{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45907/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45907","id":"gutenberg_45907","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45907","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fairy tales"],"text":"[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and\nitalic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]\n\n\n[Illustration: ASENATH]\n\n\n\n\nEDMUND DULAC'S PICTURE-BOOK FOR THE FRENCH RED CROSS\n\n[Illustration]\n\n    PUBLISHED FOR THE DAILY TELEGRAPH\n    BY HODDER AND STOUGHTON\n    LONDON \u00b7 NEW YORK \u00b7 TORONTO\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                 PAGE\n\n  THE STORY OF THE BIRD FENG A FAIRY TALE FROM CHINA                1\n\n  YOUNG ROUSSELLE: A FRENCH SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME                  5\n\n  LAYL\u00c1 AND MAJN\u00daN: A PERSIAN LOVE STORY                            9\n\n  THE NIGHTINGALE: AFTER A FAIRY TALE BY HANS ANDERSEN             29\n\n  THREE KINGS OF ORIENT: A CAROL                                   41\n\n  SINDBAD THE SAILOR: A TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS      43\n\n  THE LITTLE SEAMSTRESS: A FRENCH SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME           55\n\n  THE REAL PRINCESS: AFTER A FAIRY TALE BY HANS ANDERSEN           57\n\n  MY LISETTE: AN OLD FRENCH SONG                                   61\n\n  CINDERELLA: A FAIRY TALE FROM THE FRENCH                         65\n\n  THE CHILLY LOVER: A SONG FROM THE FRENCH                         79\n\n  THE STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE: AN OLD WORLD IDYLL          81\n\n  BLUE BEARD: AN OLD TALE FROM THE FRENCH                          85\n\n  CERBERUS, THE BLACK DOG OF HADES                                 99\n\n  THE LADY BADOURA: A TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS        102\n\n  THE SLEEPER AWAKENED: A TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS    110\n\n  JUSEF AND ASENATH: A LOVE STORY OF EGYPT                         124\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  JUSEF AND ASENATH\n\n  Asenath                                                _Frontispiece_\n\n                                                                  PAGE\n\n  THE STORY OF THE BIRD FENG\n\n    The wonderful bird, like a fire of many colours come down\n      from heaven, alighted before the princess, dropping at\n      her feet the portrait                                          1\n\n  YOUNG ROUSSELLE\n    What do you think of Young Rousselle?                            8\n\n  LAYL\u00c1 AND MAJN\u00daN\n    In a high chamber of the palace--it was as wondrous as that\n      of a Sultan                                                   16\n\n    If the desert were my home--then would I let the world go by    18\n\n    She would sit for hours, with the bird perched on the back of\n      her hand, listening to its soft intonation of that one word\n      'Majn\u00fan'                                                      22\n\n  THE NIGHTINGALE\n    Even the poor fisherman would pause in his work to listen       32\n\n  THREE KINGS OF ORIENT\n    O Star of Wonder, Star of Night                                 41\n\n  SINDBAD THE SAILOR\n    Knowest thou that my name is also Sindbad?                      50\n\n  THE LITTLE SEAMSTRESS\n    I never at all\n    Saw sewing so small!                                            55\n\n  THE REAL PRINCESS\n    Not a wink the whole night long                                 58\n\n  MY LISETTE\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!                                 62\n\n  CINDERELLA\n\n    'There,' said her godmother, pointing with her wand, ...\n      'pick it and bring it along'                                  72\n\n  THE CHILLY LOVER\n    O Ursula, for thee\n    My heart is burning,--\n          But I'm so cold!                                          80\n\n  THE STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE\n    But Nicolette one night escaped                                 82\n\n  BLUE BEARD\n    Seven and one are _eight_, madam!                               86\n\n  CERBERUS\n    Cerberus, the black dog of Hades                                99\n\n  THE LADY BADOURA\n    Nay, nay; I will not marry him                                 102\n\n  THE SLEEPER AWAKENED\n    Behold the reward of those who meddle in other people's\n      affairs                                                      120\n\n  EDMUND DULAC                                                     128\n\n\n\n\nEDMUND DULAC'S PICTURE BOOK\n\nPUBLISHED ON BEHALF OF THE\n\nCROIX ROUGE FRAN\u00c7AISE\n\n                           _COMIT\u00c9 DE LONDRES_\n                       9 KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON, S.W.\n\n     =_Pr\u00e9sident d'honneur_=            =_Pr\u00e9sidente_=\n    S. E. MONSIEUR PAUL CAMBON           VICOMTESSE DE LA PANOUSE\n\n                       =Under the Patronage of=\n                         H.M. QUEEN ALEXANDRA\n\n\nThe work of the FRENCH RED CROSS is done almost entirely by the willing\nsacrifice of patriotic people who give little or much out of their\nmeans. The Comit\u00e9 is pleased to give the fullest possible particulars\nof its methods and needs. It is sufficient here to say that every one\nwho gives even a shilling gives a wounded French soldier more than a\nshilling's worth of ease or pleasure.\n\nThe actual work is enormous. The number of men doctored, nursed,\nhoused, fed, kept from the worries of illness, is great, increasing,\nand will increase.\n\nYou must remember that everything to do with sick and wounded has to be\nkept up to a daily standard. It is you who give who provide the drugs,\nmedicines, bandages, ambulances, coal, comfort for those who fight, get\nwounded, or die to keep you safe. Remember that besides fighting for\nFrance, they are fighting for the civilised world, and that you owe\nyour security and civilisation to them as much as to your own men and\nthe men of other Allied Countries.\n\nThere is not one penny that goes out of your pockets in this cause that\ndoes not bind France and Britain closer together. From the millionaire\nwe need his thousands; from the poor man his store of pence. We do not\nbeg, we insist, that these brave wounded men shall lack for nothing. We\ndo not ask of you, we demand of you, the help that must be given.\n\nThere is nothing too small and nothing too large but we need it.\n\nDay after day we send out great bales of goods to these our devoted\nsoldiers, and we must go on.\n\nImagine yourself ill, wounded, sick, in an hospital, with the smash and\nshriek of the guns still dinning in your ears, and imagine the man or\nwoman who would hold back their purse from helping you.\n\nTimes are not easy, we know, but being wounded is less easy, and being\nleft alone because nothing is forthcoming is terrible. You have calls\nupon you everywhere, you say; well, these men have answered their call,\nand in the length and breadth of France they wait your reply.\n\nWhat is it to be?\n\n     =Will you please send anything you can afford to\n    EDMUND DULAC, c/o \"THE DAILY TELEGRAPH,\" LONDON, E.C.=\n\n[Illustration: THE WONDERFUL BIRD, LIKE A FIRE OF MANY COLOURS COME\nDOWN FROM HEAVEN, ALIGHTED BEFORE THE PRINCESS, DROPPING AT HER FEET\nTHE PORTRAIT p. 3]\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE BIRD FENG\n\nA FAIRY TALE FROM CHINA\n\n\nIN the Book of the Ten Thousand Wonders there are three hundred and\nthirty-three stories about the bird called _Feng_, and this is one of\nthem.\n\nTa-Khai, Prince of Tartary, dreamt one night that he saw in a place\nwhere he had never been before an enchantingly beautiful young maiden\nwho could only be a princess. He fell desperately in love with her,\nbut before he could either move or speak, she had vanished. When he\nawoke he called for his ink and brushes, and, in the most accomplished\nwillow-leaf style, he drew her image on a piece of precious silk, and\nin one corner he wrote these lines:\n\n    The flowers of the p\u00e6ony\n      Will they ever bloom?\n    A day without her\n      Is like a hundred years.\n\nHe then summoned his ministers, and, showing them the portrait, asked\nif any one could tell him the name of the beautiful maiden; but they\nall shook their heads and stroked their beards. They knew not who she\nwas.\n\nSo displeased was the prince that he sent them away in disgrace to the\nmost remote provinces of his kingdom. All the courtiers, the generals,\nthe officers, and every man and woman, high and low, who lived in the\npalace came in turn to look at the picture. But they all had to confess\ntheir ignorance. Ta-Khai then called upon the magicians of the kingdom\nto find out by their art the name of the princess of his dreams, but\ntheir answers were so widely different that the prince, suspecting\ntheir ability, condemned them all to have their noses cut off. The\nportrait was shown in the outer court of the palace from sunrise till\nsunset, and exalted travellers came in every day, gazed upon the\nbeautiful face, and came out again. None could tell who she was.\n\nMeanwhile the days were weighing heavily upon the shoulders of Ta-Khai,\nand his sufferings cannot be described; he ate no more, he drank no\nmore, and ended by forgetting which was day and which was night, what\nwas in and what was out, what was left and what was right. He spent his\ntime roaming over the mountains and through the woods crying aloud to\nthe gods to end his life and his sorrow.\n\nIt was thus, one day, that he came to the edge of a precipice. The\nvalley below was strewn with rocks, and the thought came to his mind\nthat he had been led to this place to put a term to his misery. He was\nabout to throw himself into the depths below when suddenly the bird\n_Feng_ flew across the valley and appeared before him, saying:\n\n'Why is Ta-Khai, the mighty Prince of Tartary, standing in this place\nof desolation with a shadow on his brow?'\n\nTa-Khai replied: 'The pine tree finds its nourishment where it stands,\nthe tiger can run after the deer in the forests, the eagle can fly over\nthe mountains and the plains, but how can I find the one for whom my\nheart is thirsting?'\n\nAnd he told the bird his story.\n\nThe _Feng_, which in reality was a _Feng-Hwang_, that is, a female\n_Feng_, rejoined:\n\n'Without the help of Supreme Heaven it is not easy to acquire wisdom,\nbut it is a sign of the benevolence of the spiritual beings that I\nshould have come between you and destruction. I can make myself large\nenough to carry the largest town upon my back, or small enough to pass\nthrough the smallest keyhole, and I know all the princesses in all\nthe palaces of the earth. I have taught them the six intonations of my\nvoice, and I am their friend. Therefore show me the picture, O Ta-Khai,\nand I will tell you the name of her whom you saw in your dream.'\n\nThey went to the palace, and, when the portrait was shown, the bird\nbecame as large as an elephant, and exclaimed, 'Sit on my back, O\nTa-Khai, and I will carry you to the place of your dream. There you\nwill find her of the transparent face with the drooping eyelids under\nthe crown of dark hair such as you have depicted, for these are the\nfeatures of Sai-Jen, the daughter of the King of China, and alone can\nbe likened to the full moon rising under a black cloud.'\n\nAt nightfall they were flying over the palace of the king just above a\nmagnificent garden. And in the garden sat Sai-Jen, singing and playing\nupon the lute. The _Feng-Hwang_ deposited the prince outside the wall\nnear a place where bamboos were growing and showed him how to cut\ntwelve bamboos between the knots to make the flute which is called\nPai-Siao and has a sound sweeter than the evening breeze on the forest\nstream.\n\nAnd as he blew gently across the pipes, they echoed the sound of the\nprincess's voice so harmoniously that she cried:\n\n'I hear the distant notes of the song that comes from my own lips, and\nI can see nothing but the flowers and the trees; it is the melody the\nheart alone can sing that has suffered sorrow on sorrow, and to which\nalone the heart can listen that is full of longing.'\n\nAt that moment the wonderful bird, like a fire of many colours come\ndown from heaven, alighted before the princess, dropping at her feet\nthe portrait. She opened her eyes in utter astonishment at the sight of\nher own image. And when she had read the lines inscribed in the corner,\nshe asked, trembling:\n\n'Tell me, O _Feng-Hwang_, who is he, so near, but whom I cannot see,\nthat knows the sound of my voice and has never heard me, and can\nremember my face and has never seen me?'\n\nThen the bird spoke and told her the story of Ta-Khai's dream, adding:\n\n'I come from him with this message; I brought him here on my wings. For\nmany days he has longed for this hour, let him now behold the image of\nhis dream and heal the wound in his heart.'\n\nSwift and overpowering is the rush of the waves on the pebbles of the\nshore, and like a little pebble felt Sai-Jen when Ta-Khai stood before\nher....\n\nThe _Feng-Hwang_ illuminated the garden sumptuously, and a breath of\nlove was stirring the flowers under the stars.\n\nIt was in the palace of the King of China that were celebrated in the\nmost ancient and magnificent style the nuptials of Sai-Jen and Ta-Khai,\nPrince of Tartary.\n\nAnd this is one of the three hundred and thirty-three stories about the\nbird _Feng_ as it is told in the Book of the Ten Thousand Wonders.\n\n\n\n\nYOUNG ROUSSELLE\n\nA FRENCH SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME\n\n\n    YOUNG Rousselle has three houses got,\n    Never a roof to all the lot,--\n    For swallows' nests they will serve quite well--\n    What do you think of Young Rousselle?\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has three top-coats;\n    Two are of cloth as yellow as oats;\n    The third, which is made of paper brown,\n    He wears if it freezes or rain comes down.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has three old hats;\n    Two are as round as butter-pats;\n    The third has two little horns, 'tis said,\n    Because it has taken the shape of his head.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has three fine eyes;\n    Each is quite of a different size;\n    One looks east and one looks west,\n    The third, his eye-glass, is much the best.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has three black shoes\n    Two on his feet he likes to use;\n    The third has neither sole nor side:\n    That will do when he weds his bride.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle three hairs can find:\n    Two in front and one behind;\n    And, when he goes to see his girl,\n    He puts all three of them in curl.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, three boys he has got:\n    Two are nothing but trick and plot;\n    The third can cheat and swindle well,--\n    He greatly resembles Young Rousselle.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has three good tykes;\n    One hunts rabbits just as he likes,\n    One chivies hares,--and, as for the third,\n    He bolts whenever his name is heard.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has three big cats,\n    Who never attempt to catch the rats;\n    The third is blind, and without a light\n    He goes to the granary every night.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has daughters three,\n    Married as well as you'd wish to see;\n    Two, one could scarcely beauties call,\n    And the third, she has just no brains at all.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he has farthings three,--\n    To pay his creditors these must be;\n    And, when he has shown these riches vast,\n    He puts them back in his purse at last.\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n    Young Rousselle, he will run his rig\n    A long while yet ere he hops the twig,\n    For, so they say, he must learn to spell\n    To write his own epitaph,--Young Rousselle!\n        Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,\n        A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.\n\n[Illustration: WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUNG ROUSSELLE? p. 5]\n\n\n\n\nLAYLA AND MAJN\u00daN\n\nA PERSIAN LOVE STORY\n\n\n_Layl\u00e1_, Pearl of the Night!\n\nShe was beautiful as the moon on the horizon, graceful as the cypress\nthat sways in the night wind and glistens in the sheen of a myriad\nstars. Her hair was bright with depths of darkness; her eyes were dark\nwith excess of light; her glance was shadowed by excess of light. Her\nsmile and the parting of her lips were like the coming of the rosy\ndawn, and, when love came to her--as he did with a load of sorrow\nhidden in his sack--she was as a rose plucked from Paradise to be\ncrushed against her lover's breast; a rose to wither, droop, and die as\nOrmazd snatched it from the hand of Ahriman.\n\nOut of the night came _Layl\u00e1_, clothed with all its wondrous beauties:\ninto the night she returned, and, while the wind told the tale of her\nlove to the cypress above her grave, the stars, with an added lustre,\nlooked down as if to say, '_Layl\u00e1_ is not lost: she was born of us; she\nhath returned to us. Look up! look up! there is brightness in the night\nwhere _Layl\u00e1_ sits; there is splendour in the sphere where _Layl\u00e1_ sits.\n\nAs the moon looks down on all rivers, though they reflect but one\nmoon,--so the beauty of _Layl\u00e1_, which smote all hearts to love. Her\nfather was a great chief, and even the wealthiest princes of other\nlands visited him, attracted by the fame of _Layl\u00e1's_ loveliness. But\nnone could win her heart. Wealth and royal splendour could not claim\nit, yet it was given to the young Qays, son of the mighty chief of\nYemen. Freely was it given to Qays, son of the chief of Yemen.\n\nNow _Layl\u00e1's_ father was not friendly to the chief of Yemen. Indeed,\nthe only path that led from the one to the other was a well-worn\nwarpath; for long, long ago their ancestors had quarrelled, and, though\nthere were rare occasions when the two peoples met at great festivals\nand waived their differences for a time, it may truly be said that\nthere was always hate in their eyes when they saluted. Always? Not\nalways: there was one exception. It was at one of these festivals that\nQays first saw _Layl\u00e1_. Their eyes met, and, though no word was spoken,\nlove thrilled along a single glance.\n\nFrom that moment Qays was a changed youth. He avoided the delights of\nthe chase; his tongue was silent at feast and in council; he sat apart\nwith a strange light in his eyes; no youth of his tribe could entice\nhim to sport, no maiden could comfort him. His heart was in another\nhouse, and that was not the house of his fathers.\n\nAnd _Layl\u00e1_--she sat silent among her maidens with eyes downcast. Once,\nwhen a damsel, divining rightly, took her lute and sang a song of the\nfountain in the forest, where lovers met beneath the silver moon, she\nraised her head at the close of the song and bade the girl sing it\nagain--and again. And, after this, in the evenings when the sun was\nsetting, she would wander unattended in the gardens about her father's\npalace, roaming night by night in ever widening circles, until, on a\nnight when the moon was brightest, she came to the confines of the\ngardens where they adjoined the deep forest beyond;--but ever and ever\nthe moonlight beyond. And here, as she gazed adown the spaces between\nthe tree trunks, she saw, in an open space where the moonbeams fell, a\nsparkling fountain, and knew it for that which had been immortalised\nin the sweet song sung by her damsel with the lute. There, from time\nimmemorial, lovers had met and plighted their vows. A thrill shot\nthrough her at the thought that she had wandered hither in search of\nit. Her cheeks grew hot, and, with a wildly beating heart, she turned\nand ran back to her father's palace. Ran back, ashamed.\n\nNow, in a high chamber of the palace,--it was as wondrous as that of\na Sultan,--where _Layl\u00e1_ was wont to recline at the window looking\nout above the tree-tops, there were two beautiful white doves; these\nhad long been her companions, perching on her shoulder and pecking\ngently at her cheek with 'Coo, coo, coo';--preeking and preening on her\nshoulder with 'Coo, coo, coo.' They would come at her call and feed\nfrom her hand; and, when she threw one from the window, retaining the\nother against her breast, the liberated one seemed to understand that\nit might fly to yonder tree; and there it would sit cooing for its mate\nuntil _Layl\u00e1_, having held her fluttering bird close for a time, would\nset it free. 'Ah!' she would sigh to herself, as the bird flew swiftly\nto its mate, 'when love hath wings it flies to the loved one, but alas!\nI have no wings.' And yet it was by the wings of a dove that her lover\nsent her a passionate message, which threw her into joy and fear, and\nfinally led her footsteps to the place of lovers' meeting.\n\nQays, in the lonely musings which had beset him of late, recalled the\nstory--well known among the people--of _Layl\u00e1's_ two white doves. As\nhe recalled it he raised himself upon his elbow on his couch and said\nto himself, 'If I went to her father, saying, \"Give me thy daughter to\nwife!\" how should I be met? If I sent a messenger, how would _he_ be\nmet? But the doves--if all tales be true, they fly in at her window and\nnestle to her bosom.'\n\nWith his thought suddenly intent upon the doves, he called his servant\nZeyd, who came quickly, for he loved his master.\n\n'Thou knowest, Zeyd,' said Qays, 'that in the palace of the chief of\nBasr\u00e1h there are two white doves, one of which flies forth at its\nmistress's bidding, and cooes and cooes and cooes until its mate is\npermitted to fly to it.'\n\n'I know it well, my master. They are tame birds, and they come to their\nmistress's hand.'\n\n'Would they come, thinkest thou, to _thy_ hand?'\n\nZeyd, who was in his master's confidence, and knew what troubled him,\nanswered the question with another.\n\n'Dost thou desire these doves, O my master? My father was a woodman\nand I was brought up in the forests. Many a wilder bird than a dove\nhave I snared in the trees. I even know the secret art of taking a bird\nwith my hand.'\n\n'Then bring me one of these doves, but be careful not to injure it--not\neven one feather of its plumage.'\n\nZeyd was as clever as his word. On the third evening thereafter he\nbrought one of _Layl\u00e1's_ white doves to Qays and placed it in his hand.\nThen Qays stroked the bird and calmed its fears, and, bidding Zeyd hold\nit, he carefully wrapt and tied round its leg a small soft parchment on\nwhich were written the following verses:--\n\n    Thy heart is as a pure white dove,\n        And it hath come to me;\n    And it hath brought me all thy love,\n        Flying from yonder tree.\n\n    Thou shalt not have thy heart again,\n        For it shall stay with me;\n    Yet thou shalt hear my own heart's pain\n        Sobbing in yonder tree.\n\n    There is a fount where lovers meet:\n        To-night I wait for thee.\n    Fly to me, love, as flies the dove\n        To dove in yonder tree.\n\nNow _Layl\u00e1_, who had sent her dove into the warm night, sat listening\nat her window to hear it coo to its mate held close in her bosom. But\nit cooed not from its accustomed bough on yonder tree. Holding the\nfluttering mate to her she leaned forth from the window, straining her\nears to catch the well-known note, but, hearing nothing, she said to\nherself, 'What can have happened? Whither has it flown? Never was such\na thing before. Perchance the bird is sleeping on the bough.'\n\nThen, as the moon rose higher and higher above the tree-tops, shedding\na glistening radiance over everything, she waited and waited, but there\ncame no doling of the dove, no coo from yonder tree. At last, unable\nto account for it, she took the bird from her bosom and stroked it and\nspoke to it; then she threw it gently in the air as if to send it in\nsearch of its lost mate to bring it back.\n\nThe bird flew straight to the tree, and, perching there, cooed again\nand again, but there was no answering coo of its mate. Finally _Layl\u00e1_\nsaw it rise from the tree and circle round the palace. Many times she\nsaw it flash by and heard the beating of its wings, until at last it\nflew in at the window; and, when she took it and pressed it to her, she\nfelt that it was trembling. For sure, it was distressed and trembling.\n\n'Alas! poor bird!' she said, stroking it gently. 'It is hard to lose\none's lover, but it is harder still never to have found him.'\n\nBut lo, as she was comforting the bird, the other dove suddenly\nfluttered in and perched upon her shoulder. She gave a cry of delight,\nand, taking it, held them both together in her arms. In fondling them\nher fingers felt something rough on the leg of the one that had just\nreturned. Quickly she untied the fastenings, and, with beating heart,\nunfolded the parchment and read the writing thereon. It was the message\nfrom her lover. She knew not what to do. Should she go to the fountain\nwhere lovers meet beneath the moon? In her doubt she snatched first\none dove and then the other, kissing each in turn. Then, setting them\ndown, she rose and swiftly clothed herself in a long cloak, and stole\nquietly down the stairs and out of the palace by a side door. Love\nfound the way to the path through the forest that led to the fountain\nwhere lovers meet. Like a shadow flitting across the bars of moonlight\nthat fell among the trees she sped on, and at last arrived at the edge\nof the open space where the fountain played, its silvery, high-flung\ncolumn sparkling like jewelled silver ere it fell in tinkling spray\nupon the shining moss.\n\n_Layl\u00e1_ paused irresolute in the shadows, telling herself that if her\nheart was beating so hard it was because she had been running. Where\nwas he who had stolen her dove and returned it with a message?\n\nWherever he was he had quick eyes, for he had discovered her in the\nshadows, and now came past the fountain, hastening towards her.\n\nShe darted into the light of the moon.\n\n'Who art thou?'\n\nTheir eyes met. The moonlight fell on their faces. No other word was\nspoken, for they recognised each other in one glance.\n\n'_Layl\u00e1!_ thou hast come to me. I love thee.'\n\n'And I thee!'\n\nAnd none but the old moon, who has looked down on many such things\nbefore, saw their sudden embrace; and none but the spirit of the\nfountain, who had recorded the words of lovers ever since the first\ngush of the waters, heard what they said to one another.\n\nAnd so _Layl\u00e1_ and Qays met many times by the fountain and plighted\ntheir vows there in the depths of the forest. And once, as they\nlingered over their farewells, Qays said to _Layl\u00e1_, 'And oh! my\nbeloved, if the desert were my home, and thou and I were free, even in\nthe wilderness, eating the herbs that grow in the waste, or a loaf of\nthine own baking from the wild corn; drinking the water of the brook,\nand reposing beneath the bough,--then would I let the world go by, and,\nwith no hate of thy people, live with thee and love thee for ever.'\n\n'And I thee, beloved.'\n\n'Then let us leave all, and fly to the wilderness--'\n\n'Now?'\n\n'No, not now. Thou must prepare. To-morrow, beloved, I will await thee\nhere at this hour with two fleet steeds; and then, as they spurn the\ndust from their feet, so will we spurn the world--you and I.'\n\nThat night _Layl\u00e1_ dreamed that she was in the wilderness with her\nlover, sitting beneath the bough, drinking from the waters of the\nbrook, eating a loaf of her own making from the wild corn, and, in her\nlover's presence, happy to lose the luxury of palaces.\n\nBut alas! the dream was never to be realised. Some one at the\npalace--some one with more than two ears, and with eyes both back and\nfront--some one, moreover, in the pay of Ibn Sal\u00e1m, a handsome young\nchief who greatly desired _Layl\u00e1_ in marriage, breathed a word into the\near of _Layl\u00e1's_ father. The following day the palace was deserted.\nThe old chief, with _Layl\u00e1_ and the whole of his retinue, had departed\nto his estate in the mountains, where it was hoped that the keen, pure\nair would be better for _Layl\u00e1's_ health;--at least so her father said,\nthough none could understand why, seeing that she had never looked\nbetter in her life.\n\nQays, knowing nothing of this sudden departure for several days,\nwaited at the fountain at the appointed hour. At last one day, being\nalready sad at heart, he learned--for Ibn Sal\u00e1m had not been idle in\nthe matter--that _Layl\u00e1_ had gone to the mountains of her own accord\nwith her father's household, and that Ibn Sal\u00e1m, the favoured one, had\ngone with her also. Believing this to be true--for lovers are prone\nto credit what they fear--Qays ran forth from his abode like a man\ndistraught. In the agony of his despair he thought of nothing but to\nsearch for, and find, _Layl\u00e1_. Setting his face towards the distant\nmountains, he plunged into the desert, calling _'Layl\u00e1! Layl\u00e1!'_ Every\nrock of the wilderness, every tree and thorny waste soon knew her name,\nfor it echoed thereamong all that day and the following night, until at\ndawn he sank exhausted on a barren stretch of sand.\n\nAnd here it was that his servant Zeyd and a party of his master's\nfriends found him as the sun was rising. He was distracted. Worn out\nwith fatigue and hunger and thirst, he wandered in his mind as he had\nwandered in the desert. They took him back to his father's abode and\nsought to restore him, but, when at last he was well, he still called\ncontinually for his lost love _Layl\u00e1_, so that they thought his reason\nwas unhinged, and spoke of him as '_Majn\u00fan_'--that is to say, 'mad with\nlove'; and by this name he was called ever afterward.\n\nHis father came and pleaded with him to put away his infatuation for\nthe daughter of a chief no friend of his; but, finding him reasonable\nin all things save his mad love, the chief said within himself: 'If\nhe can be healed of this one thing he will be whole.' Then, being\nwilling further to cement enmity or establish a bond with the chief of\nBasr\u00e1h, he decided to set the matter to the test. Collecting a splendid\nretinue, he journeyed to the mountains on a mission to the chief, his\nenemy, leaving _Majn\u00fan_ in the care of the faithful Zeyd.