THE FALSE PRINCE.
There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, wholearned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could notbe said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, hecould make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injusticeto have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what tomake of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidlythat the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and thatnone could equal him. At another time, however, (and this, alas!happened more frequently,) he would sit in deep meditation, lookingwith his staring eyes straight before him, and with a countenance andair so peculiar, that his master and fellow-journeymen could say ofhis appearance nothing else than, "Labakan has on again, hisaristocratic face."
On Friday, however, when others quietly returned home from prayers totheir labor, Labakan would come forth from the mosque in a finegarment which with great pains he had made for himself, and walk withslow and haughty steps through the squares and streets of the city. Atsuch times, if one of his companions cried, "Joy be with thee!" or,"How goes it, friend Labakan?" he would patronizingly give a token ofrecognition with his hand, or, if he felt called upon to be verypolite, would bow genteelly with the head. Whenever his master said tohim in jest, "Labakan, in thee a prince is lost," he would berejoiced, and answer, "Have you too observed it?" or, "I have alreadylong thought it."
In this manner did the honest journeyman tailor conduct himself for along time, while his master tolerated his folly, because, in otherrespects, he was a good man and an excellent workman. But one day,Selim, the sultan's brother, who was travelling through Alexandria,sent a festival-garment to his master to have some change made in it,and the master gave it to Labakan, because he did the finest work. Inthe evening, when the apprentices had all gone forth to refreshthemselves after the labor of the day, an irresistible desire droveLabakan back into the workshop, where the garment of the sultan'sbrother was hanging. He stood some time, in reflection, before it,admiring now the splendor of the embroidery, now the varied colors ofthe velvet and silk. He cannot help it, he must put it on; and, lo! itfits him as handsomely as if it were made for him. "Am not I as good aprince as any?" asked he of himself, as he strutted up and down theroom. "Has not my master himself said, that I was born for a prince?"With the garments, the apprentice seemed to have assumed quite akingly carriage; he could believe nothing else, than that he was aking's son in obscurity, and as such he resolved to travel forth intothe world, leaving a city where the people hitherto had been sofoolish as not to discover his innate dignity beneath the veil of hisinferior station. The splendid garment seemed sent to him by a goodfairy; resolving therefore not to slight so precious a gift, he puthis little stock of money in his pocket, and, favored by the darknessof the night, wandered forth from Alexandria's gates.
The new prince excited admiration everywhere upon his route, for thesplendid garment, and his serious majestic air, would not allow him topass for a common pedestrian. If one inquired of him about it, he tookcare to answer, with a mysterious look, that he had his reasons forit. Perceiving, however, that he rendered himself an object ofridicule by travelling on foot, he purchased for a small sum an oldhorse, which suited him very well, for it never brought his habitualquiet and mildness into difficulty, by compelling him to show himselfoff as an excellent rider, a thing which in reality he was not.
One day, as he was proceeding on his way, step by step, upon hisMurva, (thus had he named his horse,) a stranger joined him, and askedpermission to travel in his company, since to him the distance wouldseem much shorter, in conversation with another. The rider was a gayyoung man, elegant and genteel in manners. He soon knit up aconversation with Labakan, with respect to his whence and whither, andit turned out that he also, like the journeyman tailor, was travellingwithout purpose, in the world. He said his name was Omar, that he wasthe nephew of Elfi Bey, the unfortunate bashaw of Cairo, and was nowon his way to execute a commission which his uncle had delivered tohim upon his dying-bed. Labakan was not so frank with respect to hiscircumstances; he gave him to understand that he was of lofty descent,and was travelling for pleasure.
The two young men were pleased with each other, and rode on incompany. On the second day, Labakan interrogated his companion Omar,respecting the commission with which he was charged, and to hisastonishment learned the following. Elfi Bey, the bashaw of Cairo, hadbrought up Omar from his earliest childhood; the young man had neverknown his parents. But shortly before, Elfi Bey, having been attackedby his enemies, and, after three disastrous engagements, mortallywounded, was obliged to flee, and disclosed to his charge that he wasnot his nephew, but the son of a powerful lord, who, inspired withfear by the prophecy of his astrologer, had sent the young prince awayfrom his court, with an oath never to see him again until histwenty-second birthday. Elfi Bey had not told him his father's name,but had enjoined upon him with the greatest precision, on the fourthday of the coming month Ramadan, on which day he would betwo-and-twenty years old, to repair to the celebrated pillarEl-Serujah, four days' journey east of Alexandria: there he shouldoffer to the men who would be standing by the pillar, a dagger whichhe gave him, with these words, "Here am I, whom ye seek!" If theyanswered, "Blessed be the Prophet, who has preserved thee!" then hewas to follow them--they would lead him to his father.
