Transcriber's Note

The cover image was created by the transcriber for the convenience of the reader, and is placed in the public domain.

FAIRY TALES

BY WILHELM HAUFF
Translated by L. L. Weedon
Illustrated by Arthur A. Dixon

London Ernest Nister
New York E. P. Dutton & Co.

THE STORY OF THE FALSE PRINCE.
“The tailor’s heart swelled with pride and joy.”

CONTENTS

LIST OF FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK.

CHAPTER I.

CHASID, Caliph of Bagdad, was taking his ease one beautiful afternoon, stretched out upon his couch. He had just awakened from a little nap and was in a pleasant mood. From time to time he drank from the cup of coffee one of his slaves handed to him, and took long whiffs from a rosewood pipe, stroking his long beard the while, with an air of extreme complacency. In short, it was evident that the Caliph was in a very good humour.

The Pedlar.

It was the best time in the day for any one to approach him on business, for he was usually inclined to grant any request one might ask, and for this reason, his grand vizier Mansor was wont to visit him at that hour. On this particular afternoon he came as usual, but seemed unaccountably quiet and thoughtful. The Caliph removed his pipe from his mouth and said: “Why do you look so serious, Grand Vizier?”

The grand vizier crossed his arms on his breast, bowed low before his master, and answered:

“Sire, it is no wonder I look disturbed, for below the palace wall stands a pedlar, who has such beautiful goods for sale that it angers me to think I have no money to spare just now.”

The Caliph, who had long wished for an opportunity to confer some gift upon his vizier, sent a black slave to fetch the pedlar.

Very soon the slave returned, ushering the pedlar into his master’s presence. He was a fat little man, with a sunburnt face and dressed in rags. He carried a pack in which all sorts of wares were huddled together, pearls, rings, richly-chased pistols, goblets and combs.

The Caliph and his vizier took stock of everything, and finally the Caliph purchased handsome pistols for himself and his vizier Mansor, and a beautiful comb for Mansor’s wife.

As the pedlar was about to close his pack, the Caliph noticed a little drawer and asked if there was anything in it for sale.

The man opened the drawer and took out a snuff-box containing a dark coloured powder, and a paper covered with very curious characters, which neither the Caliph nor his vizier were able to read. “I had these from a merchant, who picked them up in the streets of Mecca,” said the pedlar. “I do not know what they contain and they are at your service for a very low price, as I do not know what to do with them.”

The Caliph, who was always glad to purchase rare manuscripts for his library, even if he could not read them himself, bought both snuff-box and paper, and dismissed the pedlar.

But the Caliph was curious to know what the writing on the paper meant and asked the vizier if he knew of any one who would possibly be able to decipher it.

“Most gracious lord and master,” said the vizier, “near the great Mosque dwells a man known as Selim the Learned, who understands all languages; bid him come hither and maybe he will understand these mysterious characters.”

The learned Selim was soon sent for and the Caliph addressed him thus: “Selim, it is said of you that you are a very learned man; look well at this writing, and see if you can read it. If you are able to do so, I will give you a new robe for feast days, but if you are unable to do so you will receive twelve strokes upon the back and five-and-twenty upon the soles of your feet, because you have masqueraded under the name of Selim the Learned.”

Selim glanced at the writing intently and suddenly cried out: “It is Latin, my Lord, most certainly it is Latin.”

“Very well, then,” commanded the Caliph impatiently, “if you know that it is Latin, tell me what it means.”

Selim began to translate: “Man, whoever you be, who shall find this, praise Allah for his mercy. He who shall take a pinch of the powder in this snuff-box and say the word ‘Mutabor’ shall be able to transform himself into any kind of animal and understand the creature’s language. When he wishes to return to his original form he must bow three times towards the East and repeat the same word. But let him beware, when in the transformed state, never to laugh, otherwise he will forget the magic word and will be condemned to remain an animal.”

When Selim had finished reading, the Caliph was beside himself with joy. He made Selim take an oath that he would not reveal the secret, gave him a handsome robe, and sent him away.

“I call that a first-rate purchase,” said he to Mansor. “How I long to become an animal! Early to-morrow morning you shall come with me, we will go out into the fields, take a pinch of snuff from my box, and then listen to all that is being said in the air and in the water, in the field and in the woodland.”

CHAPTER II.

The following morning the Caliph Chasid had scarcely finished his breakfast, when the grand vizier appeared in order to accompany his master upon his morning walk. The Caliph tucked the snuff-box containing the magic powder into his sash, and having commanded his attendants to remain behind, he and his vizier set out alone upon their way.

First they passed through the royal gardens, but looked in vain for some living creature so that they might test the power of the powder. Then the vizier suggested they should visit a pond where he had frequently seen a number of storks disporting themselves, their dignified ways and hoarse cries having attracted his attention.

Immediately their legs began to shrink. (P. [14].)

The Caliph approved of his suggestion and accordingly they went to the pond. On their approach they noticed a stork walking gravely to and fro, searching for frogs, and now and again uttering loud cries; at the same time they saw, above them in the air, a second stork floating gracefully towards them.

“I wager my beard, Sire,” said the vizier, “these two long-legs will hold an amusing conversation together. What do you say to our transforming ourselves into storks?”

“The very thing,” answered the Caliph, “but first let us be very careful that we know the way to become men again. Let me see—we must bow three times towards the East, and say ‘Mutabor,’ and immediately I shall be the Caliph, and you my vizier. But for heaven’s sake do not laugh, otherwise all will be lost.”

As the Caliph spoke he saw the second stork slowly drop to earth, so he quickly drew his snuff-box from his girdle, took a pinch, offered the box to his vizier, who likewise snuffed the powder, whilst the pair of them cried simultaneously, ‘Mutabor!’

Immediately their legs began to shrink and to become thin and red, their beautiful yellow slippers turned into unshapely storks’ feet, their arms became wings, their necks shot up from between their shoulders to the length of an ell at least, their beards disappeared, and their bodies were covered with soft white feathers.

“You have a pretty beak, my lord vizier,” said the Caliph, as he stared in astonishment at his companion. “By the beard of the prophet, I have never seen such a sight in my life.”

“Many thanks,” replied the vizier bowing. “If I may be permitted to say so, you are almost better looking as a stork than a Caliph. But come, let us join our companions and find out if we really can understand stork language.”

In the meantime the other stork, which had just alighted, was pluming its feathers as it approached the first stork, so the two newly-made birds hastened to come up to them, and to their astonishment overheard the following extraordinary conversation.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Long-legs, how early you are up.”

“Ah, my dear Clapperbill! I just came out to get a snack; anything I can offer you, my dear, in the shape of a bit of lizard or a tit-bit of frog?”

“Thanks all the same, but I’ve really no appetite—I came here for quite a different reason—I have to dance to-day before my father’s guests, and I came here to practise a little by myself.”

With these words the young stork began to twist and turn about in the most ridiculous attitudes imaginable. The Caliph and Mansor stared at her in surprise, but when she stood on one foot, stretched out her wings and struck an attitude of supposed grace, she looked so absurd that they could no longer contain themselves, but burst out into hearty and prolonged laughter. It was some time before they could control themselves, but at length the Caliph stopped laughing, and said: “Oh! what a joke that was—I would not have missed it for any money. What a pity our laughter frightened the silly things away; they might otherwise have sung to us also.”