\n\n[Illustration: IN A HIGH CHAMBER OF THE PALACE--IT WAS AS WONDROUS AS\nTHAT OF A SULTAN p. 12]\n\nWhen, after many days' journey, he at last arrived at the estate of\n_Layl\u00e1's_ father, he stood before that chief and haughtily demanded\nthe hand of his daughter in marriage with his son, setting forth the\nclear meaning of consent on the one hand and refusal on the other. His\nproposal was rejected as haughtily as it had been made. 'News travels\nfar,' said the chief of Basr\u00e1h. 'Thy son is mad: cure him of his\nmadness first, and then seek my consent.'\n\nCyd, the chief of Yemen, was a proud man and fierce. He could not brook\nthis answer. He had proposed a bond of friendship, and it had been\nturned into a barbed shaft of war. He withdrew from Basr\u00e1h's presence\nwith the cloud of battle lowering on his brows. He returned to his own\nplace to come again in war, vowing vengeance on Basr\u00e1h.\n\nBut Yemen's chief delayed his plans, for, on his return, he discovered\nthat his son, accompanied by the faithful Zeyd, had set out on the\nyearly pilgrimage to Mecca, there to kneel before the holy shrine and\ndrink of the sacred well in the Ka\u00e1ba.\n\n'Surely,' said he, 'that sacred well of water which sprang from the\nparched desert to save Hagar and her son will restore my own son to his\nhealth of mind. I will follow him and pray with him at the holy shrine;\nI will drink also at the sacred well, and so, perchance, he will be\nrestored to me.'\n\nBut it so chanced that, when the chief, followed by a splendid retinue,\nwas but two days on his journey towards Mecca, he was met by a lordly\nchief of the desert named Noufal, who, with a small band of warriors,\nrode in advance of a cloud of dust to greet him in friendly fashion.\n\n'I know thee,' said Noufal, reining in his magnificent horse so\nsuddenly that the sand and gravel scattered wide; 'thou art the chief\nof Yemen and the father of _Majn\u00fan_, whom I have met in the desert.\nGreetings to thee! I have succoured thy son, whom I found in sore\nstraits and nigh unto death. I have heard his story, and I will aid him\nand thee against the chief of Basr\u00e1h, if it be thy will, O chief of\nYemen.'\n\n'Greetings to thee, O Noufal! I know thy name; thou art a wanderer of\nthe desert, but I have heard many brave tales of thy prowess and thy\ngenerosity. Thou hast my son in thy keeping? But how comes it that he\nfailed of his pilgrimage to Mecca, whither I was following to join him\nat the holy shrine?'\n\n'Alas! he fell by the wayside in sight of my warriors; and, when they\ncame to him, his only cry was, \"_Layl\u00e1! Layl\u00e1!_\" They brought him to\nme, and from his broken story and this oft-repeated cry of \"_Layl\u00e1_\"\nI knew him for _Majn\u00fan_, thy son; for the tale of beauty and love, O\nchief of Yemen, travels far in the silent desert.'\n\n'What wouldst thou, then, Noufal?'\n\n'I would that thou and I, for the sake of thy son, go up against the\nchief of Basr\u00e1h and demand his daughter. If he consent not, and we\nconquer, I will extend thine interests and protect them through the\ndesert and beyond. If he consent, thou and I and he will be for ever\nat peace, and will combine our territories on just terms of thine own\nchoosing.'\n\n'Thou hast spoken well, O Noufal, and I trust thee. Go thou up against\nthe chief of Basr\u00e1h and demand _Layl\u00e1_ in my name. I will follow thy\npath, and, if thou returnest to meet me with _Layl\u00e1_ in thy protection,\nall is well; but, if not, then we will proceed against Basr\u00e1h together,\nand thy terms shall be my terms. For the rest, thou hast swift\nmessengers, as have I.'\n\nAt the word Noufal wheeled his horse and gave commands to some of his\nwarriors, and presently six fleet-footed chargers were speeding towards\nthe horizon in six different directions to call the warriors of the\ndesert to converge on a point at the foot of the mountains. Meanwhile\nsimilar messengers were hastening back to Yemen with orders from their\nchief. Noufal and his band of warriors set out for the rendezvous, but\nthe chief of Yemen waited for the return of his messengers.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile _Layl\u00e1_, on her father's estate among the mountains, lived\nin the depths of misery. The young chief Ibn Sal\u00e1m, well favoured of\nher father, was continually pleading for her hand in marriage, but\n_Layl\u00e1's_ protestations and tears so moved her father that he was fain\nto say to the handsome and wealthy suitor, 'She is not yet of age;\nwait a little while and all will be well.' For Basr\u00e1h looked with a\ncalculating eye on this young chief, who had splendid possessions and\nmany thousands of warriors. As for _Layl\u00e1_, she immured herself from\nthe light of day, communing only with the stars by night, and saying\nwithin her heart, 'I will die a maiden rather than marry any but\n_Majn\u00fan_, who is now, alas! distracted, even as I.'\n\n[Illustration: IF THE DESERT WERE MY HOME--THEN WOULD I LET THE WORLD\nGO BY p. 14]\n\nNow _Layl\u00e1_, well knowing that her doves were nesting in 'yonder tree,'\nhad left them to the care of the attendants at the palace. They had\nalways been a solace to her, especially since one had been Love's\nmessenger, and she missed that solace now. A young tiger, obedient only\nto an Ethiopian slave, could not speak to her of love as the doves had\ndone! But one day a slave-girl brought her a bird of paradise, saying,\n'My boy lover caught this in the forests of the hills and bade me offer\nit to thee for thy kindness to me.'\n\n_Layl\u00e1_ treasured the bird in her solitude, and soon discovered that it\ncould imitate the sounds of her voice. On this she straightway taught\nit one word, and one word only. Then she would sit for hours, with the\nbird perched on the back of her hand, listening to its soft intonation\nof that one word: '_Majn\u00fan_.' Again and again and again the bird would\nspeak softly in her ear that sweetest name in all the world: '_Majn\u00fan,\nMajn\u00fan, Majn\u00fan_,' and her heart would leave her bosom and range through\nthe desolation of the desert, seeking always _Majn\u00fan_.\n\nThe affair of her heart stood in such case when, one day at dawn,\nNoufal, with a large band of warriors, smote with his sword upon the\ngates and demanded to see the chief of Basr\u00e1h.\n\nIt was a short and pointed exchange of few words between Noufal and\nBasr\u00e1h as the broadening band of sunlight crept slowly down the\nbackground of mountains; and, when it smote upon the gates as the sun\nburst up, the talk was finished and Noufal and his band were galloping\ntowards the desert to meet the oncoming hosts of Yemen. The chief of\nBasr\u00e1h gazed upon the cloud of dust that rose between him and the sun,\nand in it read the signs of sudden war.\n\nNow Basr\u00e1h's mountain estate adjoined the territory of Ibn Sal\u00e1m,\nand, as soon as the latter learned that the chief had flouted Noufal\nin favour of his own suit, and that the thunder-cloud of battle was\narising against the wind, he offered the aid of a thousand of his\nwarriors--an offer which was eagerly accepted. But the thousand he\noffered were not a third part of the warriors at his call.\n\nThe way of war was paved. Before noon a host of Ibn Sal\u00e1m's warriors\ncame riding in. _Layl\u00e1_, from her window, noted their brave array.\nThen, looking far out on to the desert, she saw the dust-cloud rising\nfrom the hoofs of an advancing host. 'Alas!' she cried, 'the heart\nthat beats in my bosom is the cause of this. I love my father; I love\n_Majn\u00fan_: Destiny must choose between them.'\n\nDestiny hath strange reversals. The shock and clash of battle dinned\non her ears till near nightfall, when, with a heart divided between\nhope and fear, she saw clearly that Ibn's hosts could not hold their\nground. The onslaughts of her father's foe were forcing them back.\nThey scattered, and rallied, and scattered again. Those that were left\nretreated within the gates. The gates were battered down, and all was\nlost--or won. A herald advanced, offering terms of surrender. _Layl\u00e1_\nleaned from her window, listening. No word could she hear until her\nfather, still defiant in the face of defeat, spoke in ringing tones.\n\n'And, if I deliver not up my daughter, you will take her. Yea, but you\nwill not take her alive. I have but to raise my hand and she will be\nslain. I have lost all, but my servants will still obey me: if I give\nthe word, her dead body is yours for the asking.'\n\nAt this the chief of Yemen bade him hold his hand from committing this\nterrible deed.\n\n'O chief of Basr\u00e1h,' he said, 'I give thee one day to think about this\nmatter. There are two sides to it: the one is that thou deliver up thy\ndaughter to be given to my son to wife, so that there may be a bond of\nfriendship between us; the other is that thou keep thy daughter and\nsurrender thy sovereignty, retaining thy territories only in vassalage\nto me.'\n\nWith that the chief of Yemen and his ally, Noufal, withdrew, leaving\nBasr\u00e1h to decide before dawn the following day.\n\nNow, among Ibn Sal\u00e1m's messengers that he had sent out was one whose\norders were to ride back, as if from Yemen, bringing word that he had\ndiscovered _Majn\u00fan_, who, having fled from his attendants in the night,\nwas lying dead in the desert. This was not truth, but Ibn had reason to\nbelieve that it soon would be, for he had sent out others to find him\nand kill him. It was to his purpose that the false news should arrive\nquickly, for, on that, and the offer of a further host of warriors at\nhis command, he hoped to gain _Layl\u00e1's_ promise and strengthen her\nfather's hand in the matter.\n\nThe victors had scarcely withdrawn when the messenger rode in, shouting\nthe news to victors and vanquished alike. The chief of Yemen heard it\nand wept for his son. Noufal heard it and said, '_Layl\u00e1_ is nothing\nto us now; at dawn we shall dictate our own terms.' Ibn Sal\u00e1m and\n_Layl\u00e1's_ father heard the news without grief, and Ibn said, 'Now there\ncan be no obstacle to thy daughter's consent, for she is a woman, and\nmust know that the living is more desirable than the dead. I have\nalready helped thee, O Chief, and we have failed. But thy daughter has\nonly to speak the word and a further host of my warriors--more than\ntreble the number that fought to-day--will come out of the desert at my\ncall. Half will come to aid our defence, and half will attack the hosts\nof Yemen from the desert. Thus your foes will be scattered like chaff\nin the wind. Go to thy daughter and show her now how a word from her\nwill save thee from destruction and make thee great.'\n\nThe chief of Basr\u00e1h went to his daughter, and, when Ibn heard sounds\nof a woman wailing, he knew that the false news of _Majn\u00fan's_ death\nwas believed. Long time the chief pleaded with _Layl\u00e1_, urging the\nuselessness of weeping for _Majn\u00fan_ when, by accepting Ibn in marriage,\nshe could save Basr\u00e1h and make it a great kingdom. Then he spoke of her\nduty to him, her father, in this terrible plight, from which her word\nalone could save him; and _Layl\u00e1_ saw, through her tears, that for her\nfather's sake the sacrifice must be made; and through duty, not love,\nshe mournfully pledged herself to Ibn Sal\u00e1m.\n\nAs soon as Ibn knew this he called some of his warriors and questioned\nthem on the matter of his hosts in reserve.\n\n'Four thousand,' he said, when he had heard their replies. 'The foe is\nbut three thousand, and we are little more than one thousand.'\n\nThen he gave orders to some chosen messengers and bade them steal forth\nsecretly and deliver them to his generals. Half the four thousand was\nto arrive by night under cover of the mountains and be ready for battle\nat sunrise. The other half was to make a circuit of the desert and fall\nupon the foe from behind when the battle was at its hottest. On this\nsudden stroke he relied for complete victory.\n\nAnd he was not wrong. When dawn broke over the desert, and the mountain\npeaks were flushed with sunrise fire, the dark shadows at the base were\ntwo thousand strong. There they waited hidden from the foe, while, as\nthe sun rose, a herald came to the gates. In the name of Yemen, he\ndictated the terms of surrender without any condition in regard to\n_Layl\u00e1_.\n\nThe chief of Basr\u00e1h laughed him to scorn. 'Go tell the chief of Yemen\nand his robber friend of the desert,' he said, 'that if they desire my\ndomains they must take them by force of arms. Tell them that Basr\u00e1h\nnever surrenders: he prefers to live free, or to die fighting.'\n\n[Illustration: SHE WOULD SIT FOR HOURS, WITH THE BIRD PERCHED ON THE\nBACK OF HER HAND, LISTENING TO ITS SOFT INTONATION OF THAT ONE WORD\n\"MAJN\u00daN\" p. 18]\n\nThe herald took back this proud answer of defiance. On hearing it Yemen\nwondered and questioned, but Noufal, who was a man of the desert,\nsudden in temper and quick to act, counselled an immediate attack.\n\nThe battle was joined. At the first shock came Ibn's two thousand\nwarriors from their concealment, and the invaders fell back in\nastonishment. Yet they rallied again, and fiercely raged the fight\nbetween the opposing hosts, now equally matched in numbers. _Layl\u00e1_\nlooked from her window in horror. She noted how the battle swayed this\nway, then that. And now it seemed that the foe was steadily gaining\nthe mastery. But what was that in the distance of the desert? What was\nthat, thrust forward from the desert? A great cloud of dust, quickly\napproaching. It drew near, its cause quickly outstripping it. A mighty\nhost of warriors now shook the earth with the thunder of their horses'\nfeet. They drew nearer. Now like a whirlwind they hurled themselves\nupon the invaders and bore them down like trodden wheat--sweeping the\nflying remainder of them like chaff to the four winds.\n\nYemen was slain. Noufal, flying from numbers on swifter steeds than\nhis, laughed back at his pursuers, then slew himself, dying, as he had\nlived, at full gallop.\n\nBasr\u00e1h was victorious. That night _Layl\u00e1_ was given by her father to\nIbn Sal\u00e1m. That night, too, the chief of Basr\u00e1h, having been previously\nwounded in the battle, died. Ibn ruled now over three vast territories\nwelded into one. And, where he was king, _Layl\u00e1_ was queen.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYears passed by, and Ibn and _Layl\u00e1_ reigned in peace. The palace of\nher fathers was their abode, and the bird of paradise and the two white\ndoves were often her companions, recalling to her heart a lost, but\nnever-to-be-forgotten, love. The faithful Zeyd, who had wandered long\nin the desert searching in vain for his master, was now her servant.\n\nOne day news came secretly to Zeyd that _Majn\u00fan_, long mourned as\ndead, had returned disguised as a merchant from distant parts, and\nwould be waiting for him at a certain spot on the outskirts of the\ndesert at sunset. Zeyd said nothing of this to his mistress, but,\nunknown to her, he caught one of the doves and took it away with him to\nthe meeting-place, for he reasoned that what had happened once would\nhappen again with like result. Full of joy was the meeting between\n_Majn\u00fan_ and Zeyd on the edge of the desert as the sun went down.\n\nNow _Layl\u00e1_, when she repaired to her high chamber that evening,\nwas astonished to find one of her doves missing. She sent the other\nforth to the great tree, thinking the two might return together, but\npresently it returned alone. Then, wondering greatly, she sat by the\nwindow, musing on the past: how, three years ago, the dove had returned\nafter an absence, bearing a love-message from _Majn\u00fan_, and how she had\nmet him again and again at the lovers' fountain in the forest. Alas!\nall was changed: _Majn\u00fan_ was dead, and she was the wife of another.\nHer eyes filled with tears, and, bowing her head on her arms upon the\nwindow-sill, she wept silently.\n\nFor a long time she remained like this. Then, suddenly, she was aroused\nfrom her weeping by a sound. It was the 'coo, coo, coo' of the missing\ndove, and it came from the great tree. Immediately the other dove\nfanned her hair as it sped past her to its mate. It made her long for\nwings that she too might fly away and away to her lover.\n\nPresently the two birds fluttered in at the window and came to her.\nWhat strange thing was this? There, wrapped round the leg of one was a\nsmall strip of soft parchment as on that night long ago. With trembling\nfingers she unfastened and read what was written thereon. It was from\n_Majn\u00fan_! He was alive and well! As before, the writing begged her to\ncome that very night to the lovers' fountain at moonrise.\n\nIn her sudden joy at learning that her lover was alive and near\nat hand, _Layl\u00e1_ forgot all, and, as the gibbous moon was already\nbrightening the horizon, she arose and cloaked herself and stole down\nthe stairway of the palace. She reached the side door unobserved.\nShe passed out and closed it behind her. Her heart flew before her\nto _Majn\u00fan_, but suddenly, as she hastened, it rebounded swiftly and\nalmost stopped beating. Her footsteps faltered and she clutched at a\nbough of a tree for support. Her husband! Her duty! Once she had given\nall for duty's sake: should she take it back now, and in this way?\nWhat would it mean? With _Majn\u00fan's_ arms around her she would forget\nall--husband, duty, her people: all, all would be forgotten, and the\nstep once taken could not be retraced. Alas! this was not the act of\na wife! It was not the act of a queen! She groaned as she grasped the\nbough, and her body swayed with her spirit's woe as she then and there\nrejected her purpose and accepted her sorrow.\n\nSlowly _Layl\u00e1_ strengthened herself; then, like one in a dream, she\nturned and retraced her steps to the palace, no sigh, no sob escaping\nher. All that night she refused sleep or comfort, dry-eyed; and it was\nonly when the dawn came that tears came too, to save her reason on its\nthrone.\n\n_Majn\u00fan_ waited long by the lovers' fountain, and, at last, learning\nfrom Zeyd that his mistress had ventured forth and had returned, he\nwent away, treasuring to his heart a love that could not give one\nglance without giving all; for, from Zeyd's story he knew this to be\nso. As _Layl\u00e1_ had gone back to the palace, silent and strong, so\n_Majn\u00fan_ set his face towards distant cities, praying ever that the\nyears might bring surcease of woe, if not the rapture of the love of\n_Layl\u00e1_.\n\nTwo years passed by, and Fate stepped in. Ibn Sal\u00e1m fell stricken with\na fever and died. The news spread far, and one day _Majn\u00fan_, in a\ndistant city, looked up and heard that _Layl\u00e1_, the queen of Yemen and\nBasr\u00e1h, was free. Swift, then, were the steeds that bore him to Yemen.\nBut, remembering how she had twice sacrificed herself for duty, he\nforbore to approach her until the expiration of the prescribed term of\nwidowhood--four moons and half a moon. This period he spent, alone and\nunknown, in an abode from which he could see the lights of _Layl\u00e1's_\npalace. His longing ate into his heart, and it was harder to bear than\nhis former distraction, by which he had earned his name of _Majn\u00fan_\n('mad with love'). But as, in the first instance, his reason had borne\nthe strain, so now it bore the stress of all this weary waiting at the\ngates of Paradise.\n\nZeyd bore tidings of _Layl\u00e1_ to _Majn\u00fan_, but from _Majn\u00fan_ to _Layl\u00e1_\nno message passed until, on a day when the prescribed term had passed,\nZeyd took word to her that _Majn\u00fan_ would come to her at the palace at\nnoon, or, according to her choice, wait for her at the lovers' fountain\nat two hours after sunset.\n\nZeyd brought back the delayed message: 'Noon has passed, but noon will\ncome again--after this eventide.' Which was not unlike the answer\n_Majn\u00fan_ had expected.\n\nThe saddest part of the history of these ill-destined lovers is yet\nto be told. Two hours after sunset _Majn\u00fan_ kept the tryst. Two\nhours after sunset _Layl\u00e1_, her eyes smouldering with a pent-up\nfire, cloaked herself as of old and went out by the side door of the\npalace. There was no moon, but the stars shed a soft light upon the\ngardens. She passed among the trees; her heart beat fast and her\nbreath came quick. The whole of her life seemed wrapped up in her two\nfeet, which ran a hot race with each other. She reached the edge of\nthe forest and paused, clasping her hands over her bosom. She must\nregain her breath to show _Majn\u00fan_ how little she had hastened. Then,\nbefore she had regained it, she ran on, losing it the more. There was\nthe fountain--the fountain where lovers had always met--she saw it\nsparkling in the starlight through the trees. Now she stood on the edge\nof the open space, the folds of her cloak parted, her masses of raven\nhair fallen loose, her breast heaving.\n\nA figure darted from the fountain's side. She faltered forward,\nswaying. A moaning cry escaped her as _Majn\u00fan_ caught her in a wild\nembrace.\n\nWho knows if it was but a moment or a thousand years? Love has no dial.\nBut that time-moment two hours after sunset was their swift undoing. At\nthe touch of her lips upon his, _Majn\u00fan's_ reason was wrenched away.\nAt the touch of his lips upon hers, she swooned in his arms. He let\nher fall, and ran, shrieking, out of the forest and into the desert;\nshrieking her name, far into the desert.\n\n'_Layl\u00e1! Layl\u00e1! Layl\u00e1!_'--his maniac cries echoed on and on until, in\nthe hopeless waste of wilderness, he fell exhausted. But Zeyd, who had\nfollowed his voice, at last found him. Many a day and night he tended\nhis master, but to no purpose. Joy had done what grief had failed to\ndo: _he was mad!_\n\n_Layl\u00e1_ awoke from her swoon, and, hearing her own name repeated again\nand again,--that wild cry coming from farther and farther in the\ndesert,--divined the truth and returned, slowly and wringing her hands,\nto the palace.\n\nFrom time to time Zeyd sent news of _Majn\u00fan_ and his undying love,\nwhich even his madness had failed to touch.\n\nDay by day, and week by week, _Layl\u00e1's_ eyes grew brighter and her\ncheeks paler. Slowly she pined away, and then she died of a broken\nheart. Her last words were a message to _Majn\u00fan_--a message of love\nthat could not die, though it must quit the beautiful, unhappy house of\nclay in which it had suffered so much.\n\n'And tell him,' she said, 'that my body shall be buried by the side\nof the fountain where he first clasped me in his arms. And tell him,\ntoo, these very words: '_Majn\u00fan_, lift thine eyes! See, yonder are the\nFields of Light, and a fountain springing in the sunshine--yonder--a\nfountain of eternal waters, where lovers meet, never to part\nagain;--_thou shalt find me there_!' And with that she died, and\nher spirit sped on her parting thought to that place of lovers'\nmeeting;--the immortal font of lovers' meeting.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDawn was breaking on the desert when two figures came running. Each\nheld the other by the hand, and on the face of one was that look which\ntold how he had been driven mad by love. _Majn\u00fan_, outstripping Zeyd,\nleft him to follow, and plunged into the forest. Soon he came to the\nopen space in which the fountain played. Well he knew the spot where\nhe had first clasped _Layl\u00e1_ in his arms. There was now a newly made\ngrave. Exhausted, not with running, but with love, madness, and grief,\nhe flung himself upon it.\n\n'_Layl\u00e1! Layl\u00e1!_' he moaned, with a heart-bursting pang. 'I will come\nsoon--ah, soon! Hold thy shroud of night about thee! Hide thy beauty in\nthe Fields of Light--_until I find thee there_!'\n\nAnd, as the sun rose, Zeyd came and stood by the grave, gazing down\nupon his master through tears of grief;--gazing down upon the dead\nthrough bitter tears of grief.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NIGHTINGALE\n\nAFTER A FAIRY TALE BY HANS ANDERSEN\n\n\nTHERE was no more beautiful thing in the world than the palace of the\nemperor of China. It was built of the very finest porcelain, delicate\nand fragile as an egg-shell. The people, high and low, who dwelt in\nthat palace moved with the utmost grace and care lest they should break\nanything, and in this they had more admiration for the extreme beauty\nof the place than fear of being trampled upon by the emperor for any\ndamage caused by clumsiness. The palace garden was so big that not even\nthe head gardener could tell you where it ended. It contained the most\nwonderful flowers; every here and there among the glorious blooms was\none more rare than its neighbours; and, as if to attract your attention\nto its splendour, each had attached to it a little silver bell which\ntinkled melodiously in the hands of every passing zephyr. Miles and\nmiles and miles of beautiful trees and flowers, with smooth lawns and\nsparkling fountains; and always, if you wished, you could turn off into\na delightful wood which skirted the garden and led down a gentle slope\nto the sea, where, on the brink, the trees were so high and spreading,\nand the blue water beneath so suddenly deep and still, that great ships\ncould shelter there in the shade. And in this wonderful wood lived a\n_Nightingale_ which sang so deliciously that all who heard it stood\nrooted to the spot. Never had such music been heard before in any wood\nin the world. Even the poor fisherman, busy with his nets in the bay,\nwould pause in his work to listen. 'Heavens, how beautiful that song\nis!' he would say; and, night after night, when the bird sang he would\nforget his toil to murmur, 'How beautiful! how beautiful!'\n\nFrom every land travellers came to see the emperor's palace and walk in\nthe wonderful garden, but those who heard the _Nightingale_ sing said,\n'There is nothing here so entrancing as that song.' And these went away\ncarrying the music in their hearts and the tale of it on their lips to\ntell in their own lands. Thus the wonder of the _Nightingale_ was known\nafar, and learned men wrote books about it, describing at length the\nbeauty of the emperor's palace and garden only as a fit setting for the\ncrowning wonder of all--the bird whose entrancing song lifted all this\nearthly splendour to heaven. Many were the poems written and sung about\nthe far-off _Nightingale_ which filled and thrilled the woods with\nmusic by the deep-blue sea. The books and the poems went through the\nwhole world, and of course many of them reached the emperor.\n\nSitting in his golden chair reading, he nodded his head with a smile\nof pleasure at the splendid descriptions of palace and garden and all\nthey contained; but, when he read that all this splendour was of minor\naccount compared to the glorious singing of a _Nightingale_ in the\nwoods by the sea, he sat up straight and said, 'A _Nightingale_? What\nis this? A wonder in my own home, my own garden--a wonder that travels\nafar and yet I have never heard of it till now! What strange things we\nread about in books, to be sure. But I'll soon settle the matter.'\n\nWith this he summoned his gentleman-in-waiting--a very important\npersonage; so important, indeed, that when one of less importance dared\nto address him on even a matter more important than either of them, he\nwould simply answer, 'Ph!'--which, as you know, means nothing at all.\n\n'They say,' said the emperor, 'ahem! they say there is a wonderful bird\nhere called a _Nightingale_, compared with whose delicious song my\npalace and garden are of small account. Why have I not been informed of\nthis marvel?'\n\nThe gentleman-in-waiting protested that he knew nothing whatever of\nsuch a thing as a _Nightingale_--at least, he was certain it had never\nbeen presented at court.\n\n'These books cannot all be wrong,' said the emperor; 'especially as\nthey all agree in their accounts of it. It appears that the whole world\nknows what I am possessed of, and yet I have never known it myself till\nnow. I command you to bring this rare bird here this evening to sing to\nme.'\n\nThe gentleman-in-waiting went off, well knowing what would happen if he\nfailed to produce the bird in the time appointed. But how was it to be\nfound? He ran up and down stairs and through all the corridors asking\nrapid questions of every one he could find, but not one knew anything\nabout the _Nightingale_. 'Ha!' thought he, 'this thing is a myth,\ninvented by writers to make their books more interesting.' And he ran\nback and told the emperor so.\n\n'Nonsense!' cried the emperor. 'This book here was sent me by his\npowerful majesty the emperor of Japan, so it must be true--every word\nof it. I will give this bird my most gracious protection, but, as for\nthose who fail to find it and bring it here to-night--well, if it\nis not forthcoming, I will have the whole court trampled upon after\nsupper!'\n\n'Tsing-pe!' said the gentleman-in-waiting, and hurried off. Up and down\nall the stairs, in and out all the corridors he ran again, and this\ntime half the court ran with him, for the thought of being trampled\nupon got into their heels and there was no time to be wasted. Still, no\none in court knew anything about the _Nightingale_ with which all the\noutside world was so familiar. But at last they came to a poor little\nmaid in the scullery. She knew all about it. 'Oh yes; the delightful\n_Nightingale_!' she cried. 'Of course I know it. Every evening I hear\nit sing in the wood by the seashore on my way home. Ah me! its music\nbrings tears into my eyes and makes me feel as if my mother is kissing\nme.'\n\n'Listen, little kitchen-maid!' said the gentleman-in-waiting, 'if you\nwill lead us to the _Nightingale_ I will give you permission to see the\nemperor dining to-night.'\n\nShe clapped her hands with glee at this, and very soon they were all\nfollowing her on the way to the wood. As they ran a cow began to\nbellow loudly, and they stopped. 'That's it!' cried a young courtier.\n'What a magnificent voice for so small a creature!'\n\n[Illustration: EVEN THE POOR FISHERMAN WOULD PAUSE IN HIS WORK TO\nLISTEN p. 29]\n\n'Nay, nay; that's a cow. We have not reached the place yet.' And the\nlittle maid hurried them on.\n\nPresently the frogs of a neighbouring marsh raised a chorus of 'Koax!\nkoax!'\n\n'How beautiful!' cried the palace chaplain; 'more beautiful than the\nsound of church bells. This bird----'\n\n'Nay, nay; those are frogs; but we are coming to the _Nightingale_\nsoon.' And the little maid ran on. Then, suddenly, they all paused,\nbreathless, beneath the trees, for the _Nightingale_ had begun to sing.\n\n'There it is! there it is!' cried the little kitchen-maid, pointing to\nthe little gray bird among the branches. 'Listen!'