The journeyman tailor, Labakan, was much astonished at thisinformation; from this time he looked upon Prince Omar with enviouseyes, irritated because fortune conferred upon him, though already hepassed for the nephew of a mighty bashaw, the dignity of a king's son;but on him, whom she had endowed with all things necessary for aprince, bestowed in ridicule, an obscure lineage, and an every-dayvocation. He instituted a comparison between himself and the prince.He was obliged to confess that the latter was a man of very livelyaspect; that fine sparkling eyes belonged to him, a boldly-archednose, a gentlemanly, complaisant demeanor, in a word, all the externalaccomplishments, which every one is wont to commend. But numerous aswere the charms he found in his companion, still he was compelled toacknowledge to himself, that a Labakan would be no less acceptable tothe royal father than the genuine prince.
These thoughts pursued Labakan the whole day; with them he went tosleep in the nearest night-lodgings; but when he awoke in the morning,and his eye rested upon Omar sleeping near him, who was reposing soquietly, and could dream of his now certain fortune, then arose in himthe thought of gaining, by stratagem or violence, what unpropitiousdestiny had denied him. The dagger, the returning prince's token ofrecognition, hung in the sleeper's girdle; he softly drew it forth, toplunge it in the breast of its owner. Nevertheless, the peaceable soulof the journeyman recoiled before thoughts of murder; he contentedhimself with appropriating the dagger, and bridling for himself thefaster horse of the prince; and, ere Omar awoke to see himselfdespoiled of all his hopes, his perfidious companion was several milesupon his way.
The day on which Labakan robbed the prince was the first of the holymonth Ramadan, and he had therefore four days to reach the pillarEl-Serujah, the locality of which was well known to him. Although theregion wherein it was situated could at farthest be at a distance ofbut four days' journey, still he hastened to reach it, through aconstant fear of being overtaken by the real prince.
By the end of the second day, he came in sight of the pillarEl-Serujah. It stood upon a little elevation, in the midst of anextensive plain, and could be seen at a distance of two or threeleagues. Labakan's heart beat high at the sight: though he had hadtime enough on horseback, for the last two days, to think of the parthe was to play, still a consciousness of guilt made him anxious; thethought that he was born for a prince, however, encouraged him again,and he advanced towards the mark with renewed confidence.
The country around the pillar was uninhabited and desert, and the newprince would have experienced some difficulty in finding sustenance,if he had not previously supplied himself for several days. He laydown beside his horse beneath some palm
-trees, and there awaited hisdistant destiny.
Towards the middle of the next day, he saw a large procession ofhorses and camels crossing the plain in the direction of the pillarEl-Serujah. It reached the foot of the hill, on which the pillarstood; there they pitched splendid tents, and the whole looked likethe travelling-suite of some rich bashaw or sheik. Labakan perceivedthat the numerous train which met his eye, had taken the pains to comehither on his account, and gladly would he that moment have shown themtheir future lord; but he mastered his eager desire to walk asprince; for, indeed, the next morning would consummate his boldestwishes.
The morning sun awoke the too happy tailor to the most importantmoment of his life, which would elevate him from an inferiorsituation, to the side of a royal father. As he was bridling his horseto ride to the pillar, the injustice of his course, indeed, occurredto him; his thoughts pictured to him the anguish of the true prince,betrayed in his fine hopes; but the die was cast: what was done couldnot be undone, and self-love whispered to him that he looked statelyenough to pass for the son of the mightiest king. Inspirited by thesereflections, he sprang upon his horse, and collecting all his courageto bring him to an ordinary gallop, in less than a quarter of an hour,reached the foot of the hill. He dismounted from his horse, andfastened it to one of the shrubs that were growing near; then he drewthe dagger of Prince Omar, and proceeded up the hill. At the base ofthe pillar six persons were standing around an old gray-haired man, oflofty king-like aspect. A splendid caftan of gold cloth surrounded bya white Cashmere shawl, a snowy turban spangled with glitteringprecious stones, pointed him out as a man of opulence and nobility. Tohim Labakan proceeded, and bowing low before him, said, as he extendedthe dagger--
"Here am I, whom you seek."
"Praise to the Prophet who has preserved thee!" answered thegray-haired one, with tears of joy. "Omar, my beloved son, embracethine old father!" The good tailor was deeply affected by these solemnwords, and sank, with mingled emotions of joy and shame, into the armsof the old noble.
But only for a moment was he to enjoy the unclouded delight of his newrank; raising himself from the arms of the king, he saw a riderhastening over the plain in the direction of the hill. The travellerand his horse presented a strange appearance; the animal, either fromobstinacy or fatigue, seemed unwilling to proceed. He went along witha stumbling gait, which was neither a pace nor a trot; but the riderurged him on, with hands and feet, to a faster run. Only too soon didLabakan recognise his horse Murva, and the real Prince Omar. But theevil spirit of falsehood once more prevailed within him, and heresolved, come what might, with unmoved front to support the rights hehad usurped. Already, in the distance, had they observed the horsemanmaking signs; at length, in spite of Murva's slow gait, having reachedthe bottom of the hill, he threw himself from his horse, and beganrapidly to ascend.
