"Mighty monarch! here is the only dream worthy of your illustrious talent. You dreamed that twelve princes solicited the white hand of the august Princess Chan-ta-lan; that eleven of them were graceful, but one had a defect; the former were powerful, and the latter of meagre fortune; however, your majesty chose the defective candidate as hereditary prince."
"If you tell me why I chose him," interrupted the monarch, "the nose is yours."
"You chose him, your majesty, for his surpassing genius, and for having vanquished his rivals in tests to which your majesty submitted them."
"Excellent. Now I remember it perfectly. May God preserve your nose for centuries and centuries, and my treasurer shall give you a thousand pieces of gold as a reward for your extraordinary understanding."
The court greeted this act of the monarch with a murmur of approval, and, at once, all those who a few minutes before fled from the young courtier as from a plague approached and felicitated him.
"Well, then," exclaimed the monarch, "I wish to follow the inspirations of the dream, whose description you have heard. From now on, the competition for aspirants to the hand of Chan-ta-lan is open. Proclaim it, grand vizier, to all my ambassadors, and let all courts know what my decision is. A necessary condition for the princes who aspire to be my successor is to send their portraits without delay.
"And now," he added, addressing the minstrels of the palace, "I permit you to sing my praises; and you," he said, facing his courtiers, "I tolerate to applaud me for the great talent that God has given me."
"Bravo! Bravo!" exclaimed the courtiers all together.
"You are half-hearted!" said the king. "Applaud with more enthusiasm, then I promise you not to get angry even when you shock my modesty."
"Hurrah! Splendid! Wonderful!" cried the people of the court, applauding as if they were the claque of a theatre. "What genius! What penetration! What a pity if it should fail us!"