hasid, Caliph of Bagdad, which, by the way, is on the river Tigris, and was long, long ago the capital of the ancient Saracen Empire, was comfortably seated upon his sofa one beautiful afternoon. He had slept a little, for it was a very hot day, and he seemed cheerful after his nap.
He smoked from a long pipe made of rosewood; sipped now and then a little coffee, which a slave poured out for him, and stroked his beard very contentedly. So it was very plain that the Caliph was in a good humour. This was generally the case at this hour, as it was the custom of his Grand Vizier Manzor to visit him every day about this time. He came this afternoon, but he seemed very thoughtful. The Caliph looked at him, and said: "Grand Vizier, why is thy countenance so sad?"
The Grand Vizier crossed his arms over his breast, bowed himself before his lord, and said: "My lord, I am sad because in the court below there is a merchant who has such fine wares that I am troubled because I have so little money to spare to purchase them."
The Caliph, who had for a long time past desired to confer a favour upon his Grand Vizier, sent his black slave to bring up the merchant. The slave soon returned with him. The merchant was a short stout man, with a dark brown face, and in ragged attire. He carried a chest, in which he had various kinds of wares, pearls and rings, richly inlaid pistols, goblets and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier looked at them, and the former purchased some beautiful pistols for himself and Manzor. As the merchant was about to pack up his chest the Caliph saw a small drawer, and asked what it contained. The merchant drew out the drawer, and showed therein a box filled with blackish powder and a paper with strange writing upon it, which neither the Caliph nor Manzor could read. "I received these things from a merchant who found them in the streets of Mecca," said he. "I know not what they contain. They are at your service for a trifling price, for I can do nothing with them."
The Caliph, who was a great collector of old manuscripts for his library, even if he could not read them, purchased box and writings, and dismissed the merchant. But it occurred to the Caliph that he would like to know the meaning of the writing, and he asked the Vizier whether he knew anyone who could read it.
"Most worthy lord and master," replied the Vizier, "near the great Mosque there dwells a man who understands all languages; he is called 'Selim the Wise.' Send for him; perhaps he may be able to interpret the writing."
The learned Selim was soon brought. "Selim," said the Caliph, "they say thou art very learned; peep now into this writing, and see if thou canst read it. If thou canst, thou shalt have a rich new garment; if thou canst not, thou shalt be beaten with five-and-twenty strokes upon the soles of thy feet, for in that case thou art without the right to be called 'Selim the Wise.'"
Selim bowed himself and said: "Thy will be done, my lord." For a long time he examined the writing, then suddenly exclaimed, "This is Latin, my lord."
"Say what it means," commanded the Caliph, "if it be Latin."