But suddenly the vizier remembered that they had been forbidden to laugh during the time of their transformation. He at once reminded the Caliph of this. “Mecca and Medina,” cried he, “it would be a bad joke indeed if we had to remain storks for the rest of our lives. See if you can remember the magic word, for upon my soul, I seem to have forgotten it.”

“We must bow three times towards the east and say ‘Mu-Mu-Mu—’”

No further could they get. They bowed and bowed until their beaks touched the ground, but try as they would they could not remember the magic word, and the unfortunate Caliph and his vizier were doomed to remain two storks.

CHAPTER III.

The enchanted pair wandered sadly from field to field, wondering what they could do to end their misery. They could not rid themselves of their birds forms, and it was equally impossible to return to the town and declare themselves to be the Caliph and his vizier, for who would have believed a couple of storks, and was it to be supposed the inhabitants of Bagdad would consent to be ruled by a stork?

And so they crept about for days, sustaining themselves meagrely on wild fruits, which they were scarcely able to eat on account of their long beaks, but as yet they had no appetite for lizards and frogs, and such-like delicacies. Their only relaxation was the pleasure they found in the use of their wings, for they were able to fly into Bagdad and watch, from the roofs of the houses, what went on in the city.

At first they noticed great sorrow and unrest, but within four days all this was changed and, watching from the roof of the Caliph’s palace, they noticed a magnificent procession winding along in the street below—drums and fifes sounded, and a man clothed in a scarlet robe, embroidered with gold, was seated upon a finely-caparisoned horse, surrounded by a glittering escort. Half the inhabitants of Bagdad came out to watch the procession, and cried as it passed—“Hail! Mizra, ruler of Bagdad.”

The two storks looked at each other and the Caliph said—“Can you not guess now why we have been thus bewitched? Mizra is the son of my deadly enemy, the powerful magician Kaschnur, who once in an evil moment swore revenge against me. But we will not despair; come, my faithful comrade, we will seek the grave of our great prophet, and perchance in that holy spot we shall be freed from the enchantment.”

They had no appetite for lizards and frogs. (P. [16].)

So they left the palace roof and flew towards Medina.

But they had had so little practice in flying that they soon grew weary. “Oh! sire!” groaned the vizier, after a couple of hours, “with your permission I must rest for awhile, you fly too quickly for me. It is already evening, and would it not be as well to seek shelter for the night?”

Chasid agreed to his companion’s request, and as he saw a ruin in the valley beneath, which promised to afford a roof to cover them, they flew down to it. The place seemed to have been at one time a castle. Beautiful pillars raised themselves in the dilapidated apartments, which still retained evidences of their former splendour.

Chasid and Mansor wandered through the corridors, seeking for a dry spot suitable for a resting place, when suddenly Mansor stood still.

“My lord and master,” he whispered softly, “ridiculous as it may appear for a vizier, not to mention a stork, to be afraid of ghosts, there is no doubt I feel an uncomfortable sensation of fright, for can you not hear a weird groaning and sobbing noise close at hand?”

The Caliph listened and heard the unmistakable sound of human weeping. Anxious to solve the mystery he hastened towards the spot from which the sound proceeded.

The vizier seized him by the wing and begged him earnestly not to place himself in the way of fresh danger, but the Caliph carried a brave heart beneath his stork’s feathers and, disengaging himself from his companion, though with the loss of some feathers, he hurried along the dark corridor.

Presently he came to a door which was closed, but not fastened, and from behind which he distinctly heard the sound of sighing and weeping. He pushed the door open with his beak and stood astounded upon the threshold. In a ruined chamber, lighted only by the rays of the moon, which streamed through a little casement window, he saw a large owl. Tears streamed from her great brown eyes, and with hoarse screeching voice she bemoaned her sorrows, but no sooner did she perceive the Caliph and his vizier than she uttered a cry of joy; daintily wiping the tears from her eyes with her brown-tinted wings, she spoke to them, to their utter astonishment, in excellent Arabic—

He bowed his long neck. (P. [20].)

“Welcome, O ye storks,” she cried, “you come to me as tokens of my deliverance, for it was once prophesied to me that great good fortune would befall me through the intervention of two storks.”

As soon as the Caliph had recovered from his astonishment, he brought his thin feet together and bowed his long neck in an elegant attitude.

“Owl,” said he, “after what you have said, may I consider myself to be in the presence of a companion in distress? But alas! your hopes that we may be able to assist you are in vain. You will recognise our helplessness when you have heard our story.”

The owl begged him to recount it, and the Caliph made her acquainted with all that had befallen them.

CHAPTER IV.

When the Caliph had told his story the owl thanked him and said: “Now you shall hear my story and you will then see that I am no less unhappy than you and your vizier. My father is the King of the Indies, and I am his only and unfortunate daughter, Lusa by name. The same wicked magician Kaschnur, to whom you owe your misfortunes, bewitched me also. One day he came to my father and demanded that I should be given to his son Mizra for a wife, but my father, who is a hasty man, ordered him to be thrown down the steps. The miserable wretch knew, however, how to transform himself and approach me when I was walking in my garden. Disguised as a slave, he offered me a refreshing drink, but one which changed me into this horrible form. Fainting with horror, I was seized by him and carried here, and before leaving me he shrieked these words in a terrible voice—

“‘Here shall you remain, hideous and shunned even by the beasts themselves, until your end comes, or until some person shall be willing, in spite of your dreadful appearance, to make you his wife. This is my revenge upon you and your proud father.’

“All this took place many months ago. Lonely and sad I have passed my miserable days, shunned by all, even the beautiful face of Nature turned from me, for by day I am blind, and it is only when the moon’s faint rays pierce my prison window that the veil falls from my eyes.”

As the owl ceased speaking, she once more wiped her eyes with her wings, for the recital of her woes had caused her tears to flow afresh.

The princess’s story had made the Caliph very serious—“It seems to me,” he said, “that there is a strong resemblance between your trouble and ours, but where shall we find the key to unlock the mystery?”

The owl answered more hopefully, “My lord as I told you, it was prophesied of me in my youth, by a wise woman, that good fortune would come to me by the help of a stork. Now, the magician who was the cause of all our misfortunes comes once a month to these ruins, and feasts and makes merry with his companions in an apartment close by. Many a time I have listened to their conversation and heard them recount their wicked deeds; might it not happen that Kaschnur would perhaps let fall the magic word that would release you, during one of these revels?”

“Oh! dearest princess,” cried the excited Caliph, “tell me, I beseech you, the date of Kaschnur’s next visit!”

The owl was silent for a short space of time, then said she—“Do not be offended if I make a condition with you before granting your wish.”

“What is it,” cried the Caliph, “whatever it is, be sure I shall be willing to grant it you.”

“Well, it is this,” said the owl; “I am as anxious as you are to regain my natural form, and this can only happen if one of you will offer me his hand.”

The storks appeared somewhat taken aback, and the Caliph beckoned his vizier aside.

“Grand vizier,” said he, “it is a great nuisance, but you must just take her.”

“Indeed,” replied the vizier, “and when I reach home my wife will scratch my eyes out for my pains. Besides, I am an old man, whilst you are young and unmarried, and are therefore a more suitable match for a young and beautiful princess.”

“Well, that is the point,” the Caliph sighed sadly; “who told you she was young and beautiful? I don’t care to buy a cat in a bag like that.”

