雙語·豪夫童話 施佩薩特林中客棧_賽義德歷險記

The Inn in the Spessart_Said's Adventures

In the time of Haroun-al-Raschid, the ruler of Bagdad, there lived in Balsora a man named Benezar. He was possessed of considerable means, and could live quietly and comfortably without resorting to trade. Nor did he change his life of ease when a son was born to him.

“Why should I, at my time of life, dicker and trade?” said he to his neighbors, “just to leave Said a thousand more gold pieces if things went well, and if they went badly a thousand less? ‘Where two have eaten, a third may feast,’ says the proverb; and if he is only a good boy, Said shall want for nothing.”

Thus spake Benezar, and well did he keep his word, for his son was brought up neither to a trade nor yet to commerce. Still Benezar did not omit reading with him the books of wisdom, and as it was the father's belief that a young man needed, with scholarship and veneration for age, nothing more than a strong arm and courage, he had his son early educated in the use of weapons, and Said soon passed among boys of his own age, and even among those much older, for a valiant fencer, while in horsemanship and swimming he had no superior.

When he was eighteen years old, his father sent him to Mecca, to the grave of the Prophet, to say his prayers and go through his religious exercises on the spot, as required by custom and the commandment. Before he departed, his father called him to his side and praised his conduct, gave him good advice, provided him with money, and then said:

“One word more, my son, Said. I am a man above sharing in the superstitions of the rabble. I listen with pleasure to the stories of fairies and sorcerers as an agreeable way of passing the time; still I am far from believing, as so many ignorant people do, that these genii, or whatever they may be, exert an influence on the lives and affairs of mortals. But your mother, who has been dead these twelve years, believed as devoutly in them as in the Koran;yes,she even confided to me once,after I had pledged her not to reveal the fact to any one but her child, that she herself from her birth up had had association with a fairy. I laughed at her for entertaining such a notion; and yet I must confess, Said, that certain things happened at your birth that caused me great astonishment. It had rained and thundered the whole day, and the sky was so black that nothing could be seen without a light. But at four o’clock in the afternoon I was told that I was the father of a little boy. I hastened to your mother's room to see and to bless our first-born; but all her maids stood before the door, and in response to my questions, answered that no one would be allowed in the room at present, as Zemira (your mother) had ordered every body out of her chamber because she wished to be alone. I knocked on the door, but all in vain; it remained locked.

“While I waited somewhat indignantly, before the door, the sky cleared more quickly than I had ever seen it do before, but the most wonderful thing about it was, that it was only over our loved city of Balsora that the clear blue sky appeared, for the black clouds rolled back, and lightning flashed on the outskirts of this circle. While I was contemplating this spectacle curiously, my wife's door flew open. I ordered the maids to wait outside, and entered the chamber alone to ask your mother why she had locked herself in. As I entered, such a stupefying odor of roses, pinks, and hyacinths greeted me that I almost lost my senses. Your mother held you up to me, at the same time pointing to a little silver whistle that was attached to your neck by a golden chain as fine as silk. ‘The good woman of whom I once spoke to you has been here,’ said your mother, ‘and has given your boy this present.’ ‘And was it the old witch also who swept away the clouds and left this fragrance of roses and pinks behind her?’ said I with an incredulous laugh. ‘But she might have left him something better than this whistle: say a purse full of gold, a horse, or something of the kind.’

“Your mother besought me not to jest, because the fairies, if angered, would transform their blessings into maledictions.

“To please her, and because she was sick, I said no more; nor did we speak again of this strange occurrence until six years afterwards, when, young as she was, she felt that she was going to die. She gave me then the little whistle, charging me to give it to you only when you had reached your twentieth year, and before that hour not to let it go out of my possession. She died. Here now is the present,” continued Benezar, producing from a little box a small silver whistle, to which was attached a long gold chain, “and I give it to you in your eighteenth, instead of your twentieth year, because you are going away, and I may be gathered to my fathers before you return home. I do not see any sensible reason why you should remain here another two years before setting out, as your anxious mother wished. You are a good and prudent young man, can wield your weapons as bravely as a man of four-and-twenty, and therefore I can as well pronounce you of age to-day as if you were already twenty; and now go in peace, and think, in fortune and misfortune—from which last may heaven preserve you—on your father.”

Thus spake Benezar of Balsora, as he dismissed his son. Said took leave of him with much emotion, hung the chain about his neck, stuck the whistle in his sash, swung himself on his horse, and rode to the place where the caravan for Mecca assembled. In a short time eighty camels and many hundred horsemen had gathered there; the caravan started off, and Said rode out of the gate of Balsora, his native city, that he was destined not to see again for a long time.

The novelty of such a journey, and the many strange objects that obtruded themselves upon his attention, at first diverted his mind; but as the travelers neared the desert and the country became more and more desolate, he began to reflect on many things, and among others, on the words with which his father had taken leave of him. He drew out his whistle, examined it closely, and put it to his mouth to see whether it would give a clear and fine tone; but, lo! It would not sound at all. He puffed out his cheeks, and blew with all his strength; but he could not produce a single note, and vexed at the useless present, he thrust the whistle back into his sash. But his thoughts shortly returned to the mysterious words of his mother. He had heard much about fairies, but he had never learned that this or that neighbor in Balsora had had any relations with a supernatural power; on the contrary, the legends of these spirits had always been located in distant times and places, and therefore he believed there were to-day no such apparitions, or that the fairies had ceased to visit mortals or to take any interest in their fate. But although he thought thus, he was constantly making the attempt to believe in mysterious and supernatural powers, and wondering what might have been their relations with his mother; and so he would sit on his horse like one in a dream nearly the whole day, taking no part in the conversation of the travellers, and deaf to their songs and laughter.

Said was a very handsome youth; his eye was clear and piercing, his mouth wore a pleasing expression, and, young as he was, he bore himself with a certain dignity that one seldom sees in so young a man, and his grace and soldierly appearance in the saddle commanded the attention of many of his fellow-travellers. An old man who rode by his side was much pleased with his manner, and sought by many questions to become more acquainted with him. Said, in whom reverence for old age had been early inculcated, answered modestly, but wisely and with circumspection, so that the old man's first impressions of him were strengthened. But as the young man's thoughts had been occupied the whole day with but one subject, it followed that the conversation between the two soon turned upon the mysterious realm of the fairies; and Said finally asked the old man bluntly whether he believed in the existence of fairies, who took mortals under their protection, or sought to injure them.

The old man shook his head thoughtfully, and stroked his beard, before replying: “It can not be disputed that there have been instances of the kind, although I have never seen a dwarf of the spirits, a giant of the genii, a sorcerer, or a fairy.” He then began to relate so many wonderful stories that Said's head was fairly in a whirl, and he could believe nothing else than that everything, which had happened at his birth—the change in the weather, the sweet odor of roses and hyacinths—were the signs that he was under the special protection of a kind and powerful fairy, and that the whistle was given him for no less a purpose than to summon the fairy in case of need. He dreamed all night of castles, winged horses, genii and the like, and dwelt in a genuine fairy realm.

But, sad to relate, he was doomed to experience on the following day how perishable were all his dreams, sleeping or waking. The caravan had made its way along in easy stages for the greater part of the day, Said keeping his place at the side of his elderly companion, when a dark cloud was seen on the horizon. Some held it to be a sand-storm, others thought it was clouds, and still others were of opinion that it was another caravan. But Said's companion, who was an old traveller, cried out in a loud voice that they should be on their guard, for this was a horde of Arab robbers approaching. The men seized their weapons, the women and the goods were placed in the centre, and everything made ready against an attack. The dark mass moved slowly over the plain, resembling an immense flock of storks taking their flight to distant lands. By-and-by, they came on faster, and hardly was the caravan able to distinguish men and lances, when, with the speed of the wind, the robbers swarmed around them.

The men defended themselves bravely; but the robbers, who were over four hundred strong, surrounded them on all sides, killed many from a distance, and then, made a charge with their lances. In this fearful moment, Said, who had fought among the foremost, was reminded of his whistle. He drew it forth hastily, put it to his lips, and blew; but let it drop again in disappointment, for it gave out not the slightest sound. Enraged over this cruel disillusion, he took aim at an Arab conspicuous by his splendid costume, and shot him through the breast. The man swayed in his saddle, and fell from his horse.

