,\nzechins, in addition to his two hundred, if he would surrender it to\nme. What my entreaties could not accomplish, my gold did. He took my\ngood zechins, while I went off in triumph with the mantle, obliged to\nbe satisfied with being taken for a madman by every one in Florence.\nNevertheless, the opinion of the people was a matter of indifference\nto me, for I knew better than they, that I would still gain by the\nbargain.\n\nWith impatience I awaited the night; at the same hour as the preceding\nday, I proceeded to the Ponte Vecchio, the mantle under my arm. With\nthe last stroke of the clock, came the figure out of darkness to my\nside: beyond a doubt it was the man of the night before.\n\n\"Hast thou the cloak?\" I was asked.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" I replied, \"but it cost me a hundred zechins cash.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" rejoined he; \"look, here are four hundred.\" He moved with\nme to the broad railing of the bridge and counted out the gold pieces;\nbrightly they glimmered in the moonshine, their lustre delighted my\nheart--ah! it did not foresee that this was to be its last joy. I put\nthe money in my pocket, and then wished to get a good view of the\ngenerous stranger, but he had a mask before his face, through which\ntwo dark eyes frightfully beamed upon me.\n\n\"I thank you, sir, for your kindness,\" said I to him; \"what further\ndesire you of me? I told you before, however, that it must be nothing\nevil.\"\n\n\"Unnecessary trouble,\" answered he, throwing the cloak over his\nshoulders; \"I needed your assistance as a physician, nevertheless not\nfor a living, but for a dead person.\"\n\n\"How can that be?\" exclaimed I in amazement.\n\n\"I came with my sister from a distant land,\" rejoined he, at the same\ntime motioning me to follow him, \"and took up my abode with a friend\nof our family. A sudden disease carried off my sister yesterday, and\nour relations wished to bury her this morning. According to an old\nusage of our family, however, all are to repose in the sepulchre of\nour fathers; many who have died in foreign lands, nevertheless sleep\nthere embalmed. To my relations now I grant the body, but to my father\nmust I bring at least the head of his daughter, that he may see it\nonce again.\"\n\nIn this custom of severing the head from near relatives there was to\nme, indeed, something awful; nevertheless, I ventured to say nothing\nagainst it, through fear of offending the Unknown. I told him,\ntherefore, that I was well acquainted with the art of embalming the\ndead, and asked him to lead me to the body. Notwithstanding, I could\nnot keep myself from inquiring why all this must be done so secretly\nin the night. He answered me that his relations, who considered his\npurpose inhuman, would prevent him from accomplishing it by day; but\nonly let the head once be cut off, and they could say little more\nabout it: he could, indeed, have brought the head to me, but a natural\nfeeling prevented him from cutting it off himself.\n\nThese words brought us to a large splendid house; my companion pointed\nit out to me as the termination of our nocturnal walk. We passed the\nprincipal door, and entering a small gate, which the stranger\ncarefully closed after him, ascended, in the dark, a narrow, winding\nstaircase. This brought us to a dimly-lighted corridor, from which we\nentered an apartment; a lamp, suspended from the ceiling, shed its\nbrilliant rays around.\n\nIn this chamber stood a bed, on which lay the corpse; the Unknown\nturned away his face, as if wishing to conceal his tears. He beckoned\nme to the bed, and bidding me set about my business speedily yet\ncarefully, went out by the door.\n\nI seized my knives, which, as a physician, I constantly carried with\nme, and approached the bed. Only the head of the corpse was visible,\nbut that was so beautiful that the deepest compassion involuntarily\ncame over me. In long braids the dark hair hung down; the face was\npale, the eyes closed. At first, I made an incision in the skin,\naccording to the practice of surgeons when they remove a limb. Then I\ntook my sharpest knife and cut entirely through the throat. But,\nhorror! the dead opened her eyes--shut them again--and in a deep sigh\nseemed now, for the first time, to breathe forth her life! Straightway\na stream of hot blood sprang forth from the wound. I was convinced\nthat I had killed the poor girl; for that she was dead there could be\nno doubt--from such a wound there was no chance of recovering. I stood\nsome moments in anxious wo, thinking on what had happened. Had the\nRed-mantle deceived me, or was his sister, perhaps, only apparently\ndead? The latter appeared to me more probable. Yet I dared not tell\nthe brother of the deceased, that, perhaps, a less rash blow would\nhave aroused, without having killed her; therefore I began to sever\nthe head entirely--but once again the dying one groaned, stretched\nherself out in a convulsion of pain, and breathed her last. Then\nterror overpowered me, and I rushed shivering out of the apartment.\n\nBut outside in the corridor it was dark, for the lamp had died out; no\ntrace of my companion was perceptible, and I was obliged to move along\nby the wall, at hazard in the dark, in order to reach the\nwinding-stairs. I found them at last, and descended, half falling,\nhalf gliding. There was no one below; the door was only latched, and I\nbreathed more freely when I was in the street, out of the uneasy\natmosphere of the house. Spurred on by fear, I ran to my dwelling, and\nburied myself in the pillow of my bed, in order to forget the horrid\ncrime I had committed. But sleep fled my eyelids, and soon morning\nadmonished me again to collect myself. It seemed probable to me, that\nthe man who had led me to this villainous deed, as it now appeared to\nme, would not denounce me. I immediately resolved to attend to my\nbusiness in my shop, and to put on as careless an air as possible.\nBut, alas! a new misfortune, which I now for the first time observed,\naugmented my sorrow. My cap and girdle, as also my knives, were\nmissing; and I knew not whether they had been left in the chamber of\nthe dead, or lost during my flight. Alas! the former seemed more\nprobable, and they could discover in me the murderer.\n\nI opened my shop at the usual time; a neighbor stepped in, as was his\ncustom, being a communicative man. \"Ah! what say you to the horrid\ndeed,\" he cried, \"that was committed last night?\" I started as if I\nknew nothing. \"How! know you not that with which the whole city is\nfilled? Know you not that last night, the fairest flower in Florence,\nBianca, the daughter of the Governor, was murdered? Ah! only yesterday\nI saw her walking happily through the streets with her bridegroom, for\nto-day she would have had her nuptial festival!\"\n\nEvery word of my neighbor was a dagger to my heart; and how often\nreturned my torments! for each of my customers told me the story, one\nmore frightfully than another; yet not one could tell it half so\nhorribly as it had seemed to me. About mid-day, an officer of justice\nunexpectedly walked into my shop, and asked me to clear it of the\nbystanders.\n\n\"Signor Zaleukos,\" said he, showing me the articles I had lost,\n\"belong these things to you?\" I reflected whether I should not\nentirely disown them; but when I saw through the half-opened door, my\nlandlord and several acquaintances, who could readily testify against\nme, I determined not to make the matter worse by a falsehood, and\nacknowledged the articles exhibited as my own. The officer told me to\nfollow him, and conducted me to a spacious building, which I soon\nrecognised as the prison. Then, a little farther on, he showed me into\nan apartment.\n\nMy situation was terrible, as I reflected on it in my solitude. The\nthought of having committed a murder, even against my wish, returned\nagain and again. Moreover, I could not conceal from myself that the\nglance of the gold had dazzled my senses; otherwise I would not have\nfallen so blindly into the snare.\n\nTwo hours after my arrest, I was led from my chamber, and after\ndescending several flights of stairs, entered a spacious saloon.\nAround a long table hung with black, were seated twelve men, mostly\ngray with age. Along the side of the room, benches were arranged, on\nwhich were seated the first people of Florence. In the gallery, which\nwas built quite high, stood the spectators, closely crowded together.\nAs soon as I reached the black table, a man with a gloomy, sorrowful\nair arose--it was the Governor. He told the audience that, as a\nfather, he could not judge impartially in this matter, and that he,\nfor this occasion, would surrender his seat to the oldest of the\nsenators. The latter was a gray-headed man, of at least ninety years.\nHe arose, stooping beneath the weight of age; his temples were covered\nwith thin white hair, but his eyes still burned brightly, and his\nvoice was strong and steady. He began by asking me whether I confessed\nthe murder. I entreated his attention, and with dauntless, distinct\nvoice, related what I had done and all that I knew. I observed that\nthe Governor during my recital turned first pale, then red, and when I\nconcluded, became furious. \"How, wretch!\" he cried out to me,\n\"wishest thou thus to lay upon another, the crime thy avarice has\ncommitted?\"\n\nThe Senator rebuked him for his interruption, after having of his own\nfree will resigned his right; moreover, that it was not so clear, that\nI had done the deed through avarice, for according to his own\ntestimony, nothing had been taken from the corpse. Yes, he went still\nfurther; he told the Governor that he must give an account of his\ndaughter's early life, for in this way only could one conclude whether\nI had told the truth or not. Immediately he closed the court for that\nday, for the purpose, as he said, of consulting the papers of the\ndeceased, which the Governor was to give him. I was carried back to my\nprison, where I passed a sorrowful day, constantly occupied with the\nardent hope, that they would in some way discover the connection\nbetween the deceased and the Red-mantle.\n\nFull of hope, I proceeded the next day to the justice-hall. Several\nletters lay upon the table; the old Senator asked whether they were of\nmy writing. I looked at them, and found that they were by the same\nhand as both the letters that I had received. This I disclosed to the\nSenator; but he seemed to give but little weight to it, answering that\nI must have written both, for the name subscribed was unquestionably a\nZ, the initial of my name. The letters, however, contained menaces\nagainst the deceased, and warnings against the marriage which she was\non the point of consummating. The Governor seemed to have imparted\nsomething strange and untrue, with respect to my person; for I was\ntreated this day with more suspicion and severity. For my\njustification, I appealed to the papers, which would be found in my\nroom, but I was informed that search had been made and nothing found.\nThus, at the close of the court, vanished all my hope; and when, on\nthe third day, I was led again to the hall, the judgment was read\naloud, that I was convicted of a premeditated murder, and sentenced to\ndeath. To such extremity had I come; forsaken by all that was dear to\nme on earth, far from my native land, innocent and in the bloom of my\nyears, I was to die by the axe!\n\nOn the evening of this terrible day which had decided my fate, I was\nseated in my lonely dungeon, my hopes past, my thoughts seriously\nturned upon death, when the door of my prison opened, and a man\nentered who regarded me long in silence.\n\n\"Do I see you again, in this situation, Zaleukos?\" he began. By the\ndim light of my lamp I had not recognised him, but the sound of his\nvoice awoke within me old recollections. It was Valetty, one of the\nfew friends I had made during my studies at Paris. He said that he had\ncasually come to Florence, where his father, a distinguished man,\nresided; he had heard of my story, and come to see me once more, to\ninquire with his own lips, how I could have been guilty of such an\nawful crime. I told him the whole history: he seemed lost in wonder,\nand conjured me to tell him, my only friend, all the truth, and not to\ndepart with a lie upon my tongue. I swore to him with the most solemn\noath, that I had spoken the truth; and that no other guilt could be\nattached to me, than that, having been blinded by the glance of the\ngold, I had not seen the improbability of the Stranger's story. \"Then\ndid you not know Bianca?\" asked he. I assured him that I had never\nseen her. Valetty thereupon told me that there was a deep mystery in\nthe matter; that the Governor in great haste had urged my\ncondemnation, and that a report was current among the people, that I\nhad known Bianca for a long time, and had murdered her out of revenge\nfor her intended marriage with another. I informed him that all this\nwas probably true of the Red-mantle, but that I could not prove his\nparticipation in the deed. Valetty embraced me, weeping, and promised\nme to do all that he could; to save my life, if nothing more. I had\nnot much hope; nevertheless, I knew that my friend was a wise man, and\nwell acquainted with the laws, and that he would do all in his power\nto preserve me.\n\nTwo long days was I in suspense; at length Valetty appeared. \"I bring\nconsolation, though even that is attended with sorrow. You shall live\nand be free, but with the loss of a hand!\"\n\nOverjoyed, I thanked my friend for my life. He told me that the\nGovernor had been inexorable, and would not once look into the matter:\nthat at length, however, rather than appear unjust, he had agreed, if\na similar case could be found in the annals of Florentine history,\nthat my penalty should be regulated by the punishment that was then\ninflicted. He and his father had searched, day and night, in the old\nbooks, and had at length found a case similar in every respect to\nmine; the sentence there ran thus:--\n\n\"He shall have his left hand cut off; his goods shall be confiscated,\nand he himself banished forever!\"\n\nSuch now was my sentence, also, and I was to prepare for the painful\nhour that awaited me. I will not bring before your eyes the frightful\nmoment, in which, at the open market-place, I laid my hand upon the\nblock; in which my own blood in thick streams flowed over me!\n\nValetty took me to his house until I had recovered, and then\ngenerously supplied me with money for my journey, for all that I had\nso laboriously acquired was confiscated to Justice. I went from\nFlorence to Sicily, and thence, by the first ship I could find, to\nConstantinople. My hopes, which rested on the sum of money I had left\nwith my friend, were not disappointed. I proposed that I should live\nwith him--how astonished was I, when he asked why I occupied not my\nown house! He told me that a strange man had, in my name, bought a\nhouse in the quarter of the Greeks, and told the neighbors that I\nwould soon, myself, return. I immediately proceeded to it with my\nfriend, and was joyfully received by all my old acquaintances. An aged\nmerchant handed me a letter which the man who purchased for me had\nleft. I read:--\n\n\"Zaleukos! two hands stand ready to work unceasingly, that thou mayest\nnot feel the loss of one. That house which thou seest and all therein\nare thine, and every year shalt thou receive so much, that thou shalt\nbe among the rich of thy nation. Mayest thou forgive one who is more\nunhappy than thyself!\"\n\nI could guess who was the writer, and the merchant told me, in answer\nto my inquiry that it was a man covered with a red cloak, whom he had\ntaken for a Frenchman. I knew enough to convince me that the Unknown\nwas not entirely devoid of generous feeling. In my new house I found\nall arranged in the best style; a shop, moreover, full of wares, finer\nthan any I had ever had. Ten years have elapsed since then; more in\ncompliance with ancient custom, than because it is necessary, do I\ncontinue to travel in foreign lands for purposes of trade, but the\nland which was so fatal to me I have never seen since. Every year I\nreceive a thousand pieces of gold; but although it rejoices me to know\nthat this Unfortunate is so noble, still can his money never remove wo\nfrom my soul, for there lives forever the heart-rending image of the\nmurdered Bianca!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThus ended the story of Zaleukos, the Grecian merchant. With great\ninterest had the others listened; the stranger, in particular, seemed\nto be wrapt up in it: more than once he had drawn a deep sigh, and\nMuley looked as if he had had tears in his eyes. No one spoke for some\ntime after the recital.\n\n\"And hate you not the Unknown, who so basely cost you a noble member\nof your body, and even put your life in danger?\" inquired Selim.\n\n\"Perhaps there were hours at first,\" answered the Greek, \"in which my\nheart accused him before God, of having brought this misfortune upon\nme, and embittered my life; but I found consolation in the religion of\nmy fathers, which commanded me to love my enemies. Moreover, he\nprobably is more unhappy than myself.\"\n\n\"You are a noble man!\" exclaimed Selim, cordially pressing the hand of\nthe Greek.\n\nThe leader of the escort, however, here interrupted their\nconversation. He came with a troubled air into the tent, and told them\nthat they could not give themselves up to repose, for this was the\nplace in which Caravans were usually attacked, and his guards imagined\nthey had seen several horsemen in the distance.\n\nThe merchants were confounded at this intelligence. Selim, the\nstranger, however, expressed wonder at their alarm, saying they were\nso well escorted they need not fear a troop of Arabian robbers.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" rejoined to him the leader of the guard; \"were he only a\ncommon outlaw, we could compose ourselves to rest without anxiety; but\nfor some time back, the frightful Orbasan has shown himself again, and\nit is well to be upon our guard.\"\n\nThe stranger inquired who this Orbasan was, and Achmet, the old\nmerchant, answered him:--\n\n\"Various rumors are current among the people with respect to this\nwonderful man. Some hold him to be a supernatural being, because, with\nonly five or six men, he has frequently fallen upon a whole\nencampment; others regard him as a bold Frenchman, whom misfortune has\ndriven into this region: out of all this, however, thus much alone is\ncertain, that he is an abandoned robber and highwayman.\"\n\n\"That can you not prove,\" answered Lezah, one of the merchants.\n\"Robber as he is, he is still a noble man, and such has he shown\nhimself to my brother, as I can relate to you. He has formed his\nwhole band of well-disciplined men, and as long as he marches through\nthe desert, no other band ventures to show itself. Moreover, he robs\nnot as others, but only exacts a tribute from the caravans; whoever\nwillingly pays this, proceeds without further danger, for Orbasan is\nlord of the wilderness!\"\n\nThus did the travellers converse together in the tent; the guards,\nhowever, who were stationed around the resting-place, began to become\nuneasy. A tolerably large band of armed horsemen showed themselves at\nthe distance of half a league. They appeared to be riding straight to\nthe encampment; one of the guard came into the tent, to inform them\nthat they would probably be attacked.