The sultan was very eager to see what sort of a caftan his son would bring to light, but the heart of the sultana beat unquietly, from apprehension lest her stratagem might be unsuccessful. Two days had they been confined to their work; on the third, the sultan sent for his wife, and when she appeared, dispatched her to the apartments to bring the two caftans and their makers. With triumphant air Labakan walked in, and extended his garment before the astonished eyes of the sultan.

"Behold, father," said he, "look, mother! see if this be not a masterpiece of a caftan. I will leave it to the most skilful court-tailor, upon a wager, whether he can produce such another."

The sultana, smiling, turned to Omar:-- "And thou, my son, what hast thou brought?"

Indignantly he cast the silk and shears upon the floor.

"They have taught me to tame horses, and to swing my sabre; and my lance will strike you a mark at sixty paces. But the art of the needle is unknown to me; it were unworthy a pupil of Elfi Bey, the lord of Cairo!"

"Oh, thou true son of my heart!" exclaimed the sultana. "Ah, that I might embrace thee, and call thee, son! Forgive me, husband and master," she continued, turning to the sultan, "for having set on foot this stratagem against you. See you not now who is prince, and who tailor? Of a truth the caftan which your lord son has made, is magnificent, and I would fain ask with what master he has learned!"

The sultan was lost in deep reflection, looking with distrust, now on his wife, now on Labakan, who vainly sought to conceal his blushes and consternation at having so stupidly betrayed himself. "This proof pleases me not," said he; "but, Allah be praised! I know a means of learning whether I am deceived." He commanded them to bring his swiftest horse, mounted, and rode to a forest, which commenced not far from the city. There, according to an old tradition, lived a good fairy, named Adolzaide, who had often before this a.s.sisted with her advice the monarchs of his family, in the hour of need: thither hastened the sultan.

In the middle of the wood was an open place, surrounded by lofty cedars. There, the story said, lived the fairy; and seldom did a mortal visit this spot, for a certain awe connected with it had, from olden time, descended from father to son. When the sultan had drawn near he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and placing himself in the middle of the open s.p.a.ce, cried with loud voice:--

"If it be true that thou hast given good counsel to my fathers, in the hour of need, then disdain not the request of their descendant, and advise me in a case where human understanding is too short-sighted."

Hardly had he uttered the last word, when one of the cedars opened, and a veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth.

"I know, Sultan Saoud, why thou comest to me; thy wish is fair, therefore shall my a.s.sistance be thine. Take these two chests; let each of the two who claim to be thy son, choose; I know that he who is the real one, will not make a wrong selection." Thus speaking, the veiled lady extended to him two little caskets of ivory, richly adorned with gold and pearls: upon the lids, which he vainly sought to open, were inscriptions formed by inlaid diamonds.

As he was riding home, the sultan tormented himself with various conjectures, as to what might be the contents of the caskets, which, do his best, he could not open. The words on the outside threw no light upon the matter; for on one was inscribed, HONOR AND FAME; upon the other, FORTUNE AND WEALTH. Saoud thought it would be difficult to make choice between these two, which seemed equally attractive, equally alluring. When he reached the palace, he sent for his wife, and told her the answer of the fairy: it filled her with an eager hope, that he to whom her heart clung, might select the casket which would indicate his royal origin.

Two tables were brought in before the sultan's throne; on these, with his own hand, Saoud placed the two boxes; then, ascending to his seat, he gave the signal to one of his slaves to open the door of the saloon. A brilliant throng of bashaws and emirs of the realm poured through the open door: they seated themselves on the splendid cushions, which were arranged around the walls. When they had done this, Saoud gave a second signal, and Labakan was introduced; with haughty step he walked through the apartment, and prostrated himself before the throne with these words:--

"What is the command of my lord and father?" The sultan raised himself in his throne, and said:--

"My son, doubts are entertained as to the genuineness of thy claims to this name; one of these chests contains the confirmation of thy real birth. Choose! I doubt not thou wilt select the right one!" Labakan raised himself, and advanced towards the boxes; for a long time he reflected as to which he should choose, at last he said:--

"Honored father, what can be loftier than the fortune of being thy son? What more n.o.ble than the wealth of thy favor? I choose the chest which bears the inscription, FORTUNE AND WEALTH."

"We will soon learn whether thou hast made the right choice; meanwhile sit down upon that cushion, near the bashaw of Medina," said the sultan, again motioning to his slaves.

Omar was led in; his eye was mournful, his air dejected, and his appearance excited universal sympathy among the spectators. He threw himself before the throne, and inquired after the sultan's pleasure.