"Hold!" cried he. "Hold! whoever you may be, and suffer not yourselvesto be deceived by a most infamous impostor! I am called Omar, and letno mortal venture to misuse my name!"
Great astonishment was depicted on the countenances of the bystandersat this turn of the affair; the old man, in particular, seemed to bemuch amazed, as he looked inquiringly on one and another. ThereuponLabakan spoke, with a composure gained only by the most powerfuleffort.
"Most gracious lord and father, be not led astray by this man. He is,as far as I know, a mad journeyman tailor of Alexandria, by nameLabakan, who deserves rather our pity than our anger."
These words excited the prince almost to phrensy. Foaming withpassion, he would have sprung upon Labakan, but the bystanders,throwing themselves between, secured him, while the old man said:"Truly, my beloved son, the poor man is crazed. Let them bind him andplace him on one of our dromedaries; perhaps we may be of someassistance to the unfortunate."
The anger of the prince had abated; in tears, he cried out to the oldman, "My heart tells me that you are my father; by the memory of mymother, I conjure you--hear me!"
"Alas! God guard us!" answered he: "already he again begins to talkwildly. How can the man come by such crazy thoughts?" Thereupon,seizing Labakan's arm, he made him accompany him down the hill. Theyboth mounted fine and richly-caparisoned coursers, and rode at thehead of the procession, across the plain. They tied the hands of theunfortunate prince, however, and bound him securely upon a dromedary.Two horsemen rode constantly by his side, who kept a watchful eye uponhis every movement.
The old prince was Saoud, sultan of the Wechabites. For some time hadhe lived without children; at last a prince, for whom he had soardently longed, was born to him. But the astrologer, whom heconsulted respecting the destiny of his son, told him that, until histwenty-second year, he would be in danger of being supplanted by anenemy. On that account, in order that he might be perfectly safe, hadthe sultan given him, to be brought up, to his old and tried friend,Elfi Bey; and twenty-two sad years had lived without looking upon him.
This did the sultan impart to his supposed son, and seemed delightedbeyond measure with his figure and dignified demeanor.
When they reached the sultan's dominions, they were everywherereceived by the inhabitants with shouts of joy; for the rumor of theprince's arrival had spread like wildfire through the cities andtowns. In the streets through which they proceeded, arches of flowersand branches were erected; bright carpets of all colors adorned thehouses; and the people loudly praised God and his prophet, who haddiscovered to them so noble a prince. All this filled the proud heartof the tailor with delight: so much the more unhappy did it make thereal Omar, who, still bound, followed the procession in silentdespair. In this universal jubilee, though it was all in his honor, noone paid him any attention. A thousand, and again a thousand, voicesshouted the name of Omar; but of him who really bore this name, of himnone took notice: at most, only one or two inquired whom they werecarrying with them, so tightly bound, and frightfully in the ears ofthe prince sounded the answer of his guards, "It is a mad tailor."
The procession at last reached the capital of the sultan, where allwas prepared for their reception with still more brilliancy than inthe other cities. The sultana, an elderly woman of majesticappearance, awaited them, with her whole court, in the most splendidsaloon of the castle. The floor of this room was covered with a largecarpet; the walls were adorned with bright blue tapestry, which wassuspended from massive silver hooks, by cords and tassels of gold.
It was dark by the time the procession came up, and accordingly manyglobular colored lamps were lighted in the saloon, which made nightbrilliant as day; but with the clearest brilliancy and most variedcolors, shone those in the farthest part of the saloon, where thesultana was seated upon a throne. The throne stood upon four steps,and was of pure gold, inlaid with amethysts. The four most illustriousemirs held a canopy of crimson silk over the head of their mistress;and the sheik of Medina cooled her with a fan of peacock feathers.Thus awaited the sultana her husband and son; the latter she had neverlooked on since his birth, but significant dreams had so plainly shownher the object of her longings, that she would know him out ofthousands.
Now they heard the noise of the approaching troop; trumpets and drumsmingled with the huzzas of the populace; the hoofs of the horsessounded on the court of the palace; steps came nearer and nearer; thedoors of the room flew open, and, through rows of prostrateattendants, hastened the sultan, holding his son by the hand, towardsthe mother's throne.
"Here," said he, "do I bring to thee, him for whom thou hast so oftenlonged."
The sultana, however, interrupted him, crying: "This is not my son!These are not the features which the Prophet has shown me in mydreams!"
Just as the sultan was about to rebuke her superstition, the door ofthe saloon sprang open, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by hisguards, whom an exertion of his whole strength had enabled him toescape. Breathless, he threw himself before the throne, exclaiming:--
"Here will I die! Kill me, cruel father, for this disgrace I canendure no longer!"
All were confounded at these words
; they pressed around theunfortunate one, and already were the guards, who had hurried up, onthe point of seizing him and replacing his fetters, when the sultana,who had thus far looked on in mute astonishment, sprang from thethrone.
"Hold!" she cried; "this, and no other, is my son! This is he, who,though my eyes have never seen him, is well known to my heart!" Theguards had involuntarily fallen back from Omar, but the sultan,foaming with rage, commanded them to bind the madman.