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe merchants consulted among themselves as to what they should do,\nwhether to march against them, or await the attack. Achmet and the two\nelder merchants inclined to the latter course; the fiery Muley,\nhowever, and Zaleukos desired the former, and summoned the stranger to\ntheir assistance. He, however, quietly drew forth from his girdle a\nlittle blue cloth spangled with red stars, bound it upon a lance,\nand commanded one of the slaves to plant it in front of the tent: he\nwould venture his life upon it, he said, that the horsemen, when they\nsaw this signal, would quietly march back again. Muley trusted not the\nresult; still the slave put out the lance in front of the tent.\nMeanwhile all in the camp had seized their weapons, and were looking\nupon the horsemen in eager expectation. The latter, however, appeared\nto have espied the signal; they suddenly swerved from their direct\ncourse towards the encampment, and, in a large circle, moved off to\nthe side.\n\nStruck with wonder, the travellers stood some moments, gazing\nalternately at the horsemen and the stranger. The latter stood in\nfront of the tent quite indifferently, as though nothing had happened,\nlooking upon the plain before him. At last Muley broke the silence.\n\n\"Who art thou, mighty stranger,\" he exclaimed, \"that restrainest with\na glance the wild hordes of the desert?\"\n\n\"You rate my art higher than it deserves,\" answered Selim Baruch. \"I\nobserved this signal when I fled from captivity; what it means, I know\nnot--only this much I know, that whoever travels with this sign, is\nunder great protection.\"\n\nThe merchants thanked the stranger, and called him their preserver;\nindeed, the number of the robbers was so great, that the Caravan could\nnot, probably, for any length of time, have offered an effectual\nresistance.\n\nWith lighter hearts they now gave themselves to sleep; and when the\nsun began to sink, and the evening wind to pass over the sand-plain,\nthey struck their tents, and marched on. The next day they halted\nsafely, only one day's journey from the entrance of the desert. When\nthe travellers had once more collected in the large tent, Lezah, the\nmerchant, took up the discourse.\n\n\"I told you, yesterday, that the dreaded Orbasan was a noble man;\npermit me to prove it to you, to-day, by the relation of my brother's\nadventure. My father was Cadi of Acara. He had three children; I was\nthe eldest, my brother and sister being much younger than myself. When\nI was twenty years old, a brother of my father took me under his\nprotection; he made me heir to his property, on condition that I\nshould remain with him until his death. He however had reached an old\nage, so that before two years I returned to my native land, having\nknown nothing, before, of the misfortune which had meanwhile fallen\nupon my family, and how Allah had turned it to advantage.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nFATIMA'S DELIVERANCE.\n\n\nMy brother Mustapha and my sister Fatima were almost of the same age;\nthe former was at most but two years older. They loved each other\nfervently, and did in concert, all that could lighten, for our\nsuffering father, the burden of his old age. On Fatima's seventeenth\nbirthday, my brother prepared a festival. He invited all her\ncompanions, and set before them a choice banquet in the gardens of\nour father, and, towards evening, proposed to them to take a little\nsail upon the sea, in a boat which he had hired, and adorned in grand\nstyle. Fatima and her companions agreed with joy, for the evening was\nfine, and the city, particularly when viewed by evening from the sea,\npromised a magnificent prospect. The girls, however, were so well\npleased upon the bark, that they continually entreated my brother to\ngo farther out upon the sea. Mustapha, however, yielded reluctantly,\nbecause a Corsair had been seen, for several days back, in that\nvicinity.\n\nNot far from the city, a promontory projected into the sea; thither\nthe maidens were anxious to go, in order to see the sun sink into the\nwater. Having rowed thither, they beheld a boat occupied by armed men.\nAnticipating no good, my brother commanded the oarsmen to turn the\nvessel, and make for land. His apprehensions seemed, indeed, to be\nconfirmed, for the boat quickly approached that of my brother, and\ngetting ahead of it, (for it had more rowers,) ran between it and the\nland. The young girls, moreover, when they knew the danger to which\nthey were exposed, sprang up with cries and lamentations: in vain\nMustapha sought to quiet them, in vain enjoined upon them to be still,\nlest their running to and fro should upset the vessel. It was of no\navail; and when, in consequence of the proximity of the other boat,\nall ran upon the further side, it was upset.\n\nMeanwhile, they had observed from the land the approach of the strange\nboat, and, inasmuch as, for some time back, they had been in anxiety\non account of Corsairs, their suspicions were excited, and several\nboats put off from the land to their assistance: but they only came in\ntime to pick up the drowning. In the confusion, the hostile boat\nescaped. In both barks, however, which had taken in those who were\npreserved, they were uncertain whether all had been saved. They\napproached each other, and, alas! found that my sister and one of her\ncompanions were missing; at the same time, in their number a stranger\nwas discovered, who was known to none. In answer to Mustapha's\nthreats, he confessed that he belonged to the hostile ship, which was\nlying at anchor two miles to the eastward, and that his companions had\nleft him behind in their hasty flight, while he was engaged in\nassisting to pick up the maidens; moreover, he said he had seen two\ntaken on board their boat.\n\nThe grief of my old father was without bounds, but Mustapha also was\nafflicted unto death, for not only had his beloved sister been lost,\nand did he accuse himself of having been the cause of her misfortune,\nbut, also, her companion who had shared it with her, had been promised\nto him by her parents as his wife; still had he not dared to avow it\nto our father, because her family was poor, and of low descent. My\nfather, however, was a stern man; as soon as his sorrow had subsided a\nlittle, he called Mustapha before him, and thus spake to him:--\n\n\"Thy folly has deprived me of the consolation of my old age, and the\njoy of my eyes. Go! I banish thee forever from my sight! I curse thee\nand thine offspring--and only when thou shalt restore to me my Fatima,\nshall thy head be entirely free from a father's execrations!\"\n\nThis my poor brother had not expected; already, before this, he had\ndetermined to go in search of his sister and her friend, after having\nasked the blessing of his father upon his efforts, and now that father\nhad sent him forth into the world, laden with his curse. As, however,\nhis former grief had bowed him down, so this consummation of\nmisfortune, which he had not deserved, tended to steel his mind. He\nwent to the imprisoned pirate, and, demanding whither the ship was\nbound, learned that she carried on a trade in slaves, and usually had\na great sale thereof in Balsora.\n\nOn his return to the house, in order to prepare for his journey, the\nanger of his father seemed to have subsided a little, for he sent him\na purse full of gold, to support him during his travels. Mustapha,\nthereupon, in tears took leave of the parents of Zoraida, (for so his\naffianced was called,) and set out upon the route to Balsora.\n\nMustapha travelled by land, because from our little city there was no\nship that went direct to Balsora. He was obliged, therefore, to use\nall expedition, in order not to arrive too long after the sea-robbers.\nHaving a good horse and no luggage, he hoped to reach this city by the\nend of the sixth day. On the evening of the fourth, however, as he\nwas riding all alone upon his way, three men came suddenly upon him.\nHaving observed that they were well-armed and powerful men, and sought\nhis money and his horse, rather than his life, he cried out that he\nwould yield himself to them. They dismounted, and tied his feet\ntogether under his horse; then they placed him in their midst, and,\nwithout a word spoken, trotted quickly away with him; one of them\nhaving seized his bridle.\n\nMustapha gave himself up to a feeling of gloomy despair; the curse of\nhis father seemed already to be undergoing its accomplishment on the\nunfortunate one, and how could he hope to save his sister and Zoraida,\nshould he, robbed of all his means, even be able to devote his poor\nlife to their deliverance? Mustapha and his silent companions might\nhave ridden about an hour, when they entered a little valley. The vale\nwas enclosed by lofty trees; a soft, dark-green turf, and a stream\nwhich ran swiftly through its midst, invited to repose. In this place\nwere pitched from fifteen to twenty tents, to the stakes of which were\nfastened camels and fine horses: from one of these tents distinctly\nsounded the melody of a guitar, blended with two fine manly voices. It\nseemed to my brother as if people who had chosen so blithesome a\nresting-place, could have no evil intentions towards himself; and\naccordingly, without apprehension, he obeyed the summons of his\nconductors, who had unbound his feet, and made signs to him to follow.\nThey led him into a tent which was larger than the rest, and on the\ninside was magnificently fitted up. Splendid cushions embroidered with\ngold, woven carpets, gilded censers, would elsewhere have bespoken\nopulence and respectability, but here seemed only the booty of a\nrobber band. Upon one of the cushions an old and small-sized man was\nreclining: his countenance was ugly; a dark-brown and shining skin, a\ndisgusting expression around his eyes, and a mouth of malicious\ncunning, combined to render his whole appearance odious. Although this\nman sought to put on a commanding air, still Mustapha soon perceived\nthat not for him was the tent so richly adorned, and the conversation\nof his conductors seemed to confirm him in his opinion.\n\n\"Where is the Mighty?\" inquired they of the little man.\n\n\"He is out upon a short hunt,\" was the answer; \"but he has\ncommissioned me to attend to his affairs.\"\n\n\"That has he not wisely done,\" rejoined one of the robbers; \"for it\nmust soon be determined whether this dog is to die or be ransomed, and\nthat the Mighty knows better than thou.\"\n\nBeing very sensitive in all that related to his usurped dignity, the\nlittle man, raising himself, stretched forward in order to reach the\nother's ear with the extremity of his hand, for he seemed desirous of\nrevenging himself by a blow; but when he saw that his attempt was\nfruitless, he set about abusing him (and indeed the others did not\nremain much in his debt) to such a degree, that the tent resounded\nwith their strife. Thereupon, of a sudden, the tent-door opened, and\nin walked a tall, stately man, young and handsome as a Persian prince.\nHis garments and weapons, with the exception of a richly-mounted\nponiard and gleaming sabre, were plain and simple; his serious eye,\nhowever, and his whole appearance, demanded respect without exciting\nfear.\n\n\"Who is it that dares to engage in strife within my tent?\" exclaimed\nhe, as they started back aghast. For a long time deep stillness\nprevailed, till at last one of those who had captured Mustapha,\nrelated to him how it had begun. Thereupon the countenance of \"the\nMighty,\" as they had called him, seemed to grow red with passion.\n\n\"When would I have placed thee, Hassan, over my concerns?\" he cried,\nin frightful accents, to the little man. The latter, in his fear,\nshrunk until he seemed even smaller than before, and crept towards the\ndoor of the tent. One step of the Mighty was sufficient to send him\nthrough the entrance with a long singular bound. As soon as the little\nman had vanished, the three led Mustapha before the master of the\ntent, who had meanwhile reclined upon the cushion.\n\n\"Here bring we thee him, whom thou commandedst us to take.\" He\nregarded the prisoner for some time, and then said, \"Bashaw of\nSulieika, thine own conscience will tell thee why thou standest before\nOrbasan.\" When my brother heard this, he bowed low and answered:--\n\n\"My lord, you appear to labor under a mistake; I am a poor\nunfortunate, not the Bashaw, whom you seek.\" At this all were amazed;\nthe master of the tent, however, said:--\n\n\"Dissimulation can help you little, for I will summon the people who\nknow you well.\" He commanded them to bring in Zuleima. An old woman\nwas led into the tent, who, on being asked whether in my brother she\nrecognised the Bashaw of Sulieika, answered:--\n\n\"Yes, verily! And I swear by the grave of the Prophet, it is the\nBashaw, and no other!\"\n\n\"Seest thou, wretch, that thy dissimulation has become as water?\"\ncried out the Mighty in a furious tone. \"Thou art too pitiful for me\nto stain my good dagger with thy blood, but to-morrow, when the sun is\nup, will I bind thee to the tail of my horse, and gallop with thee\nthrough the woods, until they separate behind the hills of Sulieika!\"\nThen sank my poor brother's courage within him.\n\n\"It is my cruel father's curse, that urges me to an ignominious\ndeath,\" exclaimed he, weeping; \"and thou, too, art lost, sweet\nsister, and thou, Zoraida!\"\n\n\"Thy dissimulation helps thee not,\" said one of the robbers, as he\nbound his hands behind his back. \"Come, out of the tent with thee! for\nthe Mighty is biting his lips, and feeling for his dagger. If thou\nwouldst live another night, bestir thyself!\"\n\nJust as the robbers were leading my brother from the tent, they met\nthree of their companions, who were also pushing a captive before\nthem. They entered with him. \"Here bring we the Bashaw, as thou hast\ncommanded,\" said they, conducting the prisoner before the cushion of\nthe Mighty. While they were so doing, my brother had an opportunity of\nexamining him, and was struck with surprise at the remarkable\nresemblance which this man bore to himself; the only difference being,\nthat he was of more gloomy aspect, and had a black beard. The Mighty\nseemed much astonished at the resemblance of the two captives.\n\n\"Which of you is the right one?\" he asked, looking alternately at\nMustapha and the other.\n\n\"If thou meanest the Bashaw of Sulieika,\" answered the latter in a\nhaughty tone, \"I am he!\"\n\nThe Mighty regarded him for a long time with his grave, terrible eye,\nand then silently motioned to them to lead him off. This having been\ndone, he approached my brother, severed his bonds with his dagger, and\ninvited him by signs to sit upon the cushion beside him. \"It grieves\nme, stranger,\" he said, \"that I took you for this villain. It has\nhappened, however, by some mysterious interposition of Providence,\nwhich placed you in the hands of my companions, at the very hour in\nwhich the destruction of this wretch was ordained.\"\n\nMustapha, thereupon, entreated him only for permission to pursue his\njourney immediately, for this delay might cost him much. The Mighty\nasked what business it could be that required such haste, and, when\nMustapha had told him all, he persuaded him to spend that night in his\ntent, and allow his horse some rest; and promised the next morning to\nshow him a route which would bring him to Balsora in a day and a half.\nMy brother consented, was sumptuously entertained, and slept soundly\ntill morning in the robber's tent.\n\nUpon awaking, he found himself all alone in the tent, but, before the\nentrance, heard several voices in conversation, which seemed to belong\nto the swarthy little man and the bandit-chief. He listened awhile,\nand to his horror heard the little man eagerly urging the other to\nslay the stranger, since, if he were let go, he could betray them all.\nMustapha immediately perceived that the little man hated him, for\nhaving been the cause of his rough treatment the day before. The\nMighty seemed to be reflecting a moment.\n\n\"No,\" said he; \"he is my guest, and the laws of hospitality are with\nme sacred: moreover, he does not look like one that would betray us.\"\n\nHaving thus spoken, he threw back the tent-cover, and walked in.\n\"Peace be with thee, Mustapha!\" he said: \"let us taste the\nmorning-drink, and then prepare thyself for thy journey.\" He offered\nmy brother a cup of sherbet, and after they had drunk, they saddled\ntheir horses, and Mustapha mounted, with a lighter heart, indeed, than\nwhen he entered the vale. They had soon turned their backs upon the\ntents, and took a broad path, which led into the forest. The Mighty\ninformed my brother, that this Bashaw whom they had captured in the\nchase, had promised them that they should remain undisturbed within\nhis jurisdiction; but some weeks before, he had taken one of their\nbravest men, and had him hung, after the most terrible tortures. He\nhad waited for him a long time, and to-day he must die. Mustapha\nventured not to say a word in opposition, for he was glad to have\nescaped himself with a whole skin.\n\nAt the entrance of the forest, the Mighty checked his horse, showed\nMustapha the way, and gave him his hand with these words: \"Mustapha,\nthou becamest in a strange way the guest of the robber Orbasan. I will\nnot ask thee not to betray what thou hast seen and heard. Thou hast\nunjustly endured the pains of death, and I owe thee a recompense. Take\nthis dagger as a remembrance, and when thou hast need of help, send it\nto me, and I will hasten to thy assistance. This purse thou wilt\nperhaps need upon thy journey.\"\n\nMy brother thanked him for his generosity; he took the dagger, but\nrefused the purse. Orbasan, however, pressed once again his hand, let\nthe money fall to the ground, and galloped with the speed of the wind\ninto the forest. Mustapha, seeing that he could not overtake him,\ndismounted to secure the purse, and was astonished at the great\nmagnanimity of his host, for it contained a large sum of gold. He\nthanked Allah for his deliverance, commended the generous robber to\nhis mercy, and again started, with fresh courage, upon the route to\nBalsora.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLezah paused, and looked inquiringly at Achmet, the old merchant.\n\n\"No! if it be so,\" said the latter, \"then will I gladly correct my\nopinion of Orbasan; for indeed he acted nobly towards thy brother.\"\n\n\"He behaved like a brave Mussulman,\" exclaimed Muley; \"but I hope thou\nhast not here finished thy story, for, as it seems to me, we are all\neager to hear still further, how it went with thy brother, and whether\nhe succeeded in rescuing thy sister and the fair Zoraida.\"\n\n\"I will willingly proceed,\" rejoined Lezah, \"if it be not tiresome to\nyou; for my brother's history is, throughout, full of the most\nwonderful adventures.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAbout the middle of the seventh day after his departure, Mustapha\nentered the gate of Balsora. As soon as he had arrived at a\ncaravansery, he inquired whether the slave-market, which was held here\nevery year, had opened; but received the startling answer, that he had\ncome two days too late. His informer deplored his tardiness, telling\nhim that on the last day of the market, two female slaves had arrived,\nof such great beauty as to attract to themselves the eyes of all the\nmerchants.