Saoud informed him that he was to choose one of the chests: he arose, and approached the table. He read attentively both inscriptions, and said:--

"The few last days have informed me how insecure is fortune, how transient is wealth; but they have also taught me that, in the breast of the brave, lives what can never be destroyed, HONOR, and that the bright star of RENOWN sets not with fortune. The die is cast! should I resign a crown, Honor and Fame, you are my choice!" He placed his hand upon the casket that he had chosen, but the sultan commanded him not to unclose it, while he motioned to Labakan to advance, in like manner, before his table. He did so, and at the same time grasped his box. The sultan, however, had a chalice brought in, with water from Zemzem, the holy fountain of Mecca, washed his hands for supplication, and, turning his face to the East, prostrated himself in prayer:

"G.o.d of my fathers! Thou, who for centuries hast established our family, pure and unadulterated, grant that no unworthy one disgrace the name of the Aba.s.sidae; be with thy protection near my real son, in this hour of trial." The sultan arose, and reascended his throne.

Universal expectation enchained all present; they scarcely breathed; one could have heard a mouse crawl over the hall, so mute and attentive were all. The hindmost extended their necks, in order to get a view of the chests, over the heads of those in front. The sultan spoke: "Open the chests;" and they, which before no violence could force, now sprang open of their own accord.

In the one which Omar had chosen, lay upon a velvet cushion, a small golden crown, and a sceptre: in Labakan's, a large needle, and a little linen thread. The sultan commanded both to bring their caskets before him: he took the little crown from the cushion in his hand, and, wonderful to see! it became larger and larger, until it reached the size of a real crown. Placing it on his son Omar, who kneeled before him, he kissed his forehead, and bade him sit upon his right hand. To Labakan, however, he turned and said:--

"There is an old proverb, 'Shoemaker, stick to thy last;' it seems that thou shouldst stick to thy needle. Thou hast not, indeed, merited much mercy at my hands, but one has supplicated for thee, whom this day I can refuse nothing; therefore give I thee thy paltry life; but, if I may advise, haste thee to leave my land."

Ashamed, ruined as he was, the poor tailor could answer nothing: he threw himself before the prince, and tears came into his eyes.

"Can you forgive me, prince?" he said.

"To be true to a friend, magnanimous to a foe, is the pride of the Aba.s.sidae!" answered the prince, raising him. "Go in peace!"

"My true son!" cried the old sultan, deeply affected, and sinking upon Omar's breast. The emirs and bashaws, and all the n.o.bles of the realm, arose from their seats, to welcome the new prince, and amid this universal jubilee, Labakan, his chest under his arm, crept out of the saloon.

He went down into the sultan's stable, bridled his horse Murva, and rode forth from the gate towards Alexandria. His whole career as prince recurred to him as a dream, and the splendid chest, richly adorned with pearls and diamonds, alone convinced him that it was not all an idle vision. Having at last reached Alexandria, he rode to the house of his old master, dismounted, and fastening his horse to the door, walked into the workshop. The master, who did not even know him, made a low bow and asked what was his pleasure: when, however, he had a nearer view of his guest, and recognised his old Labakan, he called to his journeymen and apprentices, and all precipitated themselves, like mad, upon poor Labakan, who expected no such reception; they bruised and beat him with smoothing-irons and yard-sticks, p.r.i.c.ked him with needles, and pinched him with sharp shears, until he sank down, exhausted, on a heap of old clothes. As he lay there, the master ceased, for a moment, from his blows, to ask after the stolen garments: in vain Labakan a.s.sured him that he had come back on that account alone, to set all right; in vain offered him threefold compensation for his loss; the master and his journeymen fell upon him again, beat him terribly, and turned him out of doors. Sore and bruised, he mounted Murva, and rode to a caravansery. There he laid down his weary lacerated head, reflecting on the sorrows of earth, on merit so often unrewarded, and on the nothingness and transientness of all human blessings. He went to sleep with the determination to give up all hopes of greatness, and to become an honest burgher. Nor on the following day did he repent of his resolution, for the heavy hands of his master, and the journeymen, had cudgelled out of him all thoughts of n.o.bility.

He sold his box to a jeweller for a high price, and fitted up a workshop for his business. When he had arranged all, and had hung out, before his window, a sign with the inscription, LABAKAN, MERCHANT TAILOR, he sat down and began with the needle and thread he had found in the chest, to mend the coat which his master had so shockingly torn. He was called off from his work, but on returning to it, what a wonderful sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing industriously away, without being touched by any one; it took fine, elegant st.i.tches, such as Labakan himself had never made even in his most skilful moments.