They argued together for some time, but when the Caliph found his vizier would rather remain a stork than marry the owl, he made up his mind to fulfil the condition himself.

THE CALIPH STORK
“The owl warned them to be as silent as the grave”
(p. [25].)

The owl was overjoyed, and assured the two storks they could not have arrived at a more [!-- original location of full page illustration --] [!-- blank page --] opportune moment, for the magicians were to meet there that very night.

So she and the storks left the little room and threaded their way along a dark narrow corridor until they came to a broken-down wall, through the crevices of which a bright light streamed. The owl warned them to be as silent as the grave and pointed out a hole through which they could peep into the great hall beyond.

This hall was magnificently decorated, and lighted up by many different coloured lamps. In the middle of the apartment stood a round table set with a variety of the choicest dishes. Round the table were couches, upon which eight men reclined, and one of these men the storks immediately recognised as the pedlar who had sold them the magic powder. His neighbour invited him to recount his latest doings, and amongst other stories he recounted that of the Caliph and his vizier.

“What was the magic word you gave them?” asked one of the other magicians.

“A good difficult Latin one—it was ‘Mutabor.’”

CHAPTER V.

As the storks heard this word they were fairly beside themselves with joy. They ran so quickly to the door of the ruin that the owl could scarcely follow them. But when they reached the open air the Caliph turned to the owl and said in moved tones:—“Preserver of my life and of the life of my friend, accept not only my eternal gratitude, but myself as your husband!”

He and the vizier then turned towards the East, three times they bowed their long necks towards the rising sun and cried “Mutabor,” and in a moment they were restored to their former state, and Caliph and vizier fell into each other’s arms and embraced, congratulating each other upon the joy of their newly-found life.

But who shall describe their astonishment when they looked round and saw a lovely lady, gorgeously attired, standing before them. Smilingly she gave her hand to the Caliph. “Do you not recognise your wife, the brown owl?” said she.

The Caliph was so enraptured at the sight of her beauty and grace that he declared the most fortunate thing that had ever happened to him was to be turned into a stork.

The three set out towards Bagdad together. As the Caliph found in his pockets not only the magic snuff-box, but his purse also, he was able to purchase in the next village all the necessaries required for their journey, and so they were able to push forward, and soon reached the gates of Bagdad.

Arrived there, the greatest astonishment prevailed at the sight of the Caliph and his companions. He had been given up for dead, and the populace was overjoyed to welcome back their beloved ruler, but their hatred towards the usurper Mizra was as great in proportion.

The people crowded into the palace and seized upon the old magician and his son. The Caliph ordered the old man to be taken to the apartment of the ruin the owl had inhabited, and there to be hanged, but the son, who was ignorant of his father’s magic arts, the Caliph gave the choice of death or a pinch of snuff. He chose the latter, and the vizier at once offered him the snuff-box. He took a mighty pinch, and, the Caliph pronouncing the magic word, he at once became transformed into a stork. The Caliph had a large cage made for him which he ordered to be placed in his gardens, and in which Mizra was confined for the rest of his life.

Long and happily the Caliph lived with his wife, the princess, the pleasantest hours of the day being when the grand vizier paid his afternoon call, and they talked together of their curious experiences as storks, and when the Caliph was in a particularly good humour he would condescend to imitate the vizier as he looked when a stork: he would strut stiffly up and down the room, flap his arms as if they were wings, and bow towards the East, vainly striving to recollect the forgotten word. This performance gave the Calipha and her children the greatest delight, but when the Caliph teased the vizier too sorely and croaked “Mu-Mu-Mu-” for too great a length of time, the vizier would threaten his master—“I will tell the Calipha what took place outside the door of the owl princess’s chamber!”

FATIMA’S RESCUE.

THE Cadi of Acara had two children named Mustapha and Fatima, who were the joy and delight of their infirm and ailing father, and who loved each other very dearly. Mustapha was just two years older than Fatima, and it was his constant effort to provide pleasure and amusement for his pretty little sister.

He knew a pirate ship had been seen in the neighbourhood. (P. [29].)

On her sixteenth birthday he gave a little feast for her, to which he invited all her favourite playfellows. The feast was set out in the garden, and consisted of the daintiest dishes that could be procured. After they had partaken of the meal, and when it was nearly evening, he suggested that he should take them out for a sail upon the water.

Fatima and her friends were delighted, for it was a beautiful evening, and the view of the town from the water was a particularly fine one. When Mustapha had sailed the ship for a short time he wished to return to land; but the girls begged and entreated him to take them a little further out. He was most unwilling to do this, as he knew a pirate ship had been seen in the neighbourhood some few days earlier. The girls, however, were set on sailing out to a point of land that stretched far out into the sea, for they were anxious to land there in order to watch the sun set and see the great ball of fire sink down into the sea.

Just as they reached the point of land, they noticed a barque, manned with armed men, and Mustapha fearing it might mean danger, ordered the boat to be turned round and rowed towards land. But the barque pursued the smaller boat, overtook it and got between it and the land. By this time the girls began to realise their danger, and so terrified were they that they shrieked aloud and would not keep their seats in the boat. In vain Mustapha begged them to sit still, pointing out how impossible it was to make any way whilst they impeded the movements of the rowers. As the barque approached, with one accord they rushed to the opposite side of the boat and their weight overturned it, and in a moment they were all struggling in the water.

The people on shore had seen what was happening and several boats put off to assist Mustapha. They were just in time to help rescue the frightened girls, and at their approach the strange barque sailed away. At first it was impossible to find out if everyone was safe; but when the girls were brought ashore it was discovered, alas! that Fatima and one of her companions were missing. In one of the boats was a stranger, and on Mustapha questioning him as to how he got there he owned that he had belonged to the pirate ship. That he had jumped overboard to come to the assistance of the sinking girls, and that his comrades had left him in the lurch when they fled from the approaching boats; but he had had time to see that two of the girls had been seized by the pirates and carried away in their ship.

The Cadi’s grief knew no bounds, and as for Mustapha, he was beside himself with sorrow, for not only did he blame himself for the loss of his beloved sister, but her friend, who had also been taken captive, had been for a long time past his promised bride, and would have been his wife already had it not been that her parents were poor and the Cadi did not think her a suitable match for his son.

Mustapha’s father was a stern old man, and as soon as his grief had sufficiently subsided he sent for his son and said:

“Owing to your folly, I have been robbed of the joy and consolation of my old age. Go, I banish you from my sight for ever, and the curse of your old father shall rest upon your head, unless by some chance you should be able to rescue Fatima, when I will forgive you and receive you once more as my son.”

Mustapha had already fully determined to endeavour to rescue his sister and her friend, but he had intended to seek his father’s blessing before setting out upon his travels. However, the unjust treatment he received did but steel his heart and made him the more determined not to cease from his quest until he had been successful.

He spoke to the man they had captured from the pirate ship, and from him learned that the vessel was a slaver, and that the human wares were generally carried to Balsora and there disposed of.

Mustapha decided to travel overland, as there happened to be no ship sailing just then from his native town, and he wished to reach Balsora soon after the pirates. He had a good horse and little baggage and so he reckoned he could do the journey in six days’ time, but alas! upon the evening of the fourth day, he was set upon quite suddenly by three men. Seeing that resistance was useless, and supposing the attacking party merely wanted his horse and money, he decided to surrender, which he did. The men then dismounted and, taking him in their midst, rode off with him at great speed.

