{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_32109/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_32109","id":"gutenberg_32109","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32109","summary":null,"tags":["Category: German Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Short stories, German -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n  1. Page scan source:\n  http://www.archive.org/details/talesofcaravanin00haufrich\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 TALES\n\n                                 OF THE\n\n                       CARAVAN, INN, AND PALACE.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 TALES\n\n                                 OF THE\n\n                       CARAVAN, INN, AND PALACE.\n\n\n\n                                   BY\n                             WILLIAM HAUFF.\n\n\n\n                    WITH THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n\n                       TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN\n                                   BY\n                           EDWARD L. STOWELL.\n\n\n\n                                CHICAGO:\n                      JANSEN, McCLURG, & COMPANY.\n                                 1882.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               COPYRIGHT,\n                       JANSEN, MCCLURG & COMPANY.\n                                 1881.\n\n\n\n\n\n                 PRINTED BY DONNELLEY, GASSETTE & LOYD.\n\n\n\n\n                         TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.\n\n\nIn introducing to American readers these charming and unique Tales, a\nfew details may properly be given of their author's life and literary\nwork. The record, though brief, is one of unusual interest.\n\nWilhelm Hauff was born at Stuttgart, Germany, in 1802, and received his\neducation at Tuebingen. He graduated from the University, in 1824, with\nthe degree of Doctor of Philosophy; and for the following two years\nfilled the position of tutor in a nobleman's family. It was during the\nleisure hours afforded by this occupation that he composed the greater\npart of the works upon which his fame rests. In 1826 he published his\n\"_Maerchenalmanach auf das Jahr 1826, fuer Soehne und Toechter\ngebildeter Staende_,\" a translation of which is herewith tendered the\nAmerican public, under the changed and abbreviated title of: \"Tales of\nthe Caravan, Inn, and Palace.\" In the same year, and closely following\nthe \"Fairy Tales,\" came \"_Mittheilungen aus den Memoiren des Satan_,\"\n\"_Der Mann im Monde_,\" a second volume of \"Satan's Memoirs,\" and a\ncollection of short tales. These volumes appeared in such rapid\nsuccession as to obscure for a time the brilliancy of the \"Fairy\nTales;\" but later editions of them acquired a widespread circulation,\nwhile their popularity is so constantly on the increase as to suggest\nthe thought that in time they may prove a formidable rival of the\n\"Arabian Nights,\" in the regards of the young, the world over.\n\nThe publication of \"The Man in the Moon\" gave Hauff a national\nreputation; but when his \"_Lichtenstein, eine romantische Sage_\"\nappeared, shortly afterward, the Wuertembergers hailed him as the\ncoming Walter Scott of Germany. Whether he would have merited this fond\nand proud prediction of his countrymen, can not now be told. We only\nknow that he seemed to recognize in the historical novel his true field\nof labor, and that he had already begun a second work of this nature,\nwhen he sickened and died, in the Fall of 1827, before he had reached\nhis twenty-fifth birthday.\n\nHauff stood on the threshold of his career as an author, in the dawning\nglory of his brilliant talents, when he was stricken down; yet his\nwritings betray no sign of immaturity, and his collected works assure\nhim a niche, high in the temple of literature. The art of investing\nlocalities with ideal characters who, in the reader's imagination,\nhaunt the spot forever after, was a gift Hauff shared alike with his\nEnglish brothers, Scott and Dickens. On crossing the Bridge of Arts,\nin Paris, at night, one familiar with his works is apt to look about\nfor the tall and graceful form of the \"Beggar Girl,\" with her lantern,\nand the plate held out so reluctantly for coins. Or, if he wander\nthrough the rugged Suabian Alps, Hauff's \"_Lichtenstein_\" will be the\nguide-book he consults; and through the valleys and over the hills to\nthe _Nebelhoehle_ he will trace the flight of the stern Duke Ulerich,\npausing maybe at the little village of Hardt to pick out if possible\nthe piper's home, and to look sharply at every village maid, lest the\nkind-hearted little \"Baerbele\" should pass him unawares.\n\nSome of Hauff's poems became quite popular in Germany, and several of\nhis songs may be heard to-day rising on the evening air from out the\nbeautiful valleys he loved so well.\n\nBecause of his genius and his early death, Hauff becomes associated in\nour mind with the English poets, Chatterton, Keats and Shelley; and in\nthinking of him we recall his own sad words--\n\n     \"Oh, how soon\n      Vanish grace and beauty's bloom;\n      Dost thou boast of cheeks ne'er paling,\n      Glowing red and white unfailing?\n      See! the roses wither all!\"\n\nChicago, _October_, 1881.                           E. L. S.\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n\n                                PART I.\n\n                         Tales of the Caravan.\n\n  THE CARAVAN,                                                    11\n  THE CALIPH STORK,                                               15\n  THE AMPUTATED HAND,                                             30\n  THE RESCUE OF FATIMA,                                           49\n  LITTLE MUCK,                                                    70\n  THE FALSE PRINCE,                                               91\n\n                                PART II.\n\n                           Tales of the Inn.\n\n  THE INN IN THE SPESSART,                                       119\n  THE HIRSCH-GULDEN,                                             126\n  THE MARBLE HEART (_First Part_),                               151\n  SAID'S ADVENTURES,                                             182\n  THE CAVE OF STEENFOLL,                                         229\n  THE MARBLE HEART (_Second Part_),                              260\n\n                               PART III.\n\n                          Tales of the Palace.\n\n  THE SHEIK'S PALACE AND HIS SLAVES,                             295\n  THE DWARF NOSEY,                                               304\n  ABNER, THE JEW,                                                340\n  THE YOUNG ENGLISHMAN,                                          353\n  THE STORY OF ALMANSOR,                                         381\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 PART I.\n\n\n                         TALES OF THE CARAVAN.\n\n\n\n\n                              THE CARAVAN,\n\n[Illustration]\n\nOnce upon a time, a large caravan moved slowly over the desert. On the\nvast plain, where nothing was to be seen but sand and sky, might have\nbeen heard in the far distance the tinkling bells of the camels and the\nringing hoof beats of horses. A thick cloud of dust that moved before\nit indicated the approach of the caravan; and when a breeze parted this\ncloud, gleaming weapons and brilliantly colored garments dazzled the\neye.\n\nThus was the caravan revealed to a man who galloped towards it from one\nside. He rode a fine Arabian horse, covered with a tiger skin; from the\ndeep-red trappings depended little silver bells, while on the horse's\nhead waved a plume of heron feathers. The horseman was of stately\nbearing, and his attire corresponded in richness with that of his\nhorse. A white turban, richly embroidered with gold, covered his head;\nhis coat and Turkish trousers were of scarlet; while a curved sword,\nwith a rich hilt, hung at his side. He had pulled the turban down well\nover his face; and this, with the black eyes that flashed from beneath\nthe bushy brows, together with the long beard that hung straight down\nfrom his Roman nose, gave him a fierce and uncouth appearance.\n\nWhen the rider had approached to within about fifty paces of the\nvanguard of the caravan, he spurred his horse forward, and in a few\nmoments reached the head of the procession. It was such an unusual\noccurrence to see a single horseman riding over the desert that the\nescort of the train, fearing an attack, thrust out their spears.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" cried the horseman, as he saw this warlike\nreception. \"Do you, then, believe a single man would attack your\ncaravan?\"\n\nAshamed of their momentary alarm, the escort dropped their lances;\nwhile their leader rode up to the stranger and asked what he wanted.\n\n\"Who is the master of this caravan?\" inquired the horseman.\n\n\"It does not belong to one man,\" replied the guide; \"but to several\nmerchants who are returning from Mecca to their homes, and whom we\nescort across the desert, as it often happens that travelers are\nannoyed by robbers.\"\n\n\"Then lead me to these merchants,\" requested the stranger.\n\n\"That may not be done now,\" replied the guide, \"as we must proceed\nfarther on before coming to a halt, and the merchants are at least a\nquarter of an hour behind us; but if you will ride on with me until we\nencamp for our mid-day rest, I will then comply with your wish.\"\n\nThe stranger made no reply, but produced a pipe that was fastened to\nhis saddle-bow, and began to smoke, meanwhile riding near the leader of\nthe vanguard. The guide knew not what to make of the stranger; he\nhardly dared to question him directly as to his name, and no matter how\nskillfully he sought to draw him into conversation, the stranger would\nonly reply to such attempts as: \"You smoke a fine quality of tobacco,\"\nor, \"Your horse has a splendid pace,\" with a short \"Yes, certainly.\"\n\nFinally they reached the spot where they were to camp for the noon. The\nguide posted the guards, but remained himself with the stranger until\nthe caravan should come up. Thirty camels, heavily laden, and attended\nby armed guards, passed by. After these came the four merchants to whom\nthe caravan belonged, mounted on fine horses. They were mostly men of\nadvanced age, of sober and staid appearance. Only one seemed much\nyounger than the others, and of more cheerful countenance and vivacious\nspirits. A large number of camels and pack-horses completed the\ncaravan.\n\nThe tents were pitched, and the horses and camels ranged around them in\na circle. In the centre stood a tent of blue silk cloth. To this tent\nthe leader of the guard led the stranger. As they entered through the\ncurtain, they saw the four merchants sitting on gold embroidered\ncushions, while black slaves handed them food and drink.\n\n\"Who is it you bring to us?\" cried the young merchant to the guide.\nBefore the guide could reply, the stranger said--\n\n\"My name is Selim Baruch, of Bagdad. On my way to Mecca I was captured\nby a robber band, and three days ago I succeeded in making my escape\nfrom them. The great Prophet permitted me to hear the bells of your\ncamels in the distance, and thus directed me to you. Allow me to\njourney in your company. Your protection would not be extended to one\nunworthy of it; and when you reach Bagdad, I will richly reward your\nkindness, as I am the nephew of the Grand Vizier.\"\n\nThe oldest merchant made reply: \"Selim Baruch, you are welcome to our\nshelter. It gives us pleasure to assist you. But first of all, sit down\nand eat and drink with us.\"\n\nSelim Baruch accepted this invitation. On the conclusion of the repast,\nthe slaves cleared away the dishes, and brought long pipes and Turkish\nsherbet. The merchants sat silently watching the blue clouds of smoke\nas they formed into rings and finally vanished in the air.\n\nThe young merchant at length broke the silence by saying--\n\n\"For three days we have sat thus on horseback and at table without\nmaking any attempt to while away the time. To me this is very\nwearisome, as I have always been accustomed after dinner to see a\ndancer or to hear music and singing. Can you think of nothing, my\nfriends, to pass away the time?\"\n\nThe three older merchants continued to smoke, seemingly lost in\nmeditation, but the stranger said--\n\n\"Permit me to make a proposition. It is that at every camping-place one\nof us shall relate a story to the others. This might serve to make the\ntime pass pleasantly.\"\n\n\"You are right, Selim Baruch,\" said one of the merchants, \"let us act\non the proposal.\"\n\n\"I am glad the suggestion meets with your approval,\" said Selim; \"but\nthat you may see I ask nothing unfair, I will be the first to begin.\"\n\nThe merchants drew nearer together in pleased anticipation, and had the\nstranger sit in the centre. The slaves replenished the cups and filled\nthe pipes of their masters, and brought glowing coals to light them.\nThen Selim cleared his voice with a generous glass of sherbet, stroked\nthe long beard away from his mouth, and said--\n\n\"Listen, then, to the story of the Caliph Stork.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE CALIPH STORK.\n\n\n\n                                   I.\n\nOne fine afternoon, Chasid, Caliph of Bagdad, reclined on his divan.\nOwing to the heat of the day he had fallen asleep, and was now but\njust awakened, feeling much refreshed by his nap. He puffed at a\nlong-stemmed rosewood pipe, pausing now and then to sip the coffee\nhanded him by an attentive slave, and testifying his approval of the\nsame by stroking his beard. In short, one could see at a glance that\nthe Caliph was in an excellent humor.\n\nOf all others, this was the hour when he might be most easily\napproached, as he was now quite indulgent and companionable; and\ntherefore it was the custom of his Grand Vizier, Mansor, to visit him\nevery day at this time.\n\nAs usual, he came to-day; but, as was unusual with him, his expression\nwas quite serious.\n\nThe Caliph, removing the pipe from his mouth for a moment, said--\n\n\"Why do you wear so sober a face, Grand Vizier?\"\n\nThe Vizier crossed his arms on his breast, bowed low before his master,\nand made answer--\n\n\"Sire, whether my face be sober or no, I know not. But beneath the\ncastle walls stands a trader, who has such beautiful wares that I\ncannot help regretting that I have no spare money.\"\n\nThe Caliph, who had long wished for an opportunity to do his Vizier a\nfavor, sent his black slave below to bring up the trader. The slave\nsoon returned with the man, who was short and stout, of dark brown\ncomplexion, and clothed in rags. He carried a box containing all manner\nof wares: strings of pearls, rings, and richly-chased pistols, cups and\ncombs. The Caliph and Grand Vizier looked them all over, and finally\nthe Caliph selected a fine pair of pistols for Mansor and himself, as\nwell as a comb for the Vizier's wife.\n\nNow just as the merchant was about to close his box, the Caliph espied\na small drawer therein, and desired to know if it contained still other\nvaluables. By way of reply, the trader opened the drawer, disclosing a\nlittle box containing a blackish powder, and a paper covered with\nsingular writing, that neither the Caliph nor Mansor was able to read.\n\n\"These two articles,\" explained the trader, \"came into my possession\nthrough a merchant who found them on the street in Mecca. I do not know\nwhat they contain, but, for a small consideration, you are welcome to\nthem, as I can make nothing of them.\"\n\nThe Caliph, who took pleasure in preserving old manuscripts in his\nlibrary, even though he might not be able to read them, bought both the\npaper and the box, and dismissed the merchant. Then, curious to know\nwhat the manuscript contained, he inquired of the Vizier if he knew of\nany one who could decipher it.\n\n\"Most gracious master and benefactor,\" replied the Vizier, \"near the\ngreat mosque lives a man called Selim the Learned, who understands all\nlanguages. Let him be summoned; perhaps he might know these secret\ncharacters.\"\n\nThe learned Selim was soon brought.\n\n\"Selim,\" began the Caliph, \"it is said that you are very learned. Look\nfor a moment at this writing, and see if you can make it out. If you\ncan read it, you shall receive a new holiday cloak from me; if you\ncannot, you will get instead twelve lashes on the back and twenty-five\non the soles of your feet, for being misnamed Selim the Learned.\"\n\nSelim made an obeisance, saying, \"Thy will be done, O Sire!\"\n\nHe then examined the writing long and attentively, suddenly exclaiming,\n\"If this be not Latin, Sire, then give me to the hangman!\"\n\n\"Read what is written there, if it is Latin!\" commanded the Caliph.\n\nSelim thereupon began to translate as follows:\n\n\"_Man, whoever thou art, that findeth this, praise Allah for His\ngoodness. He who takes a pinch of this powder, at the same time\nsaying,_ MUTABOR, _will be able to transform himself into any animal,\nand will also understand the language of animals. Whenever he wishes to\nre-assume the human form, he shall bow three times towards the East and\npronounce the same word. But take care that thou dost not laugh while\nthou art transformed, or the magic word would vanish utterly from thy\nmemory, and thou wouldst remain an animal._\"\n\nWhen Selim the Learned had read this, the Caliph was pleased beyond\nmeasure. He made the scholar swear never to mention the secret to any\none; presented him with a beautiful cloak, and then dismissed him. Then\nturning to his Vizier, he said--\n\n\"I call that a good investment, Mansor. I am impatient to become an\nanimal. Come to me to-morrow morning early. We will then go together to\nthe fields, take a little pinch of this magical snuff, and then listen\nto what is said in the air and the water, in the forest and field.\"\n\n\n\n                                  II.\n\nNo sooner had the Caliph Chasid dressed and breakfasted on the\nfollowing morning, than the Grand Vizier arrived, as he had been\ncommanded to do, to accompany him on his walk. The Caliph put the box\ncontaining the magic powder in his sash, and after bidding his\nattendants remain in the castle, started off, attended only by Mansor.\n\nThey first took their way through the extensive gardens of the Caliph,\nvainly searching for some living thing, in order to make their\nexperiment. The Vizier at last proposed that they go farther on, to a\npond, where he had frequently seen many creatures, more especially\nstorks.\n\nThe Caliph consented to the proposal of Mansor, and went with him\ntowards the pond. Arriving there, they saw a stork walking up and down,\nlooking for frogs, and occasionally striking out before him with his\nbill. At the same time far up in the sky they discerned another stork\nhovering over this spot.\n\n\"I will wager my beard, Most Worthy Master,\" said the Vizier, \"that\nthese two storks will hold a charming conversation together. What say\nyou to our becoming storks?\"\n\n\"Well thought of!\" answered the Caliph. \"But first let us carefully\nexamine again the directions for resuming our human form. All right! By\nbowing three times towards the East and saying '_Mutabor_,' I shall be\nonce more Caliph, and you Grand Vizier. But, for heavens sake!\nrecollect! _No laughing, or we are lost!_\"\n\nWhile the Caliph spoke, he noticed that the stork above their heads was\ngradually approaching the earth. Quickly drawing the box from his\ngirdle, he put a good pinch to his nose, held out the box to the\nVizier, who also took a pinch, and both then cried out: \"_Mutabor!_\"\n\nTheir legs at once shrank up and became thin and red; the beautiful\nyellow slippers of the Caliph and his companion took on the shape of\nstork's feet; their arms developed into wings; their necks were\nstretched until they measured a yard in length; their beards vanished,\nwhile white feathers covered their bodies.\n\n\"You have a beautiful bill, Mr. Grand Vizier,\" cried the Caliph, after\na long pause of astonishment. \"By the beard of the Prophet! I never saw\nany thing like it in my life.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Thank you most humbly,\" replied the Vizier, bowing low; \"but, if I\ndare venture the assertion, Your Highness presents a much handsomer\nappearance as a stork than as Caliph. But come; if agreeable to you,\nlet us keep watch on our companions over there, and ascertain whether\nwe can really understand _Storkish_.\"\n\nIn the meantime the other stork had alighted on the ground, cleaned its\nfeet with its bill, smoothed its feathers nicely, and approached the\nfirst stork. The two newly-made storks now made haste to get near them,\nand, to their surprise, overheard the following conversation:\n\n\"Good morning, Mrs. Longlegs! So early in the meadow?\"\n\n\"Thank you kindly, dear Clapperbill; I was just procuring a little\nbreakfast for myself. How would a portion of lizard suit you, or a leg\nof a frog?\"\n\n\"Much obliged; but, I have not the least appetite to-day. I come to the\nmeadow for quite another purpose. I am to dance to-day before my\nfather's guests, and therefore wish to practice a little in private.\"\n\nSo saying, the young stork stepped over the field in a series of\nwonderful evolutions. The Caliph and Mansor looked on in wonder. But\nwhen she struck an artistic attitude on one foot, and began to fan\nherself gracefully with her wings, the two could no longer contain\nthemselves. An irrepressible fit of laughter burst forth from their\nbills, from which it took them a long time to recover. The Caliph was\nthe first to compose himself.\n\n\"That was sport!\" exclaimed he, \"that money could not buy. It's too bad\nthat the stupid creatures were frightened away by our laughter, or they\nwould certainly have tried to sing.\"\n\nJust here the Vizier remembered that laughing during the transformation\nwas forbidden them. He communicated his anxiety to the Caliph.\n\n\"Zounds! By the Cities of the Prophet, that would be a bad joke if I\nwere compelled to remain a stork! Try and think of that stupid word,\nMansor! For the life of me, I can't recall it!\"\n\n\"We must bow three times towards the East, calling: _Mu_-- _Mu_--\n_Mu_.\"\n\nThey turned towards the East, and bowed away so zealously that their\nbills nearly ploughed up the ground. But, O Horror! the magic word had\nescaped them; and no matter how often the Caliph bowed, or how\nearnestly his Vizier called out--_Mu_-- _Mu_, their memory failed them;\nand the poor Chasid and his Vizier remained storks.\n\n\n\n                                  III.\n\n\nSadly the enchanted ones wandered through the fields, without the\nslightest idea of what course they had better pursue in their present\nplight. They could neither get rid of their feathers, nor could they\nreturn to the town with any hope of recognition; for who would believe\na stork, were he to proclaim himself Caliph? or, even believing the\nstory, would the citizens of Bagdad be willing to have a stork for\ntheir Caliph? So they stole about for several days, supporting\nthemselves very poorly on fruits, which, on account of their long\nbills, they could eat only with great difficulty. For lizards and frogs\nthey had no appetite, fearing lest such tit-bits might disagree with\ntheir stomachs. The only consolation left them in their wretchedness\nwas the power of flight; and they often flew to the roofs of Bagdad,\nthat they might see what occurred there. For the first day or two,\nthey noticed great excitement in the streets, followed by sadness.\nBut about the fourth day after their enchantment, while they were\nresting on the roof of the Caliph's palace, they observed down in the\nstreet a brilliant procession. Trumpets and fifes sounded. A man in a\ngold-embroidered scarlet coat sat upon a richly caparisoned steed,\nsurrounded by a gay retinue. Half Bagdad followed him, and all shouted:\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Hail Mizra! Ruler of Bagdad!\"\n\nThe two storks perched on the palace roof, exchanged a glance, and\nCaliph Chasid said--\n\n\"Do you perceive now the meaning of my enchantment, Grand Vizier? This\nMizra is the son of my deadly enemy, who, in an evil hour, swore to\nrevenge himself on me. But still I will not give up all hope. Come with\nme, thou faithful companion of my misfortune, we will make a pilgrimage\nto the grave of the Prophet. Perhaps in that sacred place the spell\nwill be removed.\"\n\nThey rose from the palace roof and flew in the direction of Medina. But\nso little practice had the two storks had in flying, that it fared hard\nwith them.\n\n\"Oh, Sire!\" groaned the Grand Vizier, after a few hours' flight, \"with\nyour permission I shall have to stop. You fly much too fast! And it is\nnow evening, and we should do well to look out for a place on which to\nalight for the night.\"\n\nChasid harkened to the request of his follower, and, perceiving a ruin\nthat promised to afford a shelter, they flew down to it. The place they\nhad selected for the night bore the appearance of having once been a\ncastle. Beautiful columns rose out of the ruins, while several rooms\nstill in a fair state of preservation, testified to the former splendor\nof the building. Chasid and his companion strolled through the\npassages, seeking some dry sheltered spot, when suddenly the stork\nMansor stopped.\n\n\"Sire,\" whispered he softly, \"I wish it were not so unbecoming in a\nGrand Vizier, and even more in a stork, to fear ghosts! My courage is\nfast failing me, for near here there was a distinct sound of sighing\nand groaning!\"\n\nThe Caliph also stopped, and very plainly heard a low sobbing that\nseemed to proceed from a human being, rather than from an animal. Full\nof curiosity, he was about to approach the place whence the sounds\ncame, when the Vizier caught him by the wing with his bill, and begged\nhim most earnestly not to plunge into new and unknown dangers. All in\nvain! for the Caliph, who even under a stork's wing, carried a stout\nheart, tore himself away with the loss of a few feathers, and hastened\ninto a dark passage. He shortly came to a door, through which he\nplainly heard sighs intermingled with low groans. He pushed open the\ndoor with his bill, but remained standing on the threshold in surprise.\n\nIn the ruined room, lighted but dimly by a small lattice window, he saw\na large owl sitting on the floor. Large tears fell from its great round\neyes, while in passionate tones it poured forth its complaints from its\ncurved beak. But when the owl saw the Caliph and his Vizier, who by\nthis time had stolen up, it raised a loud cry of joy. Daintily brushing\nthe tears from its eyes with the brown spotted wings, it exclaimed in\npure human Arabic, to the wonder of the listeners:\n\n\"Welcome, storks! You are a good omen, as it was once prophecied that\nstorks would be the bearers of good fortune to me.\"\n\nAs soon as the Caliph had sufficiently recovered from his astonishment,\nhe made a bow with his long neck, brought his slender feet into a\ngraceful position, and said--\n\n\"O owl of the night! from your words I believe I see in you a companion\nin misfortune. But, alas! Your hope that we can give you relief is\ndoomed to disappointment. You will yourself appreciate our helplessness\nwhen you have heard our story.\"\n\nThe owl requested him to relate it; which the Caliph did, just as we\nhave heard it.\n\n\n\n                                  IV.\n\nWhen the Caliph had concluded his story, the owl thanked him, and said:\n\n\"Listen also to my tale, and learn that I am not less unfortunate than\nyourself. My father is king of India. I, his only and unhappy daughter,\nam named Lusa. That same Sorcerer, Kaschnur, who transformed you,\nplunged me also into misery. One day he came to my father and demanded\nme in marriage for his son Mizra. But my father, who is a quick\ntempered man, had him thrown down-stairs. The wretch found means, by\nassuming other forms, of approaching me; and one day, as I was taking\nthe air in my garden, he appeared, dressed as a slave, and handed me a\ndrink that changed me into this horrible shape. He brought me here\nsenseless from fright, and shouted in my ears with a terrible voice:\n'Here you shall remain, ugly, despised by every creature, until death;\nor till some man voluntarily offers to marry you in your present form!\nThus do I revenge myself on you and your proud father!' Since then many\nmonths have passed. Lonely and sad, I live as a hermit within these\nwalls, abhorred by the world, despised even by animals, shut out from\nall enjoyment of the beauties of nature, as I am blind by day, and only\nat night, when the moon sheds its pale light over these walls, does the\nveil fall from my eyes.\"\n\nThe owl finished her story, and once more brushed away with her wing\nthe tears which the recital of her sufferings had caused.\n\nThe Caliph was sunk in deep thought over the story of the Princess.\n\n\"Unless I am greatly in error,\" said he, \"there is a hidden connection\nbetween our misfortunes; but where shall I find the key to this\nriddle?\"\n\n\"O, Sire,\" the owl replied, \"I suspect that too, for when I was a\nlittle child it was foretold me by a soothsayer that a stork would\nsometime bring me great good fortune. And I think I know a way by which\nwe can accomplish our own rescue.\"\n\nIn great surprise the Caliph asked her in what way she meant.\n\n\"The sorcerer who has done this wrong to us both,\" she answered, \"comes\nonce a month to these ruins. Not far from here there is a room in which\nhe is accustomed to hold a banquet with many of his fellows. Many times\nhave I heard them there. On these occasions they relate to each other\ntheir shameful deeds. Perhaps then he will divulge the magic word you\nhave forgotten.\"\n\n\"O, dearest Princess,\" cried the Caliph, \"tell us, when does he come,\nand where is the banqueting hall?\"\n\nThe owl remained silent for a moment, and then said:\n\n\"Do not take it unkindly; but only on one condition can I inform you.\"\n\n\"Speak out! speak out!\" exclaimed Chasid. \"Whatever your condition it\nwill be acceptable to me.\"\n\n\"Well then, I am also desirous of being set free; but this can only\nhappen by one of you offering me his hand.\"\n\nThe storks were somewhat disconcerted at this proposal; and the Caliph\nbeckoned his follower to leave the room with him.\n\n\"Grand Vizier,\" said the Caliph, closing the door behind them, \"this is\na pretty piece of business! But you, now, might take her.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" answered he, \"and thus give my wife cause to scratch my eyes\nout, when I get home? Then, too, I am an old man; whereas you are young\nand unmarried, and therefore in a better position to offer your hand to\na beautiful young princess.\"\n\n\"That's the very point,\" sighed the Caliph, as he sadly allowed his\nwings to droop to the ground. \"It would be buying a cat in the bag; for\nwhat assurance have you that she is young and beautiful?\"\n\nThey discussed the matter for a long time, until at last the Caliph,\nconvinced that the Vizier would rather remain a stork than marry the\nPrincess, concluded to fulfill the condition she had imposed on\nhimself.\n\nThe owl was greatly rejoiced, and confessed that they could not have\ncome at a better time, as it was probable that the sorcerers would\nassemble there that very night. The owl then left the room with the\nstorks to show them to the banquet-room. For a long time they walked\nthrough a dark passage, when finally there streamed out bright rays of\nlight through a broken wall. As they came up to the wall the owl\ncautioned the storks to remain perfectly quiet. The gap in which they\nstood overlooked a large room, adorned on all sides with marble\ncolumns, and tastefully decorated; countless colored lamps made the\nplace light as day. In the centre of the room stood a round table\ncovered with various dainty dishes, and upon the divan that encircled\nit, sat eight men. In one of these men the storks recognized the trader\nwho had sold them the magic powder. The person who sat next to him\ncalled on him to relate his latest deeds. The trader then told the\nstory of the Caliph and his Vizier.\n\n\n\n                                   V.\n\n\"What kind of a word did you give them?\" asked the other sorcerer.\n\n\"A very hard Latin word--_Mutator_.\"\n\nWhen the storks from their place in the wall, heard this, they were\nalmost beside themselves with joy. They ran so fast toward the outlet\nof the ruins that the owl could hardly keep up with their long legs.\nOnce clear of the building, the Caliph said to the owl with much\nfeeling:\n\n\"Savior of my life and the life of my friend! As a lasting reward for\nwhat you have done, take me for your husband.\"\n\nThen he turned to the East. Three times the storks bowed their long\nnecks to the sun just rising above the mountains, \"_Mutabor!_\" shouted\nthey, and in a trice they were men again. Then, in the joy of their\nnewly-returned life, master and follower were laughing and weeping by\nturns in each other's arms.\n\nBut who could describe their astonishment when they turned around and\nsaw a beautiful lady, richly dressed, standing before them? With a\nsmile she gave the Caliph her hand.\n\n\"Do you no longer recognize the owl?\" she asked.\n\nIt really was the Princess. The Caliph was so enraptured by her beauty\nand grace, that he declared his transformation into a stork had been\nthe best piece of fortune that had ever happened to him.\n\nThe three now set out together on their journey to Bagdad. The Caliph\nfound in his clothes not only the box of magic powder, but his purse as\nwell. He therefore bought in the next village whatever was necessary\nfor their journey, and thus they soon reached the gates of Bagdad.\nThere the arrival of the Caliph caused the greatest surprise. He had\nlong since been given up for dead, and the joy of the people at getting\nback their beloved ruler knew no bounds. All the more was their wrath\ninflamed against the traitor Mizra. They rushed to the palace, and took\nthe old sorcerer and his son prisoners.\n\nThe Caliph sent the old man to the ruins, and had him hanged in the\nvery room that had been occupied by the Princess when an owl. But to\nthe son, who understood nothing of the art of his father, he gave the\nchoice of death or a pinch of the powder. As the prisoner chose the\nlatter, the Grand Vizier offered him the box. A generous pinch,\nfollowed by the magic word of the Caliph, and he became a stork. The\nCaliph secured him in an iron cage, which was placed in the garden.\n\nLong and happily Caliph Chasid lived with his wife, the Princess. His\npleasantest hours were always those of the afternoon, when the Grand\nVizier visited him. Then they often spoke of their adventures as\nstorks, and whenever the Caliph felt unusually merry, he began to\nimitate the Grand Vizier as he appeared when a stork. He stalked up and\ndown the room, set up a great clapping, waved his arms as though they\nwere wings, and showed how the Vizier had turned to the East and\ncalled, \"_Mu_-- _Mu_-- _Mu_--.\" All this was great sport for the\nCaliph's wife and children. But sometimes, when the Caliph clapped too\nlong and cried, \"_Mu_-- _Mu_-- _Mu_--\" too often, the Vizier was wont\nto silence him with the threat that if he did not stop he would tell\nthe Princess what their conversation had been before the door of her\nroom in the ruin.\n\n\n\nAs Selim Baruch finished his story, the merchants testified their\napproval thereof most heartily.\n\n\"Of a truth, the afternoon has passed without our knowing it,\" said one\nof them, lifting the curtain of the tent. \"The evening wind blows\nfresh; we could put behind us a good stretch of road.\"\n\nAs his companions were of the same opinion, the tents were folded, and\nthe caravan started on its way in the same order in which it had\nentered camp.\n\nThey journeyed nearly all night, as the days were hot and sultry, while\nthe night was cool and starlit. They came at last to a convenient\ncamping place, pitched their tents and lay down to rest. But the\nmerchants did not neglect to provide for the stranger as bountifully as\nif he had been their most honored guest. One gave him a cushion,\nanother blankets, a third gave him slaves; in short, he was as well\nprovided for as though he had been at home.\n\nThe heated hours of the day were already upon them when they arose from\ntheir slumbers, and they therefore unanimously decided to remain where\nthey were until evening.\n\nWhen night approached, the movement of the caravan was resumed, and its\nprogress was continued until the following noon without impediment.\nAfter they had halted and refreshed themselves, Selim Baruch said to\nMuley, the youngest of the merchants--\n\n\"Although you are the youngest of us all, you are always cheerful, and\ncould certainly give us a merry tale. Serve it up, so that we may\nrefresh ourselves after the heat of the day.\"\n\n\"I should be glad to relate something that would amuse you,\" answered\nMuley. \"Still, modesty in all things is becoming to youth; therefore,\nmy older traveling companions should take precedence. Zaleukos is\nalways so serious and silent, ought he not to tell us what it is that\nclouds his life? Perhaps we should be able to lighten his sorrow, if\nsuch he experiences; for we would willingly treat him as a brother,\neven though he is not of our religion.\"\n\nThe person thus addressed was a Greek merchant--a man in middle age,\nfine looking and of vigorous frame, but very grave. Although he was an\nunbeliever (that is, not a Musselman), he was much beloved by his\nfellow-travelers, as his whole conduct had won their esteem and\nconfidence. He had but one hand, and some of his companions supposed\nthat this loss was the cause of his grief.\n\nZaleukos replied to the confidential inquiries of Muley: \"I am much\nhonored by the interest you take in me, but have no grief--at least\nnone that you, with even the best intentions, could dispel. Still, as\nMuley seems to lay so much stress on my sadness, I will tell you\nsomething that will perhaps account for my appearing sadder than other\npeople. As you see, I have lost my left hand. It was not missing at my\nbirth, but I was deprived of it in the darkest hours of my life.\nWhether my punishment was just--whether, under the circumstances, my\nfeatures could be other than sad--you may judge for yourselves when you\nhave heard the story of the Amputated Hand.\"\n\n\n\n\n                          THE AMPUTATED HAND.\n\n\nI was born in Constantinople. My father was an interpreter at the\nSublime Porte, carrying on at the same time quite a lucrative trade in\nottar of roses and silk goods. He gave me a good education, devoting a\npart of his own time to my instruction, and also employing one of our\npriests to superintend my studies. At first he designed me to be\nthe successor of his business, but as I developed greater talents\nthan even he had expected, he changed his mind, and, by the advice\nof his friends, concluded to make a physician of me; inasmuch as a\ndoctor, whose acquirements were greater than those of the quacks on the\nmarket-place, was sure of making his way in Constantinople. Many Franks\ncame to our house, and one of them persuaded my father to allow me to\ngo to the city of Paris, in his country, where the best medical\neducation might be had gratuitously. He proposed to take me with him on\nhis return journey, and the trip should cost me nothing. My father, who\nhad traveled widely in his youth, assented to the arrangement, and the\nFrenchman told me I should have three months in which to get ready.\n\nI was beside myself with joy at the prospect of seeing foreign\ncountries, and waited for the day of our departure with great\nimpatience. At last the Frenchman finished his business, and prepared\nfor the journey. On the evening before we started, my father led me\ninto his bedchamber. There I saw fine apparel and weapons lying on the\ntable. But that which attracted my attention most was a large pile of\ngold, larger than I had ever before seen. My father embraced me,\nsaying--\n\n\"See, my son, I have provided these clothes for your journey. These\nweapons are also yours; they are the same that your grandfather buckled\non me when I went out into the world. I know that you can wield them;\nbut never use them except in self-defense, and then strike hard. My\nfortune is not large; look, I have divided it into three parts: one is\nyours, another is for my own support, but the third is a sacred trust,\nto be well guarded, and meant to serve you in the hour of need.\"\n\nThus spake my good old father, while tears stood in his eyes, perhaps\nfrom a presentiment that he would never see me again.\n\nEvery thing went well on the journey. We soon arrived in the land of\nthe Franks, and six days afterwards we entered the great city of Paris.\nMy friend rented a room for me there, and advised me as to the best\ndisposition to make of my money, which amounted in all to two thousand\nthalers.\n\nI lived for three years in this city, and learned what a qualified\nphysician should know; but I should be guilty of untruth were I to say\nthat I lived there contentedly, for the customs of this people did not\nplease me. I had but few good friends there, but these few were noble\nyoung men. In all this time I had heard nothing from my father. The\ndesire to see my home finally prevailed over all other considerations.\nI therefore seized a favorable opportunity to return. An embassy from\nthe Franks was bound to the Sublime Porte. I engaged as surgeon in the\nretinue of the ambassadors, and arrived safely once more in Stamboul.\n\nI found my father's house closed. The neighbors were astonished to see\nme, and told me that my father had been dead for two months. The priest\nwho had instructed me in my youth, brought me the key, and alone and\nbereft I entered the desolate house. I found every thing as my father\nhad left it, with the single exception of the gold that he had promised\nto leave me--that was missing. I asked the priest about it. He made a\nlow bow, and replied:\n\n\"Your father died as a holy man, leaving his gold to the church.\"\n\nThis was incomprehensible to me, yet what should I do? I had no\nwitnesses against the priest, and must console myself with the\nreflection that he had not also regarded the house and goods of my\nfather as a legacy to the church. This was the first misfortune that\nhappened to me, but from this time forth, stroke followed stroke. My\nreputation as a physician did not spread, because I could not stoop to\nadvertise myself on the market-place; and, above all, I missed my\nfather, whose recommendation would have secured me admittance to the\nwealthiest and most influential families, which now never gave a\nthought to the poor Zaleukos. Then, too, my father's goods found no\nsale, as the old customers disappeared after his death, and to gain new\nones would require time.\n\nOnce, as I was hopelessly thinking over my situation, it occurred to me\nthat I had often seen countrymen of mine wandering through the land of\nthe Franks, and displaying their wares in the squares of the cities. I\nremembered that their goods found a ready sale, because they came from\na strange country, and that the profits on such merchandise were very\nlarge. My resolution was taken at once. I sold the homestead, gave a\npart of the sale money to a trustworthy friend to keep for me, and with\nthe remainder bought such goods as were not common among the Franks;\nshawls, silk stuff's, ointments, oils, etc. I then took passage on a\nship, and so began my second journey to the land of the Franks.\n\nIt seemed as though fortune smiled on me again the moment we left the\nDardanelles behind. Our voyage was short and fortunate. I wandered\nthrough the cities and towns of the Franks, and every-where found ready\npurchasers for my wares. My friend in Stamboul kept forwarding me\nconsignments of fresh goods, and day by day my financial condition\nimproved. When I thought I had made money enough to venture on some\nlarger undertaking, I went to Italy with my goods. I have omitted\nspeaking on one thing that brought me in quite a little sum of money;\nthis was my knowledge of medicine. When I entered a town, I scattered\nnotices announcing the arrival of a Greek physician, whose skill had\nrestored many to health; and my balsams and medicines brought me in\nmany a sequin.\n\nAt last I reached the city of Florence. It was my intention to remain\nsome time in this place, partly because the city pleased me, and partly\nfor the reason that I wished to recover from the fatigue of my\nwanderings. I rented a shop in the Santa Croce quarter, and not far\nfrom it, in an inn, I found a suite of beautiful rooms that overlooked\na terrace. I then distributed notices that advertised me as a merchant\nand physician. I had no sooner opened my shop than a stream of\ncustomers poured in, and although my prices were rather high, I sold\nmore than others, because I was polite and affable with my customers.\n\nI had passed four days pleasantly in Florence, when one evening, after\nclosing my shop, as I was counting over the profits of the day, I came\nacross a note, in a little box, that I could not remember having put\nthere. I opened the note, and found that it contained a request that I\nwould come to the Ponte Vecchio that night punctually at twelve\no'clock. I studied for a long time over the matter; but, as I did not\nknow a soul in Florence, I concluded that somebody wished to lead me\nsecretly to a sick person, as had happened more than once before. I\ntherefore resolved to go; but, by way of precaution, I took along the\nsword that my father had given me.\n\nShortly before midnight I started, and soon came to the Ponte Vecchio.\nI found the bridge deserted, and determined to wait until the person\nwho had invited me there should appear. The night was cold; the moon\nshone bright, and I looked down at the waves of the Arno gleaming in\nthe moonlight. The church clocks struck twelve. I raised my head, and\nbefore me stood a tall man, covered with a red mantle, a corner of\nwhich he held before his face. I was somewhat startled at first by his\nsudden appearance, but collecting myself immediately, said to him:\n\n\"If you are the person who ordered me here, tell me what it is you\ndesire?\"\n\nThe man in the red mantle turned about and said slowly: \"Follow me!\"\n\nI felt somewhat uneasy about accompanying this stranger, and replied:\n\"Not so, dear sir, until you first tell me where I am to follow you;\nand you might also show me your face, so that I may assure myself that\nyou mean me no harm.\"\n\nThe stranger, however, assumed to be indifferent, and said, \"If you\nwon't go, Zaleukos, then don't!\"\n\nThis aroused my anger. \"Do you think,\" exclaimed I, \"that a man like me\nwill allow himself to be made sport of by every fool? and that I should\nwait here in this cold night for nothing?\"\n\nIn three leaps I reached him, seized him by the cloak, and shouted\nstill louder, at the same time laying my other hand on my sword; but\nthe stranger had already disappeared around the next corner, leaving\nthe cloak in my hand.\n\nBy and by my rage subsided; I still had the cloak, and this should\nfurnish the key to this singular adventure. I put it on and started to\ngo home. But before I had gone a hundred steps from the bridge,\nsomebody brushed by me, and whispered to me in French: \"Take care,\nCount; it can't be done to-night!\" But before I could look around, this\nperson was far away, and I saw only a shadow flitting by the houses. I\nsaw at once that these whispered words were meant for the owner of the\ncloak, and did not in any way concern me; but they shed no light on the\nmystery.\n\nThe next morning I considered what would better be done in the matter.\nMy first thought was to have the mantle cried in the streets, as though\nI had found it, but in that case the owner could have sent for it by\nsome third party, and I should be no wiser for my pains. While\nI was thinking of this, I examined the mantle closely. It was of heavy\nreddish-purple Genoese velvet, with a border of Astrachan fur, and\nrichly embroidered with gold. The splendid appearance of the cloak led\nme to think of a plan that I resolved to put in execution. I took the\ncloak to my store, and offered it for sale; but placed such a high\nprice on it that I was sure it would find no purchaser. My purpose in\nthis was to look everybody who asked about the furred cloak directly in\nthe eye. I thought that as I had had a momentary glimpse of the figure\nof the unknown man after the loss of his cloak, I would know it among a\nthousand. There were many admirers of the cloak, whose extraordinary\nbeauty attracted all eyes; but none of them resembled the stranger, and\nnot one of them would pay the exorbitant price of two hundred sequins.\nIt struck me as strange that when I asked one and another whether such\ncloaks were common in Florence, they all answered, \"no,\" and assured me\nthat they had never before seen such a rich and elegant piece of work.\n\nAs evening drew near, a young man, who had often been in my shop, and\nwho had already bid high for the cloak, came in, and threw down a purse\nof sequins, exclaiming:\n\n\"Before God, Zaleukos, I must have your cloak, even if it beggars me.\"\n\nHe at once began to count out his gold pieces. I was in quite a\ndilemma. I had only hung up the mantle in order that it might perhaps\ncatch the eye of its owner; and along came a young fool to pay the\nmonstrous price, but what could I do? I finally consented to the\nbargain, as from one point of view I should be well compensated for my\nnight's adventure. The youth put on the mantle and left, but turned on\nthe threshold and detached a paper that was fastened to the mantle,\nwhich he threw to me, saying: \"Here, Zaleukos, is something that\nevidently does not go with the cloak.\"\n\nI took the paper unconcernedly, and found the following words were\nwritten on it: \"Bring the cloak to the Ponte Vecchio to-night, at the\nappointed time, and you will receive four hundred sequins.\"\n\nI was thunderstruck. I had forfeited this chance, and, had not even\nattained my purpose. But not stopping to consider the matter, I\ngathered up the two hundred sequins, and rushed out after the man who\nhad bought the cloak. \"Take back your money my good friend,\" said I,\n\"and leave me the mantle, as it is impossible for me to part with it.\"\n\nAt first the young man looked on this as a joke; but when he saw that I\nwas really in earnest, he angrily refused to comply with my demand,\ntreated me as a fool, and thus we speedily came to blows. I was so\nfortunate as to snatch the cloak away from him in the scuffle, and was\nhastening away with it, when the young man summoned the police, and we\nwere taken to court. The judge was surprised at the accusation against\nme, and awarded the cloak to my opponent. But I offered the young man\ntwenty, fifty, eighty, yes, one hundred sequins, over and above his two\nhundred, if he would leave me in possession of the mantle. My gold\naccomplished what my entreaties could not. He took my sequins, while I\ncarried away the mantle in triumph, contenting myself with the thought\nthat even if all Florence considered me insane, I knew, better than\nthey, that I should clear something by this transaction.\n\nImpatiently I awaited the night. At the same hour as on the previous\nnight, I went to the Ponte Vecchio with the mantle on my arm. At the\nlast stroke of the clock, a form approached out of the darkness. It was\nundoubtedly the man I had met the night before.\n\n\"Have you the mantle?\" I was asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied I; \"but it cost me a hundred sequins cash.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" was the reply, \"look here, there are four hundred.\"\n\nHe walked with me up to the broad balustrade of the bridge, and counted\nout the gold pieces. They glistened brightly in the moonlight; their\ngleam rejoiced my heart. Oh, I dreamed not that it was the last joy it\nwould ever experience. I put the money in my pocket, and attempted to\nget a good look at the stranger; but he wore a mask, through which dark\neyes darted a formidable look on me.\n\n\"I thank you, sir, for your kindness,\" said I. \"What now do you require\nfrom me? But I say to you beforehand that it must not be any thing\nwrong.\"\n\n\"Your anxiety is needless,\" replied he, as he placed the mantle on his\nshoulders. \"I need your services as a doctor; still, not for a living\npatient, but for a dead one.\"\n\n\"How can that be?\" cried I, in astonishment.\n\n\"I came with my sister from a distant country,\" began the stranger,\nbeckoning me at the same time to follow him. \"I lived with her here at\nthe house of a friend. My sister had been ill, and yesterday she died\nsuddenly. Her relatives will bury her to-morrow. But in accordance with\nan old custom in our family, all of its members must be buried in the\ntomb of their ancestors. Many who died in foreign lands were embalmed\nand brought home. I will permit our relatives here to keep my sister's\nbody, but I must at least take to my father the head of his daughter,\nthat he may see her once more.\"\n\nThis custom of cutting off the heads of beloved relatives seemed\nhorrible to me; still I thought best not to offer any objections, lest\nthe stranger should feel insulted. I therefore told him that I was\nacquainted with the method of embalming the dead, and requested him to\nconduct me to the deceased. Still I could not refrain from inquiring\nwhy all this was to be conducted so secretly and at night? He answered\nthat his relatives, holding his views on this subject to be wicked,\nwould prevent him from carrying them out by day; but when the head was\nonce removed, they could say little more on the subject. Of course he\nmight have brought me the head himself but a natural feeling held him\nback from removing it.\n\nIn the meantime we had reached a large and magnificent house, which my\ncompanion pointed out to me as the end of our night's pilgrimage. We\npassed by the principal gate, entering by a smaller one, which the\nstranger closed carefully after him, and ascended a spiral staircase in\nthe darkness. It led into a dimly lighted corridor, from which he\ngained a room which was lighted by a lamp suspended from the ceiling.\n\nIn this room was a bed, on which the body lay. The stranger turned his\nhead away, apparently making an attempt to hide his tears. He pointed\nto the bed; ordered me to do my work well and quickly, and walked out\nof the door.\n\nI took out my instruments, which as a physician I always carried with\nme, and approached the bed. Only the head of the dead girl was visible,\nbut this was so beautiful that I was seized with the deepest pity. The\ndark hair hung down in long braids; the face was pale; the eyes were\nclosed.\n\nI first made a slight incision in the skin, as is the practice with\nsurgeons when they are about to remove a limb. Then I selected my\nsharpest knife, and with one stroke cut through the windpipe. But what\na tragedy! The girl opened her eyes, closing them again instantly, and\nwith a deep sigh, now, for the first time, breathed out her life, while\nat the same time a warm stream of blood gushed from the wound. I was\nsure that I had taken the life of this poor creature; for that she was\nnow dead was beyond question, as there could be no recovery from this\nwound.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nI stood some moments almost stupefied at what had taken place. Had the\nman in the red mantle betrayed me, or had his sister been lying in a\ntrance? The latter conjecture seemed the most plausible. But I dared\nnot say this to the brother of the girl; therefore I resolved to take\nthe head completely off. But one more groan came from the dying girl, a\nspasm shook her form, and all was over. Overcome with horror, I rushed\nout of the room. But the lamp in the corridor had gone out, and there\nwas no trace of my companion. In the darkness, I was compelled to feel\nmy way along the wall to reach the stairway. I finally found it, and\ndescended, slipping and stumbling. Nor was there any one below. I found\nthe door unlocked, and breathed freer when I once more stood upon the\nstreet. Urged on by terror, I ran to my rooms, and buried myself in the\ncushions of my couch.\n\nBut sleep fled from me, and the approach of morning warned me to\ncompose myself. It seemed altogether likely to me that the man who had\nbetrayed me into doing this atrocious deed would not inform on me. I\nresolved to go on as usual with my business, and if possible to assume\na cheerful manner. But a new circumstance, that I now noticed for the\nfirst time, increased my terror. My cap and girdle, as well as my\ninstruments, were missing, and I was uncertain whether I had left them\nin the chamber of the murdered girl, or had lost them in my flight.\nUnfortunately the first supposition seemed the more probable, and thus\nthe murder would be traced to me.\n\nI opened my shop at the usual time. My neighbor, who was a talkative\nman, came in to see me as usual in the morning.\n\n\"What do you say to the horrible tragedy that happened last night?\" was\nhis greeting. I acted as if I knew nothing about it. \"What, is it\npossible that you don't know what the whole city is talking about? Not\nknow that the most beautiful flower of Florence, Bianca, the Governor's\ndaughter, was murdered during the night? I saw her yesterday, looking\nso happy as she rode through the streets with her lover; and to-day was\nto have been her wedding day.\"\n\nEvery word was a stab in my heart. And how often did I suffer these\npangs, as one by one my customers repeated the story, each making it\nmore horrible than the other! And yet none of them could make it as\nterrible as it had been when presented to my own eyes.\n\nAbout noon an officer from the court stepped into my shop, and\nrequested me to send the people away.\n\n\"Signor Zaleukos,\" said he, producing the articles I had missed, \"are\nthese things yours?\"\n\nI hesitated for a moment whether I should deny all knowledge of them;\nbut as I saw through the half open door my landlord and several\nacquaintances who could have borne witness against me, I determined not\nto make the matter worse by a lie, and acknowledged the ownership of\nthe articles. The officer bade me follow him, and led me to a large\nbuilding, which I soon recognized as the prison. There he showed me to\na room, telling me that I should occupy it for the present.\n\nMy situation seemed desperate when I came to think it over in the\nsolitude of the prison. The thought that I had committed murder, even\nthough it was done accidentally, kept returning to my mind. Neither\ncould I hide from myself the fact that the glitter of the gold had\ncaptivated my senses, or I should never have rushed so blindly into\nthis affair.\n\nTwo hours after my arrest I was led out of my chamber. Passing down\nseveral steps, we entered a large hall. Twelve men, most of them of\nadvanced age, sat at a long table, covered with a black cloth. On the\nside of the hall were ranged rows of benches, filled with the\naristocracy of Florence. High up, in the galleries the spectators were\ncrowded close together. When I was brought before the black-covered\ntable, a man of dark and sad aspect arose. It was the Governor. He told\nthose assembled that he, being the father of the murdered girl, could\nnot preside over this case, and that he would vacate his seat, for the\npresent, in favor of the oldest senator. The oldest senator was a man\nof at least ninety years. He was bent with age, and his temples were\nfringed with thin white hairs; but his eyes were still brilliant, and\nhis voice was clear and strong.\n\nHe began by asking me if I confessed to the murder. I besought him to\ngive me his attention, and related fearlessly and in distinct tones\nwhat I had done. I noticed that as I proceeded, the Governor first\nturned pale and then red; and when I had finished, he sprang up in a\nrage. \"What, wretch!\" he exclaimed to me, \"it is your intention, then,\nto impute this crime, that you committed in a spirit of avarice, to\nanother?\"\n\nThe presiding senator reproved him for this outburst, and reminded him\nthat he had of his own accord renounced his right to direct the trial;\nnor did it appear, he said, that I contemplated robbery, as, by his own\nadmission, nothing was stolen from his daughter. The senator declared\nto the Governor that he must give an account of his daughter's past\nlife, as this was the only means of judging whether I had spoken the\ntruth or not. At the same time he would close the court for that day,\nin order, as he said, to get some further information from the papers\nof the deceased, which the Governor should turn over to him. I was led\nback to my prison, where I passed a miserable day, occupied with the\neager wish that some connection might be established between the man in\nthe red mantle and the deceased.\n\nFull of expectation, I entered the hall of justice on the following\nday. There were several letters on the table. The aged senator asked me\nwhether they were in my hand-writing. I looked at them, and found that\nthey must have been written by the same hand that wrote me the two\nnotes I had received. I expressed this belief to the senators, but they\npaid no attention to my opinion, and answered that I both could and did\nwrite those notes myself, as the signature at the end of the letters\nwas certainly a Z, the initial letter of my name. And then the letters\ncontained threats against the deceased, and warnings against the\nwedding which was about to take place.\n\nThe Governor seemed to have made some strange disclosures about me, as\nI was on this day treated more sternly and suspiciously. To justify\nmyself, I called for all the papers that were to be found in my room.\nBut I was told that search had already been made there, and nothing\nfound. When the court broke up, my hope had entirely vanished; and when\nI was led back to the hall on the third day, the verdict was\ncommunicated to me. I had been convicted of willful murder, and\nsentenced to death. To this, then, I had come at last! Deprived of\nevery thing that was still dear to me on earth, far from my home, I\nshould die innocent of crime, and, in the bloom of my youth, under an\nax!\n\nI was sitting in my lonely prison on the evening of the day that had\ndecided my fate, with my hopes all dissipated, and my thoughts\nearnestly turned on death, when my prison door opened, and a man\nentered, who regarded me long and silently. \"And thus I find you once\nmore, Zaleukos?\" said he. I had not recognized him by the dull gleam of\nmy lamp, but the tone of his voice awoke old memories in me. It was\nValetty, one of the few friends I had made during my studies in Paris.\nHe said that happening to come to Florence, where his father, who was a\nman of prominence, lived, he heard of my story; he had come to see me,\nto learn from my own lips how I had come to commit so terrible a crime.\nI told him the whole story. He seemed very much astonished, and\nimplored me to tell him, my only friend, the whole truth, and not die\nwith a lie on my lips, I swore to him by every thing that was sacred\nthat I had spoken the truth, and that the only burden on my conscience\nwas that, dazed by the glitter of the gold, I had not perceived the\nimprobabilities in the stranger's story. \"Then you did not know\nBianca?\" asked he. I assured him that I had never seen her before.\nValetty then told me that a deep secret hung over the deed, that the\nGovernor had passed sentence on me very hastily, and there was a rumor\namong the people that I had known Bianca for a long time, and had\nmurdered her out of revenge for her approaching marriage with another.\nI remarked to him that all this might apply to the man in the red\nmantle, but that I was unable to prove his participation in the deed.\nValetty embraced me, weeping, and promised to make every effort to save\nmy life. I had but little hope, yet I knew that Valetty was a wise man\nand experienced in the laws, and that he would do his best to save me.\n\nFor two long days I remained in uncertainty. At last Valetty appeared.\n\"I bring you consolation, even though it be painful,\" said he. \"You\nwill live and be set at liberty; but with the loss of a hand.\"\n\nJoyfully I thanked my friend for my life. He told me that the Governor\nwas inexorably opposed to opening the case again, but that finally, in\norder not to appear unjust, he agreed that if a similar case could be\nfound in any books of Florentine history, then my punishment should be\nregulated by the punishment there recorded. Valetty and his father had\nthereupon looked through the old books by day and night, and finally\nfound a case the exact counterpart of mine. The punishment there\nawarded was stated thus: \"His left hand shall be amputated, his goods\nconfiscated, and he himself banished forever.\" This was now to be my\npunishment; and I had to prepare myself for the painful ordeal that\nawaited me. But I will not dwell on that terrible hour when I stood on\nthe public square, laid my hand on the block, and felt my own blood\nstream over me.\n\nValetty took me to his own house until I had recovered; then he\ngenerously provided me with money for my journey; as all that I had\nacquired in my years of labor was forfeited to the State. I traveled\nfrom Florence to Sicily, and there embarked on the first ship for\nConstantinople. My hopes were turned upon the money I had given into\nthe keeping of my friend; I also asked permission to live with him, but\nhe astounded me with the question, why I did not occupy my own house?\nHe informed me that a strange man had bought a house in my name in the\nGreek quarter, and had told the neighbors that I would soon be there to\ntake possession of it. I immediately went there with my friend, and was\nwarmly welcomed by all my old acquaintances. An old merchant gave me a\nletter, left by the man who had bought the house for me.\n\nThe letter was as follows: \"Zaleukos, two hands will be always ready to\nprovide so tirelessly for you that you will not feel the loss of one.\nThe house that you see, and all it contains, is yours; and every year\nyou will be given enough to place you in the ranks of your\nwealthiest countrymen. May you forgive him who is more unfortunate than\nyourself.\"\n\nI suspected who had written this; and the merchant replied to my\nquestion that he had taken the man to be a Frank, and that he wore a\nred mantle. I knew enough to own to myself that the stranger was not\nentirely destitute of noble sentiments. I found my new house fitted up\nin the very best manner, and there was also a shop stocked with wares\nfiner than I had ever owned before.\n\nTen years have passed since then; yet, more from habit than necessity,\nI continue to make these commercial journeys. I have never since\nvisited that country where I met with my misfortune. Every year I\nreceive a thousand gold pieces. But though it rejoices me to know that\nthe unfortunate stranger has some noble traits of character, it is\nimpossible for him to cure the sorrow of my soul, which is perpetually\nhaunted by the terrible vision of the murdered Bianca.\n\n\n\nWhile the Greek merchant had told his story, the others had listened to\nhim with the deepest interest. Selim Baruch, particularly, had shown\nmuch emotion, having sighed deeply several times, while Muley was sure\nthat at one time he had seen tears in his eyes. The merchants commented\nfor some time on the story.\n\n\"And do you not hate the stranger who so basely endangered your life\nand caused the loss of so important a member of your body?\" asked Selim\nBaruch.\n\n\"There was a time at first,\" answered the Greek, \"when my heart accused\nhim before God that he had brought this sorrow on me and poisoned my\nlife. But I found consolation in the religion of my fathers, which\ncommands me to love my enemies. And then he must be more unhappy than\nI.\"\n\n\"You are a noble man!\" exclaimed Selim Baruch, as he pressed the Greek's\nhand warmly.\n\nThe leader of the guard here interrupted the conversation. He entered\nthe tent with an anxious air, and reported that it would not do for\nthem to retire to their couches, as this was the place where the\ncaravans were usually attacked; and, besides, his sentinels believed\nthey saw several horsemen in the distance.\n\nThe merchants were greatly disturbed at this news; but Selim Baruch,\nthe stranger, expressed surprise at their consternation, and thought\nthat they were so strongly guarded that they need not fear a troop of\nArab robbers.\n\n\"True, Master!\" answered the leader of the escort; \"if it were only\nsuch fellows, one could lie down to sleep without anxiety. But for\nsometime past the terrible Orbasan has appeared occasionally; and\ntherefore it behooves one to be on his guard.\"\n\nSelim desired to know who this Orbasan might be, and one of the\nmerchants answered him: \"There are all sorts of reports current among\nthe people about this wonderful man. Some believe him to be a\nsupernatural being, because he has often overcome five or six men in a\nfight. Others hold that he is a brave Frank, whom misfortune has driven\ninto these parts. But from all accounts this much is certain: that he\nis an infamous robber and thief!\"\n\n\"But still you will hardly be able to maintain that,\" retorted Lezah,\nanother of the merchants. \"Even though a robber, he is a magnanimous\nman, and has shown himself such to my brother, as I could relate to\nyou. He has made orderly men of his whole band, and while he roams over\nthe desert, no other band dare show itself. Neither is he a common\nrobber, but simply levies a tax on the caravans, and whoever pays this\nwillingly may travel on without further molestation, for Orbasan is the\nRuler of the Desert.\"\n\nThus the merchants discoursed in the tent; but the guard, who was\nstationed around the camp, began to be uneasy. A considerable troop of\narmed horsemen was seen at a distance of half an hour's ride, and\nseemed to be making directly for the camp. One of the guard therefore\nwent into the tent to announce that they would probably be attacked.\nThe merchants conferred with one another as to what was to be done:\nwhether they had better ride out and meet the attack, or await it in\ncamp. The two eldest merchants were in favor of the latter course; but\nthe fiery Muley and Zaleukos chose the first, and called on Selim to\nfollow their example. But Selim quietly drew a small blue cloth,\ncovered with red stars, from his girdle, tied it to a spear, and\nordered one of the slaves to fasten it to the top of the tent, saying\nhe would pledge his life that when the horsemen saw this signal they\nwould draw off quietly. Muley placed no faith in the result, but the\nslave fixed the lance on top of the tent. In the meantime all those in\ncamp had seized their weapons, and looked for the horsemen in intense\nexpectancy. But they had apparently caught sight of the signal on the\ntent, as they suddenly changed their course, and moved off from the\ncamp in an opposite direction.\n\nThe merchants gazed in wonder, now at the vanishing horsemen, and then\non Selim. But he stood before the tent, looking out unconcernedly over\nthe plain, as if nothing unusual had happened. At length Muley broke\nthe silence.\n\n\"Who are you, O mighty stranger?\" cried he. \"You that tame the wild\nhordes of the desert by a signal.\"\n\n\"You rate my power much higher than it is,\" answered Selim Baruch. \"I\nprovided myself with this token when I fled from captivity. What it\nsignifies, I do not know myself; only this much I do know: that whoever\ntravels with this sign stands under powerful protection.\"\n\nThe merchants thanked Selim and called him their deliverer; and really\nthe number of the horsemen was so great that the caravan could not have\nresisted them very long.\n\nWith lighter hearts the merchants laid down to rest; and when the sun\nbegan to set, and the evening breeze blew over the plains of sand, they\nbroke camp, and resumed their journey.\n\nThe next day they camped within a day's march of the end of the desert.\nWhen the travelers had gathered once more in the large tent, Lezah the\nmerchant began to speak:\n\n\"I told you yesterday that the dreaded Orbasan was a magnanimous man;\npermit me to prove it to you to-day, by the recital of my brother's\nfate. My father was Cadi at Acara. He had three children, of whom I was\nthe eldest. My brother and sister were considerably younger. When I was\ntwenty years old, my father's brother sent for me. He made me heir to\nhis property, with the condition that I should remain with him while he\nlived. But he reached a good old age, so that I could not return home\nuntil two years ago, having learned nothing in the meantime of the dark\ncloud that had overshadowed our family, and how graciously Allah had\ndispersed it.\"\n\n\n\n\n                         THE RESCUE OF FATIMA.\n\n\nMy brother Mustapha and my sister Fatima were of nearly the same age.\nHe was at the most, but two years older. They were devotedly attached\nto one another, and together strove, by every means in their power, to\nlighten the burden of our sick father's years.\n\nOn Fatima's sixteenth birthday, my brother arranged a celebration in\nher honor. He invited all her companions; served them with choice\nviands in the garden; and towards evening invited them to a ride on the\nsea, in a barge which he had hired, and decorated especially for the\noccasion. Fatima and her companions joyfully accepted the invitation,\nas the evening was fine, and the city viewed from the sea, especially\nby night, presented a magnificent appearance.\n\nSo highly did the young girls enjoy their ride, that they kept urging\nmy brother to take them still further out to sea. Mustapha consented\nvery unwillingly, as some days before a corsair had been seen standing\noff the coast. Not far from the city a point of land extended out into\nthe sea. The young girls now expressed a desire to go there, that they\nmight see the sun set in the sea. As they rounded the cape, they saw,\nat a little distance, a barge filled with armed men. With many\nmisgivings, my brother ordered the oarsmen to turn the boat around and\npull for shore. And in truth his fears did not seem to be groundless,\nfor the other barge gave chase to them, and, having more rowers, soon\novertook them--keeping in a line between my brother's barge and the\nshore. When the young girls perceived their danger, they jumped up with\ncries and lamentations. It was in vain that Mustapha tried to quiet\nthem; in vain did he urge them to be quiet, as, by their running about,\nthe boat was in danger of upsetting. His entreaties were not listened\nto; and when finally the other boat came near, they all rushed to the\nfurther side of Mustapha's boat and capsized it.\n\nBut in the meantime the movements of the strange boat had been watched\nfrom land, and as for some time past fears had been entertained of\ncorsairs, several barges pushed out from shore to render assistance to\nmy brother. They arrived just in time to pick up the drowning ones. In\nthe excitement, the hostile boat escaped; and in the two barges on\nwhich the rescued had been placed, there was some uncertainty as to\nwhether all had been saved. These two boats were brought side by side,\nand alas! it was found that my sister and one of her companions were\nmissing. At the same moment a man whom no one knew was discovered on\none of the barges. Mustapha's threats extorted from him the admission\nthat he belonged to the hostile ship that lay at anchor two miles to\nthe eastward, and that his companions, in their hasty flight, had left\nhim while he was in the very act of assisting the young girls out of\nthe water. He further said that he had seen two of them drawn into the\nboat to which he belonged.\n\nThe anguish of my aged father was intense. Mustapha, too, was nearly\nwild with grief--not alone because his beloved sister was lost, and he\nmust blame himself as the author of her misfortune, but the companion\nof Fatima's sad fate was his betrothed, though he had never dared to\nmention that circumstance to our father, as the young lady's parents\nwere poor and low-born.\n\nBut my father was a stern man. As soon as he was able to control his\ngrief, he sent for Mustapha, and said to him: \"Your folly has robbed me\nof the comfort of my old age, and the light of my eyes. Go! I banish\nyou forever from my sight; I curse you and all your descendants; and\nonly when you bring Fatima back to me, shall your father's curse be\nlifted.\"\n\nMy brother had not expected this. He had already formed the resolution\nof going in search of his sister and her friend, and had come to his\nfather intending to ask his blessing on the undertaking; and now he was\nsent out into the world with the weight of his father's curse on his\nhead. But if before sorrow had bent him to the ground, this blow, so\nundeservedly given, steeled his soul.\n\nHe went to the imprisoned pirate, to ask him where his ship was bound,\nand learned that she was employed in the slave trade, and usually made\nBalsora her market.\n\nWhen he returned home to prepare for his journey, his father's wrath\nseemed to have cooled somewhat, as he sent him a purse of gold for his\nsupport on the journey. Mustapha then took leave of the parents of\nZoraide--his secretly betrothed bride, and started on his way to\nBalsora.\n\nAs there was no ship from our small town bound directly for Balsora, my\nbrother made the journey by land; and in order that he might not arrive\ntoo long after the pirates had reached there, he was forced to make\nvery long day's journeys. Still, as he had a fine horse, and no\nluggage, he counted on reaching Balsora at the close of the sixth day.\nBut on the evening of the fourth day, as he was riding along quite\nalone, he was suddenly attacked by three robbers. Observing that they\nwere powerful men and well armed, and believing that their purpose was\nto take his money and horse, rather than his life, he called out that\nhe would surrender. Thereupon they dismounted from their horses, and\nbound his feet together under his horse's belly. One of the men then\nseized the bridle of Mustapha's steed, and, with my brother in their\nmidst, they galloped off in great haste without having once spoken a\nword. Mustapha resigned himself to a gloomy despondency. His father's\ncurse seemed in process of fulfillment; and how could he hope to rescue\nhis sister and Zoraide, when, stripped of all he possessed, he could\nemploy only a miserable life towards securing their freedom?\n\nMustapha and his silent escort had ridden on for about an hour, when\nthey turned into a side valley, which was shut in by high trees. A\nsoft, dark-green sod, and a brook rushing swiftly through the middle of\nthe valley, invited them to rest. Scattered over the green were from\nfifteen to twenty tents. Camels and fine horses were tied to the tent\nstakes, while from one of the tents sounded the pleasing melody of a\nguitar, accompanied by two fine male voices.\n\nTo my brother it seemed that people who had displayed such good taste\nin the selection of their camping ground could entertain no sinister\ndesigns on him, and he, therefore, cheerfully obeyed the command of\nhis guides to dismount as soon as they had unloosed his bonds. He was\nled into a tent much larger than the others, the interior of which was\nfitted up neatly, even elegantly. Gold embroidered cushions, woven\ncarpets and gold plated censors would have indicated elsewhere the wealth\nand respectability of their owner; but here they were plainly the fruits\nof robbery. On one of the cushions sat a little old man of repulsive\nappearance. His skin was tanned and shiny, and a disagreeable\nexpression of Turkish slyness lurked about his eyes and mouth. Although\nthis man attempted to appear dignified, it did not take Mustapha long\nto decide that this tent had not been furnished so richly for him,\nwhile the conversation of his guards seemed to confirm his observation.\n\n\"Where is the Strong One?\" they inquired of the little old man.\n\n\"On the chase,\" answered he. \"But he bade me fill his place while he\nwas gone.\"\n\n\"He didn't display much sense, then,\" replied one of the robbers, \"as\nit ought to be decided at once whether this dog shall die or be held\nfor ransom, and the Strong One could decide that much better than you.\"\n\nThe old man arose with an assumption of dignity, and reached out as if\nto grasp his opponent's ear, or to revenge himself by a blow; but when\nhe saw that his effort was fruitless, he began to curse and swear. Nor\ndid the others remain long in his debt, but replied in kind, until the\ntent resounded with their quarrel.\n\nAll at once the door of the tent was opened, and a tall, stately man,\nyoung and handsome as a Persian prince, entered. His clothes and\nweapons were plain and simple, with the exception of a richly jeweled\ndagger and a gleaming sword; but his steady eye and whole appearance\ncommanded attention, without inspiring distrust.\n\n\"Who is it that dares to make such a disturbance in my tent?\" demanded\nhe of the frightened participants.\n\nFor a little time there was deep silence; until finally,\none of the men who had brought Mustapha in told him how the quarrel had\noriginated. The face of the Strong One, as they called him, flushed\nwith anger at this recital.\n\n\"When did I ever put you in my place, Hassan?\" cried he, in a fearful\nvoice, to the little old man, who, shrinking with fear, stole towards\nthe door, looking smaller than ever. The Strong One lifted his foot,\nand Hassan went flying through the doorway with some remarkable leaps.\n\nWhen Hassan had disappeared, the three men led Mustapha up to the\nmaster of the tent, who was now reclining on the cushions, saying: \"We\nhave brought you the man whom you ordered us to capture.\" The Strong\nOne looked for some time at the prisoner, and then said: \"Pasha of\nSulieika, your own conscience will tell you why your are the prisoner\nof Orbasan.\"\n\nWhen my brother heard this, he threw himself down before Orbasan, and\nanswered \"Oh, Master, you have made a mistake. I am only a poor\nunfortunate man, and not the Pasha whom you seek.\"\n\nAll in the tent were surprised at these words. But the master of the\ntent replied--\n\n\"It will not help you much to deny your identity, as I will produce\npeople who know you well.\" He then commanded Zuleima to be brought. An\nold woman was led in, who, in response to the question whether she did\nnot recognize in my brother the Pasha of Sulieika, said--\n\n\"Certainly! I swear by the graves of the prophets that he is the Pasha\nand no other.\"\n\n\"Do you see, poor fool, how your stratagem is frustrated?\" sneered\nOrbasan. \"You are so miserable a creature that I will not soil my\ndagger with your blood; but when to-morrow's sun rises, I will tie you\nto my horse's tail and chase through the forests with you until the sun\nsets behind the hills of Sulieika.\"\n\nAt this announcement my brother's courage entirely deserted him. \"This\nis the result of my cruel father's curse that is driving me to an\nignominious death!\" exclaimed he, in tears. \"And thou, too, sweet\nsister, and thou, Zoraide, art lost!\"\n\n\"Your dissimulation will avail you nothing,\" said one of the robbers,\nwho was engaged in tying Mustapha's hands behind his back. \"Get out of\nthe tent quickly, for the Strong One is biting his lips and glancing at\nhis dagger. If you would live another night, come quickly!\"\n\nAs the robbers were leading my brother out of the tent, they\nencountered three others, who were pushing in a prisoner before them.\n\"We have brought you the Pasha as you commanded us,\" said they, and led\nthe prisoner up to the cushions where Orbasan reclined. While the\nprisoner was being led forward, my brother had an opportunity to\nobserve him closely, and he was forced to acknowledge the striking\nresemblance which this man bore to him, only the stranger's complexion\nwas darker and he wore a black beard.\n\nOrbasan seemed much astonished over the appearance of the second\nprisoner. \"Which of you, then, is the right one?\" asked he, looking\nfrom one to the other.\n\n\"If you mean the Pasha of Sulieika,\" answered the prisoner, in a proud\ntone, \"I am he.\"\n\nOrbasan gazed at him some time with a stern, hard expression, and then\nsilently beckoned the men to lead him away. When they had done so,\nOrbasan went up to my brother, cut his bonds with his dagger, and\nmotioned to him to sit down with him on the cushions. \"I am sorry,\nyoung stranger,\" said he, \"that I mistook you for that monster. It was,\nindeed, a singular dispensation of fate which led you into the hands of\nmy comrades at the same hour that was destined to see the fall of that\ntraitor.\" My brother begged of him but one favor: that he might be\nallowed to continue on his journey at once, as the least delay would\nprove fatal to his purpose. Orbasan inquired what the nature of the\naffair was that required such haste, and when Mustapha had told him\nevery thing, Orbasan persuaded him to remain in his tent over night, as\nhe and his horse were in need of rest, and promised that in the morning\nhe would show him a way by which he could reach Balsora in a day and a\nhalf.\n\nMy brother remained, was hospitably entertained, and slept soundly\nuntil morning in the tent of the robber chief. When he awakened he\nfound himself all alone, but before the curtain of the tent he heard\nseveral voices, one of which belonged to Orbasan and another to Hassan.\nHe listened, and heard, to his horror, that the little old man was\nurging upon Orbasan the necessity of killing him, lest he should betray\nthem when he had regained his liberty. Mustapha felt sure that Hassan\nhated him, because he had been the cause of the little fellow's being\nhandled so roughly the night before. Orbasan remained silent for some\nmoments, and then replied: \"No, he is my guest, and the laws of\nhospitality are sacred with me; neither does he look like an informer.\"\n\nThus saying, Orbasan flung aside the curtain and entered. \"Peace be\nwith you, Mustapha,\" said he. \"Let us take our morning draught, and\nthen prepare yourself to start.\" He handed my brother a glass of\nsherbet, and when they had drunk, they saddled their horses, and with a\nlighter heart than he had entered the camp, Mustapha swung himself into\nhis seat.\n\nThey had soon left the tents far behind, and followed a broad path that\nled into the forest. Orbasan told my brother that the Pasha who had\nbeen captured had promised that he would permit them to remain\nundisturbed in his territory; yet but a few weeks after he took one of\ntheir bravest men prisoner, and hanged him with the most horrible\ntorture. Orbasan had had spies on his track for a long time, and now he\nmust die. Mustapha did not venture to oppose his purpose, as he was\nthankful to get away with a whole skin himself.\n\nAt the end of the forest Orbasan stopped his horse, described the way\nto my brother, offered him his hand at parting, and said: \"Mustapha,\nyou became the guest of the robber Orbasan under singular\ncircumstances. I will not require you to promise that you will not\nbetray what you have seen and heard. You were unjustly forced to suffer\nthe fear of death, and I am, therefore, in your debt. Take this dagger\nas a keepsake, and if you are ever in need of help, send it to me, and\nI will hasten to your assistance. This purse you may be able to use on\nyour journey.