Truly the smallest present of a kind fairy is useful, and of great value! Still another good quality had the gift; be the needle as industrious as it might, the little stock of thread never gave out.

Labakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailor for miles around. He cut out the garments, and took the first st.i.tch therein with the needle, and immediately the latter worked away, without cessation, until the whole was completed. Master Labakan soon had the whole city for customers, for his work was beautiful, and his charges low; and only one thing troubled the brains of the people of Alexandria, namely, how he finished his work entirely without journeymen, and with closed doors.

Thus was the motto of the chest which promised fortune and wealth undergoing its accomplishment. FORTUNE AND WEALTH accompanied, with gradual increase, the steps of the good tailor, and when he listened to the praises of the young sultan Omar, who lived in every mouth; when he heard that this brave man was the object of his people's pride and love, the terror of his enemies; then would the quondam prince say to himself, "Still is it better that I remained a tailor, for HONOR AND FAME are ever accompanied by danger."

Thus lived Labakan, contented with himself, respected by his fellow-burghers; and if the needle, meanwhile, has not lost her cunning, she is still sewing with the everlasting thread of the good Fairy Adolzaide.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

At sundown the Caravan set out, and soon reached Birket-el-had, or "the Pilgrims' Fountain," whence the distance to Cairo was three leagues. The Caravan had been expected at this time, and the merchants soon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming forth from the city to meet them. They entered through the gate Bebel-Falch, for it was considered a good omen for those who came from Mecca to enter by this gate, because the Prophet himself had pa.s.sed through it.

At the market-place the four Turkish merchants took leave of the stranger and the Greek Zaleukos, and went home with their friends.

Zaleukos, however, showed his companion a good caravansery, and invited him to dine with him. The stranger agreed, and promised to make his appearance as soon as he should have changed his dress. The Greek made every arrangement for giving a fine entertainment to the stranger, for whom, upon the journey, he had conceived a deep feeling of esteem; and when the meats and drink had been brought in in proper order, he seated himself, waiting for his guest.

He heard slow and heavy steps approaching through the gallery which led to their apartment. He arose in order to meet him as a friend, and welcome him upon the threshold; but, full of horror, he started back as the door opened--the same frightful Red-mantle walked in before him! His eyes were still turned upon him; it was no illusion: the same lofty, commanding figure, the mask, from beneath which shone forth the dark eyes, the red cloak with embroidery of gold--all were but too well known to him, impressed upon his mind as they had been during the most awful moments of his life.

The breast of Zaleukos heaved with contending emotions; he had long since felt reconciled towards this too-well-remembered apparition, and forgiven him; nevertheless his sudden appearance opened every wound afresh. All those torturing hours of anguish, that wo which had envenomed the bloom of his life, rushed back for a moment, crowding upon his soul.

"What wishest thou, terrible one?" cried the Greek, as the apparition still stood motionless upon the threshold. "Away with thee, that I may curse thee not!"

"Zaleukos!" said a well-known voice from under the mask: "Zaleukos! is it thus that you receive your guest?" The speaker removed the mask, and threw back his cloak: it was Selim Baruch, the stranger! But still Zaleukos seemed not at ease, for he too plainly recognised in him the Unknown of the Ponte Vecchio: nevertheless, old habits of hospitality conquered; he silently motioned to the stranger to seat himself at the table.

"I can guess your thoughts," commenced the latter, when they had taken their places: "your eyes look inquiringly upon me. I might have been silent, and your gaze would never more have beheld me; but I owe you an explanation, and therefore did I venture to appear before you in my former guise, even at the risk of receiving your curse. You once said to me, 'The faith of my fathers bids me love him; and he is probably more unhappy than myself:' be a.s.sured of this, my friend, and listen to my justification.

"I must begin far back, in order that you may fully understand my story. I was born in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father, the youngest son of an ancient ill.u.s.trious French family, was consul for his native land in the city I have just mentioned. From my tenth year I was brought up in France, by one of my mother's brothers, and left my fatherland for the first time a few years after the revolution broke out there, in company with my uncle, who was no longer safe in the land of his ancestors, in order to seek refuge with my parents beyond the sea. We landed eagerly, hoping to find in my father's house the rest and quiet of which the troubles of France had deprived us.