It seemed to the poor youth that his father’s curse was already about to light upon him, for he could not think how it would be possible for him to rescue Fatima and Zoraida, deprived, as he shortly expected to be, of all means. He and his companions rode silently along for about an hour; they then turned into a valley, skirted by gigantic trees and carpeted with soft green turf. A brook gurgled peacefully through the valley, and beside it some fifteen to twenty tents were pitched, whilst a number of camels and horses were tethered to the tent-pegs. The sound of a zither, accompanying two fine manly voices, issued from one of the tents.

It seemed very improbable that people who had selected such a charming little spot for their camping place could have very evil intentions, and so Mustapha took heart and followed his guides quite cheerfully when, having unbound his feet and bidden him dismount, they led him into a tent, larger and more richly decorated than any of the others. The beautiful cushions, embroidered with gold, woven carpets, and golden dishes, in which sweet perfumes burnt, would elsewhere merely have betokened wealth and luxury; but in these lonely surroundings seemed to point to robbery.

On one of the cushions sat a little old man. His face was ugly, swarthy, and repulsive. A gleam of savage cunning in his eyes and a cruel look about his mouth gave him a hateful appearance. Although he seemed to be a person of some importance, Mustapha soon perceived that the tent had not been so richly decorated on his account, and his captors’ words confirmed this—“Where is the Chief?” they asked the little man. “Away hunting,” he replied “but he told me to take his place during his absence!”

“More the pity,” replied one of the brigands, “for we must soon decide whether this dog is to die or whether we are to obtain a ransom for him, and that is a question for the Chief to decide, and not for you to meddle with.”

On one of the cushions sat a little old man. (P. [32].)

The little man raised himself in wrath and attempted to box the ears of the man who had annoyed him by this speech, but as he could not reach to do this, he burst into a perfect volley of abuse, and as the other brigands were not slow to reply, the tent soon resounded with tones of angry voices.

But the curtains at the entrance to the tent were suddenly lifted and in came a tall handsome young man, stately and dignified as a Persian prince. His clothing and weapons were plain and unadorned, with the exception of a dagger with a richly decorated hilt and a gleaming sabre. His determined mien and his whole appearance were such as commanded respect without inspiring terror.

“Who dares to quarrel in my tent?” he demanded of the startled men.

For a moment there was silence and then one of the brigands recounted all that had happened. The Chief’s face reddened with anger—“When have I ever set you in my place, Hassan?” he cried, and the little man seemed to shrink with fear, until he looked smaller than ever. He got up and began to slink out of the tent, when a good kick from the Chief sent him flying out of the doorway.

As soon as the little man had disappeared, the three men placed Mustapha before the master of the tent, who had seated himself upon the cushions. “We have brought you the man you bade us bring,” they said. The Chief gazed earnestly at the prisoner and said: “Pasha of Sulieika, your own conscience will tell you why you are in the presence of Orbasan.”

On hearing these words Mustapha flung himself at Orbasan’s feet.

“You are in error, my lord,” he said, “I am an unfortunate traveller, but not the Pasha of Sulieika.”

The brigands appeared to be surprised, but the Chief said: “Dissimulation will not help you, I can bring witnesses to prove your identity.” And he thereupon commanded that one Zuleima should be brought in.

An old woman appeared, and on being questioned as to whether or no the man before her was the Pasha of Sulieika, she answered immediately that he was.

“Wretched man,” cried the Chief angrily, “you see how impossible it is to deceive me. You are not worthy that I should stain my good dagger with your blood, but to-morrow morning I will have you bound to the tail of my horse and will go a-hunting with you, till the sun sets behind the hills of Sulieika.”

Mustapha’s heart sank. “It is my father’s curse that has driven me to this shameful death,” he cried; “alas, sweet sister, and Zoraida, how can I ever hope to rescue you now.”

“This pretence is useless,” said one of the brigands, “see, the Chief bites his lips and feels for his dagger; if you wish to live another night you had best come with me quickly.” And binding Mustapha’s hands behind his back he was about to lead him from the tent, when three other brigands entered, with a prisoner in their midst. “Here, as you commanded us, we bring you the Pasha of Sulieika,” said one of them, leading their prisoner before the Chief.

Mustapha glanced at the prisoner and could not but own that there was a great resemblance between himself and the Pasha, only the other man was darker in complexion and wore a dark beard.

The Chief was much surprised to see a second prisoner: “Which of you really is the man I seek?” he asked.

“If you seek the Pasha of Sulieika,” the prisoner answered proudly, “I am he.”

The Chief regarded him with a stern and terrible look and then made signs that he was to be led away. This being done, he cut the cords that bound Mustapha with his dagger and invited him to take a seat by his side.

“I ask your pardon for the mistake that has occurred,” he said, “but it was a strange interposition of Providence that placed you in the hands of my companions at the moment they were lying in wait for that vile wretch you have just seen.”

Mustapha asked for one favour only as compensation, namely, that he might be allowed to proceed on his way without further delay, and on the Chief questioning him as to the reason of his great haste he told him all. The Chief then persuaded him to remain with him one night at least, telling him that both he and his horse needed rest, and promised to show him the next morning a short way by which he would be able to reach Balsora in a day and a half. Mustapha agreed to this and after being most hospitably entertained slept soundly all night long in the robber’s tent.

When he awoke he found himself alone in the tent, but through the hangings over the doorway he could hear voices, which seemed to belong to the Robber Chief and the little dark dwarf. He listened attentively, and to his horror heard the little man advising the Chief to murder him, as if he were allowed to go free he might betray the whole troop.

Mustapha could not but perceive that the little man owed him a grudge, because he had been the cause of the sharp treatment he had received the previous day. But the Robber Chief, after reflecting a few moments, said: “No, he is my guest, and as such is sacred to me, besides which he does not look like a man to betray one.”

He then thrust aside the tent curtains and entered—“Peace be with thee, Mustapha,” he said, “we will drain a morning draught and then you should prepare yourself to start.”

He listened attentively. (P. [37].)

He handed his guest a cup of sherbert, and when they had each drunk, they saddled their horses and Mustapha mounted and left the camp with a lighter heart than when he had entered it.

As they left the tents behind them the Chief told his new friend that the Pasha they had captured the previous day, after having promised him and his men the free range of his territory, had captured one of the best and bravest of them and, after torturing him terribly, had hanged him, and that now he should die himself.

Mustapha did not venture to remonstrate, being only too glad to escape with a whole skin himself.

When they reached the limit of the forest the Chief drew rein and offered his hand to Mustapha in farewell:

“Mustapha,” said he, “you have been in somewhat a strange fashion the guest of the Robber Orbasan. I will not ask you not to betray me, but trust to you that you will not do so. You have suffered, without cause, all the pangs of the fear of death, and you deserve some compensation. Take this dagger and if ever you are in need of help send it to me and I will hasten to your aid. This purse of gold may also be of assistance to you on your journey.”

Mustapha thanked him for his generosity, accepted the dagger, but refused the purse. But Orbasan, having pressed his hand, let the purse fall to the ground and then set spurs to his horse and rode off at such speed that Mustapha, seeing it was useless to overtake him, picked up the purse, and was astonished to find what a quantity of money it contained. Having thanked Allah for his goodness and recommended the robber to his protection, he continued his journey in a much more cheerful mood towards Balsora.