"It is mine to decide," he cried with commanding tone; "and here wewill judge, not by a woman's dreams, but by sure and infalliblesigns. This," pointing to Labakan, "is my son, for he has brought methe dagger, the real token of my friend Elfi."
"He stole it," cried Omar; "my unsuspicious confidence has hetreacherously abused!" But the sultan hearkened not to the voice ofhis son, for he was wont in all things obstinately to follow his ownjudgment. He bade them forcibly drag the unfortunate Omar from thesaloon, and himself retired with Labakan to his chamber, filled withanger at his wife, with whom, nevertheless, he had lived in happinessfor five-and-twenty years. The sultana was full of grief at thisaffair; she was perfectly convinced that an impostor had takenpossession of the sultan's heart, so numerous and distinct had beenthe dreams which pointed out the unhappy Omar as her son. When hersorrow had a little abated, she reflected on the means of convincingher husband of his mistake. This was indeed difficult, for he who hadpassed himself off as her son, had presented the dagger, the token ofrecognition, and had, moreover, as she learned, become acquainted withso much of Omar's early life from the lips of the prince himself, asto be able to play his part without betraying himself.
She called to her the men who had attended the sultan to the pillarEl-Serujah, in order to have the whole matter exactly laid before her,and then took counsel with her most trusty female slaves. She chose,and in a moment rejected, this means and that; at length, Melechsalah,an old and cunning Circassian, spoke.
"If I have heard rightly, honored mistress, the one who bore thisdagger called him whom thou holdest to be thy son, a crazy tailor,Labakan?"
"Yes, it is so," answered the sultana; "but what wilt thou make ofthat?"
"What think you," proceeded the slave, "of this impostor's havingstitched his own name upon your son? If this be so, we have anexcellent way of catching the deceiver, which I will impart to you inprivate."
The sultana gave ear to her slave, and the latter whispered to her aplan which seemed to please her, for she immediately got ready to goto the sultan. The sultana was a sensible woman, and knew not onlythe weak side of her husband, but also the way to take advantage ofit. She seemed therefore to give up, and to be willing to acknowledgeher son, only offering one condition: the sultan, whom the outbreakbetween himself and his wife had grieved, agreed thereto, and shesaid:--
"I would fain have from each a proof of his skill; another, perhaps,would have them contend in riding, in single conflict, or in hurlingspears: but these are things which every one can do; I will give themsomething which will require both knowledge and dexterity. It shall bethis; each shall make a caftan, and a pair of pantaloons, and thenwill we see at once who can make the finest ones."
The sultan laughingly answered, "Ah! thou hast hit on a fineexpedient! Shall my son contend with a mad tailor, to see who can makethe best caftan? No! that cannot be." The sultana, however, cried out,that he had already agreed to the condition, and her husband, who wasa man of his word, at length yielded, though he swore, should the madtailor make his caftan ever so beautiful, he would never acknowledgehim as his son.
The sultan thereupon went to his son, and entreated him to submit tothe caprices of his mother, who now positively wished to see a caftanfrom his hands. The heart of the good Labakan laughed with delight; ifthat be all that is wanting, thought he to himself, then shall thelady sultana soon behold me with joy. Two rooms had been fitted up,one for the prince, the other for the tailor; there were they to trytheir skill, and each was furnished with shears, needles, thread, anda sufficient quantity of silk.
The sultan was very eager to see what sort of a caftan his son wouldbring to light, but the heart of the sultana beat unquietly, fromapprehension lest her stratagem might be unsuccessful. Two days hadthey been confined to their work; on the third, the sultan sent forhis wife, and when she appeared, dispatched her to the apartments tobring the two caftans and their makers. With triumphant air Labakanwalked in, and extended his garment before the astonished eyes of thesultan.
"Behold, father," said he, "look, mother! see if this be not amasterpiece of a caftan. I will leave it to the most skilfulcourt-tailor, upon a wager, whether he can produce such another."
The sultana, smiling, turned to Omar:-- "And thou, my son, what hastthou brought?"
Indignantly he cast the silk and shears upon the floor.
"They have taught me to tame horses, and to swing my sabre; and mylance will strike you a mark at sixty paces. But the art of the needleis unknown to me; it were unworthy a pupil of Elfi Bey, the lord ofCairo!"
"Oh, thou true son of my heart!" exclaimed the sultana. "Ah, that Imight embrace thee, and call thee, son! Forgive me, husband andmaster," she continued, turning to the sultan, "for having set on footthis stratagem against you. See you not now who is prince, and whotailor? Of a truth the caftan which your lord son has made, ismagnificent, and I would fain ask with what master he has learned!"