But ah! in my father's house I found not all as it should be: the external storms of these stirring times had not, it is true, reached it; but the more unexpectedly had misfortune made her home in the inmost hearts of my family. My brother, a promising young man, first secretary of my father, had shortly before married a young lady, the daughter of a Florentine n.o.ble who lived in our vicinity: two days before our arrival she had suddenly disappeared, and neither our family nor her own father could discern the slightest trace of her.

At last they came to the conclusion that she had ventured too far in a walk, and had fallen into the hands of robbers. Almost agreeable was this thought to my poor brother, when compared to the truth, which only too soon became known. The perfidious one had eloped with a young Neapolitan, with whom she had become acquainted in her father's house.

My brother, who was exceedingly affected by this step, employed every means to bring the guilty one to punishment; but in vain: his attempts, which in Naples and Florence had excited wonder, served only to complete his and our misfortune. The Florentine n.o.bleman returned to his native land, under the pretence of seeing justice done to my brother, but with the real determination of destroying us all. He frustrated all those examinations which my brother had set on foot, and knew how to use his influence, which he had obtained in various ways, so well, that my father and brother fell under suspicion of their government, were seized in the most shameful manner, carried to France, and there suffered death by the axe of the executioner. My poor mother lost her mind; and not until ten long months had pa.s.sed, did death release her from her awful situation, though for the few last days she was possessed of perfect consciousness. Thus did I now stand isolated in the world: one thought alone occupied my whole soul, one thought alone bade me forget my sorrows; it was the mighty flame which my mother in her last moments had kindled within me.

"In her last moments, as I said, recollection returned; she had me summoned, and spoke with composure of our fate, and her own death.

Then she sent all out of the room, raised herself, with a solemn air, from her miserable bed, and said that I should receive her blessing, if I would swear to accomplish something with which she would charge me. Amazed at the words of my dying mother, I promised with an oath to do whatever she should tell me. She thereupon broke forth in imprecations against the Florentine and his daughter, and charged me, with the most frightful threats of her curse, to avenge upon him the misfortunes of my house. She died in my arms. This thought of vengeance had long slumbered in my soul; it now awoke in all its might. I collected what remained of my paternal property, and bound myself by an oath to stake it all upon revenge, and, rather than be unsuccessful, to perish in the attempt.

"I soon arrived in Florence, where I kept myself as private as possible; it was very difficult to put my plan in execution on account of the situation which my enemy occupied. The old Florentine had become governor, and thus had in his hand all the means of destroying me, should he entertain the slightest suspicion. An accident came to my a.s.sistance. One evening I saw a man in well-known livery, walking through the streets: his uncertain gait, his gloomy appearance, and the muttered 'Santo sacramento,' and 'Maledetto diavolo,' soon made me recognise old Pietro, a servant of the Florentine, whom I had formerly known in Alexandria. There was no doubt but that he was in a pa.s.sion with his master, and I resolved to turn his humor to my advantage. He appeared much surprised to see me there, told me his grievances, that he could do nothing aright for his master since he had become governor, and my gold supported by his anger soon brought him over to my side. Most of the difficulty was now removed: I had a man in my pay, who would open to me at any hour the doors of my enemy, and from this time my plan of vengeance advanced to maturity with still greater rapidity. The life of the old Florentine seemed to me too pitiful a thing, to be put into the balance with that of my whole family.

Murdered before him, he must see the dearest object of his love, and this was his daughter Bianca. It was she that had so shamefully wronged my brother, it was she that had been the author of our misfortunes. My heart, thirsting for revenge, eagerly drank in the intelligence, that Bianca was on the point of being married a second time; it was settled--she must die. But as my soul recoiled at the deed, and I attributed too little nerve to Pietro, we looked around for a man to accomplish our fell design. I could hire no Florentine, for there was none that would have undertaken such a thing against the governor. Thereupon Pietro hit upon a plan, which I afterwards adopted, and he thereupon proposed you, being a foreigner and a physician, as the proper person. The result you know: only, through your excessive foresight and honesty, my undertaking seemed, at one time, to be tottering; hence the scene with the mantle.

"Pietro opened for us the little gate in the governor's palace; he would have let us out, also, in the same secret manner, if we had not fled, overcome by horror at the frightful spectacle, which, through the crack of the door, presented itself to our eyes. Pursued by terror and remorse, I ran on about two hundred paces, until I sank down upon the steps of a church. There I collected myself again, and my first thought was of you, and your awful fate, if found within the house.

"I crept back to the palace, but neither of Pietro nor yourself could I discover a single trace. The door, however, was open, and I could at least hope that you had not neglected this opportunity of flight.