\"\n\nMy brother thanked him for his generosity, and took the dagger, but\nrefused the purse. Orbasan pressed his hand once more, letting the\npurse fall to the ground, and sprang with the speed of the wind into\nthe forest. When Mustapha saw that Orbasan did not intend to return for\nthe purse, he dismounted and picked it up, starting at the generosity\nof his host, as he found it contained a large sum of gold. He thanked\nAllah for his rescue, recommended the generous robber to His mercy, and\ncontinued on his way to Balsora with a lighter heart.\n\nLezah, the story-teller, paused, and looked inquiringly at the merchant\nwho had spoken so bitterly of Orbasan. The latter said--\n\n\"Well, if all that be so, I will cheerfully reverse my judgment of\nOrbasan, for he really treated your brother handsomely.\"\n\n\"He behaved like a true Musselman,\" exclaimed Muley. \"But I hope your\nstory was not ended there, for we are all curious to hear more; how\nthings went with your brother, and whether he rescued your sister\nFatima and the beautiful Zoraide.\"\n\n\"If I do not weary you, I will willingly continue,\" replied Lezah; \"for\nthis story of my brother is certainly adventurous and wonderful.\"\n\nWith this, he continued his story.\n\n\n\nAt noon on the seventh day of his departure from home, Mustapha entered\nthe gate of Balsora. As soon as he had reached a caravansary, he made\ninquiries as to when the slave auction, held there every year, opened.\nHe received in reply the dreadful news that he had arrived two days too\nlate. They deplored his delay, and told him that he had missed a fine\nsight, for on the last day of the auction two female slaves had been\nput up, of such extraordinary beauty as to attract the attention of all\nbidders. There was sharp competition for their possession, and the\nbidding ran up so high as to frighten off everybody but their present\nowner. Mustapha made more particular inquiries, until he had satisfied\nhimself beyond a doubt that these slaves were the unfortunate objects\nof his search. He learned further that the name of the man who had\nbought them was Thiuli-Kos; that he lived a good forty-hours' journey\nfrom Balsora, and was a rich and elderly man of rank, who had formerly\nbeen senior Pasha of the Shah, but had now retired from official life\nto live upon his means.\n\nAt first thought, Mustapha was about to mount his horse and hasten\nafter Thiuli-Kos, who had only a day the start of him; but, after\nreflecting that, alone and unattended, he could hardly approach so\npowerful and rich a man, and still less hope to rob him of his\npossessions, he tried to devise some other plan, and soon hit upon one\nthat appeared feasible. The singular mistake of confounding him with\nthe Pasha of Sulieika, which had been so nearly fatal to him, suggested\nthe idea of visiting the house of Thiuli-Kos, under this name, and then\nattempting the rescue of the unfortunate maidens. Accordingly he hired\nhorses and servants--for which purpose Orbasan's money proved very\nuseful--provided fine clothes for himself and servants, and set out for\nThiuli's castle.\n\nIn five days he reached the vicinity of the castle, which was situated\nin a beautiful plain, enclosed within high walls, above which but\nlittle could be seen of the buildings. Arriving there, Mustapha dyed\nhis hair and beard black, and painted his face with the juice of a\nplant, that gave him quite as brown a complexion as the real Pasha had\npossessed. Thereupon he sent one of his servants to the castle to\nrequest a night's lodging, in the name of the Pasha of Sulieika. The\nservant soon returned, and with him came four finely costumed slaves,\nwho took hold of the bridle of Mustapha's horse, and led him into the\ncourt of the castle. There they assisted him to dismount, when four\nothers conducted him up the broad marble steps to the presence of\nThiuli. The latter proved to be a jovial old fellow, and he received my\nbrother with due honor, and set before him the best that his cook could\nprepare.\n\nAfter the table was cleared, Mustapha turned the conversation to the\nnew slaves, and Thiuli boasted of their beauty, while complaining of\ntheir sadness; this, however, he believed would soon disappear. My\nbrother was well pleased with his reception, and betook himself to\nrest, feeling very hopeful. He had slept perhaps an hour, when he was\nawakened by the gleam of a lamp that dazzled his eyes. As he raised\nhimself in bed, he believed that he must still be dreaming, for before\nhim stood that little dark-skinned man whom he had seen in Orbasan's\ntent. He held a lamp in his hand, and his broad mouth was distorted by\na horrible grimace. Mustapha pinched his own arm and pulled his nose,\nin order to convince himself that he was awake; but the apparition\nremained as before.\n\n\"What will you at my bed-side?\" cried Mustapha, as soon as he had\nrecovered from his astonishment.\n\n\"Don't trouble yourself, Master,\" replied Hassan, \"I have found out\nyour purpose in coming here; nor was your worthy face forgotten by me.\nBut really, if I had not helped to hang the Pasha with my own hands, I\nmight perhaps have been deceived. Now I have come to put a question.\"\n\n\"First of all, tell me how you came here,\" returned Mustapha, furious\nat being betrayed.\n\n\"I will tell you,\" replied Hassan, \"I could not get along with Orbasan\nany longer; therefore I ran away. But you, Mustapha, was the cause of\nour quarrel, and therefore you must give me your sister to wed, and I\nwill assist you in your flight. If you do not agree to this, I will go\nto my new master and tell him something about the new Pasha.\"\n\nMustapha was beside himself with rage and terror. Now, just as he\nbelieved himself about to attain his object, why must this wretch come\nand thwart his designs? There was only one way left in which he could\ncarry out his plan: he must kill the ugly monster. With one spring he\nleaped from the bed and tried to seize the ugly wretch; but he,\ndoubtless having expected such an attack, let the lamp fall and escaped\nin the darkness, shrieking murderously for help.\n\nHe was now compelled to give up the young girls, and turn his attention\nto his own safety. He went to the window to see whether he could jump\nout, and found it was quite a distance to the ground, while opposite\nstood a high wall. Suddenly he heard voices approaching his room. As\nthey reached his door, he grasped his clothes and dagger in\ndesperation, and swung himself out of the window. The fall was a hard\none, but he felt that no bones were broken, and sprang up to run to the\nwall, which he climbed, to the astonishment of the pursuers, and was\nsoon at liberty. He ran until he reached a small wood, where he flung\nhimself down exhausted. Here he considered what was to be done.\n\nHis servants and horses he had been forced to leave, but the money\nwhich he carried in his girdle was safe, and his ingenuity shortly\ndiscovered another mode of rescue. He went on through the forest until\nhe came to a village, where for a little money he bought a horse that\nquickly carried him to a city. Once there he inquired for a physician,\nand an old and experienced man was recommended to him. By the aid of\nsome gold pieces, he induced this physician to furnish him with a\nmedicine that would produce a death-like sleep, that might, however, be\ninstantly dispelled by some other remedy. When he had procured these\nmedicines, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all manner of\nlittle boxes and alembics, so that he properly represented a traveling\nphysician--loaded his traps on an ass and journeyed back to the castle\nof Thiuli-Kos. He was certain this time of not being known, as the\nbeard made such a complete change in his appearance that he felt\ndoubtful of his own identity.\n\nOn arriving at Thiuli's, he announced himself as the physician\nChakamankabudibaba. The result was as he had foreseen: the\nhigh-sounding name recommended him so highly to the weak old Pasha that\nhe was at once invited to dinner. After an hour's conversation, the old\nman resolved to submit all his female slaves to the treatment of the\nwise physician. Mustapha could now hardly conceal his joy at the\nprospect of seeing his beloved sister again, and followed Thiuli with a\nbeating heart, as he led the way to the seraglio. They came to a room\nbeautifully decorated but unoccupied.\n\n\"Chambaba, or whatever you call yourself, dear doctor,\" said\nThiuli-Kos, \"look for a moment at yonder hole in the wall; each one of\nmy slaves will put her arm through it in succession, and you can\nascertain by the pulse who the sick are and who the well.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nMustapha's objections to this arrangement were of no avail; he was not\npermitted to see the slaves; still Thiuli consented to inform him of\neach one's general state of health. Thiuli then drew out a long sheet\nof paper from his sash, and began to call the roll of his female slaves\nin a loud voice; and at each name a hand was thrust through the wall,\nand the physician felt the pulse. Six were called off, and pronounced\nin good health, when Thiuli called out the name \"Fatima,\" as the\nseventh, and a small white hand slipped through the wall. Trembling\nwith joy, Mustapha seized this hand and declared with an important air,\nthat Fatima was seriously sick. Thiuli became very anxious, and ordered\nhis wise Chakamankabudibaba to prepare at once some medicine for her.\nThe physician went out of the room, and wrote on a small piece of\npaper:\n\n\"Fatima! I will save you, if you have the strength of will to take a\nmedicine that will deprive you of life for two days; still I possess a\nremedy that will restore you to life again. If you are willing to do\nthis, speak these words: 'The medicine did not help me any,' and I\nshall take it as a sign of your assent.\"\n\nMustapha returned to the room where Thiuli was awaiting him. He brought\nwith him a harmless drink, felt of Fatima's pulse once more, at the\nsame time tucking the note under her bracelet, and passed the drink\nthrough the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be very anxious about\nFatima, and put off the examination of the rest until a more favorable\nopportunity. As he left the room with Mustapha, he said, in a sad tone:\n\"Chidababa, tell me the exact truth; what is your opinion of Fatima's\nsickness?\" Chakamankabudibaba replied with a deep sigh: \"Oh Master! may\nthe good Prophet send you consolation; she has a stealthy fever that\nmay end her life.\" At this reply Thiuli's anger flamed up. \"What's that\nyou say, you cursed dog of a doctor! Do you mean to say that she, for\nwhom I paid two thousand pieces of gold, will die on my hands like a\ncow? Know, then, that if you do not save her, I will take your head\noff!\"\n\nMy brother at once saw that he had made a stupid mistake, so he\nhastened to assure Thiuli there was still hope for Fatima. While they\nwere speaking together, a black slave came from the seraglio to say to\nthe physician that _the drink did not help her any_. \"Put forth all\nyour art, Chakamdababelda, or whatever you call yourself, and I will\npay you whatever you ask,\" exclaimed Thiuli-Kos, wild with anxiety at\nthe prospect of losing so much money. \"I will give her a little\ndecoction that will save her from danger,\" answered the physician.\n\"Yes! by all means, give her the medicine,\" cried old Thiuli.\n\nMustapha, in high spirits, went to fetch the sleeping potion, and after\nhanding it to the slave, with instructions as to the quantity to be\ntaken, he returned to Thiuli, and told him that now he must go down to\nthe sea and gather some healing herbs. He then hurried away to the sea,\nthat was not far off, where he took off his various disguises and flung\nthem into the water, where the waves tossed them about. He then\nconcealed himself in the bushes until evening, when he stole quietly up\nto the burial vault of Thiuli's castle.\n\nHardly an hour after Mustapha had departed from the castle, word was\nbrought Thiuli that his slave Fatima was dying. He at once sent down to\nthe shore to have the physician brought back, but his messengers soon\nreturned with the information that the poor doctor had fallen into the\nwater and been drowned; his black cloak was floating on the waves, and\noccasionally his magnificent black beard might be seen bobbing up and\ndown in the water.\n\nWhen Thiuli saw there was no hope of her recovery, he cursed himself\nand the whole world, tore out his beard, and butted his head against\nthe wall. But all this availed nothing, for Fatima, under the care of\nthe other women, soon ceased to breathe. When Thiuli heard of her\ndeath, he ordered a coffin to be hastily made, as he could not suffer a\ndead person to remain in the house, and had the body carried to the\ntomb. The bearers carried the coffin there, dropped it hastily, and\nfled, as they heard groans and sighs proceeding from the other coffins.\n\nMustapha, who had hidden behind the coffins and frightened away the\nbearers of Fatima's coffin, now came out from his hiding place, and\nlighted a lamp that he had provided for this purpose. Next he produced\na phial containing the restorative, and raised the lid of Fatima's\ncoffin. But what was his amazement when the rays of the lamp disclosed\nfeatures entirely strange to him! It was neither my sister nor Zoraide,\nbut quite another person, that lay in the coffin. It took him a long\ntime to recover from this latest blow of fate, but finally pity\novercame his vexation. He opened the phial, and poured some of the\ncontents into the mouth of the sleeper. She breathed, opened her eyes,\nand seemed for a long time to be trying to make out her situation. At\nlast she recalled all that had happened, and, stepping out of the\ncoffin, flung herself at Mustapha's feet. \"How can I thank you,\ngracious being?\" cried she, \"for freeing me from my terrible prison!\"\nMustapha interrupted her expressions of gratitude with the question how\nit happened that she and not his sister Fatima had been rescued. She\nlooked at him in an astonished way before replying: \"Now for the first\ntime I understand what before was incomprehensible to me. You must know\nthat I was called Fatima in the castle, and it was to me you gave the\nnote and medicine.\" My brother requested her to give him news of his\nsister and Zoraide, and learned that they were both in the castle, but,\nin accordance with a custom of Thiuli's, had received other names, and\nwere now called Mirza and Nurmahal.\n\nWhen the freed slave, Fatima, saw that my brother was so cast down by\nthis mistake, she consoled him with the assurance that she could point\nout another way by which both of the young girls might be rescued.\nAroused by what she said, he begged her to tell him her plan, to which\nshe replied--\n\n\"For some five months I have been Thiuli's slave; yet from the first I\nhave planned to escape, but it was too much of a task for me to attempt\nalone. In the inner court of the castle you must have noticed a\nfountain that throws the water in a cascade from ten pipes. This\nfountain impressed me strongly, because I remembered a similar one in\nmy father's house, the water of which was brought through a large\naqueduct. In order to learn whether this fountain was built in the same\nway, I one day praised its beauty to Thiuli, and asked who had\nconstructed it. 'I built it myself,' answered he; 'and what you see\nhere is the least part of the work, as the water is brought from a\nbrook, a thousand paces away, through an arched viaduct at least high\nenough for a man to walk in. And the construction of all this I\ndirected myself.'\n\n\"Since hearing this, I have often wished for the strength of a man to\npull out a stone in the side of the fountain, and thereby escape. I\nwill now show you the aqueduct, through which you can obtain entrance\nto the castle at night, and set your sister free. But you ought to have\nat least two men with you, in order to overpower the slaves who watch\nthe seraglio at night.\"\n\nMy brother Mustapha, although he had seen his plans twice frustrated,\nplucked up courage once more at these words, and hoped, with Allah's\nassistance, to carry out the scheme of the slave. He promised to see\nthat she arrived safely at her home if she would assist him to enter\nthe castle. But one point caused him some little perplexity: where\nshould he obtain two or three men upon whom he could depend? Just then\nOrbasan's dagger occurred to him, and the promise he had received from\nthe bandit that, in case of need, he would hasten to his assistance;\nand he therefore left the vault, in company with Fatima, to hunt up the\nrobber.\n\nIn the same village which had witnessed his transformation into a\nphysician, he bought a horse with what money remained to him, and\nprocured a lodging for Fatima with a poor woman who lived in the\nsuburb. He then hastened toward the hills where he had first met\nOrbasan, and arrived there in three days. He soon found their tents, and\nappeared unexpectedly to Orbasan, who greeted him with friendliness. He\ngave an account of his failures, at which the grave Orbasan could not\nrefrain from laughing now and then, especially when he thought of the\nphysician Chakamankabudibaba. But he was terribly enraged over the\ntreachery of the ugly little monster, Hassan, and swore he would hang\nhim up wherever he found him. He also promised that when my brother had\nrefreshed himself after the fatigue of his journey, he would be ready to\nassist him.\n\nMustapha therefore spent the night in Orbasan's tent. With the early\ndawn they rode off, accompanied by three of Orbasan's bravest men well\nmounted and armed. They rode very fast and in two days' time reached\nthe place where Mustapha had left Fatima. They took her with them, and\njourneyed on until they came to the small wood from whence Thiuli's\ncastle could be seen, where they went into camp until night should\ncome.\n\nAs soon as it was dark, guided by Fatima, they stole up to the brook\nwhere the aqueduct began, and soon discovered the entrance. There they\nleft Fatima and a servant with the horses, and prepared to descend into\nthe conduit; but before they went in, Fatima repeated once more her\ninstructions to them--they would emerge from the fountain into the\ninner court, in the right and left corners of which were towers, and in\nthe sixth door counting from the right tower, they would find Fatima\nand Zoraide, guarded by two black slaves. Well provided with weapons and\ncrowbars, Mustapha, Orbasan, and two other men, descended into the\naqueduct. They sank to their hips in the water, but none the less did\nthey advance valiantly forward. In half an hour they came to the\nfountain, and at once began to use their crowbars. The wall was thick\nand solid but could not long withstand the united strength of the four\nmen, and they had soon made an opening large enough to crawl through.\nOrbasan passed through first, and helped the others after him.\n\nWhen they all stood in the court, they looked closely at the side of\nthe castle facing them, to pick out the door that had been described.\nBut they did not all agree on this point, for on counting from the\nright tower toward the left, they found one door that had been walled\nup, and they could not decide whether Fatima had passed this door by,\nor had counted it in with the others. But Orbasan did not hesitate\nlong. \"My good sword will open every door to me,\" exclaimed he, and\nwent to one of the doors followed by his companions. They opened the\ndoor and discovered six black slaves lying on the floor asleep. They\nwere about to withdraw quietly, as they saw they had missed the right\ndoor, when a man's form arose in the corner, and in a well-known voice,\ncalled for help. It was Hassan, the deserter from Orbasan's camp. But\nbefore the black guards could find out what had happened, Orbasan\nrushed at the little wretch, tore his girdle into two pieces, with one\nof which he bound his mouth, and with the other tied his hands behind\nhis back; then he turned on the slaves, some of whom were already\npartially secured by Mustapha and his companions, and assisted to\ncompletely overpower them. At the point of the dagger, the slaves\nconfessed that Nurmahal and Mirza were in the adjoining room. Mustapha\nrushed in, and found Fatima and Zoraide, who were already aroused by\nthe noise. They quickly collected their clothing and ornaments, and\nfollowed Mustapha. The two robbers now begged permission of Orbasan to\nplunder whatever they found; but he forbade them, saying: \"It shall\nnever be said of Orbasan that he broke into a house at night to steal\ngold.\"\n\nMustapha and the young girls slid quickly into the aqueduct, Orbasan\npromising to follow immediately; but as soon as the others were out of\nsight, Orbasan and one of the robbers took Hassan out into the court,\nand tying a silk cord around his neck, hung him to the highest point of\nthe fountain. After having inflicted this penalty on the wretch, they\ndescended into the aqueduct and followed Mustapha.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWith tears the two young girls thanked their noble rescuer Orbasan, but\nhe hurried them on in their flight, as it was quite probable that\nThiuli-Kos would pursue them in all directions. With deep emotion,\nMustapha and the rescued ones parted from Orbasan on the following day.\nOf a truth, they will never forget him. Fatima, the freed slave,\ndisguised herself and went to Balsora to take passage for her home, and\nall reached there safely after a short and agreeable journey.\n\nThe joy of seeing them again almost killed my father; but the day after\ntheir arrival, he ordered an immense banquet, to which the whole town\ncame. My brother had then to repeat his story before a large number of\nrelatives and friends, and with one voice they praised him and the\nnoble Orbasan.\n\nWhen my brother had finished, my father rose and led Zoraide up to him.\n\"Thus,\" said he in joyful tones, \"do I lift the curse from thy head;\ntake her as the reward, which thou hast won through thy tireless zeal;\ntake my fatherly blessing; and may our city never be wanting in men\nwho, in brotherly love, in wisdom and zeal, resemble thee.\"\n\n\n\nThe caravan had reached the end of the desert, and the travelers\njoyfully greeted the green meadows and the thick foliage of the trees;\na delightful view, of which they had been deprived for many days. In a\nbeautiful valley was situated a caravansary, which they chose for a\nnight's lodging; and although it offered poor accommodation and\nrefreshment, yet the whole company were in better spirits and more\nconfidential than ever, as the feeling that they had escaped all the\ndangers and discomforts which a journey through the desert brings,\nopened all hearts and disposed all minds to jests and sports. Muley,\nthe active young merchant, danced a comic dance, accompanying himself\nwith songs, until even the sad features of Zaleukos, the Greek, relaxed\ninto a smile. But not satisfied with having entertained his fellow\ntravelers with dances and games, he related, as soon as he had somewhat\nrecovered from his violent exercise, the story which he had promised\nthem.\n\n\n\n\n                              LITTLE MUCK.\n\n\nIN Nicaeea, my dearly-loved native city, lived a man who was called\nLittle Muck, I can recall him distinctly, although I was quite young at\nthe time, chiefly because of a severe chastisement I received from my\nfather on his account. This Little Muck was already an old man when I\nknew him, and yet he was not more than four feet in height. His figure\npresented a singular appearance, as his body, small and childlike,\nseemed but a slender support for a head much larger than the heads of\nordinary people. He lived all alone in a large house, and cooked his\nown meals, and had it not been for the smoke that rose from his kitchen\nchimney at midday, the townspeople would have remained in doubt as to\nwhether he still lived; for he went out but once a month. He was,\nhowever, occasionally seen walking on the house-top, and to one looking\nup from the street there was presented the singular sight of a head\nmoving to and fro. My companions and myself were rather bad boys, who\ntook delight in teasing and making sport of everybody; so it was always\na great holiday for us whenever Little Muck went out. We gathered\nbefore his house on the appointed day, and waited; and when now the\ndoor opened, and the large head, wrapped in a still larger turban,\npeeped out, followed by the rest of his little body, done up in a\nthreadbare cloak, baggy breeches, and a wide sash, from which hung a\ndagger so long that it could not be told whether Muck stuck on the\ndagger or the dagger on Muck--when he thus made his appearance, the air\nechoed with our shouts; we threw up our caps, and danced around him\nlike mad. Little Muck, however, returned our salute with a grave nod of\nthe head, and shuffled slowly down the street in such great, wide\nslippers as I had never seen before. We boys ran behind him, shouting:\n\"Little Muck! Little Muck!\" We also had a jolly little verse that we\nnow and then sang in his honor, which ran as follows:\n\n[Illustration]\n\n            Little Muck, little Muck,\n            Living in a house so fair,\n            Once a month you take the air,\n            You, brave little dwarf, 'tis said,\n            Have a mountain for a head;\n            Turn around just once and look;\n            Run and catch us, little Muck!\n\nThus had we often entertained ourselves, and, to my shame be it\nconfessed, I behaved the worst--often catching him by the cloak, and\nonce I trod on the heel of his slipper so that he fell down. This\nstruck me as a very funny thing, but the laugh stuck in my throat as I\nsaw him go to my father's house. He went right in and remained there\nfor some time. I hid myself near the front door, and saw Little Muck\ncome out again, accompanied by my father, who held his hand and parted\nfrom him on the door-step with many bows. Not feeling very easy in my\nmind, I remained for a long time in my hiding place; but I was at last\ndriven out by hunger, which I feared worse than a whipping, and,\nspiritless and with bowed head, I went home to my father. \"I hear that\nyou have been insulting the good Little Muck,\" said he, in a grave\ntone. \"I will tell you the story of Little Muck, and you will certainly\nnot want to laugh at him again; but before I begin, and after I am\nthrough, you will receive '_the customary_.'\" Now \"the customary\"\nconsisted of twenty-five blows, which he was accustomed to lay on\nwithout making any mistake in the count. He took for this purpose the\nlong stem of a cherry pipe, unscrewing the amber mouth-piece, and\nbelaboring me harder than ever before. When the five-and-twenty strokes\nwere completed, he commanded me to pay attention, and told me the story\nof Little Muck.\n\nThe father of Little Muck--whose proper name was Mukrah--was a poor but\nrespectable man, living here in Nicaea. He lived nearly as solitary a\nlife as his son now does. This son he could not endure, as he was\nashamed of his dwarfish shape, and he therefore allowed him to grow up\nin ignorance. Little Muck, though in his sixteenth year, was only a\nchild; and his father continually scolded him, because he who should\nhave long since \"put away childish things,\" still remained so stupid\nand silly.\n\nHowever, the old gentleman got a bad fall one day, from the effects of\nwhich he shortly died, and left Little Muck poor and ignorant. The\nunfeeling relatives, to whom the deceased had owed more than he could\npay, drove the poor little fellow out of the house, and advised him to\ngo out into the world and seek his fortune. Little Muck replied that he\nwas ready for the journey, but begged that he might be allowed to have his\nfather's clothes; and these were given him. His father had been a tall,\nstout man, so that the clothes did not fit the little son very well; but\nMuck knew just what to do in this emergency: he cut off every thing that\nwas too long, and then put the clothes on. He seemed, however, to have\nforgotten that he should have cut away from the width as well; hence his\nsingular appearance just as he may be seen to-day--dressed in the large\nturban, the broad sash, the baggy trousers, the blue cloak, all heirlooms\nfrom his father, which he has ever since worn. The long Damascus poniard,\nthat had also belonged to his father, he stuck proudly in his sash, and,\nsupported by a little cane, wandered out of the city gate.\n\nHe tramped along merrily the whole day; for had he not been sent out to\nseek his fortune? If he came across a broken bit of pottery glistening\nin the sun, he straightway put it into his pocket, in the full belief\nthat it would prove to be the most brilliant diamond. When he saw in\nthe distance the dome of a mosque all ablaze with the sun's rays, or a\nlake gleaming like a mirror, he made all haste to reach it, believing\nhe had arrived in an enchanted land. But alas, the illusions vanished\nas he neared them, while weariness and an empty stomach forcibly\nreminded him that he was still in the land of mortals. Thus hungry and\nsorrowful, and despairing of ever finding his fortune, he wandered on\nfor two long days, with the fruits of the field for his only\nnourishment, and the hard earth for his couch.\n\nOn the morning of the third day he discovered, from a hill, a large\ncity. The crescent shone brightly on its battlements, while gay banners\nwaving from the roofs seemed to beckon him on. In great surprise, he\nstopped to look at the city and its surroundings. \"Yes, there shall Little\nMuck find his fortune,\" said he to himself; and summoning all his strength,\nhe started on towards the city. But, although the town seemed near by, it\nwas nearly noon when he reached it, as his little legs almost refused to\ncarry out his will, and he was forced to sit down in the shade of a palm\ntree to rest. At last he reached the gate. There he arranged his cloak with\ngreat care, gave a new fold to his turban, stretched out his sash to twice\nits usual width, stuck the long poniard in a little straighter, and wiping\nthe dust from his shoes, grasped his stick more firmly and marched bravely\nin.\n\nHe had wandered through several streets, but not a door opened to him;\nnor did any one call out--as he had fancied would be done--:\n\n            Little Muck! Come in and eat,\n            And rest your weary little feet.\n\nOnce more he looked up very longingly at a large, fine house before\nhim, when suddenly a window was opened, and an old woman looked down,\ncalling out in a sing-song tone:\n\n            O come, O come!\n            The porridge is done,\n            The table is spread,\n            May you all be well-fed;\n            O good neighbors, come,\n            The porridge is done!\n\nThe door of the house opened, and Muck saw many dogs and cats enter. He\nremained for some time in doubt whether he should accept the\ninvitation, but at last he mustered up courage and walked in. Before\nhim went two little kittens, and he concluded to follow them, as they\nmight know the way to the kitchen better than he did.\n\nAs Muck ascended the stairs, he met the same old woman who had looked\nout from the window. She looked at him crossly, and asked him what he\nwanted. \"Why, you invited everybody in to partake of your porridge,\"\nanswered Little Muck; \"and as I was very hungry, I came in too.\" The\nold woman laughed and said: \"Where in the world do you come from, you\nodd little fellow? The whole city knows that I cook for nobody but my\ndear cats, and now and then I invite company for them out of the\nneighborhood, as you see.\" Little Muck told the old woman how hardly it\nhad fared with him since his father's death, and begged that she would\npermit him to eat with her cats to-day. The woman, who was pleased with\nthe simple-hearted manner in which the dwarf told his story, allowed\nhim to be her guest, and provided food and drink for him bountifully.\n\nWhen he had eaten his fill, and felt much stronger, the old woman\nlooked at him for some time before saying: \"Little Muck, remain in my\nservice; you will have little to do, and will be well provided for.\"\nLittle Muck, who had found the cats' soup very nice, consented, and\nbecame the servant of Ahavzi. His duties were light, but quite\npeculiar. Ahavzi had, for instance, six cats, and every morning Little\nMuck had to comb their fur and rub in costly ointments; when the old\nwoman went out he had also to look after the cats; when they were to be\nfed, he had to set the dishes before them; and at night it was his duty\nto lay them on silken cushions and cover them with velvet blankets.\nThere were also a few small dogs in the house, which he had to wait\nupon; still, these received but little attention as compared with the\ncats, which Ahavzi considered as her own children. As for the rest,\nMuck led as lonely a life as he had suffered in his father's house;\nfor, with the exception of the old woman, he saw only dogs and cats the\nlivelong day.\n\nFor a little while, however, all went well with him. He always had\nenough to eat and but little to do, and the old woman found no fault\nwith him. But after a while the cats became unruly; when the old woman\nhad gone out, they would fly around the room as if possessed, throwing\nthings about, and breaking many a fine dish that stood in their way.\nBut whenever they heard the old woman coming up the stairs, they\ncrouched down on their cushions, and wagged their tails, as if nothing\nhad occurred. Ahavzi got very angry when she found her rooms in such\ndisorder, and laid it all to Muck's charge; and though he might protest\nhis innocence as much as he pleased, she believed her cats, which\nlooked so harmless, more than she did her servant.\n\nLittle Muck felt very sad that he had failed to find his fortune, and\nsecretly resolved to leave the service of Ahavzi. But, as he had\ndiscovered on his first journey how poorly one lives without money, he\nresolved to help himself to the wages which his mistress had often\npromised but never given him. There was one room in Ahavzi's house that\nwas always kept locked, and whose interior Muck had never seen. But he\nhad often heard the old woman bustling about in there, and as often he\nwould have given his life to know what she had hidden there. When he\ncame to think about the money for his journey, it occurred to him that\nthe treasures of Ahavzi might be concealed in that room. But the door\nwas always locked, and therefore he was unable to get at the treasures.\n\nOne morning, when the old woman had gone out, one of the dogs--to whom\nAhavzi accorded little more than a step-mother's care, but whose favor\nMuck had acquired by a series of kindly services--seized Muck by his\nbaggy trousers, and acted as if he wished the dwarf to follow him.\nMuck, always ready for a game with the dog, followed him, and behold,\nhe was escorted to the bed-room of Ahavzi, and up to a small door that\nhe had never noticed before. The door was soon opened, and the dog\nwent in followed by Muck, who was greatly rejoiced to find that he was\nin the very room that he had so long sought to enter. He searched\nevery-where for money, but found none. Only old clothes and strangely\nshaped dishes were to be seen. One of these dishes attracted his\nattention. It was crystal and in it were cut beautiful figures. He\npicked it up and turned it about to examine all its sides. But,\nhorrors! he had not noticed that it had a lid which was insecurely\nfastened. The cover fell off, and was broken into a thousand pieces!\n\nFor a long time Little Muck stood there, motionless from terror. Now\nwas his fate decided. Now he must flee, or the old woman would surely\nstrike him dead. His journey was decided on at once; and as he took one\nmore look around to see if there were nothing among the effects of\nAhavzi that he could make use of on his march, his eye was caught by a\npair of large slippers. They were certainly not beautiful; but those he\nhad on would not stand another journey, and he was also attracted by\nthis pair on account of their size, for when he once had these on his\nfeet, everybody, he hoped, would see that he had \"put away childish\nthings.\" He therefore quickly kicked off his own shoes and stepped into\nthe large slippers. A walking stick ornamented with a finely cut lion's\nhead, seemed to him to be standing too idly in the corner; so he took\nthat along also, and hastened to his own bed-room, where he threw on\nhis cloak, placed his father's turban on his head, stuck the poniard in\nhis sash, and left the house and city as speedily as his feet would\ncarry him.\n\nOnce free of the town, he ran on, from fear of the old woman, until he\nwas ready to drop with exhaustion. Never before had he run so fast;\nindeed it seemed to him that some unseen force was hurrying him on so\nthat he could not stop. Finally he observed that his power must have\nconnection with the slippers, as these kept sliding along, and carried\nhim with them. He attempted all kinds of experiments to come to a\nstand-still, but was unsuccessful; when as a last resort, he shouted at\nhimself, as one calls to horses: \"Whoa! whoa! stop! whoa!\" Thereupon\nthe slippers halted, and Muck threw himself down on the ground utterly\nexhausted.\n\nThe slippers pleased him very much. He had, after all, acquired\nsomething by his service, that would help him along in the world, on\nhis way to find his fortune. In spite of his joy, he fell asleep from\nexhaustion--as the small body of little Muck had so heavy a head to\ncarry that it could not endure much fatigue. The little dog, that had\nhelped him to Ahavzi's slippers, appeared to him in a dream, and said\nto him: \"Dear Muck, you don't quite understand how to use those\nslippers; you must know that by turning around three times on the heel\nof your slipper, you can fly to any point you choose; and with this\nwalking-stick you can discover treasures, as wherever gold is buried it\nwill strike three times on the earth, and if silver, twice!\" Such was\nthe dream of Little Muck.\n\nWhen he waked up, he recalled the wonderful dream, and resolved to test\nits truth. He put on the slippers, raised one foot and attempted to\nturn on his heel. But any one who will try the feat of turning three\ntimes in succession on the heel of such a large slipper, will not\nwonder that Little Muck did not at first succeed, especially if one\ntakes into account his heavy head, that was constantly causing him to\nlose his balance. The poor little fellow got several hard falls on his\nnose, but he would not be frightened off from repeating his efforts,\nand at last he succeeded.\n\nHe whirled around like a wheel on his heel; wished himself in the\nnext large city, and the slippers steered him up into the air, rushed\nhim with the speed of the wind through the clouds, and before Little\nMuck could think how it had all happened, he found himself in a\nmarket-place, where many stalls had been put up, and a countless number\nof people were busily running to and fro. He mixed somewhat with the\npeople but considered it wiser to take himself to a quieter street, as\non the market-place every now-and-then somebody stepped on his\nslippers, so as to nearly throw him down, and then again, one and\nanother, in hurrying by, would get a stab from his projecting poniard,\nso that he was continually in trouble.\n\nLittle Muck now began to think seriously of what he should do to earn\nsome money. To be sure, he had a stick that would point out hidden\ntreasures, but where might he hope to find a place where gold or silver\nwas buried? He might have exhibited himself for money; but for that he\nwas too proud. Finally his speed of foot occurred to him. Perhaps,\nthought he, my slippers may procure me a livelihood; and he resolved to\nhire himself out as a runner. Concluding that the king, who lived in\nthis city, would pay the best wages, he inquired for the palace. At the\ndoor of the palace stood a guard, who asked him what business he had\nthere? On answering that he was seeking service, he was referred to the\nhead steward. To him he preferred his request, and begged him to give\nhim a place among the king's messengers. The steward measured him with\na glance from head to foot, and said: \"How will you, with your little\nfeet, scarcely a hand's breadth in length, become a royal messenger?\nGet away with you! I am not here to crack jokes with every fool.\"\nLittle Muck assured him that he meant every word he had said, and that\nhe would run a race with the fastest, on a wager. The steward took all\nthis as a bit of pleasantry, and in that spirit ordered him to hold\nhimself ready for a race that evening. He then took him into the\nkitchen, and saw that he was given food and drink, and afterwards,\nbetook himself to the king, and told him about the little fellow, and\nhis offer to run a race.\n\nThe king was a merry gentleman, and well pleased with the steward for\naffording him an opportunity of having some sport with Muck, and\nordered him to make such preparations for a race on the meadow, back of\nthe castle, that his whole court could view the scene in comfort; and\ncommanded him once more to pay every attention to the wants of the\ndwarf. The king told the princes and princesses of the entertainment\nthat would be furnished in the evening, and they, in turn, informed\ntheir servants, so that when evening set in, all was expectancy, and\nevery body who had feet to carry them, went streaming out to the\nmeadow, where staging had been erected in order that they might see the\nvainglorious Muck run a race.\n\nWhen the king with his sons and daughters had taken their seats on the\nplatform, Little Muck entered the meadow, and saluted the lords and\nladies with an extremely elegant bow; universal acclamation greeted the\nappearance of the little fellow. Surely such a figure had never been\nseen there before. The small body and the big head, the cloak and baggy\nbreeches, the long dagger stuck through the broad sash, the little feet\nenclosed in such huge slippers--it was impossible to look at such a\ndroll figure and refrain from shouts of laughter. But Little Muck did\nnot permit himself to be disturbed by the merriment his appearance\ncaused. He stood, leaning proudly on his cane, awaiting his opponent.\nThe steward, in accordance with Muck's wish, had selected the king's\nfastest runner, who now stepped up and placed himself beside the dwarf,\nand both awaited the signal to start. Thereupon, Princess Amarza waved\nher veil, as had been agreed on, and, like two arrows shot at the same\nmark, the two runners flew over the meadow.\n\nMuck's opponent took the lead at the start, but the dwarf chased after\nhim in his slipper-chariot and soon overtook him, passed him, and\nreached the goal long before the other came up, panting for breath.\nWonder and astonishment for some moments held the spectators still; but\nwhen the king clapped his hands, the crowd cheered and shouted: \"Long\nlive Little Muck, the victor in the race!\"\n\nMeanwhile, Little Muck had been brought up before the king. He\nprostrated himself and said: \"Most High and Mighty King, I have given\nyou here only a small test of my art. Will you now permit my\nappointment as one of your runners?\" But the king replied: \"No; you\nshall be my body-messenger, dear Muck, and be retained about my person.\nYour wages will be one hundred gold pieces a year, and you shall eat at\nthe head servants' table.\"\n\nSo Little Muck came to believe that at last he had found the fortune he\nhad so long been looking for, and in his heart he was cheerful and\ncontent. He also rejoiced in the special favor of the king, who\nemployed him on his quickest and most secret messages, which the dwarf\nexecuted with accuracy and the most inconceivable speed.\n\nBut the other servants of the king did not feel very cordial towards\nhim, because they found themselves superseded in the favor of\ntheir master by a dwarf, who knew nothing except how to run fast.\nThey laid many plots to ruin him, but all these came to naught,\nbecause of the implicit confidence that the king placed in his chief\nbody-messenger--for to this position had Little Muck been advanced.\n\nMuck, who was quite sensible of this feeling against him, never once\nthought of revenge, such was his goodness of heart, but tried to hit\nupon some plan by which he might become useful to his enemies, and win\ntheir love. He thought of his little stick, which he had neglected\nsince he had found his fortune, and he reflected that if he were to\nfind treasures, his companions would be more favorably disposed towards\nhim. He had often heard that the father of the present king had buried\na great deal of treasure, when his country had been overrun by the\nenemy: and it was also said that the old king had died without being\nable to reveal the secret to his son. From this time forward Muck\nalways carried his stick with him, in the hope of sometime passing over\nthe place where the old king had hidden his money.\n\nOne evening he went, by chance, into an outlying part of the palace\ngardens, which he seldom visited; when suddenly he felt the stick\ntwitch in his hand, and it bent three times to the ground. Well did he\nknow what this betokened. He therefore drew out his poniard, made\nsome marks on the neighboring trees, and stole back into the castle,\nwhere he provided himself with a spade, and waited until it was dark\nenough for his undertaking.\n\nThe digging made Little Muck much more trouble than he had\nanticipated. His arms were very weak, while his spade was large and\nheavy; and he had worked a full two hours before he had dug as many\nfeet. Finally, he struck something hard, that sounded like iron. He\nnow dug very fast, and soon brought to light a large iron lid. This\ncaused him to get down in the hole to find out what the lid might\ncover, and he discovered, as he had expected, a large pot filled with\ngold pieces. But he had not sufficient strength to raise the pot,\ntherefore he put into his pockets, his cloak, and his sash, as much as\nhe wished to carry, covered up the remainder carefully, and took his\nload on his back. But if he had not had his slippers on, he would never\nhave been able to move from the spot, so great was the weight of the\ngold. However, he reached his room unnoticed, and secured the gold under\nthe cushions of his couch.\n\nWhen Little Muck found himself in possession of such wealth, he\nbelieved that a new leaf would be turned, and he should win many\nfriends and followers among his enemies: from which reasoning one may\nreadily perceive that the good Little Muck could not have received a\nvery good bringing up, or he would never have dreamed of securing true\nfriends through the medium of money. Alas, that he did not then step\ninto his slippers, and scamper off with his cloak full of gold!\n\nThe gold, which Little Muck from this time forth distributed so\ngenerously, awakened the envy of the other court servants. The chief\ncook, Ahuli, said: \"He is a counterfeiter!\" The steward, Achmet,\ndeclared: \"He coaxes it out of the king!\" But Archaz, the treasurer,\nand Muck's bitterest enemy, who occasionally dipped into the king's\ncash box himself, exclaimed decidedly: \"He has stolen it!\"\n\nIn order to make sure of their case, they all acted in concert; and the\nhead cup-bearer placed himself in the way of the king, one day, looking\nvery sad and cast-down. So remarkably sad was his countenance, that the\nking inquired the cause of his sorrow. \"Alas!\" replied he, \"I am sad\nbecause I have lost the favor of my master.\" \"What fancy is that,\nfriend Korchuz? Since when have I kept the sun of my favor from\nlighting on you?\" asked the king. The head cup-bearer replied that the\nking had loaded the confidential body-messenger with gold, but had\ngiven nothing to his poor, faithful servants.\n\nThe king was very much surprised at this news, and listened to an\naccount of the liberal gifts of Little Muck, while the conspirators\neasily created the suspicion in the royal mind that Muck had by some\nmeans stolen the gold from the treasury. This turn of affairs was very\nwelcome to the treasurer, who, without it, would not have cared to\nrender an account of the cash in his keeping. The king, therefore, gave\nan order that a secret watch should be kept on every step of Little\nMuck, to catch him, if possible, in the act.\n\nOn the night following this unlucky day, as Little Muck took his spade\nand stole out into the garden, with the intention of replenishing the\nheap of gold in his chamber, which his liberality had so wasted, he was\nfollowed at a distance by a guard, led by Ahuli, the cook, and Archaz,\nthe treasurer, who fell upon him at the very moment when he was\nremoving the gold from the pot, bound him, and took him straight before\nthe king. The king, who felt cross enough at having his slumber\ndisturbed, received his confidential chief body-messenger very\nungraciously, and at once began an examination of the case. The pot had\nbeen dug from the earth, and, together with the spade and the cloak\nfull of gold, was placed at the king's feet. The treasurer stated that,\nwith his watchman, he had surprised Muck in the very act of burying\nthis pot full of gold in the ground.\n\nThe king asked the accused if this were true, and where he had got the\ngold. Little Muck, conscious of his innocence, replied that he had\ndiscovered it in the garden, and that he was attempting to dig it up,\nand not to bury it. All present laughed loudly at his defense, but the\nking, extremely enraged at what he believed to be the cool effrontery\nof the dwarf, cried: \"What, wretch! Do you persist in lying so\nshamelessly to your king, after stealing from him? Treasurer Archaz, I\ncall upon you to say whether you recognize this as the amount of money\nthat is missing from my treasury?\" The treasurer answered that, for his\npart, he was sure that this much, and still more, had been missing from\nthe royal treasury for some time, and he would take his oath that this\nwas part of the stolen money. The king thereupon commanded that Little\nMuck should be put in chains, and thrown into the tower; and handed the\nmoney over to his treasurer to put back into the treasury.\n\nRejoiced at the fortunate outcome of the affair, the treasurer\nwithdrew, and counted over the gold pieces at home; but this wicked man\nnever once noticed, that in the bottom of the pot lay a scrap of paper,\non which was written: \"The enemy has over-run my country, and therefore\nI bury here a part of my treasure; whoever finds it will receive the\ncurse of a king if he does not at once deliver it to my son.--_King\nSadi_.\"\n\nLittle Muck, in his prison, was a prey to the most melancholy\nreflections. He knew that the penalty for robbery of royal property was\ndeath; and yet he hesitated to reveal to the king the magical powers of\nhis stick, because he rightly feared that it, and his slippers, would\nthen be taken away from him. But neither could his slippers give him\nany aid in his present condition, for he was chained so closely to the\nwall that, try as he might, he could not turn on his heel. But when\nnotice of death was served on him the following day, he thought better\nof the matter, concluding it was wiser to live without the stick, than\nto die with it. He, therefore, sent to the king, begging to make a\nprivate communication, and disclosed the secret to him. The king would\nnot credit his confession; but Little Muck promised a test of the\nstick's power, if the king would grant him his life. The king gave him\nhis word on it, and, unseen by Muck, had some gold buried in the\ngarden, and then ordered Muck to find it. After a few moments hunt,\nMuck's stick struck three times on the ground. This assured the king\nthat his treasurer had deceived him, and he therefore sent him--as is\ncustomary in the Levant--a silken cord, with which to strangle himself.\nBut to Little Muck he said: \"It is true that I promised to spare your\nlife, but as I believe that you possess more than one secret in\nconnection with this stick, you will be imprisoned for life, unless you\nconfess what connection there is between this stick and your fast\nrunning.\"\n\nLittle Muck, whose experience for a single night in the tower had given\nhim no desire for a longer imprisonment, acknowledged that his whole\nart lay in the slippers; still he did not inform the king about the\nthree turns on the heel. The king tried on the slippers himself, in\norder to test them, and run about the garden like a madman, making many\nattempts to stop, but he did not know how to bring the slippers to a\nstand-still, and Little Muck, who could not forego this bit of revenge,\nlet him run around till he fell senseless.\n\nWhen the king recovered consciousness, he was fearfully enraged at\nLittle Muck, who had run him out of breath. \"I have pledged my word to\ngive you life and liberty, but if you are within my territory in twelve\nhours, I will have you imprisoned!\" As for the stick and slippers, he\nhad them locked up in his treasury.\n\nPoor as at first, Little Muck wandered out into the country, cursing\nthe folly that had led him to think he could play an important part at\ncourt. The country from which he was driven was fortunately not a large\none, so that in the course of eight hours he had reached the boundary\nline; although walking, after having been accustomed to his beloved\nslippers, was no pleasant task to him.\n\nAs soon as he had crossed the border, he turned off from the highways\nin order to reach the most desolate part of the wilderness, where he\nmight live alone by himself, as he was at enmity with all mankind. In\nthe dense forest he came across a place that seemed well suited to his\npurpose. A clear brook, overgrown by large, shady fig trees, and with\nbanks of soft velvety turf, looked very inviting. Here he threw himself\ndown, with the firm resolve not to eat again, but to calmly await\ndeath. While indulging in gloomy reveries, he fell asleep; but when he\nwaked up, and began to experience the pangs of hunger, he reflected\nthat starvation was rather an unpleasant thing, and therefore looked\nabout him to see whether any thing was to be had to eat.\n\nDelicious ripe figs hung on the tree under which he had slept. He\nclimbed up to pick some, and found them just to his taste; and\nafterwards he went down to the brook to slake his thirst. But how great\nwas his horror, when the brook reflected back his head, adorned with\ntwo prodigious ears, and a long, thick nose! In great perplexity, he\nseized the ears in his hands, and truly they were more than half a yard\nlong.\n\n\"I deserve an ass's ears!\" cried he, \"for like an ass I have trodden my\nfortune underfoot.\" He strolled about under the trees, and when he once\nmore felt hungry, he again had recourse to the figs, as they were the\nonly eatable things to be found on the trees. After eating his second\nmeal of figs, while thinking whether he might not find a place for his\nears under his large turban, so that he would not appear too comical,\nhe became sensible of the fact that his enormous ears had disappeared.\nHe rushed down to the brook, and found it actually true; his ears had\nresumed their former shape; his long, unshapely nose had vanished. He\nnow saw how all this had come about; the fruit of the first tree had\npresented him with the long nose and ears, while that of the second had\nhealed him. Joyfully he perceived that his good luck had once more\nsuggested to him the means of getting satisfaction. He picked from each\ntree as much as he could carry, and went back to the country he had so\nlately left.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIn the first town he came to, he disguised himself with other clothes,\nand went on to the city where the king lived. It was just at the season\nwhen ripe fruits were not very plentiful, and Little Muck placed\nhimself under the palace gate, knowing from experience that the chief\ncook was in the habit of purchasing delicacies here for the king's\ntable. Muck had not sat there long before he saw the cook coming\nthrough the court, and examining the viands of the marketmen who were\nranged about the gate. Finally his glance fell on Muck's basket. \"Ah! a\nrare morsel,\" exclaimed he, \"that will please His Majesty mightily;\nwhat will you take for the whole basket?\" Little Muck named a moderate\nprice, and the bargain was quickly made. The cook turned the basket\nover to a slave and went on. Little Muck scampered off quickly, as he\nwas afraid that when the figs had done their work on the heads of the\ncourt people, he might be hunted up and punished as the seller.\n\nThe king was in excellent spirits at table, and praised the cook\nrepeatedly for his successes, and for the solicitude with which he\nalways sought out the rarest dainties for him; but the cook, knowing\nwell what delicacy he was holding back, smirked in a satisfied way,\ndropping now and then mysterious phrases, such as: \"Don't crow till you\nare out of the woods;\" or \"All's well that ends well,\" so that the\nprincesses were very curious to know what it was he was about to\nproduce. But when the beautiful, inviting figs were placed on the\ntable, an exclamation broke from the lips of all present \"How ripe; how\nappetizing!\" cried the king. \"Cook, you are a clever fellow, and\ndeserve our especial favor!\" Thus speaking, the king, who was\naccustomed to be rather economical with such delicacies, distributed\nthe figs around his table with his own hand; each prince and princess\nreceived two, the court ladies and viziers one, while he placed the\nrest before himself, and began to devour them with great delight.\n\n\"But, mercy on us, father! what makes you look so strange?\" exclaimed\nPrincess Amarza, soon after. Everybody looked at the king in\nastonishment. Monstrous ears were attached to his head, and a long nose\nhung down over his chin. Then, too, they began to look at one another,\nwith horror and astonishment. All were more or less decorated with this\nsingular head-gear.\n\nFancy the horror experienced by the court! All the physicians in the\ncity were sent for, and came in great numbers, prescribed pills and\nmixtures; but without effect on the ears and noses. An operation was\nperformed on one of the princes, but the ears grew right out again.\n\nMuck heard the whole story in his hiding-place, and saw that now his\nopportunity had come. With the money received from the sale of his\nfigs, he bought a costume suitable for a professional man, while a long\nbeard of goat's hair completed his disguise. With a small bag of figs,\nhe entered the king's palace, and offered his services as a foreign\nphysician. At first, his representations were scouted; but when Little\nMuck restored the ears and nose of one of the princes to their natural\nsize, by giving him a fig to eat, all were anxious to be cured by this\nstrange physician. But the king took him by the hand, without speaking,\nand conducted him into his own apartment, where he opened a door that\nled into his treasury, and beckoned Muck to follow him. \"Here is my\ntreasure,\" said the king; \"choose for yourself, and let it be what it\nwill, it shall be preserved for you, if you will free me of this\ndisgraceful evil.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThis was sweet music in Little Muck's ears. No sooner had he entered\nthan he espied his slippers on the floor, and near them, his stick.\nHe walked up and down the room, as if wondering at the riches of the\nking; but on coming to his slippers he slid into them, seized his\nstick, and tore off his false beard, revealing to the astonished king\nthe well-known features of his exiled Muck. \"Faithless King!\" said he;\n\"you, who reward fidelity with ingratitude, may keep as a well-merited\npunishment the deformity that you bear. I leave you those ears, that\nyou may think daily on Little Muck.\" Thus speaking, the dwarf turned\nquickly on his heel, wished himself far away, and before the king could\ncall for help, Little Muck had flown away.\n\nSince then, Little Muck has lived here in comfort, but without society,\nas he disdains mankind. Through experience he has become a wiser man,\nwho, notwithstanding his external appearance may be unusual, is more\nworthy of your admiration than your sport.\n\n\nSuch was the story my father told me. I assured him that I repented of\nmy rude behavior towards the good little man, and my father\nadministered the other half of the punishment he had designed for me. I\nrelated to my playmates the wonderful events of the dwarf's life, and\nwe became so much attached to him that not one of us ever abused him\nagain. On the contrary, we honored him as long as he lived, and always\nbowed as low to him as before the Cadi or Mufti.\n\n\n\nThe travellers decided to rest for a day at this caravansary, in order\nto strengthen themselves and their beasts for the journey still before\nthem. The gaiety of the day before continued, and they amused\nthemselves with all kinds of games. After dinner, they called on the\nfourth merchant, Ali Sizah, to perform his duty, as the others had\ndone, by giving them a story. He replied that his own life had been so\nbarren of incidents, that he could not interest them with any personal\nanecdote, but, instead, he would relate to them the legend of \"The\nFalse Prince.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FALSE PRINCE.\n\n\nThere was once a respectable journeyman-tailor, named Labakan, who had\nlearned his trade of a clever master in Alexandria. It could not be\nsaid that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he was\nable to do very fine work. Neither would one be justified in calling\nhim lazy; but still every thing was not just as it should be with the\nworkman, as he often sewed away by the hour at such a rate that the\nneedle became red-hot in his hands, and the thread fairly smoked, and\nwould then show a better piece of work than any one else. But, at\nanother time--and, sad to relate, this occurred more frequently--he\nwould sit plunged in deep thought, looking before him with a fixed\ngaze, and with something so peculiar in his expression and conduct that\nhis master and the other journeymen were wont to say at such times:\n\"Labakan is putting on airs again.\"\n\nBut on Fridays, when other people were returning from prayers to their\nwork, Labakan came out of the mosque in a beautiful costume, which he\nhad taken great pains to prepare for himself. He walked slowly and with\nproud steps through the squares and streets of the city, and whenever\nhe was greeted by any of his comrades with, \"Peace be with you,\" or,\n\"How are you, friend Labakan?\" he condescendingly waved his hand in\nreply, or gave his superior a princely nod. If his master said to him,\n\"Ah, Labakan, what a prince was lost in you!\" he, much flattered, would\nrespond, \"Have you, too, remarked that?\" or, \"That has been my opinion\nfor a long time.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAfter this manner had the journeyman conducted himself for a long time;\nbut his master indulged his folly, as otherwise he was a good fellow\nand a clever workman. But one day, Selim, the brother of the sultan,\nwho was then traveling through Alexandria, sent a court costume to the\nmaster, to have certain changes made in it; and the master gave it to\nLabakan to make the alterations, as he did the best work. At night,\nafter the master and his journeymen had gone out to refresh themselves\nafter their day's work, an irresistible desire impelled Labakan to go\nback into the shop where the costume of the sultan's brother hung. He\nstood before it, lost in admiration over the splendor of the embroidery\nand the various shades of velvet and silk. He could not refrain from\ntrying it on; and behold, it fitted him as perfectly as though it had\nbeen made for him. \"Am I not as good a prince as anybody?\" said he to\nhimself, while striding up and down the room. \"Has not the master said\nthat I was born to be a prince?\" With the clothes, the journeyman\nseemed to have adopted some quite royal sentiments; he could not banish\nfrom his mind the fancy that he was the unacknowledged son of a king;\nand as such, he resolved to travel about the world, leaving a place\nwhere the people had been so foolish as not to recognize his true rank\nunder the cover of his present low position. The splendid costume\nseemed to him sent by a good fairy. He therefore took care not to\nslight so welcome a present, pocketed what little ready money he\npossessed, and, favored by the darkness of the night, strolled out of\nAlexandria's gate.\n\nWherever he appeared, the new prince created quite a sensation; as the\nsplendor of his dress and his grave and majestic air were hardly in\nkeeping with his mode of traveling. When he was questioned on this\nsubject, he was accustomed to reply, in a mysterious way, that there\nwere some very good reasons for his traveling afoot. But when he\nnoticed that he was making himself ridiculous by his foot wanderings,\nhe invested a small sum in an old horse, which was very well adapted to\nhis wants, as, by its lack of speed and spirit, he was never forced\ninto the embarrassing position of showing his skill as a rider--a thing\nquite out of his line.\n\nOne day, as he walked Murva (such was the name he had given his horse)\nalong the road, he was overtaken by a horseman who requested permission\nto travel with him, as the road would seem much shorter if he could\nenjoy Labakan's company. The horseman was a merry young man, of\npleasing appearance and conversation. He began talking with Labakan,\nasking where he had come from and where he was going; and it soon\nappeared that he, too, like the journeyman-tailor, was traveling about\nthe world without any definite plan. He said that his name was Omar;\nthat he was the nephew of Elsi Bey, the unfortunate Pasha of Cairo, and\nwas traveling in order to execute a charge that his uncle had confided\nto him on his death-bed. Labakan was not so communicative about his own\naffairs, but gave Omar to understand that he was of high descent, and\nwas traveling for pleasure.\n\nThe two young gentlemen were well pleased with each other, and\ncontinued their journey together. On the second day of their\nacquaintance, Labakan inquired of his companion Omar about the trust he\nhad to execute, and learned to his astonishment that Elsi Bey. Pasha of\nCairo, had brought up Omar from his earliest childhood, and the boy had\nnever known his parents. Now, when Elsi Bey was attacked by his\nenemies, and after three unfortunate battles, was forced to fly from\nthe field, mortally wounded, he disclosed to his pupil that he was not\nhis nephew, but the son of a mighty ruler, who, frightened by the\nprophecies of his astrologist, had had the young prince removed from\nthe palace, with the oath not to see him again until the prince should\nhave reached his twenty-second birthday. Elsi Bey did not give him the\nname of his father, but had most particularly charged him that he must\nbe present at the famous pillar El Serujah, a four days' journey east\nof Alexandria, on the fourth day of the coming month of Ramadan, on\nwhich day he would be twenty-two years old. Arriving there, he should\nhold out a dagger to the men who would be standing on the column, with\nthe words: \"Here am I whom you seek;\" and if they answered, \"Praised be\nthe Prophet, who preserved you,\" he should follow them, and they would\nlead him to his father.\n\nThe journeyman-tailor, Labakan, was astonished at this communication.\nHe looked on Prince Omar, from this time forth, with envious eyes;\nexasperated that fate should have selected his companion, who already\npassed for the nephew of a powerful pasha, to shower on him the still\nhigher dignity of a prince's son, while he, Labakan, endowed with all\nthe qualities of a prince, was degraded by a low birth and a common\noccupation. He made comparisons between himself and the prince, and was\nforced to confess that the prince was a youth of prepossessing\nappearance, with fine sparkling eyes, aquiline nose, a gentle and\nobliging manner--in short, all the external marks of a gentleman. But\nnumerous as were the good traits he noticed in his companion, still, he\nwhispered to himself, a Labakan would be far more welcome to a princely\nfather than the real prince.\n\nThese reflections occupied Labakan's mind the whole day; and they were\npresent in his sleep, at their next lodging-place. And when he woke,\nand his eye fell on the sleeping Omar at his side--sleeping so quietly,\nand dreaming, perhaps, of his happy fortune--the idea came into\nLabakan's brain to obtain, through stratagem or force, that which\nunwilling fate had denied him. The dagger, the token by which the\nhome-returning prince was to be recognized, stuck in the sash of the\nsleeper. He drew it forth lightly, to plunge it into the sleeping\nbreast of its owner. But the pacific soul of the tailor shrunk at the\nthought of murder. He contented himself with taking possession of the\ndagger, ordered Omar's fast horse to be saddled, and before the prince\nhad awaked, his faithless companion had gained a start of several\nmiles.\n\nIt was the first day of the sacred month of Ramadan when Labakan robbed\nthe prince; and he had, therefore, four days in which to reach the\npillar of El Serujah, the location of which he well knew. Although the\ndistance could be easily covered in two days, yet Labakan fearing to be\novertaken by the true prince, made all haste.\n\nAt the close of the second day, Labakan saw the column before him. It\nstood upon a small hill, in a broad plain, and could be observed at a\ndistance of eight miles. Labakan's heart beat wildly at the sight.\nAlthough he had had time enough, in the last two days, to think over\nthe part he was about to play, still his accusing conscience made him\nuneasy; but the thought that he had been born to be a prince hardened\nhim once more, so that he went forward.\n\nThe region about the column El Serujah was uninhabited and desolate,\nand the new prince would have found himself in sad straights for\nsustenance, had he not made provision for a journey of several days. He\nwent into camp, with his horse, under some palm trees, and awaited\nthere his fate.\n\nNear the middle of the following day, he saw a large procession of\nhorses and camels coming over the plain, to the column of El Serujah.\nThe train stopped at the foot of the hill on which the column stood;\nsplendid tents were pitched, and the whole had the appearance of a rich\npasha's or sheik's caravan. Labakan suspected that the many people whom\nhe saw were there on the Prince Omar's account, and he would willingly\nhave shown them their future ruler then and there; but he controlled\nhis desire to step forth as a prince, as the following morning would\ncertainly see his dearest hopes realized.\n\nThe morning sun woke the overjoyed tailor to the most important moment\nof his life--the moment that should see him lifted from an ignoble\nposition to the side of a royal father. To be sure, the unlawfulness of\nthe steps he was taking, occurred to him, as he saddled his horse to\nride to the column; to be sure, he thought of the anguish Prince Omar\nwould suffer, betrayed in his fair hopes; but the die was cast, and he\ncould not undo what had already been done, and his vanity whispered to\nhim that he looked stately enough to be presented to the most powerful\nking as a son. Encouraged by such thoughts, he swung himself into his\nsaddle, mustered all his courage to stand the ordeal of a gallop, and\nin less than fifteen minutes he reached the foot of the hill. He\ndismounted from his horse and tied it to a bush, and then drew out\nPrince Omar's dagger and ascended the hill.\n\nAt the foot of the column stood six men around an aged man of kingly\nappearance. A splendid kaftan of cloth of gold, with a white cashmere\nshawl wound about it, and a white turban ornamented with sparkling\njewels, denoted him to be a man of wealth and rank.\n\nLabakan went up to him, made a low obeisance, and offered him the\ndagger, saying: \"Here am I whom you seek.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Praised be the Prophet, who preserved you!\" replied the old man with\ntears of joy. \"Embrace your old father, my beloved son Omar!\" The good\ntailor was much moved by these solemn words, and with a mixture of joy\nand shame sank into the arms of the aged prince.\n\nBut only for an instant was he permitted to enjoy undisturbed the\ndelight of his new surroundings; for as he arose from the embrace of\nthe elderly prince, he saw a horseman hastening across the plain\ntowards the hill. The rider and his horse presented a singular\nappearance. The horse, either from stubbornness or exhaustion, could\nhardly be urged forward, but moved with a stumbling gait that could be\ncalled neither a walk nor a trot, while his rider was using both hands\nand feet to force him to a faster pace. Only too soon Labakan\nrecognized his horse, Murva, and the genuine Prince Omar; but the\nwicked Father of Lies once more took possession of him, and he\ndetermined that, whatever the result might be, he would maintain his\npretended rights with a bold face.\n\nThe rider's gestures had been seen while he was still at a distance;\nbut now, in spite of the feeble trot of his horse, he had arrived at\nthe foot of the hill, thrown himself from his horse, and rushed up the\nhill.\n\n\"Stay, there!\" cried he, \"Stop, whoever you may be, and do not let\nyourselves be misled by the shameful impostor! My name is Omar, and no\nmortal may dare to assume my name!\"\n\nDeep astonishment was expressed in the faces of the bystanders, at the\nturn affairs had taken, and the old prince was especially perplexed, as\nhe looked inquiringly from one to the other. But Labakan said, with\nforced composure: \"Most gracious Sire and Father, do not allow this\nperson to mislead you. He is, to my certain knowledge, a crazy tailor\nfrom Alexandria, called Labakan, and more deserving of our pity than\nour anger.\"\n\nThese words brought the prince to the verge of madness. Foaming with\nrage he attempted to spring on Labakan, but the bystanders interposed,\nand held him fast, while the old prince said: \"Of a truth, my dear son,\nthe poor fellow is mad; let him be bound and placed on one of our\ndromedaries; perhaps we may be able to render the unfortunate youth\nsome assistance.\"\n\nThe anger of the prince was past. He threw himself, weeping, at the\nfeet of his father: \"My heart tells me that you are my father; by the\nmemory of my mother, I charge you to listen to me!\"\n\n\"Eh, God preserve us!\" answered the old man. \"He is beginning to talk\nstrangely again; how does the fellow come by such stupid notions!\"\n\nThereupon he took Labakan's arm, and was conducted down the hill by\nhim. They both mounted beautiful, richly-caparisoned horses, and rode\nat the head of the caravan, over the plain. The hands of the prince\nwere bound, and he was tied fast on one of the dromedaries, while two\nhorsemen rode on each side, and kept a careful watch on all his\nmovements.\n\nThe elderly prince was Saaud, Sultan of Wechabiten. He had lived for\nyears without children, until finally a son, whom he had so ardently\ndesired, was born to him. But the astrologer of whom he inquired the\ndestiny of the boy, gave the opinion that \"until his twenty-second\nyear the child would be in danger of being supplanted by an enemy,\"\ntherefore to be on the safe side, the sultan had given the prince\nto his tried and true friend, Elsi Bey, to be brought up, and for\ntwenty-two painful years had waited for his home-coming.\n\nAll this the sultan told his pretended son, and expressed himself as\nwell pleased with his figure and demeanor.\n\nOn arriving in the sultan's country they were everywhere received by\nthe inhabitants with acclamations, as the report of the prince's\narrival had spread like wildfire to all the cities and villages. Arches\ncovered with flowers and boughs were constructed in all the streets\nthrough which they passed, brilliant carpets of all colors adorned the\nhouses, and the people praised God and His Prophets for sending them so\nbeautiful a prince. All this filled the heart of the tailor with\ndelight; but all the more unhappy did the real Omar feel, who, still\nbound, followed the caravan in silent despair. In the universal joy\nnobody troubled themselves about him who should have been the recipient\nof their welcome. Thousands upon thousands shouted the name of Omar,\nbut he who rightly bore this name was noticed not at all. At the most,\none and another would ask who it was that was bound so securely; and\nthe reply of his escort, that it was a crazy tailor, echoed horribly in\nhis ears.\n\nThe caravan at last reached the capital of the sultan, where a still\nmore brilliant reception was awaiting them. The sultana, an elderly,\nvenerable lady, awaited them with the entire court, in the splendid\nhall of the palace. The floor of this salon was covered with an immense\ncarpet, the walls were tastefully adorned with a light-blue cloth, hung\nfrom great silver hooks with golden tassels and cords.\n\nIt was already night when the caravan arrived; therefore numerous round\ncolored lamps were lighted in the salon, making it light as day. But\nthe most lights were placed at the farther end of the salon, where the\nsultana sat upon a throne. The throne stood upon a dais, and was inlaid\nwith pure gold, and set with large amethysts. Four of the most\ndistinguished emirs held a canopy over the sultana's head, while the\nSheik of Medina fanned her with a fan of peacock's feathers.\n\nUnder these surroundings, the sultana awaited her husband and her son.\nShe had not seen her son since his birth, but the longed-for son had\nappeared in her dreams, so that she felt sure of knowing him amongst a\nthousand. Now the noise of the approaching caravan was heard, trumpets\nand drums mingled with the cheers of the crowd; the hoofs of the horses\nbeat in the court of the palace; nearer and nearer sounded the steps of\nthe expected ones; the doors of the salon flew open, and through the\nrows of prostrate servants, the sultan hastened to the throne of the\nsultana, leading his son by the hand.\n\n\"Here,\" said he, \"I bring you the one for whom you have so long\nyearned.\"\n\nBut the sultana interrupted him with: \"That is not my son! Those are\nnot the features that the Prophet showed me in my dreams!\"\n\nJust as the sultan was about to upbraid her for her unbelief, the door\nof the salon opened, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his guards,\nfrom whom he had escaped by the exercise of all his strength. He threw\nhimself breathless before the throne with the words:\n\n\"Here will I die! Let me be killed, inhuman father, for I can no longer\nendure this disgrace.\"\n\nEveryone was amazed at this speech; they crowded about the unfortunate\nyouth, and the guards, from whom he had escaped, were about to lay hold\nof him and bind him again, when the sultana, who had looked on all this\nin speechless surprise, sprang up from the throne.\n\n\"Stay, there!\" cried she; \"this and no other is the real prince; this\nis he whom my eyes have never beheld, and yet my heart has known!\"\n\nThe guard had involuntarily released Omar, but the sultan, burning with\nanger, called to them to bind the crazy fellow. \"It is my business to\ndecide here,\" said he, in a commanding tone, \"and here one does not\njudge by the dreams of old women, but by certain reliable signs. This\nyouth (pointing to Labakan) is my son, for he brought me the dagger,\nthe true token of my friend Elsi.\"\n\n\"He stole the dagger!\" exclaimed Omar. \"He abused my unsuspecting\nconfidence with treachery!\" But the sultan, accustomed to have his own\nway in every thing, would not listen to the voice of his son, and had\nthe unhappy Omar forcibly dragged from the room. Then, accompanied by\nLabakan, he went to his own room, very angry with the sultana, with\nwhom he had lived in peace for twenty-five years.\n\nThe sultana was very unhappy over these events. She was perfectly well\nsatisfied that an impostor had taken possession of the sultan's heart,\nas the unfortunate youth who had been dragged away, had often appeared\nin her dreams as her son.\n\nWhen she had in a measure quieted her sorrow, she tried to hit upon\nsome method of convincing the sultan of his error. This was no easy\ntask, as he who had usurped their son's place, had brought the token of\nrecognition, the dagger, and had also, as she discovered, learned so\nmuch about Omar's early life from the prince himself, that he played\nhis _role_ without betraying himself.\n\nShe summoned the men who had accompanied the sultan to the pillar of El\nSerujah, in order to learn all the particulars, and then held a\nconsultation with her most trustworthy slave-women. They chose and then\nrejected this and that expedient. At last Melechsalah, a wise old\nwoman, said: \"If I have heard rightly, honored mistress, the one who\nbrought the dagger, called him whom you recognize as your son, Labakan,\na crazy tailor.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is true,\" answered the sultana; \"but what can you make out\nof that?\"\n\n\"Suppose,\" continued the slave, \"that this impostor had fastened his\nown name on your son? And if this supposition is correct, there is a\nfine way of catching the impostor, that I will tell to you as a\nsecret.\"\n\nThe sultana bent her head, and the slave whispered in her ear some\nexpedient that seemed to please the sultana, as she prepared to go at\nonce to the sultan.\n\nThe sultana was a prudent woman, who knew the weak sides of the sultan\nand how to make use of them. She therefore appeared willing to submit\nto his judgment, and to recognize the son he had chosen; asking in\nreturn but one condition. The sultan, who was sorry for the anger he\nhad shown his wife, granted her request, and she said: \"I should dearly\nlike to receive from both of these claimants a test of their\ncleverness. Another person might very likely have them ride, fight, or\nthrow spears; but these are things that everybody can do, and I will\ngive them something that will require ingenuity to accomplish. Each one\nshall make a kaftan, and a pair of trousers, and then we shall see who\nwill make the finest.\"\n\nThe sultan laughed, and said: \"Well, you have devised something\nextremely wise! The idea that my son should compete with your crazy\ntailor at coat-making? No, it won't do.\"\n\nThe sultana, however, insisted that he was bound by the promise he had\nmade her in advance; and the sultan, who was a man of his word, finally\nconsented, although he swore that let the crazy tailor make his coat\never so fine, he would never admit him to be his son.\n\nThe sultan went in person to his son, and requested him to humor the\ncaprice of his mother, who very much wished for a kaftan made by his\nhands. Labakan was greatly pleased. If that is all that is wanted,\nthought he to himself, then madame the sultana will soon have cause to\nbe proud of me.\n\nTwo rooms were prepared, one for the prince, the other for the tailor,\nwhere they were to try their skill; and they were liberally provided\nwith silk cloth, scissors, needles and thread.\n\nThe sultan was very curious to see what sort of a thing his son would\nbring to light for a kaftan; while the sultana was very nervous lest\nher stratagem should fail. Two days had been given to them in which to\naccomplish their task. On the morning of the third day, the sultan sent\nfor his wife, and when she had come, he sent into the two rooms for the\ntwo kaftans and their makers.\n\nLabakan entered triumphantly, and spread his kaftan before the\nastonished eyes of the sultan. \"Look here, father!\" said he, \"see,\nhonored mother, whether this is not a master-piece of a kaftan? I would\nbe willing to lay a wager with the cleverest court tailor that he could\nnot produce such an one as that.\"\n\nThe sultana smiled, and turned to Omar: \"And what have you produced, my\nson?\" Impatiently he threw down the silk, cloth and scissors on the\nfloor. \"I was brought up to break horses, and to the use of a sword,\nand my spear will hit the mark at sixty paces; but the science of the\nneedle is strange to me, and would have been an unworthy study for a\npupil of Elsi Bey, the ruler of Cairo!\"\n\n\"O thou true son of my heart!\" exclaimed the sultana. \"Now, I can\nembrace thee, and call thee son! Pardon me, my Husband and Lord,\"\ncontinued she, turning to the sultan, \"that I have plotted this\nstratagem against you. Do you not now see which is the prince, and\nwhich the tailor? Truly, the kaftan that your son has made is superb,\nand I should like to ask him of what master he learned his trade.\"\n\nThe sultan sat in deep thought, glancing suspiciously now at his wife\nand now at Labakan, who vainly tried to control his blushes and his\ndiscomfiture at having so stupidly betrayed himself.\n\n\"Even this proof will not suffice,\" said the sultan. \"But praised be\nAllah, I know of a means of finding out whether I have been deceived or\nnot.\"\n\nHe ordered his fastest horse to be led out, swung himself into the\nsaddle, and rode into a forest near by, where lived, according to an\nold legend, a kind fairy named Adolzaide, who had often stood by the\nkings of his race with her counsel in the hour of need.\n\nIn the middle of the forest was an open place surrounded by tall\ncedars. There lived--so the story ran--the fairy, and it was seldom\nthat a mortal ventured there, as a certain aversion to the spot had for\nages descended from father to son.\n\nArriving there, the sultan dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, placed\nhimself in the centre of the opening, and called out in a loud voice:\n\"If it be true that you have given my ancestors good advice in the hour\nof need, then do not spurn the prayer of their grandson, and give me\nadvice on a point for which human understanding is too frail.\"\n\nHe had hardly spoken the last word, when one of the cedars opened, and\na veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth. \"I know why you\ncome to me, Sultan Saaud. Your purpose is just; therefore, you shall\nhave my assistance. Take these two little boxes. Let each of the young\nmen who claim to be your son choose between these. I know that the true\nprince will not fail to pick out the right one.\" Thus spake the fairy,\nat the same time handing him two little ivory boxes richly set with\ngold and pearls. On the lid, which the sultan vainly tried to open,\nwere inscriptions in diamond letters.\n\nThe sultan tried to think as he rode home what these little boxes might\ncontain; but all his efforts to open them failed. Nor did the\ninscriptions throw any light on the matter, for one read--_Honor and\nFame_; the other--_Fortune and Riches_. The sultan thought to himself\nthat he would have great difficulty in making a choice between these\ntwo things, that were alike desirable, alike alluring.\n\nOn arriving at his palace, he sent for the sultana, and told her of the\nverdict of the fairy. A strange hope assured the sultana that he to\nwhom her heart drew her would choose the box that should make plain his\nroyal descent.\n\nTwo tables were placed before the throne of the sultan, upon which the\nking placed the boxes with his own hand. He then ascended the throne,\nand beckoned one of his slaves to open the doors of the salon. A\nbrilliant assembly of pashas and emirs of the realm, whom the sultan\nhad summoned, streamed through the opened doors. They took their places\non splendid cushions that were ranged lengthwise along the wall.\n\nWhen they were all seated, the sultan beckoned a second time, and\nLabakan was brought forward. With a proud step he walked up the hall,\nprostrated himself before the throne, and said: \"What are the commands\nof my Lord and Father?