\n\nHe inquired more particularly as to their appearance, and there was no\ndoubt in his mind, that they were the unfortunate ones of whom he was\nin search. Moreover, he learned that the man who had purchased them\nboth, was called Thiuli-Kos, and lived forty leagues from Balsora, an\nillustrious and wealthy, but quite old man, who had been in his early\nyears Capudan-Bashaw of the Sultan, but had now settled down into\nprivate life with the riches he had acquired.\n\nMustapha was, at first, on the point of remounting his horse with all\npossible speed, in order to overtake Thiuli-Kos, who could scarcely\nhave had a day's start; but when he reflected that, as a single man,\nhe could not prevail against the powerful traveller, could still less\nrescue from him his prey, he set about reflecting for another plan,\nand soon hit upon one. His resemblance to the Bashaw of Sulieika,\nwhich had almost been fatal to him, suggested to him the thought of\ngoing to the house of Thiuli-Kos under this name, and, in that way,\nmaking an attempt for the deliverance of the two unfortunate maidens.\nAccordingly he hired attendants and horses, in which the money of\nOrbasan opportunely came to his assistance, furnished himself and his\nservants with splendid garments, and set out in the direction of\nThiuli's castle. After five days he arrived in its vicinity. It was\nsituated in a beautiful plain, and was surrounded on all sides by\nlofty walls, which were but slightly overtopped by the structure\nitself. When Mustapha had arrived quite near, he dyed his hair and\nbeard black, and stained his face with the juice of a plant, which\ngave it a brownish color, exactly similar to that of the Bashaw. From\nthis place he sent forward one of his attendants to the castle, and\nbade him ask a night's lodging, in the name of the Bashaw of\nSulieika. The servant soon returned in company with four\nfinely-attired slaves, who took Mustapha's horse by the bridle, and\nled him into the court-yard. There they assisted him to dismount, and\nfour others escorted him up a wide marble staircase, into the presence\nof Thiuli.\n\nThe latter personage, an old, robust man, received my brother\nrespectfully, and had set before him the best that his castle could\nafford. After the meal, Mustapha gradually turned the conversation\nupon the new slaves; whereupon, Thiuli praised their beauty, but\nexpressed regret because they were so sorrowful; nevertheless he\nbelieved that would go over after a time. My brother was much\ndelighted at his reception, and, with hope beating high in his bosom,\nlay down to rest.\n\nHe might, perhaps, have been sleeping an hour, when he was awakened by\nthe rays of a lamp, which fell dazzlingly upon his eyes. When he had\nraised himself up, he believed himself dreaming, for there before him\nstood the very same little, swarthy fellow of Orbasan's tent, a lamp\nin his hand, his wide mouth distended with a disgusting laugh.\nMustapha pinched himself in the arm, and pulled his nose, in order to\nsee if he were really awake, but the figure remained as before.\n\n\"What wishest thou by my bed?\" exclaimed Mustapha, recovering from his\namazement.\n\n\"Do not disquiet yourself so much, my friend,\" answered the little\nman. \"I made a good guess as to the motive that brought you hither.\nAlthough your worthy countenance was still well remembered by me,\nnevertheless, had I not with my own hand assisted to hang the Bashaw,\nyou might, perhaps, have deceived even me. Now, however, I am here to\npropose a question.\"\n\n\"First of all, tell me why you came hither,\" interrupted Mustapha,\nfull of resentment at finding himself detected.\n\n\"That I will explain to you,\" rejoined the other: \"I could not put up\nwith the Mighty any longer, and therefore ran away; but you, Mustapha,\nwere properly the cause of our quarrel, and so you must give me your\nsister to wife, and I will help you in your flight; give her not, and\nI will go to my new master, and tell him something of our new Bashaw.\"\n\nMustapha was beside himself with fear and anger; at the very moment\nwhen he thought he had arrived at the happy accomplishment of his\nwishes, must this wretch come, and frustrate them all! It was the only\nway to carry his plan into execution--he must slay the little monster:\nwith one bound, he sprang from the bed upon him; but the other, who\nmight perhaps have anticipated something of the kind, let the lamp\nfall, which was immediately extinguished, and rushed forth in the\ndark, crying vehemently for help.\n\nNow was the time for decisive action; the maids he was obliged, for\nthe moment, to abandon, and attend only to his own safety:\naccordingly, he approached the window, to see if he could not spring\nfrom it. It was a tolerable distance from the ground, and on the other\nside stood a lofty wall, which he would have to surmount. Reflecting,\nhe stood by the window until he heard many voices approaching his\nchamber: already were they at the door, when seizing desperately his\ndagger, and garments, he let himself down from the window. The fall\nwas hard, but he felt that no bone was broken; immediately he sprang\nup, and ran to the wall which surrounded the court. This, to the\nastonishment of his pursuers, he mounted, and soon found himself at\nliberty. He ran on until he came to a little forest, where he sank\ndown exhausted. Here he reflected on what was to be done; his horses\nand attendants he was obliged to leave behind, but the money, which he\nhad placed in his girdle, he had saved.\n\nHis inventive genius, however, soon pointed him to another means of\ndeliverance. He walked through the wood until he arrived at a village,\nwhere for a small sum he purchased a horse, with the help of which, in\na short time, he reached a city. There he inquired for a physician,\nand was directed to an old experienced man. On this one he prevailed,\nby a few gold pieces, to furnish him with a medicine to produce a\ndeath-like sleep, which, by means of another, might be instantaneously\nremoved. Having obtained this, he purchased a long false beard, a\nblack gown, and various boxes and retorts, so that he could readily\npass for a travelling physician; these articles he placed upon an ass,\nand rode back to the castle of Thiuli-Kos. He was certain, this time,\nof not being recognised, for the beard disfigured him so that he\nscarcely knew himself.\n\nArrived in the vicinity of the castle, he announced himself as the\nphysician Chakamankabudibaba, and matters turned out as he had\nexpected. The splendor of the name procured him extraordinary favor\nwith the old fool, who invited him to table. Chakamankabudibaba\nappeared before Thiuli, and, having conversed with him scarcely an\nhour, the old man resolved that all his female slaves should submit to\nthe examination of the wise physician. The latter could scarcely\nconceal his joy at the idea of once more beholding his beloved sister,\nand with palpitating heart followed Thiuli, who conducted him to his\nseraglio. They reached an unoccupied room, which was beautifully\nfurnished.\n\n\"Chambaba, or whatever thou mayest be called, my good physician,\" said\nThiuli-Kos, \"look once at that hole in the wall; thence shall each of\nmy slaves stretch forth her arm, and thou canst feel whether the pulse\nbetoken sickness or health.\"\n\nAnswer as he might, Mustapha could not arrange it so that he might see\nthem; nevertheless, Thiuli agreed to tell him, each time, the usual\nhealth of the one he was examining. Thiuli drew forth a long list from\nhis girdle, and began, with loud voice, to call out, one by one, the\nnames of his slaves; whereupon, each time, a hand came forth from the\nwall, and the physician felt the pulse. Six had been read off, and\ndeclared entirely well, when Thiuli, for the seventh called Fatima,\nand a small white hand slipped forth from the wall. Trembling with\njoy, Mustapha grasped it, and with an important air pronounced her\nseriously ill. Thiuli became very anxious, and commanded his wise\nChakamankabudibaba straightway to prescribe some medicine for her. The\nphysician left the room, and wrote a little scroll:\n\n\"Fatima, I will preserve thee, if thou canst make up thy mind to take\na draught, which for two days will make thee dead; nevertheless, I\npossess the means of restoring thee to life. If thou wilt, then only\nreturn answer, that this liquid has been of no assistance, and it will\nbe to me a token that thou agreest.\"\n\nIn a moment he returned to the room, where Thiuli had remained. He\nbrought with him an innocent drink, felt the pulse of the sick Fatima\nonce more, pushed the note beneath her bracelet, and then handed her\nthe liquid through the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be in\ngreat anxiety on Fatima's account, and postponed the examination of\nthe rest to a more fitting opportunity. As he left the room with\nMustapha, he addressed him in sorrowful accents:\n\n\"Chadibaba, tell me plainly, what thinkest thou of Fatima's illness?\"\n\nMy brother answered with a deep sigh: \"Ah, sir, may the Prophet give\nyou consolation! she has a slow fever, which may, perhaps, cost her\nlife!\"\n\nThen burned Thiuli's anger: \"What sayest thou, cursed dog of a\nphysician? She, for whom I gave two thousand gold pieces--shall she\ndie like a cow? Know, if thou preservest her not, I will chop off\nthine head!\"\n\nMy brother immediately saw that he had made a misstep, and again\ninspired Thiuli with hope. While they were yet conversing, a black\nslave came from the seraglio to tell the physician, that the drink had\nbeen of no assistance.\n\n\"Put forth all thy skill, Chakamdababelda, or whatever thy name may\nbe; I will pay thee what thou askest!\" cried out Thiuli-Kos, well-nigh\nhowling with sorrow, at the idea of losing so much gold.\n\n\"I will give her a potion, which will put her out of all danger,\"\nanswered the physician.\n\n\"Yes, yes!--give it her,\" sobbed the old Thiuli.\n\nWith joyful heart Mustapha went to bring his soporific, and having\ngiven it to the black slave, and shown him how much it was necessary\nto take for a dose, he went to Thiuli, and, telling him he must\nprocure some medicinal herbs from the sea, hastened through the gate.\nOn the shore, which was not far from the castle, he removed his false\ngarments, and cast them into the water, where they floated merrily\naround; concealing himself, however, in a thicket, he awaited the\nnight, and then stole softly to the burying-place of Thiuli's castle.\n\nHardly an hour had Mustapha been absent, when they brought Thiuli the\nintelligence that his slave Fatima was in the agonies of death. He\nsent them to the sea-coast to bring the physician back with all speed,\nbut his messengers returned alone, with the news that the poor\nphysician had fallen into the water, and was drowned; that they had\nespied his black gown floating upon the surface, and that now and then\nhis large beard peeped forth from amid the billows. Thiuli seeing now\nno help, cursed himself and the whole world; plucked his beard, and\ndashed his head against the wall. But all this was of no use, for soon\nFatima gave up the ghost, in the arms of her companions. When the\nunfortunate man heard the news of her death, he commanded them quickly\nto make a coffin, for he could not tolerate a dead person in his\nhouse; and bade them bear forth the corpse to the place of burial. The\ncarriers brought in the coffin, but quickly set it down and fled, for\nthey heard sighs and sobs among the other piles.\n\nMustapha, who, concealed behind the coffins, had inspired the\nattendants with such terror, came forth and lighted a lamp, which he\nhad brought for that purpose. Then he drew out a vial which contained\nthe life-restoring medicine, and lifted the lid of Fatima's coffin.\nBut what amazement seized him, when by the light of the lamp, strange\nfeatures met his gaze! Neither my sister, nor Zoraida, but an entire\nstranger, lay in the coffin! It was some time before he could recover\nfrom this new stroke of destiny; at last, however, compassion\ntriumphed over anger. He opened the vial, and administered the liquid.\nShe breathed--she opened her eyes--and seemed for some time to be\nreflecting where she was. At length, recalling all that had happened,\nshe rose from the coffin, and threw herself, sobbing, at Mustapha's\nfeet.\n\n\"How may I thank thee, excellent being,\" she exclaimed, \"for having\nfreed me from my frightful prison?\" Mustapha interrupted her\nexpressions of gratitude by inquiring, how it happened that she, and\nnot his sister Fatima, had been preserved. The maiden looked in\namazement.\n\n\"Now is my deliverance explained, which was before incomprehensible,\"\nanswered she. \"Know that in this castle I am called Fatima, and it was\nto me thou gavest thy note, and the preserving-drink.\"\n\nMy brother entreated her to give him intelligence of his sister and\nZoraida, and learned that they were both in the castle, but, according\nto Thiuli's custom, had received different names; they were now\ncalled Mirza and Nurmahal. When Fatima, the rescued slave, saw that my\nbrother was so cast down by this failure of his enterprise, she bade\nhim take courage, and promised to show him means whereby he could\nstill deliver both the maidens. Aroused by this thought, Mustapha was\nfilled with new hope, and besought her to point out to him the way.\n\n\"Only five months,\" said she, \"have I been Thiuli's slave;\nnevertheless, from the first, I have been continually meditating an\nescape; but for myself alone it was too difficult. In the inner court\nof the castle, you may have observed a fountain, which pours forth\nwater from ten tubes; this fountain riveted my attention. I remembered\nin my father's house to have seen a similar one, the water of which\nwas led up through a spacious aqueduct. In order to learn whether this\nfountain was constructed in the same manner, I one day praised its\nmagnificence to Thiuli, and inquired after its architect. 'I myself\nbuilt it,' answered he, 'and what thou seest here is still the\nsmallest part; for the water comes hither into it from a brook at\nleast a thousand paces off, flowing through a vaulted aqueduct, which\nis as high as a man. And all this have I myself planned.' After\nhearing this, I often wished only for a moment to have a man's\nstrength, in order to roll away the stone from the side of the\nfountain; then could I have fled whither I would. The aqueduct now\nwill I show to you; through it you can enter the castle by night, and\nset them free. Only you must have at least two men with you, in order\nto overpower the slaves which, by night, guard the seraglio.\"\n\nThus she spoke, and my brother Mustapha, although twice disappointed\nalready in his expectations, once again took courage, and hoped with\nAllah's assistance to carry out the plan of the slave. He promised to\nconduct her in safety to her native land, if she would assist him in\nentering the castle. But one thought still troubled him, namely, where\nhe could find two or three faithful assistants. Thereupon the dagger\nof Orbasan occurred to him, and the promise of the robber to hasten to\nhis assistance, when he should stand in need of help, and he therefore\nstarted with Fatima from the burying-ground, to seek the chieftain.\n\nIn the same city where he had converted himself into a physician,\nwith his last money he purchased a horse, and procured lodgings for\nFatima, with a poor woman in the suburbs. He, however, hastened\ntowards the mountain where he had first met Orbasan, and reached it in\nthree days. He soon found the tent, and unexpectedly walked in before\nthe chieftain, who welcomed him with friendly courtesy. He related to\nhim his unsuccessful attempts, whereupon the grave Orbasan could not\nrestrain himself from laughing a little now and then, particularly\nwhen he announced himself as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. At the\ntreachery of the little man, however, he was furious; and swore, if he\ncould find him, to hang him with his own hand. He assured my brother\nthat he was ready to assist him the moment he should be sufficiently\nrecovered from his ride. Accordingly, Mustapha remained that night\nagain in the robber's tent, and with the first morning-red they set\nout, Orbasan taking with him three of his bravest men, well mounted\nand armed. They rode rapidly, and in two days arrived at the little\ncity, where Mustapha had left the rescued Fatima. Thence they rode on\nwith her unto the forest, from which, at a little distance, they could\nsee Thiuli's castle; there they concealed themselves, to await the\nnight. As soon as it was dark, guided by Fatima, they proceeded softly\nto the brook, where the aqueduct commenced, and soon found it. There\nthey left Fatima and a servant with the horses, and prepared\nthemselves for the descent: before they started, however, Fatima once\nmore repeated, with precision, the directions she had given; namely,\nthat, on emerging from the fountain into the inner court-yard, they\nwould find a tower in each corner on the right and left; that inside\nthe sixth gate from the right tower, they would find Fatima and\nZoraida, guarded by two black slaves. Well provided with weapons and\niron implements for forcing the doors, Mustapha, Orbasan, and the two\nother men, descended through the aqueduct; they sank, indeed, in\nwater, up to the middle, but not the less vigorously on that account\ndid they press forward.\n\nIn a half hour they arrived at the fountain, and immediately began to\nply their tools. The wall was thick and firm, but could not long\nresist the united strength of the four men; they soon made a breach\nsufficiently large to allow them to slip through without difficulty.\nOrbasan was the first to emerge, and then assisted the others. Being\nnow all in the court-yard, they examined the side of the castle which\nlay before them, in order to find the door which had been described.\nBut they could not agree as to which it was, for on counting from the\nright tower to the left, they found one door which had been walled up,\nand they knew not whether Fatima had included this in her calculation.\nBut Orbasan was not long in making up his mind: \"My good sword will\nopen to me this gate,\" he exclaimed, advancing to the sixth, while the\nothers followed him. They opened it, and found six black slaves lying\nasleep upon the floor; imagining that they had missed the object of\ntheir search, they were already softly drawing back, when a figure\nraised itself in the corner, and in well-known accents called for\nhelp. It was the little man of the robber-encampment. But ere the\nslaves knew what had taken place, Orbasan sprang upon the little man,\ntore his girdle in two, stopped his mouth, and bound his hands behind\nhis back; then he turned to the slaves, some of whom were already\nhalf bound by Mustapha and the two others, and assisted in completely\noverpowering them. They presented their daggers to the breasts of the\nslaves, and asked where Nurmahal and Mirza were: they confessed that\nthey were in the next chamber. Mustapha rushed into the room, and\nfound Fatima and Zoraida awakened by the noise. They were not long in\ncollecting their jewels and garments, and following my brother.