\n\n'Ph!' said the gentleman-in-waiting; 'what a common little object! I\nsuppose meeting so many grand people from other lands has driven all\nits colours away. But it can----'\n\n'_Nightingale!_' called the little kitchen-maid; 'our most gracious\nemperor wants you to sing to him to-night!'\n\n'With all the pleasure in the world,' replied the bird, trilling out\nthe most delightful notes.\n\n'Extraordinary!' said the gentleman-in-waiting, who had perceived\nthat the _Nightingale_ was thinking, very naturally, that he _was_\nthe emperor; and all the courtiers took up the word; for if _he_ said\n'Extraordinary!' instead of 'Ph!' surely the whole world had a perfect\nright to go into hysterics over such singing.\n\n'My dear little _Nightingale_,' he said at last, 'I have the honour to\ncommand your attendance at court to-night to sing before the emperor.'\n\n'I think it sounds best among the trees,' replied the _Nightingale_,\n'but I will do my best to please the emperor.' And it fluttered down\nand perched on the little kitchen-maid's shoulder. Then away they went\nto the palace.\n\nThat evening the splendid abode of the emperor was a sight to see. The\nchina walls and floors shone with the radiance of a thousand golden\nlamps; the corridors were decked with the rarest flowers from the\ngarden, each with its little silver bell attached, so that when the\nbreeze swept their subtle perfumes along the ways of the palace they\nrang a peal of joy.\n\nIn the great reception-room sat the emperor, and near by his side was\na golden rod on which was perched the _Nightingale_. Every one was\nthere, and all were dressed in their very best, for it was a time of\nrejoicing; the wonderful bird had been found, and the whole court had\nescaped being trampled upon. Even the little kitchen-maid, who had now\nbeen raised to the position of cook, was allowed to stand behind the\ndoor, where she could feast her wide eyes on the mighty emperor.\n\nThere was silence. Then the little gray bird began to sing. The emperor\nnodded approvingly; then, as a burst of glorious song came in liquid\nnotes from the _Nightingale_ and welled out into the palace, the\nemperor's eyes slowly filled with tears, which soon rolled down over\nhis cheeks. Seeing this the bird sang more divinely still, so that\nall hearts were touched. The emperor wrung his hands with delight;\nhe was so charmed that he said he would decorate the _Nightingale_:\nit should have his gold slipper to wear round its neck. But this the\n_Nightingale_ declined gracefully, with thanks.\n\n'I have seen tears in the eyes of the emperor,' it said, 'and that is\nsufficient reward.' Then it burst again into its sweet, melodious song.\n\nThe _Nightingale_ soon became the one absorbing fashion. The ladies,\nwhen any one spoke to them, took water in their mouths, raised their\nheads and gurgled, thinking to imitate its song. The lackeys and\nchamber-maids, who are always the most difficult people to please,\nfreely admitted they had nothing whatever against the bird; while the\npeople of the town could think of nothing else but this new wonder of\nthe palace. So great was their feeling on the matter that when two met\nin the street one would say, 'Night,' to which the other replied,\n'Gale'; then they would sigh and pass on, perfectly understanding each\nother. Eleven different cheesemongers' children, who had the good luck\nto be born during this time, were named after the bird, but not one of\nthese cheese-mites ever developed the semblance of a voice.\n\nAs for the _Nightingale_ itself, it had indeed made a great sensation,\nand was accorded every honour. Living at court, it was assigned a\nspecial cage, with full liberty to walk out twice a day and once in the\nnight. On these outings it was attended by twelve footmen, each holding\na separate ribbon attached to its leg. You can imagine how the poor\nbird sang for joy when it got back to its cage again.\n\nOne day the emperor was sitting in his golden chair when a large parcel\nwas brought to him bearing on the outside the word '_Nightingale_.'\nThinking it was another book on the subject he put it aside, but, when\nhe came to open it later, he was astonished to find that it was no\nbook, but an exquisite little work of art--an artificial _Nightingale_,\njust like the real one, but in place of gray feathers there were\nwonderful diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires. Round its neck was a\nribbon on which was written, 'The emperor of Japan's _Nightingale_ is a\npoor bird compared with the emperor of China's.'\n\nOn examination it was found that this splendid toy was meant to go. So\nit was wound up, and immediately it sang that extremely lovely thing\nwhich the real _Nightingale_ had first sung to the emperor.\n\n'How delightful!' cried everybody, and immediately the emperor summoned\nthe messenger who had delivered the parcel, and there and then created\nhim Imperial Nightingale-Carrier in Chief.\n\n'Now,' said the emperor, as the I.N.-C.C. withdrew, 'the two birds must\nsing together. What a duet we shall have!'\n\nBut the duet was not a great success, for the real _Nightingale_\nsang with its soul in its throat, while the other merely sang with\nthe machinery it was stuffed with. They did not get on at all well\ntogether. But the music master explained all this quite easily, saying\nthat their voices, though of equal merit, were of widely different\nquality, and each could be heard to best advantage alone. As to time\nand tune and dramatic attack, he said, there was nothing to choose\nbetween them.\n\nSo the toy bird had to sing alone, and everybody said the music master\nwas right; there was nothing to choose between the two, unless it was\nthat the toy bird's coat was a blaze of dazzling jewels, while that of\nthe other was a gray drab--common in the extreme. The toy bird sang\njust as well, and, besides, it was much prettier to look at.\n\nWhen the new _Nightingale_ had sung the same tune thirty-three times\nand the courtiers wanted still to hear the tune again, the emperor\nsaid, 'No; the real bird must have its turn now.' But the real bird was\nnowhere to be found: it had flown out at the open window, back to its\nown woods by the side of the deep-blue sea.\n\n'What does this mean?' cried the emperor.\n\nThe gentleman-in-waiting stepped forward.\n\n'It means, your Majesty,' he said, 'it means, I'm afraid, that it\nwas an ungrateful bird, but still clever enough to give place to its\nbetters.'\n\nAnd then, when all were agreed that they had got the better bird, the\ntoy _Nightingale_ sang the same tune again, for the thirty-fourth\ntime, because, though they had heard it so often, they did not know it\nthoroughly even yet: it was so very difficult.\n\nThe music master was loud in his praises of the bird. He extolled\nit inside as well as out, saying that it was not only beautiful and\nvaluable, but that its works were perfect. The real bird sang what it\nliked, but here one could choose a given tune and hear it sung. The\nwhole thing was far more perfect than the real. The court agreed with\nhim, and the emperor was prevailed upon to let the people hear the toy\nbird sing on the following Sunday.\n\nWhen Sunday came the whole town assembled before the palace, and, when\nthey heard the bird sing, they were as excited as if they had drunk\nthemselves merry on tea, which is a way they have in China. All except\nthe poor fisherman, who had so often paused from his toil to listen to\nthe real _Nightingale_. 'It is a very good imitation,' said he; 'but it\nlacks something, I can't say what.' And the little kitchen-maid, who\nwas now a real cook, said nothing, but stole away in sadness to the\nwood, where she knew that she would hear the real music that she loved.\n\nFollowing the opinion of the people the emperor banished the real\n_Nightingale_ from the kingdom, and placed the toy bird on a silken\ncushion close to his bed, with the gifts of gold and jewels it had\nreceived arranged around it. And he promoted it to the rank of 'Chief\nImperial Singer of the Bed-Chamber,' class one, on the left side; that\nis to say, nearest the heart, for even an emperor's heart is on the\nleft side. And he gave the music master royal permission to write a\nwork of five-and-twenty volumes about the bird, which no one has ever\nread to this day, because it is so tremendously difficult; but you\nwould not find any one in China who would not claim to have mastered it\nthoroughly, since they one and all object to be thought stupid and to\nhave their bodies trampled upon.\n\nFor a whole year the artificial bird ground out its mechanical tunes.\nThey were even set to music by the skilled men of the time, and the\npeople sang them in their homes. On great public festivals, when the\nbird sang before delighted multitudes, they would raise their voices\nand join in the chorus. It was a great success. But one night, when the\nbird was singing its best by the emperor's bedside, something inside\nthe toy went 'whizz.' Then, with a grating catch and a snap, the main\ncrank broke: 'whirr' went all the wheels, and the music stopped.\n\nThe emperor immediately summoned the Chief Winder of the Imperial\nSinger of the Bed-Chamber, and he, with the assistance of the skilled\nworkmen of his department, managed, in less than seven days and nights\nof talk and toil, to put the works right again; but, he said, the\ninside of the bird was not what it used to be, and, unless it was used\nvery sparingly, say once a year, he hesitated to say what might happen\nin the end.\n\nThis was a terrible blow to China! The bird could only sing once a\nyear, but, on that great annual occasion, it was listened to with\nlong-pent-up enthusiasm; and, at the end of the concert, the music\nmaster made a speech, in which he used none but the most difficult\nwords, to prove that the bird was still as good as ever, in fact even\nbetter, and that his saying so made it so.\n\nFive years passed away, during which time the bird sang five times; and\nthen a great grief fell upon the nation. The emperor lay dying. The\nphysicians came and went, shaking their heads: they gave no hope. The\ngentleman-in-waiting, when questioned by the people as to the state\nof their emperor, merely answered 'Ph!' So bad was the outlook that\nalready a new emperor had been chosen, and the whole court hurried to\ncongratulate him.\n\nThe old emperor lay pale and still in his gorgeous bed, but he was not\ndead. While the courtiers were jostling each other in their efforts\nto catch the eye of the emperor-elect; while the lackeys were running\nhither and thither exchanging the news, and the chamber-maids giving\na grand coffee-party, the old emperor's spark of life flickered and\nflickered. Through a high open window the moon shone in upon the bed\nwith its velvet hangings and heavy golden tassels; upon the pale face\nof the emperor; upon the jewelled bird by his side. Now he gasped for\nbreath: there was something heavy on his chest. With a great effort he\nopened his eyes, and there, sitting upon him, he saw Death, wearing\nhis own golden crown, with his own golden sword in one hand, and in\nthe other his own imperial banner. Death grinned as he settled himself\nmore heavily. Then, as the emperor still struggled for breath, he saw,\npeering at him round the folds of the bed-hangings, the faces of all\nthe deeds he had ever committed. Some were hideous as they hissed, 'Do\nyou remember?' Others were sweet and loving as they murmured, 'Do you\nremember?' And then, while they told him in one breath all that he\nhad ever done, good and bad, Death sat heavier and heavier upon him,\nnodding his head at all they had to say.\n\nThe perspiration streamed down the emperor's face. At last he shrieked\naloud, 'This is unbearable! Sound the drums! Give me music to drown\ntheir voices!' Then he said to the bird by his side, 'You precious\nlittle bird--golden bird with your coat of jewels--sing, sing! I have\ngiven you everything; I have even hung my golden slipper round your\nneck,--now sing, I command you, sing!'\n\nBut there was no response. The bird stood there, a dumb thing: you see,\nit could not sing because there was nobody there to wind it up. Then,\nas Death fastened his empty sockets upon him, a terrible silence fell.\nDeeper and deeper it grew, and the emperor could hear nothing but the\nbeating of Death's heart--his own would soon be silent.\n\nSuddenly through the open window came a lovely burst of song. Radiant,\nsparkling as a shower of pearls, the living notes of rarest melody\nfell within the silent chamber. It was the _Nightingale_, perched on a\nbranch outside--the _Nightingale_ as God had made it, singing the song\nthat God had taught it. It had heard the emperor's call, and had come\nto bring him comfort.\n\nSlowly, slowly, as it sang divinely, the faces that peered round the\nvelvet folds grew wan. Pale Death himself started, and turned still\npaler with wonder and amazement. 'How beautiful!' he said; 'sing on,\nlittle bird, thrilling with life!'\n\n'Lay down the imperial banner,' answered the _Nightingale_; 'lay down\nthe golden sword; lay down the emperor's crown.'\n\n'Agreed!' And the mighty snatcher, Death, laid down these treasures for\nthe price of a song. The _Nightingale_ went on singing. And it sang as\nit flitted from bough to bough, until it reached the quiet churchyard\nwhere the grass grows green upon the graves, where the roses bloom\nliving on the breast of death, and the cypress points to the immortal\nskies. There on the cypress' topmost twig it perched and sang a song\nso rich and rare, so far-reaching, that it touched the heart of Death\nsitting on the chest of the emperor,--for, after all, Death has a\ntender heart. Filled with a longing for his own garden, melted by the\n_Nightingale's_ song, he vanished in a cold, grey mist,--out at the\nwindow.\n\nSoon came the _Nightingale_ fluttering with delight above the emperor's\nbed. Then it perched by the side of the toy bird, and the emperor\nlooked, and knew at last the difference between the natural and the\nartificial. He knew, too, that he ought to have known it before.\n\n'You heavenly little bird!' he said. 'Welcome back to my heart! I\nbanished you from my kingdom, but you heard my call and returned to\ncharm away those evil visions, and even Death himself. Thanks! A world\nof thanks! How can I ever repay you?' Tears shone in the emperor's eyes.\n\n'I am already repaid,' said the _Nightingale_. 'When first I sang to\nyou I saw tears in your eyes, and now I see them again. Those are the\njewels that I wear in my heart, not upon my coat. But sleep now; you\nmust get well. Sleep--I will sing you to sleep!'\n\nSo the little bird sang, and the emperor fell into a healing sleep. In\nthe morning, when the sun shone in at the window, he awoke refreshed\nand well. Where were his attendants? None was there: they were all\nbusy running after the emperor-elect. But the _Nightingale_ was there,\nperched on the window-sill, singing divinely.\n\n'Little _Nightingale_,' said the emperor tenderly, 'you must come and\nstay with me always. You shall sing only when you like; and, as to this\ntoy bird here, I will smash it in a thousand bits.'\n\n'Oh! you mustn't do that,' replied the real bird, 'it did its best,\nand, after all, it is a pretty thing. Keep it always by you. I can't\ncome to live in the palace, but let me come whenever I like and sit\nin the tree outside your window and sing to you in the evening. I\nwill sing you songs to make you happy, to cheer and comfort you. And\nsometimes I will sing of those who suffer, to make you sad, and then\nyou will long to help them. I will sing of many things unknown to you\nin your great wide kingdom, for the little gray bird flies far and\nwide, from the roof-tree of the humblest peasant to the bed of the\nmighty emperor. Yes, I will come very often--but--but will you promise\nme one thing?'\n\n'I will promise you anything, little bird.' The emperor had risen from\nhis bed; he now stood by the window in his imperial robes, and the\njewels in the golden crown upon his head flashed and sparkled in the\nmoonlight. Taking his heavy sword he pressed the golden hilt against\nhis heart as he repeated, 'anything--anything!'\n\n'It is just one little thing,' said the _Nightingale_. 'Never let any\none know that you have a little gray bird who tells you everything. It\nis far better.'\n\nWith that the _Nightingale_ skipped to a branch of the tree, trilled a\nlong trill, and then, in the grey light of dawn, flew off to her nest.\n\nWhen the courtiers and attendants came in to view the body of their\nlate master, he was still standing by the window in his imperial robes.\nThey gasped in horror at missing their grief.\n\n'Good morning!' said the emperor.\n\n\n[Illustration: O STAR OF WONDER, STAR OF NIGHT p. 41]\n\n\n\n\nTHREE KINGS OF ORIENT\n\nA CAROL\n\n\nGASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR:\n\n    WE three Kings of Orient are,\n    Bearing gifts we traverse afar\n        Field and fountain,\n        Moor and mountain,\n    Following yonder star.\n            O Star of Wonder, Star of Night,\n            Star with Royal Beauty bright,\n                Westward leading,\n                Still proceeding,\n            Guide us to Thy perfect Light.\n\n\nGASPAR.\n\n    Born a King on Bethlehem plain,\n    Gold I bring to crown Him again,\n        King for ever,\n        Ceasing never\n    Over us all to reign.\n            O Star of Wonder, Star of Night,\n            Star with Royal Beauty bright,\n                Westward leading,\n                Still proceeding,\n            Guide us to Thy perfect Light.\n\n\nMELCHIOR:\n\n    Frankincense to offer have I--\n    Incense owns a Deity nigh.\n        All men, raising\n        Prayer and praising,\n    Worship Him, God on High.\n            O Star of Wonder, Star of Night,\n            Star with Royal Beauty bright,\n                Westward leading,\n                Still proceeding,\n            Guide us to Thy perfect Light.\n\n\nBALTHAZAR:\n\n    Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfume\n    Breathes a life of gathering gloom;--\n        Sorrowing, sighing,\n        Bleeding, dying,\n    Sealed in the stone cold tomb.\n            O Star of Wonder, Star of Night,\n            Star with Royal Beauty bright,\n                Westward leading,\n                Still proceeding,\n            Guide us to Thy perfect Light.\n\n\nGASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR:\n\n    Glorious now behold Him arise,\n    King and God and Sacrifice;\n        Heav'n sings Hallelujah,\n        Hallelujah the earth replies.\n            O Star of Wonder, Star of Night,\n            Star with Royal Beauty bright,\n                Westward leading,\n                Still proceeding,\n            Guide us to Thy perfect Light.\n\n\n\n\nSINDBAD THE SAILOR\n\nA TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS\n\n\nO KING of the Age, as thou biddest me re-tell the strangest adventure\nof _Sindbad the Sailor_ in all his marvellous voyages, I will name it\nwithout hesitation: it is that of _Sindbad's_ fifth voyage, wherein he\nwas in fearful peril from that great bird, the rukh, and afterwards was\nridden almost to the point of death by the Old Man of the Sea.\n\nBut first let me call to thy recollection how _Sindbad the Sailor_\ncame to tell his story to Sindbad the Landsman, for herein lies much\nmeaning, O King.\n\nIn the time of the Caliph Harun-er-Rashid, in the palmy days of\nBaghdad, there lived and slaved a poor, discontented porter, whose\nmoments of rest and leisure were most pleasantly occupied in grumbling\nat his hard lot. Others lived in luxury and splendour while he bore\nheavy burdens for a pittance. There was no justice in the world, said\nhe, when some were born in the lap of wealth, and others toiled a\nlifetime for the price of a decent burial.\n\nThis discontented porter would run apace with his burden to gain time\nfor a rest upon the doorstep of some mansion of the rich, where, a\nmaster in contrasts, he would draw comparisons between his own lot and\nthat of the rich man dwelling within. Loudly would he call on Destiny\nto mark the disparity, the incongruity, the injustice of the thing; and\nnot until he had drunk deep at the fountain of discontent would he take\nup his burden and trudge on, greatly refreshed.\n\nOne day, in pursuance of this strange mode of recreation, he chanced to\nselect the doorstep of a wealthy merchant named _Sindbad the Sailor_,\nand there, through the open window, he heard as it were the chink\nof endless gold. The song, the music, the dance, the laughter of the\nguests--all seemed to shine with the light of jewels and the lustre of\ngolden bars. Immediately he began to revel in his favourite woe. He\nwrung his hands and cried aloud: 'Allah! Can such things be? Look on\nme, toiling all day for a piece of barley bread; and then look on him\nwho knows no toil, yet eateth peacocks' tongues from golden dishes, and\ndrinketh the wine of Paradise from a jewelled cup. What hath he done to\nobtain from thee a lot so agreeable? And what have I done to deserve a\nlife so wretched?'\n\nAs one who flings back a difficult question, and then bangs the door\nbehind him, so the porter rose and shouldered his burden to continue\nhis way, when a servant came running from within, saying that his\nmaster had sharp ears and had invited the porter into his presence for\na fuller hearing of his woes.\n\nAs soon as the porter came before the wealthy owner of the house,\nseated among his guests and surrounded by the utmost luxury and\nmagnificence, he was greeted with the question: 'What is thy name?' 'My\nname is Sindbad,' replied the porter, greatly abashed. At this the host\nclapped his hands and laughed loudly. 'Knowest thou that my name is\nalso _Sindbad_?' he cried. 'But I am _Sindbad the Sailor_, and I have a\nmind to call thee Sindbad the Landsman, for, as thou lovest a contrast,\nso do I.'\n\n'True,' said the porter, 'I have never been upon the sea.'\n\n'Then, Sindbad the Landsman,' was the quick rejoinder, 'thou hast no\nright to complain of thy hard lot. Come, be seated, and, when thou hast\nrefreshed thyself with food and wine, I will relate to thee what at\npresent I have told no man--the tale of my perils and hardships on the\nseas and in other lands--in order to show you that the great wealth I\npossess was not acquired without excessive toil and terrible danger. I\nhave made seven voyages: the first thou shalt hear presently--nay, if\nthou wilt accept my hospitality for seven days, I will tell thee the\nhistory of one each day.'\n\nThus it was, O King, that _Sindbad the Sailor_, surrounded by a\nmultitude of listeners, came to tell the story of his voyages to\nSindbad the Landsman. Now on the fifth day he spoke as follows:\n\nHaving sworn that my fourth voyage should be my last, I dwelt in the\nbosom of my family for many months in the utmost joy and happiness.\nBut soon my heart grew restless in my bosom, and I longed again for\nthe perils of the sea, and the adventures found only in other lands.\nMoreover, I had become inspired of a new ambition to possess a ship of\nmy own in which to sail afar, and even to greater profit than on my\nformer voyages.\n\nI arose, therefore, and gathered together in Baghdad many bales of rich\nmerchandise, and departed for the city of El-Basrah, where, in the\nriver's mouth, I soon selected a splendid vessel. I purchased this and\nsecured a master and a crew, over whom I set my own trusty servants.\nThen, together with a goodly company of merchants as passengers, their\nbales and mine being placed in the hold, I set sail.\n\nFair weather favoured us as we passed from island to island, bartering\neverywhere for gain, as merchants do, until at length we came to an\nisland which seemed never to have known the fretful heel of man. Here\nwe landed, and, almost immediately, on sweeping our gaze over the\ninterior, we espied a strange thing, on which all our attention and\nwonder soon became centred.\n\nThere in the distance shone beneath the sun a great white dome. Loud\nwas the talk among us as to the meaning of this. Some said the island\ncould not be uninhabited since a mosque was built upon it; others\ncontended that, as the island was uninhabited, the structure could\nnot be a mosque. A third party, cooling their minds in the shade of\nthe trees, preferred idly that it was probably some huge white rock\nsmoothed and rounded by wind and weather; yet even these, when the\ndiscussion became heated, were constrained by curiosity to follow as we\nbent our steps inland to discover what this strange object really was.\n\nAs we drew nearer and nearer the wind-and-weather merchants lost in\ncountenance what they gained in speed, for the mystery deepened: it\nwas very clear that no mere wind and weather could have fashioned such\na perfect, glistening dome. Nearer still, and then we all ran our\nutmost, and arrived breathless at the base of the marvellous structure.\nGigantic and perfect in form, this must be some wonderful dome built\nto the glory of Allah, and fashioned in such a way that, with its\nlower half imbedded in earth and its upper half rising in the air,\nit typified at once the division and the union of heaven and earth.\nA learned merchant of our company--one who had travelled greatly in\nthe further realms of Ind--raised his voice and assured us that the\nobject represented the mysterious Hiranyagarbha--the Egg of All Things;\nwhereupon another, to test this theory in derision, struck violently\nwith his hatchet upon the shell of this supposed egg. 'If this be the\negg of Hiranya--something,' he shouted, 'let us get to the yolk!'\n\nFollowing his words, and his blow, the strangest thing happened.\nThe great dome seemed to shake itself as if something within it had\nawakened to life. We stood in awe and waited. Then, as a chicken comes\nforth out of its shell, there came forth, with a terrific rending of\nthe dome, a mighty fledgling having the aspect of that monstrous bird,\nthe rukh, which, when grown, darkens the sky with its wings.\n\n'It is indeed the young of the rukh,' I cried, for well I knew the\nbird. 'Beware!'\n\nAt first we were terrified beyond measure, but soon some among us,\nseeing the helplessness of the creature, set upon it with their\nhatchets, and, though I pleaded with them to forbear, it was quickly\nslain and dismembered.\n\n'Woe!' I cried. 'Ye have slain the offspring of the rukh, and, as the\ntime of hatching was near, the parents will come, and there will be\ntrouble.'\n\nBut they heeded my words so little that they roasted and ate the\nchoicest parts of the young rukh, and left the remains as a sign of\ncontempt. I, who live to tell the tale, O Landsman, did not eat. In\nvain I entreated them to conceal all traces of their foul crime,\neven as they had concealed the choicest portions in their capacious\nstomachs. In vain I told them what I had learnt by costly peril at the\nhands of the giant rukh, foretelling the dire vengeance of those fierce\nmonsters of the sky. Indeed, from the experiences of a former voyage,\nas you know, I had every reason to fear them. But the merchants,\nsmacking their lips at the memory of their repast, laughed in my face.\n'We have dined,' said they, 'and your fearsome rukhs cannot touch us.'\nTo this I returned no word, but a stern face; for I knew the power of\nthe rukh.\n\nWe returned towards the ship, but we had no sooner reached the seashore\nwhen we saw the master making signs of wild alarm. Shouting loudly to\nus to make all haste he pointed towards the horizon. He had sailed\nthose seas before, and he knew, as did I, the sign of a terrible\ndanger. There in the distance were two black clouds, growing rapidly\nlarger.\n\n'A storm!' cried some among us.\n\n'Nay, nay,' I answered. 'I would it were, even a twofold storm. Storms\ncome not so. Yonder come the rukh and his mate to attend the hatching\nof their young. Aboard! aboard! We may yet escape.'\n\nAs soon as I had given this warning there were hurry and scurry among\nthe merchants. The flesh of the young rukh seemed to have turned within\nthem, and it now cried out for vengeance. With all haste we made our\nway on board the ship.\n\n'What have ye done?' cried the master in alarm.\n\nThey were silent.\n\n'They have roasted and eaten the young of the rukh,' I said. The master\nwrung his hands and his face blanched. Then he sprang to action.\n\n'All sail! all sail!' he cried out. 'Woe be on us if we escape not\nquickly. They know not yet, but when they learn they will rest not\nuntil----'\n\nInstantly the crew leapt to the ropes, while the merchants stood around\nin terror, regarding the two black clouds as they drew rapidly towards\nus, side by side. Now they loomed nearer as monstrous birds, and\npresently they passed overhead, darkening the sky as they craned their\ngigantic necks and looked down upon us with suspicion.\n\nWith the utmost speed the ship was put upon her way, the while we\nwatched the rukhs hover and settle inland. We were already speeding\nfast for the open sea when we saw them rise and circle in the air,\nheard their hoarse complaint and clamour for vengeance, and noted their\nswift swoop towards the rocky heights of the interior. We gave a sigh\nof relief. We thought we had escaped, so well did the breeze serve us;\nbut we had forgotten, or did not yet know, the power of wings.\n\nSoon there arose from the far heights of the island two gigantic\nshapes. As they moved towards us they grew bigger and bigger, and now\nwe heard the oarage of their wings, ever louder and louder on our\nears. They were coming, the rukhs, to wreak vengeance; and, now we saw\nit with fear, in the talons of each was a granite crag torn from the\nbedrock of the island. Their purpose was as plain as it was terrible.\n\nWe cowered as they drew overhead. They circled round the ship, each\nclutching its mighty rock and giving forth cries of rage and fury. Now\nthey hovered above us, and one let go his missile of destruction. Our\nsteersman, bent on taking the vessel this way and then that, evaded the\nfalling crag, which fell a caster's throw astern. The ship danced high\non the mountain waves raised by the falling mass, and then fell as deep\ninto the watery valleys between them. We thought our time had come, but\nit was not yet, though it was soon to be. No sooner had we come to rest\non a level tide than the other rukh hovered above us and dropped its\ncrag. It struck the ship in the middle and split it to pieces.\n\nIn that moment all was a swirl of confusion. The crash of the rock, the\ncries of the giant birds, the wash of the waves on my ears--these were\nthe last things I knew. It seems to me that I gripped some wreckage,\nand, lying thereupon in a swoon, was borne onwards by the tide to the\nshores of an island; for, when I awoke to life, I found myself on a\nsandy slope, with my head on the high-water mark and my feet against\nthe stranded wreckage that had supported me.