\"\n\nThe sultan rose from his throne, and said: \"My son, doubts have been\nraised as to the justness of your claim to this name; one of those\nlittle boxes contains the proof of your real parentage. Choose; I do\nnot doubt that you will select the right one.\"\n\nLabakan arose and stepped up to the tables, hesitated for some time as\nto which he should choose, but finally said: \"Honored Father! What can\nbe higher than the fortune to be your son? what nobler than the riches\nof thy grace? I choose the box with the inscription--_Fortune and\nRiches_.\"\n\n\"We shall presently know whether you have chosen the right one; in the\nmeantime sit down on the cushion by the side of the Pasha of Medina,\"\nsaid the sultan, and motioned to a slave.\n\nOmar was brought forward. His look was gloomy, his air sad, and his\nappearance created universal interest among those present. He\nprostrated himself before the throne, and inquired after the commands\nof the sultan. The sultan signified to him that he was to choose one of\nthe little boxes. Omar arose and approached the tables.\n\nHe read attentively both inscriptions, and then said: \"The last few\ndays have taught me how fickle is fortune, how unstable are riches; but\nthey have also learned me that an indestructible gift dwells in the\nbreast of Honor, and that the shining star of Fame does not vanish with\nfortune. And though I should renounce a crown, the die is cast: _Honor\nand Fame_, I choose you!\"\n\nHe placed his hand on the box he had chosen; but the sultan ordered him\nto wait a moment, and beckoned Labakan to come forward, and lay his\nhand on his box also. Then the sultan had a basin of water, of the holy\nfountain of Zemzem in Mecca, brought, washed his hands for prayer,\nturned his face to the East, prostrated himself and prayed: \"God of my\nfathers! Thou who for centuries hast preserved our race pure and\nuncontaminated, do not permit that an unworthy one should bring to\nshame the name of the Abasside; be near my true son with Thy\nprotection, in this hour of trial!\"\n\nThe sultan arose, and once more ascended his throne. Universal\nexpectancy held those present in breathless attention; one could have\nheard a mouse run over the floor, so still were they all. Those\nfarthest away stretched their necks to look over the heads of those in\nfront, that they might see the little boxes. Then the sultan spoke:\n\"Open the boxes!\" and although no force could have opened them before,\nthey now flew open of themselves.\n\nIn the box chosen by Omar lay, on a velvet cushion, a small golden\ncrown, and a sceptre; in Labakan's box--a large needle and a little\npackage of thread! The sultan ordered them to bring their boxes to him.\nHe took the miniature crown in his hand, and wonderful was it to see\nhow, as he took it, it began to grow larger and larger until it had\nattained the size of a genuine crown. He placed the crown on the head\nof Omar, who knelt before him, kissed him on the forehead, and bade him\nsit at his right hand. Then turning to Labakan, he said: \"There is an\nold proverb that the shoemaker should stick to his last. It looks as if\nyou should stick to the needle. To be sure, you do not deserve my\npardon; but some one has interceded for you, to whom I can refuse\nnothing to-day; therefore I spare you your miserable life. But, to give\nyou some good advice--you had better make haste to get out of my\nkingdom.\"\n\nAshamed, ruined as were all his pretensions, the poor journeyman-tailor\ncould not reply. He threw himself at the feet of the prince, in tears.\n\"Can you forgive me, Prince?\" said he.\n\n\"Loyalty to a friend, magnanimity to a foe, is the boast of the\nAbasside,\" replied the prince, as he raised him up. \"Go in peace!\"\n\n\"Oh, my true son!\" cried the aged sultan, with deep emotion, and sank\non the breast of Omar. The emirs and pashas, and all the nobility of\nthe kingdom, rose from their seats, and cried: \"Hail to the new son of\nthe king!\" and amidst the universal joy, Labakan stole out of the room\nwith the little box under his arm.\n\nHe went below to the stables of the sultan, saddled his horse, Murva,\nand rode out of the gate of the city towards Alexandria. His life as a\nprince appeared to him as a dream, and the splendid little box, set\nwith pearls and diamonds, was the only thing left to remind him that he\nhad not dreamed.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhen he at length reached Alexandria, he rode up to the house of his\nold master, dismounted, tied his horse near the door, and entered the\nworkshop. The master, not knowing him at first, made an obeisance, and\nasked him what might be his pleasure But on taking a closer look, and\nrecognizing Labakan, he called to his journeymen and apprentices, and\nthey all rushed angrily at the poor Labakan, who was not expecting such\na reception, kicked and beat him with their irons and yard sticks,\npricked him with needles, and nipped him with sharp shears, until,\nutterly exhausted, he sank down on a heap of old clothes.\n\nWhile he lay there, the master gave him a lecture on the clothes he had\nstolen. In vain did Labakan assure him that he had come back in order\nto make restitution; all in vain did he offer him three-fold indemnity;\nthe master and his men fell upon him again, beat him black and blue,\nand threw him out of the door. Torn and bruised, Labakan crawled on his\nhorse and rode to a caravansary. Then he laid his tired and aching head\non a pillow, and reflected on the sorrows of earth, on unappreciated\nmerit, and on the vanity and fickleness of riches. He fell asleep with\nthe resolution to forswear all greatness, and become a respectable\ncitizen.\n\nThe succeeding day found him still steadfast in his purpose, as the\nheavy hands of the master and his men seemed to have beaten all his\ngrand notions out of him. He sold his little box to a jeweler for a\nhigh price, bought a house with the proceeds, and fitted up a workshop\nfor his trade. When he had every thing arranged, and had also hung out\na sign before his window with the inscription, \"_Labakan_, _Tailor_,\"\nhe sat down, and with the needle and thread he had found in the little\nbox, began to mend his coat that had been so badly torn by his old\nmaster. He was called away from his work, and when he returned to take\nit up again, what a singular sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing\nbusily away without any one to guide it, making such fine, delicate\nstitches, as even Labakan in his most artistic moments could not have\nequaled!\n\nSurely even the commonest gift of a kind fairy is useful and of great\nvalue. Still another value was possessed by this present, namely: the\nball of the thread was never exhausted, let the needle sew as fast as\nit would.\n\nLabakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailor in\nall that region. He would cut out the clothes, and make the first\nstitch with the needle, and the needle would then instantly go on with\nthe work, never pausing until the garment was done. Master Labakan soon\nhad the whole town for customers, as his work was first-class, and his\nprices low; and only over one thing did the people of Alexandria shake\ntheir heads, namely: that he worked without journeymen, and with locked\ndoors.\n\nThus did the saying of the little box, promising _Fortune and Riches_,\ncome to pass. Fortune and riches, even though in moderate measure,\nattended the steps of the good tailor; and when he heard of the fame of\nthe young sultan, Omar, that was on all lips; when he heard that this\nbrave man was the pride and love of his people, and the terror of his\nenemies--then the false prince thought to himself: \"It is after all\nbetter that I remained a tailor, for the quest of honor and fame is\nrather a dangerous business.\"\n\nThus lived Labakan, contented with his lot, respected by his\nfellow-citizens; and if the needle in the meanwhile has not lost its\nvirtue, it still sews on with the endless thread of the kind fairy,\nAdolzaide.\n\n\n\nAt sunset the caravan started on, and soon reached Birket-el-Had, or\nPilgrim's Fountain; from which it was only a three hours' journey to\nCairo. The caravan was expected about this time, and therefore the\nmerchants soon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming\nfrom Cairo to meet them. They entered the city through the gate\nBab-el-Falch, as it is considered a happy omen for those who come from\nMecca to pass through this gate, as the Prophet went out of it.\n\nOn the market-place the three Turkish merchants took leave of the\nstranger Selim Baruch, and the Greek merchant Zaleukos, and went home\nwith their friends. But Zaleukos showed the stranger a good\ncaravansary, and invited him to take dinner with him. The stranger\naccepted the invitation, and promised to come as soon as he had made\nsome changes in his dress.\n\nThe Greek made every preparation to entertain his guest, for whom he\nhad acquired a strong liking on the journey; and when the dishes were\nall arranged in order, he sat down to await the coming of his guest.\n\nAt last he heard slow and heavy steps in the hall that led to his room.\nHe arose to go and meet him and welcome him on the threshold; but no\nsooner had he opened the door, than he stepped back horrified, for that\nterrible man with the red mantle stepped towards him! He looked at him\nagain; there was no illusion; the same tall, commanding figure, the\nmask through which the dark eyes shone, the red mantle with the gold\nembroidery, were only too closely associated with the most terrible\nhours of his life.\n\nConflicting emotions surged in Zaleukos's breast. He had long since\nbecome reconciled to this picture of memory, and had forgiven him who\nhad injured him; yet the appearance of the man himself opened all his\nwounds afresh; all those painful hours when he had suffered almost the\npangs of death,--the remorse that had poisoned his young life,--all\nthis swept over his soul in the flight of a moment.\n\n\"What do you want, monster?\" exclaimed the Greek, as the apparition\nstood motionless on the threshold. \"Vanish quickly, before I curse\nyou!\"\n\n\"Zaleukos!\" spoke a well-known voice, from beneath the mask, \"Zaleukos!\nis it thus you receive your guest?\" The speaker removed the mask, and\nthrew the mantle back; it was Selim Baruch, the stranger.\n\nBut Zaleukos was not yet quieted. He shuddered at the stranger, for\nonly too plainly had he recognized the unknown man of the Ponte\nVecchio. But the old habit of hospitality prevailed; he silently\nbeckoned to the stranger to take a seat at the table.\n\n\"I perceive your thoughts,\" said the stranger, after they were seated.\n\"Your eyes look inquiringly at me. I could have remained silent, and\nnever more appeared to your vision; but I owe you an explanation, and\ntherefore I ventured to appear to you in my old form, knowing that I\nrun the risk of your cursing me. But you once told me: _The religion of\nmy fathers commands me to love him, and then he must be more unhappy\nthan I._ Believe that, my friend, and listen to my vindication.\n\n\"I must begin far back, in order to make my story quite clear. I was\nborn in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father was the French\nconsul there, and was the younger son of a famous old French family.\nFrom my tenth year up, I was under the care of my uncle, in France, and\nleft my fatherland some years after the breaking out of the Revolution,\nwith my uncle, who no longer felt safe in the land of his ancestors, in\norder to find a refuge with my parents across the sea. We landed in\nAlexandria, hopeful of finding in my parents' home that quiet and peace\nthat no longer obtained in France. The outside storms of this excitable\nperiod had not, it is true, extended to this point, but from an\nunexpected quarter came the blow that crushed our family to the ground.\nMy brother, a young man full of promise, and private secretary to my\nfather, had but recently married the daughter of a Florentine nobleman\nwho lived in my father's neighborhood. Two days before our arrival, my\nbrother's bride disappeared; and neither our family, nor yet her\nfather, could discover the slightest trace of her. We finally came to\nthe conclusion that she had ventured too far away for a walk, and had\nfallen into the hands of brigands. This belief would have been a\nconsolation to my brother, in comparison with the truth that was only\ntoo soon made known to us. The faithless woman had eloped with a young\nNeapolitan, whom she had been in the habit of meeting at her father's\nhouse. My brother, terribly excited by this act, used his utmost\nendeavors to bring the guilty one to account; but in vain. His attempts\nin this direction, which had aroused attention in Florence and Naples,\nonly served to bring down misfortune on us all. The Florentine nobleman\nreturned to his country under the pretext of assisting my brother, but\nwith the real design of destroying us all. He put an end to all the\ninvestigations instituted by my brother in Florence, and used his\ninfluence so effectually that my father and brother fell under the\nsuspicion of their government, were imprisoned in the most outrageous\nmanner, and taken to France, where they were guillotined. My mother\nwent crazy, and only after ten long months did death release her from\nher terrible condition. But she recovered her sanity a few days before\nher death. I was thus left all alone in the world, but only one thought\noccupied my soul, only one thought overshadowed my grief: it was the\npowerful flame of revenge that my mother kindled in my breast during\nthe last hours of her life.\n\n\"As I have said, she recovered her senses towards the last. She called\nme to her side and spoke quietly of our fate and of her approaching\ndeath. Then she sent everybody out of the room, raised herself with a\nspirited air from her poor couch, and said that I could win her\nblessing if I would swear to carry out what she should confide to me.\nInfluenced by the dying words of my mother, I bound myself with an oath\nto do her bidding. She broke out in imprecations against the Florentine\nand his daughter, and required me, under the penalty of incurring her\ncurse, to revenge our unfortunate family on him. She died in my arms.\nThe thought of revenge had long slumbered in my soul; now it was\naroused to action. I collected the balance of my patrimony, and\nresolved to risk every thing on my revenge.\n\n\"I was soon in Florence, where I kept as quiet as possible. The\ndifficulty of executing my plan was much increased by the situation in\nwhich I found my enemy. The old Florentine had become Governor, and had\nthe power, should he have the least suspicion of my presence, to\ndestroy me. An incident occurred just then that was of great assistance\nto me. One evening I saw a man passing along the street, in a familiar\nlivery. His unsteady gait, sullen look, and manner of muttering _Santo\nSacramento_ and _Maledetto diavolo_, assured me that it was Pietro, a\nservant of the Florentine's, whom I had known in Alexandria. I had no\ndoubt that it was his master whom he was cursing, and I therefore\ndetermined to make use of his present frame of mind for my own benefit.\nHe seemed very much surprised to see me in Florence, and complained to\nme that since his master had become Governor he could do nothing to\nsuit him; so that my gold, together with his anger, brought him over to\nmy side. The most difficult part of my plan had now been provided for.\nI had in my pay a man who could open the door of my enemy to me at any\nhour, and now my revenge seemed near its accomplishment. The life of\nthe old Florentine seemed to me of too little account to offset the\ndestruction of our family: he must lose the idol of his heart, his\ndaughter Bianca. Was it not she who treated my brother so shamefully?\nWas it not she who was the chief cause of our misfortunes? The news\nthat she was about to be married a second time was very welcome to my\nrevengeful heart. This would but heighten the vengeance of my blow. It\nwas settled in my mind that she _must_ die. But I myself shrank from\nthe deed, and I did not credit Pietro with nerve enough; so we looked\nabout for a man who could accomplish the work. I did not dare approach\nany of the Florentines, as none of them would have dared to undertake\nsuch a thing against the Governor. It was then that the scheme I\nafterward carried out, occurred to Pietro, who at the same time pitched\nupon you, a stranger and physician, as being the most suitable person\nto do the deed. The rest of the story you know. The only danger to the\nsuccess of my scheme lay in your sagacity and honesty; hence the affair\nwith the mantle.\n\n\"Pietro opened the side gate of the Governor's palace for us, and would\nhave shown us out as secretly, had not he and I fled, horrified by the\nterrible sight we saw through a crack in the door. Pursued by terror\nand remorse, I ran some two hundred paces, and sank down on the steps\nof a church. There I collected my thoughts, and my first one was of you\nand your fate, should you be found in the house. I stole to the palace,\nbut could find no trace of either you or Pietro. The side gate was\nopen, so I could at least hope that you had taken advantage of the\nopportunity to flee. But when the day broke, fear of discovery and a\nsensation of remorse drove me from Florence. I hastened to Rome. But\nimagine my consternation when, in the course of a few days, this story\nreached Rome, with the additional report that the murderer, a Greek\nphysician, had been captured! I returned to Florence with sad\napprehensions, for, if my revenge had before seemed too strong, I\ncursed it now, as it would have been purchased too dearly with your\nlife. I arrived in Florence on the day you lost your hand. I will be\nsilent over what I felt as I saw you ascend the scaffold and suffer so\nheroically. But as your blood streamed out, I made the resolve to see\nthat the rest of your life should be passed in comfort. What happened\nafterwards, you know. It only remains for me to tell why I made this\njourney across the desert with you. Like a heavy burden the thought\npressed on me that you had not yet forgiven me; therefore I resolved to\npass some days, with you, and at last give you an account of the\nmotives that had influenced my action.\"\n\nThe Greek had listened silently to his guest, and when he had finished,\nwith a gentle expression he offered him his hand. \"I knew well that you\nmust be more unhappy than I, for that cruel deed, like a black cloud,\nwill forever darken your life. As for myself, I forgive you from my\nheart. But permit me one more question: How did you happen to be in the\ndesert in your present character? What did you do after buying me the\nhouse in Constantinople?\"\n\n\"I went back to Alexandria. Hatred of all human kind raged in my\nbreast, but especially hatred of those nations which are called\ncivilized. Believe me, I was better pleased with my Moslems. I had been\nin Alexandria only a few months, when it was invaded by my countrymen.\nI saw in them only the executioners of my father and brother; therefore\nI gathered some young people of my acquaintance, who entertained\nsimilar views, and joined the brave Mameluke, who became the terror of\nthe French army. When the campaign was ended, I could not bring myself\nto return to the arts of peace. With a few friends of similar\ntendencies, I lived an unsettled fugitive life, devoted to battle and\nthe chase. I live contentedly with these people, who honor me as their\nprince; for if my Asiatics are not so civilized as your Europeans, yet\nenvy and slander, selfishness and ambition are not their\ncharacteristics.\"\n\nZaleukos thanked the stranger for his communication, but he did not\nhide from him his opinion that it would be far better for one of his\nrank and culture, were he to live and work in Christian and European\ncountries. He took the stranger's hand, and invited him to go with him,\nand to live and die with him.\n\nZaleukos's guest was deeply moved. \"From this I know,\" said he, \"that\nyou have entirely forgiven me, that you even love me. Receive my\nheartfelt thanks.\"\n\nHe sprang up, and stood in all his majesty before the Greek, who shrank\nback at the warlike appearance, the dark glistening eyes, the deep\nmysterious voice of his guest. \"Your proposal is good,\" continued he;\n\"any other person might be persuaded; I can not accept it! My horse is\nsaddled, my followers await me: farewell, Zaleukos!\"\n\nThe friends whom destiny had so strangely united, embraced each other\nbefore parting.\n\n\"And what shall I call you? What is the name of my guest and friend who\nwill live forever in my memory?\" asked the Greek.\n\nThe stranger gave him a parting look, pressed his hand once more, and\nreplied: \"They call me the ruler of the desert; I am _the Robber\nOrbasan_.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                PART II\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\n                           TALES OF THE INN.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE INN IN THE SPESSART.\n\n\nMany years ago, while yet the roads in the Spessart were in poor\ncondition and but little traveled, two young journeymen were making\ntheir way through this wooded region. The one might have been about\neighteen years old, and was by trade a compass-maker; the other was a\ngoldsmith, and, judging from his appearance, could not have been more\nthan sixteen, and was most likely making his first journey out into the\nworld.\n\nEvening was coming on, and the shadows of the giant pines and\nbeeches darkened the narrow road on which the two were walking. The\ncompass-maker stepped bravely forward, whistling a tune, playing\noccasionally with Munter, his dog, and not seeming to feel much concern\nthat the night was near, while the next inn for journeymen was still\nfar ahead of them. But Felix, the goldsmith, began to look about him\nanxiously. When the wind rustled through the trees, it sounded to him\nas if there were steps behind him; when the bushes on either side of\nthe road were stirred, he was sure he caught glimpses of lurking faces.\n\nThe young goldsmith was, moreover, neither superstitious nor lacking in\ncourage. In Wuerzburg, where he had learned his trade, he passed among\nhis fellows for a fearless youth, whose heart was in the right spot;\nbut on this day his courage was at a singularly low ebb. He had been\ntold so many things about the Spessart. A large band of robbers were\nreported as committing depredations there; many travellers had been\nrobbed within a few weeks, and a horrible murder was spoken of as\nhaving occurred here not long before. Therefore he felt no little\nalarm, as they were but two in number and could not successfully\nresist armed robbers. How often he regretted that he had not stopped\nover-night at the edge of the forest, instead of agreeing to accompany\nthe compass-maker to the next station!\n\n\"And if I am killed to-night, and lose all I have with me, you will be\nto blame, compass-maker, for you persuaded me to come into this\nterrible forest,\" said he.\n\n\"Don't be a coward,\" retorted the other. \"A real journeyman should\nnever be afraid. And what is it you are afraid of? Do you think that\nthe lordly robbers of the Spessart would do us the honor to attack and\nkill us? Why should they give themselves that trouble? To gain\npossession of the Sunday-coat in my knapsack, or the spare pennies\ngiven us by the people on our route? One would have to travel in a\ncoach-and-four, dressed in gold and silks, before the robbers would\nthink it worth their while to kill one.\"\n\n\"Stop! Didn't you hear somebody whistle in the woods?\" exclaimed Felix,\nnervously.\n\n\"That was the wind whistling through the trees. Walk faster, and we\nshall soon be out of the wood.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's all well enough for you to talk that way about not being\nkilled,\" continued the goldsmith; \"they would simply ask you what you\nhad, search you, and take away your Sunday-coat and your change. But\nthey would kill me because I carry gold and jewelry with me.\"\n\n\"Why should they kill you on that account? If four or five were to\nspring out of the bush there now with loaded rifles pointed at us, and\npolitely inquire, 'Gentlemen, what have you with you?' or 'If\nagreeable, we will help you carry it,' or some such elegant mode of\naddress, then you wouldn't make a fool of yourself, but would open your\nknapsack and lay the yellow waist-coat, the blue coat, two shirts, and\nall your necklaces, bracelets, combs, and whatever you had besides,\npolitely on the ground, and be thankful for the life they spared you.\"\n\n\"You think so, do you?\" responded Felix warmly. \"You think I would give\nup the ornament I have here for my godmother, the dear lady countess?\nSooner would I part with my life! Sooner would I be hacked into small\npieces. Did she not take a mother's interest in me, and since my tenth\nyear bind me out as apprentice? Has she not paid for my clothes and\nevery thing? And now, when I am about to go to her, to carry her\nsomething of my own handiwork that she had ordered of the master; now,\nthat I am able to give her this ornament as a sample of what I have\nlearned; now you think I would give that up, and my yellow waistcoat as\nwell, that she gave me? No, better death than to give to these base men\nthe ornament intended for my godmother!\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool!\" exclaimed the compass-maker. \"If they were to kill\nyou, the countess would still lose the ornament; so it would be much\nbetter for you to deliver it up and keep your life.\"\n\nFelix did not answer. Night had settled down, and by the uncertain\ngleam of the new moon he could not see more than five feet before him.\nHe became more and more nervous, kept close by the side of his\ncompanion, and was uncertain whether he ought to approve of the\narguments of his friend or not. Thus they continued on, side by side\nfor another hour, when they saw a light in the distance. The young\ngoldsmith was of opinion that they should not prematurely rejoice, as\nthe light might come from a den of thieves; but the compass-maker\ninformed him the robbers had their houses or caves under ground, and\nthat this must be the inn that a man had told them of, as they entered\nthe forest.\n\nIt was a long, low house, before which a wagon stood; and adjoining\nthe house was a stable from which came the neighing of horses. The\ncompass-maker beckoned his comrade to a window whose shutters were\nopen; and by standing on their toes they were able to look into the\nroom. In a chair before the stove slept a man whose clothes bespoke him\na wagoner--very likely the owner of the cart before the door. On the\nother side of the stove sat a woman and a girl, spinning. Behind the\ntable, close to the wall, sat a man with a glass of wine before him.\nHis head was supported in his hands so that his face could not be seen.\nBut the compass-maker judged from his clothes that he was a man of\nrank. While they were peeping, a dog in the house began to bark;\nMunter, the compass-maker's dog, barked a reply; and a servant-girl\nappeared at the door and looked out at the strangers.\n\nThey were promised supper and a bed; so they entered, and laying their\nheavy bundles, sticks, and hats in the corner, sat down at the table\nwith the gentleman. He looked up at their greeting, and they perceived\nhim to be a handsome young man, who returned their greeting pleasantly.\n\n\"You are late on the road,\" said he; \"were you not afraid to travel\nthrough the Spessart on so dark a night? For my part, I would have\nstabled my horse in this tavern before I would have ridden an hour\nlonger.\"\n\n\"You are quite right in that, sir,\" responded the compass-maker. \"The\nhoof beats of a fine horse are music in the ears of these highwaymen,\nand lure them from a great distance; but when a couple of poor\njourneymen like us steal through the woods--people to whom the robbers\nwould sooner think of making a present than of taking any thing from\nthem--then, they do not lift a foot.\"\n\n\"That is very likely,\" chimed in the wagoner, who, awakened by the\narrival of the journeymen, had taken a seat at the table. \"They could\nnot very well be attracted by a poor man's purse, but there have been\ninstances of robbers killing poor people, simply out of thirst for\nblood, and of forcing others to join the band and serve as robbers.\"\n\n\"Well, if such are the deeds of these people in the forest, then this\nhouse will not afford us very good protection,\" observed the young\ngoldsmith. \"There are only four of us, or, counting the hostler, five;\nand if ten men were to attack us here, what could we do against them?\nAnd more than this,\" he added, in a low tone, \"who can guarantee that\nthe people of this inn are honest?\"\n\n\"Nothing to fear there,\" returned the wagoner. \"I have known this\ntavern for more than ten years, and have never seen any thing wrong\nabout it. The master of the house is seldom at home; they say he\ncarries on a wine trade; but his wife is a quiet woman who would not\nharm any one. No, you do them a wrong, sir.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" interposed the young gentleman, \"I should not like to brush\naside so lightly what he said. Don't you remember the reports about\nthose people who suddenly disappeared in this forest and left no trace\nbehind them? Several of them had previously announced their intention\nof passing the night at this inn; and as two or three weeks passed by\nwithout their being heard from, they were searched for, and inquiries\nmade at this inn, when they were assured that the missing men had never\nbeen here. It looks suspicious, to say the least.\"\n\n\"God knows,\" cried the compass-maker, \"we should do a much more\nsensible thing if we were to camp out under the next best tree we came\nto, than to remain within these four walls, where there is no chance of\nrunning away when they are once at the door, for the windows are\ngrated.\"\n\nAll grew very thoughtful over these speeches. It did not seem so very\nimprobable, after all, that these tavern people in the forest, be it\nunder compulsion or of their free accord, were in league with the\nrobbers. The nighttime seemed particularly dangerous to them, for they\nhad all heard many stories of travellers who had been attacked and\nmurdered in their sleep; and even if their lives were not endangered,\nyet most of the guests of the inn were possessed of such moderate means\nthat the robbery of even a part of their property would have: been a\nvery serious loss to them. They looked dolefully into their glasses.\nThe young gentleman wished himself on the back of his horse, trotting\nthrough a safe open valley. The compass-maker wished for twelve of his\nsturdy comrades, armed with clubs, for a body-guard. Felix, the\ngoldsmith, was more anxious for the safety of the ornament designed for\nhis benefactress, than for his own life. But the wagoner, who had been\nblowing clouds of smoke before him, said softly: \"Gentlemen, at least\nthey shall not surprise us asleep. I, for my part, will remain awake\nthe whole night, if one other will keep watch with me.\"\n\n\"I will\"--\"I too,\" cried the three others. \"And I could not go to\nsleep,\" added the young gentleman.\n\n\"Well we had better contrive some means of keeping awake,\" said the\nwagoner. \"I think while we number just four people, we might play\ncards, that would keep us awake and while away the time.\"\n\n\"I never play cards,\" said the young gentleman, \"therefore you would\nhave to count me out.\"\n\n\"Nor do I know any thing about cards,\" added Felix.\n\n\"What can we do, then, if we don't play cards,\" asked the\ncompass-maker. \"Sing? That wouldn't do, for it would only attract the\nattention of the robbers. Give one another riddles to guess? That would\nnot last very long. How would it do if we were to tell stories?\nHumorous or pathetic, true or imaginative, they would keep us awake and\npass away the time as well as cards.\"\n\n\"I am agreed, if you will begin,\" said the young gentleman, smiling.\n\"You gentlemen of trades visit all countries, and have something to\ntell; for every town has its own legends and tales.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly, one hears a great deal,\" replied the compass-maker.\n\"But, on the other hand, gentlemen like you study diligently in books,\nwhere really wonderful things are written; therefore, you would know\nhow to tell a wiser and more entertaining story than a plain\njourneyman, such as one of us, could pretend to--for unless I am much\nmistaken you are a student, a scholar.\"\n\n\"A scholar, no,\" laughed the young gentleman; \"but certainly a student,\nand am now on my way home for the vacation. But what one reads in books\ndoes not answer for the purpose of a story nearly as well as what one\nhears. Therefore begin, if the other gentlemen are inclined to listen.\"\n\n\"Still more than with cards,\" responded the wagoner, \"am I pleased when\nI hear a good story told. I often keep my team down to a miserably slow\npace, that I may listen to one who walks near by, and has a fine story\nto tell; and I have taken many a person into my wagon, in bad weather,\nwith the understanding that he should tell me a story; and one of my\ncomrades I love very dearly, for the reason that he knows stories that\nlast for seven hours and even longer.\"\n\n\"That is also my case,\" added the young goldsmith. \"I love stories as I\ndo my life; and my master in Wuerzburg had to forbid me books lest I\nshould neglect my work. So tell us something fine, compass-maker; I\nknow that you could tell stories from now until day-break before your\nstock gave out.\"\n\nThe compass-maker complied by emptying his glass and beginning his\nstory.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE HIRSCH-GULDEN.\n\n\nIn Upper-Suabia still stands the walls of a castle that was once the\nstateliest of the surrounding country, Hohen-Zollern. It rose from the\nsummit of a round steep mountain, from whence one had a distant and\nunobstructed view of the country. Farther than this castle could be\nseen from the encircling horizon, was the brave race of the Zollerns\nfeared; and their name was known and honored in all German countries.\n\nThere lived several hundred years ago, in this castle, a Zollern, who\nwas by nature a singular man. One could not say that he oppressed his\nsubjects, or that he lived at war with his neighbors; yet no one\ntrusted him, on account of his sullen look, his knitted brow, and his\nmoody, crusty manner. There were few people, outside of the castle\nservants, who had ever heard him speak properly like other people; for\nwhen he rode through the valley, if one met him, gave him the road, and\nsaid to him with uncovered head, \"Good evening, Sir Count! It is a fine\nday,\" he would answer, \"Stupid stuff,\" or, \"I know it already.\" If,\nhowever, one had been inattentive to his wants or had neglected his\ncharger, or if a peasant with his cart met him on a narrow road, so\nthat the count could not pass him quickly enough, he broke out into a\ntorrent of curses. Yet it was never said of him on these occasions that\nhe had struck a peasant. But all through this region he was called \"The\nTempest of Zollern.\"\n\nThe Tempest of Zollern had a wife who was a complete contrast to\nhimself, and as mild and pleasant as a May morning. Often by her\nfriendly words and her kind glance had she reconciled to her husband\npeople whom he, by his rude speech, had deeply insulted. To the poor\nshe did all the good in her power; nor could the warmest days of Summer\nor the most terrible snow storms of Winter prevent her from descending\nthe steep mountain to visit poor people or sick children. If the count\nmet her on these errands, he would say in a surly manner, \"Know\nalready--stupid stuff,\" and proceed on his way.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nMany ladies would have been discouraged or intimidated by such a crusty\nmanner; one would have thought, \"why should I concern myself with poor\npeople when my husband calls it all stupid stuff?\" another, through\npride or sorrow, might have lost her love for so moody a husband; but\nnot so with the Countess Hedwig of Zollern. She was constant in her\naffection, strove to smooth the lines on his brow with her beautiful\nwhite hand, and loved and honored him. And when after a long time\nHeaven bestowed upon them the gift of a son, she loved her husband none\nthe less while conferring all the duties of a tender mother on her\nlittle boy.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThree years went by, and the Count of Zollern saw his son only on\nSunday afternoons, when the child was handed to him by the nurse. He\nlooked at him without changing a feature of his face, growled something\nthrough his beard, and gave him back to the nurse. But when the boy was\nable to say \"father,\" the count gave the nurse a gulden, but showed no\npleasanter face to the boy.\n\nOn his third birthday, however, the count had his son put on the first\npair of breeches and had him dressed splendidly in velvet and silk.\nThen he ordered his horse, and also another fine horse for his son,\ntook the child up on his arm, and began to descend the spiral\nstaircase. The countess was astonished as she saw this. She was not\naccustomed to inquire where he was going and when he would return; but\nthis time anxiety for her child opened her lips.\n\n\"Are you going to ride out, Sir Count?\" she asked. He made no reply.\n\"For what purpose do you take the child?\" continued she, \"Cuno will\ntake a walk with me.\"\n\n\"Know already,\" replied the Tempest of Zollern; and kept on his way\ntill he stood in the court-yard, where he took the boy by one of his\nlittle feet and lifted him into the saddle, bound him fast, and then\nswinging himself on his horse, trotted out of the castle gate with the\nbridle of his son's horse in his hand.\n\nAt first the little fellow regarded it as a great treat to ride down\nthe mountain with his father. He clapped his hands, laughed, shook the\nmane of his horse to make him go faster, all of which pleased the count\nso much that he called out several times: \"You will make a brave lad!\"\n\nBut when they came to the foot of the mountain, and the count's horse\nbegan to trot, the boy lost his courage, and begged, at first very\nquietly, that his father would ride slower; but as the count spurred on\nhis horse, and the strong wind nearly took poor Cuno's breath away, the\nboy began to cry, became more and more impatient, and finally howled at\nthe top of his lungs.\n\n\"Know already! stupid stuff!\" began his father. \"The young one howls on\nhis first ride; be still, or----\"\n\nBut in the moment he was about to stop the boy's cries by a curse, his\nhorse reared, and the bridle of his son's horse slipped from his hand.\nHe gave his attention to quieting his horse, and when he had mastered\nit and looked around for his child, he saw the other horse running up\nthe mountain without its little rider.\n\nStern and unfeeling as was the Count of Zollern, this sight struck him\nto the heart. He believed his son had been dashed to the ground and\nkilled. He pulled his beard and groaned; but nowhere could he find a\ntrace of the boy. He had just began to think that the frightened horse\nhad thrown him into the ditch that ran along the road, full of water,\nwhen he heard a child's voice call his name, and as he quickly turned,\nthere sat an old woman under a tree, not far from the road, rocking the\nchild on her knees.\n\n\"How do you come by that boy, old witch?\" shouted the count angrily.\n\"Bring him to me at once.\"\n\n\"Not so fast, not so fast, your Honor!\" laughed the ugly old woman, \"or\nyou too might meet with an accident on your proud horse. How did I come\nby the boy, did you ask? Well, his horse ran by and he was hanging down\nby one little foot, with his hair touching the ground, when I caught\nhim in my apron.\"\n\n\"Know already!\" cried the Count of Zollern, ill-humoredly. \"Bring him\nhere now; I can not very well dismount, my horse is wild and might kick\nhim.\"\n\n\"Give me a hirsch-gulden, then,\" pleaded the woman humbly.\n\n\"Stupid stuff!\" cried the count, and flung some copper coins to her\nunder the tree.\n\n\"Oh, no! Come, I could make good use of a hirsch-gulden,\" continued the\nold woman.\n\n\"What, a hirsch-gulden! You are not worth that much yourself!\" said the\ncount angrily. \"Quick with that child, or I will set the dogs on you!\"\n\n\"So, I am not worth a hirsch-gulden, eh?\" replied the old woman with a\nmocking laugh. \"Well, it shall be seen what part of your heritage is\nworth a hirsch-gulden; but there, keep your money!\" So saying, she\ntossed the three copper coins to the count; and so well could the old\nwoman throw, that all three of the coins fell into the purse that the\ncount still held in his hand.\n\nThe count was struck dumb with astonishment at this exhibition of\nskill, but at last his surprise was changed into anger. He grasped his\ngun, cocked it, and took aim at the old woman. But she, unmoved, hugged\nand kissed the boy, holding him up before her so as to protect herself\nfrom the bullet. \"You are a good little fellow,\" said she. \"Only remain\nso, and you will never want for any thing.\" Then she let him go, shook\nher finger threateningly at the count, and said: \"Zollern, Zollern! you\nowe me a hirsch-gulden!\" With that she moved off slowly into the\nforest, leaning on a staff of box-wood. Conrad, the attendant,\ndismounted from his horse trembling, lifted his little master into the\nsaddle, vaulted up behind him, and followed the count up to the castle.\n\nThis was the first and last time that the Tempest of Zollern took his\nson out riding with him; for because the boy had cried when his horse\nbroke into a trot, the count regarded him as a spiritless child out of\nwhom nothing was to be made, and looked on him with displeasure; and\nwhen the boy, who loved his father dearly, came in a friendly, coaxing\nway to his knee, he would motion him to go away, exclaiming: \"Know it\nalready! Stupid stuff!\"\n\nThe countess had patiently borne all the unpleasant caprices of her\nhusband, but this unfatherly behavior towards an innocent child\naffected her deeply. She fell sick several times with terror, when the\nsullen count had punished the boy severely for some trivial offense,\nand died at last in her best years, and was mourned by her servants, by\nthe people for miles around, but especially by her little son.\n\nFrom this time forth the aversion of the count for his son steadily\nprogressed. He turned the lad over to the nurse and the house-chaplain\nto bring up, and looked after him but little himself--especially as\nshortly after his wife's death he married a rich young lady, who in a\ntwelvemonth presented him with twins.\n\nCuno's favorite walk was to the house of the old woman who had once\nsaved his life. She told him many things about his dead mother, and how\nmuch the countess had done for her. The men and maid-servants often\nwarned him that he should not visit the Frau Feldheimerin so often,\nbecause she was nothing more nor less than a witch; but the boy was not\nfrightened by their tales, as the chaplain had taught him that there\nwere no witches, and that the stories that certain women could bewitch\none, and ride through the air on broomsticks to the Brocken Mountains,\nwere lies. To be sure, he had seen many things about Frau Feldheimerin\nthat he could not understand; the trick with the three coins that she\nhad thrown so cleverly into his father's purse, he remembered\ndistinctly. Then too she could prepare all manner of salves and\ndecoctions with which she healed people and cattle; but it was not\ntrue, as was said of her, that she had a weather-pan, which, whenever\nshe placed it over the fire, produced a terrible thunder-storm. She\ntaught the little count much that was useful to him--various remedies\nfor sick horses, a drink to cure hydrophobia, a bait for fishes, and\nmany other things. The Frau Feldheimerin was soon his only company, for\nhis nurse died, and his step-mother did not trouble herself much about\nhim.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWith his half-brothers, Cuno had a more sorrowful life than before.\nThey had the good fortune to stick to their horses on their first ride,\nand the Tempest of Zollern, therefore, regarded them as apt and\npromising boys, and took them out to ride every day, and taught them\nall that he knew himself.\n\nBut they did not learn much that was good from him, for he could\nneither read nor write, and he would not have his two precious sons\nwasting their time over such matters; but by the time they were ten\nyears old they could swear as terribly as their father, quarreled with\neverybody, lived together as peacefully as would a dog and cat, and\nonly when they joined hands to do Cuno a wrong were they at all\nfriendly with each other.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTheir mother did not grieve over this state of things, as she\nconsidered it healthful and strengthening for the boys to fight; but a\nservant told the count about their quarrels one day, and although he\nanswered, \"Know it already! stupid stuff!\" yet he tried to hit upon\nsome plan for the future that would prevent his sons from killing each\nother, as he dreaded that threat of the Frau Feldheimerin, whom he held\nto be a witch: \"Well, it shall be seen what part of your heritage is\nworth a hirsch-gulden.\"\n\nOne day as he was hunting in the vicinity of his castle, his attention\nwas attracted by two mountains, which from their form seemed well\nadapted for castles; and he at once resolved to build there. Upon one\nof these mountains he built the Castle Schalksberg, naming it after the\nsmaller of the twins, who, on account of his many naughty tricks, had\nlong ago received the nickname of the little Schalk from his father.\nThe castle he built on the other hill he thought at first of calling\nHirschguldenberg, in order to propitiate the old witch, because she did\nnot esteem his heritage worth a hirsch-gulden; but he finally concluded\nto give it the simple name of Hirschberg. Such are the names of the two\nmountains to-day; and he who travels through the Suabian Alps can have\nthem pointed out to him.\n\nThe Tempest of Zollern had at first designed to make a will bequeathing\nZollern to his eldest son, Schalksberg to the little Schalk, and\nHirschberg to the other twin; but his wife did not rest until he had\nchanged it. \"The stupid Cuno--\" such was the way she spoke of the poor\nboy, because he was not so wild and ungovernable as her sons--\"the\nstupid Cuno is rich enough from what he inherited from his mother,\nwithout getting the beautiful castle of Zollern. And shall my sons get\nonly a castle, to which nothing belongs but a forest?\"\n\nIt was in vain that the count represented to her that one could not\njustly rob Cuno of his birthright; she wept and scolded, until the\nTempest of Zollern who never gave way to any one, at last, for the sake\nof peace, surrendered to her, and willed Schalksberg to Schalk, Zollern\nto Wolf, the larger of the twins, and Hirschberg, with the village of\nBalinger, to Cuno. Soon afterwards he was taken severely ill. When the\ndoctor told him he was going to die, he replied, \"Know it already;\" and\nwhen the chaplain begged him to prepare for the future life, he\nanswered, \"Stupid stuff,\" cursed and stormed, and died, as he had\nlived, a great sinner.\n\nBut before his body was laid to rest, the countess produced the will,\nand sneeringly told Cuno that he might show his learning by reading\nwhat was written therein--namely, that he no longer had any business at\nZollern. With her sons she rejoiced over the fine estate and the two\ncastles which they had taken away from him, the first-born.\n\nCuno submitted, without complaint, to the provisions of the will; but\nwith tears, he took leave of the castle where he was born, where his\nmother lay buried, and where the good chaplain lived, while not far\naway was the home of his only woman friend, Frau Feldheimerin. The\ncastle of Hirschberg was, it is true, a fine stately building; but\nstill it was so lonely and desolate for him, that he felt very\nhomesick.\n\nThe countess and the twin brothers, who were now eighteen years old,\nsat one evening on the balcony looking down the mountain-side, when\nthey perceived a stately knight riding up the road, followed by several\nservants and two mules bearing a sedan chair. They speculated for some\ntime as to who he might be, when at last the little Schalk cried out:\n\"Why, that is no other than our brother from Hirschberg!\"\n\n\"The stupid Cuno!\" said the countess in surprise. \"Why, he is about to\ndo us the honor of inviting us to visit him, and has brought along that\nsplendid sedan to carry me to Hirschberg. Such kindness and politeness\nI had not given my son, the stupid Cuno, the credit of possessing. One\npoliteness deserves another; let us go down to the gate to receive him;\nlook pleased to see him, and perhaps he will make us some presents at\nHirschberg--you a horse, and you a harness; and I have long wished to\nown his mother's ornaments.\"\n\n\"I don't want any presents from the stupid Cuno,\" replied Wolf,\n\"neither will I appear glad to see him; and for aught I care, he might\nfollow our blessed father; then we should inherit Hirschberg and\neverything, and to you, madame, we would sell those ornaments at a low\nprice.\"\n\n\"Indeed, you good-for-nothing!\" exclaimed his mother angrily, \"I should\nhave to buy the ornaments, should I? Is that your gratitude for my\nprocuring Zollern for you? Little Schalk, I can have the ornaments\nfree, can I not?\n\n\"No pay, no work, lady mother!\" replied Schalk, laughing. \"And if it be\ntrue that the ornaments are worth as much as most castles are, we\ncertainly should not be fools enough to hang them around your neck. As\nsoon as Cuno shuts his eyes for good, we will ride over there, divide\nevery thing, and I will sell my part of the ornaments. Then if you will\ngive more than the Jew, you shall have them.\"\n\nThus speaking, they came to the castle gate, and the countess had great\ndifficulty in concealing the rage she felt, as Count Cuno rode over the\ndraw-bridge. When he saw his step-mother and brothers standing there,\nhe stopped his horse, dismounted, and greeted them politely; for\nalthough they had done him much wrong, still he remembered that they\nwere his brothers and that his father had loved this woman.\n\n\"Well, this is nice to have my son visit us,\" said the countess, in a\nsweet voice, and with a gracious smile. \"How do you like Hirschberg?\nCan one feel at home there? And you have furnished yourself with a\nsedan. Why, how splendid it is! an empress would have no cause to be\nashamed of it; a wife will not be long wanting, I'm thinking, to ride\naround the country in it.\"\n\n\"I have not thought about that yet, gracious mother,\" replied Cuno,\n\"and will therefore take home other company for my entertainment; for\nthis purpose I have brought along the sedan.\"\n\n\"Why, you are very kind and thoughtful,\" interrupted the countess, as\nshe bowed and smiled.\n\n\"For he can not ride a horse very well now,\" continued Cuno, quietly.\n\"Father Joseph, I mean, the chaplain. I will take him home with me, for\nhe is my old teacher, and we made that arrangement when I left Zollern.\nI will also pick up the old Frau Feldheimerin at the foot of the\nmountain. Why, bless me, she's as old as the hills, and saved my life\nonce when I rode out for the first time with my blessed father. I have\nplenty of room in Hirschberg, and she shall live and die there.\" So\nsaying, he passed through the court-yard to call the chaplain.\n\nThe youngster Wolf bit his lips angrily; the countess became livid with\nrage; while Schalk laughed aloud. \"What will you give me for the horse\nthat I received as a present from him?\" said he. \"Brother Wolf, will\nyou trade off your harness for it? Is he going to take home the\nchaplain and the old witch? They will make a fine pair; in the forenoon\nhe can learn Greek from the chaplain, and in the afternoon take lessons\nin witchcraft from Frau Feldheimerin. Why, what kind of tricks is the\nstupid Cuno up to!\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"He is a low, vulgar fellow,\" cried the countess, \"and you shouldn't\nlaugh about it, little Schalk. It is a shame for the whole family, and\nwe shall be the sport of the neighborhood when it is reported that the\nCount of Zollern has fetched the old witch home to live with him in a\nsplendid sedan. He gets that from his mother, who was also familiar\nwith the sick and with miserable servants. Alas, his father would turn\nin his coffin if he could know of it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added Schalk, \"father would say in his grave: 'Know already!\nstupid stuff!'\"\n\n\"As sure as you live! there he comes now with the old man, and is not\nashamed to take him by the arm,\" exclaimed the countess, in disgust.\n\"Come, I don't wish to meet him again.\"\n\nThey went off, and Cuno conducted his old teacher to the drawbridge,\nand assisted him into the sedan. They stopped at the foot of the\nmountain, before the hut of Frau Feldheimerin, and found her waiting\nwith a bundle full of glasses, dishes, and medicines.\n\nBut Cuno's action was not looked at in the light prophesied by the\ncountess. It was thought to be noble and praiseworthy that he should\ntry to cheer the last days of the old Frau Feldheimerin, and that he\nshould take Father Joseph into his castle. The only ones who disliked\nand slandered him were his brothers and his stepmother. But only to\ntheir own hurt; for everybody took an aversion to such unnatural\nbrothers, and by way of retaliation the story went that they lived in\ncontinual strife with their mother and did all they could to harm one\nanother. Count Cuno made several attempts to reconcile his brothers to\nhimself, for it was unbearable to him when they rode by his castle\nwithout stopping, or when they met him in the field and forest and\ngreeted him as coldly as though he were a stranger. But his attempts\nfailed, and only increased their bitterness towards him.\n\nOne day a plan occurred to him by which he might perhaps win their\nhearts, for he knew that they were miserly and avaricious. There was a\npond situated at about an equal distance from the three castles, but\nlying in Cuno's domain. This pond contained the finest pike and carp\nto be found any where; and it was one of the chief grievances of the\ntwin-brothers, who were fond of fishing, that their father had not\nincluded this pond in the land he had given them. They were too proud\nto fish there without their brother's knowledge, neither would they ask\npermission of him. But Cuno knew that his brothers had set their hearts\non this pond, so he sent an invitation to them to meet him there on a\ncertain day.\n\nIt was a beautiful Spring morning, as, nearly at the same moment, the\nthree brothers from the three castles met.\n\n\"Why, look you!\" said Schalk; \"we are well met! I rode away from\nSchalksberg just on the stroke of seven.\"\n\n\"So did I,\"--\"and I,\" repeated the brothers from Hirschberg and\nZollern.\n\n\"Well, then, the pond must lie precisely in the middle,\" continued\nSchalk. \"It is a beautiful sheet of water.\"\n\n\"Yes, and for that reason did I choose this spot for our meeting. I\nknow that you are both fond of fishing, and although I sometimes throw\na line myself, yet there are fish enough here for three castles, and on\nthese banks there is room enough for us three, even were we all to meet\nhere at the same time. Therefore, I propose from this time forth that\nthis pond shall be the common property of us three, and each one of you\nshall have the same rights here that I do.\"\n\n\"Why, our brother is certainly graciously minded,\" said Schalk, in a\njeering way. \"He really gives us six acres of water and a few hundred\nlittle fishes! And what shall we have to give in return?\"\n\n\"You shall have it free,\" said Cuno. \"I should like to see and speak\nwith you at this pond now and then. We are the sons of one father.\"\n\n\"No,\" exclaimed Schalk; \"that would not do at all, for there is nothing\nmore silly than to fish in company; one is always frightening off the\nother's fishes. We might, however, decide on days for each one--say\nMonday and Thursday for you, Cuno, Tuesday and Friday for Wolf, and\nWednesday and Saturday for me. Such an arrangement would suit me.\"\n\n\"But I won't agree to that,\" cried the surly Wolf. \"I don't want any\nfree gift, neither will I divide my rights with any one. You were\nright, Cuno, in making your offer, for in justice the pond belongs as\nmuch to one as to the other; but let us throw the dice to decide who\nshall have the entire ownership for the future, and if I am more\nfortunate than you, then you will have to come to me for permission to\nfish.\"\n\n\"I never throw,\" replied Cuno, sad at this display of obduracy on the\npart of his brothers.\n\n\"Of course not,\" sneered Schalk. \"Our brother is so pious that he\nthinks it is a deadly sin to throw dice. But I will make another\nproposal, to which the most religious recluse could offer no objection:\nLet us get some bait and hooks, and he who shall have caught the most\nfish this morning when the bell of Zollern strikes twelve, will be the\nowner of the pond.\"\n\n\"I am truly a fool,\" responded Cuno, \"to strive for that which is mine\nby right of inheritance; but that you may see that my offer of a\ndivision was made in earnest, I will fetch my fishing tackle.\"\n\nThey rode home, each one to his own castle. The twins sent their\nservants out in all haste, with orders to turn over all the old stones\nnear by, and to collect what worms they found underneath them for bait.\nBut Cuno took his usual fishing tackle, together with the bait which\nFrau Feldheimerin had once learned him to prepare, and was the first to\nreach the pond again. On the arrival of the twins he allowed them the\nfirst choice of position, and then threw in his own line. Then it was\nas if the fish seemed to recognize in him the owner of the pond. Whole\nschools of carp and pike drew near and swarmed about his line. The\noldest and largest crowded the small fry aside; every moment he landed\na fish, and each time he cast his line twenty or thirty darted at the\nhook with open mouths. Before two hours had passed, the ground around\nhim was covered with fish; then he laid down his line and went over to\nwhere his brothers sat, to see how they were getting along. Schalk had\none poor little carp and two paltry shiners; while Wolf had caught\nthree barbels and two little gudgeons, and both looked sadly down into\nthe water, for they had seen from their place the vast number that Cuno\nhad caught.\n\nWhen Cuno approached his brother Wolf, the latter sprang up in a rage,\ntore off his line, broke his rod into small pieces and flung them into\nthe pond. \"I wish I had a thousand hooks to throw in there, instead of\none, and that a fish, was wriggling on every one of them,\" cried he;\n\"but this could never have occurred in a natural way, it is sorcery and\nwitchcraft, or how should you, stupid Cuno, catch more fish in one hour\nthan I could take in a year?\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so,\" echoed Schalk. \"I remember now that he learned how to\nfish from that vile witch, Frau Feldheimerin; and we were fools to fish\nwith him; he will be a wizard himself one of these days.\"\n\n\"You wicked fellows!\" returned Cuno, sadly. \"I have had time enough\nthis morning to get an insight into your avarice, your shamelessness,\nand your insolence. Go now, and never return here; and believe it would\nbe better for your souls if you were half as pious and good as she whom\nyou have called a witch.\"\n\n\"No, she is not a genuine witch,\" sneered Schalk. \"Such wives can\nprophesy; but Frau Feldheimerin is about as much of a prophetess as a\ngoose is a swan. Didn't she tell our father that one would be able to\nbuy a good part of his heritage for a hirsch-gulden? And yet at his\ndeath everything within sight of the towers of Zollern belonged to him.\nFrau Feldheimerin is nothing more than a silly old hag, and you the\nstupid Cuno.\"\n\nThus saying, Schalk ran off as fast as he could, for he feared the\nstrong arm of his brother Cuno; and Wolf followed him, shouting back\nall the cursed he had learned from his father.\n\nGrieved to the soul, Cuno returned home; for he now saw plainly that\nhis brothers would never be reconciled to him. And he took their bitter\nwords so seriously to heart that he fell sick the next day, and only\nthe consoling words of good Father Joseph, and the strengthening\nremedies of Frau Feldheimerin, rescued him from death.\n\nBut when his brothers heard that Cuno lay very sick, they sat down to a\njovial banquet, and over their cups made an agreement that the one who\nshould be the first to hear of his death was to fire off a cannon, in\norder to notify the other of the event, and he who fired first might\ntake the best cask of wine in Cuno's cellar. From this time forth Wolf\nstationed a watchman in the vicinity of Hirschberg, while Schalk bribed\none of Cuno's servants with a large sum of money, to inform him,\nwithout delay, when Cuno was breathing his last.\n\nBut this servant was more faithful to his good and gentle master than\nto the wicked Count of Schalksberg. He inquired one evening of Frau\nFeldheimerin, very solicitously, after his master's health, and when\nshe told him that the count was doing quite well, he related to her the\nproject of the brothers of firing off guns when the Count Cuno should\ndie. The old woman was infuriated, and quickly repeated this story to\nthe count, who could hardly believe his brothers were so utterly\nheartless; so she advised him to put the matter to the proof by\nspreading a report of his death. The count summoned the servant to whom\nhis brother had given a bribe, questioned him closely, and then ordered\nhim to ride to Schalksberg and announce his approaching death.\n\nAs the servant was riding hastily down the hill, he was seen and\nstopped by the servant of Count Wolf, who asked him where he was riding\nto in such a hurry. \"Alas!\" was his reply, \"my poor master will not\noutlive the night, they have all given him up.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Has his time come?\" cried the spy, as he ran to his horse,\n'sprang on his back, and rode so fast towards Zollern, that his horse\nsank down at the gate, and he was himself only able to call out: \"Count\nCuno is dying!\" before he fell down senseless. Thereupon, the cannon of\nHohen-Zollern thundered, and Count Wolf rejoiced with his mother, in\nanticipation of the cask of wine, over the castle and its belongings,\nthe jewels, the pond, and the echo of his cannon.\n\nBut what he had taken for its echo, was the cannon of Schalksberg, and\nWolf said smilingly to his mother: \"It seems Schalk has had a spy there\ntoo, and therefore he and I will have to divide the wine equally, as\nwell as the rest of the property.\" With this he mounted his horse,\nfearing lest Schalk should arrive at Hirschberg before he did, and\nperhaps take away some of the jewels of the deceased. But the twins met\nat the fish-pond, and each blushed before the other, so apparent was\nthe desire of both to be the first-comer at Hirschberg. They said not a\nword about Cuno, as they continued on their way together, but discussed\nin a brotherly manner how things should be arranged in the future, and\nto which of them Hirschberg should belong. But as they rode over the\ndraw-bridge into the court, they saw their brother, safe and sound,\nlooking out of the window; but anger and scorn flashed from his\nfeatures.\n\nThe brothers shrank back in terror, taking him at first to be a ghost,\nand crossed themselves; but when they saw that he was still in flesh\nand blood, Wolf exclaimed:\n\n\"Stupid stuff! I thought you were dead.\"\n\n\"Omittance is no quittance,\" said Schalk, darting up at his\nhalf-brother a venomous look.\n\nCuno replied in a threatening voice: \"From this hour, all bonds of\nbrotherhood between us are broken. I heard the salute you fired; but\nknow this, that I have five field-pieces here in the court that were\nloaded to do you honor. Take care to keep out of the range of my\ncannon, or you shall have a sample of our shooting at Hirschberg.\"\n\nThey did not wait to be spoken to a second time, for they saw that\ntheir brother was fully in earnest; so they gave their horses the spurs\nand raced down the mountain, while their brother sent a parting shot\nafter them, that whistled above their heads, so that they both made a\nlow and polite bow together; but he only wished to frighten and not to\nwound them.\n\n\"Why did you fire off your gun?\" asked Schalk of his brother Wolf, in\nan ill-humored lone. \"I only shot because I heard your gun, you fool!\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" replied Wolf. \"I'll leave it to mother if you were\nnot the first to shoot; and you have brought this disgrace on us, you\nlittle badger.\"\n\nSchalk returned all his brother's epithets with interest; and when they\ncame to the pond, they hurled at one another some of the choicest\ncurses that the \"Tempest of Zollern\" had bequeathed them, and parted in\nhate and anger.\n\nShortly after this occurrence, Cuno made his will, and Frau\nFeldheimerin said to Father Joseph: \"I would wager something that he\nhas not left much to the twins.\" But with all her curiosity, and much\nas she urged her favorite, he would not tell her what was written in\nthe will; nor did she ever learn, for a year afterwards the good woman\npassed away in spite of her salves and potions. She died, not of any\ndisease, but of her ninety-eighth year, which might well bring even the\nmost healthy person to the grave. Count Cuno had her buried with as\nmuch ceremony as if she had been his own mother and not a poor old\nwoman, and he grew more and more lonely in his castle, especially as\nFather Joseph soon followed Frau Feldheimerin.\n\nStill he did not suffer this solitude very long; for in his\ntwenty-eighth year the good Cuno died, and, as wicked people asserted,\nof poison administered by Schalk. Be that as it may, some hours after\nhis death the thunder of cannon was heard once more from Zollern and\nSchalksberg.\n\n\"This time he will have to acknowledge the truth of the reports,\" said\nSchalk to his brother Wolf, as they met on the road to Hirschberg.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Wolf; \"but even if he should rise from the dead and\nabuse us from the window as before, I have a rifle with me that will\nmake him polite and dumb.\"\n\nAs they rode up the castle hill, they were joined by a horseman with\nhis retinue, whom they did not know. They believed, however, that he\nmust be a friend of their brother's who had come to attend the funeral.\nTherefore they demeaned themselves as mourners, were loud in their\npraises of the deceased, lamented his early death, and Schalk even\nmanaged to squeeze out a few crocodile tears. The stranger paid no\nattention to what they said, but rode silently by their side up to the\ncastle. \"Now, then, we will make ourselves comfortable; and, butler,\nbring some wine, the very best!\" cried Wolf, as he dismounted. They\nwent up the spiral staircase into the salon, where they were followed\nby the silent stranger; and just as the twins had sat down to the\ntable, he took from his purse a silver coin, and throwing it down on\nthe slate table, where it rolled about and settled down with a ring,\nsaid:\n\n\"Then and there you have your inheritance; it is a good piece of\nsilver, a hirsch-gulden.\"\n\nThe two brothers looked at one another in astonishment, laughed, and\nasked him what he meant by this.\n\nThe stranger, by way of reply, produced a parchment, attached to which\nwere many seals, in which Cuno had recorded all the instances of\nmalevolence that his brothers had shown him in his life-time, and at\nthe close decreed and made known that his entire estate, real and\npersonal, with the exception of his mother's jewels, should, in the\nevent of his death, become the property of Wuertemberg, in\nconsideration of _a pitiful hirsch-gulden_! But with his mother's\njewels, a poor-house should be built in the town of Balingen.\n\nThe brothers were astonished anew; but instead of laughing this time,\nthey ground their teeth together, for they could not hope to dispute\nthe claim of Wuertemberg. They had lost the beautiful castle, the\nforest and field, the town of Balingen, and even the fish-pond, and\ninherited nothing but a miserable hirsch-gulden. This, Wolf stuck into\nhis purse with a defiant air, put on his cap, passed the Wuertemberg\nofficer without a word, sprang on his horse, and rode back to Zollern.\n\nWhen, on the following morning, his mother reproached him with having\ntrifled away the estate and jewels, he rode over to Schalksberg and\nsaid to his brother:\n\n\"Shall we gamble with our inheritance, or drink it up?\"\n\n\"Let's drink it away,\" replied Schalk; \"then we shall both have won. We\nwill ride down to Balingen and let the people see our disdain, even if\nwe have lost the village in a most outrageous manner.\"\n\n\"And at 'The Lamb' tavern they have as good red wine as any the emperor\ndrinks,\" added Wolf.\n\nSo they rode down together to \"The Lamb,\" and inquired the cost of a\nquart of this red wine, and drank the worth of the gulden. Then Wolf\ngot up, took from his purse the silver coin with the leaping stag\nstamped on it, threw it down on the table, and said:\n\n\"There's your gulden, that will make it right.\"\n\nBut the landlord picked up the gulden, looked at it first on one side\nand then on the other, and said smilingly:\n\n\"Yes, if it was any thing but a hirsch-gulden; but last night the\nmessenger came from Stuttgart, and early this morning it was proclaimed\nin the name of the Count of Wuertemberg, to whom this town now belongs,\nthat these coins would be no longer current; so give me some other\nmoney.\"\n\nThe brothers looked at one another in dismay. \"Pay up,\" said one.\n\"Haven't you got any change?\" replied the other; and, in short, they\nwere obliged to remain in debt to \"The Lamb\" for a gulden.\n\nThey started back \"home without speaking to one another until they came\nto the cross-road, where the road to the right ran to Zollern and the\none to the left to Schalksberg. Then Schalk said:\n\n\"How now? We have inherited less than nothing; and moreover, the wine\nwas miserable.\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure,\" replied his brother, \"but what Frau Feldheimerin\nsaid, has come to pass: 'We shall see what part of your inheritance is\nworth a hirsch-gulden.' And now we were not able to pay for even a\nmeasure of wine with it.\"\n\n\"Know it already!\" answered he of Schalksberg.\n\n\"Stupid stuff!\" returned the Count of Zollern, as he rode off moodily,\ntowards his castle.\n\n\n\n\"That is the Legend of the Hirsch-Gulden,\" concluded the compass-maker,\n\"and said to be a true one. The landlord at Duerrwangen, which is\nsituated near the three castles, related it to one of my best friends,\nwho often acted as guide through the Suabian Alps, and always put up at\nDuerrwangen.\"\n\nThe guests applauded the compass-maker's story. \"What curious things\none hears in the world!\" exclaimed the wagoner. \"Really, I feel glad\nnow that we did not spoil the time with cards; this is much better, and\nso interested was I in the story, that I can tell it to-morrow to my\ncomrades without missing a single word of it.\"\n\n\"While you were telling your story, something came into my mind,\" said\nthe student.\n\n\"Oh, tell it, tell it!\" pleaded the compass-maker and Felix.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied he, \"it makes no difference whether my turn comes\nnow or later. Still, what I tell you must be considered in confidence,\nfor the incidents are reported to have really occurred.\"\n\nHe changed his position to a more comfortable one, and was just about\nto begin his story, when the landlady put away her distaff and went up\nto her guests at the table. \"It is time now, gentlemen, to go to bed,\"\nsaid she. \"It has struck nine, and to-morrow will be another day.\"\n\n\"Well, go to bed then,\" said the student. \"Set another bottle of wine\non the table for us, and we won't keep you up any longer.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" returned she, fretfully; \"so long as guests remain in\nthe public-room, it is not possible for the landlady and servants to\nretire. And once for all, gentlemen, I must request you to go to your\nrooms; the time hangs heavy on me, and there shall be no carousing in\nmy house after nine o'clock.\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you, landlady?\" said the compass-maker in\nsurprise. \"What harm can it do you if we sit here even after you have\ngone to sleep? We are honest people, and won't run off with any thing,\nnor leave without paying. I won't be ordered around in this way in any\ntavern.\"\n\nThe woman's eyes flashed angrily. \"Do you suppose I will change the\nrules of my house to suit every ragamuffin of a journeyman and every\nvagrant who pays me only twelve kreuzers? I tell you for the last time\nthat I won't submit to this nuisance.\"\n\nThe compass-maker was about to make a retort, when the student gave him\na significant look, winked at the others, and said: \"Very well, if the\nlandlady will have it so, then let us go up to our rooms. But we should\nlike some candles to find our way.\"\n\n\"I cannot accommodate you in that,\" responded the landlady, sullenly;\n\"the others can find their way in the dark, and this stump of a candle\nwill suffice for your needs; it's all I have in the house.\"\n\nThe young gentleman got up and took the light without replying. The\nothers followed him, the journeymen taking their bundles up with them\nto keep them near their side.\n\nWhen they got up to the head of the stairs, the student cautioned them\nto step very lightly, opened his door, and beckoned them to come in.\n\"There can now be no doubt,\" said he, \"that she means to betray us. Did\nyou not notice how anxious she was to have us go to bed, and the means\nshe took to prevent our remaining awake and together? She probably\nthinks that we will go to bed now, and thus play into her hands.\"\n\n\"But do you think that escape is impossible?\" asked Felix. \"In the\nforest one might more reasonably hope for rescue than in this room.\"\n\n\"These windows are also grated,\" said the student, vainly trying to\nwrench out one of the iron bars. \"There is but one way by which we can\nget out, if we wish to escape, and that is by way of the front door;\nbut I do not believe that they would let us out.\"\n\n\"We might make the attempt,\" said the wagoner; \"I will see whether I\ncan get into the yard. If it is possible then I will return for you.\"\n\nThe others assented to this proposal, so the wagoner took off his shoes\nand stole on tiptoe to the stair-case, while his companions listened\nanxiously from their room. He had got half-way down, safely and\nunnoticed, when suddenly a bull-dog rose up before him, placed its paws\non his shoulders, and displayed a gleaming set of teeth right before\nhis face. He did not dare to step either forward or backward, for at\nthe least movement the dog would have seized him by the throat. At the\nsame time the dog began to growl and bark, until the landlady and\nhostler appeared with lights.\n\n\"Where were you going? What do you want? cried the woman.\n\n\"I wanted to fetch something from my cart,\" answered the wagoner\ntrembling in every limb; for as the door opened he had caught a glimpse\nof several dark suspicious faces of armed men in the room.\n\n\"You might have done that before you went upstairs,\" replied the woman\ncrossly. \"Come here, Fassan! Jacob, lock the yard-gate and light the\nman out to his wagon.\"\n\nThe dog drew back his muzzle from the wagoner's face, removed his paws\nfrom the man's shoulders, and lay down once more across the stair-way.\nIn the meantime the hostler had secured the yard-gate, and now lighted\nthe wagoner to his cart. An escape was not to be thought of. But when\nhe came to consider what he should take from his wagon, he recollected\nthat he had a pound of wax candles that were to be delivered in the\nnext town. \"That short piece of candle won't last more than fifteen\nminutes longer,\" said he to himself, \"and yet we must have light!\" He\ntherefore took two wax candles from the wagon, concealed them in his\nsleeve, and also took his cloak as an excuse for his errand, telling\nthe hostler that he needed it for a blanket.\n\nWithout further incident he got back to the room upstairs. He told his\ncompanions about the big dog that guarded the stair-case, of the\nglimpse he had caught of the armed men, and of all the precautions that\nhad been taken to prevent their escape; and concluded with a groan: \"We\nshall not survive the night.\"\n\n\"I don't think that,\" said the student. \"I cannot believe that these\npeople would be so foolish as to take the lives of four men for the\nsake of the few little things we have with us. But we had better not\ntry to defend ourselves. For my part I shall lose the most; my horse is\nalready in their hands, and it cost me fifty ducats only four weeks\nago; my purse and my clothes I will give up willingly, for after all my\nlife is dearer to me than all these.\"\n\n\"You talk sensibly,\" responded the wagoner. \"Such things as you have\ncan be easily replaced; but I am the messenger from Aschaffenburg, and\nhave all kinds of goods in my wagon, and in the stable two fine horses,\nall I possess in the world.\"\n\n\"I can hardly believe that they would harm you,\" said the goldsmith;\n\"the robbery of a messenger would cause an alarm to be given all\nthrough the country. But then I agree with what the young gentleman\nsaid: sooner would I give up every thing I possess, and bind myself\nwith an oath never to speak of this matter and never to make complaint\nagainst them, than to attempt to defend my little property against\npeople who have rifles and pistols.\"\n\nDuring these words, the wagoner had taken out his wax candles. He stuck\nthem on the table and lighted them. \"Here let us await, in the name of\nGod, whatever may happen to us,\" said he; \"let us sit down together\nagain, and banish sleep with stories.\"\n\n\"We will do that,\" answered the student; \"and as the turn came to me\ndown-stairs, I will now begin.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE MARBLE HEART.\n\n                              FIRST PART.\n\nWhoever travels through Suabia should not neglect to take a peep into\nthe Black Forest; not on account of the trees, although one does not\nfind every-where such a countless number of magnificent pines, but\nbecause of the inhabitants, between whom and their outlying neighbors\nthere exists a marked difference. They are taller than ordinary people,\nbroad-shouldered and strong-limbed. It seems as though the balmy\nfragrance exhaled by the pines had given them a freer respiration, a\nclearer eye, and a more resolute if somewhat ruder spirit than that\npossessed by the inhabitants of the valleys and plains. And not only in\ntheir bearing and size do they differ from other people, but in their\ncustoms and pursuits as well. In that part of the Black Forest included\nwithin the Grand Duchy of Baden, are to be seen the most strikingly\ndressed inhabitants of the whole forest. The men let nature have her\nown way with their beards; while their black jackets, close-fitting\nknee breeches, red stockings, and peaked hats bound with a broad sheaf,\ngive them a picturesque, yet serious and commanding appearance. Here\nthe people generally are occupied in the manufacture of glass; they\nalso make watches and sell them to half the world.\n\nOn the other side of the forest formerly dwelt a branch of this same\nrace; but their employment had given them other customs and manners.\nThey felled and trimmed their pine trees, rafted the logs down the\nNagold into the Neckar, and from the Upper-Neckar to the Rhine, and\nthence far down into Holland, and even at the sea coast these raftsmen\nof the Black Forest were known. They stopped on their way down the\nrivers at each city that lined the banks, and proudly awaited\npurchasers for their logs and boards, but kept their largest and\nlongest logs to dispose of for a larger sum, to the Mynheers for\nshipbuilding purposes. These raftsmen were accustomed to a rough,\nwandering life. Their joy was experienced in floating down the streams\non their rafts; their sorrow in the long walk back on the banks. Thus\nfrom the nature of their occupation they required a costume entirely\ndifferent from that worn by the glass-makers on the other side of the\nBlack Forest. They wore jackets of dark linen, over which green\nsuspenders of a hand-breadth's width crossed over their broad breasts;\nblack leather knee breeches, from the pockets of which projected brass\nfoot-rules like badges of honor; but their joy and pride lay in their\nboots, the largest perhaps that ever came into vogue in any part of the\nworld, as they could be drawn up two spans of the hand above the knee,\nso that the raftsmen could wade around in a yard of water without\nwetting their feet.\n\nUp to quite a recent period, the inhabitants of this forest believed in\nspirits of the wood. But it is somewhat singular that the spirits who,\nas the legend ran, dwelt in the Black Forest, took sides in these\nprevailing fashions. Thus, it was averred that the Little Glass-Man, a\ngood little spirit, only three-and-a-half feet high, never appeared\notherwise than in a peaked hat with a wide brim, as well as a jacket\nand knee breeches and red stockings; whereas, Dutch-Michel, who haunted\nthe other part of the forest, was a giant-sized broad-shouldered fellow\nin the dress of a raftsman, and several people who had seen him,\nasserted that they would not care to pay for the hides that would be\nused to make him a pair of boots. \"And so tall,\" said they, \"that an\nordinary man would not reach to his neck.\"\n\nWith these spirits of the forest, a young man of this region is\nreported to have had a strange experience, which I will relate:\n\nThere lived in the Black Forest a widow by the name of Frau Barbara\nMunkin; her husband had been a charcoal-burner, and after his death she\nbrought up her son to the same business. Young Peter Munk, a cunning\nfellow of sixteen, was much pleased to sit all the week round on his\nsmoking piles of wood, just as he had seen his father do; or, all black\nand sooty as he was, and a scarecrow to the people, he would go down to\nthe towns to sell his charcoal. But a charcoal-burner has plenty of\ntime to think about himself and others; and when Peter Munk sat on his\nhalf-burned piles of wood, the dark trees about him and the deep\nstillness of the forest disposed him to tears and filled his heart with\nnameless longings. Something troubled him, and he could not well make\nout what it was. Finally he discovered what it was that had so put him\nout of sorts; it was his occupation. \"A lonely black charcoal-burner,\"\nreflected he. \"It is a miserable life. How respectable are the\nglassmakers, the watchmakers, and even the musicians of a Sunday\nevening! And when Peter Munk, cleanly-washed and brushed, appears\ndressed in his father's best jacket with silver buttons and with\nbran-new red stockings, and when one walks behind me and thinks, Who is\nthat stylish-looking fellow? and inwardly praises my stockings and my\nstately walk--when he passes by me and turns around to look, he is sure\nto say to himself: 'Oh, it's only Charcoal Pete!'\"\n\nThe raftsmen on the other side of the forest also aroused his envy.\nWhen these giants came over among the glass-makers, dressed in their\nelegant clothes, wearing at least fifty pounds of silver in buttons,\nbuckles, and chains, when they looked on at a dance, with legs spread\nwide apart, swore in Dutch, and smoked pipes from Cologne three feet\nlong in the stem, just like any distinguished Mynheer--then was Peter\nconvinced that such a raftsman was the very picture of a lucky man. And\nwhen these fortunate beings put their hands into their pockets and\ndrew out whole handfuls of thalers and shook for half a-dozen at a\nthrow--five guldens here, ten there--then he would nearly lose his\nsenses, and would steal home to his hut in a very melancholy mood. On\nmany holiday nights he had seen one or another of these timber\nmerchants lose more at play than his poor father had ever been able to\nearn in a year.\n\nDistinguished above all others were three of these men and Peter was\nuncertain which one of them was most wonderful. One was a large heavy\nman, with a red face, who passed for the richest man of them all. He\nwas called Stout Ezekiel. He went down to Amsterdam twice a year with\ntimber, and always had the good fortune to sell it at so much higher a\nprice than others could sell theirs, that he could afford to ride back\nhome in good style, while the others had to return on foot. The second\nman of the trio was the lankest and leanest person in the whole forest,\nand was called Slim Schlurker. Peter envied him for his audacity; he\ncontradicted the most respectable people, occupied more room when the\ninn was crowded than four of the stoutest, either by spreading his\nelbows out on the table, or by stretching his legs out on the bench,\nand yet no one dared to interfere with him, for he had an enormous\namount of money. But the third was a handsome young man, who was the\nbest dancer far and wide, and had, therefore, received the title of\nKing of the Ball. He had been a poor boy, and had been a servant to one\nof the lumber dealers, when he suddenly became very rich. Some said\nthat he had found a pot of gold under an old pine tree, others asserted\nthat he had fished up a packet of gold pieces near Bingen on the Rhine,\nwith the pole with which the raftsmen sometimes speared for fish; and\nthat the packet was part of the great Nibelungen treasure that lies\nburied there. In short, he had suddenly become a rich man, and was\nlooked upon by young and old with the respect due a prince. Charcoal\nPete often thought of these three men, as he sat so lonely in the\nforest of pines. It is true that all three had a common failing that\nmade them hated by the people; this was their inhuman avarice--their\nutter lack of sympathy for the poor and unfortunate; for the\ninhabitants of the Black Forest are a kind-hearted people. But you know\nhow it goes in the world; if they were hated on account of their\navarice, they yet commanded deference by virtue of their money; for who\nbut they could throw away thalers as if one had only to shake them down\nfrom the pines?\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"I won't stand this much longer,\" said Peter, dejectedly, to himself\none day; for the day before had been a holiday, and all the people had\nbeen down to the inn. \"If I don't make a strike pretty soon, I shall\nmake away with myself. Oh, if I were only as rich and respectable as\nthe Stout Ezekiel, or so bold and mighty as the Slim Schlurker, or as\nfamous and as well able to throw thalers to the fiddlers as the King of\nthe Ball! Where can the fellow get his money?\" He thought over all the\nways by which one could make money, but none of them suited him.