“Allah! What have you done, young man?” exclaimed the old man at his side. “Now we are all lost!” And thus it seemed, for no sooner did the robbers see this man fall, than they raised a terrible cry, and closed in on the caravan with such resistless force that the few who remained unwounded were soon scattered. In another moment, Said found himself surrounded by five or six of the enemy. He handled his lance so dexterously, however, that not one of them dared approach him very closely; at last one of them bent his bow, took aim, and was just about to let the arrow fly, when another of the robbers stopped him. The young man prepared for some new mode of attack; but before he saw their design, one of the Arabs had thrown a lasso over his head, and, try as he might to remove the rope, his efforts were unavailing—the noose was drawn tighter and tighter, and Said was a prisoner.

The caravan was finally captured, and the Arabs, who did not all belong to one tribe, divided the prisoners and the remaining booty between them, and left the scene of the encounter, part of them riding off to the South and the remainder to the East. Near Said rode four armed guards, who often glared at him angrily, uttering savage oaths. From all this, Said concluded, that it must have been one of their leaders, very likely a prince, whom he had slain. The prospect of slavery was to him much worse than that of death; so he secretly thanked his stars that he had drawn the vengeance of the whole horde on himself, for he did not doubt that they would kill him when they reached their camp. The guards watched his every motion, and if he but turned his head, they threatened him with their spears; but once, when the horse of one of his guards stumbled, he turned his head quickly, and was rejoiced at the sight of his fellow-traveller whom he had believed was among the dead.

Finally, trees and tents were seen in the distance; and as they drew nearer, they were met by a crowd of women and children, who had exchanged but a few words with the robbers, when they broke out into loud cries, and all looked at Said, shook their fists, and uttered imprecations on his head. “That is he,” shrieked they, “who has killed the great Almansor, the bravest of men! He shall die, and we will throw his flesh to the jackals of the desert for prey.” Then they rushed at Said so ferociously, with sticks and whatever missiles they could lay their hands on, that the robbers had to throw themselves between the women and the object of their wrath. “Be off, you scamps! Away you women!” cried they, dispersing the rabble with their lances; “he has killed the great Almansor in battle, and he shall die; not by the hand of a woman, but by the sword of the brave.”

On coming to an open place surrounded by the tents, they halted. The prisoners were bound together in pairs, and the booty carried into the tents, while Said was bound separately and led into a tent larger than the others, where sat an elderly and finely dressed man, whose proud bearing denoted him to be the chief of this tribe. The men who had brought Said in approached the chief with a sad air and with bowed heads. “The howling of the women has informed me of what has happened,” said their majestic leader, looking from one to the other of his men; “your manner confirms it—Almansor has fallen.”

“Almansor has fallen,” repeated the men, “but here, Selim, Ruler of the Desert, is his murderer, and we bring him here that you may decide as to the form of death that shall be inflicted on him. Shall we make a target of him for our arrows? shall we force him to run the gauntlet of our lances? or do you decree that he shall be hung or torn asunder by horses?”

“Who are you?” asked Selim, looking darkly at the prisoner, who, although doomed to death, stood before his captors with a courageous air.

Said replied to his question briefly and frankly.

“Did you kill my son by stealth? Did you pierce him from behind with an arrow or a lance?”

“No, Sire!” returned Said. “I killed him in an open fight, face to face, while he was attacking our caravan, because he had killed eight of my companions before my eyes.”

“Does he speak the truth?” asked Selim of the men who had captured Said.

“Yes, Sire, he killed Almansor in a fair fight,” replied one of the men.

“Then he has done no more and no less than we should have done in his place,” returned Selim; “he fought his enemy, who would have robbed him of liberty and life, and killed him; therefore, loose his bonds at once!”

The men looked at him in astonishment, and obeyed his order in a slow and unwilling manner.

“And shall the murderer of your son, the brave Almansor, not die?”asked one of them, casting a look of hate at Said. “Would that we had disposed of him on the spot!”

“He shall not die!” exclaimed Selim. “I will take him into my own tent, as my fair share of the booty, and he shall be my servant!”

Said could find no words in which to express his thanks. The men left the tent grumbling; and when they communicated Selim's decision to the women and children, who were waiting outside, they were greeted by terrible shrieks and lamentations, and threats were made that they would avenge Almansor's death on his murderer themselves, because his own father would not take vengeance.

The other captives were divided among the tribe. Some were released, in order that they might obtain ransom for the rich merchants;others were sent out as shepherds with the flocks; and many who had formerly been waited upon by ten slaves, were doomed to perform menial services in this camp. Not so with Said, however. Was it his courageous and heroic manner, or the mysterious influence of a kind fairy, that attached Selim to him so strongly? It would be hard to say; but Said lived in the chief's tent more as a son than as servant. Soon, however, the strange partiality of the old chief drew down on Said the hatred of the other servants. He met everywhere only savage looks, and if he went alone through the camp he heard on all sides curses and threats directed against him, and more than once arrows had flown by close to his breast—and that they did not hit him he ascribed to the silver whistle that he wore constantly in his bosom. He often complained to Selim of these attempts on his life; but the chiefs efforts to discover the would-be assassin were in vain, for the whole tribe seemed to be in league against the favored stranger.

So Selim said to him one day: “I had hoped that you might possibly replace the son who fell by your hand. It is not your fault or mine that this could not be. All feel bitter hatred toward you, and it is not in my power to protect you for the future, for how would it benefit either you or myself to bring the guilty ones to punishment after they had stealthily killed you? Therefore, when the men return from their present expedition, I will say to them that your father has sent me a ransom, and I will send you by some trusty men across the desert.”

“But could I trust myself with any of these men?” asked Said in amazement. “Would they not kill me on the way?”

“The oath that they will take before me will protect you; it has never yet been broken.” replied Selim calmly.

Some days after this the men returned to camp, and Selim kept his promise. He presented the young man with weapons, clothes and a horse, summoned all the available men, and chose five of their number to conduct Said across the desert, and bound them by a formidable oath not to kill him, and then took leave of Said with tears.

The five men rode moodily and silently through the desert with Said,who noticed how unwillingly they were fulfilling their commission; and it caused him not a little anxiety to find that two of them were present at the time he killed Almansor. When they were about an eight hours’ journey from the camp. Said heard the men whispering among themselves, and remarked that their manner was more and more sullen. He tried to catch what they were saying, and made out that they were conversing in a language understood only by this tribe, and only employed by them in their secret or dangerous undertakings. Selim, whose intention it had been to keep the young man permanently with him in his tent, had devoted many hours to teaching the young man these secret words; but what he now overheard was not of the most comforting nature.

“This is the spot,” said one, “here we attacked the caravan, and here fell the bravest of men by the hand of a boy.”

“The wind has covered the tracks of his horse,” continued another,“but I have not forgotten them.”

“And shall he who laid hands on him still live and be at liberty, and thus cast reproach on us? When was it ever heard before that a father failed to revenge the death of his only son? But Selim grows old and childish.”

“And if the father neglects it,” said a fourth, “then it becomes the duty of the fallen man's friends to avenge him. We should cut the murderer down on this spot. Such has been our law and custom for ages.”

“But we have bound ourselves by an oath to the chief not to kill this youth,” said the fifth man, “and we cannot break our oath.”

“It is true,” responded the others; “we have sworn, and the murderer is free to pass from the hands of his enemies.”

“Stop a moment!” cried one, the most sullen of them all. “Old Selim has a wise head, but is not so shrewd as he is generally credited with being. Did we swear to him that we would take this boy to this or that place? No; our oath simply bound us not to take his life, and we will leave him that; but the blistering sun and the sharp teeth of the jackals will soon accomplish our revenge for us. Here, on this spot, we can bind and leave him.”

Thus spake the robber; but Said had now prepared himself for a last desperate chance, and before the final words were fairly spoken he suddenly wheeled his horse to one side, gave him a sharp blow, and flew like a bird across the plain. The five men paused for a moment in surprise;but they were skilled in pursuit, and spread themselves out, chasing him from the right and left, and as they were more experienced in riding on the desert, two of them had soon overtaken the youth, and when he swerved to one side he found two other men there, while the fifth was at his back. The oath they had taken prevented them from using their weapons against him, so they lassoed him once more, pulled him from his horse, beat him unmercifully, bound his hands and feet, and laid him down on the burning sands of the desert.

Said begged piteously for mercy; he promised them a large ransom, but with a laugh they mounted their horses and galloped off. He listened for some moments to the receding steps of their horses, and then gave himself up for lost. He thought of his father and of the old man's sorrow if his son should never more return; he thought on his own misery, doomed to die so young; for nothing was more certain than that he must suffer the torments of suffocation in the hot sands, or that he should be torn to pieces by jackals.

The sun rose ever higher, and its hot rays burnt into his forehead;with considerable difficulty he rolled over, but the change of position gave him but little relief. In making this exertion, the whistle fell from his bosom. He moved about until he could seize it in his mouth, then he attempted to blow it; but even in this terrible hour of need it refused to respond to his will. In utter despair, he let his head fall back, and before long the sun had robbed him of his senses.