\n\nAs if from death's door I crawled up and away, gaining strength as\nI went, until I reached a point from which I could view the nature\nof the island. Allah! What a paradise it was! Streams of fresh, pure\nwater wimpled down between banks where grew the lordliest trees laden\nwith the rarest fruits. The sight gave me fresh strength. I rose and\nwandered from stream to stream, drinking the cool water and plucking\nand eating the delicious fruit. But, O Sindbad the Landsman, though I\nknew it not, there was a vile snake in this paradise, as I was soon to\ndiscover to my cost.\n\nComing at length to a stream of some width, I sat down upon a mossy\nbank with my back against a tree to watch the rippling current purling\nby. Lulled by this and the songs of the birds, I became drowsy and\nturned to find a soft bed on the moss, when I caught sight of an object\nwhich arrested my attention. There, sitting against the tree next to\nmine, was an aged man of comely and benevolent aspect.\n\nI regarded him intently. What a kindly old man he looked, with his\nflowing silver locks and his ample white beard! The more did I consider\nhim one of nature's innocent children from the fact that his body was\nclothed from the waist downwards with the green leaves of trees--a\nraiment neatly threaded together on the fibres of some plant. As I\nscrutinised his appearance intently for some moments I felt that here\nwas one of the simplest and kindliest disposition, who knew not the\nmeaning of wrong. I arose and advanced towards him, but, when I spoke,\nhe shook his head sadly and sighed. Alas! Was he deprived of the power\nof speech? To make certain, I saluted him, saying, 'Allah be with\nthee!' But he merely bowed his head, making no other reply. All my\nquestions brought never a word: he was, indeed, dumb. But he could make\nintelligent signs, and I perceived by these that it was his greatest\nwish to be carried across the stream. Seeing that he was old and infirm\nas well as dumb, I readily consented. My heart was sorry for him, and I\nstooped down and told him to climb upon my shoulders. This he did with\nalacrity, and so I carried him over the stream.\n\n[Illustration: KNOWEST THOU MY NAME IS ALSO SINDBAD? p. 44]\n\nBut, when I stooped for him to dismount on the further bank, he showed\nno manner of inclination to do so. On the contrary, he gripped me with\nboth hands round my throat, and beat me violently in the ribs with his\nheels. What with the throttling, and the hard blows with his heels, I\nswooned away; but, notwithstanding, when I regained my senses I found\nthe old fellow still clinging like a leech to my neck. And now he\nbelaboured me so unmercifully that I was forced to rise against my will.\n\nOnce on my feet I determined to shake him off, but he rode me well,\nand even my efforts to crush him against the trunks of trees were\nof no avail. I ran hither and thither wildly, employing every trick\nagainst him, but all in vain: he kept his seat, and with hand and heel\npunished me severely. In less than an hour I was broken to the will\nof this truculent fellow, and he guided me hither and thither among\nthe fruit-trees, pulling me up when he would gather fruit and eat, and\nurging me on again when he so desired.\n\nIn this fashion he stuck to me all that day, and such was his behaviour\nthat I forswore my first opinion of him. He was by no means the gentle\nbeing I had thought him. Though he clung so close we were not friends,\nnor likely to become such. I was his bond-slave, and he ceased not\nto remind me of it by his utterly vile behaviour. When I dallied he\nthrashed me unmercifully with his feet; when I thought to brush him off\nagainst the overhanging branch of a tree he would duck his head and\nthrottle me with his long bony hands. At night, when I slept exhausted,\nI woke to find him digging his heels into me in his sleep; indeed, once\nit seemed that I had thwarted him in a dream, for he thrashed me up and\ntreated me abominably. I thought my end had come.\n\nThus for many days and nights was I beridden by this abandoned fellow,\nforced hither and thither at his will, with never a word from him,\nthough he had many from me. So great was my agony that I turned upon\nmyself, crying, 'By the living Allah! never again will I do a kindness\nto any; never again will I show mercy!'\n\nLong I pondered by what subtle trick I might unseat him. I thought of\nmany things, but dared not try one of them, lest it should fail and I\nbe punished unmercifully. But at last Allah took pity on me and threw a\nstrange opportunity in my way.\n\nIt chanced that, one day, while I was being goaded about the island,\nwe came upon a place where pumpkins grew. They were ripe and luscious,\nand, while the old fellow was eating greedily, I bethought me of a\nfashion of our own country. I gathered some of the largest, and, having\nscooped them out, I filled them with the juice squeezed from grapes\nwhich I found growing in abundance near by. Then I sealed them up\nand set them in the sun. In this way I obtained in a few days a good\nquantity of pure wine.\n\nThe old man did not notice my curious behaviour--he was always engaged\nin eating pumpkins--until one day I drank so deep of my new-made wine\nthat I became exalted, and danced and rollicked about with him among\nthe trees. With fist and heel he sought to sober me, requiring to know\nthe reason of my merriment. At length I took him to the spot where I\nhad laid my pumpkins in the sun, and then, laughing and dancing again,\nsigned to him that they contained pure wine.\n\nThe idea was new to him, but, when he understood that I had drunk with\nsuch pleasant results, he insisted on drinking also. So I unsealed one\nof the pumpkins and handed it to him, whereupon he drank and smacked\nhis lips. Then he drank again and again and again, with evident\nsatisfaction, until the wine taking effect, and the pumpkin being\nempty, he broke it over my head and bade me hand him another. This also\nhe emptied and broke in the same manner. Being by this time in a state\nof vile intoxication, he thrashed me thrice round the open space, and\nthen in among the trees, behaving in the wildest manner possible,\nrocking and rolling from side to side with laughter.\n\nNow I had not drunk so much of the wine that I could not see my chance.\nI adopted the utmost docility, and, never letting him suspect my\npurpose, contrived to regain the place where I had laid the pumpkins\nin the sun. As I had expected, he demanded another, and I gave it him.\nThis time he drank half the wine and emptied the remainder over my\nface,--so vile was this creature of sin. Then I perceived with joy that\nhe was losing control of his limbs. He swayed from side to side, and\nhis head lolled. Slowly I unwound his legs from my neck, and then, with\na vicious twist, I flung him on the ground.\n\nAs I looked upon him lying there, my joy turned for the moment to\nuncontrollable fury. I thought of what I had endured at the hands of\nthis aged villain. Should I allow him to live he would surely serve\nsome other poor shipwrecked traveller in the same abominable fashion.\nThe island would be well rid of such an inhuman monster. Without\nanother thought I slew him then and there. May his accurs\u00e9d spirit be\nridden for ever by a worse than himself!\n\nI went forth upon the island like one walking on air. Never was mortal\nman rid of so heavy a burden as I had just flung from me. Even the\nvery atmosphere of the place seemed light and joyous with relief. The\nstreams rippled more merrily, the birds sang more sweetly, the dreamy\ntrees sighed with content as if at a great and long-desired riddance.\nThey all seemed to feel that this terrible old man no longer oppressed\nthem: his legs were no longer round their necks, his masterful feet\nand hands no longer gripped them in a vice. Rid--all was rid of an\nintolerable burden. Having found a shady spot, I sank down on the bank\nof a stream and wiped my brow, thanking Allah devoutly for this sweet\ndeliverance.\n\nFor long days thereafter I sat by the seashore scanning the ocean for\nthe speck of a sail. But none came in sight, and I was abandoning\nmyself to the thought that Allah had rescued me from one peril\nonly to consign me into the hands of another--that of death by\ndesolation--when one morning I descried a large ship standing in\ntowards the shore. She cast her anchor, and many passengers landed on\nthe island. With a great shout of joy I ran down to greet them. Many\nvoices answered mine, and all plied me with questions respecting my\ncondition. Presently, perceiving that my case was extraordinary, they\nceased questioning while I told them my story. They listened with\namazement. Then some one said:\n\n'In my travels in these seas I have heard many tales of such an old man\nof whom thou speakest, dwelling alone upon an island, and lying in wait\nfor shipwrecked sailors. I know not how these tales were spread abroad,\nfor it is said that of those he has ridden none has survived. Thou art\nthe only survivor. His name is called the Old Man of the Sea. But now\nhe is no more: Allah be praised for that! and thou hast escaped: Allah\nbe praised for that also!' And all extolled the greatness of Allah.\n\nI returned with them to the ship, and they clothed me in rich apparel\nand set food and wine before me; and, when I had refreshed myself, we\nmade merry as the ship set sail.\n\nWe were bound for El-Basrah, and my thoughts flew further,--to Baghdad,\nthe Abode of Peace.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGreat as had been the sufferings I endured, I soon forgot the perils\nwhich had threatened me by sea and in unknown lands. Lapped in luxury\nin the bosom of my family, I lived in Baghdad, the Abode of Peace, in\nthe utmost joy and happiness.\n\nAnd now, O Sindbad the Landsman, thou shalt dwell here with me for ever\nin content, and be my well-beloved boon companion. Thou hast suffered\nmuch on land, but thou hast never been in far-off lands and seas where\nI, as you shall further hear, have suffered enough for the two of\nus. Wherefore, remain thou beneath my roof, for I have conceived an\naffection for thee; and together we shall live in happiness, praising\nAllah (whose name be exalted!) the Omnipotent Creator of Land and Sea\nand all the wealth which cometh therefrom.\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    I NEVER AT ALL\n    SAW SEWING SO SMALL\n\n    p. 55]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE SEAMSTRESS\n\nA FRENCH SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME\n\n\n    A DEAR little seamstress in Paris I knew;\n    The tiniest possible stitches she drew.\n                  I never at all\n                  Saw sewing so small!\n\n    She made the Notary neckties new;\n    The Apothecary, he had some too.\n                  I never at all\n                  Saw sewing so small!\n\n    The Apothecary, he had some too,--\n    Seamstress, what do I owe to you?\n                  I never at all\n                  Saw sewing so small!\n\n    Seamstress, what do I owe to you?\n    Just six nothings, no more is due.\n                  I never at all\n                  Saw sewing so small!\n\n    Just six nothings, no more is due.\n    Give me a kiss, then,--or give me two!\n                  I never at all\n                  Saw sewing so small!\n\n\n\n\nTHE REAL PRINCESS\n\nAFTER A FAIRY TALE BY HANS ANDERSEN\n\n\nONCE upon a time there was a prince, and, as he knew very well that he\nwas a _real_ prince and could never forget it for a single moment, he\nvery naturally wanted to marry a _real_ princess. He sought one after\nanother, and, after talking about the weather and the health of the\nemperor, he found in each case that there was something about them he\ndidn't like--something artificial and unprincess-like. When he spoke\ngently they smiled; when he spoke roughly to hurt them, they still\nsmiled--the same smile. They were not a success. None of them was what\nhe wanted. His princess must be so sensitive that she would wither at a\nreproachful glance; so delicately dainty that a spot of dust would make\nher scream, and the draught of a fly's wings cause her a severe cold.\nHe would have the real thing, or nothing.\n\nWhen this exacting prince had duly considered all the princesses in his\nown country, and found them wanting, he set out to travel all over the\nworld, forever saying to himself, 'I am a real prince: there _must_ be\na real princess somewhere.'\n\nHe found plenty of princesses on his travels, but when he spoke to\nthem about the weather he soon found that they were not what he called\n_real_ princesses. They were the daughters of kings and queens, yes,\nbut----\n\nSad and weary he returned home with an empty heart. He had not found\nwhat he set out to seek, yet he was firmly convinced that the world did\ncontain such a thing as a real princess. He wanted her so badly, and\nthat was how he knew that she must be there--somewhere.\n\n[Illustration: NOT A WINK THE WHOLE NIGHT LONG p. 59]\n\nAnd he was right.\n\nOne evening as he was sitting in his father's palace, studying books\nof far-off lands where princesses might be found, there came a fearful\nthunderstorm. The lightning grasped at the earth, spreading its roots\ndown the walls of heaven; the thunder split and roared and rattled as\nif the ceiling was coming down; and, when the cloud-man unsealed his\ncan and tipped it up, swish came the rain in torrents. Indeed, it was a\nfearful night.\n\nWhen the storm had risen to the height of its fury a messenger came\nrunning to the king crying, 'Your Majesty gave orders that all gates be\nlocked and barred, and opened to none; but some one without knocks and\nknocks and knocks, and will not go away.'\n\n'I will go myself,' said the king, 'and see who it is that craves\nadmittance in this fearful storm.'\n\nSo the king went down and opened the palace gates. What was his\nastonishment to see standing there a lovely maiden all forlorn, her\nlong hair drenched with the rain, her beautiful clothes saturated and\nclinging to her form, while the water, trickling from them, ran out at\nher heels. She was in a terrible plight, but she was beautiful, and she\nsaid she was a princess--a real princess. Her mind was distracted: she\ncould not remember how or whence she came, but, being a princess, and\nseeing the palace gates, she had run through the storm and knocked hard.\n\n'A real princess,' said the king, looking her up and down 'Hm! I\nbelieve you, though the queen mightn't. Come in!'\n\nThe old queen received the visitor coldly and with a critical eye. 'We\nshall soon see if she is what she says she is,' thought she, but she\nsaid nothing. Then she went into the spare bedroom, and took off all\nthe bed-clothes, and laid a pea on the bedstead. On top of this she\npiled mattress after mattress to the number of twenty, and then twenty\nfeather beds on top of that. 'Now,' she said to herself, 'here she\nshall sleep, and we shall soon see in the morning whether she is a real\nprincess or not.'\n\nSo they put the princess to bed on the top of the twenty feather beds\nand as many mattresses, and said good-night.\n\nIn the morning they asked her how she had slept.\n\n'Not at all,' replied she wearily; 'not a wink the whole night long.\nHeaven knows what there was in the bed. Whichever way I turned I still\nseemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and, I assure you, this\nmorning my whole body's black and blue. It's terrible!'\n\nThen the old queen told what she had done, and they all saw plainly\nthat this was indeed a real princess when she could feel the pea\nthrough twenty feather beds and twenty mattresses. None but a real\nprincess could possibly have such a delicate skin.\n\nSo the prince married her, quite satisfied that he had now found his\nreal princess.\n\nNow this is a true story, and if you don't believe it you have only to\ngo and look at the pea itself, which is still carefully preserved in\nthe museum--unless some one has stolen it.\n\n\n\n\nMY LISETTE\n\nAN OLD FRENCH SONG\n\n\n    OF all the pretty maidens\n        There ne'er was lassie yet\n    That looked so sweet and sprightly,\n    That moved so gay and lightly,\n        As my darling, my Lisette,--\n          Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n    Her face it is her fortune,--\n        But who will smiling let\n    Me kiss it at my pleasure,\n    Nor ever stint the measure?--\n        'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--\n          Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n    Along the pavement tripping,\n        Through sunshine and through wet,\n    To all, as she advances,\n    Who casts her winning glances?--\n        'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--\n          Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n    To blind, and poor, and crippled,\n        Who gives, without regret,\n    Her bread, and does not sorrow\n    That she must starve to-morrow?--\n        'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--\n            Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n    Who oftentimes deceives me,\n        Though truly no coquette,--\n    And then, for me, who hoaxes,\n    Cajoles, and dupes, and coaxes?--\n        'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--\n            Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n    Who, by her tender teaching,\n        Has aided me to get\n    The impudence and passion\n    Of which my songs I fashion?--\n        'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--\n            Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n    On week-days and on Sundays,\n        Who, in my hovel set,\n    Can turn its corners gloomy\n    To a palace rich and roomy?--\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    'TIS LISETTE WHOM I ADORE\n    AND WITH REASON MORE AND MORE\n\np. 61]\n\n        'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--\n            Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n    When Prudence o'er our playtime\n        Would hold a distant threat,--\n    'Twixt now and what comes after,\n    Who throws her merry laughter?--\n        'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--\n            Little pet!--\n    'Tis Lisette whom I adore,\n    And with reason, more and more!\n\n\n\n\nCINDERELLA\n\nA FAIRY TALE FROM THE FRENCH\n\n\nONCE upon a time there lived a gentleman who married twice. He had one\nfair daughter by his first wife. Ella was sweet and gentle, taking\nafter her dear dead mother, who had been the most lovable of women. His\nsecond wife, a widow with two hard-featured daughters, was very proud\nand overbearing; and, if her two daughters had only never been born,\nor, being born, had died, she would then have possessed the vilest\ntemper in all the world. As it was, the three were all equally gifted\nin that respect.\n\nFrom the very day of the wedding the step-mother and her daughters took\na violent dislike to the young girl, for they could see how beautiful\nshe was, both outwardly and inwardly; and green envy soon turns to\nhate. They dared not show it openly, for fear of the father's anger;\nbut he, poor man, finding he had taken too heavy a burden upon his\nshoulders, fell ill and died,--simply worried into his grave. Then his\nyoung daughter reaped the full measure of jealousy and spite and malice\nwhich her step-mother and sisters could now openly bestow upon her. She\nwas put to do the drudgery of the household at no wages at all, and\nwhat was saved in this way was spent on the finery so sorely needed to\nmake the two hard-featured ones at all passable. The poor girl scrubbed\nthe floors, polished the brights, swept the rooms and stairs, cleaned\nthe windows, turned the mangle, and made the beds; and in the evening,\nwhen all the work was done, she would sit by the kitchen fire darning\nthe stockings for recreation. When bedtime came she would gaze awhile\ninto the fire, answer the door to her step-sisters coming home from\nthe theatre in all their finery; and then, with their stinging words\nstill in her ears, she would creep up to bed in the garret, there, on a\nwretched straw mattress, to sleep fast for very weariness and dream of\nprinces and palaces till at morning light she had to begin her dreary\nround again.\n\nAnd it was indeed a dreary round. No sooner had she begun to sift the\ncinders when the bell would ring, and ring again. One of the sisters\nwanted her,--sometimes both wanted her at once. It was merely a matter\nof a pin to be fixed, or a ribbon to be tied, but when she came to\ndo it she met with a shower of abuse. 'Look at your hands, you dirty\nlittle kitchen slut! How dare you answer the bell with such hands? And\nyour face!--go and look in the glass, Ella: no, go straight to the\nkitchen pump,--you filthy little slut!'\n\nThe 'glass' was corrected to the 'kitchen pump' because they knew very\nwell that if she stood before the glass she would see the reflection of\na very beautiful girl--a reflection which they themselves spent hours\nlooking for but could never find.\n\nYet the child endured it all patiently, and, when her work was done,\nwhich happened sometimes, she would sit in the chimney corner among the\ncinders, dreaming of things which no one knows. And it was from this\nhabit of musing among the cinders that she got her name of Cinder-slut,\nwhich was afterwards softened, for some unknown reason, to _Cinderella_.\n\nNow the day of a great festival drew near. It was the occasion of the\nking's son's coming of age, and it was spread abroad that he would\nselect his bride from among the most beautiful attending the state\nball. As soon as the elder sisters got breath of this they preeked and\npreened and powdered and anointed, and even ran to the door themselves\nat every knock, for they expected invitations; and they were not\ndisappointed, for you will easily see that at a ball even beauty must\nhave its plain background to set it off. Very proud they were of their\ngold-lettered invitation cards bearing the royal seal, and, when they\nrang for _Cinderella_, they held them in their hands to emphasise their\norders. This must be ironed, just so; this must be pressed and set\naside in tissue paper; this must be tucked and frilled and goffered in\njust such a fashion, and so on with crimping and pleating and tabbing\nand piping and boxing, until poor _Cinderella_ began to wonder why the\nlot of some was so easy and the lot of others so hard. Nevertheless,\nshe worked and worked and worked; and always in her drudgery came\nday-dreams of what _she_ would wear if she were invited to the ball.\nShe had it all planned out to the smallest frill,--but how absurd! She\nmust toil at her sisters' bidding and, on the great night when they\nwere there in their finery, she must sit among the cinders dreaming--in\na faery world of her own--of the prince who came to claim her as his\nbride. Fool! what a wild fancy! What an unattainable dream!--and there\nwas the bell ringing again: her sisters wanted something, and woe\nbetide her if she dallied.\n\nAt last the night of the ball arrived. Early towards the evening there\nwas no peace in the household. When the elder sister had fully decided,\nin spite of her complexion, to wear her velvet cramoisie trimmed _\u00e0\nl'anglaise_, and the younger had thought out her gold-flowered robe\nin conjunction with a jewelled stomacher, to say nothing of an old\nsilk underskirt, which, after all, would be hidden; when they had\nsquabbled over the different jewels they possessed, each complimenting\nthe other on the set she desired least herself; when the milliner and\nthe hairdresser had called and gone away exhausted; when the beauty\nspecialist had reached the limit of his art and departed sighing\nheavily; then and not till then was _Cinderella_ called up and allowed\nthe great privilege of admiring the result.\n\nNow _Cinderella_ had, by nature, what one might call 'absolute taste.'\nShe knew instinctively how one should look at a state ball, and she\ngave them her simple, but perfect, advice, with a deft touch to this\nand that, which made all the difference. She got no thanks, of course;\nbut one of the sisters did unbend a little.\n\n'_Cinderella_,' said she, 'wouldn't you like to be going to the ball?'\n\n'Heigho!' sighed _Cinderella_. 'Such delights are not for me. I dream\nof them, but that is all.'\n\n'Quite enough, too,' said the other sister. 'Fancy the Cinder-slut at a\nball! How the whole Court would laugh!'\n\n_Cinderella_ made no reply, though the words hurt her. Pin after pin\nshe took from her mouth and fixed it dexterously, where you or I\nmight have done some accidental damage with it, and drawn blood. But\nnot so _Cinderella_. She had no venom in her nature. When she had\narrayed them perfectly she expected no thanks, but just listened to\ntheir fault-finding with a hidden smile. It was only when they had\nleft the house, and she was going downstairs to the kitchen, that one\nword escaped her: 'Cats!' And if she had not said that she would not\nhave been a girl at all, but only an angel. Then she sat down in her\nfavourite place in the chimney corner to look into the fire and imagine\nthings quite different from what they were.\n\nThe house was very still--so still that you could have heard a pin\nfall in the top room. The step-mother was on a visit to a maiden aunt,\nwho was not only dying, but very rich, so the best thing to do was to\nshow the dying aunt her invitation card to the ball and play another\ncard--the ace of self-sacrifice. Yes, the house was _very_ still.\n_Cinderella_, watching the pictures in the glowing embers, could almost\nhear what the prince of her dreams was saying.\n\nAll of a sudden a storm of feeling seemed to burst in her bosom.\nShe--_Cinderella_--was sitting there alone in the chimney corner\ndreaming dreams of princes and palaces: what a contrast between what\n_was_ and what _was not_, nor ever could be! It was too much for the\nchild; she broke down, and, taking her head in her hands, she sobbed as\nif her heart would break.\n\nWhile she was still crying bitterly, a gust of cold air swept through\nthe kitchen. She looked up, thinking that the door had blown open.\nBut no, it was shut. Then she gradually became aware of a blue mist\ngathering and revolving upon itself on the other side of the fireplace.\nIt grew bluer still, and began to shine from within. It spun itself to\na standstill, and there, all radiant, stood the queerest little lady\nyou could ever imagine. Her dress was like that of the fairy mother of\na prince, with billowy lace flounces and a delicate waist. There was\nnot an inch of it that did not sparkle with a jewel. And as this little\nlady stood, fingering her wand and looking lovingly and laughingly\nat _Cinderella_, the girl knew not what to do. She could only smile\nback to those kindly eyes, while, half-dazed, she fell to counting the\npowdered ringlets of her hair, which was so very beautiful that surely\nit must have been grown in Fairyland! Then, when she looked again at\nthe wand and saw a bright blue flame issue shimmering from the tip of\nit, she was certain that the door of Fairyland had opened and some one\nhad stepped out.\n\n'Good evening, my dear,' said the visitant, in the voice and manner of\none who could do things. 'Dry your tears and tell me all about it.'\n\n_Cinderella_ was gazing up at her with wonder in her beautiful eyes,\nthough they still brimmed with misery.\n\n'Oh!' she said, choking down her sobs, 'I want--I want to go----,' and\nthen she broke down again and could say no more.\n\n'Ah! you got that want from me, I'll warrant; for I have come on\npurpose to supply it. You want to go to the ball, my dear; that's what\nyou want, though you didn't know it before. And you shall. Come, come,\ndry your eyes, and we'll see about it. I'm your fairy godmother, you\nknow; and your dear mother, whom I knew very well, has sent me to you.\nThat's better, you've got your mother's smile. Ah! how beautiful she\nwas, to be sure, and you--you're her living image. Now to work! Have\nyou any pumpkins in the garden?'\n\n'What an odd question!' thought _Cinderella_. 'Why pumpkins? But still,\nwhy not?' Then she hastened to assure her fairy godmother that there\nwere plenty of them, big and ripe.\n\nTogether they went out into the dark garden, and _Cinderella_ led the\nway to the pumpkin bed.\n\n'There,' said her godmother, pointing with her wand at the finest and\nlargest, 'pick it and bring it along.'\n\n_Cinderella_, wondering greatly, obeyed, and her godmother led her to\nthe front doorstep, where, bidding the child sit beside her, she took\nfrom the bosom of her dress a silver fruit-knife, and with this she\nscooped out the fruit of the pumpkin, leaving only the rind. This she\nset down in the street before them, and then touched it with her wand,\nwhen, lo and behold! the pumpkin was immediately transformed into a\nmagnificent coach, all wrought with pure gold.\n\n_Cinderella_ was so amazed that she could not speak. She caught a quick\nbreath of delight, and waited.\n\n'That's that!' said her godmother; 'now for the horses. Let me see: I\nsuppose you haven't a mouse trap anywhere in the house.'\n\n'Yes, yes, I have,' cried _Cinderella_; 'I set one early this evening,\nand I always catch such a lot--sometimes a whole family at once.'\n\n'Then go find it, child; we shall want at least six.'\n\nSo _Cinderella_ ran in and found the mouse trap she had set; and, sure\nenough, there was a whole family of six--father and mother, a maiden\naunt, and three naughty children who had led them into the trap. In\nhigh glee _Cinderella_ ran back to her godmother and showed her.\n\n'Yes, yes; that is quite good, but we're going a bit too fast. Here are\nsix horses--though they don't look it at present--but we must first\nhave a coachman to manage them. Now I don't suppose, by any chance,\nyou've got a----'\n\n'A rat?' cried _Cinderella_, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 'Well,\nnow, I _did_ set a rat trap in the scullery--not a guillotine, you\nknow, but just a thing to catch them alive: I always think they much\nprefer to be caught alive and then drowned.'\n\n'Run, then, and see, child. We can do nothing without a\ncoachman,--nothing at all.'\n\nSo _Cinderella_ ran and fetched the rat trap. In it were three large\nrats, and the two inspected them closely.\n\n'I think that's the best one,' said _Cinderella_; 'look at his enormous\nwhiskers! He'd make a lovely coachman.'\n\n'You're right, child; I was just thinking that myself: he's got a good\neye for horse-flesh too.'