\nFinally there occurred to him the traditions of people who had become\nrich through the aid of Dutch Michel and the Little Glass-Man. During\nhis father's life-time, other poor people often came to visit them, and\nPeter had heard them talk by the hour of rich people and of the way\ntheir riches were acquired. The name of the Little Glass-Man was often\nmentioned in these conversations, as one who had helped these rich men\nto their wealth; and Peter could almost remember the verse that had to\nbe spoken at the Tannenbuehl in the centre of the forest in order to\nsummon him. It ran thus:\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,\n            Bis schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,\n            Dir gehoert all' Land wo Tannen stehn--\"\n\nBut strain his memory as he would, he could not recall another line. He\noften debated within himself whether he should not ask this or that old\nman what the rest of the rhyme was, but was held back by a certain\ndread of betraying his thoughts--and then, too, the tradition of the\nGlass-Man could not be very widely known, and the rhyme must be known\nto but very few, for there were not many rich people in the forest;\nand, strangest of all, why had not his father and the other poor people\ntried their luck? He finally led his mother into speaking about the\nLittle Glass-Man; but she only told him what he knew before, and knew\nonly the first line of the rhyme, although she did add afterwards that\nthe spirit only showed himself to people who were born on a Sunday\nbetween eleven and two o'clock. In that respect, she told him, he would\nfill the requirements, if he could only remember the verse; as he was\nborn on a Sunday noon.\n\nWhen Charcoal Pete heard this, he was almost beside himself with joy at\nthe thought of undertaking this adventure. It appeared to him\nsufficient that he knew a part of the verse, and that he was born on a\nSunday; so he thought that the Glass-Man would appear to him.\nTherefore, after he had sold his charcoal one day, he did not kindle\nany more fires, but put on his father's best jacket, his new red\nstockings and his Sunday hat, grasped his black-thorn cane, and bade\ngood-bye to his mother, saying: \"I must go to town on business; we\nshall soon have to draw lots again to see who shall serve in the army,\nand I will once more call the justice's attention to the fact that I am\nthe only son of a widow.\"\n\nHis mother commended his resolution, and he started off for\nTannenbuehl. The Tannenbuehl lies on the highest point of the Black\nForest; and within a radius of a two-hours' walk, not a village nor\neven a hut was to be found, for the superstitious people held the\nTannenbuehl to be an unsafe place. And tall and splendid as were the\ntrees in this region, they were now but seldom disturbed by the\nwoodman's ax; for often when the wood-choppers had ventured in there to\nwork, the axes had flown from the helves and cut them in the foot, or\nthe trees had fallen unexpectedly before they could get out of the way,\nand had killed and injured many. Then, too, these magnificent trees\ncould only be sold for firewood, as the raftsmen would never take a\nsingle log from this locality into their rafts, for the tradition was\ncurrent among them that both men and rafts would come to grief if they\nwere to do so. Therefore, it was that the trees of the Tannenbuehl had\nbeen left to grow so thick and tall that it was almost as dark as night\nthere on the clearest day; and Peter Muck began to feel rather timid\nthere, for he heard not a voice, not a step save his own, not even the\nring of an ax, while even the birds appeared to shun these dark\nshadows.\n\nCharcoal Pete at last reached the highest point of the Tannenbuehl, and\nstood before a pine of enormous girth, for which a ship-builder in\nHolland would have given many hundred guldens, delivered at his yard.\n\"Here,\" thought he, \"the Little Glass-Man would be most likely to\nlive.\" So he took off his Sunday hat, made a low bow before the tree,\ncleared his throat, and said in a trembling voice: \"I wish you a very\ngood afternoon, Mr. Glass-Man.\" But there was no answer, and every\nthing about was as still as before. \"Perhaps I have to speak the verse\nfirst,\" thought he, and mumbled:\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,\n            Bist schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,\n            Dir gehoert all' Land wo Tannen stehn--\"\n\nAs he spoke these words, he saw, to his great terror, a very small,\nstrange figure peep out from behind the great tree. To Peter it seemed\nto be the Little Glass-Man, just as he had heard him described: a black\njacket, red stockings, a peaked hat with a broad brim, and a pale but\nfine and intelligent little face. But alas, as quickly as the Little\nGlass-Man had looked around the tree, so quickly had he disappeared\nagain. \"Mr. Glass-Man,\" cried Peter Munk after a long pause, \"be so\nkind as not to make a fool of me. Mr. Glass-Man, if you think I didn't\nsee you, you are very much mistaken. I saw you very plainly when you\nlooked around the tree.\" Still no answer; but occasionally Peter\nbelieved he heard a low, amused chuckle behind the tree. Finally his\nimpatience conquered the fear that had held him back. \"Wait, you little\nfellow,\" cried he; \"I will soon catch you.\" With one leap he sprang\nbehind the tree, but there was no\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,\"\n\nand only a small squirrel ran up the tree.\n\nPeter Munk shook his head; he saw that he had the method of conjuration\nall right up to a certain point, and that perhaps only another line was\nneeded to induce the Little Glass-Man to appear. He thought over this\nand that, but found nothing to the purpose. The squirrel was to be seen\non the lower branches of the tree, and acted as if it were either\ntrying to cheer him up or was making sport of him. It smoothed down its\nfur, waved its fine bushy tail, and looked at him with intelligent\neyes. But at last he was afraid to remain here alone with this little\ncreature; for now the squirrel would appear to have a human head and a\nthree-peaked hat, and then again it would be just like other squirrels,\nwith the exception of red stockings and black shoes on its hinder legs.\nIn short, it was a merry creature; but nevertheless Charcoal Pete stood\nin dread of it, believing that there was some magic in all this.\n\nPeter left the spot at a much faster pace than he had approached it.\nThe shadows of the pine wood seemed to deepen, the trees to be taller,\nand such terror took possession of him that he broke into a run, and\nexperienced a sense of security only when he heard dogs barking in the\ndistance, and saw between the trees the smoke rising from a hut. But\nwhen he came nearer, and perceived the dress worn by the people in the\nhut, he found that in his alarm he had taken the wrong direction, and\ninstead of arriving among the glass-makers, he had come to the\nraftsmen. The people who dwelt in the hut were wood-choppers; an old\nman, his son, who was the owner of the house, and some grandchildren.\nThey gave Charcoal Pete a hospitable reception, without asking for his\nname and residence; brought him cider to drink, and for supper a large\nblackcock, the most tempting dish in the Black Forest, was set on the\ntable.\n\nAfter supper the housewife and her daughters gathered, with their\ndistaffs, around the light which the children fed with the finest\nresin; the grandfather, the guest, and the master of the house smoked\nand looked at the busy fingers of the women, while the boys were\noccupied in cutting out wooden forks and spoons. Out in the forest a\nstorm was raging; one heard every now and then heavy peals of thunder,\nand often it sounded as though entire trees had been snapped off and\ncrushed together. The fearless children wanted to go out into the\nforest to view this wild and beautiful scene; but their grandfather\nrestrained them by a sharp word and look. \"I would not advise any one\nto go outside the door,\" exclaimed he; \"he would never come back again,\nfor Dutch Michel is cutting a fresh link of logs to-night.\"\n\nThe children all stared at him. They might have heard the name of Dutch\nMichel mentioned before, but now they begged their grandfather that he\nwould tell them all about him. And Peter Munk, who had heard Dutch\nMichel spoken of on the other side of the forest only in a vague way,\njoined in the children's request, and asked the old man who Dutch\nMichel was and where he was to be seen. \"He is the master of this\nforest; and, judging from such an inquiry from a man of your age, you\nmust live on the other side of the Tannenbuehl, or even farther away,\nnot to have heard of him. I will tell you what I know about Dutch\nMichel, and the stories that are circulated regarding him:\n\n\"About a hundred years ago--at least so my ancestors said--there was\nnot a more honorable race of people on the face of the earth than the\ninhabitants of the Black Forest. But now, since so much money has come\ninto the country, the people are dishonest and wicked; the young\nfellows dance and sing on Sunday, and swear most terribly. But at the\ntime of which I speak there was a very different state of things; and\neven though Dutch Michel is looking in at the window now, I say, just\nas I have often said before, that he is to blame for all this woful\nchange. There lived a hundred years or more ago, a rich timber\nmerchant, who employed a large number of men. He traded far down the\nRhine, and his business prospered, as he was a God-fearing man. One\nevening a man came to his door, the like of whom he had never seen\nbefore. His clothing did not differ from that of the Black Forest\nworkingmen, but he was a good head taller than any of them, and it had\nnot been believed that such a giant existed any where. He asked for\nwork, and the timber merchant, seeing that he was strong and so well\nadapted to carrying heavy loads, made a bargain with him. Michel was a\nworkman such as this man had never had before. As a wood-chopper he was\nthe equal of any other three men; and he would carry one end of a tree\nwhich required six men to carry the other end.\n\n\"But after cutting trees for six months, he went to his employer and\nsaid: 'I have cut wood here long enough now, and should like to see\nwhere my tree-trunks go to; so how would it do if you were to let me go\ndown on the rafts?' The timber merchant replied: 'I will not stand in\nthe way of your seeing a little of the world, Michel. To be sure, I\nneed strong men to fell the trees, while on the raft more cleverness is\nrequired; but it shall be as you wish for this time.'\n\n\"The raft on which he was to go, consisted of eight sections, the last\nof which was made up of the largest timbers. But what do you think\nhappened? On the evening before they started, the tall Michel brought\neight more logs to the water, thicker and longer than any that had ever\nbeen seen before, and each one he had carried as lightly on his\nshoulder as if it were simply a raft pole, so that all were amazed.\nWhere he had cut them remains a mystery to-day. The heart of the timber\nmerchant rejoiced as he saw them, and began to reckon up what they\nmight be worth; but Michel said: 'There, those are for me to travel on.\nI shouldn't get very far on those other chips.' His master, by way of\nthanks, presented him with a pair of high boots; but Michel threw them\naside, and produced a pair that my grandfather assured me weighed a\nhundred pounds and stood five feet high.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"The raft was started off, and if Michel had astonished the\nwood-choppers before, it was now the turn of the raftsmen to be\nsurprised; for instead of the float going more slowly down the stream,\nas had been expected on account of these enormous logs, as soon as they\ntouched the Neckar they flew down the river with the speed of an arrow.\nIf they came to a curve in the Neckar, that had usually given the\nraftsmen much trouble to keep the raft in the middle of the stream and\nprevent it from grounding on the gravel or sand, Michel would spring\ninto the water and push the raft to the right or the left, so that it\npassed by without accident. But if they came to a stand-still, he would\nrun forward to the first section, have all the other men throw down\ntheir poles, stick his own enormous beam into the gravel, and with a\nsingle push the float flew down the river at such a rate that the land\nand trees and villages seemed to be running away from them.\n\n\"Thus in half the time usually consumed, they reached Cologne on the\nRhine, where they had been accustomed to sell their float. But here\nMichel spoke up once more: 'You seem to be merchants who understand\nyour own interests. Do you then think that the people of Cologne use\nall this timber that comes from the Black Forest? No, they buy it of\nyou at half its cost, and sell it to Holland merchants at an immense\nadvance. Let us sell the smaller logs here, and take the larger ones\ndown to Holland; what we receive above the usual price will be our own\ngain.'\n\n\"Thus spake the crafty Michel, and the others were content to do as he\nadvised--some because they had a desire to see Holland, and others on\naccount of the money they would pocket. Only one of the men was honest,\nand tried to dissuade his companions from exposing their master's\nproperty to further risks, or to cheat him out of the higher price they\nmight receive; but they would not listen to him, and forgot his words.\nDutch Michel, however, did not forget them. They continued on down the\nRhine, and Michel conducted the raft and soon brought it to Rotterdam.\nThere they were offered four times the former price, and the enormous\nlogs that Michel had brought sold for a large sum. When these raftsmen\nfound themselves the possessors of so much money, they could hardly\ncontain themselves for joy. Michel made the division, one part for the\ntimber merchant and the three others among the men. And now they\nfrequented the taverns with sailors and other low associates, gambled\nand threw away their money; but the brave man who had advised against\ntheir going to Holland was sold to a slave-dealer by Dutch Michel, and\nwas never again heard of. From that time forth Holland was the paradise\nof the raftsmen of the Black Forest, and Dutch Michel was their king.\nThe timber merchants did not learn of the swindle practiced on them for\nsome time; and money, oaths, bad manners, drunkenness and gambling were\ngradually imported from Holland unnoticed.\n\n\"When the story of these doings came out, Dutch Michel was nowhere to\nbe found. But he is not by any means dead. For a hundred years he has\ncarried on his ghostly deeds in the forest, and it is said that he has\nbeen the means of enriching many; but at the cost of their souls. How\nthat may be, I will not say; but this much is certain: that on these\nstormy nights he picks out the finest trees in the Tannenbuehl, where\nnone dare to chop, and my father once saw him break off a tree four\nfeet thick as easily as if it had been a reed. He makes a present of\nthese trees to those who will turn from the right and follow him; then\nat midnight they bring down these logs to the river, and he goes with\nhis followers down to Holland. But if I were the King of Holland, I\nwould have him blown to pieces with grape-shot; for every ship that has\nin it any of Dutch Michel's timber, even if it be only a single stick,\nmust go to the bottom. This is the cause of all the shipwrecks we hear\nof; for how else could a fine strong ship, as large as a church, be\ndestroyed on the water? And whenever Dutch Michel fells a pine in the\nBlack Forest on a stormy night, one of his timbers springs from a\nship's side, the water rushes in, and the ship is lost with all her\ncrew. Such is the legend of Dutch Michel; and it is sure that all that\nis bad in the Black Forest may be ascribed to him. But oh, he can make\none rich!\" added the old man mysteriously; \"yet I wouldn't have any\nthing to do with him--I would not for any money stand in the shoes of\nthe Stout Ezekiel or in those of the Slim Schlurker; and the King of\nthe Ball is reported to belong to him also.\"\n\nDuring the recital of the old man's story, the storm had ceased. The\ngirls now timidly lighted their lamps and went off to bed; while the\nman gave Peter a bag of leaves for a pillow on the settee, and wished\nhim goodnight.\n\nNever before did Charcoal Pete have such dreams as on this night. Now\nthe sullen giant, Dutch Michel, would raise the window and hold out\nbefore him with his enormously long arm a purse full of gold pieces,\nwhich he chincked together; then he would see the good-natured Little\nGlass-Man riding about the room on a monstrous green bottle, and he\ncould hear his merry laugh just as it sounded in the Tannenbuehl; then\nagain there was hummed into his left ear:\n\n           \"In Holland there is gold;\n            You can have it if you will\n            For very little pay;\n            Gold, Gold!\"\n\nthen in his right ear he heard the song of the \"Schatzhauser im gruenen\nTannenwald,\" and a soft voice whispered: \"Stupid Charcoal Pete! stupid\nPeter Munk can't think of any thing to rhyme with _stehen_, and yet was\nborn on Sunday at twelve o'clock. Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme!\"\n\nHe sighed and groaned in his sleep. He tried his best to think of a\nrhyme for that word; but as he had never made a rhyme in his life, all\nhis efforts in his dream were fruitless. But on awaking with the early\ndawn, his dream recurred to his mind. He sat himself down behind the\ntable with folded arms, and thought over the whispers he could still\nhear. \"Rhyme, stupid Charcoal Pete, rhyme,\" said he to himself,\nmeanwhile tapping his forehead with his finger; but the rhyme would not\ncome forth at his bidding.\n\nWhile he was sitting thus, looking sadly before him with his mind\nintent on a rhyme for _stehen_, three fellows passed by the house, one\nof whom was singing:\n\n           \"Am Berge that ich stehen\n            Und schaute in das Thal,\n            Da hab' ich sie gesehen\n            Zum allerletzten Mal.\"\n\nThat struck Peter's ear instantly, and springing up he rushed hastily\nout of the house, ran after the three men, and seized the singer\nroughly by the arm. \"Stop, friend,\" cried he, \"what was your rhyme for\n_stehen_? Be so kind as to recite what you sang.\"\n\n\"What's the trouble with you, young fellow?\" retorted the singer. \"I\ncan sing what I please, so let go of my arm, or----\"\n\n\"No, you must tell me what you sang!\" shouted Peter, taking a firmer\ngrip on his arm. The two others did not hesitate long on seeing this\nbut fell upon Peter with their hard fists and gave him such a beating\nthat he was forced to let go his hold on the first man and sank\nexhausted to his knees. \"You have got your share now,\" said they\nlaughing, \"and mind you, stupid fellow, never to jump upon people again\non the highway.\"\n\n\"Oh, I will surely take care!\" replied Charcoal Pete sighing; \"but now\nthat I have had the blows, be so good as to tell me plainly what it was\nthat man sang.\"\n\nThey began to laugh again, and made sport of him; but the one who had\nsung the song repeated it to him, and laughing and singing they\ncontinued on their way.\n\n\"Also _gesehen_,\" said the beaten one, as he raised himself up with\nsome difficulty; \"_gesehen_ rhymes with _stehen_. Now then, Little\nGlass-Man, we will speak a word together.\" He went back to the hut,\ntook his hat and stick, and bade farewell to the inmates of the hut,\nand started on his way back to the Tannenbuehl.\n\nHe walked on slowly and thoughtfully, for he had a line to make up;\nfinally as he came into the neighborhood of the Tannenbuehl, and the\npines grew taller and thicker, he had completed the verse, and in his\njoy made a leap into the air. Just then appeared a man of giant size,\nwho held in his hand a pole as long as a ship's mast. Peter's courage\nfailed him as he saw this giant walking along very slowly near him;\nfor, thought he, that is none other than Dutch Michel. But the giant\nremained silent, and Peter occasionally took a half-frightened look at\nhim. He was fully a head taller than the largest man Peter had ever\nseen; his face was neither young nor old, and yet full of lines; he\nwore a linen jacket, and the enormous boots drawn over the leather\nbreeches, Peter recognized from the legend he had heard the night\nbefore.\n\n\"Peter Munk, what are you doing in the Tannenbuehl?\" inquired the King\nof the Wood, in a deep threatening voice.\n\n\"Good morning, neighbor,\" replied Peter, with an effort to hide his\nuneasiness: \"I was going back home through the Tannenbuehl.\"\n\n\"Peter Munk,\" returned the giant, darting a piercing look at him, \"your\nway does not lie through this grove.\"\n\n\"Well, no, not directly,\" said Peter; \"but it is warm to-day, and I\nthought it would be cooler up here.\"\n\n\"Don't tell a lie. Charcoal Pete!\" cried Dutch Michel, in a voice of\nthunder, \"or I will beat you to the ground with my pole. Do you think I\ndidn't hear you pleading with the Little Glass-Man?\" continued he more\ngently. \"Come, come, that was a foolish thing to do, and it is\nfortunate that you did not know that verse; he is a niggard, the little\nchurl, and doesn't give much, and those to whom he does give don't\nenjoy life very much. Peter, you are a poor simpleton, and it grieves\nme to the soul to see such a lively, handsome fellow, who might do\nsomething in the world, burning charcoal. While others are throwing\nabout great thalers or ducats, you can hardly raise a sixpence: 'tis a\nmiserable life.\"\n\n\"That's all true, and you are right; it is a miserable life.\"\n\n\"Well, I shouldn't mind giving you a lift,\" continued the terrible\nMichel. \"I have already helped many a brave fellow out of his misery,\nso you would not be the first. Speak up, now; how many hundred thalers\ndo you want to start with?\"\n\nWith these words, he shook the gold pieces in his immense pocket, and\nthey jingled as Peter had heard them last night in his dream. His heart\nbeat wildly and painfully; he was warm and cold by turns, and Dutch\nMichel did not look as if he was in the habit of giving away money in\ncompassion without receiving something in return. The mysterious words\nof the old man in the hut recurred to his mind, and driven by\nunaccountable anxiety and terror, he cried: \"Best thanks, master; but I\nwon't have any dealings with you, for I know you too well,\" and ran off\nat the top of his speed.\n\nBut Dutch Michel strode after him muttering in a hollow, threatening\nvoice: \"You will regret it, Peter; it is written on your forehead and\ncan be read in your eye, you will not escape me. Don't run so fast;\nlisten to just one word of reason. There is my boundary line now.\" But\nwhen Peter heard this, and saw not far ahead of him a small trench, he\nincreased his speed in order to get beyond the line, so that Michel,\ntoo, had to run much faster and followed him with curses and threats.\nThe young man made a desperate leap over the trench, as he saw Dutch\nMichel raise his pole to destroy him. He landed safely on the other\nside, and saw the pole shattered in the air as though it had struck an\ninvisible wall, and a long splinter fell at Peter's feet. He picked it\nup triumphantly with the intention of hurling it back at Michel; but at\nthat moment he felt it moving in his hand, and discovered, to his\nhorror, that it was an enormous snake, which with darting tongue and\nglistening eyes reared its head to strike at him. He let go his hold,\nbut the reptile had coiled itself tightly about his arm, and its fangs\nwere already close to his face, when of a sudden a blackcock swooped\ndown, seized the snake's head in its bill and flew up into the air with\nits prey, while Dutch Michel, who had seen all this from the boundary\nline, howled and stormed as the snake was carried off by its more\npowerful enemy.\n\nTrembling and staggering, Peter continued on his way. The path became\nsteeper, the region wilder, and soon he found himself at the base of\nthe large pine tree. He made his obeisance as yesterday to the\ninvisible Little Glass-Man, and then recited his verse:\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im gruenen Tannenwald,\n            Bist schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,\n            Dein is all' Land, wo Tannen stehen,\n            Laesst Dich nur Sonntagskindern sehn.\"\n\n\"You haven't quite hit it, but seeing it's you, Charcoal Pete, we'll\nlet it pass,\" said a low soft voice near him. He looked around him in\nsurprise, and beneath a splendid pine sat a little old man, dressed in\na black jacket and red stockings, with a large hat on his head. He had\na delicate, pleasing face, and a beard as fine as a spider's web. He\nsmoked from a pipe of blue glass; and on approaching nearer, Peter saw,\nto his astonishment, that the clothing, shoes, and hat of the little\nman were all made of colored glass, but it was as flexible as though\nstill hot, for it bent like cloth with every movement of the little\nman.\n\n\"You have met that churl, Dutch Michel?\" said the little man, coughing\npeculiarly after every word. \"He meant to scare you badly; but I have\ntaken away his magic pole and he will never recover it again.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Schatzhauser,\" replied Peter, with a low bow. \"I was in a\npretty bad fix. Then you must have been the blackcock who killed the\nsnake! My best thanks for your kindness. But I have come here to\ncounsel with you. Things are in a bad way with me; a charcoal burner\ndoesn't get ahead any, and as I am still young I thought that perhaps\nsomething better might be made out of me. When I look at others, I see\nhow they have progressed in a short time--the stout Ezekiel for\ninstance, and the King of the Ball; they have money like hay.\"\n\n\"Peter,\" said the little man, gravely blowing the smoke from his pipe\nto a great distance, \"do not talk to me in that way. How much would you\nbe benefitted by being apparently happy for a few years, only to be\nstill more unhappy afterwards? You must not despise your calling; your\nfather and grandfather were honorable people, and followed the same\npursuit. Peter Munk! I will not think that it is laziness that brings\nyou to me.\"\n\nPeter shrank back before the earnestness of the little man, and\nreddened. \"Idleness, Herr Schatzhauser im Tannenwald, is, I well know,\nthe beginning of all burdens; but you should not think poorly of me for\ndesiring to better my condition, A charcoal burner is of very little\naccount in the world, while the glass-makers and raftsmen and\nwatchmakers are all respectable.\"\n\n\"Pride often comes before a fall,\" replied the master of the pine wood,\nin a more friendly manner. \"You mortals are a strange race. Seldom is\none of you contented with the lot to which he was born and brought up.\nAnd what would be the result of your becoming a glass-maker? You would\nthen want to be a timber merchant; and if you were a timber merchant,\nthe life of the ranger or the magistrate's dwelling would seem more\nattractive still. But it shall be as you wish, provided you promise to\nwork hard. I am accustomed to grant every Sunday child who knows how to\nfind me three wishes; the first two are free, the third I can set aside\nif it is a foolish one. So announce your wishes, Peter, but let them be\nsomething good and useful.\"\n\n\"Hurrah! You are an excellent Little Glass-Man, and you are rightly\ncalled Schatzhauser, for with you the treasures are always at home.\nWell, if I am at liberty to wish for what my heart longs, my first wish\nshall be that I could dance better than the King of the Ball, and that\nI had as much money in my pocket as the Stout Ezekiel.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"You fool!\" exclaimed the little man scornfully; \"What a pitiful wish\nis that, to dance well and have money to gamble with! Are you not\nashamed, stupid Peter, to fool away your chance in such a fashion? Of\nwhat use will your dancing be to you and your poor mother? Of what use\nwill money be to you, when, as can be seen from your wish, it is\ndestined for the tavern, and like that of the miserable King of the\nBall, will remain there? Then you would have nothing for the rest of\nthe week, and will suffer want as before. I will give you another wish\nfree; but look to it that you choose more intelligently?\"\n\nPeter scratched his head, and said, after some hesitation: \"Well, I\nwish for the most beautiful and costly glass-works in the whole Black\nForest, together with suitable belongings for it, and money to keep it\ngoing.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\" inquired the little man in an apprehensive manner;\n\"nothing else, Peter?\"\n\n\"Well, you might add a horse and carriage to all this.\"\n\n\"Oh, you stupid Charcoal Pete!\" cried the little man, and threw his\nglass pipe in a fit of anger at a large pine tree, so that it broke\ninto a hundred pieces. \"Horses? Wagons? Intellect, I tell you,\nintellect, a sound human understanding and foresight, you should have\nwished for, and not horses and wagons. Well, don't look so sad; we will\nsee that you don't come to much harm by it, for your second wish was\nnot such a bad one. Glass-works will support both man and master; and\nif you had wished for foresight and understanding with it, wagons and\nhorses would have followed as a matter of course.\"\n\n\"But, Herr Schatzhauser,\" returned Peter, \"I have one more wish left,\nand if you think that intellect is such a desirable thing, why, I might\nwish for it now.\"\n\n\"Not so. You will get into many difficulties when you will rejoice that\nyou still have one wish left. And so you had better now start on your\nway home. Here,\" said the little man, drawing a purse from his pocket,\n\"are two thousand guldens, and it should be enough, so don't come\nback to me begging for more money, or I should have to hang you up\nto the highest pine tree. Three days ago old Winkfritz, who had the\nglass-works in the valley, died. Go there to-morrow early, and make a\nsuitable bid for the business. Conduct yourself well, be diligent, and\nI will visit you occasionally and assist you with word and deed, as you\ndid not wish for understanding. But--and I say this to you in all\nseriousness--your first wish was a bad one. Take care, Peter, how you\nrun to the tavern; no one ever received any good thereby.\"\n\nWhile thus speaking, the little man had produced a second pipe of\nalabaster glass, filled it with crushed pine cones, and lighted it by\nholding a large burning-glass in the sun. When he had done this, he\nshook Peter's hand in a friendly manner, accompanied him a short\ndistance on his way, giving him some valuable advice, meanwhile blowing\nout thicker and thicker volumes of smoke, and finally disappearing in a\ncloud of smoke, that, as if from genuine Dutch tobacco, curled slowly\nabout the tops of the pine trees.\n\nWhen Peter arrived at home, he found his mother in a state of great\nalarm about him, for the good woman could believe nothing else but that\nher son had been drawn as a soldier. He, however, was in a very happy\nmood, and told her how he had met a good friend in the forest, who had\nadvanced him money to undertake a better business than that of charcoal\nburning. Although his mother had lived in this hut for thirty years,\nand was as much accustomed to the sight of sooty faces as every\nmiller's wife is to the flour on her husband's face, yet she was vain\nenough when Peter held out the prospect of a more brilliant life, to\ndespise her early condition, and said: \"Yes, as mother of a man who\nowns the glassworks, I am somewhat better than neighbor Grete and Bete,\nand for the future I shall take a front seat in the church among\nrespectable people.\"\n\nPeter soon concluded a bargain with the heirs for the glass-works. He\nretained the workmen whom he found there, and made glass by day and\nnight. In the beginning he was much pleased with the business. He was\naccustomed to walk proudly about the works, with his hands in his\npockets, looking into this and that, advising here and there, over\nwhich his workmen laughed not a little; but his great delight was to\nsee the glass blown, and he often attempted this work himself, forming\nthe most singular shapes out of the molten mass. But before long he\ntired of the business, and spent only an hour a day at the works; then\nonly an hour in two days, and finally he went only once a week, so that\nhis workmen did what they pleased.\n\nAll this resulted from his visits to the tavern. The Sunday after he\nhad met the little man in the wood, he went to the tavern, and found\nthe King of the Ball already leading the dance, while the Stout Ezekiel\nwas sitting down to his glass and shaking dice for crown-thalers. Peter\nput his hand in his pocket to see if the Little Glass-Man had kept\nfaith with him, and behold, his pockets were bulged out with silver and\ngold. His legs, too, began to twitch and move as though they were about\nto dance and leap; and when the first dance was over, he placed himself\nwith his partner opposite, near the King of the Ball, and if this man\nsprang three feet high, Peter would fly up four, and if the other\naccomplished wonderfully intricate steps, Peter would throw out his\nlegs in such a marvelous style that all present were beside themselves\nwith delight and amazement. But as soon as it was known that Peter had\nbought a glass-factory, and as the dancers saw him tossing sixpences to\nthe musicians every time he passed them in the dance, their\nastonishment knew no bounds. Some thought he must have found treasure\nin the forest; others, that he had inherited an estate; but all\ndeferred to him and looked upon him as a great man, simply because he\nhad money. On the same evening he lost twenty guldens at play; and\nstill the coins chinked in his pocket as though there were still a\nhundred guldens there.\n\nWhen Peter saw how important a person he had become, he could not\ncontain himself for joy and pride He threw his money right and left,\nand divided it generously among the poor, remembering how sorely\npoverty pressed on him. The skill of the King of the Ball was brought\nto shame by the supernatural art of the new dancer, and Peter was\ndubbed Emperor of the Ball. The most adventurous gamblers of a Sunday\ndid not risk as much as he; but neither did they lose as much. And yet\nthe more he lost the more he won. This happened through the agency of\nthe Little Glass-Man. He had wished always to have as much money in his\npocket as the Stout Ezekiel had in his; and the latter was the very man\nto whom Peter lost his money. And when he lost twenty or thirty guldens\nat a throw, he had just as many more when Ezekiel pocketed them.\n\nBy degrees, however, he got deeper into gambling and drinking than the\nworst topers in the Black Forest, so that he was oftener called Gambler\nPete than Emperor of the Ball, for he played now nearly every work-day\nas well. Hence it was that his business was soon ruined, and Peter's\nlack of understanding was to blame for it. He had as much glass made as\nthe works could possibly produce; but he had not bought with the\nbusiness the secret of how to dispose of the glass. He did not know\nwhat in the world to do with his stock, and finally sold it to peddlers\nat half the cost price, in order to pay the men's wages.\n\nOne evening he was returning home as usual from the tavern, and in\nspite of the wine he had drunk in order to make himself merry, he\nreflected with terror and anguish on the ruin of his glass-works\nbusiness, when suddenly he felt conscious that some one was walking at\nhis side. He turned around and, behold, it was the Little Glass-Man. At\nonce Peter fell into a passion, and protested with high and boastful\nwords that the little man was to blame for his misfortunes.\n\n\"What do I want now with a horse and wagon?\" cried he. \"Of what use is\nthe glass-foundry and all my glass? Even when I was a poor charcoal\nburner, I was far happier, and had no cares. Now I do not know how soon\nthe magistrate will come and seize my property for debt!\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" replied the Little Glass-Man, \"indeed? I should bear the\nblame for your misfortunes? Is this your gratitude for what I have done\nfor you? Who advised you to wish so foolishly? You were bound to be a\nglass-manufacturer, and yet did not know where to sell your wares.\nDidn't I caution you to wish wisely? Judgment, Peter, and wisdom, you\nwere lacking in.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by judgment and wisdom?\" demanded Peter. \"I am as\nwise a man as any body. Little Glass-Man, and will prove it to you.\"\nWith these words he seized the Little Glass-Man violently by the neck,\nshouting: \"Now I have you, Schatzhauser im gruennen Tannenwald! and now\nI will make my third wish, which you must grant me. I want right here\non the spot two hundred thousand thalers, and a house and----oh dear!\"\nshrieked he, as he wrung his hands, for the Little Glass-Man had\ntransformed himself into a glowing glass that burned his hand like\nflaming fire. And nothing more was to be seen of the little man.\n\nFor many days Peter's blistered hand reminded him of his folly and\ningratitude; but when his hand healed his conscience became deadened,\nand he said: \"Even if my glass-works and every thing I have should be\nsold, I still have the Stout Ezekiel to fall back on. As long as he has\nmoney of a Sunday I shall not want for it.\"\n\nTrue, Peter! But if he should have none? And this very thing happened\none day. For one Sunday Peter came down to the tavern, and the people\nstretched their necks out of the window, one saying, \"There comes\nGambler Pete!\" and another, \"Yes, the Emperor of the Ball, the\nrich glass-manufacturer!\" while a third one shook his head, saying,\n\"Every-where his debts are spoken of, and in the town it is said\nthat the magistrate will not be put off much longer from seizing his\nglass-works.\" The rich Peter greeted the guests at the window politely\nas he stepped out of his wagon, and called out: \"Good evening,\nlandlord! has the Stout Ezekiel come yet?\" And a deep voice replied:\n\"Come right in, Peter. We have already set down to the cards, and have\nkept a place for you.\" So Peter entered the public room, put his hand\ninto his pocket and found that the Stout Ezekiel must be pretty well\nprovided with money, for his own pocket was crammed full.\n\nHe sat down at the table with the others, and played and won, losing\nnow and then; and so they played until evening came on, and all the\nhonest folk went home, and then they continued to play by candle-light,\nuntil two other players said: \"Come, we've had enough, and must go home\nto our wife and children.\" But Gambler Pete challenged the Stout\nEzekiel to remain. For some time Ezekiel would not consent to do so,\nbut finally he said: \"Very well, I will just count my money and then we\nthrow for five gulden stakes, for less than that would be child's\nplay.\" He took out his purse and counted out one hundred guldens, so\nGambler Pete knew how much money he had without troubling himself to\ncount. But although Ezekiel had won all the afternoon, he now began to\nlose throw after throw, and swore fearfully over his losses. If he\nthrew threes, Peter would immediately throw fives. At last he flung\ndown his last five guldens on the table, and said: \"Once more, and even\nif I lose these I won't quit, for you must lend me from your winnings\nPeter; one honest fellow should help another!\"\n\n\"As much as you like, even if it was a hundred guldens,\" said the\nEmperor of the Ball, pleased with his gains; and the Stout Ezekiel\nshook the dice and threw fifteen. \"Three fives!\" cried he, \"now we will\nsee!\" But Pete threw eighteen, and a hoarse well-known voice behind him\nsaid: \"There, that was the last!\"\n\nHe turned about, and behind him stood the giant form of Dutch Michel.\nHorrified, he let the money he had just grasped fall from his hand.\nEzekiel, however, did not see Michel, but requested a loan of ten\nguldens from Gambler Pete. Quite dazed, Peter put his hand in his\npocket, but found no money there. He searched his other pocket but\nfound none there; he turned his pockets inside out, but not a farthing\nrolled out. Now for the first time he remembered that his first wish\nhad been to always have as much money in his pocket as the Stout\nEzekiel had. It had all disappeared like smoke.\n\nThe landlord and Ezekiel looked on in surprise while he was searching\nfor his money; they would not believe him when he declared that he had\nno more money, but finally, when they felt in his pockets themselves,\nthey got very angry and denounced him as a base sorcerer who had wished\nall his winnings and his own money at home. Peter defended himself as\nwell as he could, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel declared\nthat he would tell this terrible tale to every body in the Black\nForest, and the landlord promised Ezekiel that he would go to town\nearly in the morning and enter a complaint against Peter Munk as a\nsorcerer, and he would live to see Peter burned, he added. Thereupon\nthey fell upon Peter, tore off his jacket, and pitched him out of\ndoors.\n\nNot a star was to be seen in the sky as Peter stole sadly back towards\nhis home; yet in spite of the darkness he could perceive a form that\nwalked near him, and finally heard it say: \"It's all up with you, Peter\nMunk! All your magnificence is at an end; and I could have told you how\nit would turn out when you would not listen to me but ran over to the\nLittle Glass-Man. Now you can see what comes of despising my advice.\nBut try me once; I have pity on your hard fate. Not one who has come to\nme has regretted it; and if you are not afraid of the road, you can\nspeak to me any time to-morrow in the Tannenbuehl.\"\n\nPeter knew well who it was that spoke to him, and he shuddered. He made\nno reply, but walked on to his house.\n\n\n\nThe story-teller was interrupted just here by a commotion before the\ninn. A wagon was heard to drive up; several voices called for a light;\nthere was a loud rapping on the yard gate, and the barking of several\ndogs. The room occupied by the wagoner and the journeymen looked out on\nthe street. The four men sprang up and rushed in there in order to see\nwhat had happened. As nearly as they could make out by the gleam of a\nlantern, a large traveling carriage stood before the inn, and a tall\nman was assisting two veiled ladies to alight from it, while a coachman\nin livery was taking out the horses and a servant was unstrapping the\ntrunk. \"God be merciful to them!\" sighed the wagoner. \"If they leave\nthis inn with a whole skin I shall cease to feel uneasy about my cart.\"\n\n\"Keep still!\" whispered the student. \"I have a suspicion that it is not\nfor us, but for these ladies that the ambush has been laid. Probably\nthe people below had information of the journey these ladies were to\ntake. If we could only contrive to warn them of their danger! Stop a\nmoment. In the whole inn there is but one room that would be fit for a\nlady, and that one adjoins mine. They will be conducted there. Remain\nquietly in this room, and I will try to let their servants know the\nstate of affairs.\"\n\nThe young man stole silently to his room and blew out the wax candles,\nleaving only the light that the landlady had given them. Then he\nlistened at the door.\n\nPresently the landlady came up the stairs with the ladies, and\nconducted them in a most obsequious manner to their room. She besought\nher guests to retire soon, as they must be exhausted by their ride, and\nthen went down-stairs again. Soon afterwards, the student heard the\nheavy steps of a man ascending the stairs; he opened the door\ncautiously a little ways, and peering through the crack saw the tall\nman who had helped the ladies from the wagon. He wore a hunter's\ncostume, with a hunting knife in his belt, and was most likely the\nequerry of the ladies.\n\nAs soon as the student could make sure that this man was alone, he\nopened his door quickly and beckoned the man to come in. The equerry\ncame up to him with a surprised look, but before he could ask what was\nwanted, the student whispered to him: \"Sir, you have been led into a\nden of thieves to-night.\"\n\nThe man shrank back, but the student drew him inside of the room and\nrelated to him all the suspicious circumstances about the house.\n\nThe huntsman was much alarmed as he heard this, and informed the young\nman that the ladies, a countess and her maid, were at first anxious to\ntravel right through the night; but they were met a short distance from\nthis inn by a horseman who had hailed them and asked where they were\nbound. When he learned that their intention was to travel through the\nSpessart all night, he advised them against doing so, as being very\nunsafe at the present time. \"If you will take the advice of an honest\nman,\" he had added, \"you will give up that purpose; there is an inn not\nfar from here, and poor and inconvenient as you may find it, it is\nbetter for you to pass the night there than to expose yourself\nunnecessarily to danger.\" The man who thus advised them appeared to be\nhonest and respectable, and the countess, fearing an assault from\nrobbers, had given orders to have the carriage stopped at this inn.\n\nThe huntsman considered it his duty to inform the ladies of the danger\nthat threatened them. He went into their room, and shortly afterwards\nopened the door connecting with the student's room. The countess, a\nlady some forty years of age, came in to the student, pale with terror,\nand had him repeat his suspicions to her. Then they consulted together\nas to what steps they had better take in this critical situation,\nfinally deciding to summon the two servants, the wagoner and the\njourneymen, so that in case of an attack they might all make common\ncause.\n\nThe door that opened on the hall in the countess's room was locked and\nbarricaded with tables and chairs. She, with her maid, sat down on the\nbed, and the two servants kept watch by her, while the huntsman, the\nstudent, the journeyman and the wagoner sat around the table in the\nstudent's room, and resolved to await their fate.\n\nIt was now about ten o'clock; every thing was quiet in the house,\nand still no signs were made of disturbing the guests, when the\ncompass-maker said: \"In order to remain awake it would be best for us\nto take up our former mode of passing the time. We were telling all\nkinds of stories; and if you, Mr. Huntsman, have no objections, we\nmight continue.\" The huntsman not only had no objections, but to show\nhis entire acquiescence he promised to relate something himself, and\nbegan at once with the following tale:\n\n\n\n\n                           SAID'S ADVENTURES.\n\n\nIn the time of Haroun-al-Raschid, the ruler of Bagdad, there lived in\nBalsora a man named Benezar. He was possessed of considerable means,\nand could live quietly and comfortably without resorting to trade. Nor\ndid he change his life of ease when a son was born to him. \"Why should\nI, at my time of life, dicker and trade?\" said he to his neighbors,\n\"just to leave Said a thousand more gold pieces if things went well,\nand if they went badly a thousand less? 'Where two have eaten, a third\nmay feast,' says the proverb; and if he is only a good boy, Said shall\nwant for nothing.\" Thus spake Benezar, and well did he keep his word,\nfor his son was brought up neither to a trade nor yet to commerce.\nStill Benezar did not omit reading with him the books of wisdom, and as\nit was the father's belief that a young man needed, with scholarship\nand veneration for age, nothing more than a strong arm and courage, he\nhad his son early educated in the use of weapons, and Said soon passed\namong boys of his own age, and even among those much older, for a\nvaliant fencer, while in horsemanship and swimming he had no superior.\n\nWhen he was eighteen years old, his father sent him to Mecca, to the\ngrave of the Prophet, to say his prayers and go through his religious\nexercises on the spot, as required by custom and the commandment.\nBefore he departed, his father called him to his side and praised his\nconduct, gave him good advice, provided him with money, and then said:\n\n\"One word more, my son Said. I am a man above sharing in the\nsuperstitions of the rabble. I listen with pleasure to the stories of\nfairies and sorcerers as an agreeable way of passing the time; still I\nam far from believing, as so many ignorant people do, that these genii,\nor whatever they may be, exert an influence on the lives and affairs of\nmortals. But your mother, who has been dead these twelve years,\nbelieved as devoutly in them as in the Koran; yes, she even confided to\nme once, after I had pledged her not to reveal the fact to any one but\nher child, that she herself from her birth up had had association with\na fairy. I laughed at her for entertaining such a notion; and yet I\nmust confess, Said, that certain things happened at your birth that\ncaused me great astonishment. It had rained and thundered the whole\nday, and the sky was so black that nothing could be seen without a\nlight. But at four o'clock in the afternoon I was told that I was the\nfather of a little boy. I hastened to your mother's room to see and to\nbless our first-born; but all her maids stood before the door, and in\nresponse to my questions, answered that no one would be allowed in the\nroom at present, as Zemira (your mother) had ordered every body out of\nher chamber because she wished to be alone. I knocked on the door, but\nall in vain; it remained locked. While I waited somewhat indignantly,\nbefore the door, the sky cleared more quickly than I had ever seen it\ndo before,--but the most wonderful thing about it was, that it was only\nover our loved city of Balsora that the clear blue sky appeared, for\nthe black clouds rolled back, and lightning flashed on the outskirts of\nthis circle. While I was contemplating this spectacle curiously, my\nwife's door flew open. I ordered the maids to wait outside, and entered\nthe chamber alone to ask your mother why she had locked herself in. As\nI entered, such a stupefying odor of roses, pinks, and hyacinths\ngreeted me that I almost lost my senses. Your mother held you up to me,\nat the same time pointing to a little silver whistle that was attached\nto your neck by a golden chain as fine as silk. 'The good woman of whom\nI once spoke to you has been here,' said your mother, 'and has given\nyour boy this present.' 'And was it the old witch also who swept away\nthe clouds and left this fragrance of roses and pinks behind her?' said\nI with an incredulous laugh. 'But she might have left him something\nbetter than this whistle: say a purse full of gold, a horse, or\nsomething of the kind.' Your mother besought me not to jest, because\nthe fairies, if angered, would transform their blessings into\nmaledictions. To please her, and because she was sick, I said no more;\nnor did we speak again of this strange occurrence until six years\nafterwards, when, young as she was, she felt that she was going to die.\nShe gave me then the little whistle, charging me to give it to you only\nwhen you had reached your twentieth year, and before that hour not to\nlet it go out of my possession. She died. Here now is the present,\"\ncontinued Benezar, producing from a little box a small silver whistle,\nto which was attached a long gold chain; \"and I give it to you in your\neighteenth, instead of your twentieth year, because you are going away,\nand I may be gathered to my fathers before you return home. I do not\nsee any sensible reason why you should remain here another two years\nbefore setting out, as your anxious mother wished. You are a good\nand prudent young man, can wield your weapons as bravely as a man of\nfour-and-twenty, and therefore I can as well pronounce you of age\nto-day as if you were already twenty; and now go in peace, and think,\nin fortune and misfortune--from which last may heaven preserve you--on\nyour father.\"\n\nThus spake Benezar of Balsora, as he dismissed his son. Said took leave\nof him with much emotion, hung the chain about his neck, stuck the\nwhistle in his sash, swung himself on his horse, and rode to the place\nwhere the caravan for Mecca assembled. In a short time eighty camels\nand many hundred horsemen had gathered there; the caravan started off,\nand Said rode out of the gate of Balsora, his native city, that he was\ndestined not to see again for a long time.\n\nThe novelty of such a journey, and the many strange objects that\nobtruded themselves upon his attention, at first diverted his mind; but\nas the travelers neared the desert and the country became more and more\ndesolate, he began to reflect on many things, and among others, on the\nwords with which his father had taken leave of him. He drew out his\nwhistle, examined it closely, and put it to his mouth to see whether it\nwould give a clear and fine tone; but, lo! it would not sound at all.\nHe puffed out his cheeks, and blew with all his strength; but he could\nnot produce a single note, and vexed at the useless present, he thrust\nthe whistle back into his sash. But his thoughts shortly returned to\nthe mysterious words of his mother. He had heard much about fairies,\nbut he had never learned that this or that neighbor in Balsora had had\nany relations with a supernatural power; on the contrary, the legends\nof these spirits had always been located in distant times and places,\nand therefore he believed there were to-day no such apparitions, or\nthat the fairies had ceased to visit mortals or to take any interest in\ntheir fate. But although he thought thus, he was constantly making the\nattempt to believe in mysterious and supernatural powers, and wondering\nwhat might have been their relations with his mother; and so he would\nsit on his horse like one in a dream nearly the whole day, taking no\npart in the conversation of the travellers, and deaf to their songs and\nlaughter.\n\nSaid was a very handsome youth; his eye was clear and piercing, his\nmouth wore a pleasing expression, and, young as he was, he bore himself\nwith a certain dignity that one seldom sees in so young a man, and his\ngrace and soldierly appearance in the saddle commanded the attention of\nmany of his fellow-travellers. An old man who rode by his side was much\npleased with his manner, and sought by many questions to become more\nacquainted with him. Said, in whom reverence for old age had been early\ninculcated, answered modestly, but wisely and with circumspection, so\nthat the old man's first impressions of him were strengthened. But as\nthe young man's thoughts had been occupied the whole day with but one\nsubject, it followed that the conversation between the two soon turned\nupon the mysterious realm of the fairies; and Said finally asked the\nold man bluntly whether he believed in the existence of fairies, who\ntook mortals under their protection, or sought to injure them.\n\nThe old man shook his head thoughtfully, and stroked his beard, before\nreplying: \"It can not be disputed that there have been instances of the\nkind, although I have never seen a dwarf of the spirits, a giant of the\ngenii, a sorcerer, or a fairy.\" He then began to relate so many\nwonderful stories that Said's head was fairly in a whirl, and he could\nbelieve nothing else than that everything, which had happened at his\nbirth--the change in the weather, the sweet odor of roses and\nhyacinths--were the signs that he was under the special protection of a\nkind and powerful fairy, and that the whistle was given him for no less\na purpose than to summon the fairy in case of need. He dreamed all\nnight of castles, winged horses, genii and the like, and dwelt in a\ngenuine fairy realm.\n\nBut, sad to relate, he was doomed to experience on the following day\nhow perishable were all his dreams, sleeping or waking. The caravan had\nmade its way along in easy stages for the greater part of the day, Said\nkeeping his place at the side of his elderly companion, when a dark\ncloud was seen on the horizon. Some held it to be a sand-storm, others\nthought it was clouds, and still others were of opinion that it was\nanother caravan. But Said's companion, who was an old traveller, cried\nout in a loud voice that they should be on their guard, for this was a\nhorde of Arab robbers approaching. The men seized their weapons, the\nwomen and the goods were placed in the centre, and everything made\nready against an attack. The dark mass moved slowly over the plain,\nresembling an immense flock of storks taking their flight to distant\nlands. By-and-by, they came on faster, and hardly was the caravan able\nto distinguish men and lances, when, with the speed of the wind, the\nrobbers swarmed around them.\n\nThe men defended themselves bravely, but the robbers, who were over\nfour hundred strong, surrounded them on all sides, killed many from a\ndistance, and then, made a charge with their lances. In this fearful\nmoment, Said, who had fought among the foremost, was reminded of his\nwhistle. He drew it forth hastily, put it to his lips, and blew; but\nlet it drop again in disappointment, for it gave out not the slightest\nsound. Enraged over this cruel disillusion, he took aim at an Arab\nconspicuous by his splendid costume, and shot him through the breast.\nThe man swayed in his saddle, and fell from his horse.\n\n\"Allah! what have you done, young man?\" exclaimed the old man at his\nside. \"Now we are all lost!\" And thus it seemed, for no sooner did the\nrobbers see this man fall, than they raised a terrible cry, and closed\nin on the caravan with such resistless force that the few who remained\nunwounded were soon scattered. In another moment. Said found himself\nsurrounded by five or six of the enemy. He handled his lance so\ndexterously, however, that not one of them dared approach him very\nclosely; at last one of them bent his bow, took aim, and was just about\nto let the arrow fly, when another of the robbers stopped him. The\nyoung man prepared for some new mode of attack; but before he saw their\ndesign, one of the Arabs had thrown a lasso over his head, and, try as\nhe might to remove the rope, his efforts were unavailing--the noose was\ndrawn tighter and tighter, and Said was a prisoner.\n\nThe caravan was finally captured, and the Arabs, who did not all belong\nto one tribe, divided the prisoners and the remaining booty between\nthem, and left the scene of the encounter, part of them riding off to\nthe South and the remainder to the East. Near Said rode four armed\nguards, who often glared at him angrily, uttering savage oaths. From\nall this, Said concluded, that it must have been one of their leaders,\nvery likely a prince, whom he had slain. The prospect of slavery was to\nhim much worse than that of death; so he secretly thanked his stars\nthat he had drawn the vengeance of the whole horde on himself, for he\ndid not doubt that they would kill him when they reached their camp.\nThe guards watched his every motion, and if he but turned his head,\nthey threatened him with their spears; but once, when the horse of one\nof his guards stumbled, he turned his head quickly, and was rejoiced at\nthe sight of his fellow-traveller whom he had believed was among the\ndead.\n\nFinally, trees and tents were seen in the distance; and as they drew\nnearer, they were met by a crowd of women and children, who had\nexchanged but a few words with the robbers, when they broke out into\nloud cries, and all looked at Said, shook their fists, and uttered\nimprecations on his head. \"That is he,\" shrieked they, \"who has killed\nthe great Almansor, the bravest of men! he shall die, and we will throw\nhis flesh to the jackals of the desert for prey.\" Then they rushed at\nSaid so ferociously, with sticks and whatever missiles they could lay\ntheir hands on, that the robbers had to throw themselves between the\nwomen and the object of their wrath. \"Be off, you scamps! away you\nwomen!\" cried they, dispersing the rabble with their lances; \"he has\nkilled the great Almansor in battle, and he shall die; not by the hand\nof a woman, but by the sword of the brave.\"\n\nOn coming to an open place surrounded by the tents, they halted. The\nprisoners were bound together in pairs, and the booty carried into the\ntents, while Said was bound separately and led into a tent larger than\nthe others, where sat an elderly and finely dressed man, whose proud\nbearing denoted him to be the chief of this tribe. The men who had\nbrought Said in approached the chief with a sad air and with bowed\nheads. \"The howling of the women has informed me of what has happened,\"\nsaid their majestic leader, looking from one to the other of his men;\n\"your manner confirms it--Almansor has fallen.\"\n\n\"Almansor has fallen,\" repeated the men, \"but here, Selim, Ruler of the\nDesert, is his murderer, and we bring him here that you may decide as\nto the form of death that shall be inflicted on him. Shall we make a\ntarget of him for our arrows? shall we force him to run the gauntlet of\nour lances? or do you decree that he shall be hung or torn asunder by\nhorses?\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Selim, looking darkly at the prisoner, who,\nalthough doomed to death, stood before his captors with a courageous\nair.\n\nSaid replied to his question briefly and frankly.\n\n\"Did you kill my son by stealth? Did you pierce him from behind with an\narrow or a lance?\"\n\n\"No, Sire!\" returned Said. \"I killed him in an open fight, face to\nface, while he was attacking our caravan, because he had killed eight\nof my companions before my eyes.\"\n\n\"Does he speak the truth?\" asked Selim of the men who had captured\nSaid.\n\n\"Yes, Sire, he killed Almansor in a fair fight,\" replied one of the\nmen.\n\n\"Then he has done no more and no less than we should have done in his\nplace,\" returned Selim; \"he fought his enemy, who would have robbed him\nof liberty and life, and killed him; therefore, loose his bonds at\nonce!\"\n\nThe men looked at him in astonishment, and obeyed his order in a slow\nand unwilling manner.\n\n\"And shall the murderer of your son, the brave Almansor, not die?\"\nasked one of them, casting a look of hate at Said. \"Would that we had\ndisposed of him on the spot!\"\n\n\"He shall not die!\" exclaimed Selim. \"I will take him into my own tent,\nas my fair share of the booty, and he shall be my servant.\"\n\nSaid could find no words in which to express his thanks. The men left\nthe tent grumbling; and when they communicated Selim's decision to the\nwomen and children, who were waiting outside, they were greeted by\nterrible shrieks and lamentations, and threats were made that they\nwould avenge Almansor's death on his murderer themselves, because his\nown father would not take vengeance.\n\nThe other captives were divided among the tribe. Some were released, in\norder that they might obtain ransom for the rich merchants; others were\nsent out as shepherds with the flocks; and many who had formerly been\nwaited upon by ten slaves, were doomed to perform menial services in\nthis camp. Not so with Said, however. Was it his courageous and heroic\nmanner, or the mysterious influence of a kind fairy, that attached\nSelim to him so strongly? It would be hard to say; but Said lived in\nthe chief's tent more as a son than as servant. Soon, however, the\nstrange partiality of the old chief drew down on Said the hatred of the\nother servants. He met everywhere only savage looks, and if he went\nalone through the camp he heard on all sides curses and threats\ndirected against him, and more than once arrows had flown by close to\nhis breast--and that they did not hit him he ascribed to the silver\nwhistle that he wore constantly in his bosom. He often complained to\nSelim of these attempts on his life; but the chiefs efforts to discover\nthe would-be assassin were in vain, for the whole tribe seemed to be in\nleague against the favored stranger. So Selim said to him one day: \"I\nhad hoped that you might possibly replace the son who fell by your\nhand. It is not your fault or mine that this could not be. All feel\nbitter hatred toward you, and it is not in my power to protect you for\nthe future, for how would it benefit either you or myself to bring the\nguilty ones to punishment after they had stealthily killed you?\nTherefore, when the men return from their present expedition, I will\nsay to them that your father has sent me a ransom, and I will send you\nby some trusty men across the desert.\"\n\n\"But could I trust myself with any of these men?\" asked Said in\namazement. \"Would they not kill me on the way?\"\n\n\"The oath that they will take before me will protect you; it has never\nyet been broken,\" replied Selim calmly.\n\nSome days after this the men returned to camp, and Selim kept his\npromise. He presented the young man with weapons, clothes and a horse,\nsummoned all the available men, and chose five of their number to\nconduct Said across the desert, and bound them by a formidable oath not\nto kill him, and then took leave of Said with tears.\n\nThe five men rode moodily and silently through the desert with Said,\nwho noticed how unwillingly they were fulfilling their commission; and\nit caused him not a little anxiety to find that two of them were\npresent at the time he killed Almansor. When they were about an eight\nhours' journey from the camp. Said heard the men whispering among\nthemselves, and remarked that their manner was more and more sullen. He\ntried to catch what they were saying, and made out that they were\nconversing in a language understood only by this tribe, and only\nemployed by them in their secret or dangerous undertakings. Selim,\nwhose intention it had been to keep the young man permanently with him\nin his tent, had devoted many hours to teaching the young man these\nsecret words; but what he now overheard was not of the most comforting\nnature.\n\n\"This is the spot,\" said one; \"here we attacked the caravan, and here\nfell the bravest of men by the hand of a boy.\"\n\n\"The wind has covered the tracks of his horse,\" continued another, \"but\nI have not forgotten them.\"\n\n\"And shall he who laid hands on him still live and be at liberty, and\nthus cast reproach on us? When was it ever heard before that a father\nfailed to revenge the death of his only son? But Selim grows old and\nchildish.\"\n\n\"And if the father neglects it,\" said a fourth, \"then it becomes the\nduty of the fallen man's friends to avenge him. We should cut the\nmurderer down on this spot. Such has been our law and custom for ages.\"\n\n\"But we have bound ourselves by an oath to the chief not to kill this\nyouth,\" said the fifth man, \"and we cannot break our oath.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" responded the others; \"we have sworn, and the murderer is\nfree to pass from the hands of his enemies.\"\n\n\"Stop a moment!\" cried one, the most sullen of them all. \"Old Selim has\na wise head, but is not so shrewd as he is generally credited with\nbeing. Did we swear to him that we would take this boy to this or that\nplace? No; our oath simply bound us not to take his life, and we will\nleave him that; but the blistering sun and the sharp teeth of the\njackals will soon accomplish our revenge for us. Here, on this spot, we\ncan bind and leave him.\"\n\nThus spake the robber; but Said had now prepared himself for a last\ndesperate chance, and before the final words were fairly spoken he\nsuddenly wheeled his horse to one side, gave him a sharp blow, and flew\nlike a bird across the plain. The five men paused for a moment in\nsurprise; but they were skilled in pursuit, and spread themselves out,\nchasing him from the right and left, and as they were more experienced\nin riding on the desert, two of them had soon overtaken the youth, and\nwhen he swerved to one side he found two other men there, while the\nfifth was at his back. The oath they had taken prevented them from\nusing their weapons against him, so they lassoed him once more, pulled\nhim from his horse, beat him unmercifully, bound his hands and feet,\nand laid him down on the burning sands of the desert.\n\nSaid begged piteously for mercy; he promised them a large ransom, but\nwith a laugh they mounted their horses and galloped off. He listened\nfor some moments to the receding steps of their horses, and then gave\nhimself up for lost. He thought of his father and of the old man's\nsorrow if his son should never more return; he thought on his own\nmisery, doomed to die so young; for nothing was more certain than that\nhe must suffer the torments of suffocation in the hot sands, or that he\nshould be torn to pieces by jackals.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe sun rose ever higher, and its hot rays burnt into his forehead;\nwith considerable difficulty he rolled over, but the change of position\ngave him but little relief. In making this exertion, the whistle fell\nfrom his bosom. He moved about until he could seize it in his mouth,\nthen he attempted to blow it; but even in this terrible hour of need it\nrefused to respond to his will. In utter despair, he let his head fall\nback, and before long the sun had robbed him of his senses.\n\nAfter many hours, Said was awakened by sounds close by him, and\nimmediately after was conscious that his shoulder had been seized. He\nuttered a cry of terror, for he could believe nothing else than that a\njackal had attacked him. Now he was grasped by the legs also, and\nbecame sensible that it was not the claws of a beast of prey but the\nhands of a man who was trying to restore his senses, and who was\nspeaking with two or three other men. \"He lives,\" whispered they, \"but\nhe believes that we are his foes.\"\n\nAt last Said opened his eyes, and perceived above his own the face of a\nshort, stout man, with small eyes and a long beard, who spoke kindly to\nhim, helped him to get up, handed him food and drink, and while he was\npartaking of the refreshments told him that he was a merchant from\nBagdad, named Kalum-Bek, and dealt in shawls and fine veils for ladies.\nHe had made a business journey, and was now on his way home, and had\nseen Said lying half-dead in the sand. The splendor of the youth's\ncostume, and the sparkling stone in his dagger had attracted his\nattention; he had done all in his power to revive him, and his efforts\nhad finally succeeded. The youth thanked him for his life, for he saw\nclearly that without the interposition of this man he would have\nperished miserably; and as he had neither the means of getting away,\nnor the desire to wander over the desert on foot and alone, he\ngratefully accepted the offer of a seat on one of the merchant's\nheavily-laden camels, and decided to go to Bagdad with the merchant,\nwith the chance of finding there a company bound for Balsora, which he\ncould join.\n\nOn the journey, the merchant related to his travelling companion\na great many stories about the excellent Ruler of the Faithful,\nHaroun-al-Raschid. He told anecdotes showing the caliph's love of\njustice and his shrewdness, and how he was able to smooth out the\nknottiest questions of law in a simple and admirable way; and among\nothers he related the story of the rope-maker, and the story of the jar\nof olives,--tales that every child now knows, but which astonished\nSaid.\n\n\"Our master, the Ruler of the Faithful,\" continued the merchant, \"is a\nwonderful man. If you have an idea that he sleeps like the common\npeople, you are very much mistaken. Two or three hours at day-break is\nall the sleep he takes. I am positive of that, for Messour, his head\nchamberlain, is my cousin; and although he is as silent as the grave\nconcerning the secrets of his master, he will now and then let a hint\ndrop, for kinship's sake, if he sees that one is nearly out of his\nsenses with curiosity. Instead, then, of sleeping like other people,\nthe caliph steals through the streets of Bagdad at night; and seldom\ndoes a week pass that he does not chance upon an adventure; for you\nmust know--as is made clear by the story of the jar of olives, which is\nas true as the word of the Prophet,--that he does not make his rounds\nwith the watch, or on horseback in full costume, his way lighted by a\nhundred torch-bearers, as he might very well do if he chose, but he\ngoes about disguised sometimes as a merchant, sometimes as a mariner,\nat other times as a soldier, and again as a mufti, and looks around to\nsee if every thing is right and in order. And therefore it happens that\nin no other town is one so polite towards every fool upon whom he\nstumbles on the street at night, as in Bagdad; for it would be as\nlikely to turn out the caliph as a dirty Arab from the desert, and\nthere is wood enough growing round to give every person in and around\nBagdad the bastinado.\"\n\nThus spake the merchant; and Said, strong as was his desire to see his\nfather once more, rejoiced at the prospect of seeing Bagdad and its\nfamous ruler, Haroun-al-Raschid.\n\nAfter a ten-days' journey, they arrived at their destination; and Said\nwas astonished at the magnificence of this city, then at the height of\nits splendor. The merchant invited him to go with him to his house, and\nSaid gladly accepted the invitation; as it now occurred to him for the\nfirst time, among the crowd of people, that with the exception of the\nair, the water of the Tigris, and a lodging on the steps of the mosque,\nnothing could be had without money.\n\nThe day after his arrival in Bagdad, as soon as he had dressed\nhimself--thinking that he need not be ashamed to show himself on the\nstreets of Bagdad in his splendid soldierly costume--the merchant\nentered his room, looked at the handsome youth with a knavish smile,\nstroked his beard and said: \"That's all very fine, young man! but what\nshall be done with you? You are, it appears to me, a great dreamer,\ntaking no thought for the morrow; or have you money enough with you to\nsupport such style as that?\"\n\n\"Dear Kalum-Bek,\" replied the young man, greatly disconcerted, \"I\ncertainly have no money, but perhaps you will furnish me with the means\nto reach home; my father would surely repay you.\"\n\n\"Your father, fellow?\" cried the merchant, with a loud laugh. \"I think\nthe sun must have scorched your brain. Do you think I would take your\nsimple word for that yarn you spun me in the desert--that your father\nwas a rich citizen of Balsora, you his only son?--and about the attack\nof the robbers, and your life with the tribe, and this, that, and the\nother? Even then I felt very angry at your frivolous lies and utter\nimpudence. I know that all the rich people in Balsora are traders; I\nhave had dealings with all of them, and should have heard of a Benezar,\neven if he had not been worth more than six thousand Tomans. It is,\ntherefore, either a lie that you hail from Balsora, or else your father\nis a poor wretch, to whose runaway son I would not lend a copper. Then,\ntoo, the attack in the desert! Who ever heard, since the wise Caliph\nHaroun has made the trade routes across the desert safe, that robbers\ndared to plunder a caravan and lead the men off into captivity? And\nthen, too, it would have been known; but on my entire journey, as well\nas here in Bagdad, where people gather from all parts of the world,\nthere has not been a word said about it. That is the second lie, you\nshameless young fellow!\"\n\nPale with anger, Said tried to interrupt the wicked little man, but the\nmerchant talked still louder, and gesticulated wildly with his arms.\n\"And the third lie, you audacious liar, is the story of your life in\nSelim's camp. Selim's name is well known by every body who has ever\nseen an Arab, but Selim has the reputation of being the most cruel and\nrelentless robber on the desert, and you pretend to say that you killed\nhis son and was not at once hacked to pieces; yes, you even pushed your\nimpudence so far as to state the impossible,--that Selim had protected\nyou against his own tribe, had taken you into his own tent, and let you\ngo without a ransom, instead of hanging you up to the first good tree;\nhe who has often hanged travellers just to see what kind of faces they\nwould make when they were hung up. O you detestable liar!\"\n\n\"And I can only repeat,\" cried the youth, \"that by my soul and the\nbeard of the Prophet, it was all true!\"\n\n\"What! you swear by your soul?\" shouted the merchant, \"by your\nblack, lying soul? Who would believe that? And by the beard of the\nProphet,--you that have no beard? Who would put any trust in that?\"\n\n\"I certainly have no witnesses,\" continued Said; \"but did you not find\nme bound and perishing?\"\n\n\"That proves nothing to me,\" replied the merchant. \"You were yourself\ndressed like a robber, and it might easily have happened that you\nattacked some one stronger than yourself, who conquered and bound you.\"\n\n\"I should like to see any one, or even two,\" returned Said, \"who could\nfloor and bind me, unless they came up behind me and flung a noose over\nmy head. Staying in your bazar as you do, you cannot have any notion of\nwhat a single man is able to do when he has been brought up to arms.\nBut you saved my life, and my thanks are due you. What would you have\nme do? If you do not support me I must beg; and I should not care to\nask a favor of any one of my station. I will go to see the caliph.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" sneered the merchant, \"you will ask assistance of no one but\nour most gracious master? I should call that genteel begging! But look\nyou, my fine young gentleman! access to the caliph can be had only\nthrough my cousin Messour, and a word from me would acquaint him with\nyour capacity for lying. But I will take pity on your youth, Said. You\nshall have a chance to better yourself, and something may be made out\nof you yet. I will take you into my shop at the bazar; you can serve me\nthere for a year; and when that time is past, if you don't choose to\nremain with me any longer, I will pay you your wages and let you go\nwhere you will, to Aleppo or Medina, to Stamboul or Balsora, or, for\naught I care, to the Infidels. I will give you till noon to decide; if\nyou agree to my proposal, well and good; if you do not, I will make out\nan estimate of the expense you put me to on the journey, and for your\nseat on the camel, pay myself by taking your clothes and all you\npossess, and then throw you into the street; then you can beg where you\nlike, of the caliph or the mufti, at the mosque or in the bazar.\"\n\nWith these words the wicked man left the unfortunate youth. Said looked\nafter him with loathing. He rebelled against the wickedness of this\nman, who had designedly taken him to his house so that he might have\nhim in his power. He looked about to see if he could escape, but found\nthe windows grated and the door locked. Finally, after his spirit had\nlong revolted at the idea, he decided to accept the merchant's proposal\nfor the present. He saw clearly that nothing better remained for him to\ndo; for even if he were to run away, he could not reach Balsora without\nmoney. But he made up his mind to seek the caliph's protection as soon\nas possible.\n\nOn the following day, Kalum-Bek led his new servant to his shop in the\nbazar. He showed Said the shawls, veils, and other wares in which he\ndealt, and instructed the youth in his strange duties. These required\nthat Said, stripped of his soldierly costume and clad like a merchant's\nservant, should stand in the doorway of the shop, with a shawl in one\nhand and a splendid veil in the other, and cry out his wares to the\npassers-by, name the price, and invite the people to buy. And now, too\nit became evident to Said why Kalum-Bek had selected him for this\nbusiness. The merchant was a short, ugly-looking man, and when he\nhimself stood at the door and cried his wares, many of the neighbors,\nas well as the passersby, would make fun of his appearance, or the boys\nwould tease him, while the women called him a scarecrow; but everybody\nwas pleased with the appearance of young Said, who attracted customers\nby his graceful deportment and by his clever and tasteful way of\nexhibiting his shawls and veils.\n\nWhen Kalum-Bek saw that customers thronged to his shop since Said had\ntaken his stand at the door, he became more friendly with the young\nman, gave him better things to eat than before, and was careful to keep\nhim finely dressed. But Said was little touched by this display of\nmildness in his master; and the whole day long, and even in his dreams,\ntried to hit upon some means of returning to his native city.\n\nOne day when the sales had been very large, and all the errand boys who\ndelivered parcels at the houses were out on their rounds, a woman\nentered and made several purchases. She then wanted some one to carry\nher packages home. \"I can send them all up to you in half an hour,\"\nsaid Kalum-Bek; \"you will either have to wait that long or else take\nsome outside porter.\"\n\n\"Do you pretend to be a merchant and advise your customers to employ\nstrange porters?\" exclaimed the woman. \"Might not such a fellow run off\nwith my parcels in the crowd? And then whom should I look to? No, you\nare bound by the practice of the bazar to send my bundles home for me,\nand I insist on your doing it!\"\n\n\"But wait for just half an hour, worthy lady!\" exclaimed the merchant\nexcitedly. \"All my errand boys have been sent out.\"\n\n\"It's a poor shop that don't have errand boys constantly at\nhand,\" interrupted the angry woman. \"But there stands one of your\ngood-for-nothings now! Come, young fellow, take my parcel and follow\nafter me.\"\n\n\"Stop! Stop!\" cried Kalum-Bek. \"He is my signboard, my crier, my\nmagnet! He cannot stir from the threshold!\"\n\n\"What's that!\" exclaimed the old lady, thrusting her bundle under\nSaid's arm without further parley. \"It is a poor merchant that depends\non such a useless clown for a sign, and those are miserable wares that\ncannot speak for themselves. Go, go, fellow; you shall earn a fee\nto-day.\"\n\n\"Go then, in the name of Ariman and all evil spirits!\" muttered\nKalum-Bek to his magnet, \"and see that you come right back; the old hag\nmight give me a bad name all over the bazar if I refuse to comply with\nher demands.\"\n\nSaid followed the woman, who hastened through the square and down the\nstreets at a much quicker pace than one would have believed a woman\nof her age capable of. At last she stopped before a splendid house,\nand knocked; the folding doors flew open, and she ascended a marble\nstair-case, beckoning Said to follow. They came shortly to a high and\nwide salon, more magnificent than any Said had ever seen before. The\nold woman sank down exhausted on a cushion, motioned the young man to\nlay down his bundle, handed him a small silver coin, and bade him go.\n\nHe had just reached the door, when a clear, musical voice called:\n\"Said!\" Surprised that any one there should know him, he looked around\nand saw, in place of the old woman, an elegant lady sitting on the\ncushion, surrounded by numerous slaves and maids. Said, mute with\nastonishment, crossed his arms and made a low obeisance.\n\n\"Said, my dear boy,\" said the lady, \"much as I deplore the misfortune\nthat is the cause of your presence in Bagdad, yet this was the only\nplace decided on by destiny where you might be released from the fate\nthat would surely follow you if you left the homestead before your\ntwentieth year. Said, have you still your whistle?\"\n\n\"Indeed I have,\" cried he joyfully, drawing out the golden chain, \"and\nyou perhaps are the kind fairy who gave me this token at my birth?\"\n\n\"I was the friend of your mother, and will be your friend also as long\nas you remain good. Alas! would that your father--unthinking man--had\nfollowed my counsel! You would then have been spared many sorrows.\"\n\n\"Well, it had to come to pass!\" replied Said. \"But, most gracious\nfairy, harness a strong northeast wind to your carriage of clouds, and\ntake me up with you, and drive me in a few minutes to my father in\nBalsora; I will wait there patiently until the six months are passed\nthat close my nineteenth year.\"\n\nThe fairy smiled. \"You have a very proper mode of addressing us,\"\nanswered she; \"but, poor Said! it is not possible. I cannot do anything\nwonderful for you at present, because you left your homestead. Nor can\nI even free you from the power of the wretch, Kalum-Bek. He is under\nthe protection of your worst enemy.\"\n\n\"Then I have not only a kind female friend but a female enemy as well?\"\nsaid Said. \"I believe I have often experienced her influence. But at\nleast you might assist me with your counsel. Had I not better go to the\ncaliph and seek his protection? He is a wise man, and would protect me\nfrom Kalum-Bek.\"\n\n\"Yes, Haroun is a wise man,\" replied the fairy; \"but, sad to say, he is\nalso only a mortal. He trusts his head chamberlain, Messour, as much as\nhe does himself; and he is right in that, for he has tried Messour and\nfound him true. But Messour trusts his friend Kalum-Bek as he does\nhimself; and in that he is wrong, for Kalum is a bad man, even if he is\na relative of Messour's. Kalum has a cunning head, and as soon as he\nhad returned from his trip he made up a very pretty fable about you,\nwhich he confided to his cousin the chamberlain, who in turn told it to\nthe caliph, so that you would not be very well received were you to go\nto the palace. But there are other ways and means of approaching him,\nand it is written on the stars that you shall experience his mercy.\"\n\n\"That is really too bad,\" said Said, mournfully. \"I must then serve for\na long time yet as the servant of that scoundrel Kalum-Bek. But there\nis one favor, honored fairy, that is in your power to grant me. I have\nbeen educated to the use of arms, and my greatest delight is a\ntournament where there are some sharp contests with the lance, bow and\nblunt swords. Well, every week just such a tournament takes place in\nthis city between the young men. But only people of the finest costume,\nand besides that only _free_ men will be allowed to enter the lists,\nand clerks in the bazar are particularly excluded. Now if you could\narrange that I could have a horse, clothes and weapons every week, and\nthat my face would not be easily recognizable----\"\n\n\"That is a wish befitting a noble young man,\" interrupted the fairy.\n\"Your mother's father was the bravest man in Syria, and you seem to\nhave inherited his spirit. Take notice of this house; you shall find\nhere every week a horse, and two mounted attendants, weapons and\nclothes, and a lotion for your face that will completely disguise you.\nAnd now, Said, farewell! Be patient, wise and virtuous. In six months\nyour whistle will sound, and Zulima's ear will be listening for its\ntone.\"\n\nThe youth separated from his strange protectress with expressions of\ngratitude and esteem. He fixed the house and street clearly in his\nmind, and then went back to the bazar, which he reached just in the\nnick of time to save his master from a terrible beating. A great crowd\nwas gathered before the shop, boys danced about the merchant and jeered\nat him, while their elders laughed. He stood just before the shop,\ntrembling with suppressed rage, and sadly harassed--in one hand a\nshawl, in the other a veil. This singular scene was caused by a\ncircumstance that had occurred during Said's absence. Kalum had taken\nthe place of his handsome clerk at the door, but no one cared to buy of\nthe ugly old man. Just then two men came to the bazar wishing to buy\npresents for their wives. They had gone up and down the bazar several\ntimes, looking in here and there, and Kalum-Bek, who had observed their\nactions for some time, thought he saw his chance, so he called out:\n\"Here, gentlemen, here! What are you looking for? Beautiful veils,\nbeautiful wares?