He reached that city on the seventh day of his journey, and as soon as he had put up at an inn he enquired when the next yearly slave market was to be held. To his horror and distress he heard that he had arrived just two days too late for it.

The people sympathised with him over his delay and told him how much he had lost, for on the very last day of the market two young slaves had been put up for sale who were so beautiful that there had been great bidding amongst the people for them, and they fetched such a high price that only their present master, who was a very rich man, could afford to buy them.

On making further enquiries as to their appearance he could no longer doubt they were the two unfortunate girls he was in search of. He also heard that the man who had bought them was called Thiuli-Kos and lived forty miles away from Balsora; he was an elderly man who had amassed a large fortune, and had retired from public affairs and settled down to enjoy his possessions in peace and quietness.

At first Mustapha thought he would re-mount and try and overtake Thiuli-Kos, but then he reflected that he could do little, for he was but a single man against the large retinue Thiuli-Kos would no doubt have with him, and that it would be impossible to wrest his prey from him; he therefore thought of another plan. His resemblance to the Pasha of Sulieika, which well-nigh proved fatal to him, might stand him in good stead now, and he determined to enter Thiuli-Kos’ house in that name in order to attempt the rescue of the two girls. He therefore engaged servants and horses and here Orbasan’s gift of money assisted him. Having purchased magnificent clothing for himself and his servants, he set out for Thiuli-Kos’ palace. He reached it in five days and found it was built on a lovely plain and was so surrounded by high walls that few of the buildings could be seen from without. He took the precaution to dye his hair and beard a darker tint, and coloured his face with the juice of a certain plant he knew of, so that no one could have supposed he was any other than the real Pasha; then he sent one of his servants to Thiuli’s palace to ask for a night’s lodging. The servant returned accompanied by four beautifully dressed slaves, who led Mustapha’s horse into the courtyard. They assisted him to alight and led him up a flight of marble steps to Thiuli.

Thiuli was a jolly old fellow and received Mustapha kindly, and ordered the best dishes his cook could prepare to be set before him. After dinner Mustapha turned the conversation to slaves, and the old man told him of the two beauties he had just lately bought, praising their appearance loudly, but regretting the fact that they appeared to be so sad, so that Mustapha retired to bed in high hopes of being soon able to effect a rescue.

He had been asleep about an hour when he was awakened by the light of a lamp streaming down upon his eyes. Raising himself on his elbow he at first believed himself to be still sleeping and dreaming, for before him stood the same swarthy little dwarf he had seen in Orbasan’s tent. He carried a lamp in his hand, and a horrid grin distended his mouth from ear to ear. “What do you want?” [!-- original location of full page illustration --] [!-- blank page --] asked Mustapha angrily, as soon as he had convinced himself he was awake.

FATIMA’S RESCUE
“He made for the door, screaming lustily for help”
(p. [43])

“Don’t disturb yourself,” replied the little man. “I know quite well why you are here, your noble countenance is not unknown to me, but, had I not assisted at the hanging of the Pasha of Sulieika I might have mistaken you for him. But I am here to make a suggestion.”

“First of all tell me why you are here,” said Mustapha.

“Well,” replied the little man. “I did not get on very well with the Chief, and so I left him. Our last particular quarrel was over you, and so, Mustapha, it is but fair you should promise me your sister for a wife, otherwise I will go straight to my new master and tell him who the Pasha of Sulieika really is.”

Mustapha was beside himself with rage and fear; just as he had thought himself about to accomplish his design, this wretched little creature came to frustrate it. There was only one thing to be done, he must kill the little horror, and he sprang out of bed, meaning to catch him. But the dwarf had guessed what might happen and was prepared for him. Dropping his lamp, he made for the door, screaming lustily for help.

Mustapha was now in sad straits and all present hope of rescuing the two girls was at an end; he had to think only of his own safety. He looked out of the window and found it was some distance from the ground and that there was a high wall he would have to scale as well. However, as he stood considering, he heard voices approaching, and just as the door was about to be burst open he jumped from the window, ran across the courtyard and, climbing the wall nimbly, had soon left his enemies behind. He never stopped running until he had reached the shelter of a wood, and then he threw himself down quite exhausted, to try and think what he should do next. Of course he had lost his horses and his servants, having left them behind him at Thiuli’s house, but he still had a good sum of Orbasan’s money in his girdle.

Very soon he had invented another plan to save his sister. He continued his way through the wood until he reached a village, where he purchased a horse at a low price which speedily carried him to a town. Here he sought out a physician and offered him several pieces of gold on consideration that he would concoct a draught which would give all the semblance of death without harming the patient, and another draught to counteract the effect of the first. Having made his bargain, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all sorts of phials which a physician would be likely to have. He strapped his baggage on the back of an ass and retraced his steps to Thiuli’s house.

He was so changed in appearance that he scarcely knew himself, and had little fear of being recognised by Thiuli-Kos or anyone else. He arrived at the palace and announced himself as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. Everything happened as he wished it to do. The old man was so taken by his high-sounding name that he at once asked him to enter and take a seat at his table.

After some conversation, in which Mustapha managed to give the impression that he was a very learned man, Thiuli said he would take this opportunity of having all his slaves examined and ascertain the state of their health. Mustapha was overjoyed to think that he was so soon to see his beloved sister again, but in this he was mistaken. Thiuli conducted him to his seraglio, it is true, but when they reached a splendidly-furnished room there was no one in it. “Chambaba, or whatever your name may be, dear doctor,” said Thiuli, “behold this opening in the wall. Through this each of my slaves shall pass her arm and you can feel her pulse, and ascertain the state of her health.” Mustapha made some objection to this arrangement, but Thiuli would not consent to alter it, only he did consent to give a few hints as to the previous state of their healths.

The slave slipped her hand through the opening. (P. [46].)

Drawing a strip of paper from his girdle Thiuli now began to call out the names of his slaves, and as he called the slave who answered to the name slipped her hand through the opening.

Six times had Mustapha felt the pulses and pronounced six slaves in good health, and then came the name of Fatima.

Trembling with joy Mustapha grasped the little white hand and then, with a grave air, pronounced the patient to be very ill.

Thiuli was very much concerned and asked the wise Chakamankabudibaba to prepare a medicine for her which could not fail to cure her. Mustapha left the room and wrote the following message: “Fatima, I will save you if you will consent to the following plan. I will give you a draught which will make you appear dead for two days; I have another draught in my possession which will restore you. If you consent, pretend that the simple draught I will send you has been of no avail; I shall know this is a sign that you agree and will see that the more potent draught is given you next.”

He soon returned to the room, where Thiuli awaited him, bringing with him a harmless draught which he handed to Fatima. He felt her pulse once more, and managed at the same time to slip the little note under her bracelet; Thiuli was so distressed about Fatima’s illness that he thought of no one else, and put off the medical examination of the other slaves until a more convenient season.

When he and Mustapha had left the room he said to him sorrowfully: “Chadibaba, tell me frankly what you think of Fatima’s state.”

“Alas!” answered the wise physician, heaving a deep sigh: “may the prophet give you consolation for I cannot. Fatima is suffering from a malignant fever from which I am afraid she will not recover.” Far from appreciating the plain speaking he had begged for, Thiuli flew into a great rage—“You wretched quack,” cried he, “do you mean to say that the slave for whom I paid two thousand gold pieces is to die like an old cow? Take note, if you do not manage to save her life I will have you beheaded.”