\n\nWith this the fairy godmother touched him with the tip of her wand,\nand instantly he stood before them--a fat coachman with tremendous\nwhiskers, saluting and waiting for orders.\n\n'Now,' said the fairy godmother to _Cinderella_, 'open the door of the\nmouse trap and let one out at a time.'\n\n_Cinderella_ did so, and, as each mouse came out, the godmother tapped\nit with her wand, and it was immediately changed into a magnificent\nhorse, richly harnessed and equipped. The coachman took charge of them\nand harnessed them to the coach as a six-in-hand.\n\n'That's that!' said the fairy. 'Now for the footmen. Run, child, down\nto the farther end of the garden. There, in the corner, behind the old\nbroken water-pot, something tells me you will find six lizards in a\nnest. Bring them here to me.'\n\n_Cinderella_ ran off, and soon returned with the identical six lizards.\nA tap of the wand on each and there stood six imposing footmen, such\nas are only seen in kings' palaces. Their liveries were dazzling with\npurple and gold. To the manner born they took their places on the coach\nand waited.\n\n'But--but,' cried _Cinderella_, who saw by now that she was bound for\nthe ball, 'how can I go like this? They would all jeer at me.'\n\nHer godmother laughed and chided her on having so little faith. 'Tut,\ntut,' she said, and tapped her on the shoulder with her wand.\n\nWhat a transformation! The girl, lovely indeed in herself, that stood\na moment ago in rags, now stood there a splendid woman--for there is\nalways a moment when a child becomes a woman--and a woman clothed in\ncloth of gold and silver, all bespangled with jewels. The tiring-maids\nof Fairyland had done her hair up to show its beauty, and in it was\nfastened a diamond clasp that challenged the sparkling stars. An\nosprey, too, quivered and danced to the beating of her heart. 'But,'\nsaid _Cinderella_, when she had recovered from her amazement, 'I see\nthat I have lovely silk stockings, yet, O my godmother, where are my\nshoes?'\n\n[Illustration: THERE, SAID HER GODMOTHER, POINTING WITH HER WAND ...\nPICK IT AND BRING IT ALONG p. 69]\n\n'Ah! that is just the point.' And her godmother drew from the folds of\nher dress a pair of glass slippers. 'Glass is glass, I know, my dear;\nand it is not one in a hundred thousand that could wear such things;\nbut perfect fit is everything, and, as for these, I doubt if there is\nany in the world but yourself who could fit them exactly.'\n\n_Cinderella_ took the slippers and poked her toes into them very\ncarefully, for, as her godmother had said, glass is glass, and you have\nto be measured very carefully for it. But what was her delight to find\nthat they were, indeed, an absolute fit. Either her feet had been made\nfor the slippers or the slippers had been made for her feet, it did not\nmatter: it was the same thing, and not a little surprising.\n\nNow _Cinderella_ stood up, a perfect picture, and kissed her godmother\nand thanked her. The carriage was waiting, the horses were restive, the\ncoachman sat on the box, and the footmen were in their places.\n\n'Now, there's just one thing which is rather important,' said the fairy\ngodmother, as _Cinderella_ entered the coach, 'and you must not forget\nit. I can do this, that, and the other, but at midnight there's an end\nto it all. You must leave the ball before the clock strikes twelve,\nfor, if you don't, you'll be in a pretty pickle. Your coach will turn\ninto a pumpkin again, your coachman into a rat, your horses into mice,\nand your footmen into lizards; and there you will be in the ballroom in\nnothing but your dirty rags for all to laugh at. Now, remember; it all\nends at the stroke of twelve.'\n\n'Never fear,' said _Cinderella_. 'I shall not forget. Good-bye!'\n\n'Good-bye, child!'\n\nThen the coachman cracked his whip and the prancing horses sprang\nforward. _Cinderella_ was off to the ball.\n\n'That's that!' said the fairy godmother, as she looked after the\ncoach for a moment. Then the blue flame at the tip of her wand went\nout, and so did she--flick!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was a glorious night. The same moon that had looked down on\n_Cinderella's_ pumpkins now shone upon the king's palace and the royal\ngardens. Within, the ball was at its height. The movement of the dance\nwas a fascinating spectacle. In the great hall the light of a thousand\ncandles was reflected from the polished floor; from the recesses came\nthe soft plash of cool fountains and the fragrance of the rarest\nflowers; while, to the sweet strains of the violins, many pairs of feet\nglided as if on air. Without, among the trees, where hanging lanterns\nshed a dim light and the music throbbed faintly on the warm night air,\ncouples strayed and lingered, speaking in voices sweet and low, while\nfrom cloud to cloud wandered the moon, withdrawing to hide a maiden's\nblushes, shining forth again to light her smiles.\n\nSuddenly a note of something unusual seemed to run through the whole\nscene. The chamberlain was seen to speed hither and thither on some\nquest that left his dignity to see after itself. Breathless he sought\nthe _Prince_, and at last he found him.\n\n'Your Serene Highness,' he gasped, 'a princess of high degree has\njust arrived in state and desires admission. She will not give her\nname, but--if you will permit me to be skilled in these matters--she\nis a lady that cannot be denied. Beautiful as a goddess and proud as\na queen; why, the very jewels in her hair are worth a thousand square\nmiles of territory. Believe me, your Serene Highness, she is a princess\nof exalted dignity.'\n\nThe _Prince_ followed the chamberlain to the gate, where they found\nthe fair unknown waiting in her coach. The _Prince_, silent for want\nof words--she was so very beautiful--handed her down and escorted\nher through the palace gardens, where, as they passed, the guests\nstarted and sighed at sight of one so rare. So they reached the\nballroom, and immediately the dance ceased. Even the music fainted\naway as this vision of beauty came upon the scene. All was at a\nsilent standstill as the _Prince_ led the unknown down the hall, and\nnothing could be heard but whispers of 'Ah! how beautiful she is!'\nand 'Never, never have I seen such loveliness!' Even the old king was\naltogether fascinated. 'My dear!' he said to the queen in a whisper,\n'what an adorable woman! Ah! she and those very words remind me of you\nyourself.' From which the queen, by a rapid retrospect, inferred that\nthe stranger was indeed a very beautiful woman, and did not hesitate to\nadmit it.\n\nThe _Prince_ presented the stranger with few words--for beauty speaks\nfor itself--and then led her out to dance. _Tara tara tara ra ra\nra!_--the fiddles struck up a sprightly measure, and all the couples\nfooted it with glee; but one after another they wilted away to watch\nthe graceful pair, so exquisitely did they dance. And then, as if by\ncommon consent, the music fell to a dreamy waltz; the _Prince_ and the\nfair unknown passed into the rhythm, and all were spellbound as this\nperfect couple danced before them. Even the hard-featured step-sisters\nwere lost in admiration, for little they guessed who the beautiful\nstranger really was.\n\nThe night wore on, and _Cinderella_ danced with the stateliest of the\nland, and again and again with the _Prince_. And when supper was over,\nand the _Prince_ had claimed her for yet another dance, she almost\nfainted in his arms when she happened to glance at the clock and saw\nthat it was just two minutes to twelve. Alas! her godmother's warning!\nShe had fallen madly in love with the _Prince_, as he with her, and she\nhad forgotten everything beside. But now it was a case of quick action\nor she would soon be in rags and coachless; how they would all laugh at\nher then!\n\nWith a wrench she tore herself away, and, concealing her haste till\nshe got clear of the ballroom, sped like a deer through the ways of\nthe palace till she reached the marble steps leading down to the gate,\nwhen she heard with dismay the ominous sound of a great clock striking\ntwelve.\n\nDown she went three steps at a time, a flying figure of haste in the\nmoonlight. One of her glass slippers came off, but she had to leave\nit. There--there was the coach waiting for her. She rushed towards it,\nwhen, lo and behold, as the last stroke of twelve died away, there was\nno coach at all; nothing but a hollow pumpkin by the kerb, and six\nmice and a heavily whiskered rat nibbling at it, to say nothing of six\nlizards wriggling away. And that was not all. She looked at herself in\nhorror. She was in rags!\n\nWith the one thought to hide herself, she ran as fast as her legs would\ncarry her in the direction of her home. She had scarcely covered half\nthe distance when it came on to rain hard, and, before she reached her\ndoorstep, she was drenched to the skin. Then, when she had crept to her\nchimney corner in the kitchen, she made a strange discovery. As you\nknow, the coach and all that appertained to it had disappeared; her\nsplendid attire had gone; but--how was this?--one real glass slipper\nstill remained. The other, she remembered, she had dropped on the steps\nof the palace.\n\n'Well, child?' said a clear voice from the other side of the fireplace;\nand _Cinderella_, looking up, saw her godmother standing there gazing\ndown at her with a quizzical smile.\n\n'The slippers!' she went on. 'Oh no; however forgetful you might have\nbeen, they could never have vanished like the other things. Don't you\nremember, I brought them with me? They were _real_. But where is the\nother one?'\n\n'In my haste to get away I dropped it on the palace steps.' And\n_Cinderella_ began to cry.\n\n'There, there; never mind. Perhaps somebody with a capital S has picked\nit up. You were certainly very careless, but you are not unlucky--at\nleast, not if I can help it.' And when _Cinderella_ looked up through\nher tears her godmother had gone.\n\n'Somebody with a capital S,' mused _Cinderella_, as she gazed into the\ndying fire. 'I wonder!' But just then the bell rang announcing the\nreturn of her step-sisters. Oh! they were full of it! A most beautiful\nprincess had been to the ball, they said, and they had actually spoken\nwith her. She was most gentle and condescending. Their faces shone\nwith reflected glory. And she had left suddenly at midnight, and the\n_Prince_ was beside himself; and there was nothing to show for it all\nbut a glass slipper which he had picked up on the steps of the palace.\nWhat a night! And so they rambled on, little thinking that _Cinderella_\nhad the other glass slipper hidden in her bosom along with other state\nsecrets.\n\nThe next day events followed one another with great rapidity. First,\ncame a royal proclamation. Whereas a lady had cast a slipper at\nthe ball it must be returned to the rightful owner, and so forth.\nSecondly, came news that the slipper had been tried on the princesses,\nduchesses, marchionesses, countesses, and viscountesses, and finally\non the baronesses of the Court, but all in vain. It fitted none of\nthem. Thirdly, it gradually became known that any lady with a foot that\nbetokened good breeding was invited to call at the palace and try on\nthe slipper. This went on for weeks, and finally the prime minister,\nwho carried the glass slipper on a velvet cushion, went out himself to\nsearch for the fitting foot, for the _Prince_ was leading him a dog's\nlife, and threatening all kinds of things unless that foot and all that\nwas joined to it were found.\n\nAt last, going from house to house, he came to _Cinderella's_ sisters,\nwho, of course, tried all they could to squeeze a foot into the\nslipper, but without success. _Cinderella_ looked on and laughed to\nherself to see how hard they tried, and, when they had given it up, she\nsaid gaily, 'Let me try and see if I can get it on.'\n\nHer sisters laughed loudly at the idea of a little kitchen slut trying\nher luck, and began to mock and abuse her; but the chamberlain, seeing\nwhat a beautiful girl she was, maintained that his orders were to try\nit upon every one.\n\nSo _Cinderella_ held out her little foot, and the chamberlain put the\nslipper on quite easily. It fitted like wax. This was an astonishing\nthing, but it was more astonishing still when _Cinderella_ produced the\nother slipper and put it on the other foot. Then, to show that wonders\ncould never cease, the door flew open, and in came the fairy godmother.\nOne touch of her wand on _Cinderella's_ clothes, and there she stood\nagain dressed as on the night of the ball, only this time there were\nnot only jewels in her hair but orange blossoms as well.\n\nThere was a breathless silence for a while. Then, when _Cinderella's_\nstep-sisters realised that she was the same beautiful unknown that they\nhad seen at the ball, they prostrated themselves before her, begging\nher to forgive all. _Cinderella_ took them by the hand and raised them\nup and kissed them. And it melted their hard natures to hear her say\nthat she would love them always.\n\nWhen the fairy godmother had witnessed all this she said to herself,\n'That's that!' and vanished. But she never lost sight of _Cinderella_.\nShe guided and guarded her in all her ways, and, when the _Prince_\nclaimed his willing bride, their way of happiness was strewn with\nroses.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILLY LOVER\n\nA SONG FROM THE FRENCH\n\n\n    BEHOLD me here, my dear to meet!\n        Alas, I must have come too soon!\n        The wind that blows beneath the moon\n    In winter is not over-sweet.\n        Ah! never think my love is backward turning,\n            It still increases by a thousand-fold;\n            O Ursula, for thee\n            My heart is burning,--\n                But I'm so cold!\n\n    I would I had thy hand to kiss,\n        That pledge of faith so white and small,\n        Instead of these great flakes that fall\n    And chill me to the bone like this!\n        Upon my back they tumble helter-skelter,\n            And yet, beyond whatever could be told,\n            O Ursula, for thee\n            I simply swelter,--\n                But I'm so cold!\n\n    While thus my deathless love I trill,\n        My soft guitar for thee I play;\n        Alas, the north wind fierce and grey\n    Plays upon me a measure shrill!\n        On me his miserable music making,\n            Seizing each finger in his icy hold.--\n            O Ursula, for thee\n            My heart is baking,--\n                But I'm so cold!\n\n    Within thy room with friendly glow\n        I see the hearthfire shining clear;\n        The crackling faggots I can hear,--\n    And I am numb from top to toe!\n        Oh, must I freeze while thou art toasting?\n            Shall not my suffering be consoled?\n            Sweet Ursula, for thee\n            I am just roasting,--\n                But I'm so cold!\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    O URSULA, FOR THEE\n    MY HEART IS BURNING,--\n              BUT I'M SO COLD!\n\np. 79]\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE\n\nAN OLD WORLD IDYLL\n\n\nCOUNT GARIN DE BIAUCAIRE, being attacked and besieged by his mortal\nenemy, Count Bougars de Valence, was hard beset and in evil plight. He\ntherefore besought his only son, _Aucassin_, a stalwart and handsome\nyoung man of excellent virtue, to take arms against the foe. _Aucassin_\nrefused to enter to battle unless he were given to wife his true love\n_Nicolette_; but his father answered that _Nicolette_ was a slave-girl\nand a stranger, bought long ago from the Saracens, and no fit mate for\nhis son. _Aucassin_ declared that _Nicolette_ was fit to occupy any\nqueen's throne, and he would not be dissuaded from his love. So the\nCount Garin de Biaucaire spoke privily with his vassal, the captain\nof the city, that he should send away _Nicolette_ forthwith, 'for, if\nI could do my will upon her,' said the Count, 'I would burn her in\na fire.' The captain of the city, _Nicolette's_ foster-father, who\nhad bought her, had her baptized, and brought her up, was distressed\nat this; but, having knowledge that _Aucassin_ was enamoured of the\nmaiden, he shut her up in a richly painted chamber in his palace, which\nlooked through one small window into the garden. There _Nicolette_ was\nkept in durance, with one old woman to attend her; and she saw the\nroses, and heard the birds in the garden, and resolved that she would\nescape to her own true love.\n\n_Nicolette_ being thus shut away, it was rumoured through all the land\nhow she was lost; and some said that Count Garin de Biaucaire had slain\nher. Thereupon _Aucassin_, in great sorrow and anger, went and demanded\nher of the captain. But he got no satisfaction from the captain, who\nadvised him, even as his father had done, to take a maiden of high\ndegree to wife, and think no more of _Nicolette_. So _Aucassin_ went\nhome to his chamber and lamented for his love. And at this hour the\ncastle was suddenly assaulted by the army of Count Bougars de Valence.\nCount Garin de Biaucaire, again seeking that _Aucassin_ should take\narms to the defence of his heritage, came in and found him making\nmoan for _Nicolette_. Hot words passed between them; but presently\n_Aucassin_ covenanted with his father that, if he overcame the foe, he\nshould be allowed to see _Nicolette_, if only for a moment.\n\n[Illustration: BUT NICOLETTE ONE NIGHT ESCAPED p. 82]\n\nSo he rode forth into the fray. But so full was his mind of his love,\nthat he dreamed instead of doing, and was taken prisoner and about to\nbe slain. Then he aroused himself and struck down all around, and rode\nback home with Count Bougars de Valence as his captive. And when he\nclaimed his father's promise, the Count Garin de Biaucaire not only\nforbade him any sight of _Nicolette_, but flung him into a dungeon till\nhe should forgo the love of her.\n\nSo _Aucassin_ lay bewailing in his dungeon; but _Nicolette_ one night\nescaped, letting herself down by the window, wrapped in a silken cloak,\nand crept along through the streets of Biaucaire until she came to the\ntower where her lover was. And they had speech of each other; and she\ncut off her golden curls and cast them to _Aucassin_ through a crevice.\nBut when she told him that she must leave that land, he was greatly\nangered and forbade her. Then the sentinel on the tower, who was aware\nof _Nicolette_, took pity on her, warning her that the town-guard were\neven now seeking her with swords to slay her.\n\n_Nicolette_ sank into the shadow till the guard passed by; then she\nmade her farewell to _Aucassin_, and with hardship let herself down\nthe castle wall into the fosse, being assured that she would be burned\nby Count Garin if she still abode in Biaucaire. And she hid herself in\nthe outskirts of the forest until next day at noon. There came some\nshepherd lads then, and ate bread on the fringe of the forest. By these\n_Nicolette_ sent a secret message to _Aucassin_, which none but he\nmight understand, and she built herself a little lodge of oak-leaf\nboughs and lily flowers--and hither, after much quest, came _Aucassin_,\nsearching vainly for his love. Then the lovers had much joy of this\nmeeting; and they rode away together on one horse until they reached\nthe seashore and took ship. But a storm arose and drove their vessel\nupon the coast of the country of Torelore. In this land men did battle\nwith eggs, baked apples, and fresh cheeses; and _Aucassin_ with his\nsword put the foes of the king to flight.\n\nWhen _Aucassin_ and _Nicolette_ had dwelt here for three years in great\ndelight, a company of Saracens stormed the castle of Torelore, and\ncarried them off separately captive; and the ship which held _Aucassin_\nwas drifted by a tempest back home to Biaucaire, where his father and\nmother were dead. So now he was lord of that land; but he cared for\nnothing in the world but to regain his love _Nicolette_. As for her,\nshe was also at home; for the ship which carried her pertained to\nthe king of Carthage, her father, from whom she had been stolen as a\nlittle child. And when her father and brothers knew her, they made much\nof her, and would have wedded her to a Paynim king. But _Nicolette_\nobtained a viol, and learned to play it; then she dyed herself all\nbrown with a certain herb, and attired herself as a harper-boy. She\npersuaded a shipmaster to carry her to the land of Provence, and there\nshe came to the castle of Biaucaire, and sang to her viol what had\nbefallen _Nicolette_. _Aucassin_ was overjoyed to know that _Nicolette_\nwas living, and he bade the harper-boy to go fetch _Nicolette_\nfrom Carthage that he might wed her. _Nicolette_ then went to her\nfoster-mother, the captain's wife, and rested there eight days, till\nshe was washed and anointed and richly clothed, and fairer than ever.\nAnd she sent that lady to bring _Aucassin_ her love, who was weeping\nin the palace for lack of her. So were these true lovers reunited and\nwedded, and for all their sorrows they had a double happiness, their\nwhole lives long.\n\n\n\n\nBLUE BEARD\n\nAN OLD TALE FROM THE FRENCH\n\n\nTHINK of it! A man rich as a prince, of fine upstanding presence and\ncommanding manner; a man of great moment in Baghdad!\n\nThink of it again! A man cursed by nature with a beard that was quite\nblue, from the roots of the hairs to their very tips!\n\nTo be sure, he had three alternatives in the matter. First, he might\nshave it off, thus avoiding earthly ugliness while renouncing all hope\nof a place in Paradise; secondly, he might marry a scold, and so become\nprematurely grey; and last, he might keep his blue beard and remain the\nugliest man in all the world. There was no other alternative, for the\nbeard was so deadly blue that no dye could touch it.\n\nHe had staked his chances on the second point: he _had_ married, and\nmore than once; but, although his wives had disappeared mysteriously,\nhis blue beard still remained, as blue as ever. How it was that he\nhad ever found any woman blind enough to marry him it is difficult to\nimagine, for he was so frightfully ugly that most women at sight of him\nran away screaming, and hid in the cellar. But it is only fair to say\nthat _Blue Beard_ had such a way with him that, given two hours' start,\nhe could snap his fingers at any rival.\n\nNow it so happened that in his neighbourhood there lived a lady of\nquality, who had two sons and two daughters; and, in his walks abroad,\n_Blue Beard_ often met the two girls, and soon fell into the lowest\ndepths of love. Both were adorable, and he really could not decide\nwhich one he preferred. Always in exquisite doubt on the point, he\nfinally approached the mother and asked her for the hand of one of her\ndaughters, leaving the choice to her. And she, like a wise woman, said\nnothing, but simply introduced _Blue Beard_ to _Anne_ and _Fatima_, and\nleft the rest to nature and their own fancies.\n\n[Illustration: SEVEN AND ONE ARE _EIGHT_, MADAM! p. 94]\n\nBut neither _Anne_ nor _Fatima_ fell in love with their admirer at\nfirst sight. His beard was so blue that they could not endure it, and,\nbetween them, they led him a dance. Neither was inclined to marry a man\nwith a beard like that, and, what made matters worse, they soon learned\nthat he had already been married several times, and that his wives had\ndisappeared mysteriously. This was rather disconcerting, and each was\nangling for a brother-in-law rather than a husband.\n\nBut, as already stated, _Blue Beard_ had a way with him. He did not\nexpect to be accepted at first asking. Indeed, when he proposed, first\nto one and then to the other, they both said, 'Oh! you must see father\nabout it.' Now _Blue Beard_ knew very well that their father, having\nled a very wicked life, was dead and gone; and, as he pondered over it,\nstroking his beard the while, he began to realise what they meant when\nthey said, 'You must see father about it.'\n\nBut _Blue Beard_ did not despair, he merely altered his plan. He\ninvited the whole family, with some of their chosen friends, to one\nof his country houses, where he gave them the time of their lives.\nHunting, hawking, shooting with the bow, or fishing for goldfish in the\nponds, they enjoyed themselves to the full, especially in the evenings,\nwhen they were rowed upon the lake to the sound of beautiful music, and\nmade moonlight excursions to some of _Blue Beard's_ ruined castles, of\nwhich he possessed quite a number. Whatever the nature of the day's\npleasure-party, the night hours were taken up with banqueting, dancing,\nor some other form of revelry, until such a late hour that _Blue\nBeard_ said to himself, 'Only wait till I marry one of them, then we\nshall see who is master.' For the present he was content to take their\npranks in good part. When he found himself trying in vain to get into\nan apple-pie bed he merely laughed; when he found his pillow stuffed\nwith prickly cactus, or the sleeves and legs of his garments stitched\nup so that he could not put them on, he swore merrily and fell more\ndeeply in love than ever. One day they cut down the stem of an aloe\nthat was about to flower--a thing which happened only once in every\nhundred years. The head gardener, who had been listening every day for\nthe loud report with which the aloe blossoms burst their sheath, was\nheart-broken when he saw what had been done; but _Blue Beard_ consoled\nhim by raising his wages, saying that in a hundred years' time, when\nevery one was bald, the plant might blossom again,--what did it matter?\nIn fact, things went so smoothly, and everything in the garden was\nso very lovely, that the younger daughter, _Fatima_, being the more\npoetical and impressionable of the two, began quietly to think what\na splendid beard their host's would be if it were not so blue. From\nthis--for you know that love is colour-blind--she began to see the\nbeard in a different light. Like a dutiful and affectionate daughter\nshe spoke to her mother upon the point.\n\n'Mother,' she said, 'it may be only my fancy, but I really think his\nbeard _has_ changed a little in colour during the last few days.\nPerhaps it's the country air, I don't know; but it doesn't seem to me\n_quite_ so blue, after all.'\n\n'My darling child,' replied the mother, 'it is strange that you should\nhave mentioned that. I had also noticed it, but, thinking my sight\nwas failing me, I feared that old age was creeping on, and so held my\ntongue on the matter.'\n\n'That settles it, dear mother. Sooner than believe that you are growing\nold and your sight is failing I prefer to believe that what we have\nboth noticed is an actual fact. But mind you, though there is a slight\nchange, it is still horribly blue, mother.'\n\n'Yes, dear; but blue's a very nice colour. It's lucky to some people.\nThe eyes of the Goddess of Love were blue; the sky above is blue; the\nbird of paradise is blue; the deep sea is blue. Press your thumbs on\nyour eyes and what do you see? Blue--the deepest blue imaginable: it is\nthe light of the mind and soul burning in your head, dear; and that is\nwhy poets and singers are so fond of blue.'\n\n'Then you think----'\n\n'Think? I _know_, child. Besides, a man with a blue beard is different\nfrom all other men; and besides, again, in the dark all beards are\nblack.'\n\n'But even in the light, dear mother, you think it is changing--just a\nlittle?'\n\n'Yes, my darling, I do. And the reason I know full well. He has fallen\nin love, dear; and I think I know with whom. And love can work wonders.\nJust as grief can turn black hair grey, so can love turn a blue\nbeard----'\n\n'Not grey, mother. Say a greyish blue.'\n\n'I was going to say a bluish grey. But there;--if this worthy\ngentleman suffers from an affliction,--which, mind you, I am far from\nallowing,--what could be sweeter in a woman than to pity him? And pity,\nmy darling, sometimes leads to love.'\n\n_Fatima_ then sought her sister _Anne_, and told her what was on\nher mind. 'Oh, well,' said _Anne_ when she had heard all about the\nwonderful change, 'your having discovered it now saves me the trouble\nof finding it out later on. Not only do I thank you, _Fatima_, I\ncongratulate you.'\n\nGreatly relieved by her mother's and her sister's attitude, _Fatima_\ndecked herself out in her best, and waited for _Blue Beard_ to come and\nfind her, which she felt sure he would do. And she was right. That very\nevening _Blue Beard_ led her aside from the others into the garden,\nwhere the moon was shining and the nightingales singing. And there he\nspoke soft words to her, and wooed and won her for his wife. As soon as\nthey returned to town the wedding was celebrated, and there were great\nrejoicings over the happy event.\n\nNow, shortly after the honeymoon was over, _Blue Beard_ was called away\ninto the country on matters of urgent importance, which would occupy\nhis attention for at least six weeks. And when _Fatima_, on hearing\nthis, pouted and began to cry, he sought to console her by suggesting\nthat she should amuse herself among her friends during his absence.\n\n'See now, my dear,' he said, 'these keys will unlock all the doors for\nyou so that you shall want for nothing. These two are the keys of the\nstore-chambers, and these others open the strong-rooms where the gold\nand silver plate is kept. These here are the keys to my money chests,\nand these smaller ones fit the locks of my jewel coffers. But this\nlittle one here'--he separated a curious little key from the others and\nshowed it her--'is the key of the little room with the iron door at the\nend of the great corridor. Do what you will with all the rest, but, I\nwarn you, open not that door. Now, I have trusted you with everything:\nif you disobey me in this one little matter you will incur my gravest\ndispleasure.'\n\n'That will I never do,' said _Fatima_ as she took the keys from his\nhand. And she meant it at the time. _Blue Beard_ kissed her, embracing\nher fondly. Then he entered his coach and was driven away.\n\n_Fatima_, in her grand home, eagerly welcomed the chance of holding\nhigh revelry and playing hostess to her friends. They all came\nrunning at her invitation, and were immediately shown over the great\nhouse. Rooms, cupboards, wardrobes, closets, cabinets and presses\nwere opened by the aid of keys on the bunch, and they went into\necstasies over the wonderful treasures the house contained. There were\nmagnificent pictures, tapestries, costly silk hangings, gold and silver\nornaments, the loveliest soft carpets, and, best of all, gold-framed\nlooking-glasses reaching from floor to ceiling. These last, which cast\none's reflection taller and fairer than the original inlooker, were the\nsubject of long and careful admiration. All spoke with rapture of the\nsplendid luxury of the place, and congratulated _Fatima_ on her great\ngood fortune.