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Good sir,\" replied one of them, \"your wares may do very well, but our\nwives are peculiar, and it has become the fashion in this city to buy\nveils only of the handsome clerk, Said. We have been looking for him\nthis half-hour, but cannot find him; now if you can tell us where we\nwill meet him, we will buy from you some other time.\"\n\n\"Allah il Allah!\" cried Kalum-Bek with a smirk. \"The Prophet has led\nyou to the right door. You wish to buy veils of the handsome Said?\nGood, just step inside; this is his place.\"\n\nOne of the men laughed at Kalum's short and ugly figure, and his\nassertion that he was the handsome clerk; but the other, believing that\nKalum was trying to make sport of him, did not remain long in his debt,\nbut paid the merchant back in his own coin. Kalum-Bek was beside\nhimself; he called his neighbors to witness that his was the only shop\nin the bazar that went by the name of \"the shop of the handsome clerk;\"\nbut the neighbors, who envied him the run of custom he had enjoyed for\nsome time, pretended not to know anything about the matter, and the two\nmen then made an attack upon the old liar, as they called him. Kalum\ndefended himself more with shrieks and curses than by the use of his\nfists, and thus attracted a large crowd before his shop. Half the city\nknew him to be a mean, avaricious old miser, nor did the bystanders\ngrudge him the cuffs he received; and one of his assailants had just\nplucked the old man by the beard, when his arm was seized, and with a\nsudden jerk he was thrown to the ground with such violence that his\nturban fell off and his slippers flew to some distance.\n\nThe crowd, which very likely would have been rejoiced to see Kalum-Bek\nwell punished, grumbled loudly. The fallen man's companion looked\naround to see who it was that had ventured to throw his friend down;\nbut when he saw a tall, strong youth, with flashing eyes and courageous\nmien, standing before him, he did not think it best to attack him,\nespecially as Kalum regarding his rescue as a miracle, pointed to the\nyoung man and cried: \"Now then! what would you have more? There he\nstands beyond a doubt, gentlemen; that is Said, the handsome clerk.\"\nThe people standing about laughed, while the prostrate man got up\nshamefacedly, and limped off with his companion without buying either\nshawl or veil.\n\n\"O you star of all clerks, you crown of the bazar!\" cried Kalum,\nleading his clerk into the shop; \"really, that is what I call being on\nhand at the right time, and the right kind of interference too. Why,\nthe fellow was laid out as flat on the ground as if he had never stood\non his legs, and I--I should have had no use for a barber again to comb\nand oil my beard, if you had arrived two minutes later! How can I\nreward you?\"\n\nIt had been only a momentary sensation of pity which had governed\nSaid's hand and heart; but now that that feeling had passed, he\nregretted that he had saved this wicked man from a good chastisement. A\ndozen hairs from his beard, thought Said, would have kept him humble\nfor twelve days. And now the young man thought best to make use of the\nfavorable disposition of the merchant, and therefore asked to be given\none evening in each week for a walk or for any other purpose he\npleased. Kalum consented, knowing full well that his clerk was too\nsensible to run off without money or clothes.\n\nOn the following Wednesday, the day on which the young men of the best\nfamilies assembled in the public square in the city to go through their\nmartial exercises. Said asked Kalum if he would let him have this\nevening for his own use; and on receiving the merchant's permission, he\nwent to the fairy's house, knocked, and the door was immediately\nopened. The servants seemed to have prepared everything before his\narrival; for without questioning him as to his desire, they led him\nupstairs to a beautiful room, and there handed him the lotion that was\nto disguise his features. He moistened his face with it, and then\nglanced into a metallic mirror; he hardly recognized himself, for he\nwas now sunburnt, wore a handsome black beard, and looked to be at\nleast ten years older than he really was.\n\nHe was now conducted into a second room, where he found a complete and\nsplendid costume, of which the Caliph of Bagdad need not have been\nashamed, on the day when he reviewed his army in all his magnificence.\nTogether with a turban of the finest texture, with a clasp of diamonds\nand a long heron's plume, Said found a coat of mail made of silver\nrings, so finely worked that it conformed to every movement of his\nbody, and yet was so firm that neither lance nor sword could find a way\nthrough it. A Damascus blade in a richly ornamented sheath, and with a\nhandle whose stones seemed to Said to be of priceless value, completed\nhis warlike appearance. As he came to the door, armed at all points,\none of the servants handed him a silk cloth and told him that the\nmistress of the house sent it to him, and that when he wiped his face\nwith it, the beard and the complexion would disappear.\n\nIn the court-yard stood three beautiful horses; Said mounted the\nfinest, and his attendants the other two, and rode off with a light\nheart to the square where the contest was to be held. The splendor of\nhis costume and the brightness of his weapons drew all eyes upon him,\nand a general buzz of astonishment followed his entrance into the ring.\nIt was a brilliant assemblage of the bravest and noblest youths of\nBagdad, where even the brothers of the caliph were seen flying about on\ntheir horses and swinging their lances. On Said's approach, as no one\nseemed to know him, the son of the grand vizier, with some of his\nfriends, rode up to him, greeted him politely, and invited him to take\npart in their contests, at the same time inquiring his name and whence\nhe came. Said represented to them that his name was Almansor, and he\nhailed from Cairo; that he had set out upon a journey, but having heard\nso much said about the skill and bravery of the young noblemen of\nBagdad, he could not refrain from delaying his journey in order to get\nacquainted with them. The young men were highly pleased with the\nbearing and courageous appearance of Said-Almansor; handed him a lance,\nand had him select his opponent,--as the whole company were divided\ninto two parties, in order that they might assault one another both\nsingly and in groups.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut the attention which had been attracted by Said was now concentrated\nupon the unusual skill and dexterity which he displayed in combat. His\nhorse was swifter than a bird, while his sword whizzed about in still\nmore rapid circles. He threw the lance at its mark as easily and with\nas much accuracy as if it had been an arrow shot from a bow. He\nconquered the bravest of the opposing force, and at the end of the\ntournament was so universally recognized as the victor, that one of the\ncaliph's brothers and the son of the grand vizier, who had both fought\non Said's side, requested the pleasure of breaking a lance with him.\nAli, the caliph's brother, was soon conquered by Said; but the grand\nvizier's son withstood him so bravely that after a long contest they\nthought it best to postpone the decision until the next meeting.\n\nThe day after the tournament, nothing was spoken of in Bagdad but the\nhandsome, rich, and brave stranger. All who had seen him, even those\nover whom he had triumphed, were charmed by his well-bred manners. He\neven heard his own praises sounded in the shop of Kalum-Bek, and it was\nonly deplored that no one knew where he lived.\n\nThe next week, Said found at the house of the fairy a still finer\ncostume and still more costly weapons. Half Bagdad had rushed to the\nsquare, while even the caliph looked on from a balcony; he, too,\nadmired Almansor, and at the conclusion of the tournament he hung a\nlarge gold medal, attached to a gold chain, about the youth's neck, as\na mark of his favor.\n\nIt could not very well be otherwise than that this second and still\nmore brilliant triumph of Said's should excite the envy of the young\nmen of Bagdad. \"Shall a stranger,\" said they to one another, \"come here\nto Bagdad, and carry off all the laurels? He will now boast in other\nplaces that among the flower of Bagdad's youth there was not one who\nwas a match for him.\" They therefore resolved, at the next tournament,\nto fall upon him, as if by chance, five or six at a time.\n\nThese tokens of discontent did not escape Said's sharp eye. He noticed\nhow the young men congregated at the street corners, whispered to one\nanother, and pointed angrily at him. He suspected that none of them\nfelt very friendly toward him, with the exception of the caliph's\nbrother and the grand vizier's son, and even they rather annoyed him by\ntheir questions as to where they might call on him, how he occupied his\ntime, what he found of interest in Bagdad, etc., etc. It was a singular\ncoincidence that one of these young men, who surveyed Said-Almansor\nwith the bitterest looks, was no other than the man whom Said had\nthrown down when the assault was made on Kalum-Bek a few weeks before,\njust as the man was about to tear out the unfortunate merchant's beard.\nThis man looked at Said very attentively and spitefully. Said had\nconquered him several times in the tournament; but this would not\naccount for such hostile looks, and Said began to fear lest his figure\nor his voice had betrayed him to this man as the clerk of Kalum-Bek--a\ndiscovery that would expose him to the sneers and anger of the people.\n\nThe project which Said's foes attempted to carry out at the next\ntournament failed, not only by reason of Said's caution and bravery,\nbut by the assistance he received from the caliph's brother and the\ngrand vizier's son. When these two young men saw that Said was\nsurrounded by five or six who sought to disarm or unseat him, they\ndashed up, chased away the conspirators, and threatened the men who had\nacted so treacherously with dismissal from the course.\n\nFor more than four months, Said had excited the astonishment of Bagdad\nby his prowess, when one evening, on returning home from the\ntournament, he heard some voices which seemed familiar to him. Before\nhim walked four men at a slow pace, apparently discussing some subject\ntogether. As Said approached nearer, he discovered that they were\ntalking in the dialect which the men in Selim's tribe had used in the\ndesert, and suspected that they were planning some robbery. His first\nthought was to draw back from these men; but when he reflected that he\nmight be the means of preventing some great wrong, he stole up still\nnearer to listen to what they were saying.\n\n\"The gate keeper expressly said it was the street to the right of the\nbazar,\" said one of the men; \"he will certainly pass through it\nto-night, in company with the grand vizier.\"\n\n\"Good!\" added another. \"I am not afraid of the grand vizier; he is old,\nand not much of a hero; but the caliph wields a good sword, and I\nwouldn't trust him; there would be ten or twelve of the body-guard\nstealing after him.\"\n\n\"Not a soul!\" responded a third. \"Whenever he has been seen and\nrecognized at night, he was always unattended except by the vizier or\nthe head chamberlain. He will be ours to-night; but no harm must be\ndone him.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said the first speaker, \"that the best plan would be to\nthrow a noose over his head; we may not kill him, for it would be but a\nsmall ransom that they would pay for his body, and, more than that, we\nshouldn't be sure of receiving it.\"\n\n\"An hour before midnight, then!\" exclaimed they, and separated, one\ngoing this way, another that.\n\nSaid was not a little horrified at this scheme. He resolved to hasten\nat once to the caliph's palace and warn him of the threatened danger.\nBut after running through several streets, he remembered the caution\nthat the fairy had given him--that the caliph had received a bad report\nabout him. He reflected that his warning might be laughed at, or\nregarded as an attempt on his part to ingratiate himself with the\nCaliph of Bagdad; and so he concluded that it would be best to depend\non his good sword, and rescue the caliph from the hands of the robbers\nhimself.\n\nSo he did not return to Kalum-Bek's house, but sat down on the steps of\na mosque and waited there until night had set in. Then he went through\nthe bazar and into the street mentioned by the robbers, and hid himself\nbehind a projection of one of the houses. He might have stood there an\nhour, when he heard two men coming slowly down the street. At first he\nthought it must be the caliph and his grand vizier; but one of the men\nclapped his hands, and immediately two other men hurried very\nnoiselessly up the street from the bazar. They whispered together for a\nwhile, and then separated; three hiding not far from Said, while the\nfourth paced up and down the street. The night was very dark, but\nstill, so that Said had to depend almost entirely upon his acute sense\nof hearing.\n\nAnother half-hour had passed, when footsteps were heard coming from the\nbazar. The robber must have heard them too, for he stole by Said\ntowards the bazar. The steps came nearer, and Said was just able to\nmake out some dark figures, when the robber clapped his hands, and, in\nthe same moment, the three men waiting in ambush rushed out. The\npersons attacked must have been armed, for Said heard the ring of\nclashing swords. At once he drew his own Damascus blade, and sprang\nupon the robber's with the cry: \"Down with the enemies of the great\nHaroun!\" He struck one of them to the ground with the first blow, and\nturned upon two others, who were just in the act of disarming a man\nover whom they had thrown a rope. Said lifted the rope blindly in order\nto cut it, but in the effort to use his sword he struck one of the\nrobber's arms such a blow, as to cut off his hand, and the robber fell\nto his knees with cries of pain. The fourth robber, who had been\nfighting with another man, now came towards Said, who was still engaged\nwith the third, but the man who had been lassoed no sooner found\nhimself free than he drew his dagger, and, from one side, plunged it\ninto the breast of the advancing robber. When the remaining robber saw\nthis, he threw away his sword and fled.\n\nSaid did not remain long in doubt as to whom he had saved, for the\ntaller of the two men said: \"The one thing is as strange as the other;\nthis attack upon my life or liberty, as the incomprehensible assistance\nand rescue. How did you know who I was? Did you know of the scheme of\nthese robbers?\"\n\n\"Ruler of the Faithful,\" answered Said, \"for I do not doubt that you\nare he, I walked down the street El Malek this evening behind some men,\nwhose strange and mysterious dialect I had once learned. They spoke of\ntaking you prisoner and of killing your vizier. As it was too late to\nwarn you, I resolved to go to the place where they would lie in ambush\nfor you, and give you my assistance.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Haroun; \"but it is not best to remain long in this\nplace; take this ring, and come in the morning to my palace; we will\nthen talk over this affair, and see how I can best reward you. Come,\nvizier, it is best not to stop here; they might come back again.\"\n\nThus saying, he placed a ring on Said's finger, and attempted to lead\noff the grand vizier, but the latter, begging him to wait a moment,\nturned and held out to the astonished Said a heavy purse: \"Young man,\"\nsaid he, \"my master, the caliph, can do anything for you that he feels\ninclined to do, even to making you my successor; but I myself can do\nbut little, and that little had better be done to-day, rather than\nto-morrow. Therefore, take this purse. That does not, however, cancel\nmy debt of gratitude; so whenever you have a wish, come in confidence\nto me.\"\n\nOverpowered with his good fortune, Said hurried home. But here he was\nnot so well received. Kalum-Bek was at first angry at his long absence,\nand then anxious, for the merchant thought he might easily lose the\nhandsome sign of his shop. Kalum therefore received him with abusive\nwords, and raved like a madman. But Said--who had taken a look into his\npurse and found it filled with gold pieces, and reflected that he could\nnow travel home, even without the caliph's favor, which was certainly\nnot worth less than the gratitude of his vizier--declared roundly that\nhe would not remain in his service another hour. At first Kalum was\nvery much frightened by this declaration; but shortly he laughed\nsneeringly and said:\n\n\"You loafer and vagabond! You miserable creature! Where would you run\nto, if I were to give up supporting you? Where would you get a dinner\nor a lodging?\"\n\n\"You need not trouble yourself about that, Mr. Kalum-Bek,\" answered\nSaid audaciously. \"Farewell; you will never see me again!\"\n\nWith these words, Said left the house, while Kalum-Bek looked after him\nspeechless with astonishment. The following morning, however, after\nthinking over the matter well, he sent out his errand boys, and had the\nrunaway sought for every-where. For a long time their search was a vain\none; but finally one of the boys came back and reported that he had\nseen Said come out of a mosque and go into a caravansary. He was,\nhowever, much changed, wore a beautiful costume, a dagger sword, and\nsplendid turban.\n\nWhen Kalum-Bek heard this, he shouted with an oath: \"He has stolen from\nme, and bought clothes with the money. Oh, I am a ruined man!\" Then he\nran to the chief of police, and as he was known to be a relative of\nMessour, the head chamberlain, he had no difficulty in having two\npolicemen sent out to arrest Said. Said sat before a caravansary,\nconversing quietly with a merchant whom he had found there, about a\njourney to Balsora, his native city, when suddenly he was seized by\nsome men, and his hands tied behind his back before he could offer any\nresistance. He asked them whose authority they were acting under, and\nthey replied that they were obeying the orders of the chief of police,\non complaint of his rightful master, Kalum-Bek. The ugly little\nmerchant then came up, abused and jeered at Said, felt in the young\nman's pocket, and to the astonishment of the bystanders, and with a\nshout of triumph, drew out a large purse filled with gold.\n\n\"Look! He has robbed me of all that, the wicked fellow!\" cried he, and\nthe people looked with abhorrence at the prisoner, saying: \"What! so\nyoung, so handsome, and yet so wicked! To the court, to the court, that\nhe may get the bastinado!\" Thus they dragged him away, while a large\nprocession of people of all ranks followed in their wake, shouting:\n\"See, that is the handsome clerk of the bazar; he stole from his master\nand ran away; he took two hundred gold pieces!\"\n\nThe chief of police received the prisoner with a dark look. Said tried\nto speak, but the official told him to be still, and listened only to\nthe little merchant. He held up the purse, and asked Kalum whether this\ngold had been stolen from him. Kalum-Bek swore that it had; but his\nperjury, while it gained him the gold, did not help to restore to him\nhis clerk, who was worth a thousand gold pieces to him, for the judge\nsaid: \"In accordance with a law that my all-powerful master, the\ncaliph, has recently made, every theft of over a hundred gold pieces\nthat transpires in the bazar, is punished with banishment for life to a\ndesert island. This thief comes at just the right time; he makes the\ntwentieth of his class, and so completes the lot; to-morrow they will\nbe put on a vessel and taken out to sea.\"\n\nSaid was in despair. He besought the officers to listen to him, to\nlet him speak only one word with the caliph; but he found no mercy.\nKalum-Bek, who now repented of his oath, also pleaded for him, but the\njudge said: \"You have your gold back, and should be contented; go home\nand keep quiet, or I will fine you ten gold pieces for every\ncontradiction.\" Kalum quieted down; the judge made a sign, and the\nunfortunate Said was led away.\n\nHe was taken to a dark and damp dungeon, where nineteen poor wretches,\nscattered about on straw, received him as their companion in\nmisfortune, with wild laughter and curses on the judge and caliph.\nTerrible as was the fate before him, fearful as was the thought of\nbeing banished to a desert island, he still found consolation in the\nthought that the morrow would take him out of this horrible prison. But\nhe was very greatly in error in supposing that his situation would be\nbettered on the ship. The twenty men were thrown into the hold, where\nthey could not stand upright, and there they fought among themselves\nfor the best places.\n\nThe anchor was weighed, and Said wept bitter tears as the ship that was\nto bear him far away from his fatherland began to move. They received\nbread and fruits, and a drink of sweetened water, but once a day: and\nit was so dark in the ship's hold, that lights always had to be brought\ndown when the prisoners were to be fed. Every two or three days one of\ntheir number was found dead, so unwholesome was the air in this\nfloating prison, and Said's life was preserved only by his youth and\nhis splendid health.\n\nThey had been on the sea for fourteen days, when one day the waves\nroared more violently than ever, and there was much running to and fro\non the deck. Said suspected that a storm was at hand, and he welcomed\nthe prospect of one, hoping that then he might be released by death.\n\nThe ship began to pitch about, and finally struck on a ledge with a\nterrible crash. Cries and groans were heard on the deck, intermingled\nwith the roar of the storm. At last all was still again; but at the\nsame time one of the prisoners discovered that the water was pouring\ninto the ship. They pounded on the hatch-door, but could get no answer;\nand as the water poured in more and more rapidly, they united their\nstrength and managed to break the hatch open.\n\nThey ascended the steps, but found not a soul on board. The whole crew\nhad taken to the boats. Most of the prisoners were in despair, for the\nstorm increased in fury, the ship cracked and settled down on the\nledge. For some hours they sat on the deck and partook of their last\nrepast from the provisions they found in the ship, then the storm began\nto rage again, the ship was torn from the ledge on which it had been\nheld, and broken up.\n\nSaid had climbed the mast, and held fast to it when the ship went to\npieces. The waves tossed him about, but he kept his head up by paddling\nwith his feet. Thus he floated about, in ever-increasing danger, for\nhalf an hour, when the chain with whistle attached once again fell out\nof his bosom, and once more he tried to make it sound. With one hand he\nheld fast to the mast, and with the other put the whistle to his lips,\nblew, and a clear musical tone was the result. Instantly the storm\nceased, and the waves became as smooth as if oil had been poured on\nthem. He had hardly looked about him, with an easier breath, to see\nwhether he could discern land, when the mast beneath him began to\nexpand in a very singular manner, and to move as well; and, not a\nlittle to his terror, he perceived that he was no longer riding on a\nwooden mast, but upon the back of an enormous dolphin. But after a few\nmoments his courage returned; and as he saw that the dolphin swam along\non his course quietly and easily, although swiftly, he ascribed his\nwonderful rescue to the silver whistle and to the kind fairy, and\nshouted his most earnest thanks into the air.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHis wonderful horse carried him through the waves with the speed of an\narrow; and before night he saw land, and also a broad river, into which\nthe dolphin turned. Up stream it went more slowly, and, that he might\nnot starve, Said, who remembered from old stories of enchantment how\none should work a charm, took out the whistle again, blew it loudly and\nheartily, and wished that he had a good meal. The dolphin stopped\ninstantly, and out of the water rose a table, as little wet as if it\nhad stood in the sun for eight days, and richly furnished with the\nfinest dishes. Said attacked the food like a famished person, for his\nrations during his imprisonment were scant and of miserable quality;\nand when he had eaten to his fill, he expressed his thanks; the table\nsank down again, while he jogged the dolphin in the side, and the fish\nat once responded by continuing on its course up stream.\n\nThe sun was setting when Said perceived in the dim distance a large\ncity, whose minarets seemed to bear a resemblance to those of Bagdad.\nThis discovery was not a pleasant one; but his confidence in the kind\nfairy was so great that he felt sure she would not permit him to fall\nagain into the clutches of the unscrupulous Kalum-Bek. To one side,\nabout three miles distant from the city, and close to the river, he\nnoticed a magnificent country house, and, to his astonishment, the fish\nseemed to be making directly towards this house.\n\nUpon the roof of the house stood a group of handsomely dressed men, and\non the bank of the river Said saw a large crowd of servants, who were\nlooking at him in wonder. The dolphin stopped at some marble steps that\nled up to the house, and hardly had Said put foot on the steps when the\ndolphin disappeared. A number of servants now ran down the steps, and\nrequested him in the name of their master to come up to the house, at\nthe same time offering him a suit of dry clothes. Said dressed himself\nquickly, and followed the servants to the roof, where he found three\nmen, of whom the tallest and handsomest came forward to meet him in a\npleasant manner.\n\n\"Who are you, wonderful stranger,\" said he, \"you who tame the fishes of\nthe sea, and guide them to the right and left, as the best horseman\ngoverns his steed. Are you a sorcerer, or a being like us?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" replied Said, \"things have gone very badly with me for the last\nfew weeks; but if it will please you to hear me, I will relate my\nstory.\"\n\nThen he told the three men all of his adventures, from the moment of\nleaving his father's house up to his wonderful rescue from the sea. He\nwas often interrupted by their expressions of astonishment; and when he\nhad ended, the master of the house, who had received him in so kind a\nmanner, said: \"I trust your words, Said; but you tell us that you won a\nmedal in the tournament, and that the caliph gave you a ring; can you\nshow them to us?\"\n\n\"I have preserved them both upon my heart,\" said the youth, \"and would\nsooner have parted with my life than with these precious gifts, for I\nesteem it my most valiant and meritorious deed that I freed the caliph\nfrom the hands of his would-be murderers.\" So saying, he drew from his\nbosom the medal and ring, and handed them to the men.\n\n\"By the beard of the Prophet! It is he! It is my ring!\" cried the tall,\nhandsome man. \"Grand vizier, let us embrace him, for here stands our\nsavior.\" To Said it was like a dream. The two men embraced him, and\nSaid, prostrating himself, said:\n\n\"Pardon me, Ruler of the Faithful, that I have spoken so freely before\nyou, for you can be no other than Haroun-al-Raschid, the great Caliph\nof Bagdad.\"\n\n\"I am he, and your friend,\" replied Haroun; \"and from this hour forth,\nall your sad misfortunes are at an end. Follow me to Bagdad, remain in\nmy dominion, and become one of my most trustworthy officers; for you\nhave shown you were not indifferent to Haroun's fate, though I should\nnot like to put all of my faithful servants to such a severe test.\"\n\nSaid thanked the caliph, and promised to remain with him,--first\nrequesting permission to make a visit to his father, who must be\nsuffering much anxiety on his account; and the caliph thought this just\nand commendable. They then mounted horses, and were soon in Bagdad. The\ncaliph showed Said a long suite of splendidly decorated rooms that he\nshould have, and, more than that, promised to build a house for his own\nuse.\n\nAt the first information of this event, the old brothers-in-arms of\nSaid's--the grand vizier's son and the caliph's brother--hastened to\nthe palace and embraced Said as the deliverer of their noble caliph,\nand begged him to become their friend. But they were speechless with\nastonishment when Said, drawing forth the prize medal, said: \"I have\nbeen your friend for a long time.\" They had only seen him with his\nfalse beard and dark skin; and when he had related how and why he had\ndisguised himself--when he had the blunt weapons brought to prove his\nstory, fought with them, and thus gave them the best proof that he was\nthe brave Almansor--then did they embrace him with joyful exclamations,\nconsidering themselves fortunate in having such a friend.\n\nThe following day, as Said was sitting with the caliph and grand\nvizier, Messour, the chamberlain, came in and said: \"Ruler of the\nFaithful, if there is no objection, I would like to ask a favor of\nyou.\"\n\n\"I will hear it first,\" answered Haroun.\n\n\"My dear first-cousin, Kalum-Bek, a prominent merchant of the bazar,\nstands without,\" said Messour. \"He has had a singular transaction with\na man from Balsora, whose son once worked for Kalum-Bek, but who\nafterward stole from him and then ran away, no one knows whither. Now\nthe father of this youth comes and demands his son of Kalum, who hasn't\nhim. Kalum therefore begs that you will do him the favor of deciding\nbetween him and this man, by the exercise of your profound wisdom.\"\n\n\"I will judge in the matter,\" replied the caliph. \"In half an hour your\ncousin and his opponent may enter the hall of justice.\"\n\nWhen Messour had expressed his gratitude and gone out, Haroun said:\n\"That must be your father. Said; and now that I am so fortunate as to\nknow your story, I shall judge with the wisdom of Salomo. Conceal\nyourself, Said, behind the curtain of my throne; and you, grand vizier,\nsend at once for that wicked police justice. I shall want his testimony\nin this case.\"\n\nBoth did as the caliph ordered. Said's heart beat fast as he saw his\nfather, pale and stricken with grief, enter the hall of justice with\ntottering steps; while Kalum-Bek's smile of assurance, as he whispered\nto his cousin, made Said so furious that he had difficulty in\nrefraining from rushing at him from his place of concealment, as his\ngreatest sufferings and sorrows had been caused by this cruel man.\n\nThere were many people in the hall, all of whom were anxious to hear\nthe caliph speak. As soon as the Ruler of Bagdad had ascended the\nthrone, the grand vizier commanded silence, and asked who appeared as\ncomplainant before his master.\n\nKalum-Bek approached with an impudent air, and said: \"A few days ago I\nwas standing before the door of my shop in the bazar, when a crier,\nwith a purse in his hand, and with this man walking near him, went\namong the booths, shouting: 'A purse of gold to him who can give any\ninformation about Said of Balsora.' This Said had been in my service,\nand therefore I cried: 'This way, friend! I can win that purse.' This\nman, who is now so hostile to me, came up in a friendly way and asked\nme what information I possessed. I answered: 'You must be Benezar,\nSaid's father.' and when he affirmed that he was, I told him how I had\nfound the young fellow in the desert, rescued him and restored him to\nhealth, and brought him back with me to Bagdad. In the joy of his heart\nhe gave me the purse. But when now this unreasonable man heard, as I\nwent on to tell him, how his son had worked for me, had been guilty of\nvery wicked acts, had stolen from me and then run away, he would not\nbelieve it, and quarrelled with me for several days, demanding his son\nand his money back; and I can not return them both, for the gold is\nmine as compensation for the news I furnished him, and I can not\nproduce his ungrateful son.\"\n\nIt was now Benezar's turn to speak. He described his son, how noble and\ngood he was, and the impossibility of his ever having become so\ndegraded as to steal. He requested the caliph to make the most thorough\nexamination of the case.\n\n\"I hope,\" said Haroun, \"that you reported the theft, Kalum-Bek, as was\nyour duty?\"\n\n\"Why, certainly!\" exclaimed that worthy, smiling. \"I took him before\nthe police justice.\"\n\n\"Let the police justice be brought!\" ordered the caliph.\n\nTo every body's astonishment, this official appeared as suddenly as if\nbrought by magic. The caliph asked whether he remembered that Kalum-Bek\nhad come before him with a young man, and the official replied that he\ndid.\n\n\"Did you listen to the young man; did he confess to the theft?\" asked\nHaroun.\n\n\"No, he was actually so obstinate that he would not confess to any one\nbut yourself,\" replied the justice.\n\n\"But I don't remember to have seen him,\" said the caliph.\n\n\"But why should you? If I were to listen to them, I should have a whole\npack of such vagabonds to send you every day.\"\n\n\"You know that my ear is open for every one,\" replied Haroun; \"but\nperhaps the proofs of the theft were so clear that it was not necessary\nto bring the young man into my presence. You had witnesses, I suppose,\nKalum, that the money found on this young man belonged to you?\"\n\n\"Witnesses?\" repeated Kalum, turning pale; \"no, I did not have any\nwitnesses, for you know, Ruler of the Faithful, that one gold piece\nlooks just like another. Where, then, should I get witnesses to testify\nthat these one hundred gold pieces are the same that were missing from\nmy cash-box.\"\n\n\"How, then, can you tell that that particular money belonged to you?\"\nasked the caliph.\n\n\"By the purse,\" replied Kalum.\n\n\"Have you the purse here?\" continued the caliph.\n\n\"Here it is,\" said the merchant, drawing out a purse which he handed to\nthe vizier to give to the caliph.\n\nBut the vizier cried with feigned surprise: \"By the beard of the\nProphet! Do you claim the purse, you dog? Why it is my own purse, and I\ngave it filled with a hundred gold pieces, to a brave young man who\nrescued me from a great danger.\"\n\n\"Can you swear to that?\" asked the caliph.\n\n\"As surely as that I shall some time be in paradise,\" answered the\nvizier, \"for my daughter made the purse with her own hands.\"\n\n\"Why, look you then, police Justice!\" cried Haroun, \"you were falsely\nadvised. Why did you believe that the purse belonged to this merchant?\"\n\n\"He swore to it,\" replied the justice, humbly.\n\n\"Then you swore falsely?\" thundered the caliph, as the merchant, pale\nand trembling, stood before him.\n\n\"Allah, Allah!\" cried Kalum. \"I certainly don't want to dispute the\ngrand vizier's word; he is a truthful man, but alas! the purse does\nbelong to me and that rascal of a Said stole it. I would give a\nthousand tomans if he was in this room now.\"\n\n\"What did you do with this Said?\" asked the caliph. \"Speak up! where\nshall we have to send for him, that he may come and make confession\nbefore me?\"\n\n\"I banished him to a desert island,\" said the police justice.\n\n\"O Said! my son, my son!\" cried the unhappy father.\n\n\"Indeed, then he acknowledged the crime, did he?\" inquired Haroun.\n\nThe police justice turned pale. He rolled his eyes about restlessly,\nand finally said: \"If I remember rightly--yes.\"\n\n\"You are not certain about it, then?\" continued the caliph in a\nterrible voice; \"then we will ask the young man himself. Step forth,\nSaid, and you Kalum-Bek, to begin with, will count out one thousand\ngold pieces, as Said is now in the room.\"\n\nKalum and the police justice thought it was a ghost that stood before\nthem. They prostrated themselves and cried: \"Mercy! Mercy!\" Benezar,\nhalf-fainting with joy, fell into the arms of his long-lost son. But,\nwith great severity of manner, the caliph said: \"Police Justice, here\nstands Said; did he confess?\"\n\n\"No,\" whined the justice; \"I listened only to Kalum's testimony,\nbecause he was a respectable man.\"\n\n\"Did I place you as a judge over all that you might listen only to the\npeople of rank?\" demanded Haroun-al-Raschid, with noble scorn. \"I will\nbanish you for ten years to a desert island in the middle of the sea;\nthere you can reflect on justice. And you, miserable wretch, who bring\nthe dying back to life, not in order to rescue them, but to make them\nyour slaves--you will pay down, as I said before, the thousand tomans\nthat you promised if Said were only present to be called as witness.\"\n\nKalum congratulated himself at having got out of a very bad scrape so\neasily, and was just going to thank the kind caliph, when Haroun\ncontinued: \"For the perjury you committed about the hundred gold\npieces, you will receive a hundred lashes on the soles of your feet.\nFurther than this Said will have the choice of taking your shop and its\ncontents and you as a porter, or of contenting himself with ten gold\npieces for every day's work he did for you.\"\n\n\"Let the wretch go, Caliph!\" cried the youth; \"I would not take\nanything that ever belonged to him.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Haroun, \"I prefer that you should be compensated. I will\nchoose for you the ten gold pieces a day, and you can reckon up how\nmany days you were in his claws. Away with this wretch!\"\n\nThe two offenders were led away, and the caliph conducted Benezar and\nSaid to another apartment, where he related to Benezar his rescue by\nSaid, interrupted by the shrieks of Kalum-Bek, upon the soles of whose\nfeet a hundred gold pieces of full weight were being counted out.\n\nThe caliph invited Benezar to come to Bagdad and live with him and\nSaid. Benezar consented, and made only one more journey home in order\nto fetch his large possessions. Said lived in the palace which the\ngrateful caliph built for him, like a prince. The caliph's brother and\ngrand vizier's son were his constant companions; and it soon became a\nproverb in Bagdad: \"I would that I were as good and as fortunate as\nSaid, the son of Benezar.\"\n\n\n\n\"I could keep awake for two or three nights without experiencing the\nleast sensation of sleepiness, with such entertainment,\" said\nthe compass-maker, when the huntsman had concluded. \"And I have\noften proved the truth of what I say. I was once apprentice to a\nbell-founder. The master was a rich man and no miser, and therefore our\nwonder was all the more aroused on a certain occasion, when we had a\nbig job on hand, by a display of parsimony on his part. A bell was\nbeing cast for a new church, and we apprentices had to sit up all night\nand keep the fire up. We did not doubt that the master would tap a cask\nof the best wine for us. But we were mistaken. He began to talk about\nhis travels, and to tell all manner of stories of his life; then the\nhead apprentice's turn came, and so on through the whole row of us, and\nnone of us got sleepy, so intent were we all in listening. Before we\nknew it, day was at hand. Then we perceived the master's stratagem of\nkeeping us awake by telling stories; for when the bell was done he did\nnot spare his wine, but brought out what he had wisely saved on those\nnights.\"\n\n\"He was a sensible man,\" said the student. \"There is no remedy for\nsleepiness like conversation. And I should not have cared to sit alone\nto-night, for about eleven o'clock I should have succumbed to sleep.\"\n\n\"The peasantry have found that out also,\" said the huntsman. \"In\nthe long Winter evenings the women and girls do not remain alone at\nhome to spin, lest they should fall asleep in the middle of their task;\nbut a large number of them meet together, in a well-lighted room, and\ntell stories over their work.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added the wagoner, \"and their stories are often of a kind to\nmake one shudder, for they talk about ghosts that walk the earth,\ngoblins that create a hubbub in their rooms at night, and spirits that\ntorment men and cattle.\"\n\n\"They don't entertain themselves very well then, I fear,\" said the\nstudent. \"For my part, I confess that there is nothing so displeasing\nto me as ghost stories.\"\n\n\"I don't agree with you at all,\" cried the compass-maker. \"I find a\nstory that causes one to shudder very entertaining. It is just like a\nrain-storm when one is sheltered under the roof. He hears the drops\n_tick-tack_, _tick-tack_, on the tiles, and then run off in streams,\nwhile he lies warm and dry in bed. So when one listens to ghost stories\nin a lighted room, with plenty of company, he feels safe and at ease.\"\n\n\"But how is it afterwards?\" asked the student. \"When one has listened\nwho shares in this silly belief in ghosts, will he not tremble when he\nis alone again and in the dark? Will he not recall all the horrible\nthings he has heard? I can even now work myself into quite a rage over\nthese ghost stories, when I think of my childhood. I was a cheerful,\nlively boy, but perhaps somewhat noisier than was agreeable to my\nnurse, who could not think of any other means to quiet me than of\ngiving me a fright. She told me all sorts of horrible stories about\nwitches and evil spirits who haunted the house. I was too young then to\nknow that all these stories were untrue. I was not afraid of the\nlargest hound, could throw every one of my companions; but whenever I\nwas alone in the dark, I would shut my eyes in terror. I would not go\noutside the door alone after dark without a light; and how often did my\nfather punish me when he noticed my conduct! But for a long time I\ncould not free my mind from this childish fear, for which my foolish\nnurse was wholly to blame.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a great mistake,\" observed the huntsman, \"to fill a child's\nhead with such absurdities. I can answer you that I have known brave,\ndaring men, huntsmen, who did not fear to encounter several of their\nfoes at once--who, when they were searching for game at night, or on\nthe lookout for poachers, would, all of a sudden, lose their courage,\ntaking a tree for a ghost, a bush for a witch, and a pair of fire-flies\nfor the eyes of a monster that was lurking for them in the dark.\"\n\n\"And it is not only for children,\" said the student, \"that I hold\nentertainment of that kind to be in the highest degree hurtful and\nfoolish, but for every body; for what intelligent person could amuse\nhimself with the doings and sayings of things that exist only in the\nbrain of a fool? There is where the ghost walks, and nowhere else. But\nthese stories do the most harm among the country people. Their faith in\nabsurdities of this kind is firm and unwavering, and this belief is\nnourished in the inns and spinning rooms, where they huddle close\ntogether and in a timid tone relate the most horrible stories they can\ncall to mind.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" responded the wagoner; \"many a misfortune has occurred through\nthese stories, and, indeed, my own sister lost her life thereby.\"\n\n\"How was that? Through these ghost stories, did you say?\" exclaimed the\nmen, in surprise.\n\n\"Yes, certainly, by such stories,\" continued the wagoner. \"In the\nvillage where our father lived it was the custom for the wives and\nmaidens to get together with their spinning on a Winter's evening. The\nyoung men would also be there and tell many stories. So it happened\nthat one evening when they were speaking about ghosts, the young men\ntold about an old store-keeper who died ten years before, but found no\nrest in his grave. Every night he would throw up the earth, rise from\nhis grave, steal slowly along to his store, coughing as was his wont in\nlife, and there weigh out sugar and coffee, mumbling meanwhile:\n\n           \"Twelve ounces, twelve ounces, at dark midnight,\n            Equal sixteen, in broad daylight.\n\n\"Many claimed that they had seen him, and the maids and wives got quite\nfrightened. But my sister, a girl of sixteen, wishing to show that she\nwas less foolish than the others, said: 'I don't believe a word of\nthat; he who is once dead never comes back!' She said this,\nunfortunately, without a conviction of its truth, for she had been\nfrightened many times herself. Thereupon one of the young people said:\n'If you believe that, then you would have no reason to be afraid of\nhim; his grave is only two paces from that of Kate's, who recently\ndied. If you dare, go to the church-yard, pick a flower from Kate's\ngrave, and bring it to us; then we will begin to believe that you are\nnot afraid of the store-keeper's ghost. My sister was ashamed of being\nlaughed at by the others, therefore she said: 'Oh, that's easy enough;\nwhat kind of a flower do you want?' 'The only white rose in the village\nblooms there; so bring us a bunch of those,' answered one of her\nfriends. She got up and went out, and all the men praised her spirit;\nbut the women shook their heads and said: 'If it only ends well!' My\nsister passed on to the cemetery; the moon shone brightly, but she\nbegan to tremble as the clock struck twelve while she was opening the\nchurch-yard gate. She clambered over many mounds which she knew, and\nher heart beat faster and faster the nearer she came to Kate's white\nrose bush and the ghostly store-keeper's grave. At last she reached it,\nand kneeled down, trembling with fear, to pluck some roses. Just then\nshe thought she heard a noise close by; she turned around, and saw the\nearth flying out of a grave two steps away from her, and a form\nstraightened itself up slowly in the grave. It was that of an old,\npale-faced man, with a white night-cap on his head. My sister was\ngreatly frightened; she turned to look once more to make sure that she\nhad seen aright; but when the man in the grave began to say, in a nasal\ntone: 'Good evening, Miss! where do you come from so late?' she was\nseized with a deathly terror, and collecting all her strength, she\nsprang over the graves, ran to the house she had just left, and\nbreathlessly related what she had seen; then she became so weak that\nshe had to be carried home. Of what use was it that we found out the\nnext day that it was the grave-digger who was making a grave there, and\nwho had spoken to my poor sister? Before she could comprehend this she\nhad fallen into a high fever, of which she died three days afterwards.\nShe had gathered the roses for her own burial wreath.\"\n\nA tear dropped from the wagoner's eye as he concluded, while the others\nregarded him with sympathy.\n\n\"So the poor child died in this implicit faith,\" said the young\ngoldsmith. \"I recollect a legend in that connection, which I should\nlike to tell you, and that unfortunately is connected with such a\ntragedy.\"\n\n\n\n\n                         THE CAVE OF STEENFOLL.\n\n                           A SCOTTISH LEGEND.\n\nOn one of Scotland's rocky islands, there dwelt many years ago, two\nfishermen, who lived in complete harmony. Both were unmarried; neither\nof them had any relatives living; and their common labor, although\ndifferently directed, sufficed to support them both. They were of about\nthe same age, but in person and disposition they resembled each other\nas little as do an eagle and a sea-calf.\n\nKaspar Strumpf was a short, stout man, with a broad, fat, full-moon\nface, and good-natured, laughing eyes, to which sorrow and care\nappeared to be strangers. He was not only fat, but sleepy and lazy as\nwell; and therefore the house work, cooking and baking, and repairing\nof nets for the capture of fish for their own table and for the market,\ndevolved on him, as well as a large part of the cultivation of the\nsmall field attached to their cabin. Quite the opposite was his\ncompanion--tall and lank, with Roman nose and keen eyes; he was known\nas the most industrious and luckiest fisherman, the most daring\ncliff-climber after birds and down, the hardest field worker, on the\nwhole island. Besides all this, he was considered the keenest trader on\nthe Kirkwall market; but as his wares were good, and his transactions\nabove reproach, every one dealt willingly with him. Thus William Falcon\nand Kaspar Strumpf--with whom the former, avaricious as he was, freely\ndivided his hardly-earned gains--not only made a good living, but were\nin a fair way of acquiring a certain degree of wealth. But a competence\nwould not satisfy Falcon's covetous soul; he wanted to be rich,\nextremely rich, and as he had already found out that riches accumulate\nbut slowly in the usual course of industry, he at last settled into the\nconviction that he should have to attain his riches through some\nextraordinary stroke of fortune. When this idea had once taken\npossession of his mind, there was no room left for any thing else, and\nhe began to talk this shadowy windfall over with Kaspar Strumpf, as\nthough it had already come to pass. Kaspar, who received everything\nthat Falcon said as scripture, repeated all this to his neighbors: and\nso the report was spread abroad that William Falcon had either sold his\nsoul to the evil one, or had at least received an offer for it from the\nprince of the infernal regions.\n\nAt first, these reports caused much amusement to Falcon; but gradually\nhe began to entertain the notion that a spirit might sometime reveal a\ntreasure to him, and he no longer contradicted his acquaintances when\nthey twitted him on the subject. He continued his usual occupations,\nbut with far less zeal than before, and often consumed a great part of\nthe time, that he had formerly passed in fishing or other useful\navocations, in idle search for some kind of an adventure by which he\nshould suddenly become rich. To still further complete this unfortunate\ntendency of his mind, it happened that as he was standing one day on\nthe lonely sea-shore, looking out on the restless sea as if he were\nexpecting his good fortune would come from thence, a large wave rolled\na yellow ball to his feet amongst a mass of moss and loosened stone--a\nball of gold!\n\nFalcon stood as if bewitched. His hopes, then, had not been\nunsubstantial dreams; the sea had given him gold, beautiful shining\ngold, the fragment probably of a heavy bar of gold which the sea had\nrolled on its bottom into the size and shape of a musket ball. And now\nit was clear to his mind that somewhere on this coast there must have\nbeen a treasure ship wrecked, and that he had been selected as the\nchosen one to raise this buried treasure from the sea. From this time\nforth, this search for treasure became the passion of his life. He\nstrove to conceal the golden nugget even from his friend, so that\nothers might not discover his purpose. He neglected everything else,\nand spent his days and nights on this coast, not casting his net for\nfishes, but throwing out a scoop, that he had specially prepared for\nthe purpose, for gold.\n\nBut he found poverty instead of wealth; for he earned nothing now\nhimself, and Kaspar's sleepy efforts would not support them both. In\nthe search for the larger mass of gold, not only the nugget was used\nup, but the entire property of the two men as well. But as Strumpf had\nformerly received the largest part of his living by Falcon's efforts,\ntaking it all as a matter of course, so now he looked on the profitless\nundertaking of his friend silently and without a murmur; and it was\njust this meek forbearance on the part of his friend that spurred\nFalcon on to continue his restless search for wealth. But what made him\nstill more active in his search was, that as often as he laid down to\nrest and closed his eyes in sleep, a word was sounded in his ear that\nhe seemed to have heard very plainly, and that always appeared to be\nthe same word, and yet he could never recall it. To be sure, he did not\nsee what connection this circumstance, singular as it was, might have\nwith his present purpose; but upon a spirit like William Falcon's\neverything made an impression, and even this mysterious whisper helped\nto strengthen his belief that great good luck was in store for him,\nwhich he expected to find only in a heap of gold.\n\nOne day he was surprised by a storm on the shore in the same place\nwhere he had found the nugget, and he was forced to take refuge from\nits fury in a cave near by. This cave, which the inhabitants called the\ncave of Steenfoll, consists of a long underground passage opening on\nthe sea, with two entrances, and permitting a free passage of the waves\nthat were continually foaming through them with a loud roar. This cave\ncould be entered only from one place--through a fissure from above,\nthat was but seldom approached except by venturesome boys, as in\naddition to the natural dangers of the spot, the cavern was reported to\nbe haunted. Falcon let himself down through this opening with some\ndifficulty, for about twelve feet, and took a seat on a projecting\npiece of rock beneath an overhanging ledge, where, with the roaring\nwaves beneath his feet and the raging storm above his head, he fell\ninto his usual train of thought about the wrecked ship and what kind of\na ship it might have been; for in spite of all his inquiries, he could\nnot obtain any information of a vessel having been wrecked on this\nspot, even from the oldest inhabitants. How long he sat thus he did not\nknow himself; but when he finally awoke from his reveries, he found\nthat the storm was over, and he was about to clamber up again, when a\nvoice from out of the depths pronounced the word \"_Car-milhan_\" very\ndistinctly. He climbed up to the top again, and looked down into the\nabyss once more in great terror. \"Great Heavens!\" exclaimed he, \"that\nis the word that disturbs my sleep! What does it mean?\" \"_Carmilhan!_\"\nwas the sighing response that came once more from the cave; and he fled\nto his hut like a frightened deer.\n\nFalcon was no coward; his fright was more from surprise than fear; and,\nmore than this, the greed for gold was too powerful in him to allow of\nhis being easily driven from his dangerous path. Once, as he was\nfishing with his scoop for treasure by moonlight, opposite the cave of\nSteenfoll, his scoop caught on something. He pulled with all his\nstrength, but the mass was immovable. In the meantime the wind had\nrisen, dark clouds overcast the sky, the boat rocked and threatened to\nturn over; but Falcon did not lose his presence of mind; he pulled and\npulled at his scoop until the resistance ceased, and as he felt no\nweight he concluded that his rope had broken. But just as the clouds\nwere about to obscure the moon's light, a round, black mass appeared on\nthe surface of the water, and the word that haunted him, \"_Carmilhan_,\"\nwas spoken. He made a quick effort to seize the object; but as soon as\nhe stretched out his arm it disappeared in the darkness, and the coming\nstorm forced him to seek protection under the rocks near by. Here,\novercome by exhaustion, he fell asleep, only to be tormented in dreams\nby an unbridled imagination, and to suffer anew the pangs experienced\nin his waking hours, caused by his restless search for wealth.\n\nWhen Falcon waked, the first rays of the rising sun fell upon the bosom\nof the sea, as smooth now as a mirror. He was just about to set out on\nhis accustomed work, when he saw something coming towards him from the\ndistance. He soon recognized it as a boat. Within it sat a human\nfigure; but what aroused his greatest astonishment was that the vessel\ncame on without the aid of sail or oar, and its prow pointed for land\nwithout the person sitting in the boat paying any attention to the\nrudder, if there were one. The boat came nearer, and finally stopped\nnear William's boat. Its occupant proved to be a little dried-up old\nman, dressed in yellow linen, and wearing a red peaked night-cap. His\neyes were closed, and he sat as motionless as a mummy. After vainly\nshouting at him and jarring the boat. Falcon was in the act of making a\nline fast to the boat to tow it off, when the little man opened his\neyes, and began to bestir himself in such a manner as to fill even the\nbold fisherman's mind with dread.\n\n\"Where am I?\" asked he in Dutch, after a deep sigh. Falcon who had\nlearned something of that language from the Dutch herring-fishermen,\ntold him the name of the island, and inquired who he was and what\nerrand brought him here.\n\n\"I have come to look for the _Carmilhan_.\"\n\n\"The _Carmilhan_? for Heaven's sake, what is that?\" cried the curious\nfisherman.\n\n\"I won't give an answer to questions addressed to me in such a manner,\"\nreplied the little man.\n\n\"Well then,\" shouted Falcon, \"what is the _Carmilhan_?\"\n\n\"The _Carmilhan_ is nothing now; but once it was a beautiful ship,\ncarrying more gold than ever a vessel carried before.\"\n\n\"Where was it wrecked, and when?\"\n\n\"It was a hundred years ago; where, I do not know exactly. I come to\nsearch for the spot and recover the lost gold; if you will help me we\nwill divide what we find.\"\n\n\"With my whole heart; only tell me what I must do.\"\n\n\"What you will have to do requires courage. You must go just before\nmidnight to the wildest and loneliest region on the island, leading a\ncow, which you must slaughter there, and get some one to wrap you up in\nthe cow's fresh hide. Your companion must then lay you down and leave\nyou alone, and before it strikes one o'clock you will know where the\ntreasures of the _Carmilhan_ lies.\"\n\n\"It was in just such a way that old Engrol was destroyed, body and\nsoul!\" cried Falcon, with horror. \"You are the evil one himself,\"\ncontinued he as he rowed quickly away. \"Go back to hell! I won't have\nanything to do with you.\"\n\nThe little man gnashed his teeth, and cursed him; but Falcon, who had\nseized both oars, was soon out of hearing, and on turning round a rocky\npromontory was out of sight as well.\n\nBut the discovery that the evil one was taking advantage of his avarice\nby seeking to ensnare him with gold, did not open the eyes of the\nblinded fisherman, but on the contrary he determined to make use of the\ninformation the little man had given him, without putting himself in\nthe power of the evil one. So while he continued to fish for gold on\nthe desolate coast, he neglected the prosperity offered by large\nschools of fish off other parts of the coast as well as all other\nexpedients to which he had once turned his attention, and sank with his\ncompanion into deeper poverty from day to day, until the common\nnecessaries of life began to fail them. But although this ruin might be\nwholly ascribed to Falcon's obstinacy and cupidity, and the maintenance\nof both had fallen on Kaspar Strumpf alone, yet the latter never once\nreproached his companion, but on the other hand continued to display\nthe same subjection to him, and the same confidence in his superior\nunderstanding, as at the time when everyone of his undertakings was\nsuccessful. This circumstance increased Falcon's sorrows not a little,\nbut drove him into a still keener search for gold, hoping thereby soon\nto be able to indemnify his companion for so great forbearance. The\nword _Carmilhan_ still haunted him in his sleep. In short, need,\ndisappointed hopes, and avarice, drove him finally into a species of\ninsanity, so that he really resolved to do that which the little man\nhad advised--although knowing that, as the legend ran, he thereby gave\nhimself up to the powers of darkness.\n\nKaspar's objections were all in vain. Falcon became the more\ndetermined, the more Kaspar besought him to give up his desperate\npurpose; and finally the good, weak-minded fellow consented to\naccompany him and assist him in carrying out his plan. The hearts of\nboth men were saddened, as they tied a rope to the horns of a beautiful\ncow that they had owned since she was a calf, and that was now their\nlast piece of property; they had often refused to sell her before,\nbecause they could not bear the thought of letting her go into strange\nhands. But the evil spirit that now controlled Falcon's actions\ntriumphed over his better nature; nor did Kaspar know how to restrain\nhim in anything.\n\nIt was now September, and the long nights of the Scottish Winter had\nalready begun. The night clouds were driven along before the raw night\nwind, and were banked up in masses like icebergs. Deep shadows filled\nthe ravines between the mountains and the peat-bogs, and the troubled\nchannels of the streams appeared black and fearful. Falcon led the way\nand Strumpf followed, shuddering at his own boldness. Tears filled\nKaspar's eyes as often as he looked at the poor creature that was going\nso unconsciously and trustfully to its death, to be dealt it by the\nhand that had always fed and caressed it.\n\nWith much difficulty they entered a narrow marshy valley, which was\nhere and there strewn with rocks, with patches of moss and heathers,\nand was shut in by a chain of wild mountains whose outlines were lost\nin a gray mist, and whose steep sides had seldom been ascended by a\nhuman foot. They approached a large rock in the centre of the valley\nover the shaking bog, from which a frightened eagle flew screaming into\nthe sky. The poor cow lowed, as if aware of the terrors of the place\nand the fate that awaited her. Kaspar turned aside to wipe away\nthe fast falling tears. He looked down to the rocky opening through\nwhich they had come, from which point could be heard the breakers on\nthe distant coast, and then up to the mountain peaks, upon which a\ncoal-black cloud had settled, from which might be heard from time to\ntime dull mutterings of thunder. As he looked toward Falcon he found\nthat his friend had made the cow fast to the rock, and now stood with\nuplifted ax in the very act of dealing her death blow.\n\nThis was too much for Kaspar. Wringing his hands, he fell upon his\nknees. \"For God's sake, William Falcon!\" shouted he in despairing\ntones, \"save yourself! Spare the cow! Save yourself and me! Save your\nsoul! Save your life! And if you will persist in tempting God, wait at\nleast until to-morrow and sacrifice some other animal than our own\ncow!\"\n\n\"Kaspar, are you crazy?\" shrieked Falcon, like a madman, while he still\nheld the ax swinging in the air. \"Shall I spare the cow and starve?\"\n\n\"You shall not starve,\" answered Kaspar, resolutely. \"As long as I have\nhands you shall not suffer hunger. I will work for you day and night,\nso that you do not endanger the peace of your soul, and let the poor\ncreature live for my sake!\"\n\n\"Then take the ax and split my head!\" shouted Falcon, in desperation.\n\"I won't move from this spot until I have what I desire. Can you raise\nthe treasures of the _Carmilhan_ for me? Can your hands earn more than\nthe merest necessaries of life? But you can put an end to my misery.\nCome, and let me be the victim!\"\n\n\"William, kill the cow, kill me! It does not matter to me, I was only\nanxious about the salvation of your soul. Alas! this was the altar of\nthe Picts, and the sacrifice that you would bring belongs to the\ndarkness.\"\n\n\"I don't know anything about that,\" cried Falcon, laughing wildly, like\none who is resolved not to listen to anything that might swerve him\nfrom his purpose. \"Kaspar, you are crazy and make me crazy, too. But\nthere,\" continued he, throwing away the ax and picking up his knife\nfrom the stone as if about to stab himself; \"there, I will kill myself\ninstead of the cow!\"\n\nKaspar was at his side in a twinkling, tore the murderous weapon from\nhis hand, seized the ax, poised it high in the air, and brought it down\nwith such a force on the poor cow's head, that she fell dead at her\nmaster's feet.\n\nA flash of lightning, accompanied by a peal of thunder, followed this\nrash act, and Falcon stared at his friend in astonishment. But Strumpf\nwas disturbed neither by the thunder-clap nor by the fixed stare of his\ncompanion; and without speaking a word, fell to work at removing the\nhide. When Falcon had recovered from his amazement, he assisted his\ncompanion at this task, but with as evident aversion as he had before\nmanifested eagerness to see the sacrifice completed. During their work\nthe thunder-storm had gathered, the thunder reverberated among the\nmountains, and fearful flashes played about the rock; while the wind\nroared through the lower valleys and along the coast. And when at last\nthe two fishermen had stripped the hide off, they found that they were\nwet through to the skin. They spread the hide out on the ground, and\nKaspar wrapped and tied Falcon up in it. Then, for the first time, when\nall this was done, poor Kaspar broke the long silence by saying in a\ntrembling voice, as he looked down at his deluded friend: \"Can I do\nanything more for you, William?\"\n\n\"Nothing more,\" replied the other; \"farewell!\"\n\n\"Farewell,\" responded Kaspar. \"God be with you, and pardon you, as I\ndo.\"\n\nThese were the last words Falcon heard from him, for Kaspar disappeared\nin the darkness; and immediately thereafter the most terrible\nthunder-storm occurred that William had ever experienced. It began with\na flash, that revealed to Falcon's sight not only the mountains and\nrocks in his immediate vicinity, but also the valley below, with the\nfoaming sea and the rocky islets in the bay, between which he thought\nhe had a vision of a large foreign ship, dismasted; though the sight\nwas instantly lost again in the inky darkness. The thunder-claps were\ndeafening. A mass of splintered rock rolled down the mountain-side and\nthreatened to crush him. The rain poured down in such torrents that the\nnarrow, marshy valley was flooded with a stream that soon reached to\nFalcon's shoulders; fortunately Kaspar had laid him with the upper part\nof his body on a slight elevation, else he would surely have drowned.\nThe water rose still higher, and the more Falcon exerted himself to get\nout of his dangerous situation, the tighter did the hide seem to wrap\nitself about his limbs. All in vain did he call for Kaspar. Kaspar was\nfar away. He did not dare to call on God in his distress, and a shudder\nran through his frame whenever he thought of appealing for assistance\nto the powers into whose clutches he was conscious of having delivered\nhimself.\n\nAlready the water crept into his ears; now it touched the edge of his\nlips. \"Oh, God! I am lost!\" screamed he, as he felt the water sweep\nover his face; but in the same instant the sound of a waterfall close\nby came dimly to his ears, and his face was immediately uncovered. The\nflood had forced a passage through the stone; and as the rain slackened\nand the sky grew lighter, so did his despair abate, and a ray of hope\nreturned to his mind. But although he felt as exhausted as if just\nemerged from a death-struggle, and ardently wished to be released from\nhis imprisonment, still the purpose of his desperate efforts was not\nyet accomplished, and with the vanishing of immediate deadly peril, the\ndemon of greed returned to his breast. But, convinced that he must\nremain in his present situation in order to attain his end, he kept\nvery quiet, and finally, overcome by cold and exhaustion, fell into a\nsound sleep.\n\nHe might have slept two hours, when a cold wind blowing over his face,\nand a roaring, as of oncoming waves, aroused him from his happy state\nof oblivion. The sky was darkened anew. A flash, like that which had\nushered in the first storm, lighted up once more the surrounding\nregion, and he fancied he had another vision of the strange ship, that\nwas now poised for an instant on the crest of an enormous wave close to\nthe Steenfoll cliffs, and then appeared to shoot suddenly into the\nrocky chasm. He continued to stare after the phantom, as the sea was\nnow illuminated by unceasing flashes of lightning, when suddenly a\nwater-spout rose from the valley, near where he lay, and dashed him so\nviolently against a rock as to deprive him of his senses. When he\nrecovered consciousness, the weather had cleared, the sky was bright,\nbut the lightning still continued.\n\nHe lay close at the base of the mountains that shut in this valley,\nfeeling so badly bruised that he had no desire to stir. He heard the\nquieter beating of the surf, mingled with a solemn melody like that of\na psalm. These tones were at first so faint that he thought they must\nbe an illusion; but they occurred again and again, each time clearer\nand nearer, and at last he thought he could distinguish the melody of a\npsalm which he had heard on board a Dutch fishing-smack the Summer\nbefore. Finally he could also make out voices, and he seemed to be able\nto distinguish the words of the song. The voices were now in the\nvalley, and he pushed himself, with difficulty, to a stone, upon which\nhe raised his head, and perceived a procession of human figures,\nevidently the singers he had heard, and who were coming directly\ntowards him. Care and grief were expressed on the faces of these\npeople; and water was dripping from their clothes. Now they were close\nto him, and their song ceased. At their head were several musicians;\nthen followed some seamen, and after these came a tall and strong man\nin a costume richly decorated with gold, apparently belonging to a past\nage. A sword hung at his side, and he carried in his hand a stout\nSpanish cane with a gold head. At his left side walked a negro boy,\nwho, from time to time, handed his master a long-stemmed pipe, from\nwhich the latter would take several grave puffs and then walk on. He\nstopped bolt upright before Falcon, while other men, less splendidly\ndressed, ranged themselves on either side of him. They all had pipes in\ntheir hands, not, however, as costly as that of their leader. Behind\nthem came still other persons, among them being several women, some of\nwhom had children in their arms or at their apron-strings, and all in\ncostly foreign costumes. A crowd of Dutch sailors brought up the rear\nof the procession, each one having a quid of tobacco in his mouth, and\nholding between his teeth a little cutty-pipe, which he smoked in\ngloomy silence.\n\nThe fisherman shuddered as he looked at this singular assembly; but his\nexpectation that something would come of it all kept his courage up.\nFor some time the strange people stood around him thus, and the smoke\nfrom their pipes floated over them like a cloud, through which peeped\nthe stars. The men closed in on Falcon in an ever-narrowing circle; the\nsmoking became more and more vehement, and the clouds that arose from\npipe and mouth increased in density.\n\nFalcon was a bold, daring man; he had prepared himself beforehand for\nextraordinary occurrences; but when he saw this innumerable crowd\npressing in on him as if to crush him by their numbers, his courage\nfailed him, great drops of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he\nthought he would perish in a spasm of fright. But one may imagine his\nhorror when, as he chanced to turn his eyes, he saw, sitting motionless\nand erect, close by his head, the little old man in the yellow linen\nsuit, looking just as he had the first time except that now, as if\nmaking fun of the whole assembly, he, too, had a pipe in his mouth. In\nthe mortal fright that now took possession of him, Falcon cried out to\nthe leader of this assembly:\n\n\"In the name of whomsoever you serve, who are you? and what do you want\nwith me?\"\n\nThe tall man drew three whiffs, even more gravely than before; then\ngave the pipe to his servant and answered very coldly:\n\n\"I am Alfred Frank van Swelder, commander of the ship _Carmilhan_, of\nAmsterdam, which, on the voyage home from Batavia, went to the bottom\nwith man and mouse on this rocky coast. These are my officers, those my\npassengers, and beyond, my brave crew who were all drowned with me. Why\nhave you summoned us from our dwellings deep in the sea? Why do you\ndisturb our rest?\"\n\n\"I wish to know where the treasure of the _Carmilhan_ lies.\"\n\n\"On the bottom of the sea.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"In the cave of Steenfoll.\"\n\n\"How can I recover it?\"\n\n\"A goose dives into the abyss for a herring; is not the treasure of the\n_Carmilhan_ of as much value?\"\n\n\"How much of it shall I recover?\"\n\n\"More than you will ever spend.\"\n\nThe little man in yellow grinned horribly at this reply, while all the\nothers laughed aloud.\n\n\"Are you through?\" inquired the commander, further.\n\n\"I am. Farewell!\"\n\n\"Farewell, until we meet again!\" replied the Dutchman, and turned to\ngo; the musicians took the lead again, and the whole procession marched\naway in the same order in which it had come, and with the same solemn\nsong, which grew ever fainter and fainter in the distance, until\nfinally it was lost in the roar of the breakers.\n\nFalcon now exerted his utmost strength to get out of the hide, and he\nat last succeeded in freeing one arm, with which he was able to loosen\nthe rope that was wound round him, and soon had stepped out of the\nhide. Without stopping to look about him, he hastened down to his hut,\nand found poor Kaspar Strumpf lying on the ground in an insensible\ncondition. With some difficulty he restored him to consciousness, and\nthe good fellow shed tears of joy on once more beholding the friend of\nhis youth, whom he had given up for lost. But this happy consolation\nvanished quickly, when he learned what a desperate undertaking Falcon\nnow had in mind.\n\n\"I would rather cast myself into hell than to look any longer at these\nbare walls and reflect on our misery. Follow me, or stay here; I am\ngoing at any rate.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWith these words. Falcon seized a torch, a tinder-box, and a rope, and\nhastened away. Kaspar ran after him as fast as he could, and found his\nfriend standing on the ledge of the rock upon which he had once sought\nsafety from the storm, and ready to let himself down into the raging\nabyss. When Kaspar found that his entreaties had no effect on the\ncrazed man, he prepared to descend after him; but Falcon ordered him to\nremain where he was and hold on to the rope. With an amount of exertion\nthat could only have been supplied by the blindest of passions, greed,\nFalcon clambered down into the cave, and at last came to a projecting\npiece of rock, just below which the black waves, crested with foam,\nrushed along with a dreadful roar. He looked about him eagerly, and\nfinally saw something glistening in the water directly beneath where he\nstood. He laid down his torch, plunged in, and seized a heavy object\nwhich he managed to bring back with him. It was an iron box filled with\ngold pieces. He shouted up to his companion what he had found; but he\nwould not pay the least attention to Kaspar's entreaties to content\nhimself with what he had. Falcon believed that this was only the first\nfruit of his long endeavors. He plunged into the waves once more--a\npeal of laughter arose from the sea, and William Falcon was never seen\nagain.\n\nKaspar went back to the hut, but as a changed man. The strange shocks\nwhich his weak head and sensitive heart had experienced, wrecked his\nmind. He wandered about, day and night, staring before him in an\nimbecile way, pitied and yet avoided by all his former acquaintances.\nOne stormy night a fisherman claimed to have recognized William Falcon\non the shore among the crew of the _Carmilhan_, and on that same night\nKaspar Strumpf disappeared. He was sought for every-where, but no trace\nof him was ever found; but the legend runs that he has often been seen,\ntogether with Falcon, among the crew of the spectre ship, which since\nhis loss appears at stated times at the cave of Steenfoll.\n\n\n\n\"It is long past midnight,\" said the student, when the young goldsmith\nhad concluded his story; \"there cannot well be any further danger, and\nI, for my part, am so sleepy that I would advise that we all lay down\nand go to sleep with a sense of perfect security.\"\n\n\"I should not feel safe before two o'clock in the morning,\" said the\nhuntsman; \"the proverb says, from eleven till two is the thief's hour.\"\n\n\"I am of the same opinion,\" observed the compass-maker; \"for if they\nmean us any harm, there is certainly no time so well adapted to their\npurpose as the small hours. Therefore, I think it would be well if the\nstudent were to continue his story, which he did not finish.\"\n\n\"I will not refuse your request,\" responded the student, \"although our\nneighbor, the huntsman, did not hear the beginning of it.\"\n\n\"I will try to imagine it, only go on,\" replied the huntsman.\n\n\"Well then,\"--the student had just begun, when they were interrupted by\nthe barking of a dog. All held their breaths and listened. At the same\ninstant one of the servants rushed in from the countess's room, and\nannounced that from ten to twelve armed men were approaching the inn.\n\nThe huntsman seized his rifle, the student his pistol, the journeymen\ntheir canes, while the wagoner drew a large knife from his pocket. Thus\nthey stood staring at one another helplessly.\n\n\"Let us station ourselves at the head of the stairs!\" cried the\nstudent. \"Two or three of these villains shall meet their death before\nwe are overpowered.\" So saying he gave the compass-maker his other\npistol, with the understanding that they should fire one after the\nother. They took their places on the stairs--the student and the\nhuntsman first, and near them the courageous compass-maker, who kept\nhis pistol pointed down the centre of the stair-way. The goldsmith and\nthe wagoner stood behind them, ready to do their best if it should come\nto a hand-to-hand fight.\n\nThey had stood thus but a few moments, when the house-door opened, and\nthey heard several voices whispering.\n\nNow they heard the steps of many men nearing the stair-way. The steps\ncame up the stairs, and when about half way up three men were made out,\nwho were evidently not prepared for the reception that awaited them. As\nthey turned round the pillar that supported the flooring above, the\nhuntsman called out: \"Halt! One step further, and you are dead men.\nCock your guns, friends, and take good aim!\"\n\nThe robbers shrank back; returned hastily to their companions below,\nand conferred with them. After a while one of them came back and said:\n\"Gentlemen, it would be folly in you to sacrifice your lives for\nnothing; for there are enough of us to completely destroy you; but\nreturn to your rooms and not one of you shall be harmed in the least,\nnor will we take a farthing from you.\"\n\n\"What is your purpose, then?\" demanded the student. \"Do you think we\nwill trust such villains as you? No indeed! If you have any business\nwith us, come on, in God's name; but the first one who ventures up here\nI will brand on the forehead so that he will never suffer from headache\nagain!\"\n\n\"Surrender the lady to us then,\" answered the robber. \"She shall not\nsuffer harm; we will merely conduct her to a safe place, where she can\nremain in comfort, while her servants return to the count and inform\nhim that he can ransom her for twenty thousand guldens!\"\n\n\"Shall we listen to such propositions?\" exclaimed the huntsman, furious\nwith rage as he cocked his gun. \"I will count three, and if you are not\noff before I say three, I will pull the trigger! One, two--\"\n\n\"Hold!\" shouted the robber in a tone of command. \"Is it customary to\nshoot at an unarmed man, who is holding a friendly parley with you?\nFoolish fellow, you might shoot me dead, and after all not perform a\nvery heroic deed; but here stand twenty of my comrades who would avenge\nme. How would it benefit your lady countess if you lay dead or stunned\non the floor? Believe me, if she will go with us without offering\nresistance she shall be treated with every consideration, but if you\ndon't put down your gun before I have counted three, it shall fare hard\nwith her. Put down your gun!--One, two, three!\"\n\n\"These dogs are not to be trifled with,\" whispered the huntsman to his\ncompanion, as he obeyed the robber's command. \"Really I am not afraid\nof my own life, but if I were to shoot down one of them, it might be so\nmuch the worse for my lady. I will consult with the countess.\" Then\nturning to the robber he continued: \"Give us a truce of half an hour in\norder to prepare the countess. It would kill her if she were to be\ninformed of this suddenly.\"\n\n\"Granted,\" replied the robber, at the same time stationing a guard of\nsix men on the stair-case.\n\nBewildered and irresolute, the unfortunate travellers followed the\nhuntsman to the countess's chamber, which was close to the stairs, and\nso loudly had the men spoken that the lady had not missed a word of\nwhat had been said. She was pale, and trembled violently, but\nnevertheless was firmly resolved to accept her fate.\n\n\"Why should I jeopardize the lives of so many brave men?\" said she.\n\"Why demand of you, to whom I am a stranger, an idle defence? No; I see\nno other chance of rescue than to follow these wretches.\"\n\nAll were impressed by the lady's spirit and misfortune. The huntsman\nwept, and swore that he could not survive this disgrace. The student\nreviled himself and his stature of six feet. \"If I were only half a\nhead shorter and had no beard,\" said he, \"I should know how to act; I\nwould dress myself in the lady countess's clothes, and these wretches\nshould find out only too late what a blunder they had made.\"\n\nFelix also had been deeply moved by the lady's misfortune. Her whole\npresence came so familiarly and affectingly before him, that it seemed\nto him as if the mother whom he had lost in his youth was now in this\nterrible situation. He would cheerfully have given his life for hers.\nAnd, as the student spoke, his words awakened an idea in his mind; he\nforgot all anxiety and every consideration but that of the rescue of\nthis lady.\n\n\"If that is all,\" said he, stepping forward timidly, and coloring as he\nspoke, \"if only a short stature, a beardless chin, and a courageous\nheart are needed to rescue this lady, then perhaps I am not unfit for\nthat purpose. Put on my coat, gracious lady, hide your beautiful hair\nbeneath my hat, take my bundle on your back and go your way as Felix,\nthe goldsmith.\"\n\nAll were astonished at the youth's spirit, while the huntsman fell on\nhis neck in an ecstasy of joy. \"Goldsmith,\" cried he, \"you will do that?\nYou will slip into my gracious lady's clothes and thus save her? The\ngood God has prompted you to do it. But you shall not go alone; I will\nshare your captivity, will remain at your side as your best friend, and\nwhile I live they shall not harm you.\"\n\n\"I too will go with you, as true as I live!\" exclaimed the student.\n\nMuch persuasion was required before the countess would consent to this\nscheme. She could not bear the thought that a stranger should sacrifice\nhimself for her; she could not help thinking that if the robbers\nshould afterward discover the deception practiced on them, they would\ntake a terrible revenge on the unfortunate youth. But finally she was\nover-persuaded, partly by the entreaties of the young man, and partly\nby the reflection that if she was saved she would make every exertion\nto rescue her savior. The huntsman and the other travellers accompanied\nFelix into the student's room, where he quickly threw on some of the\ncountess's clothes. To still further disguise him, the huntsman secured\nsome locks of the maid's false hair to the goldsmith's head, and tied\non the lady's hat. All declared that he would never be known; while the\ncompass-maker roundly asserted that if he had met him on the street he\nshould take off his hat without the slightest suspicion that he was\nbowing to his courageous comrade.\n\nThe countess in the meanwhile, with the help of her maid, had dressed\nherself in the clothes she found in the goldsmith's knapsack. With the\nhat drawn down over the forehead, the staff in her hand, and the\nknapsack on her back, she was completely disguised; and the travellers\nwould have laughed not a little at any other time, over this comical\nmasquerade. The new travelling journeyman thanked Felix with tears, and\npromised the speediest assistance.\n\n\"I have only one request to make,\" answered Felix. \"In the knapsack you\nhave on your back there is a small box; preserve this with the utmost\ncare, for if it should be lost, I should never be happy again. I must\ncarry it to my godmother and----\"\n\n\"Godfried, the huntsman, knows where my castle is,\" interrupted the\nlady. \"Every thing shall be given back to you just as it was; for I\nhope you will come yourself, noble young man, to receive the thanks of\nmy husband and myself.\"\n\nBefore Felix could reply, the harsh voices of the robbers were heard\ncalling from the stairs that the time was up, and that everything was\nready for the countess's journey. The huntsman went down to them, and\ndeclared that he could not leave the countess, and would rather go with\nthem, wherever they might lead, than to return to his master without\nhis mistress. The student also insisted that he should be allowed to\naccompany the lady. The robbers discussed the matter for some time, and\nfinally consented to the arrangement, provided that the huntsman should\nat once surrender his weapons. Then they gave orders that the other\ntravellers should remain perfectly quiet while the countess was being\ntaken away.\n\nFelix pulled down the veil that was spread over his hat, sat down in a\ncorner with one hand supporting his head, and, with the manner of one\nin deep grief, awaited the robbers. The travellers had withdrawn to the\nother room, but left the door ajar so that they could see all that\noccurred. The huntsman sat down with an appearance of sadness, but\nkeeping a sharp eye on the corner of the room that the countess had\noccupied. After they had sat thus for a few moments, the door opened,\nand a handsome stately man of about thirty-six years of age entered the\nroom. He wore a kind of military uniform, an order on his breast, a\nlong sabre at his side, and in his hand he carried a hat decorated with\nbeautiful feathers. Two of his men guarded the door immediately after\nhis entrance.\n\nHe approached Felix with a low bow; he seemed to be somewhat\nembarrassed in the presence of a lady of rank, as he made several\nattempts before he was able to speak connectedly.\n\n\"Gracious lady,\" said he, \"cases happen now and then in which one must\nhave patience; such an one is yours. Do not think that I shall for even\na moment lose sight of the respect due to so superior a lady. You shall\nhave every comfort, and will have nothing to complain of except perhaps\nthe fright you have suffered this evening.\" He paused here, as if\nawaiting an answer; but as Felix made no reply, he continued: \"Do not\nlook upon me as a common thief. I am an unfortunate man, whom adverse\ncircumstances have forced into this life. We are desirous of leaving\nthis region forever, but need money for that purpose. It would have\nbeen an easy matter for us to fall upon merchants and stages, but\nthereby we should have brought lasting misfortune on many people. Your\nhusband, the count, inherited half a million thalers not six weeks ago.\nWe ask for twenty thousand guldens of this superabundance; certainly a\njust and moderate demand. You will, therefore, have the goodness to\nwrite a note to the count at once, informing him that we are holding\nyou for a ransom, that he must send the money as quickly as possible,\nand that unless he does so--you understand me, we should be compelled\nto treat you with much less consideration. The ransom will not be\naccepted unless brought by a single man, under a pledge of the\nstrictest secrecy.\"\n\nThis scene was viewed with the most anxious interest by all the guests\nof the inn, but most anxiously of all by the countess. She trembled\nevery moment lest the young man should betray himself. She was firmly\nresolved to ransom him for a large sum, but just as strong was her\nresolve not to take a single step with these robbers for any earthly\nconsideration. She had found a knife in the goldsmith's coat pocket.