\n\nMeanwhile the two robbers proposed to Orbasan to carry off what they\ncould find, but he forbade them, saying: \"It shall never be told of\nOrbasan, that he enters houses by night, to steal gold.\" Mustapha, and\nthose he had preserved, quickly stepped into the aqueduct, whither\nOrbasan promised to follow them immediately. As soon as they had\ndeparted, the chieftain and one of the robbers led forth the little\nman into the court-yard; there, having fastened around his neck a\nsilken cord, which they had brought for that purpose, they hung him on\nthe highest point of the fountain. After having thus punished the\ntreachery of the wretch, they also entered the aqueduct, and followed\nMustapha. With tears the two maidens thanked their brave preserver,\nOrbasan; but he urged them in haste to their flight, for it was very\nprobable that Thiuli-Kos would seek them in every direction.\n\nWith deep emotion, on the next day, did Mustapha and the rescued\nmaidens part with Orbasan. Indeed, they never will forget him! Fatima,\nthe freed slave, left us in disguise for Balsora, in order to take\npassage thence to her native land.\n\nAfter a short and agreeable journey, my brother and his companions\nreached home. Delight at seeing them once more, almost killed my old\nfather; the next day after their arrival, he gave a great festival, to\nwhich all the city was invited. Before a large assemblage of relations\nand friends, my brother had to relate his story, and with one voice\nthey praised him and the noble robber.\n\nWhen, however, Mustapha had finished, my father arose and led Zoraida\nto him. \"Thus remove I,\" said he with solemn voice, \"the curse from\nthy head; take this maiden as the reward which thy unwearied courage\nhas merited. Receive my fatherly blessing: and may there never be\nwanting to our city, men who, in brotherly love, in prudence, and\nbravery, may be thy equals!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Caravan had reached the end of the desert, and gladly did the\ntravellers salute the green meadows, and thickly-leaved trees, of\nwhose charms they had been deprived for so many days. In a lovely\nvalley lay a caravansery, which they selected as their resting-place\nfor the night; and though it offered but limited accommodations and\nrefreshment, still was the whole company more happy and sociable than\never: for the thought of having passed through the dangers and\nhardships, with which a journey through the desert is ever\naccompanied, had opened every heart, and attuned their minds to jest\nand gayety. Muley, the young and merry merchant, went through a comic\ndance, and sang songs thereto, which elicited a laugh, even from\nZaleukos, the serious Greek. But not content with having raised the\nspirits of his comrades by dance and merriment, he also gave them, in\nthe best style, the story he had promised, and, as soon as he could\nrecover breath from his gambols, began the following tale.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLITTLE MUCK.\n\n\nIn Nicea, my beloved father-city, lived a man, whom people called\n\"Little Muck.\" Though at that time I was quite young, I can recollect\nhim very well, particularly since, on one occasion, I was flogged\nalmost to death, by my father, on his account. The Little Muck, even\nthen, when I knew him, an old man, was nevertheless but three or four\nfeet high: he had a singular figure, for his body, little and smart\nas it was, carried a head much larger and thicker than that of others.\nHe lived all alone in a large house, and even cooked for himself;\nmoreover, it would not have been known in the city whether he was\nalive or dead, (for he went forth but once in four weeks,) had not\nevery day, about the hour of noon, strong fumes come forth from the\nhouse. Nevertheless, in the evening he was often to be seen walking to\nand fro upon his roof; although, from the street, it seemed as if it\nwere his head alone that was running around there.\n\nI and my comrades were wicked fellows, who teased and ridiculed every\none; accordingly, to us it was a holiday when the Little Muck went\nforth: on the appointed day we would assemble before his house, and\nwait for him to come out. When, then, the door opened, and at first\nthe immense head and still larger turban peered forth, when the rest\nof the body followed covered with a small cloak which had been\nirregularly curtailed, with wide pantaloons, and a broad girdle in\nwhich hung a long dagger, so long that one could not tell whether Muck\nwas fastened to the dagger, or the dagger to Muck--when in this guise\nhe came forth, then would the air resound with our cries of joy; then\nwould we fling our caps aloft, and dance round him, like mad. Little\nMuck, however, would salute us with a serious bow, and walk with long\nstrides through the street, shuffling now and then his feet, for he\nwore large wide slippers, such as I have never elsewhere seen. We boys\nwould run behind him, crying continually, \"Little Muck! Little Muck!\"\nWe also had a droll little verse, which we would now and then sing in\nhis honor; it ran thus:--\n\n    \"Little Muck, oh Little Muck!\n    What a fine, brave dwarf art thou!\n      Livest in a house so tall;\n    Goest forth but once a month,\n      Mountain-headed, though so small.\n    Turn thyself but once, and look!\n      Run, and catch us, Little Muck.\"\n\nIn this way had we often carried on our sport, and, to my shame, I\nmust confess that I took the most wicked part in it, for I often\nplucked him by the mantle, and once trod from behind on his large\nslippers, so that he fell down. This was, at first, a source of the\ngreatest amusement to me, but my laughter soon ceased when I saw the\nLittle Muck go up to my father's house; he walked straight in, and\nremained there some time. I concealed myself near the door, and saw\nMuck come forth again, escorted by my father, who respectfully shook\nhis hand, and with many bows parted with him at the door. My mind was\nuneasy, and I remained some time in my concealment; at length,\nhowever, hunger, which I feared more than blows, drove me in, and\nashamed and with downcast head, I walked in before my father.\n\n\"Thou hast, as I hear, insulted the good Muck,\" said he with a very\nserious tone. \"I will tell thee the history of this Muck, and then I\nam sure thou wilt ridicule him no more. But first, thou shalt receive\nthy allowance.\" The allowance was five-and-twenty lashes, which he\ntook care to count only too honestly. He thereupon took a long\npipe-stem, unscrewed the amber mouthpiece, and beat me more severely\nthan he had ever done before.\n\nWhen the five-and-twenty were all made up, he commanded me to attend,\nand told me the following story of Little Muck.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe father of Little Muck, who is properly called Mukrah, lived here\nin Nicea, a respectable, but poor man. He kept himself almost as\nretired as his son does now. The latter he could not endure, because\nhe was ashamed of his dwarfish figure, and let him therefore grow up\nin perfect ignorance. When the Little Muck was still in his\nseventeenth year, a merry child, his father, a grave man, kept\ncontinually reproaching him, that he, who ought long before to have\ntrodden down the shoes of infancy, was still so stupid and childish.\n\nThe old man, however, one day had a bad fall, from the effects of\nwhich he died, and Little Muck was left behind, poor and ignorant. His\ncruel relations, to whom the deceased owed more than he could pay,\nturned the poor fellow out of the house, and advised him to go forth\ninto the world, and seek his fortune. Muck answered that he was all\nready, only asking them for his father's dress, which they willingly\ngranted him. His father had been a large, portly man, and the garments\non that account did not fit him. Muck, however, soon hit upon an\nexpedient; he cut off what was too long, and then put them on. He\nseemed, however, to have forgotten that he must also take from their\nwidth; hence the strange dress that he wears at the present day; the\nhuge turban, the broad girdle, the wide breeches, the blue cloak, all\nthese he has inherited from his father, and worn ever since. The long\nDamascus dagger of his father, too, he attached to his girdle, and\nseizing a little staff, set out from the door.\n\nGayly he wandered, the whole day, for he had set out to seek his\nfortune: if he saw upon the ground a potsherd shining in the sunlight,\nhe took care to pick it up, in the belief that he could change it into\na diamond of the first water; if he saw in the distance the cupola of\na Mosque sparkling like fire, or the sea glittering like a mirror, he\nwould hasten up, fully persuaded that he had arrived at fairy-land.\nBut ah! these phantoms vanished as he approached, and too soon\nfatigue, and his stomach gnawed by hunger, convinced him that he was\nstill in the land of mortals. In this way he travelled two days, in\nhunger and grief, and despaired of finding his fortune; the produce of\nthe field was his only support, the hard earth his bed. On the\nmorning of the third day, he espied a large city upon an eminence.\nBrightly shone the crescent upon her pinnacles, variegated flags waved\nover the roofs, and seemed to be beckoning Little Muck to themselves.\nIn surprise he stood still, contemplating the city and the surrounding\ncountry.\n\n\"There at length will Klein-Muck find his fortune,\" said he to\nhimself, and in spite of his fatigue bounded in the air; \"there or\nnowhere!\" He collected all his strength, and walked towards the city.\nBut although the latter seemed quite near, he could not reach it until\nmid-day, for his little limbs almost entirely refused him their\nassistance, and he was obliged to sit down to rest in the shade of a\npalm-tree. At last he reached the gate; he fixed the mantle jauntily,\nwound the turban still more tastily around his head, made the girdle\nbroader, and arranged the dagger so as to fall still more obliquely:\nthen, wiping the dust from his shoes, and seizing his cane, he marched\nbravely through the gate.\n\nHe had already wandered through a few streets, but nowhere did any\ndoor open to him, nowhere did any one exclaim, as he had anticipated:\n\"Little Muck, come in and eat and drink, and rest thy little feet.\"\n\nHe was looking very wistfully straight at a large fine house, when a\nwindow opened, and an old woman, putting out her head, exclaimed in a\nsinging tone--\n\n    \"Hither, come hither!\n      The porridge is here;\n    The table I've spread,\n      Come taste of my cheer.\n    Hither, come hither!\n      The porridge is hot;\n    Your neighbors bring with you,\n      To dip in the pot!\"\n\nThe door opened, and Muck saw many dogs and cats walking in. For a\nmoment he stood in doubt whether he should accept the invitation; at\nlast, however, he took heart and entered the mansion. Before him\nproceeded a couple of genteel kittens, and he resolved to follow them,\nsince they, perhaps, knew the way to the kitchen better than himself.\n\nWhen Muck had ascended the steps, he met the same old woman who had\nlooked forth from the window. With frowning air she asked what he\nwanted.\n\n\"Thou hast invited every one to thy porridge,\" answered Little Muck,\n\"and as I was very hungry, I came too.\"\n\nThe old woman laughed, saying, \"Whence come you then, strange fellow?\nThe whole city knows that I cook for no one but my dear cats, and now\nand then, as you see, I invite their companions from the\nneighborhood.\" Little Muck told her how hard it had gone with him\nsince his father's death, and entreated her to let him dine, that day,\nwith her cats. The old woman, on whom the frank relation of the little\nfellow made quite an impression, permitted him to become her guest,\nand gave him abundance to eat and drink. When he was satisfied and\nrefreshed, she looked at him for some time, and then said:--\n\n\"Little Muck, remain with me in my service; you will have little to\ndo, and shall be well taken care of.\" Muck, who had relished the\ncat-porridge, agreed, and thus became the servant of the Frau Ahavzi.\nHis duties were light but singular: Frau Ahavzi had two male, and four\nfemale cats; every morning Little Muck had to comb their hair, and\nanoint them with costly ointment. When the Frau went out, he had to\ngive them all his attention; when they ate, he placed their bowls\nbefore them; and, at night, he had to lay them on silken cushions, and\nwrap them up in velvet coverings. There were, moreover, a few little\ndogs in the house, on which he was obliged to wait; but there were not\nso many ceremonies gone through with these as with the cats, whom Frau\nAhavzi treated as her own children. As for the rest, Muck led as\nretired a life as in his father's house, for with the exception of the\nFrau, he saw every day only dogs and cats.\n\nFor a long time it went very well with Little Muck; he had enough to\neat, and but little to do; and the old woman seemed to be perfectly\nsatisfied with him. But, by-and-by, the cats began to behave very\nbadly; the moment the Frau went out, they ran around the rooms as if\npossessed, threw down every thing in confusion, and broke considerable\nfine crockery, which stood in their way. When, however, they heard\ntheir mistress coming up the steps, they would creep to their\ncushions, and wag their tails, when they saw her, as if nothing had\nhappened. The Frau Ahavzi always fell in a passion when she saw her\nrooms so disordered, and attributed all to Muck; assert his innocence\nas he might, she believed her cats who looked so demure, in preference\nto her servant.\n\nLittle Muck was very sorry that here also he had been disappointed in\nfinding his fortune, and determined in his own mind to leave the\nservice of the Frau Ahavzi. As, however, on his first journey, he had\nlearned how badly one lives without money, he resolved to procure, in\nsome way, for himself the wages which his mistress had once promised\nhim, but had never paid. In the house of the Frau Ahavzi was a room,\nwhich was always closed, and the inside of which he had never seen.\nNevertheless, he had often heard the Frau making a noise therein, and\nhe would have willingly risked his life to know what was there\nconcealed. Reflecting upon his travelling-money, it occurred to him\nthat there his mistress might conceal her treasures. But the door was\nalways tightly closed, and therefore he could not get at them.\n\nOne morning, after the Frau Ahavzi had gone out, one of the little\ndogs who was treated by her in a very stepmother-like manner, but\nwhose favor he had in a great degree gained by various acts of\nkindness, pulled him by his wide pantaloons, and acted as if he wanted\nMuck to follow him. Muck, who always gladly played with him, did so,\nand perceived that the dog was leading him to the sleeping apartment\nof his mistress; he stopped before a door, which the little fellow had\nnever before observed, and which was now wide open. The dog entered,\nand Muck, following, was overjoyed at finding himself in the very\nchamber, which had so long been the object of his curiosity. He looked\nall around for money, but could find none: old garments only, and\nstrangely-fashioned vases were scattered around. One of the latter, in\nparticular, attracted his attention; it was of crystal, and fine\nfigures were cut thereon. He lifted it up and turned it on all sides;\nbut, oh horror! he had not observed that it had a lid, which was but\ninsecurely fastened on: it fell to the floor, and broke into a\nthousand pieces.\n\nFor a long time stood Little Muck motionless through terror; now was\nhis fate decided, now must he fly, or be killed by the old woman. His\ndeparture was immediately resolved on; he only looked around, to see\nif he could not use some of the goods of the Frau Ahavzi upon his\njourney. Thereupon, a formidable pair of huge slippers met his eye;\nthey were not, it is true, beautiful, but his own could hold out no\nlonger; moreover their size was an inducement, for when he had these\nupon his feet, people would see, he hoped, that he had cast off the\nshoes of childhood. He quickly took off his own slippers, and put on\nthe others. A walking-stick, also, with a fine lion's head cut upon\nthe handle, seemed to be standing too idly in the corner; so he seized\nit, and hurried from the apartment. He hastened to his own room, put\non his cloak, arranged his paternal turban, placed the dagger in his\ngirdle, and ran as fast as his feet would carry him, out of the house,\nand out of the city. Fear of his old mistress drove him farther and\nstill farther, until, from fatigue, he could scarcely run any more. He\nhad never gone so quickly in his life; nay, it appeared to him as if\nhe could not cease running, for an invisible power seemed propelling\nhim on. At last he observed that this must be connected with the\nslippers, for they would continually shoot forward and bear him along\nwith them. He endeavored in various ways, to stand still, but could\nnot succeed; at last, in the greatest distress, he cried out to\nhimself, as a man calls to his horse, \"Wo--wo!\" Then the slippers\nstopped, and Muck fell exhausted upon the earth.\n\nThe slippers were a source of great joy to him. Thus had he, by his\nservices, gained something that would help him on his way through the\nworld to seek his fortune. In spite of his joy, he fell asleep through\nfatigue; for the body of Little Muck, which had to carry so heavy a\nhead, could not hold out long. In his dream the little dog appeared to\nhim, which had assisted him to the slippers in the house of the Frau\nAhavzi, and thus spoke:--\n\n\"Dear Muck, thou dost not still rightly understand the use of the\nslippers: know that if, in them, thou turnest thyself three times\naround upon the heel, thou canst fly wherever thou wilt; and with the\nstaff thou canst find treasures, for, wherever gold is buried, it will\nbeat three times upon the earth; where silver, twice.\"\n\nThus dreamed Little Muck. When he awoke, he reflected on the singular\nvision, and resolved to make the experiment immediately. He put on the\nslippers, lifted one foot, and began to turn around upon his heel. But\nwhoever has attempted to perform this manoeuvre in an enormously wide\nslipper, will not wonder that the Little Muck could not succeed,\nparticularly when he remembers that his heavy head kept falling on\nthis side and on that.\n\nThe poor little fellow fell several times violently upon his nose;\nnevertheless, that did not deter him from making the trial again, and\nat last he succeeded. Like a wheel he went around upon his heel,\nwishing himself in the nearest large city, and--the slippers mounted\ninto the air, ran with the speed of the wind through the clouds, and\nbefore Little Muck knew what to make of it, he found himself in a\nlarge market-place, where many stalls were erected, and innumerable\nmen were busily running to and fro. He moved among the people, but\nconsidered it more prudent to retire into a less frequented street,\nfor near the market one of the slippers bore him along so rapidly,\nthat he almost fell down, or else ran against one and another with\nhis projecting dagger, so that it was with difficulty he avoided their\nblows.