The sultan was lost in deep reflection, looking with distrust, now onhis wife, now on Labakan, who vainly sought to conceal his blushes andconsternation at having so stupidly betrayed himself. "This proofpleases me not," said he; "but, Allah be praised! I know a means oflearning whether I am deceived." He commanded them to bring hisswiftest horse, mounted, and rode to a forest, which commenced not farfrom the city. There, according to an old tradition, lived a goodfairy, named Adolzaide, who had often before this assisted with heradvice the monarchs of his family, in the hour of need: thitherhastened the sultan.
In the middle of the wood was an open place, surrounded by loftycedars. There, the story said, lived the fairy; and seldom did amortal visit this spot, for a certain awe connected with it had, fromolden time, descended from father to son. When the sultan had drawnnear he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and placing himself inthe middle of the open space, cried with loud voice:--
"If it be true that thou hast given good counsel to my fathers, in thehour of need, then disdain not the request of their descendant, andadvise me in a case where human understanding is too short-sighted."
Hardly had he uttered the last word, when one of the cedars opened,and a veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth.
"I know, Sultan Saoud, why thou comest to me; thy wish is fair,therefore shall my assistance be thine. Take these two chests; leteach of the two who claim to be thy son, choose; I know that he who isthe real one, will not make a wrong selection." Thus speaking, theveiled lady extended to him two little caskets of ivory, richlyadorned with gold and pearls: upon the lids, which he vainly sought toopen, were inscriptions formed by inlaid diamonds.
As he was riding home, the sultan tormented himself with variousconjectures, as to what might be the contents of the caskets, which,do his best, he could not open. The words on the outside threw nolight upon the matter; for on one was inscribed, HONOR AND FAME; uponthe other, FORTUNE AND WEALTH. Saoud thought it would be difficult tomake choice between these two, which seemed equally attractive,equally alluring. When he reached the palace, he sent for his wife,and told her the answer of the fairy: it filled her with an eagerhope, that he to whom her heart clung, might select the casket whichwould indicate his royal origin.
Two tables were brought in before the sultan's throne; on these, withhis own hand, Saoud placed the two boxes; then, ascending to his seat,he gave the signal to one of his slaves to open the door of thesaloon. A brilliant throng of bashaws and emirs of the realm pouredthrough the open door: they seated themselves on the splendidcushions, which were arranged around the walls. When they had d
onethis, Saoud gave a second signal, and Labakan was introduced; withhaughty step he walked through the apartment, and prostrated himselfbefore the throne with these words:--
"What is the command of my lord and father?" The sultan raised himselfin his throne, and said:--
"My son, doubts are entertained as to the genuineness of thy claims tothis name; one of these chests contains the confirmation of thy realbirth. Choose! I doubt not thou wilt select the right one!" Labakanraised himself, and advanced towards the boxes; for a long time hereflected as to which he should choose, at last he said:--
"Honored father, what can be loftier than the fortune of being thyson? What more noble than the wealth of thy favor? I choose the chestwhich bears the inscription, FORTUNE AND WEALTH."
"We will soon learn whether thou hast made the right choice; meanwhilesit down upon that cushion, near the bashaw of Medina," said thesultan, again motioning to his slaves.
Omar was led in; his eye was mournful, his air dejected, and hisappearance excited universal sympathy among the spectators. He threwhimself before the throne, and inquired after the sultan's pleasure.Saoud informed him that he was to choose one of the chests: he arose,and approached the table. He read attentively both inscriptions, andsaid:--
"The few last days have informed me how insecure is fortune, howtransient is wealth; but they have also taught me that, in the breastof the brave, lives what can never be destroyed, HONOR, and that thebright star of RENOWN sets not with fortune. The die is cast! should Iresign a crown, Honor and Fame, you are my choice!" He placed his handupon the casket that he had chosen, but the sultan commanded him notto unclose it, while he motioned to Labakan to advance, in likemanner, before his table. He did so, and at the same time grasped hisbox. The sultan, however, had a chalice brought in, with water fromZemzem, the holy fountain of Mecca, washed his hands for supplication,and, turning his face to the East, prostrated himself in prayer:
"God of my fathers! Thou, who for centuries hast established ourfamily, pure and unadulterated, grant that no unworthy one disgracethe name of the Abassidae; be with thy protection near my real son, inthis hour of trial." The sultan arose, and reascended his throne.Universal expectation enchained all present; they scarcely breathed;one could have heard a mouse crawl over the hall, so mute andattentive were all. The hindmost extended their necks, in order to geta view of the chests, over the heads of those in front. The sultanspoke: "Open the chests;" and they, which before no violence couldforce, now sprang open of their own accord.
In the one which Omar had chosen, lay upon a velvet cushion, a smallgolden crown, and a sceptre: in Labakan's, a large needle, and alittle linen thread. The sultan commanded both to bring their casketsbefore him: he took the little crown from the cushion in his hand,and, wonderful to see! it became larger and larger, until it reachedthe size of a real crown. Placing it on his son Omar, who kneeledbefore him, he kissed his forehead, and bade him sit upon his righthand. To Labakan, however, he turned and said:--
"There is an old proverb, 'Shoemaker, stick to thy last;' it seemsthat thou shouldst stick to thy needle. Thou hast not, indeed, meritedmuch mercy at my hands, but one has supplicated for thee, whom thisday I can refuse nothing; therefore give I thee thy paltry life; but,if I may advise, haste thee to leave my land."