\nShe held it open in her hand, prepared to kill herself rather than\nsuffer such a fate. Not less anxious was Felix himself. To be sure, he\nwas consoled and strengthened by the reflection that it was a manly and\npraiseworthy act to come to the assistance of a helpless lady as he was\ndoing, but he feared lest he should betray himself by each movement or\nby his voice. His alarm increased when the robber spoke of his writing\na letter. How should he write it? By what title should he address the\ncount? In what style should he write the letter, without betraying\nhimself? But his anxiety rose to the highest pitch, when the robber\nchief laid paper and pen before him, and requested him to lift his veil\nand write the letter.\n\nFelix did not know how becoming this disguise was to him, or he would\nnot have entertained the least fear of discovery. For, as he finally\nfelt forced to raise his veil, the robber chief, surprised by the\nbeauty of the lady and her somewhat manly and spirited features,\nregarded her with still greater respect. This fact did not escape the\nyoung goldsmith's attention; and satisfied that at least for a moment\nthere was no danger of discovery, he took up the pen and wrote to his\npretended husband, after a form that he had once read in an old book:\n\n\n\"My Lord and Husband:--I, unhappy woman, have been seized, on my\njourney, in the dead of night, by people whom I cannot credit with good\nintentions. They will keep me a prisoner until you, Sir Count, have\npaid down the sum of twenty thousand guldens for me. This is provided\nyou do not inform the authorities of this matter, or seek their\nassistance; and that you send the money by a single messenger to the\nforest inn in the Spessart. Otherwise I am threatened with a long and\nsevere imprisonment. Begging for the speediest deliverance,\n                                    I am your unhappy\n                                                       WIFE.\"\n\n\nHe handed this remarkable letter to the robber chief, who read it\nthrough and signified his approbation.\n\n\"It rests with you now to decide,\" said he, \"whether you will be\naccompanied by the huntsman or your maid. I shall send one of them to\nyour husband with this letter.\"\n\n\"The huntsman, and that gentleman there, will accompany me,\" answered\nFelix.\n\n\"Very well,\" returned the robber, going to the door and summoning the\ncountess's maid. \"Just give this woman her instructions.\"\n\nThe maid appeared, shivering and shaking. Felix too turned pale when he\nreflected that here he was in danger once more of betraying himself.\nStill the unexpected courage that had carried him safely through the\nformer ordeal, returned. \"I have no further commands for you,\" said he,\n\"except that you desire the count to take me from this unfortunate\nsituation as quickly as possible.\"\n\n\"And,\" added the robber, \"that you recommend the count most earnestly\nand explicitly to keep silent about all this, and not to undertake any\naction against us, before his wife is in his hands. Our spies would\ngive us timely warning of any such demonstrations on his part, and I\nwould not then be answerable for the consequences.\"\n\nThe trembling maid promised to obey these instructions. She was further\nordered to pack what dresses and linen the lady countess might need in\na small bundle, as they could not hamper themselves with much luggage;\nand when this had been done, the robber chief, with a low bow,\nrequested the lady to follow him. Felix stood up, the huntsman and the\nstudent followed, and, preceded by the robber, all three descended the\nstairs.\n\nBefore the inn stood a large number of horses. One of them was\npointed out to the huntsman; another, a beautiful pony provided with a\nside-saddle, stood ready for the countess; while a third was given to\nthe student. The leader lifted the young goldsmith to the saddle, fixed\nhim firmly in his seat, and then mounted a horse himself. He rode to\nthe right of the lady, while another of the robbers rode at her left\nside. The student and huntsman were similarly guarded. As soon as the\nband of robbers were mounted, the leader gave a loud and clear whistle\nas a signal to start, and shortly the whole troop had disappeared in\nthe forest.\n\nThe company gathered in the chamber of the inn, gradually recovered\nfrom their terror after the departure of the robbers. As is generally\nthe case after some great misfortune or sudden danger has passed by,\nthey would have been very cheerful had not their thoughts been occupied\nwith their three companions, who had been led away before their very\neyes. They all broke out in praise of the young goldsmith, and the\ncountess wept when she reflected how deeply she was indebted to one\nupon whom she had no claim, whom she had never even known. It was a\nconsolation for them all to know that the heroic huntsman and the brave\nstudent had accompanied him, and could comfort him in his hours of\ndespondency. They even entertained a hope that the experienced forester\nwould discover a means of escape for himself and companions. They\nconsulted together as to what they had better do. The countess resolved\nthat, as she was bound by no oath to the robbers, she would at once\nreturn to her husband, and make every exertion to discover their\nhiding-place, and set their prisoners free. The wagoner promised to go\nto Aschaffenburg and summon the officials to organize a pursuit of the\nrobbers, while the compass-maker was to continue his journey.\n\nThe travellers were not disturbed any more that night; silence reigned\nin the forest inn, that had an hour before been the theatre of terrible\nscenes. But in the morning, when the servants of the countess went\nbelow to prepare for her departure, they came running back, and\nreported that they had found the landlady and her hostler bound on the\nfloor, and begging for assistance.\n\nThe travellers gazed at one another in astonishment. \"What?\" cried the\ncompass-maker. \"Then these people must have been innocent. We have done\nthem wrong, for they can have no association with the robbers.\"\n\n\"I will allow myself to be hanged in their place,\" returned the\nwagoner, \"if we were not right after all. This is only a sham, designed\nto prevent their conviction. Don't you remember the suspicious\nappearance of this inn? Don't you remember how, when I started to go\ndown-stairs, the trained dog would not let me pass? how the landlady\nand the hostler appeared instantly, and asked in a surly way what I was\nafter? Still, all this was well for us, or at least for the lady\ncountess. If things had worn a less suspicious air in the public room,\nif the landlady had not aroused our distrust, we should not have\nremained together, nor have kept awake. The robbers could have attacked\nus in our sleep, or at least would have guarded our doors, so that the\nsubstitution of the brave young goldsmith for the countess would not\nhave been possible.\"\n\nThey all agreed with the wagoner, and determined to lodge a complaint\nagainst the landlady and her servant, before the magistrate. Still,\nin order to be on the safe side, they concluded not to manifest the\nleast token of suspicion just yet. The servants and the wagoner went\ndown-stairs, loosened the bonds of the robbers' accomplices, and\nconducted themselves as sympathetically and sorrowfully as possible. In\norder to conciliate her guests still more, the landlady charged each\none but a very small amount, and extended them a hearty invitation to\ncall again.\n\nThe wagoner paid his reckoning, took leave of his companions in\nmisfortune, and started on his road. After him the two journeymen went\noff. Light as the goldsmith's bundle had been made, it still seemed\nheavy to the delicate lady. But still heavier was her heart, when the\ntraitorous landlady stretched out her hand to take leave of her at the\ndoor. \"Why,\" cried she, \"what kind of a spark are you, to be going out\ninto the world so young? You must be a spoiled fellow, whom the master\nchased out of his shop. But that's none of my business; do me the honor\nto stop here on your return journey. Good luck to you!\"\n\nThe countess was so nervous, and trembled so, that she did not dare\nreply, least she should be betrayed by her voice. The compass-maker,\nnoticing her confusion, took his companion by the arm, bade good-bye to\nthe landlady, and sang a jovial song as they struck out into the\nforest.\n\n\"Now I am really in safety,\" cried the countess, when they had put a\nhundred paces between them and the inn. \"To the last moment I feared\nthat the landlady would recognize me, and have her servant lock me up.\nOh, how can I thank you for all you have done? Come to my castle; you\nmust at least return to meet your travelling companions again.\"\n\nThe compass-maker consented, and while they were thus speaking, the\ncountess's carriage came rolling up behind them; the door was quickly\nopened, the lady sprang inside, waved a farewell to the young\njourneyman, and was driven rapidly away.\n\nAbout this time, the robbers and their prisoners reached the camping\nplace of the band. They had ridden over a rough forest road at a fast\ntrot, exchanging not a word with their prisoners, and conversing among\nthemselves in low tones only when they changed their course. They\nfinally came to a halt just above a deep ravine. The robbers\ndismounted, and their leader assisted the goldsmith from his horse,\napologizing for the fast and wearisome ride he had forced him to take,\nand inquiring whether the gracious lady felt very much fatigued.\n\nFelix answered him in as gentle a tone as he could assume, that he was\nin need of rest; and the robber offered his arm to escort him into the\nravine. The descent was a very steep one, and the footpath was narrow\nand precipitous. At last they were safely down. Felix saw before him by\nthe faint light of the opening day, a small narrow valley not more than\na hundred paces in circumference, that lay deep in a basin formed by\nthe precipitous rocks. Some six or eight small, board and log huts were\nbuilt in this ravine. A few untidy women peeped out curiously from\nthese hovels, and a pack of twelve large dogs and their countless\npuppies surrounded the new-comers, howling and barking. The chief led\nthe countess to the best one of these huts, and told her that this was\nexclusively for her own use; and granted Felix's request that the\nhuntsman and the student might be permitted to remain with him.\n\nThe hut was furnished with deer-skins and mats, which served at once\nfor a carpet and for seats. Some jugs and dishes, made out of wood, a\nrusty old fowling-piece, and in the further corner a couch made of a\ncouple of boards and a few woollen blankets, which could hardly be\ndignified by the name of a bed, were the only appointments of the\nplace.\n\nLeft alone together for the first time in this miserable hut, the three\nprisoners had time to think over their strange situation. Felix, who\ndid not for a moment repent of his noble action, but who was still\nnervous as to what would become of him in case of a discovery, gave\nutterance to loud complaints; but the huntsman quickly checked him, and\nwhispered:\n\n\"For God's sake, be quiet, dear boy; don't you know that they will be\nlistening to us.\"\n\n\"Each word uttered in such a tone as that would create suspicion in\ntheir minds,\" added the student.\n\nNothing remained to poor Felix but to weep silently. \"Believe me, Mr.\nHuntsman,\" said he, \"I do not weep for fear of these robbers, or\nbecause of this miserable hut; no, it is quite another kind of sorrow\nthat oppresses me. How easily might the countess forget what I said to\nher so hastily, and then I should be considered a thief and thus made\nmiserable forever.\n\n\"But what is it, then, that causes you so much anxiety?\" inquired the\nhuntsman, wondering at the demeanor of the young man, who, up to this\ntime, had borne himself so courageously.\n\n\"Listen, and you will do me justice,\" answered Felix. \"My father was a\nclever goldsmith of Nuremberg, and my mother, previous to her marriage,\nhad served as maid to a lady of rank, and when she married my father\nshe was finely fitted out by the countess whom she had served. The\ncountess remained a good friend to my parents, and after my birth she\nstood as my godmother and made me many presents. And when my parents\ndied of a pestilence, and I, left alone in the world, was about to be\nsent to the poorhouse, this lady godmother heard of my misfortune and\nplaced me in a boarding-school. When I was of the proper age, she wrote\nto know if I would like to learn my father's trade. I jumped at the\nchance, and she apprenticed me to a master of the art in Wuerzburg. I\ntook readily to the work, and had soon made such progress that I was\ngiven a certificate, and could set out as a travelling journeyman. I\nwrote this to my lady godmother, and she answered at once that she\nwould give me the money for my outfit. With the letter she sent some\nsplendid stones, and requested me to give them a beautiful setting, and\nbring the ornament to her myself as a proof of my skill, and receive my\ntravelling money at the same time. I have never seen my lady godmother,\nand you may imagine with what pleasure I undertook her commands. I\nworked day and night on the ornament, and turned out such a beautiful\nand delicate piece of work that even the master was astonished at my\nskill. When it was completed, I packed my knapsack carefully, took\nleave of my master, and started out on the journey to my lady\ngodmother's castle. Then,\" continued he, breaking into tears, \"these\nvillainous robbers happened along and destroyed all my hopes. For if\nyour lady countess loses the ornament, or forgets what I told her and\nthrows away my old knapsack, how shall I ever face my lady godmother?\nHow should I prove my story? How could I replace the stones? And my\ntravelling money would also be lost, and I should appear as an\nungrateful fellow who had foolishly surrendered his charge. And,\nfinally, would any one believe me if I were to relate this wonderful\nadventure?\"\n\n\"Be of good cheer!\" replied the huntsman. \"I do not believe that your\nornament can be lost while in the keeping of the countess; and even if\nsuch a thing should occur, she would be sure to make the loss good to\nher deliverer, and would herself bear witness to these mischances. We\nwill leave you now for some hours, for we really need sleep, and after\nthe excitement of this night you ought to take some rest. Afterwards in\nconversing with one another let us forget our misfortune for the time\nbeing, or, better still, let us think about our escape.\"\n\nThey went away Felix remained alone, and made an attempt to follow the\nhuntsman's advice. When, after some hours, the student and huntsman\nreturned, they found their young friend in a much better mood. The\nhuntsman told the goldsmith that the chief of the band had assured him\nthat the lady should have every attention; and that in a few moments\none of the women whom they had seen about the huts would serve the lady\ncountess with coffee, and offer her services as attendant. They\nresolved, in order not to be disturbed, to refuse this favor; and when\nthe ugly old gypsy woman came, set the breakfast before them, and\ninquired in an obsequious manner whether she could be of any further\nservice, Felix motioned to her to leave, and as she still lingered, the\nhuntsman drove her out of the door. The student then narrated all that\nthey had learned about the camp.\n\n\"The hut in which you live, beautiful lady countess,\" began he, \"seems\noriginally to have been designed for the leader of the band. It is not\nso roomy, but it is much finer than the others. Beside this, there are\nsix others, in which the women and children live, for there are seldom\nmore than six robbers at home. One stands guard not far from this hut;\nanother below him, on the way to the path that leads out of the ravine;\nand a third stands as sentinel above, at the entrance to the ravine.\nEvery second hour they are relieved by the three others. More than\nthis, each guard has two large dogs near him, and they are all so\nwide-awake that one can not set foot outside the hut without being\nbarked at. I have no hope that we can steal out of this place.\"\n\n\"Don't make me sad; I feel more cheerful after my nap,\" returned Felix.\n\"Don't give up all hope, and if you fear discovery, let us rather talk\nabout something else, and not be troubled about the future. Herr\nStudent, you began a story in the inn; continue it now, for we have\ntime to amuse ourselves.\"\n\n\"I can scarcely remember what it was,\" answered the young man.\n\n\"You were relating the legend of 'The Marble Heart,' and had reached\nthe point where the landlord and the other gambler had put Charcoal\nPete out of doors.\"\n\n\"All right; it comes back to me now,\" replied he. \"Well, if you wish to\nhear more of it, I will continue.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE MARBLE HEART.\n\n                              SECOND PART.\n\nWhen Peter went to his glass-works on Monday morning, he found not only\nhis workmen there, but also other people who do not make very pleasant\nvisitors--the sheriff and three bailiffs. The sheriff bade Peter good\nmorning, asked how he had slept, and then took out a long register, on\nwhich were inscribed the names of Peter's creditors. \"Can you pay or\nnot?\" demanded the sheriff in a severe tone. \"And be quick about the\nmatter too, for I have not much time to spare, and the prison is a\nthree hours ride from here.\" Peter, in great despondency, confessed\nthat he was unable to pay the claims, and left it to the sheriff to\nappraise his house, glass-works, stable, and horses and carriage.\n\nWhile the officials were conducting their examination, it occurred to\nPeter that the Tannenbuehl was not far away, and as the little man had\nnot helped him, he would try the big man. He ran to the Tannenbuehl as\nfast as though the officers had been at his heels; and it seemed to\nhim, as he rushed by the spot where he had first spoken to the Little\nGlass-Man, that an invisible hand seized him--but he tore himself out\nof its grasp, and ran on till he came to the boundary line, which he\nremembered well; and hardly had he shouted: \"Dutch Michel! Dutch\nMichel!\" when the giant raftsman, with his immense pole, stood before\nhim.\n\n\"Have you come at last?\" said the giant, laughing. \"Do they want to\nstrip you for the benefit of your creditors? Well, be quiet; your whole\ntrouble comes, as I told you it would, from the Little Glass-Man--the\nhypocrite. When one gives, one should give generously, and not like\nthis miser. But come,\" continued he, turning towards the forest,\n\"follow me to my house, and we will see whether we can make a trade.\"\n\n\"Make a trade?\" reflected Peter. \"What can he want from me? How can I\nmake a bargain with him? Does he want me to do him some service, or\nwhat is it he's after?\"\n\nThey walked over a steep forest path, and suddenly came upon a dark and\ndeep ravine. Dutch Michel sprang down the rocks as if they were an easy\nmarble stair-case; but Peter came near fainting with fright, when Dutch\nMichel on reaching the bottom, made himself as tall as a church\nsteeple, and stretched out an arm as long as a weaver's beam, with a\nhand as broad as the table in the tavern, and shouted in a voice that\nechoed like a deep funeral bell: \"Set down on my hand and hold fast to\nthe fingers, and you will not fall.\" Peter tremblingly obeyed him,\ntaking a seat on the giant's hand, and holding on to his thumb.\n\nThey went down and down for a great distance, but still, to Peter's\nastonishment it did not grow darker; on the contrary, it seemed to be\nlighter in the ravine, so that for some time his eyes could not endure\nthe light. The farther they descended, the smaller did Dutch Michel\nmake himself, and he now, in his former stature, stood before a house\nneither better nor worse than those owned by wealthy peasants in the\nBlack Forest. The room into which Peter was conducted did not differ\nfrom the rooms of other houses, except that an indescribable air of\nloneliness pervaded it. The wooden clock, the enormous Dutch tile\nstove, the utensils on the shelves, were the same as those in use\nevery-where. Michel showed him to a seat behind the large table and\nthen went out, returning soon with a pitcher of wine and glasses. He\npoured out the wine, and they talked at random, until Dutch Michel\nbegan to tell about the pleasures of the world, of strange lands, and\nof beautiful cities and rivers, so that Peter at last became possessed\nof a strong desire to travel also, and told the giant so openly.\n\n\"However desirous you might be of undertaking anything, a couple of\nquick beats of your silly heart would make you tremble; and as for\ninjured reputation, for misfortune, why should a sensible fellow\ntrouble himself with such matters? Did you feel the insult in your head\nwhen recently you were called a cheat and swindler? Did your stomach\npain you when the sheriff came to turn you out of house and home? Tell\nme, where were you conscious of pain?\"\n\n\"In my heart,\" answered Peter, laying his hand on his breast; for it\nseemed to him as though his heart was swinging to and fro unsteadily.\n\n\"You have--don't take it amiss--you have thrown away many hundred\nguldens on idle beggars and other low fellows; how did that benefit\nyou? They blessed you, and wished you a long life; do you therefore\nexpect to live the longer? For the half of that wasted money you could\nhave employed physicians in your illness. Blessings?--Yes, it's a fine\nblessing to have your property seized and yourself put out of doors!\nAnd what was it that induced you to put your hand in your pocket\nwhenever a beggar held out his tattered hat?--your heart, once more\nyour heart; and neither your eyes nor your tongue, your arms nor your\nlegs, but your heart. You took it--as the saying is--too much to\nheart.\"\n\n\"But how can one train himself so that it would not be so any more? I\nam exerting myself now to control my heart, and still it beats and\ntorments me.\"\n\n\"Yes, no doubt you find that the case,\" replied the giant, with a\nlaugh. \"You, poor fellow, can not manage it at all; but give me the\nlittle beating thing, and then you will see how much better off you\nwill be.\"\n\n\"Give you my heart?\" shrieked Peter in terror. \"I should certainly die\non the spot! No, never!\"\n\n\"Yes, if one of your learned surgeons was to perform the operation of\nremoving the heart from your body, you would certainly die; but with me\nit would be quite another thing. Still, come this way, and satisfy\nyourself.\" So saying, he got up, opened a chamber door, and took Peter\ninside. The young man's heart contracted spasmodically as he stepped\nover the sill, but he paid no attention to it, for the sight that met\nhis eyes was strange and surprising. On a row of shelves stood glasses\nfilled with a transparent fluid, and in each of these glasses was a\nhuman heart; the glasses were also labeled with names, written on paper\nslips, and Peter read them with great curiosity. Here was the heart of\nthe magistrate at F., of the Stout Ezekiel, of the King of the Ball, of\nthe head gamekeeper; there were the hearts of six corn factors, of\neight recruiting officers, of three scriveners--in short, it was a\ncollection of the most respectable hearts within a circumference of\nsixty miles.\n\n\"Look!\" said Dutch Michel. \"All these have thrown away the cares and\nsorrows of life. Not one of these hearts beats anxiously any longer,\nand their former possessors are glad to be well rid of their\ntroublesome guests.\"\n\n\"But what do they carry in the breast in place of them?\" asked Peter,\nwhose head began to swim at what he had seen.\n\n\"This,\" answered the giant, handing him, from a drawer, a _stone\nheart_.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Peter, as a chill crept over him. \"A heart of marble?\nBut look you, Dutch Michel, that must be very cold in the breast.\"\n\n\"Certainly; but it is an agreeable coolness. Why should a heart be\nwarm? In winter the warmth of it is of no account; good cherry rum you\nwould find a better protection against the cold than a warm heart, and\nin summer, when you are sweltering in the heat, you can not imagine how\nsuch a heart will cool you. And, as I said before, there will be no\nfurther anxiety or terror, neither any more silly pity, nor any sorrow,\nwith such a heart in your breast.\"\n\n\"And is that all you are able to give me?\" asked Peter discontentedly.\n\"I hope for money, and you offer me a stone!\"\n\n\"Well, I think a hundred thousand guldens will do you to start with. If\nyou handle that well, you can soon become a millionaire.\"\n\n\"One hundred thousand!\" shouted the poor charcoal burner joyfully.\n\"There, don't beat so violently in my breast, we will soon be through\nwith one another. All right, Michel; give me the stone and the money,\nand you may take the restless thing out of its cage.\"\n\n\"I thought you would show yourself to be a sensible fellow,\" said Dutch\nMichel smiling. \"Come, let us drink once more together, and then I will\ncount out the money.\"\n\nSo they sat down to the wine again, and drank until Peter fell into a\ndeep sleep. He was finally awakened by the ringing notes of a bugle\nhorn, and behold, he sat in a beautiful carriage, driving over a broad\nhighway, and as he turned to look out of the carriage, he saw the Black\nForest lying far behind him in the blue distance. At first he could\nhardly realize that it was he himself who sat in the carriage; for even\nhis clothes were not the same that he had worn yesterday. But he\nremembered every thing that had occurred so clearly, that he said: \"I\nam Charcoal Pete, that is certain, and nobody else.\"\n\nHe was surprised that he felt no sensation of sorrow, now that for the\nfirst time he was leaving behind him his home and the woods where he\nhad lived so long. He could neither sigh nor shed a tear, as he thought\nof his mother whom he was leaving in want and sorrow; for all this was\na matter of indifference to him now. \"Tears and sighs,\" thought he,\n\"homesickness and melancholy, come from the heart, and--thanks to Dutch\nMichel--mine is cold and stony.\"\n\nHe laid his hand on his breast, and it was perfectly quiet there. \"If\nhe has kept his word as well with the hundred thousand guldens as he\nhas about the heart, I shall be happy,\" said he, and at once began a\nsearch in his carriage; he found all manner of clothes, as fine as he\ncould wish them, but no money. At last he came upon a pocket which\ncontained many thousand thalers in gold, and drafts on bankers in all\nthe large cities. \"Now it's all just as I wanted it,\" thought he; and\nsettling himself comfortably in a corner of the carriage, he journeyed\nout into the wide world.\n\nHe traveled for two years about the world, looking out from his\ncarriage to the right and left at the buildings he passed by; and when\nhe entered a city he looked out only for the sign of the tavern. After\ndinner he would be driven about the town, and have the sights pointed\nout to him. But neither picture, house, music, dancing, nor any thing\nelse, rejoiced him. His heart of stone could not feel an interest in\nany thing, and his eyes and ears were dulled to all that was beautiful.\nNo pleasures remained to him but those of eating, drinking and\nsleeping. Now and then, it is true, he recalled the fact, that he had\nbeen happier when he was poor and worked for his own support. Then\nevery beautiful view in the valley, the sound of music and song, had\nrejoiced him; then he had been satisfied with the simple fare that his\nmother had prepared and brought out to his fires. When he thus thought\nof the past, it seemed very singular to him that he could not laugh at\nall now, while then every little jest had amused him. When others\nlaughed, he simply affected to do the same as a mere matter of\npoliteness; but his heart did not join in the merriment. He felt then\nthat although he was destitute of emotion, yet he was far from being\ncontented. It was not homesickness or melancholy, but dullness,\nweariness, and a joyless life, that finally drove him back to his\nnative place.\n\nAs he passed by Strasbourg and saw the dark forest in the distance, as\nhe once more saw the strong forms and honest, faithful faces of the\ninhabitants of the Black Forest, as his ear caught the strong, deep,\nwell-remembered tones of his countrymen's voices, he put his hand\nquickly to his heart, for his blood danced through his veins, and he\nthought he should both weep and rejoice; but--how could he be so\nfoolish?--he had only a heart of stone, and stones are without feeling,\nand neither laugh nor weep.\n\nHis first visit was to Dutch Michel, who received him with much show of\nfriendliness. \"Michel,\" said Peter, \"I have travelled and have seen\nevery thing, but experienced only weariness. Upon the whole, the stone\nI carry in my breast saves me from many things; I never get angry, am\nnever sad, but at the same time I am never happy, and it seems to me as\nif I only half lived. Can not you make the stone heart a little more\nsensitive? or, give me back rather my old heart. I was accustomed to it\nfor twenty-five years, and even if it did sometimes lead me into a\nfoolish act, still it was a contented and happy heart.\"\n\nThe Spirit of the Forest laughed scornfully. \"When you are once dead,\nPeter Munk,\" replied he, \"your heart shall not be missing; then you\nshall have back your soft, sensitive heart, and then you will have an\nopportunity to feel whatever comes, joy or sorrow. But in this world it\ncan never be yours again. Still, Peter, although you have travelled, it\nwon't do you any good to live in the way you have been doing. Settle\ndown somewhere here in the forest, build a house, marry, double your\nwealth; you were only in want of some employment. Because you were\nidle, you experienced weariness; and now you would charge it all to\nthis innocent heart.\"\n\nPeter saw that Michel was right, so far as idleness was concerned, and\nresolved to devote his energies to acquiring more and more riches.\nMichel presented him with another hundred thousand guldens, and the two\nparted on the best of terms.\n\nThe news soon spread throughout the Black Forest that Charcoal Pete, or\nGambler Pete, was back again, and richer than before. Things went on as\nthey had done. When he had been reduced to beggary, he was kicked out\nof the tavern door; and when now, on one Sunday afternoon he drove up\nto the tavern, his old associates shook his hand, praised his horse,\ninquired about his journey; and when he began to play with the Stout\nEzekiel again for silver thalers, he stood higher than ever in the\nesteem of the hangers-on. Instead of the glass business, he now went\ninto the timber trade; but this was only for sake of appearance, as his\nchief business was that of a corn factor and money lender. Fully half\nof the inhabitants of the Black Forest gradually fell into his debt, as\nhe only lent money at ten per cent interest, or sold corn to the poor,\nwho could not pay cash for it, at three times what it was worth. He\nstood in intimate relations with the sheriff, and if one did not pay\nMr. Peter Munk on the day his note fell due, the sheriff would ride\nover to the debtor's place, seize his house and land, sell it without\ndelay, and drive father, mother and child into the forest. At first\nthis course of action caused Peter some little trouble, for the people\nwho had been driven out of their homes blockaded his gates,--the men\npleading for time, the women attempting to soften his heart of stone,\nand the children crying for a piece of bread. But when he had provided\nhimself with a couple of savage mastiffs, this charivari, as he called\nit, very soon ceased. He whistled to the dogs, and set them on the pack\nof beggars, who would scatter with screams in all directions. But the\nmost trouble was given him by an old woman, who was none other than\nPeter's mother. She had been plunged into misery and want, since her\nhouse and lot had been sold, and her son, on his return, rich as he\nwas, would not look after her wants. Therefore she occasionally\nappeared at his door, weak and old, leaning on a staff. She dared not\nenter the house, for he had once chased her out of the door; but it\npained her to live on the charity of other people, when her own son was\nso well able to provide for her old age. But the cold heart was never\ndisturbed by the sight of the pale, well-known features, by her\npleading looks or by the withered, outstretched hand, or the tottering\nform. And when on a Saturday she knocked at his door, he would take out\na sixpence, grumbling meanwhile, roll it up in a piece of paper, and\nsend it out to her by a servant. He could hear her trembling voice as\nshe returned thanks and wished that all happiness might be his; he\nheard her steal away from the door coughing, but gave her no further\nthought, except to reproach himself with having thrown away a good\nsixpence.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nFinally Peter began to think about getting married. He knew that there\nwas not a father in the whole Black Forest who would not have been glad\nto give him his daughter; but he meant to be particular in his choice,\nfor he wished that in this matter, too, his luck and his judgment\nshould be recognized. Therefore he rode all through the forest,\nsearching here and there, but not one of the beautiful Black Forest\nmaidens seemed beautiful enough for him. Finally, after he had looked\nthrough all the ball rooms in a vain search for his ideal beauty, he\none day heard that the daughter of a certain woodchopper was the most\nbeautiful and virtuous of all the Black Forest maidens. She lived a\nvery quiet life, kept her father's house in the neatest order, and\nnever showed herself at a ball, not even on holidays. When Peter heard\nof this Black Forest beauty, he resolved to obtain her, and rode to the\nhut to which he was directed. The father of the beautiful Lisbeth\nreceived the gentleman in much surprise, but was still more astonished\nto hear that this was the wealthy Mr. Peter Munk, and that the\ngentleman wished to become his son-in-law. Believing that now all his\ncares and his poverty were at an end, the old man did not hesitate very\nlong, but consented to the match without stopping to consult his\ndaughter's inclinations, and the good child was so dutiful that she\nmade no objections, and soon became Mrs. Peter Munk.\n\nBut things did not go as well with the poor girl as she had dreamed.\nShe thought she had a perfect knowledge of how to manage a house; but\nshe could not do any thing that seemed to please her husband. She had\nsympathy with poor people, and, as her husband was so rich, she thought\nit would be no sin to give a farthing to a poor beggar woman or to hand\nan old man a cup of tea. But when Peter saw her do this one day, he\nsaid, in a harsh voice and with angry looks: \"Why do you waste my means\non idlers and vagabonds? Did you bring anything into the house, that\nyou can throw money away like a princess? If I catch you at this again,\nyou shall feel my hand!\"\n\nThe beautiful Lisbeth wept in her chamber over the cruel disposition\nof her husband, and often did she feel that she would rather be\nback in her father's hut than to live with the rich but miserly and\nhard-hearted Peter. Alas, had she known that her husband had a marble\nheart, and could neither love her nor any one else, she would not have\nwondered so much at his actions. But whenever she sat at the door, and\na beggar came up, took off his hat and began to speak, she now cast her\neyes down that she might not see the poor fellow, and clasped her hands\nlighter lest she should involuntarily feel in her pocket for money. So\nit happened that the beautiful Lisbeth came to be badly spoken of\nthroughout the entire Forest, and it was asserted that she was even\nmore miserly than Peter himself.\n\nBut one day while Lisbeth was sitting before the house, spinning, and\nhumming a song--for she felt in unusually good spirits, as the weather\nwas fine and Peter had ridden off--a little old man came up the road,\ncarrying a large, heavy sack. Lisbeth had heard him panting while he\nwas still at some distance, and she looked at him sympathetically,\nthinking that so old and weak a man ought not to carry so heavy a\nburden.\n\nIn the meantime the man had staggered and panted up, and when he was\nopposite Lisbeth, he almost fell down under the sack. \"Alas, take pity\non me, madame, and hand me a glass of water,\" said the little man; \"I\ncan not go another step, and I fear I shall faint.\"\n\n\"But at your age you ought not to carry such a heavy load,\" said\nLisbeth.\n\n\"Yes, if I was not forced by poverty to serve as a messenger,\" answered\nhe. \"Alas, a rich lady like you does not know how poverty pinches, and\nhow refreshing a drink of water would be on such a hot day.\"\n\nOn hearing this Lisbeth rushed into the house, took a pitcher from the\nshelf and filled it with water; but when she returned with it, and had\ncome within a few feet of the man, she saw how miserable he appeared as\nhe sat on the sack, and, remembering that her husband was not at home,\nshe set the pitcher of water to one side, got a goblet and filled it\nwith wine, laid a slice of rye bread on top of it, and brought it out\nto the old man. \"There; a sip of wine, at your age, will do you more\ngood than water,\" said she. \"But don't drink it so hastily, and eat\nyour bread with it.\"\n\nThe little man looked at her in astonishment, while tears gathered in\nhis eyes. He drank the wine and then said: \"I have grown old, but I\nhave seen few people who were so merciful, and who knew how to make\ngifts as handsomely and heartily as you do, Frau Lisbeth. And for this\nyour life on earth shall be a happy one; such a heart will not remain\nwithout a reward.\"\n\n\"No, and she shall have her reward on the spot!\" shouted a terrible\nvoice; and as they turned, there stood Peter with an angry face.\n\n\"So you were pouring out my best wine for beggars, and giving my own\ngoblet to the lips of a vagrant? There, take your reward!\"\n\nLisbeth threw herself at his feet and begged his forgiveness; but the\nheart of stone felt no pity; he turned the whip he held in his hand,\nand struck such a blow with the butt of it on her beautiful forehead,\nthat she sank lifeless into the arms of the old man. When Peter saw\nthis, he seemed to regret it on the instant, he bent down to see\nif there was still life in her, but the little man said to him in a\nwell-known voice: \"Don't trouble yourself. Charcoal Peter! It was the\nsweetest and loveliest flower in the Black Forest; but you have\ndestroyed it, and it will never bloom again.\"\n\nThe blood left Peter's cheeks, as he said: \"It is you then, Herr\nSchatzhauser? Well, what is done, is done, and must have come to pass.\nI hope, however, that you won't charge me with being her murderer\nbefore the magistrate.\"\n\n\"Wretch!\" exclaimed the Little Glass-Man, \"how would it console me to\nbring your mortal frame to the gallows? It is not earthly judges whom\nyou have to fear, but other and severer ones, for you have sold your\nsoul to the evil one.\"\n\n\"And if I have sold my heart,\" shrieked Peter, \"you and your miserable\ntreasures are to blame for it! You, malicious spirit, have led me to\nperdition, driven me to seek help of another, and you are answerable\nfor it all.\"\n\nBut hardly had Peter said this, when the Little Glass-Man swelled and\ngrew, and became both tall and broad, while his eyes were as large as\nsoup plates, and his mouth was like a heated oven from which flames\ndarted forth. Peter threw himself on his knees, and his marble heart\ndid not prevent his limbs from trembling like an aspen tree. The Spirit\nof the Forest seized him by the neck with the talons of a hawk, and\nwhirled him about as a whirlwind sweeps up the dead leaves, and then\nthrew him to the ground with such force that all his ribs cracked.\n\"Earth-worm!\" cried he, in a voice like a roll of thunder, \"I could\ndash you to pieces if I chose, for you have insulted the Master of the\nForest. But for this dead woman's sake, who has given me food and\ndrink, you shall have an eight days' reprieve. If you don't mend your\nways by that time, I will come and grind your limbs to powder, and you\nshall die in all your sins!\"\n\nNight had come on, when some men who were passing saw the rich Peter\nMunk lying on the ground. They turned him over, and searched for signs\nof life; but for some time their efforts to restore him were in vain.\nFinally one of them went into the house and brought out some water,\nwith which they sprinkled his face. Thereupon Peter drew a long breath,\ngroaned, and opened his eyes, looked about him, and inquired after\nLisbeth; but none of them had seen her. He thanked the men for the\nassistance they had rendered him, slipped into his house and searched\nevery-where; but Lisbeth was nowhere to be found, and what he had taken\nfor a horrible dream was the bitter truth.\n\nWhile he was sitting there quite alone, some strange thoughts came into\nhis mind; he was not afraid of anything, for his heart was cold; but\nwhen he thought of his wife's death, the thought of his own death came\nto him and he reflected how heavily he should be weighted on leaving\nthe world--burdened with the tears of the poor, with thousands of their\ncurses, with the agony of the poor wretches on whom he had set his\ndogs, with the silent despair of his mother, with the blood of the good\nand beautiful Lisbeth; and if he could not give an account to the old\nman, her father, if he should come and ask, \"Where is my daughter?\" how\nshould he respond to the question of Another, to whom all forests, all\nseas, all mountains, and the lives of all mortals, belong?\n\nHis sleep was disturbed by dreams, and every few moments he was\nawakened by a sweet voice calling to him: \"Peter, get a warmer heart!\"\nAnd when he woke he quickly closed his eyes again; for the voice that\ngave him this warning was the voice of Lisbeth, his wife.\n\nThe following day he went to the tavern to drown his reflections in\ndrink, and there he met the Stout Ezekiel. He sat down by him; they\ntalked about this and that, of the fine weather, of the war, of the\ntaxes, and finally came to talk about death, and how this and that one\nhad died suddenly. Peter asked Ezekiel what he thought about death and\na future life. Ezekiel replied that the body was buried, but that the\nsoul either rose to heaven or descended to hell.\n\n\"But do they bury one's heart also?\" asked Peter, all attention,\n\n\"Why, certainly, that is also buried.\"\n\n\"But how would it be if one did not have his heart any longer?\"\ncontinued Peter.\n\nEzekiel looked at him sharply as he spoke those words. \"What do you\nmean by that? Do you imagine that I haven't a heart?\"\n\n\"Oh, you have heart enough, and as firm as a rock,\" replied Peter.\n\nEzekiel stared at him in astonishment, looked about him to see if any\none had overheard Peter, and then said:\n\n\"Where do you get this knowledge? Or perhaps yours does not beat any\nmore?\"\n\n\"It does not beat any more, at least not here in my breast!\" answered\nPeter Munk. \"But tell me--now that you know what I mean--how will it be\nwith our hearts!\"\n\n\"Why should that trouble you, comrade?\" asked Ezekiel laughing. \"We\nhave a pleasant course to run on earth, and that's enough. It is\ncertainly one of the best things about our cold hearts, that we\nexperience no fear in the face of such thoughts.\"\n\n\"Very true; but still one will think on these subjects, and although I\ndo not know what fear is, yet I can remember how much I feared hell\nwhen I was a small and innocent boy.\"\n\n\"Well, it certainly won't go very easy with us,\" said Ezekiel. \"I once\nquestioned a school-master on that point, and he told me that after\ndeath the hearts were weighed, to find out how heavily they had sinned.\nThe light ones then ascended, the heavy ones sank down; and I think\nthat our stones will have a pretty good weight.\"\n\n\"Alas, yes,\" replied Peter; \"and I often feel uncomfortable, that my\nheart is so unsympathetic and indifferent, when I think on such\nsubjects.\"\n\nOn the next night, Peter heard the well-known voice whisper in his ear,\nfive or six times: \"Peter, get a warmer heart!\" He experienced no\nremorse at having killed his wife, but when he told the domestics that\nshe had gone off on a journey, the thought had instantly occurred to\nhim: \"Where has she probably journeyed to?\"\n\nFor six days he had lived on in this manner, haunted by these\nreflections, and every night he heard this voice, which brought back to\nhis recollection the terrible threat of the Little Glass-Man; but on\nthe seventh morning he sprang up from his couch crying: \"Now, then, I\nwill see whether I can procure a warmer heart, for this emotionless\nstone in my breast makes my life weary and desolate.\" He quickly drew\non his Sunday attire, mounted his horse, and rode to the Tannenbuehl.\n\nIn the Tannenbuehl the trees stood too closely together to permit of\nhis riding further, so he tied his horse to a tree, and with hasty\nsteps went up to the highest point of the hill and when he reached the\nlargest pine he spoke the verse that had once caused him so much\ntrouble to learn:\n\n           \"Keeper of green woods of pine,\n            All its lands are only thine;\n            Thou art many centuries old;\n            Sunday-born children thee behold.\"\n\nThereupon the Little Glass-Man appeared, but not with a pleasant\ngreeting as before; his expression was sad and stern. He wore a coat of\nblack glass, and a long piece of crape fluttered down from his hat.\nPeter well knew for whom the Spirit of the Wood sorrowed.\n\n\"What do you want of me, Peter Munk?\" asked the Little Glass-Man in a\nhollow voice.\n\n\"I have still one wish left, Herr Schatzhauser,\" answered Peter, with\ndowncast eyes.\n\n\"Can hearts of stone have any wishes?\" said the Glass-Man. \"You have\nevery thing needful for your wicked course of life, and it is doubtful\nwhether I should grant your wish.\"\n\n\"But you promised me three wishes; and I have one left yet.\"\n\n\"Still, I have the right to refuse it if it should prove a foolish\none,\" continued the Glass-Man. \"But proceed, I will hear what it is you\nwant.\"\n\n\"I want you to take this lifeless stone out of my breast, and give me\nin its place my living heart,\" said Peter.\n\n\"Did I make that bargain with you? Am I Dutch Michel, who gives riches\nand cold hearts? You must look to him for your heart.\"\n\n\"Alas, he will nevermore give it back to me,\" replied Peter.\n\n\"Wicked as you are, I pity you,\" said the Little Glass-Man after a\npause. \"But as your wish is not a foolish one, I can not refuse you my\nassistance at least. So listen. You can not recover your heart by\nforce, but possibly you may do so by stratagem; and this may not prove\nsuch a hard matter after all, for Michel, although he thinks himself\nuncommonly wise, is really a very stupid fellow. So go directly to him,\nand do just as I shall tell you.\"\n\nThe Little Glass-Man then instructed Peter in what he was to do, and\ngave him a small cross of clear crystal. \"He can not harm you while you\nlive, and he will let you go free if you hold this up before him and\npray at the same time. And if you should get back your heart, then\nreturn to this place, where I shall be awaiting you.\"\n\nPeter Munk took the cross, impressed on his memory all the words he was\nto say, and went to Dutch Michel's ravine. He called him three times by\nname, and immediately the giant stood before him.\n\n\"Have you killed your wife?\" asked the giant, with a fiendish laugh. \"I\nshould have done it in your place, for she was giving away your wealth\nto the beggars. But you had better leave the country for a while, for\nan alarm will be given if she is not found. You will need money, and\nhave probably come after it.\"\n\n\"You have guessed rightly,\" said Peter, \"and make it a large amount\nthis time, for America is far away.\"\n\nMichel preceded Peter into the hut, where he opened a chest in which\nwas piled a large amount of money, and took out whole rolls of gold.\nWhile he was counting them out on the table, Peter said: \"You are a\nfrivolous fellow, Michel, to cheat me into thinking that I had a stone\nin the breast and that you had my heart!\"\n\n\"And is that not so?\" asked Michel, surprised. \"Can you feel your\nheart? Is it not as cold as ice? Can you experience fear or sorrow, or\ncan any thing cause you remorse?\"\n\n\"You have only made my heart stand still, but I have it just the same\nas ever in my breast, and Ezekiel, too, says that you have lied to us.\nYou are not the man who can tear a heart from another's breast without\nhis knowing it, and without endangering his life; you would have to be\na sorcerer to do that.\"\n\n\"But I assure you,\" cried Michel indignantly, \"that you and Ezekiel,\nand all the rich people who have had dealings with me, have hearts as\ncold as your own, and I have their true hearts here in my chamber.\"\n\n\"Why, how the lies slip over your tongue!\" laughed Peter. \"You may tell\nthat to some body else. Do you suppose that I haven't seen dozens of\njust such imitations on my travels? The hearts in your chamber are\nfashioned from wax! You are a rich fellow, I admit, but no sorcerer.\"\n\nThe giant, in a rage, flung open the chamber door. \"Come in here, and\nread all these labels; and look! that glass there holds Peter Munk's\nheart. Do you see how it beats? Can one imitate that too in wax?\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, it is made of wax;\" exclaimed Peter. \"A real heart\ndoesn't beat in that way; and besides, I still have my own in my\nbreast. No indeed, you are not a sorcerer!\"\n\n\"But I will prove it to you!\" cried the giant, angrily. \"You shall feel\nit yourself, and acknowledge that it is your heart.\" He took it out,\ntore Peter's jacket open, and took a stone from the young man's breast\nand held it up to him. Then taking up the beating heart, he breathed on\nit, and placed it carefully in its place, and at once Peter felt it\nbeating in his breast, and he could once more rejoice thereat.\n\n\"How is it with you now?\" asked Michel smiling.\n\n\"Verily, you were right,\" answered Peter, meanwhile drawing the little\ncrystal cross from his pocket. \"I would not have believed that one\ncould do such a thing!\"\n\n\"Is it not so? And I can practice magic, as you see; but come, I will\nput the stone back again now.\"\n\n\"Gently, Herr Michel!\" cried Peter, taking a step backward, and holding\nup the cross between them. \"One catches mice with cheese, and this time\nyou are trapped.\" And forthwith, Peter began to pray, speaking whatever\nwords came readily to his mind.\n\nThereupon, Michel became smaller and smaller, sank down to the floor,\nwrithed and twisted about like a worm, and gasped and groaned, while\nall the hearts began to beat and knock against their glass cages, until\nit sounded like the workshop of a clock-maker. Peter was very much\nfrightened, and ran out of the house, and, driven on by terror, scaled\nthe cliffs; for he heard Michel get up from the floor, stamp and rage,\nand shout after him the most terrible curses. On arriving at the top of\nthe ravine, Peter ran towards the Tannenbuehl. A terrible thunderstorm\ncame up; lightning flashed to the right and left, and shattered many\ntrees, but he reached the Little Glass-Man's territory unharmed.\n\nHis heart beat joyfully, because of the very pleasure it seemed to\ntake in beating. But soon he looked back at his past life with horror,\nas at the thunder storm that had shattered the trees behind him. He\nthought of Lisbeth, his good and beautiful wife, whom he had murdered\nin his avarice. He looked upon himself as an outcast from mankind, and\nwept violently as he came to the Glass-Man's hill.\n\nHerr Schatzhauser sat under the pine tree, smoking a small pipe, but\nlooking more cheerful than before.\n\n\"Why do you weep, Charcoal Pete?\" asked he. \"Did you not get your\nheart? Does the cold one still lie in your breast?\"\n\n\"Alas, Master!\" sighed Peter, \"when I had the cold stone heart, I never\nwept. My eyes were as dry as the earth in July; but now the old heart\nis nearly broken in thinking of what I have done. I drove my debtors\ninto misery and want, set my dogs on the poor and sick, and--you\nyourself saw how my whip fell on her beautiful forehead!\"\n\n\"Peter, you were a great sinner!\" said the Little Glass-Man. \"Money and\nidleness ruined you, until your heart, turned to stone, knew neither\njoy nor sorrow, remorse nor pity. But repentance brings pardon, and if\nI were only sure that you were very sorry for your past life, I might\ndo something for you.\"\n\n\"I do not want any thing more,\" replied Peter, with drooping head. \"It\nis all over with me. I shall never know happiness again. What can I do,\nnow that I am alone in the world? My mother will never pardon my\nbehavior toward her; and perhaps I, monster that I am, have already\nbrought her to the grave. And Lisbeth, my wife! No; rather kill me,\nHerr Schatzhauser, and make an end of my miserable life at once.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the little man, \"if you will have it so; my ax is\nclose by.\" He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, knocked out the\nashes, and stuck it in his pocket. Then he rose slowly and went behind\nthe tree. Peter sat weeping on the grass, caring nothing for his life,\nand waiting patiently for the death-blow. After some time he heard\nlight steps behind him, and thought: \"Now he is coming.\"\n\n\"Look round once more, Peter Munk!\" shouted the little man. Peter wiped\nthe tears from his eyes and looked about him, and saw--his mother, and\nLisbeth, his wife, who both looked at him pleasantly. He sprang up\njoyfully saying:\n\n\"Then you are not dead, Lisbeth? And you too, mother, have you forgiven\nme?\"\n\n\"They will forgive you,\" said the Little Glass-Man, \"because you feel\ntrue repentance, and every thing shall be forgotten. Return home now to\nyour father's hut, and be a charcoal burner as before, and if you are\nhonest and just you will honor your trade, and your neighbors will love\nand esteem you more highly than if you had ten tons of gold.\" Thus\nspake the Little Glass-Man, and bade them farewell.\n\nThe three praised and blessed him, and then started home. The splendid\nhouse of the rich Peter Munk had vanished. The lightning had struck and\nconsumed it, together with all its treasures. But it was not far to his\nmother's hut; thence they took their way, untroubled by the loss of\nPeter's palace.\n\nBut how astonished were they on coming to the hut to find that it had\nbeen changed into a large house, like those occupied by the well-to-do\npeasants, and every thing inside was simple, was good and substantial.\n\n\"The good Little Glass-Man has done this!\" exclaimed Peter.\n\n\"How beautiful!\" cried Lisbeth; \"and here I shall feel much more at\nhome than in the great house with so many servants.\"\n\nFrom this time forth, Peter Munk was a brave and industrious man. He\nwas contented with what he had, carried on his trade cheerfully, and so\nit came to pass that through his own efforts he became well-to-do and\nwas well thought of throughout the Black Forest. He never quarreled\nagain with his wife, honored his mother, and gave to the poor who\npassed his door. When, in due course of time, a beautiful boy was born\nto him, Peter went to the Tannenbuehl and spoke his verse. But the\nLittle Glass-Man did not respond. \"Herr Schatzhauser,\" cried Peter,\n\"hear me this time; I only want to ask you to stand as godfather to my\nlittle boy!\" But there was no reply; only a puff of wind blew through\nthe pines and threw some cones down into the grass. \"I will take these\nwith me as a memento, since you will not show yourself,\" said Peter. He\nput the cones in his pocket, and went home; but when he took off his\nSunday jacket and gave it to his mother to put away, four large rolls\nof coin fell from the pockets, and when they were opened they proved to\nbe good, new Baden thalers, with not a counterfeit among them. And this\nwas the godfather's gift from the little man in the Tannenbuehl to the\nlittle Peter.\n\nThus they lived on, quietly and contentedly; and often afterwards, when\nthe gray hairs began to show on Peter's head, he would say: \"It is\nbetter to be contented with a little than to have gold and estates with\na _marble heart_.\"\n\n\n\nSome five days had now passed, and Felix, the huntsman and the student\nwere still the prisoners of the robbers. They were well treated by the\nchief and his men, but still they longed for their freedom, for each\nday that passed added to their fear of discovery. On the evening of the\nfifth day, the huntsman declared to his companions in misfortune that\nhe was fully resolved to escape that night or die in the attempt. He\nincited his companions to the same resolve, and showed them how they\nshould set about the attempt. \"The guard who is posted nearest to us, I\nwill look after,\" said he. \"It is a case of necessity, and necessity\nknows no law;--he must die!\"\n\n\"Die!\" repeated Felix in horror; \"you would kill him?\"\n\n\"I am firmly resolved to do it, when it comes to the question of saving\ntwo human lives. You must know that I overheard the robbers whispering,\nin an anxious manner, that the woods were being scoured for them; and\nthe old women, in their anger, let out the wicked designs of the band;\nthey cursed about us, and it is an understood thing that if the robbers\nare attacked we shall die without mercy.\"\n\n\"God in Heaven!\" exclaimed the young man, hiding his face in his hands.\n\n\"Still, they have not put the knives to our throats as yet,\" continued\nthe huntsman, \"therefore, let us get the start of them. When it gets\ndark I will steal up to the nearest guard; he will challenge me; I\nshall whisper to him that the countess has been suddenly taken very\nsick, and while he is off his guard I will stab him. Then I will return\nfor you, and the second guard will not escape us any more easily; and\nbetween us three the third sentinel will not stand much of a show.\"\n\nThe huntsman, as he spoke, looked so terrible that Felix was actually\nin fear of him. He was about to beg of him to give up these bloody\ndesigns, when the door of the hut opened softly, and a man's form stole\nin quickly. It was the robber chief. He closed the door carefully\nbehind him, and motioned to the prisoners to keep quiet. He then sat\ndown near Felix, and said:\n\n\"Lady countess, your situation is a desperate one. Your husband has not\nkept faith with us; not only has he failed to send the ransom, but he\nhas also aroused the government against us, and the militia are\nscouring the forest in all directions to capture me and my men. I have\nthreatened your husband with your death, if an attempt was made to\nseize us; still either your life must be of very little account to him,\nor else he does not think we are in earnest. Your life is in our hands,\nand is forfeited under our laws. Have you any thing to say on the\nsubject?\"\n\nThe prisoners looked down in great perplexity; they knew not what to\nanswer, for Felix felt sure that a confession of his disguise would\nonly increase their danger.\n\n\"It is impossible for me,\" continued the robber, \"to place a lady, for\nwhom I have the utmost esteem, in danger. Therefore I will make a\nproposition for your rescue; it is the only way out that is left you;\n_I will fly with you._\"\n\nSurprised, astonished beyond measure, they all looked at him while he\ncontinued: \"The majority of my comrades have decided to go to Italy,\nand join a band of brigands there; but for my part it would not suit me\nto serve under another, and therefore I shall make no common cause with\nthem. If, now, you will give me your word, lady countess, to speak a\ngood word for me, to use your influence, with your powerful\nconnections, for my protection, then I will set you free before it is\ntoo late.\"\n\nFelix was at a loss what to say. His honest heart was opposed to\nwillfully exposing a man, who was offering to save his life, to a\ndanger from which he might not afterwards be able to protect him. As he\nstill remained silent, the robber continued: \"At the present time,\nsoldiers are wanted every-where; I will be satisfied with the most\ncommon position. I know that you have great influence, but I will not\nask for any thing further than your promise to do something for me in\nthis case.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" replied Felix, with eyes cast down, \"I promise you to do\nwhat I can, whatever is in my power, to be of use to you. There is some\nconsolation for me in the fact that of your own free will you are\nanxious to give up this life of a brigand.\"\n\nThe robber chief kissed his hand with much emotion, and added, in a\nwhisper, that the countess must be ready to go two hours after night\nhad set in; and then left the hut with as much caution as he had\nentered it. The prisoners breathed freer, when he had gone.\n\n\"Verily,\" exclaimed the huntsman, \"God has softened his heart. How\nwonderful our means of escape! Did I ever dream that any thing like\nthis could happen in the world, and that I should fall in with such an\nadventure?\"\n\n\"Wonderful, certainly!\" said Felix; \"but have I done right in deceiving\nthis man? What will my protection amount to? Shall I not be luring him\nto the gallows, if I do not confess to him who I am?\"\n\n\"Why, how is it possible you can have such scruples, dear boy?\"\nexclaimed the student; \"and after you have played your part to such\nperfection, too! No, you needn't feel anxious on that score at all;\nthat is nothing but a lawful subterfuge. Did he not attempt the outrage\nof kidnapping a noble lady? No, you have not done wrong; moreover I\nbelieve he will win favor with the authorities, when he, the head of\nthe band, voluntarily surrenders himself.\"\n\nThis last reflection comforted the young goldsmith. In joyful\nanticipations alternating with uneasy apprehensions over the success of\nthe plan of escape, they passed the succeeding hours. It was already\ndark when the chief returned, laid down a bundle of clothes, and said:\n\n\"Lady countess, in order to facilitate our flight, it is necessary for\nyou to put on this suit of men's clothes. Get all ready. In an hour we\nshall begin our march.\" With these words, he left the prisoners; and\nthe huntsman had great difficulty in refraining from laughter. \"This\nwill be the second disguise,\" cried he, \"and I am sure that this will\nbe better suited to you than the first one was!\"\n\nThey opened the bundle and found a handsome hunting costume, with all\nits belongings, which fitted Felix well. After he had put it on, the\nhuntsman was about to throw the countess's clothes into a corner of the\nhut; but Felix would not consent to leave them there; he made a small\nbundle of them, and hinted that he meant to ask the countess to present\nthem to him, and that he would preserve them all his life as a memento\nof these eventful days.\n\nFinally the robber chief came. He was fully armed, and brought the\nhuntsman the rifle that had been taken away from him, and a powder-horn\nas well. He also gave the student a musket, and handed Felix a hunting\nknife, with the request that he would carry it and use it in case of\nnecessity. It was fortunate for the three men that it was so dark, for\nthe eager air with which Felix received this weapon might have betrayed\nhis sex to the robber. As they stole carefully out of the hut, the\nhuntsman noticed that the post near their hut was not guarded, so that\nit was possible for them to slip away from the huts unnoticed; yet the\nleader did not take the path that led up out of the ravine, but brought\nthem all to a cliff that was so nearly perpendicular as to seem quite\nimpassible. Arriving there, their guide showed them a rope-ladder\nsecured to the rocks above. He swung his rifle on his back, and climbed\nup a little way, telling the countess to follow him, and offering his\nhand to assist her. The huntsman was the last to climb up. Arriving at\nthe top of the cliff, they soon struck a foot-path, and walked away at\na fast pace.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"This foot-path,\" said their guide, \"leads to the Aschaffenburg road.\nWe will go to that place, as I have received information that your\nhusband, the count, is stopping there now.\"\n\nThey walked on in silence, the robber chief keeping the lead, and the\nothers following close at his heels. After a three hours' walk, they\nstopped. The robber recommended Felix to sit down and rest. He then\nbrought out some bread, and a flask of old wine, and offered this\nrefreshment to the weary ones. \"I believe that within an hour we shall\nstrike some of the outposts established by the militia all around the\nforest. In that case I beg you to bespeak good treatment for me of the\ncommanding officer.\"\n\nFelix assented, although he expected but little good to result from his\ninterference. They rested for half an hour, and then continued their\nwalk. They had gone on for about an hour, and had nearly reached the\nhighway; the day was just breaking, and the shadows of night were\ndisappearing from the forest, when their steps were suddenly arrested\nby a loud \"Halt!\" Five soldiers surrounded them, and told them that\nthey must be taken before the commanding officer, and give an account\nof their presence in the forest. When they had gone fifty paces\nfurther, under the escort of the soldiers, they saw weapons gleaming in\nthe thicket to the right and left of them; a whole army seemed to have\ntaken possession of the forest.\n\nThe mayor sat, with several other officers, under an oak tree. When the\nprisoners were brought before him, and just as he was about to question\nthem as to whence they came and whither they were bound, one of the men\nsprang up exclaiming: \"Good Heaven! what do I see? that is surely\nGodfried, our forester!\"\n\n\"You are right, Mr. Magistrate!\" answered the huntsman, in a joyful\nvoice. \"It is I, and I have had a wonderful rescue from the hands of\nthose wretches.\"\n\nThe officers were astonished to see him; and the huntsman asked the\nmayor and the magistrate to step aside with him, when he related to\nthem, in a few words, how they had escaped, and who the fourth man that\naccompanied them was.\n\nRejoiced at this news, the mayor at once made preparations to have this\nimportant prisoner conveyed to another point; and then he led the young\ngoldsmith to his comrades, and introduced him as the heroic youth that\nhad, by his courage and presence of mind, saved the countess; and they\nall took Felix by the hand, praised him, and could not hear enough from\nhim and the huntsman about their adventures.\n\nIn the meantime it had become broad daylight. The mayor decided to\naccompany the rescued ones to the town. He went with them to the\nnearest village, where a wagon stood, and invited Felix to take a seat\nwith him in the wagon; while the student, the huntsman, the magistrate,\nand many other people, rode before and after them; and thus they\nentered the city in triumph. Reports of the attack on the forest inn,\nand of the sacrifice of the young goldsmith, had spread over the\ncountry like wildfire; and just as rapidly did the news of their rescue\nnow pass from mouth to mouth. It was, therefore, not to be wondered at,\nthat they found the streets of the city crowded with people who were\neager to catch a glimpse of the young hero. Everybody pressed forward,\nas the wagon rolled slowly through the streets. \"There he is!\" shouted\nthe crowd. \"Do you see him there in the wagon beside the officer! Long\nlive the brave young goldsmith!\" And the cheers of a thousand voices\nrent the air.\n\nFelix was deeply moved by the hearty welcome of the crowd. But a still\nmore affecting reception awaited him at the court-house. A middle-aged\nman met him on the steps, and embraced him with tears in his eyes. \"How\ncan I reward you, my son?\" cried he. \"You have saved me my wife, and my\nchildren their mother; for the shock of such an imprisonment her gentle\nframe could not have survived.\"\n\nStrongly as Felix insisted that he would not accept of any reward for\nwhat he had done, the more did the count seem resolved that he should.\nAt last the unfortunate fate of the robber chief occurred to the\nyouth's mind, and he related to the count how this man had rescued him,\nthinking that he was the countess, and that therefore the robber was\nreally entitled to the count's gratitude. The count, moved not so much\nby the action of the robber chief as by this fresh display of\nunselfishness on Felix's part, promised to do his best to save the\nrobber from the punishment due his crimes.\n\nOn the same day, the count took the young goldsmith, accompanied by the\nstout-hearted huntsman, to his palace, where the countess, still\nanxious for the fate of the young man, was waiting for news from the\nforest. Who could describe her joy when her husband entered her room,\nholding her deliverer by the hand? She was never through questioning\nand thanking him; she brought her children and showed to them the\nnoble-hearted youth to whom their mother owed so much, and the little\nones seized his hands, and the child-like way in which they spoke their\nthanks and their assurances that, next to their father and mother, they\nloved him better than any one else in the whole world, were to him a\nmost blessed recompense for many sorrows, and for the sleepless nights\nhe had passed in the robbers' camp.\n\nAfter the first moments of rejoicing were over, the countess beckoned\nto a servant, who presently brought the clothes and the knapsack that\nFelix had turned over to the countess in the forest inn. \"Here is every\nthing,\" said she, with a kindly smile, \"that you gave me on that\nterrible night; they enveloped me with a glamour that blinded my\npursuers. They are once more at your service; still I will make you an\noffer for these clothes, that I may have some mementoes of you. And I\nask you to take in exchange the sum which the robbers demanded for my\nransom.\"\n\nFelix was confounded by the munificence of this present; his nobler\nself revolted against accepting a reward for what he had done\nvoluntarily. \"Gracious countess,\" said he, deeply moved, \"I can not\nconsent to this. The clothes shall be yours as you wished; but the\nmoney of which you spoke I can not take. Still, as I know that you are\ndesirous of rewarding me in some way, instead of any other reward, let\nme continue to be blessed with your best wishes, and should I ever\nhappen to be in need of assistance, you may be sure that I will call on\nyou.\" In vain did the countess and her husband seek to change the young\nman's resolution; and the servant was about to carry the clothes and\nknapsack out again, when Felix remembered the ornament, which the\noccurrence of these happy scenes had put out of his mind.\n\n\"Wait,\" cried he; \"there is one thing in my knapsack, gracious lady,\nthat you must permit me to take; every thing else shall be wholly and\nentirely yours.\"\n\n\"Just as you please,\" said she; \"although I should like, to keep every\nthing just as it is, to remember you by; so please take only what you\ncan not do without. Yet, if I may be permitted to ask, what is it that\nlies so near to your heart that you don't wish to give it to me?\"\n\nWhile she was speaking, the young man had opened the knapsack, and now\nproduced a small red morocco case. \"Every thing that belongs to me, you\nare welcome to,\" replied he, smiling; \"but this belongs to my dear lady\ngodmother. I did the work on it myself, and must carry it to her with\nmy own hands. It is a piece of jewelry, gracious lady,\" continued he as\nhe opened the case and held it out to her, \"an ornament that I myself\nprepared.\"\n\nShe took the case, but hardly had she looked at the ornament when she\nstarted back in surprise.\n\n\"Did you say that these stones were intended for your godmother?\"\nexclaimed she.\n\n\"Yes, to be sure,\" answered Felix; \"my lady godmother sent me the\nstones, I set them, and am now on the way to deliver them to her\nmyself.\"\n\nThe countess looked at him with deep emotion; the tears started from\nher eyes. \"Then you are Felix Perner of Nuremberg?\" said she.\n\n\"Yes; but by what means did you find out my name so quickly?\" asked the\nyouth, in great perplexity.\n\n\"O wonderful dispensation of heaven!\" exclaimed she, turning to her\nastonished husband. \"This is Felix, our little godson, the son of our\nmaid, Sabine! Felix! I am the one whom you were on your way to see; and\nyou saved your godmother from the robbers without knowing it.\"\n\n\"What? Are you then the Countess Sandau, who did so much for me and my\nmother? And is this the Castle Maienburg, to which I was bound! How\ngrateful I am to the kind fate that brought us together so strangely;\nthus I have been able to prove indeed, even if in small measure, my\ngreat thankfulness to you.\"\n\n\"You did more for me than I shall ever be able to do for you; still\nwhile I live I shall try to show you how deeply indebted to you we all\nfeel. My husband shall be to you a father, my children shall be as\nsisters, while I will be your true mother; and this ornament, that led\nyou to me in the hour of my greatest need, shall be my most precious\nsouvenir, for it will always remind me of you and of your noble\nspirit.\"\n\nThus spake the countess; and well did she keep her word. She gave the\nfortunate Felix abundant support on his wanderings, and when he\nreturned as a clever master of his art she bought a house for him in\nNuremberg and fitted it up completely. Not the least striking among the\nappointments of his parlor were finely painted pictures, representing\nthe scenes in the inn, and Felix's life among the robbers.\n\nThere Felix lived as a clever goldsmith. The fame of his work, together\nwith the wonderful story of his heroism, brought him customers from all\nparts of the realm. Many strangers, on coming to the beautiful city of\nNuremberg, found their way to the shop of the famous Master Felix, in\norder to have a look at him, also to order an ornament made by him. But\nhis most welcome visitors were the forester, the compass-maker, the\nstudent, and the wagoner. Whenever the latter travelled from Wuerzburg\nto Fuerth, he stopped to speak with Felix. The huntsman brought him\npresents from the countess nearly every year; while the compass-maker,\nafter wandering about in all lands, settled down with Felix.\n\nOne day they were visited by the student. He had grown to be an\nimportant man in the country, but was not ashamed to drop in now and\nthen and take supper with Felix and the compass-maker. They lived over\nagain all the scenes in the forest inn, and the former student related\nthat he had seen the robber chief in Italy; he had improved very much\nfor the better, and served as a brave soldier under the King of Naples.\n\nFelix was rejoiced to hear this. Without this man, it is true, he might\nnever have been placed in so dangerous a situation as in those days of\nhis captivity; but neither could he have escaped from the robber band\nwithout his aid. And thus it was that the brave master goldsmith had\nonly peaceful and agreeable recollections of the _Inn in the Spessart_.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               PART III.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\n                          TALES OF THE PALACE.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                          TALES OF THE PALACE.\n\n\n\n\n                   THE SHEIK'S PALACE AND HIS SLAVES.\n\n\nAli Banu, Sheik of Alessandria, was a singular man. When he passed down\nthe street of a morning, with a superb cashmere turban wound about his\nhead, and clad in a festival habit, and sash worth not less than fifty\ncamels, walking with slow and solemn steps, his forehead so contracted\nthat his eyebrows met, his eyes cast down, and at every fifth step\nstroking his long black beard with a thoughtful air--when he thus took\nhis way to the mosque, to give readings from the Koran to the Faithful,\nas required by his office; then the people on the street paused, looked\nafter him, and said to one another: \"He is really a handsome, stately\nman.\" \"And rich,--a rich gentleman,\" another added; \"extremely wealthy;\nhas he not a palace on the harbor of Stamboul? Has he not estates and\nlands, and many thousand head of cattle, and a great number of slaves?\"\n\"Yes,\" spoke up a third; \"and the Tartar who was recently sent here from\nStamboul, with a message for the sheik from the sultan (may the Prophet\npreserve him), told me that our sheik was thought highly of by the\nminister of foreign affairs, by the lord high admiral, by all the\nministers, in fact; yes, even by the sultan.\" \"Yes,\" exclaimed a\nfourth, \"fortune attends his steps. He is a wealthy distinguished\ngentleman; but--but--you know what I mean!\" \"Yes, certainly,\"\ninterrupted the others; \"it is true he has his burden to carry, and I\nwouldn't care to change places with him. He is rich, and a man of rank,\nbut, but--\"\n\nAli Banu had a splendid house on the finest square in Alessandria. In\nfront of the house was a broad terrace, surrounded by a marble wall,\nand shaded by palm trees. Here the sheik often sat of an evening\nsmoking his nargileh. At a respectable distance, twelve richly costumed\nslaves awaited his orders; one carried his betel, another held his\nparasol, a third had vessels of solid gold filled with rare sherbet, a\nfourth carried a fan of peacock's feathers to drive away the flies from\nhis master's person, others were singers and carried lutes and wind\ninstruments to entertain him with music when he so desired, while the\nbest educated of them all carried scrolls from which to read to their\nmaster.\n\nBut they waited in vain for him to signify his pleasure. He desired\nneither music nor song; he did not wish to hear passages or poems from\nthe wise poets of the past; he would not taste of the sherbet, nor chew\nof the betel; and even the slave with the fan had his labor for his\npains, as the master was indifferent to the flies that buzzed about\nhim.\n\nThe passers-by often stopped and wondered over the splendor of the\nhouse, at the richly dressed slaves, and the signs of comfort that\nprevailed every-where; but when their eyes fell on the sheik, sitting\nso grave and melancholy under the palms, with his gaze never once\nwandering from the little blue clouds of his nargileh, they shook their\nheads and said: \"Truly, this rich man is a poor man. He, who has so\nmuch, is poorer than one who has nothing; for the Prophet has not given\nhim the sense to enjoy it.\" Thus spake the people; they laughed at him\nand passed on.\n\nOne evening, as the sheik again sat under the palms before his door, in\nall his pomp, some young men standing in the street looked at him and\nlaughed.\n\n\"Truly,\" said one, \"Sheik Ali Banu is a foolish man; had I his wealth,\nI should make a different use of it. Every day I would live sumptuously\nand in joy; my friends should dine with me in the large _salons_ of the\nhouse, and song and laughter should fill these sad halls.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" rejoined another, \"all that might be very fine; but many friends\nwould make short work of a fortune, even were it as large as that of\nthe sultan (whom the Prophet preserve); but if I sat there under the\npalms, fronting this beautiful square, my slaves should sing and play,\nmy dancers should come and dance and leap and furnish all sorts of\nentertainment. Then, too, I should take pleasure in smoking the\nnargileh, should be served with the costly sherbet, and enjoy myself in\nall this like a king of Bagdad.\"\n\n\"The sheik,\" said a third young man, who was a writer, \"should be a\nwise and learned man; and really his lectures on the Koran show him to\nbe a man of extensive reading; But is his life ordered as is beseeming\nin a man of sense? There stands a slave, with an armful of scrolls; I\nwould give my best suit of clothes just to read one of them, for they\nare certainly rare treasures. But he! Why, he sits and smokes, and\nleaves books--books--alone! If I were Sheik Ali Banu, the fellow should\nread to me until he was entirely out of breath, or until night came on;\nand even then he should read to me till I had fallen asleep.\"\n\n\"Ha! you will grant that my plan for enjoying life is the best,\"\nlaughed a fourth. \"Eating and drinking, dancing and singing, hearing\nthe tales and poems of miserable authors! No, I would have it all\nanother way. He has the finest of horses and camels, and abundance of\nmoney. In his place, I would travel--travel to the ends of the earth,\nto the Muscovites, to the Franks; no distance should prevent my seeing\nthe wonders of the world. That's what I would do, if I were that man\nyonder.\"\n\n\"Youth is a beautiful season, and the age at which one is joyful,\" said\nan old man, of insignificant appearance, who stood near them, and had\noverheard their conversation. \"But permit me to say that youth is also\nfoolish, and talks thoughtlessly now and then without knowing what it\nsays.\"\n\n\"What were you saying, old man?\" asked the young men in surprise. \"Did\nyou mean us? How does it concern you, if we find fault with the sheik's\nmode of life?\"\n\n\"If one is better informed than another, he should correct the other's\nerrors; so says the Prophet,\" rejoined the old man. \"The sheik, it is\ntrue, is blessed with plenty, and has every thing that the heart could\ndesire; yet he has reason to be sad and melancholy. Did you suppose he\nwas always thus? No; fifteen years ago he was cheerful and active as\nthe gazelle, lived merrily, and enjoyed life. At that time he had a\nson, the joy of his life, handsome and talented, and those who saw and\nheard him talk envied the sheik his idol, for he was not more than ten\nyears old, and yet there were few youths of eighteen as well educated.\"\n\n\"And he died? The poor sheik!\" cried the young writer.\n\n\"It would be a consolation to the sheik to know that he had gone to the\nmansions of the Prophet, where he would be better off than here in\nAlessandria; but that which the sheik had to suffer is far worse. It\nwas at the time when the Franks, like hungry wolves, invaded our land,\nand waged war against us. They took Alessandria, and from here they\nwent on further and attacked the Mamelukes. The sheik was a wise man,\nand understood how to get along with the enemy. But whether it was\nbecause they had designs on his treasure, or because he had taken the\nFaithful into his house, I do not know for a certainty; but they came\none day to him and accused him of having secretly supplied the\nMamelukes with provisions, horses and weapons. It was of no use that he\nproved his innocence, for the Franks are a rough, hardhearted people,\nwhen it is a question of extorting money. They took his young son,\nKairam, as a hostage to their camp. The sheik offered a large sum of\nmoney for his return, but they held on to the boy for a still higher\nbid. In the meantime they received an order from their pasha, or\nwhatever his title might be, to embark on their vessels. Not a soul in\nAlessandria knew a thing about it, and all at once they were seen\nstanding out to sea, having, it is believed, taken little Kairam with\nthem, as nothing has ever been heard of him since.\"\n\n\"Oh, the poor man! how terribly Allah has chastened him!\" the young men\nexclaimed in concert, looking with pity at the sheik, who, with such\nmagnificent surroundings, sat sad and lonely under the palms.\n\n\"His wife, whom he loved so dearly, died from grief at the loss of her\nson. The sheik then bought a ship, fitted it out, and induced the Frank\nphysician who lives down there by the fountain, to sail with him to the\ncountry of the Franks, to search for young Kairam. They set sail, and\nhad a long passage before reaching the land of those Giaours, those\nInfidels, who had been in Alessandria. But there every thing was in a\nhorrible tumult. They had just beheaded their sultan; and the pashas\nand the rich and the poor were now engaged in taking each other's heads\noff, and there was no order or law in the land. Their search for little\nKairam was a vain one, and the Frank physician finally advised the\nsheik to embark for home, as their own heads might be endangered by a\nlonger stay. So they came back again; and since their arrival the sheik\nhas lived just as he does to-day, mourning for his son. And he is in\nthe right. Must he not think, whenever he eats and drinks: 'Perhaps at\nthis moment my poor Kairam hungers and thirsts?' And when he has\narranged himself in costly shawls, and holiday suits, as required by\nhis office and rank, must he not think: 'He has probably nothing now\nwith which to cover his nakedness?' And when he is surrounded by\nsingers, dancers, readers, who are all his slaves, does he not think:\n'Now my son may be dancing and making music for his master in the\nFrank's country, just as he is ordered?' But what pains him most is the\nfear lest little Kairam, being so far from the land of his fathers, and\nsurrounded by Infidels who jest at his religion, may become separated\nfrom the faith of his fathers, so that he will not at the last be able\nto embrace him in the gardens of paradise. This is what makes him so\nmild with his slaves, and prompts his large gifts to the poor; for he\nbelieves that Allah will recompense him by moving the heart of his\nson's master to treat Kairam with kindness. Also, on each anniversary\nof his son's abduction, he sets twelve slaves free.\"\n\n\"I have heard of that,\" said the writer. \"One hears curious stories\nfloating about; but no mention was made to me of the son. But, on the\nother hand, it is said that the sheik is a singular man, and remarkably\nfond of stories, and that every year he institutes a story-telling\nmatch between his slaves, and the one who tells the best story is\nrewarded with his freedom.\"\n\n\"Don't put any faith in these reports,\" said the old man. \"It is just\nas I have told you; it is, however, possible that he seeks the\nrelaxation afforded by a story, on this day of painful recollections;\nbut still he frees the slaves on his son's account. But the night is\ncold, and I have far to go. _Schalem aleikum_--peace be with you, young\ngentlemen, and think better, in the future, of the good sheik.\"\n\nThe young people thanked the old man for the information he had given\nthem, glanced once more at the sorrowing father, and walked away saying\nto one another: \"On the whole, I should not care to be the Sheik Ali\nBanu.\"\n\n\n\nNot long afterward, it so happened that these same young men passed\ndown the street at the hour of morning prayers. The old man and his\nstory recurred to their minds, and they expressed their sympathy for\nthe sheik as they looked up at his house. But how astonished were they\nto find the house and grounds gaily decorated! From the roof, where\ncomely slave women were promenading, banners waved; the porch of the\nhouse was covered with costly carpets; silks were laid down over the\nsteps, and beautiful cloth, of a texture so fine that most people would\nhave been glad to have a holiday suit cut from it, was spread well into\nthe street.\n\n\"Hey! How the sheik has changed in the last few days!\" exclaimed the\nyoung writer. \"Is he about to give a banquet? Will he test the powers\nof his singers and dancers? Only look at this carpet! Is there another\nas fine in all Alessandria? And this cloth laid right on the ground;\nreally that is too wasteful!