\n\n'For my part,' said one, 'if my husband could give me such a\nmagnificent house as this, I would not trouble about the colour of his\nbeard.'\n\n'You're right,' said another. 'Why, for half this grandeur I would\nmarry a man even if his beard were all the colours of the rainbow,\nespecially if he went away and left me the keys of the whole house.'\n\n'The _whole_ house,' thought _Fatima_; 'nay, this little key here he\nhas forbidden me to use. I wonder why!'\n\nBut he had been so stern about it--and his beard got very blue when\nhe was angry--that _Fatima_ put her curiosity away, and continued to\nentertain her guests. Still, the temptation to slip away and open\nthat forbidden door returned again and again; but always she said to\nherself, 'Nay; I have the run of the whole house beside: is it a great\nmatter that I am forbidden one pokey little room at the end of a dark\ncorridor?' Then, having triumphed for the twentieth time, she fell\nat last the more easily;--at least she fell to this extent, that she\nslipped away from her guests and ran along the corridor, just to go and\ntake a peep at the door.\n\nThere was nothing unusual about the door. It was of plain, solid\niron, and the key-hole was very small. She wondered if the little key\nwould fit it. She tried, and found that it went in quite easily; yet,\nremembering her promise, she would not turn it, but pulled it out\nagain and tore herself away. But, after all, she could not see what\npossible harm there could be in opening a small room like that and just\nhaving one look inside. Besides, if her husband had been really serious\nhe would have kept the key himself and not given it to her with the\nothers. To be sure, he was a kind, indulgent husband, and would not\nbe so very angry; and then, again, he need never know that she _had_\nopened the door.\n\nWith thoughts like these passing quickly in her mind she hesitated,\npaused, and finally turned again to the door. Her disobedient hands\ntrembled as she selected the key a second time, detached it from the\nbunch, and inserted it in the lock. In another moment she had turned it\nand pushed the heavy door open.\n\nAt first, as the shutters were closed, she could see nothing; but\ngradually her eyes became accustomed to the dim light and she saw\nthat the floor was of porphyry,--at all events, it was red. Then, as\nshe shaded her eyes from the light creeping through the chinks of\nthe shutters, and peered more closely, she discovered to her horror\nthat what she had taken for porphyry was nothing of the kind--_it\nwas blood!_--Here it had clotted in dark crimson pools, and there it\nhad run in little streams along the irregular stone floor. Quickly\nshe traced those streams to their source by the opposite wall, where,\nas she raised her eyes, she discerned seven dark forms hanging feet\ndownwards from seven spikes driven through their necks into the masonry.\n\nHer first impulse was to flee from the spot;--then there came a\ndreadful thought, and she stayed. Whose bodies were those hanging\nin the forbidden cupboard? She took a step forward and inspected\nthem more closely. Yes, they were women, and they had been young and\nbeautiful. O horror of horrors! Could it be true? Were those the bodies\nof _Blue Beard's_ wives, who had disappeared, one after another, so\nmysteriously? There they hung, spiked through the neck, their feet\ndangling above pools of their life's blood,--mute evidence of foul\nmurder.\n\nAs _Fatima_ stood gazing at the scene before her, her eyes dilated\nwith fear, and, her breath coming in gasps, the little key fell from\nher fingers and clinked upon the floor. The sound recalled her to her\nsenses, and she picked the key up hastily. Then she turned and rushed\nout; and, having locked the door,--no easy feat with such trembling\nhands,--she ran upstairs, her face as pale as death. She thought to\nescape and regain her composure in her own room, but, when she arrived\nthere, she found it full of her guests, who were so busy admiring its\nluxurious appointments that her pallor went unnoticed. One by one,\nhowever, perceiving that she was tired, they melted away, promising to\ncome again on the morrow,--unless her husband was expected to return.\nIt was evident they feared him; so did she, now.\n\nAt last they were all gone, and, as soon as she was left alone, she\nbethought her of the key and drew it from her pocket. What was her\nhorror to observe the dull red stain of blood upon it, which she had\nnot noticed when she picked it up from the blood-smeared floor of the\ndreadful chamber. Quickly she seized the nearest rag, thinking to wipe\noff the stain; but, rub as she might, it would not come off. As she\nscoured and polished without result, terror slowly grew on her face.\n'Alas!' she cried, 'there is Blue Magic in this. Now I know my husband\nhas consorted with fiends: his beard for one thing, this bewitched key\nfor another. If I am not mistaken, nothing will remove the stain of\nfoul murder from this key.'\n\nNevertheless, she bethought herself of many things: of sand, and\npumice, and strong acid, and she tried them all upon the key; but\nthough she wore the metal away by hard rubbing, the bloodstain still\nremained, for, being a magic key, it had absorbed the blood of _Blue\nBeard's_ victims, and was saturated through and through with it.\n\nShe was just beginning to realise that the task was hopeless when she\nheard the rumble of wheels, but she still went on polishing the key,\nfor, whatever coach was approaching, she assured herself it could not\nbe her husband's--thank Heaven, _he_ was not due to return yet for six\nweeks, and by that time she might contrive to have a new key made,\nexactly like the old one. But presently, when the coach drew up at the\ngate, and the horns sounded in her husband's style and manner, she\nstarted up with a cry of dismay, and her knees trembled with sudden\nfright.\n\nHer first care was to hide the key in her bosom; then she ran out, but,\nfor very fear, could get no farther than the head of the main stairway,\nwhere she stood clutching the stair-rail, and quaking in every limb.\nThere, in the hall below, stood _Blue Beard_ giving some final orders\nto the coachman. With a quick movement he turned, and, looking up,\nperceived her standing irresolute.\n\n'Yes, it is I, my darling,' he called up gaily as he advanced to the\nfoot of the stairs. 'Some letters reached me on the road, showing me\nthat my long journey was unnecessary. So, you see, I have returned to\nyour arms.'\n\nBy this time _Fatima_ was tottering down the stairs, bent on giving him\na fitting welcome; for, though she feared him more than aught else, she\nmust try not to show it. 'Seven of them!' she kept saying to herself,\nas she gripped the balustrade, 'and seven and one are _eight_! And I\nhave a throat as well as they, as sure as iron spikes have points.'\n\nThere was only a dim light in the hall, so that _Blue Beard_ could not\nsee her trembling condition; and if, when she greeted him, he felt\nthat her body was quaking, he was fond enough to put it down to joy\nat his unexpected return. And _Fatima_, taking cover in this, behaved\nin an excited manner, like one so delighted to see her husband back\nagain that she did not know what she was doing. She ran hither and\nthither, ordering this and that to be done, and then countermanding\nthe orders, doing this or that herself, and then immediately undoing\nit again,--behaving, in short, like one demented with excitement,\nuntil _Blue Beard_ smiled and stroked his beard, and thought she was a\nwonderful little bundle of delight.\n\nAnd so, through such artfulness long sustained, it transpired that the\nquestion of the keys did not arise all that night, nor, indeed, until\nlate the following day, when, as ominous as a thunder-clap, came a\nsummons from _Blue Beard_ that _Fatima_ should attend him immediately\non the terrace. With a wildly beating heart she hastened to answer the\nsummons.\n\n'I want my keys,' he said in the usual manner of a man. 'Where are\nthey?'\n\n'The keys?--Oh yes; the keys. I--I will go and fetch them immediately.'\n\n_Fatima_ ran off, and you can imagine her thoughts and feelings as she\nwent. _Blue Beard_ remained--he was always a grim figure--standing as\nshe had left him,--just waiting: his thoughts and feelings were in his\nbeard.\n\nPresently _Fatima_ returned, purposely out of breath in order to hide\nwhatever confusion she might feel, and handed the bunch of keys to her\nhusband. He took them without a word, looked at them carefully, and\nthen slowly turned his eyes upon her.\n\n'The key of the room at the end of the corridor,' he said grimly, 'it\nis not here: where is it?'\n\n'The key of the---- Oh; you mean the key of the----'\n\n'I mean the key of the----; yes, that's what I mean. Where is it?'\n\n'Oh! I remember now. You said I was not to use it; so, to make sure, I\ntook it off the bunch and put it away in a drawer of my dressing-table.\nI will run and fetch it.'\n\n'Do,' said _Blue Beard_, and, while she ran off, he stood there looking\nfor all the world like a blue thunder-cloud before the lightning comes.\n\nOnce out of sight _Fatima_ paused to collect her wits. Then, having\nmade up her mind, she ran twice up and down stairs, and finally\nrejoined her husband, panting heavily.\n\n'It is not there,' she cried in dismay. 'I put it in my jewel case,--of\nthat I'm sure,--but now it's gone. Who can have taken it?'\n\n'Go look again,' replied _Blue Beard_, dangerously calm.\n\nShe ran away again, and again came running back. 'No,' she said, 'it is\nnot there. Who can have----?'\n\n'Silence, madam!' broke in _Blue Beard_. 'That was no ordinary key;\nand something tells me it is in your bosom now.' And, with this, he\ngathered her shrinking form in his rough arm, and with a rougher hand\nsearched for, and found--the key!\n\n'So!' he said. 'You lied to me. And--what is this? How came this blood\nupon the key?'\n\nFatima was very pale, and trembling like an aspen leaf. 'I do not\nknow,' she replied. 'Perhaps----'\n\n'Perhaps nothing!' roared _Blue Beard_ in a terrible voice. 'Madam!\nyour face tells me you are guilty. You have presumed to disobey me; to\nenter that room at the end of the corridor. Yes, madam; and, since you\nwould sooner indulge your fancy for that room than obey my commands,\nyou shall go there and stay as long as you like. Seven and one are\n_eight_, madam!'\n\n'Mercy! Mercy!' cried _Fatima_, flinging herself at _Blue Beard's_\nfeet. 'Do what you will with me, but do not put me in that room.'\n\nShe looked up sobbing, imploring his forgiveness; and, if a woman's\nbeauty in despair could have melted a heart of stone, the sight of her\nwould have melted his. But it will not astonish you to know that his\nheart was as flinty as his beard was blue, and _Fatima_ realised this\nas she looked again at his terrible face.\n\n'I have said it, madam,' he replied to her pleadings. 'None can disobey\nme and live. Prepare, then, for death.'\n\n'Then,' said she, her imploring eyes brimming with tears, 'you will\ngive me a little time to prepare? If I must die, I must say my prayers.'\n\n'Ten minutes will suffice for that. Not a second more.'\n\n_Fatima_ hurried away towards her own room, but on the way she met her\nsister _Anne_, who was looking for her.\n\n'Oh! dear _Anne_,' sobbed _Fatima_, as she embraced her sister; 'ask me\nno questions; there is no time. My husband has returned, and, because I\ndisobeyed him, he has threatened to kill me. Oh! where are my brothers?\nIf they were only here!'\n\n'They are on the way hither,' said _Anne_ quickly. 'They were delayed,\nbut promised to follow me very soon.'\n\n'Then run, dear sister, if you love me; run to the top of the tower,\nand, if you can see them coming, make a sign to them to hasten; for in\nten minutes I must die.'\n\nQuickly _Anne_ ran up and up until she reached the roof of the tower;\nand _Fatima_, standing at the foot, called up to her:\n\n'Sister _Anne_! Dear sister _Anne_! Do you see any one coming?'\n\nAnd _Anne_ answered her:\n\n'_I see naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass growing._'\n\nPresently _Fatima_ called up again:\n\n'Sister _Anne_, can you see no one coming?'\n\n'_Nay, I see naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass\ngrowing._'\n\n_Fatima_, in despair, continued to call again and again, but always\nthe same answer came down from the roof of the tower. And so the ten\nminutes ran out, and _Fatima_ wrung her hands and groaned.\n\nMeanwhile _Blue Beard_, having sharpened his sword, was trying its\nedge on the greensward of the terrace below. Fully satisfied with it,\nhe strode into the house, and, standing at the foot of the stairs,\nshouted, 'Madam, your time is up. Come down at once!'\n\n'One moment,--just one moment,' she replied, then called softly to her\nsister: '_Anne, sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'\n\n'_Nay, naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass growing._'\n\n'Madam,' roared _Blue Beard_, 'if you do not come down quickly, I will\ncome up and drag you down.'\n\n'I am coming,' she replied; and again she called softly to _Anne_:\n'_Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'\n\n'Sister, I see a great cloud of dust.'\n\n'Raised by galloping horses?'\n\n'Alas! Nay, it is but a flock of sheep.'\n\n'_Will_ you come down?' bellowed _Blue Beard_, 'or by----'\n\n'I am coming in another moment.' Then to _Anne_: 'Sister _Anne_, can\nyou see anybody coming?'\n\n'Yonder I see--God be praised--I see two knights in armour, riding\nfast.... Yes, they are my brothers.... I am waving my kerchief to\nthem.... They see me.... They spur and hasten.... Sister, they will\nsoon be here.'\n\nThen _Blue Beard_ stamped his foot and roared out so terribly that he\nmade the whole house tremble. At this his poor wife, wholly fascinated\nby terror, crept down to her doom. Her face was stained with tears, her\nlong hair was dishevelled; she flung herself at his feet and besought\nhim to take pity on her.\n\n'Pity!' he thundered; 'I have no pity. You must die!' He seized her\nby the hair and twisted her head back to expose her beautiful throat;\nthen, flourishing his sword, he went on: 'This is my last word on\nthe abominable crime of curiosity as practised by women. By that\ndetestable vice misfortune and grief came into the world, and we\nowe our present state of evil to the first woman, whose daughters\ngreatly resemble her in that peculiar gift of prying into matters\nforbidden....' And so he continued to harangue his poor wife, grasping\nher hair with one hand while he flourished his great sword with the\nother.\n\nWhen at length he paused for want of words to describe the horrible\ncrime he was about to meet with punishment, _Fatima_ wailed, 'O sir!\nwilt thou punish me before I have recommended myself to Heaven? One\nmoment, I implore thee, while I turn my soul to God.'\n\n'Nay, thy prayers are said.' And he raised his sword to strike. But the\nsword remained in air, as _Blue Beard_, startled by a loud battering\nat the gate, turned his head. Then, as the gate was burst in, and\ntwo knights came running with drawn swords, he loosed his hold upon\n_Fatima_, who sank in a huddled heap like one already dead. Turning\nquickly, _Blue Beard_ fled, but the two brothers were hot upon his\nheels; and, after a rapid chase through the house and garden, they came\nup with him just as he reached the steps of the main porch. There they\nran their swords through and through his body, and left him dead in a\npool of blood.\n\nWhen _Fatima_ opened her eyes and saw her two brothers and her sister\n_Anne_ bending over her, she thanked Heaven for her deliverance. With\na sword all dripping red one brother pointed towards the porch, and\n_Fatima_ gave a deep sigh of relief. She knew, and was satisfied to\nknow, she was a widow.\n\nNow, as _Blue Beard_ had no children by any of his wives, his sole\nsurviving wife became mistress of all that had been his. All his vast\nestates and treasures came into her possession, and she was young and\nbeautiful into the bargain. The first thing she did was to purchase\ncommissions for her two brothers in the army; next, she bestowed a\nsplendid estate and a large sum of money upon her sister _Anne_ as\na wedding present on the occasion of her marrying the young man of\nher choice. Then _Fatima_ fell in love with, and married, a worthy\ngentleman who adored her, and these two lived out their lives in one\ncontinuous hour of happiness.\n\n_His_ beard was black, and, when at length it grew grey, and then\nsilvery white, she only loved him all the more. Even in the first year\nof her marriage she had quite forgotten the dark cloud cast upon her\nearly life by that terrible man, _Blue Beard_; and ever afterwards she\nnever had the slightest cause or reason to remember him.\n\n\n[Illustration: CERBERUS. THE BLACK DOG OF HADES p. 99]\n\n\n\n\nCERBERUS\n\n\nCERBERUS, the triple-headed, snake-haired, black dog guarding the\ngates of Hades, was a mythological monster of fierce and terrible\naspect. When the shades of the departed from the upper world were\nferried across the River Styx by old Charon the boatman, _Cerberus_\nlay quiet and let them pass unchallenged. He knew them: they were\nshades brought in regular order, by Charon, and, as such, they were\nallowed to enter Hades. But, if they wished to retrace their steps, and\ngain the upper world again--this was a labour, this was a task not so\neasily accomplished, for _Cerberus_ would bar their way; his mane would\nrise and his jaws would gape, and there was no passing this terrible\ngatekeeper.\n\nYet, in the stories of antiquity, there are at least three instances\nof mortals, or gods in the form of mortals, passing the grim tiler on\nentering Hades, and repassing him on coming out again. These three were\nPersephone, Orpheus, and \u00c6neas.\n\nPersephone was the daughter of Ceres (Demeter), and was carried off by\nPluto, the ruler of Hades. It was into Hades he carried her and made\nher his queen. _Cerberus_ knew his master, so, although Pluto bore in\nhis arms a woman in mortal form, they passed in unchallenged by the\njanitor. But, when Persephone's mother, Ceres, having searched with\nlighted torches through all the world for her daughter, came at last\nto the gates of Hades, she evaded _Cerberus_ in some way that is not\nclearly recorded. And, when she found her daughter, and discovered that\nZeus and Pluto had conspired over her abduction, she was angry and\nsaid that she would deprive the earth of cereals (a word derived from\nher name _Ceres_, the goddess of corn) until a satisfactory agreement\nwas arrived at. Zeus and Pluto again conspired, and it was arranged\nthat Persephone should spend four months of the year in Hades and the\nother eight with the gods. This meant that she had to pass and repass\n_Cerberus_ constantly.\n\nThe second case is that of Orpheus. His wife Eurydice died of a\nserpent's bite, and her shade was ferried across the Styx by Charon\nand passed into Hades without challenge from _Cerberus_. But Orpheus\nbewailed her loss, saying, as in Gl\u00fcck's wonderful opera, 'Eurydice':\n\n    'She is gone, and gone for ever';\n\nand finally resolved to journey to Hades and bring his wife back. With\nthe lute to which he had sung the praises of the gods, and so passed\nthe Sirens in safety,--whereas Ulysses had to order his sailors to bind\nhim to the mast,--he charmed the fierce dog into a deep slumber, and so\nentered Hades.\n\nHe found Eurydice, and Pluto agreed to let her go, provided that\nOrpheus did not look back before he passed _Cerberus_. But, when he\ncame to the monster, Eurydice following, he looked back to reassure\nher, when lo, she vanished again to her place among the shades.\nOrpheus, in despair, sang again to his lute:\n\n    'She is gone, and gone for ever!'\n\nand so, having charmed _Cerberus_ to sleep, passed to the middle world\nwhere, like Bacchus, he was torn to pieces by his fellow-mortals.\n\nThe third case is that of \u00c6neas, the Trojan prince, who made the\njourney to Hades to find his lost love, Dido, and to consult his\nfather, Anchises. He repaired to a sibyl dwelling among the mountains,\nand she conducted him to the gates of the lower regions.\n\nThere, over a crag that marked his den, rose the monstrous three-headed\ndog, his crested snakes bristling, his eyes shooting fire, his jaws\ngreedy for prey. But the sibyl had provided herself with a cake steeped\nin honey and tinctured with an opiate drug derived from India and now\ncalled _Cerbera_. This she flung to the monster, who greedily devoured\nit and immediately sank into a deep sleep, leaving the way to Hades\nunguarded. And, ever since, the phrase 'a sop to _Cerberus_' has been\nused to signify a sweet morsel flung to pave the way to some concession.\n\nThis dog of Hades was not immortal. It remained for Hercules--the type\nof the perfect man--to vanquish him in the last of his twelve labours.\nAnd by this act Hercules was said to have abolished the tyranny of\nevil in the realm of Pluto, which extended from the utmost star of the\ngalaxy to the lowest depth of Hades.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LADY BADOURA\n\nA TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS\n\n\n_The Lady Badoura_, Princess of China, the daughter of King Gaiour,\nLord of all the Seas and of the Seven Palaces! O King! There was\nnone like her in all the world! Her hair was as dark as the night of\nseparation and exile; her face was like the dawn when lovers meet to\nembrace; her cheeks were like petals of the anemone filled with wine.\nWhen she spoke music was born again on earth; when she moved her feet\nseemed to faint with delight under the burden of grace and loveliness\nlaid upon them. The seven palaces of the king, with gardens like the\ninmost courts of Paradise, were splendid and wonderful beyond the\npoet's art to describe, but, without the dazzling beauty of _Badoura's_\npresence, they were as a houri's eyes without their lovelight--an empty\nand lifeless shade. And this all who beheld her in that sphere were\ndestined to discover.\n\n[Illustration: NAY, NAY; I WILL NOT MARRY HIM p. 103]\n\nFor, O King of the Age, it was as it were but yesterday that the _Lady\nBadoura_ reclined in a palace of gold, jewel-encrusted; her couch was\nof ivory, gold-inwrought; and on the air, fragrant with a thousand\nperfumes, floated the silvery voice of the slave-girl, singing of love.\nBut to-day, O King, the _Lady Badoura_ was a prisoner in a lonely\ntower, attended by ten old women long deaf to songs of love. And the\ncause of this I will relate to you.\n\nFor several years the king, through his tender regard for her slightest\nwish, had left her to bestow her heart and hand of her own free accord\nupon some worthy suitor; but she had clung tenaciously to her freedom,\nrejecting all suitors--even the most powerful princes in the land. The\nking was sorely troubled at this, for _Badoura_ was his first and\nonly child, and it was his greatest wish that she should marry, and\nraise up children for the continuance of his line. But greater trouble\nwas yet in store. Came one day a monarch mightier than all others who\nhad sought her hand in marriage. So powerful and dreaded was this\npotentate that the king dared not refuse him. He came with a splendid\ncort\u00e8ge bearing costly gifts such as are seldom found in the treasuries\nof kings, and he demanded of Gaiour his one and peerless daughter.\n\nAs soon as the ceremony of welcome was over, and the king had heard\nhis guest's petition, he sought the _Lady Badoura_ and made the matter\nknown to her. But she, knowing what was toward, rose not to greet him,\nas was her wont, but remained reclining, answering every stronger and\nstronger persuasion of her parent with shakes of her head and 'Nay,\nnay; I will not marry him.' At length, finding her will obdurate, the\nking gave way to anger, and, finally taking refuge in the opinion that\nshe had gone from her mind, lapsed into grief, wringing his hands and\ncrying, 'Alas! alas! that thou, my only child, shouldst be in this\nplight. I see now by thy look and manner that thy mind is affected.'\nWith this he ordered his eunuchs and slaves to take her and place her,\ncarefully guarded, where she could do no injury either to herself or\nothers.\n\n'Since none can rouse her heart to love,' said he, 'she must needs be\ninsane.' And, had the first part of his words been true, thou wouldst\nknow, O King, that the second would be true also. But she was not in\nthis case; and now, having shown how and why she, who but yesterday\nwas sitting free in a golden palace, was to-day imprisoned in a lonely\ntower, I will relate the causes of that love for an unknown one, which\nnow afflicted her.\n\n_Badoura_ had treasured to her heart a talisman,--a gem of wondrous\nbeauty given to her by Dahnash the Efreet. Now, as you know, the\nEfreets are a powerful order of spirits, sometimes benign and friendly\nto mortals, sometimes malign and inimical. Dahnash, and another, of\nwhom I shall presently speak, were of evil origin, but possessed enough\nof good in their nature to make them long for an immortal soul, and\nthis they sought to obtain by labours of love for mankind. The talisman\ngiven to _Badoura_ had the peculiar virtue of uniting lovers destined\nfor each other. She had, by this virtue, dreamed of one far away; and\nall her heart longed for him unutterably, while she still knew that a\ngolden hour of the future would bring him to her side.\n\nKnow, O King, that the potency in a talisman is linked with its origin\nin the world of Efreets. Now in the far country of Khaledan, ruled by\nKing Shazaman, dwelt Meymooneh, a female Efreet of great wisdom. It\nwas she who had endowed this talisman with its virtues and sent it by\nDahnash, an Efreet of lower degree, to the _Lady Badoura_. After this\nshe had, by magic spells, led Prince Camaralzaman, the king's only\nson, to defy his father's command to marry; and, by her subtle arts,\nhis heart and mind were so entranced by dreams of one as lovely as she\nwas far away, that his ever-growing resistance to his father's will\nwas at last met by the sternest anger. So it happened that just as\n_Badoura_ was imprisoned in the tower,--and for the same reason,--so\nwas Camaralzaman cast into the dungeon beneath his father's palace.\nThere in that self-same spot, in the depth of a well in a recess of the\ndungeon, dwelt Meymooneh the Efreet.\n\nTowards midnight, when the Efreet goes forth, Meymooneh rose like a\nbubble from the bottom of the well and found the prince, beautiful in\nsleep, lying on a rough couch against the wall of his prison. Lost in\nwonder at his perfect loveliness, she gazed down upon him. For a while\nshe stood thrilled with the thrill of the Efreet's love for a mortal,\nher outspread wings quivering above him; then at the call of her\nlifelong purpose she slowly folded her wings and drew back with a sigh.\n'By Allah!' she murmured, 'I know now that He is good, or He could not\nhave created a mortal so perfectly beautiful. I will fulfil my task and\nwin my soul.' So saying she bent down and pressed a kiss between his\neyes. He turned, dreaming that a rose-petal had fallen on his brow, but\ndid not wake.\n\nWith glad heart and heel Meymooneh spurned the earth and soared aloft\nthrough the dungeon's roof, crying 'Dahnash! Dahnash!' Her summons was\nanswered by a peal of thunder and a whirr of wings, as Dahnash appeared\nthrough a murky cloud. Torn from his demon abode he must needs come,\nfor Meymooneh had power over him. By muttered spells she held him in\nmid-air, his eyes blazing, his tail lashing, and his wings vibrating\nfeather against feather.\n\n'Dahnash! sayest thou that she to whom I sent thee with the talisman is\nmore perfect than any among mortals?'\n\n'O Meymooneh!' replied he, fearing her glance, 'torture me as thou wilt\nif I have not told thee truly that there is none her equal: the _Lady\nBadoura_ is fair above all beauty among mortals.'\n\n'Thou liest! He for whose sake I wrought the talisman is fairer.'\n\nWord gave word in heated dissension, and Dahnash only escaped\nMeymooneh's wrath by pleading for a fair comparison of the two seen\nside by side.\n\n'Go, then!' cried Meymooneh, buffeting him with her wing. 'Off with you\nto China and bring hither your bird of beauty. We will compare them\nside by side, as thou sayest; and then we will further prove the matter\nby waking first one and then the other to see which accords the other\nthe more fervent protestations of love. Go! Bring her to my abode!'\n\nOn this Dahnash sped with incredible swiftness to China, while\nMeymooneh repaired to the dungeon where the prince was still in slumber.\n\nIn a brief space Dahnash reappeared at her side bearing the _Lady\nBadoura_ sleeping in his arms. He laid his lovely burden on the\ncouch beside Camaralzaman, and the two Efreets, dumbfounded by the\nincomparable beauty of the pair, gazed upon them in speechless wonder.\n\n'It is well we agreed that they themselves should decide,' said\nMeymooneh at length, 'for where both are perfect the decision is beyond\nour power.'\n\nThen, transforming herself into a flea, she sprang forthwith upon\nthe neck of the prince and bit him. Camaralzaman awoke, and, raising\nhimself on one elbow, beheld the face and form of _Badoura_ by his\nside. Giving himself up to a sudden ecstasy of love, and crying that\nall his life had been a dream of which this was the waking fulfilment,\nhe strove to arouse her; but in vain: she was bound by the spell\nof the Efreets, who, having rendered themselves invisible, were\nwatching intently. At last, his words of love falling exhausted on\nher unconscious spirit, he placed his arm beneath her raven tresses,\nand, raising her head, kissed her on the brow with the purest love of\nyouth. Then, by a sudden inspiration, on seeing a ring upon her finger,\nhe exchanged it for his own; and, having done this, sank to sleep in\nobedience to the Efreets' spell.\n\nMeymooneh, now anxious to show the other aspect of the case, again\nassumed the form of a flea, and, springing upon _Badoura_, soon found\na way to bite her hard in a soft place. _Badoura_ sprang up wide awake\nand immediately beheld Camaralzaman sleeping by her side.\n\n'Oh me!' she cried, 'what shame has come upon me? Yet, by Allah! he is\nso beautiful that I love him to distraction.' Then, after crying out\nthe utmost words of love to his unheeding spirit, she fell to kissing\nhis hands, whereupon she found to her amazement that her ring was upon\nhis finger and a strange one upon her own. 'I know not,' cried she at\nlast, 'but it seemeth we are married.' And with that she sighed with\ncontent, and, nestling to his side, fell under the Efreets' spell of\nsleep.