Ashamed, ruined as he was, the poor tailor could answer nothing: hethrew himself before the prince, and tears came into his eyes.
"Can you forgive me, prince?" he said.
"To be true to a friend, magnanimous to a foe, is the pride of theAbassidae!" answered the prince, raising him. "Go in peace!"
"My true son!" cried the old sultan, deeply affected, and sinking uponOmar's breast. The emirs and bashaws, and all the nobles of therealm, arose from their seats, to welcome the new prince, and amidthis universal jubilee, Labakan, his chest under his arm, crept out ofthe saloon.
He went down into the sultan's stable, bridled his horse Murva, androde forth from the gate towards Alexandria. His whole career asprince recurred to him as a dream, and the splendid chest, richlyadorned with pearls and diamonds, alone convinced him that it was notall an idle vision. Having at last reached Alexandria, he rode to thehouse of his old master, dismounted, and fastening his horse to thedoor, walked into the workshop. The master, who did not even know him,made a low bow and asked what was his pleasure: when, however, he hada nearer view of his guest, and recognised his old Labakan, he calledto his journeymen and apprentices, and all precipitated themselves,like mad, upon poor Labakan, who expected no such reception; theybruised and beat him with smoothing-irons and yard-sticks, pricked himwith needles, and pinched him with sharp shears, until he sank down,exhausted, on a heap of old clothes. As he lay there, the masterceased, for a moment, from his blows, to ask after the stolengarments: in vain Labakan assured him that he had come back on thataccount alone, to set all right; in vain offered him threefoldcompensation for his loss; the master and his journeymen fell upon himagain, beat him terribly, and turned him out of doors. Sore andbruised, he mounted Murva, and rode to a caravansery. There he laiddown his weary lacerated head, reflecting on the sorrows of earth, onmerit so often unrewarded, and on the nothingness and transientness ofall human blessings. He went to sleep with the determination to giveup all hopes of greatness, and to become an honest burgher. Nor on thefollowing day did he repent of his resolution, for the heavy hands ofhis master, and the journeymen, had cudgelled out of him all thoughtsof nobility.
He sold his box to a jeweller for a high price, and fitted up aworkshop for his business. When he had arranged all, and had hung out,before his window, a sign with the inscription, LABAKAN, MERCHANTTAILOR, he sat down and began with the needle and thread he had foundin the chest, to mend the coat which his master had so shockinglytorn. He was called off from his work, but on returning to it, what awonderful sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing industriouslyaway, without being touched by any one; it took fine, elegantstitches, such as Labakan himself had never made even in his mostskilful moments.
Truly the smallest present of a kind fairy is useful, and of greatvalue! Still another good quality had the gift; be the needle asindustrious as it might, the little stock of thread never gave out.
Labakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailorfor miles around. He cut out the garments, and took the first stitchtherein with the needle, and immediately the latter worked away,without cessation, until the whole was completed. Master Labakan soonhad the whole city for customers, for his work was beautiful, and hischarges low; and only one thing troubled the brains of the people ofAlexandria, namely, how he finished his work entirely withoutjourneymen, and with closed doors.
Thus was the motto of the chest which promised fortune and wealthundergoing its accomplishment. FORTUNE AND WEALTH accompanied, withgradual increase, the steps of the good tailor, and when he listenedto the praises of the young sultan Omar, who lived in every mouth;when he heard that this brave man was the object of his people's prideand love, the terror of his enemies; then would the quondam prince sayto himself, "Still is it better that I remained a tailor, for HONORAND FAME are ever accompanied by danger."
Thus lived Labakan, contented with himself, respected by hisfellow-burghers; and if the needle, meanwhile, has not lost hercunning, she is still sewing with the everlasting thread of the goodFairy Adolzaide.
* * * * *
At sundown the Caravan set out, and soon reached Birket-el-had, or"the Pilgrims' Fountain," whence the distance to Cairo was threeleagues. The Caravan had been expected at this time, and the merchantssoon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming forth from thecity to meet them. They entered through the gate Bebel-Falch, for itwas considered a good omen for those who came from Mecca to enter bythis gate, because the Prophet himself had passed through it.
At the market-place the four Turkish merchants took leave of thestranger and the Greek Zaleukos, and went home with their friends.Zaleukos, however, showed his companion a good carav
ansery, andinvited him to dine with him. The stranger agreed, and promised tomake his appearance as soon as he should have changed his dress. TheGreek made every arrangement for giving a fine entertainment to thestranger, for whom, upon the journey, he had conceived a deep feelingof esteem; and when the meats and drink had been brought in in properorder, he seated himself, waiting for his guest.