After many hours, Said was awakened by sounds close by him, and immediately after was conscious that his shoulder had been seized. He uttered a cry of terror, for he could believe nothing else than that a jackal had attacked him. Now he was grasped by the legs also, and became sensible that it was not the claws of a beast of prey but the hands of a man who was trying to restore his senses, and who was speaking with two or three other men.

“He lives,” whispered they, “but he believes that we are his foes.”

At last Said opened his eyes, and perceived above his own the face of a short, stout man, with small eyes and a long beard, who spoke kindly to him, helped him to get up, handed him food and drink, and while he was partaking of the refreshments told him that he was a merchant from Bagdad, named Kalum-Bek, and dealt in shawls and fine veils for ladies. He had made a business journey, and was now on his way home, and had seen Said lying half-dead in the sand. The splendor of the youth's costume, and the sparkling stone in his dagger had attracted his attention;he had done all in his power to revive him, and his efforts had finally succeeded. The youth thanked him for his life, for he saw clearly that without the interposition of this man he would have perished miserably;and as he had neither the means of getting away, nor the desire to wander over the desert on foot and alone, he gratefully accepted the offer of a seat on one of the merchant's heavily-laden camels, and decided to go to Bagdad with the merchant, with the chance of finding there a company bound for Balsora, which he could join.

On the journey, the merchant related to his travelling companion a great many stories about the excellent Ruler of the Faithful, Haroun-al-Raschid. He told anecdotes showing the caliph's love of justice and his shrewdness, and how he was able to smooth out the knottiest questions of law in a simple and admirable way; and among others he related the story of the rope-maker, and the story of the jar of olives—tales that every child now knows, but which astonished Said.

“Our master, the Ruler of the Faithful,” continued the merchant, “is a wonderful man. If you have an idea that he sleeps like the common people, you are very much mistaken. Two or three hours at day-break is all the sleep he takes. I am positive of that, for Messour, his head chamberlain, is my cousin; and although he is as silent as the grave concerning the secrets of his master, he will now and then let a hint drop, for kinship's sake, if he sees that one is nearly out of his senses with curiosity. Instead, then, of sleeping like other people, the caliph steals through the streets of Bagdad at night; and seldom does a week pass that he does not chance upon an adventure; for you must know—as is made clear by the story of the jar of olives, which is as true as the word of the Prophet,—that he does not make his rounds with the watch, or on horseback in full costume, his way lighted by a hundred torch-bearers, as he might very well do if he chose, but he goes about disguised sometimes as a merchant, sometimes as a mariner, at other times as a soldier, and again as a mufti, and looks around to see if every thing is right and in order. And therefore it happens that in no other town is one so polite towards every fool upon whom he stumbles on the street at night, as in Bagdad; for it would be as likely to turn out the caliph as a dirty Arab from the desert, and there is wood enough growing round to give every person in and around Bagdad the bastinado.”

Thus spake the merchant; and Said, strong as was his desire to see his father once more, rejoiced at the prospect of seeing Bagdad and its famous ruler, Haroun-al-Raschid.

After a ten-days’ journey, they arrived at their destination; and Said was astonished at the magnificence of this city, then at the height of its splendor. The merchant invited him to go with him to his house, and Said gladly accepted the invitation; as it now occurred to him for the first time, among the crowd of people, that with the exception of the air, the water of the Tigris, and a lodging on the steps of the mosque, nothing could be had without money.

The day after his arrival in Bagdad, as soon as he had dressed himself—thinking that he need not be ashamed to show himself on the streets of Bagdad in his splendid soldierly costume—the merchant entered his room, looked at the handsome youth with a knavish smile, stroked his beard and said: “That's all very fine, young man! But what shall be done with you? You are, it appears to me, a great dreamer, taking no thought for the morrow; or have you money enough with you to support such style as that?”

“Dear Kalum-Bek,” replied the young man, greatly disconcerted, “I certainly have no money, but perhaps you will furnish me with the means to reach home; my father would surely repay you.”

“Your father, fellow?” cried the merchant, with a loud laugh. “I think the sun must have scorched your brain. Do you think I would take your simple word for that yarn you spun me in the desert—that your father was a rich citizen of Balsora, you his only son?—and about the attack of the robbers, and your life with the tribe, and this, that, and the other? Even then I felt very angry at your frivolous lies and utter impudence. I know that all the rich people in Balsora are traders; I have had dealings with all of them, and should have heard of a Benezar, even if he had not been worth more than six thousand Tomans. It is, therefore, either a lie that you hail from Balsora, or else your father is a poor wretch, to whose runaway son I would not lend a copper. Then, too, the attack in the desert! Who ever heard, since the wise Caliph Haroun has made the trade routes across the desert safe, that robbers dared to plunder a caravan and lead the men off into captivity? And then, too, it would have been known; but on my entire journey, as well as here in Bagdad, where people gather from all parts of the world, there has not been a word said about it. That is the second lie, you shameless young fellow!”

Pale with anger, Said tried to interrupt the wicked little man, but the merchant talked still louder, and gesticulated wildly with his arms. “And the third lie, you audacious liar, is the story of your life in Selim's camp. Selim's name is well known by every body who has ever seen an Arab, but Selim has the reputation of being the most cruel and relentless robber on the desert, and you pretend to say that you killed his son and was not at once hacked to pieces; yes, you even pushed your impudence so far as to state the impossible,—that Selim had protected you against his own tribe, had taken you into his own tent, and let you go without a ransom, instead of hanging you up to the first good tree; he who has often hanged travellers just to see what kind of faces they would make when they were hung up. O you detestable liar!”

“And I can only repeat,” cried the youth, “that by my soul and the beard of the Prophet, it was all true!”

“What! You swear by your soul?” shouted the merchant, “by your black, lying soul? Who would believe that? And by the beard of the Prophet, you that have no beard? Who would put any trust in that?”

“I certainly have no witnesses,” continued Said; “but did you not find me bound and perishing?”

“That proves nothing to me,” replied the merchant. “You were yourself dressed like a robber, and it might easily have happened that you attacked some one stronger than yourself, who conquered and bound you.”

“I should like to see any one, or even two,” returned Said, “who could floor and bind me, unless they came up behind me and flung a noose over my head. Staying in your bazar as you do, you cannot have any notion of what a single man is able to do when he has been brought up to arms. But you saved my life, and my thanks are due you. What would you have me do? If you do not support me I must beg; and I should not care to ask a favor of any one of my station. I will go to see the caliph.”

“Indeed!” sneered the merchant, “you will ask assistance of no one but our most gracious master? I should call that genteel begging! But look you, my fine young gentleman! Access to the caliph can be had only through my cousin Messour, and a word from me would acquaint him with your capacity for lying. But I will take pity on your youth, Said. You shall have a chance to better yourself, and something may be made out of you yet. I will take you into my shop at the bazar; you can serve me there for a year; and when that time is past, if you don’t choose to remain with me any longer, I will pay you your wages and let you go where you will, to Aleppo or Medina, to Stamboul or Balsora, or, for aught I care, to the Infidels. I will give you till noon to decide; if you agree to my proposal, well and good; if you do not, I will make out an estimate of the expense you put me to on the journey, and for your seat on the camel, pay myself by taking your clothes and all you possess, and then throw you into the street; then you can beg where you like, of the caliph or the mufti, at the mosque or in the bazar.”

With these words the wicked man left the unfortunate youth. Said looked after him with loathing. He rebelled against the wickedness of this man, who had designedly taken him to his house so that he might have him in his power. He looked about to see if he could escape, but found the windows grated and the door locked. Finally, after his spirit had long revolted at the idea, he decided to accept the merchant's proposal for the present. He saw clearly that nothing better remained for him to do; for even if he were to run away, he could not reach Balsora without money. But he made up his mind to seek the caliph's protection as soon as possible.

On the following day, Kalum-Bek led his new servant to his shop in the bazar. He showed Said the shawls, veils, and other wares in which he dealt, and instructed the youth in his strange duties. These required that Said, stripped of his soldierly costume and clad like a merchant's servant, should stand in the doorway of the shop, with a shawl in one hand and a splendid veil in the other, and cry out his wares to the passers-by, name the price, and invite the people to buy. And now, too it became evident to Said why Kalum-Bek had selected him for this business. The merchant was a short, ugly-looking man, and when he himself stood at the door and cried his wares, many of the neighbors, as well as the passersby, would make fun of his appearance, or the boys would tease him, while the women called him a scarecrow; but everybody was pleased with the appearance of young Said, who attracted customers by his graceful deportment and by his clever and tasteful way of exhibiting his shawls and veils.

