He arrived as usual this afternoon, but, contrary to his usual custom, with an anxious face. The Caliph withdrew his pipe for a moment from his lips and asked, “Why do you look so anxious, Grand Vizier?”
The Grand Vizier crossed his arms on his breast and bent low before his master as he answered:
“Oh, my lord! Whether my countenance be anxious or not I know not, but down below in the court of the palace is a pedler with such beautiful things that I cannot help feeling annoyed at having so little money to spare.”
The Caliph, who had wished for some time past to give his Grand Vizier a present, ordered his black slave to bring the pedler before him at once. The slave soon returned, followed by the pedler, a short, stout man with a swarthy face, and dressed in very ragged clothes. He carried a box containing all manner of wares—strings of pearls, rings, richly mounted pistols, goblets, and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier inspected everything, and the Caliph chose some handsome pistols for himself and Mansor, and a jeweled comb for the Vizier’s wife. Just as the pedler was about to close his box, the Caliph noticed a small drawer, and asked if there was anything else in it for sale. The pedler opened the drawer and showed them a box containing a black powder, and a scroll written in strange characters, which neither the Caliph nor Mansor could read.
“I got these two articles from a merchant who had picked them up in the street at Mecca,” said the pedler. “I do not know what they may contain, but as they are of no use to me, you are welcome to have them for a trifle.”
The Caliph, who liked to have old manuscripts in his library, even though he could not read them, purchased the scroll and the box, and dismissed the pedler. Then, being anxious to know what might be the contents of the scroll, he asked the Vizier if he did not know of anyone who might be able to decipher it.
“Most gracious lord and master,” replied the Vizier, “near the great Mosque lives a man called Selim the learned, who knows every language under the sun. Send for him; it may be that he will be able to interpret those mysterious characters.”
The learned Selim was summoned immediately.
“Selim,” said the Caliph, “I hear you are a scholar. Look well at this scroll and see whether you can read it. If you can, I will give you a robe of honor; but if you fail, I will order you to receive twelve strokes on your cheeks, and five-and-twenty on the soles of your feet, because you have been falsely called Selim the learned.”
Selim prostrated himself and said, “Be it according to your will, oh master!” Then he gazed long at the scroll. Suddenly he exclaimed: “May I die, oh, my Lord, if this isn’t Latin!”