Mustapha saw that he had made a mistake and tried to reassure Thiuli.

Just then a black slave came to tell the physician that the medicine had done no good. “Exert your whole skill, Chakamdababelda or whatever your name may be, I will make it worth your while to cure her,” shrieked Thiuli, almost weeping to think of the possible loss of his two thousand gold pieces.

“I will give her a draught that is almost certain to relieve her,” answered Mustapha.

“Yes, yes,” sobbed the old man, “by all means give her another draught.”

Well pleased, Mustapha slipped away to fetch the sleeping draught, which he gave to the black slave to give to Fatima. Then, saying that he needed to gather a few healing herbs which grew on the banks of the lake, he hurried out of the palace.

As soon as he reached the bank he took off his disguise and cast it into the water, where it floated gaily about, then he hid himself in some bushes and waited for the approach of night, when he went and hid himself in the burial place attached to Thiuli’s palace.

Mustapha had scarcely been gone an hour when the black slave came and informed Thiuli that Fatima seemed at the point of death. The old man at once sent his servants to fetch the doctor, but they returned shortly, saying that he had undoubtedly fallen into the water and been drowned, for his black robe was floating upon the surface, and every now and again they had seen his grey beard bobbing up and down. Thiuli raved like a madman, tore his beard and beat his head against the wall, but all to no purpose, for shortly afterwards Fatima breathed her last.

As soon as Thiuli heard that she was really dead he ordered her to be taken away to the burial place, for he could not bear having a dead person in the house. The servants who bore her there did but place her on the ground and run away, for they heard such dismal sighs and groans that they were afraid. Of course it was Mustapha who had frightened the servants, and as soon as they were out of the way he came out from his hiding place and examined the girl he supposed to be his sister. What was his horror to find that the girl who lay in the death-like trance bore no resemblance to Fatima whatever, but was a complete stranger.

When he had a little recovered from his disappointment he reflected it would be cruel to leave the poor girl in the state she was in, and so he uncorked the phial he had brought containing the antidote and poured the medicine down her throat. At once she opened her eyes and began to breathe freely, but it was some little time before she could remember where she was and what had happened; but when she did she flung herself at Mustapha’s feet and thanked him for having rescued her from her horrible captivity. Mustapha questioned her as to how it chanced that he had saved her instead of his sister Fatima.

He poured the medicine down her throat. (P. [48].)

She looked at him for some moments in surprise.

“Now I begin to understand to what chance I owe my deliverance,” she said at length. “Since I have been in Thiuli’s house I have been called Fatima, which I understand is your sister’s name.”

After some little conversation Mustapha discovered that Fatima and Zoraida were in the palace, but that, according to Thiuli’s custom, he had given them new names when they became his property, and they were now called Mirza and Nurmahal.

Fatima, the rescued slave, could not but see how disappointed Mustapha was that he had failed in his attempt to carry off his sister, and she did all she could to encourage him to make a further effort, telling him that she had a plan which might prove successful.

So Mustapha took heart and questioned her as to how he should set about his task.

“I have been a slave in Thiuli’s house for the last five months,” she said, “and from the first day thought out a means of escape, but it was too difficult to carry out unaided. In the inner courtyard you may have noticed a fine fountain, which casts its water on high from no less than ten different jets. Now there was a similar fountain in my father’s garden, which was fed by water conducted to it by an underground passage, and I wished to find out if Thiuli’s fountain was supplied in a similar manner. So one day I began to praise it to Thiuli and to say what a clever builder he must have had to design it. ‘I designed it myself,’ said he, well pleased, ‘and what you see is not the most wonderful part about it, for the water has to be brought here from a distance of a thousand feet at least. I had a lofty arched underground passage built from my courtyard to a brook and I had the waters of the brook turned into this passage, through which it now flows and supplies my fountain with water. I designed and superintended the building of the whole thing myself.’

“After hearing this I longed for the strength of a man that I might be able to raise one of the stones in the courtyard, reach the underground passage, and be free. I can show you the direction in which this passage lies and by it you can one night obtain entrance to the palace; but you will need one or two men to assist you, for you will have to overpower the black slaves who keep watch over the quarters where the women slaves are kept.”

In spite of the fact that he had already had two failures Mustapha once more took heart, trusting that Allah would allow him to carry out successfully the plan of Fatima the slave girl. He promised her that he would arrange for her to reach her own home when he had rescued the others, as a reward for lending him her assistance in gaining an entrance to the palace.

His principal anxiety was how he should obtain the assistance of two or three men. Suddenly he remembered Orbasan’s dagger and the promise the Robber Chief had made that he would come to his aid if ever he were in need of help.

So he made haste to leave the burial place and, taking Fatima with him, returned to the town in which he had purchased his physician’s disguise, and placed the girl in the charge of a poor but respectable woman.

Then, with the last of Orbasan’s money he bought a horse, and set out once more for the robber’s dwelling place. He reached it in three days’ time, and, although an unexpected guest, was none the less a welcome one.

He told Orbasan of his unsuccessful attempts to rescue his sister, and in spite of the gravity of the situation Orbasan could not refrain from laughing as he pictured his friend decked out as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. But he was enraged to hear of the treachery of the dwarf, and vowed he would hang him with his own hands, as soon as he could catch him. He promised Mustapha that as soon as he was rested and refreshed he would return with him and help him to carry out his designs.

Accordingly on the following morning, Mustapha and Orbasan, accompanied by three of the latter’s bravest men, set out for the little town where Mustapha had left the rescued Fatima. They rode so fast that they reached it in two days’ time and, calling for Fatima, who was to show them the way, rode on to a little wood not far from Thiuli’s palace. Here they hid themselves until nightfall and then Fatima led the way to the brook which supplied the fountain. Very soon they found the entrance to the underground passage and prepared to descend. One of the men was left in charge of Fatima and the horses, and the rescued slave repeated her directions—They were to traverse the passage until they came to the pipes which supplied the fountain; having raised one of the flag-stones they would find themselves in the inner courtyard. They would see two towers to right and left of them and, passing through the sixth door from the right hand tower, they would come into the room where the real Fatima and Zoraida were shut up, watched by two black slaves.

Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through the opening. (P. [55].)

So, well-armed and carrying crowbars with them, Mustapha, Orbasan, and two other men climbed down into the underground passage. The water in the passage reached to their middles, but they were nevertheless able to move briskly forward. In half an hour’s time they had reached the end of the passage, immediately below the fountain, and then they began to use their crowbars. The stone-work was thick and very strong, but the efforts of the four men at length succeeded in forcing an opening sufficiently large for a man to crawl through.

Orbasan crept through first and gave a hand to the others, and when they all four stood in the courtyard they gazed around them in order to determine which of the doors was the one described to them.

But they were somewhat perplexed, for on counting from the right hand tower they found that one door had been walled up, and they were not sure whether Fatima had meant them to count this door or not.

But Orbasan did not hesitate long. “My good sword can open any door for me,” he said, and advanced towards the one he imagined to be the right one.

On opening the door they discovered six black slaves lying fast asleep. They would have retreated silently, as they saw they had come to the wrong door, but a figure in the corner raised itself, and a well-known voice began to shriek for help. It was the little dwarf from Orbasan’s camp.