\n\nLittle Muck now seriously reflected what he should set about, in order\nto earn a piece of money. He had, it is true, a staff which would show\nhim concealed treasures, but how could he find a place where gold or\nsilver was buried. He could, indeed, in this emergency, have exhibited\nhimself for money, but for this he was too proud. At last the\nquickness of his gait occurred to him. Perhaps, thought he, my\nslippers can procure me support, and he determined to hire himself out\nas a courier. He ventured to hope that the king of the city rewarded\nsuch service well, so he inquired for the palace. Before the door of\nthe palace stood a guard, who asked him what he sought there. On\nanswering that he was in search of service, they led him to the\noverseer of the slaves. Before this one he laid his request, and\nentreated that he might be admitted among the royal couriers. The\noverseer measured him with his eyes from head to foot, and said: \"How!\nwith thy little feet, which are scarcely a span long, wishest thou to\nbecome a royal messenger? Away with thee! I cannot play with every\nfool.\"\n\nLittle Muck assured him, however, that his proposal was made in\nperfect seriousness, and that he would let it come to a trial with the\nswiftest, upon a wager. The matter seemed very ludicrous to the\noverseer. He commanded him to hold himself in readiness for a race in\nthe afternoon, and leading him into the kitchen, saw that he was\nfurnished with proper meat and drink. He himself, however, repaired\nunto the king, and told him of the little man and his proposal. The\nking was a merry lord, and therefore it pleased him well that the\noverseer had kept the little man for their amusement. He directed him\nto make preparations in a large meadow behind the castle, that the\nrace might be conveniently beheld by his whole court, and once more\ncommanded him to take great care of the dwarf. The king told his\nprinces, and princesses, what a pastime they were to enjoy that\nafternoon; these told it again to their attendants, and when the time\narrived all were in great expectation; and as many as had feet poured\ninto the meadow, where a scaffolding had been erected, in order to\nsee the boastful dwarf run.\n\nAs soon as the king and his sons and daughters had taken their places\nupon the platform, the Little Muck walked forth upon the meadow, and\nmade before the noble sovereign a very elegant bow. A universal cry of\njoy arose, the moment they beheld the little fellow; such a figure had\nthey never seen. The small body with the mighty head, the little\ncloak, and the wide pantaloons, the long dagger in the broad girdle,\nthe tiny feet in the immense slippers--no! it was so droll a sight\nthey could not keep from laughing aloud. Little Muck, however, was not\ndisconcerted by their laughter. He proudly walked forward, supported\nby his cane, and awaited his opponent. At Muck's own desire, the\noverseer of the slaves had selected the best runner. Walking in, he\nplaced himself near the dwarf, and both looked for the signal.\nThereupon the Princess Amarza made a sign with her veil as had been\npreconcerted, and, like two arrows shot from the same bow, the racers\nflew over the meadow.\n\nAt first the courier took a tremendous bound, but Muck pursued him in\nhis slipper carriage, overtook him, passed him, and had been standing\nfor some time at the goal, when his opponent, gasping for breath, ran\nup. Amazement for a few moments enchained the spectators: the king was\nthe first to clap his hands; then shouted the crowd for joy, all\nexclaiming, \"Long live the Little Muck, the victor in the race!\"\n\nMeanwhile they had brought up the little man; he prostrated himself\nbefore the king, saying, \"Most mighty King, I have here given thee but\na small proof of my powers; allow them, I pray thee, to give me a\nplace among thy couriers.\" The king answered:--\n\n\"Nay, dear Muck, thou shalt be my favorite messenger, and shalt remain\nabout my person; every year shalt thou have a hundred gold pieces as\nthy wages, and thou shalt sup at the table of my first attendant.\"\n\nThen Muck thought he had at last found the fortune, of which he had so\nlong been in search, and was merry and light-hearted. Moreover, he\nrejoiced in the peculiar favor of the king, for the latter employed\nhim on his quickest and most secret errands, which he performed with\nthe greatest care, and with inconceivable rapidity.\n\nBut the other attendants of the king were not well affected towards\nhim, because they reluctantly saw themselves displaced from their\nlord's favor by a dwarf, who knew how to do nothing, but to run fast.\nThey set on foot many a conspiracy against him in order to work his\ndestruction, but all failed, through the confidence which the king\nplaced in his private Oberleiblaeufer, (for to this dignity had he in\nso short a time arrived.)\n\nMuck, upon whom these movements against himself produced no effect,\nthought not of revenge; for that he had too good a heart: no, he\nreflected upon the means of making himself necessary to his enemies,\nand beloved by them. Thereupon the staff, which in his good fortune he\nhad forgotten, occurred to him; if he could find treasures, he thought\nthe lords would be more favorably disposed towards him. He had before\nthis often heard that the father of the present king had buried much\nof his gold, when the enemy had invaded the land; they said, moreover,\nthat he had died without imparting the secret to his son. From this\ntime Muck always carried his cane, in the hope that he would some\ntime pass over the place where the money of the old king was buried.\n\nOne evening, chance led him into a remote portion of the\ncastle-garden, which he seldom visited, when suddenly he felt the\nstaff move in his hand, and three times it beat upon the ground. He\nknew in an instant what this indicated; accordingly he drew forth his\ndagger, made marks on the surrounding trees, and then slipped back\ninto the castle. Then he procured a spade, and awaited night for his\nundertaking.\n\nTreasure-digging, however, gave Muck more trouble than he had\nanticipated. His arms were very feeble, his spade large and heavy; he\nmight perhaps have been laboring a couple of hours, without getting\nany farther down than as many feet. At length he hit upon something\nhard, which sounded like iron: he then set to work still more\ndiligently, and soon brought up a large cover; he then descended into\nthe hole, in order to examine what the cover concealed, and found a\nlarge pot completely full of gold pieces. His feeble wisdom, however,\ndid not teach him to lift up the pot; but he put in his pantaloons\nand girdle as much as he could carry, filled his cloak, and then\ncarefully covering up the rest, placed the load upon his back. But,\nindeed, if he had not had the slippers on his feet, he could not have\nstirred, so heavily did the gold weigh him down. Then, unobserved, he\nreached his room, and secured the money under the cushions of his\nsofa.\n\nWhen the little man saw so much gold in his possession, he thought the\ntables would now be turned, and that from among his enemies at court,\nhe could gain many well-wishers and warm friends. But even in this,\none could see that the good Muck had enjoyed no very careful\neducation; otherwise he would not have imagined that he could buy true\nfriends with gold. Ah! that he had then put on his slippers, and with\nhis mantle full of gold, scampered away!\n\nThe gold which from this time Little Muck distributed with lavish\nhand, awakened the envy of the other court-attendants. The\nkitchen-master, Ahuli, said, \"He is a counterfeiter.\" The\nslave-overseer, Achmet, said, \"He has cajoled the king.\" But Archaz,\nthe treasurer, his most wicked enemy, who himself, even, now and then\nput his hand into his lord's coffers, exclaimed, \"He is a thief.\" In\norder to be sure of the thing, they consulted together, and the head\ncup-bearer, Korchuz, placed himself one day, with a very sorrowful and\ndepressed air, before the eyes of the king. He made his wo so\napparent, that the king asked him what was the matter.\n\n\"Ah!\" answered he, \"I am sorry that I have lost the favor of my lord!\"\n\n\"Why talkest thou idly, friend Korchuz?\" rejoined the monarch. \"Since\nwhen have I veiled from thee the sun of my favor?\"\n\nThe cup-bearer answered, that he loaded his private Oberleiblaeufer\nwith money, but gave his poor faithful servants nothing. The king was\nmuch astonished at this accusation, had the story of Muck's\ngold-distribution told him, and the conspirators soon aroused in him\nthe suspicion that the dwarf had, in some way or other, stolen the\nmoney from the treasure-chamber. Very pleasant was this turn of the\nmatter to the treasurer, who would not otherwise have willingly\nsubmitted his accounts to examination. The king thereupon commanded\nthat they should secretly watch all the movements of the dwarf, in\norder, if possible, to surprise him in the act. When, now, on the\nnight which followed the fatal day, seeing his funds almost exhausted\nby his generosity, Muck crept forth, with his spade, into the\ncastle-garden, to bring new supplies from his secret treasury, the\nwatch followed him in the distance, led by Ahuli and Archaz; and, at\nthe moment when he was removing the gold from the pot to his cloak,\nthey fell upon him, bound him, and immediately led him before the\nking. The latter, whom, independently of any thing else, this\ninterruption of his sleep would have enraged, received his poor dwarf\nvery ungraciously, and ordered an immediate trial. Meanwhile they had\ndug the full pot out of the ground, and with the spade and cloak full\nof gold had placed it before the king. The treasurer said that he had\nsurprised Muck with his guard, just as he had buried this vessel of\ngold in the earth.\n\nThe king thereupon inquired of the accused, whether it was true, and\nwhence the gold had come.\n\nLittle Muck, conscious of innocence, answered that he had discovered\nthis pot in the garden; that he had not buried it, but had brought it\nto light.\n\nAll present laughed aloud at this defence; the king, however, provoked\nin the highest degree by the supposed impudence of the dwarf,\nexclaimed, \"How, wretch! wilt thou so stupidly and shamelessly lie to\nthy king, after having stolen from him? Treasurer Archaz, I command\nthee to say whether thou knowest this sum of gold to be the same that\nis missing from my treasury.\"\n\nThe treasurer thereupon answered that he was sure of the thing; that\nso much and even more had been missing from the royal treasures; and\nhe could take his oath that this was the stolen money. Then the king\ncommanded them to place Little Muck in galling chains, and convey him\nto prison: to Archaz, however, he gave the gold, that he might restore\nit to the treasury. Delighted at the fortunate issue of the matter,\nthe officer took it, and counted out, at home, the glittering gold\npieces; but the bad man never disclosed that down in the pot lay a\nletter, to the following purport:--\n\n    \"The enemy has overrun my land; therefore I here conceal\n    a portion of my treasure. Whoever may find it, the curse\n    of his king fall upon him, if he do not immediately\n    deliver it to my son!\n\n        KING SADI.\"\n\nIn his dungeon, poor Muck gave way to sorrowful reflections; he knew\nthat for taking royal property death was the penalty; and yet--he\ncould not betray the secret of his staff unto the king, because, in\nthat case, he justly feared being deprived of both that, and his\nslippers. His slippers, alas! could render him no help, for there by\nclose fetters he was fastened to the wall, and, torment himself as he\nmight, he could not turn around upon his heel. When, however, on the\nnext day, sentence of death was pronounced, he thought it would be\nbetter to live without the magic staff, than to die with it; and,\nhaving asked a private audience with the king, disclosed to him the\nsecret. At first the king gave no credit to his assertions, but Little\nMuck promised him a proof, if he would respite him from death. The\nking gave him his word upon it, and having had some gold buried in the\nearth, unseen by Muck, commanded him to find it with his cane. In a\nfew moments he succeeded in doing so, for the staff beat three times\ndistinctly upon the ground. Then the king saw that his treasurer had\nbetrayed him, and sent him, as is customary in the East, a silken\ncord, wherewith he should strangle himself. To Little Muck, however,\nhe said:--\n\n\"I have indeed promised thee thy life, but it seems to me that this is\nnot the only secret thou art possessed of, connected with this staff.\nTherefore thou shalt remain in everlasting captivity, if thou do not\nconfess what relation exists between it and thy rapid running.\"\n\nLittle Muck, whom one night in his dungeon had deprived of all desire\nfor further confinement, acknowledged that his whole art lay in the\nslippers; nevertheless, he informed not the king of the wonderful\neffect of turning three times upon the heel. The king put on the\nslippers, himself, in order to make the experiment, and ran, like mad,\nthrough the garden; often did he wish to hold up, but he knew not how\nto bring the slippers to a halt, and Muck, who could not deny himself\nthis revenge, let him run on, until he fell down exhausted.\n\nWhen the king returned to consciousness, he was terribly angry at\nLittle Muck, who had suffered him to run until so entirely out of\nbreath. \"I have promised thee thy freedom and life,\" said he, \"but\nwithin twelve hours must thou leave my land; otherwise will I have\nthee hung.\" The slippers and cane, however, he commanded them to bear\nto his treasure-chamber.\n\nThus, poor as ever, wandered the little fellow forth through the land,\ncursing the folly which had led him astray, and prevented his playing\nan important part at court. The land from which he was banished, was\nfortunately not extensive, and accordingly eight hours brought him to\nthe frontier; but travelling, now that he was used to his dear\nslippers, came very hard to him. Having arrived at the border, he\nchose the usual road for reaching the most lonely part of the forest,\nfor he hated all men, and resolved to live there by himself. In a\nthick portion of the wood, he lighted on a place, which seemed to him\nquite suitable for the resolution he had taken. A clear brook,\nsurrounded by large shady fig-trees, and a soft turf, invited him: he\nthrew himself down, determined to taste food no more, but calmly to\nawait his end. Amid his sorrowful reflections on death, he fell\nasleep; when he awoke, he was tormented by hunger, and began to think\nthat starving to death was rather an unpleasant affair; so he looked\naround to find something to eat.\n\nFine ripe figs hung upon the tree beneath which he had slept; he\nstretched forth his hand to pluck some; their taste was delicious, and\nthen he descended into the brook to slake his thirst. But what was his\nhorror, when the water showed his head adorned with two immense ears,\nand a long thick nose! Amazed, he clapped his hands upon his ears, and\nthey were really more than half an ell long.\n\n\"I deserve ass's ears!\" he exclaimed; \"for, like an ass, have I\ntrodden Fortune under my feet.\" He wandered around among the trees,\nand feeling hunger again, was obliged to have recourse once more to\nthe fig-tree, for he could find nothing else that was eatable. After\nthe second portion of figs, it struck him that if his ears could find\nroom beneath his large turban, he would not look so ridiculous, and,\non trying it, he found that his ears had vanished. He ran straight\nback to the stream, in order to convince himself thereof; it was\nactually so; his ears had resumed their original figure, his long\nmisshapen nose was no more! He soon perceived how all this had\nhappened; from the first fig-tree he had received the long nose and\nears, the second had relieved him of them: he saw with joy that kind\ndestiny yet again placed in his hands the means of becoming fortunate.\nHe plucked, therefore, from each tree as many figs as he could carry,\nand went back to the land which shortly before he had left. There, in\nthe first town, he disguised himself by means of different garments;\nthen, turning again to the city inhabited by the king, he soon arrived\nat it.\n\nFor about a year ripe fruit had been quite scarce; Little Muck,\ntherefore, placed himself before the gate of the palace, for from his\nformer residence there, it was well known to him, that here such\nrareties would be purchased by the kitchen-master for the royal table.\nMuck had not long been seated, when he saw that dignitary walking\nacross the court-yard. He examined the articles of the traders who\nhad placed themselves at the palace-gate; at length his eye fell upon\nMuck's little basket.\n\n\"Ah! a dainty morsel!\" said he, \"which will certainly please his\nmajesty: what wish you for the whole basket?\" Muck set a high price\nupon them, and the bargain was soon struck. The kitchen-master gave\nthe basket to his slave, and went his way: meantime Little Muck stole\naway, for he feared, when the change should show itself on the heads\nof the court, that he, as the one who sold them, would be sought for\npunishment.\n\nAt table the king was well pleased, and praised his kitchen-master\nmore than ever, on account of his good kitchen, and the care with\nwhich he always sought the rarest morsels for his table; the officer,\nhowever, who well knew what dainties he had in the back-ground, smiled\npleasantly, and let fall but few words: \"The day is not all past till\nevening,\" or \"End good, all good;\" so that the princesses were very\ncurious to know what he would still bring on. The moment, however, he\nhad the fine, inviting figs set upon the table, a universal \"Ah!\"\nescaped the lips of those who were present. \"How ripe! how delicate!\"\nexclaimed the king; \"kitchen-master, thou art a whole-souled man, and\ndeservest our peculiar favor!\" Thus speaking, the king, who with such\nchoice dishes took care to be very sparing, with his own hands\ndistributed the figs around the table. Each prince and princess\nreceived two; the ladies of the court, the Viziers and Agas, each one;\nthe rest he placed before himself, and began to swallow them with\ngreat delight.\n\n\"In the name of heaven, father, why lookest thou so strange?\" suddenly\nexclaimed the Princess Amarza. All gazed in astonishment upon the\nking; vast ears hung down from his head, a long nose stretched itself\nbridge-like, over above his chin; upon themselves also they looked,\none upon another, with amazement and horror; all, more or less, were\nadorned with the same strange headdress.\n\nThe horror of the court may be imagined. All the physicians in the\ncity were immediately sent for; they came with a blustering air,\nprescribed pills and mixtures, but ears and noses remained. They\noperated on one of the princes, but the ears grew out again.