When Kalum-Bek saw that customers thronged to his shop since Said had taken his stand at the door, he became more friendly with the young man, gave him better things to eat than before, and was careful to keep him finely dressed. But Said was little touched by this display of mildness in his master; and the whole day long, and even in his dreams, tried to hit upon some means of returning to his native city.

One day, when the sales had been very large, and all the errand boys who delivered parcels at the houses were out on their rounds, a woman entered and made several purchases. She then wanted some one to carry her packages home. “I can send them all up to you in half an hour,” said Kalum-Bek; “you will either have to wait that long or else take some outside porter.”

“Do you pretend to be a merchant and advise your customers to employ strange porters?” exclaimed the woman. “Might not such a fellow run off with my parcels in the crowd? And then whom should I look to? No, you are bound by the practice of the bazar to send my bundles home for me, and I insist on your doing it!”

“But wait for just half an hour, worthy lady!” exclaimed the merchant excitedly. “All my errand boys have been sent out.”

“It's a poor shop that don’t have errand boys constantly at hand,”interrupted the angry woman. “But there stands one of your good-for-nothings now! Come, young fellow, take my parcel and follow after me.”

“Stop! Stop!” cried Kalum-Bek. “He is my signboard, my crier, my magnet! He cannot stir from the threshold!”

“What's that!” exclaimed the old lady, thrusting her bundle under Said's arm without further parley. “It is a poor merchant that depends on such a useless clown for a sign, and those are miserable wares that cannot speak for themselves. Go, go, fellow; you shall earn a fee to-day.”

“Go then, in the name of Ariman and all evil spirits!” muttered Kalum-Bek to his magnet, “and see that you come right back; the old hag might give me a bad name all over the bazar if I refuse to comply with her demands.”

Said followed the woman, who hastened through the square and down the streets at a much quicker pace than one would have believed a woman of her age capable of. At last she stopped before a splendid house, and knocked; the folding doors flew open, and she ascended a marble stair-case, beckoning Said to follow. They came shortly to a high and wide salon, more magnificent than any Said had ever seen before. The old woman sank down exhausted on a cushion, motioned the young man to lay down his bundle, handed him a small silver coin, and bade him go.

He had just reached the door, when a clear, musical voice called:“Said!” Surprised that any one there should know him, he looked around and saw, in place of the old woman, an elegant lady sitting on the cushion, surrounded by numerous slaves and maids. Said, mute with astonishment, crossed his arms and made a low obeisance.

“Said, my dear boy,” said the lady, “much as I deplore the misfortune that is the cause of your presence in Bagdad, yet this was the only place decided on by destiny where you might be released from the fate that would surely follow you if you left the homestead before your twentieth year. Said, have you still your whistle?”

“Indeed I have,” cried he joyfully, drawing out the golden chain, “and you perhaps are the kind fairy who gave me this token at my birth?”

“I was the friend of your mother, and will be your friend also as long as you remain good. Alas! Would that your father—unthinking man—had followed my counsel! You would then have been spared many sorrows.”

“Well, it had to come to pass!” replied Said. “But, most gracious fairy, harness a strong northeast wind to your carriage of clouds, and take me up with you, and drive me in a few minutes to my father in Balsora;I will wait there patiently until the six months are passed that close my nineteenth year.”

The fairy smiled. “You have a very proper mode of addressing us,”answered she, “but, poor Said! It is not possible. I cannot do anything wonderful for you at present, because you left your homestead. Nor can I even free you from the power of the wretch, Kalum-Bek. He is under the protection of your worst enemy.”

“Then I have not only a kind female friend but a female enemy as well?” said Said. “I believe I have often experienced her influence. But at least you might assist me with your counsel. Had I not better go to the caliph and seek his protection? He is a wise man, and would protect me from Kalum-Bek.”

“Yes, Haroun is a wise man,” replied the fairy, “but, sad to say, he is also only a mortal. He trusts his head chamberlain, Messour, as much as he does himself; and he is right in that, for he has tried Messour and found him true. But Messour trusts his friend Kalum-Bek as he does himself;and in that he is wrong, for Kalum is a bad man, even if he is a relative of Messour's. Kalum has a cunning head, and as soon as he had returned from his trip he made up a very pretty fable about you, which he confided to his cousin the chamberlain, who in turn told it to the caliph, so that you would not be very well received were you to go to the palace. But there are other ways and means of approaching him, and it is written on the stars that you shall experience his mercy.”

“That is really too bad,” said Said, mournfully. “I must then serve for a long time yet as the servant of that scoundrel Kalum-Bek. But there is one favor, honored fairy, that is in your power to grant me. I have been educated to the use of arms, and my greatest delight is a tournament where there are some sharp contests with the lance, bow and blunt swords. Well, every week just such a tournament takes place in this city between the young men. But only people of the finest costume, and besides that only free men will be allowed to enter the lists,and clerks in the bazar are particularly excluded. Now if you could arrange that I could have a horse, clothes and weapons every week, and that my face would not be easily recognizable—”

“That is a wish befitting a noble young man,” interrupted the fairy.“Your mother's father was the bravest man in Syria, and you seem to have inherited his spirit. Take notice of this house; you shall find here every week a horse, and two mounted attendants, weapons and clothes, and a lotion for your face that will completely disguise you. And now, Said, farewell! Be patient, wise and virtuous. In six months your whistle will sound, and Zulima's ear will be listening for its tone.”

The youth separated from his strange protectress with expressions of gratitude and esteem. He fixed the house and street clearly in his mind, and then went back to the bazar, which he reached just in the nick of time to save his master from a terrible beating. A great crowd was gathered before the shop, boys danced about the merchant and jeered at him, while their elders laughed. He stood just before the shop, trembling with suppressed rage, and sadly harassed—in one hand a shawl, in the other a veil. This singular scene was caused by a circumstance that had occurred during Said's absence. Kalum had taken the place of his handsome clerk at the door, but no one cared to buy of the ugly old man. Just then two men came to the bazar wishing to buy presents for their wives. They had gone up and down the bazar several times, looking in here and there, and Kalum-Bek, who had observed their actions for some time, thought he saw his chance, so he called out: “Here, gentlemen, here! What are you looking for? Beautiful veils, beautiful wares?”

“Good sir,” replied one of them, “your wares may do very well, but our wives are peculiar, and it has become the fashion in this city to buy veils only of the handsome clerk, Said. We have been looking for him this half-hour, but cannot find him; now if you can tell us where we will meet him, we will buy from you some other time.”

“Allah il Allah!” cried Kalum-Bek with a smirk. “The Prophet has led you to the right door. You wish to buy veils of the handsome Said?Good, just step inside; this is his place.”

One of the men laughed at Kalum's short and ugly figure, and his assertion that he was the handsome clerk; but the other, believing that Kalum was trying to make sport of him, did not remain long in his debt, but paid the merchant back in his own coin. Kalum-Bek was beside himself; he called his neighbors to witness that his was the only shop in the bazar that went by the name of “the shop of the handsome clerk;” but the neighbors, who envied him the run of custom he had enjoyed for some time, pretended not to know anything about the matter, and the two men then made an attack upon the old liar, as they called him. Kalum defended himself more with shrieks and curses than by the use of his fists, and thus attracted a large crowd before his shop. Half the city knew him to be a mean, avaricious old miser, nor did the bystanders grudge him the cuffs he received; and one of his assailants had just plucked the old man by the beard, when his arm was seized, and with a sudden jerk he was thrown to the ground with such violence that his turban fell off and his slippers flew to some distance.

The crowd, which very likely would have been rejoiced to see Kalum-Bek well punished, grumbled loudly. The fallen man's companion looked around to see who it was that had ventured to throw his friend down; but when he saw a tall, strong youth, with flashing eyes and courageous mien, standing before him, he did not think it best to attack him, especially as Kalum regarding his rescue as a miracle, pointed to the young man and cried: “Now then! What would you have more? There he stands beyond a doubt, gentlemen; that is Said, the handsome clerk.” The people standing about laughed, while the prostrate man got up shamefacedly, and limped off with his companion without buying either shawl or veil.

“O you star of all clerks, you crown of the bazar!” cried Kalum, leading his clerk into the shop; “really, that is what I call being on hand at the right time, and the right kind of interference too. Why, the fellow was laid out as flat on the ground as if he had never stood on his legs, and I—I should have had no use for a barber again to comb and oil my beard, if you had arrived two minutes later! How can I reward you?”