\"\n\n\"Do you know what I think?\" said another. \"He must be going to receive\nsome guest of high rank; for these are preparations such as are made\nwhen a ruler of a great country or a minister of the sultan blesses a\nhouse with his presence. Who can possibly be coming today?\"\n\n\"Look! is not that our old friend below? He would be able to give us\nsome information about this. Ho, there! old gentleman! Can't you come\nup here a moment?\"\n\nThe old man noticed their gestures, and approached them, recognizing\nthem as the young men with whom he had conversed some days before. They\ncalled his attention to the changes in the sheik's house, and asked him\nif he knew what distinguished guest was expected.\n\n\"You seem to think,\" replied he, \"that Ali Banu has arranged for some\nfestivities, or that he is to be honored by the visit of some great\nman. Such is not the case; but to-day is the twelfth day of the month\nof Ramadan, as you know, and is the day on which his son was taken\nprisoner.\"\n\n\"But by the beard of the Prophet!\" exclaimed one of the young fellows;\n\"everything there has the appearance of a wedding or other festival;\nand still it is the anniversary of his greatest sorrow. Come, how will\nyou harmonize this discrepancy? Confess that the sheik is somewhat\nshattered in mind.\"\n\n\"Do you always render such a hasty verdict, my young friend?\" asked the\nold man, smiling. \"This time also your arrow was pointed and sharp, and\nthe string of your bow drawn tight; and yet your arrow flew wide of the\nmark. Know, then, that to-day the sheik expects his son!\"\n\n\"Then he is found?\" shouted the young men joyfully.\n\n\"No, and it will probably be a long time before he is found. But\nlisten: Eight or ten years ago, as the sheik was passing this\nanniversary in sorrow and lamentations, also freeing slaves and giving\nfood and drink to the poor, it so happened that he also gave food and\ndrink to a dervish, who, tired and faint, lay in the shadow of his\nhouse. Now the dervish was a holy man, and experienced in prophecies\nand the signs of the stars. After his refreshment by the kind hand of\nthe sheik, he went up to him and said: 'I know the cause of your\nsorrow; is not today the twelfth of Ramadan, and was it not on this day\nthat you lost your son? But cheer up, for this day of sadness shall be\nchanged to one of joy; know that on this same day your son will\nsometime return to you.'\n\n\"Thus spake the dervish. It would be a sin for a Mussulman to doubt the\nword of such a man, and although the sorrow of Ali Banu may not have\nbeen lessened thereby, yet he continues to look for the return of his\nson on this day, and adorns his house and porch and steps as though\nlittle Kairam might arrive at any moment.\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\" exclaimed the writer. \"But I should like to see the\ndecorations inside the house, and note how the sheik bears himself\namongst all this splendor; but, above all, I should like to listen to\nthe tales that are related to him by his slaves.\"\n\n\"Nothing easier to arrange than that,\" replied the old man. \"The\nsteward of the slaves of that house has been my friend these many\nyears, and would not grudge me a seat in the _salon_, where, among the\ncrowd of servants and friends of the sheik, a single stranger would not\nbe noticed. I will speak to him about letting you in; there are only\nfour of you, and it might be arranged. Come at the ninth hour to this\nsquare, and I will give you an answer.\"\n\nThe young men returned their thanks, and went away full of curiosity to\nsee how all this would end.\n\nThe young men were on hand at the appointed hour, and on the square\nbefore the sheik's house they met the old man, who told them that the\nsteward would admit them. He went before them, not by way of the\ndecorated steps and gate, but through a little side gate, that he\nclosed carefully after them. Then he led them through many passages\nuntil they came to the large _salon_. Here there was a great crowd on\nall sides; there were richly dressed men of rank of the city--friends\nof the sheik, who had come to console him in his sorrow. There were\nslaves of every race and nation. But everybody wore a sorrowful\nexpression, for they all loved their master and shared his grief. At\none end of the _salon_, on a costly divan, sat the nearest friends of\nAli Banu, who were waited upon by slaves. Near them, on the floor, sat\nthe sheik, whose grief would not permit him to sit in state. His head\nwas supported in his hands, and he seemed to be paying little attention\nto the consolations whispered to him by his friends. Opposite him sat\nsome old and young men in slave costume. The old man informed his young\nfriends that these were the slaves whom Ali Banu would free to-day.\nAmong them were some Franks; and the old man called his friends'\nspecial attention to one of them, who was of extraordinary beauty, and\nwas still quite young. The sheik had recently bought him, for an\nenormous sum, from some slave-dealers of Tunis, and was,\nnotwithstanding his high cost, about to set him free, believing that\nthe more Franks he returned to their fatherland the sooner the Prophet\nwould restore his son.\n\nAfter refreshments had been handed around, the sheik gave a sign to the\nsteward, who now stood up amid the deep silence that prevailed in the\nroom. He stepped before the slaves who were shortly to be freed, and\nsaid in a clear voice: \"Men, who will receive your freedom to-day,\nthrough the grace of my master Ali Banu, Sheik of Alessandria, conform\nnow to the custom of this house on this day, and begin your\nnarratives.\"\n\nAfter much whispering among themselves, an old slave arose and began\nhis story.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\n\n\n\n                            THE DWARF NOSEY.\n\n\nSire! They are wrong who believe that fairies and magicians existed\nonly at the time of Haroun-al-Raschid, or who assert that the reports\nof the doings of the genii and their princes, which one hears on the\nmarket-place, are untrue. There are fairies to-day, and it is not so\nlong ago that I myself was the witness of an occurrence in which genii\nwere concerned.\n\nIn an important city of my dear fatherland, Germany, there lived, some\nyears ago, a poor but honest shoemaker and his wife. In the day time he\nsat at the corner of the street, repairing shoes and slippers, and even\nmade new ones when he could find a customer, although he had to first\npurchase the leather, as he was too poor to keep any stock on hand. His\nwife sold vegetables and fruits, raised by her on a small plat before\ntheir door, and many people chose to buy of her because she was clean\nand neatly dressed, and knew how to make the best display of her\nvegetables.\n\nThese worthy people had a pleasant-faced, handsome boy, well-shaped and\nquite large for a child of eight years. He was accustomed to sit by his\nmother's side on the market-place, and to carry home a part of the\nfruit for the women or cooks who bought largely of his mother; and he\nrarely returned from these errands without a beautiful flower, or a\npiece of money, or cakes;--as the masters of these cooks were always\npleased to see the little fellow at their houses, and never failed to\nreward him generously.\n\nOne day the shoemaker's wife sat, as usual, in the market-place; while\nranged around her were baskets of cabbages and other vegetables, all\nkinds of herbs and seeds, and also, in a small basket, early pears,\napples, and apricots. Little Jacob--this was the boy's name--sat near\nher and cried her wares in a manly voice: \"This way, gentlemen! see\nwhat beautiful cabbages! how sweet-smelling are these herbs! early\npears, ladies! early apples and apricots! Who buys? My mother offers\nthem cheap.\" An old woman came to the market, torn and ragged, with a\nsmall sharp-featured face, wrinkled with age, and a crooked pointed\nnose that nearly reached the chin. She leaned on a long crutch; and it\nwas not easy to see how she got over the ground, as she limped and slid\nand staggered along--as if she had wheels on her feet, and was in\nmomentary danger of being tilted over and striking her pointed nose on\nthe pavement.\n\nThe shoemaker's wife looked attentively at this old woman. For sixteen\nyears she had been in daily attendance at the market, but had never\nbefore seen this singular creature. But she involuntarily shrank back,\nas the old woman tottered towards her and stopped before her baskets.\n\n\"Are you Hannah, the vegetable dealer?\" asked the old woman, in a harsh\ncracked voice, her head shaking from side to side.\n\n\"Yes, I am she,\" replied the shoemaker's wife. \"Can I do any thing for\nyou?\"\n\n\"We'll see, we'll see! Look at the herbs, look at the herbs, and see\nwhether you have any thing I want,\" answered the old woman as she bent\ndown over the baskets, and, pushing her dark skinny hands down among\nthe herbs, seized the bundles that were so tastefully spread out, and\nraised them one after another to her long nose, snuffing at every part\nof them. It pressed heavily on the heart of the shoemaker's wife to see\nher rare herbs handled in such a way, but she did not dare to offer any\nobjections, as purchasers were privileged to examine her goods; and,\nbesides this, she experienced a singular fear of the old woman. When\nshe had rummaged through the basket, the old woman muttered: \"Miserable\nstuff! poor herbs! nothing there that I want; much better fifty years\nago; bad stuff--bad stuff!\"\n\nThese remarks displeased little Jacob. \"You are a shameless old woman!\"\ncried he, angrily. \"First you put your dirty brown fingers into the\nbeautiful herbs and rumple them, then you put them up to your long\nnose, so that any one who saw it done will never buy them, and then you\nabuse our wares by calling them poor stuff, when, let me tell you, the\nduke's cook buys every thing of us!\"\n\nThe old woman squinted at the spirited boy, laughed derisively, and\nsaid in a husky voice: \"Sonny--sonny! So my nose, my beautiful long\nnose, pleases you? You shall also have one in the middle of your face\nto hang down to your chin.\" While speaking, she slid along to another\nbasket containing cabbages. She took the finest white head up in her\nhands, squeezed them together till they creaked, flung them down again\ninto the basket in disorder, and repeated once more: \"Bad wares! poor\ncabbages!\"\n\n\"Don't wabble your head about so horribly!\" exclaimed the boy,\nuneasily. \"Your neck is as thin as a cabbage-Stem; it might break and\nlet your head fall into the basket; who then would buy of us?\"\n\n\"Don't you like my thin neck?\" muttered the old woman, laughing. \"You\nshall have none at all, but your head shall stick into your shoulders,\nso as not to fall from your little body.\"\n\n\"Don't talk such stuff to the child!\" said the shoemaker's wife,\nindignant at the continued inspection, fingering and smelling of her\nwares. \"If you want to buy any thing, make haste; you are driving off\nall my other customers.\"\n\n\"Good! it shall be as you say,\" cried the old woman, grimly. \"I will\ntake these six heads of cabbage. But look here--I have to lean on my\ncrutch and cannot carry any thing; let your little son carry my\npurchases home; I will reward him.\"\n\nThe child was unwilling to go, and began to cry, as he was afraid of\nthe ugly old woman; but his mother bade him go, as she considered it a\nsin to burden a weak old woman with so heavy a load. Half crying, he\nobeyed her; gathered the cabbages together in a towel, and followed the\nold woman from the market.\n\nShe went so slowly that it was three quarters of an hour before she\nreached a remote part of the city, and finally stopped before a\ntumble-down house. Then she drew a rusty old hook from her pocket, and\ninserted it skillfully into a small hole in the door, which sprung open\nwith a bang. But how surprised was little Jacob as he entered! The\ninterior of the house was splendidly fitted up; the ceilings and walls\nwere of marble; the furniture of the finest ebony, inlaid with gold and\nmother-of-pearl; while the floor was of glass, and so smooth that the\nboy slipped and fell several times. The old woman then drew a silver\nwhistle from her pocket and whistled a tune that resounded shrilly\nthrough the house. In response to this, some Guinea-pigs came down the\nstairs; but, as seemed strange to Jacob, they walked upright on two\nlegs, wore nutshells in place of shoes, and had on clothes and even\nhats of the latest fashion.\n\n\"Where are my slippers, you rabble?\" demanded the old woman, striking\nat them with her crutch as they sprang squeaking into the air. \"How\nlong must I stand here waiting?\"\n\nThe pigs rushed quickly up the stairs, and soon returned, bringing a\npair of cocoanut shells lined with leather, which the old woman put on.\nNow all her limping and stumbling disappeared. She threw her staff\naway, and glided with great rapidity over the glass floor, pulling\nlittle Jacob along by the hand. At last she stopped in a room\ncontaining all kinds of furniture, that bore some resemblance to a\nkitchen, although the tables were mahogany, and the divans were covered\nwith rich tapestry, suitable for a room of state.\n\n\"Take a seat,\" said the old woman pleasantly, placing Jacob in a corner\nof the divan and moving the table before him, so that he could not well\nget out of his seat. \"Sit down; you have had a heavy load to carry.\nHuman heads are not so light, not so light.\"\n\n\"But, madame, what strange things you say!\" cried the boy. \"I am really\ntired; but then I carried cabbage-heads that you bought of my mother.\"\n\n\"Eh! you are mistaken,\" laughed the old woman, as she lifted the cover\nof the basket and took out a human head by the hair. The child was\nfrightened nearly out of his wits. He could not imagine how this had\noccurred; but he thought at once of his mother, and that if any one\nwere to hear of this she would certainly be arrested.\n\n\"I must now give you a reward for being so polite,\" muttered the old\nwoman. \"Have patience for a little while, and I will make you a soup\nthat you will never forget as long as you live.\" With this she whistled\nonce more. Thereupon many Guinea-pigs, all in clothes, came in; they\nhad kitchen aprons tied around them, and in their waistbands were\nladles and carving-knives. After these, a lot of squirrels came leaping\nin, dressed in wide Turkish trousers, standing upright, and wearing\nlittle velvet caps on their heads. They seemed to be the scullions, as\nthey raced up and down the walls and brought pans and dishes, eggs and\nbutter, herbs and meal, which they placed on the hearth. Then the old\nwoman glided across the floor in her cocoanut shoes, bustled about now\nhere and now there, and the boy saw she was about to cook him\nsomething. Now the fire crackled and blazed up; then the kettle began\nto smoke and steam; an agreeable odor was spread through the room:\nwhile the old woman ran back and forth, followed by the squirrels and\nGuinea-pigs, and whenever she came to the fire she stopped to stick her\nlong nose into the pot. Finally the soup began to bubble and boil,\nclouds of steam shot up into the air, and the froth ran over into the\nfire. Thereupon the old woman took the kettle off, poured some of its\ncontents into a silver bowl, and placed the same before little Jacob,\nsaying:\n\n\"There, sonny, there, eat some of this soup, and you shall have those\nthings that so pleased you about me. You will also become a clever\ncook; but herbs--no, you will never find such herbs; why didn't your\nmother have them in her basket.\"\n\nThe boy did not understand very well what she said, but he gave his\nwhole attention to the soup, which was very much to his taste. His\nmother had often prepared him nice food, but never any thing that could\nequal this. The fragrance of choice herbs and spices rose from his\nsoup, which was neither too sweet nor too sour, and very strong.\n\nWhile he was swallowing the last drops from the bowl, the Guinea-pigs\nburned some Arabic incense, the blue smoke of which swept through the\nroom. Thicker and thicker became these clouds, till they filled the\nroom from floor to ceiling. The odor of the incense had a magical\neffect on the boy; for, cry as often as he would that he must go back\nto his mother, at every attempt to rouse himself he sank back sleepily,\nand finally fell fast asleep on the old woman's divan. He dreamed\nstrange dreams. It seemed to him that the old woman was pulling off\nhis clothes, and giving him in their place the skin of a squirrel.\nNow he could leap and climb like a squirrel; he associated with the\nother squirrels and with the Guinea-pigs, all of whom were very nice\nwell-bred people, and in common with them, thought himself in the\nservice of the old woman. At first his duties were those of a\nshoe-black--that is, he had to put oil on the cocoanuts that served the\nold woman for slippers, and rub them until they shone brightly.\nHowever, as he had often done similar work at home, he was quite\nskillful at it. After the first year--as it seemed to him in his\ndream--he was given more genteel employment; with other squirrels, he\nwas occupied in catching floating particles of dust, and when they had\naccumulated enough of these particles, they rubbed them through the\nfinest hair sieve, for the old woman considered these dust atoms to be\nsomething superb, and as she had lost her teeth, she had her bread made\nof them. After another year's service, he thought, he was placed in the\nranks of those whose duty it was to provide the old woman with\ndrinking-water. You must not suppose that she had had a cistern sunk,\nor placed a barrel in the yard to catch rain-water for this purpose;\nno, there was much more refinement displayed; the squirrels--and Jacob\namong them--had to collect the dew of the roses in hazelnut shells\nfor the old woman's drink. And as she was a very thirsty body, the\nwater-carriers had a hard time of it. In the course of another year he\nwas given some inside work, such as the position of floor-cleaner; and\nas the floor was of glass, on which even a breath would gather, he had\nno easy task. They had to sweep it, and were required to do their feet\nup in old cloths, and in that condition step around the room. In the\nfourth year he was employed in the kitchen. This was a position of\nhonor that could be attained only after a long apprenticeship. Jacob\nserved there, rising from a scullion to be first pastry-cook, and\nsoon acquired such uncommon cleverness and experience in all arts of\nthe kitchen, that he often wondered at himself. The most difficult\ndishes--such as pasties seasoned with two hundred different essences,\nand vegetable soup consisting of all the vegetables on earth--all this\nhe was learned in, and could prepare any thing speedily. Thus had some\nseven years passed in the service of the old woman, when one day she\ntook off her cocoanut shoes, grasped her crutch, and ordered Jacob to\npluck a chicken, stuff it with herbs, and have it all nicely roasted by\nthe time she came back. He did all this in accordance with the rules of\nhis art. He wrung the chicken's neck, scalded it in hot water, pulled\nout the feathers, scraped the skin till it was nice and smooth, and,\nhaving drawn it, began to collect some herbs for the dressing. In the\nroom where the vegetables were kept he discovered a closet which he had\nnever noticed before, the door of which stood ajar. He went nearer,\ncurious to see what was kept there; and beheld many baskets, from which\na powerful but pleasant odor arose. He opened one of these baskets and\nfound therein herbs of quite peculiar shape and color. The stems and\nleaves were of a bluish-green, and bore a small flower of brilliant\nred, bordered with gold. He examined this flower thoughtfully, smelt of\nit, and discovered that it gave forth the same strong odor that he had\ninhaled from the soup the old woman had cooked for him so long ago. But\nso strong was the fragrance that he began to sneeze; he sneezed more\nand more violently, and at last--woke up, sneezing.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHe lay on the divan and looked around him in astonishment. \"Really, how\ntrue one's dreams do seem!\" said he to himself. \"Just now I should have\nbeen willing to swear that I was a mean little squirrel, the companion\nof Guinea-pigs and other low creatures, and from them exalted to be a\ngreat cook! How my mother will laugh when I tell her all this! But may\nshe not scold me for going to sleep in a strange house, instead of\nhurrying back to help her at the market-place?\"\n\nSo thinking, he got up to go away; but found his limbs cramped, and his\nneck so stiff that he could not move it from side to side. He had to\nlaugh at himself for being so helplessly sleepy; for every moment,\nbefore he knew it, he was striking his nose on a clothes-press, or on\nthe wall, or knocked it against the door-frame when he turned around\nquickly. The squirrels and Guinea-pigs were whining around him, as if\nthey wanted to accompany him, and he actually gave them an invitation\nto do so, as he stood upon the threshold, for they were nice little\ncreatures; but they rushed quickly back into the house on their\nnutshells, and he could hear them squeaking from a distance.\n\nIt was a remote quarter of the city into which the old woman had led\nhim, and he had difficulty in finding his way out of the narrow alleys;\nbesides, he was in the midst of a crowd who seemed to have discovered a\ndwarf in the vicinity, for all around him he heard shouts of: \"Hey!\nlook at the ugly dwarf! Where does the dwarf come from? Why, what a\nlong nose he has! and look at the way his head sticks into his\nshoulders, and his ugly brown hands!\" At any other time, Jacob would\nwillingly have joined them, as it was one of the delights of his life\nto see giants or dwarfs, or any rare and strange sights; but now he\nfelt obliged to hurry back to his mother.\n\nHe was rather uneasy in his mind when he arrived at the market. His\nmother still sat there, and had quite a quantity of fruit in the\nbasket; so that he could not have slept very long after all. But still\nhe noticed, before reaching her, that she was very sad, as she did not\ncall on the passers to buy, but supported her head in her hand; and\nwhen he came nearer he thought her much paler than usual. He hesitated\nas to what he should do, but finally mustered up courage to slip up\nbehind her, laid his hand confidingly on her arm and said: \"Mother,\nwhat is the matter? Are you angry with me?\"\n\nHis mother turned around, but on perceiving him sprang back with a cry\nof horror.\n\n\"What do you want with me, ugly dwarf?\" cried she. \"Be off with you! I\nwill not stand such tricks!\"\n\n\"But, mother, what is the matter with you?\" asked Jacob, in a\nfrightened way. \"You are certainly not well; why do you chase your son\naway from you?\"\n\n\"I have already told you to go your way,\" replied Hannah, angrily. \"You\nwill get no money from me by your jugglery, you hateful monster!\"\n\n\"Surely, God has taken away her understanding!\"\nsaid the child, sorrowfully, to himself. \"What means shall I take to\nget her home? Dear mother, only be reasonable now; just look at me once\nclosely; I am really your son, your Jacob.\"\n\n\"This joke is being carried too far,\" cried Hannah to her neighbor.\n\"Only look at this hateful dwarf, who stands there and keeps away all\nmy customers, besides daring to make a jest of my misfortune. He says\nto me, 'I am your son, your Jacob,'--the impudent fellow!\"\n\nUpon that Hannah's neighbors all got up and began to abuse him as\nwickedly as they knew how--and market-women, as you know, understand it\npretty well--ending by accusing him of making sport of the misfortune\nof poor Hannah, whose son, beautiful as a picture, had been stolen from\nher seven years ago: and they threatened to fall upon him in a body,\nand scratch his eyes out, if he did not at once go away.\n\nPoor little Jacob knew not what to make of all this. Was it not true\nthat he had gone to the market as usual with his mother, early this\nmorning? that he had helped her arrange the fruits, and afterwards had\ngone with the old woman to her house, had there eaten a little soup,\nhad indulged in a short nap, and come right back again? And now his\nmother and her neighbors talked about seven years, and called him an\nugly dwarf! What, then, had happened to him?\n\nWhen he saw that his mother would not hear another word from him, tears\nsprang into his eyes, and he went sadly down the street to the stall\nwhere his father mended shoes. \"Now I will see,\" thought he, \"whether\nmy father will not know me. I will stop in the door-way and speak to\nhim.\" On arriving at the shoemaker's stall, he placed himself in the\ndoor-way, and looked in. The master was so busily occupied with his\nwork, that he did not notice him at first, but when by chance he\nhappened to look at the door, he let shoes, thread and awl drop to the\nground, and exclaimed in affrights \"In heaven's name!--what is that?\nwhat is that?\"\n\n\"Good evening, master,\" said the boy, as he stepped inside the shop.\n\"How do you do?\"\n\n\"Poorly, poorly, little master,\" replied the father, to Jacob's great\nsurprise; as he also did not seem to recognize him. \"My business does\nnot flourish very well, I have no one to assist me, and am getting old;\nand yet an apprentice would be too dear.\"\n\n\"But have you no little son, who could one of these days assist you in\nyour work?\" inquired the boy.\n\n\"I had one, whose name was Jacob, and who must now be a tall active\nfellow of twenty, who could be a great support to me were he here. He\nmust lead a happy life now. When he was only twelve years old he showed\nhimself to be very clever, and already understood a good deal about the\ntrade. He was pretty and pleasant too. He would have attracted custom,\nso that I should not have to mend any more, but only make new shoes.\nBut so it goes in the world!\"\n\n\"Where is your son, then?\" asked Jacob, in a trembling voice.\n\n\"God only knows,\" replied the old man. \"Seven years ago,--seven\nyears--he was stolen from us on the market-place.\"\n\n\"Seven years ago!\" exclaimed Jacob in amazement.\n\n\"Yes, little master, seven years ago. I remember as though it were but\nyesterday how my wife came home weeping, and crying that the child had\nbeen gone the whole day, that she had inquired and searched everywhere,\nbut could not find him. I had often said that it would turn out so; for\nJacob was a beautiful child, as everybody said, and my wife was so\nproud of him, and was pleased when the people praised him, and she\noften sent him to carry vegetables and the like to the best houses.\nThat was all well enough; he was richly rewarded every time; but I\nalways said: 'Take care! the city is large, and many bad people live in\nit. Mind what I say about little Jacob?' Well, it turned out as I had\npredicted. An ugly old woman once came to the market, haggled over some\nfruits and vegetables, and finally bought more than she could carry\nhome. My wife--compassionate soul--sent the child with her; and from\nthat hour we saw him no more!\"\n\n\"And that was seven years ago you say?\"\n\n\"It will be seven years in the Spring. We had him cried on the streets,\nand went from house to house and inquired for him. Many had known and\nloved the pretty youngster, and now searched with us; but all in vain.\nNor did any one know who the woman was that had bought the vegetables;\nbut a decrepit old woman, some ninety years of age, said that it was\nvery likely the wicked witch _Kraeuterweiss_, who comes once in every\nfifty years to the city to make purchases.\"\n\nSuch was the story Jacob's father told him; and when the shoemaker had\nfinished, he pegged away stoutly at his shoe, drawing the thread out\nwith both fists as far as his arms could reach.\n\nBy and by Jacob comprehended what had happened to him, namely: that he\nhad not dreamed at all, but that he must have served the wicked witch\nas a squirrel for seven years. Anger and grief so swelled his heart\nthat it almost broke. The old woman had stolen seven years of his\nyouth; and what had he received as compensation therefor? The ability\nto make cocoanut slippers shine brightly; to clean a glass floor; and\nall the mysteries of cooking that he had learned of the guinea-pigs. He\nstood there a long time thinking over his fate, when his father finally\nasked him: \"Is there any thing in my line you would like, young master?\nA pair of new slippers, or,\" he added, smiling, \"perhaps a covering for\nyour nose.\"\n\n\"What's that about my nose?\" asked Jacob. \"What do I want of a cover\nfor it?\"\n\n\"Well,\" responded the shoemaker, \"every one to his taste; but I must\nsay this much to you: if I had such a terrible nose, I would make for\nit a case of rose-colored patent leather. Look! I have a fine piece of\nit in my hand here; it would take at least a yard. But how well your\nnose would be protected! As it is now, I know you can't help striking\nyour nose on every door-post, and against every wagon that you try to\nget out of the way of.\"\n\nJacob stood mute with terror. He felt of his nose; it was thick, and at\nleast two hands long! So, too, had the old woman changed his figure so\nthat his mother did not know him, and everybody had called him an ugly\ndwarf!\n\n\"Master,\" said he, half crying, \"have you a mirror handy, where I can\nlook at myself?\"\n\n\"Young master,\" replied his father gravely. \"You do not possess a\nfigure that should make you vain, and you can have no reason to look in\na glass every hour. Break off the habit; it is an especially silly one\nfor you to indulge in.\"\n\n\"Oh, do but let me look in the glass!\" cried Jacob. \"I assure you it is\nnot from vanity I ask it.\"\n\n\"Leave me in peace--I have none. My wife has a small one, but I don't\nknow where she keeps it. But if you are bound to look in a glass,\nacross the street lives Urban, the barber, who has a mirror twice as\nlarge as your head; look into that; and in the meantime, good morning!\"\n\nWith these words, his father pushed him gently out of the door, closed\nit after him, and sat down once more to his work. Jacob, very much\ncast-down, went across the street to Urban, whom he had known well in\nthe past.\n\n\"Good morning, Urban,\" said he to the barber. \"I have come to beg a\nsmall favor of you; be so good as to let me look into your glass a\nmoment.\"\n\n\"With pleasure; there it is,\" laughed the barber, and his customers,\nwho were waiting for a shave, laughed with him. \"You are a pretty\nfellow, tall and slim, with a neck like a swan, hands like a queen, and\na stumpy nose that can not be equalled for beauty. You are a little\nvain of it, to be sure; but keep on looking; it shall not be said of me\nthat I was so jealous I would not let you look in my glass.\"\n\nThe barber's speech was followed by shouts of laughter that fairly\nshook the shop. Jacob, in the meantime, had approached the mirror and\nlooked at his reflection in the glass. Tears came into his eyes. \"Yes,\nsurely you could not recognize your little Jacob, dear mother,\" thought\nhe. \"He did not look thus in those joyful days when you paraded with\nhim before the people!\" His eyes had become small, like those of the\npigs; his nose was monstrous, and hung down over his mouth and chin;\nthe neck seemed to have entirely disappeared, as his head sank deeply\ninto his shoulders, and it was only with the greatest effort that he\ncould move it to the right or left. His body was still of the same\nheight as seven years before; but what others gain from the twelfth to\nthe twentieth year in height, he made up in breadth. His back and\nbreast were drawn out rounding, so as to present the appearance of a\nsmall but closely-packed sack. This stout, heavy trunk was placed on\nthin, weak legs that did not seem able to support the weight. But still\nlarger were his arms; they were as large as those of a full-grown man;\nhis hands were rough, and of a yellowish-brown; his fingers long and\nspindling, and when he stretched them down straight he could touch the\nground with their tips without stooping. Such was the appearance of\nlittle Jacob, who had grown to be a misshapen dwarf.\n\nHe recalled now the morning on which the old woman had come up to his\nmother's baskets. Every thing that he had criticised about her--the\nlong nose, the ugly fingers, every thing, she had inflicted on him;\nonly the long trembling neck she had left out entirely.\n\n\"Well, have you seen enough of yourself, my prince?\" said the barber,\nstepping towards him with a laugh. \"Really, if one were to try and\ndream of any thing like it, it would not be possible. For I will make\nyou a proposal, my little man. My barber shop is certainly well\npatronized, but not so well as it used to be, which results from the\nfact that my neighbor, Barber Schaum, has somewhere picked up a giant,\nwho serves to allure customers to his shop. Now, to grow a giant no\ngreat art is required; but to produce a little man like you is quite\nanother matter. Enter my service, little man; you shall have food,\ndrink and lodging--every thing; for all which you shall stand outside\nof my door mornings, and invite the people to come in; you shall make\nthe lather, and hand the customers the towel; and be assured we shall\nboth be benefitted. I shall get more customers than the man with the\ngiant, while each one of them will cheerfully give you a fee.\"\n\nJacob's soul recoiled at the thought of serving as a sign for a barber.\nBut was he not forced to suffer this abuse patiently? He therefore\nquietly told the barber that he had not the time for such services, and\nwent on his way.\n\nAlthough the wicked old woman had changed his form, she had had no\npower over his spirit, and of this fact Jacob was well aware, as he no\nlonger felt and thought as he had done seven years before. No; he knew\nhe had grown wiser and more intelligent in this interval; he sorrowed\nnot over his lost beauty, not over his ugly shape, but only over the\nfact that he had been driven like a dog from his father's door. He now\nresolved to make one more attempt to convince his mother of his\nidentity.\n\nHe went to her in the market, and begged her to listen to him quietly.\nHe reminded her of the day on which he had gone home with the old\nwoman, of all the little details of his childhood, told her of his\nseven years' service as a squirrel with the old witch, and how she\ntransformed him because he had criticised her appearance. The\nshoemaker's wife did not know what to think of all this. His stories of\nhis childhood agreed with her own recollections; but when he told her\nthat he had been a squirrel for seven years, she exclaimed: \"It is\nimpossible! and there are no witches.\" And when she looked at him, she\nshuddered at the sight of the ugly dwarf, and did not believe he could\nbe her son. Finally, she considered it best to lay the matter before\nher husband. So she collected her baskets and called the dwarf to go\nwith her. On reaching the shoemaker's stall, she said:\n\n\"Look here; this person claims to be our lost son, Jacob. He has told\nme all how he was stolen from us seven years ago, and how he was\nbewitched by an old hag.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" interrupted the shoemaker, angrily. \"Did he tell you that?\nWait, you good-for nothing! I told him all this myself, not an hour\nago, and now he runs over to jest with you! Enchanted are you, sonny?\nI will disenchant you again!\" With this he picked up a bundle of thongs\nthat he had just cut out, sprang at the dwarf, and lashed him on his\nback and arms till the dwarf cried out with pain and ran off weeping.\n\nIn that city, as in every other, there were but few pitying souls who\nwould assist a poor unfortunate about whom there was any thing\nridiculous. Therefore it was that the unfortunate dwarf remained the\nwhole day without food or drink, and at evening was forced to choose\nthe steps of a church for his couch, cold and hard as they were.\n\nBut when the rising sun awaked him, he began to think seriously of how\nhe should support himself, now that his parents had cast him off. He\nwas too proud to serve as a sign for a barber's shop; he would not\ntravel round as a mountebank and exhibit himself for money. What should\nhe do? It now occurred to him that as a squirrel he had made great\nprogress in the art of cookery; he believed, not without reason, that\nhe could hold his own with most cooks; and so he resolved to make use\nof his knowledge.\n\nAs soon as the streets began to show signs of life, and the morning\nwas fairly advanced, he entered the church and offered up a prayer.\nThen he started on his way. The duke, the ruler of the country, was a\nwell-known glutton and high-liver, who loved a good table, and selected\nhis cooks from all parts of the world. To his palace the dwarf betook\nhimself. When he came to the outer gate, the guards asked him what he\nwanted, and had a little sport with him. He asked to see the master of\nthe kitchen. They laughed, and led him through the court, and at every\nstep servants stopped to look after him, laughed loudly, and fell in\nbehind him, so that by and by a monster procession of servants of all\ndegrees crowded the steps of the palace. The stable-boys threw away\ntheir curry-combs, the messengers ran, the carpet-beaters forgot to\ndust their carpets, everybody pushed and crowded, and there was as much\nnoise and confusion as if the enemy had been before the gates; and the\nshout--\"A dwarf! a dwarf! Have you seen the dwarf!\"--filled the air.\n\nThe steward of the palace now appeared at the door, with a stern face,\nand a large whip in his hand. \"For heaven's sake, you dogs, why do you\nmake such a noise? Don't you know that the duke still sleeps?\" and\nthereupon he raised the lash and let it fall on the backs of some\nstable-boys and guards.\n\n\"Oh, master!\" cried they, \"don't you see any thing? We bring here a\ndwarf--a dwarf such as you have never seen before.\" The steward was\nable to control his laughter only with great difficulty, when he saw\nthe dwarf. But it would not do to compromise his dignity by a laugh, so\nhe drove away the crowd with his whip, led the dwarf into the palace,\nand asked him what he wanted. When he heard that Jacob wanted to see\nthe master of the kitchen, he replied:\n\n\"You are mistaken, sonny; it is me, the steward of the palace, whom you\nwish to see. You would like to become body-dwarf to the duke. Isn't\nthat so?\"\n\n\"No, master,\" answered the dwarf; \"I am a clever cook, and experienced\nin all kinds of rare dishes; if you will take me to the master of the\nkitchen perhaps he can make use of my services.\"\n\n\"Every one to his own way, little man; but you are certainly an\nill-advised youth. In the kitchen! Why, as body-dwarf you would have no\nwork to do, and food and drink to your heart's desire, and fine\nclothes. Still, we will see. Your art will hardly be up to the standard\nof a cook for the duke, and you are too good for a scullion.\" With\nthese words the steward took him by the hand and led him to the rooms\nof the master of the kitchen.\n\n\"Gracious master!\" said the dwarf, bowing so low that his hands rested\non the floor, \"have you no use for a clever cook?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe master of the kitchen looked him over from head to foot, and burst\ninto a loud laugh, \"What? You a cook? Do you think that our hearths are\nso low that you can see the top of one by standing on your toes and\nlifting your head out of your shoulders? Oh dear, little fellow!\nWhoever sent you to me for employment as a cook has made a fool of\nyou.\" So spoke the master of the kitchen, laughing loudly; and the\nsteward and all the servants in the room joined in the laugh.\n\nBut the dwarf did not allow himself to be disconcerted. \"An egg or two,\na little syrup and wine, and meal and spices, can be spared in a house\nwhere there is such plenty,\" said he. \"Give me some kind of a dainty\ndish to prepare, furnish me with what I need, and it shall be made\nquickly before your eyes, and you will have to confess that I am a cook\nby rule and right.\"\n\nWhile the dwarf spoke, it was wonderful to see how his little eyes\nsparkled, how his long nose swayed from side to side, and his long\nspider-like fingers gesticulated in unison with his speech. \"Come on!\"\ncried the master of the kitchen, taking the arm of the steward. \"Come\non; just for a joke, let's go down to the kitchen!\" They went through\nmany passages, and at last reached the kitchen, which was a high roomy\nbuilding splendidly fitted up. On twenty hearths burned a steady fire;\na stream of clear water, in which fish were darting about, flowed\nthrough the middle of the room; the utensils for immediate use were\nkept in closets made of marble and costly woods, and to the right and\nleft were ten rooms in which were preserved every thing costly and rare\nfor the palate that could be found in the entire country of the Franks\nand even in the Levant. Kitchen servants, of all degrees, were running\nabout, rattling kettles and pans, and with forks and ladles in their\nhands; but when the master of the kitchen entered, they all stopped and\nremained so still that one heard only the crackling of the fires and\nthe splashing of the stream.\n\n\"What has His Grace ordered for breakfast this morning?\" inquired the\nmaster of the kitchen of the breakfast-cook.\n\n\"Sir, he has been pleased to order Danish soup and red Hamburg\ndumplings.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the master of the kitchen. \"Did you hear, little man,\nwhat His Grace will have to eat? Do you feel capable of preparing these\ndifficult dishes? In any event, you will not be able to make the\ndumplings, for that is a secret.\"\n\n\"Nothing easier,\" replied the dwarf, to the astonishment of his\nhearers; for when a squirrel he had often made these dishes. \"Nothing\neasier; for the soup, I shall require this and that vegetable, this and\nthat spice, the fat of a wild boar, turnip, and eggs; but for the\ndumpling,\" continued he, in a voice so low that only the master of the\nkitchen and the breakfast-cook could hear, \"for the dumpling, I shall\nuse four different kinds of meat, a little wine, the oil of a duck,\nginger, and a certain vegetable called 'stomach's joy.'\"\n\n\"Ha! By St. Benedict! What magician learned you this?\" cried the cook,\nin astonishment. \"He has given the receipt to a hair, and the\n'stomach's joy' we did not know of ourselves. Yes, that would improve\nthe flavor, no doubt. O you miracle of a cook!\"\n\n\"I would not have believed it,\" said the master of the kitchen; \"but\nlet him make the experiment; give him what things he wants, and let him\nprepare the breakfast.\"\n\nThese commands were carried out, and every thing was laid out near the\nhearth, when it was discovered that the dwarf's nose barely came up to\nthe fire-place. Therefore a couple of chairs were placed together, and\nupon them a marble slab was laid, and the little magician was then\ninvited to try his skill. The cooks, scullions, servants, and various\nother people, formed a large circle around him, and looked on in\nastonishment to see how dexterous were his manipulations and how neatly\nhis preparations were conducted. When he was through, he ordered both\ndishes to be placed on the fire, and to allow them to cook to the exact\nmoment when he should call out. Then he began to count _one_, _two_,\n_three_, and so on, until he reached five hundred, when he sang out:\n\"Stop!\" The pots were then set to one side, and the dwarf invited the\nmaster of the kitchen to taste of their contents. The head cook took a\ngold spoon from one of the scullions, dipped it in the brook, and\nhanded it to the master of the kitchen, who stepped up to the hearth\nwith a solemn air, dipped his spoon into the food, tasted it, closed\nhis eyes, smacked his lips, and said: \"By the life of the duke, it's\nsuperb! Won't you take a spoonful, steward?\" The steward bowed, took\nthe spoon, tasted, and was beside himself with pleasure. \"With all\nrespect for your art, dear head cook, you have had experience, but have\nnever made either soup or Hamburg dumpling that could equal this!\" The\ncook now took a taste, shook the dwarf most respectfully by the hand,\nand said: \"Little One! you are a master of the art; really, that\n'stomach's joy' makes it perfect.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAt this moment the duke's valet came into the kitchen and announced\nthat his grace was ready for his breakfast. The food was now placed on\nsilver plates and sent in to the duke; the master of the kitchen taking\nthe dwarf to his own room, where he entertained him. But they had not\nbeen there long enough to say a pater-noster, (such is the name of the\nFranks' prayer, O Sire, and it does not take half as long to say it as\nto speak the prayer of the Faithful,) when there came a message from\nthe duke requesting the presence of the master of the kitchen. He\ndressed himself quickly in his court costume, and followed the\nmessenger. The duke appeared to be in fine spirits. He had eaten all\nthere was on the silver plates, and was wiping his beard as the master\nof the kitchen entered. \"Hear me, master of the kitchen,\" said he, \"I\nhave always been very well pleased with your cooks up to the present\ntime; now tell me who it was that prepared my breakfast this morning?\nIt was never so delicious since I sat on the throne of my ancestors;\ntell me the cook's name that I may send him a present of a few ducats.\"\n\n\"Sire, it is a strange story,\" replied the master of the kitchen; and\nwent on to tell the duke how a dwarf had been brought to him that\nmorning who wished a place as cook, and what had occurred afterwards.\nThe duke was greatly astonished. He had the dwarf called, and asked him\nwho he was, and where he came from. Now poor Jacob certainly could not\nsay that he had been enchanted, and had once taken service as a\nsquirrel; still he kept to the truth by saying that he had now neither\nfather nor mother, and had learned how to cook from an old woman. The\nduke did not question him further, but examined the singular shape of\nhis new cook. \"If you will remain in my service,\" said the duke, \"I\nwill give you fifty ducats a year, a holiday suit, and two pair of\ntrowsers besides. You will be expected to prepare my breakfast every\nmorning with your own hands; must direct the preparation of dinner, and\nhave a general oversight of my kitchen. As I am in the habit of naming\nall the people in my palace, you shall take the name of Nosey, and hold\nthe office of assistant master of the kitchen.\"\n\nThe dwarf, Nosey, prostrated himself before the mighty duke of the\nFranks, kissed his feet, and promised to serve him faithfully.\n\nThus was the dwarf provided for. And he did his office honor; for it\ncan be said that the duke was quite another man while the dwarf\nremained in his service. Formerly he had been wont to express his\ndispleasure by throwing the dishes, that were taken in to him, at the\nheads of the cooks; in fact, once in his anger, he had thrown a roasted\ncalf's foot, that was not tender enough, at the master of the kitchen,\nand it hit him on the forehead and disabled him for three days. To be\nsure, the duke made amends for his anger afterwards by distributing\nhandfuls of ducats among his victims; but nevertheless the cooks never\ntook his meals in to him without fear and trembling. Since the dwarf's\narrival, however, there was a magical change. Instead of three meals a\nday, the duke now indulged in five, in order to do justice to the skill\nof the assistant master of the kitchen; and he never betrayed the least\nappearance of dissatisfaction. On the contrary, he found every thing\nnew and rare, was sociable and pleasant, and grew fleshier and happier\nfrom day to day. He would often send for the master of the kitchen and\nthe dwarf Nosey, in the middle of the meal, and giving them seats on\neither side of himself, would feed them the choicest morsels with his\nown fingers; a favor that they both knew how to prize.\n\nThe dwarf became the wonder of the city. Permission was constantly\nsought of the master of the kitchen to see him cook, and a few\ngentlemen of the highest rank were able to induce the duke to let their\ncooks take lessons from Nosey, and this brought the dwarf in quite a\nsum of money, as each pupil had to pay half a ducat daily. And in order\nto keep the good will of the other cooks, and prevent them from\nbecoming jealous, Nosey distributed this money among them.\n\nThus lived Nosey, in exceptional comfort and honor, for nearly two\nyears; and only when he thought of his parents did he feel sorrowful.\nOne day, however, a curious incident occurred.\n\nNosey was especially fortunate in his purchases. For this reason he was\nin the habit of going to market himself for fowls and fruits, whenever\nhis duties would permit. One morning he went to the goose-market to\nlook for some heavy fat geese, such as his master loved. His form, far\nfrom arousing jokes and laughter, commanded respect, for he was known\nto be the famous chief cook of the duke, and every woman who had geese\nto sell was happy if he turned his nose towards her. At the further end\nof a row of stalls, he saw a woman sitting in a corner, who had also\ngeese to sell, but, unlike the other market-women, she did not cry her\nwares or attempt to attract buyers. To her he went and weighed her\ngeese. They were just what he wanted, and he bought three, together\nwith the cage, shouldered his burden, and started on his way home. It\noccurred to him as a very strange thing that only two of these geese\ncackled, as genuine geese are accustomed to do, while the third one sat\nquite still and reserved, occasionally sighing and sneezing like a\nhuman being. \"It must be half-sick,\" said he, as he went along. \"I must\nhurry back so as to kill and dress it.\" But, to his astonishment, the\ngoose replied, quite plainly:\n\n                 \"If you stick me,\n                  I will bite ye;\n                  If my neck you do not save,\n                  You will fill an early grave.\"\n\nTerribly frightened. Nosey sat the cage down, and the goose looked at\nhim with beautiful intelligent eyes, and sighed. \"Good gracious!\"\nexclaimed the dwarf. \"Can you speak. Miss Goose? I would not have\nthought it! Well, now, don't be anxious; one knows how to live without\nhaving any designs on such a rare bird. But I would be willing to bet\nthat you have not always had these feathers. I was myself once a\ncontemptible little squirrel.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" replied the goose, \"in saying that I was not born with\nthis ignominious form. Alas! it was never sung to me in my cradle that\nMimi, daughter of the great Wetterbock, would meet her death in the\nkitchen of a duke!\"\n\n\"Do not be uneasy, dear Miss Mimi,\" said the dwarf cheerfully. \"On my\nword of honor, and as sure as I am the assistant master of the kitchen\nof His Grace, no one shall harm you. I will fix you up a coop in my own\nroom, where you shall have plenty of food, and I will devote all my\nleisure time to your entertainment. The other kitchen servants shall be\ntold that I am fattening a goose with different kinds of vegetables,\nfor the duke; and whenever an opportunity offers, I will set you at\nliberty.\"\n\nThe goose thanked him with tears, and the dwarf did as he had promised.\nNor did he furnish her with common goose food, but with pastry and\nsweetmeats, and whenever he was at liberty he paid her visits of\ncondolence. They told one another their histories, and in this way\nNosey learned that she was a daughter of the magician Wetterbock, who\nlived on the island of Gothland, and who had begun a quarrel with an\nold witch, who in turn had vanquished him by a clever stratagem, and\nhad then revenged herself upon him by transforming his daughter into a\ngoose, and bringing her thus far from home. When the dwarf had told her\nhis story, she said:\n\n\"I am not inexperienced in these matters. My father gave my sisters and\nmyself instructions in the art, as far as he thought best; your account\nof the quarrel you had with the old woman over the market baskets, your\nsudden transformation while inhaling the steam of that vegetable soup,\ntaken in connection with some expressions of the old woman that you\ntold me of, prove conclusively to me that you are bewitched by herbs;\nthat is to say, if you can find the plant that the old woman used in\nyour transformation, you can be restored to your former shape.\"\n\nThis announcement was not very consoling to the dwarf, for where was he\nto find the plant? Still, he thanked the goose, and strove to be\nhopeful.\n\nAbout this time the duke received a visit from a neighboring prince who\nwas on friendly terms with him. He sent for the dwarf, and said to him:\n\"Now is the time when you will have to prove your devotion to me, and\nyour mastery of the art of cooking. The prince who visits me is\naccustomed to the very best, as you know, and is an excellent judge of\nfine cooking as well as a wise man. See to it, therefore, that my table\nis provided daily with such dishes as will cause his wonder to increase\nfrom day to day. And, on the penalty of my displeasure, you must not\nmake the same dish twice, during his stay here. My treasurer will\nsupply you with all the money you may want for this purpose. And even\nthough you be forced to cook gold and diamonds in lard, do it! I would\nrather be ruined than put to the blush before him.\"\n\nThus spake the duke; and the dwarf replied with a low obeisance: \"It\nshall be as you say, my master; God willing, I will so provide that\nthis prince of epicures shall be satisfied.\"\n\nThe little cook put forth all his skill. He spared neither his master's\nmoney nor himself. And he might be seen the livelong day in the midst\nof clouds of smoke and flame, while his voice sounded constantly\nthrough the kitchen, as he ordered the under-cooks and scullions about\nlike a prince. (Sire, I might imitate the camel-drivers of Aleppo, who,\nin relating their stories to the travellers, make their heroes sit\ndown to the most sumptuous banquets. They will use a whole hour in\ntheir description of the food with which the table is supplied, and\nthereby create such ardent longings and uncontrollable hunger in\ntheir hearers that the caravans are constantly halting for a meal, and\nthe camel-drivers come in for a full share of the provisions so\ninvoluntarily opened. I say I might imitate them, but I will not.)\n\nThe duke's guest had now been fourteen days with him, and had been well\nentertained. They ate not less than five times a day, and the duke was\ncontented with the skill of his dwarf, for he saw satisfaction on the\nbrow of his guest. But on the fifteenth day, it happened that the duke\nsent for the dwarf while they sat at table, and presented him to his\nguest, with the inquiry how the dwarf's cooking had pleased him.\n\n\"You are a marvelous cook,\" replied the prince, \"and know what\nconstitutes good cheer. In all the time I have been here, you have not\ngiven us the same dish twice, and every thing has been well prepared.\nBut tell me why it is you have let so long a time pass without\nproducing the queen of dishes, the Pastry Souzeraine?\"\n\nThe dwarf was all of a tremble, for he had never heard of this queen of\npastries; but still he recovered himself, and replied: \"O Sire! I had\nhoped that the light of your countenance would be shed on this palace\nfor many days yet; therefore I delayed this dish; for what could be a\nmore appropriate compliment from the cook on the day of your departure,\nthan the queen of the pastries?\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" laughed the duke, \"and were you waiting for the day of my\ndeath, before you should compliment me in the same manner? For you have\nnever placed this pastry before me. But think of some other parting\ndish: for you must set this pastry on the table to-morrow.\"\n\n\"It shall be as you say, master!\" answered the dwarf, as he went out.\nBut he was very much disturbed in mind, for he knew that the day of his\ndisgrace and misfortune was at hand. He had not the slightest idea how\nto make the pastry. He therefore went to his chamber and wept over his\nhard fate. Just then the goose, Mimi, who had the run of his chamber,\ncame up to him and inquired the cause of his sorrow. \"Cease to weep,\"\nsaid she, on learning of the incident of the pastry. \"This _entree_ was\na favorite dish of my father's, and I know about how it is made. You\ntake this and that, so and so much, and if there should happen to be\nany little thing left out, why, the gentlemen will never notice it.\"\nThe dwarf, on hearing Mimi's recipe, jumped for joy, blessed the day on\nwhich he had bought the goose, and ran off to make the queen of the\npastries. He first made a small one by way of experiment, and lo, it\ntasted finely, and the master of the kitchen, to whom he gave a morsel,\nheartily praised his skill. On the following day, he baked the pastry\nin a larger form, and after decorating it with a wreath of flowers,\nsent it, hot from the oven, to the duke's table. He then donned\nhis best suit of clothes, and followed after it. As he entered the\ndining-room, the head carver was in the act of cutting the pastry and\nserving it up to the duke and his guest, with a silver pie-knife. The\nduke took a large mouthful of the pastry, cast his eyes up at the\nceiling, and said as soon as he had swallowed it: \"Ah! ah! ah! They are\nright in calling this the queen of the pastries; but my dwarf is also\nking of all cooks--isn't that so, dear friend?\"\n\nThe prince helped himself to a small piece, tasted and examined it\nattentively, and then, with a scornful smile, pushed the plate away\nfrom him, exclaiming: \"The thing is very cleverly made, but still it\nisn't the genuine Souzeraine. I thought it would turn out that way.\"\n\nThe duke scowled, and reddening with mortification, cried: \"Dog of a\ndwarf! How dare you bring this disgrace on your master? Shall I have\nyour big head taken off as a penalty for your bad cookery?\"\n\n\"Alas, master, I prepared the dish in accordance with all the rules of\nart; there certainly can not any thing be wanting!\" cried the dwarf\ntrembling.\n\n\"You lie, you knave!\" exclaimed the duke, giving him a kick, \"or my\nguest would not say that some ingredient was wanting. I will have you\ncut up in small pieces and made into a pastry yourself!\"\n\n\"Have pity!\" cried the dwarf, falling on his knees before the guest,\nand clasping his feet. \"Tell me what is wanting in this dish that it\ndoes not suit your palate? Do not let me die on account of a handful of\nmeat and meal.\"\n\n\"That wouldn't help you much, dear Nosey,\" answered the prince,\nlaughing. \"I felt pretty sure yesterday that you couldn't make this\ndish as my cook does. Know, then, that there is an herb wanting, that\nis not known at all in this country, called _Sneeze-with-pleasure_,\nand, without this, the pastry is tasteless and your master will never\nhave it as good as mine.\"\n\nThe last words aroused the anger of the duke to the highest pitch. \"And\nyet I will have it!\" exclaimed he, with flashing eyes. \"For I swear on\nmy princely word, that I will either show you the pastry just as you\nrequire it, or----the head of this fellow impaled on the gate of my\npalace. Go, dog! Once more I grant you twenty-four hours' time.\"\n\nThe dwarf went back to his own room, and complained to the goose of his\nfate, for as he had never heard of this plant, he must die. \"Is that\nall that is wanted?\" said she. \"I can help you in that case, for I\nlearned to know all vegetables from my father. At any other time you\nmight have been doomed; but fortunately now there is a full moon, and\nat this time the plant blooms. But tell me, are there any old chestnut\ntrees in the vicinity of the palace?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" replied the dwarf, with a lighter heart; \"by the lake, two\nhundred steps from the house, there is a large group of them; but what\nhas that to do with it?\"\n\n\"Well, at the foot of old chestnuts blooms this plant,\" replied Mimi.\n\"Therefore, let us lose no time in our search. Take me under your arm,\nand set me down when we are in the garden, and I will assist you.\"\n\nHe did as she said, and went with her to the palace entrance. But there\nhe was stopped by the guard who extended his weapon, and said: \"My good\nNosey, it's all up with you; I have received the strictest orders not\nto let you out of the house.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"But there can't be any objection to my going into the garden,\" urged\nthe dwarf. \"Be so kind as to send one of your comrades to the steward,\nand ask him whether I may not be allowed to look for vegetables in the\ngarden.\" The guard did as requested, and the dwarf received permission\nto go into the garden, as it was surrounded by high walls and escape\nwas impossible. When Nosey was safely outside, he put the goose down\ncarefully, and she ran on before him to the lake where the chestnut\ntrees stood. He followed her closely, with beating heart, as his last\nhope was centered on the success of their search, and if they did not\nfind the plant, he was fully resolved that he would throw himself into\nthe lake, rather than submit to being beheaded. The goose wandered\nabout under all the trees, turning aside every blade of grass with her\nbill, but all in vain was her search, and she began to cry from pity\nand anxiety, as the night was at hand, and it was difficult to\ndistinguish objects around her.\n\nJust then the dwarf chanced to look across the lake and he shouted:\n\"Look, look! Across the lake stands an old chestnut tree; let us go\nover there and search--perhaps we shall find my luck blooming there.\"\nThe goose took the lead, hopping and flying, and Nosey ran after as\nfast as his little legs would carry him. The chestnut tree cast a large\nshadow, so that nothing could be seen under its branches; but the goose\nsuddenly stopped, clapped her wings with joy, put her head down into\nthe long grass, and plucked something that she presented with her bill\nto the astonished dwarf, saying: \"That is the plant, and there are a\nlot of them growing there, so that you will never lack for them.\"\n\nThe dwarf examined the plant thoughtfully; it had a sweet odor, that\nreminded him involuntarily of the scene of his transformation. The\nstems and leaves were of a bluish-green color, and it bore a brilliant\nred flower with a yellowish border.\n\n\"God be praised!\" exclaimed he at length. \"How wonderful! Do you know\nthat I believe this is the very plant that changed me from a squirrel\nto this hateful form? shall I make an experiment with it?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" replied the goose. \"Take a handful of these plants with you\nand let us go to your room; collect what money and other property you\nhave, and then we will try the virtue of this plant.\"\n\nTaking some of the plants with them, they went back to his room, the\nheart of the dwarf beating so that it might almost be heard. After\npacking up his savings, some fifty or sixty ducats, and his shoes and\nclothes in a bundle, he said: \"God willing, I will now free myself of\nthis shape,\" stuck his nose deep down into the plant and inhaled its\nfragrance.\n\nThereupon a stretching and cracking took place in all his limbs; he\nfelt his head being raised from his shoulders; he squinted down at his\nnose and saw it getting smaller and smaller; his back and breast began\nto straighten out, and his legs grew longer.\n\nThe goose looked on in astonishment. \"Ha! how tall, how handsome you\nare!\" exclaimed she. \"Thank God! nothing remains of your former shape?\"\nJacob, greatly rejoiced, folded his hands and prayed. But in his joy he\ndid not forget how much he was indebted to the goose; he longed with\nall his heart to go at once to his parents, but gratitude caused him to\nforego this pleasure, and to say: \"Whom but you have I to thank for my\nrestoration. Without you I should never have found this plant, and\nshould have forever remained a dwarf, or have died under the ax. Come,\nI will take you to your father; he, who is so experienced in magic, can\neasily disenchant you.\" The goose wept tears of joy, and accepted his\noffer. Jacob walked safely out of the palace with the goose, without\nbeing recognized, and started at once on his way to the coast to reach\nMimi's home.\n\nWhat shall I say further? That they reached their journey's end safely;\nthat Wetterbock disenchanted his daughter, and sent Jacob, loaded down\nwith presents, back to his native city; and that his parents easily\nrecognized their son in the handsome young man; that he bought a shop\nwith the presents given him by Wetterbock; and that he became rich and\nhappy.\n\nTo this I will add, that after Jacob's escape from the palace, great\ntrouble ensued; for on the following day, as the duke was about to\ncarry out his threat of taking off the dwarf's head if he did not\nsucceed in finding the plant, that individual was nowhere to be found.\nBut the prince asserted that the duke had connived at his escape, so as\nnot to be compelled to kill his best cook; and the prince accused the\nduke of breaking his word. From this a great war broke out between the\ntwo rulers, which is known to history as \"The Vegetable War.\" Many\nbattles were fought, but finally peace was restored, and this peace was\ncalled \"The Pastry Peace,\" inasmuch as at the peace banquet, the\nSouzeraine, queen of the pastries, was prepared by the prince's cook,\nand rejoiced the palate of his grace, the duke.\n\nThus do the most trivial causes often lead to great results; and this,\nO Sire, is the story of the _Dwarf Nosey_.\n\n\n\nSuch was the story of the Frankish slave. When he had finished, Ali\nBanu had fruits served to him and the other slaves, and conversed,\nwhile they were eating, with his friends. The young men who had been\nintroduced into the room so stealthily, were loud in their praises of\nthe sheik, his house, and all his surroundings. \"Really,\" said the\nyoung writer, \"there is no pleasanter way of passing the time than in\nhearing stories. I could sit here the livelong day with my legs\ncrossed, and one arm resting on a cushion, with my head supported by my\nhand, and, if allowable, the sheik's nargileh in my hand, and so\nsituated listen to stories with the greatest zest. Something like this,\nI fancy, will be our existence in the Gardens of Mohammed.\"\n\n\"So long as you are young and able to work,\" replied the old man, who\nhad conducted the young men into the house, \"you can not be in earnest\nin such an idle wish. At the same time, I admit that there is a\npeculiar charm about these narratives. Old as I am--and I am now in my\nseventy-seventh year--and much as I have already heard in my life,\nstill I am not ashamed when I see a large crowd gathered round a\nstory-teller at the corner, to take my place there too and listen to\nhim. The listener dreams that he is an actor in the events that are\nnarrated; he lives for the time being amongst these people, among these\nwonderful spirits, with fairies and other folk, whom one does not meet\nevery day; and has afterwards, when he is alone, the means of\nentertaining himself, just as does the traveller through the desert,\nwho has provided well for his wants.\"\n\n\"I had never thought much about wherein the charm of these stories\nlay,\" responded another of the young men. \"But I agree with you. When I\nwas a child, I could always be quieted with a story. It mattered not,\nat first, of what it treated, so long as it was told me, so long as it\nwas full of incidents and changes. How often have I, without\nexperiencing the slightest fatigue, listened to those fables which wise\nmen have devised, and in which they express a world of wisdom in a\nsentence: stories of the fox and the foolish stork, of the fox and the\nwolf, and dozens of stories of lions and other animals. As I grew\nolder, and associated more with men, those short stories failed to\nsatisfy me; I required longer ones, which treated too of people and\ntheir wonderful fortunes.\"\n\n\"Yes, I recall that time very plainly,\" interrupted one of the last\nspeaker's friends. \"It was you who created in us the desire for stories\nof all kinds. One of your slaves knew as many as a camel-driver could\ntell on the trip from Mecca to Medina. And when he was through with his\nwork, he had to sit down with us on the grassplot before the house, and\nthere we would tease until he began a story; and so it went on and on\nuntil night overtook us.\"\n\n\"And was there not then disclosed to us a new, an undiscovered realm?\"\nsaid the young writer. \"The land of genii and fairies, containing, too,\nall the wonders of the vegetable kingdom, with palaces of emeralds and\nrubies, inhabited by giant slaves, who appear when a ring was turned\naround on the finger and back again, or by rubbing a magical lamp, and\nbrought splendid food in golden shells? We felt that we were\ntransported to that country; we made those marvelous voyages with\nSinbad, we accompanied Haroun-al-Raschid, the wise ruler of the\nFaithful, on his evening walks, and we knew his vizier as well as we\nknew each other; in short, we lived in those stories, as one lives in\nhis nightly dreams, and for us there was no part of the day so\nenjoyable as the evening, when we gathered on the grass-plot, and the\nold slave told us stories. But tell us, old man, why it is that this\ncraving for stories is as strong in us to-day as it was in our\nchildhood?\"\n\nThe commotion that had arisen in the room, and the request of the\nsteward for silence, prevented the old man from replying. The young men\nwere uncertain whether they ought to rejoice at the prospect of hearing\nanother story, or to feel vexed that their entertaining conversation\nwith the old man had been broken off so suddenly. When silence had been\nrestored, a second slave arose and began his story.\n\n\n\n\n                            ABNER, THE JEW,\n                         WHO HAD SEEN NOTHING.\n\n\nSire, I am from Mogadore, on the coast of the Atlantic, and during the\ntime that the powerful Emperor Muley Ismael reigned over Fez and\nMorocco, the following incident occurred, the recital of which may\nperhaps amuse you. It is the story of Abner, the Jew, who had seen\nnothing.\n\nJews, as you know, are to be found every-where, and every-where they\nare Jews--sharp, with the eye of a hawk for the slightest advantage to\nbe gained; and the more they are oppressed the more do they exhibit the\ncraft on which they pride themselves. That a Jew may sometimes,\nhowever, come to harm through an exhibition of his smartness, is\nsufficiently shown by what befel Abner, one afternoon, as he took his\nway through the gates of Morocco for a walk.\n\nHe strode along with a pointed hat on his head, his form enveloped in a\nplain and not excessively clean mantle, taking from time to time a\nstolen pinch from a gold box that he took special pains to conceal. He\nstroked his mustaches, and in spite of the restless eyes that expressed\nfear, watchfulness, and the desire to discover something that could be\nturned to account, a certain satisfaction was apparent in his shifting\ncountenance, which plainly denoted he must have recently concluded some\nvery good bargains. He was doctor, merchant, and every thing else that\nbrought in money. He had this day sold a slave with a secret defect,\nhad bought a camel-load of gum very cheap, and had prepared the last\ndose for a wealthy patient--not the last before his recovery, but the\nlast before his death.\n\nHe had just emerged from a small thicket of palm and date trees, when\nhe heard the shouts of a number of people running after him. They were\na crowd of the emperor's grooms, headed by the master of the horse,\nlooking about them on all sides as they ran, as if in search of\nsomething.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Philistine!\" panted the master of the horse. \"Have you not seen one of\nthe emperor's horses, with saddle and bridle on, run by?\"\n\n\"The best racer to be seen anywhere--a small neat hoof, shoes of\nfourteen carat silver, a golden mane, fifteen hands high, a tail three\nand a half feet long, and the bit of his bridle of twenty-three carat\ngold?\"\n\n\"That's he!\" cried the master of the horse. \"That's he!\" echoed the\ngrooms. \"It is Emir,\" said an old riding-master. \"I have warned the\nPrince Abdallah not to ride Emir without a snaffle. I know Emir, and\nsaid beforehand he would throw the prince, and though his bruises\nshould cost me my head, I warned him beforehand. But quick! which way\ndid he go?\"\n\n\"I haven't seen a horse at all!\" returned Abner, smiling. \"How then can\nI tell you where the emperor's horse ran?\"\n\nAstonished at this contradiction, the gentlemen of the royal stables\nwere about to press Abner further, when another event occurred, that\ninterfered with their purpose.\n\nBy one of those singular chances of which there are numerous examples,\nthe empress's lap-dog had turned up missing; and a number of black\nslaves came running up, calling at the top of their voices: \"Have you\nseen the empress's lap-dog?\"\n\n\"A small spaniel,\" said Abner, \"that has recently had a litter, with\nhanging ears, bushy tail, and lame in the right fore-leg?\"\n\n\"That's she--her own self!\" chorused the slaves. \"That's Aline; the\nempress went into fits as soon as her pet was missed. Aline, where are\nyou? What would become of us if we were to return to the harem without\nyou? Tell us quickly, where did you see her run to?\"\n\n\"I have not seen any dog, and never knew that my empress--God preserve\nher--owned a spaniel!\"\n\nThe men from the stable and harem grew furious at Abner's insolence, as\nthey termed it, in making jests over the loss of imperial property; and\ndid not doubt for a moment that Abner had stolen both dog and horse.\nWhile the others continued the search, the master of the horse and the\nchief eunuch seized the Jew, and hurried him, with his half-sly and\nhalf-terrified expression, before the presence of the emperor.\n\nMuley Ismael, as soon as he heard the charge against Abner, sent for\nhis privy-counsellor, and, in view of the importance of the subject,\npresided over the investigation himself. To begin with, fifty lashes on\nthe soles of the feet were awarded the accused. Abner might whine or\nshriek, protest his innocence or promise to tell every thing just as it\nhad happened, recite passages from the Scripture or from the Talmud; he\nmight cry: \"The displeasure of the king is like the roar of a young\nlion, but his mercy is like dew on the grass,\" or \"Let not thy hand\nstrike when thy eyes and ears are closed.\" Muley Ismael made a sign to\nhis slaves, and swore by the beard of the Prophet, and his own, that\nthe Philistine should pay with his head for the pains of the Prince\nAbdallah and the convulsions of the empress, if the runaways were not\nrestored.\n\nThe palace of the emperor was still resounding with the shrieks of the\nJew, as the news was brought that both dog and horse had been found.\nAline was surprised in the company of some pug dogs, quite respectable\ncurs, but not fit associates for a court lady; while Emir, after tiring\nhimself out with running, had found the fragrant grass on the green\nmeadows by the Tara brook suited his taste better than the imperial\noats--like the wearied royal huntsman who, having lost his way on the\nchase, forgot all the delicacies of his own table as he ate the black\nbread and butter in a peasant's hut.\n\nMuley Ismael now requested of Abner an explanation of his behavior, and\nthe Jew saw that the time had come, although somewhat late, when he\ncould answer; which, after prostrating himself three times before his\nhighness's throne, he proceeded to do in the following words:\n\n\"Most high and mighty Emperor, King of Kings, Sovereign of the West,\nStar of Justice, Mirror of Truth, Abyss of Wisdom, you who gleam like\ngold, sparkle like a diamond, and are as inflexible as iron! Hear me,\nas it is permitted your slave to lift his voice in your august\npresence. I swear by the God of my fathers, by Moses and the Prophets,\nthat I never saw your sacred horse, and the amiable dog of my gracious\nempress, with the eyes of my body. But listen to my explanation.\n\n\"I walked out to refresh myself after the fatigues of the day, and in\nthe small wood where I had the honor to meet his excellency, the master\nof the horse, and his vigilancy, the black overseer of your blessed\nharem, I perceived the trail of an animal in the fine sand between the\npalms. As I am well acquainted with the tracks of various animals, I at\nonce recognized these as the footprints of a small dog; other traces\nnear the prints of the fore-paws where the sand seemed to be lightly\nbrushed away, assured me that the animal must have had beautiful\npendant ears; and as I noticed how, at long intervals, the sand was\nbrushed up, I thought: the little creature has a fine bushy tail that\nmust look something like a tuft of feathers, and it has pleased her now\nand then to whip up the sand with it. Nor did it escape my observation\nthat one paw had not made as deep an imprint on the sand as the others;\nunfortunately, therefore, it could not be concealed from me that the\ndog of my most gracious empress--if it is permitted me to say it\naloud--limped a little.\n\n\"Concerning your highness's horse, I would say that on turning into a\npath in the wood I came upon the tracks of a horse. I had no sooner\ncaught sight of the small noble hoof-print of the fine yet strong frog\nof the foot, than I said in my heart; a horse of the Tschenner stock,\nof which this must have been one of the noblest specimens, has passed\nby here. It is not quite four months since my most gracious emperor\nsold a pair of this breed to a prince in the land of the Franks, and my\nbrother Ruder was there when they agreed on the price, and my most\ngracious emperor made so and so much by the transaction. When I saw how\nfar apart these hoof-prints were, and how regular were the distances\nbetween them, I thought: that horse galloped beautifully and gently and\ncould only be owned by my emperor; and I thought of the war horse\ndescribed by Job--'He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his\nstrength; he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is\nnot affrighted: neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver\nrattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield.' And as I\nsaw something glistening on the ground, I stooped down, as I always do\nin such cases, and lo, it was a marble stone in which the hoof of the\nrunning horse had cut a groove, from which I perceived that the shoe\nmust have been of fourteen carat silver, as I have learned the mark\neach metal makes, be it pure or alloyed. The path in which I walked was\nseven feet wide, and here and there I noticed that the dust had been\nbrushed from the palms; the horse switched it off with his tail,\nthought I, which must therefore be three and a half feet long. Under\ntrees that began to branch about five feet from the ground, I saw\nfreshly-fallen leaves, that must have been knocked off by the horse in\nhis swift flight; hence he was fully fifteen hands high; and behold,\nunder the same trees were small tufts of hair of a golden lustre, hence\nhis hide would have been a yellow-dun! Just as I emerged from the\ncopse, my eye was caught by a deep scratch on a wall of rock. I ought\nto know what caused this, thought I, and what do you think it was? I\nput a touch-stone, dusted over, on the scratch, and got an impression\nof some fine hairlines such as for fineness and precision could not be\nexcelled in the seven provinces of Holland. The scratch must have been\ncaused by the stem of the horse's bit grazing the rock, as he ran close\nby it. Your love of splendor is well-known. King of Kings; and one\nshould know that the most common of your horses would be ashamed to\nchamp any thing less fine than a golden bit. Such was the result of my\nobservations, and if----\"\n\n\"Well, by the cities of the Prophet!\" cried Muley Ismael, \"I call that\na pair of eyes! Such eyes would not harm you, master of the huntsmen;\nthey would save you the expense of a pack of hounds; you, minister of\nthe police, could see further than all your bailiffs and spies. Well,\nPhilistine, in view of your uncommon acuteness, that has pleased us so\nwell, we will show you clemency; the fifty lashes that you justly\nreceived are worth fifty zecchini, as they will save you fifty more; so\ndraw your purse and count out fifty in cash, and refrain in the future\nfrom joking over our imperial property; as for the rest, you have our\nroyal pardon.\"\n\nThe whole court were astonished at Abner's sagacity, and his majesty,\ntoo, had declared him to be a clever fellow; but all this did not\nrecompense him for the anguish he suffered, nor console him for the\nloss of his dear ducats. While groaning and sighing, he took one coin\nafter another from his purse, and before parting with it weighed it on\nthe tip of his finger. Schnuri, the king's jester, asked him jeeringly\nwhether all his zecchini were tested on the stone by which the bit of\nPrince Abdallah's dun horse was proved. \"Your wisdom to-day has brought\nyou fame,\" said the jester; \"but I would bet you another fifty ducats\nthat you wish you had kept silent. But what says the Prophet? 'A word\nonce spoken can not be overtaken by a wagon, though four fleet horses\nwere harnessed to it.' Neither will a greyhound overtake it, Mr. Abner,\neven if it did not _limp_.\"\n\nNot long after this (to Abner) painful event, he took another walk in\none of the green valleys between the foot-hills of the Atlas range of\nmountains. And on this occasion, just as before, he was overtaken by a\ncompany of armed men, the leader of whom called out:\n\n\"Hi! my good friend! have you not seen Goro, the emperor's black\nbody-guard, run by? He has run away, and must have taken this course\ninto the mountains.\"\n\n\"I can not inform you, General,\" answered Abner.\n\n\"Oh! Are you not that cunning Jew who had seen neither the dog nor the\nhorse? Don't stand on ceremony; the slave must have passed this way;\ncan you not scent him in the air? or can you not discover the print of\nhis flying feet in the long grass? Speak! the slave must have passed\nhere; he is unequalled in killing sparrows with a pea-shooter, and this\nis his majesty's greatest diversion. Speak up! or I will put you in\nchains!\"\n\n\"I can not say I have seen what I have yet not seen.\"\n\n\"Jew, for the last time I ask, where is the slave? Think on the soles\nof your feet; think on your zecchini!\"\n\n\"Oh, woe is me! Well, if you will have it that I have seen the\nsparrow-shooter, then run that way; if he is not there, then he is\nsomewhere else.\"\n\n\"You saw him, then?\" roared the general.\n\n\"Well, yes, Mr. Officer, if you will have it so.\"\n\nThe soldiers hastened off in the direction he had indicated; while\nAbner went home chuckling over his cunning. Before he was twenty-four\nhours older, however, a company of the palace guards defiled his house\nby entering it on the Sabbath, and dragged him into the presence of the\nEmperor of Morocco.\n\n\"Dog of a Jew!\" shouted the emperor. \"You dare to send the imperial\nservants, who were pursuing a fugitive, on a false scent into the\nmountains, while the slave was fleeing towards the coast, and very\nnearly escaped on a Spanish ship. Seize him, soldiers! A hundred on his\nsoles, and a hundred zecchini from his purse! The more his feet swell\nunder the lash, the more his purse will collapse.\"\n\nYou know, O Sire, that in the kingdom of Fez and Morocco the people\nlove swift justice; and so the poor Abner was whipped and taxed without\nconsulting his own inclinations beforehand. He cursed his fate, that\ncondemned his feet and his purse to suffer every time it pleased his\nmajesty to lose any thing. As he limped out of the room, bellowing and\ngroaning, amidst the laughter of the rough court people, Schnuri, the\njester, said to him: \"You ought to be contented, Abner, ungrateful\nAbner; is it not honor enough for you that every loss that our gracious\nemperor--whom God preserve--suffers, likewise arouses in your bosom the\nprofoundest grief? But if you will promise me a good fee, I will come\nto your shop in Jews Alley an hour before the Sovereign of the West is\nto lose any thing, and say: 'Don't go out of your house, Abner; you\nknow why; shut yourself up in your bedroom under lock and key until\nsunset.'\"\n\nThis, O Sire, is the story of _Abner, the Jew, Who had seen Nothing_.\n\n\n\nWhen the slave had finished, and every thing was quiet in the _salon_,\nthe young writer reminded the old man that the thread of their\ndiscourse had been broken, and requested him to declare wherein lay the\ncaptivating power of tales.\n\n\"I will reply to your question,\" returned the old man. \"The human\nspirit is lighter and more easily moved than water, although that is\ntossed into all kinds of shapes, and by degrees, too, bores through the\nthickest objects. It is light and free as the air, and, like that\nelement, the higher it is lifted from earth, the lighter and purer it\nis. Therefore is there an inclination in humanity to lift itself above\nthe common events of life, in order to give itself the freer play\naccorded in more lofty domains, even if it be only in dreams. You\nyourself, my young friend, said to me: 'We lived in those stories, we\nthought and felt with those beings,' and hence the charm they had for\nyou. While you listened to the stories of yonder slaves, that were only\nfictions invented by another, did you also use your imagination? You\ndid not remain in spirit with the objects around you, nor were you\nengrossed by your every-day thoughts: no, you experienced in your own\nperson all that was told; it was you yourself to whom this and that\nadventure occurred, so strongly were you interested in the hero of the\ntale. Thus your spirit raised itself, on the thread of such a story,\nover and away from the present, which does not appear so fair or have\nsuch charms for you. Thus this spirit moved about, free and unconfined\nin a strange and higher atmosphere; fiction became reality to you--or,\nif you prefer, reality became fiction--because your imagination and\nbeing were absorbed into fiction.\"\n\n\"I do not quite comprehend you,\" returned the young merchant; \"but you\nare right in saying that we live in fiction, or fiction lives in us. I\nremember clearly that beautiful time when we had nothing to do. Waking,\nwe dreamed; we pretended that we were wrecked on desert islands, and\ntook counsel with one another as to what we should do to prolong our\nlives; and often we built ourselves huts in a willow copse, made scanty\nmeals of miserable fruits, although we could have procured the very\nbest at the house not a hundred paces distant; yes, there were even\ntimes when we waited for the appearance of a kind fairy, or a wonderful\ndwarf, who should step up to us and say: 'The earth is about to\nopen--will it please you to descend with me down to my palace of\nrock-crystal, and take your choice of what my servants, the baboons,\ncan serve up?'