But before the black slaves knew what was happening Orbasan had seized the little man; tearing his girdle into pieces he stuffed part of it down his throat, and with the rest he tied his hands behind his back, then he turned his attention to the slaves, several of whom had been bound and gagged by Mustapha and the two robbers; in a few moments they were completely overpowered, but were told their lives would be spared on condition that they told where Mirza and Nurmahal were to be found.

They confessed that they were in the adjoining room, and on Mustapha hurrying in he found both Fatima and Zoraida, who had been awakened by the noise.

Hurriedly snatching up their jewels and their clothing they followed Mustapha out of the palace. The robbers wished to take some plunder with them, but Orbasan forbade it, declaring that it should never be said of Orbasan that he broke into houses by night like a common thief.

Mustapha and the rescued girls slipped through the opening in the courtyard into the underground passage, Orbasan promising to follow him immediately, but before doing so he and one of the robbers took the little dwarf and, leading him into the courtyard, hanged him with a silken rope, which they had brought expressly for the purpose, to the topmost point of the fountain.

Having so punished the treachery of the wretched little creature, they also got down into the watercourse and followed Mustapha and the girls.

Fatima and Zoraida, with tears in their eyes, would have thanked their noble rescuer for having saved them from a miserable existence, but he bade them waste no time on words, for it was quite likely that Thiuli-Kos would, before long, discover his loss and pursue them.

It was with a deep feeling of gratitude that, on the following day, Mustapha and the girls bade Orbasan farewell, vowing that they would never forget him. Fatima, the girl who had been first rescued, was carefully disguised, and then sent to Balsora and put on board a boat which would carry her to her own home.

After a short and most successful voyage Mustapha and the two girls arrived home, and the joy of the old Cadi to see his dearly-loved daughter once again was beyond all expression.

He gave a great feast to which he invited all his relations and friends, to whom he made Mustapha relate all his adventures.

When he had finished speaking the Cadi solemnly revoked the curse he had put upon his son’s head, and taking Zoraida’s hand he placed it in that of Mustapha. “Take her,” he said, “as a reward for your unwearied perseverance, and take also the blessing of your aged father, whose earnest wish is that our city may never lack men who, like you, combine tender brotherly affection with wisdom and perseverance.”

THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK.

IN Nicea, which is my native place, there once lived a little man, named Mouk. I remember him very well indeed, although I was but a youngster at the time, for I once received a good sound thrashing from my father on his account.

In spite of the fact that he was already an old man, he was but three or four feet in height, and presented a most extraordinary appearance, for although his body was small and delicate he carried a head upon his shoulders that was larger than that of any full-grown man.

Little Mouk.

He lived quite by himself and did all his own work. Had it not been for the fact that every mid-day the smoke rose in thick volumes from his chimney, folks would scarcely have known if he were alive or dead, for he left his house but once in four weeks. It is true that he walked up and down upon the flat roof of his house most evenings, but he was so short that his body could not be seen, and so the story got about that it was his head alone which promenaded upon the house-top.

I am afraid that I and my playmates were bad boys who loved to tease and worry anyone we could, and we reckoned it rare fun when the time came round for little Mouk to take his monthly walk abroad. We waited outside his house for him, and as soon as his big head, surmounted by an enormous turban, appeared, we threw our caps in the air and shouted for joy. The head and turban always came out first, and the tiny little body which followed was clad in a shabby little cloak, wide trousers and a broad girdle; attached to the latter was a long dagger, so much out of proportion to the size of his body that it was difficult to tell at a first glance whether Mouk was fastened to the dagger or the dagger to him.

In spite of the fact that we naughty boys danced round him like young maniacs, Mouk always bowed to us with great gravity, and walked down the street with a dignified air, dragging his poor little feet, encased in huge loose slippers, laboriously after him.

We had made up a little rhyme which we sang as we danced around him. It was as follows:

“Little Mouk, we know you well,

In a great big house you dwell,

Only once a month you go

For a walk with footsteps slow.

Though you’re but a dwarf, ’tis said,

You’ve a mountain for a head,

Turn around and take a look,

Run and catch us, little Mouk.”

I am ashamed to say I was one of the worst of the tormentors of the poor little man. I would twitch his cloak, and once I went behind him and trod on his huge slipper, thus causing him to fall. This seemed a fine joke to me; but I ceased to laugh, when I saw him turn towards my father’s house. He went in and remained there some time. I hid myself behind the door and watched until he came out again.

He was accompanied by my father, who held his hand and bowed repeatedly and most respectfully to him as he took his leave.

I must confess that I felt very uneasy upon seeing this and remained a long time in my hiding place, but at length hunger, which I disliked even worse than a thrashing, forced me to come out, and I stole into my father’s presence, shame-faced and with bowed head.

“I hear you have been playing your pranks upon the good little Mouk,” said my father in stern tones. “I am now about to tell you his story, after which I am quite sure you will never wish to mock and annoy him again; but first I must punish you for the offence you have committed, in the usual way.”

The usual way meant five-and-twenty strokes with the stem of his long pipe. Having unscrewed the amber mouth-piece, he used it to give me the sound thrashing I so richly deserved.

He did not spare me a single stroke, but when he had finished he ordered me to pay attention whilst he related the story of Little Mouk.

“The father of little Mouk, whose real name is Mukrah, was a highly respected, though poor man, who also lived here in Nicea.

“He was almost as much of a hermit as his son is. Unfortunately he could not bring himself to love his son, for he was ashamed of his dwarfish figure, and consequently he would not have him educated.

“Little Mouk was still but a merry child when he had reached the age of sixteen years, and his father, who was a stern man, scolded him frequently for being so foolish and full of tricks when he had passed the age of childhood.

“But one day the old man had a bad fall and hurt himself so much that he died, leaving poor ignorant little Mouk to fight his way in the world as best he could.

“His unkind relations, who had lent the dead man money which he would now never be able to repay them, turned the poor little fellow out of doors, advising him to seek his fortune abroad.

“Little Mouk expressed himself as quite ready for his travels; but begged that he might be allowed to take his father’s clothes with him, and to this they consented.

“Now his father had been a fine tall man, so the clothes did not fit little Mouk, but this did not worry him. He cut them down in length and put them on, quite forgetting that they required taking in in the width as well. This is the reason of his extraordinary appearance, for the large turban, the broad girdle, the wide trousers and the blue mantle are all heirlooms of his father, which he has always worn.

“The dagger, too, was his father’s; this he stuck in the girdle when he set out upon his way, with his staff in hand.

“Happy and well content he wandered along. If he spied a piece of broken glass glittering in the sunshine, he put it in his pocket believing it was a diamond.

“If he saw the distant cupolas of a mosque shining like fire, or the sea stretched before him as smooth as a mirror, he hurried along thinking for sure he was coming to an enchanted country. But alas! the magic pictures changed as he approached them, and all too soon his weariness and empty stomach reminded him that he was still in the land of mortals.

“Thus he wandered on for two whole days and nights, hungry, weary, and dejected, in search of a fortune he began to fear he would never find. The wild fruits were his only food and the hard earth was his bed. On the third morning, from the top of a high hill, he saw a large town.

“He could see the glittering crescent and bright coloured flags upon the roofs and it seemed to little Mouk that they beckoned him nearer. He stood a few moments watching the town and its surroundings in surprise. ‘There will little Mouk make his fortune if anywhere,’ he said, and in spite of his fatigue he jumped for joy, then summoning all his strength he began to walk towards the city. But although it appeared so close he did not reach it until mid-day, for his poor little legs almost refused their office, so that he was obliged to rest frequently in the shade of a palm tree. But at length he reached the city gate. He shook out his mantle, re-arranged his turban, spread out his girdle and set his dagger jauntily in it, then, wiping the dust from his shoes, he strode bravely into the city.