It had been only a momentary sensation of pity which had governed Said's hand and heart; but now that that feeling had passed, he regretted that he had saved this wicked man from a good chastisement. A dozen hairs from his beard, thought Said, would have kept him humble for twelve days. And now the young man thought best to make use of the favorable disposition of the merchant, and therefore asked to be given one evening in each week for a walk or for any other purpose he pleased. Kalum consented, knowing full well that his clerk was too sensible to run off without money or clothes.

On the following Wednesday, the day on which the young men of the best families assembled in the public square in the city to go through their martial exercises. Said asked Kalum if he would let him have this evening for his own use; and on receiving the merchant's permission, he went to the fairy's house, knocked, and the door was immediately opened. The servants seemed to have prepared everything before his arrival;for without questioning him as to his desire, they led him upstairs to a beautiful room, and there handed him the lotion that was to disguise his features. He moistened his face with it, and then glanced into a metallic mirror; he hardly recognized himself, for he was now sunburnt, wore a handsome black beard, and looked to be at least ten years older than he really was.

He was now conducted into a second room, where he found a complete and splendid costume, of which the Caliph of Bagdad need not have been ashamed, on the day when he reviewed his army in all his magnificence. Together with a turban of the finest texture, with a clasp of diamonds and a long heron's plume, Said found a coat of mail made of silver rings, so finely worked that it conformed to every movement of his body, and yet was so firm that neither lance nor sword could find a way through it. A Damascus blade in a richly ornamented sheath, and with a handle whose stones seemed to Said to be of priceless value, completed his warlike appearance. As he came to the door, armed at all points, one of the servants handed him a silk cloth and told him that the mistress of the house sent it to him, and that when he wiped his face with it, the beard and the complexion would disappear.

In the court-yard stood three beautiful horses; Said mounted the finest, and his attendants the other two, and rode off with a light heart to the square where the contest was to be held. The splendor of his costume and the brightness of his weapons drew all eyes upon him, and a general buzz of astonishment followed his entrance into the ring. It was a brilliant assemblage of the bravest and noblest youths of Bagdad, where even the brothers of the caliph were seen flying about on their horses and swinging their lances. On Said's approach, as no one seemed to know him, the son of the grand vizier, with some of his friends, rode up to him, greeted him politely, and invited him to take part in their contests, at the same time inquiring his name and whence he came. Said represented to them that his name was Almansor, and he hailed from Cairo; that he had set out upon a journey, but having heard so much said about the skill and bravery of the young noblemen of Bagdad, he could not refrain from delaying his journey in order to get acquainted with them. The young men were highly pleased with the bearing and courageous appearance of Said-Almansor;handed him a lance, and had him select his opponent, as the whole company were divided into two parties, in order that they might assault one another both singly and in groups.

But the attention which had been attracted by Said was now concentrated upon the unusual skill and dexterity which he displayed in combat. His horse was swifter than a bird, while his sword whizzed about in still more rapid circles. He threw the lance at its mark as easily and with as much accuracy as if it had been an arrow shot from a bow. He conquered the bravest of the opposing force, and at the end of the tournament was so universally recognized as the victor, that one of the caliph's brothers and the son of the grand vizier, who had both fought on Said's side, requested the pleasure of breaking a lance with him. Ali, the caliph's brother, was soon conquered by Said; but the grand vizier's son withstood him so bravely that after a long contest they thought it best to postpone the decision until the next meeting.

The day after the tournament, nothing was spoken of in Bagdad but the handsome, rich, and brave stranger. All who had seen him, even those over whom he had triumphed, were charmed by his well-bred manners.He even heard his own praises sounded in the shop of Kalum-Bek, and it was only deplored that no one knew where he lived.

The next week, Said found at the house of the fairy a still finer costume and still more costly weapons. Half Bagdad had rushed to the square, while even the caliph looked on from a balcony; he, too, admired Almansor, and at the conclusion of the tournament he hung a large gold medal, attached to a gold chain, about the youth's neck, as a mark of his favor.

It could not very well be otherwise than that this second and still more brilliant triumph of Said's should excite the envy of the young men of Bagdad. “Shall a stranger,” said they to one another, “come here to Bagdad, and carry off all the laurels? He will now boast in other places that among the flower of Bagdad's youth there was not one who was a match for him.” They therefore resolved, at the next tournament, to fall upon him, as if by chance, five or six at a time.

These tokens of discontent did not escape Said's sharp eye. He noticed how the young men congregated at the street corners, whispered to one another, and pointed angrily at him. He suspected that none of them felt very friendly toward him, with the exception of the caliph's brother and the grand vizier's son, and even they rather annoyed him by their questions as to where they might call on him, how he occupied his time, what he found of interest in Bagdad, etc., It was a singular coincidence that one of these young men, who surveyed Said-Almansor with the bitterest looks, was no other than the man whom Said had thrown down when the assault was made on Kalum-Bek a few weeks before, just as the man was about to tear out the unfortunate merchant's beard. This man looked at Said very attentively and spitefully. Said had conquered him several times in the tournament; but this would not account for such hostile looks, and Said began to fear lest his figure or his voice had betrayed him to this man as the clerk of Kalum-Bek—a discovery that would expose him to the sneers and anger of the people.

The project which Said's foes attempted to carry out at the next tournament failed, not only by reason of Said's caution and bravery, but by the assistance he received from the caliph's brother and the grand vizier's son. When these two young men saw that Said was surrounded by five or six who sought to disarm or unseat him, they dashed up, chased away the conspirators, and threatened the men who had acted so treacherously with dismissal from the course.

For more than four months, Said had excited the astonishment of Bagdad by his prowess, when one evening, on returning home from the tournament, he heard some voices which seemed familiar to him. Before him walked four men at a slow pace, apparently discussing some subject together. As Said approached nearer, he discovered that they were talking in the dialect which the men in Selim's tribe had used in the desert, and suspected that they were planning some robbery. His first thought was to draw back from these men; but when he reflected that he might be the means of preventing some great wrong, he stole up still nearer to listen to what they were saying.

“The gate keeper expressly said it was the street to the right of the bazar,” said one of the men; “he will certainly pass through it to-night, in company with the grand vizier.”

“Good!” added another. “I am not afraid of the grand vizier; he is old, and not much of a hero; but the caliph wields a good sword, and I wouldn’t trust him; there would be ten or twelve of the body-guard stealing after him.”

“Not a soul!” responded a third. “Whenever he has been seen and recognized at night, he was always unattended except by the vizier or the head chamberlain. He will be ours to-night; but no harm must be done him.”

“I think,” said the first speaker, “that the best plan would be to throw a noose over his head; we may not kill him, for it would be but a small ransom that they would pay for his body, and, more than that, we shouldn’t be sure of receiving it.”

“An hour before midnight, then!” exclaimed they, and separated, one going this way, another that.

Said was not a little horrified at this scheme. He resolved to hasten at once to the caliph's palace and warn him of the threatened danger. But after running through several streets, he remembered the caution that the fairy had given him—that the caliph had received a bad report about him. He reflected that his warning might be laughed at, or regarded as an attempt on his part to ingratiate himself with the Caliph of Bagdad; and so he concluded that it would be best to depend on his good sword, and rescue the caliph from the hands of the robbers himself.

So he did not return to Kalum-Bek's house, but sat down on the steps of a mosque and waited there until night had set in. Then he went through the bazar and into the street mentioned by the robbers, and hid himself behind a projection of one of the houses. He might have stood there an hour, when he heard two men coming slowly down the street. At first he thought it must be the caliph and his grand vizier; but one of the men clapped his hands, and immediately two other men hurried very noiselessly up the street from the bazar. They whispered together for a while, and then separated; three hiding not far from Said, while the fourth paced up and down the street. The night was very dark, but still, so that Said had to depend almost entirely upon his acute sense of hearing.

Another half-hour had passed, when footsteps were heard coming from the bazar. The robber must have heard them too, for he stole by Said towards the bazar. The steps came nearer, and Said was just able to make out some dark figures, when the robber clapped his hands, and, in the same moment, the three men waiting in ambush rushed out. The persons attacked must have been armed, for Said heard the ring of clashing swords. At once he drew his own Damascus blade, and sprang upon the robber's with the cry: “Down with the enemies of the great Haroun!” He struck one of them to the ground with the first blow, and turned upon two others, who were just in the act of disarming a man over whom they had thrown a rope. Said lifted the rope blindly in order to cut it, but in the effort to use his sword he struck one of the robber's arms such a blow, as to cut off his hand, and the robber fell to his knees with cries of pain. The fourth robber, who had been fighting with another man, now came towards Said, who was still engaged with the third, but the man who had been lassoed no sooner found himself free than he drew his dagger, and, from one side, plunged it into the breast of the advancing robber. When the remaining robber saw this, he threw away his sword and fled.