\"\n\nThe young men laughed, but confessed to their friend that he had spoken\ntruth. \"To this day,\" continued another, \"this enchantment creeps over\nme now and then. I became, for instance, somewhat vexed at the stupid\nfable with which my brother would come rushing up to the door: 'Have\nyou heard of the misfortune of our neighbor, the stout baker? He had\ndealings with a magician, who, out of revenge, transformed him into a\nbear, and now he lies within his chamber growling fearfully.' I would\nget angry, and call him a liar. But what a different aspect the case\ntook on when I was told that the stout neighbor had made a journey into\na far-distant and unknown land, and there fell into the hands of a\nmagician who transformed him into a bear! I would after a while find\nmyself absorbed in the story; would take the trip with my stout\nneighbor; experience wonderful adventures, and it would not have\nastonished me very much if he had actually been stuck into a bear-skin\nand forced to go on all fours.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said the old man, \"there is a very delightful form of\nnarrative, in which neither fairies nor magicians figure, no palace of\ncrystal and no genii who bring the most delicious food, no magic horse,\nbut a kind that differs materially from those usually designated as\ntales.\"\n\n\"Another kind?\" exclaimed the young men. \"Please explain to us more\nclearly what you mean.\"\n\n\"I am of the opinion that a certain distinction should be made between\nfairy tales and narratives which are commonly called stories. When I\ntell you that I will relate a fairy tale, you would at the outset count\nupon its treating of events outside of the usual course of life and of\nits being located in a kingdom entirely different from any thing on\nearth. Or, to make my meaning plain, in a fairy tale you would look for\nother people as well as mortals to appear; strange powers, such as\nfairies and magicians, genii and ruling spirits, are concerned in the\nfate of the person of whom the tale treats; the whole fabric of the\nstory takes on an extraordinary and wonderful shape, and has somewhat\nthe appearance of the texture of our carpets, or many pictures of our\nbest masters which the Franks call arabesques. It is forbidden the true\nMussulman to represent human beings, the creatures of Allah, in colors\nand paintings, as a sin; therefore one sees in this texture wonderful\ntortuous trees, and twigs with human heads; human beings drawn out into\na bush or fish; in short, forms that remind one of the life around him,\nand are yet unlike that life. Do you follow me?\"\n\n\"I believe I perceive your meaning,\" said the young writer; \"but\ncontinue.\"\n\n\"After this fashion then is a fairy tale; fabulous, unusual,\nastonishing; and because it is untrue to the usual course of life, it\nis often located in foreign lands or referred to a period long since\npassed away. Every land, every tribe, has such tales; the Turks as well\nas the Persians, the Chinese as well as the Mongolians; and even in the\ncountry of the Franks there are many, at least so I was told by a\nlearned Giaour; still they are not as fine as ours, for instead of\nbeautiful fairies who live in splendid palaces, they have decrepit old\nwomen, whom they name witches--an ugly, artful folk, who dwell in\nmiserable huts, and instead of riding in a shell wagon, drawn by\ngriffins, through the blue skies, they ride through the mist astride of\na broomstick. They also have gnomes and spirits of the earth, who are\nsmall, undersized people, and cause all kinds of apparitions. Such are\nthe fairy tales; but of far different composition are the narratives\ncommonly called stories. These are located in an orderly way on the\nearth, treat of the usual affairs of life, the wonderful part mostly\nmade up of the links of fate drawn about a human being, who is made\nrich or poor, happy or unhappy, not by magic or the displeasure of\nfairies, as in the tale, but by his own action, or by a singular\ncombination of circumstances.\"\n\n\"Most true!\" responded one of the young men; \"and such stories are also\nto be found in the glorious tales of Scheherazade called 'The Thousand\nand One Nights.' Most of the events that befel King Haroun-al-Raschid\nand his vizier were of that nature. They go out disguised and see this\nand that very singular incident, which is afterwards solved in a\nnatural manner.\"\n\n\"And yet you must admit,\" continued the old man \"that those stories did\nnot constitute the least interesting part of 'The Thousand and One\nNights.' And still, how they differ in their motive, in their\ndevelopment and in their whole nature from the tales of a Prince\nBiribinker, or the three dervishes with one eye, or the fisher who drew\nfrom the sea the chest fastened with the seal of Salomo! But after all\nthere is an original cause for the distinctive charms possessed by both\nstyles--namely, that we live to experience many things striking and\nunusual. In the fairy tales, this element of the unusual is supplied by\nthe introduction of a fabulous magic into the ordinary life of mortals;\nwhile in the stories something happens that, although in keeping with\nthe natural laws, is totally unexpected and out of the usual course of\nevents.\"\n\n\"Strange!\" cried the writer, \"strange, that this natural course of\nevents proves quite as attractive to us as the supernatural in the\ntales. What is the explanation of that?\"\n\n\"That lies in the delineation of the individual mortal,\"\nreplied the old man. \"In the tales, the miraculous forms the chief\nfeature, while the mortal is deprived of the power of shaping his\ncourse; so that the individual figures and their character can only be\ndrawn hastily. It is otherwise with the simple narrative, where the\nmanner in which each one speaks and acts his character, in due\nproportion, is the main point and the most attractive one.\"\n\n\"Really, you are right!\" exclaimed the young merchant. \"I never took\ntime to give the matter much thought. I looked at every thing, and then\nlet it pass by me. I was amused with one, found another wearisome,\nwithout knowing exactly why; but you have given us the key that unlocks\nthe secret, a touch-stone with which we can make the test and decide\nproperly.\"\n\n\"Make a practice of doing that,\" answered the old man, \"and your\nenjoyment will constantly increase, as you learn to think over what you\nhave heard. But see, another slave has risen to tell his story.\"\n\n\n\n\n                         THE YOUNG ENGLISHMAN.\n\n\nSire, I am a German by birth, and have been in your country too short a\ntime to be able to entertain you with a Persian tale or an amusing\nstory of sultans and viziers. You must, therefore, permit me to tell\nyou a story of my native land. Sad to say, our stories are not always\nas elevated as yours--that is, they do not deal with sultans or kings,\nnor with viziers and pashas, that are called ministers of justice or\nfinance, privy-counsellors, and the like, but they treat very modestly\n(soldiers sometimes excepted) of persons outside of official life.\n\nIn the southern part of Germany lies the town of Gruenwiesel, where I\nwas born and bred. It is a town identical with its neighbors; in its\ncentre a small marketplace with a town-pump, on one corner a small old\ntown-hall, while built around the square were the houses of the justice\nof the peace and the well-to-do merchants, and, in a few narrow streets\nthat opened out of the square, lived the rest of the citizens.\nEverybody knew everybody else; every one knew all that was going on;\nand if the minister, or the mayor, or the doctor had an extra dish on\nthe table, the whole town would know of it before dinner was over. On\nafternoons, the wives went out to coffee parties, as we call them,\nwhere, over strong coffee and sweet cakes, they gossiped of the great\nevents of the day, coming to the conclusion that the minister must have\ninvested in a lottery ticket and won an unchristian amount of money,\nthat the mayor was open to a bribe, and that the apothecary paid the\ndoctor well to write costly prescriptions. You may therefore imagine,\nSire, how unpleasant it was for an orderly town like Gruenwiesel, when\na man came there of whom nothing was known--not even where he came\nfrom, what he wanted there, or on what he lived. The mayor, to be sure,\nhad seen his passport, a paper that every one is compelled to have in\nour country----\n\n\"Is it, then, so unsafe on the street,\" interrupted the sheik, \"that\nyou must have a firman from your sultan in order lo protect yourselves\nfrom robbers?\"\n\nNo, Sire, (replied the slave); these passports do not protect us from\nthieves, but are only a regulation by which the identity of the holder\nis every-where established. Well, the mayor had investigated this\nstrange man's passport and at a gathering at the doctor's house had\nsaid that it had been found all right from Berlin to Gruenwiesel, but\nthere must be some cheat in it, as the man was a suspicious-looking\ncharacter. The mayor's opinion being entitled to great weight in\nGruenwiesel, it is no wonder that from that time forth the stranger\nwas looked upon with suspicion. And his course of life was not adapted\nto change this opinion of my countrymen. The stranger rented an entire\nhouse that had formerly been unoccupied, had a whole wagon full of\nsingular furniture--such as stoves, ranges, frying-pans, and the\nlike--put in there, and lived there alone by himself. Yes, he even\ncooked for himself; and not a single soul entered his house, with the\nexception of an old man living in Gruenwiesel, who made purchases for\nhim of bread, meat, and vegetables. Still, even this old man was only\nallowed to step inside the door, where he was always met by the\nstranger, who relieved him of his bundles.\n\nI was ten years of age when this man came to our town, and I can to-day\nrecall the uneasiness which his presence caused, as clearly as though\nit had all happened yesterday. He did not come in the afternoon, like\nthe other men, to the bowling alley; nor did he visit the inn in the\nevening, to discuss the news over a pipe of tobacco. It was in vain\nthat, one after another, the mayor, the 'squire, the doctor, and the\nminister invited him to dinner or to lunch; he always excused himself.\nThus it was that some believed him crazy; others took him to be a Jew;\nwhile a third party firmly insisted that he was a magician or sorcerer.\n\nI grew to be eighteen, twenty years old, and still this man passed\nunder the name of \"the strange gentleman.\" There came a day, however,\non which some fellows came to our town leading a number of strange\nanimals. They were a rough lot of vagrants, who had a camel that would\nkneel, a bear that danced, some dogs and monkeys looking very comical\nin clothes and playing all sorts of tricks. These vagrants generally go\nthrough the town, stopping at all the cross streets and squares, making\na horrible tumult with a small drum and fife, compelling their animals\nto dance and perform tricks, and then collect money in the houses. But\nthe band, which was now exhibiting in Gruenwiesel, was distinguished\nabove others of its class by the presence of a monster orang-outang,\nnearly as large as a human being, which walked on two legs, and could\nperform all manner of clever tricks. This dog-and-ape-troupe stopped\nbefore the house of the strange gentleman. At the sound of the fife and\ndrum, the latter appeared at the dust-dimmed window, looking rather\ndispleased; but after a time his face lighted up, and, to everybody's\nsurprise, he opened the window, looked out, and laughed heartily at the\ntricks of the orang-outang, and even gave such a large silver coin to\nthe show that the whole town spoke of it.\n\nOn the following day these vagrants left the place. The camel carried a\nlarge number of baskets in which the dogs and monkies sat demurely,\nwhile the men and the big ape walked behind the camel. They had hardly\nbeen gone an hour, however, when the strange gentleman sent to the\npost, and ordered, to the astonishment of the postmaster, a carriage\nwith post-horses, and shortly drove through the same gate, out on the\nsame road that had been taken by the band of men and monkeys. The whole\ntown was vexed because it could not be learned where he was bound.\nNight had set in before the strange gentleman returned to the gate. But\nanother person sat in the wagon with him, who pressed his hat down over\nhis face, and had bound up his mouth and ears in a silk handkerchief.\nThe gate-keeper held it to be his duty to question the other stranger,\nand to ask him for his passport; he answered, however, very roughly,\nmuttering away in a quite unintelligible language.\n\n\"It is my nephew,\" said the strange gentleman, pleasantly, to the\ngate-keeper, as he pressed some silver coin into his hand; \"it is my\nnephew, who does not at present understand very much German. He was\njust now cursing in his own dialect at our being stopped here.\"\n\n\"Well, if he is your nephew,\" replied the gate-keeper, \"of course a\npass is not necessary. He will probably lodge with you?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the strange gentleman, \"and will most likely remain\nhere some time.\"\n\nThe gate-keeper had no further objections to make, so the strange\ngentleman and his nephew drove into the town. The mayor and citizens,\nhowever, were not very well pleased with the action of the gate-keeper.\nHe might at least have taken notice of a few words of the nephew's\ndialect, so that thereby it might have been easily ascertained from\nwhat country he and his uncle originally came. On this the gate-keeper\nasserted that his dialect was neither French nor Italian, but it\nsounded broad enough to be English.\n\nThus did the gate-keeper help himself out of disgrace, and at the same\ntime supply the young man with a name. For every body now was talking\nabout the young Englishman.\n\nBut, like his uncle, the young Englishman did not show himself either\nat the bowling alley or the beer table; but yet he gave the people much\nto busy themselves about in another way. For instance, it often\nhappened that, in the formerly quiet house of the strange gentleman,\nsuch fearful cries and noises were heard, that the people would crowd\ntogether before the house and look up at the windows. They would then\nsee the young Englishman, clad in a red coat and green knee-breeches,\nwith bristly hair, and a frightened expression, run by the windows, and\nthrough all the rooms, with inconceivable rapidity, chased by his\nuncle, wearing a red dressing-gown, with a hunting whip in his hand; he\noften missed hitting him, but after a time the crowd felt sure that the\nyoung man had been caught, as the most pitiable cries and whip-lashings\nwere heard. The ladies of the town now felt such a lively sympathy for\nthe young man who was treated so cruelly that they finally prevailed on\nthe mayor to take some steps in the matter. He wrote the strange\ngentleman a note, in which he expressed his opinion very emphatically\nabout the way the young Englishman had been treated, and threatened\nthat if any more such scenes occurred he would take the young man under\nhis own protection.\n\nBut who could have been more astonished than was the mayor, when, for\nthe first time in ten years, he saw the strange gentleman enter his\nhouse! The old gentleman excused his conduct, on the ground that it was\nin accordance with the expressed charge of the young man's parents, who\nhad sent their son to him to be educated. This youth was in other\nrespects wise and forward for his years, but he did not learn languages\neasily; and he was very anxious to teach his nephew to speak German\nfluently, that he might take the liberty of introducing him to the\nsociety of Gruenwiesel. And yet this language seemed so hard for him to\nacquire, that often there was nothing left to do but to whip it into\nhim. The mayor expressed himself well satisfied with these\nexplanations, only advising moderation on the old man's part; and he\nsaid that evening, over his beer, that he had seldom seen so\nintelligent and clever a man as the strange gentleman. \"It is a pity,\"\nadded he, in conclusion, \"that he comes so little into society; still,\nI think that when the nephew is a little further advanced in German, he\nwill visit my circle oftener.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThrough this single circumstance, the public opinion of the town was\ncompletely changed. The stranger was looked upon as a clever man,\nwishes for his better acquaintance were freely expressed, and when, now\nand then, a terrible shriek was heard to come from the house, the\nGruenwiesel people simply said: \"He is giving his nephew lessons in the\nGerman language,\" and ceased to block up the street before his house,\nas they had been wont to do on hearing those cries. In the course of\nthree months the German exercises seemed to be finished, as the old\ngentleman took another step in the education of his nephew. There lived\na feeble old Frenchman in the town, who gave the young people lessons\nin dancing. The old gentleman sent for him one day, and told him that\nhe wished his nephew to be instructed in dancing. He gave him to\nunderstand that while the young man was quite docile, yet where dancing\nwas concerned he was rather peculiar; he had, for instance, once\nlearned how to dance from another master, but so singular were the\nfigures taught him, that he could not be taken out into society. But\nthen his nephew believed himself to be a great dancer, notwithstanding\nthe fact that his dancing did not bear the slightest resemblance to a\nwaltz or a gallopade. As for the rest, he promised the dancing-master a\nthaler a lesson; and the Frenchman announced himself as ready to begin\nthe instruction of this peculiar pupil. Never in the world, as the\nFrenchman privately asserted, was there anything so extraordinary as\nthese dancing-lessons. The nephew, quite a tall, slim young man, whose\nlegs were still much too short, would make his appearance, finely\ndressed in a red coat, loose green trousers, and kid gloves. He spoke\nbut little, and with a foreign accent, was at the beginning fairly\nclever and well-behaved, but would suddenly break into the wildest\nleaps, danced the boldest figures that took away the master's sight and\nspeech; and if he attempted to set him right again, the young man would\ndraw off his dancing-shoes, and throw them at the master's head, and\nthen get down on the floor and run about on all fours. Summoned by the\nnoise, the old gentleman would then rush out of his room, attired in a\nloose red dressing-gown, with a gold-paper capon his head, and lay the\nhunting whip on the back of the young man without mercy. The nephew\nwould thereupon scream frightfully, spring upon tables and bureaus, and\ncry out in an odd foreign tongue. The old man in the red dressing-gown\nwould at length catch him by the leg, drag him down from a table, beat\nhim black and blue, and choked him by twisting his cravat, whereupon he\nwould become clever and decent again, and the dancing-exercise would\ncontinue without further interruption.\n\nBut when the Frenchman had advanced his pupil so far that music could\nbe used during the lesson, there was a magical change in the nephew's\nbehavior. A town musician was called in, and given a seat on the table\nin the _salon_ of the desolate house. The dancing-master would then\nrepresent a lady, the old gentleman furnishing him with a silk dress\nand an Indian shawl; and the nephew would request the lady to dance\nwith him. The young Englishman was a tireless dancer, and would not let\nthe Frenchman escape out of his long arms, but forced him to dance, in\nspite of his groans and cries, till he fell down from fatigue, or until\nthe fiddler's arm became too lame to keep up the music.\n\nThe dancing-master was nearly brought to his grave by these lessons,\nbut the thaler that he received regularly every day, and the good wine\nthat the old man set out for him, caused him to keep on, even though he\nfirmly resolved each day not to enter the desolate house again.\n\nBut the inhabitants of Gruenwiesel took an altogether different view of\nthe matter. They found that the young man must have sociable qualities;\nwhile the young ladies rejoiced that, in the great scarcity of young\nmen, they should have so nimble a dancer for the forthcoming winter.\n\nOne morning the maids, on returning from market, reported to their\nmistresses a wonderful occurrence. Before the desolate house, a\nsplendid coach, with beautiful horses, was drawn up, with a footman in\nrich livery holding open the door. Thereupon the door of the desolate\nhouse was opened, and two richly dressed gentlemen stepped out, one of\nwhom was the old gentleman and the other probably the young Englishman,\nwho had had such a hard time in learning German, and who danced so\nactively. Both men took seats in the coach, the footman sprang up on\nthe rack at the back, and the coach--just think of it!--had been driven\nup to the mayor's door.\n\nAs soon as the ladies had heard these stories from their servants, they\ntore off their kitchen aprons and caps, and dressed themselves in\nstate. \"Nothing is more certain,\" they exclaimed to their families,\nwhile all were running about to set the parlor in order, \"nothing is\nmore certain than that the stranger is about to bring his nephew out.\nThe old fool has not had the decency to set his foot in our house for\nten years; but we will pardon him on account of the nephew, who must be\na charming fellow.\" Thus said the ladies, and admonished their sons and\ndaughters to appear polite if the strangers came--to stand up straight,\nand also to take more pains than usual in their speech. And the wise\nwomen of the town were not wrong in their calculations, as the old\ngentleman went the rounds with his nephew, to recommend himself and the\nyoung Englishman to the favor of the Gruenwiesel families.\n\nEvery-where the people were quite charmed with the appearance of the\ntwo strangers, and felt sorry that they had not made the acquaintance\nof these agreeable gentlemen earlier. The old gentleman showed himself\nto be a worthy, sensible man, who, to be sure, smiled a little over all\nhe said, so that one was not quite sure whether he was in earnest or\nnot; but he spoke of the weather, of the suburbs, and of the Summer\npleasures in the cave on the mountain side, so wisely and elaborately\nthat every one was charmed with him. But the nephew! He bewitched\neverybody; he took all hearts by storm. Certainly, so far as his\nexterior was concerned, his face could not be called handsome; the\nunder part, the chin especially, protruded too far, and his complexion\nwas exceedingly dark; then, too, he frequently made all sorts of\nsingular grimaces, closing his eyes and gnashing his teeth; but in\nspite of all this, the contour of his face was found to be unusually\ninteresting. Nothing could be more athletic than his figure. His\nclothes, it is true, hung somewhat loosely and unevenly on his body;\nbut he was pleased with every thing; he flew about the room with\nuncommon activity, threw himself here on a sofa and then in an\narm-chair, and stretched out his legs before him. But what in another\nyoung man would have been considered vulgar and unseemly, passed in the\ncase of the nephew for agreeableness. \"He is an Englishman,\" they would\nsay, \"they are all like that; an Englishman can lie down on a sofa and\ngo to sleep while ten ladies stand up for lack of a seat; we shouldn't\ntake it amiss in an Englishman.\" He was very watchful, however, of the\nold gentleman, his uncle; and when he began to spring about the room,\nor, as he seemed constantly inclined to do, put his feet up in a chair,\na serious look served to make him behave himself a little better. And\nthen, how could any one take any thing amiss, when the uncle on\nentering would say to the lady of the house: \"My nephew is still\nsomewhat coarse and uncultured, but I am sanguine that a little society\nwill do much to polish his manners, and I therefore recommend him to\nyou with my whole heart.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThus was the nephew brought into society, and all Gruenwiesel spoke of\nnothing else for two whole days. The old gentleman did not stop with\nthis, however, but set about changing his entire course of life. In the\nafternoon, in company with his nephew, he would go out to the cave on\nthe mountain, where the most respectable gentlemen of Gruenwiesel drank\nbeer and played at bowls. The nephew there showed himself to be an\naccomplished master of the sport, as he never bowled down less than\nfive or six pins. Now and then, it is true, a singular spirit seemed to\ncontrol him. He would, for instance, often chase a ball with the speed\nof an arrow, right down among the pins, and there set up all kinds of\nstrange noises; or when he had knocked down the king, or made a strike,\nhe would stand on his beautifully curled head, and throw his feet into\nthe air; or when a wagon rattled by, he would be found, before he was\nfairly missed from the room, on the driver's seat, would ride a short\ndistance, and then come back.\n\nOn these occasions, the old gentleman was accustomed to beg pardon of\nthe mayor and the other gentlemen, for the antics of his nephew; but\nthey laughed, charged it all to the account of his youth, asserted that\nat his age they were also as nimble, and loved the harum-scarum chap,\nas they called him, uncommonly well.\n\nBut there were also times when they were not a little vexed with him,\nand yet they did not venture to make any complaints, because the young\nEnglishman passed every-where as a model of culture and intelligence.\nThe old gentleman was accustomed to take his nephew with him every\nevening to the \"Golden Hirsch,\" an inn of the town. Although the nephew\nwas quite a young man, he did all that his elders did, placed his glass\nbefore him, put on an enormous pair of spectacles, produced a mighty\npipe, lighted it, and blew his smoke among them mischievously. If the\npapers, or war, or peace, were spoken of, and the doctor and the mayor\nfell into a discussion on these subjects, surprising all the other\ngentlemen by their deep political knowledge, the nephew was quite\nliable to interpose very forcible objections; he would strike the table\nwith his hand, from which he never drew the glove, and gave the doctor\nand the mayor very plainly to understand that they had not any correct\ninformation on these subjects; that he had heard all about them\nhimself, and possessed a deeper insight into them. He then gave\nexpression to his own views, in singular broken German, which received,\nmuch to the disgust of the mayor, the approval of all the other\ngentlemen; for he must, naturally, as an Englishman, understand all\nthis much better than they.\n\nThen, when the mayor and doctor, to conceal the anger they did not dare\nexpress, sat down to a game of chess, the nephew would come up, look\nover the mayor's shoulders with his great goggles, and find fault with\nthis and that move, and tell the doctor he must move thus and so, until\nboth men were secretly burning with anger. If then the mayor challenged\nhim to play a game, with the design of mating him speedily--as he held\nhimself to be a second Philidor--the old gentleman would grasp his\nnephew by the cravat, whereupon the young man at once became quiet and\npolite, and gave mate to the mayor.\n\nThey had been accustomed to play cards of an evening at Gruenwiesel, at\nhalf a kreuzer a game for each player; this the nephew thought was a\nmiserable stake, and laid down crown-thalers and ducats himself,\nasserting that not one of them could play as well as he, but generally\nconsoled the insulted gentlemen by losing large sums of money to them.\nThey suffered no twinges of conscience in this taking of his money. \"He\nis an Englishman, and inherits his wealth,\" said they, as they shoved\nthe ducats into their pockets.\n\nThus did the nephew of the strange gentleman establish his\nrespectability in the town in a very short time. The oldest inhabitants\ncould not remember having ever seen a young man of this style in\nGruenwiesel, and he created the greatest sensation that had ever been\nknown there. It could not be said that the nephew had learned any thing\nmore than the art of dancing; Latin and Greek were to him, as we were\nwont to express it, \"Bohemian villages.\" In a game at the mayor's house\nhe was called upon to write something, and it was discovered that he\ncould not even write his own name. In geography, he made the most\negregious blunders--as he would place a German city in France, or a\nDanish town in Poland; he had not read any thing, had not studied any\nthing, and the minister often shook his head seriously over the utter\nignorance of the young man. Yet, in spite of all these defects, every\nthing he said or did was considered excellent; for he was so impudent\nas to claim that he was always right, and the close of every one of his\nspeeches was, \"I know better than you!\"\n\nWinter came, and now the young Englishman appeared in still greater\nglory. Every party was voted wearisome where he was not a guest. People\nyawned when a wise man began to speak; but when the young Englishman\nuttered the veriest nonsense in broken German, all was attention. It\nwas now discovered that the young man was also a poet, for rarely did\nan evening go by that he did not pull out a piece of paper from his\npocket and read some sonnets to the company. There were, to be sure,\nsome people who maintained that some of these poems were poor and\nwithout sense, and that others they had read somewhere in print; but\nthe nephew did not permit himself to be put down in any such manner. He\nread, and read, directed the attention of his hearers to the beauties\nof his verses, and was applauded to the echo.\n\nHis great triumph, however, was at the Gruenwiesel ball. No one could\ndance more gracefully and rapidly than he. None could execute such\nuncommonly difficult steps. His uncle dressed him in the greatest\nsplendor, after the latest fashion; and although the clothes did not\nfit his body very well, yet every one thought him charmingly dressed.\nThe men, to be sure, thought themselves somewhat insulted by the new\nfashion which he introduced. The mayor had always been accustomed to\nopen the ball in his own person, while the leading young people had the\nright to arrange the other dances; but since the appearance of the\nyoung Englishman, all this was changed. Without much ceremony, he took\nthe next best lady by the hand and led her out on the floor, arranged\nevery thing to suit himself, and was lord and master and king of the\nball. But because these innovations were acceptable to the ladies, the\nmen did not venture to make any objections, and the nephew held firmly\nto his self-appointed office.\n\nThis ball seemed to furnish great entertainment for the old gentleman;\nhe never once took his eyes off his nephew, wore a smiling face, and\nwhen all the world of Gruenwiesel moved up to him to sound the praises\nof the noble well-bred youth, he could no longer contain himself from\nvery joy, but broke out into a hearty laugh, and conducted himself\nalmost foolishly. The Gruenwiesel people attributed these singular\nmanifestations of pleasure to his great love for his nephew, and did\nnot think them unnatural. Still, every now and then he had to turn his\nfatherly attention to his nephew, for, in the middle of an elegant\ndance, the young man would leap up to the platform where the town\nmusicians sat, take away the bass-viol from its owner, and scrape out a\nhorrible medley; or for a change he would throw his heels up into the\nair and dance about on his hands. At such times, the old gentleman\nwould take him aside, would talk to him very seriously, and tighten his\nneck-tie, until he once more was tractable.\n\nThus did the nephew conduct himself in society. It is usually the case\nwith social customs, that the objectionable ones spread much more\nrapidly than the good ones; and a new and striking fashion, even though\nludicrous in itself, may have something attractive in it for young\npeople who have not thought very deeply about themselves and the world.\nThus it was in Gruenwiesel, over the young Englishman and his singular\nmanners. When the young people saw how he, with his perverse\ndisposition, with his coarse laughs and jests, with his rude answers to\nelderly people, was more praised than blamed, that all this was\nconsidered spirited, they said to themselves, \"It would be very easy\nfor me to become such a spirited fellow.\" They had formerly been\nindustrious and clever young people; now they thought, \"Of what use is\nstudy, when ignorance is more highly rewarded?\" They let books alone,\nand spent their time on the square and in the streets. Formerly they\nwere well-behaved and polite towards every one--had waited until they\nwere spoken to, and then replied modestly; but now they placed\nthemselves in the company of their elders, gossiped with them, gave\nexpression to their opinions, and even laughed in the mayor's face when\nhe spoke, and affirmed that they knew better than he. Formerly the\nyoung men of Gruenwiesel had had a horror of a coarse and vulgar life;\nbut now they sang all kinds of low songs, smoked tobacco in enormous\npipes, and frequented the worst saloons. They also bought large\ngoggles, although their sight was not impaired, set them on their nose,\nand thought that they were now made, as they looked just like the\ncelebrated young Englishman. At home, or when they were visiting, they\nwould lie down on the lounge with their boots and spurs on; they tilted\nback their chairs in company, or put their elbows on the table and\nrested their cheeks on their fists--a posture that was in the highest\ndegree charming to look at. All in vain did their mothers and friends\ntell them how foolish and disgraceful these actions were; they quoted\nthe shining example of the nephew in defence of their behavior. All in\nvain was it represented to them that one should overlook in the nephew,\nas a young Englishman, a certain national rudeness;--the young men of\nGruenwiesel would assert that they had just as good a right as the best\nEnglishman living, to be rude in a spirited way; in short, it was a\npity to see how the evil example of the nephew had completely destroyed\nthe customs and good manners of Gruenwiesel.\n\nBut the joy of the young men, in their rude unrestrained life did not\nlast long, as the following event wrought a complete change in the\nscene. The Winter amusements were to close with a concert, that was to\nbe given, partly by the town musicians, and partly by the lovers of\nmusic in Gruenwiesel. The mayor played the violoncello, the doctor the\nbassoon, extremely well; the apothecary, although he had a very poor\ntalent for it, blew the flute; the young ladies of Gruenwiesel had\nlearned some songs, and every thing was all nicely arranged. But the\nstrange gentleman gave out that while the concert would undoubtedly be\na success, yet it was a mistake not to introduce a duet, as a duet was\na recognized feature of every concert. The old gentleman's declaration\nproved quite an embarrassment to the managers. It was true that the\nmayor's daughter sang like a nightingale; but where should they find a\ngentleman who could sing a duet with her? In their perplexity, they at\nlast hit upon the old organist who had once possessed an excellent bass\nvoice; but the strange gentleman asserted that they need have no\nuneasiness on that score, as his nephew was an exceptionally fine\nsinger. They were not a little surprised over this new accomplishment\nof the young man, and requested him to sing something, that they might\njudge of his acquirements. He sang for them, and, barring a few\noutlandish affectations which were supposed to be the English style, he\nsang like an angel. The duet was therefore decided on and hurriedly\npracticed, and the evening finally came on which the ears of the\nGruenwiesel people were to be refreshed with a concert.\n\nThe old gentleman, sad to say, was sick and could not attend the\nconcert; but he gave the mayor, who called on him just before the hour\nof opening the concert, some directions regarding his nephew. \"He is a\ngood soul, my nephew,\" said he, \"but now and then he is overtaken by\nall sorts of singular fancies, and does many stupid things; it is,\ntherefore, a great misfortune that I can not be present at your\nconcert, as in my presence he always behaves himself--he well knows\nwhy! I must say, in his favor, that he does not commit these actions in\na spirit of wantonness, but they are a fault of his constitution,\ndeeply implanted in his nature. If then, Mr. Mayor, he should sit down\non the music-desk, or attempt to play the bass-viol, just loosen his\nneck-tie a little; or, if that does not help matters, pull it off\nentirely, and you will see how quiet and well-behaved he will become.\"\nThe mayor thanked the sick man for his confidence, and promised that if\nit should be necessary he would carry out his instructions.\n\nThe concert-hall was crowded; all Gruenwiesel and the surrounding\ncountry were there. All the royal gamekeepers, the ministers,\nofficials, landlords, and others, within a circumference of ten miles,\ncame with their numerous families to share the rare enjoyment of the\nconcert with the Gruenwiesel people. The town musicians did themselves\nhonor. After them, the mayor appeared with his violoncello, accompanied\nby the apothecary with his flute; after these, the organist sang, amid\nuniversal applause; and the doctor, too, was cheered not a little when\nhe appeared with his bassoon.\n\nThe first part of the concert was over, and every one was impatiently\nawaiting the second part, in which the young stranger was to sing a\nduet with the mayor's daughter. The nephew was present, in a brilliant\ncostume, and had already attracted the attention of all present. He\nhad, with the greatest composure, laid himself back in an easy chair,\nwhich had been reserved for a countess of the neighborhood, stretched\nhis legs out before him, and stared at everybody through a large\nspyglass, stopping occasionally to play with a large mastiff which he,\nin spite of the rule excluding dogs, had brought with him into this\ngoodly company. The countess for whom the chair had been reserved, put\nin an appearance; but he showed no disposition to vacate the seat,--on\nthe contrary, he settled himself down in it more comfortably, and as no\none dared say any thing to the young man about it, the noble lady was\nforced to take a common straw-bottomed chair in the midst of the other\nladies; a proceeding that vexed her not a little.\n\nDuring the excellent playing of the mayor, during the fine singing of\nthe organist, yes, even while the doctor was performing some fantasias\non the bassoon, and all were breathlessly listening, the young\nEnglishman amused himself by having the dog fetch his handkerchief, or\nchatted aloud with his neighbors, so that every one who was not\nacquainted with him wondered at the extraordinary conduct of the young\nman.\n\nIt was no wonder, therefore, that there was great curiosity to hear him\nin the duet. The second part began; the town musicians had opened with\na short piece of music, and now the mayor, with his daughter, stepped\nup to the young man, handed him a sheet of music, and said: \"Mosjoh!\nWill it please you to sing the duet now?\" The young man laughed,\ngnashed his teeth, sprang up, and the others followed him to the\nmusic-stand, while the entire company were in full expectation. The\norganist began the accompaniment and beckoned the nephew to begin. The\nyoung Englishman looked through his goggles at the music, and broke out\ninto the most discordant tones. The organist called out to him, \"Two\ntones deeper, your honor! You must sing in C, C!\"\n\nInstead of singing in C, however, the nephew took off his shoe, and\nstruck the organist such a blow on the head that the powder flew in all\ndirections. As the mayor saw this, he thought: \"Ha! he has another\nattack!\" and sprang forward, seized him by the throat, and loosened his\nneck-tie; but this only increased the young man's violence; he no\nlonger spoke German, but a strange language instead, that no one\nunderstood, and began to leap about in an extraordinary manner. The\nmayor was very much annoyed by this unpleasant disturbance; he\ntherefore resolved, inasmuch as the young man must have been attacked\nby some very unusual symptoms, to remove the cravat entirely. But he\nhad no sooner done this, than he stood motionless with horror, for\ninstead of a human skin and complexion, the neck of the young man was\ncovered with a dark-brown fur. The young man took some higher leaps,\ngrasped his hair with his gloved hands, pulled it, and, oh, wonder!\nthis beautiful hair was simply a wig, which he flung into the mayor's\nface; and his head now appeared, covered with the same brown fur.\n\nHe jumped over tables and benches, threw down the music-stands, stamped\non the fiddles and clarionet, and appeared to have gone mad. \"Catch\nhim! catch him!\" shouted the mayor, quite beside himself. \"He is out of\nhis senses, catch him!\" That was, however, a difficult thing to do, as\nthe Englishman had pulled off his gloves, disclosing nails on his\nfingers, with which he scratched the faces of those who attempted to\nhold him. Finally an experienced hunter succeeded in holding him. He\nbound his long arms down by his side so that he could only move his\nfeet. The people gathered round and stared at the singular young\ngentleman, who no longer resembled a human being.\n\nJust then a scientific gentleman of the neighborhood who had a large\ncabinet full of specimens of natural history, and possessed all kinds\nof stuffed animals, approached nearer, examined him closely, and then\nexclaimed, in tones of surprise: \"Good gracious! ladies and gentlemen,\nhow is it you bring this animal into genteel company? That is an ape,\nof the _Homo Troglodytes_ species. I will give six thalers for him on\nthe spot, if you will let me have him, for my cabinet.\"\n\nWho could describe the astonishment of the Gruenwiesel people as they\nheard this! \"What! an ape, an orang-outang in our society? The young\nstranger a common ape?\" cried they, and looked at one another in a\nstupefied way. They could not believe it; they could not trust their\nears. The men examined the animal more closely, but it was beyond all\ndoubt a quite natural ape.\n\n\"But how is this possible,\" cried the mayor's wife. \"Has he not often\nread his poems to me? Has he not eaten at my table, just like any other\nman?\"\n\n\"What?\" exclaimed the doctor's wife. \"Has he not often drank coffee\nwith me, and a great deal of it? And has he not talked learnedly with\nmy husband, and smoked with him?\"\n\n\"What! is it possible!\" cried the men; \"has he not bowled nine-pins\nwith us at the cave? and discussed politics like one of us?\"\n\n\"And how can it be?\" lamented they all; \"has he not danced at our\nballs? An ape! an ape? It is a miracle! It is witchcraft!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is witchcraft, and a satanic spook!\" echoed the mayor,\nexhibiting the cravat of the nephew, or ape. \"See, this cloth contains\nthe magic that made him so acceptable to our eyes. There is a broad\nstrip of elastic parchment covered with all manner of singular\ncharacters. I think it must be Latin. Can any one read it?\"\n\nThe minister, a scholarly gentleman who had lost many a game of chess\nto the young Englishman, walked up, examined the parchment, and said:\n\"By no means! They are only Latin letters,\" and read:\n\n           \"THE APE CAN DO MOST COMIC FEATS,\n            WHEN OF THE APPLE FRUIT HE EATS.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a wicked fraud, a kind of sorcery; and the perpetrator of\nit should be made an example of.\"\n\nThe mayor was of the same opinion, and started to go to the house of\nthe stranger, who must be a sorcerer; while six militia-men took the\nape along, as the stranger would be immediately put on trial.\n\nThey arrived at the desolate house, accompanied by a large crowd of\npeople, as every one was anxious to see the outcome of the affair. They\nknocked on the door and pulled the bell, but no one responded. The\nmayor, in his wrath, had the door beaten in, and went up to the room of\nthe stranger. But nothing was to be seen there save various kinds of\nold furniture. The strange gentleman was not to be found; but on his\nwork-table lay a large sealed letter, directed to the mayor, who\nimmediately opened it. He read:\n\n\n\"MY DEAR GRUENWIESEL FRIENDS:--When you read this I shall be far away\nfrom your town, and you will have discovered of what rank and country\nmy dear nephew is. Take this joke, which I have allowed myself to\nindulge in at your expense, as a lesson not to seek the society of a\nstranger who prefers to live quietly by himself. I felt above sharing\nin your eternal clack, in your miserable customs, and your ridiculous\nmanners. Therefore, I educated a young orang-outang, which, as my\ndeputy, won such a warm place in your affections. Farewell; make the\nbest use of this lesson.\"\n\n\nThe people of Gruenwiesel were not a little ashamed at the position\nthey were in before the whole country. They had hoped that all this\ncould be shown to have some connection with supernatural things. But\nthe young people experienced the deepest sense of shame, because they\nhad copied the bad customs and manners of an ape. They ceased to prop\ntheir elbows on the table; they no longer tilted back their chairs;\nthey were silent until spoken to; they laid aside their spectacles, and\nwere good and obedient; and if any one of them chanced to slip back\ninto the old ways, the Gruenwiesel people would say, \"It is an ape!\"\nBut the ape, that had so long played the _role_ of a young gentleman,\nwas surrendered to the learned man who possessed a cabinet of natural\ncuriosities. He allowed the ape to have the run of his yard, fed it\nwell, and showed it as a curiosity to strangers, where it can be seen\nto this day.\n\nThere was loud laughter in the _salon_, when the slave had concluded,\nin which the young men joined. \"There must be singular people among\nthese Franks; and, of a truth, I would rather be here with the sheik\nand mufti in Alessandria, than in the company of the minister, the\nmayor, and their silly wives in Gruenwiesel!\"\n\n\"You speak the truth there,\" replied the young merchant, \"I should not\ncare to die in the Frank's country. They are a coarse, wild, barbaric\npeople, and it must be terrible for a cultivated Turk or Persian to\nlive there.\"\n\n\"You will hear all about that presently,\" promised the old man. \"From\nwhat the steward told me, the fine-looking young man yonder will have\nsomething to say about the Franks, as he was among them for a long\ntime, and is by birth a Mussulman.\"\n\n\"What, the last one in the row? Really, it is a sin for the sheik to\nfree him! He is the handsomest slave in the whole country. Only look at\nhis courageous face, his sharp eye, his noble form! He might give him\nsome light duties, such as fan or pipe-bearing. It would be an easy\nmatter to provide such an office for him, and truly such a slave as he\nwould be an ornament to the palace. And the sheik has only had him\nthree days, and now gives him away? It is folly! It is a sin!\"\n\n\"Do not blame him--he, who is wiser than all Egypt;\" said the old man,\nimpressively. \"I have already told you that he gives this slave his\nfreedom, believing that he will thereby deserve the blessing of Allah.\nYou say the slave is handsome and well-formed; and you say the truth.\nBut the son of the sheik--whom may the Prophet restore to his father's\nhouse--was also a beautiful boy, and must be now tall and well-formed.\nShall the sheik then save his money, and set a less expensive slave\nfree, in the hope to receive his son therefor? He who wishes to do\nanything in the world had far better not do it at all, than not do it\nwell.\"\n\n\"And see how the sheik's eyes are fastened on this slave! I have\nnoticed it the whole evening. During the recital of the stories, his\nlook was fixed on the young slave's face. It evidently pains him to\npart with him.\"\n\n\"Do not think that of the sheik. Do you think the loss of a thousand\ntomans would pain him who every day receives three times that sum?\"\nasked the old man. \"But when his glance falls sorrowfully on the young\nslave, he is doubtless thinking of his son, who languishes in a strange\nland, and whether a merciful man lives there who will buy his freedom\nand send him back to his father.\"\n\n\"You may be right,\" responded the young merchant, \"and I am ashamed\nthat I have been looking at only the darker and ignobler traits of\npeople, while you prefer to see a nobler meaning underlying their\nactions. And yet, taken as a whole, mankind are bad; have you not found\nit so, old man?\"\n\n\"It is precisely because I have not found it so, that I love to think\nwell of people. I used to feel as you do. I lived so thoughtlessly,\nheard much that was bad about people, experienced much that was wicked\nin myself, and so readily began to look upon humanity as made up of a\npoor lot of creatures. Still, I chanced to think that Allah, who is as\njust as wise, would not suffer so abandoned a race to people this fair\nearth. I thought over again what I had seen and what I had experienced\nin my own person, and behold! I had taken account only of the evil and\nhad forgotten the good. I had paid no attention when one had performed\na deed of charity; it seemed quite natural when whole families lived\nvirtuous and orderly lives; but whenever I heard of something wicked or\ncriminal, I stored it away in my memory. Thus did I begin to look about\nme with clearer eyes. I rejoiced when I found that the good was not so\nrare a quality as I had at first thought it. I noticed the evil less,\nor it made less impression on my mind; and so I learned to love\nhumanity, learned to think well of people. And in my long life, I have\nmade fewer mistakes in speaking and thinking well of people, than I\nshould have made if I had looked upon them as avaricious or ignoble or\nungodly.\"\n\nThe old man was interrupted here by the steward, who said: \"Sir, the\nSheik of Alessandria, Ali Banu, has remarked your presence here with\npleasure, and invites you to step forward and take a seat near him.\"\n\nThe young men were not a little astonished at the honor shown the old\nman whom they had taken for a beggar; and when he had left them to sit\nwith the sheik, they held the steward back and the young writer asked\nhim: \"By the beard of the Prophet! I implore you to tell us who this\nold man is with whom we have been conversing, and whom the sheik so\nhonors?\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the steward clasping his hands in surprise, \"do you not\nknow this man?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But I have seen you speaking with him several times on the street, and\nmy master has also noticed this and only recently said, 'They must be\nvaliant young people with whom this man grants a conversation.'\"\n\n\"But tell us who he is!\" cried the young merchant impatiently.\n\n\"Go away; you are trying to make a fool of me,\" answered the steward.\n\"No one enters this _salon_ without special permission, and to-day the\nold gentleman sent word to the sheik that he would bring some young men\nwith him into the _salon_, if it were not disagreeable to the sheik,\nand the sheik sent back the reply that his house was at his service.\"\n\n\"Do not leave us longer in ignorance. As true as I live, I do not know\nwho the man is. We got acquainted with him by chance, and fell to\ntalking with him.\"\n\n\"Well, you may consider yourselves fortunate, for you have conversed\nwith a famous and learned man, and all present honor you and wonder at\nyou accordingly. He is none other than Mustapha, the learned dervish.\"\n\n\"Mustapha! the wise Mustapha, who educated the sheik's son, who has\nwritten many learned books, and travelled to all parts of the world?\nHave we spoken with Mustapha? And spoken, too, as though he were one of\nus, without the least respect!\"\n\nWhile the young men were talking about the dervish, Mustapha, and the\nhonor they felt had been done them by his condescension, the steward\ncame to them again, and invited them to follow him, as the sheik wished\nto speak with them. The hearts of the young men beat excitedly. Never\nyet had they spoken with a man of such high rank. But they collected\ntheir wits, so as not to appear like fools, and followed the steward to\nthe sheik. Ali Banu sat upon a rich cushion, and refreshed himself with\nsherbet. At his right sat the old man, his shabby clothes resting on\nsplendid cushions, while his well-worn sandals were placed on a rich\nrug; but his well-shaped head, and his eye, expressive of dignity and\nwisdom, indicated that he was a man worthy to be seated near the sheik.\n\nThe sheik was very grave, and the old man appeared to be speaking words\nof consolation and of hope to him. The young men also feared that their\nsummons to the sheik had been caused by a stratagem on the part of the\nold man, who very likely would now ruin them by a word to the sorrowing\nfather.\n\n\"Welcome, young men,\" said the sheik. \"Welcome to the house of Ali\nBanu! My old friend here deserves my thanks for bringing you with him;\nstill I am a little inclined to quarrel with him that he did not make\nme acquainted with you before this. Which of you is the young writer?\"\n\n\"I, O Sire! and at your service!\" replied the writer, crossing his arms\non his breast and making a low obeisance.\n\n\"You are pleased with stories, and also love to read books with\nbeautiful verses and wise sayings?\"\n\nThe young man blushed, and answered: \"O Sire! for my part, I know of no\npleasanter way of passing the day. It cultivates the mind and whiles\naway the time. But every one to his taste; I do not quarrel with any\none who does not----\"\n\n\"Very well, very well,\" interrupted the sheik, with a laugh, as he\nbeckoned the second young man forward. \"And now who may you be?\"\n\n\"Sire, my duties are those of an assistant to a physician, and I have\ncured some patients myself.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" replied the sheik. \"And you are one who loves high-living.\nYou would like to sit down to a good table with your friends. Isn't\nthat so? Have I not guessed right?\"\n\nThe young man was much abashed; he felt that the old man had betrayed\nhim also; but he plucked up courage to say: \"Oh yes, Sire, I reckon it\nas one of the great enjoyments of life to be able to make merry now and\nthen with one's friends. My purse does not permit me to entertain my\nfriends with much besides watermelons, and other cheap things; but\nstill we contrive to be merry even with these--so that it stands to\nreason that if my purse was longer our enjoyment would be\nproportionately increased.\"\n\nThis spirited answer pleased the sheik so well that he could not\nrefrain from laughing. \"Which of you is the young merchant?\" was his\nnext inquiry.\n\nThe young merchant made his obeisance to the sheik with an easy grace,\nfor he was a man of good breeding; and the sheik said to him:\n\n\"And you? Do you not take pleasure in music and dancing? Are you not\ncharmed to hear good artists sing and play, and to see dancers perform\ningenious dances?\"\n\nThe young merchant replied: \"I see clearly, O Sire, that this old\ngentleman, in order to amuse you, has told you of all our follies. If\nhe thereby succeeded in cheering you up, I shall not regret having been\nmade the object of your sport. As concerns music and dancing, however,\nI will confess that it would be difficult to find any thing that so\ncheers my heart. But yet, do not suppose that I blame you, O Sire, that\nyou do not likewise----\"\n\n\"Enough! not another word!\" cried the sheik, smiling, and waving his\nhand. \"Every one to his taste, you were about to say. But there stands\nanother: that must be the young man who is so fond of travelling. Who,\nthen, are you, young gentleman?\"\n\n\"I am a painter, O Sire,\" answered the young man. \"I paint landscapes,\nsometimes on the walls of _salons_, and sometimes on canvas. To see\nforeign lands is, above all things, my wish, for one sees there a great\nvariety of beautiful regions that can be reproduced, and what one sees\nand sketches is as a rule much finer than that which is evolved from\none's fancy.\"\n\nThe sheik surveyed the group of handsome young men with an earnest\nlook. \"I once had a dear son,\" said he, \"and he must by this time be\ngrown up like you. You should be his companions, and every one of your\nwishes should be satisfied. With that one he would read, hear music\nwith this, with the other he would invite good friends and make merry,\nand I would send him with the painter to beautiful regions and would\nthen feel sure of his safe return. But Allah has ordained otherwise,\nand I bow uncomplainingly to his will. Still, it is within my power to\nfulfill your wishes, and you shall leave Ali Banu with happy hearts.\nYou, my learned friend,\" continued he, turning to the young writer,\n\"will take up your residence in my house, and take charge of my books.\nYou will be at liberty to do as you think best, and your only duty will\nbe, when you have read some very fine story, to come and relate it to\nme. You, who love to sit at a good table with your friends, shall have\nthe oversight of my entertainments. I myself live alone and take no\npleasures; but it is a duty that attaches to my office to now and then\ninvite guests. Now you shall prepare every thing in my place, and can\nalso invite your friends whenever you please to sit down with you--and,\nlet it be understood, to something better than watermelons. I certainly\ncan not take the young merchant away from his business, which brings\nhim in money and honor; but every evening, my young friend, dancers,\nsingers, and musicians will be at your service, and will play and dance\nfor you to your heart's content. And you,\" turning to the painter,\n\"shall see foreign lands, and educate your tastes by travel. My\ntreasurer will give you for your first journey, that you can start on\nto-morrow, a thousand gold pieces, together with two horses and a\nslave. Travel wherever you desire; and when you see anything beautiful,\npaint it for me.\"\n\nThe young men were beside themselves with astonishment, speechless with\njoy and gratitude. They would have kissed the ground at the feet of the\nkind man, but he prevented them. \"If you are indebted to any one, it is\nto this wise old gentleman who told me about you. He has also given me\npleasure in this matter by making me acquainted with four such worthy\nyoung gentlemen.\"\n\nThe dervish, Mustapha, however, checked the thanks of the young men.\n\"See,\" said he, \"how one should never judge too hastily. Did I\nexaggerate the goodness of this noble man?\"\n\n\"Let us hear from another of the slaves, who is to be liberated\nto-day,\" interrupted Ali Banu; and the young gentlemen took their\nseats.\n\nThe young slave who had attracted general attention by reason of his\nbeautiful form and features and his bright look, now arose, and in a\nmelodious voice began his story.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE STORY OF ALMANSOR.\n\n\nSire, the men who have preceded me have told wonderful stories which\nthey had heard in strange lands; whilst I must confess with shame that\nI do not know a single tale that is worthy of your attention.\nNevertheless if it will not weary you, I will relate the strange\nhistory of one of my friends.\n\nOn the Algerian privateer, from which your generous hand set me free,\nwas a young man of my own age who did not seem to have been born to the\nslave-costume that he wore. The other unfortunates on the ship were\neither rough, coarse people, with whom I did not care to associate or\npeople whose language I did not understand; therefore, every moment\nthat I had to myself was spent in the company of this young man. He\ncalled himself Almansor, and, judging from his speech, was an Egyptian.\nWe were well pleased to be in each other's society, and one day we\nchanced to tell our stories to one another; and I discovered that my\nfriend's story was far more remarkable than my own. Almansor's father\nwas a prominent man in an Egyptian city, whose name he failed to give\nme. The days of his childhood passed pleasantly, surrounded by all the\nsplendor and comfort earth could give. At the same time, he was not too\ntenderly nurtured, and his mind was early cultivated: for his father\nwas a wise man who taught him the value of virtue, and provided him\nwith a teacher who was a famous scholar, and who instructed him in all\nthat a young man should know. Almansor was about ten years old when the\nFranks came over the sea to invade his country and wage war upon his\npeople.\n\nThe father of this boy could not have been very favorably regarded by\nthe Franks, for one day, as he was about to go to morning prayers, they\ncame and demanded first his wife as a pledge of his faithful adherence\nto the Franks, and when he would not give her up, they seized his son\nand carried him off to their camp.\n\n\n\nWhen the young slave had got this far in his story, the sheik hid his\nface in his hands, and there arose a murmur of indignation in the\n_salon_. \"How can the young man there be so indiscreet?\" cried the\nfriends of the sheik, \"and tear open the wounds of Ali Banu by such\nstories, instead of trying to heal them? How can he recall his anguish,\ninstead of trying to dissipate it?\" The steward, too, was very angry\nwith the shameless youth, and commanded him to be silent. But the young\nslave was very much astonished at all this, and asked the sheik whether\nthere was any thing in what he had related that had aroused his\ndispleasure. At this inquiry, the sheik lifted his head, and said:\n\"Peace, my friends; how can this young man know any thing about my sad\nmisfortune, when he has not been under this roof three days! might\nthere not be a case similar to mine in all the cruelties the Franks\ncommitted? May not perhaps this Almansor himself----but proceed, my\nyoung friend!\" The young slave bowed, and continued:\n\n\n\nThe young Almansor was taken to the enemy's camp. On the whole, he was\nwell treated there, as one of the generals took him into his tent, and\nbeing pleased with the answers of the boy that were interpreted to him,\ntook care to see that he wanted for nothing in the way of food and\nclothes. But the homesickness of the boy made him very unhappy. He wept\nfor many days; but his tears did not move the hearts of these men to\npity. The camp was broken, and Almansor believed that he was now about\nto be returned to his home; but it was not so. The army moved here and\nthere, waged war with the Mamelukes, and took the young Almansor with\nthem wherever they went. When he begged the generals to let him return\nhome, they would refuse, and tell him that he would have to remain with\nthem as a hostage for his father's neutrality. Thus was he for many\ndays on the march.\n\nOne day, however, there was a great stir in camp, and it did not escape\nthe attention of the boy. There was talk about breaking camp, or\nwithdrawing the troops, of embarking on ships; and Almansor was beside\nhimself with joy. \"For now,\" he reasoned, \"when the Franks are about to\nreturn to their own country, they will surely set me at liberty.\" They\nall marched back towards the coast, and at last reached a point from\nwhich they could see their ships riding at anchor. The soldiers began\nto embark, but it was night before many of them were on the vessels.\nAnxious as Almansor was to keep awake--for he believed he would soon be\nset at liberty--he finally sank into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he\nfound himself in a very small room, not the one in which he had gone to\nsleep in. He sprang from his couch; but when he struck the floor, he\nfell over, as the floor reeled back and forth, and every thing seemed\nto be moving and dancing around him. He at last got up, steadied\nhimself against the walls, and attempted to make his way out of the\nroom.\n\nA strange roaring and rushing was to be heard all about him. He knew\nnot whether he waked or dreamed; for he had never heard anything at all\nlike it. Finally he reached a small stair-case, which he climbed with\nmuch difficulty, and what a sensation of terror crept over him! For all\naround nothing was to be seen but sea and sky; he was on board a ship!\nHe began to weep bitterly. He wanted to be taken back, and would have\nthrown himself into the sea with the purpose of swimming to land if the\nFranks had not held him fast. One of the officers called him up, and\npromised that he should soon be sent home if he would be obedient, and\nrepresented to him that it would not have been possible to send him\nhome across the country, and that if they had left him behind he would\nhave perished miserably.\n\nBut the Franks did not keep faith with him; for the ship sailed on for\nmany days, and when it finally reached land, it was not the Egyptian,\nbut the Frankish coast. During the long voyage, and in their camp too,\nAlmansor had learned to understand and to speak the language of the\nFranks; and this was of great service to him now, in a country where\nnobody knew his own language. He was taken a long journey through the\ncountry, and everywhere the people turned out in crowds to see him; for\nhis conductors announced that he was the son of the King of Egypt, who\nwas sending him to their country to be educated. The soldiers told this\nstory to make the people believe that they had conquered Egypt, and had\nconcluded a peace with that country. After his journey had continued\nseveral days, they came to a large city, the end of their journey.\nThere he was handed over to a physician, who took him into his home and\ninstructed him in all the customs and manners of the Franks.\n\nFirst of all, he was required to put on Frankish clothes, which he\nfound very tight, and not nearly as beautiful as his Egyptian costume.\nThen he had to abstain from making an obeisance with crossed arms, but\nwhen he wished to greet any one politely, he must, with one hand,\nlift from his head the monstrous black felt hat that had been given\nhim to wear, let the other hand hang at his side, and give a scrape\nwith his right foot. He could no longer sit down on his crossed\nlegs, as is the proper custom in the Levant, but he had to seat\nhimself on a high-legged chair, and let his feet hang down to the\nfloor. Eating also caused him not a little difficulty; for every thing\nthat he wished to put in his mouth he had to first stick on a metal\nfork.\n\nThe doctor was a very harsh, wicked man, given to teasing the boy; for\nwhen the lad would forget himself and say to an acquaintance, \"_Salem\naleicum!_\" the doctor would beat him with his cane telling him he\nshould have said, \"_Votre serviteur!_\" Nor was he allowed to think, or\nspeak, or write in his native tongue; at the very most, he could only\ndream in it; and he would doubtless have entirely forgotten his own\nlanguage, had it not been for a man living in that city, who was of the\ngreatest service to him.\n\nThis was an old but very learned man, who knew a little of every\nOriental language--Arabic, Persian, Coptic, and even Chinese. He was\nheld in that country to be a miracle of learning, and he received large\nsums of money for giving lessons in these languages. This man sent for\nAlmansor several times a week, treated him to rare fruits and the like;\nand on these occasions the boy felt as if he were at home once more in\nhis own country. The old gentleman was a very singular man. He had some\nclothes made for Almansor, such as Egyptian people of rank wore. These\nclothes he kept in a particular room in his house, and whenever\nAlmansor came, he sent him with a servant to this room and had the boy\ndressed after the fashion of his own country. From there the boy was\ntaken to a _salon_ called \"Little Arabia.\" This _salon_ was adorned\nwith all kinds of artificially-grown trees--such as palms, bamboos,\nyoung cedars, and the like; and also with flowers that grew only in the\nLevant. Persian carpets lay on the floor, and along the walls were\ncushions, but nowhere Frankish tables or chairs. Upon one of these\ncushions the old professor would be found seated, but presenting quite\na different appearance from common. He had wound a fine Turkish shawl\nabout his head for a turban, and had fastened on a gray beard, that\nreached to his sash, and looked for all the world, like the genuine\nbeard of an important man. With these he wore a robe that he had had\nmade from a brocaded dressing-gown, baggy Turkish trowsers, yellow\nslippers, and, peaceful as he generally was, on these days he had\nbuckled on a Turkish sword, while in his sash stuck a dagger set with\nfalse stones. He smoked from a pipe two yards long, and was waited on\nby his servants, who were likewise in Persian costumes, and one half of\nwhom had been required to color their hands and face black.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAt first all this seemed very strange to the youthful Almansor; but\nhe soon found that these hours could be made very useful to him,\nwere he to join in the mood of the old man. While at the doctor's\nhe was not allowed to speak an Egyptian word, here the Frankish\nlanguage was forbidden. On entering, Almansor was required to give the\npeace-greeting, to which the old Persian responded spiritedly, and then\nhe would beckon the boy to sit down near him, and began to speak\nPersian, Arabic, Coptic, and all languages, one after another, and\nconsidered this a learned Oriental entertainment. Near him stood a\nservant--or, as he was supposed to be on these days, a slave--who held\na large book. This book was a dictionary; and when the old man stumbled\nin his words, he beckoned to the slave, looked up what he wanted to\nsay, and then continued his speech.\n\nThe slaves brought in sherbet in Turkish vessels and to put the old man\nin the best of humors, Almansor had only to say that every thing here\nwas just as it was in the Levant. Almansor read Persian beautifully,\nand it was the chief delight of the old man to hear him. He had many\nPersian manuscripts, from which the boy read to him, then the old man\nwould read attentively after him, and in this way acquired the right\npronunciation. These were holidays for little Almansor, as the\nprofessor never let him go away unrewarded, and he often carried back\nwith him costly gifts of money or linen, or other useful things which\nthe doctor would not give him.\n\nSo lived Almansor for some years in the capital of the Franks; but\nnever did his longing for home diminish. When he was about fifteen\nyears old, an incident occurred that had great influence on his\ndestiny. The Franks chose their leading general--the same with whom\nAlmansor had often spoken in Egypt--to be their king. Almansor could\nsee by the unusual appearance of the streets and the great festivities\nthat were taking place, that something of the kind had happened; but he\nnever once dreamed that this king was the same man whom he had seen in\nEgypt, for that general was quite a young man. But one day Almansor\nwent to one of the bridges that led over the wide river which flowed\nthrough the city, and there he perceived a man dressed in the simple\nuniform of a soldier, leaning over the parapet and looking down into\nthe water. The features of the man impressed him as being familiar, and\nhe felt sure of having seen him before. He tried to recall him to\nmemory; and presently it flashed upon him that this man was the general\nof the Franks with whom he had often spoken in camp, and who had always\ncared kindly for him. He did not know his right name, but he mustered\nup his courage, stepped up to him, and, crossing his arms on his breast\nand making an obeisance, addressed him as he had heard the soldiers\nspeak of him among themselves: \"_Salem aleicum_, Little Corporal!\"\n\nThe man looked up in surprise, cast a sharp look at the boy before him,\nrecalled him after a moment's pause, and exclaimed: \"Is it possible!\nyou here, Almansor? How is your father? How are things in Egypt? What\nbrings you here to us?\"\n\nAlmansor could not contain himself longer; he began to weep, and said\nto the man: \"Then you do not know what your countrymen--the dogs--have\ndone to me, Little Corporal? You do not know that in all this time I\nhave not seen the land of my ancestors?\"\n\n\"I cannot think,\" said the man, with darkening brow, \"I cannot think\nthat they would have kidnapped you.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" answered Almansor, \"it is too true. On the day that your\nsoldiers embarked, I saw my fatherland for the last time. They took me\naway with them, and one general, who pitied my misery, paid for my\nliving with a hateful doctor, who beats and half starves me. But\nlisten, Little Corporal,\" continued he confidentially, \"it is well that\nI met you here; you must help me.\"\n\nThe man whom he thus addressed, smiled, and asked in what way he should\nhelp him.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"See,\" said Almansor, \"it would be unfair for me to ask much from you;\nyou were very kind to me, but still I know that you are a poor man, and\nwhen you were general you were not as well-dressed as the others, and\nnow, judging from your coat and hat, you cannot be in very good\ncircumstances. But the Franks have recently chosen a sultan, and beyond\ndoubt you know people who can approach him--the minister of war, maybe,\nor of foreign affairs, or his admiral; do you?\"\n\n\"Well, yes,\" answered the man; \"but what more?\"\n\n\"You might speak a good word for me to these people, Little Corporal,\nso that they would beg the sultan to let me go. Then I should need some\nmoney for the journey over the sea; but, above all, you must promise me\nnot to say a word about this to either the doctor or the Arabic\nprofessor!\"\n\n\"Who is the Arabic professor?\"\n\n\"Oh, he is a very strange man; but I will tell you about him some other\ntime. If these two men should hear of this, I should not be able to get\naway. But will you speak to the minister about me? Tell me honestly!\"\n\n\"Come with me,\" said the man; \"perhaps I can be of some use to you\nnow.\"\n\n\"Now?\" cried the boy, in a fright. \"Not for any consideration now; the\ndoctor would whip me for being gone so long. I must hurry back!\"\n\n\"What have you in your basket?\" asked the soldier, as he detained him.\nAlmansor blushed, and at first was not inclined to show the contents of\nhis basket; but finally he said: \"See, Little Corporal, I must do such\nservices as would be given to my father's meanest slave. The doctor is\na miserly man, and sends me every day an hour's distance from our house\nto the vegetable and fish-market. There I must make my purchases among\nthe dirty market-women, because things may be had of them for a few\ncoppers less than in our quarter of the city. Look! on account of this\nmiserable herring, and this handful of lettuce, and this piece of\nbutter, I am forced to take a two hours' walk every day. Oh, if my\nfather only knew of it!\"\n\nThe man whom Almansor addressed was much moved by the boy's distress,\nand answered: \"Only come with me, and don't be afraid. The doctor\nshall not harm you, even if he has to go without his herring and salad\nto-day. Cheer up, and come along.\" So saying, he took Almansor by the\nhand and led him away with him; and although the boy's heart beat fast\nwhen he thought of the doctor, yet there was so much assurance in the\nman's words and manner, that he resolved to go with him. He therefore\nwalked along by the side of the man, with his basket on his arm,\nthrough many streets; and it struck him as very wonderful that all the\npeople took off their hats as they passed along and paused to look\nafter them. He expressed his surprise at this to his companion, but he\nonly laughed and made no reply.\n\nFinally they came to a magnificent palace. \"Do you live here. Little\nCorporal?\" asked Almansor.\n\n\"This is my house, and I will take you in to see my wife,\" replied the\nsoldier.\n\n\"Hey! how finely you live! The sultan must have given you the right to\nlive here free.\"\n\n\"You are right; I have this house from the emperor,\" answered his\ncompanion, and led him into the palace. They ascended a broad\nstair-case, and on coming into a splendid _salon_, the man told the boy\nto set down his basket, and he then led him into an elegant room where\na lady was sitting on a divan. The man talked with her in a strange\nlanguage, whereupon they both began to laugh, and the lady then\nquestioned the boy in the Frankish language about Egypt. Finally the\nLittle Corporal said to the boy: \"Do you know what would be the best\nthing to do? I will lead you myself to the emperor, and speak to him\nfor you!\"\n\nAlmansor shrank back at this proposal, but he thought of his misery and\nhis home. \"To the unfortunate,\" said he, addressing them both, \"to the\nunfortunate, Allah gives fresh courage in the hour of need. He will not\ndesert a poor boy like me. I will do it; I will go to the emperor. But\ntell me. Little Corporal, must I prostrate myself before him? must I\ntouch the ground with my forehead? What shall I do?\"\n\nThey both laughed again at this, and assured him that all this was\nunnecessary.\n\n\"Does he look terrible and majestic?\" inquired he further. \"Tell me,\nhow does he look?\"\n\nHis companion laughed once more, and said: \"I would rather not describe\nhim to you, Almansor. You shall see for yourself what manner of man he\nis. But I will tell you how you may know him. All who are in the\n_salon_ will, when the emperor is there, respectfully remove their\nhats. He who retains his hat on his head is the emperor.\"\n\nSo saying, he took the boy by the hand and went with him towards the\n_salon_. The nearer they came, the faster beat the boy's heart, and his\nknees began to tremble. A servant flung open the door, and revealed\nsome thirty men standing in a half-circle, all splendidly dressed and\ncovered with gold and stars (as is the custom in the land of the Franks\nfor the chief ministers of the king). And Almansor thought that his\nplainly-dressed companion must be the least among these. They had all\nuncovered their heads, and Almansor now looked around to see who\nretained his hat; for that one would be the king. But his search was in\nvain; all held their hats in their hands, and the emperor could not be\namong them. Then, quite by chance, his eye fell upon his companion, and\nbehold----he still had his hat on his head!\n\nThe boy was utterly confounded. He looked for a long time at his\ncompanion, and then said, as he took off his own hat: \"_Salem aleicum_,\nLittle Corporal! This much I know, that I am not the Sultan of the\nFranks, nor is it my place to keep my head covered. But you are the one\nwho wears a hat; Little Corporal, are you the emperor?\"\n\n\"You have guessed right,\" was the answer; \"and, more than that, I am\nyour friend. Do not blame me for your misfortune, but ascribe it to an\nunfortunate complication of circumstances, and be assured that you\nshall return to your fatherland in the first ship that sails. Go back\nnow to my wife, and tell her about the Arabic professor and your other\nadventures. I will send the herrings and lettuce to the doctor, and you\nwill, during your stay here, remain in my palace.\"\n\nThus spake the emperor. Almansor dropped on his knees before him,\nkissed his hand, and begged his forgiveness, as he had not known him to\nbe the emperor.\n\n\"You are right,\" answered the emperor, laughing. \"When one has been an\nemperor for only a few days, he cannot be expected to have the seal of\nroyalty stamped on his forehead.\" Thus spake the emperor, and motioned\nthe boy to leave the _salon_.\n\nAfter this Almansor lived happily. He was permitted to visit the Arabic\nprofessor occasionally, but never saw the doctor again. In the course\nof some weeks, the emperor sent for him, and informed him that a ship\nwas lying at anchor in which he would send him back to Egypt. Almansor\nwas beside himself with joy. But a few days were required in which to\nmake his preparations; and with a heart full of thanks, and loaded down\nwith costly presents, he left the emperor's palace, and travelled to\nthe seashore, where he embarked.\n\nBut Allah chose to try him still more, chose to temper his spirit by\nstill further misfortune, and would not yet let him see the coast of\nhis fatherland. Another race of Franks, the English, were carrying on a\nnaval warfare with the emperor. They took away all of his ships that\nthey could capture; and so it happened that on the sixth day of\nAlmansor's voyage, his ship was surrounded by English vessels, and\nfired into. The ship was forced to surrender, and all her people were\nplaced in a smaller ship that sailed away in company with the others.\nStill it is fully as unsafe on the sea as in the desert, where the\nrobbers unexpectedly fall on caravans, and plunder and kill. A Tunisian\nprivateer attacked the small ship, that had been separated from the\nlarger ships by a storm, and captured it, and all the people on board\nwere taken to Algiers and sold.\n\nAlmansor was treated much better in slavery than were the Christians\nwho were captured with him, for he was a Mussulman; but still he had\nlost all hopes of ever seeing his father again. He lived as the slave\nof a rich man for five years, and did the work of a gardener. At the\nend of that time, his rich master died without leaving any near heirs;\nhis possessions were broken up, his slaves were divided, and Almansor\nfell into the hands of a slave-dealer, who had just fitted up a ship to\ncarry his slaves to another market, where he might sell them to\nadvantage. By chance I was also a slave of this dealer, and was put on\nthis ship together with Almansor. There we got acquainted with each\nother, and there it was that he related to me his strange adventures.\nBut as we landed I was a witness of a most wonderful dispensation of\nAllah. We had landed on the coast of Almansor's fatherland; it was the\nmarket-place of his native city where we were put up for sale; and O,\nSire! to crown all this, it was his own, his dear father who bought\nhim!\n\n\n\nThe sheik, All Banu, was lost in deep thought over this story, which\nhad carried him along on the current of its events. His breast swelled,\nhis eye sparkled, and he was often on the point of interrupting his\nyoung slave; but the end of the story disappointed him.\n\n\"He would be about twenty-one years old, you said?\" began the sheik.\n\n\"Sire, he is of my age, from twenty-one to twenty-two years old.\"\n\n\"And what did he call the name of his native city? You did not tell us\nthat.\"\n\n\"If I am not mistaken, it was Alessandria!\"\n\n\"Alessandria!\" cried the sheik. \"It was my son! Where is he living? Did\nyou not say that he was called Kairam? Has he dark eyes and brown\nhair?\"\n\n\"He has, and in confidential moods he called himself Kairam, and not\nAlmansor.\"\n\n\"But, Allah! Allah! Yet, tell me: his father bought him before your\neyes, you said. Did he say it was his father? Is he not my son!\"\n\nThe slave answered: \"He said to me: 'Allah be praised; after so long a\nperiod of misfortune, there is the market-place of my native city.'\nAfter a while, a distinguished-looking man came around the corner, at\nwhose appearance Almansor cried: 'Oh, what a blessed gift of heaven are\none's eyes! I see once more my revered father!' The man walked up to\nus, examined this and that one, and finally bought him to whom all this\nhad happened; whereupon he praised Allah, and whispered to me. 'Now I\nshall return to the halls of fortune; it is my own father that has\nbought me.'\"\n\n\"Then it was not my son, my Kairam!\" exclaimed the sheik in a tone of\nanguish.\n\nThe young slave could no longer restrain himself. Tears of joy sprang\ninto his eyes; he prostrated himself before the sheik, and said: \"And\nyet it is your son, Kairam Almansor; for you are the one who bought\nhim!\"\n\n\"Allah! Allah! A wonder, a miracle!\" cried those present, as they\ncrowded closer. But the sheik stood speechless, staring at the young\nman, who turned his handsome face up to him. \"My friend Mustapha!\" said\nthe sheik at last to the old man, \"before my eyes hangs a veil of tears\nso that I cannot see whether the features of his mother, which my\nKairam bare, are graven on the face of this young man. Come closer and\nlook at him!\"\n\nThe old dervish stepped up, examined the features of the young man\ncarefully, and laying his hand on the forehead of the youth, said:\n\"Kairam, what was the proverb I taught you on that sad day in the camp\nof the Franks?\"\n\n\"My dear master!\" answered the young man, as he drew the hand of the\ndervish to his lips, \"it ran thus: _So that one loves Allah, and has a\nclear conscience, he will not be alone in the wilderness of woe, but\nwill have two companions to comfort him constantly at his side._\"\n\nThe old man raised his eyes gratefully to heaven, drew the young man to\nhis breast, and then gave him to the sheik, saying: \"Take him to your\nbosom; as surely as you have sorrowed for him these ten years, so\nsurely is he your son!\"\n\nThe sheik was beside himself with joy; he scanned the features of his\nnewly-found son again and again, until he found there the unmistakable\npicture of his boy as he was before he had lost him. And all present\nshared in his joy, for they loved the sheik, and to each one of them it\nwas as if a son had that day been sent to him.\n\nNow once more did music and song fill these halls, as in the days of\nfortune and of joy. Once more must the young man tell his story, and\nall were loud in their praises of the Arabic professor, and the\nemperor, and all who had been kind to Kairam. They sat together until\nfar into the night; and when the assembly broke up, the sheik presented\neach one with valuable gifts that they might never forget this day of\njoy.\n\nBut the four young men, he introduced to his son, and invited them to\nbe his constant companions; and it was arranged that the son should\nread with the young writer, make short journeys with the painter, that\nthe merchant should share in his songs and dances, and the other young\nman should arrange all the entertainments. They too received presents,\nand left the house of the sheik with light hearts.\n\n\"Whom have we to thank for all this?\" said they to one another; \"whom\nbut the old man? Who could have foreseen all this, when we stood before\nthis house and declaimed against the sheik?\"\n\n\"And how easily we might have been led into turning a deaf ear to the\ndiscourses of the old man, or even into making sport of him? For he\nlooked so ragged and poor, who would have suspected that he was the\nwise Mustapha?\"\n\n\"And--wonderful coincidence--was it not here that we gave expression to\nour wishes?\" said the writer. \"One would travel, another see singing\nand dancing, the third have good company, and I----read and hear\nstories; and are not all our wishes fulfilled? May I not read all the\nsheik's books, and buy as many more as I choose?\"\n\n\"And may not I arrange the banquets and superintend all his\nentertainments, and be present at them myself?\" said the other.\n\n\"And I, whenever my heart is desirous of hearing songs and stringed\ninstruments, may I not go and ask for his slaves?\"\n\n\"And I,\" cried the painter; \"until to-day I was poor, and could not set\nfoot outside the town; and now I can travel where I choose.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" repeated they all, \"it was fortunate that we accompanied the old\nman, else who knows what would have become of us?\"\n\nSo they spoke and went cheerful and happy to their homes.","title":"Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":126389}