\n\nAt a loss, even now, to decide which was the more beautiful, the\nEfreets agreed to waive their difference, and Dahnash, at the bidding\nof Meymooneh, raised _Badoura_ in his arms and sped through space to\nChina.\n\nWhen waking came with morning light the case with _Badoura_ was like\nthat with Camaralzaman, save that the former, having quitted her\ncouch, forgot it, whereas the latter was clearly certain he had not\nquitted his. Each discovered the other's ring bestowed in exchange.\nEach thrilled at the meaning of this pledge, which proved their meeting\nto have been no baseless dream. Each swore by Allah that a fiendish\ntrick had been played at dead of night,--not in the wedding of them\nin their sleep, but in the snatching of them asunder before waking.\n_Badoura_ wailed for her husband; Camaralzaman rose in wrath and\ndemanded his stolen wife. There was trouble in China and in Khaledan\nthat day, and in each kingdom a sorrowful king wept for the madness of\nhis first-born.\n\nFor three long years the pair nursed their love in separation and\nconfinement. Camaralzaman was sent in splendid exile to a palace by the\nsea, but the wide expanse of waters only afforded him the greater space\nfor the longing which consumed him. He could not know that, far across\nthe ocean, the one he longed for was sitting, chained by the neck with\na golden chain, there at the window of her palace tower--chained and\nguarded lest in her supposed madness she should hurl her body in the\nwake of her soul which rushed to meet him from afar. He could not know\nthat her father, the king, had invited the astrologers and wise men to\ncure his daughter of her malady, the reward of success being her hand\nand half his kingdom, the punishment of failure the forfeiture of life;\nnay, he might even have rejoiced to know that already forty heads,\nrelieved of wisdom, decked the walls of Gaiour's palace. Yet, O King of\nthe Age, through the virtues of the talisman he was led thither to see\nand know.\n\nOne day _Badoura's_ old nurse arose from sleep bewildered, and,\nsummoning her son Marzavan, she dispatched him on the track of the\nfootprints of a dream. One in the wide world afar seemed to have come\nand gone, leaving nothing but a trail of the perfume of Paradise--a\ntrail which Marzavan must follow. He set forth, and over land and sea\nhe travelled on his quest. Now upon some fragrant gale he fancied he\nheard the voice of the one he sought; now in the sunset glow of the\nwestern hills he caught the echo of his horse's hoofs. Many he met who\nhad heard of a prince afar who was mad for the love of one unknown, but\nnone could pilot him to that prince's dwelling-place. At last it was\nthe wing of chance--the certainty of talismans--that brought him to the\nfeet of Camaralzaman. Through perilous adventure, ending in shipwreck,\nhe found him and told him all. How they contrived their sudden flight\nand passage across land and sea I leave to your own thoughts, O King\nof the Age, for thou knowest in thy wisdom that, where none can find a\nway, Love will find a way.\n\nSo it transpired one day that the forty heads relieved of wisdom looked\ndown approvingly upon a youthful astrologer beating with his staff upon\nthe palace gates.\n\n'By Allah!' cried the janitor on opening to him. 'Thou art in a mighty\nhurry to quit this life so soon.'\n\n'Nay, I come to heal the _Lady Badoura_ of her malady. Let me in, and\nthat quickly!'\n\nHe had his will. Then, step by step, each step an age, he followed up\nand up to the lonely tower. His hair seemed turning grey before he was\nadmitted; but no sooner had he crossed the threshold than _Badoura_,\nwith a cry of joy, rose and broke her golden chain, and sped to his\narms, where she lay in bliss, pouring out her soul in sobs and kisses.\n\nThe cure was immediate. The king came in haste and saw in a moment that\nshe was healed beyond the wildest hope of the forty bleached heads.\n\n'Allah be praised!' he cried on seeing her face aglow and her eyes\na-dancing with delight. 'There is indeed no god but Allah! For I\nperceive that He hath restored my daughter's reason.'\n\n'Nay, my father,' returned she, 'Allah hath restored thy daughter's\nhusband: her reason was never lacking.' And when, in proof of her\nwords, she had shown the astonished king her own ring upon the finger\nof Camaralzaman, and his upon hers, she clung to her husband in an\necstasy of joy, returning his ardent kisses again and again and again.\n\nWhen the whole story of Camaralzaman's perils and adventures by land\nand sea was told, the king marvelled greatly at the power of love that\nhad drawn two sundered hearts together in so wonderful a fashion.\n\n'Of a surety,' he said, 'the souls of these two have stood together\nin the Magic Isle of Love, where the woven moonbeams trap the hearts\nof lovers in one net. And, by Allah! though those silvery threads may\nstretch to the brink of the earth and the opposite sides of heaven,\nthey must, at Allah's will, tighten again, drawing heart close to\nheart. Great is the will of Allah!'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe _Lady Badoura_, with her husband, Prince Camaralzaman, dwelt in\nthe land of China in a state of the utmost delight and happiness for\nmany, many days, beloved of the king and all the people. And _Badoura_\ntreasured the talisman that had brought such great joy: she wore it\nalways,--sewn in her robe against the beating of her heart.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SLEEPER AWAKENED\n\nA TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS\n\n\nABU HASAN THE WAG!\n\nO my Lord the King, strange as was the story of Sindbad the Sailor,\nthat of Abu Hasan the Wag is even stranger--indeed, there is no true\nstory so strange in all the world. Abu Hasan--a mere merchant--awoke\none morning to find himself caliph of Baghdad; and, as thou bidst me\nrecall a tale of past telling, I will relate exactly how it happened.\n\nKnow, then, O King, that Abu Hasan the Wag, living in the reign of\nHarun-er-Rashid, inherited a large fortune from his father. As his\nwealth was no longer his father's but his own, he took thought as to\nhow he might save at least some of it. Accordingly, without telling any\none, he divided it into two equal parts, setting one part aside in a\nsafe place and keeping the other at his disposal to lavish among his\nboon companions. 'In this way,' said he, 'I shall at once be risking\nonly half my fortune and learning the way of the world; for I doubt not\nthat when I have spent the one-half on my friends they will in their\nturn treat me in like fashion.' By which you will perceive, O King,\nthat Abu Hasan, whose exact age I have not stated, was at least young.\n\nA great man then was Abu Hasan. He had gold, and he summoned his boon\ncompanions to every delight his heart could devise. Long and loud was\nthe revelry by night. Equally long were the bills by day. But Abu\nHasan knew his friends: they were good fellows all, and he felt quite\nsure that when the half of his fortune was spent and they thought him\npenniless, they would turn to him and say, 'Thou didst treat us right\nroyally while thou wast rich: now that thou art poor, come and partake,\nin your turn, of our _largesse_.' By which you will perceive, O King,\nthat he was not growing any older.\n\nA whole year passed in riotous living and extravagant generosity. Then,\nfinding the money exhausted, he called his boon companions and laid his\ncase before them, expecting what he did not receive. Every one of them\nturned his back and left him with the utmost unconcern. Some called him\na fool; others could not imagine what he had done with all his money:\nall took their leave and went their ways.\n\nA sad man then was Abu Hasan and, like all sad men, he sought his\nmother.\n\n'O my son,' said she, stroking his hair, 'was it not always so? Thou\nwast rich: they were thy friends. Thou art poor: where is their\nfriendship? My son, thou hast sold it and paid for it thyself. Alas!\nlearn from this never to put thy trust in the friends of thy purse.'\nAnd, with his head upon her lap, she wept over him bitterly.\n\nA changed man then was Abu Hasan. He arose and went forth, no longer\nyoung, and withdrew from its safe keeping the remaining half of his\nfortune. With a part of this--being still a man of wealth--he purchased\na mansion and filled it with all manner of delights till it was fit to\ncharm the heart of the caliph himself; and there he dwelt in luxury,\nas befitted a man of his station. But, having purchased a fragment\nof wisdom at the price of half his original fortune, he resolved to\nmake use of it. He would have done with friends and have to do only\nwith strangers, and these, moreover, should remain strangers, for his\nassociationship with any one of them should be for one night only;--at\ndawn 'Farewell! Henceforth I know you not; for I have been sorely bit\nby friends; by strangers never.'\n\nIn the evenings, when the purple twilight fell upon Baghdad, Abu Hasan\nwould take up a position at the end of the great bridge, and there,\nsooner or later, he would accost a stranger, pressing upon him a warm\ninvitation to spend the night under his roof, and promising him the\nbest of entertainment. Indeed, being of a gay and merry disposition,\nhe sought even to choose one of a melancholy cast, so that he might\nexercise his wit upon him and cause his face to shine with mirth. In\nthe morning he would send his guest away with his blessing, having\nexplained to him the nature of his oath and exacted his promise to\nregard him henceforth as a perfect stranger. 'And so, farewell! May God\nconduct you in safe and pleasant ways!'\n\nFor a long time he behaved in this manner, providing the best of\nentertainment and adhering closely to his oath. At length there came\nan evening when he was waiting as usual on the bridge, and it chanced\nthat the caliph of Baghdad himself came by, disguised as a merchant--a\nfavourite amusement of his when he wished to traverse the ways of\nthe city and see how his people fared. Abu Hasan looked at him as he\npassed, and taking him, by his dress and the stout slave following him,\nfor a merchant from Moussul, and therefore a stranger in the city, he\naccosted him.\n\n'Sir,' he said, saluting gracefully, 'permit me to compliment you on\nyour happy arrival in Baghdad. Not, indeed, to show you that this is a\nhospitable city, but rather that I may have the honour of your company\nat my house, I beg that you will accept my invitation to come and sup\nwith me and rest yourself after the fatigue of your journey.'\n\nThe caliph, always in the mood for an adventure, accepted gladly, and\ntogether they repaired to Hasan's abode, the slave following after.\nWhen they arrived they found supper laid for two, and in the most\nsumptuous style. Hasan, treating his guest with every courtesy, seated\nhim in the place of honour.\n\nThe apartment was most luxurious. On one side trickled streams of water\nthrough silver channels half hidden among rare ferns. On another side\ngolden fountains played in cool grottoes, and, over all, a soft light\nfalling from a wonderful lamp overhead wrapped the richness of the\nplace in a dreamy glamour.\n\nTowards the end of the repast a beautiful slave-girl floated in with\nher lute and sang a song of love, inspired by the soft languor of the\nnight. And the caliph wondered concerning his host: what manner of man\nwas he to entertain so royally?\n\nWhen supper was over, and everything cleared away, Hasan arose, and,\nhaving lighted a number of candles to throw a brighter light on the\nscene, spread a rich wine-cloth and brought out his rarest wines. He\ndid these things himself, because it was always his whim after supper\nto play the servant to his guest as if he were a royal personage.\n\n'My master,' he said, filling a golden goblet with wine and raising\nit to the caliph, 'I make you free of all ceremony. I am thy faithful\nservitor, and may I never have to grieve thy loss.' With this he drank\nthe wine and then filled another goblet for his guest. 'I warrant you\nwill find it good,' he said, handing it to him on bended knee.\n\n'I am satisfied of that,' replied the caliph; 'I can see you have\nnothing but the best of everything.' And he drank to Abu Hasan.\n\nFar into the night they sat and talked of many things. The caliph was\npleased at his host's waggish whim of playing the r\u00f4le of servant to\na royal master, and Hasan, for his part, was delighted at his guest's\nrefined manners and his great knowledge on many subjects. 'I am,\nindeed, a proud man to be honoured by the company of so accomplished\nand polite a personage,' he said, and, even if he had known that he was\nentertaining the caliph of Baghdad, he could not have treated his guest\nin better fashion.\n\nAt length, when they had pledged each other in many glasses of wine,\nand the hours were growing small, the caliph remarked, 'Mine host,\nthou hast seen for thyself how greatly I have enjoyed this pleasant\nintercourse; and, as I would not seem ungrateful, pray tell me in what\nway I may serve thee. I am but a merchant of Moussul, but if there be\nany request dear to thy heart, I beg thee to mention it, for, though a\nstranger in this city, I have some friends who sit in high places.'\n\n'Nay, my master,' replied Abu Hasan; 'my entertainment has been more\nthan rewarded by the gracious presence of a charming guest. Any other\nrecompense would spoil my memory of this night and thee.'\n\n'As you will. But let us suppose now--both of us being greatly tickled\nby this most fragrant wine--if I had the power to grant the dearest\nwish of thy heart, what would that wish be?'\n\nAbu Hasan laughed and took up the quaint conceit. 'The dearest wish of\nmy heart?' said he; 'I will tell it thee in a trice. Yonder, at the\ncast of a stone, stands a mosque, and the imam of that mosque is a\nhypocrite of an exalted degree. Indeed, among hypocrites he stands at\nthe head of his profession. He lords it over the whole neighbourhood,\nand especially over me, for, when he hears music and revelry during\nthe hours that every self-respecting imam should be asleep, he ceases\nnot to persecute me on the matter until I have no stomach for anything\nthat is his. Ah! if I were caliph, even for a single day, then would\nI punish this wicked man in a fitting fashion. A hundred strokes on\nthe soles of his feet--not less! Then a parade through the city--a\ntriumphal procession headed by that sycophant impaled on a camel, with\nhis face to the tail to signify that he is on his way to Paradise in\nthe wrong direction. And, not to pay too poor a tribute to his skilled\nhypocrisy, I would give him a cort\u00e8ge: four of his sheiks who aid and\nabet him in his kill-joy persecutions should follow him at an admiring\nand respectful distance, each impaled upon a camel, and each bound for\nParadise with his face pointing the other way. Then, by Allah! the\npeople would follow this great procession, crying, \"Behold, such is the\nreward of fools and interferers!\" This would I do if I were caliph for\na single day, but----' And Hasan the Wag broke off, laughing. His guest\nlaughed with him, for he was mightily amused. Suddenly his face became\nas the face of one who hath a purpose; then, to conceal that purpose,\nhe laughed again, louder than before.\n\n'Mine host,' he cried, as soon as he could contain himself, 'verily\nthou art a wag!' Then he took a bottle and filled a goblet with\nsparkling wine. 'May thy wish be granted,' he said, and drained the\ngoblet. 'Pray, friend,' he went on, 'while I fill a cup for thee, wilt\nthou be so good as to ascertain the condition of my slave beneath thy\nroof. I doubt not that he is comfortably situated, but he is a faithful\nservant, and well deserveth the solicitude of his master.'\n\nAbu Hasan admired his guest the more for his thought for his slave. He\narose quickly and went to see into the matter himself, for by this time\nhis whole household had retired to rest. While he was gone the caliph\ndrew a lozenge of benj--a powerful opiate--from the inner recesses of\nhis dress and dropped it into the goblet, which he quickly filled with\nwine. When Hasan returned, saying that the slave had been well cared\nfor, the caliph handed him the wine. 'You have filled for me many\ntimes,' he said; 'now I have filled for you. Drink, I pray thee, for my\nsake.'\n\nAbu Hasan took the goblet, and, eager to fulfil the slightest wish of\nhis guest, drank deep. Then, scarcely had he set down the goblet, when\nhis senses reeled. He threw up his arms and was falling prone when\nthe caliph sprang to his aid and gently laid him down upon the soft\ncushions. The benj had done its work: Abu Hasan was in a deep sleep.\n\nThe caliph now summoned his slave, and directed him to take up the\nunconscious body of his host and carry it to the palace. So they\nset out, unobserved at that late hour; and, when they reached their\ndestination, the caliph gave orders that Abu Hasan be undressed,\nclothed in the royal robes, and put to bed upon the royal couch. This\nwas soon done.\n\nThen the caliph summoned his grand vizier.\n\n'Giafer,' said he, 'you see this man upon my state bed: now mark my\nwords. In the morning, when he awakes, see to it that you treat him in\nevery respect as you would myself. Accost him with the same reverence,\nand observe and do whatever he bids you, for I have put him in my\nplace. Convince him by thy subtlety, Giafer, that he is indeed the\ncaliph of Baghdad, and that his lightest word must be obeyed. His\ngenerosity is such that he may wish to empty the coffers of my treasury\non the heads of the poor: even so, carry out his commands. And see to\nit, Giafer, that all, from the emirs to the lowest slaves, pay him the\nsame honour and obedience as they would myself, always exercising the\ngreatest care lest he discover that he is not what he seems. Moreover,\nas this is a rare diversion after my own heart, be sure to wake me\nbefore the drug releases him; and, as thou knowest, the power of the\nbenj lasts little more than three hours, and, after that, natural\nsleep, from which he can be awakened. But, Giafer, wake me first, for I\nwould see what I would see.'\n\nThe vizier failed not to understand. He quickly conducted the caliph\nto a couch behind some heavy velvet hangings, whence, by parting the\nfolds, he would be able to see all he desired. Then the vizier went to\nprepare the whole Court for the part they were to play.\n\nIn the morning, as the three hours' thrall of the benj drew to a\nclose, the royal apartment was as it had always been at the hour of\nsunrise. The officers and the ladies of the Court were there, placed\naccording to their rank. The other attendants--the eunuchs and the\nslave-girls--took their positions as usual, for the caliph was due to\narise and prepare for morning prayer.\n\nA slave-girl struck some joyous chords upon her lute, and Abu Hasan\nawoke with a start. He sat up and looked about him. The royal couch,\nthe resplendent apartment lit by the morning sun, the courtiers bowing\nbefore him--surely this was all a dream! With a sigh at the seeming\nreality of it all he sank back and went to sleep again.\n\nPresently, however, he awoke a second time to the continued music of\nthe lute. Again he sat up and stared in blank astonishment at the\nrichly apparelled attendants of the Court making obeisance to him.\nThen a lovely slave-girl ran forward and bowed low. 'O Prince of the\nFaithful,' she said, 'it is the hour of morning prayer. It is thy daily\nwish that I remind thee of this.'\n\nAbu Hasan remained speechless. He knew not what to make of it. He\nlooked again at the sumptuous magnificence of the apartment and rubbed\nhis eyes. 'Am I awake?' he cried. 'Is this real? Nay, nay; it cannot\nbe: I dream.'\n\n'O Prince of the Faithful,' said the slave-girl, 'hast thou indeed\ndreamed that thou wert other than the Lord of all Creatures? It was an\nevil dream, my lord! and now that thou art awake, I pray thee remember\nthy usual custom.'\n\n'Alas!' exclaimed Abu Hasan, beating his breast, 'what affair is this?\nAm I Abu Hasan dreaming I am the caliph, or am I in truth the caliph\nwho heretofore dreamed he was Abu Hasan?'\n\nMeanwhile the caliph himself, peering between the velvet hangings,\nrevelled in the exquisite perplexity of his guest. And when, after Abu\nHasan had given the lie to one and another who sought to convince him,\nand, being fairly beaten, had to admit that he was indeed the caliph of\nBaghdad, Rashid himself nearly split his sides with merriment. Finally,\nwhen Hasan, believing himself the Lord of all Creatures, commanded all\npresent to withdraw and let him sleep on, the caliph rocked and rolled\nupon his hidden couch as if in a fit.\n\nAs for Abu Hasan, he fell asleep again and dreamed he was naught but\nAbu Hasan, the merchant. But later he awoke to find it was only a\ndream. Of a verity he was the caliph of Baghdad, for there by his side\nstood Mesrur, the High Executioner.\n\n'Commander of the Faithful,' said Mesrur, prostrating himself, 'your\nMajesty will forgive me for reminding you that it is unusual to rise so\nlate. The time of prayers is over and the business of the day waits.\nThe chief officers of state dwell upon your pleasure in the Council\nHall.'\n\nAbu Hasan looked at him keenly. 'Am I awake?' he asked. 'Or do I dream\nthat I am awake?' Then, holding out his little finger to Mesrur, he\nadded, 'Bite that!'\n\nNow Mesrur, who knew that the real caliph's eyes were upon him, was\nanxious to please him, so he advanced, and, taking Hasan's little\nfinger, bit it hard--so hard that the owner of it cried out with pain.\n'Ha!' he cried, 'I do not sleep: I feel, I see, I hear, I speak.\nEnough!'\n\n'Enough, Monarch of the World!' replied Mesrur. 'Wilt thou deign to\nrise?'\n\nThen Abu Hasan arose, and was dressed by the officers of the\nbedchamber. Arrayed in magnificent robes of state he followed Mesrur to\nthe Council Hall, where he ascended the throne amid the acclamations of\nthe Court.\n\nEr-Rashid himself found a niche high in the side of the hall, a point\nfrom which he could see all that took place within. It pleased him\ngreatly to notice with what a solemn dignity Abu Hasan occupied the\nthrone. He evidently believed firmly and truly that he was indeed\nthe caliph. How gracious and condescending he was as the principal\nofficers of the Court approached, and, having made obeisance, preferred\npetitions which were granted or refused wisely and without the least\nembarrassment.\n\nThe business of the day was nearly over when Abu Hasan caught sight of\nthe cadi, whose face he knew very well. 'Stop!' he said to the grand\nvizier, who was making a long speech 'I have an order of great moment\nto give to the cadi.'\n\nThe cadi immediately arose on hearing his name and prostrated himself\nbefore the throne. In his excitement at a sudden thought Abu Hasan\nhad risen to his feet. The vizier stepped forward. 'O Prince of the\nFaithful!' he said, 'forget not that all men are thy humble slaves, and\nthat it is not fitting for the Lord of all Creatures to rise to any.'\n\nBut Hasan waved him aside. 'Peace!' he said sternly. 'I have a command\nof the greatest importance for the cadi, and I cannot deliver it\nsitting.' Then, turning to the cadi, he continued, 'Proceed immediately\nto the house of Abu Hasan and give into the hand of his mother a\nthousand pieces of gold with my blessing. Then repair to the mosque\nnear by and take the imam and his four chief sheiks and bestow upon\nthem a hundred strokes each. After that impale them each upon a camel,\nwith their faces towards the tails of the beasts, and drive them\nthrough all the ways of the city, with a crier in advance proclaiming,\n\"Behold the reward of those who meddle in other people's affairs!\" When\nthis is done, see to it that they are expelled from their mosque for\never.'\n\nHaving said this Abu Hasan sat down upon the throne with a gasp. He\nhad achieved the dearest wish of his heart. Then he declared the Court\nclosed, and, one by one, all present passed before him and made the\nsame obeisance as when they entered.\n\nAbu Hasan descended the throne and was conducted into a great hall of\nstately magnificence, where a sumptuous feast was spread. The plates\nand dishes were of solid gold, and from the rare viands upon them were\nspread abroad the odours of spices and ambergris. Ten of the most\nbeautiful ladies of the Court stood about the seat set for him with\nfans to fan him while he dined.\n\nNow Abu Hasan the Wag had a merry wit. Contending that one fan was\nquite enough, he bade the remaining nine ladies sit at the table with\nhim and eat; and when for very shyness they did not eat, he helped them\nto the choicest morsels until they could not refrain. Even the lady\nwith the fan he fed with tit-bits from his own dish. The way he engaged\nthem with his sparkling wit was a delight to the caliph, who was still\nwatching the progress of his joke from a concealed place. 'Verily,'\nsaid he, 'thou art a wag, Abu Hasan.'\n\nWhen Hasan was fully refreshed with food there was still another\ndelight before him. The chief officer led him into another hall as\nelegant as the former, and there, when his ladies-in-waiting had bathed\nhis hands in a golden bowl with great ceremony, Abu Hasan seated\nhimself on luxurious cushions and partook of the choicest sweetmeats\nand fruits, while the Court musicians played a serenade and the Court\nladies stood around him fanning him, and responding to his sprightly\nsallies. Never had he experienced such pleasure; but even greater\nawaited him.\n\nWhen dessert was finished he was conducted into yet another hall,\nwhere, in the midst of everything the heart of luxury could desire,\nwere set silver flagons filled with sparkling wine, and near them were\nplaced seven golden goblets.\n\n[Illustration: BEHOLD THE REWARD OF THOSE WHO MEDDLE IN OTHER PEOPLE'S\nAFFAIRS p. 120]\n\nHere also, reposing on soft cushions, were six beautiful damsels, each\none of whom could vie with the fairest flower or sit in the place of\nthe moon. Easily enticed to a luxurious divan prepared for him, Abu\nHasan seated himself, and, clapping his hands, bade the musicians\ncease. There was silence. Then, turning to the damsel nearest him,\nHasan asked her name.\n\n'Cluster of Pearls,' replied she.\n\n'Then, Cluster of Pearls, fill a goblet with wine and I will drink your\nhealth, and may you always shine as now.'\n\nThe girl, vastly pleased, handed him the wine, and he drank. And, as\nthe music played, and they whirled about him in the dance, he called\none after another at intervals, asked her name, and received wine at\nher hands.\n\nAn hour of delight sped by in this fashion, until at last he came to\nthe sixth and last. 'What is your name?' asked he. 'Coralie,' said she.\n'Then, Coralie, give me wine as red as your lips, and with a sparkle\nlike that in your eyes.'\n\nNow the caliph had ordered that a lozenge of benj should be placed in\none of the goblets, and this reserved till the last. Accordingly, this\nwas the goblet that Coralie filled; and she handed it to Abu Hasan with\nsweet words, bidding him forget his exalted degree and drink to the\neyes and lips of his humblest slave-girl.\n\nAbu Hasan drank, and, in truth, he forgot everything--even the eyes and\nlips of the slave-girl--for his head fell forward on his breast and the\ngoblet rolled from his hand. The benj had done its work: he was in a\nprofound slumber.\n\nThe caliph, who had enjoyed the whole scene immensely, quickly came out\nof his hiding-place and ordered Abu Hasan to be dressed again in his\nown clothes and carried back to his own house and put to bed.\n\nNext morning----\n\nO King, next morning, when Abu Hasan awoke, he sat up and looked about\nhim in the utmost astonishment. What prank was this that he should\ndream he was awake and in his own home? Faugh! He clapped his hands\nand called loudly, 'Coralie! Cluster of Pearls! Morning Star! Heart's\nDelight! Where are you all?'\n\nHe called so loudly that his mother came running to him.\n\n'What ails thee, my son?' cried she.\n\nAbu Hasan sat up and looked at her haughtily. 'My good woman,' he said,\n'I advise thee to moderate thy tone somewhat if thou wish to have a\nhead left upon thy body. Thy son, indeed! Knowest thou not that I am\nthe Commander of the Faithful. Bow down, woman, or it will go hardly\nwith thee.'\n\nHis mother knew not what to say, but it was clear he had lost his\nreason. Thinking to divert his mind, she told him about the thousand\npieces of gold and the punishment of the imam.\n\n'Ha! that is so,' cried he. 'It was by my order these things were done.\nI tell you I am the caliph of Baghdad, and I will soon teach you how to\nbehave towards the Prince of the Faithful.'\n\nWith this he arose in wrath, and, seizing a cane, thrashed his mother\nseverely--whack! whack! whack! until her screams brought the neighbours\nrunning in. And as soon as they learnt how matters were they said among\nthemselves, 'He is mad!' So they fell upon him and bound him, and took\nhim off to the mad-house.\n\nA mad man then was Abu Hasan. Every day he received fifty strokes to\nremind him that he was not the Lord of all Creatures, until at last\nhe was fain to admit that since these things must be done by order of\nthe caliph, it was not within reason that the caliph should punish the\nPrince of the Faithful, or that the Lord of all Creatures should fall\nupon himself in so grievous a fashion. At last, one day he confessed\nhis error to his mother, and it gave her as much joy as if she had\nbrought him into the world for the second time. 'I have had an evil\ndream,' he said, 'a dream so real that verily it must have been the\nwork of wizardry. Ha! I see it now--that accurs\u00e9d merchant that supped\nwith me. It was he and none other. But the thousand pieces of gold! The\nimam! Nay, it was no dream, but the most devilish enchantment.'\n\nBut as he now confessed that he was not the caliph, his mother easily\nprocured his release and took him home. Under her tender care he soon\nregained his strength, and at length began to resume his former habits.\nAgain he repaired in the evenings to the end of the bridge and waylaid\nsome stranger whom he invited to sup with him. Some weeks had elapsed\nwhen one evening, while he was waiting in his usual place, he saw the\nmerchant from Moussul approaching, attended by his slave. 'By Allah!'\nsaid he in great agitation, 'here comes that vile magician!'\n\nThe caliph walked straight up to him and cried, 'Ho, brother! Is it\nthou? I am delighted! Permit me to embrace thee.'\n\n'Not so fast,' returned Abu Hasan coldly. 'I care not for thee nor thy\nembraces. Be off about thy business, accurs\u00e9d of God!'