\n\nFrom the place of concealment into which he had withdrawn, Muck had\nheard the whole story, and perceived that it was now time for him to\ncommence operations. He had already, with the money obtained by the\nsale of his figs, procured a dress which would represent him as a\nlearned man; a long beard of goat's hair completed the illusion. With\na small sack full of figs he repaired to the royal palace, and offered\nhis assistance as a foreign physician. At first they were quite\nincredulous; but when Little Muck gave a fig to one of the princes,\nand thereby restored ears and nose to their original shape, then were\nall eager to be cured by the stranger. But the king took him silently\nby the hand, and led him to his apartment; then, opening a door that\nled into the treasure-chamber, he made signs to Muck to follow.\n\n\"Here are my treasures,\" said the king; \"choose for thyself: whatever\nit may be, it shall be thine, if thou wilt free me from this shameful\nevil.\" This was sweet music in the ears of Little Muck: at the moment\nof entering he had seen his slippers standing upon the floor, and hard\nby lay his little staff. He moved around the room, as if in wonder at\nthe royal treasures; but no sooner had he reached his beloved shoes,\nthan he hastily slipped into them, and seizing the little cane, tore\noff his false beard, and displayed to the astonished king the\nwell-known countenance of his exiled Muck.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"False king!\" said he, \"who rewardest faithful service with\ningratitude, take, as well-deserved punishment, the deformity which\nthou now hast. The ears I leave thee, that, each day they may remind\nthee of Little Muck.\" Having thus spoken, he turned quickly around\nupon his heel, wished himself far away, and before the king could call\nfor help Little Muck had vanished. Ever since, he has lived here in\ngreat affluence, but alone, for men he despises. Experience has made\nhim a wise man--one who, though there is something offensive in his\nexterior, deserves rather your admiration than your ridicule.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSuch was my father's story. I assured him that I sincerely repented of\nmy behavior towards the good little man, and he remitted the other\nhalf of the punishment which he had intended for me. To my comrades I\ntold the wonderful history of the dwarf, and we conceived such an\naffection for him, that no one insulted him any more. On the contrary,\nwe honored him as long as he lived, and bowed as low to him as to Cadi\nor Mufti.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe travellers determined to rest a day in this caravansery, in order\nto refresh themselves and their beasts for the rest of their journey.\nThe gayety of the day before again prevailed, and they diverted\nthemselves with various sports. After the meal, however, they called\nupon the fifth merchant, Ali Sizah, to perform his duty to the rest,\nand give them a story. He answered, that his life was too poor in\nremarkable adventures for him to relate one connected therewith, but\nhe would tell them something which had no relation to it: \"The story\nof the False Prince.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTHE FALSE PRINCE.\n\n\nThere was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who\nlearned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not\nbe said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he\ncould make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice\nto have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to\nmake of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly\nthat the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that\nnone could equal him. At another time, however, (and this, alas!\nhappened more frequently,) he would sit in deep meditation, looking\nwith his staring eyes straight before him, and with a countenance and\nair so peculiar, that his master and fellow-journeymen could say of\nhis appearance nothing else than, \"Labakan has on again, his\naristocratic face.\"\n\nOn Friday, however, when others quietly returned home from prayers to\ntheir labor, Labakan would come forth from the mosque in a fine\ngarment which with great pains he had made for himself, and walk with\nslow and haughty steps through the squares and streets of the city. At\nsuch times, if one of his companions cried, \"Joy be with thee!\" or,\n\"How goes it, friend Labakan?\" he would patronizingly give a token of\nrecognition with his hand, or, if he felt called upon to be very\npolite, would bow genteelly with the head. Whenever his master said to\nhim in jest, \"Labakan, in thee a prince is lost,\" he would be\nrejoiced, and answer, \"Have you too observed it?\" or, \"I have already\nlong thought it.\"\n\nIn this manner did the honest journeyman tailor conduct himself for a\nlong time, while his master tolerated his folly, because, in other\nrespects, he was a good man and an excellent workman. But one day,\nSelim, the sultan's brother, who was travelling through Alexandria,\nsent a festival-garment to his master to have some change made in it,\nand the master gave it to Labakan, because he did the finest work. In\nthe evening, when the apprentices had all gone forth to refresh\nthemselves after the labor of the day, an irresistible desire drove\nLabakan back into the workshop, where the garment of the sultan's\nbrother was hanging. He stood some time, in reflection, before it,\nadmiring now the splendor of the embroidery, now the varied colors of\nthe velvet and silk. He cannot help it, he must put it on; and, lo! it\nfits him as handsomely as if it were made for him. \"Am not I as good a\nprince as any?\" asked he of himself, as he strutted up and down the\nroom. \"Has not my master himself said, that I was born for a prince?\"\nWith the garments, the apprentice seemed to have assumed quite a\nkingly carriage; he could believe nothing else, than that he was a\nking's son in obscurity, and as such he resolved to travel forth into\nthe world, leaving a city where the people hitherto had been so\nfoolish as not to discover his innate dignity beneath the veil of his\ninferior station. The splendid garment seemed sent to him by a good\nfairy; resolving therefore not to slight so precious a gift, he put\nhis little stock of money in his pocket, and, favored by the darkness\nof the night, wandered forth from Alexandria's gates.\n\nThe new prince excited admiration everywhere upon his route, for the\nsplendid garment, and his serious majestic air, would not allow him to\npass for a common pedestrian. If one inquired of him about it, he took\ncare to answer, with a mysterious look, that he had his reasons for\nit. Perceiving, however, that he rendered himself an object of\nridicule by travelling on foot, he purchased for a small sum an old\nhorse, which suited him very well, for it never brought his habitual\nquiet and mildness into difficulty, by compelling him to show himself\noff as an excellent rider, a thing which in reality he was not.\n\nOne day, as he was proceeding on his way, step by step, upon his\nMurva, (thus had he named his horse,) a stranger joined him, and asked\npermission to travel in his company, since to him the distance would\nseem much shorter, in conversation with another. The rider was a gay\nyoung man, elegant and genteel in manners. He soon knit up a\nconversation with Labakan, with respect to his whence and whither, and\nit turned out that he also, like the journeyman tailor, was travelling\nwithout purpose, in the world. He said his name was Omar, that he was\nthe nephew of Elfi Bey, the unfortunate bashaw of Cairo, and was now\non his way to execute a commission which his uncle had delivered to\nhim upon his dying-bed. Labakan was not so frank with respect to his\ncircumstances; he gave him to understand that he was of lofty descent,\nand was travelling for pleasure.\n\nThe two young men were pleased with each other, and rode on in\ncompany. On the second day, Labakan interrogated his companion Omar,\nrespecting the commission with which he was charged, and to his\nastonishment learned the following. Elfi Bey, the bashaw of Cairo, had\nbrought up Omar from his earliest childhood; the young man had never\nknown his parents. But shortly before, Elfi Bey, having been attacked\nby his enemies, and, after three disastrous engagements, mortally\nwounded, was obliged to flee, and disclosed to his charge that he was\nnot his nephew, but the son of a powerful lord, who, inspired with\nfear by the prophecy of his astrologer, had sent the young prince away\nfrom his court, with an oath never to see him again until his\ntwenty-second birthday. Elfi Bey had not told him his father's name,\nbut had enjoined upon him with the greatest precision, on the fourth\nday of the coming month Ramadan, on which day he would be\ntwo-and-twenty years old, to repair to the celebrated pillar\nEl-Serujah, four days' journey east of Alexandria: there he should\noffer to the men who would be standing by the pillar, a dagger which\nhe gave him, with these words, \"Here am I, whom ye seek!\" If they\nanswered, \"Blessed be the Prophet, who has preserved thee!\" then he\nwas to follow them--they would lead him to his father.\n\nThe journeyman tailor, Labakan, was much astonished at this\ninformation; from this time he looked upon Prince Omar with envious\neyes, irritated because fortune conferred upon him, though already he\npassed for the nephew of a mighty bashaw, the dignity of a king's son;\nbut on him, whom she had endowed with all things necessary for a\nprince, bestowed in ridicule, an obscure lineage, and an every-day\nvocation. He instituted a comparison between himself and the prince.\nHe was obliged to confess that the latter was a man of very lively\naspect; that fine sparkling eyes belonged to him, a boldly-arched\nnose, a gentlemanly, complaisant demeanor, in a word, all the external\naccomplishments, which every one is wont to commend. But numerous as\nwere the charms he found in his companion, still he was compelled to\nacknowledge to himself, that a Labakan would be no less acceptable to\nthe royal father than the genuine prince.\n\nThese thoughts pursued Labakan the whole day; with them he went to\nsleep in the nearest night-lodgings; but when he awoke in the morning,\nand his eye rested upon Omar sleeping near him, who was reposing so\nquietly, and could dream of his now certain fortune, then arose in him\nthe thought of gaining, by stratagem or violence, what unpropitious\ndestiny had denied him. The dagger, the returning prince's token of\nrecognition, hung in the sleeper's girdle; he softly drew it forth, to\nplunge it in the breast of its owner. Nevertheless, the peaceable soul\nof the journeyman recoiled before thoughts of murder; he contented\nhimself with appropriating the dagger, and bridling for himself the\nfaster horse of the prince; and, ere Omar awoke to see himself\ndespoiled of all his hopes, his perfidious companion was several miles\nupon his way.\n\nThe day on which Labakan robbed the prince was the first of the holy\nmonth Ramadan, and he had therefore four days to reach the pillar\nEl-Serujah, the locality of which was well known to him. Although the\nregion wherein it was situated could at farthest be at a distance of\nbut four days' journey, still he hastened to reach it, through a\nconstant fear of being overtaken by the real prince.\n\nBy the end of the second day, he came in sight of the pillar\nEl-Serujah. It stood upon a little elevation, in the midst of an\nextensive plain, and could be seen at a distance of two or three\nleagues. Labakan's heart beat high at the sight: though he had had\ntime enough on horseback, for the last two days, to think of the part\nhe was to play, still a consciousness of guilt made him anxious; the\nthought that he was born for a prince, however, encouraged him again,\nand he advanced towards the mark with renewed confidence.\n\nThe country around the pillar was uninhabited and desert, and the new\nprince would have experienced some difficulty in finding sustenance,\nif he had not previously supplied himself for several days. He lay\ndown beside his horse beneath some palm-trees, and there awaited his\ndistant destiny.\n\nTowards the middle of the next day, he saw a large procession of\nhorses and camels crossing the plain in the direction of the pillar\nEl-Serujah. It reached the foot of the hill, on which the pillar\nstood; there they pitched splendid tents, and the whole looked like\nthe travelling-suite of some rich bashaw or sheik. Labakan perceived\nthat the numerous train which met his eye, had taken the pains to come\nhither on his account, and gladly would he that moment have shown them\ntheir future lord; but he mastered his eager desire to walk as\nprince; for, indeed, the next morning would consummate his boldest\nwishes.\n\nThe morning sun awoke the too happy tailor to the most important\nmoment of his life, which would elevate him from an inferior\nsituation, to the side of a royal father. As he was bridling his horse\nto ride to the pillar, the injustice of his course, indeed, occurred\nto him; his thoughts pictured to him the anguish of the true prince,\nbetrayed in his fine hopes; but the die was cast: what was done could\nnot be undone, and self-love whispered to him that he looked stately\nenough to pass for the son of the mightiest king. Inspirited by these\nreflections, he sprang upon his horse, and collecting all his courage\nto bring him to an ordinary gallop, in less than a quarter of an hour,\nreached the foot of the hill. He dismounted from his horse, and\nfastened it to one of the shrubs that were growing near; then he drew\nthe dagger of Prince Omar, and proceeded up the hill. At the base of\nthe pillar six persons were standing around an old gray-haired man, of\nlofty king-like aspect. A splendid caftan of gold cloth surrounded by\na white Cashmere shawl, a snowy turban spangled with glittering\nprecious stones, pointed him out as a man of opulence and nobility. To\nhim Labakan proceeded, and bowing low before him, said, as he extended\nthe dagger--\n\n\"Here am I, whom you seek.\"\n\n\"Praise to the Prophet who has preserved thee!\" answered the\ngray-haired one, with tears of joy. \"Omar, my beloved son, embrace\nthine old father!\" The good tailor was deeply affected by these solemn\nwords, and sank, with mingled emotions of joy and shame, into the arms\nof the old noble.\n\nBut only for a moment was he to enjoy the unclouded delight of his new\nrank; raising himself from the arms of the king, he saw a rider\nhastening over the plain in the direction of the hill. The traveller\nand his horse presented a strange appearance; the animal, either from\nobstinacy or fatigue, seemed unwilling to proceed. He went along with\na stumbling gait, which was neither a pace nor a trot; but the rider\nurged him on, with hands and feet, to a faster run. Only too soon did\nLabakan recognise his horse Murva, and the real Prince Omar. But the\nevil spirit of falsehood once more prevailed within him, and he\nresolved, come what might, with unmoved front to support the rights he\nhad usurped. Already, in the distance, had they observed the horseman\nmaking signs; at length, in spite of Murva's slow gait, having reached\nthe bottom of the hill, he threw himself from his horse, and began\nrapidly to ascend.\n\n\"Hold!\" cried he. \"Hold! whoever you may be, and suffer not yourselves\nto be deceived by a most infamous impostor! I am called Omar, and let\nno mortal venture to misuse my name!\"\n\nGreat astonishment was depicted on the countenances of the bystanders\nat this turn of the affair; the old man, in particular, seemed to be\nmuch amazed, as he looked inquiringly on one and another. Thereupon\nLabakan spoke, with a composure gained only by the most powerful\neffort.\n\n\"Most gracious lord and father, be not led astray by this man. He is,\nas far as I know, a mad journeyman tailor of Alexandria, by name\nLabakan, who deserves rather our pity than our anger.\"\n\nThese words excited the prince almost to phrensy. Foaming with\npassion, he would have sprung upon Labakan, but the bystanders,\nthrowing themselves between, secured him, while the old man said:\n\"Truly, my beloved son, the poor man is crazed. Let them bind him and\nplace him on one of our dromedaries; perhaps we may be of some\nassistance to the unfortunate.\"\n\nThe anger of the prince had abated; in tears, he cried out to the old\nman, \"My heart tells me that you are my father; by the memory of my\nmother, I conjure you--hear me!\"\n\n\"Alas! God guard us!\" answered he: \"already he again begins to talk\nwildly. How can the man come by such crazy thoughts?\" Thereupon,\nseizing Labakan's arm, he made him accompany him down the hill. They\nboth mounted fine and richly-caparisoned coursers, and rode at the\nhead of the procession, across the plain. They tied the hands of the\nunfortunate prince, however, and bound him securely upon a dromedary.\nTwo horsemen rode constantly by his side, who kept a watchful eye upon\nhis every movement.\n\nThe old prince was Saoud, sultan of the Wechabites. For some time had\nhe lived without children; at last a prince, for whom he had so\nardently longed, was born to him. But the astrologer, whom he\nconsulted respecting the destiny of his son, told him that, until his\ntwenty-second year, he would be in danger of being supplanted by an\nenemy. On that account, in order that he might be perfectly safe, had\nthe sultan given him, to be brought up, to his old and tried friend,\nElfi Bey; and twenty-two sad years had lived without looking upon him.\n\nThis did the sultan impart to his supposed son, and seemed delighted\nbeyond measure with his figure and dignified demeanor.\n\nWhen they reached the sultan's dominions, they were everywhere\nreceived by the inhabitants with shouts of joy; for the rumor of the\nprince's arrival had spread like wildfire through the cities and\ntowns. In the streets through which they proceeded, arches of flowers\nand branches were erected; bright carpets of all colors adorned the\nhouses; and the people loudly praised God and his prophet, who had\ndiscovered to them so noble a prince. All this filled the proud heart\nof the tailor with delight: so much the more unhappy did it make the\nreal Omar, who, still bound, followed the procession in silent\ndespair. In this universal jubilee, though it was all in his honor, no\none paid him any attention. A thousand, and again a thousand, voices\nshouted the name of Omar; but of him who really bore this name, of him\nnone took notice: at most, only one or two inquired whom they were\ncarrying with them, so tightly bound, and frightfully in the ears of\nthe prince sounded the answer of his guards, \"It is a mad tailor.\"\n\nThe procession at last reached the capital of the sultan, where all\nwas prepared for their reception with still more brilliancy than in\nthe other cities. The sultana, an elderly woman of majestic\nappearance, awaited them, with her whole court, in the most splendid\nsaloon of the castle. The floor of this room was covered with a large\ncarpet; the walls were adorned with bright blue tapestry, which was\nsuspended from massive silver hooks, by cords and tassels of gold.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIt was dark by the time the procession came up, and accordingly many\nglobular colored lamps were lighted in the saloon, which made night\nbrilliant as day; but with the clearest brilliancy and most varied\ncolors, shone those in the farthest part of the saloon, where the\nsultana was seated upon a throne. The throne stood upon four steps,\nand was of pure gold, inlaid with amethysts. The four most illustrious\nemirs held a canopy of crimson silk over the head of their mistress;\nand the sheik of Medina cooled her with a fan of peacock feathers.