“He had wandered through several streets, but nowhere had a door been opened to him, nowhere had the folks called out to him as he had imagined they would: ‘Come in, little Mouk, come in, eat drink, and rest your weary little legs.’

“But as he glanced longingly at a fine large house opposite him, a window opened and an old woman popped her head out and began calling out in sing-song tones:

“‘Come everyone,

The food is done,

Decked is the cloth,

Come taste the broth,

Ye neighbours all

Come to my call!’

The house-door opened and little Mouk saw many cats and dogs enter. He stood a moment in doubt as to whether he should answer the invitation, but at length he took courage and went in. A pair of young cats trotted along before him and he decided to follow them, guessing they knew the way to the kitchen better than he did.

THE STORY OF LITTLE MOUK.
“He decided to follow them.”

“When Mouk reached the top of the staircase he saw the old woman who had looked out of the window. She looked at him sulkily and asked what he wanted—‘I heard you inviting everyone to partake of your food,’ answered little Mouk, ‘and came in too, because I was so hungry.’

“The old woman laughed: ‘Where do you come from, you queer little fellow?’ she asked. ‘Why, everyone in the town knows that I only cook for my beloved cats, and now and again I invite a few guests to feast with them, as you saw just now.’ Little Mouk told what a hard lot his had been since his father’s death and begged her to let him partake of her cats’ food for once. The old woman seemed pleased with the truthfulness of the little fellow and gave him a plentiful supply of food and drink.

“When he had satisfied his hunger the old woman looked at him for some time and then said: ‘Little Mouk, would you like to enter my service? If you would you shall have little trouble and be well paid for your work.’

“Little Mouk, who had enjoyed the cats’ broth, consented, and entered the service of Madam Ahavzi. His work was light but very curious.

“Madam Ahavzi had in all six cats, and little Mouk was expected to brush their fur and anoint them with sweet-smelling essences. When their mistress was out he had to take charge of them. When they took their meals it was his task to set the dishes before them, and at night he was expected to put them to bed on silken cushions and cover them with velvet coverlets.

“There were also several little dogs in the house for him to take care of; but there was not so much fuss made over them as over the cats, which Madam Ahavzi treated as her own children.

“On the whole Mouk’s life was as solitary as it had been in his father’s house, for besides the old woman he saw no living creature but the cats and dogs.

“For some time all went well and little Mouk had plenty to eat and little to do, and the old woman was quite pleased and contented with him, but by-and-by the cats were naughty. When the old woman went out they jumped about the room, upset all manner of things and broke one or two valuable ornaments which happened to be in their way. But the moment they heard the old woman’s step on the stairs they crept back to their cushions and waved their tails to and fro as though nothing had happened.

“Madam Ahavzi flew into a violent rage when she saw what a state the room was in and laid the blame on Mouk, and it was useless for him to excuse himself; she believed her innocent-looking cats rather than her servant.

“Little Mouk was very sad to think that his misfortunes had overtaken him again and he determined to quit his mistress’ service.

“But as he had discovered on his first journey that it is very unpleasant to be without money, he determined to try and help himself to wages, which his mistress had always promised but never yet given him. There was a room in the house which was always kept locked and the interior of which he had never seen, but he had often heard the old woman in it, and dearly wished to know what was hidden there. As he now sat wondering where the money for his journey was to come from, it occurred to him that the closed room might contain the old woman’s treasures, but alas! the door was locked and he was unable to get in.

“One morning, when Madam Ahavzi had gone out, one of the little dogs, which had never been treated very kindly by her, but which little Mouk had petted and paid great attention to, came and pulled his wide trousers and made signs to Mouk to follow him.

“Mouk, who had always been fond of playing with the little dog, followed it, and it led him into the bedroom of his mistress and showed him a little door he had never seen before. The door was ajar, and Mouk entering found himself in the room he had so long wished to enter. He peered about in every corner to see if he could find any money, but all in vain. Nothing but old clothes and strangely-shaped vases were lying about. One of these attracted his attention, for it was of crystal and had a number of beautiful figures engraved upon it. He took it up to examine it, but alas, to his horror, it had a cover which he had not noticed and which slipped off and broke into a thousand pieces.

Seeing an enormous pair of slippers, he made up his mind to take them. (P. [66].)

“For some moments he was rooted to the spot with terror. His fate was now decided, for if he did not run away he was quite certain the old woman would kill him. He took a glance around to see which of the old woman’s possessions would be most useful to him upon his journey. Seeing an enormous pair of slippers, he made up his mind to take them, for his own shoes were worn out; moreover it was quite certain that with the big slippers on, no one could accuse him of still standing in his childhood’s shoes, so he quickly exchanged shoes, took a fine walking stick, which had a handle carved in the form of a lion’s head, and going to his own room donned the turban and cloak that had been his father’s, and left the house and town as fast as his legs could carry him. Once outside the town he still continued running, for he was afraid the old woman would overtake and punish him; but at length he grew very weary, for his little body had to support such a large head that he was soon overcome with fatigue. But when he would have stopped he could not, the big shoes kept urging him on, and he guessed at length they must be magic shoes. He did not know how to prevent them dragging him along, but, driven to despair, he cried out, as though to a pair of restive horses, ‘Stop, stop, oh! stop,’ and the slippers immediately stopped and Mouk threw himself upon the ground quite worn out.

“He was delighted with the slippers, for, after all, he felt he had gained something for his work which would probably assist him on in the world and help him to make his fortune. But in spite of his pleasure fatigue overcame him and he fell asleep and dreamt. In his dream the little dog, which had assisted him in obtaining the slippers, appeared to him and said, ‘Dear Mouk, you do not seem to quite understand the use of the slippers. Turn round on the heel, when you have them on, three times, and you will then be able to fly wherever you please. With the little stick you will be able to find treasure, for wherever gold is buried it will strike the earth three times and where silver is buried twice.’ Such was little Mouk’s dream, and when he awoke he determined to make a trial in order to discover if the dream had any truth in it. He put on the slippers and, lifting one foot in the air, turned round on the heel of the other. But it was a difficult task and the poor little fellow’s enormous head dragged him sometimes this way and sometimes the other, so that he fell over two or three times before he finally succeeded. But succeed he did, and then, wishing himself to be transported to the nearest town, he found himself raised in the air and flying through the clouds like the wind, and before he could grasp what was happening he was in a market place, where many booths had been set up and where innumerable people were running to and fro.

“He went in and out among them, but presently decided to seek a quieter street, for in the crowded market folks constantly trod upon his big slippers and nearly threw him down, or else his long dagger stuck into the people and he then had some difficulty in avoiding the blows rained upon him.

“Little Mouk now began to set his wits to work as to how he was to earn a piece of money. It is true that he had a staff which could discover hidden treasure, but where could he find a place all in a moment where gold and silver lay hidden?

“He might have exhibited himself in a booth and received money for it, but was too proud to do so. Then it struck him his swift running might be the means of earning him a livelihood and decided to offer his services as a courier.

“Thinking it likely that the king might pay the highest sum for such service, he enquired the way to the palace.