\n\n'What hast thou then suffered at my hands?' asked the caliph. 'Is it\nthat I forgot your oath through pleasure at seeing you once more? I am\ndeeply sorry.'\n\n'Nay, nay; it is not that, O master of fiends! Thou didst enchant me\nand hand me over to fiends, and now thou comest to make sport of my\nsufferings. Begone! I like thee not.'\n\n'Brother!' replied the caliph with extreme courtesy, 'thou art surely\nin error. Yet perchance it was my fault, for now I do remember that\nwhen I left you that night I neglected to close the door, and methinks\nthe evil one entered to thee after I had gone.' And, by cunning\narguments and the most courteous protestations of affection, the caliph\nsucceeded in convincing Hasan that he had no hand in such devilries,\nand in the end Hasan realised that he had done the stranger so great an\ninjustice that he set aside his oath for once and invited him again to\nhis house.\n\nAnd as it fell out before, so it befell again. A second time the caliph\nemployed the benj, and a second time Hasan awoke in the morning to\nfind himself upon the royal couch surrounded by the attendants of the\nCourt. His first call was for his mother, but a slave-girl struck a\nlute near by and answered, 'O Prince of the Faithful! we are here to do\nthy bidding.'\n\nAbu Hasan looked about him completely dazed. If he was one day Abu\nHasan and another day the caliph, who was he when he was at home? The\nproblem was insoluble. He tried to solve it by commanding the chief\nmemluk to bite his ear to see if he was really awake. Then, as the\nmemluk's teeth met through the flesh of the lobe, Abu Hasan shrieked\naloud, and the caliph, hidden in a recess near by, fell to his knees\nwith suppressed laughter.\n\n'Verily, I am awake,' cried Abu Hasan, rising in fury, 'but this is\nthe work of the evil one. O Abandoned of God! Back to your infernal\nabodes! I will have none of you.' And he hurled at them the most holy\npassages of the Koran ordained for the casting out of devils. At this\nthe caliph, unable to endure it further, came forth, laughing as he had\nnever laughed before. He cried, holding his sides, 'Stop! for Allah's\nsake, stop! or it will be the death of me!'\n\nThen Abu Hasan stood aghast. He recognised the merchant of Moussul, and\nalso, for the first time, he recognised Harun-er-Rashid, the caliph of\nBaghdad, the mighty descendant of the House of Abbas. He saw it all\nnow, and humbly made obeisance, praying that the Lord of all Creatures\nmight live for ever.\n\n'Rise, Abu Hasan the Wag!' said the caliph, 'and the peace of Allah be\nwith thee.'\n\nAbu Hasan the Wag! What a history was his! He rose in favour with the\ncaliph, who ceased not to shower gifts upon him. And a time came when\nthe caliph and the Queen Zobeide conspired together to marry him to\none of the loveliest women of the Court. These two thereafter lived in\nthe palace, under the caliph's smile, in perfect happiness, tasting\nevery delight until, in the end, when the last cup of joy was quaffed,\nthe Great Gleaner, who gleans alike in palaces and in the humblest\ndwellings, came to gather them home.\n\n\n\n\nJUSEF AND ASENATH\n\nA LOVE STORY OF EGYPT\n\n\nTHE loves of _Jusef_ and _Asenath_ which ran not smooth! Deep is the\npoet's singing thereon, and sweet is the song that is sung.\n\nIn the days of old, even on a day when _Jusef_, having interpreted\nthe dream of Egypt's king, set forth through the whole land to gather\nthe plenteous harvest against the seven years of famine to come, a\nbeautiful maiden named _Asenath_ sat in the tower of her father's\npalace surrounded by seven damsels whose beauty was rare, though it\npaled before that of _Asenath_ herself. She had chosen these damsels\nfrom the multitudes of Syria and Egypt and Arabia--a choice beset with\ndifficulty, for each one of them was neither older nor younger than\n_Asenath_, having been born in the selfsame midnight hour, though in\nplaces far distant beneath the moon.\n\n'Think not,' she was saying to them, 'that my father Putiphra, priest\nof Heliopolis and satrap of Pharaoh though he be, can say to me, \"This\nman shalt thou love,\" or, \"That man shall take thee to wife.\" Nay, the\nheart of _Asenath_ is her own, and it goes not out to any man, be he\nthe greatest in the land or so beautiful that the stars bow down before\nhim. True, my father is a good man and just, yet would not I obey him\nin such a matter, for, in the first place, my dead mother's words are\nlocked in my bosom. \"My daughter,\" she said, \"although thy father is of\nEgypt, thou art not, as I am not. I, a Hebrew of Syria, descended from\nZedekiah, in the region beyond the Euphrates, did spoil the Egyptians\nof thee, by thy very birth from me. See to it, therefore, that thou\ntake no prince of the land of Pharaoh to thy bosom, but rather one of\nmy own Hebrew blood, which has flowed through Syria to the east, and,\nhaving at length sat on the throne of Egypt, will rise from the ends\nof the earth to vanquish Syria in the west.\" Do ye comprehend this?'\n\n'O _Asenath_, we bow before thee. Thy beauty would burn the heart of\nthe mightiest in the land.'\n\n'Nay, I shall ever shun such fires. In that respect my mother's words\ntake no hold upon me. For that was in the first place; in the second\nplace, my mother's words counselling me to shun the Egyptian and wed\none of her own blood mean naught to me, since I would of my own accord\nshun all men, both Hebrew and Egyptian.'\n\nThe seven damsels looked at one another in silence. At last one, a\ndark-eyed Syrian, leaned forward and spoke:\n\n'O _Asenath_, hear me! Hast thou never felt a strange voice in thy\nheart calling for eyes like thine, and lips like wine, and strong arms\nto gather thee close and crush thee like a flower?'\n\n'Never have I. Hast thou, Ashtar?'\n\n'Never. Yet I have heard it sung in songs, when I doubt not it is the\nsweet music only that holds one in a close embrace till the heart beats\nwildly and----'\n\n'Stay thy tongue, Ashtar,' broke in _Asenath_ with scorn. 'Thy words\nstrike upon the back of my head, and fall at my heels. I see the light\nof madness in thine eyes.'\n\nAnd Ashtar, withered by her glance, hid her face in her hands and\ndrowned that light of madness in a storm of tears.\n\n'Tush, girl!' said _Asenath_, 'surely thou hast gone from thy mind to\nspeak such words.' The others sat mute and still, fearing to sympathise\nwith Ashtar lest they should arouse their mistress's anger still\nfurther. And yet each maiden leaned her body and turned her eyes a\nlittle--a very little--towards the culprit, for she had spoken bold\nwords which they had never dared to frame.\n\n'Look you,' cried _Asenath_, raising herself and speaking high, 'this\nday I learn that the first-born of Pharaoh hath desired me as wife. But\nI will none of him. I told his messenger that the king of Egypt would\ndesire a greater personage than I as his son's wife, and therefore\nhe had best look to the king of Moab, whose daughter is not only\nbeautiful, but a queen. Faugh! I will none of them. I am a maiden, and\na maiden I will remain.'\n\nNow, although _Asenath_ treasured her mother's memory, and for Hebrew\nloveliness was as beautiful as Rachel; although she liked not the\nEgyptians and their rule, yet, perforce, she knew no other religion\nthan theirs. Her father had brought her up in the worship and fear of\nthe Egyptian gods. Every day she repaired to the highest story of the\ntower, where, in the central chamber of twelve--a chamber splendidly\nadorned with rare stones of many colours and workmanship--those gods,\nwho were many, were wrought in silver and gold, even upon the purple\nceiling. There, day by day, she worshipped and feared and paid them\nsacrifice. This done, she would retire into a luxurious chamber which\nhad a great window looking towards the east, and there she would sit\nand muse and ponder, gazing out beyond the palace courtyard and away\nto the lonely waters of the Nile, now plying her needle on delicate\nembroideries which she loved, and now playing sweet music on her lute\nand singing to the silver moon. Always her damsels were about her; and\nalways the feet of men, for whom she had neither love nor fear, trod\nfar below in the ways of the city, no foot among those thousands ever\ndestined to tread the marble stairway leading to her palace tower.\n\nRich and rare were the priceless things the twelve chambers contained.\nApart from treasure-rooms stocked with precious stones and rare\nornaments and linen and silk of striking splendour there were broad\nbalconies and pillared alcoves where the soft breezes rustled in the\nbranches of great palms and the spray of clear fountains sparkled in\nthe sunlight ere it fell to rest on a bed of moss or strayed further to\ncaress the foliage of rare ferns nodding dreamily in deep grot or cool\nrecess. No flower that ever delighted the eyes of king or peasant was\nabsent from _Asenath's_ abode, and such a fragrance hung upon the air\nthat one had but to close one's eyes and yield to the sweet influences\nof Paradise.\n\nOn the day when _Asenath_ was speaking to her maidens, as has been\ntold already, she was reclining on a golden couch decked with purple,\nwoven with threads of gold, while all about it and upon were set jewels\nthat sparkled like stars in the midnight sky. She was gazing out at\nthe great window towards the east, when suddenly she was startled by a\ngreat commotion in the courtyard below. Slaves ran hither and thither\nat the word of the steward of the palace. All seemed in preparation for\nsome great event.\n\n'It can be naught but this,' said _Asenath_, 'my father hath sent a\nmessenger saying that he is returning from his country estate, having\ntaken tale of the harvest, for the king hath decreed that _Jusef_, the\nfirst ruler, shall require a toll of all in this the first year of\nplenty.'\n\n'_Jusef_, the prime ruler,' said Ashtar, 'he will come here? Then we\nshall see him. They say he is as beautiful as a god.'\n\n'_They_ say, girl? Who say?'\n\n'The songs,' stammered Ashtar, crestfallen, 'the--the songs of love.'\n\n'Silence, wayward one! Thou art bemused by the poets. This _Jusef_ is a\nmere man like other men; was he not the son of a shepherd? Was he not a\nrunaway? Was he not sold as a slave? Was he not cast by his master, and\nfor some good reason, into a dungeon?'\n\n'Yea, O my adored mistress, but was he not liberated by Pharaoh?'\n\n'Yes, because he interpreted Pharaoh's dreams, just as any old Egyptian\nwoman might do. Pouf! Thou art bemused!'\n\nThen Ashtar sat in silence, gazing out at the deep blue sky. Why had\nthis _Jusef's_ interpretation of dreams raised him to the king's favour\nwhile that of the old Egyptian women had been unheeded? Was it because\nhe was, as the singers sang, as beautiful as a god and possessed the\nspirit of a god? Ashtar could not tell. Beneath the haughty frown of\n_Asenath_ she sat dumb. Then, with a sigh, she sank upon her cushions,\nher lips trembling.\n\n'Ashtar is bemused,' whispered the other damsels one to another.\n'Could the like happen to us?' And _Asenath_, catching their words,\ncried, 'Ashtar is a fool! Who but a fool would ever think such\nthoughts or speak such words?' Then, as a great sound of voices\nstruck upon her ear, she turned again to the window. 'See! See!' she\nexclaimed, 'a great cavalcade is approaching the gates. There at the\nhead is my father, and--who is that beside him? What are the people\ncrying?--\"_Jusef_, the Prince of God!\" Ah! How proudly he sits his\nwhite charger, and how brave his equipments--how splendid his retinue!\nsay you, Ashtar, that this is the second to Pharaoh?'\n\n[Illustration: Handwritten: If any reader of my Picture Book would like\nto make a direct contribution to the French Red Cross, I should be\nvery proud to receive and acknowledge it. France, bled of treasure and\nsupplies is giving all she can.\n\nCan you not spare something towards this work of mercy and healing\namong our most gallant Allies?\n\n                                                 Edmund Dulac\n\n_Contributions may be addressed to_\n\n    EDMUND DULAC,\n    C/O THE DAILY TELEGRAPH,\n    FLEET STREET, E.C.]\n\n'Yes, mistress, yes; this is the man _Jusef_, like all other men. They\nsay he is searching for corn, not for the love of woman.'\n\n'Then let him deal with corn,' flashed _Asenath_, rising. 'Leave me,\nall of you! I would be alone.'\n\nThe damsels fled, and _Asenath_ turned again to the window. The gates\nwere now opened, and her father and _Jusef_, followed by a great\nretinue, rode into the courtyard. Ah! What perfect grace of form and\nfeature! _Asenath's_ heart almost burst for frantic beating as she\nlooked at him. Then, in spite of herself, she drew nearer the window,\nand, as she gazed down, _Jusef_ chanced to glance up. Their eyes met,\nand _Asenath_, with a pang at her heart, reeled and fell clutching\nat the cushions. There she lay sobbing in sudden sorrow. She had\nspoken bitter words against him, and now the sweet tears of repentance\nrefreshed her anguished soul. Soon she sat up, a picture of misery, but\nwith a glorious light in her eyes.\n\n'Ashtar is no fool,' she murmured, clenching her hands; 'and I do\nnot believe the tales told by the people against him. Oh! Unhappy\n_Asenath_! What is life to thee now? He comes for toll of corn, and\nwith toll of corn he will depart, and then----'\n\nShe swung herself prone upon the cushions and wept again most bitterly.\n\nAnd _Jusef_ entered into the palace of Putiphra, and all fell down\nand made obeisance before him,--all except _Asenath_, who remained\nhidden in her tower. When the slave-girls had washed _Jusef's_ feet\nthey set food and wine before him, but on a table apart, for it was\nknown in the land that _Jusef_ the son of Jakub would not eat with the\nEgyptians, this being an abomination to him.\n\n'My lord Putiphra,' he said, when he had refreshed himself, 'pray tell\nme, who is that woman I saw looking from the window of the tower? I\ndesire not her presence here.'\n\nNow Putiphra knew it was his daughter _Asenath_ that _Jusef_ had seen.\nHe knew, also, that there was no wife nor daughter of any great man\nof Egypt who at sight of _Jusef's_ beauty did not fall in evil case.\nNay, further, many were the gifts of gold and silver and precious\nstones sent him by those who languished and were undone in heart by a\nsingle glance at him afar. Wherefore these things were a sore vexation\nto _Jusef_, who was as pure as he was beautiful. Remembering ever his\nfather's exhortation to avoid the strange woman with a gentle and\ncourteous denial, and to have no other communication with her, he had\npreserved the sweetness of his soul to God. 'I pray,' he said, seeing\nhis host was slow to answer, 'let the woman go hence, for so thou shalt\nearn my thanks.'\n\n'My lord,' replied Putiphra, 'the woman thou sawest was none but mine\nown daughter, a pure virgin, whom no man save myself hath seen unto\nthis day. Indeed, she hath no heart for aught but her present state, my\nlord. Wert thou to speak with her, thou wouldst regard her from that\nmoment henceforth as thy sister, for in any other respect she hateth\nevery man.'\n\nThese words pleased _Jusef_ exceedingly.\n\n'Then the case is different,' said he. 'If she be your daughter and a\nmaiden, hating all men save father and brother, let her come to me and\nshe will be to me as a sister, and I will love her henceforth, even as\nmy own sister.'\n\nThen Putiphra went up to the tower and soon returned, leading _Asenath_\nby the hand. And when she saw _Jusef_ her eyes were as the eyes of one\nthat looketh into Paradise.\n\n'Go to thy brother,' said Putiphra, 'and salute him with a kiss, for he\nis like thee, pure and virgin.'\n\n_Asenath_ advanced to _Jusef_, saying, 'Hail, lord, great and blessed\nof the Most High!' And _Jusef_ replied, 'Hail to thee, maiden! May the\nLord God, who giveth all grace and beauty, so continue to bless thee.'\n\nBut when _Asenath_ timidly advanced still further to fulfil her\nfather's command, and showed a sweet intent to kiss her new-found\nbrother, _Jusef_ saw the love-light in her eyes, though she, poor\nchild, knew naught of it but that her heart had left her bosom and\nflown to his. He rose quickly from his seat, and, raising his right\narm, said, 'It is not fitting that a man whose lips extol the living\nGod should kiss a strange woman whose mouth prayeth to blocks of wood\nand stone, and eateth the bread of strangling, and drinketh the cup of\ntreachery.'\n\nWhen _Asenath_ heard these words her knees trembled. Her heart returned\nto her own bosom and sank within it. She groaned aloud, and, as she\ngazed sorrowfully at _Jusef_, her eyes brimmed with tears. Seeing this,\n_Jusef_ felt pity for her, for he was gentle and merciful. Placing his\nhand upon her head, he spoke: 'God of my fathers, who hast given life\nand light to all things, do Thou bless this maiden, and count her as\none of Thy people chosen from the foundations of the world; and may she\ncome to Thine eternal peace, pure and holy in Thy sight.'\n\nThen the tears withdrew from _Asenath's_ eyes as the blessing of\n_Jusef_ shone upon her face. She thanked him joyfully, and, having\nsaluted him, returned to her tower, where she threw herself upon her\ncouch by the window, weak and trembling with joy and grief and fear and\nremorse.\n\nAlas! how she had spoken of _Jusef_! How she had besmirched his\nname--called him a runaway, a guilty man who should still be in prison\nfor his sin, a mere interpreter of dreams. Alas! and he had spurned her\nas a worshipper of idols and then had forgiven and blessed her, the\nlast on earth to deserve it.\n\nFor a time she wept with a great and bitter weeping; then she rose\nwith teeth clenched and dry eyes aflame. Rushing to the wall of the\nchamber she snatched a stone idol from its place and hurled it from the\nwindow into the courtyard below. She saw it fall, and heard the crash\nas it splintered upon the stones. 'His faith was my mothers faith,' she\ncried, 'and henceforth my mother's faith is mine.'\n\nWhen _Jusef_ had gathered the toll of wheat and was about to depart\nPutiphra besought him to tarry and abide at his palace the night and\ncontinue his journey on the following day. But _Jusef_ replied, 'Nay,\nI have seven days in which I must make a circuit of the whole country,\nbut on the eighth day I will return and take up my abode with you.'\n\nAnd _Jusef_ departed with his retinue through the palace gates; and as\nhe went he looked not up at the window of the palace tower, nor did\n_Asenath_ look down therefrom.\n\nFor seven days thereafter the sun rose and set on _Asenath_ weeping.\nShe neither ate nor drank, nor could her damsels console her in any\nway. Sleep fled from her eyes. 'Woe is me,' she would cry, smiting\nher breast. 'Woe to me that I have spoken evil words concerning him;\nwhither shall I go to escape from my sorrow? Woe to me, wretched one,\nwho hath defamed with my tongue the most beautiful son of Heaven.\nOh that my father could now give me to _Jusef_ as a slave-girl or a\nhandmaiden, that I might serve him for ever.'\n\nOn the night of the seventh day she arose from her couch, and, passing\namong her damsels, who were all asleep, stole down the stairway of the\ntower, through the ways of the palace, and out to the great gateway.\nHere she found the janitor fast asleep. Without waking him, she ran to\nthe gate and tore down the skin of the screen belonging to it. Then\nshe sought an ash heap in a remote part of the courtyard, and, having\nfilled the skin with ashes, returned with it to the tower. She entered\nher own chamber and bolted the door; then she spread the skin of ashes\non the pavement by the window and fell upon it, weeping violently, and\ncrying in broken words: 'By this do I renounce the gods of Egypt. By\nthis do I change my heart and cleanse my lips, which, as he said, have\noffered prayers to idols.' And so she repented with groans and tears\nuntil the dawn was near, when she looked up towards the east and saw\nthe morning star depending from the side of heaven, like a great lamp\nburning clear and sheltered from the wind, lighting her soul to the\ngate of forgiveness. She sat up and raised her hands towards it, when\nsuddenly the sky opened and a wondrous light appeared. When _Asenath_\nsaw it she fell on her face upon the ashes, and lo, a man strode out\nof heaven and stood above her, calling her by name; but she answered\nnot, so great was her terror. Then he called her again: '_Asenath!\nAsenath!_' and his voice was like the murmur of the four streams of\nParadise.\n\n'O my lord, who art thou?' she answered from the dust.\n\n'I am the prince and commander of the hosts of the Lord. Arise and\nstand before me, for I would speak with thee.'\n\nWhen _Asenath_ raised her head and looked at the bright visitant she\nsaw before her an angel in the form and features of _Jusef_, clad in\na robe of dazzling purple, with a crown of gold encircling his brows,\nand bearing a royal staff in his hand. Then she was taken with a sudden\nfear, and fell again upon her face. But the Bright One of God raised\nher up and comforted her.\n\n'Lift up thy heart, O Virgin _Asenath_,' he said, 'for thy name is\nwritten in the Book of Life and shall never be blotted out for ever and\nfor ever. For know that thy repentance hath pleaded with the Most High\nas a daughter pleads with a loving father, and it is this day decreed\nthat thou shalt be given unto _Jusef_ as his bride. Therefore arise and\nchange thy garments. Remove that goat's-hair girdle of sorrow from thy\nloins, shake the ashes from thine head, and array thyself in fine linen\nwith ornaments fitting for the bride of a king to be. Go now, and on\nthy return thou wilt find me here, provided thou return alone.'\n\nSo _Asenath_ went and woke her damsels, and bade them select the finest\nraiment and the brightest jewels fitting for the bride of the second to\nPharaoh. No word did she say of the angel, and they wondered greatly.\nAshtar alone, on looking into her mistress's eyes, saw there the light\nthat she almost understood.\n\n'Nay, Ashtar,' said _Asenath_, as the damsel's deft fingers plied their\ntask, 'thou art not bemused. It has come to me, Ashtar; canst thou not\nsee it?'\n\n'Yea, beloved mistress; that can I, right well.' And as their eyes met,\nAshtar's filled with tears of joy.\n\nAt last _Asenath_ stood apparelled and adorned as befitted the bride\nof the second to Pharaoh. Her braided hair, a plait of which hung over\nher shoulder, was bound about her brows with a tiara of gold set with\nsparkling jewels. Gold bracelets were on her arms; a crimson sash\nencircled her waist; flounces of her skirts shone with a thousand\ndiamonds and rubies; but most wonderful of all was the long, gossamer\nveil which fell from her shoulders and trailed on the ground: it was\nlike the milky way of heaven, all stars, with diamond suns blazing here\nand there. Beauty beyond words was _Asenath_ as she returned to the\nangel bearing a white flower of purity in her hand.\n\nHe was standing by the window as she entered the chamber alone and\nbarred the door behind her.\n\n'My lord,' she said, humbly kneeling before him, 'if now I have won\nfavour in thine eyes, I pray thee take this flower, for thou knowest\nthe meaning of it. It is spotless white, even as I; with a centre of\ngold, even as I. I pray thee take it and set it in Paradise that it may\nnever wither.'\n\nThe angel smiled and took the flower, which he placed in his girdle.\n'It will never wither,' he said. 'It is the flower that endures when\nall created things have passed away. When thou comest to the tree of\nlife thou shalt find it there. _Perchance thou mayst find it even\nhere._'\n\nThen _Asenath_, pondering his words in her heart, beseeched him to sit\nupon the couch whereon man had never sat. And she said, 'I will bring\nthee a meal. What wouldst thou?'\n\n'A honeycomb,' said he.\n\n'Alas! I have no honeycomb.' And she was sorrowful.\n\n'Go thou into thy cellar,' said the angel, 'and thou wilt find a\nhoneycomb.'\n\nWondering, she went to the cellar, and found a honeycomb there upon the\ntable. It was as white as snow and had the combined fragrance of all\nthe flowers that bloom on hillside and plain. And she returned to him\nwith the honeycomb, saying, 'My lord, as thou spakest, so it was, and\nthe fragrance of it is as the breath of thy presence.'\n\n'Blessed art thou,' said the angel, laying his hand tenderly upon her\nhair; 'thou hast cast away thine idols and hast turned to the living\nGod. Thou hast come to me in penitence, and shalt now eat of this\nhoneycomb which was gathered and made by the bees of God from the red\nroses of Eden. It is the food of angels, and those who eat it can never\ndie.'\n\nWith this he brake a portion from the honeycomb and set it to her lips,\nsaying, 'Eat, and thy youth shall not fail, thy beauty shall not fall\naway, thy breasts shall not wither, and thou shalt come at last, in\neternal youth, before the throne of God.'\n\n_Asenath_ ate the morsel of honeycomb, and immediately her face was\nradiant with the glory of heaven.\n\n'See,' said the angel, touching the broken honeycomb, 'it is now whole\nas before.' Then he rose up, and with his finger traced a line upon\nthe honeycomb from east to west, and another from north to south; and\nthe lines stood out as red as the blood shed on the cross erected upon\nthe foundations of the world. And, as _Asenath_ looked upon it, there\ncame forth from the comb a multitude of bees with purple wings; and\nthey swarmed around her with incessant life, and, swiftly speeding to\nand from the gardens of Paradise, deposited in the bosom of her dress a\nhoneycomb as white as snow.\n\n'This,' said the angel, 'shall be a sign to thee of sweetness for\never.' And, as at his command, the bees flew eastward to Eden; then\nhe touched the honeycomb, and it was immediately consumed by flames;\nbut the fragrance of that burning was like the marriage of honey with\nfire. It rose into the nostrils of _Asenath_ and overcame her senses.\nRelinquishing all hold on earthly life, she threw up her arms and sank\nback upon the couch, where she lay like a beautiful soul fallen dead at\nthe very gates of Paradise.\n\nOn the slanting rays of dawn the angel took his way eastwards. Then up\nrose the sun of the eighth day since _Jusef's_ departure. A cavalcade\napproached the gates of the palace.\n\n'Ho, within!'\n\nThe gates open and there is rushing to and fro. A man, as lordly as\nthe sun, a white flower with a heart of gold in his girdle, rides in,\nfollowed by a retinue found only in the wake of kings. It is _Jusef_.\nMaddened by a dream, he looks up at the window of the palace tower, but\nthe beautiful face that has showed before shows there no more. Love\nspeeds his footsteps. He has right to command. Where--where is she?\n\n_Asenath_ upon her couch wakes from oblivion at a touch. Who is this\nstanding over her? The angel, yea, the angel, for there is her flower\nstill in his girdle. But how?--and why?--it seems not right; his lips\npressed close to hers, his arms around her in a wild embrace----\n\n'_Asenath!_ my bride!'\n\n\n    Printed in Great Britain\n    By T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty, Edinburgh\n\n\n\n\nEDMUND DULAC'S PICTURE BOOK\n\nPUBLISHED ON BEHALF OF THE\n\nCROIX ROUGE FRAN\u00c7AISE\n\nCOMIT\u00c9 DE LONDRES\n\n9 KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON, S.W.\n\n                           _COMIT\u00c9 DE LONDRES_\n                       9 KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON, S.W.\n\n     =_Pr\u00e9sident d'honneur_=            =_Pr\u00e9sidente_=\n    S. E. MONSIEUR PAUL CAMBON           VICOMTESSE DE LA PANOUSE\n\n                       =Under the Patronage of=\n                         H.M. QUEEN ALEXANDRA\n\nThe work of the FRENCH RED CROSS is done almost entirely by the willing\nsacrifice of patriotic people who give little or much out of their\nmeans. The Comit\u00e9 is pleased to give the fullest possible particulars\nof its methods and needs. It is sufficient here to say that every one\nwho gives even a shilling gives a wounded French soldier more than a\nshilling's worth of ease or pleasure.\n\nThe actual work is enormous. The number of men doctored, nursed,\nhoused, fed, kept from the worries of illness, is great, increasing,\nand will increase.\n\nYou must remember that everything to do with sick and wounded has to be\nkept up to a daily standard. It is you who give who provide the drugs,\nmedicines, bandages, ambulances, coal, comfort for those who fight, get\nwounded, or die to keep you safe. Remember that besides fighting for\nFrance, they are fighting for the civilised world, and that you owe\nyour security and civilisation to them as much as to your own men and\nthe men of other Allied Countries.\n\nThere is not one penny that goes out of your pockets in this cause that\ndoes not bind France and Britain closer together. From the millionaire\nwe need his thousands; from the poor man his store of pence. We do not\nbeg, we insist, that these brave wounded men shall lack for nothing. We\ndo not ask of you, we demand of you, the help that must be given.\n\nThere is nothing too small and nothing too large but we need it.\n\nDay after day we send out great bales of goods to these our devoted\nsoldiers, and we must go on.\n\nImagine yourself ill, wounded, sick, in an hospital, with the smash and\nshriek of the guns still dinning in your ears, and imagine the man or\nwoman who would hold back their purse from helping you.\n\nTimes are not easy, we know, but being wounded is less easy, and being\nleft alone because nothing is forthcoming is terrible. You have calls\nupon you everywhere, you say; well, these men have answered their call,\nand in the length and breadth of France they wait your reply.\n\nWhat is it to be?\n\n\n    Will you please send anything you can afford to\n    EDMUND DULAC, c/o \"THE DAILY TELEGRAPH,\" LONDON, E.C.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPunctuation errors repaired. The note on the publishing of this book\nappeared at the front and back of this book. That repetition was\nretained. Also, the note from Edmund Dulac is really loacted in the\nlast story as shown.\n\nPage 7, \"ROUSELLE\" changed to \"ROUSSELLE\" on the illustration (OF YOUNG\nROUSSELLE?)\n\nPage 9, \"LAYLA AND MANJUN\" changed to \"LAYL\u00c1 AND MAJN\u00daN\" in chapter\ntitle (LAYL\u00c1 AND MAJN\u00daN)\n\nPage 22, \"MAJNUN\" changed to \"MAJN\u00daN\" on the illustration (THAT ONE\nWORD \"MAJN\u00daN\")\n\nPage 102, \"104\" changed to \"103\" on illustration reference (HIM p. 103)","title":"Edmund Dulac's Picture-Book for the French Red Cross","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":43423}