\nThus awaited the sultana her husband and son; the latter she had never\nlooked on since his birth, but significant dreams had so plainly shown\nher the object of her longings, that she would know him out of\nthousands.\n\nNow they heard the noise of the approaching troop; trumpets and drums\nmingled with the huzzas of the populace; the hoofs of the horses\nsounded on the court of the palace; steps came nearer and nearer; the\ndoors of the room flew open, and, through rows of prostrate\nattendants, hastened the sultan, holding his son by the hand, towards\nthe mother's throne.\n\n\"Here,\" said he, \"do I bring to thee, him for whom thou hast so often\nlonged.\"\n\nThe sultana, however, interrupted him, crying: \"This is not my son!\nThese are not the features which the Prophet has shown me in my\ndreams!\"\n\nJust as the sultan was about to rebuke her superstition, the door of\nthe saloon sprang open, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his\nguards, whom an exertion of his whole strength had enabled him to\nescape. Breathless, he threw himself before the throne, exclaiming:--\n\n\"Here will I die! Kill me, cruel father, for this disgrace I can\nendure no longer!\"\n\nAll were confounded at these words; they pressed around the\nunfortunate one, and already were the guards, who had hurried up, on\nthe point of seizing him and replacing his fetters, when the sultana,\nwho had thus far looked on in mute astonishment, sprang from the\nthrone.\n\n\"Hold!\" she cried; \"this, and no other, is my son! This is he, who,\nthough my eyes have never seen him, is well known to my heart!\" The\nguards had involuntarily fallen back from Omar, but the sultan,\nfoaming with rage, commanded them to bind the madman.\n\n\"It is mine to decide,\" he cried with commanding tone; \"and here we\nwill judge, not by a woman's dreams, but by sure and infallible\nsigns. This,\" pointing to Labakan, \"is my son, for he has brought me\nthe dagger, the real token of my friend Elfi.\"\n\n\"He stole it,\" cried Omar; \"my unsuspicious confidence has he\ntreacherously abused!\" But the sultan hearkened not to the voice of\nhis son, for he was wont in all things obstinately to follow his own\njudgment. He bade them forcibly drag the unfortunate Omar from the\nsaloon, and himself retired with Labakan to his chamber, filled with\nanger at his wife, with whom, nevertheless, he had lived in happiness\nfor five-and-twenty years. The sultana was full of grief at this\naffair; she was perfectly convinced that an impostor had taken\npossession of the sultan's heart, so numerous and distinct had been\nthe dreams which pointed out the unhappy Omar as her son. When her\nsorrow had a little abated, she reflected on the means of convincing\nher husband of his mistake. This was indeed difficult, for he who had\npassed himself off as her son, had presented the dagger, the token of\nrecognition, and had, moreover, as she learned, become acquainted with\nso much of Omar's early life from the lips of the prince himself, as\nto be able to play his part without betraying himself.\n\nShe called to her the men who had attended the sultan to the pillar\nEl-Serujah, in order to have the whole matter exactly laid before her,\nand then took counsel with her most trusty female slaves. She chose,\nand in a moment rejected, this means and that; at length, Melechsalah,\nan old and cunning Circassian, spoke.\n\n\"If I have heard rightly, honored mistress, the one who bore this\ndagger called him whom thou holdest to be thy son, a crazy tailor,\nLabakan?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is so,\" answered the sultana; \"but what wilt thou make of\nthat?\"\n\n\"What think you,\" proceeded the slave, \"of this impostor's having\nstitched his own name upon your son? If this be so, we have an\nexcellent way of catching the deceiver, which I will impart to you in\nprivate.\"\n\nThe sultana gave ear to her slave, and the latter whispered to her a\nplan which seemed to please her, for she immediately got ready to go\nto the sultan. The sultana was a sensible woman, and knew not only\nthe weak side of her husband, but also the way to take advantage of\nit. She seemed therefore to give up, and to be willing to acknowledge\nher son, only offering one condition: the sultan, whom the outbreak\nbetween himself and his wife had grieved, agreed thereto, and she\nsaid:--\n\n\"I would fain have from each a proof of his skill; another, perhaps,\nwould have them contend in riding, in single conflict, or in hurling\nspears: but these are things which every one can do; I will give them\nsomething which will require both knowledge and dexterity. It shall be\nthis; each shall make a caftan, and a pair of pantaloons, and then\nwill we see at once who can make the finest ones.\"\n\nThe sultan laughingly answered, \"Ah! thou hast hit on a fine\nexpedient! Shall my son contend with a mad tailor, to see who can make\nthe best caftan? No! that cannot be.\" The sultana, however, cried out,\nthat he had already agreed to the condition, and her husband, who was\na man of his word, at length yielded, though he swore, should the mad\ntailor make his caftan ever so beautiful, he would never acknowledge\nhim as his son.\n\nThe sultan thereupon went to his son, and entreated him to submit to\nthe caprices of his mother, who now positively wished to see a caftan\nfrom his hands. The heart of the good Labakan laughed with delight; if\nthat be all that is wanting, thought he to himself, then shall the\nlady sultana soon behold me with joy. Two rooms had been fitted up,\none for the prince, the other for the tailor; there were they to try\ntheir skill, and each was furnished with shears, needles, thread, and\na sufficient quantity of silk.\n\nThe sultan was very eager to see what sort of a caftan his son would\nbring to light, but the heart of the sultana beat unquietly, from\napprehension lest her stratagem might be unsuccessful. Two days had\nthey been confined to their work; on the third, the sultan sent for\nhis wife, and when she appeared, dispatched her to the apartments to\nbring the two caftans and their makers. With triumphant air Labakan\nwalked in, and extended his garment before the astonished eyes of the\nsultan.\n\n\"Behold, father,\" said he, \"look, mother! see if this be not a\nmasterpiece of a caftan. I will leave it to the most skilful\ncourt-tailor, upon a wager, whether he can produce such another.\"\n\nThe sultana, smiling, turned to Omar:-- \"And thou, my son, what hast\nthou brought?\"\n\nIndignantly he cast the silk and shears upon the floor.\n\n\"They have taught me to tame horses, and to swing my sabre; and my\nlance will strike you a mark at sixty paces. But the art of the needle\nis unknown to me; it were unworthy a pupil of Elfi Bey, the lord of\nCairo!\"\n\n\"Oh, thou true son of my heart!\" exclaimed the sultana. \"Ah, that I\nmight embrace thee, and call thee, son! Forgive me, husband and\nmaster,\" she continued, turning to the sultan, \"for having set on foot\nthis stratagem against you. See you not now who is prince, and who\ntailor? Of a truth the caftan which your lord son has made, is\nmagnificent, and I would fain ask with what master he has learned!\"\n\nThe sultan was lost in deep reflection, looking with distrust, now on\nhis wife, now on Labakan, who vainly sought to conceal his blushes and\nconsternation at having so stupidly betrayed himself. \"This proof\npleases me not,\" said he; \"but, Allah be praised! I know a means of\nlearning whether I am deceived.\" He commanded them to bring his\nswiftest horse, mounted, and rode to a forest, which commenced not far\nfrom the city. There, according to an old tradition, lived a good\nfairy, named Adolzaide, who had often before this assisted with her\nadvice the monarchs of his family, in the hour of need: thither\nhastened the sultan.\n\nIn the middle of the wood was an open place, surrounded by lofty\ncedars. There, the story said, lived the fairy; and seldom did a\nmortal visit this spot, for a certain awe connected with it had, from\nolden time, descended from father to son. When the sultan had drawn\nnear he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and placing himself in\nthe middle of the open space, cried with loud voice:--\n\n\"If it be true that thou hast given good counsel to my fathers, in the\nhour of need, then disdain not the request of their descendant, and\nadvise me in a case where human understanding is too short-sighted.\"\n\nHardly had he uttered the last word, when one of the cedars opened,\nand a veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth.\n\n\"I know, Sultan Saoud, why thou comest to me; thy wish is fair,\ntherefore shall my assistance be thine. Take these two chests; let\neach of the two who claim to be thy son, choose; I know that he who is\nthe real one, will not make a wrong selection.\" Thus speaking, the\nveiled lady extended to him two little caskets of ivory, richly\nadorned with gold and pearls: upon the lids, which he vainly sought to\nopen, were inscriptions formed by inlaid diamonds.\n\nAs he was riding home, the sultan tormented himself with various\nconjectures, as to what might be the contents of the caskets, which,\ndo his best, he could not open. The words on the outside threw no\nlight upon the matter; for on one was inscribed, HONOR AND FAME; upon\nthe other, FORTUNE AND WEALTH. Saoud thought it would be difficult to\nmake choice between these two, which seemed equally attractive,\nequally alluring. When he reached the palace, he sent for his wife,\nand told her the answer of the fairy: it filled her with an eager\nhope, that he to whom her heart clung, might select the casket which\nwould indicate his royal origin.\n\nTwo tables were brought in before the sultan's throne; on these, with\nhis own hand, Saoud placed the two boxes; then, ascending to his seat,\nhe gave the signal to one of his slaves to open the door of the\nsaloon. A brilliant throng of bashaws and emirs of the realm poured\nthrough the open door: they seated themselves on the splendid\ncushions, which were arranged around the walls. When they had done\nthis, Saoud gave a second signal, and Labakan was introduced; with\nhaughty step he walked through the apartment, and prostrated himself\nbefore the throne with these words:--\n\n\"What is the command of my lord and father?\" The sultan raised himself\nin his throne, and said:--\n\n\"My son, doubts are entertained as to the genuineness of thy claims to\nthis name; one of these chests contains the confirmation of thy real\nbirth. Choose! I doubt not thou wilt select the right one!\" Labakan\nraised himself, and advanced towards the boxes; for a long time he\nreflected as to which he should choose, at last he said:--\n\n\"Honored father, what can be loftier than the fortune of being thy\nson? What more noble than the wealth of thy favor? I choose the chest\nwhich bears the inscription, FORTUNE AND WEALTH.\"\n\n\"We will soon learn whether thou hast made the right choice; meanwhile\nsit down upon that cushion, near the bashaw of Medina,\" said the\nsultan, again motioning to his slaves.\n\nOmar was led in; his eye was mournful, his air dejected, and his\nappearance excited universal sympathy among the spectators. He threw\nhimself before the throne, and inquired after the sultan's pleasure.\nSaoud informed him that he was to choose one of the chests: he arose,\nand approached the table. He read attentively both inscriptions, and\nsaid:--\n\n\"The few last days have informed me how insecure is fortune, how\ntransient is wealth; but they have also taught me that, in the breast\nof the brave, lives what can never be destroyed, HONOR, and that the\nbright star of RENOWN sets not with fortune. The die is cast! should I\nresign a crown, Honor and Fame, you are my choice!\" He placed his hand\nupon the casket that he had chosen, but the sultan commanded him not\nto unclose it, while he motioned to Labakan to advance, in like\nmanner, before his table. He did so, and at the same time grasped his\nbox. The sultan, however, had a chalice brought in, with water from\nZemzem, the holy fountain of Mecca, washed his hands for supplication,\nand, turning his face to the East, prostrated himself in prayer:\n\n\"God of my fathers! Thou, who for centuries hast established our\nfamily, pure and unadulterated, grant that no unworthy one disgrace\nthe name of the Abassidae; be with thy protection near my real son, in\nthis hour of trial.\" The sultan arose, and reascended his throne.\nUniversal expectation enchained all present; they scarcely breathed;\none could have heard a mouse crawl over the hall, so mute and\nattentive were all. The hindmost extended their necks, in order to get\na view of the chests, over the heads of those in front. The sultan\nspoke: \"Open the chests;\" and they, which before no violence could\nforce, now sprang open of their own accord.\n\nIn the one which Omar had chosen, lay upon a velvet cushion, a small\ngolden crown, and a sceptre: in Labakan's, a large needle, and a\nlittle linen thread. The sultan commanded both to bring their caskets\nbefore him: he took the little crown from the cushion in his hand,\nand, wonderful to see! it became larger and larger, until it reached\nthe size of a real crown. Placing it on his son Omar, who kneeled\nbefore him, he kissed his forehead, and bade him sit upon his right\nhand. To Labakan, however, he turned and said:--\n\n\"There is an old proverb, 'Shoemaker, stick to thy last;' it seems\nthat thou shouldst stick to thy needle. Thou hast not, indeed, merited\nmuch mercy at my hands, but one has supplicated for thee, whom this\nday I can refuse nothing; therefore give I thee thy paltry life; but,\nif I may advise, haste thee to leave my land.\"\n\nAshamed, ruined as he was, the poor tailor could answer nothing: he\nthrew himself before the prince, and tears came into his eyes.\n\n\"Can you forgive me, prince?\" he said.\n\n\"To be true to a friend, magnanimous to a foe, is the pride of the\nAbassidae!\" answered the prince, raising him. \"Go in peace!\"\n\n\"My true son!\" cried the old sultan, deeply affected, and sinking upon\nOmar's breast. The emirs and bashaws, and all the nobles of the\nrealm, arose from their seats, to welcome the new prince, and amid\nthis universal jubilee, Labakan, his chest under his arm, crept out of\nthe saloon.\n\nHe went down into the sultan's stable, bridled his horse Murva, and\nrode forth from the gate towards Alexandria. His whole career as\nprince recurred to him as a dream, and the splendid chest, richly\nadorned with pearls and diamonds, alone convinced him that it was not\nall an idle vision. Having at last reached Alexandria, he rode to the\nhouse of his old master, dismounted, and fastening his horse to the\ndoor, walked into the workshop. The master, who did not even know him,\nmade a low bow and asked what was his pleasure: when, however, he had\na nearer view of his guest, and recognised his old Labakan, he called\nto his journeymen and apprentices, and all precipitated themselves,\nlike mad, upon poor Labakan, who expected no such reception; they\nbruised and beat him with smoothing-irons and yard-sticks, pricked him\nwith needles, and pinched him with sharp shears, until he sank down,\nexhausted, on a heap of old clothes. As he lay there, the master\nceased, for a moment, from his blows, to ask after the stolen\ngarments: in vain Labakan assured him that he had come back on that\naccount alone, to set all right; in vain offered him threefold\ncompensation for his loss; the master and his journeymen fell upon him\nagain, beat him terribly, and turned him out of doors. Sore and\nbruised, he mounted Murva, and rode to a caravansery. There he laid\ndown his weary lacerated head, reflecting on the sorrows of earth, on\nmerit so often unrewarded, and on the nothingness and transientness of\nall human blessings. He went to sleep with the determination to give\nup all hopes of greatness, and to become an honest burgher. Nor on the\nfollowing day did he repent of his resolution, for the heavy hands of\nhis master, and the journeymen, had cudgelled out of him all thoughts\nof nobility.\n\nHe sold his box to a jeweller for a high price, and fitted up a\nworkshop for his business. When he had arranged all, and had hung out,\nbefore his window, a sign with the inscription, LABAKAN, MERCHANT\nTAILOR, he sat down and began with the needle and thread he had found\nin the chest, to mend the coat which his master had so shockingly\ntorn. He was called off from his work, but on returning to it, what a\nwonderful sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing industriously\naway, without being touched by any one; it took fine, elegant\nstitches, such as Labakan himself had never made even in his most\nskilful moments.\n\nTruly the smallest present of a kind fairy is useful, and of great\nvalue! Still another good quality had the gift; be the needle as\nindustrious as it might, the little stock of thread never gave out.\n\nLabakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailor\nfor miles around. He cut out the garments, and took the first stitch\ntherein with the needle, and immediately the latter worked away,\nwithout cessation, until the whole was completed. Master Labakan soon\nhad the whole city for customers, for his work was beautiful, and his\ncharges low; and only one thing troubled the brains of the people of\nAlexandria, namely, how he finished his work entirely without\njourneymen, and with closed doors.\n\nThus was the motto of the chest which promised fortune and wealth\nundergoing its accomplishment. FORTUNE AND WEALTH accompanied, with\ngradual increase, the steps of the good tailor, and when he listened\nto the praises of the young sultan Omar, who lived in every mouth;\nwhen he heard that this brave man was the object of his people's pride\nand love, the terror of his enemies; then would the quondam prince say\nto himself, \"Still is it better that I remained a tailor, for HONOR\nAND FAME are ever accompanied by danger.\"\n\nThus lived Labakan, contented with himself, respected by his\nfellow-burghers; and if the needle, meanwhile, has not lost her\ncunning, she is still sewing with the everlasting thread of the good\nFairy Adolzaide.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt sundown the Caravan set out, and soon reached Birket-el-had, or\n\"the Pilgrims' Fountain,\" whence the distance to Cairo was three\nleagues. The Caravan had been expected at this time, and the merchants\nsoon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming forth from the\ncity to meet them. They entered through the gate Bebel-Falch, for it\nwas considered a good omen for those who came from Mecca to enter by\nthis gate, because the Prophet himself had passed through it.\n\nAt the market-place the four Turkish merchants took leave of the\nstranger and the Greek Zaleukos, and went home with their friends.\nZaleukos, however, showed his companion a good caravansery, and\ninvited him to dine with him. The stranger agreed, and promised to\nmake his appearance as soon as he should have changed his dress. The\nGreek made every arrangement for giving a fine entertainment to the\nstranger, for whom, upon the journey, he had conceived a deep feeling\nof esteem; and when the meats and drink had been brought in in proper\norder, he seated himself, waiting for his guest.