Said did not remain long in doubt as to whom he had saved, for the taller of the two men said: “The one thing is as strange as the other; this attack upon my life or liberty, as the incomprehensible assistance and rescue. How did you know who I was? Did you know of the scheme of these robbers?”

“Ruler of the Faithful,” answered Said, “for I do not doubt that you are he, I walked down the street El Malek this evening behind some men, whose strange and mysterious dialect I had once learned. They spoke of taking you prisoner and of killing your vizier. As it was too late to warn you, I resolved to go to the place where they would lie in ambush for you, and give you my assistance.”

“Thank you,” said Haroun; “but it is not best to remain long in this place; take this ring, and come in the morning to my palace; we will then talk over this affair, and see how I can best reward you. Come, vizier, it is best not to stop here; they might come back again.”

Thus saying, he placed a ring on Said's finger, and attempted to lead off the grand vizier, but the latter, begging him to wait a moment, turned and held out to the astonished Said a heavy purse: “Young man,” said he,“my master, the caliph, can do anything for you that he feels inclined to do, even to making you my successor; but I myself can do but little, and that little had better be done to-day, rather than to-morrow. Therefore, take this purse. That does not, however, cancel my debt of gratitude; so whenever you have a wish, come in confidence to me.”

Overpowered with his good fortune, Said hurried home. But here he was not so well received. Kalum-Bek was at first angry at his long absence, and then anxious, for the merchant thought he might easily lose the handsome sign of his shop. Kalum therefore received him with abusive words, and raved like a madman. But Said—who had taken a look into his purse and found it filled with gold pieces, and reflected that he could now travel home, even without the caliph's favor, which was certainly not worth less than the gratitude of his vizier—declared roundly that he would not remain in his service another hour. At first Kalum was very much frightened by this declaration; but shortly he laughed sneeringly and said:

“You loafer and vagabond! You miserable creature! Where would you run to, if I were to give up supporting you? Where would you get a dinner or a lodging?”

“You need not trouble yourself about that, Mr. Kalum-Bek,”answered Said audaciously. “Farewell; you will never see me again!”

With these words, Said left the house, while Kalum-Bek looked after him speechless with astonishment. The following morning, however, after thinking over the matter well, he sent out his errand boys, and had the runaway sought for every-where. For a long time their search was a vain one; but finally one of the boys came back and reported that he had seen Said come out of a mosque and go into a caravansary. He was, however, much changed, wore a beautiful costume, a dagger sword, and splendid turban.

When Kalum-Bek heard this, he shouted with an oath: “He has stolen from me, and bought clothes with the money. Oh, I am a ruined man!” Then he ran to the chief of police, and as he was known to be a relative of Messour, the head chamberlain, he had no difficulty in having two policemen sent out to arrest Said. Said sat before a caravansary, conversing quietly with a merchant whom he had found there, about a journey to Balsora, his native city, when suddenly he was seized by some men, and his hands tied behind his back before he could offer any resistance. He asked them whose authority they were acting under, and they replied that they were obeying the orders of the chief of police, on complaint of his rightful master, Kalum-Bek. The ugly little merchant then came up, abused and jeered at Said, felt in the young man's pocket, and to the astonishment of the bystanders, and with a shout of triumph, drew out a large purse filled with gold.

“Look! He has robbed me of all that, the wicked fellow!” cried he, and the people looked with abhorrence at the prisoner, saying: “What! So young, so handsome, and yet so wicked! To the court, to the court, that he may get the bastinado!” Thus they dragged him away, while a large procession of people of all ranks followed in their wake, shouting: “See, that is the handsome clerk of the bazar; he stole from his master and ran away; he took two hundred gold pieces!”

The chief of police received the prisoner with a dark look. Said tried to speak, but the official told him to be still, and listened only to the little merchant. He held up the purse, and asked Kalum whether this gold had been stolen from him. Kalum-Bek swore that it had; but his perjury, while it gained him the gold, did not help to restore to him his clerk, who was worth a thousand gold pieces to him, for the judge said: “In accordance with a law that my all-powerful master, the caliph, has recently made, every theft of over a hundred gold pieces that transpires in the bazar, is punished with banishment for life to a desert island. This thief comes at just the right time; he makes the twentieth of his class, and so completes the lot; to-morrow they will be put on a vessel and taken out to sea.”

Said was in despair. He besought the officers to listen to him, to let him speak only one word with the caliph; but he found no mercy. Kalum-Bek, who now repented of his oath, also pleaded for him, but the judge said: “You have your gold back, and should be contented; go home and keep quiet, or I will fine you ten gold pieces for every contradiction.”Kalum quieted down; the judge made a sign, and the unfortunate Said was led away.

He was taken to a dark and damp dungeon, where nineteen poor wretches, scattered about on straw, received him as their companion in misfortune, with wild laughter and curses on the judge and caliph. Terrible as was the fate before him, fearful as was the thought of being banished to a desert island, he still found consolation in the thought that the morrow would take him out of this horrible prison. But he was very greatly in error in supposing that his situation would be bettered on the ship. The twenty men were thrown into the hold, where they could not stand upright, and there they fought among themselves for the best places.

The anchor was weighed, and Said wept bitter tears as the ship that was to bear him far away from his fatherland began to move. They received bread and fruits, and a drink of sweetened water, but once a day:and it was so dark in the ship's hold, that lights always had to be brought down when the prisoners were to be fed. Every two or three days one of their number was found dead, so unwholesome was the air in this floating prison, and Said's life was preserved only by his youth and his splendid health.

They had been on the sea for fourteen days, when one day the waves roared more violently than ever, and there was much running to and fro on the deck. Said suspected that a storm was at hand, and he welcomed the prospect of one, hoping that then he might be released by death.

The ship began to pitch about, and finally struck on a ledge with a terrible crash. Cries and groans were heard on the deck, intermingled with the roar of the storm. At last all was still again; but at the same time one of the prisoners discovered that the water was pouring into the ship. They pounded on the hatch-door, but could get no answer; and as the water poured in more and more rapidly, they united their strength and managed to break the hatch open.

They ascended the steps, but found not a soul on board. The whole crew had taken to the boats. Most of the prisoners were in despair, for the storm increased in fury, the ship cracked and settled down on the ledge. For some hours they sat on the deck and partook of their last repast from the provisions they found in the ship, then the storm began to rage again, the ship was torn from the ledge on which it had been held, and broken up.

Said had climbed the mast, and held fast to it when the ship went to pieces. The waves tossed him about, but he kept his head up by paddling with his feet. Thus he floated about, in ever-increasing danger, for half an hour, when the chain with whistle attached once again fell out of his bosom, and once more he tried to make it sound. With one hand he held fast to the mast, and with the other put the whistle to his lips, blew, and a clear musical tone was the result. Instantly the storm ceased, and the waves became as smooth as if oil had been poured on them. He had hardly looked about him, with an easier breath, to see whether he could discern land, when the mast beneath him began to expand in a very singular manner, and to move as well; and, not a little to his terror, he perceived that he was no longer riding on a wooden mast, but upon the back of an enormous dolphin. But after a few moments his courage returned; and as he saw that the dolphin swam along on his course quietly and easily, although swiftly, he ascribed his wonderful rescue to the silver whistle and to the kind fairy, and shouted his most earnest thanks into the air.

His wonderful horse carried him through the waves with the speed of an arrow; and before night he saw land, and also a broad river, into which the dolphin turned. Up stream it went more slowly, and, that he might not starve, Said, who remembered from old stories of enchantment how one should work a charm, took out the whistle again, blew it loudly and heartily, and wished that he had a good meal. The dolphin stopped instantly, and out of the water rose a table, as little wet as if it had stood in the sun for eight days, and richly furnished with the finest dishes. Said attacked the food like a famished person, for his rations during his imprisonment were scant and of miserable quality; and when he had eaten to his fill, he expressed his thanks; the table sank down again, while he jogged the dolphin in the side, and the fish at once responded by continuing on its course up stream.

The sun was setting when Said perceived in the dim distance a large city, whose minarets seemed to bear a resemblance to those of Bagdad. This discovery was not a pleasant one; but his confidence in the kind fairy was so great that he felt sure she would not permit him to fall again into the clutches of the unscrupulous Kalum-Bek. To one side, about three miles distant from the city, and close to the river, he noticed a magnificent country house, and, to his astonishment, the fish seemed to be making directly towards this house.