He heard slow and heavy steps approaching through the gallery whichled to their apartment. He arose in order to meet him as a friend, andwelcome him upon the threshold; but, full of horror, he started backas the door opened--the same frightful Red-mantle walked in beforehim! His eyes were still turned upon him; it was no illusion: the samelofty, commanding figure, the mask, from beneath which shone forth thedark eyes, the red cloak with embroidery of gold--all were but toowell known to him, impressed upon his mind as they had been during themost awful moments of his life.
The breast of Zaleukos heaved with contending emotions; he had longsince felt reconciled towards this too-well-remembered apparition, andforgiven him; nevertheless his sudden appearance opened every woundafresh. All those torturing hours of anguish, that wo which hadenvenomed the bloom of his life, rushed back for a moment, crowdingupon his soul.
"What wishest thou, terrible one?" cried the Greek, as the apparitionstill stood motionless upon the threshold. "Away with thee, that I maycurse thee not!"
"Zaleukos!" said a well-known voice from under the mask: "Zaleukos! isit thus that you receive your guest?" The speaker removed the mask,and threw back his cloak: it was Selim Baruch, the stranger! But stillZaleukos seemed not at ease, for he too plainly recognised in him theUnknown of the Ponte Vecchio: nevertheless, old habits of hospitalityconquered; he silently motioned to the stranger to seat himself at thetable.
"I can guess your thoughts," commenced the latter, when they had takentheir places: "your eyes look inquiringly upon me. I might have beensilent, and your gaze would never more have beheld me; but I owe youan explanation, and therefore did I venture to appear before you in myformer guise, even at the risk of receiving your curse. You once saidto me, 'The faith of my fathers bids me love him; and he is probablymore unhappy than myself:' be assured of this, my friend, and listento my justification.
"I must begin far back, in order that you may fully understand mystory. I was born in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father, theyoungest son of an ancient illustrious French family, was consul forhis native land in the city I have just mentioned. From my tenth yearI was brought up in France, by one of my mother's brothers, and leftmy fatherland for the first time a few years after the revolutionbroke out there, in company with my uncle, who was no longer safe inthe land of his ancestors, in order to seek refuge with my parentsbeyond the sea. We landed eagerly, hoping to find in my father's housethe rest and quiet of which the troubles of France had deprived us.But ah! in my father's house I found not all as it should be: theexternal storms of these stirring times had not, it is true, reachedit; but the more unexpectedly had misfortune made her home in theinmost hearts of my family. My brother, a promising young man, firstsecretary of my father, had shortly before married a young lady, thedaughter of a Florentine noble who lived in our vicinity: two daysbefore our arrival she had suddenly disappeared, and neither ourfamily nor her own father could discern the slightest trace of her.At last they came to the conclusion that she had ventured too far in awalk, and had fallen into the hands of robbers. Almost agreeable wasthis thought to my poor brother, when compared to the truth, whichonly too soon became known. The perfidious one had eloped with a youngNeapolitan, with whom she had become acquainted in her father's house.My brother, who was exceedingly affected by this step, employed everymeans to bring the guilty one to punishment; but in vain: hisattempts, which in Naples and Florence had excited wonder, served onlyto complete his and our misfortune. The Florentine nobleman returnedto his native land, under the pretence of seeing justice done to mybrother, but with the real determination of destroying us all. Hefrustrated all those examinations which my brother had set on foot,and knew how to use his influence, which he had obtained in variousways, so well, that my father and brother fell under suspicion oftheir government, were seized in the most shameful manner, carried toFrance, and there suffered death by the axe of the executioner. Mypoor mother lost her mind; and not until ten long months had passed,did death release her from her awful situation, though for the fewlast days she was possessed of perfect consciousness. Thus did I nowstand isolated in the world: one thought alone occupied my whole soul,one thought alone bade me forget my sorrows; it was the mighty flamewhich my mother in her last moments had kindled within me.
"In her last moments, as I said, recollection returned; she had mesummoned, and spoke with composure of our fate, and her own death.Then she sent all out of the room, raised herself, with a solemn air,from her miserable bed, and said that I should receive her blessing,if I would swear to accomplish something with which she would chargeme. Amazed at the words of my dying mother, I promised with an oath todo whatever she should tell me. She thereupon broke forth inimprecations against the Florentine and his daughter, and charged me,with the most frightful threats of her curse, to avenge upon him themisfortunes of my house. She died in my arms. This thought ofvengeance had long slumbered in my soul; it now awoke in all itsmight. I collected what remained of my paternal property, and boundmyself by an oath to stake it all upon revenge, and, rather than beunsuccessful, to perish in the attempt.
