She called to her the men who had attended the sultan to the pillar El-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 this dagger 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 of that?”
“What think you,” proceeded the slave, “of this impostor’s having stitched his own name upon your son? If this be so, we have an excellent way of catching the deceiver, which I will impart to you in private.”
The sultana gave ear to her slave, and the latter whispered to her a plan which seemed to please her, for she immediately got ready to go to the sultan. The sultana was a sensible woman, and knew not only the weak side of her husband, but also the way to take advantage of it. She seemed therefore to give up, and to be willing to acknowledge her son, only offering one condition: the sultan, whom the outbreak between himself and his wife had grieved, agreed thereto, and she said:—
“I would fain have from each a proof of his skill; another, perhaps, would have them contend in riding, in single conflict, or in hurling spears: but these are things which every one can do; I will give them something which will require both knowledge and dexterity. It shall be this; each shall make a caftan, and a pair of pantaloons, and then will we see at once who can make the finest ones.”
The sultan laughingly answered, “Ah! thou hast hit on a fine expedient! Shall my son contend with a mad tailor, to see who can make the best caftan? No! that cannot be.” The sultana, however, cried out, that he had already agreed to the condition, and her husband, who was a man of his word, at length yielded, though he swore, should the mad tailor make his caftan ever so beautiful, he would never acknowledge him as his son.
The sultan thereupon went to his son, and entreated him to submit to the caprices of his mother, who now positively wished to see a caftan from his hands. The heart of the good Labakan laughed with delight; if that be all that is wanting, thought he to himself, then shall the lady 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 try their skill, and each was furnished with shears, needles, thread, and a sufficient quantity of silk.
The sultan was very eager to see what sort of a caftan his son would bring to light, but the heart of the sultana beat unquietly, from apprehension lest her stratagem might be unsuccessful. Two days had they been confined to their work; on the third, the sultan sent for his wife, and when she appeared, dispatched her to the apartments to bring the two caftans and their makers. With triumphant air Labakan walked in, and extended his garment before the astonished eyes of the sultan.
“Behold, father,” said he, “look, mother! see if this be not a masterpiece of a caftan. I will leave it to the most skilful court-tailor, upon a wager, whether he can produce such another.”