\n\nHe heard slow and heavy steps approaching through the gallery which\nled to their apartment. He arose in order to meet him as a friend, and\nwelcome him upon the threshold; but, full of horror, he started back\nas the door opened--the same frightful Red-mantle walked in before\nhim! His eyes were still turned upon him; it was no illusion: the same\nlofty, commanding figure, the mask, from beneath which shone forth the\ndark eyes, the red cloak with embroidery of gold--all were but too\nwell known to him, impressed upon his mind as they had been during the\nmost awful moments of his life.\n\nThe breast of Zaleukos heaved with contending emotions; he had long\nsince felt reconciled towards this too-well-remembered apparition, and\nforgiven him; nevertheless his sudden appearance opened every wound\nafresh. All those torturing hours of anguish, that wo which had\nenvenomed the bloom of his life, rushed back for a moment, crowding\nupon his soul.\n\n\"What wishest thou, terrible one?\" cried the Greek, as the apparition\nstill stood motionless upon the threshold. \"Away with thee, that I may\ncurse thee not!\"\n\n\"Zaleukos!\" said a well-known voice from under the mask: \"Zaleukos! is\nit thus that you receive your guest?\" The speaker removed the mask,\nand threw back his cloak: it was Selim Baruch, the stranger! But still\nZaleukos seemed not at ease, for he too plainly recognised in him the\nUnknown of the Ponte Vecchio: nevertheless, old habits of hospitality\nconquered; he silently motioned to the stranger to seat himself at the\ntable.\n\n\"I can guess your thoughts,\" commenced the latter, when they had taken\ntheir places: \"your eyes look inquiringly upon me. I might have been\nsilent, and your gaze would never more have beheld me; but I owe you\nan explanation, and therefore did I venture to appear before you in my\nformer guise, even at the risk of receiving your curse. You once said\nto me, 'The faith of my fathers bids me love him; and he is probably\nmore unhappy than myself:' be assured of this, my friend, and listen\nto my justification.\n\n\"I must begin far back, in order that you may fully understand my\nstory. I was born in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father, the\nyoungest son of an ancient illustrious French family, was consul for\nhis native land in the city I have just mentioned. From my tenth year\nI was brought up in France, by one of my mother's brothers, and left\nmy fatherland for the first time a few years after the revolution\nbroke out there, in company with my uncle, who was no longer safe in\nthe land of his ancestors, in order to seek refuge with my parents\nbeyond the sea. We landed eagerly, hoping to find in my father's house\nthe rest and quiet of which the troubles of France had deprived us.\nBut ah! in my father's house I found not all as it should be: the\nexternal storms of these stirring times had not, it is true, reached\nit; but the more unexpectedly had misfortune made her home in the\ninmost hearts of my family. My brother, a promising young man, first\nsecretary of my father, had shortly before married a young lady, the\ndaughter of a Florentine noble who lived in our vicinity: two days\nbefore our arrival she had suddenly disappeared, and neither our\nfamily nor her own father could discern the slightest trace of her.\nAt last they came to the conclusion that she had ventured too far in a\nwalk, and had fallen into the hands of robbers. Almost agreeable was\nthis thought to my poor brother, when compared to the truth, which\nonly too soon became known. The perfidious one had eloped with a young\nNeapolitan, with whom she had become acquainted in her father's house.\nMy brother, who was exceedingly affected by this step, employed every\nmeans to bring the guilty one to punishment; but in vain: his\nattempts, which in Naples and Florence had excited wonder, served only\nto complete his and our misfortune. The Florentine nobleman returned\nto his native land, under the pretence of seeing justice done to my\nbrother, but with the real determination of destroying us all. He\nfrustrated all those examinations which my brother had set on foot,\nand knew how to use his influence, which he had obtained in various\nways, so well, that my father and brother fell under suspicion of\ntheir government, were seized in the most shameful manner, carried to\nFrance, and there suffered death by the axe of the executioner. My\npoor mother lost her mind; and not until ten long months had passed,\ndid death release her from her awful situation, though for the few\nlast days she was possessed of perfect consciousness. Thus did I now\nstand isolated in the world: one thought alone occupied my whole soul,\none thought alone bade me forget my sorrows; it was the mighty flame\nwhich my mother in her last moments had kindled within me.\n\n\"In her last moments, as I said, recollection returned; she had me\nsummoned, and spoke with composure of our fate, and her own death.\nThen she sent all out of the room, raised herself, with a solemn air,\nfrom her miserable bed, and said that I should receive her blessing,\nif I would swear to accomplish something with which she would charge\nme. Amazed at the words of my dying mother, I promised with an oath to\ndo whatever she should tell me. She thereupon broke forth in\nimprecations against the Florentine and his daughter, and charged me,\nwith the most frightful threats of her curse, to avenge upon him the\nmisfortunes of my house. She died in my arms. This thought of\nvengeance had long slumbered in my soul; it now awoke in all its\nmight. I collected what remained of my paternal property, and bound\nmyself by an oath to stake it all upon revenge, and, rather than be\nunsuccessful, to perish in the attempt.\n\n\"I soon arrived in Florence, where I kept myself as private as\npossible; it was very difficult to put my plan in execution on account\nof the situation which my enemy occupied. The old Florentine had\nbecome governor, and thus had in his hand all the means of destroying\nme, should he entertain the slightest suspicion. An accident came to\nmy assistance. One evening I saw a man in well-known livery, walking\nthrough the streets: his uncertain gait, his gloomy appearance, and\nthe muttered 'Santo sacramento,' and 'Maledetto diavolo,' soon made me\nrecognise old Pietro, a servant of the Florentine, whom I had formerly\nknown in Alexandria. There was no doubt but that he was in a passion\nwith his master, and I resolved to turn his humor to my advantage. He\nappeared much surprised to see me there, told me his grievances, that\nhe could do nothing aright for his master since he had become\ngovernor, and my gold supported by his anger soon brought him over to\nmy side. Most of the difficulty was now removed: I had a man in my\npay, who would open to me at any hour the doors of my enemy, and from\nthis time my plan of vengeance advanced to maturity with still greater\nrapidity. The life of the old Florentine seemed to me too pitiful a\nthing, to be put into the balance with that of my whole family.\nMurdered before him, he must see the dearest object of his love, and\nthis was his daughter Bianca. It was she that had so shamefully\nwronged my brother, it was she that had been the author of our\nmisfortunes. My heart, thirsting for revenge, eagerly drank in the\nintelligence, that Bianca was on the point of being married a second\ntime; it was settled--she must die. But as my soul recoiled at the\ndeed, and I attributed too little nerve to Pietro, we looked around\nfor a man to accomplish our fell design. I could hire no Florentine,\nfor there was none that would have undertaken such a thing against the\ngovernor. Thereupon Pietro hit upon a plan, which I afterwards\nadopted, and he thereupon proposed you, being a foreigner and a\nphysician, as the proper person. The result you know: only, through\nyour excessive foresight and honesty, my undertaking seemed, at one\ntime, to be tottering; hence the scene with the mantle.\n\n\"Pietro opened for us the little gate in the governor's palace; he\nwould have let us out, also, in the same secret manner, if we had not\nfled, overcome by horror at the frightful spectacle, which, through\nthe crack of the door, presented itself to our eyes. Pursued by terror\nand remorse, I ran on about two hundred paces, until I sank down upon\nthe steps of a church. There I collected myself again, and my first\nthought was of you, and your awful fate, if found within the house.\n\n\"I crept back to the palace, but neither of Pietro nor yourself could\nI discover a single trace. The door, however, was open, and I could at\nleast hope that you had not neglected this opportunity of flight.\n\n\"But when the day broke, fear of detection, and an unconquerable\nfeeling of remorse, allowed me to remain no longer within the walls of\nFlorence. I hastened to Rome. Imagine my consternation, when, after a\nfew days, the story was everywhere told, with the addition that, in a\nGrecian physician, they had detected the murderer. In anxious fear, I\nreturned to Florence; my vengeance now seemed too great: I cursed it\nagain and again, for with your life it was purchased all too dearly. I\narrived on the same day which cost you a hand. I will not tell you\nwhat I felt, when I saw you ascend the scaffold, and bear all with\nsuch heroism. But when the blood gushed forth in streams, then was my\nresolution taken, to sweeten the rest of your days. What has since\nhappened you know; it only now remains to tell you, why I have\ntravelled with you. As the thought that you had never yet forgiven me,\npressed heavily upon me, I determined to spend some days with you, and\nat last to give you an explanation of what I had done.\"\n\nSilently had the Greek listened to his guest; with a kind look, as he\nfinished, he offered him his right hand.\n\n\"I knew very well that you must be more unhappy than I, for that awful\ndeed will, like a thick cloud, forever darken your days. From my heart\nI forgive you. But answer me yet one question: how came you under this\nform, in the wilderness? What did you set about, after purchasing my\nhouse in Constantinople?\"\n\n\"I returned to Alexandria,\" answered the guest. \"Hate against all\nmankind raged in my bosom; burning hate, in particular, against that\npeople, whom they call 'the polished nation.' Believe me, my Moslem\nfriends pleased me better. Scarcely a month had I been in Alexandria,\nwhen the invasion of my countrymen took place. I saw in them only the\nexecutioners of my father and brother; I, therefore, collected some\nyoung people of my acquaintance, who were of the same mind as myself,\nand joined those brave Mamelukes, who were so often the terror of the\nFrench host. When the campaign was finished, I could not make up my\nmind to return to the peaceful arts. With my little band of congenial\nfriends, I led a restless, careless life, devoted to the field and the\nchase. I live contented among this people, who honor me as their\nchief; for though my Asiatics are not quite so refined as your\nEuropeans, yet are they far removed from envy and slander, from\nselfishness and ambition.\"\n\nZaleukos thanked the stranger for his relation, but did not conceal\nfrom him, that he would find things better suited to his rank and\neducation, if he would live and work in Christian, in European lands.\nWith delight his companion looked upon him.\n\n\"I know by this,\" said he, \"that you have entirely forgiven me, that\nyou love me: receive, in return, my heartfelt thanks.\" He sprang up,\nand stood in full height before the Greek, whom the warlike air, the\ndark sparkling eyes, the deep mysterious voice of his guest, almost\ninspired with fear. \"Thy proposal is intended kindly,\" continued he;\n\"for another it might have charms; but I--I cannot accept it. Already\nstands my horse saddled: already do my attendants await me. Farewell,\nZaleukos!\"\n\nThe friends whom destiny had so strangely thrown together, embraced at\nparting. \"And how may I call thee? What is the name of my guest, who\nwill forever live in my remembrance?\" exclaimed the Greek.\n\nThe stranger gazed at him some time, and said, as he pressed his hand\nonce more: \"They call me 'the lord of the wilderness;' I am THE ROBBER\nORBASAN!\"\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nMiscellaneous Juvenile Works,\n\nBY THE MOST EMINENT AUTHORS.\n\n    _AMERICAN HISTORICAL TALES FOR YOUTH._ 1 vol. 18mo.,\n    cloth. 75 cts.\n\n    _AUNT FANNY'S CHRISTMAS STORIES._ Illustrated. Boards,\n    31 cts.; cloth, 38 cts.\n\n    _AUNT FANNY'S STORY BOOK FOR LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS._\n    18mo. Illustrated. Boards, 31 cts.; cloth, 50 cts.\n\n    _AUNT KITTY'S TALES._ By MARIA J. MCINTOSH. A new\n    edition, complete in one volume, 12mo., cloth, 75 cts.\n\n    _BABES IN THE WOOD._ A New Story for the Young.\n    Illustrated with six designs. Paper covers, 121/2 cts.;\n    cloth, 25 cts.\n\n    _BOOK OF ANIMALS._ For the Entertainment and Instruction\n    of Young People. With 12 beautiful designs of Animals. 1\n    vol. square 16mo. 50 cts.\n\n    _BOOK OF BIRDS._ For the Amusement and Instruction of\n    the Young. 16 plates. Cloth, 50 cts.; illuminated cover,\n    fancy, 68 cts.; cloth, gilt edges, 68 cts.\n\n    _BOYS' BOOK OF SPORTS AND GAMES_: containing Rules and\n    Directions for the Practice of the Principal Recreative\n    Amusements of Youth. By UNCLE JOHN. Elegantly\n    illustrated. 1 vol. square 16mo. 50 cts.\n\n    _BOOK OF TRADES AND PROFESSIONS._ Illustrated with 24\n    designs by CROOME. Cloth, colored plates, 50 cts.\n\n    _BRACELETS (THE)_; or, Amiability and Industry Rewarded.\n    By MARIA EDGEWORTH. Plates. Square 16mo. 25 cts.\n\n    _CHILD'S CHEERFUL COMPANION._ Illustrated with 26\n    plates. By DARLEY. 50 cts.\n\n    _CHILD'S FIRST HISTORY OF AMERICA._ By the author of\n    \"Little Dora.\" Square 18mo. Engravings. Half cloth, 25\n    cts.\n\n    _CHILD'S OWN STORY BOOK_; or, Tales and Dialogues for\n    the Nursery. By Mrs. JERRAM. Illustrated with numerous\n    colored plates. Square 16mo., elegantly bound. 50 cts.\n\n    _CHILD'S PICTURE AND VERSE-BOOK_; commonly called \"Otto\n    Speckter's Fable-Book.\" Translated from the German by\n    MARY HOWITT. Illustrated with 100 engravings on wood.\n    Square 16mo. Boards, 50 cts.; cloth, 62 cts.; gilt\n    edges, 75 cts.\n\n    _CITY CHARACTERS_; or, Familiar Scenes in Town. 1 vol.\n    square 16mo. Illustrated with 24 plates, designed by\n    CROOME. Paper covers, gilt edges, 25 cts. Do., cloth,\n    38 cts.\n\n    ------ Do., cloth, colored plates. 50 cts.\n\n\nPopular Tales\n\nBY MARY HOWITT, MRS. ELLIS, HANNAH MORE. &C. &C.\n\n    _ALICE FRANKLIN._ By Mary Howitt. 38 cts.\n\n    _HOPE ON, HOPE EVER!_ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _LITTLE COIN, MUCH CARE._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _LOVE & MONEY._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _MY OWN STORY._ By do. 38 cts\n\n    _MY UNCLE THE CLOCKMAKER._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _NO SENSE LIKE COMMON SENSE._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _SOWING AND REAPING._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _STRIVE AND THRIVE._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _THE TWO APPRENTICES._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _WHICH IS THE WISER?_ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _WHO SHALL BE GREATEST?_ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _WORK & WAGES._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _DOMESTIC TALES._ By Hannah More. 2 vols. 75 cts.\n\n    _DANGERS OF DINING OUT._ By Mrs. Ellis. 38 cts.\n\n    _FIRST IMPRESSIONS._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _SOMERVILLE HALL._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _MINISTER'S FAMILY._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _SON OF A GENIUS._ By Mrs. Hofland. 38 cts.\n\n    _EARLY FRIENDSHIP._ By Mrs. Copley. 38 cts.\n\n    _POPULAR GROVE._ By do. 38 cts\n\n    _CHANCES AND CHANGES._ By Charles Burdett. 38 cts.\n\n    _NEVER TOO LATE._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _CROFTON BOYS._ By Miss Martineau. 38 cts.\n\n    _PEASANT AND PRINCE._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _FARMER'S DAUGHTER._ By Mrs. Cameron. 38 cts.\n\n    _TIRED OF HOUSEKEEPING._ By T. S. Arthur. 38 cts.\n\n    _TWIN SISTERS._ By Mrs. Sandham. 38 cts.\n\n    _LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE MIND._ 38 cts.\n\n    _GOLDMAKER'S VILLAGE._ By H. Zschokke. 38 cts.\n\n    _OCEAN WORK._ Ancient and Modern. By J. H. Wright. 38\n    cts.\n\n\nUncle Amerel's Story Books.\n\n    _THE LITTLE GIFT BOOK._ 18mo., cloth. 25 cts.\n\n    _THE CHILD'S STORY BOOK._ Illustrated. 18mo., cloth. 25\n    cts.\n\n    _SUMMER HOLIDAYS._ 18mo., cloth. 25 cts.\n\n    _WINTER HOLIDAYS._ Illustrated. 18mo., cloth. 25 cts.\n\n    _GEORGE'S ADVENTURES IN THE COUNTRY._ Illus. 18mo.,\n    cloth. 25 cts.\n\n    _CHRISTMAS STORIES._ Illustrated. 18mo., cloth. 25 cts.\n\n\nMary Howitt's Juvenile Tales.\n\nNEW EDITIONS, BOUND TOGETHER, ENTITLED:\n\n    _POPULAR MORAL TALES._ 16mo. 75 cts.\n\n    _JUVENILE TALES & STORIES._ 16mo. 75 cts.\n\n    _MY JUVENILE DAYS_, and other Tales. 16mo. 75 cts.\n\n    _TALES AND STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS._ 75 cts.\n\n\nLibrary for my Young Countrymen.\n\n    _ADVENTURES OF CAPT. JOHN SMITH._ By the author of Uncle\n    Philip. 38 cts.\n\n    _ADVENTURES OF DANIEL BOONE._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF HENRY HUDSON._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _DAWNINGS OF GENIUS._ By Ann Pratt. 38 cts.\n\n    _LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF HERNAN CORTEZ._ By do. 38 cts.\n\n    _PHILIP RANDOLPH._ A Tale of Virginia. By M. Gertrude.\n    38 cts.\n\n    _ROWAN'S HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION._ 2 vols. 75\n    cts\n\n    _SOUTHEY'S LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL._ 38 cts.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nMinor punctuation errors have been corrected without note. There is\nsome archaic spelling in this text, which has been retained as printed,\nfor example, pedler, phrensy, wo, etc. The single oe ligature has not\nbeen retained.\n\nThe author dedication at the beginning of the book appears exactly as\nprinted in the original, although it appears that there is some text\nmissing from the start of it.\n\nThe following amendments have been made:\n\n    Page 101--thus amended to this--\"... only this much I\n    know, that whoever ...\"\n\n    Page 136--Nourmahal amended to Nurmahal--\"... and asked\n    where Nurmahal and Mirza were.\"\n\n    Page 188--Saaud amended to Saoud--\"The old prince was\n    Saoud, sultan of the Wechabites.\"\n\n    Page 204--sheers amended to shears--\"... and pinched him\n    with sharp shears, until he sank down, ...\"\n\nIllustrations have been moved slightly where they were previously\nlocated in the middle of a paragraph. The frontispiece illustration\nhas been moved to follow the title page.\n\nAdvertising material has been moved to the end of the text.","title":"The oriental story book : $b a collection of tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":40533}