"I soon arrived in Florence, where I kept myself as private aspossible; it was very difficult to put my plan in execution on accountof the situation which my enemy occupied. The old Florentine hadbecome governor, and thus had in his hand all the means of destroyingme, should he entertain the slightest suspicion. An accident came tomy assistance. One evening I saw a man in well-known livery, walkingthrough the streets: his uncertain gait, his gloomy appearance, andthe muttered 'Santo sacramento,' and 'Maledetto diavolo,' soon made merecognise old Pietro, a servant of the Florentine, whom I had formerlyknown in Alexandria. There was no doubt but that he was in a passionwith his master, and I resolved to turn his humor to my advantage. Heappeared much surprised to see me there, told me his grievances, thathe could do nothing aright for his master since he had becomegovernor, and my gold supported by his anger soon brought him over tomy side. Most of the difficulty was now removed: I had a man in mypay, who would open to me at any hour the doors of my enemy, and fromthis time my plan of vengeance advanced to maturity with still greaterrapidity. The life of the old Florentine seemed to me too pitiful athing, to be put into the balance with that of my whole family.Murdered before him, he must see the dearest object of his love, andthis was his daughter Bianca. It was she that had so shamefullywronged my brother, it was she that had been the author of ourmisfortunes. My heart, thirsting for revenge, eagerly drank in theintelligence, that Bianca was on the point of being married a secondtime; it was settled--she must die. But as my soul recoiled at thedeed, and I attributed too little nerve to Pietro, we looked aroundfor a man to accomplish our fell design. I could hire no Florentine,for there was none that would have undertaken such a thing against thegovernor. Thereupon Pietro hit upon a plan, which I afterwardsadopted, and he thereupon proposed you, being a foreigner and aphysician, as the proper person. The result you know: only, throughyour excessive foresight and honesty, my undertaking seemed, at onetime, to be tottering; hence the scene with the mantle.
"Pietro opened for us the little gate in the governor's palace; hewould have let us out, also, in the same secret manner, if we had notfled, overcome by horror at the frightful spectacle, which, throughthe crack of the door, presented itself to our eyes. Pursued by terrorand remorse, I ran on about two hundred paces, until I sank down uponthe steps of a church. There I collected myself again, and my firstthought was of you, and your awful fate, if found within the house.
"I crept back to the palace, but neither of Pietro nor yourself couldI discover a single trace. The door, however, was open, and I could atleast hope
that you had not neglected this opportunity of flight.
"But when the day broke, fear of detection, and an unconquerablefeeling of remorse, allowed me to remain no longer within the walls ofFlorence. I hastened to Rome. Imagine my consternation, when, after afew days, the story was everywhere told, with the addition that, in aGrecian physician, they had detected the murderer. In anxious fear, Ireturned to Florence; my vengeance now seemed too great: I cursed itagain and again, for with your life it was purchased all too dearly. Iarrived on the same day which cost you a hand. I will not tell youwhat I felt, when I saw you ascend the scaffold, and bear all withsuch heroism. But when the blood gushed forth in streams, then was myresolution taken, to sweeten the rest of your days. What has sincehappened you know; it only now remains to tell you, why I havetravelled with you. As the thought that you had never yet forgiven me,pressed heavily upon me, I determined to spend some days with you, andat last to give you an explanation of what I had done."
Silently had the Greek listened to his guest; with a kind look, as hefinished, he offered him his right hand.
"I knew very well that you must be more unhappy than I, for that awfuldeed will, like a thick cloud, forever darken your days. From my heartI forgive you. But answer me yet one question: how came you under thisform, in the wilderness? What did you set about, after purchasing myhouse in Constantinople?"
"I returned to Alexandria," answered the guest. "Hate against allmankind raged in my bosom; burning hate, in particular, against thatpeople, whom they call 'the polished nation.' Believe me, my Moslemfriends pleased me better. Scarcely a month had I been in Alexandria,when the invasion of my countrymen took place. I saw in them only theexecutioners of my father and brother; I, therefore, collected someyoung people of my acquaintance, who were of the same mind as myself,and joined those brave Mamelukes, who were so often the terror of theFrench host. When the campaign was finished, I could not make up mymind to return to the peaceful arts. With my little band of congenialfriends, I led a restless, careless life, devoted to the field and thechase. I live contented among this people, who honor me as theirchief; for though my Asiatics are not quite so refined as yourEuropeans, yet are they far removed from envy and slander, fromselfishness and ambition."
Zaleukos thanked the stranger for his relation, but did not concealfrom him, that he would find things better suited to his rank andeducation, if he would live and work in Christian, in European lands.With delight his companion looked upon him.
"I know by this," said he, "that you have entirely forgiven me, thatyou love me: receive, in return, my heartfelt thanks." He sprang up,and stood in full height before the Greek, whom the warlike air, thedark sparkling eyes, the deep mysterious voice of his guest, almostinspired with fear. "Thy proposal is intended kindly," continued he;"for another it might have charms; but I--I cannot accept it. Alreadystands my horse saddled: already do my attendants await me. Farewell,Zaleukos!"
The friends whom destiny had so strangely thrown together, embraced atparting. "And how may I call thee? What is the name of my guest, whowill forever live in my remembrance?" exclaimed the Greek.
The stranger gazed at him some time, and said, as he pressed his handonce more: "They call me 'the lord of the wilderness;' I am THE ROBBERORBASAN!"
THE END.