Upon the roof of the house stood a group of handsomely dressed men, and on the bank of the river Said saw a large crowd of servants, who were looking at him in wonder. The dolphin stopped at some marble steps that led up to the house, and hardly had Said put foot on the steps when the dolphin disappeared. A number of servants now ran down the steps, and requested him in the name of their master to come up to the house, at the same time offering him a suit of dry clothes. Said dressed himself quickly, and followed the servants to the roof, where he found three men, of whom the tallest and handsomest came forward to meet him in a pleasant manner.

“Who are you, wonderful stranger?” said he, “You who tame the fishes of the sea, and guide them to the right and left, as the best horseman governs his steed. Are you a sorcerer, or a being like us?”

“Sir,” replied Said, “things have gone very badly with me for the last few weeks; but if it will please you to hear me, I will relate my story.”

Then he told the three men all of his adventures, from the moment of leaving his father's house up to his wonderful rescue from the sea. He was often interrupted by their expressions of astonishment; and when he had ended, the master of the house, who had received him in so kind a manner, said: “I trust your words, Said; but you tell us that you won a medal in the tournament, and that the caliph gave you a ring; can you show them to us?”

“I have preserved them both upon my heart,” said the youth, “and would sooner have parted with my life than with these precious gifts, for I esteem it my most valiant and meritorious deed that I freed the caliph from the hands of his would-be murderers.” So saying, he drew from his bosom the medal and ring, and handed them to the men.

“By the beard of the Prophet! It is he! It is my ring!” cried the tall, handsome man. “Grand vizier, let us embrace him, for here stands our savior.” To Said it was like a dream. The two men embraced him, and Said, prostrating himself, said:

“Pardon me, Ruler of the Faithful, that I have spoken so freely before you, for you can be no other than Haroun-al-Raschid, the great Caliph of Bagdad.”

“I am he, and your friend,” replied Haroun; “and from this hour forth, all your sad misfortunes are at an end. Follow me to Bagdad, remain in my dominion, and become one of my most trustworthy officers; for you have shown you were not indifferent to Haroun's fate, though I should not like to put all of my faithful servants to such a severe test.”

Said thanked the caliph, and promised to remain with him, first requesting permission to make a visit to his father, who must be suffering much anxiety on his account; and the caliph thought this just and commendable. They then mounted horses, and were soon in Bagdad. The caliph showed Said a long suite of splendidly decorated rooms that he should have, and, more than that, promised to build a house for his own use.

At the first information of this event, the old brothers-in-arms of Said's—the grand vizier's son and the caliph's brother—hastened to the palace and embraced Said as the deliverer of their noble caliph, and begged him to become their friend. But they were speechless with astonishment when Said, drawing forth the prize medal, said: “I have been your friend for a long time.” They had only seen him with his false beard and dark skin; and when he had related how and why he had disguised himself—when he had the blunt weapons brought to prove his story, fought with them, and thus gave them the best proof that he was the brave Almansor—then did they embrace him with joyful exclamations, considering themselves fortunate in having such a friend.

The following day, as Said was sitting with the caliph and grand vizier, Messour, the chamberlain, came in and said: “Ruler of the Faithful, if there is no objection, I would like to ask a favor of you.”

“I will hear it first,” answered Haroun.

“My dear first-cousin, Kalum-Bek, a prominent merchant of the bazar, stands without,” said Messour. “He has had a singular transaction with a man from Balsora, whose son once worked for Kalum-Bek, but who afterward stole from him and then ran away, no one knows whither. Now the father of this youth comes and demands his son of Kalum, who hasn’t him. Kalum therefore begs that you will do him the favor of deciding between him and this man, by the exercise of your profound wisdom.”

“I will judge in the matter,” replied the caliph. “In half an hour your cousin and his opponent may enter the hall of justice.”

When Messour had expressed his gratitude and gone out, Haroun said: “That must be your father. Said; and now that I am so fortunate as to know your story, I shall judge with the wisdom of Salomo. Conceal yourself, Said, behind the curtain of my throne; and you, grand vizier, send at once for that wicked police justice. I shall want his testimony in this case.”

Both did as the caliph ordered. Said's heart beat fast as he saw his father, pale and stricken with grief, enter the hall of justice with tottering steps; while Kalum-Bek's smile of assurance, as he whispered to his cousin, made Said so furious that he had difficulty in refraining from rushing at him from his place of concealment, as his greatest sufferings and sorrows had been caused by this cruel man.

There were many people in the hall, all of whom were anxious to hear the caliph speak. As soon as the Ruler of Bagdad had ascended the throne, the grand vizier commanded silence, and asked who appeared as complainant before his master.

Kalum-Bek approached with an impudent air, and said: “A few days ago I was standing before the door of my shop in the bazar, when a crier, with a purse in his hand, and with this man walking near him, went among the booths, shouting: ‘A purse of gold to him who can give any information about Said of Balsora.’ This Said had been in my service, and therefore I cried: ‘This way, friend! I can win that purse.’ This man, who is now so hostile to me, came up in a friendly way and asked me what information I possessed. I answered: ‘You must be Benezar, Said's father.’ and when he affirmed that he was, I told him how I had found the young fellow in the desert, rescued him and restored him to health, and brought him back with me to Bagdad. In the joy of his heart he gave me the purse. But when now this unreasonable man heard, as I went on to tell him, how his son had worked for me, had been guilty of very wicked acts, had stolen from me and then run away, he would not believe it, and quarrelled with me for several days, demanding his son and his money back; and I can not return them both, for the gold is mine as compensation for the news I furnished him, and I can not produce his ungrateful son.”

It was now Benezar's turn to speak. He described his son, how noble and good he was, and the impossibility of his ever having become so degraded as to steal. He requested the caliph to make the most thorough examination of the case.

“I hope,” said Haroun, “that you reported the theft, Kalum-Bek, as was your duty?”

“Why, certainly!” exclaimed that worthy, smiling. “I took him before the police justice.”

“Let the police justice be brought!” ordered the caliph.

To every body's astonishment, this official appeared as suddenly as if brought by magic. The caliph asked whether he remembered that Kalum-Bek had come before him with a young man, and the official replied that he did.

“Did you listen to the young man; did he confess to the theft?” asked Haroun.

“No, he was actually so obstinate that he would not confess to any one but yourself,” replied the justice.

“But I don’t remember to have seen him,” said the caliph.

“But why should you? If I were to listen to them, I should have a whole pack of such vagabonds to send you every day.”

“You know that my ear is open for every one,” replied Haroun; “but perhaps the proofs of the theft were so clear that it was not necessary to bring the young man into my presence. You had witnesses, I suppose, Kalum, that the money found on this young man belonged to you?”

“Witnesses?” repeated Kalum, turning pale; “No, I did not have any witnesses, for you know, Ruler of the Faithful, that one gold piece looks just like another. Where, then, should I get witnesses to testify that these one hundred gold pieces are the same that were missing from my cash-box.”

“How, then, can you tell that that particular money belonged to you?”asked the caliph.

“By the purse,” replied Kalum.

“Have you the purse here?” continued the caliph.

“Here it is,” said the merchant, drawing out a purse which he handed to the vizier to give to the caliph.

But the vizier cried with feigned surprise: “By the beard of the Prophet! Do you claim the purse, you dog? Why it is my own purse, and I gave it filled with a hundred gold pieces, to a brave young man who rescued me from a great danger.”

“Can you swear to that?” asked the caliph.

“As surely as that I shall some time be in paradise,” answered the vizier, “for my daughter made the purse with her own hands.”

“Why, look you then, police Justice!” cried Haroun, “you were falsely advised. Why did you believe that the purse belonged to this merchant?”

“He swore to it,” replied the justice, humbly.

“Then you swore falsely?” thundered the caliph, as the merchant, pale and trembling, stood before him.

“Allah, Allah!” cried Kalum. “I certainly don’t want to dispute the grand vizier's word; he is a truthful man, but alas! The purse does belong to me and that rascal of a Said stole it. I would give a thousand tomans if he was in this room now.”

“What did you do with this Said?” asked the caliph. “Speak up! Where shall we have to send for him, that he may come and make confession before me?”

“I banished him to a desert island,” said the police justice.

“O Said! My son, my son!” cried the unhappy father.

“Indeed, then he acknowledged the crime, did he?” inquired Haroun.

The police justice turned pale. He rolled his eyes about restlessly, and finally said: “If I remember rightly—yes.”

“You are not certain about it, then?” continued the caliph in a terrible voice; “then we will ask the young man himself. Step forth, Said, and you Kalum-Bek, to begin with, will count out one thousand gold pieces, as Said is now in the room.”

Kalum and the police justice thought it was a ghost that stood before them. They prostrated themselves and cried: “Mercy! Mercy!” Benezar, half-fainting with joy, fell into the arms of his long-lost son. But, with great severity of manner, the caliph said: “Police Justice, here stands Said;did he confess?”

“No,” whined the justice; “I listened only to Kalum's testimony, because he was a respectable man.”

“Did I place you as a judge over all that you might listen only to the people of rank?” demanded Haroun-al-Raschid, with noble scorn. “I will banish you for ten years to a desert island in the middle of the sea;there you can reflect on justice. And you, miserable wretch, who bring the dying back to life, not in order to rescue them, but to make them your slaves—you will pay down, as I said before, the thousand tomans that you promised if Said were only present to be called as witness.”

Kalum congratulated himself at having got out of a very bad scrape so easily, and was just going to thank the kind caliph, when Haroun continued: “For the perjury you committed about the hundred gold pieces, you will receive a hundred lashes on the soles of your feet. Further than this Said will have the choice of taking your shop and its contents and you as a porter, or of contenting himself with ten gold pieces for every day's work he did for you.”

“Let the wretch go, Caliph!” cried the youth; “I would not take anything that ever belonged to him.”

“No,” replied Haroun, “I prefer that you should be compensated. I will choose for you the ten gold pieces a day, and you can reckon up how many days you were in his claws. Away with this wretch!”

The two offenders were led away, and the caliph conducted Benezar and Said to another apartment, where he related to Benezar his rescue by Said, interrupted by the shrieks of Kalum-Bek, upon the soles of whose feet a hundred gold pieces of full weight were being counted out.

The caliph invited Benezar to come to Bagdad and live with him and Said. Benezar consented, and made only one more journey home in order to fetch his large possessions. Said lived in the palace which the grateful caliph built for him, like a prince. The caliph's brother and grand vizier's son were his constant companions; and it soon became a proverb in Bagdad: “I would that I were as good and as fortunate as Said, the son of Benezar.”

“I could keep awake for two or three nights without experiencing the least sensation of sleepiness, with such entertainment,” said the compass-maker, when the huntsman had concluded. “And I have often proved the truth of what I say. I was once apprentice to a bell-founder. The master was a rich man and no miser, and therefore our wonder was all the more aroused on a certain occasion, when we had a big job on hand, by a display of parsimony on his part. A bell was being cast for a new church, and we apprentices had to sit up all night and keep the fire up. We did not doubt that the master would tap a cask of the best wine for us. But we were mistaken. He began to talk about his travels, and to tell all manner of stories of his life; then the head apprentice's turn came, and so on through the whole row of us, and none of us got sleepy, so intent were we all in listening. Before we knew it, day was at hand. Then we perceived the master's stratagem of keeping us awake by telling stories; for when the bell was done he did not spare his wine, but brought out what he had wisely saved on those nights.”

“He was a sensible man,” said the student. “There is no remedy for sleepiness like conversation. And I should not have cared to sit alone to-night, for about eleven o’clock I should have succumbed to sleep.”

“The peasantry have found that out also,” said the huntsman. “In the long Winter evenings the women and girls do not remain alone at home to spin, lest they should fall asleep in the middle of their task; but a large number of them meet together, in a well-lighted room, and tell stories over their work.”

“Yes,” added the wagoner, “and their stories are often of a kind to make one shudder, for they talk about ghosts that walk the earth, goblins that create a hubbub in their rooms at night, and spirits that torment men and cattle.”

“They don’t entertain themselves very well then, I fear,” said the student. “For my part, I confess that there is nothing so displeasing to me as ghost stories.”

“I don’t agree with you at all,” cried the compass-maker, “I find a story that causes one to shudder very entertaining. It is just like a rain-storm when one is sheltered under the roof.He hears the drops tick-tack, tick-tack,on the tiles,and then run off in streams,while he lies warm and dry in bed. So when one listens to ghost stories in a lighted room, with plenty of company, he feels safe and at ease.”

“But how is it afterwards?” asked the student. “When one has listened who shares in this silly belief in ghosts, will he not tremble when he is alone again and in the dark? Will he not recall all the horrible things he has heard? I can even now work myself into quite a rage over these ghost stories, when I think of my childhood. I was a cheerful, lively boy, but perhaps somewhat noisier than was agreeable to my nurse, who could not think of any other means to quiet me than of giving me a fright. She told me all sorts of horrible stories about witches and evil spirits who haunted the house. I was too young then to know that all these stories were untrue. I was not afraid of the largest hound, could throw every one of my companions; but whenever I was alone in the dark, I would shut my eyes in terror. I would not go outside the door alone after dark without a light; and how often did my father punish me when he noticed my conduct! But for a long time I could not free my mind from this childish fear, for which my foolish nurse was wholly to blame.”

“Yes, it is a great mistake,” observed the huntsman, “to fill a child's head with such absurdities. I can answer you that I have known brave, daring men, huntsmen, who did not fear to encounter several of their foes at once—who, when they were searching for game at night, or on the lookout for poachers, would, all of a sudden, lose their courage, taking a tree for a ghost, a bush for a witch, and a pair of fire-flies for the eyes of a monster that was lurking for them in the dark.”

“And it is not only for children,” said the student, “that I hold entertainment of that kind to be in the highest degree hurtful and foolish, but for every body; for what intelligent person could amuse himself with the doings and sayings of things that exist only in the brain of a fool? There is where the ghost walks, and nowhere else. But these stories do the most harm among the country people. Their faith in absurdities of this kind is firm and unwavering, and this belief is nourished in the inns and spinning rooms, where they huddle close together and in a timid tone relate the most horrible stories they can call to mind.”

“Yes,” responded the wagoner; “many a misfortune has occurred through these stories, and, indeed, my own sister lost her life thereby.”

“How was that? Through these ghost stories, did you say?” exclaimed the men, in surprise.

“Yes, certainly, by such stories,” continued the wagoner. “In the village where our father lived it was the custom for the wives and maidens to get together with their spinning on a Winter's evening. The young men would also be there and tell many stories. So it happened that one evening when they were speaking about ghosts, the young men told about an old store-keeper who died ten years before, but found no rest in his grave. Every night he would throw up the earth, rise from his grave, steal slowly along to his store, coughing as was his wont in life, and there weigh out sugar and coffee, mumbling meanwhile:

Twelve ounces, twelve ounces, at dark midnight,

Equal sixteen, in broad daylight.

“Many claimed that they had seen him, and the maids and wives got quite frightened. But my sister, a girl of sixteen, wishing to show that she was less foolish than the others, said: ‘I don’t believe a word of that; he who is once dead never comes back!’ She said this, unfortunately, without a conviction of its truth, for she had been frightened many times herself. Thereupon one of the young people said: ‘If you believe that, then you would have no reason to be afraid of him; his grave is only two paces from that of Kate's, who recently died. If you dare, go to the church-yard, pick a flower from Kate's grave, and bring it to us; then we will begin to believe that you are not afraid of the store-keeper's ghost.’

“My sister was ashamed of being laughed at by the others, therefore she said: ‘Oh, that's easy enough; what kind of a flower do you want?’

“‘The only white rose in the village blooms there; so bring us a bunch of those,’ answered one of her friends. She got up and went out, and all the men praised her spirit; but the women shook their heads and said: ‘If it only ends well!’

“My sister passed on to the cemetery; the moon shone brightly, but she began to tremble as the clock struck twelve while she was opening the church-yard gate.

“She clambered over many mounds which she knew, and her heart beat faster and faster the nearer she came to Kate's white rose bush and the ghostly store-keeper's grave.

“At last she reached it, and kneeled down, trembling with fear, to pluck some roses. Just then she thought she heard a noise close by; she turned around, and saw the earth flying out of a grave two steps away from her, and a form straightened itself up slowly in the grave. It was that of an old, pale-faced man, with a white night-cap on his head. My sister was greatly frightened; she turned to look once more to make sure that she had seen aright; but when the man in the grave began to say, in a nasal tone: ‘Good evening, Miss! Where do you come from so late?’ she was seized with a deathly terror, and collecting all her strength, she sprang over the graves, ran to the house she had just left, and breathlessly related what she had seen; then she became so weak that she had to be carried home. Of what use was it that we found out the next day that it was the grave-digger who was making a grave there, and who had spoken to my poor sister? Before she could comprehend this she had fallen into a high fever, of which she died three days afterwards. She had gathered the roses for her own burial wreath.”

A tear dropped from the wagoner's eye as he concluded, while the others regarded him with sympathy.

“So the poor child died in this implicit faith,” said the young goldsmith. “I recollect a legend in that connection, which I should like to tell you, and that unfortunately is connected with such a tragedy.”